“Unfortunately, my lovely Valia Springs are currently…occupied,” said Namidine. “Drow in one pool, githyanki in another, and modrons in a third…and none of them are paying!”


Bearing down on the githyanki that had called her kind ‘accursed winged filth,’ the young strix stove his head in with a well-aimed smack from her warpwood rod, blasting foul ichor into the spring’s clear healing waters.


The springs’ healing magic washed away the crude drow disguise that Celeria had cast; “Womp Rat” no longer looked like the lead from an elfsploitation scroll. Playing it up, he moaned and cried most pitiably, trying to convince the other drow that a terrible curse affected the pool, one that could turn them into scruffy and smelly humans. Alarmed, they quickly vacated the sparkling waters.


“Womp Rat” picked up Brynhildr and tossed her over the traps. She successfully made it as far as the Valia Guildhall’s table, but landed there with a belly flop that rolled the wounded guard, Tinuviel, off the table and onto the Baleful Polymorph trap. She hit the floor as an–admittedly fully healed–French bulldog.

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