Sho I've been in, around and almost entirely inebriated in the mediocre little town of Brininford for ... I don't really remember quite how long, but a while.
I get along with most of the locals I sh'pose, 'though I don't remember most of their names. Lately I've been working out of the Baron's Inn as a bouncer/cook/medic in the evening hours in trade for some coin, a lice-free bed and chow. My placard of Cayden Caileen, the Ultimate Drunken Hero and Patron Gawd of Real Adventurers, has its place of honor adjacent to the fancy chamber pot with the seat built over it.
Jusht got done making up 'Drunn's Special Brew' for the party held in celebration of the other local bunch of adventurer types besides mine, paying handsomely for a couple of weeks' work. Gave me something to do while the pointy-ears of my drinking club/adventuring party extricated themselves from an intense legal battle. Seems there was a pimp-lawyer involved, explaining why she was convicted of anything at all.
I mean really, what else are wererats good for besides gamey meat and a supply of accessories? Fireball practice of course! Mosht unfortunate about the whole burning down a block of the warehouse district thing by one of the pointy-ears.
Well, sure enough, I'm all decked out with properly glittering bling - four rings on each hand and the really shpiffy crystal-encrusted silver-silk headband covering my phylactery - when the baron's daughter shows up in his stead as the Big Kahuna of the party.
Naturally, as the night wore on the ladies made their way to my superior partying presence. A little trio of rather homely blonde midgets with a fondness for pink and a matching set of pocket-sized "tea cup Yorkshire terriers". The ladies are Bambi, Barbie and Becky. The little yapping pocket snacks are Itsy, Bitsy and Mitsy. They sure could hold their liquor for a midget - they each downed a full pint!
We were hitting off nicely and I was thinking about my extreme good fortune in hooking up with a set of identical triplets - perhaps my beergoggles were rather thicker than normal. I do confess to the 3 midgets being rather remarkably homely with shockingly bright blonde hair and a distressingly profound fondess for pink and lace. A pleasantly feminine counterpoint to the longish cast of face and rather yappish-voiced. And the eeriness of hearing all three speak more or less in unison, drinking about the same...
Anyhoo, I'm doing my thing while the chow gets spread around, much drink is quaffed, much chow is devoured and everyone celebrates the heroes-of-the-month. Ricket the "ninja" and Dawnflower are the pointy-ears, standing off to one side munching carrots, sniffing granola, sipping fancy smancy wine and probably itching to go hug a tree after a few hours in human 'n' midget company. The lawyer was no where to be found - I guess he was off counting his fees or something.
Once the party wraps up, we're hanging out after the vee-aye-pee's have gone off to sleep or something, scarfing down fried chicken wings and swigging decent lager with a half-dozen still-conscious commoners in the main room, when things got entertaining... er, adventuresome!
Next thing I know a quartet of malevolent little winged stinger-tailed party crashers have come out of the rafters and gleefully engaged in skewering several of the locals with those vicious little stingers of theirs. I made one of them blind with a particularly noxious belch - mixing roast boar, lager, tarts and ranch-slathered veggies generates a nasty breath - and proceeded to pummel mightily with the mighty tankard of the Great Drunken Hero always at my belt. The trio of midgets-n-yap dawgs made herselves useful, peppering the diminuitive foes with pretty rainbow spells and whelmings and what not. Dawnflower webbed the entire chamber during the tussle before dismissing it so proper keister-kicking could be administered. Ricket did his wierd "ninja" stuff - and both of the pointy-ears wound up administering stabbity-death to two of the party crashers with some silvered steak knives and a fork.
Sadly, two of the locals were butchered by the malevolent little flying-stinging turdlings, but at least we crushed three of the quartet before the fourth one fled the scene.
Once the watch arrived, took the particular details down and ushered us off to a well-deserved rest - oh yeah, and we picked up a local flake with a serious mad-on for fiends and the slimy critter-thingies that live beneath sunlight soil. I like his enthusiam though, and he appreciates a good ale and a platter of tater skins appropriately.
