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  • June 14th, 2026 – The Dark Dungeon

    Once again, our party’s scribe has somehow magically recorded his own voice reciting this most recent edition of the Chronicle. Enjoy!

    Vocabulary

    Cotehardie – Tailored outer garment worn by both men and women. Eg, That little girl is dressed funny; she looks coteharded.

    Herbaphrodite – An organism that possesses sexual organs of both a DM and a plant.

    Epstein Scale – Trying to roll 13 or younger.

    Herb Rule XLIX.Q.43.2.vxlii.e(1.17.9r):

    Monsters are back on the menu, boys.

    Party/Marching Order

    Tenebrus, Gowron

    Caerwyn, Owlby

    Lilith, Raistlin

    TwoHit, Alastair

    Bertenernie, Yo Gabba Gabba

    Starday, 22nd Day of Month Wealsun, Year 586

    “Elevensies!  It’s elevensies and it’s time to goooo!! Come on you confounded sleepyheads, you can’t sleep the day away!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s rise up and give the gods your…” Alastair’s voice dies away as he pulls the tattered blanket from the first bed.

    It is empty.

    As are all the other bedroll blankets, stuffed with blankets instead of the sleeping bodies of his companions. 

    “Guys?  Where are you all?  It’s elevensies…”

    The sound of snickering comes from the kitchen of Keep Whenwhere, and Alastair grabs his belongings and–glaring at them each in turn–hurriedly joins his companions.

    The teleportation has already begun.  Raistlin and Wherewyn taking the hands of a person or two at a time, whispering something slippery-sounding under their breath, and disappearing…

    As they phase into corporeal existence once again, the crew finds themselves in a familiar room.  A bookshelf, cobwebbed, fills one wall, but where bodies once littered the floor, now only bloody smears paint the floor, darkened by time.

    As the party spreads out, inspecting the room, Bert takes an interest in the bookshelf.  

    “Hmm. Let’s see… 7 Habits of Highly Effective Paladins, How to Win Fiends and Influence Purple Worms… ah, here we are, Shifty Grades of Fey!  I’ve been searching for this book everywhere!  

    As he pulls the tome from its shelf, however, it triggers some sort of mechanism within the wall, and with the sound of inner wheels turning, a hidden door pops open from the wall, and in a small alcove, seven money sacks!

    Bert, excited, forgets his new book and cautiously pokes his stick into the alcove. Good thing, too, because as the stick passes the threshold, a scythe–triggered by the trap–slashes through the air inches from his nose.

    But it is about to all be worth it.  Eagerly, Bert reaches in and grasps the money bags, one at a time.   

    Empty. Every single one.

    “Huh. Serves ya right. They’re empty just like your bedrolls,” mutters Alastair, nearby.

    The party pushes beyond the bookshelf into a room smelling faintly of old blood.  It is crowded with furniture, a large area rug, and in the corner, an urn.

    “Have you noticed how many of these rooms have an urn in them?” Gowron whispers.

    “We are beginning to urn a reputation,” answers Tenebrus.

    Alastair, not listening, stalks up to the urn and unceremoniously dumps its contents.  Onto the floor clatters a rude clay statue with no face. Into the Bag of Holding it goes. Alastair then searches under the table, where he finds, strapped, a bottle of some unfamiliar alcoholic drink.  

    “Mudder’s Milk, it says.  Brewed since 283 from the dirtiest ingredients, full of minerals and…” 

    “I’ll take it,” says Lilith, tucking it away. 

    The next room is dominated by a huge fireplace, now cold and dark.  In the eerie light of Bright Eyes, Alastair’s glowskull, they see a cooking ring, pots, glass vials of various materials, and on a table, a washcloth, wig, yarn, and a tinderbox. 

    Tenebrus pokes through the ash in the fireplace, noting that there is a draft going up the chimney. He finds a large femur.  Alastair urges Tenny to inspect the fireplace further. Reaching up into the fireplace with the worthy skills of a proctologist, Alastair there finds a sack hidden away, a sack containing rocks obviously smoothed by the tumbling of moving water.  An Identify spell reveals that the rocks have been used in rituals relating to the Water Element. 

    Hmmm… Water Element? Here in a chamber devoted to the Element of Earth… thinks Raistlin to himself.

    Meanwhile, Gabba is drawn to an entirely different item in the room.  He picks up the wig and reverently places it upon his scabby head.  Even though it is sideways on his head, its blonde curls falling down in front of one eye, he feels cute, and his charisma instantly doubles, from one to two points. 

    The bookshelf suddenly shudders and creaks behind the party.  As they jerk their heads round, they see a Neo Otyugh shouldering its way through the opening, tentacles reaching, slaver dripping from its horrible maw.  Raist throws his hands outward, one in front of the other, and a Lightning Bolt thunders out of his open palm, striking the horrible creature dead on.  Shockingly, the Neo Otyugh responds with three strikes of its own, one which grazes Raistlin’s still upturned hands.  Immediately, Raist feels illness overtaking him: high fever, rash, a burning sensation; typhus!  Lilith is already at his shoulder, however, casting Cure Disease for her friend.

    The party steps gingerly around the dead monster and out into the hall.  Following the trail of smudged blood on the floor, they open a door into a small chamber, still and silent.  As their ghostly light fills the room, the party notes another brass urn, and on a table there lies rope, lantern oil, a pewter bowl, candle snuffer, and in the center, a large round stone.  Alastair dumps the urn, finding a small rock.  Tenebrus reaches past the helpful items, instead laying his hand on the stone, and his hand is stuck fast.  He watches in horror as a mouth opens within the solid rock, and a stony tentacle reaches out for his throat… A Mimic has Tenebrus right where it wanted him!

    “Well, you said you wanted to get stoned,” TwoHit snickers.

    “Yeah, this rocks!” titters Gabba.

    Tenebrus, between glares at his companions, tries to engage the Mimic in small talk. “Hey, Rocky, watch me pull a Habit out of a Rat!  I mean, if you’ll let me go I’ll show you some really cool stuff like this here ash tray I got back in…”

    The Mimic responds by smacking Tennie with its waving tentacle. 

    That’s enough for the companions, who finally stop rage-baiting their buddy and lay into the Mimic, destroying it in short order. 

    Looking carefully around the room, they find a small satchel tucked above the rustic candelabra, inside, an iron key.

    The blood trail leads next into a room full of cobwebs and the odor of pipe tobacco. An ornate tapestry and large mirror hang on the wall.  Another urn sits in the corner, and on the floor sits a chest, some kegs, and two large boxes. 

    Alastair dumps this urn, too, finding a small sifter.  Inside the chest, Tenebrus finds a pipe and pipe case that he tucks away in his belongings. 

