Hark! But who are the fine adventurers that travel the land in search of lore and loot?
(Ed: These will be filled out as they are delivered to us. Courier services are less than reliable in the Realms, you understand.)
The Players
A professional storyteller, magician and voice actor, Michael has been leading adventurers to their death since the sixth grade. During an attempt to become a cartoonist, Michael met three highly creative individuals, Lee, Dare and James, and knew they would be perfect cannon fodder brave souls to take part in the Chafing Armor campaign! Izzie, of course, had to be added because she is mother of (bearded) dragons.
James Kovach lives in NE Ohio and has been playing D&D since he was 10 years old, when he got a Rex Box for Christmas. He has since played many long- and short-term campaigns with various iterations of the game. He’s honored to be a part of Chafing Armor and is having a lot of fun. He is thankful that his wife Heather and daughter Laurana (yes, she IS named after her) allow him to hole up in their office for a couple of hours every now and then to talk into his microphone and say silly D&D things.
When he’s not podcasting his poor, pretty spellscale, James does community theater, plays the occasional video game, and herds goats. He is the proprietor of Haulin' Goats, wherein they clear unwanted vegetation. Not a bad way to make a living, even if it is only during the warm months.
When he’s not podcasting his poor, pretty spellscale, James does community theater, plays the occasional video game, and herds goats. He is the proprietor of Haulin' Goats, wherein they clear unwanted vegetation. Not a bad way to make a living, even if it is only during the warm months.
Lee Brokas exists in a country time forgot. Or at least it feels that way to him sometimes. Australia, contrary to popular belief, is actually habitable by human beings, so long as you wear enclosed shoes at all times, have a volcanologist's silver suit for the summertime and don't mind living in the 1950's.
He started playing D&D in his late teens, in the dreaded 3rd edition years, and has been in love with it ever since. He's been both player and DM, and enjoys both but rarely gets to be a player much anymore. Chafing Armor is a chance to play a fun campaign, with a group of great people and without all the stress of running a campaign.
Outside of D&D, Lee likes to play videogames and watch Netflix, and has a keen interest in sociology and social justice. He also has a cat.
He started playing D&D in his late teens, in the dreaded 3rd edition years, and has been in love with it ever since. He's been both player and DM, and enjoys both but rarely gets to be a player much anymore. Chafing Armor is a chance to play a fun campaign, with a group of great people and without all the stress of running a campaign.
Outside of D&D, Lee likes to play videogames and watch Netflix, and has a keen interest in sociology and social justice. He also has a cat.
Dare Stevens is an artist, pastor, and teacher, with MS, learning good lessons from his wife, four kids, and three dogs. He started playing AD&D in the early 80s and has yet to be offered a lucrative deal for his soul by either Dungeon Masters, demons, or other players. He has a fascination for shiny polyhedrals but tends to favor orange, which were the color of the original set he had in that first AD&D box. Now he has allowed his oldest daughter, Rylee, to be drawn into the world of Polyhedrals & Pretend where she is giving life to a character on the Chafing Armor Podcast.
Dare draws cartoons and children’s illustrations, as well as painting landscapes in watercolor. He has been known to string words together for oration, and most people do not fall asleep while listening to him (with the exception being his children who are tired of hearing him talk already). On occasion he teaches classes on preaching, and art as the opportunities arise. He is currently writing two children’s illustrated books, a fantasy sword and sorcery novel, and two Christian theology books (he might say that’s why it took so long to get his bio on the website, but he would be lying). Dare loves playing the good guy underdog in most campaigns in which he has had the chance to play. You can find Dare on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook @dareimagine.
Dare draws cartoons and children’s illustrations, as well as painting landscapes in watercolor. He has been known to string words together for oration, and most people do not fall asleep while listening to him (with the exception being his children who are tired of hearing him talk already). On occasion he teaches classes on preaching, and art as the opportunities arise. He is currently writing two children’s illustrated books, a fantasy sword and sorcery novel, and two Christian theology books (he might say that’s why it took so long to get his bio on the website, but he would be lying). Dare loves playing the good guy underdog in most campaigns in which he has had the chance to play. You can find Dare on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook @dareimagine.