At far FAR too early the next morning - what moron gives a public speech to the masses and me at 9 A.M. ?! - I had to get up, drink some more of the dawg that bit me to get back into functioning form. Sadly, one of the homely midget triplets wasn't around, but at least she took her yap-dawg with her, so breaking fast was fairly pleasant. Ricket and Dawnflower tagged along to the pronouncement of His Lordship's latest brainfartings.
Aye wound up with a pair of pink-clad blonde homely midgets on my shoulders to get a good view of the pronouncements. Dawnflower for some reason saw fit to sport a badge proclaiming her allegiance to the Pelorite church. Bah! Sunlight and bashing undead - there's MUCH more to adventuring than bashing undead! Bashing down doors, bashing gnolls in the 'nads, good old-fashioned bar brawls, drinking contests, impromptu singing and wenching are far more fulfilling aspects of an adventurer's careers. And sunlight is a bit rough before it has begun its proper place in the western sky.
Well, sure as Hades, His Lordship had to announce some draconian edicts and introduced a ginormous winged fiend-gargoyle-thing as one of his mini-onions, along with a small horde of much larger bony-carapaced scorpion-tailed mini-onions and a pack of slavering dawgs of Heck, among others I'm quite certain are beyong my admittedly limited powers of perception. Something about crushing the temples of Heironeous and Pelor 'neath hobnailed feet, reporting to militia barracks for 'civic duty', blah blah blah.
Needless to say, Dawnflower's symbol o' Pelor drew undesirable attentions. We had to rumble with a pair of the dawggies from Heck and a handler. We barely, collectively stomped the two Heck dawgs into the ground in the back end of an alley. Never did figure out who the handler was. I was down to orisons by the end of that scrap, and lemme tell you, the dawgs can just royally rain on a good time with a single whiney howl. Dawnflower said it was a "crushing despair" or something - all I know is I had a hard time kicking proper kiester for a little while.
We wound up this exhilerating 24 hour period camped out in Malfoy's lead-lined basement-scry shelter. Malfoy's the fun local flake with a fondness for tater skins I mentioned earlier. Think the lawyer is still lost - or mebbe signed up with the malicious midgets for all I know, don't know yet. Maybe Malfoy stuffed him in a tater sack and stuffed him in a corner in the basement to stay warm and safe.
Intersting. I`m going to keep reading and see where this goes.
Intersting. I`m going to keep reading and see where this goes.
Good to shee you Calavingian *hic*, all four of you.
Shookayy, we woke up in Malfoy's basement of refuge, ate a cold breakfast with cold lager and then moseyed back upstairs.
We deshided to shneak over to the warehoush dishtrict in order to procure trail chow and anything else we could get our grubby paws on.
Unfortunately, we encountered a giant self-propelled SHUTECASE, all shiney and black alligator hide-lookin' with curved foot-claws and sharp chompers. It stood about 8' on its hind legs - the ones with the wicked looking curved foot-claws - and sniffed the air with its snout.
Unfortunately, the gas from alla beer that morning chose to let itself loose, ripping forth in a truly awesome belch - that attracted the critter's attention. Ricket attempted to glue its clawed feet to the ground of the alleyway with a couple of tanglefoot bags, but that failed miserably. The self-propelled luggage charged forward and pounced on Malfoy, carving him up pretty good, doing its level best to carve its initials in the flake's belly. Magic missiles flew, I attempted to berate it prostrate (and failed), then attempted to whomp it with another buffalo-wing-and-ale belch. I must've neglected to offer appetizers to my chums last night or something, 'cause my gawdly spells failed utterly to affect the critter. Malfoy's a vicious bugger with his paired stabbity-death rapier/letter openers, he carved that beastie into giblets in 9 seconds or so.
Malfoy with Ricket's assistance requisishioned the luggage's teeth, claws and both of the nasty talons. The homely midget triplets with their little pocket yappers (Bambi, Barbi and Becky are the triplets; the dawggies are Isty, Bitsy and Mitsy) shared one of the big talons while Dawnflower dibbed on the other one. Malfoy neatly removed the face off of the oversized chicken. I wonder if he plans to make a mask out of it? I contributed to stuffing his guts back inside where they belonged, taking a middle-ranged curative to seal the deal.
