(Thanks to Wulf's book) Heroes of High Favor: A Dwarven Saga

[Rune]

Session 3, part 2

Wroth is desperately searching his pouches for something, while trying not to jostle his armor.

Thrallin asks of the wanderers their business in these depths.

They respond that they are in search of a brass dragon and a party member, who has been lost to them.

Thinking that the remains of their party-member are smeared across the wall behind them, the dwarves dodge the topic, as best they can.

"Er," Thrallin stumbles, "Tha Tree o' Power hasn't seen 'im come by this way, bein' immobile, an' all. But we, uh, wish ye good luck on your journey, an'..."

Here, the Tree interrupts, "MY PROTECTORS WILL HELP YOU SEEK THE BRONZE DRAGON."

Thrallin diplomatically interjects, "Um, it's a brass dragon, O Tree o' Power."

"WHATEVER."

Wroth pulls out two lumps of hard, dwarven bread that look vaguely like shriveled fruit.

"An'," Thrallin continues, eyeing the two objects, "We give ye these 'Apples o' Might' to help ye out!"

"Er, thank you." The party graciously, if somewhat cautiously, accepts the offered lumps of scarcely edible hardtack and hastily leave the locale.

When they have vanished, Pikkit approaches. She has waded through the now-shallow waters of the cavern and made her way forward to the present spot.

"How'd ye find us?"

"Well, tha floor kinda slopes into a crevice in a wide swath leadin' from the spot where tha center o' tha whirlpool were. I jus' figured followin' it'd be tha best thing ta do first."

Wroth chuckles deeply, his heavy plate armor rattling as he does so. "Ye're pretty smart, fer a girl."

A few seconds later, when he comes to, the questioning continues.

"What happened ta Wart?"

A tear gleams in Pikkit's eye as she responds, her voice even lower than usual.

"He didn't make it. Durned fool went an hit his head an' drown'ded. I gave 'him the Warrior's Last Rights, but I couldn’t get tha body, on account o' it bein' in tha whirlpool."

The dwarves (all now in dwarf-form) take a moment to mourn in stony silence.





















...Which is interrupted by a booming voice.

"WHY HAVE YOU BLASPHEMED AGAINST THE TREE OF POWER?"

 

[NiTessine]

*Peers in, reads, bookmarks the Story Hour. Will be back for more.*

 

[Piratecat]

Now they're in for it!

 

[Horacio]

I love this Dwarven mayhem story hour...

 

[Rune]

Incidentally, for those of you who are curious about such things, the player of Wart missed session 2. When he came back for session 3, he decided that he'd rather play Pikkit, so she's now a PC.

Since she hasn't actually cast any spells in the game, yet, he may retroactively change her specialization from enchanter to something else (perhaps even evocation, which I believe is currently barred).

 

[alsih2o]

good story so far...has me waiting for more

 

[Rune]

Session 3, part 3

The dwarves heave a collective sigh, ready their weapons, and go forth into the darkness to do battle with this new opponent.

They encounter...nothing.

"Where ye be, O Tree o' Power?"

"SEEK ME OUT, AND YOU MAY WELL SEEK YOUR DOOM."

The voice now seems to come from the dwarves' left flank. The dwarves alter their course to compensate.

"Yeah, yeah. Where ye be, O Tree o' Power?"

"POWERFUL AM I, WHOM YOU DISCOUNT."

The voice is now on their right.

"Why can't ye be more treelike, an' stay put while we're lookin' fer ye?"

"THEN STAND, I SHALL, IF YOU SEEK YOUR DEATH SO SOON!"

This last pronouncement is bellowed from just behind the dwarves.

But, when they turn around, they still see no tree.

Rather, Wroth sees something small skitter in the shadows at the edge of his vision.

"It's a frikkin' gnome," he says with a gritty chuckle. "Let's get 'im!"