I'm Izzie Corley, professional amateur cartoonist, and a full-time high school student. I own
lizards and like to make video games. I picked a half-orc barbarian as my playing character to represent my beef lord soul, trapped within my 5'2 noodly body.
Rylee Stevens is an artist and student who enjoys Voltron, Miraculous Ladybug, My Hero Academia, and Hamilton. She has a peculiar fondness (according to her father) for her two Guinea Pigs, Roxie and Kirashima. While singing out songs from her favorite TV shows and musicals Rylee draws manga, and her own horror comic, that she posts on Instagram. You can find her @1princessbeast.
The Characters
My father told me that, after four daughters in a row, he prayed for a son.
Mortimer Shallus, a goat farmer, wasn't much to truck with the gods, but he took to his knees at the temple of the goddess of luck, in their farming community outside of the city, in hopes that he might finally sire himself an heir. And as luck would have it, he finally did.
Sort of.
My name is Penton Shallus, and I am the fifth - and only male - child of Mortimer Shallus and Emilia Ravenwood. I was born just after the worst storm our region had seen in fifty years, and the sun broke through the silver clouds to shine on my wailing face. And shine it did, because it was revealed that someone in the family line had a touch of dragon blood, for I had been blessed (which is how I choose to see it) with a sheen of scales akin to dragonkind. Mother had heard rumors of such from her family, and the proof showed on my newborn skin.
After the initial shock, the family took the anomaly as a sign that I was destined for great things. Father said that, whenever I started crying as a baby, Mother would whisper something to me in a language he could not understand, and I would quiet immediately. I assume that she spoke to me in draconic, though Father was never able to confirm that.
My four older sisters attended me in varying degrees, from being a pretend child of their own to having something to gum their teeth on. Onelia, the oldest, immediately took charge of my upbringing, assuming I would one day be a fierce warrior and protector of the community. My mother, who took long in recovering from birthing her fifth (and somewhat unexpected) child, was only too happy to let the girls do as much of the legwork as she dared. Being daughters of their mother, they were all quite capable, at least, as much as their ages would allow. Mother recovered eventually enough to get back to selling the various and quality goat-based wares our farm produced to the community at large, thus keeping her away for extended periods and making her daughters all the more important in my upbringing.
Onelia was, in many ways, my adoptive mother, as it was to some degree with the other girls as well. She took on much responsibility for her relative age in caring for her siblings, and handled it graciously and competently. We all sensed a... longing in our mother, something in her thoughts that kept pulling at her. Perhaps it was her adventurous past, about which she hardly ever spoke, other than as a warning to 'never make the same mistake she did'. In later years, I found myself wondering how a woman like her - from a noble family and of some spectacular, if mysterious, past - wound up becoming the wife of a goat farmer. I suppose my father wondered that on occasion as well.
Thus it was of little surprise, though still deeply hurtful, that she never returned from one of her outings to the city to deliver goods to be sold at some of the finer shops. A courier delivered payment and papers from the haul to our home, but no word from our mother since. Maybe she was waylaid; maybe she died somewhere between home and city; or maybe she finally gave in to that quiet call she sometimes heard but never spoke of. The children took the news with shock, but none of us cried. Onelia was our rock, and she kept strong on our behalf. I was eleven years old.
And while father was obviously heartbroken, it seemed a small part of him knew the day would come. Onelia was old enough to make the deliveries into town, and had done it often enough to know the business. Father was also well enough off to be able to hire a guard when the deliveries were to be run, so there was less chance of someone trying to take advantage of a young woman with goods and funds on her. Onelia could throw a good punch, but swords and arrows were another matter.
While Onelia had grand plans for my being raised a warrior and local hero, it seemed fate had something else to say about it. I wasn't very strong for my age, and being raised by four girls had made me into what some might consider to be a softie. I spent a great deal of time talking, bartering, working with locals to get good deals on supplies and getting our animals tended by the best. I managed to talk my way into and out of a great many things.
