# The Lost Boys vs. The Sunless Citadel (no regional dialect)



## Goonalan (Aug 10, 2007)

D&D - The Lost Boys vs. The Sunless Citadel

The Lost Boys vs. The Sunless Citadel

The scene is set, four newbies to the game of Dungeons & Dragons, children of friends, they are from left to right; Jake (10 years old), James (also 10), Alec (12) and Pat (9) - you know there’s going to be trouble.

And thus it begins the first session of D&D in their lives, yes they’d seen stuff on the TV, yes they’d played some sappy on-line game where they had to collect crystals and what-have-you, yes they’d heard about D&D and that it was for geeks… curse them, what do they know, I’ll show them, I’ll make mincemeat out of them, I’ll… oh hang on, getting carried away… to the Sunless Citadel with them.

Dramatis Persona

Jake - 

Dartamor a Male Half-Elf Rogue Lvl 1, a natural born sneak with a startling intelligence, able to see through most simple tricks and traps, quiet at times, but knows more than he says. Keen to impress others with his abilities and with his nose in everything he makes an ideal rogue, tracker, sneak, sniper and trap-finder. Short, compact and wiry; he’s a lot stronger than you think, with his rapier in hand he’s lightning fast- he does however suffer from constant colds and minor complaints. He says what he means-

DM “So you’re going to climb down till you’re five or so feet from the bottom, leap, tumble- come up behind the rat and kill it- then spring round and watch to see if there’s anything else coming?”
Dartamor “Yes.”
DM “In just one round.”
Dartamor “Yes.”
Sound of Dice rolling.
DM “Mmm. The rat’s dead, in fact very dead… there’s nothing coming.” 

James - 

Grand Alf a Male Human Sorcerer Lvl 1, pretends to older and wiser than he is, he’s 22 with a stick on fake grey beard. He’s a terrible weakling but knows this and so tries to avoid all physical activity, right down to making tea. Tall and gangly, particularly in his pointy wizard’s hat, on which he has glued several stars and a moon. He is however a dab-hand at the magic and has a twinkling intellect with the ability to talk himself, and anything else, up. A silver tongued creature-

“Ah yes so what you’re saying Mr. Bugbear is really that you are hungry, you need food, and while you have captured me now and are in the process of making a fire with which to roast me… I have a proposition, what will you eat tomorrow. I see, you’re not sure, and yes- you will be hungry again… starving… ravenous. Well if you were to let me go then I could perhaps help you, you see I know where there are at least three others who are equally easy pickings… yes stick with me Mr. Bugbear and you can have all the party members you want to eat. A steady supply of heroes… ”

Alec - 

Aleso Flett a Male Human Paladin of Pelor Lvl 1, an honest, courageous and kind bumbling fool that always knows the right thing to do, and yet often his good intentions leave himself and others in great peril. Almost nondescript, if it wasn’t for his voice he’d be very easy to forget, however possessed of a rumbling bass voice his threats and prayers can be heard miles away, he sounds like he should be at the opera, he thinks himself a ladies man-

“And I spake unto you blessed child, for I am waxing with wroth and fiery countenance, and verily I cry to the heavens- get off my bloody foot.” Delivered with a flourish and a bow, there follows a smattering of applause. Or-

“Stand fast errant rogue for your days of plunder without consequence are soon to… Oh he’s gone.”

Pat - 

Saradomin a Male Human Cleric of St. Cuthbert Lvl 1, makes Dartamor look shy, he’s the first everywhere, unbelievably helpful, kind, courageous, and of the belief that he can do any job- which is often when the problems start. Big and burly, built for the long haul, rather than the sprint- he’s healthy, well, happy and content- a born survivor. While he’s here, there and everywhere he’s as much a liability as a help at times, heavy armour and weapons means he clanks as he sneaks, his idea of disarming a trap involves close contact via his heavy mace, he cuts to the chase-

“St Cuthbert hear my call, bless me as I sneak over to the Goblins over there and deliver them from there sin.” Delivered Brian Blessed style, i.e. shouting, the Goblins obviously hear him but stand about bemused, unsure of how to react to the crouching clanking Cleric’s unstealthy approach- right up to the point when he brains one of them. Or-

“I pick the lock… with my Mace… St. Cuthbert hear my <SMASH> call <SMASH> make this BLOODY door <SMASH> Ooo <SMASH> pen.”



Chapter 1 The Sunless Citadel: The Attack of the Giant Killer Rat of Death

Skip the intro, like in all good films the back-story will unfold as the story goes on.

The four intrepid adventurers find themselves at the Sunless Citadel, actually a crevasse in the earth, Dartamor peers over the edge, in conversation with Grand Alf.

“Can you see anything?” Grand Alf enquires.
Dartamor looks back up, “Yes.”
“What?”
“Darkness. Oh.”
“What?”
“Something’s down there.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw it move.”
“What was it?”
“Something… not sure, something moving.”

Saradomin wanders over, leaving Aleso waxing his moustache in a small compact mirror- the Paladin understands that it is important to look good at all times, personal grooming is as much part of the Paladin code as the smiting of evil. His ‘tache is looking marvellous at the moment, he’ll be combing the ladies out of it when he returns a hero that’s for sure.

Saradomin joins the conversation-

“So what’s going on?”
“Well, it’s a crevasse, only it’s dark, and there’s something down there.”

Grand Alf states, all the time eyeing the thief who’s still peering over the edge into the inky blackness. He presses on with his interrogation of Dartamor.

“What’s down there?”
“Something.”
“Something like?”
“Something.”
“Oh, I see- very helpful.”

Aleso, ‘tache perfect, strides over.

“Can I be of assistance, is there evil that needs to be smoten, shall I bring light into the darkness below… can I…”

He’d go on for hours if they’d let him. Grand Alf intervenes, leans over and blows on the end of Aleso’s shiny (oh so shiny) Scimitar, it glows, like a coal, an ember from a fire, then sparks into a bright white light.

“Oh. I say. That’s nice”

The Paladin’s impressed.

“Go on then”

Grand Alf pushes the tin can Paladin towards the edge, he winks at Dartamor, who scrambles up, grabs a rope and begins to tie it round the Paladin’s thick waist. Grand Alf continues-

“It’s time for you to bring the light Aleso.”
“To smite evil?”
“I should hope so.”

The rope’s secure.

“Are you ready brave Paladin?”

Aleso nods, goes to salute but is swiftly pushed over the edge, the other three take the strain. The rope slips a little through Saradomin's hands.

“Blimey- what have you been eating- rocks”

Slowly the dangling lump of metal and man is lowered into the gloom, which fades as he looms closer.

SqUEAk, SqUEAk

“What’s that?”

Saradomin calls down.

“It’s me, I think. The suit needs oil.. oh, no. Hang on. I see something.”
“I knew there was something down there.” Dartamor nods in a "told-you-so" manner.

Grand Alf tuts, and lets go of the rope, Aleso lurches down as the rope slips.

SqCLUMBeeee…

“FOUND SOMETHING...I THINK IT WAS A RAT…”
“WAS?”
“SORRY, SAT ON IT. IT’S…”

sQuueeeEEk sQQQueekkk

“MORE OF THE BLIGHTERS. HAVE AT YE HAIRY VERMIN SCOUNDRELS”

Aleso jumps to his feet and swings wildly slicing into one of the creatures, they’re Dire Rats, as big as dogs and with gnashing fangs, another one leaps in- bites at his leg, sinks its fangs into Aleso’s metal boot- hangs on, leaving Aleso hopping.

“BY MIGHTY PELOR THE FIEND HAS ME- A DEMON OF THE NINE, OR TEN, HELLS NO DOUBT, AHH AHH AHH. IT HURTS US… A LITTLE HELPPPP PLEEEEASE.”

Back up top Dartamor is listening hard.

“What did he say?”
“Something about Kelp?” Grand Alf states- definite, and yet... 
“Seaweed?”
“That’s what he said.”

Dartamor leans over-

“YOU’VE FOUND SOME SEAWEED?”

They listen intently for a reply.

“I… I… I… NEED.”

Dartamor reports back,

“He needs. Hang on there’s more.”

“NEED… NEED… HEL…”

Dartamor shouts back, 

“YOU NEED KELP?”

Dartamor turns back to the others…

“Why would he need Kelp?”

Back with the Paladin, the two rats are moving in for the kill, Aleso is dodging and swinging at one while the other, teeth still sunk into his leg hangs on, like some demented version of the hokey-cokey.

“HEEEEELLLPPP”

Dartamor registers the new information,

“Oh it was help”, he chuckles, “I thought he said…” At this point he notices the faces of his companions, “I’ll get off then.”

Dartamor lowers himself over the edge using the rope as a guide.

“HEEELLL. BLOOODY HELLLP. BLOODY GET OFFFFF. DEMONS DEMONS FROM HELL.”

Dartamor appears from above, scrambling down the cliff, as finally with much shaking and scraping the Paladin dislodges the bitey rat.

Dartamor lands lightly behind the other… and swipes… slicing the creatures back legs clean off, it expires.

The first rat rushes at the Paladin again, who sees his opportunity, and FWUMP, the rat connects with the Paladin’s boot, or vice-versa, and is sent spiralling backwards… and over the cliff.

The Paladin grabs a cloth and begins polishing his boots.

Dartamor takes a look around then hollers up.

“IT’S SAFE. COME ON DOWN.” 

Saradomin and Grand Alf make their way down gingerly, the gawky Grand Alf getting into difficulties every five or so feet. The others (Dartamor) offer advice and encouragement-

“JUMP”

And…

“FaaaaaaaLLLL OFF”

After much mumbling and shuffling they’re ready to head off again, although Aleso is still not happy.

“This rat blood is damn difficult to shift, anyone got any metal polish…”

Dartamor leads the way down, a set of sloping natural stone stairs wind down to another ledge, then another set of stairs and another ledge… and onwards, and down.

About thirty feet further down they catch sight of the Citadel, a ruin in places, in others seemingly transported from the surface, to the cavern floor, intact- it looks foreboding.

“Wow.” Saradomin's mouth a perfect 'o'.
“It looks pretty foreboding.” Grand Alf states to no one.

Saradomin is impressed, 

“How d’you reckon that happened?”
“Probably the work of evil, demons and the like- fear not for I will smite the way clear.”

The Paladin grins, and polishes his Scimitar, then his boot, then his Scimitar again, all the time grinning, itching to get into the fray.

“Yes. Evil. Mmm… probably.”

Grand Alf winks at the others, the Paladin dribbles a little at the thought of all that smiting.

“Let’s get on.”

Dartamor heads off again, the stairs wend down to the cavern floor, and onto the top of a battlement, either side a sea of rubble and broken masonry, across the battlement a wooden door into a fairly intact tower.

SqWeeek EEEk EEEk eeek eeek

The echo of rats, Aleso strides to the crenulations, ready for the onslaught, a lone rat, thirty feet away, watches on.

Sqweee wee wee wee wee?

It inquires. The Paladin shakes his Scimitar once or twice.

“Be off you vermin of evil…”

Saradomin and Grand Alf watch on- bemused and amused respectively.

Dartamor, mean times, is at the door, thoroughly checking it for traps…

“It doesn’t look trapped, there are lots of tracks here, plenty of activity.”

“Of course it’s say…”

Grand Alf strides forward towards the door, and then mid-sentence disappears into a hole in the floor, a trapdoor.

“fe… bugger.”

The others wander over.

A light flares from the hole…

Sqwee?

“There’s a rat. A rat. A big RAT. IHATERATS.”

And so there is, Grand Alf swings and misses by a country mile, swings again and manages to clonk himself on the nose, it bleeds a little.

“Well don’t just stand there… BLUDDY HELP ME.”

Above the three other adventurers decide who’s going to rescue Grand Alf. Dartamor begins the ritual chant...

“Ipp-Dip-Dog-Poo…”

Grand Alf swings again, the rat has hold of his robe, it’s a tug-of-war and the rats winning, the six foot mage is being drawn into the gnashing maw of the snapping rat.

“It’s got me… I’m done for… Save me… Save me… There’s so much I haven’t done- I want to Fireball a Troll, just one time… Please… Think of the children… I’ll let you have a go of my wand…”

Dartamor launches himself down into the pit, lands perfectly, and comes up swinging… misses badly. The rat doesn’t like the odds, leaps out of the pit causing Aleso and Saradomin to scatter.

Grand Alf is hunched in the corner eyes closed.

“I don’t want to die like this… Eaten by a rat… It’s so undignified… What would my Mum think… Mum… Mum… MUMMY.”

While up top Aleso and Saradomin scatter.

“Get it away. Get it away. It’s dirty.”

The Paladin dives for cover, Saradomin, the cleric swings and misses, the rat leaps the battlements and sprints for cover in the rubble field.

Silence returns.

SqWEEE?

Sqeaaaaaaaaaaaak.

The two rats cosy up thirty or so feet away.

All is well in the rat world.

Aleso and Saradomin sheepishly pull Grand Alf, who uses his robe to wipe away the tears and snot, and Dartamor out of the pit. The four dust themselves down, nobody talking…

“Hruhu”

Aleso clears his throat, rubs at his rat-marked armour.

“We’d arrr… we’d arr best get on.”
“What to smite evil, and that?” Grand Alf suggests.

Aleso nods. Dartamor opens the door.

Into a circular tower, the structure is intact, for the most part, all the floors however have disappeared- it’s straight up thirty or forty feet. There are two doors one wooden (North East), one stone (South East).

The four fan out, noticing for the first time the Goblin bodies, three of them, on the floor, another speared into the wall- all very dead, and recent.

“What… what…” Dartamor stammers.

It becomes obvious that these four are new to the game- adventuring.

Aleso has a long face, he gulps quickly hiding his shock, there’s a lot of blood.

“Goblins… Goblins they’re…”

The others mooch, trying to avoid the sight, rats are ok, but Goblins they look kind of real… humanoid. Lots of blood.

Dartamor heads to the stone door, 

“I’ll check this out.”

He doesn’t look back.

Aleso strides over to the other door,

“I’ll keep an eye on this one.”

Grand Alf lifts his robes up a little, like a maid with her skirts, and patters through the pool of blood- prodding the dead Goblin’s with his staff.

“They’re dead.”

Saradomin grabs at the spear pinning the fourth Goblin to the wall, it comes free in his hand- the Goblin CLONKS to the floor head first, more blood spills. Saradomin backs off sickened. Then notices…

“There’s something here… written on the wall, squiggly writing.”

In time the others shuffle over to have a look, Dartamor can read it.

“It’s Draconic… the writing, it says ‘Ashardalon’.”
“Who d’you reckon that is?” Saradomin asks.
“Dunno. But I’m not sure I like the fact it’s written in Draconic, you know who speaks Draconic?”
Silence for a while, each daring the other…
“No. Who?”

The others look at Aleso, Dartamor pronounces every letter of his reply.

“D-R-A-G-O-N-S.” 

Aleso nods slowly, scratches his chin, in profile-

“Yes. That makes sense.”

Saradomin pipes up,

“We should check the other walls.”

And so they do- there’s no more writing but there is a discovery.

“Hey guys, there’s something here.” It's Dartamor again.
“More specific?” Grand Alf asks.
“A door I think.”
“Oh.”

The others gather around to watch Dartamor work.

“Yep. It’s a door… and it’s trapped- hang on.”

Thirty seconds of tinkering later and Dartamor holds an ancient looking and discoloured needle in his hands, 

“Poison.”

Dartamor pockets it, 

“Hang on, I’ll get the door.”

Thirty more seconds and…

GRRRRRRRUUUUUU-IND

The door opens revealing a narrow passage into darkness, crammed with broken masonry and the bones of…

“SKELLINGTONS.”

The thief dives aside. Saradomin steps forward…

“By the all that is Holy, 
Skellies feel the wrath
Of St. Cuthbert’s welly.”

BBBOOOOOOOOOOMMM

All three skeletons are contained in a glowing white aura, they go kinda floppy…

“Get ‘em.” Aleso charges.

Saradomin holds his holy symbol up and continues to mutter prayers under his breath- the others, even Grand Alf, wade in.

And in a minute or so the skellies are reduced to splintered bone, leaving the fantastic foursome grinning.

This short fight seems to gee the party up a bit, even Grand Alf who’s robe has got several slimy trails from the snot and tears generated from “THE ATTACK OF THE GIANT KILLER RAT OF DEATH.”

They step back to admire their work… next week… more.



Chapter 1a: The Sunless Citadel: The Pig of Terrible Doom.

Actually I missed a section out, the above session didn’t end there, we press on…

The four huddle around the stone door, which Dartamor has declared safe, and with a shove they’re in. The room beyond is a wreck; pools of water, broken masonry and far off, in the shadows, a terrible sound-

SQWWWEEE

Instinctively Aleso turns to leave, subconsciously brushing at the dirty spot on his armour, Grand Alf rises to his full height and then thinking better of it scuttles out of the room, Saradomin waves his torch about like a demented lighthouse. Dartamor is more proactive, and less frightened of rats it seems…

THWONG

He fires.

SQw

The noise stops.

Aleso shoves to the front again, nods at Dartamor and steps into the room. They creep in…

And a minute or so later they declare the room clear, the western wall has partially collapsed, gaps poke through to the rubble field beyond, the only real point of interest is the door.

They stand around it, speculating-

“It’s a pig.” Grand Alf crosses his arms, certain.
“It’s not a pig it’s a dragon.” Dartamor's not so sure, particularly as he's just caught the eye of the DM.
“It’s a PIG- look at the snout.” No, Grand Alf is adamant.
“It’s a dragon.” So's the DM... and Dartamor.
“It’s a flying pig- the snout, a dead give away.” Grand Alf wins.

Let me explain- I, your friendly narrator & DM, had brought to life a startling depiction of a dragon, top down view- it was so real, so life like that I feared for the sanity of the children… alas they said, in unison, “a pig?”

“What’s in its mouth?” Grand Alf has spotted something.

Dartamor has a look inside,

“There’s a keyhole…”
“Well?”

Grand Alf taps his foot and stares at the thief. Aleso steps up to the plate…

“I will hold the strange pig of terrible doom-type creature’s jaws agape while you delve into its fanged snout… I mean maw.”

Aleso does so, grappling with invisible forces, straining and groaning to keep the untrapped, unmoving maw open. A minute or so of gurning later the thief pops his head out; the paladin leaves off and wipes his brow- another job well done, another soul saved.

“Nah.”
“Sorry?”
“Nah. Can’t be done- tricksy like, need the key.”

Grand Alf is shocked.

“Nah! What kind of answer is that, I thought you said you’d done this before? I don’t want to be down here with a thief who can’t open doors… Are you even qualified?”

Dartamor rises to his full height, five feet; Grand Alf puts his wizard hat on, about six feet ten, including hat.

The two bump chests, squaring up, sorta- what with the height difference, grimacing and gnashing.

“Long tall streak off…”
“Short, sleight… pointy-eared… Inadequate.”

Aleso and Saradomin step in.

“Now, now… people, as St. Cuthbert always says- ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’” states the Paladin.

“Pelor says, ‘Help, when you need somebody… Help’” Counters the Cleric.

The two god-botherers glare at each other.

“Obviously Pelor, a minor deity, is more attuned to ditties and homilies, rather than actual words of wisdom.”
“Well, St. Cuthbert is nothing but a drunken Scot cadging money in the street.”

It kicks off…

Twenty minutes later our heroes are back in the first chamber, the round tower- Aleso limps a little, Grand Alf has a ripped robe and a crumpled hat, Dartamor displays a startlingly red ear and Saradomin has the beginnings of a black eye. They’re eating sandwiches. Nobody speaks… for a bit. Dartamor breaks the silence.

“Alf.”
“Wha?”

Dartamor shuffles around in his jerkin.

“Here’s your wallet back.”

Alf jumps up.

“You bloody thief.”

Dartamor smiles.

“Thanks. Can I get that in writing.”

Alf gauges the moment.

“Ok.”

And sits, but not silently, the bubble's burst.

“What ya got in your sarnies?” He enquires.
“Jam, it's an Elven thing, we eat a lot of Jam.” Dartamor replies.
“Aleso?” Grand Alf presses on.
“St. Cuthbert states that sandwiches should be plain, unadorned and without flavour.”
“What ya got then?”
“Beef paste.”
“How is it?”
“Fishy.”
“Saradomin?” Next for scrutiny, Grand Alf completes the circle.
“Pelor states that sandwiches should be free, members of the church should enjoy the fruits of their toil with good sandwiches in order to recover from the trials of life.”
“What ya got then?”
“Beef paste. It’s all the pub had… it tastes fishy.”

The sound of chewing.

“What do you have Grand Alf?” Dartamor remembers his manners.
“Magic Smash.”

The chewing stops. Dartamor needs more information, looking at their faces, so do the others.

“Magic Smash?”
“Aye.”

There’s only one person chewing.

“What’s magic smash?”

“Well… you know nuts?”
“Yeah.”
“Well you start off by shelling them and then smashing them, then the fermented cream of Moocows is churned into finest butter, salt is added, then the smashed nuts- the whole mixture is then churned again- some people like it smooth, that’s churned for up to two years, others, like me, like it crunchy- it’s usually ready in a week or two. It gives you magic points back.”

The one chewer continues.

“Magic Points?”
“It’s something I read. I’ve certainly noticed the difference with my light spells- they glow brighter.”

“What’s it called again?”
“Magic Smash.”
“Right. Can I have a bite?”

Chomp

“And err…” Aleso chimes in.

Chomp

“I wouldn’t mind…” Saradomin takes up the cause.

Chomp

The sound of four people chewing.

“It gets in yer teef.” Dartamor manages.
“But it tastes Magic.” Aleso admires the sarnie from afar.
“Lovely.” Saradomin confirms it.
“Mmmm.” Grand Alf chews on.

A while later they’re all done and friends again…

And then through the wooden door…

A corridor into darkness, no hang on there’s a door ahead and there must be a light in the room beyond, creepy creepy they go.

There’s another door on the right, into an empty room, Grand Alf mooches in, takes a quick look around.

“Nothin’”

There’s a much more daunting door on the left, a huge metal thing. Grand Alf and Saradomin start to work at it, seconds later they’re ready to jump in; the plan fails when they discover that the door is tight shut- probably locked. They turn round to look for Dartamor, who puts his finger to his lips for shush…

Dartamor and Aleso are at the far door, into the lit room,

EEEEEEERRR

The door opens, a strange room, many doors and darkened archways leading from it, a crude looking altar, a bent and broken cage and lastly and most importantly something, or somebody, laid on the floor on the far side of the room- crying

Mww Mwww Mwww

“Shhhh… listen…”

Mwww Cornnnflakes Mwww Mwww

“Wha?”

CooooooRRRRRRNNNNNflaykeSSSSS.

“Cornflakes?”

And with that the first session actually comes to an end… 

Next time… Aleso vs. The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).



Chapter 1b: Aleso vs. The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).

Mww Mww

The crying continues, Dartamor sneaks into the room, around the altar- there on the floor is a lone Kobold, a kind of pixie version of a dinosaur, like a Raptor only made of squeakier stuff- they’re weak individually but in a gang… actually they’re still pretty weak.

Anyway, back to reality.

