Flushed...

Tessalia and Jahlo, having been summoned back to their respective homes briefly, are now, racing through the tunnels, they were lucky enough to find the correct opening, and are hustling along quickly, trying to catch back up to the party. In their hurry, they step, at the same time, into a trap which sends them on a slide down into a freezing cold lake, where Tessalia manages to scramble onto shore, Jahlo struggles and flounders.

Tessalia shout to reassure him, “I will save you Jahlo!” and she leans forward with her staff, offering it to Jahlo, to pull him safely to shore. Ayrowynn hears the shout and wanders over to where she can see them and instead of assisting, she starts laughing at his predicament.

Reaching for her staff, Jahlo is so cold, he cannot hang on to it and glugs under the surface again, flailing to get back up. Ayrowynn finally decides she will attempt to help, leaping in the water, swimming to Jahlo, pushing him to shore, where Tessalia hauls him onto the frosty ledge.

When she hauls her butt out of the water, Ayrowynn points up the way, “There’s a fire and camp up there.”

Ayrowynn is shaking her head, “How does a Druid nearly drown?”

As the weary, wet arrivals come to the fire, it becomes obvious that everyone is exhausted. As they sit, warming themselves, Amaril has a few questions for Tessalia.

He questions her about the vials of liquid, the scroll and the ring he’s found. The ring causes a mighty GASP from the three serving ladies. He learns the scroll he discovered is a spell. Tessalia smiles as she reads, her eyes brightening.

“May I keep this?” she asks Amaril as she explains exactly what kind of spell it is, “It’s Minor Illusions. It allows me to fool enemies.” She rolls the scroll and replaces it in the case along with the rods with golden tops. (As long as Tessalia concentrates, she can maintain the illusion, if her concentration is broken, it will last two more rounds before fading.)

Tessalia does not know anything about the ring. Jahlo asks the serving ladies if they’ve seen the ring before and they nod, fearful and amazed. “That’s like... can I see it please?”

Amaril threatens them and finally agrees they can hold the ring. It resembles a spiral staircase in red gems. As they examine it, they notice inside the top gem a figure of a Lady. She seems to be seeking something. They are told they don’t recognise the figure, but, if Jahlo, Wik or Ooma stare long enough into it, a light may dawn and they may see the resemblance to another Lady they have met in the past. (DM NOTES: IF ANY OF YOU THREE READ THIS BLOG THIS WEEK, CONTACT ME, VIA E-MAIL OR POST IN THE COMMUNITY AND YOU WILL BE GIVEN THIS INFORMATION QUIETLY...)

As the ladies hold Amarils hand (as he holds the ring), the ladies are fairly vibrating with excitement. Fequr looks directly into Amaril’s eyes, “You HAVE to save her!” She turns her eyes upon the group before releasing Amaril’s hand.

Ichabod requests to see the ring, and raises her eyebrows and smiles as Amaril offers her the same threat (to lop off her fingers) if she refuses to return the ring. Wik warns him not to let her hold it. He eyes Ichabod guardedly.

She questions him, “Why? Did I not return your ring?”

“Yes, but you took something from it, I know it.”

She laughs, and shakes her head, holding her hand out for the ring. As she draws her staff closer to the ring, it reacts with a violent start; glowing and vibrating. “This ring is part of my quest.”

Amaril asks the ladies, “Who needs saving?”

Fequr responds, “The Lady!”

As Ichabod rubs her fingers across the ring, it starts to hum. “This is the clue. DO NOT LOSE THIS RING!”

Amaril slides it on his finger, and, it is tight, and begins to vibrate or hum as he wears it. Ichabod sits very close to him and Wik sits on the other side of Ichabod as the group falls asleep, their snores softly wafting about.

The vials of coloured liquid are still a mystery.

Supplies are shared with Jahlo and Tessalia, filling their bags with rations and Jahlo is pleasantly surprised to find a squishy leather bag, about a foot by a foot big, and 10-twigs. (DM’s NOTE: JAHLO, IF YOU READ THIS PLEASE ASK ME FOR A BETTER DESCRIPTION OF THESE.)

Ooma seems to be under a sleeping spell and isn’t waking. The three, Fequr, Racelette and Adrie, offer to stay with her while the rest of the party goes off to explore.

Upon awakening, they discuss where they will head next. Wik suggests they head down to where he saw movement, and this suggestion is agreed to.

Traipsing back to the path, and down a narrow soggy sand path, down a slope and around a corner. As he crests the corner, he spies more of those reptilian creatures and immediately fires an arrow at the first one. He can see the bolt skewering through its eye and exploding his head into a mass of gore, dropping it.

Its’ friends are non-too-happy and swiftly fire back at Wik, the spear’s tip sinking into his thigh deeply. He yells, scrambling back around the corner, shouting.

The party stops and remains in place, listening to scrabbling noises. Morgan attempts to climb the hill when a spear comes sailing over the top. Ayrowynn, Jahlo and Tessalia scrape knees and fingers as they struggle to clamber up the tiered hill, and, after several tries, they are successful in cresting the top. Ayrowynn peeks over, coming face-to-face with one of the creatures. She fires her bow, killing it instantly. Catching the attention of those in the passage below.

Jahlo makes his way to Wik and lays hands on him, stitching the wound and nearly removing the injury, and as soon as he’s healed, he pops around the corner firing a bolt hitting a creature, and leaving him bloody, moving back behind the hill for cover. Ayrowynn, fires his bolt from the top down into the passage, killing it as the bolt rips through his throat as his parts splat everywhere.

Jahlo throws a bullet and nails his forehead, causing dripping blood to spurt down his face.

Morgan, finally reaches the top of the hill and chucks rocks at the creature, missing it. Tessalia throws her spear, losing it in the confusion. Wik fires an arrow, looking back at Jahlo, he snarls, “This makes us even.”

The arrow finds its way true into its heart. Wik shuffles forward, to check for loot. Amaril follows behind, and Morgan tumbles down the hill, reaching the bottom at the exact moment Amaril comes through the narrow opening.

In the flash of an eye, moving slowly, Wik steps on a trigger, a rock that moves underfoot and Morgan and Amaril are whisked away in a flush right behind him. He hears them shout and they are gone...

o0o

XP for this week – 200 EACH for Amaril, Jahlo, Morgan, Tessalia and Wik, with Ooma receiving Ayrowynn’s and Benji receiving nothing this week as he nearly let his owner drown! Ayrowynn has been called back to take care of a problem with her brother and will not be returning for the foreseeable future. She wishes the party well.

