Chronicle: Session 5

Sorry, did I start the last log saying the rest could wait till morning?

Pfffffff.

No, the rest can be taken care of straight away, the party decides! After all, we all napped a few hours ago, and everyone's got darkvision. Let's pull an all-nighter!

After a short discussion, everyone agrees the flooded farm should be first on the agenda. It sounds the most urgent, and also doesn't involve wrangling goblins or cantankerous old wizards that Tsalta may or may not have had a fling with.

The party set off through the woods, and it's not long before they sight figures on the horizon. Tsalta calls out, of course, a cheery "Hallooooo!" and Nuth cups her hands over her mouth - "Hey, is it you lot who've got the flooded farm?"

The farmer (a halfling man) calls out in reply - "Yes! Did Terry send you? We weren't expecting you until the morning!" He offers board for the night, but the party declines. And that's probably good, too, the farmer acknowledges; the water level is rising at an alarming rate and it won't be long until it floods the crops and totally screws their harvest, which would be bad news all around.

He points everyone in the right direction - a swathe of farmland that is already sodden, leading into what is practically a lake that has swallowed up some fences and (thankfully evacuated) animal pens. He's not sure exactly why it's flooding, but there's a river not far beyond that seems to be feeding into the flooded field.

Everyone takes this on, and goes to investigate. And by 'investigate', I mean 'wade into the flood'. As the party trudges forth, it becomes apparent the floodwater is already...rather deep! Spindleshanks finds himself up to his armpits, and seeing this, Tsalta hoists him up onto her shoulders as she forges on.

Nuth, intimidated by the lake, suggests perhaps just...walking round it? But the others are adamant: they're in now, and look, the water's still rising. No time to waste going the long way around! (It is true, even in this short time the lake has already engulfed more fieldland.)

It's not long before Nothing, too, is in as deep as she can go without swimming! Faeleth sighs and makes to scoop her up. Nuth resists the indignity of being carried like a child, wriggling in Faeleth's grasp and managing to find a position she sees as more fair: piggy-back. Much better!

Tsalta nearly stumbles as her foot finds an unexpectedly deep trench in the ground below, but finds her footing again. Faeleth notes the way these rows of trenches are dug and muses that this land must be used to grow potatoes...

However, there really is no fording this lake. Tsalta can feel a current now that's only getting stronger, and even Faeleth is struggling to keep her head above the water. At this rate, they're going to have to swim it.

Faeleth and Nothing decide the best course of action to keep everyone together is to grab a braid of Tsalta's hair and hold it as she wades. Nuth slips off of Faeleth's shoulders and they both grasp a good-sized skein of auburn hair, ready to swim. Tsalta forges on, into the ever-deeper waters and ever-stronger undertow - she's big enough to handle it.

There's one person in the water who doesn't have the physical strength to resist the current, though, and that's Nothing. Her hands lose purchase on Tsalta's hair and she finds herself swept away, flailing ineffectively to try and latch back on to Faeleth! Faeleth tries to grab her hand, but the current is too fast...

It turns out that living your whole life in a town where the deepest nearby body of water is a duckpond...does not really prepare a person for swimming in a fast-moving flood. Nuth finds herself pulled under, but manages to kick back up to the surface and start fighting the current to at least keep herself just about within range of Tsalta, who is thundering back towards her, arms outstretched. It's a scary few moments but she makes it: Nuth grabs her arm and clings for dear life, eyes wide and breathing ragged.

Okay, new plan, since one of the party members clearly can't swim, and the water is now so deep that even the gigantic Tsalta is struggling to touch the bottom.

"I'm going to float on my back, okay, like a boat, and you lot need to hold on and kick," says Tsalta, "to push us forward, like an engine."

"The hell's an engine?" says Nuth.

Tsalta experiences a brief but deeply disconcerting out-of-body experience where she...an engine makes things go, right? But yes, what is an engine? She doesn't know. She meant to say 'oars' and a nonsense word came out, no idea what that was about!

The plan goes into action! Nuth latches back on to Tsalta's left arm.

"Nobody grab me kilt!" Tsalta cautions. Faeleth grabs her kilt. :)c Then Faeleth takes hold of the right arm. Spindle sits on Tsalta's belly, since little gnome legs aren't likely to help push this 'boat' very effectively, and gets out his ukelele which he proceeds to use much like a drum.

In this strange configuration, they swim onwards! Nothing, holding tight to Tsalta's rippling bicep, is momentarily smitten with her raw strength. Huh. She learned something about herself today. (Faeleth isn't as impressed. They're okay muscles.)

Spindle keeps lookout to ensure they're headed the right way...he sees a large piece of driftwood headed straight towards them! He yells out, but nobody is sure quite how to dodge it and it crashes into the people-raft, hitting everyone but Nothing (who was on the side it was furthest from). Oof, that was unpleasant. But everyone manages to stay close together, and on they go.

They're really fighting the flow now, but Spindle can see the reason for the flooding: the river they're approaching is bursting its banks, cut off from its bath by a gigantic boulder. Oh, and there's a couple of posts jutting out from the edge of the farmland - "Tuck your arms in, Tsalta!" shouts Nuth, and she does, and they slip through and find themselves in shallower at last: they're finally close to the riverbank.

Tsalta finds herself able to stand, the others clinging to her arms until they feel solid ground and can walk to shore.

Well.

