The game starts on something terrible but indescribable, with Normilan and Eilnys bleeding on the ground while guards surround the would-be assassin.

Normilan: I lay on the ground. “Oh yeah! Explosive Runes!”
Cruroar: I think you’re more like this. ‘Oh—‘ pow pow! ‘…Explosive Runes.’
DM: The Prince, or perhaps the King if this message is to be believed, stands with his brows furrowed, and a frown upon his face.
Normilan: Caring not that Normilan just sacrificed himself.
DM: You survived.
Normilan: He doesn’t know that yet!
DM: You just pointed your hand up and said, “Oh!”
Normilan: You were taking that in-character? All right, fantastic.
DM: ‘Oh, rigor mortis sure takes a fascinating process in these half-elves.’
Cruroar: Did you refer to the Prince as the King?
DM: Yes, he might be the king if this messenger’s words are true.
Cruroar: We’re not 100% sure. Did you just give storyline elements away? I think he just gave story elements away.
DM: I said he perhaps might be the king.
Cruroar: After you already called him the king. Can’t be doing that ahead of times, narrator in the sky! You just gave plot away!
DM: The transcription will vindicate me.
Cruroar: You said the king! I heard you!
DM: I said he MIGHT be the king!
Cruroar: After you already called him the king.
DM: The transcription will vindicate me.

The transcription validates the DM. They turn back to the prince/king, who darkly notes that now they must fight a war on two fronts, and they must somehow stop the Seven Clans Under One Star. Normilan gags and coughs till Tasha finally sends Quirion to help her.DM: “I’ll heal you, just as soon as Lady Tasha looks up and tells me which spell I’m using!”
Tasha: “Use whatever you feel is necessary.”
DM: “All right! I’ll just cast the spell………. That is…… I have prepared it…. And I am casting it…. To heal Normilan…..”
Tasha: Hold on. Cure Moderate Wounds.

The DM faux-cheerfully forces Tasha to roll for her minion; Normilan proposes that he take the Leadership feat and just steal Quirion away.

DM: You get Beerion, the dwarven Quirion. His Constitution is 6.

The Prince plans to return to the capital immediately, and naturally the PCs propose to accompany him. Cruroar’s butler rallies the castle into a frenzy of efficiency to get the Prince in his saddle in next to no time.

DM: None here are willing to give anything less than the best to their prince. (a pause) ‘Cept possibly y’all.
Normilan: What are you talking about? I just took a spell up the ass for him.
DM: I’m pretty sure that was less than your best.
Normilan: Shaddup, you….
Cruroar: Yeah, definitely just let the prince grab the letter from the dude.

Normilan complains he ‘didn’t roll high enough’, leading to the DM and Normilan jabbing at each other and the DM ruling he descends back into depression and hangs himself from a gibbet. Cruroar vows to find out more about his parents, then quits the game as the DM shoves things in his mouth. (The DM’s own mouth, not Cruroar.) They distribute instructions to the castle NPCs, being reasonably competent about it all. The Prince approaches Brunt as he is giving the orders.

DM: “Sir Brunt, a word with you if I may.”
Brunt: I forgot I was a ‘sir’.
DM: The prince never has.
Cruroar: You were knighted?
Brunt: I forgot. That’s why I need a quest log. “Of course, Your Highness.” Does he indicate he wishes to go elsewhere?
DM: This seems to be suitable, though he’s dropped his voice. Out here in the courtyard, any eavesdroppers are obvious. In an enclosed room, the wall may have ears.
Brunt: Magic-users?
DM: “If you had the opportunity to end the threat of an entire nation by assassinating one man, would you?”
Tasha: ‘No, killing is wrong!’
Normilan: You’re not there!
DM: Your god smites you for hypocrisy.
Brunt: “A decision I do not wish to make, but if the person making the decision is one in whom I placed my faith, I would carry it out.”
DM: “I’d hoped for a little more than a weasel answer…”
Brunt: Weasel? Weasel?! That was honesty – he said WEASEL?!
DM: “Suppose you were the one who had that decision to make. To put it another away, imagine you were behind enemy lines and had the opportunity to crush the skull of the Great Star himself, for that is what they call the leader of the Seven Clans, were to present itself. The Seven Clans Under One Star are named so because only the Great Star can lead all seven clans. One of the reasons they are so rarely a threat to us is because of the power inherent in that position. Should the Great Star expire with no heir to pass on the power to, a great time of turmoil comes upon them as each of the stars of the clans compete for the position. This latest episode took 50 years for power to consolidate, between their backbiting, their assassinations, their spirit quests, whatsoever they have going on over there. Our intelligence is poor at best. So imagine a position where you were behind enemy lines and had the opportunity to kill that man. With no orders to do so but no orders not to.”
Brunt: “Highness, that is significant more context than the initial question.”
DM: “I was hoping for a more immediate and straightforward answer, though perhaps I was being naïve.”

