Mousicians… and deceit...

Our party finds itself in a Turkish bath house. Large natural stone-bowls of steaming, clear, bluish-green water dot this underground grotto, with heewn stone floors, walls and ceilings. Lichen line the walls, offering a soft glow throughout the stone maze.

Our party stares dumbfounded as several ladies approach. Too shocked to protest, they soon find themselves being expertly bathed by these exotic beauties, the dust, dirt and grime whisked away before they are rinsed in cool, clear water and then led to either the massage tables, the steam room or the soaking pools. Wine is offered freely, as are small dates and figs on salvers.

Being unfamiliar with the surprises the party has found, Martonis chooses to dress and not lounge about. He is followed by Amaril, Morgan and finally Ooma and Wik. All are pleasantly surprised to discover their belongings have been cleaned, polished, sharpened, repaired, oiled, refined, and restocked. Amaril learns the secret to the glass vase as he sees the lady pour the contents back into the vase and retop it while he is being dressed and chooses to keep this information to himself, sharing it with Wik later.

They are led from the bathing pools to a foyer, or lobby with thick carpeting, festive walls, and large wall sconces burning fragrant candles. Several ornate benches with thick, plush pillows are arranged artfully around the large space, and a few people, with khol-lined eyes, sit, awaiting the giggling-ladies to show them into the pools. The window openings to the outside are heavily draped with brilliant scarves and thick rugs.

Morgan is determined to talk to these people but is thwarted as their language resembles nothing he knows, and yet he has a sense he should.

“The Moors were Muslim inhabitants of the Maghreb, the Iberian Peninsula, Sicily, and Malta during the Middle Ages. The Moors were initially of Berber and Arab descent, though the term was later applied to Africans, Iberian Christian converts to Islam, and people of mixed ancestry. Who in modern times are found sailing the high seas as pirates...”

Opposite the doors into the bathing pools are sixteen-foot high Moorish doors, their ornamentation bright and gaudy. As the party moves towards the doors, smiling and inclining their heads politely as they pass couples, families and individuals, two large, elaborately outfitted men pull back the heavy doors, salaaming our heroes as they exit ...into a wide lobby with a red carpet with tiny gold fleur de leis woven into the deep-red carpeting, flowing luxuriously throughout the space. Turning back, the Moorish doors are already fading into blackness...

Given mere moments to absorb their new surroundings, they are whisked up a wide marble staircase by an animated young lady who is positively glowing with excitement.

“Here you are! Isn’t it exciting? Come now, we’ll have to get you seated before it begins, follow me; follow me.” She turns. “Here you are!” She holds back the curtain to a private balcony with six wide, upholstered seats. She waits for you to enter and settle yourselves before murmuring that, “The Mousicians are already entering the stage!”

As they drink from crystal goblets filled with liquid refreshments the curtain rises, and the orchestra, tiny mice, softly begins their show. Nearly asleep as our heroes wonder when they can leave without attracting unwanted attention, they fidget and peer about the large amphitheatre. Morgan and Ooma, notice mice scurrying along dropping into balconies, unnoticed by the patrons. Morgan notes that the mice have red eyes. Wik sees them racing along the rafters.

A cache of tiny trinkets is found and collected by Martonis, as Morgan points out the trail he sees leading to it. The party then make their way down the stairs and begins filing toward the exit. Wik excuses himself to visit the private loo, returning a few minutes later. “Where is Morgan?” he asks.

Morgan, seeking a different exit, leaves and then locates the party outside, on the long avenue. Undecided as to direction they peer up and down the miles long, straight boulevard.

Wik spots a sign in the distance that only brings more questions. “What’s an Eiffel Tower? Or an Arc de Triomphe?”

Undecided still, the Paige pokes her head out of the Theatre. “Are you lost? I thought you would be at the hotel. They are waiting for you.”

Martonis asks, “Why would they be waiting for us?”

The Paige goes red and stammers, begging them to forget she has said this. Martonis is adamant and wishes to know who is waiting for them.

Reluctantly she murmurs in a low voice, “You saved the child.”

“Lucy?” Ooma asks surprised.

The girls nods, “Please, I do not wish to spoil the surprise.”

“Who is Lucy? Are you sure it is the same one?”

“Oui, Lucy, heir to the throne. She is to be crowned queen.”

A silence envelops our heroes as they digest this information, and then, seemingly all at once deny that they did the deed for gain. “We do this sort of stuff. It’s kinda what we do.”

“Please don’t tell them I mentioned anything,” the Paige pleads.

“Of course not,” the party agrees.

“Your hotel is at the end of this avenue,

As they enter the bed and breakfast, they are greeted cordially, and, because of the late hour they rush the party up the stairs and into individual bedrooms, well appointed with everything royalty would expect! On a sideboard in the sitting room each hero will locate several bottles of fortifications. Morgan, being fond of rum is overjoyed to find three large bottles of the Captain’s stuff sitting beside a large cut-glass tumbler.

Thinking swiftly, he saunters across the hall to Martonis’s room, and, on the pretence of admiring the luxuries afforded them, he eyes the liquor cabinet greedily. Martonis waves his hand, “Help yourself, friend.”

