[DnD] Welcome to the Dungeon of Doom!

The skeletons hungrily fall upon the delicious liver. Without any digestive systems to speak of, the meat promptly falls back out of their rib cages into the water. The skeletons immediately fetch the liver out of the water and devour it again. This could go on indefinitely.

Poking and prodding the walls of the dragon's lair, Argumentus discovers the dragon's probable method of entrance: a huge boulder jammed in an opening in the west wall. Sunlight is faintly visible in the cracks between the boulder and the wall. It would have been trivial for the dragon to shove the rock aside, but the party lacks the force of muscle to push such a hulking obstacle around. There must be some other way to move it.

Goliath wolfs down his own dinner in a single gulp as he shrinks and recedes back into the tiny onyx figurine. Moments later, the statuette emits a single quiet belch.

Bob examines the hobgoblin staff, discovering nothing remarkable beyond an inscription in the wood:

This is a staff. You might think that there is something to it... But in fact it is just an ordinary staff.

Brigid finds nothing else of interest in her examination of the upper chambers.

FELIPE NO

Bob manhandles the hobgoblin mage's body one last time in search of answers. After an extremely thorough examination, he finds a tattered yellow note in a hidden pocket.

-----------------------------

Dear asshole,

If you're reading this, it's probably because you killed me and stole all my stuff.

Screw you, buddy.

All I have left is my wardrobe and my walking stick. Everything else has been given to that damnable dragon as "tribute". Should you wish to go fetch it from him, be my guest. Tell him I said

(the text is interrupted by a small but detailed sketch of a goblinish hand giving the two-fingered salute)

If you, like myself, are of a wizardly inclination, you may well desire the secret of my fantastic electrical powers and as a matter of professional respect I will reveal my secret. Unfortunately, this power is nothing I could teach you; it is simply a curse upon my genes. To put it shortly, Mom had a thing for storm giants. This power likely dies with me; I have no heirs. The hobgoblin ladies don't like it when I accidentally electrocute their vaginas.

Fuck you, die in a fire:

Vyzgar Thunderbones


-----------------------------

Bob's HP +15

Argumentus' HP +20

Brigid's HP +12

Gabriel's HP +18

-----------------------------

Remorseful about her incidental theft of Ulvig's identity, Brigid sees to properly setting the goblin to rest.

It's simple enough to identify Ulvig; one of the bodies is carrying filthy documents ordering the transfer of a "Corporal U. Crunchguts" to the dungeon from some outpost in the east. Ulvig had a history of insubordination, it appears. The orders are only two weeks old.

It's not easy to pull the ice-rimed body down from the ledge and carry it back to the bunks, but she perseveres. Ulvig was smallish even by goblin standards, so it stands to reason that the mattress with the smallest dent probably belonged to him.

With little specific knowledge of Ulvig's life or deeds, Brigid relies upon her command of the Goblin language and her understanding of their primitive rituals. It is a crude and awkward ceremony.

But as Brigid calls on Melora to forgive the wretched creature, the pain-wracked features of its frozen face seem to slacken. The goblin's death grip upon his sword loosens, and at last his limbs splay limply on the bed as if relieved of some great binding force.

Most goblins spend eternity alongside Bane, god of war. This one, perhaps, has gone to a better place. Melora smiles upon the halfling's efforts, and the holy symbol around Brigid's neck begins to hum with new and remarkable power.

RP reward: Brigid's holy symbol increased to +1

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Try as he might, Gabriel is quite unable to dislodge the dragon's teeth from its jaw.

Gabriel and Argumentus then retrace their steps in search of the runaway hobgoblin. Eventually they track him to the sacrifice room, where he cowers behind a hastily-erected barricade comprised of the broken masonry that originally hid the room from view.

Argumentus, single-minded to a fault, responds to the barricade as can be expected: plowing directly into it at a full sprint. The barricade crumbles immediately, and Argumentus' momentum shoves the hobgoblin into the pit. There is a few seconds of screaming followed by a splash.

