The group starts arguing over how long they’ve been doing this – the conclusion is five years in January, which makes everyone happy. Seriously speaking, for all the hostility or snarking we may direct at each other during the course of these reports, the honest truth is that we all enjoy these games immensely, and for at least some of us it’s what gets us through the week.

DM: The chest of loot arrives on your doorstep in the morning, along with, believe it or not, delivery of a couch. Did not see that one coming.
Sargassas: “Takes that to the basement! My vines need something to sit on.”
Iglar: “No way! No way you’re getting this, take it to the living room.”
Sargassas: “Just because you alls do not likes my delicious-smelling vines…”
Iglar: “Put it next to the bacon spool.”
Ralth: We SHOULD just have a spool of bacon.
DM: I told you, it unraveled off the pig.

The game is interrupted by stomping from above. The DM has made his players immensely happy by distributing the loot in the form of a handout which lists their rewards, rather than forcing the players to transcribe sheets of descriptive text.

DM: Cheltenbourne and Kelly briefly look at the pile [of loot] and wonder why they never went into the adventuring business. Then remember how banged up and battered you all were when you came back. Then remember when they never went into the adventuring business. Exhausted… strength-drained… Ralth was an inch from death… Enfeebled, covered in glittery dust for some reason.
Sargassas: “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Thud.
Ralth: We just kinda knock you downstairs…
Max: (looking at the crowded battle mat) Should we clear the table? Are we going to need it?
DM: You know, knowing you guys I can’t say that for cetain…

The DM calls for Listen checks, and those who roll very highly hear very distantly a voice describing… at least a VARIANT of the story of their encounter with the dragon, Naturally they head outside to investigate, and find a gnome on a dais retelling the story.

DM: In overdramatic and perhaps not entirely truthful form…
Max: “And then he slaughtered all the women and children!”
Sargassas: “Explain to me again what these adventurers did?”
DM: Well, there’s a bit of a crowd, if you want to push your way through them.
Sargassas: “Excuse me… Lizard-thing coming through.”
DM: You manage to eel your way to the front of the crowd.
Sargassas: “Tells mes, gnomes. Tell mes of this tale. I wish to hear it.”
DM: The gnome looks down at you, and then with a broad grin turns to face the crowd. “This here is one of the fine adventurers of which I have been telling you!” The crowd all turns, almost as one, to look at you. Some of them are a bit uneasy, because, you know, you’re a lizardman. But the gnome doesn’t let that distract from him. “Behold the fair adventurer, a member of our mighty guild! Now, allow me to continue, and please feel free to correct me on the salient points!” He continues on with the story, of how you struck down the gnomes who DARED to interfere with your adventure, and brutalized them at their checkpoint. The part where you also brutalized the innocent party of level 1 gnomes is, you note, conspicuously absent.
Max: “Hey, don’t forget about the part where we killed the children!”
DM: He proceeds on about how you negotiated for rights through the gnome city and then were treacherously betrayed.
Dian: How does he know so much?
DM: Your report.
Ralth: I bet Vexian’s behind this… His herald or something like that.
Dian: The herald was seriously wounded.
Sargassas: This isn’t Assassin’s Creed…
DM: He’s doing a really good job of talking you up. If you’re opposed to that, you can interfere…
Sargassas: No no no, I mean, everything he’s said is nothing really against us?
DM: Oh no, he’s selling you guys like you’re the next coming of Crystal Dragon Jesus.
Sargassas: Oh, I thought he said we let the dragons live, and then the dragons proceeded to destroy the town…
DM: As much as you WISH you had done that, he didn’t say that.
Dian: We SHOULD have…
DM: In fact the way he portrayed it, you killed both dragons instead of one of them escaping on you… The story continues on, ending with you defeating the dread necromancer who threatened so many.
Sargassas: I’m just checking to make sure there’s nothing in there about me eating humans.
Dian: What about that confrontation in the back of that citadel? With the fucking warforged!
DM: Oh yes, that battle description went on for a full forty-five minutes. A blow-by-blow account, despite the fact that none of the actual blow-by-blow occurred.
Dian: Does he detail all the crits? “And then a critical blow was struck, and another critical blow was struck, and Sargassas fumed in rage in the midst of battle. ‘Fuck all these critical hits! Why are you dismantling me?!’”
DM: No, it’s clear that he’s making up what actually happened during the battle, but he’s describing it with force and verve.

Sargassas heads for the shop of Orialla, the elven smith, while Iglar sits on the brand new couch, pouting at his ineffectualness and eating bacon.

DM: See, this is why I didn’t want to run the game without Iglar.
Iglar: After sulking for several hours I suppose he will go downstairs into his training gym and wail on some solid oak training dummies. “Rrrragh!”
Ralth: Later that day… “Mys plants!”

Sargassas wants to get his masterwork mace enchanted, including with a basic intelligence. Orialla agrees to do this for the usual rates. Max tries to twist the rules in such a way as to get himself a free attack on every single turn, leading Dian to tick off ‘rules argument’ on the bingo board.

