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Welcome to The Chosen's journals. Each character is invited to keep a
journal and write down the thoughts of their characters as they wander
through Nyternia. In addition, the DM has a journal which highlights
each session. The players are:
Malif's Journal, session #19 Go to Session #: 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 39 | 40 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 56 | 58 | 59 | Well, well, we won the blessed Tournament of Ashanto, and we won four out of five of the events outright, a near sweep. Errol's stanza on our log riding will have to be embellished. Ah, well, he's up to the task. Truth be told, luck played into our hands in greater measure than any of us will admit, and Tera's Rods made the difference in the score. I suppose I have something for which to thank the Belar: almost 5000 pieces of gold. At least I can no longer say that I am truly poor. Not rich by any but the most meager standards, but not poor, either. I could afford a decent cloak or a respectable pair of boots, if I so chose. What did Mother tell me years ago in the library after the two of us stumbled upon the old Belar Librarian herself talking in hushed whispers to a strange, elderly human in the back of the stacks? Mother apologized profusely and hurried both of us away. We never even saw the old man's face, and when I said to her, "I wonder who that was?" she replied, "Someone very rich and very powerful." "How'd you know that, Mum? 'Cause he was talking with the Librarian?" I asked. "No," she said, looking me in the eye. "His boots, Malif. They're dragonhide, same as is used on the covers of the Grand Tomes. And from the look on the Librarian's face, that was a man who makes his own boots." I may not be ready to make my own boots, but at least now I can buy a decent pair.
I have been perusing my notes from School, scant as they are,
reviewing everything I can on Item Creation before we arrive at the
Fabricari's guildhouse in Idewild. One brief note I made caught my
eye, and I have begun to formulate a plan. There is a Wondrous
Creation, a thing called a Lyre of Building. The item has protective
qualities which may be employed in defense of a building, but the more
interesting is the Lyre's ability to build structures themselves. As
with seemingly everything of importance, I must join the Fifth Circle
before I may craft the device, but that appears to be inevitable at
this point. The device requires some talent to use, however. A mastery
of stringed instruments is needed to be efficient, and so, I shall
being my training. I'm sure Errol can help. I think I shall start with
the fiddle. The form of the instrument is of no consequence, as long
as it has strings, and I picture myself a fiddler more than a ly-ar!
Not that I haven't told a good fib or two! The fiddle has a sort of
mischief to it that the lyre lacks, a sort of almost diabolical sense
of fun! And now that I have a bit of coin, I'm not nearly so morose as
I was. Learning the fiddle would be good for me, and with a Fiddle of
Building, I think we could have some fun indeed!
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