T & T Delvers Tales

Wulfe and the Pilgrims

Introduction: I’m not the only person who writes fiction set in Trollworld. Here’s a character pieces by Roy Cram, who has created more than one adventure for Tunnels and Trolls, and is also a stalwart member of Trollhalla.

Wulfe and the Pilgrims

c. 2015 by Roy Cram

It was a hot sultry day on the old trade road that led to Khazan. Here the forest pressed in on the trail on both sides. Over the crest of a small hill two men came, dragging a young woman in a nun’s robe with them. They came to a halt at the edge of the woods, and together they forced her to the ground. The fat brigand held her arms and slobbered on her face trying to kiss her. The taller thief managed to hike her robe up over her hips and then dropped his trousers. He then bent to remove her undergarment. At that point someone behind him gave him a terrific kick in the rear end. He flew, tail over teakettle, over the woman, and landed, cursing, on top of his pudgy friend. The pair struggled to get free of each other and regain their feet. The skinny brigand had a hard time of it with his pants encumbering his ankles. As they reached a standing position again they drew their daggers and turned to face the kicker.

They found themselves confronted by a man six feet tall and weighing at least 200 pounds. He wore a chainmail hauberk, and carried a scramasax in one hand and a morningstar in the oher. He was obviously a warrior by the look of him.

“Wot thuh-!” began the skinny brigand.

“I am called Wulfe,” the stranger said quietly. “Soldier of fortune and former captain of the army of Baron Vogun. I used to kill a dozen men like you before breakfast.” He began to swing the morningstar.

“If you are wise this is where you run away.” Wulfe began to advance. “If you want to try your daggers against my weapons, come on. I always enjoy a little workout.”

The two brigands swore and ran off as fast as they could run, the skinny man cuffing his companion as they ran. As they fled they hurled insults at the warrior and each other.

Wulfe watched them go, and then helped the young woman to her feet. He helped her adjust her robe.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her. “Are these the only ones?”

“No, no, good sir,” she gasped in reply. “There are three more over the hill robbing my companions.”

“If they are as brave as these two stalwarts I will take their measure,” said Wulfe. Follow me, but not too closely. My weapon has a large swinging range.” He then hurried up the hill with the young nun close behind him.

As he crested the hill his trained soldier’s eye appraised the situation. A small group of five male and two female pilgrims were being shaken down by three brigands. One of the monks was lying on the ground, obviously hurt. Wulfe trotted down the hill, his weapons ready.

The leader of the thieves was the first to notice his approach. “To arms, me hearties,” he yelled to his comrades. “Here comes some shepherd to try and rescue these lambs. Take him down!” The two men, one armed with a cutlass and the other with a large club dutifully charged at the warrior.

Wulfe let the man with the club take a swing which he dodged, and then whacked the club wielder on his arm with the morningstar. Bones and flesh crunched, and the man screamed and dropped his weapon. Undeterred by his companion’s misfortune the swordsman tried a simple thrust at the warrior’s middle. Wulfe parried it easily with his sax, and punched him in the face with the fist that held the morningstar handle. The sword dropped from the bandit’s grip and he fell backwards, spitting blood and teeth. Wulfe took just a moment to make sure these two were out of the fight, then he turned and advanced on the leader. Snarling, the brigand grabbed the nearest pilgrim and held his knife to the man’s throat.

“Surrender, you dog,” he demanded, “Or I will kill this monk!”

“I will make you a counter offer,“ said Wulfe glaring back at the man. “If you hurt that man or any of his friends in any manner, I will make you beg for death before I am done with you. If you run away now I may let you live.”

The two men glared at each other for a few more seconds. Then the brigand chief swore! “I will see you again, dog!” he called, and turning on his heels he ran away at a good pace. Wulfe followed him a ways to be sure he kept running.

When he returned to the pilgrims they were giving first aid to the injured monk and also to the two injured brigands. While they ministered to the wounded, Wulfe confiscated the thieve’s daggers, and secured the cutlass and club they had wielded.

“Where are your weapons?” Wulfe asked the apparent leader of the group. “Have you no guards to defend you from this sort of vermin?”

“I am Deacon Bella,” replied the monk. “We are members of the Holy Order of Omvar, and are sworn not to do harm to any person.”

“Your God is too kind,” replied Wulfe, smiling. “Had I not chanced by when I did these petty thieves might have raped and murdered you all.”

“All kindred are the children of the Allmaker,” said the monk. “We can not hurt them in any way.”

“What shall we do with these two?” asked Wulfe, indicating the two wounded bandits. They cringed when he looked straight at them.

“We must treat their wounds and let them depart in peace,” said Bella. “We are only allowed to help others, never to harm them.”

Wulfe sighed. “Well then,” he said. “I will do them no further harm if they offer me none.” He addressed the cowering thieves. “Go back to your brave leader,” he growled. “Tell him Wulfe the Wayfarer promises to go with these folks. If you, or he, or any more of his people return to try and rob these good folk or harm them, I will make every effort to arrange for them to meet the monk’s kindly God. I spared you scum this time. Next time I will use all my skill to make you regret your actions in Hell.”

“Would you send us away unarmed,” whined the bandit with his arm in a sling.

“I will send you away with my boot print on your asses if you don’t leave now,” said Wulfe. The monks all shuddered and crossed themselves. But the two bandits hurried off down the road swearing softly under their breath. Deacon Bella shook his head.

“That was very cruel,” he said.

“I am sorry but I have little pity to spare for this kind of vermin. They certainly have none to spare for others whom they cheerfully rob, rape, and murder when given the chance. They will be hot for revenge now so I will go with you to your destination. You are indeed like a flock of lambs, and these isolated woods are full of hungry wolves. I will give you what protection I can until we part ways.”

“What God do you worship, warrior?” asked one of the monks. “Does He not enjoin you to be kind to other men?”

Wulfe replied, “My people worshiped the Horned Lord of the Woods, the Wolfather. It was not a ‘church’ religion. We were taught to be brave, strong, and to care for and defend out families and our clan. We respected those who respected us, but we were fierce foes to any that offered us harm. We lived in a hard land where to be weak was to be enslaved or to die.”

The young nun Wulfe had rescued, asked, “Why did you leave your country?”

“There came a time of little rain, and game was scarce. We were attacked by rival Wolf clans aided by the Bear people. We fled from the slaughter but my faher and brothers were slain. I alone escaped.”

“How sad, to lose your family,” said the young woman. The other monks and nuns agreed.

“I left the woodlands, and was adopted by a retired warrior who ran a village inn. He taught me the use of armor and weapons. The Uruk barkeep taught me how to fight. I prospered in that family. Then one night three customers we had to throw out for bad behavior returned and set the Inn on fire. I alone escaped. I had to leave the village. I fought in the Fief wars for Baron Vogun until he and his foes ran out of money and stopped their stupid war. Now I am on my way to Khazan. I was told a good fighter could make a living there.”

“Perhaps you could join our order and be freed from your life of violence,” said the young nun.

“I would most likely make a poor monk. I could not stand idly by and let thieves abuse innocent people”

Bella said,”I am glad that we were spared being robbed or otherwise harmed, but we still cannot allow ourselves to do harm to anyone.”

One of the other monks, the one who was beaten, said, “We could use a guard, Deacon. None of us suspected that there would be ruffians in these isolated woods that might try to harm us.”

Bella replied, “We can never do any actions that might do harm to our brothers and sisters. Even those who do not share our beliefs are sacred. We must rely on the grace of the Allmaker to defend up from harm.”

“Perhaps this Wulfe was sent by Omvar to defend us,” said the old nun. And the rest of the group gathered around the Deacon and a quiet but heated debate began.

“While you decide what to do, I will go recover my pack and gear,” said Wulfe, and he hurried down the road to do so. When he returned Deacon Bella met him.

“You will be welcome, Brother Wulfe, to come with us,” he said. “We cannot offer you much in payment, but we will share our food and water with you on the way. “

“I am not worried about the money. Save it to serve the poor. But I will be glad to share your provisions. I was running low there on this long journey. And I feel it would be a good thing if I went with you anyway. Your little flock is in dire need of a shepherd. Your nuns are women and my people held the women of our clan in high regard. I could not with a clear conscience leave them unguarded with these brigands nearby. My hard God would frown on me for such an act of cowardice.”

Bella replied, “We will eat our noon meal here now. Then we will go on.” The monks began their noon prayers. Wulfe sat a little apart from them, and watched. What an odd and interesting group of people they were. Then, Agnis, the oldest nun, brought him a plate of bread, cheese, nuts, and dried fruit. As he accepted it and thanked her, she looked into his eyes. What she saw caused a look of surprise and concern to pass over her wrinkled visage.

“Brother Wulfe,” she said quietly. “Your body has two souls!”

Wulfe was startled by her comment. “How can you tell,” he whispered.

“I was a seeress before I joined the order. I can see things hidden from ordinary people. But I will not tell this to the others. They would not understand. I can see that you are a good man who will not do harm to any that do not first attempt to harm you.”

“I call on my wolf brother only in times of dire need,” said Wulfe. “I pray that I won’t need him while we travel together.”

“Omvar forbid it!” said the old nun, and she returned to the monks to serve them their plates.

Once lunch was concluded Wulfe told the monks that he would go on a little ahead of them on the road. With his warrior training and forest skills he felt he could best avert any unpleasant surprises. It would give him the best chance to spor an ambush and do what was necessary.

The group then moved on. Wulfe found it slow going, used as he was to a soldier’s marching pace that covered a lot of distance in a short time. He frequently had to wait for the monks and nuns to catch up with him. The young nun, Angeline, brought him water to drink at frequent intervals and again thanked him for rescuing her. She seemed inclined to talk, but he found her something of a distraction. The presence of this attractive female made it hard for him to keep his attention on the path ahead, and as kindly as he could, he sent her back to the group. As the afternoon wore on, some of the monks came forward to talk to him and to try and explain their beliefs to him. They were truly good people intent on doing good to all, but Wulfe could not see how they could survive in a dog-eat-dog world. He argued good naturedly with them, and when he began to tell them about his own animistic and pagan ideas, it was usually enough to send them back to the rest of their company.

They made good time with only a few short rest breaks. Finally as the sun began to settle in the west, Bella brought his flock to a halt to take an evening meal and camp for the night. Wulfe did not like this location much; the woods were too close to the road on both sides, but the monks did not seem worried, and so it was done. As the group made preparations to bed down for the night, Wulfe began a last survey of the surroundings.

At a point up the road where the trees were quite close to the road. Wulfe detected movement in the nearby bushes. Before he could raise an alarm, a large sling stone sruck him in the forehead knocking him off his feet and stunning him. Before he could clear his head the bandits were upon him dashing out of the bushes. They assualted the groggy warrior with clubs, fists, and boots, driving him to the ground. The best Wulfe could do was curl into a ball and try to protect his head as he was viciously beaten, slugged, and stomped by the bandit mob.

“Don’ kill ‘im yet,” ordered the bandit leader. “tie the bastard up.” He tossed some vines to one of his cronies. “I will make HIM beg for death when we finish shearing his flock! Come on, men!” And the rest of the gang set off to attack the monks and nuns.

In the dark center of Wulfe’s being his other soul woke up. It’s body was being attacked. And the pack was in danger! Fury boiled up in its heart This must not be permitted. And it took control of the meat.

Filk, the thief who was tying Wulfe up, had finished binding his ankles together. But as he clambered over the larger man he noticed that the flesh inside the hauberk was moving and shifting in some very odd and unnatural ways. And the man was suddenly getting very hairy. Filk tried to turn him over to get at his hands, when Wulfe abruptly turned himself over. Filk stared into the eyes of the huge wolf’s head that stared at him from where a man’s bloodied head had been moments before. Before the thief could scream the big jaws snapped up and bit his face off. Fur covered and wickedly clawed hands tossed the brigand’s body aside and sliced through the vines binding its ankles. The wolfman rose to its feet, and ran back towards the camp with murder in its heart.

One of the thieves had grabbed old Agnis and dragged her apart from the rest. He was preparing to strip the nun when she saw a chainmail clad figure dash by. It’s clawed hand lashed out as it passed them and decapitated the brigand. The headless body stepped back a couple of paces, its neck spurting blood like a fountain, and then it fell. Agnis mercifully fainted.

Two of the thieves were busy beating up one of the monks who had tried to resist them. They did not see the wolfman but they felt the terrible claws that ripped big chunks of bone and flesh from their backs. They fell dying, one on each side of their intended victim, and left him with the vision of a warrior with the head of a wolf that would haunt his dreams for years to come.

But now the remaining brigands were aware that something had gone very wrong with this caper, and that something awful was loose in their midst. The leader who held Deacon Bella in his grasp yelled at the other bandits to look out. The monks still standing all wisely hit the ground, and then the wolfman was among the thieves, like a buzzsaw. The razor like claws flashed and slashed and the fearsome jaws snapped and bit. Chunks and pieces of bandit flesh and limbs flew about in a spray of blood. In a few savage seconds the carnage was complete. Only the wolfman remained standing.

The monster, bespattered with blood, not his own, advanced on the Deacon and the Bandit boss.

Bella then simply fainted and slipped from the thief captain’s grasp.

“Get away, get awa-” cried the thief waving his dagger in front of him. The wolfman simply knocked it aside, and slashed his claws across the brigand’s abdomen. The latter looked down and stared in horror as his intestines fell out on the ground. Then the monster shoved him aside and rushed on into the dark. It had caught the scent of Angeline and her attackers.

A short distance away the skinny thief and his fat friend were struggling for the second time that day to disrobe the young nun. So far she had thwarted their efforts by curling herself into a ball. Angry now, the skinny man raised a fist to knock some sense into the bitch. As he raised his arm there was a swish and a whack, and he found himself staring at the bleeding stump where his forearm used to be. Then, powerful hands seized him and hurled him with bone shattering force into he huge trunk of a nearby Oak tree.

Angeline shut her eyes and prayed. She suddenly felt the fat man release her. Something carried him squealing into the nearby brush. The man’s squeals turned to screams; he was not dying a quick death as his cronies had.

“No, Wulfe, no!” she cried.

The screams stopped abruptly. Angeline opened her eyes and saw the wolfman, covered with blood and gore, not his own, standing over her. But now, Wulfe’s eyes looked out of its gory face.

“Omvar save us all,” cried the nun. Then the wolfman threw back its head and howled, a dreadful sound. And turning, it ran away swiftly into the woods until it was out of sight.

With the monster gone, the monks and nuns grabbed their gear and literally ran the rest of the night until they finally arrived at their monastery in the wee hours of the morning. They would argue for a long time as to whether Wulfe the warrior that had defended them was from heaven or from hell.

That next morning Wulfe awoke at the edge of a little pond. He was sore, ill, and weary, and he stank to raise hell. A swarm of flies buzzed about him until he managed to clean himself and his armor and clothes from the clotted gore he was covered with. It took him an hour and he twice threw up. He did not want to know what it was he had held in his stomach. At last he made his way back to the campsite. The unburied bodies of the bandits were still there. Flocks of carrion birds took to air protesting as he approached. The sight of the carnage sickened him. He wasted no time here, but quickly recovered his pack and his weapons, and then hurried up the road towards Khazan.

As he walked the lonely road towards the great city he pondered his fate. It seemed each time he found a group of people whom he had a chance to be part of and relate to, his dark secret other soul would eventually rise up and ruin his chance. How he longed to find a family again, a pack to run and hunt with. But where there was still life there was still hope. Maybe in Khazan he could find the family and the peace of mind he so desperately wanted.

And in the monastery of the Brothers and Sisters of Omvar, Angeline prayed for the souls of the warrior who had twice saved her life, and her friends.

Kennarith Ko, a human wizard and other T & T characters

Today is Dec. 16, 2014. I will update this date every time I add something to this blog/site. This is my 3rd addition/character. Today’s character addition is a human wizard named May-Ren.

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This is simply a Tunnels & Trolls character of mine whose old character sheet is cluttering up my apartment. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to keep the paper, so I’m putting the character here. You will note that the character name is kind of a play on my own first name which is Kenneth, and I often describe myself as a wizard, so now you know: this is one of my alter-egos or secret identities. (I may update this character from time to time if he ever has any more adventures or makes any progress.) Oddly enough, I forgot that I had this character, but didn’t forget the name. I used the same name as a Dragon Warmaster among Lerotra’hh’s high-ranking minions. Perhaps this character is what he pretends to be when walking the streets of Khazan.

NAME: Kennarith Ko GENDER: Male KINDRED: Human TYPE: Wizard LEVEL: 3

PERSONAL ADDS: 47 MAGIC KNOWN: 1st & 2nd level spells ADV. PTS: 25

ATTRIBUTES

STR: 23 INT: 23

CON: 23 LCK: 28

DEX: 27 WIZ: 32

SPD: 17 CHR: 28

AGE: unknown HT: 5’11” WT: 200 pounds HAIR: Gray BEARD: sometimes

LANGUAGES KNOWN: Common, Low Elven

WEALTH: 71 gold pieces

POSSESSIONS

WEAPONS: Sax (big knife) 2D6+5

Common sling and a bag of pebbles 3D6

FOCUS DEVICE: Staff Ordinaire (quarterstaff) 2D6

CLOTHING

Wizard’s robe of black cloth, tunic, trousers, calf-high boots, hat, cape, pack, pouch.

HISTORY: Kennarith has gone on several adventures and always survived. He has a liking for elves and elvish things. His personal quest is for immortality, or at least more longevity than humans normally have, but he is getting old, and has never achieved high level status as a wizard.

And speaking of old Tunnels and Trolls characters, here is another one I found. This one belonged to Paul O’Connor and probably dates back to 1979. This is a 5th edition character, and so, not quite compatible with the modern game, but it would not be hard to add a WIZ and SPD attribute to the sheet and bring him up to date.

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NAME: Lanact’oor GENDER: Male KINDRED: Elf TYPE: Wizard LEVEL: 3

PERSONAL ADDS: 26 MAGIC KNOWN: 1st, 2nd, 3rd levels EXPERIENCE PTS: 5634

ATTRIBUTES

STR: 19 INT: 33

CON: 18 LCK: 28

DEX: 15 CHR: 18

AGE: unknown HT: 5’5″ WT: 120 pounds HAIR: Blonde BEARD: No

LANGUAGES KNOWN: Bear, Wolf, Spider, Bird, Wraith, Wight, Ogre, Orc, Half-Orc, High Elf, Japanese, Flame Demon, Troll, Gremling, Goblin, Dragon, Ghoul, Fairy, Giant, and Undead.

WEALTH: 40 gold pieces

POSSESSIONS:

WEAPONS: Yuurk (magical sword will take 100 hits in combat for the wielder)

Deluxe staff (named Pendragon)–it is green.

OTHER STUFF:

17 applications of hellfire juice

4 days worth of provisions

Lantern and oil.

