Kanton Proper: Enter Leto

Leto was not in a good mood. Her mood was so far from good that you couldn’t throw a rock and hit good if you were the world champion rock thrower, which Leto certainly was not. She fumed as she walked into town on another useless errand for the evil, abusive man Leto’s mother had married.

“Go into town, Leto, and get me a barrel of mead from The Flagon.” She mocked him to no one in particular. “Clean out the stables, Leto. Make dinner, Leto. Stable the horses, Leto. Do the laundry, Leto.” She sneered, venom in her voice that she could never express at home. If she even so much as tried to argue with Balder she would receive a beating and a reminder that she wasn’t his daughter and that she was only there out of the goodness of his heart and she should be grateful he let her stay on and work for a roof and one square meal a day.

What made it worse was the fact that it was plainly obvious to everyone in town that Leto was an illegitimate bastard. There was no hiding the elven like features she had inherited from her real father. All of Mother and Balder’s other children were wholly human and long ago apprenticed to a respectable craft. She was the oldest and still had never been allowed to even try for an apprenticeship. Balder claimed he didn’t have the duty to make sure she was apprenticed, or even that she had a dower, because she wasn’t his own. She wanted to spit in Balder’s face.

If Leto had been able to be apprenticed, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be a great wizard by now. Her fledgling magical ability had been apparent from a very young age, also a legacy of her absent elven father. But Balder had refused to let her be apprenticed, so she had worked on her magic in secret, practicing her skills instead of sleeping, or on the road when she went into town. She had no idea how powerful she was, she had never been allowed to talk to any real wizards to find out. She knew that she had some skill in keeping the animals healthy and mending her own wounds, but she did the later very rarely. If Balder didn’t see the darkening patches of bruises from his last beating, he would beat her again. Balder was determined that she would remain an ignorant dependent of his for the rest of her life, effectively his slave.

Looking down at the scant amount of money Balder had given her to purchase a barrel of mead, she thought about running. Just taking the five coppers and running into the forest and never looking back. She was nineteen, long past the age acceptable for beginning apprentices. No one would take her without her parent’s permission anyway, not for wizardry, and she would never get Balder’s permission. Mother would never go against him either. She was too afraid of him. Thinking of the beating she would surely get at Baler’s hand if she was ever found, she decided that going to The Flagon and purchasing the barrel of mead would be the safer course of action.

Finding herself standing outside the door to The Flagon, she felt a strange pulse from within, almost like the world was being ripped apart and put back together. She shook her head and the feeling passed. She pushed to door open gently and was nearly knocked from her feet by someone barreling out into the street screaming for a Regen-Conduit. Leto knew she wasn’t a powerful wizard, and certainly not the best qualified to help in a situation like this, but her small talent could maybe stabilize someone long enough for a real wizard to get here.

“Let me in! I can help!” Leto called over the pandemonium that was taking place before her. No one seemed to pay attention to her. And why would they, she an unskilled, untrained worker not even good enough to be an apprentice? Pushing her way through the crowd, she tried to reach the figure laying on the floor. After several minutes she managed to squeeze in next to him. He was bleeding, badly. She reached out to touch him, calling on the power inside of herself that she used to cure farm animals of a lame foot or an upset stomach. Pushing that energy towards the boy on the floor, she tried to focus on making him stop bleeding, to make him get better, to live.

Almost immediately, the boy stopped bleeding and his breathing began to even out. With a sigh of relief, Leto pushed more and more energy into the boy. She was stopped abruptly by someone lifting her by the collar of her shirt.

“What are you doing, girl?” The single guardsmen employed at The Flagon was lifting her in the air so that she could hardly breath, her feet dangling several inches above the floor.

“I was t—” Leto gasped for a breath “trying to help.” She couldn’t get much more than that out because the lack of air was making her head hurt and her vision swim.

“Rat like you, trying to help? Only a Regen-Conduit can help that boy, now get out of the way!” The guard tossed Leto aside effortlessly, her small form going flying and crumpling against the wall. She fell, feeling the bruises beginning to form already.

Leto picked herself up, gasping for breath and dusting herself off. She had taken much worse at the hands of Balder, she would survive. She wanted to know if they boy was going to survive, so instead of buying the mead she had come for and returning home right away, she slipped into the corner of the room to wait and see what would happen.

Kanton Proper: Enter Hollan


He really should be used to it by now. But seeing the seal in his hands, bearing the standard “We’re sorry, but your apprenticeship testing is not adequate” parchment still stung as much now as it did then. How many was that now? Thirty two?

Hollan scoffed to himself. “Figures. The only thing I can get right is counting the wrongs.”

No matter the task, he just couldn’t seem to make it click in his head like any of the other apprentices. Bookbinding, carpentry, coopering, blacksmithing, fletching, every Master took him in for the three month initiation. And every one just as quickly booted him out once it was over. 20 years old and he still had no calling.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to take if he could find anything to be good at besides children’s games. Heck, he’d done well at the festival competition. Even placed fourth in the Gauntlet last year. But you’d never know it, because his brother was always one step (or in that case, three steps) ahead. His “Master of ranged combat, two schools of swordsmanship, all three Shaper disciplines, and three time Gauntlet champion” brother, Hero.

Really, what kind of parents name their child “Hero” anyway? You’d think there would be at least some subtlety when having a child you know is in a prophecy. Sure, it makes it easier to deal with certain people on the road, but it also nails a huge target to his chest. Even now he’s out there fulfilling his destiny of “Liberating the free men of Thaentor from the yoke of oppression.” And Hollan could care less. At least while he’s gone Hollan’s inadequacies weren’t nearly as noticible. He could go back to being “The Perpetual Failure.” Somehow it hurt less than “Kraegar’s Other Son.”

