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DND Session Recap (Part 2)
“…or it could have started a fire.”
”Usually they just sparkle,” Leif assures, returning the bow to his back. He is invited to join the others by the fire. There, he names Dahlish as his hometown. He explains that he was raised by a gnomish family. They, like most of the townies, have fled from the endless winter. “Oh…” hums Erling, “So it was like… an ‘Elf’ situation?” He references the legendary folk hero, Buddy the Elf. “How did you fit in their buildings?” Before Leif can answer, the two-man circus begins. Mort takes center stage with his clubs, juggling wildly. Armus is captivated by this and begins to clap. “Ooh, ooh! Juggle fire!” Mort heeds his request and sets the clubs aflame. A blazing ring encircles him, lighting his face in orange. At the same time, Vasilles steps out onto his slack line. Everyone “ooohs” and “ahhhs” as he jumps and balances. A tightrope cartwheel warrants a burst of applause. Vasilles and Mort prove themselves true carnies, with flair and finesse to spare. The Flying Quazit lands with a flourish, bowing deeply once back on the ground. Laughter and cheers flood the camp.
Dinner is served by Abernathy, who’s boiled the first of his chickens. Ladlefuls of meat and broth are dispensed. Vasilles finds a place beside Leif, where the two make acquaintance. Leif introduces himself as an aspiring actor, having left Dahlish to seek his fortune. “…you’ve never met anyone like me,” he grins.
Vasilles sucks in an astounded gasp. “Have you been reading my oracle book?” he asks.
Leif frowns. “…I don’t think so?”
The Quazit holds up his book, smacking one hand on the cover. “This is the book the oracles gave me, describing how my life will unfold. Today, it says I will meet someone “new” and “dramatic.” That has to be you!”
Listening in on this, Keelan begins to chuckle. “Wow, an actor! We already have a juggler, a fiddler, and a trapeze artist! We should start our own circus!” Vasilles looks deadpan at this suggestion and shakes his head in a slow “no.”
Keelan looks to the professor next, placing his fiddle across his lap. “Abernathy! I’ve been working on another song. It’s still in the early stages, so I may need more help from your thesaurus.”
Armus turns to him with a smile. “You’re writing songs again, boy?”
“Yes!” Keelan raises the instrument to his chin. “Would you like to hear?” He begins by playing ‘The Friends Song,’ which describes the party and their quest for Dahlish. Armus nods approvingly, agreeing that it is “…good to be friends with friends.” Keelan sings his new song next, prefacing it with a few disclaimers. “I’m open to constructive criticism,” he says, having completed only the first two verses. The song starts out slow but begins to rise in both tempo and aggression.
“Let me tell you the tale
of Dillan M’Kale,
a lying… deceiving… TOAD!
He’ll smile to your face,
then hit you with a mace,
steal your girl
and then he’ll hit the road!
OH!
Dillan M’Kale
should really be in jail—
he stabbed me in the chest!
*What?*
I wanna kick him in the head,
‘cause he thinks that I’m still dead,
but now I’m here
and I just feel depressed!”
He ends the ditty with a shrill note on his fiddle. Everyone sits in uncomfortable silence, glancing sideways at each other. “Well,” coughs Armus, rubbing the back of his neck. “…that one hit a little close to home.” He admits to having liked Dillan and never suspected him.
“I bet he comforted you when I was gone,” Keelan growls, suddenly in poor spirits. He tosses the fiddle aside and burrows into his bedroll. “…and you probably made him leek soup. Oh… I wanna egg him *so* *bad.”*
Professor Abernathy looks up from his supper, reminded of his recent literature. “I’ve just heard of a warlord,” he says, keeping with the topic of magical murder. “…who refused to let his opponent die. He kept killing him and resurrecting him, over and over and over. Now that—“ he points a finger, “…is a nasty punishment.”
Armus purses his lips. “He must have really hated him, cause’ that shit’s expensive.” He locks eyes with the professor. “Did he also stab him in the chest with a hairpin, dump his body in a lake, and trick his family into thinking he was dead for thirty-five years?”
Abernathy blanches and tugs at his collar. “Uh… he… he didn’t have that power, no.”
The next morning, the wagon rolls onwards towards Atha’s temple. The party discusses their plans for a second visit. Zoe is hoping for a ferret encounter, while Erling and Abernathy ponder the crypt room. “I’m ready to take on anything…!” Armus cheers, his raised arm shaking like a tree branch.
