The Coerced Adventures of Sir Roger Darkesworde

Editor's Note: Hiatus

2008-11-13T07:40:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone.

It's me, Another_Poet, admitting at long last (after months of thinking "maybe I'll do a post in a week or two...") that the Coerced Adventures are on indefinite hiatus. Yep, I've officially jumped the fence from fan who gets angry at web authors who stop producing to web author who begs fans not be be angry for not producing :)

I would like to finish the story arc of Roger, but at least for now I am way too busy and my main artistic interests are elsewhere. On the other hand, last year it was the long boring winter nights that got me writing RogerDS in the first place, so there's still hope.

Sound waffly? It is. I have no idea if or when I'll be continuing the story, only that I do hope to. Many thanks to those of you who have been regular readers, and apologies especially to those of you who won the contest and haven't yet seen your NPCs show up in the story.

Until then....

Day 30 Continued: Exeunt

2008-07-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

Bad day, bad day, bad day. These were my thoughts as I raced back toward the constable's place. Gunther was next to me and between us we held Junior. Junior sort of ran on his own, but we had him by the arm bones (creepy) and whisked him along. Grens, about ten paces behind us, claimed to have him back under control but we weren't taking any chances.

A frightening wail pierced the otherwise dull mining village. There was a lot of yammering when that woman fainted and all the townspeople realised what was going on. Apparently it was her husband. He was her husband - Junior used to be. Fulmond, they said. I wish I hadn't heard his name.

When she woke up again it got worse. She grabbed on to Junior with all the anger, relief, grief, and terror that one could expect of a destitute widow seeing her husband up and walking. I don't think Junior knows her. I dont think he remembers being alive at all - at least, he didn't show any kind of human emotion. He didn't react to his old house, not really, his bones just sort of fell into their old habit of sitting outside and shaving in the morning. That's what I keep telling myself.

Whatever the reason, the reunion got us even deeper into the midden heap we'd been wallowing in since arriving at Tine Gorge. Of course Grens wanted the woman's hands off of his servant, the woman wanted Grens' magic off of her husband, and the townspeople just wanted to see some blood so they could feel like they accomplished something.

Hence the running.

Not everyone from the hostel followed us, though some were hard behind us. I think the rest were gathering together a lynch mob. I cursed with each heavy breath as I ran to our little base of operations.

The hobgoblins were all gathered in front of the contables' house. It looked like they had assembled on purpose - some less fully dressed than normal and quite a few looking sleepy, slouchy or bored. But I suspect the sudden outburst of screaming from across town had sent them the clear message that they needed to be ready. They even had their dire wolves (still hobbled) in their midst, which seemed to make some of them uneasy.

"Get those bones in the house!" I yelled to Gunther as I let go of my side of Junior. He didn't even break his pace. I set about cutting the ropes on the dire wolves' legs, paying no mind the the risks of being so close to their teeth. My gaze swung back and forth over the beast men. "Gods damn you all! Doesn't any of you speak Common?"

A hand slowly went up. The beast it belonged to didn't stand out in my memory; he wasn't one I had paid any attention to before. But he looked resolute and spoke with confident, if heavily accented Common. "I do."

"Get everyone inside now. Now! Go, go, go!" He started yelling orders. One of the veteran hobgoblins seemed to talk back to him and reached for a weapon; I suppose he wasn't used to taking orders from anyone but the chief. I was faster, though, and the DarkeSworde was at his throat before he could make good on his threats. The other veterans began to shuffle inside obediently, and after a moment I let the rebellious one go inside too.

The villagers who had chased after us stood at a slight distance from the crowd of hobgoblins, fearful but still angry. I could see more humans appearing from buildings along the main street and knew it wouldn't be long before we had the whole town crying for blood. I flashed the DarkeSworde at a couple of beast men who were bickering about the wolves. They decided teeth were safer then swords and began to lead, coax and shove the dire wolves through the open door of the constable's house. I was the last one through the door and slammed it behind me.

"Is Tallow here?" I asked.

The little guy seemed to have no problem getting through the crowd of beasts. He reached the door and nodded.

"You want to go talk to them?"

"We're gonna have to give up somebody."

"Just stall."

He nodded and opened the door enough to slip out. He was right though, they'd either want the law man's blood or all of ours. I forced the thought back while I got hobgoblins lined up at the front windows with weapons. Junior was sent to the back by the constable while I conferred with the others.

By this time the constable seemed delirious. "See that? One day without me and the place falls apart!"

"Shut up!" I barked at him. "You got a back door?"

"It look like I do?"

I darted to the cell and shoved my sword between the bars. The half-beast barely backed up in time. "Do you have a back door? A secret one? Anything?"

A little more sober, he shook his head. "No."

I looked around the room in desparation. There was an axe, but no way they'd miss the sound of us breaking out the back. We needed...

"A saw. You got a saw?" Gunther was ahead of me, apparently.

The constable pointed one out, hung from a peg near the ceiling. While I got it down I heard our new translator shouting to the hobgoblins. One by one they started to bang their weapons together - swords on shields, spears on the wood floor, even fists beating proudly against chests. And they started up some kind of war-chant I'd never heard before.

I nodded thanks to the bright beast-man as I went to work on the rear wall. Outside I imagine there was a lot of shouting by the townspeople and a lot of lofty speech from Tallow. Meanwhile, I had plenty of plaster to smash off before I could hope to start sawing through the planks of the outer wall. It was still a little country house, though, built by committee with whatever materials could be found close by. I made good progress.

Tallow stumbled back in the door under a hail of thrown stones and garbage. He bolted the door behind him and shouted over the beast men.

"They want the law man."

"Ha!" the constable barked, a look of pride on his face.

I grimaced and stepped away from the wall. "No, Tallow, that would be wrong. He must stand before a full court."

My fellows PC's stared at me, each with their own unique mixture of confusion, amusement, and outrage. I found that my demon wouldn't let me say anything else, so I just shook my head slightly and mouthed the words "not me".

They relaxed a little. "Alright," said Gunther, moving to unlock the gaol. "Tell 'em we'll send him out. Stall some more, will ya?"

Tallow grimaced. "I'll try."

So I went back to sawing furiously, the constable went back to gloating, and Tallow went back out into the rain of trash. Once I got a good start in the first plank it only took a minute to saw a long vertical line through the rest. We had one half of the outline of a doorway.

The front door, meanwhile, opened yet again. A very battered Tallow dove in. "Give 'em their man!" he moaned as he slunk to the floor. The translator hobgoblin quickly shoved the door shut so the villagers couldn't see what we were planning.

Out went the prisoner, and the shouting from outside momentarily drowned out the beast song. I stared at the would-be doorway in dismay. Not half done and we had nothing left to bargain with. I really didn't want to fight these villagers.

Gunther tapped me on the shoulder. "May I?" he asked.

I stepped aside with a slight bow as if offering him my dance partner. Setting his jaw, he bullrushed the sawed planks and, in one great crack, broke through to the outside. He stumbled along the uneven ground behind the house and quickly looked around to see if anyone had thought to watch the back. I followed him out. It was clear.

So out we went. One by one, first humans, then skeleton, then wolves, then beast men left behind our erstwhile refuge. I don't know if anyone in town heard the hobgoblin warsong peter out, or if anyone looked and saw less and less figures in the front windows. But all we heard as we left were the horrified shouts of a man who thought he'd been rescued, but found himself sentenced. And the gleeful cheers of the villagers at his expense.

For our part, we were out one prisoner, one chief, and quite a few horses. I don't think any of us cared. We crept along behind the row of houses and moved as fast as we could toward the open road.

Editor's Note: The Coerced Adventures will continue to be updated, but I can no longer commit to an every-Thursday schedule. Expect a bit more randomness throughout the summer, but one entry every 1-2 weeks. I'll announce updates in my signature at the GiantITP.com forums, or of course you can just check here.

Another_Poet Editor, The Coerced Adventures

Service to resume shortly...

2008-07-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. Sorry that the Coerced Adventures have not been updating. A new chapter should be ready by Thursday, July 24. In the meantime feel free to reply to this post with general conversation or speculation about what's going to happen next - what will Junior's fate be? The Constable? The Chief? And why does Count Yank de Frank want these hobgoblins so badly anyway?

Okay, so maybe random plot questions are no substitute for a real chapter, but they do lead to unsupported arguments about completely hypothetical ideas, and that's what the internet is all about!

another_poet

Day 30, Early Morning: Everyone Deserves a Break

2008-06-26T11:28:00.000-07:00

Last night as the hobgoblins celebrated Tallow went and hobbled their worgs. They really don't plan very far ahead; as soon as they had their chance at booze and rest they lost all thought of putting anyone on watch.

It was tempting to do the same, with a warm house and straw beds at our disposal, but we spent most of the night keeping our eyes on the town. I get the sense the townspeople don't know what to expect, but they definitely see us as the bad guys. Fair enough. It does make our stay here a lot more difficult, so we took a few precautions.

One of us stayed on watch the whole night, in addition to Junior. Junior kept vigil in the constable's house. That's where Grens was, and that's where we needed a watchful eye socket in case the law man had a secret way out. He didn't try anything, although it took half the night before he stopped bellyaching.

So that meant either me, the sneak or Gunther had to be on patrol at all times. Other than the fire and occasional catnaps it was a lot of standing around. We made sure the hobgoblins stayed all in one place. We even tried to secure them a stable to sleep in, but they were determined to stay out of doors. Some of them roamed the village but whenever we spotted them we (rather forcibly) herded them back to their bonfire.

The big worry in town is that the goblins will start looting or raping. So far all the townspeople have either holed themselves up in houses with weapons or taken off with carts and horses in the night. I don't know the town well but if I had to guess I'd say about a third of the people were gone by sunrise today. The rest are mostly concentrated in just a few buildings, staying together for safety. The hostel is one of the buildings and the people there are probably the most militant. Lucky for us, the townspeople know that if they start a fight we can let the hobgoblins loose on them. And the hobgoblins know (I think) that we can let the humans loose on them, if they misbehave. So we've had a sort of general standoff but no violence yet.

If we stay long enough to affect the food supply, I imagine that'll change. So we want to bug out as soon as we can and get these hobgoblins moving toward Frankton. The problem is, the chief's disappeared.

Suppose if we'd been smart we would've locked him up too, but hauling one dung-covered menace into the gaol was trouble enough. Besides, he'd played his part just like he said he would and we had no reason to think he was going to run off. I figured he'd be happy to be back in charge of his war band and our problem would be forcing him to come with us, not finding him. I didn't want to go wandering around town on my own with the looks the villagers were giving us, so once it was light out we decided we'd go look for him together.

Most of the hobgoblins were asleep, but it didn't mean they were off our backs. Some of them had found the hobbled worgs and were drunkenly trying to unfetter them when Tallow and I came upon them. With a lot of yelling and a tight grip on my sword hilt we got them to help push, lead, and drag the dogs into an empty stable. We barred them in there (the dogs, not the beast men) and then told the hobgoblins to get lost. I'm getting good at talking with the beasts - I just point where I want them to go, and when they start throwing a fit I find the nearest one with fresh wounds, point at his stitches and make an exploding gesture with my hands. I think they only half-believe my threat, but they shut up.

Anyway, once the worgs were squared away we got Grens and Tallow to agree to watch the gaol. Well, Grens kind of makes up his own mind on things. He was staying there whether we wanted him or not. He offered to send Junior with us, though. Sweet of him.

"Can that thing, uh, will it behave without you around?" Gunther asked nervously.

The wizard shrugged. "Can you behave without me around?"

Gunther snorted. "I ain't no skeleton."

"For now. But under the meat..." Grens trailed off as he looked back and forth between us. "He'll guard you. Just don't expect him to understand any other orders."

I sighed and headed out. Gunther and the corpse followed. Better three than two, I figured.

Well that was a mistake. We started combing the streets looking for the chief. Weren't too surprised when he didn't respond to our hollers. Tine Gorge isn't exactly a big place, not as far as towns go, but when we started going house to house I knew we were in for a long day. Every building we went into had a dozen hiding places and two or three outbuildings. Most were empty, but the fourth or fifth one was near the hostel and we found three humans inside.

"You can't come in here!" warned the mother of the family. She brandished a shortsword at us in a way that made me wonder if her family was part of the local militia. She had two boys with her, presumably her sons. One of them held a nasty looking cudgel and the other was too young to fight.

I motioned for Gunther to hang back. Junior was behind him and I was the only one looking through the door. "Seen any beast men in here, Ma'am?"

"What do you think this is, a gods-forsook taxendermer's? If a gobble walks in here you'll see it roastin' on the fire! Now get your ass on out!"

I turned back to Gunther as I closed the door. He grinned at me. "We could take her."

I stared at him. He looked dead serious. Took me a minute, and then I burst out laughing. So did Gunther.

We started toward the next house when a voice called out from across the street.

"When you takin' your beast men and leavin'?" It was a young man - old enough to be married, maybe, but just barely. He stood in the door of the hostel, leaning casually against the frame. "We don't need nothing else from that fuckin' count of yours."

Not the first time I regretted putting up that banner, and probably won't be the last. I sighed. "They're not our beast men. We're taking them in to that fucking count."

"Looks to me like you're lootin' everything you can get."

Gunther started to talk. "Hey kid, how about you shut your spell-catcher before I--"

"Whoa, whoa." I cut him off and turned to the youth. "Listen, we're just trying to find the beast chief and then we'll be leaving. We won't take anything that isn't ours."

"Yeah, like the constable's house? You look real fuckin' cozy in there, Mister." As he spoke we saw more faces appear behind him. Two men with tools came out of a second door farther down the hostel.

"That constable's a rat fucking bastard of a half-beast sellout traitor."

That sure riled up the other townspeople. One of the men, a thick guy holding a flat-bottomed shovel, piped up before I could say any more. "Constable's a good man! You shut your gob, for'gner!"

I did my best to keep my cool and counted how many there were. Two against six. Not great odds if they decided to come on all at once. Figuring I'd take a gamble, I laughed my loudest, most sarcastic laugh at the big guy.

"You think that, huh? He really had you fooled, didn't he?"

"Shut it!"

"You're telling me none of you knew? Shit, I thought he had you all in on it."

"Don't listen to 'em," a woman admonished her fellow townspeople.

Gunther knew what I was doing. "Guess he didn't want to cut you in. Fucking rat bastard."

"What're you gettin' at?" asked Shovel Man.

I shrugged. "Constable had a pretty rich little slave trade going on up north. Old abandoned mine, metal pens, hobgoblin traders... the works."

Shovel's friend Billhook shook his head and stepped toward us. "That's lies! They's liars!"

"Yeah!"

I scoffed, still trying to act incredulous. "You have to be kidding me. If we're lying, where did the walking bones come from, huh? You all saw we didn't have 'em when we came through here before. And the constable didn't want anybody to know there were beast men around."

I heard a lot of muttering. There were other ways we could've got a skeleton, but my words had a ring of truth to them. Probably because they were true.

"You got that from a slave pen?" one of them asked.

I nodded. No need to tell them it wasn't walking around when we found it. "Lucky for us our wizard can control it. Now we're taking it in as proof."

The woman objected. "That doesn't prove nothin'!"

"Aww, come on. Take a look here..." I turned to point at Junior.

He wasn't there.

After a baffled double take I looked back the way we came. Junior hadn't gone far. He was still in front of the house we'd been shooed out of. Must have been two hundred feet back.

"What's it doing?" asked Shovel.

Junior stood over a small wooden bench outside the door of the house. On the bench was a rusted metal pail and not much else. He wasn't doing anything to it, just standing there with his head tilted up as if gazing at the sky.

Nervous, I glanced up. Nothing but normal grey clouds. I started to walk toward Junior, and instinctively pulled the DarkeSworde out of its sheath. "Hey!" I shouted. The skeleton didn't turn its head or acknowledge me at all. But as I got close it dropped its spear on the ground, turned, and sat on the bench.

"Awwww shit," Gunther groaned.

"Gunther, go and get the wizard."

"But--"

"Now!" That was an order. Gunther took off running.

As I stared at him, and with the townsfolk murmuring to each other behind me, Junior reached his left hand into the pail. His hand, or finger bones or whatever, started jittering. Drops of whatever sloshed out of the bucket and he swirled his hand around in the water.

Just then, the door flew open and the woman with the shortsword burst out. She kept herself half hidden behind the door, shook her sword at me and screamed. "I told you to get lost, pig fucker! Fuck a pig if you're bored! Leave me the fuck alone!" I could hear Tallow's voice in my head as if he was right next to me: Fuck a pig? I thought you wanted me to leave! I suppressed a smile and pointed to the skeleton.

"My friend here seems to like your bench."

She peered farther around the wooden door and her eyes bulged at the sight of the visitor. "Get yer..." her mouth stayed open but the words stopped. Junior just kept swishing the water around.

Something occurred to me.

"Ma'am..." She didn't respond so I waved my hand at her and repeated myself. "Ma'am?" She looked over at me. "I don't suppose..." Shit, how do I ask this? Ah fuck it. "Have you lost anyone lately? I mean... has anyone in the house died in the last couple of years? But no body?"

She looked back at Junior.

She fainted.

We have a Winner!

2008-06-23T11:53:00.000-07:00

Hurrah! Now that the Midsummer celebration is over I just took a look at the replies to my last post and I see that Brian_Link has successfully guessed the answer to the RogerDS contest! (The question was: What are the races, classes and levels of the four PCs in RogerDS?)

Brian offered us his reasoning:

I don't like Roger just getting combat style(the reason why I gave him fighter levels), but I also don't like Gren having access to Animate Dead only with a scroll.
But if Gren were high enough level to have Animate Dead Roger most likely would have Ranger Spells(He probably has a Wisdom 12 or above), and an animal companion. Unless they gained more than one level (conveniently placed at a time Roger considers to go 2 weapon fighting) I'm going to have to go...
Roger Human Ranger/2 Gunther Human Fighter/2 Tallow Halfling Rogue/2 Gren Human Cleric/2
Mind you that has Gren almost maxxing his CLW with the Hob's but it will have to do, even if 675GP is a lot out of a level 2's 900GP.

Well-reasoned indeed! And yes, Grens did use quite a few spell slots to nurse those hobgoblins, but remember this obscure rule: when a character is in negative hit points and dying, even 1 hp of healing - such as a Cure Minor Wounds (zero level spell) is enough to stabilise them. From there they can heal slowly by resting or wait for more cure spells. Grens likes to keep Cure Minor Wounds prepared because it's enough to save a dying ally without taking up valuable 1st level spell slots.

I should also point out that Brian's answer wouldn't have been possible without the almost-right answer from Filurmanden, who was the first to get everyone's classes correct. Therefore, in addition to Brian appearing as an NPC in a future episode, Filurmanden will also get to make a brief appearance!

Brian_Link and Filurmanden, please send me an email at DarkeSworde at gmail dot com and let me know if you have any ideas on how you'd like to appear. Traveling merchant? Hobgoblin? Working for the Count? Whatever you want! Allow about a week for me to get back to you - I'll need to put together a little outline of what's coming up so we can fit you in properly, and I have to decide how much to reveal to you in the process...

