Sugar Plum Yuletide (Stuck in Womford)

Note: This adventure is based on the "Banquet of the Damned" and "Winter's Crest" modules for 5e. It has been adapted for edition and level.

21 Frostkolt 348 AC

Grotto thanks the dragon.

"That was great! I have never thought that I would ride a dragon!"

Grotto looks to Raven and smiles!

"Looks like some fun to be had at the fest! Let's deliver these treats! We can get a good meal and settle in to take in the merriment. Besides, don't we have a pie-eating contest to judge?"

Raven groans, "I suppose we do. Well, let's get this over with. I would like to get back to Silvanost as soon as possible."

A dozen or more stalls line the main (and only) road through Womford. Vendors selling scented wreaths, steamed ciders, roasted chestnuts, candles, cloth dolls stuffed with dried beans, all kinds of things scented with cinnamon, fir, myrrh, and frankincense, fur hats and gloves, and a wide variety of foods. Hawkers call out, advertising their wares, offering discounts for last minute shoppers and other deals meant to entice potential buyers.

When the two adventurers finally reach the pie-eating contest, Raven is escorted to a seat beside Lord Harrick. Grotto is asked to take a seat on the other side of him as Dakara is recovering from her second successful exorcism of the day and has declined attending.

The pies are finally brought out. In all, there are six contestants - Mortimer and Jacksal having not entered for obvious reasons. There are pies with criss-cross strips of crust, pies topped with walnuts, one pie with a crumb topping, one pie has some kind of smelly cheese melted over it.

The crowd and the bakers look on. The air is heavy with barely concealed tension.

All three judges are presented with a slice of each pie, along with a short description of the sample. Each judge takes a bite.

All of the hype, all of the anticipation, every event of the day - the arson, the demons, Noona Pynar and the dragon - it all comes down to this moment.

And the pie is... ok. None of them are bad but none of them stand out as being particularly GOOD.

Grotto looks side eyed at Raven trying to not to look at him directly so as to contain his shock an laughter. After he composes himself a bit he land and whispers to the elf... "Are you kidding me! As much as we went thru and THIS is it!! I guess Mort and Jack are the best?"

Grotto then looks to the other judges and says, "So my fellow judges, shall we convene to discuss our thoughts on these fine entries?"

Grotto is looking to go with the flow of the other local judges, although he did like the cheese pie the best. "I did enjoy the sweet and savory combination of the cheese topped pie!" He says quietly to the other judges.

Raven takes a breath, "I will agree if it means we can get out of here." Lord Womford nods in agreement.

The warrior and local nobleman rises, calling the waiting crowd to attention and announces the winner, "Congratulations to Eldyn Brownee and her cheese-topped apple pie!"

The crowd loses their collective minds. Raucous cheering erupts as a plump, middle-aged woman with curly gray hair is hoisted up onto the onlookers' shoulders and paraded around the town square. Lord Harrick makes his way down from the judges' dais and presents her with a small medal commemorating her achievement and thanking the crowd for their enthusiastic turnout.

Raven leans back in his seat and closes his eyes and speaks aloud the following, "Marzipan, we are ready to go home."

Nothing happens.

"Marzipan... I said, we are ready. Send us home."

Nothing happens.

Seconds pass.

Raven sits up. "&$@^#! Gaaahhh, damnable faeries! Now what?"

The fighter rises to his feet. "Grotto, it looks like we are stuck here for the night. Lord Harrick, is there an inn my companion and I can stay at?"

Harrick pauses for a moment before replying, "Yes, there's the High Inn at the end of this road, just around from the back of the church."

Raven thanks the nobleman and heads off to secure a room. By the time the sun has dipped below the distant hills, night has fallen and the two adventurers all find themselves safe and snug in the large taproom of The High Inn. Guildar, an industrious dwarf owns and operates the inn. He is in constant motion, serving fresh mugs of ale and steaming trays of hot food. An older man and a boy young enough to be his son are seated at a table by the fireplace. A surly looking elf quietly strums a lyre and sings. The patrons are rounded out by an elderly halfling who is also seated by the fire, warming her feet and drinking a steaming beverage from a ceramic mug.