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The Age of Worms - Morrus' Campaign - Finished 6th August!!
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<blockquote data-quote="Eccles" data-source="post: 3822977" data-attributes="member: 5675"><p>Once again, the tiny form of the Fabler led us to the next location; a massive cylindrical chamber whose centrepiece was a huge mahogany circular table. Ringing the walls were vast canvasses; portraits of Zeech himself engaged in battle, reclining on a throne, hunting, they went on and on; their pattern somehow drew the eye to a single portrait in the room which was different – a tall and stately image of a woman I recognised as Lashonna.</p><p></p><p>Above our heads, the tall bronze dome was glazed with tremendous panels of stained glass in which erinnyes frolicked in the guise of a host of angels; though a closer inspection revealed that their behaviour was anything but angelic. Just below the dome was a ring of two dozen spikes, each of which had a preserved head impaled on it. The heads twitched on their spikes and revolved to face Zeech wherever he was within the room, all the while cheering and encouraging him in magical voices. </p><p></p><p>Before we were shown to our chairs, I tried to whisper the rudiments of which cutlery would be suitable for which course to my comrades, before I was swept away by a member of the serving staff and led to my seat. I had been placed right next to Prince Zeech, and would clearly have to be on my very best behaviour for the evening. </p><p></p><p>Directly opposite the Prince was an empty seat, but I had no sooner registered this than the occupant arrived. Lashonna swept into the room, dazzlingly beautiful in a sweeping dress and a tiara of black diamonds. As she entered, she said nothing but nodded at Zeech before taking her seat.</p><p></p><p>“My dear friends,” Zeech spoke as he rose to his feet. “I bid you enjoy the feast. Eat and drink your fill in my humble abode.” Sitting again, he clapped loudly, and the double doors at one end of the chamber swung open. </p><p></p><p>3 towering manticores lumbered into the room, their wings and barbed tails crudely severed to leave space for massive platters which they carried on their backs. As the beasts moved around the table, waiting staff stepped forwards to take heavy covered goblets from these platters and place them in front of the suddenly slightly trepidatious guests. </p><p></p><p>“A pilgrim,” began the Fabler in his rich voice as he leapt onto the table, “fell upon hard times upon the moors. He saw a worm, and in his hunger devoured it. The pilgrim was rewarded by the Gods for his humility and in his memory we have served our first course.”</p><p></p><p>Saying this, he gestured and the waiting staff reached past us and lifted the lids from the goblets to reveal a single writhing fat green worm at the bottom. I looked around at my fellow guests surreptitiously, and could see several of the others looking nervously either around or at one another. Only Fez and Janga, both of whom had any wilderness training, were content to reach into their goblets and scoff down the worms (Fez seeming to take some delight in the squelch of the creature between his pointed teeth). Figuring that if those two were OK then I would be safe enough, I bit down on the fat worm, feeling the thing’s bristles touch the inside of my lips as I bit down on its squirming flesh and then the slightly warm creamy-yet-lumpy contents bursting into my mouth with an explosion of vile tastes and juices.</p><p></p><p>“Mmmm, delightful,” I smiled at the Prince to my left despite it all and he nodded to himself and smiled at the people around him, some of whom (including Endo) were already turning green and gagging.</p><p></p><p>As we waited for the next course, the Fabler regaled us with a story of a nobleman who moved a tree into his garden, and of the dryad who lived in the tree’s prolonged vengeance on him. I took my turn at telling the group a tale; one of the stories I had learned early on in my career involving a man who outwitted a dragon and sold it his wife. Unfortunately, amidst a cultured crowd I had to admit that the Fabler’s tale had been the more entertaining, and I saluted him as I returned to my seat. </p><p></p><p>.oOo.</p><p></p><p>The manticores were led out again with the next course; a massive pie which, when cut, 24 blackbirds flew out in terror. We were then served the excellent vegetable pie from underneath the upper crust together with a superb white wine. After we had finished, the Fabler sang a song of his own creation, after which I sang one of the most successful pieces from my recent performance which (although I say so myself) was far better received than the Fabler’s efforts. </p><p></p><p>.oOo.