We made our way to a warehouse that the Baron had stocked up. Not much fancy stuff in the place - a single coil of silk rope, 10 funky whistling arrow dooflichies and a couple of gallons of red ink that would fetch a handsome price at the right place - but plenty of goodies. Sunrods, tindertwigs, lanterns, lamp oil - I snaked out of the place with a box of tossable clay mugs and 3 weeks' trail chow along with a bunch of tools necessary for bashing down doors and general adventuring mayhem. Even some caltrops, as one never knows when it will come in handy to perforate the feet of one's foes before wading into them while they hop about on one foot.
Once we finished up with ransacking the warehouse, we continued on our way. In thish case, it seemed a good idea to go to the highest non-burning view not guarded by a small horde of fiends. So we headed off to the Brininford bell tower. I kept guard blocking the ground level entry door, since my perceptive acuity is ... not.
Once we got out of there, it sheems that Ricket, the midgets and Dawnflower had spotted a long warehouse that backed up to within 10' of the city wall in a poorly-lit section. We snuck in, made our way to the roof via the interior stairs and made running jumps across the way. After lowering ourselves to the ground, I re-armored before we headed out, washing out the road dust as it found its way onto my tongue.
Sadly, it seems the bad guys had Fire-Belching Dawggies of Heck on patrol outside the city walls, as Ricket the Point Snack got pounced on and chewed to within an inch of his goggle-wearing life not more than 30 yards away from the wall. He winked out of sight only to have somehow made hish way behind me, as he grabbed my hand from behind and whimpered something about needing healing. The midget trio cast a spell that made it look to my besotted eyes like there was more'n a dozen of her ... AND more'n a dozen little yapping pocket pooches. Dawnflower fired off a spell that clad her in glowy magicky plate armor. I gave Ricket some magical healing to encourage his innards to slither back up into his abdominal cavity.
The dawggies bound forward and barfed fire all over Malfoy, myself and the midgets - saving me a serious headache by obliterating most of the midget-images but setting me to doing the candle dance. Poor Dawnflower had a bad case of something, so she had to hang out in the rear with the gear with the lawyer-shyster. Malfoy set to carving up the heck-dawggies, a flask of face-devouring acid tagged one of them in the face, the midgets attempted to whelm the same dawggie that was having the unpleasant exfoliation and my searing light barely missed sending that same dawggie back to Hades.
True to form, the dawggies went after the biggest threat - in this case, Malfoy with his twin stabbity-deaths, one bit itself while the other one nibbled on 'im a bit. Malfoy returned the favor, disembowelling one and then maimed the second one. It promptly fled into the concealing darkness in spite of Ricket and Malfoy's best attempts. I stopped, dropped and rolled, getting the burning fires put out with some help from Dawnflower and the midgets.
Funny thing about the midgets - I usually see three of them, hear three of them - but I never feel more than one of her. Something at the back of my brain says there is something going on to cause that.
We finally made camp where the midgets hid themselves a pet dragon skeleton as big as a Clydesdale! She promptly lashed her baggage onto it while I set about burying the remains of those who provoked the skeleton. Seems she saw fit to instruct it to defend itself from aggressive types. Burial and last rites took a while and a lotta lager, so we camped out the night.
Just a short while before daybreak a series of pebbles pelted my head before they got through the thick fog of inebriated dreaming. Seems that dawggie from heck brought back a friend and wanted another go 'round with us. Fortunately, we had a big honkin' dragon-skeleton pack mule.
Unfortunately, pretty quickly we found out that the dawggies also brought along a Heckitty that de-invizz'd ... behind the midget, and ate her, shredding her something awful. Where the other two went off too I have no idea. We managed to rally and stomp the Heckitty into mush, then we split while the skeledragon chowed down on the last surviving dawggie in the midst of a cloud of smoke courtesy of a snatch-n-throw by Malfoy via a smokestick from Ricket.
