The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel

Richard Rawen

First Post
Great stuff, amazing how badly a DM'c init rolls can be, then again my Dire Wolf critical missed then critical hit his pack-mate this weekend, thus turning the tide just as I had their warrior on the ground and closing for the kill... *sighs*
The Lost Boys are having a good time of it, so far no deaths, though they do seem to be pressing their collective luck... have you figured out what you'd do if you do kill off one of these young players 'avatars' ? Most of the kids I know are so used to video games that the very concept of losing - permanently finished - seems inconceivable to them (they just "reload").

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Richard Rawen said:
Great stuff, amazing how badly a DM'c init rolls can be, then again my Dire Wolf critical missed then critical hit his pack-mate this weekend, thus turning the tide just as I had their warrior on the ground and closing for the kill... *sighs*
The Lost Boys are having a good time of it, so far no deaths, though they do seem to be pressing their collective luck... have you figured out what you'd do if you do kill off one of these young players 'avatars' ? Most of the kids I know are so used to video games that the very concept of losing - permanently finished - seems inconceivable to them (they just "reload").

Sorry about the hiatus, I've more marking to do than... [insert your own analogy here], it was my good lady's birthday, the big 4-0, and my dad's big 7-0, last weekend- little else got done; and this weekend I'm decorating, and marking of course...

To answer, what if one of them dies- simple (I hope), Jerky has a personality change and becomes a PC in an instant, otherwise a Goblin/Kobold straggler has a change of heart and decides to join the Lost Boys (the difficulty may come in stopping them all from wanting one), or else its a casting of "DMs instantaneous Prison Cell", inside which resides one beaten, battered but far from dead, and eager for revenge mind, new player character- like always.

Even the Pirates Code are only guidelines.

I'll write up the next session when I can...

As to the Video Game generation, strangely enough (I know nothing about computers remember) I teach on a National Diploma in Video Games Design, I taught them all how to play D&D (I felt it was my duty), when the first player character died there was almost a fight/tears- "What do you mean I've got to roll another one up?" I explained the rules- to stunned silence, they just didn't get it, for a while a group of them wouldn't believe me- I had to bring the books in the following week just to prove it.

The Lost Boys however know when they're dead, their dead- it doesn't stop them running amok however.

Thanks as always.


Turn 8.2: Bush Wackers 4 Real

“It did. It did- I saw it move.” Dartamor points at the unmoving bush.

Grand Alf adopts a combat crouch and closes in on the thing, a three foot high scraggly plant, which was- prior to Dartamor’s interjections, minding its own business.

The great combat Sorcerer circles the plant.

“Watch out for its tendrils.” Aleso offers.
“Which bit are the tendrils?” Saradomin enquires, watching on.

Aleso looks stumped, finally confesses, “don’t know, read it in a book…” He mumbles.

Grand Alf has completed a full circle of the offending plant, it’s not moved at all.

“Wily bugger, I’ll give it that.” The Sorcerer comments.

“What’s stopping you- get in there man.” Daratamor points at the plant again and takes a step back, makes a few practice swishes with his rapier.

Grand Alf straightens, looks hard at the Rogue, “be my guest- if you want to do it.”
Dartamor shakes his head, takes another step back.

“Let’s ambush it.” Aleso states.

Which makes everyone think for a while.

“How exactly?” Saradomin breaks the silence.
“Well we’ll hide behind the wall and then lure it to us.” The Paladin finishes.

The thinking is resumed.

“How, I mean how do we- lure it to us, exactly?” Saradomin tries again.
“Bread crumbs.” Grand Alf offers and mooches back to the pack, leaving the plant on its own again.
“Plants don’t eat bread crumbs.” Saradomin states, almost certain.
“Are you sure?” Grand Alf looks quizzical.
“Yes. Almost certainly.”
“What does eat bread crumbs then?” Grand Alf enquires confused.

“I do.” Aleso grins.

Which brings the debate to a halt.