This sure is a boulder blocking the path, isn't it. And it's huge! The riverbed beyond it is dry, truly sealed off by this gigantic rock - there's a few other rocks nearby, signs of a landslide. Guess that's 'why' answered. But now what!

Nuth, Tsalta, and Spindle all start debating among themselves what to do. It's too big to push, and...hmm....what are they meant to do! They take so long chattering that Faeleth decides to pass the time playing chess against herself on the bank. She finds herself persistently in stalemate with herself. Spindle comes over and moves a piece: Faeleth smirks and checkmates him.

Spindle and Nothing try to examine the boulder for structural weaknesses, but end up just transfixed by how aesthetically pleasing this big rock is. They love that boulder. It's a really nice boulder.

Tsalta, from her much higher vantage point, spots a huge fissure near the top of the rock. That could be helpful, perhaps...but how to break it?

Oh! Spindle wonders if there's any creatures he can grill about the boulder - he pokes around for signs of life. As it happens, yes, there's a family of otters a little way up the bank. Tsalta sees them and coos with delight - oh, they're so cute!! (She rolls Animal Handling to attempt to literally handle the animals. It's a nat 1 and they're spooked to no end by the giant creature making scary sounds at them. No otter cuddles for Tsalta.)

Spindle casts Speak With Animals, and goes to see what's up. Do they think they could move the boulder?

"Oh, no, that thing's huge! Can't help with that, sorry. Nothing interesting we know about the river.....There's a big fallen tree further upriver, though!"

The otter eyes Tsalta again.

"That thing's really scary."

Spindle reports back about the tree... Well, that could be used to break it, right? Everyone agrees, that's an option. But the river has poles and rocks jutting from it - even if they got the tree into the water, how would they ensure it reached the boulder?

Nuth grins. "We could tie a rope around it, pull it in the right direction, give it some oomph! Could have people on both sides and steer it the right way!"

Tsalta shakes her head. "We're not havin' anyone end up in the water again!"

Nothing laughs. "No, come on, it's a great idea! It's not gonna pull anyone in...." Tsalta is still dubious, but agrees the log needs to hit the boulder. Nothing grabs her staff and gestures with it in excitement. "AND I could hit it with this when the log hits, give it some extra clout, yeah?"

Spindle looks confused. "Hit it how?"

"Spindle...you know when I make the red light come out of this? Like that. BOOM!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhh..."

When Tsalta mentions perhaps lodging something into the crack to help the log split it, Spindle launches a dart into the fissure with perfect accuracy but no effect. Nice throw, though!

First things first: the fallen tree needs to at least be moved near to the river. Nothing, still insistent on her plan, ties one rope round the tree. (No-one in the party is willing to be the person who has to actually keep hold of a rope when the tree falls in, but Nothing explains she can grab the rope direct from the water with Mage Hand once it's floating so there's no danger of being pulled in.) One, two, three, HEAVE....with everyone working together, the tree is shunted ten feet or so....still nowhere close to the river.

Probably should have de-branched it, huh.

Nothing, Faeleth and Tsalta all start hacking at branches. Before too long, the tree is now more like a log...but Tsalta and Nuth's swords look a little worse for wear. Eh, that's a problem for another time!

Okay, take two! One, two, three, HEAVE......!!! Much better - the tree rolls, properly, and it's right up to the edge.

The party dithers. What if this doesn't work? Nuth points her staff at the rock - "It's fine, I'll blast it! Just shove the tree in!" The discussion continues...but behind them, the waters are rising, edging SO close to the crops... Their hand is forced. It's now or never!

With one final push, the log plunges into the water with a splash. It's at an off-kilter angle, though, it's gonna hit the posts... Nothing's Mage Hand snatches the rope from the water and lifts it towards her, Tsalta latches her huge arms round the little tiefling's waist and together they heave the log back into position, and it strikes the boulder with a crack.

The boulder splits in two, a few fragments flying off from the impact. River water spills, fast and noisy, through the fissure, shoving the two halves aside and the water returning to its rightful course. The field starts to drain.

(Spindle and Nuth fail to hold back tears as they see the beautiful boulder destroyed. It was such an amazing boulder...)

Faeleth sees a chunk of rock fly off at impact and retrieves it. It's very pretty, though likely not super valuable. There's a vein of fool's gold in it, and some nice twists of colour from mineral deposits in the stone.

Job done!

Everyone makes their way back to the farm to greet a visibly relieved farmer (the water was SO close to his crops...) - he inquires what happened.

"Big boulder lodged in the river back there was plugging up the stream. It overflowed into your field." Spindle and Nothing both explain in slightly different phrasing. The farmer raises his eyebrows.

"Really? That'd explain it, I suppose. How'd you fix that?"

"Floated a big fallen tree into it, broke it in half, you should be fine now!"

"Thank you. Pelor bless you."

(Pelor is a god well-known and worshipped widely by farmers, a god of harvest.)

Tsalta asks the farmer's name.

"Oh, I'm Bob. Bobby Ross."

"Do you like painting, by any chance....?"

"In my spare time, a little bit, yeah."

Tsalta looks out over his farmland. "I like the happy little trees you've got over there!"

Bobby looks over that way too, "Yeah, had a couple come down in a storm a while back, though."

Faeleth responds, deadpan, "Sounds like a happy little accident."

Tsalta has questions about the storms - were they unseasonal? He ponders it for a moment. There've been a few intense storms recently, kind of out of the blue, but it is summer?

