A small merchant caravan led by Rook Bentknee, a kobold merchant, travels up the coast of the Bay of Ghed to deliver goods and trade with Rook's former adventuring companion and occasional business partner, Britta Gleamgaurd, human owner of the Frost Maiden Inn in the village of Nargenstal.
Sweet peace. The lovely embrace of forgetfulness. That is what the old smuggler's brew offers. Minutes, hours, mayhap days without the grim, heart wrenching images of your husband and children broken and ruined. Their lives cut short by evil, and when you delve deep into your own inner feelings, by your own failure to keep them safe. Your own failure to put down the evil before it had the chance to take all that you loved and held close to your heart. The guilt. The shame. The blame you have wrestled with every single day since. Finally, a drink that actually does what you've wanted it to do since you first took up the bottle following those dark, grim moments of heartbreak and shame.
And now you are denied that which you have sought for so long! Denied the opportunity to forget those ugly sights. To forget the past. To truly numb yourself from the gnawing demons within your own heart and soul.
The voice and most faithful companion inside for so many years calls for more of that fine, blessed, golden water of forgetting. It is the dream you've sought for so very, very long. Dragons and hags, priestesses and prophets be damned. YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK!
You can roll a d6 on the following list and act based on the roll:
1-2: There is no saying no. You enter a rage and MUST get the jug and another drink.
3-4: The desire for another drink pounds in your head, but you are still rational enough to not strike your companions. However, you will not move further until you have another drink.
5-6: You manage to push back the desire for the time being. You may act normally, but the craving is still lurking just beneath the surface.
Raseri snatches the jug away from Ingryd and jams the cork into the top. A series of expressions ripple across the bearkin's face. A low threatening grumble echoes deep in the big warrior's throat like a rapidly approaching storm. Looking into the bearkin's whirling eyes, Raseri feels a cold chill race down her back. A chill that quickly spreads to the rest of the Narg Nasty Six as they sense the internal battle for control taking place within their companion.
Darrell, seemingly unaware of the sudden danger standing only a few feet away, nods at the markings on the second jug.
"Aye, that's the old symbol my grandsire used." He says, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Strange though. I'd always been told the jugs were usually kept in a more secret chamber, well hidden and secured." He shakes his head. "Not just kept on a shelf out in an open tunnel. But it's all long ago, so who can say what stories are true or not I suppose."
Ingryd, check the previous posts. Raseri put the cork in the jug after the second cup and she's actively trying to keep you from drinking any more from that jug or the others. There's also a spoiler in Tareth's posts that you got ninja'd by that you really need to read.
For a moment, Raseri isn't seeing Ingryd, but a large, ugly hag looming over her. She shakes the memory away, but the chill remains as she puts as much iron as she can in her voice.
"Growl at me all you wish. Luthael and Gunnar speak the truth. We have a hag to slay and a clutch of dragon eggs to save. All of us will need all of our wits, now drag your hairy hide out of your cups and save your ire for the damned witch! Two's more than enough until we complete that labor."
The halfling furrowed his brows "Eh damnit...spoiled with juju after all. I knew I tasted newt juice in there. Screw this brew." tossing the jug violently against the wall letting it shatter and go wasted. "I'll just meander over here while Griz settles her tab..."
