Entry Two
“And though his years flew swiftly past
And her bones had turned to earth,
A name he whispered to the last,
And he cursed his day of bir—“
The bard was interrupted by a shatteringly loud belch from his dwarven companion, who wiped off his lips with his own beard and slammed down a pewter tankard with an anvil seal upon it.
“Is that how the approach of armies is announced in the sunless lands?” the elf asked lightly without looking up, methodically working oil into the grain of a bow.
A wrinkled hand was laid upon the elf’s shoulder. “Can we say that we have chosen the womb from whence we came, wood-child?” said the spirit healer. Her voice was tender, but the elf winced slightly, and said nothing.
…“Alex? Are you even paying attention?” the Dungeon Master interrupted.
“Oh come on, I can afford to text my girlfriend! It’s just character development!” their barbarian protested.
“It’s called role-play for a reason,” was the Dungeon Master's terse reply. “You play the role.”
“The others have got this. I’m a barbarian. It hardly needs character development. I hit stuff – the end.” Alex reached out, grabbed another chocolate roll, and near enough swallowed it whole. It was the strawberry type, his favourite. (Richard, the Dungeon Master, was mildly surprised the wrapper didn’t go down as well.)
“Alright, fine. Just try and join in.”
“A name he whispered to the last,
and he cursed his day of birth.”
With a deep bow (deep for a halfling at least – who barely scrapped in at four foot tall) the bard finished his epic tale and in return received a small amount of applause from his companions. A few of the ruffians, who’d been listening, also clapped enthusiastically.
“Tell us another, Murdic.” One of the children pleaded. She was obviously the denoted leader of this group being the oldest and the tallest. Like all ruffians she was covered from head to toe in all varieties of muck and with a dash of mud as well. It was important she fitted in with the rest of the scallywag kids. There were only four of them and they all showed keen to be adventurers.
“Another time, perhaps,” the halfling, unafraid of getting mucky, reached out and scrubbed the girl’s head from his perch on the table in the small tavern. She shoved away his hand and signalled for the little troupe to follow. The story was finished and the game over. They weren't interested in anything else. Once they were clear Murdic climbed from the table and took a seat. “I wish they wouldn’t.”
“They like your tales, short stuff,” the elf grinned, placing the beautifully carved bow across the table, having just finished polishing it. The comment gained a sharp look from the spirit healer. The elf's casual racism didn’t go unnoticed but by now the party were used to it. They’d already fought about it enough. “You have a talent, Murdic. People love your tales, even if some of them might be a little tall!”
“I’d rather be remembered for my sleight of hand, my epic battles, or even my fabulous pies. I’m not a child-minder.” He snagged up the mead, in a wooden half-pint tankard, and took a large mouthful. Before swallowing he took a moment to really taste the ale and even rolled it around his mouth, suckering in air over the brew. “How long before we leave?” Murdic suddenly felt like, somehow, he’d already said that before but was currently preoccupied watching out for signs of the children coming back.
“I thought we were here for the night?” The barbarian made an attempt to join in, swilling his ale once more, most of it soaking in to his mighty ginger beard. The beard was nearly long enough to be tucked into his patterned brass belt and was kept in a plait with ringlets and other various decorations. He was a stubby sort of guy and his nose had obviously been broken before and had gained a golden ring through one flared nostril as some passing of age rite.
“Were we? I suppose it makes sense to stay.” The spirit healer seemed confused, looking around. “How long have we been here?” As she said this a round of ales was placed on the table by the bartender; a round which none of them had paid for or even asked to be delivered. "More ale. Payment for the story," the bartender seemed to have little use for words or even conversation but he didn't leave immediately.
The tavern was a small affair with only a few tables and a couple of other patrons. On a few of the walls the heads of beasts hung and behind the bar were tankards each with a different name. It was a homely pub and felt comfortable. In the fireplace a mighty fire roared keeping it's occupants warm or at least making the brightening the place up. There were very few windows and not close enough for the small group to see much out of, although from the cursory glance it was dark enough now to be night. The party had come in here for a rest while travelling to the mountain but now that they thought about it none of them could remember how long they’d even been here. They'd arrived during day-light hours, closer to mid-afternoon, so it was possible they'd spent nearly five hours in here, which was entirely possible.
The stubby hand of the barbarian grabbed up another tankard and started guzzling that one as well. “At least the ale’s good.”
The spirit healer stood, wavering on her feet, “This isn't right.” She searched the room with faded eyes, blurred by partial cataracts, using the chair to steady her motions and aching hips. “We were going somewhere to do something, I’m sure of it.”
