The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel


The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel​

The scene is set, four newbies to the game of Dungeons & Dragons, children of friends, they are from left to right; Jake (10 years old), James (also 10), Alec (12) and Pat (9)- you know there’s going to be trouble.

And thus it begins the first session of D&D in their lives, yes they’d seen stuff on the TV, yes they’d played some sappy on-line game where they had to collect crystals and what-have-you, yes they’d heard about D&D and that it was for geeks… curse them, what do they know, I’ll show them, I’ll make mincemeat out of them, I’ll… oh hang on, getting carried away… to the Sunless Citadel with them.

Dramatis Persona

Jake -

Dartamor a Male Half-Elf Rogue Lvl 1, a natural born sneak with a startling intelligence, able to see through most simple tricks and traps, quiet at times, but knows more than he says. Keen to impress others with his abilities and with his nose in everything he makes an ideal rogue, tracker, sneak, sniper and trap-finder. Short, compact and wiry; he’s a lot stronger than you think, with his rapier in hand he’s lightning fast- he does however suffer from constant colds and minor complaints. He says what he means-

DM “So you’re going to climb down till you’re five or so feet from the bottom, leap, tumble- come up behind the rat and kill it- then spring round and watch to see if there’s anything else coming?”
Dartamor “Yes.”
DM “In just one round.”
Dartamor “Yes.”
Sound of Dice rolling.
DM “Mmm. The rat’s dead, in fact very dead… there’s nothing coming.”

James -

Grand Alf a Male Human Sorcerer Lvl 1, pretends to older and wiser than he is, he’s 22 with a stick on fake grey beard. He’s a terrible weakling but knows this and so tries to avoid all physical activity, right down to making tea. Tall and gangly, particularly in his pointy wizards hat, on which he has glued several stars and a moon. He is however a dab-hand at the magic and has a twinkling intellect with the ability to talk himself, and anything else, up. A silver tongued creature-

“Ah yes so what you’re saying Mr. Bugbear is really that you are hungry, you need food, and while you have captured me now and are in the process of making a fire with which to roast me… I have a proposition, what will you eat tomorrow. I see, you’re not sure, and yes- you will be hungry again… starving… ravenous. Well if you were to let me go then I could perhaps help you, you see I know where there are at least three others who are equally easy pickings… yes stick with me Mr. Bugbear and you can have all the party members you want to eat. A steady supply of heroes… ”

Alec -

Aleso Flett a Male Human Paladin of Pelor Lvl 1, an honest, courageous and kind bumbling fool that always knows the right thing to do, and yet often his good intentions leave himself and others in great peril. Almost nondescript, if it wasn’t for his voice he’d be very easy to forget, however possessed of a rumbling bass voice his threats and prayers can be heard miles away, he sounds like he should be at the opera, he thinks himself a ladies man-

“And I spake unto you blessed child, for I am waxing with wroth and fiery countenance, and verily I cry to the heavens- get off my bloody foot.” Delivered with a flourish and a bow, there follows a smattering of applause. Or-

“Stand fast errant rogue for your days of plunder without consequence are soon to… Oh he’s gone.”

Pat -

Saradomin a Male Human Cleric of St. Cuthbert Lvl 1, makes Dartamor look shy, he’s the first everywhere, unbelievably helpful, kind, courageous, and of the belief that he can do any job- which is often when the problems start. Big and burly, built for the long haul, rather than the sprint- he’s healthy, well, happy and content- a born survivor. While he’s here, there and everywhere he’s as much a liability as a help at times, heavy armour and weapons means he clanks as he sneaks, his idea of disarming a trap involves close contact via his heavy mace, he cuts to the chase-

“St Cuthbert hear my call, bless me as I sneak over to the Goblins over there and deliver them from there sin.” Delivered Brian Blessed style, i.e. shouting, the Goblins obviously hear him but stand about bemused, unsure of how to react to the crouching clanking Cleric’s unstealthy approach- right up to the point when he brains one of them. Or-

“I pick the lock… with my Mace… St. Cuthbert hear my <SMASH> call <SMASH> make this BLOODY door <SMASH> Ooo <SMASH> pen.”

Chapter 1 The Sunless Citadel: The Attack of the Giant Killer Rat of Death​

Skip the intro, like in all good films the backstory will unfold as the story goes on.

The four intrepid adventurers find themselves at the Sunless Citadel, actually a crevasse in the earth, Dartamor peers over the edge, in conversation with Grand Alf.

“Can you see anything?” Grand Alf enquires.
Dartamor looks back up, “Yes.”
“Darkness. Oh.”
“Something’s down there.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw it move.”
“What was it?”
“Something… not sure, something moving.”

Saradomin wanders over, leaving Aleso waxing his moustache in a small compact mirror- the Paladin understands that it is important to look good at all times, personal grooming is as much part of the Paladin code as the smiting of evil. His ‘tache is looking marvellous at the moment, he’ll be combing the ladies out of it when he returns a hero that’s for sure.

Saradomin joins the conversation-

“So what’s going on?”
“Well, it’s a crevasse, only it’s dark, and there’s something down there.”

Grand Alf states, all the time eyeing the thief who’s still peering over the edge into the inky blackness. He presses on with his interogation of Dartamor.

“What’s down there?”
“Something like?”
“Oh, I see- very helpful.”

Aleso, ‘tache perfect, strides over.

“Can I be of assistance, is there evil that needs to be smoten, shall I bring light into the darkness below… can I…”

He’d go on for hours if they’d let him. Grand Alf intervenes, leans over and blows on the end of Aleso’s shiny (oh so shiny) Scimitar, it glows, like a coal, an ember from a fire, then sparks into a bright white light.

“Oh. I say. That’s nice”

The Paladin’s impressed.

“Go on then”

Grand Alf pushes the tin can Paladin towards the edge, he winks at Dartamor, who scrambles up, grabs a rope and begins to tie it round the Paladin’s thick waist. Grand Alf continues-

“It’s time for you to bring the light Aleso.”
“To smite evil?”
“I should hope so.”

The rope’s secure.

“Are you ready brave Paladin?”

Aleso nods, goes to salute but is swiftly pushed over the edge, the other three take the strain. The rope slips a little through Saradomin's hands.

“Blimey- what have you been eating- rocks”

Slowly the dangling lump of metal and man is lowered into the gloom, which fades as he looms closer.


“What’s that?”

Saradomin calls down.

“It’s me, I think. The suit needs oil.. oh, no. Hang on. I see something.”
“I knew there was something down there.” Dartamor nods in a "told-you-so" manner.

Grand Alf tuts, and lets go of the rope, Aleso lurches down as the rope slips.



sQuueeeEEk sQQQueekkk


Aleso jumps to his feet and swings wildly slicing into one of the creatures, they’re Dire Rats, as big as dogs and with gnashing fangs, another one leaps in- bites at his leg, sinks its fangs into Aleso’s metal boot- hangs on, leaving Aleso hopping.


Back up top Dartamor is listening hard.

“What did he say?”
“Something about Kelp?” Grand Alf states- definite, and yet...
“That’s what he said.”

Dartamor leans over-


They listen intently for a reply.

“I… I… I… NEED.”

Dartamor reports back,

“He needs. Hang on there’s more.”


