It may be late a day, but that doesn't affect the quality!



As our story begins, Mal has passed the DM a sheet containing a brief backstory, while the players work at levelling up. (The DM has generously nickled-and-dimed them up to 11th level). The DM reads it, then passes it back.

DM: Good stuff.
Mal: Well, it's *something*. It's more than "he showed up one day looking for work."

Hendlar, meanwhile, is crunching the numbers on his level-ups -- and discovering he gets next to nothing this level except a new attack. This gives him a certain amount of relief, as there are less numbers to crunch.

Hendlar: For the next game [in the other campaign], I'm going to bring in an old-fashioned calculator. (Miming the typing, then lever-pulling actions of an adding machine)
Mal: And wear some of those half-moon glasses...
Grandfather: (who has been busy checking feats) All right, Grandfather gets +2 Wisdom this level!
Barack: +2 Wisdom?
DM: From the Vow of Poverty feat. Being poor has given him extra insight into how much being poor sucks.
Barack: (abruptly) I get LASER EYES?! (Everyone looks at him expectantly) Lantern Light (a paladin spell), the paladin shoots beams of light out of his eyes!
Hendlar: You're like the holy Cyclops!
Barack: Abstinence component: the paladin must refrain from sexual contact for the 24 hours prior to casting this spell.
DM: Good luck with that. (It's a running joke that Barack's NPC fiance has higher Strength and Constitution than he does.)
Hendlar: That's how paladins cure blue balls!
DM: By lasering them off?

Hendlar prods for levels for his cohorts, and is granted them. He turns to Turgos's sheet.

Hendlar: He gets *one* skill point per level.
Mal: Make Jump his one skill. "Hey Turgos, what can you do?" (mimes a jumping figure, while making a reasonable approximation of the sound effect from a Super Mario game)
DM: He needs it to get up on the altar to preach.
Mal: And he can smash bricks for coins!

With everyone sufficiently levelled-up to proceed, the DM sums up the previous session -- unnecessarily, because the players all read these summaries, but he did so anyway. The DM refers to a previous adventure in which Barack kept eating poisoned soup because his fortitude saving throw as a paladin is so high he's almost literally immune to poison, and was very hungry.

DM: And Barack solved the poison problem the only way he knew how: "DON'T EAT THAT!" (miming shoving aside, then face-stuffing)
Hendlar: And thus he became known as Barack the Fat. (puffing himself out and lowering his voice) "DOOOON'T EAAAAT THAAAAAT." "But it's been proven not to be pois-" "IT HAS POOOISON."

Grandfather prepared to cast a Divination spell to get answers from the gods as to how they should proceed. Being a priest of the nature god, he has to invoke nature:

Grandfather: "Oh plants, trees, and nature in general--"
DM: He said plants, not pants!
Mal: "Oh pants, come off me now!"
Eirien: Grandfather wears medieval Depends.
Hendlar: Made of hemp. Very absorbent.

Grandfather asks the gods what item the three adversaries -- the Gorgon, the Sword Mage, and Samhain the undead master -- are seeking. The gods inform him that the Gorgon seeks lost blood, the Sword Mage seeks found blood, and Samhain seeks the blood of a god. The players erupt into a furious debate about the meaning of the Gorgon's quest, centered entirely on a campaign-world backstory point that none of them have the Knowledge(history) to know.

Hendlar: "Fetch me... a sage!"
DM: (as a random flunky) "A sage, sir?"
Hendlar: "You know, a kind of spice, goes good with meat?"
DM: "We're out of sage, sir?"
Hendlar: "Then get some"!
DM: "I'm sorry sir, we don't have time!"
Hendlar: "Thyme's also good."
DM: "But we're not having meat tonight!"
Hendlar: "Just bring me a sage!"
DM: They bring you a butchered sage, with an apple in his mouth --
Hendlar: "You people are sick!"

Barack takes control of the discussion again, leading the conversation back to things that are actually happening -- and takes a moment to bitch about the gods:

Barack: "The gods have given us another great answer, by which we have to solve the answer to get the answer..."
Grandfather: "I summon a pegasus and fly away into the forest on it."

Stunned silence.

DM: I... okay, Grandfather inexplicably leaps out the window onto the back of a pegasus and flies away...
Hendlar: It lasts a year!

Stunned silence, followed by the DM furiously leafing through the Book of Exalted Deeds to find the spell. It has a cost of 1d3 Strength drain, which means permanent loss, but a quick consultation of the Restoration spell, which Grandfather can readily cast, reveals that said spell can restore all points drained from a single attribute. The DM is disgusted.

DM: I don't know why he wants to ride around the forest on a pegasus!
Eirien: Because his name is secretly "Yugi-boy".
DM: (After two minutes of paralytic laughter) Okay, let She-Ra, Princess of Power, have his fun.

