As Luck Would Have It: Journal of Johanna Patson

[Sypthe]

To start this off, some artwork. It was a quick sketch of Johanna, for which I can take no credit. Instead, credit goes to Tofubravado, player of West Patson. Expect written works after this.


Johanna being her usual self.


Johanna, riding an Ogre!


Johanna and her "sister": Emiliana Blackwell


(Left-to-right) The Triad of Evil: Sita, Johanna and Alisa!


Johanna's Bum-Tat.

[Sypthe]

((You will find I often post things rather late, usually several days after it happened. This is such a moment)).

Lecherous eyes stared at her across the table, a moist tongue slipping between two chapped lips to wetten them. The bitter smell of spilled ale dominated the air, only penetrated by the sharp odor of devilweed. She could not help but watch in disgusted fascination as the wizard opened his mouth to speak, a thin line of spittle connecting two bulges of flesh she prayed no woman would ever have to feel against theirs. She reached for her glass which never seemed to empty – constantly refilled by men who could simply not wait for her to let her guard down, so that they might have their way with her. Eyes were constantly focused on her chest – which was hardly interesting enough to warrant such devotion. Still, in this cesspit of society any woman’s presence was welcome.

Her thin, nimble fingers held the two cards she’d been given. It was far from the most desirable set, a mere five and a six, but perhaps it would prove enough. She knew that folding out now would end the night, which was starting to turn into the morning. She could not let that happen; it had taken her too long to stalk her prey and catch him in a game. The Lady had smiled on her; he had stayed in the game where others soon folded, taking the remains of their stags to the sidelines, where they sat smoking devilweed and undressing her with their eyes. Just me and you, Cane she thought to herself, referring to the mark by the nickname she had assigned to him when she first overheard him in a tavern, drunkenly boasting to his friend.

The silence in the back room was broken by his voice, the words intoned with the precision of a mage – seemingly unaffected by the copious amounts of ale and other liquor already consumed.

“Three hundred” he opened, all blinds long forgotten, and narrowed his eyes smugly at her. The crowd around her gasped at the height of the opening wager.She looked him over for telltale signs of a bluff – but none were there. Damned. She took a sip from her drink, stalling. If only she could get to the flop – if only she could stall long enough.

Silently, she lowered her hand and knocked on the table. Several of the spectators laughed their delight. The first card turned over, her heart beat in her chest. A seven! Thank you, Lady! Her inner voice yelped in delight. Carefully, she controlled her expression as the next was flipped over. She groaned inwardly at the dangerous ace revealed. Don’t have aces, don’t have aces. If only the bastard would just show something, anything in his expression.

The third card sent her heart aflutter with potential: a nine. Calculations ran through her head, chances and odds blasting their way through her awareness. The odds of the remaining two cards holding the eight she needed came out much smaller than she liked. The man snorted at her, and let his eyes drift down her form, sizing her up. She leaned back in the chair, and reached for the coin on the table. She held it up with a grin, as if to warn him.

“No more stags… but will this suffice?” he said, without a doubt in his voice. Her eyes went wide as the diamond hit the table – the damned thing would have a value easily in the thousands. “It’s been assessed at three” the man grinned victoriously, leaving her to add “thousand” in her own head, to destabilize her. Her mind raced – the stags in front of her counted up to a mere seven hundred.

“You know how much I have left” she snorted at him, derisively. He merely nodded, beady eyes alight with expectation. “So why would I not fold?” she added, sending him her best smirk. She meant every word of it, too – the Lady smiled on boldness; not stupidity.

“Because you want to know what my next bet is” the mage taunted. Her mind reeled – he knew.
He knew she’d been asking around about him, about his habits. He knew she didn’t show up on the doorstep of this house based on an unhealthy desire to play with the big boys. Damn.

“And you think I would bet … what, exactly?” she inquired, leaning back and letting her expression betray how caught she felt; mayhaps it would make him underestimate her.

“Oh, darling. Darling…” he grinned, and looked her over once more.

“Do I look like someone who would bet that?” her words were emphasized with an amused arc of her eyebrow.

“Oh, but you do, girl. Isn’t that what all you ladies want, in the end?” his tone ensured she did not doubt his delusional beliefs.

“Go to the Nine” she struck back, calmly. Getting upset, getting riled up, was what he wanted.

“Fine then, lass. How about this, hm? All your possessions. Everything you own, hm? It’s quite a deal, it could not possibly be worth as much as this diamond…” he continued on, thwarting her chances to think about the wager. Habit took over – possessions she could go without.

