# The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel



## Goonalan

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 wizards 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 backstory 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 interogation 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, scambling 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, 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. Daratamor 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.


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## Goonalan

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

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 Cleric.

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

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.
“Pelor 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.
“St. Cuthbert 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).


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## mcrow

Pretty good stuff.  

One suggestion: Please ID who is speaking in the dialogue more. I'm getting lost trying to keep track of who is talking.


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## Goonalan

Will do, although my initial thought was that it doesn't matter, except when it does and then I make it clear-ish. Point taken. Thanks for the feedback.

Happy hunting.


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## Goonalan

Changes made, thanks for reading, any more advice then don't hesitate...


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## Goonalan

*Aleso vs The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).*

The Lost Boys Vs The Sunless Citadel

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. Meepo should be read in a scouse accent- all Kobolds are Scousers, for those across the water (any water), Scousers are the inhabitants of Liverpool and talk a little squeaky-like, go here for a comedy example- 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7VspOs3Qt0&mode=related&search=

“Ellp me, leuv me onmetod, ow dat 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 thuz. You’re nowt but… skip it. Firkin about wasps… stingy. Don’t corky and chalk ed de grass. Where’s de 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 nowt worth repeat'n thuz. Anyroad, i’m Dartamor- oo ay yous?”

Meepo yelps- “Meepo.” Happy to oblige.

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

“Nice ter meet yous Meepo, I’m Dartamor, de tin can’s Aleso, ignore 'im- most o' de time we do, oh and stand behind 'im whun 'e’s fight'n, it’s like a thresh'n machine whun 'e gets go'n.”

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 thuz snow ed 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 de cage fe?”

“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 ed dun.” 
“Ave’ it.” 
“Yer lewkin’ 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 de sticks down lads, de tin can’s not fe fight'n.”

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.
“Leuv 'im, like. 'E’s not worth it. Dee tinnie ellp 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… Dem get Cornflakes… Dem duz… Get Cornflakes… Dem… Get im… Fe 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. “Dem dere… Get Cornflakes… Fe 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 kun it’s a cliché but- take me ter yer 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...ev=/images?q=cilla+black&gbv=2&svnum=10&hl=en

Tell me she’s not a Kobold Sorceress…

Scouse translator courtesy of- 

http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/main.asp

I lived in Anfield for a while, nice place, best thing about it… easy, the people.


----------



## Goonalan

*Ysdrayl, and the back story.*

Turn 2.105 ver 3. (not compatible with Windows XP- is anything?)

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.”
“Leuv 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.

“Dey Doo Doo Dat Don’t Dey Doh.”

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

“DEY DOO DO DAT.”

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 Hamfeld, 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.

“Ave 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.”
“Leuv 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.”
“Ave 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.”


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 2.9 actually the last part of the 2nd session.

“Grand Alf Magic Fire Burper.”​
A scruffy room beyond the door, Meepo skitters in, pointing onwards.

“Dat 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, “Ratto gud eat’em. 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.

“Skelington 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 EcK.”

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.”


----------



## Goonalan

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.


----------



## Dawn

Neat story.  Always nice to see new people being introduced to gaming.  

Sounds like they are really enjoying it.


----------



## Goonalan

Thanks for the feedback.

Their first dungeon delve is going great so far- no casualties, oh wait I forgot- the parties best fighter dies some time very soon, so read on.

Generally as a DM I try to keep the story going, make sure the good guys get the breaks, when they deserve them, but... have you noticed how often the dice seem to be on the side of newbies.

Later on the group get into their first big battle, I've not written it up yet but, they get a break- get up close to the big baddie and the dice take over. 

Their unadjusted attack rolls were-

Dartamor "18"
Aleso "18"
Grand Alf "20"
Saradomin "20"

One round- four criticals, Game over for the bad guy.

So, yeah, they're doing ok.

Apart from the death that is.

Thanks again.

Cheers Paul


----------



## Goonalan

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.”
“Tek that.”
“Buggroff.”
“Cum an av a gow if ya think ya ard enuff.”
“Ave im.”

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.

“BLUDDY 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.

“POOT IT ‘ART”

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.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

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.


----------



## Corran

This is some of the funniest D&D stuff I've ever read!!!

Please keep it coming, I'm rolling on the floor every few sentences. ;-)


----------



## Goonalan

Hope this turn meets your expectations- funny, you find this funny, I'll have you know this is deadly serious, peoples lives are at stake. One more word out of you and I'll send Grand Alf round. 

Here goes...

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.”


----------



## Goonalan

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 cum ‘ed. Me cum ‘ed.”

It seems Meepo’s missing home too.

“Tek dem ome.”

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 ere wid paladin, gard ‘im well- smash bugger wot ‘it ‘im.”

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-ryt. All-ryt.” 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.

“Yous 'uv retned victorious? Cornflakes?”

Dartamor speaks up.

“Nah. Not yet. But deez ay an offering- a sign o' sound as a pound 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.

“Yous may select two prizes fe yo… 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.

“Ternight Dartamor yous tinnie chose from a selection o' sound artefacts- there’s this magic feather wi' a squiggle ed, if that’s wa' tickles yer fancy... BUM BUM.”

The Kobold guards feign laughter. Isdrayl goes on.

“A scroll wid strange squiggly writ'n ed...”

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

“Anuvver scroll wid more strange squiggly writ'n ed.”

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

“A flask o' magic elixir which may tirn yous into an invulnerable 'ero, er it could make yer barnet glow in de dark…”

She displays the flask, no applause.

“And anuvver bit o' chuffin linun, sorry 'bout dat scroll, wid squiggly writin’ ed...”

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

“Yous may chewse two items as yer reward, one fe de retn o' me bruv warriors, and one fe me custy necklace...”

Silence descends. Kobolds turn to stare at Dartamor.

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

“De key...”

Isdrayl remains calm.

“De key is not ed offer, yous need ter rescue mighty Cornflakes ter get de key. Chewse again .”

The crowd fidget.

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

“Or'rite tell me whuz de god-forbids 'uv gone- de uvver advent'n ruv?”
“Ay don’t think you’ve beun listening- dat 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 de 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 yous like?”
“Yous 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- de goblins 'ad 'im prisoner wi' yer warriors.” 
“Ahhh.” She turns to the crowd.
“AHHHH.” They join in.
“Leuv 'im wi' us, we’ll find somewhuz warm and comfy fe 'im.” Isdrayl licks her lips.

Dartamor suddenly doesn’t look so sure.

“Perhaps ay should take 'im back, y’know, see de priest… see if 'e…” 
“No, 'e’ll be Peti e'yer, 'e tinnie stay fe scran.” 
Isdrayl scans the crowd which in an instant grows spears- closes in a little.

“And whun yous br'n Cornflakes yous tinnie 'uv 'im back… and yer precious key.” 

Dartamor scans the salivating Kobold faces.

“You’re not gonna…”
“What?” Isdrayl demurely murmurs.
“Y’know… <GULP> You’re not gonna eat ‘im.”
Isdrayl looks shocked. “Nah. Nah. No… Besides thuz wouldn’t be E-blewdy-nuff fe everybody.”

Silence reigns.

“The Dragon. Cornflakes, br'n 'im ter us.”

Isdrayl steps back then punts Meepo towards Dartamor.

“And take this one wi' yous.”

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 ses tha’s not me wyffe, tha’s a bluddy cow wid a leprykorn stook upits bhakkpassuge.”

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.

“Ger’UM.”

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.”


----------



## Corran

Can't wait. ;-)


----------



## Richard Rawen

Lots of fun, will enjoy seeing this along. Keep the link in your Sig so others have a chance to enjoy the laughs - I mean Serious Adventuring.


----------



## Goonalan

Keep the link in your Sig so others have a chance to enjoy the laughs - I mean Serious Adventuring.

Don't know how to do this- actually I don't know what you're even talking about, if you have the time please explain. Sorry I'm a computer, what's the word... idiot- ah that's it.

Thanks Paul


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Keep the link in your Sig so others have a chance to enjoy the laughs - I mean Serious Adventuring.
> 
> Don't know how to do this- actually I don't know what you're even talking about, if you have the time please explain. Sorry I'm a computer, what's the word... idiot- ah that's it.
> 
> Thanks Paul




BAH!  In-Experienced Yes, but after reading your work you are FAR from an idiot 

Ok, I'm a bit of a newb, but I'll try to walk you through it.
First you need the Linkage, so go to your storyhour and copy the address from the window up top. Next look right below the banner ad for the line of text that includes: Site Menu  	Download Shop  	Support the Site!  	My Account ... you want My Account - click on the link which gives you a drop-down menu.  Half way down is a My User Control Panel line and the first option after that is: Edit My Signature  Click on that.  Now, in the box that comes up, figure out what clever line you want to say, such as:
Check out my D&D story hour, my readers say it's hilarious!
now, to make this a LINK, you simply put 
[ url=http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=3638707#post3638707]The Lost Boys in the Sunless Citadel[/url] 
Whatever you put in between the URL's is what will show up as a link. By the way, the http I used is your story hour if you just want to copy that line. Also I had to put an extra space after the first [ or it would have just shown you the link and you wouldn't see how it works 
From then on your sig will show up on your posts ... (maybe only your first post, depending on how the reader has his settings).


----------



## Goonalan

Done that, I've no idea what I'm doing though, or whether it has worked- how will I know, I put this in the Sig Edit Box-

Check out my storyhour- The Lost Boys vs. The Sunless Citadel, four newbie adventurers thump, sneak, smite and spell their way through the classic D&D 3rd Edition module. They are-

Aleso, the monstrously moustachioed Paladin of Pelor.

Dartamor, the smart-as-a-whip Rogue.

Saradomin, the steady-as-she-goes Priest of St. Cuthbert.

And...

Grand Alf, the Sorcerer- who's just plain mad.

Go here...

[ url=http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=3638707#post3638707]The Lost Boys in the Sunless Citadel[/url]

Then press Save Signature, and get-

New Subscribed Threads: (0)  
There are no subscribed threads to display in this folder for this time period. 

Which I am equally confused about, is that good? Right? When I said I was a computer idiot I wasn't lying, technology baffles me, I've not even got a cell phone. I'm with the Luddites, and yet I love this box of lights that brings so much good stuff to me...

Err, as St. Cuthbert say, or Pelor, I forget which- "Help... When you need somebody, help."


----------



## Goonalan

And yet... is that it- has it worked?


----------



## Richard Rawen

Take this:

[ url=http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=3638707#post3638707]The Lost Boys in the Sunless Citadel[/url]

and take out the space after the [

like this : [url

That will fix it

Oh, and you might want to parse it down a bit, it's somewhat long, say take out the blank lines between the characters or put them one after another... whatever you want, but it should be a bit shorter.  *shrug*
Or, you can always do an sblock 
like this:
(I'm leaving the first [ off in the explanation, then putting it on in the example below it.
sblock=example]This is an example of an SBLOCK - or blocked off text[/sblock]
[sblock=example]This is an example of an SBLOCK - or blocked off text[/sblock]


Also, you might use the Preview Changes button, so you can tell if it is right before posting.
To avoid losing your work (Say the site glitches or something) Press and hold the CTRL key, then hit the "A" key.  This will highlight the whole post.  Then CTRL-C to copy the text.  This will copy your post to the clipboard just in case the website crashes or hangs up.  Then, when the site is back up, you can hold the CTRL key and press "V" to paste the contents of the clipboard to the page so you don't have to retype.  This is especially useful if you have made a Large post and might not remember some of it!  I use this everytime I post, just in case.  You get good at the CTRL-A, CTRL-C habit before Preview Changes... 
I hope this makes sense and is helpful.


----------



## Goonalan

Thanks for that Richard, think I've got it sorted now.

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 o’ 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 ‘ed.” Dartamor murmurs.
“Come ‘ed Cornflakes. We arl arse yous nah 'arm, we don’t wanna rag you- juss ter take yous back ter de laughin kobolds, ter Meepo. Whuz yous tinnie 'uv jelly and biscuits and… worever it is yous eat- rats, batties o' sound, mmmm, rats.”

Cornflakes thinks about it.

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 ses tha’s not me wyffe, tha’s a bluddy 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.


----------



## Firedancer

A merry little read!
The gang sound like they're having a laugh which is cool.
"Magic Smash" - I love it!


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Thanks for that Richard, think I've got it sorted now.



Glad to help!
---


			
				Goonalan said:
			
		

> “Elf Pudding?”
> 
> Dartamor translates.
> 
> “Pudding, for Elves.” He decides.



Laughed out loud... such Infallible Logic!
----


			
				Goonalan said:
			
		

> 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.



I loved watching this happen in my mind... 
-----


			
				Goonalan said:
			
		

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



Isn't that just the sh*ts? I've had players roll three consecutive 20's, take out the big bad evil guy in one swing (with obscene critical hit table rolls), and then look at me like, well, what else've ya got?
------


			
				Goonalan said:
			
		

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



I very much look forward to it! I'm copying your SH to my friends via email - soon the Lost Boys will be in homes all over the world, spreading through the insidious network of the "forward".


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> I very much look forward to it! I'm copying your SH to my friends via email - soon the Lost Boys will be in homes all over the world, spreading through the insidious network of the "forward".




I'd have thought it'd be far easier to just send them a link to the thread, thus giving them the opportunity to poke about and see if anything else strikes thier funny bone, or maybe just make witty comments like the rest of us do.  Perhaps a group mail saying 'Oh, new update' now 'n again should it be needed.


*Goonalan*

I have to ask, how much of the dialog is actual 'round-the-table' player chatter, vs some DM/Author 'interpretation of actions'?

I hope you intend to send the Lost Boys through the Forge of Fury, I definately enjoyed that module even more than I liked Sunless Citadel.

Definately one of the best and funniest Story Hours out there, at least partly due to the 'brit-ness' of the phrasing.  I don't claim to understand all the idiom, but that part of the fun, figuring it out or filling it in via imagination.

PS:  Directly under this (below the line) is my "Sig"(nature).  Those go at the bottom of _every_ post I make, and I'd be willing to try and walk you through setting one up with a linky to this thread.


----------



## Goonalan

Hatchling Dragon-

I have to ask, how much of the dialog is actual 'round-the-table' player chatter, vs some DM/Author 'interpretation of actions'?

I fill in the gaps, and go upmarket with the language when needed, the best bit is these guys have no idea what their characters are capable of- hence Alex playing the Paladin doesn't want to get him scratched at times, while James playing Grand Alf wants to get dirty all the time, although I've had to (in-game) try and filter out some of the craziness. Saradomin, played by Pat is sensible, into everything but fond of letting others take the lead; whereas Jake, who plays Dartamor, is a one-man-band with a steady stream of what to do next.

As to the play, everything is more-or-less as it happened.

The problem is we only get to play every so often, probably once a month, or every three weeks or so. The next game is not for another week or more so I'm filling in the gaps a little- there's only been three sessions so far, I just break them down into snippets and write them up when I get a chance.

As for the brit-ness, can't be helped, I know no other way- glad you're sticking with it though, and thanks for the plaudits.

I have got two other games going, or rather, my brother and his wife Jules just popped down and completed Dungeon Crawl Classics #1 Idylls of the Rat King, with some strange characters I conjured at a moment’s notice- I may write that up. I'll not say too much in case I do get round to writing it, just that the characters are called Auntie Edie and The Professor.

Also there's another game which I'm definitely going to write up, six characters, funny-ish (I hope), they're all 0th level and the players each have twenty plus years gaming experience (except one, another newbie). Hopefully this one will take off, get played more often, and make it easier for me; some of them are already typecast and eminently quotable.

As to the Forge of Fury, I love it- it'd be excellent but my first job is hook these critters in with The Sunless Citadel, the object is to get to the end and print it up for James, Alec, Jake & Pat- spiral bound, that kind of thing, a memento of their first adventure. Fingers-crossed some time in the future they'll want some more.

Thanks again, I'll post this and see if the Sig thing works, I really am a computer idiot, I love this box of lights but can I remember how to make it do stuff- can I heck.

Oh and some of the dialogue, the accented stuff- Kobolds and Goblins, so far, is done through an on-line translator. Kobolds are scousers (sons and daughters of Liverpool), while the Goblins are from Yorkshire.

http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/main.asp

Courtesy of the above site.

Again, thanks.

Paul


----------



## Goonalan

Nope didn't work with the Sig, although when I did the preview post it was all there- any advice?

Paul


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Well they've changed things around a bit, but it shouldn't be too hard to get your Sig set up.  I'll try to do this step-by-step and put the links and such in *bold* type to make it easier to tell what I'm talking about.

First you have to be logged in, it should say *Welcome, Goonalan* in the upper right.

Now go to your thread, just the standard link in the Story Hour Forums.  Now Left Click once in the "Address" bar, the box where you normaly type in a site name you want to go to, this _should_ make the entire line of text turn to the blue background and white text.  If not just left-click at one end of the long address and, HOLDING the left mouse, drag it to the ight until you're at the right end, then release the left button and it should be white on blue.  Once that's done you right-click and choose the *Copy* option.

Now look at the top and click on *My Account*

A bit over half-way down you should see *Edit my Signature*, click this

In here you want to see Guided Mode selected, it should be that way by default or you can click in the white circle to the immediate left of it. Next click in the big text box below that.  This is where it gets fun, and the system will hold your hand through it all.

Whatever I have in _Italics_ just type in verbatim (including spaces), and text in this color is a button/icon/linky to click, typicaly followed by more _italics_ text to type in.  To see what an icon does, just put the mouse over it and a tool-tip (small text box) will appear telling you the name of that function.

_Follow the antics of my newest young Adventurers in_ Insert Hyperlink (looks like a blue ball/globe with 8 lying on it's side).  The Cursor should be in position in a box that's popped up, type _The Lost Boys_, then hit *Enter*.  Now, in the next box just right-click next to the cursor and choose *Paste*, then hit *Enter* again.

At the bottom you just click on *Save Signature* and you're done.  Post a reply and see if it works!


----------



## Goonalan

Here goes, fingers crossed.


----------



## Goonalan

Nope, did everything you said- on the preview Sig it had the text and the URL address type thing- still nothing.

I've just previewed this post before submitting it and it looks like this-

Preview  
Nope, did everything you said- on the preview Sig it had the text and the URL address type thing- still nothing. 
__________________
Follow the antics of my newest young Adventurers in The Lost Boys 

And yet...


----------



## Richard Rawen

Any chance you have Sigs disabled in your options?

Up at the top, click the drop down menu for "My Account"

Choose "My User Control Panel"

Choose "Edit Options" from the menu on the left side...

Under the third block, titled "Thread Display Options"
There's an option for "Show Signatures"

It's a bit of a stretch, however, as it is default to checked (as it should be)
But, if it is unchecked, then check it and maybe that will help????

Grasping at straws here... perhaps we can poke an Admin and see what's what.


----------



## Goonalan

Just checked, it's checked- if you see what I mean.

It's a bugger isn't it- bloody computers.


----------



## Goonalan

I think you've cracked it- sorta, it was-

These additional post elements can be turned on or off by selecting them (These settings won't be processed by the server until after the next forum upgrade - they're being installed now for functionality testing) 
Don't Show Thread Previews  
Don't show Post Icons  
Don't Show New Threads in Bold  
Don't Show Subscribed Threads in Italics  
Show User Signatures More Than Once per Page  
Show Display Options on Top   

Second one up, Show User Signatures More Than Once per Page - bloody marvelous. I feel I've learnt something.

Thanks all- top work, maybe now I can get back to writing.

Thanks Richard, thanks Hatchling (hope you don't mind me using your first name).


----------



## Goonalan

Thanks all what with Sig thing fixed I feel the need to carry on...

Turn 3.5

Warning dear reader the epistle below has a high broad Yorkshire accent content, for those uninitiated in the mysteries of the Yorkshire dialect then the following may help you along the road.

Warnin eh up reada t' epistle bela 'as eur 'igh broad Yorksha accent content, for those uninitiated int' mysteries o' t' Yorksha accen'tli' then t' followin may 'elp theur along t' ruwad.

This is of course because a vast majority of the Goblinoid races come from Yorkshire- you were all thinking it, I’ve just gone that extra mile and said it.

Dis is o' course 'cos eur vast majority o' t' Goblinoid races belong Yorkshire- theur wor orl thinkin it, I’ve just gone 'a' extreur mile 'n sez it.

Bloody hell- stop that.

Bloody 'ell- gi'o'a 'a'.

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 stretches 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 suddenly snaps them open again- stares hard at her master, she has her answer.

“You’ve bin eyting…”

Durnn leans forward.

 “Thy favourite- 'uman.”

‘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, 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.

“Lut, ah av dire news.”

Durnn looks up, notices Ringpull.

“Speyt.”

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

“T' Dragon… it’s bin teken.”

“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 wor teken, adventurers- 'eear int' Citadel, thee tuk t' Dragon- 'eaded off, teur t' Kobahds- 'Amfield… ah think.”

“’A?”

“Thee killed many… menny, many… a alsooarts.”

“'N 'a did theur cum ta kna dis?”

“Ah saw 'em, ah wor 'iding- thee nivva saw uz. 'onest. even t' Elf.”

‘AR ‘AR

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

“'A menny?”

“Er… fowa, neya five- thee 'ed eur Kobowd wi' 'em.”

“Wha' did thee skeg li'?”

“Elf wor warrior, ah think, or sneyty, don’t kna which, t' leader- 'e issued orders. 'E 'ed t' dragon on 'is 'ead- it liked 'im. Tincan- warrior, gormless lookin, summa' unda nose, not 'air- li' slug. Anotha tincan, scruffy looking- could be priest, dunnoa why, think. Last, tall wi' pointy noggin, wooar eur frock wi' star 'n moon on, could be lady, neya 'andbag though.”

“'Un Elf- t' others?”

“'Uman- orl o' others. 'Uman.”

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

“Truth?”

“'Onest. 'Onest. Swear by Maglab… Magliy… Maglayby… Grenl, swear on priestess. ‘Onest.”

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

“Gerr t' others, we nip on …”

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.

“WHOA FARTED?”

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

“WHOA-‘AS-FARTED?”

Ringpull gulps.

“Theur av Lut?”

‘AR ‘AR

“Gerr others, nip on. Tahhm ea', favourite- 'Uman. We kill Kobahds tooa, for once 'n for orl. Evatown smash 'Amfield.” Durnn announces.

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

“Lut?”
“'Umans, twoa fert Ahtcast, 'un for me- sem as afowa.”
“'N t' Elf?”

Durnn grins.

“Puddin.”

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.

“Cum, we nip on.”

And at a run.

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

“TEEUR TAHM. TEEUR TAHM. TEEUR TAHM.”

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.

Whereva we gew. 
We fear neya 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 upto date- anything could happen, pray for TPK.


----------



## Goonalan

Just to say I've started another story hour entitled- 

Legends are made, BUUUURP not born. FART. Bugger.

It's about, well, this is wot I wrote-

Here follows another story hour, my main game- you can catch the party of newbies I DM at The Lost Boys Vs. The Sunless Citadel however, go on, you might like it. Unlike that game the players here are much more mature, at least in years and experience. Therefore the language and topics in places may, or may not, get a little fruity. I have, however, at all times, done my best to make sure it is suitable for almost every ear.

And begins with-

Dungeon Crawl Classics #0 Legends are Made, not Born
An Adventure for 0 Level Characters

You may want to check it out, of course you may not- smile, you're nearly there.

And goodnight.


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Am I off my noddle, I thought you said that someone died, and that it would be coming up in the Story Hour.  Now you've said you're caught up, yet nobody's died.  It's a Paradox!


----------



## carborundum

Maybe it just SMELT like somebody had died in there?


----------



## Goonalan

Am I off my noddle, I thought you said that someone died, and that it would be coming up in the Story Hour. Now you've said you're caught up, yet nobody's died. It's a Paradox!

I actually said-

Their first dungeon delve is going great so far- no casualties, oh wait I forgot- the parties best fighter dies some time very soon, so read on.

And I didn't lie, what you don't see when I write these things up are some of the missed roles, so in the big fight, four Goblins vs. Aleso the Paladin we were actually there for ten minutes or so. Aleso's To Hit rolls were something like- 4, 12, 10, 9, 6, 8, 12 and so on, obviously I only write up the good bits.

And Aleso's the best fighter they have, left alive.

They're best fighter was...

Bonesy, Grand Alf's Skellie, in his short undeath he never missed once. Now when you're sat round a table, rolling the dice, that's fairly obvious, particularly when the others can't hit a barn door from two paces, perhaps not so obvious from the story hour, my bad, he was sadly mourned however, James (aged 10 remember) was really not happy when he died.

I thought it might keep a few people reading too.

Thanks, as always.


----------



## Corran

Loved it as usual. 

The Barmy Army joke was fun. Now I'm trying to think which monsters make good Brummies, Mancunians and what have you. ;-)


----------



## Goonalan

The Barmy Army joke was fun. Now I'm trying to think which monsters make good Brummies, Mancunians and what have you. ;-)

Orcs are Geordies, that much is certain. Gnolls are Brummies? I was playing a Derro (GMing) the other day- he was Welsh (look you), that worked, he apeared far more mysterious (& mad) in Welsh. Imagine Giants, Trolls and Ogres as cockneys- that might just work.

Anyway thanks again Corran, next session with the Lost Boys (GMing) is tomorrow night, so should have some new stuff by the weekend, or so.

Cheers.


----------



## carborundum

LOL - Trolls and Ogres as cockneys. All they ever say is what they intend to ruture, smash, pulp or eat. I'll have to dig up a lot of the more 'obscure' rhyming slang - bash, skull, giblets, spleen...

"Would you adam 'n' eve it, oi've only gorn an' pebble-dashed 'is boat-race."


----------



## Richard Rawen

You guys are losing me with the slang - erm, vernacular, however, it's still a fun read, looking forward to more Epic Newbieness


----------



## Goonalan

Played this one earlier this evening, they're certainly unencumbered by such foolish concepts as logic, or in fact the rules of the game.

Look forward to an impromptu singing lesson, a hostage drama, a sudden tree, and all out war being declared. Keep your eye on Grand Alf and Dartamor again; they come up trumps, ahem, as it were.

Oh and there's one round when I go round the table asking for saving throws and the dice come up- "20", "19", "20", and "20". Then I get to roll for the NPC of the party, Meepo- "20", it was the only one I rolled all night. And they roll them on the table in front of me- no cheating. And... They’re my bloody dice.

Update by Saturday.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Oh and there's one round when I go round the table asking for saving throws and the dice come up- "20", "19", "20", and "20". Then I get to roll for the NPC of the party, Meepo- "20", it was the only one I rolled all night. And they roll them on the table in front of me- no cheating. And... They’re my bloody dice.
> 
> Update by Saturday.




