Transcripts of the original story as told by the storyteller. Does not include the mutated versions that developed as the chain progressed.
Pumat's Stroll (Narrative Telephone 2020-04-06)
'Twas chilled that foggy morning, as enchanter Pumat wandered the wood in search of fine mushrooms to flavor his food. He plucked a fine fungus when a guttural growl caught his ears, a feral wolf stalking from the shadows. To his surprise, the beast did speak: "'Tis I, the lonely Wildred, and you, my meal."
Pumat recoiled, reaching into his pouch of plenty. "Though wandered I am, friend Wildred, I fear a poor meal would I make. For this humble Pumat is tough on teeth and filled with muscle."
The simple firbolg's bulging form took hold of the hunter wolf and wrestled powerfully they did across the trees and brooks until an evening's mushroom stew took on a unique, lupine flavor.
Jester's Tall Tale (Narrative Telephone 2020-04-28)
Oh hi, it's me, Jester. So sometimes when I was little, I wouldn't be able to sleep and momma would be working and the Traveler would come visit me and he would tell me bedtime stories. And one time, he said, "Jester, what brings sweeter dreams than the promise of a little treasure? Lay back and let me tell you about how to find Picador's Plum."
And he told me that across the sea there's this big beautiful city ruled by a secret dragon (whatever that means). And from there you have to go four days north. On dusk on the fourth day, you will come across a grove of trees, which you know is pretty special in and of itself being in the middle of a desert, but one of the trees in this grove grows an especial Elysian fruit. Now you have to pick this fruit, but don't eat it! If you eat it you'll be doomed to like stay in the grove forever or whatever. And then, from there you head four days to the northwest and you'll come across a boulder the size of a heart. No. The shape of a heart. Yeah, that's what it was. And underneath the boulder lives a hippogriff named Okarna. Now you give her this Elysian fruit, and she will become entranced with love for you. Now after she does that, you have to sing her a beautiful song that goes [sings]. Those notes exactly. And then she'll allow you to get on her back and she will fly to this cave of wonders where you will find the magical treasure.
Now, the Traveler never told me what Picador's Plum was, but I think it's got to be pretty amazing, you know, like maybe a dog in a dress that does a little dance? I'm not sure. But I'm excited to find out.
Scanlan's Love Story (Narrative Telephone 2020-05-12)
Scanlan Shorthalt here with a tale for the ages.
Paulay was a poor delivery boy in love with a rich woman named Sudara, her hair the color of daffodil, her eyes deeper than the Lucidian. She had many suitors, but Paulay knew if he could win his fortune, she would notice him. One day he invented something amazing: silver rimmed glasses -- pince-nez with an ivory inset. These spectacles had the magical ability to see through solid objects. He put the glasses on at a poker hall and could see through everyone else's cards. That night he won a beautiful pewter ring which he presented to Sudara the next day. She loved it. At a carnival, he won the shell game twenty-two times and won himself a puppy, which he also gave to Sudara. She was so impressed that she agreed to marry him as long as he kept bringing her gifts.
Paulay skipped to work the next day. He was excited, but he was asked to deliver a letter from the evil goliath ruler, Prince Rotzi, and coincidentally, it was to Sudara. Curious, he used his magic spectacles to see through the envelope, but was shocked to read, "Has that idiot given you any more gifts? If so, bring them to our tryst tonight at the palace. Your lover, Rotzi."
Alas the moral of the story seems to be: (sings)
- There once was a poor man named Paulay
- Who invented a magical pince-nez.
- It found him love, riches, and glee,
- But when you look too close, you might not like what you see.
Widogast's Web of Words (Narrative Telephone 2020-05-28)
Every Junge and Mädchen of the Empire knows the story of the dreaded Waldhexe.
Most think it is a tale to frighten children, but the wise know better.
Once there were three good children who walked in the light of the Dawnfather. So noble were they their parents could not help but look upon them with Stolz in their hearts. “Stay close to us, Liebling. Say your prayers. Serve your king. And always walk in the light of the sun.” And so they did, for a time.
But children are children, and one day they left their prayers and wandered to the edge of the wood, so vast and full of mystery. And though their parents had warned them from ever setting foot in the Wildnis, the desire for knowledge beckoned them. Now they no longer walked in the sun. Soon they could see almost nothing. Linking hands, they began to count their steps: eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf...
