Day 15

Pretty miserable. It's slow going on foot and we keep expecting a snowstorm from the looks of the clouds. Most of the time it's cold enough for one, but only a few flakes so far.

Crossed a marsh again the other day. Had to deal with some nasty leg-biting snakes. We killed enough of them to make a whole meal, but weren't sure if they were safe to eat or not so had to leave them to rot. I don't even know how snakes can be out and about this late in the year--seems strange to me.

Even with our slow pace we have made it a pretty good distance north of Tine Gorge. We're following the western ridge of the Snakebacks, and if we go another week or hit the sea (whichever happens first) we're going to turn around and follow the east edge back.

I haven't written much, obviously, but it's been tough. Most nights I don't have the energy to write and wouldn't want to take off my gloves if I did. I had to warm the ink by the fire just to write today, and I'm only bothering because we stopped a little early. Everyone's in a bad way, real tired and feet are sore. I feel like I've turned my ankle more than a dozen times.

If we spot anything interesting I'm sure I'll write more.

Kind of wish I was home.

Day 10

Grens sprang us this morning. He got all three of us out for the low, low price of all our horses. That was to pay our "fine"--one that we might have been able to pay in cash if they hadn't robbed us when they locked us up.

In addition, we were treated to an almost half-hour long harranguing courtesy of the constable and two of his men. I can't tell if they actually hold any office or if they just hang around him to get in their kicks at our expense. Constable cooked up some mighty nasty gruel for us, while frying eggs for him and his pals. The whole time they were hollering and threatening us.

Gunth, being variously drunk, hungover and concussed, was some handful last night. By morning he seemed to be thinking straight, though still in bad repair. My own injuries from the tavern seem less serious, and Tallow seems all better. "Just a little sore," he assured me. "No worse for the wear, eh?"

I had to talk him out of breaking us free during the night. This was made more difficult by the fact that "I" would start yelling excitedly about how we oughtta bust our way out. Then "Tallow" would insist that no, that was foolish. Once we got ourselves back it would be the other way around--Tallow looking over the lock and trying to get out while I objected and told him we're better off being obedient.

At least now I know for sure that I'm not the only one who can't control himself. I tried to bring this up with Tallow but he didn't want to talk about it.

"You drank more'n I thought, Captain," he chided me. "I know you go back and forth, but don't drag me along for the ride. I'm my own man."

"Just tell me one thing then. Who was it that went with that girl? Was it you or that thing?"

Tallow laughed.

"Look pal, when I go to bed it's a two-person ride. Me and the lass. No guests or visitors allowed. Sorry to disappoint."

I have no idea if he's lying to save face or what. But if he wants to take full blame and credit for getting us jailed and losing the Count's horses, I won't argue. I gave him his chance.

In all fairness, the horses were more like ponies. But they were tough as leather and well-trained. Plus I don't know what we'll tell the Count's men about losing them. Lucky for us, Grens slept safe and sound last night and no one relieved him of his money. He was able to at least buy us a burrow to haul our gear.

Quiet bastard that he is, Grens didn't give us much ribbing when he sprang us. He was polite to the constable and even slipped him a little silver as a thank-you "for not going too hard on them". That pissed me off even worse. I actually wish he would've just jeered us and been done with it. Even with his cowl on we could tell he was grinning the whole time.

We were outside near the hostel before I spoke to him. Kind of gritted my teeth like, and asked if he could do anything for Gunther's wounds. Or any of our wounds.

He gave me this look. "I'm not a healer," he said.

I stared at him. "Not a healer," I repeated.

He shook his head.

"Not a healer. Of course not." I wanted to punch the wall of the hostel.

"I'll be alright," said Gunther. "Let's just get our shit and get out of here."

So we did. Grens didn't object to paying for the mule. We told him we'd pay him back and he just shrugged. Within an hour we had our things, our ass, and our splitting headaches on the road out of town. Not the way we came in--the way that goes across the gorge and into the big hills.

