# The Travels of Torvick Tand



## Natural 20 (May 19, 2006)

This Story Hour is comprised of the first person journal of my PC Torvick Tand, a human Bard4/Rogue5. Torvick has come to life as a new character in a homebrew campaign being run by my friend Steve. The other players in this group are my friends Ken and Laszlo. Ken has been the primary DM for this group for the last 18 months, and he is taking a well deserved break. Ken and I rolled up new characters, but the remainder of the PCs (lvls 10 & 11) are survivors from the last adventure.

The spirit of this Story Hour is to explore another way to enjoy the D&D expereince and to practice writing skills. Writing skills are very important in all aspects of life. Just think that if one has the discipline to write 1000 words a week summarize that week's session, and if the group meets every week, then at the end of a year 52,000 words will have been accumulated. That would be a great accomplishment!

Comments/Feedback/Constructive Criticism are Welcome!


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## Natural 20 (May 19, 2006)

So where and am I, and what am I doing?  This seems like as good a time as any to pick up quill and parchment and capture these fleeting moments in writing. Although the present conditions are not ideal for writing, I do have the light of a full moon and a nearly spent Sunrod that together are providing sufficient light. At this very moment I am high atop the mast of a sturdy galleon, snugly perched in the crow’s-nest. Once again adventuring, I am currently the guest of one Captain Reminger aboard the SeaDog – bound for Brem on the Coast of Ammon. Having drawn the last watch of the night, all is well several hours before dawn. The sea is calm and there are favorable winds – we should reach our destination in just two days – “Obad-Hai willing” as they say – not that I believe that hogs-spittle.

It is too early to tell if it is in fact good fortune or not, but I have found a new band of adventurers with whom to slog the rutty roads and hack through the bloody fields of battle. Of course, I would not be surprised to find myself crawling a dungeon once again, but seeing as I am trying to put my rogue-ing, lock-picking, device-disabling days behind me that is not really my first choice. From here on out I prefer the open road, traveling from village to village, always in search of the next stage, be it within tavern or townhall, ever anxious to practice the performing arts for fun and profit. Back to my new companions though, while they do seem a motley crew, I do discern them to be true of heart and trustworthy, if not somewhat simple-minded as groups go.

I met the first of the bunch on the road to Greyhawk – a rather largish Monk named Percival who, although as strong and smelly as two oxen, does indeed appear to be vastly more stupid than even one of those beasts of burden. I had just finished singing a particularly moving rendition of The Legend of Gautheous, Vampire of the Spires for some passing travelers in hopes of picking up a few pieces of gold. Percy, which is the name he goes by, took a liking to my singing and playing. It was hard to get used to his manner of speaking at first but somehow he stammered out the phrase “which way we go now?” Although I was initially perplexed at his use of the word “we” I replied “onward to Greyhawk – follow me” – we have been traveling together ever since.

Turns out, according to his story, Percy is an orphan, left on the steps of the monastery when only several days old. If his present large stature is indicative of his size at the time of his birth I can’t say as I blame the mother – the initial passage of this beast-child would surely be the beginning of a lifetime of motherly worries, not just the exclamation point at the end of difficult labor and a more so harrowing delivery. I know it sounds cruel, but perhaps it was the better choice ….her “loss” has proven to be our “gain.”

Sad as it sounds this band has apparently been through some hard times. Despite many moons of adventure, treasure-wise they do seem to be a bit poverty stricken and broken in spirit. I have heard tell of several fallen comrades who had grown so weary of the grind that upon their passing they had left specific instructions to not be restored in any way. The fact of this party’s material poverty was amply demonstrated in the way they behaved after a recent conquest in battle. Earlier on this very day we encountered and vanquished a giant octopus. It was a small task for Percy to haul the slithery beast onto the deck. Understandably there wasn’t anything of much value on the outside of this fallen foe, but what, if anything lay within? Our fighter, who I will introduce in due time, deftly rendered the sea-beast with a skilled sweep of his longsword – this action spilt the contents of the gut sloppily across the deck. Right there, partially digested, but still recognizable were the remains of a humanoid who, by now, was profoundly past his prime. This scabrous band then declared in unison “Let’s search the body!” Once I recovered from this novel concept, so originally phrased I might add, I attempted to distance myself, not being personally interested in joining in to stir through the “chime and chunks” for a few acid etched pieces of silver.   

