The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel
You did indeed get it right, I pine for the little scamps.
Turn 5.3
“So how long have you been here?” Grand Alf asks again.
“I’d say three about months.” Jerky replies.
“Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.” Grand Alf concludes.
“Three months in that tiny cage.” Dartamor joins in.
“Yep.”
“How’d you survive?”
“By the blessings of…”, Jerky looks at Aleso, he’s pre-grin, rubbing his hands, “our Lord”, he finishes.
“Did you see a group of adventurers during your sojourn?” Aleso asks.
“As a matter of fact I did, three of them, a warrior- Talgen, I think; a lady wizard- Sharwyn, those two were brother and sister; and a holy knight, Sir Bradford- a Paladin of St. Cuthbert, they were…” He stops; no one can hear what he’s saying anyway.
Saradomin is on his feet, and screaming, “In your face”, and is in Aleso’s face, “a Paladin of St. Cuthbert- get in there, one-all, ONE-ALL…” he runs out of steam.
Gingerly sits, the others stare at him, Aleso silently fumes.
“Sorry… er, do go on, Jerky, what was that you were saying?”
“The adventurers were taken below…”
Dartamor interrupts, “actually it may have been only two of them that made it. It seems the Goblin chieftain, Durnn, killed one of them.”
Jerky shakes his head, “Pel…”, then thinks better of it, “god help them.”
“Go on Jerky, what else do you know?”
“Well they were sent below, to the Outcast, a mad man by the sound of things, the Goblins are terrified of him- he’s a crazed Priest I think, from what they say- worships some tree with magic apples. Clearly he wants stopping. I think everybody can agree on that.”
The three sane people nod, Grand Alf grins and smears Magic Smash on the palm of his hand, then licks it off.
Jerky stops to stare at him.
“You alright?” He asks.
“Yeff.” Grand Alf spits peanuts back at him, grins some more with Magic Smash lacquered teeth.
“Just don’t put you hands near his mouth.” Dartamor offers.
The Gnome nods back, still staring at the Sorcerer.
“Continue brother.” Adds Aleso, pointedly staring at Saradomin.
“They were sent below, to the Twilight Grove, whatever that may be.”
Grand Alf gets up and capers, eventually settles on chasing the end of his hat, which is of course on his head, trying to suddenly look behind him to see it.
“There’s some other stuff- Twig Blights, little bundles of… Twigs, they’re the spawn of the tree, I think, the Outcasts servants- they’re not dangerous, singly, but get a few of them together and they could rip you to shreds.”
The seated three nod.
“Anything else?”
Jerky stops staring at Grand Alf, turns back to the others.
“No, I don’t think so… Oh yes, can I join you, I think I could be of use, and well… I’ve got some scores to settle.” The Gnome grins, like he means business.
“Welcome to the Lost Boys”, its Saradomin’s hand he grasps, and shakes.
The group assemble, ready for action, the meeting’s over, or so it seems.
“So we’re going below?” Jerky asks.
Grand Alf spies that they’re all ready, throws his hat on the floor stamps on it a couple of times, grinning, then screws it back on his head- and runs off, back to the Dragon Key Door with the Sarky-Coffee-Goose, it seems he has unfinished business there.
The others do their best to keep up.
A while later…
They’re all over the other side of the pit, courtesy of some rope tricks (Dartamor), and a Spider Climb Potion (Dartamor).
A torch burns illuminating a nine foot long intricately carved sarcophagi- carved to resemble a dragon at rest.
“Well?” Grand Alf stares.
There are six clasps keeping the lid in place, Aleso and Saradomin set to work, the three others grab missile weapons and await the grand opening.
PING
The last clasp on the near side is off.
“I think we should wedge the grappling hook in it and then lever it off by pulling the rope from the far side, so as you three can nail whatever’s in it, and we’ll be behind the lid- shielded, should any shots go… astray.” Aleso has a plan.
“What do you mean astray?” Grand Alf feels threatened- he’s a crack shot… scratch that, I was reading it wrong- he’s a crack pot, they’re probably best hiding behind the lid.
“What do you mean whatever’s in it- whatever’s in it is going to be dead… surely?” It’s Dartamor’s turn to be concerned.
“Dead, Undead- something like that.” Saradomin ventures.
DMs interlude- at the time the group, having never played the game before, were convinced that all that was going to be in the thing was a very dead guy and a bunch of treasure- honest, their little faces, so naïve.
Read on…
“What do you mean Undead?” Dartamor is developing a concern.
“Don’t worry Dartamor if it’s Undead I will endeavour to send it back to the grave in an instant.” It’s Jerky’s turn to be cocky.
Satisfied the Rogue nods for Aleso and Saradomin to pull the thing open. They take the strain…
This goes on for some time.
The furthest they manage to lift it is two inches.
Grand Alf jams Saradomin’s club in the gap, he was going to jam his short spear in but at the last moment was worried that it might get stuck, and then where would he be.
Two minutes later Saradomin’s club is wedged tight in the sarcophagi- no one can shift it, and the others, no matter how hard they strain, cannot lift the lid up enough to recover the club.
“That was my club, a symbol of my connection to St. Cuthbert, it’s very… <sniffle> important to me… we shared a bond, her name was… Sharlene.”
Saradomin collapses onto the lid of the sarcophagi, hammers at it- grizzling.
