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+---- Thread: The Journal of Tavrin Navarr (/showthread.php?tid=2220)
The Journal of Tavrin Navarr - stressfear - 03-26-2014
Tavrin sits by the poor light of a wasted candle, scribbling in his journal. The long, looping script is at odds with the scarred hand that scribes it, though the tone suits him perfectly.
My first days back in Thay have flown by, it seems. Between waking destitute and bloodied in an alley, to ferrying messages for a foul wretch and his mysterious cohorts, it has been a merry old time. Attempts to revitalize my business have floundered - it seems, as yet, I am trusted as little as a slave.
I think we can agree that is ironic.
Tavrin pauses in his scribbling to dip his pen in the inkwell and glare accusingly at his satchel, left hanging by the door. After a moment, he continued:
In one shining moment since my return home, I ventured below the streets of Tyraturos, where I was soundly trounced by a swarm of yellow-tinged slime and one particularly surly orc. Having crawled my way to the surface, bloody and burned and without any coin to clink, I made to the temple of Waukeen. While not my god, one I thought may be sympathetic in my time of need, and one chosen in absence of a clear temple to Talos.
Where the storm is absent, I assume commerce may serve.
There I had occasion to meet a fellow by the name of Talon something-or-other - a ranking officer in, as I recall, the legion. Charming fellow (though bluff), he seemed... less intelligent, though cunning still. Certainly my superior in matters of brute strength, if not salesmanship - he gifted me a handful of potions, and though I am grateful in my way, I am ever wary of what such gifts may cost, down the road.
He paused again, massaging his tender shoulder. The day had been just full of surprises.
Later, having indebted myself by receiving gifts I can ill afford to repay, I was beset upon by a slaver, who - though initially successful in subduing me, was put to test by the timely intervention of a woman, whose name eludes me. Ma something. I think it is of little consequence - humility begs me thank her, though sense tells me it was my blade which drove the wretch to his knees and so the victory is mine.
Finally, I set about acquiring a new pack slave, the last having suffered some small manner of incident prior to my arrival in Tyranturos. This one is a Halfling, hale if not youthful, whom I have taken to calling Pip in a flight of fancy. After this final acquisition, I made to the establishment in which I have been staying - a charming hovel known as the Champion's Inn. My engagement there is for some time hence, though I find more and more the desire to move on, perhaps to my own hometown, Bezantur.
RE: The Journal of Tavrin Navarr - stressfear - 03-27-2014
The chair scrapes noisily against the floor as Tavrin throws his weight into it, flipping through his journal to the next available page.
Another wonderful day in Thay! he writes, The beggar has buggered off and left me to my own devises - nary a day to soon, in my considered opinion. One more pointless missive dictated in that fetid breath would have driven me mad or worse - compliant. So thank the gods for that mercy. I shall tithe Talos when next the road leads to Bezantur.
Speaking of the humble Tharch which nursed me and spat me out in turns, I have had cause to visit. The road was pleasant enough, though long and - as always - plagued by bandits. A sad day for Thay when even wizards are cut down along the High Road by the likes of me - her one son not fit for the red.
He paused, thought better of it, and blotted out the last sentence. Better still to watch one's tone, even in personal writings.
Regardless, young Pip has come to an end. I should like to blame the banditry, but in fact the fault lies with me - likely he was already weakened by a diet of air and dew. Halflings have not the hardiness of the more worthy races - not even of the mangy gnolls, a race to which I am already well acquainted. In point of fact, Mutt, my latest baggage handler, is a Gnoll himself. Or itself, rather - I haven't bothered to check. Doubtless, it will prove largely immaterial.
My meeting in Bezantur went well, and I am once again dedicated to my path - mercenary mercantilism, in the best traditions of mother Thay. In fact, my coffers already flow with the Talons of the departed, both the proceeds from looting corpses and of selling their compatriots into comfortable bondage. I am no where near the rebuilding of my stock, nor of my transitional goals of a house and shop, but it is a start. Next shall come the acquisition of allies, rubes and dupes or like-minded souls, I don't yet know.
Time will tell, I am sure.
RE: The Journal of Tavrin Navarr - stressfear - 04-03-2014
Tavrin's journal lies in a pool of blood, it's author now forgotten. The beasts of Thay claim another victim.