The bartender of the small tavern moved closer to the table. “Did you want something? Another ale?” He had more in his hands, each with a frothing top. “I have pies as well.” His smile didn’t seem to change. By chance he was between the party and the door. Outside it still looked dark but the spirit healer was sure that enough time had passed for it to start showing glimmers of the rising sun and the children couldn't have possibly been up at this hour, if it truly was that early. Now that she thought about it she realised that she wasn't even sure where the children had gone. They certainly didn't leave the tavern.
“No. We need to leave.” She was adamant but something seemed to be weighing down on her shoulders, and this time it wasn’t just old age. “Elf. We need to leave. What do you see?”
“I see a tavern, Gwyneth. Plain and simple.” The elf had her feet up on the table with her hands behind her head as she leant back. She looked like the epitome of relaxation and until this point had been considering a nap but it seemed the spirit healer had other ideas. “Calm yourself.”
Gwyneth faltered, was she sure? Was anybody? She voiced her doubt again, not willing to let it go, like a dog with a bone that still contained a scrap of meat. “Are you sure?” She squinted, taking in the party quickly with one eye but keeping the other on the rest of the tavern. She was sure there was something, just out on the edge of her line of sight, and, using her other hand tried to wipe that something away. If she could just put her finger on it or touch the unseen object on the edge of her vision.
“Make a roll against your alertness, Amy.” The Dungeon Master broke the role-play to test a skill, carefully shuffling pages and pages of notes, finally glad that the party were working together again and that Alex had settled down.
Coloured dice bounced across the snack covered table, thrown by Amy who’d unwrapped herself from the embrace of the sofa just enough to roll them. “A success by three degrees.”
The elf noticed, for what seemed to be the first time, a pressure that had surrounded her chest and the odd actions of Gwyneth as she swatted away at something. She sat up and looked another time using her stronger elf eyes for anything unusual. “What’s wrong? What is it, wrinkly?”
“I don’t know.” The spirit healer was obviously scared and something put the chills up Gwyneth was definitely something to be wary of. The spirit healer was the oldest out of them all and had seen more of the world than all of them put together. Even the elf was young compared to her. Normally spirit healers settled down in old age but Gwyneth refused to. “Something," her reply was distant as she searched her memories. "Bard? Did you ever hear the tales of the traps the spiders laid to the south of here?”
“They wouldn’t travel this far north, would they?” the bard was watching with more than vague interest. Something was going on. "Are we in danger? The spiders wouldn't dare travel this far north."
“Are you sure you don’t want more pie?” the bartender pressed, moving in closer, his legs pressing against the edge of the table. The ales in his hands were now pies that steamed and looked more inviting than a pie ever should. He placed them on the table along with a set of knives. “It’s pork and stuffing. Honest to God good stuff.”
The bard, always keen for pie, leant forwards to pick up a piece, “But yes, I've heard tales of them, yes, dangerous beasts-“
He didn’t get to finish the sentence before the elf stopped his hand with the edge of her bow. She’d nocked an arrow and was pointing it towards the bartender. “I wouldn’t, Murdic. We need to leave.”
The barbarian was on his feet now and unhooking his hammer from his belt. He swung it around in a show-off fashion and held it in a defensive pose. His eyes were steely set on the bartender and their route of escape. Nobody else in the tavern seemed to be paying any attention, which in itself was weird as the actions of the party were bound to draw some shocked interest. Instead they were still eating pies and gorging on ales. Not even an eye lifted towards them as gluttony pushed on.
“Leave? But the pie …” came the feeble whimper of a halfling denied pie.
“The beasts of Ashanock. They enjoy setting traps for travellers … a bit like the sticky-web of a spider but these creatures are nearly a thousand times larger than that and can deceive even the sturdiest of magi. They feed slowly, leeching the life out of humans, elves, orcs, halflings, near enough anything that crosses their path – all the while keeping them alive and fattened up,” the spirit healer explained with caution and a low voice but her demeanour of an old lady had changed. The bent over old woman seemed to straighten and rise to the challenge, arms held to one side, as purple enchantments began to activate. Beautiful cracks of lightning danced across her skin and the tavern started to glow with the magical activity.
“You got me but you won’t be able to get out,” the bartender smiled but the line of his lips seemed to continue upwards and away from the man’s face as the deception dissolved. Soon the smile had opened up over his mouth, swallowing his head and shoulders, as it pushed down to the ground. From inside the mouth something dark and black was moving and writhing its way forwards.
“Get ye weapons ready, lads, this is gonna be a heck of a fight!” The barbarian jumped on to the table, rocking it slightly with his weight as it bulged down in the middle.