    The blood smear runs up to and under the tapestry, behind which they find a secret door.  

    Through this door, they find a chamber with alcoves in the Northeast and Northwest and a fountain pouring into a brown basin. In one alcove stands an empty weapons rack.  

    Following the blood trail through the door, the party finally tracks down the source of all the blood.  There, in the floor, lies a human cleric in the robes of the earth sect, a drow dagger in his chest. In his fist is clenched a scrap of paper with writing upon it in the same script as the dirt plan scrolls. 

    Alastair notices that the cleric still has a pulse.  “He’s just mostly dead,” Alastair says to the others, casts Heal and Slow Poison, and helps the cleric sit up.  “We have questions for you, pal. For one, what are these rocks we’ve found?”

    “Cough cough… rocks? Oh, you mean those rocks.  Oooh.  I don’t feel too good… cough cough. Yeah, uh, if you uh …cough… if you break them, they open up power…”  He weakly hands the paper to Alastair, and written on the paper are the words, “break rock in emergency.”

    As the companions interrogate the cleric further, he tells them that he does not know why the drow are here, but he is confident that the drow will not find the dirt gem–it is hidden and protected. He had seen a female drow with a leader named Eklavdra.   After attempting futilely to convince the mostly dead cleric that we have the same goals, Tenny gets annoyed and reinserts the dagger, already standing up and moving away before the body hits the floor. 

    After more exploration, the companions come to the remains of a library, now silent and still, smelling of mold. The books, tattered, torn, forgotten, are on subjects of chaotic evil: Zen and the Art of Treachery, Getting Ahead in Life, The Art of the Deal. 

    Pushing the scattered books to one side of the floor, Raistlin sees that a message is inlaid in tiles: “Trials of Earthy Terrors Awaiting the Foolhardy.” 

    “Huh, never stopped us before…” he mutters under his breath. 

    A secret door hidden in a hallway reveals a dimly lit room with a statue standing in the middle.  Wooden handles protrude in the four cardinal directions from the statue’s base, and a path has been worn in a circle around the statue.  It is the whispering, however, that stops everyone dead in their tracks; faint whispering somehow not in the room, but in their heads.  

    As Raist huddles in meditation to learn Unseen Servant, the others cautiously explore, finding a half-burnt candle and a bent gold piece.

    Raistlin bids his Unseen Servant to sneak up behind Gowron and tap him on the shoulder, but then gets down to business.  The servant, taking hold of one of the wooden handles, rotates the statue.  When it faces a rather odd-looking wall, a hidden door emerges. 

    A large, round chamber lies beyond, finished in dark brown stone, lit by torchlight and a phosphorescent blue gleam high on the wall.  The adventurers scan the room, seeing small piles of dirt arranged around the room, and in the center, a shallow depression cut in the floor a foot deep.  Inside the depression are more dirt piles, a tray with various shapes on it, and a plaque that says “Please Remove Shoes.”

    Gowron, pulling off his boots, steps down carefully into the depression and inspects the items on the tray, which turn out to be pieces of bone, ivory, rock, and wood.  “I believe this may be an Augury Basin!  Here, let me try a question… Um, well, where are we?”

    “In the Chamber of Augury, indeed,” comes the slow, gritty reply that seems to come from the stone itself.

    Raistlin tries next.  He pulls off his tattered leather boots and steps down into the depression, then asks, “What do we need to know to find the gem?”

    “Warning! Forbidden lower object is an idol you do not expect…”

    Gowron is already stepping down in his sock feet. “Where is the gem?” he asks.

    “Go to the mystic object to find your unlikely result.”

    Owlby, moving away from the stench that emanates from her companion’s boots, steps into the depression and hoots a deep-throated “Who?”

    “Ask later,” comes the reply.

    TwoHit, not even wearing shoes, steps down and queries, “well, gol dang, man, what is this here mystic object?”

    “Go to the lower artifact and you will possibly find your answer.”

    Next is Tenebrus, who asks, “Does Eklavdra have the Earth Gem?”

    “It is uncertain,” comes the gritty reply.

    “Where is Eklavdra?” asks Caerwyn, stepping down lightly.

    “She is opposite the altar…possibly.”

    “What should we do to aid us in our quest?” Bernenernie asks.

    “Shun the Northern section of this dungeon, for the stairway up may bring your doom.”

    “Sheesh, it’s kinda like getting answers from a magic eight ball,” Lilith says. She steps down and asks, “Are there any allies we can seek?”

    “Find the forbidden artifact to affect your aid.”

    “What does that even mea… Oh, never mind,” Lilith shakes her head and joins her friends.

    Gabba wants friends, too. He steps down, arranges his wig, and asks, “How many artifacts are there?”

    “Go to the Ancient Being,” responds the deep voice, “but he may never tell you the number.”

    Alastair hops down barefoot next and asks, “What is the path to the Ancient Being?”

    “Find the furthest temple and ask there.”

    After much head scratching and failed attempts to make much sense of this information, the adventurers climb back out of the shallow depression to find their footwear gone. Bert spots their shoes floating in the corner; the Unseen Servant must have a foot fetish.  

    Once shod, the party makes its way into yet another chamber, this one of polished dark brown stone lit by an eerie phosphorescence. There is the smell of something rotting, and a soft thumping can barely be heard. In the room is an obsidian altar, blasted and broken.  Something seems to have gone terribly wrong here. Above the high arches of both exits is written “Exalted Chamber of Deep Earth Augury.”  

    As Gowron and Alastair step up to inspect the altar, they are snapped up in the folds of a Trapper that has disguised itself to look like the stone floor.  The Trapper squeezes the two hapless adventurers tighter and tighter, crushing them and disintegrating their armor.  

    With only moments to spare, the others draw weapons and attack.  Down crashes Bert’s mighty Whore Whammer, and Tenebrus slashes with his great sword.  Gabba, too, swings with all his might, but unfortunately, his giant flame sword is broken in the fray.  When the monster is duly slain and the two finally emerge, it is with much less armor and confidence.  

    The adventurers now find an entrance into what seems to be a great hallway, but when Tenebrus steps into it, he encounters a Brown Mold which immediately chills him to his core.  Before jumping back, Tenny spies a light-colored stone on the wall just around the corner.  Giving the mold a cold shoulder, Gowron reaches around the corner and pushes on the stone.  It is indeed some sort of lever, for a freezing air rushes through the hall, putting the Mold to sleep. 

    Down the hall the friends rush.  Coming to a heavy door, Gowron throws it open with his Chime of Opening.  

