In To The Dark

We be Slummin

From here on there will be a link for Character journals, somthing I stole from Homeland. They do not exsist in the prievious Log posts due to catching up. The Game master is not responsible for editing any content in these journals, they are the avenue of the player that bleongs to that character.

Sareth’s Journal Beldin’s Journal Mesinplas’s Journal Graham’s Journal Mai-Khai’s Journal Cherry’s Journal Ill-Dal’s Journal

Three of my players didn’t show up for various reasons so the main portion of the camaign was put on hold.

Training for artic survival, running a millitary unit, wasn’t what they had expected. It drew on their every reserve to get it done. The cold even short exposures sapped their energy, forcing them to dig in for reserves just to deal with mundane matters of life. It was definantly getting to them all.

Which is why Sareth, and Cherry decided to take a break and go on the town. They grabed Qalla, A former Imperium valet liberated on their oh so recent trip, and Mesinplas. Where to go though that was the question.

Sareth pronounced that they could go slumming, a tradition she had not been able to enjoy since her friends left for the war. Every one agreed, somewhat tentative.

Their first stop was decided when Mesinplas asked which tavern was least liked, incase he needed to do some redecorating arcane style, Sareth mentioned the Sand Lot.

Sand Lot:
The first impression of this tavern was “run down” then one stepped into the door and found out it was worse than you thought. Two large door guards, both human, flanked the entrance, their clothing clean not ripped and looking fairly respectable made these two stand out. One of the gaurds leaning against a rotting support stud asked them to divulge their weapons and explained the rules. The other stood mutely by, arms folded on his chest. Center of the pub was what once might have been a dance floor eons ago, now, it was just a pit of broken planks and sand roped off, keeping people from wandering in. There were no less than five people in the center of this sand pit fighting. Near everyone else was gathered around the pit betting, arguing, and generally enjoying the fights.

Darb, an Orc of some years was standing behind the bar. He had been in some scraps in his life as evidence showed. His head was misshapened and flat on the left side due to somthing cleaving part of it off. His right hand, having escaped some nefarious engagement, had only two fingers; his left faired just slightly better with three fingers. You get the distinct feeling that not every one likes what this orc has to say, given he had two wicked scars staring from the corners of his mouth and intersecting the joint of his jowel. This gave him a slight problem with druling for which he kept a rag ready in his left hand.

The patrons of this bar ranged from seedy to shadowy, with a number that was well past safe occupancy for this rickity building. Our partying quartet only stayed for a drink that was so foul it made even the cooth Cherry spit.

Next they headed for The Cat’s Meow a place a bit less peturbulant than the Sand Lot.

The Cat’s Meow:
Though this place seemed a bit under the weather, with a slight smell of mildew eminating off of the wood, it looked to be as if the proprieter tried to keep up with repairs. The Barkeep, a young looking female elf with leather pants cut so they would hide only the areas ment for a more private venue and a poets shirt tied ubove her middrift tightly, long ago having lost the twine that was meant to hold the neckline closed. . Think Daisy Duke, Medievil style. Seemed to be busy with either serving drinks or cleaning glasses and the bar. A bard, the party later learned was named Ralph, played at the stage with magical accompanyment making a gag out of the “ghosts” who kept poping up singing the corus. This was a place better suited to the relaxing night the group had wanted; despite the shady figures holding obviously private conversation everywhere.