Mwww Mww

Tenderly, gently Dartamor reaches down to let the Kobold know he’s here. Alas Aleso spoils the day-

“Hold, feeble Kobold Demon of the nine pentangles, fisher of souls, lure of the devil Be-al-zee-bubble.”

He clangs in having caught sight of the creature, waving his scimitar around, pushing Dartamor aside.

MWAAAARRRRRGGGHHH

Meepo, for it is he, leaps to his feet, and is about to go running when Dartamor snakes out an arm and catches him; holds him fast.

EEyyyeee OOOyyee YYeeee Neeee

Which turns out to mean, Dartamor translates in an instance-

“Ayeeee. Oiiiii. Yooooo. Nooooo.”

The others- Saradomin and Grand Alf wander in to see what all the noise is about.

The following conversation takes place with the aid of Dartamor, chief translator. 

“Help me, leave me alone, Ow that pinches.” Meepo struggles at first, Dartamor holds fast. Aleso winds up…

“Hold fast scaly demon, though art nought but trailer-trash, sway not towards the hellish stingy wasps of doom, instead tread lightly on the path to redemption. HAVE YOU SEEN THE LIGHT?”

Meepo understands none of this but is mesmerised by Aleso’s sonorous voice. Dartamor translates.

“Stay there. You’re nothing but… skip it. Something about wasps… stingy. Don’t walk heavily on the path to somethingorother. Where’s the light switch?”

Aleso continues at a gamble, “THOU SCUMBLE VARMINT HOLD FAST WHILST I DELIVER THEE FROM SINNINGNESSNESS.”

Dartamor looks at Aleso hard, “No. There’s nothing worth repeating there. Any way, I’m Dartamor- who are you?”

Meepo yelps- “Meepo.” Happy to oblige.

Dartamor continues at a happy pace, grabs Meepo’s hand and pumps it hard.

“Nice to meet you Meepo, I’m Dartamor, the tin can’s Aleso, ignore him- most of the time we do, oh and stand behind him when he’s fighting, it’s like a threshing machine when he gets going.”

Grand Alf and Saradomin wander over, Grand Alf tips his hat at Meepo, all nine-yards of it, Meepo looks up, and up, and up at the Wizard.

“Is there snow on it?”

Dartamor translates, “He wants to know Grand Alf, is there snow on the top of your hat?”

Grand Alf harrumphs and wanders off- Saradomin goes down on one knee and offers Meepo a sandwich, “Beef paste… good eatin’”

Meepo goes to take a bite, hesitates, sniffs once, twice- shakes his head. “Fishy”

Dartamor laughs, “he says it’s ‘Fishy’”

Saradomin wanders off with Grand Alf to look at the cage, it’s fairly large and bent out of shape, whatever was in it is now out it.

“Ask him what’s this about?”

Grand Alf nudges his head through the gap in the bars, a light dusting of snow sprinkles down onto the point of his hat. Meepo chuckles.

Dartamor continues his interrogation, “What’s the cage for?”

“Cooooooooorrrrrnnnnflakes.”

The others turn round at the wail.

Aleso, who’s been looking confused- he could win competitions for it, loses it. “PELOR BE BLESSED SHUT THE MONGREL UP AND THEN GET HIM TO TELL US WHO THIS BEDAMNED CORNFLAKES IS, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO…”

A grinding noise as a door opens in the north of the room, three more, heavily armed- sharpened sticks mainly, Kobolds saunter out, they crouch in combat stance- prod the air.

“Come on then.” 
“Have it.” 
“You lookin’ at me?”

Dartamor sighs, “I believe they have taken issue with you Aleso. They’re enquiring as to whether or not you ‘want some?’”

“Are they mocking me- ‘want some’ what? Are they collecting for something? Tell them to put their sticks down; someone could have an eye out.”

Dartamor translates, “Put the sticks down lads, the tin can’s not for fighting.”

Meepo stops stunned, a little light bulb appears above his head, or it would do if they’d been invented. 

He dashes in front of Aleso, protecting him from the Kobold menace.
“Leave him, like. He’s not worth it. The tin can help us- find Cornflakes…”

Enlightenment hits the three Kobold guards in a flash… actually it takes about 2-3 minutes for the last of them to get it. 

The Lost Boys sit around while the Kobold guards work out what Meepo is proposing- the boldest steps forward, to make certain.

“So… Them get Cornflakes… Them there… Get Cornflakes… Them… Get him… For us… Cornflakes.” Whipbang Smallpox Grumblepants has been a Kobold guard for all his adult life- about six months and counting, he’s probably the cleverest. “Them there… Get Cornflakes… For us.”

Dartamor translates, as usual, “They want us to fetch, or find, or something, someone called… Cornflakes.”

Meepo stops eating his Magic Smash sandwich- Grand Alf has a heart it appears, spitting peanuts he replies, “Yefff.”

He concludes, “taykff fffem touf Ysdryalfff”, peanuts everywhere, mostly on Aleso’s nice new armour.

“Spawn of Satan, you shall pay dearly for the dismarking of my armourous protectage of truth, lead us to this Ysdrayl and I shall make forth unto brokering… agreement, be warned… thou villainous, scurvy… scurvy… what was I saying?”

Dartamor fills in, “I know it’s a cliché but- take me to your leader”, and for the others, “Take me to your leader.”

Aleso nods heartily, alas (for the DM) Grand Alf and Saradomin have other ideas.

“What’s behind that door there, in the passage, the one that’s locked?”

A line of Kobolds shrug, in unison. Meepo mumbles something.

“What did he say?” Grand Alf enquires.

Dartamor’s mouth is agape, he looks at Aleso, then at Meepo, shuts his mouth, shakes his head, then bows it- defeated, “he said a demon.”

HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH

Aleso drops to his knees, clasps his hands in prayer, face to the sky, actually grufty ceiling-

“Thank you Pelor, thou hast favoured me once more, fear not for yours is the glory, and mine a little, I will slay this foul beast of the nether parts, actually quite a lot, I will run him through, of the glory, sever his gizzard, or gizzard-like appendage, is mine, I will snaffle his goiter, ram his chuff right up… RIGHT UP HIS ALLEY.”

Aleso jumps to his feet and shadow boxes for a while.

“In the zone. In the zone. You’re ready for this. You can take him… just a demon. Left-Right. Left-Right. Shield. Chop. In the zone.”

He winks at Dartamor, “get the door.”

Dartamor shakes his head, downcast, trails out to the door- the Kobold guards crane to see where he’s going, spot him tinkering with the door… and run. Meepo crawls back into his sleeping rag-pile and cries quietly.

Mwwww Mwww

Thirty seconds later the door grinds open, it’s not been opened in a while, a little rusty at the bottom. Inside a tiny chamber is a barrel… of sorts, there are pipes going into it and out of it.

BBBBllllubbbbbbLLL

It talks, Aleso shoves Dartamor aside, leans in, places his ear to the barrel…

BBBBlllubbbbllLL

“Oh you beauty.”

He cranes up to the top of the barrel.

“There’s a bung.”

“Nooooooooooo”, in unison.

FFFWWWUNG

Too late, bung in hand, Aleso stands on tippy-toes to see in.

BBBLLLLUUBBBBLLLBBBLLBLLBLLBLLLL.

Then nothing.

Some more nothing.

Thwong.

Aleso thumps the guard of his Scimitar into the barrel.

Nothing.

And some more.

Aleso steps back, the others know its wrong but are mesmerised, down on the floor, back in the previous room, Meepo crawls round the altar and watches… with one eye shut, and his hand over his nose.

Nothing.

KKKEEERRRRChung

An armoured Aleso leg kicks the barrel.

WAWAWAWAWAWA.

It wobbles back and forth.

Nothing.

Aleso turns to leave, “You said…”

SQQQQQWWWWIIIRRRRTTTPOPPPPPppppp.

A little blue demon (ahem, Water Mephit) squeezes its way out, it flutters its liquid wings once or twice, hovering above the barrel. The adventurers turn to stare.

“Breathtaking…”
“Beau…”

BBBBBBRRRRRRRBBBBBRRRRR

A rasping farting sound followed by a tiny jet of sea green gas, the cloudy quickly spreads filling the corridor.

“Cuthbert save me now…”

But he doesn’t, Saradomin hits the deck like a side beef, with a meaty slap- out cold.

Dartamor stumbles, then tumbles and is out of the sulphurous stink, choking.

Grand Alf jumps back- into a wall, knocking his wizard’s hat over his eyes. He rights himself quickly mutters arcane words of magic…

“BiffBangPOw”

Ahem, sorry about that it seems the more common magic incantations are trademarked, as I say- sorry.

A Magic Missile leaps from his hand and… 

SPLOOOOOOOSH… 

Into the demons midriff, causing a ripple effect, the creature becomes a liquid blue squiggle in the air, just enough time… 

SWWWOOOOOP…

For Aleso to grab it in his mailed fist and…

SLUUURRRP

Jam it back in the barrel…

FWUNGGGGG…

And ram the cork back in.

Aleso beams, obliterating the fact that he released the creature from his mind in an instant, he looks around. 

Saradomin is coming too- he’s kinda green looking, Dartamor is dry heaving in a corner, Grand Alf is wiping his eyes frantically with his robe, they’re streaming with tears.

“Job done.”

The Paladin strides back into Meepo’s room.

He has recently acquired the ability to speak Draconic…

“HEEELLLLOOOOOW. I. YES I. ME… I AM YOUR FRIEND. Well I don’t mean friend, we’ve just met, I barely know you, I mean… Where was I? WHHOOOOOO? I MEAN WHOOOOO? WHHOOOO? WHOOO IS THIS CORRRR-NN-FLLLLAYY-KS WE HAAAAVE TO GET? WHOOO?”

“Dragon.” Meepo proudly states.

Dartamor staggers into the room,

“He said…”

“Yes, I got that.” Aleso, for perhaps the first time ever, looks worried.

Next time… more of the same, a meeting with Ysdrayl, think Cilla Black, only less… No, just Cilla Black.

If you don’t know who Cilla Black is then go here- 

http://images.google.co.uk/imgres?i...D10% 26hl%3Den

Tell me she’s not a Kobold Sorceress…

Ysdrayl, and the back story.

Turn 2.105 ver 3: Ysdrayl, and the back story.

Ten minutes later the four hapless adventurers find themselves before the throne of the self-styled Kobold queen, Ysdrayl. This is situated at the end of a long dark, dank corridor, although the passage is over twenty feet wide, torches offer guttering light illuminating a sea of Kobold faces, they appeared from every door, and the ancient DRAGON carved columns- there must be 15-20 Kobolds gathered. Before the nervous foursome is a crude throne perched on which is Ysdrayl, a kind of squashed Kobold, she looks fairly ancient, which for a Kobold is about twenty- life’s hard for Kobolds and she doesn’t have a moisturising regime to speak of. The throne itself is strangely strange- a leering dragon, mouth agape, forms the backrest, inside the fanged maw is a key… a dragon key.

We join the action as-

“Calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“Leave it.”
“He’s not worth it Brian Kobold.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Calm down.”
“Aye.”

Forests of pointy sticks, actually crude spears, are being waved in the faces of the intrepid four. How did we get to this- easy Grand Alf opened his mouth.

Let’s go back a few minutes…

The adventurers are led into the smoky chamber; other Kobolds come skittering in to see what’s going on.

Saradomin bows low, good start, before the Queen.

“I am Saradomin, leader of our group.”

First mistake.

“Leader?” x2

Dartamor doesn’t care, Grand Alf and Aleso are a little confused.

“Leader?” x2

“Who made you leader?”

Grand Alf steps up to the plate,

“You’re a priest, how can you possibly lead when you’re already compromised, you have your duty to do Cleric; a leader should be someone capable of seeing things from all sides, able to take difficult decisions unencumbered by theological rhetoric.”

Aleso chuckles, Saradomin looks a little put out.

“And that goes for you too…”

Grand Alf points at Aleso, who stops chuckling in an instant.

“What?”

Grand Alf steps forward, towards Ysdrayl, he doesn’t bow.

“What do you want then? Who’s this Cornflakes- a dragon, huh, hardly likely is it. I mean a dragon. You’re just Kobolds.”

Silence engulfs them, no that’s not it- it gets worse.

Ysdrayl leans forward, Kobold guards cluster, but not too close- one eye on the adventurers, one on their beloved (and fearsome) queen.

“Kneel before me, crawling frog man-thing, thy pointy hat holds no sway here for I wield mighty magics, far greater than your puny talents, you are a mere stripling stumbling on your first incantations.”

The silence continues, although steam seems to be coming from Grand Alf’s ears, behind him Aleso and Saradomin are stifling laughter, Dartamor is counting Kobolds- a few, some, many, gulp… lots.

Grand Alf gingerly, and quickly, sinks to one knee and then back up again.

“Now pointy-headed man-child what do you seek here in the Kingdom of the Kobolds?”

Grand Alf recovers.

“We have been employed by the man-child’s, children… the people of Oakhurst to search for a party of adventurers that went this wa…”

Ysdrayl’s hand cuts him off in an instant.

Silence descends again.

“Continue.”

Ysdrayl waves him on again, Grand Alf gulps then continues.

“Went this way, there were four of them, a brother and sister, the Hucrele’s a local merchant family, Talgen and Sharwyn are their names; a woodsman Ran…”

“Stop.” Ysdrayl smiles, hand up.

Silence.

“Start.” Ysdrayl waves him on again.

“A Ranger called Karrakas, and…”

“Stop.” Hand up.

Silence.

“Start.”

“And a Paladin, a holy warrior, called Sir Bradford- we seek them. We fear they may have befallen great danger… er harm.”

Ysdrayl leaps onto the seat of her throne, grasps her cloak and extravagantly swirls it about her, the dance ends with the cloak wrapped tightly around her, she’s almost hidden inside it, her eyes, twinkling- mischievous, still visible.

The Kobold guards step back as Ysdrayl intones.

“They Do Do That Don’t They Though.”

The Kobold guards echo, mostly in unison- a few stragglers.

“THEY DO DO THAT.”

Ysdrayl deflates and collapses into a pile on the seat of her throne, then peeks out-

“I have travelled in my mind and out of my body, from Hamfield, to Evatown, I have seen things, these people, I know them… in my mind, I have held there presence, their essence, their being, their soul, their… sleeping bags, I mean… I mean. OHHHH.”

Ysdrayl falls down- dead?

OOooooo

A sharp intake of breath from the congregating guards.

Thwopthwopthwopthwop

A grinning Meepo applauds.

THWOK

And receives a slap round the head for his pains from one of the guards.

Shhhh.

The silence lingers… for a while, too long?

“Madam, are you injured?”

Saradomin steps forward, concerned, Ysdrayl leaps to her feet.

“I have seen your friends… in my mind… in the hollow places. I can find them for you, search the way, in my mind, yesssssss. YES. I can tell you the way.”

She stands tall, proud, erect, she’s 2 foot 4 inches, not that erect then.

Grand Alf ventures-

“Will you, madam. Will you, pleeeeeease.”

He takes to one knee, genuine this time.

“Yep.”

Ysdrayl flops to her seat,

“For a price.”

And crosses her arms, and grins.

“For a price.”

She winks at Dartamor who was in on the act all along, for good measure he winks back, and grins at the prostrate Grand Alf’s back.

“Anything madam, anything.”

Grand Alf is still hooked.

“You will venture into the land of Evatown, the cursed place, where mighty Kobolds are taken and never return. There you are to recover our majestic drake, mighty Cornflakes, take him back from the vial scum that inhabit there, those whose name must be unspaken etcetera etcetera.”

She waves her hands to signal unheard words.

“And return him to his rightful place, here amongst the mighty Scousers, for this favour I will impart said knowledge, a forthwith, notwithstanding, hence-which, forth-who and that… sign here”

“What’s in it for us, other than the info on the kids?”

Dartamor looks past Ysdrayl to the key; she turns and follows his gaze.

“You may select from the mighty treasures what we have here gathered, forthmore, with… er hence.”

She points to a stone altar/table type device, it’s scattered with assorted stuff, a potion bottle, some scrolls, and a feather (odd?).

She turns back, skips off the throne and over to Dartamor.

“Or you can gamble up…”

She looks up. Dartamor follows her gaze.

“For the key.”

“Deal. Shakey-shake, sorry it’s an Elven thing”

The two shake hands.

The spears relax.

“Have it.”
“Calm down.”

The Kobold guards go back to being guards, suddenly less interested in the heroes.

Saradomin slaps Dartamor on the back, Aleso grins and winks at him. Grand Alf slowly picks himself up from the floor.

“What happened?”

Aleso shuffles over to Grand Alf, whispers in his shell-like (ear).

“Bit of a performance I’ll admit, had me going for a while, still got there in the end- she’ll tell us where the kids are if we get back the drake… dragon… er drake- isn’t that a big duck, I think she meant dragon, y’know, the Cornflakes chap…”

Aleso drones on but Grand Alf’s not listening anymore. Aleso continues anyway.

“Very civil of her actually, and the big duck, I mean dragon, well how big can it be… it went in that cage-thingy, can’t be that big…”

Grand Alf turns to look at Ysdrayl, trails of vapour hiss from his ears, he screws his magic hat down tight, he’s been made to look a fool. Aleso still hasn’t stopped rabbiting on.

“Although… All-thoOOw… It’d have to be quite a big duck. Don’t you think Grand Alf?”

Aleso looks at Grand Alf for confirmation. Too late- he’s gone.

He’s been made to look a fool, a fool, a fool- by a…

“JUMPED UP SCABBY LITTLE CHEATING LYING SCUMBAG… LITTLE… TINY… EEEENIE WEEEENIE LITTLE… GOBLIN.”

He was doing alright till he hit the G-word, shhh… Goblin, don’t say it out loud, and definitely don’t call a Kobold a Goblin.

The entire Kobold congregation take a breath, the adventures’ nearly miss out on their last, if it wasn’t for Saradomin and Aleso.

“Calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“Leave it.”
“He’s not worth it Brian Kobold.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Calm down.”
“Aye.”

Forests of pointy sticks, actually crude spears, are being waved in the faces of the intrepid four. Saradomin thinks quickly, not as quickly as his mouth though.

“KOBOLD. Kobold. He meant Kobold… Mighty Kobold. Very mighty Kobold. Dragon er… Aleso?”

Aleso struggles with it for a while then…

“Dragon… er. Dragonbath… er no. Dragonbreed… er no. Dragontame… er no. Dragon… er Goal, no Dragonkeep…er no. Dragon… Saradomin?”

Saradomin, in an instant replies.

“Lords. Dragonlords, and ladies of course.”

He bows, the Paladin follows suit, then the others, Grand Alf nervously and Dartamor with another wink.

Ysdrayl laughs, slaps Meepo round the head, and begins to wave them off.

“And take that wretch with you.”

She kicks Meepo up the backside for good luck.

The Kobold guards see there cue.

“Bye.”
“C’ya.”
“Have it.”
“Calm down.”

While the going’s good the four, no scratch that, five, including Meepo, wander off. Negotiations are, it seems, over. They have to find the four lost adventurers and… and a dragon, or a big duck, either way, called Cornflakes.

Read on for more high jinks from the Lost Boys… 

Next week “Grand Alf Magic Fire Burper.”

Chapter 2.9: “Grand Alf Magic Fire Burper.”

A scruffy room beyond the door, Meepo skitters in, pointing onwards.

“That way.”

The intrepid foursome follows.

Grand Alf still muttering, “Goblins… Kobolds… what’s the bloody difference… scabby little…”

Dartamor, head down, giggles and… “Hang on.”

The group stops, Dartamor shuffles around the room, it’s much abused, ancient and fairly dirty, there are marks in the floor- “Rats, lots of them.”

Grand Alf picks his robe up and tip toes about a bit, “What d’ya mean rats… I hate rats… beady eyes, teeth… fangs, FANGS.”

Thankfully Aleso remains calm, “RATS… RATS… RATS… RATS.” He stands like a lighthouse slowly turning barking into the darkness, white as a sheet.

Saradomin settles for a combat crouch, scanning left and right, ready for anything.

“Hang on… I SAID HANG… OH BLOODY SHUT UP.” Dartamor quietens the crowd, “Footprints, the adventurers? Four of them, that way.” He points onwards, “Could be… could be.”

The rat-panicked majority settle down Meepo stands in their midst, rubbing his belly, “Rat good eat them. Mmmm.” He’s learning the Common tongue.

Dartamor nods at Meepo and makes curly-wurly motions to the side of his head, looking at the others, as if to say they’re mad, the international sign language works- Meepo chuckles, and skips forward, the others fall in and quickly follow.

Into another room, equally dilapidated, a much abused fountain covered in dirt and grime to the right… and a strange looking door to the left. They investigate left.

Grand Alf gulps, “Dragons… again.” The door and frame are intricately carved with dragons, scratch that- skeletal dragons, it says something above it, more squiggly writing. He squints, no good, puts his head to one side… still no good.

“Channel good, open the way.” Dartamor reads, Meepo smiles.

“What in damnation does that mean?” Aleso strikes a pose, Rodin, “The Thinker”, with heavy armour and fantastic moustache.

“Duh, it means one of you god-botherers needs to wave your holy wotsit vaguely in the direction of the door and it should open.” Grand Alf pulls himself up to his full height, six feet three including now crumpled hat.

Saradomin steps up,

“Oh Cuthbert, if you would but,
Could but, should but- OPEN THE DOOR.”

The skeletal dragon images glow for a second, swim from the door to the door frame, and the door creaks open. A light beyond, cautiously they shuffle in led by Saradomin.

Caskets, sarcophagi, call them what you will, five of them stood upright, three left, and two right- etched and carved with the faces and bodies of ancient elves, and dragon symbols. At the far end an Altar, once again decorated, on top of which is a candle; it does not flicker- and some other shiny stuff- Dartamor sees his opportunity and scurries forward.

EEEeeeeeeeeR

The sarcophagi swing open, all of them- five Skeletons step out.

Dartamor does a double-take and darts forward to the altar, looking for a shadow to hide in.

Saradomin still has his holy symbol in his hand, he punches the sky with it gripped in his fist.

“MIGHTY BERT,
MAKE IT HUUUUUUUURT.”

BOOOOOOMM

As if hit by ten ton hammers four of the Skeletons evenly distribute themselves around the chamber- into smithereens.

One stands a moment looking slightly lost, Grand Alf steps in and…

Poke… Poke

Tickles its ribs. Aleso grabs Saradomin’s mace and…

FWUMP

Skittles it. All done.

The three look chuffed with themselves, Meepo peeks round the door way. Grins, thumbs up at Dartamor who emerges from the shadows.

“So there’s a light, a nice light. ‘Ere watch this”, he clamps his hand over the flame, the others start forward, he removes his hand, the flame is still there, “now that’s magic.”

“And this…” he holds up an odd, shiny, crystal-like whistle, “I wonder what happens when…”, Dartamor puts it to his lips, and… 

YANK

Grand Alf snatches it away, apoplectic, “Do you have any idea, any idea, how dangerous this could be- it could…”, the words escape him he settles for hand gestures, big, dramatic, “any idea, any. At all. Any idea.” He shakes the whistle in Dartamor’s face.

“Any idea.”

Dartamor shrugs, actually looking a little guilty.

“Any idea, at all.”

The others are looking sheepish now, even Meepo who hops from foot to foot, eyes on the ground. 

“Any idea.”

Grand Alf blows the whistle. 

