Character Journal: Quintus

From the parchments of the thief Quintus, member of the Ironbreakers.

THE SEVENTH OF WHATEVER I’M NOT BUYING THIS MONTH FROM HYDROPHIS

I’m trying to make sense of it. It floods back in pieces, first my name, worthy of what an ass absentmindedly produces as it grazes. Quintus. Yeah that’s who I am, Quintus the runaway, the sinner, the hero. I remember leaving home, I remember the day before Guilbertus with his lute. Without him, well, I would’ve run away sooner, or maybe not at all. After what happened--Ok whoa wow, that’s not the story I’m trying to make sense of. Right. So here’s the facts, bed, two women, my backpack tossed aside, my sword on the floor against the wall. Right. Today is the eighth, and the story begins on the sixth.

The ride into the city wasn’t so bad, a little bit of tablets, a little bit of cheese, a lot of wine. Thank whoever you believe for the wine. Let me tell you, since there’s no way YOU would know what it was like. Alright so the, “revel” yeah that’s the word the seiur used. Anyways, the revel after the death of a manticore is remarkable. I’ve never seen so many people celebrating, and celebrating us! I must have had like seven cups of wine. The morning came quick, and sudden--like the death rattle of a fierce beast (heh the manticore’s deathrattle).

The sun hurt, I recognized this tint of dawn with reluctance, this was when we’d have to wake up for the long days on the farm, the grey-green shade of the grass outside as the sun slowly crept along the sky. My head pounded and I worried that I had died, that the defeat of the manticore was a dream brought on in my death. An attempt to cope with the brutal failure. But that couldn’t be the case, there was too much pain for death, and I guess also she was there. I felt a little bad that I didn’t remember her name, or her face.

Envy, I am envious of her, that was what _________ (note to self write in his name if I remember it) taught me, the word that painted us black. Made us steal what we didn’t have from those who didn’t deserve to lose it. I envied her so much right now. She was face down, snoring, bare (alluring) ass to the world. Yet here I was, in unimaginable pain, seriously there could be nothing worse than how my mind pulsated that dawn (oh how wrong and naive I was). In the end I just sat up staring as the world was painted by the sun, eventually I heard Seiur Alan in the commons and gathered my wits. At least some of the pain left as the night retreated under the glare of the horrible demon which is the sun.

Like I said though, the ride was not bad at all. Free pork and wine beat down the pain to a dull throb that I was almost able to ignore. The march back was uneventful, at least I paid little attention to the prattling of my new allies (friends?) and those who were our allies by way of coin. I learned a little of tablets, apparently the old boys would just lie to me to take whatever meagre coins we gathered. Thanks guys, oh well, I guess you fuckers got a taste of the true balance or whatever that Clasmus guy was going on about.

I remember thinking often about what he meant, about us bringing evil into the world by killing the evil creature. Surely if something only killed and spread pain then killing it would be an act of good, and could not create evil. In the end I gave up, the throbbing kept preventing me from forming a cohesive argument (yeah that’s totally it heh) about what he said. Hopefully in our travels I’ll find someone who can explain it to me a little bit better.

Anyways we rolled up into the city and some guys were whining about their job, man my job is awesome. I got to order people about (one totally fucking died, bummer) and then we killed a manticore (I hope nobody points out that I didn’t physically touch it). Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to be hit by one of the “quills.”

So the dork guy who told us to kill the FOUL LION BEAST (nice going there bub it was a manticore not a lion, and he’s supposed to be wise or some drek right, pfft whatever chump) was doing some gross stuff to the uh, reviewer who is writing about the tower hotel (nice place, excellent wine, if you’re a wine guy and you’re reading this: First off how did you get this and why are you reading this? If you’re my friend and I’m alive please stop, it’s not nice, secondly definitely get some of their good stuff). Like his (the reviewer’s) chest was all messed up, looked like a diseased hog anus, just gross fluids left and right going every which way.

Anyways the dork guy had some kind of lame shit about healing and doing good, I don’t know. I liked the sound of the balance, I feel like I wouldn’t fit in with this healing and do good stuff. I wonder if there’s someone I can talk to about this, maybe they could help me find my place in the world. Maybe this is my place. Ordering people to die then getting all the glory, wine and women.

