Out of frustration with Marros, his player has elected to trade out the flaming ranger for a cleric! Marros, therefore, shall now be known as Tasha. Dramatic stinger!

DM: Last time as you recall, you spent the night with the bandits, some of you more literally than others.
Tasha: “Hiiii bandits!”
DM: As the morning dawns, Marros informs you all that he will be staying with these bandits to live a life of merriness, and debauchery, and you know… flamingness.
Normilan: I clap a hand on Sandwich and say, “Welcome aboard.”
DM: Sanward!
Cruroar: Sandwich, let’s go.

The bandits cheerfully award the PCs their level-appropriate treasure, and they get enough XP to level up!

Cruroar: I wish we had kept actually calling him in-game like different sand – “Hey Sandbar, where we going now? Sandwich!”
DM: Sanward tells you that having accomplished what he set out to do—
Normilan: Cinnabar!
DM: He will be returning to the outpost.
Cruroar: “Timeward, where are we going?”
DM: You guys are jackasses.

The players distribute their loot and items, while the transcriber enjoys the one rest he’s going to get this entire game report. The group heads out of the bandit camp at last, now down by one. The DM turns to Tasha.

DM: Tasha, the lumber outpost that you recently visited from the north told you a terrible story of people who were robbed from, in the depths of the woods and went in to recover their missing gold. A fearsome half-orc led them, vowing death and destruction to all who stood in his way—
Brunt: The fuck you say?!
DM: This is just what they told them—
Brunt: Who’s ‘they’?!
DM: The logging outpost dudes, the ones you terrified by raging, begging you not to kill them randomly.
Brunt: And did I?! Did I kill one person?
DM: They’re convinced that you only spared them because of their pleading.

Tasha’s god gives her unsubtle signs that she should find this group. Tasha screams like a Southern preacher.

DM: “Man, Marros, everybody hated him right off the bat. But this new character, who I’m making just as annoying as Marros but in different ways, will do fine!”
Tasha: “Tasha has always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

Cruroar wanders off on a tangent about how he’s unable to sit at his computer without headphones on, after too much WoW raiding. The DM shakes his head.

DM: Terrible. Terrible and pathetic, dude. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Tasha: Me?
DM: No. You should, but not for reasons we’re discussing at the present time.
Tasha: Oh that’s just cold, man.

The group promptly runs into Tasha on the road – who is disguised as a little old lady for some reason. The group starts rolling to penetrate the disguise.

Brunt: “Make way, old woman.”
Tasha: “Excuse me?”
Brunt: “You heard me… crone.” (giggling) “Be off… hag!” I’m channeling Wilt Chamberlain right now!

The game dissolves into a furious argument over the accuracy of the transcriber’s aim when lobbing dice at other players. Brunt attempts to… not exactly mediate, but just get them to drop it.

Brunt: Stop. This just going to end up making up look even worse in the transcription. “The players now commence to gang up on the poor transcriber, unfairly and cruelly, over his tossing of dice.”

Players are dicks. Tasha scolds Brunt for his lack of courtesy.

Tasha: “I will not move for the likes of you, you Neanderthal.”
Cruroar: “Then we will step around you. For we have been pushed off our task many a time and we need to move.”
Tasha: “And what exactly is that task?”
Brunt: Robbing old women.

Tasha tries to get a ride from the group, instantly sparking suspicion in them. Cruroar cheerfully banishes her to a 20-foot distance because of their earlier encounter with the lying bandits.

Cruroar: “We’ve been lied to before, and it seems that you are…”
Brunt: Also a liar.
Normilan: This is funny, too, because she kind of is!

The group starts rolling to see through Tasha’s disguise. Normilan rolls a natural 20. Cruroar rolls a natural 1.

Cruroar: I’m too distracted in mistrusting her to even notice her…

Tasha’s rolls abruptly get poorer as she removes the disguise kit from her calculations… since it’s still in the hands of the PCs. Brunt rolls a 23, but it turns out Tasha’s roll is still 23, leaving everyone but Brunt swayed.

