Day 15 - World Building

    It was perfect, the flames flickered straight, reaching skyward, trying to tickle the ceiling, apple wood, smoke rising from the fire was faint with little to no smoke giving them away.  

    Bending, looking across the flames Levi looked towards younger brother, atop his swag, reclined against the cabin wall, knees curled up beneath his chin, a blanket pulled tight around his shoulders coughing.  Levi waited, the coughing would pass.

    ‘Brother, tell me of the Progenitor Dragons.’ He asked.

    ‘You know it’s a fable, don’t you?  It’s the way the people try to explain away the folly of man?’

    ‘I do Oscar, but still, it makes for a good story, a good way to while away our evening.’ To himself in his mind Levi added, ‘And to distract you, to stop you thinking, to get you out of your head.’.

    Touching the side of the billy with his hand Levi, happy with the heat, lifted it off, filling their two cups, the salt evaporating, jerky floating to the surface. He walked Over passing it to his brother.

    Oscar watched his brother take his seat on his own Swag on the far wall of the cabin, sipping the broth, it was perfect, not too hot, yet hot enough to give him some relief, the warm liquid passing over his tongue down his throat.  He began.

    ‘The Progenitor, the dragons are known as the creators of everything we know, and even more.  They created everything around us the dirt we walk upon, the plants and animals that provide for us, one absorbing carbons to generate oxygen, providing food to the animals and humanoids of the planet.  The sky, the stars the rivers and oceans that reflect them, everything, even the creatures of the dark.

    Their even said to have created other worlds, parallel universes to our own, some count, no swear there are 13 such worlds.  This is unproven by all but the insane, those who speak most adamantly of the 13.  

    It’s said that each of these 13 has a dominant aspect, be it fire, water, earth, ether or otherwise.  This dominance causes a distortion, an imbalance in these other worlds.  It’s said by some it was the Dragons’ thirteenth attempt that resulted in this world, a world where they got all things balanced correctly.  

    They’d finally made a world where there could be balance, and order, where the pendulum of life could be put into motion, a world where all ideas could, would become a reality, where chaos and order could co-exist.

    The dragons, there were three of them, Syberis the silver, his scales are said to be every shade of the sky, from the blue reflecting the oceans below, the white whisper of clouds, the grey of storms, even the gold and sparkle of the stars and as radiant as the moon.

    Then there was Eberron, the eldest of the three was known as many things from Mother to Gaia, Ge, Magna Mater, great mother and more.  She was all the colours of the earth, the greens of the grasses, auburn of autumn leaves and more, brown of bark and soil, the colours of all the flowers of the earth at once.

    And, finally, there was Khyber, the third of the siblings, the youngest, darkest of the three, the opposite of her brother Syberis, was about shadows and night; about a form of relief for both her siblings, creating a space for Mother to rest and sleep, and for her brother to shine.

    When the three had created the material plane, they’d thought they’d found their place, their balance, their success.  This the material plane, after 13 attempts was the right balance of all the parts and more of the previous attempts.

    This though, was not to last.  Khyber grew jealous of her siblings, at night she watched her brother shine, whilst her sister slept.  At first, she experimented and extended upon her siblings’ creations playing one against the other.  Taking cats and equipping them for the night, their vision and litheness allowing them to play in the shadows she created.

    Dolphins swam through the night, bursting from the ocean, water spraying reflecting the light of the night sky, diving back into the water generating phosphorous, its luminescence, green blue and other colours again reflecting the light.  

    The thrill of these things though, over time started to wane, to lose their appeal as Khyber realised she was playing at the edges, she was simply building upon, or reflecting upon the creations of her siblings, she wanted more, she wanted what they had, the power to create to inspire.  She lost sight of herself, her purpose and what she brought to the world, thinking only jealously of her sibling’s creations.

    Over time she started to think and plot until she was ready, then one random evening as Mother Earth started to doze and finally fall asleep, khyber let the darkness grow, clouding out Syberis’s light.  Syberis looked to the waters, hoping to see his reflection to see the light he was so proud of, to see his stars reflected at him.  

    It was at this time that Khyber struck, the black dragon dropping from the sky above  Syberis as he sat looking into the ocean from a clifftop, bewildered at the absence of his reflection. He didn’t have a chance, she tore him to pieces flinging his limbs and entrails out into the ocean, and into the sky.

    The screams of Syberis woke his sister Eberron, Mother Earth joined the fray, engulfing her sister, wrapping arms and wings around her, imprisoning her within.  Khyber struck and clawed at her sister to no avail, as Eberron simply tightened her grip enveloping her young sibling entirely within her wings.          The two fall from the cliff top, plummeting as a ball into nothingness.  

Not into the ocean, nor the sky, but the plane between. The elder encapsulates, imprisoning the other for an eternity, absorbing all that the two had created in the material plane into themselves, becoming one, becoming the plane that they had created.  Eberron the earth, and Khyber the under dark.’

