I Hate Snakes...

Good morning lads and ladettes! And you, you weird salamander-y thing. What are you doing on that laptop?

It is early Monday morning again, which means I have finished the second installment of what shall be known as the Passage of Planeswalker Chronicles. My first Dungeons and Dragons narrative was posted last week at around the same time. I got some great reviews from my fellow 'planeswalkers' and so I have endevoured to make this a tradition. I shall write a short, narrative type thing for every dungeon we play. Here is our second dungeon, and our first actual adventure into another plane. Beware though, this one is quite a bit longer...

A familiar group of faces could be seen through the grimy windows of the store. There was Jetulfgar, the dwarf, browsing among the lower shelves, his battle axe strapped firmly to his back. Then there was the curious barbarian halfling, Mange, shopping on the shelves even lower. The half-elves Lereahl and the Lady Celerean were standing near the shop counter. Senji, the full-blood elf samurai who seemed very attached to Lady Celerean was standing protectively behind his mistress while she weighed up different products. Lereahl looked totally bored, his fingers straying suspiciously towards a rack of healing potions.

The group had decided to stick together after their last misadventure in the bowels of the Hungry Badger. It was unspoken, but their quirky little band seemed to work together well. Well, all bar the shifty, blond half-elf. The other knew that an eye had to be kept on him now.

After what felt like several hours to Lereahl, the group finally left the store and made their way to the portal located in the middle of the great city of the spark. The new planeswalkers’ blood tingled at what would be the first walk that any of them had ever taken. No words were traded as they paused before the plinth upon which the portal stood. It was polished black marble, upon which the feet of many brave warriors and legends had trod. The portal itself was a huge, wrought iron affair, twisting, swirling designs rent into its great circular frame, burnt black by the disc of fizzling purple-white magic it held. As one, the companions took a deep breath and stepped into the magic.

They stepped through the swirling veil onto soft grey sand. The starlit sky of the planeswalkers’ city had been replaced by a roiling grey sky. There was no sun, just a steady, cold light emanating seemingly from the clouds. As the small band looked around, tiny misshapen crab like creatures scuttled and flickered away from them. The grey water that stretched in all directions was as calm as a pond. It was strange though. Looking at the water, it was calm, but at the edges of their vision, they could see the sea tossing and raging as if in a great storm. One could feel no breeze either. Not a breath stirred, but they could hear the low, strange whistle of a ghostly pale wind. The motionless wind whispered to the five planeswalkers. It whispered the name of this warped place; Davy Jones Locker…

Scattered all around the small island upon which they had stepped, were ships and boats of all sizes. There were great hulking wooden sailing ships, small rotting fishing boats, huge rusted metal tankers, even Chinese junks. Every ship was in strange states of decay. Upon inspection of the closest ship, one could see that the hull was torn asunder and that the wood was rather rotten. The masts were chipped and diseased, but the sails hug bright, white and full. The chain attached to the anchor was nothing but red, crumbling rust, but the anchor itself looked as if it had been minted the day before.

“Wow,” breathed the dwarf.

“You can say that again,” said Lereahl.

Their first port of call, to pardon the pun, was the ship they had seen earlier with the great rift torn in its hull. With weapons drawn, the companions ventured into the dark belly of the beached ship. After scrounging around a little in a room that looked and smelled like it had been long forgotten on the bottom of an ocean, they concluded that it must have been some sort of old pirate ship. There were several rusty falchions and short swords in crates. They pushed onwards, eager for more valuable pirate treasure. There was a corridor off to the right. Jetulfgar was at the head of the group and thus was the unlucky discoverer of a trapdoor. The rotting wooden boards beneath his feet dropped away, revealing a black hole where long slimy, eel-like creature slithered and snapped. Jetulfgar managed to throw himself forward, scrambling to safe footing on the other side of the trap with a few choice, dwarven swear words.

“Well, that wasn’t terribly graceful,” said Lereahl. He took a moment to ready himself, performed a leap over the black hole that a ballerina would have envied and then finished it with an elegant pirouette and flourish. Jetulfgar glared at him from beneath his bushy red eyebrows, but then turned hurriedly to help Mange who had misjudged the distance badly and was now hanging onto the lip of the hole my his fingertips. Lady Celerean hopped over the gap as effortlessly as climbing a stair. Senji on the other hand must have slipped on a damp patch. He too ended up clinging to the edge of the pit. Celerean reached down to help her protector, but alas, he slipped from her grip and plunged into the darkness with a small cry.

“Quick,” called Celerean to Mange, “your rope.”

The halfling bound forward, digging in his pack for the rope. Pulling it out, he grabbed one end and threw the other rather hard down to Senji.

“Ow,” muttered the samurai as it hit him squarely in the face. There were more gasps of pain as the large eels slipping and sliding through the darkness began to nibble on his legs that were new stuck fast in some sort of quicksand. Senji grabbed the rope and Mange and Jetulfgar heaved on it. Senji tried to pull himself out of the muck, but only sunk further into it; earning him more bites form the eels. Lereahl grabbed the rope too and the three of them dug their heels in, pulling Senji slowly but surely from the muck. He was pulled wet and bleeding from the trapdoor. He stood, wincing slightly and nodded thankfully to his rescuers. That was something they had noticed about the samurai – he was not a man of very many words, except for when it came to his mistress’s opinion.

