Before I actually write the next installment, I thought I’d share a funny extra. Now that I’m taping the sessions, I can get little scenes like this down verbatim. Background: I’ve stolen a custom spell from Sepulchrave called “Paroxysm of Fire” (don’t tell my players what it does… they haven’t used it yet and don’t know!) and put it into a magical crown. Somehow the topic of the crown came up. There followed this amusing exchange.
Dranko: “What was that spell called again?”
Aravis: “paroxysm of fire.”
Ernie: “A paroxysm is a spasm, right?”
Dranko: “Yeah… fire spasms! I’ve suffered from fire spasms before. You know when you have to go to the bathroom really, really badly…
Grey Wolf: “Oh. I though it was when I lit you on fire by accident.”
Ernie: “Dranko?”
Dranko: “Yeah?”
Ernie: “For my birthday, I want one day where we do not discuss any of your bodily functions unless it is a medical emergency.”
Dranko: “Ernie, why do you ask for things you know I can’t give you?”
Later on, there was also this, whose meaning I will leave as an exercise for the reader:
DM: “There will be no catapulting of pigs at the gaming table.”
Pause.
DM: “I can’t believe I had to say that.”
Grey Wolf’s player: “And we have it on tape!”
Yes, yes we do. Ah, the memories.
Ok, enough of that.
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 207
Interlude, with snowshoes
As the Company catches its collective breath and debates the next move, Kibi feels a sudden and violent chill come over him. Dranko glances over as the dwarf sits down heavily on the stones. What are those things on his face, he wonders?
Kibi reaches up to an itchy spot on his cheek and a bit of skin comes away on his hand.
Mummy rot! Fortunately the party clerics have open spell slots, and One Certain Step can cure disease. In only a few minutes Kibi is back to full health.
“Let’s get out of here,” he advises.
As they walk back down the valley (and past the blue portal with the black spots) they discuss their next move. The two best choices would seem to be Glaring Peak and the orcish horde, or the unexplored desert. By the time Kay has lead them to the portal back to the grassy 8-portaled world, they have decided upon the desert – there will be time enough for the orcs if that avenue proves fruitless.
(Some years earlier the Company had acquired (read: Dranko stole) desert kits for their venture into the Mouth of Nahalm. Since those kits have long been lost to the ogres in Kivia, the Company decides they will make a stop in Green Valley, to make or acquire sand-shoes for the upcoming desert trek.)
After an hour or two the party has left the hills behind, and an hour after that they see the glimmer of blue in the distance. The sky is still a dully overcast gray, the constant thunder still rolls, and the faint chill still sets them all on edge. But eager as they are to escape this place, the Company takes precautions. They tie a rope around Dranko’s waist, and he steps through the portal into the grassy world of two suns.
It’s dusk there. The larger sun has set, and the smaller one is down near the horizon. In the seconds it takes for Dranko to get his bearings, he catches a glimpse of a humanoid figure diving through the portal that leads to Glaring Peak. He jumps back through.
“They had a scout there waiting,” he tells the others. “He dove through the portal to Glaring Peak just as I arrived.”
Wasting no time, the rest of the Company leaps through the portal. There is no sign of orcs there now, so after a brief check of their map (to make sure they select the right portal-with-skull-sign), they dash the fifty yards through the grass and leap into the Beast Cave. Cold, to warm, to cold. Overcast, to clear dusk, to pitch black. And all in just two minutes!
Holding a lantern in front of her, Kay leads the Company to the exit into Green Valley. Observing scuff marks and muddy prints on the ground, she concludes that several humans have been walking around the caves since they were last there.
“Not surprising,” she observes. “The people of Green Valley were pretty keen to explore someplace new.”
Again Dranko takes point and goes through the portal out of the caves. There are about a dozen townsfolk lounging around the vicinity, armed with spears. Most of them are startled by Dranko’s emergence, but they collect themselves quickly and Dranko soon finds a dozen spears pointed his way. Just as quickly the spears are lowered – Dranko’s face is well known to them. Isn’t he the dim one?
One of the townsfolk starts speaking, but Dranko can’t understand them. A few more start to babble. Just as Dranko casts comprehend languages, the rest of the Company spills out of the portal and Aravis casts tongues.
“Have you finished exploring?” asks a young man. His name is Davin, and he looks to be about 18, which means he is probably almost 30.
“We have not finished our explorations,” says Aravis, “but beyond the cave we found a place with more of these gates. Going through that place, back and forth between them, are creatures we call ‘orcs.’”
