Campaign Logs

The Jade Letters

By Beth Griese

Date:   December 7, 1996


Bearded fellow

Supreme Being

Jim Leitzel


Blonde human

Tempus Cleric

Brian Smith

B'rinth L'rea

Gold Elf


Vaughan Herron


Gypsy woman


Beth Griese

Nory Gnome Illusionist/Thief Stu Collins
Telaran 1/2 Elf, Buzz cut fighter Jim Gaynor
Verence Gallow Thin human Mystra Cleric Kent Jenkins

Quote of the Day:
"Jim, that's sick. Put it in your mouth and swallow it." --Brian Smith

A note to readers:
The Company of the Keg is the name of the first group of characters our group, with the exception of Kent and the addition of an old friend, played. They were a much more raucous bunch than our current batch of adventurers, as this story will probably show. About 30 years had passed between the time the Company of the Keg had their adventures and the time that the Wayfarers began their adventurers. Since this was engineered by our dear GM to get some raucous laughter over where our old characters had ended up, it's chock full of inside jokes. Please bear with the nostalgia, and see if you can figure out which players played which old characters.

To Garen Thundersson, cleric of Mielikki. From your faithful servant, Jade.

Once we all had our wits around us again, we put the couatl feathers we had retrieved for our mysterious wizard onto his magical plate as instructed. Sure enough, the feathers melted into the tray, and it felt as though we followed, being transported yet again. This time, our feet found their way into a city alley. Thankfully, no one was in the alley at the time to spot our arrival.

The second object we were to retrieve was even more mysterious-sounding than the first: "A tun of blessed Hallowed Ale, that has had Sir Perschetti's own holy symbol dipped into it while the blessing is cast." At least we had no qualms about the nature of the object we had to find: blessed, hallowed ale with a holy symbol dipped into it? And in the middle of a simple town? No threat loomed here.

The town, unsurprisingly, was unfamiliar to us. We were in a mountainous area, with brisk air and pine scent. The people were dressed simply, with none of the adventurer's gilt and glitter that's so much the rage back home. We only got a few strange glances when we asked a passer-by what city we were in - Everlund, the other side of the continent from Arabel - and where Sir Perschetti could be found - the Company's Keg tavern, not twenty feet away.

So, while our last object rested under the dust of who-knows-how-many hundreds of years of abandonment, this one was in the midst of a bustling tavern and inn. What a welcome change! We entered the Company's Keg and found a well-furnished inn inside, with friendly-enough attendants. We purchased rooms for the night and asked after Sir Perschetti. He, a young fellow at the door told us, is the high sheriff of this city of Everlund, and a paladin of Torm. An impressive-sounding man, except that the fellow also told us that a song, The Ballad of Sir P, was his greatest monument. I've heard the Ballad of Sir P sung in our taverns, and while it's a catchy bar tune, I don't think it's much to his credit that such a song, about a short fellow's misadventures and stumbles into victory, be his legacy. Ah well. Sir P - that is, Lord Perschetti - was expected to make his usual appearance at the tavern that night.

With an afternoon in blessed peace to ourselves, the party split up to take care of whatever it was we wished to take care. Verence and I bought supplies, and I also took some jade beads I had received as my portion of the treasure from the couatl home to a gemsmith to have made into matching jade-and-silver chokers for Borreau and I. Nory and B'rinth, Mielikki help us all, went to the jewelry district, and managed to return without any dragoons on their tail or damaged buildings in the district. Borreau, as far as I can tell, simply wandered the town, and Telaran made use of the inn's bath house.

As evening arrived, so did the owners of the Company's Keg, and their old friends. The first man we met was serving as the bartender, even though he was one of the owners. His name was Bergil, and he looked to have spent plenty of time testing the bar's wares. He is also, as it turns out, the author of the Ballad of Sir P, although his eyes rolled with disgust whenever that title was mentioned. He and an illusionist, a palsy, skeletal fellow named Panji with eyes that lit so brightly you'd swear he was enchanted, entertained the early crowd with some tunes and illusional accompionment. They played a few more songs until breaking to speak with another friend, a stout old fellow with bright red nose and drinking gut with the name of Arek Goodale, not surprisingly.