And then, in the darkness, they heard a voice. “Hunger...” There before them limped a spindly old crone, hair matted with dirt and twig.
“Who are you, Großmutter and what are you doing in these woods?”
“I am these woods, Kind. I am the land and the mountains too. And I hunger, so I think I will eat one of you.”
“Oh, please, Großmutter, our parents would surely despair!”
“I must eat, for the land to thrive. If I am not to eat one of you, then I shall eat part of all.” The children, frozen in Angst, watched as the Waldhexe stepped forward, stone knife in hand. From one boy, she cut out much of his mind, and ate it, and his thoughts were no longer his own. From the second, a girl, she cut out one eye, and this, too, the Waldhexe ate, and the child never saw true again. And from the last, she swallowed his heart, and he never knew love again. “Now, I am fed, Kinder. And the land will flourish and wheat can grow. You may go, as long as you send me your children, and their children after them. Thus will your blood and bones nourish the land, and your kingdom can continue to grow.”
And so it has, for years upon years, unto this very day.
Pike's Purple Jewel Cake (Narrative Telephone 2020-06-11)
Oh! Hi, friends! Pike here to tell you the recipe to my favorite delicacy in the entire world, the Purple Jewel Cake of Marquet. But first, I'm going to tell you the tale behind this tasty treat.
There once lived a woman named Madame Marquita Parcata. She was very wealthy, and she lived in a huge castle that overlooked the entire city of Marquet. She draped herself in purple velvets, and wore dresses made of the finest silks. But she was very mean, and very greedy. She was the wealthiest woman in Marquet, but it wasn't enough for her.
And then, one day, a little girl knocked on her door, and when Marquita answered, the girl said, "I'm sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I've traveled very far and if I could just have some water and maybe a place to rest my head for the night, I would greatly appreciate it. And in return, I could give you a simple wish."
Madame Parcata replied, "I can give you water, but I have no room for you to rest."
After the girl drank the water, she said, "Thank you, ma'am. Now, what is it that you would like for your wish?"
Madame Parcata said, "Well, I want to be worth all the money in the world. I want people to know of me and be in awe of all of my riches."
The girl said, "Okay. This, I can do for you. And for giving me half of my request, I shall do the same for you." And then she said the words, "Plimpy, drimpy, flompies, and bompies," and in that moment, Marquita was turned the most beautiful sparkling purple jewel, as big as an apple. Forever. But she got her wish. People from all over the world came to see the Purple Jewel of Marquet.
So, be kind to one another. If someone asks for a helping hand, give it to them. And always be careful what you wish for.
Oh! I almost forgot to tell you the recipe! Well, you can figure it out.
That's all for now!
Story of Beau's (Narrative Telephone 2020-06-25)
Expositor Beauregard Lionett here, and let me tell you about one of my greatest achievements while I still worked for my dad in Kamordah. One summer, a rival winery decided to promote their upcoming vintage by posting a bunch of fliers smearing our family name. "Why drink like an animal when you can drink like a king?" it said, while featuring art of a pompous old man in a crown holding a lion in a chain. Needless to say, my father wasn't impressed, and enlisted me to go talk to the Stassmans about having the fliers removed. Which I did -- in my own way.
I decided to pose as Fiona Alderbrook, an interested distributor who would love to have a tour. But right before I entered the estate, I took a big swig of mycothistle extract, generally used by clerics to induce vomiting within about thirty minutes after ingesting. They walked me through their entire operation, finishing the tour by presenting a giant steel drum filled with this season's vintage, mere days away from being bottled. Eleanor Stassman opened the vat, and just as she finishes waxing poetically on the patience needed over the eighteen months to allow the malolactic fermentation process to fully achieve the perfect nuances of flavors... (chokes, vomits). With expert aim and precision, my haggis and sauerkraut from the night before splashed into the vat of zinfandel. "That's for the Lionetts, you turd bottlers!" I yelled.
Needless to say, the ruse was up. "Guards, get her!" Eleanor yelled. I bolted for the gate, popping the first guard with a running haymaker and dodging the second, flipping them off one last time when I got to the street for good measure.
My father didn't really approve of my methods, but he did have a hard time arguing the effectiveness. The next day, with no product left to sell, not a single flier could be found in Kamordah for Stassman wine. Sorry, Eleanor.