“They taught us a rhyme… back at the seminary.” Saradomin staggers around to the front of the sarcophagi, wailing at his loss, and marches, half-heartedly, on the spot.
“This is my club.”
He points at his club- Sharlene.
“This is my brain.”
He points at the place his brain should be.
“This is for fighting.”
He points back at Sharlene.
“This is to keep off the rain.”
Points at his head and then collapses onto the cold stone floor- banging his little fists again.
“SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”
They give him a minute.
Jerky is looking even more panicky- what’s he got himself into.
Still crying, Saradomin gets up, wanders round to the other side of the sarcophagi, to Aleso, points at the first of the three remaining claps, the two get to work again.
“It’s alright, I’m ok. <sob> Just carry on as if nothing’s happened… SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”
His whole body shakes as he bawls.
PUNG
And the last clasp is removed.
The grappling hook is still in play, the divine duo drag the one ton stone lid off.
CLUNK
And onto the floor, they dance out of its way.
Saradomin rushes for his club, Sharlene, cradles it lovingly.
Inside the sarcophagi is an eight foot tall, extremely wizened, old man- of sorts.
“He’s big.” Grand Alf calculates, he settles for jumping in the air, with one hand up above his head- trying to indicate to the others just how tall the old guy is.
The corpse is wearing jewellery, a necklace; two bracelets… its eyes blink open.
“FECK. That scared the life out of me- I thought he opened his eyes.” Grand Alf places his hand over his breast, feels his thumping heart.
The creature turns to stare at him, and then slowly rises from his bier.
“Feck” Grand Alf again, “I thought it… Oh it is.”
The creature rises from the dead, Grand Alf follows the creatures arm as it lifts up, raises, stretches out to grasp him round the neck.
FWUNG
The Mage brings his crossbow up and shoots the creature from point blank range through its head, the bolt remains lodged in there.
Everything stops for a moment.
Then the creature reaches up and pulls the bolt back out of its skull.
TUG-SQUELCH-CRUNCH
And passes the bloody thing back to Grand Alf, who nods his thanks, as he takes it back.
“He seems nice.” Grand Alf adds.
The wound in the creature’s head seems to be healing over, a second later and it’s completely gone.
Still nobody has moved.
“TROLL.” Jerky shouts.
Which seems to get things moving.
The Lost Boys scatter, Grand Alf takes a few steps left, comes to a halt looks about, then a few more right, looks about- basically dodging either side of the huge stone coffin, trying desperately to see where the Troll is. He knows what a Troll is after all; a Troll is an enormously fat creature, slovenly and uncouth, most of them have a lisp and walk with a stick, they’re fond of butterscotch, dumplings, acrylic-wool mix cardigans and… Hang on. His brain thinks- I’m panicking aren’t I, I’ve no idea at all what a Troll looks like, for all I know the Troll could be the dozy tall geezer sitting in the sarcophagi before me… Oh, hang on again. A tiny sign flashes on and off inside the cavern in which his brain sits- the flashing sign reads- “Bingo.”
The Troll lashes out, one huge gnarly fist, Grand Alf ducks, the creature’s fist passes over his bent form and smashes into Aleso’s face, breaking his nose and fracturing his jaw.
“That was close.”
Grand Alf scoots away.
Aleso staggers into the wall, grips on for dear life.
Dartamor looks for a safe spot, sees one, runs up a wall and takes to crouching on the ceiling- the joys of Spider Climb.
“Mwash Mwit.” Aleso mouths.
Saradomin has no idea what he’s on about, continues to run around the room, in what passes for blind panic.
The Troll rises from its sitting position, it’s enormous, still stood inside the sarcophagi, it could touch the ceiling- easy.
Not so safe then, Dartamor thinks.
“How do we kill it?” He shouts.
“Fire.” Jerky hollers back.
The effect is instantaneous, everyone, bar Aleso, fumbles for a missile weapon and lets rip at the creature- it has little or no affect, the wounds regenerate swiftly.
The Troll gingerly steps out of the sarcophagi, stretches; clicking and creaking bones, yawns- then looks for breakfast.
“I meant fire- burn it.” Jerky clarifies.
Aleso meanwhile has been fumbling for a healing potion, finds one, or so he thinks, and takes a swig, thinks- damn, that’s hot- his throat burns.
BURRRP
Gouts of flame erupt over and around the Troll.
It stops what it was doing, smoke coils from its blackened form, turns to face the Paladin.
“MwI Mwidn’t Mwactmwually mWean MWo MWo Mwat…” Aleso offers.
A hand darts down from the ceiling and swiftly swipes the Trolls necklace, the hulking creature looks about- momentarily confused- what just happened. Dartamor takes the opportunity to skulk away.
The Troll remembers its purpose.
Leaps.
Aleso prepares to meet the creature’s charge- by pressing himself hard to the stone wall, looking away, and shutting his eyes.
SMASH
The Troll lands hard on the sarcophagi, unsteady still, stone shatters and smashes where it lands.
“Hold your ground Holy Knight, for I have a plan.” Grand Alf states.
Aleso makes a half-hearted pretence of defence.
The Troll punches him in the face again. Aleso’s head rocks back and cracks into the stone wall, he looks groggy.
“That’s it- you’ve got him now.” Grand Alf encourages, and then “Saradomin- go.”
