That was a close one!

Session 14 January 2024

The dimly lit tavern pulsates with a surreal energy as I scoop up the bag and stride toward the table. Urgency tinges my voice as I announce Xenji’s disappearance. The Dark Mage, ever enigmatic, urges me to calm down, while Farryn squirms uncomfortably, still tangled in the threads of a bad trip.

“I don’t want to go with the merchant!” Farryn protests, his distress palpable.

“I’ll protect you,” the Dark Mage assures him, casting an uncertain shadow over our troubled assembly. Determined to remedy the situation, I approach the bar, seeking Carla’s guidance. “Something to cure the psychedelics. Healing magic. You had a cleric, right?”

Carla’s eyes meet mine with a flicker of concern. “Yeah, but Xenji is gone…” The Dark Mage attempts a makeshift healing, but his hand inexplicably adheres to my robe. Farryn’s restlessness amplifies, a visible storm brewing within him.

“Maybe wyrm wizz is helping,” Carla suggests, her voice a lifeline in this chaotic moment. I return to Farryn, attempting to approach and console him. However, my efforts are misconstrued; he perceives me as a threat and strikes. “KEEP IT CIVIL HERE,” Carla’s voice cuts through the haze, echoing an unsuccessful attempt at maintaining order.

As others trickle out, the Dark Mage exits, leaving Farryn and me in the midst of an unsettling confrontation. Farryn, standing defiantly on a table, clings to the last shard of the crystal. Desperation creeps into my voice as I shed my armor and weapons, pleading with him to descend.

“NO, I AM FARRYN FLAMEL, DON’T YOU FORGET IT!” His words echo through the dwindling crowd.

“PLEASE, PLEASE GET DOWN,” I implore, my concern intensifying. Seeking support, Farryn turns to Grond, his loyal companion. Their silent exchange adds another layer of bewilderment to the scene.

“Wolf is the best, dogs are cool, but wolves are the best. You are pretty,” Farryn mutters, the remnants of a cryptic conversation with Grond.

“It’s wolf or wolf. To be or not to be, wolves is the question,” he rambles, the lines between lucidity and delirium blurring.

“Where is everyone? And what are you looking at?!” he bellows in my direction, a sudden shift in focus.

“Calyx…” he murmurs.His collapse follows, leaving an uneasy stillness.

Distress clings to the air as I weave through the remnants of the fog cloud, my gaze scanning the tavern for a solution. “Do you have anything stronger than wyrmwizz?” I inquire, urgency underscoring my words. A glance around reveals the wine already on the table, a potential remedy to quell the storm raging within Farryn.

Quickly, I request glasses, maintaining a cautious distance. Armed with the wine, I approach Farryn, extending the offering like a peace offering in the midst of chaos. Farryn, caught in the throes of a turbulent trip, pours himself a glass, a momentary distraction from the disarray.

Amid the disorienting haze, Farryn’s question pierces the confusion, demanding an answer. “Who are you?” he queries, skepticism etched across his features. I hasten to assure him of my identity, but my dwarf-like appearance betrays me in his altered perception.

“I’m the help,” I declare, opting for simplicity in a moment of surreal uncertainty. Farryn, in his intoxicated state, seems to find solace in this explanation. “OKAY. TO THE HELP!” he exclaims, raising his glass.

I spot the disguised dark mage making a peculiar entrance, accompanied by an unexpected guest—an animated zombie. With an air of nonchalance, the dark mage introduces the undead companion as his butler Alex, a purchase he made during his stroll around town. 

Aware of the need to extract Farryn and the dark mage from the bar, I employ various tactics. However, Farryn misinterprets my intentions, convinced that my efforts are an attempt at seduction. The situation becomes increasingly absurd as my pleas to leave the bar fall on deaf ears.

Desperation takes hold as I assert that we are in danger, emphasizing Farryn’s inadvertent revelation of his name to the remaining guest in the tavern. The grotesque sight of the undead creature adds a layer of absurdity to our predicament, a stark contrast to the vibrant juggling of whyrm wizz by the peculiar waiter.

Concern for Xenji’s whereabouts resurfaces in the midst of the chaos. “We have to go look for him!” Farryn exclaims, sensing the urgency of our missing companion. Yet, I vehemently disagree. “NO. WE HAVE TO GET YOU OUT OF YOUR TRIP,” I insist. “OH! Maybe Xenji is in the BASEMENT!” says the Dark Mage, steering our collective focus toward the basement.

We descend into the basement, leaving the zombie Alex upstairs, together with Carla.

I seize a moment of distraction to discreetly stow Xenji’s bag of holding in a corner. Farryn’s jubilation over discovering the bag of holding is met with a sudden and fervent call for Xenji. The search for our missing companion intensifies, threatening to devolve into a comical spectacle if not for the looming danger that surrounds us. In an attempt to regain control of the situation, I hastily provide a synopsis of the unfolding events, emphasizing the Zhentarim and the perilous trap we find ourselves ensnared in.

Realization dawns, and Farryn’s exuberance gives way to a tense acknowledgment of our compromised position. He is still a bit dazed, and starts thinking: “Xenji… Zentarim… XENTARIM?! It’s a trap!” Urgency courses through his words as Farryn proposes retreating into the safety of the rope trick.

Inside the extradimensional space, an uneasy atmosphere permeates as the gravity of our situation settles upon us. Farryn’s accusation of betrayal hangs in the air, prompting a swift response. Determined to dispel the effects of the psychedelic substances, the Dark Mage suggests to desober. Nothing happens, and Farryn says: “You know what would help? The Rod of Rulership!” The Dark Mage, also still under influence, grabs it from his pocket. I see this is a precarious situation: I don’t know what this Rod can do, but I don’t think it’s for the best. 

