DM: Now the story as I remember it is that last time you guys had met up with a few goblins in the wood, and after slaying one had managed to capture one.
Normilan: And he gave us the information.
DM: Yes, you let him go.
Normilan: Much to our chagrin later, I’m sure.
Bront: (bitterly) Well, it would’ve been an alignment shift if we hadn’t.

The DM explains that neither goblins nor kobolds have a history of raiding parties in this land. The group rests and recovers for the night, but not much happens…

Bront: I’m sure this will be transcribed as, “Voracious eating noises cover the first half of this transcription.”

Boy do they. Cruroar bemoans his failure to make the pork chop inadequately non-Kosher. Lacking any healing, the group realizes they actually have to look up the natural healing rules, and collapse into apathetic grumbling and meme-swapping. Marros must roll a check to seek tracks again.

Marros: (rolling) I’m not gonna use that.
DM: Yes you are. What was it?
Cruroar: Tracking has not been our greatest rolls.
Marros: Wait, am I using Search or Survival?
DM: You use a Survival roll.
Marros: All right. (blatantly rerolling) 19! Thanks to all the buffs I get to my favorite enemy, the kobold. Now of course we’re never going to fight a kobold again.
Cruroar: We haven’t fought one yet!
DM: And you never will now that I know that.
Cruroar: Don’t worry, you get another favored enemy at third level. Just keep grabbing favored enemies we don’t like, ‘cuz they we don’t have to fight ‘em.
Eilnys: Giant spider.
DM: No!
Normilan: I like that.
DM: (horrified) NO! After a mere moment of searching you find the tracks, concealed by the morning dew as they are.
Marros: “Hey guys, I found the tracks.”
DM: Irritating tones waft over the clearing you’re in.
Marros: “Hey guys! Ya hear me? Over here! Guys! Guys! Over here!”
DM: No one acknowledges you.
Eilnys: He just keeps getting more annoying…
Cruroar: “Shhhh! Perhaps if we stay quiet!”
DM: He won’t find his way back to camp…

The DM calls for their marching order, necessitating the inevitable argument. The group realizes that only Normilan and Eilnys actually have a positive Dex modifier, and their fear of explosions increases sharply. They bravely plow on through flavor text, which gets less than flavorful quickly.

DM: The scent of living creatures is overwhelming out here. Plants… the occasional stench of something that took a crap in the forest nearby…
Marros: Does a bear shit in the woods?
Cruroar: Yeah, a lot.
DM: Does the pope shit in the woods?
Marros: If he was stuck in the woods with nowhere else to go.
DM: No, the answer is, “If he’s a bear.”
Marros: …Hmm.

The DM starts wiping off the battle mat.

Cruroar: I hope we’re playing this into our 70s. Sitting there in the old folks home, we managed to con our kids into putting us in the same one.
DM: And complaining about the rules. “Hey, you guys remember that vampire monk?”
Marros: Our kids are going to be reading the game reports and going, “Why? Why?”
Bront: At least we’ll have something to DO in the old folks home.
DM: The tracks is winding its way into the foothills, slowly but surely.
Marros: Did you say Shirley?
Bront: You can’t be serious.

As they head into the foothills, Marros spies what he believes to be a kobold trap on the side of two hills the path passes between. He warns the group, but they get hung up on his description of the foothills as orc boobs. Also his voice gets stupider.

Marros: Don’t hate. Hate the player, not the game. No: “We DO hate the player. We hate the player very much.”
Eilnys: We hate the player AND the game. We hate everything.

The game pauses as the DM is called upon to catch and release a stinkbug. Normilan gives him 1 experience, but he claims to have received an epic world drop off of it. The group lampshades their increasing offensiveness over time.

Cruroar: There was some Hitler thrown in ages ago, but it was more about Hitler. And his craziness. Now it’s more about Hitler aaaaaand everything else he did.
DM: (laughing) Which does not include his craziness!
Marros: Which was he FAILED, okay? Let’s call a spade a spade.

The transcriber speaks, pauses, then vows to not transcribe that; it is compared to the aesthetics of hanging gardens previously discussed. The group decides to go around the trap.