Tine Gorge is really something to look at, but I'm not up for describing it. The going is slow on foot and we go through our canteens faster. Once we were across the gorge and out of sight of town, we turned off the road and headed north. The mountains run north-south, and whatever hobgoblins might be in County Frank either came down from them or from the north. There's nothing but chaos up north since the kingdoms there collapsed. To the south are other friendly counties, or mostly friendly counties, and not many monsters come from there. So we'll head north through the Snakebacks and see what we see.

I'm done for today. I've never been so happy to sleep in the freezsing cold. No snow but a bad wind and already there's frost. I don't care, I have to rest. Damn near sprained my ankle twice today on these rocky hills, and barely slept a wink last night. We're not even keeping watch tonight. Grens said we'll be safe and Tallow set up some noise-traps in case anyone tries to sneak up. Let 'em come--I'd rather die in my sleep than stay awake any longer.

Day 9: Sometime after Midnight

If there’s anything a body needs after being on the road for a week, it’s a full night of rest in a warm building.

And that’s the one thing you can’t count on during a campaign.

The other guys didn’t get much info earlier today. Gunther got drunk. Says he talked to a lot of people, but they were looser with their beer than their talk. Tallow got himself a kiss from a local girl, but she must not have known anything either. Grens was the only one who got anything interesting.

“The cautious cow dies in the mountains,” he reported back.

“What?”

“Inside.” He led me and Tallow (Gunther wasn’t back yet) into the hostel and wouldn’t say more till we were alone.

“The cautious cow dies in the mountains,” he repeated. “It’s a password.”

“For what?” asked Tallow.

“A gambling parlour.”

We waited for more. He didn’t go on.

“So what the fuck?” Tallow demanded finally. “You think you’re some kind of master spy for getting a password?”

Grens just smiled. I said it for him: “’t’s more than you got.” That started him grumbling.

“So Grens,” I finally asked, “Why do we want to go gambling?”

“I don’t,” said Grens. Again he stopped.

“Just talk, man!” That was Tallow.

“The constable’s hiding something, right?” asked Grens. “Maybe this is it.”

“We’re not here to look into graft.” Tallow again.

I chimed in: “Maybe Grens has something. Constable sure doesn’t want us going after hobgoblins. And he can make it pretty hard on us if he wants.”

“All the more reason to leave it alone,” said Tallow. “We should bribe that prick so he lets us do our job.”

That was the beginning of a huge argument, and we still didn’t have much info to go on. Grens went off to collect Gunther while Tallow and I hashed it out. In the end we agreed to let the gambling thing go unless it became relevant, and ignore the constable unless he became hostile. Fair compromise.

So our plan was to sleep well, eat well, and head out to look for tracks in the morning. None of us had met any local trackers who were sober and willing, so we knew we’d be going it alone.

We didn’t know we’d have the whole town against us before morning.

What happened was this: Grens went to sleep early, Gunth and I went for drinks at the tavern, and Tallow said he was off to see the girl from before. Well I had a few rounds but kept a slow pace, and we had a pretty good time. Even got some of the locals to talk with us—mostly mine rumours, stories of gold still to be found out there, but also some of the wilder stories of the local families. Usual fare for a country pub.

Then not two hours later, who should come in the door with a big grin but Tallow, the loudmouth. He buys a round for the whole joint and plops down. Then he toasts:

“To heavy paps, parted laps, and satisfied chaps. May we all know the love of a blonde girl!”

He had this look like he was waiting for applause. Instead he got silence. Silence, then one chair scraping across the floor. A burly man stood up, a guy with tattoos and a limp. He picked up a whole bottle of whiskey from the bar, turned it upside down and let it pour out. And he came at Tallow.

Gunther and I didn’t move to help him, but Tallow dodged the first blow and returned it with a hard punch. Two guys came up on either side of us and made to lay into us—one with his fists at me, and the other with a stool at Gunth.