The evening was going pleasantly enough, although we jumped at every opening of the door, until it finally burst open to admit a man almost as wide as he was tall. Which isn't much of an insult against his girth, considering his height. Nory could practically meet his eye - or at least, his shoulder. He was encased in over-polished metal, with symbols of Torm blazoned on almost every flat surface. This, as the greetings of the entire bar confirmed, could only be our Sir Perschetti.

But speaking with Sir Perschetti, as it turned out, was more difficult than we had expected. First the paladin had to have a long conversation with the bard and the illusionist, and just when it seemed Bergil was going to remember his promise to introduce us to Sir P, a new arrival threw things into a tizzy again. A little gnome woman - yes, a gnome woman, Nory's own race, threw open the door with a lot of bluster and bustle. Another friend of Sir P's, for she headed right to their table, loudly insulting them all, but the wide smiles on everyone's faces took away any concern from it. Nory, meanwhile, had almost dropped his jaw into his mug. The gnome was a pretty woman, even for a gnome, and poor Nory seemed sotted from the first glance. He stumbled up and almost made it halfway across the room to the table of old adventurers - for that was surely what they were - when one more arrival made himself known. This fellow arrived in the most unusual way, swirling into the midst of the room with glitter and the smell of fresh forests that made me sigh. His unusual entry was almost immediately explained; he was an elf, apparently a master magician and, according to the whispers of the tables around us, a member of the elvish nobility. I immediately checked on B'rinth to see if he had managed to keep his chair without falling out, but he,for some reason, was more interested the Goodale fellow. I'll never understand elves.

Now, hope seemed dim that we would ever get to speak with Sir Perschetti, for this group of strange fellows had gathered tightly around a table, with waitresses coming and going so quickly you could hardly keep track of them, except for those who were snatched up momentarily by Bergil or the not-so-frail Panji. Conversation was so loud the whole bar grew in volume to make up for it, but the Company of the Keg, as we found out they were called, still managed to burst into shouts or laughter that overrode it all from time to time, especially when they would all shout "I scuff the pentagram!", turn their heads, and spit in unison. At last, though, the bard seemed to remember his promise, and Bergil and Sir Perschetti headed our way, which also garnered us the attention of the rest of this strange group, too.

Sir Perschetti, as it turned out, was a very friendly fellow, and although he had a sly way of asking us for "donations" to the poor of the city in return for the use of his ale and his blessing, he was a straightforward enough fellow. Verence, for some unfathomable reason, stepped in to immediately agree to the first price Sir P named for his services, which seemed to shock Verence as much as it did me, and to disappoint Sir Perschetti. But with those formalities out of the way, he agreed to provide us with our ale and our blessing come morning. None too early in the morning, I noticed, but morning none the less.

Those attentions of the rest of the group that I mentioned had mixed results for us. The emaciated illusionist made his appearance by hovering over my head and making rude comments about my... well, regarding certain attrib... that is, he managed to say enough to get both me and Borreau very upset. Since it wouldn't much do to flatten the friend of the man who was to give us his blessed holy ale in the morning, though, we were happy enough when his friends carted him away. Nory finally got his chance to speak with the gnome woman who, we found, was named Brandel, and runs a gnome temple in Waterdeep - an impressive position. She and Nory showed off their... penchants... to each other by attempting to pick each others' pockets, Nory with dismal failures, Brandel by handing back to Nory practically everything he owned. I'm amazed the little fellow didn't lose his pants, although I'm sure he'd not have complained if that had happened.

The elf lord, Tizian, floated by us, too - the man didn't even seem to walk normally. We asked him about these potion ingredients we were gathering to see what ideas he may have about it. Lord Tizian was very polite, for being such a high and mighty elf, and although he said he doesn't study the arts of potions, he brought up the very valid point that the intense good that was involved in both the objects we had gathered so far pointed to something that would ward evil, perhaps even act as spell ink that would inherently be unusable to evil intent. Both possibilities suited me well.

After the close of that evening, and a glimpse into the possible futures for old adventurers that left most of us stunned (Nory, I think, was still stunned for different reasons, although it's significant enough to mention that he was indeed stunned), we arrived at the tiny brewery at the back of the Company's Keg that produces Hallowed Ale. We saw to its blessing and are now ready for the next leg of our journey. Here's offering a prayer to Mielikki that our last item or two will be as easy as this one rather than the first, and I remain, as always,

Your faithful servant,


The Jade Letters are the property and copyright of Beth Griese, not to be published or redistributed without permission.

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