Dian: We have to do a YouTube video one of these days, just a Top Ten Moments. It’d only be for us, because only we’re gonna get it. Except for the Hitler stuff, because that’s funny to everybody!
DM: It’s not funny to Hitler.
Dian: Nothing’s funny to Hitler, he’s dead.
Sargassas: I would love to see the comments we get for the racism, see how many dislikes we get.
Dian: There’s plenty of racism on YouTube.
DM: That doesn’t make us NOT horrible people.
Ralth: (frowning at the Complete Scoundrel) Why are all the prestige classes in here spellcasters?
Dian: Because the makers of the game are biased to spellcasters.
Sargassas: ‘Cuz they needed help. Fucking fighters can do anything.
Dian: You know what you can’t do as a fighter? Make a Will save. So are we setting off for… American Idol town? Seacrest.
DM: (glaring)
Dian: You look at me like that all you want to. You’re the one who named it Seacrest.
Khoriane: Seacrest, out.

The DM continues his slow burn. Iglar finally gets everyone moving, through obstinacy and persistence. The group abruptly remembers they got a citation for Max sleeping in the backyard.

Khoriane: We’ll just put a tarp over him.
Iglar: Iglar goes to the neighborhood association and requests permission to erect a tent in the backyard.
Dian: The HOA denies our request.
Iglar: God damn it, why do we pay our dues?!
Sargassas: I’m gonna head over to secure transportation while we wait for the others to wake up.
DM: Sargassas heads to the guild, alone.
Dian: I also go alone.
Ralth: They go in turns. To not arouse suspicion.
DM: This is like that scene in the Hobbit, where they’re all showing up on Beorn’s door. You’re telling the story to the guild mage. “A few of you, well I hardly think that TWO of you constitutes a few…” “Well did I mention our friend Max, here?”
Dian: “Max, at your service.”

They meet an old mage to negotiate for a teleport to their destination, but have problems doing so because they’re all laughing at the NPC’s voice.

Dian: I love when he does his burgomaster voice, I just picture the person with a mighty jowl, and a white wig…
DM: “The fee will be one hundred gold per person.”
Dian: We don’t have any ‘pershons’ here.
Iglar: How far is this place?
Dian: Too far to walk.
Ralth: Exactly one step farther than you are willing to walk…
DM: The wizard eyes Max skeptically, pondering if he should charge more.
Dian: Oh, this is the airline bullshit, it’s made its way into D&D.
DM: But he eyes Max’s weapon skeptically and decides against it.
Max: Don’t make me whip out my belt already.
DM: “Time to use my Belt of Enlarge.” (mimes removing the belt and whipping the old mage with it)

Dian attempts to play with treasure objects, then the group ponders either Intimidating the mage or stealing back the money. The teleport chamber dissolves them, which the DM claims is a TPK, then they all materialize in a small chamber. Too small. Dian checks the door.

Dian: Is it locked?
DM: No.
Iglar: It better not be.
Dian: “It’s locked, guys. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Naw, I just quickly let myself out and slam the door…
DM: With Dian gone, it’s amazingly comfortable.
Dian: Oh, I’M the biggest one here. My wings fold up!
DM: Sorry, it was one dragonborn more than you were willing to bear.

They crash out of the room, in front of a couple of incredibly bored guards, who welcome them to the court of King Harold Valfornan the Third in the most bored fashion imaginable.

Iglar: “We seek the Count of Seacrest.”
Dian: “The third.”
Max: “My name is Eduardo Fernando Francisco Sanchez –“
Dian: “The third.”
Ralth: Huh, we’re both thirds, I just realized.

The guards boredly demand they surrender the weapons. The players, as is absolutely standard for players, immediately recoil in horror at this suggestion. Except for Dian, who, you know, is an unarmed swordsage.

Max: Damnit! I wish I had a really high Intimidate score so I could intimidate them into letting me keep my weapons.
Dian: Intimidate them into caring about their job.

They surrender their visible weapons, at least, and receive good-conduct badges in turn to signify the fact.

Dian: “Badges?”
Ralth: “Badges?”
Dian: “Badges?”
Ralth: “Badges? WE DON’T NEED NO STINKING BADGES!”
DM: Roll for initiative!

They don’t actually, choosing to screw around for no reason. The DM bursts into laughter as he sees the way of things.

DM: I love it, they’re bored so you guys are just annoyed but don’t feel obligated to give them shit. If they were actively being lippy with you, THEN you’d throw down with them. I know you guys.
Max: Why can’t we be like Ezio, guys? Just -- (mimes stabbing with a concealed blade) -- then walk on quietly!
Dian: Warning, Ezio did not kill civilians!
Max: But you could kill guards all day long.
Dian: But they were bad guards. These guys are just poor guards.
Max: I can kill anyone I want to!
Dian: Wait a minute... no you can’t! There’s a “G” under your alignment!
Max: Craaaap! Shoulda gone chaotic neutral.
DM: You guys lead such tragic lives.
Max: Can we please make an evil one…?

They head through the recently-refurbished castle, flavor-text dogging their every step, to the throne room. The king sits on his throne as they come in, holding court. The court herald announces them with an enthusiasm hitherto unseen in this kingdom.

Max: I’m sorry, what’s my name again?
DM: He says the whole thing. I refuse to on principle, but the herald doesn’t.

The court doesn’t care. This infuriates the players and they seriously consider leaving. But as soon as they step into view, their appearances silence the entire throne room, except the king, who continues to gossip with a courtier.

Max: Fourteen to try to listen in on what the king is saying!
DM: Sadly, you’re not close enough to hear what the king is saying yet. You speak that you’re here to see the king. One of the gentlemen standing nearest to you obligingly points towards the throne. The king stops speaking as he finally notices you, cutting forth his fascinating words about exactly which noblewoman was discovered in the kitchen gorging herself on baking goods and brownies, and looks down at you. The king is young, and surprisingly stress-free-looking guy for a king, confident, smiling down at you. “Well now… what have we here…” (the DM is unable to keep a straight face)
Max: “Hi, King.”

