Midsummer’s Night – Summer 1486 (The Year of the Nether Scrolls)
Location: “The Mended Drum” (Tavern in Waterdeep).
Picture Credit: inExile Entertainment
Pinks: This will not end well my friend.
Smacky: Why you sez dat? Smacky is right Charming. Plus, I hadz a bath last month. I is cleaner dan you, and I gots da BEST line, youz see!
In “The Mended Drum”, a Waterdavian tavern known best for being the sort of place your mother would currently disapprove of but probably frequented much in her youth, Smacky “the Bastard” Bear-Eagle looked again at the cloaked and quiet figure standing at the bar. Despite it being Midsummers night and the Drum bustling even more so than would be usual for an eighthday evening, the young-looking tiefling seemed to command a comfortable space around her while other patrons were forced to huddle close enough to be nasally offensive. Not the work of any obvious magic, you could roughly define the size of her exclusion zone as the approximate area a seasoned Drum patron could expect a very sharp blade to slice through at arm’s length in as much time as it took you to regret that sixth shot of Mage’s Fireball Whiskey.
Pinko of Neverwash closed his eyes and quietly began the incantation as the barbarian sculled the dregs of his 8th pint of 3 Ravens Dark Ale and strode towards the bar. Despite himself, Pinko had quickly grown fond of the big half-orc, who while having the mental capacity of your average badger, innately understood the balance of nature near as well as most of the other young druids back home. Smacky knew when to appreciate and marvel at the beauty of the natural world, and perhaps more importantly when to chop it enthusiastically into tiny little pieces with a great axe. He had not yet however quite gotten over their initial meeting.
A few weeks ago while trapped in the form of an adorable dachshund he thinks of as “Binky”, Pinko had been making his way to the closest fellow druid he knew outside of his own commune as fast as his four-inch long little legs would carry him. He was only generally aware of the way, having spent his entire life within a few miles of the Grove of the Furries in far south of the Neverwinter Woods. It was a desperate gamble, but the cantankerous old hermit known as Reidoth was rumoured to be currently holed up in the ruins of Thundertree to the North. Binky… he corrected himself, Pinko, prayed he could help.
The previous evening during the ritual changeling ceremony where he would perform his first transformation in front of the whole commune things had gone horribly awry. While he successfully altered his form and was greeted in turn by the entire troop of gathered druids congratulating him by doing likewise, a sudden booming crack and fur-raising tingling sensation raced across the Grove followed by a horde of orcs pouring out of the shadows into the camp. He tried to revert to his normal self and found couldn’t change back, the very weave of magic seemed torn! Gazing in horror around the Grove, it seemed a similar fate befell his comrades as druids in deer, hawk and squirrel avatars fled while bear and wolf fought or were slaughtered by the invaders. He did all he could, which was to bravely worm his sausage-shaped form between the roots of a tree and waited for the Orcs to move on. When he emerged sometime later he was alone, the Grove a flaming ruin. Unable to find any of his commune alive, he started the long journey to seek out Reidoth's aid.
On the outskirts of the Neverwinter Woods Binky, who was already becoming more dog than man stuck in that form for several days, smelt Orc once more and stealthily crept towards the scent to investigate. Suddenly a massive green hand shot into the bush he was hiding under, grabbed him by the scruff and proceeded to use his squirming fluffy form for cleaning purposes, before swiftly tossing him aside. The massive figure who was humming a little tune to himself was now standing and fastening his belt. Pinko yelled “What in the name of the Sun and Moon are you….?” before realising, he was Elven shaped once more! This revelation was quickly followed by the honest self-assessment that he actually smelt much the same as he always had done.
Smacky ‘The Bastard’ Bear-Eagle had been in Phandalin seeking news of his missing older half-brother, Sir Smackinald Pow. 'Sir' Smacky was the only family on his father’s side he knew and liked. Smacky Bear-Eagle grew up wild in the hills around Wyvern Tor on the Northern side of the Sword Mountains. His orc mother always said that she couldn’t risk him being seen in their camp lest the new chief who had taken her to wife snap his half-blood little neck. His human father had perished a few years ago when the Ash Zombies from Thundertree raided his nearby ancestral home. Smacky's dad had claimed until his dying day he was ‘forced’ into romantic relations with his mother, many times over several years if memory served correctly, but begrudgingly acknowledged Smacky as his bastard son. The two Smacky’s not only shared a nickname, but also a love of the gentle art of collecting and preserving the severed heads of local wildlife. The rare adventures evading the guards and hunting in the woods with his half-brother while 'visiting' his father's estate were some of the happiest memories he had. When fully grown Smacky Bear-Eagle's size and simplicity allowed him to easily fall in with a few mercenary groups. Recently he'd served as a guard, meat-shield and haulage assistant hired by the Lion Coaster Company operating out of Waterdeep. When he learnt during a delivery to Neverwinter that his brother had left that city to become an adventurer and hadn't returned for many months, Smacky became concerned at set out to find him.
The last he'd heard, Sir Smacky had been heading from Neverwinter to Phandalin, hired by Gundren Rockseeker to escort him there safely. The only lead he discovered there as to his brother's current whereabouts was from a dwarf called “Stumpy Ticklebeard” who was running a gigolo business out of the local tavern. Stumpy said he’d last seen Sir Smacky a tenday beforehand, leaving towards a local goblin hang out with a group of other well armed companions. He had not returned since, which was strange as his brother had become quite the local hero recently, helping to reopen Wave Echo mine and earning himself a 10% share of the profits. He should have been set for life, instead he disappeared.
