Ocean Deeply Sleeps’ player could not be present for this session. Session 7 is written by the author of Dashing Orcblood Croons and is written from his point of view. I have edited slightly.
Session 7, part 1
It is midnight in the rose season. Normally this exquisite time of year fills my heart with romantic moods as the oceanlight bathes all in its ruby sheen, but tonight is different. I accompany my good friend Passion as she and her comrades track the deeper red trails left in the drifting snow and I find it does not inspire me as it should.
These tracks belong to some humanoids, clawed. I am definitely no tracker (I have never dirtied my hands in the practice), but I would not be astounded in the least to discover that these tracks were made by the vile vermin that assaulted those poor civilians yesterday.
There is a large warehouse before us that the tracks lead to. Unintelligent villains they must be; they can not even be inventive in picking their hiding places. The front door is haphazardly boarded up in such stereotypical fashion. I should not complain, though. We could have been led into the foul of the sewers.
The dwarf who I have come to know as Drunken Dwarf Snores peeks into a window curiously. He returns to us, informing all that there are at least three of those heinous abominations inside. I feel a sense of urgency in my stomach, but I keep my concerns to myself. Oh, I admit it, I do complain some, but the dwarves are so confident in their abilities that such strength must by a contagion.
The halfling’s monkey, darling and intelligent animal that it is, has scuttled into the building and appears to be sending him messages. The look of concern on the small monk’s face tugs at my heart. Something must have gone terribly awry in there.
We take offensive positions at the front door, preparing to do battle (my flute is at the ready, as is my rapier) and Drunken Dwarf Snores fells the blocked entrance, shouting to the monkey, “Hey furry thing! Come on out here, boy!” I am impressed with his concern toward the animal. Despite his uncouth appearance, he really is a sensitive man.
Immediately, an unnatural darkness floods the warehouse. Not even the dwarves or I can see through it. Our ears are assaulted by that damnable gibbering once again. The dwarves, rather than entering, begin throwing snowballs inside and shouting, “Come on out you hairy little buggers!” The creatures never looked that small to me, but I suppose the dwarves are entitled to their opinions.
I lift my flute to my lips and start to play a song of encouragement. I don’t condone violence, but there are people’s lives at stake. Before I can begin to play, however, Strong Dwarf Stands and Drunken Dwarf Snores knock the flute away. Really now! They should have more appreciation for music!
Finally, Fighting Man Dances is able to make some sense of his monkey's mental ramblings. Apparently, there are two humans inside, alive and wounded. Hostages? The halfling insists that we have to go in and save them. In truth, I would rather not, if I could avoid it. Looking into the impenetrably deep darkness conjures the most awful images into the imagination.
DM note: I kept passing notes to the player of the halfling which said, "Two. Not dead." He kept not understanding. "What, undead?"
Drunken Dwarf draws his plan of attack in the snow. I am not listening too terribly closely to the details, but I am sure that he tells Passion to take a side, and then he tells me to take a side, then the end, and then the side again, then to run left? I wish he could make up his mind! He tells his brother and the monk to run with him up the middle, wrapping up his directions and we boldly proceed.
Have you got that? Good.
DM note: the author informs me that my editing of the above portion of the story (Dashing Orcblood's account of the Dwarven tactical planning session) does not accurately portray the spirit of the moment; this portion of the story may be altered in the future.
We begin to take notice that there has been very few reality shifts that we’ve grown so accustomed to, which is somewhat odd, as we are sure they are using magic. I hear a shriek from a familiar voice as a poisonous sting hits my dear Passion.
DM note: remember that poison that almost killed the halfling at the party? (He was down to 1 Constitution). Same stuff.
I start to play on my flute, play as loud as my lungs will allow, in hopes that I will distract our unseen enemies as we plunge through the unfathomable darkness. I can hear Strong Dwarf Stands cursing loudly. He must be raging. The monk is calling for his monkey and I hear him get hit as well. The poor child must be in a great deal of pain. Whatever do these dwarves run around with a child of that size for, anyway? It could be dangerous!
The dwarves shout that there is an end to the darkness. I just need to keep pushing ahead. I hope Passion and the halfling make it out as well.
As I emerge from the inky darkness I see that these were indeed those atrocious things from the fair. A wave of nausea rolls over us. The Dream is reacting to something's death. I attempt to account for every one of our troupe. The dwarves are here. The halfling is here. Passion is...not.
There are simple crates all around, stacked high toward the ceiling like wooden mountains. Above the crates is a lift, the berg of the mountain.
Fighting Man Dances attempts his “Leap of the Dancing Frog”, but it fails so miserably that the dwarves laugh at him. I don’t see how they can be amused at a time like this with death so close about them. But it is not inconceivable. After all, they are just dwarves.
The dwarven brothers attack two of the creatures that poor out of the darkness while the halfling uses his “Flying Monkey Style” attack to obliterate another. Yet another tries to trounce him, but misses due to the monk’s artful dodge.
The precious little monk climbs the wall of crates and looks as regal as an emperor atop the wall. The moment is ended, however, when something leaps down from the ceiling beside him and lands a terrible blow. It is another one of those bestial creatures, but this one is more fluid in movement. And apparently, it can walk on the ceiling.
DM note: "Roll a Spot check...heh heh heh."
The dwarves scuttle up the crates, but only Drunken Dwarf Snores is limber enough to make it to the top. My lungs hurt from playing my flute for so long. I have to halt.
Drunken Dwarf and the halfling flank the creature on the narrow ledge of crates, but it nimbly leaps onto the wall, runs onto the ceiling, and scurries into the darkness. Drunken Dwarf fires his crossbow into the darkness uselessly. At least one can appreciate the effort.
Fighting Man Dances finds the injured victims, apparently very well bandaged by his amazing simian sidekick. I am truly impressed.
Strangely, a tiger has emerged from the darkness. Even more perplexing, the odd creature is strolling on the ceiling. The dwarves take aim with their crossbows.
I should not have been too enthralled with this enigma, for I have been hit by one of the creatures, and I am forced to back down and attempt to heal myself.
From inside the darkness, we can hear chanting. The entire room is filling with a sinking mist. Now, we are blind in all parts of the building. Drunken Dwarf leaves his high perch to help the monk and the monkey save the victims, which is quite a noble undertaking for the warrior, if you ask me.
When he has finished this task, the dwarf rejoins his brother and they barge into the darkness. I hear screams of agony and pain in the darkness. I am confused, utterly bewildered. Another wave of nausea surges all around me. I shudder to think what has happened. There is another blackness, but this one is coming toward me. I feel so tired. I need to rest. I must succumb to the darkness...
DM note: at this point, actually, there was a very big death-related reality shift which brought both Fighting Man Dances and Dashing Orcblood Croons to the edge of unconsciousness (0 hit points). Actually, Orcblood may have been below 0.
And thanks for your support Mr. Broccli type person. The dwarves hate my poor Dashing. If it wasn't for Rune not appreciating inter-party conflict, he'd probably be dead.
