You lead horses not characters... my apologies...

*DM note: I really should know by now that the best laid plans will be erased by the simplest of questions or actions which my little pea-sized brain never considered – I mean, why wouldn’t you jump to the aid of a stranger about to be accused of exploding a building the size of a city-block and levelling it past its foundations?

Have discovered learned the only pre work I need to do is prepare the starting, or opening, line – after that I should just let my heroes do their thing and should they wander aimlessly for the entire evening, maybe nudge, but (I hope) NEVER lead them again... My apologies for what seemed like such a FUN side trip to acquire a bit of information and some components in a unique way, backfired into a tedious, confusing evening... (It sounded so GOOD on paper...)

Let me just ensure that the purpose of the trip is not lost:

ACQUIRED: Three (3) orange-yellow vials about as big as a man’s finger with wax stoppers.

INFORMATION: When you combine very fine dry powder with a specific insect and the vial, you obtain a lethal incendiary device with an unknown delay before it erupts spectacularly. Further testing may reveal the full process – or it is possible someone in the castle has a working knowledge of this crude and clever mechanism... It’s too bad they tossed the carcass before they returned... or did they?

The way it was supposed to go, (to find out HOW it actually unfolded, please visit the YouTube recording – if you want to see how NOT to run a campaign...)

~^~^~

Following the longest day shopping any of our heroes has ever undertaken, they are grateful for the thick eiderdown mattresses and fires crackling in the grates warming their rooms.

After a filling ‘family-style’ supper, (which Queen Lucy INSISTED they eat, and watched like a hawk that they did, teasing, "It's not poisoned," dipping her silver spoon into the serving bowls scooping dainty bites and swallowing them, feeding her guests personally if they do not ‘dig in’), of consume, bread, roast pheasant, broiled tubers, a vegetable terrine and rich cream-filled pastries for dessert, their eyes grow heavy and, uttering good evening's, they are shown to their rooms on the third floor. Lucy insists on Ooma sleeping with her on the first floor and, despite the protests of the others, they do go to their assigned rooms.

Martonis pausing in the Gentlemen's lounge intent on reading is interrupted by Wik. The two have a terse conversation, Martonis not hiding his disdain for the Elf, as Wik exchanges some of the information he learned during their tour of the castle.

Then, Wik, shrugging, yawns, excuses himself and heads to his allocated room where he enjoys a bath, re-straps his daggers to his body, puts on his ointment and the soft nightshirt left for him before slipping between the silk sheets, falling asleep, the candle burning low in the safety of the holder…

Martonis, his reading disturbed, heads to his room, performs his absolutions, undresses, puts on the nightshirt provided, and slides between the silk sheets, leaning against the padded headboard his mind a whirlwind of thought, most concerning Lucy and her apparent fragile state although a scowl creases his face as his thoughts touch upon Wik, and a frown as he thinks of Amaril...

Morgan, after Ooma assures him she will sleep in the same bed as Lucy, finally is persuaded to follow the others to his own room. He enters, spies the rum, turns, smiles at Martonis, who is going to the lounge, "Goodnight." His plans changing from an evening in the library to an evening before the fire. Closing his door and setting his backpack and other items on a large round table and fixing the new contraption he purchased to his possessions before cracking open a bottle, he grabs a mug and settles himself in the overstuffed easy chair, putting his feet on the pouffe, filling his mug, tossing it back, and repeating the process… a fluttering of a greyish vision infiltrates his dreams. Awakening, he puts another log onto the fire, goes back to the chair and resumes consuming rum...

Amaril also has a bath, but before he can get into bed, he has a visitor, whom he receives after pulling on the nightshirt laid out for him. When his guest leaves, he ponders his next move whilst climbing into his comfortable bed, blowing the candle's flame out. Resting his head on his hands he thinks, staring into the darkness...