DM: You’re still not sure whether that’s makeup or just a really bad skin condition.
Brunt: “She doesn’t have old female human smell about her…”
Cruroar: Look, we were lied to by the pretty young woman and the pretty man. Right now I’m not trusting the old lady, there’s no telling…
DM: But yet you’re absolutely convinced she’s an old lady.
Cruroar: I never said I wasn’t, I’m just convinced I don’t trust her. The older they are, the more tricksy they are. That’s what my father told me in his book.
Normilan: As you go up in age categories, Wisdom goes up!
DM: That’s why your senses get better as you age.

Cruroar tries to lead the group on to Grand Mill, so points to him for actually trying to keep the adventure going! Brunt has other ideas.

Brunt: I’m gonna produce my warhammer—
Cruroar: (laughing) Just attack the old lady!
Brunt: No! Give me a chance – this is not Wes, this is not Wes version 2.0.
Cruroar: I love Wes. He has 2 functions: wait, and attack whoever it is.
Brunt: His option window is “Fight, Item, Table”. But no, I’m gonna take the warhammer, not hold it by the haft but hold it by the top. “Catch, old woman.” Throw it, like, right at her.
DM: (blithe) The half-orc hurls a warhammer at you.
Brunt: I’m not hurling it! I’m just tossing it.

Obviously, this leads to some questions as how to adjudicate this. The DM allows Tasha a Bluff check to play off her catch as feeble, and the others throw down their Sense Motives to oppose it. Only Eilnys passes.

Cruroar: She’s over there going, “I don’t think she’s that old,” I’m like, “I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care! I still don’t trust her!”
Tasha: “I think you didn’t mean to drop this. I think you should have this back!” (feigning a struggle to lift the hammer)
Brunt: That’s what I’m looking for!
DM: Performance!
Brunt: “I’m so sorry, my hand must have slipped.”
Normilan: After you said, “Here, catch.”
Brunt: I’m trying to get this past the point where we can dump this and actually have her in the group. That’s what I’m trying to do.
Tasha: I’m trying to learn what kind of people you all are. Apparently you’re all evil.
Brunt: Instead of just saying, “I don’t care,” and around ten o’clock we actually get Tasha with us instead of following us, and the DM laughing himself till he’s purple in the face.
Tasha: My god told me to meet up with you, so here I am trying to see how you treat a helpless little old woman in the middle of a forest, and what do I get? I GET MISTRUST! I GET WARHAMMERS THROWN AT ME? WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? This is a good group?! I don’t think so!
Cruroar: Hey, you saw what happened last time, right? I’m playing my character. His patience is worn out.
Brunt: That’s not your character, that’s YOU!

Normilan swiftly makes apologies for his friends. Tasha reveals herself as not an old lady, and explains her dreams had led her to them.

Cruroar: Did we have clerics in our town? Or religious people?
DM: (a notch towards hysteria) Yes! You had a cleric! He spread his seed, remember?
Brunt: I remember that now!

Tasha and Cruroar start bafflingly squabbling over who could score with who between the two of them and who would need cleric magic afterwards.

Normilan: In this world herpes is probably magical. It’s in the same tier as mummy rot, it can’t be cured easily.
DM: The Charisma Rot is spreading!
Cruroar: I haven’t been hitting on anyone yet! I talked to the ONE warlock chick.
DM: No, the hot girl back in Spindlethrift was hitting on YOU.
Cruroar: Oh that’s right. I didn’t sleep with any of them!

The group cheerfully argues a bit more, while Tasha bemoans not having the disguise kit for some reason.

Cruroar: You can put it on your sheet, ‘cuz you have it. You WILL eventually be joining our group.
DM: Somehow.
Brunt: Maybe sometime around June.

The DM has been laughing ominously for some time now. The group finally takes note of this and begins to dread whatever is coming. On through the forest they head; the DM promptly asks their marching order.

Brunt: I’m first, so I can take the crit from that 20 you rolled 2 hours ago…

They travel on through the muddy forest but night begins to fall before they can reach the edge. The DM calls for Spot checks for all; success reveals a decent clearing that would allow them to camp.

