Dear journal.
Now that I have sobered up, it frightens me to know how powerless we can be at times. Me and the rest of the gang were having drinks at the Helm and Cloak after some Ankheg hunting in the east, when a new party arrived. They seemed nice enough, the sort of folks you could bring home to meet mother, and we began to exchange tall tales of our past adventures.
Barely had they finished their first story when another party, burly and surly this time, barged into the inn and demanded the whole lot of us to shove off. It was then that I thought I had drank one too many ales, because a ghostly whisper came out of thin air in front of me. I knew it was not just me that heard it, because Hind's face went white too, though he still swears till this day that it was just a drunken hallucination. I know what I heard though, and the voice still rings clear in my memories.
"Make me," it said, in a mischievous girly voice.
What happened next was a blur, as ale-riddled memories tend to be, but I knew that Hell had been unleashed. One of the few things that I still remember, was that there was a lot of fire. It was madness. The seemingly nice party was
tossing fireballs in an inn! I shudder to think what could have been our fates had the beams caught fire. Of course, I know now that the inn had fireproofed everything magically, even the carpets, but it is small comfort after the fact.
Then there were the screams... screams of pain, not from the nice party, whom I shall now refer to as Party N for convenience, but from the surly party, whom I shall now refer to as Party S.
"IT BURNS!", one of them cried, as a fireball exploded directly onto him. I hestitate to imagine what the feeling must be like, and I pray to Tymora that I will never get the chance to find out.
It was by this point that I realised that the Bartender was dead. Killed by one of our own. I was naturally horrified, but Nelik mumbled some excuse about the voice that spoke to him, about how it said that the Bartender was going to hurt Party N, and that he had to help them. It is only to my relief that our reputation suffered not, because frankly... all the reliable witnesses had either fled or died.
"She told me to pull the trigger!", he screamed, half in panic, half in indignation that I was questioning his motives. With all the excitment that was going on, I could only shrug my shoulders and turn the other eye. "She kept whispering into me ear! You got to believe me!" Ah joy... the drunken ramblings of a gnome.
Meanwhile, Farluck and Hind, my other two companions, had taken it upon themselves to aid Party N. This was a prudent decision, more remarkably so since it was done while under drunken stupor. A choice to live by. When choosing sides, choose the one with more firepower; which in this case, was quite literal, because as I have said, they had seem to enjoy
tossing fireballs, one after another.
Party S was losing badly. They were beginning to resemble cinderblock statues by now. Just when I thought it would be all over, their Mage managed to cast a Horror spell which successfully hit most of Party N's members. Could this be the turning tide for Party S? Nay... one of the members that the Mage fail to nail was a Druid, the least nice member of Party N. With a sigh of resignation, she casted what could only be Remove Fear as she berated a male Fighter for being such a pansy.
A Ranger from Party N then tossed a fireball, how I know not,
and accidentally incinerated Farluck partially. There was a sudden pause in time as everybody wondered how Farluck would respond to this... friendly fire.
"No sweat!", Farluck shouted, his goofy grin barely hiding his grimace of pain. Another brillant lifesaving decision! Do not aggravate thy superiors, especially if they seem fireball-trigger-happy... It seemed to spark off the Druid though, because she started scolding the Ranger and the Fighter. "Enough is enough!", she screamed, "One more fireball and I'm confiscating your potions and necklaces!"
"Aww...", was their first reply. "But Boo likes the pretty explosions," the Ranger said, to which the Druid glared at him with such intensity that if looks could kill, her's would be a Finger of Death. As for who Boo is, I have no idea, and have no intention of finding out. With no more fireballs to be tossed, the Fighter, the Ranger, and the Druid, along with their Thief and Mage,
went with blades and ammo against the last remaining two members of Party S.
It was then all over in a blink of an eye. Their Thief, chirpy as a bird, asked Farluck whether we wanted any of the loot. "Heck no! I mean... it's all yours for the taking. We have more than enough riches of our own," was his reply. With that said, he urgently signalled the rest of us to follow him out the inn.
The voice materialised again! "It's been nice knowing you," it said. Oh Tymora... if only I could convince myself that it was only imaginary! I scanned desperately around the inn, seeking the source of the voice, all for naught. As I reached the exit, I turned around one last time to see Party N, all five of them, and stepped out, only to hear that blasted voice giggle.
Just who, or what, was it?
Yours truly, madly?
Turpin.