Warhammer: Not a character journal

A great deal happened in game last night, but a lot of the stuff I need to remember didn’t happen to my character, so I’m starting with a third-person narrative, mostly so I don't forget in the two weeks before our next game (drat those holidays that get in the way of good gaming!) I'll follow this with a character journal.

Mallion had gone off promising to ensure that the pirates gave our ship back, repaired, without us having to pay them. His plan was to rough up Nana D’Naufragios a bit and threaten her and her family if she didn’t give in to his demands. Unfortunately, Nana D’Naufragios was a tough old lady who did not surrender, and Mallion was grieving and not thinking straight after days almost totally alone. So when the old lady refused to surrender, Mallion killed her in her bed.

Then, as the house started buzzing with angry D'Naufragios who had heard their matriarch scream, one person separated himself from the crowd and went to a rowboat, ostensibly to row out to our ship with a message. He went alone, so Mallion approached him, too. It was Guiseppe, the man who had taken Lorandara and Altriona to the city two days before. Unfortunately, he didn't surrender either, and Mallion, enraged, killed him too. Then Mallion flew off to a secluded place on the mainland to recover from his grievous wounds.

He roused from his fitful sleep in the crotch of a tree to see some sort of magical ceremony taking place. A group of beastmen were gathered around a crude stone altar, chanting in a language Mallion didn't know that was not Tilean, and appearing to sacrifice a young human man. Mallion was overwhelmed by the magic in the ceremony and fainted. When he awoke, a young beastman with a human body and the head of a goat was watching him from some distance away. They conversed, and Mallion was offered food and wine off the altar. (I missed part of this conversation; Piet, if you could fill me in I'd appreciate it.)

That's it for this part of the write-up. Character journal to follow this evening, since I seem to have used up my early wake time.

Teehee.

Did you see the new homeopathic movie? After diluting it in the editing process, it's 0 seconds long.

Altriona: Journal the Eighth

Politics, how I do love and loathe thee. Strangest of spectator sports, passtime of the powerful who aspire to be more so, amusement of dabblers, life and death reality of social climbers - how much you can change in a few short hours!

It was Lorandara who left the funereal masque to follow our erstwhile host, Prudenzio d'Abbatista, as he made his way into the courtyard off the ballroom of the Prince's palace. She did not hear what he said to the man he spoke to there, but she saw the mask and the bag change hands, and saw the recipient proceed toward the front courtyard near the gate to the palace. He was no gentleman, for his clothing did not fit him well and his manners were too rough to have passed even a moment inside.

My sister of course found me, where I was conversing with a most interesting gentleman, one Dr. Plith out of Marienberg. She told me of the mask the strange man had donned, a gilded pig's mask, and of the bag he was carrying, and a horrible suspicion took root in my mind.

We had already learned that the Prince's power in Tobaro rests on the superstition that the pet pig in the courtyard will remain in good health for the duration of the Prince's reign, but that, if the swine should die, the people will take it as a sign of the gods' disfavour and visit their displeasure upon their ruler. It seems a strange custom, for barnyard pigs do not defend themselves well and are as easy to kill as any infant human. What if this strange man was working for Abbatista, with the intent of bringing down the Prince and forcing an election upon the city of Tobaro?

Lorandara had recounted what she had seen in the elven tongue, thinking it unlikely that any would understand. We are fortunate that she did not mention Mallion, for Dr. Plith replied in the same language, indicating he had understood. As the thought of treason entered my mind, I decided that, slim though the possibility may be, it must needs be investigated. I prevailed upon Dr. Plith, his patroness Lady Grimaldi, and the Prince to attend us as we went for a walk in the courtyard. I made light of the possibility of trouble, not wishing to alarm the guests without good reason; better to seem an eccentric foreigner than a paranoid one.

Alas, my suspicion turned out to be correct. The pig, Tibault by name, was happily inhaling truffles when we arrived, and the man who had emptied his bag into the pen was leaving. I called out in Tilean for the assembled company to stop that man, and ran after him myself with no few of them behind me. I caught him, causing him to turn with a thrown dagger to his arm, but he did not wound me before others arrived to hold him.

Lorandara and Dr. Plith witnessed the pig fall into a deep slumber, and nothing they could do was sufficient to wake the animal. He died within the hour. Within moments of the assembled company (who had followed their strange guests and their ruler out into the courtyard) realizing that the pig was gravely ill, carriages were called and rumours spread; the pig was not cold before the entire city knew the state of affairs. It was Lady Grimaldi who informed us of the political ramifications, that an election could very well be held the next day.

The prince has declared a week of mourning for the pig. The banners for our father have been removed and replaced with more elaborate ones for the pig, apparently insouciant of the implied insult in such an action. The gates have been closed and no one is to leave or enter. Indeed, the palace is on high alert. And despite our information as to the party responsible for this chain of events, the prince did not arrest Prudenzio before locking himself into his gilded cage, and us with him.

Lady Grimaldi had already invited us to spend some time at her home. It seems she and the doctor engage in vivisection, which is the surgical practice involving the taking of living tissue from one creature and grafting it onto another. I am not sure how such a practice might help in Mallion's case, but I determined the description to be promising enough to be worthy of further study on our part. Now that it would seem the Prince may not be long for this world, we may find ourselves taking advantage of the good lady's hospitality in order to distance ourselves from this unfortunate ruler. As is so often the case, those who rely on the powerful are caught in the eddies of political currents. Politics, while fascinating to watch, is all the more dangerous in that its spectators affect its outcomes. Indeed, politics could not occur without consideration of its audience. This particular spectator has no desire to become a casualty of the game. It is time to distance ourselves from it.

I have left a note for Mallion in a place where I hope he will see it, indicating our destination. I am concerned for him. He did not return to us during the night, though we slept little as the palace bustled around us. What trouble has he found in his attempt to secure our repaired ship? I would ask after Nana D'Naufragios but greater gossip o'erwhelms lesser as a whale swallows a shrimp, with nary a thought for, or heed paid to, the life so snuffed.

Lorandara is frightfully worried. She spent most of the night frantically scribbling in her diary. I am worried for her; her vaunted calm has been sorely tried of late and the strain is showing. I took a glass of wine from her when it was clear she was drinking more than was seemly or wise; I do not recall her ever taking more than the barest sips of watered wine ere this night. If Mallion does not return to us by midnight, I know not what her guilt will drive her to do.

It is strange that I acknowledge her guilt now with pity rather than scorn or blame. It would seem I forgave her without noticing, for it is certain she has suffered greatly for her mistake. I nearly let slip the information she begged me not to reveal the other night, but caught myself in time. I do not think I would have said anything, did I still hold her to blame as I did at first. Mayhap there is only so much room for blame in my heart, and it is filled entirely with thoughts of the patricide in my family.

The need to hurry up and wait is strong this dawn. What will this day bring? I suppose there is only one way to find out.