The warriors look at each other and shrug before advancing to the pit and looking down. The hobgoblin is thrashing around in the muck, several of its limbs obviously broken. Desperate for aid, he shouts out to no-one in particular.

"AAAAAGH. SOMEONE, HELP ME. I'M STILL ALIVE, ONLY I'M VERY BADLY HURT."

The fighters turn their backs on the scene, attempting to ignore a shameful and unmanly display of weakness.

"SOMEONE, PLEASE, CALL A CLERIC. I'M IN QUITE A LOT OF PAIN."

The swishing sound of a robed figure descending the stairs to the dragon's lair echoes clearly up the pit.

"Oh! Good. I'm glad you found me. Listen, I'm very badly hurt, so if you could just—"

They hear the unmistakable twang of a bowstring.

"YOU — YOU SHOT ME! YOU SHOT ME RIGHT IN THE ARM! WHY DID YOU —"

twang

Jam it back in, in the dark.

The party trudges back up the stairs with the chalice, hoping to eke some reward out of the kobold clan. The kobolds are somewhat surprised to see them again.

"Holy mother of fuck, you're still alive!" blurts the door guard. "That never happened before!"

"At last!" shouts the clan leader. "The power of the Maguffin's Rare Candy is mine! Surrender the Rare Candy, and I will tell you all about the, uh, secret escape hatch."

He holds out his hands to Motsognir expectantly.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Intimidate: success

The kobold chieftain takes a step back. "Well, the uh... ahem. There is no door. Look, to be honest with you, there is no escape tunnel. Yet. But we're going to make one! But we need the candy in order to do that. Maybe one of my assistants can explain it better; I admit my knowledge of the candy's function is somewhat limited, as we had no expectation of ever actually retrieving it."

He confers with his advisers for a moment, and returns. He looks somewhat shaken.

"After a... a conference with my advisers I've decided that it would be best after all if you took the candy. It would definitely be better for you to use it, I think. Better you than us. Best of luck with the whole thing!"

He thrusts a battered scroll into Gabriel's hands, and at once all the kobolds immediately retreat back into their individual rooms.

The scroll reads:

----

Bibor Fezweg's Good-Time Old-Fashioned Sugar Bombs

NEW! From the gnomish labs at Fezweg's, a new and explosive taste sensation. You'll lose your head over the blast of flavor in every bite of Fezweg's Sugar Bombs!

(WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO EAT SUGAR BOMBS. DELIBERATE MISUSE OF SUGAR BOMBS IS A FELONY PUNISHABLE BY HANGING.)

Loaded with flavor (and blasting powder), Fezweg's Sugar Bombs are sure to be a treat for the noisome ogre or troll in your life. Chemically formulated to react explosively with acids of any kind, Sugar Bombs will give these lucky fellows a tummy-rumbling good time they won't soon forget!

(SUGAR BOMBS ARE NOT A TOY. DO NOT INHALE. WASH HANDS AFTER USE. IF ACCIDENTALLY INGESTED, PRAY TO WHATEVER GODS YOU MAY BELIEVE IN. PROXIMITY TO SUGAR BOMBS MAY HAVE DELETERIOUS EFFECTS UPON THE DEVELOPMENT OF UNBORN CHILDREN. KEEP IN A COOL, DRY PLACE.)

DIRECTIONS:

1. Locate hazardous animal

2. Insert Sugar Bombs into hazardous animal's stomach. Sugar Bombs not guaranteed effective against beasts whose digestions do not require acid.

3. Stand well back; Sugar Bombs will begin exploding immediately upon contact with acid. Protective shielding is encouraged. Send proof of purchase from 15 packages of sugar bombs for an official Fezweg-brand eye-protecting steel visor. Visor not proven to provide protection of any kind.

4. Enjoy the fireworks!

Be sure to try the entire line of Fezweg's products, including NEW! Sour Agonizers.


This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

"That's easy for you to say now, but what if it doesn't work right?! You'd have all stormed up here half-dead and covered in burns and blamed it all on poor little us. No, we figured we'd just do it ourselves and save you the trouble, but your friend the lumberjack was very insistent. Don't come crying to us when you all die in an explosion!"

