Today started well enough. Woke up without that ache in my knee, and the room smelled like flowers. I think the Land-Lady’s been perfuming my door, she has said I reek of metal. Can’t imagine why. Spent the ‘fore-dawn shining my mail and sword, and decided to bring that little boot-dagger I’d bought at that traveling festival some time ago.
Well, I’d strapped up steels and marched down the Watch House to see the assignment boaEustace Crownrd. “CROWN- Mn St Gate Hs.” It had just started to drizzle.
So, I spend the morning and after-noon in that outhouse by the town edge, say g’morning to the locals and travelers. Every damn one of ‘em stepped on the worms. It’s hard not to do, but these pedestrians were at it like they were goin’ for a medal.
Time rolls on, there were some shenanigans by the Dock and an angry worker got brained by another “”/campaigns/tides-of-terror/characters/archer-longshaft" class=“wiki-content-link”>mysterious stranger." Those fools won’t fess up- they’re getting beat by a woman, I can feel it.
Trailing into the evening I sat in that gatehouse waiting for my relief to come (bastard missed my break to eat at noon) and from the house on the hill I hear a shrill little scream off the wind. Rousin’ the others I make way up to the manor of old Hatlock, and see the door cleaved in.
The other guards and I split to explore with the rods ablaze, and as George and I hit the top of the stairs some translucent bitch has the nerve to appear from the wall and produce an axe in my face. I would’ve let her have it, but I remembered that I’d left something horribly valuable back with the other guards who went off the main foyer- so I calmly went to fetch them. Two of the boys seem to go down into the cellar from this side room (which was remarkably unadorned and bland for such a fancy home). I can’t clearly remember what happened next, but there’s an angsty broad in a robe that clinks, a Tree-Rat with a bow (typical), a wee-man with acclaimed pilfering fingers, and a great bloke the size of a house- I quite like him. Moderate chaos ensues, some of us descend to the cellar where I’d met Wormy (ah, I failed to mention that. Was George, now Wormy. Wormy infected one of Hatlocks’ guests, too) and off’d ourselves to find my other guard, and perhaps whatever had infested poor George (resthisheart).
I shackle an ass-hat son of Hatlock to a keg and hand him my mace, and take our Motley Crew through a door hidden in a wine cask (a serious violation of the King’s Building Code, I made a note to add that to my report). It trailed on for a ways; we came across poor Detritus (resthisheart), and an old family tomb (?) with an open casket. The big one said something about a box. Sweet Gods the paperwork that will come.