Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

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Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Sun Jul 06, 2008 9:15 pm

"Today begins the first day of your new life,"

Well rubbish on whoever penned that dribble. All the same, guess today is the first day of my new life. Fifty some odd years old, and finding myself flat broke, guess I need to go do some actual work here and there to get my drink now that my inheritance seems to have disappeared. Sober! Haven't been sober in how long? Damn miserable state I think. And to find myself sobered up in Valorian's Vale of all places. Nice enough hamlet I guess. Met another fellow, father of the local innkeeper. Asked me to fetch him some Fishhead's oil from up northwards. Off I go.

Was a fairly easy journey. Had a disagreement with a few youngun's along the way. Never cared much for bandits, and age hasn't made me anymore agreeable. Nor being sober. If anything, sober makes me meaner.

Made my way into Macedone proper by nightfall. Two local goons came up and hassled me about my staff. Sure, deprive an ol' man of his walking stick. Bastards. Found the tavern where this fishhead's ambrosia was peddled. Grabbed as much as I could afford, and made my way back, or think I did. All I can remember is walking towards the gate, and then being back in Valorian's vale, handing over just two bottles of the fishhead's oil to the man there. Must have drunk the other 4 on the way back. Damn good stuff. Got a new walking stick, and I can sense some magic in it, but damn if I can figure out what. I picked up a bit of lore here and there in my tavern days, but apparently not enough. Well, maybe I'll figure it out one day.

=========

Day Three.

Being three sheets to the wind, and broke, I figured I may as well go scruffing about and see if I could get some odd bits of junk to pawn off. The fat boy in the town hall gave me a few errands to run. Find food, stomp an ant hill, stuff I should have done when I was young I suppose. I'll get around to those jobs. That priestess of the forge asked me to fetch her some junk as well as I was pawning off a few daggers and such I took off a goblin gang. Maybe later when I'm more sober, dont' feel much like mucking across the countryside this morning.

In the woods by the fields, I came across a cave full of goblins. Nine hells do those little buggers breed like rabbits. I'm deep into this cave, and running like never before with a good two score of the little bastards on my heels, and more seeming to pop out from every rock I pass. Sobered me up enough though when they finally had me cornered. Couldn't remember the way out, but I recalled a song I heard one young bard sing long ago. Was some lullaby or sorts. Had even the most gruff patrons in the tavern drowsy and slow, and the lightweights? Slumbering like babies. I started singing that song. Been told quite a few times I had a decent voice, hells knows I wooed many a woman with it... this afternoon though, I sang like my life counted on it.

And wouldn't you know it, the little bastards all slowed, mesmerized, and sank down into such sweet little naps. I had a nice mornin' star I found earlier in my pack. Not that I'm great with the martial skills, but practice makes perfect I suppose. Helps much when your targets are sitting still. Clubbed each and every last one of them over the head.

Now, being lost, I must have run around those caves in circles for hours. Came across a little girl hiding in one corner. Asked me if her father sent me. I vaguely remember that one farmer asking me to find his girl. She was happy enough, and scampered off. That farmer must have been uppity about getting someone else to find his spawn, for on my way out came across another girl, this one a bit older, and with two VERY large cats... She was looking for the brat herself. Asked me if I seen her, told her the little varmint ran out already. Now don't get me wrong, nothing against elves, but elves with big cats? Well, I cordially made my way away from her. I remember my mum having a cat, and that thing scratched me up all the time as a youngster. Those two cats... they'd scratch me into bits. And she said they wouldn't bite HER, but said nothing about if they'd bite ME. No shame here, I'm worried about me, not her.

Now, loaded down with all sorts of goblin-blood soaked trinkets, I found my way outside. Gort be praised, that cave reeked of goblin urine and fresh air never smelled so good. Think tomorrow I'll be a good chap and run those errands those villiage idiots wanted me to run for them.... Gods know once I pawn off this stuff, it's time to blow it all on something that smells most agreeable to my nose... Blessed firewater. Cats, goblins, caves.... this is tripe for kids. I need a drink or two. Better make it five for good measure.
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by Eric of Atrophy on Mon Jul 07, 2008 9:22 pm

This is good ... is it possible that Alastair Synge will give Crideas Bane a run for his money! Twisted Evil

Very good, very good!
Surprised
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Tue Jul 08, 2008 3:30 pm

Well, only a run for the money when Mr Synge is needing to pay up his bar tabs maybe Wink
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Tue Jul 08, 2008 4:37 pm

"To see the World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour."


