Pathfinder Campaign - Time of Heroes

Poetry in Motion

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’ve not been sleeping lately and as such my creative genius has been subdued. I expect this phase to end soon as it is most likely simply a matter of stress from everything that has happened in recent weeks. The grand investigations, the mimics and of course the battle of Quainthollow. I still feel energised each night thinking of those who were hurt or lost. I will avenge them! I get distracted though. As my mind wonders it means that this recent entry will not be done in the normal fashion but instead through poetry. I am a woman of many talents after all.

900 years old he seemed

Our mentor of old he believed

He once gave a speech

That old Mr Teach

That ended in Nyix on a beach


Eating at Mrs Cullen’s

She is a big lady

Gives lots of food

Especially if you’re good

I think I’ll sleep like a baby


Talk to the gryphon I tried

As Carrak lay injured and cried

I would never bow

Not ever, not now

And so I fought and almost died


It’s weak spot I hit

Testicals I gripped

But I fell to the earth like a brick


My hat was my saviour

Bacon it’s favourite flavour

And so I fight another day


Into the cave we went

It’s tunnels all curved or bent

Met an old ghost

It seems the cave host

In all it’s lore we were engrossed


I hope to be back to full writing form soon. I just need some sleep at nights. Maybe I just need a good meaty meal…


The Gnome who cried Tree

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his chapter is one of mystery and mayhem for nothing seemed to be as it first appeared. We had be sent on our way towards the brigands camp in order to drive them away from the vast metropolis of Quaint Hollow. During our travels we happened upon one of the many lumber mills it happens to offer. There were given a task to investigate the disappearances of some of the lumberjacks. Suspicion fell on the local bars and the unspoken desire for women's clothing, but we each knew something more sinister was afoot. We delved into the forest with confidence that we would find the men.

We reached the clearing within a few short hours and proceeded to search for clues. With our amazing perception and deductive reasoning we discovered that the local elms appeared to have been calved with the faces of the missing victims. Clearly the work of the culprit! I took it upon myself to take a sample of the tree back to the lumber mill for closer inspection. However this would be no easy feat, for when I stabbed at the tree, it seemed to come alive around me and I was dragged into it’s leafy bows.

The party quickly assembled to aid their stricken comrade. I was without injury due to my knowledge of tree anatomy ( “Would you like to axe me any questions” – TSChippedstone) and was slowly working my way free. They however fought valiantly. Without hesitation, Nyix drew her bow and began to fire arrows at the beast, Carak quickly placed a spell on our druid causing him to grow taller than the largest oak. From this the tree fell with ease as Cullen swung his weapons, yelling “Timber” for the world to hear.

The tree however was not as it appeared as mentioned at the start of this tale. It was in fact a mimic. Little is known about these dastardly fiends, aside from their ability to change their appearances, but I expect more will be known soon, with my upcoming book “And then the table laughed”. Unfortunately the lives of the lumberjacks could not be saved for they had already been devoured. Their memories will live on forever though , through the craftsmanship of Nyix’s new longbow. I hear it is of exceptional quality, providing Nyix with a keen advantage in battle.

As this mystery was solved we continued on our path to the bandit camp. As it was over a day away we stopped to camp under the stars. It was a beautiful clear night and as we each took watch, we remembered our home, far behind us. Always in our hearts, never forgotten. A memory in each star that shone above us.

The night would unfortunately not continue to be as pleasent as expected, for as we let our guards down, we were approached by a shadowy figure. His only companion, a wolf. He approached slowly, his eyes glistening from his hood. Darkness surrounded him despite the clear night sky. His wolf bared teeth, clearly an enemy. Despite my objections,  my allies allowed him to approach and join our camp for the night. He went by the name “Bjørn”, an unnatural name in this area of the world. I believe it to be an alias of some sort to cover up his lone wolf nature. I suspect he is more of a Keith or Brian. No matter for his fate was sealed on that night he came to us.

