dungeonraider

A mysterious dwarf. I tote a great axe around Eberron, even when I'm a druid.

Sep 062015
 

So I’m running Korthos with a friend, a player new to DDO, and the inevitable question comes.

“What does the frog do?”

“Who him? Oh, that’s just my companion.”

“What does he do?”

“Nothing really. He just follows me around.”

“Oh. How do I get one.”

“You have to pay for it.”

“Pay for a frog that does nothing but follow me around?”

My friend is bewildered. And I realize now that there really is no explaining our creature companions in Dungeons and Dragons Online.

Greg (short for Gregory, but everyone calls him Greg) does much more than follow me around. He gets excited when I travel through Delera’s graveyard. He chirps and ribbits and kicks his legs and makes a fuss. (I’ve since learned it’s because of the puddles on the paths through the grave markers).

My more experienced friends have bought into role-playing where Greg is concerned.

*After a victorious fight against a large mob of trolls in the Troll Lair in Gianthold*

“Greg seemed pretty excited back there.”

“Yeah he landed a few crits on that one shaman.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

We laugh. Greg has taken on the role of party member with those who’ve run with me often over the past couple years. I have a host of companions over various servers but Greg is my favorite. He really does seem to be enjoying himself even if he does nothing. When I summon him, everyone smiles.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“But where’s Greg.”

“Oh, dang. I forgot.”

*Summons*

“Okay, we can go now.”

Yay!

Aug 012015
 

The Journals of Tyrnie Hoklinder. By dungeonraider.

The Drow rogue had led Wuldin and I into Osgood’s warehouse. It was dim inside with a few flickering torches lighting a spacious entry hall. While Mirrix motioned for us to wait near the entry way, she had soundlessly padded up behind the one sentry inside. The man died without ever seeing who held the dagger that ended his life.

Now we stood inside an interior room while Mirrix moved in the shadows toward another sentry. This one had with him a strange metallic dog. It had faintly glowing reddish eyes and the dwarf turned to me and whispered, “The beast is ‘mechanical’.”

I had no idea what that meant.

Mirrix reached into a small pocket in her leather armor and produced a steel shuriken. She looked back at us to make sure we were ready, then she flipped the metal fragment onto the stones near some boxes off to the sentry’s right. The shuriken faintly clinked on the stones, but it was enough to attract the guard’s attention. He turned that way with a puzzled expression on his face. After a moment’s hesitation he walked toward the crates to investigate. That’s when Mirrix sprung into action and it was both wonderful and horrifying to behold.

In one hand the Drow held a jagged knife, in the other a short sword. She leaped into a roll that brought her within a few feet of the man who had his back to her as he examined behind the wooden crates. With blinding speed she impaled the guard through the lower back with the short sword and brought the dagger across his neck from behind. Gore splashed the nearby crates. The iron dog (later I’d learn that House Cannith created these iron ‘defenders’) became alert but Mirrix was already back-flipping across the stones back toward Wuldin and I.

We were ready; me with my great axe and Wuldin with his hammer. The iron defender clinked and clanked as it chased Mirrix and I brought my great axe down on its head. Wuldin smashed at its hind legs with his hammer. The metal beast groaned and crumpled and the reddish glow faded from its eyes.

What I felt that night I’ll always remember. I felt dirty. Watching those two men die at the hands of the Drow elf had me shaken. I turned away from my two companions and wretched on the cobblestone floor. I felt like crying.

When I had finished, Wuldin came to me and settled his gloved hand on my arm.

“We can turn back here.” There was great compassion in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Mirrix was going through the pockets of the dead man and she turned and looked at me with hard eyes. Her disdain for my weak stomach was apparent.

The rogue pocketed a few coins, walked over to a door at the far end of the room and listened. Apparently satisfied there was no ambush waiting beyond the portal, she beckoned us forward and opened the door. Wuldin patted me on the shoulder and helped me to my feet. I took a deep breath and nodded. I wasn’t going to quit now.

We followed Mirrix through the door.

Jul 032015
 

Again?!  Yes!!

Well it’s that time of year again. Time for the Pirate Event in all its former glory.

I say former because I have just about every treasure item you can get from the event. I’ve been running it for years. Sure it’s a grind (OMG the doors are open to crystal cove and I don’t have any compasses yet!), but oh how I love it.

I ran into an old friend on the Ghallanda server and I excitedly sent him a tell assuming he was in Smuggler’s Rest. I asked him what he was doing and he said, “Getting ready to flag for VoN.” Flag for VoN! On the first day of the Pirate Event? Outrageous.

Anyway, I coaxed him into bringing a friend and joining my group. The Cove wouldn’t be open for some time so we had plenty of time to farm for compasses.
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Jun 252015
 

The Journals of Tyrnie Hoklinder. By dungeonraider.

The Leaky Dinghy is far roomier inside than its outward appearance. It’s a rather shabby place, but at least it’s clean. The day Wuldin escorted me through its doors there were only a few patrons inside. A Brother Callaway, a dark-skinned fair-haired fellow, glanced up from the book he was reading when we walked in. He grunted at my dwarf companion and said, “The Sot’s in the back.”

“We’re not here for that”, responded Wuldin with an embarrassed grimace.

Noticing that I was with the stout dwarf he hurriedly uttered, “Oh, my mistake.” The man wore the garb of what I’d later learn was the Order of the Silver Flame.

Wuldin spotted the man he’d brought me to meet seated at a heavy wooden table. He bade me to follow him and I obliged. A hearty sea tune was being played by someone on a string instrument. Oddly, I didn’t see the musician.
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Jun 192015
 

The Journals of Tyrnie Hoklinder. By dungeonraider.

We first met at a merchant’s stand at the base of Stormreach City.  That day, he was impatient, surly and his purse was empty.  I never knew how long he’d sat there on that wooden barrel asking the other new adventurers if they would join him on a quest.  When I approached the vendor to buy something to eat, his shaggy head was down and his dark beard was on his broad, heaving chest.  He was snoring.

Wuldin Hammerrock was a dwarf and he’d been on the same ship that I’d bought passage on.  We were two of roughly fifty souls on that galleon when the White Dragon had swept down from the sky and attacked with ice and claw.  Thankfully it seemed the dragon’s intent was destroying the ship’s mast and sails and not eating us.

Wuldin and I had never spoken during that journey and I never knew what had happened to him during the attack.  Turns out he had attached himself to some floating debris and made his way to shore not far from where I’d beached and met the rogue named Jeets who had helped me.

It seemed more than coincidence that we both were in Stormreach now.  As I stood beside the stand that day munching on a hard chunk of bread, I seemed drawn to the dwarf.

“Excuse me”, I ventured carefully.

A bright blue eye popped open beneath a thick brow.  He came fully awake and looked at me wearily.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Weren’t we on the Prima together, the vessel that wrecked off Korthos?”

The hairy eyebrows arched and his face became animated.

“Yes, I believe we were!  Rotten dragon nearly drowned me!”  He spat off to the side for emphasis.

“Me, too.  I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

The dwarf heaved himself off the weathered barrel and heavily landed on his feet on the ground in front of me.  He stood a little over half my height.

“Wuldin Hammerrock, at your service!”  He half-bowed in my direction.

“Tyrnie Hoklinder.  Very pleased to meet you again.”  I smiled.

As we stood there, I suppose I already knew this was someone I could trust.  I had no one in the world to call friend.  I was alone in a new land and here before me stood this dwarf who needed a companion, too.  I’d learn later that his motives for friendship were rooted in attaining wealth while mine were in abating fear and loneliness.

Turns out, we were made for each other.
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