the apothéose...

The DM would like to tell you a pleasant ending occurred to this arc of the story and it went EXACTLY as the DM envisioned.

But, if you play D&D or dnd or d ‘n d or any variation thereof, you know DM’s are bald for a reason – hair ripping is preferable to hammering on our players, without whom, of course there would BE no game.

I’m not sure why, I simply expected them to stay put, firmly following the instructions I laid out in my perfectly designed, exciting vision.

I am balder, I’m sure.

Here is the ending as I saw it, and, later, as they managed to rip apart. One simple decision and my plans had to be completely revised and restructured and, not to my liking, either. (And less than satisfactory for my players, those who trusted me to provide them with intelligent, exciting, forward thinking fast-paced choices.)

THE FAIRY TALE ENDING:

Taking care to heal their wounds and clean their equipment, our party munches on rations while they watch over Lucy, encouraging her to sleep. Fidgety and unsettled she finally lays her head down some six-hours later, insisting on a story from Morgan, who... obliges… 

As the party settles down on the smooth, hard glass surface, hoping that in eight hours Lucy will awake and the dome can be removed as a barrier.

Setting a watch, each watch person is slowly mesmerised by the sound of a slow creek, the water soothing. No one seems to pay the sound much heed. Because of the size and shape, it is harder to search that the dome appears to be filling with water. The dome is filling at 2-inches per hour, already six-inches deep as Lucy goes to sleep. It will take 31-1/2-hours before it is above The Lady's head. 36-hours before Ichabod is in peril of drowning. The night passes without further incident.

Lucy sleeps the full term and then some, being a child it is nearly fifteen hours later that she awakens; marking it as 21-hours, she must meditate and it does take a while for her to fully awaken. The water is up to The Lady's armpits.

Countering and dispelling the consecration which the, ‘fool’, he spits, cleric cast over the area would have been so easy for the greater lich, Mr. Brown, who clucks, his snake-like dried leather tongue clicking against bleached teeth, little more than needles, choosing to allow the creature its false-peace, preferring to surprise our heroes as they while the time preparing to disintegrate the spell which is covering the dome.

Waiting for the consecration spell to dissipated, the greater lich merely floats in, hovering, his form becoming murky, all our heroes are forced to make a WILL SAVE, DC29 as the lich appears to disappear into the black disc, cutting off its eerie laughter. (the curse they faced: Crushing Despair – 15-minutes.) The situation becomes overwhelming for some of the party as they wring their hands, crying ‘woe is me’.

It is a chore for those not caught in the Crushing Despair to convince Lucy to cast her spell. She does so reluctantly and the pink-shimmer that settled over the dome dissipates. Lucy backs up. “We’ll never break the dome,” she wails.

Appearing again, invisible and without warning, a hand sets a plain package within a few inches of Lucy; the package is wrapped in plain brown wrapping and has her name and address and the courier's stamp.

She picks it up, curious. "What's this?" she asks innocently, turning it over and loosening the string. "To Queen Lucy. It's from you, Morgan," she says, smiling as she pulls the cloth wrapped article from the plain brown wrapper letting the wrapper float to the ground.

She removes the cloth and, before all who are watching, she disappears; the necklace falling to the floor, landing on the cloth. The cackle returns, louder and far more gleeful. "She is mine! I have her!" and from the back hole rises the new lich, his eyes a fiery red. And now, we roll initiative...

BUT, THAT IS NOT HOW IT WENT DOWN AT ALL… NOPE NOPE NOPE…

Oh, yes, we started in the ‘boxing ring’.

Morgan returns from retrieving Ichabod’s staff, he raps it heavily against the obsidian stone glass dome in frustration.

It is suggested that the group go outside for the night, returning when Lucy is able to cast and the party members think this a great idea as they go back down the stairs, to the sunshine and grassy field.

A day spent trying to convince Lucy to nap is difficult at best. The wee one is so fired up. She is worried something will happen and she will not be able to cast her spell or that they will be gone when the party returns to the room. She does finally lay her head down and slumbers, and the party remembers it is four-twenty; but, as this doesn’t mean anything to them…

A watch is kept throughout the night, ensuring those who need eight hours of uninterrupted sleep obtained this.

Morning rituals are so important, and our party members, as each have done since they first signed on to this clownride, perform his or her morning rituals, some sombrely as they focussed their thoughts and energies reviewing spells and putting their bodies through a ritual of precision movements slowly performed to condition the muscle and the spirit; others a grooming, taking care to freshen their appearance, comb their hair, brushing their clothes; still a few, gobbling breakfast as fast as it can be prepared, relaxing in the shadow to come.

When all are ready, they clambered up the smooth stone stairs, Lucy rushing ahead, eager to cast her magic, yet waiting until all are assembled before doing so, her eyes wide with fright!

Ichabod and ‘The Lady’ are shivering and looking decidedly miserable, panic creasing their faces as the party see the dome is filling with water, and it is up to The Lady’s armpits!

Successfully blistering the ward placed across this dome a soft pink mist slouches away into the mystic… “I can’t break it!” Lucy panics.

Martonis, moved by her tears swings his hefty weapon at the rock. It hits and barely scratches the surface, a jolt shaking his arms and shoulders as he, like Morgan earlier, bashes away, praying, in vain, to his gawd, Pelor, to help him.

A dismal feeling creeps across our heroes. How can they break the dome and free the two trapped before the water engulfs them?

Amaril paces, and tension mounts. Amaril bumps Morgan, who, being already wound tight, turns and kicks Amaril hard, between his thighs, uttering something as he stretches his arm out and grabs Amaril’s dancing scimitar. Amaril, shocked, his face contorted in pain, his mouth open but only a high-pitched gasp emits forth, clutches his anatomy with both hands, his eyes narrowing, he turns and steps backward, just a few feet. Morgan marches back over to the group, who is busy and has not noticed this interaction.

Various methodologies are suggested and the party spends about an hour discussing options. Lucy is frantic. Wik suddenly recalls that Amaril found a tuning fork weeks earlier. “Amaril!?” he shouts. Amaril does not repond, nor can the party see him. “Maybe he had to go to the WC,” Morgan shrugs.