__________________________________________

About an hour after the last of our heroes enters their room, a loud explosion rattles the castle and they grab the robe at the foot of their beds and rush out of their rooms tugging the cloak-like robe on, Ooma, mace in hand, tells Lucy to hide under the bed as she exits the room into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind her. Martonis manages to snatch his morning star as he rushes from the room. Wik and Amaril, daggers strapped to their bodies fling the robes on and pull back their doors, following Martonis to the rail. Morgan takes both his staff and scimitar as he hustles, still fully clothed into the hall... (DM note: ALL weaponry and armour was to be left behind – they were supposed to rush so quickly out that they were caught with their pants down, so to speak, to avoid an lengthy discussion I allowed these items.)

Damnit - we're not in Kansas any more…

Morgan, Wik, Amaril and Martonis find themselves looking over a wooden balcony-rail two stories above the main salon. Pandemonium reigns as people scramble about the large area, furniture scattered and flung about, some broken, most toppled. Ooma, on the main floor of a public house or tavern, is looking around and up at the bedlam. Shouts, gasps and shrieks fill the evening air.

Others, nearly everyone is a Gnome, exiting their rooms, are pushing past rudely in their haste to find out what happened, or to escape in-case it should happen again.

Their room doors locked, they descend the sturdy wood-staircase, (making their way towards Ooma), catching snippets and bits of conversation – enough to piece together a large explosion has taken place across the street from the fashionable inn and everyone is shaken. A squad of soldiers are ineffectual in calming the crowd, although no one is particularly out-of-control.

Our heroes catch snippets of conversations...

“Whatcha think, ‘eh? Inklebyrds Incendiary Devices or Estale Eitherdip’s Exciting Explosions?”
“Yah, Balderk’s Blazing Bonfires would never be so careless, a dwarf who’d make a mistake like that would be run out of town!”
“No, Samuel Valdkjurdi’d never allow that!” Ribald snorts.
“Did the fireworks started early!” a particularly drunken man spouts.
“Wonder if the celebrations will be cancelled?”
“Anyone hurt?”

The squad's captain shaking his head at the carnage, making his way to the front of the thick, stone foundationed building when a comely woman runs in. Screeching when she spies the captain, moving towards him her fists balled and her arms animated.

"I told you that note was trouble, now look! It’s already started! Rywyn is a fool! What are we going to do?" He goes to her and wraps his arms about her, embracing her as she clenches him. He peers around and, in the confusion, spies our heroes standing in a group, their white robes denoting their higher station in the town guard.

A smile forms on his face, brightening it, "Look my dear, we are saved, these must be the ones the Manor has sent to help us. They must have thought the note had merit after all!"

He strides over to the group and extends a hand, "You must be the detectives my cousin, Rywyn Nackle, promised from the Manor. I thought he was in jest. I’m Errick Nackle, Town Guard Captain. You've come at the best and worst time. We've a lunatic on the loose who...," he flushes, stammering.

The woman speaks up, "We received THIS!" She forces a note under your noses. “We have to find

out who is doing this or my husband will be unfairly blamed, not to mention, if this lunatic succeeds someone could... WILL ...get hurt!" Her face flush as her eyes glitter in the torch lighting. “Rywyn sent you, so you must help,” she pleads.

As the noise and cacophony of voices becomes louder with the arrival of those in nearby establishments, seeking information, Martonis grasps Errick’s hand, “I am Martonis, but I’m afraid there’s been some confusion, we have not been sent by this Rywyn Nackle, nor the Manor. In fact we aren’t sure where we are?”

This elicits raised eyebrows and confused gazes. Errick’s wife pleads, clasping Morgan’s arm, “Please, please help my husband. If you are not from the Manor, then it’s true, they do not believe him and are going to blame him for this disaster! We will be ruined because of a madman!”

Morgan rolls his eyes; his demeanour suggests he is not thrilled with this development. Martonis, on the other hand, wears an expression of sympathy. “We will help, but what would you have us do?”

The party tries to return to their rooms to no avail, with nothing else to do they are forced to accept the challenge. They agree, reluctantly, to assist Errick and the town through their immediate troubles, and begin posing questions.