I got out of the way and Gunther didn’t. That stool cracked on his shoulder and head. He let out a bellow and I drew my sword. Before I could strike Gunth smashed his fist down on my sword arm. “I” got the message and put my sword back. Good thing, too—it wasn’t until afterward that I saw two blokes with crossbows near the door.

Murder averted, but now we were behind. The guy on me worked my ribs over and I got a good blow in on his chin. Then a mug whacked the side of my head and I was punching at two guys. Gunth raised up his sword like a staff—it was still in its wooden scabbard and white linen wrap—and he knocked one fellow out cold. Tallow was doing alright, getting a lot of hits in, but the guy on him wasn’t going down. I beat one fellow onto the floor and took a hard blow across the back. Just as I thought I was going to be overwhelmed there was an explosion near me that damn near knocked me over.

It was that constable again, and he had thrown something on the floor. The noise was short, but deafening. He was yelling something I couldn’t make out. Tallow was hauled over to him by two farmers. I yelled at the top of my lungs that he didn’t start it, and pretty soon I was hauled out too. I flailed around till the constable kneed me in the gut. Gunther was mostly unconscious and it took three guys to drag him out.

So all three of us were thrown in the forsaken gaol and our weapons taken off us. Constable’s men robbed us of our money, saying it was to pay the damages at the pub. My book almost got taken but they got distracted, and since they had figured out it had no spells in it they tossed it to me after teasing me a while. Constable’s second was even kind enough to piss in our water urn before he left us for the night.

Now it’s just the Constable outside, a finally-quiet Tallow, a badly-concussed Gunther, and me with my book. Gunther is bleeding from his head, and I bandaged him with his own shirt. I have to keep him at least semi-conscious until his head clears, so no sleep for me. I have to admit, looking at him is downright scary.

Count Yank, your hand-picked warriors humbly thank you for their good fortune in serving you.

Day 9: Afternoon

Tine Gorge is the worn out old sock of towns. A hundred years ago there was good mining in the Snakebacks. That gave out a while back, and most commerce went with it. The people there don’t have much and they don’t see many visitors.

The gorge itself is just past the edge of town, the far edge toward the mountains. The town is a built-up wooden strip along the main road, with grubbier buildings off the side streets. We could see it from two ridges away, beckoning from its promontory. We were near a little goat farm at the time.

"We should raise our colours," I said.

Gunther and Tallow turned and looked at me. Tallow smiled. "Why?"

"We're armed. We're from the Count. These people have hobs around, maybe. They should know we're here to help."

Tallow shook his head. "We're not here to help. We're here to do a job and leave."

"Yeah well, let's raise our colours. Give me the flag."

"It's in my saddlebag," said Tallow. He didn't reach for it.

So I went up there and fished around for it. Other side. Found it and took one of our long spears to attach it to—even got Gunther to hold it for me as I tied it. Soon it was flapping over our heads, displaying Count Yank’s sigil and colours to the world.

It didn’t last long. As we rose up over the next hill I stopped, lowered the spear, and yanked the pennant off. I was about to toss it to the wind when Gunther said, “We should keep it. Might come in handy.” So instead I balled it up and threw it to him. He stuck it in a saddlebag and we kept going.

Right after that I regained control, but what use was there? If I took the time to hang up the pennant again I’m sure it’d just be down in a minute. I have no way of fighting this thing—so far.

When we got into town there was no warm welcome. People on porches and front doors stared at us. Nobody said anything.

A hideous man with a loaded crossbow came around the corner from behind one of the buildings. I put my hand on my sword and tensed up my heels against my horse. I would’ve charged him. But he put up one hand as a peace sign and walked closer—stopped maybe eighty feet from us.

“Travelers are welcome here,” he announced.

“Could’ve fucking fooled me!” I yelled back.

“Troublemakeres are not,” he continued. “Now what’s your business?”

“We come from Frankton,” said Gunther. “To hunt some monsters.”

The man with the crossbow snorted. A few of the townspeople watching shook their heads and went inside.

