“None shall die today but those who annoy us. You will be well.” Jaheira promises, as she hands you a small vial of an… interesting looking liquid, “Drink this, and all you’ll have left will be a fine scar to lie to your children about.”

Your little group had been having a surprisingly good time, as of late. No one fell, no one got seriously hurt. Jaheira had repeatedly said that such fortune does not last, but everyone had brushed her off as just being a crotchety old woman. Until about three hours ago. Aradin, that angry little bugger of a man from the Emerald Grove, had somehow found out where your camp was staying, and he had surprised you with a nice little middle-of-the-night attack. His pathetic little blade was no match for your group’s forces, but he had managed to deal you a deep, sweeping cut. You had definitely almost died. So tragic.

It’s been very, very hard for Jaheira not to pull out the old ‘I told you so’, but she had restrained herself out of respect for you.

It hadn’t stopped her from complaining about getting your blood on her finest pyjamas, though. “Oh, come on. It’s just some herbs. I’m not finishing Aradin’s job for him.” She prompts, after you unintentionally hesitate for a while.