A few drinks started the day off right. And a good day it was, I suppose. I passed a young girl in the Vale. She too was asked to fetch that forge priestess her bars of silver or mithril or what have you. Think her name was Trina or Tina or such. Don't ask me, my days of skirt chasing are far behind me on my road. She was a pleasant enough sort. Groused a bit about that gnomish shopkeep not having a brooch she wanted, but other than that, pleasant even gentile company. We made our way towards Tradeholme. Was a quiet trip, except the troll.

Now, I mentioned I don't particularly care much for bandits. Bandits who keep a pet troll? Well, I'm no paladin or do-gooder of Dalix, but certain things just aren't right. A little ditty to put them to sleep, and a good wack over the head was what they needed. I intended to just put a little sense INTO their heads, but I instead knocked the sense out of their heads, and their clutch to life as well it seemed. Well, no pity here. My young companion was having a time with that troll though. She was a crack with the weapons, but we all know how trolls are. Tenacious beasts.

I came around the green monster, and found that a bandit of the preistly persuasion was also harrasing Trinia. With the odds more evening matched, he went down, but Gort knows I can't remember who landed the killing blow on the wayward cleric. That troll though... We knocked him over a good few times. The beast pushed us back over the bridge which we had just crossed, and he slashed me fairly well across the back. Needed to mend my cloak anyhow, but the blood will be tough to wash out. Trinia clubbed the beast one last time over the head, and he went down. He was all but gone, and I must say I had to have been smirking with obvious self satisfaction as I snuffed out the last flicker of light in it's eyes with a well placed flare. Good riddance.

The rest of our journey wasn't so bad. A few more bandits, all laid out with a lullaby and my companion's well placed blows. We found Tradeholme by nightfall, and did our bit of merchant haggling. We parted ways at this point, but not before the girl blessed me with a new blue cloak. My favorite color. Good gift, and well timed. I think I chucked the old one in a nearby well or water trough or something, Gort knows. I had a shot of whiskey to show my thanks for a good day, and followed with another to make it a better day. And then another. And then another.

Day Five.

Back in Valorian's Vale. Gods how did I end up back in this backwater muck hole? Last thing I remember was grousing at a book dealer in Tradeholme. He wanted to go home, complaining it was past midnight. Well Damnation, I needed something to read!

Well, I restocked my seemingly empty ale flagon. The whiskey flagon needed to be filled too, and hrmm, somebody must have drank my wine on me, that was all gone too. I dropped off that package of metal bits to the forge lass, and well, the payment covered half of my booze funds, but not all. I went off wandering the country side to see what I could scrounge up.

I was passing Mard's barn, and I suddenly remembered his ant-hill problem. Well, fatboy in town did ask me to look into that, might as well get it taken care of. Maybe he'd pay up something decent for the extermination work.

I should have known it wouldn't be as simple as stomping an ant hill. Well, if I were a giant maybe. Goblins that breed like rabbits, and ants that must have eaten Mard's special fertilizer for his fields... Those things were as big as a mastiff!

Not far into their tunnels I came across another young lass, also helping out Mard with his seemingly ever growing list of problems and tribulations. Her name escapes me, just as the ale in my one flagon seemed to have recently escaped as well....

We made our way through the tunnels, putting monster ants out of our misery. I got quite a bit of pleasure squishing the big versions just as I did as a lad smashing the little versions. Maybe even more so, more satisfying goo and cracked carapaces. We did our duty, like good little adventurers, and were back in town before not too long where we parted ways.

Fatboy in the town hall paid up, but I'm going to have to lean on him a bit more about the wages he pays. I know the Vale's just a muckhole of a village, but my services shouldn't be bought so cheap. Well, beggars can't be choosers I suppose.... At least the job refilled my flagons.
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Sat Jul 12, 2008 3:51 pm

Curses!

Literally. Having acquired a fine magical ring, I discovered the hard way it was cursed! Now, my liquid sustenance was fortunately untouched, however... man can not live on liquor alone. It was late at night, and a young elven monk had advised a method to rid myself of the foul ring. It would require a trek to Mountainholm however. If I headed out this evening, I'd be there by the break of morn. Now, this elven monk, Delna-something, he and I had a rousing evening of ant-stomping, and I was quite exhausted spell-wise, and my voice had seen better days. I had energy for but just one more enchanted tune in me.