“You’re on.” Some cheers erupted around her, as the room began swimming around her, tension gripping her throat.

The next card moved in slow-motion, each moment stretched out to seeming infinity. She gripped her coin tightly as the miserable three showed its face. She clung to the words of her faith, gripping on to it, fending off despair. “A brave heart and a willingness to take risks beat out a carefully wrought plan nine times out of ten. Place yourself in the hands of fate, and trust to your own luck”.

“And now the moment you have been waiting for, little lady” the voice seemed to come from afar. The scrollcase landed on the table with a soft thud. Her throat dry, she nodded. “Oh… but I forget… you have already bet each of your possessions, have you not?”

Reality began to drown out as inward voices screamed at her for her stupidity. She could only nod mutely as the man looked at a spectator in the crowd, who pulled his hood back, stepping forward. Wild tattoos adorned the man’s bald head, wriggling over his skin while his lips curved in a smile. When he spoke, a Thayan accent tinged his every word.

“Then she will have to bet herself, hm?” the bald man suggested to her opponent. A set up. I’ve been set up. Think, Johanna, THINK. Place yourself in the hands of fate, and trust to your own luck.

Sweat dripped down the side of her face as she nodded. The last card moved as if the air was made of mud, slowly flipping over. She almost burst into tears as another three showed it face. She shook her head rapidly, eyes flicking from her cards to the table in near-panic, when the lines suddenly connected. An eight. It’s an EIGHT! Lady’s Smile, it’s an eight!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Who is the most amazing sister in the world, West?” she asked, laughing. Her bespectacled brother looked at her with that confused look he so often wore. “Um… I don’t know?” he played. Her hand went to her hip, sending him a glare. “You. You are!”

“Damned straight!” she grinned, as she tossed him the scrollscase. “Get to work on that map, huh? We have a treasure to find."

[Sypthe]

The bed sheets rustled as a young girl snuck out from underneath them, planting her bare feet onto the cold wood of the floor. She suppressed a shiver, and silently wished she had worn socks when going to bed, but that could not be helped now – her sock drawer was in the dresser near her sleeping brother’s bed, and she daren’t risk waking him. No, she had to be stealthy. She padded quietly to the door of the small bedroom she and her brother shared, and lay a hand on the door handle. She took a deep breath, and carefully pushed down, praying the oil she had put in the hinges earlier that day would do its work and prevent it from creaking. Although it worked, and the door swung open quietly, she could hear the stirring behind her, and froze.

“Joooo” the soft, disgruntled voice of her brother sounded, and she looked over her shoulder. The red mop of his hair peeked out barely from under the sheets. “What are you doing now?” the boy continued, his voice already edged with a warning.

“Nothing, brother-dear” she responded, tensely. She knew her brother would never betray her, but he had his way of stopping her regardless. Sometimes he would employ a subtle tactic of guilt, other times he used these annoyingly rational arguments.

“Then why aren’t you in your bed?” the boy responded, sitting up in his bed to look at his older sister. She knew she had to come up with something, before he could decide how he would talk sense into her this time.

“I’m restless, West – I’m just going to go and practice for a bit” she half-lied. Of course, what she was going to do was actual practice, but not of the variety she tried to make her brother believe. She’d already gone through her training routine with the rapier twice today, and hardly needed a third. Her brother seemed conflicted for a moment, but after a moment, he wordlessly lay back in his bed. Whether he actually believed her, or simply wanted to go back to sleep, remained a mystery, but the young girl would take the victory without question.

She walked down the hallway, carefully listening at each door. Her foster-father’s bedroom was utterly silent, as she predicted, as was his laboratory. A quick check of his study’s door told her he was not there either, so she snuck to the stairs. She’d known he wouldn’t be in any of those rooms, of course, but she’d rather be safe than sorry. At the top of the stairs, she could already hear the voices downstairs – she was right, it was Meeting Day.

Meeting Day was a term she had come up with when she first found out about it, and told her brother about it. Every tenday, her foster father – an innocuous small-time magic-shopkeeper – received these guests into his house. She and her brother were always put to bed earlier on these nights, and for some reason, she had always been unable to stay awake those nights. Her curiosity had mounted steadily, over the years, and she’d begun her own little investigation.