Yes, yes, this is sometimes the way of things, last session one of the PC's got into a Fair-Time exhibition brawling - no weapons. Against a series of... 
well, I'll sblock it so as to not hijack your SH, I tend to rant on if left to my own lol  
been enjoying the action so far, will see ya Monday for more fun!
[sblock=DM's lament]Anyways, Against a series of gradually tougher opponents he did fair, taking some tough shots but holding his own and giving better.  Then round four comes along. His opponent seems to "magically" recover... so the party springs into action, providing their own magical support, bolstering their champion (a Half-Orc fighter with Int 13, Wis 13 yet Cha 5 and Com 4). After a Very Tough round four the local champion strides cockily up, revealing a body corded with muscles, he lithely steps into the ring... and proceeds to _buff himself_. Obvious things like barkskin and bulls strength . . . the party casters also observe cats grace, bears endurance and ... fox's cunning?!  He then quaffs two potions, swells in size still further, seeming to be about to burst with violence... and walks to the center of the ring, hand extended like a gent!
Now, up to then, not one competitor had bothered with such niceties.  It had been 'Roll Initiative!'
SO, Akinos, the PC, walks forward, somewhat dazedly moving to shake hands.

The brawny human drops into a forward roll, tumbling under the reach of the half-orc, and I ask the player to roll initiative.  Now the NPC has Imp Init, magical boots which give a +5 to tumble and +2 to Init, and he's buffed to the point where he's looking at +11 to hit!  Not only that, his AC is up to 18 unarmored with tumble!
Akinos beats the Init... by one, with a 20.
He chooses to grapple, and rolls a 20.

He chooses to use a feat of Strength, and rolling against his augmented STR of 22, he rolls a 1.
My super-villian smoothly rolls a 13 against his augmented STR of 20, then blows his escape artist roll... and then he is flying.
Akinos pivots on his hip, catching the guy by the shoulder and thigh, and throws the guy out of the ring, rolling a... no, not a 20, a mere 19, on his attack roll.
Dropping the local champ in the local mud hole.
End round one, fight over.
*grumble*
Just goes to show you, the best laid plans of DM's . . . [/sblock]


----------



## Goonalan

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.

“Berd and gentle-kobolds. Ay, Meepo, dat 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 bruv, so suuv, so sophisticated, so 'andsome, 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.

“Yous 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.

“De Goblins ay com'n, de Goblins ay com'n.”
“I’m tew young ter die.”
“Run ter de 'ills.”
“Avyer seun me cummerbund, ay feel undressed without it.”
“MEEPO YOU BLT.”
“Think o' de god-forbids.”
“Run, run fe yer 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, tincan. 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.” Aleso nods and hands the flask over.

Then 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).


----------



## Goonalan

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.

“Ah think I’ll av eur lie daahn.” 
“Just fo'ty winks.” 
“Just close uz een.” 
“Gunight.”
“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 dem.” Dartamor shouts.

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

“Into dem.” 
“Huv it.” 
“Calm down.” 
“We ay de 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.

“Uz foot.” 
“Bloody 'ell, that’s not jannock, thea cheyting.”

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

“Freddie’s attack dem.”

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. Ellp. 'Ide me tincan.”

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 'em. Kill 'em orl. Kill 'em naw.” 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.

“'Obgoblin warriors smash t' puny 'umans - 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 o’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 fert 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.

“Finn' t' 'Alflings. Finn' t' 'Alflings.” Durnn screams, then, “Soz. Flashback.”

Next Turn: “One, Two…”


----------



## Richard Rawen

Oy, that's a lot of crap to handle, and either a nice cliffhanger before a glorious battle back to victory or a pause before the reading of the eulogy.

I'll look forward to finding out!


----------



## carborundum

Good grief, Penfold!


----------



## Goonalan

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 warcry.

“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 zig-zag 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.

“Theur think dis is o'a? It’s onny just begun. T' Ahtcast is waitin for theur .”

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 waitin for you… bela.”

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 blind bit late”, Dartamor states.
“Juss in time.” Meepo counters.

Next turn: To Koboldly go…


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 4.4

To Koboldly go…​
“Ave it.”
“Leuv 'im 'e’s not worth it.”
“Ferry cross de mersey.”
“We only s'n whun we’re win'n.”
“Come ‘ed.”

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.

“De Goblins ay 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, sistis, ma's, fathers - KOBOLDS.”

The crowd goes wild, apart from the pocket of adventurers.

“Terdee wi' us nicked found friends, and royal body guards- subject ter contract negotiations, de Scousers 'uv, once and fe all, laid waste ter de scumbags from Evertown.”

Kobolds cheer, chuckle and wipe tears from their eyes.

“Tergether, as one, we 'uv stewd side-by-side wi' deez bruv souls dat 'uv come unto us seek'n mercy, forgiveness and restitution fe their previous sins. And we, de bruv kobold-nation, 'uv moulded deez stout yeomun into an elite fight'n force worthy o' 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, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Meepo de 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, oo from this dee ed will be known as Grand Alf de 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-

“Eez big, eez mad, ‘e dances like yuz dad,
Grand Allllllllllllf, Grand Allllllllllllf.”

Then fall silent again.

“Aleso, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Aleso de 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, 
Oo needs a Vorpal Sword whun yous got Al-es-oooooo.”

Then silence.

“Saradomin, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Saradomin de Uvver 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,
Eez got nah song 'cos 'is names tew long,
Tin-Can-ShOwTee-Sa-ra-do-min."

“And finally”, Isdrayl winks and smiles, salutes for all she’s worth, “Dartamor, Oo from this dee forth will be known as Dartamor… King o' de Kobolds.”

She twinkles, gives Dartamor the glad-eye, and licks her lips.

Dartamor does nothing- stunned.

“I… dat is, I’m dead flattied….” He mumbles.

“She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
Oh Dartamor she loves yous.”

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.

“Suck berd.”

Isdrayl stops where she is, turns, tries to hide her wrinkled visage behind a dirty rag, flutters her eye lashes.

“Suck berd, we cannot remain, we must press ed, de Goblin Chieftain escaped us wrath- 'e 'as gone below. We must grasp us chance… Oh but if ay could stay, ay could juss be wi' yous a little longer. But alas we ay not yet Peti. There’s barely time fe us ter claim us reward… and then… and dun, we must… ed, er off, get off- gone.”

Isdrayl rushes forward, snivelling, and into Dartamor’s arms- he fights off the gagging sensation.

“Must you… Bruv King Dartamor.”

She attempts to cop a feel, it’s like wrestling an Octopuss.

“Alas we must, danger remains, and de Scouser’s fute is not yet sece. We must straightener ed, suck berd.”

Isdrayl clings to Dartamor.

“Mi bruv King.”

Dartamor holds Isdrayl tight, looks up and spots his prize- the Dragon key.

“Me Queen, de key, not only will we destroy, once and fe all, de Goblin menace, but we will also br'n tribute… De key. De Dragon key… and anyth'n else yous 'uv ter graft.”

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 treases fe yer nicked Lord, from oft de 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 de key dun me love, and kun this fe ay remember yer cause, before us paths met, intitwined. De group o' adventis yous seek wuz victims o' de Goblins tew, Durnn, de chieftain, 'ad 'is fun wi' dem and dun dee wuz takun ter below… tew… ter de Outcast.”

The collected Kobolds hiss their disapproval.

“De Outcast is all shouty like yous tin cans, and magic like Grand Alf, and sneaky like yous, me love. Beware 'e 'ath a mighty create dat serveth 'im. it 'ops in place o' walkin’, it 'ath a big sticky terngue dat probe and stickle, and… it goeth ‘CROWK’ afore 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 me Queen we must depart.”

And bundling the others together, including Meepo, they do depart.

“One neck ter seal us union.”

Isdrayl closes her eyes and puckers up.

Eventually opens her eyes, they’re very gone.

“Retn quick sticks me King.”

A grinning guard starts up.

“Isdrayl and Dartamor sitt'n inna tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” 

SLAP

Isdrayl flees the scene leaving the guard very red-faced.

Next Turn: Goblinville


----------



## Richard Rawen

I'd be lying if I didn't say it was darned hard to make much of half the dialog 
Seemed fun, what I got of it though.

I look forward to more...


----------



## Goonalan

Perhaps I should provide a translation for each section- it's not a problem to do so, for example-

To Koboldly go…​
“Ave it.”
[Have it.]
“Leuv 'im 'e’s not worth it.”
[Leave him he's not worth it.]
“Ferry cross de mersey.”
[Ferry across the Mersey]
“We only s'n whun we’re win'n.”
[We only sing when we're winning.]
“Come ‘ed.”
[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.

“De Goblins ay dead - woah. Woah.”
[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, sistis, ma's, fathers - KOBOLDS.”
[Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers - KOBOLDS.]

The crowd goes wild, apart from the pocket of adventurers.

“Terdee wi' us nicked found friends, and royal body guards- subject ter contract negotiations, de Scousers 'uv, once and fe all, laid waste ter de scumbags from Evertown.”
[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 Evertown.]

Kobolds cheer, chuckle and wipe tears from their eyes.

“Tergether, as one, we 'uv stewd side-by-side wi' deez bruv souls dat 'uv come unto us seek'n mercy, forgiveness and restitution fe their previous sins. And we, de bruv kobold-nation, 'uv moulded deez stout yeomun into an elite fight'n force worthy o' exalted status within us ranks.”
[Together, as one, we have stood side-by-side with these friendly souls that have come unto us seeking mercy, forgiveness and restitution for their previous sins. And we, the friendly Kobold-nation, have moulded these stout yeoman into an elite fighting force worthy of exalted status within our 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, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Meepo de Dragon Lord. ”
[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, oo from this dee ed will be known as Grand Alf de Once Lucid.”
[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-

“Eez big, eez mad, ‘e dances like yuz dad,
Grand Allllllllllllf, Grand Allllllllllllf.”
[He's big, he's mad, he dances like your dad,
Grand Allllllllllllf, Grand Allllllllllllf.]

Then fall silent again.

“Aleso, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Aleso de Tin Can Shouter.” 
[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, 
Oo needs a Vorpal Sword whun yous got Al-es-oooooo.”
[Who needs a Vorpal Sword when you've got Al-es-oooooo.]

Then silence.

“Saradomin, Oo from this dee ed will be known as Saradomin de Uvver Shouty Tin Can.”
[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,
Eez got nah song 'cos 'is names tew long,
[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, Oo from this dee forth will be known as Dartamor… King o' de Kobolds.”
[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… dat is, I’m dead flattied….” He mumbles.
[I... that is, I'm dead flattered...]

“She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
She loves yous Dartamor, she do.
Oh Dartamor she loves yous.”

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.

“Suck berd.”
[Sweet lady.]

Isdrayl stops where she is, turns, tries to hide her wrinkled visage behind a dirty rag, flutters her eye lashes.

“Suck berd, we cannot remain, we must press ed, de Goblin Chieftain escaped us wrath- 'e 'as gone below. We must grasp us chance… Oh but if ay could stay, ay could juss be wi' yous a little longer. But alas we ay not yet Peti. There’s barely time fe us ter claim us reward… and then… and dun, we must… ed, er off, get off- gone.”
[Sweet lady, we cannot remain, we must press on, the Goblin Chieftain escaped our wrath- he has gone below. We must take our chance... Oh but if I could stay, I could just be with you a little longer. Bur 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… Bruv King Dartamor.”

She attempts to cop a feel, it’s like wrestling an Octopuss.

“Alas we must, danger remains, and de Scouser’s fute is not yet sece. We must straightener ed, suck berd.”
[Alas we must, danger remains, and the Scousers future is not yet secure. We must go straightaway, sweet lady.]

Isdrayl clings to Dartamor.

“Mi bruv King.”

Dartamor holds Isdrayl tight, looks up and spots his prize- the Dragon key.

“Me Queen, de key, not only will we destroy, once and fe all, de Goblin menace, but we will also br'n tribute… De key. De Dragon key… and anyth'n else yous 'uv ter graft.”
[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 treases fe yer nicked Lord, from oft de altar.”
[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 de key dun me love, and kun this fe ay remember yer cause, before us paths met, intitwined. De group o' adventis yous seek wuz victims o' de Goblins tew, Durnn, de chieftain, 'ad 'is fun wi' dem and dun dee wuz takun ter below… tew… ter de Outcast.”
[Take the key then my love, and know this for I remember your cause, before our paths met, entwined. 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.

“De Outcast is all shouty like yous tin cans, and magic like Grand Alf, and sneaky like yous, me love. Beware 'e 'ath a mighty create dat serveth 'im. it 'ops in place o' walkin’, it 'ath a big sticky terngue dat probe and stickle, and… it goeth ‘CROWK’ afore battle, it is a mighty fearsome.”
[The Outcast is all shouty like your tin cans, and magic like Grand Alf, and sneaky like you, my love. Beware he has a mighty creature that serves him. It hops in place of walking, it has a big sticky tongue that probes and sticks, 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 me Queen we must depart.”

And bundling the others together, including Meepo, they do depart.

“One neck ter seal us union.”
[One kiss to seal our union.]

Isdrayl closes her eyes and puckers up.

Eventually opens her eyes, they’re very gone.

“Retn quick sticks me King.”
[Return quickly my King.]

A grinning guard starts up.

“Isdrayl and Dartamor sitt'n inna tree,
[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

But that might slow it dow, the alternative is I stop with accents. The thing is in the UK, probably the same as in the US, lots of counties/regions have developed there own words, or at least understanding of words, which in extremis, and particularly written down- are comic. 

I know you should never stop to explain your jokes but I want to get it right, I appreciate that this forum is mainly populated by americans so any suggestions you have...

Which translates in Kobold (Scouse) to-

Ay kun yous should na stop ter explain yer jokes but wanna get it rite, ay appreciate dat this forum is mainly populated by Yanks so any suggestions yous 'uv...  

Or in Goblin (Yorkie) to-

Ah kna theur should nivva gi'o'a ta expleeam thy jokes bur ah want ta gerr it reet, ah appreciate 'a' dis forum is mainly populated by Americans sa enny suggestions theur av...    

What's it to be... anybody.

Thanks again Richard.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> “Ave it.”
> [Have it.]
> “Leuv 'im 'e’s not worth it.”
> [Leave him he's not worth it.]
> “Ferry cross de mersey.”
> [Ferry across the Mersey]
> “We only s'n whun we’re win'n.”
> [We only sing when we're winning.]
> “Come ‘ed.”
> [Come on.]



Well, lets take the above for an example
Ferry across the Mersey - this is one of those cultural things, I have no idea what a Mersey is... but that's not a big deal.
We only s'n whun we're win'n - didn't get this - s'n, along with the remainder, is not enough info for me to guess s'n is singing... I do not know how to bridge this cultural difference, but again, it's not that big of a deal. Some translation of the harsher tongues may be necessary . . . at least for slow folk such as myself.  If other readers could chime in with their view it would help.



			
				Goonalan said:
			
		

> Next Turn: Goblinville
> 
> But that might slow it dow, the alternative is I stop with accents. The thing is in the UK, probably the same as in the US, lots of counties/regions have developed there own words, or at least understanding of words, which in extremis, and particularly written down- are comic.
> 
> I know you should never stop to explain your jokes but I want to get it right, I appreciate that this forum is mainly populated by americans so any suggestions you have...
> 
> Which translates in Kobold (Scouse) to-
> 
> Ay kun yous should na stop ter explain yer jokes but wanna get it rite, ay appreciate dat this forum is mainly populated by Yanks so any suggestions yous 'uv...
> 
> Or in Goblin (Yorkie) to-
> 
> Ah kna theur should nivva gi'o'a ta expleeam thy jokes bur ah want ta gerr it reet, ah appreciate 'a' dis forum is mainly populated by Americans sa enny suggestions theur av...
> 
> What's it to be... anybody.
> 
> Thanks again Richard.




I guess I can probably handle most of the "Scouse" it's the "Yorkie" that has me scratching my head most times...
anyways... anyone else?


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Don't listen to Richard, he just doesn't have enough ranks in *Decypher Script*, I may not be making my roll on each attempt, but it's fun figuring it out.

Definately keep the accents.  This SH, on the other hand, would be nearly impossible to understand if it were listened to.


----------



## Goonalan

I went on-line last night to try and find an on-line translator for american regional dialects, like-

http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/

does for English regional dialects, my intention being to provide a US version of the story (accents), I've been experimenting with-

http://www.elibs.com/e/funkatize

Perhaps the Kobolds should be in 'Jive' talk so-

Together, as one, we have stood side-by-side with these friendly souls that have come unto us seeking mercy, forgiveness and restitution for their previous sins. And we, the friendly Kobold-nation, have moulded these stout yeoman into an elite fighting force worthy of exalted status within our ranks.

Becomes-

Togeder, as one, we gotss' stood side-by-side wid dese homeyly souls dat gotss' mosey on waaay down unto us seekin' mercy, fo'giveness and restitushun fo' deir previous sins. And we, de homeyly Kobold-nashun, gotss' moulded dese stout yeoman into an elite fightin' fo'ce wo'dy uh 'esalted status widin our ranks. 

Which is much easier to read.

And the Goblin version of the above, in 'Swedish Chef' speak translates as-

Tugezeer, is oune-a, ve-a hefe-a stuod side-a-by-side-a vit zeese-a friendly suouls zeet hefe-a cume-a untu us seekeeng mercy, furgeefeness und restituotiun fur zeeur prefiuous sins. Und ve-a, zee-a friendly Kubuld-netiun, hefe-a muoulded zeese-a stuout yeumuon intu un ileete-a feeghting furce-a vurthy ouff ixelted stetuos vizeen ouour ruonks. Burk Burk Burk! 

But that's a little more difficult, does anyone know of any other on-line translators which specialise in American dialects, ideally, I think, the Kobolds should be New Yorkers, and the Goblins from Texas.

Suggestions please?

Thanks again


----------



## monboesen

I would prefer the story without the regional dialects.

It may partly be because english isn't my first language, but those dialects are terribly difficult for me to read. So difficult that I tend to just scim over them and hope to get the generel idea of whats being said


----------



## Goonalan

Problem solved I post one without regional dialect, one with- see the new, and without dialect, version in the SH threads.

Trying to please all the people, all the time.

Thanks.


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Goonalan said:
			
		

> But that's a little more difficult, does anyone know of any other on-line translators which specialise in American dialects, ideally, I think, the Kobolds should be New Yorkers, and the Goblins from Texas.
> 
> Suggestions please?




I wouldn't try that if I were you, associating New Yorkers or Texans with the 'bad guys' might start some sort of international conflict.  They're good-guys, just ask them.


----------



## Corran

I loved it. 

I'd just keep the one story hour with the English accents; it's not a problem if you can't figure it all out, it's part of the charm.

All I didn't get was the singing (and I've heard enough football stadiums that I should have figured that one out). ;-)


----------



## Goonalan

Thanks Corran, much appreciated.

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.

“Blimp out, there’s a trap ed de 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 comin.”
“Don’t ea' uz.”
“Kill t' intruders.”
“Sev wee fra t' 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 deez two, me smash Goblins.”

Meepo shouts at Dartamor. The Half-Elf shakes his head- no.

“Listun ter them- yous did wrong, nah kill females and god-forbids.”

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.

“Wea'ar not 'eear ta 'urt theur. Thy leada 'as abandoned theur. It 'ood be best if theur wor ta leev. Bur fust tell wee orl 'a' theur norrz abaht dis place.”

A large Goblin matriarch steps forward.

“Ah'm Trixie, concubine o' Durnn, t' bugga 'as scarpered. Gone bela teur t' Ahtcast. T' Ahtcast is mad-plant bloke wi' giant ‘Crowk’ as pet. It is dangerous bela, onny cleva or strong Goblins may nip on bela, 'n chief. Naw theur let wee nip on.”

Dartamor translates Trixie’s words to the others.

“Ask her where the adventurers went.”

Dartamor complies, Trixie replies.

“'E sent 'em bela, bea' 'em bad fust, 'appen killed 'un o' 'em. 'E 'as eur gurt chest, 'e keeps summa' i' theear, 'e sez it’s 'is 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.

“Norra chance, we eat dem.”

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 nah chance, we eat dem.”

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

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 Far East’s slumber would ya, we’ll clock abaht 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.

“Orange Peel me terror.”

At this point it should be clear to the reader that the language of the Demons, incidentally also Devils, closely resembles Cockney rhyming slang, Orange Peel= Feel, that kind of thing. 

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.

 “Ya Hearts of Oak (broke) the binding; me Kettle and Hob (watch, actually fob watch) on the Dragon Far East (Priest) is over. Curse ya.”

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.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

I've been reading this over the last couple of days, and thoroughly enjoying it - in its authentic and unexpurgated regional flavour. So, Goonalan, I say, don't succumb to Yankee cultural imperialism - carry on boldly flying the flag for British idiocy ... err, creativity.    

By the way are all gnomes Welsh? It would certainly give me a new sympathy for Anne Robinson.


----------



## Goonalan

I'd not considered the Anne Robinson angle, which was an oversight I agree. I'd have to say that, and this is not about my own Welsh ancestry, in my considered opinion, after years of deep thought, debate, research, musing, idling and pondering that Anne "The Weakest Link" Robinson, in the idiom of my age, sucks the fat one. 

Which still leaves the vexing, "Are all Gnomes Welsh?" question, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a sudoku...

But thanks for the feedback- much appreciated.

See you, with my Dickie Davis Eyes, Back in the DHSS Again, I'll be the one in the Dukla Prague Away Kit.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Goonalan said:
			
		

> See you, with my Dickie Davis Eyes, Back in the DHSS Again, I'll be the one in the Dukla Prague Away Kit.




Good man. (And for what it's worth, I really do hate Nerys Hughes   )


----------



## Goonalan

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.

“Me bruv King wa' 'ast dough done ter thee, sorry 'bout dat dem done ter thou… you- whuz does it rag, shall ay 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.

“Ay knew you’d come me custy, rescue me from this wasted loife, ay knew you’d find me- nah matti wa'. Yous see me sound, ay wasn’t meant fe this loife, and ay kun you’re a pointy-ears, and ay should be eat'n yous, but it’s not like dat, not fe me- beauty is only skin deep- ay see through yer dash'n sound as a pound lewks and flare, ay see de inner tmoil and tirer dat bubbles within yous. Ay kun, like me, dat yous love de thought o' smash'n firkin serene and tranquil, o' stamp'n ed picnics, kick'n 'Alflings into rivers. Ay, like yous, wanna force non-alcoholic drinks down Dwarves until dee bst, ter build 'ouses from de Dryad’s trees, ter puv de forest and tell all de bum Druids ter gerra job. We could be 'appy… smash'n things, and people. We could make a loife tergether; start afresh, a nicked dungeon, a 'Ydra… ay don’t kun why ay said a 'Ydra, ay guess ay juss like them- long necks, and they’d make an ace slide fe de god-forbids. We’d 'uv traps, ones dat rend and tear, there’d be viscera… oh think o' de viscera me love, think o' Wizards ed spikes, a Munk inna gibbet… I’ve always wanted an Oubliette… Do say ay tinnie 'uv an Oubliette .”

Her voice softens.

“We could evun kill de others, whun dee get back, if dee get back from kill'n de Outcast, we could make maracas from their 'eads, er 'ang'n 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.

“MA?” 

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.

“Mirrer, mirrer…” 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.


----------



## Ximix

Having a lot of fun with this, thanks for posting it!


----------



## Goonalan

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.


----------



## Noliar

So, do the kids come up with the dialogue as you recount it, complete with rhymed spells and garbled theology? If so I'm dead impressed. Come to think of it, do kobold love monologues happen in game? Are they accented and how do your players react?


----------



## Goonalan

So, do the kids come up with the dialogue as you recount it, complete with rhymed spells and garbled theology? If so I'm dead impressed. Come to think of it, do kobold love monologues happen in game? Are they accented and how do your players react?

The dialogue- not entirely, although it's obviously based on what they do say, I try to improve it a little, perhaps a lot, at times- the gist of it is there, as are the characters actions (antics).

Every time some one casts a spell then it has to have a rhyme (Saradomin) to go with it, or a command word, or phrase (Grand Alf). I usually ask them what they say when they're casting the spell, or charging into battle, or whatever.

None of the accents are in game, I think I explained that away earlier in the posts, I just liked the idea of Scouser Kobolds, it grew from there- I have done it in other games though, I've also DM'ed players that have tried to do it throughout with their characters. There are a lot of budding Sean Connery-esque sounding adventurers out there, particularly when it gets to the love scenes, Yeaaaaaashhh.

The Dartamor and the Kobold Queen love story started, I think, with Grand Alf's player (James) saying, after Isdrayl had just been praising the brave Daratamor, that "she wants to kiss you." For four boys, aged 9-12, this proved to be there most fearsome encounter yet- common consensus went a little like this- "Run."

The deal is I'm going to get this printed out, nicely, for them when we're done, as a memento- kind of my first dungeon sort of thing.

So I take liberties at times, however the core of what's written here, is all from the game.

Thanks for the question.

I'm actually nearly out of posts, and no game for a while because work is getting very busy, back to the grind.


----------



## Ximix

Goonalan said:
			
		

> I'm actually nearly out of posts, and no game for a while because work is getting very busy, back to the grind.



More's the pity 

(Did I get that right?   )


----------



## Goonalan

You did indeed get it right, I pine for the little scamps.

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.


----------



## Goonalan

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.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Great fun as usual, can't give the bright young lads too much treasure from the go or they'll get overconfident (and greedy). Really brings back memories =-)


----------



## Goonalan

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.


----------



## Ximix

Goonalan said:
			
		

> 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.





Awwww


----------



## mkobrien76

Great Story.  The Sunless Citadel was my first adventure when i came back into D&D after  ten years adsent and it is a great adventure.

 The only problem i have is that you think Goblin's are form Yorkshire.  As some one who was was raised and spent twenty years in Yorkshire am slighty upset at been compared to a goblin. 

  But Hey Ho - carry on the good work.


----------



## Goonalan

I spent two years living in Leeds- fantastic place, fantastic people.

I arrived there with a kit bag (ex-forces) with all my wordly possessions in it, and an address of somewhere to stay- no idea where it was. I got on the first bus I saw outside the station, the driver looked me up and down, after my explanation, then said hang-on.

Five minutes later he dropped me off, then said he'd have to get off because he'd diverted from his route to get me where I needed to be...

It's that kind of stuff that leaves an impression.

Yorkshire folk as Goblins- that's easy, I love the accent and I've nothing but fond memories of Tykes.

My good lady says I've the look of an Ogre about me... but she's biased.

Thanks for reading.


----------



## Goonalan

Bump

Next game not until 10th October, earliest- gaaaaaaaah.

Damn work and their evil machinations, makes you madder than Grand Alf.


----------



## Ximix

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Bump
> 
> Next game not until 10th October, earliest- gaaaaaaaah.
> 
> Damn work and their evil machinations, makes you madder than Grand Alf.




Well that sucks. I'll put you down for a 10-11-07 read then . . . a Wednesday, I look forward to it =-)

X


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Next game not until 10th October, earliest- gaaaaaaaah.




We'll see you then!


----------



## Richard Rawen

oops, bumped into this . . .


----------



## Goonalan

We played this evening.

Let's just say the action ended with a Bar-b-q.

Hehe.


----------



## Goonalan

Sorry for the delay, too much work and then a nasty virus.

Turn 6.1

The creature before them is Balsag, deadly Bugbear hunter, and his snapping Dire rat pals, Rip and Fang.

“Surrender now and we’ll go easy on you.” Dartamor figures he’ll try anything to avoid the impending combat; the Bugbear looks big, and tough.

