“…and so upon reaching the edge of Phandalin, all we could see for miles was nought but desolation and ruin. Of the dragons that had laid waste to the town many years before, there was no sign, but I could smell the brimstone tang of danger in the air. And so, taking up the lead, as always, I guided my errant companions onwards into that empty township, blades and spells at the ready–”

The door chose precisely that moment to be knocked upon, emitting a hefty wooden boom that jolted Madryck Roslof out of his narration. His hand twitched, sending a long streamer of enchanted ink running haphazardly down the unmarked portion of his memoir-in-progress.

“Damnation!” Madryck hissed. Agitated, he stood up with a start, and promptly thudded his head against the cucurbitous ceiling of his study, prompting him to emit a string of even more colourful curses. The trio of mice who had been sitting on his desk– there was practically a small colony of them somewhere in the farmhouse now, for he had never taken the effort to get rid of them– chose this moment to scarper off, squeaking in aghast alarm at the old warlock’s choice of profanities. 

Madryck had actually hit his head on that same spot several times in the past month, if he was honest. He could not tell if it was because he had somehow gotten taller, or his farmhouse smaller, or if he had just gotten that much clumsier. Truth to be told, he was uncertain of a lot of things ever since The Incident had occurred: he was constantly forgetting things, losing himself in constant fogs of confusion and befuddlement. It was all he could do sometimes just to bury himself in his writing, keep to himself, lose himself in the pleasant surety of memory, and trust to his servants to mind the farmhouse for him.

Speaking of his servants…Sybilla came fluttering into the room at that moment, bright, cheerful, and glowing a blissfully unaware hue of cerulean.

“Guest at the door, Madryyyck!” she declared in that annoyingly cheerful voice of hers. “Want me to lettim in?”

“What? No!” Madryck shouted, hurriedly potting his quill, closing his memoir and putting on his study jacket just in case Sybilla once again disregarded his orders. “I have no wish to be disturbed at this hour–”

“Opening the doooooooor!” Sybilla chimed, seemingly ignorant of Madryck’s entreaties as she fluttered a hand and magically swung the door open. This, Madryck inwardly fumed, was one of the many, many downsides of having pixies as servants.

Grumbling heatedly, Madryck nonetheless shuffled up towards the door, intent on salvaging the situation as best as he could and wondering, with no small amount of irritation, at who could be disturbing him at this hour–

Hmm. The first thing that he noticed, when peering out at the expanse of his farmland and the rows of massive pumpkins that grew from it, was that it was actually midday. He had miscalculated what time it was. He had, admittedly, been doing that a lot as of late. Ever since Her Absence.

The second thing he noticed was that, despite the insistent knocking from earlier, there was no one at the door.

A throat cleared a little downwards, out of his line of sight. Glancing down, Madryck saw that there was, in fact, a visitor, and that this newcomer was, in fact, a Halfling: a short, small man who barely came up to Madryck’s waist. The halfling seemed to be young-ish…maybe roughly in his twenties, though it was hard to tell with their stunted breed-…wearing a rough-hewn brown shirt, russet-red trousers and a cloak of stitched together leaves across hsi shoulders. He carried what appeared for all intents and purposes to be a simple wooden travelling staff. He was looking up at Madryck with undisguised friendliness; this close, Madryck could see the tiny blue bird-shaped tattoos on his left cheek, the green tinges in his short-cropped brown hair, and the coarse brown stubble that, in a certain light, also looked suspiciously green.

“Hello!” the halfling declared with a cheerfulness that Madryck immediately found outrageous.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii!” chimed Sybilla from where she fluttered behind Madryck.

Madryck turned and glowered at his assistant. “Shoo, off with you!” he declared, gesticulating wildly at the pixie. Sybilla, for her part, impudently stuck her tongue out at Madryck before fluttering away. Cursing the mercurial idiocy of his servants for what felt like the thousandth time, Madryck turned back to his Halfling guest, who was still standing in the doorway with that hopelessly cheerful expression of his.

“Right, what do you want?” Madryck grumbled. “I should have you know that you are interrupting the progress of my memoirs.”

“Oh! Terribly sorry!” the Halfling replied. He had the rustic tone of a man accustomed to living in the countryside. “I just wanted to be sure I was at the right place. This is the farmhouse of Madryck Roslof, is it not?”

Madryck sighed. “It is,” he replied, “and I am the Madryck Roslof in question. What do you want from me?”

“Ah! A pleasure to meet you!” The Halfling gave an unpracticed bow. “My name is Reed Brightbluff, and I’m nothing more than a wandering greenthumb. On any other day, sir, I would have loved nothing more than to ask you how you managed to grow such a magnificent pumpkin patch– your farmhouse is a delight to these rustic eyes!” The Halfling then seemed to restrain himself from launching into excited agrarian rambling.”But I also have heard that you are one of the foremost experts on the Feywild. More importantly, that you used to be pact-bound to an Archfey at one point, and so have firsthand knowledge of the Fey and what they’re like. That is the reason for my visit, sir.”