Marros: I say we go up the hill. I’m gonna make my way up the hill.
DM: Left or right?
Marros: …Up.
DM: Left side or right side of the—
Normilan: Bosom.
DM: Bosom. The cleavage. Left tit or right tit.
Marros: Let’s go up – wait, wait, wait. Let’s go for the left tit.
DM: I’m glad to see you’re keeping abreast of the situation.

The DM calls for Spot checks all around. Normilan rolls a modified one, and is aghast at his poor Wisdom stat. Everyone but him spot the kobolds lurking beside the traps. Initiative ensues! The DM continues to mispronounce Normilan’s name, despite repeated corrections. The kobolds shriek at them! …no one speaks kobold.

Bront: I speak Goblin.
Cruroar: I speak Infernal and Celestial.
Normilan: I speak goblinoid.
Eilnys: I speak Orc.
DM: Polyglots though you all are, you understand nothing of what these kobolds—
Normilan: Why in the hell would I learn the goddamn lowly language of the goddamn kobolds. Screw them!

Marros gets plunked with a sling bullet for two and whines like a bitch. The other three miss. Eilnys hurls her short spear at a kobold, slaying it.

DM: The spearhead punches through its chest and bursts out the other side, its heart quivering on the tip! It beats one last time and the kobold collapses.

Bront charges up the hill and annihilates the kobold, bouncing its head down the hill into a badger hole.

Bront: What’s par for this hole?
DM: As of now, two.

The other two kobolds are on the other hill. Normilan drops one; Marros… ducks behind Bront and cowers. Literally.

DM: The ranger cowardly hides from his sworn enemy.
Normilan: You’re a terrible ranger.
DM: Hides from his hated foe! COWERS from the creatures he has vowed to eradicate! You all are sickened to see this.
Normilan: The fact that he’s gay makes it worse.
Marros: “Don’t think less of me, guys!”

Cruroar scrambles forward just far enough to be in eldritch blast range, sickening a kobold with his essence invocation. The kobold begins staggering down the hill.

Bront: Oh, he’s pulling the retreating Stormtrooper gambit. He goes, “Aaaaaah!” We run down the hill going “Aaaaaah!” 50 kobolds.
DM: Eilnys, the kobold is staggering down the hill away from you, what do you do?
Eilnys: I don’t have the charge feat..
Cruroar: You don’t need a feat to charge. You need feet to charge.
Bront: We want him to get away so he can bring us more kobolds to farm.
DM: It’s like Ogre Battle, you keep letting them respawn and beat them up until you’re too high and your Charisma and Alignment plummet. And then you become a wizard.

Cruroar and the DM get distracted debating Ogre Battle party composition. The kobold, out of sight behind the hill, seems to be getting away.

Cruroar: “Let’s not be too hasty. Let’s keep our guard up and move in its direction. We could be falling into another trap.”
DM: Cruroar speaks to the mysterious voice in the sky, cautioning him.
Cruroar: I was talking to the group.
DM: You were facing ME!
Cruroar: I’m making sure you’re not trying anything. I watch you all the time.
DM: Yes, that’s right. When you’re not me watching me I put damage on your sheet somehow.

They loot the kobold bodies. They briefly question if they have the skills to get these sheep back if they ever do find them. Marros speaks out of character, for which the DM mocks him, then speaks in-character, for which the DM punishes him. The motives of the kobolds with regards to the sheep are called into question. The path leads into a hole in the side of a large hill.

Normilan: Good place to hide sheep.
Marros: Listen check.
DM: All right, you stop on the hill, some 150 feet away, to listen.
Marros: I hear the blood rushing in my ears.
DM: It’s not that quiet! You hear the gentle breeze whistling through the grasses.
Bront: Wind in the willows?
DM: There are no willows.

They advance forward, and the DM begins scrawling out the map on the mat. Cruroar manages to completely lose a mini somehow; Marros, meanwhile, is apparently attempting to eat them. They inch into the cavern, which smells thickly of sheep and fresh dirt.

DM: This is freshly dug. As you look ahead you can see various supports, crudely constructed, which I didn’t bother to draw on the map. Which I advise you not to worry too much about, because if I put them on there, someone would take them out and you would all die. So let’s, for cinematic sake, assume.
Bront: So this dig is freshly dug?
DM: Indeed. Fygar approaches! And that balloon guy I don’t remember the name of.