The king calls them out on their lack of any formalities to the throne; Sargassas does, Max and Ralth just dip their heads, and Dian does some ludicrous jumping flipping bow for no real reason. Sargassas starts talking and Diplomacizing… and Dian irritatedly retcons his whole stunt and just bows.

Max: Iglar’s the only one who doesn’t bow. In fact, Iglar gives him the middle finger.
Iglar: Well, given that Iglar never met a king, half-giants don’t acknowledge kings…
DM: You have SO met a king! You met the boy-king way back in that kingdom that was bordering the undead kingdom, remember?!

A very long pause.

Iglar: Hmmm…
DM: (bursting into crazed laughter)
Dian: (out of nowhere) 49 on my Jump check.
DM: “Well, I’m not sure if I should promote you to jesters or have you clapped in irons. Maybe I could do both.”
Dian: “Try it and – aaah…”
Iglar: “How could you clap us in irons when we’re not your subjects?”
DM: “You’re in my kingdom, aren’t you?”

They finally get to the purpose of their visit, and the king tells them he’s the Count of Seacrest, since the title returned to the crown after the old count’s death without heirs. He asks to see the relic they have brought him.

Iglar: “I think we should confer…”
DM: Wow, when Iglar thinks you should have conferred, that’s saying something.
Sargassas: You don’t have the right to make something smart any more! You’ve destroyed us so many times.
Dian: Commence sucking up to His Royal Assclown.
Sargassas: I declare that all bites against Iglar are 1d6 damage. I install some poison glands in my mouth.
Max: Whaddya gonna do, make out with him?
Sargassas: KILL HIM.
DM: A little from column A, a little from column B.

The king sends for the sword, and seeks information about their adventure. Ralth refuses to speak above three words per sentence, but reveals they’re adventurers. The king immediately warms to them, and summons chairs, table, and refreshments – to the apparent irritation of the court. Khoriane is much more obliging in talking of their adventures. The king is amazed that they slew the dragons who razed Seacrest. Examining the sword, he declares it to indeed be the blade of the Count.

DM: The sword is silent when he holds it up. “Yes, this is indeed the blade of the Count. Well then. We don’t have a count – I’m technically the count, but only because the land has reverted to me, and I have been meaning to deal with that appointment for some time now! There was never a proper time… Well then! It seems this matter has been taken somewhat out of my hands. The relic is yours until it goes to the proper count, now isn’t it?”
Ralth: “That it is.”
DM: “This is perfect.” He slides the sword back across the table to you guys.
Ralth: (very slowly and suspiciously) Mmmhmm…. I cautiously slide it over my shoulder.
DM: “Try not to wear it openly. Knights can wear swords… Well then, which of you is leader of your band?” BLOWS ERUPT! ROLL FOR INITIATIVE!

The king tasks them to give the blade to the rightful crowd. No one likes this!

Ralth: It’s like the ball all over again!
Max: I vote for Ralth! He found the sword!
DM: “Oh try a little harder.”
Ralth: “I think there’d be a civil war if I became the count.”
DM: “And we just HAD one of those.”
Max: “I got your back, Ralth!”

The king goes into detail: de jure the county belongs to the Duchy of Mistwash, but other dukes might also be suitable. He offers to put them up in luxury and have the dukes come speak to them.

Max: “Is there any way we can get our weapons back?”
Sargassas: (wide-eyed) No. No. No! Do not find any weapons! This will turn into the boat mystery again before you know it. Someone is going to die by morning! I can see it in his eyes! There’s murder in there! If we have our weapons, you’ll be a suspect, we’ll all be in prison!

The king refuses, stating that only knights may bear arms. Ralth cheerfully demands the king knight Max.

Max: I still have all my other weapons. Like my crowbar. (mimes clubbing)
DM: “And to make sure that you’re carrying no weapons, we’re throwing you into the chamber of the rust monsters. Half an hour and you can come out.”

The king gives them a brief lecture on the feudal hierarchy of the kingdom and some of the politics involved. Dian chooses to make an unwise statement.

Dian: Dragons ate Ryan Seacrest.

The DM seems to miss this. Max inquires about the civil war, and the king tells him he overthrew his brother’s unjust claim on the throne. Max and Sargassas debate whether the king knows the sword talks. Iglar suggests that the person who rules the land ought to be familiar with it

DM: “Oh, that’s delightfully naïve. I promise you, to a peasant, whoever’s ruling – they’re all the same. It’s just one bastard taking their money, or another bastard taking their money. All they want is to give up as little money as possible, they don’t care who’s taking it.”
Iglar: “For a king, you’re not very regal.”
Max: I personally just want to get my weapons and hack my way out of here.
Sargassas: Look, one, I don’t want to lose my power. The god of nature would not be pleased with my murdering so much life.
DM: (suddenly hearing this conversation) Who are you killing, what?!
Sargassas: He just wants to hack his way out.
DM: (collapses in mad and slightly hysterical laughter)

The group agrees for lack of a way out, and are escorted to a fine suite of rooms, so nice they’re clearly getting almost the literal royal treatment. Ralth rolls a Knowledge(something) roll, which tells him that the king won the civil war by hiring adventuring parties, and that the kingdom was strongly anti-guild before he took over, but is now a member state of the guild compact. Khoriane and Sargassas head out into the castle to make some Gather Information checks, while a suspicious Iglar starts hunting for secret passages in their rooms. Khoriane discovers that the Duke of Mistwatch, Etienne del Ashtor, is universally described as a drunkard, but a happy drunk. No one likes him as a ruler but everyone likes him as a person. Sargassas hears of Duchess Marianne Sevilla, recently arisen as the heir to the old duke; she is untested and new, and staunchly anti-guild. The county itself is valuable for its harbor and its position, but the actual title of Count is ‘special’ – as evinced by the sword, which was apparently given to the count in ye olden times as part of some task. Sargassas then heads for the library, but is begrudgingly informed that almost all the valuable materials were sold to finance the war.