Dartamor shouts back,


Dartamor turns back to the others…

“Why would he need Kelp?”

Back with the Paladin, the two rats are moving in for the kill, Aleso is dodging and swinging at one while the other, teeth still sunk into his leg hangs on, like some demented version of the hokey-cokey.


Dartamor registers the new information,

“Oh it was help”, he chuckles, “I thought he said…” At this point he notices the faces of his companions, “I’ll get off then.”

Dartamor lowers himself over the edge using the rope as a guide.


Dartamor appears from above, scambling down the cliff, as finally with much shaking and scraping the Paladin dislodges the bitey rat.

Dartamor lands lightly behind the other… and swipes… slicing the creatures back legs clean off, it expires.

The first rat rushes at the Paladin again, who sees his opportunity, FWUMP, the rat connects with the Paladin’s boot, or vice-versa, and is sent spiralling backwards… and over the cliff.

The Paladin grabs a cloth and begins polishing his boots.

Dartamor takes a look around then hollers up.


Saradomin and Grand Alf make their way down gingerly, the gawky Grand Alf getting into difficulties every five or so feet. The others (Dartamor) offer advice and encouragement-



“FaaaaaaaLLLL OFF”

After much mumbling and shuffling they’re ready to head off again, although Aleso is still not happy.

“This rat blood is damn difficult to shift, anyone got any metal polish…”

Dartamor leads the way down, a set of sloping natural stone stairs wind down to another ledge, then another set of stairs and another ledge… and onwards, and down.

About thirty feet further down they catch sight of the Citadel, a ruin in places, in others seemingly transported from the surface, to the cavern floor, intact- it looks foreboding.

“Wow.” Saradomin's mouth a perfect 'o'.
“It looks pretty foreboding.” Grand Alf states to no one.

Saradomin is impressed,

“How d’you reckon that happened?”
“Probably the work of evil, demons and the like- fear not for I will smite the way clear.”

The Paladin grins, and polishes his Scimitar, then his boot, then his Scimitar again, all the time grinning, itching to get into the fray.

“Yes. Evil. Mmm… probably.”

Grand Alf winks at the others, the Paladin dribbles a little at the thought of all that smiting.

“Let’s get on.”

Dartamor heads off again, the stairs wend down to the cavern floor, and onto the top of a battlement, either side a sea of rubble and broken masonry, across the battlement a wooden door into a fairly intact tower.

SqWeeek EEEk EEEk eeek eeek

The echo of rats, Aleso strides to the crenulations, ready for the onslaught, a lone rat, thirty feet away watches on.

Sqweee wee wee wee wee?

It inquires. The Paladin shakes his Scimitar once or twice.

“Be off you vermin of evil…”

Saradomin and Grand Alf watch on- bemused and amused respectively.

Dartamor, mean times, is at the door, thoroughly checking it for traps…

“It doesn’t look trapped, there are lots of tracks here, plenty of activity.”

“Of course it’s say…”

Grand Alf strides forward towards the door, and then mid-sentence disappears into a hole in the floor, a trapdoor.

“fe… bugger.”

The others wander over.

A light flares from the hole…


“There’s a rat. A rat. A big RAT. IHATERATS.”

And so there is, Grand Alf swings and misses by a country mile, swings again and manages to clonk himself on the nose, it bleeds a little.

“Well don’t just stand there… BLUDDY HELP ME.”

Above the three other adventurers decide who’s going to rescue Grand Alf. Daratamor begins the ritual chant...


Grand Alf swings again, the rat has hold of his robe, it’s a tug-of-war and the rats winning, the six foot mage is being drawn into the gnashing maw of the snapping rat.

“It’s got me… I’m done for… Save me… Save me… There’s so much I haven’t done- I want to Fireball a Troll, just one time… Please… Think of the children… I’ll let you have a go of my wand…”

Dartamor launches himself down into the pit, lands perfectly, and comes up swinging… misses badly. The rat doesn’t like the odds, leaps out of the pit causing Aleso and Saradomin to scatter.

Grand Alf is hunched in the corner eyes closed.

“I don’t want to die like this… Eaten by a rat… It’s so undignified… What would my Mum think… Mum… Mum… MUMMY.”

While up top Aleso and Saradomin scatter.

“Get it away. Get it away. It’s dirty.”

The Paladin dives for cover, Saradomin, the cleric swings and misses, the rat leaps the battlements and sprints for cover in the rubble field.

Silence returns.



The two rats cosy up thirty or so feet away.

All is well in the rat world.

Aleso and Saradomin sheepishly pull Grand Alf, who uses his robe to wipe away the tears and snot, and Dartamor out of the pit. The four dust themselves down, nobody talking…


Aleso clears his throat, rubs at his rat-marked armour.

“We’d arrr… we’d arr best get on.”
“What to smite evil, and that?” Grand Alf suggests.

Aleso nods. Dartamor opens the door.

Into a circular tower, the structure is intact, for the most part, all the floors however have disappeared- it’s straight up thirty or forty feet. There are two doors one wooden (North East), one stone (South East).

The four fan out, noticing for the first time the Goblin bodies, three of them, on the floor, another speared into the wall- all very dead, and recent.

“What… what…” Dartamor stammers.

It becomes obvious that these four are new to the game- adventuring.

Aleso has a long face, he gulps quickly hiding his shock, there’s a lot of blood.

“Goblins… Goblins they’re…”

The others mooch, trying to avoid the sight, rats are ok, but Goblins they look kind of real… humanoid. Lots of blood.

Dartamor heads to the stone door,

“I’ll check this out.”

He doesn’t look back.

Aleso strides over to the other door,

“I’ll keep an eye on this one.”

Grand Alf lifts his robes up a little, like a maid with her skirts, and patters through the pool of blood- prodding the dead Goblin’s with his staff.

“They’re dead.”

Saradomin grabs at the spear pinning the fourth Goblin to the wall, it comes free in his hand- the Goblin CLONKS to the floor head first, more blood spills. Saradomin backs off sickened. Then notices…

“There’s something here… written on the wall, squiggly writing.”

In time the others shuffle over to have a look, Dartamor can read it.

“It’s Draconic… the writing, it says ‘Ashardalon’.”
“Who d’you reckon that is?” Saradomin asks.
“Dunno. But I’m not sure I like the fact it’s written in Draconic, you know who speaks Draconic?”
Silence for a while, each daring the other…
“No. Who?”

The others look at Aleso, Dartamor pronounces every letter of his reply.


Aleso nods slowly, scratches his chin, in profile-

“Yes. That makes sense.”

Saradomin pipes up,

“We should check the other walls.”

And so they do- there’s no more writing but there is a discovery.

“Hey guys, there’s something here.” It's Dartamor again.
“More specific?” Grand Alf asks.
“A door I think.”

The others gather around to watch Dartamor work.

“Yep. It’s a door… and it’s trapped- hang on.”

Thirty seconds of tinkering later and Dartamor holds an ancient looking and discoloured needle in his hands,


Dartamor pockets it,

“Hang on, I’ll get the door.”

Thirty more seconds and…


The door opens revealing a narrow passage into darkness, crammed with broken masonry and the bones of…


The thief dives aside. Saradomin steps forward…

“By the all that is Holy,
Skellies feel the wrath
Of St. Cuthbert’s welly.”


