Steadfast Campaign—Bloodwolves

History of the Bloodwolf Mercenary Guild

Fall of Aureny, 790gcy (Gods Calendar)

Three years ago Theron recruited mercenaries claiming to want to hunt orc. He formed a band of mercenaries, which including Warren and Marc. Successfully leading the group during an orc ambush, thanks in part to Father Dominick, a traveling Paladin who happened upon them.

In a bizarre set of circumstances, the band managed to rescued dwarven slaves, defeat the Frowning Mountain orcs, kill devils summoned by a dwarf warlock, and delivered a succubus back to the abyss. A chain of events started because of a cambion's wager over the soul of a girl who claimed to be Marc's long dead child.

He discussed with Dominick the idea of hunting demons which Dominick quickly shot down, so he declared that they would instead hunt gnolls and possibly some orcs near his intended destination, but in truth, he continued to planned for a demon hunt into the Winterwoods. The expedition got off to a rocky start when Father Dominic offered a cold-iron necklace to Marc's daughter, Sasha, as a gift. Secretly, he meant to confirm if the girl was human with the cold-iron, but a drug induced Marc mistakenly thought the paladin was showing interest in his ten-year-old daughter. Things turned further disastrous after the expedition got underway and they tracking gnolls into the Winterwoods. Winter witches.

Father Dominick attempted to speak with a group of three Winterwood hags. Unfortunately, Marc attacked as Dominick talked to the leader of the witches when a lesser demands the elder allow her to kill the men encroaching on their territory. They defeated the three, but in the brief struggle, their ranks were reduced from fifteen to seven. The expedition ended less than an hour after it started.

In 791gcy, a year after the failed expedition and the departure of Marc, Theron, Father Dominick, and Sasha formed a much more successful mercenary group, now lead by Dominick, that called themselves the Bloodwolves. Theron claimed they were demon hunters, but encounter neither demon nor devil since the chance meeting at Hope Village.

Not until 794gcy, when they joined forces with a group of Winter's Haven refugees fleeing towards safety lead by Erik Bennett and a band of former bounty hunters.

Morgan Roberts—"Digging Your own Grave"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

After a few months break, the mysterious tavern has started up once again. A lot changed at the end of the last arc. and a lot has stayed the same. The Lich was defeated by the makeshift party, we freed lady Aimee from her centuries-old imprisonment in the ruby ring. Unfortunately, The lich wasn't destroyed completely and she escaped with little Lucy. Morgan reveals his feelings to Ichabod but not long into their journey they are separated after she was caught up in a magical portal. The remainder of the party has to continue on its journey with few clues and fewer options.

He had been digging for a while in the spot where the woman had been before she disappeared. The soil was cold and damp as it clung to Morgan's hands, face and the tunic he wore over his chain shirt.  Most of the grime that covered his muscular form were provided by the oversized fox that had recently joined them on their fool's errand. The smell of the musty unearthed soil put Morgan on edge because of his recent dreams, but desperation had a hold of him, and he couldn't imagine that he could stop knowing this was the last place she was before she disappeared. Even in the pirate's innermost thoughts, it was difficult to form the syllables of the sorceress's name. He had spent a great deal of his life cultivating his disdain for people who possessed magic. It pained him that he couldn't rid himself of his old animosity for the people he cared for; not Antoinette; not Lucy; and not her. He asked himself was his current efforts because he cared about them or an attempt to compensate for the guilt.

In short order—or maybe after a very long time, he was unable to recall just now—the little hole had become a small burrow in the corner of the cave room. The shaft descended beneath the floor at a sharp angle, still far enough to leave Morgan turban deep into the pit. As the hole expanded, Morgan tried to chase off the thought that his concern for Antoinette and Aimee were afterthoughts, a deception to convince himself that it wasn't insanity over the dark haired woman that gripped him.

He paused a moment mindlessly mixing the dirt on his hands with that on his leather leggings in a futile attempt to clean away the worse of the mud. His thoughts nagged at him as he again busied himself with his task. That the task was his duty wasn't at all true, wasn't even a worthwhile endeavor. Morgan figured if he thought it long enough it might become true enough for him to believe. It was a pleasant lie to himself as opposed to considering the similarities of his situation to his fathers.

Creeping up from its hiding place in the back of Morgan's mind came one of Ghalib sharp barbs delivered in his father's annoyingly amused raspy voice. "O'course it be an idjut like ye t'be diggin' y'own grave pursuin' a witch cunt ye sweet on."

Before he could start in on dear old dad's imaginary voice, he was thrown suddenly backward. Snapped out of his reverie, he realized he was being pulled by the scruff of his neck up and out of his recent excavation. Too exhausted to fend off whatever had likely made a snack of the halfling before sneaking up on him, he was dragged helplessly up and out of the small pit by the creature. The beast panted quietly, despite what appeared to be little effort on its part. His own breathing was still labored from his previous efforts, and he lay helpless and weary on his back awaiting his fate.

Moments later, two heads crowded his vision, one of a halfling, Vira or something like that, other of a fox, it had a silly name he'd failed to remember. They started telling him something, but it was drowned out by the sound of falling dirt and stone collapsing nearby and the gravelly mound of dirt he was pulled onto was distractingly comfortable as well.

Morgan Roberts—"Hate & Hypocrisy"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

In the last few weeks of the Mysterious Tavern, The lich had former members of the party killed and turned into vampires. Having just won a battle against former allies, Morgan was forced to question his beliefs; a collapsing house of cards made of his prejudices against magic and an impractical chivalrous-pirate code.