Behind the Lost Boys the plant uproots itself and wanders off into the undergrowth, alas the Twig Blight possess only the rudimentary workings of a mind, not capable of complex thoughts, it heads off in search of friends in order to re-evaluate the situation.

Back to the Lost Boys.

“Do you even have any bread?” Saradomin shouts, things are getting fractious.

There follows a rifling of backpacks, Grand Alf whoops with joy and produces a curly Magic Smash sandwich, it’s a bit floppy- having forgotten the reason for his search he proceeds to eat his find.

The others watch on.

“There that’s better, now what were we looking for?” Grand Alf wipes the last of the crumbs from his fake beard, actually he tears the thing off and bangs it against the wall and then, quick-as-a-flash, reapplies it.

“Bread crumbs for the…”

Dartamor points, the others follow his gaze.

“There’s nothing there.” Aleso breaks the deadlock.
“Exactly.” Dartamor states.

The plant is gone.

“No, hang on.” Dartamor points, “it’s over there.”

And sure enough over there is a plant, it looks exactly like the other one, in fact it could be the other one, in fact… I’ll leave the end of the sentence for you to make a leap of logic.

“No, it’s over there.” Saradomin points, and sure enough there’s another plant just like the other one.

“And there.” Aleso points.
“And there.” Grand Alf points.

“That means…” Saradomin starts.

“And there.” Grand Alf adds and points some more.

“I said, that means…” Saradomin begins again.

“There, and there, no that’s the first one again, no, no, no that’s a new one, the first one is back there.” Grand Alf revolves and points.

“And yet”, Saradomin’s voice rises, “my point is still valid- that means…” he pronounces every word as if talking to a gaggle of four year olds.

“And there.” Aleso adds, followed by, “Oooo”, he’s spotted something. The Paladin lurches forward, bends quickly and picks something up from the floor, he examines it in his hands, the others can’t see, he’s obscuring their view.

“What is it?” Grand Alf asks.

“Bread crumbs, there’s a trail of theng.” The last word is lost as the Paladin stuffs the bread in his mouth, “ni-shhh”, he splutters and grins.

“Interesting, a trail of bread crumbs, what could it mean?” Grand Alf scratches his chin.

“Could be a lure.” Dartamor states.
“A what, a law?” Saradomin’s forgotten his previous point, if he ever had one.
“No, a lure, to lure you in.”
“To lure me in?”
“No, I mean, well, yes, maybe- to lure something in.”
“Ahhh.” Saradomin makes a noise like he understands, he doesn’t, he just makes the noise like he does, it often has the desired effect- stops the other person from talking.

“So what would be lured in by a trail of bread crumbs, that’s the question?” Dartamor states.

Which sets them thinking.

“Plants.” Grand Alf yells and jumps a little, like he’s just solved an extremely complex equation.

“How about Paladins?” Saradomin states and nods forward.

Grand Alf and Dartamor turn to stare.

Aleso has wandered a little down the track into the Twilight Grove, stopping to munch on the scattered bread crumbs along the way.

“Hey Grand Alf, got any Magic Smash lef…”

It’s at this point that the Twig Blights attack.

Look away it gets no better.

Next Turn: Not so smart now are you Twiggy?


HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
You know, it's a wonder you stay sane enough to actually write this stuff up ...

Sanity is over-rated.

Thanks as always for the comments.

Now back to the action-

Turn 8.3: Not so smart now are you Twiggy?

Jerky, who has up till now been loitering at the back of the pack, monitoring the snoozing Goblins, charges- straight through the assembled Lost Boys.

“For St. Cuthbert.” The Gnome cries and bundles into the mass of plants attacking Aleso, alas the Paladin is caught completely off guard and has nowhere to run, there’s nothing for it he’ll have to fight back.

Saradomin, Grand Alf and Dartamor do their best to swap glances- it takes a while, Saradomin glares at Grand Alf, who’s looking askance at the time, at Dartamor, who for his part is nodding and winking at Saradomin. It takes a while but the invisible message is passed.

They charge into the fray.