The evening sucked though, it made me miss the lazy ride into the city. Seriously we spent probably 3 watches just arguing about buying a cart or not, we had like a million pounds of coins that we needed to move around, and we couldn’t use Hydrophis’ cart since it was a rental. Eventually we decided to buy a cart and an ass, Tholindus is pretty cool. He looked healthy enough to me, we also decided to get a saddle for him (I figured we wouldn’t really want to ride him, plus he already was pulling all our shit, no need to put more shit on him (like a big fat caesar, heh, oh man Caesar if you’re reading this just chill man I always thought you were the 2nd coolest in our group, I guess now you’re the coolest if I’m dead)).

Then the glorious was bestowed upon me. The city erupted, like, uh, well I guess like a dick, or like an animal that is small and gets squished by some huge thing. Hopefully I’ll learn a better thing to say instead of dick eruption. Anyways, the city, the boring shitty huge city with only a few good places (pubs) suddenly became the greatest place I had ever been.

Everyone was drunk (except the guards lol, man what shitty lives they live, I bet they go home to their wife who is also a guard, because honestly who else would want to be with a guard--I wonder if they share wives if there’s more male guards than female guards, anyways they go home to their wife and they just like, sit there, with their heads in their own hands groaning about how shitty it is to be a guard) and there was amazing stuff everywhere. I was amazed.

Lucanus kept going on about how cool the bohort was going to be (or something I don’t know I didn’t listen to him) as we journeyed to somewhere. The point isn’t where we were going ok, but there were women everywhere, and men too. All of them were drunk, and some had balls they were tossing in the air (looked kind of cool but they looked stupid at the same time) and some REALLY flexible women if you know what I mean. What I mean is they could like, bend backwards and touch the ground, it was astounding. I didn’t know the body could do that, maybe they had magical backs or something.

So we get to this boring field, and there’s like no hot dancers (although if I stood up on my toes balancing I could see some of ‘em) but there were tons of hotties around. Also some guys were lining up or whatever, but the important thing was, I was getting my drink on.

I must have had like ten wines. Skins? Jugs? Cups? Why can I remember the number ten. Look I’ll be honest it starts getting really fuzzy here. I don’t even remember finishing one uh thing, cup, skin, jug, whatever, of wine. I don’t know why I think ten ok, I just do, just trust me on this one and go with it.

Anyways some lame peasants start hollering some such and generally pissed me off. I remember throwing a cup, hearing a shout, but nobody hit me, so everything worked out great. Also I caught the eye of some ladies, I decided in my head to settle for no less than two faceless nameless beauties that night. Why? I don’t know, uh absolute balance on my dick that’s why. Two girls, two balls. BAM! HOW’S THAT CLASMUS? Man I hope he was getting his drink on, dude was super depressing and high strung. Maybe one day I’ll share a skin or jug (maybe one each) with him and he can explain more about this balance thing. Although I’m fairly confident that I’m getting the hang of it.

Like I said, this part was pretty fuzzy, I remember the asshole beside me droning about pictures or some shit, and eventually shouting and waving his stick around. I was in the zone however, at least I think I was. I would talk up this girl real good, be all over her, but they rarely liked the idea of a second. I remember drifting between women, losing the first one to some other guy as I secured a second. One slapped me, I remember that much. I nearly fell. I caught my balance on the chest of another. LUCKILY she didn’t slap me, that could’ve been an uhnfouhtoonaht (fuck you Hydrophis I don’t need to pay you for words) unfortunate (ok maybe I do) chain of slappins and grabbins.

Anyways I remember taking her and her friend back to my place, I don’t remember how long we spent at that shitty field, I don’t actually remember walking back to my place. I do remember the sex though, well parts of it. It got pretty wild and I don’t think Hyrophis would appreciate helping me describe it, so I’ll just jot down some of my feelings that I recall:

Yes, yes, oh yes, do that some more

You’re putting what where

WOW I AM SO LUCKY

(man there’s got to be more to life than this)

THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO LIFE THAN THIS

OH YOU WERE SO RIGHT

ungh no just ungh please let me

Sure I’ll wear that

Please take this off me

Ok maybe we can leave it on for a little bit

Now, most of those memories are surrounded by a black haze and I’m not sure how much time I’ve lost to the drink. Right now all I hope is that I live long enough to enjoy next year’s celebration. I hope I don’t have to kill something innocent to balance out how killer this event was.