After Malfoy guided us a healthy distance away, I refreshed my spells, bestowed a gentle repose on the midget's corpse, and just to be safe I dug empty graves with markers for the lot of the midgets and two of the puppies. Mitsy the dawg survived the horror, so I scooped the puppy up and stuffed it in a chest pocket. I soaked the grave of the midget overnight with the upside down never-empty tankard.
Sadly, Malfoy commented that I've pickled the lady's corpse - it's a drunkard's thing to do though. We had an AWESOME wake!
Aright, sho we get to this rathole of a fishing "town" and the first thing we run into is a smilin' snapperhead making like a fish out of water. So I tossed him inna waterin' trough for the local horses. Seems to work, he stayed in the water for a bit, life didn't suck.
Next mornin' - again, with the rude bastiches waking me up before noon - we're shpelled up and ready to rumble with hugemongous river squidbats, when we see an Ebil Shrine that sprouted offa the end of the larger fishing pier the local yokels use.
Turns out the fuzz of the morning buzz is a bit of rough on the ol' Mark I eyeball. Seems the local squidbat put it up as some kind of illooo ... urm, figme ... ah heck, a fake real thing. Ricket managed to pick up on the fakery - which was the squidbat's cue to call a couple of meat snack commoners into the water to play a ditty "Be Chum for Me Baybee" or something. He was even nice enough to draw a fat chalk line across the pier to deliniate where not to walk across.
Well, seeing as how I'm all bulked up in proper armor, Ricket goes skip-da-skip-da-skippying down the pier and moves to intercept the poor nameless slobs. Sadly, he isn't able to succeed in intercepting either of 'em. The squidbat surfaced and royally smooshed one of the mooks, after which Dawnflower nuked it in the derrier with a sonic blast that resembled the kewler fireball she normally lobs. I like the smell of fireballs in the morning - smells like ... barbecue.
Well, I finished trundling around from the pier to roughly where the two mooks had splish-splashed into the river, the second mook vanished in a bloody froth in the water, and then a wicked little glowly blue ray zapped out from above Ricket's shoulder. Didn't see what shot it, so I'm figuring maybe Cayden decided to maybe help out. Malfoy even remembered to show up and make himself useful, and we (barely) managed to frag the squidbat. Fortunately, the little invisible spirit stuck around contributing freezing zaps to Dawnflower's volleys of perforating magic missiles and a cheap shot by Ricket with a couple flasks of alchemical acid to its three eyes. Also fortunate for both myself and Ricket, I'd prepared a remove disease and slapped him with that after he was clearly on the losing end of squidbat mucus, then shared a water breathing between the two of us.
Since we had several hours to kill before the mucus would cease to be a problem, we found the squidbat's stash of loot, bonded over a few dozen lagers (well, I drank most of 'em) and generally got him aware of the benefits of considering Drunken Gung-fu instead of his potentially useless invisibility dependant ... stuff.
We wandered more or less northerly after hanging around for a week. Granted, most of that was because (a) the spirit fed and decorated a "candy land" orphanage; (b) my first batch of hooch for the growing refugee pool blinded a few ... er, dozen or three .. people, so I kinda had to hang around long enough to fix that; (c) Ricket disappeared for a while and (d) we made a few hundred gold selling our wares. I sold a LOT of lager, and the rest of the stuff after the first day didn't blind anyone. I am innocent of any one else's drinking themselves into a crossbow wedding.
Some where along the way to find a bunch of granola sniffing tree hugger nature masters, we camped out. Spot seemed nice enough - until we found out that a ginormous web-loogeying spider seems to think that armed and armored humanoids are self-propelled field rations. It did its level best to make that perception a reality. The messed up part was rolling around in the fully-stoked campfire to burn off the mass of webbing.
Erm, well, maybe the REALLY messed up part was the little glowly spirit with her fistful of luminescant floaty sprinkly-dusty images was the one to chase it down and kill it, frying the critter like an oversized, really gross ... omelette.
Once the psychos milked the fangs of venom - hopefully to make anti-toxin with - we re-camped. I am so glad I didn't waste money on healing kits, they'd have been depleted by now. I heard a fellow brother of beer state "Remove Poison doesn't cure Stupid", and variations on the theme. I'll have to try to remember that - maybe it's on the placard in the fine print around the frame or something. Remind me later about it, some time.
