Death Puppets: a journal

[PwrMnky]

WARNING: this contains spoilers for the Malingo/Figlio campaign in Ravenloft. Don't cheat!



Everyday is the same thing: survive.

The only good thing I have to look forward to is the hope that things will be the way they once were. I may have been a street rat, but at least there was a city. At least there were people. At least ...

... I take a heavy breath. There has to be something like that again.

... I take a heavy breath. How come the only things I look forward to are things in my past?

Right now life has become a question of death and scrounging for food. With my previous experience of being a street rat I have better skills than most. Which has attracted the attention of our main church. Reverend Hartwick has taken me under his wing and now I have shelter and food on a regular basis. Temporarily.

Temporarily.

... I take heavy breath. How come my stability is fleeting?

It was a dark few days. Days of screaming and smoke. Women calling for fallen husbands, mothers crying for their teenage sons who were dying. Legions of undead attacked our city. Some of them former family members. There were no families, there were no mothers/fathers ... we all became soldiers. Pitchforks became weapons, and anything you could hide behind became cover.

We had pissed off the wrong vampire.

I hate undead. I hate them with every fiber of my being. They destroyed my city. And now we don't have any more city. We just have rubble and ruin.

Reverend Hartwick approaches me and asks that I lead a cart and donkey to beg at the next town for food. I am the best choice since I am used to scrounging ... and since ...

... they have been training me to battle the undead. People cry to the church and we answer. Like firefighters.

I take one donkey, one cart, few gold, all of my weapons, and I head to the next town. At least I carry one thing from the past with me. It's everything my mother gave me. My name.

... Herod.

 

[PwrMnky]

Herod. It's my name.

It's everything my mom ever gave me. She was a town prostitute. Eventually vilified by the church and quartered by horse in the town center.

The same church I know survive under. And the same town center littered with debris from the influx of undead armies. My townspeople were slaughtered. We were flooded with legions of undead.

Right now I lead a donkey and small cart into the neighboring towne. The wooden wheel squeaks as I walk along a roughly hewn road. Most of the trade has been scared away by roaming undead.

And it was when my head was down that it came ...

It was when I was looking at my feet land one after the other on a dirt road, that it came ...

I looked like a woman's hair. The mist. It had weight to it. It was white and full as it curled around me. When I carried my head up I told myself, "Herod, this is unnatural."

There wasn't enough moisture in the air to create this mist. It floated through me. Wide like a brick wall for miles. Thick like a fat aunt trying to hug you. I freed up my hands and drew my sword.

That.

That right there.

I get it ...

That's when I lost my donkey and cart.

I walked forward with caution. What we do in life, echoes in enternity. They may take my life but they'll never take my-

A man.

... I think.

He stood there in the middle of the mist.

... as if he owned it.

 

[PwrMnky]

I walked out of the mist. Without my donkey or cart. The man within the mist had offered help for my village. He said I must do him a favor. I felt such power from him that I even had I refused he would have taken anything from me. My death would not help.

I walked out of the mist. Sword held at the ready and into a well developed towne. There was some inane celebration at hand. People wearing stupid colorful clothes and dancing in broad stupid strokes.

Good.

When the undead come, they'll be the first to die.

The street were pinched with cobblestone, and the houses where tall. The tallest houses I've ever seen! And built almost on top of one another.

I walked out of the mist. And past the stupid revelers. Beyond the useless festival. The only reason I would enjoy this, is so that I could rob the distracted fools. But I am embolden to a greater cause. To find help for my entire village. To be the hero th-

... - nevermind. That's stupid. Heroes die at the hands of someone who try to kill them.

Yes. Heroes are assassinated. They never die of natural causes.


I walked out of the mist. And nearly bumped head first into the people who will save my village. The man in the mist was good to his word and I fell into the hands of bright, shiny, powerful, muscled, outgoing soldiers. Adventurers.

I walked out of the mist.

I strode up to them.

Then the local authorities blindsided me and arrested me without cause. Just that quickly. Cowards. Power hungry cowards. Xenophobic, power hungry cowards.

I walked out of the mist. I was roughly escorted into a jail cell.

 

[PwrMnky]

A gnome, a student, and a drunkard.