There's a brief conversation about Terry, since the party are curious about him. Bobby explains that Terry buys crops from him, helps keeps his farm going. Faeleth isn't impressed: has Bobby seen how much money Terry has? He could easily afford to pay him more! Bobby shrugs this off, though, and says Terry's been good to him, he owes a lot to his patronage.

Oh, and...well, he doesn't have much, but he can pay for our services-

Everyone rebuffs him, no, no, no payment required!! Our pleasure. Except for Faeleth, who holds out her hand to take the meagre couple of copper coins he's earnestly offering.

Literally everyone else turns to Faeleth, outraged, protesting in hushed tones.

"Seriously?" Nuth practically tries to slap her hand away.

She ignores them, pocketing the coins....and drawing out a couple of her own gold coins, placing them in Bobby's hand with a smile. His eyes widen, and he repeats again - "Thank you, Pelor bless you. Pelor bless you."

He offers the party somewhere to stay for the night - the farm itself is a little waterlogged, but there's a shed that should be roomy enough to accommodate us. He sounds apologetic as he says this, but the party waves that away, emphasising their gratitude for his generosity. He asks if his children can bunk with us - it's late and they need somewhere to sleep too. He encourages them our way: a little halfling girl and boy, yawning, bleary-eyed.

Everyone happily accepts, none more delighted than Tsalta who seems to all but light up as she chivvies the sleepy little ones to come settle down near her. Nuth is...quiet, but smiles to Bobby and also settles herself nearby to the two little halflings. The shed is small, and lacks in traditional bedding, but it's a roof over everyone's head and rooms everyone cosily enough.

Just to be safe, Faeleth stays up for most of the remaining night. Her watch is peaceful and utterly unremarkable, everyone sleeping deep and quiet. Quiet, that is, except from one truly thunderous fart from Nothing - blessedly, it doesn't wake anyone.

It does, however, turn Faeleth's attention to the fact that Nuth is very, very deeply asleep. Deep asleep enough that Faeleth is confident she can slip that fancy-ass ring right off her finger. And that's exactly what she does - she creeps up, ever so gently takes her hand, and works the ring free. Ha. Away it goes into the deepest depths of Faeleth's bag.

Nuth doesn't notice when she wakes! Everyone takes stock of their stuff in the morning, realising the long swim has taken its toll on their items: Faeleth's set of playing cards is ruined, Nothing's stolen copy of "How to Please Your Dwarven Lover" is tragically also destroyed, the pages stuck together and ink run illegibly. (She keeps it, though. It's the principle of the thing.)

Nothing also checks the trio of lockets, and discovers that in fact those are perfectly preserved, not a drop of water inside the casings, the paintings just as they were. As she looks them over again, a realisation dawns. She studies the portrait of the little girl, looks at the black-violet of her hair...a subtle kink in her right horn. Her hand reaches up, almost unconsciously, to feel the contours of that same twist atop her own head.

The kid can only be about, what, two? About the age she was when she was left there on the doorstep of Red Larch's church?

Tsalta peers over her shoulder, curious, snapping Nothing out of her silent contemplation.

"What're you looking at?"

Nuth frowns, tilts the locket her way so she can take a look of her own.

"Do you...don't you think this looks like...me?"

The others gather round to peer at the portrait. It can't be denied, there's a resemblance for sure.

(At this point, Faeleth gets a DM whisper SO MAJOR that she has to leave the room for it. Oh god. What the hell does Faeleth know about the people in the lockets...I dread to speculate.)

The little halfling children wake, too. Before everyone heads off, Nothing crouches down to their level.

"Hey, scamps. What're your names?" The children look at her, eyes all big and uncertain. Nuth smiles as warmly as she can, turns her hands out open-palmed. "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm nothin' to be afraid of, promise." They still shuffle and look shy, like little kids do.

Nothing sees Spindle across the room graffitiing the shed wall with "Spindle Was Here"...something feels weird, she shifts her helm up and it switches to indecipherable runes. Down, and it's clear as day again. Huh. Not Common. She thought that was a subtle movement, but she totally lifted her helm clear of her head by full inches. The children giggle, and Nuth turns back to them.

The little girl pipes up.

" 'M Sarah."

"And you?" Nuth smiles at her brother, but he's still quiet and stands a little behind his sister. Nuth shrugs and laughs. "S'alright. Okay, Sarah, and you too, here. Bit of pocket money. Don't spend it all at once, yeah?" She presses a pair of gold coins each into their little hands, and at that they chirp out a thank-you, faces bright with delight, and scamper happily away to their parents.

The party wave a goodbye to everyone at the farm as they start their recovery efforts, and head off towards the direction Gandalf©'s tower was said to be in.

There's a bit of chatting as the party makes their way. The topic of the arcane pact comes up - Spindle had no idea everyone else was bound to this work. The party turns to Nothing as their resident arcane expert, curious if she knows exactly what the consequences of breaking this deal is.

"If we break the contract, do we...die?" asks Tsalta. Nuth furrows her brow, trying to think if she knows anything about this particular bit of magic, and as she thinks the voice of her patron intones, low and gravelly, as though he were whispering right into her ear.

These kinds of deals are binding, he says - to break it is to lose part of yourself, to be cursed. He chuckles as he casually explains that perhaps Nothing could break it without consequence. If the collateral is a soul, hers has already been spoken for... But there are other things to take - minds, bodies, it's an imprecise thing, and he doesn't know what exactly has been laid on the line for us.

