We have arrived at the Krannath Roadhouse, an obscure hostelry and roadwork camp on the Coast Way near the Cloak Wood, halfway between Baldur’s Gate and Beregost. The superintendent here is a burly half orc who goes by the auspicious name of Bog Luck.
We were instructed to unload our wagons here, under the pretense of security. I had suspicions about this, so I rendered myself magically Invisible and, by the grace of Beshaba, locked myself in a secure strong-room alongside the cultists’ ill-gotten booty.
Soon Jorad came to the door, and we conversed briefly. He spoke of supping on turnip porridge, and a communal bedchamber on the main floor being assigned to our group. I told him of my situation, and vowed to keep watch on the loot inside the vault. A few hours later, I heard the unmistakable footfalls of Gunx in the adjacent storeroom, whispering my name rather loudly as he felt his way in darkness. His noise allerted the ill-tempered roadhouse cook, but Gunx managed to convince the gruff servant that he was there innocently hunting rats. The two then left the storeroom together, and I was once again alone.
I continued my sleepless watch well into the night, until I heard a creak, a clunk, then hissing whispers and the blaze of torchlight. Eight lizardfolk emerged from a trapdoor hidden beneath a dummy chest. I magically disguised myself as Bog Luck, but I stayed hidden as I watched the reptilian crew take all the cultists’ loot down the hatch. Once their torchlight had faded, I pursued, and reconnoitered some distance down a twisting, wet tunnel before deciding to head back to the vault for a half-night’s rest.
Lady Doom, thank you for the twists and turns of fate that have led me to this moment. Without your hand in my life, I would not have discovered this plot. May I always see the gifts in the misfortunes you bring, klaatu barada nikto amen.