Wik, spying Amaril’s rucksack near the stairs on the opposite side of the black hole that sits ominously in the corner of a round room, hustles over to it dumping the rucksack, and rummaging through the items, (taking this and that ‘for safe keeping’, of course,) he finds what he is looking for and holds it aloft for all to see.

“I think this might do it!” he hustles to the dome and hits it at about waist height. Seeing a small spider-webbing of fine cracks appearing. “You might want to stand back,” he cautions as he stands off to the side and hits the dome again, harder and about shoulder height.

As he does so a gong-like sound is heard and the fine cracks grow. A line appears between the two spots weakening the dome, until, suddenly, it collapses into tiny pebbles, the nearly-full dome spilling a torrent of water, forcing everyone except Morgan, who, anticipating the action, jumps as the force of the water escapes, leaving him standing in a trickle of liquid watching helpless as his acquaintances are swooshed down the slippery staircase, presumably landing at the bottom, or near enough, in a ragged pile.

Injuries are not too severe and as they get their bearings, Lucy and The Lady leap up and fold into each other’s arms, as do Ichabod and Antoinette. Thousands of years has passed since they’ve seen each other; the magicks, runes and time wheel all spinning to keep the world moving and their timelines apart from it.

Though the reunion is joyous, the gravity of the situation is not lost, time is still ticking.

The Lady begs her sister, Lucy, “You have the jewels? And the staff?”

Lucy shakes her head. “They were gone.”

“Nooooooo! No no no no no no no!!! It cannot be!” The Lady’s despondency is evident. “You are sure?”

Lucy nods, tears creeping southward on her cheeks. Martonis steps forward, “M’lady, what jewels do you seek? There is a chance I may be in possession of these items.”

She turns to him, clutching her hands, “They were in the salon, on top of the large gilt mirror. The staff may have tipped behind, it’s been so long.” Her voice still sounds wispy.

Martonis reaches into his rucksack, pawing around for a moment before withdrawing a soft pouch, pulling open the drawstring and spilling seven coloured gems into his hand, each with an intricate carving etched deeply in the surface, filled with pure gold.

The Lady nearly faints, her excitement unimaginable. “Yes! Oh, yes!”

“I found them exactly where you say, I took them, not wanting to leave them in such a dilapidated structure where they might be stolen by someone not as forthright as myself,” Martonis explains. He hands the gems and pouch to The Lady and extracts the short bejewelled staff, handing this to her as well.

“We must keep the Wheel of Time from stopping!” The Lady looks quickly around, “Will you aid my quest?” she asks, giving each of our heroes a heartbeat to respond, for she knows what they’ve risked thus far, and she know what will happen if they fail this next task. None disappoint.

Wik hustles back up the stairs and shouts for Morgan to follow him, although Morgan looks less than thrilled. They come to the group, where he is quickly filled in on the discussion. He is contemplating his decision when Ichabod walks to him, “Did you keep my staff safe?”

He reaches to the loop on his pack extracts, then hands it to her. She surprises him by embracing him tightly, “I knew I could trust you.”

Caught off guard and flustered, Morgan begins the descent down the winding staircase to the bowels of the earth. The others swiftly follow, stepping cautiously, actively searching and listening for someone ‘just around the next bend’. Martonis casts a light spell on the end of his weapon, bringing a soft glow both up and down the stairs.

They come to a deadend. The bottom of the staircase ends in a room about twenty by fifteen foot large. Perplexed, Ooma, and the others turn, looking at the walls and each other, until Ooma calls out, “Here now, what’s this?”

A door shaped outline appears in the smooth obsidian stone-like glass, too thick to see clearly through, though they CAN see a blurry tunnel on the other side.

They go through a myriad of useless methods before Wik shakes his head, a wry grin on his mouth, and brings out the tuning fork. Tinging it on the door, they watch as it crumbles into fine pebbles with hardly any dust – however, a plethora of bats surge forth flapping around the small, confined area and echoes catch most of the winged rodents in a vortex scaring and irritating our heroes more than hurting them. Morgan makes swift work of them, destroying them in two swipes of his weapon, with a few escaping up the spiralling staircase.

“Oh gawds what IS that STINK?!”

Grumbling, our heroes trek along the narrow, though a high-ceilinged, smooth-hewn obsidian, bat guano-encrusted tunnel.

Suddenly, without warning, a shadowy figure gleams before them and an utter despondency fills the group. Only Martonis avoids the direct result of the spell cast as the figure floats, going murky before disappearing.

“You didn’t destroy the phylacteries!?” The Lady gasps. “Oh, we are doomed!”

Martonis talks to each member managing to cancel the effects of Crushing Despair for everyone except Lucy and Ichabod, and, truly, it is understandable. They have been searching for so long; to believe they now might be free, weighs against their experiences.

The others continue forward, drawing the two with them, uttering platitudes and encouragement until they reach an awe inspiring room. Glowing red with an energy of its own. A pure gold serpent with slivers of ruby eyes, sits atop a gold and onyx ship’s wheel that is firmly anchored to a scientific drawing, set on pale-blue turquoise of a human with dotted lines of crushed pearl and arcs abounding.

The Wheel is about thirty-foot in diameter and small depressions can be seen along the flat rim at regular intervals. A depression in the centre can be see also.

“Oh, it’s too late. What’s the use,” The Lady laments.

“We’ll never remember the pattern.” Ichabod moans.

“The world is doomed.”

Ooma cajoles them along as they stare at this magnificent artwork. Ooma estimates its value at around two-hundred million platinum pieces; too rich for even a very healthy kingdom! ‘Of course, how would you get it up the stairs?’ All eyes are on the piece.

“The gems. They must fit in the depressions.”

Martonis takes the bag gently from The Lady and again spills them into his hand, and the group looks at them. Wik stares at them, then the wheel, then the gems. “I’ve seen that recently.” He mutters, “but, where?”