“Rip, Fang- tear ‘em apart.”
“Oh sweet.” Grand Alf offers, “they’re nice names, which is which?”

But the rats are intent on other business.

“By all that is good and decent, and clean in the world, attack- slay the foul beasts of BEEE-ELL-ZEE-BOB.” Aleso charges, straight through the rats and at Balsag, which takes everyone by surprise; he’s been working on the fearless bit of his character it seems.

“BiffBangPow.” Grand Alf intones, the words on his scroll disappear as he reads them, and not one, but two Magic missiles dart out- one slams into each of the rats.

“Bloody hell, did you see that two Magic Missiles, I’m like a top Mage, what-d’ya-call-them, now…”

The rats however barely miss a stride, rush on, one at Saradomin who steps into meet the creature, “May St. Cuthbert strike down this terrible verminy-beast.” And he does, Saradomin’s heavy mace connects and sends the first creature spinning backwards, it tries to right itself but falls over again, kicks at the air a little and then expires.

“Kiss my mace you hairy blighter, St. Cuthbert’s in town.”

Saradomin flicks the dying Dire Rat the bird.

The second rat leaps at Grand Alf, chomps down on flesh and cloth and tears.

RIP

Leaving the Sorcerer with a gashed knee and wearing a mini-dress, the lower part of his robe finally gives way and is gone forever. The mighty mage looks slightly silly with his stick thin pale white legs exposed, he’s got odd socks on- one is light blue with white hoops and comes up to his knee, the other, complete with sock suspender, is small, grubby, and black.

He’s also wearing slippers, one bears the legend, ‘Sorcerers are Magic in bed’, while the other is in the shape of a large fluffy frog.

“You bugger.”

Fwong

Dartamor tumbles right, out of the rat fracas, aims his bow and fires, the arrow, strikes the cavern wall above the Bugbear and shatters.

“Damn.” Then he spots Grand Alf, who tries desperately to get his spear ready to stab the rat before him while stretching his robe down to cover his pale legs, and everything else, Dartamor giggles.

Aleso charges into Balsag, the Bugbear backs up a little to get some room, smashes his morningstar down and onto Aleso’s shield, which buckles on impact. The Paladin lances his scimitar into the gap at the Bugbears shoulder, between the plates of his armour, a trickle of blood soon turns into a river. The Bugbear staggers back into his lair- badly winded, Aleso follows him in.

“St. Cuthbert send the hound of hell, I mean heaven, to vanquish this fiendish foe.”

Saradomin weaves his Divine magic.

A snarling Yorkshire Terrier appears beside Balsag, the dog has a red rosette attached to its collar, it snaps and snarls then launches itself at the Bugbear’s ankle- sinks it’s teeth in and hangs on as the giant Goblin does some sort of desperate hokey-cokey, trying to dislodge the mutt.

Grand Alf eventually gets his spear around the right way, lances it down hard at the rat, which dodges back out of his reach, his dress rides up to reveal he’s going commando.

Saradomin staggers backwards covering his eyes, “I’m blind”, he screams.

Jerky, you’d forgotten about him, suddenly springs to life- having stood statue through the early bouts of the melee, goggling at Grand Alf’s antics. The Gnome rushes into intercept the rat’s path back to Grand Alf, swishes mightily with his light mace to keep the creature at bay.

Fwong

Dartamor is aiming for the rat; he misses Jerky by inches, the Gnome glances at the Rogue, his look full of menace.

Grand Alf sees his opportunity, squats down pulling the rest of his robe over his ankles and frog-hops away from the fight.

“It’s so undignifying, I feel violated.” The Sorcerer mutters.

Back to the Paladin…

“Now you die.”

Aleso winds up his best shot, and slices hard.

But the Bugbears not there any more, hoped off still toting the snarling hound, teeth still sunk into his leg.

Aleso spirals once, twice, thr… nearly, his momentum carries him smack-bang into the cavern wall- head first, he drops lack a sack-of-spuds, out-for-the-count.

Grand Alf squat-turns, just in time to see Aleso crumple to the floor.

“Right that’s it.” The Sorcerer grabs another scroll, and seconds later- “BiffBangPow, if you want something doing you have to do it yourself.”

Two Magic Missiles arc from the Sorcerer’s hand, and thump into Balsag who totters backwards, still complete with dog.

Fwung

The arrow misses Balsag, it’s the rats turn next to have an arrow fly by it. Dartamor flips out for a second, goes to smash his bow and then recovers his mental faculties, he grabs another arrow, notches it.

Jerky swings again, misses the rat by a mile, the creature still cannot close to the thrashing Gnome however.

“If you want something doing you have to do it yourself.” Saradomin mutters and kicks Jerky out of the way and cannons into the rat.

THUNK

An underarm Golff shot with his heavy mace. ‘Golff’, a popular Dwarven pastime, entails smashing a Goblin’s head (detached) around a set course with a blunt instrument the winner is the one that gets the head in a hole in the ground with a flag next to it in the fewest shots. When the Gnomes got hold of the game they added numerous barriers and devices to the course, to further test the players skills, the most famous of which was a windmill- you have to smack the Goblin head between the sails and through a hole at the base of the structure, this game later became known as ‘Crazy Golff.” It didn’t catch on, although the Gnomes love it apparently.

It didn’t help that the windmill was some thirty feet tall and served as home to a family of Humans; a Mr. Miller, wife, son and daughter it is believed, it did grind corn though. 

The second rat spirals into the air for a second and then thumps into the cavern wall- dead. Saradomin claps his hands together, a job well done.

Balsag has finally had enough of the ferocious Terrier, he smashes his leg into the cavern wall, crushing the mutt in the process, which turns into nothing more than vapour and dust.

Saradomin, continues to take advantage of his newly discovered mean streak, he dashes into a momentarily befuddled Balsag and smashes his heavy mace into the creature’s knee, the Bugbear screams and attempts to hop away.

“Oh no you don’t- Aaaaaaarrrgggghhhhh.”

Grand Alf rises to his full height, screams and rushes at Balsag, tackle out, his mini dress leaving nothing to the imagination.

He’s abandoned his spear and is now swinging “Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving”, which looks a lot like a spade.

Balsag stumbles backwards- terrified by the ghostly (he’s that pale) apparition screeching towards him.

BWoM.

Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving connects with the side of the Bugbear’s head, catching the creature completely off-guard, teeth and blood shoot from its mouth. He stands stunned for a second, woozy, wobbling, staggering left and right.

Grand Alf affects a pose; leaning on his Staff of… oh it’s a bloody spade.

The Sorcerer sucks in a lungful of air, and blows, aiming the breeze at Balsag.

The Bugbear totters again and then crunches to the cold stone floor, nose first, breaking things, including bits of the cavern floor, he’s very dead.

“Someone wake up the Paladin, tell him it’s safe, the fighting’s over. Oh and before you do, check his backpack for a spare pair of pants, there’s a draft in here.” 

Next Turn: Goblin Science 101


----------



## carborundum

They're Ba-ack!

Huzzah!


----------



## jonnytheshirt

*Jinkies*

Just started readin this - good fun


----------



## Goonalan

Why thank you kind sir.

And on it goes, like a runnaway train...

Turn 6.2 Goblin Science 101

Five minutes later, Grand Alf sports a pair of white long-johns stencilled on the buttocks of which are the words “girl bait” with an arrow pointing round to the groin area, the Lost Boys meanwhile are exploring their new surroundings.

“Where do you think that goes?”
Dartamor opens a stone door, beyond is a dark and wet passage, no signs of life.
“It looks empty.” Jerky concurs.

Back in the centre of the chamber Saradomin is rifling through Balsag’s goodies, the creature’s Morningstar looks to be of excellent quality.

“See if you can hit anything with that.”

He hands the weapon over to Aleso, who grimaces and holds his head; he’s still a little woozy after his brief bout of unconsciousness.

“Pelor strike you down.” He mutters.
“What was that?” Saradomin enquires.
“I said blessed be the cheese-makers.” The Paladin glares at the Priest.
“What? You loon.”

The two square up to each other.

“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”

Bump chests.

“YEAH.”
“YEAH.”

They’re in each others faces.

And they really have nowhere left to go.

“Grrrr.” Saradomin growls.
“Rrrrr.” Aleso snarls.

“I’m going to check out the other door.” Dartamor wanders over, past the snarling religious types, Jerky comes to a halt aghast at the holy men’s antics, the two immediately break from their clinch, adopt more relaxed poses.

“Oh right, do be careful.” Aleso offers and waves.
“Give us a shout if you spot anything nasty wont you.” Saradomin adds.

Dartamor wanders over to the other door.

“Now where were we?” Saradomin asks.
“I think you were about to push me.” Aleso confirms.

Saradomin pushes the Paladin, who shoves back.

The two square up again.

“Grrrr.” Aleso growls.
“Rrrrr.” Saradomin snarls.

“Hey there’s a load of weapons in here.” Grand Alf shouts, and then appears from Balsag’s lair, a rough cave cut into the side of the chamber. 

“Oo.” Aleso scrambles to get there.
“Wait for me.” Saradomin rushes off.

The pair push, shove and attempt to trip each other up as they rush into Balsag’s lair, only to discover a rag-tag collection of swords and blades, the trophies of the Bugbear’s previous victims.

They scramble through the weapons like old folk at a jumble sale, fighting each other for the best of the bunch.

Grand Alf sneaks off and rifles the two rat’s nests he found earlier, nobodies watching, he makes off with lots of gold and silver, muttering as he shuffles back into the central chamber.

“I’m rich I tell ya. Rich. I’m gonna get a new dress, and some beads, and maybe some curling tongs, I’ve got good legs, like a skellington, don’t mess with me, I’m the Archie-Mage, or whatever it’s called…”

“Hey you guys, take a look at this.”

Dartamor appears, whispering loudly, and leads them off to the second door, which is now open.

“Listen.”

ZzzzzzzzSNAWZzzzzzz

And…

Squelch-squelch-squelch-squelch.

“Close the door, I’ve got a plan.” Saradomin grins, Dartamor does as he’s told- the Lost Boys move away, back into the centre of the chamber and to the body of Balsag, lead by Saradomin.

“Dartamor, give me the Magic Whistle, and don’t bother lying I know you’ve got it- I’ve got an idea forming in my head…” The Priest of St. Cuthbert looks down at the sprawled body of Balsag.

“    “

Saradomin blows the whistle, nothing happens for a moment and then the Bugbear sits up, then slowly stands.

“Yeth Marthter.”

Balsag turns to face Saradomin, who’s doing a little jig and singing.

“Sa-ra-do-min, Sa-ra-do-min, Tin-Can-Sa-ra-do-min,
Eez got nah song 'cos 'is names tew long,
Tin-Can-ShOwTee-Sa-ra-do-min."

Aleso shakes his head and tuts a while, “It’s an abomination, a bloody abomination- where’s mine that’s what I want to know?”

Jerky wanders over to Saradomin.

“Is this really appropriate? Surely you can see that ethically you’re on dodgy ground bringing this foul creature back to unlife?”
“Jealous.”
“What?”
“You’re just jealous because I’ve got a Bugbear and you’ve not.”
“It’s not that… I’m not jealous, what about the tenants of your faith? Our faith?”
“St. Cuthbert made me do it.”
“What?”
“I said St. Cuthbert made me do it, I’m the thingy of St. Cuthbert… the whatsit.”
“What whatsit?”
“The tool, no that’s not it… utensil, that’s it.”
“The utensil of St. Cuthbert?”
“Yeah, sort of, like a spoon.”
“Like a what?”
“Spoon.”
“You’re the Spoon of St. Cuthbert?”
“Yeah, whatever… Jealous.”

Jerky looks aghast, “You’re the Spoon of St. Cuthbert, I just want to get this right?”
“Probably”, Saradomin shrugs, “he moves within me… in mysterious ways.” The Priest adopts a spooky-ish pose.

“You’re mad.” Jerky concludes.
“Ha madness is just a form of genius… or religious fervour, I’m the… hang on lets do this properly.”

Saradomin sinks to his knees, palms pressed together praying, eyes to heaven- actually he stands bathed in the halo of light from the hole above, very dramatic.

“St. Cuthbert who works within me, for I am your Divine Ladle,
I carry your faith within me like… like soup, in a spoon.
The journey betwixt bowl and lip is fretted with terrible hazard,
Bread buns, people nudging your elbow, and condiments.
Just like our journey, except the bread buns are Kobolds,
And there’s a big Bugbear nudging at my elbow, and… condiments.
Oh mighty St. Cuthbert show me a sign of your faith in me,
If I should not take this foul beast into service then strike him dead this instant…”

This last bit delivered with menace, and volume, with finger pointing straight at a bemused looking Zombiefied Balsag.

Nothing happens.

“However, if you believe my path is true then give some clear indication,
Say ‘Aye’ great St. Cuthbert, make it clear so all can see that my cause is…”

BWOM

Grand Alf, who has so far risen above the religious bickering, smashes his spade into the back of the Bugbears skull.

POP

One of the creature’s eyes shoots out; Jerky catches it, instinctively, and then drops it- slimy.

“Aye. Now let’s get on.” Grand Alf states and wanders over to the door.

“So there.” Saradomin follows the Sorcerer, “I shall call him Bernard.” The Bugbear follows after, “Yeth Marthter.”

“What happened?” Dartamor enquires.
“Not certain.” Jerky replies.
“An abomination, a bloody abomination… I’m getting the next one.” Aleso runs after the others.

EEEEeeeeeeeRRRrrr

Dartamor opens the door again, torches light the chamber ahead, it extends a way, there’s a jumble of tables all crowded with… well, junk, and the remains of plants. Pillars, once again carved with dragons, although all badly stained and damaged, form an avenue through the chamber. Either side are doors, exits to other chambers, many ajar, three pairs in total.

From the left.

ZzzzzzzzSNAWZzzzzzz

And from the right.

Squelch-squelch-squelch-squelch.

“Shhh. Back in a moment.”

Dartamor sneaks forward to the door on the left, from which the sound of snoring is heard.

Turns back to look at the others, “Shhh- ready”, he whispers.

Saradomin nods.

FwwwwWACK

Dartamor pushes the door open, swiftly discovers it doesn’t open that way, and just as swiftly wrenches it back towards him, perfect, except for the part where he gets out of the way of the door. He smashes the door into his face, goes to scream, holds it in and then hops about a bit with his hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shhhhh.”

A collective susurrus from the remainder of The Lost Boys, witness to the scene.

Dartamor shakes his head, acknowledging the need to stay silent.

ZzzzzzzzSNAWZzzzzzz

Thank Pelor whatever lies within is still sleeping.

Dartamor removes his hand from his mouth, his scream stifled, grins at the assembled on-lookers and then hops back into a table loaded with pot plants, the entire thing collapses.

It sounds like the end of the world.

“Shhhhhugar Puffs.”

In the chamber ahead two Goblins roll out of bed, heft clubs and rush over to the door and through, poised standing over the sprawling Rogue.

From the first door on the right two more of the creatures come rushing out, they’re wearing shorts, one is armed with a shortened oar, the other with, appropriately, a large ladle.

A third door opens, the second on the right, work it out, I’m not drawing you a picture and another pair of Goblins step out of the chamber- strange, they’re wearing lab coats, actually cut up white sheets with buttons sewn on the front. One has a line of twigs peeking out of a breast pocket- all of the twigs are exactly the same length, and has a length of rope knotted at his neck and hanging down like a pendulum, the other is wearing a chef’s hat. 

“What’s 'a' din? Wea'ar int' middle o' eur reeight serious experiment, we require absolute silence ta fettle, if wee measurements are off, even by eur bit, it could be disastrous fert subject.”

In translation-

“What’s that noise? We are in the middle of a very serious experiment, we require absolute silence to work, if our measurements are off, even by a bit, it could be disastrous for the subject.”

The speaker has stencilled on the front of his lab coat, “Dr. Neyow.”

“'n then we will av ta ea' 'im. Mmmmm.”

In translation-

“And then we will have to eat him. Mmmmm.”

The one with the Chef’s hat has, “Dr. Ooo”, stencilled on the front of his lab coat.

“Charge?”

Saradomin offers, unsure. He looks around for support and then makes his move.

“Kill Bernard. Kill.”

The Goblins react instantly, the two standing over Dartamor rain down blows on the Rogue, he struggles to get clear of the pair, hit on his arm and his leg, both areas instantly go numb.

Saradomin and Bernard (the Bugbear) get about two feet further into the chamber and then.

FUNG

Get wedged against each other- stuck in the doorway, the pair of Goblins in shorts rush over to engage them, they’re sitting ducks- stuck.

“Will you get out of the way… I can’t hold it… I can’t hold it.”

Grand Alf hops from foot to foot repeating his mantra, he wants, more than anything, to own a lab coat.

Next Turn: Goblin Biology 101.


----------



## Abciximab

*Don't pick your nose!*



> blessed be the cheese-makers




"Aha, what's so special about the cheesemakers?" 
"Well, obviously it's not meant to be taken literally; it refers to any manufacturers of dairy products."

What's a story hour without a Monty python reference. 

Funny stuff. Brings me back to my own early days of Power-Gaming oh so many years ago as a 10 year old playing for the 1st time. Plenty of Monty Python to go around. Come to think of it, that was the year "The Life of Brian" came out. 1979.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Ahhh, sorry for the absence, RL has me rushed! Had fun catching up the story though, thanks for the laughs (and, of course, serious RP led party dynamics... well the laughs anyways 

So, what's with the multiple instances of keystone copness? (spinning in place and taking a header into the wall, tripping over the table, stuck with zombie-bear in the doorway... ) Are they rolling nat 1's or are you just being fiendish with the details?


----------



## Goonalan

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Ahhh, sorry for the absence, RL has me rushed! Had fun catching up the story though, thanks for the laughs (and, of course, serious RP led party dynamics... well the laughs anyways
> 
> So, what's with the multiple instances of keystone copness? (spinning in place and taking a header into the wall, tripping over the table, stuck with zombie-bear in the doorway... ) Are they rolling nat 1's or are you just being fiendish with the details?





All 1's from memory, kinda makes up, a little, for the glut of 20's they usually conjure, Dartamor came up with two 1's in a row- opened the chamber door into his face, waking the Goblin's within then stumbled back into the table after a Reflex save of- 1.

Thanks for reading Richard.

And on we go...



Turn 6.3 Goblin Biology 101

Dartamor reacts swiftly, scrambles backwards and manages to lever himself upright, a plant pot smashes over his shoulder as a Goblin club just misses his head and impacts with it.

The Rogue flings himself backwards onto the table and backward rolls over it, kicks one of the table legs away.

CRUNCH

The thing collapses forming a barrier between him and the Goblins, the pair flail over the obstacle trying to brain the Rogue, too slow. Dartamor skitters away again, quick-draws his bow, notches an arrow, and let’s fly.

Thunk.

The arrow grazes the lead Goblin’s face, it takes evasive action, the pair dive away and head for the other members of the Lost Boys blocking the doorway. 

Meanwhile Saradomin and Bernard the Bugbear are still stuck in the doorway, wedged tight. Dr. Ooo leads the two Goblin’s wearing short pants over to the scene.

“Goblin Science goes BONK.”

He points at the pair, the Goblin’s attack as…

POP

Saradomin and Bernard free themselves at last.

CLUNK

Bernard flails and connects, ooooh, quite a blow, the Goblin’s head is crushed, it drops to the floor and shudders a while- dead, as the other pair, recently menacing Dartamor, join the fracas.

“By St. Cuthbert’s Mace kill the infidel… BERNARD THE DESTROYER.”

Saradomin screams.

BONG

Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving connects with the back of Bernard’s head.

“Get out of the bloody way you fiends. I WANT A LAB COAT.”

Grand Alf pushes through the gap and into the fray, instantly faces off against the other shorts wearing Goblin, he flails wildly with his spade, the Goblin ducks the blow.

More doors in the chamber are flung open; another pair of Goblins reinforces the good Dr’s, and further into the chamber yet another pair of Goblins spill out and find themselves ideally located behind Dartamor, who’s backing away- straight into them, notching another arrow.

The Rogue suddenly flinches and winces, a dagger cutting into his side, he spins round spills his bow and quick-draws a blade, trying to keep the pair at bay.

“Help. HELP.”

The Rogue screams, clearly the worst for wear.

“It shall be mine… FUNK.”

Grand Alf’s spade collides with a Goblin’s head, the creature goes rag-doll loose and flops to the hard cold stone floor.

“Oh yes it shall be mine.”

Alas Saradomin, Bernard and now Grand Alf are being pressed back into the doorway, four swishing and swatting Goblins before them; Bernard the Zombie Bugbear has taken a number of blows already.

“For Pelor’s sake!”

Aleso’s screams in Saradomin’s ear, “let us through- I’m the registered fighter I’ll have you know”, he’s still stuck in the previous chamber.

“Press on Saradomin- let us get into the fight.”

Jerky states.

“Jealous.”

Saradomin shouts back and grinning continues to thrash at the air.

Meanwhile Dartamor ducks, dodges, dives and deflects- it’s an all out defence, and still he takes a stab wound to his left hand, a scratch but the hits keep coming.

“Save me… Save me, I need a hero…”

Saradomin toothpaste smiles at an invisible camera, bustles forward and smashes his heavy mace down on the top of a Goblin’s head, the creature clutches at his cracked skull, then withers and grabs for the floor.

The Priest leaps through the gap, jumps onto the nearest trestle table, already laden with pot plants and assorted gardening junk, the table sways forward with his momentum and collapses- he goes with the flow, leaps onto the next table.

Which collapses too.

Saradomin leaps again, and is struck on the foot mid-air by a stray Goblin, he slams into the floor, crouches to absorb the impact, lands hard on the foot of one of the pair of Goblin’s menacing Daratamor.

“TA DA!”

Saradomin screams in the manner of a circus performer having successfully pulled off their latest stunt, flings his arms out wide to take in the audience’s applause.

His elbow catches Dartamor on the temple; the Rogue crumples to the cold floor- dizzy now.

The Goblin with a crushed foot leaps away momentarily, the other leaps on top of Dartamor and wrestles with the much abused Rogue, the creature soon has him pinned.

Back in the doorway Bernard is thumped in the guts by a Goblin, the Zombie attempts to bash the creature back but is much too slow. Grand Alf the other front rank warrior menaces the Goblin ahead of him with his spade.

“D’ya want some of this?”

SMASH

The Goblin delivers a precision stinging blow to Grand Alf’s hand- the Wizard drops his spade.

“Damndittydamnteedamndamn.”

And sucks his battered fingers.

“Right, ya wanna play rough.”

THUMPgurgle

Grand Alf leaps forward and kicks the creature in the… ahem, area. The Goblin goes googly-eyed and then falls to the floor clutching the bruised area.

“Don’t rub them son, count them.” Grand Alf advises.

Bernard is hit again, however he still looks full of life, scratch that- death, you know what I mean. The Bugbear Zombie smashes his Goblin attacker, who flies five feet backwards, crunches into a stone pillar and slumps to the floor.

Aleso dives into the chamber; at last, roundhouse swings his scimitar and slays Dr. Ooo, nearly cuts the Goblin scientist in half.

“Oooooooooooooo.”

The good Dr’s last words, alas the lab coat is ruined, and covered in blood.

“May Be-LL-Za-Bub take you, nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”

Grand Alf sinks to his knees, hands raised to the gods.

“My beautiful lab coat.”

Then has a brain wave.

“Crashbangwallop.”

A Magic Missile thumps into Dr Neyow, the Goblin staggers backwards, lab coat intact, but alas only injured.

Meanwhile the Goblin with the crushed foot barrels back into Saradomin, the two exchange blows, to no effect.

“Come Bernard, come to me, together we will destroy them all, Mwah ha ha ha.”

Saradomin calls to his Frankenstein.

“Yeth Marthter.” Bernard, arms out before him, plods over.

On the floor Dartamor wrestles with the Goblin pinning him down, he can’t shake it off, the creature snarls then leans in and SNAP bites part of the his ear off, then head butts him in the face for good measure, Dartamor flails uncontrollably blood covers his face, he’s losing consciousness.

“Sara…”

He’s cut off as the Goblin connects again.

Saradomin brains the Goblin facing him, quick turns, raises his heavy mace and smashes it down on the Goblin grappling Dartamor- kills it instantly.

Dartamor’s not moving, blood gushes from his broken nose and his left ear, now sans lobe.

Aleso drops his scimitar rushes in grabs up Dr. Neyow, the only Goblin left alive, he clutches the creature to him, the Goblin’s little legs dance in the air, and twists.

POP

Neck broken he lets go of the creature.

Jerky makes it to Dartamor, past a lurching Bernard still en route, fires healing into the Rogue, who instantly blinks awake.

Grand Alf has the lab coat on in under five seconds, he swishes and swirls, although it’s a tight fit, he admires the uniformly sized twigs in the breast pocket.

“It’s… It’s magnificent.”

He shakes an imaginary hand clears his throat and…

“Hello, I’m Dr. Grand Alf, now if you’d like to take your clothes off.”

He clears his throat again, tries a deeper voice, mimes taking someone’s pulse.

“It’s more serious then we thought, you’re head will have to come off.”

He shakes his head, looks down, then up- more serious still, he affects a frown.

For good measure he mimes smoking a pipe.

“Search this place- who knows what other great stuff we might find.”

The tableau at the other end of the room breaks up; they’ve been watching Grand Alf, while holding Dartamor up- the Rogue has lost a lot of blood.

“Grand Alf?”
“Dr. Grand Alf to you Dartamor, do you want me to come and have a look at that- nasty bump you’ve got their, third degree chaffing by the looks of things, only a minor operation- believe me it’ll hurt you more than it will me?”

Grand Alf opens an imaginary Dr’s bag, takes out an imaginary stethoscope and wanders over.

“No… it’s ok. I’m fine.”

Jerky tends to Dartamor’s wounds, and Grand Alf’s when the good Dr. is finally convinced that he cannot simply “heal himself.”

“Right then, let’s search this place.” Aleso states.
“Haven’t I already said that?” Grand Alf states, hands on hips.
“Yes.” Aleso confirms.
“Oh.” Grand Alf looks a little put out.
“But we try to ignore you.” Aleso finishes.
Grand Alf looks pensive- takes the imaginary pipe out of his mouth, wags it at Saradomin, to make his point, and states in a clear voice, “Yes that would explain it.”

Next Turn: The Discoverers.


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 6.4 The Discoverers.

Ten minutes later the place has been ransacked, they’ve all made a fair few discoveries.

Grand Alf searches the first chamber on the left; it turns out to be a bunk room for the Goblin guards. He finds some money- mostly copper and silver.

“No…” He grins at the five silver pieces in his hands, “nothing here.”
Rifles another bunk, discovers a pouch of copper coins.
“No… Nothing here too.” He dances a little, honestly that’s all it takes to make him happy.
“Don’t come in here”, he calls out, “nothing to see here.”
He giggles to himself.

Dartamor, Jerky and Saradomin take a look in the first chamber on the right, it’s a rudimentary still, it seems the Goblins in the short pants were mashing a bunch of fungus in a tub to make their homebrew- it looks rank.

Saradomin waits for the other two to lose interest and wander out of the chamber, then quickly sticks his head under the spigot, gives it a twist, gets a mouthful of distilled Fungi.