Iglar: Iglar was trying to talk Ralth into scouting this place to find out if anyone’s listening, since he does not trust all this king business. “Yes, Ralth, so what do you think? Shall we search around a little?”
Ralth: “I can scope the place out.”
Iglar: “Secret passages? I heard in kings’ chambers there are bones under the floorboards and all manner of things.”
Ralth: “…How far do you want me to go with this?”

Ralth finds nothing in his room, Max’s, Iglar’s, a secret passageway in Khoriane’s room, nothing in Dian’s or Sargassas’s. Khoriane heads to dinner to schmooze and keep attention off the others.

DM: You head down to the court where you are first viewed as a monstrosity, but after some wittiness—
Sargassas: …Monstrosity?!
DM: -- and some applications of Charisma, are soon viewed more as a curiosity, possibly a mascot.
Dian: You mean a mascosity?

Ralth ducks into the secret passage, following a tiny passage as opposed to a large one, then reaches a branching path. A staircase is down one path. Ralth heads down, ducks into the shadows, and spots servants moving past carrying platters. He realizes this is just servant passages, to his irritation, but keeps poking around till he manages to sneak into the royal chambers. They drip wealth.

Ralth: Hmmmm….
Dian: He’s broken out in sweat. This is your purview.
DM: Roll Fortitude not to salivate.
Sargassas: Who’s your god? Glittergold? I hope it’s not, he’s telling you to get everything.
DM: Knees are knocking, your fingers are shaking…
Max: No one’s gonna notice if you just take a little.
Ralth: Yeah, till the alarm comes on. “Waaah! Waah!” “God damn it.” Oh man. There’s no one in here?
DM: Nope, it is empty.
Max: Oblivion-style, Ralth, take everything.
DM: You are overburderned.
Ralth: But it’ll have a red hand next to it, I can’t sell it till I get to a fence. I’ll do a Search.
DM: What’re you looking for?
Ralth: Anything out of place… if you say I find a secret door, I will kill you. 24.
DM: Um, roll a Spot check.
Ralth: 22.
DM: You notice a mug sitting on a table by the finest of the chairs, which is notable for not being as ludicrously ostentatious as the rest of everything.
Ralth: It’s very plain?
DM: No, it looks fit for a king, just a much less wealthy king than this one. It is golden, it is set with gems in the handle, nevertheless it doesn’t seem to fit here.
Max: Yoink…
Sargassas: “Excuse me, sir, why are you praying?” “I feels I needs to.”
Ralth: Damn my high Wisdom.
Sargassas: Listen, I will pay you to keep an eye on me. Just make sure you tell them I was there the whole time.

Ralth discovers something written on the mug, which he’s unable to read. Ralth touches it.

Dian: Property of Smaug.
DM: As you touch it, a low voice speaks out of its depths.
Dian: “Well, thief—“
Ralth: “I can’t see you, but I can smell you.”
DM: “Barrel-rider…” “Your touch is unfamiliar to me. What do you wish to drink?”
Ralth: “Nothing at the moment, just want to see what you say.”
Dian: Bottomless tankard. (dramatic stinger music) You know you all missed it!
DM: Did any drink come to mind even though you said nothing?
Ralth: Probably the coffee I have asked –
DM: (filling noise and motion)
Ralth: --for, aww crap.
DM: It smells exquisite.
Ralth: I’ll take the etching… down it real quick, and make my way, and shove the paper in [Dian’s] face.
DM: A tiny man assaults you.
Dian: “Begone! Wait, what’s this? Where have you been, by the way?”
Iglar: When Ralth ran by Iglar to get to Dian’s room—
Sargassas: Iglar bursts into the room with a giant keg in his arms!
Dian: What does it say?
DM: “The Well of All.”
Iglar: “This seems to be some sort of drink-producing mug WHICH IS AWESOME WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE IT?!”
Ralth: I’m seriously considering going back and taking it now!
Dian: “Certainly the King would miss this. As would any drunkard.”
Iglar: “Oh! Yes! Perhaps—“
Dian: Oh god, Iglar’s gonna go storming through the room and get it. “It’s only the size of a shot glass to me but I can just keep taking it…”
Iglar: “Ralth, we haven’t asked the sword what it thinks about this whole business.”
DM: “I think you should leave the mug alone.”
Sargassas: And you guys wonder why I keep myself visible.
Ralth: He isn’t dragging himself through the corridor yet. I’m waiting for it though.
Sargassas: “Where’s that lizard person?” “He was clearly visible and everybody could see him.” “Oh, we don’t need to throw HIM in jail.”
Ralth: You’re an associate of us.
Sargassas: If I’m going to jail, I’m going to jail for a reason. I proceed to eat somebody.
DM: At the end of this I’m just gonna have you arrested. “Although we know you’re completely innocent of all your deeds…”
Sargassas: The captain just comes out the door. “There they are!”
Ralth: I throw the paper into the fireplace, so it can’t get us in any trouble.
DM: You throw it into the fireplace. There isn’t a fire.
Ralth: I’m gonna start one.
DM: Roll to start a fire. Natural one, you start a water.
Ralth: “I’m more impressed by this…”

There was a little more but it’s lost under Max telling dirty jokes.