He wandered into The Flagon with a heavy sigh, and he was just about to sit at his seat at the bar when he was startled out of his melancholy by some applause. A quick glance didn’t show anyone else standing, but it couldn’t be meant for him. And then he spotted who was clapping. Garelton and his toadies, all sitting at a nearby table, grins on their faces ear to ear.

Guess it was meant for him after all.

Garelton got out of his chair casually and approached him closely, his crew alert, but hanging back. Hollan breathed a minor sigh of relief. There were enough people here this midday that if he was approaching by himself, he only meant to rile Hollan up.

“Hey, second-rater! Heard the good news! Looks like another Master wised up and cleaned the shop of the dirty offal that had been hanging around for months”, said Garelton.

Hollan had to work hard to bite back an insult. He tried to smile, but it was obvious that it was forced. “Seems that way.”

Garelton beamed even more, and then tried to show a sympathetic face. “Well, don’t you worry about us this time. Nobody was stupid enough to bet us that you’d last this time through…say, what were you studying anyway?”

Hollan gripped the rejection letter so hard it broke the wax seal, but kept his face impassive. “Animal husbandry.”

The entire bar erupted in laughter. Even the few friends he’d made in this tavern couldn’t help but crack up. Garelton lost his balance from laughing too hard and collapsed on the flagstones.

“You…mean that you…couldn’t even…by stars, what a simpleton!”

Hollan was prepared for any mocking Garelton might have thrown at him. But listening to every one else do the same brought tears he couldn’t stop. He quickly withdrew to his seat and buried his head in his arms. Even if he couldn’t stop crying, maybe he could keep his body from showing it.

Garelton picked himself off the ground, tears in his eyes as well. As he wiped his eyes, he shook his head. “Hey, don’t fret! I’m sure there’s a pig herder around here somewhere that needs a professional shit-shoveler.” This set off a new gale of laughter.

Then the bartender, a young man with an angry look on his face, came around and stopped halfway between the two. “That’s enough, Garelton. Either clear back to your table and stop bothering our guests, or take it somewhere else.”

Garelton dismissed him with his hand casually and wandered back to his friends. “Whatever you say.”

The bartender walked back behind the bar and laid a hand on Hollan’s shoulder. “Look, don’t let those idiots get you like that. You’re not all bad.”

Hollan didn’t even bother to lift his head. But his voice was still cracked. “Really, Zael? In what way?”

Zael stopped. He started to say something, then stopped again. “Uhm…hmmm…you’re not short…you…have black hair…your nose looks good.”

Hollan lifted up his head only far enough to glare at him.

Zael shrugged. “Hey, I’m sorry, but most of the time we were paying attention to your brother. HE’S the successful one.”

Hollan’s head dropped again. “Yeah. So glad he’s gone now. At least I won’t be hounded all the time for the next profession I’ll choke at.”

Zael looked puzzled. “Uh…what profession ARE you going to apply for now?”

Hollan wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeves and sat up straighter. “Ironically, it’s exactly what Garelton said. Farmer. It’s the only profession left. I don’t make it in that, then that’s it, I have to leave town.”

Zael’s eyes shot up in worry. “I’m sure they could make an exception for you, you are Kraegar’s son, after all.”

“No, they might have made one for Hero. As if he needed it. Me? I’ll have to leave Kanton permanently.”

Zael put his hand on Hollan’s shoulder, and tried to smile. “Then make sure this’ll be the right one!”

A very small smile crept onto Hollan’s face. “Heh. Yeah. To being a farmer.” He brought his glass to his chest in salute and gulped it’s contents all at once. “Can you let them know that I’m applying? I really don’t want to show up at their Master’s like this.”

Zael nodded. “Of course. I’ll get Jannah to cover the bar, and do it right now.”

Hollan stood and put his hand on Zael’s shoulder. “Thanks. Debt to you, sir.”

Zael ran to the back, brought a younger girl out, and jogged out the door.

Just as Zael turned out of sight, a realization hit Hollan, and he started towards the door. “Wait! I forgot to t…wait…uhm…ow?”

His eyes abruptly lost focus and he clenched his head in pain. A low moan came from his mouth and he dropped to his knees.

Garelton looked over and snickered. "What’s wrong, ignoramus?

Suddenly Hollan’s body seized backwards, and he let out a scream that echoed where it wasn’t supposed to. The entire tavern buckled like an earthquake, and the whole room seemed to warp itself. All the glassware started a tinny ringing, the mugs started frothing, and the candles seemed to reform back to before they were lit. Now the only light came from the outside sun and this aurora of rippling color fluctuating about the room. The customers started to panic and some ran desperately out to the street while others hid under the tables for dear life.

Then, all at once…SNAP. Everything seemed to change back to normal.

Well, A normal.

Where there used to be plain pine tables stood finely carved oak instead. Basic glass mugs were replaced with fine, carved pewter ones. The tavern room itself was a marvel of beauty and architecture. Even the clothes of the patrons seemed to change to finer ones. All except Hollan’s, which remained the drab, brown tunic he always wore. And now his unconscious body had blood coming out of every orifice. The patrons started to come out of hiding, and confusedly stared at their surroundings. Only when one woman looked down at Hollan did panic arise again as she screamed.

“We need a Regen-Conduit now! Someone’s been badly hurt!”

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.


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