AsgardNorth

Happy 10th Birthday Julian and Tristian.

Though you only walked the mortal realm for a few hours, it was a honor to have gotten to meet you.

Until we can be together again, know that your Dad loves you very much.


Happy birthday boys.

                The spark of the fireplace snapped Vondul from his state of deep thought, the light bouncing around his small home could be hypnotic at times. Made of strong stone, as most of the homes in Barlik were, his dwelling was well furnished for a dwarf of his age. He was approaching his eighty-first birthday, closing in on what humans would call middle age, and strewn across his home were trinkets and memories of days passed. Tankards from Inniskillin, shells from the various oceanic life near Thalliansport, and even some of find gold trinkets from his cousins in Hammersbend. At one point, Vondul Hornpike was a traveler, spending time with a band of entertainers that would spend the summers touring the realm. He had no skill for engaging folks, nor any flashy tricks or misdirects to make people gasp in awe or laugh deeply. However, he could swing a mean axe and help protect those that could not protect themselves.

                Though it was only but for a few months every year, he earned enough pay to rest comfortably during the other times of year back home. He was never comfortable sitting within the caves of the mountain, so he had bought a home within Barlik Keep itself. He would venture into Barlik under the Mountain on missions of exploration, once again as protection, but never really got his hands dirty with mining. When not out traveling, he would stroll around the keep, enjoying some of the massive stone buildings that had cropped up over the last fifty years. Some buildings would look as if they were hewn from the mountain themselves, with no visible seams that were visible in most stone homes. Ever once again, his eyes would see homes made out blackrock, a common stone found on the west side of the mountain. As dark as knight yet light bounced off it revealing its magnificence. Those were nothing like the King’s Quarter homes though. Pillars of stone, both grey and black flourished in this section of the keep, but more pleasing to the eye were the accents of DragonStone used. A green and gold stone, as hard as regular stone, yet fire could not put its black touch to it. Heat did not penetrate it, and though it could be manipulated by hand quite easily, the hottest fires could not warp it. Rare in its findings, this stone was treasured by dwarf and human alike, especially those in Thalliansport. When the mines opened up to reveal this stone, the wealth of individual companies within Barlik rose sharply.

                Vondul admired those buildings, though often would ponder if he would build a home out of DragonStone like the dwarves, or build fireplaces like the humans do. Though money was not a daily concern for the dwarf, it was not wealthy enough to purchase. He was also not sure if he would even be allowed to buy it, as he had no heirs to hand down his home to. It was this little detail that had caught the Kings attention the year prior. Vondul Hornpike had no family here at all, no brothers nor any sisters, no sons or daughters, no wife, and no parents. The closest relative he had was his cousins in Hammersbend, nearly three weeks travel away, and those were Hill Dwarves, not dwarves of the mountain. Upon his death, his home would be sold or destroyed for another family. So was the way of Barlik.

 

                He would walk around his home at night, the small building had but three rooms, if one could call them that, as the resting area and the cooking area bleed into one another. His living quarter was more than twice the size of the other rooms, and that is where most of his treasures lay in rest. However, every night, if you were to walk by the Hornpike home, you would see the dancing of the fireplace hit some of the shiniest metal creating an almost firework display. The armor that Vondul had on display was of such fine creation that if the King had seen it, he would have fired his own armor smith. That suit was made centuries ago, by the father of his father’s father.  Back when the veins of the mountain reveal metals so pure and fresh that they ran almost like streams into the carts of the miners. That armor once served its master as the head of dwarven temple. Strong was the ability of dwarves to tap into metal, the ability to tap into magic had passed a while ago. However, this suit was constructed in that where dwarves could delve into the abilities of elves, and it was rumored that the suit contained some enchantments upon it. Vondul was never sure, as he never had it tested properly.

 

                This was about to change though. As he walked around his abode on this moonless night, he know that soon the armor would see action, perhaps for the first time. The King, or perhaps more importantly, the King’s left ear, had told him that Vondul Hornpike was a prime candidate to send upon this feeble quests the towns had agreed to go. Vondul knew he was chosen because no one would miss him if he was gone, and more importantly, though wealthy was the king, selling his property would just fill the coffers more. So he did not put up any objection, as the travelling season had just finished for the troupe of entertainers. Plus he knew that the time of the dwarves in Barlik was coming to an end soon anyways. He knew the King was but a puppet and was weak. He would rather not be around when it falls, as though strong with the axe he was, the others had not seen battle in ages, and the army of Barlik Keep would not turn from the King, nor the King’s left ear.

                That evening, he would pack his bag, fill up his wineskins with the fine dark ale that flows freely from the barrels of the local pubs, and made sure to pack some of the fine pipeweed he picked up on his last stop in Aloin. The journey to the Standing Stone would take nearly two weeks’ time, less if he went east instead of south, but the travel was safer headed south toward the elves. Finishing his ale, he looked around his home and wondered if his cousins would have him in Hammersbend if he survived this quest.

                It was the sixteenth day of the eight month, warmer than usual but not unkind for the season. The open window brought in the light of the first morn, but more enticing to the senses, the wafting of the grapes just outside nearing their pick day. The sweet smell permeated the fields just outside of Peaceheaven this time of year, especially on Tarransnow Farm. Vinters for nearly two centuries, their name had carried respect amongst the city dwellers, near and far. It was not uncommon that their bottles were the first to disappear whenever the markets were open, or a shoppe was able to display them.  This year had indeed been a great growing season, and one that Aliya was sorry to realize that she would not be around for the harvest and wine-making. Standing out in the fields with basket in hand, sun beating down upon her brow, and with family around has always been one of her fondest moments amongst her twenty one years.