They continued on, being careful to search for more traps. The corridor took a turn. The walls here we rather rotten and caved in. In one place one could see a great crack in the wall, looking as if it lead into a room beyond. Lereahl peered through the rubble, noticing that there was sign over the continuing corridor. Like the rest of this paradoxical world, the hooks upon which the sign hung were old and rotten, but the sign itself looked like it had been painted hours before and was still drying. It read ‘Cargo’.

“Ooh! Cargo sounds promising,” squealed Mange. The others nodded in agreement and they turned down the corridor, struggling through the wreckage. The corridor was then split into two by fallen architecture. The tried the right hand fork first. At the end of the hall, there were several crates that looked quite interesting. The band took a crate each and began rummaging. Jetulfgar uncovered a strange, long, thin chain. It was surprisingly light, seeming to be metal rope rather than actual chain. The halfling uncovered a faintly magical spear that, for once, was a weapon his size. Lady Celerean was also the finder of some unusual magic. The black and gold gloves she tried on made her feel lighthearted and giddy, but also slightly nauseous. She took them off quickly. Senji had found a large chest. Unfortunately all his strength could not break the lock and as such he was forced to resort to asking Lereahl for help, having proved himself quite adept at lock picking. Lereahl set to work on the lock. It was a tough one and he was just about to give up when it clicked open to reveal a large pile of gold. Lereahl was set on having a larger cut for opening the chest, but after arguing rather grumpily with lady Celerean, he was given the same share was the rest of the group. As such, he was last to go searching. The only remaining crate seemed to be filled with old, decaying clothing. Huffily, the half-elf rummaged through the scraps, tossing ugly, stained garments over his shoulders. However as he did so, he felt something catch on his finger. Swinging there was a small velvet purple pouch. Inside was a white, stone ring. It seemed to be carved from white opal, with the images of tiny feathers around the edges. It too appeared to be magical in some way.

After stashing away their loot, the group struggled back down the corridor, then turned and made their way up the left hand hallway. They ducked under a final beam and their breath caught as they beheld an enormous, ghostly blue crab. It was turned away from them currently, but was sure to hear them any second. Jetulfgar rand forward, his battleaxe high, a war cry in his throat, ready to strike the first blow - that is until the rotted wood beneath his foot splintered and he sunk to his hip. He was stuck. He cursed angrily as Lady Celerean rushed forward too, but her sword merely glanced off the crab’s steely blue carapace. It had noticed them now and turned to snap angrily at the warriors. While the others were making moves to attack this creature, Lereahl was at the back of the group, dancing cheerfully for some reason. Senji was hot on his mistress’s heels, stabbing the crab in a soft spot between its armour plates. Mange had thrown one of his harpoons, sinking it too into one of the crab’s weak spots. Lereahl, the weirdo, had finally stopped dancing and aimed his crossbow at the great snapping beast. His bolt found a crack in the shell too. Jetulfgar was finally out of the floor, cursing and growling beneath his wild, red beard. He lifted his axe and ran forward again. Senji struck the crab again, but it retaliated, lashing out with one huge claw and catching him in it. Senji struggled, but the crab hissed and squeezed him tight in it pincer. Senji’s vision went black and his head lolled. Mange’s other harpoon went to work, but Lereahl’s next arrow glance off the shiny shell. Jetulfgar missed too, his axe whistling through the air and biting into wooden planks. He wrenched the axe out of the board and tried again, but missed this time also. He was really not helping at all. Lady Celerean, instead of attacking again, pulled the magical Rod of Healing from her belt and cast an aura over the downed samurai. He awoke with a start and with a brilliant feat of strength, was able to pry the beast’s claw open as Mange leapt forward, driving a killing blow through the beast’s head. Cold, blue blood gushed everywhere. It’s spindly legs wobbled and collapsed, its great claws falling to the ground with great crunching noises. The companions panted, wiping blue goo from their faces. Jetulfgar crossed his arms, angry at himself for having not hit the stupid beast.

“Fine,” he growled and began cleaving the crab’s armored shell pieces from its body.

“What are you going to do with those?” asked Mange as the rest of the group sat down to rest. There was some talk about new skills. Senji had just come to the realization that he could use one sword in each hand. Why he had never done this before, no one knew. Lereahl though, was looking very bored again.

“Make some armour maybe,” the dwarf replied. The halfling’s eyes shone.

“That will look awesome!” he squealed.

The companions made their way back to where they had seen the strange crack in the wall. Lereahl had ants in his pants. The others had taken so long to recover from their tussle with the oversized crustacean that he was the first to leap into the darkness beyond.

“Wait!” cried Mange, who had just been about to look carefully inside for any signs of monsters. Lereahl’s cockiness disappeared instantly as he laid eyes upon what was inside this dark hole.