Despite his appearances and abrupt nature, he agreed to travel with us in order to aid us in the defeat of the brigands. I did not trust him. He was dark, mysterious, and yet, somewhat handsome. For a human that is. He made sure to stay at the head of the group, from there he would be unable to stab us in the back.

We reached the camp after a day's travel and there discovered it was less of a camp and more of a small town. The population of bandits much have been in the hundreds but we were not afraid. This was nothing compared to the mighty battle we had fought just weeks before. We stealthily took position around the camp. Myself and Nyix bravely went straight for the main building. Together we would take down the leader and hopefully the small army would disband in fear and confusion.

Cullen and Carak agreed to take down the bandits as they approached with Bjørn acting as support. We them struck in unison. Creating a surprise attack on the enemy. Cullen took down bandits in every direction, 1, 5, 10 bandits dead with his swings. .They fell like weak saplings. His might did not go unnoticed. Suddenly from the command centre burst a ball of flame, its direction aimed right at Cullen. Within moments he was down, his skin singed and his clothes torn. He gasped for breath as the battle raged around him. He would die with honor. Carak rushed to his fallen friend. He kneeled next to Cullen and held  him in his lap. Cullen begged him to leave. To not let his sacrifice be in vain but Carak refused. “I can’t leave you here brother, We have been through too much for it all to end here” he cried.

“It will not end here” Cullen whispered “I will be here….always”. He raised his hand lightly to Carak’s chest.  Quickly his hand fell and Carak buried his head into Cullen’s chest before raising it again in release of a mournful shout. “Noooooooooooooo, Oh Gods, No!”

His God’s however were in a favourable mood today and heard Carak’s pleas. Upon hearing him they gave him the ability to heal Cullen’s wounds. Cullen rose off the ground in a shine of light. His burns vanished and his strength returned.

In the meantime Nyix was doing what she did best. She had climbed the roof of the command centre and was aiming a shot upon the caster of the ball of flame. Silent, deadly, she lined up the shot. The world fell silent around her and all that now mattered was her target. She let the arrow fly free and with but a slight whistle through the air, it hit. The caster was down. The next target would be the bandit leader. A giant opponent. His mace alone measuring almost 3 of me. I climbed out of the shadows to confront the enemy, I hoped for a diplomatic solution but expected to be smashed to dust. The unexpected happened though. He turned his mace on the caster and surrendered to me. We would later discover that Glut, the bugbear, was in fact an avid collector of my books. In agreement for signed copies for life and aid for his tribe, he would give up the bandit life and would instead join Quainthollow as a friend. Despite his appearance I knew he could be trusted. I was even warming up to Bjørn. My judgement had been off twice in one day, I suppose being wrong a third time was expected.

After a day's trek we found ourselves in the fiends from the night past. It was time to rest. Cullen and Carak joined in a drink, while Nyix spent the evening staring into the flames of the fire. The thoughts of the other world occupying her mind. I however decided that now was the time for rest and excused myself from the group. I slept peacefully until a sudden pain enveloped my body.  I let out a deafening scream as above me stood the body of a deformed wolf. It’s fur matted, it’s limbs disjointed, almost to appear like that of a man but clawed and dangerous. I rolled away to avoid being further hurt as my friends approached to see the commotion. Glut was my saviour that evening. At seeing my blood being drawn he entered an uncontrollable rage and smashed the creature to the ground. It would not rise again. Looking at the body, it’s figure had changed. Rather than being the distorted monster from being it had transformed into Bjørn. I knew I was right not to trust him. I now wonder on what exactly caused the insanity we saw from him. Was it from the previous battle and his mind being scarred from stress? Maybe the caster had left her mark upon him? Maybe what I actually saw was his wolf from earlier in the day but with sleep and darkness I got confused. I need not worry on it all though. We now head back home for a hopefully uneventful few days.




