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.