Oh, for the love of... John. He's completely lost it. Fully indoctrinated into this duck cult. He's praying to the feathered menace for "protection," tossing bread at us and anyone else who walks by as "offerings" from the duck. Or something. I guess at least he's found something to give his life meaning, however ridiculous it is.
Around mid-day, our grand procession just... stops. No explanation, nothing. Then a butler waltzes back with a teapot and cups. Apparently, it's teatime. John immediately gets paranoid about rogues trying to poison us, and just as I'm about to take a sip, he shoves his grimy duck feather straight into my tea! He claims he's "neutralizing any poison." He just dunked a dingy, probably-poop-stained feather into my perfectly good tea. Unbelievable.
The butler offers some tarts or crackers. Luis grabs some tarts, and John takes the crackers. These crackers are thicker and longer than anything I've ever seen. John's practically dislocating his jaw trying to chew the thing, having to wash it down with a ton of water. Turns out, they're horse treats. For the horses. If John wanted to get out and "move around a bit," he could have just walked!
We chat for a while, trying to figure out what everyone can actually do. As evening approaches, I spot that snake-faced thug off on the side of the road. I practically dive out of the window and yank the curtain shut. I let everyone know what I saw, but right about then, the whole caravan grinds to a halt.
The butler comes back and tells us there's a meeting with some "foreign delegates." While we're trying to figure out what to do, and if we should try to help or just bail on Rip, I hear the distinct, slimy voice of the snake-man talking to the Viscount, still droning on about finding some tall, blonde-haired warrior.
A few more minutes pass, and Rip, the idiot, comes back to the window. He beams, telling us he's taken a "job" for us from the snake-man. Apparently, we're getting paid 1000 gold to find this group of guys who've stolen something from the Governor of Gralton. He says the Governor is somehow tied up with the Blackwater Syndicate and they're trying to get some piece of a crown back. I tell him to go tell the snake-man we'll do it, but to get his butt back to the carriage after the visitors leave because I've got something important to tell him.
Once he's back, I try, with every fiber of my being, to explain to him that we are the people they're looking for, and the "item" they want is the crown piece we already have, the one we're supposed to take to Miven! He just doesn't seem to grasp the sheer idiocy of the situation. He's completely fixated on the idea that we, the very people they're hunting, can somehow profit from this. I swear, he's denser than a dwarf's skull.
After a bit, the butler comes back and shuts the carriage windows, apologizing but saying the Viscount has to keep our camping spot a secret. Finally, we stop in a clearing, and the guards start setting up torches in a ring. Then, an incredibly old elf steps out of the Viscount's carriage and starts casting some sort of spell that conjures a full-blown forest lodge out of thin air. The Viscount tells us we'll be sleeping in there tonight. Fancy.
While we're outside talking, the old elf comes over to us. Bob, being Bob, asks if there's anything he can do about this weakness he's been feeling since that damn duck "revived" him. The elf says it'll cost 1200 gold, but Bob doesn't have enough. The old elf suggests he talks to the Viscount to see if there's some favor we can do in return for the spell.
While we're still chatting with him, he offers Bob a drink from his flask. Almost the instant it touches Bob's lips, he spits it out. I'm curious, so I take a taste. It barely even hits my throat before I can't get it down. It's like pure menthol mixed with spicy pepper juice. Absolutely horrific. Every single one of us, except for John (who probably already drank some of his duck-tea), tried it, and none of us could swallow it. The old elf just sips it like water. He's a strange old guy, but surprisingly nice, all things considered.
Eventually, they lead us into the lodge. It's much bigger on the inside than it looks, of course. We each get shown to our own room, and some sort of invisible servants draw us baths. We have our choice of pillows, a bed with clean sheets, and a genuinely comfortable room.
As I'm getting ready to step into the bath, John wanders by and asks where his room is. Turns out, instead of coming in to get a room with the rest of us, he was outside talking to that damnable duck again. The duck caused him to not get a room, which means I have to share this one with someone. Could be worse, I guess. At least it's not Rip.
While we're cleaning up, John tries to hand one of the invisible servants his pack to hang up. The servant just drops it. John tries to talk to one, and it doesn't even acknowledge he's there. The old elf comes around to check on us, and we ask about John being ignored. He just says, "souls can only see souls." I don't know what exactly he means, but it seems to imply John's missing his soul. I wonder if it has something to do with this idiotic duck religion. Probably.
And of course, Rip's still causing problems, even here. They brought the pillows around on carts, and Rip decided he wanted the cart and all the pillows. The servant is trying to get it back, and Rip has barricaded himself in his room. After a few moments, Bob gets involved. This will probably just make everything worse. Because of course it will.