All three skeletons are contained in a glowing white aura, they go kinda floppy…

“Get ‘em.” Aleso charges.

Saradomin holds his holy symbol up and continues to mutter prayers under his breath- the others, even Grand Alf, wade in.

And in a minute or so the skellies are reduced to splintered bone, leaving the fantastic foursome grinning.

This short fight seems to gee the party up a bit, even Grand Alf who’s robe has got several slimy trails from the snot and tears generated from “THE ATTACK OF THE GIANT KILLER RAT OF DEATH.”

They step back to admire their work… next week… more.
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Chapter 1a: The Sunless Citadel: The Pig of Terrible Doom.

Chapter 1a: The Sunless Citadel: The Pig of Terrible Doom.​

Actually I missed a section out, the above session didn’t end there, we press on…

The four huddle around the stone door, which Dartamor has declared safe, and with a shove they’re in. The room beyond is a wreck; pools of water, broken masonry and far off, in the shadows, a terrible sound-


Instinctively Aleso turns to leave, subconsciously brushing at the dirty spot on his armour, Grand Alf rises to his full height and then thinking better of it scuttles out of the room, Saradomin waves his torch about like a demented lighthouse. Dartamor is more proactive, and less frightened of rats it seems…


He fires.


The noise stops.

Aleso shoves to the front again, nods at Dartamor and steps into the room. They creep in…

And a minute or so later they declare the room clear, the western wall has partially collapsed, gaps poke through to the rubble field beyond, the only real point of interest is the door.

They stand around it, speculating-

“It’s a pig.” Grand Alf crosses his arms, certain.
“It’s not a pig it’s a dragon.” Dartamor's not so sure, particularly as he's just caught the eye of the DM.
“It’s a PIG- look at the snout.” No, Grand Alf is adamant.
“It’s a dragon.” So's the DM... and Dartamor.
“It’s a flying pig- the snout, a dead give away.” Grand Alf wins.

Let me explain- I, your friendly narrator & DM, had brought to life a startling depiction of a dragon, top down view- it was so real, so life like that I feared for the sanity of the children… alas they said, in unison, “a pig?”

“What’s in its mouth?” Grand Alf has spotted something.

Dartamor has a look inside,

“There’s a keyhole…”

Grand Alf taps his foot and stares at the thief. Aleso steps up to the plate…

“I will hold the strange pig of terrible doom-type creature’s jaws agape while you delve into its fanged snout… I mean maw.”

Aleso does so, grappling with invisible forces, straining and groaning to keep the untrapped, unmoving maw open. A minute or so of gurning later the thief pops his head out; the paladin leaves off and wipes his brow- another job well done, another soul saved.

“Nah. Can’t be done- tricksy like, need the key.”

Grand Alf is shocked.

“Nah! What kind of answer is that, I thought you said you’d done this before? I don’t want to be down here with a thief who can’t open doors… Are you even qualified?”

Dartamor rises to his full height, five feet; Grand Alf puts his wizard hat on, about six feet ten, including hat.

The two bump chests, squaring up, sorta- what with the height difference, grimacing and gnashing.

“Long tall streak off…”
“Short, sleight… pointy-eared… Inadequate.”

Aleso and Saradomin step in.

“Now, now… people, as St. Cuthbert always says- ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’” states the Cleric.

“Pelor says, ‘Help, when you need somebody… Help’” Counters the Paladin.

The two god-botherers glare at each other.

“Obviously Pelor, a minor deity, is more attuned to ditties and homilies, rather than actual words of wisdom.”
“Well, St. Cuthbert is nothing but a drunken Scot cadging money in the street.”

It kicks off…

Twenty minutes later our heroes are back in the first chamber, the round tower- Aleso limps a little, Grand Alf has a ripped robe and a crumpled hat, Dartamor displays a startlingly red ear and Saradomin has the beginnings of a black eye. They’re eating sandwiches. Nobody speaks… for a bit. Dartamor breaks the silence.


Dartamor shuffles around in his jerkin.

“Here’s your wallet back.”

Alf jumps up.

“You bloody thief.”

Dartamor smiles.

“Thanks. Can I get that in writing.”

Alf gauges the moment.


And sits, but not silently, the bubble's burst.

“What ya got in your sarnies?” He enquires.
“Jam, it's an Elven thing, we eat a lot of Jam.” Dartamor replies.
“Aleso?” Grand Alf presses on.
“Pelor states that sandwiches should be plain, unadorned and without flavour.”
“What ya got then?”
“Beef paste.”
“How is it?”
“Saradomin?” Next for scrutiny, Grand Alf completes the circle.
“St. Cuthbert states that sandwiches should be free, members of the church should enjoy the fruits of their toil with good sandwiches in order to recover from the trials of life.”
“What ya got then?”
“Beef paste. It’s all the pub had… it tastes fishy.”

The sound of chewing.

“What do you have Grand Alf?” Dartamor remembers his manners.
“Magic Smash.”

The chewing stops. Dartamor needs more information, looking at their faces, so do the others.

“Magic Smash?”

There’s only one person chewing.

“What’s magic smash?”

“Well… you know nuts?”
“Well you start off by shelling them and then smashing them, then the fermented cream of Moocows is churned into finest butter, salt is added, then the smashed nuts- the whole mixture is then churned again- some people like it smooth, that’s churned for up to two years, others, like me, like it crunchy- it’s usually ready in a week or two. It gives you magic points back.”

The one chewer continues.

“Magic Points?”
“It’s something I read. I’ve certainly noticed the difference with my light spells- they glow brighter.”

“What’s it called again?”
“Magic Smash.”
“Right. Can I have a bite?”


“And err…” Aleso chimes in.


“I wouldn’t mind…” Saradomin takes up the cause.


The sound of four people chewing.

“It gets in yer teef.” Dartamor manages.
“But it tastes Magic.” Aleso admires the sarnie from afar.
“Lovely.” Saradomin confirms it.
“Mmmm.” Grand Alf chews on.

A while later they’re all done and friends again…

And then through the wooden door…

A corridor into darkness, no hang on there’s a door ahead and there must be a light in the room beyond, creepy creepy they go.

There’s another door on the right, into an empty room, Grand Alf mooches in, takes a quick look around.


There’s a much more daunting door on the left, a huge metal thing. Grand Alf and Saradomin start to work at it, seconds later they’re ready to jump in; the plan fails when they discover that the door is tight shut- probably locked. They turn round to look for Dartamor, who puts his finger to his lips for shush…

Dartamor and Aleso are at the far door, into the lit room,


The door opens, a strange room, many doors and darkened archways leading from it, a crude looking altar, a bent and broken cage and lastly and most importantly something, or somebody, laid on the floor on the far side of the room- crying

Mww Mwww Mwww

“Shhhh… listen…”

Mwww Cornnnflakes Mwww Mwww




And with that the first session actually comes to an end…

Next time… Aleso vs. The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).
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Pretty good stuff. :)

One suggestion: Please ID who is speaking in the dialogue more. I'm getting lost trying to keep track of who is talking.


Will do, although my initial thought was that it doesn't matter, except when it does and then I make it clear-ish. Point taken. Thanks for the feedback.

Happy hunting.


Aleso vs The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).