Just as the dwarf moved the first leg burst forth from the mouth of what was once the bartender. The illusion of other people at the tables faded to become the drained corpses. There were children, women, men, all sorts of races and folk, trussed up in heavy web. Each showed the same disfigurements of shrunken and taut skin and sinews over a complex frame of bones. The leg that had emerged from the man's mouth was wide enough to be the same circumference as the dwarf.
“Roll to hit, Alex.”
“Success. Hit in the fifteen,” Alex was in his element now, recording each epic moment on a notepad. The Dungeon Master did the same, keeping a tally.
“Where’s the fifteen?” a ruffle of paper and check, “The torso. Roll for damage.”
“Only nineteen with Ulric's fury,” he sounded disappointed despite the fact that this was a massive amount of damage. The bard was lucky to be reaching double-digits most of the time. The Dungeon Master quietly regretted gifting the legendary weapon to Alex.
The dwarf swung out taking the spider’s leg out from underneath it, which caused the monster to squeal, but he wasn’t quite quick enough to stop the rest of it emerging as another and a third popped out. Before long the full spider stepped out of the black space and into full view. The illusion was completely gone. The thing loomed above them, seven of the legs around the small party like a cage, and the body out of reach. One of the legs was a bloody and cracked stump where the leg had exploded. The room, now the illusion was gone, was revealed to be a cave strung with webbing thick enough to use as ropes.
The elf turned and retched. The cave system smelt of corruption and evil so strong it felt like it was squeezing her lungs. Even Gwyneth visibly tried to hold her breath, the magic coursing along her body diminishing slightly as she did so. Only the dwarf and the bard were okay amongst all of this having been used to underground systems, sewers, and the chaos taint.
“We need to get out of here,” the bard called out to the dwarf. He was already moving to collect the elf that wouldn’t be able to last long in here.
“Do you see a way out?” the barbarian roared back as he railed again at another leg. The hammer hit home on causing a loud crack and click as a vicious green slime oozed out. The thing screeched again.
“The door? Some things cannot be fully hidden. Come on pointy-ears,” he urged to the elf who he'd managed to grab and drag like a sack of potatoes. The elf was just about able to help with the occasional kick of a heel or limp.
From the far left Gwyneth released her magic, which was aimed at the body of the spider. She was the only one that could possibly hit the body from this distance. Murdic may have been able to fling a dagger or two at it but that was risky and right now he was busy. The purple that had been vibrating around her body grew to an unbelievable brightness, causing shadows around the cave to grow and wobble, as she gathered the magic at her fingertips in a huge ball. In a language, once forgotten and now studied, she uttered a single word and sent the ball twisting off in the distance. As soon as it touched the spider the magic curved out and grasped with tendrils around the bodice and seemed to tighten. More cracking could be heard as the last of the magic fizzled out. “The door! Go!”
“We can take it,” the barbarian was keen to continue, already diving at another leg.
“We could if we had the whole of the party!” She pointed at Murdic who was carrying their companion towards the exit, currently struggling due to the difference in size.
The barbarian growled, “Fine. Go!” He started the retreat, never once showing his back to the arachnid. The legs continued to stampede down and each time they came close he hit it again. His hammer sang with the blows and the cracking only added to the musical opera of the battle. The sharp leg caught him only once as a glancing blow across his chest, which the dwarf hoped would one day end in a really good scar. Only at the edge of the cave did the monster stop, never once putting a leg out into the sunlight. Outside it was broad daylight.
Gwyneth and Murdic were knelt next to the elf that was lying on the mud and grass outside of the cave. She was still breathing but weakly. “Will she be okay?” Murdic asked quietly. He never learnt how to heal and in times like this he wished he had.
“The earth will do her more good than I, little one.” The spirit healer had two hands on the elf’s torso, each glowing dimly. “She needs the touch of the woods.”
“We came through the woods on the way here. It wouldn’t take much to get back there.” the Barbarian was cleaning his axe with a rag. “I can carry her.”
“Alright! I think that’s a good place to leave it until next week. Does anybody have any objections?” the Dungeon Master closed the notepad and gathered his scribbles, carefully, so nobody could see next week’s adventure.
Amy grinned and added the next play-date to her diary before packing everything away. "Sure! I'm not doing anything."
"I'm free. Can't wait for more hack and slash adventures!" Alex was visibly excited to continue with the campaign, making mock swings of an imaginary hammer.
"That bit where I hit the spider was immense. Thanks, Richard. You're the best DM ever." Clive had already packed and was gathering up the empty mugs and wrappers. He never liked leaving a mess for Richard to clean up.
Richard didn't say anything else about the game, knowing only too well how easy it would be to accidentally tell them about plot, but was secretly happy all of the careful planning was finally starting to pay off.