It hadn’t added up: the small store her father ran couldn’t possibly afford the house they lived in, nor the fancy tutors that he hired for them. The horses in the small stable weren’t the average half-limp farm beasts, either, and the clothes he wore and bought for them were of a much finer silk than a shopkeep could ever afford. Nobody else seemed to notice these discrepancies, and West had disregarded it all as well. “Just be thankful he provides for us, Jo. Don’t forget we’re not even really his children, and yet he clothes us, feeds us and teaches us. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?” he’d argued. Well, because she had to know. Duh.

A few nights previous she had lay in wait all day, keeping an eye on every customer of the small shop, and making notes of her own. Every item purchased she noted down, and the value of coins she saw being exchanged between her foster-father and clients. It hadn’t added up to much; but when she checked the ledger later, her mind spun. Her foster-father had noted down the values-received in the hundreds of gold pieces, not silver pieces.

It hadn’t been hard for the bright girl’s mind to immediately make the connection with Meeting Day. Clearly, her father fudged the books to hide the source of his income, which somehow came from these Meetings. Luckily, her father had made a hefty mistake shortly after – the mandatory lessons in Draconic often involved reading simple scrolls, and the one they were currently working on was a simple spell to shield the mind from a so-called Sleep spell. It had taken her several tries (one which involved the girl’s arm catching fire, and another causing her to sprout a tail that took days to fall off, to her brother’s great amusement) to get the spell right, but that night, she had succeeded.

As she’d guessed, she hadn’t fallen asleep in the same way that she ordinarily did on Meeting Day – she’d successfully blocked her foster-father’s sleep spell. And thus she found herself sneaking down the stairs, deep in the night, avoiding each step that she knew creaked. It all went perfect, and as she came closer to the door of the living room, the voices almost became audible to her.

Her eyes darted along the last step of the staircase, habitually checking for anything that could either trip her, or perhaps even traps. Finding none, she stepped on it, intending to head to the door and press her ear against it, to finally hear what her foster-father was up to. She loved him, and knew he was a very kind man – albeit very strict – but she just couldn’t not-know!

When the sole of her foot connected to the wood, she wheeled around as she heard a sound. An eerie, wooden face seemed to press through the wall, dead eyes looking straight at her: “ALARM” it intoned. Sounds erupted from the living room, quick feet making their way to the door. Johanna tried to run, tried to lift her feet to dart back up the stairs and hide in her bed, but found she couldn’t. Looking down at her feet, her heart skipped a beat as fright took a hold of her: her feet had already turned the dull grey of stone, and the color was swiftly moving up. She barely had the time to shriek in fear before it reached her mouth, and froze the girl in place.

Time went by, barely noticed by the new statue in the residence of the magic-shop keeper. How much of it had passed she didn’t know, and when she found herself able to move once more, it was the last thing on her mind. Apparently, she had been moved to the market square, with dozens of people watching her “awaken”, and laughing heartily at her stunned expression. Shockedly, she realized she was still in her nightshirt, and moved to pull down the fabric as far down as it would go. When she did, her arms brushed along the sides of a small sign that had been hung around her neck.

It read:
“Beware my prying eyes, but do not fear my dim mind”

As her eyes took in the words, she couldn’t help but grin.
Dim mind, huh? We’ll see about that, she thought to herself, using the sign to shield her embarrassing nightgown from view.

Accompanied by loud laughter, the young Johanna made her way through the crowd. Many other children tried to taunt her into an embarrassing temper tantrum, but she didn’t even listen, walking leisurely back home – her mind already working to form a plan for next Meeting Day.

“Challenge accepted” she murmured to herself, as she placed the sign on a shelf of her bookcase, so she would see it every morning when she’d wake up.

[Sypthe]

Whiskers of an Alleyrat Pt. I

Whiskers of an Alleyrat Pt. I

“So, ‘ere’s da plan. Skippy an’ Smooches, ye go ‘round da back, right ‘ere, aye?” the girl spoke, her bright eyes seeking out her companions’ eyes as she addressed them. She could have seen no more than ten summers, but she spoke with the casual ease of a tactician much older than herself. Surrounded by several of her peers, all of them dressed in little more than rags, she turned back to the map unfolded on the broken-down table they had all crowded around.

“Nibblet, ye’s go an’ chatter wit’ da guard. Ain’t more ‘an one o’ dem pikers, so we’s shoul’ be guud. Righ’, Cloudy? Ye sure tha’ dimschnizzle dun’come ta work t’night?” she verified, looking at the girl to her right, who confirmed with a simple nod.