The kobold chief turns his back on the party, crossing his arms.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

"I don't know! Who cares? I'm not answering any more of your questions, you big jerks! Leave me alone!"

He sniffles. An adviser lays a hand on his shoulder, and he slaps it away. Clearly, the party has hurt the kobold chieftain's delicate feelings.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Okay you successfully grapple the kobold

He seems alarmed but resigned to his humiliation

now what

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Kobold successfully humiliated

Kobold begins weeping great heaving blubbery sobs

Kobold's nose starts running uncontrollably

Kobold needs a handkerchief

FELIPE NO

Argumentus attempts to engage in dialogue with the caged lizardman. The creature seems very pleased to have a visitor, and begins rapidly scrawling simple drawings in the dirt floor of his enclosure. Argumentus can't quite understand what the reptile is trying to say, but he's able to comprehend most of the pictograms.

Lizard Break Window

Tiny Man Yelling

Smile Eye Tall Man

Cage Break Run Around

Belly Hurt Give Candy Present

How ya doing, buddy?

The lizardman stares at Argumentus. He points at the lock on his cage, then pantomimes breaking something. Try as it might, the lizard cannot reach the lock from within the cage.

After a moment of long concentration, the lizard forces a single word through its crude jaws.

"Duhhhhhh."

Most amazing jew boots

Motsognir sacrifices his canteen for the greater good, blasting the rock to smithereens. He and his brother dwarf wander out through the cave entrance onto a broad hillside, squinting in the sunlight. The coastal metropolis of Freeport sprawls across the valley below. The salty sea air is bracing after so many days underground.


Quest Complete! 1000 XP awarded (200 XP apiece). LEVEL UP!


They wait for the rest of the party to finish dicking around. It could take a while.

Argumentus smashes the lock on the hulking lizardman's cage. The beefy creature charges out, seizing the candy out of Argumentus' hands and charging into the Chieftain's private chambers. Gulping the candy down, he sweeps the kobold leader into a friendly embrace. The kobold retainers hurry to free him.

...

After the dust has settled, there's not much left of the kobolds other than teeth, hair, and a fresh coat of paint. Well, Argumentus' intentions were noble, anyway.

How ya doing, buddy?

The kobolds, sadly, had very few material possessions left after many years of pushy adventurers barging through their village and demanding things. Whatever goods the chieftain may have kept for himself have vaporized into a fine mist.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

AND THEN SUDDENLY THE CRUMBLING DUNGEON BEGAN TO FALL APART AND ROCKS WERE FALLING AND IT WAS DANGEROUS AND ARGUMENTUS HAD TO RUN OUT OF THERE REAL FAST BACK TO HIS PARTY AND THEN HE WAS OUTSIDE AND IT WAS SAFE AND HE SAID

"I'LL GET YOU BACK, EVIL DUNGEON"

AT THE TOP OF LUNGS!!

So reassembled, the party meanders downhill toward Freeport. A winding dirt road leads through a packed assembly of ramshackle homes into a broad market square full of soaring chapels and ancient shrines. Spotting the baffled expressions of every newcomer to the city, a wiry little gnome runs up to the party — rubbing his hands together gleefully.

"Welcome, friends, to Freeport! City of Adventure, they call it. I don't know why. I've lived here 20 years and I've not had a single adventure. Not one. Perhaps an escapade or two, but no adventures. You look like you've had some adventures, though, I can tell. You're all covered in blood and filth. You can always spot an adventurer by the filth, that's what I always say. But enough about me! What brings you to Freeport? Looking to shop, perhaps? Seeking anything particular? I'd be glad to help you lighten your coinpurses, sure I would. Or maybe you're seeking a soft bed, or a meal, or looking for work? Freeport's a big town, it'd be risky to go wandering around by yourself without a guide. I won't stop you, of course, but I won't be held responsible for anything that might happen to you! No sir. I won't, I won't, I won't. Oh, this! This is the Temple District. You probably figured that, on account of all the temples. But it never hurts to explain the obvious, am I right? Particularly when dealing with adventurers. Not the brightest sorts, those folks. Not you, though! I can see that all of you are very savvy customers."