The Lost Boys Vs The Sunless Citadel

Aleso vs The Demon from Hell (or Hull, I forget which).​

Mww Mww

The crying continues, Dartamor sneaks into the room, around the altar- there on the floor is a lone Kobold, a kind of pixie version of a dinosaur, like a Raptor only made of squeakier stuff- they’re weak individually but in a gang… actually they’re still pretty weak.

Anyway, back to reality.

Mwww Mww

Tenderly, gently Dartamor reaches down to let the Kobold know he’s here. Alas Aleso spoils the day-

“Hold, feeble Kobold Demon of the nine pentangles, fisher of souls, lure of the devil Be-al-zee-bubble.”

He clangs in having caught sight of the creature, waving his scimitar around, pushing Dartamor aside.


Meepo, for it is he, leaps to his feet, and is about to go running when Dartamor snakes out an arm and catches him; holds him fast.

EEyyyeee OOOyyee YYeeee Neeee

Which turns out to mean, Dartamor translates in an instance-

“Ayeeee. Oiiiii. Yooooo. Nooooo.”

The others- Saradomin and Grand Alf wander in to see what all the noise is about.

The following conversation takes place with the aid of Dartamor, chief translator. Meepo should be read in a scouse accent- all Kobolds are Scousers, for those across the water (any water), Scousers are the inhabitants of Liverpool and talk a little squeaky-like, go here for a comedy example-

“Ellp me, leuv me onmetod, ow dat pinches.” Meepo struggles at first, Dartamor holds fast. Aleso winds up…

“Hold fast scaly demon, though art nought but trailer-trash, sway not towards the hellish stingy wasps of doom, instead tread lightly on the path to redemption. HAVE YOU SEEN THE LIGHT?”

Meepo understands none of this but is mesmerised by Aleso’s sonorous voice. Dartamor translates.

“Stay thuz. You’re nowt but… skip it. Firkin about wasps… stingy. Don’t corky and chalk ed de grass. Where’s de light switch?”


Dartamor looks at Aleso hard, “No. There’s nowt worth repeat'n thuz. Anyroad, i’m Dartamor- oo ay yous?”

Meepo yelps- “Meepo.” Happy to oblige.

Dartamor continues at a happy pace, grabs Meepo’s hand and pumps it hard.

“Nice ter meet yous Meepo, I’m Dartamor, de tin can’s Aleso, ignore 'im- most o' de time we do, oh and stand behind 'im whun 'e’s fight'n, it’s like a thresh'n machine whun 'e gets go'n.”

Grand Alf and Saradomin wander over, Grand Alf tips his hat at Meepo, all nine-yards of it, Meepo looks up, and up, and up at the Wizard.

“Is thuz snow ed it?”

Dartamor translates, “He wants to know Grand Alf, is there snow on the top of your hat?”

Grand Alf harrumphs and wanders off- Saradomin goes down on one knee and offers Meepo a sandwich, “Beef paste… good eatin’”

Meepo goes to take a bite, hesitates, sniffs once, twice- shakes his head. “Fishy”

Dartamor laughs, “he says it’s ‘Fishy’”

Saradomin wanders off with Grand Alf to look at the cage, it’s fairly large and bent out of shape, whatever was in it is now out it.

“Ask him what’s this about?”

Grand Alf nudges his head through the gap in the bars, a light dusting of snow sprinkles down onto the point of his hat. Meepo chuckles.

Dartamor continues his interrogation, “What’s de cage fe?”


The others turn round at the wail.

Aleso, who’s been looking confused- he could win competitions for it, loses it. “PELOR BE BLESSED SHUT THE MONGREL UP AND THEN GET HIM TO TELL US WHO THIS BEDAMNED CORNFLAKES IS, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO…”

A grinding noise as a door opens in the north of the room, three more, heavily armed- sharpened sticks mainly, Kobolds saunter out, they crouch in combat stance- prod the air.

“Come ed dun.”
“Ave’ it.”
“Yer lewkin’ at me?”

Dartamor sighs, “I believe they have taken issue with you Aleso. They’re enquiring as to whether or not you ‘want some?’”

“Are they mocking me- ‘want some’ what? Are they collecting for something? Tell them to put their sticks down; someone could have an eye out.”

Dartamor translates, “Put de sticks down lads, de tin can’s not fe fight'n.”

Meepo stops stunned, a little light bulb appears above his head, or it would do if they’d been invented.

He dashes in front of Aleso, protecting him from the Kobold menace.
“Leuv 'im, like. 'E’s not worth it. Dee tinnie ellp us- find Cornflakes…”

Enlightenment hits the three Kobold guards in a flash… actually it takes about 2-3 minutes for the last of them to get it.

The Lost Boys sit around while the Kobold guards work out what Meepo is proposing- the boldest steps forward, to make certain.

“So… Dem get Cornflakes… Dem duz… Get Cornflakes… Dem… Get im… Fe us… Cornflakes.” Whipbang Smallpox Grumblepants has been a Kobold guard for all his adult life- about six months and counting, he’s probably the cleverest. “Dem dere… Get Cornflakes… Fe us.”

Dartamor translates, as usual, “They want us to fetch, or find, or something, someone called… Cornflakes.”

Meepo stops eating his Magic Smash sandwich- Grand Alf has a heart it appears, spitting peanuts he replies, “Yefff.”

He concludes, “taykff fffem touf Ysdryalfff”, peanuts everywhere, mostly on Aleso’s nice new armour.

“Spawn of Satan, you shall pay dearly for the dismarking of my armourous protectage of truth, lead us to this Ysdrayl and I shall make forth unto brokering… agreement, be warned… thou villainous, scurvy… scurvy… what was I saying?”

Dartamor fills in, “I kun it’s a cliché but- take me ter yer leader”, and for the others, “Take me to your leader.”

Aleso nods heartily, alas (for the DM) Grand Alf and Saradomin have other ideas.

“What’s behind that door there, in the passage, the one that’s locked?”

A line of Kobolds shrug, in unison. Meepo mumbles something.

“What did he say?” Grand Alf enquires.

Dartamor’s mouth is agape, he looks at Aleso, then at Meepo, shuts his mouth, shakes his head, then bows it- defeated, “he said a demon.”


Aleso drops to his knees, clasps his hands in prayer, face to the sky, actually grufty ceiling-

“Thank you Pelor, thou hast favoured me once more, fear not for yours is the glory, and mine a little, I will slay this foul beast of the nether parts, actually quite a lot, I will run him through, of the glory, sever his gizzard, or gizzard-like appendage, is mine, I will snaffle his goiter, ram his chuff right up… RIGHT UP HIS ALLEY.”

Aleso jumps to his feet and shadow boxes for a while.

“In the zone. In the zone. You’re ready for this. You can take him… just a demon. Left-Right. Left-Right. Shield. Chop. In the zone.”

He winks at Dartamor, “get the door.”

Dartamor shakes his head, downcast, trails out to the door- the Kobold guards crane to see where he’s going, spot him tinkering with the door… and run. Meepo crawls back into his sleeping rag-pile and cries quietly.

Mwwww Mwww

Thirty seconds later the door grinds open, it’s not been opened in a while, a little rusty at the bottom. Inside a tiny chamber is a barrel… of sorts, there are pipes going into it and out of it.


It talks, Aleso shoves Dartamor aside, leans in, places his ear to the barrel…


“Oh you beauty.”