    Oscar stopped, his broth gone, only the swollen jerky remained, he hooked it out, pinching it between his index and middle finger before quickly popping it into his mouth and gesturing to his brother for more water from the billy.

    Levi, walked over and bent to fill Oscar’s cup.  ‘So what is the real story, if that Is but a fable?’

‘That my brother is for the daylight hours, let me tell that story on travel north tomorrow, it’ll help the Kilometres roll by.’

Day 14 - Why I write

"Why do I Write?" It’s a question often asked, never answered and usually assumed. 

So, this is the 14th day in May as I work through the 15th Story-a-day challenge. I thought I'd have a crack at answering the question, especially when, in some ways, I don’t see myself as a writer per se. What even makes a writer? That, I think, may or may not come out in the next couple of paragraphs.

It’s also a bit of a gimme ‘Prompt’ as I’ve never had a crack at it before. 

So why do I write? The often assumed, and as is evident in the forever follow-up question, ‘Are you published?’ Is it to get published? No. I’m not writing to get published. If that happens one day, be it a short story in an anthology, or finally completing that forever novel (Dwarvelf, 47,299 words done), it will be a surprise and/or a treat.

When I reflect on the question, I realize I write for myself. I recall doing this in my late teens and early adulthood when in the Navy. In moments of reflection, I would write to myself, make a diary entry of sorts as to what was going on around me, where I was in life, etc., and save them to 3.5-inch floppy disks. Disks that have long disappeared.

My first bit of creative writing was when at sea on a submarine. I wrote about escaping from the thing. At the time, I was doing this as I undertook my HSC English, in pursuit of becoming an officer and one day driving the bloody things. For that story, I received some real positive feedback from the teacher at the time, the first time I got some recognition for such a thing, having been a high school dropout who had only completed six weeks of year 10 (form 4).

I did not write ‘creatively’ again for a long time after this. Yes, I wrote essays and made my way through undergraduate and post-grad degrees writing essays. I ended up working in ICT, writing code, moving into management and writing PowerPoint, briefing notes, and business memos but nothing creative.

At a point over the decades (I’m up more than half a century now), I found myself falling into writing again, to myself, to help through a crisis, again for an audience of one. And maybe my loved ones. That passed, and life went on.

Then talk of a third/fourth degree came up. My wife had decided to do a degree in international studies, so I stupidly thought, 'Oh, I’ll do a Doctorate.' Thankfully, the wise woman in my life, who is my wife, stepped in and encouraged me to do a ‘Creative Writing Course’ with the school of journalism. To quote her at the time, ‘Do writing, you’ve always said you wanted to.’ So I did, and still am.

But again Why? 

For myself. But what is it that writing gives me? It’s a way of taking a busy, creative mind, and channelling it into a healthy outcome. Let’s just say "Idle hands are the devil’s tools," i.e., a bored person is more likely to find mischief than turn that energy into something creative.

I write for a release, a way to exercise my grey matter and not be bound by a single style or approach. I write for that one in a hundred, no, maybe one in two hundred events where I write something that surprises me. 

This isn’t to say I don’t share my writing. I do, in many forms, simply scribble to afstoryaday.blogspot.com, printed for my friends and family, and even my in-laws. I try to share with my wife and girls, as tolerant as they are. I even share with strangers and mates as I guide them through the world's best storytelling game, Dungeons and Dragons.  

I do get satisfaction at knowing someone has read something of mine, even more, commented and replied.

Again though, at the end of it all, I do simply write for myself.

---

I'll have to try that again sometime, it can't be that simple and/or selfish.

Day 13 - Shadow Power

So you learnt a few days ago, that you have a shadow, well less that you learnt that you had a shadow, you’ve known that for years, ever since you were a little kid.  What’s more, over the last couple of days you learnt, and come to realise your shadow is unlike others.

The trick, though, is what do you do with this?  You spend the first couple of days experimenting every moment you get.  Sort of like a kid addicted to a mobile phone told that their not to use it. You find yourself distracted by your shadow at every moment.

Studying, no, learning how to use it.  Thinking about it constantly, distracted by it.  Wondering, thinking learning how to manipulate it, make it do what you want it to do.

The first time you succeeded was when you were holding your hands up, thumbs intertwined, fingers spread as you made a shadow butterfly on the wall, backlit, no, projected by your daughter's bedlight as you tried to settle her down for the evening.

Even now, you smile, a flush filling you from your chest to the tips of your hair when you recall the joy when your shadow butterfly broke free and flittered its way up the wall before disappearing in the shadows. “Again mum, Again!’, and you did.

The second time, you’d locked the keys in the car, a furtive glance about, no one about, no one to see or even recognise what was going on.  And you simply had your shadow pop the lock, wa la, the door was open, keys retrieved and you were on your way.

What is this you wonder, is it a superpower? A blessing? Or a curse?

You’ve thought about ‘invisibility’ before, the thought of how it could corrupt, the reality of being good with such power was the challenge.  Is this the same, is your shadow ability something like this?