They learn from the bartender, a lovely red-headed human, that a tall, lanky human fellow with a slight limp, had been lurking around the exploded building about two weeks ago. Several of the gnomish patrons nod thoughtfully corroborating her recollection, one commenting, “I think it was only a week ago, though.” Another describing the fellow in question so well, Errick is immediately able to name him!

“That sounds like Arnold Bennedikt, a soldier under my command! Are you certain?” Several nods firms his resolve and he beseeches the party to go with him to an establishment called the Rabid Rodent, “He can usually be found there. This could be the reason he has not reported for duty for the last two evenings.” (DM NOTE: THIS is a alteration of MY plans. Errick was to go and drum up more help while the party courageously deciphered clues, swiftly located and brought our culprit to justice, OR were caught in an explosion of epic proportions...)

(Here we blend what our heroes did and what I, the DM, forced upon them...) The party, still in the throes of utter confusion themselves, decide to examine the detonated site to look for clues or patterns or gain some indications as to what happened before the sun completely set and the land was awash in inky blackness. A thorough inspection provides some surprising evidence. Amaril climbs around inside the smouldering remains and, with careful processes, discovers that the pattern of the explosion verifies the building was targeted from the inside, and he locates the probable source. Continuing, Wik discovers a white powder residue lightly coating the area and, upon closer scrutinizing, announces, “Flour. It’s flour? Now why would there be flour everywhere?” Outside Wik locates two large hind legs of some kind of insect.

Across the River Bridge on the western banks of the Sparkle River, GlitterTop becomes a dissimilar place. The safety of the town’s walls and sanitation of its streets are replaced by a muddy, filthy neighbourhood filled with lean-tos and shelters in improvised shantytowns between the few standing edifices. Drunks and ruffians of all sorts stagger around, carousing without a care in the world. The Rabid Rodent Tavern, discernible by a sign containing a crude depiction of its namesake, stands as the most solid building in the whole neighbourhood. It’s still a two-story wooden jumble, however.

As the party enters the barely habitable establishment, Errick, in the lead, peers through the sooty dimness spotting his man fairly quickly. Marching his direction, he is almost to the table when Arnold lifts his bleary head, his eyes unfocussed, he utters a nonsensical muttering before his head drops again, his fingers tightly clutched around the handle of a Toby-jar, the contents mere drops clinging to the bottom.

“Soldier!” Errick barks at the slovenly male.

Arnold leaps to his feet, his chair tipping backward and landing on the dirt floor with a thud. “cursh in the shervice of the greedy Nacklesh!” He pulls a long sword awkwardly from his belt, waving it wildly as it flies from his hand and drops a distance away. “Yoush sink yor sho graysh... he’ll showsh you, all you hoity-toity shnomes...” He falls across the table. Errick lifts his head by the hair, Arnold barely notices, muttering, “Eshplode; all exshplode.” He laughs maniacally.

“Explode? What do you know of this?”

Arnold fixes his one open eye on Errick, “Gnomes, bah! Learn yoursh lesshon shewonight.” He belches loudly, jerking his head back and stumbling into a few other drunks. One of whom turns to the party, “Piss off,” he rumbles, tossing his empty mug at the party, missing, before launching himself unsteadily at Wik.

A wonderful melee ensues as the party fully over compensates to their drunken antics, especially as the other twelve or fifteen patrons in the bar takes no notice as the five stumble about, flailing their arms ineffectually. As they are knocked unconscious, one at a time, Arnold holds his hands up in surrender, and falls back into a chair his eyes rolling and his head lolling a sudden panic overwhelming him. “Hurshy, on hish shway...”

Errick searches the man and pulls a map from his cloak. Spreading it on the table, the party can see, in the dim greasy light, several ‘x’s’ placed about. “It’s a map of GlitterTop!” Errick gasps.

The party concludes the X’s are where the devices have been placed. Is this where the explosions will take place? At Arnold’s giggle, he continues, “My gawds man! That the Tenements! A lot of families live there! We’ll need to split up it’ll take too long otherwise.” Errick concludes. "We still don’t know what we're are looking for."

