Quinlan chuckled to himself as he walked away. Myntilly turned to me. “The goblins have a court date?”
“It’s the first I’ve heard about, too. OK? We’ll go to the temple. We can leave them there while we check out the Silk Merchant’s.”
We hadn’t gotten too far down Obsidian Avenue when we felt a series of after shocks. The ground rolled beneath our feet. As we turned the corner, we found a gaping chasm where the street had been.
“There are people down there. Oh crap, there are people down there!” Myntilly hurriedly flung her pack to the ground. “Rope! Give me rope.”
Drinks are on me! I do love a fine dwarfen stout, so long as there is a good story to go with it!
Ah, yes… a story. Well, here’s mine… though it isn’t much.
Well, my earliest recollection is of being in the Theocracy of the Pale, a land that is not very kind to those who are not boot-lickers of Pholtus (**spits**). I somehow managed to get in with a group of adventurers who, not knowing who I was any more than I did, were kind enough to let me help them remove the Swampwood curse. That was some six years ago, in Oerth time, as I recall.