I’m not exactly sure what we’ve stepped in, or perhaps more accurately, whose boot we are currently on the underside of, but everything is starting to feel squishy and smell foul. This trip felt doomed from the start. I suppose shipwrecks tend to cast a pallor on the beginnings of most journeys. Still, Alexi and I have done good business together in the past. It was a bit perturbing to suddenly find myself on the side of “owing favors.” Especially to the good ol’ guvn’r — a man who puts the Dick in Richard. We may be the pisspots, but that guy is a real shit show. Thought we had killed him, but lately death has started to seem more like a relative term. I’ll be a dwarf’s hairy navel if that fucker did not just snarl his ugly drawl in my direction last night. Seems he has decided to cozy up to my other least favorite humanoid, Devin the Pleasant. “Here let me help you. Everything is fine. Pay no attention to the creepy robed guy behind the curtain. Oh, those new tramp stamps? That’s just my way of showing love and affection — and keeping you corralled as my little pets. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like bodily defilement!”
We have to figure out a way to get the drop on these guys.
Whatever macabre plans they have in the works are likely at least as terrifying as their creepy undead cult nemesis. At least the other guys are pretty obvious with their intentions. But Devin? Nothing is worse than a sociopath who thinks he’s sane. I bet he’s orange under that hood.
Perhaps most disturbing is the trail of carnage we’ve left in our wake. Much of it seems due to an inability to properly read people and situations. I used to be good at that. It’s what I’ve built my business on over the last 80 years. Now? We find ourselves hunting lovers who simply want to live in peace. We kill family men based on the biased opinion of a politician and his disappearing daughter. Even when we do good, like brokering peace between Alicia and the shrooms, it ends in tears. I can’t shake the visage of her lifeless eyes staring up at me. And the way it broke Ragon.
We seem to be making enemies at every turn. Most I am ok with. The world could certainly use a few less hags. And those shady gnomes in Innsmouth are not the first to change the terms of a deal after the fact. I do worry about old enemies that have come home to roost. What the Campolo’s lack in intelligence they make up for in ruthlessness. They’ve gotten to Remi and I once, I need to ensure it doesn’t happen again.
There is much to do, and time is of the essence. As much as I marvel at the rapid growth and ever-increasing talents of our little rag-tag team, I also can’t help but observe how horrendous we are at basic people skills. The archer is about as sullen as a goliath at a library. Him, I understand. Until we find his daughter I can’t expect anything resembling sunshine and wyvern bites. Even the metal man can be forgiven for staying true to his warforged form. But Remi, much as I love the boy, will never have the brains to match his skills. Ragon is at a disadvantage before he even opens his mouth. That eye is either something folks want to pluck out and play with or just plain creepy to them. The druid? I love the forest as much as the next firbolg, but that one would have been happier had she been born a tree. Hell, she converses better with grass than she does creatures with any vital organs. Even the bard, who I would expect to be silvered in tongue, is far more interested in talking about himself than actually listening to anyone else.
Still, it is a formidable group, growing in power. I am fond of all of them and their little quirks. But we must also make our way in this world, or perhaps even save it. So it is up to me to do the proverbial making of friends and influencing of people. There is also the small matter of funding, but I have some ideas about that. Two months is not a long time, but it is enough. I will make use of their time away to increase our leverage.