Musings of an Orc 003 - Means to an End

Mother was always a great believer in balance. Since so much wrongness, pain and suffering lead to my being born, she believed I would therefore be destined for great things. I don't think I ever really believed it, but after The Mouth Of Doom it seems she might be right.

It will one day make for an epic tale, but the details are for the bards to make up. Ultimately, we cleansed the dungeon of a pestilence demon, making right a mistake made by well intentioned priests a long time ago.

The demon however, is one thing I feel I must talk about. It was a fascinating beast. Never have I seen such a potent mix of size, strength and intelligence. It shrugged off my blows like it was nothing, and apparently tore Suirlang apart in seconds (may Pharasma judge her kindly). If it weren't for her sacrifice and Aggys bravery, we would have lost the day. I don't often thirst for knowledge, but I think it would be wise to learn more of these things from the lower planes. I doubt it will be the last I see of them and there might be something to learn from it as well.

One thing is clear though. It took all of our might to cleanse that place. Balance was achieved by ruthless application of force, not by half measures. As distasteful as I find it, I understand now why places like Axis exist. Extremes pushing at each other with equal force creates balance. With Rappun Athuk being a place renown for its wickedry, I think I understand the path I need to embrace.

To this end, I have sworn fealty to Shades. Normally, I would say that he is incredibly unsuited to being a Lord. But there is something about him and something about this place that I feel like I can work with.

He governs a wild land and I feel like I can help him tame it. I have visions of armies of guards and soldiers wearing Vanitthus mark on Shades' colours. Wide roads cutting through the forests. High walls surrounding our settlements. Our people will be safe, secure and proud of their Lord. I still need to make an offering to Vanitthu to receive his blessing, but I can make this happen.

Father would be proud.

Triple Team [Agamemnon]

The importance of Siurlang's sacrifice - whether it was intentional or not - in our defeat of A is for Anus should not be underestimated.  However it was only one part of a very well devised and executed strategy, all parts of which had to function for us to have succeeded - and for me to have survived.  It was Shades' insanely ballsy plan to paddle-ball the demon which gave us the breathing space we needed.  Myr was a large part of the reason that only the sorceress was lost on the stairs.

But the bald faced audacity of the dwarf, the orc and I should not be forgotten.  We went into that room with every expectation that we might not come back out again.  Not a fuck was given.

Snooks: I resist poison and disease.
Me: I'm a priest, it's my responsibility.
Mort: Things will need to be hit or this won't work.

Back up plan?  No.  All in.  Not recklessly, but because this was our best and likely only chance to cleanse Mr A from the land.

Not to imply a lack of courage on the other end of the plan - they fully intended to face off against A is for Arsehole itself, after all.  Ballsy fuckers.  Seriously ballsy.

I took more damage that day than I have ever taken before.  That was despite Mortimer keeping the worst of the attacks away from me.  How in the name of the gods those priests thought they would be able to survive the residual damage from their cleansing amulet I do not know.  I took so much scalding steam in the face I feel like a freshly laundered Toldean doublet and look ten years younger for lack of wrinkles, though I have picked up very nasty scarring on my shoulder, arm and chest that not even clerical intervention has been able to entirely remedy.

I want to recount how we actually pulled it off at our end.  Partly for posterity, but mostly because I want it down in writing so that whichever of the three of us survives the longest can tell it by the camp fire to whomever replaces those of us who don't.

The round room had a depression in the centre where an alter stood, obscured beneath a layer of filth that fountained up around it as a shell of obscene protection when we began our assault.  Poison and vermin were everywhere.  Poisonous zombies stood guard, two yellow slimes circled the diseased well, and three-quarters of Applesauce the filth demon hovered in the air, reforming himself.  He attempted a bargain, realising we had a slim chance to take him out and needing time to reach full strength.  We didn't give him any time, intending to make straight for the altar.  But I would have died attempting to reach the well itself, swiped repeatedly en route before getting there.

Enter the ramrods.  An enlarged Mort hurled two of the fuckers backs.  Snooks, as nimble as a dwarf isn't supposed to be, zigzagged through the guards, drawing their attention, and their attacks, opening a path for me to sprint to the altar and throw myself into the pit of vile corruption.