119 feet of silk rope

(Suitable clothing is assumed but not specified.)

I still have a typed note from Paul with a little more info about his character. It says:

Dungeons he was spawned from are: 5 trips DED (Deathtrap Equalizer Dungeon), 2 BSP (Beyond the Silvered Pane), 3 Dargon’s, and 2 into Overkill (note: both trips into Overkill were made with groups of 12 levels of characters. Both times Lanact’oor was the only survivor.) Also, next to Instep du Brain-Brain, this is the highest level magic user that Sherman Oaks or Van Nuoys has spawned. Our moderated dungeons tend to be tough. Spells: Whammy, Poor Baby, Yassa Massa. Send him in door #3 of Tombs of the Gods, or if that is chosen, and door that hasn’t been. That’s about it, see you on the other side of the Tombs.

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NAME: May-Ren GENDER: Male KINDRED: Human TYPE: Wizard LEVEL: 2

PERSONAL ADDS: 6 MAGIC KNOWN: 1st & 2nd level spells ADV. PTS: 135

ATTRIBUTES

STR: 10 INT: 12

CON: 13 + 4 LCK: 14 + 3

DEX: 16 + 3 WIZ: 22

SPD: 14 CHR: 11 + 3

AGE: unknown HT: 5’10” WT: unknown HAIR: unknown BEARD: unknown

LANGUAGES KNOWN: Common

WEALTH: 0 gold pieces

POSSESSIONS A skeleton key, Amulets that add + 3 to Dexterity, Luck, and Charisma

WEAPONS: Dirk 2D6

FOCUS DEVICE: None

CLOTHING

Nondescript gray wizard’s robe, sandals, and dungeon pack.

HISTORY: May-Ren has gone on one adventure, and survived. He was fortunate enough to come away with a number of amulets that enhanced some of his personal attributes. (This character may be used by anyone who wants to use him as a T & T delver. If he develops more personality, let me know, and I’ll update this record–Ken)

The New Caves: a Trollhalla Adventure

by Ken St. Andre and the members of Trollhalla. what’s going on? This entire post will be devoted to a continuing cave crawl adventure in Trollhalla, and I will post it as I go along. There probably won’t be any convenient chapter headings, but major breaks in the action will be indicated thusly: ***************************************** Members of Trollhalla are invited to send their avatars or other made-up character into a mysterious set of new caves that a trollworld quake has opened into the lower levels of Trollhalla. The format of this narrative may be extremely rough. If I ever turn it into a real narrative, I’ll clean it up. Now let the adventure begin. ************************************************************

NEW CAVES 1(You are all invited to this adventure. It all takes place on the walla. We may not even use attributes. We will just play by the What’s reasonable rule. If you become unreasonable in your actions, the Game Master will kill you. Use any character you like. The game is timeless. Nothing resolves until the previous action is resolved. You’ll pick it up as you go along.)It felt like a herd of mastodons stampeding through Trollhalla, but it was in a fact a trollworld quake. Later Trollgod put out a call for volunteers. He spoke to the Elite in the dining hall:”The quake has opened a new set of caves on one of the lower levels. I don’t know what they contain, but since they are now connected to Trollhalla, they need to be explored and claimed in my name. Anyone who wishes to undertake this mission for me can start by picking up a FUNNY-ONCE ring from Ea. I think she’s acting as Jeweler this week. Go together, go separately, just follow the blinking green arrows I’ve hung in the air outside the back entrance to this dining hall.”As usual, most of the Elite ignored the Trollgod and went on with whatever they had been doing when he wandered in. A couple of champions put their heads together and considered the job. A strange centaur popped into the room just in time to hear Khenn’s speech.

NEW CAVES 2The tunnel leading beyond the dining hall quickly split into multiple passages, one of which spiraled down steeply. Of course, that was the one that had the blinking green arrow hanging in the air pointing to it. A strong cold breeze came out of that passage–distinctly odd since most of Trollhalla was quite warm.Trollgod wondered if anyone would take the bait.

After hearing the words of the Trollgod and getting sick of inventorying the “special weapons” for the assault planned on the evening of the 4th. (Of course I intent to attend, I’m just sick of stocking the warwagon.) Sniff at the cool breeze, and if I detect no sent of my sudden and unavoidable death, proceed carefully, these new passages can be a bit unstable before a skilled minetroll shores them up properly. New Caves A Runt Troll about 6 feet tall and 220 pounds dressed in leather duster and floppy hat joined the Centaur. He looked a lot like Yorrdamma vrash, but said he was Yordy’s nice twin – a clone. He had a wizard’s staff and a pair of Sax knives on his belt. He said he was looking for a troll named Kaboom or something like that. New Caves Kkragthorrr the skeleton merrily joins to march to his death, or uhm redeath? Kkragthorrr is not sure which, his brain turned to dust years ago. New Caves Uncle Cranky, a fat, tall old Troll with a squirming backpack, several dirks, and a pegged cane that looks suspicously bejeweled and…springy, toddles down to the tunnel with the blinking green arrow, and down the tunnel he goes, shooing various cats and smaller Trollhallans OFF his cane as he goes. “NO rides, Dr. Yorrdy, I don’ care HOW bad the hum-a-ditty eats inta yer rheumatizz! An’ I don’ care ’bout yer Shazambago, neither! I need th’ stick ta git aroun’, Glarmph it all!” New Caves Kkragthorrr too, goes down the path with the green arrow. Kkragthorrr is cradling his crossbow which is loaded with troll grenades on thick sticks. Kkragthorrr loves the pretty explosions they make. IT WAS NEVER QUITE DARK INSIDE TROLLHALLA. DIM, YES, LIKE THE BRAINS AND WITS OF THE INHABITANTS, BUT NEVER ABSOLUTELY DARK. IT SEEMED AS IF A DIM BLUE LIGHT PERMEATED THE VERY AIR OF THE PLACE. THE ADVENTUROUS ONES STARTED DOWN THE RAMP TO THE LOWER LEVELS. A BIT OF COLD DIDN’T BOTHER THEM. THOSE WITH A KEEN SENSE OF SMELL PICKED UP THE AROMA OF CAVE BEARS, AND OF LIVING STONE. EA STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE RAMP AND HANDED EACH ADVENTURER A FUNNY-ONCE RING. FOR THOSE WHO HAD NEVER SEEN ONE, SHE EXPLAINED, “IF YOU DIE, THE RING WILL EXPLODE,AND YOU WILL BE TRANSPORTED BACK TO THE DINING HALL. OF COURSE, YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING YOU ARE CARRYING, SO TRY NOT TO DIE. TROLLGOD WILL PROBABLY REVIVE YOU IF HE FINDS YOUR NAKED DEAD BODY IN THE LUNCHROOM. IT’S THE LEAST HE CAN DO FOR CHAMPIONS LIKE YOU.” WHEN THEY REACHED THE BOTTOM OF THE RAMP THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN AN IRREGULAR CAVERN ABOUT 50 FEET WIDE. THREE SMALLER TUNNELS LED OUT OF THE MAIN CAVERN INTO THE UNKNOWN. THE MAIN CAVE ALSO EXTENDED BEYOND THE LIMITS OF VISION TO LEFT AND RIGHT. THE THREE VISIBLE TUNNELS WERE LABELED WITH THREE GLYPHS, AKK, BORKK, AND CRNCH.

NEW CAVESSeeing the blinking arrow from a crystal ball, anen gathered what little he owned (a pair of matching Dirks) & headed to the New Caves.T
	NEW CAVESAfter receiving the ring from EA, Anen heads toward the right tunnel (Crnch).

New Caves Naharaht the rock troll mage joins the party. Weapons: Trollhammer level 3 Backups: Wizardbow with Bottled Dragon Breath arrows in a full quiver, 2 Khennzdaggers on belt, deluxe magic staff on his back. Armour: Supershirt Equipment: Backpack, crowbar, grappling hook, First Aid Kit, Second Aid Kit, flint & steel, tinderbox, Lantern & oil, spare flask full of oil, lockpicks, a wire garotte, 100′ of silk rope, large sack. piton hammer & 20 pitons, pickaxe, flask full of water, provisions for 1 day.

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NEW CAVES

ANEN KRAM, A GOBLIN, WALKED PAST THE FIRST TWO TUNNELS AND ENTERED THE THIRD. HE CHOSE THE CRNCH TUNNEL BECAUSE IT SEEMED A BIT SMALLER THAN THE OTHER TWO, AND HE HIMSELF WAS AMONG THE SMALLEST DENIZENS OF TROLLHALLA.INSIDE THE TUNNEL IT WAS DARK AS NIGHT, A MOONLESS, BUT NOT A STARLESS NIGHT. KRAM MOVED SLOWLY, WITH ONE HAND LIGHTLY TOUCHING THE LEFT HAND WALL, BECAUSE HE COULD BARELY SEE EVEN 10 FEET AHEAD. THIS WAS NO DWARVEN PASSAGE, BUT A TRUE CAVE WITH AN UNEVEN FLOOR, AND COLD SLICK WALLS. THE ROCK UNDULATED IN FROZEN WAVES BOTH BENEATH HIM AND TO EITHER SIDE. THOUGH IT WAS THE SMALLEST TUNNEL, CRNCH WAS NEVER LESS THAN 5 FEET WIDE OR 8 FEET HIGH. HE WALKED FOR WHAT SEEMED A LONG TIME IN THE DARKNESS. HE HEARD THE OTHERS BEFORE HE SAW THEM. AT FIRST JUST A FAINT MUTTER, BUT AS HE WALKED HE BECAME AWARE OF VOICES IN THE DARKNESS AHEAD OF HIM. LOW, HARD VOICES THAT SOUNDED LIKE ROCKS GRATING TOGETHER. MORE THAN ONE. THE FURTHER HE WENT, THE BETTER THE VISIBILITY BECAME, AND HE STARTED TO NOTICE FAINT VEINS OF SOME BLUE MINERAL GLOWING AGAINST THE CAVE WALLS. HE BEGAN TO HEAR A DISTANT CLINK CLINK NOISE THAT WOULD DROWN OUT THE LOW VOICES WHEN HE HEARD IT.

New Caves Yorrdummy vroosh politely greets Naharat and asks if he has seen Kaboom. The Runt Troll is impressed with the amount of equipment carried by the Rock Troll wizard, and compliments him on his selection.

NEW CAVES Yordummy tips his leather cap to Uncle Cranky as he passes, and thinks to himself that it is a sad thing when cousins marry.

NEW CAVESVella (statted and equipped exactly as shown on Trollhalla) picks up a ring, tries to put it on, and frowns at it when it doesn’t fit. “Silly thing. Why too small?” She squeezes it onto the tip of one pinky.Seeing Anan Kram head down toward one of the tunnels, she runs after. “Hey, goblin! Where you going?”

New Caves Yorrdummy tips his hat to Vella as she goes by, and wonders what is keeping Kaboom. He asks Tzhett if he knows where Kaboom is.

NEW CAVESMearrrleann thanks EA and puts the ring on, wondering about the instructions again. Did you die, then it explodes, then you wake up in the other room, or did it explode, you die, then you wake up in the room. Well, either way it ends up with you back there. Maybe I should have stashed an extra set of robes in their. Then again, it’s not like you can leave anything unattended in the common areas around here.With a pointless bounce in his steps, Mearrrleann heads off to Borkk, hoping it’s not the lair of a giant frog, the tongue slime is just nasty from them. On the other hand, with a decent fire and a handful of spices, the legs are great.

New Caves Yorrdummy is getting restless waiting for Khaghbboommm to show up. He offers Tzhett some candy from the large bag of goodies he carries. It never seems to run out…The Runt Troll wonders too what is going on with the impetuous souls who have hurried on into the dark below.

New Caves Uncle Cranky thanks Ea with a “beautiful lady, may the TrollGod kiss you thrice!”, pops the ring on the end of his pinky, mounts his Pogo-Cane, and trailed by cats, hops down the trail marked “AKK”. Squeaking and cursing comes from inside his backpack.

New Caves Kkragthorrrr puts his ring on and trails after Uncle Cranky. He hopes Uncle Cranky will not mind, strength in numbers after all. Kkragthorrr also wonders why he should fear death seeing as he is already dead.

New CavesKhagh grunts greetings to all trolls who have rallied to the Trollgod’s call to arms. He seeks out Yorrdummy and Chet the Centaur and ask them if they want to accompany him in exploring the middle passage. If they agree, he suggests Chet (assuming he has one)readies his bow and that they follow him in…

Anen hears Vella calling & heads back the way he came. While heading back, he casts a Hidey Hole on himself.

NEW CAVES!Chester Centaur had seen strange humanoids before, but this group – it didn’t seem possible these could come from the same world. He supposed they were from different places, as was he (for he realized from the conversations that this place was a world called “Trollworld”) nor did they seem to be startled by his accursed ugliness.One, easily as ugly as he, offered him a sweet, which he readily accepted. “Ta whmm d’yosm grhhp?” he asked with his mouth full. (This was a sweetness he’d never tasted before!) A humanoid of strange hue suggested that Chet and Y’dummy (which he called the leperous looking sweet-giver) explore the passage marked “Borkk” – the centaur hoped there were no bats involved – and, ignoring Sligo, trotted to the front of the group, aiming his strung bow into the darkness…

NEW CAVESNaharaht thanked Ea for the magic ring, put it on and also entered tunnel Akk, looking for traps as he went.

NEW CAVES VELLA RUSHES AFTER ANEN KRAM, HER OGRISH BELLOW DROWNING OUT EVERYTHING OTHER NOISE IN THE CAVERNS. EVEN FAR DOWN THE TUNNEL, ANEN HEARS IT, AND DECIDES TO TURN BACK. ON THE WAY BACK, HE DECIDES TO CAST A HIDEY HOLE ON HIMSELF. HE BECOMES INVISIBLE. VELLA NOTICES THAT THE FUNNY-ONCE RING HAS SLID DOWN PAST THE FIRST KNUCKLE ON HER PINKY. IT FITS AFTER ALL. WHAT ELSE WOULD ONE EXPECT FRO A MAGIC RING? THE CRNCH TUNNEL IS BARELY LARGE ENOUGH FOR HER TO FIT INSIDE, ONCE INSIDE IT TAKES A MOMENT FOR HER EYES TO GET USED TO THE EVEN DIMMER ILLUMINATION, BUT SHE DOESN’T WAIT. NOT SEEING THE GOBLIN–HOW DID HE GET SO FAR AHEAD–SHE KICKS HERSELF INTO A TROT. COMING AROUND A BEND IN THE TUNNEL, ANEN SEES A HUGE BLACK SILHOUETTE BEARING DOWN ONHIM WITH SPEED. (IT IS SO DARK THAT FINE DETAILS SUCH AS THE FACT THAT IT IS VELLA ARE COMPLETELY OBSCURED.) (KRAM, YOU HAVE 2 SECONDS UNTIL COLLISION, WHAT DO YOU DO? VELLA, YOU HAVE NO IDEA YOU ARE ABOUT TO SMASH RIGHT OVER AN INVISIBLE GOBLIN) NEW CAVES “Goblin? Where are you, goblin? Where you go?” bellows Vella. NEW CAVES Mearrrleann STRIDES BOLDLY INTO THE BORKK PASSAGE. HE IMMEDIATELY NOTICES THAT THE PASSAGEWAY IS VERY IRREGULAR AND THAT HE WILL HAVE TO MOVE SLOWLY TO AVOID TRIPPING IN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR. MEARRLEANN HEARS A VOICE YELLING AT HIM TO WAIT UP. HE SLOWS HIS PACE AND IN A MINUTE IS JOINED BY CHET THE CENTAUR, KHAGH AND VROOSH, A COUPLE OF TROLLISH WIZARDS. CHET IS WAVING A BIG CROSSBOW AROUND. BY THE TIME THEY ARE 100 FEET FROM THE ENTRANCE THE TUNNEL HAS BECOME SO DARK THAT THEY ARE LITTLE MORE THAN BLACKER SHAPES IN THE DARKNESS TO EACH OTHER. (LEVEL 1 SAVING ROLLS ON DEX FOR ALL OF YOU). CHET ROLLS 19, MEARRLEANN ROLLS 5, YORDUMMY ROLLS 7, KHAGH ROLLS 8. MEARRLEANN CATCHES HIS FOOT ON A ROCKY PROTRUSION AND STUMBLES INTO CHET’S FLANK BUT DOES NOT FALL. TAKE A.P. FOR THE SAVING ROLLS.) UNCLE CRANKY REACHES THE ENTRANCE TO THE AKK TUNNEL AND STEPS OFF HIS POGOCANE. UNLIKE THE BIG CAVERN HE STANDS IN, OR THE SPACIOUS HALLS OF TROLLHALLA, HE IS FACED WITH A NARROW, TWISTY TUNNEL THAT STARTS OUT WITH A KIND OF GNARLY STAIRCASE TWISTING DOWN INTO A DEEPER GLOOM. TO TRY AND RIDE A POGOCANE INTO SUCH A PASSAGE IS JUST BEGGING FOR A FALL. AS HE THINKS, NAHARAHT AND KKRAGTHORRR CATCH UP TO HIM. THE SKELETON MUTTERS SOMETHING APOLOGETIC ABOUT TAGGING ALONG, BUT THE TROLLISH MAGE JUST STRIDES PAST HIM AND STARTS DOWN THE STAIRWAY. HE HAS TO SLOW HIS PACE AS THE ENTIRE TUNNEL IS BARELY LARGE ENOUGH FOR HIM TO FIT INSIDE IT.

**********************************************

New Caves
Yorrdummy vroosh politely greets Naharat and asks if he has seen Kaboom. The Runt Troll is impressed with the amount of equipment carried by the Rock Troll wizard, and compliments him on his selection.

NEW CAVES
Yordummy tips his leather cap to Uncle Cranky as he passes, and thinks to himself that it is a sad thing when cousins marry.

NEW CAVES

Vella (statted and equipped exactly as shown on Trollhalla) picks up a ring, tries to put it on, and frowns at it when it doesn’t fit. “Silly thing. Why too small?” She squeezes it onto the tip of one pinky.

Seeing Anan Kram head down toward one of the tunnels, she runs after. “Hey, goblin! Where you going?”

New Caves
Yorrdummy tips his hat to Vella as she goes by, and wonders what is keeping Kaboom. He asks Tzhett if he knows where Kaboom is.

NEW CAVES

Mearrrleann thanks EA and puts the ring on, wondering about the instructions again. Did you die, then it explodes, then you wake up in the other room, or did it explode, you die, then you wake up in the room. Well, either way it ends up with you back there. Maybe I should have stashed an extra set of robes in their. Then again, it’s not like you can leave anything unattended in the common areas around here.

With a pointless bounce in his steps, Mearrrleann heads off to Borkk, hoping it’s not the lair of a giant frog, the tongue slime is just nasty from them. On the other hand, with a decent fire and a handful of spices, the legs are great.

