BOOBS!

I WANT my weapons...

The Adventurers take the looooong scenic route up and over the hill returning to the entrance for the Twilight Supper, to retrieve their weapons from the unusually large cache dumped onto a table. (Surprising, because it’s a party not a war council, why would so many weapons be brought to a party filled with the town's elite?)

Demanding the return of their property, and being refused politely but firmly, Wik insists on the return of his equipment in a very vocal, no-nonsense manner. At that second, an immense shriek rises from the festival goers. The soldiers freeze for a second, as do our Heroes.

Ichabod, (momentarily forgotten in the intricate weaving of an arcane spell, passing through the time wheel (perhaps before is ceases to turn?) and into the magic boxes of the future, summoning Jahlo, as the word BOOBS appears, Jahlo is sucked into the magic box and transported to the hilly knoll, a sanguine grin wide on his face), simply remains and watches over the various actions.

More shrieks explode into the air.

The soldiers are torn between remaining at the gate and heading to see what the ruckus is. Within a few seconds citizens are screaming and racing by them in a mad panicked-rush. Lords and Ladies roughly shoving anyone in their path, glancing back over their shoulders with a look of horror etched on their faces. Those tripping in their haste are simply ignored and trampled by the crowds behind them.

As they crush past, the screams grow and by far, outweigh the din. Our Heroes with elven ears hear the individual remarks: “Bears!” “Rampaging feral creatures!” “Triton will pay!” “Where are the guards?” “Bloody mercenaries, leave us to fend for ourselves!” “Weapons! Took our flippin’ weapons!” “Aiieee!!!!!!!”

The saying goes ‘women and children first’; it appears that is not the case among the upper-crust, with females straggling behind; women being mauled and trampled; children, (what few are attending), are left to fend for themselves; parents or caregivers ditching the offspring as they run for their pitiful lives.

As the masses crash the narrow gates to exit, the soldiers make up their minds, and sprint to help their companions trying to aid the handlers wrangle the bears without much success. The wranglers are swaying and laughing, not assisting in the mayhem at all, rope-harnesses dangling in their fingers.

Fresh screams draw everyone’s attention and the entire platoon of well-outfitted soldiers seems to abandon the guests welfare and move, in sync, to the dais area where the Triton family is being threatened by one of the creatures, mad and frothing at its muzzle.

Simultaneously, the soldiers whisk the six Triton members out of danger and dispatch the single bear fluidly. The soldiers forming ranks around the Tritons, hustle them out of the area, abandoning the remaining guests to their fate.

Our Heroes, finding themselves standing at the weapons cache without supervision, and hearing the screams of fright, glance furtively around. Amaril, his weapons still upon his body, doesn’t hesitate to shove his way through the fleeing crowd to get a better view.

He witnesses three massive black bears, wearing colourful ruffled collars and matching tutus, their paws swiping at the guests, going bonkers; knocking over chairs, tables, candles and people! Although bears don’t normally attack without provocation, these bears are not backing away from the confusion, they are growling and charging guests in a berserker-style.

Blood is coating a great number of people, with mounds of expensive fabric lying, dotting the landscape, moaning and crawling out of the target area. Amaril continues around the tent, curious to see where the bears have come from.

The Heroes fumble through the weapons on the table, gathering up not only their weapons, but exotic, expensive, sturdier paraphernalia. Morgan picks up a scimitar with exotic etching on the slivered blade, a long, wooden handle with three brass-bands circling the tang area and continues searching for a dagger, finding a fine, albeit short, specimen with a red gem embedded in the hilt. He tucks these into his backpack, hiding them, before searching further, locating his own weapons and starting towards the biggest bear.

Ooma, checks her backpack and finds... everything still inside. She also spies the heavy gold and jewelled broach that she tried to return to the guard earlier. His reaction to it has given her the creeps regarding it. She tosses it off into the brush. She withdraws her Dwarven axe and hustles after Morgan.

Wik, looking the table of treasures over, locates his backpack. Since he’d strapped his weapons to his backpack, he merely unstraps them and straps his short sword, and dagger to his body, keeps his short -bow in hand and follows Ooma.

Jahlo, worried the animals are going to be injured in this confusion and panic, moves a few feet closer to the edge of the tents where one of the enormous bears is sniffing out the food. Seeming more placid than the others, it lunges toward the tables filled with proteins, scattering the few remaining servants with scratches and puffs of hot air as grunts of near misses brush their cheeks.

