[dated November 20, 1985]

The Warlock wise in matters, Guild
and martial arts and weapons thrilled
For many years the brightest light
the strongest strength, the highest height
The man to which one turned in need
the General on the sable steed
This brother in our childhood dream
does stoutest, strongest, bravest seem.

I had all but forgotten about a D&D game Rob ran in January/February of 1988. Morgan and I had run a bunch of games, but Rob running one was a rarity. There are only two entries mentioning it. The first one describes the day my character decided to turn evil and begin working to gain control of the party, and the second mentions some of the other characters and what happened when they discovered the betrayal. I’m pretty sure I still have the character sheet and a cool drawing Rob made of the magical hammer someplace. If I can find them, I’ll post them later.

“My character in Rob’s campaign is a cleric. As anybody knows, Clerics are doody characters, but Morgan pitched and sold me on the freakin thing. Anyway, Faramir the good worshipped Dianchecht of the Celtic mythos. Dianchecht was the God of the healing arts and had aided Faramir on numerous occassions, but the cleric was unsatisfied. Venturing through the fastness of the Dark One, the cleric of 10 levels felt the strain on his will…
Holding on to the very fibers of goodness within him, Faramir kept his sanity and steadied his will and continued to function as a healing artisan. Arawan, the God of the dead was preparing his forces for an attack on the world’s centers of goodness. Mendan, offering support, gifted Faramir and the party with fantastic magical weapons to further the party’s chances of survival. Faramir accepted the Hammer of Undondoni with humility. It was at this time that Faramir began to resent his rather lowly position in the party and began dabbling in the black arts.

Then, one morning as hope sprung in the party’s eyes, the Clerical man gave into temptation. Slipping into the woods, the Cleric raised his hands and called Him. The dark and brooding forest trembled and an old man appeared. Speaking in whispers the men debated on a matter of great import. Then, it was settled. Bowing, the religious man thanked his comrade and turned to rejoin his companions. As the old man saddled himself on his black horse, his cloak billowed in the morning breeze. A large black star on a grey field adorned it. A symbol of power and death.

Finding new strength and potential inside, the white robed and bearded staff wielder emerged from the forest shadow. “Nothing like a good sacrifice to start the day” he muttered, but no one heard the words, nor would they have understood the gravity of them if they had.

The meaning of an old word eluded him, if he could only have access to his library. “Damn!” On the tip of his cerebral cortex. He’d known its meaning only the day before. “Blast! What could that word mean? It had a strange ring to it. That strange word, ‘friends’ - probably Elvish or something. Well, it didn’t matter, he’s never have any part of the damned thing, of that he was sure. His loyalty was now to another sort of thing altogether.

From an entry on Feb 29th, 1988
Saturday morning we played D&D till 6pm at Morgan’s house and then Cathedral. It was cool, even though Faramir was busted by the party and excorsized by Mendan and Merlin, and nearly fried by Zenorillianalaninsic (the Wizard) and romped on by Recksorednos (the Burglar). Anyway, Faramir swore an oath not to *censored* around with “the dudes” again and we continued on. Faramir will grow in power and One Day, THOSE GUTLESS… Oh, sorry - meek, chaotic good Faramir here. I’m all cooperation. For now.”