The bustling Cleric rushes in, “yoink”, and instead of healing the Paladin, grabs the Fire Breath Potion, Saradomin scuttles out- still leaving the Troll facing off against Aleso.
The Troll strides forward, lashing out as it does so, Aleso retreats- into a corner, he’s trapped, and won’t last long.
“Mwot mwevwmer mwit mwis mwen mwooo mwit mwoon.” Aleso garbles.
Next Turn: Mwelp Mwe.
Turn 5.3
A Short Story.
“So how long have you been here?” Grand Alf asks again.
“I’d say three about months.” Jerky replies.
“Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.” Grand Alf concludes.
“Three months in that tiny cage.” Dartamor joins in.
“Yep.”
“How’d you survive?”
“By the blessings of…”, Jerky looks at Aleso, he’s pre-grin, rubbing his hands, “our Lord”, he finishes.
“Did you see a group of adventurers during your sojourn?” Aleso asks.
“As a matter of fact I did, three of them, a warrior- Talgen, I think; a lady wizard- Sharwyn, those two were brother and sister; and a holy knight, Sir Bradford- a Paladin of St. Cuthbert, they were…” He stops; no one can hear what he’s saying anyway.
Saradomin is on his feet, and screaming, “In your face”, and is in Aleso’s face, “a Paladin of St. Cuthbert- get in there, one-all, ONE-ALL…” he runs out of steam.
Gingerly sits, the others stare at him, Aleso silently fumes.
“Sorry… er, do go on, Jerky, what was that you were saying?”
“The adventurers were taken below…”
Dartamor interrupts, “actually it may have been only two of them that made it. It seems the Goblin chieftain, Durnn, killed one of them.”
Jerky shakes his head, “Pel…”, then thinks better of it, “god help them.”
“Go on Jerky, what else do you know?”
“Well they were sent below, to the Outcast, a mad man by the sound of things, the Goblins are terrified of him- he’s a crazed Priest I think, from what they say- worships some tree with magic apples. Clearly he wants stopping. I think everybody can agree on that.”
The three sane people nod, Grand Alf grins and smears Magic Smash on the palm of his hand, then licks it off.
Jerky stops to stare at him.
“You alright?” He asks.
“Yeff.” Grand Alf spits peanuts back at him, grins some more with Magic Smash lacquered teeth.
“Just don’t put you hands near his mouth.” Dartamor offers.
The Gnome nods back, still staring at the Sorcerer.
“Continue brother.” Adds Aleso, pointedly staring at Saradomin.
“They were sent below, to the Twilight Grove, whatever that may be.”
Grand Alf gets up and capers, eventually settles on chasing the end of his hat, which is of course on his head, trying to suddenly look behind him to see it.
“There’s some other stuff- Twig Blights, little bundles of… Twigs, they’re the spawn of the tree, I think, the Outcasts servants- they’re not dangerous, singly, but get a few of them together and they could rip you to shreds.”
The seated three nod.
“Anything else?”
Jerky stops staring at Grand Alf, turns back to the others.
“No, I don’t think so… Oh yes, can I join you, I think I could be of use, and well… I’ve got some scores to settle.” The Gnome grins, like he means business.
“Welcome to the Lost Boys”, its Saradomin’s hand he grasps, and shakes.
The group assemble, ready for action, the meeting’s over, or so it seems.
“So we’re going below?” Jerky asks.
Grand Alf spies that they’re all ready, throws his hat on the floor stamps on it a couple of times, grinning, then screws it back on his head- and runs off, back to the Dragon Key Door with the Sarky-Coffee-Goose, it seems he has unfinished business there.
The others do their best to keep up.
A while later…
They’re all over the other side of the pit, courtesy of some rope tricks (Dartamor), and a Spider Climb Potion (Dartamor).
A torch burns illuminating a nine foot long intricately carved sarcophagi- carved to resemble a dragon at rest.
“Well?” Grand Alf stares.
There are six clasps keeping the lid in place, Aleso and Saradomin set to work, the three others grab missile weapons and await the grand opening.
PING
The last clasp on the near side is off.
“I think we should wedge the grappling hook in it and then lever it off by pulling the rope from the far side, so as you three can nail whatever’s in it, and we’ll be behind the lid- shielded, should any shots go… astray.” Aleso has a plan.
“What do you mean astray?” Grand Alf feels threatened- he’s a crack shot… scratch that, I was reading it wrong- he’s a crack pot, they’re probably best hiding behind the lid.
“What do you mean whatever’s in it- whatever’s in it is going to be dead… surely?” It’s Dartamor’s turn to be concerned.
“Dead, Undead- something like that.” Saradomin ventures.
DMs interlude- at the time the group, having never played the game before, were convinced that all that was going to be in the thing was a very dead guy and a bunch of treasure- honest, their little faces, so naïve.
Read on…
“What do you mean Undead?” Dartamor is developing a concern.
“Don’t worry Dartamor if it’s Undead I will endeavour to send it back to the grave in an instant.” It’s Jerky’s turn to be cocky.
Satisfied the Rogue nods for Aleso and Saradomin to pull the thing open. They take the strain…
This goes on for some time.
The furthest they manage to lift it is two inches.
Grand Alf jams Saradomin’s club in the gap, he was going to jam his short spear in but at the last moment was worried that it might get stuck, and then where would he be.