My linguistic skills were good for the farm, and the goats thrived. After a few years, the flock had grown enough to the point of needing to hire on extra hands to keep pace. The farm slowly became more of a business than a homestead. And while my father was an excellent hand at herding and farming, he was not so great with numbers. As such, Onelia, over time, became the de facto head of the business, keeping ledgers, hiring and firing, ordering and selling. Dualla and Tricia, my second- and third-oldest sisters, were married and moved to homes of their own.
Father, while still toiling away at a meager pace for his age, began to edge toward something he would consider to be 'retirement', which was only working about ten or twelve hours a day instead of sixteen. He had hopes of passing the farm and business to me at first. I shared father's penchant (or lack thereof) for numbers, however, and Onelia was proving to be a fine businesswoman. Truth be told, although I was always on hand and happy to do what needed to be done to keep the farm and family thriving, my heart just wasn't in it.
It became more evident over time that I would grow to be a handsome man, which drew attention to me from the most interesting places. Once I walked along the river into a wooded glen, where a faerie nymph nearly accosted me. She smiled and said, "I see the dragon gods have smiled upon you. Let me do as well!" The nymph, whose name I could only make out as Thillissia, then kissed my forehead and I felt a change in me, as if a bit of her presence had flowed into me.
"You will to magics!" she said. "Find it and learn!" Before she let me go, she bade me promise that I would return to her on occasion to tell her of my exploits. I plan to keep that promise.
And it was true, a well of magic I barely understood awoke within me. I would wake up at night with colored balls of light floating around my head, and other such things. I came to realize that this power was something I needed to learn to control, and I told Father as much.
"I understand, son," he'd told me. "You need to go where your destiny takes you." I could tell he was thinking of my mother when he said that, and I reassured him.
"I'm not leaving the family, father," I said. "Just making it bigger. The gods will see to that."
After a moment of thought, father smiled at the thought. "Seems that fortune never gives you what you want, but it always seems to give you what you need." He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "I know you'll do well, son- for us and for the world."
I smiled brightly and tried to sound... priestly. "If fortune wills it, so it shall be."
And with that, I bid my family farewell and set out for the city, and for a teacher that would put me in touch with my burgeoning magics.
As part of my studies, I found myself to me more and more curious about my draconic nature. I studied dragons, the draconic deities, their natures, and what it means to have dragon blood within. My magical studies as a sorcerer seemed to intertwine with my dragon aspect, so that one grew with the other. Colored lights that I would cantrip would take the form of tiny dragons flying in circles. I took to the draconic language as if it were not something to learn, but something I had forgotten and needed to recall. I was fluent in mere months.
In my studies, I came to realize that wealth was a construct based upon imitating a dragon's hoarding of wealth, and it was something of which I felt I was not worthy. Besides, I was able to obtain what I needed through words and actions and magic, so money seemed irrelevant to me. Better the dragons have it than I – they find it more comfortable to sleep on.
So I meditated on this idea while also meditating upon the aspects of the dragon gods. As I concentrated, a voice which I now suspect may have been an aspect of Bahamut, the great platinum dragon of legend, whispered that, were I to remain true to my belief that wealth was no boundary to my success and survival, that I would be blessed with certain protections to help me along the way. So I gave away the last of my meager coinage, got myself a stout staff and a plain robe, and went into the world a complete man.
Well, almost complete. The end of my training involved calling a companion to me. While one might think I thought of dragons as I meditated, for some reason my mother pervaded my thoughts instead. And so, and the end of my ritual, there stood a raven, looking me in the eye and letting out a curious squawk. Thus, we traveled.
My name is Mikkayla Manytongues. I work for the Massgate Archivists Guild, as a chronicler of the many events and people associated with the Kingdom. My own Elven heritage and interest in the variety of races within our Kingdom has led to my specialising in the recording of our non-human denizens.
The following is a record of an interview with one Distant Bells, a Kenku of some notoriety in the underbelly of the northern city of Zhentil Keep. This record needed several days to fully complete due to reasons outlined below.