“For St.- what he said.” Saradomin barks and smashes.
“I hate nature- dirty.” Dartamor calls.
“Time for a FORKING, you little sods…” Its no use, Grand Alf pulls up short, holding his sides, “did you hear what I said, little sods, ha ha ha ooooo, my sides.”


Aleso cuts down two of the creatures with a swing of his scimitar, there are however still over half-a-dozen of the things left.

Jerky is being menaced by two of the bushes; one of them is slightly taller than he is- which seems to him a good enough reason to…


Destroy the thing.

Saradomin is in the thick of it, his heavy mace smashing and crushing the plants in his path, Dartamor contents himself with hanging around at the back, on the very edges of the fracas, swinging and missing with amazing alacrity, and style.

Aleso is grabbed by the ankles, one plant on each leg trying to claw their way up, or else pull the Paladin over, he swishes ineffectively with his scimitar, being extra cautious so as not to hit himself, the plants grip tight to him, scratching and clawing still. There’s nothing for it, the Paladin dances himself out of the melee- a kind of slow waltz combined with an occasional pogo, it doesn’t help that he’s singing.

“Nut Bush Oh Nut Bush
Damn it Nut bush it’s the limit.”

He kicks one of the plants free, and out of lyrics resorts to-

“Sisters are doing it for themselves…”

And finally crushes the second plant with the help of gravity, he falls over, and onto the bush.

“Sisters…” he mumbles on face down in the dirt.

Jerky is clawed on his face, he feels a sudden burn, clasps his hand to the spot, poisoned.

“Aaaarghh.” The Gnome swats harder, another Twig Blight meets its maker, there are only five or so of them left.

One of which splits from the fight and skitters towards Grand Alf, who grimaces and back tracks into the previous chamber, the one with the snoozing Goblins.

“Come on.” The Sorcerer yells while running backwards, the three foot tall Twig Blight snarls and… well sort of snarls, looks snarly, who’s to say; it rakes at the air before Grand Alf, who redoubles his efforts, retreats at speed.


Into the wall, completely knocking the wind out of him, and his fork from his hands.

Grand Alf is paralyzed with fear, the plant swipes and slashes, its thorny protrusions, try saying that after a drink, tear holes in what’s left of all the clothing he’s ever owned.

“Yelp.” Grand Alf yelps, and leaps away like a sprightly Gazelle, with three broken legs, he trips on a sleeping Goblin, and…


Lands amidst the bundle of snoozing humanoids.

Grand Alf turns to stare, the Twig Blight is fast approaching, he assess the situation- on the positive side his landing was cushioned by the three Goblins, on the negative side the Twig Blights is only moments away and… all three Goblins are waking up.


The Sorcerer is back on his feet in seconds, fortuitously delivering a knee to the unmentionables of one of the Goblins in the process, the other two rise and take in the situation.

Grand Alf backs himself into a corner and quick draws his Staff of Earth Moving; yes, it’s a spade.

The two risen Goblins look left, then right, a snarling, even they can see it, Twig Blight or a mad Sorcerer swishing a spade about his head and shouting something about…

“I am the Spade-inator.”

There’s a third option, the pair scarper through the open door and live unhappy lives elsewhere.

Back at the fracas.

Aleso is struggling to get up, his feet keep getting in the way, he manages to perform a trip attack on himself twice in a row, all without the necessary feat, the last of which coincides with his collision with a tree, he uses his face as a buffer to take the edge of the blow.

“Dirty banana sandwich”, he mutters and then passes out.

Jerky staggers and thrashes about him, all to no great effect. Dartamor is likewise tied up with not getting hurt and so is content to look like he’s doing something, eventually he slots away his rapier and backs off to get a shot at one of the combatants, preferably one of the plant-like ones.

Saradomin smashes another of the creatures down, but is clawed by yet another, the Priest of St. Cuthbert is covered in a myriad scratches and nicks, he feels the sting of the plants poisonous sap and yet it has no effect upon him. The power of St. Cuthbert is strong in the Priest, that and half-a-pint of cheap whisky, he flails and slurs.

“For St. Bobbins.”