“HA HOOO HAAAR HUMMMMMM.”

He makes noises and pecks the air, then lifts one leg, stamps the ground a few times, his whole face set in some sort of rictus death mask pose throughout the proceedings.

“Smooooth.”

He hides a bottle of the foul brew away for later.

“Bless you St. Cuthbert. Bless you Lord.”

Aleso, in the second chamber on the right is confronted by a sight straight out of his nightmares; a Dire Rat is strapped to a wooden bench, amidst the chaos of a lunatic’s laboratory. The wretched creature sprouts twig-like growths from open wounds.

The Paladin reacts instantly, slays the creature and sets to destroying the room’s contents before Grand Alf can get a look at them, Pelor knows what the Sorcerer will make of it.

Dartamor and Jerky head into the second chamber on the left, it’s a repair shop, mostly for leather armour, and ahem… undergarments. Jerky does what he can to improve his reconstituted armour, garnered from a dead Goblin previously.

“Is he always like that?”
“Yep, worse sometimes- I think it’s the sandwiches.” Dartamor answers.
“What sandwiches?”
“Magic Smash- sorta peanuty, actually very peanuty.”

Jerky looks a little confused.

“Magic Smash- never heard of it.”
“Me neither, we Elves like Jam- nature’s bounty, the ambrosia of the Gods, actually Correllon has the widest selection of Jams and Conserves known to Oerth, there’s Blueberry, Loganberry, Nickberry, Cherryberry, Appleberry, Plumberry, Damsonberry, Tangberry, Shuffleberry, Hallyberry, Flinchberry, Chuckberry…”

Jerky gets out of the room as quickly as he can, Dartamor continues to name the holy Jams of the Elves, oblivious.

“Hey.” Saradomin shouts.

Followed by…

“Hey.” Grand Alf calls.

Grand Alf has entered the final chamber on the left, there’s a door, fairly ordinary looking.

Saradomin meanwhile has entered the last chamber on the right, empty except for a huge rift in the far wall, the remains of some tectonic shift; a narrow passage leads away, high walls, a huge crevasse.

The Priest casts a Light spell on a stone and throws it as far as he can, dripping wet walls, the rift heads off into darkness.

Dartamor, Jerky and Aleso enter the chamber behind Saradomin, Bernard haunts the shadows.

“Grand Alf”, Aleso calls, “this way.”

The Sorcerer stops, his hand touching the door, about to open it, he thinks about it, then turns tail and heads over to the others.

Thirty seconds later the gang have squeezed into the rift and are heading along it, cautious like. 

About fifty or sixty feet down there’s a paved secondary passage Aleso, Dartamor and Jerky head down it, it ends in a door, which is stuck. Aleso leans on it a while, it bursts open and the three find themselves in an almost empty chamber, dark and dirty.

In the centre is a statue of a Dragon, bearing an empty tray in its mouth, obviously something is meant to sit on the tray, on display.

The trio set about prodding, pulling, shoving and pushing various parts of the statue.

“How does it work Dartamor?”

The Rogue continues to circle the statue looking for a mechanism, “I don’t think it does.”
“That can’t be…”

Aleso gets a little more physical, all to no avail, actually the Paladin breaks off one of the dragons teeth, nothing happens.

“It’s broken. One of its teeth is missing” Saradomin makes the discovery.

Aleso hides the tooth away, it wasn’t him, “Damn, that was probably the missing element.”

Outside Grand Alf, Saradomin and, of course, Bernard, discover a passage heading in the opposite direction, it leads back into the first chamber, the one where they were attacked by Balsag, sorry Bernard.

The threesome head on, further down the rift, which ends in a natural cavern, strange there’s a glowing light coming from a roughly circular hole in the cavern wall, actually as they light up the chamber, there are lots of holes in the chamber walls, it’s like being inside a huge block of cheese.

But only one with a light down it.

“Hellloooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

Grand Alf leans into the cavity.

Tries to see inside.

“I said, hellooooooooooooooooooo.”

His whole head is inside, he’d climb in if he thought he’d fit, but he doesn’t.

“Nope, dunno, nothing in there, it must be some sort of natural phenoma-noma-noma-nom-nom… Nom.”

WHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH.

Next Turn: Bar-B-Q.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Goonalan said:
			
		

> “Nope, dunno, nothing in there, it must be some sort of natural phenoma-noma-noma-nom-nom… Nom.”
> 
> WHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH.
> 
> Next Turn: Bar-B-Q.




Yep, totally Natural


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Total madness ... but highly enjoyable!


----------



## Goonalan

Just come back from DMing The Lost Boys again... got to say it was most entertaining, you'll see.

And so the last part of the previous session, and yes that's exactly what happened-


Turn 6.5 Bar-B-Q.

WHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH.

A flaming worm emerges from the circular tunnel at great speed, accompanied by a minor fireball effect, enough to light up the screaming faces of the caverns inhabitants, all except Bernard.

Grand Alf flops to the cavern floor, scurries backwards, screaming like a little girl, stamping out the flames that lick at his lab coat, unscathed but a little embarrassing all the same.

“FIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRREEEEEWOOOORRRRMMMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP.”

He yells.

A series of small yellow-ish puddles track his retreat.

He goes falsetto.

“iiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmmmmmttttttttttttoooooooooooooooooooooooooogggooooooooooooooddddddddddllloooooooooooooooookkkkiiiiiinnnnnngggggtttttoooooooddddiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”

Saradomin is a little braver, he scrambles backwards and shouts.

“BERNARD DESTROY.”

And vaguely points in the worm’s direction with his heavy mace for good measure.

Bernard has alas got his own problems; the initial rush of the fire worm was only halted by the Zombie Bugbear. The Thoqqua (fire worm) snakes around Bernard’s arm, which sizzles and spits, dead flesh cooking, then recoils.

POP

Bernard’s arm is ripped out of its socket; the creature flails uselessly with his other arm, seemingly patting the fiery creature, which only results in the flames spreading.

Screaming Saradomin and Grand Alf continue to reverse out of the chamber, and meet Jerky, Dartamor and Aleso coming in the other direction.

“Pelor be bugg… I mean blessed.” Aleso states.
“MISSILES.” Dartamor calmly screams.

The Rogue quick draws his bow and lets fly, the arrow crunches into the flailing worm, piercing the creature’s stone like skin, burning glowing ichor drips and pools on the cavern floor.

A puddle of Grand Alf pee bubbles and fumes as the creature’s molten blood runs into it.

“MMMMUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEE.”

Grand Alf continues to scrabble away.

“Bernard- drop and roll.”
“Yeth Marthter- it hurtth uth.”

The Zombie Bugbear falls to the cavern floor and rolls about a while, mainly in and out of steaming Grand Alf wee, the flames are quenched however.

“FIRE.”

Dartamor calmly screams again, this time a volley of missiles, although, once again, only the Rogue’s arrow pierces the creatures hide.

It’s enough however, the Thoqqua cannot connect with any of its attackers, and so it retreats at speed, back into its hole.

“GET OUT OF HERE.”

Dartamor, once again, takes charge.

The Goodman Gang reverse out of the chamber at speed, except for Saradomin.

“No, no worm of Satan messes with me and my Zombie. May St. Cuthbert guide my bolt true… yes, you you beastly fiend.”

ZOOOOOOM

Saradomin fires, the crossbow bolt, zips into the hole.

CRUNCH

And connects.

WHOOSH

A gout of flame erupts into the chamber, illuminating the stern faced Priest, who swigs from a bottle of fungal brew.

“SA-RAAA-DOW-MIN.”

He pronounces and bows low.

The Lost Boys shuffle back into the chamber, the tunnels light now just a dull glow, the Thoqqua is unmoving- dead?

“That was…” Jerky begins.
“You may kiss my ring.” Thankfully Saradomin proffers his hand.
“Well I don’t know about…” Jerky finishes.

Grand Alf embraces the Gnome, actually circles his arms round the Gnomes waist.

“What are…”
“Shuffle out.” Grand Alf states.
“What?”
“Bob down.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”

Jerky bobs down leaving the circle of Grand Alf’s arms intact.

The Sorcerer tramps over to the hole, lifts his arm to the gap- measures.

“Yep, you’ll fit. Get up there.”
“What?”
“I said get up there.”
“What are you on about Grand Alf?” Aleso interjects.
“Did you see my shot?” Saradomin adds.
“Grand Alf?” Aleso wants answers.
“He fits.” Grand Alf simply states.
“So.” A chorus of Aleso, Jerky and Dartamor.
“POW, straight in there- what a shot.” Saradomin swigs from the bottle some more.
“So we should get the worm out.” Grand Alf looks irritated.
“Why?” The chorus is back.
“I mean… bullseye, I’m ace me.” Saradomin confirms.
“It might have treasure, and… you’ll see.” Grand Alf grins and winks.
“Straight down the hole… Ace.”
“What?”
“Treasure, you’ll see, now go and get it.”
“Ace.” Saradomin hits the bottle hard, “better than you fiddling fiddlers anyway.”
“I’m not…” Jerky starts.
“Oh yes you are.” Grand Alf counters.

Stalemate.

“All the time telling me what to do… Saradomin heal me please, oh please heal me, bloody first aid station that’s all I am to you… NONE OF YOU APPRECIATE ME. NONE OF YOU.”
“What are you going on about Saradomin?” Dartamor enquires.
“NONE OF YOU… D’ya wanna see my elephant impression, go on… please say yes. Go on, you never want to… Please…”
“What, alright.”

Saradomin giggles turns out the pockets on his moleskin trousers, they’re the ears, fiddles with the front of his pants, giggles some more, problems with the buttons on his flies. The Priest staggers, then sinks slowly, still clutching the bottle.

“I’m drowning.”

Saradomin slowly folds onto the floor.

“Drowning…”

Still waving the bottle.

HICCUP

Followed by snores.

“Right that’s settled- get in there.” Grand Alf grabs Jerky and kicking and shuffling lifts him to the hole.

“Sooner you get it done, sooner we can eat.”

Jerky, exasperated, shrugs and mutters then clambers into the hole, using a grappling hook and rope he manages to drag the worm’s carcass out of the hole, it’s still blisteringly hot.

The Thoqqua corpse flops on the floor, Grand Alf grabs the last of the Fungal brew, takes a swig, rinses and spits, actually sprays- the alcohol ignites as it hits the worm, the carcass is on fire.

“Right, who’s got the sausages?”

Then…

“Oh look, inside the carcass of the worm are a cluster of gem stones, Grand Alf uses his spade to worry them out, eventually picks them up.

“Oh, hot potato, hot potato…”

Next Turn: Bit the Next.


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 7.1 Bit the Next

“Wow… I mean… Wow… Big.” Saradomin pronounces every syllable of the word ‘big.’

The Bar-B-Q over the Lost Boys have made their way back the way they came and through the only other door that has not yet been explored, the one that Grand Alf found, then through a very very small ante-room, and another door, and into a huge chamber.

Nodules of luminescent fungus hang from the ceiling and walls, and grow in clumps upon the flagged floor. The vaguely nauseous light illuminates portions of grand bas-relief carvings on the stone walls that are not covered with the self-same fungus. The carvings are themed, the theme being dragons in various poses raining down fire upon terrified humans, elves, dwarves and others.

Soil and compost cover the near half of the huge chamber’s floor, which allows a variety of wan grasses to grow. A bench containing simple gardening implements stands along the west wall, there’s a door in the north wall- close by.

“Bleeeurgh.” Grand Alf spits and hawks for a moment and then comes to his senses, “this fungus tastes rotten.”

To which there’s no answer.

Dartamor shakes his head and wanders over to the door, to check it over, and see if he can make it open. Jerky follows him over, warily spying the Sorcerer for his next foolish move.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Grand Alf’s off, in hot pursuit, and to the table crammed with gardening implements which is being pawed over by Saradomin and Aleso, the Sorcerer grabs at a wooden handle, hefts his new find aloft for all to see.

It’s a garden fork.

The Sorcerer dodges about a bit, parries imaginary blows with the haft of the fork, and then, as quick as… well fairly quickly, delivers a stabbing blow to his imaginary foe.

“Take that.” Grand Alf holds the fork aloft and then dances a little in triumph, somewhat inured to his antics only Jerky bothers to watch the charade.

“Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth… Forking? No, that’s not it. I’ll work on it. I’d like to meet the fiend that could stand up to me with…”

Grand Alf struggles to heft the spade in his off hand, eventually gets it balanced.

“… These.” He finishers and then delivers a left-right series of… oh he falls over.

“I meant to do that.” He states as he clambers back to his feet, “get them off their guard.” He tries the manoeuvre again, perfect, nearly- well at least he stayed on his feet this time. 

“Bloody fool.” Saradomin whispers to Aleso, the pair have at last seen fit to provide all the audience Grand Alf needs, the Paladin nods back- which is about the first thing they’ve agreed on.

“Door open.” Dartamor is as good as his word, there’s another chamber beyond, a mirror of the one they stand in, Jerky shuts the door again, “let’s check this one out first”, the Rogue nods.

And so the sextet, including a lumbering Bernard (with one arm remember), trot over to a door in an alcove on the east wall. Dartamor gets to work and soon after opens the thing, and into a smaller but equally odd-looking chamber.

Luminescent mists blur the edges of this octagonal room. Nodules of glowing fungus dot the stone walls and ceiling, as well as the caps of toad-stools and mushrooms, small polyps, puffballs, lichens and other less identifiable growths. The humid air reeks of rot.

“Have you farted?” Grand Alf giggles, holds his nose, and points at Aleso. The Paladin looks, well… stern.

“MAY PELOR FORGIVE YOUR FOOLISH MUMBLINGS MAGE.”

The Paladin strides a little into the chamber, holds his nose and smothers a giggle, all the time pointing at Saradomin’s back, and waving away the aforementioned, trump-like, aroma.

Saradomin eventually turns around to stare at the two giggling buffoons, and shrugs, he turns back, and points- “there’s a light coming from that hole on the wall over there… the one next to the other hole… which is next to the other… hole… sssss.”

The chamber is riddled with holes, like the Bar-B-Q chamber earlier, one of the holes is glowing, like the… you get the idea.

“Oh, it’s…” Saradomin starts.

And.

“Watch Out.” Aleso cautions.

But it’s all too late; Dartamor rushes for the nearest wall, flattens himself against it and sidles around till he’s just to the side of the glowing hole.

Grand Alf has other ideas.

“Come on and get a good forking.”

The Sorcerer merrily capers, fork in hands, a little way in front of the hole.

“I’m gonna fork you.”

The capering continues unabated for a while, then ends with a half-turn and a jiggling bottom in the direction of the illuminated hole.

“This is madness.” Jerky stares open mouthed.
Aleso concentrates his gaze on the Gnome, looks puzzled a while, “What’s your point?” he asks.

Saradomin eventually breaks the deadlock, sees sense, “Grand Alf do it again, lure it to us- get it real mad.”

Eagerly the Sorcerer nods, runs through a few silent epithets, and then begins his capering again, screaming.

“I AM THE FORKER…”

And is engulfed in flame, and worm, of course.

“It’s coming.” Saradomin yells, they say the secret of great comedy is timing, the Priest of St. Cuthbert smiles contentedly.

“Ow. OW. OW. BURNY.”

Grand Alf immediately, and on purpose, flings himself away from the worm, he's on fire, on purpose- he meant to do it, you understand.

“BURNY. BURNY.”

He screams and has what looks to be a titanic seizure, flapping the flames out with his flailing arms and hands.

His lab coat is ruined… more ruined… whatever.

DMs Interlude- the Thoqqua’s adjusted initiative roll was 4, you’ll see why this is important, or not, much later.

Dartamor lances his rapier out, and in, and through the worm, golden molten ichor spews from the wound, the worm thrashes as the Rogue pulls out his blade.

The remaining three religious types sprout ranged weapons and fire, all three missiles strike the creature but not one of them punctures its tough hide.

The Thoqqua thrashes wildly trying to lash out and back round to catch Dartamor who skitters out of the way, more afraid of the second volley of bolts and arrows that will soon be heading in his general, possibly even specific, direction.

The Thoqqua can’t reach any of them, and being a sensible worm it does the next best thing, it retreats back into its burrow at maximum speed.

FWOOOM-THUNK

Its Saradomin again, his crossbow fires and sends a six inch steel bolt hurtling down the burrow, and smack-bang into the fiery creature, a fatal blow, again, the creature expires in an anti-climatic poof of smoke.

The Priest sinks to one knee, makes to pray, then thinks better of it and instead punches the air, “get in there- I’m ace.”

Aleso looks put out, holds his right hand up high, like a child wanting to be excused to go to the bathroom, “splinter”, he announces, his hand looks fine, he sucks a finger and mimes the word ‘ow’ a few times, hops from foot to foot, as if in genuine pain, for good measure.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Jerky offers his services all concerned.
“No, s’all right- got it.” The Paladin declares and holds aloft a tiny fragment of nothing, then feigns fumbling it- the evidence is lost.

“Must of distracted me.” He declares. “Good shot.” He mutters at a still crowing Saradomin and then wanders back to the doorway.  

Next Turn: The nonexistent tentacled horror.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Goonalan said:
			
		

> “This is madness.” Jerky stares open mouthed.
> Aleso concentrates his gaze on the Gnome, looks puzzled a while, “What’s your point?” he asks.




DnD summed up in two lines!


----------



## Goonalan

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> DnD summed up in two lines!




It was a good session- although...

Make of it what you will.


Turn 7.2: The nonexistent tentacled horror.

DMs Interlude- this may take a little explaining, like astrophysics, algebra and how they get jam in doughnuts. I’ll save the explanation for a little while though- so hang on.

“It’s my tentacle.” Grand Alf pulls hard.
“No. Mine.” Saradomin pulls harder, the elastic (nonexistent) tentacle stretches between the two warring Lost Boys, almost at breaking point.

Jerky Timbers, holy Priest of St. Cuthbert wanders over to a quiet space away from the maelstrom and weeps.

Aleso watches on, “go on Grand Alf”, he mutters beneath his breath.
Dartamor hears him, “I’ll give you 2 to 1 on the Wizard?”

The Paladin thinks about it, perhaps a little too long, he shakes his head reluctantly and then mutters a quick prayer to Pelor, asking for forgiveness for his wicked thoughts, and yet hoping for some sort of divine intervention which will leave the fat cleric of St. Cuthbert on his backside and tentacle-less.

“It’s mine- I saw it first.” Grand Alf yells.
“I killed it.” Saradomin counters.

The (nonexistent) tentacle stretches a little further, the tug-of-war looks like it will be coming to a messy climax some time soon.

“Three to one?” Dartamor stares hard at Aleso, he’s cracking.
The Paladin sweats a little and calculates his prospective winnings, it doesn’t help that he has to use his fingers.

“I made him go in there.” Grand Alf spits at Saradomin, all the time nodding towards Jerky.
“So. I killed it you ragged fool. I killed it. It’s mine by rights.”

The (nonexistent) tentacle stretches a little further past its breaking point, the onlookers take a step back, someone could have an eye out in the backlash if, and when, it breaks.

Jerky looks up, nurses his blistered hand, the second fire worm retrieval operation didn’t go as smoothly as the first. The Gnome shakes his head, hopes it’ll all be over soon.

“Four to one?”
“I’ll wager ten gold coins.” The Paladin quick as a flash has the money in hand.
“You’re on.” Dartamor scoops up the cash.

“BY THE HOLY POWER OF PELOR. I IMPLORE YOU GREAT SHINING FATHER TO ADD YOUR STRENGTH TO THIS POOR…” Aleso tries to think of someway of adequately capturing Grand Alf’s character succinctly, it can’t be done. “POOR MISGUIDED WRETCH, I MEAN…” Grand Alf suddenly takes note of Aleso’s prayer, settles his cold hard stare on the now stuttering Paladin.

“NO… NOT WRETCH OH SHINING ONE OF SUNNY COMPLEXION, certainly misguided, BUT NOT WRETCH. THIS… THIS… THIS GRAND ALF. I BEG YOU TO AID HIM IN HIS HOLY AND DIVINE STRUGGLE TO WREST THIS TENTACLE FROM THIS FOUL AND ABUSIVE CROWING DRUNKEN PRIEST OF SOME LESSER DIETY. AMEN.”

Now its Saradomin’s turn to stare at Aleso, if looks could kill, well… Aleso’d be at a funeral now, although he probably wouldn’t catch much of the ceremony, not from inside the coffin. 

“You’re next.” Saradomin offers and the gets back to his present endeavour.

“The (nonexistent) tentacle is mine, for I slayed… slained… slewed, that’s it, for I slewed this foul beast.”
“Only after I risked life, limb and lab coat to lure it out for you- the killing was easy, look at my lab coat, it’s ruined.”

Grand Alf hauls some more, Saradomin does the same, the (nonexistent) tentacle is now so thin, so drawn out, it looks like the pair are engaged in a tug-of-war using a strand of cooked spaghetti. Surely it must break soo…

TWONGggggg g g g g .

DMs Interlude, perhaps now is the right time for an explanation of events. The second Fire Worm slain Grand Alf once again sends Jerky in to fetch the beast, on the pretence that he wishes to search it for ‘treasure’, Jerky grumblingly obliges ending up with one burnt and blistered hand in the process. The creatures gut is hacked open, and a pair of shiny gems found- at present they reside in Aleso’s pocket- best not to ask how they got there, it may force further prayers to Pelor for forgiveness.

Soon after, and already bored with his find, Grand Alf decides that he wants one of the (nonexistent) tentacles of the fiery worm. At about the same time as Saradomin decides the same thing.

And yes, I know what you’re thinking, Thoqqua don’t have tentacles, well, you’d be right-

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/MM35_gallery/MM35_PG242a.jpg

However I don’t have a Thoqqua miniature, I do have a Grick-

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/MM35_gallery/MM35_PG139.jpg

or rather-

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/GoL_Gallery/72GoL51Grick.jpg

And they do.

Have tentacles that is.

So you can see how the confusion came about.

And yes, I did point out that a Thoqqua doesn’t have any tentacles, a Grick does… but not a Thoqqua.

This new information fell on deaf ears, it didn’t help that someone had spilt someone else’s orange squash earlier.

The argument had already started.

Remember Grand Alf is really eleven years old and wants a tentacle, no that’s not it- he wants that tentacle, that one, that one there- the one that’s stretched as thin as spaghetti between him and his fellow adventurer Saradomin. Who, one must also remember, is really eleven years old too.

It’s an easy mistake to make, apparently.

The Grick’s, sorry Thoqqua’s… No, Gricks’s other three (existent) tentacles remain attached to the rest of the Thoqqua.

I mean Grick.

They have somehow achieved pariah status.

Where was I?

Oh yes, back to the action.

TWONGggggg g g g g .

The (nonexistent) spaghetti tentacle breaks into two whirling lashing… oh heaven help me, smaller (nonexistent) spaghetti tentacles, their potential energies finally made kinetic.

“OW.”

Followed by…

“OW.”

Both combatants receive stinging, and scaring, lashes.

Their energies finally spent the smaller (nonexistent) spaghetti tentacles flop and curl on the floor.

Saradomin stares at Grand Alf.

Grand Alf stares at Saradomin.

They both stare at the wreck of the Grick… Thoqqua… Thoqqua-Grick.

It has three more (nonexistent) tentacles left.

What do you know- pariah status is suddenly lifted.

Scramble.

A little while later, all the dice now retrieved from the floor, the Lost Boys move on.

Grand Alf totes and jiggles his (nonexistent and imaginary, remember) tentacle, he does a little dance, places the thing beneath his chin, like it’s a very thin beard, then moves it up to his nose, its an Oliphant’s trunk- such is the Sorcerer’s joy he has to stop what he’s doing and clap his hands and giggle, a little.

Saradomin is likewise content; he is wearing his tentacle like a very short and very rubbery scarf, in a daringly casual, perhaps even rakish, manner. The Priest of St. Cuthbert grins to himself.

At the back of the group Jerky follows after, head down, flopping on the floor behind him is the Gnomes new rubbery tail.

Next Turn: A two pronged assault.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Goonalan said:
			
		

> Jerky Timbers, holy Priest of St. Cuthbert wanders over to a quiet space away from the maelstrom and weeps.




Let me just say, as someone who ran his own kids through this module (admittedly when they were several years older than your lot), I feel Jerky's pain.


----------



## Goonalan

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Let me just say, as someone who ran his own kids through this module (admittedly when they were several years older than your lot), I feel Jerky's pain.




I was actually looking forward to the moment that the Lost Boys sprang Jerky from his prison cell, I thought I would have a little more control, guide them a little... Alas Jerky's main job it seems at present is to act as referee for the inevitable differences of opinin, and to suffer abuse at the hands of Grand Alf who sees him as his little helper. Debbie McGee to his Paul Daniels- you'll like this, not a lot.

Thanks for the comments, more foolishness to follow, the next game is not until Jan 13th so I'm going to have to spin the intervening tales out a little, however the game on the 13th will be the climax of the scenario... the final confrontation with the Outcast and his various minions, who knows what's going to happen then, certainly not the players who seem to just make it up as they go along...


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 7.3: A two pronged assault.

The Lost Boys discover another door at the bottom, the southern end, of the huge chamber. They move through into yet another octagonal room, this one sans holes in the wall, in fact deserted, except for the fungal paradise.

After a brief and cursory search the Lost Boys head off, back through the huge chamber and into its mirror, a second chamber of equal proportions, complete with the same dragon markings, this one however without the wan grass, just a layer of dirt, ready to be seeded.

“This’d be nice for a vegetable patch- radishes.” Jerky points, and is studiously ignored.

“What was that?” Saradomin and Dartamor echo each others words.
“What?” Aleso and Grand Alf echo back.
“A door…” Saradomin and Dartamor again in chorus, the pair stop and look at each other, wait a while- see what the other is going to say next.

The silence expands.

“We could have a line of Caulies here.” Jerky mooches about kicking the dirt planting imaginary rows of vegetables.

Time grows impatient, as do Aleso and Grand Alf, “What?” The pair exclaim in unison.

“A door closed.” Saradomin and Dartamor gabble- together.

Then stop to stare at each other.

“O…“, they both open their mouth’s, cut short their proclamations, in order to fool the other, in unison, of course.

Which doesn’t work.

“Over there.” The pair point.

In different directions.

There are two doors, one at the far end of the huge chamber, another about midway along the right-hand wall, in an alcove.

“Hambush” Grand Alf proclaims and swats randomly with his fork.
“I expect we’ll encounter a two-pronged assault, I’ve seen it before- classic manoeuvre, I wrote a thesis on it at Paladin school.” Aleso looks cool collected- worldly, like he’s seen it all before.

The Paladin brushes invisible lint from his armour, “classic manoeuvre but I found a way out of it.” He takes to polishing a nail.

“A FORKING?” Grand Alf half-yells half-whispers, and waves his tines about a bit.
Aleso shakes his head.

“What then?” Dartamor enquires.

“Simple really- when faced with a two-pronged assault the object of the defenders is to prevent the attacking forces from gaining the advantage of fighting on two fronts- in my thesis I came up with what was described later as a classic outmanoeuvring tactic, a tactic to this day that bears my name, 'The Aleso.’”