Errick quickly explains the map to the party, pointing the various places and ease to get there; GlitterTop is not a large town. Memorising the map, our party nods and hurries toward the door. Before they exit Arnold rises halfway up from his seat, “Fower; barrelsh of dry flours; dry! Dry! Dry floursh; barrelsh of dries flour in place. Another rounsh!” He swings his arm widely, falling off the seat.

Carefully retracing their steps they come to the bridge, the party decides to split up, each taking a separate ‘X’ on the map, joining the others as they or when they diffuse the explosion or fail to deactivate or diffuse the trigger. As they query people on the bridge a loud explosion rocks the waterfront and off to the south a fiery ball lights up the sky and the air is thick with the faint screams of the injured or dying.

Ooma elects to search the bridge. “I’ll catch up with you if I can’t find anything,” she tells Morgan.

Morgan elects to search the fireworks factory and sets off at a quick pace to locate the nearly city-long building across from the marina, while Martonis sighs and runs, clinking and clanking to the forge, several minutes away.

Amaril and Wik choose to search the Tenements and get some help from a few tenants rushing to the dockside fire who report seeing someone moving stuff in, or out, of the basement in building seven, and either building four, five or six. Searching they discover the barrels of flour and thinking quickly, using the nearby sinks, they pour water in the barrels, soaking the flour before digging their hands in the sludgy mess.

They discover a large bug, about two-feet in length in the centre of the flour. Wik discovers the bug is dead; a knife has sliced its stomach right up the middle. He also sees a small glass tube inside, filled with an orangeish liquid. He shakes the bug and notices a small ‘poof’ of smoke. Nothing else.

They decide to find Morgan first, as they have diffused their barrels.

In the meantime, a large stone forge burns with the red heat that boils to pure white at its centre. Several smaller forges burn, each with a burly apprentice swinging a hammer, watching metal shards take shape into useful items, currently horseshoes. The heat is as hot as the lava that pours down the side of the mountain on the island across the ocean. Six youthful apprentices and one respected master, a dwarf, who’s trained many blacksmiths in their art work in the forge and live in the attached small wooden structure with a deep root-cellar. The barrel has been placed in the root cellar near the main post. Martonis reaches the forge district and runs toward the door, “Run, get out now.” He moves to explain to a sturdy dwarf who astutely grasps the situation when Martonis mentions the first two, and is aided by the rumble of a third.

The two search the root cellar and quickly locate the barrel. The timer has not been set, but they know not this. As the forge master, Samuel Valdkjurdi, lifts the lid, Martonis instantly casts a ‘water’ spell, and a deluge of water pours from a cloud that appears above the barrel, much to the surprise of Samuel. Martonis also searches the barrel, after waiting a short time and finds the large beetle-like bug.

As they exit to the outdoors a loud, massive explosion ripples the ground and knocks them backward, felling Wik and Amaril. A white light shoots upward and many rockets, roman candles, sparklers and other unrestrained fireworks began shooting, their dangerous fires torching nearby thatch roofs and shanties. The call of “Fire!” goes out and uninjured townsfolk begin responding.

A boy comes running up to Martonis, ”Sir, they need you at the Inn, someone is there with a message.”

About the same time, Wik and Amaril are lifted to their feet, the blast ringing in their ears and are directed to the Inn. They stare at the gapping, fire-spewing hole that was the building Morgan was to inspect. “Maybe Ooma didn’t get here yet,” Amaril shouts to Wik, wiping a tear from his eye.

Grimly, Wik nods and they wobbly follow the page sent to get them.

Finding the Inn crowded with uninjured and seeing people going into and out of their rooms, our heroes dash for their rooms; all except Amaril – he tests Ooma’s door and finds he can open it. He steps through and finds himself inside Queen Lucy’s bed chamber and it is still night.

Queen Lucy, awakening and crawling out from under the bed confronts Amaril who, very gently and tenderly using simple words he explains to the child that Ooma and Morgan were killed as they fought bravely to save many others. He endures her anger and pain as she pounds his shoulders, her arms tightly gripping him, her tears falling in deep sadness, her sobs bringing tears to Amaril and Madame K’s eyes.