Suddenly he pulls from one of his pockets a broach and stares at it. “I think this is it!” he says, excited. “I think this is a miniature of the wheel!” They all look at it and agree, it seems to be exact. Martonis, using the miniature as a guide, begins to place the stones, one at a time, all eyes are on him. They notice the bottom surface, with the human figure, speeds up slightly with the drop of the first gem and the wheel turns the opposite direction as the second is fitted into place.

Shrugging he hurries to complete, not knowing if something good or bad will happen when he finishes.

He has dropped the sixth stone, and is hovering to drop the last in place when he hears Lucy’s innocent voice, “What is this?” she picks up a package, "To Queen Lucy. It's from you, Morgan," she says, smiling as she pulls the cloth wrapped article from the plain brown wrapper letting the wrapper float to the ground.

She removes the cloth and, before all who are watching, she disappears; the necklace falling to the floor, landing on the cloth. The cackle returns, louder and far more gleeful. "She is mine! I have her!"

The Lady screams. Ichabod and Antoinette shout. Their wails softening the hardest flint. “Noooooo!”

The wheel groans and begins its rhythmic ticking, almost as a goading them as they have prevented the Wheel from stopping, and the universe would continue to exist, but the dangers have only just begun as a very powerful lich now has a very vulnerable sorceress with power and skills beyond even his accomplishments – what does he need her for?

THE LADY HAS BEEN RESCUED – BUT TO WHAT END? LUCY IS NOW IN GRAVE DANGER. WILL SHE SURVIVE UNTIL HELP ARRIVES? OR, WILL SHE SUCCUMB TO THE POWERFUL MAGES…

FORESHADOWING: Dragging their heels our group climb the stairs and exit to the field. A slight difference is noted; the sounds of the Veran are gone. The Devil’s Thorn is dying out and there is new growth and wild flowers. A suggestion of food is made and while a fire is set, Morgan withdraws from his bag one of the eggs he plucked from the Veran’s nest, preparing to crack it open and serve up one tasty omelette, The Lady shrieks! “What are you doing? That is a Veran egg, isn’t it?” at Morgan’s confused, but clear, nod, she continues, “Those are worth thousands in the market and, if you want you can even train them to be obedient, and ferocious, mounts!” She takes the egg gently from Morgan, “Oh! Listen – I think it hatching!”

Round two begins in September 2016. Join us as we discover the answers. Also, we will test between now and then, 5^th edition, to see if we will try the newer methods of spelunking in the second campaign…

o0o

XP: Four-Twenty was a killer! For your efforts today you receive:

If you are currently 6^th level - 2000

If you are currently 7^th level - 1500

If you are currently 8^th level - 1200

If you are currently 9^th level - 1000

TREASURE: Well, as disappointing as it is, you received your major reward a few weeks ago; the massive armour and weapons along with potions, although, in this room you can see, now that your eyes have accustomed to the red glow, bits of jewellery hanging weirdly on spines that poke from the wall. For EACH of YOU: a fine platinum chain inset with diamonds, worth 100p; a bracelet of silver, with ruby stones between the links, value 50g; a small golden snake, that feels like snakeskin, with ruby eyes, cost about 150g.

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VIDEO VERSION\PROOF

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Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Fun while it lasted...

The battle barely ended when the next began – a moments reprieve was all our heroes were afforded. Just enough to increase their stamina and fortify themselves with elixirs, spells and the such to prepare them for the newest creep to show her face.

Cywtris. The lich responsible, or so all presume, for the entire trip through time and space laughs her cackle toward them as she applauds their feeble attempts to rescue The Lady and Ichabod. Without warning she flings her fingers open and jagged lightning shoots forth, massively damaging the heroes, but they rally up quick and, with very little trouble due to the extra levels Lucy has acquired, finish off the Lich, crumpling her with a massive spell.

Now they must discover the secret to freeing The Lady and Ichabod. They search and delve into their bags of tricks discovering, through a detect magic spell, that there is indeed a spell over the dome. With further investigation they discover it is an evocation school aura. Continuing their concentrations they are fairly certain it is a Wall of Force protecting the fragile dome.

Upon learning the spell’s properties, Lucy declares that she can break it, but needs a full twenty-four hours to regain the ability. A choice is made to spend the time effectively ‘camping out’ inside the ring’s top, on the smooth glassy surface.

Will they end the spell? Will they find the one object they hold which will safely release Ichabod and The Lady? Will they remember the secret of the Lich…

Return next week as we soar, or tumble, to the apothéose of this arc…

o0o

XP: 2,057 points each, do not forget to include Antoinette and Lucy, give them their XP as well.

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VIDEO VERSION\PROOF

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Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

The battle seems to be ...one

A raucous good time was had by all as steel swished and thrust; parried and sliced; spells fizzled and spectacularly endured.

Blood was spilt, and left to languish on the glassy floor.

Our heroes, tired, injured, hungry and thirsty continued their battle with the remaining vampires: Jahlo, Vizier Scribbles and the fighter, Arrowyn.

Finding themselves in a bit of a dilemma as the last one standing, Arrowyn Bishop, her constitution serving her as she fought ferociously with her blade, though, in the end, being blinded caused her to suffer too much damage and she, too, was taken down.

Exhausted, and with severe injuries our heroes breathe a sigh.

Time to work on the dome… or is it?

Have they cleared the way, or have they only been exhausting themselves? Were these the ones standing between them and those in the dome?

I hope they don't need too much downtime, I hear the cackle of an ancient soul…

o0o

XP: 1,500 points each. 

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VIDEO VERSION\PROOF

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Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

This Endz Here...

Shall Wik succumb to the Lich's will after all? Will Martonis fight to keep him from going over to the dark side? Will our heroes have a moral dilemma scuffling with, and most likely killing, their former party members? Will the DM ever get these rules and orders straight? A battle to the end… or a clobbering?

