Good afternoon. I'm getting back into writing by chronicling my D&D adventures. Please feel free to give me any constructive criticism. This is the opening and I have a few chapters of adventures written, please let me know if you're interested in seeing more. Without further ado:
Rolen Smith shambled out of bed and toward his medicine chest. Rifling through the vials and bottles, he came across the potion he was looking for. One brew to cure a hangover, another to provide energy. He poured them both into his bedside goblet and drank the concoction quickly. Bitter. He retched as usual but the years of practice kept him from expelling it immediately. It was nothing like the vague sweetness of a valuable healing potion, but at least he was feeling better.
His blurry vision began to clear and his small room came into view around him. A single window with a view of the street below shone light onto his straw bed. He could hear the noises of the city on the street below. Many voices drowned each other out to create a single drone. There was the neighing of horses and the clops upon the cobblestone. Beside his medicine chest was a dresser, and across the room sat his desk. It was a modest dwelling in a modest house in a respectable district of Waterdeep.
He glanced at a mirror that hung on his wall. He saw a young man with short cropped auburn hair and olive skin. He was a bit short, even for a half-elf, and it had been a while since he had some good exercise. His features were sharp and his ears pointed. He gave himself a slick smile. Spying his clock on the desk, he could see that it was almost time for work, but there was plenty of time to go leisurely.
Rolen wasa self-employed Alchemist. Over the years he had gradually earned his place in the community through his relationship with the Alchemist’s guild. During his apprenticeship, he found that he was a good salesman and often had the solution to most of life’s problems. His strategy was to step back and find the root of his potential customers’ issues, and try to solve that. With Alchemy, there usually was a solution given a bit of inspiration and creativity. It was a long road, but owning his own business had become a worthy reward. He had come a long way from being the only child of a small-town blacksmith.
Rolen often thought of his childhood and the unfairness of it. He had never known his elven mother, and his Human father rarely spoke of her other than to say that she left because she had more important things to deal with. Of course, that was the polite way of saying that she got bored. It was not unusual to have a single parent in Rolen’s circles, but it was usually something to do with an Orc attack or fleeing from persecution. He was too embarrassed to admit that his mother with simply tired of her man and child. His father was a stoic and harsh man, soft spoken until he ran out of patience. With Rolen his temper was often short, especially since his early blacksmith apprenticeship was one of countless errors and a general lack of enthusiasm. Life was hard in a small town as a half-elf, especially with an unsympathetic and clueless father. He had a hard time making friends and spent most of the time alone with his books, which his father was at least able to provide. One day, he came across a volume that would come to shape his future, “Beginner’s Alchemy.”
With just the common ingredients found in the woods and simple tools that were available around the house, he began to take control of his own life. His peers thought it was a strange habit until they sampled what he had to make. Simple energy potions, mood-enhancing potions, and more complicated brews like potions of bravery helped him and his new friends. Even his father came to make use of certain concoctions that allowed for long hours of precise work. Potion making occupied most of his time and became something of an obsession. His search for new potions finally peaked when he found the one that he would hold above all others.
He found it in an obscure section of an advanced tome. It was a potion to connect oneself to one’s inner spirit. A deep delve into one’s own mind and the connection one had to the multitude of planes. While remaining his his physical body, he was able to explore the world inside himself and how his own mind connected to the greater universe. He had conversations with the likes of Modrons and Fey on one hand and devils and yugoloths on the other. He, and every living creature, were connected to all realms on a deep and spiritual level. It was an exhausting process, but the depths of awakening he was able to access were unrivaled. Through his explorations, he found that he could no longer remain in his small town and set out to the largest city he knew of.
Rolen descended the stairs into his the shop. The walls were packed with herbs, teas, containers, apparatuses, spell components, and everything aside from alchemicals themselves. For security, he brewed all potions on demand from a catalog he kept on the counter. Few thieves would find any value in dried leaves and dust. Most potions he was able to concoct on the spot, but a few had to be ordered ahead of time. Usually though, he had plenty of time to sit behind the counter and indulge in his original passion: reading. He sat down and opened his book, “A History of Zakharan Alchemy.”