Iglar: “Hey Ralth, so what about the sword?”
Ralth: “Hmm?”
Iglar: “Raaaalth, come on. Pay attention to Iglar.”
Ralth: “You are like-a the buzzing of flies to Ralth.” Oh shortsword… I haven’t used you much, I’m so sorry… I sigh and pull out the longsword. “What do you make about this?”
DM: “I seek the Count of Seacrest.”
Max: Yeah no shit.
Ralth: “So basically once we find him, you’ll accept him.”
DM: “I will accept the rightful Count.”

The sword only cares about the title, it turns out, meaning the PCs are really stuck with the decision after all. The players mock the word ‘duty’ for a while. Heh heh, doody. Dian proposes changing “annoy Sargassas” to the free square on the bingo board.

Khoriane: Annoy Sargassas, what DOESN’T annoy Sargassas?
DM: Treasure lists that are printed out for him don’t annoy Sargassas. He was downright gleeful.
Sargassas: Yeah, the DM hasn’t annoyed me today! Go DM!
DM: Sure I annoyed you, as soon as you figured out what this adventure was about. You tried to leave.
Ralth: “This is another fucking boat adventure!”
Sargassas: I knew it was coming the moment – the MOMENT! We got in that courtroom, the moment he have him the sword back, and the moment he asked for the weapons, you had that smiling gleaming face, your face just seemed to shine, your eyes glistened over, I was like, “oooh, fuck.”

Max plans to quit the Adventurer’s Guild and join the mercenary company; the DM vows to have him beaten up by the gnome he was mocking. The DM goes to the kitchen, vowing not to return until everyone is up to speed on the plot, at which point the group writes him off as lost.

Sargassas: “Hey guys? Guys! Wheres ares you? Please tell me!”
Ralth: “Khori’s room.”
Khoriane: Well I’m – WhaaaAAAAaat?!
Ralth: ‘Cuz you have the secret door!
Sargassas: “Please tell me the secret door doesn’t lead somewhere that will get us in a lot of trouble.”
Ralth: “Well, it does lead us straight to the king’s room.”

Silence.

Ralth: “It also leads pretty much everywhere else in the castle.”

More silence.

Ralth: “It seems like more of a servants’ entrance.”
Sargassas: “Makes sense.”

After the group briefly sings about the Duke of Earl, Iglar declares himself up to speed and attempts to order room service. Sargassas actually tells him what he found out anyway. A servant brings in a letter on a sealed platter; Iglar attempts to eat it, believing it to be room service.

Iglar: “Can you bring us something edible?”
Sargassas: Dinner already ended!
DM: No, it didn’t…
Ralth: Is this an invitation to dinner?
DM: Yes. Thank you, Ralth. Ten experience.

Duke Etienne del Ashtor has invited them to dinner! They recognize he’s attempting to butter them up, but, eh, politics. Ralth suddenly reveals his TRUE PURPOSE in being here.

Ralth: “Thanks for the side job, Vexian. Here’s the mug!”

The players bemoan their failure to acquire hats of disguise. Khoriane shares her hard-won knowledge of the Duke with the others.

Khoriane: “He’s more popular for being the type of fellow you’d want to drink with…”
Iglar: (in the same sort of tone a person would say “free money?!”) “Drink with?!”
Ralth: So we have one… bitch… and the other one a layabout.
Max: So one glutton.
Sargassas: I say sloth.
Ralth: And one… very hungry?
Sargassas: Greed. Let’s go with the seven sins, that’ll be the campaign.
Khoriane: No! Homunculi! Fuck!
Dian: Seven Deadly Dwarves…
Sargassas: We have sloth, we have greed, the king is an easy description… I’m gonna hire Morgan Freeman! To aid us in our journey!
Khoriane: Or Samuel L. Jackson.
DM: “I’ve had it up to here with these motherfucking sins in this motherfucking court!”
Iglar: Are you guys already heading out, or…?
Ralth: FOOD!
Max: Max is still sleeping in his bedroom.
DM: You awaken abruptly. You have slept too much. You can sleep no more.
Sargassas: No. No! NOOO! Let him sleep! Let him continue to sleep! Let him sleep into a coma! I’ll wake him up later with a Heal check! Just let him sleep! I can imagine the storyboard: “The night went without a hitch. All the information needed was gathered. No deaths were incurred.” It’d be so beautiful…Iglar’s already downstairs, it’s too late for me to save the night.
Iglar: Iglar’s been heading out the door, and is waiting for you guys.
Sargassas: I’m running after him. “Please! Please do not do what you do…”

They head down to dinner with the Duke, finding him to be a fat, elderly duke with a red nose and handy ale mug.

Ralth: …Glutton is right.
Sargassas: Don’t worry, guys, we’re okay. He’s a Disney character.
DM: “Scumps! Scumps! Scumps!”
Iglar: Iglar gleefully accepts—
Dian: Of course. We know who he’s casting his vote for…
Iglar: Iglar grabs the biggest thing.
DM: You rip a drumstick off the goose.
Max: Max takes the rest of the goose.
Sargassas: One of them knows my secret love for human flesh and prepares a meal for me… “Here you go.”
Dian: “Many Boffins died to prepare this meal…”
DM: “I assure you, this is a free-range peasant child.”
Dian: He finally gets to eat a baby and he’s like, “Medium well?!”
DM: No, no, no… “PEASANT FOOD?!”