Treasure - The four reptilian creatures were carrying 24 gold pieces, and pouches containing 48 gems total, varying from 100gp to 1000gp. (8-gems each, we'll roll at the beginning of next game to determine who gets what...)

Story XP – If you wrote in the Journal, or a story in the community, please add 100 XP to your sheet.

o0o

Ooo look, sparkles...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys

o0o

blanket? There's a fire, dude...

blanket? There's a fire, dude...

The group starts this evening in the tunnel, the ceiling soaring two-hundred feet overhead, the rough sides giving way to one smooth, almost sandstone side of the nearly twenty-foot high hill they are circling. Flowing water is be heard. It is chilly; their breath forms puffy clouds that dissipate it's absorbed into the chilly cavern. Frost thickens as they move deeper, bunching up to keep warm.

Prepared, as they hear the slapping sound of feet headed their way, rounding the corner comes a spearman, his weapon raised! He hurls it at Wik, unfortunately the creature, nervous and over-excited with his first tour on guard duty, stumbles on the slippery ground and his spear lands, with a clatter, at Ayrowynn’s feet.

Wik swiftly looses a bolt as the creature stumbles, adjusting his aim easily, that digs directly into the creature’s neck, spurting blood, continuing into its windpipe, killing it. Wik, pleased with himself, does a little jig while jubilantly uttering, “Two-for-two, man – two-for-two!”

Amaril, resting near the fire, inside the tent, tips his ear, hearing the sounds of a scuffle; an arrow being loosed and a high-pitched yelp. He decides to blow the whistle, it’s piercing sound echoing around the cave. He pauses to see if there is a return call.

The group hears the whistle and tilt their ear to locate its direction, determining it is coming from the other side of the hill. They walk forward, curious, their eyes focussed on the curve of the hill, anticipating a foe to materialise in front of them.

"Yeow!" A spear suddenly zips passed Wik's nose. They all jump back, flattening themselves against the wall, deep breathing as they peer at the opposite dark stone wall, seeing a crack or niche outlined.

"What the hell?" Wik exclaims, peering in the direction of travel, seeing the tip of a spear poking out from behind an outcropping of stones. He ducks behind Ayrowynn. Hollering at the creature, “We’re escorting Dwarves!” Getting no response, he tumbles, attempting to pass the opening where this enemy is attacking from. Successfully doing so, his feet sliding on the frosty ground, he manages to catch himself before he plunges into the small lake, or pond, formed in a smooth-sided rock bowl.

Ooma sneaks passed, peering at the outcropping, and sees the spear-tip, “Nice day for it!” she taunts. As she speaks, that spear, comes flying her direction and embeds itself in her shoulder, giving her a slight scratch and putting a hole in her shoulder armour. Adrie jumps forward to help her remove the arrow with as little damage as possible.

Morgan takes a risk and manages to overrun the creature, coming to a stop behind another outcropping a few feet behind the spearman.

A tumble, a rush and a few slashes later, they have this creature flanked; Wik’s arrow bounces off the hard rock, startling, but not hitting, the creature.

As this is going on, Amaril, inquisitively moves in the direction of this racket, cautiously trying to avoid slipping on the frost-covered ground. As he crests the top of the slope, he can see the party at the opposite edge of the lake.

Meanwhile, Ayrowynn moves forward and carefully takes aim, patiently waiting until the creature raises his head before loosing the arrow, finding the creature’s shoulder hitting a main artery, and sinking in so deeply, the creature stumbles falling against the rock, its gurgles fading to silence.

Morgan, behind the, now dead, Kobold, searches the body and recovers a hefty gold broach, that, when he shows it to Ooma, she recommends he throw it far away! 

“That belongs to Lady Triton,” Ooma explains, as she continues, “I tried to return it to the guards when I saw Judy toss it away, but they wouldn't have nothing to do with it; frightened them, don’t know why.” Morgan, asking curiously, learns the broach is valued at an astonishing twenty-thousand gold coins – he doesn’t care who used to own it, he places it in one of his many pockets along with three silver coins he also recovers.

Hearing a shout, they spy Amaril at the far end of the lake that Wik nearly tumbled into when he tumbled passed the ancillary tunnel. Wik gestures to Amaril urging him to come to them.

As Amaril starts to make his way to the group, he slips into the water, the loud splash attracting the group's attention. Unable to swim he begins to sink, the cold freezing his reactions. Morgan moves closer to offer aid. As the others laugh at his predicament, Ichabod, noticing that he is flailing, leaps passed them, her footing sure, and uses her staff to drag him from the water.

Shivering, Amaril smiles and asks if anyone has a blanket. Morgan jokingly ties a rope around Amaril’s waist as Ooma hands Amaril her toga-style dress.

With Amaril safely out of the water, the group takes the time to notice organically shaped rectangular lichen, giving a soft glow, lighting the space dimly. They are spaced haphazardly along the walls and, as you observe, down into the water, showing bright, glittering rocks of many colours embedded into the bed. In the very centre of the body of water lies an object. The nervous group decides to leave well-enough alone, although Ayrowynn suggests, jokingly, tossing Amaril back in, seeing as he’s already wet.

 Ayrowynn spies the flicker of a fire, on the other side of the slight hill. Morgan wisely suggests lighting a fire to warm them, when Ayrowynn points to the fire and proposes that they head over to it instead, and Amaril, obviously confused from his dip in the cold water, says, "That's a good idea, there's lots of other stuff up there too."

Before they can move though, a spear sails over their heads and clatters against the wall behind them. Morgan knits his brows, “Who are these guys?!” he looks around.

Wik spots a narrow opening between two dark-black mounds, across the pond. He spies the spearman’s reptilian body, and quietly points him out to those next to him.

Morgan retrieves the creature’s spear and attempts to return it to him, although his throw is off and the spear falls short landing with a splash in the cold liquid. Meanwhile Ichabod begins to circle the end of the lake, attempting to sneak close to the creature.

Wik, moving along the ledge, fires his shortbow, sending the arrow into the creature’s neck, dropping him with a pitiful shriek. Then, makes his way around the rim of the lake, looting the deceased creature’s body, finding a slimy mass of pearls that resemble the goop that leached out of the centipede when its guts were severed a few hours ago. He wraps the bundle and stashes the slimy mess in his backpack, along with six silver coins.

Standing, he looks around and spots another narrow opening in a seeming niche, his eyes locating a path between the rocks soaring above his head.

The others make their way to the fire; Racelette and Fequr tumbling into the water. The group laughs at their plight, before noticing that Racelette is unable to help herself out. Ooma takes pity, using the spear shes gathered, holds it out to Racelette, pulling her to the side and assisting her out of the water. Racelette is very grateful, as are her sisters, hugging Ooma in appreciation.