“I hate snakes…” he whimpered.

A huge, sinuous snake was coiled luxuriously in the rubble. It turned its orb-like eyes towards the half-elf and struck, rows of sharp teeth snapping shut over his head.

“Argh! It’s got me! Help! Heeelp!” Lereahl yelled, but as his head was now in the snake’s mouth, all the others heard was “Mmph! Mmph mm mmm! Mm! Mmmmm!”

 Jetulfgar rushed to Lereahl’s rescue, but somehow missed again. The samurai was luckier, landing two nasty blows along the snake’s writhing coils, which were now wrapped around the unconscious Lereahl, crushing him more tightly by the second. Lady Celerean missed, too, but Mange nailed the creature with a harpoon, and then a devastating blow with his great sword. Senji sliced ribbons in the snake’s skin, and it released Lereahl who fell limply to the floor, twisted and broken. Jetulfgar failed to land a hit again, but Senji came through, leaping forward to slice the great snake’s head cleanly off. It continued to coil and thrash, but was no longer any threat. The companions sighed and smiled at each other. Another monster slain. There are a few moments in which the only sound was the rasping of dying snake, but then they remembered Lereahl. Mange was the first to his side. The half-elf’s long blond hair was matted with blood. The dark red liquid seeped too from his mouth and his bones were all in the wrong places. There were only small puncture wounds around his neck – the worst injuries were inside. He was still breathing though and his pulse was weak but still there.

“Quick, we have to help him,” said Mange.

“What do you suggest? I have no knowledge of healing,” Jetulfgar shot back, kneeling next to the half-blood too, his deep brown eyes wide with worry.

“Wait. Lereahl had a healing potion, right?” asked Mange. The others just shrugged. Mange glared at them and gingerly reached towards Lereahl, levering him up in order to access his pack. It too had been crushed by the python, and as Mange dug his tiny arm into Lereahl’s pack, the same thought crossed all of their minds. What if it had crushed the potion too? But, by some miracle, it hadn’t. The tiny bottle of glowing red liquid was in Mange’s hands and with Jetulfgar’s help, he was able to pour it into Lereahl’s mouth. They waited a few moments, the seconds ticking by painfully. They could see the magic working slowly. A small groan escaped Lereahl’s chest as his bones moved beneath his skin, knitting and healing. But then the magic stopped. He lay still, still breathing, but the blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s not working,” said Mange, looking down at him, horrified.

“He was probably too far gone,” said Senji slowly.

“Serves him right, the idiot,” said Celerean. Senji nodded, immediately taking her opinion as his. Mange glared at Celerean. He opened his mouth to yell at her to help. She was a bard. Their magic was minimal, but still might have been enough to help Lereahl. He stopped though, seeing the stony, indifferent look on her face. He thought for a second.

“You know,” he said slyly “if you don’t heal him now, we’re just going to have to drag his unconscious, possibly lifeless butt around with us until we decide to return to the citadel. Unless you want to take him back now and risk never being able to return to this place to see what other treasure lay in store for us.”

There were a few minutes of tense silence in which Celerean and Mange glared at each other. Finally, the woman conceded.

“Fine. Only because having him unconscious will make him such a burden,” she sighed.

Lereahl sat up. He felt weak and very, very sore, but he was alive. He grinned up at everyone.

“Miss me?” he asked. Mange rolled his eyes and punched Lereahl in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he cried. The fellow may have been a halfling, but he sure could hit. Lereahl levered himself slowly into a standing position.

“Ah, and to who do I owe this great pleasure of continued existence?” he asked. Lady Celerean sighed and raised her dainty hand. Lereahl smiled and limped forward. He rummaged in his coat and pulled out his coin pouch. Celerean’s eyes widened as he counted fifty gold pieces into her hands.

“I, uh, thanks…” she said. Lereahl smiled and turned away. When his face was hidden, his smile turned bitter. He’d only done that to get back in her good books. It was apparent that she really had no care for him. They had been at odds ever since they had met.

The first ship fully explored, they had set off for the second one. It was a strange vessel – much larger than the last, and the wood it was made of felt almost as if it were about to burst into flames at the touch. It was dry and crumbly.

“How do we get in?” asked Lereahl, rubbing the hot wood. Jetulfgar shrugged and threw himself at the beached hull. The wood gave easily under the force of his passage, leaving an amusingly dwarf-shaped hole.

Inside they encountered three swift, red, horned imps with small spears that burned when struck by, which they dispatched rather easily. However, the larger serpentine, red creature that attacked them after they had finished the smaller ones was a little harder to take down. They assumed that its anger was for killing its progeny. After slipping past the larger demon’s guard, Mange was able to slice her nasty head off. The serpentine body writhed horribly on the floor, much like the giant snake. Lereahl eyed it warily, taking a few steps backwards.

As they continued along the corridor, he and two others stopped to examine the fallen imps’ spears. However, the three dolts had already forgotten the burning magic they held, thus singing their fingers.