“------“

A Skeleton slowly reassembles itself before his eyes, the others, a moment later, become conscious of this… they were looking down remember.

There’s a struggle for blunt weapons.

“Wait.” Grand Alf holds up his hands.

“Skellington bow before me.”

The Skeleton does so.

“Carry this”, he hands the creature his backpack, “now guard me well.” He folds his arms, satisfied, tucking the whistle into a pocket. “I shall call you Bones.”

“You bas…”, Dartamor’s not happy.

“An abomination… an abomination, by BeaaalllZEBBUbbbles beard it’s not right. Holy. Right. An abomination.” Aleso takes up the reins.

“Oh Cuthbert make to…Ulp”

Grand Alf nudges Saradomin, in the throat, before he can finish his turning attempt.

“You gugger.”

The other three are in Grand Alf’s face, screaming.

“AN ABOMINATION.”
“GAGAINST GUTHBERT.”
“PELOR.”
“WHERE’S MINE THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO KNOW?”
“GI GWILL GNOT GRAVEL GITH GIS…”
“ABOMINATION.”
“I BLOODY WANT ONE.”

The inevitable scuffle follows, mostly, it’s not the stuff of heroes more akin to three petulant six year olds fighting over pudding, you know slapping, scratching et al.

A tiny hand snakes into Grand Alf’s pocket.

YOINK

“------“

A new Skeleton surges upright, it’s missing a leg bone so it rattles as it strides over to stand by Meepo.

Meepo gurgles in his strange tongue; the Skeleton reaches down and settles Meepo on his shoulders.

Meepo views the world from his new lofty position, he folds his arms, the skeleton lurches forward, Meepo grips on, steers the thing by twisting its head left and right.

“Wheeeeee”

And back out of the room, throwing the whistle on the floor as he leaves, he gibbers as he departs.

Scramble.

Thirty seconds later the pile up dissolves, Saradomin, Aleso and Dartamor get up, dust themselves down. Dartamor has the whistle, he blows it.

“ “

The three look around, nothing.

The silence is endless, for a while.

“Meepo’s calling his Rattler.” Dartamor adds, but no-one’s listening- long faces all round.

The group head out and to the fountain, once again it’s Dartamor to the fore.

He clears away a layer or ten of grime, there are words, Draconic again.

“It says ‘Let there be fire’, only in Draconic- Nainarya.”

With that the spout of the fountain, actually concealed in a carved dragon’s maw, gurgles into life… and spills out a red liquid- Dartamor is lightening fast, a flask underneath to catch it. It fills.

Then stops.

“Nainarya.”

Nothing happens.

The others gather to sniff and study the liquid.

“It could be dangerous.” Aleso cautions.
“Possibly… We’ll have to take it to that Gnome back in Oakhurst- Nackle… Whatever her name was, she’ll know. I suggest we keep it safe.” Saradomin adds.
Dartamor sets about finding a safe place to stow the flask.

“Here let me help you.” Grand Alf grabs the flask, and swigs.

GGGGGGGgaaaaarrrrrggggllllllleGULP

“Not bad… Refreshing… A bit spice… Hot… HOT… BURNY.” Grand Alf hops from foot to foot clutching at his burning throat.

He dodges left and right, trying to grab one of his comrades- gesticulating wildly, unable to speak pointing at his throat.

The others dodge out of the way, Meepo riding Rattler careens around the room trying to avoid the mad wizard.

Grand Alf dashes out of the room, a darkened corridor heading north and…

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUrp

Fills the hall ahead with a fan of wicked flames, incinerating the two approaching Dire Rats in the process.

Cough

He re-adjusts his hat, admires the immolated rats and turns back to the others.

“Another successful experiment undertaken.”

Claps his hands together, shoulders his backpack and points north.

“Onwards.”

The others stare open-mouthed, collectively shrug their shoulders and follow on.

A little later, actually ten seconds later, a hand snakes into Grand Alf’s pocket and recovers the flask. The hand is connected to a lithe individual with a touch of kleptomania- Dartamor smuggles the flask into hiding.

Twenty feet down the corridor and there, in an alcove to the left, is another door, sans decorations, the passage continues on- as do the tracks of the adventurers, although…

“Actually they come back… At least…” Dartamor squints hard at the floor, “Some of them do- four sets of tracks went north, only three came back.”

“Then let us head on.”

Grand Alf strides off, his glowing staff lights the way.

Bones and Saradomin follow on.

“I’ll just check this door.” Dartamor is as good as his word.

Aleso is torn, forced into a decision. “I’ll watch over the Thief, see that he comes to no harm- I may be of some assistance if there’s a sudden crisis.”

And where Dartamor goes Meepo, and Rattler of course, follow.

The party <GULP> split in two.

Dartamor, Aleso, Meepo and Rattler are soon through the door and into a another room, there’s another door, north again, and tracks- three adventurers came this way.

“Another door… Can’t hurt- take a look.”

Dartamor looks at Aleso, Aleso looks at Dartamor. Aleso nods, a little.

Dartamor foolishly pushes the door open.

RING-RING RING-RING

He looks up. There’s a bell attached to a bit of rope, attached to… he follows the rope with his eyes… the door. Stupid.

Ahead two shadowy figures, there’s a light of some sort behind them, they peer over what appears to be a crenulated wall. Goblins.

Stupid x2. Dartamor gulps air… decides.

“Aaaaaarrrgggghhhh.”

And launches himself forward, down some stairs as it turns out, “bugger”, he catches his foot nearly tumbles but saves himself and charges on.

Into a short corridor the floor of which is covered in caltrops.

He spots one glistening in Aleso’s torchlight, he feels the second as it plunges into his foot, through his boot.

“Aaaaaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh.”

He goes down clutching at his foot like a sack of spuds, he finds another two just at the end of his fall- handy that.

“AAAAaaaaarrgghhh AAAAArrrrrGGGGHHH.”

Stupid x3.

Aleso looks behind him- the door and escape. And forward… Goblins.

Thung

A crude javelin bounces off the side of his helm, it’s enough to make his mind up.

“PPPPEEEELLLLLLLOOORRR.”

He bounds down the stairs, four at a time. Leaps…

“OOOOFFFFFFfffff.”

Lands one foot on the sprawling Dartamor, knocking him back onto the spikes, and leaps again onto the stairs heading up to the crenulated wall, and the Goblins.

“Bye hEcK.”

A Goblin bolts, the other readies a short blunt instrument, a… difficult to see. Aleso charges up the stairs… it’s a…

THWONG

Mace. He’s struck on the side- rib cracked, it’ll hurt when he laughs, mental note- don’t laugh.

SLLLERRKK. 

Aleso’s scimitar snakes forward and slices the Goblin which gurgles to the floor, clutching the wound, in seconds it’s over.

Beyond is another guard room, bare except for rough sleeping rags, and a flickering fire, empty, to the left a door, and the sound of running feet.

Aleso plunges on… Sorta. Swings a leg over the wall, and puffing hard, gets stuck.

“PELOR… SAVE me… PUFF PUFF. I… I… PUFF PUFF… Hang on. Rest a moment.”

He falls over the far-side of the wall and lies on his back struggling for breath, black spots appear before his eyes, coalesce into darkness… if it wasn’t so dangerous it’d be funny. No use… fading, he laughs.

“AAAAARRRGGGHHH.”

The pain keeps him conscious. He sits up.

“AAAAARRRGGGHHH.”

Over the wall, back on the caltrop floor, Dartamor echoes his thoughts.

“AAAARRRGGGGHHH.”

Meepo aboard Rattler heads over to help.

Meanwhile…

“I saw something I tell you… and so did Bones.” Grand Alf is certain.
“What?” Saradomin’s not so sure.
“I saw something.”
“You said Bones saw it too?”

Grand Alf straightens up from his creep, strides over to Bones and manipulates his jaw through the next madness.

“Gyes Gye Gid. Gye Gaw Gwat Gwand- I mean Grand Alf Gwaw.”

Grand Alf, hands on hips, stares at Saradomin. “Gattis-gide, I mean- satisfied.” He stomps off.

Saradomin lets the wizard get a head start before moving off again.

The corridor has alcoves left and right, it leads to a large arched entrance. There are doors in the alcoves, all ajar so far, although no-one’s been brave enough to see what lies beyond the doors. Too late, ahead a rat darts out, a Dire Rat, then another.

“Ha ha.”

Grand Alf fumbles for the fire potion… Ooops.

“Ha ha.”

Saradomin hoves into view, “Is there an echo in here?”

“Ha… Sick ‘em Bones.”

The rats are on them.

Grand Alf stumbles back, grabbing at his Short Spear. Saradomin leaps in front of the Sorcerer and…

Thump

Whacks a rat. The thing comes on grabs Grand Alf’s robe (again), grips on as he flails and finally gets his spear right.

Stab

The creature is dead.

Bonesy meanwhile, without a weapon, launches himself at the second rat and is left sprawling on the floor arms locked around the hairy beast biting at its tail end. The thing yelps and nips but can’t get free. In short time it is bitten, gummed, butted, clawed, pinched and raked to death.

“We are the champeeeeeons my freeeend.” Grand Alf begins as another Dire Rat scuttles into view. He doesn’t hesitate, draws back his short spear and aims, in one smooth motion the spear flies.

And lands around fifteen feet beyond the rat, it skitters off into the darkness, unimpeded.

“Sick ‘em Bones.”

Soon after the third rat is no more.

“Lets check the doors, they were coming from there.” Saradomin states to an empty corridor. Grand Alf is already filling a sack with shiny coins.

“Rich. Rich I tell ya’”

The six alcoves soon divulge their secrets, rat’s nests, and treasure- a mixture of coins and a few gems- still more money than any of them have seen before.

“Let’s not tell… Hang on.” Grand Alf stops, cups an ear.

“Did you hear that?”
“No.”

Grand Alf thinks a second.

“Good, let’s see what’s up here.”
“What about the others?”
“Oh they’ll be alright- they’d come back if there was anything wrong.”

Saradomin nods at this new found wisdom.

“Kay.”

The two head off.

Next turn… “Firestarter, Goblin Firestarter”, and, “It’s a Rat Trap baby and you’ve been caught.”

Interlude- player stats.

As I stated at the start of this the inaugural adventures of four young (9-12 years old) newbies. The characters were supplied pregenerated, my thoughts were simply- let’s get on with the game, I also happen to have a dozen or so characters of levels 1-10 already rolled up by myself and previous players.

And so, the foursome are, in more detail-
Grand Alf

Human Male Sorcerer Level 1 
NG HP 8 AC 12 Init +6
Str 8 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 17 
Saves Fort +1 Ref +2 Will +3
Shortspear “Pokey” -1 d8-1 
Lt. Xbow (Mwk) “The Stapler” +3 d8 
Dagger -1 or +2 d4-1
Armour: Spangly Robes and Wizard-type conical hat, so none then.
Feats: Improved Initiative & Toughness 
Skills of note: Bluff +3 Concentrate +5 Diplomacy +3 Disguise +3 Gather Info +3 Intimidate +3 Perform (Sing- Cheesy Pop) +3 Spellcraft +5 Spot +3

Spells Level 0 (5) Light, Ghost Sound, Detect Magic, Read Magic Level 1 (4) Sleep, Magic Missile

Items of note: Scrolls Sleep (x2), Shield (x2), Magic Missile (x2); Potions Invisibility & Blur.
Dartamor

Half-Elf Male Rogue Level 1 
CN HP 5 AC 16 Init +7
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 9 Int 18 Wis 13 Ch 11 
Saves Fort -1 Ref +5 Will +1
Rapier (Mwk) +4 d6+3 
Comp. Shortbow (Mwk Mighty (STR 12)) +4 d6+1 
Silver Edged Dagger +3 or +3 d4+3
Armour: Black Mwk Studded Leather
Feats: Improved Initiative Sneak Attack +d6
Skills of note: Appraise +5 Balance +3 Bluff +3 Climb +6 Craft (Hunter) +4 Decipher Script +5 Disable Device +8 Escape Artist +3 Forgery +5 Hide +6 Jump +3 Listen +6 Move Silently +6 Open Lock +7 Pick Pocket +4 Read Lips +5 Ride (Horse) +4 Search +8 Spot +5 Swim +3 Tumble +4 Use Rope +4

Items of note: Silk Climbing Rope, 20 Mwk Arrows, Potions Spider Climb (x2), Hiding & Cure Light (x2).


Aleso Flett

Human Male Paladin of Pelor Level 1 
LG HP 11 AC 15 Init 0
Str 15 Dex 11 Con 12 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 18 
Saves Fort +7 Ref +4 Will +5
Scimitar (Mwk) +4 d6+2 
Comp. Longbow +1 d8 
Dagger +3 or +1 d4+2
Armour: Shiny Chain Shirt & Sparkling Steel Buckler
Feats: Power Attack & Cleave; Divine Grace, Detect Evil, Divine Health, Lay on Hands (4 HP/Day)
Skills of note: Bluff +4 Concentration +3 Diplomacy +6 Disguise +4 Gather Information +4 Handle Animal +5 Heal +4 Intimidate +4 Perform (Sing- Opera) +4

Items of note: Potions Bull’s Strength, Cure Moderate & Cure Light (x4).
Saradomin

Human Male Cleric of St. Cuthbert Level 1 
LN HP 10 AC 19 Init +3
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 15 Int 14 Wis 17 Ch 13 
Saves Fort +4 Ref +3 Will +5
Heavy Mace (Mwk) +4 d8+3 
Lt. Xbow +3 d8 
Club +3 or +3 d6+3
Armour: Dirty Chainmail & Rusty, slightly bent, Large Steel Shield
Feats: Extra Turning (8/Day) & Scribe Scroll; Smite (+4/+1) x1, Strength boost (+1)
Skills of note: Concentration +5 Craft (Armoursmith) +3 Heal +7 Knowledge (Religion) +5 Listen +3 Perform (Bagpipes) +1 Profession (Scribe) +4 Ride (Horse) +3 Sense Motive +3 Spellcraft +4 Spot +4 Use Rope +3 Wilderness Lore +3

Items of note: Scroll Protection from Elements.


Turn 3. Part 1.
“Firestarter, Goblin Firestarter”

The party have split in two- musical differences, a sense of style, over-confidence; who knows?

Aleso drags himself up using the crenulated wall as a crutch; meantime Meepo and Rattler have dragged, pushed, pulled and lifted a wounded Dartamor to the other side of the battlements. The two aren’t hurt that badly, more shocked that someone or something has got through their defences, thirty seconds later, a swift breather, and while the two are a little embarrassed they are also at last up off their arses.

“Goblin ran down there.”

Aleso points to a thin passage into darkness.

“I’ll take a look.”

Dartamor shimmies over the wall and heads into the black.

“May Pelor light your way- little one.” Aleso states calmly to Dartamor’s receding back, Dartamor stops, whispers back. “Yeah. Ok, but not actually light my way- ok. Stay there.” Aleso nods, clutches his scimitar.

Around the corner Dartamor spies a bunch of target dummies, no not other members of the adventuring party, proper target dummies, a javelin is lodged in one- good shot.

The room goes right, there’s another light, he sneaks a peek- another camp fire, another crenulated wall dividing the dank room in two, a goblin, on the far side… pointing at him. A javelin sails out of the shadows and rattles into the wall- missed, but close. 

“Bugger.”

There’s also a door opposite his position, it has a bar on the outside- to keep something in. Hmm. No time for speculation.

“Eye up.”
“Take that.”
“Bugger off.”
“Come and have a go if you think your hard enough.”
“Have him.”

Goblins, five of them maybe. Dartamor skitters back to Aleso, Meepo and Rattler, relays the news.

“Five?”

Aleso gulps. Then gets all macho.

“I’ll deal with this.”

He strides (clanks) down the passage, to the corner, peers round, ducks back.

He pulls out his compact mirror, curls his moustache, flattens his hair and wipes his face, he’s ready, Dartamor watches on.

“BY Pelor’s britches you sneaky varmints should preclude from further throwing of things. Do you know who I am?”

There’s no coherent reply. He continues…

“I am Aleso Flett, Paladin of Pelor, bringer of the light, the shiny armoured one- surrender immediately and submit to the light or it will go awry for you.”

More jabbering in Goblin.

“I SAID GO AWRY FOR YOU.”

The jabbering grows louder.

“What did they say? Are they surrendering?”

Dartamor cups an ear, listens…

“They’re discussing ways to cook you. One’s for sauté, two are for spit-roast, one’s for raw and the other… hang on… I think he’s a vegetarian. Oh. No. Three for spit-roast- now they’re discussing possible wines.”

“What? How dare…”

Aleso steps out into the room.

“Put your weapons down and…”

Thwokaaaaa.

A javelin caroms of his chest, denting, and scratching his armour. Aleso dodges back.

The Goblins jabber on.

“I bloody say. Look at that… Look at that.”

Aleso points at his armour for inspection, there’s a large gouge in it.

He goes to speak again, Dartamor shushes him silent. Listens.

Goblins jabber.

Silence.

Dartamor reluctantly translates.

“Chablis.”
“What?”
“They’re going to serve you with a chilled Chablis, preferably something Elven, 1392 is a good year. Should I tell them… No.”

Dartamor spots Aleso’s expression.

Thunder clouds settle over Aleso.

“Wait a mo’”

Dartamor sneaks to the corner, peeks round- five Goblins, a fire… right.

He rifles in his pack for a second, comes out with two flasks of lamp oil. Fishes about again and comes up with a familiar looking flask, last seen in the hands of Grand Alf. Dartamor thinks, then grins, thinks some more, then grins again.

“What’re you up to?” Aleso gets curious.
“When I say get ‘em, well… Get ‘em. Got it.”

Aleso nods, clutches at his scimitar, begins to pray.

“Pelor who is sunny let thy countenance shine forth beatific rays of beauty…”

Dartamor pops open the oil flasks, takes a breath, and darts into the room.

Fling.

The two flasks arc into the air and…

Ching… Chung.

Land in the midst of the Goblins, one shatters on impact with a Goblin head drenching the creature in lamp oil, the other flask skitters onto the floor and begins to glug out it’s sticky contents, it puddles at the creatures feet. Time slows right down.

One Goblin gets it, the one covered in oil.

“BLOODY NORA.”

He runs, slips, and surf-slides into the fire.

WOOF.

Aleso prays, tears forming unbidden.

“Let the golden goodness of your glow infiltrate the darkest corners…”

The flaming Goblin panics, flails madly.

“PUT IT OUT”

The others dodge back to the crenulated wall trying to avoid their combusting fellow.

Gulp.

Dartamor swigs, sucks in hard, and raspberry spits.

Aleso prays on, “Let the sunny… the sunny. Done that bit, golden chaffinch. Not chaffinch… budgie… Oh God…”

The flaming spray forms a perfect fan of flame, engulfing the four approaching Goblins.

“ALESO NOW.”

“Please let me LLLLIIIIVVVVEEEE… I don’t want to die, I’m so pretty.”

Aleso launches himself into the room as Dartamor throws himself to the floor and tumbles up to the crenulated wall.

WOOOOOOOOOOF

A fireball engulfs the Goblins, hits the wall and rolls along the ceiling, momentarily obscuring Aleso in its licking flaming folds.

Swish swish swish swish swish.

Aleso, hand in front of his face and eyes, cuts the air- there’s nothing else available.

Gradually he slows.

Swish… swish.

Swish.

A bit.

Swish.

He takes a look.

The blackened burning husks, Dartamor unfurling from his crouch- coming up to see over the wall.

Black smoke, oil burning- the Goblins… gone.

He drops to his knees.

“Oh Pelor. OH MIGHTY PELOR SEND FORTH YOUR FIERY COUNTENANCE SCOURGE THIS DAMN-ED PLACE…”

He brings his hands up to pray, settles them on his lips.

“OH GOLDEN CHAFFINCH OF GOODNESS. NOT CHAFFINCH. EH.”

He stands. Clasps his face, mouth, chops, his upper lip- rubs.

Dartamor approaches- looking at him… oddly.

Aleso grapples with backpack, dives inside, roots about, comes up with his compact mirror, opens it… and stares in.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.” 

His fabulous moustache is gone, in its place a burnt caterpillar clutching desperately to the underside of his nose.

He collapses onto the hard dungeon floor, and sobs.

Dartamor squats down, snakes his arm around Aleso’s heaving shoulders, finds a few comforting words.

“You’re eyebrows are gone too.”

Next time- the other bit.


Turn 3. Part 2. The other bit.

“It’s a Rat Trap baby and you’ve been caught.”

Back to the other terrible twosome, rather threesome, if you include Bones.

At the end of the rat passage are double doors, flung open, smashed- Grand Alf and Saradomin step into the chamber beyond and…

“Whoooah.”

Grand Alf kicks air, steps back quickly.

“There’s a bloody great hole in the floor.”
“It’s a pit.”
“Duh- that’s what I said.”

Grand Alf dances backwards a dozen feet and crouches into a sprinters pose.

“Stand aside wizened priest, I shall apply my magics and then gazelle-like leap to the other side.”
“I’m eighteen.” Saradomin states, and doesn’t move.
“What?”
“You said ‘wizened priest’, I’m eighteen for Cuthbert’s sake.”
“Sorry- poetic license. Now my mighty magics.”

Grand Alf thinks fast, note I said fast- not hard.

He wiggles his fingers and waves his hands about a bit, all the time leaping up and down on the spot, while intoning-

“JUMP UP. JUMP UP. JUMP AROUND. JUMP. JUMP.”

He’s a blur ready to roll, rather leap. 

Saradomin crunches the door to his side.

“Or we could go round?”

He points the way.

“Yes. I suppose that’d do.”
“Oh and Grand Alf- that’s not a spell is it?”
“No. No, sorry again.” Grand Alf confirms.

Grand Alf saunters over head down- ashamed, the two tip-toe around the edge of the pit- Bones following Grand Alf’s tread.

The room is enormous, maybe thirty feet by thirty feet with a high ceiling- once ornate, now nasty; they soon discover another pit trap, and on the far side another ancient fountain, complete with dragon head water spout.

Saradomin cleans away some of the gunk, there’s more squiggly writing; alas neither of them can make it out. That’s not going to hold Grand Alf back though.

“LET THERE BE FIRE- NAR-NAR-NAR-NAR, what was it Dartamor said at that other fountain?”

Saradomin shakes his head.

Squeak squeak.

He turns quickly- what was that, he scans the room, can’t see anything beyond the circle of Grand Alf’s light.

“LET THERE BE… I don’t know what do you want? Hang on. Got it. LET THERE BE BISCUITS, I like biscuits, and jelly, that’s it- I’ll try that. LET THERE BE JELLY.”

Squeak squeak.

Saradomin looks around again- still nothing there. Grand Alf climbs into the fountain, finds the spout-thing in the dragons mouth, pokes at it, puts his head in the dragons jaws- puckers his lips and blows down it.

BBrrrrrrr.

Squeak squeak.

“Hey that was good.”

Squeak squeak.

Saradomin darts round to look at Grand Alf.

“I’d oil that armour of yours if I were you.”

He stares hard at the sorcerer. The sorcerer. The sorcerer. Hang on, sorcerers don’t wear armour. What’s making that squeaking…

“Rats.”

Grand Alf states dropping into combat crouch-mode.