The day went as usual. His shop was relatively popular in the neighborhood. People needed a little support sometimes in their daily lives, and potions were often an easy solution. Most were benign, some had side effects, some were particularly dangerous, but all had their place. As was his specialty, sometimes he would need to prod his customers to find out the real issues underlying their requests. Sometimes the solution was beyond him and sometimes the solution was a simple pint of ale, of which he would recommend his favorite pub owned by his favorite business associate. Only on a very rare and special occasion, usually outside of work, would he share the potion that had set him on his current life path.
As the day concluded, his duties shifted to accounting. He sipped something that would stave off the boredom of his least favorite task. There were some Alchemists who swore off the use of their own products, but he was not one of them, nor did he want to be. There were certain potions that had addictive qualities that had to be moderated to specific regimens, but others were less dangerous. What was the use of being an expert if one could not take advantage of ones own expertise? It was a common saying that there were two kinds of alchemists, those who made potions and those who made bombs. Rolen was proud to fall in the former group, although he was aware of how to make certain explosives solely for interests’ sake.
Wrapping up his work, he locked his doors and went back upstairs into his home. Today there was no time to socialize as he usually did. He had long ago decided that once a month, his mind would depart the physical plane.
He sat in the middle of his mostly empty living room on the second floor, legs crossed and meditating. It was one thing he had picked up from his Elven heritage, not from a parent but from a book. He found that rather than having the potion activate at some random time while he was engaged in some other activity, meditating put him in the proper mind space to ensure the smoothest transition into the depths of himself. He thought upon his childhood again. He forgave his mother and father as he had done countless times before. He forgave his ignorant childhood peers who had hated him for his differences and liked him only when he became useful. He felt at peace as his mind began to alter.
He opened his eyes. The world was rushing past him at an unbelievable speed. His room, the neighborhood, Waterdeep, Faerun all came into view quickly and dissolved into one another. He rushed past the planet Toril and into the space between the planes. Finally, the process reversed itself and even more quickly he landed in his own mind. All around him were patterns of infinite colors and shape. He was floating in an endless sea of geometric designs. Lights trailed around him and flickered in and out of existence. Finally, he landed.
He stood in an unbelievable palace. The dimensions of the room in which he stood were beyond comprehension. A gargantuan crystalline wall rose higher than he could see up and into either direction. In the center of it was an unbelievably beautiful throne. Sitting upon it was one he had never seen before but could instantly recognize. He stood in the presence of Mystara.
She spoke only a single word, “Rolen.” His own name filled his spirit with joy that was overwhelming. He felt that his body and soul could disentangle and disintegrate simply from the power of the utterance of his own name. There was deeper meaning in it, and at once he had understanding. This place was connected to him in a way that nothing else could possibly be. He felt that he was a small part of this place and everything that he was came from here.
He felt a true awakening of knowledge as he never had before. Energy coursed through his body and exploded outward. He was a part of this place, and this place was infinite magic. Once again, everything began to move and he was hurled through the palace at an exponential rate. Fire, Ice, Electricity, and Earth swirled around him as he flew, emanating from his own body. When Mystara had spoken his name she had not only awakened him, but given him a charge. To have one’s name be spoken by a God was a very sacred thing, and with that he knew that he had responsibilities beyond what he had ever known.
Suddenly he was back in his living room in perfect clarity. Although he was back on the material plane, he felt the same as he did a moment ago. He held out his hand in a cup, and fire spontaneously generated from it. He snapped his fingers on the same hand and the fire disappeared. He held out his finger and sparks flew from it, ceasing when he willed them to. He looked within himself, and found great power. The power was divine. The power did not come from Mystara, but he came from Mystara. It was a rebirth. It was his sacred duty to enact Mystara’s will in the world.
He slowly walked to his cabinet and poured himself some whiskey. It was a lot to take in, and he had a lot to think about.
****
Lucky watched as Rolen shot another fire bolt, shattering an empty bottle. He laughed and said, “Ay, that sure be somthin’.”