The players debate amongst themselves once again about the plot:

Barack: "But if the Gorgon is after Michael Roele's blood, which was lost in the Gorgon's Crown, why is he marching south now?"
DM: (as an advisor of some sort) "It's his one-a-generation march, it's probably unrelated."
Mal: So wait, he does this once every generation? (To the tune of Frosty the Snowman) "Gorgon the Awnshegh, will be back again someday!"

Grandfather, meanwhile, reveals he had travelled into the forest to cast a Commune spell, which allows him to ask several questions of the gods and receive yes-or-no answers in response. He proceeds to ask several general questions which receive incredibly general and inspecific responses as per the nature of the spell. Barack bitches the entire time about how unhelpful the gods are.

Grandfather: (after eight questions) Anyone else have anything they want to ask?
DM: You can't ask them! You flew off into the forest!
Grandfather: Oh.

Grandfather burns his remaining questions -- meanwhile, a messenger from the Gorgon demands Barack et al. meet him in the courtyard! Grandfather immediately flies back.

Grandfather: "Wow, that was refreshing. What'd I miss?"
Hendlar: "I activate the powers of the spider!"
DM: Stop that.

In the courtyard, men surround the awnshegh vistor at a distance, encircling him in a wall of spears. The ambassador is incredibly tall and thin, with six arms. The players immediately dub him 'Shiva.'

DM: (in a slow, gravelly voice) Iiiii briiing yoooou a messaaage from the Goooorgooon... (Barack fidgets) Heeee wiill coooome heeeere to destroooooy yoooouuuuu. (Barack sighs and rolls his eyes. The DM slows down) Yoooooooouuuuu maaaaaaaaaay giiiiiive youuuuuuurselves tooooooo meeeee...

The interplay continues -- each time Barack makes an expression of impatience, the DM slows down even more, until by the end of its speech its every vowel takes about a whole five seconds to get out. The other players are stifling their laughter, poorly. As the NPC at last finishes Barack angrily refuses to surrender, at which point the awnshegh casts a spell upon a common fly, imbuing it with the Titanic template. There is now a gigantic fly in the center of the courtyard.

Barack: (wearily) "Yeah, I see it."
Eirien: "He's using the binoculars!" (Referencing Barack's habits of making binoculars with his hands and peering through them)
Barack: No, if I do that I shoot laser beams!

The PCs charge forward to attack. Mal eyes the NPC thoughtfully.

Mal: Does Shiva have a beard? And a turban? It's Osama bin Ladin!
Barack: He's gonna crash that fly into the tower!

Horrified, awkward, but genuine laughter condemns everyone present to hell. Hendlar charges forward to attack and promptly critically fails. He trips down a short flight of steps.

Mal: (Referencing the command word to activate the lightning properties of Hendlar's axe, which are "Moradin's Stormhammer!") "Moradin's Stoogehammer! Dirk, do something even stupider so I look better!"

Hendlar succeeds in a Spot check to notice a spider as he picks himself up; everyone promptly gets the reference to the spider god's promise of aid BUT him, though their prompting quickly clues him in. Someone asks Barack if he can actually cast the laser-eyes spell.

Barack: (smugly) Nope. Malabghein and I were busy last night.
DM: The soldiers let out a cheer. "Yay, our lord's potent"!

The fly uses its ludicrous trample attack to slaughter the soldiers instantly and deal excessive damage to the PCs. The awnshegh NPC is of course untouched.

Hendlar: "All right, time to activate the power of the spiders... how do I do this?" (Clenching his muscles and grunting)
DM: "Hendlar inexplicably takes a poo."

Hendlar does manage to activate the power, and the spider god's blessing promptly enlarges the spider to titanic proportions as well. Barack curses. Meanwhile, Grandfather fails to dispel the fly's enhancement because it's beyond mortal magic, and discovers the awnshegh's spells are too high a caster level to be easily dispelled by his roll.

Grandfather: "I cast Dispel Evil and touch [the awnshegh's shield].
DM: (looks up the rules for the spell) ...crap. Okay, make a Spellcraft roll.
Grandfather: 19.
DM: Okay, there are two shields there, which one do you want to dispel?
Grandfather: Can I tell which one does what?
DM: That was what the Spellcraft roll was for. One is opalescent, translucent, and oily... the other is hard and grey.
Barack: Which one does what?
DM: That was what the Spellcraft roll was for!
Grandfather: Hmm.... okay, I dispel the hard one.
DM: Okay. The awnshegh's expression becomes one of surprise as you dispel it shield. Then it turns and runs.

A long moment of surprise before half the players burst into laughter and the other half call for attacks of opportunity.