As I walked away towards the forecastle though I heard evidence of a find! Squeals of delight, mostly likely originating from the reedy vocal chords of our druid, announced the recovery of a smallish black pouch. I turned in time to see Percy snatch the pouch from the druid and then proceed to loose the drawstring. As soon as he opened it…


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## Gargoyle273 (May 19, 2006)

*Wasnt it an octopus?*

Thats awesome! keep it up and expect free stuff in game.   
Im a sucker for out of game character development.


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## Natural 20 (May 20, 2006)

… the oafish-orphan-monk extracted a small, strange object, and, without hesitation, threw it in my direction. What I did to deserve this odd behavior I will never know, but I will give him the benefit of the doubt and ascribe his inappropriate assault to “nervous energy.” 

Being about fifteen feet away I did have a brief instant to observe the object as it arced towards me, tumbling end over end… it was about the size of a small pickle and had black leathery surface – if I was to guess from the way light played on its matte surface I would say it appeared “greasy.”

Normally I’d have been able to leap out of its path nimbly, but I must be rustier than I thought. The thing hit me squarely in the chest with a force of impact no more than what you’d expect from a smallish, greasy, leathery, flying pickle, but then suddenly… PFFFZZZzzzzzzttttttttTTTTTzzzzkkkPOP!!!  …a brilliant octarine flash nearly blinded me, and a bizarre acrid smoke burned in my nostrils.

As I reeled backwards from the shock of this magical release I saw a dark, large mass materialize from the midst of the explosion – then a loud thud, as the thing hit the deck under the force of gravity. It became quickly apparent that the object was a living creature, which, thrashing about, was easy to identify as a dolphin.

To be sure, I was surprised by this turn of events, but I tried to imagine what it might be like to be this summoned dolphin. One minute you’re a flying pickle, and the next you are a bonefide dolphin flopping about on the deck of a ship surrounded by strangers. I guess even summoned dolphins know that they belong in water, so with one of two powerful sweeps of its tail it pushed itself up off of the deck and over the rail, gracefully entering the churning sea with a silent splash.

Closer inspection of the pouch revealed nine more of these little pods. I suppose that if we keep these in a safe dry place, and make sure no one confuses them with a suppository in the mean time, these gifts from the belly of an octopus just might come in handy someday.


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## Natural 20 (May 21, 2006)

Did I mention how the octopus made the transition; from the living to the dead; from being neatly bound up and whole, to being dead on the deck and splayed open for inspection? In my rush to describe the flying pickle it seems like I glossed over that sequence of events.

So as to not deprive the record of such vital information let me say that the beginning of his end came near the end of that first night watch of mine. The gentle predawn breeze was temperate and had lulled me into a relaxed state of well being. A sense of accomplishment prevailed as I celebrated my newfound commitment to journal keeping. 

Then without any other sign, an eerie stillness overtook the ship and surrounding sea. A quick scan overboard in all directions did not reveal anything out of the ordinary – until –I noticed a glowing trail of phosphorescence emerging from the deep, and moving rapidly towards the surface. As the trail ascended it seemed to bloom and dart about wildly – first off the starboard side, then dipping beneath the hull, and reappearing portside near the surface. It wasn’t until a thick tentacle arched over the rail and slapped the deck with a loud thwack that I recognized the beast for what it was; a giant octopus. I sounded the alarm and clambered out of my perch to render assistance deck side.

As I scrambled down the rope ladder the rest of my party responded to the call to arms. Our fighter however wasted those precious first moments internally debating as to whether or not to wear his full armor for this, our first battle. I guess the thought of his sinking like a rock should he fall overboard did not appeal to him. Percy on the other hand did not suffer from a similar thought of sinking. Then again, simple minded Percy and a thought, a thought of any kind, do not seem to go together. He just saw an opportunity to hit something and made haste accordingly.

No sooner than the tentacle retracted, I heard the sound of splintering wood. I looked over just in time to see a huge hunk of the portside railing, along with some top deck planking, disappear in the grasp of the powerful monster.

