This is a series of “articles” dedicated to Darkest Dungeon. They will be written in a pseudo diary-esque format from the perspective of Reynauld. Until his inevitable demise, at which point his diary could be continued by a fitting replacement. All characters outside of Reynauld and Dismas will be named by you, so leave a comment, hop onto my Social Media (links at the bottom) and get involved! If you want more information on Darkest Dungeon, I have done a “Quickie Review” here for your viewing pleasure.
Monday, December 2nd, 18XX
I had finally returned to my hometown of Fordwich. It had been many years since I set eyes upon this place, however mercenary work pays well and I returned a richer man for it. Not as soon as I had removed my hauberk and visited the gaff at the Gilded Heifer, was I beset by a mysterious benefactor who offered me a handsome sum of money in exchange for escort down the Old Road. I noticed an uncouth gentleman lurking in the shadows, clearly accompanying my would-be employer, but not wishing to be entirely seen. I was inclined to decline, however the price he was willing to pay increased with every attempt. So here I am, travelling in a rickety old carriage once more. So much for respite.
The shadowy figure from before is a man by the name of Dismas. He is a retired brigand, or “Highwayman”, as he prefers to be. Despite appearances, he is surprisingly sharp of mind and tongue. We shared many stories of our exploits and I have become rather fond of him, although his holstered flintlock and booted knife keep me from fully trusting the man. What surprised me the most was the similarities in our chosen profession. Perhaps we are not so different.
Tuesday, December 3rd, 18XX
I awoke to the sound of maniacal laughter and shattering wood. Before we could brace ourselves, the carriage had careened off the Old Road and stopped upon one of the many trees in the neighbouring forest. Dismas and myself were shaken, but unharmed. Our charge had suffered some injuries, but was able to walk. He informed us that his Estate was not far to the East. Without our carriage we were forced to make the trek with limited provisions. Hopefully the last stretch will be less painful than this.
Before we even made it halfway through this damnable place we were beset by a cutthroat looking to capitalise on our misfortune. Before I even had time to draw my sword, Dismas had darted forward, knife in hand, landing a deep blow on the brigands torso. Blood was gushing from his now exposed belly. He was clearly staggered by the speed, and devastation brought on by his quarry. Spotting my opportunity I smote him to the ground, rendering him defenceless. I made attempts to interrorgate the scum, however he succumbed to his wounds before he could reveal any secrets. Dismas searched his person and discovered a sizeable pouch of gold. We figured it was likely spoils from more successful attacks, on less seasoned travellers.
As our final torch began to dim, and the last dregs of sunlight was drowned by the thick foliage we were ambushed. This group was prepared, having watched their comrades demise from a distance. As we moved to engage, an explosion of fire and metal ricocheted through our ranks. Had we been a few steps closer, we may have not made it out alive. Luckily my plate held against the assault, although Dismas’s cloak had seen better days. I looked to prevent a second salvo, when the sheer bulk of their leader became apparent. His frame was inhumanly large, towering above any man I had ever encountered. With the tight confines of the forest, I had no way of reaching the gunman.
Seeing that there was no other option, I feigned an attack on the Bloodletter, before striking him with the pommel of my sword and assumed a defensive stance. He stepped back, clearly dazed, but unharmed. With the brute displaced, Dismas managed to catch a glimpse of the gunner and fired his pistol faster than I could perceive. His target had dropped his rifle and fallen to his knees. Another shot rung out, this time striking the brigand in the head, ending his accursed life.
With the threat of gunpowder eliminated I broke my guard and struck a heavily blow on gelatinous mound of flesh. My sword dug deep. Deep enough to fell even the mightiest of men. However my target appeared unconcerned with the grievous wound on his side. I realised too late that the brute had a pistol on his belt. I took a point blank shot to the chest, rending my hauberk asunder and launching me into a nearby tree. I could hardly breath. I was worried I had broken a rib – or seven.
Dismas rushed to my aid, slashing wildly at the encroaching behemoth, slicing his leg open. This time, he recoiled but managed to clip my companion with his whip, tearing leather and flesh. Dismas let out a blood curdling scream and fell to his knees in anguish. I called out to any God that would listen, and mustered the last remnants of my strength to strike my foe down. My blade pierced his chest, skewering him like a pig. To my amazement, he still lived. Strength left my legs and I fell to the ground. He raised his pistol to my head and a gunshot rung out like thunder. I recall Dismas’s barrel smoking, and a shower of blood drenching my clothes. I spoke a healing prayer to knit my wounds, and retrieved my sword. Battered and bruised, we gathered what we could from their remains and limped towards town.
This is my first narrative venture, so I have no idea if this is any good, or worth expanding. Let me know in the comments if you’d like more, or if you have any criticisms/improvements.
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