I can scarcely believe it, but I think I am actually almost looking forward to going back to that mudpit of a province. It may be an uncivilized dump, but so is Lolthton, and it is my dump. And I am going to make it great!
Not that it will come about without a hitch. When we were leaving this morning, we found Bolga so gorged she could barely stand, so we had to leave her behind, but baby steps. The strange halfling I met the other day promised to take that oafish orc in her wagon.
Fortunately we made it back to Faemoor even without Bolga’s fat ass to take cover behind. Most spectacular was the ogre-sized fey we encounter not too many days away from camp. Its weapons and armour are of a most peculiar make and although no-one is big enough to use them (except maybe Bolga by the time she finally gets here…) they are obviously from a mythic age. Who knows what the little elf might be able to tell me about them after some study!
Work has even begun in earnest on the mansion. Now all we can do is wait for Horace to arrive with the servants and the supplies we need. Oh how I look forward to Scipio cooking something with proper Drow ingredients and spices! I hope Bolga has not eaten them all…