|Name: Campbell Garrett||| Race: Human||| Height: 5'11|
|Player: PhantomPistoleer||| Gender: Male ||| Weight: 140 lbs.|
|Update: December 5, 2013||| Age: 28||| Eyes: Silver|
|Align: Chaotic Good||| Size: Medium||| Hair: Silver|
|Deity:Everyone||| Speed: 30 ft.||| Hand: Right|
|Sexuality: Bisexual ||| Disposition: Slut||| Frequency: Often|
Character Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=726118
----------------------------------------------------------------------------The Lion of the Press:
The Ballad of Campbell GarrettAdventurer, Explorer and Famed Reporter for the Korremberg Press"Lissen my man, I'm jest heer to get de' stone culd facts; but if we're keeping this off'er de record, then by oll meens, imbellish a littel."
-- By Campbell Garrett, 998 YKForeword by the Editor:
Dear Reader, as your esteemed editor-in-chief, I must regretfully apologize for the bizarre antics of one of my reporters, Mr. Campbell Garrett. As you already know, Mr. Garrett has acquired a reputation in the civilized world as an excellent correspondent, an intrepid adventurer and, to my innermost regret, an overzealous, ego-maniacal, anal retentive madman. But what can I say? The boy is like my son. I have known him for years, and taught him our craft. And though I can say that I am proud of him, for he is only eighteen and stands heads and shoulders above almost all of his peers in the journalism world, the Korrenberg Chronicle does not in any way condone or advocate his rampant drug and alcohol abuse, or his misuse of elemental transportation. On the behalf of our staff, we apologize to the people of Korth, and will take steps to assure that events like the ones that happened during the night of the incident
never happen again.A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man:
Born in 980 YK in a small village in Breland to commoners, C. Garrett didn't demonstrate an aptitude for learning until the distinguished scholar and renaissance man, Mr. Silar Fiddlewinks, renowned all across Khorvaire for his work on elemental binding, found himself in the Breland countryside with a broken lightning carriage. While the gnome tinkered away in the underbelly of the machine god, Garrett, then a boy of eight, approached the gnome and made an insightful (and very insulting) remark that at once created a solution in the gnome's mind. The gnome took a special interest in the child afterward, and Mr. Fiddlewinks quickly discovered that Garrett was intellectually very gifted and soaked up knowledge like a sponge.
Mr. Fiddlewinks talked Garrett's parents into allowing him to attend Korrenberg Academy, where Garrett excelled at his coursework in philosophy and religion. He graduated at the age of 15, and sought employment as a copy editor at the Korrenberg Chronicle, and was eventually elevated to the level of correspondent for the internationally acclaimed publication at 16. As a reporter, Garrett worked feverishly to deliver eye-grabbing stories, and has even gone as far as venturing to cold Frostfell and dark Xen'Drik to track the movements of established adventuring parties.
He has published seven volumes: The Layman's Guide to Esoteric Religion in Khorvaire, Diverse Tactics in Warlord, Magic Around Us, The Strange History of Breland Cheese, Essays on Dwarven Dialects, The Dialects of Kaius the III,
and the ever popular, Dungeoneering.
Furthermore, his band, Shegroth's Teeth, released a popular hit a year ago entitled, Swim Towards the Siren.Adventuring:
Garrett has earned much of his experience and reputation from previous adventures with well-known parties, and has benefited from the advice and friendship of famous explorers, dilettantes, pirates, nobles, etc. However, Garrett has the tendency of taking notes during combat, because he wants to accurately describe occurrences for his readers, thus making him insufferable on the battlefield. Furthermore, though highly intelligent and extremely well-versed in any environment, groups often make the mistake of employing Garrett as a scout (in fact, the phrase "Garrett, scout ahead" are now considered famous last words).Personality:
Garrett loves himself, but typically excludes himself from his stories. However, he buys into the hype of him being a swashbuckling everyman, and his youth has given him a sense of immortality that makes him overly brash. He is conceited, arrogant and smug, and he is never up to any good (aside from his stories, all of which are always good).Behavior:
Loud-mouthed, insolent, intolerable; these words describe Mr. Garrett well.Language:
Though Garrett has been educated in the college of Religion and Philosophy at Korrenberg, Garrett speaks in a jocular, self-aggrandizing vernacular of lower-class Brelians, spattered with nautical references and adventuring idioms.Rules of the Trade:
As a journalist, Garrett must abide by a certain code of ethics. The code is listed as follows:
1) Never tell your readers a lie, unless it protects them.
