|Acid Reflux is a Bitch|
I'm an old man and I've had a boring life. it's taken me 50-some years to learn one single spell, and in that time someone invented something called a Lantern that does the same thing. I'm not bitter. Really I'm not.
Lately I've been wandering down to the Old Coffin Nail, which is what passes for your standard wretched hive of scum and villainy here in Yem, commonly known as the local Adventurer's Tavern. Necromancy is seen as a favored local pastime here in the city, along the lines of Football or Gay Pride Parades. In fact the last time we had a zombie outbreak here people set up lawn chairs out on main street and clapped and waved flags. So you could say we have a pretty easy-going attitude about death - or at least that's what those Blue Öyster evangelists keep telling us we should have.
Fine with me, like I said, I've had a boring life. At least these adventuring types have seen an interesting thing or two. I sat down at a table with a pair of rough-and-tumble-looking fellas, Bill the Mauler and Harry Barefoot the Halfling. At least I think he's a halfling, but it's hard to tell if there's a halfling inside all that plate mail armor, he sort of looks like an ash can stove with hairy feet. They were sitting around and drinking and celebrating their recent defeat of a local upstart religion - something to do with that big explosion on the docks this week - and gloating about having gotten some sweet new magical weapons. Well, I've got a magic weapon too. It's a 25 pound spellbook with one obsolete spell in it.
|A witch walks into a bar... something|
something "a broom with a view"
Now I know what you're thinking: Fifty thousand platinum for some statuary relocation? Sounds totally legit, right? You don't get to be my age without smelling a fishy deal or two. We press her for an advance of two platinum and lo and behold the witch up-ends her purse and pours out fifty thousand platinum pieces and gives us two of them before magically sucking the rest of them back in. I hadn't gotten this excited about something since three cannibals interrupted me one win away from claiming a seashell pipe at the last church Bingo night.
I think I just found my future wife.
So I'm headed into a hole in the ground to help some maniac art collector with a magic purse reclaim her long lost lawn ornament. Finally. This is what I call livin'. Otherwise quite probably known as soon-to-be dyin'.