Dian spends a while giggling at the way the DM overprounounces “oo” sounds when using his DMing voice. The Duke toasts to wise decisions. Max attempts to claim he’s eating daintily; Sargassas forces him to roll a Diplomacy check. He rolls a 14 on this. Iglar, getting into the spirit, rolls his.

Iglar: (triumphantly) 3! Om nom nom nom!
DM: Iglar was so hungry for fowl that he shoved the carcass in his mouth, then because he couldn’t chew fast enough, shoved a drumstick up each nostril to work it down that way.

The Duke continues to ply them with food and ale, which immediately turns into a drinking contest with Iglar. Iglar obligingly rolls Constitution.

Iglar: (sadly) A 12 on my Con check.
DM: (rolling, then laughing through his words) The Duke has been already drinking this evening, so he doesn’t perform very well. He throws down the first ale, which is really more like his tenth or so… sets it down… (wobbles visibily)
Iglar: “So what would you do as Count of such-and-such… Seacrest?”
DM: “Count of… what now?”
Iglar: “Seacrest!”
DM: “I’unno… tax… peasants? Buh…duh… you really want the whole list, man? It gets extensive.”
Iglar: “Oh, okay! Well that all sounds fine…”

The extremely sauced Duke stumbles off to the chamberpot, and doesn’t really seem in a hurry to come back. The players look at each other awkwardly.

DM: For all that he invited you to dinner, the Duke doesn’t appear to be intent on being a gracious host at this point, thank you Iglar.
Sargassas: “I’d like to congratulate you, Iglar.”
Iglar: “For what?”
Sargassas: “That’s a new record for you. A night ruined in less than an hour.”
Iglar: “That was barely fifteen minutes.”
Khoriane: “I think that’s his point.”
Iglar: “Well, what were you guys expecting from this besides lots of great chow, and here it is!”
Sargassas: “I must get a good idea of his personality, and right now he’s a drunk.”
Iglar: “I think you just got a good idea of his personality.”

The Duke stumbles back eventually, still ramblingly incoherent.

DM: “That’s a good man… good… really large man… not as large as that guy, what’s up with that? What’s with you guys anyway? You’re real tiny… he’s real big, it’s like, what are you, matroishka dolls? You stack in each other…?”

Iglar tells him the story of their fight against the green dragon, rolling middlingly on his Performance check. Ralth dives in to help and promptly rolls a modified 20, thereby stealing the story and all Iglar’s attention. Max falls asleep in the pudding for some reason. Sargassas produces a can of compressed air.

Sargassas: “Iglar-Off. The original Iglar correcting device.” (spraying it at him)
Iglar: Damn it.
DM: Well done, Iglar. You did it again.
Sargassas: Bad Iglar. Bad.

Iglar demands the others roleplay. Khoriane relates the tale of their fight with the red dragons, which seems to start firing him up again.

DM: “I’m sorry I’m so far past my prime. Adventuring seems a wonderful thing!”
Dian: “Did you take an arrow to the knee?” “Yes, it’s still there…” “Well you better put it back.”
DM: “Wait a minute, I feel much better now that it’s out!”
Dian: “Now you’re bleeding to death…”
DM: “That’s... incredible stories, and yet you’re all still so young and in your prime. Ah, somedays I wish I hadn’t been born a Duke. Seems like I might have been much greater – no, who am I kidding, I love the ale too much. But it does me good to hear such stories…”

Dian cheerfully claims he’s a tree-lizard, then debates simply pretending not to have wings and convincing the Duke he’s imagining them. They get the Duke talking about his plans for real; he vows to rebuild the manor house to restore clear rule of law.

Sargassas: “There’s still peasants that still live in this particular area?”
DM: “Well of course. There’s always peasants. What’re they going to do, move away?”
Dian: “No matter how we try to rid ourselves of them, they just keep reappearing.”
DM: “The flyswatter +5 has failed.”
Dian: “Who allows them to breed, anyhow?”

The DM’s “I’m drunk” noises derail the discussion as the players are unable to refrain from furious giggling. The DM laughs in-character at Sargassas, and the players question whether it was in or out of character for some time. Sargassas threatens the DM with regret pasta. They pump the Duke for further information, though not much of it is helpful, especially once they get on the opposing Duchess…

DM: “Trying to take lands that are rightfully in my dukedom, fold them into hers to consolidate power… If I were able to I’d have her hanged.”
Dian: “And then fold her lands into yours, and consolidate power, completely the opposite of what she’s doing.”
Iglar: “Really? What are these crimes she’s guilty of?”
DM: “I didn’t say she’s guilty of crimes, I just said I’d DO it.”
Sargassas: I excuse myself. “I’s have lizardman stuff to do.”
Ralth: “My people need me.”
Dian: You have to go pay taxes like the other lizardmen again.

The Duke dissolves into a gigglefit that allows Sargassas to escape. Ralth also flees, leaving Iglar to keep the conversation going.

DM: He challenges you to a drinking song-off.
Iglar:” Drinking song-off? Hmm, I’m not much for singing.”
DM: “Neither am I!”
Iglar: “Ah, let’s go!”
Dian: “…That’s my cue.”

< i>The Duke’s surprisingly-good voice defeats Iglar handily. Khoriane glumly remains behind to be the brain. Sargassas gets into the ravaged library, finding a book about the current king’s ascension, but it’s almost a propaganda piece. Sargassas guesses that some books that weren’t sold have been hidden away.

