"Wait, you brought us on this mod and you have the least amount of blood on you. This doesn't seem fair." I expected more at the beginning, and if I wasn't as cold as I was by the end of that, I would have been fine with someone dumping the bucket on my head. All my shower stuff was already at NPC camp, but my core muscles were already tightening up and it would have gone poorly for my extremities when I warmed back up... itchy, swelling hands and feet aren't my idea of a fun time.
"You are filled with an overwhelming sense of hope." "...Thanks. Really." Yay, there's a unicorn in the Vale. It's touching me, make it stop.
"You have been rogued. -Greg" If I EVER SEE ANYTHING WALKING AROUND WITH OUR TREASURY BOX I HOPE THE NPC ACCEPTS PHYSICAL ROLEPLAY. I think I'm now OK with leaving our coin in gold and silver form, because if someone's going to steal it, I want it as heavy as possible so they can't run well. Phedre's paranoia is now justified. Warder glyphs, bombs in fake treasuries, audible projections, and proscribes for EVERYONE! WHEEEE!
All I wanted to do was bake my crescent rolls. What do I see? Jason in a googly-eye mask covered in fake blood outside the tavern door. Apparently I hear him apply the fake blood and that's when my stomach goes "Time for food!" Someday I'll get the timing right.