Caduceus's Cautionary Chronicle (Narrative Telephone 2020-07-07)
Caduceus Clay here. I'm going to tell you a story about my siblings, and a particularly spooky encounter they experienced. Clarabelle, Colin*, and Calliope Clay were carting the cadaver of a cleric of Corellon, named Kristof Kasimar, through the Savalirwood towards its resting place within the Blooming Grove Cemetery. As the Clays made their way beneath the canopy of crooked conifers, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Calliope halted the cart and confidently called out, "Whoever follows us in these woods, show yourself! For Melora help you, I will defend this cleric charged to my care."
From the trees, a whispered voice called out, "Help." Calliope, whose caution was certainly lacking, sprung into action, carelessly leaving her kin to guard their cargo. Minutes passed with no sign of Calliope, making Colin and Clarabelle nervous. Colin, who had seen his fair share of creepiness in his chosen occupation, immediately thought of the cleric in the cart, for Colin knew Corellon the Archeart was known to these woods, and could be calling to their own cleric's cold cadaver.
Colin bellowed, "Archeart, give me a sign so that I may be of service to you!"
A ghostly voice then called back, "Be of service."
Colin dashed towards the woods, leaving Clarabelle alone with the corpse in her care. Clarabelle carefully considered the curious call. Being the cleverest of all the Clays, she contrived a game to confirm her theory. "Strange voice," she said, "are you near or far?"
"Near," called the whisper.
"Are you before me or behind me?"
Clarabelle walked cautiously into the woods. "Am I cold or warm?"
After a brief stroll into the tree line, she heard, "Warm." Beneath her feet were the ancient bones of a kenku.
Clarabelle called out to Colin and Calliope, with the ghostly echo adding to her caterwaul. Calliope asked, "How did you find them?"
Clarabelle explained, "Calliope, you only listened for danger. Colin, you listened for a sign. I simply heard someone who was lost."
The three Clays considered the kenku corpse, causing it to bloom, which in turn, released its spirit. And that spirit still wanders the forest, playfully copying the cries of nervous travelers who stray too deep into the Savalirwood.
* Taliesin noted that he had used an incorrect name for his brother. "Colin" should be "Colton".
Grog's Vlog (Narrative Telephone 2020-07-21)
GROG: All right, listen up! Grog Strongjaw here today to talk to you about the importance of health and fitness. Now a lot of people come to me, and they go, “Grog. You have an amazing body. How do you do it?”
And I go, “Well, like, listen. All you got to know is the entire anatomy and musculature of the human body.” So let’s start with the upper body. Right, there’s mirror muscles. So you got your traps, your deltoids, your pectorals, your biceps, your triceps, your lats, your abdominals, and of course, your obliques, all very easy to remember.
And they’re like, “How can I work out all of those muscles in one easy way?”
And I say, “You grab your axe, and you reach back, and –" Hey! What do you mean? I didn’t know there was any more ale! I want some!
MACARONI: What a dummy! Leaving such an amazing communication device behind. Macaroni Samsonite here. Me and my pal Buddy are going to take over all of Tal'Dorei under the guise of the Darrington Brigade. But first – oh, shit!
GROG: Hey, get away from there, you little weasel dinglebat piece of shit! Oh, hi. What was I talking about? Oh, that’s right. My victory at the Crucible in Vasselheim against Kern – piece of shit. You know, he tried to pull me lip off after I ripped his off the first time, but it didn’t matter. I just pounded him and pounded him and head buttin' him and head buttin' him and head buttin' him and giving him the elbow– you know, in fighting, variety really is the spice of life. So you know, mix it up. All right, that’s it for me and for more content like this, including tales about why peanut butter and pickles is the best sandwich ever, just remember to like, comment, and prescribe. Bidet!
Matt's Second Story
Return of the Matt (Narrative Telephone 2020-10-20)
KRODO: Hello, everyone, I am Krodo Wie[spelling?] of the Cobalt Soul, and I am seeking to compile as many truthful, first hand accounts with the group known as Vox Machina for our historical records, so if you could just speak into this arcanosphere orb? Thank you very much.
BALGUS: Yeah, well, you see, those little shitheads came into the Iron Hearth drinking up all the good ale and snorted a metric fuck-ton of suude, robbed the Bronze Grate Manor[spelling?] of their family jewels, and fucked off to Marquet to hunt some sort of legendary phoenix, a beast of beautiful strange gold and maroon feathers known as the Cavelheart,[spelling?] which you apparently can only train with slaad semen.
