Looking for work in Neverwinter. A lead from a friendly dwarf led me to a dwarf big shot, Coral, who in turn introduces me to a rag-tag party of adventurers currently searching for 3 tears of some elf priestess’s god (Seleune, the moon goddess).
They have a spunky elf who challenges me to a drinking contest, and there’s one called Rupert who’s got a cowl or maybe a towel wrapped around his head. He looks not well.
At 2:30 pm we cross the bridge to the Black Lake district, into the wild part of town to look for the House of 1000 Faces (a tavern). We get a table & the elf and I begin our drinking competition, if you can call it a competition. For me, it was merely another glorious night out drinking, but for the elf, well, let’s just say I feel bad for the spunky little guy.
The decor here is odd. A thousand mannequins dressed in old clothes are everywhere, staring at us through windows and in mirrors all over the place.
The ranger is looking around, I think he overheard some anti-Neverember rabble. Also around is a halfling (more about him later), some half-orcs, and 3 elf chicks. Another elf in our group starts chatting up the elf chicks – strange elvish ways – they’re talking about two-on-one’s, and our elf is asking the sickly one, Rupert, to be his second… it looks like they are going to fight now… and there’s a fight. Looks like our elf, Blackthorne, won. He retires to a room upstairs, taking with him a new sword the elf chick gave him that apparently needs polishing.
Anyway, I tried to befriend the sassy halfling, to see if I can learn anything useful from the little bastard but all I find out is that he’s a disgruntled anti-Neverember type. Rupert and Alain come over and before I know what’s happening he’s chucking coins at all of us. Ouch!
A combat ensued, and in the end the little hobbit bastard bargained for his life with a +1 amulet of Protection (which the tipsy elf took) and a magic, vicious greatsword (which Rupert took), and a map with a lead on one of the 3 moon tears. I still think maybe we should have killed him.
Next morning we grab breakfast in the tavern, and the locals are talking about a local leatherworker named Joru who along with his whole family went missing mysteriously. We plan to set off for the sewers to the path outside the wall to where the tear fell.
Moral: It looks like I may have made some new friends. But when looking for new friends, remember, never trust a halfling!
h2. -from the personal journal of Smokus Smoothbeard