                         

Our illustriously outfitted heroes are in battle; the room is approximately one-hundred metres across. In the centre sits a smoky obsidian stone dome, approximately four-metres across, ten-metres tall and a dozen centimetres thick. (Inside the dome can clearly be discerned the figures of ‘The (mysterious) Lady’, and Ichabod, a odd character who guided our heroes and aided them saving their butt more than once before being unceremoniously carted off by a Cloaker – literally over Martonis’s head!) The floor underfoot is polished ruby, although there are inclusions and cloudy areas, especially that dark area in the corner (of a round room) in the south side, about 10 metres east of the top of the staircase, that Wik has identified as dangerous.

                         

Approximately 10 metres in front of our party is a (in any other circumstance awe inspiring.) pentagram, the lines drawn with crushed rubies, diamonds, sapphires, topaz, garnets, jade, emeralds, etc… Outlined in a glowing spectrum of crystal inside the points are the alternating depictions of a rat and a serpent.

                         

Standing firmly on one of each of the five points is someone they once knew, some before they had been drawn to and clasped by this lich; this vampire warlock. This causes a moral dilemma; can they destroy their friends?                         

• The wondrous warrior Arrowyn, her presence at the tree instrumental in its fall, possibly the reason she was targeted by the evil lich – or was it her brother who sold her out?          
• The fair and flirtatious Tessalia, her naivety and voracious cravings for new and more powerful spells has pulled her to the evil lich, the promise of life-everlasting too tempting; until the truth is known too late…                         
• Jahlo, his fondness for trinkets and pretty ladies; he is too easily drawn to the old crone and her fancy baubles, his faithful wolf turning his nose at such a disgusting creature, leaving him…
• Lady Triton, her arrogance and weakness for wealth and power leading to her destruction as she followed the tales and entered the Tavern on her own accord…
• Vizier Scribbles, his ambition, his downfall. The promise of elevation far beyond his station in exchange for a small favour…

The ceiling soars high above, and in the lofty space bats can be both seen, and heard as they fly about in an intricate pattern. Lucy questions the bats; she knows bats need an egress to feed and get liquid, unless they are possessed…

                         

The group stands spread approximately in a 3-metre radius near the dome, preparing their offence.

                         

When Cwytris, the Lich, learned that Wik did not obtained the staff, she was angered – but was incensed to learn that her hold over him had been dissolved! In her furious haste, she confused her spells and scarcely scraped Wik with an icy finger driven into his thigh, barely scratching the skin.

                         

Cwytris flustered and greatly annoyed at the crowd and particularly Lucy, for she is the bane of her cursed life! “You, my nemesis, shall pay dearly for your infernal interference!” As she angrily snorts, from her fingertips arcs a single blue-white bolt smashing into Lucy, staggering her, but before anyone can even gasp at the brutality, the bolt jumps and burns Antoinette, then Martonis, then Ooma, then Morgan, then Wik, then Amaril before it hits the ruby dome and dissipates. Its carnage complete, the Lich laughs – an eerie, crawl up your spine kind of laugh – before she disappears! Lucy suffers massive burns, a lot of her pain being transferred by a previously cast spell that causes Martonis to inherit one-half of Lucy’s injuries. The others suffer the same type of carnage, their injuries not nearly as severe and a few managing to twist and bend out of the way taking even less damage.

             

As soon as the blast hits Lucy, an animal appears, leaping between the Lich and Lucy, ready to defend with its life. And the struggle to free those trapped inside the giant bubble-like dome is underway in earnest…

                         

Martonis, feeling the nasty effects of the Lich’s power, casts a spell upon himself, “I hope this keeps me alive; ‘cause, without me, you people have no chance!”

                         

Antoinette rushes forward and engages Scribbles, the nasty whoreson she remembers from her childhood; now she is grown up, she understands many things previously a mystery. Her attack is swift and vicious, Scribbles remembers her well…

                         

Wik, trying on his new mantle of ‘good’ sees a dilemma in hurting their old friends; Scribbles and Lady Triton, he has no concerns of, but Tessalia, Jahlo and Arrowyn were former members of their group, he is having moral questions and tries to be diplomatic, talking to them, attempting to turn their ideas from evil back to good. It is futile as they could not; they are no longer their own masters. As Wik tries to talk to them, Morgan makes a b-line for Scribbles, attacking with his swirling, free-moving scimitar and succeeding in causing Scribbles much pain.

                         

Then Lucy waved her hands, tried a spell which had little effect on her victims, while Ooma, shouting at Lady Triton, “We saved your daughters!?!” swung her mighty axe at Lady Triton, the sharp axe missing its target.

Lady Triton began to whistle a melodic tune, her gaze finding Ooma, her song continued, and with great fortitude, Ooma resisted her hypnotic stare.

                         

Arrowyn moved next, a masterful twirl as she arrived in front of Morgan and thrust the pointy end of the blood-crusted bastard sword at his gut driving it deeply …under his arm and missing all flesh, she pulled it back quickly, before he tried to disarm her.

                         

Jahlo’s laughter echoed against the vast chamber. Waving his fingers, a swirling ominous cloud, grey with black streaks, circled above. Suddenly great hailstones began to pelt a six-metre radius circle, and all within the cylinder; bruising, battering and chilling his victims. The ice continued fall and movement in the area was slowed considerably by the large ice chunks.

                         

Tessalia her fangs visible against her bloodied lips, shook her body sensuously, twirling and gazing about before she pointed her bony finger forward cackling gleefully as a dark streak hit the smooth surface of the floor in the centre of the group; instantly ten-black glistening limbs snaked upward in a six-metre radius snatching at all within three-metres of their impervious tentacles, entwining her victims in its grasp, squeezing tightly, ignoring the pounding ice, hugging those in its bruising clutch, forcing Antoinette, Morgan, Martonis and Wik to grapple with it successfully for the next eight-rounds; until they are free …or lunch.

                         

Martonis fails to break free of the insidious squeeze, but Antoinette is successful as is Wik and Morgan, leaving only Martonis struggling to breathe… Maybe Ooma should check that burning tingle she feels; or is she still carrying the item...?

                         

The group, really annoyed with these creatures now, begin to tackle them, hitting hard and solidly. Lucy casting the same tentacle environment back into their area, the thick black rubbery ropes flailing and the battle to break free and attack these foe escalates, and we see Tessalia and Lady Triton’s bodies collapsing and, well, if the dead could redie, they’d be redead!

