Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Red Red Now You're Dead

The idea of names always struck the ancient creature as obvious proof of the inferiority of the short lived humanoid races.  Names were unnecessary for those creatures with well -developed senses.   Those humanoids that had invaded his lair while he slept referred to him as “The Red”.  He had heard others call him Flame and that had pleased him.  All those who saw him in his true form would yell “Dragon!”, although those who were close enough to feel his presence would tremble in fear and scream insensibly.  It was not lost on the ancient dragon the irony of his standing outside a building in Waterdeep, magically disguised as a noble born human male.  He was certain that the items that had been stolen from one of his secondary hoards were inside this building labeled “The Owl’s Roost”.
He could smell some twenty different individuals inside the building.  Another sign stated that coffee & books were inside however his senses also detected several undead creatures either in the basement of the Owl’s Roost or somewhere beneath. Red decided he would practice caution in case anyone learned or skilled enough to detect his true draconic nature was inside or below.  He stayed close to the building, studying all who entered and left for many hours.
Red thought back to a  time many years ago when he had discovered a simple spell that allowed wizards to mark belongings with their personal sigil or rune.  The marking was invisible to all save the caster and it was that particular aspect of the magic that had appealed to the ancient wyrm.  During that time most of the dragons throughout the northern reaches of Toril were ensconced in dangerous battles with their long time enemies, blooded dragon hunters.  Red took advantage of the deaths of many of his peers by claiming their old homes and whatever remained of their hoards.   By taking over areas believed conquered and spreading his hoard throughout a variety of locations, he would protect himself from the hunters and secure his survival. The spell was a simple answer to recovering any items stolen from the various lairs he had reclaimed. Instead of risking his life in a do or die fight with well prepared and protected adventurers, he would simply allow them to take what they could and follow their trail back from whence they came.   This simple plan had not only allowed him to maintain his wealth but increase it with the belongings of thieves who had sought to rob him. 
His senses jolted Red back to the present.  Someone approached the building he held vigil over.  This individual was quite different from all the others though.  While he only smelled one scent his other senses detected a unique aura of power radiating off of the human that approached, the aura something similar to someone else he had noticed when he arrived here.  The dragon realized that this individual had been touched like the other by something divine.  Red almost growled, his stomach rumbling with a hunger, a hunger he had not felt for hundreds of years since he had found the ring which sustained him.  To think all these years he had valued the wrong treasures, gold, magic, and art.   His senses overwhelmed the dragon now hungered for the power he sensed before him.  The humanoids believed their gods to be on Toril.  Now it is time for this dragon to ascend to the heavens.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


Galoban was a middle aged bard who had more skill than he had acclaim. He also had a knack for being very observant, and tried his best to take advantage of good fortune when it presented itself, Thank Tymora. Walking down Pharra's Alley, well away from the House of Wonder, he felt rather than saw the wild surge blast out of the small townhome of Indirion. The surge seemed to expel and scatter 2 groups of small creatures that seemed hell bent to destroy one another. Galoban quickly hid and witnessed 6 goblins and 4 pixies battle to the death, a furious affair that saw all participants die violent deaths in about 30 seconds. It wasn't until this time that Galoban noticed that the entire area had become silent. As he passed the strange soldiers' bodies, he collected everything he could, which was mainly small and tiny weapons and armor. He was surprised at the high quality of armament both sides had, as even the goblins looked to have expertly crafted weapons. He cautiously went inside to see what had happened to Indirion, an acquaintance but not necessarily a friend. Galoban was generally to suspicious of people to have many friends. Inside, the house looked as if it been up-ended and turned inside out. Indirion lay in the midst of the heap, alive but dumb founded. He was breathing and his eyes were open, but they were glazed over and he was unresponsive to any thing Galoban tried. Realizing the opportunity that had luckily fallen his way, he immediately scanned the room. Everything was a chaotic mess, but an exotic book with an ornate wooden cover and binding caught his eye. Being an in dependant wizard, Indirion was not that advanced, but surely his books were still of great value. The title was even more intriguing: A Druid's Bag of Tricks. He took it, and then all his attention was suddenly focused on a simple gold band ring. It was beautiful, and he could feel it's power from 10 feet away. He grabbed it and thought to himself " With a wizards ring, I can truly begin to overcome the prejudices of all the petty musicians and competitors that have held me back." The silence made him suspicious that guards or people would discover him, and he had his prizes, so he left, mouthing a quick prayer for his acquaintance to find the graces of the Lady of Luck. Once he was certain he was in the clear, he began experimenting with the ring, and was delighted with the results. After working with it, he was convinced the ring was a boon to bards, granting a magical aid to all of his performing skills. He even discovered that it disguised his nervous eye twitch when delivering oration performances. He also quickly figured out that it absorbed some of the silence of the wild surge, and could allow him to move silently at a moments thought. Of course he was doomed to always believe this now for that is the way of all such cursed delusional rings. He went to sleep with three thoughts on his mind; how to approach and profit from the new group of young nobles that had just returned to Waterdeep this very day, this Company of the Nine; how to sell a wizard book about druids; and his wonderful, amazing luck in finding this, his ring.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Tales from the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors

