the Jester
Legend
Blood dripping from his muzzle, Chewer raises his head long enough to flatten his ears and give a warning growl.
“That's a bad dog,” Flint opines.
“No, he's not a bad dog!” Mad Max protests, advancing cautiously until he can take the far end of the chain that serves as the mastiff's leash. “He just didn't understand...”
“Nolin!” cries one of the lumberjacks, staring aghast at his faceless friend. The other forester turns and flees. Chewer raises his hackles and tenses, as if about to spring.
“Down, boy!” Mad Max commands.
The mastiff jumps, but the chain goes taut, holding him to Mad Max, who swiftly strides up to the dog and clouts it. “Knock that off!” he scolds.
Meanwhile, the final forester turns and runs, sobbing, into the woods.
“We're here to protect you from the owlbear,” Flint yells after him.
For a moment, the only sound is the rumbling growl of the dog. Thennn Dzedz remarks, “That could have gone better.”
***
Flint argues unsuccessfully for putting the dog down, especially now that he has developed a taste for human blood. Failing to win that argument, he suggests at least compromising by cleaning the blood off of Chewer's face. But Chewer doesn't seem too interested in being washed, so Mad Max offers a compromise of his own and packs a bowl of hempflower, following it up with a skin of rice wine.
The foresters are less amenable to Max's apology, but what can they do? The party is heavily armed and armored, and they have that growling, blood-faced beast at hand. So the bravest of the dozen woodsmen that have gathered, nervously clutching their axes, appoints herself their speaker and steps over to the party. “What do you people want?” she asks. “We don't have any money.”
“We're actually here to help you with the owlbear problem,” Hungus answers.
“Yes,” Max interjects, “this hound is specially trained to seek out owlbears! Uh, sorry about your friend.”
The woman stares at him for a moment, then shakes her head. “You've killed as many of us as it has.”
“Oh, uh, whoops.”
She shakes her head. “Well, good luck to you.”
“Any idea where we can find it?” asks Krud.
She shrugs. “Deeper in the woods. We've heard its call from the east.”
East it is, then. The party leaves the traumatized woodsmen behind, watching for any sign of the owlbear. Benthum asks, “What about my wife?”
“We'll get to her, don't worry,” Hungus lies.
The woods get thicker very rapidly. Right along the river is where most of the wood that makes its way to Fandelose is felled, for it can be poled upstream and ultimately carried the shortest possible distance. Some especially bold folk have tried taking it overland by wagon, but this has been less successful, with several such attempts failing and the people involved simply never returning to the city. Presumably, they were eaten by monsters, enslaved by hobgoblins, or worse. Thus, one need go only a few hundred yards east of the foresters to find areas where the woods have grown and thickened, uninterrupted by any humanoid touch, for forty years or more.
Our heroes thus find themselves pushing through significant amounts of underbrush and tangled thickets. It is hard work, and it is taking them further away from the city's influence than most of the party have been before. There are many types of trees and birds that they have never seen before. Strange chirps and hoots sound around them.
Then, a strange sound, unlike anything any of them have heard before, yet somehow impossible not to recognize immediately:
”RRRAAAH-HOOOOOOO!”
“That,” says Dzedz, “has got to be an owlbear.”
The party moves through the brush, heading toward the sound. The call is followed by an ungodly loud squawking and roaring, and by thrashing and crashing noises.
“Maybe it's fighting something,” says Hungus. “That would be perfect! It might even already be wounded!”
“Or maybe we'll have to fight whatever it's fighting, too,” says Krud, but nobody is listening. With a shrug, he moves after them.
But when they burst through the foliage, they find that the owlbear isn't fighting. In fact, it isn't an owlbear at all.
It's two owlbears. And they're mating.
What an embarrassing scene! For a moment, the more naïve members of the group consider giving the owlbears time to finish before engaging them, but Krud dispels any notion of avoiding battle by immediately casting a sacred flame at the female (or at least, the one being mounted by the other). Benthum fires a sling bullet at the same one, while Flint mocks it viciously.
“Get 'em, Chewer!”