As Martonis and Wik enter their rooms, they check that their stuff is there. They go to the doors and find that when they open them now, they enter the castle hallways. Puzzled, they stand for a moment.

A piercing scream jangles the castle walls. Wik and Martonis glance at each other and dive for the stairwell, two or three at a time they descend the spiral, square staircase, barely pausing on the large landings, they hit the main floor and turn toward Queen Lucy’s room.

As they enter, they pull up short. Before them, alive and seemingly well, are Ooma and Morgan!

Queen Lucy, tears drying on her cheeks, “You lied! They aren’t dead!”

What the hell...?

o0o

XP: 1,500 EACH for allowing me to annoy the hell out of you; EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week…

o0o

Video Truth (the written one is so much better)

o0o

promising to never lead again...

fledgling floundering Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

~*~*~*~

Gendarmerie…

AWAKENING IN THE MORNING: 

Ooma:
I wake up very early to the smell of brewing coffee and cooking bacon... I smile as I stretch. I go to the water basin next to the mirror and check my face for stubble. I spot some, and a straight razor next to the basin. I give myself a quick shave, then a wash. Then I armour up, grab my gear and head down to the dining room for breakfast. I seem to be the first of our party here, so I'll grab a big table and order for the table some bread and cheese to start, and myself, a full breakfast, then I wait for my companions, sipping my, very strong, and smooth, coffee.
__________

Martonis:
Waking up, I feel thoroughly disgusted. Now I'm all for love and all, but whoever was put in the room next to mine just has no manners. Obviously the couple were, uhm, vigorous, and had plenty of energy to burn, but for the love of Pelor's Divine Radiance, MOVE the headboard of the bed away from the wall! All night long... bump... bump... whack... whack... "Ohhh baby!" ...and then again; and yet again! Oh well, might as well get up and pray.

"Oh, Divine... Pelor!” (Damned headache!) “By your radiance, let, uhm... Oh yeah, let the land be replenished, the unnatural be exposed to the Light for all to see. Let your ...ahem, Illumination awaken all to the Good that is about us. Let your Blessings, er... hmm, ahh... provide us with the skills needed to prosper, the intelligence to know that we never know all that is needed to be known, and the wisdom to realize the need continually seek for those answers. Oh blast, can't think, too tired, yadaa, yadaa. You know what's in my heart, oh Divine Radiance, please forgive this servant's poor attempt at your due!”

I then gather up my belongings and traipse sleepily down to the dining room. Spotting Ooma already at the table and I join her, requesting a cup of tea from the serving girl.
_________________

Morgan:
I will drop the pouch and broach in the wash basin and soak them both to get the itching powder off. I tear up the Turkish robe and make a sling and lash the broach to my side. I will place four silver bands and a garnet in the pouch and have it delivered to Lucy if I can. Then I go in search of the pleasant young woman to give her my thanks (and invite her to my room for a drink or two).

Unable to locate the girl from the opera, I am pleased to make the acquaintance of a pretty young lady with large green eyes and straight midnight-black hair on my way back to the hotel. She is affable to joining me in my room and we spend a happy evening enjoying each other’s company. Deniz, (her name) didn’t drink too much, but she was wise in the ways of pleasure, plus she did volunteer to take the package to Lucy. 

I wake just before dawn, finding Deniz, and the package, gone, so I set out to find a general store. I hope to purchase about ten identical belt pouches from the shop. I’d like to place few bands, charms, coins and cheap gems into each. I’ll likely get strange looks; I’ll tell them I’ve been burning the candle at both ends with the lady folk. I also need to look for replacement armour for my destroyed mithril chain shirt; preferably magic over mithril if possible. 
_________________

Wik:
I rise, perform my morning rituals gathers my belongings and head down for breakfast.
_________________


The large bed and breakfast, teeming with guests, awakes early, the crow of the rooster ensuring everyone knows the sun is rising. The proprietors bank the fires in the kitchens and dining hall, swiftly moving through a routine they have danced for several decades now.

