|The Book of the Wandering Smith
You have read of the Brotherhood of the Watchtower,
how their human arrogance destroyed and scattered the 11 lost Knights of
the Tower. But what of Addamus, the Smith, the Brother left behind when
their world came apart? Odd you should ask...
This story may only be found in Addamus' own diary,
or told from his lips. It is up to your party to uncover this information.
And thereby hangs the tale.
is name is Omegus,
or that's what he tells his acquaintances. He has no friends to speak of,
and he doesn't.
He looks about eighty, but a hard eighty. Those
aren't laugh lines, friend; those are grief lines. His shoulder-length
white hair is ragged and frizzled. A small trickle of red runs through
his full beard, but other than that it has run to white as well. For his
age, he has remarkably strong arms. He carries a staff with a carved chesspiece
on the top, apparently a rook.
He lives in a one-room shack in a quiet part of
town; nothing too showy, a bit dusty and rumpled. He is said to be a sage
of sorts. He has an almost complete grasp of ancient history, and is a
bit of a tinker as well, often mending cookpots for the local housewives.
But he keeps to himself...and talks very little. "As silent as Omeegus,"
his neighbors say when they mention him at all.
If you were to look into his room, you would see
mainly books; hundreds of them, mostly history texts. His only other real
possessions other than a half-melted anvilcracked anvil and some ancient
smithy tools is a tiny clockwork bird. If wound up, it only gasps, some
tiny internal mechanism long broken.
He may be found at home, where he will refuse any
contact with outsiders he does not know. If introduced by a third party
he knows, he will consult on history...for a fee. If the party finds him
elsewhere, it will be late in the evening, at a run-down pub called the
Hope & Anchor. He will be drinking...and crying. The party will learn
of him as a sage, and probably begin by viewing him as a tool toward larger
goals. The AM must remember to play him with tragedy and sympathy to draw
the party out.
This is a man lost, a man adrift. What is his story?
It will take a long while, several favors, and some serious trust-building
to find out. They will learn it only from his own lips...or perhaps he
drops a book during some consulting session at the pub...
The Fall of the Watchtower
alone, his forge long cold, the only sound in his massive smithy was the
demonic laughter of a small red Dragon. He looked away in shame, knowing
how he had compromised himself, and knowing something had gone wrong. Where
there had been twelve fine suits of white plate armor, there was now only
one standing watch over his smithy. A sickly-sweet smoke filled the air
of his workshop as he lay in the dust.
He had failed at first. He had tried and tried to
find the formula; the powerful combination of the elements that would yield
the perfect metal for the Fight. He sought some steel alloy that would
provide his Brotherhood with the earthly protection they would need to
vanquish the world's many dragons. His vast knowledge had failed him, until
one day, when feeding the small subdued red Dragon that the Brotherhood
kept as a research animal, the idea finally came to him: To slay the Dragons,
once and for all, they would need the armor of a Dragon!
He had scraped the scales from the small, horse-sized
creature and had used the Dragon's own flame to heat his forge. He had
melted the scales together with the finest, hardest metals, and talked
it into shape; twelve suits of armor for the Brotherhood of men! They had
thought they would emerge from the Watchtower and free the world! But here
in the dust at the feet of the Dragon, he was beginning to see that they
had been terribly wrong.
The Dragon's laughter now mocked him.
"Petty human!" It snorted. "So full of your own
arrogance, so bloated on your own self-made wisdom! It is a wonder that
our Enemy even notices your worthless lives! You so hungered for your own
path to glory that you would dance with the Ancient Ones themselves and
try to steal our secrets!"
Addamus shook the sleep from his head, and for the
first time he noticed that their "captive" Dragon was now twirling its
collar on one razor-sharp claw. Its missing scales seemed to fill back
in as he watched. It spewed another wicked laugh, and eddies of flame began
to burn sections of his smithy. It regarded him with a cold, bright eye:
"I was the weakest of our brood, sent to let your
petty Brotherhood capture me. It was thought that your own pride would
make you take me in as some lickspittle pet. I have waited years for your
own arrogance to grow to the point that I could quietly work my will upon
"No!" Addamus shouted, as it all began to become clear.
"Did you not hear me in the night?" The creature
chuckled a deep, throaty laugh. "Calling to your petty brain in the stillness?
Urging your kind on to their self-appointed task?"
"You will fail!" Addamus proclaimed. "We fight on
the side of Good! That armor..."
"That armor I let you *think* you designed?" A thick
spume of flame melted his tools into one cherry-red puddle. "Weakling!
Did you think of your own glory you walked in Light? You walk in Darkness!"
And with that, the tiny Dragon grew and shifted, filling out until his
now-massive wings blew out the windows of the workshop.
The finest smithy in the world was in ruins, and
with his fiery breath, the Dragon flew up and turned his flame upon the
grand Watchtower. The Dragon was joined by several others of his kind,
even larger and more terrifying, and they all focused upon the Tower. The
very stone flowed like water as the Tower crumbled unto itself, and sank
beneath the sand it was built upon. The dragons danced in the air high
over the smoking remains of that place. The now huge Dragon's laughter
echoed across the Wastes, and with a flutter of his great red wings, he
was gone. At the last, only silence ruled the place.
What of the smith? He crawled from the ruins, bitter,
bruised. His Brothers were all gone, clad in the armor they believed would
protect them...armor forged by human hands to Dragon designs. Who knew
where they had gone, or what would befall them? Did they die in the "battle"
of the Tower? Did they run into the night clad only in the missing armor?