Morgan wastes no time in relieving the board of its stash of three more bottles of rum. Ooma wanders in, “We should get Wik and Amaril and divide that treasure up. Maybe take another look at that vase, ‘eh?”

With Martonis and Morgan in agreement, Ooma knocks on their doors, finding Amaril in Wik’s room. “Come to Martonis’s room, and bring the vase,” she hollers.

When they arrive, Amaril is confronted about the vase. “I don’t have it any more, maybe those bath ladies took it?” he offers weakly.

Martonis challenges him. “I don’t believe you.”

An argument ensues, with Wik being dragged in as Amaril flounders on open sea. Martonis, Ooma and Morgan all disbelieving the tales regarding the loss of the vase and its treasure. “Well, I tell you, I can’t abide those who won’t tell the truth!” Martonis emphatically growls. “I remove my spell of protection from you both and don’t expect any further healing from me in the future!”

Wik laughs, “Don’t expect my help when you need a trap examined.”

Then the party does the worst thing possible. They go to bed angry. This does not seem to bother some, but Martonis is bitter at the fibs and struggles throughout the night listening to an annoying tapping sound, awakening fatigued. Others are perturbed by the wails of some ethereal form or other. Others sleep like dead-fall logs...

Hoping day break brings softer attitudes and clearer reasonings…

o0o

XP: 150 each. (Decided by subtracting, multiplying and dividing all of the choices made...) 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

(Click for Video Version)

o0o

anger and greed make poor comforts...

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

BOOM!

We shall recall a quiet rest interrupted as it appears two of the party are suffering amnesia from ‘Firefly’ arrows. The morning light is growing, beginning to pierce the shadowy veil of overhanging branches. The fire is crackling; the embers still glowing reddish-grey. Birds chirping and bugs buzzing aimlessly along with a great roll of thunder, followed by a loud splash and, even deep in the knoll where you have spent the night, a fine mist slinks through the leaves and brush, a huge wind propelling it; followed by two more loud and thunderous cracks, and a breeze that bends the branches, snapping twigs. The birds in the area are silent; then begin squawking at once.

The party looks about, leaning into the wind as it slams through the forest, Amaril, standing in a less sheltered area is lifted up and knocked to his knees, slicing through his outer layer bloodying them.

The birds resume squawking noisily, and the party looks around, and at each other, Ooma suggesting that they “get the hell out of here!”

A discussion as to where to go and what to do ensues. Morgan, when asked and given a chance to respond, replies that, “Yes, he will follow the group.”

Jahlo and Tessalia have wandered off into the trees as Jhalo tries to figure out what is wrong with Tessalia. Benji, returns to the camp and is pacing about, eager to get on with his breakfast hunt. A noise catches his attention, and Jhalo waves him on, and he runs off toward the lake.

Ooma suggests they continue the way they were going, but Ichabod informs them she is curious about the booming noise; concerned, and starts toward the lake.

The group shrugs, packs up and follows along the trail behind Ichabod.

As they draw closer to the lake, they see that something isn’t right. It still shimmers an ordinary bluish colour from reflecting the sky’s colour, it appears to have something layered across the surface. Near the centre you see what appear to be fishing boats? The same ones as before?

Benji, being exuberant and excited runs out on the top of the water, going a long way chasing a bird, before stopping suddenly. All attempts to call him back fail. It also fails to sink in to any of them – Benji is not sinking...

The group stands at the edge of the lake, their perception not quite awake yet as suddenly, behind them, another thunderous noise and a loud CLANK! As they turn their heads their eyes perceive a tall, smooth Obsidian glass wall that has erected around the lake. It is about fifteen foot high, objects seen through its purplish-black colour appear blurry.

“What the hell?” Ooma mutters. She irreverently suggests that they “Jesus” the lake, which the others, laughing, agree there doesn’t seem to be much choice. So, one at a time, a ten foot distance separating each, they file onto the lake.

Wik decides to examine the smooth surface. He taps it, touches it and peers at it. “It’s Obsidian,” he exclaims, tapping his dagger against the surface. No hollow sounds can be heard.

Those who are watching Benji see him begin to sniff, his head down as he tracks something, barking excitedly, he begins to paw at the smooth glass surface.

Wik draws closer to Benji and Ooma shouts, “What is it boy?”

As Wik leans over to look he can see a pale golden glow below the surface, similar to the Firefly creatures, maybe a little smaller.

Benji refuses to cease his interest.

Ooma suggests to Ichabod that she check for magic.

Ichabod nods and begins to concentrate, her senses picking up a faint aura of conjuration blended with touches of illusion; a faint golden glow hovers across the surface of the lake rising into the wall.

Ooma enquires, “Is there is any way to break Obsidian?”

Ichabod, a puzzled crease furrowing her brow, “My staff may be able to, but I’m concerned it may crack the entire surface, I don’t know what will happen.”

Ooma gives her the go-ahead, and Wik tries to call Benji back, but whatever has Benji’s attention is obsessing him and he doesn’t even glance at Wik.

Ichabod raises her staff, pauses looking at Benji, “Benji? Please back up.”

Benji looks at her sullenly. The eyes of the animals on her staff glow an electric-blue startling him and, with a whine, Benji backs away.