New Caves
Yorrdummy is getting restless waiting for Khaghbboommm to show up. He offers Tzhett some candy from the large bag of goodies he carries. It never seems to run out…The Runt Troll wonders too what is going on with the impetuous souls who have hurried on into the dark below.

New Caves
Uncle Cranky thanks Ea with a “beautiful lady, may the TrollGod kiss you thrice!”, pops the ring on the end of his pinky, mounts his Pogo-Cane, and trailed by cats, hops down the trail marked “AKK”. Squeaking and cursing comes from inside his backpack.

New Caves
Kkragthorrrr puts his ring on and trails after Uncle Cranky. He hopes Uncle Cranky will not mind, strength in numbers after all. Kkragthorrr also wonders why he should fear death seeing as he is already dead.

New Caves

Khagh grunts greetings to all trolls who have rallied to the Trollgod’s call to arms.
He seeks out Yorrdummy and Chet the Centaur and ask them if they want to accompany him in exploring the middle passage.
If they agree, he suggests Chet (assuming he has one)readies his bow and that they follow him in…

Anen hears Vella calling & heads back the way he came. While heading back, he casts a Hidey Hole on himself.

NEW CAVES!

Chester Centaur had seen strange humanoids before, but this group – it didn’t seem possible these could come from the same world. He supposed they were from different places, as was he (for he realized from the conversations that this place was a world called “Trollworld”) nor did they seem to be startled by his accursed ugliness.

One, easily as ugly as he, offered him a sweet, which he readily accepted. “Ta whmm d’yosm grhhp?” he asked with his mouth full. (This was a sweetness he’d never tasted before!)

A humanoid of strange hue suggested that Chet and Y’dummy (which he called the leperous looking sweet-giver) explore the passage marked “Borkk” – the centaur hoped there were no bats involved – and, ignoring Sligo, trotted to the front of the group, aiming his strung bow into the darkness…

NEW CAVES

Naharaht thanked Ea for the magic ring, put it on and also entered tunnel Akk, looking for traps as he went.

NEW CAVES

VELLA RUSHES AFTER ANEN KRAM, HER OGRISH BELLOW DROWNING OUT EVERYTHING OTHER NOISE IN THE CAVERNS. EVEN FAR DOWN THE TUNNEL, ANEN HEARS IT, AND DECIDES TO TURN BACK. ON THE WAY BACK, HE DECIDES TO CAST A HIDEY HOLE ON HIMSELF. HE BECOMES INVISIBLE.

VELLA NOTICES THAT THE FUNNY-ONCE RING HAS SLID DOWN PAST THE FIRST KNUCKLE ON HER PINKY. IT FITS AFTER ALL. WHAT ELSE WOULD ONE EXPECT FRO A MAGIC RING? THE CRNCH TUNNEL IS BARELY LARGE ENOUGH FOR HER TO FIT INSIDE, ONCE INSIDE IT TAKES A MOMENT FOR HER EYES TO GET USED TO THE EVEN DIMMER ILLUMINATION, BUT SHE DOESN’T WAIT. NOT SEEING THE GOBLIN–HOW DID HE GET SO FAR AHEAD–SHE KICKS HERSELF INTO A TROT.

COMING AROUND A BEND IN THE TUNNEL, ANEN SEES A HUGE BLACK SILHOUETTE BEARING DOWN ONHIM WITH SPEED. (IT IS SO DARK THAT FINE DETAILS SUCH AS THE FACT THAT IT IS VELLA ARE COMPLETELY OBSCURED.)

(KRAM, YOU HAVE 2 SECONDS UNTIL COLLISION, WHAT DO YOU DO? VELLA, YOU HAVE NO IDEA YOU ARE ABOUT TO SMASH RIGHT OVER AN INVISIBLE GOBLIN)

NEW CAVES

Mearrrleann STRIDES BOLDLY INTO THE BORKK PASSAGE. HE IMMEDIATELY NOTICES THAT THE PASSAGEWAY IS VERY IRREGULAR AND THAT HE WILL HAVE TO MOVE SLOWLY TO AVOID TRIPPING IN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR.

MEARRLEANN HEARS A VOICE YELLING AT HIM TO WAIT UP. HE SLOWS HIS PACE AND IN A MINUTE IS JOINED BY CHET THE CENTAUR, KHAGH AND VROOSH, A COUPLE OF TROLLISH WIZARDS. CHET IS WAVING A BIG CROSSBOW AROUND. BY THE TIME THEY ARE 100 FEET FROM THE ENTRANCE THE TUNNEL HAS BECOME SO DARK THAT THEY ARE LITTLE MORE THAN BLACKER SHAPES IN THE DARKNESS TO EACH OTHER.

(LEVEL 1 SAVING ROLLS ON DEX FOR ALL OF YOU). CHET ROLLS 19, MEARRLEANN ROLLS 5, YORDUMMY ROLLS 7, KHAGH ROLLS 8. MEARRLEANN CATCHES HIS FOOT ON A ROCKY PROTRUSION AND STUMBLES INTO CHET’S FLANK BUT DOES NOT FALL. TAKE A.P. FOR THE SAVING ROLLS.)

UNCLE CRANKY REACHES THE ENTRANCE TO THE AKK TUNNEL AND STEPS OFF HIS POGOCANE. UNLIKE THE BIG CAVERN HE STANDS IN, OR THE SPACIOUS HALLS OF TROLLHALLA, HE IS FACED WITH A NARROW, TWISTY TUNNEL THAT STARTS OUT WITH A KIND OF GNARLY STAIRCASE TWISTING DOWN INTO A DEEPER GLOOM. TO TRY AND RIDE A POGOCANE INTO SUCH A PASSAGE IS JUST BEGGING FOR A FALL. AS HE THINKS, NAHARAHT AND KKRAGTHORRR CATCH UP TO HIM. THE SKELETON MUTTERS SOMETHING APOLOGETIC ABOUT TAGGING ALONG, BUT THE TROLLISH MAGE JUST STRIDES PAST HIM AND STARTS DOWN THE STAIRWAY. HE HAS TO SLOW HIS PACE AS THE ENTIRE TUNNEL IS BARELY LARGE ENOUGH FOR HIM TO FIT INSIDE IT.

New Caves
Yorrdummy vroosh politely greets Naharat and asks if he has seen Kaboom. The Runt Troll is impressed with the amount of equipment carried by the Rock Troll wizard, and compliments him on his selection.

NEW CAVES
Yordummy tips his leather cap to Uncle Cranky as he passes, and thinks to himself that it is a sad thing when cousins marry.

NEW CAVES

Seeing Anan Kram head down toward one of the tunnels, she runs after. “Hey, goblin! Where you going?”

New Caves
Yorrdummy tips his hat to Vella as she goes by, and wonders what is keeping Kaboom. He asks Tzhett if he knows where Kaboom is.

NEW CAVES

New Caves
Yorrdummy is getting restless waiting for Khaghbboommm to show up. He offers Tzhett some candy from the large bag of goodies he carries. It never seems to run out…The Runt Troll wonders too what is going on with the impetuous souls who have hurried on into the dark below.

New Caves
Uncle Cranky thanks Ea with a “beautiful lady, may the TrollGod kiss you thrice!”, pops the ring on the end of his pinky, mounts his Pogo-Cane, and trailed by cats, hops down the trail marked “AKK”. Squeaking and cursing comes from inside his backpack.

New Caves
Kkragthorrrr puts his ring on and trails after Uncle Cranky. He hopes Uncle Cranky will not mind, strength in numbers after all. Kkragthorrr also wonders why he should fear death seeing as he is already dead.

New Caves

Anen hears Vella calling & heads back the way he came. While heading back, he casts a Hidey Hole on himself.

NEW CAVES!

One, easily as ugly as he, offered him a sweet, which he readily accepted. “Ta whmm d’yosm grhhp?” he asked with his mouth full. (This was a sweetness he’d never tasted before!)

NEW CAVES

Naharaht thanked Ea for the magic ring, put it on and also entered tunnel Akk, looking for traps as he went.

NEW CAVES

COMING AROUND A BEND IN THE TUNNEL, ANEN SEES A HUGE BLACK SILHOUETTE BEARING DOWN ONHIM WITH SPEED. (IT IS SO DARK THAT FINE DETAILS SUCH AS THE FACT THAT IT IS VELLA ARE COMPLETELY OBSCURED.)

(KRAM, YOU HAVE 2 SECONDS UNTIL COLLISION, WHAT DO YOU DO? VELLA, YOU HAVE NO IDEA YOU ARE ABOUT TO SMASH RIGHT OVER AN INVISIBLE GOBLIN)

NEW CAVES

Mearrrleann STRIDES BOLDLY INTO THE BORKK PASSAGE. HE IMMEDIATELY NOTICES THAT THE PASSAGEWAY IS VERY IRREGULAR AND THAT HE WILL HAVE TO MOVE SLOWLY TO AVOID TRIPPING IN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR.

NEW CAVES

COMING AROUND A BEND IN THE TUNNEL, ANEN SEES A HUGE BLACK SILHOUETTE BEARING DOWN ONHIM WITH SPEED. (IT IS SO DARK THAT FINE DETAILS SUCH AS THE FACT THAT IT IS VELLA ARE COMPLETELY OBSCURED.)

(KRAM, YOU HAVE 2 SECONDS UNTIL COLLISION, WHAT DO YOU DO? VELLA, YOU HAVE NO IDEA YOU ARE ABOUT TO SMASH RIGHT OVER AN INVISIBLE GOBLIN)

NEW CAVES

“Goblin? Where are you, goblin? Where you go?”

Fearing for his life, Anen Kram casts a Glue-You on Vella to slow her down.

NEW CAVES

KRAM’S CHOICE OF A GLUE YOU SPELL ON VELLA IS PERHAPS NOT THE BEST CHOICE HE COULD HAVE MADE. HE SNAPS IT OFF IN 1 SECOND. BEFORE HE CAN CAST ANOTHER SPELL, THE RUNNING OGRE SMASHES INTO HIM ANYWAY, SMASHING HIM OUT OF THE WAY AND BACK INTO A TUNNEL WALL FOR 110 POINTS OF STUN DAMAGE AND 10 POINTS OF REAL CON DAMAGE.

BARELY AWARE THAT SHE HAS BLASTED RIGHT THROUGH KRAM, SHE CRASHES PAST HIM, STILL BELLOWING FOR HIM TO STOP AND WAIT FOR HER. LUCKILY, SHE DOES NOT STEP ON HIM AS SHE GOES BY.

(since Anen has indicated that he has to be gone for a while, this seems to be a good point to state that he is indeed knocked unconscious for a while, and that Vella will continue on into the next situation on her own.)

NEW CAVES

Mearrrleann STRIDES BOLDLY INTO THE BORKK PASSAGE. HE IMMEDIATELY NOTICES THAT THE PASSAGEWAY IS VERY IRREGULAR AND THAT HE WILL HAVE TO MOVE SLOWLY TO AVOID TRIPPING IN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR.

***********************************

*********************************

Fearing for his life, Anen Kram casts a Glue-You on Vella to slow her down.

NEW CAVES

BARELY AWARE THAT SHE HAS BLASTED RIGHT THROUGH KRAM, SHE CRASHES PAST HIM, STILL BELLOWING FOR HIM TO STOP AND WAIT FOR HER. LUCKILY, SHE DOES NOT STEP ON HIM AS SHE GOES BY.

NEW CAVES

VELLA TROTS ON INTO THE DARKNESS, BARELY AWARE OF A BRUISE RISING ON HER LEFT KNEE WHERE SHE SMACKED INTO SOMETHING (ANEN KRAM) A MINUTE AGO. THE POUNDING OF HER OWN FEET CREATE ECHOES THAT DROWN OUT THE FAINT SOUNDS THAT WOULD BE COMING FROM AHEAD UNTIL SHE ROUNDS A CORNER AND SEES IN THE DIM BLUE LIGHT WHAT LOOKS LIKE SEVERAL ROCK APES EQUIPPED WITH PICKAXES CHIPPING AT THE WALLS. THEY ARE NOT TAKEN BY SURPRISE AND HAVE FORMED UP IN 3 RANKS, BUT VELLA DOESN’T REALLY HAVE TIME TO COUNT. (VELLA, WHAT DO YOU DO?)

NEW CAVES
Y’dummy casts a second level Willowisp spell that orbits the tip of his staff to provide illumination of the tunnel ahead. He offers a candy to Kaboom. He watches and observes carefully as his clone father Yorrdamma taught him.

NEW CAVES!
.
The smells in this cave were astounding, and made Chester Centaur a bit light-headed. Something smacked into his left flank, and he instinctively kicked.

NEW CAVES

(with Level 3 Trollhammer) Vella SMASH!

New Caves
Uncle Cranky locks the Pogo-Cane into “cane” position, puts it into a holder on his backpack (prompting a fresh round of squealing from within the backpack), and starts down the stairway, using the walls for support. Before each step, conscious of the risk of collapse, Uncle Cranky tests the walls with his hand.

NEW CAVES

Milokk, an unobtrusive hobb, watched the enthusiastic delvers heading off an a new adventure with both apprehension and jealousy. Surely this new exploration was no place for a fresh faced hobb?

Sense warred with desire in the little creature and before he knew it he was asking Ea for a ring. Here he paused for a while, contemplating. Adventures with Hobbs and rings can go very bad, he told himself, but then suddenly he decided. With a squealing “WAIT FOR MEEEEEEEE!” Milokk launched himself into the dark tunnel, dancing from rock to rock as he sped uncautiously to catch up to the group.

New Caves
Kkragthorrr descends the stairs as well after trading out his crossbow for the lantern shield and broadsword on his back. He cautiously listens for any sounds of danger. Then he realizes he hasn’t had ears in a long time.

NEW CAVES

After counting the last of the headache stars, Anen dusts himself off & catches up to Vella.

NEW CAVES
Y’dummy admired the pretty ring Ea gave him (He gave her some candy from his everful candy bag in return). He wondered if he would be allowed to keep it if he was not forced to use it. Noting that Tzhett seemed a bit skittish he made it a point to avoid walking in front of the Centaur with the crossbow, and also stayed well clear of the powerful hindquarters. Otherwise he kept his attention on the cave ahead which was faintly illuminated by his willowisp spell.

New Caves:

Khagh grunts at Yorrdummy by way of thanks for the light and pound his way over to the middle passage, waving those with him to follow. He holds a large spear in his hands, a souvenir from a wrestling match with a cyclops he is now on good terms with (the cyclops now has his second best pair of speedoes).

NEW CAVES

Mearrrleann says to Chet “Thanks for the assist there. I think it’s time for a little light so nobody falls into any holes.”
He then casts a Willowisp spell. Since it likely doesn’t provide enough light to explore with friends unless we all had catseyes, he starts rummaging around in his pack muttering something about a sun crystal, or bottle of glowmoss, and where the heck did that lantern get too, I’m sure I packed it, and the like.
While muttering he searches pack for better light source, hoping nobody “borrowed” it without telling him.

NEW CAVES
((Did we pick up Mearrrleann somewhere here? If so, Y’dummy offered him some candy. Y’dummy also cast Catseyes on himself so he could see better in this dimly lit place. Making sure Tzhett (Chet?) knew where he was, he hustled off to follow Kaboom. He hoped the size limits of the cave would not hinder his troll buddy from using that formidable weapon.))

NEW CAVES
Naharaht casts Catseyes on himself and cautions descends the stairway.

NEW CAVES
Mearrrleann

After Mearrrleann finishes rummaging in the pack for a light source, he puts on the ring (if he hadn’t already) and casts a catseye on himself. (Either because he couldn’t find a light source, or just in case it isn’t good enough or inevitably gets lost.)

He happily accepts the candy from Y’dummy, a treat he rarely obtains and so enjoys it immensely.

Looking at his new companions of Chet the Centaur, Khagh, and Vroosh,he has a small instance of feeling bad for anything dumb enough to attack them. He sticks with them as they head off down the passage.

NEW CAVES!!!
.
Chester continued ignoring Sligo, which was easy since Sligo was not there.

New Caves:

Khagh flicks on his Cat-Eyes and casts Little Feets too. He whispers a welcome to Mearrrleann and chews on the candy he hasn’t got. Then he waves to Chet’s imaginery friend, Sligo.

******************************************

*************************

NEW CAVES

VELLA CHARGES INTO THE FRAY WITH A WARCRY OF “VELLA SMASH!”

THE ROCK APES ARE HAPPY TO STOP MINING AND FIGHT THE CHARGING OGRE. SINCE THEY HAVE NO IDEA HOW STRONG THE OGRESS IS, ONLY 3 OF THEM LAY INTO HER WITH THEIR PICKAXES ON THE FIRST COMBAT ROUND. THE OTHER 6 HANG BACK TO SEE HOW THE FIGHT IS GOING TO GO.

(VELLA, EMAIL ME YOUR COMBAT TOTAL.)

NEW CAVES

CHESTER CENTAUR KICKS BACK AT WHATEVER CRASHED INTO HIM, BUT HIS FLYING HOOVES MISS MEARRLEANN BY A GOOD 2 INCHES. MEARLEANN FALLS BACK A FEW FEET AND RUMMAGES IN HIS PACK FOR A LANTERN OR A SUNSTONE, BUT DOESN’T FIND ANYTHING EXCEPT A HOLE IN THE BOTTOM OF HIS PACK. SOMETIME WHEN HE WASN’T PAYING ATTENTION, A CAVE MOTH ATE THE BOTTOM OF HIS PACK AND ALL THE STUFF HE WAS CARRYING FELL OUT, PROBABLY DURING HIS LAST DRUNKEN STUPOR IN THE DINING HALL, WHERE IT WAS CARRIED OFF BY THE SANITATION ALLIGATORS. SEEMS LIKE HE ONLY HAS THE WEAPONS ON HIS BELT/BACK AND THE CLOTHES HE IS WEARING.

AFTER CONSIDERABLE WALKING THE GROUP OF CHESTER, Y’DUMMY, KHAGH, AND MEARRLEANN COME TO A LARGE OPEN CAVE, MORE THAN 200 FEET IN DIAMETER. THEY STOP AT THE ENTRANCE BECAUSE THE GROUND UNDERFOOT GROWS SLICK AND MUDDY. WITH THEIR AUGMENTED VISION, THEY CAN SEE THAT THE WHOLE FLOOR OF THE CAVERN IS A SEA OF MUD, WITH MANY A PUDDLE SCATTERED AROUND IT. HOWEVER, THEY DON’T SPEND MUCH TIME LOOKING AT THE MUD BECAUSE THEY ALSO SEE 18 LARGE BEASTS ROLLING AND PLAYING IN THE MUD. THEY LOOK LIKE GRIFFINS, BUT THEIR WINGS ARE VESTIGIAL, THEIR BIRD-HEADS ARE OVERSIZED, AND THEIR LION-LIKE BODIES HAVE A SCORPION STING INSTEAD OF A TAIL. THEY SEEM TO BE ENJOYING THE MUDBATH THEY ARE TAKING. THERE IS ONE SENTINEL, BUT IT IS NOT LOOKING AT THE ENTRANCE TUNNEL WHERE CHESTER HAS JUST COME TO AN ABRUPT HALT.