“So, ye’s do ye thing. Den, Skippy an’ Smooches go through ‘ere, this ‘ere ‘allway shoul’ lead ta some kinda study, dunno dem details. But we’s know tha’ da room’s git a big winnow. Ye’s open it, an’ me an’ Coins is waitin’ ‘ere, wit’ a buncha bags. We’s all go ‘round da ‘ouse, an’ nab the piker’s stuff ‘till we dun’ know ‘ow ta carry’s no more, aye?” she continued, her finger tracing a line over the crudely-drawn map of the noble’s estate. She frowned as her lieutenants parted way for a broad-shouldered boy to make his way forward, insistently.

“Lissen, Jo. I dunno who tha’ crumbs put ye in charge, but I dun’ even kno’ why’s tha pike we’s goin’ in ‘t all” he challenged, his voice kept low but his tone leaving no doubt as to his intent: he was going to make her work for her recently-acquired place as leader. The girl simply looked at him for a moment, then looked around to take in the expressions on the faces of the others. Inwardly, she cursed as she saw the beginnings of doubt.

“Righ’, ye dun’ know” she began, and watched as the faces around her clouded over. This was not how the Alleyrats had worked in the past; secrecy was not a part of their little band, and they were none too eager to begin with it now, with the recent change in leadership. “So lemme ‘splain, instead o’ bein’ a lil’ barrel’ead, aye? Ye notic’d ‘ow ye canno’ git no skivvin’ bread ‘nymore fer any less ‘an a silv’r? We wus’ wond’rin’ da same, ‘till Nibblet figgered it ou’ “ she continued, indicating the small boy next to her. He was dressed the finest of them all; his clothes barely had any tears or holes in them, and clearly paid much attention to his appearance. Johanna knew that the boy simply made clever use of the innocent look he could conjure up from out of nowhere, and could already adopt almost any role one could come up with, with little difficulty.

“Turns ou’ da’ dis piker’s been hikin’ prices o’ dem corn an’ wheat, ye? Dunno ‘ow, summat ‘bout a mon’poly, or crumbs-know-why, but I’s sure ‘e righ’. Ye kin eith’r take ‘is wor’ for it, or ye can back tha’ crumbs off, an’ sit dis one ou’, ye?” she offered, watching the boy carefully. She knew he was the strongest of their band, and had been recruited for just that purpose. A swing from him she might not be able to dodge, she realized, keeping her face carefully neutral. When he nodded, and backed away slightly, she almost let out a relieved sigh.

Less than an hour later, the pitter-patter of small feet moving through puddles and dirt sounded in the alleyways of the large port city, Westgate, as each of the Alleyrats went to do their respective tasks.

[Sypthe]

((Updated original post with all the artwork, courtesy of tofubravado, West Patson's player!))

[Sypthe]

"Tyr's Tits, Jo, what the blazes did you get yourself into this time?!"

The Tymoran groaned to herself. The sun had been tickling at her eyelids for a while now, slowly waking her, and what had been a lovely dream soon turned into pesky realities sinking in. If only she could just turn her head off at times like these. Gods!

She rubbed her eyelids once, frustratedly, with her fingers - as if trying to massage the sleep back into them. She could just wander back off to the land of dreams, couldn't she? Free as a bird, she was, without any jobs or even responsibilities.

But alas: dreams wouldn't come, and thoughts only kept racing. Her return had been much less thunderous as she'd expected all those months, darting from filthy safehouse to filthy safehouse. She arrived to a Second Wind Inn lacking people. Jack simply nodded at her and served her a drink. She'd turned and wandered back off, at that, and stayed away for a week or so, camping out in the woods.

Her next return was more eventful.

"What IS it about being an evil bastard that makes you want to don black armor and work as hard as you can to show it, constantly?"

She wondered, as she thought back to that return. She'd gotten into an argument rather swiftly, which thankfully was side-tracked soon enough. There was also that mage...

"Sarnak? Samak...?"

She wondered to herself. Mostly, she just called him "Mage". Easier to remember. Flippin' wigglers, huh? Soon after, this mad horseride had started.

Jeshana had dropped from the sky. She'd considered, for a moment, to remark with a joke that it seemed to rain Divinity, nowadays, but given that Jeshana was badly injured, she'd decided not to.

"Okay, fine! So I was concerned."

She admitted, hissing up at the ceiling, addressing Lady Luck. So what if she couldn't always maintain her belief that everything would turn out well. Regardless - one fight with a succubus later, and Johanna had suddenly found herself proposing to Jeshana.