Jahlo BOOBS Quin waves his arms, his Holy Club forming an intricate design on the cooling air as it drifts toward the animal gorging on the delectable offerings now lying on the ground. The Ursidae’s enormous paws and weight easily tipping the 40-foot table, crashing the tasty morsels to the makeshift flooring. Its muzzle hastily gnawing cherry-coated boar steaks from a large platter, the black bear abruptly sits, relaxing, as the Handle Animal spell coats it effortlessly. The ruffle-necked, skirt-wearing bear continues eating, its enormous claws scooping platters full of meat into its muzzle.

Alistar weaves to the table of weapons and leans heavily upon it. “Now, whisch ones ‘r mine?” He ponders, his mind fuzzy as he admires the selection. “I think I hashd one of theesh," a striking great sword with a masterfully crafted wooden hilt and wicked sharp blade, "and one of thosh crowsh-bowls.” He removes these weapons from the table and backs away.

Tessalia glances over the table, her eyes carefully considering her choices before electing to take a tall, walking cane with a detailed Ivory knob above a collar of pure-silver filigree, capping an elaborately scrimshawed shaft. Three javelins catch her eye as well, one a rust-tipped ill-cared for article, and two, well-crafted, balanced ones with sharp points and heavy shafts that she slides inside her pack, before turning and following the others as they follow Morgan into the centre of the action.

The tent flapping and beginning to crumple, candles have toppled, guide-lines have snapped; pegs are popping, a good many of the chandeliers have crashed adding to the dangers. Those guests still remaining to drag the injured away are staying well back of the dangers – most of the revellers have left.

Jhalo, after making sure the bear is still enjoying the offered food rather than the guests, turns back to the weapon table and hunts, finding a well-tanned sling with an arsenal of bullets, half of them chiselled to a fine point; a short spear with a fine silver-appearing head, an odd fabric-bow tied at the junction of the head and shaft, and a scimitar with a sharp blade firmly attached to a sturdy handle.

Wik, well back, nocks an arrow and lets it loose, flying straight and true, slipping the tip deep into the bear's shoulder, eliciting a great growl of rage.

Morgan, closest to the roaring hulk of a bear charges at it shouting “Face me, the dreaded MORGAN ROBERTS, you sorry excuse for a clown!” Morgan glances about, as he runs forward, his blade drawn, “MORGAN ROBERTS will see your death!” People’s heads do turn to see this large, weaving body running toward the bear.

“Morgan who?” “Roberts...what?”

Morgan, seeing the arrow sticking from the bear’s shoulder, swings and stumbles, his scimitar slashing air as his scabbard thumps one of the guests the bear was chomping on, eliciting a roar of anger from the bear, and a wealth of expletives from the bear’s main course. “It’s not my fault! I haven’t drunk nearly enough!” Morgan explains boldly.

Alistar lunges forward, his unsteady gait and wildly swinging arm hits the growling mammal lopping its ear off and enraging it further! While he does this Ooma stretches forward and lands a vicious blow to his muzzle, causing his head to bounce, his teeth crush and a bloody grin faces the Heroes.

Jhalo, still horrified that the bears are being attacked, whistles to Benji and instructs him to guide those still in danger, out of the area, while he readies his sling to help put the injured one out of his misery. Swinging wildly he lets the bullet fly and, being a new sling, his unfamiliarity with the arc sends the bullet sailing off to the right narrowly missing a gathering of Human-Orc-handlers. “A warning shot, yah?”

Alistar grins at the Druid and slashes his sword down putting the bear out of his wretchedness, ending his short life with blood seeping out in spurts as Alistar withdraws his newly acquired weapon.

Ooma immediately jumps forward when the third bear leaps for Alistar, her Dwarven axe smashing broadside into the bear’s snout. A yelp and a roar utter forth as the bear is momentarily stunned, continuing its forward momentum.

While it is dazed, Wik pulls the string on his bow back, the arrow flying true, slicing the jugular and exiting as the bear drops to his knees, keeling over narrowly missing the man whose leg was being munched earlier. As the bear drops more screams reach the shredded tent, and, turning, three women, Dwarves, are spotted, holding their skirts high, running, their chests heaving, their long hair flowing behind them.

“Help! Please!”

Behind the ladies, closing fast are two dark animals. Their shape emulates a cat; a very large cat. Growls and yowls from these animals alert the group to their intentions. Jhalo, thinking quickly, casts Entangle and the grass under the cat’s feet immediately begins to grow, grasping at their ankles, slowing the surprise felines, but not enough to distract them from their snack.