NEW CAVES

MILOKK THE HOB DASHES DOWN THE STAIRS TO JOIN THE OTHER ADVENTURERS, BUT TAKES A WRONG TURN WHEN HE MISSED A GREEN ARROW AND WOUND UP ON THE EDGE OF THE ALLIGATOR PITS INSTEAD. HE QUICKLY RECOVERS, BUT BY THE TIME HE REACHES THE LARGE CAVERN WHERE THE NEW CAVES ARE, THERE ARE NO OTHER DELVERS IN SIGHT.

(MILOKK, WHAT DO YOU DO? WHICH TUNNEL DO YOU TAKE? AKK, BORKK, OR CRNCH?)

NEW CAVES

NAHARAHT MAKES HIS WAY DOWN THE STAIRS AND COMES OUT IN A CHAMBER ABOUT 30 FEET IN DIAMETER. IN THE CENTER OF THE CHAMBER IS A LARGE CAVE BEAR, ABOUT 12′ TALL, WEIGHING PERHAPS 2 TONS. IT IS DOZING WHEN NAHARAHT FIRST SEES IT, BUT SOMETHING ALERTS IT BEFORE NAHARAHT CAN TAKE ANY ACTION. IT CLEARLY SEES THE TROLLISH MAGE, GETS ON ITS HIND FEET AND EMITS A TERRIFYING ROAR.

NEW CAVES

ANEN LAY UNCONSCIOUS FOR ABOUT 5 MINUTES AFTER VELLA SMASHED INTO HIM AND STUNNED HIM. WHEN HE GETS UP, HE DOESN’T NOTICE THAT HIS HIDEY HOLE HAS WORN OFF. HE HURRIES AFTER VELLA, BUT EVEN MAKING THE BEST SPEED HE CAN, HE WILL NOT CATCH UP WITH HER IN TIME TO PARTICIPATE IN THE FIRST ROUND OF COMBAT WITH THE ROCK APES.

**************************

NEW CAVES
Mearrrleann

Upon noticing this new potential threat, Mearrrleann silently cursed the hellspawned moths and signaled to his companions about the muddy griffin, scorpion, lion, manticore, err, muddycore things.
If then don’t cast before him, he’ll throw a hidey-hole spell. It can assist with sneaking past, or at least give a temporary advantage if combat occurs.
Then he unconsciously licks his lips in contemplation as he wonders if those creatures taste like eagle, and if they’d go better with a green sauce or cheese dip as he’d apparently skipped breakfast today.

New Caves:

Boomer thanks Mearrrleannn for his observation and his nifty spell by high-fiving him quietly. He also offers him a needle and thread. Then he asks Chet if he can borrow his bow and a few arrows as he fancies twanging the fandango with these wee beasties.

NEW CAVES

Milokk teeters on the brink of the alligator pits, desperately putting his ring on and taking it off again before finally accepting it wasn’t going to turn him invisible.

Once he finally reaches the large cavern and finds it empty he sighs heavily, contemplating the 3 tunnels ahead of him. Crnch was the magic number and he knew magic was not his thing, so he decided against that one. Akk was something he heard other delvers say when things went wrong, so he definitely wanted to avoid that. Borkk sounded like it might be some sort of food, which was much more his thing. Fitting an arrow to his bow he plunged into Borkk tunnel…

NEW CAVES!
!
“Not NOW!” whispered Chester, or what passed for a whisper with him. He had immediately tracked the Sentinel and now let fly with an aimed arrow at the creature’s neck. He tossed the bow to the Boomer, and drew his Black Eagle Sword. “Now,” he stage whispered to the Boomer creature. Darned impulsive centaurs anyway!!

((Ignorant of what a Practice Bow’s dice are, rolled as if a Heavy Self-Bow. DX SR=6+3+30=39; Damage, if any = 3,3,2,6,1 + 402 Adds; as always, bowing to the Trollgod’s wit, sense of what entertains him, and the What’s Reasonable rule even though What is on second base.))

Vrash2014-07-03
06:00:10

NEW CAVES
Y’dummy cast a Know Your Foe spell on the fascinating creatures in the cavern, and hoped that it would not be necessary to fight and kill them. They looked like they were having such a good time. But, alas, the Centaur fellow discharged an arrow. Oh well! The Runt Troll drew his Sax and prepared to use his powerful staff if combat required.
“Why didn’t they let me go in first and offer them some candy?” he muttered quietly.

NEW CAVES

MILOKK HASN’T GONE FAR DOWN THE BORKK PASSAGE BEFORE HE STEPS INTO SOMETHING LARGE AND SQUISHY. HE SCUFFS THAT FOOT AGAINST THE STONE TO GET RID OF MOST OF WHATEVER HE HAS PICKED UP, BUT KNOWS HE WILL NEED TO WASH HIS FEET SOMETIME SOON. HE CONTINUES DOWN THE PASSAGE, BUT IT DOESN’T TAKE HIM LONG TO CATCH UP WITH THE PARTY AHEAD OF HIM.

NEW CAVES

THE GROUP ACTS WITHOUT ANY PLAN. Y’DUMMY CASTS A KNOW YOUR FOE SPELL AND A SPECTRAL VOICE TELLS HIM THE CREATURES ARE KNOWN AS GHRUNTS. THEY ARE A FORM OF GRIFFIN THAT HAS TAKEN TO A SUBTERRANEAN EXISTENCE, AND HAVE LOST THE USE OF THEIR WINGS.

THE CENTAUR LAUNCHES AN ARROW AT THE SENTRY. THE ARROW PIERCES THE GHRUNT’S EYE. WITH A BLOOD CURDLING SHRIEK, IT JUMPS UP INTO THE AIR AND THEN FALLS BACK DEAD.

THE 17 OTHER GHRUNTS LEAP UP FROM THEIR MUD BATHS, FLINGING WET SOIL IN ALL DIRECTIONS. THEY MILL ABOUT UNCERTAINLY. SOME INVESTIGATE THE CARCASE. OTHERS HEAD FOR THE EXITS. THERE ARE ONLY TWO EXITS WHICH MEANS THAT SOME HEAD STRAIGHT FOR THE PARTY. ONCE THEY START TO LOOK IN THAT DIRECTION, IT ONLY TAKES A SECOND FOR THEM TO SPOT THE CENTAUR, AND HE LOOKS LIKE FOOD. BEFORE CHET CAN EVEN STRING A SECOND ARROW 7 OF THE CREATURES START TO CONVERGE UPON HIM. THE GHRUNTS ARE GRUNTING, HISSING, SHRIEKING. WITH 17 OF THEM MAKING NOISE, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO HEAR ANYTHING ELSE.

AT THAT MOMENT MEARRLEANN SUDDENLY FEELS SOMETHING POKE HIM IN THE BUTT. (MILOKK HAS ARRIVED.)

NEW CAVES

(UNLESS THE GROUP MOVES INTO THE MUDDY CAVE, THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN FIGHT WILL BE CHET THE CENTAUR AS HE COMPLETELY BLOCKS THE ENTRANCE FROM THE TUNNEL. Y’DUMMY HAS JUST ENOUGH ROOM TO SEE INTO THE CAVE AND POSSIBLY GET A SPELL OFF. KHAGH, MEARRLEANN, AND MILOKK ARE COMPLETELY BLOCKED OUT OF THE ACTION UNTIL CHESTER DOES SOMETHING. CHESTER, YOU CAN GET PERHAPS ONE MORE ARROW OFF BEFORE THE CREATURES ARE UPON YOU.)

(117 A.P. TO CHET FOR THE GHRUNT HE JUST SLEW.)

New Caves:

“Come on boys!” roared Khagh, stepping out into the caves with Chester. “Let’s give ’em what for (or five)!” Khagh shoots an arrow then gets ready to fight with his great troll weapon.

[Must look up what that great troll weapon is.]

NEW CAVES

Trollhammer Level 3 swings for 300D. Vella has 669 adds. Rolling dice 10 at a time yields:

669+
32+39+44+28+35+32+36+48+34+36+
40+31+34+38+36+32+46+42+31+47+
32+34+33+28+41+25+38+36+34+29

= 1,740 hits. If the Rock Apes win, Vella’s Super Shirt stops 500 hits.

NEW CAVES
Staff in one hand and Khennzdagger in the other, Y’dummy yelled “gedowdada way, Tzhett.” If he could do so without hitting the Centaur, he fired off a Hold that Pose at the nearest Ghrunt in his field of vision. (Where is Kaboom?). “Watch out for the horse’s arse,” called Y’dummy. “He will kick you clear out of the tunnel if you goose him!”

NEW CAVES:
Yorrdummy will start casting LIttle Feets on his companions: First on himself, then on Tzhett, Then Kaboom, then Mearrrl, and finally on Milokk.

I’m here!” Khagh yelled invisibly. “That’s 2 Little Feets spells on me now – boy, now I understand what it is to be Samos Treek.” Khagh looks for a horse’s arse to attack…

NEW CAVES!

Chester had tossed his bow to the Boomer, and drew his Black Eagle Sword. ((He seems to know what sort of stats this weapons has, but I don’t.)) He rushes the flying creatures, chopping as if his next meal depended on it. “STAY BEHIND ME!” he shouts.

He intended to only step forward a step or two — but the LITTLE FEETS takes effect and he finds himself rushing into the middle of the muck!
NEW CAVES
Reaching round behind him with one hand to grasp his deluxe staff, Naharaht casts a level 4 Take That You Fiend at the giant cave bear. If it works, it will do 8×189 = 1512 points of damage to the bear.

*********************************************

It’s Not Easy Being a Wizard

January 15, 2014 – 6:36 am
Posted in Gaming Fiction, Ken St. Andre, Swords and Sorcery, Trollhalla, Trollworld, Tunnels and Trolls, Uncategorized, Wizards
Tagged gaming fiction, magical tests, Tunnels & Trolls, wizards at school
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Introduction by Ken St. Andre

The following tale of wizardly cunning was created by playing a solo dungeon authored by Scott Grant–a dungeon expressly designed for wizards, instead of those more commonly created for warriors. Using magic well within a solo dungeon is a difficult task for a game master/scenario writer to manage, and Scott, one of the many rather brilliant members of Trollhalla, has managed it very well.

I did all the writing here, but because Scott created all the situations and characters, and because the members of Trollhalla voted to determine the hero’s next action each time, I have given them authorship credits as well. An adventure created from a solo may or may not end happily but what I want here is fiction, not an exhaustive retelling of the game. I have decided to leave some of the game mechanics visible (usually in parenthesis) in order for those who are not familiar with Tunnels and Trolls to have some idea what is happening and why. If I submitted the story for professional publication, I would take all the game mechanics out of the narrative. It’s really just a short story. Such a narrative typically only shows a small part of the total adventure. Markus was supposed to retrieve at least 9 out of 10 tokens, but . . .

I have also left in some of the commentary I wrote while playing through the adventure the first time. This breaking of the fourth wall between narrative and readers is generally frowned upon by the literary establishment, but this tale is a kind of special case. I am hoping that it will not only give you a few minutes of reading pleasure, but also illustrate some of the gaming principles involved in roleplaying a game like Tunnels and Trolls.

And now, on with our tale . . .

Final Exam

by Scott Grant, Ken St. Andre, and members of Trollhalla

Markus of the Myre looked good in his new dungeon delving gear. He had a complete suit of leather armor with high-topped boots and fingerless gauntlets–protection for the hand, but maximum dexterity for casting spells and fighting. A wickedly curved jambiya was thrust through the belt at his waist–he counted on his armor to keep it from cutting him–and his trusty staff was in his left hand. He kept a serious expression on his face with some difficulty as his gnarled old instructor droned on and on.

“You have one final test to complete your education,” said old Oinkenwartz. “All those who train in Cormac’s School of Wizardry, also known as the Cedar Corral Wizards Guild, must learn to use their training in a very real way. We don’t just send you out into the world with a pat on the backside and hope for the best; we want you to be truly prepared.”

“I appreciate that, Sir,” said Markus, when what he really meant was “Can we get on with this?”

“Follow me.” Oinkenwartz pushed aside a curtain and revealed a stairway heading down to the Tower’s basement. They had gone that way many times before on training exercises. The old wizard muttered a word “Tnalov” and levitated about six inches. He then floated effortlessly down the stairs. Markus had to walk.

The young apprentice thought he knew everything that the basement had to offer, from the Library of Stone to the Practice Room to the Janitors Closet, but Oinkenwartz put his hand on a stretch of blank wall, muttered something. Then the wall shimmered and disappeared, revealing another stairway leading down into unknown depths.

“I survived this dungeon myself many years ago. Though it has seen many changes, it is still very challenging—and very deadly. You will need more than just your magic; you will need to be smart, clever and lucky. Less than half of our students ever make it out. Perhaps you will meet some of them down there.” Oinkenwartz snorted, making a wheezing noise that could have been a laugh, a spell, or perhaps his last breath.

The old teacher pulled a gem out of thin air—actually he reached up and pulled it from behind Markus’s ear. The apprentice wished the old coot wasn’t such a stage magician at heart. “Before you enter the dungeon, you may cast two spells. This gem will allow me to restore your kremm after each casting. Choose your spells wisely.”

Markus looked at his instructor quizzically. “That’s a very kind offer, Sir, but what good does it do me to cast a spell now, when I will undoubtedly need it later?”

“Good thinking, lad. Most of the spells would be useless to you now. But surely there are some that might come in handy later.”

“Hmmm, well, hocus focus might be useful, but I already have a staff ordinaire.”

“That was a wise investment on your part.”

“I’d like a Do-Over spell, then and a Ground Rule Double.”

“Excellent, Lad, excellent!” Oinkenwartz extended the jewel toward Markus. “Cast those now, if you please.” Markus concentrated, did some finger flexing, intoned mystic syllables. The jewel cast off some unlikely glows and remained glowing brightly in the teacher’s hand. “You take it my boy! When you want the Do-Over just rub the gem and say do-over. When you want the Ground rule double, rub it and say double.”

“Thank you, Sir. May I go now?” Markus took the gem.

“Oh, yes, go now!” The old wizard lunged forward and pushed Marcus through the portal. Caught unexpectedly, Markus staggered back a few steps and teetered on the edge of the stairway. The stone beneath his feet flattened out; the stairway turned into a spiral slide, and Markus found himself sliding down into the darkness. He barely managed to hold onto the gem, and he did drop the staff, but it didn’t matter. The staff slid down into the pit with him. Then he found himself flying through the air and falling. [L1SR on DEX—rolls 3, 3 plus 3,4 for a total of 13—makes it handily.]

Markus found himself in a dimly-lit room. One stone just above the chute that had dropped him here glowed weakly. He put the jewel in a small pouch that was tied to his belt, picked up his staff and got to his feet. There was a door in the north wall. The chute was in the south wall. There didn’t appear to be anything interesting, although there could have been something hidden on the walls—the light was really too faint to tell.

[Note: only 3 spells had any result on the gem. Hocus Focus was one of them, but it was a waste since Markus already had a great focus in his staff ordinaire. One person suggested the Ground Rule Double. Nobody suggested Do-Over. Spells like Detect Magic are inherently useless in this solo. Markus is a wizard. He detects magic automatically—he can’t help it. Sligo may think it’s a great joke to kick you out of the dungeon on the first paragraph, but I think it’s a waste of our time, so I gave Markus the only two spells that might help him. In my opinion, Vorpal Blade would have been a possibility if the player had a sword or knife. He does have a knife, but the adventure didn’t allow that to work either.]

Markus got up and looked around. It didn’t take long. Two steps in any direction brought him to the wall. Yes, the stone above the entry chute was glowing, a cool light, and not very bright, but as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he found he could see well enough. For a moment he thought about casting Will-o-Wisp to get a little more light, but why bother? This dungeon, like all the best dungeons he’d ever heard of, seemed to provide its own light. That made sense. If creatures were going to live down here, they’d have to be able to see to get around.

He thumped on the walls as he walked, just to see if there were any hollow-sounding spots, but that just scuffed up his knuckles. Solid stone has a way of doing that when you rap on it. When he reached the door he found some markings, all done in the Dwarvish runes that everyone was using for writing these days. He stopped to read it. “Dang! Wasted an Oh There It Is. Nothing here.” And “Trrrommm was here.” And a few other comments with about as much content. It did make him wonder if he had brought anything to write with. A quick check of his delver’s pack ™ showed him that he had two large pieces of white chalk—they would do. He made his own mark by the door, M. M. and the date 6/28/1320 A.K.

Then he opened the door and looked outside. He was at a T intersection. Dimly-lit corridors stretched off to the left, right, and straight ahead. He stepped out into the intersection and closed the door behind him. As he put his foot down, he skidded a little. Looking more carefully at the floor, he saw that he had stepped in something. Ew!

He drew an M on the door behind him and arrow indicating which way he went.

Markus turned left and set off on his explorations. He took a moment to mark his trail with a chalk arrow and an M. He walked for a while and came to another intersection. Again he turned left, and walked until the corridor ended in a door. He put his ear to the door, and heard muffled voices. They sounded human.

Having decided to go through every door he found, Markus pushed the door open. He found himself looking into a sort of arena. The room was a good fifty feet square and well-lighted with several open-sided oil lamps. There was a large ring painted on the floor in heavy black paint, and two armored warriors stood outside of it in opposite sides of the room. One had a sword and shield. The other carried mace and shield. Both wore full plate armor. Shield and armor showed a few dents, and both men were breathing heavily. It appeared that the fighters were very evenly matched.

Markus stood near the northern door. There were exits to the east and west. On the south wall was a golden podium with a small trophy upon it. The two men had been talking, but when they saw Markus enter, they lowered their visors and turned to face him.

“Good evening, Gentlemen,” said Markus. “Pardon me if I have interrupted anything important. My name is Markus of the Myre. May I ask who you are?”

The one with the sword said, “Hello, Markus, my name is Scott. Is it evening already?”

“Well, the sun had gone down when I entered this dungeon.”

The one with the mace said, “Greetings, Markus, my name is Grant. We’ll get back to our fight soon. Would you care to stay and watch, just to be sure that Scott doesn’t cheat?”

The question made Markus a bit uncomfortable. “Um, why are you two men fighting? Wouldn’t it be better to save it for the monsters in this place? I could use a bodyguard, or two.”

“Monsters?” Both men looked at Markus like he was crazy and burst out laughing.

“Grant is the only monster around here,” said Scott. “He wants to keep me from the prize I deserve.” He pointed almost reverently at the small gold trophy.