“You must be the constable?” asked Tallow.

The ugly man nodded. “Sariss Argon.”

“Well Master Argon, my name is Tallow. My companions and I heard tell of hobgoblins in these parts and thought we'd have a look. Do you know, are the rumours true?”

The constable screwed up his face, spat on the ground, then looked up at the sky for a moment before speaking. “I know I haven’t seen any. You can ask around if you like, but I’m sure that none of these folks have seen anything either. There’s no reason they would have, with me around killing anything that breaks the peace. And me watching everyone day and night.” He grinned. “But you can ask.”

He lowered his crossbow and gestured toward one of the wood-and-plaster buildings. “Hostel’s over that way. Help yourselves.”

So this was our great introduction to Tine Gorge. We tied our horses up and got a room, then made a sort of rough plan. The others went out to gather information, as much as they can get anyway. Doesn’t seem like the friendliest place but someone’s going to let something slip. Tallow is going around town, Gunther is chatting people up at the tavern, and Grens is going to take the “quiet approach” (whatever that is).

So why aren’t I out there? Well, I think Tallow said it:

“Captain, you don’t seem to be at your best.”

No, I’m not. Thing is, I have more manners than these three assholes put together. I should be out there finding out what’s going on. But everytime I open my mouth I holler like a drunk baron. So far on this trip I’ve mauled a bear, slammed an ally and offended at least two public officials. So I didn’t put up much of a fight when they asked me to stay behind.

My job was to put up the horses. Found a stable and paid dearly for their upkeep, but that comes with being a stranger. That went so quick I’ve had plenty of time to sit here and write. I’m outside the hostel so I can see when the others come back, then we can meet and figure out our next move. Hope it won’t be too much longer.

Day 8

Frost last night, and even I didn't enjoy sleeping on the ground. Was sore and shivering when I woke up, and haven't got much better since. I know it might be a little warmer around Farmington, but this is an early frost no matter what. I worry about the pears.

The land is queer here, a sort of dryness to it. O, there's water. Little cricks and even bogs sometimes between the hills. But the land feels like it's waiting to suck the life out of you. It's sandy, with rocky hills and scrawny trees. We left the good farmland a day and a half ago, and even the middling farmland is gone now. This is wasteland.

We were hoping to be in Tine Gorge by this evening, but either it's farther or we're slower than we thought. We went all day today without seeing any traffic on the road, though we did see a broken, empty and abandoned wagon beside the road. No signs of fighting.

Tonight we're bedding down in a dilapidated ruin of a cottage. I don't like it. It's bad luck. But it'll keep Gunther out of the wind, which is good for him, and hide our fire from view, which is good for all of us. There haven't been serious bandit threats in Frank County in my lifetime, but if there's anyplace that might change it's the Snakeback Hills.

The spruce trees are thick and I'm going to cut more than a few switches to make a nest before bed. Keep my back off the ground and stay warm, maybe. Suppose I'll suggest it to the others, too.

O yeah, and we brought down a very small pterodon this morning. Almost had two but one got away--they can gain height in a hurry. Anyway we have enough meat for today and tomorrow. It's tough and hard to chew but full of oil and flavour. We drew lots and I won one of the claws, so I know what I'm talking about.

Day 5: Evening

Today we rode through a less populated area. It’s marshy and doesn’t make for good farming. The road is made of planks in many places and there are lots of birds even though it’s late in the year. Frogs and bugs too. There’s always a sort of buzzing sound in the background.

It’s the kind of place I can normally get along with—still, peaceful, but alive. We stopped for a break around midday. It was pretty warm for autumn so I sat in the shade and chomped on some flatbread.

Gunther went off “to the bogs”. Tallow was looking over the fletching on his arrows and Grens looked like he was asleep. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to look. For a second I thought there was nothing there. Then I saw it again.

Behind some scrubby trees was a brown something-or-other. I squinted. It took long, cautious steps—almost seemed clumsy. When it moved into the light I figured it for a bear.