What we didn't plan for was the actual effect of the necklace of hands.  It caused the putrescence to boil off in the form of steam.  Ulman later explained to me that causing water to turn to steam so quickly caused it to be more hot than usual.  It was hot enough to nearly kill me, and combined with the persistent attacks of one zombie which followed me into the hole I very nearly didn't come back out of there.  Thankfully, right there behind me were Snooks and Mort.  Mort reached down and forcibly removed my antagonist from the well, keeping all others at bay while Snooks took hit after hit, channeling healing energy to keep me conscious.

After all the vitriol had boiled away, A-A-Achoo was done.  But alas he was not immediately vanquished.  And he was going to kill us - all three of us, probably, but me definitely, because I was so close to death already, and he seemed especially pissed at me for having the amulet of his undoing.

At that point, thank the gods for Siurlang.  Which gods specifically I'm still not sure, but thank them anyway.

Killing Time with Tivvy.

I always wanted to visit a castle! Mother always told me that I couldn't, because I was needed to help out at home, and going to the castle would be distracting and all. But that's all in the past, obviously! I mean, I wish it was kind of under better circumstances and all, but it's still a castle. Sure, Laniss wasn't very impressed by it, but he's been to school and all. I bet that he's seen plenty of castles.

I should really start at the start, I guess. It's kind of obvious because I'm writing in the empty bit of my sister's last journal, but Siurlang, dear sweet Siurly, well, she died. But that's why I'm here, and I'm sure that she's doing wonderfully in the outer planes, so I'm not too worried about her. I mean sure, death, not great, but you've got to look on the bright side of things!

I keep getting a little distracted, I guess, but there's so much to write about. So, I was at home, in Highcliff, just taking care of things around the village, making sure that the little ones weren't beating each other up too much again, you know, the usual stuff, when we got the letter!

That's the letter from Siurly, of course. The one about how she had this castle and we should visit. Mother didn't like the idea at first, but she eventually warmed to it, and said I could go. Laniss wanted to come too, and it's kind of a good thing he did, because he's pretty handy. They taught him a lot at that school, I guess! Anyway, we packed up our things, and set off. Jamon was a little weird about me going, but that's just how the silly boy is. He'll get over it!

So, we turned up at the castle, to find such a strange bunch of people! Highcliff is pretty much all human, with a few elves like Laniss, so even the orc and his slightly less orc friend were pretty strange to me, let alone the cute little catperson or the bird! Also the dwarves, they're kind of just shorter, thicker humans with beards, I guess. Anyway, it looked like the bird person was in charge of things, so that was also kind of unusual, given what Siurly wrote in her letter. So I immediately know that something was wrong, and yeah, it was. Poor Siurly.

But as I wrote earlier, it's okay! The strange people are some kind of adventuring company, though they seem to thing that involves engineering. Laniss might have rolled his eyes at that, it kind of seems like something he'd find silly, but I was paying attention to everything else at the time. With Siurly dying and all, they needed someone who could use magic, so we're staying around! Sure, I can't use magic or anything, that was what Siurly was good at, but hey, I'm awesome at making myself useful.

First though, we had to see to my dear sister's burial. The adventuring company guys were... well, pretty bad at the whole 'what to do with dead people' thing, which isn't exactly what I would have expected, you know, given that they're adventurers. But that's okay! Laniss and I were happy to help out there, and give Siurly a nice, traditional burial, in a stone coffin under the castle. Laniss did most of the work on the coffin, because he's really good at that, but I helped out with the engraving and carving.

It was a really nice ceremony, too! Everyone who spoke was really nice, and there was even a song about how heroic Siurly was! We held it at sundown, and Laniss and I had a more private ceremony afterwards, which was such a great commemoration of my sister's life.

After that, it was all about fixing up the castle a bit, and just helping out for a bit while everyone else did whatever they needed to do. The other people at the castle, the ones that aren't adventurers, are pretty nice as well, and while very busy with all the things that need to be done around the place, are happy to talk while they do them, especially when I helped them out with their tasks!