Items stacked around the fire are examined, explored and expropriated as most everyone finds something of interest. Ooma pockets the healing pouch, noting it has supplies for about eight wounds. The scroll case containing the scroll, the ink-vial and pen, as well as three, foot-long, golden-topped rods, is taken by Amaril, he decides to ask Tessalia about the scroll later when he thinks about it; he also decides to ask her about the vials, maybe she has knowledge of these potions?

Wik leaves the party behind as he steps through the short tunnel, stopping on the rim of an enormous natural cistern of water. Lichen also lend their unusual glow to this area, extending into the clear water. This lake bed is encrusted with gems, like the other, although these ones are mostly shades of blue, purple, and red. The opposite side of the lake reveals a series of shelf-like protrusions jutting out as the rock wall ascends to the soaring ceiling. He sees something move and quickly recognises frogs. Giant frogs. Even the small ones are as big as an average sized human.

Wik, still examining the area, notices the water sort of forms a small, scooped inlet off to his left (should have been RIGHT, DM error, sorry.) He nods, turns and silently makes his way back to the party, reporting what he viewed. He also observes the three wooden boxes and, noticing that no one else has taken them, he lifts one, and leaning over the box he lifts the lid, sees the leather pouch inside and lifts it from the box, noting it is squishy and heavy, but not overly so for its size.

Moving slightly away from the group, Wik nimbly undoes the string, the bag falls back and a flaming ball of fire erupts, burning through his gloves and singeing his fingers. He speedily drops the leather into the water sees it sink to the bottom, lays down and thrusts his hands into the icy water, barely avoiding an icy bath.

The sudden explosion of fire stuns the group momentarily, everyone seeing spots, dazzling them for a few minutes. Morgan, his back to the flash, head down, looking at the mirror, deciding to put it in his sack, effectively shades his eyes.

Ooma laughs. “Be careful opening those other boxes.”

As they are laughing and joking, a loud ‘thud’ shakes the cave, the water shimmering as the noise continues. This ‘thud’ is separate from the steady ‘thump-thump’.

Ooma looks at the three servants and, rhetorically asks them, “What the hell kind of neighbourhood do you live in?!”

The ladies try to explain that they don’t normally have to use the back tunnels into their homes, and, indeed they have only done it once before. “Normally there isn’t a lot of creatures, but lately we’ve been fighting off more and more; creatures that don’t even belong down here!”

Morgan is sceptical, “You ladies wouldn’t even last a week down here.”

Agreeing, Adrie repeats that the level of creature activity has been on the rise, along with odd accidents. “We would not have had to come this way had there not been a cave-in that prevents us from using the main tunnels.”

Morgan, sensing Ooma’s impatience and his own growing distrust demands, “We’re going to need some kind of payment before we go any further.”

The ladies acquiesce without hesitation, gather the miner’s pick and, one at a time, using the rope from around Amaril’s waist, they drop into the water, staying as long as their bodies can handle the cold. While there, they mine a cluster of gems for everyone. (Four for Wik, three for Ooma, Amaril receives two, four for Morgan, and Ayrowynn receives two stones, they are valued between 5 and 10 gold each, with the paler colours fetching the least and the darker one, more.) Teeth chattering and lips blue, making their way back to the fire, “Will that be sufficient?” Fequr asks as Wik wraps his cloak around the ladies.

While the ladies are ‘pearl-diving’, Morgan, while encouraging them to continue their efforts, so, eventually, he will not feel like he’s been taken advantage of, wanders off to see if he can locate the sound of the ‘thump’.

He is unsuccessful, so he moves to wait at the edge of the pond, watching and listening.

They are still hearing the loud grunts and thumps. They also hear what sounds like digging. Racelette is puzzled, “That sounds like ...mining?”

Her sister agrees it is odd. “All the worthy gems are in the water here.”

While Morgan’s watching, one of the frogs leaps out of the water onto the opposite side of the water, turns and seemingly stares at him, standing in an alcove directly across from the amphibian. His torch sputtering, Morgan douses it, pulls another and sparks it to flame.

As he does so, the frog continues staring at him, holding his attention, until Morgan, suddenly looks down. In a flash, before he can move, a tongue is wrapping around Morgan’s leg.

Morgan, surprised, immediately swings his scimitar downward and the frog, seeing the weapon, disengages his tongue and leaps backward into the water, turning to stare up at Morgan.

“What the hell, do you think you’re doing you slimy bastards,” he snarls.

The frog, apparently angered by Morgan’s words, suddenly flies from the water, soaring up the embankment and aims for Morgan’s head, and as he does so, Morgan raises his scimitar in defence, slicing the frog’s belly open causing the creature to land in a bloodied mess directly on top of Morgan’s head, ruining his new turban. In anger, (after hauling the mass off his head), Morgan lifts a rock and throws it at one of the other frogs in the water, but only splashes the crystal water, and, as it sinks it melds into the bottom of the pool.

The remaining frogs are floating at him staring. The stone causes an enormous frog to rise to the surface, stare at Morgan, before sinking again as Morgan continues to shout expletives and curses upon the frogs, taking out his Meade skin and moistening his throat after each curse.

The thumping increases, sounding like something is marching toward the party.

Morgan tries to climb the rock to get a better view. In his inebriated state he only manages to ascend to the first shelf,elevating him about five feet, Still, it gives him a grander view of the far end of the lake, to his left, and what he sees is dark, large and moving. He shouts, “Hey someone, come and take a look!”

Most of the party trundles to where Morgan is. Ichabod, and the three serving ladies, remain at the fire, tossing another gnarly root into the flames.

Wik, deciding he wants to see better, climbs to the top of the hill. Leaning to look over the backside, he spots, what appear to be people-sized ‘something’ wandering back and forth in another corridor. There is something else down there as well. He is intrigued.

Returning to the party, Wik suggests they continue to the left and not the right...

The DM suggests they take a long rest, recover their strength, have a snooze, eat, relieve themselves (there’s a small trench on the downward side forty feet from the makeshift campsite). We will start the next session assuming you have taken a rest. (Otherwise you will begin to take negative 2 to your rolls, increasing by 2 with each passing hour that you do not rest, as well as one constitution point lost for every hour - take the DM's advice: REST...)

XP FOR JULY 15th = 100xp each (Amaril, Ayrowynn, Morgan, Ooma, Wik, who'd I fergit...?)
PLUS, for those who've written an entry in the Journal or in the community, you add an additional 100XP... (once per week...)

