Thanks for that Richard, think I've got it sorted now.
Turn 3.4
“Aleso vs. the mighty, eight-armed, fire-breathing, Goblin-Demons.”
The party is back together, crowded around Aleso, who has a story to tell…
“And then what happened?”
Grand Alf is hooked.
“Well how was I to know that that thing…” Aleso spits-points at the wreck of Rattler, which is being mooned over by Meepo, “weren’t going to fight until I got hurt.”
The paladin bores holes in the back of Meepo’s head.
“So the Goblin’s are on us, actually me, two of ‘em, each about six feet tall, bulging with muscles- I’d dodged through their fire attacks, lost my eyebrows, oh and ‘tache- no biggie, and they’re slicing at me. Fortunately I’m made of sterner stuff, feel that…”
Aleso proffers a bicep to Grand Alf to feel, gingerly he does so.
“I eat a lot of cabbage.” Aleso proudly claims, and winks at the bemused sorcerer.
Dartamor meanwhile stares at the remains of the four Goblins, they are not six feet tall, nor fire-breathing- as far as he can tell… they look a fair match for Aleso- none of them are particularly bulging with muscles.
Saradomin tends to a nasty cut across the paladins chest, he takes in the salient points of Aleso’s story.
“So I ran the first one through, stabbed my scimitar clean through the little blighter, Pelor was at my side- although I did most of the work you understand.”
“Then?” Grand Alf is easily pleased.
“Aaaarrgghhh, I growled. I’m not usually one for growling but it seemed appropriate, I think I said some stuff about Pelor, y’know, PELOR MIGHTY something. PELOR WILL NOT SUFFER whatever, that kinda thing.”
“What happened?”
“Little bugger damned near sliced me open.”
He shows his fading scar, Saradomin’s magic is doing its work.
“And?”
“Well that’s when Rattler starts up; alas all he did was get in the way. The other two Goblins were over the wall by now and on him in seconds, smashed to pieces- no stamina, no backbone- least not anymore.”
EEEERRRRRRRRRp
The record skips.
DM’s interlude, Aleso is telling the truth, mostly, so far, but the death of Rattler went a little like this-
Aleso leaps back, too late, and is sliced by the Goblin’s spear; Rattler animates lurches to attack the Goblin as the other two creatures are over the wall and onto the skeleton. The first stabs but Rattler slithers sideways, it misses. The second new arrival stabs, slither, he’s out of the way again. Rattler’s claw stretches out and down and slices into the face of the Goblin attacking Aleso.
The paladin grins, lances his scimitar into the air, and screams.
“PELOR MIGHTY something. PELOR WILL NOT SUFFER whatever.”
He brings his scimitar round in a furious arc, passing clear over the Goblin’s head by three feet or more, but… connects with Rattlers skull, which shatters. The skeleton folds and is no more.
DM’s interlude ends here- back to reality.
“So I slice down, one of them loses an arm, skitters onto the floor- I said HA HA, I said, HA HA, I said- you’ll like this- I said, I’VE DISARMED YOU, NOW SURRENDER.”
Grand Alf nods, no- he doesn’t get the joke, yes- he is still listening.
“Then?”
Aleso leaps to his feet, knocking Saradomin over in the effort, unleashes his scimitar- slices at the air in front of him, left and right.
“Then I stab at the next fiend, I swear to you here and now, I saw the signs of vestigial horns- Demonic, mark my words.”
Aleso nods knowingly, Grand Alf’s mouth a perfect “O”.
“And in the same motion mind, I cleaved… cleft… cleavered, that’s it cleavered the last beast. Which had eight-arms, did I mention that?”
Dartamor looks again at the four Goblin corpses; one of them was armed with what looks to be a ladle, he shrugs- not his problem.
Grand Alf bursts into applause, claps the paladin on the back, back to applauding, back to patting.
Aleso holds up his hands, “it was nothing- Pelor guides my sword, although, as I say, he couldn’t have done it without me.”
Meepo grimaces and gets on with making himself a new necklace of ears- that’s how fashions start.
The party play catch-up, Grand Alf tells the tale of the Queen Rat.
“It was massive, easy as big as this room, as long that is, and tall… as big as a… Oliphant- bigger.”
Grand Alf goes all misty eyed.
“And that was… <SNIFF> that was when… <SNIFFLE> that was when… “
He breaks down and sobs.
Saradomin tentatively snakes an arm round the Sorcerer’s shoulders, squeezes, whispers at the bemused others.
“Bonesy died.”
Saradomin shrugs as Grand Alf bawls and drips snot.
And the finding of the missing party member.
“Poor Krackers… still we took his ring- should be a reward in it from that Nacker character.”
“Nackle, Corky Nackle.” Saradomin corrects him, but leaves a lot more unsaid.
Dartamor tells tails of the Kobold Queen, and shows Grand Alf, then Saradomin, the scroll, the latter identifies it and tucks it away for later use.
“And that’s all she gave you?”
Saradomin enquires.
“Yep. And she told me we’d better return with Cornflakes- or else the Gnome gets it.”
“Bloody heathen creature. I’ve a good mind to go back there… Why didn’t you protest” Aleso is infuriated.
“Cos there was twenty of them- didn’t like the odds.” Dartamor replies.
They look around, ready themselves for the journey, but before the off.