Lucky was an older human who had a long life at sea. He came to port at Waterdeep every few months and was a regular customer of Rolen’s. They had gained a mutual respect and friendship over the years.
Rolen launched another fire bolt and another bottle shattered, “This isn’t all. I can enshroud myself with magical armor, cause people to go to sleep at will, conjure illusions, and bless people with supernatural fortune. Of course, my favorite thing is that my potions aren’t bitter anymore.”
Lucky stroked his beard, “Arr, that’s a lot to be sure. And yer wantin’ to know what tae do with it?”
Rolen stopped firing, “That’s it. Until now I’ve been living a pretty simple life, and a mostly meaningless one. In my travels across the planes I’ve seen more than this world has to offer, but I had never stopped to think what I had to offer this world. There is surely evil in the world, but I’ve found that people rarely do evil out of malice. They simply do what’s good for themwithout considering the effect on others. It’s not malice, but apathy at the source of most of the world’s ills. Where could I possibly start in addressing this?”
Lucky was quick with a response, “Yar, the evil of man be somethin’ truly terrible, and it is as you say. ‘Carse thar be evil beyond what men do, and the evils that men do commit need fixin’. Adventurin’ may be what ye seek. Most do it fer the gold, but all that post work have a job that need doin’.”
Rolen wrinkled his nose, “Mercenary work, huh? I can shoot fire out of my hands but I’m still an alchemist bookworm.”
“Thar be those adventurin’ with far less. I’ve had me share meself. The appeal to ye remains that the work is that what need doin’. Killin’ monsters afor they kill little children, findin’ those absconded with, solvin’ crimes what the authorities don’t want tae. All’s noble work.”
Rolen thought about it for a moment, “I’m sure it’s not all noble work. Like what I was saying before, there are too many who believe that they have the moral authority do do anything that results in what they see as a positive outcome. I’m not a sage, how can I avoid getting caught up in some crusade that ultimately amounts to upholding an oppressive authority?”
Lucky smiled, “There’s none among us who is perfect, but that sentiment will take ye most of the way. Rest easy, thar be few moral quandaries when it comes to slayin’ goblins. Nasty little critters would level villages if you let em.”
Rolen responded, “True, there are things in the world that are objectively bad but wouldn’t the bad be the act rather than the actor? I have heard tell of goblins in this very city living peacefully among the many races of Waterdeep. If this is true, it would indicate that goblins are not fundamentally evil, or are at least capable of sapient thought to the extent that killing them indiscriminately would itself be evil as I described it earlier.”
Lucky laughed, “I’ve rarely met a fool what had sympathy for goblins. If ye see what they be capable of doin’ to innocent folk ye’d change yer tune quick.”
Rolen shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe there is something to destroying evil where it manifests.”
Lucky was still smiling, “Yer the type that think somethin’ over so long they have no time to act fer all the thinkin’ they be doin’. Tell me, who does it help to think about not killin’ goblins while they burn down farms and kill women and children?”
Rolen smiled himself, “You’re right as usual Lucky, perhaps I am overthinking this. What matters is actions rather than motivations. It is at least something to react to evil. I only worry about the creatures that choose to do evil, as despicable as it can be. What circumstances bring a person, or creature with intelligence, to do evil? There are the classic motivations like lust, envy, and greed, but there is also desperation, self-preservation, and cowardly weakness. Evil deserves punishment, but would it not better serve society that evil be prevented?” He caught himself, “Certainly, but that’s a problem beyond what I’m capable of addressing right now. It is time to take action on what is within my power. Thank you as usual, Lucky. Too often I’m trapped in my own head.”
Lucky bowed exaggeratedly, “My pleasure, young sage. Now, let’s be off to celebrate yer new path. On me most recent voyage I learned of a drink popular in Kara Tur. It’s delicious and strong, and I know ye share me taste in such things. It’s on me, lad.”
As usual, Lucky was able to show him a great time. That evening was a long one and Rolen became ever more confident of the path he would be to walk. Despite everything, there was objective good he could do.
