Mircoles said:
This story brings back alot of memories. I was about the Lost boys age when I started playing & our tactics were very similiar. Fun times.
I Dmed this module some time back, so I don't remember much. It wasn't as funny, that I remember. One thing I do remember is the fate of Meepo. The adventurers in my group adopted him as a mascot & lantern bearer. I can't remember how long they kept him with them, but Meepo was fun to play.
I've enjoyed this story alot so far & I'm looking forward the next installment.
Why thank you kindly, much appreciated.
Nearly at the end now...
Turn 8.9: Three’s a crowd.
“Dead. Dead. He can’t be, Noooooooooooooooooooooo.”
Aleso screams into the night, actually he’s no way of telling whether it’s day or night, regardless, he screams, and steps into the fray- makes swift work of the unarmed Paladin, stabs the foul miscreant through his face.
DMs Interlude in what other scenario does the LG Paladin get to stab a LG Paladin through the face and everything is okay, what do you mean it’s not okay, explain that to a twelve year old.
Saradomin smashes the last of the Twig Blights down.
The Holy pair drift together, clinch- they’re alone.
Smoke drifts towards them, clearing slightly, someone seems to have broken the fire-fuel-air triangle, by the sound of things they’re making water.
“Just us.”
“Mmm.”
The pair only have eyes for each other.
“I think Pelor is tops.” Saradomin states.
“St. Cuthbert rocks.” Aleso concedes.
The smoke continues to clear.
“Well this is it.” Saradomin states portentously.
“You could cure…” Aleso counters.
“Shhh. It’s just me and you now- the titanic battle to the very end, its fitting isn’t it, the heathen’s have been taken…”
“And Jerky.”
“He was pretty much a heathen.”
“Point taken.”
“No real commitment.”
“A coward.”
“And very small, did you notice- I didn’t want to say anything but… how rude.”
“Hmmm.”
“I mean there’s small and there’s small, he was doing it on purpose.”
“Being small?”
“On purpose, I mean what’s the point of that- all self, self, self, oh notice me I’m so very small.”
“Exactly, small.”
“I don’t think St. Cuthbert really appreciates short people.”
“Hmmm.”
“I know I don’t.”
“I see your point.”
“I think there’s a sign outside the Temple of St. Cuthbert in Freeport, y’know what it says?”
“No.”
“You have to be this tall to worship here.”
Saradomin indicates how tall you would need to be to worship at the Temple of St. Cuthbert’s in Freeport, Jerky would have to be wearing stacked platform shoes to stand a chance.
“Not a chance.” Aleso confirms.
“Nope.”
“Ahem.” The Outcast gets their attention, the smoke has cleared, the capering, gibbering loon is doing neither of the above, he seems all too relaxed.
Nothing happens.
Sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.
Sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.
The Outcast grins.
More sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.
More sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.
The Outcast grins.
And yet more sweat drips down from Saradomin’s furrowed brow.
And yet more sweat drips down from Aleso’s furrowed brow.
The Outcast grins.
“My armour’s…”
“So’s…”
The Heat Metal spell begins to really take hold, the pairs armour, weapons; anything metal they have glows, burning their skin- they smoulder.
“ATTACK.”
“For St. Cuthbert.” Aleso claims.
“For Pelor.” Saradomin counter-claims,
Saradomin gets half way, although the distance is not great, the Priest collapses, stumbles forward and grips the dirt, attempts to mouth divine words prayers to heal his hurts, but his voice is wrecked, his blood boils, the words a jumble- the spell broken, the Priest closes his eyes.
Next Turn: Last man standing.