It was at that moment that I realized the depth of my hatred of magic. Not because of Lucy's deception, though it was that which hurt the most; not because we were forced to battle former allies taken by vampirism; Not even because the Lich, that seems to delight in our misery. What made apparent the truth of my depravity of my hatred was what I was unable to do. 

I charged past Lady Triton, a woman that was as surely deserving of her fate as Lord Triton himself. I couldn't raise my sword to attack Arowyn, though she was the most capable warrior amongst the vampirelings. Tassalia. I had cut down without any hesitation. 

The fight had left little time to think. It was afterward, after defeating the lich, when once more we stood stymied by god forsaken magic; when it felt there was nothing but time. I spent all my litany of curses, cast all my accusatory stares; now there was nothing left that would defer my reflections. 

I surely regretted my decision to stopped drinking so heavily.

I had attack Tassalia because she was a magic user. I hadn't seen her as a person or a woman. I had effortlessly cast aside my personal code because of my hatred; because of my fear. Then my thoughts drifted to Lucy, whom I held dear since the moment I met the child. She had suffered. Once I learned she wielded magic, all I could offer was additional suffering. As for Ichabod...My soul was as warped as the derro of Ichabod's tales. The hate I felt had corrupted me as readily as any magic.

At that moment, and long after, I believed myself to be a monster; now consider it the moment when I stopped.

—

Memoirs of the Scarlet Corsair, Morgan Roberts

D&D 5e Character: Hi-Ghrock the Clanless

Bio

• Race: Goliath 
• Class: 1 Fighter / 2 Warlock
• Background: Outlander(Outcast of the Hungry Sky Clan)
• Gender: Male
• Age: 62
• Eyes: White (originally Dark Grey)
• Hair: Grey 
• Height: 7' 2"
• Weight: 350

Ability Scores

Strength          17
Dexterity         10
Constitution      14
Intelligence      13
Wisdom            14
Charisma          16

Traits

• Personality.  I watch over my friends as if they were my herd. I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners are poor substitutes for power.
• Ideal. I must prove that age hasn't caught up with me, and I will survive in spite of my former tribe.
• Bond. I suffer awful visions of a coming disaster, and I must find the strength to claim victory.
• Flaw. I remember every insult I've received and nurse a silent resentment towards anyone who's ever wronged me.

Hi-Ghrock was always selfish. He looked upon his Hungry Sky clan as his possessions. To his benefit, his zealous protection of what was his was mistaken for true concern for his tribesmen. Thought the years started to catch up to Hi-Ghrock, he was cunning and used his winters of experience to thrive while all who shared a similar name-day went into exile or perished.  His place in the clan endured.

Tens of winters ago, Hi-Ghrock discovered a temple hidden in the side of the mountain. He knew it was a place of corruption, but he was driven to claim what was rightfully his. He had slowly taught himself to read and write using the ancient secrets contained in the mountain temple. Secrets that allowed him the edge he needed over would-be competitors.

During his 60th winter Hi-Ghrock's eyes began to cloud, and time of his exile would soon follow.

The corrupt temple had rituals that could help, but they required unspeakable things that gave even the ruthless Hi-Ghrock pause. His sight diminished, and whispers of his exile grew. Desperation and his own ego wore away at his reservations. He performed the rituals, summoned a fiend and made what he deemed a small but reasonable bargain...

Hi-Ghrock found himself blind, starved and without a clan.  He mused about how the treacherous creature proved wiser and more ruthless than he. The demon stood over his pathetic form and had a hearty laugh at the old goliath's expense. He was infuriated. Hi-Ghrock met the attractive creatures gaze as it curled up next to him, only then realizing that it had finally fulfilled its end of the bargain. 

That day, the goliath met the too pretty gaze of the creature, unable to look away. It looked into his now white eyes and told him, "If you're not quite ready to die, I'm sure we can come to some form of arrangement." At that moment, and many of night since, he wished for blindness to not have seen that horrifyingly satisfied smile.

Letter to Grand Master Rabin

Letter to Grand Master Rabin

Responding to correspondence found here.

Greetings Grand Master Rabin,

I am pleased to inform you that Alessa has been defeated by doppelgangers. It would have been unfortunate if such an easily defeated member of our order had failed to offer Grand Master Kibbe an honorable death.

At this time I am assisting a priest at the Temple of the Five with repairs needed for the earth goddess altar in Shadowleaf Bay. Also, I have already pledged to drive the Marazzer from Greth and as such can not fulfill my obligations.

Despite my obligations as killer of Alessa’s killer, I am going to have to turn down the Grand Master title. I will of course give Grandmaster Kibbe the honorable death he richly deserves if he proves too cunning for the would be doppelganger assassins. I have faced doppelgangers in battle, so I doubt that his ailments will be much of a hindrance.

With Great Respect,

Master Sakhr Qasim

PS: I have include a second tablet of my exploits and a prayer that was given to me at the Temple of the Five.

Second Tablet

… itemized list of mostly marazzer and changelings...

Pray to Runan

Man pilfer grains of Earth Goddess power,
and from those pilfered grains man gained life.
We all are worthy of the Earth Goddess wrath.

Runan is swayed from her wrath, because we are of her own image.
Man covets his domain; the blazing hearth, a declaration of his power.
In the chaos of battles and storms man’s home fire blazes bright;
leaving smoky plums to rises, mocking the goddess of air,

Runan is swayed from her wrath, because we are of her own image.
With her hatred man makes war upon her enemies,
With her cunning man hunts her enemies and becomes stronger,
With her power man forces stability onto the maelstrom.

Runan is swayed from her wrath, because she is cunning.
When man’s battle has ended the goddess offers them her home,
When man returns her power she is made stronger,
from the stolen grains, the Goddess gains ten fold.

Sakhr Qasim