FARMER: Then three months later my wife and I caught them getting really friendly with our cows. Then they magically turned themselves into cows and then just flew away on wings of moonlight. It was the damndest thing I'd ever seen. Currently, people say that the flying cow squadron has summoned a great cattle demon called Orphie[spelling?] The Dairy King, who now terrorizes the countryside.
- ♪ Vox Machina is largely known for killing dragons four, ♪
- ♪ But those whose lives have crossed with them will know my dad's a whore. ♪
- ♪ He'll never miss a greasy chance to jump into your bed. ♪
- ♪ I hear that's how Vox Machina had fucked poor Thordak dead! ♪
I was there, so it's all true.
VICTOR: Music is fine, but this story needs action. Boom! Traps and bombs in every side! Boom! Not a cultist escaped unblown apart! As to how I survived... who knows? Am I ever really here?
KRODO: Okay! The Cobalt Soul thanks you all. We'll be in touch.
Two Brothers, One Coast (Narrative Telephone 2020-11-17)
Henry Crabgrass: Hey all, it's me, your friend Henry Crabgrass. Just a little heads up that this episode is extra crass and may not be suitable for the little sproutlings in your life. Okay, enjoy the show!
Brian: Somewhere off the Menage à Trois Coast of Exandria, there were docked two ships, the Horatio and the Fellatio. Despite being so close to each other, the captains of these ships, however, hadn't spoken in years. What was the dispute? Well, it turns out Horatio and Fellatio were named after their captains, and Horatio and Fellatio were brothers. The dispute was over the heraldry of the ships. Horatio wanted his tagline to be, "We never go down," while Fellatio wanted his tagline to be, "We always stay up." One day, unexpectedly, their father showed up to settle this family dispute once and for all. What did he propose? A fifteen-minute glizzy eating contest. Whoever can eat the most glizzies in fifteen minutes gets to don the title for their ship, but should they lose, their riches, crew, and ship go to their father Ignacio.
The next morning, the entire coast came out to see the show despite only finding out about it hours before. Both men showed up ready and hungry, and before someone could yell "Deep Throat" at it, the glizzy contest was on. Fellatio, living up to his name, was literally sliding glizzies down his throat while Horatio struggled. Fellatio got up to fifteen before Horatio was at three. Why? Horatio was trying to chew the glizzies and wash them down with the contest-approved Morning Dew Glizzy Fuel but it wasn't enough. His color started to change. With minutes left, Fellatio was still sliding glizzies down his throat like he had a hollow leg. Horatio started to turn green. The crowd started to notice. Ignacio even leaned in mysteriously and mischievously to his son when all of a sudden Horatio just started retching glizzies all over the dock. He fled through the crowd in shame.
Meanwhile, Fellatio and Ignacio exchanged a very shady glance and Ignacio dropped his Disguise Self and revealed himself to be who he really was: their long-lost sister Susanette. Both captains returned to their ships and sailed off into the sunset for the first time in ages.
Family's a son of a bitch.
Laura's Second Story
The Night Before Winter's Crest (Narrative Telephone 2020-12-15)
'Twas the night before Winter's Crest, and all through the tower The Mighty Nein were still stirring, never mind the late hour. Yasha paced her room nervously, cracking her fists, Hoping Beau would come knocking, to give her a kiss. Caleb read sadly, absently petting his cat, While Veth hid in a corner, wishing for her son to look at. Jester (that's me!) Polymorphed and went roaming, While Fjord dreamt of the sea, waves crashing and foaming. Caduceus sipped calmly his dead people tea, His thoughts drifting to family and their cemetery, When, from the base of the tower there arose a clamor so great All of the Nein came out of their rooms to investigate. "Down!" they thought, and drifted below To find out what was the noise. They just had to know! When suddenly before them was a vision so bright: A banquet and presents piled high! What a sight! They looked around curiously, wondering who could have done this. Beau said, "Don't eat anything! It's probably poisonous." So Fjord flipped the table. Gifts went flying everywhere, So the room was a mess of torn wrapping and tableware. "Ho, ho, ho! C'mon!" said a man who appeared before them. "I tried to give you a party! This is just mayhem." With a sparkle in his eye, he said, "Dammit, 'tis the season! "Hasn't anyone ever been nice to you for no reason? "Oh Yasha! Oh Beau! Oh Caleb, oh Veth, "Oh Jester, oh Fjord, Caduceus, what the heck?" Then he patted his belly and raised up his fists. "Merry Winter's Crest, Mighty Nein. How do you want to do this?"
