The New Chronicles of the Venture Company

12th Day of The Fading, 786 Nerathi Era

As I write this, my new adventuring party is sleeping off varying degrees of drunk in the barracks. Surely Avandra has smiled on me, leading four skilled adventurers to my door on the same day. They tend a bit more fey than I’d like, but a man whose mates were shot down by elves is prone to a little sylvan intolerance. The ones that did it are dead, so I be sure I can move past it.
What we have is quite a group. The only one able to keep up with me drinking was Brigwyn, a dwarf shaman hailing from me birthplace of Hammerfast. The one I thought could handle her drink better was Sally, who’s some kind of walking tree-girl. That reminds me, I should sweep up the hops that are now littering me floor. Strange creatures, the Feywild makes. Creatures like our creepy eladrin princess, Sariel, skilled at bending the minds of us mortals, less skilled at holding her liquor. The most comfortingly normal of that lot is the little gnome. I can carry her home from the bar with one arm, but that little crossbow she carries could probably put out both of a bugbear’s eyes before he had any time to blink.
Time to turn in, meself. Tomorrow, we begin our journey to the Kobold Hall to fetch some fool coat of arms or something.


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.