Ichabod pounds the staff down. For a second, nothing happens. Then the distinct crackling sounds of dropping an dry-ice cube into a beaker of water filters to their ears. Spider cracks; fine lines begin to creep outward, slowly at first, then with an increase in speed until BAM! The glass shatters and they are vortex’d downward, plunged into the frigid waters; swirling like the modern flush systems on a toilet.

The water, grabs at them, pushing. Forcing their lungs to hold past bursting; dashing them onto jagged rocks nearly a mile below the surface, the cushion of water protecting them from being gutted by the tall spires that rise from the floor and jut from the walls of this bowl. (No one questions why there is no fish flopping about...? Curious... especially with those fishermen above – and where did they go?)

The water continues to escape, flowing off to an unknown holding tank or ocean.

Our heroes cling, gasping, to the jagged spires, receiving cuts and bruises. Benji lands in a bowl still filled with water, protecting him well. He climbs out, shaking his body, water droplets flinging wildly.

As the excitement calms and our heroes draw their breath, they beginning to notice they are in a pyramid shaped room to the side of the main container for the lake. Water drips from the slimy Obsidian walls. The golden glow that captured Benji’s attention is now overhead. It appears to be increasing in size and as Wik steps over to examine why this is, he shouts suddenly, “RUN!” As fine glass dust begins to sprinkle downward, and he notices the walls are closing in.

There is one door to the south, and they tumble through it finding themselves in a dark hall, jagged spires sticking from between six-inches and three-feet making passage down the five-foot narrow hallway treacherous.

Rummaging through their equipment, Wik swiftly lights a lantern, momentarily blinding everyone. As the light flickers, the pyramid-room shatters, blasting glass-dust in its final collapse. Those nearest the door feel the sting of fine particles embedding themselves in exposed skin.

Shaking themselves Wik checks the lantern, closing three hoods and allowing one to shine forward; Benji has taken the lead and is out of sight. The gather themselves and begin to move forward when a noise behind Amaril, who is last in the line causes Wik to turn the lantern and they see the hallway floor crumbling away.

Wik, “Let’s move this way, fast.” Small rents in their armour and skin appear as they rub against the serrated, glass, ‘oriented’ stalactites, the floor continuing to crumble. The hall turns west, then north, then west before slopping downward south, and continuing downward for a short distance, east, opening to a large room with a rubble strewn floor, jutting spires from the walls, and, at the far end, four figures.

Training the light on the figures, our group spies four Kobolds that scramble for cover behind some large stalagmites. Wik continues into the room going toward the four Kobolds, his intention to speak with them thwarted as one of the Kobolds slings a stone at him, followed by another.

He holds up his hands. “Hey, I just want to talk!” he shouts in Kobold. Another stone is flung in his direction, missing again.

“Dirty humans; don’t care!” one hisses at Wik, another projectile flies at Wik, clattering to the floor.

Wik changes tactics, switching to Draconic, “I’m an Elf, not a bloody short-lived human!”

While the fourth Kobold jumps out and shouts, “Ha! Gotcha!” in Kobold, as his sharp-edged stone slices across Wik’s cheek, leaving a bloodied cut. The Kobold’s laugh uproariously.

Ooma reminds Wik, “You’ve got some flasks of oil; jus’ sayin’”

A voice from the walls reminds them of the folly of tossing a Molotov cocktail toward their only exit in a room with a crumbling floor...

 A voice from the discombobulated Morgan points out the folly of the distinct lack of oxygen in a cave...

Wik grumbles to his friends, “These guys don’t want to chat, shall we teach them the folly of their actions?” A stone slams against his butt.

“Now you die!” Wik snarls in Draconic, pulling out his short sword.

Ooma walks toward the Kobolds, swinging her axe, the Kobold’s head leaving his shoulders and joins the stones on the floor.

Amaril moves to the side, pulling his composite bow out shooting a poisoned arrow into the cave walls.

Wik moves close and stabs the closest Kobold, his lantern weaving wickedly, twisting his sword into the smiling Kobold’s gut muttering, “I just wanted to talk!”

“Talk! No!” the two living Kobold’s grunt, tossing stones and cutting Wik’s other cheek.

Ooma lunges, swinging her axe, dulling its blade as she clatters against the unforgiving stone, the Kobold side-stepping her blow, laughing and shoving her. She spits on him as she stumbles backward.

He runs his fingers through the saliva brings it to his lips, “Mmm, good!”

Amaril walks up to the Kobold nearest and slits his throat, blood spurting, the Kobold clutching his neck, gurgling and covering Amaril with hot, sticky blood before sliding to the floor, a surprised look on his face.

Wik moves forward, bloodied short-sword in hand and stabs the remaining Kobold, dropping him swiftly, the sling bullets in his bag clattering across the floor. Ooma swiftly moves to check the bodies along with Amaril, the others search for a doorway or exit, finding lots of rubble, but nothing else of interest. He does discover the exit beyond where the Kobold’s were.

Eight dirty copper coins and a handful of rusty metal pieces.

Wik tosses a stone down the exit hall, leading west, watching and listening as it clatters along the uneven surface. He takes a step, unsure if the floor is going to crumble – it doesn’t and they all head down the hall, Ooma suggesting that maybe Ichabod could do a check or something?

She does. Shaking her head, “Like I said before, just the faint aura of conjuration muddled and faintly mixed and swirling possibly an illusion aura as well; I’m sorry, it is muddled.”

