(¯`·..·(¯`·..·Entry the Fifth·..·´¯)·..·´¯)
Those of you who are bold enough to steal and read my journal: in some kingdoms of the Vale, the candid reading of a minor’s journal is considered a form of pedophilia punishable by death.
It’s clear that whatever Gods watch us have deemed Jebat’s mission to kill the Ratfangs a cursed one. I have been beaten, bitten, stabbed, beaten again, and shot at. This is not how a halfling wants to live his life! A halfling wants to bathe in silver coins as others file his nails! A halfling wishes to be carried on the backs of others! Where has this “adventuring” scheme gone wrong?
Today was the worst debacle of all. Not only did we fail to achieve our goal (for this I will be eternally grateful) we also spent the majority of this dreadful day doing battle with a hydra in a swamp. Now, why in the name of the Queen would you fight a dumb animal in it’s natural habitat?! It is a bloody animal! It has no motivations or thoughts! Walk AROUND the hydra! Jebat tells us that hydras are an abomination in the eyes of Bahamut, and thus must die. (I prefer to believe that the hydra was sent by Bahamut to torment Jebat.) Reginald sagely claimed that the stories of hydras being able to regenerate heads were a myth, so I chopped one off. This seemed like a great idea until two more grew in its place and devoured Alistair. Fighting a losing battle, I screamed for retreat, but we did not withdraw. Instead, we fought until we bled from every pore, hacking away at regenerating flesh until we could barely lift our weapons. I broke several nails, the red cloak I was disguising myself with was shredded, and I took numerous painful lacerations to my tender person. If I had not been trapped on boat in a swamp full of neck-deep water, I would have fled long before death’s door opened its maw. We finally killed the loathsome beast and discovered that, lo and behold, it did not in fact bleed gold. The dumb animal was completely lacking in items of interest to the financially minded, and we were forced to retreat empty handed (but for a partially digested chainmail from its stomach.) Alistair, one of the few people in this loathsome group that I actually liked, was gruesomely killed, not once, but twice, and I don’t think he’ll ever be quite the same. He has a grim, pale, and sickly air about him, like one who has been dismissed from the Raven Queen’s court too late.
I have to mention the actions of the cleric Grimlor. Although I do not hold him in high esteem, his entreaties to the gods saved my life today, for which I am grateful. I have no wish to meet the Queen, as I am afraid I have not been the most loyal servant.
I am tired, queasy, grumpy, upset, and just a little sick. This has all been a terrible idea, and I’m going to give Jebat a stern talking to as soon as possible.
The Black Book clearly states this philosophy: “Never engage a target in a fair fight.” “Do not strike until you possess overwhelming odds.” I have added a new maxim: “Never engage a target unless it bleeds gold.”
I almost wish my mentor was here to tell me what to do. Almost.
As I continue to be surrounded by death on all sides, I can feel the breath of the Queen closing in on me. She’s searching for me with those large, scolding eyes. I know I’ve been bad… She had a plan for me, and I ran away. I’m not sorry… I hope I never have to see her face.
The rush of battle has worn off me and I HURT. I can’t tell how much blood is mine and how much is the hydra’s. I feel like an insect with its legs pulled off.
I can’t die. I have to stay alive.
I should… ask Alistair what he saw.
(¯`·..·(¯`·..·Entry the Fourth·..·´¯)·..·´¯)
Those of you who are bold enough to steal and read my journal: go to fucking hell.
I’ve never killed someone I knew before. Even though I wasn’t the one who dealt the killing blow, it still felt like it. Surely now I am cursed.
I want to go home.
I don’t get the Ratfang hate. I’d just like to pitch in and say that the Ratfangs weren’t really that bad. THEY never asked a small, defenseless halfling child to fight on the front lines. THEY quite respected my opinions. They always let me stay up as late as I wished, and never scolded me for using squirrels as target practice. Also: I NEVER had to walk on my own feet when I travelled with them. Jebat sucks.
(¯`·..·(¯`·..·Entry the Third·..·´¯)·..·´¯)
Those of you who are bold enough to steal and read my journal: a certain special place in Hell is reserved for people such as you. It’s called the Library of Unending Mediocrity. Every day you will be given the journal of an idle lackwit or tiresome fishwife. You will be forced to memorize every word, down to the last boorish ponderation and trivial complaint. And as you’re reading about what Thomas the Bastard’s mother-in-law thinks about his wife’s cooking, you will wonder: was it worth reading the halfling’s journal?
I suppose the money hasn’t been TERRIBLE. It’s not more than I’ve ever seen, but at least it’s more than I’ve ever been allowed to spend.
Note to self: I wonder how many “kick me” signs I could affix to a company of bugbears before they noticed? Only one way to find out.
I should probably get around to rereading The Black Book. If I keep on stealing pages from it to use as toilet paper there may not be much left of it by the time I need to consult it.
~Quills, ink, parchment, blank journals
~Replacement engraving tools
~Bleach, dye, lye
It still bugs me. Why did Reginald risk his life to save that stupid screaming woman from the ogre? Jebat attempting such an action I could understand. Jebat is a creature whose muscle can back up his will. But Reginald… although I’ve been taught that a trained wizard can accomplishing anything, Reginald’s powers are lacking, and he can barely bring himself to piss on a spider. Attempting the rescue was madness. Why face certain death for the life of a dimwitted stranger?
