While Cal is busy with his absurdities, Puyet grabs the cash the thief had been carrying about for his group. It could be evenly distributed later.

The crown could be left. It was not good fortune to carry a crown that did not belong to you. Puyet had learned this on an escort mission years ago, when he lead a force to secure the new lord who had overthrown the previous ruler of the tribal lands he grew up in. While the military of the land was part of a larger kingdom, the lower territories could commission its use. Needless to say, there was a number of encounters with rebels who would have liked to take the crown back, along with the head it was on.

Puyet now also felt compelled to stare into the large orb and drool.

Glenn had a hunch that something was amiss. Burning things did not usually move. Glenn had no idea what the sound was, but he didn't intend to hang around too long to find out. Quickly picking up the remainder of the stuff Cal had found, Glenn moves toward the exit portal.

"We'll figure the rest of this out later, but for now, i have a feeling we should get out of here."

Presuming the portal goes somewhere safe, as "Betty" called it as an means of escape, Glenn moves through the portal.

"Guys, guys," I shout, considerably worried after the revelation in the orb. "I'd put away your Eduardo/Jakobus slashfics and pack up your Barbara sleeping packs because we need to get the fuck out of here RIGHT NOW." I shuffle around in my pack, producing my own sleeping bag. I mean to take the orb with me if I can (it could come in handy), and I'm not touching it with my bare hands if I can help it. Bad things can happen if you touch things like that without testing it first...

Cover orb with sleeping bag, pick up orb if it's not too heavy, and place the bundle in my pack.
Whatever the result of that action, follow Glenn through the portal, thereby getting the fuck out of there.

With the sound of fire getting too close to be ignored any longer, Gra-fa-zut carefully scoops up the orb and urges his companions through the exit portal before following through himself. Whatever was coming wasn't good news.

Gheth, however, remains behind. Possessed of a certain suspicion, he pries the exterior door open with his spearpoint and strides outdoors to stare curiously into the sky. Indeed, a roiling fireball was descending through the atmosphere. Squinting against the bright sunshine and the unearthly brightness of the meteor itself, Gheth identifies the object at the core of the fireball: some kind of leather satchel, inexplicably intact despite the white-hot flames all around it.

With a start, Gheth realizes just where it is that he last saw such an unusual bag. Could it be? Could it really be? With a wan smile inching onto his face, Gheth attempts to estimate where exactly the satchel would be landing. The contents might be... valuable.

Unfortunately for Gheth, his triangulations put the satchel's impact point at roughly the exact place he happened to be standing. There was no time to run.

With an earthshaking kaboom, the satchel from space slammed into the Conerian forest clearing. The shockwave alone was enough to kill small birds within half a mile, and as for our poor dragonborn friend, well. Nothing remained of him. It would be kinder, perhaps, to speculate that Avandra spirited him away at the last moment: who can truly say?

A pair of truly remarkable space travelers clamber out of their unusual craft, both of them seemingly too large to fit within its cramped confines. The halfling and his warforged friend struggle out of the massive crater, gawking at the strange new world on which they've arrived.

"Look, Glock! What is that?"

"Some kind of giant centipede, I suppose."

"Are they full of candy?"

The warforged in the fabulous hat strokes his metal chin for a moment, ruminating over the matter.

"Let's find out."


————————————


Cursing and disoriented, the survivors tumble out of the portal on the other side — Cal's little wagon having escaped his clutch in transit, it follows through a moment later and clouts him in the back of the head. The group finds themselves on a large balcony several stories above a city street. It seems to be either near dawn or near twilight, judging from the sky. The portal soundlessly vanishes behind them.

Two others are on the balcony as G-Unit arrive; a pair of handsome gentlemen with brick-red skin and jutting horns sit at a small patio table, sharing a meal. They look superficially similar to tieflings, but their huge leathery wings put that idea to bed. Puyet immediately recognizes the creatures: half-devils. Cambions.

He immediately moves to unsling the hammer from his back, but the infernal creatures sitting near him make no hostile moves. They seem awfully friendly, all things considered.

"Look, Virgil. Guests."

"Have you come to join us for breakfast, boys? Mortai's lamb chili is just divine."

Stammering excuses, the group politely refuses and makes its way down to street level. Why, this is Freeport (though the city seems in somewhat worse shape than they had left it). Whether Betty somehow intended to go to Freeport herself or whether the portal merely transported travelers to their own homes was, perhaps, unknowable. It was hardly as if the entire group hailed from the City of Pirates, but Garrmondo had been first through the portal: maybe he took priority somehow.