What sort of city is this?

I am put in a jail cell with a gnome, a student and a drunkard.

The gnome tells me his name. It was long as he was tall. So, he grants me his nickname. From here on out I am to call him Puttinhead. He consistently tries to correct me from "PUDDINGhead" to "puttinhead." Due to my thick accent, he doesn't understand that I AM saying "puttinhead." He is an accomplish hat maker, but he seems to be a bit more snarky than that.

Next Garrian gets thrown into the cell. He is a young boy with no real world experience. His voice is tight with youth, and he is easily derailed. Garrian worries about passing some test at some magical university.

It seems as if neither one has had to truly survive in war torn areas, as I have.

... and the drunkard ... he remains drunk. Never shares two words with us and smells like offal.

We all agree we are unjustly imprisoned with no cause. That is the first thing I hate about this towne.

We all agree we are from different cities. In fact after some discussion we uncover that we are even from different realms. This realm may be filled with darkness. I have felt an ugly, yellow sense ever since I walked out of the mist. I swear that this place has a certain damp smell pervading throughout it. That's the second thing I hate about this towne.

Puttinhead begins describing how he can break out of this jail cell. The ideas come to him easily, and they are basic plans with very little room for error. Garrian's enthusiasm to enact the plans impresses me. I feel as if my first impression of them being soft-bellied children was much too harsh. Puttinhead's intellect is valuable, and as with Garrian ... I almost smile ... I always respect someone who looks forward to battle.

He may be green but he's unafraid.

I appreciate how readily we all take to planning an escape from this corrupt city. We don't have much time to confer before the door bursts open. In walk the same adventurers from before!

... this is destined.

... this is destined.

Even the corrupt officials cannot stop this.

… this is destined.

 

[PwrMnky]

... I cannot decide whether to use my cell mates to get out, or to sacrafice them to get out.

More later.

 

[PwrMnky]

"Teha Maht?"

"Yes, I serve the lord of Dragons. Mistress fang. The clawed master. She-" And then he ran out of steam. His shoulders slumped. "- ... who ... flies on leathery wings ..."

It was the most bizarre thing.

Herod watched as this cleric in bright, shiny armor just deflated. Instead of the furvor that he was accustom to from working with the clerics in his church this cleric just delfated. Herod had never heard of this Goddess Teha Maht, but maybe she was to be the one to save his village-

"I'LL GIVE YOU ONE MORE TRY BEFORE WE KILL YOU!!" came the blurt from this annoying deputy. "YOU WILL ROT IN THIS JAIL CELL. FOREVER."

Herod hoped he would just stop yelling. There is very little you can threaten a street rat from a war torn village with. Pain is no threat.
"I AM IN CONTROL HERE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM IN CHARGE! I WILL KEEP YOU HERE FOREVER.” … and then on and on. He was babbling questions about some murder. With all those bright colors he wears, he makes a better target than law enforcement.

And it seems to be the theme of law officials around here to be violent over having any sort of detective skills. Beat people till you get the answer you want.

… they can try to hit me. There’ll only be two hits: my fist their face, then their head and the ground.

My cell mates who had previously been such impressive men, immediately gave all information. Garrian pressed his face up through the bars to talk. He look like he could break a bone scratching his ass. His short blonde hair made him look like a farm hand. But his jewelry and outfit told a different story. A magical farm hand, maybe.

Puttinhead, his little fat gnomish body, told everything as well. I looked at Puttinhead and made an observation: for how casual his demeanor his outfit told a different story. It seemed as if this “casual look” was actually very well put together. Designed.

Garrian the student, and Puttinhead the gnome … both people you could visually underestimate.

And now …

I have Elana, Ted and Jeff to add to the mix.

Ted who was the verbose cleric, Elana a quiet witch … and Jeff: “I AM IN CHARGE! YOU ARE A PISSANT! TELL ME EVERYTHING!”

… ha … not once did he even question the bum.



… I should have acted drunk as well.

 

[PwrMnky]

Destiny delivers.

As the Loud-one and the female were called away ... TED ... TED ... the follower of Teha Maht, released us. Perhaps feeling the fall of a great deity he released us.

