[in a very Korvosan Varisian, adapted to Draconic script with a series of horribly long and nigh-insensible di-, tri-, and quadrigraphs and diacritics]
It’s getting difficult to tell these villages apart, but Riverton has the distinction of being perhaps the most ssthænhiihxcchxha zetaillo. The inn is little more than a long hovel and the beer tastes like blindness and infertility. Tien ren with scrolls on the side. Investigate later. With money.
Pretty standard fare. It improved substantially when a bard jumped on a box and started busking. She drew the attention of a pompous Osirian idiot claiming loudly to be a prince and wanting to hire adventurers for a lost cargo stolen by an army. Worth mostly ignoring until he started waving his last scrap of jewelry around. I had to walk over and shove his hand back in his coat before the rest of the criminal element—or, worse, the Chelish dogs hanging about in force.
The bard introduced herself as Fliuch and started on about the history of the thing. Cute but thoroughly unhelpful. She’d managed to hire an orc—Arsenau—already. She’s just shy of two kxkxthælhnissih. Big. Moves like she knows how to use it, too. Approve. Bit of a stick up her ass.
Just our luck the eatshit devilfuckers decided to show up before we could get less exposed, quibbling over some administrative bullshit. Between the orc and I we’d probably have woken up in Purgatory or wherever, but for the intervention of two more:
Liriel. Half-elf. Maybe some Varisian in her. Monk. Definite stick up her ass about rules. If I were any good at headgames she might be more amenable, but so it goes.
Rufus. Chelish dog. Cleric of somebody. Untrustworthy. Half elvish or so, but manages to hide it well enough. Nobody else seems to suspect. Why he’d hide something so innocuous is a mystery. Untrustworthy.
But he got rid of the hellknight. I hope to all the hells she isn’t following us. Me. All the same.
First hiccup was running into that army that didn’t exist. Turns out it was just a particularly talented sorceress and three mooks that didn’t present much trouble. The monk also saw through the illusion. I can’t tell if that comforts or unsettles.
Regardless, the sorc ran off as soon as her concentration broke. I winged her with a ray of frost, but it didn’t do much. Expected. The mook in front of me went down quickly enough; dumbass tried to attack the raft from the water.
*One dead mook.
I do wonder that they didn’t stop to bury the dead man. They opted to heal the living ones and set them off, naked, unarmed, and half conscious through a day’s walk of wildlands filled with many such as themselves. I don’t imagine they lived long.
We met a faerie-gnome looking for a pixie. Renée Willatonka of name. She left us some things in return for our help, and she paid well. Shortbow Fliuch could make good use of. She was pretty happy to have it. Pretty smile and eyes like a clear night sky and her laughs are rain.
Second hiccup was the tiger Azra or whatever spoke of. Only reason we’re not dead was a lucky color spray and Arsenau. She didn’t notice pieces were missing and she stank of open bowels.
Don’t provoke the orc. DON’T PROVOKE THE ORC.
We managed to knock it out and drag it back to the cage. Looted the camp, but the sorc got the most valuable. Managed to find [LEDGER REDACTED]. Letters involving a larger organisation. ‘Zeke’ came up. Follow up in larger down.
Got to talk to Fliuch during watch. I like her. Idyllic upbringing until a wizard. Like a fairytale, complete with a sleeping-curse. Something about ‘stole her breath’. Have to investigate further. Might be a library in Isarn worth two shits if they haven’t burned it down yet. Might be a little too curated. We’ll see.
Willatonka showed up again. Led us to the pixie’s cave. Found an ogre. Fixed the ogre. Found the sorceror. Found the pixie. Might’ve colorsprayed the party. Maybehaps. Might.
Renée homed in on the fairy. Ignored the sorceress. Should’ve expected. Sorceror went down. Nearly ended the monk. Damn Chelish worm let the pixie go, though Renée seemed satisfied with the dust. æxcihhkrhxlhlhrethhr.
Returned to shitty lakeside hamlet with recovered tiger and manifest and heirloom. No trouble with blackshirts. On to Isarn and all between.