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(Cydra) The Final City
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 7577774" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>The shallow gasps change to a slow wheeze. Then there is a cough, followed by retching and a groan.</p><p></p><p>“At last!” cries Dzedz. “I thought your kind was tougher than that. You've been out for hours!”</p><p></p><p>“What... what happened?”</p><p></p><p>“We fell into a trap.”</p><p></p><p>“I remember that. And...” A pause. “Those tentacle monsters.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah. I stopped them, but barely. And...” Dzedz pauses too, then continues mournfully. “It cost us.”</p><p></p><p>Slowly, the other struggles to his feet. He looks around at the bodies scattered about- monsters and companions both. “Did... did anyone else make it?”</p><p></p><p>Dzedz jerks a thumb at one of the motionless forms on the ground. “He's still unconscious, but Rorin made it.” He sighs. “It's just going to be the three of us, Carl Hungus.”</p><p></p><p>“How deep do you think we are?” the dragonborn asks.</p><p></p><p>Dzedz shrugs. “Deeper than we were ready to be, is my guess.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Once Rorin regains consciousness, the three take stock of their situation. They have no idea how deep beneath Marble Hall they are, nor have they the slightest clue on how to escape. They only know one thing. </p><p></p><p>“We have to go up.” Dzedz glances at his two companions. “We certainly can't just stay here. We're going to run out of food before too long.”</p><p></p><p>“We might be able to find stuff to eat down here,” Rorin replies. “Even goblin flesh is better than starving.”</p><p></p><p>Hungus makes a face. Dzedz snorts. “I'd rather eat stirges, but whatever.”</p><p></p><p>The three set off to explore. In short order they discover a bizarre and horrifying bedroom with art on the walls that straddles a weird line between pornography and edification of the dead. Emerging from a secret door come a stranger and more obscene group than our heroes (such as they are) could have anticipated- a group of creatures that can only be described as phallus-people. These walking phalli have arms and faces, wield maces fashioned into the lewdest of shapes, and demonstrate immediate hostile intent. Worse yet, they try to capture the trio of adventurers, intending to subject them to who knows what sort of terrifying abuse. </p><p></p><p>But the three of them manage to slay the strange phallic folk; they aren't even very tough, although they do attempt to blind our heroes by spewing sticky goo in their eyes. It is unsettling and disgusting. </p><p></p><p>“What kind of sick god made those, do you think?” comments Dzedz. It is, of course, intended as a rhetorical question.</p><p></p><p>Little does he realize that it is not only a good and relevent question, but one whose answer- and whose high priest- will haunt them.</p><p></p><p>Following the secret passage that the phallusians emerged from, the group finds a chamber manned by a mass of zombies. Too many zombies. </p><p></p><p>Desperately, Carl Hungus blocks the entry to the secret passage as the undead shamble towards them. “I'll try to hold them off!” he shouts, and casts <em>protection from evil and good</em>. </p><p></p><p>Dzedz and Rorin stay behind him, firing arrows and cantrips at the zombies, while Hungus makes a heroic last stand. The zombies crowd all around him, reaching for him, tearing at him- but the power of his god repels them. He strikes to the left with his maul, dropping one zombie, and another takes its place. He smashes it down in turn, then strikes to his right in the wake of an arrow's flight, hammering another zombie down. Another, and another... and another. All while their ripping claws can't seem to penetrate his guard, can't reach into the gaps between plates of his armor, can't defeat the holy defense that his god has lain about him. </p><p></p><p>Finally, gasping in fear, Carl Hungus realizes that he has run out of foes to smite. </p><p></p><p>“On the other hand,” Rorin says, kneeling down above one of the zombie corpses and drawing his knife, “we still don't know how to get out of here.”</p><p></p><p>“True.” Dzedz watches as Rorin begins to eviscerate the body. “What are you doing?”</p><p></p><p>“I'm checking them for treasure,” Rorin states. “What if one of them swallowed something?”</p><p></p><p>Dzed and Hungus exchange a glance. They are too weak to go on without the archer. </p><p></p><p>“That's really gross,” Hungus grumbles.