“What makes you think you deserve it?” asked Markus.

Scott puffed out his chest. “It should be mine because I am a gallant and brave fighter, and the trophy would make a nice addition to the long list of honors and awards I have received.”

“You, Scott, are a pompous braggart,” sneered Grant, “and you deserve to be taken down a notch. If I win the trophy, I’ll sell it for gold, and give half the money to the poor.”

“I don’t trust you, Grant. I think you lie, and you would do anything to take away the honors that I deserve.”

Grant shrugged and looked at Markus. “See how he is. Who can trust a man who knows no humility? Someone like him would think it’s honorable to cheat, because he thinks it’s his right to win.”

“Cheat! Me? I would never do such a thing!”

“Hah! You would take every advantage you could get, because you know that a dead foe will never complain about your underhanded tactics.”

“Are you calling me dishonorable and a liar?”

“I only speak the truth. It’s not my fault you can’t deal with it.”

The swordsman raised his blade and rushed into the ring toward his foe. “I’ll show you how I deal with those who challenge my honor.”

The mace wielder charged also. They came together with a clang of armor. Grant blocked the swordsman’s swing easily with his shield and then countered with a blow of his own. The fight was on again.

“Hmph!” snorted Markus to himself. “These guys act like jealous brothers. Well, they are going to fight. What am I going to do?” He paused to think for a moment.

It was a very long fight—it lasted a full hour. (30 combat rounds—I fought it out.) Markus took a seat near the door and watched—one would normally have to pay for this kind of entertainment back on the surface. The fighters were indeed fairly even, but it became obvious after a while that the swordsman Scott had more skill, or perhaps the sword was simply the superior weapon. He seemed to get past Grant’s shield more often, and when he scored, he left a bleeding wound behind. The mace dealt crushing blows that sometimes staggered the swordsman, but he wasn’t bleeding much.

(GM’s note: Scott won 18 rounds, Grant won 8, there were 4 ties.)

For the first half hour it appeared that Scott was oh so slowly winning, and then for about fifteen minutes the tide turned—Grant beat his foe back and back. Then it looked like the mace wielder simply ran out of energy. His blows lacked force. He staggered from side to side. His parries missed. Scott saw his chance, and with a final blow to the helm, smashed Grant to the floor, where he lay motionless—perhaps dead, perhaps too weak to go on.

“Ha! Victory!” gasped Scott. “I told you the trophy was rightfully mine.” He kicked his fallen opponent, and staggered off toward the trophy. He seemed to have completely forgotten that Markus was even in the room.

Scott sheathed his sword. “That was a glorious fight! I shall now claim my prize.” He went over and picked up the trophy.

Markus thought how easy it would be to cast a Take That You Fiend spell on Scott. Then he could take the gold trophy, and anything else these losers had.

“That wasn’t so glorious,” he muttered. “You had him beat for the last five minutes, but you had to finish beating him to death.”

“That’s what warriors do,” sneered Scott. “He tried to steal my trophy. He deserved to die.”

Markus could feel the spell forming in his mind. How easy it would be to take him down. Then he heard the groan. It was very faint, but Grant still lived. The young wizard turned away from the swordsman and went over and knelt beside the defeated. He pulled off the man’s helmet.

Scott took his trophy and staggered out of the room.

Markus opened his pack and took out his first aid kit. He had a couple of vials of healing potion inside it. He opened one and carefully dribbled the fluid down Grant’s throat. The part he spilled he rubbed into the nearest cut on Grant’s neck. The man’s breathing, which had been very weak, strengthened a bit.

Grant opened his eyes. He looked a bit surprised to see the stranger bending over him. “I lost, didn’t I?”

“You almost died,” Markus answered. “You were on your last gasp when I got a little healing potion into you.”

“Thank you, Markus. If you ever need a friend, I’m yours to command.”

“You’re not saved yet, friend. I am a wizard, but healing isn’t one of my talents. That’s why I carry the potions.”

“Just get me to a door, and I’ll be alright. I have a little magic of my own.”

Markus dragged Grant toward the eastern door. The man seemed to get stronger by the second, and he managed to pull himself to his feet before they reached the side of the room. As they lurched through the door there was a flash of light and Grant was gone. Markus found himself alone in a short corridor. The hall continued straight ahead, and also went right, with the door behind him.

“Nice trick,” Markus muttered. “I wish I knew it.” He continued down the hall until he reached a four-way intersection. Then he turned left. That left him in a short corridor with a closed door at the end. Markus walked up to it. When he got up close to it, he found a small sign near the handle that said, “If you like adventure, please come in.’

“I love adventure,” Markus told himself. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room was about 20 feet square, and much brighter inside than outside; several of the glow stones bedecked the walls. A handsome young man stood in the center, dressed in chain mail, and with a broadsword on his hip, looking into the mirror and smiling. When he heard the door open, he turned to look at Markus.

“Come in, my new friend,” said the stranger. “My name is Tragan, and it was foretold that you would come to help me with my quest.”

Markus stepped into the room. “My name is Markus. What quest are you talking about?”

“This portal leads to an ogre’s lair. I must go through and steal its treasure. Perhaps you would be willing to help me.”

Markus looked at the young fool so eager to rush off and try his luck against an ogre. “Well, what kind of help do you want from me?” he asked.

Tragan thought about it for just a second. “Maybe you could teach me a spell to help me vanquish the ogre,” he suggested.

Markus looked at Tragan dubiously. Something about the handsome rogue bothered him. At first he seemed so eager for help, but he didn’t really offer very much information. Markus throught about where he was—in the Wizards Guild Dungeon. One of the Guild’s most important rules was DO NOT TEACH MAGIC TO OUTSIDERS AND NON-GUILD MEMBERS. Could this just be a trap to see if he would break the rule?

“I’m sorry, Friend,” said Markus. “I have no idea what spell would help you best, and it is against my vows to share my magical knowledge with others. But, I might be able to help by . . .

Markus was wondering if this magic mirror could be his way out of the dungeon. There was only one way to find out.

“I can’t teach you a spell, Tragan, but I’m willing to go along and help you rob this ogre. What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

The offer didn’t get quite the reaction Markus was expecting. “You can’t go through the portal with me,” barked Tragan, “not even if we’re holding hands.” The expression of disgusted disappointment on his face was very clear now. “Since you don’t seem very smart, just leave this room. Someone else will come along and help me sooner or later.”

Markus felt his anger starting to rise.

Markus seriously thought about seeing how ready for combat this Tragan fellow really was. A Take That You Fiend spell might teach him a little courtesy. On the other hand, it might just make him mad. He decided to write the whole thing off to experience and simply leave.

There were three doors in the room. Markus had entered by the one on the north wall, and determined to leave via the one on the south wall. He was already near the center of the room, talking to Tragan. He said, “Good luck with the ogre, Mr. Nimblebrains.”

Then he quickly walked to the south door, pulled it open and stepped through. He found himself in another dimly-lit corridor running north and south. He continued in his southward direction. He walked until he reached another 4-way intersection. Once again he turned left and walked on. When the straight tunnel ended, he turned left again. This eventually led to a door that blocked his path. Listening proved futile, and when he was ready, he cautiously opened it.

The chamber inside consisted chiefly of a pit that extended from wall to wall blocking his passage. On the far side of the pit about 20 feet away there was another door. Markus stood on a narrow ledge next to a free-standing pole—the kind of pole that would be ideal for tying a rope to, Being a well-equpped young delver, Markus looked in his pack to see what he had for such situations. He found 30 feet of silk rope, a piton hammer, and ten pitons.

Markus moved over to the right side of the room, located a seam in the mortal between stone blocks, took out piton hammer and piton, and pounded the piton into the wall. (12 a.p.) Then he tested it to see if it would hold his weight. (4 a.p.) The mortar crumbled and the small piece of metal came out of the wall and fell into the pit. Markus almost fell in with it, but managed to catch himself in time.

“This is a stupid idea,” said Markus. He put his pitons and hammer back in his pack. Then he looked at his rope. He could easily tie it to the pole on this side of the pit, but how could he attach it to the pole on the other side of the pit. The rope was made of silk. Light. Extremely strong. He couldn’t throw it worth a darn. It was too light. And he was supposed to lasso the top of a pole higher than his head more than 20 feet away. No. That wasn’t going to happen either.

“This would be easy enough if I could fly,” he muttered. He checked his spell book. No. There was nothing there that would enable him to fly. “Oh, well, no flying today.”

“Maybe I could just jump across,” suggested his daredevil self.

“And maybe you’d fall short of the other side. It’s a long way down. I think I’ll save that attempt for some time when I’m being pursued by the hordes of hell,” wisely counseled his more prudent self.

That only left one reasonable thing to do—turn around and depart the way he had come. He wandered the halls for a good long time, trying not to retrace his steps. Once he heard what sounded like distant roaring. He didn’t go that way. Finally, he came to another hall that dead-ended at a door. He opened the door and found . . . a library.

The walls were lined with shelves, and the shelves held hundreds of books. The door was in the north wall and across from it on the south wall was a marble-framed fireplace containing a cheery fire. Near the fireplace was a large, overstuffed easy chair, the perfect place to sit and read. A lovely mahogany table graced the center of the room, and on the table were various covered containers. Something smelled delicious.

Markus investigated the table and found there were a variety of foods available, and a plate, knife, fork, and goblet. He suddenly felt voraciously hungry. He detected magic of some sort, seemingly all around him in this room. There was no one else in the room with him.

Markus felt amazingly hungry all of a sudden, but he didn’t trust a meal laid out by someone else. He reached into his pack, got a couple of strips of lizard jerky, took a swig from his canteen, and gnawed off a bite of meat. As he chewed on that his hunger came under control, and he began looking at the closest shelf full of books. He was a bit surprised to see a library in a dungeon, and he wondered what kind of books it would contain.

He closed his eyes, reached out and grabbed a book at random, pulled it off the shelf, and then looked at the cover. He read the title: Curses, and saw a crudely drawn eye squinting at him. The eye winked at him. He felt a cold shudder move through his body, felt malevolent magic, and knew that he had just been cursed. However, he had no idea what the curse was.

So much for the idea that reading is good for you! He hastily dropped the book and kicked it across the room.

Then found himself in the same situation as he was before.

Markus continued to ignore the food. He thought it was a trap. He wasn’t ready to give up on reading yet. Libraries are wonderful places, and he was sure there was a book here for him. He picked another book. This one was called THE WIZARD’S DILEMMA. He settled down in the comfy chair. The tale grabbed him immediately—it was about a young wizard named Slip who indentured himself to a mad philosopher. The philosopher set him on one task after another, each involving some sort of moral choice that Slip had to make. Indeed, the book was written so cunningly that it seemed like Slip could not make a choice until Markus made his. As Markus read, he felt ever more strongly that Slip’s perilous choices were his own. When he finally finished the book, and the hero, Slip lay dead at the feet of the Mad Philosopher, he felt that he had somehow failed, and that both he and Slip had suffered for it. Slip certainly had. He had a terrible headache.

(In game terms Markus had to make a L2SR on WIZ. He rolled a 7. With a WIZ score of 17, and a character level of 1, that would have been just enough to make the saving roll, but Markus is under a curse to miss his next 3 saving rolls. He does not get his level bonus of 1. 17 + 7 = 24. He needed 25. He missed the saving roll. That’s one. The effect of missing the saving roll is that he has taken permanent brain damage, but not very much. His INT fell from 33 to 31.)

Markus put the book back on the shelf upside down. He walked around the room and admired the paintings on the walls. He gnawed on another strip of beef jerky. It had been hours since he last ate. He thought about how this room seemed like a place where one could stay forever—if only there was a bathroom attached. Just after he had that thought, he discovered a clean chamber pot, discreetly hidden in a corner. The room definitely had a magical aura to it. He wondered if that were the trap. A person could just lose himself in a life of reading in this room. Hundreds of books, a magical food supply, a comfy chair that one could easily fall asleep in—what more could a person want?

“This is all cozy enough,” mumbled Markus. He had been in this library so long now that he talked just to hear the sound of his own voice, “but I didn’t come down here to get stuck in a library. On the other hand, I am kind of tired. A nap wouldn’t hurt.”

He went over and cast lock tight on the entrance to the room. “No point in letting someone or something surprise me while I’m asleep.” Then he made himself as comfortable as possible in the comfy chair and closed his eyes. In a short time he fell asleep, and he had a strange dream.

But he couldn’t remember it when he woke up. He felt rested. He took an apple out of his pack and ate it. Then went to the door and cast Knock-Knock to unlock it. Click. He wet his palm from his canteen and scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes, noting that the canteen was now half empty. He needed to find a safe water source. He could take the wine from the table, but he didn’t trust it. It made him think that someone ought to invent a purify spell for such situations to eliminate drugs, poisons, dirt, etc.

Then he pushed open the door and headed out.

The crowette attacked. Markus didn’t realize it, but he had been secretly hoping for a fight ever since he entered the dungeon. He just had time to point his staff and shout “Take that you fiend!” He visualized a bolt of purple lightning.

And got nothing. (L1SR on INT. Rolled 7. Failed because of the curse) The crowette tore into him in a fury of raking claws, flapping wings, and pecking beak. Markus’s leather armor served him well—indeed it saved his life, but he was still hideously wounded. Blood poured off him from a dozen wounds. (Crowette has a monster rating of 12. 2D6 + 6. Rolled a 5 for a total of 11. Leather armor absorbed 6 hits; thus Markus takes 5 points of damage. His CON drops from 13 to 8.)

His magic had failed him. As the crowette broke free of him and circled up towards the ceiling preparing for another attack, Markus wondered what to do next.

The idea of being knocked down from behind caused Markus to discount the idea of fleeing. Although badly hurt, he didn’t want to be beaten by a crow. As the huge bird dived at him once again he got ready to smack it with his staff.

(Combat roll: Crowette rolled 2D6 + 6 = 12. Markus rolled 2D6 + 7 = 14. Markus needed a L1SR on DEX to hit. He did no damage.)

The giant crow nimbly avoided Markus swing, but it did not manage to sink its talons into the wizard that time. As he flailed at it, and missed, Markus felt like a heavy burden was lifted off his spirit. He thought he heard a voice saying “The curse has expired.” But there was no one nearby.

The bird flapped its way back up into the upper reaches of the room again. It landed on a projecting stone and cocked its head at Markus. The man thought the bird might be actually considering whether to attack again or not.

The crowette perched up near the ceiling on a small outcropping of stone. Markus thought maybe it would leave him alone now, having failed twice to take him down. He could feel himself bleeding, and knew he had to administer some first aid to himself quickly. He pulled off his pack and reached for both bandages and the half a healing potion he had left.

When he took his eyes off the crowette for a second, it attacked again. He had been expecting it, and the harsh caw croaking sound the bird couldn’t help but make also alerted him. He closed his eyes for just a second, visualized the purple lighting, and tried his Take That You Fiend spell one more time. (L1SR on INT to cast. Rolled 8, gets 8 a.p. Succeeds.) Purple lighting shot from his staff to the body of the diving black bird and enveloped it in purple flame. The crowing noise abruptly stopped as the bird died instantly. Its dive fell short, and it impacted the floor at Markus’s feet. (12 a.p. for killing it.)

Markus kicked the bird once just to make sure it was dead. Yep. He then finished digging bandages and healing potion out of his pack, and fixed himself up as best he could. The healing potion brought his Constitution back up to its normal value (13). The bandages and astringent stopped the bleeding. He ate and drank from his supplies, and rested, and in about two hours he felt ready to go on.

Markus took a crowette feather as a trophy. Then he headed for the west door. He walked through an intersection and continued down his narrow corridor until it finally ended in another door. He listened and heard nothing, tried the door, and walked in. The first thing he noticed was a very bright, hot light set in the ceiling far above him. The room was so hot that he immediately broke into a sweat. In the center of the room was a short pedestal made of an unknown material, but glowing redly—perhaps from the heat. Sitting atop the pedestal was an orange token.

Markus looked at the token. His mentor hadn’t said anything about needing tokens, but he had a feeling that he needed this one. He sensed for magic. The strongest source was the light in the ceiling, but the pillar also seemed a bit more than ordinary. The sweat trickled down his face in hot little streams.

“I’m pretty sure this is a trap of some sort,” Markus mused. “But what can I do about it?

Of the 36 spells that Markus knew only a few of them seemed useful in this situation. Finally he narrowed his choices down to five:

Call Water. Costs 8. Briefly summons a forceful dash of water.
Cloud o Dust. Costs 4. Raises a 10 foot wide cloud of dust, obscuring vision.
Complete Drip. Costs 3. Drops 20 gallons of water on the target.
Spit in your eyes. Costs 2. Produces a drop of mildly stinging liquid in the eye of a foe.)
Call Ice. Costs 8. Briefly summons an icy blast of frost.

Markus had figured out that the token itself was superheated. He cast Complete Drip (10 a.p.) and 20 gallons of water materialized and splashed over the token. A flash of steam arose when the water hit the hot token. He had hoped that the water would wash the token off the pedestal but that didn’t happen. Perhaps it was stuck or attached to the pedestal in some way. The big splash of water cooled it off for a few moments, but because of the extremely bright light overhead, it started to steam and heated up again immediately.

It occurred to him that he would have to do something about the light overhead. There was some kind of magical reaction going on between the light and the token that produced enough heat to make it glow. It would certainly hurt him to grab the token while it was red hot. Yes, the light up above was hot, but it couldn’t be hot enough to have that kind of effect without magic being involved.

Markus thought about the trap a bit more, and decided that the Cloud o Dust spell might obscure the light enough to allow him to get the token. He had never thought that spell would be good for anything, and he had a hard time remembering how to cast it, but finally he managed to get it right. (4 a.p.) The room filled with a big cloud of dust, making everything kind of hard to see.

As he approached the token, Markus could see that it was still glowing with heat. It occurred to him that perhaps he could knock the token off the pedestal with his staff, and push it out of the room to get it out of the light, but he decided against trying that. This was meant to be a magical test, and if his instructors were watching him, he wouldn’t get any points with them by figuring out a non-magical way of beating the test.

The Complete Drip spell had seemed to work before, and it was the least expensive of the ways available to cool the token. Markus stood far enough away that no steam would hit him, and cast it again. (7 a.p.) The deluge cooled the token enough for Markus to grab it and stuff it in his pouch.

As the dust settled, he noticed that the room seemed to be heating up again, and he decided to make a rapid exit. He saw a door other than the one he had entered by and headed for it. He came out into another hallway.

Closing the door behind him, he sat down, had a meal and a drink, and rested for more than an hour until his kremm was completely restored. He also examined the token. It was a curious coin made of iron—perhaps it was magnetism that held it to the pillar. Markus had noticed that it was difficult to pull it away from its resting place. One side of the coin had a small picture of a well on it. The other side showed a hill with a fortified village on top. He wondered if the token had a secret message for him.

