Arc Two Session One

[Jan 7, 2025]

From the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

I got into an altercation at the Fat Dragon recently and some old, drunk butthole

recommended I write down my thoughts and feelings rather than “yammer at him about them”. I’ll give it a try.

It’s been a bit more than six months since the implosion of the Adventurer’s Guild.

Those of us who survived it and who willingly adhered to Galathor’s exile from Athkatla have settled comfortably in Honiesale. It is a city much more accepting and inclusive than Athkatla ever was, and my friends fit in much better here. And I must confess, I have enjoyed the relative anonymity that comes with being out from under the shadow and familial expectations of the Amakiir reputation and reach. Vizen Dewdrinker is enjoying his new position atop the political sphere and has set all of us up well in reward for our allegiance. Although we all see each other around the city and occasionally hook up to take on the odd job for Dewdrinker, everyone of my old cohorts seems to be happy enough indulging in their own interests for the time being.

Our ranks have thinned a bit, admittedly. Toorgin moved on shortly after we arrived in

Honiesale. After a few more weeks, Keldor went off into the woods to train and hone his skills. None of us is entirely sure where Imp is. You’d think it would be hard to lose track of someone that big, but it happened, nonetheless.

Drakon Flameguard has been reveling in this extended break from training and

adventuring. He’s taken up sewing. Full of mead and loose of lip one night, he

confessed to me it was a life long dream. He’s even begun teaching a class. I attended one in a show of support. I must confess, he does not seem to be very good at it, but my god, he is passionate and truly appeared to be in his element. It seemed every middle aged woman in the town was in attendance and positively fixated on his every word. Perhaps he possesses a charm that had previously escaped my notice.

Shadow has fully committed himself to mercenary work. I believe he may actually be

allergic to sitting still. He will jump at any chance he has to shoot something, skulk,

sneak, or spy; if someone wants to pay him to do so, all the better. I am impressed by

his commitment to his craft (he is VERY good at shooting things). Either that or else it is his commitment to his purse that compels him to stay so busy.

Originally hailing from Honiesale, it has been interesting to view Shawn in the context of what I suppose is his natural setting. His family dog, Cornelia, or “Horny Corny” as she has quite aptly been nicknamed, has become a welcome part of any gatherings we have organized amongst the crew. And their family apiary produces some of the best honey I’ve ever tasted, although the method of opossum harvesting that goes on there seems to be rather deranged in its execution. Since our arrival in the city, Shawn has been splitting his time between managing his family farm, hobnobbing about town - is there anyone in the realm to whom he won’t say “Hi, I’m Shawn!”? - and unapologetically adhering himself to the rectum of the most talented musician of our age.

Claera has been performing twice weekly at the Fat Dragon. Each performance a

testament to his brilliance. It has brought him a level of fame within the city that rivals his glory days. It’s a shame that he seems to favor the attentions of this band of wagonhoppers- on over true and loyal fans who have always seen the greatness of his talent.

Perhaps the bright lights of celebrity have a blinding effect on the affections of those closest to you. Who am I to say? Despite it all, I am somewhat loathe to admit that this renewed fame and recognition suit him well, as he seems happy and fulfilled, although his overindulgence in merriment appears to be taking its toll on his interest and aptitude for adventuring.

As for myself; sometime after the departure of Toorgin, I took on the charge of rearing young Critter. Training the ever growing axebeak has given me a wonderful sense of purpose. We were both a bit adrift after we landed in Honiesale and we seem to have found comfort in joining forces. The creature’s aptitude for learning continually impresses me, and its unconditional loyalty is a refreshing change of pace given my previous… concentrations.

Yes, things had been going along very smoothly for myself and my misfit band of

adventurers until last evening.

Honiesale’s recent booming economy has brought much joy and cause for celebration to the city. The Winter Solstice Festival started off well enough for all in attendance. The torches and bonfires were warming the crowds, merchants and performers lined the streets, the ale and mead were flowing, and cheerfulness and gaiety filled the air. And the festival was going quite nicely for me as well. Critter’s “retrieval” skills have improved greatly over the last several weeks and we had netted ourselves quite the amusing little bounty of pilfered goods.

Not wishing to talk shop or to receive a task for the evening, I veered hard to the left and ducked behind a mead cart when I saw Vizen Dewdrinker approaching. Only after he was ushered into a fortuneteller’s tent, did Critter and I resume our “training”.

Excerpt from the Ethereal Thoughts of Madame Primm’s Sentient Crystal Ball

Primmy’s still got it. I’ve always enjoyed watching her work, but she really seems to be having fun with it, as of late. After hours of filling her purse with the moneys of festival goers, all extremely eager to hear their fortunes; things got interesting when she caught the attention of Vizen Dewdrinker and warned him that with all of the trade, riches, and expansion he has brought to Honiesale, he should expect danger and misfortune to follow, as it so often does.

