There it is. And you led us right to it. Okay, you know what, you’re really starting
to make me sick. Maybe you should just take off his boots so you can lick them easier. Martin. What? He’s just a cleric, he’s not a god.
So he can follow a trail. You know what, I can follow a trail, too! He’s just a meat-headed
bandaid with good hair and a high Charisma score. How dare you speak to Torval that way! He
is a hero! Do you know how many people he’s saved, how many adventurers he’s brought back
from the brink of death, how many times he’s led his party through terrible danger? You
know what he is? He is a real adventurer. He’s strong, and brave, and kind, and everything
that you’ll never be! You’re just a miserable, whiny brat who doesn’t even know how to be
a proper druid. Well maybe I should just go. Maybe you should! Look, please stop, both of you. Gwenevere,
please. We’re all tired. We’ve been walking for hours. We’ll camp here for the night,
have a meal, and get out of each other’s hair for one or two hours. What do you say? You know what? I’m not hungry. And I’m not
interested in staying where I’m not appreciated. Screw you, I’m leaving. Have fun with four. Oh, what did I do? Don’t worry, I think he’ll be back. I don’t think he will. God! I have such a
big mouth sometimes. I don’t know how you did it, Torval, leading a party. Feels like
dumb luck is the only thing that’s kept us alive this long. May I make an observation? So let me get this
straight: when you and Fernando woke up in the snow at the hobgoblin camp you escaped
and made your way back to town? Despite having no money you rebuilt your party, trekked your
way back into the beginning, where you managed to not only discover the name of the clan
that abducted you, but also where to find them. You somehow overcame the Bridgekeeper
of Serenity Valley, somehow freed your druid companion from undead posession, and managed
to make allies of a tribe of cannabalistic halflings. Am I right so far? Yes. Then you managed to rescue me. And burn down
half the forest in the process. You have done well, to get this far. And I am eternally
grateful to you for what you have done for me. I’m just glad you’re okay. So. Is Fernando determined to stick to this
“ukulele bard” thing? Yes. He is going to compose an epic ballad. Oh, goodluck to him. As far as I’m concerned
you have two strikes against you when you try to do anything with a ukulele. Where did
you find that barbarian? She got thrown out of a bar. And the druid? Also, thrown out of a bar. The same bar. I see. What? Oh, don’t get me wrong, Gwenevere, your companions
have done well to get you this far, but…but it can’t have been easy. You’re intelligent,
charismatic, a natural leader. When this whole thing is over, you and I will found a party
you can be proud of. Let’s go get something to eat, and if we’re lucky Fernando will have
left us something. That’s the last mistake you’re ever going
to make, you fat-headed piece of… Oh yeah, you’d better lock that door! Or I’m going
to come out there and rip those hairy green arms off and beat you to death with them! Humans. You’re all the same. Who’s there? I am Astrid Goldberry, Lady of the Five Woods
and Keeper of the Forest Moon. You’re filthy. Astrid? Like, Fernando and Gwenevere’s Astrid? You know Fernando and Gwenevere? A half-halfling bard with a ukulele and an
ungrateful, narcicistic sorcerer? Yeah, I know them. We were looking for you. And they weren’t captured? Where are they
now? Oh, I…I’m not working with them anymore.
I’ve, uh, struck out on my own. Really working well for you I see. Well I found you first, and that’s something.
I can’t wait to see the look on Wendy’s face when she finds out I beat her bloved cleric
to the punch. And I wasn’t even trying. Him and his god damed sexy leather pants. You’re stuck in a dungeon with me. Pfft! Whatever, it’s just a hobgoblin dungeon.
How secure could it possibly be? Very secure. You can’t get out. Hey, you don’t know anything about me. Have you ever met an elf? One. Sort of. Well, I’m an elf and a ranger, so do you realize
exactly how good my senses are? Everything you do and say gives you away, I know everything
about you. Oh, yeah, smarty-pants? Let’s hear it then. Well, you’re wearing leather armour which
makes you a rogue, ranger, druid, barbarian or bard. You didn’t immediately check the
door to see if you could spring the lock so you’re not a rogue. You used the word “narcicistic”
which cuts out barbarian. You cringe away from dirt and you’re hands are soft and white
and unused to a bow string or a day of hard labour. Your gear is substandard and you struck
out on your own in the middle of the hobgoblin-infested lands, showing inexperience. You are a low
level bard, down on his luck. No no, uh uh, I don’t want to hear an epic poem. You noobs
are so easy to read. Wow, real elves are jerks. I’m not a bard,
I’m a druid. And the fact that I have a high intelligence, clean hands, and don’t smell
like patchouli does not make me any less of a druid, thank-you very much. And if you’re
so superior, why haven’t you gotten out of here yet? It’s…it’s possible I tried, but there’s
no way out. How long have you been in here? About a week. There were a lot of us, then.
I’m the last. What happened to the others? They’re dead. How do you know? Oh, I know. Look, if we’re going to get out of here you
have to tell me everything you know. I may be all human and inferior, but at least I’m
another set of hands. Even if they are “bard hands”. It’s Torval. What? I knew it! Oh my god. Good morning. Ah! Any movement and I slit
her throat. Weapon down. Where’s Torval? What have you done with him?
He was keeping watch. Torval! Hey, boss, this one wants to talk to you. Yes. Yes, that one talks too much. No, Torval! I don’t understand! We’re your
friends, we’re your party, we came back for you. Yes you did. Well done. You win. Luckily for
me, we’re not all playing by the same rules. You’re far too trusting, my friend. But you
did an excellent job of driving away the only cynical member of your little band. Martin! Martin! Wait, you tied yourself up in the hobgoblin
camp? Yes, Edda. Still catching up are we? Gwenevere,
Fernando, I didn’t actually expect you to survive this long. But I like this little
turn of events. I think everything’s going to work out just fine, for all parties involved.
With your help, together we have a chance at last– You betrayed us! You led us here, and now
you’re going to feed us to your hobgoblin minions? Will you stop interrupting my monologue, please?
Together, we have a chance– I’m going to rip you into ugly little bloody
little pieces! Okay, you know what? Forget it. No one appreciates
a good monologue anymore. Peasants! You know how long I spent writing that thing? Take
the two short ones to the dungeon. Lady Gwenevere and I need to have a little chat. Astrid! Martin! You’re okay! I’m in jail, that’s a matter of opinion. We were so worried when you didn’t come back. You were right. Torval betrayed us, it was
him all along. Now Wendy’s gone, he took her away and I couldn’t stop him. Hey! It’s okay, we’re going to get her back. I should have trusted you, I’m sorry. I just
wanted to be a hero like him. Hey, if he’s a hero, then being a hero is
dumb. Yeah. Where are we? Jail. I’ve been in lots, there all the same.
Chains, rats, bones. Poop bucket. Oh hey, look, a grue! Aw! Rrawr, I’m going to eat
you! Rrawr! Rrawr, rrawr, rrawr… You’re an idiot. Yeah, I made you laugh, though. So what do
we do now? Fernando, there have got to be a brazillion stories of people breaking out
of jail. What did they do? You’re right. Martin, seduce the guard. What?! Edda, get me a spoon. We’re getting out of
here tonight. Let’s go.