Now that you have settled back into Waterdeep, I want to remind you of the offer I have tabled regarding the Warp Marble. To discuss terms, I expect to see you at Highsun this very day; at the Efreeti Bottle- bring whomever you wish from your Tet; however no one other than you may participate in our palaver. These are troubled times and those share the vision are not meant to assail each other. Bring the marble.


Marcus rolled up the message and affixed it to the raven who, without ceremony flew off into the morning sea breezes. Marcus relayed his commands for the day and returned to his work desk in his private quarters. Sitting down he poured himself a carafe of juice, attached his Headband of office and began to prepare the spells and incantations he would need this day. His eyes drifted to his sleeping bride on the lavish bed who did not need to wake as early as he did, but men did need their time to themselves. There she lay, red of hair and creamy skin; deviously cleaver and confident beyond her gender- by Marcus’ reckoning.

After completing his spell preparations Marcus next opened his daily journal and began to write. So many responsibilities, but none more important that the offspring between himself and his bride. Marcus poured over the notes and charts that plot a typical woman’s pregnancy as well as his bride’s activities. Documented was everything from her daily measurements, her meal size and frequencies, how far she walked and the relative level of any laborious activity. Marcus completed the findings; at the rate the child is growing, he or she will come to full term by the Feast of the Moon- two months early.

Monster Mash A-Z

Axe beaks, bulette, constructs (Ceramic soldiers), dragonne, earth elementals, fey (Pater Smerve), grey renders, hobgoblin (Sheiks), ibrandlin, jyoti, kobold, lamia (Bernadine Cassalanter), mothman (Fate Aspect), nereid (twins), oni (TheStrategist), Pegasus (Animal Aspect), quickling, redcaps, skeleton warrior, tiefling, umber hulk (zombies), vampire spawn (Tomb Keepers), wood wode (Plant Aspect), xorn (elder), yeth hound, zombie (Nastorian). 

*I'd like to claim this A-Z accomplishment as a DM first!   :)

Friday, November 25, 2011

The Efreeti Bottle

The Efreeti Bottle feast hall is a richly designed tower; it is a lavish and popular location for Waterdeep nobles who wish a retreat or visiting vacationers to the City of Splendors. It has a large squat round base structure of arching designs out of which rises a graceful minaret that contains private rooms, suites, and fantastical themed rooms. It is the fourth tallest tower in Waterdeep. Hasar Al-Yasan owns the Bottle but has little hand in its day-to-day operations, leaving that to the Servants of Sharess. Instead, Hasar has a legendary appetite for pleasure; any indulgence for the mere pleasure of doing so. Some say he is something more than a man, perhaps an incubus or genie. Being a creature of extreme sensations and voracious hunger of pleasures, Hasar imports many exotic delicacies from food and wine to inclinations of the flesh.

The Bridesmaid’s Journal

Liliornin’s Weekly Journal

Eleasis 1: Midsummer Night brought with it not just changes in the weave and perhaps all the planes; but my perspective as well. No longer do I see the world as they do, the Red Wizards of Thay; rather as a Thayan instead I see the potential for unified progress in peaceful and lawful lands, the benefits behind unity over tyranny and betrayal. I renounce Gargauth and all his dogma. I know I must escape my situation soon, but I will be careful and bide my time.
Magic has gone wild and death has seemingly visited the clerics of magic and arcana. The Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors has internalized their leadership and have recalled each active member. Marcus has requested that Kight, Rynel, Nethieen, Gundus and I enter the city and inquire about a machine or construct; a device that could win the wizard war.