Aleso polishes his nails some more, admires his own brilliance a while longer.

“What manoeuvre Aleso?” Dartamor insists.

“As I said, it’s very simple- ‘The Aleso’, in order for the defending force to minimise the contact points of the attacking force they will need to reverse formation recede into… ahem <cough> behind… ahem.”

It goes quiet for a while, finally when it seems no further explanation is coming.

“Recede into… behind?” Dartamor looks confused.
“Yes, ahem, as I say- simple really.” Aleso looks a little less convinced of his own genius.
“What does that mean- recede into behind?” Dartamor continues.
“It’s, well… ahem, like I say…” Aleso stumbles a little over his words.

Saradomin grins.

“You mean run away don’t you?” Saradomin grins.
“That’s not…” Aleso looks very unsure.
“The subject of your thesis, ‘The Aleso’ manoeuvre, is indeed very simple, it would have to be, you wrote it after all… when faced with a two-pronged assault your special manoeuvre is to run away- isn’t it?” Saradomin grins.
“There’s more to it than…” 
“Not much more, unless you also suggested screaming for your ‘Mummy’, as you ran off.”
“How did you know that… I… Have you been in my diary?”
“Oh everyone, quick ‘The Aleso.’”

Saradomin runs around the Lost Boys with his hands in the air, shrieking a little- “Mummy”, and then, “The Aleso.” It’s all very childish.

Eventually the Priest of St. Cuthbert runs out of steam.

“Whooop-dee-doo Mr. Paladin sir, has anyone got a sensible plan?” Saradomin states hands on hips.

“Dartamor and Jerky, my little Gnome friend, come with me- you three to the far door, we’re heading to the eastern one- it’s FORKING time.”

To prove his point Grand Alf waves his fork about some more, Jerky scatters backwards to avoid the Sorcerer’s wild swishes.

“Right then.” Aleso straightens up, heads north.

Saradomin swaggers behind the Paladin, with Bernard the Bugbear in tow, every now and then the Priest, when he’s sure Aleso’s not looking, flaps his hands in the air, mouths ‘Mummy’ and pirouettes on the spot.

Dartamor, Grand Alf and Jerky get to the eastern door, the Rogue creeps towards it.

“Do you want me…” Dartamor starts up.

WHUMP

Grand Alf rushes past the Rogue and kicks the door open, causing the rooms inhabitants to scatter back- the chamber is another of the octagonal spaces complete with a much trampled fungi garden, however it is far from empty- there are four Goblins and behind them a huge leering bugbear armed with… a shovel.

DMs Interlude, you may remember I told you some time ago that the Grick, I mean Thoqqua’s initiative in the first encounter was 4, well the initiative roll for the residents of this chamber, adjusted mind you, is… 2. You’ll see.

Dartamor tumbles into the chamber, mostly for effect, and comes up with a rope in his hands, something he made a little earlier.

DMs Interlude, look out for the natural 20 roll coming up.

“Right- round ‘em up!” Dartamor yells, and spins the makeshift lasso, something he has never done before, never seen anyone else do before, and has simply no idea about how to make the lasso-thing work.

FLING

The rope circles out high and then swiftly descends around the neck of a Goblin.

YANK

Dartamor pulls the rope taught, throttling and knocking over the ensnared Goblin.

DMs Interlude, did you spot it- the natural 20?

He’s not done however, momentum still with the Rogue he leans back and whips the rope up and around, the electric pulse travels up the taut line, it’s enough to the lift the struggling Goblin back into the air and then slam the offending creature into a nearby wall.

The Goblin looks to be very dead; it’s the angle of the neck that gives it away, ninety degrees.

“FORK YOU.”

Grand Alf skewers a Goblin, his fork connects leaving three holes, drilled in a neat little row in the creature’s forehead, thin rivulets of blood- hardly anything at all, drip from the tiny wounds.

The Goblin lifts its hand to its head, smears the blood there, then brings its hand down to stare at the contents, lots of blood and some flecks of grey matter.

It collapses.

“I AM THE CHAMPEEEEEEUN MY FREEEEND.”

Grand Alf dances.

But not for long, another Goblin lunges towards the Sorcerer, but he’s much too quick, his fork lances out again, and scores another hit.

The Goblin staggers back looking down at the three puncture wounds caused by the fork’s tines on its leg, the creature is… hardly hurt at all, more- what’s the word, angry that’s it. The Goblin leaps at the Sorcerer and lashes out in fury, draws its blade across Grand Alf’s shoulder and chest.

The Sorcerer reacts with lightning speed.

Falls over.

Grasps at his bloody torso.

“I’M DYIIIINNNNNNNNNNNN.” He screams.

Jerky rushes into the chamber, there’s little else for it, his charge is met by the remaining two Goblins and the Bugbear, which looms over him- it suddenly goes very dark for the Gnome, he’s only little.

To Jerky’s left Dartamor yanks on his rope, dragging the dead Goblin's body towards him, the reason for this is alas lost to the Gnome.

To his right Grand Alf lies on the floor, actually lies is not the word, Grand Alf break dances on the floor would be nearer the truth, an impartial observer would conclude that Grand Alf was in fact either dying, or trying to steal the scene. Either way there’s a lot of energy being expended for somebody that’s supposed to be mortally wounded.

The Gnome turns back, just in time to avoid an over-head blow from the Bugbear with its shovel.

CLANG.

“Helllllp…” Jerky begins.

At about the same time Aleso, Saradomin and Bernard are ten paces from the farthest door, the two god-botherers turn as one, look back towards the eastern door.

“That was Jerky.” Saradomin states.
Aleso nods his agreement, “we should…”

BAM

The door ahead is flung open and barrelling from the chamber beyond charges a Bugbear, waving a huge scythe, continuing the gardening theme.

“The Aleso”, Aleso screams and before he can get the measure of things, that is turn and run, he’s sliced down his right-hand side- the wound deep enough to expose bone. The Paladin stumbles hard left out of the action, trying to heave his longsword around in defence, the Bugbear however has its sights set elsewhere, it charges on… straight at Saradomin.

Next Turn: Bert’s bad.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Loving it, as always. Been a bit distracted of late, but seriously enjoying the action. Your experiences with the younger generation are inspiring, rather impressive to me as... I've not the patience  [sblock=hijack] sblocked because it rambled and I didn't want to thread-hijack 
My kids did play when they were younger, more for curiosity sake than anything I believe. We were all a bit younger, by 10 years, and I ran "Horror on the Hill", a classic in my book. 

All went smoothly until they routed a small camp of goblins and hobgoblins. That went well actually with the exception of a survivor... the one that got away.  So the somewhat banged up group decides that they should leave the area, and head up a nearby hill.
And gather a large bonfire's worth of wood.
And light it... I'm sad to say I did mention that the night air was a bit chill.
The idea of the bonfire appealed to them on some youthful-pyromania level I suppose... so much so that the increasingly blatant warnings by INT and WIS rolls, and finally a gift from the DM - 'that's a big fire up here on the hill.'
It's all met with bad rolls, worse interpretation of warnings and finally a complete ignoring of that idiotic Dad of theirs, _of course it's a big fire, that's the point!_

So the goblish army crept up the hill, and . . . well lets just say that if you ask any of them about camp-fires they will quickly either change the subject or demand that you not do so on a hill.  [/sblock]Looking forward to the conclusion, Merry Christmas!


----------



## Goonalan

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Loving it, as always. Been a bit distracted of late, but seriously enjoying the action. Your experiences with the younger generation are inspiring, rather impressive to me as... I've not the patience  [sblock=hijack] sblocked because it rambled and I didn't want to thread-hijack
> My kids did play when they were younger, more for curiosity sake than anything I believe. We were all a bit younger, by 10 years, and I ran "Horror on the Hill", a classic in my book.
> 
> All went smoothly until they routed a small camp of goblins and hobgoblins. That went well actually with the exception of a survivor... the one that got away.  So the somewhat banged up group decides that they should leave the area, and head up a nearby hill.
> And gather a large bonfire's worth of wood.
> And light it... I'm sad to say I did mention that the night air was a bit chill.
> The idea of the bonfire appealed to them on some youthful-pyromania level I suppose... so much so that the increasingly blatant warnings by INT and WIS rolls, and finally a gift from the DM - 'that's a big fire up here on the hill.'
> It's all met with bad rolls, worse interpretation of warnings and finally a complete ignoring of that idiotic Dad of theirs, _of course it's a big fire, that's the point!_
> 
> So the goblish army crept up the hill, and . . . well lets just say that if you ask any of them about camp-fires they will quickly either change the subject or demand that you not do so on a hill.  [/sblock]Looking forward to the conclusion, Merry Christmas!




My lot do the same sort of thing, then roll half-a-dozen naturals and clear the decks, before asking what's for afters.

And so we press on to the climax...

Turn 7.4: Bert’s bad. 

“Bert don’t fail me now.” Saradomin whispers.

The Bugbear is less than ten feet away from him as he brings his crossbow up to aim.

The towering creature increases its pace; it’s only a few feet away when…

THWONG

Saradomin’s crossbow bolt smashes into its forehead, about half the length of the bolt juts from the creature’s skull, the rest… well.

The Bugbear stands there, swaying slightly, drops its scythe, smiles, scratch that- grins, claps its hands together in glee, and then capers a little.

Aleso stops his stumbling, straightens up- having spotted an enemy he feels he can deal with, he clanks towards the lumbering Goblinoid who has clearly lost all sense of occasion.

The Paladin spots something en route; turns back to stare at the now open doorway, emerging from the chamber are a knot of Skeletons, actually three of them.

“The Aleso.” Aleso shrieks and scampers off, leaving Saradomin on his own.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert tuts, places his crossbow on the floor, and unleashes his heavy mace.

WHUMP

The Bugbear ceases its little dance and takes to lying very still on the floor and bleeding profusely.

Which brings the Skeletons into view.

The three bonies clack towards Saradomin armed with swords and axes, they clearly mean business.

_DMs Interlude, you’ll remember I keep referring back to Initiative rolls, in previous combat sections, well for the record- the initiative roll for the Skeletons was, adjusted- after all Skeletons have +5 Initiative, to… 6. Can anyone see a pattern forming yet?_

“I don’t know.” Saradomin shakes his head, while tucking away his mace and reaching for his Holy Symbol.

“Bert, and I hope you can hear me, 
Send down your holy aura,
And spread these Skeletons around like Flora.”

BOOOOOOOOM

A bright white light engulfs the three Skeletons, it lasts for but the blink of an eye, then the Undead liberally redistribute themselves around the area- smashed to splinters of bone.

Saradomin waits a while.

Aleso stops running, heads back to the battlefield, sheepish.

Just in time to take in the show.

“Who’s bad?
Bert’s bad.
I said who’s bad?
Bert’s bad.”

Saradomin moonwalks and struts while repeating his little rhyme.

Mostly in Aleso’s face.

The Paladin looks unamused, then amazed, and then unamused again; eventually amazement gets the better of him.

“That was…” He begins.

Saradomin finishes his little dance by wetting his finger in his mouth, and then applying said finger to his wiggling backside.

“TSSSS.”

Is the sound he makes.

Saradomin’s backside ceases wiggling, still pointing in Aleso’s direction.

“I’m bad.” Saradomin concludes. Then adds, “let’s go help the others.”

And rushes off.

Aleso, and a gurning Bernard, follow after.

“Yessth Marthter.”

The three-some stumble into the eastern chamber.

When we left the fracas Dartamor was hauling in the corpse of the Goblin he had killed with his lasso- reason unknown, Grand Alf was having an electric fit on the floor- ostensibly doing the worst ever rendition of a dying swan, and Jerky was being menaced by two Goblins and a Bugbear.

Well things have changed somewhat.

Grand Alf is puffed out, his floorshow now comes in fits and starts, between hacking coughing fits and bouts of heavy breathing, this dying malarkey will be the death of him.

Jerky has a broken arm.

It’s the one hanging by his side- useless.

On the positive side he is still being menaced by two Goblins, and an arm-breaking, Bugbear.

So that’s ok then.

However Dartamor is now in action, like a mad shot-putter he spins around with the Goblin corpse whirling out in front of him, like some lunatic carousel. 

“Hang on, I’ll…”

Dartamor begins.

DUNK

Jerky gets lucky, one of the Goblins menacing him over-reaches and the Gnome brains him, the Goblin flops to the floor unmoving.

The Bugbear however is having none of it, it strides forward, shoves the last of the Goblins aside, towers over Jerky, raises his shovel high- about to flatten the Gnome.

WHUMP

When the huge Goblinoid is struck in the face by a whirling Goblin- I wonder where that came from?

The Bugbear drops its weapon and stumbles hard right, clearly disorientated, blood gushes from its broken nose, it also seems to have lost some teeth in the collision.

It trips and sprawls, lies still for a moment before Aleso and Saradomin- who share a look.

“Surren…” Is all that Aleso manages.

Saradomin shrugs and then smashes his heavy mace down on the Bugbear which is attempting to get back up.

The things skull is caved in- dead.

“Uz gi’ i’.”

In translation-

“Me give in.”

The remaining Goblin flings away its shortsword and abases itself before Jerky.

“That’s a bit more like it.”

Grand Alf is up and over to the creature, a miracle cure, he shoves Jerky aside so that the Goblin is sprawled before him.

“Your mine now.”

Grand Alf states, and grins down at the Goblin, who has no idea what the Sorcerer is saying.

“Uz tell theur everythin’. Uz gran' Goblin. Uz nem is ‘Alan.”

In translation-

“Me tell you everything. Me good Goblin. My name is ‘Alan.’”
“You’d better be a good Goblin or I’ll set him on you.”

Grand Alf points at Saradomin, who smacks the head of his mace hard into his open palm, then straight away wishes he hadn’t. 

“Now tell us everything.” Grand Alf finishes.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert turns away to suck and blow his hand- it stings; there are tears in his eyes.

Dartamor is on the scene, puts his foot on the Goblin presses him down into the dirt and fungi, the Rogue grabs and ties the creature’s hands behind its back.

Hog-tied the Goblin is levered into a sitting position, the interrogation begins in earnest.

“Ask him if he wants to be my servant?” Grand Alf barks at Dartamor.
“Ask him if there’s a toilet near by?” Aleso states, while hoping from foot to foot.
“Ask him if he’s ever heard of St. Cuthbert and his marvellous works?” Saradomin states and bends down to the Goblin, the Priest has a pamphlet in hand, the title reads in bold, ‘St. Cuthbert- Wine, Women & Strong”, it looks to be hand-written.
“Ask him why we bother?” Jerky mooches off back out of the chamber, “I’ll stand out here shall I? On guard. Shout if you need me… Not that you will… I don’t know, call yourself adventurers…” He mumbles on.

“Wheear are t' Adventurers?” Dartamor enquires.

In translation-

“Where are the Adventurers?”

The Goblin brightens up, at last something he can understand, “Wi' t' Ahtcast, int' Twileight Grove.”

In translation-

“With the Outcast, in the Twilight Grove.” 

The Goblin nods vigorously, “Can ah nip on naw?”

In translation- 

“Can I go now?”

Dartamor translates.

“The ‘Twilight Grove’, that sounds nice.” Grand Alf states.
The Goblin shrugs uncomprehending.

“Ask him if he wants to be my servant?” Grand Alf barks again at Dartamor.
“Ahem… toilet?” Aleso whines.
“St. Cuthbert offers the one true path to enlightenment?” Saradomin proffers the pamphlet again; the Goblin indicates he has no hands to spare. “Ah, I see.” Saradomin finds two stones to hold the pamphlet open on the floor before the Goblin, so that the creature can read the wise words contained within, a foolproof plan, except for the fact that the Goblin does not understand the Common tongue, and he can’t read, not even Goblin. The Goblin nods vigorously, seemingly enjoying the tale.
“Scratch that- ask him why I bother?” Jerky pops his head around the door, only for a moment, and then disappears back out of sight.

“Adventurers…Ha. I said, ‘Ha.’ Bunch of mad men more like.” The Gnome mutters on whilst standing guard outside the chamber.

The Lost Boys are not offended by Jerky’s comment however, having unanimously, and individually, previously taken the decision to ignore anything the Gnome says.

_DMs Interlude- at least that’s what it feels like to me._

“What’s defendin 'em? Int' Grove?” Dartamor asks.

In translation-

“What’s defending them? In the Grove?”

“Chief Durnn. 'N Priestess. ‘N um Goblins.” The Goblin nods, vigorously- of course, and grins, a helpful little Goblin.

In translation-

“Chief Durnn. And Priestess. And some Goblins.”

“Wha' else is theear?” Dartamor continues.

In translation-

“What else is there?” 

“Look will you just ask him if he wants to be my servant, the pay’s lousy, as are the conditions, but I will teach him mighty magics, like how to make tea, and toast and sandwiches. Ask him- go on. Have you asked him?” Grand Alf nudges the Rogue, tugs at his shoulder.
“I’ve asked him, he’s said no, he’s a little busy- tied up, Grand Alf; he appreciates the offer and all that, don’t you?”
Dartamor nods at the Goblin, the Goblin nods back, only with more vigour.
“But alas he has to decline, don’t you?”
Daratamor nods at the Goblin, who… guess?
“Tell him that’s a shame. A SHAME.” Grand Alf leers over the Goblin screaming in the creature’s face, then grins.
The Sorcerer pats the creature on the back of its head, wipes his hand and then wanders off, “a real shame.”

“Toy-aaaaaaaarrrrr-let?” Aleso clutches his unmentionable area.
“Nope.” Dartamor states.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa-t?”
“The nearest toilet is some distance away, and is out of order, isn’t it”
Dartamor nods at the Goblin, who parrots the manoeuvre.
“He says it is also out of soap, and the towels are dirty.”
The Paladin nods, his face a rictus grin, then suddenly he smiles, lifts his left leg off the floor and half-limps, half-hops away, shaking the offending leg en route.
“No matter.” He calls back.

“St. Cuthbert?” Saradomin grins at the Goblin, holds out a bottle of rotgut Goblin ale, the one he stole previously, he nods at the Goblin and shakes the bottle, the Goblin nods back- vigorously. 

“PRAISE BE… FOR I HAVE SAVED HIS SOUL.” Saradomin jerks the Goblin to its feet, slaps the creature on its back, almost flattening it again, and then with a wink shoves the neck of the bottle into the Goblins mouth and upends it for a second.

The Goblin is soon glassy eyed and grinning.

And nodding, vigorously.

“Sent Guth-Butt.”

The Goblin nods and grins some more.

“Release him Dartamor, he has seen the fight- St. Cuthbert has blessed him, he shall join our holy alliance in our struggle against the dark forces of tyranny that seek to bring wan grass and scratchy stick insects to bear on the world of enlightenment.”

Dartamor’s jaw hits the floor.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert continues, shaking the Goblin’s shoulders to emphasise his points.

“St. Guth Butt is inside you young lad, inside here”, Saradomin taps the spot on the Goblin normally reserved for the liver; he failed Basic Anatomy, “he’s mighty strong, able to dish out a lot of punishment. He’s a soldier, lad, a fighter, not a quitter”, Saradomin’s gaze finds out Aleso, “a fighter lad, inside, here.” Saradomin aims for the Liver and finds the Spleen.

“Let him go Dartamor, for he is bound to me, to St. Cuth Butt now. I shall call him… Jeff.”
“He said his name’s Alan.” Dartamor tries to help.
“Well he’s not Alan anymore, Alan was his Goblin name, tell him he’s Jeff now, Jeff St. Cuthbert- go on tell him.” Saradomin continues to shake the Goblin formerly known as Alan AKA Jeff St. Cuthbert, “tell him then”, Saradomin nods at Dartamor.

Who nods back, vigorously, smiling- “he says your name is Jeff…”
“Uz name’s Alan it wor uz mother’s na…”

In translation-

“My name’s Alan it was my mother’s na…”
“Thy name’s Jeff naw, if theur want ta stay ali', Jeff St. Cuthbert.”

In translation-

“Your name’s Jeff now, if you want to stay alive, Jeff St. Cuthbert.”

Dartamor nods vigorously, at the Goblin and Saradomin, in turns. The Goblin catches on- nods his entire head, body and soul in Saradomin’s direction.

The Priest unhooks his mace, wanders over to the Goblin, his grin slightly lopsided, “what’s your name?” There’s an air of menace in his voice.

“Deaf Sent Gutt Butt.”

Saradomin scowls, and moves closer in to the Goblin, in its face.

“Your name again soldier?”

“DEAF SENT GUTT BUTT.” The Goblin screams back and stamps his feet to attention.

“Ahhh, he’s so cute.” Saradomin pats the creatures head, and then wipes his hand.

Dartamor shakes his head, meets Jerky’s gaze, the Gnome leans around the door making a whirling motion to the side of his head, clearly signalling that Saradomin is mad. Dartamor nods back, vigorously.

“Good that’s settled.” Saradomin states, now we sing.

Aleso returns to the fold, “did I miss anything?”

Saradomin begins to sing/bellow, a bit of both actually, mostly bellow though, simultaneously thumping out the tune on the top of Jeff’s head.

“Onward Cuthbert’s soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the carafe of Cuthbert,
Going on before…” 

The Goblin winces and opens and closes his mouth in time to the words- nearly.

“I don’t know this one- is it a carol?” Aleso grins and attempts to join in.

Next Turn: I spy.

Slow and steady, that's the style; and it gets worse before it gets better, you'll see...


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 7.5: I spy.

“Oh that was a great song, well done everybody- St. Cuthbert will be pleased.”

The Priest hugs Jeff St. Cuthbert, the Goblin looks frightened, and confused.

“Get a room.” Aleso snickers and mocks.

_DMs Interlude, sad to say but the following actually happened._

“I’ve got it.” Saradomin shouts.
“Well don’t give it to me.” Aleso guffaws, and gets odd looks.
“The perfect plan.”
“Go on then?” Dartamor enquires.
“We send Jeff back; to the other Goblins, to spy on them; the Chief and the Priestess- discover their tactics in the forthcoming confrontation. St. Cuthbert, bless me, but I’m a genius, it’s foolproof.”
Dartamor considers the plan.
“Genius. Genius.” And once more to be sure, “genius”, Grand Alf’s on board.
“You want to let him go.” Aleso nods towards Jeff, “back to the others, to spy on them. Then return to us with their tactics. You want him… to do that?” Aleso looks disgusted.
“Yes.” Saradomin states.
“It’s genius-like in its simplicity.” Grand Alf adds
Aleso considers some more, then shakes his head, “Saradomin you are, and I hate to say this… You are a brilliant man.”
“Genius.” Grand Alf adds.
“Right then”, Saradomin claps his hands together, “Dartamor tell Jeff to tell the chief that he is the sole survivor of our attack, that we were much weakened in the fracas and that we’ll probably be having our tea and generally lazing around- all unprepared, in say… twenty minutes or so. Then tell him that he should sneak back to us before the twenty minutes are up and tell us how they’re going to attack, their exact numbers, strengths and weaknesses, their insecurities and worries, and any internecine rivalries that exist. That should about do it. ”
Dartamor thinks about it, then nods and sets to work translating all of the above.

Aleso chucks Saradomin on the arm, “good work.”
Saradomin blushes a little.

Grand Alf wanders over, its clear he’s thinking, either that or constipated.

“I have a worry, just a niggle mind.”
“Go on.” Saradomin replies.
“Well look at him.”

Aleso and Saradomin stare at Jeff, who is nodding, very slowly, smiling thinly, and thinking exactly the same thoughts as you are dear reader.

“What about him?” Saradomin asks.
“Yes, what?” Aleso adds.

“Does he look Gobliny enough to you?” Grand Alf worries and chews a nail.

The two holy men consider Grand Alf’s point.

“Grand Alf… you may have something there.” Saradomin finally admits.
“He needs a disguise.” Aleso declares.
“Good work.” Saradomin nods and pats Aleso on the back, the Paladin smiles.

“I’ve got it.”

Grand Alf scuttles over to the fallen Bugbear, grabs the creature’s helm, looks at it for a bit- from every angle. Then shimmies over to Jeff and places it on the Goblin’s head, its far too big for…

“Perfect.” Saradomin declares.
“Better than perfect, very perfect.” Aleso states and folds his arms- content.

Two minutes later with a false smile nailed on his face Jeff St. Cuthbert is on his way out of the chamber and back to his people.

“Oi. Where do you think you’re going?” Jerky bars the Goblin’s path. Jeff looks terrified.

“No need”, Aleso ushers Jerky aside, pats Jeff on the head, actually raps him on the helmet, and gestures for the Goblin to go on.

“Don’t worry Jerky he’ll be back, we’ve disguised Jeff as a Goblin in order for him to return to his brothers in arms and discover their tactics in the forthcoming battle, to sow confusion and doubt in their ranks. To give us the edge, it’s a genius plan- I had a hand in it of course, the disguise was my idea.”
“Why?” Jerky snaps back.
“Why what?” 
“Why does he need a disguise?”
“To make him look like a proper Goblin, we don’t want them to see through our ruse; Jeff will be our Trodden Horse.”
“Our what?”
“Trodden Horse, it’s a classic tactic in warfare.”
“Trodden Horse?”
“Hmmm.” Aleso salutes the departing Jeff St. Cuthbert who turns one last time, shrugs and waves, and then legs it through the northern exit. 

“He’s a brave little Goblin.” Aleso wipes a tear from his eye, he’s still saluting, “what were you saying?”

Jerky looks very confused.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” He asks.

Saradomin swans through the door, waves slowly, even though Jeff is about home by now.

“Then his death will not have been in vain. We will make sure of that.”

“We will not see his like again.” Grand Alf states as he joins the crowd.

Jerky stares at the three figures in tableau, then shakes his head.

“Forget I said anything. In fact forget everything I’ve ever said. That’s it.” Jerky mimes sewing his lips shut.

The Gnome wanders off to sit down out of the light, somewhere away from the madding crowd.

“Twenty minutes.” Saradomin states.
“What shall we do?” Aleso asks.
“I’m going to make tea and have my sandwiches.” Grand Alf states and shuffles back into the chamber.
“I think I’ll take my armour off then and give it a good clean.” Aleso heads in.
“I think I’ll have a snooze.” Saradomin declares and mooches off.

Next Turn: But why?


----------



## Abciximab

> “We send Jeff back; to the other Goblins, to spy on them; the Chief and the Priestess- discover their tactics in the forthcoming confrontation. St. Cuthbert, bless me, but I’m a genius, it’s foolproof.”




Wow. Usually it's the NPC trying to (unsuccessfully) convince the party to let them go. 

NPC: "No, really, I'll change my ways and never trouble you again, if you would just let me go. Please?"
PC: "Well gee, let me think about that for a while, (whole party, all together) NO!"
NPC: "Well, it was worth a shot."

I think they're about to learn an important lesson. Then comes the moral dilemma - keep prisoner or put to death...


----------



## Goonalan

Abciximab said:
			
		

> Wow. Usually it's the NPC trying to (unsuccessfully) convince the party to let them go.
> 
> NPC: "No, really, I'll change my ways and never trouble you again, if you would just let me go. Please?"
> PC: "Well gee, let me think about that for a while, (whole party, all together) NO!"
> NPC: "Well, it was worth a shot."
> 
> I think they're about to learn an important lesson. Then comes the moral dilemma - keep prisoner or put to death...