Markus continued to wander through the walls until he reached another door. Entering it, he found himself in the exit room. On the opposite wall was a portal, and beyond the portal, a fiery pit. In the wall next to the pit were a number of slots of curious shapes meant to hold tokens. Each slot was a different shape and color.

Also inside the room were five of his classmates. They all seemed to be in a trance. One of them held a piece of paper, and on it was a message.

“We have assembled 8 of the 9 tokens necessary to leave this place. If you have brought the 9th, please insert it in its slot, waken us, and let us all leave together.”

“I do have the ninth,” Markus mumbled. He searched the walls until he found a slot where the token would fit. Before he put his coin in its place he thought, “I haven’t really seen that much of this dungeon. Perhaps I should just keep the coin and wander around a bit more.”

(Khenn’s commentary: having reached the exit room completely randomly, and learning that you need 9 of a possible 10 tokens to get out, I have to say, Scott, that I consider this challenge way too tough. Three tokens would be fair; five would be tough but perhaps do-able. Nine out of ten? Yikes!

By all means, O Ye Elite who love a challenge, be sure to get your own copy of Final Exam. It is mappable, and should make you think a lot. If you manage to find the exit room with any tokens in hand, I do think you should give yourself the option of escaping.)

Markus put his token in the slot designed for it. For a moment nothing happened, and then the portal shimmered and changed. The other side now showed an examination room in the tower of the Wizards Guild.

Markus shook his classmates awake. They snapped out of the trance fairly easily. Holding hands they all stepped through the portal together. They felt an electrical shock that made every hair on their bodies stand up, and heard a loud zapping noise. The portal vanished behind them.

Old Professor Oinkenwartz had been dozing in his chair. He woke with a start when the loud zapping noise told him that someone had found the way out of the training dungeon. He opened his rheumy old eyes to see Markus and five other students beaming at him.

“Here! What’s this?” he snarled. “You’re supposed to get out one at a time, not in gaggles.”

“Why is that, Sir?” asked Markus. “Don’t you think that cooperation is a viable survival strategy in the outside world?”

“NO!” snarled the professor. “Er, well, um, maybe it could be once in a while, but in my day, we wouldn’t . . .”

The sound of Markus and the other students laughing at him further ruined the old professor’s day.

The end.

Joy Ride

December 25, 2013 – 6:34 am
Posted in Fantasy Fiction, Ken St. Andre, Trollhalla, Trolls, Tunnels and Trolls, Uncategorized
Tagged car theft, Ken St. Andre, Kraken Continent, Mark Thornton, Roleplaying, Theft, Trollhalla, trolls
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Gimor Ironfang’s Midnight Adventure

by Mark Thornton and Ken St. Andre and the game players of Trollhalla.

Gimor Ironfang rode into the darkened streets of the city of Caerthaeph’t in his trusty sledge, pulled by his faithful donkey named Guh. As he passed by the Eviscerated Nun Tavern, a fellow forest troll yelled at him, “Hey, Ironfang, come in here and a drink with me. It’s your cousin, Brassfang.”

Gimor was not the troll to pass up a chance to knock back a few brews, especially if it looked like someone else would be doing some of the buying. He hitched his donkey to a post near the front door of the tavern and swaggered in.

Rogim Brassfang proved to be a doughty downer of draft bitter, and was actually good company. He regaled Gimor with tales of wooden-legged leprechauns and emasculated elves. After quite a few too many, Gimor jerked his head up from the puddle of ale on the table when a serving wench called out that there was something happening in the street–the street where he had left his faithful four-footed traveling companion, Guh. At that moment Brassfang slapped another tankard down in front of Gimor, splashing a good deal of the bitter yellow brew into his already soggy beard, “Have another one, cuz!”

Gimor snatched up the drink, spilling more of it, lurched to his feet, spilling more of it, and staggered to the door, spilling more of it. Brassfang followed him with a puzzled expression on his face. “Where ya going?”

“My, uh my ass needs me,” dribbled Gimor.

“The jakes are the other way.”

Gimor crashed through the door. It crashed against the outside wall, rebounded, came back and hit him, spilling the rest of the drink.

The donkey and the sledge were gone.

“Izzat your sledge?” asked Brassfang, pointing dow the street.

Gimor raised his eyes and saw his vehicle disappearing around a corner. “Hey!” he blurted and started after it. Brassfang thundered along beside him.

Donkeys are neither cooperative nor fast, and the drunken trolls gained on the two hoods doing the ass-napping. “Wot’s wrong wiv the beast, Rodney?” asked the short one. “I dunno, Del,” whined his weedy partner. “You’re the one supposed to be good with asses.”

In less than a block the two trolls caught up with the would-be thieves. “Let’s beat them up!” snarled Brassfang. “I’ll teach these human scum to keep their hands off a troll’s ass!” Gimor was seeing double. “They outnumber us,” he mumbled. “Maybe they’ll just give me my donkey back.”

Rogim Brassfang waded right into the thieves, delivering smashing blows with hammerlike hands. Del tried to run, but crashed into Gimor, who delivered an overhand blow to the rogue’s face. In less than ten seconds the thieves were down and out, possibly dead or dying, and certainly non-compos-mentis or in other terms, compostible. Rodney did manage to blow a whistle before going down.

“That’ll learn them!” declared Brassfang. “Hey, I’m thirsty. Are you thirsty?” he asked Gimor.

Gimor walked up the the head of his donkey and patted it. “Are you all right, old friend?” he asked. In reply Guh reached out and bit Gimor’s flowing beard and started sucking some of the booze out of it. Being a troll’s donkey, he liked beer as much as his master did.

Gimor gave his animal a love tap that made the poor critter weak in the knees. “Let’s get on back to the bar,” said Brassfang, already turning to retrace his steps.

“Not so fast,” said the city watchman who trotted in out of the shadows. He looked at the thugs on the ground “What’s going on here?”

“Woops! Gotta go!” Brassfang took off into the closest dark alley at the best speed his short legs could muster. (Forest trolls aren’t that much larger than dwarves–they are just much more powerful.) Two watchmen immediately followed him, but catching up with him proved to be a mistake, as they realized the next time they woke up in the city hospital with many bruises and broken bones to show for their efforts.

Gimor didn’t have much faith in the the minions of the law, and was thinking about jumping on Guh’s back, cutting the traces, and trying to make a speedy getaway, when the donkey abruptly sat down. That pretty much ended that plan.

His faith in the legal process was immediately justified when the watchman gleefully said, “You’re nicked, Sunshine. Say, you look like that bloke wot dun in the fortune teller! At least you look like the shape in the tea leaves at the bottom of my cup. There’ll be a promotion for me if I bring you in, you murdering villain, you!” The guardsman then clouted Gimor on the side of the head with his magically charged truncheon and the lights went out.

Gimor recovered his senses just in time to face the booking sargeant at the Big House on the Hill. “Ossifer, Glubbrain, I am not interested in your theory that this person has done in some dodgy clairvoyant. Suspects for that job are a dime a dozen. But the fact that you found this man in posession of a donkey and a sledge while standding over two badly injured citizens suggests he might be one of the thieves who have been stealing vehicles all over town.” The sargeant turned to Gimor and frowned sternly, which wasn’t so easy to do as he was just a hobb. “Say, fellow, are you a thief?” he asked Gimor.

“Certainly not,” the small troll replied. “I’m a victim. I was just getting my donkey and sledge back when your officer came up and arrested me on some crazy charge of murder. I just got into town a few hours ago. You could check at the city gate. They saw me come in.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said the sargeant. “Then maybe you can help us identify some of these thieves.” The hobb, by name of Officer Dribble, hauled Gimor off to a lineup while mentioning that a lot of carriages, carts, wagons, and even wheelbarrows had been disappearing in Caerthaeph’t lately.

“That’s exactly what happened to my donkey,” said Gimor. “I hope the officers brought him to the station when they brought me in.” Forest trolls are known for their ability to hold their liquor and recover quickly, especially after being unconscious for a while, and so, Gimor was nearly sober again inside the police station.

The hobb said, “We checked on you and know you are a responsible person from out of town. And you’d be doing us a big favor if you’d identify one of these suspects as a thief.” And he winked broadly.

Gimor soon found himself looking at three suspects, two women and a duck–not just an ordinary duck, but one as big as the dwarf, as well dressed as the dwarf, and looking quite angry about being there.”

Gimor had never seen any of them before. And he hoped he would never see them again. Still, if he could help the law get a true criminal off the streets, that would be a good thing. And they certainly looked like criminals. One woman was obviously a witch; the second one looked like some kind of tattooed streetwalker, and the third was a duck, a race notorious as troublemakers.

The troll stared at the three suspects. They stared back at him. The witch gave him an evil eye, promising to curse him with something nasty if he picked her out. The streetwalker gave him a lewd gesture and a suggestive smile, silently promising him a good time if he let her off. The duck looked at him with a puzzled expression on its feathery face. Somehow, Gimor, who had an honest streak in his character that surfaced from time to time, just couldn’t bring himself to falsely identify any of them. “Sorry, Officer, I have never seen any of them before”

The lawman frowned. “Well,” he said hobbishly, “I’d better ask the duck then.” The duck waddled over and eager young constables made Gimor take his place in line. “Quack!” said the duck. “Really?” asked Officer Dribble. “An insurance fraud, I suppose. Well, then, take him away, lads!” The eager young constables frog marched Gimor into the courtroom where Judge Dreadlocks was presiding.

The judge was busy swishing her hair about, knocking over a glass of some dark, foul-smelling brew, and hitting the usher rather stingingly in the teeth. “Let me see the accused,” Judge Dreadlocks demanded in stentorian tones. “Alas, we have no kangaroos at the moment to make up a jury so we will employ those upright citizens you had lined up outside, Officer Dribble.”

Before long the witch, the streetwalker, and the duck were sitting in the jury box. The aroma of herbs filled the courtroom and the judge seemed lost in meditation, or at least lost. All waited patiently, except for Gimor who was grumbling as only a railroaded troll can grumble. Finally the judge opened her eyes and said, “Obviously this is a hanging offense if the prisoner in the dock is guilty. Let’s not beat about the bush–jurors, the evidence is writ plain on the accused’s face; make up your minds, innocent–as if– or guilty? Thumbs up or down if you please.”

Three thumbs down.

Judge Dreadlock donned a black cap and sentenced Gimor to death. Four constables muscled the protesting troll up to the judge’s bench. She whacked him on the head with her gavel and everything went black.

Gimor woke up at a crossroads, something he had not expected to do. It was night, but there was enough light from street torches and the occasional window to see well enough, especially for a troll used to low light conditions in the dark gloomy forests of Trollworld. There was a sign, marked in entrails on the ground, set in concrete, and presumably remade freshly every hour, which proclaimed it to be the way to Death (left), Painful Death (straight ahead), or Very Painful Death (right). Gimor slowly spun in place to see if there were any other choices. Behind him was a drooling group of Rednecks swinging steel bars and carrying nooses. There were eleven of them that he could see, and they all looked angry and meaner than Scrooge on a day when he had lost his wallet.

Faced with almost certain death at every turn, Gimor did the one thing that gave him a chance to survive. He turned and faced the murderous crowd that was closing in on him.

The poor fools had no idea what hit them. Gimor Ironfang was a Champion of Trollhalla. Though far from home, a dozen humans had no chance against him in combat. Every blow from his fist, every kick from a booted foot, slew another redneck. After 6 men had gone down in as many blows the survivors turned, and fled, screaming into the night.

After he disposed of the crowd, Gimor returned to the Eviscerated Nun where he found his trusty donkey, Guh, lapping up his tenth bowl of beer. Collecting the beast, Gimor bade farewell to the city of Caerthaeph’t. After the events of the evening he had forgotten why he had come to this remote and lawless burg in the first place. He collected a couple of barrels of ale from the tavern, and departed the city with only a few fists shaken at him by the city watch.

As the sun appeared on the eastern horizon, Gimor Ironfang continued his journey toward the distant mountains.

The End.

***********************************************************************************

Author’s Afterword

The story you have just read is the fictionalized account of a short play-through of a solitaire dungeon written for Tunnels and Trolls by Mark Thornton. I took the role of Game Master and player both, and led the hero, Gimor, through the adventure. Whenever a choice came up, I called for a vote from the members of Trollhalla, all of whom were getting each short episode in an email about twice a day. Plurality took it. Whatever the greatest number of members chose was what the character did in each situation.

Such a play-thru produced a rough draft with a lot of errors in it. For example, I forgot the character Rogim Brassfang’s name and called him Brasshand for most of the adventure. Setting it all down here gave me the opportunity to correct that. Somehow I had not noticed that Gimor Ironfang, who actually is a member of my Trollhalla fan club for Tunnels and Trolls, had listed himself as a forest troll. With a name like Gimor Ironfang, I had thought he was a dwarf–a delusion I’ve been under for years. Tonight when I checked to see how many adds he would have in combat, I saw he was indeed a troll, not a dwarf, and so I corrected that. A few other places in the narrative begged for smoother transitions and more information–I smoothed out those rough spots. The final result is a very short story of a slice of life adventure on Trollworld.

You won’t find Mark’s city of Caerthaeph’t on any map of Trollworld that Flying Buffalo or Trollhalla Press has ever published. I think it is probably somewhere on the great kraken continent on the other side of the world, which is probably where the Phantog jungles are. But it doesn’t really matter. Trollworld is a huge place with room for all kinds of new cities and environments where T & T players can set their own adventures. They don’t have to play in my sandbox all the time. I have always thought it a lot more fun for roleplayers to make up their own adventures, thus personalizing the game. My friend, Mark Thornton is truly excellent at this.

A side note: Mark Thornton is an inhabitant of the North Island of New Zealand. He lives in the countryside about 20 miles from the capital city of Auckland. One night in the summer of 2013, his car was stolen. It remained missing for several days, causing him some hardship, but was eventually recovered. The experience served as the inspiration for his solo adventure: JOY RIDE–a very large solo adventure some 68 pages in length. I can sympathize with him. Once about 30 years ago, while I was visiting San Francisco, my car was stolen from a parking lot downtown. I had to get back to Phoenix on a Greyhound bus. I got my car back too–about a week later, which meant a bus ride to the City by the Bay, and a long drive home the following day. Having one’s car stolen is no fun, but it’s not the end of the world.

If you’ve ever had your vehicle stolen, or been threatened by a mob at night in a strange city, or just like T & T fiction, why not leave a comment?

–Ken St. Andre

A Wizard Went a Wooing by Mark Thornton, Ken St. Andre, and various hands.

November 19, 2013 – 6:02 pm
Posted in Fantasy Fiction, FRP Games, Gaming Fiction, Ken St. Andre, Mark Thornton, Phantog, Trollhalla, Trollworld, Tunnels and Trolls, Uncategorized, Wizards
Tagged Kraken Continent, Mark Thornton, Phantog
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Chapter 1: Jungles of Phantog
. . .
“Master Mage, we are half a day’s trek from Apys, and that is as far as I have
contracted to transport you. We must make good speed now. There is something
that has picked up your trail, and I have not been able to hide your scent from
it. You must tell me now that you will honor our bargain.”

Kennarith Ko frowned. “How do you know that something has picked up my scent?”
he snarled. “If you had told me there was any necessity to hide my scent, I
could have been doing so for days. Perhaps it is you that something trails.”

“Perhaps, but I have been here before. When faced with a choice of taking me or
taking the wizard with me, it has always chosen the wizard. Perhaps it is magic
that the creature desires. You, you are full of magic, and I have none.”

The Huntmaster looked at Kennarith grimly, staring straight into the icy blue
eyes of the foreign wizard. “Think what you like,” he said calmly. “I need to
know. Will you pay me exactly half of the dowry you will gain should you win a
bride from Apys?”

“I told you I would,” answered the wizard, “but let us be clear about this. If
the dowry is money, then you can have it all. If the dowry is magical objects,
then we can divide them between us. but I get first choice, and we take turns
choosing the other objects. If there is an odd number then you can have the last
item. If the dowry is some spiritual thing,” he hesitated to let the concept
sink in, “if it is increased magical ability or souls or something as yet
inconceivable to me, then you get nothing. I am a wizard, yes, but I am no
master, and I cannot divide the intangible, nor set values on unknown objects.”

Krokett the Huntmaster looked disconcerted. No one had ever spelled out these
different possibilities for him before, but than no one had ever paid him
before. “Will you take an oath on those words?’ he asked.

Late afternoon sunlight slanted down through the heavy foliage above them and
stray beam caught the wizard and made him shine for a just a moment in the
general gloom of the forest. “I vow that I will pay Krokett, and only Krokett,
as I have sworn to do with the dowry from Apys. This I swear on my mother’s
head, and on my spirit’s freedom, and on he honor of the Wizards Guild of
Khazan.”

“I accept your vow. Try to keep up!” said the rugged huntsman. He strode off
between two trees and promptly vanished, just as if he had become invisible or
were only an illusion to begin with.

“So,” mused Kennarith, “The huntmaster seeks to test me. Very well!” The bracken fern parted as kennarith swiftly followed after the Huntmaster. His years doing menial labor for his magical training had toughened not only his mind, but his reflexes as well. Indeed it had spared him from more than one mishap with Osrek the Alchemists… accidents. His side still tingled when he smelled distilled essence of flame demons.

Kennarith broke into a trot and followed the Huntmaster. He saw movement some forty feet ahead–something pushing through a tangle of vegetation. In seconds he reached it, and shoved through himself. On the other side were two paths leading in two different directions, and the guide was not visible on either one. How did he move so fast, and why?

One path was fairly open and empty as far as the eye could see. The other quickly clogged with the malodorous shrubbery that infested this jungle. Kennarith chose that one, and pushed rapidly forward.

A strong hand reached out from behind a tree and grabbed the wizard’s upper arm, pulling him roughly to the side.
The wizard breathed a sign of relief.

“Good, you kept up with me. Now get ready to fight. Watch!”

A strange beast appeared on the path the wizard had just left. It had the size of a large cat, the face of a fiend, and the tusks of a saber-toothed cave tiger. Krokett locked his gaze on its slitted yellow eyes, took one step forward with knife in hand and let out an explosive yell.

. . .
Krokett’s yell startled the Fiend, because in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

“Whew,” the wizard gasped. “What was that?”

“Don’t relax!” snapped the Huntsman. “It is only changing the direction of attack. His head moved from side to side as he scanned the forest. Then he grabbed Kennarith’s shoulder and spun him to face the Fiend as it materialized in a leap coming right at him.

Kennarith Ko had thought about what to do, but when the time came for action, he reverted to the most basic kill spell he knew and he put all his wizardly energy into it. The wizard’s staff crackled with purple energy and an eye-searing bolt of killing force shot out of it and struck the fiend fully in its tentacled chest.

