These are the contents of Dirk’s journal.
For reference:
Aladin used his devil knowledge to read some burnt up book. It was not that interesting.
Justice Ironbriar dude has the hots for some crazy Xenexhia chick, they’re both totes evil. He’s all like “i’m going to devote my evil brotherhood to do you favors and stuff. Here, let me kill some greedy guys cause I know you love that. I’ll also write down all the dates and records in this book right here. That’s totes not incriminating or anything.” ….laaaaaaame.
Crazy evil lady wrote runes on the dudes they killed.
Ironbriar was paying some Red Mantis (sweet nickname, steal if possible) to get some Voral’s Legacy.
Meeting place for murderfest was under the causeway-ire-bridge in a rickety old Shadow Clock.
Talked around town Pithhelm Bar, Shadow Clock is lame, falling down. Kids die around it all the time. Barkeep says there’s a hulking monster outside (spoiler alert, we murder it). On a scale from 1 to 10 clearing it would be a 4 on fame. It’s not parade fame, but its a start. Need to get the word out.
Calibarn is looking good, more scaley or something, definitely more clawful. It works on him. +1 Dirk respect.
Saladin’ left the party, but some Fudgetooth goblin joined. He’s not evil or anything, just moderately stabby. Has an ugly dog. I just wish he was a kobold instead….i love those guys…
We check out the Clock. Full of mess, broken cart, junk.
Flesh monster attacked us, didn’t want to talk it out.
I saved everyone. Calibarn helped some. Monster had mark from Ironbriar, I guess he built it? That’s a pretty gross hobby, but whatever. Everyone needs to do their jam.
There’s freshish blood on the ground, not from us or the monster, but freshish. Maybe a sacrifice? (According to the dragon gods, sacrificing people is not an acceptable jam to have.)
Farfus turned invisible and flew up the stairs and now I need to save everyone again.
Half Orc Kali’s inner monolog (some of which may be recounted and embellished at the bar):
I woke up this morning feeling extra bad ass. Halfway through my breakfast of sausage, hogshead cheese, and a bit o’ coffee in my whisky, I noticed that I have claws. Righteous. And that rash ain’t going away. The orcish green is turning bluish in patches. And, damn are those patches tough! Can’t even scratch. They did call me “Leather Butt” in the arena. Now I really have a leather butt. Freakin’ Sweet. I must be turning in to a blue grizzly bear (*** backflash to a former life ***). So we went to this clock tower and met up with a real fast gobling kid who likes whisky. Saladim split. We went inside, and this jerky man, bigger than me, started swinging this sick scythe around my D. Ponies. Feeling unusually bad ass, I took him to Stabby Town. For shits and grins, I tripped him . . . three times. Jerky man returns the favor and pulls me to the floor. Not about to look bad in front of my homies, I kill the fucker . . . without even getting up.
Now I got a sweet ass Scythe. Let’s rock this joint.