Smash, another Twig Blight comes to rest as kindling.

Only two of the scratchy buggers left.

Except for…

Grand Alf and the third Twig Blight circle each other.


The third Goblin, having just ceased rubbing his area of hurt, tries to get up- and is met with a spade to the back of the head, the Goblin crunches back down into the dirt.

“Oh yes, you want some of this?” Grand Alf proffers his fake beard at the Twig Blight.

“You want a piece of me, huh?” He swishes his spade.

“Well I wouldn’t be so quick if I was you…” He continues.

The combatants circle locked in their titanic death-match, man vs. pot-plant, the ultimate fighting championship.

“You’ve got to ask yourself, punk.” The last threat ending in a curled lip, a sneer.

“Yeah, punk.” Grand Alf sneers some more.

“This is the Grand Alf Staff of Earth Moving 3000, the most powerful Staff of Earth Moving in the world. It can take your head clean off. You’ve got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky?”

Grand Alf spits, most of it goes in on his beard.

“Well do ya, punk?”


The Twig Blight leaps and is all over the Sorcerer like a rash, scratching and clawing, Grand Alf loses his fake beard in seconds, moments later he’s on the floor thrashing about and screaming like a little girl- his spade lying unused in the dirt.

“Nooooo. Heeeeelp. Photosynthesise. Photosynthesise- you don’t eat people.”

The man and plant wrestle, it’s a very one-sided affair, Grand Alf is crying for much of it.

And then fortune smiles.

The female of the species.

Miss Fortune.

The last Goblin rises, rubs head and unmentionables, woozily takes in his surroundings- staggers towards the exit.

And then spots Grand Alf being pinned down by the Twig Blight.

Staggers on.

Then spots Grand Alf’s Staff of… oh the bloody spade.

Staggers on.

Then stops.

And smiles.

The Goblin has had a thought.

It staggers back to the spade, picks it up, takes a few practice swipes for good measure.

Then grins again.

And staggers over to Grand Alf.

“Alright I’ll give you my sandwich, you can have it…” Grand Alf screams at the Twig Blight some more and is lacerated further, he can feel the Strength ebbing from him as the plants poisonous sap courses through his body.

The Goblin swings the spade high over his head, and brings it down with all its strength…


The Goblin staggers backwards holding the still vibrating spade, shuddering uncontrollably as he retreats.

What happened?

At the last moment Grand Alf spies the Goblin and with the last of his strength rolls left, and out of the way, the Twig Blight is not as fortunate, smashed to splinters by Grand Alf’s Staff of… spade, which is little impeded by the frail bush and thwacks hard into the packed earthern floor- thus staggering, in the same instant, the Goblin attacker.

Grand Alf rolls back to spy the smashed Twig Blight.

“Not so smart now are you Twiggy?”

The Sorcerer hefts himself upright; it takes a good ten seconds and the help of a wall to lean on.

The last Goblin shuffles back into view, still clutching the spade, and every now and then its unmentionables.

Grand Alf sighs and waves his hands about a bit, the Goblin looks unsure.

The Sorcerer sighs again, straightens up so he’s standing without the aid of the wall.

Then coughs once or twice.

“Hang on.”

The Goblin, about to attack, stops as Grand Alf holds up his hand to signal a halt to the proceedings.

The Sorcerer takes a swig of water from his flask, rinses and swallows, pours a little more of the clear fluid on his hands and splashes his face, wipes the excess off with what’s left of his outer-garments.

“Right then.”

The Goblin hefts the spade and moves forward to attack.

Grand Alf waves his hands dramatically, arches an eyebrow and in a deep voice pronounces words of arcane… arcane something.

“Oh Demonic Servitor of the Eight Packed Lunches of Hell,
I summon thee great… great… BEEEE-CCCCEEEE-DEEEE-EEEEE-EF…”


The Goblin thumps back into the dirt, courtesy of a heavy mace to the back of the head- that should about do it.

“What took you?” Grand Alf states and leans back against the wall.
“Were you summoning a demon then?” Saradomin asks.
“No, well. Yes- sort of.” Grand Alf fishes around in his backpack for his absolute last magic Smash sandwich.

