The never ending story of ...

[BoldItalic]

What do you say? ……

Dawn glared at ClaW and angrily accused him of being a disguised cleric and declared that the fact that he looked nothing like a cleric just went to prove it. Then she accused him of being a pervert who was trying to get a feel of her legs. Then she accused him of wasting her thyme. But Claw took this all in his strides (plural, because of him having so many legs) and quietly cast Mending on her severed straw leg.

This caused a furious outbreak of forum posting because some people argued that you can't do Mending on a creature and other people argued that a scarecrow is not a creature because straw isn't alive and it's just woven together so it's an object and can be mended and more people piled in to argue that yes you could and more people joined in to say no you couldn't and the first people were always wrong anyway look at last week, and they accused each other of using strawman arguments which other people snarkily said should be straw-woman because it was a female scarecrow and that set off a whole gender row and it got out of hand until someone stepped in and locked the thread.

Dawn tested her newly-attached ... piece ... by kicking Claw across the field and accusing him of divinity. Nam-Draz'il tut-tutted and said, in what he hoped was a reproving manner, "Now, young lady, you just go right over and pick up that lobster. Someone might come by and trip over it and hurt themselves." Then he dodged nimbly as Dawn's scythe swirled somewhere in the vicinity of where his neck had just been.

Meanwhile, Gucci gave a Gallic shrug and puffed on his cigar. "And put that light out!" shrieked Dawn inflammably.

"I zink ze ma'm'selle as ze issues, non?" Gucci remarked shrewdly. "Nozzing that a bon repaste will not cure. I will prepare a veal en croute avec garlic 'erbs in armagnac."

Dawn goggled at Gucci. He was talking about food? She was a scarecrow! She didn't eat! ... unless ... maybe ... she was hungry ... no, it couldn't be ... she wasn't ... maybe if it was a five star brandy ... but that would ... how did alcohol affect straw brains? ... am I going crazy? ... how would I know ... "I'll have it with the side salad," she heard herself saying.

A little later, when Dawn had risen from her meal and was feeling suitably mellow, they discussed the adventure. It was agreed that, after they had obtained a supply of apples in Littleborough, they would hunt down a few evil archpriests and then ...

 

[rgoodbb]

It was agreed that, after they had obtained a supply of apples in Littleborough, they would hunt down a few evil archpriests and then ...

…sacrifice them to New Dawn’s Patr…God. The rest of the party cocked their heads at this (which was an interesting thing for a crustacean to do but he managed it without a single complaint.) That seemed a little….off, but well, whatever. They had gained a powerful new party member and this wasn’t a deal breaker for them.

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

The grey bloated rat inched hesitantly through the dusky and gloamy murk of the morn. The haze that grimed the outer surface of everything it touched here, gave no pause to the rodent. It bathed the rat with a dusty wet charcoal hue which crystallised almost instantly upon the creature’s slick fur. It shivered, shook, took three more exploratory steps forward before its organs liquefied and then solidified and then shattered like dry, ice splinters upon impact. It had little time to comprehend its own demise. The dirty wet charcoal haze moved on, swirling and swaithing, sloshing and sweeping through the sleepy, silent market town of Littleborough…

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

“So you say cranky, I would suggest the word homicidal if not for the fact that you hold a giant bloody scythe in your arms and appear to have no qualms about using it on anybody at any time.”

“Cranky.” Dawn demanded. Gripping the haft tighter.

“Indeed. Of course. Cranky it is then. Luckily we have found a way to calm those…cranky impulses….Food. Who’d have thought? Oh hear we are; the beautiful and quaint market town of Littleborough.”

It did indeed look lovely and peaceful in the crisp morning air. The pink and purple azaleas and rhododendrons lining the main road in, the bright red bougainvillea’s climbing the sides of the white walled homes, a beautiful greeting for all to enter and be welcome.

“Shall we?” Asked Nam-Draz’il.

“Um. No. Wait.” Replied Tara, poking her monstrous head out of the bag of oal-ding

“Why?”

“I think there might...

 

[BoldItalic]

"I think there might... be a party of 2d4 unarmed townsfolk approaching and they will want to speak to you. Urgently. It involves money."

