Ondo 7th Morgron - Year of the Stonehammer
Monsters Slain (3) Dungeons Looted (0) Gold Earned (20) Treasure Looted (Quill and Parchment) Lord Cleaver (Still a turd).
I suppose I should introduce myself first as a matter of formality. My name is Stephan. Stephan Strongblade to be mostly exact although I do have other names, by way of the Corrun Strongblades, a fairly wealthy merchant family who run weapons and metal goods from the Lake of Dead Floaters to Roger's Roost way up in the cold Northern provinces.
I left home at 14 to pursue a career as a Cleric's apprentice. It turns out that Brother 'Fingers' McPhail was a bit too partial to the Dragonsbreath spirits and his vow of chastity was about as water-tight as a Norne Whore's under-crackers. Not so very. I left him dead in a ditch somewhere in the Forest of Sticks. Shot in the face by a poachers arrow. Shame, but he had it coming I reckon.
At the age of 16 I finished up working on a farmstead just outside Wycbold. Nice little village and very friendly people right up until the Rust Orc invasion in the YO Razorsharp. I helped to burn the dead and found that I had become rather adept with the sword out of sheer terror. I don't mind letting you know, dear reader, that I crapped myself that day in a rather slack and literal sense. It wouldn't be the last time. By my 18th Winter I was guarding 'trade' caravans on the White Coast run. My parents wouldn't have approved of the cargo, but I was earning a living by my sword, speed, wits and all that and was getting a bit of a name for myself as a right nasty bastard.
My world turned on slotting bandits and rutting with whomever I fancied. Always willing though. Never let it be said that Stephan Strongblade lacked a moral compass. The compass don't always point North but I'm usually one to protect the ladies if they are in distress or at least have a fat stash behind them. I don't mind taking payment in kind either. Makes the world go round don't it. The next ten years or so were a whirlwind of slaying, maiming, stealing, drinking, shagging and all that good stuff.
I even did a few stints in various dungeons. Bribed my way out of one and escaped from the others. I tried to keep the body count to a minimum because by that time I had a real bad reputation through most of the major towns and cities of the provinces. I still have a price or two on my head although I have tried to make amends where I can, but sometimes the scars are just a bit too deep you know? and it's hard to bring back the dead. I've known enough Necromancers to know that that's not really an option.
So here I am in my 30th Year and I've just found this enchanted quill and parchment. I say 'found' but the body of Gazoo The Magnificent is at least a week old and has begun to pong a little. The contract said 'dead or alive' so I'm in the clear and for once I didn't do the dirty deed. I just tracked his wagon for two weeks out of Tinth and found him dead on the road along with his hired thugs. Lucky for me I had a scroll to identify magic stuff and this here quill and parchment shone up like a firework on the solstice. Anyone else would have left it for rubbish. This quill never runs out of ink and the parchment holds as many words as the Star Sea holds water so I reckon it's time to start keeping a journal.
I'm a famous hero you see or sometimes a villain depending on who you talk to, maybe a little short of a legend, but having my memoirs behind me should keep me in ale and whores when my glory days have run on by and my arm is too sparrow-weak to swing old Lord Cleaver, my 'intelligent' sword that has just enough intelligence to be a total shit about it. Here's a very potted history as they say and I'll try and write regular and such. My next job is to get this stinking wizard back to Tinth so that I can get paid. I've turned bounty hunter for a while you see and although it's a bit lonesome sometimes, it's given me a bit of thinking time.
Must be getting old... until next time.