And that is where you are stuck now, a shadow power and not knowing what to do.

Day 13 - Origin Story

 The following, immediately below in Backstory (provided) is what was given to me leading up to a Dungeons and Dragons weekend.  To make the 'Character' Landon a bit more my own I've written the 'Origin Story' below to give him more context and get a feel for how I may play the character.

Landon Frostcar

Backstory (Provided)

Raised in the rhythmic ebb and flow of river life, our human rogue became intimately acquainted with the secrets that floated along the waterways between Silver Brook Hamlet and Willowdale. 

From a young age, they navigated the boats and barges that traversed the winding river, picking up both a sailor's skills and a rogue's craftiness. 

The bustling river trade offered ample opportunities for intrigue, and our character learned to move in the shadows, acquiring information and possessions with a deft hand and a charming demeanour.

Key aspects:

• Swashbuckler - high charisma, super high dex

• Preferred weapons Dagger and rapier

• Tavern Brawler

Origin Story

"Hey, Boy!" Landon looked up. The voice had a lilt to it, a lilt not commonly heard around Silver Brook, yet not unheard. It was an elf. He didn’t look right. Landon pushed his long pole against the shoreline, leveraging his skiff into the river to get a closer look. lifting his chin, signalling to the man on the far shore as he drifted closer; the current would grab in a moment, and he only had a moment to make his call. 

"Can you ferry me? There's a copper in it for you."

In acknowledgement, Landon drove his pole into the riverbed, propelling his boat towards the far shore. As he got closer, he realised the fellow held his hand to his side, clenching. No pushing his fist into his side. His leather jerkin darkened from where he applied pressure. 

The water deepened. Landon speared his setting pole deep into the water, bending for leverage putting power into the thrust, accelerating the boat, and closing the gap to the elf.

The elf, for his part, looked furtively about, into the scrub behind him, before turning and moving closer to the water’s edge, seeming anxious about what was coming from behind. 

The satisfying feel of the boat running up the rise onto the beach halted its momentum.

The elf, for his part, staggered forward. "Thank you!" exited his lips more as an exhale than a statement as he first stumbled, then fell forward, landing hard face-first into the boat. All of this seemed slowed, the running of the boat, the falling of the elf, as a large, brutish humanoid burst from the brush, a great axe in one hand and a javelin in the other. 

Barely pausing, the large, no-necked, low-browed, jaw-jutting, bottom-fanged creature lifted and threw the javelin, aiming for the elf's back. The javelin, missing its mark, flew over the back of the elf as he fell directly towards Landon. Sweeping his setting pole across him, he deflected the javelin, leaving it to fly wantonly out into the silver river.

With the click of the javelin on the setting pole, the world went from slow to super fast. Dropping onto the decking, Landon took three paces to get to the head of the prone elf, dragging his pole behind him in one hand, the other grabbing a belay, pulling it from the gunwale, letting the rope it held fall to the deck.

With a step, Landon mounted the gunwale, stepping around the elf onto the prow, and leaping to the shore, the belay retrieved from the boat leaving his hand flying straight towards the Orc bearing down on him, spearing it between the eyes, stunning it momentarily.

Using the momentum of the leap from the boat, Landon dived to the ground, rolling deliberately, tangling himself in the legs of the creature, who, stunned, did not halt its forward motion, its leg deflected by the body of the boy balled at its feet.

As the orc fell hard into the gravel of the beach, its broad forehead ploughing the stones, Landon rolled, retrieving the belay, then turned and ran back towards his boat, breaking his stride momentarily to strike at the skull of the creature, before throwing the belay into the boat and pushing the boat back into the river, this time letting the current grab and propel him and his unconscious cargo towards home, towards Silver Brook.

Day 12 - No one Asks the Oldie

No one asks the Oldie (Draft Three)

Among us they sit, these guardians old,

At the table's edge, their stories untold.

Respected, revered, but seldom engaged,

Their tales and wisdom, are like birds in a cage.

Soon I'll join their ranks, with tales to share,

But will they be sought, or left to wear

Wear away, untold, a fading imprint,

Lost to time as other memories untold.

What holds us back, from asking the lore,

Is it fear, or just too hard or something more?

How do we coax their tales to rise,

To brighten the room like stars in the skies?

Their sagas aplenty, wisdom they bear,

Shared among themselves in the market's square.

As they depart, replaced by another,

The table's edge welcomes a new holder of Lore.

A lamentable sight, these silent guards,

With stories untold, like undiscovered cards.

Triumphs, sorrows, adventures galore,

Yet they sit in silence, at the table's core.

Guardians they are, of tales and lore,

But until we ask, they'll stay silent evermore.

Day 11 - The Bots wont care

‘But miss, this is a useless exercise, the Bots won’t care’

‘Don’t be silly Lucy. Now class as I was saying.’

Lucy looked around the room, thinking, can’t they see it?  What’s there problem? Miss Continued.

