I am writing to you, O my master, to update you on my travels, as I promised I would do from time to time. I have been remiss in not writing sooner, but the good news is that I cannot remember so much of what has happened that a single letter, comprising the events of the last hour or so, will bring you up to speed with what I know.
So, without further context….we advanced toward the very big airship, which was named the Wolfram Alpha. Francis notably communicated with Syla’s breasts; interesting.
I turned invisible to investigate as we heard some sounds (by we I mean me, because I have keen hearing it seems). We encountered some soldiers and had a scuffle and a convo in that order. We sold them on a story that we were a secret taskforce: Wolf Beta Goat. Super great idea! Goat-friend came up with that; he is always so clever. Also I had a wild magic surge (the latest of many; my life) and I now seem to be maybe three years younger. Magic is so magical sometimes, also wild. Then Francis starting trying to sabotage (?) the airship, perhaps undermining our narrative about being a secret taskforce.
Suddenly! A half-elf woman in ash colored robes trimmed in red appears. (A wholesome red. How very.) She is indignant. She’s totally contradicting our story — darn her.
Battle! I use my wand to shrink her. Azamar had some totally non-gay wrestling and grappling. I have no choice but to cast my fireball as a twinned spell, incinerating the archmage/elf and some of her soldiers. They were replaced by some flumphs! Whoa call back!
We hear a disharmonic sound. (I assume discordant but that was the word that was used.) The remaining guards surrender. The barriers are down. Francis is bleeding out. Francis fought the ooze creature (I think I missed this?) and is down to four tentacles. All of his dancing tentacles are gone. We take a moment to wipe away our tears.
We go to the bridge of the airship. We see through a door (?) a heavily armored Pengal (likely male); a robed elven man; and a human woman, scantily clad. “Your evil spree ends here!” they trumpet.
We see a miserly well-horned gentleman in scrappy clothes. We can smell him and he’s a little funky, like unwashed for a couple of days. “Me and my big-ass stick here are here to stop the airship!” he crows.
We have a long convo about relative leadership qualities of Azamar and this new guy, Rhystio. Blah blah blah.
Cliffhanger goes here without long rest. Syla and I are both quite close to death and perilously low on spells.
I am sending this by a very fast passenger pigeon, which is shaped very like…well, that’s another story.