He walked away and we were left to analyze our surroundings. As armor was doned I noticed that I was the ranger of the group. Garrian a magician specializing in war, and Puttinhead ... a hat maker? A sorcerer?

We had very little time before the doorhandle twisted.

I drew my sword!

We readied.

It twisted again.

We stayed ready.

It twisted again. Almost as if a toddler were playing with the door handle.

"Stand behind me and blast anything that comes out of the door" I said to them.

Garrian's hands immediately began to glow with arcane power. He's jumpy. I can use that.

Puttinhead on the other had stood very far behind me. He was a fat little gnome. And I guess a coward with skills.

I flung open the door.

In fell three ... puppets ...

My eyes crunched as i tried to figure what was going on.

The puppets go up.

"Run." I said to my compatriots. They didn't run. They sprinted for dear life.

 

[PwrMnky]

I'm surprised I didn't hear him yelling as he ran down the street.

First of all, the streets were empty. Barren. No signs of life. Except for me, Garrian and Puttinhead sprinting for dear life. And now sprinting for the exact same reason towards us.


It is the loud one again, Jeff and the whispy woman, Elana.

Once again ... he was jabbering all the way ...

Garrian looked to me with his childlike eyes, "Herod where are we running?"

I don't have time to babysit anyone. I don't answer. I ignore him.

We practically bowl over Jeff and Elana.

Puttinhead points a wiggly finger behind him, "p-p-puppets. Living puppets."

Jeff, "THEY'RE OVER THERE TOO."

... I don't know why he has to yell everything.

It's at this time I realize that the constable is with them. He looks as if he's been sweating. The constable takes a frantic look to the roofs. I follow his gaze as my compatriots continue their clucking.

There is motion on the roof.

Tiny figures.

Moving dolls.

... I hate dolls.

I look back to ask the constable a question. And like some fragile coward he is running.

Jeff, "CONSTABLE? CONSTABLE?"

... I don't know why he has to yell everything.

Jeff, "WE SHOULD RUN AFTER HIM-"

Garrian, "No, we should find shelter. We should duck into one of these houses and take cov-"

"LISTEN," Jeff steps into Garrian, "THAT IS THE CONSTABLE OF THIS TOWN. HE PROBABLY KNOWS THE FASTEST WAY OUT OF HERE. WE SHOULD FOLLOW HIM."

Garrian does not cringe away from Jeff. Which is weird. I would have marked him a more timid creature marking his age and his station as a student.

Garrian, "we need to get off these streets."

I don't say anything. But I believe this sounds like a good idea. All of us find the first open door and secure the building.

... stupid luck.

I hate the gods.

We end up walking in on a murder scene. A slaughtered father. A daughter. Amongst all this death I wonder one thing ...

... why does he have to yell everything?

 

[PwrMnky]

"hughgggggg .... sniff ... hughhhhgh ... " Puttinhead was breathing so heavily, we might as well have just told the puppets where we were.

Garrian had a look of innocence on his face, "we should check out the rest of the house."

Another smart idea from the kid. He comes up with some good ideas. I wonder if he can handle a good fight?

Of course everything happens at night, so the darkness sinks into the room like a massive boulder. I adjust the thin leather armor on my frame. Armed with my survival skills and my short sword ... I should be able to handle anything. I've sliced portions of skin off of things twice my size.

Jeff whispered, "WE SHOULD HAVE, " even when he whispers he sounds like he's yelling, "LEFT THE ENTIRE VILLAGE."

I immediately turned on him, "they were attacking children."

Elana seemed to be starring off into space. She reminded me of some white witch. As if she would ride into town on the back of a polar bear then beat the biggest man in the pub at arm wrestling. She had a certian presence about her that reminded me of royalty.


"ghuuuhhh ... sniff ... huggghhhuihuh ... " Puttinhead place two hands on his knees. He was portly but he seemed to be the fastest one of us. Survival does that to man.

Obviously it does it to a gnome too.

Without checking with anyone Elana immediately glides upstairs. I have a feeling that she doesn't rely on her fists to knock something down. She may have some mental powers.

I light my sun torch.

Normally, I would bark at someone for being a liability. I let Puttinhead catch his breath.

He may be more useful as the night goes on.