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

The gnome gives Bob a long, sour look, but decides he'd rather have the elf's money than his respect.

"Well now, Freeport's just about plumb full of bad men if that's what you're after. Narrowing down one in particular would take quite some time, don't you think? Now, hats... well, your average Freeporter's got no use for a hat. It'll be swiped off your fool head if the wind doesn't take it. Edgar's on the East Side might have something. Place is chock full of snooty-arse clothes."

He turns to Gabriel.

"Kord's house is just down that alley there (he points to the west). Hang a left at Vinely's Ecumenical — you'll know it by the stuffed owlbear — and stop when you run into the half-ogre. That'll be Brother Giorgi, and I do heartily recommend you give him whatever offering he thinks Kord is demanding today."

He turns to Brigid.

"Melora, well now. The Sea Queen's house isn't hard to find in any port town, is it?" He points at a domed building only a few dozen yards to the south, surrounded by a moat of saltwater.

"Now, when you're all done playin' dress up and talkin' to invisible people, you can find a decent meal and a clean bed at the Diving Fin — that'll be down at the docks. Mind, it's not cheap, but at least you know they're not puttin' sea devils in the crab cake."

The gnome holds out his palm expectantly.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Motsognir pulls the little gnome aside, engaging in a bit of... persuasive dialogue. After a few moments of this, the gnome hurriedly slaps a folded parchment into the warlord's hands and flees for his life. It's a map of the city

, although so battered and weatherbeaten as to be nearly useless.

Argumentus wanders the city, intent on beating the crap out of the first cow he finds. He leans over a high fence to stove in the head of a passing bull, but the bull's head unfortunately turns out to be attached to a furious minotaur. The minotaur demands that Argumentus face him in the arena for this insult, threatening to call the guards otherwise.

With the assistance of the map, it's slightly easier for Gabriel to locate Kord's temple (such as it is). The shrine is an open-air structure; a simple stone slab on four pillars rises above a reflecting pool. A hulking half-ogrish cleric greets Gabriel with open arms. "Welcome, brother!" he shouts, delivering a hearty slap on the back and sending the blood-drenched dwarf sprawling face-first into the pool. With the waters properly sanctified with the blood of the guilty, Gabriel meanders on his way (sputtering and coughing up little minnows).

The tools of Gabriel's particularly violent trade are hard to find in the Temple District, and he wanders the city for many hours in his search. At last (after sticking his head curiously into the storefronts of many alchemists, booksellers, and greengrocers) he finds a likely candidate in the run-down slums of the Scurvytown Quarter. The shingle outside reads "Otto's Blades & Baldrics", and sure enough plenty of both (along with a great variety of helms, shields, bludgeons, cudgels, spears, and various sharp and steely things of all kinds) are packed into the cramped little building. The vast majority of them hang on a wall behind a filthy old counter — and, consequently, behind a filthy old shopkeep. The 7-foot dragonborn glares down at Gabriel, brushes off his leather apron, and spits.

"Oh-ho, a tourist. The hell do you want, little man?"

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

The proprietor stares at Motsognir tiredly.

"What do we have? Well, we've got clubs, daggers, javelins, maces, sickles, and spears. We've got greatclubs, morningstars, quarterstaves, and scythes. We've got battleaxes, flails, handaxes, longswords, scimitars, short swords, throwing hammers, warhammers and war picks, heavy war picks, light war picks. Bastard swords. Katars. Rapiers. We've got this spiked chain, here. Longbows, shortbows, greatbows, crossbows, hand crossbows, repeating crossbows, superior crossbows, slings and shuriken. Plenty of ammo, too. Got a brand new khopesh in just yesterday. Broadswords, war axes, and a kukri or two. Leather armor, hide armor, chain armor, scale armor and plate. Light shields, heavy shields, gauntlets, bracers and helms."

