Dungeon Crawl IC thread

[Narf the Mouse]

"You no talk after being hit with Fight Club!" Goblin #1 swings at Korgan: (1d20 2=5, 1d6=1) And misses, hitting #3's ghost.

"And what's with all the missing? We're at close quarters here. The only reason to miss is a block or a dodge. And being blocked isn't really missing, it's just a largely-ineffective attack. Also, tic-tacs. Use some..."

...Seems there's a bit of haunting.

Rowan stabbeth the air; the air is unharmed.

Korgan whacks Goblin #1 upside the head. "I is strong! I shall prevail! And succeed! Now, based on my calculations of the primary physical interface perpendicular to the meta-physics situation..."

"...Oh dear. I seem to be doomed."

[Thunderhowl]

Rowan takes a series of deep breaths, trying to maintain his adrenaline rush in case any more villains burst out of the tunnel.

"Korgan, are you alright? It looks like you got tagged there."

[Tom the Fanboy]

Korgan eyes the deep gouge in his exposed ribs and nods. Korgan walks across the room to a spot that isn't splattered with blood so that he can sit down and bandage himself up a bit. Once he's done he looks up and sighs.

"Why the hell did we come into this dungeon by ourselves Rowan? It doesn't make any sense." Korgan looks across the room at the dismantled slab of tin and the strange tools with the scorched rats by the door. "Do you remember how we got that door in the other room open, and wasn't there a wolf in here somewhere? There's something odd going on and I think we should get out of here until we figure things out."

[Narf the Mouse]

From outside, you hear the faint call of an eagles' scream. The air is still and calm.

Blood leaks into the rat holes. Already, there is a fly buzzing.

[Thunderhowl]

"We came here in search of adventure, fame and glory, though I admit it seems a little foolhardy of us to attempt such a grand dungeon as the Lair of King Lichferrous, the Dungeon of Zormel alone. I know you are tired my friend, I am too, and perhaps that is the cause of our confusion. Let's head out into the fresh air and make camp. Perhaps a good night's rest will clear our muddled thoughts."

Rowan cleans his rapier on a scrap of cloth and sheathes the blade, then walks over to stand next to Korgan, ready to render assistance should his hearty friend's wounds prove to be more serious than initally assessed.

[Tom the Fanboy]

Korgan waves away Rowan's hand and gets up. As they stroll out of the dungeon Korgan regards the mass of bones littering the floor. "We did quite a number on that batch of skeletons in here didn't we? Surprising with that tiny blade of yours, and I would have remembered if I'd smashed them all meself."

Once outside Korgan unslings his pack and sits down in the warm sun. "Well that was a fine hour's work. Lets start writing down what we remember so we can move a bit faster in the morning."

[Thunderhowl]

"Heh. It's not the size of the blade, but all in how you wield it."

Rowan begins rummaging in his pack for something to write with and on.

[Narf the Mouse]

The welcome sounds of birdsong can be heard, seemingly in defiance (Or ignorance) of what has recently transpired. The caverns themselves are a reek at your back.

A butterfly flutters around a patch of flowers.

Down in the valley, a trade caravan is rolling towards the town of Vidunsrun.

The sun is lowering towards the mountains on the other side of the valley and to your left.

[Tom the Fanboy]

Korgan waits until Rowan has gotten some of his notes in order and then asks "Where are we gonna sleep tonight? I'm in no mood for a hike but right in front of these doors would be stupid. Want to see if we can catch that caravan over yonder? We can probably get a hot meal out of them."

[Thunderhowl]

"Either that or the clearing we spent the night in before making the morning hike up here to the tomb. Since my cooking skills are limited to hardtack and gruel, my vote's for the caravan. Maybe a few hardy souls are travelling with them and will join us on our crusade for glory?"

Rowan, finding no writing materials of any kind in his gear, gives up with a sigh and a puzzled grimace. "Why do I have the feeling that we were going to have exhaustive notes on this quest, but not have any writing material on me?" Shaking his head in confusion, Rowan hefts his pack and offers Korgan a hand up.

"That caravan is just going to get further away the longer we sit here."

[Narf the Mouse]

(I fast-forwarded here; if you would have stopped, tell me and I'll edit. For setting, I'm bringing in some (Undetermined) 4e things)

The night is still and quiet, not hinting at the blood-soaked horrors behind you. There is birdsong amid a beautiful sunset of red, yellow and orange and the quiet chirping of crickets. Leaves crunch under your feet as you slowly descend. Tracing a path down the way you come, you notice that more footprints seem to be going up, than down...Your trail leads past a creek where more people than two seem to have muddied the bank...

Scrambling down a path across a short, stony slope, you see the caravan slowly stop as the last of the light fades and you reach mostly-level ground.