2) Never tell your editor a lie, unless it will protect him/her.
3) Always protect your sources, no matter what.
From the Journals of M. Campbell Garrett, Journalist Extraordinaire and Generally Amazing Person
*NOTE to the EDITOR: Please make me sound more awesome in your edits. I know that it's hard to make me sound any more awesome, but you can't have too much of a good thing.
Now what was a rock star world-class adventurer like myself doing with such a motley crew of butchers? I wish, dear reader, that I was there excavating the deepest, staunchest secrets from the Karrnathi front. No, instead, I was serving time. Time owed to the great Capitol of the Eastern Kingdom, Korth, for crimes of debauchery. It all began when my supplier and P.R. agent, Brotno the Dwarf, acquired an electric car, four belt pouches of glitter and an irresistible desire to get laid by the premier goblinoid prostitute, Enrica. Somehow we ended up being chased by ravenous dust clouds that chomped at the ankles of timid men and ate brave men whole. I didn't want to get eaten, and neither did Brotno, so that scumhead kicked the electric car into gear and elbowed the earth elemental in the face to get us moving at an amazing velocity (read: 15 miles per hour). This was too much for Brotno, and it was too much for the elemental, and so we wound up in a tavern, upside down, with the earth elemental pinning us. We were also charged with a number of other crimes, such as public exposure, assaulting a member of the clergy and a host of others, but to be very frank, I do not remember any of it. I was really, really high, and there were dust clouds chasing after me.
And dear reader, you never want to be caught by a dust cloud.
My time in prison was exciting. I took copious notes on the characters and scenes, and I might have made a few contacts. It all really depends. You can't ever count on people when they are in prison. One shakedown and suddenly they aren't the contacts to have in the yard. They are yesterday's news, and it all dawns on them that they're stuck behind those iron bars and spit-wad walls. But I can't relate. I'll never be yesterday's news.
How did I get here, in this small hall at the Rekkenmark?
I was introduced to this humdinger of a woman named Major Saithe, the leader of this elite crew of hags and weirdos. Major Saithe is the enemy. I was introduced to her by my friends Led and Zed. Led and Zed are guards in Karrnathi, and real nice fellows, too. One of them said:
"Major, by order of the King, we are placing Mr. Garrett in your custody. He is to be your prisoner."
"Yes," said Led, I think, "We can't keep him any more. Real embarrassing business."
"You see, he has escaped prison. Three times."
"It really wouldn't be so bad if he had escaped and we had caught him again, but each time, he just wandered back into prison. We weren't suspicious, the first time. See, he was as high as a kite, so we thought him a numb skull. The second time, we just thought he was the most unfortunate soul ever. Third time, well, we got curious. And... well, it's very embarrassing."
"Mr. Garrett has written three articles on how to escape our prisons*," Led said, I think.
I could only grin at the Major and give her a thumbs up from my manacled hands. I felt like chewing on a caltrop, because I knew I was grinning like a shit-eating dickhead. I've looked at myself often in the mirror to know what my face looks like at all times, and even I dislike my shit-eating grin. I can't imagine what that nasty, ghoul-limbed troglodyte of a woman thought. Probably surprise, since she couldn't find it in her heart to just kill me, and let me tell you, she's the sort that will as soon as kill you then look at you. Maybe she felt joy, because the jobs at the Rekkenmark, they aren't of the variety that you just walk back from. She knew I was dead meat. Whatever. It meant an exclusive. Those parchment writers were so stuck on the fact that I wrote a few articles describing the inefficiency of their prison system that they got a hard-on when I said that I'd coast with their gung-ho naturalists.
"Oi! Wot's the furnace jibbin' 'bouts?" Surprised that this is how I talk? Me too. I can't shake the accent. "Oh, I get it! He's sellin' insurance!" I'm not sure whether or not I like Mark. He seems like the sort of fellow you don't want to house your pastries. In fact, he's probably the first guy you want to house your enemy's pastries. But that means that I get to hang out with him, and I can't find anything heart-warming about his frosty exterior. "No? Den' what's dis business of calculatin'? Pfft. I say bait an' trick 'em, an' I can get my ex--" I eyed the major, "Once dis' mission's been declassified, dat' is."
* Ten Things You Should Know When You Are Arrested In Korth, How to Escape Prisons in Korth, and Developing Useful Weapons in Prison Whilst in Korth, by Garrett Campbell; The Korrenberg Chronicle, Vol III (Ep XXXXVI, XXXXVIII, XXXXIX), 998 YK.