Two minutes later Saradomin’s club is wedged tight in the sarcophagi- no one can shift it, and the others, no matter how hard they strain, cannot lift the lid up enough to recover the club.
“That was my club, a symbol of my connection to St. Cuthbert, it’s very… <sniffle> important to me… we shared a bond, her name was… Sharlene.”
Saradomin collapses onto the lid of the sarcophagi, hammers at it- grizzling.
“They taught us a rhyme… back at the seminary.” Saradomin staggers around to the front of the sarcophagi, wailing at his loss, and marches, half-heartedly, on the spot.
“This is my club.”
He points at his club- Sharlene.
“This is my brain.”
He points at the place his brain should be.
“This is for fighting.”
He points back at Sharlene.
“This is to keep off the rain.”
Points at his head and then collapses onto the cold stone floor- banging his little fists again.
“SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”
They give him a minute.
Jerky is looking even more panicky- what’s he got himself into.
Still crying, Saradomin gets up, wanders round to the other side of the sarcophagi, to Aleso, points at the first of the three remaining claps, the two get to work again.
“It’s alright, I’m ok. <sob> Just carry on as if nothing’s happened… SHAAAAAAAR-LENE.”
His whole body shakes as he bawls.
PUNG
And the last clasp is removed.
The grappling hook is still in play, the divine duo drag the one ton stone lid off.
CLUNK
And onto the floor, they dance out of its way.
Saradomin rushes for his club, Sharlene, cradles it lovingly.
Inside the sarcophagi is an eight foot tall, extremely wizened, old man- of sorts.
“He’s big.” Grand Alf calculates, he settles for jumping in the air, with one hand up above his head- trying to indicate to the others just how tall the old guy is.
The corpse is wearing jewellery, a necklace; two bracelets… its eyes blink open.
“FECK. That scared the life out of me- I thought he opened his eyes.” Grand Alf places his hand over his breast, feels his thumping heart.
The creature turns to stare at him, and then slowly rises from his bier.
“Feck” Grand Alf again, “I thought it… Oh it is.”
The creature rises from the dead, Grand Alf follows the creatures arm as it lifts up, raises, stretches out to grasp him round the neck.
FWUNG
The Mage brings his crossbow up and shoots the creature from point blank range through its head, the bolt remains lodged in there.
Everything stops for a moment.
Then the creature reaches up and pulls the bolt back out of its skull.
TUG-SQUELCH-CRUNCH
And passes the bloody thing back to Grand Alf, who nods his thanks, as he takes it back.
“He seems nice.” Grand Alf adds.
The wound in the creature’s head seems to be healing over, a second later and it’s completely gone.
Still nobody has moved.
“TROLL.” Jerky shouts.
Which seems to get things moving.
The Lost Boys scatter, Grand Alf takes a few steps left, comes to a halt looks about, then a few more right, looks about- basically dodging either side of the huge stone coffin, trying desperately to see where the Troll is. He knows what a Troll is after all; a Troll is an enormously fat creature, slovenly and uncouth, most of them have a lisp and walk with a stick, they’re fond of butterscotch, dumplings, acrylic-wool mix cardigans and… Hang on. His brain thinks- I’m panicking aren’t I, I’ve no idea at all what a Troll looks like, for all I know the Troll could be the dozy tall geezer sitting in the sarcophagi before me… Oh, hang on again. A tiny sign flashes on and off inside the cavern in which his brain sits- the flashing sign reads- “Bingo.”
The Troll lashes out, one huge gnarly fist, Grand Alf ducks, the creature’s fist passes over his bent form and smashes into Aleso’s face, breaking his nose and fracturing his jaw.
“That was close.”
Grand Alf scoots away.
Aleso staggers into the wall, grips on for dear life.
Dartamor looks for a safe spot, sees one, runs up a wall and takes to crouching on the ceiling- the joys of Spider Climb.
“Mwash Mwit.” Aleso mouths.
Saradomin has no idea what he’s on about, continues to run around the room, in what passes for blind panic.
The Troll rises from its sitting position, it’s enormous, still stood inside the sarcophagi, it could touch the ceiling- easy.
Not so safe then, Dartamor thinks.
“How do we kill it?” He shouts.
“Fire.” Jerky hollers back.
The effect is instantaneous, everyone, bar Aleso, fumbles for a missile weapon and lets rip at the creature- it has little or no affect, the wounds regenerate swiftly.
The Troll gingerly steps out of the sarcophagi, stretches; clicking and creaking bones, yawns- then looks for breakfast.
“I meant fire- burn it.” Jerky clarifies.
Aleso meanwhile has been fumbling for a healing potion, finds one, or so he thinks, and takes a swig, thinks- damn, that’s hot- his throat burns.
BURRRP
Gouts of flame erupt over and around the Troll.
It stops what it was doing, smoke coils from its blackened form, turns to face the Paladin.
“MwI Mwidn’t Mwactmwually mWean MWo MWo Mwat…” Aleso offers.
A hand darts down from the ceiling and swiftly swipes the Trolls necklace, the hulking creature looks about- momentarily confused- what just happened. Dartamor takes the opportunity to skulk away.
The Troll remembers its purpose.
Leaps.
Aleso prepares to meet the creature’s charge- by pressing himself hard to the stone wall, looking away, and shutting his eyes.
SMASH
The Troll lands hard on the sarcophagi, unsteady still, stone shatters and smashes where it lands.