I think that this is going to be really good. Mother would be proud, I hope!

In which a small catfolk ranger converses with a giant dog

"So, if you tell me your name I will give you a piece of snerky." Amerasu purred her words in her quiet voice. It was not a weak voice, simply a one unused to talking.

The catfolk put her paw in the pouch containing her snerky rations as her new companion stared back at her. They were sitting in the forest near enough Castle Calaelen to hear the construction work, but far enough away so as not to be able to make out what all the yelling meant.

"Snerky then name." The voice of the large creature sitting next to Amerasu was gruff, his words broken up by barks.

Amerasu handed over a piece of snerky which disappeared rather swiftly. 

"Well? I cannot just keep calling you 'dog', please tell me your name."

"Not dog. Ovcharka. Name be Isgrimnur. More snerky?"

"Not yet! I shall run out if you continue to eat them so rapidly. We are not close enough to the castle to replenish my supplies at present. I would like to know more about you, Isgrimnur. Such as, where are you from and what does 'ovcharka' mean?"

"Isgrimnur from woods. You be catfolk. Isgrimnur be ovcharka. Snerky now?"

Amerasu sighed and handed over another piece.

"For every five questions you answer, you get a piece, understand?"

"What be five?"

Amerasu protracted five claws. 

"That amount."

Isgrimnur cocked his head as he considered this clearly difficult concept. 

"Yes, five then snerky. Less big words, yes?"

"Ok, I'll be more concise from now on. I apologise. I am more used to conversing with elves and they demand a higher standard of conversation."

Isgrimnur glared at Amerasu. She had not realised that a creature with no visible eyebrows could appear to raise them.

"Fine. Why did you follow me?"

"Town smell bad. Amerasu smell good. Snerky smell gooder."

"'I'm very glad I smell better than that town. I prefer to be out of towns. The woods are my home too. I miss them greatly. Especially whenever we are in the Mouth of Doom."

"Doom Mouth where demon smell bad?"

"Yes, that's the place. Unfortunately we've got to spend more time in those foul smelling places. I made a promise to the feathered one to travel with his group. It's not a permanent arrangement. It's part of my training as a clouddancer. Once I prove myself I can go back to my clan.You would of course be welcome to come back with me, though many of the dwellings are in the trees. How do you feel about trees? Do you climb?"

"Tree be good. Ovcharka not climb. Amerasu be odd. Cloud no dance. Snerky?"

"Soon, not yet. Two more questions," Amerasu raised her paw and retracted three claws "A clouddancer doesn't mean a dancing cloud. My clan is called Cloudchaser. It's a difficult concept to explain in Common. I suppose it is my job. I am a clouddancer, I must be swift and exist as part of nature. I must share my talents when they are required. There are times where I wish that I had not signed with this company. But Jirki said I must venture into truly unknown territory, far from any catfolk to properly test my skills. What is more unknown to my kind that such a foul place? It offends the nose, just walking in takes strength, the stench is ghastly. Plus there are spiders. I hate webs. They are so sticky."

"Sticky be bad for fur," Isgrimnur wrinkled his nose at the idea, "What be Jirki? 

"Jirki is my mentor, he's an elf. Our clans have an agreement with each other, they help train our cattens for the jobs they will do when they are of age. I miss him every day. I spent almost every waking moment of my life with him for five years, being apart from him is hard."

"Amerasu talk too much. Want snerky. Then us be run, yes?"

"Yes of course, this must be boring you.  Here, we'll both have a piece and go find Drusilla. I hope you like wolves."

Isgrimnur bounded up in one swift motion and turned his head back to Amerasu.

"We be run now."

She tucked her pouch back into her pocket and followed.

Siurlang and the Demon

The tengu said to call his name
The lord said call his name
And call we did, three times the demon's name
To us we called his name
And come he did

All wreathed in anger
Dripping venom
Wreathed in poisonous anger
Poison in his touch
His angry touch
With poisoned mind and hateful touch
He came to us.

