Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

Hell Awaits

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Salty_Soykaf:

--- Quote ---I have bore witness to the truth of things, dear wife. I wish that my eyes were not wrenched open to the truth, but there is a strange calm from it all.
My mind is still racing, just as that night two years ago. There was hope to heal in this tiny town, but it seems my bloody work will always hunt me down.
The blood in my veins, which were thawing with this life, have now frozen over like the river Black in winter. I understand that I must embrace what I've ran away from all those years. Dear wife, there is peace for once. I want you to tell little Marthe that her Papa loves her, and I love you.

My name is Sigurd Herman Schmutz, and I will die tonight. It is the 26th time I write down these words.

The Red wolf is dead, and the Gourmand is an ever growing threat.  I have gathered a rather heavy amount of paperwork on him, from various sources. Even when we've finally met, he shed some light on himself. Which was surprising, giving I expected the ambush to be over in a second. The firearms ban in Barovia is a blessing in disguise.

Harlick Syke, otherwise known as The Gourmand, is a Ghestrian man of once modest height now bent low. His features are gaunt and tight, say for where skin once held taught against fat, which hangs like a curtain over his waistline. The man has donned an old eating bib of all things, and a rusty crown adorns his head. His skills at luring the curiosity of people, booby trapping bodies, and ability to fade into the brush, tells me he's been hunting the backwoods of places for a good long while. Which begs question as to what makes a man hunger for his own kind? He confessed was gluttony due to Ghestria's bland food, once he had come to the mainland.

I've heard of men taking to eating one another in the winter, when supplies were low, but to indulge willingly out of enjoyment? He is indeed as they say, a ghoulish sort.
What's even more worrying is his companions that seem to just appear from the mists, like nightmares taking physical form. Their miasma of rot and disease is beyond paralyzing to a strong sense of smell. Even their very, get this, claws are filth ridden with every swipe they make. Who are these people, and why do they follow him? Customers.

I've allied myself with my usual affair of Arthur, a "knight" from Nidala. The local town guards, by the request of Under-stewardess of Krofburg.  There's also a new face, a one William Thatcher. The most Mordentish rover you've ever met. Along with who knows how many will flock to this towns aid, now that this Red Wolf has been killed off.
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Salty_Soykaf:


--- Quote ---Seems I've missed a great deal in the month I've been out, and under the thumb of the Red Vardo. I've small bits of what happened in that dank cell, after being woken up. The Gundarakite woman talked on, and on, and on about I don't know what. My head felt like a lead weight had been dropped on it, and I was too weak to pull myself up. Regretting her actions, or something, after a bunch of people in Krofburg were declared traitors. So it's good to know whatever their plans were, whatever the Stewardess was going to do with the Vardo, have been stopped. Either way, it's not my problem and I'm giving up this game of coins.

My urge to hunt those that escape justice, for good or ill, have been rekindled in light of this. Yet, for now the gate of Barovia are sealed shut. I find myself in the one place I've never left docks before; Port-a-Lucine. Who's to say how long I'll be here, but I should be able to make some profit with my skills as a hired gun. Which speaking of hired gun, remember to pay back Arthur for the pistol and ammo. She's a pretty piece with a rather handy scope on it.
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