Forgive me but the chance of them learning any lessons here is extremely slim, whatever it is I throw at them, well... you'll see.

Thanks for the comment always appreciated.

Turn 7.6: But why?

In a wrecked chamber with a sagging stone roof, and one wall missing a bunch of Goblins huddle, front and centre Durnn paces and stares at a much smaller Goblin, known to some as Jeff St. Cuthbert, to others as Alan Goblin.

“Bur why? Why did thee let theur nip on?” Durnn asks Alan again.

In translation-

“But why? Why did they let you go?”

Alan Goblin has been stood at attention for quite a while now; he’s not sure which is worse, confronting his chief or the Lost Boys.

“WHY?”
“I think 'e fancied uz.” 

In translation-

 “I think he fancied me.” 
“T’ Priest?” Durnn asks.

In translation-

“The Priest?”

Alan nods and adds.

“Thee orl seemed ta li' me… Thee wor very… Reeight pleasant. Gran' chuffin', you’d li' 'em.”

In translation-

“They all seemed to like me… They were very…  Very pleasant. Nice really, you’d like them.”

Durnn turns on the spot.

WHACK

And punches Alan into early next week.

Before Alan can get up the chief is on top of him, squatting on his chest, “na tell uz agin, everythin theur saw, everee detail. Ah want ta kna orl abaht 'em.” 

In translation-

“now tell me again, everything you saw, every detail. I want to know all about them.”

Ten minutes later, Alan’s tale has been told.

“Soa, let’s gerr dis straight- there’s an Elf armed wi' eur magic rope, whoa 'urls dead Goblins a' fowk?” Durnn asks.

In translation-

“So, let’s get this straight- there’s an Elf armed with a magic rope, who hurls dead Goblins at people?”
Alan nods.

“There’s eur tin can- eur bloke wrapped i' metal, who’s balancin eur slug on 'is lip, 'n whoa does umpteen o' dancin, 'n squeyts when 'e walks… 'n leaves eur trail o' puddles behin' 'im?” Durnn goes on.

In translation-

“There’s a tin can- a man wrapped in metal, who’s balancing a slug on his lip, and who does a lot of dancing, and squeaks when he walks… and leaves a trail of puddles behind him?”

Alan nods.
Durnn continues.

“The third is wearin eur burnt 'n ripped frock, eur lab coa' likewise ruined, eur false beard, 'n let uz gerr dis next bit right- 'e wor dead, bur then 'e getten up agin?” Alan nods.

In translation-

“The third is wearing a burnt and ripped dress, a lab coat likewise ruined, a false beard, and let me get this next bit right- he was dead, but then he got up again?”

“An' started shahtin a' theur?” 
Alan nods some more.

In translation-

“And started shouting at you?”

“Then there’s eur sneyty Gnome, t' 'un we 'ed as prisona fert last year or sa, onny wi' cleeas on, 'n 'e’s upset wi' t' others abaht summa'?” 
Alan nods.

In translation-

“Then there’s a sneaky Gnome, the one we had as prisoner for the last year or so, only with clothes on, and he’s upset with the others about something?”

“What’s 'e upset abaht?” 
Alan shakes his head and shrugs.

In translation-

“What’s he upset about?”

Durnn presses on.

“The leada is eur 'Oly bloke, eur gran' bloke, eur reeight gran' man- these wor thy words rememba, wi' eur gran' smell, li' cheap whisky. 'N ah want ta gerr dis absolutely right- 'e touched theur?” 

In translation-

“The leader is a holy man, a nice man, a very nice man- these were your words remember, with a nice smell, like cheap whisky. And I want to get this absolutely right- he touched you?”
Alan shakes his head.

“He tried ta kiss theur?” 
Alan nods his head.

In translation-

“He tried to kiss you?”

“Because 'e fancied theur?”
Alan nods his head again.

In translation-

“Because he fancied you?”

“But 'e wor still reeight gran', 'n dis is anotha 'un o' thy words- theur described 'im as, dreamy?” 
Alan looks sheepish, then looks up and nods.

In translation-

“But he was still very nice, and this is another one of your words- you described him as, dreamy?”

“An' lastly Bernard t' Bugbear, naw wi' onny 'un ahm, wor followin 'em aroun', although 'e looked umpteen li' dead- thy words agin?” 
Alan nods.

In translation-

“And lastly Bernard the Bugbear, now with only one arm, was following them around, although he looked a lot like dead- your words again?”

Durnn stares at Alan.

The other Goblins in the chamber shuffle round to join the audience.

Eventually Alan nods, once.

“An' theur expect uz ta beleev 'a'?” 
Alan nods, vigorously.

In translation-

“And you expect me to believe that?”

Alan Goblin grins.

SNIFF

Durnn leans in close and sniffs Alan’s breath.

“You’ve bin suppin.” 
Alan nods, vigorously.

In translation-

“You’ve been drinking.”

THUNK

Alan skitters onto the floor to fetch his teeth.

“Tell t' Ahtcast we’re expectin trouble, orl o' theur gerr ready, they’re comin. 'N Alan- front line.” Durnn declares, Goblins rush to obey, Alan- gap-toothed, saunters to the front of the queue.

In translation-

“Tell the Outcast we’re expecting trouble, all of you get ready, they’re coming. And Alan- front line.”

Back in the octagonal chamber, temporary home to The Lost Boys, an hour and a half has passed since Jeff St. Cuthbert left.

“He’s not coming back.” Jerky pokes his head round the door, “I told you he wouldn’t.”
“He’s a brave Goblin- that’s all I have to say on the matter, taking them all on… single-handedly, fighting for what’s right. I’ll say no more on the subject, except that Alan will be missed, by all of us.” Saradomin concludes and bows his head.
Grand Alf and Aleso look forlorn, the Paladin sniffs and wipes an eye.
“Now let us pray.” Saradomin states and thumps his right hand across his chest, the others bow their heads.

“Our St. Cuthbert, that art in the tavern,
Hollow be thy frame.
Thy Burger comes.
Grilled, in a bun,
floury and unleavened.
Forgive us this day our daily dead.
And our trespasses,
as we DO NOT forgive those
who trespass against us.
Lead us into temptation,
and deliver us unto evil:
For mine is the pickled-egg,
and the beer, and the whisky-chaser,
forever and ever.
How Much?”​
The adventurers mooch back and forth, wondering what to do next.

“And that’s the last I’ll say on the matter… he was very brave… Alan… very brave indeed, some could learn from him.” Saradomin stares at the Paladin, who cannot meet his gaze.

“HE’S NOT COMING BACK- HE’S SOLD US OUT, RIGHT NOW HE’S SITTING WITH HIS GOBLIN FRIENDS LAUGHING AT US- TELLING THEM ALL ABOUT US. YOU’RE IDIOTS. YOU’RE ALL MAD.” Jerky silhouetted in the doorway finally runs out of steam, he stands there seething.

“He wouldn’t tell them we were idiots, or mad- what proof would he have? That’s just ridiculous.” Grand Alf states hands on hips.
“Jerky, can you not see that Our Lord has seen fit to Bless me with many rare powers, my charm is legendary, my wit almost unwittable-less, I am a simple man, a lowly genius- I am the Oerthly incarnation of Our Lord, or as I call him- Bert. Jealousy is a terrible thing, now I want you to think about that and pray, to me, for forgiveness- I feel your time down here with the Goblins has affected your mind, you must seek succour and penance for your falsehoods, it is not too late little one, for although your brain is both small and addled you will one day see the truth of it. Now kneel before The Chosen One.” Saradomin indicates the exact spot he’d like Jerky to kneel.

“THEY KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT US- EVERYTHING… EVERYTHING, CAN’T YOU SEE THAT, EVERYTHING.” Jerky screams in Saradomin’s face, who gasps back.
“But how?” Aleso asks.
“HE TOLD THEM, THE GOBLIN, ALAN- HE SNUCK BACK THERE AND TOLD THEM ALL ABOUT US, THEY’RE MAKING PLANS FOR US NOW- TO AMBUSH US, ATTACK US, DESTROY US.”

“Hambush!” Grand Alf crouches into a combat stance, waves his fork left then right, causing Saradomin and Dartamor to take evasive action.

The others scatter, ready for anything, except Aleso who is hurriedly trying to get his armour back on as he’s only wearing his underpants at the moment, he’s having no luck, particularly as he’s got his legs in the sleeves.

Nothing happens for a bit.

“Do you mean that they have captured Jeff St. Cuthbert and tortured him in order to reveal our whereabouts?” Saradomin whispers.
“He was a very brave Goblin, he wouldn’t crack, a tough nut, they wouldn’t be able to break Alan.” Grand Alf shakes his head.
“I mean Alan went back there, after you let him go, and just told them all about us.” Jerky explains patiently, “he’s a Goblin, they’re all Goblins, he went back to his Chief and just told them about us, he’s not on our side- he was only pretending to be your friend. Don’t you see?”

Saradomin looks confused, Grand Alf continues to shake his head.

“Got it.” Aleso states, he hasn’t, he has both of his legs through the hole in the armour normally reserved for his head.

CLANG

The Paladin falls over.

Next Turn: Finally.


----------



## Abciximab

> Forgive me but the chance of them learning any lessons here is extremely slim, whatever it is I throw at them, well... you'll see.




LOL


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 7.7: Finally.

“Damn- well I didn’t see that.” Grand Alf shrugs and gets on with eating his Magic Smash sandwich.

“I still can’t believe it.” Saradomin shakes his head, he’s been let down in a bad way, his faith rocked- “BERT”, he shakes his fist at the ceiling of the chamber, “I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED…” The Priest of St. Cuthbert continues to mouth obscenities in the general direction of his deity.

“So they know everything?” Aleso states, Jerky nods back.
“What do you think he’ll have said about me?” Aleso strikes a chivalrous pose.
“Not much, probably something about that thing”, Dartamor points at the Paladin’s ex-moustache, “it looks like your balancing a slug on your top lip.”
“What? How…” Aleso fumbles for a mirror, admires himself and his singed toothbrush moustache.

Jerky giggles and winks at the Rogue, who sighs and then winks back.

“Come on let’s go and find them then.” Dartamor leads the Lost Boys off.

The others fall in line and wander off through the northern door into another of the octagonal chambers stuffed with fungi, although much flattened in places, there’s another door out of the chamber, and it’s open.

“This way.” Dartamor leads them quietly off down a dank and dark corridor.

“I suppose we just have to do things differently.” Saradomin states.
“What are you on about?” Jerky asks.
“Well now they know our tactics then we need to change them, do things differently, perhaps when the time comes you…” Saradomin stares at Aleso, “could try running towards the enemy. They wouldn’t expect that.”
“Right, that’s it.”

Aleso throws his scimitar and shield on the floor- which makes quite a lot of noise.

“If you say one more thing about my moustache then… I’m going home.” Aleso folds his arms across his chest.
Saradomin grins.
“I mean it.” Aleso stamps his foot into a puddle sending freezing cold foul water up and over his armour.

“Aleso.” Dartamor’s voice travels down the line of now stationery adventurers in a whisper.
“What?” Aleso whispers back.
“Shut up and get to the front, it’s time for the smiting.”

Aleso scrambles for his sword and shield and is at the front in seconds.

“Look.” Dartamor points.
The Paladin peers around the corner, “Wow!”

Dragon-carved granite blocks tile the walls and ceilings of the chamber ahead, although many are crumbled and broken, creating piles of stony debris on the floor. A huge marble statue of a rearing dragon still stands in the curve of the western wall, some fifteen feet over. The eye sockets of the dragon are empty, but a red glow lingers there, providing reddish light throughout the chamber. The effulgence casts an inky shadow behind the statues wide wings. A crumbling 5-foot diameter circular red stone tile is inset in the floor in front of the rearing dragon carving. Runes are carved around the circular tiles inner edge.

There’s an open door out of the chamber barely five feet away from where Aleso peers.

“Cover me.”

Aleso crouches low, weapons at the ready, “Oh Pelor hear my prayer, let this base scoundrel…”

Dartamor turns back to stare at the Paladin, somewhat put out.

“Sorry, let this stout yeoman, sorry yo-elf, come to no harm, let him not be set upon by a fiery dragon, singed to charred cinders his body indistinguishable from the foul trappings of this…”

Dartamor has stopped again to stare back at the Paladin.

“What?” Aleso enquires.
“Can you perhaps not pray so loud?”
The Paladin nods back, mouths the rest of his psalm.

Dartamor is at the tile, he gives it a quick look and then steps on it- nothing happens. Runes circle the edge of the strange stone; they’re in Draconic, a language he is familiar with.

Dartamor reads.

“Ea serpenta rau kaluva nayawisti…”

“Which means…” Dartamor begins, and then is suddenly engulfed in flame. The Rogue attempts to avoid the flamey gout but is caught in the spectral fire.

“DARTAMOR.” Aleso yells and is in to the room swatting invisible foes, the other members of the Lost Boys spill into the chamber wondering what all the fuss is about.

Dartamor steps out of the flame, which seems to come from the dragon carvings gaping maw, the flames abate the instant the Rogue emerges.

He seems to shimmer, he looks somehow elevated, not taller, but more regal, stately, he carries himself differently, like someone used to being obeyed.

“What do you think?” Dartamor effects a pose, his skin seems to glow, his complexion is clear, his teeth sparkle, his eyes twinkle, and his nose is aquiline and imperial, also his ears jut out a little less.

“You look… are you using a new moisturiser?” Aleso asks.
“Moisture…what?” Dartamor looks confused, and yet in command, it’s a difficult set of emotions to convey and yet the Rogue manages it with élan.

“SHADOW.” Jerky suddenly screams, and leaps out of the room and into the next unexplored chamber.

“What?” A chorus from the others, who haven’t moved.

“Shadow” is the muffled reply, the Gnome is face down in a pile of sodden books and scrolls, he seems to have discovered the library- it’s a waterlogged ruin. 

“There are lots of shadows.” Saradomin states and looks about a bit, all the while edging closer to the red tile.

The other members of the Lost Boys form a rough half-circle, weapons drawn.

In the other chamber Jerky wrestles himself free of the pulpy mass- “a shadow, an Undead creature from the Plane of Shadow, a servant of the dark one”, the Gnome burrows back into the sodden paper.
“What’s it look like… the Shadow?” Saradomin enquires.
“The Dark who?” Aleso asks.

And at that moment the Shadow appears, a black as hell spirit with two glowing red eyes, tears in the very fabric of its being, an ineffable damnation.

“Does it look like an ineffable damnation?” Saradomin yells in Jerky’s general direction.

“Yes”, comes the little-one’s muffled reply.

“Check- got it.” Saradomin gives a thumbs up sign.
“Do you feel that- either there’s a draft or it just got colder. Brrr.” Aleso hugs himself.

The Shadow shrugs and then moves in for the kill. 

“I can’t see anything”, Grand Alf shouts, “are you having me on, is this some kind of prank?”

_DMs Interlude- the Shadow’s initiative roll was 4, that’s including the +2- now do you see my point?_

“I’ll deal with this.” Aleso takes a swig from the flame breath potion, then realises, mouth full, he no longer has the bottle in his possession.

“Got’s gis?” Aleso reads the label on the flask, it says ‘Holy Water’, he shrugs and then blows a liquid raspberry at the Shadow engulfing the creature in a spray of holy spittle.

The liquid steams and fizzes as soon as it touches the fiend’s shadowy form.

“Bug-Ah.” It whispers and backs away swiftly.

Aleso stands tall before it.

“By the Light of Holy Pelor I banish back to the eleven hells from which you came foul nether demon, do not tempt me again for I am armed with the trusty scimitar of righteousousnessness-nessity, and the holy shield of… shielding, damn…”

The Shadow has had enough, it surges forward a wave of terrifying darkness set to engulf Aleso.

The Paladin swishes hopelessly and is duly engulfed.

“I can’t see, light… light, please.”

WHOOOOOOOOM

“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…”

“That’s better.” Grand Alf grins mischievously.

Many things happen at once, the Shadow attacks the Paladin, who is struck by its icy claws which seem to pass clear through the Paladin’s armour, as does his sword, straight through the Shadow that is. Furthermore the Paladin is swathed in a cloak of darkness as the dark spirit flits at terrific speed around him, looking for another point of attack.

It’s at this point that Grand Alf casts a light spell, ostensibly at the Shadow.

_DMs Interlude, and rolls a 20._

The Shadow now glowing like the Angel on top of the Christmas Tree loses it, at present the thing is flitting crazily about in the upper reaches of the chamber, like some Halloween moth that still hasn’t realised that the glowing thing it is chasing, or as in this case- trying to get away from, is itself.

“Come on.” Jerky screams.

The Lost Boys admire the display for a while longer until the light winks out as the Shadow seems to pass into the stone ceiling above.

“Pretty.” Aleso comments, and stalks after the others.

Leaning and completely fallen stone bookshelves fill this chamber, though a clear path connects to an open wooden door opposite. The litter of torn and burnt pages, bindings, and scrolls form disordered sodden piles all over the floor.

Jerky heaves the door shut.

“Quickly, let’s get on, the Shadow may be back.” Jerky heads over to the far door.

“Hang on, just hang on; are you suggesting we just leave that thing in there?” Aleso puts his hands on his hips, his ‘I’m a little teapot’ pose.
“Yes, no time.” Jerky is out the chamber, “come on.”

Saradomin smiles, “Dartamor?”
The Rogue looks up; he’s rifling the shelves, looking for anything salvageable, “yep.”
“Have you still got one of them Climbing Potions?”
“Yep.” The Rogue continues to check the library out.
“Excellent, I think I have a plan, we’ll need the Potion, Bernard and a Magic Weapon Spell- which I will of course provide.” Saradomin’s grin spreads to ear-to-ear.

Jerky collapses to his knees in the corridor, then begins to thunk his head into the dirty stonework of the passage.

Next Turn: Hambush.


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 7.8: Hambush

“No listen… Listen, its simple really Bernard drinks the Potion of Spider Climbing, I cast Magic Weapon on his arm, the one that’s there, and then we lock him in the chamber to destroy the Shadow- what could be simpler?” Saradomin offers.

Thunk

Thunk

Thunk

The sound of Jerky butting his head against the wall in the corridor.

Aleso screws his face up, trying to imagine the aforementioned scenario, “I’m not so sure…”
“What’s the problem- it’s foolproof.”
“Like your last plan then.” Grand Alf crosses his arms and harrumphs.

“I expected him to have doubts”, Saradomin points at Aleso, “but not you Grand Alf- Bernard can be very resourceful, and sure it’ll be a titanic battle, but think of it- a Spider Climbing Magic Zombie Bugbear, tell me that’s not something you want to be involved in?”

Grand Alf’s little eyes light up, he begins to nod, “I’m in.”

Thunk

Thunk

Thunk

“Can someone shut the door, that sound’s putting me off?” Saradomin asks.
Grand Alf goes to obey but is halted en route by Dartamor, he fixes the group with an easy smile, his eyes wink and sparkle in the half-light.

“No, it’s too easy, and too little. Our path goes on, our destiny is that way.” Dartamor points out of the chamber, towards Jerky, who arrests his head-butting to see where the Rogue’s speech is going.

“We have bigger fish to fry, greater battles lie ahead, we will mark our density ahead… er, down there.” Dartamor points past Jerky, then continues, “Grand Alf take these scrolls I found on the shelves to augment your already fantastic power, read them, learn them- for we will have need of your magic in the confrontation that lies ahead. Aleso pick up your mighty sword, ready your arm, clad in steel you will be the shining beacon that leads the way.”

Grand Alf giggles as he examines the scrolls, Aleso strike a glorious pose, fluffs what’s left of his feeble moustache.

“And Saradomin, I sense your heart is in the right place and yet you need direction- do not waste your time here with feeble shadow-creatures, the Goblin Chief lies ahead, and his vile Priestess, and beyond them the children we swore to rescue and their evil captor, the foul Outcast- test your mettle, your divinity, there.”

Saradomin opens and closes his mouth a while, tries to think of some fine repost, eventually just shrugs, and with a wistful backwards look, strides off into the foul corridor.

“Come Bernard.”
“Yeth Marthter.”

The Zombie Bugbear plods after him.

The Lost Boys press on, cautiously down a flight of stairs into a partially flooded corridor, on still and up a second flight of stairs, out of the water, then sharp right into a long dark corridor.

There are two doors on the left-hand wall towards the end of the passage.

“Hold.” Dartamor puts his hand up, the others settle in formation.
“What is it?” Aleso whispers.
“The furthest door, it just closed- they know we’re coming- quickly.”

Dartamor heads off at a canter; the others follow on as best they can.

The Rogue pulls up at the first door, signals for Aleso, the Paladin arrives swiftly.

“Secure the far door.” Dartamor whispers, the Paladin presses on, stands ready by the farthest portal, nods to Dartamor- ready for action.
“Bernard- protect him.” Saradomin whispers.
“Yeth Marthter.” Bugbear lumbers over to stand by the Paladin.

Dartamor presses himself against the first door, not a sound from within, the lock is easy, there are no traps to be found, two minutes later he leads the remainder of the adventurers in- leaving Aleso with Bernard for company.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, I’m Aleso, Paladin of Pelor…” Aleso holds out his hand.

The Zombie Bugbear looks down at his hand then looks up and eyes the Paladin, grins at him.

Aleso looks confused and a little worried; a feeling of déjà vu disturbs his thoughts.

A layer of soil covers the floor. Rough wooden shelves, filled with a scattering of tomes and scrolls, line the north and east walls; a rough-hewn desk stands in the centre of the chamber. Fungus on the ceiling provides light, apparently in sufficient quantity to nourish several small bushes and pale saplings that grow in the soil.

“Careful, and quietly- search the place, watch out for the plants.” Dartamor whispers.

The chamber reveals its secrets very quickly, and without mishap, a pair of scrolls which are passed via a disappointed Grand Alf to Saradomin.

Dartamor has meanwhile been at work on the only other door exiting the chamber, thirty seconds ago it was locked- no longer, he nods once and then bursts into the room beyond.

Which is…

Which is…

Full of Goblins.

“Attack.” Durnn screams.

Dartamor is standing in an empty, forlorn looking, sagging chamber, there’s a door to his immediate right. The collapsed southern wall, ahead, opens into a vast cavern. Pustules of luminescent fungus on the rough walls and high roof loom over the Twilight Grove beyond.

Around the collapsed wall are over a dozen Goblins, including Durnn, the Chieftain, and his Priestess.

Arrows, crossbows, slings and stones come whizzing towards the Rogue, who does his best to avoid the blows but he’s stuck for cover.

A stone strikes him on the temple, draws a line of blood, an arrow pierces his side, Dartamor stumbles backwards, already on his last legs- a dagger goes spinning out from his hand- smashes into a Goblin’s face, the creature sinks to its knees and then falls face first into the dirt. One down.

“HAMBUSH.”

Dartamor screams.

_DMs Interlude, to conclude, the highest initiative in this fracas for the bad guys was 4, that was Chief Durnn. Did I make my point? One whole session and not once, excluding the odd surprise attack, did I get the drop on The Lost Boys- a bad dice day at the office._

“CHARGE.” Durnn screams.

The Goblins leap into action, as Grand Alf strides into the chamber- “Snooooozo.”

The first three Goblins tumble and crunch to the chamber floor- snore loudly.

Their compatriots come to a sudden halt, a quarter of their number, almost, put out of action with a gesture.

Which proves to be their undoing.

Saradomin steps into the chamber scroll in hand, he reads and points- “Twister.”

The effect is instantaneous, roots and branches erupt from the ground, clutching and grasping for Goblin limbs, almost all of the creatures are caught in the spells effect, including Durnn, the Chief, who however is far from done with the Lost Boys.

“Destroy 'em, destroy 'em orl. T' Ahtcast demands it. Ah deman' it.”

In translation-

“Destroy them, destroy them all. The Outcast demands it. I demand it.”

Alan Goblin is caught in the plant growth, held fast, Saradomin spots him.

“Oh that’s right, not so flirty now are you mister, YOU HURT MY FEELINGS.” The later part of the speech is at volume 11.

CRASH

The unopened door suddenly flies into the chamber; Aleso stands in the wreckage, Bernard behind him.

“Have we started yet?” He enquires.
Dartamor looks up from his wounds- nods at the Paladin.

“FOR PELOR, come Bernard.” The Paladin screams and cuts down the first two Goblins he sees. 

The others charge in, even Jerky, who darts out of the previous chamber waving his light mace.

Dartamor slices another of the little fiends down, while Saradomin brains Durnn as the Chief finally extracts himself from the plants grip, alas the Goblin Priestess is on hand, she steps in and touches her Lord, his wounds instantly close.

“Stan' fast Goblins, destroy these feeble topsiders.” Durnn shouts, but around him his Goblin troops are struggling badly.

In translation-

“Stand fast Goblins, destroy these feeble topsiders.” 

Aleso is caught on the shoulder by a Goblin’s blade, the Paladin battles on, smashes another of the creatures down. Saradomin likewise breaks the skull of the Goblin facing him; Durnn sees it all and retreats.

The Goblin Priestess steps in front of her Chieftain, waves her arms about and mutters strange sounding words, a sudden flash of darkness, no more than an eye-blink and it’s gone.

The result of which is that Grand Alf feels less than happy, frustrated, piqued, definitely out of sorts.

“Right that’s it- BIFFBANGPOW.”

Two Magic Missiles jet from his scroll and thump into Durnn’s chest, sending the Goblin Chieftain sprawling.

“Ow.” At the same instant a Goblin hammer connects, with considerable force, with Grand Alf’s right knee-cap, the Sorcerer hops off clutching the offending spot.

The Goblin attacker giggles, and is then cast in shadow, it looks up, and up, into the eys of Bernard the Zombie Bugbear.

CRUNCH

The Goblin’s concertinaed body topples over.

Aleso continues to take blows, he’s cut again, this time on his left hand side, a deep wound from a Goblin short sword, his own attacks are proving to be less effective. 

All of the remaining Goblins have fought and wriggled their way out from the entangling plants now, the odds are evening up.

THUNK

Saradomin’s heavy mace opens up the side of Grenl, the Goblin Priestesses head; she staggers back, spinning- dizzy.

“HAVE YOU SEEN THE LIGHT?” 

Aleso picks up the pace, decapitates one of the little creatures, strides into the thick of the fracas, and slices a huge chunk out of Durnn, the Chieftain; all the Goblin can do is scramble backwards, away from the Paladin.

On the outskirts of the fight Dartamor is trading blows with a lone Goblin, it’s Alan, at last he gets the better of the turncoat, feints left and dodges right, stabs the creature clean through its gut, Alan clutches at the blade, drags himself forward, motions to Dartamor who bends to him, whispers in the Rogue’s ear.

“Deaf Sent Gutt Butt.”

Nods stoically then tries to salute but it’s too late, he expires. 

Jerky thumps into Grand Alf’s side, holding the hoping Sorcerer up, the Gnome pumps his healing energies into him and Grand Alf’s wounds are instantly mended.

“Ta- BIFFBANGPOW.”

Another scroll and another two magic Missiles, this time they slam into Grenl, the Goblin Priestess, whose head jerks back, she slumps to the floor- dead.