He lifts his staff, uses the light to scour the room, stops, back- there’s a door way.

Squeak.

And.

Squeak.

The three head over, making ready for war.

“R-A-T-S. Leave this to me.”

Grand Alf dodges into the room, Bones does likewise.

Leapx2

Dire Rats converge, one from either side. It’s a rat-bush.

“Aaargh.”

The first connects with Grand Alf’s knee leaving huge gouge marks in his flesh, the blood flows.

“Pow-kee pow-kee time.”

He stabs back, spikes the creature, but the huge rat fights on.

The second rat is having less success, it gnashes the air between Bones’ bones, the skeleton lashes at the creature raking its claws down the rats back, it’s wounded, badly.

Saradomin sees the danger.

SHOOOOVE.

He shunts Grand Alf forwards, further into the chamber. Steps into the gap and…

“BY THE MIGHT OF ST. CUTHBERT.”

Swish.

Misses the rat.

Unseen a third pair of ratty peepers peers from beneath the disgusting, stinking, rotting pile of carrion that fills the room.

The first Dire Rat snaps at Saradomin, who sees his opening, and…

“CUTHBERT DON’T FAIL ME NOW.”

BONK.

Smashes the creature’s skull.

The second rat meets a similar fate, its bite merely scratches Bones, who rakes again at the vulgar vermin- it gives up the ghost, sinks into the stink- dead.

“Whew.”

Grand Alf lets out a breath.

“That was…”

Erupting from the filth, with fury, comes Guthash, Queen of the Rats, some six feet long, ten including tail, and nearly four feet high at the shoulder- in one fell move she tramples over Bones, crushing and smashing the skeleton beneath her. 

Her jaws lock on Bones’ skull and…

CRUNCH-SPOING.

It explodes sending shards of cranium shooting off.

“BONESY. NOOOOoooooooo.”

Grand Alf brings up his loaded light crossbow, safety off.

FWUNG-THUNK.

And buries six inches of steel into Guthash’s right shoulder.

The rat snarls back, turns, and launches herself at the sorcerer.

“Blooooody elllllll.”

Grand Alf dodges left, then right, and “JUUUUUUUMP” escapes the huge creature’s jaws.

Saradomin swings hard and…

“BERT- MAKE IT HURT.”

CRUNCH.

Connects. Smashing Guthash’s back right leg.

The rat turns swiftly, a new, and closer enemy- snaps its jaws, misses Saradomin by inches. He hits back.

“CUTHBERT BLESSES YOU- WITH THIS…”

His heavy mace swings high, wide and handsome.

Grand Alf continues to dodge back, finds a wall behind him, reloads his crossbow, his hands shaking furiously- and fires.

“THE STAPLE-ERRRRRRRRRRRRR.”

THwONKCRUNCH

Another hit, this time in Guthash’s backside.

Sqeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak.

The stupid creature turns again, in the process knocking Saradomin hard left, the Cleric staggers, swings-

“BLOODY HECK CUTHBERT- KILL THE THING.”

And misses again. He regains his balance and looks on as Guthash leaps at Grand Alf.

And yet again falls short, settles for a mouthful of robe which tears as Grand Alf “JUUUUUUMP” leaps right, and away from the beast.

Saradomin charges forward, swings, and…

“BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL.”

He’s desperate.

WHUUUUUMP-CRUNCH

Something got busted.

The rat’s other back leg is mashed- Guthash is crippled, and yet she drags itself around again to face the two adventurers. 

Rushes, as best she can, towards them.

Grand Alf casually throws out an arm, on the end of which is hand, on the end of which is a finger- pointing at the terrifying, and seemingly indestructible, beast.

“BiffBangPow.” 

The Magic Missile catches Guthash between the eyes, for a moment it seems as if she’s going to continue her charge, then her brain decides otherwise, thinks- I’m dead, and she collapses.

The room settles for silence for a while, then…

“Bonesy.”

Grand Alf sprints over to his fallen skeleton servitor; tries to take a pulse.

“Bonesy… Speak to me.”

He cradles the… hang on, the space where the skull should be.

Turns to Saradomin, forlorn.

“Is there anything you can do?”

Saradomin stares hard at the sorcerer, trying desperately to understand, finally he shakes his head.

Grand Alf turns back to the empty skull-space, strokes imaginary hair with his free hand.

“He was so young… So full of life, why did he have to die?”

He drops the wreck of the skeleton and snivels.

Squeak.

He looks up, there’s a hole in the wall opposite, it must lead out into the rubble field surrounding the citadel; another Dire Rat is nosing its way into the chamber.

“Not.”

Grand Alf stands, calmly loads his light crossbow, and fires from the hip.

THUNKCHHHHHHH

The rat’s dead.

“Now.”

He finishes his speech.

The two rest a while, out of the rat room, back in the larger chamber where the air is cleaner.

Grand Alf munches on a sandwich- magic smash, he’s not hungry, just fed up.

“I always wanted my own skeleton, from when I was a kid. All the other kids had pets- cats, dogs, rats… bloody rats, one kid had a pet Giant Toad, called Elvis, it ate him in the end, and his mum. I wanted a skeleton, always. Or some other undead… a zombie’d do, anything, y’know, anything undead.”

Saradomin is nowhere in this conversation, no clue what to say next.

“I just wanted to pet him- get a leash, some chain, a bit of rope- throw sticks for him to fetch. Play catch in the park, terrify the old-folk, tickle his tummy, bath him- he’d be my friend. Y’know, a real friend.”

Grand Alf applies the puppy eyes to Saradomin, who’s left with a shrug- he’s no idea what’s going on here.

Grand Alf looks away, stares into the dark.

“And when it was late at night he could see me home, make sure I din’t get hurt. A skeleton would be great… A skeleton like Bones.”

Grand Alf applies a crooked grin, scrunches up his eyes- intense.

Saradomin finds himself nodding, stops as soon as he realises.

“Bonesy was good at biting wasn’t he?”

Saradomin’s nodding again- stop that.

Grand Alf rocks back and forth, silently snapping at the air, his teeth clacking together.

“Remember back in the passage, he bit that rat good- and clawed ‘im. Ahh. I miss him. I like…”

Grand Alf stares into wild space for a while.

“I like the way he killed stuff.”

Grand Alf gets up, passes the rest of his sandwich to Saradomin, and shakes the crumbs from his ripped robes, he strides towards the rat room, leaving Saradomin alone- and better for it, then he stops, turns back.

“And what’s all that stuff about St. Cuthbert? Why did you keep shouting it out? You ought to watch that- makes you look silly.”

Grand Alf bites the air suddenly. Then grins.

Heads off to see what’s in the rat room.

Saradomin watches him go then sinks to his knees and prays.

“Cuthbert… I know I’ve been bad in the past- the time I looked up Sister Mary Agnes’ wimpole, the money I took from the collection for the poor and spent on communion wine and fags, when I called Simon Fatfarter a ‘dirty trump head’, although I was only four at the time. But I’ll be good now- you’ll see, just please… please save me from… him.”

Saradomin points at the doorway to the rat room, Grand Alf swings out, chuckles and beckons Saradomin over with-

“I smell dead people.” Chuckles some more and disappears back inside.

Saradomin looks to the heavens.

“Please Cuthbert… Please.”

He screws his eyes tight shut.

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” 

Five minutes of searching later the pair make a grizzly discovery. 

“It’s the ranger- what was his name?” Grand Alf enquires.
“Krackers, something like that.” Saradomin confirms.

Grand Alf searches the stinking wreck of a corpse, discovers all sorts of goodies, and a ring.

“Take that.”
“I’m taking everything.” The sorcerer confirms.

They find lots of stuff in the pile of corpses in the room, mostly money- silver and gold, also a few gems.

“Shall we tell the others? Share it out?” Saradomin enquires.
“Tell them about the ranger, and Bonesy. But I’m keeping my share of the money, I’ve earnt it… Are we done?”
Saradomin nods.
“Well let’s get back- this place gives me the creeps.”

Blood and guts stain Grand Alf’s hands, arms and apparel. He strides off- not looking back. Saradomin lingers a moment and then follows him out.

Next time- still Turn 3. “Gnome on the range.”


Turn 3.3
“Gnome on the range.”

Back to the others, that’s Aleso, Dartamor, Meepo and his skeletal steed Rattler.

Meepo’s back riding Rattler; he has a new trophy, a set of Goblin ears hacked off the corpse in the previous room. He arrives at the latest crash-site, and sets to hacking more ears off the burned Goblin husks, he meets with partial success. He strings them on a piece of raggedy twine and hangs the ghastly thing around his neck.

Aleso looks on, disgusted.

“Ewww. Barbaric. He’s very dirty. I SAID YOU’RE VERY DIRTY.”
Aleso stands hands on hips gurning at Meepo.
Meepo grins and waves back.
“Bloody savage.” Aleso stomps off.

Dartamor springs the metal door he spotted previously, it was locked as well as barred- the two adventurers make ready.

EEEERRRRRRRWWWW

It creaks open, the paladin brings light- inside the chamber four foul and beaten Kobolds languish, chained to the walls, in the centre a cage, a two foot cube of metal bars, inside of which is Jerky Timbers, a naked Gnome, he spots his saviours- feebly motions and then passes out.

“Quickly by the light of Pelor save him.”
Aleso rushes in and gets all mumsy.

Five minutes later and order is resumed, the Kobolds are free as is the unconscious Gnome; he has a story to tell but not now it seems. Aleso caries him easily, the Gnome’s as light as a feather, now wrapped in stinking, and bloody, Goblin clothes.

The poor guy is out cold, no amount of healing will wake him now, magic can’t replace sleep, and the hurts he has suffered run deep.

“We should take him back- to the Kobolds.”

Aleso bites a lip, nods.

“By the power of Pelor you’re right; he has been much abused by THESE VILE ACCURSED SCHEMERS IN FILTH.”

He barks the last part at the smoking charred Goblin remains, none of them rise to the bait, what with them being very dead and all.

Aleso passes the Gnome over to Dartamor.

“Have a care stealthy one this child of the low-hills has much to tell us I think, may Pelor watch over him- spill the light of life into his blackened and bruised soul.”

Dartamor nods, “if you like”, Aleso’s a bit much at times.

“Yeah, right- I’ll get him back then.”

Meepo and his mount totter over.

“Me come. Me come.”

It seems Meepo’s missing home too.

“Take them home.”

Meepo points at the four ex-prisoner Kobolds, he straightens up, as best he can, tucks his thumbs into an imaginary waistcoat, puffs out his chest- the pride of the Kobolds, he’s expecting a heroes welcome.

Dartamor translates.

“I’ll go with Meepo and the others- take the Kobolds and the Gnome back, he needs some rest… Where the bloody hell is Saradomin when you need him, and that rat Grand Alf? I’ll see these fellers home.”

He gathers the Kobolds together. Aleso strides over and takes charge, pretty soon the Kobolds line up- in pairs, holding hands; like some demented, and very short, school line.

“See you in a bit then.”

Dartamor and his charges head off.

Aleso nods, the gaggle heads for the door leaving Aleso alone. Alone.

“Hang on. Will you be safe?”
“What?” Dartamor queries.
“On your own, without a warrior- should I come with you?”

Dartamor figures it out.

“No. Wait a minute.”

He whispers in Meepo’s ear, he has to get Rattler to put him down to do so.

Meepo nods back.

“Rattler, stay here with paladin, guard him well- smash bugger what hit him.”

Rattler moves to stand next to Aleso, Aleso shies away- unsure, the skeleton follows; this goes on for a little while.

“Aleso. Aleso- stop still. You need to look after Rattler, guard him well- Meepo’s leaving him here with you, make sure no-one, no-one that is, gets hurt. Understand?” Dartamor explains.

Aleso nods, steps away again, his skeleton shadow follows. “Ok, hurry back.”

They head off leaving Rattler and Aleso alone, the skeleton turns to observe the paladin, a trick of the light but you’d swear he’s grinning. Aleso gulps- looks back, too late the others are well gone.

“Watch the door.” He points the way.

Rattler slowly turns, follows Aleso’s gesture, stares hard at the door, then turns back to grin at the paladin- clacks his teeth together once or twice biting the air.

Time passes- warning the section below contains lots of Draconic speechifying.

A little while later the Von Trapp family- Dartamor, Meepo, four Kobolds (Dayv, De, Dowzi, Myk) and the titchy Gnome- Jerky Timbers arrive back at Hamfield, home of the Kobold Queen, Isdrayl.

They’re greeted with low-fives, and whoops of joy, sorta.

“All-right. All-right.” x100’s.

In the scrum Dartamor takes a moment to find a safe place to lay the Gnome to rest, away from Kobold eyes and tread.

The Kobolds yap their approval, reclaim their lost brothers-in-arms, a sea of smiles, Meepo it seems is going up in the world- he takes the plaudits, displaying for all to see his necklace of mostly frazzled Goblin ears.

A silence falls as Isdrayl parts the crowd.

“You have returned victorious? Cornflakes?”

Dartamor speaks up.

“Nah. Not yet. But these are an offering- a sign of our good faith.”

He gestures to the returnees.

Isdrayl looks less pleased than he expected. She taps her foot, and then spies the elegant selection of charred Goblin lugholes. She pointedly stares at the beautiful jewellery. 

Meepo gets the message, it takes a moment, and three nudges from Dartamor. The dragon-keeper crawls forward and offers up, with a tear in his eye, the wondrous necklace. 

Isdrayl gently lifts it up, admires its chic, and places it on.

“Ta.”

The Kobold guards nod with enthusiasm- it suits her, and in an instant Meepo is forgotten, Isdrayl has won the day- with the spoils the victory it seems.

“You may select two prizes for your… prize...”

She scuttles over to the altar, the gaggle, lead by Dartamor, follows behind.

On display are a number of items, Isdrayl doesn’t even look at the key.

“Tonight Dartamor you can choose from a selection of great artefacts- there’s this magic feather with a squiggle on it, if that’s what tickles your fancy... BUM BUM.”

The Kobold guards feign laughter. Isdrayl goes on.

“A scroll with strange squiggly writing on it...”

She holds the scroll for all to see- a patter of applause. Gingerly places it down again, not wanting to disturb the mighty magics.

“Another scroll with more strange squiggly writing on it.”

She shows it off again, a much reduced patter of applause, a stifled yawn.

“A flask of magic elixir which may turn you into an invulnerable hero, or it could make your head glow in the dark…”

She displays the flask, no applause.

“And another bit of chuffing writing, sorry about that, a scroll, with squiggly writing on...”

Again this is displayed. Silence except the shuffling of feet- bored.

“You may choose two items as our reward, one for the return of my brave warriors, and one for me lovely necklace...”

Silence descends. Kobolds turn to stare at Dartamor.

Dartamor frowns, his eyes haven’t left the Dragon Key, he decides.

“The key...”

Isdrayl remains calm.

“The key is not on offer, you need to rescue mighty Cornflakes to get the key. Choose again.”

The crowd fidget.

Dartamor frowns some more, checks the odds, there are dozens (two) of Kobolds.

“Alright tell me what the kids have gone- the other adventuring party?”
“I don’t think you’ve been listening- that information is unavailable at this time, now pick. ”

Isdrayl shoots out an arm to point again at the selection of possible prizes.

“I’ll take the feather… and a scroll.”

She cradles the feather as if it is made of precious stuff, hops skips and dances over to Dartamor like the eye-candy on a game-show, places it gently in his hand. Dartamor stuffs it inside his jerkin. Isdrayl sashays back to the altar, fans her hand across the scrolls.

“Which one would you like?”
“You pick.” 

She grits her teeth, this is going less well.

“I think this one.”

She picks a random scroll; Saradomin will, a little later, identify it as “Faerie Fire”, and, with the same rigmarole as before, carries it to the slightly miffed Dartamor. He grabs it, stuffs it away. Isdrayl grabs his hand, attempts to place an arm around his shoulders, settles for his waist, and manoeuvres Dartamor round so the tableau faces her audience, they can see the show. She pumps his hand.

Odd Kobolds clap, some with enthusiasm- those in Isdrayl’s line of sight particularly, others half-heartedly, somewhat confused by the spectacle.

She ushers Dartamor back through the crowd towards the exit, noticing there the recumbent Gnome, Jerky Timbers- Dartamor had earlier placed him on the ground. She also manages a sly kick at Meepo en route.

“Who’s this?” 
“He’s not well- the goblins had him prisoner with your warriors.” 
“Ahhh.” She turns to the crowd.
“AHHHH.” They join in.
“Leave him with us, we’ll find somewhere warm and comfy for him.” Isdrayl licks her lips.

Dartamor suddenly doesn’t look so sure.

“Perhaps I should take him back, y’know, see the priest… see if he…” 
“No, he’ll be happy here, he can stay for tea.” 
Isdrayl scans the crowd which in an instant grows spears- closes in a little.

“And when you bring Cornflakes you can have him back… and your precious key.” 

Dartamor scans the salivating Kobold faces.

“You’re not going to…”
“What?” Isdrayl demurely murmurs.
“Y’know… <GULP> You’re not going to eat him.”
Isdrayl looks shocked. “Nah. Nah. No… Besides there wouldn’t be E-bloody-nough for everybody.”

Silence reigns.

“The Dragon. Cornflakes, bring him to us.”

Isdrayl steps back then punts Meepo towards Dartamor.

“And take this one with you.”

Dartamor and Meepo depart.

Time passes

Back on the front-line, Aleso and Rattler seem to be getting on.

“So I said to him, that’s not my wife that’s a cow with a leprechaun stuck up its backside…”

Aleso rumbles into laughter, slaps his thigh like a pantomime hero, wipes his eyes.

“Leprechaun stuck up its backside… D’you get it?”

Rattler stares on unmoved. Aleso goes all serious.

“It’s my moustache isn’t it? Isn’t it? Go on… you can say.”

He looks at Rattler, pleadingly, gently sobs and fingers the space where is splendiferous ‘tache once lived.

ERRRrrrrrrrrr. 

The far door grinds open.

“So I says that’s not me wife, that’s a bloody cow with a leprechaun stuck up its back passage.”

The Goblin comes to a halt, rumbles into laughter, slaps his thigh like a pantomime hero, and wipes his eyes. The other three Goblins don’t even break a smile, they’re looking straight past their colleague to the burnt offering and beyond the shiny ‘uman and the skelly-bob.

“Get’THEM.”

Here they come.

Aleso scrambles, nods at Rattler draws his scimitar and issues his orders.

“Rattler- slay the fiendish fiends of… oh get ‘em.”

Rattler turns and stares at the charging Goblins, turns back to stare at the paladin, grins- bites the air. Two of the Goblins are over the crenulated wall in an instant, approaching fast, the other two are midways over, they’ll be there in a moment.

Aleso stands statue staring at Rattler, Rattler is content to grin back.

“Pelor. Whose side are you on?”

Then the Goblins arrive.

Next- “Aleso vs. the mighty, eight-armed, fire-breathing, Goblin-Demons.”


Turn 3.4

“Aleso vs. the mighty, eight-armed, fire-breathing, Goblin-Demons.”

The party is back together, crowded around Aleso, who has a story to tell…

“And then what happened?”

Grand Alf is hooked.

“Well how was I to know that that thing…” Aleso spits-points at the wreck of Rattler, which is being mooned over by Meepo, “weren’t going to fight until I got hurt.”

The paladin bores holes in the back of Meepo’s head.

“So the Goblin’s are on us, actually me, two of ‘em, each about six feet tall, bulging with muscles- I’d dodged through their fire attacks, lost my eyebrows, oh and ‘tache- no biggie, and they’re slicing at me. Fortunately I’m made of sterner stuff, feel that…”

Aleso proffers a bicep to Grand Alf to feel, gingerly he does so.

“I eat a lot of cabbage.” Aleso proudly claims, and winks at the bemused sorcerer.

Dartamor meanwhile stares at the remains of the four Goblins, they are not six feet tall, nor fire-breathing- as far as he can tell… they look a fair match for Aleso- none of them are particularly bulging with muscles.

Saradomin tends to a nasty cut across the paladins chest, he takes in the salient points of Aleso’s story.

“So I ran the first one through, stabbed my scimitar clean through the little blighter, Pelor was at my side- although I did most of the work you understand.”

“Then?” Grand Alf is easily pleased.

“Aaaarrgghhh, I growled. I’m not usually one for growling but it seemed appropriate, I think I said some stuff about Pelor, y’know, PELOR MIGHTY something. PELOR WILL NOT SUFFER whatever, that kinda thing.”

“What happened?”

“Little bugger damned near sliced me open.”

He shows his fading scar, Saradomin’s magic is doing its work.

“And?”

“Well that’s when Rattler starts up; alas all he did was get in the way. The other two Goblins were over the wall by now and on him in seconds, smashed to pieces- no stamina, no backbone- least not anymore.”

EEEERRRRRRRRRp

The record skips.

DM’s interlude, Aleso is telling the truth, mostly, so far, but the death of Rattler went a little like this-

Aleso leaps back, too late, and is sliced by the Goblin’s spear; Rattler animates lurches to attack the Goblin as the other two creatures are over the wall and onto the skeleton. The first stabs but Rattler slithers sideways, it misses. The second new arrival stabs, slither, he’s out of the way again. Rattler’s claw stretches out and down and slices into the face of the Goblin attacking Aleso.

The paladin grins, lances his scimitar into the air, and screams.

“PELOR MIGHTY something. PELOR WILL NOT SUFFER whatever.”

He brings his scimitar round in a furious arc, passing clear over the Goblin’s head by three feet or more, but… connects with Rattlers skull, which shatters. The skeleton folds and is no more.

DM’s interlude ends here- back to reality.

“So I slice down, one of them loses an arm, skitters onto the floor- I said HA HA, I said, HA HA, I said- you’ll like this- I said, I’VE DISARMED YOU, NOW SURRENDER.”

Grand Alf nods, no- he doesn’t get the joke, yes- he is still listening.

“Then?”

Aleso leaps to his feet, knocking Saradomin over in the effort, unleashes his scimitar- slices at the air in front of him, left and right.

“Then I stab at the next fiend, I swear to you here and now, I saw the signs of vestigial horns- Demonic, mark my words.”

Aleso nods knowingly, Grand Alf’s mouth a perfect “O”.

“And in the same motion mind, I cleaved… cleft… cleavered, that’s it cleavered the last beast. Which had eight-arms, did I mention that?”

Dartamor looks again at the four Goblin corpses; one of them was armed with what looks to be a ladle, he shrugs- not his problem.

Grand Alf bursts into applause, claps the paladin on the back, back to applauding, back to patting.

Aleso holds up his hands, “it was nothing- Pelor guides my sword, although, as I say, he couldn’t have done it without me.”

Meepo grimaces and gets on with making himself a new necklace of ears- that’s how fashions start.

The party play catch-up, Grand Alf tells the tale of the Queen Rat.

“It was massive, easy as big as this room, as long that is, and tall… as big as a… Oliphant- bigger.”

Grand Alf goes all misty eyed.

“And that was… <SNIFF> that was when… <SNIFFLE> that was when… “
He breaks down and sobs.

Saradomin tentatively snakes an arm round the Sorcerer’s shoulders, squeezes, whispers at the bemused others.

“Bonesy died.”

Saradomin shrugs as Grand Alf bawls and drips snot.

And the finding of the missing party member.

