The never ending story of ...

[BoldItalic]

Snappy's offer (I still think of him as Snappy) came as a surprise and my first reaction was to reject it. But as the days went by, it grew on me and I could not set it aside. He offered, not what I would have wished for, but what I truly needed. And he was right. I could walk away with honour from the endless war and leave it in the capable hands of my successor, General Keenspear. After a week of hesitating, I told Snappy that I would accept. He grinned his oh-so-familiar grin and said "I knew you would." Then he faded from view and I felt a pang of parting. Perhaps I shall see him again, one last time, before the end. I hope so.

My new husband, the King, is a good elf and his people have welcomed me into their forests. The enchantments are strong but I fear they will not hold forever and my hope is that after my lifetime and the lifetimes of our children have passed into legend, a new hero will arise to fend off the foes who perennially threaten our lands. But that is for the future. I must end now, for there is a feast to organise and I must summon my personal wizard.

J

 

[rgoodbb]

Nam-Draz’il aka The Gecko, had played about with Wish before. I mean, who wouldn’t right? He’d cast many new spells not on his list. He particularly liked the cantrip Infestation to keep people away.

Setting up the long tables Nam-Draz’il cast a mixture of Create Food and Water, Goodberrys and Hero’s Feasts, all spiced up with the universally powerful cantrip: Prestidigitation. tiny and unseen servants placed alchemist jugs and never ending poorers.

The scaly Wizard had oft contemplated trying to bring back Queen Jelenneth’s friends from the outerinnermegaomnishadowsphere of intermultiubertime. She pined for her friends but time had moved on. Life had moved on. He sighed for her.

He would be a hero of epic proportions by now if not for a few things holding him back. Well holding him back was much too small a phrase. There were three complications that stopped him becoming a tremendous and noted Wizard…

Firstly there was the unusual case of the miniaturised….

 

[BoldItalic]

Firstly there was the unusual case of the miniaturised tarrasque that was his familiar. He still didn't know what he'd done wrong when he cast the spell to get it but in his experience all spells were like that. They often went wrong for no apparent reason. And he couldn't get rid of it. Every time he tried to dismiss it, it bounced back because for some reason it wouldn't fit in its own demi-plane. Maybe demi-planes for familiars aren't designed to hold tarrasques because you aren't supposed to have one. He didn't know. The books never tell you what to do when things go wrong.

The problem was that although the tarrasque was only ten inches long from snout to tail, it still weighed as much as a full-sized one and whenever it stood up, the pressure in tons per square inch under its tiny feet was enough to punch through solid rock. After much research, Nam-Draz’il had found a way to create a zero-gravity magic circle to keep it in but the wretched animal wouldn't stay put in the circle and anyway the circle wasn't portable.

You're supposed to be able to communcate telepathically with your familiar, aren't you? Well, he'd tried. Once. All he got from it was a mental hammer-blow of such blinding ferocity and rage that he'd sat trembling on his stool for a good ten minutes before reaching for his brandy bottle. Which was empty, of course. Because he'd forgotten to fill it up last night.

Last night had been no better. And that was another thing ...

 

[rgoodbb]

And that was another thing……Why did Tara (the Tarrasque) look at him in that way with her seemingly always intelligent eyes? He wondered…

…He was looking at her again. Squinting in such a way that asked are you more intelligent than you look? Well duh! Of course she was. Not only was she Tara ‘the’ Tarrasque, but she was also the forbidden lovechild of Penelope ‘the’ Kraken and Shillelagh ‘the’ Unpronounceable. Of the ‘the’ family. This wizard Nam-Draz’il certainly was a backward Lizard-man. To say how intelligent he was, he was also clueless. Every morning he would fill his brandy bottle, every night she would drink it dry and prey and pay homage to the entity known as Mollusc ‘the’ Devourer. Grand-daddy?