Who knew? The smith cursed his own name, they day he was born, and his
family line back to the Glade.
All he found in the ruins of their great Watchtower
before the Wastes blew quietly over the slag was a single clockwork bird
from his workshop, a toy he had been creating before the armor was even
a dream. It was battered and bent, and when he touched the switch with
a bloody finger, it merely coughed and sputtered. He walked out into the
Grey Wastes, hoping that this day would be his last. No curse in the world
would be great enough for him. He had danced with the Dragons, and now
he would willingly pay the price."
The first chapter of the tiny book ends there, and after some
ragged and torn pages picks up again in the same handwriting, but different
ink. Assumedly some time has passed between the two entries.
"I may be the only survivor. Drunk on the wisdom of men,
I have dammed my fellows to the Overlord knows what fate. I have scoured
history to locate any mention of them, but there is none. In the years
that followed, I sought them in the surrounding lands, then further and
further away. They are as gone as our grand Watchtower. As far as I know,
only I survive to carry the shame of my all too human arrogance; the blood
of my brothers is on my hands. I committed the sin that caused the Tower
to fall; I sought to conquer Evil with Evil's own tools. Surely the Overlord
himself has turned his face against me. I am not fit to live, and yet I
"I have tried many times to take my life, and yet
I live. Cuts heal before my eyes, poisons pass right through me. I am a
ruin of a man, aged but denied death. I walk the lands of the living, passing
among men but never of them, afraid to tell a soul who I really am.
"I began this as a history of the Watchtower, to
set right every lie and error that men have said about us over the millennium
since its fall, but even now, my spirit fails me. What is the point of
what men say? The Brotherhood is gone. Perhaps they were the lucky ones.
May they rest in a better place, if in truth there is a better place. I
will probably be here, cursed that I am, long after the true Final Conflict
has come and gone.
"Our great Tower lies broken beneath the sand, and
every night I find myself in another murky bar, listening to another tuneless
bard further mangle the memory of my Brothers and our quest. Will this
hell never end?
In my hand,
Behold the Man
Hope of 1
Knowledge of 20 in metalwork of all kinds
Knowledge of 15 in Ancient History
Vision of 12
Strength of 12
PV 25 (apparent...regeneration makes this Infinite
until the End of Time or TwiceBorn)
megus is a pathetic old man who is cursed by the
Dragons to wander the world, calling no place home and no man brother.
He keeps to himself, afraid to share his sin.
The man is a sage of sorts,
friends will tell the LightRaiders. If you want History, you want Omegus.
The Orc Uprising in the highlands? He tells it like he was there. The Sad
Case of the Battling Barons? He tells it better than the Bards do, and
he knows their first names! Trust me, for research, its Omegus. His knowledge
is vast, but his short-term memory is a bit spotty...always forgetting
where his staff is, or what street he is on. He's not a bad tinker as well,
they say. But he never touches weapons. He will fix a pot like new, or
make a clockwork toy for a child, but he never repairs armor or weapons,
not for money or threat.
This fellow is a man without a country or kin, a
hollow shell of a machine built solely for carrying his grief around, and
built so perfectly it never wears out. This is the true curse laid on him
by the Dragons: he will remember his failure forever...or so he believes.
The sad thing is this, it need not be this way.
Omegus knows not what happened to his Brothers, but he believes them dead,
with the blood on his hands. He believes (in a stout, Old Testament way)
that the Overlord could never forgive a sinner such as he. And though he
knows it not, that is what is keeping his horrible enchantment alive. The
enchantment is simply broken, if only he would accept the Overlord's gift.
His exile is self inflicted.
The party will need to witness to him several times.
He will at first hustle them along to their adventures, then at another
time he will make bitter comments about his sin being too great. At a time
of the AM's choosing (possibly when drunk) he will relate the entire story
most tragically, filling in what is known about the Brotherhood from the
Palsmist's tale in the main book. The party will have to role-play him
through the Great Runes, and get him to accept the Overlord. When he does,
the following happens: complete catharsis, de-aging to a man of 50, and
quite probably a Unicorn visitation. (Touched by a Unicorn?)
As far as he knows, his Brothers were never seen
again. He does NOT know they are the Sleepless Knights. If the party relates
this to him at any time, he will take out a VERY nice sword, tucked away
wrapped in velvet, and begin a quest to free his Brothers from the domination
of the Dragons. If the party is nice, they can come along too!
Some possible plot lines to mix into the stew for the dedicated Adventure
Omegus hears his lost armor calling to him, haunting his dreams. He fears
it will work its dark magic on him, and compel him to put it on. He seeks
a party to join him on a quest to the Wastes to seek the foundation of
Or perhaps this is a lead-in to the revelation of his true past. The party
hires him as sage when the Overlord dispatches them to destroy the armor,
and along the way they learn the truth of his past!
Or, word comes that the Tower's ruins have emerged from the Wastes. Perhaps
the Overlord wants the armor destroyed, or perhaps some Dragon has taken
over the dungeons beneath the dunes as home base for a raid on the Human
A secret society, a sect of the dreaded Cryptic Alliance, has found the
armor and is trying to divine its secrets. Or...
Or the sect is seeing to perform some hideous ceremony that will draw the
12 knights together and begin the Final Conflict before its time!
Or the above sect is doing so at the bidding of the Dragons to destroy
the mortal lands!
Or they are doing it as a power grab to try and control the Dragons!
ere ends the
AdventuremMaster Archives. Click the sword to go back to the Homepage of
the Dragonraid Inn.