    In this room are various couches, pillows and candelabras, with several small rooms behind doors. A cleric dormitory, it seems to be.  And indeed, in each small room they find a cleric, dead in his own bed, throat slit and a drow dart in their chest.  

    Ransacking the rooms, the party finds little but personal items, until a footlocker with a false bottom yields a bag of brown diamonds.

    Now that they know how to operate the boobytrapped hallway, the adventurers push the stone button that freezes the mold and rush down the hall and through the T intersection.
    They come into a dark, silent room that seems to be a storage vault for some strange, potent stuffs. Broken flasks, herbs, and chemicals are scattered amongst shattered shelves and other broken furniture. 

    On into the next room, this one colder still, and smelling of incense, with disgusting scenes painted on the walls.  Inlaid in gold on the floor is a large stylized triangle, and on the ceiling a huge eye is painted. This seems to be some sort of place of rest for clerics.  Again, eerie whispering comes to the adventurer’s ears, a whispering that stops as soon as they try to locate its source. 

    Done with these disembodied whispers and feeling like they have had quite enough adventure for one day, the party agrees to start teleporting back to Keep Whenwhere, hoping to find rest and healing.

    <<< 2,059 XP >>>

  • May 24, 2026  –  The Table of Edged Wood

    Enjoy an incredible dramatic reading of this month’s edition of The Chronicle by none other than our scribe himself!

    Word of the Day: 

    Tarn.  A small alpine lake crate carved by glacier.  

    Herb Rule XLIX.Q.43.2.vxlii.e(1.14):

    *We are now seeking to roll low rather than high.  

    *This is more like percentage/odds.  It also is one fewer step.  

    *add bonuses positively

    *must roll less than or equal to number

    *See Classification of Armor Reversal Re-Education Scale for graphic representation.

    Overheard: 

    “Do you need my nuts to hold down the paper?”

    “Throw your nuts over here…”

    Party: 

    Alistair, Gabba, Lilith, TwoHit, Raistlin, Owlby, Caerwyn, Garrett, Adirolean, & Tenebrus.

    (TwoHit John, Kevin’s new character, is a Ranger Bard from Appalachia)

    Starday, 1st Day of the month Wealsun, Year 586

    “Shhh, now, Little One, Mommy will be back before you can say Ixitxachitl…  This is the last day we have to do this, I promise.  Mommy just has to go work one more day for the grumpy little masters and then they will come take off that mean ol’ chain from around your neck and finally, finally let us go free.  Won’t that be nice?”

    “Grrgl plop,” replies the infant umberhulk, its dark eyes reflecting confusion as it once again tries to move toward the warmth of its mother but is yanked back by the cold, pitiless chain.

    The adult umberhulk stands and takes one last, lingering look upon the helpless little umberhulk, running a talon lovingly over the toddler’s chitinous exoskeleton.

    “Who do I love, Little One?”

    “Grrgl plop,” replies the infant umberhulk.

    The Mother turns away quickly, hiding a single bloodred tear that rolls down her mandible and splashes on the cold stone floor, and braces herself to face her final day of servitude, the last day she has to guard that mouthy, mean-spirited elf.  The last day!  Finally, she will be free of the constant terror, the horrible thoughts of what would become of her beloved offspring if, for some reason, mama couldn’t get back to her baby.  It there alone, slowly losing strength as it calls out for its mama over and over again, even with its last breath, with no relief from the smothering dark silence… 

    She shakes her great, chitinous head and slips out of the chamber, her baby’s endearing chittering growing softer and softer behind her. Finally, she thinks, finally she can quit all the monstrous posturing and take her baby back to the umber community lair and raise her with all the doting love in her 7-chambered heart…

    Now accustomed to his party’s timing on big adventure days, Raistlin had forced himself to stay awake until the wee hours the night before their adventure. Raist has spent the majority of the restful hours in meditation and spell preparation, knowing that he’ll be able to sleep in until at least ten since they’ll be leaving at elevensies.  But after two too-short hours of blissful sleep, Raisty is awakened by Alastair, chipper as fuckall, ringing a little bell and singing some self-important song he must’ve learned at Cleric Camp:

    “Oh, the rain falls not on all the same

    and the morning light lights only the paths of some

    you’re so lucky to be granted the grace and fame

    of teaming with a Cleric™, your charismatic chum!”  

    “Come on, you godless sleepyheads!  I’VE gotten a full night’s sleep, and all you faithless woke hippies want to do is sleep the day away!  We’ve got MONSTERS to fight!  Glory to Gain!  Evil to Vanquish! And so much Experience to Raaaack upppppppp… oh, wait. 

    Never mind. 

    Right.  Um.  Let’s see.  Let’s try this again… 

    We’ve got, well, we’ve got, you know… Gold to Get! Copper to Collect! Silver to Snatch! Electrum to Select, um… I mean, it’s get rich at all costs, right?  

    Alistair’s chipper voice becomes background cadence as the battle-worthied party sets off, falling into comfortable step behind those they know would protect them with their lives, just as they themselves would protect those behind them. 

    And then, a door.  

    Ready for what may lie beyond, Adirolean has been waiting for just this moment.  All those self help books, globe-scried therapy sessions, late-night talks with the mirror, telling him that now is his time, it is his time to take the lead.  He takes a deep breath, and then he throws his shoulder to the oaken door.

    And heaves he mightily. 

    And strains.

    And heaves again (which may very well be the source of a later hernia). 

    Not about to be seen as weak and unmasculine, Adirolean takes a step back, remembers the mantra his life coach taught him, and throws his chi straight through the door.

    Unfortunately, the door keeps its own chi very much intact. 

    Kind of uncomfortable watching their friend obviously hurt himself against a solid door, the companions take the next opportunity to throw their own weight in with Addy’s, and with a mighty, “heave, HO!!!” they all crash their combined masses into the 3 inch oaken door.  

    The door shudders a little, and stands just as solid as before.  

    Lillith, sighing and rolling her eyes, points to the sign above the door which reads “Pull”.  Shooing them away impatiently with the fingers of one hand, she easily pulls opens the door with the other. 

    Into a hallway tumble our fearless adventurers. With the Readers of Seeing, Raistlen spies a secret door in the hall, and it takes Lillith no time to figure out the door mechanism, which requires depression.  

    On the other side of the door lurk two anhkegs, hungering, lusting to supplement their dirt diet with fresh meat.  Raistlin throws his companions a look, eyebrows arched, that communicates his intent, and lashes out with all the pent-up aggression of a sensitive only child who’s spent his life trying desperately to avoid existential disappointment and self-obliteration could muster, in the form of lightning bolts from his outstretched, boney fingers. 