Video link: <https://youtu.be/tnGxRYJhy8c>

o0o

looking at all the shiny sparklies...

FLEDGLING DUNGEON MISTRESS,

khrys...

Caves Suck...

Dwarven Warrior Princesses, raised by humans, really HATE caves... 

The short version: Our Heroes tiredly struggle and emerge victorious, (though bloody, muddy and cranky), against two tough-vermin critters before Amaril is sucked away via a whirlpool trap, after locating a hidden doorway. Wik locates another hidden door and Ooma, followed by Wik, Adrie, Fequr, Racelette, Ichabod, and Morgan, with Benji bringing up the rear, go through this door, emerge in an even larger cave, (chilly, cold cave), where they dispatch one foul reptilian creature and another one rounds the bend. "I really hate caves," Ooma sighs. 

The longer, picturesque route...

As you will recall, if you were paying attention last week, we begin this week at the ready in a granite-sided tunnel with a soaring ceiling and a rubble strewn, muddy, floor with about six to eight inches of water trickling along. The scratching noises are growing and the lighted sword that Jahlo magically imbued, sputters and blinks out just as an enormous form rounds the slight curve to the south...

Alert, even though blind momentarily from the disappearance of the light, Morgan, in the lead, calmly searches his pack, listening as the noises grow, finding a torch and lighting it.

As the torch sparks to life the group gasps in shock, then fright, then horror as they perceive two monstrous centipedes, approximately 15-18-feet long, their pinkish-white scale-like skin reflecting the torchlight. Our group haven’t time to do anything further as the lead centipede lunges for Morgan, its maw wide showing the many rows of sharp needle-like teeth.

Morgan, startled, quickly transfers the torch to his offhand and draws his weapon. Wik moves forward and plunges his short sword deep into the creature’s neck, the wide gash spewing a foul yellow bile, the creature screaming and twisting, moving closer. Adrie shifts toward the creature nervously, raising the dagger given her by Wik, throwing it, but, in her nervousness, she over compensates and the party hears the knife clatter well beyond the beast.

Ooma can smell this creature, and she swings wildly with her axe, nearly decapitating Adrie and Wik. “Hey hey hey! Wait; wait! You’re not anywhere near the creature! Jeeez!” They pant as Ooma, knocked nearly off-balance from her twirl, stumbles to a stop, her axe handle gripped tightly within her hand.

Ooma mutters, “Well, I need help. Point me to the bad guy next time! Sheesh!”

The creature rears up and lunges again for Morgan, misjudging the distance, due to the yellowy-pus oozing from its neck and eats a mouthful of rubble on the ground in front of Morgan. The second beast meanwhile is crawling along the far wall, it’s length nearly as long as the line of adventurers. It remains about ten-feet up on the side of the rough, damp wall, endeavouring to come up behind his meal.

Fequr throws her dagger at the creature as it slithers along and succeeds in hitting the wall just under the beast, her blade clattering to the watery-rocks below. Amaril considers sending a flaming arrow into the side of this beast, pulling a flask of oil from his pack, and preparing the ends of two arrows, glancing at the creature often as he does this. Racelette raises her arm, throws her dagger hard and strikes the wall in front of the creature, gaining its attention as sparks flicker, but losing her dagger in the watery muck below.

Ichabod steps forward, her mighty staff swings and crushes into the second beast’s skull, the heavy jewelled top of her staff wounding the creature, leaving it with a rather bloody grin.

Morgan, meanwhile, swings his weapon at the first creature who manages to roll, avoiding the sharp blade. Morgan then moves to deftly step around the creature, turning his body so as to flank the creature between Wik and himself, circling to the right and behind, keeping both beasts in his line of vision. While Morgan does this, Wik steps forward and again tries to plunge his blade deep into this hungry creature, but, in the slimy, sloppy trail of its bile, Wik slips and the blade glances off the stone just in front of the beast.

Ooma, hearing the muttered curses and clangs upon the stones, readies her axe and shouts, “Don’t you come near me!” Warning all and sundry that she will swing at the first thing that brushes against her!

The creature, frustrated that it can smell a meal but can’t seem to latch on, slithers speedily towards the party, its jaws opening and clamping around Racelette, who screams, pushing at it, pain radiating as the beast drops off, leaving a circle of tiny pin-holes on her leg, the poison the beast injects as it bites, trying to subdue her, fails, as she has become immune to various poisons over the years. Still blood droplets drip slowly from the piercings. She backs away, limping.

The other beast, leaps toward Wik, who jumps back, avoiding the gaping orifice. Amaril, hustles to the torch, lighting his oil-dipped arrow turning and firing before he finishes his spin causing the arrow to sail over the creature’s head landing in the shallow water with a sizzling splash fading to nothing.

Racelette, Fequr and Adrie, now weapon-less, move to stand near Ooma, their backs to the wall as Ooma shouts at them to, “Just stay put! The wolf will protect you! Protect them Benji.”

 Ichabod steps forward and with an oath, swings her staff and connects with... air, as the beast ducks. Morgan, moves into position and elevates his scimitar above his head, then down on the creature’s back, neatly drawing a line, intersecting with Wik’s earlier cut, enabling the escape of more yellowish-bile and causing the creature to rear up in fearful pain.

Amaril drops his crossbow and tries to haul out his scimitar, getting it caught in his armour and manages to twist himself about, while Ichabod swings her staff downward, and, as the beast tries to clamp onto the top, and she manages only to break one of its many teeth while pulling the staff back.

Morgan, eyeing the beast in front of him, hoping it keeps its attention focussed on Wik, swings his weapon and slices a mighty gash along its back crossing the earlier one, and splashes of ooze leaks forth. As Morgan’s blade is pulled back, Wik’s sinks in deeply, causing the creature to shriek an un-holy sound, its pain voluble.

Ooma, her eyes finally adjusting from the flash of brilliant light, wishes she couldn’t see! The large centipedes with their growling rumble and putrid scent spur her to charge the one near Wik and Morgan, her feet slipping and sliding in the slimy mass stumbling and nearly toppling arse over head. As she comes to a stop, righting herself, Morgan sardonically mumbles, “You really didn’t grow up in a cave, did you Dwarf?”

Causing Ooma to lift the hem of her dress and emphatically reply, “No, I did NOT!”

Ichabod, smiles at this exchange before swinging her staff at the beast, missing completely. While Morgan takes another swing at the one in front of him, slashing a large slice out of the beast’s side.

Wik follows, shoving his blade, again into the side, cutting upward. Ooma once more swings her axe, and cleaves a boulder in two, as the centipede manages to duck and roll out of the way of the oncoming death blow! Ooma shouts at the beast in frustration!