Poetry of a twisted mind

Image result for old style lettering Recently I mentioned the the receipt of poetry from the goblin Dorkus. I instantly classed it as obscene and untalented, mostly due to the fact that it was it was gobbledygook and  knowing his disposition, most likely to be smut. Upon inspection though, the nonsense does appear to follow some sort of pattern. I wonder if maybe the mind of the drugged up leader still works, even if only on a basic level somewhere. I include a copy of the poem for the readers interest. It has already been solved of course, however I feel keeping the mind active is good for ones health. Enjoy this little task, my fans…

2221 – 2021.1.1022.20 – 20.10221- 21.102.22221.1021 – 20221.10221.201.102222 – 2102222.221.1.1022221.20.1022221 – 1.1022221 – 1021.22221.1022.221——-

222.10221.102222 – 20.2222.221.22221.102222 – 1022221.20.22221.222.222 – 1022.22221.10222.10222.102.221.1022221 – 22221 – 22.10221 – 10222.22221.1022.221——

20.10221 – 1022221. – 20.2222.221.1021 – 22221.1022221 – 1021.20221 – 22.221.1022221.22221.102222.221——

1021.20221 – 2222.201.1022.2221.102222.20221 – 1021.10221.201.20.2222 – 2021.22221.102.102 – 1022. – 20.22221.102222.221———

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(As I had previously detected through my skills with people, this is nothing but smut, as my intelligent readers will also soon realise.)

March of the white brigade

hen we last left our intrepid heroes, they had ventured onwards to the cemetery to find the cause of the regular disturbances that had been occurring there. Upon arrival a small band of goblins were seen to be taking part in a ritual. (More of these can be read about in my book “The Safety Dance”). We attempted a diplomatic resolution with the creatures however due to their skittish nature, this became difficult and we were instead left in pursuit of one of their party. Carak was quick to catch the fiend and proceeded to interrogate him on his actions. From what we could gather from the creature’s limited intelligence, his name was Pogwobble, his race was terrified of elves, and that the group he was a part of was trying to ward off an enemy known to them as the “Great Demon of Death”. I know not of who they speak, but have made it my sole duty to find and learn all I can of it. With some coercion he lead us to his questionable leader….

Dorkus has confirmed to me a few things that I had previously wondered about when it comes to goblins. 1, they are difficult to communicate with. They lack the basic cultures of shoes and mailboxes and as such holding a basic civil conversation with them can be very strenuous even for someone of my intellect and articulation. 2, their skills with numbers and literature are best left to the imagination. They can get no further than 2 when counting and Dorkus’ “Poetry” was possibly one of the worst pieces I have ever read in my life. This is  of course comparing it to the works of other Goblins scholars found in “The literary arts of Goblin Pea Barrel-Rider as annotated by T.S.Chippedstone”.

He proceeded to share his wisdom with my fellow adventurers. For the sake of these novels, I stayed as an observer. They learnt of many things, mostly concerning the race of elves, that seems to trouble the goblin leader. Firstly they come from eggs. I need to of course double check this information due to it’s source but notes of the “Cluckus Elvus” have been taken down for future reference. Other information was taken directly from our own party elf Nyix. For a start, it appears that elves can not handle goblin tobacco as she was overtaken with paranoia. She was heard to say, and I quote “The shadows are out to get me”. Now whether it was the tobacco that was speaking or Nyix herself, this next bit of information may come as some surprise to readers but elves eat goblins. This may explain the goblin hatred towards the elves though. “I’ll be eating you next if you’re not careful”. I wonder if they eat them raw or with some sort of elven garnish. I will need to interview Nyix in preparation for my future cookbook “More than one way to skin a cat” (Release date TBC). With little much to be done here we reported the situation to the great sheriff Brian and went forth to our next location and ultimately the battle to end all battles.

The mystery was as such that sheep from one of Quainthollow’s many farms, had been disappearing during the night. There was no sign of attack, looting or even star creatures spoken of by the swamp folk of the southern counties. The local farmers had no information only that they needed their sheep back. We were on the case! We decided to spend the night undercover, amongst the victims in order to determine what was happening to our wooly comrades.