Only having escaped the strangeness of the cambion breakfast nook does the group realize that Gheth is not among them. Taking a few moments to mourn his loss, Garrmondo leads the group back to G-Unit's rented rooms at the Diving Fin. It had been a long, strange day.

Curious if the crystal orb had survived the rough trip, Gra-fa-zut cautiously unwraps his bedroll to find a globe much smaller than the one he had swiped; the orb that had barely fit in his pack was now scarcely larger than his clenched fist. Maybe things in Coneria just had odd proportions. Still, it seemed undamaged.


This post is long enough as it is, so I'll post the adventure hooks later. All of you should have the Character Builder installed, so I'm not doing the store inventories this time. If you can afford it, buy it (and tell me what you bought).

Freeport? What are we doing here? We've unfinished business in Lamid! I make a mental note that whenever I find myself in the area again, I am going to throttle old man Geoff.

Glad to reach a (relatively) safe haven, I go to the market in an attempt to hawk some unwanted wares.

Attempt to haggle a good price for Bloodclaw Short Sword and Ivory Centaur Statuette.

Too aggravated by his delayed revenge to rest, Cal immediately strikes out for the shops of the Merchant District. It's high time he pawned off this spiky old sword, and he knows just who to foist it off on.

Soon enough Cal is weaving an epic tale of swashbuckling adventure, telling of the beasts he slew and the challenges he overcame with this magnificent — no, this incomparable weapon. Surely 'tis the finest blade he'd ever laid hands on, and if it weren't for his poor sick ma and her expensive tonics, why, he'd never let it go.

Urian Firehand of Urian's Forge is sufficiently moved (or sufficiently motivated to get Cal out of his shop) to offer 50% over what he'd normally pay for such an item, paying out 156 gold in exchange for the Bloodclaw Short Sword.

My purchasing expedition was interrupted by the shocking news that our cleric of Avandra was nowhere to be found. As the night wore on, Gheth still did not show. The dawning of the next day brought a growing realization that he was not coming.

As much as I'd hate to admit it, we've lost another comrade.

Looking wistfully at the polished window I grabbed from the black pudding box, I will it to show our dear departed friends together in paradise.

In a pastoral meadow, Gheth sits happily astride Denny, with the clever halfling and his robotic bard servant playing catch with Gnasc the dog. Freddy is chucking fireballs at a very prone plate-scale-chainclad knight, cheered on by Betty, Eddie, and Theo. Under a tree by the stream lay Helga, the female duergar entertaining Murkelmor, Rundarr and Framarth all at once, while Trenchfoot, Ortak, Derek, and Erik wait impatiently. Four large figures seem to be having fun splashing in the water: orc Voshnak Brang, his troll playmate Gorg the Gigantic Gigas, and the goblin duo Gallant Gary and Gurgling Gru.

All was well.

Change is the only constant, as my patron deity was wont to pontificate, and one must roll will whatever punches the cosmos inflicts on you. Would further adventure dull the sharp pangs of pain and regret on what could have been? I have no idea, but I'm willing to try to move on. Shopping usually cheers me up, so I hit the market again.

Sell Ivory Centaur Statuette (100 gp).
Buy 50 feet of hempen rope (1 gp), 1 set of identification papers with portrait (5 gp), and 1 crowbar (2 gp).
Convert 336 drams of alchemical reagents back to 336 gp.
Attempt to buy Acrobatic Boots (520 gp) at a discount.

My comrades will need time to sift through their accouterments, although I expect the human would attempt to transfer the enchantment from his bulky plate armor to a more manageable scale, as well as from his magic greatsword to an non-enchanted bastard sword. Hey, maybe I can watch the transfer take place, and learn the transfer enchantment ritual for free!

I while away the tedium by digging into the Poore Xandowel's Almanack, having finished the Hamfist autobiography early on.

Glenn remembers passing through Freeport once, but it is certainly not home by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, Glenn wanders around, heading to the shops to sell off some of his less useful belongings.

sell crown and amethyst, and get 100gp from Puyet (unless he doesn't want to share, in which case :shrug:)
see if anyone else (including the incoming character) can make use of the sweet broadsword, if not, no point in lugging it around, so sell it.