And three did go into his heart
With sweet Sarenrae's sainted touch
To wash the poison from this place
Into the fountain at his heart
With all the hands of sweet Sarenrae
Three did go into his heart

'No!' did the demon say
'No!' once again his poisoned tongue
As he began to boil in anger
And in pain
As sweet Sarenrae's touch
Did work to cleanse the poisoned fountain at his heart.
'No!' as he did become aware
Of those three in his heart, alone
And swiftly gating to his heart
He went.

And those three at his heart
Beset by plague and vermin
Pestilence and death
Those three who reaching deep into his heart
To touch him with Sarenrae's sainted hands
To those three did he come.

And even as the plague was boiled away
And even as the demon boiled with death
He looked down on those three and he did smile
For they were three alone
Those three alone
Beset by vermin, plague and death
And though they valiant remained
The demon smiled
For they were done
For he had come.

'No!' said Siurlang.

'No!' said Siurlang
Though she lay upon the poisoned ground
'No!' said Siurlang
Though her wounds had laid her low
'No!' said Siurlang.  'No!'

Siurlang said to call his name
The mage said call his name
And call she did, three times the demon's name
To her she called his name
And come he did

All wreathed in fury
Wrenched out from his heart
With victory wrenched from out his poisoned claws
And knowing he had lost
The demon came with fury when he came
And with his fury rend Siurlang in half
When to Siurlang he came

And scream did he in rage but it was done
And in a fury havoc did he cause
And in his death throes devastation wrought
And as he boiled he chaos brought to bear
On those who stood against him even now
On those who in the fountain cleansed his heart
On those who on the stairs had called his name
On those who in the Downward stood against
But in his impotence his rage did naught
For Siurlang called his name
And he did come
And it was done.

Shades 007: Fuckin' Miracles

Well. There ain’t really a way to rearrange the words into a saner combination.

Today, under the sanction o’ the Great Downward Engineerin’ Company, an aspirin’ necromancer about as magical as elfshit brought a dead human back to life. And the guy ain’t no zombie or vampire or whatever corpsefuckin’ else the ever delightful Rappun Athuk makes possible. Our new friend Asa the freshly reformed bandit’s all walkin’, talkin’ and breathin’ like there ain’t no tomorrow, which for a spell was uncomfortably true for him. Karina was especially ecstatic to see her husband returned, and Javier was pleased to have his best mate alive. Barrick’s somethin’ o’ a black sheep amongst that lot, havin’ not been all that close to his comrades in banditry before we up and blundered into their lives, but he seems to have lightened up a mite.

Hopefully now the lot o’ them will take the gesture as a sign o’ good trust. Past few days musta been somethin’ wretched for them, but it weren’t no leisurely stroll in the woods on our side either. It does have a bird thinkin’ though. Accordin’ to that scrap o’ paper that bookworm Bent handed me, I’m the Lord o’ these parts. I ain’t no political weasel or lawmaker but I’d wager that means if made the effort to get that title recognized I might be able to make some changes to how petty crooks are handled.

This whole spectacle was Agamemnon’s idea, admittedly. Half-orc mongrel’s been usin’ his downtime to investigate our friend Ulmann. I don’t blame him the creepy bonefucker is almost as suspicious as ol’ Bristleback. Accordin’ to Aggs he ain’t actually as downright evil as his hobbies suggest. The man’s just terrified o’ the inevitable big sleep awaitin’ everyone on this mortal coil unfortunate enough to be born a mortal, perfectly understandable really. If guy has to poke some bones and sing some shifty chants to unlock eternal life then that ain’t really huge price to pay at all.

The service with Ulmann today marks the beginnin’ o’ a longstandin’ agreement between him and the Great Downward Engineering Company. Agamemnon has somehow coaxed the necromancer into agreein’ to offer his services at a third o’ his standard price, includin’ these amateur resurrections. As payment we’ve agreed that we’ll hand him any necromantic items we sift outta Rappun’s guts. Sure the feathers on my ass it’ll piss off any potential Great Downward recruits dabblin’ in such dark dank arts, but I ain’t gonna worry about recruits I don’t have when there’s cheap tickets outta death on offer.

