Note: Our first story is not a campaign adventure, or "missions" as we've been calling them, but rather an origin story written by my brother. Now, my brother has always been a creative-minded individual, but he's not really interested in writing or art as a hobby. He's a gamer, and going to school to become a firefighter. He's done so many cool things with D&D that he hasn't otherwise done, or done for a long time... he custom made a tiny bow and quiver for his mini-figurine, wrote Peeli's epic origin story, drew a portrait, and has learned the dwarven alphabet and wrote cool letters to our DM with it. I read his origin story and I was SO proud of him for creating such an intriguing origin for Peeli, giving him a tragic history and three dimensional reasons for his vendetta against orcs.

Read and enjoy, and please leave a positive review for my brother! I'd love to surprise him with them! (don't worry, he knows I am compiling and posting our adventures to the internet, so making his story public is with his blessing. The surprise will be the feedback!)


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Peeli's Origin Story

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Written by Alec, my brother

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It was just before dawn.

My family and I were with a supply caravan on our way to town to trade our mountain riches. We have completed many of these journeys with no problems of raid or bandits. My people always use extreme caution by not using roads, and changing routes each time. This time only the leaders of the mountain dwarf colony and my parents knew this route. My father was a tracker and a survivalist and was our guide in the wilderness to town. He taught me everything I know about living in the wilderness. He taught me how to survive. Little did I know I would need it so soon.

We were approaching a dip in the path where a slope gave way to high ground off to the left of the path. I could see a little ways ahead and a tree was down in the path. It had been raining heavily the past few days, so no one seemed to think anything of it. We stopped.

That's when I heard a quiet whistle. It wasn't any animal I had ever heard. I looked around and no one else seemed to hear it. They were busy cutting the tree in an attempt to free the path. That's when I heard a loud crack and boom that shook me in my place.

I looked to the source to see what was happening. Another tree had fallen behind the caravan.

"We're under attack!" my father yelled. He had always told me; if you ever hear those words, you hide. Don't breathe, don't cry, just hide.

Trying to gather myself, I looked around, and that's when the first volley of arrows struck. Several of our warriors fell instantly, as well as my father's horse. He fell, recovered himself, then drew his sword. The second volley hit with a hiss through the air. One hit right by my leg - I recognized the fletching on the arrow as orcish. I only knew this from my father's books from his study.

Orcs began to rise from the brush, charging towards the rest of us. In a panic I realized I needed to hide. I could not run, they would have seen me. I realized the only box the orcs would not open is our waste box.

I opened it and got in the mush and sludge. I instantly threw up into my lap. The smell was so bad that I crack the lid to get some air. The crack gives me a peep hole into the battle. It was horrible! Dwarves lay dead all around.

My father, still in the fray, saw an orc running after my mother. "Nooooo!" he screamed. He turned to give chase, but doing so left him open to attack from the orc he was previously fighting.

The orc, not missing an opportunity, swung overhand with a war hammer, striking my father in the back. He screeched and fell over, using his hands to crawl after my mother. The orc raised his weapon again and struck down on the back of my father's head. In this moment my father passed into the next realm.

I was so distraught after seeing this that I lowered back down into the waste box. I covered my eyes in fear of what I may see.

I heard my mother screaming then.

I couldn't bear to look, for I knew what I would see. I heard a sword slash and a swoosh through the air. She instantly fell silent to a faint moan. At this point all of the dwarves have been slain.

I made no sound but tears streamed down my face and my teeth clenched.

I could hear the orcs speaking and laughing. I could not make it out though, it was all in orcish. I could tell they were moving chests because of the jingling coin.

Footsteps came over to my wagon. An orc rips back the linen tarp to see into our wagon.

The orc started sniffing, and I heard a grunt, almost like disgust. He released the tarp and walked away.

I sat in that silent, hellish purgatory for another thirty minutes to ensure they were gone.

I finally decided to leave my hiding spot. It began to rain, and I could see seam rising off the bodies with a plinking sound of the rain against the armor.

I looked around, could see them lying there helpless. My parents were dead.

"What do I do now?"

I can't go back to the dwarven halls. There is a traitor there, who wanted us all dead.

I could survive out in the wilderness, I know how to live off the wilderness and the land. I can survive the elements long enough to grow older. Then I can hunt the orcs and the traitor that gave us up to be slaughtered and left in the mud.

I must grow older, survive, learn how to fight, and hunt down the scum called Orcs. I will have my revenge on the greed that lets evil run this world.


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Don't forget to leave a review for my brother!