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Fear and Loathing in Shadowdale
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<blockquote data-quote="The Traveler" data-source="post: 2259439" data-attributes="member: 179"><p>It was almost noon, and we still had hundreds of yards to go. They would be tough yards. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Gathering for the renowned Wizards' Duel and Chili Cookoff was already under way, and we had to get there by sundown to claim our fully warded room at the inn. An anonymous patron from Thay had taken care of the reservations, along with this ridiculously plush carriage we'd just rented off a disreputable Rashemani and I was, after all, a respectable bard; so I had an obligation to balladize the event for good or ill.</p><p></p><p>The Thayans had also given me three hundred gold in cash, most of which was already spent on some of the more questionable comestibles of the Unapproachable East. The baggage trunks looked like the leftovers from Alustriel's last birthday party. We had two pouches of pipeweed, 75 seeds from some unidentifiable jungle flower, five of what I can only guess was a byproduct of slaughtering kobolds, a saltshaker half-full of fairy dust, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of wine, a quart of rum, a keg of ale, a pint of raw beholder blood and two dozen juvenile campestri.</p><p></p><p>All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of reckless traveling over the East -- from Thay to Rashemen, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.</p><p></p><p>The only thing that really worried me was the beholder blood. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man or demihuman in the grip of the fresh squeezings of an aberration. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably when we next watered the horses. We had sampled almost everything else, and now -- yes, it was time for a long swig of a bastard child of the Far Realm. And then do the next hundred yards in a horrible, slobbering sort of spastic stupor. The only way to keep alert on beholder blood is to gesture in the Seventh Sigil of Cyric -- not all at once, but steadily, just enough to maintain the focus at a gallop through the Dalelands.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Traveler, post: 2259439, member: 179"] It was almost noon, and we still had hundreds of yards to go. They would be tough yards. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Gathering for the renowned Wizards' Duel and Chili Cookoff was already under way, and we had to get there by sundown to claim our fully warded room at the inn. An anonymous patron from Thay had taken care of the reservations, along with this ridiculously plush carriage we'd just rented off a disreputable Rashemani and I was, after all, a respectable bard; so I had an obligation to balladize the event for good or ill. The Thayans had also given me three hundred gold in cash, most of which was already spent on some of the more questionable comestibles of the Unapproachable East. The baggage trunks looked like the leftovers from Alustriel's last birthday party. We had two pouches of pipeweed, 75 seeds from some unidentifiable jungle flower, five of what I can only guess was a byproduct of slaughtering kobolds, a saltshaker half-full of fairy dust, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of wine, a quart of rum, a keg of ale, a pint of raw beholder blood and two dozen juvenile campestri. All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of reckless traveling over the East -- from Thay to Rashemen, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the beholder blood. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man or demihuman in the grip of the fresh squeezings of an aberration. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably when we next watered the horses. We had sampled almost everything else, and now -- yes, it was time for a long swig of a bastard child of the Far Realm. And then do the next hundred yards in a horrible, slobbering sort of spastic stupor. The only way to keep alert on beholder blood is to gesture in the Seventh Sigil of Cyric -- not all at once, but steadily, just enough to maintain the focus at a gallop through the Dalelands. [/QUOTE]
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