Which just leaves the Chief- Durnn.

The fight stops to take a breath.

“Surrender?” Aleso states pointing his blade at the creature.

“Pah!” Durnn spits on the floor.

He’s about to go on with his prepared speech, when…

“FORKING!”

Grand Alf whizzes past the Paladin, and the DMs place on the page.

THUNK

And stabs his fork into the Goblin Chieftain’s belly, a slick of blood suddenly appears from Durnn’s mouth, he collapses, slowly, in stages.

THIKK

Grand Alf withdraws his fork and waves it high in the air above his head, Goblin blood drips down, slathering his face and clothes.

“AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH.”

The Sorcerer growls, very feral.

“What was that?” Dartamor asks.
“What?” Aleso enquires.
“I thought that bush moved.” The Rogue states.

Beyond the southern wall is a vast cavern, illuminated by the glowing fungi, thick with sickly briars, in the midst of which the Lost Boys can see ruined walls and hollow towers which protrude from the briars like islands in the sea.

The three sleeping Goblins snooze on.

Next Turn: Bush Whackers.


----------



## Ristamar

I love this story hour.  Each update is guaranteed to bring a laugh and a smile.  I've always appreciated enthusiastic, albeit misguided, players embracing the absurdity of D&D, given the DM is willing to run with it.

Keep up the good work.


----------



## Goonalan

Ristamar said:
			
		

> I love this story hour.  Each update is guaranteed to bring a laugh and a smile.  I've always appreciated enthusiastic, albeit misguided, players embracing the absurdity of D&D, given the DM is willing to run with it.
> 
> Keep up the good work.




I'll try to, thanks for that, much appreciated.

Bit of a pause before the storm-

Turn 8.1: Bush Whackers.

Actually the above is patently untrue, its “Bush Whackers” next turn- instead let’s just catch up with the Players stats before the final push.

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
Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving (Spade) -4 d8-1
Grand Alf’s Fork of Earth Forking (Fork) -4 d8-1
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 +4

Spells Level 0 (6) Light, Ghost Sound, Detect Magic, Ray of Frost, Read Magic Level 1 (5) Sleep, Magic Missile

Items of note: Thunderstone, Scrolls Sleep (x2), Shield (x2, Mage Armour, Spider Climb, Knock; 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
Skills of note: Appraise +5 Balance +4 Bluff +3 Climb +7 Craft (Hunter) +4 Decipher Script +5 Disable Device +8 Escape Artist +3 Forgery +5 Heal +3 Hide +7 Jump +3 Knowldege (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, 10 Mwk Arrows, Potions Spider Climb, Hiding & Cure Light; Everburning Torch.

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 (Immune to Fear), Smite Evil 1/Day (+4 To Hit & +2 Damage)
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 (x2).

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 1/Day (To Hit +4 & Damage +2), Strength boost (+2 lasts 2 Minutes)
Skills of note: Balance +3 Climb +3 Concentration +6 Craft (Armoursmith) +3 Diplomacy +3 Escape Artist +3 Heal +8 Hide +3 Jump +3 Knowledge (Arcane) +3 Knowledge (Religion) +5 Listen +3 Move Silently +3 Perform (Bagpipes) +1 Profession (Scribe) +4 Ride (Horse) +3 Sense Motive +3 Spellcraft +6 Spot +5 Swim +3 Use Rope +3 Wilderness Lore +3

Spells; Domains- Strength & Destruction, Level 0 (4), Level 1(3+1)

Items of note: Scrolls of- Protection from Elements, Cure Light Wounds, Command, Inflict Light Wounds, Magic Weapon, Slow Poison, Faerie Fire; Potion of Fire Breath & Cure Disease.

Jerky Timbers​
Gnome Male Cleric of St. Cuthbert Level 1 & Fighter 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
Light Mace +5 d4+2 
Dagger, Masterwork (As Shortsword) +5 d4+2 
Armour: Dirty Goblin Leather & Almost Broken Wooden Shield
Feats: Weapon Focus (Light Mace), Scribe Scroll, Power Attack
Skills of note: Climb +3 Concentration +6 Diplomacy +3 Heal +4 Jump +3 Listen +4 Spellcraft +3 Spot +5 
Spells; Domains- Good & Healing, Level 0 (3), Level 1(2+1)

Items of note: That’s right, nothing.

Next Turn: Bush Whackers 4 Real


----------



## Richard Rawen

Great stuff, amazing how badly a DM'c init rolls can be, then again my Dire Wolf critical missed then critical hit his pack-mate this weekend, thus turning the tide just as I had their warrior on the ground and closing for the kill... *sighs* 
The Lost Boys are having a good time of it, so far no deaths, though they do seem to be pressing their collective luck... have you figured out what you'd do if you do kill off one of these young players 'avatars' ? Most of the kids I know are so used to video games that the very concept of losing - permanently finished - seems inconceivable to them (they just "reload").


----------



## Goonalan

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Great stuff, amazing how badly a DM'c init rolls can be, then again my Dire Wolf critical missed then critical hit his pack-mate this weekend, thus turning the tide just as I had their warrior on the ground and closing for the kill... *sighs*
> The Lost Boys are having a good time of it, so far no deaths, though they do seem to be pressing their collective luck... have you figured out what you'd do if you do kill off one of these young players 'avatars' ? Most of the kids I know are so used to video games that the very concept of losing - permanently finished - seems inconceivable to them (they just "reload").




Sorry about the hiatus, I've more marking to do than... [insert your own analogy here], it was my good lady's birthday, the big 4-0, and my dad's big 7-0, last weekend- little else got done; and this weekend I'm decorating, and marking of course...

To answer, what if one of them dies- simple (I hope), Jerky has a personality change and becomes a PC in an instant, otherwise a Goblin/Kobold straggler has a change of heart and decides to join the Lost Boys (the difficulty may come in stopping them all from wanting one), or else its a casting of "DMs instantaneous Prison Cell", inside which resides one beaten, battered but far from dead, and eager for revenge mind, new player character- like always.

Even the Pirates Code are only guidelines.

I'll write up the next session when I can...

As to the Video Game generation, strangely enough (I know nothing about computers remember) I teach on a National Diploma in Video Games Design, I taught them all how to play D&D (I felt it was my duty), when the first player character died there was almost a fight/tears- "What do you mean I've got to roll another one up?" I explained the rules- to stunned silence, they just didn't get it, for a while a group of them wouldn't believe me- I had to bring the books in the following week just to prove it.

The Lost Boys however know when they're dead, their dead- it doesn't stop them running amok however.

Thanks as always.


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 8.2: Bush Wackers 4 Real

“It did. It did- I saw it move.” Dartamor points at the unmoving bush.

Grand Alf adopts a combat crouch and closes in on the thing, a three foot high scraggly plant, which was- prior to Dartamor’s interjections, minding its own business.

The great combat Sorcerer circles the plant.

“Watch out for its tendrils.” Aleso offers.
“Which bit are the tendrils?” Saradomin enquires, watching on.

Aleso looks stumped, finally confesses, “don’t know, read it in a book…” He mumbles.

Grand Alf has completed a full circle of the offending plant, it’s not moved at all.

“Wily bugger, I’ll give it that.” The Sorcerer comments.

“What’s stopping you- get in there man.” Daratamor points at the plant again and takes a step back, makes a few practice swishes with his rapier.

Grand Alf straightens, looks hard at the Rogue, “be my guest- if you want to do it.”
Dartamor shakes his head, takes another step back.

“Let’s ambush it.” Aleso states.

Which makes everyone think for a while.

“How exactly?” Saradomin breaks the silence.
“Well we’ll hide behind the wall and then lure it to us.” The Paladin finishes.

The thinking is resumed.

“How, I mean how do we- lure it to us, exactly?” Saradomin tries again.
“Bread crumbs.” Grand Alf offers and mooches back to the pack, leaving the plant on its own again.
“Plants don’t eat bread crumbs.” Saradomin states, almost certain.
“Are you sure?” Grand Alf looks quizzical.
“Yes. Almost certainly.”
“What does eat bread crumbs then?” Grand Alf enquires confused.

“I do.” Aleso grins.

Which brings the debate to a halt.

Behind the Lost Boys the plant uproots itself and wanders off into the undergrowth, alas the Twig Blight possess only the rudimentary workings of a mind, not capable of complex thoughts, it heads off in search of friends in order to re-evaluate the situation.

Back to the Lost Boys.

“Do you even have any bread?” Saradomin shouts, things are getting fractious.

There follows a rifling of backpacks, Grand Alf whoops with joy and produces a curly Magic Smash sandwich, it’s a bit floppy- having forgotten the reason for his search he proceeds to eat his find.

The others watch on.

“There that’s better, now what were we looking for?” Grand Alf wipes the last of the crumbs from his fake beard, actually he tears the thing off and bangs it against the wall and then, quick-as-a-flash, reapplies it.

“Bread crumbs for the…”

Dartamor points, the others follow his gaze.

“There’s nothing there.” Aleso breaks the deadlock.
“Exactly.” Dartamor states.

The plant is gone.

“No, hang on.” Dartamor points, “it’s over there.”

And sure enough over there is a plant, it looks exactly like the other one, in fact it could be the other one, in fact… I’ll leave the end of the sentence for you to make a leap of logic.

“No, it’s over there.” Saradomin points, and sure enough there’s another plant just like the other one.

“And there.” Aleso points.
“And there.” Grand Alf points.

“That means…” Saradomin starts.

“And there.” Grand Alf adds and points some more.

“I said, that means…” Saradomin begins again.

“There, and there, no that’s the first one again, no, no, no that’s a new one, the first one is back there.” Grand Alf revolves and points.

“And yet”, Saradomin’s voice rises, “my point is still valid- that means…” he pronounces every word as if talking to a gaggle of four year olds.

“And there.” Aleso adds, followed by, “Oooo”, he’s spotted something. The Paladin lurches forward, bends quickly and picks something up from the floor, he examines it in his hands, the others can’t see, he’s obscuring their view.

“What is it?” Grand Alf asks.

“Bread crumbs, there’s a trail of theng.” The last word is lost as the Paladin stuffs the bread in his mouth, “ni-shhh”, he splutters and grins.

“Interesting, a trail of bread crumbs, what could it mean?” Grand Alf scratches his chin.

“Could be a lure.” Dartamor states.
“A what, a law?” Saradomin’s forgotten his previous point, if he ever had one.
“No, a lure, to lure you in.” 
“To lure me in?”
“No, I mean, well, yes, maybe- to lure something in.”
“Ahhh.” Saradomin makes a noise like he understands, he doesn’t, he just makes the noise like he does, it often has the desired effect- stops the other person from talking.

“So what would be lured in by a trail of bread crumbs, that’s the question?” Dartamor states.

Which sets them thinking.

“Plants.” Grand Alf yells and jumps a little, like he’s just solved an extremely complex equation.

“How about Paladins?” Saradomin states and nods forward.

Grand Alf and Dartamor turn to stare.

Aleso has wandered a little down the track into the Twilight Grove, stopping to munch on the scattered bread crumbs along the way.

“Hey Grand Alf, got any Magic Smash lef…”

It’s at this point that the Twig Blights attack.

Look away it gets no better.

Next Turn: Not so smart now are you Twiggy?


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

You know, it's a wonder you stay sane enough to actually write this stuff up ...


----------



## Goonalan

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> You know, it's a wonder you stay sane enough to actually write this stuff up ...




Sanity is over-rated.

Thanks as always for the comments.

Now back to the action-

Turn 8.3: Not so smart now are you Twiggy?

Jerky, who has up till now been loitering at the back of the pack, monitoring the snoozing Goblins, charges- straight through the assembled Lost Boys.

“For St. Cuthbert.” The Gnome cries and bundles into the mass of plants attacking Aleso, alas the Paladin is caught completely off guard and has nowhere to run, there’s nothing for it he’ll have to fight back.

Saradomin, Grand Alf and Dartamor do their best to swap glances- it takes a while, Saradomin glares at Grand Alf, who’s looking askance at the time, at Dartamor, who for his part is nodding and winking at Saradomin. It takes a while but the invisible message is passed.

They charge into the fray.

“For St.- what he said.” Saradomin barks and smashes.
“I hate nature- dirty.” Dartamor calls.
“Time for a FORKING, you little sods…” Its no use, Grand Alf pulls up short, holding his sides, “did you hear what I said, little sods, ha ha ha ooooo, my sides.”

SWISH 

Aleso cuts down two of the creatures with a swing of his scimitar, there are however still over half-a-dozen of the things left.

Jerky is being menaced by two of the bushes; one of them is slightly taller than he is- which seems to him a good enough reason to…

SMUSH

Destroy the thing.

Saradomin is in the thick of it, his heavy mace smashing and crushing the plants in his path, Dartamor contents himself with hanging around at the back, on the very edges of the fracas, swinging and missing with amazing alacrity, and style.

Aleso is grabbed by the ankles, one plant on each leg trying to claw their way up, or else pull the Paladin over, he swishes ineffectively with his scimitar, being extra cautious so as not to hit himself, the plants grip tight to him, scratching and clawing still. There’s nothing for it, the Paladin dances himself out of the melee- a kind of slow waltz combined with an occasional pogo, it doesn’t help that he’s singing.

“Nut Bush Oh Nut Bush
Damn it Nut bush it’s the limit.”

He kicks one of the plants free, and out of lyrics resorts to-

“Sisters are doing it for themselves…”

And finally crushes the second plant with the help of gravity, he falls over, and onto the bush.

“Sisters…” he mumbles on face down in the dirt.

Jerky is clawed on his face, he feels a sudden burn, clasps his hand to the spot, poisoned.

“Aaaarghh.” The Gnome swats harder, another Twig Blight meets its maker, there are only five or so of them left.

One of which splits from the fight and skitters towards Grand Alf, who grimaces and back tracks into the previous chamber, the one with the snoozing Goblins.

“Come on.” The Sorcerer yells while running backwards, the three foot tall Twig Blight snarls and… well sort of snarls, looks snarly, who’s to say; it rakes at the air before Grand Alf, who redoubles his efforts, retreats at speed.

“Oooof.”

Into the wall, completely knocking the wind out of him, and his fork from his hands.

Grand Alf is paralyzed with fear, the plant swipes and slashes, its thorny protrusions, try saying that after a drink, tear holes in what’s left of all the clothing he’s ever owned.

“Yelp.” Grand Alf yelps, and leaps away like a sprightly Gazelle, with three broken legs, he trips on a sleeping Goblin, and…

THUMP

Lands amidst the bundle of snoozing humanoids.

Grand Alf turns to stare, the Twig Blight is fast approaching, he assess the situation- on the positive side his landing was cushioned by the three Goblins, on the negative side the Twig Blights is only moments away and… all three Goblins are waking up.

Scramble.

The Sorcerer is back on his feet in seconds, fortuitously delivering a knee to the unmentionables of one of the Goblins in the process, the other two rise and take in the situation.

Grand Alf backs himself into a corner and quick draws his Staff of Earth Moving; yes, it’s a spade.

The two risen Goblins look left, then right, a snarling, even they can see it, Twig Blight or a mad Sorcerer swishing a spade about his head and shouting something about…

“I am the Spade-inator.”

There’s a third option, the pair scarper through the open door and live unhappy lives elsewhere.

Back at the fracas.

Aleso is struggling to get up, his feet keep getting in the way, he manages to perform a trip attack on himself twice in a row, all without the necessary feat, the last of which coincides with his collision with a tree, he uses his face as a buffer to take the edge of the blow.

“Dirty banana sandwich”, he mutters and then passes out.

Jerky staggers and thrashes about him, all to no great effect. Dartamor is likewise tied up with not getting hurt and so is content to look like he’s doing something, eventually he slots away his rapier and backs off to get a shot at one of the combatants, preferably one of the plant-like ones.

Saradomin smashes another of the creatures down, but is clawed by yet another, the Priest of St. Cuthbert is covered in a myriad scratches and nicks, he feels the sting of the plants poisonous sap and yet it has no effect upon him. The power of St. Cuthbert is strong in the Priest, that and half-a-pint of cheap whisky, he flails and slurs.

“For St. Bobbins.”

Smash, another Twig Blight comes to rest as kindling.

Only two of the scratchy buggers left.

Except for…

Grand Alf and the third Twig Blight circle each other.

DONG

The third Goblin, having just ceased rubbing his area of hurt, tries to get up- and is met with a spade to the back of the head, the Goblin crunches back down into the dirt.

“Oh yes, you want some of this?” Grand Alf proffers his fake beard at the Twig Blight.

“You want a piece of me, huh?” He swishes his spade.

“Well I wouldn’t be so quick if I was you…” He continues.

The combatants circle locked in their titanic death-match, man vs. pot-plant, the ultimate fighting championship.

“You’ve got to ask yourself, punk.” The last threat ending in a curled lip, a sneer.

“Yeah, punk.” Grand Alf sneers some more.

“This is the Grand Alf Staff of Earth Moving 3000, the most powerful Staff of Earth Moving in the world. It can take your head clean off. You’ve got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky?”

Grand Alf spits, most of it goes in on his beard.

“Well do ya, punk?”

“Aaaarrgghhhh.”

The Twig Blight leaps and is all over the Sorcerer like a rash, scratching and clawing, Grand Alf loses his fake beard in seconds, moments later he’s on the floor thrashing about and screaming like a little girl- his spade lying unused in the dirt.

“Nooooo. Heeeeelp. Photosynthesise. Photosynthesise- you don’t eat people.”

The man and plant wrestle, it’s a very one-sided affair, Grand Alf is crying for much of it.

And then fortune smiles.

The female of the species.

Miss Fortune.

The last Goblin rises, rubs head and unmentionables, woozily takes in his surroundings- staggers towards the exit.

And then spots Grand Alf being pinned down by the Twig Blight.

Staggers on.

Then spots Grand Alf’s Staff of… oh the bloody spade.

Staggers on.

Then stops.

And smiles.

The Goblin has had a thought.

It staggers back to the spade, picks it up, takes a few practice swipes for good measure.

Then grins again.

And staggers over to Grand Alf.

“Alright I’ll give you my sandwich, you can have it…” Grand Alf screams at the Twig Blight some more and is lacerated further, he can feel the Strength ebbing from him as the plants poisonous sap courses through his body.

The Goblin swings the spade high over his head, and brings it down with all its strength…

SWAP-ap-ap-ap.

The Goblin staggers backwards holding the still vibrating spade, shuddering uncontrollably as he retreats.

What happened?

At the last moment Grand Alf spies the Goblin and with the last of his strength rolls left, and out of the way, the Twig Blight is not as fortunate, smashed to splinters by Grand Alf’s Staff of… spade, which is little impeded by the frail bush and thwacks hard into the packed earthern floor- thus staggering, in the same instant, the Goblin attacker.

Grand Alf rolls back to spy the smashed Twig Blight.

“Not so smart now are you Twiggy?”

The Sorcerer hefts himself upright; it takes a good ten seconds and the help of a wall to lean on.

The last Goblin shuffles back into view, still clutching the spade, and every now and then its unmentionables.

Grand Alf sighs and waves his hands about a bit, the Goblin looks unsure.

The Sorcerer sighs again, straightens up so he’s standing without the aid of the wall.

Then coughs once or twice.

“Hang on.”

The Goblin, about to attack, stops as Grand Alf holds up his hand to signal a halt to the proceedings.

The Sorcerer takes a swig of water from his flask, rinses and swallows, pours a little more of the clear fluid on his hands and splashes his face, wipes the excess off with what’s left of his outer-garments.

“Right then.”

The Goblin hefts the spade and moves forward to attack.

Grand Alf waves his hands dramatically, arches an eyebrow and in a deep voice pronounces words of arcane… arcane something.

“Oh Demonic Servitor of the Eight Packed Lunches of Hell,
I summon thee great… great… BEEEE-CCCCEEEE-DEEEE-EEEEE-EF…”

THWOK

The Goblin thumps back into the dirt, courtesy of a heavy mace to the back of the head- that should about do it.

“What took you?” Grand Alf states and leans back against the wall.
“Were you summoning a demon then?” Saradomin asks.
“No, well. Yes- sort of.” Grand Alf fishes around in his backpack for his absolute last magic Smash sandwich.

Saradomin looks around.

“Did it appear; the demon?” He asks.

“Yes.” Grand Alf states and munches, pointedly looking at the snarling priest of St. Cuthbert, half-cut and swatting his heavy mace in the general direction of nobody and yet everything.

“Hey- I’ve found a chest.” Dartamor shouts.

Next Turn: Together we will rule the world.


----------



## Goonalan

Sorry about the delay, v.busy with other campaigns, oh and work.

Turn 8.4: Together we will rule the world.

It’s a big, old battered chest, and now its open, Dartamor shoots backwards, stumbling- turns hard right, all the time looking away from the chest, dry gags and heaves.

“What… is it?” Aleso clearly doesn’t want to know.
Saradomin backs off a little too.

Grand Alf looks from one to the other, then back to Dartamor who continues to dry heave and gulp, he wanders over to the battered trunk and flips the lid.

Inside is a decapitated head, lidless staring eyes, the mouth a ragged “O”, the last agonising gasp, the hair matted in blood, bruised, battered- broken.

“Hey, there’s a load of gold- I’m rich I tell you, rich.”

Grand Alf whoops and pirouettes.

Sure enough the head lies on a bed of gold coins.

Grand Alf reaches in, grasps the last remains of the missing male Hucrele and yanks it out, he’s about to start his “gottle-ov-gear” ventriloquist show when he spies the faces of the others. He tosses the head aside, into the thick undergrowth.

“I… I… I…” Aleso splutters.
Saradomin nods and blinks hard, the tears are stinging his eyes.
Dartamor looks up, spits, “let’s get him good.”
Saradomin continues to nod.

The three march off, into the Twilight Grove.

“Don’t you want… Hey, wait for me.” Grand Alf races on after them, Jerky trailing after his eyes on the spot where the head rolled into the undergrowth, not wanting to see it and yet unable to look away.

Through a twisted maze of stunted trees and grabbing briars, illuminated by the purple-death glow of rotting fungi, they scrape and scratch their way through.

Anything that gets in their way is chopped, slashed and hacked- obliterated.

“Eerie.” Aleso states.

Saradomin looks put-out.

“Hardly, it’s very close, humid even.” He counters.

Water drips.

There’s a clearing, the ruins of some sort of building, crumbling ancient stone walls most no more than two or three feet tall.

A low mist seems to gather on the ground, they follow the path on…

“He’s got it nice.” Grand Alf mumbles and strides forward, “very homely.”

Jerky catches up to Grand Alf crosses himself and attempts to hide behind the Sorcerer.

There’s a reception committee, the Lost Boys approach- cautiously, till the ragged man that stands before the swaying, seemingly dead, tree puts up his hand to signal that they should come no closer.

Beneath the venomous fungal light grows a singular tree of evil. Its blackened, twisted limbs reach upward, like a skeletal hand clawing its way from the earth.
The great dead tree reaches up and over, grasps and clings to the ceiling, almost arching over the adventurers where they stand.

Before the tree stands a ragged, bearded and robed man, a human, with a maniacs gleam in his eye.

To the left a stout Knight complete with curly moustache and red cheeks, wrapped in heavy armour, with a gleaming longsword in hand.

To the right a slight young woman, robed- she’s beautiful, the Hucrele girl- Sharwyn, and yet there’s something not quite right.

The man and the woman stare right through the Lost Boys, statue still they await there instruction.

High up in the withered branches of the great tree a giant frog clings and gulps, bats its rubbery eyelids and calculates its leap.

Surrounding the clearing bushes move- Twig Blights manoeuvre into position.

“I am Belak, the Outcast, stay your anger- listen to me.” The ragged old man speaks.

Aleso takes his hand off the hilt of his longsword, gulps, Dartamor finds the hilt of his rapier.

“Think what you do now, do not listen to the words of others, make up your own minds. Look around you- its beautiful is it not, nature exists, adapts, survives- even in this dark place. I dared to go further, and for this you have been sent to destroy me, look again- what do you see?”

The Lost Boys take a moment, stare at their surroundings.

“You’re mad.” Dartamor spits.

“Mad. MAD.” The Outcast gibbers, “I’m furious. Livid.”

He turns to point at the tree.

“Perfection, it called to me, over decades, over thousands of miles, it grew here- in the dark, a vampire staked through the heart, in its last moment breathed life into the green stake that destroyed it- the Gulthias tree.”

The Outcast admires the tree some more.

“Feel its power, reverberating.”

The Outcast waves and frolics.

“Perfection. Nature’s bounty.”

“I think what Dartamor was trying to get across was that you’re a nutter.” Grand Alf clarifies, and then pulls faces at the others. Jerky stays hidden. The others are not in the mood for smiling; all hands are on hilts now- their armed and dangerous.

“No, NO. NO. Don’t you see… My children.”

Several Twig Blights crawl into view, that’s it, swords and other assorted armaments are drawn, the adventurers take a collective step back, quickly form a half-circle.

“NO. NO. No, leave them- do not harm them, they are my children, the children of the Gulthias tree, from its seeds they grew, I nurtured them, I…”

“Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” Grand Alf demonstrates with further hand-signals the scale of the Outcast’s madness.

“Do not anger me for all of nature is within my power.” The Outcast growls, the Twig Blights take a step closer.

“I’m a little teapot”, Grand Alf sings back, “short and stout, here’s my handle, here’s my spout- tip me up and poor me out.”

The Outcast starts forward, “You…”
“Hold.” Saradomin waves the confrontation to a stop.

“What are they?” his heavy mace points, wavers slightly, at the Knight, then the woman.

“Supplicants, they have seen the error of their ways and have chosen to join with the Gulthias tree, the first supplicants, imbued with its true power, they are death and destruction, they are new life.”

The Outcast kneels, looks up at the tree, a mixture of longing, lust and lunacy.

He turns to the Lost Boys, “join us”, he whispers.

“Its not too late, together we can rule the world, together we can…”
“Hang on. Back a bit, the bit about ruling the world, how’s that work?” Grand Alf interrupts.
The Sorcerer can feel his companion’s stares; he reddens, then turns to look at them, “I was only asking- just thought…” Grand Alf snorts into silence for a moment then continues to mutter, “bloody killjoys, chance at world domination and not-so-much-as ahhem.”

“Oh flipping heck then”, Grand Alf stamps his foot, “let’s get him.”

Which signals the start of the end.

Next Turn: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Lotsa fun, looking forward to how they handle the nasty drood and his zombies, did they even pause to heal themselves?


----------



## Goonalan

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Lotsa fun, looking forward to how they handle the nasty drood and his zombies, did they even pause to heal themselves?




Heal? No, of course not. Heal? What are you even thinking? Healing is for wimps. Life for the Lost Boys is lived round by round, besides they're all second level now and therefore invulnerable to all hurt.

Well, almost...

Turn 8.5: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble.

And it all kicks off.

“Incoming.” Grand Alf screams and crouches.

FWOP

The huge tree frog leaps into the fray, and lands on top of Bernard crushing the Bugbear Zombie to the floor.

“Marthta it hurth uth…”

Bernard grapples with the amphibian, lashed by the giant frog’s sticky tongue.