Mad Max release the chain, and his mastiff rushes forward, barking wildly, and attacks the male owlbear. The dog sinks his teeth into the owlbear's ankle. The owlbear roars, and Mad Max leaps forward and deals it a mighty blow with his maul.
Then Dzedz steps up and blasts the two owlbears with a thunderwave. If the previous attacks hadn't ruined their moment, this certainly does, blowing them apart and echoing in the surrounding woods.
The owlbears are both enraged. Really, who wouldn't be? They pick themselves up and rumble forward, all claws and teeth. The female rushes forward and snaps at Dzedz; only a timely shield spell saves him. But even that doesn't protect him from a telling swipe from the owlbear's claw.
Meanwhile, the male advances on Chewer, slashes him with a claw, and then literally bites his head off, ending any chance of the “put the dog down” debate revivifying itself.
Carl Hungus leaps to the attack. He brings his maul up and around into the female's side, and there is a dazzling burst of light as he smites it. The monster opens its terrifying beak and lets out that characteristic howl again: “RAAAA-HOOO!”
Mad Max screams, “Chewer! Nooooo!!!” With a sob, he rushes forward and strikes the male owlbear as hard as he can, cracking it in the chest with his massive hammer. The party surges forward, everyone striking resolutely and hard, and in a moment more, both owlbears succumb to their blistering assault.
But it is too late for Chewer.
***
Mad Max grieves in his own way. He drinks deep from his wineskin, finishing it off and tossing it aside before starting a fresh one.
“Well, that's the first thing,” says Dzedz.
“Huh?” Mad Max hasn't been paying a lot of attention.
“We have to do two more favors for the Black Temple before we're square.”
“Oh yeah! What's next?”
“They said something about providing security at a protest.”
“What's the third thing?”
“We have to deliver some kind of message for them.”
“Huh. That's a lot of work.”
“Remember how much that mirror curse sucked?” Hungus says. He shakes his head. “We need to stay on the Black Avengers' good side in case we need help like this again.”
The party crosses the river, again taking the bridge, and turns north along the old roadway.
Mad Max brightens. “Hey, it isn't too late yet. What do you guys say we go back into the megadungeon on the way home?”
Next Time: Heads!
“That's a bad dog,” Flint opines.
“No, he's not a bad dog!” Mad Max protests, advancing cautiously until he can take the far end of the chain that serves as the mastiff's leash. “He just didn't understand...”
“Nolin!” cries one of the lumberjacks, staring aghast at his faceless friend. The other forester turns and flees. Chewer raises his hackles and tenses, as if about to spring.
“Down, boy!” Mad Max commands.
The mastiff jumps, but the chain goes taut, holding him to Mad Max, who swiftly strides up to the dog and clouts it. “Knock that off!” he scolds.
Meanwhile, the final forester turns and runs, sobbing, into the woods.
“We're here to protect you from the owlbear,” Flint yells after him.
For a moment, the only sound is the rumbling growl of the dog. Thennn Dzedz remarks, “That could have gone better.”
***
Flint argues unsuccessfully for putting the dog down, especially now that he has developed a taste for human blood. Failing to win that argument, he suggests at least compromising by cleaning the blood off of Chewer's face. But Chewer doesn't seem too interested in being washed, so Mad Max offers a compromise of his own and packs a bowl of hempflower, following it up with a skin of rice wine.
The foresters are less amenable to Max's apology, but what can they do? The party is heavily armed and armored, and they have that growling, blood-faced beast at hand. So the bravest of the dozen woodsmen that have gathered, nervously clutching their axes, appoints herself their speaker and steps over to the party. “What do you people want?” she asks. “We don't have any money.”
“We're actually here to help you with the owlbear problem,” Hungus answers.
“Yes,” Max interjects, “this hound is specially trained to seek out owlbears! Uh, sorry about your friend.”
The woman stares at him for a moment, then shakes her head. “You've killed as many of us as it has.”
“Oh, uh, whoops.”
She shakes her head. “Well, good luck to you.”
“Any idea where we can find it?” asks Krud.
She shrugs. “Deeper in the woods. We've heard its call from the east.”
East it is, then. The party leaves the traumatized woodsmen behind, watching for any sign of the owlbear. Benthum asks, “What about my wife?”