“Hold your ground Holy Knight, for I have a plan.” Grand Alf states.
Aleso makes a half-hearted pretence of defence.
The Troll punches him in the face again. Aleso’s head rocks back and cracks into the stone wall, he looks groggy.
“That’s it- you’ve got him now.” Grand Alf encourages, and then “Saradomin- go.”
The bustling Cleric rushes in, “yoink”, and instead of healing the Paladin, grabs the Fire Breath Potion, Saradomin scuttles out- still leaving the Troll facing off against Aleso.
The Troll strides forward, lashing out as it does so, Aleso retreats- into a corner, he’s trapped, and won’t last long.
“Mwot mwevwmer mwit mwis mwen mwooo mwit mwoon.” Aleso garbles.
Next Turn: Mwelp Mwe.
Turn 5.4
The Troll continues to menace Aleso.
“MWake Mwit Mwop. MWWake Mwit Mwo MwaMway. Mwelor Mwelp mWe.”
The Paladin seems to be taking it all in his stride, in his usual fashion.
Grand Alf flings a flask of oil at the creatures back, it smashes on impact. Dartamor adds to the mess, upending another flask from above, on the creature’s head.
The Troll staggers back, looks about for his new enemy, oil in his eyes.
Jerky darts in, grabs Aleso and drags him out of the way, his healing touch pumping the Paladin full of vim and vigour, and hit points, of course.
“Gy Gighty Gaint Guthbert- Gie Gowl Geast.”
Saradomin gargles, and then spits.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF
It’s flame on.
The Troll staggers and flails wildly, the adventurers hang back, stay out of the creatures reach.
They take it in turns to dart in, melee weapons to the fore, deliver distracting blows.
It’s soon over, the Troll crumples, a steaming black mass, mostly- there are parts of the creature that still seem to be regenerating.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
Aleso chops the Trolls head off.
The Paladin rolls his shoulders, puffs out his chest.
“Pelor bless us in this our great quest, may thy fiery countenance shine forth and bring low all those that stand before us.”
He crosses himself, even he realises how close he came to death.
“Ditto, replacing Pelor with St. Cuthbert, and for ‘fiery countenance shine forth and’, substitute ‘gnarly knobbly rod of might’, we give thanks.”
Saradomin finishes his prayer.
In the background Grand Alf has picked up the dead Trolls head and is holding it up before him, think Hamlet with Yorick’s skull in the graveyard scene, except-
“I'm standin' here. You make the move.”
Grand Alf poses, stares hard at the Troll’s head.
“You make the move.
It's your move.”
Grand Alf quick draws a sandwich.
Takes a bite- MMm, Magic Smash.
“Don't try it, you flip-diddly-doo.”
He intones spraying peanuts and breadcrumbs.
“You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?”
His sandwich shaking reaches titanic proportions.
“Then who the hell else are you talking-- You talking to me?
Well, I'm the only one here.”
He slaps the Troll’s head round the chops with the floppy end of his sandwich, steaming mad.
“Who the flip-dickety do you think you're talking to?”
He drops the Troll’s head- like it’s just said something nasty about his mum.
The head impacts with the floor, crumples- rots away.
“Oh, yeah?”
Arms out wide, head thrown back, sandwich vibrating furiously.
“Err… Grand Alf.” Saradomin calls over- looking behind the Sorcerer, eyes on stalks.
“Whaff?” Grand Alf takes a huge bite of sandwich- he’s earned it.
“GRAND ALF”, this time the shout is from all of his colleagues- a chorus. They’re all looking behind him.
Grand Alf takes another bite of sandwich and saunters around to see what’s so interesting behind him.
Oh yes, the Troll, he saunters round again, a moment then his brain catches up with his visual faculties- he juggles his sandwich for a second, then abandons it to gravity, and scarpers.
“Flip-a-doodle.”
The others step in, alas for the Troll it’s only just on its feet, it seems it’s got up too soon.
Aleso and Saradomin flail wildly at the thing.
“Pelor… SMASH… kick the… WHACK… out of this… FUMP… foul miscreant.”
“St. Cuthbert… WHACK… send thy knobbly rod… SMASH… and staff… FUMP… to discomfort this ... THUNK… foul wretch.”
And the Troll is in bits again, regenerating slowly still though.
The divine duo are a little out of breath.
“MORE FIRE.” Jerky shouts.
The five some fumble through their packs, while delivering ad hoc beatings to the flopping Troll shaped mush- they strike oil. All that they have, is brought forth, poured on, and flame applied.
WHOOOOOOOOF
And that really is the end of the creature.
“This is rubbish.” Dartamor admires the necklace he ‘found’ earlier- around the Troll’s neck.
Jerky, however secures a quality dagger, probably masterwork, and that seems to be the end of the treasure.
DMs interlude- you should have seen the looks I got, they thought they were going to be, ‘minted.’
“Right.” Grand Alf states, “let’s get on with the job at hand… rescue the kids, we haven’t got time to waste treasure hunting- people’s lives are at stake.”
The Sorcerer shakes his head, disappointed in his colleagues, and then heads off- at a sprint.
“What the…” Jerky starts up, but Grand Alf’s gone.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to him.” Aleso offers.
“He was sent to us as punishment.” Saradomin states.
“Penance.” Aleso adds.
“For past sins.” Saradomin finishes.
They wander off.
