heirsjournal

[heirsjournal]

Entry 2

I sent the doctor, holy woman, holy man, and gunslinger away on an expedition to the ruins of my family’s lineage. I offered a small bit of extra payment to whichever one among them would be willing to pen an account of their travels. The doctor, Aguilon, accepted the offer. Though the account was dry and clinically written, as I would expect from a doctor, it was filled with preposterous descriptions. I called the woman to my study.

“Aguilon, you surely don’t expect me to believe this,” I said, handing her back her own account. “You tell me of what,” I leafed through it once more. “Living skeletons? If you continue to boldfacedly lie to me, dear, I will have to expel you from my estate.”

The woman fixed me with an icy glare I felt even through the bird-like beak of her mask. “I do not lie. Every word I wrote in that passage is truth.”

I went to lecture her again, but the look in her eyes...I could tell she meant what she said. I corroborated the story with the other three, and they told me the same. I would think it a shared madness, an aphasia of collected nonsense, but the things I have seen around this estate are taxing to the mind. I hear whispers, the voice of my departed great uncle speaking to me, and I now fear it may not just be a symptom of early dementia, but something darker still.

After the business was sorted, I went to collect some new recruits from the stagecoach. Another doctor, a collector of antiquities, and a fool fresh from some court. 

The antiquarian seemed weak physically, but assured me she had a keen eye for treasure that would prove invaluable on our journey. I can only hope she tells the truth. In fact, we will soon see. I’ve just sent her off on an expedition to my family’s ruins. May she scrounge up something that offers me more use than it does the corpses in that foul place.

The ones that don’t walk, that is.

[heirsjournal]

Entry 1

I find myself in a dire situation. Funds are low, and distaste for my family name is high. Ever since my distant great uncle (whether he was an uncle on my mother or father’s side I never knew, neither would even entertain the thought of being related to him by blood) besmirched our name, I’ve been unable to find any real work. Any real work befitting of a noble, in any case. I refuse to stoop down to the level of the commonfolk. I am not built to mine or build, I am built to drink wine and enjoy leisure time.

However, a letter found its way to me. Sent to me by said  great uncle who ruined my family’s name, he apologizes- a great lot that’s worth- for the ruination of our family. But more interestingly, he offers me his old estate. A fine thing, I remember. Near to a small village, quaint but lively. However, it has been years since I visited, and if rumors are to be believed, my great uncle ruined it.

Then again, if rumors are to be believed, he summoned some ancient evil from the depths. But of course, the rural folk are superstitious, and tend to believe any drivel spoon fed to them by their poorly bred ilk.

With only a few hundred pieces of gold to my name, I decided to journey to this old estate. Perhaps I could remodel it cheaply, and sell it. Or perchance I could explore the surrounding area, and sell off any valuables. Such a thing would be looked down upon by my ancestors, but they’re all dead, so I hardly care.

I set off with three men. One was sent to me alongside the letter, the caretaker of the estate, the other two were hired along the way. A shady-looking man with a flintlock and dirk named Dismas, and a holy man named Reynauld. They made an odd pair, and I’ve already heard them bicker more than once.

I thought this would be a simple journey, but then the damnable caretaker crashed our coach and ran off. Accompanied by the mercenaries, I pressed onward towards the town.

The woods were dark, and filled with shapes that brought to mind ghouls and specters. Though I felt little fear, I can say that I perhaps…Understand why the locals think this place haunted. The forest certainly puts such thoughts in mind.

I didn’t have long to think before we were assaulted by a brigand. I ran and hid while Reynauld and Dismas charged forwards, weapons bared. The brigand lunged at us, not even bothering to ask for gold first, and it was Reynauld who caught the blow with his blade. He shoved the bandit forwards, and Dismas finished the job with a quick shot to the gut. 

Morbidly curious, I approached cautiously. “Is he dead?” I called.

Dismas motioned to the now still body of the highwayman. “You tell me, boss. Haven’t met many men that can survive a bullet to the stomach.”

I looked, and saw the man lying in a pool of his own blood, body still, eyes glazed over. 

I vomited.

I remember clearly that Dismas laughed, and Reynauld came to my side. I thought he meant to comfort me, but all he did was stand by me awkwardly and offer a hand after I ceased my expulsions.

I had never seen a dead body, nor had I ever seen a man die. I saw both, at once.

We proceeded and were beset by more bandits, this time a pair. One was large, stout, and the other smaller man hid behind him. Again, I fell away while Reynauld and Dismas handled the affair. The larger man swung a wicked-looking whip at them, while the smaller one fired off a shot. They managed to evade the shot, and Reynauld’s armor protected him against the whip, but Dismas was caught and bloodied. He clutched his wound, while Reynauld charged forwards and bashed the man with the pommel of his sword. Stunned, the man was helpless as the holy man took a step back, and ran him through.

I vomited again, so I missed the death of the smaller man, but I heard a pistol rapport and found neither Dismas nor Reynauld injured, so I knew his fate.

After that, we arrived at the hamlet.

What a disgusting heap.

The tavern I remember being filled with joy and song lay dormant, and the abbey I remember my ancestor pointedly refusing to take me to in similar condition. There is a blacksmithery and a local guild offering training to fighters, but both were closed when I arrived. I knew my great uncle ruined the economy of this place, but I had no idea he reduced it to an unlivable scrapyard of despair and forgotten fools.

I found the caretaker here, who sheepishly told me that two adventurers had arrived via stagecoach in my absence. I had sent out a letter for inquiring souls to come see me, but I hadn’t expected recruits so soon. Both were women, one a doctor in plague garb, and another a holy woman. 

They’re to embark on a journey tomorrow, to the local ruins. Though it may technically be considered grave robbing, I intend to have my mercenaries acquire some goods that I can sell. With luck, and a few expeditions to the area surrounding the hamlet and my new estate, I should be back up on my feet in a matter of months.

[heirsjournal]

Introductions

Howdy folks! This is an introductory post outlining what’s going on here.

This is an in-character account of my own personal playthrough of Darkest Dungeon. Basically, I’ll play a round or two of Darkest Dungeon, then write up an account of what happened in-character.

As perhaps a slight variation, instead of every post being from the perspective of the Heir, some will be from the perspective of the heroes. After all, the Heir wouldn’t go on adventures with their hired mercenaries, so accounts of journeys will be from the perspective of a character on that journey.

Fair warning: I might embellish some things for the sake of dramatic storytelling. If I go on a mission and everything goes well with no hiccups, I’ll probably glance over that instead of writing up a mostly boring account. But no punches pulled here: If someone dies in game, they die in fiction. Of course, I’ll be trying my best to avoid that, but I’m not great at video games, so buckle in.

Additional note: I use a few mods, but most of them have characters that slot nicely into the lore, so it shouldn’t throw it off too much. Current list, as of writing is: Marvin Seo’s Lamia, Thrall, and Falconer, Librarian, and Musketeer Rework