He takes a deep breath and leans over the counter conspiratorially.

"Got some magical crap too, but we keep that in the back for obvious reasons. That stuff comes and goes, but here's what we got right now."

He slides a battered ledger across the counter, open to a list of his current inventory.



FELIPE NO

Agreeing to single combat with a cow-man nearly twice his size, Argumentus follows the Minotaur to the city arena. A brief discussion with a guard (and a small bribe) gains them access, and the referee lays down the rules.

"We don't fight to the death here. Somebody hits the dirt, the fight's over. Since this one's off the books, there's no pot to split so I'm going to grant the winner the right to one piece of the loser's gear. Alright, each of you back up ten paces... aaaaand fight!"

The ref then retreats to the relative safety of the stands.

The minotaur takes the initiative, charging with his head down and sending Argumentus sprawling into the dusty ground. The fight is over before it even begins. Smirking, the minotaur plucks the crown from the fighter's head and plods out of the arena.

---------

Bob + Longbow - 30G

Gabe + Platemail - 50G - Dwarven Chain

Brigid + Mace + Dwarven Chain + Hand Crossbow + Bolts - Chainmail - 24G

Having completed their business at Otto's, the troupe went in search of additional purchase opportunities, locating a wizard's emporium, an alchemist's and clerical shop, and a general store/pawnshop.





What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Bob picks up a random ritual book, less concerned with its magic contents than with the pretty pretty fire pictured on the cover. Overjoyed to be rid of the nearly-useless ritual book at last, the shopkeep bundles in the necessary components for the ritual at no additional charge. Trading in his valuable magic wand, the elf then uses the rest of his funds to purchase a jaunty hat and promptly retires to a nearby inn for the evening. Life is good.

Motsognir seems disinclined to catch Insane Shopping Fever, buying a bunch of practical goods like a boring ol' fuddy-duddy. The Gods Of Incredible Savings look upon him, and are displeased.

Argumentus (one savage beating wiser and one crown poorer) wanders at last to the shops. Otto gladly accepts the trade-in of the mace and light shield for a heavier one. but flatly denies having any more plate armor in stock. Argumentus points out a brand-new set of plate hanging on a stand, but Otto insists that this is only a display model.

Brigid buys a bunch of empty flasks. The narrator finds this too baffling to comment upon. Having completed this mysterious purchase, she goes at last to commune with Melora at her temple. While her offering of moonshine does not appear to be rewarded by any immediate blessing, it certainly appears to earn the gratitude of Mother Lorelei, the temple's high priestess. After a cup or three in Melora's name, Brigid talks her way into a significant discount for her possible future reliance on the temple's clerical services.

Gabriel snags an inedible biscuit and has a surreal conversation with an innkeep that reminds him of a sign he saw only the day before. What a strange coincidence.

The group retires to the inn for a day or two of rest. Bob takes the opportunity to study his new book and copy the ritual therein into his spellbook. The Star's Force Copy Protection Enchantment kicks into effect immediately thereafter, and the manual crumbles to dust. At least the ritual itself was preserved.

After some downtime the group's purses are not getting any heavier and they are no closer to their vengeance. Without adequate funding and supplies they have no hope of success in confronting the Duke who tossed them into the pit; they'd just be imprisoned again, probably someplace even worse. Having been declared legally dead, they no longer even have homes to return to. Until the time for revenge is nigh, a mercenary life seems to be their only option.

Conveniently, the inn faces onto a broad market square and the neighborhood notice board is only a few broad strides away from the inn's swinging doors. Quite a few notices have been posted seeking assistance compatible with the group's... violent predilections. They debate amongst themselves which opportunity to pursue:







Jam it back in, in the dark.

Originally Posted by Shin

(And yet still having not a clue what it actually did)

Bob was not sure of the ritual's function, but context implied that, surely, it would cause a fire to erupt somewhere. Perhaps a magical fire of some kind, which is difficult to extinguish.

If only there were some body of data which Bob could consult regarding his own capabilities. Oh! What folly this notion is.

There's nowhere I can't reach.