26 Mirtul 1367 DR
“What name do you go by, adventurers?” a man called out from the crowd. A mass of people were following the heroes as they moved through the streets of Waterdeep, the slain dragon on display in a wagon.
The companions begin to glance at each other, unsure of how to answer.
“I’ve never considered this before,” said Karn. “However, it makes sense that the common folk will need a name to which to attribute all our great deeds.”
Dexter sighed. “I’ve been meaning to bring this up. All great adventuring groups have a name. We should have a group charter, too.”
“I have just the thing,” Lyr said, swinging his mandolin off his back. “A great name that the people will remember us by! Other bards will regale the people with our accomplishments! My patrons at the Sloshing Boot will—“
“Oh, stuff it!” Dona shoved the bard backward. “Keep this business with your boot to yourself.”
After several minutes of discussion and having given the crowd no answer, they arrive at their destination, Essimuth’s Equipment.
“Great people,” intones Karn, stepping forward. “I shall tell you our name! And my illustrious companion, Aelyrendar Fairsong – “ He holds a hand out to indicate Lyr. “ – shall recount to you the tale of our glorious victory over this deadly foe!”
Shaking her head, Dona whispers to Karn, “Good, take care of this annoyance. And keep the bard from saying anything stupid.” She thought a moment. The paladin is as likely to say something stupid as the bard. Oh, whatever…
“Come on, let’s get this dragon armor business sorted out,” she said, gesturing at Dexter and Dunkle to enter Essimuth’s shop with her.
Essimuth was a short man – many mistook him for a dwarf – with a peg leg fashioned in the form of a half-owl half-bear creature. He seemed to have been waiting for them.
“A dragon, I hear!” He chuckled, hands on hips. “I bet that’s a story!”
“It is,” Dexter said with a forced smile. The heroes had learned when they first met the man that above all else Essimuth placed great value on the recounting of adventuring stories.
The bookish wizard proceeded to tell the story to the man. His recounting was perhaps a bit dry and definitely more succinct and less colored than it would have been if Lyr were doing the telling, but he got the job done.
After the formalities, Dona handled the actual business of loot selling. How the barbarian had gotten stuck with playing the group accountant she didn’t know, but damn it if she wasn’t going to do a good job of it.
Besides selling the treasure the group had acquired on their recent adventure, there was the business of crafting dragonscale armor from the dragon’s hide.
Essimuth explained that it was a tricky business, but that he knew master craftsmen in the city who were up to the task. It would take roughly three tendays, but at the end they would have their wares: suits of light dragonscale armor for Lyr and Dunkle and dragonscale pants and shirt for Dona.
Once their business with Essimuth was concluded, the three exited his shop.
“And then,” said Lyr as he strummed at his mandolin, “waves and waves of small winged reptilian creatures began to swarm us, hurling massive kegs full of acid. However, despite the overwhelming odds—“
“Damn it, let’s go.” Dona grabbed the neck of the bard’s instrument and began to pull him along. “You can finish this at the Shitty Boot.”
“It’s the Sloshing Boot.”