Nuth passes that on. "You break it, it's bad news. It's basically a curse? Like, I don't think you die? But it's...pretty rough. You can go nuts, lose your soul, all sorts."

"Can it be undone?"

Nothing asks that, too. The answer is yes...but it's powerful magic, it'd need a powerful magic user to undo.

"Technically yeah? But not by me, not by anyone I know. Think we just gotta...do our bit, I guess."

The route takes the party past the caravan village. It's much quieter, in the morning, most of last night's revellers still asleep. Those who are awake are visibly (sometimes audibly) very, very hungover.

Tsalta calls out to a couple of groggy guys (one of which Spindle recognises as his dwarven acquaintance, Rengar) - "Raw eggs, it's all ya need!"

Rengar gives a little 'huh, really?' eyebrow-raise and head-tilt. "Oh yeah? Well then, cheers!"

The party moves on, and behind them, there's the distinctive cluck-squalking of a disturbed chicken coop. And then, after a beat, the sound of Rengar loudly retching.

Tsalta calls out, "That's right, pal, get it all out of your system!"

It's not hard to spot Gandalf's tower.

It sits atop a hill - it's a modest tower, three or so stories high. Easy enough to see, and a good vantage point to see down into the fields and woodland below. A fence cuts a wide circle around the tower itself, and a farmer's gate is situated at the part of the fence facing the tower itself.

The party pause when they reach the gate. Tsalta simply steps over it, the others clambering over in total disregard of the easy-to-reach bolt on the other side.

As they approach, a voice yells out from the tower.

"GO AWAY! WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Up in the tower window, there's a figure. A magical projection in the mid-distance displays a disgruntled, bearded old face.

The party just wants to talk, they explain.

"DID TERRY SEND YOOOUUU?"

"No!" This comes from Spindle. It's...technically true, sort of, Terry didn't send him... but Gandalf's having none of it.

"DON'T LIE TO MEEEEE..."

WHOOSH! He raises his staff and sweeps it down through the air and a goblin comes hurtling at great speed towards Spindle...only to miss, hitting the ground with an undignified splat.

Nuth raises her hands in supplication. "Listen, alright, Terry's a prick and we don't like him much either! But he needs us to talk to you, yeah?"

Gandalf continues his hollering. There may have been another goblin thrown down. Spindle may have missed it with a dart, because whee, target practice!

Tsalta sighs. "Let me handle this," she says aside to everyone else, before hollering up to the tower, "Gandalf, it's me! It's Tsalta."

Gandalf peers down, scrutinising Tsalta, recognition dawning on him. Then he snaps straight back to yellin', shaking his staff at her. "YOOOU KILLED MY DOG!"

Tsalta huffs quietly, a sound of tempered exasperation. "Gandalf," she replies, her tone very level, "think back and try to remember what really happened." Each word is sounded out slowly, giving him time to mull it over, but he's not seeming to recall... "You know," Tsalta rolls her eyes and sighs. "I did that move, and you did that thing, and..."

Gandalf's indignation dissipates instantly into crestfallen bashfulness. "Oh. Yes. And I- oh dear." Everyone else is staring at Tsalta a little bit. Well, probably not Spindle, who is none the wiser as to the implications of that exchange.

Now that Gandalf is more open to listening, everyone explains why they're here. Now, nobody likes Terry and honestly couldn't care less whether he gets goblins thrown at his head, but is there any reason Gandalf is bombarding the camp?

"He's on my dick! I just want him to get off of my dick!" Everyone looks to one another in bafflement.

"What's he doing, exactly?"

"He's ON! MY! DICK!"

Again, it's time for Tsalta to pinch the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She's just got what he's talking about.

"Pals, it's his dog."

She explains: his dear deceased pet is called Dick van Dog. That's almost definitely what he's on about.

"Gandalf, if we get him off of your Dick, would you stop throwing goblins?"

"Yes! GET HIM OFF OF MY DICK!"

(A few careful questions establish the facts: Terry has placed his tent right on top of Dick van Dog's grave. And we've got two possible solutions: We get Terry to move the town, or we get Gandalf his Dick back. Preserve the original state of the grave, or bring the bones home, it sounds like Gandalf will accept either.)

"Now please can you come down and talk to us?" asks Tsalta.

"I suppose....I still have two more goblins!" It's not a threat, it just sounds like he's got more goblin-lobbin' to get out of his system. And so he does, sending two final goblins hurtling to a very speedy messy end. (Spindle throws a dart into the eye of one the goblins as he falls, just to add insult to injury. Or perhaps, in this case, injury to insult. The goblin's scream as he clutches his eye is cut short as he hits the ground with another horrible SPLAT.)

As the party step forwards, he quickly adds on, "-oh, and stay...off the path."

"Why?" Asks Spindle.

"It's...trapped..." Gandalf still sounds a little embarrassed. The party's curiosity as to how he acquired so many live goblins is fairly amply satisfied. This guy's been snaring goblins left right and center.

Spindle throws a dart onto the path to see if anything happens. It doesn't, though.

Gandalf meets them at the door, leaning heavily on his staff...and the look he's giving Tsalta is suuuure something. Also, he's a gnome. He looked taller in his projection.

Faeleth and Nuth look at Tsalta again, and back to Gandalf, and back to her. Very small. Very big. Very small. Very big. The question of 'how?' runs through both their minds.