“Get up Bernard, it’s so unseemly.” Saradomin doesn’t even spare his undead servitor a glance.

“Aaaaaggghhh. Plants, dirty filthy nature.”

Grand Alf tries to wrench himself free as the wan grass surrounding the Sorcerer springs to life and grips tight to his lower limbs, he’s entangled.

“THE SPADEINATOR.”

FWUMP

Grand Alf lets loose with his Staff of Earth Moving, which accomplishes little, the grass springs back up after its brief flattening.

Dartamor back peddles out of the plants grip, brings his bow out and round in a smooth manoeuvre, notches an arrow and lets it fly.

FWUNCH

The giant frog is sent spinning away, almost dead in an instant.

Dartamor’s arrow rips a huge gout out of the giant frogs flesh. The creature rights itself slowly and then stands statue still, all the while bleeding profusely.

Saradomin and Aleso share a look, nod.

“God bless you Aleso.” Saradomin states.
“May Pelor’s light keep you safe.” Aleso replies.

The pair get very close, they’re going to…

“I love you”, Aleso whispers.
“I know.” Saradomin states.

They turn back to face their foe.

Ahead of the pair Sir Bradford, the Gulthias Tree’s first supplicant, staggers into life, like some mad wind-up toy, the affected Paladin lurches forward to meet the holy pair, swishing and swatting his longsword- which lights up glowing orange, he clearly means business.

To the left of the first supplicant is the second, Sharwyn, the last of the Hucrele kids, she too stutters into life, her hands dance in the air as she incants.

And between the pair the Outcast, wand still in hand, giggles and frolics.

“You will serve as compost then, your blood will be used to slake the great trees thirst, you will be…”

“Oh shut up will you- you’re mad, potty. Just pack it in with the narration will you… it’s putting me right off.” Grand Alf gets back to fighting the clawing vines that hold him down. “And cut this bloody grass.” 

“Aaaaaargh. Bloody plants- I hate them.” The Sorcerer’s going nowhere.

Dartamor meanwhile has other worries, he spills his bow and quick draws his rapier, a trio of Twig Blights rush towards him and battle is joined. The Rogue is quickly scratched and clawed, minor blows, nothing to be frightened of, and yet… he feels weak, his strength drained- the Blights poisonous sap courses through him.

Bernard meanwhile lurches to his feet, the giant frog still hasn’t moved, it looks weak- the Bugbear Zombie stumbles over to the huge amphibian.

It still doesn’t move.

Bernard smashes the thing, which in the same instant attempts to leap away, alas it’s too slow, and too broken inside- the Giant Frog is beyond hope, it’s turned to mush.

“For Bert, may his Holy magnificence guide my Holy weapon of Holyness.”

Saradomin screams and charges forward, straight into the supplicant Paladin.

SWIPE

And is cut down in a flash, the Priest falls to the cavern floor and clutches at the wound, “Aaaarrrgghh medic, medic, MEDIC- I NEED A HEALER.”

A little later he will remember that he is the healer.

Jerky leaps into the way of the supplicant Paladin as he continues his rush.

“Not so fast, St. Cuthbert…”

The enchanted armoured Paladin casts Jerky in shadow.

GULP

“Have you heard the good news, St. Cuthbert loves us all…”

The first supplicant thinks about this new information for a little while, about a third of a second, and then swings- Jerky dances back, then rushes in- battle is joined and the Gnome is holding his own.

Which just leaves…

The mighty Paladin of Pelor, Aleso, stumbles to a halt, his charge and attack thwarted by… a girl, scratch that- a beautiful woman, she looks angry, she looks sexy when she’s angry.

“I’m err… that is… by Pelor they’re big ones.”

Sharwyn, the last of the Hucrele’s, grins and winks-

FWUNK

And fires a bolt of magical energy into Aleso’s midriff.

The Paladin stumbles back clutching at his gut, then staggers back towards the grinning, even sexier, Hucrele.

“I’m sorry I meant the apples, on the tree, behind you… they’re very big ones.”

Sharwyn turns to look behind her, following Aleso’s gaze.

THWACK

“Sucker, I mean sorry miss.”

Aleso connects with her head with a wild haymaker, teeth scatter and the young woman folds.

“Pelor bless me for I have sinned.”

The Paladin giggles, stares hard at the Outcast, and then hears Jerky’s scream.

Next Turn: From bad to verse.


----------



## Goonalan

Next Turn 8.6: From bad to verse.

“I’ve got it…” Grand Alf screams dragging himself from the clutches of the rampant grass, “No… No… Ahhh, I said Ahhhh. No.” Alas his escape is all too temporary, it seems the grasping vegetation is winning the battle, the grass is too strong for the puny Sorcerer.

“MEDIC?” Saradomin screams again and then notices the Holy Symbol of St. Cuthbert hanging around his neck, “Ah yes, got it.”

Saradomin heals himself all over, his glowing hands knitting together the horrendous wound received from the Supplicant Paladin.

“That’s more like it… now where were we?” The Priest is back on his feet, he looks behind him to spy the capering Outcast, then looks back at his previous attacker.

“BERTTTTTT.”

Just in time to see Jerky take a longsword chop to the throat, the Gnome staggers backwards and then collapses, a fountain of blood spurting into the air, pooling to soak into the dirt surrounding his body, the Gnome clutches at his ragged wound and in a hoarse whisper delivers his last words.

“It was my cheese. Mine. I never stole it. Sorry Mum.”

Aleso turns just in time to see the Gnome’s fall- the two Holy men share a look, and ignoring the Outcast rush to attack Sir Bradford.

DMs Interlude, and the big rolls are deserting them, at last it seems I will have my revenge.

Meanwhile Dartamor dances a little more, badly it must be added, his feet are leaden weights, as are his arms- the poisonous sap of the Twig Blights has nearly overwhelmed him, every movement, every dodge, feint and thrust a heroic effort.

One of the three Twig Blights has been cut down, although it’s taken nearly half-a-dozen attacks to lay even one of the plant fiends low- it seems a rapier is not the best weapon to be using against the creatures.

“Grand Alf?”

Dartamor screams, the Sorcerer flounders, not waving but drowning beneath a grey-green grassy tide.  

“SARADOMIN?”

Dartamor screams again, searching for respite.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert doesn’t hear him; it’s all he can do to keep Sir Bradford from cutting his head off. Aleso seems to be similarly engaged in not getting cut to ribbons; although both of them have taken minor cuts.

“Bernard.” Saradomin screams, not looking.
“Marthta.”

At last Dartamor thinks, help is on the way.

“Bernard- destroy the Outcast.”

Bernard, or rather what’s left of the Zombie Bugbear stumbles forward to ravage the Outcast.

“WHAT. WHAT ABOUT ME?” Dartamor screams.

Grand Alf seems to have got his hands free; he’s casting, arcane words of power- “BIFFBANGPOW”

A dot of force wends its way towards one of the Twig Blight attackers, Dartamor breathes a sigh of relief, then the force dart dodges hard right and slams into the side of Sir Bradford.

“I SAID WHAT ABOUT ME- HELP ME…”

Dartamor is beginning to lose his rag, and for his efforts takes another slashing, raking claw wound- his strength is almost spent.

Right then, if you want a job doing- you’ve gotta do it yourself, Dartamor thinks, and summons the last of his reserve, a tirade of cuts, thrusts and stabs, and seconds later the penultimate Twig Blight is no more.

Dartamor allows himself a smile.

And at the exact same moment is cut down, strength gone, all used up.

The Half-Elf falls backwards, a dead drop, the half-grin still etched on his face.

Aleso catches the last act out of the corner of his eye, continues to parry and thrust desperately at Sir Bradford, while out of the side of his mouth, “The Bents have got Dartamor.”
“Bents?” Saradomin parrots back confused.
“Baby Ents.”
“Foolish, should have known.”

Behind them a strange gurgling voice starts up.

“Kick it!”

Grand Alf break-dances furiously, for a second or two, here comes the verse.

”You wake up late for the adventure man you don't wanna go
You ask Saradomin, "Please?" but he still says, "No!"
You missed two Goblins and no Bugbear
But Aleso and Saradomin preach like you're some kind of jerk.”

The break dancing starts up again- he seems to making headway against the clutching grass.

”You gotta fight 
for your right 
to party”

The action’s soon over, next verse.

”Aleso caught you Fireballing and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite slays two Trolls a day
Man, adventuring is such a drag
Now Saradomin threw away your best Magic Smash Busted!”

Break dancing again, he’s almost free.

”You gotta fight 
for your right 
to party.”

The final verse.

”Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear
I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut that hair
Jerky busted in and said, "What's that noise?"
Aw, you're just jealous it's the Lost Boys!”

And he’s free, and on his feet- Grand Alf charges, spadeinator clutched in hand- straight for Sir Bradford.

”You gotta fight 
for your right 
to party.”

He shrieks again and again.

The Sorcerer barges his way between the two Holy men and is on the wayward Paladin.

Next Turn: Bernard bye-bye.


----------



## Noliar

NoOO! Not Dartamor, not the token sane person!


----------



## Ristamar

A big   @ the Beastie Boys parody.  Please tell me one of your players actually came up with that.


----------



## Goonalan

Noliar said:
			
		

> NoOO! Not Dartamor, not the token sane person!




Who had decided at this point of the game to develop a carefree attitude towards Hit Points, more will be made of this later.

Ristamar 

A big  @ the Beastie Boys parody. Please tell me one of your players actually came up with that. 

Alas no, the players are average age 12, James (Grand Alf) I remember did some funky dancing in the middle of the kitchen, but alas no Beastie Boys, I may have added that myself.

It gets worse of course... before it gets worserer.

Next Turn: Bernard bye-bye.

Meanwhile at the front of the fracas, just before the tree, the Outcast capers and points his twiggy wand towards the lurching looming Bernard the Bugbear Zombie, the grass reaches up and grasps the tottering creature bringing it to a complete stop.

“Oh yes, you would would you, well I didn’t get to where I am today without having to deal with the likes of you, all big and animated- back from the dead, and loving it- a new life, who are you kidding. Nature is the great leveller, primordial in its intelligence, in its effect- a combination of the strongest elements… by the way- catch.” 

The Outcast winds up his heckle.

Bernard catches.

It’s a Flaming Sphere.

The Bugbear ignites, face, fur and one hand instantly charred and crisping.

“Marthta?”

Bernard’s fur burns, skin melts.

“Er. Marthta?”

Bernard tries to turn to look at Saradomin.

“Can I…”

Bernard drops the Flaming Sphere.

Actually that’s not the whole story, Bernard’s one good hand and arm combo burns through, drops to the dirt floor, still clutching the Flaming Sphere.

The Bugbear tries desperately to extricate himself from the clutching, now burning, plants at his feet.

“Marthta? I’m on fire Marthta. Permission to put myself out? Marthta? I’m on fire Marthta…”

WOOF

Bernard ignites, a flaming Bugbear shaped pillar, bits of him crisp, crunch and slip away, tumble to the dirt floor- charcoal.

“Marthta. I have… failed you. Marthta?”

Bernard collapses. The plants at his feet now thoroughly burnt through. Smoke billows obscuring the Outcast who cackles with joy, for Bernard’s it too late though.

“Marthta I will always remember you. You were a good boss, the hours were good, and you respected me- that’s important for the Undead, Marthta. You made me feel… for the first time… feel… warm inside.”

Bernard implodes, the charcoal husk no longer strong enough to sustain the animus.

“What was that?” Aleso shrieks over the sound of battle.
“I didn’t hear anything.” Saradomin states and swings hard at Sir Bradford.

At that instant Grand Alf charges between the Holy pair, spade in hand- Aleso stumbles forward, brings his scimitar up just in time as Sir Bradford almost connects, Saradomin is sent sprawling, lands face first in the dirt.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert looks up to see the gnarling root-like legs of the last Twig Blight standing over him- the creature reaches down, rakes its ragged claws across the Priest’s face.

Saradomin screams like a little girl, and is almost blinded in the attack- he has plenty to scream about, the Twig Blight’s poisonous sap courses through him, he feels weak, ineffectual…

DMs Interlude- where’s your money- TPK? For the first time ever the lucky dice rolls have totally deserted them, they look like nothing more than an unprepared rag-tag bunch of neophytes who’ve bet the lot on a natural “20”.

Next Turn: Glory, glory Spadeinator.


----------



## Goonalan

Turn 8.8: Glory, glory Spadeinator

Grand Alf strikes.

KER-THUNG

Connects square-on with the side of the Paladin’s head, Sir Bradford is sent skittering back, engulfed in the rolling smoke, the remains of Bernard.

“Nice one. What’s with the smoke? Nice effect.” Aleso states.

Let’s go help Saradomin, the pair turn, then as swiftly turn back to stare, emerging from the swirling mist is Sir Bradford, the first Supplicant’s head is at a very disconcerting angle.

“He should be dead. Shouldn’t he?” Aleso asks.
“Mmm.” Grand Alf half-nods, half-shrugs and settles into a combat crouch, swishing Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving around a bit.

Sir Bradford staggers forward some more.

“You can’t kill me.” Grand Alf states, full of menace, “for I am the chosen one, I am here to save the day, to rid the world from evil like you, there is nothing that you can do, my path is certain- it is written, no- said, no- written; it is written and said, has been said, saided- oh where was I? You may strike me down but I will only grow longer.”

Aleso and Sir Bradford stare at Grand Alf mesmerised momentarily, and latterly confused.

“Did I say longer? I meant stronger, I can only get stronger, if you strike me down- do you see, I will only strongerer, than I am now, if you strike me down.”

Aleso shrugs at Sir Bradford, the tree-plant-man-Paladin shrugs back.

“Can you feel the force?”

Grand Alf goes cross-eyed for a second or two, like he’s quietly farting.

Aleso and Sir Bradford continue to monitor the situation unsure of how to react; Aleso shakes his head to confirm that, indeed, he cannot feel the force. Sir Bradford puts his hand out, as if checking for rain, then shakes his head- the force is not being felt by him either.

“Well I can, it’s heavy, and smells of strawberries- so there. The force is strong within me, I have a badge- it says so, and a Shirt-T, it says, and I quote- ‘The Force is strong within this one’, I got it from a convention.”

Aleso and Sir Bradford nod, convinced of Grand Alf’s sincerity.

“I can lift things, with my mind- and my hands, my mind moves my hands… and vice-versa; that’s the Force, mystical, magical… Mmm… marvellous, and all wobbly round the edges to look at.”

Aleso and Sir Bradford attempt to see the wobbly around the edges Force, they’re disappointed.

“See. I can see the Force. You can’t. It’s as simple as that, only very complex, with equations, fractions and those things with the two little circles- percentages, it involves algorithms, biorhythms, logarithms… Yes, I got rhythms.”

Grand Alf does his crazy robot impression, you know one of those robotic techno style dance moves thingy- he’s… not very good.

Aleso and Sir Bradford exchange confused looks.

It goes quiet for a bit as Grand Alf dances on, the robot eating Magic Smash sandwich routine is followed by robot taking a mechanical poo.

Sir Bradford shakes his head, it kinda thwops around about a bit, his neck is very broken- it has the desired affect, whatever spell is not being cast is broken, he’s back in the room. The ex-Paladin lances his glowing longsword forward and shuffles towards the mad Sorcerer, looking for an opening.

“Wait. You don’t believe me? YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME?”

Grand Alf is apoplectic, “Doubters, unbelievers, heretics, nay-sayers- and I don’t mean horses. I will demonstrate- feel my power.”

Grand Alf drops his staff and puts his hands to his temples- projecting his minds will through his outstretched fingers.

“I am in your mind.”

He gravel-whispers at Sir Bradford, who shakes his floppy head some more.

Aleso watches on eager to believe.

“I am in the dark spaces, in the place that you dare not look- THE SPICE, ahem, ignore that. I am in the underpants of your mind, you cannot resist me, I am irresistible, like chocolate and dead people. Now… GIVVVEE MMMMEEEE YYYYOOOORRRREEE SSSWWWWOOOORRRDDD.”

Grand Alf’s voice is a raspy, smoke-too-much, whisper crossed with a kind of screamed yodel, it’s not pleasant.

And yet.

Sir Bradford steps forward, wooden-like, drawn inexorably towards Grand Alf, he creeps, stops, shudders and moves on.

“GIVVVEE MMMMEEEE YYYYOOOORRRREEE SSSWWWWOOOORRRDDD.”

Grand Alf repeats endlessly.

Sir Bradford struggles, shuffles forward some more, Aleso transfixed staggers backwards, almost drops his scimitar, the power of Grand Alf is revealed for all to see.

Sir Bradford’s googly-eyed stare flickers to take in Aleso for a moment and then locks back on Grand Alf- the Supplicant staggers forward some more- almost there.

“You cannot resist me, GIVVVEE MMMMEEEE YYYYOOOORRRREEE SSSWWWWOOOORRRDDD, I am using the Force, can you feel my Force- oh-oh-oh, can you feel my Force?”

Sir Bradford gives Grand Alf his magical glowing sword, his most beloved of possessions in life, he leaves it with the Sorcerer and staggers backwards.

“I…” Grand Alf begins.

“That’s…” Aleso offers.

“I…” Grand Alf tries once more.

“It’s…” Aleso counters.

“I…” Grand Alf collapses, lies there.

Sir Bradford’s blade sticking out of his chest.

Between the fifth and sixth rib, the heart area.

Grand Alf lies there.

Doing nothing.

Not even breathing.

Gory, gory the spadeinator is no more.

Next Turn: Three’s a crowd.


----------



## Mircoles

This story brings back alot of memories. I was about the Lost boys age when I started playing & our tactics were very similiar. Fun times. 

I Dmed this module some time back, so I don't remember much. It wasn't as funny, that I remember. One thing I do remember is the fate of Meepo. The adventurers in my group adopted him as a mascot & lantern bearer. I can't remember how long they kept him with them, but Meepo was fun to play. 

I've enjoyed this story alot so far & I'm looking forward the next installment.


----------



## Goonalan

Mircoles said:
			
		

> This story brings back alot of memories. I was about the Lost boys age when I started playing & our tactics were very similiar. Fun times.
> 
> I Dmed this module some time back, so I don't remember much. It wasn't as funny, that I remember. One thing I do remember is the fate of Meepo. The adventurers in my group adopted him as a mascot & lantern bearer. I can't remember how long they kept him with them, but Meepo was fun to play.
> 
> I've enjoyed this story alot so far & I'm looking forward the next installment.




Why thank you kindly, much appreciated.

Nearly at the end now...

Turn 8.9: Three’s a crowd.

“Dead. Dead. He can’t be, Noooooooooooooooooooooo.”

Aleso screams into the night, actually he’s no way of telling whether it’s day or night, regardless, he screams, and steps into the fray- makes swift work of the unarmed Paladin, stabs the foul miscreant through his face.

DMs Interlude in what other scenario does the LG Paladin get to stab a LG Paladin through the face and everything is okay, what do you mean it’s not okay, explain that to a twelve year old.

Saradomin smashes the last of the Twig Blights down.

The Holy pair drift together, clinch- they’re alone.

Smoke drifts towards them, clearing slightly, someone seems to have broken the fire-fuel-air triangle, by the sound of things they’re making water.

“Just us.”
“Mmm.”

The pair only have eyes for each other.

“I think Pelor is tops.” Saradomin states.
“St. Cuthbert rocks.” Aleso concedes.

The smoke continues to clear.

“Well this is it.” Saradomin states portentously.
“You could cure…” Aleso counters.
“Shhh. It’s just me and you now- the titanic battle to the very end, its fitting isn’t it, the heathen’s have been taken…”
“And Jerky.”
“He was pretty much a heathen.”
“Point taken.”
“No real commitment.”
“A coward.”
“And very small, did you notice- I didn’t want to say anything but… how rude.”
“Hmmm.”
“I mean there’s small and there’s small, he was doing it on purpose.”
“Being small?”
“On purpose, I mean what’s the point of that- all self, self, self, oh notice me I’m so very small.”
“Exactly, small.”
“I don’t think St. Cuthbert really appreciates short people.”
“Hmmm.”
“I know I don’t.”
“I see your point.”
“I think there’s a sign outside the Temple of St. Cuthbert in Freeport, y’know what it says?”
“No.”
“You have to be this tall to worship here.”

Saradomin indicates how tall you would need to be to worship at the Temple of St. Cuthbert’s in Freeport, Jerky would have to be wearing stacked platform shoes to stand a chance.

“Not a chance.” Aleso confirms.
“Nope.”

“Ahem.” The Outcast gets their attention, the smoke has cleared, the capering, gibbering loon is doing neither of the above, he seems all too relaxed.

Nothing happens.

Sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.

Sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.

The Outcast grins.

More sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.

More sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.

The Outcast grins.

And yet more sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.

And yet more sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.

The Outcast grins.

“My armour’s…”
“So’s…”

The Heat Metal spell begins to really take hold, the pairs armour, weapons; anything metal they have glows, burning their skin- they smoulder.

“ATTACK.”
“For St. Cuthbert.” Aleso claims.
“For Pelor.” Saradomin counter-claims,

Saradomin gets half way, although the distance is not great, the Priest collapses, stumbles forward and grips the dirt, attempts to mouth divine words prayers to heal his hurts, but his voice is wrecked, his blood boils, the words a jumble- the spell broken, the Priest closes his eyes.

Next Turn: Last man standing.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Truly Glorious Overcoming of Adverity to SMITE The Evil One and thus Emerge Victorious!
...
ehrm... well... notsomuch, but hey, they got close!

Great reading, having fun


----------



## Goonalan

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Truly Glorious Overcoming of Adverity to SMITE The Evil One and thus Emerge Victorious!
> ...
> ehrm... well... notsomuch, but hey, they got close!
> 
> Great reading, having fun




I think lessons learnt = 0.

And so...

Turn 8.10 : Last man standing.

“Bring it on.” The Outcast offers and slashes before him with his sickle, Aleso gulps once, grips tight to the handle of his scimitar.
“Look maybe we can work this out.” The Paladin offers.
“Oh so you wish to replace Sir Bradford, to serve the Gulthias tree?”
“I was hoping you’d surrender?”

The Outcast spies the dead, or dying, bodies of the other members of the Lost Boys.

“No, I’m mad. Wheee-Whooo, NER-NER, Tiddleywinks. You know- Mad. But asking me to surrender? Well that’s hardly likely is it?”
“S’pose not.” Aleso shrugs.
“So…”
“So…”
“To the death?” The Outcast offers.
“S’pose.” Aleso shrugs back.

The two circle, wary- a few practice slashes and strokes, no hits, their feeling each other out. This continues for a while.

“Sorry, hang on.” The Outcast leans against the Gulthias tree, signals for a temporary halt to proceedings.
“What is it- stitch?” Aleso looks concerned.
“No, something’s rubbing.” The Outcast fishes in his pants.
“Chaffing?” The Paladin looks concerned, “you may need oinkment.”
“It’s ointment.”
“It’s oinkment how my mum used to make it, stops you scratching I can tell you.”
“Got it.” The Outcast retrieves a gnarled looking twig from his pants.
“No wonder, what’d you have that down…”

A brief wave of his wand and the plant life surrounding Aleso springs to life, grasps him, drags him down into a half-crouch, half-kneel pose- difficult to maintain, Aleso fights to stay on his feet.

“That’s not fair.” The Paladin states, less than calm.
“Fair, I’m the End-of-Game Super-Bad Guy, what’s fair got to do with it.”
“I just think…”

But Aleso doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

Next Turn- Dead End.


----------



## Goonalan

Next Turn 8.11- Dead End.

Hamstrung, the Outcast’s sickle rips through the tendons on the back of Aleso’s right leg; he twists, screams, and falls, throws out his arms as he flails, his sword and shield are sent flying.

The grass reaches up, over, around him, dragging him down, pinning him down; he writhes as the plant-life claws and gropes at his face, his eyes, his nose, his mouth- the plants are in his mouth.

He writhes some more, conscious that the blow will come soon, the coup de grace, the end of it all.

He fights the grass.

He fights it.

Fights it.

Fights.

And, at last, with his strength all but gone tears himself free, the plants which formerly held him turn to straw as he watches, breaks and crumbles, soon to dust.

He looks up, around- where is…

Then he sees the Outcast.

Impaled upon the Gulthias tree, skewered by his sword, flung away in his fall.

Aleso blinks.

Then again.

The Outcast mouths words.

The Paladin gets himself up- woozy, staggers.

Slowly inches forward.

To the Outcast, a slick of blood- so much blood, Aleso staggers again almost fades.

The Paladin leans in, closer.

“What’re you saying?”

The Outcast mouths words he cannot hear.

He leans in closer still, till his ear is almost pressed against the Outcast’s lips.

“One ring to rule them all and in the darkness… “

Aleso lurches back, as if he’s been bitten.

“Kidding.” The Outcast winks, and dies.

Next Turn: The End.


----------



## Goonalan

That's it... no really, no more. The last session proved to be a nightmare, the players decided, more-or-less, to abandon the game for infighting, I appreciate that at age twelve these things happen but... Well my patience was at an end by the time we had wrapped it up, the players were content to walk into danger, even though they knew they were up against the big bad guy, no healing, no tactics just a bunch of kids that had fallen out sometime before I had even arrived. So, the Lost Boys, fun while it lasted... Thanks for reading.

Cheers Paul


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Fun while it lasted indeed. Thanks for writing!   

I feel for you as regards the final session. I've had similar problems DM'ing my two kids - and they were quite a bit older than the Lost Boys even when we first tried. The idea of co-operating as a party doesn't last long in the face of sibling rivalry!

Still, I've had some (slightly) more successful sessions with them since (although not always as often as I'd like - the other bane of being a DMing parent is feeling responsible and having to ask "Have you two got any homework you should be doing instead of this?" knowing full well that the answer, at least in the case of my son, was always "Yes"). So I hope you don't give up on the Lost Boys entirely - keep on trying to infect them with the roleplaying bug.   

See you in your other two storyhours!


----------



## Dr Simon

I once oversaw a colossal Necromunda game for my brother and 6 of his friends on his 13th birthday, so I understand the suffering. Of course, the point of that game was that they *were* trying to kill each other....

Still, this gives me an excuse to check out your Castle Whiterock SH now that this one has finished.


----------



## Ristamar

Shame it had to end that way.  Still, it was a good run.  Thanks for sharing.


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## Richard Rawen

Indeed, 'twas fun while it lasted' and all that, and of course I've got stories to tell as well. I think we all (gamer parents) do. g'luck with future games, hopefully they'll mature a bit and in a few years you'll have another chance (and the time will have dulled the frustration lol )
Thanks for sharing it with us!


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## Goonalan

Thanks. Much appreciated, no doubt I'll give them another go a little later on, if they're still up for it- the last turn took ages to write because I was having to try to unpick what actually happened in the game, there was a lot of stuff happening out of the game. Anyway, thanks for reading, and all the comments along the way.

Cheers Paul


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## baron_samedi

bummer to hear this ended; absolutely loved this thread.  its what got me to join this board ~haha!


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## Goonalan

baron_samedi said:


> bummer to hear this ended; absolutely loved this thread.  its what got me to join this board ~haha!




Then my work here is done.

Thanks for the nice words, the story hour in my sig below isn't funny at all, but it does have pictures...


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