Cruroar wishes he was there to be a jerk. Brunt admits to little hesitation save for when an innocent is involved, even as the prince despises the idea of an assassination. He says they will speak later.

Brunt: I don’t think you understand what position you just put me in.
DM: Or DO I?
Eilnys: Isn’t he Lawful Good, though?
Brunt: He’s Lawful Good now, he didn’t start Lawful Good.
DM: Getting sucked into the bureaucracy and finding a place who respects and cherishes Brunt has done a number on him.
Brunt: Also you put me in a position where a character from Berserk was put in the exact same position, and the answer I gave you was the answer he gave. Well, it was Brunt’s answer, not that character’s answer, but the response amounted to the same thing. The point being, he doesn’t like killing regardless of the context, but yeah. Killing that person would mean a lot less people had to die. Unless the ruler of the Seven Clans Under One Star is a mermaid. Then it would be mermaider. Which is unconscionable.

Normilan is repeatedly misnamed as Normilon, Norm L. On, and John Luck Pickerd. They assemble, as Tasha finally decides that Bimmy gets the second-level promotion from Tasha gaining a level. They set out!

DM: The prince whips his mount, urges into action, and the horse spurs forward. Trumpet sounds go out.
Normilan: From Lady Tasha’s ass.
DM: Killing the poor horse beneath her.

The travel is not terribly eventful, at least this first day, and they make camp with the night – even with the prince sitting with them as an equal, still scowling.

Brunt: “Highness, the journey will be long to be alone with your thoughts.”
Cruroar: “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
DM: “How well do you all know the Seven Clans Under One Star?”
Normilan: Ooh. Knowledge(local). (a pause) …(history)! 28!
DM: The Seven Clans Under One Star…
Cruroar: I feel like we’ve run into them before.
Normilan: I know the name!
DM: Have been a thorn in the side of the Kingdom of Urm-Vessing since before it was the Kingdom of Urm-Vessing. The Seven Clans are in fact… you would compare them to nomads, or perhaps marauders. A horde. They tend to focus on conquest rather than building settlements. There are a few within them, but they usually roam the great plains to the west. A proud people who value horsemanship and follow no known gods, but a strange shamanic system. They claim to gain power from the sky more than anything. The clouds, the stars, and the sun all play prominent roles in their heritage. Much as the king told Brunt earlier – or the prince—there are indeed seven different clans, each of whom is about equal in power, all things considering. It waxes and wanes over time. And each of those clans is led by the Great Star. There is so much intermarriage and interdependency that they probably all have some degree of relation, but very little ability to track back who the original Great Star was and which of them is his closest descendent, so they all claim to be worthy of the title ‘the Great Star’, but only one can hold it. Indeed much of the history and much of the reason they are not a greater threat is because they are so rarely unified under one leader. The Great Star rules, and passes on that rule to his descendants, so assassination is a fairly common way of getting the Great Star out of the way so a new family line can take up that reign. That’s about as far as your history is telling you.

Normilan is scorned for not having an entire library on him, and the PCs try to remember earlier encounters or references to these people. They relate it to the alliance with the elves. Some level of reluctant praise accrue to the new Great Star for his quick thinking in trying to assassinate the prince; the prince relates that he himself is a shaman.