DM: (with increasing bemused resignation) And as the darkness falls completely, and you’re all unable to see further than your circle of flames, you all hear a crashing through the undergrowth, and a moment later a figure steps into the circle of your flames. It appears to be an old wizened woman.
Normilan and Tasha: (bursting into laughter)
Brunt: We fell for that once already! Attack!
Normilan: “Friend of yours?”
Tasha: Cruroar is vigorously rolling, he’s like, “SENSE MOTIVE GODDAMMIT!”
Normilan: “What is this, the forest of old women?”
DM: (bitter laughter)

The old woman asks to share their fire tonight; maliciously, the group puts Cruroar into the role of spokesman, because he has the highest Charisma! The group attempts to get out of giving succor to the old woman, but ultimately are unable to justify it --

Tasha: Intimidate. “FLEEEEE!”
Brunt: Yes, let’s have her take the first watch while we’re at it.
Normilan: I don’t think she can SEE.
Brunt: She could roll a 20.
Cruroar: “Do you have a blanket, or some kind of roll?”
DM: “Oh, nooo.”
Cruroar: “What are you doing this far out anyways?”
DM: “I’m traveling through the woods?”
Brunt: (laughing himself silly)
Cruroar: (slapping the table angrily) This is a trap! This is a trap!
Tasha: It’s a mimic!
Brunt: (referencing the DM’s choice of voice) What do you mean? Just because the Eggplant Wizard wants to share our fire?
Tasha: How come you’re being nice and kind to THIS old woman, but when I was old…

Cruroar drags off half the party to furiously insist that someone watch the old woman the entire night, while said old woman sits by the fire. Cruroar begins rolling every check he can think of. The old woman offers to repay their kindness with a story. Brunt bitterly insists they will be charmed, while Tasha attempts to climb away.

Brunt: I’ll toss her my warhammer. “Here, old woman, take a watch!”
Cruroar: I sit back down. They know now we’re keeping watch, keeping our wills up… got my pre-rolled Will save ready to go… and Fort save… and Reflex save…
DM: “Come, such a story I have to tell to you all.”
Cruroar: “The story of Barack and the Castle of Ladies.”
Normilan: It’s gonna be NOTHING but flavor, and we’re gonna be like, ‘god damn it’…
Tasha: I’m gonna ask, “So why you in the woods tonight?”
DM: “Oh, I’m traveling up north.”
Tasha: “Where ya from?”
DM: “I’m from the South.”
Cruroar: It makes sense!
Tasha: “What city in the south?”
DM: “Tataria.”
Tasha: “They still have that fool in charge, King… Yorkshire?”
DM: “…muh?”
Cruroar: King Yorkshire Peppermint Patty…
Normilan: “I prefer to stand.”
DM: “You’ll want to hear this very well…”
Normilan: “I can hear you from here.”
DM: “Come!”
Brunt: “Come, sit inside my safety circle!”
Normilan: You can wave all night, lady.

The old lady continues to guilt and harass Normilan for a while, but everyone else comes to join her at the fire.

DM: “Well now, a long time ago, and this was in a faraway place, there was an incredible castle, and this was made of tall crystalline spires—“
Tasha: “Castle in the clouds?”
DM: “Oh no, no, it was on the ground, but on the top of that castle was a fair princess.”
Normilan: “Good story.”
DM: “Don’t you want to know her name?”
Brunt: Oh, this is an interactive story.
Normilan: Choose-Your-Own-Adventure!
DM: “Her name was Princess Sara, and she was the most beautiful of all princesses in the world. As she grew up there, never seeing the outALONE ONE WILL STAND, BLADE IN HAND, STAFF IN HAND, WEAPONS BARED, ARMOR SHINING, SPELLS AT HAND, THAT WHICH RISES MUST FALL LEST ITS RISE BRING RUIN, LIGHT AND LIFE FADE BEFORE DEATH REINS, THE ONE MUST SUCCEED and they lived happily ever after.”
Brunt: What cannot be heard, cannot be felt…

ruroar attempts to escape while Brunt continues to babble riddles. Tasha alone of them seems interested in the old woman flipping out mid-story. She rolls Knowledge(religion) to discover that the God of Prophecy once spoke through his priests, but has fallen mysteriously quiet in recent times. The old woman has no signs of being a priestess, but hey, what else could it be?