The Transformation

This morning I come bearing a journal entry and some artwork from Danny, the fellow who plays Oloz. The first is Oloz-as-was, and was drawn early in his career. The second is Oloz-as-is, and was drawn yesterday.

Oloz as an orc in his freeman's toga

I have seen my own corpse. I have taken this journal from his, my? body. I lifted my blades, my rings, my shield... I have taken from the dead before, these very things, even. I am no stranger to theft or to looting, and yet I am disturbed greatly!

Perhaps what disturbs me most of all is that this was no different. I scarcely recognize that brutalized, brutal face, all its lumpen features and fire-slicked scarring, those glassy little eyes. How can I look into my own eyes and not see myself? Maybe this is the only way that it could ever be? After all, what makes up a person? The body? I would say that it is not so. My body has changed, and though I have seen much that almost none alive could boast of beholding, and learned, gained from it, what was 'me' has migrated. The dead man in whose book I write was Oloz, and I am Oloz, but the shell we left behind is just that.

I was Oloz Slave-taker

I have here two journal-entries written by the two surviving players of the Essad campaign, the only Dogs of the Exactor to make it through first the Vault of Azris and then Takal's betrayal. This first is from Oloz Slave-taker, the brutal half-orc leader of the Dogs who's entire world-view changed when his companion, the priestess Elethanyra Luaaline, perished in the flames of a trap.

I was Oloz Slave-taker, half-orc. I was born ezal of the Black Tusk, shat out by other ezal and I lived the life of a slave's shit, dirtying other slaves and unthinking. I slew, I raped, and exulted, for that was life. I know now that is not the way, I know now that I am not ezal, I am not Ashad's, I am not orc.

An orc is not like a man. An orc is strong. He doesn't feel pity, remorse. He takes life, he takes slaves, for him they are the same, for in the orc's place in the afterlife, like in his life, he is slave or slaver. There is no other way. For the orc, for Ashad his Screaming God, that is the only way - slave or slaver in life, slave or slaver in death. For Oloz Slave-taker, that is the only way.
Oloz Slave-taker is dead.


He is dead but his soul is not with Ashad. He is gone but still he remains, Slave-taker no more.

Player Journals: Aurelien Greenmantle, 3rd Furrow 502

Today we've got a player-written journal from one of my currently running games; the character, Aurelien the Greenmantle, a level 5 wizard who has been questing up and down the Lonely Lands and most recently entered the Rootwood with his companions, the Lamplighters (the ranger Jaquelline le Fevre, the paladin Quintis Beauclerc, and the strange and unpleasant wizard Theylon the Faceless).

Enjoy!

3rd Furrow, 502

I have seen so many things, met so many wondrous and dire folk, but what record is there? When I saw that elven caravan before the wood, smashed and scattered by giant-tossed stones, I was reminded by that senseless wreckage by other black days. They left no record, and how many others fall to similar fates? I thought of the dessiccated corpse of Milea Potioner - long dead when I met her, but through her written word, in a way, I knew her there. So I will do the same; I will write of my travels, and if I should die, perhaps others will know me even still.

And so much is there to write upon! I have spoken this past night with an ent! And in the afternoon, a giant of the Rootwood! Birchtongue, and Terelos, respectively - these are great peoples, wondrous and inscrutable. How many men of eighteen short years have treated with giantkind in this Age? A lucky little few, I would wager, and more of them will I speak with in the coming days, if all goes well. It is morning, and soon I will speak to the withdrawn wizard with whom we travel - I thought to begin last night, for how could I sleep despite my weariness in the presence of such an ancient and thoughtful creature as the ent? but of course there can be no fire-light in his grove, so now let me gather my thoughts and I will present you, my future reader, with the marvels I have seen these past days.