Mica Burton Murders Cast of Critical Role (Narrative Telephone 2021-01-19)
So this is a story I was saving to tell Mr. Caleb the next time I saw him, because I know he loves books and stuff. But I think you all might like it too. All the elves in Uthodurn know this one, so okay, here we go.
There was once a beautiful elven princess named Elenathriel that lived in Arvandor in Faerûn, and she, on a rare outing away from her kingdom, fell for a human sailor named William Tanner. The seafaring man was struck by her beauty the moment he saw her, and offered her a beautiful conch shell in exchange for just a moment of her time. After spending all afternoon with her new-found love, she returned to her father, King Mallendor, excited to share her happiness with him.
"I met someone, Father!" she exclaimed. "[Many, many elvish sentences.]" [Al hond ebrath, uol tath shantar en tath lalala ol hond ebrath.]
The king raised an eyebrow at her in disgust as she expressed such a deep connection with this man she just met, in their native tongue, no less. "You think I would allow such a courtship?" he questioned angrily.
Now, you see, it wasn't because the man was a human and she an elf. No, no, no. The king wouldn't dare allow his daughter, an Etriel, to be betrothed to a lowly Faerûnos. She was worthy of nobility, and nobility alone. So, heartbroken, she ran from the castle, mounted her horse, and rode for the beach again.
William was not expecting to see his love so soon and rushed to her in concern. When she told him what happened, he immediately rode Elenathriel back to the kingdom, not wanting to be the cause of the king's contempt.
Malandor, at first, thanked William for being so responsible as to bring back his wayward daughter, only to have the Crownsguard immediately seize and execute William on the spot, crimson spray showering all over the throne room.
"Do not dare defy me again, a'sum. You will learn your place." The king turned from his sobbing daughter as he left the servants to mop up the horrid remains.
So now, the endings to this story differ. Some say Elenathriel threw herself into the ocean to always be with William's wandering soul. And some say she forgot her dear sailor entirely and went on to marry an elven prince, doing what her father bid. But my favorite ending is the one where she ends up ruling the kingdom after her father fell mysteriously to some poisoned tea when he least expected it.
Liam's Second Story
Questions & Quackery (Narrative Telephone 2021-02-16)
Hi! It's me, Buddy the ogre. Oh, you're pretty. Right, I'm supposed to talk now. Hazel told me I should use her Copperpot Crank Action Grogomatic for this so we could listen to it later, 'cause it traps your voice inside, but you still have your voice, but it's also in there. Yeah.
Oh, hey! Do you guys know how to get rid of ducks? My friend Lionel, he has all these ducks and he had to go on a mission with some of the others to spy on something called the Circus Bus Assembly. And he asked me if I could watch them, because I've got such good eyes. Yeah. Anyway, I was just supposed to babysit them by their pond, but they all followed me home. And they came to me and Mac's place, and now they don't wanna go home. And I don't wanna get in trouble with Lionel, or with Macaroni.
But I like those ducks, though. I named them all. There's Chester, Quackers, Steve, Reggie, Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Fourth, Webby...
You ever forget what you were talking about? Oh, gosh, you sure are pretty. I mean, I don't get it. How do the words get trapped inside of the box? My words are out here, but they're also in there.
And the thing about ducks is once one of them starts following you, they all follow you, all in a line. And they're so pretty.
Oh, right! Now I remember! The story of how me and Mac first met. Okay, here goes. Once upon a time--
Familiar Feywild Fables (Narrative Telephone 2021-03-16)
In the middle of the Feywild, in a grove of purple aspen trees, a sleek Bengal cat has just popped back into existence in the magical realm. Having grown accustomed to returning to the Feywild in this way, he simply stretches, gives a little shake, and trots off into the forest to check in at the FFFPP, the Fey Familiar Foundation and Placement Program. Upon arrival, he greets his old familiar friends, Leeko the Rat, Vesper the Cat, and Gerald the Tegu Lizard, before making his way to Archie the Owl, head of the FFFPP. He dives into his report, describing encounters with an icy dragon, a chained monster in the Astral Sea, underwater tangles with a psychic fire god, and a staggering amount of green-cloaked cultists.
