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Talislanta game Log #1

Hey there the few of you who are interested in the nerdiest of my many blogs...

Here is a game log from yesterday's game, set in Talislanta. we have a big table at this game with 6 players and a Game master. A lot happens in these games. This particular day had a lot of blood lust from some characters. My own character is one with a sense of ethics that sometimes conflicts with the mercenary attitude of some of the rest of the group. 

I've decided that to keep the game interesting for me, my character Thalia needs to at least in her journal (my game log) be critical of her fellows, and will be doing so in the game. This may get her killed, but I want to stay true to the design of the character, one who's lost much of the honour she had in her own society, and now outcast from there is trying to gain some of that honour back but is currently being stymied by her group of friends becoming far more cut throat and mercenary in their dealings. everything is tied to loot, and battle. this is not the kind of warrior a Danuvian (think amazon) is raised to be.

here's the Journal: (which will be amended when I get a few of the names I missed in taking notes of the game yesterday)


Post Prison Prison Journal

Entry # 17

Dearest Journal, I want to detail something I’ve been avoiding here... the moral slide of our little group of “adventurers”...   Ever since we finally escaped from that underground nightmare into the Volcanic hills we have gone from being a band of somewhat jolly, and really really lucky band of adventurers, to being a gang of thugs extorting money from all we come across. Being lost in the Red Desert, I thought we would all die. It’s kind of a miracle that none of us did, though I daresay had that Giant been with us still, he would have, or would have had to eat one or some of us to get by, hardly any water to be had, let alone the gigantic portions of food that deceptively not simple creature needed to survive.

I feel like our salvation by (that guy) on his Dune Ship was nigh in vain. we have ascended from our near deaths, all of us, myself included, really... meaner, more suspicious and cut throat than we ever have been, as a group. Personally I surmise that some of this cuthroatedness stems from spending so much time in the gladiatorial arena. A few of us, especially that new guy, the Ur who speaks only in a threatening manner even when on those rare occasions when he’s being reasonable, sometimes even kind, he sounds like he wants to rip your throat out. I think there must be some subtleties to the Ur intonations and speech patterns that none of us get, or he’s just angry all of the day and night.

Even guarding; something I was trained for since birth, with a stoic hand, and the control of Danuvian tactic and strategies, at the arena... which is bloodier even than the underground Arena pit where I spent many years fighting, losing my vision, and a lot of my quickness and ability while never being healed from a fight. Eventually, I ceded my spot in the arena, knowing that I had not the stamina of those fresh prisoners with their newly minted anger at being jailed.

I’m starting to have that familiar feeling with this group, that has become my family, almost, a feeling of despair, and disappointment at the avarice and lack of honour we have descended into. I count myself among the dishonoured here, as I have done nothing to stop any of the events I am spelling out...I think I have been in shock over it all, while it was happening, I barely spoke, never raised my sword, or voice, save once when I tried to keep the Ur Renegade from destroying a bar.

It all stated the other day in the Arena, The Ur, aptly named “Doom”, and my longtime fellow adventurer “So-Wrath”, have made quite a name for themselves as a team in the arena. This day, the powers that be at the arena: had a “challenge” which I’ve come to see is code for bloody execution, as opposed to the usual spectacle of sentient being versus “dumb monster”. Several of the Za bandits, and Vird warriors who have recently been captured squared off against So-Wrath, Doom, and a four limbed man I’ve not met before. Doom, bared his buttocks to the bandits as the fight started and was caught with those pants down, receiving a few nasty welts and slices, that of course stirred his warrior’s blood, The 3 of them made short work of the already half dead, and likely poisoned, starved bandits. 

It turned out  though that the four armed fellow, fell into a blood rage and attacked his own team. Rather than subdue their co-champion of the day, the team of my “friends” slaughtered the four armed guy, who it turns out must have been something of a fan favourite in the arena, as his death was greeted with Boos, Hisses and garbage thrown at Doom and So-wrath. That is the precise spot, for me when I first noticed that our inexorable slide from gallant adventurers, to money hungry thugs... this realization (of something that had been happening slowly for weeks, in hindsight) came to full blown understanding when we all met at the Red Desert Inn, for our usual bout of post Arena day drinking and back slapping.

I sat in the corner reading a (carefully hidden in a slipcover of a language textbook) Quan romantic melodrama from centuries before. These books have recently been my only lifeline to Danuvia, written as they are in a style akin to the literature of my homeland, as the back slapping and drinking commenced. The crowd was very touristy, that night, not suited so much to the carousing (and usually harmless) tone of the warriors from the arena. We maybe should have hit a dingier bar than the Inn, but alas. It started when the Ur, who seemingly lives in a fashion that runs contrary to civilized behaviour, pretty much constantly. How had I not noticed this in the previous weeks, days working, living here? I buried my nose in my book, trying to ban my judgementalness, there were all kinds of folk in Talislanta, not all of whom suited my sense of propriety. Live and let live, right? 