He cranes up to the top of the barrel.

“There’s a bung.”

“Nooooooooooo”, in unison.


Too late, bung in hand, Aleso stands on tippy-toes to see in.


Then nothing.

Some more nothing.


Aleso thumps the guard of his Scimitar into the barrel.


And some more.

Aleso steps back, the others know its wrong but are mesmerised, down on the floor, back in the previous room, Meepo crawls round the altar and watches… with one eye shut, and his hand over his nose.



An armoured Aleso leg kicks the barrel.


It wobbles back and forth.


Aleso turns to leave, “You said…”


A little blue demon (ahem, Water Mephit) squeezes its way out, it flutters its liquid wings once or twice, hovering above the barrel. The adventurers turn to stare.



A rasping farting sound followed by a tiny jet of sea green gas, the cloudy quickly spreads filling the corridor.

“Cuthbert save me now…”

But he doesn’t, Saradomin hits the deck like a side beef, with a meaty slap- out cold.

Dartamor stumbles, then tumbles and is out of the sulphurous stink, choking.

Grand Alf jumps back- into a wall, knocking his wizard’s hat over his eyes. He rights himself quickly mutters arcane words of magic…


Ahem, sorry about that it seems the more common magic incantations are trademarked, as I say- sorry.

A Magic Missile leaps from his hand and…


Into the demons midriff, causing a ripple effect, the creature becomes a liquid blue squiggle in the air, just enough time…


For Aleso to grab it in his mailed fist and…


Jam it back in the barrel…


And ram the cork back in.

Aleso beams, obliterating the fact that he released the creature from his mind in an instant, he looks around.

Saradomin is coming too- he’s kinda green looking, Dartamor is dry heaving in a corner, Grand Alf is wiping his eyes frantically with his robe, they’re streaming with tears.

“Job done.”

The Paladin strides back into Meepo’s room.

He has recently acquired the ability to speak Draconic…


“Dragon.” Meepo proudly states.

Dartamor staggers into the room,

“He said…”

“Yes, I got that.” Aleso, for perhaps the first time ever, looks worried.

Next time… more of the same, a meeting with Ysdrayl, think Cilla Black, only less… No, just Cilla Black.

If you don’t know who Cilla Black is then go here-

Tell me she’s not a Kobold Sorceress…

Scouse translator courtesy of-

I lived in Anfield for a while, nice place, best thing about it… easy, the people.
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Ysdrayl, and the back story.

Turn 2.105 ver 3. (not compatible with Windows XP- is anything?)

Ysdrayl, and the back story.​

Ten minutes later the four hapless adventurers find themselves before the throne of the self-styled Kobold queen, Ysdrayl. This is situated at the end of a long dark, dank corridor, although the passage is over twenty feet wide, torches offer guttering light illuminating a sea of Kobold faces, they appeared from every door, and the ancient DRAGON carved columns- there must be 15-20 Kobolds gathered. Before the nervous foursome is a crude throne perched on which is Ysdrayl, a kind of squashed Kobold, she looks fairly ancient, which for a Kobold is about twenty- life’s hard for Kobolds and she doesn’t have a moisturising regime to speak of. The throne itself is strangely strange- a leering dragon, mouth agape, forms the backrest, inside the fanged maw is a key… a dragon key.

We join the action as-

“Calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“Leuv it.”
“He’s not worth it Brian Kobold.”
“Calm down.”

Forests of pointy sticks, actually crude spears, are being waved in the faces of the intrepid four. How did we get to this- easy Grand Alf opened his mouth.

Let’s go back a few minutes…

The adventurers are led into the smoky chamber; other Kobolds come skittering in to see what’s going on.

Saradomin bows low, good start, before the Queen.

“I am Saradomin, leader of our group.”

First mistake.

“Leader?” x2

Dartamor doesn’t care, Grand Alf and Aleso are a little confused.

“Leader?” x2

“Who made you leader?”

Grand Alf steps up to the plate,

“You’re a priest, how can you possibly lead when you’re already compromised, you have your duty to do Cleric; a leader should be someone capable of seeing things from all sides, able to take difficult decisions unencumbered by theological rhetoric.”

Aleso chuckles, Saradomin looks a little put out.

“And that goes for you too…”

Grand Alf points at Aleso, who stops chuckling in an instant.


Grand Alf steps forward, towards Ysdrayl, he doesn’t bow.

“What do you want then? Who’s this Cornflakes- a dragon, huh, hardly likely is it. I mean a dragon. You’re just Kobolds.”

Silence engulfs them, no that’s not it- it gets worse.

Ysdrayl leans forward, Kobold guards cluster, but not too close- one eye on the adventurers, one on their beloved (and fearsome) queen.

“Kneel before me, crawling frog man-thing, thy pointy hat holds no sway here for I wield mighty magics, far greater than your puny talents, you are a mere stripling stumbling on your first incantations.”

The silence continues, although steam seems to be coming from Grand Alf’s ears, behind him Aleso and Saradomin are stifling laughter, Dartamor is counting Kobolds- a few, some, many, gulp… lots.

Grand Alf gingerly, and quickly, sinks to one knee and then back up again.

“Now pointy-headed man-child what do you seek here in the Kingdom of the Kobolds?”

Grand Alf recovers.

“We have been employed by the man-child’s, children… the people of Oakhurst to search for a party of adventurers that went this wa…”

Ysdrayl’s hand cuts him off in an instant.

Silence descends again.


Ysdrayl waves him on again, Grand Alf gulps then continues.

“Went this way, there were four of them, a brother and sister, the Hucrele’s a local merchant family, Talgen and Sharwyn are their names; a woodsman Ran…”

“Stop.” Ysdrayl smiles, hand up.


“Start.” Ysdrayl waves him on again.

“A Ranger called Karrakas, and…”

“Stop.” Hand up.



“And a Paladin, a holy warrior, called Sir Bradford- we seek them. We fear they may have befallen great danger… er harm.”

Ysdrayl leaps onto the seat of her throne, grasps her cloak and extravagantly swirls it about her, the dance ends with the cloak wrapped tightly around her, she’s almost hidden inside it, her eyes, twinkling- mischievous, still visible.

The Kobold guards step back as Ysdrayl intones.

“Dey Doo Doo Dat Don’t Dey Doh.”

The Kobold guards echo, mostly in unison- a few stragglers.


Ysdrayl deflates and collapses into a pile on the seat of her throne, then peeks out-

“I have travelled in my mind and out of my body, from Hamfeld, to Evatown, I have seen things, these people, I know them… in my mind, I have held there presence, their essence, their being, their soul, their… sleeping bags, I mean… I mean. OHHHH.”

Ysdrayl falls down- dead?


A sharp intake of breath from the congregating guards.


A grinning Meepo applauds.


And receives a slap round the head for his pains from one of the guards.


The silence lingers… for a while, too long?

“Madam, are you injured?”

Saradomin steps forward, concerned, Ysdrayl leaps to her feet.

“I have seen your friends… in my mind… in the hollow places. I can find them for you, search the way, in my mind, yesssssss. YES. I can tell you the way.”

She stands tall, proud, erect, she’s 2 foot 4 inches, not that erect then.

Grand Alf ventures-

“Will you, madam. Will you, pleeeeeease.”