‘As I was saying, class, I’d like you to write a letter to the future, write a letter to the people you imagine will open the time capsule.’

Lucy looked at the Metal box at the front of the room.  Bewildered, she’d participated in painting it, adorning the inside lid with a depiction of the school. She’d been commended on the artwork, the realism of the depiction commented upon by everyone who saw it.  Even Alic, her arch-nemesis had begrudgingly complemented it.

She was conflicted.  Proud, even appreciative of the painting but to have it buried, for no one knows how long, and for who if anyone, or even if they would be reading the same language reflecting on the ‘Year 10, Students of House Mary, St Joseph’s College 2024’ written across its side.

‘OK everyone, half an hour, I’ll set a time as per usual. Please begin.’ Stated Miss Taylor as she scrolled the countdown app on her phone.

Looking about everyone had their ringed binders out, and leaning into the writing.

‘Arthur, you can’t type, put your laptop away, handwriting please.’ Miss called out, gesturing to Arthur.

Lucy began,

To the future,     I’m not sure who I’m writing this to, or even what.  I sit here in my classroom on 11th May 2024, doing this task, this weird, weird task.  We’re going to put a bunch of letters into a tin box, and that box is going to be buried, or encased somewhere for you to find in the future.    I think everyone is thinking a human is going to read this, or at least Miss Taylor does.  It’s so weird.  Can’t they see that everyone is blind to what is happening around them?  They are oblivious, everyone is wrapped up in all the wrong things.    So we’re to tell you about us, about our now.  So here goes.    I’m Lucy, 16, daughter of an IT Professional who thinks it’s going all the wrong way, and to quote dad thinks everyone is asleep at the wheel, and a Mum, who is beautiful and all consumed on the now, focused on us girls.    I’m active, as Mum and Dad keep saying this is important, I do Dance and Jujitsu and have been doing it for years.  Probably going to fall by the wayside a bit next year as I keep going through school.    School today, is still all classrooms, 30 of us in the room, and the best I can say is it’s eclectic.  It’s confusing, like everything, the school, and the learning are all confused, they want to embrace technology but they don’t.      Adults, they, teachers parents alike complain about ‘Social Media’ and the damage it’s doing to the youth and society, yet at the same time, they use it as much if not more.  Then on the other hand they are blindly embracing AI.       I’ve no doubt you know what AI is.  Come to think of it, maybe you don’t, maybe it just is and is not known as AI anymore.     I digress, So I’m a good student too, top of maths, English and science.  16 though so not sure of what or where I am going to go in life.  I read and write as a hobby.  Quite eclectic everything from Dad's new philosopher mags to ship stories.    Today, we are predominantly human, and quite multicultural which is good, although we’ve now got people identifying as non-human, and gender, well I’m a girl, She/her, there’s they/them’s, he/him and more.  Edgar, well he is now identifying as a dog, and non-binary.    I wonder what you will be?    The world today as I write this is in the early stages of decay, others call it global warming, my sense is it’s a form of decay, we’ve got everything happening, flood, drought, fires, flood.  I even saw on my feed last night that there is an electromagnetic storm hitting Earth now over Australia, with warnings of blackouts and satellite, communications disruptions.    Does make me wonder a few things, a heap of things.     Like, who will be reading this?  Will you be humanoid?  I say that with all the identity options we have today, furries, and more if society takes that further, will we evolve into the things we are declaring ourselves today?    Technology is becoming more pervasive, not that anyone notices anymore.  Well, they do, like I said they’re confused.  Maybe confused isn’t the word, maybe complacent is a better word.  It’s weird, I’ve heard references to the human condition, but haven’t looked into it much.  I wonder what you will have done with the human condition, that’s if you’re human of course.    Some people are trying to do something, global warming is happening, some are screaming to the rafters about it, that and the wars, there are more wars all the time, and then there are first world dilemmas.    First-world dilemmas, well it’s an inkling of an idea I’ve got.  Dad says when I wine about things ‘Oh you're such a first-world kid, that’s a first-world problem.’  I think in the future they’ll take dads sentiment and report on these things as they do the weather, fires, even electromagnetic storms.   Maybe the storms will get so bad that wi-fi is blacked out due to the electromagnetic storms, maybe that’ll be the problem.  I wonder if you know if this is the case.                                                     I have to go,                                                                    LUCY P.S. I do hope you’re human

She stopped, Miss Taylor was walking down the far aisle, the tin box in hand, and she ripped her sheet of paper from the book.  Others, more committed were cutting theirs.  She folded the page in half text to text. Using the tips of her fingers to get the short edges to align perfectly.  Pressing the ends to the table she creased the paper, funning her fingers over the fold several times to make it crisp.

Miss Taylor came from behind and stopped at her desk momentarily, pausing, waiting.

Lucy turned and dropped her paper into the open tin.

‘Thank you, Lucy.’

Then she was gone, back to the front of the class, shutting the lid.

Day 10 - Reaper & Son

“Morning Dad, what’s on for today?” Garth asked as he walked into the office.