I held still and glanced at Grens and Tallow. They didn’t see anything. Then back at the bear. Sure enough, it was moving toward the brush where the trees thinned out, trying to go around our little resting place without getting noticed. Bears have this fierce reputation but they really don’t like to bother humans. It probably smelled the horses and came to investigate, then saw us and decided to clear off.

I just watched it and grinned. It’s so neat to see that stuff up close.

Then my sword and shield were in my hand. I must have covered some fifty feet in just a few seconds. I yelled and trampled toward that bear with my sword held high. I could feel that thing with me again.

I charged a bear. I ran right up to it as it slinked out from a tree and I shoved my sword into its side. I can’t forget the look it gave me. They say bears can’t talk but this one had a question for me. It was asking why.

And I want to know the same thing. First off, why a bear? We can’t use that much meat. Second, what kind of dumb S-O-Baatezu charges a wild animal? We have frickin’ arrows!

But the question that’s been haunting me is why this thing was so eager. I could feel this sort of maniacal glee at the idea of killing a bear. I mean, I didn’t feel it. I felt shock. But I could feel this other emotion like it was my own. Like two personalities inside me, one of them eager for blood.

I didn’t get to think about it for long. I made a good deep wound on that bear, enough to kill it but not right away. Big animals are like big trees: if you’re going to bring one down, you better get out of the way. This one was up on his hind legs faster than a spring wind. And he let me have it.

A punch? A slap? A swipe? I don’t know, but it woke me up. Right in the face, oof da. I had that nose bleed feeling and saw little stars and heard the bear roaring, and then fft! Something else attacked me. But it didn’t attack me, and it didn’t attack the bear, it just flew past us like we both weren’t there. A glance back at camp told me Tallow had shot an arrow, and now the real me hated him as much as the fake me hated the bear.

I opened my mouth to yell at him, but something else shot past me and hit the bear. I couldn’t see what it was but it hit him pretty hard. My body still wasn’t mine to control, and I started swinging again. I hadn’t caught my balance yet, and neither me nor the bear got a hit in on each other. Next thing I knew Gunther was there and his big sword was in the bear’s neck.

That was that. The bear fell, Gunther raised his arms and popped his back, letting out a roar of his own.

So I shouted and cheered like I was overjoyed at the kill, and took a few more swings at the carcass. Cut it up pretty bad. Disgusting. Then the thing left me and I was able to wipe off my sword, clean up my face wound and get some cold mud to pack on it for the swelling. I felt sick but I didn’t want the other guys to know so I held it in.

Gunther asked if I knew how to butcher and I cut off the backstraps (which we are now roasting on a spit). As we got ready to go Tallow started whining about how he didn’t even get a shot in. That’s about when I lost it. I actually yanked him out of his saddle with one hand and threw him on the ground. I’m kind of proud of that. I don’t remember the particulars of what I said, but I gave him a hollering like you wouldn’t believe. He could’ve killed me, and I was pissed.

Well, Tallow actually seemed to get serious, which is probably the only thing kept me from beating him. He had his hands up over his face and he yelled, “I don’t know why I did it, alright? I don’t know!”

That froze me. He didn’t say it as an excuse—he said it like he was scared of it. He doesn’t know. Like how I don’t know why I'd attack a wild animal with a sword. Gods.

So I let Tallow go. He has his tail down, we have fresh bear meat and another night in the bush (out of the marsh now anyway). The sweet taste of resolution. Like a mouthful of blood and a few loose teeth. Sweet goddamn resolution, indeed.

Day 5: Morning

Funny, I didn’t realise this while writing last night. I couldn’t feel “it” at all! Every evening since I became a PC I’ve felt that thing watching me, at least for a little bit, before bed. At the inn, on the road, wherever—it seems to get anxious when we settle down for the night. But last night (and all day yesterday) it was completely absent. Same thing this morning. I feel great!