DM: “I have thought most of the day on how to address this situation. My conclusion is that it would gall me to order an assassination. Were it necessary I would do so. But that would require me setting aside more of my moral principles than I am comfortable with. So we are going to settle this in a more traditional way, I think. As Normilan has explained to you, the lineage of the Great Star is hereditary so long as there is a living descendant to claim it. How do you all feel about kidnapping?”
Brunt: “The Star has an heir?”
DM: “Yes.”
Tasha: “Is this… all being done for the greater good, though?”
Brunt: Heh. ‘No!’
Tasha: “But I mean is this being done for your own personal gain?”
Normilan: “This would stop a war.”
Giles: “Kidnapping, huh?”
DM: “If we have a hostage, the Great Star will look elsewhere for his conquests.”
Tasha: Neutral Good, I’m not opposed to a kidnapping, but if it’s to stop a war…
Brunt: You won’t have that.
Normilan: “If it will stop it, then let’s do it.”
Eilnys: “I don’t LIKE it, but.”
DM: “I’m not asking you to like it, I don’t like it either. But it may be the only way our kingdom retains its strength, to battle against the undead.”
Tasha: I should go back to Lawful. ‘No! This is against the law!’
DM: ‘I AM THE LAW!’
Cruroar: “Eh… I made a lot of interesting decisions coming this far. A kidnapping seems like small fries.”

Everyone gets a kick out of that declaration. Then Cruroar reminds them that he has a vampire living in his castle basement, and it isn’t quite as funny any more. Then they say ‘Mer’dovich’ a few times and it’s funny again.

Giles: “I can’t believe so many of you guys are for this.”
Cruroar: “I’m not for it, but this is the best way to avoid the war. Considering they – once they verified who did the assassination, they have taken the first steps.”
DM: “If it offers you any consolation, you understand that the way the politics of that kingdom is laid out, we are likely saving his heir’s life.”
Cruroar: “Just understand, my prince. I do not want a new title. I don’t need another title. Give it to one of them.”
Tasha: ‘Prince, can I talk to you in private? He really loves titles…’

Cruroar’s many titles are debated (and added to), even as the Prince points out that at some point Cruroar will have to be made a Duke.

DM: As Duke, you are allowed to grant the County of Prole to a vassal.
Normilan: Aww crap. One of us is gonna get Count.
Brunt: That’s where all your books are at!
DM: Generally you should retain a county of your own, to maintain the balance of power in your duchy…
Brunt: Don’t be like Aliarra, actually accept your responsibilities.
DM: To be fair, King Maximiano was two dukes and two counts.
Brunt: “Highness, I imagine you already know how I feel…”
DM: “Of our options, I think this is our best one. It is also the one least likely to plunge the Seven Clans into internal violence once again.”
Cruroar: “As he said, more than likely, when we get there, there’ll probably be other inside people trying to assassinate the boy—“
DM: “Girl.”
Brunt: “We’re unlikely to return even so.”
DM: “I disagree with that sentiment…”

Brunt grumbles about kidnapping, but also accepts that the kingdom cannot fight two wars. The group speculates about how reliable the elves might have actually been as allies. They somehow end up in a conflict with the Fist of the North Star.

DM: Any time someone gets between Brunt and a wall, just say, “You are already dead.”

Tasha is banned from Create Water in all games and realities. The prince promises he will arrange for supplies immediately, but leaves the planning to them. Brunt worries about his liege’s personal safety, even as Cruroar invents lots of Slam-Xes. A debate erupts over whether it’s possible for Captain Slamhand to be elevated directly to the title of Brigadier.

Cruroar: Captain Slamhands and Captain Handslam.
Normilan: He’s a very angry arguer.
DM: Phoenix Wright?

They hope the whole thing is just a trick, but accept that even if the Prince is not the King, kidnapping is go. They set up a watch, as Bimmy and Jimmy destroy everything they touch to the point of doing laundry so poorly they chop down a tree. The DM, fairly baffled at their silence in the face of being ordered to kidnap an heir, declares they went to sleep – so they RP a bit about it to spite him. The DM relates that this sort of hostage-taking is an accepted medieval way of acting.