The corridor widened into a room where the companions could see a smaller door a large set of double doors. Also, off into a corner was a small opening into a round room. They decided to investigate this strange round room first. It was full of charred sticks and burnt wooden logs – apparently the red imps’ nest. Among the chars and ash however, there looked to be some goodies. So, climbing down into the pit, the five warriors stuffed their pockets. Lereahl happened across something rather interesting upon picking up some armour he dug out of the ashes. It looked like standard set of plate armour at first, but when he picked it up, the light around the metal seemed to ripple and suddenly he was now holding a normal looking shirt. Lereahl released it in alarm. The breastplate clattered to the ground again, looking much like a breastplate should. He cocked his head and picked it up again, and watched in amazement as the illusion flowed over it again, changing itself to look like a plain shirt, but a different one. It still felt as heavy as plate armour though.

“Woah… That is wicked cool,” said Mange, appearing under Lereahl’s elbow and eyeing the armour appreciatively.

“Yeah, it is pretty cool,” said Lereahl, smiling down at the halfling. “I wonder if it would change to look like a dress?”

Mange giggled. A sly look crept across Lereahl’s face.

“Perhaps if I wore the armour and it changed to look like a dress, then I might be able seduce the dwarf…” he said, referring to incident in which a little attempt to misdirect Jetulfgar had gone rather horribly wrong. Mange began laughing.

“And then if it does fail again and he punches me, all he’ll get is bruised knuckles,” added Lereahl. Mange snorted and began cackling with laughter.

With more loot stashed away in their bags, the group turned to the smaller door first. It was locked with a small, seemingly easy lock. The others looked at him and Lereahl nodded and stepped forward to pick it. Of course it only seemed simple. The lock itself was actually pretty easy to overcome, but the spring loaded poison barb in it was not so much. A small prick on Lereahl’s finger was all it took. Lereahl however was quite learned with traps like this and was able to quickly squeeze and wash out the tiny spit of poison. He sucked at the pinprick and then stood and stepped to the side, spitting out the poison and pushing the door open. Inside was another cargo hold, but this one held shelves and shelves of potions. The shelves looked brand new, their nails still shining brightly, but most of the potion bottles were cracked with age and the ink on their labels was long since faded. They did however find some that were not so rotten. The dwarf found a sneaking potion. For what use he had of this, no one knew. Lady Celerean managed to find an intelligence potion. She scoffed at it, obviously insulted that she would need more intelligence than she already had, but pocketed the bottled nevertheless. The halfling laughed upon finding a potion of enlargement, and the rogue cackled with glee when he laid his hands on a decent invisibility potion. Senji was luckiest of all, earning many jealous glances when he simply stumbled over a six pack of health potions. It had a box and a handle and everything.

Their potions too now stored safely in their packs, they approached the large doubled-doored room next. They were matching doors, but weirdly, one looked several centuries older than the other. They creaked open. Inside the large ship’s room, was a mangrove forest. The grey trees had grey leaves and were rather dense. Also, they smelled. A the back of the room, the companions could see three huge golden coffins. The crept forward slowly, their eyes widening, realizing that all three were made of solid gold.

“Do you reckon we could take them back with us?” asked Mange.

“Hey, I’m strong, but not that strong,” replied Jetulfgar.

“You should have found a shrinking potion instead of an enlarging one. The they might have been easier to move,” said Lereahl. Then he paused. “Or we could get them back this size somehow, and then when we try to sell them to a merchant, we put the enlarging potion on them and sell them for tons more! Of course we’d have to bolt before they shrank and the merchant realized they’d been cheated. But still…” You could almost see the dollar signs in Lereahl’s eyes. Jetulfgar snapped his fingers in front of Lereahl’s face.

“Hey, conman, wake up. We’ve still got to open them first,” he said, gesturing to the coffins.

“Right, right. I’ll be at the back,” said Lereahl, and he indeed shuffle to the back of the group, raising his crossbow. “Better not be more snakes,” they could hear him mumble.

“Okay, I’ll open the first one,” said Jetulfgar. The others nodded and he moved slowly toward the first coffin. He reached out slowly, fingers hovering over the polished, glinting surface. He moved to grip the lid, as if to open a door, but with a hiss, the lid fell forward, missing him by a hair as he jumped back. The solid gold fell with a crash like huge, heavy cymbals. The lids of the other two coffins hissed and fell too as if the first had triggered them. Jetulfgar retreated a few steps as a figure sat slowly up in the first coffin. It dribbled sand like water from its dry, grey bandages. The figure’s head creaked slowly towards them. There were no eyes, just a bandaged face, but the five knew that the mummy was looking directly at them. Lereahl, at the back of the group raised his crossbow and fired quickly. The quarrel buzzed and the mummy jerked back, the arrow sticking from its head. Its motions were slow and steady again and it moved to climb out of the coffin. The arrow hadn’t slowed it at all.

“It didn’t even hurt it,” said Lereahl, his mouth open in slight astonishment. The others backed off a little, sensing that something was wrong here.