The Kenku pose a unique problem for the Archivists Guild, in that they are devoid of their own form of speech, instead only able to communicate via mimicking what they have heard. It is because of this, that Kenku records are scarce. From what we know, they were cursed eons ago by their creators for their greed and avarice, and thus unlike most Avian races they do not have wings. The lack of individual speech though has lead to Kenku becoming naturally gifted mimics, often able to flawlessly mimic any voices or even noises they have heard. This natural gift sometimes crosses over to physical feats, including perfect looking forgeries of painting, writing, and even many smaller objects. This made them perfect fodder for slavery by many spell-casters, and although we outlawed slavery of all kinds within the Kingdom many years ago, it seems old habits die hard for some Wizards and the practice continues in secret today.
This record will be less regulation than normal due to the nature of Kenku communication. I will omit the many hours of fumbling as, despite my wealth of knowledge, I struggled to come to grips with the specifics of how Distant Bells communicated. But what follows is my submitted "Record of the Kenku Named Distant Bells"
Session 1
I entered the Bobcat's Paw, a small Inn beneath a Ye Chicken establishment, at sunset. The entry area was dimly lit and strangely bereft of many people, yet despite this, it still took me some time to find the subject of this record.
He sat in a booth furthest from the entrance, and at first glance seemed as a shadow more than a figure. However, he turned his head slightly toward me as I passed by his booth a fifth time, and the glint of his eye in the dim light caught my searching gaze. Upon noticing I had seen him, he stood and waited for me to take my seat across from him. He stood just shy of my own 5 foot 5 inches of height, and his visage resembled that of a raven. His feathers were of the deepest coal black yet the light seemed to cast an odd blue shine to them. His eyes were unique in that one of them was a dark grey colour matching his beak, and the other seemed almost garnet-like in colour. His armor was a simple studded leather vest that seems to have been darkened, and every so often I caught sight of his intriguing weapons beneath his cloak. Not wishing to seem overly interested in his appearance, I quickly sat down and began to ask him my questions.
He told me of his early life, growing up in a Wizard's Tower several miles north of Zhentil Keep as a child to an enslaved Kenku mother and three siblings, two sisters and a brother. He does not know his father, his mother did not speak of him. Within a year of hatching, he and his siblings had been manacled and were also enslaved to the man their mother worked for, of which Bells did not ever learn the name of [Cross referencing this information with local history reveals this to be the Wizard Zerul, who has not been seen in nearly 10 years. Recommend sending a detachment of soldiers to Zerul Tower to arrest him on suspicion of slavery. -- Mikkayla Manytongues] . The "master" was a cruel man, often punishing their mother for the mistakes of her children, and Distant Bells distinctly remembers an incident in which his mother was brutally beaten after one of his sisters, Hummingbird, refused the drunken advances of the man [It should be noted here that Bells and his siblings were all only 6 years of age at this time. We know that with shorter lifespans on average Kenku mature rapidly, however this still puts Hummingbird, at my estimation to be about 10-12 years old in human lifespans. If Zerul is indeed arrested and found guilty of these accusations, it is of my opinion that he be summarily and publicly executed. -- Mikkayla Manytongues] and when his mother intervened she was beaten to near lifelessness. Bells isn't sure, but he believes the injuries she sustained defending her daughter are the reason she died a few months later.
[At this point, Bells stands and without another word he leaves. Due to the nature of what he had just described to me, I respectfully let him go. -- Mikkayla Manytongues]
Session 2
Same as yesterday evening, Bells was in the booth furthest from the door. He made to stand again as I approached, but I simply nodded and took my place across from him, opening my logbook and asking him to resume telling his story.