Amaril swing his scimitar and it connects with... air. The monsters rear up; their fear palpable. The one near Wik flips up and weakly attempts to bite Wik, but as he is so frail he is barely able to mount a splash, sliding backward, his feet sinking in the sludge. The other creature leaps for Ooma, his aim, off, the pain of losing a tooth bothering him, it instead grapples the rock Ooma cleaved into earlier.

Morgan jumps, his frustration evident, “How can we be mighty Heroes we can’t even down another of these creatures! I am going to slay you!” He thrusts his scimitar deftly inside the creature piercing straight through. The creature rears up, in a dramatic fashion, quivering and shaking before straightening and flopping down, dead. Morgan calmly steps on the centipede as he withdraws his scimitar, wiping the muck off along the creature’s side. His leather boots becoming slick with the pus and bile flowing from this dead critter. He then speedily walks toward the other beast, “Make yourself useful,” he shoves the torch into Adrie’s hands as he passes, while Ooma mutters that the ladies should find their daggers.

Adrie holds out her arm, waving it, the flickering light creating shadows, bright flashes and back to shadows again. Wik sneaks up and stabs the creature in the bum, ending its constipation problem, but earning Wik a roar of displeasure! While Ooma swings her axe as the torch light flickers, startling her and she steps back lowering her weapon in uncertainty.

With this the beast lunges at her and, as she steps back again, soars over her to the left and slithers to a stop on square one, square two, square... Ooma, taking advantage of his near miss, swings her axe, chopping a gash in its scaly hide. Wik, ever watchful, sees the creature sliding to a stop beside him quickly stabs with his shortsword, rendering a mighty twelve-inch gash before hauling the sticky blade out of the centipede’s side.

Amaril jumps and brings his arm down, his scimitar gashing a huge hole in its belly, spilling a glistening, round, egg-like sac, the slime-coated pearls sinking into the murky water. Bothered by the creature’s apparent state of motherhood, Ichabod’s staff swishes above the centipede, merely fanning it.

Morgan pulls his scabbard out and flails at the centipede, the scabbard causing the creature to vomit and spew bile in his direction before dropping like a stone, dead, laying in its own fetid excrement.

The party takes a short break, resting their weary bodies, Ooma vocally objecting to continuing further into these caves, “I tell you, I smell a trap!” The ladies shake their heads sadly.

“No wonder you don’t live underground, this place sucks!” Morgan agrees with Ooma, then offers the ladies a swig from one of the bottles of liquor he filched from the bar and raises an eyebrow when they shake their heads.

“No, thanks, we don’t drink.”

Ooma’s ears perk and she turns to them, “A Dwarf that doesn’t drink?” She shakes her head, “Now I’m certain we’re going into a trap.”

“It’s not so bad living underground,” the youngest, sister, Racelette, murmurs.

Ooma petulantly snipes at the serving ladies, “Fine, if you like it, you can find your own way from here. Fuck this shit! I’m out! If you can handle this shit what do you need us for? Ruined my new dress.”

Afraid they might have offended their benefactors, Adrie reaches for the bottle, and, grimacing slightly she swallows a mouthful, and hands the bottle to her sister Fequr who gulps a mouthful, shuddering as she passes the bottle to Racelette, who sees Morgan watching her intently. She lets him see the liquid spill into her mouth, raising the bottle high and pouring, before she swallows and hands the bottle back to Morgan, shuddering. “Vile stuff, that is.”

“My faith has been restored!” He gulps a few mouthfuls of the ‘fire-water’.

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean and repair your dress. We wouldn’t have asked but this way to our home is one we’ve travelled only once before. We don’t know what to expect.”

“And, as you see, we’re not battle maidens,” one adds softly.

As they sense animosity from the Dwarf in the group, the three move off, locating two of their three daggers, and moving to harvest the feet.

Morgan staggers over and asks, “Why didn’t t’ch’all make your home closer to the entrance?” As he swallows more of clear liquid in the bottle.

As they are resting, wiping their tools, drinking, nibbling some food they’d managed to pocket as they left the party grounds, Wik and Amaril feel a tingle in their noodles. Ooma would have too, if her heart had been less hardened against being underground, the other ladies should have been aware of the hidden door, but their minds are focussed elsewhere.

Amaril, peering about suddenly exclaims, “Hey ya’ll, see this?” He points to the solid block of granite. Wik grins, nodding. Amaril locates the tiniest hairline fracture darkening a rectangular block of granite and notices a small finger-hold along the left-hand edge, and he warns the party, “Ya’ll need to move to the front of the cave here, I think I’ve found a trap.”

Wik nudges one of the servants, “Do you know anything about this?”

Glancing, “No, would you like us to take a look?” At his nod, they pile the feet they have gathered into the makeshift bag, with the others from the previous kill, stand, walk toward the spot Amaril has indicated.

Amaril walks in front of the ladies, his thoughts focussed on distinguishing any traps, and, although he does, before he can speak, the floor around him opens up and he is drawn in the wink-of-an-eye into a smooth, deep-purple almost black, glass-like tube about five-feet in diameter, immersing him in arctic-cold rushing-water propelling him downward at an amazing rate of speed prior to branching to a 45-degree slide, enabling Amaril to lift his head and gasp a lungful of air before the 30-second ride culminates in a fifteen-foot freefall-plunge into a shockingly-cold naturally-carved stone bowl.

As he pops back above the surface, “What the heck!?!” he chokes, coughing mouthfuls of water out. His teeth are chattering and he hastily forces his frozen limbs to the shore of the large body of water he has just splashed into. Grasping onto the rock that serves as the shore, coughing and shaking, he pulls his body from the crystal-clear water. A soft glow radiates from lime green organic, rectangular-ish blobs, both, on the walls of the cave and under the water. Along with the evenly spaced glowing-blobs, the bottom of the Rock Bowl is encrusted with vibrant, colourful gems entrenched deep in the rough stony surface.

As Amaril stares, a slow, rhythmic thrum begins to emanate from somewhere, vibrating the level-surface of the placid water in concentric circles.

To the east, on the shore, a small, unattended, fire crackles. A structure, resembling a three-sided tent, sits behind the fire. From his location Amaril can see various items in and around the tent. His teeth chattering and mind numb, he, at first thinks it best to stay put, but as his fingertips begin to deaden, he makes the connection between fire and warmth; mincing his way around the narrow, five-foot ledge, to the larger circle where the fire snaps, his toes frozen.