“Okay,” Ooma says, “let’s go.”

Amaril brings up the rear, carefully checking the floor behind him. “Uhm, guys? Hurry up! The floor’s crumbling again!”

The group hurries its movement, taking scratches and scrapes as they do so, turning and following the hall as it turns and switches.

Suddenly Wik stops short, his eyes spying a thin string stretched across the hall about a foot off the ground. Unfortunately his sudden stop without warning causes Ooma to slam into his back, Ichabod catches Morgan’s shoulder and stops him in time. Amaril runs into Ichabod, but she holds her ground. Wik and Ooma tumble in a tangle as the rope is pulled out of the wall.

They scramble to their feet, the floor crumbling, hustling their movements. As they drag each other up from the floor, they snag their skin bloodying themselves.

A loud GONG reverberates through the hall, shaking the very rock. Ooma pushes Wik, “Keep moving! That floor ain’t slowing down!”

They run forward, entering a large dining hall, with a large chandelier swaying, unlit over a table with partially eaten rotting food upon the plates, cutlery dropped as if in a hurry. Chairs are overturned, and, as their light flickers about, a bunch of rats scuttle off into the cracks. A burning candle sits in an alcove on the south wall near an open door.

The group searches the room. As they near the centre of the room a cold mist seeps along the floor, rising and a strange whirring, digging noise reaches their ears. Abruptly, from out of the stone block floor rise four gleaming, Obsidian glass skeletons, their daggers raised. “Who dares disturb the night creatures?” a ghostly voice rumbles. (Ignore that wimpy one in the video...)

Ooma shouts to Morgan to pull out his sword and defend himself as she turns her attention to the skeletons.

Amaril pulls his scimitar out swinging it wildly, missing and spinning about. Wik pulls out from his rucksack a box of Alchemist’s Fire (128 – 3.5 PHB) and decides swiftly it will not harm them and chucks it back into his pack, choosing instead to shot at them with a longbow, his arrow flying into the chest cavity exploding the skeleton shooting glass shards outward narrowly missing the party.

The skeletons move forward, slicing at Wik, his thrown dagger missing. The second one tries to stab at Amaril, his dagger also clattering to the floor, as it bounces off Amaril’s armour. The third skeleton jumps for Ooma, his bony feet turning and tripping him to his knees, one of his fingers shattering.

Ooma swings her war axe, slicing the skeleton in half his upper half toppling to the ground shattering, his lower half remaining standing and she spins her axe smashing the third skeleton’s shoulders, sending shards of glass deeply into her armour and exposed skin.

Amaril swings his scimitar at the remaining Obsidian creature, chopping off an arm. Wik shoots his arrow, hitting and shattering his sternum, coating Amaril in glass, nicking his cheek.

The last skeleton tumbles to the ground, and a CRASH shakes the room. A large stone crosses the door they came in through. As they approach the door, they spy a lever.

Amaril and Wik begin to search for traps. Amaril senses and locates a trap along the north wall. The wall feels damp and spongy. The ‘oriented’ stalactites feel softish, and crumble when pressed.

They furrow their brow. The trap is connected to the lever. If the lever is pulled, the wall will come tumbling down. You reveal this to your party.

A plan is formed whereby the group will move to the hallway, and Ooma, using her shield will pull the lever, and Wik will step back into the room to see what occurs. Ichabod moves forward in the hall.

As the lever is pulled, the wall collapses so fast, Wik cannot re-enter the room, the wave of water floods out, pushing out the doorway, pushing the party down the hall in a tumble injuring them slightly. As they regain their footing, they feel the water rising and swirling. They quickly continue along the hall, twisting and curving, as the floor slopes downward.

They come to a domed room, as the last person enters; a gurgling sound alerts them to the water flooding the floor, swirling at their ankles rising at the rate of about a foot every twelve seconds.

A wall in front of them that they round, shows a dais in the centre of the room. Wik’s attempt to take the object fails, but he does note words written on the plaque upon the dais. He reads them aloud for everyone:

“What type of fish cannot swim?”

(The DM had a great chuckle here... as the first answer spouted was correct – and then they second guessed and made it far harder than it needed to be...)

Jelly fish; Seafood; (water rising); Starfish; Red Herring; Fish sticks; (water rising)

“Starfish, final answer!” (Although, not the answer rolled, I like it far better.)

“Red Herring, final answer.”

“Jelly fish, final answer.” Water rising...

“A dead fish, final answer!”

A doorway crumbles open and the water washes out into the hall, leaving only a foot or so about their ankles. Before they leave, they see water spouts spurting from a fist-sized hole in the wall, like a fountain.

Ooma pulls a piece of grey cloak to stuff the hole, but the water is freezing and pouring too swiftly to have anything stay. She decides to leave it, and suggests they exit. They move along the hall, and discover that the water is following them; and the floor is still disappearing...

The party is knee-deep in cold water, Ooma is thigh deep...

o0o

XP: Ooma 2000XP; Amaril 1200XP; Morgan and Wik 1000XP; Benji 250XP

o0o

drowning...?

fledgling dungeon mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Knoll...

