[DnD] Package Handling (GFF D&D Adventure IX)

"Look here, little man. In the past few weeks I've had some good practice playing darts with halflings."

Puyet whisked the smoke ring back towards Sam's face.

"And you're reminding me how out of practice I am. Either you can point us in the right direction or you can scuttle off."

I was speaking idiomatically.

Without warning, a small man appeared out of the nearest garbage can.



"PLAYING BUM DARTS MAYBE"

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

I smirked, more to annoy him than anything. I always liked muscle. Muscle is dumb. Muscle is predictable. You never feel bad when you shoot muscle in the guts and leave it to die in a ditch. I was, however, not in the mood for a public fist fight so I let my hand drift to Gladys. If it was going to escalate, I was going to take this problem out at the knees. With buckshot.

"I'm offering a business deal, pal. If you don't want it, that's no skin off my nose. All I'm sayin' is I had a liquid dinner and no breakfast. I'm so hungry I could eat a porcupine with the quills on it. So why don't you just let me help you for a fair share and we can go get a sandwich and then I'll show you around the city."

I've taken great pleasure in lying to muscle in the past, and surely would again, but I wasn't about to waste the first lie of the day on this mook. I was on the level. But I also wasn't no sap. You never do something you're good at for free. And I was very good at knowing the right people and the right places. And I got the impression these boys weren't looking to be on the radar.

FELIPE NO

Glenn raised an eyebrow in amusement as Puyet and Sam had their silly little duel of manliness. Glenn knew halflings were stubborn, but it had been some time since he'd met one this determined to assert his authority. Glenn spots Sam reaching for his firearm over his rather prolonged examination of the cargo.

"That won't go well for you, Sam. Firstly, I'd really rather not see us killing each other over such base matters as who's 'in charge'. Secondly, you never reloaded that thing after you finished almost killing me with it. Just saying."

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

"We'll see what we have to split up when the deed is done. How's that suit you, little pony? Lead out if you will. I'll bring up the rear. Wouldn't want anybody thinking I'm following you."

Puyet didn't like halflings. They couldn't hold their weapons, couldn't march properly, and anytime the army was called to suppress a sizable amount of the twirps, a few good men always lost their knees.

But on the bright side, they did make for good ammo when you were out of cannonballs.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

A majestic angel swooped out of the skies as Puyet opened his hands to receive Cal's mysterious string of glass beads. With a horrified scream of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO", the angel's fiery sword knocked the beads into the air. The greasy things bounced off into a gutter, where they would never ever be seen again.

"YOU'LL THANK ME LATER!" shouted the glorious angel, ascending into the sky. What was that all about?

As Cal wanders into the city to begin his new career, Glenn pries upon the much-desired scroll tube and examines the contents. Gra-fa-zut peers over the eladrin's shoulder. At first glance the scroll is just a stultifying jumble of political doubletalk, but Gra-fa-zut's knowledge of the arcane allows him to see through this easily. This is half of a linked portal ritual; the portal it is intended to create will create a stable direct link between the Freeport embassy in Veltalar and the Sea Lord's palace back in Freeport itself. Instructions enclosed with the ritual scroll indicate that the other half of the ritual is already complete; anyone possessing this scroll and a basic competence in ritual magic could find himself in the Sea Lord's Palace within a matter of minutes.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Wait, that's it? Glenn is even more confused than before. Why would the Freeport embassy in Veltalar need something like this? And why would someone with control over something like a kraken need a portal into the Sea Lord's palace, anyway? Glenn gut tells him that someone isn't telling him the entire story, but there's not much he can do about it at this point. Glenn just wanted to get paid and get some sleep in a proper bed. He decides to try to avoid ships wherever possible in the future - his time aboard the Swiftcurrent had showed him that he wasn't much of a sailor anyway.

Packing up the scroll tube, Glenn silently sets off for the Freeport embassy, trusting that his companions will follow soon enough.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Stupid jokes aside, I actually enjoyed the company of the little man who had so suddenly appeared to our aid... although he was going to have to stop lighting his cigarettes on my skin if he wanted to keep his. You know, racial defenses and all that.

Telling my Fellow Travelers what I saw in the scroll, I posited the question as to whether we wanted the money or not. I for one wanted to know exactly what had sent that damned waterbeast after us; I'd had misgivings over this job ever since we met my kinsmen back in Freeport, and the fact that other beings wanted this scroll (that seriously seemed rather innocuous) bothered me. But then, that's me. Always wanting to see how much more trouble I could find. The main problem with this? No alcohol unless we finish the job. I doubted the small man had any quantity of Djinn, given the fact that very few creatures could actually handle the stuff.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

So, like, everybody gets along all of a sudden and they all tra-la-la down to the Freeport Embassy because they totally were over their differences and bickering and were super duper excited to see this new portal thingy, jah.

I was speaking idiomatically.

So despite the extremely mild temptation of keeping the scroll for themselves, the heroes did proceed to the embassy in the company of the halfling, who had purchased himself a share of the reward with the extremely useful currency that is blackmail. At no point does it occur to them, weary as they are from a week's rough travel, that they had all been paid in advance and as such no reward had been promised to them at their destination.

It is with great joy and surprise that Freeport's ambassador to Aglarond meets them at the door to the embassy. Late in the afternoon as it was, the bureaucrat was already locking up for the night and was himself en route to the nearest tavern. The middle-aged tiefling gladly accepts the scroll, ducking back indoors briefly to put it somewhere safe before returning to thank them properly. It's only when he notices Samwise (lurking several feet behind the rest of the group - inconspicuously, if you will) that his mood sours.

"While I appreciate all you've done for me personally and for Freeport in general, let me offer you some advice. Whatever Shadowspade promised you, don't expect to ever see it. He'd sell his own sister into the Underdark before he ever earned an honest copper. If you want to waste your time and money on that trash, I won't stop you... but keep an eye on him."

The rest of the discussion is a blur of empty pleasantries and idle chitchat until Gra-fa-zut, short on patience, rubs his thumb and forefinger together and holds out his other palm expectantly.

"Wha— they told me they'd pay you up front! This is so... you've gone to all this trouble without any compensation? I'm so sorry. Wait a moment, would you? We don't keep a lot of cash here at the embassy but I think I can find something to pay you for your trouble."

At length he trundles back out of the embassy, hefting an unwieldy bundle in both arms.



"Here we are. Had a fellow wander in a few weeks ago, hobgoblin of some local repute. Wanted to apply for Freeport citizenship. As it turned out he was less interested in becoming a citizen of Freeport and more interested in escaping Aglarondan jurisdiction. Things got violent in a hurry but we have excellent security measures here at the embassy, I assure you.

He won't be needing this anymore; I hear he's lost an arm in some unfortunate accident at the prison. Shame, really. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the Ruddy Crab for an evening's entertainment — unless you'd care to join me? Ah, good. First round's on me. Yes, Shadowspade. Even yours. You have cheap tastes, after all."

So it was that the five of them raised their tankards together that night: For Freeport, whose public servants were both easily duped and indifferent to the news of their own duping. For Garrmondo Alkatraz, who lived without fear and died a hero's death. For the lovely ladies of the Ruddy Crab Gala Revue. And — somewhat grudgingly — for Cal Amah, whose business venture would at the least keep him out of the way.

It would be many days before the party returned to Freeport — and just as well, for what awaited them there was far more sinister and deadly than any kraken…

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?