In order to gain a better vantage point I proceeded to mount one of the sheep. I have had many years riding experience unlike my allies and so was best suited to the task. We spent the hours setting up for our tactical advantage. Nyix camouflaged into the night, Carak prepared for the inevitable darkness and Cullen set about training his mighty wolf for our impending fate. As night fell around us we grew tense. Suddenly a noise was heard! It was that of a sheep. Not of the ones around us but in the distance. Almost that of a siren’s call, but with a hint of “baaaaaaa”. We gathered our nerves and went to face the enemy.

The farm was protected my many walls and a large gate. At that gate sat the perpetrator. A small rainbow feathered bird was luring the sheep out to their deaths. Cullen charged first bravely only for the beast he faced to transform into that are of a large bear. It’s eyes glowing with hatred in the darkness. Our cleric, through no fault of his own appeared to collapse through exhaustion. Nyix to protect him fired arrows at the dreadful beast. Our spirits were low. Is this how we would meet our defeat? I had to do something! For our lives! For the glory of heroes everywhere! For the sheep!

…………………...The following is an accurate  word for word account of the speech given at the battle of Laughhson and has not been edited in any way……………..

“Sheep of Quainthollow, of Gandril. My allies. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.

Dreams of an entire species are focused tonight… On us brave souls travelling towards the wall.

Today there is not a ram, ewe or lamb in here that shall stand alone. Not today.

Should we win the day, today will no longer be known as a Monday, but as the day all farm animals declared in one voice “Baa!”

Hold the line! stay with me! If you find yourself alone in the green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are in Ioel and you’re already dead!

Pain heals, Ewes dig horns, Wool lasts forever!!!!”


Myself and the sheep charged the mighty wall with all our might. We leapt forth, clearing it’s great height and rushed the beast with no thought for our own lives, but those of the ones we loved.


An artist's depiction of the epic moment.

An arrow flew overhead. Nyix has wounded the beast. And as we rushed forwards to grant the everlong sleep, the beast vanished never to be seen again. We were victorious but not without consequence. Lamb chop, my noble mount had taken an injury in battle. He has survived but will forever be scarred. He shall live out his days without fear on the farm.

We discovered the cause of the sheep napping was not one of evil but instead misguided help. A faerie dragon had set up what appears to be an animal rights organisation consisting of one member, himself. And was trying to “free” the sheep for better lives. Upon capture it has been decided that he would join our party in order to learn our ways in animal welfare.

Though the sun has risen I feel this will not be the last of our battles. We next travel to investigate brigands outside of our large city. I hope for an easy night.

Elementary my dear Cluckson
A Journal by TS Chippedstone

 ummer is here in all it’s glory and the town is preparing for a great and wonderful festival. My party and I however have been sent on some important errands with only a meager packed lunch to keep us comfort. The list of tasks grows ever longer but we decided to make haste, for idle bodies are the devil's playpen.

<meta />As this is the first entry into the book of heroes (book name TBC) the introduction of the adventurers should be first and foremost. Their titles will become apparent as this entry continues. With great honor I present you with the following:

Cullen “The sandwich thief”. Half orc of the village and friend to the farmers. He is known throughout the lands for his care of the forests, his ability to tame even the most wild of birds, and lastly his memorable scent. More can read about him through the entry “Not all druids are elves”.

In collaboration with him is Carthen “The head shaker”. Rumor says he has lived for thousands of years within these town walls. He has seen the townsfolk come and go and because of this lives a life of misery and solitude. On a lighter note however he enjoys sandwiches and the great outdoors. I believe he has only entered a tavern during my times with him. Maybe he requires the sun to live as I have seen in other tieflings. Carthen’s personal tiefling updates can be seen in the fantastic release “It’s Carthen you moron!”

