Shadow of the Demon Lord @ Gamezilla RPG night

Journal of Tonk B. McleTonk

Festering of Grievances

Typical.  One lone single day in a whole damn year,  everyone puts on their bestest behaviour, plea forgiveness and promise to make a better life for themselves.  Who are they kidding?  It’s just one glorified excuse for getting drunk and gossip.  Festival of Forgiveness?  Call it Festering of Grievances, and you’d be halfway there.  I mean, a couple of villagers straight our confessed TO MURDERING SOMEONE and nobody bats an eye.  Just another laugh and a story to tell over a pint at the tavern.  Someone, anyone, needs to come to this village and write about this.  This demon forsaken Shit-Village Chuton.  And when do the hillbilly racists misandrist collection of sorry species actual agree on something?  The one time an Elf comes into the village, and every single one of my philistine neighbours start hurling the miserable alien abuse in perfect concordance.

Let me take that back.  Demon forsaken village?  Well, that I was wrong about.  The Demon Lord has cast his shadow over this town – somehow casting attention to this garbage corner of the world and deciding it is worth its while to murder all of us with eldritch shadow beings.  Just proves how there is no goddamn reason in this uncaring and random business of a world.  Why else would anyone waste their time on the absolute worse specimens of creatures to inhabit the so called civilised world?  I can say that without undue offense, as goblins are the very worst of our kind.  Walling in filth and ignorance, and taking pride in being pariahs of the realm.  No thought to even question the execrable lot we have been awarded in life, and to seek a way out via education, enlightenment or action.  

Shadows defeated, at least they served as a proxy for the pent up bloodlust that was materialising into elficide if not for the opportunity to curb-stomp your own shadow.  There has to be some delicious irony in that.   I took the opportunity for what it was – concrete hints or occult and arcane forces hidden behind a thin veneer of reality.   Heading off with a slice of the lynch-mob to the cemetery, a strong contender for somewhere I could glean more into the arcane forces at work.  At the risk of my own lynching by a vandalous clockwork who thinks anything that is unexplained should be gutted, and at the definite cost to my own sanity of which I never had much of a strong grasp on, I salvaged a bone that formed some dark ritual fueling a curse to our village.  As if we are not cursed all, by the biggest curse of them all, that of being born.  

This curious bone at least sparks a sliver of joy – an opportunity to study and understand the hidden mysteries that govern our existence.  There is magic involved, and I intend to unlock its secrets. 

Back at the town hall, I made a quick exit when an actual demon materialised.   These ignorant sods think that courage is jumping blindly into a danger that you are too ignorant to understand.   True courage is understanding exactly the horror of a situation, and taking action anyway.  Myself?  I’m robbing chance from dictating when my inconsequential life is over.  I hope to die, but it will be on the time and day of my choosing. 

Demon Lord, if you are listening:  We ain’t nothin’ but a town of goddamn, chicken-shit, horse-shit, tattle-tale, pissy-assed, whiney, fat, flabby, out-of-shape, drunk, supersticious, peekin’ out the windows and snoopin’ around, listenin’ on the confessions and spyin’ in the peephole and peepin’ in the crack of the goddamn door, listenin’ in the fuckin’ Sheetrock: Mr Demon Lord puh-lease, show some feckin’ mercy, I mean swallow up the  whole village, won’t you?

I’ve had a miserable life, but at least I can hope it will be over soon. 

Tonk B Macletonk


AllanCarey MarkMorrison

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