DM: You’re searching the library for secret rooms.
Ralth: Secret something. 24.
DM: You search around. You find a closet in the back, but that wasn’t a secret.
Ralth: Nope. What’s inside it?
DM: You open it up and find supplies for repairing books.
Ralth: I’m saving a jar of glue.
DM: You take a jar of glue. (a pause) At the very last fight of this adventure, Ralth slays the evil dragon by hurling a jar of binding glue down its nostrils…
Ralth: Clogging it.

The group wanders back to pondering theft of the magic mug, while Iglar makes his good nights and resists bribes of alcohol, perhaps to everyone’s surprise. Sargassas starts to wonder what’s with the talking artifacts and if they have a relation. The DM reads the entire description of the magic sword – it seriously goes on for like three paragraphs. Iglar shows up just in time for Ralth and Sargassas to sneak up on someone m the library.

DM: You start moving around the shelf. Ralth, you come around, and both of you see what appears to be a robed male burst into a run, trying to get past Sargassas before Sargassas can, you know, throw him down and eat him. He takes off hurriedly, zipping past. Clearly the time for moving silently has passed. You have one chance to intercept him.
Sargassas: I guess a trip attempt?
Ralth and Iglar: Grapple.
DM: You can grapple, you can trip, you can do whatever you want.
Iglar: Tail swing. Tail sweep.
Ralth: Or just clock him one.
Sargassas: Well either way, I have to hit him. Let me try the grapple.
DM: You lock your scaly arms around him without much effort. He struggles in your grip, begins shrieking, “Monsters! Monsters in the library!”
Sargassas: “We ares not monsters! We are only researchers!”
Dian: You’ve grappled the royal librarian.
DM: Roll your opposed grapple check.
Dian: Bite him! Bite him!
DM: He attempts to punch you but it glances straight off your scales.
Iglar: “Relax, fellow.”
Sargassas: “We are not trying to hurt you.”
DM: “MONSTERS! MONSTERS!”
Sargassas: “If you continue to scream…”
DM: Roll an Intimidate!
Ralth: I got my attack coming up.
DM: Are you shanking him?
Ralth: No! I have a sap!
DM: You snarl in his face, demanding he shut up.
Sargassas: “Good.”
Iglar: Are you clocking him?
Ralth: If he’s shutting up, no.
Sargassas: “Why are you here?”
DM: (whimpering noises) “I work here.”
Sargassas: “We have only come to read the books here.”
DM: “Monsterss… Why do monsters want to read the books?”
Ralth: “We’re NOT monsters.”
DM: “Aaah! Halfling!”
Ralth: (exasperated sigh) Fucking humans!

Sargassas uses Diplomacy to sway the librarian. The librarian confirms that most of the books have indeed been sold, and none are hidden away.

Iglar: Sense Motive, by Iglar. (rolling) Ah. A 1.
DM: He’s lying. He’s clearly lying.

Sargassas demands the receipts and records and starts slipping coins into his pocket. The librarian does reveal that the duty of Seacrest is the neverending defense against evil.
Dian wanders off into a Megatron role while the others try to figure out what god passed down this task. Digging into the religious packets, the players get a laugh out of some of the descriptions of the halfling god knifing the dragon god in the back. They figure out the god in question is the goddess Aura, who is generally the Good Goddess, and immediately write off the duke they met as unworthy. They return to their rooms, where Ralth promptly breaks the secret door while trying to disable it.

DM: Never mind on that Listen check!
Khoriane: Christ.
Ralth: (dusting off his hands) “Good night!”
DM: You each awake then next morning as servants come into your room uninvited and unannounced.
Ralth: “WHAT THE F—“
DM: They bring breakfast!
Ralth: “GAHVADAH—ooh!”
Iglar: “Splendid! What’s new in the castle?”
Sargassas: Iglar did a murder check in the morning.
Iglar: Yeah, exactly.
Sargassas: “What’s going on?” “Oh, there was just a murder.”
Dian: “Change any bloody sheets this morning?
DM: It was you, you did it in your sleep.
Sargassas: He wakes up, there’s a dead whore in his bed.

Someone says something funny, but someone else is unwrapping plastic noisily over the microphone, so that’s lost to the ages. Sargassas proposes the retelling of an old game in the form of “Who Framed Tyrgol Rabbit”. They receive another invitation, this one from the Duchess.

Iglar: Earliest convenience? Does that sound like… second breakfast?
DM: Probably not.
Iglar: Let’s wait till midday. Iglar polishes his weapons. Wait, he doesn’t have any weapons.
Ralth: Iglar polishes his other weapon.
Iglar: Iglar… meditates, I suppose. Something gay like that.

A debate erupts over time zone differences, teleport jetlag, and the solstice. The DM relates a story about eating Skittles.

Sargassas: I don’t get those dreams. I get the dreams of me continuing to play this game, and arguing with you all night long. I wake up in fever sweats from having arguments with you…
Ralth: Yeah, mine was a combination of Minecraft, haunted houses, and competitive eating.

Sargassas hunts down the court chaplain, to ask him his opinions of the two nobles. He speaks in favor of the Duchess.

Sargassas: “What… do you know of the previous count of…. …ever…”
Iglar and Khoriane: Seacrest.
DM: (American Idol theme, having given up)

The chaplain tells them of the first recipient of the goddess’s gift, a count hundreds of years ago who was charged to fight against evil. The players, rapidly becoming more distracted, begin cooking up a plan to install Ralth as count and burn the palace.