    Charred, dropped to their knees, the insectile monsters spew their digestive juices in reflexive defense back at their attacker.  Raistlin, his robes shimmering, appears to their compound eyes to be in several places at once, and their hatespit hisses ineffectually on the floor.  In the same moment, however, Tenebrus and Alastair pounce from both sides, blades swinging in tandem, using the “scissor” maneuver they’d been practicing every night for months.*  That, plus the various bites, hacks, and rope dart slashes take the anhkegs the rest of the way down to their chitenous abdomens and into bloody stillness. 

    *At least, that’s what they’ve been calling this maneuver.  Not sure why they practice it in their bedroll late at night, however.  

    Door protocol takes the adventurers safely into another room, and in this one they hear another door slam just after they open the door. This room has two shut doors, a mud pool in the middle, and an East-West lever pushed to the West position. However, repeated thrusts of the lever back and forth make no discernible change, and rocks and ropes thrown into the puddle only prove that penetration depends on hole viscosity, a lesson Lillith has been trying to illustrate for years.

    All in all, they spend an extraordinary amount of time flipping the lever and messing with the mud.

    Exasperated, Tenebrus finally casts Identify, and he immediately disappears. 

    Hasty checks in the hall confirm that their companion is nowhere near, that he is truly good and gone. Slowly the companions look up at each other, expressions of concerned horror growing on their faces. Silently, in the folds of his mind, Raistlin lights a quiet fire under the hope that his warriorfriend still lives. 

    After moving quickly through a string of rooms with similar mud puddles and levers, the adventurers happily come upon their young friend in a confusingly similar room. 

    Tenebrus is happy to see everyone, but wastes no time in telling the party what he has learned.  After casting Identify, he found himself in a smaller 20×20 room with an opening to the South. And there was a North-South lever pulled into a Southern position.  Tenny heaved that lever to the north, and in the next moment found himself in yet another room.  Several times he traveled between similar rooms before being found by the company of his friends. 

    On they explore, happy to be reunited, into a long room filled with piles of dirt neatly lining the room.  Under the cold white light of Alistair’s glowskull (which he likes to call “Bright Eyes”), the party can begin to make out more detail, and that is when they see the unending variety of body parts jutting out at obscene angles from the piles, body parts from species known and unknown.  

    Tenebrus and Caerwyn use their ranger skills to find that there are also tracks of some insect of incredible size.  The party members swivel their eyes over the room. 

    “Perhaps these jutting limbs are meant for food for their insectile brood,” whispers a wide-eyed Caerwyn. 

    Alistair, unnerved, throws a nearby rock into the middle of the room.  

    A ripple of rocks emerges in the west and passes to the east, crushing everything in its sweep, huge debris flipping carelessly about.  

    The party backs out and quietly closes the door. 

    On to another room.  This one has been covered with frescoes, images of humans worshipping piles of dirt and earth. Piercing the ceiling are hanging vines, or roots perhaps, huge and coiling.  They do not look safe. Lilith, always on the lookout for new friends, casts Speak with Plants, and settles down in criss-cross applesauce to have a dialogue.

    “Hey, friends!”

    “Um, hey?”

    “How’s it hanging?”

    “Really.”

    “We are but friendly murder hobos passing through, and we have a few questions for you. For one, what lies beyond your ever-so-lovely drapery of root?

    “Beyond is the sacrifice. Beyond are the Four.”

    “Will you hurt us if we touch you?”

    “We will not harm you, but we will make you nutrient for others.”

    “Oh. well then. Who are the four?”

    “The Four are hungry.”

    “What is the sacrifice?”

    “The sacrifice is of her.”

    “Her who?”

    “The elf who takes more than gives.”

    “Mkay. What is the sacrifice to?”

    “The sacrifice is to the earth.”

    “How is it, um, executed?”

    “We only do plantings by the cycles of the moon.”

    “OK, I think I’ve heard enough,” says Raistlin, and digs out a bulb of garlic from his stores to throw onto the offering pile, along with his best dirty joke: “what’s the worst thing about ass-raping a 5-year old hobbit? Getting the blood off of your jester suit.  Oh, and having the last name Epstein.”

    The vines wriggle happily toward Raistlin and part, forming a path for him to walk through. The other companions follow suit, tossing offerings that are received by happy wriggles and parted pathways, and as they pass through, they notice a rope dangling alongside the vines. 

    “What’s the rope for?” asks Lillith. 

    “The rope is for our maintenance,” answer the vines, and as the companions group together on the other side of the vine curtain, they notice that the rope is now on their side. 

    On into the room they stalk, weapons readied, wondering what type of sacrifice they are coming upon. 

    It is a long room, and at the far end, a dark, hulking shape can be seen guarding a barred cage.  

    “It’s an umberhulk,” whispers Adirolean as he slips by the adventurers, invisible. “I’ve got this.”

    The adventurers wait with held breath, until suddenly a Net of Entrapment appears and constricts mercilessly around the umberhulk; the umberhulk crashes to the floor, unable to move anything but its head, which is swiveling around the room, trying frantically to catch anyone’s eyes.  Uncharacteristic whines–-almost like pleading–accompany the umberhulk’s furtive movements.

    Adirolean’s voice calls out shrilly to his friends, “Fear the gaze!  Avoid the gaze at all costs! The gaze will pervert your mind with confusion! Do not engage with the gaze, no matter what!“

    Raistlin, shaking his head in wonder at the sudden fierce mania in Adirolean’s voice, overhears another sound, barely audible, coming from the bound umberhulk nearby.

    “P p pllleaaase…” it seems to be saying in broken Common. “Please, d d don’t  k k k k kill  mmme. P p please.  M my  l l little onnnne.  P please, it’s the l l last  d day…”

    “Hey, folks,” pipes up Raisty, “hold on a second, do you hear…”

    But Caerwyn, issuing a gutteral growl, has already stepped forward and lashed out with her Rope Dart of Entanglement, slamming the creature’s chitinous head down hard upon the stone floor and holding it there, mercilessly.

    “Thus always to Monsters!” cries TwoHit, as he swings his axe, and the party gleefully fills the creature full of cold steel and magic missiles. 

    “Ah… never mind,” sighs Raistlin. When it is all over, he bends and closes the great eyes. Raist can just hear the umberhulk, with her last bit of breath, whisper something that sounds like “L little  onnne…”  

    Inside the bars of the cage lounges a mature female elf, leaning against the wall and polishing her fingernails on a bright pink shirt which reads “I ❤️ MELFS”.  

    “About time.  The fuck ARE you people? And is this supposed to be some kind of fucked up, pathetic-ass rescue?” she asks, looking down at her nails, which appear to be filthy.

