The inside of the tree was dusty, and (in my mind) the interior glowed with an eerie blue light (whether that’s what actually happened or not). It appeared to be much like standard living quarters, just uninhabited for many many years. Somewhere under that think layer of dust and vines was a mirror, a bed, a table, and a nightstand.
Melancholy approached the center of the room and called out. Avantador had a hard time not being near the door or crawling up the walls, but tried to appear non-threatening . . . I’m sure he looked a bit like a husband spider about to be eaten by a Black Window.
Suddenly a screeching voice cried out, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU DISTURB ME?!”
Melancholy, not knowing or caring that a Banshee could destroy our pitiful level 2 selves in one swipe, simply struck up a conversation and cheerfully talked about how we were on a quest and wanted some information for a very pretty lady who lives back in Phandalin. "She asked us to ask you a question about the original owner of this mysterious spell book, and LOOK she gave us this very pretty and valuable comb to give to you in exchange . . ." *innocent Tiefling smiles* (Although "innocent Tiefling" seems an oxymoron, with Melancholy that's very plausible.)
The Banshee was quite impressed with this comb. She looked it over and said she’s be more than happy to make that exchange for us. (Avantador was still climbing the walls mentally and just wanted to get the heck out of there as fast as possible)
“YOU MAY ASK ME ONE QUESTION!”
Melancholy restated the question, and the Banshee let us know the name we were looking for (I honestly can't remember -- I'll have to poke the DM next time I see him.)
The Banshee wailed out “NOW LEAVE ME TO MY PEACE!”
“Um thank you! You’re really nice!”
“UM, NICE MEETING YOU I SUPPOSE!? I MAY NOT BE AS WELCOMING IF YOU RETURN!”
. . . and that was it. We had our information and a kind of new banshee friend . . . kind of.
On our way back to Sister Graele, we spied a run down tower on a hill and a tent nearby. We needed to camp for the night and decided to approach the tent. The only problem was that as we drew close to the camp, the smell of decay was in the air.
Sure enough, out from the tower shambled six zombies. Inching slowly toward us.
The elf pegged one right in the head, Melacholy chucked a dart, Graver threw a bolt of fire . . . and that zombie just didn’t die. *gulp*
I turned to the group and said, “Um, guys, I don’t think we can take these zombies, we should probably get out of here . . . they're moving slow enough we could . . .”
Right then, a man threw open the tent door. “What are you doing?! Can you please not try to kill my servants!”
We explained our innocence and declared our self-defense to the strange man who smelled of foreign incense.
“Well of course they were, they’re my guards!” and with a wave of his hand, the “friendly” necromancer waved off the zombies, who then shambled back toward the tower.
“Sorry, we didn’t know…”
“It’s so hard to keep these alive with adventures always traipsing through here and messing with my servants. Speaking of which, you look to be just that . . . adventurers that is.”
“We went and talked to a Banshee today and she was really nice!” blurted out Melancholy uncomfortably.
“A Banshee?! Not the Banshee in the Fey Woods?”
“Yeah, she was really nice, and she told us all about the owner of a spell book.”
“Well, I’ve not met many people that have survived a Banshee and let alone thought one was nice . . . would you like to come inside and have a cup of tea?”
. . . and there it was, Melancholy's trigger word. Tea. “YES!” wailed Melancholy . . . and with that, we were inside the Necromancer’s tent . . . having tea.
(to be continued)