Session 220: A Hazy View from the Bottom of a Cider Glass

Day 6 Sunsebb CY 576

The wood smoke is thick tonight, and the smell of hearth-fire almost—almost—drowns out the lingering stench of the Barrow Marsh that clings to those poor souls who just wandered back into Orlane. I was just resting my eyes over a nice glass of cider when the door creaked open, bringing in a chill and the sort of stories that make an old woman’s head spin.

You should have seen them. Feno the elf looking like he’d seen a ghost (or at least a very angry statue), and that new Paladin, Laile, standing so tall you’d think she hadn't just spent the day wading through muck. They tell me they found a room in that wretched maze that smelled so putrid the whole lot of them lost their lunch—except for the little gnome Gnorcia and a few others with stronger stomachs. They even met a goblin in a gas mask acting like a polite construction worker! "Off limits," he says. Imagine that! A goblin with a union card.

They should have listened to the walls, though. They found a message scrawled in common: "Don't go on!" But do adventurers ever listen? No, they tossed a coin—or a poll, or some such nonsense—and marched right into a ceiling collapse that sealed the way behind them.

The most delicious part of the tale, if you ask me, involves the "Barbecue Room". Poor Lhoss tried to spider-climb her way to a treasure chest after a 10-foot pole turned to ash in a burst of magical flame. There was a metal cobra hiding in a box, clicking and hissing like a clockwork nightmare. It bit Lhoss, and she went all convulsive and foamy at the mouth. That’s when things got truly odd—Feno decided to use Gnorcia as a literal projectile, tossing the gnome across the room in a "Wolverine toss" to deliver the cure! Gnorcia took a bit of a singeing, but she’s a tough one.

They came back with a radiant mace of St. Cuthbert, silver-bright and etched with holy sigils. It’s a fine thing, though I hear the Paladin and the others are already bickering over whether to give it to the church or keep it for "justice".

But mark my words, the air in Orlane is getting heavy again. While Feno and Lhoss are busy splitting a bottle of expensive Elven wine and trying to forget the smell of burning hair, there’s trouble brewing at the Slumbering Serpent. A group called the Fearsome Five has rolled into town, and Lalie says she smells evil on one of them.

The cider is tart, the fire is dying, and the "shifty" folk are gathered just down the road. I think I’ll stay right here at my table. It’s much safer to tell the stories than to be in them—especially when people start throwing gnomes.

Stay odd, Orlane.

— Vilma