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Good afternoon. I'm getting back into writing by chronicling my D&D adventures. Please feel free to give me any constructive criticism. This is the opening and I have a few chapters of adventures written, please let me know if you're interested in seeing more. Without further ado:
Rolen Smith shambled out of bed and toward his medicine chest. Rifling through the vials and bottles, he came across the potion he was looking for. One brew to cure a hangover, another to provide energy. He poured them both into his bedside goblet and drank the concoction quickly. Bitter. He retched as usual but the years of practice kept him from expelling it immediately. It was nothing like the vague sweetness of a valuable healing potion, but at least he was feeling better.
His blurry vision began to clear and his small room came into view around him. A single window with a view of the street below shone light onto his straw bed. He could hear the noises of the city on the street below. Many voices drowned each other out to create a single drone. There was the neighing of horses and the clops upon the cobblestone. Beside his medicine chest was a dresser, and across the room sat his desk. It was a modest dwelling in a modest house in a respectable district of Waterdeep.
He glanced at a mirror that hung on his wall. He saw a young man with short cropped auburn hair and olive skin. He was a bit short, even for a half-elf, and it had been a while since he had some good exercise. His features were sharp and his ears pointed. He gave himself a slick smile. Spying his clock on the desk, he could see that it was almost time for work, but there was plenty of time to go leisurely.
Rolen was a self-employed Alchemist. Over the years he had gradually earned his place in the community through his relationship with the Alchemist’s guild. During his apprenticeship, he found that he was a good salesman and often had the solution to most of life’s problems. His strategy was to step back and find the root of his potential customers’ issues, and try to solve that. With Alchemy, there usually was a solution given a bit of inspiration and creativity. It was a long road, but owning his own business had become a worthy reward. He had come a long way from being the only child of a small-town blacksmith.
Rolen often thought of his childhood and the unfairness of it. He had never known his elven mother, and his Human father rarely spoke of her other than to say that she left because she had more important things to deal with. Of course, that was the polite way of saying that she got bored. It was not unusual to have a single parent in Rolen’s circles, but it was usually something to do with an Orc attack or fleeing from persecution. He was too embarrassed to admit that his mother with simply tired of her man and child. His father was a stoic and harsh man, soft spoken until he ran out of patience. With Rolen his temper was often short, especially since his early blacksmith apprenticeship was one of countless errors and a general lack of enthusiasm. Life was hard in a small town as a half-elf, especially with an unsympathetic and clueless father. He had a hard time making friends and spent most of the time alone with his books, which his father was at least able to provide. One day, he came across a volume that would come to shape his future, “Beginner’s Alchemy.”
With just the common ingredients found in the woods and simple tools that were available around the house, he began to take control of his own life. His peers thought it was a strange habit until they sampled what he had to make. Simple energy potions, mood-enhancing potions, and more complicated brews like potions of bravery helped him and his new friends. Even his father came to make use of certain concoctions that allowed for long hours of precise work. Potion making occupied most of his time and became something of an obsession. His search for new potions finally peaked when he found the one that he would hold above all others.
He found it in an obscure section of an advanced tome. It was a potion to connect oneself to one’s inner spirit. A deep delve into one’s own mind and the connection one had to the multitude of planes. While remaining his his physical body, he was able to explore the world inside himself and how his own mind connected to the greater universe. He had conversations with the likes of Modrons and Fey on one hand and devils and yugoloths on the other. He, and every living creature, were connected to all realms on a deep and spiritual level. It was an exhausting process, but the depths of awakening he was able to access were unrivaled. Through his explorations, he found that he could no longer remain in his small town and set out to the largest city he knew of.
Rolen descended the stairs into his the shop. The walls were packed with herbs, teas, containers, apparatuses, spell components, and everything aside from alchemicals themselves. For security, he brewed all potions on demand from a catalog he kept on the counter. Few thieves would find any value in dried leaves and dust. Most potions he was able to concoct on the spot, but a few had to be ordered ahead of time. Usually though, he had plenty of time to sit behind the counter and indulge in his original passion: reading. He sat down and opened his book, “A History of Zakharan Alchemy.”
