D&D: On the road again!

Trouble at the Inn
Trouble at the Inn

Since last I wrote of our adventures, we nearly met death in a dungeon guarded by a half dragon and a roper… which was pretty exciting. It was there that I learned that even immobile creatures will move to prevent Cloud of Daggers from hitting them. It was there I first learned that ropers — creatures that mimic stalagmites — can move, actually.

Deadly creatures. I’m even looking at kobolds with new respect. And I say that as one who uses a kobold costume as part of her famous traveling show, “The Kobold and the Kanary”. Not a misspelling — Kanaries are like canaries, except with scales instead of feathers. and they weigh three tons.

Once we’d limped back to Greenest with news as to the fate of the kobolds and cultists who’d pillaged the city, we were sent to Baldur’s Gate to join a caravan and learn more of the cultists. We opted to take a steamship down the Chionthar River on its way from Scornubel. Well, you know what they say about Scornubel. It’s nice, but it’s no Baldur’s Gate.

The steamship ride wasn’t without its own drama. My inspired hurdy-gurdy rendition of the Sacking of Greenest was getting rave reviews from the audience until the bassoon player clubbed me from behind. You know, I guess I should have expected it. Jealousy is such a terrible thing. Of course I was wearing my kobold costume — and it would have made sense if I’d been ALLOWED to continue. I imagine my adoring public was livid at not being able to appreciate the rest of my performance. But then, Gina got accosted by an old lover of hers, and her love’s family had some objections, yadda yadda yadda, long story short, we were asked to disembark.

Looking for a reason to join the caravan to Waterdeep, we attended a mercenary job fair/speed dating event. Still a little wobbly from the assault upon my person by Mister Bassoon, I wasn’t able to get us a good posting, but Gina or Zalandrin did get us a job guarding the wagons of a shrill harridan — an Elf, of course, if you needed to ask.

We were flush with cash after earning so many rewards and having so few places to spend it, before now. My cabin boy Ellryn bought a pony and a good supply of healing potions; everyone else did the same. Instead of healing potions, though, I went to the local luthier and found there a cittern which was said to be magical. A cittern? Well, of course, we did study citterns and other lute-like instruments at Bard College, but the hurdy-gurdy, the traditional music of my home in the Stripscrew Caverns… ah, what the heck. Maybe it was the bassoon talking, but I traded the hurdy-gurdy and most of my gold for this cittern.

We left early the next morning. Everyone was quiet and a little grumpy. I dozed off and felt a sudden psychic link with my cittern… a vision where I met people dying on a battlefield… I tried to help but could not, but then I did, and I understood my cittern’s charm. It was the Cittern of Mac-Fuirmidh (pronounced “furmy” as far as I can tell), and could not only act as a mean spell focus, but could cure wounds once a day. Nice!

Te road to Waterdeep wended through some pretty seriously named territory. We were trying to keep an eye on the wagon carrying cultists, some of whom we recognized from the cultist camp. We didn’t want to be recognized by them… One evening, it began to rain in sight of a large inn. Well, we just had to go see if we could get out of the rain.

Unfortunately, though the inn seemed to be nearly empty, the proprietor regretfully informed us that there were no available rooms. He gave a little side-eye at four nobles muttering insolently from one of the few tables that had any customers. Never one to be shy, I had the innkeep send them a round, on me, and dragged up a chair to join them.

The nobles weren’t having any of it. I guess we amused them, somehow. Every time we tried to get a conversation going, they just got nastier and nastier. Eventually Mom came in (Mom is what we call our Elf boss) and started yelling at us for not properly caring for her horse, not believing us when we said our imaginary druid was in fact taking care of all our horses right then! After a couple more remarks from the noble peanut gallery, she started yelling at them, too! Other caravaneers started filtering in, also unable to get rooms, and just stood around smirking at this display.

Something Zalandrin said struck a nerve with the nobles, and the nobles pulled out their swords. Zalandrin drew his, and I guess the time for words was over.

Zalandrin went all elf on the nobles as only elves can. Gina swung her beard and axe with deadly purpose. Ellryn exploited his ability to get several attacks in per round to do some deadly damage. Me, I cast Sleep (to no effect), Cloud of Daggers (to no effect), and eventually just fell back to casting the occasional heal while plinking away with my crossbow. Ellryn and I got poisoned for our troubles; we both nearly died. Gina wasn’t looking too good, either. Zalandrin — I think he was okay. Somehow, we pulled through — narrowly.

Me, I just wanted a place to sleep. I was all for just going up and taking the first empty room we came to — and if the nasty nobles objected, well, that was on them. But I guess they just saw us as easy kills.

Hey, we’ve been killed by better than you, guys.

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