Well, The monk had his journey ahead of him, and I had mine. I made my way along the roads, and it was a fairly quiet night. rapped a couple goblins on their idiotic skulls, and bickered with those halflings who set up shop near the one crossroads. I was feeling most jovial even, despite my food rotted in my rucksack, and a hungerpang like none other setting in.

Ah, but the night would not be so easy. I was nearing Macedone, and wouldn't you know it, bandits! A mage girl lead this pack, with a sister archer or two, a burly thug with a wicked blade, and a few others. They snuck up on me well. I found myself surrounded before I knew what was happening. Well. Just because there's snow on the roof, doesn't mean the fire's out in the oven.

Quite literally.

Now, I happened to remember another song I heard long ago. A hymn of sorts, quite rousing and fiery. A few chords in, and several of the more novice bandits took to showing their appreciation of my craft by promptly bursting into flame and dying. A better applause I could not think of.

The mage girl and her burly thuggish man turned out to be a bit more trouble though. Granted they were rightly burned by my bardic song, but they weren't so keen to give me the applause I desired. The thug and I exchanged blows for a few moments, each landing a good strike. The mage girl though, bandit true to heart, would not let the fight be man to man. She singed me well in return. I was sobering up quite a bit by now, and well, I'm not pleasant when sober. I landed a good blow on the thug, I heard rib bone crack soundly, and while he was down on the ground moaning, I ended his misery.

Now, as for this mage girl... Oh, foolish girl. I walked right up to that miserable wench and it was all but one swift rap on her skull. May she ponder the lesson learned while haunting the Great Halls.

The business being done, I relieved the bandits of their meager gold. The girl had a scroll on her as well. Nothing spectacular, but well worth a drink after my business was done. I made my way into Macedone, and found the temple of Fate. Ah, relieved of my cursed ring, I took in the sites of the High district. Temples temples everywhere, and not a watering hole in sight! Godless heathens!

Well, Bards are better appreciated in the taverns and dock districts around the world anyhows. It was a long night, and a good meal and a snifter of fishhead's oil finished everything off quite well.

===================================

Some days later....

===================================

Bandits! Bandits everywhere!

Or so it would seem. Perhaps that mage girl from the other night had more sisters, and they somehow heard about my rough treatment on her. Whatever the case, the bandit community and I seem to be at an undeclared state of war. They hound my steps on the roads, and in force! The battle does not always go well for me either. Singed and frosted, the mage wenches seem to be getting the upper hand.

Now and then though, I deliver some bardic justice on them. My ring of invisibility comes in handy, however it's limited use is not always a bounty. I found however, the bandits do not need to see me, just hear me.

And oh, I sing their dirges!

One particular battle was quite worthy of tale, were I a hero myself. Near Plainscross, I happened upon a force of bandits. Luckily I saw them before they saw me. I ducked behind a nearby copse of trees, and prepared my spells and enchantments. There was a good number of them. Several of the burly thugs, with their nasty sneak attacks and dirty blows, and many archers and mage wenches. They were playing smart however. Spread out on either side of the road, with their meatshield brothers right smack in the middle.

I slipped on my ring of invisibility, and trotted around behind the archers first. Perhaps not my best decision in hindsight, but ah, well. Well shielded from sight, I let my voice do the work it's most suited for. More delicious screams I never heard as the archers roasted. As the last light of the sunset took it's leave, I slinked and slithered over to the thugs. Now, about that hindsight, well, I was well enthused with my previous victory over the archers, and all thought of the mage wenches left my mind.

I popped into sight, and oh, the look of surprise on the thug's mug was priceless... for the few moments he had a face. I waved my wand of missiles at him, and he was no more. His two brothers were not pleased, and charged me. It was a good duel. I still have some fight left in me, probably more so these days. I parried their blows, and my staff struck true. Down went one, and the other took flight.

I chased after him, ready to rouse another fiery hymn when I found where he was off to.

Oh, mage wenches.

They let loose a barrage of spells, and it was not pleasant believe you me. Their vicious gazes would have killed me had I stayed a moment longer, but Gort watches over the foolish I suppose. A mystical arrowhead appeared in my hand, and none too late. It carried me off beyond the sight of those foul wenches. Not far enough though, because the thug was hot on my heels. It was enough though for me to down a few of those delicious asis brews.