She should give up the brandy really. It made her aggressive and grouchy and go on the occasional rampage. There she would oft be met by 3-7 15th+ level PC’s who would kill (tickle) her to Death (Sleep) whereby the game would be down a set of high level adventurers and Tara would collect protection money from evil CR 20+ entities. This money would be spent on Brandy until it had dried up at which point Tara ‘the’ Tarrasque would steal again from Nam-Draz’il’s private Brandy stash.

It was a circular story. A loop within a loop. Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel. Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel etc. Everything had a beginning and an end, but by happenchance, occasionally, they were the same thing. There was a lot on Tara’s mind. The knowledge weighed heavy. And there was so very much knowledge. The load was so immense that it weighed the Tarrasque down with a deep, deep burden. So heavy was this burden that the world dented with her every foot-fall. She took silent and bided her time.

Jeli inspected the table for etiquette and piped up. “Three things you should know………..

“1….the smoked cheeses should be kept away from the oily fish…”
“2…All Dukes should sit next to an earl’s second daughter… and most importantly…”
“3…M

 

[BoldItalic]

“3…Mage Hands must wear white kid gloves when serving the soup.”

Nam-Draz’il sighed inwardly and made mental notes. He would never understand ettiquette. There seemed to be rules for everything and they were all based on precepts from a romantic past that never really existed. He suspected that it was all so that people who had learnt them could feel superior to people who hadn't. He only put up with it because he needed the job. Or rather he needed the privileges that came with the job. For instance, it gave him access to the royal library on Wednesdays which was worth any amount of jumping through hoops and even worth putting up with the condescending sneers of the librarian who treated any request with scorn. Fortunately Nam-Draz’il, like others of his kind, was blessed with a thick skin and the ability to ignore the unpleasant body-language of people he didn't much like.

He rehearsed the gust of wind that would set the banners hanging from the roof swinging in unison whenever the king finished a particularly dramatic sentence during his after-dinner speech and the audience politely applauded. Sycophants, the lot of them, he mumbled to himself. One day, he would ...

But not yet. He would bide his time and build up his magical powers. Only last week, he had mastered a new spell and made a dead tree trunk and a lump of iron ore out of one of the tables in his chamber. There was no knowing when the magic words Eta-Cir-BaF would prove useful. It came from a tome that he had found in a forgotten corner of the library when the librarian wasn't looking. There were some more spells in it too, but they were all written in a funny mirror writing by a mage called Icni Vadod Ranoel and he hadn't translated them all yet. He was working through one called llaberif that he guessed was something to do with Welsh mazes though why you needed charcoal to cast it was a bit puzzling. Or maybe it was Catalonian. It could be a Catalan word. But he would master it. He was Nam-Draz’il. He could master anything. Eventually. Sometimes.

His reverie was interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets, announcing the arrival of ...

 

[rgoodbb]

His reverie was interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets, announcing the arrival of ...

…ClaW. Dammit! His arch rival. ClaW was once a regular crustacean that had many times been written as both a lobster and a crab. Known in some parts of the world as Claude the boomerang rider, ClaW was an adventurer who early in his career had benefited from magic initiate feats and he also wielded a wicked boomerang. He was everything that Nam-Draz’il could wish to be: Successful, debonair, experienced with stories to tell, and…happy.

The sad Lizard-Man slumped and went about his catering business when he noticed something was off. Something was not right. Something was missing. It was the apple sauce. It had gone. Nam-Draz’il tried conjuring up some more but could not. He sidled over to ClaW and asked for apple sauce. ClaW was also amazed that he could not make any either. Next they tried apples, no. Pears, no. Fruit? No.

Jeli considered this a disaster of insane proportions. The King loved his Roast Boar with apple sauce. They must find some and bring it back at all costs. This was a mission. Thought Nam-Draz’il. A quest. A Hook. What must they do?

The scaly spellcaster felt a little more settled, more assured now that their small adventuring duo had, within it, a returning character. Could they get another? Someone who the writers knew? That and maybe one more PC to add variance and make a party.

