As the stories have long foretold, Argus the Transcendent began his journey to world domination from humble beginnings.  This journal shall peel back the veil of legend and help you to understand the man behind the epic saga.

Argus was apprenticed to Fezik the Vile (or as he is also termed, Fezik the Flatulent) from an early age.  After an argument over a matter of two gold coins, a set of soiled bedsheets, and a missing tuna, he graduated to Journeman and began to make his name.  Rumors that his master just did this to get rid of him are, of course unfounded.

Eventually, Argus found himself back in his home village.  Though its name has been lost to time, Argus often referred to it as "shitsburg" or "Hamport's armpit", depending on his mood.

In any case, there Argus found himself a member of a band of "adventurers".  First, there was a mighty dwarven warrior.

Then there was an agile elven fighter.

Then... well, things go down hill from there.  When you think of a druid, you might be considering this:

But sometimes, you just get a homeless drifter that claims to be a druid.  Something more like this:

His only redeeming quality appeared to be his willingness and ability to survive being shot in the face.  A lot.

Then there was the rogue... Well, you want something like this:

But sometimes, that rogue happens to be running a brewery and you get something more like this:

In any case, the band of mighty heros / expendable dregs of society were summoned by the great Sir Roddeney.  Or Roddereck.  Or Ronney.  It started with an R.  Anyway, the Mighty Sir R. asked the party to transport a couple of carts of apples to the countryside where his horse farms are situated.  Really, the only thing better than apples is a shit-ton of apples.  The sum he offered was a princely 100 gp, which the party readily agreed to, not knowing the terrible, terrible truth.

You see, Sir R.'s horses were raised by... a giant!

Only, you know, less like that and more like this:

Why was this great beast crying you might ask?  Why, because his horses had been stolen!

The noble Argus immediately offered the group's services in retrieving the horses, with the promised reward of a horse for each of them.  Seeing as these were horses raised by Sir R.'s horse-raiser-person-giant-thing, they were bound to be of the highest quality.  His name was Herbie.  At least, that's what his name is now.  He may just not know it yet.

The horses had been taken by the foulest of foul creatures (suitable for encountering level 1 adventurers, anyway).

Goblins!

The party tracked them back to their hold and then charged ahead with noble bravery!  There may have been some arrows fired into party members before the last goblin was captured.

The last goblin was questioned and told us that the chief was "big and hairy".  He then... lied through his teeth about their being no traps.  Because what do goblins like?  Traps.  What do you need to do in a goblin lair?  That's right - 

So, half the party met Mr. Log.  At velocity.

Then we were in a big room with four doors.  We went right and found another trap.  Even though:

Fortunately, only the hobo got hit by the collapsing ceiling.  Then we found the chief's quarters and found a secret door with a treasure chest.  It's a goblin lair so... that's right:

The elf, in his one boneheaded move of the night, decided to open it.

At least it was full of treasure.

The group then bravely pressed on to a room that was adjacent to that first big room.  Only, totally full of goblins.

There was a fight... the adventurers got mauled and Argus had to save everyone with a clever grease spell.

After a pitched battle against half the goblins at a time, the party was victorious... and also swaying on their feet.  Instead of pursuing the stolen horses, they chose to then retreat to tell Herbie of what they had discovered.  Namely, that the horses had gone back outside the other side of the goblin lair and the party needed to rest before pursuing.

To be continued...