“This is very good! It seems as though there must be a way to return to our home plane.”
Thinks back: Did the mounted heads in the lodge look recent? Were they the result of skilled taxidermy or the wild swing of orc scimitars or the ungentle ministrations of a hill giant?
Thinks back: Did the mounted heads in the lodge look recent? Were they the result of skilled taxidermy or the wild swing of orc scimitars or the ungentle ministrations of a hill giant?
Yaleg looks around to see if anyone else is interested in one of his pies....
"Perhaps you sir?," he says to Starker. "A fine goose pie for you and a sweet cream for your monkey?" Turning to Gneuman, "I don't know a gnome that would pass up the duck and peas pie. And," he shoos the faerie dragon again, "your new friend clearly would like a cloud berry pie." The faerie dragon initially hisses at the goblin and then turns to Gneuman at the mention of a pie and grins larger while nodding its head.
“Master Yaleg, you assortment of pies smells divine! What would you suggest for a Dwarf, good sir?”
The faerie dragon reappears, you missed him turning invisible when the green dragon was present, and comes walking out of the tall grasses. He jumps up into the air and circles about above your heads. Trolkarl, Kragen and Cyrrus are very enthralled by the flight of the tiny dragon.
"I remember that feeling from the first time I tried dwarven whiskey."
He laughs loudly (but not unkindly) and claps Kragen on the back.
"I've also heard the halflings have some kind of tobacco that can do that."
After walking a few minutes in quiet contemplation Chadwick says "the folks back home know I don't boost or lie, but I imagine they would have a hard time believing the adventures we've had these last couple of months. Just think, we are on an entirely different plane! I used to think such things were only for the heros of legend."
Trolkarl's gaze lingers for some time on Yaleg. He blinks rapidly hearing the voice of Kragen
You are right, Kragen. I.... feel something... quite peculiar... happening.
He reaches out to grasp the air, as if the fabric of reality is more tangible, and he needs to hold it.
The air... so purple. The sun, it's dripping... but beautiful. Never seen it like this... in Cormyr.
Looking back at Yaleg, and blinking rapidly again
That pie... you. Sir... that is not just a pie, is it. That is the essence of pie... the idea of pie and purple melded into a thread that ties us all together
You are... you are right Kragen... I think we need to sit.... so as to not float away
Chadwick starts chuckling. "Ok friends I think it's best if we make camp a little early today."
Chadwick will go about setting up camp and getting folks comfortable for their trip.
"Had a few younger recruits like this after getting leave for the first time. Actually now that I think I about it, Kragen might have even offered to hold my quote, pretty hair, while dealing with some regrets of matching the dwarves for drinks at the last feast."
After getting everyone settled he'll dig out his hand drum and sing a few peppy tavern songs.
Performance 14 in case anyone else might be listening in.
Chadwick starts chuckling. "Ok friends I think it's best if we make camp a little early today."
Chadwick will go about setting up camp and getting folks comfortable for their trip.
"Had a few younger recruits like this after getting leave for the first time. Actually now that I think I about it, Kragen might have even offered to hold my quote, pretty hair, while dealing with some regrets of matching the dwarves for drinks at the last feast."
After getting everyone settled he'll dig out his hand drum and sing a few peppy tavern songs.
Performance 14 in case anyone else might be listening in.
Starker checks Cyrus’ manners, mannerisms, and pupils.
“I took a pie but did not partake. Would anyone like it? I fear that if it effected me the way it has some of uou I would be useless should we be surprised tonight. I am nothing without my clear intellect.”
Speaks in draconic to wee disappearing dragon (?): “What is your name, little brother? Why are you excited to go There?”
The orange little dragon's head whips around when Starker addresses him in Draconic. "There is where the Faire is being held. We must hurry to make it in time. There are tarts of all flavors at the Faire," he replies excitedly. His natural grin seems more pronounced when he speaks of tarts.
Cyrus is currently writhing upon the ground as if he were a snake.
To the dragonlet, still in Draconic (but continuously translating so whole party can understand/participate):
”Thank you for that, the first clear answer we have gotten in this plane. In exchange for my purchasing many tarts for you at the Faire, would you consent to serve as our native guide and advisor in this strange (to us at least) land? To start, do you think we are in any danger here?”
"Balefoliumnax has left. No danger," the dragon asserts. "When she returns, danger. Hide," he continues plainly. He then flips in the air and flits about your head in what appears to be a happy-dance of sorts. "Tarts at the Faire! And a pretty bauble for the hoard in my Lair?"
"Did you not see her fly off with the auroch?," the little dragon looks around and back to Starker. "That was Balefoliumnax. She lairs in the Dismal Swamp. Very bossy."
"Once the rest of the party has recovered from the effects of the pies we can vote on how to proceed. I would like to visit the faire, not likely we'll get a chance to visit a Fey faire again."
