Pepsi's Tale, Addendum

Posted at March 09, 2009

Note: The campaign petered out. The following is my ending for it, and is completely DM-unauthorized.

It was a trap! Oh, curse me, and the horror brought forward by my chaos point. This entire journey was a con.

We went to Lord Angar’s castle, aye, me and my companions of questionable familiarity and provenance (minus the warlock, who I suspect masterminded everything — he was the one who gathered us together, after all. Sure, perhaps I agreed to go on this trip voluntarily, thinking it a simple delivery, and in the hopes of establishing a connection with the trading houses at the castle. He used my greed (shopkeeper, don’t forget) to lure me away from my beloved shop and… I’ve gotten quite ahead of myself. Close parentheses.)

We went to Lord Angar’s castle, aye, me, my so-called companions, and troops of soldiers. Halfway there the warlock — Aeos, his name was — reappeared, and spoke privately with the platoon leader. I wasn’t privy to their conversation, but I imagine it went something like this:

“So, that halfling there is a merchant. He seems to be of humble means at the moment, but after journeying with him, I am certain that his innate charisma and impeccable skill will lead him to leading the merchants guild in the city, and ultimately overthrowing our ill-defined pseudo-feudal system of government.”

“Ah, some people think they can do anything now that our world has been partially destroyed by some magical happenstance that will never actually get explained!” spat the guard. “I hate them and their uppitivity.”

“Indeed, sir. And combined with his miraculous singing ability, he’s a much bigger threat than Lord Angar, who I should add is a close and personal friend, and who is eager to reward military men who see things our way.”

“Ah… you make a persuasive case. But what of the others?”

“The others? Oh, they’re in on it to. The Paladin understands that drinking and wenching is morally superior to selling healing potions at an unmatchable discount. The dwarven cleric, like all healers, is around for the money. The wizard, Cornelius Longshanks, is a distraction. And the other halfing, Nestle, has already made preparations to take over his business: back in the city, she was careful to stick with Pepsi, and now she has all his business contacts.”

“And I have an army. Shall we just get to it?”

“No. First we must get to the castle. I have plans…”

That’s how I imagine it went, anyway. All I know is that they talked in the tent for an hour, and Longshanks managed to fall in a fire and burn off all his clothes. Twice.

A week later we arrived at the castle. I knew something was horribly wrong when instead of calling upon us adventurers to sneak inside, the soldiers clapped me in iron manacles and marched me through the front gate. And there he was…

“You!” I spat out. “I know you! You’re the one who refused to pay full price for my masterwork longsword!”

And with a mad cackle, the he informed me that for the last week, his agents have been staffing my shop, and that they’d sold my collection of jade dragons for mere coppers.

Oh, if I could’ve escaped the chains, I would’ve throttled him. But I couldn’t. I was trapped, and none of my rogue skills could help.

And then Ronaldo, Nestle’s pet pig, trotted up to her, the keyring for my store in her snout.

That’s where my story ends.