    “Damn straight!” says Adirolean, appearing suddenly.  He is leaning roguishly against the bars and smiling his most charming smile.

    “You always charge in and kill shit without bothering to understand the situation?” she asks, not looking up.

    “Damn straight!” replies Addy, still smiling.

    “Well, somebody get this leering letch away from my cage and get me the fuck outta here.”

    As the adventurers extract the mouthy elf with the blistering tongue from the cage and make ready to move, they learn her story.  It turns out she had been hired to come steal some diamonds, but she had been captured and was about to be sacrificed. 

    Once a promise is extracted to take the party to these diamonds, the sharp-tongued elf is placed in the middle of the crew, and they head out. 

    To the north.  Opening a door, the party beholds a gruesome scene.  Strewn about the floor in various poses of excruciating pain are the bloodied corpses of clerics.  As the party cautiously inspects the room, Tenebrus follows a blood trail that curves around the end of a bookshelf.  He notices the shelf has been pulled away from the wall on that end and just as Tenebrus begins to tell the others about this secret passage, Adirolean slams the door to the hall shut, looking like he has seen a ghost. 

    “There’s a Neo Otyugh in the hall,” Addy whispers shakily, “I definitely just saw a Neo Otyugh, and I rather think it saw me…”

    Just then comes a forceful knocking upon the heavy oaken door. 

    “Who is it?” Gabba calls out, in his most hospitable voice, but is immediately shushed by the companions. 

    The knocking becomes fervent, and Gabba, realizing his mistake, shouts “Dave’s not here!” as he backs away from the door, which is now shaking dangerously on its hinges.  

    “In here!” shout-whispers Tenebrus, as he scrambles around the end of the bookcase and into the secret passage.  The others follow hastily.

    Beyond are more rooms, these with various urns and bowls upon tables, and a scroll upon which has been written plans of the dirt worshippers. A further room appears to be some sort of storage, with crates stuffed with straw and bottles.  Tenebrus pries up a loose flagstone, under which hides a stash of electrum coins. 

    The next room is much the same, a storage room full of baskets and clay jars.  Upon inspection, one clay jar contains some porridge grains.  Another jar holds too many porridge grains; another holds not enough.  But something feels off to Tenebrus.  There is a faint smell of sulphur, and a slight airflow–barely detectable without the finely honed senses of a ranger–which leads Tenny to a hatched door in the floor. Too excited to stop and think, Tenebrus yanks open the hatch.  A spear shoots out of the wall, triggered by the rather obvious trap, but it only grazes him.  Tenny doesn’t even pause to inspect his bloodied shoulder before plunging down the ladder to claim his plunder.  

    Potatoes.  

    Ten sacks of them.  All marked with a logo showing a stylized fireball and the initials, “NV”.  

    Disgusted, Tenebrus climbs out, shaking his head and muttering something about “show you skills of measurable worth.”  Raistlin, curious, peers down into the hidden cache through his Readers of Seeing and laughs out loud.  The sacks, magically disguised, are actually full of silver coins. 

    Further exploration brings the party into the rooms with mud pools and levers that Tenebrus had already explored when previously he had placed his hands on the lever and was sucked off somewhere. 

    On into a chamber dedicated to heavy labor: a grindstone and a work bench full of tools tells that story.  More mysterious, however is the small altar with a pile of dirt on it.  Alastair, curious, pokes at the pile of dirt with his bo staff. Underneath, there is a cup with a hole in its bottom, a piece of rotting wood and some rotting leaves, along with a greasy substance.  At first mention of greasy substance, Raistlin starts to move toward the door, but Garrett looks long at the objects, scratching his beard in thought. 

    On into a chamber flickering with yellow light from sconced torches and a wide stone fireplace.  The air is warm and still, and through the unsettling slow dance of shadow and light cast by torchlight, the party can see that they are in a chamber shaped like a giant L.  There are workbenches with hammers, bellows, metal bars, slag cast about haphazardly.  Just as Raist picks up the bellows and starts puffing air into Alastair’s ear, something dark, slimy, and horribly hungry drops down from the dark ceiling on top of most of the party.  A Lurker from Above!  Already it has begun its relentless constriction of its prey, and panic falls thick on many.  But not Raistlin.  Annoyed at having his fun interrupted, he rolls his eyes and casts Blink, disappearing from the inside of the hungry trap and reappearing right behind it, elven sword already hacking. And just in time, too, for Owlby, not at all OK with the situation, gnashes and tears, her beak bloodied, her talonclaws swiping deep gashes, somehow owl-dispassionate and bear-angry at the same time.

    Those outside the Lurkers’s constricting perimeter lose no time and step forward to challenge this monster who has their friends; all who have something sharp and pointy hack at the horrible creature, their slashes desperate, racing against the time the Lurker’s digestive juices will take to subdue those trapped. 

    Finally, the Lurker shudders violently, and dies. Those who have been hacking desperately now lean against the walls, breathing heavily. Those who have been below the Lurker wring the digestive juices from their belongings and take thankful breaths to be alive. 

      Yet another chamber, this one has a small altar against one wall, and a thin alcove against the far wall. The alcove draws some of the party, and they can see that on the far wall of the thin, walled-in space is some sort of writing, too small to read.  But not for Wizard Face!  Raistlin, holding his magically cast face in place, carefully reads the words written there, scratching them into the dirt at his feet. Garrett sees what Raistlin is doing, casts Comprehend Languages, and reads aloud, “All who are worthy may pass.”

    Something in the phrase pricks Tenebrus’ ear, and he stares hard at the alcove for a moment, before hurriedly slinging his pack open in the corner and digging for something. 

    Garrett, meanwhile, is also up to something. He strides into the previous room, takes the broken cup and plugs it with the piece of rotting wood, and, taking a deep breath, he scoops up some of the dirt from the altar.  Holding his breath, he quickly ambles up to the empty altar and dumps the soil into the space. 

    There is the deep sound of stone grating on stone. 

    The party looks up at the alcove and notices that there is now a 2′ diameter hole, and inside, a blue flame–flickering, dying, flickering. 

    In walks Tenebrus, dressed in the stone-studded regailia kept from his last visit to the Temple of the Earth Elemental, feeling cute, plucky, and worthy AF.  As he strides confidently into the alcove, the floor immediately drops away from his feet. 

    He slides down, and down. 

    Finally Tenny crunches to a landing, the opening he has fallen through now just a tiny rectange of light far above him.  He shakes his head, and looks about.  Huge heat signatures, at least four of them, are coming closer and closer.  Whatever they are, they have obviously overcome their initial hesitation and are now approaching faster, movements full of malice. 

