Bargains, Balloon Rides, and a Beast
Amrynn
One cannot help but feel like a pawn in a game played by beings of immense and arbitrary power. We have traded one bad situation for another, extricating ourselves from Bavlorna Blightstraw’s grasp only by agreeing to entangle ourselves in her squabbles with her sister. It is a precarious position, but pragmatism dictates we play the part, for now.
Our business in Bavlorna’s cottage concluded with an exploration of her private chambers. The lingering essence of the shadow creature we dispatched, allegedly one of Charm’s agents, remained only as a spool of thread, imbued with a color my mind could only process as “doubt.” Her storeroom was a macabre collection of curiosities: child-sized caskets, a taxidermied stag head which we correctly deduced belonged to Clapperclaw, and a mannequin that animated with surprising violence when Pork-Bottle attempted to relieve it of its helmet. His impulsiveness remains a reliable, if occasionally hazardous, variable.
The most intriguing object, however, was a frog statue, its mouth a void of pure darkness. Barnabus, through his own arcane sight, determined it to be a portal to an extradimensional space. By speaking the name of an object while reaching inside, one could retrieve it. His first test yielded one hundred gold pieces from its murky depths. Subsequent, more ambitious attempts to retrieve our companion 7-up, or even the heart of Octavian, were met with failure.
Our experimentation was cut short by the return of the hag herself. Upon her arrival, the lornling that had been observing us simply… expired. Bavlorna proposed terms: the return of my hand and 7-up, in exchange for a heist. We are to travel to Loomlurch, the domain of her sister Skabatha Nightshade, and steal a portrait. We have eight days. She suggested we use Clapperclaw as a guide, while simultaneously naming him as a spy for the very sister she wants us to rob. As we left, she coughed forth two new, live lornlings, and we heard the distinct crunch of bone as she presumably consumed the remains of the fallen one. A truly vile creature.
With Clapperclaw’s head restored and his services secured, we departed at first light in a hot air balloon, piloted by Sir Mugwort. The journey across the mists of Hither was brief. As we entered the realm of Thither, our flight was violently interrupted. A great, dragon-like beast appeared from the gloom and tore through our balloon with a blast of fire. My immovable rod arrested our plummet just above the treeline, and I managed to lower the basket and Gary to the ground with minimal jostling. We are now temporarily stranded.
Investigating the area, we approached a nearby cave from which a warm light emanated. A curious poster was affixed to a tree outside, calling for the capture of one “Will of the Feywild” in exchange for an unbreakable skin. Melina, always looking for an edge in combat, secured the parchment. Inside, we found an old, blindfolded man named Nib, weaving at a loom surrounded by piles of gold. He claimed to be a former landlord from Waterdeep, now bound by a pact with Skabatha. To atone for his greedy life, she “blessed” him with the ability to weave magic items from his piles of gold. Melina observed shadowy figures flickering in and out of existence behind him, and it was clear from his tightly shut eyes that he was actively trying not to see them.
We are now grounded in a strange land, with a legendary monster roaming the skies and a clock ticking on our pact with a hag. Our immediate surroundings present a new mystery: a cursed weaver haunted by shades, seemingly of Skabatha’s design. What are these phantoms that torment him? I only hope that we can keep moving towards our goals in time.