Garry looked up from where he sat, behind his desk, a notebook held in one hand, quill in the other.  Garth had stopped just in the entrance, door held open, ‘Reaper & Son’s’ curved over his left shoulder, and although the sign, gave Garry a sense of pride, a shudder ran down his back as he took in his son's attire.

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"What?" Responded Garth, looking about frantically, over his right shoulder, behind him, at the door he held, the floor, "What?"

“The bloody clothes?  Where’s your hood, your cloak?  How come I can see your feet? What is that on your feet?”

Looking down, Garth responded “Shoes.” he returned his gaze to his father bewildered.

“Where’s your uniform, more importantly, where’s your Scythe?”

“Here!” Garth thrust his hand forward, holding up an iPhone-like device.  

Garry knew of these things, the Mortals carried them, and they’d become a blemish.  He’d even used them several times as he worked through his lists.  They were handy in that sense.  

“WHAT!” He boomed at his son, “What the bloody hell are you talking about, we don't need those, they’re useless.”

“Dad.  I told you I was changing things up, modernising the office.”

“We don’t need bloody modernising if it involves those things, they're a death prop at best. Look!” as he thrust his notepad towards his son.

Garth stepped forward, letting the door shut behind him, taking the pad and reading ‘Trist Birmingham, 10/05/2024 13:15 - Walk in front of the bus as distracted by Mobile’ followed by a hand-drawn box filled with a Tick.  All written in neat handwriting, not an ink blotch to be seen, in standard reaper font.

“Dad, that’s what I’m talking about, we’ve got to modernise.  Notepad and quill, just don’t run at the volume we need these days.”

“What do you mean, Garth, this is how we do it, we get given our numbers, and work the lists.”

The phone in Garth’s hand buzzed, the screen lighting up, and he looked down at it, and back to his father.

“Dad, the world's population grows by about 0.8% each year.  That’s going to be six and a half million people this year alone. We’ve got to update, gotta get faster.  The old way simply doesn’t have the capacity, we’ve got to modernise!”

“What do you mean capacity!” protested Garry, “This!” waving his notepad, “has capacity!  The Titanic, the Twin Towers, It’s got capacity.”

“Yes, Dad, but, wars, pandemics?” protested Garth, “What about those?”

“I’ll have you know boy, World War 1 & 2, even the Vietnam war, all done with These!” waving both quill and notepad at his son again.

“Seriously Dad, the population was about two point four billion in the 1940’s, it’s like four times that now.”

Spinning on his heel, Garry turned back towards his desk, walking behind it and flung himself into his high-backed leather chair, “What about the pandemic, I used the old methods all the way through that.”

“Seriously Dad, you know we weren’t the only ones working the pandemic, there were the harvesters and the Angels. Did you see their numbers, they exceeded the quotas!”

Garry mumbled under his breath, bloody harvester of souls my arse.  

“What have they got to do with any of this?”

“Well, their quotas, they were up, the Angels reported their methods to the council.”

Angels of death, Garry thought to himself. Seriously, they’re not angels, bloody corrupt is what they are.

“They showed them this.” again Garth held up his phone, “They call it a X-ythe.”

“X-ythe? And how is that meant to be better than our current scythe, our tools of the trade, that’s done us well for all these millennia.”  Said Garry as he took the phone from his son, turning it over in his hands.  He’d seen this often enough he had a general sense of how they physically worked, but that was it. 

"So how? how are these different."

“It’s in the disinformation, fake news, conspiracy theories that these things can spread.’

"Why X-ythe." asked Garry as his skeletal figure clicked as he tapped the screen.

"X, that’s the name of the main app." As Garth spoke, the screen lit up.

Garry read what appeared on the screen. ‘The vaccinations, are the government trying to control you, their implanting advanced trackers. DON'T VACCINATE!’. He turned the screen towards his son.

"Is this what you are talking about?"

"Yes, that’s it, disinformation."

"How’s that work though, it’s awfully vague, where’s the time, the date, the names? Look!" Garry ticked off the next name on his list.  Cici Mudil, 10/05/2024 13:21 - Sheltering under a tree, in a lightning storm’ and held it up to his son.

“Shees dad, I get it, your method works, but it’s simply not doing enough, the council says we’ve got to adopt these things, start to build our companies around X, generate disinformation, fake news, conspiracies, while we work on increasing the accuracy.”

Garry didn’t say anything, he placed his quill into the ink pot. And slouched back into his chair, flipping his notebook onto the desk.  Not quite resigned to what his son had been saying, simply piqued.

“OK son, tell me what you’re thinking."

Garth turned quickly grabbed the chair on his side of the desk, pulled it forward and sat down opposite his father.

Day 9 - Part 1 YoTNF

Part 1 - A Party Forms

Beginnings

The Nameless Few first came together in the year 481 DR. although they were not known as such at this time.  The reason for the group joining forces was one Gundren Rockseeker of the brothers three who had been seeking (unbeknownst to many had found) the Lost Mine of Phandelver.  He had bought them together under the ruse (although his true border intent would never come to be known) of escorting supplies south to the town of Phandelin.