Congratulations! And thanks to everyone for reading often enough to be able to guess! :)

Happy Holidays!

2008-06-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!

I'm sorry to say I won't be able to put up a new chapter today. I'm far too busy getting ready for Midsummer (summer solstice), so it's kind of like the polytheist version of taking a week off for Christmas. I would have let you guys know sooner, but I was still optimistic about having writing time up until the very last minute today.

I'm hoping to put up at least a small entry sometime over the next week, so that my regular readers won't be too disappointed. At the vary latest I'll have something up next Thursday as usual. In the meantime I strongly encourage you to make a guess at the contest - it's been a few weeks now and it seems like people have stopped guessing. Too hard for you, or just out enjoying the summer weather? Either way I look forward to hearing more guesses!

Hope you all enjoy a beautiful June day and I'll have more for you soon!

-Another_Poet

Day 29: A Grand Entrance

2008-06-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

So where was I? Right, I told the chief we're PC's.

Within a minute we humans were backing up, weapons out, skeleton beside us and hobgoblins surrounding us. Tallow and I both yelled at the chief, trying to get him to listen to reason. It didn't seem likely.

"Why did you not tell me this sooner, human?" he asked from atop his worg.

"Never came up!" yelled Tallow.

"And it seems like it wasn't the best thing to bring up," I added.

"You told him, Rog?" It was Gunther.

"Maybe we can talk about that later."

"Listen up," said the chief. "We agreed to travel with humans, not PC's. Our agreement is terminated."

"You don't want to do that," warned Tallow.

"Shut up," snapped the Chief.

"I'm telling you, you turn on us now and the healer will reopen all your wounds!"

"He can't do that," said the chief. But Grens broke in:

"I can do it."

The chief looked over at one of his relatives and said something in their language. The relative answered, but was interrupted by a third beast. Soon, opinions were being called out by all the veterans.

The chief raised his hand to quiet them. No sooner did their voices die out than another voice picked up. Grens began singing in an sharp, warbling voice. At first I thought he was just a terrible singer; soon I realised it was intentional. Whatever he was singing, apparently some kind of hymn, it was meant to sound ominous and haunting. Came off more like plain old creepy. But we all got the point: he was invoking his deities against these hobgoblins.

Before the hobgoblins could decide what to do about the chanting, Grens pointed his open hand at one of his former patients and clenched his fist shut. The beast spun and ran at top speed in the opposite direction. He screamed a curdling, painful scream as he disappeared into the scrubby trees. From where I was I couldn't see if his wounds really were opening up, but the hobgoblins seemed convinced. I could see spears shaking with fear in the hands of other beast men who had been wounded and healed by Grens.

"Enough!" yelled the chief. Grens simply flexed his hand as if carefully choosing his next victim.

"Maybe you should back off," I called. "Give us some breathing room and our friend here will consider leaving your men standing."

With a look of pure rage on his face, the chief ordered his troops to back off. For his own part he held his ground until everyone else had moved before urging his big wolf to edge away. Even then he didn't go far.

"What do you care if we're PCs?" I called.

The chief snorted. "How could I not care? More of my ancestors have been killed by your kind than by all the other humans put together. We have lost whole kingdoms to your filthy kind!"

I chewed my lip. I suppose it was true. I couldn't think of any heroic story that didn't involve slaughtering all manner of monsters, and PC's are supposed to be the most bloodthirsty of all heroes. Of course, they're also supposed to be the richest, and so far that hadn't come to pass either.

"Chief," Tallow said, in his most innocent voice, "I'm not going to lie to you. If we slaughtered all of you today, we could have our pick of women in any town in the County. Everyone would buy us drinks. But it wouldn't last long. You--"

The chief wasn't listening. He barked orders at his war band, who started to plod away from us. The team carrying the rex started the difficult process of turning the carcass around to head off the way we came. They were leaving.

Tallow clapped his hands together twice, loudly. "Hey! Chief! You hear me? I said it'd be good but it wouldn't last long. Because the count wants you! And if we kill you for no reason, he'll kill us! Do you hear me? We have every reason in the world to work with you!"

The chief wheeled his dog away from us. "I have no reason to work with you." He started away from us.

Tallow didn't give up. "There's only one way the count would let us live if we killed you. That's if we had a good reason - like if you refused to come see him."

Seeing that the chief wasn't coming back, Tallow chose to add one more point to his argument. He spat on the ground, drew an arrow, and loosed it. We were still pretty close range and I think he chose his shot carefully. It plunged deep and bloody into the flank of the worg.

The giant wolf's yip of pain and the chief's indignant yell were simultaneous, and overwhelming. Before we knew it he had turned the wounded-but-ready animal to bear on us and charged the distance between us.

His warriors were much farther away, and although they ran to help we had a brief moment to deal with the chief alone. I took a glancing wound from the chief's sword and Gunther lost a heavy strip of flesh to he wolf's teeth. We fought, though. I turned the flats of my blades against the chief's body as he rode into us. The new sword did nothing but the Darkesworde knocked the wind out of him. Junior didn't pull any punches, driving his spear into the chief's side while the flat of Gunther's two-hander landed across his face like a slap from an ogre. With a yell the chief was unhorsed, or undogged, and landed on his back on the trail between us. I don't know if beast men are taught how to take a fall properly, but the chief didn't. He must have been pretty dazed as we surrounded him and pressed the points of our weapons against his face.

The hobgoblins stopped their charge, and with a slurred command from the chief even his wounded worg hung back. Soon we had complete silence except for our heavy breathing, the chief's whimpering, and the birds in the distance.

"Just kill me," croaked the chief.

"Tie him up, Tallow," said Gunther.

"Just kill me now. That's what you do, right? Add to your name and glory? Do you need me alive for something? Maybe you have to display me."

"Yeah, maybe I'll gag him too," muttered Tallow as he lowered his bow and reached for the rope on the back of the burro.

"You can just show my corpse. Put me up on a pole and let people throw eggs at me. Or whatever you humans eat." He tried to spit at us, but it fell short and Gunther pushed his sword a little tighter against the beast's throat.

"You'll live," I said. "And you would've lived if you had just trusted us to start with, too."

The chief writhed and kicked as we got the ropes on him, and held him up for his tribe to see.

"Keep marching," Tallow ordered. The chief finally remained silent. I'm still unclear how many of his troops speak Common, but they got the message: follow us or we kill the chief. Surprisingly, they cared enough to follow.

At last we had a hostage again, and this time one who mattered. With him on the burro and two of us pointing weapons at him at any given minute, it looked pretty unlikely he would escape or be rescued. Some other beast took his worg and we continued on our way. Sometimes if we told him to pass on orders to the war band he refused; other times he did so obediently. No telling why.

As it got on toward evening, we approached Tine Gorge. The bridge over the gorge was abandoned - no one watching it, and no one traveling the road but us. At the edge we had a little meeting with the chief. He relayed some of our orders to his people, and then we got him gagged up so he couldn't cause any trouble for us in town. And then - this time with the count's standard flying high from Junior's spear - we made for town. The hobgoblins split into two groups, each waiting out of sight behind houses to either side of the road.

I don't know who saw us first, exactly. I know a skinny man went running like a madman the second he saw us. He'd been in the middle of sawing wood and just left his tools there on the ground. I know windows were shut, doors bolted, and children ushered inside on our approach. I know some of the tougher-looking adults of the town started to line up outside of the main buildings. We drew up opposite them, roped hobgoblin on the ass in front of us, and we waited.

I had a hard time looking at the people across from us. I didn't really recognise any of them, even though I'm sure some of them were in the pub when we were seized by the constable. I saw a lot of anger, sure, but there was also a lot of fear. We weren't just suspicious outsiders now. We were there with weapons drawn and a live hobgoblin for our trouble. They might have heard there were more on the road outside of town, if word traveled that quick and if anyone believed it. Either way, the townspeople were scared.

I was scared too, but not of them. I couldn't see the hobgoblins behind me, and I knew they weren't there voluntarily. They would gladly butcher us for taking their chief, and they would just as gladly destroy the whole town in the process. I didn't know if we could stop that. Not that we had a lot of options.

It didn't take long to get the reaction we wanted. The townspeople parted one by one and made a space for the constable to come through. He was just as ugly and mean looking as before, with a crossbow in his hands and a dirk at his side. As soon as I saw him I realised for the first time that the chief was right: this man was no human, he was maybe part-human and part-something-else. Didn't look like a goblin or hobgoblin, but something bad. The thought of it made me sick.

The constable looked back and forth over us, not a drop of fear in him. He stopped some hundred feet from us, lowered his crossbow a little, regarded our prisoner in front of us and spoke.

"Thought I told you boys to go and stay gone."

I nodded. "You also told us there were no hobgoblins."

The man shrugged. "There weren't."

"Well we got one now. You know him?"

The chief stayed perfectly quiet through this. He was gagged, and he didn't even try to speak or yell. He just sat there calmly and stared at the constable.

"Know him? I don't know beast men."

"Your mom did," Tallow muttered.

The man's jaw tightened.

"Well if you don't know him," I said, "Then I guess you might as well put him to death. Half-bottom."

His eyes snapped at me even though his head stayed still. I grinned.

"Send him over."

I lightly smacked the burro's flank and it lurched forward, carrying the awkward rider at a slow pace toward the constable.

As it approached, he took the reins and glared at us. "Now get on out."

"One more thing, Half-Bottom."

He stared at me.

"There's a place up north from here - a mine, or more of a prison, really. You ever heard of that place?"

"I said get out."

I smiled at him and gave just the slightest of bows. "Well, you heard the man," I told my companions. "Let's head on out."

I got a pair of grunts and a "Sure thing, Captain." We started walking, slowly and on guard, toward the nearest side street. This took us closer to the constable, but not much closer. It also moved us off to the side of the road.

The constable kept his eyes on us at first, and when he was sure we were just walking away he looked at the hobgoblin on the burro.

"Filthy beast," he growled, and shoved the chief off. The beast landed hard in the dirt, and the half-beast stood over him, grinding one foot into his chest. "Might as well get this over with," he said.

With that he drew his dirk. Before he could deliver the death-blow an arrow scudded in out of nowhere. It missed the chief and the half-bottom by a good yard, sticking into the ground at an angle. The constable's head snapped up.

They say beast men can see in the dark, and it looked like the law man had inherited that trait with his good looks. The twilight made it hard for us to see more than a block, but the look on the constable's face was clear. He could see the hobgoblins pouring out from behind houses at the edge of town.

He looked back and forth between us, the chief, and the war band. He lifted his crossbow almost absentmindedly and loosed a bolt at the warband, then gave a shout to the townspeople. In the second he had his eye off of us Junior went charging toward him.

At the same time Grens muttered a word and waived his had dismissively.

Suddenly, the burro's calm demeanour vanished. Sensing the approaching skeleton he went into his usual fit of bucking, kicking, pissing and projectile shitting. And I mean projectile. The constable was covered head to toe and blind. The chief got some too.

At that point it didn't take long. We closed on the constable just as the villagers saw the rush of monsters charging down the road. Humans ran every which way, none of them (wisely) toward the invaders. We pummeled all but the last living breath out of the constable, and cut the chief free.

The chief stuck to the plan we'd made on the bridge earlier, and stood up to show he was alive. With his loud war voice he reined in his warband. He had to, because we would've killed him if they started pillaging.

Soon it was the sodden constable who was tied up, and Tallow and the chief kept the hobgoblins in line while Gunther and I secured the slaver in his own gaol.

Relaxing in the constable's chair, I had some of his brandy and watched the beast men through the window. They were drunk on as much free liquor as the townspeople could be forced to surrender, which is to say all of it.

That was when I first started writing yesterday's entry. I didn't get far because my mind is all over the place. I feel good, because I fucking hate the constable and no one got killed. But I just keep thinking about everything that could've gone wrong - all the worries a military man is supposed to run through in his mind before making an attack. I keep picturing the town in ruins, smoldering, with the women raped and everyone else dead. It makes me shudder.

It's true we didn't have a lot of time to plan, but we just aren't running a straightforward operation here. We're bickering amongst ourselves, putting our trust in treacherous monsters, and relying on guile and trickery to carry the day. So far we've been lucky, but that kind of luck can't hold out forever.

Maybe good luck is the blessing that comes with being a PC, the reward for putting up with the demons. I don't think it's worth it, and I don't trust it.

. . .

Looking back at that thought now that I've taken a break to help put out a small fire, I guess I'll take the luck. Ugh.

Third Contest Hint!

2008-06-12T07:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, first off the contest summary in case anyone is new here:

The Question: What are the races, classes, and levels of the four main characters of RogerDS? (That's Roger, Grens, Tallow, and Gunther.)

The prize: YOU get to appear as an NPC in a future episode of RogerDS.

Hint #1: Everything in the party follows the core 3.5 edition D&D rules, except for a single "house rule".

Hint #2: The above-mentioned house rule has to do with how much wealth/gear the characters have.

Brand New Hint: Here are the EL (encounter levels) of the various encounters Roger & co. have been through to date.

1. Bear with surprise round: CR 2 or 3 (would've been CR 4 without the surprise round)

2. Bar brawl against commoners: EL 1

3. Shrieker Fungus/Violet Fungus nest: EL 4

4. Pit Trap with water: CR 1

5. Malnourished Gnoll: CR 1/2 (would have been CR 1 if healthy)

6: Falling Ceiling Trap: CR 1

7: Rat Swarm: CR 2

8: Tyrannosaurus Rex: CR 8 (not counting the help from the hobgoblins)

I'm guessing that should make a big difference in how hard this contest is. I figured since some of you mentioned not having access to the D&D books this might be good info to give out. Good luck, and stay tuned for the next episode later today...

-Another_Poet, editor of the Coerced Adventures

Day 28: Chin Up, Roger

2008-06-05T18:26:00.001-07:00

I haven't felt much like writing these past couple of days. Something about being tortured by your own wizard leaves a bad taste in your mouth. He did bring me back from an early grave... but still.

Gunther hasn't said much, and neither has Tallow. Grens travels on his own, practically. Him, the skeleton and the burro - which has been strangely quiet around Junior lately. I worry Grens even did something to the poor ass.

Meanwhile the chief has been trying to chat me up. He seems to like me. I don't know why. I guess it's because I'm the only one who can keep a civil tongue. The other day he tried to ask us what the count is like.

"I don't really know him," I responded, keeping my eyes on the trail in front of me. "He just gave us this quest and sent us out."

"How does he rule? Is he a strong man?"

"I haven't even seen him--"

"Aw, shut it, Roger," Tallow interrupted.

"You are brash, human," the chief responded.

"He's just--"

"He's trying to get intel. Intel he doesn't need to have."

"Whats he going to do? You think his little gang here can overthrow the count?"

"Fuck if I know. Just don't talk to him."

"He's right, Rog," said Gunther. "We were just hired to come get the little fucker. We don't have to like him none."

I sighed. "He seems a lot more likable than that conjurer over there."

"What's with you two, anyway?" asked Gunther.

"Well..."

"Seems like you don't even speak to each other."

"He doesn't speak much to anyone."

"Yep."

Long pause. I didn't want to talk about it with the chief right there. He got the hint and pulled his worg away, guiding it over to take a piss on a big jack pine and letting us walk on ahead.

"He fucking attacked me, Gunth."

"What?"

"No shit," answered Tallow. "That guy is no good."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you know how that rex tried to wear me for a shoe? And magic fingers over there had to bring be back?"

"Yeah."

"So he brings me back, heals me up, and then right away he curses me. Damn near killed me a second time."

"You weren't dead, Cap."

"Well whatever, he healed me and then cursed me. And then healed me again.

"Doesn't sound like much of a curse."

"Yeah, sounds like you got a twofer."

"Are you not hearing me? He ripped me apart. He ripped my fucking insides apart."

"Yeah, but he put it back."

I scowled at Tallow. "Yeah, let's try it on you."

"Whoa Cap. Leave me out of this."

"I don't know if I can. He's pissed because of our little stunt with Junior."

"What?" Gunther seemed truly surprised.

"Yeah, me and Tallow busted up Junior a while back. Put him down when you-know-who wasn't watching. You seemed pretty happy about it, while it lasted."

"Yeah, I--" Gunther stopped midsentence. He stayed silent for a long time until I spoke again.

"You remember it?"

"Pssh." Another minute of quiet. "Couldn't forget that. I hate that little fucker."

This was the first time Gunther directly talked about the problems with being a PC. The compulsion, the weird "glitches" in reality, the nearly unlimited power of the demons controlling us. I perked up and looked over at him. But I wasn't prepared for what he said next.

"Maybe we should just kill Grens instead."

I almost tripped. "What?" asked Tallow.

"What?" I echoed.

Gunth shrugged. "Just a thought."

We wrapped up that conversation pretty quick. Later on, the chief started asking questions again.

"It seems like you have two minds, human."

"Why would you say that?"

"You speak with sense. But in battle you are like blind ox raging with shitworms."

Hmm. Fair enough. "Yeah and you're too nosy. But I have some questions for you now. For starters, how do you know Constable Argon?"

"Who?"

"Sariss Argon."

"O. Ha! I call him Half-Bottom Argon. Because half his father's seed must have missed his proper wife and dribbled onto a human girl."

I had absolutely nothing to say to that.

The chief continued. "I think you will see for yourself. I would hate to tell you, huh, any 'intel', right?"

"Whatever. You got any problem with hurting him?"

"No, I'll kill him. If it will get us on to your city my oath can be done sooner."

"Yeah, well we don't need to kill him. We just need to get him tied up and take him back to Frankton. To 'our city'."

"Why not just kill him?

Must be a big sale on murderous intent somewhere. "Because he has to face the Count's justice for what he did."

"What will your count do?"

"Hang him or quarter him, I hope."

"Then just kill him now. It's faster."

"We don't have the right."

"But he could escape on the way to your city."

I looked over my shoulder at the chief's war band, straggling out over half a mile of trail. "Your boys gonna let him go?"

"If he annoys us."

"Or maybe just eat him?"

The chief gave me a serious look. "We're not orcs."

I laughed. "You gonna keep your word?"

"For now." Ah, honesty.

"Alright. So we need to go to Tine Gorge and get the fucker. You been there?"

Now the chief laughed, a papery, scathing laughter. "You have bent over in front of a wild boar?"

"Ummm... no?"

"No."

"Alright. So it's laid out on the east side of..."

"I've seen it, human. I just haven't been there."

He sure knew how to break down an otherwise useful conversation. "Alright, and it seems like half the town is friends with the constable. The other half is scared of him."

"With the what?"

"The half-bottom."

"Ah. Sure."

He seemed to think we had finished our planning session. It took me a minute to figure out why.

"We can't kill them all!"

"Just the ones that fight."

"No! No killing. We scare them all."

Chief shrugged. "Sure, same thing."

I spun to face the hobgoblin and glowered at him. "Look, no one dies. No one!"

He stared at me.

"If we go in and kill, we are the outlaws. You just got into the law, it's too early to get out. If we break the law we'll be hunted down. We'll be killed within a year. You get me?"

"I'm not your foot-soldier, human."

"Yeah, you don't even deserve to hold a spear in human lands. You're a fucking baby. You need to learn how we handle this shit, you got me?"