A year after his mothers passing, the 'master' left the tower as usual to gather magical supplies here in Zhentil Keep. It was at least 2 days journey by horse, in which Bells and his siblings, now considered to be broken-in slaves, were left to continue their duties at the Tower. However, Bells had not been merely passive in his slavery, he had in fact been secretly teaching himself about poisons and toxins, and on the evening of the 'master' returning, Bells laced his food with a powerful soporific that rendered the cruel spell-caster deeply asleep within an hour of having eaten. Bells had also memorised the specific phrase that allowed passage in and out of the tower, and when the 'master' was asleep, Bells gathered up supplies for them all, stole a rather large quantity of gold, and he used the passphrase to grant himself and his siblings freedom from the Tower. They were 8 years old and alone in a remote section of the northern wilds, yet Bells divided up the supplies in favour of his siblings, said he was headed to Zhentil Keep, and entrusted his brother, Boiling Cauldron, to take Hummingbird and their other sister Rain-on-Flagstones far away where they could be safe. Bells says that was the last time he saw them but within his heart he knows Cauldron succeeded and they are all safe and well [Note: While the whereabouts of Cauldron and Hummingbird are still unknown, Rain-on-Flagstones works as a painter in the Artisan Quarter of Massgate. She is happily paired to a gnomish sculptor, and they are set to wed on her 17th birthday. -- Mikkayla Manytongues]
Bells made his way to Zhentil Keep on foot, travelling only at night and stopping to camp during the day. He kept to the side of the road, always being sure to remain out of sight wherever possible. He ate berries and wild root vegetables where he could find them, and camped among the rocks in the crisp mountain air during the day. He spent the last night of the journey in the Bunting outside Zhentil Keep, and it was there he met a Tiefling named Ynaskyr with whom he formed a fast friendship. Ynaskyr was a few years older than Bells, yet he treated him as an equal, showing him the Smugglers route into the city, setting him up with a place to live, and mentoring him in the finer points of thievery. The two began to live quite well in the old sewer spillways beneath the city when they started doing bigger jobs.
[Bells excused himself from the booth as if to use the latrine, however I waited a good hour and he did not return. Frustrated, I packed up and left, hoping he could explain himself the next evening. -- Mikkayla Manytongues]
Session 3
Bells is late, and enters the Inn short of breath. He apologises, saying he overslept. He does not mention his sudden disappearance last night, and something about his demeanour gives me pause and I decided not to ask. He continues his tale.
When Bells was 12 years old he met a young half-elf girl called Synarael during a job in the Merchants Quarter. She caught him trying to unlock a chest in her room inside her house, but rather than call for the guards Synarael instead said she would open the chest for him and he could have one thing from inside it. The chest turned out to be the storage for her small-clothes, and without wanting to show her he has made a mistake, Bells solemnly took a pair of silk bloomers and secreted them away inside a pouch inside his cloak. Without skipping a beat, Synarael smiled and let Bells go, whispering in his ear as he left that she would be waiting for him to return her underwear the next night. She was true to her word, and this encounter led to a clandestine but passionate young courtship between the two of them. Synarael taught him the finer points of appraisal, tips on how to disguise himself, and even helped him find ways to use his mimicry as a disarming means of resolving (or starting) arguments. She taught him social decorum and gave him a length of silver cord to practise escaping bonds and his rope skills with.
When Bells was 14, Synarael surprised him with a gift of his two daggers. Blades shaped like feathers, hilts wrapped in blackened leather with an intricate filigree cut design resembling feathers, and pommels shaped like raven heads. They were of exquisite make, and on the cross guards of both is stamped "Bells + Synarael". She presented the daggers to him wrapped in the underwear he had stolen the night they met, and since then they have never left Bells' belt [I jokingly enquired as to whether or not he still had the underwear too, and while it is hard to read Bells' facial expressions, his silence was heavy with laughter. -- Mikkayla Manytongues].
Sadly, a year later Synarael was killed during a fire that tore through the Merchants Quarter and took many innocent lives [Note: It is on record that the fire was started by a resident of the Noble Quarter who claimed to have seen "uncultured scum" in the Merchant Quarter and was trying to "send a message". The Noble was not convicted, lending credence to the widespread rumour Zhentil Keep is an unwelcome place for any that do not fit a certain "look". -- Mikkayla Manytongues]. Grief took hold of Bells, and he sold nearly all his possessions and anonymously donated the money to the Church helping the families of victims of the fire. Keeping a small sum for himself, he had a new cloak made, one that had the silver cord Synarael had given him in it as an edging. The cloak was made to look ragged and torn, and on the outer facing side it is a dark grey colour to blend into the darkness and break up his silhouette. However, what nobody knows is that the inside lining has Synarael's laughing face embroidered in it, in a thread barely a different colour to that of the fabric. He keeps her memory as close as he can at all times.