(It's also worth noting that his beard is at least three times his total height, wrapped around his waist like a sash. At this point, Lucy asks - "Can I roll to see if it's the height or the beard that I'm into him for?" It's the height.)

Gandalf ushers everyone into a room that...well. Mellow sitar music plays from an enchanted gramophone, there's multiple counts of incense burning on tables (not enough to mask the undercurrent of pungent halfling hash, mind you), arcane orbs of purple mood lighting bob sedately through the smoky air. He tips his staff to Tsalta, making eye contact and shooting her a filthy grin. She smirks back.

"Sit down, sit down."

Everyone takes a seat. Gandalf rustles up, essentially, a real fancy bong, and offers it around. Faeleth and Nuth decline, but Spindle literally grabs it and takes a reeeeeaaaal good drag. Nothing groans. "Ugh, kid, don't make a habit of it..." Spindle pays no attention whatsoever. He's puffing on this for the entireity of this encounter, which is probably a blessing on account of the innuendo (or reference to their sordid history) Gandalf laces through almost every response he gives Tsalta, to anything.

It does not take much of this for Nuth to flip from awkward to wheezing with laughter. This is too rich. This is TOO MUCH. Tsalta banged an old gnome. She throws an arm around Faeleth's shoulder to steady herself as she cackles: "Man, this is so much better than 'How to Please Your Dwarven Lover'!!"

Between the bursts of laughter, though, the party do manage to ask some questions and gather snatches of interesting information.

For example, Gandalf was once caught up in a deal much like the one everyone's bound in right now. And he broke it, and the wholeness of his mind was the price. Nuth queries what the deal was, or why he failed to keep it, but Gandalf simply doesn't remember.

As for his delight in the throwing of goblins, that seems to simply be part of his madness. "It's fun!" he snickers gleefully. This guy just seems to revel in the act of catching goblins and hurling them as far as he can. He even holds a demonstration, gesturing with his staff and sending Spindle floating off of the ground (Spindle, who at this point is super buzzed, is having a great time - he can fly!!) When the blow-by-blow explanation of the art of goblin throwing reaches the actual throwing part, everyone gets just a little nervous.

"Uh, put him down now, yeah? We've seen that part..."

Gandalf lowers Spindle back to his seat, seemingly a touch disappointed but also aware that, well, that would be gnome-throwing which really isn't quite the same.

And here, readers, your chronicler has to admit something: I was laughing too hard through Gandalf's frequent lurid references to his and Tsalta's prior tryst to accurately recall what was said...although I desperately wish I did. This, friends, is why I need to make use of my notebook properly.

So let's just go straight to their origin story, as told between them.

It transpires that Tsalta, losing her way one day, stumbled across the caravan village. She stopped in for a drink at the local tavern while she got her bearings. And who should hop up onto a stool - "It was the stool she was sitting on," interjects Gandalf, with a waggle of his eyebrows - but this one gnome, eager to strike up conversation with this huge and unusual stranger.

They stayed a while, they chatted and drank, and drank some more, and he invited her back to his tower and...well, one thing led to another the way things do between randy old gnomes and giant half-dwarves with a size difference kink! There's a reference to the involvement of chains, as Gandalf glances up at a portion of ceiling further across the room, where two large metal hoops dangle...the roof buckled in, just a little, around them.

Nuth looks at those and back to Tsalta then abruptly doubles up all over again.

Meanwhile, Spindle's just kinda merrily puffing away at his hookah. The X-rated nature of the discussion flies right over his head, thanks to the fact it's conducted through vague allusion and innuendo, but...then, just as the story starts drawing to its conclusion, his eyes go very large. Oh dear. All the pieces fall together in the little guy's head, and he's just as gobsmacked as everyone else about it. But also, he's super high. He gets over it.

After this strange and deeply entertaining conversation, the party tries to take their leave. Gandalf looks at Tsalta with hopeful eyes - won't she stay just a little longer? And anyone else, if there's...any takers?

Faeleth makes a noise of quiet disgust. Nuth crinkles her nose - "Ew. No thanks, mate."

Gandalf looks momentarily embarrassed, but Tsalta turns to the others. "Go head on out, pals. I'll just be a minute or two," she lowers her voice, "thirty seconds, tops."

She's actually doing this. Spindle, Nothing and Faeleth all exit the tower, incredulous. To their great regret, they do not move far enough away to avoid the sounds that follow behind them. (At one point, Tsalta can be heard to announce, "That's not my leg, dear.") In actuality, they're in there at least a full four minutes.

When all is said and done, Tsalta exits, a dishevelled Gandalf waving her a fond goodbye. Time to go get Gandalf's Dick back.

Poor Rory, still nested in Tsalta's hair for the entire event, is visibly trembling.

The party head back to Terry's.

Spindle is reluctant to go back to Terry's tent at all, stating that he'll just go hang out with Diamond. Nobody in the party has heard of this Diamond, and when they ask about her, Spindle claims she's "a dog he met", but he sounds unconvincing and evasive. It's clear that no, he was totally talking about a person. He's grilled further, and he explains that she taught him what money does! (In essence, echoing much of Rengar's original spiel.) Everyone is mildly concerned.

That is, until he starts literally explaining the rudiments of economics with more fluency than probably anyone in the party (barring, perhaps, Faeleth).

"She...really did teach you about money, huh," Nothing muses aloud, equal parts perplexed and relieved that the child gnome did not in fact purchase sexual favours.