The Thing fell to earth just shy of the two men because of the magical impact, but then shrugged it off, and gathered itself to continue the attack. In that momentary hesitation, Krokett leaped on it, flailing madly with the great bush knife. Man and beast rolled across the ground in a cacophany of growling (from the man) and a kind of whistling screech (from the fiend).

For the first minute of the fight the wizard watched with eyes agape as man and creature struggled. He quickly understood that this was more than just a physical fight between a man and a beast–it was more of a spiritual struggle manifested on the worldly plane. Once he saw a fiendish claw rip a gaping hole in Krokett’s stomach, but neither blood nor entrail flew out of it. In the next instant the wound closed again af it had never been.

Then the two moved in his direction and it seemed as if the fiend would break free of the man. Kennarith threw off his horror and leaped into the fight, jabbing at the monster with his staff, wielding it like a spear to poke and smash the horrible creature. Every blow seemed to simply glance off the fiend, but Krokett threw him a grim smile, more of a twitch of the lips as battled. Every little bit helped.

And then it was over. With a final howl the unnatural beast stiffened and lay still. Now wounds began to appear on its body, dozens of wounds where none had been visible before. Dead!

Krokett forced himself to his feet, leaned down and cleaned his gore-encrusted blade on the animal’s hide. His clothing had been torn and slashed in many places. Purple bruises began to rise on his flesh.

“Are you all right?” the wizard asked.

“I will live.”

Krokett knelt and pushed a mass of tentacles aside, then made a deep incision in the fiend’s chest. Thrusting his hand into the bloody opening all the way up to the elbow, he felt around and then jerked his arm back out, bringing with it an internal organ.

“What?” The wizard gaped in amazement.

“Its heart. If I do not take it, the creature will live again. See, it still beats.” The bloody red organ still shivered and squirmed in the Huntmaster’s hand.

“What will you do with it?”

“We should eat it. You helped beat it, so you are entitled to a share. Of course, it may poison us, but if it doesn’t . . .” he left the implications unspoken.

. . .
Kennerith’s mind raced as his stomach churned. The thought of eating a
still-beating heart disgusted him, but the though of facing a beast
immune to his spells a second time chilled him to the bone. Furthermore,
if the heart was unhealthy to eat, then letting Krokett eat it all would
place himself in dire peril as well. He could ill afford to let his
guide die – without his help he would quickly become lost in this
jungle, not to mention the other unknown dangers that could lurk in a
place where monsters had developed immunity to magic.

No, far safer if both he and Krokett became ill, but remained able to travel. of course, this was assuming that a single bite would not prove fatal…

This was no time for dithering. Faint heart never won fair maiden, and winning a fair maiden was what he was here to do.

“We’ll split it half and half,” said Kennerith reaching out his hand, “but perhaps it would be safer to eat cooked?” Fire appeared and danced in the wizard’s palm.

“Are you going to cook it in your hand, wizard? I think I’ll eat my part raw.” Krokett used both hands and tore the still throbbing heart into two pieces. He handed the smaller piece to the wizard, then bit into the larger one. Blood dribbled from the sides of his mouth and into his beard.

Kennarith Ko did cook the fragment of fiend heart in his hand. Spitting the fragment on the point of his own sax, he directed little blasts of flame at the meat until it darkened, stopped bleeding, and actually began to smell good.

(Lest you think that the wizard was fireproof, let it be known that calling flame in this manner is usually the first spell a wizard learns. The flame never actually touches him, but springs into existence far enough from the wizard’s hand to not actually burn him.)

“Mmmmm, chewy,” said the wizard as he bit into the fiend’s heart. When he swallowed it, it felt as if a ball of flame passed through his throat, through his chest, and into his stomach. But even as it went down he felt his body being recharged with the kremm energy of magic.

The huntsman washed his bloody meal down with several gulps from his canteen, then offered it to the wizard. Ko took it, wiped the mouth with the sleeve of his robe, and took a big gulp. He was in for it now, no point in being cautious or timid if he hoped to keep his guide’s respect.

“Let us go on,” said Krokett. We are not that far from our destination.” He stepped back onto the path he had been following and set off briskly. Kennarith grabbed his staff and hastened to follow him.

They walked for a couple of hours as the sky grew darker and afternoon advanced. They climbed, and the vegetation changed, somehow seeming lighter in both color and tone as they gained altitude. At the same time, the ground grew soggier, and the muddy forest floor squelched with every step.

Then they crested a ridge, and Krokett pointed. In the center of a rocky hollow stood a great hive building more than 200 meters in height and twice as broad, a building unlike any the wizard had ever seen before.

“This is it,” said the guide, “the home of the Manukans, the People of the Buzzing Bees. This is where you must go to win the Bride of Nature that you seek.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Chapter Two: Into the City of the Manukans

Kennarith looked down and saw six soldiers striding up the eastern side of the crater towards him. They walked on stiff-jointed hind legs with a pair of similarly inflexible arms coming out of the mid-point of their bodies. The ebonic sheen of their chitinous skin was swathed with bands of shaggy brown-gold fur. Multi-faceted eyes and twin antenna completed the inhuman picture. Each guard also carried a large pair of diaphanous wings that vibrated as they walked, not enough to lift them into the air, but perhaps it lightened their steps because they approached swiftly. Each guard also carried a long bronze-headed halbard.

“I will leave you now,” said Krokett. “Remember our bargain, and seek me where we first met if you make it out of the hive successfully.” The Huntsman faded back into the jungle.

When they reached his side the leading bee-man looked the wizard over intently. Apparently satisfied, he began to speak in a buzzing version of the Common Speech. It took a few sentences for Kennarith to understand, but the bee-man rejpeated himself until finally Kennarith interrupted him.

“You speak my tongue strangely,” he said slowly, “but I am beginning to understand. You want me to follow you.”

“Correct.” The leader turned and strode away. Kennarith immediately followed him back down the hill. The other five fell in behind him.

In a short time they reached a broad ramp leading up into the hive-building. It led to an arched doorway illuminated by a large sphere that glowed with crimson radiance. Kennarith wondered how many men had passed through this ominous doorway. One of the escorts touched his shoulder and buzzed, “You are the seven thousand five hundred and sixty-first.”

The number seemed absurdly high to the Khazani wizard, but then he reflected that the Manukans were said to have been on Trollworld longer than the men had, and almost as long as the elves.

The soldier continued to speak. “This portal is a means of destruction should our queens decree. The photonic forces it subjugates may be released in any direction they desire. The effect is stark; existence is negated.”

The red light energy made his flesh crawl with a kind of tickling sensation as Kennarith passed through the doorway. The chamber inside held at least a thousand burning beeswax candles, and the air hung heavy, cloying and sweet in his lungs. A wave of sleepiness assailed him, but the wizard clenched his hands and fought it off. It would not be wise to lose consciousness here.

Many more of the soldier Manukans flanked both sides of the atrium. Kennarith could see now that it was but a passageway connecting the exterior with the interior of the structure. A larger, heavier beeman crawled from a passageway above and to Kennarith’s left. He fluttered down to stand directly in front of the wizard.

“You are the thirty-sixth and last of this cycle’s contenders for royal marriage,” he droned. “I repeat, you are the last. This means that the wooing will begin on the morrow.”

“I understand,” answered the wizard.

‘You may rest, take nourishment, and think about what level you would like to compete for.”

Fed with unfamiliar foods, lulled by the humming that seemed to permeate the strange city, Kennarith Ko was taken to a sleeping chamber and left to his devices. He quickly fell asleep.

When he awakened he found cool water and a scroll waiting for him on the bedside table. He washed his face and quenched his thirst. He had eaten so well before his sleep that he felt no hunger. Turning to the scroll he read these cryptic words:

YOU MAY CHOOSE YOUR OWN LEVEL OF COMPETITION:TWO, THREE, FIVE, SEVEN, TEN OR THIRTEEN. IF YOU OVERCOME THE OTHER FIVE CHALLENGERS AT YOUR CHOSEN LEVEL, YOU MAY BE ACCEPTED BY THAT LEVEL’S QUEEN, AND YOU MAY HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO COMPETE AGAIN AT A HIGHER LEVEL OF YOUR CHOICE.

There was a space to indicate his choice, and a pen and ink for writing it.

After some deliberation, Kennarith Ko decided to go for the easiest challenge, and wrote the number 2 in the space provided. As soon as he had done so, the paper magically faded out of his hand. At that moment he realized that he was sensing magic from all sides, and was unlikely to have any warning should enchantment come upon him.

His chamber door opened and in came the large man, or his twin. “Be thou ready for your challenge?” he asked.

“What is my challenge?” asked the Wizard.

“You have chosen to woo Apida the Harvest Queen. It is her duty to ensure that the Phantagonian flowers come to no harm, that they are free from disease, and protected from herbivores that her people may be assured of plentiful pollen supplies.”

“Sounds like a vital task,” Kennarith muttered to himself.

The guide led Kennarith to another chamber deeper inside the hive. Five other wizards were already there. The bee man made introductions and Kennarith Ko met Nux Fractor, Spontaneous Combustius, Perry Stroika, Ali Bongo and Sly Toffand. All were human except for Perry, who despite have rounded ears, was a half-elf.

The bee man led the six contestants into another chamber even deeper inside the hive. There, draped languorously upon a couch reposed the young queen, Apida.

As Manukan women go, Apida was truly lovely. She sported a full and firm thorax, cute stripes of ochre and burnt umber, two lively antennas, and bee’guiling. (Ken’s note: Mark has filled this section of the adventure with as many bee puns as he could come up with, and they are plentiful, but I may skip most of them. If you want to bee entertained by them, get the adventure.)

Apida was besotted with all her suitors. She clapped her four hands together and dismissed the bee man, whose name was Bee’de. “My bee’trothed must have a fine voice,” she buzzed. “You shall all sing for me.” She opened a cabinet and brought out 6 scrolls. “These are some of my most bee’loved songs. Each of you shall choose one and sing for me.”

The six songs are:
1. Honey for my Honey
2. Let it Be’e
3. Be’e My Baby
4. The Buzz of it All
5. Just Can’t Help Be’elievin’
6. Be’e Good to Me

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

By the luck of the draw, Kennarith Ko got to be the last singer.

The six wizards studied their scrolls for a few minutes. None of them were puzzled by them, though some figured then out a little faster than others. Their bee’havior was very civilized, and they took turns singing for the queen. It took a little about an hour for them all to have a turn.

The queen kept score in her head, but did not give any sign of whose singing she liked it best. (the adventure as written says to give the 6 contestants wooing points. Having made all the necessary attribute and saving rolls this is how it stands after the first round of competition:

Perry–200
Ali–200
Spon–100
Nux–500
Sly–200
Kenn–400)

When the singing was over Bee’de the bee man attendant came in with a tray upon which there were six golden goblets, each brimming with a thick brown brew. An overwhelmingly sweet aroma rose from the liquor.

“Drink, or do not drink, as you choose,” said the bee man, “but be aware that this is very potent liquor, and it may becloud your thinking.”

Because he was the last to arrive, Kennarith was the last to confront the queen and give her his one word description. Though many ideas had run through his head, the word he finally decided to use was “majestic”.

After seeing what had happened to Sly, none of the other wizards dared even touch the queen. When his turn came, Kennarith simply knelt before the queen and said “you are the most majestic person I have ever met, but then again, I not met many kings or queens.” A line like that would have made most humans smile, at least, but Apida’s face showed no emotion.
——————
The tests had been gentle so far, but Apida’s thoughts turned to the physical. She feared that her mate might break during the exchange of genetic material that must eventually come. It had happened in the past, and so, a test of physical capability was developed.

The queen retired through one door, and the bee man Bee’de took the six of you off in another direction. He brought you all to a hollowed-out honeycomb that was a replica of the queen’s nuptial chamber. There were six divans made of sculpted wax, and he told you all to lie down upon them. He then began to spurt honey on Perry from a bell-shaped receptacle on wheels with a hose and nozzle attachment.

“Ewww!” said Perry. When Bee’de finished he was completely immersed except for his head.

“Are we in any danger from this?” asked Ali Bongo.

“You will not be harmed if you do not struggle,” answered Bee’de, “but you may be seriously injured if you resist.”

It occurred to Kennarith Ko that he as a wizard, and that whatever was in store for him when he was coccooned in a Manukan miasma of melted molasses (okay, honey, but the feeling would be much the same), he should not just take it lying down as a warrior would. He might be able to do something to himself as a wizard, and he wondered what spell he might cast upon himself to better his chances.

“Ewww!” said Perry. When Bee’de finished he was completely immersed except for his head.

“Are we in any danger from this?” asked Ali Bongo.

“You will not be harmed if you do not struggle,” answered Bee’de, “but you may be seriously injured if you resist.”

Kennarith thought about the warning–he had been told not to move, and the one spell that would freeze him in his tracks was Hold That Pose. He cast it on himself at level 3, knowing that would hold him for up to 8 minutes, and hoping that would be enough.

The honey was extremely hot, and beneath it the wizards heated up very quickly. However, all of them had the same thought, and all had cast Hold That Pose. They all endured the heat well enough, and a few minutes later, Bee’de brought attendants to clean them off. He was somewhat surprised to see that all six contestants came through the ordeal unscathed.

The Queen took one look at her wooers and smiled slightly.

“And now, my would-be wooers,” she buzzed, “it is time for us to take a walk in the forest. Gather what protective gear you may have, and meet me at the entrance to the hive one hour from now.” She departed to make herself ready for the excursion.

Kennarith did not have much in the way of special provisions to make for himself. He had no armor and little in the way of weapons, since he had counted on the Huntsman to protect him in the jungle. Instead he made certain that he had plenty of water in two canteens, some high energy food, and he put two healing potions in the pockets inside his robe. He wore knee-high boots and a leather cap inside his wizard’s cowl, and hoped that would be sufficient.

An hour later the six wizards stood at the entrance to the hive. Apida appeared with an escort of 20 soldiers, all fully armed and armored. The bee men and the queen have protections that outsiders such as Kennarith and the other wizards would never dream of. No such protections were offered to the wizards.

“This walk may be extremely dangerous for you,” warned Bee’de. “Before you risk your lives in the Phantagonian jungles, think, and if you wish, you may back out now.”

The bee soldiers escorted Apida, Perry, Ali, Spon, Sly, and Kennarith along a trail visible only to them. Nux had announced at the beginning that he really didn’t feel up to trekking through the jungle that day, and had retired back to the hive. The constantly beating wings of the soldiers did at least provide enough of a breeze to evaporate the sweat off your body, and thus provide some measure of coolness.

After several minutes of walking, Ali Bongo sidled over to Kennarith and began to speak in the Thieves Cant of the Khazan ghettos. “Ey, matey, ‘ow you like der tests zo far? Gotta offer for ya. Innerested?”

Kennarith looked at the other wizard coldly. “Wotch gots in yer mind?” he answered in the same almost unintelligible jargon.

“Look ere, Palzy. Itz gonna be hard ta know how to win dis ere game. Wotcha say we nooj der oddz a bit. Iffin I wins, i do give you a top job ere, an’ you does der same fer me iffen you gets der young missy. And,” he waggled an eyebrow knowingly, “we alzo duz wut we kin ter ‘elp each udder wen we kin gainst der odders ere. Woddya say? Deal or no deal?”

Kennarith smiled at Ali, and made a
thief’s sign with his left thumb and forefinger. “Deal,
Palsy,” he whispered, “but keep it on der downlow, hokay?”

“Ri-ite!” grinned the other wizard. “Laters!” He wandered
off. As the walk continued, Kennarith noticed that Ali
approached some of the other wizards as well. Sly gave him a
big grin, Spontaneous looked confused and Perry said, “Wut?
Get away from me!”

Suddenly the brisk march through Phantog ended. The party
entered an octagonal clearing filled with luscious
lascivious, lurid blooms of epic proportions. Another
twenty Manukan soldiers were standing around the clearing to
protect these flowers.

Some workers opened a large wooden chest they had been
carrying and took from it several large goblets carved from
a translucent, jade-like stone. They gave one cup to each
wizard.

“Go to the flowers and collect the pollen within them,”
buzzed the queen.

The wizards set to work. For a half-elf, Perry did not
seem to react very well to plants. After only a short time,
he sneezed so hard that he dropped his collecting cup and
spilled what little pollen he had gathered on the ground.
Bee’de approached and told him to stop–his part of the test
was over. The others all managed their tasks with varying
degrees of success. Surprisingly, Sly was the best at
accumulating flower pollen. When he presented his cup to the
queen, it had half again as much pollen in it as the second
best (Ali) and nearly three times as much as Kennarith had
collected. On the other hand, the other wizards all looked
both tired and dehydrated after collecting pollen for half
an hour, but Kennarith, who had brought plenty of water, and
drank liberally from it as he worked, just felt better and
better.

Just as the queen finished checking Kennarith’s cup, a
strange beast charged into the clearing–a wide-nostriled
mucous wrangler. It charged, head down, nose down,
firing a shower of snot pellets in all directions. One
noxious missile hit Ali in the forehead and spattered all
over his face. He went down flailing; his skin turned green,
and he began to vomit, all very quickly.

The soldiers ruahed to attack the elephant-sized beast. It
had already trampled one flower and was bearing down upon
the queen.

With 40 guards coming to the defense of the queen, not to mention three other wizards, Kennarith figured that his best option was to try and save Ali’s life.

His first action was to cast a Call Water spell and wash the poisonous mucous off of Ali’s head, reasoning that the sooner the infection was removed, the less damage would be done. He wished he knew a Too Bad Toxin spell, but he didn’t. It was within his powers to cast it, but a fourth level spell, and as a 2nd level wizard who had recently graduated to 3rd level, he simply hadn’t learned it yet. 4th level spells cost 1500 gold to learn, and the truth was that many wizards learned their higher level spells by getting more advanced wizards to simply teach them outside the guild offices.

Ali still looked like he might die, his complexion distinctly green and his breath coming in short harsh gasps. Kennarith reached into one of his inner robe pockets and pulled out one of the two healing potions that he had brought with him. He poured it down Ali’s throat and hoped for the best.

Between the death spells of the other wizards and the furious halbard work of the bee soldiers, the mighty Mucous Wrangler didn’t last long. One soldier was hit by the falling monster and squashed flat.

Queen Apida noticed that three wizards had cast spells in her defense, but that Kennarith had rushed to the aid of the only person in serious danger from the attack. She awarded points to the three wizards who defended her, and none to Kennarith and Ali, but kept in mind that Kennarith had kept his head during the emergency and preserved a life.

When the excitement subsided it was time to return to the hive. The cups full of pollen were closed with lids on top, and the four functional wizards were told that they must carry their cups back to the hive balanced atop their heads in order to leave their hands free for self defense. Kennarith and the other wizards tried balancing the flat-bottomed cups on their heads, and managed for a short time, but they were constantly in danger of falling off. “This is silly,” Kennarith declared. He removed the cup from his head, pulled open his robe, placed the sealed cup in his largest pocket, and then proceeded along the path with little danger of losing the precious pollen. The other three wizards made similar arrangements. Sly simply used his hands after the first near mishap, figuring that there were plenty of soldiers to defend him in case of another attack.