Madryck blanched at the accusation. No, he quickly corrected himself, the statement: the Halfling, this Reed fellow, had made the statement plainly and matter of factly, without any noticeable hostility. Still…these were facts that Madryck took pains NOT to advertise about himself. People tended to gather in pitchfork-wielding mobs if they knew that a warlock was about, after all.

He took a guarded step back. “Who told you that?” he hissed.

Reed looked up at him with a confused expression. “Why, your lodgers did.”

The comment made the old warlock blink, slowly. “My…lodgers?”

At that moment, a faint squeaking caught Madryck’s attention. Looking down, he saw a trio of rats peeking from around his shoes, sniffing up towards Reed. In response, the Halfling leaned forwards a little, twitched his nose slightly, and made a series of faint squeaking sounds back at the rats– sounds that were so high pitched that they should have been impossible for a normal tongue to produce.

“Yes, your lodgers,” Reed repeated, looking back up at Madryck with a wide smile. “They are most excited by your magical studies, Mister Roslof. They also wish me to tell you that they quite enjoy listening to you recite your memoirs.”

Madryck’s eyes narrowed. Animal Speech. This Halfling was no bumbling yokel after all. A druid. 

“Well, I suppose I am pleased to have something of an appreciative audience,” he sniffed, “even if it is of the rodentine variety. But come now. You know who I am. You are correct, Mr…Brightbluff, was it? I consider myself to be something of an authority on the Feywild and its denizens– you saw one of them a little earlier, in fact. Pixies. Dimwitted but easily bindable creatures.” He leaned a little lower. “But trust me, the less you know about that mad place, the better.”

“Ah, it’s not the whole of the Feywild I’d like to know about,” Reed replied. “Just one particular, er….moving piece of it, sir. Do you know anything about the Witchlight Carnival?”

Involuntarily, Madryck took a stumbled step back. Unbidden, memories of wide, toothy smiles, discordant music, and ever-too-sweet smells and tastes came back to the fore.

“Why do you wish to visit that accursed place, Mr. Brightbluff?” Madryck hissed. “Are you seeking cheap entertainments? Juggling clowns, creatures and edibles from strange lands, forbidden pleasures, that sort of thing? If so then I bid you, sir, to seek them elsewhere! No one who has entered the Witchlight Carnival has ever been seen again, not in Faerun or elsewhere!”

“I know all that!” Reed said, gesturing with his hands for the old warlock to calm down. “I know it’s dangerous and I know folks tend to disappear there! And that’s why I’m looking for it! A friend of mine lost her child to that place, and I’m hoping to get him back!”

At this, Madryck paused. “Are you serious, Mr. Brightbluff?” he asked. “If you are certain about this endeavour, sir, then while I commend your bravery and the nobility of your action, sir, I must tell you it is hopeless. That child is gone, Mr. Brightbluff. Neither you nor the poor mother can ever get him back– not unless, in their caprice, the Fey choose to send him back…in which case he will not be the same child who went into that accursed carnival.”

Reed gave a solemn nod. “I understand all of this, Mr. Roslof,” he said. “But I gave my friend my word, and I intend to keep it. I must at least attempt this rescue, as hopeless as it might be.”

“It’s suicide.” Madryck hissed. “You will be lost forever as surely as this child was! Does your word mean so much to you that you will march into certain doom to honour it?”

“Yes.” Just like that. No grandstanding speech about honour meant everything, or about how he would gladly give his life for his friends; just a simple, certain answer. 

Slowly, Reed’s expression brightened. “Besides,” he went on, “I fully intend to repay you for your help! Your lodgers have told me that you’ve been experiencing mental fog, memory loss, sleepwalking, moments of delusion…they’re all rather worried about you.” The Halfling pulled up his travel bag and opened it, revealing tightly knotted slacks of varying colours, each of which exuded an earthy, leafy aroma. “Fortunately for you, I happen to be quite the herbalist! Give me enough time, sir, and I may be able to produce a remedy that can cure, or at least mitigate, your condition!”

For a moment, Madryck stood agape, not in the least because of what he considered to be a monstrous invasion of his privacy by a bunch of meddling rats. He felt a fury bubble up within him, and at that moment he was sorely tempted to cast this Druid, and every single rodent in the farmhouse, out of his property.

But reason prevailed and forced him to calm himself. Reed was, regrettably, right: he had not been himself ever since his patron had abandoned him. He felt like he was slipping in and out of waking reality at times, falling apart little by little like a scone in a teacup. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

“Oh very well,” he grumbled, “I suppose I shall have to indulge your madness, Mr. Brightbluff. You might as well come in.” He looked back into the interior of the house. “Sybilla! Kindly prepare a pot of tea for myself and our guest!”

Reed practically beamed as he crossed the threshold, taking care to rub his shoe-less feet against the rug. “My thanks, Mr. Roslof!” he said. “And my friend Rosalind would no doubt thank you as well, were she here…though I doubt you’d understand her, what with her being a squirrel and all.”

Madryck rounded on Reed at that moment. “What?” he exclaimed. “Mr. Brightbluff, you mean to tell me that you are risking life and limb…nay, imperiling your mortal soul…on behalf of a squirrel?”