Once they reach the caravan town, everyone except Spindle beelines for Terry's tent and are allowed inside.

They attempt to explain about Gandalf's dog, but wow, Terry sure makes it difficult! As someone starts out explaining that we're here to get his dog back, he interjects - "Loads'a dogs around camp, go take him one of those!"

No, no. GANDALF's dog, who is buried on the hill. Who we need to exhume. More bickering - Terry can't have us digging up the whole hill, nope, no deal. It's hard to get a word in edgeways as he bitches about our conduct and about Gandalf and chances are probably about women...but eventually Tsalta manages to cut across him. It's fine! We'll be able to locate the bones, and besides, we don't need to search the whole hill. The grave is, quite specifically, under this exact tent.

"Why. Didn't. You say that earlier?" Terry sounds frustrated, almost as though it wasn't his own determination to interrupt that meant he didn't get the full explanation.

He gets one of his guards to bring a dog. Well, does anyone have anything that smells of the dog?

Tsalta reckons that she smells Gandalf-y enough, right? The dog is given a good long sniff of her, and it sets off to track the scent...straight back to Tsalta, wagging its tail. That's a bust. Terry's not looking or sounding pleased at all.

Okay, well, time to fetch a keen nose of our own. Tsalta heads out to retrieve Spindleshanks, who takes bobcat form and in mere moments manages to locate the grave. Everyone realises that the grave is physically visible, a clear little lump in the ground. But hey, making things more complicated than they need to be is totally the party's style. Spindle digs with gusto, and a little way under the loam...

Dog bones: get!

The party traipses all the way back to Gandalf's tower. Avoiding the path (and the remains of the morning's goblin-throwing), they greet Gandalf's magical projection and announce their success. When Gandalf meets them at the tower door, Tsalta holds out the little pile of bones. Nothing gestures towards her cargo - "We got your Dick back."

"Thank you." With much more care than he ever afforded the goblins, Gandalf waves his staff to levitate the remains of his beloved dog away into a pre-prepared grave, which covers itself over with soft earth. He looks at Tsalta and chuckles.

"You gave me my Dick...and I give you mine?"

Not now, not now, Gandalf. Some other time.

Faeleth looks at Gandalf expectantly. "Now, can you write us a letter telling Terry you're going to stop throwing goblins at his camp?"

To everyone's surprise and frustration, he's actually relucant to do this! Or perhaps he just doesn't see the necessity of it. Faeleth, at her wit's end, clears the distance between herself and the gnome, gets all up in his grill and growls, "God damn it, man, can you just write us a fucking letter?"

Gandalf meets her eye, conjurs up a quill and grabs a piece of parchment.

He holds it out to her.

He's written a letter, all right, in an artless scrawl. It reads..."R"

Faeleth groans into her hands.

Tsalta decides it's time to intervene: she's got the kind of leverage nobody else in the room has. "Gandalf. You want to see me again, don't you?" Good play! He does, he very much would like to see Tsalta again, wink wink. Much more of her... "Well, if you want to see me again, you'll write a letter to say you won't be throwing any more goblins at the town, aye?"

When Gandalf puts quill to paper this time, he takes much longer about it! He scribbles away in earnest, folds the parchment and pops it in an envelope. Tsalta smiles and thanks him, and everyone files out of the hazy front room, headed for the third and final job they've got left on their agenda.

Well! With the 'tricky' jobs done, the party's saved familiar turf for last: some good ol' goblin wrangling.

On the walk up, they discuss the plan of action. Maybe it's worth just trying to talk to the goblins, see if there's not a peaceful resolution to be found. If a fight can be avoided while still fulfilling the deal, why not, right?

Tsalta jokes about herding the goblins.

"I'm just saying, but herding goblins is dangerously close to throwing goblins," laughs Nothing, "That's how it starts!"

Faeleth nods sagely.

"Herding goblins: not even once."

Now, where to find goblins. Logically, it's probably good to head towards the last place everyone saw them! The party makes their way through the woodland, back past the camp towards where they laid low Larry and his friend. This proves a good plan - Spindle and Tsalta catch sight of some well-worn tracks that feel likely to be goblin turf. Everyone carefully follows these tracks, and the forest empties out onto more sparse, rocky terrain. Up ahead is a gulch, spanned by a wood-and-rope bridge, and on the other side a gaggle of goblins are already waiting. Seems like news got around.

There's...six or so goblins. One, who looks larger and all-around tougher than the others, speaks up, demands we state our intentions.

"Just wanna chat, yeah?" Nothing shouts back across the ravine. "Heard you've been attacking that village over that-a-way and we fancy hearing your side of the story, alright?"

He wants to know who sent us. He wants to know if the village leader sent us. We admit that-

"Mercenaries?"

"Nah, nah, no. No. We're...whatjacallits." Nuth looks around to the others as she tries to find the word she's looking for.

"Freelancers?" Suggests Faeleth.

"Yeah! Freelance....diplomats! Just here to talk." The goblins don't seem to warm any further to the party, but they're still not attacking, either. This is promising, right? "Sure, Terry sent us, but we don't like him either, okay? So we want to know what your beef with him is."

"He has built on our territory! They must die!"

"Uh-huh? That sucks, what a dick. But what if we got them to....leave your territory?"