Cruroar: What did she say?
DM: Don’t you wish you had listened a little better instead of being like… (recoiling and plugging his ears)
Cruroar: I was just scared by your sudden voice.
DM: Suuuuure.
Cruroar: Look, it’s very hard to trust you, DM…
DM: (laughing) To increase the immersion of the roleplay, I’m going to leap over and stab you. “THIS IS WHAT A CRIT FEELS LIKE!”
Cruroar: What was the basics, because it seemed kind of out of place in the story…

The DM repeats the prophecy for them; they try to interrogate her, but without much luck.

Brunt: When we wake up, she’ll be gone. I mean, “Come old woman, take your rest.”
DM: “Oh, I think I shall.” She curls up by the fire, not even bothering to don a blanket.

The group debates this and rolls a couple skill checks for a while, but can’t make heads or tails out of it. They start settling in for the night.

Brunt: I’m taking the first watch.
Cruroar: I’m taking the first watch, because I’m still busy thinking of this—
Brunt: I’M taking the first watch, ‘cuz nothing ever happens on the first watch. That way I’ll fail to spot her disappear in the night.
DM: Okay, first watch, roll a Will save…

Brunt falls asleep! The old woman is gone, which the DM lampshades, but by the fire are words scribbled in the dirt! The DM passes them a handout featuring the stick-scrawled words!

Normilan: Oh look! The DM’s regular handwriting!
DM: Minus experience, you dickbag.
Brunt: “Alone… one… will… slant?”

The group struggles through the text… some more seriously than others.

Cruroar: “Blade and flamethrower in hand, Hitler will rise again—“
Tasha: “Babies will die in the sand!” What?
Normilan: “Dogs and cats living together—“
Brunt: “One day, an Autobot shall rise among us and use the power of the Matrix—“
DM: Give me that back. You guys get no prophecy.

The players read this a couple of times, until the DM points out directly that the words are not the same as the one she told them out loud.

Cruroar: Damn! The DM’s got elaborate stuff…
DM: Cruroar’s like, “Fuck, I should have actually paid attention to this stuff! It was actually something!”

After a little more discussion, the group returns to their sleep.

DM: You rest the rest of the night, undisturbed by weasels. There was a honey badger, but honey badger don’t care.
Normilan: “Can’t get enough of that Golden Crisp…”
DM: A toucan demands you follow your nose. What do you do?
Normilan: I have a Wisdom of fucking 7, of course I follow that shit.
DM: Let’s just say he eats your Froot Loops and leave it at that.
Normilan: Agh, and I STILL can’t see why children love Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

On they head! They emerge from the forest and see the city of Grand Mill on the river, with the grand mill that is its namesake most prominent.

Cruroar: Part of me had the feeling that we’d see burning buildings and it crashing down…
Brunt: And the word will spread across the land, oh the fierce, cruel orc and his party must have burned the city down.
DM: Yeah, you know who spread that rumor? Sanward.

The PCs approach the guards and ask if it’s possible to see the bailiff. The guards are friendly and polite. The PCs, on the other hand…

Normilan: “Is he in town at least?”
DM: “Of course, yes.”
Brunt: “Where might we seek him, Captain?”
DM: “Why, he’s at the mill.”
Brunt: “The Grand Mill.”
Normilan: “The grand one?”
Brunt: Well there might be another one.
Normilan: “Do you guys only have one mill?”
Brunt: “What a podunk backwater this is!”
DM: You are run out of town.

Cruroar and his high Charisma swiftly run interference. They get into the town, the other guard watching them carefully but not interfering.

Tasha: I’m back into my disguise as an old woman.
DM: Right there, in front of the guard, you begin applying makeup.
Tasha: Fine…
Brunt: “Thank you, Captain, we’ll be on our way.” I always call typical guardsmen ‘Captain’ just to grease the wheels.
DM: He gives you a little strange look but lets it pass as you move on.
Cruroar: “They don’t use those ranks any more. They use ranks like ‘Grand Moff’ and ‘Super Admiral’.”

Into the market district they step, weaving amongst flavor text, with several guards apparently lingering around the area off-duty. They debate their next course of action; Cruroar demands they turn in the money before it gets stolen.

