The Chronicles of Tasrin Tolbrohr: Session 1

This entry is part 1 of 4 in the series The Chronicles of Tasrin Tolbrohr

Hello, and welcome to the first session of my solo play D&D campaign. I use a combination of randomization tables with dnd character sheets and sheer creativity to come up with this stuff, and role play using a combination of out loud commentary and written storytelling. The result is below.

Please note that there may be POV/tense changes throughout that I didn’t catch. For some reason I kept switching between past/present tense and first/third person. I tried to catch them all but I may have missed some. This is not really edited, so bear that in mind. This is also my first time doing solo play or playing a PC.

Hope you enjoy.


Hello my name is Tasrin Tolbrohr and this is my story.

I storm out of the city not even really noticing the guards looking at me funny. I’m so angry. I can’t even express how truly angry I am right now.  Why was he like that? Who would do something like that? I just I don’t understand and all of that confusion and pain and anger just drives me on as I storm down the road, not even paying attention what direction I’m going let alone having a destination in mind.

Honestly, I’m in luck today. There is barely a rustling of the trees on either side of the road and above me the skies are big and open and clear. As I travel throughout the day, mostly anger driving me forward I’m also lucky that I don’t encounter anyone along the way. It’s surprisingly quiet considering the fact that I’m so close to a large city.

When the day grows dim, I decide to look for a place to camp. I am probably far and away from anywhere civilized, so I know I’m going to have to rough it. Honestly, I haven’t roughed it in a long time. This will be quite the adventure. Clouds are starting to roll in as I set up camp. I cast an alert spell just to make sure I’m not disturbed. I wouldn’t want to be surprised by bandit some monsters while I’m trying to sleep.


I wake up the next morning fully rested but a little stiff from sleeping on a hard mat for such a long time. I’m not used to not sleeping in the bed. A light rain is wetting my face as I open my eyes and I groan at the realization that I am going to have to walk through this for the rest of the day potentially. The sky is dark with some sort of storm and I’m not looking forward to being soaked to the skin for the rest of the day.

Late in the afternoon, as I am absolutely miserable from the downpour I’ve managed to trudge through, I hear an odd noise coming from some distance ahead. What is it? I stop right in the middle of the road, wondering what it could be. I listen hard, focusing on where it’s coming from, what’s the nature, how it sounds to me, how far is it. I’d rush ahead, looking for where the sound is coming from. As a girl closer, it’s clearer and clearer that there’s a conflict going on.

I start to run, but I’m afraid that I will exhaust myself, I also pace myself. When I can clearly make out the sounds of the conflict in question, I slow and approach keeping myself hidden. As I reach the clearing, something in my bag clatters, and I freeze. The people in the clearing stop and turn around, looking for where the sound came from. I can’t imagine how they could hear that small clatter over the noise they were making, but somehow they do. I cover my mouth, trying to ensure I make no further sounds, praying to Moradin that no one can see me in my hide armor, which I’m desperate to believe blends in with the leaves and underbrush around me.

Thank Moradin I’m so short, I think to myself.  Never in my life have I ever appreciated being four feet tall before, but in this instance, it’s beneficial.  Two rugged men, clearly bandits of some sort, stand intimidating a merchant or trader of some kind.  There is a horse snorting and shaking its head in the distance, stomping its feet and looking about one moment away from bolting.

With a nearly predatory growl, one of the bandits rushes toward me, lifting his sword arm to swing at me.  I manage to weave to the side, easily avoiding his attack.  I hold up my hands, thumbs touching, fingers spread, and a thin sheet of flames shoots forth.  The bandit directly in front of me manages to skirt some of the damage, screaming out as it burns him, but the one right in front of the merchant isn’t so lucky.  His breath curdles in his throat as he tenses and drops to the ground.

Enraged as his partner’s death, the other bandit screams out in anger.  “You’ll die for this!”  He swings his sword again, and Tasrin grunts as it hits this time, connecting with her armor.  The armor blunts the blow, but it still leaves her nearly breathless.

I fling a mote of fire at him, but again, he dodges, this time completely unfazed by the attack.  He strikes again and misses.  I try again with the fire bolt, hitting him this time.  He’s breathing heavily now, definitely feeling his wounds.  He swings his sword again, but he’s slow and sloppy now, his arm seemingly hurt and struggling to lift it.

I can do this, I tell myself, and throw another bolt of fire at him, but again it missing.  

Maybe Marikoth was right.  Even the idea sends rage through me, and I cry out, letting that uncontrollable anger out.  

He swings, and I’m not sure if my rage makes me faster or if his injuries make him slower, but I dodge again.  Feeling cocky, I fling fire at him while I’m still slightly off balance from the dodge.  

It hits!  He gurgles, then clutches himself, his sword dropping to the ground.  He collapses, and for several moments, Tasrin’s heart is still pounding in her ears, the adrenaline of the battle still affecting her.

I look up, and the merchant, which was cowering in fear before, is now kicking one of the bandits.  “Ungrateful bastards,” she says.  “Serves you right to try to steal from me.”

“Are you alright?” I ask, dropping my hands to my sides.  After a few breaths, I’m feeling back to normal.

She glares at me.  “Don’t think you’re getting any rewards,” she says, pointing a gnarled finger at me.

“I wasn’t asking to,” I say in response, wondering what I had done to earn the human woman’s ire.