They settled their destination. They would take the path through Spangle Wood surly they would add to their party there. ClaW hopped onto Nam-Draz’il’s shoulder. He should have been angry or sad or mad about that, but for the first time in his life, he realised he was happy. He began memorising the Efin-Keci spell just in case

They entered Spangle Wood near Dusk. Dusk was the only hamlet within miles of this place. They decided not to stop there. Encroaching the wood, high pitched noises like a finger round a glass rim, surrounded them, the air started to taste bitter like coins in the mouth, other senses distorted until stumbling dizzily forward, the pair almost blindly bumbled into…

 

[BoldItalic]

the pair almost blindly bumbled into… a band of goblins. Well, I say band, but that suggests that they were musicians and these goblins were about as musical as a box of ferrets on a Thursday night in winter, which is to say not very musical at all. However, they were happily playing improvised comb-and-paper instruments with great glee and that explained the high-pitched noises at least.

The leader of the goblins strode forward, looking confident in rather fetching leather armour and smoking a vile-smelling cheroot. "Oo 'ave we 'ere?," the goblin leader asked in a strange accent. "Ziz iz no place for ze unwary!"

Nam-Draz’il drew himself up to his full height, causing ClaW! to wobble precariously, and replied in what he hoped was a haughty tone "I am the court lizard wizard and I am in no mood to be pudding trifled with. We are on a mission to advert avert culinary disaster. There is no apple sauce."

The goblins's eyes drew back in astonishment. "No apple sauce? Quelle horreur! Ziz is serious! Moni ami, you 'av come to ze right place. We shall 'elp you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gucci and zees are my gobinz."

"Thank you, I am Nam-Draz’il and this is my associate, Claw!."

"Ze famous Claude de Beau Meringue? Zis is indeed an honeur," replied Gucci as the other goblins fell respectfully silent and put away their combs. "Zis is an encounter we 'ad 'ardly 'oped for. You are wandering monsters #98, no? A dragonborn mage with a crustacean familiar? Alors, ze DM is playing a great game today."

Nam-Draz’il and Claw! followed Gucci back to a dappled glade where the goblinz had made camp earlier in the day and after a hearty meal of rabbit en croute with a rather fine claret sauce, they talked far into the night, making plans for a great adventure.

Alas, the best-laid schemes gang aft agley and in the morning, as the sun rose quietly and fairies danced in the cool air between the trees, the peace was rudely shattered as with a thundrous roar, into the clearing charged a ...

 

[rgoodbb]

The peace was rudely shattered as with a thunderous roar, into the clearing charged a …tiny Terrasque.

“Tara. What did your……um….…Stealth?... mission come up with?" Nam-Draz’il asked.

“Not sure boss. Every time I got somewhere, everyone had run off. Who were you talking to just then? They sounded really weird.”

The Lizardman looked back and all of the Goblins had disappeared.

“It’s OK.” He began shouting, but then stopped himself, got into role, and continued with... “………Eet Iz ull Raaaaght. Eet iz unlee mah familiar. Taarrra.” The Lizardman tried to roll his R’s but was unsuccessful. It came out as more of a hiss really, his forked tongue swaying saliva everywhere. He quickly wiped his mouth, embarrassed.

The Goblin quadruplets, Toobids, Forbids, Sickkids, and Dont-holler, (I don’t know why. I didn’t name them!) all former owner-operators apparently, of an auction house (called The Redthistle), all popped their heads out from behind the trees. Gucci dropped down from a branch. “Urm. Ah think you maat av more use for zis than moi. It eez a bag of oal-ding. For your very noyzee pet danosoar.”

The Crab piped up. “Uhm thanks. By the way, I know you are adventurers of previous experience but what can you do? What classes are you all? I know there were originally 12 plus you Gucci, You were of course Gucci and Ze Goblinz, but how many of you are there now?

