As I write this, we are resting inside a canyon in Droaam called Six Kings. We have been chasing down the pieces of a busted old artifact called the Ashen Crown. Everyone and their cousin seems to want this thing. So far, this seems the kind of endearing fool’s errand that Douven would have sent us on, a shared sentiment which I suspect is all that keeps us going after the pieces. For the quest has not gone well for us so far, I’m afraid…
I’ve had my favorite scarlet cloak ripped to tatters by kruthiks in some gross old tomb, the seat of my trousers is wearing thin after sitting on some splintery old cart riding across what seems half of Droaam, and worst of all my pride has been damaged after getting knocked out by that poppinjay Turlough and his cronies. Waking up to some old hag offering me tea is not my idea of a good time. I’ll stick to younger ladies, preferably of Elven descent, thankyouverymuch.
The others do not fare much better. Romana grows a bit more despondent with each day that dawns with no new memories resurfacing. Steeple seems to have taken after Romana a bit, after mysteriously disappearing from camp for several days with her. Last night in camp, I even spied him making one of his creepy dolls that looked like Romana. If I didn’t know as much as I do about Warforged anatomy, I’d suspect something romantic was going on. On that note, I hope he finds his girlfriend and his master soon.
Tor has been getting increasingly deranged and violent. The rest of us suspect that this is related to his possession of Ashurta’s Blade, which makes me question whether we should really be pursuing any more pieces of some evil old hobgoblin crown. He keeps mentioning something about his father being a warlord in Droaam, but I suspect that this may be another delusion induced by carrying the artifact, as it seems a bit coincidental to have just come up now.
Our old friend Splug has abandoned us, taking coin to accompany another group on the quest to find the crown. This betrayal still stings, for Splug and I shared many a merry night of drinking together, and none of the rest of my companions can even tell an Aundain brandywine from a Darguunian gutwhiskey.
Maaka is the only one who seems to be just as happy-go-lucky as always. While the rest of us wearily trudge along unsure of our commitment to this quest, she stomps around humming happily and incinerating anthills with her breath. The fact that she apparently has a black dragon angry at her doesn’t seem to bother her a bit.
My hope is that if we recover enough of the pieces, we can use them to buy some much-needed favors. I still want to know what the hell happened in Winterhaven, and it would be nice to get a promotion within Lyrander so that I can put Ashleigh in her proper place. Also, coming back to Breland with the Ashen Crown would thoroughly embarrass that ridiculous rooster of a man Turlough and his employer, that uncompromising hobgoblin-lover of a captain.
Looks like the rest of the group is finished licking their wounds… I shall continue this later, should we survive.