A short time later we found a corpsified commoner-lookin' dude packing a bundle of spears, one of which was of noteworthy make. Malfoy helped me put together a travois to haul the carcass back to his folks - hopefully before something else followed the trail and snacked on our faces. Fortunately, we did manage to find his kin - and, of course, in time-honored "lost in the boonies but not willing to admit it" tradition, we stumbled across the druid pukes we'd been looking for. Then they were nice enough to show us to a ruined complex we seemed to need to get into to get something important that I don't remember the name of. Or something.
Ricket was packing a good 50 yards of silk rope. Since we need to get into a hole in the ceiling of a long-buried chamber, he knotted the entire rope while I knocked back a dozen or so lager, then we got down to adventuring.
Seems we came into a sect of Hextor - claiming six areas of influence. He had torture devices about the main chamber, while we cleared out 4 chambers in a series of "challenges". One of 'em near to drowned Ricket before he caught wind of the concept of "hurry the heck up". Each challenge coughed up a fugly arrow and a vicious little brand. The lithe little spirit seems to be a shapeshifter fey critter with the ability to summon a handful of glowly glitter-dusty little femme fatale buddies now and again. Now Malfoy's the only one of us lacking the brand, and we've taken TWO swipes at a Chessboard of Oversized Doom. Dawnflower is apparently now both a Slimewrecker and a Devilwrecker. My little spirit chickita is a "psion" it seems, in addition to being a spunky little "pixie" or something. Malfoy has a serious mad-on for brain-munching walking squid-bat critters and fiends. Ricket is ... Ricket, and I'm a simple beer-swilling butt-kicking servant of The Ultimate Drunken Hero.
We're rested, healed up and ready to rumble on the morrow with a third crack at that gawdsawful chess board. It's the five of us and pack of flank-securing mooks against a row of lemures, 2 barghests, 2 imps, 2 hell hounds, a devil-tainted babau and a bearded devil as the opposing chess pieces. The catch is, when a chess 'combat' is initiated, all the 'pieces' that are able to engage within a single chess movement in a particular pair-off are able to jump in.
Seems my buddies think a fully spelled-up 7th-Keg - or izzit the 7th tier of emptied tankards tall, I can never keep 'em straight - Cleric of the Patron Gawd of Real Adventurers might make a useful 'Queen' piece. Sure, I s'pose, as long as they're not expecting any like ... healing, since I've got major-league butt-kicking to dish out and about a minute and a half to dish it out.
Oh hello Turin. Hadn`t realised Drunn was one of yours.
Oh hello Turin. Hadn`t realised Drunn was one of yours.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Campaign Journals ... 'tis a hobby. ^_^
Oh the former. Definently the former.
I`m addicted to them too. Dont think theres many here that I dont read.
We rallied after two days in thish stinking dungeon, spelled up to the gills ... and after all that, Malfoy the Self-Propelled Saw and Ricket got all the kills (along with the other chess pieces on our side). Even one of the commoner pawn pukes packing a silvered pitchfork got in TWO vicious critical stabs on the Queen before getting torn into bloody cabbage!
In a hurry to deal out some drunken violence to something in this boring dump, I lead the stagger into the last chamber. An Old Fart - complete with name tag, walker and a monkey with a music box - was lost or something, but at least he was chock full of old geezer wisdom. We got along fabulously, although he walkered off the gravel path and into a serious case of Bad Mojo. Seems there is a jumbo-sized magical labryinth made of high-end divine warding bad mojojojo - the poor Old Fart darn near exploded as the mojojo tore through his withered old frame. Eventually between Bug Zapper, the Old Fart, Dawnflower and Ricket no one exploded and we meandered through the maze to fetch the Holy Bling of Mojojojojo. Seems the brains of the group think the thing is a key to something else.
Knowing my luck, the thing the key unlocks is back in town guarded by the REALLY BIG fiend blamphing all over Brininford when last we left.
So, we go back to the broke-arse granola-sniffin' tree-huggin' bear wranglers, ask them about the medallion - and were summarily chastised for being pansy chickens. They need to get royally drunk more often, creepy super-do-gooders.