He takes to one knee, genuine this time.


Ysdrayl flops to her seat,

“For a price.”

And crosses her arms, and grins.

“For a price.”

She winks at Dartamor who was in on the act all along, for good measure he winks back, and grins at the prostrate Grand Alf’s back.

“Anything madam, anything.”

Grand Alf is still hooked.

“You will venture into the land of Evatown, the cursed place, where mighty Kobolds are taken and never return. There you are to recover our majestic drake, mighty Cornflakes, take him back from the vial scum that inhabit there, those whose name must be unspaken etcetera etcetera.”

She waves her hands to signal unheard words.

“And return him to his rightful place, here amongst the mighty Scousers, for this favour I will impart said knowledge, a forthwith, notwithstanding, hence-which, forth-who and that… sign here”

“What’s in it for us, other than the info on the kids?”

Dartamor looks past Ysdrayl to the key; she turns and follows his gaze.

“You may select from the mighty treasures what we have here gathered, forthmore, with… er hence.”

She points to a stone altar/table type device, it’s scattered with assorted stuff, a potion bottle, some scrolls, and a feather (odd?).

She turns back, skips off the throne and over to Dartamor.

“Or you can gamble up…”

She looks up. Dartamor follows her gaze.

“For the key.”

“Deal. Shakey-shake, sorry it’s an Elven thing”

The two shake hands.

The spears relax.

“Ave it.”
“Calm down.”

The Kobold guards go back to being guards, suddenly less interested in the heroes.

Saradomin slaps Dartamor on the back, Aleso grins and winks at him. Grand Alf slowly picks himself up from the floor.

“What happened?”

Aleso shuffles over to Grand Alf, whispers in his shell-like (ear).

“Bit of a performance I’ll admit, had me going for a while, still got there in the end- she’ll tell us where the kids are if we get back the drake… dragon… er drake- isn’t that a big duck, I think she meant dragon, y’know, the Cornflakes chap…”

Aleso drones on but Grand Alf’s not listening anymore. Aleso continues anyway.

“Very civil of her actually, and the big duck, I mean dragon, well how big can it be… it went in that cage-thingy, can’t be that big…”

Grand Alf turns to look at Ysdrayl, trails of vapour hiss from his ears, he screws his magic hat down tight, he’s been made to look a fool. Aleso still hasn’t stopped rabbiting on.

“Although… All-thoOOw… It’d have to be quite a big duck. Don’t you think Grand Alf?”

Aleso looks at Grand Alf for confirmation. Too late- he’s gone.

He’s been made to look a fool, a fool, a fool- by a…


He was doing alright till he hit the G-word, shhh… Goblin, don’t say it out loud, and definitely don’t call a Kobold a Goblin.

The entire Kobold congregation take a breath, the adventures’ nearly miss out on their last, if it wasn’t for Saradomin and Aleso.

“Calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“Leuv it.”
“He’s not worth it Brian Kobold.”
“Calm down.”

Forests of pointy sticks, actually crude spears, are being waved in the faces of the intrepid four. Saradomin thinks quickly, not as quickly as his mouth though.

“KOBOLD. Kobold. He meant Kobold… Mighty Kobold. Very mighty Kobold. Dragon er… Aleso?”

Aleso struggles with it for a while then…

“Dragon… er. Dragonbath… er no. Dragonbreed… er no. Dragontame… er no. Dragon… er Goal, no Dragonkeep…er no. Dragon… Saradomin?”

Saradomin, in an instant replies.

“Lords. Dragonlords, and ladies of course.”

He bows, the Paladin follows suit, then the others, Grand Alf nervously and Dartamor with another wink.

Ysdrayl laughs, slaps Meepo round the head, and begins to wave them off.

“And take that wretch with you.”

She kicks Meepo up the backside for good luck.

The Kobold guards see there cue.

“Ave it.”
“Calm down.”

While the going’s good the four, no scratch that, five, including Meepo, wander off. Negotiations are, it seems, over. They have to find the four lost adventurers and… and a dragon, or a big duck, either way, called Cornflakes.

Read on for more high jinks from the Lost Boys…

Next week “Grand Alf Magic Fire Burper.”
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Turn 2.9 actually the last part of the 2nd session.

“Grand Alf Magic Fire Burper.”​

A scruffy room beyond the door, Meepo skitters in, pointing onwards.

“Dat way.”

The intrepid foursome follows.

Grand Alf still muttering, “Goblins… Kobolds… what’s the bloody difference… scabby little…”

Dartamor, head down, giggles and… “Hang on.”

The group stops, Dartamor shuffles around the room, it’s much abused, ancient and fairly dirty, there are marks in the floor- “Rats, lots of them.”

Grand Alf picks his robe up and tip toes about a bit, “What d’ya mean rats… I hate rats… beady eyes, teeth… fangs, FANGS.”

Thankfully Aleso remains calm, “RATS… RATS… RATS… RATS.” He stands like a lighthouse slowly turning barking into the darkness, white as a sheet.

Saradomin settles for a combat crouch, scanning left and right, ready for anything.

“Hang on… I SAID HANG… OH BLOODY SHUT UP.” Dartamor quietens the crowd, “Footprints, the adventurers? Four of them, that way.” He points onwards, “Could be… could be.”

The rat-panicked majority settle down Meepo stands in their midst, rubbing his belly, “Ratto gud eat’em. Mmmm.” He’s learning the Common tongue.

Dartamor nods at Meepo and makes curly-wurly motions to the side of his head, looking at the others, as if to say they’re mad, the international sign language works- Meepo chuckles, and skips forward, the others fall in and quickly follow.

Into another room, equally dilapidated, a much abused fountain covered in dirt and grime to the right… and a strange looking door to the left. They investigate left.

Grand Alf gulps, “Dragons… again.” The door and frame are intricately carved with dragons, scratch that- skeletal dragons, it says something above it, more squiggly writing. He squints, no good, puts his head to one side… still no good.

“Channel good, open the way.” Dartamor reads, Meepo smiles.

“What in damnation does that mean?” Aleso strikes a pose, Rodin, “The Thinker”, with heavy armour and fantastic moustache.

“Duh, it means one of you god-botherers needs to wave your holy wotsit vaguely in the direction of the door and it should open.” Grand Alf pulls himself up to his full height, six feet three including now crumpled hat.

Saradomin steps up,

“Oh Cuthbert, if you would but,
Could but, should but- OPEN THE DOOR.”

The skeletal dragon images glow for a second, swim from the door to the door frame, and the door creaks open. A light beyond, cautiously they shuffle in led by Saradomin.

Caskets, sarcophagi, call them what you will, five of them stood upright, three left, and two right- etched and carved with the faces and bodies of ancient elves, and dragon symbols. At the far end an Altar, once again decorated, on top of which is a candle; it does not flicker- and some other shiny stuff- Dartamor sees his opportunity and scurries forward.


The sarcophagi swing open, all of them- five Skeletons step out.

Dartamor does a double-take and darts forward to the altar, looking for a shadow to hide in.

Saradomin still has his holy symbol in his hand, he punches the sky with it gripped in his fist.



As if hit by ten ton hammers four of the Skeletons evenly distribute themselves around the chamber- into smithereens.