“Poor Krackers… still we took his ring- should be a reward in it from that Nacker character.”
“Nackle, Corky Nackle.” Saradomin corrects him, but leaves a lot more unsaid.

Dartamor tells tails of the Kobold Queen, and shows Grand Alf, then Saradomin, the scroll, the latter identifies it and tucks it away for later use.

“And that’s all she gave you?”

Saradomin enquires.

“Yep. And she told me we’d better return with Cornflakes- or else the Gnome gets it.”
“Bloody heathen creature. I’ve a good mind to go back there… Why didn’t you protest” Aleso is infuriated.
“Cos there was twenty of them- didn’t like the odds.” Dartamor replies.

They look around, ready themselves for the journey, but before the off.

“My turn, hand it over.” Aleso, hand out, to Dartamor.
“Wha?”
“Fire Potion- my turn next.”

Reluctantly Dartamor hands over the flask, the paladin tucks it away for safe keeping, and they’re off.

First off they investigate the guardroom the last four Goblins vacated, it’s a mess- nothing doing, there’s a corridor to a door but for now they give it a miss. Head back into the crenulated wall chamber and through another door and into a store room with crates to the ceiling- some of them have writing on.

“Elf Pudding?”

Dartamor translates.

“Pudding, for Elves.” He decides.

Gleefully he jemmies open a crate and inside discovers hundreds of small black disks of… crumbly stuff with what look to be cubes of fat in. He goes to take a bite.

“Noooooooo.” Saradomin screams.
“What?”
“Elf Pudding. Like Black Pudding- congealed cakes of… blood.”

Dartamor drops the thing, turns and heaves. The others look elsewhere, anywhere but at Dartamor. Thirty seconds later he’s back, and fizzing.

“Right that’s it- we get the dragon, take it back to the Kobolds, then we come back here and kill the lot of them.”
“Agreed.” Grand Alf likes the sound of that.
“All of them.”
Grand Alf nods.

Aleso and Saradomin stay out of it.

Dartamor uses all his guile and thieves craft to kick the next door open. It leads into a long smoky hall, torches burn at odd intervals, a set of columns heads off into the distance; it’s a mirror of the Kobold Queen’s home. Once again dragon carved pillars, ancient, filthy- the Goblin’s home perhaps.

There are two doors to the right, the group heads over, except a sulking Meepo who fills his pockets with Elf Pudding.

The first door has a puddle of water before it- it’s coming from the other side.

“Strange?”

Dartamor sets to work, it’s locked, a minute later, it’s not. The door swings open into a winter wonderland. The chamber beyond, about twenty five feet to the other side, it’s a mess, overturned tables and chairs, the walls hung with a variety of hunting trophies, heads on plaques sprout from the walls. Odd though- there are three or four Kobolds, a Dire Rat or two, and a… Cow, they’re all badly damaged. Everything is covered in a glistening coat of ice.

“Brrrrr. Freezing.” Aleso comments. He goes to step in.
“Wait.” Saradomin restrains him, “ask Meepo what sort of dragon Cornflakes is.”
Dartamor turns back to Meepo, who’s caught up at last- pushing to try and see what’s going on.

“What sort of Dragon is Cornflakes?”
“A white one.”

Dartamor turns back to Saradomin, “he says, a white one.”
“Bugger. Watch yourselves, White Dragons breath ice.” Saradomin finishes the conversation.

SQWak

A sound like an upside-down duck.

“A Drake?” Aleso goes to step in, and is stopped again by Saradomin- he points.

Fifteen feet in, balanced on the back of a chair is Cornflakes- a ten inch tall White Dragon.

SQWak

“Careful does it.” Saradomin states, no use. Meepo barges through a sea of legs and rushes into the room, arms outstretched before him.

“CORNFLAAAAAAYYYYKSSSS.”

He slips, lands face first, CLUNK, and is out cold in an instant. 

His impetus carries him sliding on- everybody, including Cornflakes, watches his progress. He thumps into the chair, Cornflakes wavers; the chair falls, the dragon half-plummet half-flies, lands, and then bites a chunk out of the hapless Kobold’s backside.

SQWak

Dinner, it seems, has arrived.

“Wait here.” Dartamor pushes off and slides into the room. The audience watches. He switches to Draconic the language of the Dragons, and the Kobolds.

“Calm down. Calm down.”

The dragon flutters its wings, stalks the fallen Kobold’s body, and squats at Meepo’s ankles.

“Come here.” Dartamor murmurs.
“Come here Cornflakes. We mean you no harm, we don’t want to hurt you- just to take you back to the lovely Kobolds, to Meepo. Where you can have jelly and biscuits and… whatever it is you eat- rats, lots of lovely, mmmm, rats.”

Cornflakes thinks about.

DMs interlude- Dartamor, as so often happens, rolls a “20”- diplomacy, bluff whatever it is he’s trying, he’s succeeding.

SQWak

The little dragon takes to the air, flaps once- badly, and crash lands on Dartamor’s head, struggles to stay upright for a moment, as Dartamor straightens up, and then gets settled.

SQWWWWWWak

A pea-sized snowball nestles in the half-elf’s hair.

Dartamor shuffles round, and skates back to the doorway, steps back into the smoke filled chamber; Cornflakes still nestled on his head.

“Shhhh don’t disturb him. Someone grab Meepo and let’s...”

A door bangs open ahead of them.

“So I says that’s not me wife, that’s a bloody cow…” They’re spotted. The two Goblins stop short.

“Kill them- kill them badly.” Dartamor makes it clear.

Saradomin, Grand Alf and Aleso leap into the fray.

BONK

SLICE

POKEY-POKEY

The Goblins are dead in seconds.

Meepo is soon recovered and the gaggle of loonies follows Dartamor, at a distance, who balances Cornflakes on his head all the way, back to Isdrayl. 

Next time- Durnn, Goblin Chief, & Top Farter.


Turn 3.5

Durnn, Goblin Chief, & Top Farter.

Durnn, a face like thunder, creases furrow his Hobgoblin brow, his piggy eyes tight shut, sits on his throne and… What is he doing? Grenl, a third of Durnn’s size, Goblin priestess of Maglubiyet, the Lord of Depths and Darkness, stands close to her chieftain waiting, expectant.

Around the circular chamber other Goblins and Hobgoblins shuffle, avoiding, as best they can, the sight of their chief. Time stretches, nothing moves, except perhaps the spiky bush in a plant pot by the throne- there is no breeze here however.

Eventually…

PPPPPaaaRRRp

Durnn quickly reaches between his legs, scoops and cups quickly catching the fart smell, and just as swiftly stretches out his hollowed hands to Grenl, opens them slightly as Grenl edges her nose into the gap in his hands.

SNNNNIIIFFFFF

Grenl straightens, too quickly, takes a woozy step back to steady herself, still several feet away from the cavernous hole in the chambers floor that stretched down into the dark and unknown depths, a ring of tendril like lianas outline the inky abyss.

Grenl closes her eyes, blinks them open once or twice, all trance-like, then snaps them open- stares hard at her master, she has her answer.

“You’ve been eating…”

Durnn leans forward.

 “Your favourite- human.”

‘AR ‘AR

Durnn chuckles and nods- she’s good, the priestess, never wrong.

PAAAArP

He lets another one go, clacks his mouth open and shut, and tastes the stink in the air- Human, his favourite food.

EEEERRRRRRR

The massive double doors swing open- a Goblin pokes his head into the chamber, it’s Ringpull Fliptop, a lowly guard. He staggers into the room- creeps forward, then sights his chieftain and falls to his knees. He’s out of breath, or else very nervous, taking huge gulps of air.

“Lord, I have dire news.”

Durnn looks up, notices Ringpull.

“Speak.”

Ringpull looks around, in search of friends- he finds none.

“The dragon… it’s been taken.”

“WHHHHAAAAAATT?”

Durnn leaps off his throne, the bloodstained chest he uses as a footrest rocks back and forth.

“WWHHHATTT?”

He charges up to Ringpull, grabs him roughly- drags him to his feet and up, face to face, Ringpull’s feet dangle at least two feet from the floor. Ringpull looks left, the never ending darkness of the hole, it would be easy for Durnn to just throw him in.

“It was taken, adventurers- here in the citadel, they took the dragon- headed off, to the Kobolds- Hamfield… I think.”

“How?”

“They killed many… many, many… a lot.”

“And how did you come to know this?”

“I saw them, I were hiding- they never saw me. Honest. Even the Elf.”

‘AR ‘AR

Durnn rumbles then settles for a low chuckle, he pivots round, Ringpull now dangles fully over the abyss.

“How many?”

“Er… four, no five- they had a Kobold with them.”

“What did they look like?”

“Elf was warrior, I think, or sneaky, don’t know which, the leader- he issued orders. He had the dragon on his head- it liked him. Tin can- warrior, gormless looking, something under nose, not hair- like slug. Another tin can, scruffy looking- could be priest, dunno why, think. Last, tall with pointy head, wore a frock with star and moon on, could be lady, no handbag though.”

“'One Elf- the others?”

“Human- all of others. Human.”

Durnn stretches his arm out, right over the black hole, shakes Ringpull violently.

“Truth?”

“Honest. Honest. Swear by Maglab… Magliy… Maglayby… Grenl, swear on priestess. Honest.”

Durnn swings hard around, Ringpull still in hand, drops the terrified Goblin on solid ground, Ringpull quickly struggles to his feet.

“Get the others, we go …”

Ringpull goes to skedaddle; Durnn launches out an arm- stops him.

He rises to his full height, looks fierce, and goes all googly-eyed.

SNIFF SNIFF

Durnn looks down at Ringpull, who covers his face with his hands.

“WHO FARTED?”

Ringpull chances a look, Durnn is inches from his face.

“WHO-HAS-FARTED?”

Ringpull gulps.

“You have Lord?”

‘AR ‘AR

“Get the others, go. Tea time’s here, favourite- Human. We kill Kobolds too, for once and for all. Evatown smash Hamfield.” Durnn announces.

Ringpull scurries off as Durnn strides back to his throne, motions to Grenl, the Goblin priestess sidles up, all teeth- grinning.

“Lord?”
“Humans, two for the Outcast, one for me- same as before.”
“And the Elf?”

Durnn grins.

“Pudding.”

He stands up quickly, and is off again towards the door, the guards swiftly fall in line.

EEEEERRRRRR

Pushes the huge doors open.

“DUR-UN DUR-UN DUR-UN DUR-UN”

The assembled Goblins chant- ready for war. Durnn waves an arm, signals silence. His warriors obey.

“Come, we go.”

And at a run.

The Goblin women and children congregate to watch the army depart, they ululate their farewell to the warrior braves.

“TEA TIME. TEA TIME. TEA TIME.”

The warriors too fill the air with the sounds of their bloodcurdling screams and shouts.

“DEEE-ARRRR-AY.
We’re Durnn’s Republican Army. 
We’re barmy. 
Wherever we go. 
We fear no foe. 
Because we’re Durnn’s Republican Army.”

The stomp of the Goblin’s boots, and the clash of their weapons on their shields, echoes back to the women. 

They go to destroy.

Next Turn- Who knows? We’re up to date- anything could happen, pray for TPK.



Turn 4.1 

Lord Meepo.

And here they come like some comedy conga-eel, snaking their way back to Isdrayl, the Kobold Queen, Dartamor balancing Cornflakes on his head all the way; Aleso carrying, the still unconscious, Meepo.

And then they’re home, or at least back to the Kobolds.

Kobold guards cheer and shout, many have produced small flags on sticks for the occasion, they bear the resemblance- very crudely sketched you understand, of Isdrayl. The more observant onlookers however could perhaps also spot another, smaller, figure on the backside of each flag- Meepo.

And here he is, back amongst his brethren, and sisteren of course, and loving it, he’s smiling even as he snoozes- he must be happy, either that or he has wind.

“Meepo Meepo Meepo Meepo.”

The assembled Kobold masses chant.

Dartamor slaps Meepo, Grand Alf applies a half-full waterskin. 

The thronged masses quieten, in awe.

It’s hazy as Meepo greets his adoring public.

“Lady and gentle-Kobolds. I, Meepo, that is me, am back… and victorious.”

Meepo points at Cornflakes who squawks and shuffles for a better perch on Dartamor’s head.

“MEE-PO MEE-PO MEE-PO MEE-PO.”

The crowd love him.

And then, in an instant, they fall silent, Isdrayl appears from thin air, her face a mask.

Silence.

Some more.

A while longer, it’s getting a bit edgy.

Then in a rush Isdrayl screams and charges at Meepo.

Meepo sets himself for the hit- covers his face with his hands, and half-crunches/crouches.

And then… nothing, except for something, or rather someone, pawing at his legs… thighs… hang-on, small hands are creeping up towards his unmentionables.

He looks down; it’s Isdrayl, at his feet, all erotic and alluring.

“Oh Meepo, you’re so strong, so brave, so suave, so sophisticated, so handsome, so… sexy.”

Meepo shivers with, amongst things, delight.

Hands on hips, Isdrayl clinging to his thigh, he stares hard at his now bowing and scraping congregation.

“You shall call me Lord Meepo.”

He opens his arms wide for his audience to better adore him.

SLAP-SPLOOSH

He wakes in an instant.

He’s on the floor, no harm in that- as good a place as any, staring up at Isdrayl, there are better floors to be on he thinks.

He looks left and right, there’s a circus in town, hang on, he focuses, Kobolds- why are they screaming so much.

He listens to the random shouts and yelps.

“The Goblins are coming, the Goblins are coming.”
“I’m too young to die.”
“Run to the hills.”
“Have you seen me cummerbund, I feel undressed without it.”
“MEEPO YOU IDIOT.”
“Think of the kids.”
“Run, run for your lives.”
“Armageddon- repent your sins, for the day of judgement is nigh, that means on-hand… that means… oh, the day of judgement is soon. Now-ish.”

He recognises the last voice, doesn’t understand it, he only knows fragments of the Common tongue; the voice belongs to Grand Alf.

Sure enough the Sorcerer swings into sight, “Hey, hey. Nice one Meepo”, thumbs up to the Kobold then he runs back out of sight, embracing the chaos.

In the midst of the swirl Saradomin and Aleso stand, gesturing wildly.

“If you’d just…”
“… Calm down.”
“There’s no need to…”
“… Panic.”

Only one Kobold- Isdrayl, can understand the Common tongue however. 

Kobolds coalesce into tight groups, and then turn twist and scatter, like some mad quantum theory played out, mapping Kobold terror. Grand Alf is chasing them, arms out, like a giant bird, except for the whooping and giggling. He has an excuse however, he’s clearly mad.

“Pelor says…”, starts up Aleso, a sea of calm, “he says ‘If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs’… then something about ‘you’ll be a man my son.’” Aleso stops to think about it.

Saradomin joins in. “St. Cuthbert say’s ‘Rise like lions after slumber, in unvanquishable number. Shake your chains to Oerth like dew, which in sleep have fallen on you. And this is the good bit… Ye are many- they are few.’”

“There are hundreds of Goblins, tin can. We ARE the few.” Isdrayl growls at Saradomin.

“Oh.” Saradomin thinks, looks at Aleso, who looks back, the two shrug- then run off following Grand Alf flapping their arms heartily- some more chaos ensues.

Dartamor remains calm, drags Meepo to him, Isdrayl snarls. “You’ve done this with your tricksy ways. You have brought the Goblins down upon us. NOW YOU FIX IT.”

From within the folds of her robes she finds something, brings the something to her lips, and blows.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPp

It’s a whistle. Like eight year olds in a Physical Education class the Kobolds, and assorted party members, come to a sudden stop- Grand Alf with his arms still out.

“Give us six warriors and we’ll kill them all.” Dartamor seizes the moment.

A lone Kobold sprints into the chamber, “They’re on the way- lots of them Durnn’s with them, and Hobgoblins, and the priestess.”

“Six warriors?” Dartamor fills the silence.

Isdrayl nods.

A minute later the four adventurers, Meepo, and six Kobold guards await the Goblins arrival, all facing a dilapidated wooden door through which the Goblins will have to pass, they’re all out of breath.

The adventurers have each been assigned a Kobold guard.

Meepo has two; he’s in charge of the reinforcements.

DUR-UNN DUR-UNN DUR-UNN

They’re coming.

Dartamor quickly spills a bag of caltrops in front of the door, sneaks back into position.

Grand Alf pokes Aleso, “Give me the flask. The fire potion.”
“I don’t think that’s wise… Why? Aleso replies.
“I have one spell left… I will incinerate them; send them all to burny hell.” Grand Alf breaks off for a cackle, he’s getting quite good at it.
“Ok, use it wisely.” He nods and hands the flask over.

Aleso spins round, “Dartamor what are they called, the Kobold’s names- so that we may better direct them?”

A short mumbled conversation later, Dartamor looks crestfallen.

“Well?” Saradomin enquires.
“Freddie.” Dartamor sullenly replies.
“Which one?”
“All of them.”

Saradomin shakes his head. “St. Cuthbert, I hope you can hear me, that’s typical, bloody typical.”

“Everybody wa Kung Fu Fytin.
Fast as Light-ning.
Everybody wa…”

“Shut up Grand Alf.” Dartamor states with a stare.
“Sorry, nervous… They’re taking their time aren’t they… Perhaps they’ve decided against it.” Grand Alf offers.

“Shhhhh.” The collective response.

“I’m just saying we haven’t heard that- ‘DUR-UNN DUR-UNN’ for a while, what do you think they’re…”

SMASH

The door ahead comes away, two huge hits from towering Hobgoblins armed with axes. The Hobgoblins part, Goblins beyond, as far as the eye can see.

Dur-unn Dur-UNN DUR-UNN

They charge.

“Wait for my spell.” Grand Alf screams.

The other three sound their rallying calls-
“For Pelor, may the light of his beneficent er… light shine forth.”
“For St. Cuthbert, gis some change for a cuppa.”
“For money and power.” 

Meepo takes the scene in, decides swiftly, and before a shot is fired retreats with the reinforcements, and for retreat read- runs.

Next Turn- Scrap, scrap, scrap, scrap (continues indefinitely).


Turn 4.2

Scrap, scrap, scrap, scrap (continues indefinitely).

Grand Alf steps up to the plate.

“Feel my power scurrilous feeblings… Snoooozo.”

A breeze of fluttering musical notes springs from Grand Alf’s hands and engulf the Goblins squeezing through the door.

“I think I’ll have a lie down.” 
“Just forty winks.” 
“Just close my eyes.” 
“Goodnight.”
“Zzzzzzz.”

A miracle, the first wave of Goblins is swiftly halted; five of the six Goblins that have made it into the room are fast asleep.

“Freddie’s get them.” Dartamor shouts.

The Kobold Freddie’s dart in and stab at the snoozing Goblins, three are killed in an instant, the Kobolds cheer.

“Into them.” 
“Have it.” 
“Calm down.” 
“We are the Scousers.”

The last Goblin into the room is spiked by the caltrops; he hops in- too close.

SLICE

And is cut to the bone by Aleso.

“By the might of Pelor- come on let’s have you.” He shouts beckoning the next wave in.

Six more Goblins rush over their fallen brethren. Two more of them are spiked on the way.

“My foot.” 
“Bloody hell, that’s not fair, they’re cheating.”

The two Goblins slump against a wall attempting desperately to pick caltrops out of their feet.

“Freddie’s attack them.”

Dartamor screams, the Freddie’s leap in, buoyed by their earlier success.

SLICE
BONK
SMASH

And.

STAB

One Goblin squirms on the floor a while, blood gushing from his gut, then expires.

However Freddie, Freddie Snr. & Freddie Jnr. join the Goblin, clutching at terrible wounds, they’re soon no more. Only Freddie Snr. Snr. a sprightly 34 year old Kobold, a great-great-great-grandfather, remains alive.

He turns and runs back to Aleso.

“Bugger this. Help. Hide me tin can.”

Grand Alf steps forward.

“Wait for it”, to the other Lost Boys, and, “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough”, to the Goblins.

Two huge Hobgoblins drag dead Goblins out of the doorway, Saradomin sees an opportunity.

“St. Cuthbert make it clear,
We Are To Be FEARED.”  

A black clouds whips from his hand and settles over a Hobgoblin, the creature stops what it’s doing, straightens up, goes all googly-eyed- shakes its head once or twice, then growls and gets back to work.

“St. Cuthbert, it seems, is not taking your calls priest.” Grand Alf winks.

Four more Goblins rush in, that makes nine in the chamber, although two of them are hobbling badly.

Durnn, the huge Hobgoblin chieftain stands in the doorway with Grenl the Goblin priestess.

“Kill them. Kill them all. Kill them now.” He screams.

WHOOOOOOOOOOsSSSH.

Flames fill the area.

Urp.

Grand Alf concludes and tucks the Fire Breath Potion back into his robes.

“Fire… ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Something something to burn.” 

He does a little dance.

The lead Goblin is incinerated in an instant, the other six caught in the blast bob, duck and weave; and remain standing, frazzled, but fit for war- just.

“Pelor guide my mighty scimitar so unto I may smite like fury… oh kick their bottoms.” Aleso charges in, with Freddie Snr. Snr. in tow.

“For St. Cuthbert, you’d better bloody be listening Lord.” Saradomin launches himself into the fray.

“Black Pudding.” Dartamor hisses and joins the attack.

“Retreat some more.” Meepo yells and falls back to the exit, taking the reinforcements further away from the fight.

Aleso cuts, an arms goes flying, a Goblin slumps to the floor. A second Goblin darts in, short sword slices, Aleso bleeds. 

Dartamor stabs his rapier cutting open a Goblin’s hand, tearing tendons, blood gushes, and the creature falls. He avoids wild swings from two others. 

Saradomin’s heavy mace rises and falls, another Goblin collapses, head and shoulder smashed. And yet not without cost, a Goblin scores a direct hit, Saradomin’s left thigh bleeds profusely.

Durnn fills the doorway.

“Hobgoblin warriors smash the puny Humans - CHARGE.”

Six hulking Hobgoblins charge into the room causing the Goblins to press even further in, which in turn causes the Lost Boys to give ground. Grand Alf and Saradomin are being backed into a dead end- no escape.

Freddie Snr. Snr. is smashed in the face; he tumbles to the floor- dead, dentures flying.

Aleso slices again, connects, cuts through a Goblin’s leg- the creature expires. However he’s hit again, a light hammer bounces of his chest- knocking the wind out of him, he gasps, and then screams.

“I HAVE SEEN THE LIGHT PELOR.
AND IT IS GLORIOUS.”

Positive energy pours into him as skin, bone and sinew are made whole again- he actually heals only two hit points but he’s a bit of a drama queen. 

Dartamor strikes again, his rapier pierces a Goblin’s armour, the creatures clutches at him, then falls; a second Goblin furiously hops towards him- he stabs out and kills it dead. 

Saradomin’s mace swings again, straight into the side of another, the creature stumbles and falls. The floor is thick with the dead and dying.

A Hobgoblin breaks through the line, charges swinging its longsword at Grand Alf.

“Not likely for I am almost invisible and impervious to normal weap…”

SLICE

Grand Alf staggers, grabs a wall as blood courses down his robes.

“I’m dyin’. The end is nigh, that means soon- now-ish. Revenge me. Kill these creatures that have sought to discombobulate my utter being.”