Sargassas: I really regret making this character. Every time I RP it’s so hard to keep his voice. It’s so hard! I might have to throw a race change. Grow a cocoon and—
DM: Fifteen bucks, dude.
Sargassas: I would give you 30 bucks! I’m going to go talk to a plastic surgeon about a voice change…
Dian: He tells you to stick your tongue out, grabs the end, cuts off the part that’s forked…
DM: He fires an energy ray down your throat. (Inferian voice) “Now you talk like this.”
Dian: Lizarderian. Inferiassas.
DM: Inferizard.

Sargassas proposes that the sword still seeking a new master means that evil either continues to exist or is surging back, then arbitrarily picks up a d20.

Sargassas: Let us go see the Duchess, and let the d20 decide. If it’s the 20, it’s the Duchess. If it’s the 1, it’s the Duke, and if it’s any number in between, we keep the sword and we run.
Ralth: I don’t think the sword will like that…
Dian: They gave us the power, why don’t we just say Iglar is it.
Sargassas: Let the dice decide! …wow, it rolled a 1.
Iglar: All right, Iglar gets up… checks his kit to make sure his fly is buckled.
DM: Roll a Spot check.
Sargassas: You roll a 1. “Yep, it looks buckled to me!”
Iglar: 11!
DM: It’s good. Ralth, roll a Spot check.
Ralth: 14.
DM: Ralth, what you’ve seen can’t be unseen.
Ralth: Fantastic.
DM: That would snap one of your halfling female’s hips like trying to ram a piece of pipe through a donut.
Iglar: Wair… the difficulty for seeing whether or not my fly is buckled is higher than 10?! How many half-giants walk around…
DM: I’m sorry, your master died before he taught you the proper tucking technique.
Iglar: This is a suit of armor, nothing better be hanging out!
DM: How do you think those rats were doing damage to you through your armor?
Sargassas: How do you think people get crits on you so easily?
Iglar: (sighing) My Achilles heel…
Ralth: Uh, definitely not a heel…
DM: You took the feat “Going, Going, Gonad”.
Iglar: (flustered) Anyway – can we just –
Ralth: We’re on our way. You’re the one who brought up the fucking buckling it up and Spot…

The group shows up at the Duchess’s room, and greet her in courtesy. She is young and wiry; Iglar ogles slightly. The Duchess explains that she wishes to give the title to one of her barons, and briefly delves into the politics of title transference, through which Max snores. She is torn between giving it between a young baroness and an elderly baron.

Dian: Baroness!?
Sargassas: Shut up!
Dian: COBRA!
Iglar: “Do tell, Duchess, how did she earn it? I sense a martial tale.”
DM: “To a certain extent. We were engaged in a small skirmish against—“
Dian: Terrorist activity? Sorry. I’m done. I’m done!
DM: “She was merely one of my knights, but during the course of a battle we were involved in—“
Dian: G.I. Joe!
Khoriane: Smack him, Iglar, damn it.
Iglar: Why, what’d he do?
Dian: Ah, she’s telling a story where the Joes are the terrorists!
Sargassas: (writhing) Shut up!
Dian: This is exactly how she would act!
Iglar: “Insurgents. You mean bandits?”
Dian: But because the Duke wears a steel mask and has the voice of a black man,.. All right, all right.
Iglar: I don’t get it. Just go on.

The Duchess finally gets her tale out, explaining that the baroness is young and courageous and the baron is wise and competent, but elderly. Khoriane suggests they split the duties somehow, perhaps making the baroness a champion of the baron-as-count, or having the sword choose.

Iglar: “All right, bring me a stone! ‘Kay, sword, you’re not gonna like this –“ (mimes plunging the sword into the stone)

They continue to debate. Sargassas gets snide about asking the sword.

Sargassas: “What is your choice?” (mocking tones) “I wanna be with the Count of Seacrest.”
Ralth: That’s pretty much what it’s gonna be.
Sargassas: I’m pretty sure the DM doesn’t want us to just flop the sword on the table, and the sword’s gonna go boing, our decision’s over. No, we have to RP.
Iglar: Spin the sword.
DM: Okay, let’s see, there’s 10 candidates total… the six of you, two Dukes, two barons… (rolling) I’m sorry, the sword did point at [Dian].
Dian: …I’m an unarmed swordsage.
DM: SWORD…sage.
Ralth: Yes, you can carry it around, it’s not gonna be used. Sorry sword, you’re useless now.

The players develop an idea of Seacrest as old Detroit, with a warforged ranger named Robocop patrolling the streets. The Duchess fetches her barons. The baroness is Valkyrie-level attractive.

Iglar: Hold fast, my buckle…
DM: Roll a saving throw for your buckle.
Iglar: Leave my buckle alone, DM!
DM: Would you like a Will saving throw to keep it down, or an item saving throw—
Iglar: I have Autohypnosis and Concentration – I shall not fall prey for your – insinuations of bestial behavior!

Sargassas attempts to propose the champion-arrangement, but it’s so late and everyone is so tired that they can’t stop giggling at the word ‘duty’. The roleplay overtly breaks down:

Iglar: “We were tasked with the unhappy task of selecting the next count of Seacrest, so if you would kindly tell us which one of you would like to be the count of Seacrest, and why.
Khoriane: (exasperated noise)
Sargassas: A collective -- (facepalms)

With the game dissolving, they reluctantly call it for the night.