As the thug ran up to me, it was all but one quick jab of the end of my staff into his jaw, and he troubled me no longer. Now, being just a old fool, and not a great fool, I knew when sitting still was not a great idea. I made haste around the treeline. I suppose the master to these bandit mages didn't teach his girls the same lesson. They sat quite self-superiorly in their control of the road to Plainscross. I made my way around the trees, and rummaged through my rucksack.

Many useless wands! Wands of light, wands of minor curing, nothing I needed at the moment. I was ready to fish out a ratty old sling I had relieve a goblin of when I did however come across a couple of treasures. A wand of elemental endurance and a wand of blessed heavenly fire.

This will be good, real good.

I wizarded up a little protection against the cold and heat, and readied the heavenly wand. I came in behind the wenches. Foolish girls. They all turned, and were making their gestures and chants. I responded in kind, or rather, faster. A frigid winter's song iced their evil behinds, and a wave of the wand sealed their fate! Only one didn't fall, and she was quite enraged. Foolish girl rushed at me with her dagger drawn. She was a spry little thing. Barely up to my shoulders, and I'm not as brawny as a half-Orc or such. She cut at me, and drew a little blood, but I ended the whole affair with a well placed series of staff wacks.

I surveyed the field of battle. I was battered and worn, but at least this fight went my way. Many have not gone so well, so this was a good victory indeed.
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Sun Jul 13, 2008 12:08 pm

"If we wish to fight, the enemy can be forced to an engagement even though he be sheltered behind a high rampart and a deep ditch. All we need do is attack some other place that he will be obliged to relieve. If we do not wish to fight, we can prevent the enemy from engaging us even though the lines of our encampment be merely traced out on the ground. All we need do is to throw something odd and unaccountable in his way."

Odd and unaccountable indeed.

Now, the war with the bandits has not been a good one. I think Zolares might be getting a bit annoyed with my constant visits. The deathly goddess sees more of me than my foes, at least.

Well, I can avoid fights well enough, although I have been ambushed enough times to know I'm no rogue. But ah well. Sometimes a break from fighting is good.

Sometimes reinforcements are better, at least when they're on your side.

Now, it was one fine afternoon and I found myself in the vale again. Muckhole. I happened upon Mr Bane. He's a friendly chap. Gave me a few trinkets a while back, quite usefull. This evening though he had plans.

He promptly poured a veritable dragon's horde of magical trinkets on me, and proceeded to zap me magical like all across the countryside. I had come into a pair of teleportaion gloves myself, and I'm no slouch with reading a scroll, but this fellow zapped like it was second nature. I was in Macedone one moment, Calithia the next, it was a whirlwind! I'm a shrewd negotiator, but I was rather dull about where the best good were to be found.... He showed me some of the more fine shops, and before I knew it, I was tottering under the burden of a war-wizard's dream arsenal. In particular favorite is my new shield. Well, shield isn't quite right. A fine block of stone I strap to my arm, and a small wall of magic springs from it. And it's hungry, for magical missiles. Quite handy, especially since the mage wenches have found that I do not always have my own shield spell cast, and take full advantage of that.

Among the trinkets given to me in the vale was a staff I had seen, but overlooked. A staff of command. Fah, I'm fond of my blazing walking stick. Makes quick work of foes. But Crin says something about Dragons and their fearful effects, and how I'd be needing a little magical protection against that this evening.

Dragons? I must have heard wrong.

Well, I had barely put my rucksack back in order when Crin summons a good dwarf by the name of Phyll-something. Should start writing these things down instead of making fanciful drawings of Bandits dead and hanging!

Well, barely time for proper greetings when Mr Bane proceeds to magic us all off, and I'm following that pair in a mildly drunk stupor. Tour of the sights, they say. See the countryside, they say.

Whirlwind of battle and victory perhaps.

I'm prone to my solitary wanderings, so I'm not too keen on the art of soldiery and unified attacks, but I must say, it has it's advantages. Perhaps that's why those bloody bandits kept getting the best of me. Well, first we battled walking piles of iron and clay! And oh did they spew out such noxious smells. And before I had a moment to jot down the particulars of the battle, zap, we're off tearing apart orcs! ORCS! Crin warned of a notable orc cleric who knew some particularly nasty spells granted by Ragnor. He proposed a strategy of stealth and sneak attacks. And by Gort it worked. Under a veil of invisibility, we snuck into the orc General's encampment and Crin opened the battle by turning said cleric into a particularly ugly statue. Phyll, a terror with the arts of martial war, proceeded to clobber the dumbfounded orcs, and not to be left out, I cracked a few skulls myself with my staff, and singed the oily hairs off their hides with a fiery hymn or two.

