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...

~*~*~*~

Feathers Tickle

Not enough time. Never enough time. As the third Veran thuds to the ground, the tinkling noise of obsidian cracking and plummeting in the thicket, the sound waves pulse outward, though our heroes hold their ground.

Looking up, their hearts sink as they realise a much larger threat is now circling. The loud squawk frightening a couple of our warriors, though they bravely battle the snapping, clawing creature.

The swooping bird finally falling. Antoinette and Lucy are unable to avoid being hit by the fourth creature as it crashes to the ground. Taking minor damage, Lucy’s is quickly dissipated by the spell Martonis enveloped her in earlier when she was hauled up from the tunnel.

Martonis speedily, now, performs a great deal of healing, nearly exhausting his supplies. He will need rest before continuing – will he get one? He wonders.

The party searches around the area to find anything of value and is disappointed to have only bird parts. Lucy is fascinated with the feathers, and stuffs a few in her pocket. As she is doing this she looks up, “What’s that?” she asks inquisitively.

The others look up and spot a nest. An ENORMOUS nest. To placate Lucy, Morgan shimmies up the jagged obsidian tree, discovering there are three large, one-foot in length, red-and-white marbled eggs. Morgan squeezes these inside his enormous rucksack and carefully descends from the tree, telling Lucy what he found.

Calls to “Crack them!” are immediately voiced.

“We don’t need more of those creatures hatching!”

Morgan frowns as he raises an eyebrow at the group waiting for them to be silent before he speaks. “I don’t know about what you folks do with eggs, but from where I come from, we eat them.”

Groans and faces are made at the swashbuckler from the sea as they determine their next direction.

Spinning about they can discern no direction better than another. Ooma suggests floating a feather to earth, which does not work, but it inspires Martonis to attempt the same using the softer, down feathers, which does work and they set off in, what they conjecture, to be north. A lengthy journey, chipping away at the obsidian, which seems to have slowed its growth a bit; they appear to be making headway, so much so that Martonis, in the lead, notices a sort of tunnel.

Abruptly the air is broken with the sounds of more Veran pelting the thicket.

“Run, this way!” Martonis shouts as he scoots down a tunnel he spots made from obsidian branches and twigs, a glowing light at the other end. He makes sure Antoinette and Lucy are in front of him before he continues.

As they run, the Veran’s beaks puncture the canopy above them, their force quickly collapsing the ominous protection as the last of our heroes leaps and rolls from the dark copse into the edge of a wide open circle, the deep blue sky overhead, a cool breeze wafting gently across a field of tall grasses, daisies, buttercups and other wild flowers. The Veran's seem unable to penetrate into the airy opening.

Lying on their backs, staring at the sky, gulping clean, fresh air, our heroes enjoy the momentary respite.

Lucy, being a mere child, rises first, unwinded, and looks about.

“What is that?” she asks, pointing in the direction of an old wooden structure standing one-hundred yards away, in desperate need of painting and some major repairs, as the clapboards look old enough to clap! Several unbroken windows, on two levels, reflect sunlight; how they avoided the onslaught of time one can only conjecture.

A clock, high on the belfry, reads nearly seven, but if it is accurate, or not, is anyone’s guess. A wide porch with rickety stairs invites one to enter…

A fuzzy memory tickles your mind...

o0o

XP:  2,050 EACH. (Although the Veran did not hit due to my poor rolling they would have annihilated you if I had rolled well; good job folks!) 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\hint me...)

o0o

video version\proof

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Thank gawds they didn't poop...

Last week we left off with Lucy and Morgan in a hole and the rest of the party hovering over it, battling an encroaching obsidian vine determined to pierce those caught inside...

Martonis peers down the hole and decides to cast a light spell on the end of his rope, which he then tosses down into the vertical tunnel, shouting for Morgan to secure the end around Lucy.

Morgan does so, then watches as Martonis lifts Lucy from the hole and sets her on the ground. While they wait for Morgan to climb out, Martonis instructs Antoinette to take Lucy out of the thicket and return with help; he tells her to continue to use his morning star. Antoinette fully agrees with him and gathers Lucy close to her and within minutes disappear as she crushes the obsidian thorns, creating an ever closing path behind her.

Morgan appears as Martonis casts a spell over himself against any evil in the area from harming him.

They shout to Amaril and Wik and Ooma who appear shortly, by following the voices, and the group decides to find their way from the thicket that is slowly trying to pierce them.

They become disheartened about twenty to twenty five minutes later when they find themselves still deep in the thicket.

A pause to chat has Amaril revealing to Martonis that the ‘witch’ Morgan is muttering about ‘causing this’, is actually inside a magical ring he wears. He shows Martonis, but alas the light is too dim to see it as it is high noon outside the thicket, the obsidian branches are so substantial as to block most of the light.

Unable to do anything else, they continue bashing the glass-like obsidian until they suddenly break into a wide, roughly circular knoll, with walls of obsidian guarding, but not encroaching into, the space.

Martonis, first through the thicket, spies Antoinette crouched, swinging his Morning Star at, which soon becomes apparent is one, no two, no three! Three massive flying red-feathered creatures with steel-like beaks razor-lips and enormous foot-long talons with a wingspan of nearly twenty-feet. They estimate this flying bird weighs in at around half-a-ton.

Morgan recognises these as ones described by adventurer’s in Triton. He remembers they are vicious and relentless.

The fight is on.

A bloody battle ensues with our heroes being spared many injuries due to lack of true space for these flying-elephants and, as the third one crashes to the ground, a mighty bellow rattles the obsidian, the glass-like rock tinkling musically as the roar blasts through and a mammoth shadow causes our heroes to look up in horror.

Mama(?) don’t look happy as she encircles the death site of her three children. The squawk of rage thunders down as it swoops toward the killers...

Never, ever, ever make mama angry. You wouldn’t like an angry mama...

o0o

XP: Wait until ya finish the match...; 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…

o0o

video version\proof

Literary liscence

o0o

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~