The chief regarded me with fiery eyes and a snaggled, fanged sneer. "I will do my best to leave them alive."

His best. Well, it was a start.

"I hate human lands," he added.

"Then next time stay in your own fucking lands."

"You have a plan or just going to motivate me all morning?"

"Here's the plan. Constable--Half-Bottom--probably expects us to come back sometime. I mean us humans. And he'll plan on running us out of town, or jailing us or something. He sure won't take kindly to us."

"Understandable."

"So we're going to park it on the hill above the gorge. Let him see us. Let him come out and say hello. Your beasts will be hiding behind the hill. When he starts up, we'll give you a signal. You circle around him and we take him prisoner. Alive."

"Alive."

"Right."

"What about when he won't come up the hill?"

"Why wouldn't he come up the hill?"

"Because he is smarter than baby possum."

I nodded, trying to keep myself under control. "So then we go in the town."

The chief didn't answer. He didn't have to. I saw the problem with my own plan half a moment later.

"But he'd see you all coming... and you can't cross without using the bridge."

The chief grunted in agreement.

"Shit."

"How bad can you see at night?"

"Yeah, we could do it." I knew what he was getting at. "Hide out in the hills until nightfall, then just walk in. He has to come out and challenge us, it's his job. Then we tackle him."

"He will be hard to catch."

"Do you have any nets?"

"We could make one."

"Yeah, we should do that."

"Seems hard being human."

I sighed. "No," I answered. "It's just hard being a PC."

Chief stopped walking. I turned to look at him for the second time. This time he was the one with the serious look.

"You are PC?"

O fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why did I say it? I didn't answer out loud, but that was enough to tell him the answer.

"Harr-Gobelsh!" he spun and bellowed out over the valley trail behind us. All his troops stopped in place except the ones carrying the tyrannosaurus corpse. They had their momentum up and weren't about to stop.

"Harr-Gobelsh!" he repeated. "Tar in echu-teblain, in sharr do gelth! Aktu!"

Heavy beastmen feet began jogging, trotting then running toward their chief and us few humans. Weapons appeared in hands. Shields rose. Double-time, triple-time the beasts ran toward us.

"Shit." As usual, that was the mantra of the day.

Contest - New Hint!

2008-05-30T17:33:00.000-07:00

Alright everybody, I promised a new hint would come out today. For those of you just here for the story, scroll down a wee bit and you'll see the newest entry (a long one, in my opinion). For those of you just now tuning in, we have a contest on here at RogerDS. It goes a little something like this:

The Question: What are the races, classes, and levels of the four main characters of RogerDS? (That's Roger, Grens, Tallow, and Gunther.)

The prize: YOU get to appear as an NPC in a future episode of RogerDS. Yes, you can pick which side you're on if any.

Hint #1 (the one you already have): Everything in the party follows the core 3.5 edition D&D rules, except for a single "house rule".

Hint #2 (the new one!): The above-mentioned house rule has to do with how much wealth/gear the characters have.

I hope this helps those of you who have been struggling with the question. A reading of the last few entries may help as well...

Good luck!

Another_Poet, editor of the Coerced Adventures

Day 25: The Hunt for the T-Rex Eunuch

2008-05-29T14:24:00.000-07:00

I spent the morning sharpening the darkesworde, getting rid of as much rust from my new sword as I could, and convincing the only surviving hostage from the night before (now a free man, as we hadn't bothered demanding securities again after the attack) to stand guard as I checked for a blood trail in the woods. There was one.

It was a heavy, clear trail, and it seemed to continue as such well after it left the camp and went into the pines and spruce. Satisfied that we had a chance at tracking this thing, I waited at the edge of camp for everybody else.

The chief mounted his wolf, or worg I guess, a big impressive wild dog that seemed hard to control at best. It had a sort of a mane like a horse that crested between its big shoulders, and its eyes kept moving around from one of us to the other like it expected us to try to hurt it. I don't know where the chief's worg had been last night, but the only other two worgs left in camp had been out patrolling for the tyrannosaurus all night. Obviously they had failed to alert us, and the scouts took a serious thrashing from the chief when they came back in the morning. Not only that, the worgs were confiscated from them and given to a pair of much more heavily armoured hobgoblins. Apparently the scouts lost the privelege.

My sense of the hobgoblin band is that it's a mixed bag. The chief, whatever his other vices, is obviously a skilled leader, strong and not worried at all about the superior tactics and resources of the human county. About a dozen of the warriors in the camp fit the same description, obvious veterans of whatever kind of warfare the beastmen fill their time with. Many are related to the chief and each looks more intimidating than the one next to him.

The rest of the hobgoblins in the camp, including most of those I've seen die since we arrived, are a different story. They're pitiful little conscripts, strong but unsteady and undisciplined. Lazy at best, pathetic more often. Hardly the stuff of the nightmare tales I was told when I was little. The chief didn't seem to care much what they did, as long as they raised spears when he gave the order. But he always had to keep well aware of them, because if he blinked for half a second they'd drop his orders and run off. Near as I can tell he's not concerned with whether they live or die, and rather expects the latter. He rules them with as much violence as is needed, and if some of them stay alive and harden up to be like his veterans, that's just a bonus.

What wasn't so clear about the hobgoblin war band is what they were doing in the Snakebacks. When I mentioned the constable the chief sort of shut up. He agreed he'd help us deal with the man after we bag the rex, but he wouldn't answer any questions about how he knew him. Of course, we didn't get a chance to ask many. The guy does have a half-incompetent war band to lead after all. But I figure the bodies in that mine had been slaves, and the hobgoblins must have been involved somehow in procuring them. I'm not sure whether the slaves were brought to that place specifically as mine labour, or if the mine was just a convenient holding place for the slave trade, but either way it made my stomach sour. I understand making a man pay off his debts, but out-and-out slavery is a different thing. It's not like bonded serfdom. Those mines were a death sentence.

So despite my Demon being so cordial in dealing with the beastmen, I'm not one bit happy with the situation. Near as I can tell we're going on a fool mission against a near-unbeatable monster to avenge the honour of some other monsters in exchange for dealing with a monster of a human. It

[Editor's note: there is a gap in the text here, and the rest of the entry seems to have been filled in later in the day. The next sentence is scrawled in large sloppy letters. A small skull and crossbones with a sword through it is scrawled in the margin.]

Gooooods damn it!

Holy shit.

We got underway today with the chief and his worg pals acting as outriders, me and a hobgoblin doing the tracking, and everybody else staying just behind us. The chief alternated between mocking us for having no horses and mocking horses for being no good in dense forest. I'll let you guess how long it took for that to get old.

Anyway, the blood trail got unsurprisingly spotty after a quarter mile, and eventually we stopped seeing more than a drop or two of blood every three hundred yards. Luckily, something the size of a watch tower leaves other signs of its passage. Me and the hobgoblin, although unable to actually talk to each other, had little problem keeping everyone on course.

I like the way the guy tracked. He had this stick with a little piece of string tied loosely to it. He used it to measure prints and then look for other marks of the same size. I had always just tracked with my bare eyes, and I was good at it but even when I was at a loss he could pick up the trail. He would just start measuring every dent and divet in the land until one was the right size, then use that as the next print. At first I thought he was imagining things but sure enough, we'd see more signs in a hundred feet. Little bastard put me to shame.

It took me back. My uncle Horace was a good tracker, and I remember one time he wounded a boar that had wandered onto our lands and then ran right back into the baron's woods. He got me and the two of us tracked the thing, right through the damned royal forest (without telling my dad, of course). When we found it and finished it off we had to haul it on a spruce pole between us and cover our tracks the whole way back. After we dropped off the boar at home Uncle Horace even when back and set up a fake trail to the back door of the Temple of Heironeous. That's just the kind of guy he is, or was. I don't think the warden would've missed the signs of the kill, but no one ever said anything. I'm guessing the Baron kept it quiet so as not to embarrass himself.

Anyway, being out there tracking this big wounded critter, well, it reminded me of that. I don't want to say I was having fun out there, not with those damned creatures for company, but it did take me back. It's not often you get to kill something for food bigger than a hare, unless it's your own sheep or cattle.

So on we went for two hours or so. Fucker could run. Its trail wove around a lot too, like it was trying to throw us off. But it always stayed on about the same bearing. Always until around noon, when we got up from a water rest (that the hobgoblins declined), walked thirty paces and lost the trail. It took us ten minutes to realise it turned a sharp seventy degrees, the biggest change in course so far.

As time bore out, it maintained the new bearing. That meant it had stopped its panicked run, figured it was safe, and turned toward home. It also meant it thought of us as dangerous enough not to run toward home right from the start. That gave me heart, and it seemed to give the beast tracker heart as well. When he explained it to the chief in their language, the veterans' faces didn't change but they sat up a bit straighter.

So that brings me to the den. Gods, the den. Five hours after we set out one of the outriders gave the sign for everyone to halt. The humans didn't waste time in spreading out, with Grens and Junior in the back. The veterans stayed grim and silent while the weak hobgoblins just stood there looking miserable.

We heard a roar.

The one hobgoblin who's a competent archer fell back and got behind a tree. The veterans drew their swords and stared at the weaklings until a shield wall was formed. Spears were pointed forward and the veterans formed two little bunches on the flanks. Me and the tracker didn't interfere with any of this, but we knew the roar was still a ways off. We waited until the outriders confirmed this, and then everyone advanced at a crawl.

Well, half an hour of pissing in our trousers later, we were actually close to the thing. As near as I can tell it was just stomping and roaring and moaning up a hell of a symphony, with the occasional creaking crescendo as it knocked over a tree. The chief trotted past me on his worg and muttered in Common, "He is angry with you, human." I didn't answer.

The land we stood on was near the bottom of the valley, but still had some height. Ahead of us was a low bluff line that dropped sharply into the marshes of the valley floor. It seemed the tyrannosaurus had eked out a sort of a nest in a break in the bluff. It had a partial rock overhang to keep the rain off its head, and a huge heap of downed trees and branches to rest on. It was just above the water line so it could drink but keep dry at night. A good setup for a predator that doesn't mind visitors.

What I didn't expect was its erratic behaviour. It looked like the thing had been ripping down whole trees all morning in rage. Their splintered trunks littered the area beneath the bluff. No other animals could be spotted or heard in the area. I kept my head down and strung my hobgoblin bow as the others got into place.

Grens shuffled up to me, keeping low and looking uncharacteristically friendly. "Good luck," he said. As he spoke he reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword I found in the mine. "This will help you in battle."

I know he must have loved the look on my face. "No," I whispered sharply. "Get my bow!" But it was too late. I looked to where his hand met my hilt and I could see the sword start to glow ever so slightly.

"I'm not going down there with that!" I chided him. "I'm arching--"

The look on his face was just too gleeful.

"No," I said.

He shrugged.

"No! Tell me we're not--"

"I'm not. Good luck down there."

I gritted my teeth as he walked away. If he was that talkative, he wasn't the one doing the talking. And if his demon thought I was going down, then maybe my demon thought I was going down. If my demon thought that... then it would happen. There's no way around it.

Think, I thought. I pulled my sword out of its sheath, then my other sword, and tossed them in the brush behind me. I nocked an arrow and drew my bow, aiming directly at the dinosaur's heart as it stomped around. I knew I couldn't force the player's hand, but maybe, maybe, if I had a good shot with my own plan it would listen to reason. It had to be reasonable. Right?

I soon got my answer. I don't think all the infantry were in place but I don't think the chief cared. His horn blew loud and clear over the bluff and the tyrannosaurus' head snapped in our direction. His nostrils flared as he looked about the brush. He let out a bellow that actually shook my arrow against my bow. I had no chance to straight the arrow.

Because it disappeared.

I wouldn't say my swords jumped into my hand. But the way time moved in that instant it seemed like it. I scrambled to them, brushed them clean, returned to my position on the bluff and let out a war cry in only a fraction of a second. No sooner did the war cry finish then I started yelling to the gods: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

I must have yelled "no" once each step as I ran-fell-and-leapt down a rocky slope and into the rex's den. Around me I saw only a smattering of hobgoblins doing the same. Gunther at least was there, and the two of us charged from the left flank toward the monster in front of us.

It waited for us. It opened its mouth and hunkered down like we would run right in on our own. But then its big ugly eye caught sight of something else, three somethings else, charging from the right. The worgs. The chief and two of his finest came hollering in, one with a lance, one with an axe and one with a big cavalry sword. Scarves and ladies' dresses billowed from a makeshift standard pole behind one of their saddles. A stream of beast infantry followed behind, running but nowhere near as fast as the giant wolves. Our left side looked significantly undermanned compared to their right flank.

All three worgs slashed past the rex, but the first one didn't make it. The rex lifted it up in his jaws as it hit him, not breaking it in half but almost, and sent the rider flying. It just stood there and took it as the other two rained blows on their ride-by. I would've given my own testicles for a horse just about then. Or a gods-damned ounce of free will.

But me and Gunth, and two of the weaker hobgoblins, continued our charge. The chief shouted something over the fray and the hobgoblin to my left let out a shakey yell. He was dressed all in bright red and had a number of spiked leather collars, belts and bracelets on. I hadn't understood till just now that he looked stupid for a reason. He drew his knife--his knife--with one hand and a polished bronze mirror with the other, and set about attracting attention.

I almost jumped in front of him. Maybe if it was just me I would have. But the reins on me urged me to only one course: hacking and hewing as much dinosaur meat as I could before my inevitable demise. And I did hack and hew, unharassed for the moment as the rex took the bait and snapped up the distraction goblin. He paused mid-swallow as he felt the iron spikes. I locked eyes with him. He swallowed anyway.

The two worgs came back for another run. This time the rex was so bogged down with infantry that he didn't get them. He did, however, pull out a new move.

With no warning his tail whipped around, not just the agile balancing rod it had been the night before but now a whip with the force of a carriage behind it. It bowled over hobgoblins and cleared an area round the rex as he snapped up another victim. An arrow hit him in the next and he just kept going.

That was when our cavalry showed up. I didn't know we had any. But in the empty space cleared out beside me, a glimmer of light took shape as a new monster appeared.

I didn't know what sorcery had set upon us. I didn't recognise it at first: an insect, to be sure, but bigger than a horse. Its hundred legs found purchase on the branches and rock of the den and it reared up, clicking vicious mandibles. Smoke poured from its mouth and all along its underside. The thing surged into motion and I recognised it at last: a centipede, or a vile caricature of one. I thought I was going to have to fight that thing too until it clamped those sideways jaws onto the leg of the dinosaur.

Now, I've talked about more than one fight in this journal so far, and I'm not bad with a sword, but if my kids ever read this--if I live to have kids--I want you to know I don't think my blade did a damn thing against that monster. There were so many of us there, and the arrows and the worgs and the magic bug horror, that I think I was extraneous. But like an enslaved idiot I just kept on swinging, and I knew I was unlikely to be missed by those jaws a second time.

It wasn't the jaws I had to worry about. As the battle raged on, it became clear we were going to take the monster down. It was just a question of how long and who would live. But as the rex took more and more wounds it got more and more desperate. Spears found flesh and swords found blood, but helmets met great crushing feet and ribs met fast-sweeping tail. As I hacked harder into its leg and belly I saw it raising its tail for another sweep, but with the centipede between us I thought I was okay.

The centipede disappeared.

And the tail came at me hard, very hard, knocking one sword out of my hand and sending me easily thirty feet to a hard meeting with the ground. I wasn't sure I could stand up, but before I could even try I felt the ground rumble under me. It seemed so slow, with each rock digging harder into my injured back as the footsteps came closer. I couldn't raise my head, but I could tilt it enough to see: a foot, sky; a foot, sky; sky... blackness.

I lost my sight before my breath, but my breath went quick. It was pounded out of me as the tyrannosaurus twisted its heel into my guts. That was where I ended.

I woke up to a new sort of pain. I stared straight up at the sky and felt something twisting around in my innards. Grens' face appeared over me.

"You'll live."

I tried to speak, sputtered and coughed blood, and took a breath to speak again. "I... tho you din hab ay more those."

The wizard shrugged. "I thought maybe I should prepare a few extra today. Call it a hunch." I felt his hand pull out of my stomach and he wrinkled his brow. "That feel better?"

I coughed again. "Yeah, sort of."

"Then try this." Pain wracked me as my stomach burst open again and entrails bubbled out of me. "You like that? You like fucking little skeleton heads? You like fucking the dead, huh? I'm gonna fuck you up the ass, Roger. From the front, through your liver."

"Ahhhh!" The pain was so bad that I would've paid to have my eye gouged out just to experience a lesser pain.

"Aww, here." A calm peace exuded from his hand through my whole body and I felt my wounds close up a second time. I actually felt the skin seal. It was, well, uncomfortable.

He smiled a truly sincere smile at my pain. "Don't fuck with my Junior, Roger. Don't ever bother him again. You got me?"

I steeled my face but nodded slightly.

"Life and death, Rog. That's what I do."

He left.

Contest Update!

2008-05-23T06:23:00.000-07:00

For anyone just tuning in to read the Thursday update (below), be apprised that the first-ever RogerDS contest is in full swing. For those of you who didn't see the original contest post, here is the skinny:

The question: What are the races, classes, and levels of the four main characters in RogerDS?

The hint: Everything in the RogerDS party is Core 3.5 D&D, with the exception of a single house rule.

The prize: The winner will be featured as an NPC in an upcoming RogerDS episode!

So far there have been a couple of guesses on a couple of characters: there's general agreement that Tallow is a halfling rogue, that Gunther is a human fighter or barbarian, and that Grens is a necromancer of some kind (sorcerer, wizard, or cleric). It's also been suggested that Roger is a human fighter. No one has hazarded a guess at their character levels yet, though Mark has tried to crack them by looking at the levels of the spells Grens has been casting.

What is the house rule? Well, I can't tell you that, but I can tell you I'm pretty tempted to start giving you guys more hints if you don't get this soon. I mean seriously, I would have expected a little more nerdiness from my beloved readers! :)

Good luck and may the best man/woman/orc win!

Day 25: Allies?

2008-05-22T13:59:00.000-07:00

After the tyrannosaurus left last night we went to sleep. What else could we do? It didn't seem likely that it would come back the same night, if it was full. So as the newly wounded were set up with a new sick tent (far from the site of the remains of the old one), man and goblin alike stretched out under the stars and got some much-needed rest.

This morning was chaos. Grens fought with the chief over healing any more beast men, and the rest of us gathered just past the edge of camp to talk strategy.

"Most important question first," I said. "Tallow, did you know we were here to recruit these things?"

"How would I have delivered a message if I didn't know the message?"

"I can think of a few ways."

Tallow snorted. "Yeah Captain, I knew."

"You need to share that kind of info," Gunther chimed in.

Tallow shrugged. "Didn't seem relevant."

"It's fucking relevant, Tallow." That was me.

"Yeah well, I guess the Count didn't think so, right?"

"Or maybe somebody else didn't think so."

"Cap, you are one paranoid dirt farmer. You gotta drop this!"

Gunth looked confused. "What does he mean, Roger?"

Now it was my turn to shrug. "It's not--"

Tallow broke in. "Not relevant, right?"

