Journal Posts

Breaking into the Azorius prison was easier than I expected. We sent our goblin friend whizzing up on his backpack to the roof while Thirst, the Lizard and I strolled through the front door. Thirst and I were on the same page the whole time and when he dumped oil on the floor I knew exactly what he had in mind. No one can resist a pyrotechnic show. I traded heavy blows with one arrester, but the sneaky lizard caught him in the neck. A great scrap. After that it was an easy trip to the top. Our goblin friend had managed to knock out two arresters with ease. I don’t know how, but what a rakdos member he would make if only he turned his attention to pyro-performance instead of endless tinkering. I sense the makings in him though.

We grabbed the captive and ran to the elevator and are now making our descent. I can hope for an easy escape, but I think we may have some more fun in our path. My friends gifted me an enchanted goblet of sorts that makes both beer and wine, but it wouldn’t function within the magic constraints of the prison. A pity we had to have all this fun sober.

Last night was a blast! I finally convinced the other members of the strange new troop that I'm a part of to loosen up and have a good time. Imagine my surprise upon running into them while headed to bed early in the morning. They all seemed a little banged up from their encounters in the Gruul territory (no surprise there) and saw my good sense in sleeping through the most uninteresting part of the day. They were dead set on going to the Gorehouse to talk to a new performer that night, (his show is not as good as mine) about his experience inside an Azorius prison. I was happy to show the way as I'm both very interested in what may be happening within the ranks of the Azorius, and love a good time at the gorehouse. The drinks started flowing as they do and the glass started shattering and we were having a really grand time watching the show. As always there's room for improv in a rakdos performance and I thought that the thing they needed was our goblin friend's help so threw him onstage at the perfect moment. To his credit, he was brilliant and actually improved the show. The crowd went wild.
Our goblin was so popular he got us invited to the after-party and how could we turn it down? Things start to get a little fuzzy for me from here, but I remember dueling an ogre at some point in the night to the roar of the crowd. I wanted to avoid killing the pitiful thing but he gave me such a knock on the head that I'm not sure how the night ended for him. While I served as a perfect distraction, my friends knocked out our target. The last thing I remember is carrying him out of the gorehouse, so I must have carried him all the way to where we finally passed out. I'm not sure what they would have done without me.

In all of Zivix's 16 years Zivix has never had a night like this. Usually, Zivix tinkers until his hands are numb and falls asleep on his desk, but tonight was different. Zivix blames the interesting company he keeps. At first Zivix was intrigued by the thought of another wizard and the strange monstrous party as friends are hard to come by in Ravnica. But the company has proven to be unpredictable, and while Zivix knows the Firemind loves chaotic inventions, Zivix himself likes his routine. Zivix has to get rid of the bodies, Zivix has never killed anyone before...what to do, what to do. Zivix was bested by the other wizard today, perhaps spending too much time in the lab has made his magic rusty, perhaps Zivix needs to broaden his horizons. Zivix believes there is more than meets the eye, belligerent Azorious, Gruul raids in the Boros territory...Zivix would reach out to his contacts, but Zivix knows not who he can trust. For now Zivix will trust Zivix and small cat only.

This letter has led to a chaotic state of affairs and that's not necessarily a bad thing I suppose. It was a strange group of us who gathered on the top floor of the Tattered Drake. Bleh, it was an Izzet establishment with many fancy things to tip over, drop, and break. Their fault for letting me through the door in the first place. I believe the Izzet woman was attempting to gather one of each guild under the roof, which seems like a terrible idea to me. I'm still not sure exactly what sort of errand we were actually sent on, but it involved gold and promised more chaos than I could stand to turn down.

The ancient creature who took command of our small party was an Azorius! Initially, I had to respect his leadership instincts. The group was comfortable with him leading, and while I still did as I pleased, I was happy to let him wrangle the others.

At the building we were told to investigate, we were confronted by Azorius arresters. Initially, I and an Orzhov loxodon were prepared to fight, but our Azorius leader told us to lie low and he would talk to them. Being sorely overpowered against a squad of arresters, I saw the wisdom in that. Our group ducked around a back entrance except for one trash elf whose aura and (lack of) social skills I had come to admire during the nights venture. Redunklas' negotiations had failed and it seemed as though we were going to have to fight our way out. As the arresters approached the exposed trash elf, and rounded the corner to the back entrance the Loxodon and I threw up a mighty charge. I sure as Rakdos am not about to run from any arrester when they get too big for their Azorius charms. We had those blue boys right where we wanted them, but I certainly was not expecting the fireball (or the second fireball) from our Azorius friend Redonklas. Though I don't believe it was a setup, one of my personal creeds "never trust azorius" was only reinforced by the nights activities.