Brunt: There’s no such thing as flavor text with him. If he’s telling us about these guards in the market, it’s for a reason, and then he’ll laugh at us later for ignoring it.
Normilan: “You foolish fool!”
DM: The sun rises this morning. A cloud drifts across it. IT WAS A CLOUD CASTLE YOU GUYS NEVER SAW IT COMING! You’re heading to the bailiff’s office. All of you?
Normilan: No. We’re heading to the MILL, because that’s where he’s AT.
DM: Same thing.
Normilan: Really, his office is in the mill? This guy’s an idiot!
Brunt: Well, it’s the source of all the town’s money, so of course it’s important.
Normilan: I don’t think it mills money!
Cruroar: That was an awesome mill!
DM: They have Rumpelstiltskin working there. Grain goes in, coins come out. No one can guess his name, so he owns every firstborn in the town, but it’s still a sweet setup.

Into the mill they head, meeting with his assistant. As the assistant steps out of the room to speak with the bailiff, the party begins furiously second-guessing themselves and wishing they had clubbed guards over the head and stolen their armor as disguises. …yeah, this group may have been playing D&D a bit too long. The assistant asks them to return in the afternoon for the appointment, sans armor and weapons. Amazingly, they agree to this. Eilnys wants to go down and chat with the soldiers they saw earlier while they wait.

Tasha: Can Tasha join you? She has a plan to knock out a guard, take their costume, put out their outfit, disguise herself as a guard, and try and gather as much information as possible.
Brunt: You’re actually going to do it?
Cruroar: Hello, New Iglar. Welcome to the game!
Tasha: I don’t understand why everyone has a problem with this!
Brunt: Because the guard will eventually wake up!
Cruroar: This isn’t Metal Gear Solid!

The others arrange for the inn, while the two ladies head for the merchant district. The DM describes two different types of soldiers – city guards and actual plate-armored soldiers. The other players come down HARD on Tasha for her guard-clonking plan. Minor roleplaying ensues as Eilnys gets the hard sell from a pastry vendor. It immediately degenerates into the group spouting memes at each other. Tasha starts serving guards drinks to question them, and discovers that they’re waiting for lord to get out of jail.

Tasha: “What happened?”
Cruroar: (abruptly) Oh god, shit, DM, fuck you!
Brunt: “That’s what happened.”
Tasha: Should I be rolling black-haired green-eyed big-boobied Charisma?

Their lord is Sir Krostun, who serves the king himself, but has been jailed for a crime he didn’t commit (according to the troops). More to the point, the man who works for Baron Sixt directly brought the accusations against him!]

Cruroar: You’ve RPed enough, did you roll your ‘sense information’ at all?
Brunt: I’m going to Gather Motive while I’m at the market…

No one seems to believe Sir Krostun is guilty. They continue to shake the rumor mill, coming up with bandits, orcs, dragons, but nothing of interest. The group heads to the mill, armor and weapons behind.

DM: Behind the desk sits a middle-aged man you can easily assume the bailiff. Standing behind and to one side is a man whose countenance is familiar. You last saw him in an image conjured by your master over a coin.
Normilan: The guy who was dealing with the kobolds.
DM: Yes.
Cruroar: Is the title ‘lord’ enough for both of them?
DM: It shouldn’t be used for either of them. The bailiff is just a representative. ‘Bailiff’ is his title. This guy, you have no idea who he is.
Cruroar: “Bailiff Boroughs, I greet you warmly with good tidings.”
DM: “I’m told you come to me on a matter of some confidence. Please… come in. Shut the door.”
Normilan: “If we could speak to you alone, sir.”
DM: “I assure you, Master Stern has my trust. He is a representative of the baron I serve. He’d consider it more suspicious if I sent him out! He’s here to assure that all is handled according to the baron’s wishes.”

Cruroar claims that they found the gold and insignia on a destroyed caravan, and that they came to return it. The bailiff frowns, though the man called Stern notes that the kobolds did waylay a tax man.