Eleasis 7: Ambassador Homen Abarbrent has summoned every Thayan in Waterdeep back to The Embassy. Avatars of gods walk among us, some as individuals or as objects.
Sorcerer Chhe Phou, one of the Ambassador’s advisors has selected us to discover an entrance to Skull Port; a way to the underdark port that is not through the known south seacaves.
Some of the gnoll garrisons have let slip that a recent interrogation yielded information on a portal that may exist in Skull Port.

Eleasis 14: Looking for this way to Skull Port, we began by making short two or three day expeditions into the Undermountain via the most popular way: the Yawning Portal. During our trips we learned that Skull Port is deeper into the Undermountain that we previously thought, however; after late night it was overheard that one pathway is rumored to be hidden behind a wall in one of the wine cellars of the Yawning Portal itself. The drunken Portal regular insisted that this route is direct, but an undead quintet: the Bone Council. The undead have made a lower section of this passage their chambers where they ceaselessly hold their palaver of death.

Eleasis 21: There are forces at work that foil any attempt at mapping the Undermountain. Returning to the streets of Waterdeep, we learn there could be a second passage that begins in a well in the basement level of the posh Efreeti Bottle feasthall. After further on site discovery, we find the passage that leads to the Underhalls was blocked up a year ago by the Watch after it was discovered that a band of slavers was using it to transport captives to Skullport. If only they knew, I must make my escape soon. I believe I have found a Harper agent. I hope to make contact with her soon.

Eleasis 28: Weeks of attempting to map out the undermountain, late nights with drunken Yawning Portal patrons and following every possibility; we have finally happened upon what could be the best yet. A possible third passage leading to Skullport, and it originates from the dungeons of Castle Waterdeep! Local legend says the passage winds like a massive corkscrew into Undermountain, bypassing the first two dungeons levels and going straight to the third. I will make contact with the Harper when we investigate- I was told her name is Jovena.  

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Eulogy of the Ka-tet

Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear our prayer.
Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear our prayer.
Death is speechless, so hear our speech.
These are the fallen, who served their ka and their tet. Say true.
May the forgiving glance of S’mana heal their hearts. Say please.
May the arms of Gan raise them from the darkness of the earth. Say please.
Surround them, Gan, with light.
Fill him them Chloe, with strength.
If they are thirsty, give them water in the clearing.
If they are hungry, give them food in the clearing.
May their life on this world and the pain of their passing become
as a dream to their waking souls, and let their eyes fall upon
every lovely sight; let them find the friends that were lost,
and let everyone whose name they call- call theirs in return.
They are Wayne, Chadwick, Eden and Griffith, who lived well, loved their own,
and died as ka would have it. Each man owes a death. Give them peace. 

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Uneasy Alliances

The Old Man lumbered through the forest, moving his bulk with difficulty amidst the undergrowth. A scowl furrowing his brow, he stopped to gain his breath, seeing his destination ahead. A huge, weathered stone head, all that remained of a towering statue of some long forgotten king, lay on its side. The moss that once covered it had all died and begun to fall off after the recent frost. The old man adjusted the white bear cloak that showed to all who knew that he was a shaman of the mighty snow bear that roamed the frozen northern wastes, above the mountain range known as the Spine of the World. Berthgar was to meet his strange ally here, to turn over a scroll that the satyr would use to help spy on the Sky Pony tribe.

The shaman leaned wearily against the massive head, eyes roving the unfamiliar terrain, his breath steaming in the cold air. These soft southerners, he thought sourily, they have no idea what to expect from a truly harsh winter. And these Sky Ponies. His people would need to remove them from this area when they made their push south. More slaves to tend to the holdings.

"Why, if my eyes don't deceive me! It's my friend from the northern tundra, Berthgar!!" A voice came from behind him, atop the statue's head. The shaman spun in place, moving faster than would be expected for a man his size and age. With lips peeled back in a snarl, Berthgar growled, "Never try to sneak up on a man of the Snow Bear tribe, faun, or you may never get to make another mistake."

Standing on top of the weathered stone mound, Farrelle raised his hands in apology, a ruefull smile on his face as he shook his head. "Berthgar, forgive me, I meant no offense. I saw you there and just couldn't resist. I am sorry, I thought I could lighten your sour mood."