Saradomin looks around.

“Did it appear; the demon?” He asks.

“Yes.” Grand Alf states and munches, pointedly looking at the snarling priest of St. Cuthbert, half-cut and swatting his heavy mace in the general direction of nobody and yet everything.

“Hey- I’ve found a chest.” Dartamor shouts.

Next Turn: Together we will rule the world.


Sorry about the delay, v.busy with other campaigns, oh and work.

Turn 8.4: Together we will rule the world.

It’s a big, old battered chest, and now its open, Dartamor shoots backwards, stumbling- turns hard right, all the time looking away from the chest, dry gags and heaves.

“What… is it?” Aleso clearly doesn’t want to know.
Saradomin backs off a little too.

Grand Alf looks from one to the other, then back to Dartamor who continues to dry heave and gulp, he wanders over to the battered trunk and flips the lid.

Inside is a decapitated head, lidless staring eyes, the mouth a ragged “O”, the last agonising gasp, the hair matted in blood, bruised, battered- broken.

“Hey, there’s a load of gold- I’m rich I tell you, rich.”

Grand Alf whoops and pirouettes.

Sure enough the head lies on a bed of gold coins.

Grand Alf reaches in, grasps the last remains of the missing male Hucrele and yanks it out, he’s about to start his “gottle-ov-gear” ventriloquist show when he spies the faces of the others. He tosses the head aside, into the thick undergrowth.

“I… I… I…” Aleso splutters.
Saradomin nods and blinks hard, the tears are stinging his eyes.
Dartamor looks up, spits, “let’s get him good.”
Saradomin continues to nod.

The three march off, into the Twilight Grove.

“Don’t you want… Hey, wait for me.” Grand Alf races on after them, Jerky trailing after his eyes on the spot where the head rolled into the undergrowth, not wanting to see it and yet unable to look away.

Through a twisted maze of stunted trees and grabbing briars, illuminated by the purple-death glow of rotting fungi, they scrape and scratch their way through.

Anything that gets in their way is chopped, slashed and hacked- obliterated.

“Eerie.” Aleso states.

Saradomin looks put-out.

“Hardly, it’s very close, humid even.” He counters.

Water drips.

There’s a clearing, the ruins of some sort of building, crumbling ancient stone walls most no more than two or three feet tall.

A low mist seems to gather on the ground, they follow the path on…

“He’s got it nice.” Grand Alf mumbles and strides forward, “very homely.”

Jerky catches up to Grand Alf crosses himself and attempts to hide behind the Sorcerer.

There’s a reception committee, the Lost Boys approach- cautiously, till the ragged man that stands before the swaying, seemingly dead, tree puts up his hand to signal that they should come no closer.

Beneath the venomous fungal light grows a singular tree of evil. Its blackened, twisted limbs reach upward, like a skeletal hand clawing its way from the earth.
The great dead tree reaches up and over, grasps and clings to the ceiling, almost arching over the adventurers where they stand.

Before the tree stands a ragged, bearded and robed man, a human, with a maniacs gleam in his eye.

To the left a stout Knight complete with curly moustache and red cheeks, wrapped in heavy armour, with a gleaming longsword in hand.

To the right a slight young woman, robed- she’s beautiful, the Hucrele girl- Sharwyn, and yet there’s something not quite right.

The man and the woman stare right through the Lost Boys, statue still they await there instruction.

High up in the withered branches of the great tree a giant frog clings and gulps, bats its rubbery eyelids and calculates its leap.

Surrounding the clearing bushes move- Twig Blights manoeuvre into position.

“I am Belak, the Outcast, stay your anger- listen to me.” The ragged old man speaks.

Aleso takes his hand off the hilt of his longsword, gulps, Dartamor finds the hilt of his rapier.

“Think what you do now, do not listen to the words of others, make up your own minds. Look around you- its beautiful is it not, nature exists, adapts, survives- even in this dark place. I dared to go further, and for this you have been sent to destroy me, look again- what do you see?”