To demonstrate, Ernie makes a face like an orc.
“Kind of like them,” says Aravis, pointing to Dranko and Snokas. “But they’re only part orc. The orcs, if they meet you, will try to harm or enslave you.”
“It’s a good thing they’ve not come here before then!” exclaims Davin.
“There were monsters guarding it,” Aravis points out. “The orcs believe the monsters are still there.”
“But there are no monsters now. You killed them!” says Davin in alarm.
“Yes, but like I said, the orcs don’t know that. And there are other places through those gates, where there still are monsters.”
Aravis explains about their fight against the undead hydras and mummies and the naga. The folk of Green Valley listen with excited attention to the tale, gasping at the thought of such danger and heroics.
“So you killed them, just like you killed the beasts…” says Davin at the conclusion of Aravis’s tale.
“We did not kill all of them,” says Aravis.
“You’re telling us that it’s not yet safe to explore beyond the cave, aren’t you,” says Davin dejectedly.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” answers Aravis.
“How soon do you think it will be before it is safe?”
Aravis shakes his head. “I cannot say. It may never be safe.”
“These orcs… can they be snuck past? Are there safe places beyond them?”
Kibi by now has also cast tongues. “If the orcs find out about you, it will be very bad for you,” says the dwarf. “If they figure out there’s no beast in this cave, they’ll come and try to conquer you. So it’s very important that you don’t make yourselves known to them”
It’s heartbreaking to see the looks of fading hope of the faces of the Green Valley folk.
“We will tell all of this to Elder Tog,” says Davin. “He has set us here to make sure none of the younger and more foolhardy of the townsfolk do anything rash that would endanger us. We did some exploring of the cave, and found the other blue doorway, but Tog forbade us to go through it.”
“Good decision,” says Dranko.
As the peasants watch in fascination, Morningstar casts two glyphs of warding in front of the portal, set to trigger searing darkness on any full-blooded orcs that venture through. She knows that won’t slow down a determined invasion force, but might polish off a scout whose failure to return could prove daunting.
When the townsfolk learn of the Company’s plan to explore a desert world, and that they’ve come back to make sand-shoes, they remark that they have snowshoes in town they can barter for. It will only take about a week to walk to town and back.
“I have a way to get us back to town much more quickly,” says Aravis. He takes two volunteers from among the natives to accompany him.
“What do we do?” they ask, wondering what Aravis has in mind.
“Stand still.”
“But if we stand still, how will we get home?”
“Tell them to think really hard about their village,” suggests Dranko. “That way they’ll think they’re helping.”
Aravis smirks at the suggestion, and does so. The villagers scrunch up their faces and concentrate furiously. (So does Aravis, for that matter, trying to envision the spot where he, Dranko and Grey Wolf had their chain lightning/iron storm practices.)
A second later, there they are. The townsfolk, unfamiliar with teleportation magic, are astounded.
“There’s the village!” one of them shouts.
“We have to tell Elder Tog about this!” says the other.
A few minutes later they are standing at Tog’s door. One of townsfolk knocks, and they rush in when invited.
“Elder Tog! We were just up at the magical gate, only five minutes ago!”
“You were?” says Tog, raising an eyebrow. “Then how did you… ah. Hello, Aravis. So, you are back! Have you made everything safe for us? May we start exploring?”
Aravis tells Tog all that they have found. By the time he is done, Tog looks as deflated as the guard contingent up by the portal.
“These orcs. You say they are extremely numerous. We would have no chance against them?”
“No, I don’t think you would,” says Aravis.
“It will be difficult for me to keep control of things. Word will be out soon that you’re back. I’ll tell the people something. I don’t know what.”
There is a long and uncomfortable silence.
“Is there anything I can do for you while you’re here?” asks Tog.
“We need snowshoes,” says Aravis.
Tog glances outside at the warm sunny afternoon and then back at Aravis, who quickly explains about the desert. Eventually they work out a deal, wherein the Company will give Green Valley their +2 halberd, and any seeds Ernie can conjure up with his magic. In return Tog will arrange for ten pairs of snowshoes of the best matching sizes to be gathered up in the next couple of hours.
Once that has happened, Aravis and his entourage teleport back to the portal. Upon hearing the agreement, Ernie prays for and then casts create food & water, and Yondalla blesses him with a variety of seed-bearing fruits and some wrapped up bundles of grain. The townsfolk are amazed that food can spontaneously appear.