DM: Grandfather was too far away, the shield was a 10 foot radius. (Pointing at the invisble and well-positioned Mal) YOU get an attack of opportunity.
Mal: (Grabs weapon dice, sneak attack dice, and weapon enhancement dice) 36.
DM: You hit him for Wes-like damage, and he falls to his knees.
Eirien: Keibghn [Eirien's lieutenant] shoots him!
DM: The arrow goes through his torso, but he's still alive. Barack, you can roll a heal check. (Barack rolls.) You're certain he should be dead, or at least at negative HP.
Barack: Oh god, another invincible one! (He's referencing an unkillable orog, who had a blood power that meant he could only be slain by one specific method. In the orog's case, it was heartbreak -- only by seeing his plans utterly crushed could he be killed.) Someone get him a girlfriend, we're going with the heartbreak method again.
DM: Malabghein says, "Hey, sailor."
Barack: Stop messing with my pretend girlfriend!

Mal stabs the awnshegh through the heart. The DM has him roll dice to determine if his bloodline is corrupted or not. The DM then stares at his own dice in shock.

DM: What happens if there's a tie?! Um... Mal, you gain 2 points of blood strength, and, uh, give me your character sheet.

Mal looks horrified. Barack mimes ripping motions. The DM describes the monster's "Oogie-Boogie-like death" as he writes entirely too much for comfort on Mal's sheet, then hands it back.

Mal: I don't remember all this being on here!
DM: Don't tell the others.
Barack: I liked my idea better! We cut him up into many pieces and BURY them. God, now I have to spend the entire next day going around to the families of the men that were killed. And Malabghein will kill me. "Were you talking to another woman?!" "Probably!" Barack's just that bad at lying...
DM: The fly flies away. The spider gets an attack of opportunity... (Rolls. A moment of silence.) And MISSES.
Barack: Oh, great, we're all dead as the spider falls on us.
DM: It's not going to fall on you -- (Having rolled for it, he pauses, staring at his dice) ...it falls on you. You all take... (Rolling, then staring at his dice again) *eight* damage? You guys ought to go try to kill the Sword Mage right now, while my luck is so bad.

The spider does at last succeed in capturing the fly, leaving the courtyard safe.

DM: From one of the towers, several halflings emerge. They're looking terrified.
Barack: "It's all right, it's safe now."
DM: Upon being addressed, they drop to their knees, as is appropriate when being addressed by the lord of the realm.
Barack: "Rise, rise from your grav--" --wait.

The halflings, who are stonemasons, are dismissed to get to work on the castle. Barack, meanwhile, muses over the current state of affairs.

Barack: "They get a fly god. We get a spider god. Next, they're going to get a weasel god. We need to find a kangaroo god, and *game*."
DM: I'm sorry, you were only able to find a wallaby god. (Quoting Rocko's Modern Life) "Like a kangaroo, but smaller."

After an exchange of several quotes from the show, the players elect to follow their original plan: Attacking the Sword Mage, who seems to be the most vulnerable of the three enemies. Grandfather, after an exchange of messages, volunteers to go negotiate terms with him, but not until after he casts another informational spell, getting boatloads of vague and unhelpful results.

Grandfather: I rely the information to Barack.
DM: (Who can adjudicate this easily) Barack rages against the gods for half an hour.

The players prepare by sending Grandfather ahead, while asking Barack's brother, a wizard, if he can enable them to communicate. In the meantime, Barack remains unable to cast his spell for the entire duration of elapsed time.

Mal: Why'd you memorize the spell if you're just going to sex her every night?
Barack: I can memorize other spells!

Barack's brother, Will, comes up with a spell that will allow the PCs to communicate telepathically for several hours, and casts it on them. Mal promptly looks alarmed, then consults his character sheet.

Mal: Oh, I have undetectable thoughts, whew.
DM: You all feel attracted to the Sage of the Woods, but don't know why.
Eirien: I'm not attracted to girls, so I don't!
Barack: Yes you are! Look, there's a... (leaning over to look at her character sheet)... an "L" right.... here! In "elf", that stands for "Elegant Lesbian Female."
Eirien: (Alarmingly dirty look.)

Grandfather makes contact with the Sword Mage, then teleports back to the other players. They elect to assault his fortress.

DM: Well, this isn't going to happen tonight, but feel free to make any buffs or preparations you want now.
Grandfather: I cast Heroes' Feast. It lasts for 12 hours.
Barack: After which it disappears from your stomach!
Hendlar: "Ohhh, so full." Bing! "Ohhh, so hungry!"
Barack: You've cast "Summon Chinese Food".

The PCs attempt to purchase potions and scrolls, during which someone uses the word "prepare."

DM: "You are not prepared!"
Hendlar: This isn't Illidan.
DM: Illidan Sword-mage?
Hendlar: (quietly) Wow... that... works really well.

The game closed there. Somewhere in all of that, though, the concept of the Dire Oompa-Loompa was invented...