Boss Goblin, unfortunately, doesn't sound into peaceful resolution. He's insistent: they've gotta pay with their lives for building on goblin land! Tsalta asks if there's any course of action they'd be happy with other than slaughtering the entire population of the camp: nope, by the sound of it.

And then. And THEN. Then Spindleshanks mentions that we got Gandalf to stop-

Boss Goblin hears that name, realises we've mingled with Gandalf, and IMMEDIATELY bugs out and sics his squad on us. "YOU MUST ALSO DIE!" Every goblin draws a weapon, and the party is under fire!

However, they're goblins, and we're adventurers. The first hail of arrows misses pretty much everyone - one sticks in the shoulder of Faeleth's leather armour but doesn't drive in deep enough to hit flesh. She ducks behind a boulder, drawing her bow, and returns fire. Her arrow finds its mark in one of the small goblins' throat. He's not downed, but ouch.

Spindle's transformed in an instant, huge bobcat paws thundering across the rocky ground as he bounds towards the bridge. The goblins pepper his flanks with arrows but he's not slowed even for a moment.

Nothing runs forward, raising her hands - "Whoa now, what happened to diplomacy?" - and smiles sweetly at the Boss Goblin as she casts Charm Person. His eyes glaze over - YES! - and then he shakes his head, snapping back to furious focus, more incensed than before!

"WITCHCRAFT!"

God DAMNIT. She was so ready to have a personal goblin army. "Worth a try!" she laughs as she reaches for her quarterstaff, another arrow whistling past.

Tsalta's keeping back, longbow drawn, letting arrows loose at the goblin leader. But for every shot she takes, he manages to shove another of his underlings into the arrow's path. That, or the arrows fail to find their mark. She notches yet another arrow, determined to get the bloodthirsty little bugger, but her focus is shot...

This is the part where she rolls a critical failure.

The arrow leaves the bow, sure, but it's fumbled, its path all wrong.

...And this is the part where her Luck roll is a natural 20.

The mis-shot arrow whistles across the gulch. The Boss Goblin had seen that Tsalta was aiming for him, and he's ready: he shunts one of his lackeys aside to make his escape. That's when the stray arrow hits him in the head. It's a nasty shot, too, it finds a gap in his headgear and really scrapes over his skull, blood dripping down the side of his face.

Niceeeeee.

Meanwhile, Cat-Spindle's galloped his way across the bridge, the planks buckling, some even snapping under his paws. The goblins on the other side barely stand a chance as he swats them down, claws raking through their shabby garments to rend vicious scratches into the unprotected skin below.

Faeleth keeps up her trusty combat tactic: duck behind a big rock, pop out with her bow, stick an arrow in someone, repeat. But somewhere along the line, the thrill of the fight gets the better of her - she drops to a crouch, but the rock is behind her!

At this point, only two goblins are left standing - the leader, and just one of his goons remain. Boss Goblin puts away his bow...and draws a wand. There's that boom-boom stick...

He points it towards the unwitting Faeleth, a beam of blazing flame streaking out and narrowly missing her, the rock she'd been using for cover taking the hit with a mighty explosion. He doesn't get another chance to use it - Spindle's already upon him, clawing and biting, and he's well and truly down.

Seeing the carnage, the final goblin tries to turn and flee, but Nothing's got it covered. Her signature red flare catches him mid-turn. Goblin chunks scatter over the ground. She hoists her staff into the air with a jubilant shout -

"YEAH GUESS WHAT, I'VE GOT A BOOM-BOOM STICK TOO!"

...And all is quiet over the gulch again. The party do what they do best after a battle - loot, loot, loot. Unfortunately it's...not a great haul. A few copper coins, all the goblins' weapons are pretty much garbage compared to the fancy silver swords and daggers everyone's already got.

But there is, of course, one item of note. The boss's wand lies on the ground. Spindle returns to gnomish form and swipes it, eager to get his hands on that fancy magic.

Everyone has a little poke around further along the rocky path. There's a basic goblin camp huddled among the rocks and trees, now empty. The size of it suggests there was perhaps a larger goblin population once, but the traces left behind from day-to-day activity look like only a tiny band have inhabited it in recent weeks. Almost as though the numbers have been gradually picked off by someone who likes trapping and throwing goblins, huh.

Well, that's three out of three jobs done! It's time to report back.

Yet again, Spindle meanders off when we hit the town - with the boom-boom stick (in fact a wand of Fire Bolt) on his person. Someone really should have dealt with that obvious problematic situation, but such is our way.

We can at least report to Terry.

Word has reached Terry of our work on the farm, and he thanks us for our help.

BUT.

"I heard you were very generous to them lot at the farm. Can't have that, ow’ight. Don't appreciate bein' shown up an undermined." He sounds genuinely ticked off that Faeleth and Nothing dare give free money to the folks he's clearly underpaying. He slaps an equivalent number of gold coins down on the table - he's evening the balance.

Faeleth sneers. She doesn't want his dirty money.

You know who doesn't mind money, though? Nothing doesn't mind money. She glowers at Terry spitefully, not saying a word, but doesn't hesitate to swipe the coins. As far as she's concerned, taking from Terry is taking from Terry, and gold in her pocket is gold in her pocket.

Now, Gandalf... Tsalta presents his letter.

Terry's eyebrows shoot up as he reads it, mumbling fragments aloud - oh god, the entire introduction of this letter is Gandalf writing at length and in seemingly explicit detail about his and Tsalta's love life. Terry chuckles. "Ow’iiight. Eheheheh. I'm keepin' this. If I'd known this before, woulda treated you better," he says aside to Tsalta, "You sound like my kind of woman!"

