Prequel to session 3: The fate of poisoned Clinton Killingsworth

You have a sensation of being woke from a deep slumber, compounded with a massive headache and queasiness, not unlike being seasick and hungover at the same time, had you ever been on the sea.

With effort, you open your eyes, but the darkness does not abate. You don’t even have the wits to wonder if you are dead. You pass out again.

When your eyes open again, you have the sensation of moving but being frozen in place. You try to move but can’t. At first, you think it is because you are tied to a board- a plank from a rowboat. And this board it tied to a large dog that is pulling you across the grass. But you realize that you’re arms are actually free any you can’t move them.

A human wearing only worn leggings is walking behind you. You grunt at him. He raises his eyes to you.

“Your gnome is awake again” he whispers loudly.

The motion stops. Wet sandpaper scrapes your face as Parquinryde greets you enthusiastically. An elder elf with one hand missing leans over you.

“Rest, friend gnome. You are with friends. Be quiet and still. We travel north, and we are not into the woods yet.”

You start to recognize others. The mad human paladin. The spunky tall halfling. The elf with the good ideas that has saved your skins more than once.

They stare over the hills, and as your eyes focus, you can see that everyone is looking at hundreds of yellow stars buried in the land. But they aren’t stars, they are campfires. And the enemy victory songs of Verma can be heard on the wind.

The elf holds your hand in his one remaining: “Not to worry friend. They are many, but we are few, and night is with us. We will be at the safety of the Honeycomb soon.”