"Fuck you."

"No, no, I think you need to get your head straight about this one, Captain DarkeSworde. The Count told me what he told me. Obviously he didn't tell you. I don't know why you were left out, and I don't care. Because when the most important guy in 200 miles tells me to keep secrets, I don't go around gabbing it. I don't hate life that much."

We all kind of sat in silence for a moment after that. Tallow had a point. Like always. Whenever he does something sneaky he's got some seamless logical explanation for it--but I still don't trust the guy.

Gunther broke the silence. "Seriously, what was he talking about, Roger?"

I sighed and struggled for a way to say it. "Don't you... Don't you ever find yourself acting strange?"

Blank stare.

"Like, doing things you didn't want to do? Like someone is forcing your hand?"

Still no response.

I kept going. "Ever since we got PC'd it's like there's some evil gods-damned force controlling me!"

Tallow whistled. "Cra-zy."

That got Gunther to speak up. "No. No, he ain't crazy." All eyes turned to the big man with the big sword. "I know what he means."

I almost laughed with relief. "You do!"

"Yeah, but it's not evil. I mean--is yours evil?"

That stopped my elation pretty quickly. "Yes. I mean, I don't know. Isn't taking away my free will evil? And--"

"Whoa, Roger, you're looking at this wrong. Haven't you ever heard the stories? We're fuckin' PC's! We're going to get rich and become famous and everyone will love us!"

Tallow broke in. "Yeah, or get killed."

Gunther shrugged. "Maybe, but I knew that risk the first time I picked up a sword. At least now we get something to look forward to."

I couldn't believe it. "Are you really saying you don't mind this? What about that bear? We slaughtered that thing for no reason!"

"Nah, it would've tried to eat us."

"No! No it wouldn't!"

"What're you, some kind of witch? You talk to bears now?"

I sighed another deep, sad sigh. I didn't bother to bring up the verbal abuse we dished out when we were acting as "PC's". Instead I looked at him right in the eye.

"So Gunther, you like it, huh?"

"Sure."

"You really like being a PC?"

He seemed nervous. "Yeah. I mean, if somebody's gonna get it, might as well be me, right?"

"Then how come in all this time you never once mentioned that thing controlling you?"

Gunther sputtered and looked away.

Before I could press my point, the very ill omen we'd been speaking of descended around us again. As that you're-being-truly-watched feeling settled over me, I saw Tallow and Gunther sort of sit up a little bit. We all knew something was up, and looked back toward camp.

Coming toward us was Grens, the chief, and the tall hostage from the night before. O yeah, turns out that guy is the chief's brother. They greeted us with stoney silence and we returned the welcome.

"Your man here has been kind to our wounded," explained the chief. "And the two-sworded one showed great bravery. I suppose, in human culture, I would owe you something."

We just continued staring at him.

"I don't care much for your ways," he said after a pause. "But I am willing to contract further with you."

"Such a sweetheart," muttered Tallow.

"My men and I are going after the beast from last night. There's a clear trail of blood leading into the woods. So I offer you a deal: help us slay the beast and we'll come fight for your king."

"Count," Gunther corrected.

The chief flashed us a fanged smile. "And I'm no chief, hole-of-butt."

We all looked at each other. Where in the gods' beloved world did this guy learn his Common?

"Look Chief, or whatever," said Tallow. "That thing is gone for now, and too deadly to go after. Let's just leave it and head to Frankton."

"No. You heard my offer."

"You have some kind of honour-thing about this? Some kind of vendetta?"

The chief rolled his eyes. "If we leave him be he'll only keep following us. We won't live all the way to your city."

"You don't know that," I objected.

"Yeah? So what, you wanna take the risk?"

"What risk? It's your men he keeps preying on. We shouldn't have come last night."

"But you did, and now he has your scent. And a very particular wound. I don't have a vendetta. He might."

We were all quiet. It was true. As if to narrate our thoughts, the chief continued speaking. "Think about it. Right now he's hurt and there are many of us. We track him, maybe catch him while he is sleeping. We can kill him. If we go our different ways each of our groups is weaker. He can lick his wounds, rest up, and follow our trails."

"Chief," I said. "We're gonna need a minute."

"A what?"

I shook my head. "Let us alone for a while, okay? We have to talk."

He said something in goatspeak and left us.

Before he could turn away, I continued speaking. But now in my loud, puffed-up, assholey voice. "Chief, we will help you vanquish this monster. But you must not only join the honourable Count Yank's army, you must also help us in a small matter on the way."

The others looked at me, surprised but not surprised. The chief seemed quite amused. "You feeling okay, human?"

He looked at me and I looked at him. "Do you accept?"

"What's this 'small matter'?"

"The matter of a Master Argon."

The hobgoblin almost looked pale, I mean, for a monster. "Pushwa!" he cursed softly. I grinned.

Day 24: Negotiations (So to Speak)

2008-05-15T11:57:00.000-07:00

Everyone held their breath as we listened for the tyrannosaurus. Nothing. After a minute Tallow broke the silence.

"Well Chief, maybe you ought to get that thing covered," he said, pointing toward the exposed light. "But this doesn't change things much. See uh, we were sent out here as a sort of welcoming committee for you."

It made me nervous to hear Tallow lay it all out on the table like that, but it seemed like for the time being we had the upper hand. They wanted more of their people tended in the morning, and killing us or pissing us off wasn't going to help them. Still, I kept my hand on my sword hilt and my eye on our hostages.

"So what, to threaten us? Kick us off the mighty lord's land?" The chief seemed more amused than anything.

Tallow waited a moment, like he was sizing up the guy. Then he went on. "Nah, sort of the opposite. Count Yank de Frank, gods bless his ancient line, is always looking for talented warriors to grace his army."

"What?" I looked around the group in confusion. Grens was emotionless as always. Gunther looked surprised, but said nothing. The chief seemed pretty thrown off too.

"Esh-akgar, or im tehr-dash!" His orders sent hobgoblins scurrying about the camp. I didn't like this turn of events.

"What would a human chief want with us?" The hobgoblin leader asked. "And why would we want to join him anyway?"

Tallow snorted. "Fuck if I know, Chief. He's got an offer for you and whatever it is it's better than your head on a spike. Which is what happened to the last band of beast men to wander into the County, if you'll recall. And I am reaching," he added, "for the message." He produced an ivory scroll-tube from within his jacket and tossed it nonchalantly to the hobgoblin. "Can you read?"

The chief caught the tube but didn't open it. Instead he glowered at Tallow.

One of the hobgoblin hostages growled a low, rumbling growl. I tightened my hand on his shoulder and he quieted.

"Can you read?" Repeated Tallow.

"I can read," he confirmed. "I can also hear and see. What I hear are words of war. What I see before me are frightened, hairless babies. Maybe your count can catch us, maybe not. Maybe he can even defeat us. It will not save your lives tonight if he kills me two, three, six months from now. You will respect our hospitality and you will talk with deference or you--"

"Yeah, or we'll wh--?" Tallow's words were drowned out in the thundering destruction of trees that suddenly surrounded the camp. Even the roar the hobgoblins let out was muted. I saw an entire fifty-foot tree sheared off of its trunk and flung over the camp like so much bad produce. Two angular eyes gleamed in the darkness of the edge of camp as the tyrannosaurus plunged into view.

The brush barricades were immediately destroyed where it came through. It must have bolted through the trees at a dead run, itself tree-sized, and came at us full force. As soon as it entered the open clearing of the camp it snapped up a hobgoblin in its jaws and tilted its head back, chomping. Writhing legs fell to the ground as the man's screams stopped short.

The hobgoblin chief began barking orders in his native language, not bothering to conceal himself. I suppose he wanted his men to rally around him. I had no such delusions and dove behind the nearest stack of crates, not realising until after I hit the ground that I had dragged the growling hostage along with me. Shoving him rudely against a barrel I drew my sword, ignored his wide eyes, and cut the poor thing free. We would need all the arms we could get to survive this thing.

Tallow dove in next to me. "Grens!" he yelled. The death magician had run past both of us, darting toward the tree line at the edge of camp. "Grens, get back here!"

Gunther went after him. I saw the big man chase after the little man in robes and for a second I thought he was going to tackle him. But instead he grabbed him by one shoulder, shoved him behind a tree and spun to protect him. Then his eyes went wide.

It had only been a few seconds since the monster charged into camp, and it had come from the far side. But it moved quick. I could hear its big footsteps thudding toward me and the ground actually trembled under me with each one. Gunther was treated to seeing it face-to-face as it charged in our direction.

I tried to jump up but Tallow used all of his weight to hold me down. "Wait... for it!" he moaned through clenched teeth.

The footsteps stopped. A moment of quiet, with the distant yells of hobgoblins trying to get organised for an attack. A rustling sound like bird wings, and I saw a large sheaf of tent flung to our left. Then the screaming started.

The sick tent must have been like a feasting hall for the dinosaur, and Tallow had figured it out before I did. That's why he wanted us to stay down, because he knew we wouldn't be the first targets. Recently mended wounds burst open again as broadsword-teeth tore sloppy, crunching bites from the infirm. I struggled to think rationally and figure out what to do.

Beside me the freed hostage found a hatchet and took off running toward the sick tent. Tallow pushed me to the side and darted past me. For a second I thought he was going after the hostage, but he went the other way, toward the closest section of brush barricade. I wasn't stupid, so I followed him.

As I stood up I got my first look at the grisly events in the camp. The torch was exposed again and lit up the whole scene: the tyrannosaurus had a mouthful of gore and gangrene, biting indiscriminately through anything that couldn't run away from it. The freed hostage ran toward it with his hatchet, harrying its legs and delivering a few good chops before being knocked flat by a flick of the great predator's jaws. Armed hobgoblins advanced from the other side, a couple firing arrows but most pressing in with lowered spears in a small and shakey infantry formation. The chief was with them, in the second row brandishing a bloody sword and ordering them on with what I can only imagine were threats.

I dove behind the brush barricade right after Tallow. Gunth and the wizard bolted over when they saw us. "We're gonna have to run a long ways," Tallow explained between heavy breaths. Gunther nodded.

"No." Aww shit. What am I doing? That was my first thought. My second thought was, Wait, what am I doing? It was me--I was the one making my choices, and in the middle of a battle at that. It's not that I couldn't feel that thing with me. It's just that it didn't seem to want to change anything I was doing. Either it and I were in complete agreement--crappy thought, that--or it was giving me a moment of freedom. I relished it and dove all the more boldly into the plan that formed in my mind.

"Roger, you crazy?" Gunth almost seemed sympathetic, except for the murderous anger in his eye. "We gotta go!"

"No!" I jumped back over the barricade before anyone could stop me. Step after step, I brought myself closer to the scene of carnage unfolding before us. And closer to the pathetic sight I had seen, that no one else wanted to notice: the other hostages.

We had tied them up good, even hobbled them at the ankles. Now they were left scattered around where we'd had our discussion with the chief. Struggle as they might they could not get free of their ropes, or even crawl away effectively. The tyrannosaurus was finishing up his infirmary snacks and would surely move on to the other easy targets next. Beast men or not, no one deserved to die that way.

So with the voices of my companions fading behind me, the roar of the monster shaking all the camp, and the clamour of the frightened phalanx opposite me I dove over the row of crates that had been my refuge before and rushed to cut all the ropes off one of the hostages. As I chopped at his bonds he yelled something at me in goatspeak. I looked at him blankly and quickly went back to my work. When he was free he stood up and darted away. I moved to the second hostage.

It wasn't long before the first one was back, however. It seemed he had grabbed several spears. I cut rope, he handed out spears, and soon we had a little group of fighting men ready. I was both spooked and relieved to see Junior run up beside us and shore up the line.

Why I didn't flee after they were free, I don't know. Maybe it was because they seemed so confident that I was there to fight beside them. Maybe it was sheer stupidity. But I think it was the sight of the big, beautiful target that suddenly presented itself to us.

The tyrannosaur was not pleased with the infantry formation pressing it from the other side, and had turned to fight them. It was doing well--gruesomely well--but it left its huge, leathery, unprotected ass pointing right toward me and the hostages. I couldn't resist. Pulling out my second sword and forgetting the language barrier for a moment, I bellowed in my old field-commander voice: "Chaaaarge!"

The beast men understood. We trampled forward, jumping tent canvass and occasional body parts to meet our prize. We converged on the giant reptile with a loud if garbled cheer and I felt a piss-warm spray of blood on my face. Spearheads and swords tore into the thing. It shrieked like a dying cougar.

But dying it was not. It was simply enraged. It snapped up one more hobgoblin from just beside the chief and flung half his body across the camp as it spun to face us. I kept hacking away at it, but I lost my stride as one of my companions disappeared into its mouth. This thing could take us each out in a single bite. There were no wounds or near-misses. If it chose you, you would die.

The chief's men kept pressing it on the far side. Their ranks were long since broken, but the remains of the spear wall began to circle around and join with our ranks. We had the thing surrounded, however long that would last, and it had a hard time warding off our attacks. Even so, it seemed merely angered by each wound--not actually in danger.

The chief was the only person using a sword besides me. Everyone else had spears. Soon he was directly opposite me and we caught each other's eyes between the stomping legs of the beast.

"Human!" he yelled. "The father treasures! The father treasures!" His Common really was terrible. I didn't know what he was talking about.

But then I did. As the dinosaur spun again to face my side I was almost hit in the face with its swinging testicles. I don't know why they were down. Most animals don't dangle those things around just any old time. Maybe the beast enjoyed this rampage too much. But I saw my chance and I took it.

A high guard with my left hand. A stabbing stroke with my right hand. A whirling underhand strike from the left. Like sheep shears, my swords came together. The explosion of blood, blood vessels and shrieking were like nothing I've ever heard. I stumbled back a step and tried to keep my guard up as gonad poured down my face. I risked a glance upwards, and really wish I hadn't.

He looked me in the eyes as he drew back his shoulders to strike. His mouth opened and I knew I had delivered my last attack.

Or I thought so. I didn't see anything further as murmuring rose up behind me and fog rushed over the battlefield. Soon no one could see anything at all. A pair of jaws as big as a pony clapped shut just a foot from my head, the first clean miss the tyrannosaurus had delivered all night. Shaking, I fell back. Others did too.

I think it was some kind of unspoken command that we all fled while the fleeing was good. I headed back the same way I had come in, as near as I could figure toward my companions at the edge of the clearing. I was pretty sure the man in front of me was Grens. Seemed like the hobgoblins chose the same route, for the most part, because there were a lot of us moving altogether. At least a few straggled out of the fog, because I heard their dying screams behind me. The tyrannosaurus itself must have seen the magical fog as a golden opportunity, because its massive footsteps took off in the opposite direction. Maybe the magic spooked him, but I think he was sick of the fight. He must have had his fill of food by now and at this point was simply fighting to stay alive. Like most predators, he backed off as soon as he got the chance, especially with his testes in a thresher.

I barely made it over the remains of the brush barricade before I collapsed to the ground shaking and exhausted. My face, hair and swords were soaked in blood. I felt sticky and smelly and afraid for my life. I tried to struggle to my feet again to keep running but Tallow pushed me down. "He's gone now, Captain." I couldn't see him very well in the mist but he seemed to look me up and down. "And may I be the first to say, holy shit."

The hobgoblin chief sat next to me and clapped me on the shoulder. "A brave one here," he said. He didn't seem tired at all from the run. "Brave and stupid like a hobgoblin hero."

Gosh, I thought. So kind.

Where has Roger Gone?

2008-05-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. I'm still around! As you can tell, this early-in-the-week posting schedule has not been working so, as I promised, it's time to set a new schedule and stick to it. Expect a post tomorrow (Thursday) evening at the latest, and every Thursday from now on. For real.

In the meantime, we haven't had any guesses yet on the first RogerDS Contest, so get crackin'!

The question: What are the races, classes, and levels of the four main characters in RogerDS?

The hint: Everything in the RogerDS party is Core 3.5 D&D, with the exception of a single house rule.

The prize: The winner will be featured as an NPC in an upcoming RogerDS episode!

Contest! (sort of...)

2008-05-01T14:19:00.000-07:00

Well, as far as I can tell I might actually have four or five regular visitors to the site, which makes this the most popular thing I've ever written! Four (or five) might not seem like a lot, but it's fun to write for you guys and especially to get comments. So here is a little contest for all four (or five) of you, and the 60+ individuals who have visited in the past month, and anyone & everyone else who happens to stop by.

What are the races, classes, and levels of the four main characters in RogerDS?

That's right, we'll leave Junior out of this one. Roger, Gunth, Tallow and Grens - do you have the D&D nerdery to guess the crunch behind the fluff? Post your guesses in the comments and feel free to debate and/or mock each other. The contest will run until the next regular entry (hopefully Monday!) or until one or more people guess the correct answer, whichever takes longer.

All the clues necessary can be gleaned from previous journal entries, and I am completely susceptible to bribery. I couldn't think of a bona fide prize (I mean, it's not like we have merchandise or anything) so the winner will be featured as an NPC in an upcoming RogerDS episode! You can even choose which side you are on! Good luck everyone, and here is your one and only hint: everything in the RogerDS party is Core 3.5 D&D, with the exception of a single house rule. Figure it out, I dare you!

Day 24: Good Deeds

2008-05-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

We made it into the hobgoblin camp without incident. We were all nervous though, since we really had no way to avoid walking into a trap if there was one. Maybe the other guys believed the hobgoblin messenger’s pitiful story, but I was simply counting on their lack of intelligence.

The beast men were camped in a large clearing in the trees about halfway down the slope of the mountain. It was nighttime, but even in the darkness I could see the rag-tag character of their camp. They had a few tents, all mended with bright patches apparently cut from old clothing. They seemed fond of fabric, and had a number of banners bearing no heraldry of any sort, apparently just there to billow in the wind. Most of them just slept on the ground, though, and barrels and sacks and casks of supplies were simply strewn about the camp in no particular order. Spears and shields were the only things that seemed to be organized.

There was a huge fire pit in the middle of camp, as if the hobgoblins were using it for ceremony or for cooking something really big. Nothing was lit when we came in, though. There were just a lot of old coals and ashes in it from the night before. The beasts seemed to be getting around okay without fire.

One thing that was obvious was there had been a fight there recently. An effort had been made to surround the camp with barriers, just makeshift barricades of logs and branches, but they were broken through in a couple places. Debris was strewn about with a lot of the supply crates broken. One of the tents was rent in half, just blowing from its stakes like so many more banners. The trampled ground was not unusual for a military camp, but the occasional dark patches and smears told of combat, and recent combat at that. I started to think the bastards were sincere in their plight.

We walked in spread out over a couple hundred feet, not wanting to be caught all at once in an ambush. Junior stayed by Grens, and the more hobgoblins that joined our little party the more it became apparent that they were almost as nervous about the skeleton as the burro was. It made them restless, and that made me restless. I guess Tallow felt the same way.

”Hold up,” he said as we entered the camp. “This is too much. There’s too many of you.”

”Bar we come ar peash!” cried the messenger.

”Yeah, yeah, but on our terms remember?”

”Peash!”

”Look, we’re going to need to even things out before we go into your little fort here. Give us a hostage.”

