This fic was born from the first 4th Edition D&D campaign I played. As of the time that this will be posted, it will still be going on. I hope you will enjoy it
Disclaimer: I do not own D&D, apart from a few books.
Dirkʼs Journal
Day 1: I'm not sure why I have decided to keep this journal since I have no one to give it to. Maybe it is so that if I die out here some one might find it and I can live on in these pages, if that be the case then I better explain a little about myself. My name is Dirk Granite and I am a Goliath. Now that is not my true name, but since so few people actually speak Giant I took that human name long ago. I left my home troop about 17 years ago, which means that I am currently somewhere between 35 and 41 years old, not to sure about that. I should have started keeping this journal as soon as I left, how was I to know that I would be gone so long. Why did I leave my troop? Sometimes I wonder about that. All I know is that if I stay in one place to long I start to get that old wander lust. So I guess I just got tired of seeing the same old mountains day after day and fighting the same old enemies year after year.
Day 2: As you can tell I am a fighter by trade, and by nature I guess. Seems like I've been doing that I my life. Since I was the runt of the troop growing up I always had to prove myself, which means fighting for every slight or insult. What do I mean by runt? Since you are probably just looking at my bones right now and you are not that familiar with my race. Well, at just a tiny hair over 7ʻ, standard measure, and not growing into my full weight until well after I left home, I was the runt ok? Sorry, I'm a little touchy about my height. My dad was almost 8ʼ tall and a burly 350 pounds, and Ma wasn't that far behind him in height or weight. They had such high hopes for me, I was sorry to disappoint them. Maybe that is why I left and why I can't seem to stay in one place very long. Oh well. Well, as I said, I spent my younger years fighting over every slight, and as soon as the troop would let me pick up something other than a practice sword began fighting to protect the troop. By the time I left home I was pretty good with just about any weapon.
Day ?: I'm not sure how many days it has been I wrote that last entry, so from here on out I won't bother to put down what day it is. Like I said, when I left home I was pretty decent with just about any weapon and I've done nothing but improve my skills since I left home. When I left the troop I joined a band of mercenaries, boy what a bunch of cut throats those guys were. I think I was with them for 18 months or so. Bouncing from one minor conflict to another. Not to much different from home, but they pay was better. Why did I leave them then? Well, I got into a dispute with the commander, over my pay. What can I say, I was risking my butt every time we went into battle and that guy did was sit back and look on. For that he took 50% of the commission. I'm not too sorry that I killed him, but I am sorry that some of the other guys got in the way. Rickard shouldn't have set Grog and Newt on me during our argument. Of course if he didn't do that he might still be alive. I have served under other Warlords since then, and you know what Rickard wasn't that good to begin with.
My thoughts on Warlords? Well, I can tell you one thing, it is not a job that I'm cut out for. To much stress. I mean you are the one that is responsible for the whole group. It is up to you to make sure all of make it through alive, and then you also are the one that has to make sure that everyone gets paid. I've tried it once or twice, just not my cup of mead. I've served under good ones and bad ones. For a truly good Warlord, I would willing risk life and limb because the chances are pretty good that you will make it back alive and with coin in your pocket. The bad ones? They don't last too long. If they don't get killed in battle, then they tend to get knocked off by their own group. I know that I wrote about Rickard, but he isn't the only one that I've been involved in the demise of, just the first.
How did I get out of the mercenary business? Couldn't stand not knowing who the good guys were. I mean when you are a mercenary the only good guys are your own company, everyone else is the bad guy. But how do you justify fighting for a bad guy in a bad cause for money? To much philosophy. All I know is that when you are just an adventurer it sure is easier to live with your conscious. Find a quest, or kill some monsters get the gold. Pretty easy. Although it can get pretty far in between adventures. Good thing I don't feel a burning need to be wealthy. Just got to make sure that I'm well equipped and well supplied. Good weapons, armor and food. Although a bed would be nice. Hope I get to the next town soon. I'm starting to get a little lonely and foraging for my own supper is starting to wear on me.
What good is gold in my purse if I got to spend half my day hunting rabbits?
Well, it is time to get philosophical again. Looking at my last entry makes almost makes me want to cry. Now I don't have near as much gold to worry about. At least those bandits left me with my life, if nothing else. Well they did leave me with my writing equipment. Guess they thought it was kind of funny that a Goliath would feel that way about a bunch of paper and ink. I'm just glad they didn't realize just how short I really am, then they might have checked my boots. Down to my last 100 gold pieces. At least when I get to town I might be able to resupply. If I ever find those bandits again, they better be prepared to die. I'm getting tired of berries and my improvised sling doesn't work so well. Finally, I can see the glow of some kind of civilization over on the horizon. Wonder what town it is? Oh well, I'll find out tomorrow.
As the chapter suggests, this is the backstory of one of the party members. This one is the (not so) lovable party Fighter, Dirk Granite. The next three chapters will also be backstory and character introductions, so I hope you will bear with me. Once they're done, we go straight into the action.