"How did that happen?"
She wondered to herself, trying to make sense of the sequence of events. She couldn't recall - maybe she'd drank too much? Regardless, the joke had blown up in her face. Well... joke? Was it?

"Jo! Get yourself together! It was a joke, come on, now, lass!"
She chided herself, but she couldn't shake that knot in her stomach. That awful, tight knot that told her that horribly emotional nonsense was about to cross paths with her. Who has the patience for this nonsense, with themselves?

Jeshana had taken it serious, and perhaps it had been her seriousness that opened Johanna up to the possibility for the first time. Jeshana was a stunning woman, and something about the way she carried herself was just...

"Stoooop it! STOP IT! Johanna Fill-in-middle-name-PATSON, SHUT IT."
She chided herself once more. In the end, Jeshana had whispered to her that she'd have said yes. And, like a true blabbermouth, the Tymoran had responded from her heart that yes, so would she have.

"What. The. Shit. Jo."
She punched the mattress for good measure. What didn't help was that she'd thought it a grand idea to try and help Emiliana, by getting her to talk to the heart-healer herself: Brianna, the Sunite Twin. Jo had cleverly lured the Legionnaire to the temple under the pretense of wanting to propose to Brianna.

While the effort had been to help Emiliana, Jo had gotten...

"SO, SO SCREWED"
She gritted her teeth, thinking back to Brianna's remark that a "winged woman had come to her for advice."
Sure, of course, Brianna - I'll go talk to her. I feel guilty, after all. Suuuuuuuuure.

"FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK"
She scowled. True to her motormouth-self, she'd have been unable to think of doing anything but the first things that came to mind.

"ASKING HER OUT ON A DATE, JO!? KISSING HER?! ISN'T LIFE DIFFICULT ENOUGH?!"
She finally got up from the bed, and went to get dressed. She'd have a looooooooong day ahead of her.

[Sypthe]

"Fortune favors the bold"

Johanna nodded to herself, a shudder of excitement rushing through her spine, as she stepped back to look at her handiwork. She'd just posted up a note, daring anyone to gamble no less than 28 000 coins with her - which, if she lost, would mean she had 3 stags left in this world.

Dire times asked for dire actions, and given the state of the region, a bet such as this one might occupy people's mind for but a moment.

Honestly, Johanna? Is that why you're doing this? Is that the whole reason?

She asked herself, while she made her way back to Second Wind Inn. She had to admit it wasn't, had to admit that this time, her gamble was homage to her patron: Lady Luck.

Tymora had blessed her several times these past days. Her throat went dry when she thought back to the most recent time.

Of Tivia and Torture
She'd been lounging on her usual bench, when the world had suddenly burst into bright colors. Butterflies floated in front of her eyes, their flutters sounding like music in her ears. While her rational mind screamed warnings, the thick magical fog of the spell refused her access. All she could do was lie there, and enjoy the spectacle of colors while dark-clad men bound and blindfolded her.

Torture had followed, and while the Tymoran hadn't broken, she had to admit it was disconcerting to know such an experience could lie around every corner. It had been excruciating, and shocking, to feel her ankle shatter under a hammerblow, to feel a wicked man break her knees.

She'd thanked her Lady several times now for sending that Hand of Mundus to where they were going to execute her. Fortune had favored her, indeed.

Mercy exploited
And yet, it had happened again. Again she had been leisurely lounging on a bench when magic was flung at her. And once more, the very same Hand of Mundus saved her. He'd incapacitated the Hin caster, and she'd stormed in, rapier in hand.

The Hin had proved resillient, weathering several blows with the flat of her blade before he sank down, unconsciously. For a moment, she'd felt sympathy for the little man as he lay there. It had driven her to applying a few bandages, and she'd smiled when he came to.

That smile was likely still pasted on her face when the man had touched her with that rotten limb of his. Only her reflexes had allowed her to push her rapier through the Hin's skull, but it had been too late.

Rot flew through her body, and instantly extinguished the flame of life within. And once more, she found herself on a temple floor, brought back to life by a priest. And once more, she'd found that Hand of Mundus hovering over her.

Tymora's Grace
The Lady deserved a grand gesture, for keeping her on this plane. And thus, she was going to do it. She was going to risk her every possession.

"Thanks, lady Tee" she muttered to herself, as she lay down on the bench. "For ensuring that fortune favors the bold."