I can only chalk it up to simple ignorance. He simply doesn’t understand what danger and death are.
Again, I reflect. What in the name of the Queen am I doing in the company of these “heroes”? They seem determined to blindly charge into the arms of every danger. They’re magnets for death! Its only a matter of time before that death spills onto their company.
I can’t imagine what I could hope to gain from them. I’d better start seeing some gains before this mess resolves itself.
…I wonder if Jebat would die if I wasn’t there to kill his enemies? I can’t imagine how he survived before I got here.
(¯`·..·(¯`·..·Entry the Second·..·´¯)·..·´¯)
Those of you who are bold enough to steal and read my journal: Did you know that halflings are immune to a certain contact poison commonly used to coat the tips of journal pages?
I remember a certain goblin who lectured me at length on the merits of forgery. He described a scenario in which an unpopular adventurer was delivered a letter signed by the princess of that land. The letter described the princess’s secret affections for the adventurer and entreated him to steal up to her bedchamber in the middle of the night. “I will protest your affections, but understand that this is but an act and at no point desist.” After ascending her tower, the adventurer proceeded to “affection” the unwilling princess. Guards were called and the man was executed.
Consider the scenario at hand… we have a dangerous Battalion of Banites on the one hand, and a whole village of irritating people who don’t own nearly enough gold. Perhaps, in a similar fashion, these problems can eliminate eachother? What would happen if an undesirable person received a secret missive from the Banites entreating him to enter their lair, perhaps clad in the symbols of a deity unloved by Bane, or bearing the head of a beloved leader? The possibilities for deception are endless.
In any case, I will be on the lookout for ways in which we can divide, conquer, and take the money of the enemies of Jebat. Preferably with as little actual work on my part as possible.
Perhaps the reason I haven’t been noticed by agents of the family is because I haven’t taken special care to make my appearance obvious? No, that can’t be it… we’ve spoken the chief priest (an idiot) and the head swordswoman of the town, surely that’s as high up as it needs to be. Still, I should brush up on my appearance and cover story. What angle should I be playing here? Jessamine would be returning from a long absence. His family probably knows that he ran away. I should be aloof and quiet, a little worn. I should definitely change my outfit to something more suitable. Perhaps leather?
My mentor was a master of two things: salesmanship, and stabbing. The best advice he ever gave me was how to sell a pitch. “Tell ’em, tell ’em what you told ’em, and tell ’em again.”
Now that I think back, his advice for stabbing was very similar. “Stab ’em, stab ’em where you stabbed ’em, and stab ’em again.”
…You know, all of his advice was like that.
The Black Book is quite explicit in some major tenets that the group doesn’t seem to be following. If I didn’t hate reading the thing so much, I would probably go through it and pick out important quotes to illustrate what we’re doing wrong. But I’m far too lazy to actually do that.
A bird delivered me a letter from Jessamine today. Damned fool! What if it had fallen into the wrong hands? It seems he’s having second thoughts.
Why are people so stupid? Today I looked up into the face of a bugbear, my big eyes opened wide, glistening with the light of the sun. And as he hesitated, wondering if it was in his heart to hurt an innocent child, I stabbed him in the kidneys. FML
(¯`·..·(¯`·..·Entry the First·..·´¯)·..·´¯)
Those of you who are bold enough to steal and read my journal: How dare you! Have you no shame? May an innocent young halfling have no privacy? Stop reading now!
Today I took the care to inscribe a note on all 10 of my daggers:
“IF YOU CAN READ THIS: Your life has been spared by Hang Jebat of the Radiant Bahamut. Reconsider your sins.”
It will make me feel just a little better next time I lose a dagger in the back of a fleeing foe.
Although I may never have the necessary moral fortitude to truly align my interests with the dragonborn, something draws me to his noble air and natural charm. Here is a man who is truly himself. No secrets, no trickery, Jebat ACTUALLY BELIEVES in justice and goodness. Hah! He’s a hopeless romantic. Brave, foolish, stupid… ah, so many things I could never be. I can’t help but admire him for it.
The hedge wizard. Another man born too honest for his own good. Reginald is powerful but soft. He’s useful, incredibly so, but given to passion and foolishness. I must keep an eye on this one and make sure he doesn’t get us into trouble; the ogre who held Fammadotter Two-Tits was nearly the end of us. (And rescuing her didn’t pay off at all.)
Potential in this one. He’s inexperienced, but has the makings of a tough guy who plays hardball. I really admire his versatility and acumen with exotic weapons.
Ah, Bjorn. Making stereotypes come to life. I’ve heard many and much of dwarves. Now I know that they’re everything I’ve imagined them to be. I will soon tire of his preaching.
It has been too long since I set out on this journey. Today I noted that I seem to have LOST more money than I’ve gained on this ill-chosen venture. In some ways, I miss the company of the goblins I used to travel with. THEY never made me dirty my hands in actual combat. Those were the days, riding atop a treasure chest, shouting orders and filing my nails as they carried me along. Where did those days go?
I can’t wait for this Lassomar family gambit to pay off. I’ve lost so much as a result of their interference. A chance like this may never show itself again.
Tsk. Blood under my nails again today. It takes so much to get my cloak clean after every battle.
At least I’m learning. Killing is so much manual labour, but at least it gets easier as you go along. I hope the Raven Queen appreciates all the souls I’ve sent to her.