The hobgoblin just stared at him, and started to shake his head in bewilderment.

Tallow sighed and spoke slower. “Not fair. Too many beast men! One you come with us!”

”I don’t think so,” called a voice from deeper in the camp. We all looked over, but I at least couldn’t make anyone out in the darkness. The voice spoke clear Common, but he had the same throaty accent as the messenger. “You’re already here,” he went on. “And already surrounded. The time to make deals is past.”

”We already made a deal,” Tallow responded. “And the deal was we come on our own terms. These are our terms. Do it or we leave.”

The voice laughed, which sounded more like a snarl. “You humans joke about how stupid we are, and listen to you. You leave, we kill you.”

”Yeah, yeah, yeah. And you’re so smart. Let me make it easy for you. I got two requests—one, you come out where we can see you; two, you get us some hostages over here. You do those two things, you get our healer. If you don’t you can let us leave or kill us—your choice—but either way the healer’s gone in less than a minute. You do what we say or you lose, you got that?”

There was a moment of silence. To their credit, none of the hobgoblins drew their weapons. After a bit we saw a figure within the camp shuffling toward us. He was even taller than the other hobgoblins and wore a very fancy helmet with a mane running down the back. Other than that I couldn’t make out much in the limited light.

“Alright, here I am. And as for hostages, I’ll give you—“

”No, we’ll pick our own.”

”So pick.”

”The guy behind you, for starters.” Another hobgoblin emerged from the shadows, this one just as tall as their leader. He put his weapons on the ground and walked toward us. I stepped forward to tie his hands and check him for any hidden knives.

”And… One of your boys with the bows over there.” This one took a little longer, but sure enough, an unarmed hobgoblin came out from around a tent and I gave him the same treatment. “Thanks for being so fair-minded, Chief,” Tallow said.

”I’m not a chief. We don’t even have chiefs. And what makes you think we won’t just kill you anyway, if we want to? Why should we care about the lives of those two?”

Tallow just shrugged. “Maybe you don’t. But it seems prudent.”

At that point, another hobgoblin spoke to the leader. Not in Common, in their goatspeak. The leader listened and turned back to us.

”I am reminded that the longer we quibble over hostages, the harder your healer’s job becomes. Will you come in now?”

Tallow looked at me. I looked back at the others. Gunther shrugged. Grens scowled at me with a glare that would kill a cockatrice. With that, I knew we were doing the right thing. I nodded back to Tallow.

”We’re all yours, Chief. Just have your men keep their hands where we can see them.”

The chief barked some orders in their language and soon we were following him on a winding course between piles of debris and supplies. A number of hobgoblins hung loosely around us, seeming curious or bored but not aggressive. It didn’t take us long to come to a tent with its flaps pulled wide open. The stench of gangrene poured out and I could see there was at least a little light inside. We had reached their sick tent.

Eight hobgoblins with wounds of varying severity lined the place. They were sprawled on bloody cloaks and blankets, no real bedrolls to speak of. A young hobgoblin sat at the far end with an urn of water and a wet cloth, and a stick was staked into the floor. The top of the stick glowed softly, wrapped in some strips of cloth—it seemed like the cloth was in place to mute the light emanating from underneath. I knew right away it must be magical, but I had a hard time believing my eyes. It was like a torch without fire. How does that work?

Tallow immediately set about disturbing their shit, which is what he does best. Within a matter of moments he had half the tent torn down. The patients were exposed to the open air, but the weather was mild enough for this time of year; more importantly, we couldn’t be surrounded without knowing it.

Grens left the skeleton about thirty feet from the tent and set about walking from beast man to beast man, checking their bandages and feeling their heads and pulses. As I watched him go from one to the next I felt like something was wrong, or out of place—but I couldn’t figure out what it was. No point in saying anything to the others, I figured, since really, what wasn’t wrong with the situation? So I just watched the hostages and kept my hand on my sword.

Grens tried speaking to all of them, but none of them seemed to understand Common. The young hobgoblin eyed the newcomer, eyed the skeleton, and got up and left without being asked. The chief, or whatever he was, stayed nearby. After a while Grens addressed him.

”These guys are pretty bad off. Tonight I can only treat three of them. I can handle more in the morning, but there are more than three that won’t live that long. So do you want to choose, or should I?”

“I’ll choose.” I was surprised how the chief sort of snapped back. This was a guy who was used to being in command. He took a moment to stare at his wounded troops, then pointed out several of them. “The one on the end there… the one next to him… and the one with the missing eye.”

”The one on the end can hold out till morning.”

Grunt. “Alright, the one with the open belly there.”

Grens nodded. “And you know the eye won’t grow back, right?”

”I know.”

“Alright, let’s do this quick so I can start apologising to my god.” Grens went to each of the three chosen men in turn, laying his hands on them and mumbling. One after another their wounds healed up, just vanishing before my eyes. The one with the open stomach didn’t completely heal, but his guts went back into place and he only had a big gash of a wound where he was once split like an exploded soufflé. The three also regained consciousness, and seemed surprisingly unhappy to see their saviour standing over them.

”Can you do anything to make the others comfortable?” Asked the chief.

Grens scowled. “I’m no nurse. Get your boy back in here for that.”

The chief seemed as amused as he was put off. “Truly, you have all the makings to be a fine hobgoblin priest.”

”Your Common is wrong,” Grens retorted. “It’s ‘all the makings of’. The other way sounds funny.”

Tallow cut in quickly. “Let’s not talk about that. We have a message for you, Chief. A message from the count of this fine land.”

The chief rolled his eyes. “A count with thousands of strong warriors, no doubt, each bigger and braver than the one before him, all true of heart accomplished in war. Right?”

”Something like that.”

Suddenly I realized what was wrong. They had a battle big enough to wound eight of their warriors and ruin half the camp. There were no fresh graves around and if the fire had been a funeral pyre it was one of the shortest-lived I’d ever heard of. I decided it was worth it to interrupt Tallow’s peculiar strain of diplomacy.

”Excuse me, Chief, but I couldn’t help noticing… I don’t see your dead anywhere. Did you bury them already?”

The chief looked back and forth at us humans as if he hadn’t expected the question. It was the first time he looked off-balance. He recovered quickly, though, and responded with what must pass for wit among his kind: “No, our enemy took care of that for us. Assuming it is the sort to bury its droppings.”

We stared at him.

”O, you didn’t know. It was a tyrannosaurus that attacked our camp. Ate or carried off six of my finest. This lot barely dragged themselves away. It was attracted by our fire, near as we can tell.”

It took a moment for us to all digest just exactly what we had stumbled into. I was the one to speak first.

”So… it’s attracted by light?”

The chief smiled. “That’s why we had the torch hidden inside the tent.”

The tent that Tallow tore down. I tensed up and cupped my ear, hoping not to hear anything big stalking around in the darkness beyond the brush barricade...

Hemming and Hawing

2008-04-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

Editor's note: Personally, I hate it when my favourite webcomic/webfic authors give long convoluted excuses for why their work isn't coming out on schedule. I mean, I'm paying you zero dollars and I expect some professionalism. I don't care about your cat's eye surgery or the lump on your toe. Stop complaining and start writing.

On that compassionate note, I'll spare you my own lengthy excuses and simply apologise. New post will be up by Thursday at the latest, and if this kind of thing is going to be recurring I will come up with a new posting schedule, announce it and stick to it. Thanks for your patience. another_poet

Day 24: A Friend in Need

2008-04-22T12:19:00.000-07:00

I've been trying more and more to piece together just what happened the other night. It seems pretty clear that Grens doesn't have the power to reanimate Junior if he is destroyed. If he did he wouldn't be so protective of him.

That leaves me with the unsettling idea that the Demon--which is the only name I can think of for whatever is controlling us PC's--that the Demon somehow undid me and Tallow's raid. That raises even more questions though. Most notably how, why and how do we stop it.

The thing is, if the Demon can not only control our actions in the moment (how we speak, who we fight, everything) but can also go back and edit things in the past, then do we really have any free will at all? Or is the Demon some kind of Fate that hangs over every aspect of our lives?

Worst of all, where do our memories go? I remember very clearly that Tallow and I killed that skeleton. But I'm the only one, it seems, even though all four of us were there. Tallow's always acted like this PC thing is perfectly normal, and I can never tell if he's faking or really believes it. The wizard has every reason in the world to lie to me and string me along. But even Gunth acts like he doesn't remember anything, and he just about died of laughter when he saw the skeleton dead. Now when I mention it he looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm the only one of the lot of us who actually seems to know what's going on!

Well, we've got a more immediate concern. We've been following this trail, landmark by landmark, and sure enough we found more evidence that we're not the only ones. Tracks, in a few places. At first I thought we'd just found a wolf track, but the prints were awfully big and then we saw footprints farther down the way. It looks like these hobgoblins have a large number of dogs with them and are wearing hard-soled military shoes. Not a good sign.

Last night we saw smoke only one mountain away. It was from the other side of the mountain, and so faint it was hard to tell how big their camp might be. Way I figured it they must have a single giant fire in order to put out that much smoke, but Gunth wasn't so sure. We hid ourselves well off the main trail and had no fire.

So this morning we set out real slow. We went down into the next valley and as we came out of the treeline Tallow helped us put together bundles of branches to hold over our heads as camouflage. We event tied some to the burro. Not great up close but from the top of the next mountain it could fool a rear scout.

We made it across the valley and started up the next side. This side was pretty sparse on trees so we kept the bundles. It was a grueling, sweaty climb with those branches but I wasn't about to put mine down. As we approached the point where the trail broke the ridgeline, we halted and let Tallow scout ahead. He came back and reported it was clear.

From that point on we were on high alert. As a small company we were moving fast compared to whatever military force was ahead. We knew we were gaining on them. So we started walking off the trail, and pausing frequently for Tallow to scout ahead. The trail doesn't run over the very tops of the mountains, just sort of loops over their shoulders, but being near the ridge still gave us a great view up ahead. We were coming down a south slope again so there were more trees. We ditched our bundles and kept weapons out at all times. Tallow sneaked around way ahead, then I led the burro (officially making me the main target) and Gunther guarded Grens at the rear. It wasn't that I wanted to be attached to the noisiest member of the party, but I actually found it a lot more palatable than holding the wizard's hand and staring down his skeleton all afternoon.

Eventually Tallow came back from one of his scouting expeditions with a worried look on his face. "Rock outcropping ahead," he panted. "I shimmied up and took a look. They're stopped down there."

"Can you tell how many?" I asked.

Tallow snorted. "Of course I can. About two score, maybe four dozen. A few riders, not many."

"Riders?"

"Yeah on flippin' dire wolves? Gods man, you sure you were a soldier?"

I didn't respond.

Tallow went on. "Anyway, way I figure it if they're holding position we ought to do the same. I wouldn't move up on 'em till we have a real plan. Which, by the way, we're gonna need real damn soon."

"We're not gonna come up with it here," Gunher said. "We should pull back a little. They might be stopped 'cuz they know they're being tailed. We should pull back and get off the trail till we decide how to proceed."

"Yeah, that's a lot of beast men," I agreed.

"No shit. Awright, any objections Wizard? Your boner over there got any ideas?" Grens didn't answer. "Awright, let's get out of here. Peaceful contact my ass."

So we back-tracked a bit, then cut even farther off the trail. Eventually we found a spot that had three things we needed: a bowl-shaped depression to get us out of the wind, real thick conifers to hide us, and a protruding rock ledge from which to spy on our neighbours. We convinced Grens to leave Junior a full 200 feet downhill from us, on the side toward the trail. That way we got the burro up where we could keep an eye on it and where the corpse wouldn't scare it. Then we set about planning.

We all agreed from the outset that just walking up to them was a bad idea. Even unarmed under a white banner of peace we'd probably be attacked. They weren't called beast men for nothing, and an unarmed human was just easy pickings for them. So we had to come up with some other plan.

I'm not gonna recount all the arguing. Basically we had three different plans, championed by three different people. Mine, of course, was the best.

What I said we ought to do is find someplace we could really fortify--a rock formation with walls on all sides, a narrow defile with lots of cover, something where a few people could hold against a large force and where cavalry (or gods-damned wolf cavalry) would be useless. We make sure to line some of the defensive locations with a bunch of sharpened poles, like we have a whole troop of levied spearmen up here. Then we light campfires and wait for the hobgoblins to come to us. When they do, they'll either attack us (in which case we hold our ground and cut them up) or realise they're in a weak way and try to bargain with us. And that's all we want in the first place. There's a chance they'd try to circle around us, but given my experience with goblins that wasn't likely.

Gunther didn't like that plan. I think he just disliked it because of the amount of work it would take. He preferred that we sneak up to their camp in the early morning, just before dawn. That's a weak time for a camp even if you're nocturnal (though these creatures seemed to be moving by day). We head in from one of the sides and do some butchering. Basically hit 'em hard, then pull out and run. Do it again if needed, with maybe a feint in between. He reasoned that the only way we're going to get hobgoblins to talk with us is if we pound their numbers down to nothing first. I pointed out that we could do that from a defensive position as I had suggested, but he just can't get it through his head.

Tallow had his own idea. He figured that if we were going to get near enough the camp to attack anyway, we may as well go in with a goal. He wanted to identify the beasts' leader and abduct the poor bastard, then force him to come to terms with us. This was altogether the stupidest plan I'd ever heard. Getting in was risky enough on its own. Taking the goblin king alive and getting out seemed impossible. And these critters weren't rational human beings like the rest of us. They'D probably disown their leader and fight to succeed him. Loyalty seemed unlikely. So we'd be left with a single useless hostage and no leverage whatsoever.

Since the knuckleheads didn't agree with me I asked Grens. I figured that no matter how much he hated me he had to value his own life and he was probably smart enough to know that my defensive idea was the safest plan we had. When I asked him, all heads turned to him.

Grens stayed silent a long time, then spoke up. "I stay at the rear. I do as I please. I support you as long as I can and if I am in danger I run. Once we pull out we'll be doing a lot of running so be ready. I'm not taking any living hostages. We damage them, we run, and we wait and see. That's the plan I vote for."

Tallow and Gunther agreed it was our best bet. Then I agreed it was our best bet. I didn't really, of course, but the Demon made me say it. So it was agreed.

"Can we at least put up some defences here?" I griped. "They're gonna chase us somewhere, it may as well be a place we can hold."

"I want to get enough rest tonight," said Tallow. "But I'll heLp you till it's dark out."

That only gave us a couple of hours. What we did was sharpen stakes to surround the bottom of the rock ledge, which would be our holdout. We had to use thin poles and knives because the sound of a handaxe chopping would echo for miles. We chose the place where we would tie the donkey right outside palisade and the place where Junior would fight from inside, so that the donkey would spook and get in the enemy's way. We piled up deadwood, dry needles and plants in several places and had firewood and tinder just waiting to be lit inside the palisade. Hopefully we could start the fire quick before they caught up to us and then stop a few of them as they came past the burn heaps. We even secured ropes so that in a pinch we could swing off the sides of the ledge to run away on the slope below. Not bad.

As night fell we noticed there was no hobgoblin campfire below us. Tensely, we went over the plan again. We would sneak down, fan out, and let Tallow scout. We'd kill any hobgoblin scouts along the way. Tallow had a signal to give if he was spotted while spying and, if not, we'd all go in together. We were each to kill four hobgoblins before pulling out. We went over tactics and battle commands and nominated Gunther to be in charge during the raid. We ate cold food in silence and then got ready for some nervous sleep. I thought bitterly of all the sliding-rock traps I could have made if I'd been given time to properly plan our defences.

Gunther and I placed our bedrolls near each other, with Grens a little farther down. Tallow was on first watch. Before I could even pull my blanket over me, I heard the unmistakable call of a bluejay.

Bluejays only come out in the daytime.

I prodded Gunther and held up one finger for him to stay silent. Another bluejay call, and then silence. It was coming from uphill, which meant there was no skeleton between us and them. Shit.

I motioned to Tallow, and he looked up to where I was pointing. We both reached for weapons. Just then, another sound:

"Peash! Pegash in par-ten, shudder mon." We all stayed perfectly still, waiting for the inevitable attack.

And waiting.

"Peash eh shay, un come in peash, non fighteng tirnight!"

I didn't know what to do. Did it just say what I thought it just said? I guess it did kind of sound like goat mating, the way they talked. It was similar to the goblins I'd heard but deeper and a bit more garbled.

"If you come in peace then show yourself," yelled Gunther.

"In come out, non fighteng! Non shooting! Treat wish regard!"

"Okay, just come out."

The brush rustled on the ridge above us. We saw a single silhouette emerge and slowly put his hands in the air. I couldn't believe it. This thing was as big as a tall human! And strong, and a veteran by his looks. He was nothing like the little goblins I'd fought!

"In come to rirquesht. In come fon friendership. Need help orf human. Need help en camp."

"Did you come alone?"

"Non! More up hirll. More watcher men. Come fon help orfet!"

The guy's accent made me want to chuckle, but my nerves were stretched tight enough to pop. I didn't like this. I worried they had a trap for us. Tallow, to his credit, played it cool.

"What help? What can we do for you?"

"Many wournders. Wourn--wournded. En camp. Come help heal, come help heal!"

"Grens, they think you're a healer," whispered Gunther.

"That's becaause he is a healer," I hissed over to him.

Tallow continued. "We would be honoured to meet with your leaders, and help your healers as best we can."

"Don't do this, Tallow!" Now it was Grens' turn to whisper desperately.

"Arren healersh not livern. Fire birng--fire es bad! Arren healersh die in fight. Many wourn, wourndeds. Come wish!"

"Please Tallow, don't do it," continued Grens.

"We will come with our healer, if you do not attack us. We will come only on our temrs. Do you understand?"

"Esh! Come!"

"Do you understand?"

The hogboblin looked almost angry from impatience. "Esh! Conme on urreh termsh! Come on owrn termsh! Come nahr!"

"Okay guys," said Tallow. "Looks like we have a relief mission to do."

I have to go--

Editor's note: The entry breaks off suddenly. Nothing further was written that day.

Update!

2008-04-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

I promised updates on Mondays from now on, but this one is officially delayed. Check back tomorrow (Tuesday, 4/22) and you'll find a new tale of adventure and debauchery awaiting you.

Day 22: Bone of Retention

2008-04-18T12:10:00.000-07:00

Prepare yourself, O journal, for a tale of wonder and excitement.

Last night after writing, I thought some more about my plan to talk about the skeleton. I looked around the campfire at my companions and thought, well, maybe these aren't the right people for a little town hall meeting. Maybe not even the right people to bring into a town. So I cooked up a plan.

"Tallow, I can take second watch tonight."

"Well aren't you a sweetheart Cap. Sure thing. Gunth, first or last?"

"Last."

"Junior can stand watch," Grens objected.

"Junior can suck the sweat off my unwashed ass," replied Gunther.

Grens didn't say anything, but he waved his hand. Click-click-rickatickatick, and over comes the skeleton, spear and all. Gunther didn't move at first, expecting Grens to call it off before it got too close. But the skeleton just kept coming.

"Quit it, man," said Gunther.

"What? Your desire is our command. Better living through cadavers."