The quick recap – the party is in a smallish cavern with a low ceiling, rough stone walls and stone debris on the floor. The only exit appears to be the tunnel from which they entered (after killing the young Cryohydra) and echoing from that direction is the mournful cries of something in pain, or anguish, accompanied by the sounds of ice being crushed and flung like monkey poop. The noise is creating small stone and debris avalanches in the cave.

A quick discussion ensues as to what to do. Determining the noise is most likely larger versions of Cryohydra, they check their equipment, leaving the searching of the cave to the Dwarves, Benji and Jahlo.

Benji scratches at an area and the serving ladies note that the rock wall he is investigating doesn’t line up. “This looks like a doorway!”

Initial examination shows a slightly offset rectangular shape about twice as tall as wide. Ooma saunters over attempting to pull, then push the shape, seeing if it will give. Wik checks for secret handles or locks, and finds nothing, so he lends his strength to Ooma, the two pushing at the wall of rock until it gives, opening about a foot exposing a sliver of a pastoral scene.

Green grass spreads in all directions a tall trees grow abundantly. The sounds of birds chirping and water flowing in the distance floats through the opening. Also heard, faintly, is someone, a female, calling worriedly.

Wik pushes the stone-door back giving full access to a woodland knoll. He walks out and looking upward he almost embraces the sky as he wanders farther, pulling his bow and nocking it in preparation.

Ooma follows quickly, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun and the gentle breezes. Turning back she enquires of the serving ladies, “Where are we?”

Shaking their heads, they seem extremely perplexed. “This tunnel used to be a through tunnel. I’ve,” she turns to her sisters, “We’ve, never seen this area before.”

Jahlo senses a small bit of magic that seems to be dissipating from around the doorway as he steps through muttering about condiments... “Let’s find those voices and see if we can obtain a meal.” Tessalia seems weak, and leans on Jahlo as they exit the cave.

They discuss blocking the door open with the remaining pitons before they move forward into grotto. Morgan peers about, seeming relieved he hasn’t spied any red feathers, he turns to the serving ladies as he steps through the door, “Looks like you’re sh*t outta luck.”

The serving ladies shrug and scurry to follow, preferring this over the alternative, as the Cryohydra shrieks and wails.

The party hears the voice calling, much closer this time. The words are muffled but it sounds like, “Merrrrccccyyyy; Merrrrrccccyyyy!” 

As it comes closers still, “LLLLuuuuucccccyyyyy; LLLLuuuuucccccyyyyy!”

Some of the group moves toward the voice, while Morgan hammers the pitons in.

As Wik and Amaril move forward, they hear a small child crying and alter their course towards the sound, to their right. At the edge of a stream a small yard-ape sits holding her ankle. Wik calls to her, learning she has hurt herself, and cautiously makes his way down the embankment to where the child sits.

Benji comes bounding up, quickly assesses the situation, nuzzling the teary-eyed girl eliciting a giggle. “What a pretty doggie,” she chortles.

Ooma moves toward the woman heralding, and leads the woman towards Wik, and the child.

Jahlo touches the child’s ankle to heal her wounds. The lady watches curiously, reaching down picking up her daughter. She smiles at Jahlo. “Are you an alchemist?” Learning that he is a Druid, she brightens. “If you like, I have a shop over yonder. I have some interesting wares you may be interested in? You all may be interested in.”

Ooma asks where they are. The lady replies, “In the Knoll.” Ooma speaks of Triton. “Tri-ton? Nooo, I’ve not heard of Triton. I’ve lived here all my life.”

Puzzled, the group glances at each other. “I’m Ooma, this is Wik, Morgan, Tessalia, Jahlo, Amaril, Ichabod, Adrie, Fequr, Racelette, and that big beast is Benji,” she introduces the group.

“Pleased to meet you.” The lady offers no name.

Jahlo bears down upon her, “What we’re in real need of is a decent hot meal, jah?

She smiles as he takes her youngster, tossing her upon his shoulder, while Tessalia leans heavily upon his arm. “I’m sure I have plenty to share. Simple food, but good and hot. Come with me.”

As they continue walking with the lady, Wik hangs back and hisses at Ichabod, “What did you get from the Cryohydra?”

She smiles, “A few shingles of scale and about ten yards of hide.”

They come to a long house with a door about mid-way along the wooden structure, with windows, evenly spaced on either side. The lady invites them in and sends one of her older children to get some wine from a cellar store house.

She sets a large cauldron filled with steamy meat-and-vegetable stew on the long, hardwood table, while her older daughter sets plates and spoons alongside baskets of still warm biscuits and water goblets. She puts a wine glass in front of each plate as well.

The young child is set in a rocker by the low fire to rest her ankle.

Morgan takes a bottle of the wine, popping the cork and guzzling from the neck, a happy smile brightening his face. The others pour glassfuls from the other bottles for themselves and the young boy returns to the cellar to retrieve more bottles.

While they eat, the lady brings forward a large branch of Holly and shows it to Jahlo, whose eyes brighten as he examines this near perfect specimen. Jahlo teases the woman, “Druid-nip!”

Morgan asks about eye-of-newt and mandrake plants when she mentions she has a shop through the opening. While she goes to search for the requested material, Morgan eyes the eldest boy, “You there! Boy! Go and bring me another bottle of this wine!” he waves the half finished bottle about, sloshing it, as he gives his orders, before tucking it inside his jacket when a new bottle is set before him.