The Company rests for the remainer of the day. The Green Valley folk keep pestering Aravis and Kibi until their tongues spells run out. (Actually, Kibi’s spell lasts twice as long is it normally would, powered by a surge of wild magic as he cast it. But tiring of the constant questions, he pretends that it runs out at the same time as Aravis’s spell.)
The night passes. In the morning the party prepares spells and casts long-term buffs. Then they discuss the best way to get past the orcs and into the desert, without tipping the orcs off that they have come from the Beast Cave. They decide they need more information, so after bidding a final adieu to the people of Green Valley, they enter the cave and march to the exit portal. Kibi makes Dranko invisible, and in goes the half-orc.
There are two orcs there, neither of which notices him as he emerges. One stands at the portal leading to Glaring Peak, and the other at the gate to the farming world. Both look bored. Dranko watches them for a minute and then returns to the others. After a few more minutes they settle on a plan.
Dranko returns to the grassy plane. The same two orcs are there; one of them yawns expansively. Dranko moves stealthily across the field to the portal leading back to the undead plane, and hops through. Meanwhile, back in the beast cave, Ernie is counting out loud.
“One Abernathy, two Abernathy, three Abernathy…”
Dranko punches himself to end the invisibility, and then hops back to the grassy plane, whistling a jolly tune.
(“Twelve Abernathy, Thirteen Abernathy, Fourteen Abernathy…”)
The orc standing in front of Glaring Peak jumps through immediately. The other lifts his weapon, but otherwise just stands there, staring at Dranko.
“I would like you to go through that gate,” shouts Dranko, motioning to the portal behind the orc.
“What?”
“I said, I would like you to go through that gate.”
Dranko hefts his whip suggestively.*
(“Twenty-five Abernathy, twenty-six Abernathy…”)
“I would like to stand here and watch you!” replies the orc.
Dranko sighs. “I would like you to go through that gate, or I might have to kill you!” he amends.
“I don’t think you want to do that,” shouts the orc, gripping his own sword and pointing it at Dranko.
Dranko decides this exchange isn’t working out, so he simply starts running across the field directly at the other orc. The orc, figuring there’s nothing specifically wrong with changing one’s mind, leaps through the portal.
(“Forty-four Abernathy, forty-five Abernathy…”)
Dranko runs over to the portal to Green Valley and hops through.
“Come on, quick!,” he urges.
“But I haven’t gotten to sixty!” Ernie protests.
“Ernie!”
The whole Company leaps through the portal and starts a mad dash across to the desert gate. They are two-thirds of the way across when armed orcs start pouring out of the portal to the farming world. They spot the Company immediately and give chase, but the party has too big of a head start. They leap into the portal with the orcs still twenty yards away.
They fall four feet into sand, each of them rolling aside so the next party member doesn’t land on them. They expect that it might start raining orcs any second, but none come through. Morningstar has the presence of mind to cast another glyph of warding below the portal, such that any orc falling out will trigger it.
Minutes pass. No orcs.
It’s hot – easily in the mid-nineties. A slightly-oversized yellow sun blazes overhead, drawing out sweat almost immediately. The Company struggles to put on their snowshoes and shake some of the sand out of their clothing. Kay looks around and frowns. There are no landmarks to indicate any possible route to anything.
Aravis squints into the distance.
“If I were an Eye of Moirel, where in a huge trackless desert would I hide?”
The rasping sand offers no good answer.
**
“Gruz, you think we should go after ‘em?”
Twenty orcs stand in a rough mob by the gate leading to the desert. The largest of the orcs glowers.
“Naw,” says Gruz. “There’s a horrible monster in there, right? Let the monster eat ‘em up. No need for us to risk our necks, right?”
“Yeah, good thinking.”
“But…” pipes up a scrawny orc named Vurg. “What about that other gate? The one you saw the half-breed come out of. Why didn’t the monster eat him up?”
“Good question,” says Gruz, smiling. “Looks like you just volunteered to go find out. Don’t come back unless you have something worthwhile to tell us.”
**
Somewhere in a large pocket of the Negative Material Plane, a skeletal lion moves through a strange patch of dark blue light. It finds itself suddenly thrust from the soothing negative energy and into a world of gray light and steady thunder. The skeleton rolls haplessly down a steep hillside, bones chipping, until it comes to rest on the valley floor. Cold, healing energy pours from the bright blue patch high above, but the skeleton cannot reach it. Craving darkness, it spies a dark cave on the other side of the valley, large enough for it to squeeze into. But as it crosses the valley, it spies something approaching.
Vurg never does come back.
…to be continued…
* Oh, grow up!