"Call it off, Wizard!"

"Say please."

"Fuck you."

"No, my friend, I won't join in. That's between you and Junior."

At this point Gunther was standing, the mule was kicking and shitting (but luckily tied up at a tree), and "Junior" was closing in, reaching one hand toward Gunth at pelvis- or ass-level.

"This isn't funny, Wizard!"

"No, but so romantic. Watch out for his teeth though!"

Gunther tried to make a stand but as soon as the skeleton's bony finger touched his rear end he jumped a good three feet off the ground and darted away. "Call it off!"

"Say please!"

Gunth ran out of the campsite in a fit of cursing, while Tallow and I laughed so hard we almost wet ourselves. I might not like the skeleton but I sure like Grens' improved attitude.

Anyway, eventually Gunther said please and Grens stopped horsing around. They went to sleep, as I should have too. But I acted like I wasn't tired and stayed sitting against the log with Tallow. I waited till I was really, truly certain the others were asleep. Then I spoke.

"Tallow," I whispered. "Are you alone?"

Tallow didn't say anything at first. He stayed real still and thought it over. Then he said, "D'you ever think maybe I don't know what you're talking about?" He said it just as soft as I did, like he didn't want to wake anyone either. So I waited. I must have waited three full minutes for him to go on. "But if I did know what you're talking about," he said at last, "Maybe the answer is yes."

I nodded. "I want to get rid of that skeleton."

"Yep."

"You in?"

"What're you thinking?"

I told him we should drag Grens off a little way, then force him to destroy the thing. Tallow chuckled, then admonished me. "Grens is alive. Junior is dead. If we're going to bring out weapons it should be Junior."

"Yeah but how? Maybe you didn't see in the mine but blades barely scratch it."

Tallow laughed for the second time, a little louder before catching himself and looking to make sure the others were still asleep. "You don't get out much, do you Cap?"

"What do you mean?"

"Of course blades don't. Blades are meant to go through flesh. They usually stop at the bone. But bones can be broken."

"So what... rocks?"

"Nah, I'd make a pair of clubs. All we need are some branches that are the right size. We can find 'em around here no problem."

"So now?"

Another pause. Then: "Sure, now."

I went first, walking off into the pines in the direction that wasn't toward the burro or the bone man. Once he was sure I hadn't woken the others, Tallow got up and followed. We picked up a few pieces of dead wood, but it was too dried out and light. I pulled on a branch of a tree but it would be way too loud getting the thing off. We had to spend some time looking around, and I just kept getting tempted by the big loose rocks lying around. We could use those. But they'd be awkward to wield, and we had to take the thing down quick. We went to three different thickets of trees before we were able to find two already-fallen, still-green, not-rotten chunks of wood.

I set about with my knife skinning the bark off of them, and Tallow sneaked over to camp to make sure we weren't missed. Within a couple minutes of fairly quiet work I had a pair of clubs with smooth (if sticky) handles. Tallow took one and we circled around toward the skeleton.

I wasn't really sure how this would work. Would it fight back? Would it wake up Grens? Anything? Just in case, I stayed on the near side of the bastard and Tallow went wide around to the other side. I waited, unable to see or hear my partner and barely able to see the skeleton standing sentry.

"Phweeet!" I cringed inwardly at the whistle. He could've at least made it sound like an owl. Still, I charged.

As I burst out of the brush and skidded on loose rocks, I had a moment of fear that I was all alone. I didn't see Tallow anywhere. But then he was there across from me, charging toward our mutual target.

I strangled the war cry that rose in my throat, trying to keep as quiet as possible given the circumstances. Tallow and I hit the bastard at almost the same moment, sending him reeling.

For ~~his~~ its part the skeleton wailed: a keen harsher and longer than any bereaved woman could raise. It was a rising, warbling, hollow howl of--warning? I guess he took this guard duty thing seriously.

I swung again, and so did Grens. We knocked the shit out of it. The thing danced away from us, its bare leg bones stepping high over the loose terrain. Just when I thought we were going to finish it off it struck a fighting posture and raised its spear high for and overhead stab. I dove to the side in defence, while Tallow made himself small on the other side and prepared to deflect it with his club.

The spear point glistened in the night, gleaming with what little light there was. I waited for it to come down, planning to try to block it.

It didn't move.

Bewildered but not stupid, I skipped forward and quickly smashed its face. Teeth went flying everywhere. Tallow took the opportunity to get behind the critter and knock it hard in the spine.

"No!" A shout from behind us. I ignored it, pressing my attack, hitting it over and over. Tallow knocked apart its free arm, I collapsed the crown of its head, and then it fell to its knees.

I recognised the movement--I'd seen it before when goblins or men died on their feet. The spreading of the arms (or arm, in this case); the slow kneeling down, the trembling as they go. Thing is, they're supposed to fall face-down after that and gurgle. Instead, the skeleton simply disconnected. Whatever forsaken force held that thing together just evapourated all of a sudden, and the bones disarticulated and fell to the ground. A short, gruesome shower.

"You pricks!" Grens ran up beside us. There was true fury on his face. Tallow and I just stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what that cost me?" he shouted. "You... you... Augh, one more spear! We had one more spear, one more fucking ally! There's four of us, gods help us, four against what? How many? And he never slept! Do you have any idea what you just did to us? You fucking pricks!"

We let him go on like that till he ran out. He looked at us like we had answers for him. Tallow just shrugged and started back toward camp. I shook my head.

"It's wrong, Grens. It's just wrong."

He was shaking all over, actually shivering with rage. He clenched his fists, but he didn't take a swing at me. Up the way I heard Gunther call out.

"What is it?" he yelled.

"Me 'n' the Captain just killed Junior."

A brief silence. Then: "WooooooHOOOO!" Gunther came jogging down the way, sword in hand, and found the pile of bones. He promptly started to dance a jig on them, kicking them all around the path and crushing them with his big feet. "Serves you right, Wizard! You grab my ass again, you're gonna get a buh-buh-buh-buh-beat-down!" Yep, he said that. Then he picked up the fibula and held it lewdly in front of his crotch like an erection, thrusting it toward Grens and laughing with glee. "Eat it, Wizard, eat it! In your face! Woooo!"

Officially, Grens went to bed, Gunther ran around screaming insults and obscenities then went to bed, Tallow resumed his watch and I sat with him for a few minutes before going to bed. Unofficially, Grens lied awake gritting his teeth, Gunther nearly passed out of hyperventilation, and Tallow and I kept two eyes open between us all night in case the wizard wanted revenge. He didn't come at us, but I'm not gonna believe for a minute he doesn't have a grudge. Only time will tell that.

What we know for sure, though, is that our victory was short-lived. In the morning, after finally managing a short bout of sleep, I woke up to find my club missing.

"Alright Wizard, where's the club?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the fucking club I used to put down your sick pet. Where is it?"

"Haven't seen it."

"Hey Tallow, could that be used in some kind of spell or something? Could he use that for something?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Captain?"

"Shut it! Let me shit in peace!" The voice was Gunther's but it came from behind a particularly tall cluster of juniper.

"Roger, if you lost this club around here, maybe Junior can find it."

Stare of hatred.

"What do you mean Junior could find it?"

Grens laughed. "He might not have eyes but he can see. I told you he's useful. You'll get used to him."

I jumped up and ran to the edge of camp. There, at his post along the trail, was Junior. Fully intact, at full attention, his spear at his side and his eye sockets staring right at me. Cursing, I ran to the trees along the path. Looking around, I found the copse where we had gotten the clubs. I pushed branches aside and scoured the ground. There! There were the two nice pieces of wood we had made into clubs. Already fallen, still green, not rotten. And not skinned or smoothed in any wise.

"Fuck!" I stalked back to camp and glared at Grens. Then I glared at Tallow, just for good measure. Gunther came around from behind the juniper and I shot him one too.

"We were supposed to be burying him--it!--this morning."

Grens simply chuckled. "You'll get used to him," he almost hissed. "You'll get used to him... you sack of shit."

Angry corpse magician. Outstanding.

Day 21: Learning to Track from the Bottom Up

2008-04-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

We're trying to follow one of the trails marked out on the burnt map. Ater all, someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to keep it secret. When you're squished between a lying asswart of a constable and an imaginary band of hobgoblins, that's reason enough. And if the damn critters are real they were mentioned in the same stack of documents as he was, so maybe we can find out something useful before we go back to town and crack his skull open.

To get there we had to head west, entering the mountains and leaving the Snakebacks behind. The trail we settled on runs from where the mountains meet the sea in the northwest, south along the east edge of the mountains, and then to somewhere else. Right, we don't know where--that part of the map is gone. But either it's the steppes to the west of Tine Gorge, or Tine Gorge itself, or else the map was made by a drunkard.

Meanwhile we have this walking corpse to deal with. The thing is still with us, and Grens is strutting around like the only rooster in a henhouse. Frankly it makes me sick. It never gets tired and it's always staring at us. When I take a break to swig some water, it's right there with its spear. When I stop to pass water, it's there with its spear. When we go to bed at night and get up in the morning, there it is. (I suppose it'd be even more unsettling if it wasn't there one morning, but still.)

Tallow seems to feel the same way I do, but neither one of us comes even close to matching the burro's reaction. For some reason--and I just can't figure out why--it isn't too happy with a grinning heap of bones walking alongside it. Burros are supposed to be slow, but the presence of the skeleton whips this one into action: jumping, bucking, kicking and shitting like it was getting paid by the pound in diamonds. We can't go anywhere unless the skeleton is as least a hundred feet away from the mule, and downwind and out of sight. That's convenient.

When I suggest getting rid of the skeleton Grens just listens thoughtfully and then gives me some flippant response. "Go easy on him, he's dead." "Those things aren't easy to make, you know." "Just takes some getting used to." "If we put him down today and need him tomorrow, there's no bringing him back." "Maybe things would be easier if the mule was a skeleton, too." Ugh.

It just seems wrong. I mean, I know it was already dead when Grens found it in that mine. But what about its soul? Does it have one? I don't even know how that would work--if the priests are right, the soul left the body when it died and crossed the River of the Dead. So did it come all the way back when Grens raised the thing up? Is it suffering? Does it resent being treated like a slave? I sure would.

I'm not built for this kind of thinking. I'm not a philosopher. But the more I think about those questions the more I feel like we should just put it out of its half-life and give it a proper burial. Give the man some of the respect and dignity he clearly didn't get inside of that terror chamber. It took me two days to get my resolve up, but I'm going to talk to the others and see if they agree. Maybe one of them can come up with some way to convince Grens and, if not, we'll just have to do it without his leave. I never signed up to work with a graverobber.

So far the only group discussion was the day we left the mines. When I suggested we leave the corpse behind Grens objected that "we haven't even given him a name yet". That got everyone going:

"We get to give it a name?"

"It's coming with us?"

"Let's call him Grens Jr."

"Nah, Skeletor."

"Xykon!"

"How about Dr. Bonesalot?" That was me--that came out of my mouth. How about Dr. Bonesalot. Truly our most productive heart-to-heart so far.

I haven't given up, though. I'm going to try to bring it up when I don't feel that thing around. Maybe if we can talk when we're all ourselves we can get it over and done with quick, without any nonsense words or poop humour.

Which reminds me. We found the first landmark on the trail pretty easily--a pair of rock outcroppings that almost grow together at the top and make an arch. So we adjusted our bearings to go toward the next landmark, but we got turned around. It's hard to estimate distance in the mountains and by yesterday evening we were starting to worry we'd overshot it. Our plan was to camp for the night and then backtrack in the morning.

Well, when I woke up today I went to "do my business". I was squatting in this little yew grove, keeping an eye out for biting flies, and all of a sudden I put my hand in something I wish I hadn't put it in. It was scat. Poop. It was fairly old, and had dried out and hardened instead of decomposing, which surprised me. But what really got my attention was the size.

It wasn't from a deer, or a bear, or a cougar. It certainly wasn't from a human, though it was big enough. That didn't leave a lot of options. After I got my pants up I called the others over for a rousing round of being mocked.

Once they worked the jokes out of their system, someone actually bothered to ask me what was so important about it.

"I'll show you," I said, and I did. I crumbled a little bit of it open, showing no grasses, no bones and no fur inside. Everything had been thoroughly chewed.

"So?" Tallow asked.

"So I think it's hobgoblin shit."

Gunther and Tallow laughed like crazy. I think Grens did too.

"So you put your hand in the enemy's crap?" asked Gunther.

"Careful guys," added Tallow. "He just happened to choose the same place to shit as the hobgoblins? Seems suspicious to me. You got fangs, Captain?"

We're pushing forward looking for the next landmark. I'm sure someone else is using this trail. Don't know if they're hobgoblin or not, but hopefully they aren't too far ahead--even dried out, scat doesn't last forever. And neither will this quest, I keep telling myself. Neither will this quest.

Postscript to Day 19

2008-04-08T13:35:00.001-07:00

Editor's Note: Here is the first of what I hope to be many mid-week extras. Some (like today's) will be short journal excerpts that wouldn't really make a whole entry on their own. Others will be commentary, behind-the-scenes stuff or historical facts about the time period Sir Darkesworde lived in. Hope you enjoy!

The following postscript was scrawled without a date under the Day 19 entry, presumably added in later on the same day.

I got a chance to look over my shield in full light. It's already warping pretty badly. The wood is splitting near the edges but the rim is holding it together. I'm sure it'll only get worse. Pretty soon it'll be more of a danger than an asset, so I'm going to have to learn to get by without a shield for a while.

The good news is I still have the sword I found in that hellhole. Has a little rust but pretty minor. Must've been well-maintained. Nothing compared to the Darkesworde family blade, but still pretty nice. I've never owned two swords before!

I've been watching the way Gunther fights and how he uses his sword for defence. He says he never uses a shield. I think I'll ask him to show me some of that. I always told myself I'd never be one of those pricks who runs around with two swords - they just look so stupid! - but if I can learn to guard well enough to do without a shield for a while, I guess it's good enough for me. We'll see.

Day 19: Dawn

2008-04-04T07:35:00.001-07:00

I didn't have a chance to finish writing yesterday's entry. So much happened, and we were all pretty exhausted. I'll try to catch up to this morning.

First off, Tallow. Poor Tallow. Yeah he's a dirty shit, but he ran in to help me out while Grens headed in the other direction. Once we finished off ol' doghead we took a look at the sneak. He was dying, no two ways about it. I tried to do something for his wound but it was too much. Grens just stood there while I worked on him.

"Back off," the wizard said at last. I looked up at him and he glared at me from behind his cowl. "Back off," he growled.

Uncertain, I took a few steps away from the guy. I made sure to stay away from his skeleton, too. "You need to understand I can't always do this," he told me. "And if I can it's not gonna be for you guys. Don't come begging when someone gets hurt. I'm not a healer, alright?"

I nodded.

"Turn around."

I did. I stared out in the darkness, at the shadowy crates at the edge of the light. I don't know what I expected - a flash of light, some kind of chant or song, something impressive. But all I heard was a shuffle, a moment of silence, and then coughing and sputtering. When I turned around Grens was standing up from kneeling beside Tallow, and Tallow had his eyes slightly open and was looking around weakly.

"Captain?" he asked. "Did we get 'im?"

"Yeah. Nice move, death wish."

Tallow sputtered again, trying to clear his throat. "Up yours, Cap," he said. "I coulda handled him on my own." His eyes drifted over to the other figure in the pool of light, and he took a moment squinting and refocusing. After about five seconds his eyes widened and he jumped. "What the-- get it!"

His hand scrambled for his sword, but Grens forced him back to a sitting position with one hand. Tallow panicked and started struggling.

"It's on our side!" I yelled, trying to quiet him.

"On our side? It's on-- we have-- we're a--" He looked at Grens. "Holy fuck, you're a bone-chanter? What the--"

"TALLOW!" I shouted. He looked at me. "Shut up before I knock you out again." I turned to Grens. "What about Gunther?"

Grens didn't answer right at first. He looked from me, to Gunther's body, and back at me again. Finally he said, "Didn't you listen to me before?" His eyes smouldered as they locked on to mine. He was pissed. "Gunther will be fine."

With some effort and a lot of arguing, I convinced Grens to make the skeleton set down Gunth. He was still breathing and his pulse seemed stronger. Grens was right, with some basic care and a little more time we had Gunth awake, though dazed. I thought we'd be going through another scene with him when he saw the skeleton, but he didn't seem nearly as upset. Surprised, but not upset. He had probably fought a lot of the things at Arero.

Still, I'm uncomfortable with it. Or him. What do you call a corpse? Gods, it could've been a woman for all I know. I asked Grens how we should get rid of it - do we re-kill it, or what? He laughed that dry laugh of his. Told me it'll go when it's time. "You have control over it though, right? You're it's master?" He laughed again.

I convinced Grens to come with me while I went and got my shield. It wasn't damaged in the fall, but it's warping from being in the water so long. We'll see how it turns out.

We also scoured the whole room with the cages. It looks like someone had a pretty sick setup in that mine: all along the wall outside the big cage were shackles, so probably slave labour. Inside the cage must've been where the dogheads were kept, with their own little water supply at the back, so the slaves must have been in constant terror. Looks like the slaves were also used as rations for the dogheads.

Once we were sure the whole holding room (as we call it) was cleared out, we rested for a while. Gunther was up but he wasn't in good shape. We slept fitfully, or at least I did when it was my turn. Tallow and I took turns standing guard and toward the end Gunther horned his way in too. It helped to sleep, but I can't shake the feeling that whatever that mushroom hit me with is still in me. My limbs are just weak, like soggy bread.

Staying in the holding room was creepy, but not as creepy as what happened after. We were gearing up and putting the last of the oil into the lantern when Gunther stood up straight and spoke. "Time for the looting."

"Oh yeah!" Tallow.

I didn't say anything, but I found myself walking over to the pile of eaten dogheads against my will. Setting down my shield, I started rooting around in their remains. Gunther started breaking open crates and barrels, while Grens stripped the clothing off of several near-mummified human bodies shackeld to the wall outside the cage. Tallow ran back and forth, looking over all our shoulders and directing us to check this or that.

I couldn't take it. This was desecration, and it was revolting. I know I've been the target of a few spells in my days, and sometimes I was able to break free or shrug it off. With all my might, all my will, I tried to pull my arms out of that anatomical slag heap. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I gritted my teeth. I pulled my arm as hard as I could, praying and grunting as I struggled.

Not only did I not break the spell, but my arm didn't even seem to notice. It reached further into the skull of a doghead, turned the skull over and my other hand reached in and checked the teeth. Checked the teeth! For what? Gold teeth? Am I going to walk into town and pay for a round of drinks with some goddamn gold dog teeth? I think that's about the time I vomitted.

After our little orgy of greed we pooled what we had found: a handful of silver coins, a few copper, one gold, two arrows, a hammer, a gold tooth, a bronze ring, and a wooden mug. Tallow offered to hold onto it for us, and we silently handed it over. Ugh.

After that it felt like a relief to be merely exploring the rest of the mine. I was trepidatious at first but given the slave situation I figured we had to try and find out who'd been using this place, and how long ago. Considering the surviving doghead and the state of the bodies it didn't seem like the place had been abandoned more than a year ago. Most of the shackles were empty, so most of the slaves had been either taken somewhere else or disposed of. Yet the monsters had been left behind in their cages to die. The whole thing seemed, well, mysterious.