To the dragon via Starker: "How do you think us non-Fey folk will be received at the faire? I heard stories about the Fey growing up, but I except many of those stories were simply stories and not actually true."
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“This is very good! It seems as though there must be a way to return to our home plane.”
Thinks back: Did the mounted heads in the lodge look recent? Were they the result of skilled taxidermy or the wild swing of orc scimitars or the ungentle ministrations of a hill giant?
Thinks back: Did the mounted heads in the lodge look recent? Were they the result of skilled taxidermy or the wild swing of orc scimitars or the ungentle ministrations of a hill giant?
Skilled taxidermy. There were not fresh.
“Master Yaleg, you assortment of pies smells divine! What would you suggest for a Dwarf, good sir?”
“Why the goose pie for your stout constitution, of course,” Yaleg replies and offers a warm pie.
The faerie dragon reappears, you missed him turning invisible when the green dragon was present, and comes walking out of the tall grasses. He jumps up into the air and circles about above your heads. Trolkarl, Kragen and Cyrrus are very enthralled by the flight of the tiny dragon.
“Thank you Master Yaleg” handing him a gold coin and taking the goose pie offered. Smiles and leaves with the group.
To the group “feeling about odd after Master Yalegs goose pie?? My vision seems to have become clearer however an odd aura narrows my focus?”
”if this continues, I wiil seek Tyrs divine guidance to restore my faculties.”
"I remember that feeling from the first time I tried dwarven whiskey."
He laughs loudly (but not unkindly) and claps Kragen on the back.
"I've also heard the halflings have some kind of tobacco that can do that."
After walking a few minutes in quiet contemplation Chadwick says "the folks back home know I don't boost or lie, but I imagine they would have a hard time believing the adventures we've had these last couple of months. Just think, we are on an entirely different plane! I used to think such things were only for the heros of legend."
Trolkarl's gaze lingers for some time on Yaleg. He blinks rapidly hearing the voice of Kragen
You are right, Kragen. I.... feel something... quite peculiar... happening.
He reaches out to grasp the air, as if the fabric of reality is more tangible, and he needs to hold it.
The air... so purple. The sun, it's dripping... but beautiful. Never seen it like this... in Cormyr.
Looking back at Yaleg, and blinking rapidly again
That pie... you. Sir... that is not just a pie, is it. That is the essence of pie... the idea of pie and purple melded into a thread that ties us all together
You are... you are right Kragen... I think we need to sit.... so as to not float away
Chadwick starts chuckling. "Ok friends I think it's best if we make camp a little early today."
Chadwick will go about setting up camp and getting folks comfortable for their trip.
"Had a few younger recruits like this after getting leave for the first time. Actually now that I think I about it, Kragen might have even offered to hold my quote, pretty hair, while dealing with some regrets of matching the dwarves for drinks at the last feast."
After getting everyone settled he'll dig out his hand drum and sing a few peppy tavern songs.
Performance 14 in case anyone else might be listening in.
Gneuman will play his staff flute!
The faerie dragon trills and warbles along with the band.
Starker checks Cyrus’ manners, mannerisms, and pupils.
“I took a pie but did not partake. Would anyone like it? I fear that if it effected me the way it has some of uou I would be useless should we be surprised tonight. I am nothing without my clear intellect.”
Speaks in draconic to wee disappearing dragon (?): “What is your name, little brother? Why are you excited to go There?”
The orange little dragon's head whips around when Starker addresses him in Draconic. "There is where the Faire is being held. We must hurry to make it in time. There are tarts of all flavors at the Faire," he replies excitedly. His natural grin seems more pronounced when he speaks of tarts.
Cyrus is currently writhing upon the ground as if he were a snake.
To the dragonlet, still in Draconic (but continuously translating so whole party can understand/participate):
”Thank you for that, the first clear answer we have gotten in this plane. In exchange for my purchasing many tarts for you at the Faire, would you consent to serve as our native guide and advisor in this strange (to us at least) land? To start, do you think we are in any danger here?”
"Balefoliumnax has left. No danger," the dragon asserts. "When she returns, danger. Hide," he continues plainly. He then flips in the air and flits about your head in what appears to be a happy-dance of sorts. "Tarts at the Faire! And a pretty bauble for the hoard in my Lair?"
“Absolutely!
“Who or what is Balefoliumnax?”
(My guess is the dragon that picked up lunch recently.)
"Did you not see her fly off with the auroch?," the little dragon looks around and back to Starker. "That was Balefoliumnax. She lairs in the Dismal Swamp. Very bossy."
"Once the rest of the party has recovered from the effects of the pies we can vote on how to proceed. I would like to visit the faire, not likely we'll get a chance to visit a Fey faire again."
To the dragon via Starker: "How do you think us non-Fey folk will be received at the faire? I heard stories about the Fey growing up, but I except many of those stories were simply stories and not actually true."