Genasi

Upon your return to the Well-Hung Lantern Inn, a burst of wind destroyed the roof of the Well-Hung Lantern Inn.

And upon reaching the interior, you saw your old friend, who had a similar name to Zephyrel, Zephyr the songbird, the air Genasi pop star that had traveled throughout Faerun and settled in Neverwinter after meeting your very good friend Harlow, who has been missing since his wish a few weeks ago.

She is notably pregnant and probably weeks away from giving birth.

And you can tell that she is definitely going through some pregnancy pains.

It was Polaris, yeah.

Do you know if it's still Polaris? Well, they've got a Genasi in there that's still running it.

Okay.

Polari or no? They look like Polari.

It was a long road.

The Genasi woman does not seem to like that response from either of you.

And tell me, have you The genasi speaks more, but the words quickly lose sound for you as she speaks in the song.

I will say it for the millionth time, the pseudo language that the cult uses.

But Marin replies, also in the song.

In fact, you don't even notice that she is speaking because you can't hear the words until you look over to her.

And judging by the reaction from the Genasi and the other cultists around, she speaks it quite fluently.

The Genasi woman smiles at the words and nods her head.

Niko, you feel the, like, necrotic energy draining from your hands into this goliath, and she tries to, like, break out of your grip, but as you, like, squeeze her and squeeze her, her eyes similarly just, like, roll back and she just passes out.

And Frayer, you're pushing the Earth Genasi up against the wall, but you got a 12, and so the Earth Genasi is actually going to be able to push you back, and so there is one that is currently not knocked out.

They are going to try to make their way to the alarm.

They're going to flip it up and try to slam down on it, and you see as the button compresses, but since there's silence, you don't know what happens.

As you are kind of like lost in your thoughts here, you find yourself walking down this street that you don't normally go down, and you lift your head and look up and see that you're passing by an antique store, One Man's Trash.

And in the window, mounted amongst an old chess set and potentially offensive statue of a Genasi woman, is a familiar blade.

A short sword, one that carries the wear and tear of a weapon used in many battles.

I'm hallucinating again.