Daratamor approaches a still unmoving Jerky.
“It’s the one thing that pair agree on.” Dartamor states, and then he too is gone.
Jerky shrugs and follows.
Next Turn: Down, down, deeper and down.
Mwelp Mwe.
The Troll continues to menace Aleso.
“MWake Mwit Mwop. MWWake Mwit Mwo MwaMway. Mwelor Mwelp mWe.”
The Paladin seems to be taking it all in his stride, in his usual fashion.
Grand Alf flings a flask of oil at the creatures back, it smashes on impact. Dartamor adds to the mess, upending another flask from above, on the creature’s head.
The Troll staggers back, looks about for his new enemy, oil in his eyes.
Jerky darts in, grabs Aleso and drags him out of the way, his healing touch pumping the Paladin full of vim and vigour, and hit points, of course.
“Gy Gighty Gaint Guthbert- Gie Gowl Geast.”
Saradomin gargles, and then spits.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF
It’s flame on.
The Troll staggers and flails wildly, the adventurers hang back, stay out of the creatures reach.
They take it in turns to dart in, melee weapons to the fore, deliver distracting blows.
It’s soon over, the Troll crumples, a steaming black mass, mostly- there are parts of the creature that still seem to be regenerating.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
Aleso chops the Trolls head off.
The Paladin rolls his shoulders, puffs out his chest.
“Pelor bless us in this our great quest, may thy fiery countenance shine forth and bring low all those that stand before us.”
He crosses himself, even he realises how close he came to death.
“Ditto, replacing Pelor with St. Cuthbert, and for ‘fiery countenance shine forth and’, substitute ‘gnarly knobbly rod of might’, we give thanks.”
Saradomin finishes his prayer.
In the background Grand Alf has picked up the dead Trolls head and is holding it up before him, think Hamlet with Yorick’s skull in the graveyard scene, except-
“I'm standin' here. You make the move.”
Grand Alf poses, stares hard at the Troll’s head.
“You make the move.
It's your move.”
Grand Alf quick draws a sandwich.
Takes a bite- MMm, Magic Smash.
“Don't try it, you flip-diddly-doo.”
He intones spraying peanuts and breadcrumbs.
“You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?”
His sandwich shaking reaches titanic proportions.
“Then who the hell else are you talking-- You talking to me?
Well, I'm the only one here.”
He slaps the Troll’s head round the chops with the floppy end of his sandwich, steaming mad.
“Who the flip-dickety do you think you're talking to?”
He drops the Troll’s head- like it’s just said something nasty about his mum.
The head impacts with the floor, crumples- rots away.
“Oh, yeah?”
Arms out wide, head thrown back, sandwich vibrating furiously.
“Err… Grand Alf.” Saradomin calls over- looking behind the Sorcerer, eyes on stalks.
“Whaff?” Grand Alf takes a huge bite of sandwich- he’s earned it.
“GRAND ALF”, this time the shout is from all of his colleagues- a chorus. They’re all looking behind him.
Grand Alf takes another bite of sandwich and saunters around to see what’s so interesting behind him.
Oh yes, the Troll, he saunters round again, a moment then his brain catches up with his visual faculties- he juggles his sandwich for a second, then abandons it to gravity, and scarpers.
“Flip-a-doodle.”
The others step in, alas for the Troll it’s only just on its feet, it seems it’s got up too soon.
Aleso and Saradomin flail wildly at the thing.
“Pelor… SMASH… kick the… WHACK… out of this… FUMP… foul miscreant.”
“St. Cuthbert… WHACK… send thy knobbly rod… SMASH… and staff… FUMP… to discomfort this ... THUNK… foul wretch.”
And the Troll is in bits again, regenerating slowly still though.
The divine duo are a little out of breath.
“MORE FIRE.” Jerky shouts.
The five some fumble through their packs, while delivering ad hoc beatings to the flopping Troll shaped mush- they strike oil. All that they have, is brought forth, poured on, and flame applied.
WHOOOOOOOOF
And that really is the end of the creature.
“This is rubbish.” Dartamor admires the necklace he ‘found’ earlier- around the Troll’s neck.
Jerky, however secures a quality dagger, probably masterwork, and that seems to be the end of the treasure.
DMs interlude- you should have seen the looks I got, they thought they were going to be, ‘minted.’
“Right.” Grand Alf states, “let’s get on with the job at hand… rescue the kids, we haven’t got time to waste treasure hunting- people’s lives are at stake.”
The Sorcerer shakes his head, disappointed in his colleagues, and then heads off- at a sprint.
“What the…” Jerky starts up, but Grand Alf’s gone.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to him.” Aleso offers.
“He was sent to us as punishment.” Saradomin states.
“Penance.” Aleso adds.
“For past sins.” Saradomin finishes.
They wander off.
Daratamor approaches a still unmoving Jerky.
“It’s the one thing that pair agree on.” Dartamor states, and then he too is gone.
Jerky shrugs and follows.
Next Turn: Down, down, deeper and down.
Richard Rawen
First Post
Great fun as usual, can't give the bright young lads too much treasure from the go or they'll get overconfident (and greedy). Really brings back memories =-)
Turn 5.5
They’re back in Durnn’s chamber, the huge, liana draped, hole leads down into darkness.
“I’ll check it out.”
Dartamor secures a rope around the throne, seems to be fairly immovable, and lets it flop over the side- he edges his way down, and into another world...