Normilan: The DM plays too many grand strategies.
DM: My legacy of Crusader Kings IS showing through just a bit, I won’t pretend otherwise. But to be fair, there IS historical precedent. You know, like how Richard the Lion-Hearted was captured, and Prince John was raising taxes to get money for his ransom. In fact that was a way people could get good money on the battlefield, you capture someone and ransom them back.
Cruroar: So Robin Hood was in the wrong the whole time!

They elect not to worry too much while they travel, even as Quirion begins to pace (putting out his robe as he does).

Normilan: “What is on your mind, Quirion?”
DM: “Wow, kidnapping. You know, same as the rest of you guys.”
Brunt: Here we go. …sorry, that was meant to be internal.
Normilan: “Yes, I never thought I’d be a kidnapper.”
DM: “We got ordered to kidnap a, I guess, princess. By, I guess, a king!”
Normilan: “It wasn’t too long ago that we were rescuing a princess.”
DM: “I gotta admit, that’s pretty awesome. You know, if you seduce her and bring her back, it’s not technically a kidnapping.”
Tasha: “Go for it, Quirion.”
Brunt: “What if she’s like 8.”
DM: “Well, to be fair, you’re all so young to me, it’s hard to tell the difference…”
Normilan: “What are you, an ageist?!”
DM: “I’m an elf… it kind of comes with the territory.”
Brunt: Aren’t no elves actually elves any more?
DM: He’s a high elf, not a grey elf.
Tasha: He’s a hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh elf.

The Great Star turns out to be a Maria invincibility star. The group jams back on the whole elven princess, destroyed-kingdom thing. Brunt blames King Lassarin for being a jerk, but Cruroar points out that kidnapping is probably not worse than some of their past actions. Normilan plans to hang himself.

Normilan: “Quirion, where’s the highest tree?”
DM: (a very long pause) “…Ever?”
Normilan: “No no no, around the camp—“
DM: Quirion pauses to think. “They say back in the forests of the elven people—“
Normilan: “Here, give me a boost.”

Quirion is an inadequate counterweight and Normilan survives. A voice speaks into the back of Tasha’s mind, asking if they are free, to their surprise! The DM reminds them they’d given Keyvarin Lassarin’s psion Marlae a way to get in touch with them mentally!

DM: The fire in front of you erupts upwards, forming a great sphere.
Tasha: Does everybody see this?
Normilan: Nope, only you, madman.

Keyarin and Marlae step out of the ring of fire, his ominous cape billowing behind him. The DM reminds them that the last time they saw him, he had been crippled in their house for a week.

DM: “I’m glad to see you all… well and hale… I look forward to being the same someday. And on that note I ask… are you perhaps free to take on an assignment for me?”
Tasha: “Potentially yes. What is the assignment?”
DM: “I believe I may have required information… about one of the objects I seek.”
Normilan: “I guess the bigger question is, why does that cloak you wear appear in the book of a follower of the Mad God?”
DM: “I’m sorry? You’ve… changed topics so skillfully on me, I confess I’m a bit lost…”

Normilan relates the tale of their encounter with Morden’thal and their subsequent discovery of the tome. Keyvarin tells them the old living kingdom held the objects he sought initially.

DM: “Unfortunately for my searching, when the kingdom fell, the objects were scattered. Or perhaps they were scattered before it fell… I had ventured there at one point. And from recent reports, I believe their… king, their undead king, has the crown I seek still yet.”
Normilan: “The one known as the Praetor?”
DM: “I assume so, yes. I do not know… anything much more than what I’ve heard… thirdhand? Indeed any information you could give me would be welcome.”
Normilan: “I wish to know more about these items. Do they pertain to the god of prophecy?”
DM: “I do not believe so. If they did they would have lost their power. I believe they have a… more fundamental connection. To the planes. Certainly this one gives me a measure of strength that is not divine in nature… and bless you for getting it to me, I might add. Were it not for this, likely I’d not be alive to find another one.”

Keyvarin needs aid in the dwarven kingdoms, which are far too far out of their way to venture to on their task or on the way back, though they still offer to find a way to help if they can. He bemoans the possibility of having to call on minotaurs or grimlocks to get the job done. (A brief reminder of Keyvarin’s desire to extend his life is provided!) Their quest journal keeps confused.

