Disappointed, disillusioned, I, Gertrude Perkins, Bard Extraordinaire, have found myself made quiet. Though I never thought to make my party members into heroes worthy, perhaps, of holy song, I had thought to inspire in them something greater than petty intrigue and picking on those who are less capable of comprehending the nature of the world.
Dear, stupid Rondo. I kept with the party for one last foray into the dark halls under our city after unveiling the mystery of your departure, needing to find out more of that vile thief's plans and to stay, to the best of my admittedly not spectacular fighting ability, any harm that might come from these villains. Fate has favored my purposes, and taken the life of the criminal. My work with these worthless and irredeemable cutthroats is done.
And yet, even the church that raised me has made me question their dedication to the laws that I have been so sternly tutored in. The woman I considered to be like an aunt and adviser casually conspired with them to do acts that were not necessarily good. I am at a loss. Nothing is right that I can see. The singing forever at the edges of my hearing is rising in tone.
Perhaps someday I may become a saint - but that is not something that one hopes for.
"Harriet?" You might ask yourself - "Who's Harriet? What happened to Gertrude?" Let me tell you. Gertrude Perkins is a plain faced,low class, self righteous little snot who couldn't hack it in the real world and went back crying to Mama Church the first time she encountered some intentions that weren't necessarily selfless. She made a pet of some barely sentient cat person, as if that could go well, and was all surprised when her party members didn't treat him as the king he thinks he is.
Which left me an opportunity. This party, as filled with self absorbed misfits as it might be, is actually fairly effective and becoming well known. Which suits my purposes perfectly. I know I have money. You know I have money, but I want fame. I don't have enough of that money to buy fame, but if I attach myself to the right people, I might just get it the hard way. I'm used to working for what I want, which is more than I can say for a certain other person.
The events, as they have been unfolded, are best told in song, which I will gladly regale you with should you be lucky enough to encounter me, but there are a few quick notes I would like to cover.
Grogrot and his strange pet, Jimmic: they have opened a strangely successful tavern, the Fuzzy Wuzzy. Grogrot did spectacularly in the games this season and now he has ambitions to be mayor. I'm not opposed to this and I believe I will bend my resources toward this end.
The Masked Messiah: he is not a bard. I have a degree. I cast magic with my songs. He is an illusionist who plays an instrument. Also, I suspect he is an albino under all that cloaking and mask. Still, rather effective with what magic he has and I have given my promise to not make fun of him calling himself a hero for one week when we return above.
Simon the Warlock: A baby faced street urchin with all the flexibility with the truth that that implies and the arrogance of very new money. Very entertaining and possibly useful politically.
Gob: You had one job. Open the damn door. That woman foiled my plans and I wanted to finish her. And I did. Eventually. I'm still a bit annoyed.
Finn: Bit of a recluse, but what do you expect from a druid? A fair strategist. Has saved my life a few times. Well, most of them have, honestly, but I have returned the favor.
Kuru'Kookoo: Blissfully positive, but good for going through the door first, and other scout - y type things. I don't know where he went after our valiant defeat of the spider monsters. He can't have gone far...
I'm just going to say it. I was amazing. My Thunderwaves bellowed through the cavern, blasting through the zombie ogres, heralding my approach to the rest of the party battled some skeletal beast ahead of us. Then my Heat Metal basically took down that gruesome rotting chained beast singlehandedly. I was everywhere, healing, soothing tempers, restoring Jimmic's sight, generally being a beacon of civilization and beauty in these brutal caverns.
Just one note this time: while my great victories have made me slightly more gracious toward our new rogue, I did find something a bit suspicious on his person while looking him over, like you do, before a healing. I'm fairly certain he didn't acquire that medallion anywhere while on our adventure. Who has sent him our way? How will I frame this intrigue later to make the best story?