'Farther south,' Volo replied. 'I just haven't figured out how yet.'
The two travelers took a room for the night at an inn just beyond the city wall. During years prior, the building had been a plague house for those denied entrance to the city during its self-imposed quarantine. None of the city dwellers ever stayed there, and few travelers stayed for the second night of the inn's two-night minimum upon finding out about the building's heritage. As a result, the proprietor always had rooms to spare, and figured that he was making twice the profit for half the bother on each guest. He sometimes liked to joke that the only second-day boarders in the history of the inn were those waiting to be carried off by the plague cart.
As luck would have it, the inn was also boarding a group of mercenary adventurers who were headed south to Ormpetarr in hopes of finding work. Volo and Passepout entertained the band with tales of travelogue, adventure, and tourism from Volo's vast catalogue of experiences, and numerous monologues and jokes and mercifully few songs from Passepout's ever-growing repertoire.
As the entertainment lasted late into the night, a deal was struck whereby the gazetteer and the thespian would be allowed to travel with the mercenary band as long as they paid their own way and treated the band with a bit of entertainment each night. The travelers agreed, and the following morning Volo and Passepout joined the long roll of one-night-stand guests of the inn.
The mercenaries were a fun bunch, led by a former captain in Azoun's Purple Dragons who deserted after finding the peace that followed the successful routing of the Horde invasion too boring. The others in the group included a dark-skinned half-giant with a bad attitude, a good-looking elven marksman who was also a bit of a con artist, and a wayward cleric halfling who fell prey to bouts of chaotic madness. All four were on the run from someone (Azoun, the Lords of Waterdeep, the Zhentarim, whatever) and fiercely loyal to each other, or whomever they accepted employment from.
All along the way Volo treated the heavily armed band of protectors to descriptions of the wonders of Faerun, stories of various encounters, and legends and lore of days gone by. He had just finished relating the tale of Shandaular, the legendary city outside time, when the group noticed that they had reached their destination of Ormpetarr, where his and Passepout's path would diverge from theirs.
Hannibal, the former captain in the Purple Dragons, shook hands with the two travelers who had provided them with so much entertainment.
'I love it when a plan comes together,' he said, 'and never have I felt so well compensated for merely sharing the road with other travelers.'
'And never have I felt so well protected,' replied Volo.
'Nor I,' added Passepout.
'Fin expecting mention in one of your upcoming guides,' Hannibal quipped.
'Guaranteed,' replied the grateful gazetteer.
'And you, Passepout, what can I say? Don't give up your day job,' the mercenary jibed, then added, 'Just kidding.'
The mercenaries and the travelers waved farewell and parted company. Volo and Passepout entered the city of Ormpetarr, leaving the familiarity of the Vilhon Reach, for the Shaar, the northern boundary of the Shining South.
From Ormpetarr, the two travelers joined an ever-changing caravan that was headed south along the Golden Road. Initially, it had been composed primarily of merchants from Nimpeth and farther north but now seemed to be composed primarily of nomadic herders and their families, going south in search of greener pastures. Volo and Passepout had made a few acquisitions before joining, including a change of clothing into more suitable 'native' gear, and a few beasts of burden to support the provisions that they would require for the journey farther south.
Passepout was amazed that Volo never seemed to run out of gold, no matter how many purchases he made. No matter where they were he always had the appearance of a man of means, and initially the thespian thought that perhaps he was exercising some magical power that had been left untouched by the dampening spell. After the pre-caravan shopping trip, Passepout finally asked him about his curious abilities at procurement.
'There really isn't anything to explain,' Volo replied. 'My travelers' guides have been popular all over, and most merchants are more than willing to allow me the use of a certain ration of their supplies in exchange for some goodwill, advertising, and an occasional mention in print.'
Passepout accepted this as an answer that pertained to the merchants, and acknowledged that the master traveler was also a master of persuasion and self-promotion, but wondered what he would do if such perks failed.
Passepout then recalled the two-dragoned coin back in Cormyr and chuckled to himself, thinking, I guess no matter what the situation, Volo will think of something.
Five days later, Passepout's assessment of Volo's non-magical abilities was once again put to the test.
The latest group to join the caravan southward was a quartet of wizards returning to Halruaa after a long trip abroad. Though magically powerful, the four magic-wielders were also rather old and infirm, with wits slightly feeble. They soon became the laughingstocks of the caravan until Volo and Passepout intervened, declaring themselves the quartet's bodyguards in order to discourage future attacks, either verbal or physical, on the wizards whose only wrongdoing was to grow old.
The caravan had made camp for the night in a mountain canyon. The sun was setting, and dinner was being prepared at a half-dozen campfires when the roar of thundering hooves split the peace and quiet of the approach of twilight.
Out of a cloud of dust in the distance roared a gang of bandits who had been lying in wait for a caravan to settle for the night, boxed in by the canyon wall.
The leader of the band was a tall halfling, balding and badly in need of shave, with a wide-brim hat that had been blown off his head and now rested against his back, held in place by a string at his neck. He quickly dismounted from his horse and began to strut around their camp.
'I am Eli of the Wallachs,' he announced, 'and you have entered my territory. But that is all right, for I am a reasonable man and not the vicious bandit that rumor has promulgated. I know you have no wish to cause trouble, and you will therefore be more than willing to pay tribute to me for permission to pass through my land.'
With that the other bandits dismounted and began to raid the caravan of its valuables.
'We have no desire to kill anyone,' Eli continued, 'and we greatly appreciate your cooperation.'
Passepout thanked Eo that the gems were safely obscured from view by the bag that Storm had provided, and since both he and Volo had been traveling light, didn't really anticipate any great losses since the bandits seemed interested only in objects of value rather than supplies of provisions.
The caravan members all complied with the bandits' wishes, until one of the old wizards refused to give up an amulet that he wore around his neck.
'No!' he screamed. 'I will never give it up!'
This wanton act of defiance infuriated Eli, who prepared to backhand the wizened old magic-user. Volo intervened.
'Eli of the Wallachs,' Volo begged, 'please forgive this old man. He is an enfeebled mage, as are all of his fellow travelers, and they are all poor, but honest, men of learning.'
Eli laughed a fiendish laugh.
'Mages!' he crowed. 'We don't need no stinkin' mages, particularly old and senile ones.' The bandit leader drew out a dagger and prepared to throw it at the enfeebled old man who wouldn't give up his amulet.
Volo dove to try to intercept Eli's hand before he could throw the dagger, only to fall against an invisible wall that separated him from the bandit. Momentarily stunned by his collision with the invisible obstacle, the master traveler shook his head to try to clear the haziness from the concussion, and looked up in time to see the bandit Eli, dagger still in hand, burst into flame. In less than ten seconds, Eli had been reduced to a pile of soot and ash.
The other bandits panicked, dropped their loot, and took off for the hills, leaving their steeds and the ill- gotten gain from previous extortions back at the caravan's camp.
Slowly Volo got to his feet and turned around to face the wielder of the fireball that had taken out the fiendish bandit. There stood the other three wizards with their arms folded, stern expressions on their faces as they watched the rest of the outlaw gang heading for the hills. In the meantime Passepout had helped the mage with the amulet to his feet, and was now leading him back to the rest of his group.