The battle was quick, and the orc blood was most foul smelling. As I rummaged through the remains, I noticed Phyll doing strange and vile things to the cleric's altar to Ragnor or Sorgoth or whatever vile god the orc's revered. I do say that dwarf may have more contempt for the orcs than I. I certainly wouldn't go mucking about defiling altars. The gods get a bit uppity about such things, and not much one can do against a god after all.

Before I could suggest other vile things Phyll could do to that altar though, Crin had zapped us away again. Good thing I was wearing my warm robe. What a cold cave he found for us! And huge. Giant sized. Suitable I suppose, for we were about upset the homelives of some giant sized brutes! Now, between slipping onto my posterior in a most undignified manner numerous times, I managed to wail on the shinbones of many of those brutes, and Phyll and Crin did a good bit of cutting down to size themselves. I heard one of those behemoths bellow "You shall ALL perish".... Well, yes, but wrong 'you', you big oaf!

And the night went on as such. victory after victory, a whirlwind tour across the land. The one failure we had was when we came up against some piles of ice that well, woudln't die! Quite a contradiction to the last battle of the night, where we felled a dragon that already was dead. Or undead, or living dead. Such semantics are better left to the priests.

Would I had a better grasp on my journal at the time. I think a few pages got left in the ice, or maybe left under an orc corpse. I could barely write down the details of the adventure! Or maybe such rapid teleporting has an ill effect on one's mind. Would explain a few things about arch mages, not that I would express such to one directly. They are reputed to be... temperamental, and I would not like to spend the next year or two as a toad. In any event, I don't think the enemy was quite counting on such an odd combination of a wizard, a dwarf and a bard to come and knock their heads about. I think that while the adventure is a blur in my mind, it should be most memorable in the minds of those poor sods we sent off to see Zolares!
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Sun Jul 20, 2008 2:14 pm

Ah, the things you see on the open road. Or as open as the road can be when Orcs control the tolls it seems. Now, I've happened to find myself a way into the old city of Tesh, or as those big-toothsed, slacked-jaw sons of a motherless Ogre calls it now, K'Not Scare or S'Nort Kars or K'Nort Something. Oh hell, I've never had the knack for Orcish pronunciation anyhow. Anyway. I found myself a way into Tesh, a nice and fast way. My first visit to Tesh trough this route was very fast indeed. Fast unto the doorstep of Lady Zolaras' fine establishment which I hope not to be a patron of for a good while longer still!

The Orcs encouraged my patronage. Quite vigorously. Now I suddenly find myself in the middle of a room in Tesh, no immediate way back to where I came, and a good dozen big, mean and disagreeable sods all standing around me. They lunge, I die. Lady Zolaras thankfully didn't have time for me yet, so I get metaphysically shuffled back to the land of the living with as much ceremony as I had been shown the land of the dead.

Now I might be stubborn, but I'm not entirely foolish. No such thing as old fools. I happened one day to buy a fascinating hat from Lady Angelina. Darling girl. I found that with a minor trick of magick, it changes my appearance, so say, oh, a big miserable sod of an Orc. I head on back through Gort's brilliant portal, hat in place and looking mean and smelly now. And wouldn't you know it, those Orc Soldiers in the Portal room pay me no mind! I wander about the city for a while, blended in with the locals. They're rather contradictory. They go about their lives like the villiage idiots in the Vale, although with a lot more soldiers and guards around. Yet the city is in ruins. No respect for the architecture, no cleaning up messes. At least Valorian's Vale has an excuse for being a mudhole. It's in mud. A grand city with paved streets should be a bit cleaner I think.

I wander outside the city as well, and find myself near the old Tesh iron mines. Frightful place. Orc slave masters driving their living property to mine ore. Grouchy guards walking around. I found that while a strange new orc face in the city wasn't paid much attention, a new face wandering around the mines, well....

They chased me, I ran through one narrow canyon, and came face to face with another group of surly, smelly Orcs! There I was, standing dumbfounded at my bad luck in the middle of a rather large patch of rust dust, Orcs on this side, Orcs on that side, a steep cliff face to my left, and oh, a mine entrance to my right. Let's be a fool and trap ourselves inside a mine, shall we? Alright, I might have been a bit sauced and not thinking straight. I'm a bard, not a soldier or master of the art of tactics and warfare.