Along with all of the new blood that has traipsed into Honiesale recently, Primmy and I have become aware of a small group of travelers, formerly of the Adventurers Guild in Athkatla. They seem to be connected to that Shingleby boy. After putting Dewdrinker under a rather basic charm spell, an easy enough task given his pomp and self importance - people like that rarely expect to be prey to an unassuming old woman’s conjurations - indeed, Primmy’s greatest skill may be her ability to use people’s assumptions about her to her advantage. Anyway, after charming the dolt, my madame employed a little sleight of hand in front of the Shingleby boy and his tipsy musician friend, setting them both up to look as pickpockets when Dewdrinker was awakened from her incantation. “Friends can be enemies, Dewdrinker.” she warned with a cackle.

Seemingly annoyed, he was quick to bid his goodnight and move along. Meanwhile, I

do believe the young gents were abundantly impressed by my madame’s artistry.

Meanwhile, Daisy appeared to sleep through the entirety of the events, disinterested, as always, in the flair and finesse exhibited by Madame Primm.

From the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

It is a funny trick of the world, the way that the air can change on an instant, how every fiber of your being will stand and take note. The snap of a branch in a quiet wood will elevate your senses instantly. The pull of a familiar scent can herald joy just as quickly as a whiff of a strange odor can signify trouble.

I smelled the change in the air first, the winds bringing with them the chaotic scent of uncontrolled flames, quickly overwhelming the warm, piney and anise scented torches and bonfires of the festival. A turn in that direction showed a not too distant orange glow.

I quickly ascended the nearest building and from the roof could see a ring of flame

through the smoke and haze. It appeared trouble was converging upon Honiesale, and soon. I immediately looked below, searching the throng for Critter. The crowds attending the festival were alerting to the trouble and panic was afoot. There wasn’t much time.

A familiar form caught my eye. Shawn let out a yelp as he was pulled into a darkened

alley. In a flash of wild magic Shawn teleported to a nearby apartment, two levels above the street. He quickly sent a fireball into the alley and illuminated a massive fiery creature with gold glowing eyes. Claera, still on the street, backed away on instinct. The fireball, while scaring away festival goers, only drew my fellow adventurers in; on the opposite end of the street I saw Shadow approaching the commotion with Critter in tow.

And Drakon’s long strides brought him quickly to Claera’s side. Using a drain pipe, I

made my way to ground level as quickly as possible to join my friends. Emerging from the alley, we were met by the presence of two enormous bugbears,

seven-feet tall at the least, with an odd beast by their side, a large slick hound with the head of an old man. I noted the fracas had also drawn two additional members to our company; the purpleeyed fortune teller from the woods and a halfling with an axe as large as he strapped to his back. I did a double take when I saw the old woman’s cat jump onto Critter’s back and settle in as if it belonged there, seemingly unbothered by the goings on.

Frozen as we all were in sizing each other up, Claera broke the silence first and

attempted to address the hound, but it only stared wide eyed in return. Meanwhile,

Drakon had seen enough, made his mind up, and wasted no time drawing his glaive. He stepped forward and attacked. Trained as we have been to work as a team, the rest of us were only too quick to wade into the melee. The old mongrel seemed an easy target until it let out a ghastly, demonic shriek; difficult for all of us to take in, but particularly injurious to Claera, who clawed at his ears and dropped to his knees. I only pray the damage will not affect his musicianship. Not that I even care. I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Whatever…

The continued baleful baying of the hound stirred something inside me and alerted me that something was off. In what was, in hindsight, rather risky, I threw myself into the center of the brawl and called for a ceasefire. As it turned out, the bugbears and their bizarre companion were not looking for a fight, but looking to collect wayward members of their own clan from the festival. They claimed to believe that Shawn was one of them.

He adamantly disagreed, of course.

Having avoided the escalation of what would have ultimately been an unnecessary

battle, and at the old witch’s urging, we made our way toward the fire to lend aid. It was an encampment of circus folk and travelers; comprised of a number of caravans in a half circle, all wildly ablaze. Standing back from the flames were the travelers and their families, who could only watch in horror as their homes burned. At the center of the firestorm stood four human soldiers, clad in golden armor; the leader bellowing that the travelers were guilty of practicing arcane magic and that this was a just punishment, and a warning to all others.

It was outrageous. I had no idea whose tyranny these guards were sent to carry out, but I knew that not one of our group was willing to stand by and watch them terrorize these folk. As a united front we made short work of the guards; between our blades and a few well placed spells, they fell quickly. My friends and I fell back into our old rhythms swiftly and it felt good to battle by their sides again. And the witch, whose name I later learned is Madame Primm, along with the halfling, who has not yet revealed his name, bothproved themselves to be valuable allies in a skirmish.

Once the guards were dispatched, we moved to help the travelers put out the fires.

As the flames were extinguished and the shadows of night grew deeper around us, the bugbear from the alley appeared, picking his way through the ruins of the caravans