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The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man
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<blockquote data-quote="Mathew_Freeman" data-source="post: 4712840" data-attributes="member: 1846"><p><strong>Too Much Cake Is Bad For You</strong></p><p></p><p>As Sigurd waved her hands and continued to drone on in Common, imitating the Sinister Vizier (who was turning slowly purple in rage up on the raised dais), she was unaware of the stunned looks she was receiving from around the hall. For a second, everything save the burning and hissing coals beneath her had gone utterly still, before a single Orc grunted in mirth.</p><p></p><p>His neighbour quickly shushed him, fearing reprisals from the Prince, but as Sigurd continued (“Blah blah blah, see my big pointy hat, blah blah blah, dance for me maggots…”) he couldn’t hold it in any longer and almost exploded in laughter. A second later a nearby Ogre joined in, a deep throaty chuckle and in moments the whole room was laughing out loud. Aengus’ merry laughter span through the smoke, with a giggling Karl providing a neat counter-point. Aldis and Thunder’s voices were both lower, as befits creatures of their size, with Iben occupying a mid-note that created a pleasant harmony.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly a discord sounded in the room, a harsh, manic laugh booming through the room. Spinning, Sigurd suddenly became aware that the Prince was laughing hard, hit to burst. He poked the Vizier with one long, grubby finger and exclaimed “Blah blah blah!” before continuing to laugh. Masking his annoyance, the Vizier waved the Jesters away, seemingly safe from the Prince’s wrath.</p><p></p><p>Seeking to regain some of his lost authority, the Vizier clapped his hands together and shouted for the cake to be brought out. “As quickly as possible!” he demanded. “The Prince is still hungry!”</p><p></p><p>The group rushed to the kitchen, to find Yetta and Yuppi applying the final touches. Despite the cake only having four tiers, they had brought a great many candles with them and were able to stick ten in the top of the cake. Lighting them, they checked it over one final time before getting ready to take it out.</p><p></p><p>From the doorway, a gruff voice registered his interest in the proceedings. “I shay,” it said. “I can’t help but think that I shmell a rat here. What’sh going on?” Snufflegruff stood there, watching with interest. “No, sheerioushly,” he continued. “I can shmell a rat.”</p><p></p><p>Aengus’ eyes suddenly went wide as an idea hit him. “No…” he breathed. “Not a rat. Not in so many words. But a rat! An alchemical rat!”</p><p></p><p>Sigurd cottoned on. “The Tomb, that strange smell. It’s the same smell that the alchemical rats give off – that must be how Kindrbode killed his mother! And if Sigmund was involved it makes even more sense. Hang on a moment…” She took the magical bag from Iben and rummaged around it in, eventually producing the flask taken from Glorium. “We can put this in the cake! He’ll eat it – after all he’s eaten everything else – and then…”</p><p></p><p>“Killed by rats from the inside,” said Aengus. “Is there any more fitting way for him to go?”</p><p></p><p>Quickly, knowing that the Prince’s patience was not his strong point, the cake was dosed with poison. Thunder and Aldis took up the load at the front with Iben (magically assisted by Sigurd) taking the back part of the cake on his broad shoulders. Making a slow procession, and being very careful not to drop anything, they stepped back out into the main Hall and began to ascend the long flight of steps up to the throne and Prince Kindrbode. Karl, knowing that violence was imminent, snuck around the side of the Hall and began to climb the wall, hand-over-hand, in the darkness and smoke, swiftly becoming lost to view.</p><p></p><p>The Prince’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cake, and for a few brief seconds he even managed to focus both eyes upon it, before the left again went wandering off around the Hall. The Vizier sneered and gestured them forwards, letting the Orc Crossbowmen cover them all the way, ever alert. The two Trollkin bodyguards were also paying careful attention. Suddenly, and in a rasping and ghastly voice, the Vizier began to sing.</p><p></p><p>“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday Prince Kindrbode… Happy birthday to you!”</p><p></p><p>As the party neared the top of the steps, the Vizier halted them. Kindrobode’s mouth was drooling, splittle slowly collecting on his already filthy clothes. “One moment!” said the Vizier. “We shall test the cake before the Prince is permitted to eat it. Trollkin! Come forwards!”</p><p></p><p>The same thought ran through everyone’s heads. <em>We’ve got to stop him!