The Lost Boys take a moment, stare at their surroundings.

“You’re mad.” Dartamor spits.

“Mad. MAD.” The Outcast gibbers, “I’m furious. Livid.”

He turns to point at the tree.

“Perfection, it called to me, over decades, over thousands of miles, it grew here- in the dark, a vampire staked through the heart, in its last moment breathed life into the green stake that destroyed it- the Gulthias tree.”

The Outcast admires the tree some more.

“Feel its power, reverberating.”

The Outcast waves and frolics.

“Perfection. Nature’s bounty.”

“I think what Dartamor was trying to get across was that you’re a nutter.” Grand Alf clarifies, and then pulls faces at the others. Jerky stays hidden. The others are not in the mood for smiling; all hands are on hilts now- their armed and dangerous.

“No, NO. NO. Don’t you see… My children.”

Several Twig Blights crawl into view, that’s it, swords and other assorted armaments are drawn, the adventurers take a collective step back, quickly form a half-circle.

“NO. NO. No, leave them- do not harm them, they are my children, the children of the Gulthias tree, from its seeds they grew, I nurtured them, I…”

“Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” Grand Alf demonstrates with further hand-signals the scale of the Outcast’s madness.

“Do not anger me for all of nature is within my power.” The Outcast growls, the Twig Blights take a step closer.

“I’m a little teapot”, Grand Alf sings back, “short and stout, here’s my handle, here’s my spout- tip me up and poor me out.”

The Outcast starts forward, “You…”
“Hold.” Saradomin waves the confrontation to a stop.

“What are they?” his heavy mace points, wavers slightly, at the Knight, then the woman.

“Supplicants, they have seen the error of their ways and have chosen to join with the Gulthias tree, the first supplicants, imbued with its true power, they are death and destruction, they are new life.”

The Outcast kneels, looks up at the tree, a mixture of longing, lust and lunacy.

He turns to the Lost Boys, “join us”, he whispers.

“Its not too late, together we can rule the world, together we can…”
“Hang on. Back a bit, the bit about ruling the world, how’s that work?” Grand Alf interrupts.
The Sorcerer can feel his companion’s stares; he reddens, then turns to look at them, “I was only asking- just thought…” Grand Alf snorts into silence for a moment then continues to mutter, “bloody killjoys, chance at world domination and not-so-much-as ahhem.”

“Oh flipping heck then”, Grand Alf stamps his foot, “let’s get him.”

Which signals the start of the end.

Next Turn: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble.


Richard Rawen said:
Lotsa fun, looking forward to how they handle the nasty drood and his zombies, did they even pause to heal themselves?

Heal? No, of course not. Heal? What are you even thinking? Healing is for wimps. Life for the Lost Boys is lived round by round, besides they're all second level now and therefore invulnerable to all hurt.

Well, almost...

Turn 8.5: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble.

And it all kicks off.

“Incoming.” Grand Alf screams and crouches.


The huge tree frog leaps into the fray, and lands on top of Bernard crushing the Bugbear Zombie to the floor.

“Marthta it hurth uth…”

Bernard grapples with the amphibian, lashed by the giant frog’s sticky tongue.

“Get up Bernard, it’s so unseemly.” Saradomin doesn’t even spare his undead servitor a glance.

“Aaaaaggghhh. Plants, dirty filthy nature.”

Grand Alf tries to wrench himself free as the wan grass surrounding the Sorcerer springs to life and grips tight to his lower limbs, he’s entangled.



Grand Alf lets loose with his Staff of Earth Moving, which accomplishes little, the grass springs back up after its brief flattening.

Dartamor back peddles out of the plants grip, brings his bow out and round in a smooth manoeuvre, notches an arrow and lets it fly.


The giant frog is sent spinning away, almost dead in an instant.

Dartamor’s arrow rips a huge gout out of the giant frogs flesh. The creature rights itself slowly and then stands statue still, all the while bleeding profusely.

Saradomin and Aleso share a look, nod.