</p><p></p><p>Course three was described as the Prince’s own creation, a ‘Toj Bassaridge’ – a Tojanida stuffed with basilisk which in turn had been stuffed with the flesh of an arrowhawk which in turn was stuffed with a stirge (with three arrows on the end of its proboscis). Although the thing was partially overcooked and in places almost raw and tasted quite dreadful, I was able to quell any looks of loathing on my face and promise the Prince that I was enjoying the meaty mess on my plate, others in my group were not quite as gifted at deception. Flynne had now begun to retch audibly and on the other side of the table Endo was squirming and looking visibly uncomfortable.</p><p></p><p>.oOo.</p><p></p><p>The fourth course was one colossal fish, no doubt brought here at vast expense from the seas. Stretched on a huge platter between the backs of two of the manticores, a deformed manservant carved huge chunks off the creature and served them to us with a light whipped cream. The white flesh of the fish on white plates looked truly peculiar, but the taste combination worked very well and I cleared my plate delicately before I noticed a hacking and coughing sound from across the table.</p><p></p><p>“P…” It was Endo, rapidly turning red in the face as he appeared to choke and point at his throat. “Poi…” His face was scarlet now and he looked around himself in desperation with his eyes bulging from his face. “Poisson,” he finally managed and Janga, groaning in understanding leapt down off his chair, walked a few steps and slapped the half orc between the heaving shoulders. With a ping, the errant fishbone bounced off some silverware, and Endo took a deep and ragged breath. </p><p></p><p>.oOo.</p><p></p><p>The next course was a vast purple jelly, which the Fabler took great delight in informing us had come from the internal organs of a purple worm which “in the hands of an unskilled chef will cause instant death. Who, I wonder, will take the first taste before his highness risks his safety with this terrible dish?”</p><p></p><p>Flynne, Endo and Fez all leapt to dig spoons into the jelly before the monarch, and it was Flynne who presented a clean spoon the fastest to the tiny Ominous Fabler. After this course, as we sipped iced quesh liqueur there was a competition between us all for the greatest tale of daring and adventure. Although my story telling technique was superior, I was more than prepared to sweep my hat off to Captain Killraven’s epic tales of slaughter whilst on his patrols. </p><p></p><p>.oOo.</p><p></p><p>For the last course, a tremendous cake was brought into the room and slid gently into the centre of the table amidst some fanfare. Looking at it, I could see that the cake was a carefully crafted set of tiers – a replica of the as yet unfinished ziggurat within the city. Carefully crafted in icing and marzipan at the top in a pose of triumph was a miniature version of the Prince himself.</p><p></p><p>Once the cake was in the centre of the table all of us seated for the meal applauded politely, but as we clapped, something terrible began to happen. The cake trembled, and then a part of the cocoa-powder crust cracked. The filling oozed onto the table as one side of the cake slumped downwards. The miniature Prince Zeech toppled and slid down part of the fallen cake before tumbling to the tabletop, where its head snapped off and bounced once, twice, three times into Endo’s lap.</p><p></p><p>I slid a mask of blank lack of amusement across my face in an instant, as did one or two of the others around the table, but many people were not so quick to stifle chuckles or open laughter. The Prince stared around with venom and death in his eyes, clearly singling out those who had laughed for later punishment.</p><p></p><p>As his eyes swept the table, the Fabler remarked that it was but a cake, and not made of stone and iron. I searched around for a quip of my own, and smiled brightly at the Prince before telling him that it was just as well that he was employing his Head Chef as a cook, not as an architect.</p><p></p><p>This seemed to distract the Prince, who turned to the Ominous Fabler and instructed him, “Fabler… fetch me the Chef’s Head.”</p><p></p><p>With the bloodied head of the cook replacing the cake in the centre of the table we were served with chocolates and coffee. As we sipped at the drinks, there was a sudden cry from one side of the table. P’kruss had leapt from the table and then fallen on his knees, a thick white foam falling from his lips. Janga leapt to his feet and began to run around the huge table, but his legs were too short for the distance, and by the time he and his curing spells had arrived, the hobgoblin was dead.</p><p></p><p>Without a comment, the Prince (and a smirking Fabler) rose and left the room. We all walked dazedly after him to a ballroom, where a group of skeletal musicians clattered together to begin playing music for dancing. Snatching up a lute, I joined the band, but did take a short break to engage in some of the dancing; taking a chance to take Lashonna around the dancefloor under the watchful eye of Prince Zeech, and as we danced she whispered to me that we should meet after the dinner.