Berthgar pulled out a scroll from his belt, and threw it up at the satyr. "Here's your payment, faun. A spell that will protect you from any plants. Use it with great caution, it will not last long. I need to know the numbers and position of the Sky Ponies. How many camps do they have, where they are-."

Farrelle stalled the bear shaman with an upraised hand, "I know how to spy and what you'd be looking for, mighty shaman. I have done this before." With a chuckle, the satyr tucked the scroll in a woven leather belt that encircled his lean waist. "We'll meet here, what, four days hence?"

"Aye, at dawn's break. Make sure you come through for me, if you're caught and the Ponies keep you alive, well don't expect us to come to your rescue." Berthgar growled and raised the snow bear's hood, made from the animal's head. He lumbered off into the frosty gloom of the forest.

Crouched atop the stone head still, Farrelle warily watched the human leave. Once he was out of earshot, the satyr glanced a bluejay that was perched on a branch above him. "We must watch that one. At the first scent of weakness, he'll turn on us."


Marcus Thorne Wands replaced his apponax feather quill into the ink bottle after signing his initials as he is known to do and looked down upon his work. The raven that would carry the message squawked impatiently on its perch.

Syllia walked in on her husband, quiet as a whisper, with a small package in her hand. Her red hair was flawless as always, her creamy skin inviting and her eyes alert with intelligence with a glint of excitement. “Elkoremarr has come through for us darling! We can try again tonight.”

Marcus, “Very good;” he looked at his wife lustfully. She responded with a raised eyebrow and a devils grin.

The wizard magically shrank the note and prepared the raven, “Important business?” inquired the woman.

Trying to recover lost property,” Marcus responded with a nod towards vagary attaching the note to the bird.

“Why not just take what is yours my love?” She slid up behind him as he released the raven, pressing her breasts against his back.

Marcus turned to look into her green eyes, “Because unlike your homeland I value individuals as tools to employ and weapons to wield, not as annoyances to be destroyed as they sometimes interfere with plans- the big tapestry. Mayhap they could bring us closer to that end goal.”

“The big tapestry.” Syllia reaffirmed.

Marcus beamed at his love and kissed her deeply; she hungrily reciprocated. When the heat of their need subsided, they retired to their lofty chambers in the Wand villa and opened the package. Inside were two clear glass vials of a thick red liquid and a note explaining the contents of each and their origin.

Holding one up to the light, “This one is blood from a gold dragon. It says its name was Aurum and he was over a thousand years old.” He handed the vial to the now naked woman. Marcus could not help but linger on her shape, perfect breasts and... “This one,” he continued. “Came from a red, same age as requested; its name was Zollrendar.” He recalled the day he fought that one.

Syllia returned the vial to Marcus, as he began the motions of spell-casting over the vial of gold dragon blood. As he did this, she began to undress him. Their past attempts at conception were a failure; however, now with the blood of a gold dragon coursing through them both, they will surely conceive a sorcerer she thought with excitement.

Marcus completed his preparatory spells and reached to pull the curtain; the room was plunged into darkness, but before their eyes adjusted fully to the darkness Syllia quickly and quietly switched the gold dragon blood for the red dragon blood.

In the darkness Syllia felt a hand cup her breast and heard her husband swallow hard, then felt the cold rim of a glass vial on her lips; she drank the warm thick liquid and walked her husband to the bed, dimly lit by a lonely red taper.

A Message to Norsinnow

Attention Norsinnow,

The farm is owned by Alauos Kothont. The main farmhouse and land are easy to spot due to the large red boulders that decorate its boundaries. The property is well past Carver’s hill. I believe all the animals along with the stone that Breton assures me lies at the bottom of the farm’s pond should more than compensate you. Collect and study upon the new creatures we are providing you. Be ready to act when called upon. You named your price and it has been met, welcome to the organization.
Emerging from Shadow,

Kiiri the colorful

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Tales from the Long Road

The meazel knew rage; it knew violence. They also knew untold prosperity, because in the recent weeks since Midsummer, the asexual meazel’s population has swelled in number such that many were forced to find territories or lairs of their own; rarely are they encountered away from their lair.