The ladies, although running full out, are having trouble widening the distance between the cats and themselves. Our Heroes practically roll their eyes as they turn and jog toward the ladies, hoping to place themselves between the two groups.

Meanwhile, Amaril, searching near the cages, sees a shadow run off around the back of a wagon, too far to give chase, but he moves toward that area, finding three more open cages and three cheetahs with their throats slit, bleeding out in front of the cages.

As he examines this development, he stumbles upon a body lying at the foot of one of the open cages, a scrap of torn fabric clutched in his fingers. He checks to be sure the man is deceased, before grasping the fabric and removing it from the man’s rigor mortise-curled fingers.

Turning the man over, he hears the unmistakable jangle of coins and proceeds to relieve the body of its valuables; five gold necklaces, a bracelet and a good quantity of coins rattling around in his trouser pockets. In an upper pocket he finds an unusual ring that he pops into his own pocket, to examine later. Finding nothing more of value, he tucks the body to the side.

As he starts back he notices Ichabod come near, he hasn’t met her before, but he remembers her arriving with the rest of his friends. “What are you up to?” she asks, peering beyond him. “What happened?” she asks.

Smartly, Amaril responds, “I’m no doctor, but I think he’s dead.”

She nods, steps around Amaril, flips the body over noting his pale pale skin, then stands and walks back toward the group. Amaril, watching her, follows at a slower pace.

As the servants get closer to our fighting Heroes, they begin to veer toward Ooma recognising her a kindred spirit.

While our Heroes also shift closer, Jahlo attempts to instruct the remaining bear to attack the cats, and the bear turns, gives Jahlo a baleful stare, glances at the cats for a long gape, before returning to his food, shrugging, as if to say, “Yah, if they get near this food, okay, we have a deal.”

The two groups edge closer as the cats, free from the sticky-grass, lunge forward rapidly and our Heroes charge. As they clash, Alistar plunges his sword deep in the first cat’s shoulder slicing the ligaments and muscle, rendering the leg useless, while Jahlo readies his sling and flings a stone behind him, narrowly avoiding Benji. Morgan rams his scimitar and decapitates the cat, scarcely missing Alistar as the blade whooshes downward.

The second cat leaps forward, her yowl ferocious as her mate gurgles, so enraged she trips over her feet and summersaults, slowly erecting herself looking sheepish, pulling her head back as Alistar’s weapon swishes past, snipping a few whiskers. The surprised cat growls again, her bad breath sending Alistar beyond her haunches, as she reaches with her powerful paw and grabs his armour wrapping herself around him seeking anywhere to sink her teeth.

Ooma, already charging swings her mighty axe at the cat’s loin, carving a deep gash in her muscles disabling the leg, while an arrow shot by Wik plunges deep into her neck, again, narrowly missing Alistar. Benji, seeing Alistar in trouble and getting the command from Jahlo, scampers in, barking and nipping at the cat, pouncing around her, while Morgan shouts to Alistar to “HOLD STILL,” and Alistar holds his breath as the deadly-sharp blade of the scimitar comes slashing downward, nipping passed his nose burying itself deep in the cat.

The cat roars a mighty snarl, jerks about, its hug forming closer around Alistar as its soul departs. Morgan leans forward and uses the cat’s fur to clean his blade before reaching his arm out to Alistar, “Hey! Stop layin’ about!” he jokes, helping him to his feet.

Amaril finally returns, excited, telling the group about the body and describing it as he gives the news that the animals were released on purpose. “This was clutched in the dead man’s hand.” He shows you a red scrap of torn cloth. “But we’d better keep an eye out for whoever opened those cages!”

The group peer at it, trying to recall who was wearing red this evening...

Wik, taking the rope from the handlers, stealthily moves up to the still gorging bear and slips the trainer’s loop over his head, letting it drop to his shoulders. The bear pauses, looks around, snorts, then goes back to the huge bucket of fish in front of him...

Video link to the LIVE feed episode...

Mysterious Tavern On Air

o0o

And, as the DM hit 'end broadcast', and bid her fellow gamers goodnight, shutting down her computer and closing the monster manual, her gargantuan-headache about to burst through the top of her skull, she stood and...

‘Wow, those are some gorgeous brown-eyes...’ she thinks, looking up at the paramedic wondering why...

‘Someone ask me if I’ve eaten before we begin next game, ‘k?’ *wry grin*...

o0o

I got the bump and bruise to prove it...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

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