</p><p></p><p>“Save your questions for later,” came her silky voice into my ear. “I will contact you soon.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Eccles, post: 3822977, member: 5675"] Once again, the tiny form of the Fabler led us to the next location; a massive cylindrical chamber whose centrepiece was a huge mahogany circular table. Ringing the walls were vast canvasses; portraits of Zeech himself engaged in battle, reclining on a throne, hunting, they went on and on; their pattern somehow drew the eye to a single portrait in the room which was different – a tall and stately image of a woman I recognised as Lashonna. Above our heads, the tall bronze dome was glazed with tremendous panels of stained glass in which erinnyes frolicked in the guise of a host of angels; though a closer inspection revealed that their behaviour was anything but angelic. Just below the dome was a ring of two dozen spikes, each of which had a preserved head impaled on it. The heads twitched on their spikes and revolved to face Zeech wherever he was within the room, all the while cheering and encouraging him in magical voices. Before we were shown to our chairs, I tried to whisper the rudiments of which cutlery would be suitable for which course to my comrades, before I was swept away by a member of the serving staff and led to my seat. I had been placed right next to Prince Zeech, and would clearly have to be on my very best behaviour for the evening. Directly opposite the Prince was an empty seat, but I had no sooner registered this than the occupant arrived. Lashonna swept into the room, dazzlingly beautiful in a sweeping dress and a tiara of black diamonds. As she entered, she said nothing but nodded at Zeech before taking her seat. “My dear friends,” Zeech spoke as he rose to his feet. “I bid you enjoy the feast. Eat and drink your fill in my humble abode.” Sitting again, he clapped loudly, and the double doors at one end of the chamber swung open. 3 towering manticores lumbered into the room, their wings and barbed tails crudely severed to leave space for massive platters which they carried on their backs. As the beasts moved around the table, waiting staff stepped forwards to take heavy covered goblets from these platters and place them in front of the suddenly slightly trepidatious guests. “A pilgrim,” began the Fabler in his rich voice as he leapt onto the table, “fell upon hard times upon the moors. He saw a worm, and in his hunger devoured it. The pilgrim was rewarded by the Gods for his humility and in his memory we have served our first course.” Saying this, he gestured and the waiting staff reached past us and lifted the lids from the goblets to reveal a single writhing fat green worm at the bottom. I looked around at my fellow guests surreptitiously, and could see several of the others looking nervously either around or at one another. Only Fez and Janga, both of whom had any wilderness training, were content to reach into their goblets and scoff down the worms (Fez seeming to take some delight in the squelch of the creature between his pointed teeth). Figuring that if those two were OK then I would be safe enough, I bit down on the fat worm, feeling the thing’s bristles touch the inside of my lips as I bit down on its squirming flesh and then the slightly warm creamy-yet-lumpy contents bursting into my mouth with an explosion of vile tastes and juices. “Mmmm, delightful,” I smiled at the Prince to my left despite it all and he nodded to himself and smiled at the people around him, some of whom (including Endo) were already turning green and gagging. As we waited for the next course, the Fabler regaled us with a story of a nobleman who moved a tree into his garden, and of the dryad who lived in the tree’s prolonged vengeance on him. I took my turn at telling the group a tale; one of the stories I had learned early on in my career involving a man who outwitted a dragon and sold it his wife. Unfortunately, amidst a cultured crowd I had to admit that the Fabler’s tale had been the more entertaining, and I saluted him as I returned to my seat. .oOo. The manticores were led out again with the next course; a massive pie which, when cut, 24 blackbirds flew out in terror. We were then served the excellent vegetable pie from underneath the upper crust together with a superb white wine. After we had finished, the Fabler sang a song of his own creation, after which I sang one of the most successful pieces from my recent performance which (although I say so myself) was far better received than the Fabler’s efforts. .oOo. Course three was described as the Prince’s own creation, a ‘Toj Bassaridge’ – a Tojanida stuffed with basilisk which in turn had been stuffed with the flesh of an arrowhawk which in turn was stuffed with a stirge (with three