The third member of our epic and noble party is the elf Nyix “The cockgrabber”. Tall, slender and quick with her hands, she has been an infamous dweller of our lands for sometime now. Coming from a tragic background she gives the title of her own novel much meaning. “Rising from the ashes”

Last but not least is the group’s most ambitious member. Carak “Poultry container” has been in the town almost as long as I have. He is known to all as a trader, advisor, public speaker and faithful member of the clergy. He will be a useful member on our journeys. To read more about him see “ Trader Joes”

And with much ado, on with the adventures. We find our party interviewing the distressed Mrs. Ludvig. It seems her prized chicken, and family member Lavina has been taken by thieves. Though this may seem the most pitiful of tasks, a hero never turns away the pleas of a stricken member of society. We heard her cries and swore we would bring her bird back. The only suspects were Elsy, the long standing rival of Mrs. Ludvig and The Black Cock, one of Mrs. Ludvigs other chickens. We further investigated the scene. The Black Cock lunged hard at Cullen, trying to defend the scene of the crime, but he was no match for the orc’s strength and cunning. With that the search for evidence was on. With my keen senses I quickly spotted the perpetrator’s access point and evidence of their identity. A puce shade piece of cloth. Though I have written many books on the fine art of tailoring (Does it come in Black? 1217) to satisfy the rest of the group's curiosity we visited the store of a Mr “Longshanks” Dewfoot.

Upon speaking with him and his very short stature, we discovered that the cloth was not of our town and as such possibly belonged to one of the people passing through if not one of the gypsies. Remembering back to my recently published book “On the road again” we deduced that the gypsies were not to blame and that we instead were dealing with a true outsider. The best place for information on this kind of person is but of course, the inn.

Please note that during these investigations both myself and Carak interviewed the suspects with great integrity. Cullen and Carthan however would later be discovered to have pilfered the rations that had been provided for our quest. Nyix as expected stayed to the shadows, ever watchful for danger.

At the inn we spoke with Cornelius, the hardworking server of this fine establishment. He confirmed our suspicions but did not leave us empty handed. He spoke of a man in puce trousers, who bore a face of rash that had drank there some weeks before. He detailed how this man had been employed at the local masonry store. Our next target for interrogation and hopefully the location of the thief!

Sadly the life of the hero is never easy and we found that not only had our prime suspect vanished, but also the man who had employed him was nowhere to be found. Luckily however Nyix noticed that the store was open for viewing due to the situation that the town is very trusting of it’s citizens. She and myself decided to take it upon us to check the records for our chicken stealer. There we found his name, Sedwig. Evidence also showed that of a bucket half full with black paint and that of the odd white feather. It was easy to see what had occurred. The villain had stolen the chicken, painted the poor creature and sold it to the highest bidder. The only person eager to have such a magnificent beast would have to be Mrs. Ludvigs enemy, Elsy.

From there the chase was on. We rode forth to Elsy’s estate and there spoke with her of the poultry. Though it was not an easy task, we confirmed the presence of Lavina. Through strategic thinking, diversionary tactics and diplomatic stamina we were able to rescue Lavina from her captivity and return her home. Our reward, though not required of course was that of 2 silver pieces each and some much loved cinnamon loaf.

We travel onwards now to investigate the reports of the sounds coming from the local cemetery at night. Providing I survive the dangerous encounters that follow, the next update shall be entitled “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash…”

Start of the campaign
Day 1

This is the end of spring, summer has just started. The birds are flying high in the sky, the fields are heavy with crop and the sky is frequently blue. It is an unusually hot summer, nothing extreme, but certainly warmer than last year. This is also the year, where you’ve come of age. You and your friends have often got into trouble together around town, as being the most adventurous of the town’s children and young. Some more so than others, but you and your friends have never been in real trouble. Today though, the innkeeper’s wife, Pietje, have provided with a large packed picnic basket, and told you to go amuse yourself. Now is your chance. You’ve gathered your gear and are prepared for REAL adventure.

Welcome to your campaign!
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