Sharks with coral armor; giant two-headed sharks and groups of shark-like creatures that go into a frenzy when there’s blood in the water. This is one strange place, but we need to stick to our mission as we have a limited time to be able to breathe underwater and it seems like there are more levels underneath us. Some of them are very challenging fighters and some have magic; I wonder what other types of creatures they have to throw at us.
Post by cousinwill on Nov 25, 2019 16:37:19 GMT -5
We have found our quarry. The dwarf says the money has all been spent. I tend to doubt it. Now, instead of heading home with the dwarf we huddle together to face an onslaught of zombie pirates or some such. I wish we had material to set traps and surprises for them. At best it will make an interesting chapter in my book. If things go badly we may gain fame for being lost in a heroic massacre. If only Moonshadow were here...….
My summoning of my old friend was successful ! I held my concentration despite attempted interruptions; something about rats and mice. Moonshadow has spotted the zombies approaching and when this information was reported dozens of plans were quickly insisted on, none of which will be followed. I find I am not much concerned about the upcoming battle but about my friend's survivability...
Post by cousinwill on Dec 15, 2019 20:47:12 GMT -5
So far the battle goes well. We have beaten off multiple attacks with minimal casualties. The most important victory for me personally besides a sub-chapter on the efficacy of a strong picket is that Moonshadow has survived !!
Post by bardofprey on Jan 12, 2020 23:16:31 GMT -5
I find myself somewhat of a sympathy-challenged person, and not particularly by accident am I that way.
It wouldn't surprise me if I'm a bit confusing to travel with, my actions and character wavering uncertainly between uncaring and passionate. I'm a selfish utilitarian that plays at kindness so I don't appear too strange. Let me write here what I could never bring myself to sincerely say to them: I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, and for how long it took me to genuinely care about what happens to you and how you feel. I joined you out of a drunken boredom, throwing myself into danger to see if I would make it out alive. To my shock, somehow I did, and by the time I realized how deep into this I was I was too deep in to leave. I've never been someone worth knowing before, even if then, I may have come off that way.
Life in Saltmarsh is far from comfortable, although mercifully simple. In prior days, I found myself bouncing between sailing crews, a wave whisperer to work much of the simple magic used to keep their sailing smooth. Then, upon making my way back to Saltmarsh, I would find some much-needed sleep, and by the time I woke, the faces I had spent months working with and sustaining would be gone from my mind, another few dozen names struck from my mind, before the money ran out and I had to find another ship. At first, I cared about those folk for as long as I shared a vessel with them, but eventually, I cared far more for the promise of gold and a stable life than the men, because I found it was all I could be certain I'd still have by the end of the voyage. Between violent storms and raging captains, there were some boats where you could feel a looming tragedy before having left the water.
The first time I dove after a sailor who was thrown overboard, I felt the rush of heroism before I'd even hit the water, and that passion only grew as I took my orb in hand and pulled the water from his lungs. I knew I'd done well when he started coughing, and that joy lasted for days, until once again, his breath was stolen from him, this time by the illness the sea had brought with it as he took it in. It wasn't fair. I'd done all I could, but it didn't matter. It only took one more sailor drowning in her own bed for me to realize that once I'd made a good effort towards saving a life, it wasn't my problem anymore. By the time I got lucky, and someone I dove for survived, I barely acknowledged my own success. I'd done just as well as I did for dead men, there was nothing worth celebrating. Now, some thirty years later, I see this bitter mentality as the cause for a disconnection between me, and everyone I would've cared about. I've been traveling as an adventurer for some time, now, and more often than I want to admit to, I've given more thought to my own possessions and reputation than to the people that think of me as a friend and ally. Every solid move I made was always just luck, every misstep was wholly my own fault.
I see now, in this city of filth and suffering, how much my own means of protecting myself has lead to blindness, bitterness, and a failure to do the good unto my traveling companions that they are deserving of. I started to feel it when I sealed off the pit. No amount of willful ignorance could've made me think that was just luck, and on the return voyage to Saltmarsh, the weight of what I'd done sank in. Performative celebration gave way to contemplation, and I realized the extent to which I had undersold myself for years. It was never my fault those people died, it was the fault of the fool who hired a wizard to do a cleric's work to keep his coinpurse full. I was hired to be an excuse for why someone's friend, spouse, child, or parent was dead. They'd done their job, they hired someone to save drowned men, clearly the responsibility was mine to carry out a task so serious, and it was my fault alone that I couldn't guarantee an outcome. Now, I can help this city regain some degree of safety and normality, and it won't be luck when it happens. We can find and stop the monsters that hunt these people, be they the militia, the nobility, a threat among their numbers, or a creature under the waves, and for once in this miserable life I've been living, when I do this, it's because I look into these unwashed faces and I see people worth caring about, not because they are useful to me, but because they deserve better than whatever the hell they've been given. When I took my first steps into that manor on the hill, I wasn't even invested in if I returned in one piece, but in this city, every poor fool and petty criminal I see sparks a curiosity and duty within me that I had only imitated before, and I'm as loyal to my friends and familiar as I am to the best interests of every one of those people, and as I should have been to my shipmates before all this.
Dasya, A soul who, for once, considers not the price of the ink and paper to record this, but instead the value of being honest with the one of the finest people he knows- Himself.