The stroke of a longsword hissed through the air as Percy landed a solid blow at the base of the tentacle. Unfortunately no damage was done. Another crash of splinters, and more of the railing and deck disappeared, this time the location more amid ship. Luckily all the damage was occurring above the waterline.

The rest of the party had joined the battle by this time. However, even as we landed blows, no damage was registering. As for my own effectiveness, I am sorry to confess to being reduced to spectator status – my shortsword had proven itself relatively impotent in these circumstances. Please do not over analyze my assertion in the previous sentence.

My effectiveness was further diminished by my inability to maneuver to a favorable position for attack. Well that plus, no one among my fellow combatants was willing to jump overboard to engage this tangle of tentacles in the water just to provide me with the advantage of a flanking position. I guess I see their point to some extent, but really, were we actually going to make any progress with a one-sided attack using an array of weapons that were about as productive as flyswatters under these circumstances? I think not.

Meanwhile, the beast landed a vicious blow with its tentacle (what else could it be but the blow of a tentacle? – it’s an Octopus for crying’ out loud!) slashing across Percy’s torso and it was not looking good for our team. The hit staggered Percy as he lost his footing and fell backwards to the deck.

It wasn’t until our druid…


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## Natural 20 (May 21, 2006)

*reserved for resolution of the battle*

reserved for resolution of the battle


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## Natural 20 (May 21, 2006)

*Taking Stock of the Situation*

As we get closer to our destination perhaps a mental inventory is in order to assess my readiness for what lies ahead. All that is known of our mission is that the village of Brem has been overtaken by some evil influence – its populace has been turning up missing at an alarming rate. So much so that one Brother Darcerus from the temple of Pelor has sent an urgent request for assistance, in the form of a letter, to Brother Pellavus, who we had met in Greyhawk, but I had previously failed to name.

As for myself I don’t get too worked up over the eternal struggle between good and evil – my preference to is to stay out the fray until opportunity presents itself. That puts in mind a good motto – “Neutral is Natural.” Hey, that has a nice ring to it; worth writing down – done, and done!

I’ll leave the goody-two-shoes role, and all though goes with it to our paladin Theolonius, one of the “veterans.” He seems motivated and capable to vanquish evil and all; at least on paper he does. His intentions may be noble, but according to the stories bandied about from the last campaign, a campaign I might add that had a higher mortality rate than Kobold children at an alligator festival, he may have plenty of room for improvement. To wit, it is said that his most memorable accomplishment from the Battle at the Spire was his clumsy and untimely loss of his axiomatic longsword.

As the story goes they had encountered some animated slime just outside the main door to the evil and menacing Gautheous’s chamber, and Theo saw fit to take a couple of whacks at its oozy-ness. Of course it was easy to hit; a mere inconvenience. The last of three hits though resulted in this highly prized and valuable weapon being absorbed into the ooze and lost forever. Oh well, I hate when that happens.  Why no one thought to warn him that sometimes “easy-to-hit oozes gobbles up such weapons” is surely a mystery for the ages.

So, you ask, what did they do? – they surely must have known the odds against them and turned back to restock, or at least reassess the situation. You would think, but no, as I’ve been told Theo said something like – “Well, we’ve come this far; it will probably be a easy fight on the other side of this highly fortified door – the Good Pelor surely knows we’ve worked long and hard enough to have earned a cakewalk to end this thing!” 

Uh, yeah, that makes a lot of sense – let me know how that works out for you big guy. Of course I speak rhetorically; the results are clearly evident now – a bloody, devastating battle ensued and half the party was ushered into the great beyond. I’ve mentioned the departed before – no one really even wanted to “come back.” With that being said, I guess I ‘m as ready a bard could be for whatever lies ahead.

I do hope however that the guitar I bought in Greyhawk is magically enhanced against slime, in case I am reduced to actually swinging it in battle as a weapon of last resort. Give me a minute, I need to check the owner’s manual – I’m good – no problems here – yeah, right…


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## Gargoyle273 (May 23, 2006)

*A guitar of exceptional quality*

Torvic closes the journal for the day, content that he has updated the record for now as he had committed to do. His companions lay about the carriage purchased earlier that day. The short cleric Adar, has done all he can to help the small band of adventurers who barely came through a battle in the night against several swarms of blood sucking scourges. 