“God bless you Aleso.” Saradomin states.
“May Pelor’s light keep you safe.” Aleso replies.

The pair get very close, they’re going to…

“I love you”, Aleso whispers.
“I know.” Saradomin states.

They turn back to face their foe.

Ahead of the pair Sir Bradford, the Gulthias Tree’s first supplicant, staggers into life, like some mad wind-up toy, the affected Paladin lurches forward to meet the holy pair, swishing and swatting his longsword- which lights up glowing orange, he clearly means business.

To the left of the first supplicant is the second, Sharwyn, the last of the Hucrele kids, she too stutters into life, her hands dance in the air as she incants.

And between the pair the Outcast, wand still in hand, giggles and frolics.

“You will serve as compost then, your blood will be used to slake the great trees thirst, you will be…”

“Oh shut up will you- you’re mad, potty. Just pack it in with the narration will you… it’s putting me right off.” Grand Alf gets back to fighting the clawing vines that hold him down. “And cut this bloody grass.”

“Aaaaaargh. Bloody plants- I hate them.” The Sorcerer’s going nowhere.

Dartamor meanwhile has other worries, he spills his bow and quick draws his rapier, a trio of Twig Blights rush towards him and battle is joined. The Rogue is quickly scratched and clawed, minor blows, nothing to be frightened of, and yet… he feels weak, his strength drained- the Blights poisonous sap courses through him.

Bernard meanwhile lurches to his feet, the giant frog still hasn’t moved, it looks weak- the Bugbear Zombie stumbles over to the huge amphibian.

It still doesn’t move.

Bernard smashes the thing, which in the same instant attempts to leap away, alas it’s too slow, and too broken inside- the Giant Frog is beyond hope, it’s turned to mush.

“For Bert, may his Holy magnificence guide my Holy weapon of Holyness.”

Saradomin screams and charges forward, straight into the supplicant Paladin.


And is cut down in a flash, the Priest falls to the cavern floor and clutches at the wound, “Aaaarrrgghh medic, medic, MEDIC- I NEED A HEALER.”

A little later he will remember that he is the healer.

Jerky leaps into the way of the supplicant Paladin as he continues his rush.

“Not so fast, St. Cuthbert…”

The enchanted armoured Paladin casts Jerky in shadow.


“Have you heard the good news, St. Cuthbert loves us all…”

The first supplicant thinks about this new information for a little while, about a third of a second, and then swings- Jerky dances back, then rushes in- battle is joined and the Gnome is holding his own.

Which just leaves…

The mighty Paladin of Pelor, Aleso, stumbles to a halt, his charge and attack thwarted by… a girl, scratch that- a beautiful woman, she looks angry, she looks sexy when she’s angry.

“I’m err… that is… by Pelor they’re big ones.”

Sharwyn, the last of the Hucrele’s, grins and winks-


And fires a bolt of magical energy into Aleso’s midriff.

The Paladin stumbles back clutching at his gut, then staggers back towards the grinning, even sexier, Hucrele.

“I’m sorry I meant the apples, on the tree, behind you… they’re very big ones.”

Sharwyn turns to look behind her, following Aleso’s gaze.


“Sucker, I mean sorry miss.”

Aleso connects with her head with a wild haymaker, teeth scatter and the young woman folds.

“Pelor bless me for I have sinned.”

The Paladin giggles, stares hard at the Outcast, and then hears Jerky’s scream.

Next Turn: From bad to verse.


Next Turn 8.6: From bad to verse.

“I’ve got it…” Grand Alf screams dragging himself from the clutches of the rampant grass, “No… No… Ahhh, I said Ahhhh. No.” Alas his escape is all too temporary, it seems the grasping vegetation is winning the battle, the grass is too strong for the puny Sorcerer.

“MEDIC?” Saradomin screams again and then notices the Holy Symbol of St. Cuthbert hanging around his neck, “Ah yes, got it.”

Saradomin heals himself all over, his glowing hands knitting together the horrendous wound received from the Supplicant Paladin.