    Lillith’s head pokes into the tiny rectangle of light far above Tenny’s doomed head, and shouts, “grab on!”  Tenebrus can just see the coils of rope dropping in the failed light.  Not enough time…not enough time! thinks Tenebrus but ties a quick climber’s loop around his butt and gives the rope a yank. The rope begins to pull him upward, but too slowly, too slowly! 

    Into the scant light lurch four Shambling Mounds, dripping patches of sickly green slime from their vegetative arms, arms which are reaching, reaching for Tenebrus. And, oh, their touch, it itches and burns at once, it tears at the flesh…

    Above, the team tasked with hauling Tenny’s trap-prone ass to safety feel a sudden yanking on the rope, pulling and swinging.  The companions exchange worried looks, put their shoulders into it, and pick up the pace, but the Tenebrus that is pulled up does not look nearly as cute and worthy as the one who went down. Now bloody, muddy, and pissed off, Tenebrus is determined.  After securing himself tightly on the end of Lillith’s rope, he strides confidently into the alcove, already reaching expectantly toward the flickering blue flame.  Again the floor falls away, again Tenebrus topples into the darkness below. By the time his friends again pull him up, Tenebrus is digusted with the whole situation.  Grumbling, he makes his way away from the alcove and can be seen inspecting the door out of the room. 

    It is not just Tenny’s resources that are depleted, however, and the party decides it’s time to call it a day.  As the teleportation to Keep Wynwhere begins, the companions slump against the floor and against one another, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of so much death and danger, ready for a good night’s sleep. 

  • April 2026 – A Game of Fartsmellum

    April 2026 – A Game of Fartsmellum

    A Game of Fartsmellum

    Listen to a podcase recap of our latest adventure.

    A month can be a very long time, or so Raistlin reflects in his journal. Holed up in some deep dungeon chamber, packed like sardines with his fellow adventurers and their various subconscious behaviors and disgusting habits, waiting for the next adventure, and waiting. Those interminable, barely sufferable minutes that crawl into hours, hours which claw themselves into days, days dragged unwillingly into weeks that never seem to end, somehow. Raist is not sure what part of it all is the worst. 

    Maybe it’s the snoring. 

    Raistlin sleeps as far away from the infamous dwarven snoring as possible, of course, but to his keen elvish ears, every time someone mumbles or snorts in their sleep, he is awake, awake for hours, worrying about which spells he should have had prepared and if perhaps Tenebrus is secretly mad at him. But inevitably, one dwarf or another then really gets going, a snore that is more song than snore, or scream.  And then the others will join in, like some dwarven pack chorus, rising in volume until the very stone beneath the bedrolls shakes. 

    And then there are the bears.  They always decide to bed down, or “den” as they call it, right beside his bedroll.  When Caerwyn and Owlby aren’t making passionate, noisy love, they are arguing, and when they aren’t doing that, they usually are snoring in sprawling poses of hibernation.  Raist can barely bear Caerwyn’s sighing bear snore, but Owlby’s snore is somewhere between a strangled hoot and a choked roar, to Raistlin’s terrified ear.  But it is the inexplicable cooing and chuckling late at night that really baffles him. If it weren’t for his enchanted earplugs and a daily nap, Raisty would have long ago gone insane.

    And the smells, oh, the smells!  Owlby in the corner over the bucket, finally working out that giant pellet full of protruding bone and fur and other things no longer recognizable, but very smellable by all.  And the damned dwarves playing their drinking game Fartsmellum, competing to see who can concoct the stinkiest fart, getting louder and smellier the more they drink. 

    All the ways you get to know a party of adventurers when you’re packed into some giant’s forgotten pantry with them for a month.

    Raistlin would never have known, for instance, that Gabba suffers from horrible athlete’s foot, a condition that evidently calls for rubbing the bottoms of his feet on his crusty blanket for hours at a time, while moaning.  He would never have known that Dirtbag liked to get up first thing every morning to go through his jazzercise routine, an endeavor that somehow necessitated turning on every single light source in the room.  And Raistlin would rather not have known that Gowron had a pair of elven panties he liked to stuff in his mouth as he wrestled himself to sleep in his bedroll every night.

    Raist could go on.  But he snaps his journal shut for now, pulling out a book he’s reading about spell performance anxiety, squinting at the words in the low, flickering light of his dancing light orb.  He can hardly focus on the words, however, as his mind keeps turning to tomorrow.  Finally.  The month-long wait is over; the adventure begins.  Tomorrow. He must get some rest!  And as he blinks sleepily at the words on the page, Raistlin finds that the familiar sounds and smells and warmth of his companions blend into some dream-borne connection, something supportive, a weave that supports him and lets him know that he is not alone as he faces who knows what unknown horrors on the morrow…

    28th day of Planting – Freeday

    Although they had all agreed that this time they would get off at first light, it isn’t until elevensies that the party finally finds all their parts and pieces and agrees on a marching order that doesn’t block the dwarves from seeing around them and then just when everyone is ready to go, Caerwyn has to run back for more pads, saying her period is heavier than normal.

    The adventurers finally fall into step, and they find their way back to the hall ending in four shimmering doors.  There, a decision awaits them.  Behind any of these doors, they may come face-to-face with Eklavdra herself, clutching a glowing skull and smiling evilly, ready to unleash her hatred upon them all.  Without the option of asking Bob Barker or the audience which door they should choose, they are forced to rely on their own careful decision-making skills.  A quick bout of Rock, Paper, Scissors (best 2 out of 3) chooses the second door.  

    The door swings open upon a hallway of tan stone, directly across from a 20′ x 30′ opening.  Rich soil covers the floor of the alcove in front of the portal, a soil that looks somehow unnatural, as though brought here from far away over a period of many years. The soil has been packed reverentially into a carefully shaped mound, about 8′ x 15′.   In front, there are carved posts, with a rope barrier between, and many smaller mounds of dirt, as though offerings had been laid before this threshold.  In the large hall beyond, the adventurers can easily see the giant flakes of shedded worm castings.

    “Obviously,” Gowron muses, “we are in the Earth Elemental chamber.”  

    Alistair responds, “And remember, we are trying to find the elemental crystal of each element!” 

    “Huh. No, it’s you who’s gotta worry about the weight of my sack…” said Raistlin, looking somewhere far off over his shoulder.  Sometimes, no one knows what Raistlin is talking about, or with whom.

    “Or at least keep ’em out of that hag Eklavdra’s dirty paws!” grunts Harvey.


    Just then, a xorn rips itself away from its stony surroundings and in a gutteral, marbled common, tears from his throat, “I… wannnt… your…. yummmmmy…  meeetttaaalllll!!”

