Day 11 of Ready'reat CY 576
Hullo, my dears! Come, pull up a chair. The wind howls a frightful tune through the Barrel Marsh tonight, but in here, the fire’s warm and the ale is… well, it’s ale! Vilma’s here, and I’ve got a story for you, fresh as the trout they pulled from the icy creek today. A story of our Saviors, who just blew in with the snow, laden with burdens both seen and unseen.
They’ve been away, you know. Deep in that miserable Barrel Maze, a place of stale air and blood-stained stones. They tunneled their way into a gargoyle’s throne room, bold as you please, and walked away with its hoard! And they weren’t alone. They brought back a friend, a most peculiar fellow named Myr. He’s a mimic, they say, and he’d heard tales of Orlane’s feasts and came bouncing along, eager for a taste. A discerning fellow, that Myr!
But oh, to have been a fly on the wall for what came next! Before they could take a single step toward home, our heroes held a great and ponderous council. You think battles are all swords and spells? Ha! The truest battles are fought against numbers on a page, against the sheer, stubborn weight of the world!
For hours they debated, these mighty adventurers, not of dragons, but of the heft of their gear. "Does my armor count against me?" asked one. "These two daggers and a staff can't possibly weigh seventy pounds!" cried another, wrestling with her magical ledger. It was a sight to see! They measured the weight of a single torch down to a fraction of a pound, argued the proper burden of a gnome-sized shovel versus a man-sized one, and recalculated the load of a week's rations. Every coin, every waterskin, every silken rope was accounted for. Such is the unglamorous truth of heroism, my dears. It is a thing of careful mathematics and strong backs. They know a simple truth I’ve always held dear: you can only carry so much, so you’d best choose your burdens wisely.
And what burdens they chose! Coffers filled with treasure, yes, but also mystery. I saw it all in the flames of the hearth. They opened one box to find not gold, but books! One bound in reptile scales, and another beneath it that snarled like a cornered beast when they tried to lift it! Even Myr the mimic, a knowledgeable sort, claimed those books were from before his time.
They made a wise choice then, a choice many fail to make. They found a king’s ransom in copper—a pile weighing more than 700 pounds—and they left it. They knew its worth wasn’t equal to the effort of hauling it home. A lesson for all of you: not all treasure glitters, and not all that glitters is worth the strain on your soul, or your shoulders.
They returned to us as the sky turned to bruised indigo, just in time for a hot meal. And what a scene it was here at the inn! I was just telling the tale of their encounter with the Fearsome Five—a fine story, if I do say so myself—when in they walked! I gave them a wave, of course. It’s always good to see the subjects of your stories in the flesh.
Their new friend, Myr, proved to be the most cultured mimic I’ve ever seen. He transformed his appendages into a knife and fork and ate his trout with the most polite manners before negotiating his own employment as the inn’s new guard! The villagers were aghast at first, but a polite monster who appreciates good wine is a hard creature to hate.
Now, the threads of fate are pulling at them again. Young Eloin and the fierce Sirius are clamoring to return to that dusty barrow tomb they found. Our heroes, meanwhile, speak of needing training in Hook and appraising the giant black pearl they found, hoping it's worthy enough for a powerful spell. And all the while, a hooded stranger sat in the corner, carving the very story I was telling into the top of Floren’s table. A strange way to keep a history, but who am I to judge?
So, watch them, my dears. Watch our saviors. They think they are just counting coins and feeding horses, but they are writing the next chapter of our story with every step they take. And old Vilma will be right here by the fire, watching and waiting to tell the tale.
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