So, we hike alla way back to the fishing village, pawn off some swag, pick up useful stuff and stock up on suitable goodies to make ourselves some attribute-enhancing bling. I make a nice piece of change in a week, taking the spiffy belts and headbands and channeling the sheer Kewlness of the Ultimate Drunken Hero. Between our whole gang we're packing about 20 or so vials of Blessed Ale and a bevvy of other brews, bar chow and magical condiments. Bug Zapper tracked down a particularly excellent find - a "wand" fully charged with 'cure light' - like that's better than a proper stein fully topped up with "Red Wolf Lager". It's a nice back-up piece, my stein will run out soon I imagine.
During the week we hung out and made goodies, some how Ricket and the Old Fart tracked down a couple of horses that hadn't been ridden to death and a healthy-sized carraige. We piled up in that contraption, rode the days back most of the way to town, and disembarked maybe a two hour walk from the same spot on the wall we clambered out.
Early the next morning after breakfasting on sausages, fried eggs, toasted bread with mixed-berry jam and hot buttered rum - I have no clue what the rest of 'em ate - we made our way over to the wall. The semi-liquified carcasses of the critters we fragged on our way out were still there. Ricket made his way up and over the wall, trailing his 25 yards of knotted silk rope. The Old Fart and Bug Zapper had gone off somewhere or another under invisibility and flight. All Hades broke loose in a hurry - some big bony fiend came out of friggin' nowhere, dropping sheets of ice and generally making our return back to Brininford as memorable as our departure. We wound up leaving a third corpse to liquefy with the other two, scurrying up the rope and back into town. The most horrific of fears was realized when this horrid fiend got up close and personal - for some unfathomable reason, I became sober. My morale broke, I ran, even with an ectoplasmic wad of snot slowing me down and having shoulder-checked Ricket in the process. Sobriety is intolerable - I would have to make amends and re-acquire a properly inebriated state as soon as possible!
Making our way back through paths less travelled towards the center of town, our first destination was the warehouse we ransacked on the way out 3 weeks ago. We needed a place to hole up, so the decision was to head back to Malfoy's "love shack" and recuperate there while the Old Fart and Ricket conducted reconnaisance. No one suspects an Old Fart puttering around town on his walker.
Unfortunately, we were intercepted en route to the warehouse by a pair of fiendish bear critters, dripping with vile slime and snuffling around for ... I dunno, self-propelled field rations like us. Finally some action - a litany of semi-coherent prayers rolled out of my mouth to the Drunken Hero in anticipation of smashing the Care Bears from Heck! Nasty beasties too - they mauled Ricket pretty thoroughly, but only nibbled on Dawnflower. Something in the slime of their fur prevented routine curatives - there wounds barely scabbed close.
Taking advantage of a two-sunrise down time in Malfoy's "love shack" basement, I was able to persuade the Drunken Gawd that removing the curse of that slime in their systems would be a Good Idea. Made a dozen mugs of Blessed Ale while I was at it - and very grateful that I didn't have to deal with anything more malevolent than harsh language for a day and a half though. I had to pour 8 'Red Wolf Lagers' down Ricket's gullet to get him back to snuff once the curse went away - fortunately, it only took a single lager to fix Dawnflower right up.
Once the Old Fart came back from a day's rambunctiousness, we made an elaborate plan to infiltrate into the Baron's Keep. This involved the stealthy chaps sneaking ahead with me trailing behind, Ricket sneaking ahead, Dawnflower in between he and I - then firing off some kind of arcane transposition dooflichie-spell that swapped the point snack for yours truly. I don't think they told Ricket that they were planning to do this - he seemed a mite startled the first time around at least.
We made our way through one wing of the Baron's main residence when we came across a couple of the devil-raptors. We dodged into a side room - still at this point preferring to avoid contact until we tracked down the Baron and stomp a mudhole in his noodle.