    Not really wanting to engage this subterranean Rocky Balboa in combat, the adventurers alternate throwing the xorn bits of unwanted metal for him to pounce on and greedily gobble, while they engage him in conversation, such as it is.  Meanwhile, Raistlin vanishes into a corner, covered by his cloak, and begins the meditation needed to learn the Move Earth spell that can vanquish this rocky beast. 

    Meanwhile, Harvey sees the opportunity finally arise for him to practice his art, his study, his life’s passion.  All those years lying awake in bed, dreaming of this opportunity, and finally, the moment is upon him.  He draws his daggers and charges in for his very first assassination, the sound of the adoring praise of his companions already in his ears.  The xorn just watches Harvey do his best upon his rocky hide, mutters something that sounds like “Hinckley” in his garbled, rock-gargled throat, and then throws three rock-trunk arms about Harvey, pinning him to his side.  

    Then, two things happen at once: the beast’s horrible cave-white eyes fasten upon Harvey’s vorpal blade, and Owlby crashes into the xorn. Latching on with her muscled, tawny arms and crooked beak, Owlby manages to dislocate one of the creature’s great arms. Nonetheless, the xorn has drawn its great toothy maw around Harvey’s enchanted sword and is sucking it down like a sword swallower giving head, and now satisfied, sinks into the floor with a contented “Mmmmmmmmmm…” in a voice that sounds strangely like Herb’s.

    From down the hall from where the party had just come, six clay golems charge the distracted party. Whipping their heads around, the adventurers quickly assess that there is no outrunning these fleet-footed golems, and grimly turn to face them.  Raistlin, who has been looking for the opportunity to put his Joy of Painting correspondence courses to use, quickly slips on his apron, slides his palette from the bag of holding, squirts out some van dyke brown and just the tiniest bit of cadmium yellow, and mixes it all with his stash of Nolzur’s Marvelous Pigments. With these, he quickly paints a yawning chasm between his friends and the charging foes.  Three of the golems tumble right in, but the other three manage to hold themselves back, teetering on the edge. 

    “Dammit,” says Alistair, “XP.”

    The party hems and haws about all the many reckless ways they can go about luring the remaining three golems into their now obvious trap to get more awesomeness points, and are on the verge of trying to surf a Tenser’s Floating Disc over to lure them onto it with them, when Raistlin, more out of boredom than anything, Polymorphs himself into a super hot female clay golem, and giving in to every gender stereotype ever, he thrust out his now ample hip, hitches up his nightgown, and bats his eyelashes. 

    “Wontcha come over and see me sometime, big boys,” he says in his best husky bedroom voice, which unfortunately sounds more like a hungover Justin Bieber calling for a late-night DoorDash delivery rather than anything so provocative.  Raistlin, unabashed, gives it his best go.  “I got plenty lovin’ for all three of you, if you think you can handle all of meeee….”

    The golums suddenly find their own fingernails of high interest for careful study, and mill about, waiting, on the other side. 

    Hoping to turn these living beings into easy profit later, the adventurers turn their back on the golems and sally forth.

    In a room of dirt, they find a large stone slab upon which is written some obviously important message, but in strange runes.  Caerwyn, who had studied Morse code as a Cub Scout, thinks she can make them out, but the dwarves just scoff and rib each other and make frequent mention of something called Hammer Talk.  Despite their professed fluency, they don’t do much more than a lot of beard scratching and knuckle popping and muttering something about, “now if these were capital letters, this would make total sense, but since they’re lower case… I just don’t know…” 

    Beyond the dirt room, a door, and beside the door, a lever in the upward position. Deciding to leave the lever be, they perform a hasty door protocol and yank the door open.  Gowron is narrowly missed by a giant spear. The catapult is plainly visible just beyond the door. With a little experimentation, they can see that the lever changes whether the door is a push or pull open, thus activating or deactivating the catapult trap.

    The door leads into a large room, full of countless holes dug into the floor. Dirt has been flung carelessly about the mouths of these holes, as though someone has been digging for something. Halfway out of one of the holes is an iron chest.  Gowron’s staff of opening opens it readily enough, only to find empty innards.  Raistlin peers over Gowron’s shoulder, however, and with his Gem of Seeing, can clearly see the thousand gold pieces hidden, invisible, inside. 

    For some time now, the adventurers have been feeling a heavy rhythm deep within the stone beneath their feet.  Finally, a dwarf thinks to put their ear to the stone and truly listen.  

    “The…   Earth…   Speaks… ” Harvey sounds out slowly, translating from Hammer Talk. 

    “Oh, great, thanks, Chief Seattle,” Raist scoffs and keeps walking. 

    Just then, three ropers come clambering down the hallway, quickly snatching each of the party in turn with their horribly tentacled arms and dragging them toward their gaping maws. Having never descended into such depths as to find themselves, late at night, looking up kink porn terms like “gaping maw”, the adventurers blissfully never fully realize the horrifying danger they are truly in, and, after several near misses, countless Magic Missiles, and the hard work of hacking swords, the ropers are vanquished. 

    And then, beyond.  The intrepid adventurers find themselves in a huge chamber hewn from the stone, and under a great pile of broken wood, skeletons clutching a battle ax.  Bar fight, they wonder? On into a kitchen, pantries, crockeries.  Harvey, having heard tales of wondrous treasures hidden in the chimney, sticks his full head up into a charred chimney, only to be bitten by a poisonous snake.  

    As most of the party stands around wringing their hands and talking about what a good guy Harvey was, Alistair thinks quickly. He first slows the poison so Harvey actually won’t die, and then neutralizes it.   

    Having had quite enough adventure for one day, the adventurers decide its time to kip back to the tower for the evening, before realizing that no one brought the golden Beholder rod they were using for transportation.  Tenebrus is not about to sleep in another pantry, though, by god, and he figures out a way to scry to Kada who mirrors the tired, bloody party back to their camp in the tower. 

  • March 2026 – RIP Tiny!

    March 2026 – RIP Tiny!

    Dark Dungeon

    Listen to a Podcast Recap of our Adventure

    Floating twenty feet above the dark pool rises, dripping,nothing less than a Beholder.  There is no beauty in its hateful eye.  Dukonner backs away, mouth agape.  For once, there is no look in Duky’s eye other than that of horror.  

    Tiny promptly steps forward.  “Oh, Powerful Beholder,” we greet you.”  The beholder squints aggressively, and sensing that he’s losing him, Tiny offers to play the giant evil eyeball a song.  The beholder is intrigued.  Tiny launches into an old dwarven lullaby, tuned to the frequencies of magma, slow as the geologic process itself.  The eye stalks droop.  Realizing what is happening, the central eye suddenly flashes wide and blasts Tiny with a power that renders his magic useless. 