He sinks to his knees, then pitches forward- dead.

No hang on, spasms wrack his body, his eyes blink open wide and with his last breath he utters…

“I’m on top of the world… Ma.”

And with that the eldritch sorcerer, complete with stick on beard, closes his eyes.

“Noooooooooooooo.”

Aleso shrieks.

The last Goblin he killed has got sticky stuff on his once pristine armour.

He slices furiously, another Goblin bites the dust, alas this leaves himself off balance and unguarded.

SNICK

The Paladin stumbles backwards, finds a wall and collapses against it, blood flows, he breathes hard, grits his teeth and shoves off again- back into the thick of it.

“MeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeePO.”

Dartamor hollers.

To no effect.

Back at the exit Meepo dances from foot-to-foot, his fingers in his ears, the reinforcements follow suit.

Back in the action, Saradomin is faced by a single although two Hobgoblins are waiting, looking for space, to join the fray.

“St. Cuthbert ensure my aim is true.”

FLUNK

Saradomin draws back his hand, mace-less, it’s still shaking after the impact with the wall.

“Alright Lord, I get it, you’re testing me.”

He screams at the ceiling, then staggers back- into a wall, he’s standing next to the body of Grand Alf.

Grand Alf’s looking up at him, no really, eyes open.

“Shhhhh. I’m dead.”

Grand Alf winks then closes his eyes.

Saradomin, instead of grabbing for another weapon, reaches down and fires his last Healing spell into Grand Alf, whose eyes spring wide open.

“No, you’re not- now FIGHT BACK, you coward.”

The Goblinoids come on. Behind them Durnn enters the room grinning.

“DUR- UNN DUR- UNN DUR- UNN.”

He chants his own name. The Goblin priestess stares pointedly at Saradomin, makes a cutting motion across her throat.

“You’re for the pot- priest.”

Aleso is badly injured; Dartamor is fairly healthy but outclassed in the fight; Grand Alf has no spells left; Saradomin, is injured, has no spells left, and no weapon to hand. All of the Kobolds are dead, except for Meepo and the reinforcements, who are about to leave.

Facing them are one Goblin, and alas six Hobgoblins, all uninjured, followed by Durnn, the priestess Grenl- who’s making ready with a spell, and what looks to be a walking-pot-plant that has just entered the chamber.

“Find the Halflings. Find the Halflings.” Durnn screams, then, “Sorry. Flashback.”

Next Turn: “One, Two…”


Turn 4.3

One, Two…

Grand Alf leaps to his feet, and then has no idea where to go or what to do; he rattles his short spear at the oncoming Hobgoblin, he elects for a war cry.

“Buuuuuuu-Ggerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Dartamor thinks, reaches inside his leather jerkin, and finds something soft and tickly- the feather. Why not, what’s to lose- he thinks.

It floats out of his hand, slowly heading for the floor. He counts the zigzag shifts of its descent.

The enemies close in.

Aleso exchanges blows with a fearsome looking Hobgoblin warrior, no hits.

“Pelor, damn your eyes you whelp spawn of the devil- scum.”

“ONE.” Dartamor counts hypnotised.

Saradomin fends off another.

“St Cuthbert, get him, go on… please.”

“TWO.” Dartamor continues.

Grand Alf hollers.

“We’re all going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiie.”

The feather hits the floor, the rough stone flag breaks; a tiny seedling appears from the newly formed crack.

It grows… 

Six inches tall it snakes around the leg of a slightly bemused Hobgoblin, who stares down at this strange phenomenon, my word- not his.

And grows…

Winding its way around the Hobgoblin, it’s got his full attention now, it snakes past his shoulders.

And grows… 

It’s filling out as it reaches for the ceiling… and touches- spreads.

And grows…

Branches shoot off in every direction, and yet the thing still courses upwards, the stones overhead buckle, crack and split, sending showers of dirt, dust and pebbles down.

And grows…

It punches its way through the ceiling, scrapes and scratches its way through the rock above.

Larger stones rain down.

“Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.”

A Hobgoblin screams as its body is crushed and broken.

“Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.”

More screams, other Hobgoblins contend with the falling masonry.

Dartamor tumbles back out of the way, eyes wide open- saucers, staring at what he has wrought, he’s out of the hailstorm, as are all of the other Lost Boys, more by luck than judgement.

The Hobgoblins are far less fortunate.

Not a sound for a while save the noise of fresh falls of loose dirt, and the sometimes creek of the…

“TREE.” Dartamor finishes his count, he grins- feels himself to check he’s alive, and not dreaming.

“Well…”, Grand Alf starts, then has nowhere to go with the sentence, for a while. “Well that was unexpected.”

“Praise be to Pelor for the light of his… damn, light. He has brought forth…”, Aleso is on his knees, “a… tree.”

He gulps, unsure. 

“Pelor… has… brought… the… tree… into existence as a symbol… of his power… to conjure, no that’s not it… to nurture nature, nope, to bring forth...”

He looks up stares at the tree.

“To bring forth… a… tree. He moves in mysterious ways.”

He crosses himself and gets back to his feet. 

Saradomin has ago.

“Praise be to thee Lord St. Cuthbert who HATH”, he stares at Aleso, “brought forth a tree as a symbol of your MIGHT, POWER and STRENGTH.” The last words are shouted at Aleso, and anyone else that is listening.

“A representation of your EEEE-NOR-MUSS CUDGEL, ha ha, didn’t think of that did’ya?” He smirks at Aleso.

“In honour of this miracle I shall remove a holy bough, so that I too may smite your sovereign enemies in your name. Beat that.”

Saradomin is on his feet, grinning, he wanders over to the tree, while Aleso silently curses.

He grabs hold of a sturdy looking bough and wrenches it… no, hang on, the bough doesn’t move, leaving Saradomin, feet in the air, hanging from it- trying desperately to break it off to create a holy cudgel just like his deity.

This goes on for some time, Saradomin gets nowhere- he tries several branches, they’re solid, nothing doing. 

He mooches about beneath the trees canopy looking for a weak spot.

THUNK.

A rock falls on his head; he goes down like a sack of spuds.

A grinning Aleso drags him out of harms way.

Religious squabbles over the silence returns, but not for long.

“You think this is over? It’s only just begun. The Outcast is waiting for you.”

Durnn’s voice carries from the other side of the tree, which is now blocking the doorway- that and several tons of smashed masonry.

“I’ll be waiting for you… below.”

The sound of receding footsteps, two pairs, and a skittering-scratching sound, Durnn, Grenl and ‘Sprout’, the Twig Blight, head off.

“Who’s this Outcast?” Grand Alf asks?
Dartamor shrugs, eyes on the floor, looking for the feather… it couldn’t have… it didn’t create… this… tree.

He turns as Meepo and the other Kobold reinforcements arrive on the scene, they begin to scramble through the dirt, rifling the dead bodies strewn about.

“A bit late”, Dartamor states.
“Just in time.” Meepo counters.

Next turn: To Koboldly go…


Turn 4.4

To Koboldly go…

“Have it.”
“Leave him he’s not worth it.”
“Ferry cross the Mersey.”
“We only sing when we’re winning.”
“Come on.”

The Kobolds are going crackers, the four Freddie’s are instant heroes, an extended family raised to high status in an instant, although now solely comprised of ululating female Kobolds in mourning.

Meepo dances up a storm.

Grand Alf joins in, singing.

“Cos I am the tiger, I’m the cream of the crop 
Risin' up to challenge an army of Hobgoblins. 
I’m the best known survivor, have my way in a fight 
And I’m watchin' you all, cos I am the tiger”

I think you know the tune.

Kobolds holler, shout, and applaud- its carnival.

“The Goblins are dead - woah. Woah.”

Repeated at volume, and for ages.

Aleso and Saradomin grin and bow, Dartamor acknowledges the Kobolds but remains business as usual. Grand Alf continues to let off steam.

It goes on for a while.

Ten minutes later a jostled and now exhausted group of Lost Boys, and Meepo, find themselves before Isdrayl, the crowds chants are now whispers, just as exultant.

Isdrayl bows before Grand Alf, waves at the Tin Cans- Saradomin and Aleso, and then winks at Dartamor.

The volume drops again as Isdrayl raises her arms.

“Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers - KOBOLDS.”

The crowd goes wild, apart from the pocket of adventurers.

“Today with our new found friends, and royal body guards- subject to contract negotiations, the Scousers have, once and for all, laid waste to the scumbags from Evatown.”

Kobolds cheer, chuckle and wipe tears from their eyes.

“Together, as one, we have stood side-by-side with these brave souls that have come unto us seeking mercy, forgiveness and restitution for their previous sins. And we, the brave Kobold-nation, have moulded these stout yeomen into an elite fighting force worthy of exalted status within us ranks.”

Isdrayl motions to the guards and Meepo. The guards shuffle the Lost Boys into line; Meepo takes his place at the head of the queue.

The crowd quieten.

Isdrayl strides forward, to Meepo.

“Meepo, who from this day forth will be known as Meepo the Dragon Lord. ”

She salutes, three quick claps followed by hands outstretched above her head, Meepo salutes back. The crowd cheers then sings.

“Super, super Meepo
Super, super Meepo
Super, super Meepo
Super Meepo Dragon Lord.”

They quieten again.

“Grand Alf, who from this day forth will be known as Grand Alf the Once Lucid.”

She salutes again, Grand Alf replies in kind with a little hop and a bow at the end.

“Ma’am, I’ve no idea what you’re saying, but it’s been a pleasure.” Grand Alf offers.

The crowd cheers and sings-

“He’s big, he’s mad, he dances like your dad,
Grand Allllllllllllf, Grand Allllllllllllf.”

Then fall silent again.

“Aleso, who from this day forth will be known as Aleso the Tin Can Shouter.” 

She salutes again, Aleso tries to follow the pattern but fails- one clap, a hop, upraised arms, another clap, a bow, nothing for a bit and then a forlorn final clap.

“PELOR STRIKE DOWN ALL THOSE THAT OPPOSE ME… US.”

The crowd cheer then sings some more.

“Chim chiminee, 
Chim chiminee, 
Chim chim cheroo, 
Who needs a Vorpal Sword when you got Al-es-oooooo.”

Then silence.

“Saradomin, who from this day forth will be known as Saradomin the Other Shouty Tin Can.”

Another salute, Saradomin merely looks confused, claps once and bows.

“ST. CUTHBERT MAKE GLORIOUS THIS THE DAY OF OUR RECKONING… So there.” Saradomin folds his arms across his chest and looks tough.

The Kobolds cheer then chant some more.

“Sa-ra-do-min, Sa-ra-do-min, Tin-Can-Sa-ra-do-min,
He’s got no song because his name’s too long,
Tin-Can-ShOwTee-Sa-ra-do-min."

“And finally”, Isdrayl winks and smiles, salutes for all she’s worth, “Dartamor, who from this day forth will be known as Dartamor… King of the Kobolds.”

She twinkles, gives Dartamor the glad-eye, and licks her lips.

Dartamor does nothing- stunned.

“I… that is, I’m dead flattered….” He mumbles.

“She loves you Dartamor, she do.
She loves you Dartamor, she do.
She loves you Dartamor, she do.
Oh Dartamor she loves you.”

The Kobold crowd go mental, especially now Dartamor is the queen’s consort. There’s much patting on the back followed by sly nods and winks aimed towards the reddening rogue.

Grand Alf wanders over to a still stunned Dartamor, Isdrayl retreats pouting- beckoning Dartamor to follow her to her inner-sanctum (leave the double-entendre alone).

“You sly dog, I mean she’s not much to look at but… all this.”

Grand Alf puts his hands out to encompass their surroundings, the crappy soot (and worse) smeared corridor, thirty plus Kobolds- guards, females and children, all shouting, screaming and bawling; and finally the corrugated Kobold Queen, Isdrayl, she waves- a dainty, girlish wave.

“Wow. You must be chuffed?”

Aleso and Saradomin have no idea what’s going on, and it’s not just the language barrier.

Dartamor thinks very quickly.

“Sweet lady.”

Isdrayl stops where she is, turns, tries to hide her wrinkled visage behind a dirty rag, flutters her eye lashes.

“Sweet lady, we cannot remain, we must press on, the Goblin Chieftain escaped our wrath- he has gone below. We must grasp us chance… Oh but if I could stay, I could just be with you a little longer. But alas we are not yet safe. There’s barely time for us to claim our reward… and then… and then, we must… go, er off, get off- gone.”

Isdrayl rushes forward, snivelling, and into Dartamor’s arms- he fights off the gagging sensation.

“Must you… Brave King Dartamor.”

She attempts to cop a feel, it’s like wrestling an Octopus.

“Alas we must, danger remains, and the Scouser’s future is not yet secure. We must go straight away, sweet lady.”

Isdrayl clings to Dartamor.

“My brave King.”

Dartamor holds Isdrayl tight, looks up and spots his prize- the Dragon key.

“My Queen, the key, not only will we destroy, once and for all, the Goblin menace, but we will also bring tribute… The key. The Dragon key… and anything else you have to give.”

Isdrayl looks up, her rheumy reptilian eyes full of tears; her snout nuzzles beneath Dartamor’s chin- she’s been eating… well, best not try to guess.

She breaks from the clinch.

“Guards fetch treasures for your new Lord, from off the altar.”

The Kobold guards scurry to obey; return with the goodies- Grand Alf grabs the lot.

“Ta. Thanks. Love-leee.”

Isdrayl turns back to Dartamor, affects a swoon, he catches her.

“Take the key then my love, and know this for I remember your cause, before our paths met, intertwined. The group of adventurers you seek were victims of the Goblins too, Durnn, the chieftain, had his fun with them and then they were taken below… to… to the Outcast.”

The collected Kobolds hiss their disapproval.

“The Outcast is all shouty like you tin cans, and magic like Grand Alf, and sneaky like you, my love. Beware he hath a mighty creature that serves him. It hops in place of walking, it has a big sticky tongue that probe and stickle, and… it goes ‘CROWK’ before battle, it is a mighty fearsome.”

“Did she say something about a frog?” Grand Alf translates the “CROWK” part of the sentence, “I love frogs, they’re great- not as good as Skeletons, but a frog for a friend would be ace.”

Grand Alf drops to a crouch and leaps about a bit-

“CROWK.”

And.

“CROWWWW-K.”

His tongue flicks in and out.

The Kobolds, including Isdrayl, scurry away from the pantomime villain.

Dartamor sees his opportunity, darts in- grabs the key.

Tink.

Snaps it off and darts out again.

“Alas my Queen we must depart.”

And bundling the others together, including Meepo, they do depart.

“One kiss to seal our union.”

Isdrayl closes her eyes and puckers up.

Eventually opens her eyes, they’re very gone.

“Return quickly my King.”

A grinning guard starts up.

“Isdrayl and Dartamor sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” 

SLAP

Isdrayl flees the scene leaving the guard very red-faced.

Next Turn: Goblinville


----------



## Goonalan (Aug 14, 2007)

Turn 4.5

Goblinville​
Meepo dashes ahead, diverts Dartamor, and the others.

They pass through a door they’ve not ventured through before, and into a corridor.

“Look out, there’s a trap on the flare. ”

Meepo hugs the left wall skitters forward.

Dartamor translates, “Careful stay left, there’s a trap ahead.”

Aleso and Saradomin creep after, careful to hug the wall.

Grand Alf has other ideas; he jumps on the spot for a second or two.

“Jump. Jump. Jump around.”

And he’s off and running, he leaps.

FWONK

The trapdoor opens, with Grand Alf still stood on it, he leaps again.

“JUMP Around.”

And lands on the far lip of the pit- just, claps his hands together, grins, and follows on.

The group reconvene at a locked door, Dartamor gets to work.

“We saw the Gnome, he’s getting better, another day and he’ll be up and about- I bet he has a story to tell. Pelor praise his lost soul.” Aleso adds to the mix.
Saradomin nods, “May St. Cuthbert save him.”

The door’s open, and the group head off into the huge vaulted dragon corridor, the Goblin’s patch. 

Silently they sneak on- towards a half-open door, from which the sound of activity spills.

EEEErrrrrrr

The door opens into chaos- Goblins dozens of them, women and children only, they scream and run pell-mell.

“They’re coming.”
“Don’t eat us.”
“Kill the intruders.”
“Save us from the Goblin slayers.”

Grand Alf seizes the moment.

“I am Grand Alf the Once Lucid, if you’d just like to cease this running about… I said if you’d just like to stop this running about, and your infernal toottling… I can’t understand a word your saying.”

Grand Alf shrugs- no use.

Meepo dashes in and punches a Goblin kid, very brave.

Aleso and Saradomin grab him; he’s kicking air as they haul him out.

“You absolute cad and bounder…”
“There’s really no need for that…”
“I think you should be ashamed of yourself…”
“Say sorry.”

The pair shake Meepo.

“Tell these two, me smash Goblins.”

Meepo shouts at Dartamor. The Half-Elf shakes his head- no.

“Listen to them- you did wrong, no kill females and kids.”

Aleso and Saradomin continue shaking Meepo.

“Say you’re sorry Meepo.”

“Say you’re sorry 'bout dat.” Dartamor translates.

Meepo looks forlorn, grizzles a bit.

“Say you’re sorry 'bout dat.” Dartamor repeats.

“Sorry.”

Aleso and Saradomin let Meepo down.

“Now think about what you’ve done.” Aleso states.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Saradomin finishes.

Meepo wanders off. Dartamor steps up to the plate, again, he can speak the Goblin tongue as well.

“We are not here to hurt you. Your leader has abandoned you. It would be best if you were to leave. But first tell us all that you know about this place.”

A large Goblin matriarch steps forward.

“I'm Trixie, concubine of Durnn, the bugger has scarpered. Gone below to the Outcast. The Outcast is mad-plant bloke with giant ‘Crowk’ as pet. It is dangerous below, only clever or strong Goblins may go below, and chief. Now you let us go.”

Dartamor translates Trixie’s words to the others.

“Ask her where the adventurers went.”

Dartamor complies, Trixie replies.

“He sent them below, beat them bad first, he killed one of them. He has a great chest, he keeps something in there, he says it’s his food- it’s bloody.”

Dartamor translates again.

Aleso and Saradomin look sickened- angry.

“We should go now- below.” Aleso is eager.
“St. Cuthbert calls me.” Saradomin adds.

The divine duo make their way through the Goblins, to a set of large double doors- that stand open. They move inside.

Dartamor and a skipping Grand Alf follow on; Meepo stays a while- there are lots of Goblins staring at him, then thinks better of it and rushes to Dartamor’s side.

They enter a huge room, another smashed tower, all the floors above are missing, in the centre a gaping hole, twisted vines spill over the edge into the inky black.

Grand Alf spits down the hole- listens to see if he can hear the goober land. 

At the far side of the chamber are the remains of a crude throne, obviously Durnn’s perch, before it a lake of blood with the stencil-shape of a treasure chest in it.

Saradomin tests a vine.

“It will be a difficult descent but St. Cuthbert will see us down safely.”

He starts to ready himself, Dartamor rushes over.

“No, we’ve got to get the Goblins out, the women and children, think what will happen if we go below and leave them here with the Kobolds?”

They Lost Boys turn to look at Meepo, he’s no idea what they’re talking about- he tries a mischievous grin, it has the desired affect.

“By Pelor he’s right.” Aleso states, and claps his hand to his brow for good measure- thinking, “but there’s only one way out- through the Kobolds.”

“I will broker a truce.” Saradomin states and strides off- the others exchange glances, Saradomin is coming out of his shell at last, they follow him out.

Ten minutes later a rag-tag army of screaming and bawling Goblins are waiting on their side of the pit, in the corridor to the Kobold’s stronghold.

The Lost Boys and Meepo head over to pave the way.

Dartamor has to do all the talking.

Back in the Kobold chamber the Guards et al are arriving, soon Isdrayl, and all the others are present- the meeting is quorate. 

Dartamor explains the situation and they get down to plea bargaining.

“Tell them this-”, Saradomin starts, “that these feeble Goblins should be let through in order to make a new life for themselves with the aid of St. Cuthbert’s divine grace they will mend their wonton ways and live lives of calm, peace and inner tranquillity.”

Dartamor gulps, not sure there is a Kobold word for ‘tranquillity’. Saradomin nods for him to translate.

“Deez feeble Goblins should be let through in order ter make a nicked loife fe themselves wi' de aid o' St. Cuthbert’s divine grace dale mend their wonton ways and live lives o' cam, peace and inner tranquillity.”

The Kobolds huddle- whisper, there’s a quick show of hands, it seems the totalitarian regime is slipping.

Isdrayl steps forward.

“Not a chance, we eat them.”

Kobolds cheer and lick their lips.

“Tell them”, Aleso tries, “that the Light of our Lord Pelor must guide our hand in all things, that the sunshine of existence, of life, is bestowed to all- ours is not to snuff out of that light… Unless they’re really nasty. Leave that last bit off though.”

Dartamor shrugs, repeats in Kobold.

“De Light o' us Lord Peler must guide us fork in all things, dat de sunshine o' existence, o' loife, is bestowed ter all- os is not ter snuff outi dat light.”

The Kobolds huddle again, a quick vote, here comes Isdrayl again.

“Nope, still no chance, we eat them.”

Kobolds cheer and lick their lips.

“I’ll sort this out.” Grand Alf steps into the spotlight.

“Translate- away.”

He draws himself up to his full height.

“You are sick.”
“Yer sick.”

“Sick in the head.”
“Sick in de barnet.”

“Sick in the head if you think that your strength is a tool to use.”
“Sick in de barnet if yous think dat yer strength is a tewl ter use.”

“To persecute the weak.”
“Ter persecute de weak.”

“Just because they’re different.”
“Juss because they’re different.”

“More Goblinie… or taller, even, than you.”
“More Goblinie… er taller, evun, than yous.”

“You are better than this.”
“Yer scutty than this.”

“You are the mighty Scousers.”
“Yer de mighty Scousers.”

“You are brave Kobolds- honourable.”
“Yer bruv Kobolds- 'onoable.”

“You bring shame to your ancestors.”
“Yous br'n shame ter yer ancestors.”

The big silence.

“Also they are right stringy and bad eating.”
“Also dee ay rite stringy and bad eat'n.”

The Kobolds cheer and shout, Isdrayl salutes and then nods.

A series of nods and the Goblin females and young are lead through, met only by Kobold cheers, there’s little animosity here, soon after the troop are ascending the switchback stone stairs and to the rope, and freedom.

“Good work Grand Alf.” Aleso trails an arm across the Sorcerers shoulders.
Grand Alf turns away and pretends he has something in his eye, it’s watering.

Next Turn: Dragon Key


----------



## Goonalan (Aug 18, 2007)

Turn 4.6

The Dragon Key​
The Lost Boys sans Meepo, he’s back with his kin, reassemble in the first tower.

“What’s it to be then?” Dartamor enquires.
“Treasure.” Grand Alf states.
“We’re pretty low on resources- maybe we should wait a while, I mean St. Cuthbert is strong but even he has to have a nice lie down every now and then.” Saradomin whines a little, knowing he has no spells left and is still nursing a wound.
“Ditto Pelor.” Aleso agrees trying to remove a bloody stain from his armour.

“TRESH-URE. DRAGUN KEY.”

Grand Alf hops from foot to foot- barely able to contain his excitement.