                However, this year was different, and daunting. When not helping her family with planting, harvesting, or milking of the cows that the family had just purchased shortly after her birth, she was studying in town to be a member of the clergy. It was not unusual for a member of the Tarransnow family to hold some position within the clergy, though usually it was the second born male, not the first born female. Though one could surmise, being the first of six girls in the family to one brother, the options were limited. Aliya had taken to the church as well as she had with picking the best and most mature grapes from the vines, perhaps. The eldest Tarransnow daughter had worked her way through the ranks and began showing devotion to her god.

                She had been assigned and placed with the rangers of Peacehaven. A small unit that routinely patrolled the forest to the west of the sea port. Some had surmised that even though her family name was known within the walls of the town, she was still a farm girl. The new Head Cleric disliked those outside the walls, never really believing they had the town’s interest at heart. Why he was elected as the new head of the order many would discuss, though never openly. Aliya, however was okay with this. She was someone that enjoyed the smell of grass in the fields, the sounds of birds chirping, the subtle leaves rustling from unseen creatures in the woods, it was who she was.

                When the emissary of the Lord of Peacehaven came to the temple, it was an easy decision for the Head Cleric Kellan to make. It had been decided in the year’s past meeting, that a group was to be put together to explore the devastation that had befallen the realm nearly forty years ago. Lord Pembroke had offered a healer, a devout fellow, as the town’s offering to the group. Even the emissary was taken aback at how quickly Kellan had made his decision, though he could not offer any rebuttal. He would take that word to Lord Pembroke. So it was decided, that on the twenty-first day of the eighth month, Aliya Tarrensnow would be Peacehavens portion to help undo the Curse of Stephenarros.

                For nearly a year, Aliya had been getting her affairs in order, and trying to prepare for would could be a long perilous journey. She had taken to doing more chores for her family’s farm, shooing away any that told her she was working far too hard. She would smile, turning her gaze to them, and just merely state that she was building up her stamina for what about to happen. Though the family farm was not sure on help, she did have guilt about leaving, though that was often succinctly dismissed by the notion of what she was tasked to do. There were many sleepless nights, with their frequency increased as the day approached.

                This was the morning that she would depart for the Mythical Moose in at Standing Stone, four days travel from her home under walking conditions. Once she had awoken to the beam of sunlight coming through her room and the waft of the vineyard infiltrating her nose, her attention turned to the knocking at her door. With a bounce in her step, she rushed to the front door, fully expecting her family to be there. She was not let down. There stood her mother and father, both with wooden platter full of the freshest breakfast foods you could imagine. There were eggs, pitcher of milk, dry meats, and the aroma of newly baked bread quickly came in. Behind them stood her older brother, beaming with pride, almost father like, though he was only eleven months older than her. He was carrying two bottles, but not your typical wine bottle, these were made from wood, capped and tied up with string with a wax covering them. He would later tell her was two bottles of the family cellars, one from the year of her birth, and the other one from his that he had intended to open at his day of marriage. Though she walk balk, he insisted. Behind her brother her sisters stood, ranging from five years to seventeen years in age. Their hands were full of plates, knives, and cups, ready for the good journeys feast.

                Aliya quickly offered them into her small home, a home barely big enough for two now was filled from wall to wall. Though twenty-one in age, she still lived on the family farm, just a stone’s throw from her parent’s manor, and even closer to her brother’s home. Her home, sparsely decorated, had been home to many of the Tarransnows throughout the last two centuries. She had chosen this one as you could see the sunrise every morning, with the view of the fields an impressive one, perhaps the best view within the farm. Though the floor creaked, and walls moved a small bit, Aliya could not have been happier to have her family bustling around and having a merry time. She knew not what would come in the days, weeks, or however long this quest would take, but she was sure that this memory would be imprinted on her.

I started playing D&D when I was around 15, though it was almost always solo adventures with me as DM and player. Using random dungeon generation charts I would just plot out dungeons as I went with monsters and treasure randomly created as well. It was fun, for a while.

However, once I turned 18, I found a regular group. One I was coerced into DM'ing. I was DM for 20 years with only a few respites of actually playing any characters that were not in a game of my own creation. Over those 20 years, players have come and gone, wives have come and gone. (Sigh).

Some of my fondest memories were seeing the players bring those characters to life. From the start to finish, it was a trip I will hopefully always remember.

From the first adventure where I set up a land mine trap field that no one could make except for one character, sort of. On the last stone in the pond, he stated as I jump to the beach I let out a large cheer. Sadly he picked the one spot on a beach where another trap was set. The player thought I made it up, but it was too funny I showed the map to everyone. We all laughed and still to this day we warn of premature celebration.

Or whether it was a road trip with my first wife to the Baltimore Aquarium. She was about to play a half-high elf/half-aquatic elf. We spent the better part of 2 hours touring the Aquarium looking for cool sea life names. We found a couple, wrote them down and on the way back came up with a name: Nijessinni Coriadoras. (named after Apistogramma nijessini and Corydoras, an armored catfish).

My skills as a 3d-artist are such that I can finally fully see them, and put them on screen. I am doing about 22 of them up. (See Abbigail and Gideon). It is a blast going down this memory hole and one I surely needed to do. Especially as I piece together the adventures of old and make them new again.

As always, thanks for reading this, viewing my artwork, and posting what you do for me to look at.

Thanks! J