Day 4

Today was uneventful. The rain started this morning not six minutes after saddling up. It was just a light rain but it lasted most of the day. Late afternoon it got sunny again but that didn’t help Gunther’s mood.

Hobgoblins are still the big talk. I started thinking out loud as we rode: “How are we going to talk to these things anyway?”

Gunther looked over his shoulder at me. He looked hungover. “What?”

“These hobgoblins. What language do they speak? Common?”

“Fuckmouth.” It was Tallow.

“What?”

“They speak Fuckmouth.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking. He seemed pretty serious.

“What does that mean?”

“It means they don’t speak anything. They just make noises like an old man humping on a goat. It means they’re beast men.”

Fuckmouth. Great. This is the company I have. After a minute I tried to move the conversation along. “Some of the goblins I fought spoke Common. Not all, but a few of them.”

Gunther said something from up ahead. I didn’t hear him so I asked him to repeat it.

“Hobgoblins ain’t goblins!” he yelled.

“Yeah, they smell worse and they have bigger weapons,” said Tallow.

“Have you ever seen a hobgoblin?” I asked.

“O, I’ve seen everything, Master Darkesworde. Or should I call you Captain, Captain?”

I never made captain and he knows it. But I try not to talk to him when we acts smart. “Whatever they speak, I bet the wizard can understand it.” We've taken to calling Grens "the wizard" because, well, what else could he be? I looked over at him, bringing up the rear, but he didn’t seem to catch on that we were talking about him.

Tallow made him notice: “Hey Grens, can you speak Fuckmouth?”

Grens shook his head no.

“Doesn’t matter,” yelled Gunther.

I was skeptical. “Yeah, why not?”

No answer. I looked at Tallow, who was smiling.

“I know why it doesn’t matter,” he said.

I went for the bait. “Great, so tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter because there are no hobgoblins. And if there are any, they’ll attack us when we saunter up to talk to ‘em. And if we hold ‘em down and make ‘em listen, they won’t give a dancing fart what we have to say anyway.” He beamed at me and then called up to Gunther: “That about right, Gunth?”

“Something like that.”

Things seemed a lot easier back on the farm.

Day 3 Continued

Evening

We rode right up until sundown today so there was no time to hunt. It’s okay; we have enough dry mix to last a while.

We’re camped in a little thicket not far from the road, with a spring-fed bog giving us water. The fire feels good.

Grens is still off on his own, but Tallow seems to have quieted down. I spoke with Gunther again—he was worried it’ll rain. I told him it might, and he acted like he’d melt or something. I gave him shit about it:

“What, you’ve never been on a campaign before? I thought you were a real fighter.”

“Yeah, plenty of fights, but I hate the wilderness is all.”

He couldn’t understand why I was laughing, so I gave it to him. “We’re like a quarter mile from the road. We passed one farm just before making camp and I bet we’ll pass another before our first piss break tomorrow. Up until about a half hour ago I could hear the dire cattle in the fields. This isn’t the wilderness!”

“You a big outdoorsman or something?” he asked.

“Me? Naw, but most campaigns I been on took me into harder land than this. Better get used to it.”

“Yeah well, I’m here for fighting, not camping.”

Fair enough. “So you’ll be ready when the swords come out?”

He sat up all straight-like and gave me this look. “I was at the siege of Arero. I’ll be ready.”

Tallow whistled. “That was a massacre, from what I heard.”

Gunther nodded. “If I can survive that wreck I can survive anything these hobs have for us.”

“Suppose so,” I said. I wonder if he’ll do a better job protecting us than he did protecting that city. But I know better than to say anything out loud. “How long did it last?”

He picked at his teeth for a minute and thought about it. “Seems to me,” he said, “About five weeks.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, and that was just till the city wall fell. The fort held out almost another week on top of that.”

Tallow couldn’t keep it shut. “I thought no one got out of there.”

Gunther snorted. “Yeah well, not alive. It’s just us ghosts that got out.”