The day went as usual. His shop was relatively popular in the neighborhood. People needed a little support sometimes in their daily lives, and potions were often an easy solution. Most were benign, some had side effects, some were particularly dangerous, but all had their place. As was his specialty, sometimes he would need to prod his customers to find out the real issues underlying their requests. Sometimes the solution was beyond him and sometimes the solution was a simple pint of ale, of which he would recommend his favorite pub owned by his favorite business associate. Only on a very rare and special occasion, usually outside of work, would he share the potion that had set him on his current life path.
As the day concluded, his duties shifted to accounting. He sipped something that would stave off the boredom of his least favorite task. There were some Alchemists who swore off the use of their own products, but he was not one of them, nor did he want to be. There were certain potions that had addictive qualities that had to be moderated to specific regimens, but others were less dangerous. What was the use of being an expert if one could not take advantage of ones own expertise? It was a common saying that there were two kinds of alchemists, those who made potions and those who made bombs. Rolen was proud to fall in the former group, although he was aware of how to make certain explosives solely for interests’ sake.
Wrapping up his work, he locked his doors and went back upstairs into his home. Today there was no time to socialize as he usually did. He had long ago decided that once a month, his mind would depart the physical plane.
He sat in the middle of his mostly empty living room on the second floor, legs crossed and meditating. It was one thing he had picked up from his Elven heritage, not from a parent but from a book. He found that rather than having the potion activate at some random time while he was engaged in some other activity, meditating put him in the proper mind space to ensure the smoothest transition into the depths of himself. He thought upon his childhood again. He forgave his mother and father as he had done countless times before. He forgave his ignorant childhood peers who had hated him for his differences and liked him only when he became useful. He felt at peace as his mind began to alter.
He opened his eyes. The world was rushing past him at an unbelievable speed. His room, the neighborhood, Waterdeep, Faerun all came into view quickly and dissolved into one another. He rushed past the planet Toril and into the space between the planes. Finally, the process reversed itself and even more quickly he landed in his own mind. All around him were patterns of infinite colors and shape. He was floating in an endless sea of geometric designs. Lights trailed around him and flickered in and out of existence. Finally, he landed.
He stood in an unbelievable palace. The dimensions of the room in which he stood were beyond comprehension. A gargantuan crystalline wall rose higher than he could see up and into either direction. In the center of it was an unbelievably beautiful throne. Sitting upon it was one he had never seen before but could instantly recognize. He stood in the presence of Mystara.
She spoke only a single word, “Rolen.” His own name filled his spirit with joy that was overwhelming. He felt that his body and soul could disentangle and disintegrate simply from the power of the utterance of his own name. There was deeper meaning in it, and at once he had understanding. This place was connected to him in a way that nothing else could possibly be. He felt that he was a small part of this place and everything that he was came from here.
He felt a true awakening of knowledge as he never had before. Energy coursed through his body and exploded outward. He was a part of this place, and this place was infinite magic. Once again, everything began to move and he was hurled through the palace at an exponential rate. Fire, Ice, Electricity, and Earth swirled around him as he flew, emanating from his own body. When Mystara had spoken his name she had not only awakened him, but given him a charge. To have one’s name be spoken by a God was a very sacred thing, and with that he knew that he had responsibilities beyond what he had ever known.
Suddenly he was back in his living room in perfect clarity. Although he was back on the material plane, he felt the same as he did a moment ago. He held out his hand in a cup, and fire spontaneously generated from it. He snapped his fingers on the same hand and the fire disappeared. He held out his finger and sparks flew from it, ceasing when he willed them to. He looked within himself, and found great power. The power was divine. The power did not come from Mystara, but he came from Mystara. It was a rebirth. It was his sacred duty to enact Mystara’s will in the world.
He slowly walked to his cabinet and poured himself some whiskey. It was a lot to take in, and he had a lot to think about.
****
Lucky watched as Rolen shot another fire bolt, shattering an empty bottle. He laughed and said, “Ay, that sure be somthin’.”
