The Campaign Builder's Guild

Introduction by the Author

It has been literally a century since I first came to the Emerald Islands from Albion, and yet, were you to look at me, I am not a day older than 20. Many have speculated at this miraculous prolonged life I have lived. I am sick of the bard's tales and songs written about me. Preposterous tall tales of slaying dragons, destroying despots and bringing peace and freedom to the peoples have spread across the Empire for too long.

I am here to tell the truth, nothing more. To set records straight and share insight of the many peoples of the New World, that is my goal, my glory. Understand that some of my exploits are more fantastical than others, yet I write nothing but honesty. At least, I would if I actually wrote these tales.

These accounts were transcribed for me by a journal. The journal was a gift from a beautiful lover of mine from the Artificer's Guild. It records my actions, my thoughts, and my day to day for posterity. Even sweet Diana knew that someday I would do something worth reading, though I may not have believed her at the time. Naturally, it is easy to assume this book was given to me so that she could keep tabs on yours truly, but that is neither here nor there.

So now, for your pleasure, I present to you excerpts from that journal, completely uncensored and unabridged. Oh reader of mine, to share these memories with you is surely a treat for me, I do hope you enjoy it.

Sincerely yours,

Lord Governor Morgan Drake of New Albion

Prologue

   I was born in the port town of Stratton in 412, having only now turned twenty-one years of age, I sold my mother's estate and decided to set out in the world. Mother had always been a cold and hateful hag, so I was pleased to see her go. I apologize for the cruelness of my thoughts, but she was a bitter woman. She hated me twice over, for my father had left her pregnant and he left her with a son, rather than a beautiful young girl as she wanted. I cannot say why nor how, but he did not leave her with debts but a trove of gold and silver. We never wanted for anything, and she even became a respectable member of the yacht club. I am sad to say, I am not sad to see her die that bloated old crone.

   Fortunately for me, she left the estate and the remainder of that treasure to me. Which I promptly sold the next day and pocketed the Marks. I kept only the family Yacht, or our faithful servant Peter the mute. There were a few possessions of hers that I kept, including a magnificent coin purse and a sword given to me by my father.

The Purse

Mother had owned a small pearl purse which she carried with her always. It was a simple piece of work, she usually carried it inside a more acceptable diamond studded purse. I first learned of its magical properties when I was 7. I had seen a young peasant boy playing with a wooden sword. I watched him dance around the street slaying invisible trolls and dragons. So I severely beat him, crushing his nose and taking the sword for my own.

When Mother found me playing with it she gave me a severe scolding, telling me that a blade was a peasant's tool, and that if I was only a girl I would understand that. She took the wooden sword from me and put it into her pearl purse. Now, this purse was probably large enough to hold a few pennies, yet it took the whole 2 foot weapon!

I waited until Mother took her daily nap. Then, silent as a robber, I tip toed into her bedroom and stole the purse from her dresser. I ran to the field behind the house and held the purse upside down, giving it a sharp shake to relinquish my lost toy. In a matter of 2 shakes, an entire warehouse of goods came tumbling out. The field was covered in coins, gems, liquor of all types, silk dresses, and many more items that I could not begin to tell you about. It was then that Peter discovered me.

The mute Peter shook a finger at me and scowled. Together, we scraped all the victuals back into the purse, taking us an hour. The purse stretched to take in the many bottles of rum and whiskey. Then Peter took the purse into the house, leaving me with my wooden sword and a sore hand.

The Sword

Why did I leave that life of luxury? Why did I sell it all? On my twenty-first birthday, the first one I spent alone, a courier approached me at my favorite tavern. It was a long package, wrapped in leather. I signed for it and took it home. There, on my dining hall table, I opened it. It was a sword, yet unlike any I had ever seen before. The blade was of a metal I had never seen before, it shimmered in the candle light a soft blue color. When I took it in my hand, bolts of lightning danced across the blade, and the hairs on my arm stood on end. Included was a letter, it said:

"Dear Morgan
   Not a day goes by that I do not think about you and your mother. A heavy shame rests upon my heart for leaving you, but someday you will understand why I had no choice but to leave. This sword was my most prized possession once, now I look at it and see only a past composed of disappointment. Across the ocean, there is a land no one has ever dreamt of in Albion and I wish to share it with you. Please, come find me.
Love, forever and always,
Father"

I knew from that moment on, I would find this land he spoke of, and find the man I had missed my entire life.

You already have me hooked. I must know more and cannot wait for the next post. Keep up the incredible work.

I'd say something, but Nomadic stole the words out of my mouth. Can't wait to read more.

Yes. I agree.