One stands a moment looking slightly lost, Grand Alf steps in and…

Poke… Poke

Tickles its ribs. Aleso grabs Saradomin’s mace and…


Skittles it. All done.

The three look chuffed with themselves, Meepo peeks round the door way. Grins, thumbs up at Dartamor who emerges from the shadows.

“So there’s a light, a nice light. ‘Ere watch this”, he clamps his hand over the flame, the others start forward, he removes his hand, the flame is still there, “now that’s magic.”

“And this…” he holds up an odd, shiny, crystal-like whistle, “I wonder what happens when…”, Dartamor puts it to his lips, and…


Grand Alf snatches it away, apoplectic, “Do you have any idea, any idea, how dangerous this could be- it could…”, the words escape him he settles for hand gestures, big, dramatic, “any idea, any. At all. Any idea.” He shakes the whistle in Dartamor’s face.

“Any idea.”

Dartamor shrugs, actually looking a little guilty.

“Any idea, at all.”

The others are looking sheepish now, even Meepo who hops from foot to foot, eyes on the ground.

“Any idea.”

Grand Alf blows the whistle.


A Skeleton slowly reassembles itself before his eyes, the others, a moment later, become conscious of this… they were looking down remember.

There’s a struggle for blunt weapons.

“Wait.” Grand Alf holds up his hands.

“Skelington bow before me.”

The Skeleton does so.

“Carry this”, he hands the creature his backpack, “now guard me well.” He folds his arms, satisfied, tucking the whistle into a pocket. “I shall call you Bones.”

“You bas…”, Dartamor’s not happy.

“An abomination… an abomination, by BeaaalllZEBBUbbbles beard it’s not right. Holy. Right. An abomination.” Aleso takes up the reins.

“Oh Cuthbert make to…Ulp”

Grand Alf nudges Saradomin, in the throat, before he can finish his turning attempt.

“You gugger.”

The other three are in Grand Alf’s face, screaming.


The inevitable scuffle follows, mostly, it’s not the stuff of heroes more akin to three petulant six year olds fighting over pudding, you know slapping, scratching et al.

A tiny hand snakes into Grand Alf’s pocket.



A new Skeleton surges upright, it’s missing a leg bone so it rattles as it strides over to stand by Meepo.

Meepo gurgles in his strange tongue; the Skeleton reaches down and settles Meepo on his shoulders.

Meepo views the world from his new lofty position, he folds his arms, the skeleton lurches forward, Meepo grips on, steers the thing by twisting its head left and right.


And back out of the room, throwing the whistle on the floor as he leaves, he gibbers as he departs.


Thirty seconds later the pile up dissolves, Saradomin, Aleso and Dartamor get up, dust themselves down. Dartamor has the whistle, he blows it.

“ “

The three look around, nothing.

The silence is endless, for a while.

“Meepo’s calling his Rattler.” Dartamor adds, but no-one’s listening- long faces all round.

The group head out and to the fountain, once again it’s Dartamor to the fore.

He clears away a layer or ten of grime, there are words, Draconic again.

“It says ‘Let there be fire’, only in Draconic- Nainarya.”

With that the spout of the fountain, actually concealed in a carved dragon’s maw, gurgles into life… and spills out a red liquid- Dartamor is lightening fast, a flask underneath to catch it. It fills.

Then stops.


Nothing happens.

The others gather to sniff and study the liquid.

“It could be dangerous.” Aleso cautions.
“Possibly… We’ll have to take it to that Gnome back in Oakhurst- Nackle… Whatever her name was, she’ll know. I suggest we keep it safe.” Saradomin adds.
Dartamor sets about finding a safe place to stow the flask.

“Here let me help you.” Grand Alf grabs the flask, and swigs.


“Not bad… Refreshing… A bit spice… Hot… HOT… BURNY.” Grand Alf hops from foot to foot clutching at his burning throat.

He dodges left and right, trying to grab one of his comrades- gesticulating wildly, unable to speak pointing at his throat.

The others dodge out of the way, Meepo riding Rattler careens around the room trying to avoid the mad wizard.

Grand Alf dashes out of the room, a darkened corridor heading north and…


Fills the hall ahead with a fan of wicked flames, incinerating the two approaching Dire Rats in the process.


He re-adjusts his hat, admires the immolated rats and turns back to the others.

“Another successful experiment undertaken.”

Claps his hands together, shoulders his backpack and points north.


The others stare open-mouthed, collectively shrug their shoulders and follow on.

A little later, actually ten seconds later, a hand snakes into Grand Alf’s pocket and recovers the flask. The hand is connected to a lithe individual with a touch of kleptomania- Dartamor smuggles the flask into hiding.

Twenty feet down the corridor and there, in an alcove to the left, is another door, sans decorations, the passage continues on- as do the tracks of the adventurers, although…

“Actually they come back… At least…” Dartamor squints hard at the floor, “Some of them do- four sets of tracks went north, only three came back.”

“Then let us head on.”

Grand Alf strides off, his glowing staff lights the way.

Bones and Saradomin follow on.

“I’ll just check this door.” Dartamor is as good as his word.

Aleso is torn, forced into a decision. “I’ll watch over the Thief, see that he comes to no harm- I may be of some assistance if there’s a sudden crisis.”

And where Dartamor goes Meepo, and Rattler of course, follow.

The party <GULP> split in two.

Dartamor, Aleso, Meepo and Rattler are soon through the door and into a another room, there’s another door, north again, and tracks- three adventurers came this way.

“Another door… Can’t hurt- take a look.”

Dartamor looks at Aleso, Aleso looks at Dartamor. Aleso nods, a little.

Dartamor foolishly pushes the door open.


He looks up. There’s a bell attached to a bit of rope, attached to… he follows the rope with his eyes… the door. Stupid.

Ahead two shadowy figures, there’s a light of some sort behind them, they peer over what appears to be a crenulated wall. Goblins.

Stupid x2. Dartamor gulps air… decides.


And launches himself forward, down some stairs as it turns out, “bugger”, he catches his foot nearly tumbles but saves himself and charges on.

Into a short corridor the floor of which is covered in caltrops.

He spots one glistening in Aleso’s torchlight, he feels the second as it plunges into his foot, through his boot.


He goes down clutching at his foot like a sack of spuds, he finds another two just at the end of his fall- handy that.

“AAAAaaaaarrgghhh AAAAArrrrrGGGGHHH.”

Stupid x3.

Aleso looks behind him- the door and escape. And forward… Goblins.


A crude javelin bounces off the side of his helm, it’s enough to make his mind up.


He bounds down the stairs, four at a time. Leaps…


Lands one foot on the sprawling Dartamor, knocking him back onto the spikes, and leaps again onto the stairs heading up to the crenulated wall, and the Goblins.

“Bye EcK.”

A Goblin bolts, the other readies a short blunt instrument, a… difficult to see. Aleso charges up the stairs… it’s a…


Mace. He’s struck on the side- rib cracked, it’ll hurt when he laughs, mental note- don’t laugh.


Aleso’s scimitar snakes forward and slices the Goblin which gurgles to the floor, clutching the wound, in seconds it’s over.

Beyond is another guard room, bare except for rough sleeping rags, and a flickering fire, empty, to the left a door, and the sound of running feet.

Aleso plunges on… Sorta. Swings a leg over the wall, and puffing hard, gets stuck.