</p><p></p><p>“Just wait a few minutes.” Rorin moves to the second body. </p><p></p><p>Thus did Rorin Ilmixie earn the moniker 'the Butcher of Fandelose'.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Hungus, Rorin, and Dzedz run into more trouble!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 7577774, member: 1210"] The shallow gasps change to a slow wheeze. Then there is a cough, followed by retching and a groan. “At last!” cries Dzedz. “I thought your kind was tougher than that. You've been out for hours!” “What... what happened?” “We fell into a trap.” “I remember that. And...” A pause. “Those tentacle monsters.” “Yeah. I stopped them, but barely. And...” Dzedz pauses too, then continues mournfully. “It cost us.” Slowly, the other struggles to his feet. He looks around at the bodies scattered about- monsters and companions both. “Did... did anyone else make it?” Dzedz jerks a thumb at one of the motionless forms on the ground. “He's still unconscious, but Rorin made it.” He sighs. “It's just going to be the three of us, Carl Hungus.” “How deep do you think we are?” the dragonborn asks. Dzedz shrugs. “Deeper than we were ready to be, is my guess.” *** Once Rorin regains consciousness, the three take stock of their situation. They have no idea how deep beneath Marble Hall they are, nor have they the slightest clue on how to escape. They only know one thing. “We have to go up.” Dzedz glances at his two companions. “We certainly can't just stay here. We're going to run out of food before too long.” “We might be able to find stuff to eat down here,” Rorin replies. “Even goblin flesh is better than starving.” Hungus makes a face. Dzedz snorts. “I'd rather eat stirges, but whatever.” The three set off to explore. In short order they discover a bizarre and horrifying bedroom with art on the walls that straddles a weird line between pornography and edification of the dead. Emerging from a secret door come a stranger and more obscene group than our heroes (such as they are) could have anticipated- a group of creatures that can only be described as phallus-people. These walking phalli have arms and faces, wield maces fashioned into the lewdest of shapes, and demonstrate immediate hostile intent. Worse yet, they try to capture the trio of adventurers, intending to subject them to who knows what sort of terrifying abuse. But the three of them manage to slay the strange phallic folk; they aren't even very tough, although they do attempt to blind our heroes by spewing sticky goo in their eyes. It is unsettling and disgusting. “What kind of sick god made those, do you think?” comments Dzedz. It is, of course, intended as a rhetorical question. Little does he realize that it is not only a good and relevent question, but one whose answer- and whose high priest- will haunt them. Following the secret passage that the phallusians emerged from, the group finds a chamber manned by a mass of zombies. Too many zombies. Desperately, Carl Hungus blocks the entry to the secret passage as the undead shamble towards them. “I'll try to hold them off!” he shouts, and casts [i]protection from evil and good[/i]. Dzedz and Rorin stay behind him, firing arrows and cantrips at the zombies, while Hungus makes a heroic last stand. The zombies crowd all around him, reaching for him, tearing at him- but the power of his god repels them. He strikes to the left with his maul, dropping one zombie, and another takes its place. He smashes it down in turn, then strikes to his right in the wake of an arrow's flight, hammering another zombie down. Another, and another... and another. All while their ripping claws can't seem to penetrate his guard, can't reach into the gaps between plates of his armor, can't defeat the holy defense that his god has lain about him. Finally, gasping in fear, Carl Hungus realizes that he has run out of foes to smite. “On the other hand,” Rorin says, kneeling down above one of the zombie corpses and drawing his knife, “we still don't know how to get out of here.” “True.” Dzedz watches as Rorin begins to eviscerate the body. “What are you doing?” “I'm checking them for treasure,” Rorin states. “What if one of them swallowed something?” Dzed and Hungus exchange a glance. They are too weak to go on without the archer. “That's really gross,” Hungus grumbles. “Just wait a few minutes.” Rorin moves to the second body. Thus did Rorin Ilmixie earn the moniker 'the Butcher of Fandelose'. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Hungus, Rorin, and Dzedz run into more trouble! [/QUOTE]
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