Freeport. Puyet had not passed this way before, but was aware of the region and should know well enough to manage.

Geography and history check, plz

Puyet passed off at his discretion 150 gp each to Glenn and Garrmondo, and assures them he'll take care of Cal, which in actuality he won't. Cal already lugged enough junk around as it was. Any more money and he'd probably need to buy another wagon. Not to mention he was seriously agitated with the man-thing after its antics in the dungeon. He also gave nothing to the newcomer. Nobody knew him, nor why he was with us. He could replace the dragonborn left behind, but he'd have to earn his share.


Puyet noticed his boots were covered in yeti blood. This was no way for a soldier to present himself. He set out to the market for a couple of hours to find new boots and restock his supplies.

Buy Feyleaf Sandals BOOTS! Ponce around to transfer the enchantment if possible.
Refill adventurer's kit. Add extra silk rope and two extra sunrods in possible.

Puyet also makes mental note that they've lost their cleric, which probably means they're fucked.
Buy Potion of Gravespawn, Potion of Clarity, and Potion of Healing. Put in Belt Pouch.

Afterwards, Puyet settles himself to the inn, tosses back a few ales, and retires for the evening.

Freeport. It's been a while, especially considering how I have no clue exactly how I left last time. I don't remember waking up with blood all over me. Odd. No matter, I needed a break. I also don't feel like shopping much, despite my new possession whispering at me. I went to the inn to relax and calm my mind. There, I sat in the corner of the common room and took out my recorder; this always seemed to help.

As I played people stopped and looked; I was used to this and ignored it. The only thing that stuck out was the one git who told me that he really enjoyed my "masterful hobo." Idiot. As I played, I felt the fire manifestation leaking out and taking over. Good.

I waited to see the rest of my new companions... the 3 surviving gentlemen and the thing. I dislike changlings. Everyone else is fine, but hopefully the thing stays out of my way.

Change manifestation to firesoul

Glenn wanders through town, picking up a fairly useful set of vambraces with the money which he acquired from the treasures in the dungeon. He then proceeds to wander back to the inn in the hopes of a half decent rest and some peace and quiet for a change.

purchase Feyleaf Vambraces
go to inn and wait for the rest

Finshing up his shopping early (and successfully talking the specialty cordwainer into a discount as well), Cal attempts to relax with his battered almanac. Alas, the tome is written entirely in Elvish, and Cal can make no sense of it at all. After much prodding Glenn eventually agrees to examine the book, but finds it composed primarily of Drow proverbs regarding moral conduct — and Drow "virtues" being what they are, Glenn finds it best not to act as translator in this case. Cal hardly needs the encouragement. Out of curiosity, they flip to the weather predictions toward the end of the book; today's weather in the Underdark is expected to be "Cold, damp and unpleasant with a chance of derro uprising. Don't go out without your crossbow!"

Puyet trudges into the inn as the readers skim over the roll of recent historical events (mostly assassinations). His new boots look mighty fine indeed, though it took him hours to find the magic he'd wanted in the right style of shoe. Every outfitter he visited kept trying to put sandals on him. At last, in a particularly grimy corner of the market bazaar down by the docks, Puyet had found what he was searching for: heavy leather boots, inexplicably fused with the delicate magics of the eladrin. As he handed over his coin, Puyet snorted at the label on the crate: "Things Which Should Not Be".

The whole excursion takes longer than it should due to his unfamiliarity with the city, but a few inquiries only result in urchins offering to guide him "for a small fee". Still, Freeport is infamous enough in the region that Puyet gets his bearings fairly easily. The City of Adventure, so-called; mostly because it was a thrice-damned adventure trying to walk more than a block or two without getting your coinpurse cut. Freeport was a city of pirates and thieves, a den of black-market goods, a cesspool full of drugs, prostitutes and gamblers.

In short, a nice place to spend the occasional weekend.

Garrmondo strolls in last, raising an eyebrow as his blue acquaintance turns orange and sprouts a head of — is that hair, or fire? Gra-fa-zut doesn't seem to particularly mind that his head's burst into flame, so Garrmondo elects to mind his own business. If it turns out to be a sign of trouble, well... at least he can swing a sword without dislocating his shoulder now. The enchanters had been quite expensive, but all in all it was worth it.