The devil-raptors made to split up - one squeezed into the door frame while his wing-lizard bound down the hallway. We responded with Ultraviolence, rendering the first raptor into a steaming spray of chunky salsa in a matter of seconds. Ricket bound down the hallway after #2, the Old Fart and Bug Zapper flittering along via their respective flight modes, myself and Dawnflower pulling up the rear.
The Old Fart had a nasty trick up his sleeve - a transposition-dooflichie-majigger swapped his wrinkled old tucas with the devil-raptor - to within a dozen yards of us. He'd already severly weakened it with an enfeebling spell. Bug Zapper had picked up some nasty tricks during the Trials of Hextor - she whomped on the beasty pretty thoroughly, although her zappage is maybe half the oomph of Dawnflowers or mine, her tiny little tucas is quite hard to hit, flyswatter or not.
Between divine whompage and arcane firepower we brought down the devil-raptor (who, at one point, was quite besides itself with impotence at not properly disembowelling a puny holy warrior). Seems the Old Fart went and got himself mixed up with a Squidman. The Baron came trolling down the hallway, and the beat-down commenced. Bug Zapper had the smarts of the day - she was able to discern the Baron's lack of Ebilness, so I switched over to administering a series of lumps to the ol' noodle, whalloping him unconscious, knocking him clear out of the tanglefoot wad that had anchored his boots to the floor. The Old Fart about tac-nuked the squidface hiding out in the room way way down the hallway, forcing the brain-munching calamari to *pouf* away rather than get stomped into jam. Mmmmmm ... jam ...
Hopefully the baron's memory is suitably porous - I'd hate to find out he remembers getting repeatedly beaten back unconscious after each curative lager I poured down his throat. We even took out the arrows Malfoy drilled him with and everything. Nobilty ... eesh...
The baron made his Sir-ness useful by coughing up a few goodies to the four of us that showed up the next mornin'. We each got a spiffy goody - what, precisely, escapes me at this moment - then went off to whup some big honkin' Infernal tucas.
We get outside the desecrated place formerly known as a church of Pelor or something, spell up and get ready to throw down. I grabbed the amulet of spiffiness from Dawnflower, as it would probably prove the reason why we live longer than the time it takes to power-chug a lager.
Up front its Malfoy the Rabid and Myself the Inebriated, behind are Ricket and Bug Zapper. Sadly, the Big Bad Ebil Dude inside heard us and - uttering foulest words of unpleasantness - reduced the outer doors to the place into crumbly ash. Malfoy and I shrug off the fearful message behind those incomprehensible words - mainly due to not having either a clue or a care - while Bug Zapper and Ricket start QMF'ing on me.
I stagger in, Ricket *poufs* out of sight, Bug Zapper is doing her own *poufing* so it looks like just myself and our Pocket Killin' Machine Malfoy are getting ready to throw down with the infernals.
Yep, we're that kind of stewpid.
Seems that ol' spikey-chain big-leathery-wings-dude is summoned in some manner or another. Unfortunately, his mini-onions appear to have been called instead. Why this matters I have NO clue, but the others seem to be very assured that the holy amulet thingie we've got emits a Mighty Holy Aura of Thwarting Summoned Ebil Things. Me, it helped us not get eaten as easily, so I was happy - well, if it worked.
Things went ok more or less - we whomped on the mini-onions, we got whomped on back & had a REALLY close call with spikey-wang after he failed on something Bug Zapper later told me was a Dispel Good. If it had worked, I suppose we would be telling our tales from the Other Side.
Unfortunately, our victory did come at a price. As Ricket was torn into cabbage by the last mini-onion, he screamed at me to "use the KEY!!" gurgle death rattle last gasp
I'd have preferrred whoopin' it up on spikey-wang - but seeing his grisly demise spurred me to take a chance and see if the key did a darned thing.
Spikey-wang found out the hard way that it most certainly did, as turning the key fragged his silly infernal carcass back to Heck in a beautiful blast of sunlight.
I scooped up Ricket's noggin, turned it upside down, sprinkled ruby dust along his chompers and got myself a (rather gruesome) continual flame and trapfinder. We eventually came to find a blob of silver ... putty. Seems it does all kinds of good stuff, like returned the recently deceased to life. So we used the stuff on Ricket - although I think he's a bit cheesed at the glowing smile - and as many of the massacred civilians as we could.