So a bird earns his own roost without havin’ to even steal a copper, and a dead man lives thanks to the magic someone else ain’t got the capacity to wield. What can I say we’re made o’ fuckin’ miracles up in this godsforsaken castle. The plan tomorrow is to set foot in the Mouth o’ Doom- if I don’t write again it means some asshole don’t think their boss is worth even 1000 gold. Fair fuckin' enough I guess.

Communication and Introspection [Agamemnon]

I have not recording anything here in some considerable time, but in prayer at dawn The Elf reminded me in his direct, judgmental way of our understanding: both communication and introspection are required if I am to tread the very alien path of his worship.  In all honesty I have been neglecting both.  My orc blood revels in running with a strong pack; my human inclinations find easy comfort in camaraderie and companionship - but I was alone and nomadic for a long time, and for good reason.  My nature is to be wild and uncontrolled in action, overbearing in friendship, and vicious in defense of my comrades.  Darach-Albith, the golden-eyed bastard, for all his martial proclivities, does not look kindly on bestial aggression - 'considered expression' is his preference, a mode of operation I manage more easily when passions are cooled.  However instinctively I gravitate towards it, camaraderie does not incline either of my bloodlines towards measured action when a gnoll is charging spear-first at someone I give a fuck about.

The truth is I feel as if I have been an automaton these past few forays, as if I am not truly attending to events around me, merely going through the motions, reacting instinctively rather than with proper thought.  On the one hand I have been carelessly slipping into a pattern: go with group, stand near front, wave spear about, channel positive energy whenever anyone appears injured, ignore loot, traipse back to camp.  It is too easy to lose agency and drift into being a plus one numerical advantage on the field rather than a participant in events.

But more than that, I have been seeing these initial expeditions as so much necessary mundane labour, chores I need to complete in order to get to the important things.  Finally at the very outskirts of Rappan Athuk I feel the chaotic pull of fate so strongly that it is numbing me to the people around me, and that is not good - in either sense of the word.  Putting the responsibility on the paladin was inappropriate; as good a moral compass as he was, man can be led to good action but can only achieve good understanding by seeking it himself.  I can already feel several of my colleagues drifting away from good understanding through my inattention.  That is their choice, but my own choice is balanced on a precipice as thin as a hair and inattention will cause me to fall.

Communication, and introspection.  I need to know what those around me are doing, thinking and feeling, and I need to evaluate my own thoughts and feelings just the same.  Only in that way can I remain in alignment with the divinity with which destiny has paired me, and redeem in this place whichever of my lineages needs and deserves redemption.

Musings of an Orc 002 - I was a plough. Now I'm a fence. Just call me Metaphortimer.

Dying was a humbling experience. Mother and I did not disagree often, but the afterlife was one of a few things we never saw eye to eye on. I thought that it would be an eternal reward or punishment in line with your life’s efforts. Mother saw it instead as the Great Equaliser where souls are either beaten straight and recycled, or broken forever. Despite my experiences, I can't claim any expertise, but I think she might have been on to something. I can imagine her sly smile were she to hear that admission.

I struggle to describe exactly what happened to me that day. I accepted a blessing from the God Pharasma, and it killed me. My shade passed on to the Boneyard, where it witnessed the Line of Judgement. I had already been judged however, so I passed quickly onto Axis.

I did not like Axis. One would be forgiven for thinking that I would. But I didn't. Let me put it this way. I have always seen myself as a tool in the hands of Vanitthu. I was the scythe that clears barbarism from the land. I was the plough that tills the soil, ready for civilisation to be sown. Axis is a land with nothing to clear and nothing to sow. It is everything I dreamed of, and I hated it. My days were spent wandering streets that didn't need protecting. I practised skills that didn't need to be used. Artistry was too beautiful. Things ran too well. It sucked the life out of life. If I hadn't already been dead, I think I would have died of boredom. I didn't even see anything I found interesting enough to take as a trinket.