Smacky strode out immediately and located the goblin cave Stumpy described, but all he found was the rotting remains on what might have been a group of adventurers covered in a thick green goo pooled at its entrance. The cave itself was vacant barring the piles of decomposing goblins, many of whom were missing their heads. As he was leaving, just inside the entrance Smacky spied a travel pack carefully placed behind a boulder. Strapped to it was the severed and expertly preserved head of what looked like an Owl, but larger and furry as a bear. Smacky knew then that his half-brother was dead. He took the fuzzy Owl head and tied it to the outside of his pack. He’d use it as a pillow, and every night before he slept he'd swear a bloody oath to his ancestors that he would find out who killed his brother, shove the fuzzy Owl head thing down their throat, cut off THEIR head and have a double head-within-head trophy as his vengeance. He already knew he didn’t have the smarts to sort a complex mess like this out so he’d need to find some help, brain help, to do the thinking. Firstly though more pressing business needed sorting out. He wandered off into the bush to find a place to take a dump and a small fuzzy animal to clean up the mess with. The 'shrooms he stole before leaving were not sitting well.
Luckily for Pinko, it seems Smacky had been living on a concoction of various mushrooms and fungi he found left on a pallet outside an alchemist shop in Waterdeep. Something about the half-orcs prodigious quasi-magical turd had broken the transformation lock enchantment (as Pinko had come to label it), and Pinko had decided to travel with Smacky to the big city in hopes of locating the store and bringing a possible cure to what was left of his Commune. That was nine days ago.
Exiting his revere, the noise of “The Drum” re-filled his senses. Pinko was impressed to hear Smacky get as far as “Hey youz looks Horny, me also Hor…” before the tiefling sent him flying across the room with a Hellish Rebuke strong enough to remove most of Smacky’s ample body hair and eyebrows. Stunned but grinning, Smacky got to his feet as Pinko directed his Healing Word spell at his barbarian friend, shaking his head slowly.
Cockseepage the Tormented stared unmoving at the half-orc as he slowly rose, chuckling and patting out embers, when suddenly faster than she gave the drunken brute credit for his demeanour changed to a squint of rage and an anvil sized fist flew past her left ear. There was a ‘thunk’, followed by a crash as a half-elf slammed into the far wall of the tavern, interrupting the bard’s song and causing a lull in the conversations around the room. The blade in the assassin’s hand still dripping with a sticky black liquid dropped to the floor and dissolved into a puddle of its own molecular components. Before it congealed, Seepage noticed the “Order of the Gauntlet” emblem on the pummel. She was not amused, nor to be honest, very surprised.
If she was startled, Seepage showed no sign. Though the fact she didn’t kill Smacky where he stood showed an appreciation for his violent solution, if not actual thanks for saving her life. The machinations of her mind worked quickly, and she saw potential advantage here. Even before her pact torment, she was not a good person. As a child, she was preyed upon by groups of the other local younglings for her Infernal ancestry. Tieflings are not all inherently evil, but if her red skin, horns and tail would mark her out as cursed, then she would show them all the devil inside. Mysteriously, none of those childhood ‘friends’ saw their coming of age. This unexplained coincidence did not escape the notice of her now Patron, who sought her out, praising her 'talents' and making her an offer she could not… and had no desire to refuse.
Seepage’s patron was known to her only as “The Master”, a being of great power who dwelt in the Shadowfell. To gain her warlock abilities, as she entered her teens she sold her soul to the evil demigod in order to compliment the ‘urges’ present in her since she was a child. It cost her a ninety-nine-year stint in a misty hellscape, tormented unspeakably daily, twisting her spirit and psyche. Needless to say, the experience left some fairly significant mental scars. Seepage saw it as a deal well struck and as time is a very different beast in the Planes of Shadow, though she emerged in her hometown of Triboar and nearly everyone she once knew was long dead, she was yet barely out of her teens. There was so much to catch up on. Such a shame many of her 'plans' had long since passed away from old age.
Since her return to the Material Plane, the joyful little murder spree she’d conducted in Triboar attracted an unduly high level of attention. It was after all just a few pilgrims… and that shopkeeper who looked at her funny... and a dozen or so farmers with so many children the economy wouldn’t miss them… or a few of their excessive spawn. So she travelled, not fled, Cockseepage never fled, to Waterdeep looking for her next opportunity for mayhem. It seems she may have just found it.
“You. Stoner!” she called to Pinko. “Calm your singed pet and come with me.” As they exited the bar the Bard, who had stopped only briefly for what was a pretty low key sideshow by Drum standards, picked up his rendition of “A Wizard’s Staff has a Knob on its End” without having missed a beat. No one attempted to follow the trio out.
Several days passed. Having hit a dead-end on the alchemist lead as Smacky couldn’t remember where the store was in the huge city, Pinko had at least learned nearly all the city mushies (magical or otherwise) came from “Nightstone”, a small town just to the south of Waterdeep. Smacky swore he’d recognise them if he ever saw them again, so they planned to strike out in that direction. For his part, if Smacky could point Pinko to the right fungus, Pinko would then assist the cranially challenged Barbarian to work out who killed his half-brother. For reasons unknown, as she rarely spoke except to curse and cast stinging cantrips at street urchins bold or foolish enough to approach her, Cockseepage had remained close to the druid and barbarian as they made their enquiries around town. Perhaps she was attracted to the prospect that wherever Smacky went, an excuse to burn things was a near hourly possibility, or perhaps as Pinko observed she was more worried about the steadily increasing number of do-gooders in shiny armour appearing in town every day than she let on...
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