Pax paces around the smoldering ruins of Edmund’s, speaking to an older man dressed in the garb of a druid.
My memory’s a bit fuzzy…not that it should come as a surprise, what with all of the blows to the head I take from Serafina...but I’ll tell you friend, the last two months have been even more chaotic than usual. Strange organizations, kidnappings, elemental rifts, a sister-band of mercenaries. Oh, and this lovely number. He gestures to the ash and wreckage of the Death Llamas’ former home base.
It all started 7 or 8 weeks back. This crazed lady with golden hair comes barging in after hours. A real zealot, you know what I mean? They get that look in their eyes. See, she asks us to help rescue her organization’s fellows from some sort of vile influence that’s poisoning their minds. We almost made it in unscathed. Stealth attempts and all that. When that didn’t work, we had the bard bluff us in. Then the wizard had to ruin it all by pulling out that deck. Guard captain we were bluffing keeled over dead, his soul sucked out. That went over real well.
The addled warlock stoops over and picks up a black iron feather from the wreckage.
To make a long story short, we fought a few dozen undead, I fell about 70 feet on to solid rock and hit my head, and we disrupted some ancient shielding magic. Oh, and the zealot lady decided to pen her name in the dead book. The rogue tried to lift some trinkets off of her corpse, but it wasn’t happening.
Then, as if things weren’t strange enough, Padraig stops sending the mead shipments to the bar. Obviously, we’re unhappy about the whole situation, so we stroll up to his manor to sort things out. Turns out he was going to send for us anyway. Some diplomatic trouble with the dwarven lords down in Ironfell. He sends us down there as “diplomatic emissaries.” Waylaid by bandits along the way, quickly dispatched. When we finally get to Ironfell, Lord Solcius tells us in no uncertain terms that Padraig’s gonna try to march on the city. Seems that Padraig thinks he could use us as a strike team so he and his army of old men and younglings could scoop up some more land.
Pax spits on the scorched earth in front of him.
Three years. THREE YEARS we’ve worked together and he turns and thinks he can just order us around? And it doesn’t make any sense! He’s got nothing in terms of forces. Bah! Anyway, we spend the night in Ironfell mulling this over, and decide to come back home to confront our “benefactor”. Waylaid by damnable winter worms, eaten, spat back up, and pecked at by griffons on the way back. Twisted Rune swoops in and says that he has stolen our Deva! But then Miraun meets us at our tavern! Fun times abound. Then, we finally make it through the gates of Winterfell and our bar is a ruin.
I think some blood’s going to be spilled tonight.