"Maybe they want us to start a restaurant?" wondered Toobids.

"Peut-être un bijou leather shop? Ve sellz ze 'ide bootz de oualking?" suggested Gucci hopefully. "Ve call it ze 'ides of March, non?"

Alas, the joke was lost on Dawn who was more interested in finding an inn with a stables with a comfy hayloft. Nam-Draz'il chuckled politely but his mind was racing. He was considering what spells he could usefully cast right now before the townsfolk arrived. Nothing seemed very appropriate. But then, nothing ever did. He knew all these spells that seemed powerful, like Fly and Fireball and so on but somehow the opportunity to flourish them didn't seem to arise all that often. Then a thought struck him. He knew Detect Thoughts. He would try that on the approaching NPCs. But he would test it on himself, first, to make sure it worked. After all, he would know if what came back was accurate, wouldn't he?

Tossing a copper piece in the air, Nam-Draz'il cast his spell, pulled out a small hand-mirror (Mirror, Steel, 5gp) so that he could see himself and thereby read his own thoughts. This was a mistake. His brain went something like this:

mirror rorrim mirror rorrim mirror rorrim
ror ror ror ror ror ror
mmmmm

before he fell down, clutching his head and screaming.

ClaW was quick to rifle through Nam-Draz'il's pockets looking for a suitable antidote but, although he found many, many interesting things, none of them was an antidote to stupidity. He settled for muffling the wizard's screaming by pinching his mouth shut.

Then the crowd of townsfolk arrived, just in time to witness the curious sight. Their leader, a man called Tim, spoke up ...

 

[rgoodbb]

Then the crowd of townsfolk arrived, just in time to witness the curious sight. Their leader, a man called Tim, spoke up ...

Tim Bucktooth, from a long, historical line of Bucktooth’s, possessed what can only be described as a dental anomaly. Both of his sets of teeth pointed outwards and not up or down. Not only did this unfortunate hereditary glitch give him the facial appearance of a flabby camel, it also came with the added embarrassment of not being able to pronounce his th’s, so the word: This, would come out as: ‘iss, or Thank Thor would of course be ‘ank ‘or.

“Who are you?” Asked ClaW! He was quick. It was important to get in there first. It was a power thing apparently, followed up with a special handshake that he would seriously have to work on.

“Timbuctoo.”

“Timb….really is that a place?” ClaW was taken aback.

“Well of course it is. I suppose you don’t think Doolally-tap is a place either?” Retorted New Dawn. She was itching for a fight and hadn’t eaten in a while.

“Now you come to mention it…”

Tim was politely waiting for the tête-à-tête to cease, but realised that he might be there for quite some time. He decide to interrupt.

“Excuse me, fair wea’er travellers, ‘ere is a problem wi’in Littleborough. We are in need of your ‘ouroughly awesome talents. ‘roughout every night but also ‘rough any misty day ‘ere is a ‘reat.”

“A ‘reat Monsieur?” Chipped in Gucci.

“'at is what I said, a ‘reat.”

ClaW! Looked down at the Lizardman rolling around on the floor and decided he could not pass themselves off as a highly professional and seasoned squad of adventurers. The least he could get was some service. “Well we are temporarily a party member down. Tell you what. Give us food, ale and lodgings in the best tavern you have and we will deal with this ‘rea…threat for you. What exactly is the problem?”

“A dark and swirling cloud.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, um. OK. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I will show you 'e 'ree corpses from last eve. 'ey should be ‘awing out by now.”

“’Awing out? Of course. Very well lead on.”

As the party ventured forth into the market town of Littleborough, The afternoon was rapidly turning into evening, a slight mist had settled upon the outer fields, a delirious Nam-Draz’il was being carried towards some comfy lodgings and the Scarecrow’s straw tummy was rumbling….

 

[BoldItalic]

... the Scarecrow’s straw tummy was rumbling…

... a condition that was soon to be remedied in the dining hall of a quaint olde-worlde inn called The Dolphin Arms. The landlord was a genial gnome called Burgel Aleslosh who kept an excellent kitchen and the food was good, too. Tim joined them for dinner and recommended duck-and-bean stew with roast turnips, not because they were particularly tasty but because he could pronounce all the words. Dawn had three helpings and mellowed considerably after the first two.