————————————

The next few days are spent in relative calm as the five adventurers give their wounds time to mend and help the Diving Fin with the urgent problem of an excessive overstock of the house ale. Without any pressing business elsewhere, Gra-fa-zut decides he might as well throw in his lot with the group for the time being. They could handle themselves decently in a scrape, and the majority of them seemed like fairly decent sorts — though the changeling bore watching. But then, what changeling doesn't? Better that an eye be kept on him rather than having him run around on his own. As for Puyet and Glenn, they'd been doing mercenary work for a while; it was nice to have a few extra bodies watching your back (and a few extra hands to help you carry the loot).

Between the five of them, they had more than enough ready cash to forestall leaving the city for months. But day by day they pass by the cluster of notes nailed to the public board outside the inn, and they can't help but notice that requests were going up a lot faster than they were coming down. The mere implication of so many folks going unaided starts to wear on their consciences (well, for those in the party that possess them).

Scarcely two weeks have passed before the group can hardly stand to remain so idle. Garrmondo goes to examine the work on offer, and his four companions gradually coalesce around him, as though they were all silently sharing the same thought. Even after discussing their options and passing on the opportunities that were either small-time or entirely out of their league, there were still quite a few jobs available.

http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/job_board_thumb.png

(Click for huge. As ever, 5-point vote system; distribute your 5 points as you wish among the adventure or adventures you find interesting. Most points wins, with a coin flip in the unlikely event of a tie.)

I have lots of experience in killing gnolls. Why, I had one by the balls once. Surely they'd be as easy to kill as last time!

And yet... and yet the prospect getting into a sex tent calls incessantly to my carnal urges!

Oh, decisions, decisions.

3 points towards Kill Gnolls Get Paid.
2 points towards Sex Tent Stolen.

An acute pang of pain shoots up the small of my back as I craned my head to take a better look at the poster. Seems like I'm carrying too many things on my person again.

Discard: 14 pounds dry alfalfa (cart), pillowcase
Dissect: Yeti head, salvaging only teeth, brain, and vocal cords. Put hard and squishy in separate flasks.
Transfer to cart: 1 violin, yeti wishbone, climber's kit

Turning to my eladrin comrade, I suddenly remember that he wanted to buy a set of thieves' tools. Did he buy them, I wonder? All I can see from his shopping expedition was a lime green pair of armbands.

Glenn decides not to buy the tools - after all, the group already had a perfectly good set and he didn't need one right now. Looking at the job board, Glenn immediately feels drawn to the bill posted by "Candlekeep." They clearly were not telling the whole truth, but perhaps Glenn could show them that the common people weren't as stupid as they thought. He was also intrigued by the notice about hobos going missing.

3 points to Discreet Investigators
2 points to Disappearing Beggars.

Well, the current postings seemed promising. I particularly liked the idea of a guy who doesn't know what a sextant is. There was also the matter of the hobos, which resonated with the man who spoke to me while I was playing.

3 points to Sex Tent
2 points to Discreet Investigators
2 points to Disappearing Beggars

Puyet glanced past all the salvage and underwater ads. If he'd wanted to play in the sea, he would've joined the navy. And, well, the booty that gets plundered is never what you expect.
There were a few jobs that seems in his area of expertise, however.

3 for Seasoned Fighters
2 for Some Pig

Also, knowledge check on Swiftcurrent and Aglarond.

After much dispute, the group settles down to handful of choices. G-Unit's military minds argue forcefully in favor of a ocean voyage, and in the end everyone seems to get on board with the notion (so to speak).

Gra-fa-zut could hardly argue against a return to the sea that had once been his home, and he expected his history of marine work would come in handy there. Cal wasn't hard to persuade; he had no aquatic creatures at all in his revolting collection, and relished the opportunity to harvest a squid or two. With great reluctance the two of them bid farewell to the intriguing mystery of the Sex Tent; perhaps another time.

Glenn had no compelling reason to get aboard the Swiftcurrent, but no compelling reason not to, either. After all, she could be anywhere — and a sailor's life is a compelling choice for someone trying to keep a low profile. With a shrug, he acquiesces. It was a shame about those beggars, but truth be told they disappeared all the time. Likely they were all curled up under a bridge somewhere, or hiding down in the sewers. It was a pity, yes, but — Glenn dismissed the thoughts from his mind. If you tried to save every lost soul in Freeport, you'd not even have time for a hot meal.

The matter thus resolved, G-Unit sets out for the docks.