Auto-Recorded Mental Log: Entry 2,544,586
What a time to be away from Caravel. Within the 1st month as mayor of this new town, we’ve had a homicide rate of 99.9999%. Delightful.
All stories start from the beginning though, and to whomever it may concern who eventually reads this mental log, best of luck to you in trying to find any sort of cohesiveness or consistency in what I perceive to come.
For me, it began when the King declared an mayorial (that’s a word?) exchange between the ports of Caravel and Griffendale. The mayor of Griffendale, the incompetent drunkard Zazi, had, needless to say, handled the city’s affairs poorly, and as such I was called in to take over while he became the puppet mayor of Caravel (2 days into the job he was promptly impeached for being too damn high, and a noble replaced him). For awhile, things were going well. Taxes were lowered, the thieving industry was subsidized, and a new flood evacuation system was devised. That being said, a storm was brewing.
Prior to the disaster, I had reluctantly asked a fortune teller if damage could be avoided, to which I got a resounding yes. But having experienced the disaster first hand, I can now safely call utter BS on that.
It came suddenly, just as the evacuation signal was about to be uttered, the hurricane launched massive blasts of weird dark magic, energy, jawn, which defied all laws of physics and one-shotted the tower which was city hall. Zazi hired a crappy architect by the way. As the tower fell, I ducked and covered (given that there isn’t much you can do) and found myself alive and unconscious after a 50 ft fall.
Now this satyr-woman thing (she calls herself a piper) named
Kenya Keyna was at the time making a living, as a wholesome cross-dressing skank thief. However, when city hall fell, the populous went into a mass panic. She went to the newly constructed (and untested) tunnel system, with the rest of the populous instead of intelligently making way towards the wide open main gates. As per Murphy’s law, the walls that sealed off the tunnel were destroyed by the total BS magic sentient storm thing and it’s black lizard minions, whom during the invasion were slaughtering everyone and scarcely being stopped by the incompetent undermanned and inexperienced guards. After somehow surviving the massive wall of water, she ended in a weird cave thingy.
Meanwhile, the other person I’m now traveling with, Harold Saxon, was conducting a black market deal (I didn’t subsidize drugs yet unfortunately). After stumbling through initial negotiations, he struck a deal and as he went to deliver the goods, the calamity struck. The not so incompetent guards and him were able to escape from the city
. However, as he fled he met a drow (reminds me of a certain crazy woman) who coincidentally led him away from the group of guards and conveniently towards the cave Keyna arrived at. And with good reason, as right afterwards a nuke magical BS bomb exploded and destroyed everything outside of the city (we should have practiced reverse evacuation). The drow gave Saxon a sack, and told him to place it’s contents on the gem inside.
Now back to me. I awoke inexplicably healed but ready to be tortured to death by the sadistic
black people invaders. As they tried to pull my body limb from limb, something plox hax worthy happened. Harold and Keyna had met up and followed the instructions of the Drow, and upon placing the head, I was teleported from my position of doom and into the presence of the other 2.
Now we journey towards the capital to warn the army about the destruction. 3 horses conveniently arrived with all of our equipment, and as I gallop ready to begin this quest, I cannot help but shudder of what the god, Mark, Mutterer of the Mist, has in store. Rage against the heavens and the illogical properties of magic, and may the laws of physics eventually apply in the future.