Rodrick Krimmson's Memoirs

A (hopefully) large collection of dictated memoirs from the Mayor of a town in the DnD campaign that I am playing in. This is to help me develop his character in a meaningful way, whilst unable to play with the group due to exams on the GM's behalf.


1. Introduction, and early life

Hello, I am Rodrick Krimmson, the King of Borderton. Some years ago my personal advisor told me that I ought to start writing down everything, everything that I did that affected me, but at the time I was illiterate, so she agreed to write down my words as I said them, using her magic to write faster than any human could. So now I present to you a full, comprehensive, mostly chronological, collection of all of them, every single one, up to the present day, where I will take over writing them and continue the legacy, until the day I die, so that whomever succeeds me may have a thorough understanding of what I did and why I did it. So I hereby present to you my life, in the hopes that it may aid you in some way.

Elena-What was your childhood like? Where did you grow up, and why did you come here of all places, from Aunarr?

I grew up in a Stonastery, a monk owned monastery deep in the mountains, secluded and hidden away, where they taught of the great power held within the mountain, and the methods to use to draw upon that energy and use it for ourselves. The building itself was amazing, an architectural miracle, made hundreds of feet in the air built into a mountain. I remember there were so many stories carved into the mountain, carved with the glyphs of stone, a special carving technique developed by the monks of my order to engrave tales into the walls of the mountains, using only sweeps and jabs to create a very square and geometric looking alphabet.

I suppose that that is why I have difficulty learning how to write, I'm used to a sound system, where each glyph means a noise, like "ah" or "oh", and none of them depended on the glyphs around them on how they were said. It made reading a little easier when it was done aloud I guess, because you just said what you read, didn't have to work out what it meant by that. But there were so many stories, so many tales and expeditions, and all of them seemed so magical and grand, but also so alien to me, they didn't seem possible, like they were just lies. But I grew up spending every waking moment where I wasn't training reading them, and learning all of the stories off by heart.

The stories were always about someone facing insurmountable odds, but somehow overcoming them, but I found the interesting thing to be the subtle differences in how they were all written. Some made the hero look invincible, others tried to make him look weak and vulnerable, which only made the victory more interesting. When you grow up on tales of all these people going off and doing amazing things, but are told every day that you can't, because you are too young or too weak, when many of the stories started with people my age or younger, weaker than I, who grew in strength through training outside the mountain range.

By the time I was eight I had it all planned out. I was going to wait until I was twelve, then run away, taking nothing with me but the clothes on my back, and live out in the world for eight years, then return with a story of my own to carve into the wall. But that day never came, because when I was eight the unthinkable happened.

Thinking back I remember that it was a pretty good day, the sun was out, but it wasn't too hot, it was quite nice. Until about midday, when we heard an earth shattering roar. It sounded as though an entire mountain had died, which indeed it had. As everyone in the monastery ran over, two hundred or so people, we all saw one by one the last thing any of us had wanted to see. An army of Dragons melting stone with their breath, tearing into the Stonastery with all the strength that they could muster. The older monks leapt into action, while the venerated monks were left to lead the children to safety. I fell behind, too feeble to keep up with the other children as they scaled the mountain wall. I kept slipping, or losing my footing, never falling, but constantly faltering under the immense heat as the dragons burned everything I knew. Looking up I saw all of the boys and girls atop the mountain, shouting for me to hurry up, but it only made things worse. I was beginning to sweat, and my lungs were starting to burn. I yelled out, but no noise exited my mouth. I screamed myself hoarse trying to warn them but it was too late. By the time they realised that I was trying to warn them the dragons were already upon them, tearing into the children and grandparents alike, butchering the helpless and the weak. I stayed where I was, someway up the mountain, maybe fifty feet from the top, and just made myself as scarce as I could for the next few hours.

I ended up waiting in fear until sunrise the next day, clinging to the rock face with every muscle in my body burning and screaming at me, but I feared what might happen if I were to try to move too much. As the flaming sun rose over the peak of the far mountain the moon became visible in the sky, and as they passed directly in front of me there was an eclipse. I don't know if the eclipse lasted for seconds or minutes or hours, all that I remembered was that there is an eclipse every time a hero is forged, and I knew that the world was about to get very interesting.   





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