Chrism Rosewood's page

Dear Diary,

I find this most vexing. I know that I am the one who declared that plans invariably go awry upon their first encounter with reality, but I did not think this would occur for the very first, simplest part of our first, simple plan.

I cannot believe that our contacts went haring off into some obvious trap and managed to get our weapons stolen by kobolds, or whatever has actually happened to them.

I certainly hope our contacts have by now learned their lesson, and are dead.

Cheers,

Chrism

Dear Diary,

Well, the changes in my circumstances continue! I cannot say I am thrilled by the terms of the contract we have signed, but nor can I deny that I knew what I was doing when I signed it. No daughter of Cheliax could fail to understand what it means to make a contract with Hell – but so be it. My life was snatched from the fire by Hell, and now it is Hell’s to command.

(I am rather proud of myself for the guarantee that we shall be lords of this realm, though. While there are endless loopholes, at least it is something.)

All that aside, I am proud of our mission and proud of my associates.

I cannot say the same, alas, for our other confederates. The winter witch handled Chloe with all the people skills of a whining idiot. If she nags her “team” like that, no wonder they seem like a bunch of misfits, outcasts, and losers. And while the power of our new “master” seems unquestionable, I feel that better use could be made of our time than these simplistic lessons and tests. Honestly, who doesn’t learn about torture and deception at their mother’s knee anyway?

Thiadora continues to impress me though. She seems to like blood. Perhaps I should offer her some …

And with that thought in mind, I shall take to my bed. Ever yours,

Chrism

Dear Diary,

At the end of a long and difficult day, is there anything more pleasant than a soothing bath, a roaring fire, the company of good friends, and a fine meal made from an enemy who hurled pathetic curses at you as she died an ignominious death? It is always important to remember that sometimes, the simplest pleasures are also the best ones.

I have a bit more leisure to write, holed up as we are in a cave while we wait for an opportune time to venture out once more, but alas, no better tools with which to perform the task of writing. Once again, this entry will only proceed until my makeshift ink stops oozing from the goblin corpse at my side.

Our safe haven, you see, was not taken without a battle against its current inhabitants. But nonetheless, I cannot call our journey here ill luck; nor, however, would I precisely call it serendipity. I believe that there may be a force abroad in the world that is looking out for us, and at the same time testing us. I have some suspicions regarding the nature of that force; we shall perhaps see tomorrow night whether or not these suspicions are confirmed.

I believe we have acquitted ourselves well in these tests thus far, and perhaps are even improving. Although tonight we once again came uncomfortably close to meeting our end, our ultimate victory can be seen as testament to the stalwart bravery of my comrades. Mordrick struck a goblin with one of the mightiest blows I have seen, Chloé is starting to get a handle on the knives she loves so and managed great violence with them, and even Æthelflæd, who scarcely seems to know which end of a weapon is which, struck the final blow that brought down the most dangerous of our foes — with a torch she pulled from the wall, hastily employed as a club! And once again, I flatter myself that my own assistance was not unwelcome.

What I most look forward to now is a night of rest … particularly since it is a night of rest in freedom! The cave may be damp and the stone may be hard, but I venture to say that this night’s sleep shall be as welcome as one in the softest of beds in the finest of palaces. Liberty is sweet.

Revenge shall be sweeter.

But the corpse is getting cold, and if my yawning is any indication, it is time for me to sleep the sleep of the just. Tomorrow, perhaps, a bright future awaits. Until then, I am as always,

Chrism

Dear Diary,

This entry shall have to be relatively brief, as I am writing this on a scrap of cloth with the rapidly drying blood of the last guard I killed. At a more convenient moment, I shall endeavor to transfer it to a more suitable medium.

What a day it has been! And for that matter, what a week! In the space of a few days, I have gone from rising star to condemned prisoner to hunted fugitive. Who knows what I shall become next?

Before detailing the surprising adventures of my recent days, I should like to mention a few people I feel I have become unusually close to in a very short time. They say that shared adversity builds camaraderie, and few people have shared as much adversity as myself and my former cellmates! And strong in adversity they have been — I must say that without Chloé’s nimble fingers, Mordrick’s strong arms, and Æthelflæd’s powerful magic, we would all no doubt still be rotting in that cell awaiting our fates. Although, if I may be so bold, I believe that my own flair for performance played no small part in our escape, as well.

It is true that we might have had a less hair-raising experience had we been more familiar with the layout of our prison. But hindsight, as they say, has low-light vision. I think we acquitted ourselves reasonably well given the information and resources at our disposal. We may have made mistakes, but more important was the fact that we were able to recover from them, and the measure of success is a landing one can walk away from (or be carried away from, or possibly leave flung over the back of an enchanted horse.)

So fond I have become of them all! I feel so protective and caring of dear Chloé; indeed, she seems to me like the little sister I never had. To Mordrick I accord the respect and admiration I might to an elder brother. And Æthelflæd is … hm. Perhaps not unlike a close cousin. A close cousin who probably eats babies.

In my relief at our escape, I am even not terribly angered at our hostage. She has been a very obedient hostage, all things considered, and it isn’t her fault that she is the servant of a corrupt regime. Perhaps I shall argue in favor of releasing her onto the moors at some opportune time, maybe with only a single letter of my name carved into her cheek. Never let it be said that I am not merciful.

I must leave now, since the blood is almost dry and we have far to go before we rest, but I remain, as always,

Chrism