A stack of wood, or roots? lay waiting as fuel for the fire, and beside that is a hollowed out log, containing ten tinder dry twigs. A roll and blanket are tucked in the back of the tent, the awning re-directing much of the heat inside, a bulls-eye lantern sits next to the bedroll with two flasks, presumably of oil, sit nearby. Three small, sealed wooden boxes sit by themselves on a low bench, as Amaril peers into them, he finds a leather pouch tied with a red bit of string in each.

As he continues to explore this bounty, he unearths a leather bag with a drawstring that, when lifted, feels oddly heavy and squishy. An assortment of tools: a grappling hook attached to a long hemp rope, a small, rusty miner’s pick, a pure silver signal whistle, a three-inch round mirror, a leather tube with a tightly fitted lid, that, when opened reveals a parchment written in Elven, (but it makes little sense to him), a long, thin vial of inky-black liquid, a pen, and three, foot-long metal rods with golden tips. In a leather rucksack Amaril discovers three clear-glass vials containing a pinkish liquid, a clear vial with a light blue liquid, a heap of trail rations and a small pouch that appears to be a Healer’s kit, mostly intact.

He sits down in his wet clothes to think, his breath puffing little clouds in the frigid air, staying near the fire, both warming and drying himself. 

Above him, back in the tunnel, the ladies scream as Amaril is flushed. The group stars open mouthed. “He... he just ...disappeared!”

Ooma comments, with dry humour, “I think there’s a trap over there.”

The group begins to hear a thrum vibrate its rhythmic, mesmerising beat causing them to glance at each other in concern. When the party turns to look at the serving girls they discern fear. The ladies are clutching each other’s hands, wide-eyed, their mouths open.

“That shu’na be hap’en’n,” Fequr’s shaky voice expels. “Nuthin’ any good ever come from that thrummin’.” The other two nod in agreement. “We’ve long since sought the source, but we naught know from whence it comes.” They look at each other as if passing a secret between them, that goes unnoticed by our Heroes.

Their speech has thickened, the party doesn’t seem to have noticed this either.

Ooma suddenly asks “What do you do with the feet you remove from the centipedes?”

Looking at her, questioningly. “The feet contain the poison. We gather them and use them as weapons; poisonous darts,” she explains.

Wik begins to search the cave, and his eyes notice another dark outline in the cave wall. He searches for traps, carefully examining the long wide corridor. He only is concerned about the whirlpool and the two apparent doors, and he wanders back to the apparent door after considering trying to disable the whirlpool trap and sensing something about the swirling water that isn’t normal, he changes his mind.

The door is almost exactly as the other, and Wik, cautiously, orders one of the Dwarf servants to open it. Fequr obliges, examining the doorway, puzzling, “There’s a finger hold lock-mechanism here.” As she speaks, she presses her finger in the opening, drawing it back with a yelp, sucking on it to staunch the trickle of blood. “Has anyone a small round instrument?”

A quick(ish) search of the area turns up nothing. Wik thinks of his glove and hands it to her with a warning, “Don’t wreck it.”

She looks at him, “It pierced me finger. Do you expect me to put that glove on, and not tear it? Are ya daft, man?”

Wik sighs, “Don’t you laugh at my hair.” he warns, as he removes his turban and hands it to her.

“Whatcha ex’pect me ta doo wit’ that?”

“Stuff it in, see if it will open,” Wik sarcastically mentions.

She looks at him, sure he is daft, but shrugs, “Okay.” After tearing it in the opening, he tells her she can keep it. She frowns and wraps her shoulders with it. “I need som’thin’ round. An’ stiff.”

Wik remember the poison spines he has and he offers Fequr one. She nods. “Aye. That’ll do. These come from Madame Quirry’s specimens, I’ll be thinkin’.”

She pushes the spine, needle-nose first, in, hearing a click as the gate/door pops open an inch or so. Several attempts at tugging the door open result in minor success. Morgan swaggers over, “Here, let me help you.” And they yanks several more times, until they all, mad as heck, yank the door which finally results in it grinding open, revealing a short corridor, ten-to-fifteen foot, with a sharp turn. The ceilings are about eight foot high, and the jagged stone carved tunnel is about five-foot wide. The stench that seeps out is foul. Luckily, it dissipates fairly quickly.

Morgan diligently pounds several pitons in the framework of the door’s mechanism, over-compensating in fear the door will slam close after they enter. “If you close after we enter,” he threatens the inanimate object, “I am going to haul you out of here take you back to the city and pulverise you into dust! Don’t you even THINK about closing!”

Ooma is very adamant that they ought to just abandon this decision and leave the cave, go back to the Inn get a room and call it a night. “I mean, c’mon guys, a bed, some food...”

Morgan reminds her of Amaril, who could be trapped somewhere.

“He could be dead,” she grouses, looking at her destroyed tunic in dismay.

“Well, if you want to go back, you go ahead,” Morgan encourages, “But I’m going to find our lost friend.”

“Oh, fine!” Ooma agrees, cranky because of lack of sleep and needing the comforts of a bath and clean clothes. “We’ll probably never get out of here.”

Ooma, her axe and shield out and ready, is elected to lead the party and vehemently opposes being followed by either of the serving girls. Wik enters behind her, followed by the rest of the party, cautiously with Wik holding his bow ready, above Ooma’s head.

Ichabod, the second to last one to go in the tunnel, pauses and shakes her head at Morgan, pounding pitons in all four sides, “I think it’ll stay open.” When he is satisfied, he nods to Ichabod, whom he follows into the tunnel.

The group walks down the narrow passageway, turn the corner and round a wide bend, for about forty metres. The ceiling begins to get much higher and the sides smoother. Looking around they get a sense the space they have entered is enormous although they can only see a high ceilinged tunnel.

“It’s getting cold,” Ooma complains, and the party notices a chill seeming to permeate the further in they go.

They continue forward, silently stopping short as a person suddenly materializes, with its back to them. Wik, keyed up and nervous, pulls the trigger on his crossbow and lands the stone tipped head deep within the creature’s back.

Stumbling, the monster, a lizard creature turns to face Ooma, and the rest, gasping and burping a foul cloud of stench that thankfully, is sucked away swiftly before it is able to incapacitate the party.

Unexpectedly Wik hears a loud, piercing whistle.

Before he can alert the group, Ooma charges the lizard creature cleaving the beast’s arm off and his head rolls He lets loose a tortured bellow. From off in the distance a loud shout, “Hey? You okay?” before the sound of wet feet slapping on the smooth rock reaches their ears.

Amaril hears a loud bellow, and, sitting up he tilts his head, listening as he hears another shout, the words fuzzy.