“We'll get to her, don't worry,” Hungus lies.
The woods get thicker very rapidly. Right along the river is where most of the wood that makes its way to Fandelose is felled, for it can be poled upstream and ultimately carried the shortest possible distance. Some especially bold folk have tried taking it overland by wagon, but this has been less successful, with several such attempts failing and the people involved simply never returning to the city. Presumably, they were eaten by monsters, enslaved by hobgoblins, or worse. Thus, one need go only a few hundred yards east of the foresters to find areas where the woods have grown and thickened, uninterrupted by any humanoid touch, for forty years or more.
Our heroes thus find themselves pushing through significant amounts of underbrush and tangled thickets. It is hard work, and it is taking them further away from the city's influence than most of the party have been before. There are many types of trees and birds that they have never seen before. Strange chirps and hoots sound around them.
Then, a strange sound, unlike anything any of them have heard before, yet somehow impossible not to recognize immediately:
”RRRAAAH-HOOOOOOO!”
“That,” says Dzedz, “has got to be an owlbear.”
The party moves through the brush, heading toward the sound. The call is followed by an ungodly loud squawking and roaring, and by thrashing and crashing noises.
“Maybe it's fighting something,” says Hungus. “That would be perfect! It might even already be wounded!”
“Or maybe we'll have to fight whatever it's fighting, too,” says Krud, but nobody is listening. With a shrug, he moves after them.
But when they burst through the foliage, they find that the owlbear isn't fighting. In fact, it isn't an owlbear at all.
It's two owlbears. And they're mating.
What an embarrassing scene! For a moment, the more naïve members of the group consider giving the owlbears time to finish before engaging them, but Krud dispels any notion of avoiding battle by immediately casting a sacred flame at the female (or at least, the one being mounted by the other). Benthum fires a sling bullet at the same one, while Flint mocks it viciously.
“Get 'em, Chewer!”
Mad Max release the chain, and his mastiff rushes forward, barking wildly, and attacks the male owlbear. The dog sinks his teeth into the owlbear's ankle. The owlbear roars, and Mad Max leaps forward and deals it a mighty blow with his maul.
Then Dzedz steps up and blasts the two owlbears with a thunderwave. If the previous attacks hadn't ruined their moment, this certainly does, blowing them apart and echoing in the surrounding woods.
The owlbears are both enraged. Really, who wouldn't be? They pick themselves up and rumble forward, all claws and teeth. The female rushes forward and snaps at Dzedz; only a timely shield spell saves him. But even that doesn't protect him from a telling swipe from the owlbear's claw.
Meanwhile, the male advances on Chewer, slashes him with a claw, and then literally bites his head off, ending any chance of the “put the dog down” debate revivifying itself.
Carl Hungus leaps to the attack. He brings his maul up and around into the female's side, and there is a dazzling burst of light as he smites it. The monster opens its terrifying beak and lets out that characteristic howl again: “RAAAA-HOOO!”
Mad Max screams, “Chewer! Nooooo!!!” With a sob, he rushes forward and strikes the male owlbear as hard as he can, cracking it in the chest with his massive hammer. The party surges forward, everyone striking resolutely and hard, and in a moment more, both owlbears succumb to their blistering assault.
But it is too late for Chewer.
***
Mad Max grieves in his own way. He drinks deep from his wineskin, finishing it off and tossing it aside before starting a fresh one.
“Well, that's the first thing,” says Dzedz.
“Huh?” Mad Max hasn't been paying a lot of attention.
“We have to do two more favors for the Black Temple before we're square.”
“Oh yeah! What's next?”
“They said something about providing security at a protest.”
“What's the third thing?”
“We have to deliver some kind of message for them.”
“Huh. That's a lot of work.”
“Remember how much that mirror curse sucked?” Hungus says. He shakes his head. “We need to stay on the Black Avengers' good side in case we need help like this again.”
The party crosses the river, again taking the bridge, and turns north along the old roadway.
Mad Max brightens. “Hey, it isn't too late yet. What do you guys say we go back into the megadungeon on the way home?”
Next Time: Heads!