arrows on the end of its proboscis). Although the thing was partially overcooked and in places almost raw and tasted quite dreadful, I was able to quell any looks of loathing on my face and promise the Prince that I was enjoying the meaty mess on my plate, others in my group were not quite as gifted at deception. Flynne had now begun to retch audibly and on the other side of the table Endo was squirming and looking visibly uncomfortable. .oOo. The fourth course was one colossal fish, no doubt brought here at vast expense from the seas. Stretched on a huge platter between the backs of two of the manticores, a deformed manservant carved huge chunks off the creature and served them to us with a light whipped cream. The white flesh of the fish on white plates looked truly peculiar, but the taste combination worked very well and I cleared my plate delicately before I noticed a hacking and coughing sound from across the table. “P…” It was Endo, rapidly turning red in the face as he appeared to choke and point at his throat. “Poi…” His face was scarlet now and he looked around himself in desperation with his eyes bulging from his face. “Poisson,” he finally managed and Janga, groaning in understanding leapt down off his chair, walked a few steps and slapped the half orc between the heaving shoulders. With a ping, the errant fishbone bounced off some silverware, and Endo took a deep and ragged breath. .oOo. The next course was a vast purple jelly, which the Fabler took great delight in informing us had come from the internal organs of a purple worm which “in the hands of an unskilled chef will cause instant death. Who, I wonder, will take the first taste before his highness risks his safety with this terrible dish?” Flynne, Endo and Fez all leapt to dig spoons into the jelly before the monarch, and it was Flynne who presented a clean spoon the fastest to the tiny Ominous Fabler. After this course, as we sipped iced quesh liqueur there was a competition between us all for the greatest tale of daring and adventure. Although my story telling technique was superior, I was more than prepared to sweep my hat off to Captain Killraven’s epic tales of slaughter whilst on his patrols. .oOo. For the last course, a tremendous cake was brought into the room and slid gently into the centre of the table amidst some fanfare. Looking at it, I could see that the cake was a carefully crafted set of tiers – a replica of the as yet unfinished ziggurat within the city. Carefully crafted in icing and marzipan at the top in a pose of triumph was a miniature version of the Prince himself. Once the cake was in the centre of the table all of us seated for the meal applauded politely, but as we clapped, something terrible began to happen. The cake trembled, and then a part of the cocoa-powder crust cracked. The filling oozed onto the table as one side of the cake slumped downwards. The miniature Prince Zeech toppled and slid down part of the fallen cake before tumbling to the tabletop, where its head snapped off and bounced once, twice, three times into Endo’s lap. I slid a mask of blank lack of amusement across my face in an instant, as did one or two of the others around the table, but many people were not so quick to stifle chuckles or open laughter. The Prince stared around with venom and death in his eyes, clearly singling out those who had laughed for later punishment. As his eyes swept the table, the Fabler remarked that it was but a cake, and not made of stone and iron. I searched around for a quip of my own, and smiled brightly at the Prince before telling him that it was just as well that he was employing his Head Chef as a cook, not as an architect. This seemed to distract the Prince, who turned to the Ominous Fabler and instructed him, “Fabler… fetch me the Chef’s Head.” With the bloodied head of the cook replacing the cake in the centre of the table we were served with chocolates and coffee. As we sipped at the drinks, there was a sudden cry from one side of the table. P’kruss had leapt from the table and then fallen on his knees, a thick white foam falling from his lips. Janga leapt to his feet and began to run around the huge table, but his legs were too short for the distance, and by the time he and his curing spells had arrived, the hobgoblin was dead. Without a comment, the Prince (and a smirking Fabler) rose and left the room. We all walked dazedly after him to a ballroom, where a group of skeletal musicians clattered together to begin playing music for dancing. Snatching up a lute, I joined the band, but did take a short break to engage in some of the dancing; taking a chance to take Lashonna around the dancefloor under the watchful eye of Prince Zeech, and as we danced she whispered to me that we should meet after the dinner. “Save your questions for later,” came her silky voice into my ear. “I will contact you soon.” [/QUOTE]
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