Suddenly Apida pointed into the dense lushness of the jungle. “We will take the short cut back. There is something I want to show you. Quick! Find the secret door and we shall be safe and have time to play!”

Perry, Spon, and Sly dashed forward, magic crackling from their fingertips. Ali remained in the litter that two of the soldiers were carrying. His condition had stabilized, but he was still in no shape for a rigorous walk in the woods.

Five Arena of Khazan Characters

Long, long ago, maybe the 80s or 90s I made up a bunch of T & T characters to use as fighters in the Arena of Khazan. I never used them. Somehow, this piece of paper with 5 characters randomly created on it appeared today. I want to throw the paper away–it’s folded, wrinkled and torn, but hate to waste the characters. So here they are. Artists, please do me some pix of these guys and I’ll put them in the blog and credit you. These are clearly 5th edition characters, but they could be turned into 7th edition characters by rolling up Speed and Wizardry and giving them Talents.

Arena Giant 1

STR 100 INT 7 LK 12 CON 100 DEX 7 CHR 7 Combat Adds: 86.

Armor: 10 hits for really tough skin.

Weapon: Guyswatter* (20D6)

* = counts as a magic weapon when such are required in order to do damage.

************************

Arena Troll 1

STR 30 INT 8 LK 14 CON 30 DEX 12 CHR 5 Combat adds: 20.

Weapons: Each hand counts as a 5D6 weapon.

***********************************************

Arena Ogre 1

STR 26 INT 7 LK 10 CON 20 DEX 6 CHR 7 Combat Adds: 11.

Weapons: Club (8D6)

********************************

Arena Ogre 2

STR 24 INT 3 LK 13 CON 26 DEX 9 CHR 8 Combat Adds: 13.

Weapon: Club (8D6)

***************************************

Arena Dwarf 1

STR 30 INT 13 LK 16 CON 28 DEX 15 CHR 10 Combat Adds: 25

Armor: Ring mail (7 hits)

Weapon: Great axe (4D6 + 3)

***********************************************

How about that? The Dwarf is actually tougher than the ogres though the 8D6 clubs that the ogres have might make a difference in who won the fight.

Anyone may feel free to name and use these characters in their own T & T games.

–end

From the Vaults

This isn’t exactly T & T fiction, but it could have turned into it.

During the 1990s I published a Tunnels and Trolls fanzine called TnT. Little of the material published in that zine still survives, but as I went through some old scratch paper I found the following document: RULES FOR KHAZAN CAMPAIGN. It was apparently a plan I had to run a sandbox campaign for T & T players with hopes that player fees would cover my postage expenses. The campaign never happened. I don’t think enough people signed up to make it worthwhile, or maybe I never even offered it. The Khazan campaign was a pipedream.

However, I did start a T & T page on the internet and run something like this for a number of players that lasted several months and produced a good deal of game fiction. Ask Taran Dracon about it. He participated.

As a curiosity, I reprint those early Khazan game rules here. It’s kind of a time machine glimpse of my mind about 15 to 20 years ago. In some ways I haven’t changed that much–I’m thinking I would like to do this sort of campaign now.

********************************

Rules for Khazan Campaign

This will be a regular game of Tunnels and Trolls, played according to the 5^th edition rules.
If you cannot accept the rules given on this page, do not bother to play.
All decisions by the G.M. will be final.
All moves must be submitted by mail—not by telephone and not in person. This rule is included to minimize the time advantage that players living geographically closer to Phoenix have over those living farther away.
All required game fees must be paid for in advance before moves will be processed.
Players may enter as many characters of whatever kindred as they wish. Each, however, must be played separately, and paid for separately.
Players shall create their own characters. A name, description, list of belongings, and biographical synopsis will be required at the time the character enters the game.
The entry fee will be $1 per level per character. (Example: If you wish to enter with a 10^th level character, it will cost you $10 to get into the game. For the same fee you could enter 10 1^st level characters, but the playing fee would be 10 times as high.)
The playing fee will be $2 per calendar month per player. (If you have 2 characters in the game, it will cost you $4 per month to play them.) The playing fee must be paid before moves will be processed.

10. The entry fee will cover the first month of play. After that the playing fee must be kept up for all active characters.

11. Each character lives along its own time-line. These time-lines may be altered by other characters. If this happens, the player will have to go back to the point of divergence and begin playing his or her character over again from that point. (Example: Player A and player B are playing at slightly different rates such that A gets ahead of B in time. In A’s time-line, he spent the Night of the Cat at the Salty Frog Tavern and nothing happened. In B’s time-line, he spent the evening of the Cat at the Salty Frog Tavern and started a bar fight. Player A would receive a letter telling him to go back in time to the night of the Cat and that a bar fight was beginning, and then asked for his orders in that situation. Everything done by Player A since the night of the Cat would be wiped out—it didn’t happen.)

12. A roster of active members of the game will be published every 3 months in order that the players may get in touch with each other.

13. Players may collaborate among themselves and submit group orders if they so wish.

14. Three or four months after the game has started, the GM will begin to conduct fame surveys. When awarding fame points, players may not vote for their own characters.

15. The player whose character wins the most famous of the month award will get a cash prize of $5. This will be a monthly prize.

16. A newsletter of the important events in Khazan will be published from time to time. Players will get free copies of this once every month or two. However, a player may obtain a copy of the latest news in the city at any time by sending in $1 for a special edition.

17. Artists are wanted to illustrate the newsletter, do character portraits, etc. Nothing is promised, but any art used in a game publication will be paid for.

18. Combat arbitrators are wanted. Arbitrators will be paid at a rate of $1 of game credit per combat.

19. Players will not fight their own combats. They will be handles by special arbitrators chosen by the GM. Players should therefore submit detailed contingency plans for how their character would behave in a fight.

20. Rules questions will be answered without charge if the questioner includes a SASE.

***********************************

That’s it–a grandiose plan that never happened.

It occurs to me to wonder if any members of Trollhalla, or other T & T players that might see this blog, would be interested in participating in a play by email campaign of this nature today. We would use 7.5 rules, do everything by email and paypal, and publish the results right here in the delvers blog. I could revise these rules easily enough to make them apply to our current situation and technology. The obvious sticking point is the money aspect. A game like this would take a lot of time, and my time is worth money to me. If I had 5 or more takers, I might try this. Figuring on inflation, we could set the fee at $5 per month per character regardless of level. Artists, I would want you to participate, but pay would be low, or in terms of game credit. Players, we create a shared world story that we could publish here, and later perhaps at drivethrurpg.com. All players would get a shared author credit.

Anyone game for this experiment? Respond with an email to me @ kenstandre@gmail.com.

end

The Dragon’s Servant–1

November 9, 2011 – 5:22 am
Posted in dragons, Fantasy Fiction, Gaming Fiction, Ken St. Andre, Swords and Sorcery, Trollhalla, Trollworld, Tunnels and Trolls, Uncategorized
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For the last few days, members of Trollhalla have been seeing me talk about a new T & T novel that I am thinking about writing. Scenes and situations have been going off inside my head. Sometimes I have lain awake for hours in the early morning, mentally writing and imagining parts of the new book.

The book is to be based on a solo adventure that I wrote back in 2010. It has been a year since I created it, and I think it is just about ready for publication. Last week it came to me–in that half waking trance between midnight and morning–that the solo was only a preface to a much better work of fantasy fiction that I could do. And then, this scene came to me, and played itself out in my mind. I didn’t get a chance to write anything until I got to school, and then I sat for a couple of hours, creating what you will see here. I am fairly slow as typists and writers go, but I don’t need a lot of revision either.

The best thing with a novel is probably to keep it to oneself, write it, revise it, and try to get it published. Mostly, that is what I will do. However, as I have struggled with this idea over the last week, I have also taunted the members of Trollhalla with hints and questions. Darrgh Tarrho, and Garrlakk, and Moondragon have seen the solo–nobody else has, so they have some idea of what I’m thinking about. I hope you all get the chance to read and play the solo before the month is over. Meanwhile, it is time for me to start getting these ideas out of my head and into written form. They may not come out in a nice orderly sequence. The story will probably assemble itself like a jigsaw puzzle, but . . . here is the first scene.

: Vvvarrr, the dragon that made Lerotra’hh an immortal.

The art is by Miika Spray, also known as Moondragon, a terrific artist and a valued friend and member of Trollhalla. I hope she won’t mind me showing the first sign of it here.

********************************************************************

Vvvarrr looked at her new servant, and wondered if this human man was smart enough to be her servant. The urukin woman, Lerotra’hh, was already an accomplished wizardess when she came to the dragon and offered herself over seven centuries earlier, but this man, this Neth was only a rogue. Yes, he had daring and courage, but did he have wit? She decided to test him.

“Thiss iss your firsst tassk as my sservant,” she hissed. “Give me everything you own. Jusst put it all on the treassure heap!”

Neth thought it was a very strange command. The dragon owned so much, and he owned so little. Why would she want to take that little away from him. Perhaps it was some kind of test. He shrugged out of the straps that held his pack, and then swung it off his back, and pitched it onto the treasure heap. It didn’t contain anything breakable. Then he unbuckled his sword belt, and lightly tossed it along with the attached sword and dagger onto the pile of gold. Finally, he turned out his pockets, producing a few gold and silver coins along with a very small folding knife, some string, and a few pieces of flint. Tossing that bric-a-brac onto the edge of the pile, he turned to face the dragon. “I think that is everything I own.”

“NO!” Her voice was louder now, with an undertone of menace. “I ssaid, give me everything you own.

Neth looked at the great green reptile in dismay. He had just given her everything he owned, right down to the lint in his pockets. Pockets! He still had pockets and clothing. Could she want that too? She did say everything. He hastily took off his fur jacket, and tossed it on the pile. Vvvarrr watched him, and did not say a word. She just let a bit of steam escape from one of her nostrils. After the coat he lost his shirt, his trousers, his boots, his loincloth, tossing each item onto the dragon’s pile, until he stood there naked. He had no rings, no jewelry to add.

“That is absolutely everything I own,” he told her with hands spread wide.

Vvvarrr roared and a jet of flame shot above the rogue’s head. The sudden heat made sweat pour out of his body. Her eyes glowed with hellish red light, and her mighty talons clenched and unclenched. “I tell you for the third and lasst time!” she bellowed. “GIVE ME EVERYTHING YOU OWN.”

Neth knew that he was failing his new mistress in some way, but he could not think how. He had given her everything he owned. And she wasn’t satisfied. In that moment he knew he was going to die horribly in the next few seconds. He could see her inhaling. The next gout of flame would roast him. What else could the dragon want? Did she want his hair, his teeth, his immortal spirit?

And then it came to him. Maybe she wanted all of those things. Closing his eyes, Neth threw his body on the great pile of treasure, landing spread-eagled and butt up just as a blast of dragonfire blossomed in the place where he had been standing.
“Much better,” purred the dragon. “You could have ssaved much time if you had done that at the beginning. Being a sservant iss new to you, but I expect intelligence and obedience from you. I gave you three chancess thiss time, but it will not happen again. If you cannot undersstand ssimple commandss, then you are not worthy of immortality–not worthy to sserve me.”

“Yes, mistress,” Neth answered, remaining on his bed of gold. “I am sorry. I did not truly understand what you meant.”

The dragon simply glared at him for a while. He lay quietly and did not dare to look at her. Then he felt a human hand smack into his buttocks and heard a silvery laugh. Looking up, he saw the sorceress who had called herself Rav now standing beside him. “Dress yourself and take your old weapons and gear, but remember that those items as well as you yourself belong to me now.” She spoke now without a trace of the sibilance that had marked the dragon’s voice.

He quickly put his clothing back on, all except for the heavy coat. The cavern had grown much too warm for him to need it.

“We must find a place for you to rest,” said Rav. “Follow me. I think perhaps the urukin’s old bedding place might serve.”

(to be continued)

Yorrdamma Vrash, Parts 4 and 5

October 24, 2011 – 5:01 pm
Posted in Fantasy Fiction, Gaming Fiction, Roy Cram, Swords and Sorcery, Trolls, Tunnels and Trolls, Uncategorized, Wizards, Yorrdamma Vrash
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Part 4

For several weeks Yorrdamma wandered alone in the woods, living off the land.

He was now nine years old, and because of Aylgamer’s enchantments, had already

reached physical maturity, standing about six feet tall and weighing around two

hundred and fifty pounds. His bones were ogre-hard, and his trollish muscle made

him twice as strong as a man of similar build. Given the spells he had learned and

the fighting and brawling skills he had been taught, he was not to be taken lightly in any kind of fight.

So, when one night, he was set upon by a small patrol of SWA consisting of six orcs,

he gave an excellent account of himself, slaying five before their leader finally wounded

and overpowered him. As the big brawny orc cursed him and prepared to deliver a fatal

stroke with his sword, an Elf arrow suddenly pierced his thick neck, killing him instantly.

Throwing the body of his foe off, Yorrdamma struggled to his feet. Out of the trees and bushes

around the scene of the fight came a group of fighters, all applauding him. After cautious

introductions had been made, they bound up Yorrdamma’s wounds, and took him back to their camp.

This was a small group of mercenary fighters dedicated to making war on Zekrim Gedokrist

and his evil servants. All of them had been injured, and/or lost friends or loved ones to the

depredations of the Withered Arm, and were sworn to vengeance. Their chief and leader

was a wood Elf named Feyanor who was master with the Elf bow. The others included:

Barlow, a Hobbit Rogue and Assassin; Mikallus, a grizzled veteran of many wars and

conflicts who was deadly in battle; Hogar, a hulking Berserker and one man wrecking

crew; and a female half-orc named Zunda, a Rogue both woods wise, and skilled in the

cantrips and hedge magics known to the forest peoples.

When they had heard Yorrdamma’s sad story, and shared their own tales of woe,

they voted to adopt him into their little company. Yorrdamma’s ability to render

first aid and healing served him as well as his fighting prowess, and his ability to

throw a good sized rock like a small cannon ball amazed them. Over the next year

he served well and faithfully in the group, and was, in turn, taught many useful things

by each of the members. With his eidetic memory he soaked up new knowledge like a

sponge. For twelve months they labored to kill and harrass the SWA wherever and

whenever they could, and they became a major thorn in the side of the commander in charge of the area.

Finally, tired of having to report this nuisance to his superiors at Hari-Na-Gregulden,

the commander put together a squad of his best warriors and sent them out to rid him

of these pests, or not to return! In an ensuing ambush by this large and terrible force,

Yorrdamma alone was able to extricate himself from the trap and flee. Grieving his slain

brothers and his sister-in-arms (she had taught him more that just magic and Rogue skills),

he fled from the friendless and now deadly Fenwood, and headed out onto the great plains

of Valesia, looking for a city somewhere where he might finally make a life for himself.

Part 5

To understand the world in which Yorrdamma Vrash struggled to survive,

it is necessary to give a bit of the history of the kingdom of Valesia. This nation

was founded by the Priest Kings of the City State of Mora who ccnquered their

neighbor states and united them into a single large kingdom. They then built in

Mora a great temple to their deity Omvar who sent them a stone tablet containing

laws and spells to ensure their sovereignty.

But, in the far west, the Gedokrist family, who worshipped dark gods,chafed under

the rule of the of the Valikor monarchs, During the reign of Valikorin VI,

Diskorjia Gedokrist came to Mora and used her dark sorceries to seduce the king.

But, when it was learned that she carried the king’s child, she was forced to flee

back to the fortress on Mount Angwich, and her dreams of becoming the queen of the land were dashed.

Here she festered, full of hate and frustration, and she gave birth to Zekrim Gedokrist whom

she swore to vengeance. It was also at this time that she began the experiments in Troll husbandry

that produced Urdammu and eventually, Yorrdamma.

When Zekrim reached maturity he and his mother took their army and set out to attack Mora.

(This was the time when Yorrdamma was born and his mother escaped from the castle).

Diskorjia’s agents had stirred up much unrest in the nation over the years, and she had

pursuaded the Duke of the city of Kardyak to attack Mora promising him aid (which never came).

While the army of Mora was off crushing the hapless forces of Kardyak, Zekrim and his host entered

Mora at night through the vast sewer system beneath the city. They stormed the palace and slew the

king there. They then took the crown and went to the great temple. No one could be king of Valesia

unless crowned in the presence of the Holy Tablet. But, Falordin, the High Priest, would not crown

Zekrim, and, when he received word that the army of Mora was returning in haste, in his rage he

slew the stubborn priest, and then threw down and shattered the Holy Tablet. Immediately

the temple was rocked by an earthquake, and with a great peal of thunder the Deva Aramvolt

issued forth from the broken tablet, and smote Zekrim with his rod of Divine Retribution. ” Withered forever

in dire agony shall remain the arm that dared profane the tablet of Omvar”, said the Angel. He then gathered

up the shards and disappeared.

Zekrim was carried away in great pain by his minions. As they fled from Mora,

the cavalry of Mora entered the gates in pursuit. Diskorjia stayed to delay them,

but her act cost her her life. Hard pressed, Zekrim’s group fled west, hotly pursued.

But as they climbed the western hills the stricken wizard found enough strength to

destroy with a Hellbomb Burst the stone dam that held back the lake in the hills above

the Mora flood plain, and the pursuing cavalry and the city of Mora were overwhelmed

and buried in a sea of mud and debris.

So Zekrim returned, defeated, to his castle which he named Hari-Na-Gregulden,

the House of Bitter Torment. While Valesia broke again into many small city states,

he tried to relieve the agony of his withered arm, but to no avail. No remedy could

abate its pain, and, if removed, another like it grew back with terrible pain and suffering.

Finally Zekrim became a lich, but even this did not win him respite. He then took a vow

that he would not rest til he had conquered Valesia, and all the world of Kaball, and all creatures suffered as he did.

Thus he gathered his resources and began to create the Servants of the Withered Arm which

were to cause so much grief and trouble for Yorrdamma and for all the people of the former nation of Valesia

Mad Roy Cram channelling Yorrdamma Vrash

———————————————————————————————————————–

And here I thought that Mad Roy had promised me a short biography of Yorrdamma Vrash.

Apparently, this semi-biblical narrative will go for a long, long time.

T & T Delvers Tales

Wulfe and the Pilgrims

Kennarith Ko, a human wizard and other T & T characters

The New Caves: a Trollhalla Adventure

It’s Not Easy Being a Wizard

Joy Ride

A Wizard Went a Wooing by Mark Thornton, Ken St. Andre, and various hands.

Five Arena of Khazan Characters

From the Vaults

The Dragon’s Servant–1

Yorrdamma Vrash, Parts 4 and 5

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