The cook shakes her head as she fries thick rashers of bacon knowing the tantalizing odour will soon bring guests down, hungry. She sets the percolator on the flat top of the iron stove and slices thick chunks of fresh bread, (baked the afternoon before) as she punches down a new batch and sets it to proof, ready to be baked after the morning rush.

A few guests straggle in and she watches as the strange guest from last night, the queen’s acquaintances, makes his way down the oak staircase and, instead of turning to the dining room, he heads out into the street. She shakes her head, wondering whatever is he up to? Nothing is open so early. Shrugging she supposes he has a meeting, possibly with that lovely lady who joined him last night and left before the sun rose this morning. The owner thinks no more of it as she moves about the dining room, setting tables with cutlery and condiments.

Ooma takes a seat and orders The young girl who comes in to help with the breakfast fills her order and, when she is joined by Martonis and Wik a few minutes later, the serving girl cheerfully fills their orders.

Morgan, meanwhile, has found the streets fairly deserted, only a few ragged urchins, pulling tin wagons are around poking into trash bins and gathering up the bits of treasures left or tossed by the well-to-do. It appears this city stays up late, and sleeps in. After attempting the doors to the Bastille Armoury, he turns to retreat down the stairs, muttering about “lazy, good for nothing…” He is not so caught up in his mutterings that he fails to notice several large uniformed men approaching…

The scrabblers, nearing the opposite end of the block, mind their business, intent on their goals. Morgan astutely turns and retreats toward the urchins attempting to avoid contact with the uniformed men. He tosses a handful of coins to the ground in an endeavour to create a distraction allowing him to put more distance between him and them.

It works, slightly. As the men push passed the homeless, gruffly but without rancour, Morgan turns and peers at them. Deciding they maybe aren’t a threat, he pauses, waiting for them to catch up.

They do, and promptly arrest him. The gendarmerie try speaking with him, but the language is insurmountable and Morgan, after a small struggle, goes peacefully. The seven police officers march him through the street to the police station, a few streets along.

They enter the compound and are greeted with angry shouts and bitter comments. “Thief,” is the one word Morgan is able to understand as he is hauled up and into the marble floored, mahogany panelled station, through the public area into the property room where the guards take his visible equipment, handing it to another clerk who takes and places it in a small room behind him, locking the windowless door securely.

Morgan is then hauled through the other door into a long room with maybe twenty cells down either side, their doors opening into the common corridor. A few lights hang down the centre illuminating the depressing area. Small windows, with closely-set bars, positioned into the walls near the ten-foot ceiling allow gusts of fresh air (and, often rain or snow) to invade the area. There are three other prisoners lounging inside the cells and Morgan is thrust into an empty one. The conversation he attempts receives blank stares. He sits and thinks to while his time.

Back in the hotel dining room, our rogue, fighter and cleric are enjoying the tasty foods set before them, helping themselves from the a la carte as their plates empty; croissants, hot chocolate, a sideboard loaded with bacon, eggs – omelettes, scrambled, coddled, poached – toast, potato hash, sausage, ham, scalding bitter coffee and watered wine…

The owner cheerfully brings in the morning’s newspapers, placing one on every table. Before our party has time to peruse it, a commotion in the lobby has everyone rubber-necking to discover the source. Wik lifts the paper and his eyes grow wide as he reads an alert on the front page, he relays the information quickly to his friends. 

Moments later a squad of Gendarmerie enter the dining room, their eyes roaming over the guests. Wik, attempting to avoid their attention, scrambles under the table, dismayed when he realises the table cloth is only a few inches long and doesn’t hide him at all. The movement catches their attention and they make their way to the table hosting our heroes and an arrest is made. The language barrier causes much confusion; the proprietress shakes her head, “Bad. Thieves.”

Wik struggles briefly and is placed in irons.

The officers check their rooms, returning with an empty vase, confirming it does not belong to the hotel. The party is escorted to the station where more disgruntled patrons have arrived from the bath house and are shaking their fists, demanding justice.

The party is taken through, their belongings rucksacks and other possessions placed in the locked storage before they join Morgan, albeit in separate cells. Morgan has attempted speech with the three other prisoners without success, and is happy to have his friends join him, although, when they later transmit the reason they are being held, he is outraged.