The children continue to stare like only kids will, listening to the wild story that Ooma embellishes as the kids eyes grow huge. The party enjoys hamming it up for the youngsters, winning their trust and approval.

Ooma reaches into her pouch and withdraws a tiny gem for each of the kids, whose eyes grow even bigger as they clutch their own shiny stone in their hands. Oooo and ahhhing, showing the gems to each other.

Morgan, in his drunken stupor, hands the older three children each a rusty dagger from his ample supply. He spews some malarkey about needing to learn to defend their valuables, before turning his attention back to his glass of wine.

The children, in their excitement, completely forget Jahlo’s rule of not running with sharp things in their hands, and run off to show their mum. Jahlo bets that one of the children is going to put an eye out before they leave. Wik takes that bet.

Ooma asks about a washroom and is told there is an outhouse out back. She reemphasises what she is actually looking for is a wash basin, and is led to a small room with an ewer and a porcelain bowl on a dresser with a framed mirror hanging above it. Morgan rifles through his pockets and hands Ooma a sharp dagger, which she uses to shave and make herself presentable.

Wik and Amaril browse the shop.

The lady comes up to Wik and shows him a finely made longbow. “Only two thousand gold coins. I’ll throw in twenty arrows as well.” A little dickering, spending his gems, and Wik has a finely crafted longbow, made by elves for elves. He can feel the power just by holding it.

She turns to Amaril, “Would you like a bow as well, or a suit of leather armour? Or both? Only two thousand gold coins. I can exchange gems, if you have them.”

Amaril barters his gold necklaces and gems, and borrows the final two hundred from Wik, obtaining a sturdy leather, intricately tooled and tanned, suit of armour.

For Tessalia, who upon entering the fresh air and bright-light, fell ill again. The trek across the forest proving too much for her. Jahlo assists her, at the insistence of Edith, on top of a feather bed in a small alcove at the back of the hearth. Edith presents Jahlo with a wand, explaining, "This wand will allow your sorceress to cast Magic Missiles for thirty uses. I’m sure she will be thrilled to have it, only a thousand gold."

For Jahlo, she lifts up a bronze censer, "This is a special construct," she says, "It's called a Censer of Jeffrey's Aid. Place it on a flat surface, recite the words, “Fire and Water, Sand and Air, Steel Our Hearts, Hear Our Prayer,” and all within ten-feet of the censer receive a boost to their combat morale and their fear saves!" She looks at Jahlo. "The best part is it offers a temporary cover, allowing each member who stays within the ten-foot radius while the spell is burns, a bonus to their HP of 1d8+3! Only twenty-five hundred gold coins.”

Jhalo tries to bluff his way around the expense, which the savvy shop keep is wise to, but, knowing her profit is safe, she does lower the cost, and tries to offer him more Holly, for a price.

For Ooma, (happy now that she's been able to scrape the ungainly hairs from her chin), is doubly-pleased to trade in her dulled battle axe for a sharp shiny new Dwarven Battle axe, with an etched pattern on the face of the blade, that seems to be built for her alone! Offering a plus two to attacks has her eager to find something to test it on. Ooma barters a deal, trading her old axe, the cost drops by two thousand gold coins.

Morgan squints at the lady, leaning in, whispering, “I need something that will protect me from magic.” He pointedly stares at Ichabod.

She thinks, “I don’t know if this will protect you from magic, but will this help?” She offers a finely woven shirt of very strong, lightweight chain. "Mithiral, should help stop those scars when you get into battle." He hands her a bunch of gems and she picks through taking the required amount.

Ooma asks if she sells clothing or cloth and is told sadly, no. She receives the same answer when she requests the whereabouts of an Inn.

The shop keep tells them there’s the sealed entrance to a Tavern over by Green Lake when they press for details of an Inn or Tavern. “Weird things used to come out of that doorway,” the little boy mentions.

Morgan, suddenly interested, asks their names. “Lucy, the youngest, Lance, is the eldest, Matthew, is next and then Brenda.” She pats her stomach, “And one on the way.” The lady smiles and says, “I go by Mama, but if you insist, you can call me Edith.”

Jahlo offers Edith five Goodberries, to celebrate her expecting condition, explaining the berries value.

She reciprocates. “For your troubles let me tell you the Tavern door is not sealed tight. We just tell the kids that so they won’t go playing down there. Ever since the weird things started coming through the door, we closed it tight. Remarkable Meade or not!”

She goes on to tell them that the city of Montgomery, in the East, is the direction of the Tavern door. “I heard tell there’s an Obsidian Forest up that way, my husband may know, but he won't be returning for a month or longer.” Only Wik, with his local knowledge skills fleetingly wonders why the children are allowed to roam to the Tavern so far from their home? The thought is ephemeral as they continue chatting.

The party spends the remainder of the afternoon, playing with the children, teaching the children all sorts of fun/naughty tricks. While all the party is outside, Morgan shows Edith the broach.

“Oh my gawds! I’ve seen this before. Look here, have you noticed this? The Venetian Man symbol. Do you see this?” He voice trembles as it rises. “This is a replica of the Wheel of Time! Where did you find this? The value is nearly immeasurable!”