“I think we’re gonna sit this one out,” counters Keelan, placing a protective arm around his father. “This has been my first adventure and Brandy’s spine split in half. I can’t say I’d rate it ten out of ten.”
Leif looks intrigued. “Split in half, you say? How did that happen?” His eyes narrow in thought. “From giving a blowjob? I’ve heard of that happening.”
Armus scratches his chin. “Well, it’s possible. What he needed was rootweed oil— it loosens the muscles. That way, you can fold over yourself.”
Keelan looks between them with a frown. For all his years of alchemical training, he can’t seem to remember this oil. “Dad, do we even sell that?” he asks.
The apothecar blushes. “Your mother has been gone a long time, Kee. I haven’t been… selling it, per say…”
Keelan is sorry he asked. Tugging back his arm, he drops his face into his hands. “TMI, Dad. TMI.”
Vasilles looks the old man up and down. “Have you even been on an adventure before?” he asks.
Armus shakes his head. “I learned a trade when I was young— I was smart. I didn’t have to do any of this bullshit.”
It is agreed that the O’Callahans will wait outside with Renith. The others return to the ruin, making a beeline for the crypt. “This place went to shit real fast,” observes Leif, looking around.
“Mostly because of us,” admits Vasilles.
Leif’s face brightens. “Oh! Well, good job, then!”
Despite previous efforts to seal the door, the crypt is once again wide open. Finding this rather dodgy, Zoe, Erling, and Leif creep inside. Vasilles oscillates, recalling his earlier impalement. He reluctantly moves to join them, leaving Abernathy and Mort to guard their backs. A wooden bench is upturned beneath the portcullis, intended to catch should it fall. Inside, the group finds burial alcoves and sealed sarcophagi. A plaque beneath each one reads: ‘All Honor to the Solar Disc.’
“That’s a better saying than ‘Praise the Sun,’” notes Vasilles.
“Nuh-uh!” Abernathy objects.
They comb the room, searching for ancient artifacts. Suddenly, the door drops behind them with a *kercrasshhh!* The bench splinters into pieces, doing nothing to slow the fall. Vasilles tailspins into an honest-to-god freakout, pounding his fists on the door. “Let us out!” he screams, “We’re gonna diieeee!”
Zoe quirks an eyebrow. “We have a light,” she assures. “We’ll be fine.”...
”Usually they just sparkle,” Leif assures, returning the bow to his back. He is invited to join the others by the fire. There, he names Dahlish as his hometown. He explains that he was raised by a gnomish family. They, like most of the townies, have fled from the endless winter. “Oh…” hums Erling, “So it was like… an ‘Elf’ situation?” He references the legendary folk hero, Buddy the Elf. “How did you fit in their buildings?” Before Leif can answer, the two-man circus begins. Mort takes center stage with his clubs, juggling wildly. Armus is captivated by this and begins to clap. “Ooh, ooh! Juggle fire!” Mort heeds his request and sets the clubs aflame. A blazing ring encircles him, lighting his face in orange. At the same time, Vasilles steps out onto his slack line. Everyone “ooohs” and “ahhhs” as he jumps and balances. A tightrope cartwheel warrants a burst of applause. Vasilles and Mort prove themselves true carnies, with flair and finesse to spare. The Flying Quazit lands with a flourish, bowing deeply once back on the ground. Laughter and cheers flood the camp.
Dinner is served by Abernathy, who’s boiled the first of his chickens. Ladlefuls of meat and broth are dispensed. Vasilles finds a place beside Leif, where the two make acquaintance. Leif introduces himself as an aspiring actor, having left Dahlish to seek his fortune. “…you’ve never met anyone like me,” he grins.
Vasilles sucks in an astounded gasp. “Have you been reading my oracle book?” he asks.
Leif frowns. “…I don’t think so?”
The Quazit holds up his book, smacking one hand on the cover. “This is the book the oracles gave me, describing how my life will unfold. Today, it says I will meet someone “new” and “dramatic.” That has to be you!”
Listening in on this, Keelan begins to chuckle. “Wow, an actor! We already have a juggler, a fiddler, and a trapeze artist! We should start our own circus!” Vasilles looks deadpan at this suggestion and shakes his head in a slow “no.”
Keelan looks to the professor next, placing his fiddle across his lap. “Abernathy! I’ve been working on another song. It’s still in the early stages, so I may need more help from your thesaurus.”
Armus turns to him with a smile. “You’re writing songs again, boy?”
