This is a Rooster Teeth production.

Salutations, all you sacred statues falsely appear in the stinky dragon and guzzle our latest gulp, rock, paper, prisoners.

It's a mixture of clerical cucumber, shredded cilantro, protector tequila, shaken with idle on infused rocks.

On sip of this sacrilege sauce is enough to- wait what?

You don't need air, sleep, food or drink?

Huh, oh well.

Previously our adventurers were sailing on the Jebadi at the Tatoren border, but their non-jurkonic identities were uncovered,

recovered and uncovered again by a slew of swords swinging silver dragonborn.

Eventually they took flight with mud's menagerie of owls across the blazing border into the province of Geo.

But yet another bloody battle lies before them.

Can they survive this onslaught of Shadrow?

Or will they be snuffed out in a puff of smoke?

Dry yourself a drum, if you do drink liquid, let's move into this malorderous memoir.

Why did you pause? What happened there?

We don't need food or drink or what?

Well, only if you drink the protector tequila.

Oh.

You got coffee there though.

I do.

That's like a plus one to perception checks.

Oh really?

For Barbara, not for Bart.

...