Post by coolyo294 on Jul 4, 2016 1:49:38 GMT
Just a little writing exercise I'm doing. Writing in character diary entries based off my expeditions in darkest dungeon.
This first one is based off the untimely death of Stanley the highwayman at the hands of the hag.
Journal of Boislevesque
Week 84
We lost Stanley today.
I am no stranger to death. None of us are. But some deaths… Some strike closer than others. All of us knew the risks when we signed the contract and boarded the stagecoach. We all had our reasons for coming. But none of us thought that this would be our fate.
At first I thought him to be the same as most of the others, a cowardly “civilized” man scraping by without any true skill. But after our first expedition together I realized I was wrong. A deft hand with the blade and a fine shot with the pistol, he proved his worth to me in the depths of the ruins. Eveque and MacRae too, both good men. But MacRae was a solitary figure and Eveque is… Eveque. Only Stanley could match me in the tavern and the gambling hall! When MacRae died, Stanley was with me as I raised a tankard in his honor.
After a few weeks recuperating and training, I was once again sent out with Eveque and Stanley. After MacRae’s death a Vestal was also chosen to accompany us. Pious bitch. I didn’t bother to learn her name. The expedition into the Weald was easy enough. With Stanley’s practiced eye and Eveque’s sixth sense we managed to avoid most of the chaff lurking in the shadowed paths. Our quarry, the Hag, didn’t make much of an effort to conceal her presence and finding her was hardly a challenge. Before we confronted her we decided to make camp and rest. Eveque conducted some sort… ritual to keep us safe in the night while Stanley cleaned his weapons. As is the Heir’s habit, we were overstocked with food, so we could afford a small feast. As we ate I made conversation with Stanley.
Stanley and I arrived on the same stagecoach, yet I never learned his reason for coming here. It was always something he had been secretive about. But as we talked, he showed me a small locket he kept hidden beneath his coat. Inside was a portrait of a woman, plain of cloth but lovely. He said it was his fiancée, a woman who had inspired him to give up his criminal ways and come to this place to earn money for their life back in his hometown. I joked that some cosmic mistake must’ve happened for a dog-faced thug like him to find such a lovely wife and we laughed. None of us were thinking of the horrors that lurked ahead.
We broke camp at first light and found the Hag soon after. That foul creature, so debased I am loath to even refer to her as human, was a terrifying foe. The fight was long and grueling, but eventually we emerged triumphant, at great cost. Even now I can’t get the sight of Stanley’s body out of my head, his head half caved in by the Hag’s immense tenderizer, spilling blood on to the corrupted grass of the Weald. I begged Eveque to do something, but he insisted there was nothing he could do. I regret my words now but I cursed Eveque, hoping his soul would be devoured by the occult monsters that he consorts with. He turned and left me to my grief. As Eveque and the Vestal burned the Hag’s corpse I retrieved Stanley’s locked and picked up his body. Retracing our path, we soon left the Weald and returned to the Hamlet.
Stanley was buried today in the graveyard. Eveque and I were both there as the Caretaker consigned our comrade to the earth. We were both silent as the final shovelful of dirt covered his shallow grave. First MacRae, now Stanley…. Soon none of us will be left.
I still have his locket. If I make it out of this alive I will see to it that I find his fiancée and return it to her. She deserves to know what happened to him. But for now, I need two drinks. One to remember Stanley’s memory and another to forget this wretched place.
-Boislevesque
This first one is based off the untimely death of Stanley the highwayman at the hands of the hag.
Journal of Boislevesque
Week 84
We lost Stanley today.
I am no stranger to death. None of us are. But some deaths… Some strike closer than others. All of us knew the risks when we signed the contract and boarded the stagecoach. We all had our reasons for coming. But none of us thought that this would be our fate.
At first I thought him to be the same as most of the others, a cowardly “civilized” man scraping by without any true skill. But after our first expedition together I realized I was wrong. A deft hand with the blade and a fine shot with the pistol, he proved his worth to me in the depths of the ruins. Eveque and MacRae too, both good men. But MacRae was a solitary figure and Eveque is… Eveque. Only Stanley could match me in the tavern and the gambling hall! When MacRae died, Stanley was with me as I raised a tankard in his honor.
After a few weeks recuperating and training, I was once again sent out with Eveque and Stanley. After MacRae’s death a Vestal was also chosen to accompany us. Pious bitch. I didn’t bother to learn her name. The expedition into the Weald was easy enough. With Stanley’s practiced eye and Eveque’s sixth sense we managed to avoid most of the chaff lurking in the shadowed paths. Our quarry, the Hag, didn’t make much of an effort to conceal her presence and finding her was hardly a challenge. Before we confronted her we decided to make camp and rest. Eveque conducted some sort… ritual to keep us safe in the night while Stanley cleaned his weapons. As is the Heir’s habit, we were overstocked with food, so we could afford a small feast. As we ate I made conversation with Stanley.
Stanley and I arrived on the same stagecoach, yet I never learned his reason for coming here. It was always something he had been secretive about. But as we talked, he showed me a small locket he kept hidden beneath his coat. Inside was a portrait of a woman, plain of cloth but lovely. He said it was his fiancée, a woman who had inspired him to give up his criminal ways and come to this place to earn money for their life back in his hometown. I joked that some cosmic mistake must’ve happened for a dog-faced thug like him to find such a lovely wife and we laughed. None of us were thinking of the horrors that lurked ahead.
We broke camp at first light and found the Hag soon after. That foul creature, so debased I am loath to even refer to her as human, was a terrifying foe. The fight was long and grueling, but eventually we emerged triumphant, at great cost. Even now I can’t get the sight of Stanley’s body out of my head, his head half caved in by the Hag’s immense tenderizer, spilling blood on to the corrupted grass of the Weald. I begged Eveque to do something, but he insisted there was nothing he could do. I regret my words now but I cursed Eveque, hoping his soul would be devoured by the occult monsters that he consorts with. He turned and left me to my grief. As Eveque and the Vestal burned the Hag’s corpse I retrieved Stanley’s locked and picked up his body. Retracing our path, we soon left the Weald and returned to the Hamlet.
Stanley was buried today in the graveyard. Eveque and I were both there as the Caretaker consigned our comrade to the earth. We were both silent as the final shovelful of dirt covered his shallow grave. First MacRae, now Stanley…. Soon none of us will be left.
I still have his locket. If I make it out of this alive I will see to it that I find his fiancée and return it to her. She deserves to know what happened to him. But for now, I need two drinks. One to remember Stanley’s memory and another to forget this wretched place.
-Boislevesque