DM: The bailiff looks at him and the man sort of nods. The bailiff looks to you and says, “Well. Since you went to so much trouble to recover it and return it like good citizens, I think it only right that you be allowed to keep this money.”
Cruroar: “Ah. You’re – too generous, lord.”
DM: “Why think of it this way. What cruelty would the baron seem to have if he took it from you and gave nothing in return? The baron cares about his men and the people who he serves as the duly elected noble, brought to his power by the gods themselves and given the divine right to rule. Of course, you too many benefit from the generosity and wisdom that comes from him! I ask only that you use some of your newfound riches to drink a toast to the baron on this night, and wish his good health.”
Cruroar: “We will!”
Brunt: I’m not writing that down.
Cruroar: We don’t need to, it’s just 180 per person.
Brunt: He doesn’t just give us money like that. We’re gonna be branded the thieves. We should donate all the money somewhere…

At the apparent behest of the other man, the bailiff requests their services to eliminate some ‘creatures’ from the east. Sensing the next adventure hook and the promise of a reward, they agree!

Tasha: “I have a side-question, unrelated. We were in town, I was at the merchants’ square, and I overheard guards muttering about Lord… Crustracean, Crustius, Krust…”
Brunt: “Krostun.”
Normilan: “Crust-load bread…”
Brunt: It’s Sanward all over again!
Tasha: “They were upset and muttering, and I was just curious…”
DM: The bailiff begins to speak, but the man lays his hand on his shoulder. All of you give me a Spot check.

Mostly terrible rolling ensues; only a couple notice him glancing at Eilnys before he speaks.

DM: “It would not be polite or proper to speak of this in present company.” The bailiff simply nods.

Obviously, this is suspicious, and the group discusses the ramifications of this as they head out. Eilnys suspects that Krostun’s men are armored by her father, but observation proves this wrong. Cruroar finds his way towards the local wizard, in search of research materials!

DM: Ostentatiously the door opens with no apparent person making it open!
Brunt: Wasting a zero-level spell…
Tasha: 16 on my Spellcraft!
DM: It was probably Unseen Servant.
Normilan: I rolled a 26, I KNOW it is.
DM: You hear a voice from down the hallway. “Come in, come in!”
Brunt: “Nobody gets in to see the wizard, not nobody, not nohow!”
DM: “…Come in!”
Cruroar: “Ah yes, lord, where are you lord?”
DM: “Come into my study, I always welcome visitors.” You step into his study. In the chair is an immensely rotund man. His belt strains at his waist, his robes drape over his form, he looks sort of like a pig in a sack. The chair he is sitting in, he is practically overflowing on each side. He raises a teacup to you as you enter. “Forgive me for not getting up.”
Cruroar: “No problem, sir. My name is Cruroar.”
Normilan: “And I am Normilan, sir.”
DM: “I have a gift for the spell. Easy enough. Ah, Normilan, I’ve heard of you.”
Normilan: “…what?”
DM: “Why, the words of your master run far and wide. Everybody has heard of him! We were all most shocked to hear he’d taken on an apprentice. Come, sit down! Tell me, how is he doing?”
Normilan: The unseen servants push me forward. “Waaaah!”
DM: He gestures to a chair next to him. A servant, unseen, brings forth a bottle of wine.
Normilan: “Well I know my master is known, but I didn’t know my name has gotten out.”
DM: “He’s hidden his own fame from you?! Magnificent! My word. I wonder whatever could he be thinking? None of us quite understand what he was doing, when he retired from his position and vanished out into the wilderness. Why, I only came here because I heard it was so close to him. I thought he might be willing to teach a thing or two, but he turned me away. Still, still, to have his apprentice here, why that’s practically as good as having him here. Tell me, what has the dear old fellow been up to since all that time ago?”
Normilan: “Relaxing in the countryside, teaching me magic.”
DM: “Relaxing, I didn’t know it was possible.”
Normilan: “It’s the country air, it does it to him.”
DM: “Really. Now why did he take on you, my dear fellow?”
Normilan: “I just have a knack for it and he saw it.”
DM: “A knack you say. No one else?”
Normilan: “I’m the only one he took on…”
DM: “And what has he been teaching you?”
Normilan: “He says I have a good talent for transmutation.”
DM: “I would love a demonstration.”
Normilan: What do I have…
DM: FIREBALL! “What the?!”
Eilnys: Roast pig!
DM: The rest of you are completely forgotten as he focuses his attention on your mage friend.
Brunt: “You said you were good at transmutation, yet you’ve conjured us bacon!”
Normilan: “Look, conjuration’s good too.” I’ll cast Fists of Stone.