The battle incomplete, a truce was called, or ordered. A tenuous truce; quivering and shimmering as resentment clings to the beads of sweat dripping from the warrior's pores, frozen in a moment until Martonis breaks the spell… his roll determining the starting gate…

Vampire's with conscious's – who knew?

o0o

XP: March 23, 2016

HEY! You ain't done fighting yet. Talk to me when yer dun. If ya survive…

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VIDEO VERSION\PROOF

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blood-thirsty Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Ruby Slippers...?

Resting and healing up the group contemplates their morning as they return to care for their wounds, relax at their makeshift camp and bombard Lucy and Antoinette with questions.

They spend the day and night recovering, waking early, breakfasting and preparing for the day ahead. Lucy asks Amaril for the ruby ring he has, which he reluctantly passes to the young queen. “Thank you, Amaril,” she says solemnly.

Lucy hugs Antoinette before raising the ruby ring high in the air. From deep under the ground, a quaking begins. The grass quivers and the sound of obsidian breaking catches the hero's attention. "You are all brave," Lucy says, "You have all chosen to accept the quest to save the lady. It is time. Antoinette, are you ready?"

Antoinette nods, her sword gripped tightly in her hand.

Lucy stands and unseen by the others, kisses the ring. Then as they watch she throws it at the rotting tavern, "This ends here!" she shouts, as a massive; gargantuan-sized copy of the ring rises up from within the earth. The Tavern trembles and explodes outward in a mighty blast forcing our heroes to duck and deflect planks of wood, shards of glass and other debris as the ring emerges, rising over a fifty feet in the air.

A stairwell rising, and one descending, curls around a thick tangle of pure gold; spiralling steps leading to the unknown.

A massive platform crafted from a thick, solid slab of ruby boasts a belt of gold encircling the edge. Figures are etched into the gold, but from the distance and angle, our heroes cannot discerned them clearly.

The descending stairs, made of the same ruby stone as the platform and rising stairs, framed in gold, descend into a darkness that seems to forget light exists, although, a single dot of white seems to float in the centre of the void - a reflection? Or a source?

Lucy moves forward, ascending, her steps firm, her course steady as she rounds the spiral ever upward.

As they round the last step onto the platform, they are met with a both horrific, and ecstatic vision.

A domed area sits in the centre of the massive hundred-foot platform. Inside the bubble Ichabod and The Lady pace frantically. As The Lady spots Lucy she runs to the glass and pounds upon its thickness, tears streaming. Lucy and Antoinette do the same. Ichabod holds The Lady as she tires. As Ooma examines their features, she discovers Antoinette and Ichabod look enough alike to be twins. She tries to shatter the glass with her axe and is thwarted as the axe seems to hit an invisible barrier, preventing it from actually contacting the glass.

"Oh, how touching," a voice cackles suddenly. "A family reunion. Enjoy it while you can!" She disappears in a poof, and our heroes are faced with three undead spawn, with evil intent, in her place.

Before they are able to do more than show up, Martonis, his hatred of evil so great, casts a spell which turns them to dust, as if the sunlight had reached the room and dissolved them!

Unfortunately, the Lich is not so easily thwarted and snapping her fingers, three more appear the grins on their faces terrifying as they prepare to engage our group.

Martonis again blasts them, only managing to dissolve two of the three and an extraordinary struggle ensues causing the spawn, as her life(?) force drains, to resort to vaporising into a gaseous form and escaping back to her coffin to renew.

- The part that wasn't caught on tape… (or, okay; honesty – the following week that got mucked up and will continue next week…)

They watch as the spawn from hell wisps away. The sound of laughter reaches their ears. "I see you've brought powerful friends. No matter. You see, I have friends too. Many friends."

On the floor, about forty feet to the east of the dome, a large pentagram appears, the lines drawn with glittering gemstones. At the five outer points a, now familiar, dead creature stands. In the centre of the diagram a more decayed version, her eyes glowering. In each of the five sections, the slender outline of a snake or rat glows. Above the centre creature, circling in the lofty space, are bats of various species and sizes.

The five spawns look up and, for a moment, their faces hover as in life. Our party recognises Lady Arrowyn, Lady Triton, Vizier Scribbles, Tessalia, and Jahlo! Lucy gasps and shouts, "You beast! Let them go!"

The centre creature laughs, "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy," before turning to Antoinette. "Are you surprised, dear Antoinette?" Cwitrys gleefully taunts.

Antoinette's features harden, "No dear cousin, you have always been evil. If not for your ancestors none of this would be possible - them and their ancient curses! But it will end here. You will not release the Night Creatures. We will stop you!"

The Lich's laughter is crusty, unused and fades as our heroes realise this is going to be tough. "It is getting closer. You're running out of time." Her cackle hurts their eardrums. "And you dear Wik, come and join me in your rightful place. You have the staff, don't you?"

Wik looks up and stares at her, "No I don't. And I'll not serve you any further."

The Lich does not take kindly to this and sends a very weak jolt of frost to touch his flesh, "Are you sure, boy?" she narrows her eyes as she stares at him, willing him to look into her eyes…

Will Wik succumb to the Lich's will after all? Will Martonis fight to keep him from going over to the dark side? Will our heroes have a moral dilemma fighting, and most likely killing, (or being killed by) their former party members? Will the DM ever get these rules and orders straight? A battle to the end… or a clobbering?

o0o

XP:  March 9\16, 2016

Those at:

• Level 6 (and under) – 1500 XP
• Level 7 (and over) – 900 XP
• EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week… (Remember, I don’t know what you need or covet if you don’t tell me...)

o0o

VIDEOVERSION\PROOF

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Utter Astonishment or Bitter Disillusionment...

Well, with the battle royale the morning before and all the excitement of bashing through the obsidian and destroying the Verans, well, a few of them anyway, our group feels like they’ve earned the rest and glorious treasures!

The night passes without incident and early in the morning, while Wik and Martonis are off with their morning rituals and Morgan snorts and tosses muttering about, “them exercises being noisy – can’t a body get no rest?”