Gundren meets them at the bar in the company of Lord Sildar Hallwinter of the Lord’s alliance, as the two intend to travel ahead of the caravan the party is to escort.  Little did any of them know, that the party formed would eb and flow in size continuously over the years to follow.  After meeting, the next day, the supplied, born upon a horse and car arrived at the Inn.  

It was to be a slow trip, as although they had a horse and cart, it could not carry all five at once, so the majority would find themselves walking alongside the supplies.  It was in this manner that  five souls set off south to Phandelin:

• Torrible Te Good, a Stout Halfling Faith fighter, who joined the party on behalf of Sildar Halwinter of the Lord's alliance. 

• Kori Alderlead, a halfling of ill repute who had changed his name (from Alderleaf) at an attempt at anonymity was returning to his home town to check on his relatives.

• Eldeth (Just Eldeth), a Mercenary of Mintarn Sergeant recently relieved of duties and choosing a path upon which he would not be forced to do evil at another’s bequest.

• Johanne Bothryngton-Smyth, a Minor Lord deposed from his lands of Corlinn Hill. His drive to reclaim his rights as a Lord of renown.

• Finally; Sandoral, a High Elf Mage of the temple of Oghma, is an academic in reality who, for his reasons (Something about aiding Sildeyuir) having previously aided Gundren with some research felt it was time he got in the field.

Two days into the trip, having turned east onto the Tribour trail, the party comes across two fine riding horses lying dead on the road before them, slain by Goblin arrows.  As the party try to ascertain what had happened, and who had been attacked, they are ambushed by several goblins, and it is here that the year before them kicked into overdrive.

For brevity, I shall keep this story as abridged as possible, there is so much to tell yet so little time, for as I’ve said, the party would shape and morph, a core would survive, although intermittently, death would strike them many a time.  The gory details of these events though will be cursory, as the detail to do them justice is not for the telling today.

The goblin ambush, thwarted by the party leads them into the Hideout of the Cragmaw gang.  A satellite operation led by a bugbear known as Klarg, who in himself was simply a lieutenant to his more powerful master King Grol, who at this time was holding court at Cragmaw castle, hence the gang's name.

Anyways, the Party of Five, stow their horse and cart in the woods and storm the hideout, learning of their operations and terrorism of the Triboar trail, as well as rescuing Lord Hallwinter, who, with his friend Gundren had been waylaid similarly.  The only problem was Gundren had been taken to Cragmaw castle.

Returning, to the carriage and escorting Lord Hallwinter the rest of the trip the party found themselves in Phandelver. With a myriad of challenges, having completed their task of escorting the supplies, Gundren was not available to pay them for their services, and second to that, there seemed to be some trouble in town with yet another gang of thugs known as the Redbrands.

The party, primarily due to the Redbrands being real Dicks decide to deal with that trouble first, tracking them back to their hideout beneath Tresendor Manor, a derelict building within Phandelin.  Here, they have some encounters from the undead, to their first true monster encounter ‘Neville the Nothic’.

In addition to Neville, they encounter and fail to capture a fellow known as Larno Albrek, discerning that he has abandoned his duties as the lord’s alliance emissary to PHandalin and fell in with some character known as the Black Spider.

Once they’ve done with the Redbrands what they could the party of five then set off to find and Rescue Gundren, how though, go to Cragmaw, to they follow a lead provided by Kori’s Aunty Queline and head north to the Ruined town of Thundertree in search of a Druid known as Reidoth.

The Party Changes

Arriving in Thundertree from the south they Encounter Reidtoh quite early, who informs them, that his own little town has a bit of a problem.  A Young Green Dragon ‘Venomfang’ has taken up residence in Thundertree, and to boot has been attracting a bit of a following with a loose band of dragon cultists taking up residence in town to the southeast as they plush up the courage to approach the Dragon.

It is with this insight the party starts to explore the town.  Whilst dealing with (some would say committing murder) in the southeast, in a parlay gone wrong, three fellows come sprinting from the North screaming ‘Dragon!’.  Before they know it Torrible Te Good is taken in the claws and carried high into the sky before being dropped to his death somewhere within the Neverwinter wood.

Now The Nameless Few is Seven, hiding right next door the the dragon's lair a breadth of decisions lay before them.  Ultimately the decision is taken to return to Phandalin and move on to Wave Echo Rock, the actual lost mine of Phandelver.  Setting off, they decide to take a short deviation into Cragmaw castle, successfully entering the castle and rescuing Gundren Rockseeker, revealed as the cousin of Eldeth.

Returning to Phandalin, the hope of a bit of well-earned R&R the party, with Gundren on the cusp of completing their task, getting paid for the escorting of the caravan south.  Having organised to meet Gundren and Sildar the party settles into the local Inn, only to learn shortly after that Carp, Son of Auntie Alderleath, cousin of Kori has gone missing.  Abducted.