Before he can continue, Archie speaks up, a concerned look on the owl's face. "Agent 111, your reports, as always, are invaluable, but you speak of innumerable dangers. You've died at least six times. You've been eaten, shot with arrows, kicked, stabbed, and --" He consults a clipboard. "Bitten by a very angry weasel. Agent 111, if you need to be reassigned--"
The owl was immediately cut off. "Archie, our job as familiars is to assist our patron with whatever they require. Mine needs me to scout. And sometimes he just needs me to be a warm, fuzzy scarf, a blep in a time of grief. And I want to be those things for him, no matter the odd situations in which my material form is returned here to the Feywild, for he is truly my greatest friend. And he needs me." As light began to surround him, signaling his imminent return to his wizard's side, he turned to the owl, who looked at him no longer with concern, but with pride and understanding. "And, Archie, it's not Agent 111. My name is Frumpkin."
The light swallowed the Fey cat, and through it, he could see the bearded ginger face of his very favorite person. As his form solidified, Frumpkin said exactly what they both needed to hear: "Meow."
Travis's Second Story
Chutney's Christmas Vacation (Narrative Telephone 2021-04-20)
Thwarted again. No! I've come too far. I was just starting to like this tropical town. I'm sure those stupid elves back at the North Pole still think I'm at the bottom of the Halloween tree. Too bad the great Oogie Boogie didn't know that Chutney Chocolatecane always keeps a razor blade in his mouth. He does now.
I was here on the beach when I heard some poor lovesick fool talking about the latest performance of the Ruby of the Sea. Ruby? Could that be the fat man in his red suit getting his musical theater rocks off in the off season? No, not here! Not now! I had to be sure. I went into town where I became distracted by the most beautiful toy store I had ever seen, when that is when inspiration struck! What is the one thing Saint Nick does over and over on that fateful night? He slides down chimneys and delivers toys. At the bottom of those chimneys is always supposed to be a roaring fire and somehow, conveniently, he never gets burned. Perhaps we could exploit that.
I learned of an arcane rune that when carved into the base of an item, would give its owner increased susceptibility to fire damage. I could carve it on a toy, throw it in Santa's sack, watch him slide down a chimney, and kablooey! no more!
I went into that toy store and found the first wooden toy I could find, carved my rune, watched it glow before it returned to normal, and treasured my plan, when suddenly the item was taken from me. I turned as a small creature was darting out the front door. A thief! I had to respect it, but I was not to be thwarted. I chased this creature down the street as she headed into a house. As I pressed my face against the window, I saw a small female halfling woman kneeling in front of her son, handing over a very familiar arcane-enchanted wooden crossbow.
What was I going to do? Steal a toy from a kid? As long as he doesn't go jumping in his fireplace I'm sure it'll be fine. Chutney will have his revenge.
Of Heists and Horses (Narrative Telephone 2021-05-18)
No, no, let our little friend here go, 'cause we need to have a conversation. See, you walked into my fine establishment, a stranger, spouting a lot of big words, heavy words, words with weight and gravity. Names like Myriad, like Clasp. Except we don't use those names anymore. Too messy. See, there's power in a name, but you knew that before you walked in. So were I to assume that that was boldness and not stupidity, I might be inclined to make you an offer. So here's the deal.
The upper-crustiest of Emon will be headed into the Temple District tomorrow, dressed in their finery and loaded for bear with their coin and gold in tribute for the Changebringer. But Lady Luck favors the bold, and we're going to use this little promenade of conspicuous consumption to liberate some coinage from the aristocracy. Mulberry, here, is our druid on the inside. Two weeks ago, she snuck into the stables of three noble houses and awakened their horses. So they are now as smart as us, loyal to us, and in on the plan for a 5% cut. We've also got a plant in with the musicians and the temple-- What? No, not a literal plant. Like, a guy. We did this yesterday. You can't-- not everything's about like leaves and shit.
Tomorrow, our man on the inside, once he sees our friendlies trotting into the square, will "accidentally" set off a firework, and our three sets of horses will spook in different directions, each running down a very narrow alley, and in the ensuing chaos, while they try to un-wedge themselves in reverse, we slide into the undercarriages, grab what we can, and get out. Real easy. No one gets seen, no one gets hurt, and one hour later we meet down at the docks to split our treasure, board some boats, lay low for a while. Make sense?
So, are you in? Or is the harbor going to float just a little bit higher tonight?
