*** another guest post by a dear friend…
Notes from the campaign by Jolie Smoke, a tabaxi of reputation.
It was expected and surprizing at once, that I was captured by Tiamat cultists intent upon my sacrifice,— Cult of the Caustic Heart, if you can believe that sort of thing. They manacled me and threw me in a warehouse room at the docks. It was awful,— an impending sacrifice to a Betrayer God should be interesting, yet they did their damnedest to pickle me in my own boredom. It was my almost good fortune that the walls were thin,— a cost cutting measure no doubt, so I was able to bedevil them with various insults and inquiries. The Evil Dwarf with the pink axe was a dark cloud at the proceedings, as her personality was exactly what you would expect. Time and again they yelled at me to shut up,— they must have needed me in reasonable condition for their despicable ritual, so they caused me no great bodily harm beyond the insult of restraint. They gagged me once or twice, but I kept biting through so they gave up. Our conversations went something like this —
Me: Hey! Why did the chicken cross the road?
Silence on their part. They struggled with the grand depth of this question.
Me: All right, I’ll tell you. He was looking for the Idiot’s House. Hey! Knock knock.
More silence.
Me: Knock knock! Knock knock! Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock…
Evil Dwarf with the Pink Axe: SHUT UP!
Me: If you say “Who’s there?” I’ll shut up.
Evil Dwarf with the Pink Axe, heaving a Great Sigh: Who’s there?
Me: THE CHICKEN!
I laughed as she lobbed all manner of poorly aimed curses at me.
Me: And I lied! I’m not going to shut up, not at all! Not one bit!
The cycle repeated itself in this fashion.
So imagine my surprize when Screa popped into the room out of nowhere. She has a certain angelic quality to her, welcome in the context. She had my deluxe satchel and Scrapper & the Cocktail Shaker, and I once again had influence over my own destiny. There was a ruckus outside on the docks and I knew the others were coming too.
Me: Do you hear that? That’s my Attorney coming for me.
Evil Dwarf: Shut up!
Me: Listen, because this is important. She is not just some dingbat I pulled out of a dive bar in the Restless Wharves! Oh no. She is not like you and me. One time she swallowed an iguana, and ever since then whenever she sneezes a giant lizard maw erupts from her navel and we have to shove that thing back down in her before it eats us all. She is going to mess up every one of you gutless punks.
The only sensible thing to do now was shoot the door lock, which of course brought the Evil Dwarf and that wretched sailor with the scimitar. I was delighted for the Cocktail Shaker’s maiden combat, and I aimed it at the Evil Dwarf and pulled the trigger for the big barrel. But for a long second or two nothing happened. My hands were still manacled so I couldn’t tinker with it, so I just shook the thing and it went off. It was no great shot,— didn’t take her out,— and she was on me with that terrible axe while Screa fought the sailor.
And then everything went to hell in a most exciting way. Someone did a repulsively nasty spell, and it felt like I was punched in the heart. I sent the Evil Dwarf to her sweet Tiamat, who I hope gives her lessons in manners and competence. I shot off my leg manacles, and Upta dropped in and performed the right skulduggery on the other set and got my wrists free. He said that Scott was down, and this simply would not do, so I looked around the corner and beheld Zarto making a holy mess of everything, having smashed some undead thing or other to bits. I mean, there were bone shards all over the place. Some deplorable dragonborn necrowizard or whatever was making a spectacle of himself, so I shot him a couple of times. And Zarto bashed him and put him down for good. Screa nailed the irritating fancy captain with a lovely blast of her own, and that was that.
We saved the Dire Comedian and the little goblin girl. Between me not getting sacrificed for the greater glory of Tiamat and everyone in M6 still breathing, the day was an apparent success. Of sorts.
I look forward to leaving this scandalous town for awhile. I believe we could all do with a change of psychic climate.