The trail back to town is obvious, so you follow that, as the caravan is close to town and backtracking along the road seems easier than stumbling around the woods - Especially as the roots are taking a dislike to your feet in the dark and the moon has not risen, although torchlight is mostly bright enough.

As you reach the wall, a guard calls down "Who goes there...Oh, it's you two crazies. Gate's closed."

You call back that you're headed for the caravan and he nods, but the patrolling pair paces you along your route. The town does take security seriously, after all, here in the wilderness and far from aid. The stone of the wall is good and solid; even dwarven-work on the towers - And the rest of it is not shoddy.

You reach the town gates, which are indeed closed, with a solid watch of guardsmen, then head down the road.

The caravan is about a half-mile down the road, clearly caught by the sunset hoping to reach town. It's mostly oxen and traveling wagons; the brightly-covered wagons of a traveling halfling clan, the sturdy and practical wagons of dwarves, the carved wagons of elves and the simple wagons of humans. Clearly, the caravan is a varied enterprise, but Vidensrun is a well-known trade town and traders from the two kingdoms often meet, especially as neither kingdom has a sure enough hold to levy more than token customs and dues here.

As you approach the lights of the caravan, four guards step out of the trees as you hear footsteps jogging to the caravan. The fourth guard, you cannot say you have ever seen his kind - He is over six feet and of large bulk...And looks like an upright, miniature dragon, although without the air of threat even the benign dragons carry.

[Tom the Fanboy]

"I'll take care of this, Rowan." Korgan whispers confidently as he strolls up to the odd looking guard. "Ho there and well met traveller! We're adventurers fresh from battle and we seek companionship and a hot meal. Can your caravan here oblige us?"

**Diplomacy Roll (1d20-2=-1)**
**WOW. New record. Worst I've EVER ROLLED in D&D. The worst ever was a triple botch for an NPC in my Vampire game.**

[Narf the Mouse]

The strange guard says something in a strange tongue to another of the guards, who says something back. They begin holding a whispered conversation, as the other guards begin to grin at you and snort oddly.

Finally, the consultation stops and the second guard looks at you, snorts oddly and says, with barely-restrained mirth, "Sorry about that, mistranslation error. His tongue has *Snort?* drifted a bit from common. Go ahead; the communal fire is pretty cheap and someone could sell you beds."

The guards part to let you pass and you proceed. About twenty feet away from them, someone makes a neighing sound and you hear muffled snorts.

[Tom the Fanboy]

Korgan strolls through the camp and follows his nose to the cook fire. He goes over his finances with Rowan and tries to figure out how many silver they got from the skeletons. With a couple of copper in hand he greets the first person with a boiling pot. "Hello there, I heard there was food to be had for weary travelers what had coin to be rubbed together. Dish up a serving for myself and my human friend." Korgan will find an empty patch of ground nearby and sit down while he waits.

[Thunderhowl]

Rowan shoots everyone in sight a cheery grin and shakes his coin purse while rubbing his tummy meaningfully as he sits down beside Korgan.

[Narf the Mouse]

"We got rabbit stew, deer stew, porridge and critter stew. That's whatever critters the outriders brought in today or got squished." The large, fat women in the middle of the four stew-pots smacks a gob of something around in her mouth for a few moments and then says "That's three coppers, three coppers, three coppers and two coppers. Ale and beer are 'complimentary'." She spits on the ground, as if the word is a tremendous insult.

"Please forgive Alicia" a merry (Female) voice says from the other side of the fire. "She was raised in a noble house and loves to make everyone regret it. If you don't hold her manners against her, it drives her crazy."

Alicia makes a rude hand gesture at the merry voice, along with a grunted "Ah, shaddup. You can tell your stupid stories after supper, ya <Explicitives deleted> tattletale."

A half-elf leans around one of the pots. "And to think, some people consider them friends." he says with a grin.

[Tom the Fanboy]

Korgan leans over to Rowan "See? I told you they'd have good hot food." then to the cook "We'll have the deer stew! and two ales each!"

[Narf the Mouse]

After payment is processed (Including a copper coin taste-test...), The Noble Lady Alicia grabs a couple bowls off the ground, ladles stew into them and shoves them in your general direction.

After that, you get a couple mugs of ale shoved in your direction, along with a wordless grunt.

Although the service leaves much to be desired, the food and ale show a general competence.

Off in the distance, you hear a semi in-tune voice lift in a bawdy song.

[Tom the Fanboy]

After finishing his stew and ale Korgan hands the bowl and mugs back to the cook. After a long yawn he says goodnight to Rowan and looks for a place where he can lay his bedroll and disrobe without being too bothered by the singing. Korgan doesn't bother looking to hard though.

[Thunderhowl]

Rowan tips his hat to the ladies for the fine repast, bids his comrade goodnight, strips off his armour, rolls himself in his cloak and bedroll and drifts off to a well earned slumber.