</em></p><p></p><p><span style="color: orange">Note: Yes, our DM sang to us, and even forced us to join in. Quite what ther other people in the pub thought of us I don't know...</span></p><p><span style="color: orange"></span></p><p><span style="color: orange">Next time: Who will eat the cake?</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mathew_Freeman, post: 4712840, member: 1846"] [b]Too Much Cake Is Bad For You[/b] As Sigurd waved her hands and continued to drone on in Common, imitating the Sinister Vizier (who was turning slowly purple in rage up on the raised dais), she was unaware of the stunned looks she was receiving from around the hall. For a second, everything save the burning and hissing coals beneath her had gone utterly still, before a single Orc grunted in mirth. His neighbour quickly shushed him, fearing reprisals from the Prince, but as Sigurd continued (“Blah blah blah, see my big pointy hat, blah blah blah, dance for me maggots…”) he couldn’t hold it in any longer and almost exploded in laughter. A second later a nearby Ogre joined in, a deep throaty chuckle and in moments the whole room was laughing out loud. Aengus’ merry laughter span through the smoke, with a giggling Karl providing a neat counter-point. Aldis and Thunder’s voices were both lower, as befits creatures of their size, with Iben occupying a mid-note that created a pleasant harmony. Suddenly a discord sounded in the room, a harsh, manic laugh booming through the room. Spinning, Sigurd suddenly became aware that the Prince was laughing hard, hit to burst. He poked the Vizier with one long, grubby finger and exclaimed “Blah blah blah!” before continuing to laugh. Masking his annoyance, the Vizier waved the Jesters away, seemingly safe from the Prince’s wrath. Seeking to regain some of his lost authority, the Vizier clapped his hands together and shouted for the cake to be brought out. “As quickly as possible!” he demanded. “The Prince is still hungry!” The group rushed to the kitchen, to find Yetta and Yuppi applying the final touches. Despite the cake only having four tiers, they had brought a great many candles with them and were able to stick ten in the top of the cake. Lighting them, they checked it over one final time before getting ready to take it out. From the doorway, a gruff voice registered his interest in the proceedings. “I shay,” it said. “I can’t help but think that I shmell a rat here. What’sh going on?” Snufflegruff stood there, watching with interest. “No, sheerioushly,” he continued. “I can shmell a rat.” Aengus’ eyes suddenly went wide as an idea hit him. “No…” he breathed. “Not a rat. Not in so many words. But a rat! An alchemical rat!” Sigurd cottoned on. “The Tomb, that strange smell. It’s the same smell that the alchemical rats give off – that must be how Kindrbode killed his mother! And if Sigmund was involved it makes even more sense. Hang on a moment…” She took the magical bag from Iben and rummaged around it in, eventually producing the flask taken from Glorium. “We can put this in the cake! He’ll eat it – after all he’s eaten everything else – and then…” “Killed by rats from the inside,” said Aengus. “Is there any more fitting way for him to go?” Quickly, knowing that the Prince’s patience was not his strong point, the cake was dosed with poison. Thunder and Aldis took up the load at the front with Iben (magically assisted by Sigurd) taking the back part of the cake on his broad shoulders. Making a slow procession, and being very careful not to drop anything, they stepped back out into the main Hall and began to ascend the long flight of steps up to the throne and Prince Kindrbode. Karl, knowing that violence was imminent, snuck around the side of the Hall and began to climb the wall, hand-over-hand, in the darkness and smoke, swiftly becoming lost to view. The Prince’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cake, and for a few brief seconds he even managed to focus both eyes upon it, before the left again went wandering off around the Hall. The Vizier sneered and gestured them forwards, letting the Orc Crossbowmen cover them all the way, ever alert. The two Trollkin bodyguards were also paying careful attention. Suddenly, and in a rasping and ghastly voice, the Vizier began to sing. “Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday Prince Kindrbode… Happy birthday to you!” As the party neared the top of the steps, the Vizier halted them. Kindrobode’s mouth was drooling, splittle slowly collecting on his already filthy clothes. “One moment!” said the Vizier. “We shall test the cake before the Prince is permitted to eat it. Trollkin! Come forwards!” The same thought ran through everyone’s heads. [i]We’ve got to stop him![/i] [color=orange]Note: Yes, our DM sang to us, and even forced us to join in. Quite what ther other people in the pub thought of us I don't know... Next time: Who will eat the cake?[/color] [/QUOTE]
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