Dartamor moves silently down into a huge cavernous chamber, lit by a fine collection of white and blue glowing fungi, he reaches the cavern floor- it’s soft, a layer of soil. Numerous spindly plants, stunted and twisted, dot the chamber.
Sssssnick.
Dartamor crouches, notices a cowled figure, spade in hand, digging in the dry grey dirt.
He spots another, and then notices the creature’s hands, stripped of their flesh, on the spade- Skeletons.
The cowled figure turns to stare at him, two glowing red eyes hidden deep within the creature’s hood.
A plant to his right uproots itself, shakes soil free, and then staggers towards him.
Dartamor looks up, into the glaring light above.
“KELP.”
He half screams-whispers.
“What did he say?” Up above, Grand Alf asks.
“Kelp?” Saradomin wonders.
And is greeted by silence, and confused faces.
“Kelp?” Aleso states.
More silence. More confused looks.
“Ohhhhh. I get it.”
Saradomin rocks gently- laughter. Grand Alf and Aleso look on further confused.
“Kelp- remember, at the start, you were fighting the rats, you were shouting up, we thought you said… Kelp, instead of- help.” Saradomin explains.
Grand Alf and Aleso exchange glances, continue to stare at the odd Priest. They don’t get the joke.
“Kelp, as in ‘help’- as in he’s in trouble.” Saradomin chuckles some more.
“Very funny”, he adds, “tres amusing.”
Confusion continues.
“Are you saying that Dartamor needs our help?” Aleso finally asks.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” Saradomin continues to hiccup with laughter.
Then Saradomin gets it.
“Oh- he’s in trouble.”
Grand Alf leaps over the side, grabs at a vine, and slides down it like some professional vine-slider, or something. He’s at the bottom in seconds, hoping up and down, blowing on his red-raw hands.
“Hot… Hot… Ow… Burny… Burny… Hot hands.”
No use to anyone.
Dartamor is cut and bruised, scratched and slashed- he’s not well. And his rapier doesn’t seem to be making much of an impact on his less-than-solid attackers.
He’s also being crowded by two Twig Blights, ferocious bundles of twigs- or so they seem to Dartamor, and two Skeleton gardeners swinging spades.
Grand Alf takes in the scene.
“BiffBangPow.”
A Magic Missiles thumps into a Skeleton’s skull, the creature turns to glare at him- heads over to investigate further.
Dartamor is hit again, barely on his feet, Grand Alf backs away.
And then the cavalry arrive, Saradomin, Aleso, and Jerky last.
“Bludgeoning weapons.” Jerky shouts.
But only Jerky and Saradomin have any of those.
Grand Alf and Dartamor receive simultaneous enlightenment; they both attempt to wrestle the spades away from their respective Skeleton opponents.
“Hands off emaciated fiend, that’s Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving you wield.”
Saradomin strides up to the Skeleton swinging at Dartamor.
WHUMP
Smashes the creatures skull.
WHISH
Aleso, by his side, scythes through one of the Twig Blights.
Dartamor grabs the Skeletons spade, turns to flatten the remaining Twig Blight.
SWISH
But too late, Aleso has his second victim.
Saradomin meanwhile shuffles over to help Grand Alf, who’s still locked in a tug-of-spade, sorry- Staff of Earth Moving, with his opponent.
CLUNK
Saradomin bats the creatures skull away- the final Skeleton concertinas and collapses.
Grand Alf wrenches the spade, from its dying grasp, and waves it high above his head.
“Can you dig it?”
WHUMP
Brings it down on the Skeletons already cracked, and now shattered, skull.
And at that moment Balsag the Hunter, a huge Bugbear, chooses to make his presence known.
“Gerr ready ta meet t' cuk pot..”
“It seems we’re just in time for tea.” Dartamor swiftly translates.
A pair of ferocious looking Dire Rats snap and bite at the nearly eight foot tall Bugbear’s feet.
Dartamor grins, crouches in a combat stance.
Aleso holds his scimitar before him, “Pelor bless me”, he whispers.
Saradomin smacks the head of his mace into his palm- withdraws it, shakes it furiously, “Oww.”
Grand Alf smiles like fury- “What’re we having for tea?”
He skips from foot to foot.
End of turn, end of the sessions we’ve played so far.
Next Turn- your guess is as good as mine the next game is not for ages.
Down, down, deeper and down.
They’re back in Durnn’s chamber, the huge, liana draped, hole leads down into darkness.
“I’ll check it out.”
Dartamor secures a rope around the throne, seems to be fairly immovable, and lets it flop over the side- he edges his way down, and into another world...
Dartamor moves silently down into a huge cavernous chamber, lit by a fine collection of white and blue glowing fungi, he reaches the cavern floor- it’s soft, a layer of soil. Numerous spindly plants, stunted and twisted, dot the chamber.
Sssssnick.
Dartamor crouches, notices a cowled figure, spade in hand, digging in the dry grey dirt.
He spots another, and then notices the creature’s hands, stripped of their flesh, on the spade- Skeletons.
The cowled figure turns to stare at him, two glowing red eyes hidden deep within the creature’s hood.
A plant to his right uproots itself, shakes soil free, and then staggers towards him.
Dartamor looks up, into the glaring light above.
“KELP.”
He half screams-whispers.
“What did he say?” Up above, Grand Alf asks.