Not so much. Here we are in this kind of fancy (for the desert) bar, and Doom tosses himself across some rather harmless looking merchants’ table, pulls down his bloody drawers asking the noble Gak to bandage, and heal him over top of these merchants dinner and drinks, most of which he spilled or soiled by flopping over their table. I gripped my dagger at my boot, just in case, and pretended to keep reading as things unfolded.

It seems our group does nothing for free anymore, there is never a noble enough cause for us since our near deaths in the desert. Even in apologizing to the merchants, the Ur (and our most of the rest of our “merry” band) turned that into a spectacle by cajoling the fat old merchants into a fight/bet... Doom was hand bound and blindfolded and the merchants were to fight him with this “advantage”. Not much of an disadvantage for someone raised to kill, who makes his living at it, and well, at that, but the merchants sensing they had no choice went ahead, I imagine hoping not to be killed at least.

The fight went exactly as anyone who’s ever seen a fight could predict. blindfolded and tied, Doom still had the merchants yielding, eventually. I was happy to see at least one of them get an effete punch or two in. When the merchants submitted, Doom and So-wrath complained bitterly that submission was not allowed. I tried to speak up a bit at this point, but even using my language of command, no one listened to me. The Griff, Gak, I could see was a bit miffed also at the lack of honour our friends were showing, as they took up the “bets” that were really extortion. Gak nobly sought to show the Ur a lesson, and once again I had to diplomatically keep a bar fight outside, so as not to wreck an establishment I’d come to enjoy. (and likely will never see again)... Doom knocked Gak out with one punch, and thus honour amongst our fellows died for me, pretty completely.

As if all this wasn’t enough to make me feel like simply leaving the party and heading out on my own, maybe seeing if some of the nobler members of the band would follow me rather than the lust for lumens... as we were escaping fro m the bar, heading maybe to somewhere more conducive to showing off, and all that male neediness.... we were found again by the Jakartan monk who’d rescued us (not Doom though, he was trying to kill us back then) from certain death. This time he needed a boon, he was being followed by the city sentinels and wove a tale of possible corruption of his order, and the very real threat of the Rakshanistanians from the south, necromancers who of course feel they need to rule the world. Sigh. Is danuvia the only state without ambitions to rule others, that always works out so well for everyone. Men. sigh, if only they weren’t so pretty.

Anyways, dear journal, I was about to accept this quest of taking the monk to the desert to find these demonic creatures capable of possessing a man, and using his powers and their own to sow discontent and evil, when Doom, and So-Wrath starting demanding money, from this man looking for a last hope, a saviour, much as he had been for us. To most of the party’s credit, most gave back the money the thugs in the group extorted from someone I wanted to be my friend. 

We then separated the group, some of us to hide the monk at the arena, and the others to try and find out more information about the Monk’s claims. Myself, Purr-Purr, and Gak went to meet a friend of the monk’s. It was all very cloak and dagger, using code words, meeting up in private, much more what I signed on to do with this group. Of corse the fellow had a different story, it seems that a higher up in the order had claimed that our friend had been possessed by one of these necromancers’ creations and in fact was the devil in the weeds everyone was looking for. Purr Purr sensed no evil from our saviour, so I did not argue with the monk, but rather said we would try to find him and help out.

Meanwhile the other party members were busy running from the guard, stashing the monk at Sherzal’s rather fancy tenement that he was overpaying for. Sherzal had been robbed, likely by Ur’s darkling slave who Is I think fleecing the party for whatever share of the loot he can. Part of me thinks Spazz, this darkling slave is a bit smarter than all his grovelling and bootlicking makes him seem. Likely it will be his (stolen) dagger that someday fells the mighty Doom.

We managed to avoid being caught by the watch, and so in the morning, Cassandra, the Gow sorceress, myself, Gak, and Purr Purr visited a cartographer, that the monk had said would be able to sell us some maps of how to find the demons in the desert, and most importantly “The Forgotten City” where it is said we could figure a way to defeat the necromancers maybe before they really get started... the war is coming. I can feel it in my bones.

Cassandra being a Gow, we let handle the negotiation and talk of maps, star charts, as she has that knowledge almost from birth. She managed to finagle some useful items, from the old Marak (former dung merchant like all Marak, from that cursed place) including the maps we needed, and an important book, regarding the Forgotten City, and an item with a magical aura that may either be useful or get us killed. I was preparing to tie up the merchant, making my knots... when Cassandra brought forth her dagger in a sudden burst of violence I’d not seen from her ere now. She killed him, as Purr Purr, yowled, threatening to leave the party right there. Gak, so noble, Gak, was as mortified as you can imagine, yet we all helped to hide the Cartographer’s body and with our fellows headed back to our “friends”.

I fear for my own soul, dear journal, and the souls of my fellows. I hope that in our quest to save this man who saved us, we can find some small redemption. If not I may have to move on myself, and find some honour elsewhere. I dare not go back to Danuvia with the crumbling reputation that we have right now.


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