After absconding with the ferry boat, and leaving the Ferryman to a watery fate, I realized that I had made two tactical errors. First, while I may spew vulgarities like that of a sailor and enjoy the ale like a seafaring man, I am not one with the sea and found myself at a navigational loss and was unaware of the direction of my destination. Second, in my haste, I neglected to take proper precautions and jumped aboard without proper food, water or ale to negate the effects of sea sickness.

Within an hour I was both hopelessly lost and debilitatingly ill. I regret soiling the waters as I did, but the rocking of the craft left me no choice in the matter.

However, fortune smiles upon the lost and confused and as I lay face down in my own refuse, I felt the crashing of my boat against rocks and sand. Throwing myself to shore, I held on as best I could so as not to fall off.

I crawled to the castle in the distance and thew myself at the mercy of it’s occupants. Oddly, I had paid a call upon Grannus and was received with open arms and a bucket.

I was tasked with speaking to his children in regards to the recent Kobolds attacks. I said I was far too weak in the bowels for such an undertaking, and that if I could simply lie down for a spell, perhaps with a bonny maiden to drape a refreshing towel across my brow, I would be better in no time.

His right hand man insisted I take up the mantle immediately and instructed me to head to the battle camps. He affirmed they were on dry land and my legs would return.

Pressed into service, I entered the battle camps and was told to take some documents and a totem to the leaders in Skrekk. I must say that going into enemy territory while a battle rages sounded like folly, but again, I was left with no choice. I had no Ferryman, so returning from whenst I came was no longer a realistic option.

Within Skrekk, I tried to show my Writ of Passage to the keepers of the door, but they cast it aside and throttled me upside the head with their frightening weapons. I even explained to the little man inside the compound that I came in peace, but since I had not procured the proper gift for his eminence, he could offer me no protection.

"How am I supposed to buy him a gift when I don’t even know him? Is it his birthday? Perhaps an anniversary of some kind? Perhaps I could make his favorite dish?" My query fell on deaf ears and was informed that the only one who might take the time out of his busy schedule to lower himself to speak with me was Krishach.

Although I made my way to "the big house on the left," none would identify himself as Krishach. To add further insult, I was mocked relentlessly for my yellow cloak. The day nearly came to blows as I mentioned it was a hand-crafted item of great quality and I thanked them to appreciate the craftsmanship. They didn’t and the jibes continued.

Dejected, I wandered the streets wherein a merchant took pity on me and offered that I should sit. Sizing me up, he retrieved something to eat and a hearty mug of his "Bullac" or warrior’s drink. Since my last meal was in the sea, I took him up on the offer. The bread was quite suitable, but the beverage took me by surprise. It was a thick, dark liquid with a strong body that tasted of prunes.

The Kobold merchant chuckled at my near gag reaction. "Drink up skinny outlander! Drink up before Kobold guards drag you into street and beat you for sport. I get you some soup."


Thank you for taking pity on me my good man. Not to seem ungrateful, but I have a question for you. While this freshly churned butter is a treat, I don’t see any bovine in this underground cavern of yours, nor on my way in. What exactly are you milking down here?

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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