“Let me at ‘em then!” cried Mange, running forward to strike at the mummy with the spare war hammer he carried on his back. The blow made the mummy stagger, but as Mange backed off, it regained its footing and began moving slowly towards them again. The other two were slowly climbing out of their coffins too.

“Physical attacking them is not doing anything,” said Mange, running back to the group. They were all backing slowly towards the door now. The mummies were taking stumbling, shuffling steps, getting quicker now.

“Uh, okay. Physical attacks not doing much. How about magical ones?” asked Lereahl.

The others just looked at him, holding their very ordinary weapons.

“Okay. So none of us here are really magical. That’s a problem,” he said.

“I agree my dear lady. For your safety, I would suggest that we retreat. As undead kings of some long forgotten past, there would be no shame in avoiding this fight. We should leave this place immediately, but as always, I leave these decisions to you,” said Senji, bowing to his mistress. Lady Celerean looked boredly at him, then back at the mummies.

“I do believe you are right,” she said. “We shall be leaving now.” She reached out to take Senji’s hand and the two of them disappeared in a whisper of purple smoke, the way planeswalkers do sometimes. Lereahl looked at the spot where they had been, at the now rapidly approaching mummies, then at Mange and Jetulfgar. He grinned broadly.

“Nope. I’m out of here too,” he said and with a click of his fingers, he too vanished. Jetulfgar rolled his eyes at Mange who was looking positively furious at being abandoned when there was blood to be shed. Or rather sand. Or whatever else was left in thousand year old mummy corpses. The two remaining planeswalkers vanished as well.

How Big are these Rats Exactly?

Good evening lords, ladies and layabouts.

I decided one day that Dungeons and Dragons sounded like an awesome game to play. Not long after this epiphany, did a group of like minded DnD enthusiasts started up a group at my university. Tonight was the first night for quite a few members and we all started by creating our first characters and then exploring our first dungeon together, with some of the more seasoned players acting as Dungeon Masters.
I had so much fun. Playing DnD is like nothing I've ever done before. It's like the Sims, with fantasy elements, gold, so much more content and multiplayer. The following is a short narrative of our first adventure together. My character is the half-elf named Lereahl, of which I am quite proud. He suddenly feels like my conduit for misdemeanour and sexual deviancy...

The tools of the trade

A motley crew was gathered outside the Hungry Badger. Three of the figures were tall. Two were stony faced, he more elfin than her. The elf-man’s stance was straight and sharp, and he stood rather protectively near his lady, a long thin katana at his side. The half-elfin  lady looked a little bored and her fingers seemed to reach absentmindedly for the lute on her back. The third was only half-elf too, but he stood much taller than the other two. He wore a crossbow and a lot of black and his grey eyes darted slyly. The other two members of this unlikely group could nearly have been overlooked. A stocky dwarf thumbing a large battleaxe stood off to the side. He was swaying a little and seemed a bit cross-eyed beneath his bushy red beard. Even smaller than him was a tiny halfling. He seemed to radiate a tiny cloud of hostility. Strapped to his back was a great sword – or well, a short sword for any normal man, but a huge sword for the halfling – and two rather large harpoons.

“So, are you all here to kill rats?” asked the dwarf. There was a general murmur of assent, but no face was too happy. It was unusual to hear of five planeswalkers doing vermin extermination. Perhaps the locals were just a bit busy.

“Very well. It seems we’ll be together then. I’m Jetralg. I’m a good fighter, and handy with an axe.”

The others nodded to him. Jetralg looked towards the samurai.

“I am Sanji. This is my mistress Celerean,” he said simply.

“I am Lereahl. I’m pretty handy with a dagger,” said the taller half-elf nonchalantly.

“And I am Mange!” squeaked the halfling, causing everyone to look bemusedly at him.

“What? Never seen a barbarian before?” he growled. Lereahl giggled.

“Well, if this is all there’s going to be, we’d best head inside to talk to the barkeep. He’s the one looking for exterminators.”

The newly formed band strolled into the tavern, immediately noting it to be a rather fine establishment. It was quiet and patrons sat mostly by themselves drinking and soaking in the peace of the high ceilinged building, upon which centuries of hero’s history was painted, held up by thick, ebony columns.

“Are you the one looking for rat-killers?” asked Celerean walking up to the bar. Lereahl lagged behind, looking furtively around, peering under tables. Jetralg looked curiously at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Lereahl snapped around and smiled sweetly at the dwarf.

“Nothing,” he said. Jetralg frowned at him and turned to join the others.

“Fifty gold pieces per rat?” Celerean was looking rather skeptical. Mange on the other hand was excited.

“Oh yeah! Let’s go kill us some rats!”

“That’s right, fifty each. The stupid things keep coming up from the basement and scaring my cook. Some nights I lose bags of gold because I have to tell customers their food won’t be arriving. I just want the rats gone. Oh, and anything else you find down there you can have too. I’ve never been down there. It’s horribly dark and old and kind of smelly.”