“My turn, hand it over.” Aleso, hand out, to Dartamor.
“Wha?”
“Fire Potion- my turn next.”
Reluctantly Dartamor hands over the flask, the paladin tucks it away for safe keeping, and they’re off.
First off they investigate the guardroom the last four Goblins vacated, it’s a mess- nothing doing, there’s a corridor to a door but for now they give it a miss. Head back into the crenulated wall chamber and through another door and into a store room with crates to the ceiling- some of them have writing on.
“Elf Pudding?”
Dartamor translates.
“Pudding, for Elves.” He decides.
Gleefully he jemmies open a crate and inside discovers hundreds of small black disks of… crumbly stuff with what look to be cubes of fat in. He goes to take a bite.
“Noooooooo.” Saradomin screams.
“What?”
“Elf Pudding. Like Black Pudding- congealed cakes of… blood.”
Dartamor drops the thing, turns and heaves. The others look elsewhere, anywhere but at Dartamor. Thirty seconds later he’s back, and fizzing.
“Right that’s it- we get the dragon, take it back to the Kobolds, then we come back here and kill the lot of them.”
“Agreed.” Grand Alf likes the sound of that.
“All of them.”
Grand Alf nods.
Aleso and Saradomin stay out of it.
Dartamor uses all his guile and thieves craft to kick the next door open. It leads into a long smoky hall, torches burn at odd intervals, a set of columns heads off into the distance; it’s a mirror of the Kobold Queen’s home. Once again dragon carved pillars, ancient, filthy- the Goblin’s home perhaps.
There are two doors to the right, the group heads over, except a sulking Meepo who fills his pockets with Elf Pudding.
The first door has a puddle of water before it- it’s coming from the other side.
“Strange?”
Dartamor sets to work, it’s locked, a minute later, it’s not. The door swings open into a winter wonderland. The chamber beyond, about twenty five feet to the other side, it’s a mess, overturned tables and chairs, the walls hung with a variety of hunting trophies, heads on plaques sprout from the walls. Odd though- there are three or four Kobolds, a Dire Rat or two, and a… Cow, they’re all badly damaged. Everything is covered in a glistening coat of ice.
“Brrrrr. Freezing.” Aleso comments. He goes to step in.
“Wait.” Saradomin restrains him, “ask Meepo what sort of dragon Cornflakes is.”
Dartamor turns back to Meepo, who’s caught up at last- pushing to try and see what’s going on.
“What sort o’ Dragon is Cornflakes?”
“A white one.”
Dartamor turns back to Saradomin, “he says, a white one.”
“Bugger. Watch yourselves, White Dragons breath ice.” Saradomin finishes the conversation.
SQWak
A sound like an upside-down duck.
“A Drake?” Aleso goes to step in, and is stopped again by Saradomin- he points.
Fifteen feet in, balanced on the back of a chair is Cornflakes- a ten inch tall White Dragon.
SQWak
“Careful does it.” Saradomin states, no use. Meepo barges through a sea of legs and rushes into the room, arms outstretched before him.
“CORNFLAAAAAAYYYYKSSSS.”
He slips, lands face first, CLUNK, and is out cold in an instant.
His impetus carries him sliding on- everybody, including Cornflakes, watches his progress. He thumps into the chair, Cornflakes wavers; the chair falls, the dragon half-plummet half-flies, lands, and then bites a chunk out of the hapless Kobold’s backside.
SQWak
Dinner, it seems, has arrived.
“Wait here.” Dartamor pushes off and slides into the room. The audience watches. He switches to Draconic the language of the Dragons, and the Kobolds.
“Calm down. Calm down.”
The dragon flutters its wings, stalks the fallen Kobold’s body, and squats at Meepo’s ankles.
“Come ‘ed.” Dartamor murmurs.
“Come ‘ed Cornflakes. We arl arse yous nah 'arm, we don’t wanna rag you- juss ter take yous back ter de laughin kobolds, ter Meepo. Whuz yous tinnie 'uv jelly and biscuits and… worever it is yous eat- rats, batties o' sound, mmmm, rats.”
Cornflakes thinks about it.
DMs interlude- Dartamor, as so often happens, rolls a “20”- diplomacy, bluff whatever it is he’s trying, he’s succeeding.
SQWak
The little dragon takes to the air, flaps once- badly, and crash lands on Dartamor’s head, struggles to stay upright for a moment, as Dartamor straightens up, and then gets settled.
SQWWWWWWak
A pea-sized snowball nestles in the half-elf’s hair.
Dartamor shuffles round, and skates back to the doorway, steps back into the smoke filled chamber; Cornflakes still nestled on his head.
“Shhhh don’t disturb him. Someone grab Meepo and let’s...”
A door bangs open ahead of them.
“So I ses tha’s not me wyffe, tha’s a bluddy cow…” They’re spotted. The two Goblins stop short.
“Kill them- kill them badly.” Dartamor makes it clear.
Saradomin, Grand Alf and Aleso leap into the fray.
BONK
SLICE
POKEY-POKEY
The Goblins are dead in seconds.
Meepo is soon recovered and the gaggle of loonies follows Dartamor, at a distance, who balances Cornflakes on his head all the way, back to Isdrayl.
Next time- Durnn, Goblin Chief, & Top Farter.