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…

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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...

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