Grugrog's Famous Cure. After slaying a rather large beastie that's been terrorising the town, the discerning adventurer would be remiss to not partake in a night of debaucherous revelry! This, in turn, can bring on a head-shattering hangover to slay even the great Tiamat. To get that hangover under control, we recommend a hearty breakfast, and the best hearty breakfast comes from the all-in-one adventure's favourite: The Owl-Bear. Eggs, meat and (if you're up for it) milk can all be collected and/or harvested from one or two owl-bear caves. We highly recommend enriching an owl-bear egg scramble with owl-bear milk and served with owl-bear sausages. However, if owl-bear milk is too much trouble to acquire (if the owl-bear is not lactating or is a male of the species (WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MILK A MALE OWL-BEAR THIS WILL JUST MAKE THEM ANGRY AND THE RESULT IS NOT WORTH IT)) a simple breakfast of a single owl-bear egg (raw) and owl-bear steak (medium to medium-rare) has more than enough nutrients and vitamins to fight off any emerging hangover. Of course you could always chug a health potion. If you're a coward.

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A vivid conversation strikes out between two former paladins over an evening meal and takes an interesting turn when one quizzes another about their values and worldviews.

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"It's just a castle," Pirrin mutters the mantra under his breath while scaling a wall, "living people don't guard ghosts," Pirrin whispers while slitting a knights throat. "Just a normal castle" Pirrin insists moving from shadow to shadow counting the steps between guard patrols.

"Hecktor would kill any ghosts if he saw them."

Pirrin's breath catches in his throat as a long black cloak glides around a corner-- his mind wild and near panic. Feeling like he might throw up his own heart Pirrin's muttering slips between false prayer and genuine swearing as he catches a closing side door before it locks.

"Ghost's can't hurt--" Pirrin stops suddenly. Laughter and the smell of wine. "Is that a flipping dinner party?"

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/feɪt-less/

ADJ.

1. Having or showing a lack of fate. Having no predetermined destiny.

She went through life like a fateless rock tumbling down a hill

2. To act unpredictably or have an immunity to divination.

The only thing more shocking than when she pulled the knife was that the court diviner couldn't find the fateless traitor

3. A condition of unknown causation where the subject cannot have their future predicted by magical means.

Get out! Get out of here! You charlatan! You fake! You fateless wench!

NOUN

1. Being a member of a class known for having blue blood and being immune to divination magic. First observed by the scholar Chester A. B. in the Age of Devastation.

The fateless cannot be tamed by gods or kings, they are a people who are truly free in every sense of the word

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Well, hm, looks like this particular corner of the Shadowfell's got itself a mighty big vampire shaped problem. Thats ok. We can get some kind of posse together I'm sure. Hell, just gotta get the right kinda folks. People with training, people with skills, and most important, people who give a damn. Shoot. Wont be the first time I've faced off against some ne'er do well who's too big for his britches and by hell if its gonna be the last.

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People don’t realise but the true burden of a Monster Hunter isn’t the detective work, or the ignorant villagers, or even fighting the monster itself. It’s the knowledge. The knowledge of what these monsters are actually capable of, how bad it is, the true consequences of failure. That if you make one mistake, draw the wrong conclusion, pick the wrong entry, people die. That even if you do everything at your disposal, there’s a very good chance that you will still fail, and that people will hold it against you for as long as you live. If you cannot imagine the shape of the things that go bump in the night, well, you should consider yourself very lucky.

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A funny thing about faith is you don’t have to be religious to have it. We are told many things when we are growing up, when we are younger, before we even experience the world. A long list of things to not do, places not to go, people not to trust, words that are forbidden and on and on and on. Don’t go outside with damp hair, you’ll catch a cold. Don’t venture out alone into the woods, you’ll be eaten by wolves. Don’t touch the kettle, you’ll burn yourself. So you stay inside, never to go exploring, and you do not touch the kettle. And you are thankful because you are safe and you did not burn yourself. But you can never really know for sure if the kettle was hot or not. It could have all been a little white lie to protect your loved ones. After all, why unnecessarily risk the safety of your child’s fingers if he does reach for the hot metal? Best to be just precautions. Best to lie. You don’t have to be religious to have a crisis of faith. 

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I do not understand how these individuals have survived so long without me. They should be commended. Like when a small child learns to walk. It is something they need to do and should come naturally to ensure its survival. Myself- I was walking almost the moment I was born but I am to understand not everyone is as gifted. There is something to be commended about the Great General Pip Manadarin, even though he understands how to walk, he will still crawl to give himself, I presume, some sort of tactical advantage. No matter how shameful or dishonourable it might appear from the outside looking in. He truly is a dragonborn that doesn’t care what people think of him, which must be a great relief to himself and those that he surrounds himself with. 

...

Because no one thinks very highly of the man you see.

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Hecktor Alabaster would die doing what he loved, trying to save someone else and never thinking about himself. Hecktor Alabaster was born on a hard stone table at his family's home in Northern Candor, the second child of decently well to do and hardworking parents. He came of a people who had been stonemasons for generations, men and women whose bodies became as hard and unbreakable as the stone they worked with. Hecktor Alabaster was a boy of quiet habits and soft hands whose mother would describe him as timid and shy. Reading stories of heroic knights and larger than life adventurers, Hecktor would often wish he could be anything other than like himself. He wished he was brave. He wished he was strong. But most of all, he wished he wasn't afraid of the dark. 

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It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagine. First the stars and now this. A glimpse of the moment when I first saw her. I can see I have past by many eyes but I only got lost in hers, and to get lost in those eyes all over again? Maybe this is heaven. Sometimes love is as easy as looking at the moon and sometimes it is as difficult as counting the stars. I knew then, just as I know now, that I want to do both with her.

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