“That’s more like it… now where were we?” The Priest is back on his feet, he looks behind him to spy the capering Outcast, then looks back at his previous attacker.


Just in time to see Jerky take a longsword chop to the throat, the Gnome staggers backwards and then collapses, a fountain of blood spurting into the air, pooling to soak into the dirt surrounding his body, the Gnome clutches at his ragged wound and in a hoarse whisper delivers his last words.

“It was my cheese. Mine. I never stole it. Sorry Mum.”

Aleso turns just in time to see the Gnome’s fall- the two Holy men share a look, and ignoring the Outcast rush to attack Sir Bradford.

DMs Interlude, and the big rolls are deserting them, at last it seems I will have my revenge.

Meanwhile Dartamor dances a little more, badly it must be added, his feet are leaden weights, as are his arms- the poisonous sap of the Twig Blights has nearly overwhelmed him, every movement, every dodge, feint and thrust a heroic effort.

One of the three Twig Blights has been cut down, although it’s taken nearly half-a-dozen attacks to lay even one of the plant fiends low- it seems a rapier is not the best weapon to be using against the creatures.

“Grand Alf?”

Dartamor screams, the Sorcerer flounders, not waving but drowning beneath a grey-green grassy tide.


Dartamor screams again, searching for respite.

The Priest of St. Cuthbert doesn’t hear him; it’s all he can do to keep Sir Bradford from cutting his head off. Aleso seems to be similarly engaged in not getting cut to ribbons; although both of them have taken minor cuts.

“Bernard.” Saradomin screams, not looking.

At last Dartamor thinks, help is on the way.

“Bernard- destroy the Outcast.”

Bernard, or rather what’s left of the Zombie Bugbear stumbles forward to ravage the Outcast.

“WHAT. WHAT ABOUT ME?” Dartamor screams.

Grand Alf seems to have got his hands free; he’s casting, arcane words of power- “BIFFBANGPOW”

A dot of force wends its way towards one of the Twig Blight attackers, Dartamor breathes a sigh of relief, then the force dart dodges hard right and slams into the side of Sir Bradford.


Dartamor is beginning to lose his rag, and for his efforts takes another slashing, raking claw wound- his strength is almost spent.

Right then, if you want a job doing- you’ve gotta do it yourself, Dartamor thinks, and summons the last of his reserve, a tirade of cuts, thrusts and stabs, and seconds later the penultimate Twig Blight is no more.

Dartamor allows himself a smile.

And at the exact same moment is cut down, strength gone, all used up.

The Half-Elf falls backwards, a dead drop, the half-grin still etched on his face.

Aleso catches the last act out of the corner of his eye, continues to parry and thrust desperately at Sir Bradford, while out of the side of his mouth, “The Bents have got Dartamor.”
“Bents?” Saradomin parrots back confused.
“Baby Ents.”
“Foolish, should have known.”

Behind them a strange gurgling voice starts up.

“Kick it!”

Grand Alf break-dances furiously, for a second or two, here comes the verse.

”You wake up late for the adventure man you don't wanna go
You ask Saradomin, "Please?" but he still says, "No!"
You missed two Goblins and no Bugbear
But Aleso and Saradomin preach like you're some kind of jerk.”

The break dancing starts up again- he seems to making headway against the clutching grass.

”You gotta fight
for your right
to party”

The action’s soon over, next verse.

”Aleso caught you Fireballing and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite slays two Trolls a day
Man, adventuring is such a drag
Now Saradomin threw away your best Magic Smash Busted!”

Break dancing again, he’s almost free.

”You gotta fight
for your right
to party.”

The final verse.

”Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear
I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut that hair
Jerky busted in and said, "What's that noise?"
Aw, you're just jealous it's the Lost Boys!”

And he’s free, and on his feet- Grand Alf charges, spadeinator clutched in hand- straight for Sir Bradford.

”You gotta fight
for your right
to party.”

He shrieks again and again.

The Sorcerer barges his way between the two Holy men and is on the wayward Paladin.

Next Turn: Bernard bye-bye.
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