Generations of living in the underdark; the meazel have developed a hunched posture and tough skin the color of common stone. Their gold rimmed eyes possess a malevolent stare that fascinates it victims or the meazel may employ their vicious chains to strangle and bring down unfortunate victims. They are natural stalkers with an eye for the valuable; they will often employ spoils from their victims…

The creature emerged from the endless darkness of the underdark and was amazed at the canopy of tiny lights that speckled the impossible sky. New aromas and sensations aroused the meazel in a way that was new, alien and yet impossible to deny. A physical change began to take place that the creature did not understand, but knew it was linked to these new urges. The meazel was swiftly and unbelievably growing male genitalia before its, no- his eyes. A new scent gripped the grey-skinned man, undeniable and primordial: Lust. Gathering its chains the meazel raised its head to the air and followed it to find…
The Harper sat upon her war horse admiring her newly acquired weapon; a six inch long blade heavily stylized with a tiger’s eye, its name was sabre-tooth. Aeriell Slimerhelve is a civilar in Waterdeep’s cavalry, supervising and training of the many warriors, they patrolled the road to Amphail. Aeriell’s gaze wandered from her weapon to her squad, and then to the northern road that disappeared as it met the horizon, her contact Hyara Talmost was overdue.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Uthrac Ruldegost

Uthrac found his thoughts drifting back to fonder memories as the clergy intoned the death rites of Tempus and the congregation of visitors responded in dutiful, respectfull tones. The day grandfather handed him his own Ruldegost arms, a perfectly balanced throwing axe, enchanted so that the wielder could choose to deal subdual damage with but a thought. Grandfather had said " You have chosen a right and good profession. The trade roads must be kept clear of rogues and bandits, and law breakers must be brought to justice. Let this axe help you bring them in alive. In Tempus name."

The day he told him of his decision, not so long ago, that he had joined a new order of knights, and presented the pair of blue steeled pistols that had been fashioned by the Gonds-men from his ancestral weapon. He said, as he hugged Uthrac close " You have always done the most with what I have provided. In Tempus name, you make me proud grandson".

He was most glad that grandfather had fought his disease long enough to see his badge of office with his seat on the new council. Sai Piergeron had entrusted to Uthrac with recruiting and training martialled bounty hunters, like himself. Efficient trackers and hunters of men, men who could capture targets, not simply kill them in bursts of violent justice. It all started with that prayer from grandpa, to bring 'em home alive.

Uthrac Ruldegost had a faint smile as he saluted his grandfathers corpse during the procession, and said to his grandfather as he passed " In Tempus name."

A time to wait

Volita Gralhund griped the hilt of her Axe Musket. The weight was much less than the battle axe of Thundering she had sacrificed. She didn’t want to sacrifice her favorite weapon, nor did she want to join the Knights of the Firelance, let alone sit on their council. But she was by far the best gunslinger in her family and Gargauth had demanded her family sit on the council. She had kept her eyes open for possible signs as to why this seat was so important. However since the Voice over Waterdeep, her family had lost all contact with the lord who Watches. Now she was about to travel north to ask for reparations she could care less about. “They call this the time of troubles” she thought, “I will be in trouble if Piergeironon or the others get wind of my intent. Not that I know my intentions” she cursed. I will just bide my time and watch.

Consorting with the enemy

Twenty five years, two children and Caith was still considered a consort, still verbally abused, and still dismissed.  Twenty five years is a long time for love to boil into hate.  Truth to tell she would probably still be happy and well-kept today if not for Florin’s death.  That is when everything changed for Caith and the Durinbold family.  That was the day that Buldos changed from an inconsiderate nobleman into the violent arm of Tempus, the day when he stopped loving anything or anyone, even his only remaining son Breton.  It wasn’t long after Florin’s death that Buldos began directing his anger and hatred towards Breton.  Everything that Florin was Breton could never be.  When Breton was young he would come to his mother in tears, broken and hurt by another rebuke from his father, another embarrassment, another humiliation. 

Her hatred took hold then.  She could handle his disrespecting her and never treating her as anything other than a consort but she would not stand by while he attacked her only remaining child.  Caith counseled her son to hide his intelligence and skills, to allow everyone else to believe he was as worthless as his father proclaimed.  “Allow the world to underestimate you son and when we our ready they will not be prepared to deal with the real you. “ Caith watched and waited, sure that her opportunity would come and she was correct.  Buldos was a long time member of the Chess Emporium, still basking in the glow of a club championship from many years before.   It was in fact the place where Caith met her children’s father when he took her away from the upstairs rooms of the Emporium.  Due to Buldos long association with the lodge Caith had been hired over the years to train new concubines and weed out any possible trouble.  It was in her role as teacher that she first encountered Kiiri.  She had been brought in to satisfy exotic tastes.  Exotic certainly described her.  After some months of working at the Chess Emporium Caith and Kiiri, now known as Kiiri the colorful for her skin tones and decorative jewelry, became friends and confidants. 