Luck would have it though, the Orcs didn't follow me into that rusty mine. Didn't take me long to figure out why. I jogged deeper into the mine, came to a sharp turn. And right around the turn I came face to face with a trio of rust monsters! I've heard tales of what they do to your metal stuff, and I wasn't in the mood to find out if their appetites applied to flesh as well. I wasn't running scared mind you. I was running with vigorous motivation of self preservation.

Now imagine the look of surprise on the Orc's faces when an old white-haired human comes blazing out of the mine right through them and past them into the canyon. Now imagine the look of surprise on their faces when a pair of rust monsters follow in tow, and decide Orcs must taste better! Well, this is one instance where I applaud bad taste...

With the Orc soldiers sufficiently divided and caught off guard, trying to decide if it's more important to deal with the rust monsters, or punish the foolish human who brought the rusties along, it was delightful chaos! I decide best fight while the odds favor me. I singe the smelly soldiers with a fiery hymn, and rail on their noggins with my staff. A few moments later it was just a lone rust monster, and two angry Orcs, one with a whip, and one with a decidedly useless rusty hilt of a blade in hand. I dealt the whip-lashing slave master his dues, and the rusty abomination seemed to have strangled the other orc with it's lashing feeding tentacle. It only took the first few notes of another fiery hymn to put the wounded beast down.

Now finding the better part of valor is living to sing another day, I made my way home, at a highly motivated rate. Was quite a feat too. I had picked up some of the refined Teshian ore, and my are those ingots cumbersome!
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Re: Alastair Synge's adventure notes (those not soaked in booze that is)

Post by MannyJabrielle on Fri Jul 25, 2008 11:56 pm

Ah, the days have been long since my last recorded adventure. This entry finds me on an island of all places. Not much of one. Seems to be a mad wizards menagerie to be frank. Giant stomping lizards, giants, a dragon.

Well, make that more than one dragon.

I found a crypt of sorts near the Wanderer's portal. It was haunted, but those restless dead were nothing my song and blade couldn't handle. I've actually not been drinking as much, and found I can be quite formidable in close quarters when not seeing double or such. This crypt though...

I wandered it's halls, and dealt with the vampire mage wenches just as I do their living counter-parts. I came to one door though. Quite ornate. It was a stone door with a most fascinating mosaic of a dragon.

I found it to be well trapped and locked too. Took me some fiddling to do away with the hinderances. I trotted past the door, and into a large room. Quite large. I walked right into the middle of it, spotting a couple of chests to the far end of the room.

Now, when I was young, my mother had cats. Nasty little creatures. Always scratched me and such. One day, a mouse wandered into our little home. I remember being up hanging from the rafters and playing at being a winged goblin with a magic club that talked in riddles. Never mind the odd looks, I was a child, we all were touched in the head when we were young.

Well, that mouse wandered right into the middle of the room. And all of a sudden a dozen curious felines stalked all around that poor mouse. It left a little puddle on the floor before running out under the door so fast it was a blur.

And this day I knew what that mouse felt like.

I was musing what trinkets would be in those chests when I noticed the room seemed a lot smaller, and my shadow is never that large... nor had fangs. I look up, scales. I look further up. More scales. I crinked my neck looking alll the way up.

One, two, oh, three dragons. All looking down at me with decidedly feline smirks of amusement. Now, I didn't leave any puddles, but I sure did make an Gort Damned good impression of that mouse so long ago!

I've battled dragons before, sure. That black juvenile in the swamp, stood about as tall as myself on it's hind haunches. Then there was those white dragons up in Icereach. Had a fanciful time blasting the one white trapped between the ice walls. I loosed spells on him while he snarled impotently down in his icy grave! The miserable trio I came across not long after him though were a bit tougher though. And even on this island, the adult black I found by the river proved not so vicious.

Those three ancient red dragons though.... I'm no fool. I wasn't any bigger than a single claw on their paws, and I doubt they got much food trapped in that room. I had no intention of becoming an appetizer!

And oh I ran. I barreled out past that beautiful mosaic door, and a gushing wall of fire came right after me. Red dragons apparently like their snacks medium to well done.
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MannyJabrielle
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