Morgan queries if the broach will protect him from magic. “Where did I see this before?” she keeps trying to remember. “Yes, yes, this will protect the whole world if used correctly. Where did I see this?”

Morgan grows impatient, uninterested in anything but the value of the trinket. “Who would know the value?”

“The lady, she would know.” Edith looks at him, “This is worth a king’s Ransom. At least fifty, possibly a hundred thousand gold coins. Used improperly it could spell the end of the existence. It could release the night creatures.”

Morgan, only hearing the woman with half an ear, is disappointed when trying to resupply his rucksack, especially with climbing gear. He does receive three Tinder Twigs, which Edith clearly explains to him how to use. Almost finished, Morgan asks her if she has a pouch filled with an emulsion of itching powder, which, after a few moments of pondering and discussion, is produced. Morgan promptly drops the broach into the powder and puts the package in his rucksack.

Watching that, Edith laughs, “What a clever plan! Lance, go get me another bottle from the basement.” With which she toasts his ingenuity.

Edith volunteers to return the Dwarven ladies to their families when Ooma explains their plight. She seems quite happy to offer this service, and the others seem exuberantly excited at this news.

Ooma points to Wik and asks Edith, “Do you have anything that will turn him back to normal?”

She smiles and shakes her head, “I’ll need to analyse the original ingredients. It will take me a few days, if you’d like to wait or return later, I can see what I can do.”

“No, that’s okay. I won’t take any more of your time.”

Edith offer the group bottles of wine to fill their packs before they set out on their way.

As a final thought for the evening she responds to Morgan’s question regarding the weird things coming from the Tavern door. “Weird flying rats; no, not bats, I know what bat’s are,” she say indignantly. “These were rats with wings.” She shudders, “Unnatural.”

Deciding to remain for the night, they locate suitable spots to bed down for the night. The group finds its restful evening slumber, Amaril, staring at his ring, swears the lady is moving inside the top stone; or are his eyes playing tricks? He drifts off to sleep...

ZzzzZzzzZzz...

o0o

As you have been gifted with an abundance of powerful weapons, spells and the such, there was to be no XP awarded this week... rest, relax, enjoy your storybook peace...

o0o

she was so nice... 

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~*~

Glowing Globs...

Amaril and Morgan, having landed roughly, from their slide down through the smooth surface, onto a loose rocky surface. Looking around they can see there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of colourful orbs of various sizes, from fist-size up to as big as an average size Dwarf, glowing and giving off a light.

They can see they are in an enormous cavern, with a ceiling soaring overhead.

Morgan, cusses as he ponders there situation.

"What the hell is that?" Morgan kicks at one of the globes, finding that it is a solid rock mass. He may want to examine it closer later, but right now he is busy cursing and blaming Amaril for their misfortune. "This is all your fault! I can't hold on to the rope if you catch me in the trap with you!"

Amaril looks at him, "You're blaming me?!?" And shakes his head.

Morgan, done with his tirade, begins to look around. They can hear noises, like normal noises one would expect in a cave; scratching etc... "Amaril, be quiet!" Amaril looks at Morgan, an eyebrow raised.

Amaril, listening faintly hears Wik muttering, or, it sounds like Wik.

Morgan, peers up the slide and decides to try and climb back up the fifty, or so, feet by pressing his feet to one side of the five-foot wide tunnel and his hands on the other. Perseverance pays off as, with a lot of sweat and scrapes to his fingers, he reaches the trap's lid.

With no trigger in sight, he pounds on the lid, shouting, "Open up, I think I found a trap!"

Wik faintly hears Morgan banging, and shouting. He steps on the trigger again, to open the trap, which creates a downdraft that pushes Morgan back down the tunnel, his shout of surprise alerting all that he is falling.

Wik, sheepishly glances about, hoping no one saw his little mistake. Curious, he moves toward the trap, looking to see if he can disable the mechanism, and with some fiddling and manoeuvring he manages to block the structure's wooden, stone-covered lid, open. Rushing air presses down the tunnel, the opening at the top twelve to fifteen foot wide funnel-shaped opening.

Jahlo hears the wind's rushing, and mentions the sound to Tessalia, the serving ladies and Ichabod, and they make their way down to where Wik is after creating a litter for Ooma, who appears to have picked up an underground bug, hitching the litter to Benji for him to pull. Benji is sure-footed and gentle as he tugs the harness, giving Ooma a smooth ride.

They see Wik on the opposite side of this trap, to the one side is a small ledge that they can use to pass by the trap. Wik waves and tells the group that Morgan and Amaril have gone down the hole. "Can you see if they need help climbing out?"

Tessalia, Jahlo and Ichabod discuss their options. Jahlo shouts down the hole asking if they have a rope or something. Morgan moves back up the tunnel where he is able to see the shape of Morgan way down below as he is able to light a torch. After a few attempts, they manage to toss up Amaril's grappling hook.

Jhalo orders Tessalia and Ichabod to use their magical ability to ease the grappling hook up to the edge and affix it in the ground. Tessalia looks at Jahlo, frowning. Ichabod leans forward, her staff glowing faintly, a smile creasing her face.

Jahlo, observes Ichabod and, from his reverse supine position he looks up at her, "You're not going to do somethin' like go down there are you? 'Cause I'd really like to know that now."