Cruroar: Did we have a task for the red dragon to do?
Brunt: To do for the dragon…?
Cruroar: Like he had one of those long-term goals. ‘If you happen to see a red ribbon, I could go for that,’ or some goofy shit.
DM: Rat tail. Evolve your class, man.
Brunt: He did put some kind of hook in us…
Cruroar: I feel like this whole trip, every night is gonna be like, ‘Ooooh, are you freee, ooooh,’ it’s the janitor who worked in a bar we went to one night, time to call in a favor…
DM: ‘Oooh, I’m the bridge haunt, I’m back…’
Cruroar: ‘I’m haunting this pathwaaaaaay!’
DM: ‘Hunnnerrd…. Gooooooooold…’ You have to give the ogres hunnerd gold after they haunt you every night.

Speaking straight to Normilan, Keyvarin promises him knowledge to bait his hook. They question how good the knowledge is.

Cruroar: ‘Make sure when wiping your ass, you go from back to front.’
Brunt: The only other option before is to split up, and I’m pretty sure that’s not what you intend.
DM: “The knowledge can wait, but… I believe I know where to find your father.”
Tasha: ‘I AM your daddy!’
DM: ‘Honestly this thing hasn’t worked for about three centuries now…’

Keyvarin tells Normilan his father is on another plane, and that he isn’t ready to go there yet…

DM: “But when you have completed this for me, I will give you the payment you have earned.”
Brunt: Oh boy.
DM: “I told him what the payment – I realized when I said it…”
Brunt: Had you not done so, that would have been so sinister.
DM: I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. You will get everything that is coming to you. You will be surprised by what your reward is. You’ll never see it coming. I think you’ll find you’ll get the point.

They debate trying to get a teleport, but the DM promises substantial error in that teleport. It ends up with the Gatekeeper scraping them all off on a stalactite.

Cruroar: This is not a Sierra game!
DM: What’s Bormilan’s strength going to be?
Normilan: Sadly, only 11.
DM: What’s Bruroar’s Strength going to be? Can he at last achieve something beyond ‘arthritic’?
Cruroar: Wow. 11. It’s… better.

Everyone rerolls, even as the DM insists there are no dire ducks or any such nonsense out in the night for them to battle. Silence falls.

Normilan: Welp, goodnight! (collapsing and snoring)

The morning arrives, along with morning music, and they travel on! Their next nights are uninterrupted, though their path home does not go back through Spindlethrift. They demand action, so the DM consults his DM screen.

Normilan: Why are you using the Birthright stuff?
Brunt: 15 Deathclaws surround our camp.
Normilan: 17 psions come to attack you.
DM: A trade matter erupts.
Normilan: (sputtering)
Cruroar: 6 eggs for one chicken?! I COULD GROW MORE!

Rebellion erupts against Tasha? The DM swiftly rules they get back to the capital before more of this nonsense keeps going. Flavor text of mourning and grief drops heavily on the group, and Cruroar desperately scans for wanted posters.

Cruroar: Listen fellas, if they take me in because for some reason they decide the Seven – uh, the Seven Clans Under One Star decided to frame me—
DM: (furious applause)
Cruroar: Was that wrong?
DM: It was right, that was why I was clapping! You deserve it! For getting it right somehow!
Cruroar: If I get arrested, just let it happen.
Normilan: Are you going to be me all of a sudden?
DM: Orders abruptly appear in front of Brunt. ‘Arrest Cruroar.’
Brunt: All right.
DM: Orders abruptly appear in front of Brunt. ‘Arrest the Prince.’
Brunt: From who?
Normilan: The Prince.
Brunt: Well, orders are orders!
DM: The King!
Cruroar: Oh god, if there’s a fake king installed, this is going to be madness.
Brunt: If he keeps layering the intrigue, we’re never going to get to the undead army!
Normilan: Look, you can’t get as bad as Final Fantasy Fucking Tactics.