Meanwhile, Nam-Draz'il was still screaming quietly out in the stable yard where he had been dumped, so Burgel sent for Psychic Meg, the town witch, to try to calm him down. Meg took one look at him and saw immediately what was wrong. "It's what we witches call Bimble's Auto-Reflexitive Kataleptonia," she announced with an air of great erudition, "or B.A.R.K., as in the phrase 'Barking Mad'. He needs very careful and delicate handling, viz. a good sharp bang on the head." This, she adminstered with great skill and a small wooden cudgel (1d4 Damage) that she produced from somewhere inside her pointy hat. The wizard looked unfocussed for a brief moment, then came to himself. Well, almost. It became apparent a little later that he no longer knew any spells at all and would have to learn them all over again. Also, he was forever after terrified of mirrors. But at least he stopped screaming which was a definite plus because it had been getting on everyone's nerves.

Back indoors, over a generous helping of apricot pudding with brandy sauce, ClaW asked Tim about the three frozen corpses and the circumstances of their mysterious deaths. "Well," began Tim, "first 'ere was young 'omas, found not 'ree yards from his own 'reshold and him not 'irteen 'is 'ursday last. 'en 'ere was Henri 'e apple-seller, frozen stiff and all his Blenheim apples missing. And now ..."

"Excuse me," interrupted Claw, "but Henri was the very man we came here to see. We desperately need his Blenheim apples to make sauce for the royal banquet."

This was definitely the wrong thing to say. ClaW realised it when he was halfway through the sentence but the sentence stubbornly said itself anyway. At the mention of 'royal banquet', Tim stiffened and his face went a whiter shade of puce. Rage and Anger took turns to cloud his brows as he jumped up and headed straight for the door without another word.

"That went well," remarked Tara from inside her bag. "Fortunately for you ..."

 

[rgoodbb]

"That went well," remarked Tara from inside her bag. "Fortunately for you ...

…I have Titan-sight 120‘. We can track him even with me in this bag. You folks really would be lost without me. When do I get a chance to fight something?”

“No, No. Me first” Dawn remarked filling the last of her insides with cheese straws.”

“Soon enough ladies, Soon enough. Right now I think we need to follow Tim Bucktooth. I don’t trust him.”

“burt I av not feeneeshed my pastries and de odders ‘ave just sat down.”

“Very well. New Dawn, Tara. It looks like it is just us three for this stealth mission.”

The Split Party departed the tavern and took a steady stroll about 100 feet behind Tim. He cast nervous glances about, darted into a side ally and vanished on Tara’s radar.

“Damnit He’s gone. I don’t know how that could happen.” Started the tiny titan apologetically.

“No worries. I think we have bigger fish to fry here.” ClaW replied as a dark undulating murky, dirty swarming cloud of charcoal wet dust coalesced from the side ally. Tim was most definitely dead. Chilled to the bone with parts of him shattered.

ClaW! Had to think quickly. He had made the mistake of splitting the party. Without the raw power of the other wizard and the sheer utility of the goblinz they were surely outmatched. He made a wise decision. One based upon calculations and probabilities. He gave the order to retreat.

ClaW! took two tiny steps back just as New Dawn, spinning around with Scythe like a whirling dervish, and the pocket battleship of Tara the Tint Titanic Terrasque charged forward into the frey.


Meanwhile, back in the Tavern, Nam-Draz’il….

 

[BoldItalic]

Meanwhile, back in the Tavern, Nam-Draz’il…. was playing cards with Gucci and desperately trying to remember how to do a Light cantrip because it was quite dark in there and he had difficulty reading the backs of Gucci's cards but didn't have anything so mundane as a candle (after all, what do wizards need with candles?) and he was too ashamed to ask the landlord for one. He thought he could beat Gucci's three knaves and two tens but it turned out that Gucci had five aces and was holding his thumb just so across the the invisible squiggles on the backs of his cards. You can't trust anyone these days, can you?