By the time I had come to, the battle was over, and I, lucky to have survived another scrap. Something is indeed up with Azorius, though I'm not sure where we go from this point.

Stupid Zivix... Stupid Zivix, he thought to himself. This was almost as bad as the time when he used bat guano as a substitute for khalni heart... After wiping the soot from he goggles he began to collect the pieces of his failed invention. Perhaps 23 cores of power wasn't the right amount he thought, definitely needed more. Suddenly he realized and exclaimed, "The letter! The letter!". In all his time spent in Ravnica Zivix had never once been the recipient of a fancy letter. So enthralled by it he had mounted it on his workstation waiting for the perfect time to open it and see what was inside. After a thorough investigation the only piece he found was a partially burned corner which read "burn after reading", how terribly ironic he thought.

Saddened by the unfortunate series of events which furthered the doubt in his mind that he'd ever be accepted as an Izzet researcher, Zivix slumped in his seat and checked his watch. It was already 10:15 in the evening. He'd been working on his invention for two days straight without seeing the light of day. Perhaps it was time for a break, he thought. He headed down toward his favorite drinking spot, the Tattered Drake Tavern, looking to drown his sorrows in a large goblet of wine. On the bright side, Zikzax had told him that the pub had recently gotten a series of various exotic blends, including the illustrious Vitu-Ghazi Doubling Seasoned Wine, a variety he hadn't had in quite a while.

Veotrius stepped out of the arena to the roar of the crowd gathered under the twisted metal cover of the makeshift arena. Creatures of a multitude of shapes and sizes pushed their way in front of him forcing their congratulations upon him in the red glow of the torches lighting everything. He hadn't meant to slice the human combatant in two, but somewhere between a dual and a performance lay the danger that so pleased the demon-lord Rakdos. Not every gladiatorial exchange ended in death, but for the losers, the wounds often meant it was their last. The crowds ate it up. A well-wisher shoved a rolled-up piece of parchment into his hand, and disappeared into the crowd. Another, a painted ceramic vessel sloshing over with some potent drink. He took a swig. It was strong, fiery even. He took another long pull hooking the vessel over his elbow as he drank. As he stopped for a breath he threw the vessel to the floor where it shattered, the drink splattering everyone. It was time to celebrate.

It was the next afternoon when he came too, in his quarters. A very small space with a windowed door, bunk and cabinet. The whole space bumped up and down as the giant carrying it on his back walked through the streets of the infinite city. This giant wore a pack with several such quarters housing other performers and several of the support components for the arena set up on a nightly basis. Together their whole caravan consisted of several such giants wearing packs the size of buildings and pulling ornately painted carnival wagons (many with large burn spots.)

He unrolled the parchment rolling back and forth across the floor of his quarters. "Burn after reading," were the first words to reach his eyes.

"Won't be a problem," he thought to himself. "Total collapse, huh? Doesn't sound so bad to me.." Still he was intrigued. The letter went on to suggest the elite of Ravnica were only growing in power. The reason he joined the Cult of Rakdos was to undermine and fight against just such entities. He thought of his brothers somewhere in the Boros Legion continuing the proud tradition of the Ordruun family line. All of them but his youngest brother refused to admit he wasn't killed in battle. Their organization contributing to the terrible power grab this letter suggested.
On the opposite side of this sentiment was his former slave-master in the Scab Clan of the Gruul. His former master was a massive minotaur who had spared his life during a battle while Veotrius was a young commander in the Boros Legion. Veotrius fought as a slave in Gruul raids earning the respect of the Scab clan. He participated in the body modifications of the clan most notably the carving of his horns into fearsomly decorated weapons. Even now despite his Rakdos allegiances, he still wore many bone piercings, and wove bone beads into his thick hair as was customary of the Gruul. He won his freedom by saving the life of the massive minotaur who was his master during a particularly harrowing raid. The two minotaurs shared a mutual respect for one another, but Veotrius left the clan after that.

The chaos of the Gruul had inspired him as to what Ravnican society should look like, but he knew it would never be accomplished through pointless raids on the outskirts. No, chaos would have to come from inside. The Cult of Rakdos offered him this opportunity, and he jumped at it. Perhaps taking down the elite mentioned in this letter could build him some renown with his new allegiance. The Tattered Drake sounded like an Izzet establishment. No matter, those crack-pots could use some greater variance in their formulas. He'd be there.