Normilan rejoices in the glory that is Thunder God Cid, while weird music overwhelms the game. Brunt is called on to roll a Perception check, and realizes that the Blades who guard the city gates (the Hands being seen as slightly more elite corps, for various reasons including Slamhand’s friendship with Maximiano) are in fancy new plate mail that appear almost identical in creation.

DM: They continue to look over the crowd with boredom. The Prince pulls his horse to a halt at the back of what amounts to a line to get into the city, full of traders, merchants, visitors, pilgrims, all that sort of thing. Looks over expectantly at you.
Brunt: Wha—sorry. I heard ‘traitors’. The Prince is pissed! He’s coming home to this den of traitors and murderers.
DM: Yes, they’re all wearing large top hats and twirling mustaches.

The DM hints to Brunt to herald his way through the press of people. He does so, making up several extremely unlikely titles for His Highness.

Brunt: Father of Dragons, Cowl of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Maker of the Great Three-Week Voyage…
Cruroar: I didn’t like it at first – I need to add that to my list! Cruroar!
Cruroar and DM: Count of Prole! Dragonslayer! Kingslayer!
Normilan: Hiring a herald would not be expensive…

Normilan rolls to learn the full list of the Prince’s title, even as Brunt and Eilnys clear the road for the prince. Quirion waves to the crowd, is scolded, points out they’re all the retinue, and gets the rest of the group sadly waving.

Cruroar: As you get closer the plate mail gets less shinier. Everything you thought was cool is uncool.
Brunt: The Prince has stolen all the luster from their armor? Is Theoden’s horse gonna throw him when we walk in too?! Jesus!
Normilan: Less cool. In fact the entire kingdom seems less tubular.
DM: You Are A Super Slamhand.
Cruroar: The Handslams sound like they’re a wrestling crew.
DM: To be fair, Captain Slamhand LOOKS like he’s a wrestler.

Brunt and the Prince marvel at the new armor the Blades have… and immediate suspicion falls on the Prince’s brother. Cruroar quickly refreshes himself on everyone’s old pre-Count jobs, and Eilnys ends up investigating the armor. She concludes it’s all technical perfection, no heart. The characters keep getting more and more suspicious of the guards in nice new armor.

Eilnys: “Brunt, do you think the Hands might be taking blame for the King’s death?”
Cruroar: “I don’t think they’re being blamed, they’re being rewarded…”
Brunt: “I’m certain regardless, Captain Slamhand is in low spirits. We don’t even know the manner of the king’s death.”

Cruroar determines that the Captain of the Blades has no title, but may have political support. He concludes that the Blades may have gotten a powerful friend or donation to push them into power.

Cruroar: How many Slamhands do we see along the way?
Brunt: Well, they wouldn’t typically—
DM: (rolling) 12.
Brunt: (choking on his own words)
DM: (bursting into laughter)

Cruroar invents the side-trumpet and is executed. Aundon enters the throne room, Arthas jokes flying.

DM: Sitting on the chair on the dais up above, Prince Varachir sits up as the doors open. Captain Slamhand himself is by his side. Prince Audon comes to the base of the stairs that lead up to the throne as Prince Varachir rises, his face a dark grey.
Brunt: What about the Captain?
DM: He’s watching.
Normilan: Stony-faced!
Brunt: I’m trying to make eye contact with him and get some sort of read. If there’s something wrong I’m hoping he’ll signal me somehow.
DM: He glances to you, glances to the Prince, glances back.
Brunt: Which Prince?
DM: Aundon.
Brunt: Okay, that was the important part.
DM: Who do you kill?
Brunt: NO! Well, the throne should count as terrain…

Brunt slams the two princes together. They fuse to form King Maximo! He’s back!

DM: I don’t know how you guys can’t remember the name.
Normilan: It’s very close to Maximillion, so we keep adding that to the end of it.
DM: How do you explain ‘Maximo’ then?!
Normilan: It’s CRUROAR.
DM: Good argument.

Prince Varachir stumbles down the stairs as Cruroar bows, elegantly but with no one paying attention. The DM draws out the suspense and suspicion quite a bit before Varachir practically collapses on his brother for a hug.