The Curious Casanova (Narrative Telephone 2021-09-23)
Handsome! Oh yes, that word, more abhorrent than any known to goblin-kind. And Flint-tip Bearscat was the most handsome goblin to ever live. Son of a hideous harem helper, a noxious night nurse, grandson of a flatulent flord farmer, nephew to a grotesque grocer, brother to a balding bubonic blacksmith -- where did these gorgeous genes come from? The symmetrical splotches, chiseled chin, aquiline nose, silk-black hair, shredded core, toned, muscular physique, and golden eyes that sparkled like the sun. Would the pain never stop?!
Doomed to a life of ridicule, he eventually succumbed to goblin goading and female failures, and could bear the shame no more. He left his vile little village to trek out into Tal'Dorei. And Flint became a rogue, hid his hideously handsome head under a cloak. He fought foes, and took only the most questionable quests, became a giant-slayer -- anything that might end his miserable existence.
Until one day, he could bear it no more. Weary of wandering, he came to a pub in a busy town by the road. The people were kind, and the air smelled of sweet meat pie. The warmth of the tavern fire eased his woes, and in its comfort, he removed his cloak.
"[Gasps of shock]" "Is that -- a goblin?" "It can't be." "Well, I'll be. He's the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen!"
Flint sunk into his chair, and then, something strange happened. Three beautiful women, a tiefling, an elf, and a human, approached his corner table.
"Hello, there," said the human. "My name is Aria, and these are my friends Lula and Vy. May we buy you a pint, traveler? I know we're certainly thirsty. Are you?"
Well, Flint sat up in his chair, smiled for the first time he could remember, and said, "Why yes, ladies. I think I might just be."
The Breakup Lettah (Narrative Telephone 2021-10-14)
All right, is this garbage on? Yes? Okay.
Hey, Baby. Do you remember me? It's Deni$e (money sign instead of the S). I spent 2000 gold on this one-way box to tell you to fuck off forever. Consider this a breakup letter. Oh, are you shocked? Well, let's recap. You left my ass in Westruun with a bunch of stolen furs we were supposed to unload for Cosmo Racketface. So imagine my surprise, coming home after a long night of schmoozing and selling, to find Racketface's loser cousin Lighteyes sitting in my good chair looking for you. I says, "I don't know where he is. I'm not his mother." He says you're gone and you took the furs.
Then Lighteyes gets in my face. He says, "Where's my money, Deni$e?" and he's pointing at me with that gross club finger of his, and you know how I got a thing with stubby things. He gives me three days to cough up the cash, or else.
So what do I do? I take time out of my busy schedule to go looking for you. I go to our old haunts, asking around about you. Faded and Jaded, Whammy's House, The Second Wing -- I go see your brother Taros in butt-fuck Turst Fields thinking maybe you grew a conscience and went to go visit your family. No, you haven't been there in months, Taros says, but oh, Deni$e, could you give me a trim? Mind you, I'm heartbroken, and I'm abandoned, but I give the asshole a haircut because I couldn't stand him looking just like you with that long hair, anyway.
I thought we had a good thing going, I really did. Anyway, I made it to Emon, and there's pictures of you everywhere. I see you shaved your mustache, and pissed off an entire guild of thieves, so congrats on that. Running with some taller girls, are you?
Listen, Dariax, I'm all out of cash, and I'm running from Racketface and Co., so I'd really just prefer it if you'd send me what you owe them, and enough to cover my travel expenses, plus a ten percent wasting-all-my-good-years-on-you fee. Otherwise, I'm going to have to find you and choke you out. And you have seen what these thighs can do. So you choose -- the money, or your head. Talk soon! And fuck you!
Oh, Mr. Gilmore says hello.
- The character Percival is the Third.
- Fan art of cooking the stew, by Elijah Viray (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Picador's Plum, by @JustHustina (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of The Vortex, by @JustHustina (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of die Waldhexe, by Nathaniel Himawan (ninesicks) (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of the Waldhexe mural, by Joanna Johnen (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of the Stassmans' flier, by Nomi Starry (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Beau and Boundaries, by Elaine Tipping (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of the Archeart in the Cart, by Sally Grew (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Grog's sign-off, by @SketchingSteph (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Brian's story, by Janelle Krzykowski (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of the Displacer Mouse, by Jen @Sprigglebear (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Buddy with the ducks, by Claire Turner (source). Used with permission.
- Fan art of Agent 111, by superfrumpkin (source). Used with permission.
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