Gucci seemed to take a moment to ponder all those questions at once. This was difficult for a Goblin to do, but he sifted through the murky headaches that would surely make him sleepy.

1) Ooh are oui?
2) Wat do oui do?
?) Ow many of us eez there?

"Zese are fair Gazer Your Party questions." Ee should let zem know. But should ee tell the ole truth?

“Well eet eez lak zis….

 

[BoldItalic]

Well eet eez lak zis…. we are ze Goblinz de Haute Cuisine. We haz proficiency in Epicure. Tell zem, Toobids?

Toobids, fortunately, spoke perfect common without a trace of an accent, having trained for many years as a chef in a famous hotel in London. "We are very classy," he began. "For example, we can tell from the way sunlight falls on a bottle of wine what vintage it is and which side of the vine the grapes grew. And being goblins we can do it in the dark, which is useful if you are down in a wine cellar and the candle blows out. We can tell when a cheese is ripe simply by the 'bonggg' it makes when you tap it lightly with a fingernail. And being goblins, we have long sharp fingernails and can make especially subtle 'bongggs'. We can season a venison pie to a fraction of a grain of salt just by inhaling the aroma, and being goblins ..."

"Yes, I see," interrupted ClaW!, "So can you, for example, navigate unerringly towards the nearest supply of apple sauce?"

Toobids looked pained but his hotel training came to the fore. "Would monseur require the Keswick or the Blenheim apples? The September or the October crop?"

"Oh, the Blenheim," replied Claw confidently, having not the slightest idea what the difference might be, or even if it was a trick question. "From the eastern side of the orchard, naturally."

"An excellent choice, monsieur. The finest Blenheims are to be procured from Henri's market stall in Littleborough. Market day is next Tuesday and it is a score and ten leagues in that direction, so we should set out without delay."

"Alorz," remarked Gucci, "We makez ze 'ex-crawl, non?"

After dinner merged into an early breakfast, they all set off apace. As dawn broke, they were many miles away and, cresting a rise, they beheld ...

 

[rgoodbb]

As dawn broke, they were many miles away and, cresting a rise, they beheld ...

…..Dawn……broke.

Dawn was….New. She had died about a half summer back from Cockatrice Flu, (ouch) and had been recently reincarnated as something else. Now normally the reincarnation would have been a dragonborn, human, elf or dwarf etc. And well, that would have been fine, but no! The DM had decided to consult the d100 table from the new Puddles’ Prodigious Portfolio of Perfection and so, here she was. Albeit a little broken.

Dawn flicked back her straw hair, glistening in the morning dew. She tied it back into a ponytail and carried on with her work. Her leg was broken. Strangely, it was not painful. But it had been completely severed by a scythe. She had been attempting to do the farmers work for them but had had a tiny little accident.

New Dawn was livid with her new condition. The number that that damned Cleric had rolled on that reincarnation table had been: 07 – Scarecrow. She would have her revenge on that Cleric. New Dawn plotted fumed and plotted and scowled until something, no someone, came along and offered her raw power to help her reap her revenge. Without a thought, the Scarecrow took that power. She also gained a pact scythe.

Someone in the distance shouted “Hey!”

She grimaced, sneered and shook her straw head at the bad joke. Hey! And looked up from her broken leg lying on the floor.

“Can I help you?” New Dawn growled in a manner that did not sound very helpful at all. In fact quite the opposite. She looked at this very strange band of what could only be described as adventurers?

“Uhm maybe we can help you with that,” the..Crobster? pointed his pincer at her leg. “..and then you can maybe help us? What do you say?”……

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

Nam-Draz’il - Wizard
Tara – Nam-Draz’il’s Tiny Terrasque Familiar
ClaW! – Crustacean armed with Magic Initiate feats and a Legendary Boomerang
Guuci and ze Goblinz – …….some goblins?
New Dawn – Scarecrow Scythe-Pact Warlock