In a moment of decision, I release the spell of seeming, allowing each party member to revert to their true form. Farryn, bewildered by the sudden transformation, questions the authenticity of our identities. The dark mage reinforces the revelation by conjuring his manifest mind, an ethereal confirmation of his true nature.

Farryn, still grappling with the situation, turns his attention to me. “AND YOU GWEN? WHAT WAS written in the sky when we met?” he demands, testing my credibility. I recall the vivid memory of names of dragons and Farryn’s initial invisibility. A moment of tension hangs in the air as Farryn presses for more, challenging me to prove HIS loyalty. With a quick exchange, I quiz him about the first thing I attacked for the party—an encounter with a balista. Farryn answers correctly, and we have a short moment where we look at eachother, in utter silence. 

Amidst the tense exchange in the extradimensional space, the door to the basement swings open, revealing an ominous group of eight individuals. Without hesitation, they launch a ruthless search of the basement. The basement is ransacked, but the perpetrators come up empty-handed. “WHERE ARE THEY?” one of the men yells. Frustrated, they hurl Carla back into the basement, leaving her battered and bleeding. They douse her with alcohol before ascending the stairs.

The situation takes a dire turn when one of the assailants casts a fireball, engulfing the room in flames when they leave. Farryn and the dark mage’s eyes light up, a moment of clarity breaking through the psychedelic haze. Desperation fuels our efforts to extinguish the flames, and Grond leaps forward to save Carla.

Despite our combined strength, the fire proves unyielding. I take flight, assisting in pushing Carla into the extradimensional refuge, shielding her from the escalating inferno. Her body bears the scars of burns and glass shards. The Dark Mage keeps himself busy with extinguishing the flames to prevent the fire destroying the whole building of Guts and Garters. 

Once inside the protective space, I turn my attention to tending Carla’s wounds. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on me, and I find myself apologizing for the chaos that has unfolded. In gratitude for her loyalty, Farryn  reassures her that she will find refuge in Trollskull Manor and can tend the bar there if she’d like to. 

In the midst of the turmoil, a cascade of problems presents itself, each demanding urgent attention. Our disguises are lost, the acquisition of the mimic is almost due, and the safety of Carla hangs in precarious balance. The looming question of traversing Skullport adds another layer of complexity, and the enigma of Xenji’s whereabouts persists, his intentions shrouded in mystery.

Faced with these challenges, we ponder our options. Can we employ a dimension door to access the pet shop, securing both the mimic and a potential escape route for Carla? Farryn, resolved to safeguard Carla, expresses his intent to search for valuable belongings of the injured proprietor and relocate her to Trollskull Manor. In the shadows, I turn invisible, preparing to assist.

The dark mage initiates the dimension door, vanishing from sight to get the mimic from Ramses. Farryn, with determination etched on his face, begins the delicate process of gathering Carla’s possessions. 

The bar lies in disarray, the aftermath of a tumultuous event. Smoke hangs in the air, a testament to the recent chaos. Carla, resilient, sifts through the wreckage, recovering a small bag cradling salvaged trinkets.

Amid the turmoil, a concealed backdoor reveals a secret passage, a relic leading to the docks. Despite its less-than-ideal history, it becomes our path to safety. Farryn, wielding his magical abilities, shrouds Carla, Grond, and himself in invisibility. We traverse the secret passage and emerge near a well with a discreet staircase. The surroundings, though tense, lack the heightened vigilance of potential adversaries.

Navigating cautiously, we reach the gondola man. Swift payment secures our passage to safety. As we row away, the water carries us to the portals, our gateway to the base. 

Inside the base, we wait a while for the Dark Mage to return. 

The portal bell rings its distinctive chime, signaling the arrival of unexpected guests. Jaf’ar, the once-white mage turned dark servant of Shar, identifies himself, accompanied by someone else. Farryn and I instinctively position ourselves defensively, my arrow at the ready. Curiosity compels Farryn to request the dark mage’s identification of our visitors.

Jaf’ar reveals a baby mimic clutched in his hands and a peculiar individual with rosy cheeks. The mysterious visitor is a changeling, adept at assuming various forms. His true identity unfolds as he shifts into his original state. The dark mage rescued him from Rasmus’s prison, and he offers critical information about the Zhentarim. Once a member himself, he represents an opportunity to glean insights and potentially aid in getting rid of the Zhentarim in Skullport.

Baby Mimic

Concern shadows our faces as Xenji remains absent. The changeling, named Morph, suggests the possibility of retrieving Xenji from the Zhentarim’s clutches. In exchange, he seeks assistance in getting his items back from his former associates. However, his moral compass has shifted, recognizing the Zhentarim’s descent into darkness. We share a common goal: clearing our names from any association with the malevolent organization.

As the conversation unfolds, I attempt to persuade Farryn to consider Morph’s proposal. Suddenly, Morph metamorphoses into my likeness, a playful mimicry that sparks my enthusiasm. Mirroring his every move, we revel in the prospect of an entertaining alliance. Morph, well-versed in Zhentarim secrets, holds knowledge of their loot, including the well-guarded vault. Farryn, embracing the chance for a fresh start, reintroduces himself. 


With the mimic safely stowed in Daylee’s room, we decide to share a meal and further discuss our collaborative venture.

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