Antoinette awakens as Lucy exits the tent that Martonis erected for their use, but Ooma is oblivious to the whole morning routine.

Wik notices, from the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure following Lucy as she happily wanders from the staff to the outhouse, unmindful of the large, dark, furry creature following her. Wik stops his exercises immediately, snatches his short sword and follows sneakily. He sees Lucy enter the dilapidated toilet and notices the creature moving to stand slightly to the side, waiting.

Wik rushes up cautiously and silently and attempts to stab the animal, unfortunately, slipping on a pebble, the sharp point of his sword shaving a few hairs off the creature’s shoulder. The creature, naturally, rises, and Wik takes this as an act of aggression and shouts loudly, “Lucy is under attack! Lucy is under attack!” Repeating it, waking the others and alerting Martonis, who is some distance away in the field performing his rituals.

They all awaken, and, shaking the sleep from their bodies, they pull on their boots, grab their blades, and race to where Wik is hollering from.

They see an odd sight.

Wik, standing between the outhouse door and a large furry… ape?

About to attack the creature, Lucy rushes from the toilet, “No! No, no, no, no! Don’t hurt him!” She runs toward the ape, adroitly manoeuvring around Morgan who tries to catch her as the others shout in fear.

Lucy runs up to the ape and flings her arms around his neck. “Don’t hurt him!” She has tears in her eyes as she buries her face in its shoulder.

The party is stunned. Antoinette has an inkling. Ooma calmly tells everyone to “Chill out, dudes!” Before addressing Lucy. “Do you know this ...monkey?”

Lucy nods, “He’s my friend.”

The party is obviously confused and concerned.

“Your friend?”

She nods, “He’s here to protect me.”

“O-Kay,” Ooma says.

After a short bit, Lucy explains that when Morgan and she played pirates, and he planted the staff, it activated the powers. Now it is fully charged and ready to perform.

The party is stunned by her next revelation as she stands, turns and looks to Wik, her scimitar in one hand, her other hand resting on the jewelled dagger given her by Morgan.

“Morgan? You were given a bag of gemstones several weeks ago, may I have it please?"

Morgan shrugs, “I put that in a pouch to be couriered to you; didn’t you receive it?”

Taking a deep breath the child queen shakes her head. “We will do without them for now. Wik?" She turns to the evil elf, "It is time. You have to decide if you will come with us or perish here. I know you are good. I've seen you try to be evil. Three times I've tested you; you've not let me down." Her voice sounds very mature and grownup. "But no evil can triumph in this next quest; so, you have a choice to make." She stares at Wik. "Will you rescind your ill-advised goals and aid us? Or will we end this now?" Her eyes do not waver.

Wik looks around, sheepish. “I don’t know what you are referring to,” he whimpers. Lucy doesn’t speak, she simply stares until, Wik, feeling a little like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, speaks. He talks of ways to not accept, and is forced into a decision. He nods, bows his head, then lifts it and looks at Lucy, nodding. “For you, little queen, I will renounce my evil being, but I don’t see how I can become good. Chaotic, probably. Neutral, definitely.”

Her face is beaming, she asks him for ‘the’ ring. Wik does try to pretend he isn’t sure what she’s speaking of. “Wik, you know the one I want,” Lucy scolds.

“Okay.” He turns and with a swift flourish he produces the Malachite ring.

“Thank you Wik,” Lucy smiles. She looks to each of the others, Antoinette most tenderly. Her little girl voice speaks, "Antoinette, soon it will be over." She raises Wik's ring and the ground begins to shake and tremble. "You witch! Show yourself!"

Wik leans into Martonis, “You might want to be aware, there’s a lich after me.”

Martonis’s eyebrows rise and he takes a deep breath, “Why am I not surprised?”

From in the area of the barn a great crash and splintering of wood is heard and, before their horrified eyes a platform rises from the depths of the earth. A massive coiled white anaconda-like worm or snake with red glowing eyes and a massive mandible jutting out with ferocious spiked fangs, hisses, its forked tongue over a foot long. Surrounding the mighty beast are slithering pit vipers, masses of them roiling like an angry sea. "You called, child?" The spiky hedge grows thickly around the sides and back of the platform, creeping to protect the front.

Lucy fearlessly faces the beast. "This ends here." she shouts, "The Spell of Night shall be no more! Release those bound within your treachery or face death!" Her child-like voice rings clearly through the field. Throwing her dagger into the mighty beast, finding flesh and creating a rent about a foot long down the pearlesque hide and causing the beast to shriek.

“You will pay for that child," its voice hisses in Common, as it bends its head toward the party, it's fangs dripping saliva and its eyes, red glowing coals.

The party immediately crouches and forms into a well oiled fighting group as Martoinis casts a spell that sees a series of blades surround him, spinning and threatening any who want to shake his hand. Antoinette lunges with her unfamiliar blade, wishing for a two-edge sword but determined this blade will suffice for now.

Lucy runs forward and swishes her scimitar, just missing the creature, who laughs at her efforts. It pounces forward, missing Lucy, but just barely; the ape stands and readies itself.

Wik, Ooma and Morgan all slash, stab and fling arrows at the creature, slowly rendering it to shreds. The party takes some mighty damage as they fight this monstrous animal, over one-hundred feet long and around six-feet thick.

It taunts as it struggles. “Your sister, she lives, for now; why don't you join her? I'm sure, after so many years, she will be happy to see you!”

“You bastard!” Antoinette shouts as she thrusts her blade forward.

“And dear little queen. You have evaded me for the last time! Your Grand'Mere is waiting for you. Lay down your staff and join her,” its voice a high shrill.

“You witch! We have been patient,” Lucy screams as she throws a black bead at the beast, unfortunately it rolls off the back of the platform.

The others are trembling with effort, blood loss and exhaustion. The beast pleads with them also. “This is not your fight; not your battle; why do you interfere?”

The resounding answer is, “Because!” Ooma’s calls for oil with flaming rags, goes unheeded.