Life was grand once more it seems ... although my recollection of this was ... oh, hazier than usual. I'll have to poke Malfoy a time or two and see if I missed out on anything.
Sheems things have jusht gone right on by in a ha *hic* haze of activity.
*hic*
*hic*
Wha wazzat? Oohhh yeah ... ookies .. *hic* Sheems that we've been like killin' baddies and shtuff ... and I've become a ... whatizzit ...
A little glowy head of beer foam with zappity rays and my trusty tankard. Ssshhhyeeah, thish rawks. Now and again when the baddies get in th'way, I call up some more floaty glowy beer foam buddies, we zappity the baddies and have a short drinking party before they hafta go back to Euphorium, Where Great Beer is Brewed, shee.
*hic*
Oohh, and ... lemme shee. We have the pixshie shtill ... and the "barbarian" .. and the sword-waving fireball enthushiasht ... aaanndd I think the semi-delusional old man. I think, hard to say, since he walks so shlow we may have left him behind at shome point.
Last time I could see straight, we were headin deep inna ground lookin' for more critters to sic Malfoy on. He's more of a bipedal attack dawg than anythin' else, 'cause we pretty much jes' hafta point him at the baddies and let him kill 'em. Works for me ... baddies fall over, we get loot, we get drunk, we eat, rinse, lather, repeat.
*hic*
Well, I get the booze at least, shome of my party are tee-totallers, itsh kinda irritatin' not having a properly inebriated adventuring group.
Floats off to peruse a rainbow over an underground lake.
Hello,
I am Ricket. I find my self continually perplexed with this drunkard cleric of ours. I often find myself worrying about our safety as he is responsible for keeping all of us alive.
This was not noted above, I think, but once I actually switched one of Karrd's alcoholic beverages with an anti toxin. I was hoping this would sober him up a bit, but he just got himself more drunk as soon as it started to take effect.
My recent exploits into alchemy seems to be driving me to make a stronger, or at least longer lasting, antitoxin to help keep him more sober.
While I do see him as a valid and very helpful member of our rag-tag group, I find his constant drinking to be disturbing. I often wonder how his body can handle it, and maybe it might one day fail him. I know I am not as much interested in "partying" as these humans, dwarfs, etc. but this guy is in favor of drinking to the extreme by any standards!
Well things have been alright so far.
Hello,
I am Ricket. I find my self continually perplexed with this drunkard cleric of ours. I often find myself worrying about our safety as he is responsible for keeping all of us alive.
This was not noted above, I think, but once I actually switched one of Karrd's alcoholic beverages with an anti toxin. I was hoping this would sober him up a bit, but he just got himself more drunk as soon as it started to take effect.
My recent exploits into alchemy seems to be driving me to make a stronger, or at least longer lasting, antitoxin to help keep him more sober.
While I do see him as a valid and very helpful member of our rag-tag group, I find his constant drinking to be disturbing. I often wonder how his body can handle it, and maybe it might one day fail him. I know I am not as much interested in "partying" as these humans, dwarfs, etc. but this guy is in favor of drinking to the extreme by any standards!
Well things have been alright so far.
Keep yer alche .. alche ... *hic*
Hey, that involves brewing ... make yershelf useful and get to some whiskey! We need bribes for the locals... ^_^
I swear this drunkard is rubbing off on me. We found a Hearo (sp?) deck of many things. I drew as many as I could, but luckily things turned out nicely for me.
1. I can now move a lot faster and can do a sprint of 320ft in just a few seconds, and can jump 400ft in the same time with my special training!
2. I am much more stronger willed and generally tougher.
3. I can now teleport at will and a number of extra weight once and only once.
4. My prized goggles got destroyed!!! (It was those or one of my party members so meh)
5. I now have 5 doubles of myself after me now.
6. I also seemed to have attracted the special attention of a fiend who has a nasty plan for me.
Others in our group didn't do as well, but some did a lot better.
Here this might be something this booze hound might like.
Here is the source.
http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?t=451702&page=46