    Adirolean, ever paranoid, has been preparing his attack, and, rendering himself invisible, was able to level his Wand of Frost.  His blast damages the eye stalks, but also pisses off the aggro eyeball of evil.  Addy is hit by a Disentegrate blast from one of the awakening eyestalks and barely survives.  

    Then Dukonner, still backing away, trying to not bring the eye’s attention to his own actions, is hit by the dreaded Death Ray.  He is dead but a moment before, however, before his Ring of Regeneration brings him back to his short life.  

    Meanwhile, one of tne of the eyestalks, especially bloodshot, focuses in on Tiny.  Tiny does not back away, rather looking defiantly right back into the soulless pupil, raising one meaty middle finger, just as the eye fires Disintegrate, blasting our beloved friend into a million sparkling pink particles.  Only the after-image of his boldly bright tutu remains in the eyes of the adventurers.  That, and the long memories of countless nights spent together around a campfire, and the laughs, and the tears, and all the reckless adventures shared.  Many a heart disintegrates right there along with Tiny’s corporeal existence. 

    The Beholder’s other shots miss, and, in the slow, unreal unfolding cold time that is trama, the adventurers unleash all their grief and fury.  In a storm of arrows, magic missiles, and Caerwyn’s new rope dart of entanglement, the Beholder is mastered. The Beholder will trouble no one again, ever. He sinks into the pool, dead. The adventurers barely have the wherewithal to explore the evil pool, finding some treasure under an old skeleton and a bottomless depth that they dare not plumb.  

    Just as the adventurers begin to give in to their grief, leaning into one another with tears for Tiny, however, a young dwarf stammers their way into the room, asking for none other than Dukonner.  The dwarf hands him two scrolls: one in Common and one in Dwarvish.  As Duky sounds out the words (Thanks to Hooked on Dwarvish Phonics!), his mouth hangs agape and his beard begins to tremble. This missive has informed him that a barely-remembered tryst Dukonner enjoyed the last time we passed this way has led to another short life.  Dukonner is a Daddy!  And it turns out the baby’s momma is none other than a princess, a princess whose father the kind has just passed, leaving an empty throne with Duky written all over it…  

    Dukonner is stunned, as are all his companions.  After only a minute minute of deliberation, Dukonner stumps up to each of us, clasps us by the forearm (or calf, as the case may be), looks us in the eye, and turns fearless to face his fate. 

    The rest of us, shaken to our cores with the loss of our dwarven companions, stumble our way out of the Moathouse and take refuge in the Tower.

    Starday, Coldeven 22, 586 AG

    Having regained some measure of our spirit, the adventurers boldly approach the Temple of Elemental Evil.  A tall wall, misshapen with grotesque shapes of things not alive and yet not dead, twists its way away from us.  The gate hangs broken open, and so the way seems, too, until ten of the gargoyles we thought to be but decoration tear themselves from their rocky roosts to tear screaming at us, black claws slashing.  

    Yet another epic battle ensues.

    After dispatching the gargoyles, the adventurers walk around the perimeter of the Temple, searching for hidden entrances.  Nothing found, they find themselves back at the enormous main doors, deeply etched with evil-looking runes.  Everyone who attempts their reading is left with either a deeply troubled sense of evil or the desperate feeling of Dexterity slipping away.  Raistlin, still shaking his head over his dwarven friends, focuses his eyes on the present predicament for the first time, utters “Knock”, and sinks back into his reverie. 

    The mighty doors swing open silently.

    Herein, the adventurers encounter a vast scene of decrepitude and utter evil surpassing anything they had thought possible.  Unspeakable evil is depicted in scenes all around them, and as the adventurers run their fingers along the bas-relief showing the story of the Human Centipede marching to meet its enemy, Tiny Hands himself, they realize that they are far out of their depth. Evil obviously reigns here.  As they explore, the intrepid explorers find various pillars and artwork in groups of four–the four elements, they presume.  There are even four broken weapons lying upon the bloodied floor underneath the obviously well-used altar in the shape of a spread-eagled human. 

    Beyond a heavy curtain, the party draws up short at the sight of a Mindflayer, splayed across an earthen throne, its tentacles twitching lightly as he reposes in absent thought.  After a quick planning huddle, the party steps forward to engage with the Mindflayer.  It invites those with the highest intelligence to step into its presence.  After a hasty Millers Analogies Test of Intelligence Quotient, Caerwyn and Bertenernie step forward.  Immediately a silvery thread snakes from the cranium of the Mindflayer to those of our stalwart heroes. First, their minds are forcefully injected with the backstory of the overall plot, and they are reminded of the context that drew together such unlikely allies as our party and the Ilithids (Mindflayers).  They are reminded how Eklavdra is seeking to bring together the four elements in order to bring about the Fifth Element.  It is up to Bruce Willis and Milla Jovavish to stop Gary Oldman from enacting this cataclysm, for Eklavdrad’s ignorant actions will achieve nothing less than the end of all the Planes of Existence. Then these two passingly intelligent recipients of the Mindflayer’s message are shown two scenes.  In one, other Ilithids on the hunt for the gems of the elements so as to impede Eklavdra’s attempts.  In another, Eklavdra herself, cloaked in a deep, swirling blackness and slavering with anticipation, clutching a small purse that seems to already hold one of the elemental gems for which she yearns, as she searches  through a watery world.  The Mindflayer then lazily tosses us a golden wand that will transport us to safety, and then sinks back into its inward repose. 

    Downstairs, we solemnly trod. There, we are presented with four doorways.  We half-heartedly begin to map the doorways, and it seems obvious that they lead to the four Elemental nodes within the Temple.  The travelers, however, find themselves too weary and full of XP bitterly won to push forward this day, and they all group around the Mindflayer’s golden rod, touching it with exhausted hands to be whisked back to their Tower and safety.

    There, Raistlin stays awake long after his companions, studying the notes Gabba had taken.  He fears he understands all too well what he reads there:

  • February 2026 – The door with 10 eyes damnit!

    February 2026 – The door with 10 eyes damnit!

    Of course there are 10 eyes on this fucking door…

    The Moat House

    We continue to explore the lower levels of this structure, trying to figure out what weird fate has befallen the people of Hommlet, where the weather is always wonderful.

    Terrified of the crypt room, we avoid it, instead finding our way to a door with “ten” eyes and an empty socket in the center. We find the jewel to fit, opening it to a room with a pool in the center. Upon contact with the water, a creature arises and we await our fate…..

    While the party has yet to find this location, rumor of it’s existence has sparked significant interest.

    Items found in Lareth’s Room