The others start nosing around the study, while the mage continues to query Normilan while rejoicing in his own comfort. The mage is very interested in what Normilan is being trained to do, and is shocked to hear that his master has given him no direction beyond teachings. He all but begs Normilan to ask why his master retired!

DM: “We would be in your debt, in your gratitude, if you were to tell us, if you would give us some sign, why he retired. It could mean ANYTHING for the Fraternity of Mages of which you and I are a part!”
Normilan: “I am a part?”
DM: “You are his apprentice, that makes you as good as one of us. You may not be in any formal capacity, but – well, why shouldn’t you be in a formal capacity?”
Normilan: “I… have no idea—“
DM: “Do you wish to join the solemn Fraternity of Mages, as your mentor before you did?”
Normilan: “Possibly, I would have to ask him.”
DM: “Well, if he does not sponsor – of course, I defer to his judgment, but if he has not given you any guidance, has not said yea or nay on the matter, if he chooses not to sponsor you I would be most happy to do it, my dear boy!”
Normilan: “I appreciate the offer, but he is my master, and because he has retired from the business, I would feel more comfortable talking to him first.”
DM: “Of course! Certainly talk to him first! He has first rights—“
Cruroar: Are you sure you wanna be the apprentice of Jabba the Hutt?
Bront: Dude, Dumbledore would TOTALLY want you to take up under Slughorn?
Cruroar: Is he the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?

The conversation dances around for a bit, with Normilan deferring and the mage trying to get any information on his master, but Normilan finally turns it around to get them some maps and information. Normilan plots to dick him over somehow.

DM: He’s been nothing but courteous to you!
Normilan: I know, I know!
DM: You guys just have such a slavering hatred—
Normilan: It was out of character!
DM: A slavering hatred, out of character, for every NPC!
Normilan: And the DM BRISTLES!
Cruroar: I don’t hate this guy, he’s great in-character, you always have these guys we may never see, but we actually went to see him.
Normilan: I made an offhand joke out of character, now I’m like Enemy #1 to all mages.
DM: I like that you keep making jokes about his weight to him. In-character.
Normilan: I’ve been polite!
DM: “You fat fuck. You fat asshole. You bloated balloon.”
Brunt: I’m gonna toss my warhammer at him, see if he can catch it.

They look over the map, considering what might be to the east – foul creatures, goblin armies, hydras, and so forth. Tasha tells him Sir Krostun is imprisoned here, and the mage is shocked!

DM: “Why, he’s one of the king’s most valued knights! He’s one of the holiest of knights as well! A saint of virtue and good will, I can’t imagine what on earth he would be doing in prison.”
Tasha: “How would the king react if he was accused of theft?”
DM: “Why he’d be shocked, of course. He has the king’s utmost confidence!”

Cruroar looks up information on prophecies to attempt to correlate the two, though he doesn’t come up with terribly much concrete, just some background information on prophecies and the god thereof in general. They finally repeat the spoken prophecy to the mage! He advises them that the Duke holds on to a priest of prophecy, and that would be the person to speak to… rambling on about the Duke’s castle being converted to a palace. A recurring theme is that this NPC really likes to speak. It also turns out Sir Krostun is a dwarf, to everyone’s surprise. Abruptly, a new visitor comes to the house!
DM: You hear the door open. As you all cluster around the table, a guardsman, who is now dressed in a breastplate, steps in.
Cruroar: “Your bacon delivery has arrived!”
DM: “We protected it with our lives. Five were lost, but we’ve delivered it safely to you.” (resuming the actual RP) “Well Captain, what can I do for you this day?” “I’m afraid my business here is with the people you harbor in this house, and not you.”
Normilan: We’re getting framed for something, guys!
Tasha: Wait, wait, it’s a two-level house, there might be people upstairs. It might not be us.
DM: He turns to address you. “Gentlemen and ladies, I’m afraid I must arrest you in the name of the baron.”
Normilan: “On what charges?!”
DM: “Theft, bribery, extortion—“
Brunt: “Tooooooold yooooou!”