“PELOR… SAVE me… PUFF PUFF. I… I… PUFF PUFF… Hang on. Rest a moment.”

He falls over the far-side of the wall and lies on his back struggling for breath, black spots appear before his eyes, coalesce into darkness… if it wasn’t so dangerous it’d be funny. No use… fading, he laughs.


The pain keeps him conscious. He sits up.


Over the wall, back on the caltrop floor, Dartamor echoes his thoughts.


Meepo aboard Rattler heads over to help.


“I saw something I tell you… and so did Bones.” Grand Alf is certain.
“What?” Saradomin’s not so sure.
“I saw something.”
“You said Bones saw it too?”

Grand Alf straightens up from his creep, strides over to Bones and manipulates his jaw through the next madness.

“Gyes Gye Gid. Gye Gaw Gwat Gwand- I mean Grand Alf Gwaw.”

Grand Alf, hands on hips, stares at Saradomin. “Gattis-gide, I mean- satisfied.” He stomps off.

Saradomin lets the wizard get a head start before moving off again.

The corridor has alcoves left and right, it leads to a large arched entrance. There are doors in the alcoves, all ajar so far, although no-one’s been brave enough to see what lies beyond the doors. Too late, ahead a rat darts out, a Dire Rat, then another.

“Ha ha.”

Grand Alf fumbles for the fire potion… Ooops.

“Ha ha.”

Saradomin hoves into view, “Is there an echo in here?”

“Ha… Sick ‘em Bones.”

The rats are on them.

Grand Alf stumbles back, grabbing at his Short Spear. Saradomin leaps in front of the Sorcerer and…


Whacks a rat. The thing comes on grabs Grand Alf’s robe (again), grips on as he flails and finally gets his spear right.


The creature is dead.

Bonesy meanwhile, without a weapon, launches himself at the second rat and is left sprawling on the floor arms locked around the hairy beast biting at its tail end. The thing yelps and nips but can’t get free. In short time it is bitten, gummed, butted, clawed, pinched and raked to death.

“We are the champeeeeeons my freeeend.” Grand Alf begins as another Dire Rat scuttles into view. He doesn’t hesitate, draws back his short spear and aims, in one smooth motion the spear flies.

And lands around fifteen feet beyond the rat, it skitters off into the darkness, unimpeded.

“Sick ‘em Bones.”

Soon after the third rat is no more.

“Lets check the doors, they were coming from there.” Saradomin states to an empty corridor. Grand Alf is already filling a sack with shiny coins.

“Rich. Rich I tell ya’”

The six alcoves soon divulge their secrets, rat’s nests, and treasure- a mixture of coins and a few gems- still more money than any of them have seen before.

“Let’s not tell… Hang on.” Grand Alf stops, cups an ear.

“Did you hear that?”

Grand Alf thinks a second.

“Good, let’s see what’s up here.”
“What about the others?”
“Oh they’ll be alright- they’d come back if there was anything wrong.”

Saradomin nods at this new found wisdom.


The two head off.

Next turn… “Firestarter, Goblin Firestarter”, and, “It’s a Rat Trap baby and you’ve been caught.”
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Interlude- player stats.

As I stated at the start of this the inaugural adventures of four young (9-12 years old) newbies. The characters were supplied pregenerated, my thoughts were simply- let’s get on with the game, I also happen to have a dozen or so characters of levels 1-10 already rolled up by myself and previous players.

And so, the foursome are, in more detail-

Grand Alf​

Human Male Sorcerer Level 1
NG HP 8 AC 12 Init +6
Str 8 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 17
Saves Fort +1 Ref +2 Will +3
Shortspear “Pokey” -1 d8-1
Lt. Xbow (Mwk) “The Stapler” +3 d8
Dagger -1 or +2 d4-1
Armour: Spangly Robes and Wizard-type conical hat, so none then.
Feats: Improved Initiative & Toughness
Skills of note: Bluff +3 Concentrate +5 Diplomacy +3 Disguise +3 Gather Info +3 Intimidate +3 Perform (Sing- Cheesy Pop) +3 Spellcraft +5 Spot +3

Spells Level 0 (5) Light, Ghost Sound, Detect Magic, Read Magic Level 1 (4) Sleep, Magic Missile

Items of note: Scrolls Sleep (x2), Shield (x2), Magic Missile (x2); Potions Invisibility & Blur.


Half-Elf Male Rogue Level 1
CN HP 5 AC 16 Init +7
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 9 Int 18 Wis 13 Ch 11
Saves Fort -1 Ref +5 Will +1
Rapier (Mwk) +4 d6+3
Comp. Shortbow (Mwk Mighty (STR 12)) +4 d6+1
Silver Edged Dagger +3 or +3 d4+3
Armour: Black Mwk Studded Leather
Feats: Improved Initiative Sneak Attack +d6
Skills of note: Appraise +5 Balance +3 Bluff +3 Climb +6 Craft (Hunter) +4 Decipher Script +5 Disable Device +8 Escape Artist +3 Forgery +5 Hide +6 Jump +3 Listen +6 Move Silently +6 Open Lock +7 Pick Pocket +4 Read Lips +5 Ride (Horse) +4 Search +8 Spot +5 Swim +3 Tumble +4 Use Rope +4

Items of note: Silk Climbing Rope, 20 Mwk Arrows, Potions Spider Climb (x2), Hiding & Cure Light (x2).

Aleso Flett​

Human Male Paladin of Pelor Level 1
LG HP 11 AC 15 Init 0
Str 15 Dex 11 Con 12 Int 10 Wis 12 Ch 18
Saves Fort +7 Ref +4 Will +5
Scimitar (Mwk) +4 d6+2
Comp. Longbow +1 d8
Dagger +3 or +1 d4+2
Armour: Shiny Chain Shirt & Sparkling Steel Buckler
Feats: Power Attack & Cleave; Divine Grace, Detect Evil, Divine Health, Lay on Hands (4 HP/Day)
Skills of note: Bluff +4 Concentration +3 Diplomacy +6 Disguise +4 Gather Information +4 Handle Animal +5 Heal +4 Intimidate +4 Perform (Sing- Opera) +4

Items of note: Potions Bull’s Strength, Cure Moderate & Cure Light (x4).


Human Male Cleric of St. Cuthbert Level 1
LN HP 10 AC 19 Init +3
Str 16 Dex 16 Con 15 Int 14 Wis 17 Ch 13
Saves Fort +4 Ref +3 Will +5
Heavy Mace (Mwk) +4 d8+3
Lt. Xbow +3 d8
Club +3 or +3 d6+3
Armour: Dirty Chainmail & Rusty, slightly bent, Large Steel Shield
Feats: Extra Turning (8/Day) & Scribe Scroll; Smite (+4/+1) x1, Strength boost (+1)
Skills of note: Concentration +5 Craft (Armoursmith) +3 Heal +7 Knowledge (Religion) +5 Listen +3 Perform (Bagpipes) +1 Profession (Scribe) +4 Ride (Horse) +3 Sense Motive +3 Spellcraft +4 Spot +4 Use Rope +3 Wilderness Lore +3

Items of note: Scroll Protection from Elements.


First Post
Neat story. Always nice to see new people being introduced to gaming.

Sounds like they are really enjoying it.

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