Compromise and Conceit

When i last wrote I was in fine fettle, after enjoying an evening repaste with our good friend… erm.. magwa or something.  from there we headed on down to the warehouse of Foul-mouth dan/jake/jack/jon/bob/bartholomew smythe… his name is really not that important.  Fearing the possible presence of one of those myrmadon thingamejigs, we decided to split our forces with good ‘ol Russel and Mr Black heading round back to disable the device while I followed the drunken preist and that English toff round to the front door, where upon I met a couple of fine beasts.  Truely remarkable steeds, two horses of a carniverous variety.  I have since come into a close friendship with both and named them duely.  I usually ride serious Cecil and but I allow the priest to ride shy Cyril.  Anyhow, introductions aside the priest tried to distract a couple of heavily armed elite guards and ended up in a nasty case of fistycuffs with the young currs.  All out fighting ensued where upon being in a courtyard where people with guns were above you in windows and 2 mighty large, well armed and expertly trained soldiers blocking your only cover proved to be a nasty situation.  Things could only improve right? We managed to overpower the two guards and enter the room they were in where-upon I started feasting on one of these mens still twitching hearts.  Nothing delighted me more to break my fast with my newly acquired gormet cuisine when Mr Black suddenly appeared with that look on his face. Yes you know the one, ‘screw you guys… i’m going home’ and he promptly disappeared out of the door I had just come through after mumbling something about a Myrmadon.

Much to my surprise, and near demise, though in hindsight i should of seen it coming, a Myrmadon crashed through the wall and collapsed a considerable large part of my skull with its fist.  This really had put a dampener on an otherwise enjoyable dinner.  Smarting more than a little and lying prone the only thing i could see is the feet and lower part of the priests robes moving away at great speed and disappearing into the night, oh how things never change. Good old Matilda jumped straight into action, along with Lord ‘whatever his face’.  Through blood smeared eyes I may even have seen Mr Black leap into the fray too.  Russel was no where to be seen, he had probably found an exciting new window to throw himself through.  Needless to say. more through good luck than good management we brought the nasty beasty to a quick demise.

At this point, father david returned and headed with the others to question those who we had ‘captured’.  I stayed in the coutyard befriending Cecil and Cyril and feeding them various parts of the guards we had murdered. Cecil is particularly fond of the Pancreato-Duodenal junction, where Cyril enjoys the finer taste of the Hypocampal Cortex.

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After we came to some arrangement with the survivor we headed back to Albany and decided to spy on the house of some rich bitch.  I was set to watch the back garden when a boat loaded with another six highly armed, highly trained soldiers, (where are the days of fighting untrained country bumpkins gone?) came to the mansion.  Somehow, knowing that at some point soon, these thugs would be enjoying, the all too common leisure activity of caving my skull in, made me cry.  Well i waited till they had departed and rounded up the others to go and hunt them down.  We were left in the situation where we had to walk, (not run!) across 60 metres of river, (something I’m not really aux fait with) through a barrage of gunfire and then fight through 6 guards and 2 mages.  Mr Black seemed to have managed to avoid this encounter altogether, crying off that he had a sore throat or something… hurummpf.  That left the pervert priest myself and Russel to do the dirty work, whilst lord high and mighty, pomposity himself stood on the river back and gave us, ‘covering fire’ how noble of him!!!!!!!!!!!!!11     <—– 😉

Well of course, we got stuck right in there.  No sooner had matilda and myself joined battle I was surprised by a wholly holy whole arm flying over my head and landing in the river behind me.  Our poor priest seemed to have located his very own Beowulf, and suffered the same fate as the pitiful beast grendel.

Such things becoming more commonly expected these days, I tried to remain as unperturbed as possible and got down with a bit of killing.  This went largely very well, but over the following few moments, I was being rapidly stabbed to death whilst dealing out reasonable amounts of whopah myself.  However, much praise must be given to the late Matilda for a most spectacularly rapid evisceration of Madame Le Belle St thankyou.  Much glory must be given to Russel who was in full swing chopping everywhich way and felling guardsman like paedophillic Irish priests. Speaking of father cantrus, he recovered a little after having a healing potion forced down his throat and then started healing us all up a little by little.  The combat finished as quickly as it began with everyone else dead but the victorious quartet, well three and three quarter of us. So I have taken this small oppertunity of quiet to divulge the most recent events to you, my beloved diary.  this entry is done in the name of my lovely Matilda and her untimely demise.  i will miss her dearly… well until tomorrow when I’ll summon her again =)