Tallow shook his head and kind of laughed. “Save it for the hobs, buddy.”

They’re still going back and forth talking about these hobgoblins. I have to admit, it seems like a strange mission. Hobgoblin scouts were spotted in the western hills, which is rare on its own. We get goblins from time to time, but not hobgoblins. So we’re supposed to find out if it’s true. That much seems normal enough.

But then if we find them we’re supposed to make contact and find out what they want. That’s right, find out what they want. I have a list in my head of things the beast men might want, and it’s a short bloody list. I don’t know the point in talking to them, but maybe that’s why Count Yank wants this whole thing done quietly. People are panicked enough without picturing a hobgoblin embassy right there in town.

Still, the whole thing leaves me with more questions than answers. The Count didn't talk to us in person; he sent a messenger to our tavern. Not surprising, but you-know-what was outright angry about it. I never cursed at an official before. The man put up with us, but probably just to get rid of us. Makes me nervous.

But we’re underway now and no hint of this thing except the occasional feeling of being watched. It shouldn’t even take a week to get to the hills. Then we can gather our intel, head back, and I can be done with this. Should be two weeks, three tops.

Day 3

Midday

The weather is holding. Still cool, grey and windy with no rain. That’s good for my family bringing in the harvest and it’s just fine by me too. I won’t pass up a dry day on the road. Just smelling the fresh wind rushing over the hills makes me feel better.

I wish I could say the same about my companions. Gunther seems like an alright guy; he’s at least as good with his sword as I am. Of course, his is too big and he doesn’t carry a shield. He says that’s normal where he comes from. Just seems like a death wish to me.

The others have bigger problems. Or the others are the bigger problems. For starters there’s this stinky fellow named Grens. We’ve been together almost two days and I still haven’t gotten a good look at his face. He eats garlic like I would eat ginger candy, and that’s not the only smell on him. He has body parts of different animals, weird plants, all kinds of things. Little pouches and pockets all over him. I tried to shake his hand at the tavern yesterday and he just stared at me--I thought he was giving me the evil eye for a second. Turns out he’s just a jerk.

Then there’s this bloke Tallow. I’m ready to punch Tallow in the face. When we met he spent the first three minutes jabbering and I spent them praying he wasn’t with us. Of course he is. Then it was my turn not to shake hands. I’m not a rude person but this man shouldn’t be free to walk the earth. He should be in jail somewhere, and it sounds like he has been at least once before. He’s a short fellow but he isn’t a kid. I want to know if he’s even human but to find out I’d have to talk to him. Whatever his birth, he’s thieving scum, a loudmouth, a braggart and damn full of himself. I just want to punch him.

Then there’s my other problem. Honestly, I haven’t felt that thing around me much. It seemed to just come and go over the last two days. Like it’s checking in on me or something.

Supposedly my “companions” are PCs too, but none of them seem interested in talking about it. When I met them at the tavern yesterday Gunther was drunk and Grens didn’t speak at all. And I have no use for Tallow’s opinion, so I guess that’s that. But I feel better now. Maybe this thing just wants to keep an eye on me--maybe it just wants to swoop in and talk big in front of the nobles and that’s it. I can handle that.

I’ll write about our mission later. Break's over now and we have to get moving.

Day 1: Evening

I’m not sure I want to write this. I stood in line all day, and I wasn’t ready for this. It’s just too much.

I can’t get to sleep so I may as well try to sort this all. Right. Well, I got to the head of the line, into some official’s house. We were in a big room, like the inn’s great room but the furniture was cleared out. Some important looking people sat at the only table.

It’s where all the would-be adventurers like me go to be measured and judged. There’s some quest the Count wants done in a hurry, and he’s recruiting the best for it. I don’t know why he can’t just announce this in public; he’s only giving details to those who pass muster. So I figured I would go in there, explain my fighting history, and hopefully get permission to join. I was a little nervous that it might be too dangerous for me, and a lot nervous that maybe they wouldn’t take me on.