Mange downed the last of his seemingly enormous beer without a trouble and was off his stool in a flash, heading for the kitchen door. Jetralg on the other hand was just taking a first sip of his – although it didn’t really seem like he needed one more. The rest of the band gathered their things and followed Mange.

In the kitchen, it was easy to see the worn stairs that led down to the basement. It was also easy to see the signs of vermin. Sanji started towards one of the benches, finding a large cleaver stuck in a chopping board there. He nodded satisfactorily and sheathed it. His mistress however took the three loaves of bread that were sitting cold on the counter. Jetralg looked grumpily at her. Mange, also trying to find something in the small kitchen tried to heave himself up a little to see over the counter and accidentally caught the edge of a pan of flour that had obviously abandoned in the middle of pastry-making. The flour was catapulted all over the halfling, and Lereahl, who was standing right behind him. The half-elf glared at Mange through his new coating of white. Lady Celerean sighed and motioned towards the stairs.

“Shall we?”

The stair case was dark and rather damp, and soon the band emerged into a long corridor. It was dimly lit with a strange, glowing-blue algae.

“Ooh! War-paint!” squeaked Mange, reaching for the wall.

“Ew, mushrooms,” said Lereahl, leaning away from him. Sanji was looking carefully around the damp basement.

“There’s something over in that corner,” said Jetralg, peering into the gloom.

“Yes, I can hear something strange too,” replied Sanji. They could indeed hear a strange noise. A throaty, croaking noise, like that of a frog, but deeper.

“I can see it,” said Jetralg suddenly. “It’s a huge toad!”

“Ooh! A giant toad! Can I keep it?” asked Mange, bouncing forward.

“Sanji, kill it please,” said Lady Celerean. Mange’s excitement turned to horror as Sanji immediately stepped forward and sliced the toad’s head clean off.

“Toady…” he whimpered as the rest of the party moved further down the corridor.

They could hear the sounds of running water now and soon found themselves facing a swiftly running drain of some sort. The water was clear but dark. It ran through a channel off to the left, the corridor continuing on with it. There were five doors that they could see down this new corridor, two on their side of the swift black water, and three on the other.

“I know how we can get across!” said Mange. He hefted one harpoon and threw it with a solid thunk to stick in the opposite wall. He smiled at the others.

“Who’ll hold the rope for me?”

Everyone else just shook their heads.

“We’re going to investigate these rooms first, halfling,” said Lady Celerean. Mange’s face fell.

“But… But… What about my harpoon?” he asked.

“We’ll get it later,” she replied.

The halfling looked quite downturned. “My harpoon…”

The other half-elf sniggered as he followed the others to the first door.

Jetralg was first through the door and was immediately leapt upon by two rats. Sanji was next, slicing at one, but missing. Celerean was shortly behind him, drawing her dagger and swiftly dispatching the rat. Mange was next, zipping through people’s legs and flinging his remaining harpoon, skewering another scrabbling rat. Jetralg was still trying to disentangle the rat from his great red beard, hitting ineffectively at it with his axe. Sanji stepped in and was able to slice the rat’s head neatly from its body and pulled it free of Jetralg’s beard.

“You are welcome,” Sanji said, bowing gracefully. Jetralg didn’t look very happy though.

“Nobody touches the beard!” he roared, pointing a stubby finger at Sanji. The samurai remained stony, holding his decapitated rat prize that still had a few strands of red hair attached.

Lereahl, who had hung back a little was now looking carefully through the crates and assorted junk that lay around.

“Hey, I found some old armor,” said Sanji, putting the said leather chest piece on. Lereahl’s eyes widened with delight as he came across and old wooden shield. He strapped it on, then paused for a second, before slipping something into his black coat. The dwarf who had been watching him closely noticed this.

“Hey, what have you go there?” he asked. Lereahl smiled the same smile as before in the bar.

“Nothing,” he replied. Jetralg glared at him suspiciously.

“I saw you put something in your jacket, now let me see what it is,” he said.

“No. Now, has anyone ever told you just how lovely your hair looks in the gloomy light of a dungeon?” asked Lereahl.

“I- what?” Jetralg was staring openmouthed at the half-elf, who was blinking his eyelashes surreptitiously at him.

“Uh…” The dwarf was quite thrown, but not quite enough. He growled at Lereahl and batted his arm aside, reaching in to grab what turned out to be a great bag of gold. One hundred and fifty pieces to be exact.

“You were going to keep this all to yourself?” Jetralg said, outraged. He showed the bag to the rest of the group who threw equally harsh looks at the now rather sour Lereahl.

“This kind of loot we share equally,” said Jetralg sternly, counting out a fair sized pile and pushing it towards Lereahl. The half-elf took the money, but folded his arms and turned bitterly away from the dwarf as he began dividing the rest of the gold among the troop.

“Can we get my harpoon now?” wheedled Mange, pulling his second one from the floor, rat still shish-kebabed on the end.

“No,” replied Celerean, “we must find out what’s behind these other doors.”

Mange grumbled.

“Fine, but I’m going first this time.”