Bells grunts and stands. A talon extends from beneath his cloak and I take it almost automatically. His grasp is incredibly gentle for having razor sharp talons, yet there is a strength and power in it too, and I begin to understand why Synarael took such a shining to him. He bows his head and requests to leave. There are many more questions I have, yet it occurs to me that this is a different Bells than the one I met two nights prior. He is requesting permission to leave, rather than just leaving abruptly. It's clear something has changed between us, and as he releases my arm I find a rolled up note in my hand. He turns, his cloak whipping around and suddenly he is gone, a ghost in the shadows of the evening. I wait a few moments, and then retire to my room to read the note he pressed into my palm.
It's a strange note, that seems to be written in a weird form of Draconic. I have added the note to this record, however I will add here the best translation I could muster as the final section of this record. The note reads:
"Find the man who walks as a bear [could also be "bear who walks as a man", it's difficult to tell. -- Mikkayla Manytongues] and kill him. Bring the body to us for it must be destroyed. [There is more here, but I cannot make it out. Maybe the Archivists will have a better chance. -- Mikkayla Manytongues]
This ends the Record of the Kenku Named Distant Bells, gathered, compiled and annotated by the Arch-Magister of the Massgate Archivists Guild, Mikkayla Manytongues.
Tix Birchmanson is the youngest son of his woodcarver craftsman father Valxim, and his mother Ninyana in the mountain community of Sunrise. Tix did not want to go into the family business, so when the opportunity and his god (the gnome god Garl Glittergold) called, he took up an adventurer’s life as a cleric and healer (podcast episodes 28 and 29).
He enjoys the life of a journeyman hero, which has introduced him to his lady love, Duncan Pebblebeard, owner of the Pisswhistle. Being a burly female dwarf with dwarven muttonchops on her cheeks has only endeared her to Tix all the more. Tix believes their romance will be legendary from their adventures and their love of elven ale. He plans on wooing her to be his wife when the quest given to him by Garl Glittergold has come to an end.
He has a good attitude of caring for his companions and wanting to keep them out of trouble, even when they seem to be the ones that stumble headlong into the thick of it for the sake of the quest. He views it as part of his commission by Glittergold to protect those in the group, who may be taller than he is, but tend to act more like children in his opinion, other than Penton, of whom he has great respect (except for his habit of turning down gold). He views Morezi and Athora as his erstwhile little sisters whom he needs to watch over, and Osokai as accident prone curiosity that drives Tix to his wits end like a large child that doesn’t know when to keep its hand off the stove.
Tix Birchmanson is a 3 foot 7 inch tall gnome cleric, that weighs all of 47lbs in the buff. He is 28 years old with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. He wears studded leather armor, a helmet, and carries a buckler shield that is large for him but would be the size of a large dinner plate on a human. He wears a priest's golden stole with the runes of his god on it. He carries a large silver coin with a gold nugget in the center of it, that is the symbol of his god, also. On his back he has a heavy duty leather backpack that is enchanted to hold heavier than normal items and keep certain treasures hidden from prying eyes. His weapon of choice is a sentient rune covered axe named Destiny Seeker.
Morezi, 18-year-old half-orc barbarian, has worked very hard to earn the respect of her clan. Her human heritage didn't make it easy but over time she became a warrior to rival any full-blooded orc. She is brash, easygoing and fully unaware that she is socially inept.
Athora is a Tiefling fighter that has light purple skin with dark purple on her horns, tail, ears, and a light sprinkling under her eyes (freckles). She has white eyes and blond hair that’s tangled at the bottom. She wears standard scale armor and a purple brown cloth on her waist. She wields a large two handed sword in battle.
She comes from a village in the east, one that mainly focused on agriculture. She had been in search of the bandits that raided her village, stole all of their harvest and caused most of her village to die of starvation, including her fiancé. She vowed that she would return with the bandits alive so that they may be locked up and starved to death in the center if their village. She has been tracking the bandits until fortune brought her into contact with our little band of adventurers. She was able to avenge herself upon those most directly responsible, but because of how loud she is about her intentions and who she’s hunting, the rest of the bandits are always able to stay one to two steps ahead of her. But the moment that they believe she’ll become an actual threat they’ll put a bounty out on her head and horns.