Cruroar: SENSE MOTIVE!
Brunt: Oh, there was a dagger! A dagger under his fingernails. Oh, it’s in the Prince now!
DM: They both step apart, look down at the daggers that are now stuck into each other, give each other a respectful nod, and then die.
Normilan: Huh. Well shit.

The players actively applaud this scenario, to the DM’s semi-bitter amusement; Brunt points out he’d gone to efforts to make everything ominous.

Normilan: The DM always has a trowel and a sack of doubt-nuggets that he likes to plant.
Brunt: If we don’t invest in the theatrics and the flavor-text, you accuse us of not giving a shit! If we do give a shit, you just are like Lucy with the football!
DM: Hey, to be fair, you guys could have done all sorts of things during that…

The players lampshade that all of them had something ready in case of treachery, though Cruroar envisions a scenario where they just murder all the lords and courtiers. Hydra is everywhere, they realize. With matters of ceremony attended to, the group begins to drift apart; Brunt, up first, goes down with Captain Slamhand to his office. The RP immediately gets interrupted to clarify given ranks of the military here, which do not directly correspond to the real world. They share a drink.

DM: “You missed a show.”
Brunt: “Apparently. Is there a reason—“ We haven’t even heard rumors about the king’s death? That alone sends big warning bells. Why have we heard nothing of the nature of the king’s demise?
DM: “His bedroom, while he slept in the night. We assume.”
Brunt: “Blade?”
DM: “You ever heard a head burst like a melon?”
Tasha: I remember a guy up against a brick wall once…
Brunt: “Either a being of such great strength it couldn’t possibly have snuck into his chambers, or magic.”

Slamhand blames scry-and-die tactics, but who could do such a thing is beyond his estimation.

DM: “If Tyraen wasn’t dead I’d say he was the only one. It would take a spellcaster of incredible power.”
Normilan: ‘Maybe even an apprentice of Tyraen’s.’
DM: ‘We all know Normilan’s too shitty.’
Normilan: Damn.
DM: He only kills countries, not people.
Cruroar: A king is too small for the great MURDERER!

Brunt attempts to give a report, with no help from the rest of the players who argue over whether the modron was a Quintesson. Brunt inquires of the fancy armor on the Blades; Slamhand mentions that new artisans had arrived in the city who could manufacture it quickly, but without any heart.

Brunt: “And Captain Stalford? I presume the competition has been put on hold due to the circumstances.”
DM: “Well, the position still needs to be filled. Maximiano was never willing to do it, it’s possible his son might feel the same. We might find the position of strength is valuable to us. Waging two wars and all.”
Brunt: “Well, we’re hoping to do so—“
DM: ‘I sure hope no one stops one of the wars, that would make it REALLY unlikely I’d get named to Brigadier!’

A brief discussion about the alcohol preferences of the captain, with it apparently causing massive hair growth. The DM is baffled by this claim.

DM: He has a sophisticated palate, not like grog and ultra-grog!

Brunt is given a medal for his efforts in cracking the face-stealing case from way the hell back when. It ends with him drowning somehow, because Brunt is a bitter man. The DM subtly helps him remember to report on the attempted assassination on the Prince.

Brunt: I totally forgot about that…
Eilnys: That’s when Eilnys knocks on the door because she’s been listening in all the time. “The ‘splodin’ scroll, ye daft bugger!”
DM: “Please tell me she hasn’t been listening in all this time.”
Brunt: “No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate us…”
Cruroar: She just has a little earpiece. ‘Is everything okay in there? What are you guys talking about?!’
DM: ‘I must remember to make those doors Imperturbable, so those Extendable Ears stop working.’

Brunt mentions the assassination, leading to much mockery and a statement taken. Giles… has not a thing to do, so goes potion-shopping. Normilan heads off to see Zook, which is easy since Zook is waiting for him.

Normilan: “Zook, my friend!”
DM: “Normilan, you’ve made it back! Alive and in one piece!” (darkly) “I’ve heard about everything you did, I can’t begin to tell you –“ (abruptly much less ominous) “—how excited I am for what you’ve accomplished! Wielding magic against the mighty armies of undead, that’s impressive!”
Normilan: “A tough one, but yes.”
DM: “No less than we expect from you!”
Normilan: “Yay!”