“Oh shit!” Ooma mutters tiredly.

o0o

PLEASE ADD

100 EXPERIENCE POINTS for July 1^st.

and

450 EXPERIENCE POINTS EACH FOR Amaril, Morgan, Ooma and Wik, for July 8^th. Also, Benji receives 450 points for sitting and staying while his Handler (Jahlo) had an emergency out-of-cave-experience.

For those who added to the Journal, or other story addition in the Mysterious Tavern community, remember to add 100 – XP. Once per week, sorry...

o0o

shivering in the arctic blast...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

*~*~*~*~*

All He Wants You To Do Is Tie His Laces...

ALL HE WANT YOU TO DO IS TIE HIS LACES...

"The evening was a total nose dive!" Ooma shook her head. "I thought Lords behaved better..."

The evening was a right mess. Torn sheets of vivid colour draped upturned chairs, heaps of bloodied fabric moaned in the middle of the dance floor. Amazing that a fire did not erupt with the candles being over-turned!

The one remaining wild animal, a very-full black bear placidly allows Wik to guide it out of the carnage, its tutu swinging comically.

Morgan grabs some of the cleaner scraps of cloth, table coverings and whatnot that he spies as he makes his way to the nearest moaning heap, grabbing a bleeding arm, wrapping it in the strip of tablecloth he tears, eliciting a squeal from the patient as he binds the tourniquet tightly enough to stop the blood flow entirely!

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” the bumbling Mr. Roberts fumbles with it, loosening it to where it is barely touching the arm at all. “Better?” he asks anxiously, before rushing off to his next victim...errr patient. “Not my real profession,” he mutters.

Ooma is trying to calm the three serving girls, who, now that the cheetahs have been dispatched, are anxious to get home. Ooma feels a trite bit suspicious and promises the girls that they will get them home come daylight. “I ain’t going into any damn caves,” she insists, and tiredly moves to help Morgan before the man kills the people he’s trying to help.

Adrie shakes her head, “We must get home. We have to see if mum is alive,” she tells the other two, who nod. They curtsy to the group, turn and trail up the hill around behind the bear cages, following Wik and Jhalo, who are returning the bear.

Ichabod nods and follows the ladies. She has sensed something in their motives, or plea. Only known to her, the staff she grips warms as the ladies near.

Meanwhile distant shouts and general ruckus sounds are coming from the lower half of the park where the circus has set up and, if the serving girls are to be believed, someone has released the animals down there as well. This doesn’t seem to worry our Heroes.

After placing the bear in his cage with fresh water and hay, Wik locks the cage carefully, then he, and Jahlo turn and follow the serving girls down a forested path, bursting out of the dark trail into a small clearing, a mountainous hill rising only a few metres in front of them. The ladies are approaching a dark black spot on the sheer hill, low to the ground.

As they step closer, the cave’s entrance begins to glow, and Ichabod feels the excitement stir in her again. “A back entrance?” She wonders, “or the front?” She plunges into the opening.

Jhalo smiles forcefully, believing the ladies to be leading them into a trap, when they reach the narrow opening to the tunnel systems that lead to their cavern deep under the Obsidian Forest. "Ladies first."

"Some Heroes these be," Adrie mutters as she easily pushes through the thin veil of ivy that obscures the opening. “You can come in now,” she fairly mocks. The other servants drop in first, followed hesitantly by Jhalo, Wik, and then Benji.

A quick look reveals it to be an ordinary cave. Flecked, sparkling granite walls and a muddied stone floor, about 30 metres to a bend, the ceiling appears to rise, probably following the mountain outside. There are grooves in the walls where animals or tools may have carved long ago, but it is all just scratches now. Footprints, of various type can be seen traversing the muddy floor. The light from the small opening, where the sun is just beginning to make her first rays known to the morning, dimly light the cave for about 30 metres, it is grey shadows and blackness beyond that.

The ladies are grateful for Ichabod’s enthusiasm, “Will you walk us further along please?” Ichabod nods, turning to the tunnel.

Mere metres from the cave’s exit, Jhalo again gets a prickly feeling in his neck. “Hey, will there be a reward for this?” he asks. “I mean, it’s nice and all sticking our necks out, but...” his speech fades.

The ladies look at each other, “Oh, yes. Yes. I’m sure we can arrange for some gems... something,” Fequr nods.

At the mention of the word ‘gems’ Wik moves closer. As he does so, one of the ladies looks closely at him. “You look familiar, have we met?” As Wik denies meeting her, she continues, “I never forget a face, it’ll come to me.”

Back at pandemonium headquarters the rest of the group is helping themselves to the liquor that, somehow, miraculously survived the carnage. Morgan, diligently searches for any remaining dangers and, while he’s at it, he checks the grounds for lost coins or trinkets, and discovers 2-gold coins. “Bloody stingy bunch of hob-nobbers,” he grouses.

As they are about their business, a well outfitted soldier approaches from the opposite direction, hailing the stragglers and our remaining party members. Wary at first, are pleased, they think, to make the acquaintance of Ayrowynn Bishop Fletcher, “Fletcher, please,” The tall brunette flings her long braid back over her shoulder.

“You look oddly familiar?”

“Ahh, I see you’ve met Alistar. Where is that stupid brother of mine?” She looks over the area.

“Yes, he’s right ...over,” looking around, it appears Alistar has faded into the night. “I hauled him from the jaws of death, errr... I mean the cheetah’s arms a few minutes ago.” Morgan looks around as if Alistar will suddenly appear.

“Probably heading back to the monastery where he belongs. This ain’t the place for the likes of him.”

“Pleased to meet you; Morgan. You want to give us a hand?” Morgan asks, struggling to wrap a table cloth around a rather thin person’s neck to cover a small gash.

They finish helping the stragglers, moving them to chairs, all the while Fletcher is shaking her head. “What the hell happened here?”

Ooma fills her in on the inexplicable events leading up to the insanity that pretty much ended the Twilight Supper. Fletcher shakes her head, “This is why I so despise these events. Things always end up the same. But, explain to me how that,” she points to the enormous table lined with bottles of liquor, ”is still standing?”

Morgan shrugs, "I suspect because bears don't have opposable thumbs."

“We should go check on Wik.” Ooma begins to wonder what has happened to the other party members too. “They’ve been gone a long while. I bet they went to help them Dwarf chicks,” Ooma sneers.

Morgan looks around, “Oh, where are they?” He grabs two more bottles of Meade, handing one to Fletcher. “We’re going to need this to find those Dwarf caves. Are you going to be able to find the caves?” He looks at Ooma.

“Oh no you di’n’t’,” she stares at Morgan. “I am not a cave dwelling Dwarf,” she snaps at Morgan.