The layout of the place was actually pretty simple. The weird altar over the pit I fell into is where the main tunnel branches, but both branches connect up after a while. They basically form one big circle. Several dead-end mineshafts run off of the main circle, and it looks like work was stopped abruptly in each of those.

At the opposite end of the circle from the altar is a rough stairway that goes down. It leads past several sealed-off rooms, past a guard station with fresh water, and then into the huge holding room. Simple, right? One part mine, one part compound. Not as big as I worried it would be at first, but huge for a mine. Most mines are just one shaft, maybe two, no more than a hundred feet if that. The amount of time and effort it must've taken to excavate the giant tunnel system we stumbled into--well, the mind boggles.

We were all a little hesitant to open the sealed doors, but if there was anything of interest that's where it'd be. Wary of more traps, Tallow had us stand back while he checked the first of the three doors. It was clear. Putting his criminal background to good use, he had us through the door in no time--but it was just a tool storage area.

The second door he thought was clear too, but when he opened it we were greeted with a collapsing support beam and a shower of dirt and soil. We had to dig Tallow out in a hurry, but he was mostly okay. Looking it over, the thing was rigged to take out a lot more support beams than just that one. Lucky for us it had been set a long time ago and part of it failed to trigger. With a string of curses, Tallow opened the door the rest of the way and we found what had been so jealously guarded:

Several crates of now-spoiled food, a couple pieces of furniture, and an empty chest. Yeah, this quest is really one for the sagas.

The third and final door Tallow checked twice. He also checked the tunnel support beams. He proposed we dig around the door instead of going through it, but before he could even finish he knelt down and started working on the lock. I sighed and stood back.

No traps went off, but when Tallow opened the door and held up his light he started cursing. A swarm of rats the likes of which I've never seen came spilling out onto him, and then toward the rest of us. I can't say it was a difficult fight, but we got bit pretty bad and it was near impossibl to hit those things. Plus, they just weren't acting natural. Maybe it's what happens to rats who are constantly stalked by dogheads looking to breed them into little cannibals.

With a number of bites and scratches we killed most of the rats and drove off the last few. The room beyond was the armoury. There wasn't much left, though--several bits of leather armour, a number of clubs and whips, a spare pair of soft-soled shoes, a shortsword and several spears. I took the shortsword. Inside one of the drawers of a beat-up old bureau we also found a tiny bottle. Grens confirmed it's a healing elixir of some kind and I almost jumpd up and down in excitement. I was overcome just holding the thing in my hand, but we decided Gunther should hold onto it since he was he one who kept getting the beat-downs.

At that point we had cleared everything out and were about to get the heck out of the mine. But something was bothering me. Tallow seemed to notice.

"What's wrong, Cap?"

"That trap."

Gunther snorted. "Well we lived through it, right? Let's get out of here."

I shook my head. "No, I mean... why trap the door to the food room? Why not the armoury?"

The four of us exchanged a look. The skeleton clattered a little as it stepped over beside Grens. Then we all jogged into the little pantry, or whatever it was. The room was narrow, but long. The opposite end from the doorway was the obvious spot. I was in the lead so I ran over and knocked on the wall. Being made of dirt, it was hard to tell anything by ear.

"I don't see any signs of a hidden safe or anything, Cap," said Tallow.

"Me neither," I conceded, "But let's make sure." Wresting the spear away from the skeleton, I jammed it into the earth wall as hard as I could. It drove through and into an empty space beyond.

With hoots of laughter and excitement, we ran and got mining tools and busted through. About a foot of packed soil masked a heavy wooden door. It wasn't locked so we stood back and had the skeleton open it for us. Not traps! We crowded closer.

The door opened into a small closet. It held just one thing: a cast iron urn with ashes and scraps of paper in it. We groaned.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Fuck."

"Maybe there's gold in the bottom?"

"How do you lose out on the slave trade? It's like the most profitable job there is." That one was Tallow. I kicked him.

Still, someone had gone to a lot of work to make sure nobody would ever see these documents. By lantern light we went over each scrap carefully.

They hadn't been burned very well. It seemed like whoever did it just threw some embers in a pot with the paper and then sealed it all in a dirt chamber with no air. Smart. Most of the documents had still been destroyed, but parts were legible.

There was a map, apparently of the Snakebacks, that showed several roads or trails that none of us had heard of. A number of landmarks were labelled along each route, which told me the paths probably weren't clearly marked. We couldn't tell much else.

We also found a number of pages of a merchant's register, probably records of slave transactions. Not much good.

There were two documents of great interest, though. One was almost impossible to read but had "hobgobl" in clear penmanship in the middle of one sentence. Tallow wanted to give up at this point, and began wrapping the scraps in a piece of cloth.

"I can try to decipher more of this in better light," he said. "We might be able to get more details out of these scraps."

"I think we already did," I told him.

"Whaddya mean?"

I handed him the last document, part of a letter. There was a date and a salutation; the rest was too smudged with ash. But the salutation was all we needed. It clearly read:

Dear Master Argon

Tallow whistled.

I beamed.

Gunther almost whispered: "The gods-damned Constable."

Day 18: Gods Know What Time, Part V

2008-03-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

Three things happened at once.

The door to the big cage unlocked with a clang.

I noticed a tall figure step out of the shadows behind me.

The figure saw me see it, and attacked.

The thing that came at me was a dog-headed human. It was tall, a lot taller than me, and it ran with a limp but was very fast. I dropped Gunther on the floor and had my sword out before I could really figure out what was happening.

Whatever it was, it showed all the same signs as the cannibal rats. It was covered with wounds, most bearing the stench and pus of infection. It had a rabid, insane look in its eye and it was emaciated and hungry. Clearly it had eaten the other dogheads, and maybe it was even raising the rats for food. I don't know. But it must have been trapped here a long time, and it had waited for me to open the jail door (however I did that) before it struck. And strike it did.

The thing could hit! It wielded a stained, pitted and rusting sword that barely missed me as I dodged to one side. I bellowed with an anger that was not my own: "What do you mean I don't have my shield? THAT'S BULLSHIT!"

Whoever my alter-ego was speaking to, it didn't do us any good. I had lost my shield in the fall, and in the scramble that ensued I had never taken the time to find it again. No amount of yelling in the world was going to bring it back now. I knew what I had to do, and I drew back my sword-arm to thrust...

...and ran away! I leapt right over Gunther's poor, beaten body in my attempt to flee. Why? There was no way I could outrun this thing, and there was nowhere to hide. It could probably see in the dark better than I could. And as I showed it my back it got another swing at me, tracing an agonising line down my back with a flick of its sword. I felt a shiver go through my body at how close I'd come to being bisected.

I dove behind a barrel and looked around. The creature loomed above me and I swung at its legs. I hit one knee and it snarled in anger, missing me and splitting the barrel with a downward cleave. It (actually he, as I could tell from that angle) staggered back and I saw a light - not the asslight, but a second lamp farther in the distance. It came into the cavern from somewhere past the cages. I shoved the remains of the barrel toward the dog-man and made a run for the cage door. I want to say I left Gunther because the beast wasn't going after him, but it's hard to say, looking back.

As I reached the iron bars I knew I couldn't outrun the thing. I turned in time to meet his heavy sword-arm with my own feeble parry. We traded a few more blows as I backed slowly toward the jail door. The light grew stronger beyond the bars.

"Captain!" I never thought I'd be so happy to hear from the little pipsqueak.

"Thank the gods!" I yelled hoarsely. "Get yer ass over here!"

Tallow complied. As I fended off the beast's attacks I could hear his light footsteps and then thuds and clangs as he followed the bars towards me.

I'd been lucky so far. This thing, whatever it was, was powerful and fast. And psychotic. With no shield and whatever the mushrooms had done to me, I wasn't in shape for even a regular duel, let alone this murder machine. I was lucky to stay alive long enough to get to the door of the cage, and as Tallow came through I felt like I was saved. I moved away from the door and, just as I had hoped, the creature got in between us. We locked our swords together and it barked in my face as I leveraged my blade over his, trying to get a slice out of him at least. That gave Tallow his chance, and next thing you know he plunged his little blade into the thing's side. It looked like a good, deep hit. The beast howled and thrashed about, but it didn't go down.

"Wizard! Do something!" There was genuine fear in Tallow's voice.

I tried to stop the thing, tried to drive it back, but even my heavy blow to its shoulder didn't stop it. It may have been weakened by its months or years down here, but it sure was tough. It raised its sword and drove it down into Tallow for all it was worth. The gurgle, the scream cut short, it was sickening. Tallow fell like a stack of firewood. He was just gone.

At the same time, the lantern across the room fell to the ground. Beyond the beast and Tallow's body, I could see the silhouette of a man in robes running for his life. Fleeing the opposite way.

"Grens! Grens, get your ass back here! Grens!" My voice broke, and my shouts fell on deaf ears. The coward do-nothing wizard abandoned us. His footsteps retreated into the distance and there I was, now with the monster that killed my friend between me and the only door out. I cursed as I edged backwards, leveling my sword at the enemy in a high guard, tempting him and hoping he would take the bait.

He did. He closed in and tried to go low, giving me another shot at his shoulder. I tried to get his neck and end it but he was too quick. He saw what I was doing and moved to block so I took what I could get. He was pressing me backwards now and I couldn't see where I was going. I just had to pray I wouldn't trip over a corpse or a crate.

Our next few lunges at each other were fruitless. Whiff, or clang. Never that thud and yelp of success. I was worn out, I was really beat. Sweat dripped into my eyes and the asslight started to gutter low as I tried to score some kind of hit, anything to slow down this monster. I was getting desperate and sloppy, and I knew it, but the force that held me there wanted me to keep fighting. I stopped backing up and held my ground, my blade and his whirling around us like a storm.

A moan rose up. A piercing, hollow moan. It seemed to come from the darkness itself, from everywhere at once. Clattering noises, clicking in the dark. Clicking and moaning, howling and the patter-patter of something-on-stone. A figure with a spear rushed into the little pool of light where we fought and pierced the thigh of the dog-headed beast. Then I saw the spear-wielder: a skeleton, a completely fleshless skeleton! Its jaw was missing, and I can't say how it held together. But it just came out of nowhere and joined the fight against the doghead. Good thing, because I was so shocked I froze up for a second. In the distance I saw the lantern lifted back up from the floor, and Grens' silhouette with arm extended, moving his hand as if conducting a symphony. The skelton responded.

So there were were, me and some poor sod who wasn't buried properly, prodding and poking away at this monster. The monster was more afraid of the skeleton than it was of me, and it kept hitting it over and over with its sword. The skeleton didn't mind. It's as if the sword blows didn't even affect it. Sure, bits of rib and clavicle chipped off, but it just kept fighting. Between the two of us the beast didn't stand a chance. Within ten seconds of our hacking and hewing it fell to its knees, roaring piteously. I stood back to let it die but the skeleton just kept stabbing with its spear. The doghead fell to the ground, the skeleton kept stabbing. Blood pooled on the floor. The skeleton kept stabbing.

Breathing heavily and more than a little disturbed, I walked around the skeleton, giving it wide berth and not turning my back on it. It ignored me, continuing to riddle the dead doghead with spear wounds. Grens and his lantern came toward me, and he met me at the door of the jail. He hung his lantern on the bars and waved at the skeleton. At last the thing stopped its onslaught, pulling its spear out of the minced corpse with intestines still tangled on the head.

The skeleton dropped its weapon and walked over toward Gunther and the dying asslight. I stepped to intervene, but Grens chided me. "Wait," he said.

Without a word the skeleton lifted up my unconscious friend, slinging him asslight-and-all over his bony shoulder. It boggled my mind. How could this thing even stand up, let alone lift a burden I could barely manage?

Grens had other thoughts. He knelt down and put his hand against Tallow's neck, feeling for a pulse. I looked down at him. He looked up at me. He had a weird grin on his pale face, showing through his dark cowl.

"I'm not a wizard," he said.

I nodded. "I know," I said. "I know."

Day 18: Gods Know What Time, Part IV

2008-03-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

The tunnel I went down was small, maybe seven feet high and about as wide. It was sort of like an underground stream, with the water never less than ankle deep. It was hard work keeping my footing, but at least the water was clear enough to see through. I also figured out that those black fish weren't going to come after me. If they liked meat, they weren't willing to hunt for it. They kept their distance.

The tunnel continued on like that for a ways. Couple hundred feet I would imagine. I got worried that it was just a natural tunnel and wasn't going to hook up with anything. It sure wasn't curving to the left at all, I could tell that much. And Gunther was getting awful heavy on my shoulder - I had felt kind of weak and shaky ever since getting raked with that mushroom man's tentacle.

It was roundabout that time, just as I was thinking I ought to turn back, that the way in front of me got smaller. It didn't just narrow down like a natural cave. Instead it looked like someone had put a big stone plinth against the ceiling, held up on either side by stacks of unmortared bricks. So even though the tunnel was still just as tall and wide, with this little structure in front of me I was going to have to get through a door no more then four feet by four feet.

Sighing, I set Gunther down in the stream, careful to get the lantern off of his ass first and set it in his lap. Then I took a closer look. I didn't like the look of the structure, and I wasn't about to crawl through before checking it over.

The bricks on either side were not actually bricks, they were stone blocks. All different sizes, but about the same shade as the natural stone of the cave. They didn't fit together well and to make things even more rickety some parts of the stone "walls" had pieces of wood wedged into them instead of stone. They looked like the ends of beams and planks that were too short to use for anything else. There were only two reasons I could think of for someone to build this kind of setup: as a trap, or to keep the roof from caving in. Neither prospect seemed safe.

I looked over the ceiling but I don't know anything about caves. I had no idea if it was stable or not. I drew Gunth's big sword, which was cumbersome to say the least, and poked around at the structure without going under it. I prodded the walls, the plinth, and then even the bed of the stream running under it. Nothing wobbled and no traps went off.

I dragged Gunther closer, took his lantern for myself, and cautiously moved through. Once there I reached back and dragged Gunther through the water. I'm sure he bumpd over a few stones in the stream bed but at least he made it through.

From there I could see this wasn't the only structure. Another of these little trilithons could be seen down the way, and I couldn't see anything beyond that one. More terrifying, to the left side was a small, drain-like opening. It was at ground level, and it was only a foot and a half tall by about two feet wide. It was obviously not natural, but there could be one of those tentacle things inside. I'll spare all the details but I threw stones at the damn thing and nothing whipped out at them so I hustled past it and though the next trilithon.

That was where things changed. The water became murky and the ceiling got heigher. I was no longer in a tunnel but in a large cave. The water got deep, too - almost waist deep. Best of all, I was in a cage.

Yeah, a cage. Really thick iron bars, a little rusty but not that bad considering. It was like somebody built a cage around the tunnel entrance. The cage door was in front of me, and the pool of water I was in extended past it. Beyond the pool of water was another cage door. It was like the cages were a series of antechambers, like - like there had to be multiple failsafes. Multiple failsafes keeping something in. The question was, which side was safe and which side was being contained? Was I in mortal danger in my little pool, with freedom a few cage doors away, or was I standing in the last safe zone before some kind of terrible evil? Suddenly I was very wary of the murky water around me.

The only way to be sure was to go forward. It was a struggle with Gunther on my shoulder but I managed to drag open the heavy iron bar of the first cage door. There was no lock on it, but it clearly wasn't designed to be opened from where I was. Getting it open took a while. It also made a lot of noise, which alarumed me. I did my best to keep an eye on the darkness around me with the asslight.

With the first door opened I entered the next antechamber. I was now completely surrounded by iron bars, with no cave walls to be seen in any direction. I sloshed forward to the next cage door and found that this one was much harder to get open. There was an intricate locking mechanism on the bar, one that I couldn't even figure out mentally how to operate, let alone actually disable. I tried to force the bar like the last one, but no luck. I also noticed heavy dings and chips in some of the iron bars, like someone had tried to bash through them. The bashing looked to have been done from the other side. That boded well for my little pool of safety, but not for getting through and getting home alive.

I set down Gunther in the water. This time I had to take the lantern completely off. I tied it to one of the bars and tried again to get the door open. And again, and again. No success.

At that point I sat down next to Gunther, trying to tell myself the feel of the water was relaxing. It actually didn't feel cold anymore, though the air in the cave did. I figured that if the sneak and the wizard found their way down here, I'd see them coming and we could work together to get the door open. Nothing else to do but wait, or give up.

I must have sat there for half an hour before I couldn't keep myself together anymore. I'm a sane man, but in a life-or-death situation things get bad. Your mind starts playing games with you, especially when you feel trapped. I was trapped. I started by worrying that the tunnels wouldn't connect up, then that my companions would leave without me. I wrote a little bit, actually wrote the first part of today's entry, standing up with my journal pressed against the bars. But I couldn't keep my mind together. I started to wonder if Tallow would leave me behind on purpose, or maybe even if he had planned this. He had triggered the pit trap in the first place, after all.

Eventually my panic overcame me. I decided to head back to the big chamber with the vine-tentacle things and call for Grens and Tallow. Obviously their tunnel wasn't going to hook up with mine and I had to catch them when they came back to the entrance. I stood up and got together Gunther and hoisted him.

No sooner had I set foot out of the little cage than I heard a heavy clank behind me. I screamed, I admit it. I jumped too. I spun around and, in the moving shadows of the swinging lantern, I saw nothing. Nothing different than before. Nothing... except the bar of the next cage door was no longer locked!

I didn't know how I'd done it, and for a moment I tried to feel around the bottom of the pool with my feet. But I quickly gave up on the how and just made for the exit. I pushed the door open and stepped through.

Beyond, the pool got shallower. After a few feet it ended altogether. Above me I could see bars; it appears I had made it out of the small cages and into a giant cage. In the light of my lantern I could see smashed crates and empty barels around me. I didn't know which way to go so I just pushed on straight ahead.

Ahead I heard squeaking. I stepped forward cautiously and another crate came into view. This one wasn't a crate, though, it was a cage. Obviously I had discovered the design theme of the local mining corps. This cage was different; it was tiny, made of wire instead of heavy bars, and there were clumps of fur inside of it. Rat fur. A rat trap, maybe? But this whole mine seemed long since abandoned, and rats couldn't survive in a trap without food and water for long.

I approached, closer but not real close, and knelt down to look at the trap. There was definitely old, moldy fur in there. Some of it looked nibbled at. There were bones, too. I heard another squeak and I almost jumped again when I saw a beady rat eye come into view. The rat looked very sickly, had a number of infected wounds on his torso, and when he saw me he charged the edge of the cage and started furiously gnawing at the wire. He would've done anything to get out of there. As I held the light up a little higher I figured out why.

He wasn't the only rat. He was one of several. The others stayed at the far side of the cage. Heaped up in the corners of the cage were lots of rat bones mixed with chewed-up, rotting fur. Most of them looked to have come from baby rats. The ones that were still alive had been surviving by cannibalising each other. That would explain the wounds. Probably they would mate, give birth, and eat; mate, give birth, and eat. With a whole lot of fighting thrown in between feeding frenzies. What a shitty life. I tasted saliva in my mouth, and that sick feeling you get right before you vomit. I looked away and did my best to choke it down.

