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Message: <blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 1762526" data-attributes="member: 1210">With a groan Phenyl “Sandy” Sandybanks cracks open his eyes.  They are gummed up with mucus and sweat, and a layer of biological detritus flakes away as he looks around.  The room spins for a moment, then stabilizes.  Sandy sees a cup of water on the end table at the head of the bed.  Eagerly he reaches for it and gulps it down, then gives up a fit of coughing before wiping his mouth.  “Hi, Sandy,” says a voice he doesn’t recognize.Warily, Sandy looks at the voice.  He relaxes when he realizes that it comes from another halfling, this one properly chubby but rather blank-faced.“Who are you?” Sandy croaks.“My name is Timothy,” the lad answers.  “Are you done being sick?”“I hope so...”  He sighs.  “Where am I?”“Oh, you’re resting in an inn in a little town.”  It would seem that Timothy has a gift for the obvious.  “Everyone else is out shopping,” Timothy adds.“What happened?  Did we get Norman?”“Yeah- he’s out shopping.”“Right, right...”  Sandy ponders for a moment.  “I think I need some-“  He’s interrupted by a loud rapping.“I’ll get it!”  Timothy scurries to the door and throws it wide before Sandy has a chance to speak, and a large human in thick hide armor is revealed.  “Good morning,” he says, and pushes his way into the door, closing it behind him.“Hey!” protests Sandy.  “Who invited you in?  You can’t just-““I believe,” the human interrupts, “that you need my employer’s help.”  He pulls a rolled up sheet of paper from within one of his belt pouches and hands it over.“A wanted poster,” Sandy says.  Then, “A band of halflings and a kobold?  What does this have to do with us?  We’re just a pair of halflings, hardly a band, and I don’t see any kobold here.  I think you’re-“The human sighs and shakes his head, cutting Sandy off again.  “We’ve been watching, you know.  The last thing you need, in your condition, is to have someone inform the authorities that you’re here and have them burst in the door.”“Authorities?  What authorities?”“All of the ones who would like to collect on that reward.”  The big human smiles.  “So my employer would like to invite you to breakfast.”“Oh, we really can’t,” Sandy answers.  “I need to wait for my friends here, and-““Not to worry.  One of my associates will wait for them.”Sandy’s unease grows.***6/7/368 O.L.G., 10 a.m., a small village on Strogass“Be ready in an hour!” the burly Hodge calls over his shoulder as he leaves.The deal is really simple enough, reflects Sandy, and since his meeting the day before he knows there really isn’t much choice.  Hodge had led him and Timothy to his employer, a ruthless human businessman named Hoyle.  Hoyle had laid the situation out nicely: the halflings are wanted, and if anyone knows where they are they become easy pickings.  (Maybe not as easy as you think, Sandy had thought at the time.)  He can help them, by providing them with an out of the way place to hide out for a while, if they are willing to help him.And really, it doesn’t sound so bad.  There is a monestary of aging monks who do not believe in sex.  Because of this their line is dying out; only converts join them, and not too many of them.  They are old and frail, but they are master brewers.  The beer they produce is of such quality that Hoyle is willing to take rather... extreme measures to safeguard it.“They are old and frail,” Hoyle had said.  “You can hang out there and avoid any trouble that might otherwise come your way, and while you’re there I want you to protect the monks.  Not just protect them from danger- protect them from stress.  They are old.  It probably wouldn’t take much of a stress to trigger a heart attack or stroke or something.  So if there’s trouble, try to avoid letting them know about it.”Now, as he and Timothy start loading the wagon they’ll be riding in, Sandy wonders how easy this one will be.  At least there will be good beer, he thinks cheerfully.  And then the other thought that’s been haunting him rears its head again: ...But what happened to Norman?***6/10/368, Noon, in the Brown HillsThe wagon has a driver and a pair of guards as well as our heroes on it.  The presence of the pair of guards is a hint- obviously, something dangerous lives around here.  At high noon on the third day of the trip, the dangerous something reveals itself.  Three red-skinned reptilian humanoids charge out of the brush beside the road, breathing gouts of flame and swinging their swords.  Timothy disables one with a color spray while the driver tries to calm his suddenly-screaming garen.  Sandy drops from the wagon to fight with his longspear, jabbing and weaving.  Things get unruly when they wagon catches fire, but soon they’ve defeated the lizard folk fire breathers.“Are there a lot of those things out here?” snaps Sandy.“Aye,” one of the guards grunts.  “Called firenewts.  If yer real lucky, they come atcha mounted.”  He spits.  “Nothing a good shot from a crossbow can’t bring down.”“Great,” Sandy says, glancing at the burning wagon.They manage to put it out, but it has suffered serious damage.  There are a lot more periods of walking and a lot less periods of riding for everyone except the driver now.***6/16/368, 2 p.m., in the Brown HillsAs the damaged wagon rattles along it winds up to a small plateau, and the monastery comes into view.  It is fairly small, with nice-looking gardens.  It perches atop the next hill, which is much more rugged and seems to rise to almost mountainous proportions.  A very long, narrow stairway straggles from the base of the hill to the very top.“Oh, I like gardening,” says Timothy.“That will take hours to climb!” Sandy groans.  And he’s right: it takes three hours to ascend.  Along the way, Sandy takes many nips off the flask of hard liquor he has, and he offers it to Timothy but he says something about “for grown-ups,” which Sandy doesn’t quite understand.  So, as he begins to feel the alcohol sing in his blood, Sandy tries to draw Timothy out on the subject, and slowly, to his utter bafflement, he gets a picture of Timothy’s mind.He thinks he’s a human kid, Sandy thinks, but he’s clearly a tallfellow halfling.  And he knows he’s in his twenties, but he doesn’t see the fallacy in thinking he’s just a kid.  He shakes his head.  “Timothy, you’re a halfling,” he states firmly.“No, I’m just a kid.”“Ahh, okay.  Well, if you’re not a halfling, how would you like to be one?  We could put you on the program.”“The program?” Timothy asks, intrigued.“Yeah!  The halfling program!”  Sandy grins drunkenly.  “When it’s finished, you’ll be a halfling like all of us!  Well, except the dog.  But think about it!  If you’re a halfling, things are good.  You get to eat and drink a lot, there’s lots of adventure, and it’s a lot of fun!  You’ve had fun with us so far, right?”“Well, more fun than at the place, I guess.”“Right!  We’re more fun than the place,” whatever the hell that means, “so you should get on the program!  And all it takes is ten percent of your share of the treasure.”“Oh, okay.”Sandy beams, then glances up at the remaining distance.  Quite a ways to go...Next Time: How fun is life at a monastery full of old monks?  Boy oh boy!</blockquote>

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