The walking Cuisinart is twice allowed to get close enough to rip the beast’s flesh to mince-meat. The others heave their new weapons awkwardly, slowly gaining control as Morgan uses his newly acquired dancing scimitar to offer a third arm for his attacks and is pleasantly pleased with the results as his blade swirls and twists, cutting the beast on its own. Yep, this might be a lot of fun.

Thrusting, parrying and casting spells they wear the creature down, slowly until, with a mighty and dramatic trill, it rises up to its full length and explodes in a shower of sharp ice crystals injuring everyone, some are hit with many crystals some with less.

The pit of vipers that surrounded the creature are killed as the shards fall thickest around the worm. Our bloodied and fatigued troops fall back onto the morning grass, now covered in melting icicles, gasping and reaching for wine and water skeins.

They also have many questions for Lucy and Antoinette.

In time they move back to the makeshift camp, heal their wounds and, drinking more than eating, they resolve to spend the rest of the day listening to the Veran still shrieking and trying to pierce the obsidian thicket and recovering – that beast was evil and brutal!

“I’ve used up nearly my entire repertoire of spells!” Martonis laments, then brightens, “At least we made it through alive.”

Lucy looks to Wik, runs to him and hugs him forcefully, looking up at him, her eyes bright with tears. “I’m so glad you decided not to pursue your goal,” she comments. “I would have despised having to kill you.” She hugs him again, then runs to Ooma, giving her a big hug, then Morgan and Martonis, before returning to sit with Antoinette.

“Soon,” she holds Antoinette’s hand. “Soon.”

Martonis leans over to Antoinette and gruffly whispers, “You my lady, I would like to have a long talk with.”

Antoinette squeezes Lucy’s hand, “I’m sure we will have plenty of time to talk after we defeat the evil that resides here, preventing the spell from being broken and the Wheel to continue its rotations.”

Lucy rises, “I’m going to make some more daisy chains,” she announces, wandering a few feet to a mound of daisies, where she sits, in the dappled sun, under a peach tree picking and threading the flowers on their stems while the adults converse and imbibe.

This change in the princess and in the body guard known as Antoinette has confused and confounded our exploring heroes and they are slowly processing what they’ve just been witness to, and what it all means...

o0o

XP:  2,400 EACH (You're now sharing points with Lucy and Antoinette…) EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week… (Remember, I'm not psychic; I don’t know what you need or covet if you don’t tell me...)

o0o

VIDEOVERSION\PROOF

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Rest at last! Awww, Lucy...

The floor boards creaking and the heat rising as the sun’s rays slip ‘round to shine in the windows, our exhausted party battles the three blackguards fiercely, getting their second wind as the blackguards begin to wan.

A welcome sight is Wik, who finally returns to the melee at a very opportune moment, appearing in time to aid Martonis in his victory over Scowl; an interesting combination of meatloaf and sliced tenderloin would best describe the body parts.

Ooma (NPC’d by the DM, thank you Ooma for your patience...) chases one of the scoundrels as he scrambles to the hall and attempts to escape into another room. She slices him to ribbons, giving no quarter. She finds a wealth of objects dumped on the bed that she swiftly recognises as heath potions and other good items! She rushes them back to the group after, wisely or unwisely, she uncorks a clear tube with a red cross painted down the length, lifts it to her lips and swallows the contents. Immediately she senses a cool sensation rushing through her veins, curling her toes and bursting into a euphoric joy. Yep, she’s feeling better!

The final combatant hasn't a chance, although he does put up a decent struggle and is dispatched to whatever realm his soul claimed; or was claimed by.

Looting of the bodies is interrupted as Ooma calls Martonis into the hall.

“Does that look right?”

He sees an cerulean blue glow pushing against the crevices around the door at the end of the hall. “Okay, this is interesting.” He has Wik and Amaril, along with Ooma stand clear and prepare for what they may be releasing as he pulls the door open and peers into the dark room, only the auras to guide them.

The room glimmers with several objects pulsing with concentric deeper blue circles, some have one, some two, some three and still others, four, circles pulsing outward from them. A shadowy figure stands in the corner, the low light glistening off its mithral armour.

Martonis casts a light spell which glows almost like the sun itself, revealing the figure to be an empty mithral shirt set on a dress maker’s dummy. It also reveals a cache of mastercraft and magical items!

Carefully cataloguing the items; spending time to discover each objects qualities and how they are used to obtain the benefits suggested in the fanciful (and carefully planned) etching, pulsing, wood and enamel inlays, artistically imbued... 

Not our group. Instead, they gather the treasure trove and race outside of the Tavern with their hoard like starving rats with a hunk of bread...

They do take the time to carefully explore each item’s purpose and distribute them among those present, as they examine them while sitting on the grass, reserving a very awesome Adamandite Battleaxe for Ooma. (They did not trust the DM to hold it for her though...) They also discuss if she would make use of the Lion’s Shield, and decided to hold it for her as well, although they do not recall her carrying a shield in the past.

They then distribute the vials found and examine the scrolls, all while Lucy, Antoinette and Morgan listen to their story and grin as items are offered to them. Lucy proudly accepts the dagger and the scimitar from Morgan, who spends the rest of the afternoon sipping spirits and teaching Lucy how to become a Jedi Warrior – he isn’t sure where he coined that term from, but he likes it! Martonis erects his tent and gallantly offers it to Antoinette and Lucy. Antoinette smiles coyly and accepts graciously.

A fire is lit and, despite the gnawing and thrashing of the Veran in the thicket, a peaceful and idyllic afternoon is spent, each taking turns resting or watching Lucy. As evening approaches they find rabbits bounding in the grass and, while Lucy is kept occupied, rabbit dinner is prepared. They discover tubers in the garden next to the kitchen and toss them on the fire, remembering how tasty they could be.

Full and droopy-eyed, Lucy finally begins to succumb to the exhaustion she has been fighting for hours. Morgan carries her inside the tent and no one is sure, but they THINK they hear him telling her a story... He returns with a faraway smile on his face.