Tsalta gives him a look of absolute contempt. In his dreams!

He keeps reading - "Oh, and...'I won't throw any more goblins...' O-kay!" He's satisfied with both sections of the letter, it seems, and he genuinely does stow it away on his person.

And, the party continues, they've got the boom-boom stick.

"Yeah? And where is it?" Terry asks. Everyone looks at eachother. Goddamn it, it's still on Spindle.

Spindle's managed to bump into Rengar again! Now he's sobered up, he's ready for a second round of Darts! Spindle's more than happy to oblige, ready to get another pocketful of silver.

Nothing groans. "It's...look, we have got it, yeah, but Spindle has it."

Terry is unconvinced, by the sound of his expletive-laden utterance of disbelief. Everyone chimes in to assert that they absolutely have retrieved the wand, but Terry's busy disparaging the lot of them colourfully. Nuth huffs. "Don't believe us? Look, I'll go get him."

She exits the tent, cups her hands around her mouth, and with Thaumaturgy booming her voice to a truly ridiculous volume, yells - "OI! SPINDLE! GET OVER HERE!"

(A chorus of distressed groans rings out from the unfortunate hungover, headachey townsfolk.)

"Gotta go!" Spindle makes to leave mid-game, leaving Rengar deeply disappointed. "We can play later!"

When Spindle makes it back to the tent, the skeptical Terry wants proof of the wand's validity, because he's pretty sure we're dicking him around. He orders one of his guards to accompany the party over to the treeline to test it out.

Spindle finds his dart tree. The guard looks on, arms folded, waiting to see what happens. Spindle points the wand, and flame blasts a charred circle into the trunk where the 'eye' used to be. Nothing turns to the guard. "See? Told you, didn't I. Boom-boom stick."

They return to Terry's place, and the guard confirms - "It's real, boss."

Finally, all three tasks are complete.

"Now, I told you I'd give you this bag, ow'ight?" Terry says. He pulls out one of his money sacks. Inside, a pittance of silver coins. "Didn't say I'd give you the same what was in it."

Well, that's just insulting and disingenuous. Faeleth, again, makes no move to take the money Terry offers. Nothing, again, absolutely does, still glaring, her tail lashing.

Terry raises a hand and shakes it as though flicking away water, but nothing happens. "Oh, right. My part of the deal."

His part of the deal is the bare damn minimum, of course. He said he'd tell us where Hand was, and he's been on the edge of town this whole time, in the green caravan. Him and his wife and his dogs turned up not long ago-

"His wife?" asks Nuth. She knows his response before he gives it, even if she wishes she didn't.

"Moira." Ayup.

They ask where he's headed: he doesn't know. Ask about the kids: eh, there were kids, again, he's not forthcoming. Looks like that's all they're getting - Terry repeats his wave-away motion and everyone can feel the arcane bond lifted. Thank god.

"I really wish you people. Would fuck off," says Terry. He's been grousing the whole time about what a pain in the ass the party is. The party, of course, has been grousing right back at him.

Faeleth turns to him. "Let me assure you the feeling is mutual."

When they leave the tent, Faeleth and Nothing let off a little steam.

"God, wouldn't it be nice to burn his damn tent down!" Nothing grumbles, casting a filthy look over her shoulder. "I want to burn his bloody tent down, what a prick." The shoulder she isn’t looking over is clamped down on by a burly hand.

"I heard that."

Nuth rolls her eyes and shoves his hand away. "Just venting, yeah? Venting."

"Yeah? Well. Go vent somewhere else."

"Gladly!"

Faeleth and Nothing silently determine that they're totally burning Terry's tent down as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

The party heads downhill, in the direction Hand's caravan was said to be. They keep it quiet and stealthy-like, hoping not to give away their presence. But they're not having a bunch of luck finding it.

Spindle's got a plan, though! Why not enlist someone with an aerial view? There's a bird nearby that he strikes up conversation with.

"Can you help us find something?" he asks.

"Maybe. Got any nuts?" The bird's been eyeing the nuts this one guy at camp has been snacking on all day, apparently, but whenever he gets close the man swats him away. If Spindle can fetch him some, then sure, he'll help out.

Spindle, ever practical, just bounds over to the guy. "Can I have some of your nuts?"

The man looks at Spindle. Turns out word has already got around of the little grey gnome who came to town and spread word of a fun throwing game. "Hey, aren't you that kid who made the darts tree? Tell you what, if you make me one of those eyes, no problem."

Spindleshanks makes quick work of it, carving a nice bit of bark off a nearby tree and etching in the signature 'eye' - a very functional portable darts-board. His commissioner is very satisfied with his handiwork, especially considering the low price - he hands Spindle a little heap of nuts and lets the gnome scamper off on his way.

The nuts are delivered, and the bird peck-peck-pecks away at the long-sought treat. Spindle explains that he's looking for a caravan - "Lots of those!" chirps the bird through a mouthful of nut - specifically a green one. Can he go fly and scope it out?

The bird is briefly reluctant to leave his meal, but Spindle promises to guard it until his return. With a flutter of wings it takes to the air, and the party eagerly awaits its return. It's not a long wait!

The bird reports that oh yes, he's caught sight of the green carriage no problem!

"Where is it?"

The caravan, says the bird, is rattling away rather fast down the road out of town...