There was no ritual or ceremony to my resurrection. I simply disappeared from Axis, and woke up back in the real world. I don't remember exactly how long I was on Axis, but it was measured in weeks. Apparently I was only dead minutes though. Does time pass differently there? Or was it simply a dream given to me? I guess it doesn't really matter, as it doesn't change the experience I had.

This has make me question what I'm doing and what I'm trying to achieve. Clearly, civilisation can only be appreciated when barbarism exists to oppose it. Perhaps I shouldn't be trying to purge barbarism, but instead I should be like a fence, protecting civilisation and barbarism from one other. Once again, I feel the need to bow to Mothers wisdom. I never did fully grasped the true meaning behind her talks on balance, but recent experiences have given me some clues.

There is so much more I wish I could have learnt from her. I'm sure she would have had something to say about my magic die at this juncture. She would surely have said “Chaos framed with rules is useful. Your die has ten sides. If it were unbound by rules, you could roll it and get an 11^th side. This clearly isn't useful. If it were too bound in rules, you could roll it constantly and only get one side. Clearly this isn't useful. Only in Balance do you find meaning”

Or something like that anyway. I was never much able to penetrate the meaning of her lectures.

One...interesting... side effect of this is that I didn't return to my own body. While it shouldn't matter too much to me, as these hands can serve Vanitthu just as well as my old ones, it still hurts a little bit. Mother was always proud of her human blood, and so was I.

Shades 006: Regrets Are For Survivors

I ain't usually the type to wax nostalgic, but... it ain't been one o' my proudest days.

A bird gainin' his wings in Aberdeen ain't the the easiest process. From the moment your beak busts the egg open you're told that you're a thief and a hatched one at that. Got tall mouthy outsiders eyeballin' your claws even before you take a glimpse o' a store, let alone any valuables. Some shopkeeps even have the audacity to have a bird searched even after he's made a purchase legitimately, just in case the sale was but a ruse. Say what I will about Zelkor's Ferry, and I'll say a lot, but no one's needlessly hurled accusations o' thievery my way so that's gotta count for somethin'.

That all said, a lot o' tengu make a livin' outta baubles that othershave conveniently misplaced. The problem's hung like a bad smell over Aberdeen since long before anyone can remember, so long that no one can tell whether tengu set to thievin' before they was treated like thieves, or the tengu decided to just fuck all ideations o' social integration to the wind 'cause everyone treated 'em so first. Either way, Aberdeen's got a daikatana lodged so deep up its hole that it ain't able to shift its weight even by a toe, let alone change its stance on social relations and the dirt poor masses to a more flexible one. That daikatana is the law, and she's a sharp piece a work if there ever was one, and Aberdeen ain't bendin' over for nobody.

It's more common for a bird to die a starvin' cripple than it is to have his own roost, many o' them crippled when the law took his claws for emptyin' the wrong fancy pockets or his tongue for sharin' the wrong secrets. I might notta left the monastery on the best o' terms, but they saved my sorry tail a lot o' misery.

So today to my wildest surprise I found myself on the other side o' the law, wieldin' the blade as it were. Sure I'm Grand High Featherbutt o' the land somehow and I got myself the fabulous shitpile o' a castle to prove it, but that don't mean I know how to like it. The recruits o' the Company took a mighty shinin' to the bandit-kickin' plan, and sure as the beak on my face we found ourselves some bandits to bring to justice and strike outta the adventurin' picture. Unfortunately they was nothin' like Hengsha and her runners, or this dreaded Korlak I keep hearin' word of, but were everythin' like those birds back in Aberdeen. Our ambush had half o' them sorry bastards dead before they had the chance to surrender. Turns out their greatest crime was a single crate o' soggy furs between them, and the blanket penalty for any kind o' banditry in this county is the noose. 

I just couldn't let the law have its pound o' flesh again, so I've brought the survivors back to Castle Calaelen, under my custody. I ain't quite sure what to do with them, and I know they ain't going to like livin' with the hoons who dusted their comrades for gold in the slightest. In particular their leader Karina is a right mess, as anyone would be if they were cooped in with the lugs who got her husband's blood under their claws. It ain't ideal for anyone involved but it just has to be better than the big violent sleep that was waitin' for them in Tsar.

