Morgan Roberts—"Digging Your own Grave"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

After a few months break, the mysterious tavern has started up once again. A lot changed at the end of the last arc. and a lot has stayed the same. The Lich was defeated by the makeshift party, we freed lady Aimee from her centuries-old imprisonment in the ruby ring. Unfortunately, The lich wasn't destroyed completely and she escaped with little Lucy. Morgan reveals his feelings to Ichabod but not long into their journey they are separated after she was caught up in a magical portal. The remainder of the party has to continue on its journey with few clues and fewer options.

He had been digging for a while in the spot where the woman had been before she disappeared. The soil was cold and damp as it clung to Morgan's hands, face and the tunic he wore over his chain shirt.  Most of the grime that covered his muscular form were provided by the oversized fox that had recently joined them on their fool's errand. The smell of the musty unearthed soil put Morgan on edge because of his recent dreams, but desperation had a hold of him, and he couldn't imagine that he could stop knowing this was the last place she was before she disappeared. Even in the pirate's innermost thoughts, it was difficult to form the syllables of the sorceress's name. He had spent a great deal of his life cultivating his disdain for people who possessed magic. It pained him that he couldn't rid himself of his old animosity for the people he cared for; not Antoinette; not Lucy; and not her. He asked himself was his current efforts because he cared about them or an attempt to compensate for the guilt.

In short order—or maybe after a very long time, he was unable to recall just now—the little hole had become a small burrow in the corner of the cave room. The shaft descended beneath the floor at a sharp angle, still far enough to leave Morgan turban deep into the pit. As the hole expanded, Morgan tried to chase off the thought that his concern for Antoinette and Aimee were afterthoughts, a deception to convince himself that it wasn't insanity over the dark haired woman that gripped him.

He paused a moment mindlessly mixing the dirt on his hands with that on his leather leggings in a futile attempt to clean away the worse of the mud. His thoughts nagged at him as he again busied himself with his task. That the task was his duty wasn't at all true, wasn't even a worthwhile endeavor. Morgan figured if he thought it long enough it might become true enough for him to believe. It was a pleasant lie to himself as opposed to considering the similarities of his situation to his fathers.

Creeping up from its hiding place in the back of Morgan's mind came one of Ghalib sharp barbs delivered in his father's annoyingly amused raspy voice. "O'course it be an idjut like ye t'be diggin' y'own grave pursuin' a witch cunt ye sweet on."

Before he could start in on dear old dad's imaginary voice, he was thrown suddenly backward. Snapped out of his reverie, he realized he was being pulled by the scruff of his neck up and out of his recent excavation. Too exhausted to fend off whatever had likely made a snack of the halfling before sneaking up on him, he was dragged helplessly up and out of the small pit by the creature. The beast panted quietly, despite what appeared to be little effort on its part. His own breathing was still labored from his previous efforts, and he lay helpless and weary on his back awaiting his fate.

Moments later, two heads crowded his vision, one of a halfling, Vira or something like that, other of a fox, it had a silly name he'd failed to remember. They started telling him something, but it was drowned out by the sound of falling dirt and stone collapsing nearby and the gravelly mound of dirt he was pulled onto was distractingly comfortable as well.

Morgan Roberts—"Hate & Hypocrisy"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

In the last few weeks of the Mysterious Tavern, The lich had former members of the party killed and turned into vampires. Having just won a battle against former allies, Morgan was forced to question his beliefs; a collapsing house of cards made of his prejudices against magic and an impractical chivalrous-pirate code.

It was at that moment that I realized the depth of my hatred of magic. Not because of Lucy's deception, though it was that which hurt the most; not because we were forced to battle former allies taken by vampirism; Not even because the Lich, that seems to delight in our misery. What made apparent the truth of my depravity of my hatred was what I was unable to do. 

I charged past Lady Triton, a woman that was as surely deserving of her fate as Lord Triton himself. I couldn't raise my sword to attack Arowyn, though she was the most capable warrior amongst the vampirelings. Tassalia. I had cut down without any hesitation. 

The fight had left little time to think. It was afterward, after defeating the lich, when once more we stood stymied by god forsaken magic; when it felt there was nothing but time. I spent all my litany of curses, cast all my accusatory stares; now there was nothing left that would defer my reflections. 

I surely regretted my decision to stopped drinking so heavily.

I had attack Tassalia because she was a magic user. I hadn't seen her as a person or a woman. I had effortlessly cast aside my personal code because of my hatred; because of my fear. Then my thoughts drifted to Lucy, whom I held dear since the moment I met the child. She had suffered. Once I learned she wielded magic, all I could offer was additional suffering. As for Ichabod...My soul was as warped as the derro of Ichabod's tales. The hate I felt had corrupted me as readily as any magic.

At that moment, and long after, I believed myself to be a monster; now consider it the moment when I stopped.

—

Memoirs of the Scarlet Corsair, Morgan Roberts

Morgan Roberts—"Conflict of Interest"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

The story of my life; destined to be dragged in the undertow of witch-women and their dark sorcery. Each time, I was sure I had escaped to a mundane life free of their machinations; each time, I learned they had simply gotten better at how they hid their strings.

A sharpened mind and allies dealt with swordsmen and scoundrels easily enough, and a capable religious man who warded off all but the darkest magic. I thought through all the possibilities and took every reasonable precaution.

No. I hadn't. No consideration was given over to the possibility of the little queen possessing the aberrant powers of sorcery; no contingency available for dealing with the pain of seeing the little redhead's tears when she recognized my look of revolution and heard my angry reproach. Couldn't I look past the curse of magic? Couldn't I instead just forget the feelings for the queen..and her older sister?

