Brindle Goldenbeard, Muscle Mercenary

This is the story of Brindle Goldenbeard, the Dwarven Muscle Mercenary. Brindle only cared about three things. Mass, progressive overloading, and his beautiful golden locks. He had always been obsessed with his appearance, having broken his mother’s water after doing one too many burpees in the womb. His mom did not even have to push him out and Brindle pulled himself out with a single arm and immediately started doing single arm push-ups with the other arm.

The Truth

Brother Fennick’s neck was sore from checking over his shoulder as he made his way to the woods at the edge of the village. He rubbed the muscles holding his egg-shaped head, hoping to soothe them, but moreso to use up the anxiety coursing through his veins. It did little to help. He put out his small lamp and did what he could to pull up the ends of his robes to keep them from getting dirty. That was how he got caught last time. The older brothers made him dig new latrines for that particular indiscretion. He was unsure what they would do if they actually knew why he was going out into the forest at night.

The Bard's Song

Artist depiction of ennui.

Inside No It’s Not Urine tavern, Devon sat at the end of the bar tuning his lute. He had hoped to get some new strings earlier in the day so he could really go for it with the heavy stuff, but he needed money first. He had spent his last few slips getting a crushed velvet, feathered cap. It was a smart move, as most of the patrons cared far more about how he looked over anything that came out of his mouth, but it still hurt his pride.

Drow Council Minutes

Deep in the Underlands of Crimson Rock the light of cold, blue flames illuminated the spire towers which sat in opposition to the stalactites piercing the view from above. Like a great drooling maw, the Drow capital city of Uunderville made for an imposing backdrop. Most of the city was encased against the corner of the great cavern it sat in, with the main entrance fed into by a long, skinny stone bridge which spanned over a gaping chasm. The city removed much of its trash by dumping it into the black expanse. Many believed it led into the Under-Underlands, but none who ever ventured into it ever returned.

Within the city itself, atop the largest spire at the center of Uunderville sat a rather plain room. It had nothing in the way of adornments, and the only furniture it contained was a round, oak table and nine chairs. In contrast to its simplicity, this chamber would decide the machinations and fate for the thousands who lived and worked in the capital. The Drow Council, nine leaders who did not know one another’s true identities, were the de facto rulers of Uunderville. As a collective, they made the major decisions for the entire city. They were tasked with the rule of law, budgets, audits, and also little feedback slips which were often derogative and ignored. As they walked into the room and sat down, none of them knew it would be their last time.

The Final Voyage of Gopher

Artist depiction of the resting location of the trade ship, Gopher.

The following is an excerpt from an interview conducted by the Royal Coalition of Conductors of Interviews Not Music. The subject in question is Alfred Dogsbody, the sole surviving deckhand aboard the trade ship, Gopher. It was lost on its return to an unspecified port in Western Crimson Rock.

Tell us of the last morning of the ship, Gopher.

Beg your pardon, but I am Alfred.