But I had no idea they would PC me.

It was the creepiest thing. I finally got to the front and they asked me some questions. They seemed straightforward. They inspected my gear, too. Asked me about my skills and battle talents. Then there was this hush that fell over the room. We could all feel something, something invisible and powerful. It’s like that feeling you get when someone is watching you, only a hundred times more and coming from every direction. Creepy!

And then it took me. I could suddenly feel this presence come over me, that knew everything about me and could order me to do anything it pleased. I felt helpless and… sick. I don’t know how the officials knew; maybe they saw it in my eyes. Supposedly they’ve seen this before. But they knew.

“He’s a PC!” one of them said quietly. The rest of them nodded, but I tried to shake my head no. How could I be a PC? I’ve heard the stories; those people are crazy. I don’t want to do that. I just wanted to earn enough money to get my family in order again. If I was chosen, surely it was by mistake.

And then I spoke, but I didn’t speak. This voice just came through me—didn’t even sound like me! “Don’t worry, gentle citizens, and tell your fair count to rest easy, for the Great Darkesworde is on his side now.” What kind of a prick says that? Did they seem worried? They had, what, three hundred people asking to sign onto this mission? I don’t know if I managed to keep from pissing myself of my own accord, or if this… thing did that for me too. I’ve seen some magic and the occasional miracle, but those at least make sense. This was supernatural.

I feel it coming over me again—I’ll try to write more later.

Day 1: Late Morning

The line really is long. I thought I got here early, but the people in front of me started lining up last night. Hopefully I’ll be in within a few hours.

They say you can get famous as an adventurer. I’m not so sure about that, but I better write a little biography here just in case. It could be worth something someday! Plus I’ve got nothing better to do. So…

I am a son of the Darkeswordes, an old and well-known family around Farmington. Supposedly we are descended from knights; I don’t know if that’s true. If it is, we’ve fallen a long way. Growing up, we owned some of our own land—two fields and the plot our cottage was on. We leased additional fields from Baron Stitler. So we do better than most families. Or at least, we did.

In County Frank, like most places, every family has to provide able men for the levies each summer. But if a family provides a son as a full-time man-at-arms they’re exempt from most levies. And if they provide two men-at-arms they’re paid an annual stipend that cancels out part of their taxes.

That’s how my brother and I got into the military. It was hard to outfit both of us, but Granddad always was wily about money. We managed. And that guaranteed our family’s prosperity, at least until Darren took a goblin crossbow bolt in the chest. I wasn’t with him when it happened but I heard about it quick enough. He was buried at the nearest town and that was that.

Except it wasn’t, for us. His Excellency added Darren’s gear to the armoury instead of returning it. Plus we no longer had our stipend, and our rents were raised that year. I immediately requested dispensation to return home, hoping to find a wage somewhere and help out. But my request wasn’t approved until the week that the baron “bought” our land from us. We rented a smaller farm and did what we could to maintain it, but our debt got worse and worse. Granddad died. And the rest of us were on the verge of becoming bonded serfs.

It was then that the call for adventurers went out. My father first suggested I go, and my mom agreed. I couldn’t believe that. So I gathered together my old gear and set out. That was just over a week ago. Mom and Dad think they can hold on as free people for the rest of the year, but if things don’t change by next harvest we’ll all be serfs.

Day 1: Morning

It’s an autumn day and almost feels like spring. The stink of the city is easier to bear when the sun is out. I still don’t feel at home, but at least I won’t have to be here much longer.

It seems like the call for adventurers draws a lot of people. I wouldn’t have thought so, but they’re all around me. My place in the stable was quiet the first night. Now it's more crowded than the barracks ever were. I guess city life isn't for me.

Luckily I finally have something to do. I'm starting this journal so I have something to pass the time while I’m in line later. I’ve never been a talented poet--most of the writing I’ve done was reports and commands in the army. But I’ll try to keep everything clear and maybe someday I can pass this on to my kids.

I’ll write more later.