Investigation reveals that a fellow matching the description of one Larno Albrek, aka glass staff and consort of the black spider had abducted the boy for some reason, taking him east on the Triboar trail, towards Wyvern Tor and old well.  Immediately the party sets off in pursuit of the missing boy.

Over the next several days the party deals with Orc’s, Undead and encounters a Red Mage of Thay at the Old Owl Well, finding beneath them some catacombs filled with even more serious undead than the zombies above.  Ultimately they are successful and the party grows in size again, with the boy Carp, a young Halfing Ranger joining the crew.  

At the behest of Sandoral, and the desire to follow up on clues relating to the ‘Blackspider’ the party returned to Cragmaw cast, this time, the second time found under the command of Targor Bloodsword The successor to King Grol whom they had killed on their previous visit.  Again after some serious fighting, they leave Cragmaw Victorious, hoping once and for all they’ve put the Cragmaw Gang behind them.

Returning to Phandalin, the party somewhat exhausted seeks some respite at the Stonehill Inn.  The next day they arise and head into the Townhall to meet with Lord Hallwinter and Gundren Rockseeker.  The discussion of the issues touches on the demise of the Redbrands, and the confirmation that Larno, now a fugitive of the Lord's alliance is in cahoots with the Blackspider.

And that the Blackspider, appears not only to have been involved with the Redbrands, but the Orcs of Wyvern Tor, and the Cragmaw gang.  The association of the Red Mage Hamun Kost seems a Red Herring, although it does confirm that Larno has established contact with the Mages of Thay.

Post dissecting all things to date, and not having any real idea of who or where the blackspider may be, Gundren propositions the party, offering them a 10% share in Rockseeker Mining Pty. Ltd. if The Nameless few will assist him in clearing out Wave Echo Cave, also known as the Lost mine of Phandelver.

He informs them that his two brothers Tharden and Nundro have cracked the long sealed cave and have set up camp within the first cavern awaiting their brother, and the assistance he had gone to Neverwinter to recruit.  The Ruse revealed the party agreed to the terms, and with Gundren leading the way set of to Wave Echo Cave. 

The Lost Mine

Arriving at the cave they find Tharden dead, Nundro nowhere to be seen.  Gundren, somewhat distraught, and realising the dire state of things implores the party to go ahead and explore the mine, whilst he returns to Phandalin to report on the happenings at the cave and seek assistance from the Lords’ alliance.

The party pushes on, delving into the cave, finding that the naturally formed caverns and chasms eventually give way to the tailored halls of a Dwarven Mine.  As they traverse first to the northwest they encounter all numbers of creatures from an Ochre Jelly, to stirges, blood-sucking bat mosquito-like creatures, and all manner of undead.

The undead, in fact, is a big feature including Skeletons, Zombies, Ghouls and ultimately a floating skull encircled in green flame that can terrorise the group for an extended period.  Eventually destroying this creature they continue on, only to encounter more undead in the form of Murmansk the Wraith, a dead mage, wanting and seeking access to the Forge of Spells.

Mormosk implores the party to explore the room to the north where the party come upon an Abberation, an alien entity from another plane.  A floating bulbous head with a large central eye, broad maw with shark-like teeth and long spear-shaped tongue.  Most abhorrent are the four additional eyes the creature has protruding from its head on stalks.

If I recall, correctly, I am not sure if they succeeded here, as Moby was quite peeved that they were forced to leave behind a Dragonguard breastplate, something that would’ve provided him more protection in the battles going forward, for he had a taste of battling a dragon and felt the breastplate would be quite handy for such an undertaking.  Yet they moved on.

Heading west from the Forge of Spells the party came across some differing creatures, familiar beings, and bugbears before entering a temple to the Dwarven God Dumathoin.  It is here that the Black Spider was unmasked as a Dark Elf, a Drow.  A battle ensued in which the black spider and his minion of giant spiders, bugbears and doppelgangers were banished.

Victorious, the evil denizens of Wave Echo Cave are banished, the Blackspiders plot to claim the mine and its forge of spells as his own Thwarted and The Nameless Few begin their journey back to Phandalin.  As they travel, they decide to push on, travelling at night, something never if ever done before, with the clouds coming over, lightning and rain falling the White Dragon of Icespire peak, flying a patrol spies them, and dives towards them, near killing them all, freezing them where the fall.

Day 8 - Kas

        ‘Kaaaaaas.’ The voice, hissed, scratched, came from everywhere, but nowhere at once. 

The man, Kas, clad in leather armour with a brown cloak draped around his shoulders, raised his head as if roused from slumber.  He scanned the hall’s depth and breadth, finding it vacant save for the four sentinels stationed at the base of the throne dais.

‘You’re sword moves’, the voice rasped.

‘Where?’ demanded Kas.

‘Not where you thought.’ replied the voice.

‘Where!’ he bellowed. ‘Where?’