Shades 005: Hawks and Vultures

Some days a bird crawls outta his next to find that somewhere 'tween closin' his eyes and peelin' them back open in the mornin' fate's decided to slip you a bad hand. Mayhaps it just hates you today, or mayhaps its tryin' to push a bird into sleepin' in his own rachetty castle.

Further inspection o' the Calaelen rock has confirmed what we all sadly knew- as it barely stands the place ain't fit for no one but kobolds and gnolls and other mudfuckers keen to roll around in their own fleas and piss. Personally I don't count myself amongst the piss-and-flea rollin' number, but after securin' the premises the new recruits and yours truly headed back to Bristleback's for the night.

By sun up the changeling sorceror had already left us- didn't even take its share o' the swag. Frankly given the trauma the thing suffered I don't blame her. Him. It, dangit.

But in its place we was greeted by two new flatfaces on the hunt for some Great Downward style adventure. I now have the services of a one Mortimer and Fizzbann under my employ. Mort's a mean-lookin' lug, solid and tall. An orc farmboy coloured some shades o' wrong and angsty by whatever happened to produce an orc farmboy out in the unprotected sticks. The mountain o' muscles wields a fuckin' huge scythe re-purposed for reapin' heads instead o' bales. Despite appearances I ain't convinced the lad's evil, but sometimes he looks at a bird as if he's wonderin' how you'd taste roasted.

Fizzbann ain't exactly the type I was expectin' the Great Downward to attract. A wizened old husk o' an elf who, I'd wager, hasn't seen light o' day or smelt a fresh breeze for a good decade or two. Well, until he decided to leave whatever hole he resided in to join the Company. Fizzbann says he's good with potions, poisons, brews and concoctions, either to drink or to chuck at people. A niche set o' talents I gotta say, but I'll take it.

Takin' the freshies under my wing proved to be a lucky decision too. We ain't even travelled a squirt away from Zelkor's Ferry we was hit by a goblin ambush. Fuckin' goblins, I know, where's the pride in that. But these weren't just any greenskins farted outta Mosswood or some stanky crack o' Rappun- they were organized. And we didn't see 'em comin'. They hit Shnookums with the first volley o' their crossbows, sittin' him outta the scrap before it really even started. Nasty green twits wanted to trade our gold for our lives. I was ready to cut my losses and flee, but there was a reasonable chance that we could take 'em now that their crossbows were empty. Some would say that it was a foolhardy gamble but we flogged the little anklebiters and scored some intel on Rappun to boot.

Upon our dogged return to the Castle we found that our literally hellish roostmate had also returned himself. I had the crew set up and positioned to blow the damned thing back to whatever fiery pit it came from, but Agamemnon suggested that perhaps we should try a more diplomatic approach first. I was happy to run with it as long as it was Agamemnon doin' the chinwaggin', the crazy fuck. And whaddya know the two o' them both speak the Infernal language. The demon bird's name is Afrit, and his only agenda right now is to keep nestin' in the tower and eatin' ponies. I don't have a real use for the tower right now, and we both got a mutual interest in keepin' intruders outta the premises, so I guess for now I'm leavin' him be. We just have to mark our horses from now on, 'cause apparently they make for delicious eatin'.

From the information we got beat outta the goblin ambushers, and from what I've been able to decipher from the slurry stories slippin' outta the ale-stained old fogies hauntin' Bristleback's Inn, the Mouth o' Doom is lookin' like the least terrible place to start a real expedition into the dungeon. But as it stands I really don't like the threat o' banditry. They got a good gig, swoopin' down on a band o' adventurers after Rappun's given them a royal chew over and hawkin' off with all their spoils. I don't take too kindly to such shameless vultures. Mayhaps a good bandit-kickin' is in order? They might be easier to deal with first, before whatever ass-faced monsters and evil-snortin' maniacs await in the giant dungeon. I'll pitch it to the recruits and see how them softshells feel about it- not that I particularly care but I gotta live with their whingin' now.