“Well, unless you’re looking to buy some jewelry, I expect you to be on your way or I will whoop your ass to within in inch of your life.”

I raise my hands.  “I mean no harm.  I’ll be on my way now.”  I collect what I can from the bodies then stand to take my leave.

I don’t like the idea of turning my back on the merchant, so I back out of the clearing slowly, only taking my eyes off the clearing when she’s no longer in sight.

I let out a sigh of relief, then look up, realizing the sun has already started to set.  It’s harder to tell in the forest here, but it is definitely growing dimmer.  I start to look for a place to camp for the night.

Soon enough, I’m settling in for the night, bemoaning the fact that it’s still raining.  It’ll be a miserable night, and now I’m wishing I had decided to start writing a letter to Lura last night when the weather was nicer.  Does she even know that I’m missing yet?  Surely, she must.  I’m always at the library.  

I sigh and cast Alarm again, then settle into my bed roll, pulling it up over my head in the hopes that it’ll somehow keep me drier.  Sleep is hard to find.


I wake up the next morning, and I’m already sweating.  The hide armor is damp against my skin, and I loosen it in the hopes that it’ll start to dry.

I break camp and make my way back to the road.  As I walk down the road, I flap a hand underneath my beard, wondering if I should braid it.  

“Moradin’s Balls,” I say under my breath, realizing I’ve done nothing to care for my beautiful beard since rushing from the city two days earlier.  That’s not like me.  I start running my fingers through the long, thick hair.  There are knots, but I’m gentle with it.  I have all the time in the world, and slowly work all the knots out and start braiding it.  I will still need to condition it, work it through with a proper comb, but for now, it’ll have to do.

By late morning, I see settlement up ahead.  I have no idea where I am, and I honestly don’t care.  It looks like a decent sized village, large enough to several hundred people.  Unlike in the city, there is there no guarding the gates, and I walk straight in.  

After several days on the road, all I can think about is a warm meal and a soft bed.  I scan the road looking for a tavern.  I spot one almost instantly, the garrish sigh giving it away.  “The Hammer and Sabre” the spells out in common, with two crossed weapons behind the lettering.  It has been brightly painted and while she winces as the clashing colors, she smiles at the words.  “Sounds like a dwarvish type of place,” she says to herself as she hurries to reach the door.

“Welcome to the Hammer and Sabre,” a tiefling calls out from the other side of the room.  There’s a friendly but aloof air to them.

I surprised to see a tiefling, expecting human or maybe dwarf from the sign.  It feels like a very dwarvish sign to have on a tavern.  I end up standing there like an idiot.  

“Name’s Service,” the tiefling says, they sharp canines showing as they smile.  “Don’t be afraid.  There’s nothing infernal about me.  I just want to run my inn and tavern.”

“You have rooms?” I ask.

Service nods, their big curling horns bobbing up and down with the movement.  “Two rooms, but one’s occupied.  Would you like one?”

“Yes.  How much?”

“Eight silver a day.  And five per meal.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable.  Thank you.  I’ll take it.”

“Of course.  I’ll show you to your room.”

Service brings her upstairs.  There are three rooms, one on each side and one at the end of the hall.  They open the door of the one on the right and turn, handing me the key.  “If you need anything in the night, I’m right down the hall.”

“Thank you.  Oh, and I haven’t eaten yet today, so I’d love a meal and a mug of ale.”

“Coming right up.”  Service rushes past her, her pink tail swinging back and forth as she walks.

I look into the room.  It’s comfortable, certainly better than sleeping outdoors.  It reminds her a lot of her room at the library.  It’s about as empty, too.  I never did collect a lot of things, even though I was there for several years.  Learning about wizardry and befriending Lura seemed good enough for me at the time.  Now, I realize my life then was… a little hollow.

I drop off my gear and pack, grateful to have the weight off my shoulders for the first time in days.  I groan and roll my shoulders, then turn and head back downstairs.

There are two people in the tavern right now, sitting at a table in the center of the room.  They’re deep in their cups, talking loudly, but about what, I don’t know.

How did I miss them before?  

I shrug and cross to a corner table out of the way.  Maybe they’ve gotten worse since I went upstairs.  It’s strange, seeing a human and an orc sitting and drinking together, their heads drawn close as they whisper conspiratorially to each other.

“I heard she was having a fling out at that old hideout outside the village.  You know the one.  It’s three miles out.”

“And why would I care?” the orc said, laughing as he tipped more ale into his mouth.

The human male pointed at him.  “Because it gets better.  Here she was badmouthing somebody, but she wouldn’t say who it was.  Everyone was saying how she’s an instigator, always getting herself in trouble.  Everyone thought maybe she’d asked for it.  It wouldn’t surprise anyone.

“Then one day, she comes into the village sobbing.  She has a bruise on her cheek, and her dress is ripped, nearly exposing her breasts.  When someone asked if she was okay, she yelled at them then stormed off to her home, practically kicking in the door in her haste to flee the growing crowd.”

“Bah, that’s nothing!” the orc says as Service arrives with my meal.

“Thank you,” I say yet again, and dip my spoon into the meaty stew.  It was so hot it nearly burned my mouth, but I sigh in pleasure, loving having a warm meal in my belly.

Series NavigationThe Chronicles of Tasrin Tolbrohr: Session 2 >>

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