Just as Buldos had become the engine of Caith’s hate, he was also the catalyst for the conversation with Kiiri that would change Caith’s life.  Buldos came into the lodge drunk and found his consort Caith upstairs in a conversation with Kiiri.  Cussing Kiiri, he took Caith then and there, roughly, abusively.  When the nobleman left, Kiiri tended to the bruised Caith and listened to her suddenly revealed hatred for the man she used to love. For weeks the two continued to talk, confiding more and more in each other until finally Kiiri felt sure she could share her true mission in Waterdeep.  Kiiri revealed to Caith that she was in fact a member of an organization known as the Shadow Thieves, shocking the elder consort.  After her initial shock was finished, the two women spent the next few weeks planning together, eventually sharing their plan with Caith’s son Breton.  For the relatively small investment of 4000gp Kiiri would start the wheels in motion for Caith and Breton to have their revenge.  Breton would inherit the Durinbold family fortune and they would finally be rid of Buldos.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Father No Rest

Kraiton led Breton Durinbold into champion’s den of the Chess Emporium where his irate father Buldos awaited. Kraiton again wondered how Buldos must have angered the gods to be cursed with such an imbecilic son. The heir to the Durinbold fortune was clueless as to what his father could be mad about but certain from years of experience that he was the cause of that anger. Kraiton had spent the last three hours searching for Breton only to find him at the same Emporium as his father albeit upstairs, entertaining himself with the courtesans. Now thanks to the idiot Kraiton would be blamed for conducting an incompetent search.

Buldos Durinbold was not an intimidating man, not normally, save for his family which he dominated with his battle hardened ways and sudden mood swings. Yet these are not normal times. The tall, thin, middle aged human was luxuriously dressed in his fine wool, leather coat, his hair perfectly coifed, his bearing that of a nobleman were it not for the revolver on his hip that marked him a Firelance Gunslinger. That weapon intimidated. Many times Buldos would find someone he was speaking to staring openly at his revolver, entranced by its magic wrought by Gond. Buldos also believed the weapon to still be blessed by Tempus since it was crafted from his Mace of Smiting.

At the sight of his son being brought into the den, Buldos rose from his chair, glaring at his man at arms Kraiton, and growling at his son, “I had an interesting conversation with the treasury this morning son, they inform me that you have withdrawn 5000 gold and now my man finds you upstairs in a bed of six strumpets, what is a father to think?” Breton broke into a silly grin, “Only a hundred was for upstairs father, most of it is for the green slime.” There was an uncomfortable pause as Buldos and Kraiton both waited for more of an explanation. “What GREEN SLIME! What are you talking about?” bellowed the angry father, “Kraiton did I not say to you not to let him out of your sight?”

“The Green Slime is to get rid of the stone and even if that doesn’t work we can use it against the dire animals” explained Breton, “Kiiri the colorful said that she can deliver the slime to any of our properties so I had her take it to our cattle ranch near Kothont’s farm. Taking care of it Dad.” Buldos hand gripped his pistol tightly as he once again wondered at the fate that robbed him of his oldest best son Florin and left his families legacy in the perilous hands of Breton Durinbold. Saying a quick curse towards the dwarf Thraygar Blackbeard who failed and mislead Florin unto his death, Buldos grabbed his son by the shoulders and asked him angrily, “Have you paid this Kiiri the colorful yet?” A chuckling Breton replied, “Well how else could I get her to deliver the Slime Dad?”

A half hour of yelling followed and Kraiton noticed that more than once Buldos’ hand gripped his gun. The Man at Arms worried that his benefactor would shoot him in the anger he could not take out on his son. He quickly discovered his fate was much worse. “Since you have cost our family a sum of money I planned to use in support of our Luskan emissaries I shall be forced to send you my son. Kraiton you can’t expect me to send my heir alone into the dangerous North so of course you will accompany him. Make sure he returns to me…unless of course he is consumed by a Green Slime!”