“Kelp?” Saradomin wonders.
And is greeted by silence, and confused faces.
“Kelp?” Aleso states.
More silence. More confused looks.
“Ohhhhh. I get it.”
Saradomin rocks gently- laughter. Grand Alf and Aleso look on further confused.
“Kelp- remember, at the start, you were fighting the rats, you were shouting up, we thought you said… Kelp, instead of- help.” Saradomin explains.
Grand Alf and Aleso exchange glances, continue to stare at the odd Priest. They don’t get the joke.
“Kelp, as in ‘help’- as in he’s in trouble.” Saradomin chuckles some more.
“Very funny”, he adds, “tres amusing.”
Confusion continues.
“Are you saying that Dartamor needs our help?” Aleso finally asks.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” Saradomin continues to hiccup with laughter.
Then Saradomin gets it.
“Oh- he’s in trouble.”
Grand Alf leaps over the side, grabs at a vine, and slides down it like some professional vine-slider, or something. He’s at the bottom in seconds, hoping up and down, blowing on his red-raw hands.
“Hot… Hot… Ow… Burny… Burny… Hot hands.”
No use to anyone.
Dartamor is cut and bruised, scratched and slashed- he’s not well. And his rapier doesn’t seem to be making much of an impact on his less-than-solid attackers.
He’s also being crowded by two Twig Blights, ferocious bundles of twigs- or so they seem to Dartamor, and two Skeleton gardeners swinging spades.
Grand Alf takes in the scene.
“BiffBangPow.”
A Magic Missiles thumps into a Skeleton’s skull, the creature turns to glare at him- heads over to investigate further.
Dartamor is hit again, barely on his feet, Grand Alf backs away.
And then the cavalry arrive, Saradomin, Aleso, and Jerky last.
“Bludgeoning weapons.” Jerky shouts.
But only Jerky and Saradomin have any of those.
Grand Alf and Dartamor receive simultaneous enlightenment; they both attempt to wrestle the spades away from their respective Skeleton opponents.
“Hands off emaciated fiend, that’s Grand Alf’s Staff of Earth Moving you wield.”
Saradomin strides up to the Skeleton swinging at Dartamor.
WHUMP
Smashes the creatures skull.
WHISH
Aleso, by his side, scythes through one of the Twig Blights.
Dartamor grabs the Skeletons spade, turns to flatten the remaining Twig Blight.
SWISH
But too late, Aleso has his second victim.
Saradomin meanwhile shuffles over to help Grand Alf, who’s still locked in a tug-of-spade, sorry- Staff of Earth Moving, with his opponent.
CLUNK
Saradomin bats the creatures skull away- the final Skeleton concertinas and collapses.
Grand Alf wrenches the spade, from its dying grasp, and waves it high above his head.
“Can you dig it?”
WHUMP
Brings it down on the Skeletons already cracked, and now shattered, skull.
And at that moment Balsag the Hunter, a huge Bugbear, chooses to make his presence known.
“Gerr ready ta meet t' cuk pot..”
“It seems we’re just in time for tea.” Dartamor swiftly translates.
A pair of ferocious looking Dire Rats snap and bite at the nearly eight foot tall Bugbear’s feet.
Dartamor grins, crouches in a combat stance.
Aleso holds his scimitar before him, “Pelor bless me”, he whispers.
Saradomin smacks the head of his mace into his palm- withdraws it, shakes it furiously, “Oww.”
Grand Alf smiles like fury- “What’re we having for tea?”
He skips from foot to foot.
End of turn, end of the sessions we’ve played so far.
Next Turn- your guess is as good as mine the next game is not for ages.
mkobrien76
First Post
Great Story. The Sunless Citadel was my first adventure when i came back into D&D after ten years adsent and it is a great adventure.
The only problem i have is that you think Goblin's are form Yorkshire. As some one who was was raised and spent twenty years in Yorkshire am slighty upset at been compared to a goblin.
But Hey Ho - carry on the good work.
The only problem i have is that you think Goblin's are form Yorkshire. As some one who was was raised and spent twenty years in Yorkshire am slighty upset at been compared to a goblin.
But Hey Ho - carry on the good work.
I spent two years living in Leeds- fantastic place, fantastic people.
I arrived there with a kit bag (ex-forces) with all my wordly possessions in it, and an address of somewhere to stay- no idea where it was. I got on the first bus I saw outside the station, the driver looked me up and down, after my explanation, then said hang-on.
Five minutes later he dropped me off, then said he'd have to get off because he'd diverted from his route to get me where I needed to be...
It's that kind of stuff that leaves an impression.
Yorkshire folk as Goblins- that's easy, I love the accent and I've nothing but fond memories of Tykes.
My good lady says I've the look of an Ogre about me... but she's biased.
Thanks for reading.
I arrived there with a kit bag (ex-forces) with all my wordly possessions in it, and an address of somewhere to stay- no idea where it was. I got on the first bus I saw outside the station, the driver looked me up and down, after my explanation, then said hang-on.
Five minutes later he dropped me off, then said he'd have to get off because he'd diverted from his route to get me where I needed to be...
It's that kind of stuff that leaves an impression.
Yorkshire folk as Goblins- that's easy, I love the accent and I've nothing but fond memories of Tykes.
My good lady says I've the look of an Ogre about me... but she's biased.
Thanks for reading.
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