Dartamor shrugs, “perhaps we could just take a peek, we’ll be careful this time- what do you say?”

“Pelor wants a sandwich.” Aleso states, and stamps his foot.

“TReSHUre.”

Grand Alf grabs the Dragon Key, which Dartamor has just recovered from his leather jerkin, the mad Sorcerer sprints to the Dragon Door, and when the others get there, flings the now unlocked door open.

A noise comes from the chamber beyond.

“Wur walkin in theeeeeee air
Wur floatin in thee moon-lit sky-iiiiiiiiii
Tha peepul far belowww R sleepin as we fly-iiiii.”

A terrible reedy voice, some pipsqueak adolescent, whispers the words.

The brave adventurers move in, the chamber is thick with a carpet of dust, three alcoves to the north, one to the south. Each of the alcoves holds a pedestal, on top of each is what looks to be a heavy circular stone, except for the alcove to the south, there the circular stone seems to be a glass ball, which glows with an inner light. Inside of the glowing orb is a miniature snowstorm, well that’s what it looks like, the singing seems to be coming from there also.

Grand Alf strides over to the thing, spots another stone door at the opposite side of the chamber.

As he does so the volume of the music increases dramatically.

“I'MMM holdin’ vereeeee tyte
I’MMM ridin’ in De midnYt blOOOO
I'MMMM findin’ aye Kan flIII sEW hY abUve withH yEW.”

Dartamor clutches his ears, staggers from the chamber, screaming- “Noooooooooooo. Not Clalad J-jones.

It is indeed a recording of the famous Gnome Bard Clalad J-jones famed far and wide for his inability to hold a tune, in fact it is said that Clalad J-jones couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket.

“FArR aKross thHHe wUrld
ThHe viLLaRges gEW bYE lYke dreEEEms
ThHe rivURrs aYnd De hYlls
De foRRests aYnd tHHe streEEms.”

The noise continues; a horrendous row.

Aleso and Saradomin rush from the room screaming, stuffing anything that will fit into their ears en route.

Which leaves Grand Alf, he sings along- of course, badly, of course again, and he doesn’t know the words- but that’s not going to stop him is it.

“ChiLLdreN gaYze opeRRn moWWthed.”
“MilKmeN GlaYZe ALpYne MoTHs.”

”TaYkeNN bII surPrYYse.”
“CHoKinG oN HoTT FrIeS.”

”NobodEEE dowUN beLowE belieVEs THEer EyES.”
“NoDDy eaTS Big EaRs PiEs, aND FrIeS.”

Grand Alf picks up the glass ball, the volume dial ratchets up to 23, ear-piercing.

He sings along some more as he waddles with the thing to the door, and his boon companions beyond, they seem to be waving at him.

Dartamor, Aleso and Saradomin signal desperately for Grand Alf to put the thing down, go away, he waddles on- they scatter, crunch-crouch and cry, Grand Alf’s still singing.

“WY'rE surFFin’ iN tHe aYr.”
“THeY deCIdE To hAVe A bEEr.”

”WY'rE swiMMin’ iN tHe frOWzeN sKy.”
“THeY’RE DrinKinG aS tHeY EaT tHeIR FrIeS.”

”WY'rE driFTin’ oVA iCy.”
“THeY’RE SniFFinG SoMeTHinG SPiCeY.”

”MoWTEn floWtin’ BY.”
“CHiCKeN TiKKa SLiCeY.”

And then it stops, Grand Alf is out the room, he shakes the glass snowstorm, which has clouded over- turned into a lump of rock like the others.

“Awww. That was good- I was enjoying that.”

Grand Alf turns and strides back into the room.

“Noooooo.” In chorus from the others.

But the thing is dead- no more sonorous music.

DMs interlude- For a full version of ‘The Snowman’, if you think you can stand it, go here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aR1Ln-ctn5E it sounded like the worst thing in the world when I was a kid, still does. Alas puberty cured Aled Jones of his delicate voice.

Back to the action.

Grand Alf drops the thing.

THUNK

“Where do you think this goes?” And in an instant he’s over and wrenching the next door open.

“Noooooo.” Dartamor offers.

Aleso and Saradomin shake their heads.

“I thought we said we’d be more careful?” Saradomin questions.
Aleso tuts and strides over.

Dartamor has caught up with Grand Alf, there’s a short corridor to another door- more dust.

“Wait a minute, let me just check the area ahead.”

And true to his word, Dartamor shuffles in, looks hard at the floor.

And in a minute finds the trap ahead.

“Saradomin go get one of them stone balls.”

The Priest returns with a stone ball.

“Now bowl it at the far door.”

Saradomin assumes the position, semi-crouch, back bent over the thing, which he swings between his legs, like some great ape- he’s a natural.

BOKKA-WUBBLE-WUBBLE-thwongthwongthwongthwongthwong-ERK

A burst of crossbow bolts from hidden holes smash into the giant stone bowling ball.

Everyone grins- a job well done, Aleso pats Dartamor and Saradomin on the back, looks up and spots Grand Alf opening the next door. They rush after him.

Into a huge chamber, dust like snow on the ground, several inches deep, clouds of it fill the air as they step in. There are no other doors, only a statue of a dragon on a pedestal.

Grand Alf strides up to it, billowing clouds mask his tread.

The dragon cranes round to stare at Grand Alf, it works its jaw- speaks.

“We come at night without being fetched;
We disappear by day without being stolen.”

“Biscuits.” Grand Alf shouts.

“Is it a riddle?” Aleso strides in.
“St. Cuthbert prides himself in his riddling.” Saradomin comments.
“I heard he riddles in the street.” Aleso guffaws.
“Better than the Sun… Oh what do you worship, I worship the Sun- that’s all you are you know, primitive sun-worshippers. That’s why you’ve all got tans.”

The divine duo square up, again.

“Biscuits.” Grand Alf shouts again.

“Look Saradomin, St. Cuthbert is a drunk, it’s a well known fact, the other deities laugh at him, he wees in the street swigging from a bottle of Olde Perculiar.”
“Right that’s it, Pelor is only good for growing vegetables, like you.”

“Is it ‘Biscuits’? They come at night… from the Biscuit-Fairy, and then disappear again when you eat them. Is it… Biscuits?” Grand Alf’s developed a doubt.

“ST. CUTHBERT IS A TIGHT WAD.”
“OOOOOH PELOR SHINE YOUR LIGHT ON ME- YOU CABBAGE.”

“Is it ‘Biscuits’, do you think Dartamor?” Grand Alf looks forlorn, it may not be ‘Biscuits’ after all.

“Stars.”

Dartamor states.

“BISCUITS.” Grand Alf yells and rushes over to the door that has popped open, and through, the others chase after him.

The next chamber is not quite as dusty; there are more alcoves, three north, three south- they each seem to hold a statue of a proud Elven warrior.

“Careful there may be a tr…” Dartamor calls, too late as usual.

Grand Alf is at the last of the northern alcoves, its empty- suspicious.

“Hey there’s a pit over here… and a light beyond.”

The three others gingerly head over to Grand Alf, at the far end of the chamber is a large archway into another chamber, however there’s an open pit between the two rooms, a sunrod illuminates the bottom of the pit- it’s full of fierce looking spikes.

“Wait.”  

Dartamor has a look around, there are some tracks in the dust- small clawed feet, he points them out.

“Here’s the thing, the tracks start from nowhere, as in they just begin.” Dartamor’s puzzled.

“Is it a chicken, they have clawed feet, and they’re little.” Grand Alf cuts to the chase.
“How could it be a chicken? Why do the tracks just… start?” Saradomin hands on hips.

Grand Alf thinks about it, “It flew.”

“Chickens don’t fly Grand Alf”, Aleso offers.
“Then it’s a magic chicken.”
“Where did it come from?” Saradomin enquires.

Grand Alf thinks some more, “Ah-hah. It was summoned, it’s a Magic Demon Chicken- fearsome creature, quite a bite, I mean peck.”

“Pelor save us.” Aleso whispers.
“Ditto St. Cuthbert.” Saradomin adds.

While the three are debating Dartamor gauges the distance across the pit, shouldn’t be that much of a problem, gives himself a good run-up, sprints forward and launches himself over.

SLAP

And falls short, scrabbles at the lip of the pit on the far-side, manages to cling on- he’s dangling over the spikes.

“A little help please.”

The others panic- what to do. Grand Alf begins hopping on the spot.

“Jump, Jump, Jump around.”

But before he can leap a Magic Demon Chicken, actually not- a small winged humanoid, a miniature Demon in fact, appears standing on Dartamor’s hands. The creature grins, a barbed stinger darts down aiming for the Elf rogues hands.

“Thought you’d disturb the Dragon Priest’s slumber would you, we’ll see about that.”

The stinger misses, however only because Dartamor lets go of the side- and falls.

EEEERRKKK

And is impaled on the spikes below- blood flows, he gasps once- more blood bubbles from his throat, he closes his eyes.

The Demon disappears, there’s the sound of fluttering- of tiny wings.

“Fear not for St. Cuthbert will rid us of this Demon-creature.” Saradomin swats the air with his heavy mace.

“PELOR bring forth thy shining countenance to vanquish this foul demon from our midst.” Aleso joins the league of swishers and swatters.

Grand Alf fumbles for a scroll.

The Demon blinks back into existence, back towards the entrance to the chamber.

“Feel my terror.”

A black mist shoots from the Demon’s fingertips and engulfs Saradomin. The cleric of St. Cuthbert stops swinging, and shouts, “St. Cuthbert hear my call… Nooooooooooooooo.” The black cloud fades out of existence.

“Bugger.” The Demon adds.

THUNK-THUNK

And is hit by two Magic Missiles courtesy of Grand Alf.

“Take that Magical Demon Chicken.”

The Demon disappears with a growl, flutters towards the exit, calling back.

 “You broke the binding; my watch on the Dragon Priest is over. Curse you.”

And is gone.

“Job well done.” Grand Alf nods.

The divine duo stare with trepidation at the still form of Dartamor.

Next Turn: In the Night

Thus ends the session.


----------



## Goonalan (Aug 22, 2007)

Turn 5.1

In the night.​
“What’re we going to do?” Grand Alf flaps.

Aleso and Saradomin exchange glances, in unison take to one knee, begin their prayers.

“Sweet Pelor’s who’s fiery divine favour has sought refuge in the transient spirit of our young”, Aleso nods towards Dartamor, he can’t remember the Rogue’s name, “the one over there- on the spike, may his heavenly soul wing it’s way through the fundament to the arms of your warm embrace.”

“Lord, St. Cuthbert, whose rod of iron and mighty cudgel rules o’er us, whose divine judgement has speared, sorry spared, insert name here from the everlasting pain of life. Send winged angels to guide the spirit of this troublesome soul back to the great alehouse, I mean off-licence, in the sky.”

The two stop, stare at each other, and then…

Grand Alf tugs at both of them, hops from foot to foot, either he wants a wee or he’s got something to say.

“Hold on Alf.” Aleso states.
“A moment.” Saradomin concurs.

They continue with their sermons.

“I pray now, in the utter certainty, that Dartamor’s soul sits on your left side, righteous and awe full, erm… for he did mention to me that he was very fond of you and was thinking of converting to the ONE TRUE and JUST cause. Only the other day he said… Erm… he said, ‘sun’s up’, which is a sure fire indication of the devotion he felt for you.”

“I ask you mighty St. Cuthbert to accept this wanderer into the massed ranks of your spirit army, swell their holy pride, for Dartamor clearly indicated to me, in times of trouble- when he was sorely… sorely… something… low. Anyway, he said, and I quote- ‘I need a drink’, a clear indication of his devotion to the holy elixir of St. Cuthbert, the vessel through which thy voice speaks to us mere mortals, the ONE TRUE and JUST path to inebriation. Sorry… enlightenment… scratch that… erm… up there.” Saradomin indicates ‘up there’, by pointing.

Grand Alf tugs some more, he’s been up to it for a while now.

In unison the two turn to him, and say.

“What is it?” 

“Um… Dartamor wants to know if he can get up now… Off the spike, has either of you got a rope.”

The divine duo turn to stare, Dartamor, still impaled upon the spike, waves at them.

“You mean he’s not dead?”

Grand Alf shakes his head, Dartamor does too, grits his teeth- the pain.

They whisper to each other as they fumble for rope.

“Bloody inconsiderate.”
“It’s a shame, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

A minute later a stumbling Dartamor, held up on each side, shuffles his way out of the chamber, and from there all the way back to the Kobold empire, he needs a lie down.

The others agree to return to their task the next day, even Grand Alf is persuaded, he may look daft but he’s not stup… no, hang on, that doesn’t work.

And so while the other three adventurers snooze Dartamor fights unconsciousness again, and again… he gets help from two sources.

“My brave King what hast though done to thee, sorry them done to thou… you- where does it hurt, shall I rub it.”

Isdrayl slips her hands beneath the sheets. 

“AAaaaaaG.”

Dartamor spasms and then slips into unconsciousness.

That’s the thing about Kobolds, lizard like creatures- reptiles- cold blooded makes for cold hands.

Isdrayl sheds a tear, several, wipes her snout on the blanket, leaving a silvery trail, and begins her soliloquy.

“I knew you’d come my beautiful, rescue me from this wasted life, I knew you’d find me- no matter what. You see my lovely, I wasn’t meant for this life, and I know you’re a pointy-ears, and I should be eating you, but it’s not like that, not for me- beauty is only skin deep- I see through your dashing good looks and flare, I see the inner turmoil and terror that bubbles within you. I know, like me, that you love the thought of smashing something serene and tranquil, of stamping on picnics, kicking Halflings into rivers. I, like you, want to force non-alcoholic drinks down dwarves until they burst, to build houses from the Dryad’s trees, to pave the forest and tell all the bum Druids to get a job. We could be happy… smashing things, and people. We could make a life together; start afresh, a new dungeon, a Hydra… I don’t know why I said a Hydra, I guess I just like them- long necks, and they’d make an ace slide for the kids. We’d have traps, ones that rend and tear, there’d be viscera… Oh think of the viscera my love, think of wizards on spikes, a monk in a gibbet… I’ve always wanted an oubliette… do say I can have an oubliette.”

Her voice softens.

“We could even kill the others, when they get back, if they get back from killing the Outcast, we could make maracas from their heads, or hanging baskets.”

She stops, Dartamor’s eyes blink, once… twice- he opens them wide.

Isdrayl leans in, puckers up, and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“Night Mum.” Dartamor sighs and turns over.

“MUM.” 

She shakes him, but he’s gone from this place.

Sound asleep.

Isdrayl gets up and wanders to the other side of the cavern, there’s a fragment from a mirror nailed to the wall. She stares at herself in it.

“Mirror, mirror…” She begins, and then thinks better of it.

She’s lost her looks, and she knows it, who’s she kidding- herself. She cries again, and then with a shaking hand reaches down for a small pot nestled on a crate, scratches the surface of the substance held within- with one taloned finger, and smears the tincture around her maw. Lipstick applied she turns back to spy her love, the door opens, and the nights second vertically challenged visitor arrives.

Isdrayl shakes her head, banishing the bad thoughts, and harrumphs out of the cavern- the taste of her lipstick, blood, in her mouth.

Jerky Timbers, the rescued Gnome walks in, and to Dartamor.

He places his hand, delicately, on the sleeping Half-Elf’s shoulder, whispers one word.

“Sleeeeeeeep.”

A blue glow shines from the Gnomes fingertips, and now, Dartamor’s shoulder, it spreads- and all is well, skin and bone knit and mend. Dartamor lives to fight another day.

Jerky turns to leave.

“Night Dad.”

Stops, grins for a while, and then heads off.

Early morning Aleso, Saradomin and Grand Alf are awoken… by a hale and hearty Dartamor.

“Pelor wants a lie in.” Aleso mumbles and turns over.
“St. Cuthbert says press snooze on the alarm.” Saradomin confirms.

Grand Alf is up in a trice, 0-60 in less than a second.

He pumps the Half-Elf’s hand.

“Glad to have you back. Thought you were a goner back there. Does it hurt.” Grand Alf touches the spot.

“No.” Dartamor fends his poking hand off.

“It was there wasn’t it.” Grand Alf lances his arm out again- trying to touch the spot.

“NO.” Dartamor again blocks the move.

Grand Alf’s not satisfied.

“It was right there.” He tries again, and is again rebuffed, with more violence this time. “NO.”

He digs Dartamor in the ribs, “THERE”, he punches this time. Dartamor is just quick enough to block it; he pushes Grand Alf away, “NO. For the last time…”

“I saw it. A great ruddy spike jammed through you… You…”

Grand Alf leaps at Dartamor, the two collapse to the hard stone floor, Dartamor has the wind knocked out of him. Grand Alf scrabbles at his leathers, ripping them aside. Dartamor fights back.

“A BLOODY SPIKE THROUGH YOU…”
“GET OFFFF.”
“RIGHT THROUGH YOU- I SAW IT.”
“GRAND ALF.”
“RIGHT… THERE.”

He uncovers the spot, there’s nothing there, no scar, no bruise- nothing.

Grand Alf rolls off Dartamor.

They seem to have gathered an audience; Kobolds stop to witness the exchange.

Even the divine duo are waking.

Grand Alf scrabbles further away, “don’t touch me…”, his arms out to fend Dartamor off, Dartamor looks on confused.

“You’re an impostor, a shape-changer, you’ve been possessed…” Grand Alf hisses the last part of the sentence.

Aleso and Saradomin simultaneously crouch to inspect the wound.

“By the pointy mace of St. Cuthbert I expel thee.”

Saradomin slaps Dartamor on the forehead, the Half-Elf falls back, clonks his head on the stone, and jolts back up again.

“May the fiery light quench the darkness of your soul.”

Aleso repeats the trick.

CLONK

Grand Alf wrestles himself to his feet, grabs a spoon, it’s the closest thing, and moves to stand over Dartamor.

He points the spoon at the Half-Elf, in what could otherwise be construed as a threatening manner, if it wasn’t a spoon, and says in a powerful voice. 

“By Hell’s Biscuit Barrel tell us how it came to pass that thou art removed of hurt…”

Dartamor looks confused, Jerky Timbers wanders over, holding his towel, having just been for a wash and brush up.

“What, what d’you mean removed from hurt?” 

Grand Alf closes in for the kill, hisses.

“The spike-hole. Where’s the Spike-Hole gone? For I see it not, and that means you’re a horny demon of the nine pentangles, or else a treacherous shape-shifter come to… shift… er… shape. You bugger.”

Dartamor looks blank.

“I healed him.”

Jerky states.

Which sorta takes the wind out of everyone’s sails.

“Oh.”

And.

“Oh.”

And one more for luck.

“Oh.”

At least they think alike.

“So you’re a priest…” Grand Alf starts and then grows bored of the conversation, another bloody do-gooder, that’s all he needs.

“So Dartamor, can we go yet- back to the sarcof… sarkoffa… sarky… coffee… goose, that’s it? Can we?” Grand Alf finishes.

“In a minute.” Dartamor rises, no help from any of the others, Grand Alf punches the air and runs off to get his stuff together.

The divine duo close in on the Gnome, some might say, crowd him.

“So…”
“You’re…”

And in unison.

“Religious?”

Jerky nods.

“Which one?” Aleso asks.

“Which one what?”

“Which deity?” Saradomin clarifies.

The two get closer still.

“Oh. I see.” Jerky says, then nothing else.

“Well?”
“Which…”
“One?”

“The one true god.” Jerky simply states.

In unison.

“Yeeeeees?”

“The Lord of all life.” Jerky adds.

“Yeeeeees?”

“The cudgel of the dark.”

“Cudgel- St. Cuthbert.” Saradomin pokes Aleso in the chest.
“… of the dark- Pelor.” Aleso pokes Saradomin in the chest.

“That’s it.” Jerky nods and goes to walk off.

They stop him.

“What’s it?”
“WHICH ONE YOU BLOODY GARDEN GNOME.” Aleso screams, drags the Gnome up to his eye-line, and shakes him.

“Pelor, of course.”

Aleso drops the Gnome spins on his heels and in one smooth move goes down on one knee and punches the air- you try it.

“Yes, you beauty.”

He spins back, picks the ruffled Gnome up and fusses him.

“Oh brother Pelorite, it’s so good to see you, I have been lost in this dark place, starved of any proper theological discussion having NOTHING BUT A BLOODY HEATHEN FOLLOWER OF ST. CUTHBERT FOR COMPANY.”

You can guess who he’s looking at when he finishes his little tirade.

Saradomin makes to slink off.

“Although I worship Pelor, I appreciate the efforts made by our fellow travellers, the clergy of St. Cuthbert, who are, in my eyes; leading the charge against the followers of the dark- I salute you.” And Jerky does.

Saradomin wipes away a tear.

“WHAT?” Aleso makes for apoplexy.

“I think instead of making light of our differences the churches of Pelor and St. Cuthbert would perhaps be better served by acknowledging first our common causes. I think that would be what Pelor, and St. Cuthbert wanted. Don’t you agree?”

The divine duo turn to sneer at each other.

And in unison.

“Yeeeaaaaah.”

They slink away.

“Thanks for that.” Dartamor fills the gap, shakes Jerky’s hand, “I bet you’ve got a story to tell...”

Next Turn: Level Up

Next Turn after that: A Short Story.


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## Goonalan (Aug 25, 2007)

Turn 5.2

Up a Level

It’s true, all four of them have gained enough experience points to reach level 2, so here they are-

Grand Alf​
Human Male Sorcerer Level 2 
NG HP 12 AC 12 Init +6
Str 8 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 17 
Saves Fort +1 Ref +2 Will +4
Shortspear “Pokey” +0 d8-1 
Lt. Xbow (Mwk) “The Stapler” +4 d8 
Dagger +0 or +3 d4-1
Armour: Spangly Robes and Wizard-type conical hat, so none then.
Feats: Improved Initiative & Toughness 
Skills of note: Bluff +3 Concentrate +5 Diplomacy +3 Disguise +3 Gather Info +3 Intimidate +3 Perform (Sing- Cheesy Pop) +3 Spellcraft +5 Spot +3

Spells Level 0 (6) Light, Ghost Sound, Detect Magic, Read Magic Level 1 (5) Sleep, Magic Missile

Items of note: Scrolls Sleep (x2), Shield (x2), Magic Missile (x1); Potions Invisibility & Blur.

Dartamor​
Half-Elf Male Rogue Level 2 
CN HP 10 AC 16 Init +7
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 9 Int 18 Wis 13 Ch 11 
Saves Fort -1 Ref +6 Will +1
Rapier (Mwk) +5 d6+3 
Comp. Shortbow (Mwk Mighty (STR 12)) +5 d6+1 
Silver Edged Dagger +4 or +4 d4+3
Armour: Black Mwk Studded Leather
Feats: Improved Initiative Sneak Attack +d6 Evasion
Skills of note: Appraise +5 Balance +4 Bluff +3 Climb +6 Craft (Hunter) +4 Decipher Script +5 Disable Device +8 Escape Artist +3 Forgery +5 Heal +3 Hide +7 Jump +3 Knowledge (Nature) +5 Listen +6 Move Silently +7 Open Lock +8 Pick Pocket +4 Read Lips +5 Ride (Horse) +4 Search +9 Spot +5 Swim +3 Tumble +5 Use Rope +4

Items of note: Silk Climbing Rope, 20 Mwk Arrows, Potions Spider Climb, Hiding & Cure Light (x2).

