A quick note to you, gentle reader. Certain dramatic liberties may be taken with the telling of this mighty tale. Other liberties may result from the teller’s terrible memory.
Session 1. A pretty short intro game since we spent most of the evening rolling up characters, eating chicken and arguing about the merits of comic books vs superhero movies. Anyway, on with the show.
The Old Skull Inn is pleasantly quiet this evening, with folk enjoying a few dice games or gossiping about the latest scandal involving Elminster and his predilection for involved women. Which is presumably the reason for his having skipped town of late. Rumours of a darker nature mention the disappearance of several local farmers, hooded brigands preying on travellers and the ever present milk curdling antics of goblins, both vanilla and hob-.
Cue several minutes of furious gambling rolls and attempts to lure the group into dice games by Barang, who amongst his many flaws appears to be a hard drinking gambling addict. Fortunately for him he wins a few rolls at the game of Thabort with a couple of caravan guards.
His gambling is interrupted by the arrival of a well heeled dwarf, clearly a priest of Clangeddin who Barang is more than happy to buy a drink for, honoured to be in the presence of such a priest. Introducing himself as Tuvorok, the two hit it off swiftly.
Their drinking and chatting draws the notice of a tall, bookish fellow who is apparently on the lookout for fellows to assist in the recovery of a magical blade his copper-piece novel claims is to be found down a well in this very town! The tale of which in turn draws mockery and self invited company in the form of the easy going elf, Aramel.
While in the process of sizing each other up and debating how best to go about finding this well, the four spot a sign being posted by the guards, noting a reward for volunteers willing to venture out to the farms outside of town and investigate a mysterious sinkhole that appears to have swallowed up the Widow Sara. There is a mystery to be solved, cash gold to be had and it’s a good excuse as any to look for a fight, so the motely assortment whip up a charter with the guards and sign up as deputised adventuring sorts.
And off to the Widow Sara’s farm they go.
The farm turns out to have been ransacked, the chickens and ducks eaten and the place vandalised. The root cellar has indeed collapsed into a large sinkhole surrounded by weird molehills. Or rather Gibberlinghills, which swiftly erupt with gambolling, shrieking and gibbering Gibberlings as night falls, and battle is joined!
Aramel proves about as much use as a chocolate fireguard and so heads up to the yard to watch the rear. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it, much in spite of dwarven shrieks to the tune of “The elf flees! We hates him forever!” Luckily he finds a few more Gibberlinghills outside and altogether the foursome are able to despatch the rancid little things.
With no sign of the Widow Sara, and an obvious hole in the ground before them, the group descend into the dark to locate the missing lady. But not before having a good snoot about to see what they can nick, finding a rusty old bastard sword over the mantle and three chicken eggs with miraculous properties! The first of which is the power to heal wounds as if one had ingested a healing potion. The second of which is the hilarious way they can be spapped off a person’s head. It isn’t wasteful if it’s funny, or so Barang attests.
And so into the dark they go, following a narrow tunnel which appears considerably older than the cottage above. This tunnel opens out into a large cavern, into which a dozen other tunnels open. Presumably dug by Gibberlings, which may have originated from the large black door set into the far wall of the cavern.
Our heroes cross the cavern, navigating a strange little bridge over a subterranean stream and find the door is atop a short flight of stairs, each bearing strange runes. Not that Barang or Aramel stop to read the runes before barging up to and through the door. That’s true blue courage that is. Not foolhardiness. Nope. Courage.
So the door opens into pitch darkness, of the magical variety. The darkness conceals a deep pit, and a little investigation reveals the spell to have been conjured by the dwarves climbing the stairs. Spellvoc continues to examine the stairs, determining that they also bear a monster conjuring spell.
Which explains why a 6 foot centipede from Hell suddenly drops on Barang’s face, engaging him and Trovurok in an epic battle. Which ends with it’s head stoved in and the heroes doing the victory dance as they loot the corpses of previous trap victims found down the pit. Barang in particular is pleased with his discovery of a mold infested backpack! Which has a bottle of wine in it! Which will surely be safe to enjoy.
Huzzah! And with great victory we end session the first. I’ll post up the second soon, as we played just yesterday. Things do not become any more serious. Not even when poor Spellvoc decides to experiment with the concept of Wizard v Orc melee combat.
Stay tuned. Same axe time. Same axe channel.