As soon as the guards exit the cell-room, Wik begins to pick at the manacles using his thieves tools. “So glad they didn’t search me before they tossed me in here!” he sniggers to himself.

The rest of the party soon hear the metal clang on the hewn rock floor. “Now, how to get out of here.” He fiddles with his lock picks unsuccessfully at the iron grate. Frustrated until he remembers a gold skeleton-key he picked up deep in the caverns.

Fitting the key, previously hidden on his body, to the lock, he is pleased to find it opens!

“There are keys on the hook by the door,” Morgan points out. Wik goes to the hook and takes the large metal ring, returns to the cell doors and quickly releases the rest of the group, including the other prisoners. Martonis makes a point of thanking him.

A plan is quickly hatched and not one of the team feels remorse at using the three criminals, but assuage their guilt by reasoning that the three probably are guilty of their crimes. Morgan hands each two daggers, and by pantomiming is able to have the three understand, (or, at least understand their part) in the diabolical idea. He also reaches in his pouches and extracts several rings and gems that he found, stolen by the mice, and hands it to the criminals, whose eyes glitter as they laugh coarsely.

The party, plus three, cautiously moves into the storage room hatching their plan. They unlock the door to the outer room, shoving the three criminals through, hollering and causing a commotion as Morgan slams and Martonis locks the door behind them, effectively tossing the three to the wolves. Our heroes then enter the lockers and retrieve their belongings, or, at least the stuff they can readily spot, go back into the cell room and head for the emergency exit, although, why it’s called ‘sortie’ they cannot fathom.

Now, to keep the officers from simply entering and subduing them, Martonis puts the key in the lock, turns it then brings his morning star’s head heavily upon the key, snapping it, making it impossible for a key to be used from the other side.

The party expects the key in hand to open the door, but, two keys; one for the cells and one for the doors. They brainstorm quickly, Ooma suggesting they remove the hinges. This is tried successfully and Morgan catches the heavy door, leaning it to the side as they make their escape down a metal staircase and over to a high stone wall.

Morgan grabs his grappling hook and tosses it over the wall, the party scrambling up it, Martonis, using the Grace of Pelor, heaving Morgan over when he loses his grip on the rope and begins to struggle. They no sooner hit the ground when a battalion of officers round the corner at the end of the lane. They start to run, but slow when they realise Martonis cannot run he is exhausted.

Morgan, about to toss Martonis over his shoulder, thinks Wik’s idea of each taking Martonis by the arm and dragging him along is a better one. Martonis, understanding they may need to leave him behind, tosses a bag-load of marbles which, like a comedy routine, has the officers slipping, tripping and falling in their haste to recapture these hardened criminals!

Our heroes hasten their way along the lane, turning several times, losing the officers, and nearly colliding over a rabble group scrounging in the trash, similar to the urchins Morgan met earlier. Our group is almost passed them when Morgan gets a bright idea. He grabs one of the urchin’s trolley handles, puffs up, and stares the ragged waif down, effectively forcing him to release the trolley, where upon, Morgan unceremoniously lifts Martonis and drops his feet first into the trash barrel on wheels. The party is able to travel much quicker as they jog along the road moving through narrow lanes.

As they hustle along, they notice the roads widening; the yards growing larger, tidier. Forced into a narrow walkway between two high-walled gardens, Martonis spots, like a telescope, at the opposite end, what the party perceives to be the palace! “There, that way!”

Morgan, spying the hill, turns to Martonis and groans, “I’ll take you to the bottom, after that, you’re on your own.”

The palace guard smirk briefly as they spy Martonis, his armour-clad body clanging in the rubbish-cart. They point the way to the entrance politely, being quite oblivious that these people are wanted by the police.

Arriving at the entrance, the party observes little pomp and ceremony, asking to see Lucy.

“The Queen?” the neatly uniformed officer repeats, his practised eye inspecting this varied group. A smile creases his face, “Are you Ooma?” He turns at her nod. “And you must be Wik, and,” he glances to Morgan, “Morgan?” I must apologise, I do not know your friend?”

