Exert from the prideful journal of Volker Richter.
You know, it was pretty odd coming out of the sewers. Mostly because the exit wasn’t by choice, but rather being drug out by the cities finest. Took a minute for them to be convinced that we were on Ole’ Clive’s orders, but after a moment of fresh thought they seemed to accept it. Think they were just made that we ruined their magic trap.
Seemingly enough the detour came as a bit of a boon! Apparently Sconce had lost a friend( or 15) down under ground. Apparently his buddy Mal, a nice enough fellow(a little “stout” if you know what I mean), just walked himself out of the Aspects-forsaken land below, all the while Sconce’s other compatriots were picked off by the terrors of the night. Spooky business._ Note to self: never let him pick directions_. Oh well, the Traveler has seemingly put me on this journey with them so hopefully he wont set me up to foolhardily die from his unfortunate choices. Maybe I’m here to keep him alive?
OH WAIT THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I DID!
But more on that later.
I made a quick trip to the market to see my favorite fletcher; Burcham. Great guy, came from Red Harbour too. I’ve got him making me some finer wares for my bow(which he says is “a piece of shit with a string”) and, well, another bow. Should be some top quality work with a reel just like we make back at home. He may come off gruff, but he and I both speak the same language. Anyway, I sold off those cockatrice feathers to him with the idea to market them in his “Premier Line” for higher quality noblemen. He has such a talent, but I don’t think the old man is putting himself out there enough… back to the story,
Now in greater numbers, and slightly renewed strength, we entered back into the delectable corridors of the cities most prominent “streets”. Very upscale, real refined. The shit on the walls adds a nice ambiance. (I think I used that word right, heard the Captain use it a few times, but it was always very sarcastic.) Trudging through the mire we went downstream this time. Upstream had that dark copycat tax collector and the cockatrices. Cockatrixes? Cockatrikes, cocka-… devil chickens, so downstream should be pleasant, right?
No. No that is not how it is.
Everything in the sewer is terrible.
We found an intersection that had dead end leading to some deep water. After much planning we settled on a great one. Leave it the hell alone. Wisdom, such wisdom.
We scurried around through the corridors til I heard something. So what did luck deal us this time? Crabs, or at least thats what I thought they were. Nope. Metal eating mites. Chew right through your sword and your armor. I was fortunate to only lose a little sharpness on my scimitar, poor Sconce lost half his long sword. Little Gerid thinks we believe he is an adult) keep a pretty good barrage of magic malice, shame every time he shot fire from his fingers he screamed like a waif. They threw some coins at the buggers before Belian sounded the retreat.
Upon our exit we found our fire breathing, rat handed, alligator man. Sans rat hands, or the capability to breath fire. But he was a big bastard regardless. Our frontliners charged while we 3 ranged folks unloaded three or four volleys into the beast before it disappeared into the roof. I got caught on some grime and made it out last.
Now, I’m not entirely sure what happened in the few seconds before I relieved myself through the porthole, but I can get a pretty good gauge of it. CrocoNAW! had entered the market, mad as the March hare, began unloading its own healthy dose of hatred on the towns residents and my compatriots. At least 6 or 7 bodies. Somewhere in the foray(I’m guessing Gerid’s work) a fire had started around the beast and was slowly cooking it. Seemed to have the boiled frog mentality because it wasn’t leaving it’s spot without hell to pay.
Thinking about my own safety and how I could best help this situation I took to the high ground dashing to the top of the nearest shop. Hanging out a window I unloaded my first shot into the beasts hide. While I readied my next shot I saw it swing around and takes it’s tail broadside into Sconce’s chest and blast him through a cart into a stall some 15ft away from where his boots were still planted. CrocoNAW then set himself onto to wee Gerid biting through his clothes before the poor boy disappeared out his mouth like he forgot to put his clothes on. I, with sound mind, tried to remind him that summoning his pet unicorn in this moment would lean a great tactical advantage, but he must have been too scared. I knocked my arrow, breathed in deep, and drew my shot just as I saw Malpheus in fit of revenge come barreling straight at the creature( who was so ready for him he had already opened his mouth wide enough for him to sprint right into his gullet). Knowing nothing else would save him from his inevitable misfortune I did what had to be done.
Just like Dad taught me. Shot with customary Red Harbour aplomb.
The arrow caught the wind itself, spun hard until a slight tornado formed around the head, pacing Malpheus’ suicide attempt, passing him and planting itself snugly into this monstrosities’ left eye and out the back of it’s skull. It crashed down like the oldest tree in the wood, a cloudless thunder that rocked the very foundations of the market. Modestly I hung my head out of the window. The slow forming crowd raised their eyes to me, and I gave them a slight bow, an acknowledgment that I was simple doing my humble duty to these citizens. I cast off any focus on myself and belayed it to the creator of my exquisite munitions. I called for a cheer for Burcham and his fine wares. I then set my foot down to the street to join my compatriots. Gerid needed a reminder that what we had done was truly noble and that it shant be forgotten how we helped the common folk as well as all who set foot in Belgard.
Ser Bratford himself came down to shake our hands personally before inviting cordially to join him for tea in the castle before he could give us a new inspiring quest to help protect the land.
Even met Gerid’s mom. Apparently she works as a court wizard. how about that? Best to keep the young man out of the castle, too stuffy for a lad with adventure in his heart.
Helborne thanked us personally with gratitude and admiration. Gave us a bounty of whatever we wanted of his own collection. Humbly, we refused and accepted a simple trip to the city garrison’s armaments and wares. He has called us to meet back in a weeks time. Should have some inspiring work of Brucham’s to try out and some time to teach the kid how to swing a sword. His arms… they’re just… so scrawny…
As the Traveler Guides Me,
- Volker Richter
Boatswain, Monk, Survivor, Slayer, Hero.