Reed stared up at Madryck with genuine confusion. “Yes,” he replied. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment, Madryck could do nothing but blink several times. Reed, for all of how ludicrous the proposal sounded, seemed utterly serious.

Slowly, Madryck let out an irritated sigh. “Druids,” he grumbled, before heading off into his study to collect his many writings on the Feywild…

*****

Character Name: Reed Brightbluff

Race: Stout Halfling

Class: Circle of the Moon Druid

Alignment: Lawful Good

Languages: Common, Druidic

Background: Folk Hero

Starting Level: 3

Stats:

Strength	Dexterity	Constitution	Intelligence	Wisdom	Charisma
10	13 (15)(+2)	12 (13) +1	8 (-1)	15 (+2)	14 (+2)

Proficiency Bonus: +2

Speed: 25 ft

HP: 23

Hit Points at Higher Levels: 1d8 (or 5) + your Constitution modifier per druid level after 1st

Score Increases: Dexterity +2, Constitution +1

Tools: Cook’s utensils

Equipment:

• quarterstaff, Leather armor, an explorer’s pack, and a druidic focus

– herbalism kit, shovel, an iron pot, a set of common clothes, belt pouch containing 10 gp

-An extra 2d4 x 10 gp

Tool Proficiencies: Cook’s utensils, vehicles (land) 

Saving Throws: Intelligence, Wisdom

Skill Proficiencies: Animal Handling, Survival

Skills: Arcana, Medicine

SPELLS

1st level: Cure Wounds, Goodberry, Speak With Animals, Thunderwave

2nd level: Barkskin, Spike Growth

Cantrips: Guidance, Shillelagh

RULES:

Lucky. When you roll a 1 on an attack roll, ability check, or saving throw, you can reroll the die and must use the new roll

Brave. You have advantage on saving throws against being frightened.

Halfling Nimbleness. You can move through the space of any creature that is of a size larger than yours.

Stout Resilience. You have advantage on saving throws against poison, and you have resistance against poison damage. 

Wild Shape: (see pages 66-67 of PHP)

Combat Wild Shape: When you choose this circle at 2nd level, you gain the ability to use Wild Shape on your turn as a bonus action, rather than as an action. Additionally, while you are transformed by Wild Shape, you can use a bonus action to expend one spell slot to regain 1d8 hit points per level of the spell slot expended. 

Rustic Hospitality: Since you came from the ranks of the common folk, you fit in among them with ease. You can find a place to hide, rest, or recuperate among other commoners, unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them. They will shield you from the law or anyone else searching for you, though they will not risk their lives for you.

So to start this train rolling, I’ve gone with the one system practically everyone thinks of when they think of TTRPGs: Dungeons and Dragons. In this instance, just to be a special snowflake, I’ve specifically made a character with the Wild Beyond the Witchlight expansion in mind.

My usual friend group has a lot of mixed feelings about DnD 5th edition: some like it for how comparatively simple it is (I say comparatively because we have routinely dabbled in White Wolf RPGs, and Rifts, among other things). Others detest it and compare it unfavourably with DnD 3.5, which they hold up as the best edition of the game by far. I, personally, have had little experience with 3.5 and so cannot drum up the same misty-eyed enthusiasm. As a result, my experience with 5E has been relatively positive, though that may be because I haven’t been approaching it with the same level of bias as some others. 

Familiarity, and brand recognition, are only half of the reason I went with DnD to start this off, however. The other half is because, ever since I played Baldur’s Gate 3, I’ve had a nagging urge to try play more 5E, and/or to translate my player character into 5e. And so, that’s precisely what I did with Reed.

My conception with Reed at the time in BG3 was to play a race I usually don’t play (in this case, a Halfling), and a class I normally don’t play (in this case a Druid…though I didn’t know at the time that I would ultimately gain two other Druids in my party, resulting in hilarious multi-bear shenanigans). From there, my character’s personality developed: a good natured, straightforward dude who, in typical druid fashion, cared about all living creatures, be they humanoid or furry woodland critter. I went with Circle of the Moon just because I wanted to get the most out of Wild Shape, and focused my stats primarily on Wisdom to get the most out of the Druid abilities.

As far as character concept goes…well, full on admission, Reed is a very stereotypical “good guy” character: the listener of the party, always eager and happy to help his companions deal with their problems, willing to bend heaven and earth to protect those he cares about, etc etc. Admittedly, because of the whole Halfling, there is a lot of Samwise Gamgee in Reed, though I like to imagine that him being a lot less bumbling than Sam and a little more world-wise (if still not exactly that bright). And of course, being an herbalist and druid, he would no doubt act as the party’s dealer, dispensing tea and pipeweed quite readily to anyone in need of a fix.

All in all, though, I’m more or less happy with how he has turned out here, as he more or less matches my conception of him when I was playing BG3 (up to and including identical stats). Will I ever use him? Who knows, but this I think is a solid start to my little foray in character creation.

NEXT WEEK: MORK BORG