Aleso Flett​
Human Male Paladin of Pelor Level 2 
LG HP 21 AC 15 Init 0
Str 15 Dex 11 Con 12 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 18 
Saves Fort +8 Ref +4 Will +5
Scimitar (Mwk) +5 d6+2 
Comp. Longbow +2 d8 
Dagger +4 or +2 d4+2
Armour: Shiny Chain Shirt & Sparkling Steel Buckler
Feats: Power Attack & Cleave; Divine Grace, Detect Evil, Divine Health, Lay on Hands (8 HP/Day), Aura of Courage, Smite Evil
Skills of note: Bluff +4 Concentration +3 Craft (Carpentry) +3 Diplomacy +6 Disguise +4 Gather Information +4 Handle Animal +5 Heal +4 Intimidate +4 Perform (Sing- Opera) +4

Items of note: Potions Bull’s Strength, Cure Moderate & Cure Light (x4).

Saradomin​
Human Male Cleric of St. Cuthbert Level 2 
LN HP 19 AC 19 Init +3
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 15 Int 14 Wis 17 Ch 13 
Saves Fort +5 Ref +3 Will +6
Heavy Mace (Mwk) +5 d8+3 
Lt. Xbow +4 d8 
Club +4 or +4 d6+3
Armour: Dirty Chainmail & Rusty, slightly bent, Large Steel Shield
Feats: Extra Turning (8/Day) & Scribe Scroll; Smite (+4/+2) x1, Strength boost (+2)
Skills of note: Concentration +6 Craft (Armoursmith) +3 Diplomacy +3 Heal +8 Knowledge (Religion) +5 Listen +3 Perform (Bagpipes) +1 Profession (Scribe) +4 Ride (Horse) +3 Sense Motive +3 Spellcraft +6 Spot +4 Use Rope +3 Wilderness Lore +3

Spells Level 0 (4) Level 1 (3+1)
Domains: Destruction & Strength

Items of note: Scroll Protection from Elements.

Jerky Timbers​
Gnome Male Fighter Level 1 Cleric of Pelor Level 1
CG HP 18 AC 14 Init +0
Str 14 Dex 10 Con 14 Int 10 Wis 15 Ch 12
Saves Fort +4 Ref +0 Will +4
Lt. Mace +5 d4+2 (Goblin-made)
Armour: Scruffy Goblin Leathers & Small Wooden Shield
Feats: Turn Undead (4/Day) Weapon Focus (Lt. Mace) Scribe Scroll Power Attack
Skills of note: Climb +3 Concentration +6 Diplomacy +3 Heal +4 Jump +3 Listen +4 Spellcraft +3 Spot +5

Gnome Spells: Dancing Lights, Ghost Sound & Pestidgitation
Speak with Burrowing Animals

Spells Level 0 (3) Level 1 (2+1)
Domains: Good & Healing

And that’s your lot.

Next Turn: A Short Story.


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## Goonalan (Aug 28, 2007)

Turn 5.3

A Short Story.​
“So how long have you been here?” Grand Alf asks again.
“I’d say three about months.” Jerky replies.

“Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.” Grand Alf concludes.

“Three months in that tiny cage.” Dartamor joins in.
“Yep.”
“How’d you survive?”
“By the blessings of…”, Jerky looks at Aleso, he’s pre-grin, rubbing his hands, “our Lord”, he finishes.

“Did you see a group of adventurers during your sojourn?” Aleso asks.
“As a matter of fact I did, three of them, a warrior- Talgen, I think; a lady wizard- Sharwyn, those two were brother and sister; and a holy knight, Sir Bradford- a Paladin of St. Cuthbert, they were…” He stops; no one can hear what he’s saying anyway.

Saradomin is on his feet, and screaming, “In your face”, and is in Aleso’s face, “a Paladin of St. Cuthbert- get in there, one-all, ONE-ALL…” he runs out of steam.

Gingerly sits, the others stare at him, Aleso silently fumes.

“Sorry… er, do go on, Jerky, what was that you were saying?”

“The adventurers were taken below…”

Dartamor interrupts, “actually it may have been only two of them that made it. It seems the Goblin chieftain, Durnn, killed one of them.”

Jerky shakes his head, “Pel…”, then thinks better of it, “god help them.”

“Go on Jerky, what else do you know?”

“Well they were sent below, to the Outcast, a mad man by the sound of things, the Goblins are terrified of him- he’s a crazed Priest I think, from what they say- worships some tree with magic apples. Clearly he wants stopping. I think everybody can agree on that.”

The three sane people nod, Grand Alf grins and smears Magic Smash on the palm of his hand, then licks it off.

Jerky stops to stare at him.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeff.” Grand Alf spits peanuts back at him, grins some more with Magic Smash lacquered teeth.

“Just don’t put you hands near his mouth.” Dartamor offers.
The Gnome nods back, still staring at the Sorcerer.

“Continue brother.” Adds Aleso, pointedly staring at Saradomin.

“They were sent below, to the Twilight Grove, whatever that may be.”

Grand Alf gets up and capers, eventually settles on chasing the end of his hat, which is of course on his head, trying to suddenly look behind him to see it.

“There’s some other stuff- Twig Blights, little bundles of… Twigs, they’re the spawn of the tree, I think, the Outcasts servants- they’re not dangerous, singly, but get a few of them together and they could rip you to shreds.”

The seated three nod.

“Anything else?”

Jerky stops staring at Grand Alf, turns back to the others.

“No, I don’t think so… Oh yes, can I join you, I think I could be of use, and well… I’ve got some scores to settle.” The Gnome grins, like he means business.

“Welcome to the Lost Boys”, its Saradomin’s hand he grasps, and shakes.

The group assemble, ready for action, the meeting’s over, or so it seems.

“So we’re going below?” Jerky asks.

Grand Alf spies that they’re all ready, throws his hat on the floor stamps on it a couple of times, grinning, then screws it back on his head- and runs off, back to the Dragon Key Door with the Sarky-Coffee-Goose, it seems he has unfinished business there.

The others do their best to keep up.

A while later…

They’re all over the other side of the pit, courtesy of some rope tricks (Dartamor), and a Spider Climb Potion (Dartamor).

A torch burns illuminating a nine foot long intricately carved sarcophagi- carved to resemble a dragon at rest.

“Well?” Grand Alf stares.

There are six clasps keeping the lid in place, Aleso and Saradomin set to work, the three others grab missile weapons and await the grand opening.

PING

The last clasp on the near side is off.

“I think we should wedge the grappling hook in it and then lever it off by pulling the rope from the far side, so as you three can nail whatever’s in it, and we’ll be behind the lid- shielded, should any shots go… astray.” Aleso has a plan.

“What do you mean astray?” Grand Alf feels threatened- he’s a crack shot… scratch that, I was reading it wrong- he’s a crack pot, they’re probably best hiding behind the lid.

“What do you mean whatever’s in it- whatever’s in it is going to be dead… surely?” It’s Dartamor’s turn to be concerned.
“Dead, Undead- something like that.” Saradomin ventures.

DMs interlude- at the time the group, having never played the game before, were convinced that all that was going to be in the thing was a very dead guy and a bunch of treasure- honest, their little faces, so naïve.

Read on…

“What do you mean Undead?” Dartamor is developing a concern.
“Don’t worry Dartamor if it’s Undead I will endeavour to send it back to the grave in an instant.” It’s Jerky’s turn to be cocky.

Satisfied the Rogue nods for Aleso and Saradomin to pull the thing open. They take the strain…

This goes on for some time.

The furthest they manage to lift it is two inches.

Grand Alf jams Saradomin’s club in the gap, he was going to jam his short spear in but at the last moment was worried that it might get stuck, and then where would he be.

Two minutes later Saradomin’s club is wedged tight in the sarcophagi- no one can shift it, and the others, no matter how hard they strain, cannot lift the lid up enough to recover the club.

“That was my club, a symbol of my connection to St. Cuthbert, it’s very… <sniffle> important to me… we shared a bond, her name was… Sharlene.”

Saradomin collapses onto the lid of the sarcophagi, hammers at it- grizzling.

“They taught us a rhyme… back at the seminary.” Saradomin staggers around to the front of the sarcophagi, wailing at his loss, and marches, half-heartedly, on the spot.

“This is my club.”

He points at his club- Sharlene.

“This is my brain.”

He points at the place his brain should be.

“This is for fighting.”

He points back at Sharlene.

“This is to keep off the rain.”

Points at his head and then collapses onto the cold stone floor- banging his little fists again.

“SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”

They give him a minute.

Jerky is looking even more panicky- what’s he got himself into.

Still crying, Saradomin gets up, wanders round to the other side of the sarcophagi, to Aleso, points at the first of the three remaining claps, the two get to work again.

“It’s alright, I’m ok. <sob> Just carry on as if nothing’s happened… SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”

His whole body shakes as he bawls.

PUNG

And the last clasp is removed.

The grappling hook is still in play, the divine duo drag the one ton stone lid off.

CLUNK

And onto the floor, they dance out of its way.

Saradomin rushes for his club, Sharlene, cradles it lovingly.

Inside the sarcophagi is an eight foot tall, extremely wizened, old man- of sorts.

“He’s big.” Grand Alf calculates, he settles for jumping in the air, with one hand up above his head- trying to indicate to the others just how tall the old guy is.

The corpse is wearing jewellery, a necklace; two bracelets… its eyes blink open.

“FECK. That scared the life out of me- I thought he opened his eyes.” Grand Alf places his hand over his breast, feels his thumping heart.

The creature turns to stare at him, and then slowly rises from his bier.

“Feck” Grand Alf again, “I thought it… Oh it is.”

The creature rises from the dead, Grand Alf follows the creatures arm as it lifts up, raises, stretches out to grasp him round the neck.

FWUNG

The Mage brings his crossbow up and shoots the creature from point blank range through its head, the bolt remains lodged in there.

Everything stops for a moment.

Then the creature reaches up and pulls the bolt back out of its skull.

TUG-SQUELCH-CRUNCH

And passes the bloody thing back to Grand Alf, who nods his thanks, as he takes it back.

“He seems nice.” Grand Alf adds.

The wound in the creature’s head seems to be healing over, a second later and it’s completely gone.

Still nobody has moved.

“TROLL.” Jerky shouts.

Which seems to get things moving.

The Lost Boys scatter, Grand Alf takes a few steps left, comes to a halt looks about, then a few more right, looks about- basically dodging either side of the huge stone coffin, trying desperately to see where the Troll is. He knows what a Troll is after all; a Troll is an enormously fat creature, slovenly and uncouth, most of them have a lisp and walk with a stick, they’re fond of butterscotch, dumplings, acrylic-wool mix cardigans and… Hang on. His brain thinks- I’m panicking aren’t I, I’ve no idea at all what a Troll looks like, for all I know the Troll could be the dozy tall geezer sitting in the sarcophagi before me… Oh, hang on again. A tiny sign flashes on and off inside the cavern in which his brain sits- the flashing sign reads- “Bingo.”

The Troll lashes out, one huge gnarly fist, Grand Alf ducks, the creature’s fist passes over his bent form and smashes into Aleso’s face, breaking his nose and fracturing his jaw.

“That was close.”

Grand Alf scoots away.

Aleso staggers into the wall, grips on for dear life.

Dartamor looks for a safe spot, sees one, runs up a wall and takes to crouching on the ceiling- the joys of Spider Climb. 

“Mwash Mwit.” Aleso mouths.

Saradomin has no idea what he’s on about, continues to run around the room, in what passes for blind panic.

The Troll rises from its sitting position, it’s enormous, still stood inside the sarcophagi, it could touch the ceiling- easy.

Not so safe then, Dartamor thinks.

“How do we kill it?” He shouts.
“Fire.” Jerky hollers back.

The effect is instantaneous, everyone, bar Aleso, fumbles for a missile weapon and lets rip at the creature- it has little or no affect, the wounds regenerate swiftly.

The Troll gingerly steps out of the sarcophagi, stretches; clicking and creaking bones, yawns- then looks for breakfast.

“I meant fire- burn it.” Jerky clarifies.

Aleso meanwhile has been fumbling for a healing potion, finds one, or so he thinks, and takes a swig, thinks- damn, that’s hot- his throat burns.

BURRRP

Gouts of flame erupt over and around the Troll. 

It stops what it was doing, smoke coils from its blackened form, turns to face the Paladin.

“MwI Mwidn’t Mwactmwually mWean MWo MWo Mwat…” Aleso offers.

A hand darts down from the ceiling and swiftly swipes the Trolls necklace, the hulking creature looks about- momentarily confused- what just happened. Dartamor takes the opportunity to skulk away.

The Troll remembers its purpose.

Leaps.

Aleso prepares to meet the creature’s charge- by pressing himself hard to the stone wall, looking away, and shutting his eyes.

SMASH

The Troll lands hard on the sarcophagi, unsteady still, stone shatters and smashes where it lands. 

“Hold your ground Holy Knight, for I have a plan.” Grand Alf states.

Aleso makes a half-hearted pretence of defence.

The Troll punches him in the face again. Aleso’s head rocks back and cracks into the stone wall, he looks groggy.

“That’s it- you’ve got him now.” Grand Alf encourages, and then “Saradomin- go.”

The bustling Cleric rushes in, “yoink”, and instead of healing the Paladin, grabs the Fire Breath Potion, Saradomin scuttles out- still leaving the Troll facing off against Aleso.

The Troll strides forward, lashing out as it does so, Aleso retreats- into a corner, he’s trapped, and won’t last long.

“Mwot mwevwmer mwit mwis mwen mwooo mwit mwoon.” Aleso garbles.

Next Turn: Mwelp Mwe.


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## Goonalan (Sep 2, 2007)

Turn 5.4

Mwelp Mwe.​
The Troll continues to menace Aleso.

“MWake Mwit Mwop. MWWake Mwit Mwo MwaMway. Mwelor Mwelp mWe.”

The Paladin seems to be taking it all in his stride, in his usual fashion.

Grand Alf flings a flask of oil at the creatures back, it smashes on impact. Dartamor adds to the mess, upending another flask from above, on the creature’s head.

The Troll staggers back, looks about for his new enemy, oil in his eyes.

Jerky darts in, grabs Aleso and drags him out of the way, his healing touch pumping the Paladin full of vim and vigour, and hit points, of course.

“Gy Gighty Gaint Guthbert- Gie Gowl Geast.”

Saradomin gargles, and then spits.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF

It’s flame on.

The Troll staggers and flails wildly, the adventurers hang back, stay out of the creatures reach.

They take it in turns to dart in, melee weapons to the fore, deliver distracting blows.

It’s soon over, the Troll crumples, a steaming black mass, mostly- there are parts of the creature that still seem to be regenerating.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Aleso chops the Trolls head off.

The Paladin rolls his shoulders, puffs out his chest.

“Pelor bless us in this our great quest, may thy fiery countenance shine forth and bring low all those that stand before us.”

He crosses himself, even he realises how close he came to death.

“Ditto, replacing Pelor with St. Cuthbert, and for ‘fiery countenance shine forth and’, substitute ‘gnarly knobbly rod of might’, we give thanks.”

Saradomin finishes his prayer.

In the background Grand Alf has picked up the dead Trolls head and is holding it up before him, think Hamlet with Yorick’s skull in the graveyard scene, except-

“I'm standin' here. You make the move.”

Grand Alf poses, stares hard at the Troll’s head.

“You make the move.
It's your move.”

Grand Alf quick draws a sandwich.

Takes a bite- MMm, Magic Smash.

“Don't try it, you flip-diddly-doo.”

He intones spraying peanuts and breadcrumbs.

“You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?”

His sandwich shaking reaches titanic proportions.

“Then who the hell else are you talking-- You talking to me?
Well, I'm the only one here.”

He slaps the Troll’s head round the chops with the floppy end of his sandwich, steaming mad.

“Who the flip-dickety do you think you're talking to?”

He drops the Troll’s head- like it’s just said something nasty about his mum.

The head impacts with the floor, crumples- rots away.

“Oh, yeah?”

 Arms out wide, head thrown back, sandwich vibrating furiously.

“Err… Grand Alf.” Saradomin calls over- looking behind the Sorcerer, eyes on stalks.

“Whaff?” Grand Alf takes a huge bite of sandwich- he’s earned it.

“GRAND ALF”, this time the shout is from all of his colleagues- a chorus. They’re all looking behind him.

Grand Alf takes another bite of sandwich and saunters around to see what’s so interesting behind him.

Oh yes, the Troll, he saunters round again, a moment then his brain catches up with his visual faculties- he juggles his sandwich for a second, then abandons it to gravity, and scarpers.

“Flip-a-doodle.”

The others step in, alas for the Troll it’s only just on its feet, it seems it’s got up too soon.

Aleso and Saradomin flail wildly at the thing.

“Pelor… SMASH… kick the… WHACK… out of this… FUMP… foul miscreant.”
“St. Cuthbert… WHACK… send thy knobbly rod… SMASH… and staff… FUMP… to discomfort this ... THUNK… foul wretch.”

And the Troll is in bits again, regenerating slowly still though.

The divine duo are a little out of breath.

“MORE FIRE.” Jerky shouts.

The five some fumble through their packs, while delivering ad hoc beatings to the flopping Troll shaped mush- they strike oil. All that they have, is brought forth, poured on, and flame applied.

WHOOOOOOOOF

And that really is the end of the creature.

“This is rubbish.” Dartamor admires the necklace he ‘found’ earlier- around the Troll’s neck. 

Jerky, however secures a quality dagger, probably masterwork, and that seems to be the end of the treasure.

DMs interlude- you should have seen the looks I got, they thought they were going to be, ‘minted.’ 

“Right.” Grand Alf states, “let’s get on with the job at hand… rescue the kids, we haven’t got time to waste treasure hunting- people’s lives are at stake.”

The Sorcerer shakes his head, disappointed in his colleagues, and then heads off- at a sprint.

“What the…” Jerky starts up, but Grand Alf’s gone.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to him.” Aleso offers.
“He was sent to us as punishment.” Saradomin states.
“Penance.” Aleso adds.
“For past sins.” Saradomin finishes.

They wander off.

Daratamor approaches a still unmoving Jerky.

“It’s the one thing that pair agree on.” Dartamor states, and then he too is gone.

Jerky shrugs and follows.

Next Turn: Down, down, deeper and down.


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## Goonalan (Sep 6, 2007)

Turn 5.5

Down, down, deeper and down.​
They’re back in Durnn’s chamber, the huge, liana draped, hole leads down into darkness.

“I’ll check it out.”

Dartamor secures a rope around the throne, seems to be fairly immovable, and lets it flop over the side- he edges his way down, and into another world...

Dartamor moves silently down into a huge cavernous chamber, lit by a fine collection of white and blue glowing fungi, he reaches the cavern floor- it’s soft, a layer of soil. Numerous spindly plants, stunted and twisted, dot the chamber.

Sssssnick.

Dartamor crouches, notices a cowled figure, spade in hand, digging in the dry grey dirt.

He spots another, and then notices the creature’s hands, stripped of their flesh, on the spade- Skeletons.

The cowled figure turns to stare at him, two glowing red eyes hidden deep within the creature’s hood.

A plant to his right uproots itself, shakes soil free, and then staggers towards him.

Dartamor looks up, into the glaring light above.

“KELP.”

He half screams-whispers.

“What did he say?” Up above, Grand Alf asks.
“Kelp?” Saradomin wonders.

And is greeted by silence, and confused faces.

“Kelp?” Aleso states.

More silence. More confused looks.

“Ohhhhh. I get it.”

Saradomin rocks gently- laughter. Grand Alf and Aleso look on further confused.

“Kelp- remember, at the start, you were fighting the rats, you were shouting up, we thought you said… Kelp, instead of- help.” Saradomin explains.

Grand Alf and Aleso exchange glances, continue to stare at the odd Priest. They don’t get the joke.

“Kelp, as in ‘help’- as in he’s in trouble.” Saradomin chuckles some more.

“Very funny”, he adds, “tres amusing.”

Confusion continues.

“Are you saying that Dartamor needs our help?” Aleso finally asks.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” Saradomin continues to hiccup with laughter.

Then Saradomin gets it.

“Oh- he’s in trouble.”

Grand Alf leaps over the side, grabs at a vine, and slides down it like some professional vine-slider, or something. He’s at the bottom in seconds, hoping up and down, blowing on his red-raw hands.

“Hot… Hot… Ow… Burny… Burny… Hot hands.”

No use to anyone.

Dartamor is cut and bruised, scratched and slashed- he’s not well. And his rapier doesn’t seem to be making much of an impact on his less-than-solid attackers.

He’s also being crowded by two Twig Blights, ferocious bundles of twigs- or so they seem to Dartamor, and two Skeleton gardeners swinging spades.

Grand Alf takes in the scene.

“BiffBangPow.”

A Magic Missiles thumps into a Skeleton’s skull, the creature turns to glare at him- heads over to investigate further.

Dartamor is hit again, barely on his feet, Grand Alf backs away.

And then the cavalry arrive, Saradomin, Aleso, and Jerky last.

“Bludgeoning weapons.” Jerky shouts.

But only Jerky and Saradomin have any of those.

Grand Alf and Dartamor receive simultaneous enlightenment; they both attempt to wrestle the spades away from their respective Skeleton opponents.

“Hands off emaciated fiend, that’s Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving you wield.”

Saradomin strides up to the Skeleton swinging at Dartamor.

WHUMP

Smashes the creatures skull.

WHISH

Aleso, by his side, scythes through one of the Twig Blights.

Dartamor grabs the Skeletons spade, turns to flatten the remaining Twig Blight.

SWISH

But too late, Aleso has his second victim.

Saradomin meanwhile shuffles over to help Grand Alf, who’s still locked in a tug-of-spade, sorry- Staff of Earth Moving, with his opponent.

CLUNK

Saradomin bats the creatures skull away- the final Skeleton concertinas and collapses.

Grand Alf wrenches the spade, from its dying grasp, and waves it high above his head.

“Can you dig it?”

WHUMP

Brings it down on the Skeletons already cracked, and now shattered, skull.

And at that moment Balsag the Hunter, a huge Bugbear, chooses to make his presence known.

“Gerr ready ta meet t' cuk pot..”

“It seems we’re just in time for tea.” Dartamor swiftly translates.

A pair of ferocious looking Dire Rats snap and bite at the nearly eight foot tall Bugbear’s feet.

Dartamor grins, crouches in a combat stance. 

Aleso holds his scimitar before him, “Pelor bless me”, he whispers.

Saradomin smacks the head of his mace into his palm- withdraws it, shakes it furiously, “Oww.”

Grand Alf smiles like fury- “What’re we having for tea?”

He skips from foot to foot. 

End of turn, end of the sessions we’ve played so far.

Next Turn- your guess is as good as mine the next game is not for ages.


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## monboesen (Sep 6, 2007)

I think I have forgotten to thank you for taking the effort of posting this story without the regional dialect, enabling me to actually read and comprehend it.

So, thank you vey much


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## Goonalan (Sep 15, 2007)

Thanks for that...

Bump

Next game not until 10th October, earliest- gaaaaaaaah.

Damn work and their evil machinations, makes you madder than Grand Alf.


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