Back outside, Tara got there first and trod on the cloud. Now, being normal weight for a tarrasque (are you saying I'm fat?) Tara's tread was considerable to say the least and the cloud of dust got compressed into a monolayer of molecules smeared on the ground. Which Tara licked up. Then her eyes went a little funny, she looked thoughtful for a moment before belching a jet of ice in the general direction of the next street.

"Sorry pardon," she apologized, then "Hey, I can do Ice Dragon!"

Dawn whirled to a stop and looked around furiously for someone to assail because she was all scythed up and someone was going to pay for something. She ran down a side street and, unluckily, met a squad of ...

 

[rgoodbb]

She ran down a side street and, unluckily, met a squad of...

…March Hares. Her worst nemeses. They each carried an apple in their mouths. An Apple! She thought fast and moved faster whirling and wheeling with glist and glee, she transformed her tangible body into a maelstrawm of saw and dust. The animated scarer of crows led the unrelenting, chasing bat-mad monsters on a looping ad lolling journey back towards the Tavern.
__________________________________

Nam-Draz’il took a swig of his be-honeyed wine, all had been silent. All had been watching the game. Gucci felt a trickle of sweat meander and merge with his considerable jaw. He clamped tighter, shut. Not giving any sign away. Nam-Draz'il pondered his hand thoughtfully until he heard the commotion outside and immediately dropped his cards. Gucci presuming Nam had called there and then, laughed in triumph and slapped his multiple aces down too.

The Wizard looked out of the window. “I gotta rush”

“Don’t you mean flush?”

“Look a Pair of Hares.”

“Zat eez not a legal ‘and.”

“Another pair.”

“Two pair ‘owever……eez. You win mah scaly frond.”

“Come on. The game’s afoot!”

“Ah don’t sink ah know zat wan.”

 

[BoldItalic]

Dawn rushed into the Dolphin Arms just a Nam Draz'il was rushing out and the resulting collision added to the rushes on the rush-strewn floor. (Some low-class ale houses just have sawdust on the floor but Burgel ran a classy establishment.)

Burgel greeted the hares as old friends and was soon serving them foaming mugs of march ale, which they paid for with apples.

After a few minutes ClaW arrived, tugging Tara's bag and grumbling about being left behind. Tara was grinning to herself and blowing out little puffs of ice just for fun.

"Alors, whar 'appens now?" asked Gucci. "Iz eet time for ze next encountre?"

There was a distant sound of dice rattling and a disembodied voice announced :

Something happens.

A flock of giant vultures flying over the inn accidentally drops a dead whale that they had been taking home for supper. The whale falls on the roof of the inn causing it to collapse and take the top floor with it. This reveals a hitherto-unsuspected secret stairway behind a collapsed upstairs wall that descends into a hitherto-unsuspected secret dungeon far below the inn. The dungeon smells of wet mothballs.

What do you do?​

"I eat the whale," announced Tara.

 

[rgoodbb]

"I eat the whale," announced Tara…

…Which was understandable. The bag of ‘Olding only carried so many Cheese and Onion pastries. Now everyone knows that Terrasques not only like pastries, Terrasque’s usually diet on 17th+ level adventurers. And this. This was definitely not a target rich environment. So the whale was a much enjoyed snack. Tara swallowed it whole. That was a weird sight. The old lady whale, (who was actually still alive), began her new 25 year voyage through the Terrasque’s innards. When Tara had shrunk, her insides became dimensionally vast. Whole campaign setting vast.

“To the secret passage.” Cried Nam-Draz’il. And everyone followed because this is apparently what adventurers do.

As they descended, a trap-door opened above them and THACO bobbed his head out. “Ooops. Wrong floor.” And just like that, he was gone again. ClaW looked around and his party were no longer there either. They had just vanished. The stairwell went dark. He felt a change within himself but also, worryingly, without himself. He felt beside himself.

His small, barnacled body morphed and increased dramatically in size and hairiness, his pincers turned into a giant battleaxe that he knew must have some significant meaning. His thoughts slowed down as his intelligence plummeted. As he floundered and flounced towards a nearby door, he grasped the handle for steadiness. Strangely, he heard the sounds of a Tavern beyond the door. He smelled ale and oddly, the faintest scent of soap. He took a breath, righted his now impressive seven-foot body, gripped his battleaxe and opened the door…