His voice reverberated off the pillars, bouncing between them and the walls.  The once lush carpets and hanging that could absorb sound had long wasted away, leaving only echoing emptiness

‘Show yourself, Wizard! I’ll not talk the walls.’

A ball of black materialised, billowing and expanding, at the base of the dias between the two sentinels. It grew in size until id dwarfed the soldiers standing guard.

From the shadows emerged a tall, gaunt, bald mand, skin drawn tight, cheeks and eyes sunken, cloaked in a blood-red robe.

‘Your sword, it is not where you thought it was.’

‘You’re wrong Wizard, it’s on the far side of the burning peaks, it’s beyond the mists.  I know I can sense it.’ Kas insisted.

‘You, Kas are wrong!’

‘So why do you tell me this now?’ Kas demanded.

The wizard watched the man on the throne, weighing him up.  It had been an eternity since Kaz had been throwing his undead into the mists.  Centuries of trying to get to the citadel on the belief his sword was there.

‘Where Wizard, tell me.’ Kas pressed.

‘Faerun.’

‘How long?’

‘Days, I’ve come post haste to tell you.’

‘Why, It’s not as if the Great Szass Tam would do such a thing out of the goodness of his dead heart.’

‘What will you do if you get the sword? The Wizard asked.

Kas looked down at the Lich Wizard, contemplating.  What was Szass fishing for? It wasn’t the first time he had stood there, asking questions and offering little in return.  But this time he was offering the sword, the key to ending the endless war. ‘Can you bring it to me?’

‘Are you willing to leave?’

‘Leave?’ Kas looked above and beyond the lich to the back of the hall, through the open doors, into the mists swirling beyond.

‘Yes, to retrieve the sword, you will need to leave this domain, leave the mists’

‘You said it’s moving, how?’

‘It’s come into the possession of a dragon slayer.’

The two locked eyes, Kaz’s pitch-black gaze meeting the Wizard’s milky white stare.  In that instance, in silence, they formed an agreement.

‘I can leave.’ Kas Declared

Day 7 - Ten Words

Write a word containing each of these 10 words: Why, Misery, Consternation, Pallor, Orchestra, Forgive, Paper, Entry, First and Grandmother.

Breakdown Attempt One:

The PAPER gives ENTRY to the ORCHESTRA, only problem GRANDMOTHER, her color washed away, PALLOR, CONSTERNATION.

Breakdown Attempt Two:

She FIRST saw it in the PAPER, an ORCHESTRA was coming to town. She dwelt on it for days, the CONSTERNATION of the situation paralysing.  Her GRANDMOTHER had spoken of such things before, of orchestras.  

Riddled with guilt, she didn’t know what to do, nor did she know WHY.  It wasn’t as if she could take her Grandmother with her.  It was the idea that her grandmother came alive when she spoke of the orchestra.

The conversations were a momentary respite from her MISERY as the PALLOR fell away, her cheeks flush with the excitement of the memories, of the visceral sensation of being in the presence of such an event.

She had to go, her grandmother would never FORGIVE her if she did not.

Bewildered, she came out of her reverie only to find herself standing at the ENTRY to the theatre.

The Actual Story:

Emma FIRST saw the advertisement for the Sydney Symphony ORCHESTRA online, it had entered her feed.  Not once, but several times, gone were the ads for dresses, holidays, even dating sites, the things she always looked for. 

She couldn’t quite put her finger on WHY, she hadn’t been searching for this, what was going on, and then someone had thrust a PAPER into her hand as she walked down the street. Looking at it it, a glance as she approached a bin to throw it in. It was the ORCHESTRA again.

A sense of CONSTERNATION washed over her, what the hell, she’d not googled, searched for this, what was going on?  Then it washed over her.

Filling her, memories and emotions racing to the surface.  It was her GRANDMOTHER.  She remembered their last conversation, Her mother had made her go, to farewell her.

Entering the room, quietly at first, her Gran had not noticed her, she lay there, all tiny and frail, sunken in MISERY gaunt, looking out the window as if she was simply wasting away.  Thank god she had a nice vista to look at.

Then she looked towards the door, towards Emma. The PALLOR of death fell away the instant she registered it was her granddaughter who stood before her.

‘Emma my dear!’ she exclaimed, and then she went straight into it. ‘The Orchestra my dear, have you ever seen the orchestra, you must see the orchestra’.  That last conversation was a blessing, the Orchestra coming to town was a blessing, Gran had been able to forget her woes, forget she was dying.

That was a year ago today, she’d promised her grandmother, it was the last thing she did before farewelling her for the last time.

Gran, No Emma herself would never FORGIVE herself if she did not go.

Emma wiped away the tears that held well up in her eyes, of them falling onto the paper, as if punctuating the memory, It was if Gran herself was urging her to go.

Again, she wiped her tears away and composed herself, she needed to get to work, Looking up, to orientate herself, to get her bearings, and there it was.  The ENTRY to the Conservatorium of Music.