Normilan inquires about his membership into the Fraternity of Mages; Zook is a little awkward about it, given Normilan’s history and accomplishments, and implies that he’ll be questioned or interrogated. In a positive way!DM: “It’s like ‘what are your goals’, ‘what does magic mean to you’, ‘are you going to use it to kill any more races’, that sort of thing.”
Normilan: “Is that last one real?”
DM: “…it’s never come up before…”

Zook explains that the whole living-stone thing was not well-known, which… somehow leads to grey elves becoming a race of Yosemite Sams, firing wands into the sky and cursing. With Normilan invited to dinner, he inquires about the king’s death. Zook defers the discussion.

Normilan: “It was good to see you, Zook.” (giving him a hearty slap on the back)
DM: Money spills out of him. Daggers. Poisons.
Normilan: ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, sir?’ ‘Just come over for dinner!’
DM: A Hat of Disguise falls off his head, you now shake a half-ogre.
Normilan: That’s a very impressive disguise…

Cruroar attempts to schmooze with other lord, and then tries to find out information about the ancient kingdom and his own heritage. Eilnys heads off to see Durm, though curiously hears two people working within.

Eilnys: Makes sense to me that he’d pick up another apprentice, since I’m gone.
Cruroar: He thought you were dead.
Brunt: Alone one will chime, banging them in time…
DM: You step inside into the familiar heat of the forge. You see two figures working on two different anvils. One the familiar figure of Durm, the other the familiar finger of Talende.
Eilnys: “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”
DM: “Ach, lass!” Dropping what he’s doing, perhaps literally and leaving Talende scramble to pick up the sword flat before it strikes the floor, he rushes over, claps his hands on your shoulders. “Look at you! Yer actually here! This isn’t some fever dream!”

Brunt passive-aggressively snipes about Sir Krostun’s lack of accent as Durm brightly hauls Eilnys in and tries to interrogate her.

Eilnys: “I thought you and Talende weren’t friends.”
DM: “We’re not friends!” “We’re just business partners at the moment.”
Eilnys: “How did this happen? Oh don’t growl at me…”
DM: “There’s been some competition lately. It was a little touch-and-go for a moment but we ended up working it all out. Talende and I are more specialized smiths. We work harder on customization and finely matchin’ the clients’ needs and so forth, so people who want fine quality work come to us.”
Eilnys: “People who want that bullshit on the Blades go to someone else, aye?”
DM: “Ah, ah, to be fair, it’s quality work. It’s good quality work, I’d be proud to turn out something like that. I wouldnae be proud to turn out twenty or thirty or fifty somethin’s like that that all look the same. The new guys… they do good work, and ye can’t blame them for putting out work that’s got no soul when they go no souls of their own.”
Eilnys: “So what are these things that got no souls that’re working in our town?”
DM: “I’m not sure what to call ‘em. They’re like golems but they’re not golems.”
Eilnys: “Modrons?”
DM: “What the hell’s a modron?”
Eilnys: “They look like boxes.”

They’ve taken up residence in Talende’s old shop, it seems, and Eilnys immediately takes off to see them, to Durm’s depression. Even before she enters, the timing on the hammer-blows is machinelike in precision – when she finally enters, it is to find a pair of warforged working away.

DM: “We have a customer.” “Yes, we have a customer.” “Greetings, customer.” “Greetings, customer.” “We are here to provide—“ “—Quality services and armor.” “We supply—“ “—Weapons and armor.” “We offer—“ “—Discounts to Blades.” “We are pleased—“ “—to be of service today.” “How many we—“ “—help you—“ “Valued customer?” “Valued customer?”
Eilnys: “Well lads, yer… doin’ your job. You satisfied my curiosity…”

They try to persuade Eilnys to replace her battered axe, to her quiet fury. Talende vows to murder whoever is responsible for the grey elf decline! Normilan is depressed, and on that inevitable note, the game comes to an end. The DM informs them they will be issued Hats of Disguise to infiltrate the Seven Clans, giving them a chance to plan their mission. They start planning a shadowrun!