Moving past the rat cage I saw two more empty barrels, and found the remains of a once fine battle axe. It had been beaten to smithereens, just chunks of fractured metal stuck on a warped handle, and I wondered if this was the implement that had been used to try to break through the bars.

Eventually I came to the far side of the big jail I was in. I suppose it wasn't more than fifty or sixty feet from the antechamber I had come in by, but I was moving slowly and being real cautious. In front of me was the last row of bars (at least, I couldn't see any beyond it) and thrown against the cage wall were numerous corpses.

There looked to be both human and dog bodies there, to judge by the skulls; but no, it was bodies of humans with dog heads. They were jumbled around in all kinds of postures, but there wasn't a human skull to be seen, and every body bore a canine head. They were big, too - very tall with claws on their hands. The bodies were mostly bones, but there were large chunks of corrupt skin too. It was hard to say whether there was hair on the skin or just thick mold. But the skin had evidently been torn off, nibbled on, and discarded. Bones were strewn everywhere. Several of the bodies were of children.

...

The skin had been torn off, nibbled on, and discarded. Bones were strewn everywhere. Some were children.

...

Just like the cannibalised rats.

Day 18: Gods Know What Time, Part III

2008-03-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

I didn't know how many of those tenacles-or-vines were in the walls, and I didn't know if they could reach me or if they could crawl out of their holes or what. I also had no clue whether the fish in the water were biters. So I suppose what I did next was pretty stupid, but I just had to get a light going if I was going to do anything else at all.

So, blind in the dark, I leapt off the pile of rubble I was on into the water and ran sloshing across the room. With every step I wondered if something was going to bite me from below or strangle me from above. I had to estimate how far it was to where the lantern was coming down, and I stopped short of that point. I really didn't want to fight tentacles in the dark.

I fell to my knees in the water, pulled my sword from its scabbard with one hand and held it over me as I scrambled around looking for the lantern. Splash, splash splash... mud, rock, mud, water... Something! Something wiry. It must have been the handle of the lantern.

I stumbled back toward the rubble where my backpack was, pricking my foot on a sharp stone as I went. Cursing, I fell into the water near the rubble--I could just feel it with one hand--and held my sword with my mouth by biting onto it. That hurt like crazy; it was just too heavy to do that. But I did it, because I was not going to get this lantern any wetter than it already was and I needed at least one free hand to go through my pack.

I found my tinder pouch quickly; getting it open one-handed was something else. The thing is designed to be watertight and that means it's tied tightly shut. Finally I had piece of flint in my hand and set about scraping it along my sword to light the lantern.

I heard Tallow yelling up above me but couldn't make out what he was saying. I didn't care, either. Water had run out of the lantern when I opened it, but maybe the wick was dry. Sparks, nothing. Sparks, nothing. Sparks, nothing. Sparks, nothing.

If this was a story, I'd handily get the thing lit just in time to turn around and heroically fight the tentacles. But it isn't a story, it's life. I spent long minutes trying over and over and over. Tallow yelled to hang in there and his voice went silent above. I heard a splash-splash in the water, stopped to listen for a second then furiously kept trying. Sparks, nothing, sparks, nothing.

I spat out my sword and and groaned through my aching mouth. I wiped off my hands and felt desparately for a part of my clothing that wasn't wet. I wiped the wick off and tried again. Spark, nothing. Spark, nothing. Spark, nothing.

In all those minutes nothing attacked me. So when light began to shimmer down from up above and I could see that I was not surrounded by enemies I wasn't surprised. Not relieved either, just done. Up above I could see a shadowy figure holding up a guttering, smoky torch.

"Hey Cap, I got a couple of these. Can't you just change out the wick?"

I looked at the lantern in my hands and wanted to smash it. But he was right, I had a dry wick in the broken lantern in my bag. With dry hands and light to work by it didn't take long. To my embarassment the new wick worked on the very first try. Now we had light from both above and below.

Not a single tentacle protruded from any hole or crevice. Giving the torch to Grens Tallow started to lower the tope again, this time from a different spot and with no bait hanging from it. As it went past the band of holes, nothing happened. For a second. And then... whip, snap! A few feet of rope fell down to the water below as the tentacle cut through it.

"Shit, this ain't gonna work Captain. Hey wizard, can't you just poof them up here or something?"

Grens didn't answer right away. I looked up at him, full of hope. I was freezing cold and sopping wet and I didnt want Gunth to die down there. Even Tallow held his tongue and waited for an answer.

When Grens spoke, I heard him but couldn't see where he was up there. "I'm not a wizard," he said.

"Ah..." I groaned, as Tallow shouted, "Fucker!" And again in symphony: "What do you do?" (that's me) and "What are you good for?" (from Tallow).

No answer.

"Look, I'm not joking," said Tallow. He spoke slowly and menacingly. "We're a fucking team. Now tell me what in the name of all the holy gods your job is, or I'll throw you down there and you can lead them out personally!"

"I..." Grens had to pause to make sure our verbal barrage was finished. "I'm a specialist."

I don't think any of us had anything to say to that. Tallow made choking noises. I tried to focus and come up with something else.

"Hey Tallow, there's another way out down here. Maybe it connects back with the other tunnels somewhere."

"Doesn't seem safe," Tallow called. "What if those things are in there?"

"Then I'll have to fight 'em."

"With the big guy on your back?"

Shit. He was right. I couldn't leave Gunth just lying there like a dinner platter, even if I intended to come back for him. I walked over to the tunnel entrance, keeping a wary eye on the holes in the wall above me, and held up the lantern. I could see maybe twenty feet in. No major holes or cracks in the walls, at least that far. But with Gunther over my shoulder and a lantern in the other hand I wouldn't be able to have my sword ready.

"Tallow, you know any clever ways to pick people up?"

"I wish."

I sighed. I went over and checked Gunth, who was still breathing shallow, still bleeding, and still unconscious. I sheathed my sword, set down my lantern, and was just about to heave him up onto my shoulder when Tallow called out again.

"Wait, I do! His junk!"

I stared up at the silhouette above me. "What?"

"Use his junk." Evidently I was being rather thick about it, and Tallow scoffed at me. "The lantern. Hang it from his belt right above his junk after you lift him up. That way it won't press against his legs and burn him, and you'll have a free hand."

I looked at Gunther, slumped in my arms and half-sitting in the water. I had to admit, it was a good plan. "Sorry buddy," I told him.

I got Gunther lifted up and then reached for the lantern. Since he was face-down over my shoulder I was actually hanging the light more from his ass. There was a leather strap on the handle that I used like a frog to suspend the light from his belt. It was probably awful warm against his buns but he was soaked with cold water so I'm sure he would've approved.

With the asslight beaming from my left shoulder, I drew my sword once again and got ready to head down the tunnel.

"We'll take one of these branches and try to meet up with you," said Tallow. "You have a preference?"

"Left," I said. "Always go left." Weird, I would've thought left was unlucky, but the Nameless Jerk disagreed.

And that was about the time that a bad day started to get worse.

Day 18: Gods Know What Time, Part II

2008-03-10T09:39:00.000-07:00

After the fall my head was reeling. I had to shake off the fuzz, the bleary feeling, before I could push a beam off of myself and feel myself over for serious injuries. My tailbone hurt something fierce and at first I thought it was broken. I had twisted, but not sprained, one of my ankles. I was waist-deep in water sitting down, and shin-deep standing up. The cave bed beneath the water seemed to be a mixure of thick, sloppy mud and small broken rocks.

I could see Gunth wan't moving, and when I made it over to him I saw why. Poor bastard, another head injury. He might not be waking up from this one. I reached over to touch him when I heard shouts from above.

"Hey Cap, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just low on hits. Gunth is rolling to stabilise though." I don't know what that means.

"Shit, you have any heal ranks?"

"I'll try. Do you have any rope?"

"Yeah, hang on."

While Tallow dug around for rope up above, I went ahead and looked over Gunther. I guess that was my "heal ranks". I bandaged up his head, tried to slap him awake but no use. I propped him up on the beam so he wouldn't slip under the water and drown. As I did that I felt something brush against my hand.

"Shit!" I hissed.

"What's that?" Tallow has sharp ears.

"We're in water down here. There's something else in it too."

"Like big?"

"I dunno. Can you get us a light down here?"

"Hang on." I heard some mumbling. "Look, Captain, all we have is Grens' lantern. Didn't you have one?"

I checked my pack. I did have one stowed somewhere. We hadn't brought it out earlier because one was enough. I dug around and found it, but it was broken. Pretty badly too. If that pack saved my life I'm grateful, but I sure wish I had my lantern. I shared the bad news with Grens.

"Alright, look. We're gonna lower it down. Use the light to tie Gunth and we'll haul him up."

"You two strong enough for that?"

"Shit. Well, tie him up, then climb up, then we'll all lift him."

"Right, send 'er down."

The lantern appeared over the hole far above me, and now instead of just a pale glow I could see more detail up there. It looked like Tallow was at the edge of the hole guiding the lantern, and Grens must have been behind him somewhere feeding the rope. It came slowly, but I'd rather have that than another broken lantern.

As the light descended Tallow faded into shadow, but I could see more of my own surroundings. I stood on some rubble from the ceiling collapse, trying to stay out of the water as I looked. We were in a tall, round room; we must have fallen at least 30 feet. To one side--directly beneath that shrine, if I had my bearings--was a cave opening. It looked natural and I couldn't see anything but darkness down there.

I could see plenty of this room, however. There were lots of little dark fish in the water, none much bigger than my hand. That made me feel better but I didn't step into the water again just yet. There was a definite current to the water, little ripples running toward the cave opening. The water was cold and fresh, probably fed by springs below as well as trickles from above.

The walls of the room were something else. Pitted, totally riddled with holes. At least, about halfway up they were. The top had none and the bottom had a few, and the biggest holes were all crowded into a band halfway up the wall. The band went all the way around, and it worried me.

"Hey Tallow, there might be critters living in that wall."

The lantern stopped, and swung back and forth just above the band of holes. "You still want a light?"

I chewed my lip. Gods, what other choice did we have? "Yeah, just lower it quickly. I'll let you know when it's almost down."

Well, it never got there. No sooner did the lantern resume its descent than something lashed out of one of the holes. It was no animal I've ever seen, maybe not an animal at all. It looked more like a vine or stem of some kind, but with fierce agility. Damn thing whipped out at the dangling lantern, a grey-green tentacle with a scythe-like tip. It severed the rope and dropped the lantern into free fall. I couldn't hope to get across to the wall in time to catch it. The lantern went out on the way down, from the rush of air, and I heard a splash when it hit bottom. I thought I saw a glimpse of a second vine lashing out of another hole near the first one, but it could've been a shadow. Now we were in complete darkness again, with an unknown number of an unknown species of predators in the walls above us. And they knew we were here.

Editor's Note

2008-02-20T07:25:00.001-08:00

I would like to apologise for the delay in getting the next section up. When I found the remains of Sir Darkesworde's journal I knew they contained tales of adventure and horror that were worth preserving. The effort to piece them together and translate them takes time and, as I am sure my readers can imagine, a degree of dedication.

So far the responses from those who have read through the remains of the journal have been positive, and I thank you for the praise. It is this enthusiasm that makes it worthwhile to keep the effort going. A lot of writers complain when readers "pester" them to produce more or faster; I will never complain about that. In fact, the more I am pressured the more I produce. So if you enjoy the exploits of Sir Darkesworde, do not hesitate to speak up; give me an audience and I will give you a show.

All of this is to say that I do hope to have the next entry translated and posted soon, and that any comments are more than welcome. Thank you for taking an interest in these valuable historical remains, and the blessings of the gods with each of you!

Sincerely,

Another_Poet

Translator & Editor

Day 18: Gods Know What Time, Part I

2008-01-21T12:06:00.000-08:00

So I know I put a lot of griping into these journal entries. I don't know why, maybe it's because I can't really talk to these guys. But this time, I'm not just complaining. We're in a real bad way here.

We went down that mine shaft. No sign of anyone around to bushwhack us, and we can't just leave some girl trapped in a mine.

Tallow was real clear that he wasn't going first. "Why not?" I asked him. "It's about time you do something useful."

"Aww, don't try to sweet-talk me, Captain."

"He's right, Tal," said Gunther. "You're a sneaky little bugger, get on in there."

"Sneaky?"

We all just stared at him. Finally he nodded.

"Alright, you want me to go first? You want me to lead the fucking way?" I didn't like the smile on his face. "Alright, here's my leadership. I have this rope here, see?" He pulled it out of his pack. "And I'm gonna tie it onto that support beam there. Then I'm gonna yank as hard as I can and close up this fucking mine shaft. That girl can go fuck herself, 'cuz I ain't walking into a trap to save her. Get it?"

"Fuck you, Tallow."

"Fuck me? Fuck me? Yeah, go on and fuck me. Out here where I can see you. Fuck you, Captain."

I swiped at him with the flat of my sword, but he jumped out of the way. "I'll lead," I said. "Gunther, let these two babies go in the middle and you guard the rear."

"Sure thing Cap."

Two feet inside the door Tallow walked past me. "What're you doing?"

He didn't look back as he answered. "My job, asshole."

So Tallow lead the way, I kept my sword drawn behind him, Grens held up a lantern and Gunth came in last. Tallow stepped from side to side as he went, his head always moving as if he was looking everything over. He stayed a few steps ahead of me, and I sure didn't mind. We probably went through forty feet of tunnel that way. Then we heard that moaning noise again.

Tallow held up his hand for us to stop. I did the same in case the others couldn't see him.

"Do you see anything?" Gunther whispered.

Tallow took a moment to reply. Finally, he backed up a little bit, and let out a sharp whisper: "Guys, get out of here!"

No sooner had he spoken than some kind of tentacle hit him. Hard. He sagged backwards and I ran up with my sword. I cut before I could see what I was cutting--it was some kind of giant mushroom. I saw Gunther leap past me and cleave into another one. The room got lighter as Grens entered. A mushroom near us let out a mind-bending shriek as it deflated into a pile of mold. A tentacle lashed past me and I cut another mushroom, putting all my strength into a single powerful blow. Yet another tentacle whipped out and snapped across my face. Not only was it a strong blow, but it felt like some kind of stingers had been left in me. My whole face and one side of my neck tingled in agony.

As my eyelids swelled up it became hard to see, but in the pool of lantern light I could tell we were in a room with maybe a dozen giant mushrooms, all in different shades of purple. Must've been a whole colony of them. And they could move! Tallow disappeared into shadow as he scrambled up something. I could see that poor Grens was damn near surrounded as Gunther tried to cut his way over to him.

No time for thought. I did what I was trained to do and laid waste to the ones around me. They were big soft targets so I didn't have to aim much--just swing hard. The scum kept flailing with those tentacles, and I kept hacking with my sword. Some of them shrieked loudly as they died, others fought back. I started focusing on the ones who didn't shriek, since they seemed more dangerous. I took another tentacle, this one to the stomach, and I doubled over in pain. I think I almost dropped my sword.

And then, I could hardly swing it. It's like strength was sapped out of my body. I managed a stab into the mushroom that had wounded me, but it didn't do much. An arrow hit it, then a slice from Gunther finished it off. Pretty soon all the mushrooms were still and there was no sound except our heavy panting in the thick, spore-filled air. Grens sneezed.

"Check it out," Said Tallow. "Some kind of shrine."

In the flickering light I could see a large altar-like table with the remains of candleholders on it and not a few small mushrooms gorwing from it. On the wall above was a carving of some deity's face, with large curved horns that looked to be real. To either side of the altar a branch of the mine tunnel headed out into darkness.

"I wouldn't mess with it, Tallow. Search it for treasure." What?

For my part, I wasn't much smarter. I knelt down in the middle of the room and picked up a big piece of one of those walking mushrooms. They were filled with a sort of fluf, like a puffball fungus. But their outer "skin" was much thicker and seemed to have vein-like structures in it. I could see lots of little hairs on the bottom of its tentacle. Some kind of purple mushroom man. I'd have to remember that.

I could see why they liked the place so much. Even as I stood there picking at the thing's carcass, water dripped onto my face from above. The whole room had a lot of moisture, trickling down here and there. The floor was muddy in a few places, but mostly dry. Almost as if it was draining somehow.

Draining? Yeah, you guessed it. I did too, but too late. Tallow was rooting around the altar and all of a sudden, creeeak, CRACK, WHOOSH! The floor fell out from under me. Well, us. I didn't see how Tallow got out of the way but I think he jumped up onto the altar. Grens was lucky to be off the the side. Me and Gunther fell a couple of stories down, with broken beams and more than a mouthful of dirt coming with us.

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. The fall was bad, but there was a little water at the bottom. I happened to fall right just by chance, and other than a really sore tailbone I'm okay. Gunther wasn't so lucky. He was knocked out cold.

Day 18: Just After Noon

2008-01-11T09:34:00.000-08:00

For the first time in days the sun is out. Or, mostly. There are a lot of clouds that come and go.

I guess it's ironic that the first day we get to thaw out is the day we run into trouble. As we get farther north the number of old mines we encounter has dropped. The first couple days we had to keep a constant lookout for open pits grown over with scrub. Most of the mines are not large, just a short shaft that runs straight into the ground or the side of a hill. But even twenty or thirty feet is a nasty fall to take when there's rock at the bottom.

So imagine our surprise when we not only find an old claim all on its lonesome out here, but can tell it was a pretty major one once. This is one of those that runs horizontally into a huge hill, and there are a number of vertical shafts dug in the area around it. It obviously put out a lot of colour once, based on the wagon grooves worn into the ground and the piles of dirt and stone heaped up nearby. No sign of any old buildings or anything.

We were looking into the openings of the caves when we heard her.

A shriek of some kind--sounds like a woman. Somewhere in the cave. There were three of them, and I think we all worried we were imagining things until we heard the second one. The first one was sort of a loud, sudden shriek like she fell or something fell on her. The second one was sort of a barrage of lower screams, like she was cursing or something. Then there was more of a moan than anything.

So, why am I writing this instead of in there looking for her? Well, we're worried it's a trap. I don't think any of us is naive enough to just run right in and play hero. Grens told us not to yell to her. Gunther is jogging up to the top of the hill to have a look around, see if he can spot anyone. If it's a trap they're probably waiting for us to go in so they can surround the entrance before we come out. And if they're hiding anywhere around here there's a chance we can see them from on top of the ridge.

The real problem is who "they" might be.

I want to go save her as much as anyone else, but I have a real bad feeling. I don't like leaving our burrow out here unattended and I sure don't like splitting up. But unless we can spot a real reason why it's safer to stay out here, I don't think it would be right to just walk off.

O yeah, I asked Grens if he could tell us whether it's safe. One guess what the answer was:

"I'm not a seer."

Nope, not a seer. Why would we bring a seer with us? This job just wouldn't be the same without all the surprises.

Day 15

2007-12-17T13:22:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-29T07:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-26T12:16:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-09T11:33:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-09T08:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-22T14:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T12:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T12:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

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.