Journal of Tod P. Quasit Jr.
It is with a heavy heart that I must report that my dear friend and com-padre, Vinnie has passed away on one of our delves into the Under City. Killed by a godless bandit. I drink a toast to his memory. A toast or two perhaps.So I was too ill last week to write in this journal. I think you will remember that I was poisoned by some rot gut I drank at the Slippery Eel. I was warned about their bargain swill but I was also invited there by a person who I could not say no to. It is with a heavy heart that I must report that my old drinking friend Lenore is no longer with us. Her liver just couldn't make it anymore. I drink a toast to her memory. But not at the Slippery Eel. I will have that place shut down.
Last week, after turning in all the bandits except for their leader into the proper authorities, we delved back into the Under City to investigate their hide-out. Somehow, one of the bandits, the one that the Wizzard Twiffles charmed, has now joined our group.
We encountered three young people on our way to the hideout. Dressed in very expensive armor and adorned in expensive upholstery, they were clearly out of their depth. We saved them from some thugs and Brother Jibber gave them a stern lecture. We did let them go and they gave us a little statue as way of thanks. Jibber seemed quite rattled by the thing. I have no idea why. Looked like a panda to me.
So after turning in the four thugs who were accosting the kids to the proper authorities, we decided that our group was in fact quickly becoming "the proper authorities" and it wouldn't not be completely unlawful to behave as the police of this filthy crime filled vermin infested hell hole of an Under City.
So we searched the hide-out and successfully found several caches of moneys as well as some rather expensive looking items. It was suggested we try to find the rightful owners of the items, but Jibber began expounding on the righteous need for redistribution of wealth and that the very act of owning such extravagant items rendered the owner a moral-less plutocrat. Not sure where he was going with all this, as most of us are clearly in this for the money. That and the fame. Fame and fortune. And power. And righteousness. Yes.
I think I'm going to pop off to the Festering Gob for a quick pint and maybe a cold meat sandwich. I believe our group, now officially known as THE INFESTATION MANAGERS plans to delve again soon. Maybe I'll grab Jibber for a drink and talk about his philosophy about property ownership.
A fourth letter home (Quazzle's journal)
Hello again Father,
Not a lot to say this week. We've retrieved a large number of valuables from the bandit's mansion, including some pieces that pre-date the fall of the old city, things the bandits didn't even find.
And in case that isn't enough for you, father, we also rescued some rather naive-looking youngsters from muggers. Now, those are the sorts of people who really shouldn't be down here. They claimed to be able to take care of themselves, but clearly that's not the case!
Well, I haven't got much more to talk about. Twiffle continues to be a stalwart companion, though I'm sure you wouldn't approve. You've made your feelings about elves very clear indeed over the years.
Please pass along my best wishes to Mother, Roger, Abigail, and Matron Della. I hope they all are doing well.