And with that, he burst through the first door – and was immediately set upon by a spider the size of his small head. Two more crawled from the shadows. Jetralg dispatched one with a mighty blow from his axe – squishing it rather horribly over the floor. Sanji dealt with the other while Mange managed to crush the one attacking him.

“Did it bite you?” asked Celerean.

“I don’t think so,” said Mange. He didn’t seem any worse for wear as he picked up the two dead but still recognizable arachnid corpses. Everyone visibly recoiled as he threw them into his backpack.

“Can we fetch my harpoon now?” he asked. There was a resounding “No.”

The next room contained a few rats that were easily killed, a lot of dust, pots and not much else. That was until Jetralg reached into a pot and withdrew a bag of glittering gems.

“See?” he said to Lereahl. “I’m going to share these with everyone. After I get them appraised, of course.”

Lereahl just rolled his eyes.

The last door in the room however, was different from the others. It was stone and looked much older. When they pushed it open, waiting for them inside, was a man-sized spider, clinging to the roof and clicking its pincers menacingly. Lereahl, Celerean and Mange darted forward. The first’s bolt whizzed past the monster, but the second’s bolt flew home. The spider roared angrily, but not for long as Mange’s harpoon sped through the air, burying itself in the thick carapace. The spider fell to the ground. Most would after being harpooned.

Mange skipped out of the first room and towards the drain where he had sent across his first harpoon. They had finally agreed to fetch it. His face fell however, when he saw that the rope used to retrieve the weapon, had uncoiled from this bank and fallen into the swift water.

“Well. How are we going to cross now?” asked Celerean.

“I could use my other harpoon?” suggested Mange. The others shrugged.

“Does anyone here know how to swim?” asked Lereahl.

Sanji’s hand rose in the air.

He was across the swift water in no time, and up the harpoon’s rope fairly quickly for such a slippery wall. He then threw across the rope and used it to pull the others through the water and onto the opposite bank. They stood, shivering a little and then agreed to venture into the next rooms. They encountered quite a few more large rats – even finding a rat nest. Lereahl finally managed to shoot something, pinning a rat to the wall with a crossbow bolt. There were a few interesting looking spellbooks in a library that was mostly decayed, and several other assorted items of value that they managed to locate in the next few rooms. The last one however, was much different. The door was like nothing they’d ever seen. It was smooth black marble carved with red symbols. None of the adventurers could decipher the texts written around the doorframe, but they didn’t need to read them in order to understand that they were a warning.

“What kind of barkeep has something like this in his cellar?” asked a very confused Jetralg.

The door also had no handle, or no other visible means to open it. They did however notice that right behind them, on the bed of the swift flowing drain, there appeared to be a lever of some kind, carved from a similar coloured stone as the door. They tied a rope around Sanji and pushed him into the water again. He flailed around for a bit, but then managed to kick the lever, triggering the door’s locking mechanism. He was pulled, flopping and sodden from the water as the door slid upwards with a sinister whisper. Beyond was a polished black hallway, with another door at the end.

The band ventured carefully into the tunnel. Here there were carved more disturbing red symbols.

“Stop!” hissed Mange. Everyone froze mid-step. The others had been too busy looking around at the creepy carvings to notice the pressure plate Jetralg had been about to stand on. Being so low to the ground, Mange had only just spotted it. Jetralg backed carefully away from the plate.

“Well, what now?” asked Celerean.

“We could go around it?” suggested Mange.

“Or we could just leave this place. It does not bode well,” said Sanji, looking around at the disturbing red markings.

“I say we go on,” declared Jetralg.

“But what if there are more traps?” asked Celerean.

“We’ll go around them too!”

“I don’t want to go,” said Celerean.

“I shall follow my lady wherever she goes,” said Sanji.

“Uh, guys? Can I just say that I am quite skilled at disabling this sort of thing?” Lereahl piped up. Everybody went quiet and looked at him. You could see they were all trying to weigh up his skills. He had said he was skilled, yet had not proven this so far, being quite apt to miss anything he shot at.

“Fine. Give it a shot,” said Celerean, gesturing for him to approach the black hallway again. Lereahl puffed his chest out a little and strode towards the booby trap. After a few minutes of fiddling, he had pried the plate up and disengaged the trip mechanism quite successfully. He followed the wire up through the wall a little and found it attached to a great huge swinging pendulum axe.

“Whoa…” breathed both Mange and Jetralg.

“Can I have it?” asked the dwarf. Celerean rolled her eyes and pushed past him.

They drew their weapons as they readied to push open the door at the end of the black tunnel. There had been no more booby traps so they were preparing themselves for something quite nasty to be on the other side of the door. Someone wanted it protected after all.

A slight clattering met their ears as the heavy stone door swung silently inwards. Turning to face them was a skeleton. He was clad in old leather armor and carried a great sword. He rattled again and lunged at them. Lereahl’s first shot whizzed between the skeleton’s ribs. Mange cried out and leapt forward, striking a blow on its shoulder. Sanji darted forward too, cutting the old bones a little. Celerean was next, her dagger doing very little against the undead warrior. Jetralg came forward swinging, but missed. The skeleton hefted its sword and delivered the dwarf a bad blow. Lereahl had reloaded, and this time his aim was true. The crossbow bolt hit the skeleton between the eye sockets and it crumpled, old, nicked bones scattering across the hard cold floor.