"Why don’t you play us a song while I clean, Mr. Tand?" calls the cleric as he removes hundreds of bodies of scourges from the once dry campsite. Torvic smiles and pulls out the guitar he had purchased a few weeks ago in Greyhawk. He grimaces to himself silently as he recalls the extravagant price asked at the instrument shop. "200 gold indeed!" he bemoans as his fingers reach for the tuning pegs. 

As he tunes the strings to their optimum note, he notices two tiny holes and a faintly outlined indentation about them near the top of the guitar under the strings. "That’s funny," he thinks aloud, "it almost as if there was some kind of plaque here that has fallen off with time.” Thinking back to the days of his bardic studies with his large Tand extended family, Torvic recalls a ballad sung by his uncle Nicolas Tand. The ballad told of a great crafter of fine instruments, legendary in his time, named Sir Brakis Halloway from the eastern shores of Gel Durad. Halloway’s works were priceless even in his day, but the elven nation Gel Durad had been destroyed long ago by the orcish warlord Relnoyan Eyes-like-blood. Most of Halloway’s works had been lost in the war, a great cultural tragedy. If this guitar had actually been made by Halloway, it would be worth thousands, maybe more to the right collector!! 

“Huh? What worth thousands?” says the large Percy from near the campfire. “Me like money.” 

“Uh, nothing nothing.” Tand replies as he realizes he had been thinking outloud. He goes back to playing a soothing tune for his companions on what he just realized may certainly be a very precious work of art.


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## Natural 20 (May 26, 2006)

*Percy catches, something...*

While oftentimes the playing of the guitar is quite relaxing, the events of the last several days continue to rattle loudly in my head; so much so that I must attempt to write these events down in the hopes that the very act calms my mind. In a relatively short time two major skirmishes and many miles have passed, both while traveling on sea and on land.

The first encounter, the clash with the octopus while aboard the _Sea Dog_ was draining, but we prevailed – no loss of life, well, none within our party. One of Captain Reminger’s men, a poor useless sot if ever there was one, fell upon misfortune shall we say. I do find this amazing because, to a man the Captain’s crew proved utterly useless in battle. It was surely an accident that this bloke found himself anywhere near enough the action to have been mortally wounded. I suspect in his attempt to flee a perceived danger at the bow he rushed headlong into the true danger at the stern – the initial point of contact with the tentacle-ed beast – the saying “…out of the frying pan, into the fire…” seems apropos. 

I was surprised to learn that amongst the weapons of the octopus is a powerful bite. Heretofore I had assumed that they simply strangled their prey with those awesome tentacles. Little did I know – no room for confusion however after this battle, as the ship itself bore ample evidence of vicious biting. Numerous chunks where missing from the topdeck planking – in addition, vast lengths of railing were torn asunder an altogether missing. I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate though that none of the structural voids ventured beneath the waterline. Otherwise we’d have been sunk – literally.

Given the choice between finding a nearby island to make repairs, or to press-on at slightly reduced speed and make the repairs while en-route, we decided to press. As you might have been able to guess the crew once again proved themselves to be beyond useless. Our party, as paying customers, not only had to act as sole defenders, but now also carpenters and repairmen for the ailing ship.

After pitching in to make the ship right once again we each found our own ways to pass the time. As for myself, writing, and playing my guitar, of course. Percy decided to attempt fishing in the wake with the rod he bought in Greyhawk. Despite his immense size and intimidating carriage he proved to be squeamish in the face of baiting the hook. I had to do it for him the first time, and from the look of anguish on his face at the fate of the still wriggling baitfish I though he was going to keel over fainted. He managed to stay upright and thereafter was a master… scratch that – let’s just say he became quite proficient at baiting the hook.

Seems like not more than a couple of minutes passed before Percy was seen setting his hook after sensing several firm tugs administered by an unseen creature of the deep. Turns out he landed a very large, and extremely rare variety of turtle – a _Dragon Turtle_ to be exact. It did not take long for us to realize, once we actually saw this immense creature, that rather than saying “Percy caught a big turtle," the fact of the matter was that _it_, was in the process of catching _us_…


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