“This is Martonis, he wasn’t with us when we rescued Lucy.”

“Ahh, I see,” his accent strong. “Please, follow me, the queen is expecting you!”

After being led through a maze of hallways and rooms, they are led into the throne room. The guard, hardly reading their names before a loud squeal and a flying torso of limbs leaps from the enormous throne, and flies down the length of the room, and launches into Ooma’s arms.

“You’re here!” a small child’s voice sings gleefully!

The party reacquaints themselves to Lucy, Queen Lucy now, and Ooma introduces Martonis. Although schooled in courtly manners, she is still a child and she clings to Ooma, shyly peering around her to look at the metal man.

Martonis for his part, removes his helm and kneels, “My lady.”

Discussions ensue, although it seems strange to be chatting about such adult ideals with a young child, she is the one who can grant their freedom.

Looking to her they quickly tell their tale. Lucy speaks with her advisor, who nods and bows graciously, “It will be taken care of, your majesty.” His scowl is noticed only by the newcomer, Martonis, as he exits the grand room.

“Your highness, if I may. Your advisor is especially evil and should not be trusted.”

“Nonsense,” Lucy giggles. “He’s been here since my parents were killed.” She grows sombre, her voice quavering and a tear encroaching in her sparkling eyes. This nearly breaks Martonis’s heart as he holds his arms open for her. She presses closer to Ooma, a childish shyness creeping upon her.

“Who takes care of you?” they enquire and Martonis is appalled to discover the toad who is considered her advisor is the one who makes the decisions until Lucy comes of age. Martonis tries his best to tell her what he has been given a glimpse of, but it is just too much for her childish imagination to take in.

“Nana, my governess.”

“Can we meet her?”

A wide smile fills Lucy’s face, “Oh, yes!”

“What happened to Edith? Can we send for her? Can she come and look after you?”

“Yes. If she will. My advisor can arrange it.”

“Maybe we’ll stay until she arrives, would you like that? If we stay until Edith arrives?”

Typical of a little girl who has just been given a very coveted gift she squeals and jumps up and down. “Will you!? Yippee!!” She clings to Ooma’s arm and begins to drag her along the carpet. “Come, you must meet Madame, and she’ll arrange your rooms!”

The four adventurers follow the small waif through the splendid gallery and further; the magnificence of the palace inspiring new respect at every turn.

 The party follows blindly a six-year-old child...

o0o

XP: 1150 each; surprising, ‘eh? EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week…

o0o

(video version)

o0o

blindly following the child...
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...

~*~*~*~*~

Rations...

The illness that holds Ooma in its grip, has reached out and nabbed the group with many succumbing to its symptoms. Drowsiness being the unifying factor as each group is forced to build a fire with the materials at hand and hope they can remain vigilant to allow this disease to pass.

They wonder, “Was it possibly the rations?”

The sound of a whistle kettle after the liquid has cooled to wafting through the bellows; a hiss, seems to ricochet off the hard surfaced walls. Ooma, Morgan, Racelette, Adrie and Fequr fight to remain awake, failing miserably. Morgan, who has slurped down a fair bit of mead, has a little more protection than those who’ve not imbibed. However, his eyes are heavy.

Ichabod and Wik are faring the best of all as Icahbod produces vials of pink and blue liquid. She drinks the blue and hands the pink to Wik, who, suspiciously sniffs, then drinks the cherry-flavoured liquid. Minutes later he is asleep. “I’ll take first watch,” Ichabod yawns, facing the direction she can hear noises that evoke a vision of a waterfall rushing over a cliff.

Jhalo, Tessalia, Amaril and Benji are at the bottom of the slide when they are overcome suddenly. Their groans cause Benji to whine, as he snuggles close to Jhalo. The group huddles close, as the sleepiness overcomes them and they rest their weary eyes. They are oblivious to any noises, except the scratching of some moles digging...

The party has taken ill, we shall return next week...

o0o

did NOT eat the rations...

Fledgling DM,

khrys...

o0o

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