The four dwarves have little trouble cornering the little trickster and pin him to the newly-widened stone wall, not terribly far away from the remains of the pasty human.

"Are ye daft?"

"'Course he's daft! He's a gnome!"

"Just what the hell do ye think ye're doin'?"

"Give us one reason why we shouldn' skin ye an' leave ye' to rot down here?"

"I bet he's a spy fer th' surface-dwellers."

"Don't look like he's got the intellimagence fer it."

"Well, what should we do wit' 'im?"

When the gnome is finally allowed a chance to speak, he starts to explain his predicament.

This is a condensed retelling of what the dwarves hear:

Squeak...squeak...heard dwarves...squeak...Tree of Power...squeak...played trick for fun...squeak...estrangement...squeak...lost party in search of brass dragon...squeak...blah...blah...squeak...blah.

...From which, the dwarves gather that the gnome is, in fact, the missing member of the previously encountered party (figures they'd have a gnome, too), rather than the unfortunate human who now adorns the tunnel wall. For some reason or another, the gnome decided that he didn't really like his companions and now he'd rather hang around and pester the dwarves.

Like hell.

"Ye ain't commin' wit' us."

"Sure, I am. You'll learn to like me."

"Shave me beard an' call me an elf-wench if I let this li'l runt come wit' us, 'cause no dwarven lass is gonna be caught beside a squeaky li'l bugger like 'im."

"Aw, come on! I'm cute! I'm likeable!"

"Fine! Ye shut up and keep shut up, an' ye can follow us, but don' blame us if we get ye killed!"

As that order of business has finally been settled, the dwarves determine that it is time to move on. Brunta whispers to his badger in a very audible rasp, "Bagger, go down this tunnel an' stiff out tha regiment."

The badger looks scornfully upon its "friend."

"Go on, do it."

The badger looks balefully upon its "companion."

"I'll spay you."

Grrrrrrr.

Wroth interjects diplomatically, if somewhat violently, and moves down the tunnel, in the fore.

"Ye're a bad bagger," whispers Brunta.

The tunnel neither branches, nor turns for several miles and the dwarves eventually decide to make camp for the night near one wall of the massive tunnel. Looking around, they are surprised to see that the gnome has kept pace with them, so they place him on the first watch and drift into stony slumber, dreaming dwarven dreams.

The smell of roasting flesh greets them when they waken.

Gnome is cooking rats on spits. The dwarves fall into breakfast ravenously.

"We might have a use fer ye, yet, gnome. Long as ye don't say nothin'."

"Oh, before I forget to mention it, a very large group of orcs passed by while you were asleep. They were going that way."

Gnome points in the direction that the dwarves had been traveling the day before.

The dwarves are, understandably, livid. "How many?"

"I'm not sure, maybe hundred or few."

"Ye mean to tell us that a frikkin' ARMY of frikkin' ORCS strolled past us, an' ye didn't think it was important enough to wake us up?"

"Well, er...I guess you could put it that way..."

Gnome leaps out of the way before he can be skewered by four rat-roasting spits.

"So, I guess we're going back the other way, huh?" he squeaks hopefully, but pathetically.

Thrallin grins. "Why, no. I reckon we're gonna hunt some orcs!"

Gnome's gulp echoes through the tunnel for miles.

 

[Horacio]

Great Dwarven update, as usual

 

[Wulf Ratbane]

Re: Session 3, part 3

The four gnomes have little trouble corning the little trickster and pin him to the newly-widened stone wall, not terribly far away from the remains of the pasty human.

See there? This is what happens when you don't update often enough.

Mix up yer gnomes and dwarves again and it's ass-meet-boot time.

Although I'm not sure I want to picture four dwarves "corning" the little trickster and pinning him to the wall.


Wulf

 

[Ruined]

Ah, Rune, good story. This has me yearning for the old days of playing in a Warhammer FRP game where all three players were dwarven Troll-Slayers. Blood, orc-guts, and humor.