Looking confused, Morgan swills back another deep drought of Meade. “Well then, how are we going to be able to find these caves, I means,” he slurs, lifting two more tankards of Meade, again handing one to Fletcher, “they’re supposed to be so well hidden.” He leans his arm on Fletcher’s shoulder. “I thought all Dwarves knew where their caves are.”

Tessalia grabs Oomas arm, stopping her punch in mid-flight.

Amaril nods to the others then heads on up to find the missing members, his keen eye-sight easily locating the path. He hollers into the opening, and, after a few seconds, hears Jahlo’s cheerful voice bellow back. He enters the cave, and within a few minutes sees them standing around in a circle, seemingly discussing their options.

Listening vigilantly they perceive unmistakable scritching sounds bouncing off the walls, evoking memories of their near death struggle with the rats a few days earlier. Jahlo tips his head to the side. “’ere now. Listen. That sounds familiar, but not, know what I mean, yah?”

Morgan, uses Fletcher as a leaning post as she begins a discourse on how Lord Triton thinks he has a contract enslaving the Dwarves and forcing them to remain underground – whether he does or not is still a mystery. “As long as anyone can remember, Triton’s ruled the town and controlled the Dwarves. Or, as long as anyone cares to remember.” She adds.

“So can you lead us to the Dwarves?”

“I do know where the cave entrances are. There are quite a few dotting the forest; as children Alistar and I, along with other brothers and sister and cousins used to wander all over the woods. We never actually went as far as the Deep, but, yeh, I know where a goodly number of the caves lie.”

Polishing off another tankard of Meade, the slightly wobbled steps of Fletcher lead the party through the under-brush and along a trail that hasn’t been used in years, popping out in a small corridor where three or four cave openings are revealed as the sun continues its upward climb.

Shouting into one after the other, they finally guess, (and check the openings to see which one has been disturbed lately), crawling through the narrow opening and warily stepping, grabbing hands and ...other body parts... in the darkness, eliciting a few curses, so as not to slip in the mud they eventually meet up with the other members, who are deep within the cave now, its soaring ceiling and vast girth surprises them, they can only guess at it true size as they are still within the large artery feeding into the room. Jahlo uses a magic spell to create a small glow of light, enabling Amaril, and the others to locate them, as well as to provide illumination to the very dark corridor.

About this time a hallucinatory dream spell floats briefly over the party, causing them to see Dragon eggs and gold coins piled high, with the letters XP waving, like a flag, above the numerical formation '3000' – a foreshadowing, perhaps...?

The airborne drugged fog passes and flows out the exit hole, leaving some pretty disappointed explorers.

A quick exchange of greetings as they return from their momentary light-headedness, introducing Fletcher to both Wik and Morgan, they then move forward, slogging through shallow water and over rocky terrain. A few metres later, certainly no more, the scratching noises grow and the party becomes concerned. “If we had a weapon, we could take care of the creatures ourselves,” Racelette grumbles.

Wik, hearing this, leans forward, handing them each a dagger which they sound puzzlingly thankful for. The group takes careful note of the unusual relief formed on one of the walls of the tunnel, before Racelette, followed by Fequr and Adrie take the lead, the darkness doesn’t seem to bother them, although they do remain within the soft glow of Jahlo’s magic light.

Suddenly one of them shrieks! “It’s got me!” and she starts slashing whatever has fastened onto her foot.

The group swiftly jumps to aid her, Morgan wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her hard and they both fly backward. The rest of the group looks back to the creature now scurrying up the wall. A collective gasp escapes as they view a hideous, near hairless monster with a round mouth, that when open shows several rows of razor sharp teeth. The many nub-shaped feet alert the party that this is a centipede, larger than any they’ve seen! Two metres long and about twenty-centimetres thick, the few hairs that do exist upon it’s body give it a grotesque naked-thumb look.

Wik charges the beast, swinging his sword just as the beast ducks, evading the blow. Ooma follows quickly behind, landing a hard-blow which causes the beast to shriek in pain, snarling, or, what passes for snarls from a centipede. Fletcher, familiar with these beasts, fires an arrow into its side, releasing a pussy-stench of yellow slime which causes the beast to rear downward while crawling higher on the wall.

It lunges for Wik, missing by mere centimetres, flopping back into the water and screaming in anger it scuttles away in the water, swiftly climbing the wall again, as Amaril fires a crossbow bolt that sails completely off target, bouncing in the darkness somewhere beyond the creature.

Jahlo intones a carefully crafted speech and a burst of light flashes in front of the creature, unknowing that the creature is blind and cannot be harmed by flashes of light, it hunts by sound, scent or vibration. However, the light flashing in the darkened area catches Ooma and Benji by surprise, causing them to become temporarily blinded.

Tessalia moves forward clapping her hands and thrusting them forward, a large blast of heat flashes against the wall, scorching it, causing the centipede to scurry back, as Morgan jumps up swinging his mighty sword grazing the blackened spot on the wall, leaving a deep scratch in the charcoal.

Wik draws his shortbow, firing into one of the creature's many feet, causing a mighty rumble from the creature as his foot drops off. Ooma, threatens everyone, as she warns if they come near her they risk being cleaved.

Fletcher released another arrow, hitting the centipede solidly, again, more shrieking, the beast crashing forward, his mighty mouth open, glancing off Morgan’s armour landing about a metre in front of Morgan. Amaril swiftly pulls his scimitar out and strikes the fallen creature, the blade cleanly slicing its head off, causing the creature to dramatically shake and quake flopping to the rocks quivering before stiffening and dying.

The three Dwarf servants hesitate only briefly before scrambling forward, daggers in hand, slicing the feet off in such a way as to seal the poisonous liquid, pouring the hundreds of feet into Adrie’s hastily removed and folded apron, tying the strings to create a makeshift bag.

A brief silence among the Heroes allows them to discern more scritching, extending their silence as they look to each other, Ooma and Benji tilting their heads to the side, “What is that?” Ooma asks. “Don’t tell me there’s more!”

The warriors turn toward the bend in the high-ceilinged tunnel, unsure whether to run, or to charge. Benji whines softly, “It’s okay boy,” Jahlo quietens him, empathetic for his friend.

They wait, weapons drawn. Fletcher scrambles forward, retrieving two arrows before skipping back, nocking one of the arrows in the ready.

Someone coughs and is hissed at, “Be quiet!”

The scratching grows, both louder and in number. “Oh crap,” Wik exclaims, his eyes widening as he sees the edge of this creature slide into view, just as the light spell fades to black...

o0o

scritching in the dark...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

*~*~*~*~*