“Yes!” Keelan raises the instrument to his chin. “Would you like to hear?” He begins by playing ‘The Friends Song,’ which describes the party and their quest for Dahlish. Armus nods approvingly, agreeing that it is “…good to be friends with friends.” Keelan sings his new song next, prefacing it with a few disclaimers. “I’m open to constructive criticism,” he says, having completed only the first two verses. The song starts out slow but begins to rise in both tempo and aggression.
“Let me tell you the tale
of Dillan M’Kale,
a lying… deceiving… TOAD!
He’ll smile to your face,
then hit you with a mace,
steal your girl
and then he’ll hit the road!
OH!
Dillan M’Kale
should really be in jail—
he stabbed me in the chest!
*What?*
I wanna kick him in the head,
‘cause he thinks that I’m still dead,
but now I’m here
and I just feel depressed!”
He ends the ditty with a shrill note on his fiddle. Everyone sits in uncomfortable silence, glancing sideways at each other. “Well,” coughs Armus, rubbing the back of his neck. “…that one hit a little close to home.” He admits to having liked Dillan and never suspected him.
“I bet he comforted you when I was gone,” Keelan growls, suddenly in poor spirits. He tosses the fiddle aside and burrows into his bedroll. “…and you probably made him leek soup. Oh… I wanna egg him *so* *bad.”*
Professor Abernathy looks up from his supper, reminded of his recent literature. “I’ve just heard of a warlord,” he says, keeping with the topic of magical murder. “…who refused to let his opponent die. He kept killing him and resurrecting him, over and over and over. Now that—“ he points a finger, “…is a nasty punishment.”
Armus purses his lips. “He must have really hated him, cause’ that shit’s expensive.” He locks eyes with the professor. “Did he also stab him in the chest with a hairpin, dump his body in a lake, and trick his family into thinking he was dead for thirty-five years?”
Abernathy blanches and tugs at his collar. “Uh… he… he didn’t have that power, no.”
The next morning, the wagon rolls onwards towards Atha’s temple. The party discusses their plans for a second visit. Zoe is hoping for a ferret encounter, while Erling and Abernathy ponder the crypt room. “I’m ready to take on anything…!” Armus cheers, his raised arm shaking like a tree branch.
“I think we’re gonna sit this one out,” counters Keelan, placing a protective arm around his father. “This has been my first adventure and Brandy’s spine split in half. I can’t say I’d rate it ten out of ten.”
Leif looks intrigued. “Split in half, you say? How did that happen?” His eyes narrow in thought. “From giving a blowjob? I’ve heard of that happening.”
Armus scratches his chin. “Well, it’s possible. What he needed was rootweed oil— it loosens the muscles. That way, you can fold over yourself.”
Keelan looks between them with a frown. For all his years of alchemical training, he can’t seem to remember this oil. “Dad, do we even sell that?” he asks.
The apothecar blushes. “Your mother has been gone a long time, Kee. I haven’t been… selling it, per say…”
Keelan is sorry he asked. Tugging back his arm, he drops his face into his hands. “TMI, Dad. TMI.”
Vasilles looks the old man up and down. “Have you even been on an adventure before?” he asks.
Armus shakes his head. “I learned a trade when I was young— I was smart. I didn’t have to do any of this bullshit.”
It is agreed that the O’Callahans will wait outside with Renith. The others return to the ruin, making a beeline for the crypt. “This place went to shit real fast,” observes Leif, looking around.
“Mostly because of us,” admits Vasilles.
Leif’s face brightens. “Oh! Well, good job, then!”
Despite previous efforts to seal the door, the crypt is once again wide open. Finding this rather dodgy, Zoe, Erling, and Leif creep inside. Vasilles oscillates, recalling his earlier impalement. He reluctantly moves to join them, leaving Abernathy and Mort to guard their backs. A wooden bench is upturned beneath the portcullis, intended to catch should it fall. Inside, the group finds burial alcoves and sealed sarcophagi. A plaque beneath each one reads: ‘All Honor to the Solar Disc.’
“That’s a better saying than ‘Praise the Sun,’” notes Vasilles.
“Nuh-uh!” Abernathy objects.
They comb the room, searching for ancient artifacts. Suddenly, the door drops behind them with a *kercrasshhh!* The bench splinters into pieces, doing nothing to slow the fall. Vasilles tailspins into an honest-to-god freakout, pounding his fists on the door. “Let us out!” he screams, “We’re gonna diieeee!”
Zoe quirks an eyebrow. “We have a light,” she assures. “We’ll be fine.”...
