Getting to Yem was easy with that snotty Halfling’s money. Marva knew she wouldn’t have made it at all with what he was paying, but she borrowed a bit more from him for the trip. Still it was about out, now, so she asked around where she could get some work, and that’s why she was darkening the door at “Ye Olde Coffine Naile” or something like that.
Still, what’s a good thief to do, but steal a few purses ask a few questions, and maybe have some fun in the process? Marva asked around a bit to see if anyone had work or knew where the snotty Halfling’s son was. With a flash of her boobsCharisma, she found out: (roll d20):
- Harry died when the dragon that lives on the giant tower uptown breathed on him and roasted him (and his plate armor) like a meat potato.
- Harry was seen consorting with Blue Oyster Cultists, and they “don’t fear the reaper”, if you know what I mean.
- Harry has a magic bow that he used to set a tavern in the dock district on fire.
- After trying to steal secrets from the Tower of Despicable and Unknowale Secrets, Harry was transformed into a miniature giant space hamster.
- If I buy you a drink, will you come back to my place?
- Harry was last seen going out of town with a Fighter, a Hag, and some wimpy dude in a dress.
- Oh, sorry old and mysterious Wizard!
- He was hired by ruffians from the dock district to unlock a warehouse treasure chest, even though he insisted he was “Not a Burglar.”
- Harry sleeps with the fishes now. Probably at the Blue Oyster Cult Headquarters.
- He was caught cheating at BINGO, and now the Ancient Order of B-5 is after him, so he skipped town.
- I hear he met a female gnome and they’re shacked up in the city park.
- I heard it was a male gnome!
- I heard he entered an ancient deadly dungeon and was killed by a goblin wielding a magic axe in the shape of fish.
- A couple of bill collectors came in for him a few days ago, I suspect they broke his legs and stole his bow.
- The ghosts of all the cultists who died while he was with them were haunting him so he went to Sister Mary’s House of Prayer and Prostitution to hide from them.
- Sister Mary’s has the best not-quite-vestal-virgins in town; you could probably work there.
- I heard he changed his name to “The Darkness” because some wizard cast magic missile at him.
- That’s him over there! Ha made you look!
- He’s crashed out back at my place, why don’t we go there and look for the Halfling?
- Hey, look, those are the guys he went to that dungeon with!
To find out what really happened to Harry Barefoot, listen to our podcast!
Harold Barefoot, Sr (of the Bigglesfoot Barefeet) took another sip of his pint of ale (they sold it in pints!), and glanced around the bar. The word amongst his employees was that this was the place to go to find a particular kind of person who could do particular kinds of things, and he was looking for the right person. He had to send someone to that vile place, the Island of Yem, to find his son, and bring him home.
For starters, the rather large bag of gold, stamped with a multi-legged (and beautifully blue) crustacean had been more than enough to cover the refund that Harry had given the Suckston-Barefeet. The other problem, though, was the note from his son.
Dear Father,
You should be receiving monies from a group known as the Scions of the Cerulean Shrimp. I’ve contracted with them to do a bit of information gathering and (potentially) industrial espionage on the Isle of Yem. I directed them to send you the payment for the information I’m supplying them, as my current activities require the funds I’m getting locally.
On the other hand, I’ve sharpened my bow skills somewhat, and after slaying an evil Wizard (is there any other kind?) I have a nice new magic bow, that, while I’m sure it would settle our debt, is more useful to me in my current endeavors.
We’ve just contracted with someone to retrieve a small statue from a remote location, the payment of which is obsene even by your standards. Once I’ve done that, I hope to return to my family in Bigglesfoot, and invest the money wisely,
Many happy returns (at least 12%, if you know what I mean)
Your, son, Harry Barefoot
He’d crumpled the note when he’d seen it the first time, but smoothed it out afterwards. His son was doing the work of a commoner! Delving into places and retreiving things, shooting evil Wizards! That was work for the militia, or hirelings at least! It was time to retrieve the boy, and for that he needed help.
Probably from the militia, or a hireling at least.
He took a sip from his pint, and a tall, thin (yet still good-looking) redhead sat down across from him. “Hiya, hot stuff,” she said. “How’s it hanging?”
Harold Barefoot thought about excusing himself, but he’d been in the bar for several hours and she was the first one to approach him for work. He took a bigger sip of his ale, and started to tell the human what he wanted.
