Ilsenhoon soon took to the world, travelling from city to city, town to town, spreading his songs and tales as he went. He never spent too much time in once spot. If he did, he was sure he’d see his gith nemesis, the Spider, stalking him from the rooftops. He didn’t like the Spider… The other gith had been chumps, but the Spider was, Ilsenhoon hated to admit it, a worthy adversary.
He’d bought a new guitar, though he still carried the broken remnants of his old one with him. He didn’t want to say for sentimental reasons… but really, it was his first guitar. It was what got him in this whole predicament in the first place, he didn’t want to just throw it out.
Ilsenhoon occasionally found companionship among adventuring crews. He’d accompany them, patch up their wounded, take a portion of the loot, and then tell stories of it later. It was all win-win, in his mind. In fact, he figured he came out a little bit ahead, as he got loot and stories, and stories were far more valuable.
But his forays with adventurers were usually short-lived, as they grew too unnerved by his nature. Not outright hostile, but he couldn’t help but be proud of his race. If that meant berating an idiotic companion for failing to live up to Illithid expectations, so be it. Really he began to pity these humanoids instead of hating them. Here they were, so much potential in them… but they weren’t, and didn’t want to be, Illithids.
On the road towards his next destination, Ilsenhoon slowly paced onwards. He was in no particular hurry, there would always be patrons to entertain. But as he heard the telltale sound of an approaching wagon, he figured it might be worth a shot to ask for a ride. Sticking out his thumb, he looked backwards to see the approaching cart, but he froze when he saw the driver.
Around the human’s neck was a holy symbol. A golden sun, in the middle: a face. A servant of Pelor.