Seeing as it was supposed to be the end of the world, I ventured out to a few choice locations and partook of the frivolity. I’ve been to several of these end of the world parties and they usually end the same way with me waking in a strange place and all of my belongings impounded by the bank. While I have no proof, I firmly believe Halmar is behind these sinister dealings. Despite that, who am I to complain about an excuse for festivities?

The evening was quite a success. My drinking horn was full, the phonograph let forth the sonorous tones of the wax cylinders and the synchronized belly dance of the Solid Gold Dancers was dare I say, hypnotic. And I must compliment some of the attendees on their agreeable costumage. The elven leggings are quite fetching.

Even the Troll, who originally came out from under his bridge to crash the event and complain of the noise, was welcomed with open arms. He accepted a barrel of ale, and showed quite handsomely that he spent many of his hours in solitude working on his dance steps. But things took and ugly, ugly turn when his arch nemesis, the purple llama, strode into town.

While no one knows the cause, the bitterness between the two runs deep and soon a terrible fracas broke out. Tables were upturned, plants were ruined and the phonograph was placed in a location it was most unsuited for.

Many in the crowd scattered, while others did their best to quell the disturbance before the constabulary showed up on the scene. That llama is a determined combatant and simply refused to yield. His jibes and taunts against the troll were numerous and shocking. But as I got caught up in the disturbance, I lost my horn in the din of it all and everything went dark.

I awoke to face the Oracle, seemingly having to answer for last nights debacle. This is seemed better than being taken to Owl’s Head to explain my actions to Lord Enmar. But, not quite in the right state of mind for such interrogation, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which I’m quite sure was to shift blame for any transgressions that may have taken place. Sadly, the Oracle was in no mood to hear, "the purple llama did it!" As punishment for the deeds I cannot remember, I was sent to Solace Bridge and was forced to walk home. The indignity of it all.


Ok, I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but I’m pretty sure that whatever it was, Blake and I had nothing to do with it. And if you have proof to the contrary, then let me state quite clearly, we were framed.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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