“Does anyone need any armor?” asked Celerean, picking at the bones. Lereahl nodded and came forward to collect it. Mange ran forward too and tried to heft the skeleton’s great sword.

“Oh goody! New sword!” he squeaked.

“Uh, you can’t use that,” said Celerean.

“And why not?” growled the halfling.

“Because it’s twice as tall as you.”

The five new companions traipsed out of the dungeon, now clad in new armor, carrying a fair amount of gold and rat corpses to present to the barkeep. The stood before him, still dripping a little and watched as he did indeed hand them fifty gold pieces for each rat they had killed. And then some more as a bonus for killing the creepy skeleton warrior.

“Woohoo! Level up!” shouted Lereahl. The other four looked at him, downright puzzled.

 

Supernatural Ass

Good evening brethren of the pen and page. This meeting is convened upon the night of the sickle moon and the jig-dancing, green-hatted dwarf. Moonshine and crocks of gold for all.

It is true that I have not posted in quite a while. Mainly because I have been taking a break from writing and as such have nothing to post about. I have read that it's a good idea to take a break in between finishing a first draft and beginning the edit on it, so as to more easily be objective. 

What I have been doing, is boasting to everyone who'll listen that I've recently finished a 99,000 word manuscript, and then telling them off for suggesting to add another thousand words to make it an even 100,000. It's weird that they suggest that. Why is 100 better than 99? Both are equally cool to say in my humble opinion... But, who knows. Maybe after the edit it'll go up, or possibly down. All I care is whether it's a good story.

My brain, now currently free of its commitment to Soulless, has been pondering a little about the next rewrite of Sparks. I know for sure that the current manuscript is in a terrible state. Sure, I love the characters, the villain and some of the scenes, but I know that it is actually quite a shallow and cliched story. I have basically written the female version of Spiderman. So, there have been some notes on what modifications are to ensue - nothing concrete though. There are still a lot of plotholes to be filled with steamy hot, delicious story-tar. My brain needs to strap on its boots and high-visibility jacket and get to work on those. It's going to be exciting when it does.

Nearly all of my favourite TV shows are back on the air. I awaited not-so-patiently for the return of Grimm, and the mid-season kick off was not disappointing. Castle, Once Upon a Time and 2 Broke Girls were back quite a few weeks ago and I eagerly await for them each day. What I have been amusing myself with in the meantime, is a copious amount of True Blood. I got up to mid-way through season four and decided to stop though, having lost interest after my three favourite characters all broke up. I highly recommend the series if you liked Game of Thrones. Their similarities include epic intro songs and scenes, much politics, blood and a high boob per hour count.

How could you not want to watch when the vampires look like this?

I apologise if this post is feeling a little dry though. My brain is slightly fuzzy. I was out clubbing till 2:00am last night. I had an insane amount of fun, and was weirdly unable to get drunk. Normally I'm quite a lightweight. What topped the night off though, was how many times my butt was pinched. I was wearing a slinky grey dress I bought at at a second hand shop for $4.00. It made my ass look incredible. Three times it got nipped. Also, as I left the club for the night, I was heading toward the taxi rank in the middle of my group of buds when two scary looking Latino fellas strolled right up to me and asked if I wanted to go far a walk with them. Rather stunned, I simply said "No thanks," and walked away. I attribute this overwhelming interest as a testament to the power of second hand shops. Never buying retail again.

Eating: Dinner was St. Patricks day themed here at college. We had beef and Guinness pies.

Wearing: Pink, striped pajamas.

Feeling: Tired, but good.

Listening to: The sexy theme song from True Blood is still looping in my head. Have a listen and you'll know what I mean.

It's a Book!

Let it be noted, that as of yesterday at around 3:00am, the full first draft of the novel Soulless was dragged flailing and squealing into being. *Dramatic thunderclap*

I typed the words 'The End' with a flourish. Then I realised I hadn't savoured the feeling, so I backspaced and typed them again. With a spelling error. Then I did it again and forgot the full stop. The feeling had worn off a bit by that time. I was quite tired. So I saved a copy of it on every USB and external hard drive I own, just like any paranoid writer would, and went to sleep. I woke up at midday, and the fact still hadn't sunk in. Sure, I told everyone who would listen, but it was only after about 3:00pm that it really started to hit me. Every now and again, I would break out into this weird, wacky-waving-inflatable-flailing-arm-tube-man dance, with this enormous grin on my face. When people asked what the hell I'd just taken, I would squeal at them in a rather high pitch, "99,000 words!"

The exuberance I feel has toned down a little, but every time the thought crosses my mind now, I go:

Feeling: Tired, but awesome.

Wearing: PJs.

Listening to: It's way too late to be concentrating on music.

Eating: Again, way too late. But I did have a second dinner at Macca's. Was good.