Morwain’s previous journal entry: Lockdown
Last night, I thought I’d truly hit rock bottom in my Riddleport residency. I was wrong. So so wrong.
The day seemed to start off well enough – if you don’t count being woken up by a bucket of cold water thrown upon me. One of Bruiser’s friends – a weedy man who was somehow rattier than the ratling – had come to free her, and the rest of us in the process. This was all on the condition that we did a little job for him – bring in a ‘pretty boy’.
I’ve stayed long enough in Riddleport to know that ‘little jobs’ typically involves theft, extortion and bodily violence, especially when they start to talk in that impenetrable thieves’ code. Normally, I wouldn’t get involved, but when the ratling agreed to go, I did too.
So I followed Bruiser and her hammer-wielding friend I’d dubbed Claws – was she even human, I wondered – down to the warehouses where the ‘pretty boy’ lived. I tried to get to know the ratling better, but he was reticent. No surprise there – I can’t imagine Riddleport takes kindly to what they think is a Whisker. Despite the creature’s numerous off putting qualities, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for it.
The sympathy was short lived. As we arrived at the warehouse, we found six heavies guarding the only way in. We argued a bit about how to distract them, when the ratling took matters into his own hands.
The little bastard threw one of his bombs at us, neglecting to actually warn us first. He deliberately missed, but the same cannot be said for the poor bystanders that got caught in the blast.
There was no time for guilt. The guards had drawn their weapons and were heading towards us. Quickly, I blinded them with a swirl of glittering dust as the others dispatched the others with sickening violence.
Did I mention we were supposed to do this without attracting any attention? The smart thing to do would have been to flee. But I had no choice – I’d follow the mad ratling to Abaddon itself if I had to.
We entered the pitch black interior of the warehouse. I could hear the ratling scuttle off somewhere, but had no idea where. So I stayed close to Bruiser and Claws who are, for all their faults, efficient at killing things.
A pair of red eyes watched us from the shadows. Sensing danger, I cast a protection spell on myself. A moment later, an armoured skeleton charged at me from the dark, his weapon clanging uselessly against the magical armour I’d summoned.
Shocked, I stumbled back and gave him the evil eye, but his smile told me it hadn’t worked. Of course; the dead do not feel fear. My hexes were useless. I stumbled back, my mind desperately racing for a way out, when Claws crushed smashed the skeleton to pieces with her huge warhammer.
But there was something else there – a metal snake. The lesson of the skeleton fresh in my mind, I cast a misfortune hex to help the others defeat it.
It is easy to become arrogant when you can turn other’s minds as easily as I can. But this reminds me that there are things out there that I have no sway over. The witchcraft that my patron has afforded me is but a small taste of its vast powers. If I want to live long enough to feed off of the rest, I must be clever.
The pretty boy – a cypher mage, Bruiser had let slip – lay beyond the door. But when we opened it, we found only a room of red. Worse, there is someone – or something – at the door of the warehouse, waiting for us.
This has turned into a very bad day indeed.