No. I could do neither. I know in my heart that I have been fooled and manipulated by both the child and the adult; they dragged me unwillingly into the struggles of their families' coven.

Despite what they have done and all that I now know, it did little to diminish the love for the little queen, or.. or the feelings I have for Ichabod. The sadness I've caused Little Lucy to suffer has stolen any possible comfort that remained in this bottle. Nothing to pull me from the repeated study of my many and various flaws.

The story of my life...

Morgan Roberts—"Child's Play"

Journal Entry for Mysterious Tavern Campaign

From the nearby field, Morgan stood with the two nobles while the sounds of combat continued from in the tavern. A crash followed by something or someone hitting the ground with a thud from a side of the building not visible to Morgan. Whatever it was that made so sudden an exit out of the dilapidated building allowed the sounds of conflict to reach the three outside more clearly. The shouts suggested a grand melee indeed. (It seemed that such things broke out often in Morgan's absents.)

Moments passed, and Morgan took a single step towards the cursed inn, his impatient getting the better of him. He stops himself and looks back at the infuriating and endearing little girl. Whatever trouble his allies had gotten themselves into, they would have to fend for themselves; the little red-headed moppet most certainly could not.

The big man received a puzzled look from Antoinette as he sheathed his scimitar and took the staff in both hands. Morgan looked around for a moment and after seeing something, the other two did not, he walked to a soft spot of dirt. He then raised the staff high and plunged it into the soft soil. Dropping all pretense of his regular pirate-cant, he asked, "Lucy. Would you like to play a game?" The older woman expression turned to bewilderment as the younger to an excited affirmative.

Morgan waved her over and had her hold Ichabod's quarterstaff as took off his mantle and hung it over the implement. He removed his turban, shook it out and folded it neatly, before wrapping the red cloth around Lucy's strawberry blonde hair as a bandana. He returned to his regular mode of speaking and said, "I be far too much of a scoundrel to have me swear me-self to the Queen o' France, but to me beautiful pirate queen…? Surely."

Lucy with a grin from port to starboard and replied, "Of course, Sir pirate!"

Morgan knelt down before his pirate queen and explained, "The scarf is the symbol of a pirate, The mantle a pirate reputation, the stick be the main mast and ye be me queen." the captain asked, "Savy?"

"Savy!"

Morgan paused for a moment closing his eyes and placing his hand on the staff. He opened them offering a serious look, but a jolly voice said, "Well, me queen. Ere stands most all I be hold'n dear," dropping the pirate speak and the jovial tone, "I will not abandon it." A statement likely missed by the younger of the two nobles.

Morgan then completes the moment of waxing theatrical by releasing the staff; the stone at its end flared brightly for a time before return to its dull coloring. In as loud and booming voice as he could muster he shouted, "If'n ye aren't too busy like. Rally to ye pirate queen!"

Morgan checked to make sure that the child queen's daisy chain crown was secure on his head. He looked back and asked the little queen, "Me queen, I shan't suppose ye be still carry'n that old fancy dagger? I'm need'n it post haste."

Morgan Roberts: "A Flash of Insight"

Written for Mysterious Tavern

The last thing Morgan remember was a flash of light. Slowly his sight returned. The stars from the bright flash replaced by the stars over the ocean overlook of the cemetery. He though it another dream. The same dream.

Exasperated he spoke, "What an insightful bit of belated insight do you have for me tonight Ghalid," not bothering to maintain his drawl.

"Ahoy! But tain't none ye needin' from me," Ghalid replied. "Seems ye kept faithful to Rubirt's name."

"You've taken to referring to yourself in the third person have you," his father just laugh.

"tain't been called that name in some years boy. Don't seem right pretending I still be that fellow." He continued, "Well boy, have you finally come to take your rest with old Pa?"

That sounded new, thought Morgan. "No, I'll be waking up soon enough." He turned and looked at his father to his surprise he wasn't the withered corpse he regularly saw in his dream. His father looked much as he did in life save for the eerie looking aura that surrounded him and the pendant around his neck. The pendant once belongs to that fool witch that sealed his father's fate. His father's face momentarily wore concern, an unusual expression. Before Ghalid could respond Morgan spit out, "Why do you still have that anchor around your neck?"

"'Twas love that brought me low, but me Sadia ain't to blamed," he said with a little heat before relaxing. "'Twas the corrupted Marki and his dogs."

"That's why you shouldn't get involved with…" he realized his own hypocrisy, "...with nobles and their games."

"Ah well," his father attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere, "Ye know love be why me have this here amulet. Mightn't you mind sharing the story for that there fancy dagger and fancier stick?" Morgan replied with silence and slack-jawed look of surprise. "Well now…, it seems the High and Might Whelp has lost a bit o' swagger. Might've he been brought low like his papa? Savvy?" Ghalid offered no quarter as he spoke mockingly as if in fear he had discovered Morgan's secret.

Morgan look down at the two weapons; one the dagger given to little Lucy; the other the staff given to him by the sorceress, Ichabod. He wanted to toss the two away if only to prove a point, but his hands held firm to them both.

The specter's laughter boomed out in the night. Ghalid chortled, "And put ye a shirt on before ye catch yer death!" Even more amused, he returned to his rancorous laughter.

A glow began to envelop the woeful Murghan ibn Rubirt. At least, this one doesn't seem as painful as the first two the pirate thought.