They call me Darvin

I guess my story begins almost six years ago when my father died. My mom had passed away a few years earlier during a harsh winter, and I helped my father take care of our farm. We barely had enough to eat on a regular basis, and the winters were hard. I came home from tending to some fences to find him seemingly asleep on the chair. When I tried to wake him I found him cold and stiff. It was a week later that I sold the farm to a neighbor, and headed out on my own.

I traveled most of the land, and met many strange people. At a glance, the different stories about the races seem true, but as I traveled with them I noticed that no matter how different the races are, they are also very much alike. It’s odd to see how a halfling can manipulate elves and dwarves alike into a decision they wouldn’t not have normally made. I had to laugh when I watched an elf drink a dwarf under the table. That dwarf still insists that his drink was drugged. It still scares me when I see a gnome working on some invention or other. Those things always seem to explode, and someone always gets hurt from it.

I had heard there was some trouble brewing down by the Lake of Steam a few weeks ago, so I’m headed there now. Who knows, maybe it’ll be fun.

Character sheets: Darvin Dundragon [Human Fighter]
Hoar [Heavy War Horse]

Cause of death: Rolling down stone steps to retrieve lantern, catching on fire, being attacked by undead, eventually being rendered unconscious. Mercy killing by party member.