Lucky was an older human who had a long life at sea. He came to port at Waterdeep every few months and was a regular customer of Rolen’s. They had gained a mutual respect and friendship over the years.
Rolen launched another fire bolt and another bottle shattered, “This isn’t all. I can enshroud myself with magical armor, cause people to go to sleep at will, conjure illusions, and bless people with supernatural fortune. Of course, my favorite thing is that my potions aren’t bitter anymore.”
Lucky stroked his beard, “Arr, that’s a lot to be sure. And yer wantin’ to know what tae do with it?”
Rolen stopped firing, “That’s it. Until now I’ve been living a pretty simple life, and a mostly meaningless one. In my travels across the planes I’ve seen more than this world has to offer, but I had never stopped to think what I had to offer this world. There is surely evil in the world, but I’ve found that people rarely do evil out of malice. They simply do what’s good for them without considering the effect on others. It’s not malice, but apathy at the source of most of the world’s ills. Where could I possibly start in addressing this?”
Lucky was quick with a response, “Yar, the evil of man be somethin’ truly terrible, and it is as you say. ‘Carse thar be evil beyond what men do, and the evils that men do commit need fixin’. Adventurin’ may be what ye seek. Most do it fer the gold, but all that post work have a job that need doin’.”
Rolen wrinkled his nose, “Mercenary work, huh? I can shoot fire out of my hands but I’m still an alchemist bookworm.”
“Thar be those adventurin’ with far less. I’ve had me share meself. The appeal to ye remains that the work is that what need doin’. Killin’ monsters afor they kill little children, findin’ those absconded with, solvin’ crimes what the authorities don’t want tae. All’s noble work.”
Rolen thought about it for a moment, “I’m sure it’s not all noble work. Like what I was saying before, there are too many who believe that they have the moral authority do do anything that results in what they see as a positive outcome. I’m not a sage, how can I avoid getting caught up in some crusade that ultimately amounts to upholding an oppressive authority?”
Lucky smiled, “There’s none among us who is perfect, but that sentiment will take ye most of the way. Rest easy, thar be few moral quandaries when it comes to slayin’ goblins. Nasty little critters would level villages if you let em.”
Rolen responded, “True, there are things in the world that are objectively bad but wouldn’t the bad be the act rather than the actor? I have heard tell of goblins in this very city living peacefully among the many races of Waterdeep. If this is true, it would indicate that goblins are not fundamentally evil, or are at least capable of sapient thought to the extent that killing them indiscriminately would itself be evil as I described it earlier.”
Lucky laughed, “I’ve rarely met a fool what had sympathy for goblins. If ye see what they be capable of doin’ to innocent folk ye’d change yer tune quick.”
Rolen shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe there is something to destroying evil where it manifests.”
Lucky was still smiling, “Yer the type that think somethin’ over so long they have no time to act fer all the thinkin’ they be doin’. Tell me, who does it help to think about not killin’ goblins while they burn down farms and kill women and children?”
Rolen smiled himself, “You’re right as usual Lucky, perhaps I am overthinking this. What matters is actions rather than motivations. It is at least something to react to evil. I only worry about the creatures that choose to do evil, as despicable as it can be. What circumstances bring a person, or creature with intelligence, to do evil? There are the classic motivations like lust, envy, and greed, but there is also desperation, self-preservation, and cowardly weakness. Evil deserves punishment, but would it not better serve society that evil be prevented?” He caught himself, “Certainly, but that’s a problem beyond what I’m capable of addressing right now. It is time to take action on what is within my power. Thank you as usual, Lucky. Too often I’m trapped in my own head.”
Lucky bowed exaggeratedly, “My pleasure, young sage. Now, let’s be off to celebrate yer new path. On me most recent voyage I learned of a drink popular in Kara Tur. It’s delicious and strong, and I know ye share me taste in such things. It’s on me, lad.”
As usual, Lucky was able to show him a great time. That evening was a long one and Rolen became ever more confident of the path he would be to walk. Despite everything, there was objective good he could do.