Tasha immediately proposes they fight their way out – except they never picked up their weapons and armor from the inn. They are completely unarmed and unarmored except for Tasha’s short sword. Cruroar demands the paperwork, going all police-procedure on the captain. They argue angrily, Cruroar claiming they need all the evidence to arrest them and the captain trying to explain that isn’t how it works.

Tasha: I’d like to roll a Bluff and Disguise that I’m not actually with them, and that I’m actually here to help the wizard dude. Fat guy in a chair, can’t clean himself, so I have to wash him with a rag on a stick—
Cruroar: A 32 on my Intimidate.
DM: All right. He hurriedly backs out of the room as you stare him down!
Tasha: “Great wizard, do you have the ability to teleport us away from here?”
DM: “No of course I can’t do such a thing! What do I look like, an archmage?! Good heavens, this is going to be my ruin if I’m found as an accomplice to you! What have you DONE?!”
Eilnys: “Been set up, my lord.”
Cruroar: “We talked to the bailiff, and then we came here.”
DM: “Well surely he wouldn’t have you arrested without cause.”
Normilan: “No. Stern would.”

They attempt to bolt for the door, but the guardsmen outside have taken up positions outside to oppose them. They furiously plan to cast spells that don’t actually do what they think they do.

Cruroar: I’m not letting the DM get away with this! He’s been trying to get us in jail since Barack’s campaign and he’s never done it!
DM: Look, you’ve infected them, Brunt.
Brunt: I’m just gonna walk myself to prison so you can get it out of your system.

The players fondly reminisce over Tyrgol being put on trial. Normilan mentions that his master’s spell revealed Stern’s associating with the kobolds, which promptly changes his tune. Eilnys proposes that she run for the river, while Normilan asks the wizard for help.

DM: Roll me a Diplomacy check.
Normilan: Natural 20.
DM: Jesus Christ, at the best possible time. He gives you a long hard look, then lumber his way out of a chair like a mountain moving. “Stand aside, stand aside.” He beckons you all to get out of his way as momentum seems intent on carrying him to the hall and the door beyond.
Cruroar: “Body fireball,” and he rolls into a ball down the hill.
Tasha: We can hear his skin peeling off the seat.
DM: He bursts out of the door, almost literally. Steps out and spreads his hands wide. “STOP!”
Normilan: They’re probably just shocked that he actually got out of his chair.
DM: In a booming voice, he continues. “YOUR ACCUSATIONS HAVE BEEN HEARD! BUT MAGICAL POWERS TAKE PRECEDENCE! THESE FELLOWS ARE HEREBY IMPRISONED BY ME! IN MY HOUSE! IN THE NAME OF THE FRATERNITY OF MAGES!”
Cruroar: I thought he was gonna have a heart attack. Halfway through he was gonna die. Now we have charges of murder against us. I’m just standing there like, “Fuck, can we use his body for something?”
Tasha: Warmth, at least for a little while.
DM: You all hide inside his corpse, and they can’t find you.
Cruroar: They’re like, “Where did he go?”
DM: No, they go in after you, they just can’t find you.
Cruroar: We get out first and we kick his body down the stairs.
DM: The captain steps forward. “But – but Mage, we have our orders—“ “You have your orders, but I do not pull rank with you often and you know when I do it’s of the utmost import, boy!” He stops to consider this. “The bailiff will not be pleased—“ “The bailiff needs me! He can be displeased all he wants, but he knows where he stands compared to me!”
Cruroar: Good work! I don’t know how you managed to pull that off.
DM: With a natural 20 and a persuasive argument. He dropped a name and rolled a die. The captain seems to be at a loss for words. He looks to you and then back to the mage. “You have responsibility for them, then. If anything happens, if they escape, on your own head it be!”

The wizard beseeches them to free Sir Krostun, bringing them joy and delight as they ponder knocking out guards for their uniforms. He also finally gets a name, Borad. Helpfully, he sketches out the first floor of the mill. The group settles in to discuss plans – some of them less likely than others, such as springing Sir Krostun to join the bandits. They attempt to use the power of the spider. But there’s no time this night to put any of them into effect, so the game closes with the promise of excitement next time!