Ichabod nods as she waves her staff, watching it glow brighter as she pushes it toward the hole. "I won't get in your way. I'll help you, but that is the way I have to go."

Jahlo shouts down, "The magic stick says we need to go down the hole, yah."

Morgan shouts back, "I don't care, get me out of this gol' durned hole!" As he tosses Amaril's grappling hook.

Tessalia uses her magical abilities to grab the hook in mid-air, pulling it up to the top. Wik, using his knowledge, secures it to the ground, wedging in the tines, but because the ground is hard he is only able to push in a small bit.

Jahlo orders Benji to pull as he shouts down for Morgan to, "Hang on to the rope! Benji's pulling."

Holding on, barring his teeth, Benji's strength pulls Morgan free of the trap. Tessalia helps Morgan get free of the tunnel.

Because the rope tied between Amaril and Morgan is still knotted, as Morgan lifts Amaril out of the tunnel, quickly realising that Amaril is riding, not climbing, and with much effort, hauls his ass out, muttering, "Man, were you even helping?"

Amaril grins, "Sorry, I slipped."

"Bullshit!" Morgan flops back on the ground. "Ogre crap!" He pulls out his wine skin and mutters expletives at the hole, as he catches his breath.

Wik, astutely recognising that the group probably should follow Ichabod's staff, as it appears to be what is leading them back to the Tavern, and their own time period, announces, "I think we need to go down the hole, it seems to be the way we are being driven."

Morgan definitely disagrees and thinks they should just, "get the hell away from it, get these ladies to wherever the hell it is we need to and get out of this cave!"

"As you wish, but my way is clear. I have to follow this path." Ichabod asks what she's likely to encounter. As Morgan looks at her, drinking, and Amaril motions for him to pass that wine skin over. The two of them recline against the cave wall.

"Wait!" Wik says. "I can't in all good conscious let you go down there alone. Men are supposed to protect the females, so I will go with you."

Ichabod, knowing that she could well protect all of them if need be, smiles, nods and says, "Thank you." She smiles, steps over the swirling winds and is whisked down the tunnel, Wik following a few seconds later.

Amaril is debating following them down. Jahlo hollers after her, "We'll find a safer way down, don't get eaten."

"Don't worry,” Ichabod smiles. Ichabod and Wik are viewing the colourful orbs and dimly lit tunnel. They move forward, following, a path between the canyonish-walls, following the brilliance of her staff.

Jahlo describes the area they've found to the Dwarf ladies, and asks if there's another way down. Fequr follows him back to the trap. "I think we keep going around the curve, but I don't know what this is. I've never seen this trap before."

Jahlo and Tessalia start to pass the trap, but, because they are both trying to pass at the same time, their feet slip, and, hugging each other, they fall to the end of the slide. Benji, yelping, starts to head after them, but both Amaril and Morgan leap to prevent him from taking Ooma with him.

Jahlo shouts, "Unstrap my wolf!"

Amaril hears Jahlo and untie the rope, protecting Ooma, and Benji leaps into the hole, and Jahlo, standing at the bottom, catches the falling animal, tumbling back out the remaining few feet.

Amaril climbs down the grappling hook. The hook releases, and, forgetting he is wearing a rope tied to Morgan, who suddenly feels a strong jerk on his waist as Amaril finds himself hanging in mid air as the rope reaches its end.

Morgan, beginning to be inconvenienced frowns at the rope pulling his waist, drinks another mouthful.

After the initial shock, Amaril quickly unties the knot, and drops down, rolling out to land at Jahlo and Tessalia's feet, Benji moving to eagerly lick his face.

Morgan pulls the rope back up and, in his inebriated state he thoughtfully ties the end of the rope to Ooma, his thinking that she won't be killed this way, as he gulps more of the tasty mead.

Down in the lower cave, Ichabod and Wik are moving slowly through the maze, Wik's eyes widening as he figures out what the blobs of colour are! [DM’s NOTES: WIK, ASK ME!]

Jahlo, Amaril, Tessalia and Benji look around to see which way they should head, calling out to see if they can locate Ichabod or Wik.

Morgan happily indulges in the mead, rifling through Ooma's pack when his skin drips its last, waiting for the group to return.

Ooma is still resting on the litter prepared for her out of the tent parts. The three serving ladies are sitting around Ooma, as they carefully pass the trap's opening, wondering what to do as they eat some of the rations allotted them and wait.

"What is that noise?" Adrie asks, looking to the back of the curved stone wall in front of them...

o0o

FOR THIS ADVENTURE: 200XP, (only because you were so entertaining riding up and down that tunnel!)

o0o

listening carefully...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

o0o

Flushed...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaril asks the ladies, “Who needs saving?”

Fequr responds, “The Lady!”

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

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

The vials of coloured liquid are still a mystery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

o0o

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

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

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

o0o

Ooo look, sparkles...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys

o0o

Caves Suck...

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

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

The longer, picturesque route...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, thanks, we don’t drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unexpectedly Wik hears a loud, piercing whistle.

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

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

“Oh shit!” Ooma mutters tiredly.

o0o

PLEASE ADD

100 EXPERIENCE POINTS for July 1^st.

and

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

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

o0o

shivering in the arctic blast...

Fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

*~*~*~*~*