The sun drops behind the obsidian and soon a black velvet sky sparkling with diamonds is revealed; a quiet hush pervades the grassy field... The munching of the thousands of Veran held at bay by such a fragile rock – Obsidian, a glass-like shaft of smoky purple – merely white noise now, snores and odious noises being far more disturbing as our group finds utter exhaustion a wonderful restorative...

Lucy rises early, as children are wont to do. And, as children are also wont to do, she tries to be quiet as she leaves the tent, her destination the potty that Morgan and Antoinette showed her the afternoon before. The finely crafted Ironwood staff that Morgan planted for her as they played the day before, seizes her attention and she detours over towards it.

She stares up at its top for a moment, a radiant beam touching her face, before she leans forward and traces one of the shapes with her finger in the dim morning light. She stands up and curls her arms upward; stretching, then spins a full circle, giggles bubbling forth from her smiling lips. She then quickly continues on her trek toward the toilet...

Children... so sweetly innocent...

o0o

XP:  February 24, 2016 NOTE: Doing This Differently Again!

Those at:

Level 4 – 6000 XP

Level 5 – 5000 XP

Level 6 – 4000 XP

Level 7 – 3000 XP

EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week… (Remember, I don’t know what you need or covet if you don’t tell me...)

o0o

VIDEOVERSION\PROOF:

Ignore those creatures making fun of the Ooma-stand-in... :0)

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Who started this fight anyway...?

And the morning started so pleasantly...

As they sit on the grass, huffin’ and puffin’ The sense of dê jà vu steals across them. After confirming the land doesn’t belong to Antoinette’s family, Ooma ventures a thought. “I think that’s the Tavern, dudes.” A quiet moment of reflection sombres them and they tell Amaril of the Tavern’s quest.

Rising from her spot on the grass, Lucy decides she wants to go to the funny looking building. Her little legs pick up speed as she heads down the small hill, Ooma shouting after her.

“How about we go pick flowers instead?” Lucy is easily distracted, and she grabs Martonis’s hand and he and Antoinette move across the field away from the building. They don’t go too far, just a few yards.

In the meantime, the others wander around the building, checking out the layout of the land. Ooma remembers the poisonous prickle bushes and spies them encroaching on the back of the property, taking over the fallen barn. A couple of outhouses, the doors hanging loose are found at the back, off to the side. The rear of the building boasts a rickety staircase leading to an upper back door and one carved in the basement, giving access to the root-cellar. A cobweb riddled horse barn, with ten-stalls sways in the wind, the roof still in good repair.

They note as they circle the building that, despite its dilapidated condition, none of the windows are broken. Odd.

Amaril catches a shadowy figure in an upper window, the curtain fluttering back into place swiftly.

Ooma, Amaril and Wik carefully step up the rotted steps to the equally decayed porch. They knock, but, despite the shadowy figure assuring them someone is home, no one responds. A louder knock results in the door swinging back, catching on the floor as it slips from its hinges.

“Well, I guess we go in.” Ooma braces the door open with her golden mace as they enter – they are learning...

The interior is musty, dusty with broken tables and chairs littering the area. The lighting is dim, due to the grimy windows, much different than our heroes remember. Unexpectedly, a fire burns in the large fireplace. It is a moment before they comprehend that they did not see smoke coming from the chimney outside.

Ooma calls out, “Anyone home?” and they all hear distinct scurrying and scrapping sounds. Calling again gives no response. Wik warns the others to be silent and he mimes his plan.

They nod and watch as he climbs the staircase, miraculously finding footholds that do not cause creaks. Reaching the top he stops and listens again before proceeding down a lengthy hallway, pausing by each door before passing.

As he arrives at the third door he clearly hears a sound of someone warning another to be quiet. No other noise exists.

Wik, bravely, or stupidly, turns the door handle being ever so careful to make no noise. He is successful in turning the brass handle, and, charges into the approximately fifteen-foot square room ready to surprise the occupants and is instead surrounded by three large men, longswords drawn and now pressed to Wik’s throat.

He is given an opportunity to explain his presence and decides bluff and bravado might redeem his predicament.

Unfortunately this is a spectacular failure and Wik is forced into a hopeless struggle with the three musketeers, or so it would seem. Stalling them as he is forced to drop his weapon, hoping Ooma and Amaril will hear and come to his rescue.

He is fortunate to be able to stall for a short bit, giving Ooma and Amaril time, but too soon he is fighting with the three as they prepare to slice the Rogue to ribbons.

Luckily, before his head is sent rolling down the steps, Ooma charges in and slices the one known as Snarler deeply before Amaril enters. These distractions enable Wik to retrieve his fallen short sword and even the odds.

Struggling against these foes, and nearing death’s door, Wik tries to flee and bounces off the particularly healthy glass window. He fails to escape the first time but is successful the second, rolling onto the low slant hiproof and scrambling away from the window. This succeeds in alerting Martonis, who charges Morgan and Antoinette to care for Lucy as he runs toward the building.

Barely pausing as he runs under Wik he tosses a hasty healing spell, bringing Wik to near full health, as he, Martonis, continues to race inside and to the fray.

Several blows later, Martonis comes clanking into the room and he, Ooma and Amaril struggle mightily with these heavy hitters!

Wik, giving up his perch on the roof tumbles to the ground, slowly picks himself up and casually makes his way back inside, in no hurry whatever...

The bloodbath creating slippery floors as swords flash and cleave. Our heroes even manage to unarm one of the sturdy fellows, kicking his jewel-encrusted hilt, heavily decorated silver-steel sword out of his reach.

He, in turn drags Ooma to the floor, where she swings her battleaxe mightily!

Our heroes are losing ground... They are tired to the point of near exhaustion. They have used their spells and struggle to maintain their weapons against these fighters... Divine help would be welcomed... Intervention of any sort would be hailed...

Oh, Ichabod, where for art thou... 

o0o

XP: Doing This A Little Differently So Pay Attention!

Those at:

Level 5 – 5000 XP

Level 6 – 4000 XP

Level 7 – 3000 XP

EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week… (Remember, I don’t know what you need or covet if you don’t tell me...)

o0o

VIDEO VERSION \ PROOF

  

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~