Normilan casts light on his quarterstaff. The group advances forward, and Normilan is promptly called upon to make a Reflex saving throw.

Normilan: (rolling) Yep. That ain’t happening. 4.
Cruroar: Just enough!
Normilan: What kind of crap thing was that?
DM: They rolled a natural 1 on their trapmaking there… Above you, a massive clod of dirt comes down as much of the entranceway starts to collapse. There’s not enough dirt over the two of you behind him to really bother you guys, you just get a shower of rubble and stuff. But the dirt lands heavily on you, knocking you down. The dirt does no damage to you, but you are prone, and it will take you a Strength check to get free.
Normilan: Ha HA! No problem! I’m a strong mage!
DM: Ha, you’re a wizard, how strong could you -- oh my goooooooooood!

The DM starts collecting kobold miniatures, as initiative is rolled.

DM: All right, who’s that poor tall fool in front?
Marros: Bront.
Normilan: Aaah, he’s gonna take the ‘brunt’ of the damage, get it?

The kobolds sling at him, but he only takes one point of damage. Bront charges and drops a kobold in one shot, naturally.

Bront: He goes back into Ganon’s jar…
Eilnys: Was I still in back?
DM: Yes.
Marros: And you are walking over the mound of dirt that contains Normilan in it.

Eilnys hurls her spear, but it falls short, while Cruroar unleashes an eldritch blast that strikes true. Normillan rolls to free himself.

Normilan: Seventeen,
DM: You burst free in a mighty show of strength.
Marros: And then another cave-in.
Normilan: God damn it!

Bront cleaves through one kobold but misses the next because his blade is too soaked with gore and ribcage. The remaining kobolds flee into a small tunnel, kobold-style. One of the darkvision-possessors peers in, but sees the tunnel turns shortly inside.

Bront: I knew I should’ve got that shoulder.
Marros: What about a crowbar?
Cruroar: If you had done what they said in Starship Troopers 3. “The new… spade.”

They whack at the tunnel and knock down a bit of dirt to plug it, but don’t dare go deeper. Marros piles up the dead bodies, but a magic missile flies out of the darkness further down the cavern to strike Cruroar, followed by some sling bullets that missed. Eilnys holds her action, and Cruroar ducks to the side to get out of the line of fire.

Normilan: (realizing he’s now the obvious target) Crap. I’m gonna full-on run to the other end of the cavern.

As people move forward, the DM draws out more of the revealed terrain. No one is willing to move into the line of fire, so Eilnys yells out some insults in orcish.

Eilnys: Oh, I have a miner’s pick…
DM: Oh that would have been nice to know. I want everyone to give me a Listen check.
Cruroar: You hear her say, “I found a miner’s pick.”
Marros: (rolling) Awww…
Normilan: (rolling) Oh…
Bront: Under 10.
Marros: Even worse than yours.
Eilnys: I’m hearing jack and shit.
Cruroar: 18.
DM: You are the only person who hears the faint sound of digging from that tunnel you blocked off behind.
Normilan: Hmm… Damn you, level 1 spells…

Normilan casts Mage Armor and steps out; sling bullets plink off it, but one whacks him in the shoulder for 3.

Normilan: That’s like half my hit points. That’s not my shoulder, that’s my eye. “OWWWW!”
DM: In addition, another magic missile erupts from the darkness – but you got lucky, it only did 2 points of damage.
Normilan: Welp, one hit point left.

They see several kobolds ahead, including the caster, and other tunnels to let the kobolds flee easily from the medium-sized creatures. Marros has no idea what to do; he takes a move action to step forward with some idea of throwing a flask. A dirt deadfall collapses on him; he passes his save and does indeed hurl the flask, but his -2 Dex modifier ruins it. Acid now coats the floor, but no kobolds.

Bront: That’ll teach ‘em.
DM: The kobolds all sort of shrunk back.

Stepping forward, the players finally spy the sheep crammed into a crude pen behind the kobolds! Cruroar fires a blast at a kobold, slaying it.

DM: Normilan!
Cruroar: It sounds like a Decepticon! He’s the normal one! Normilon!
Normilan: He keeps saying it weird! NORMILAN! Transform, and roll out.
DM: All right, Norm—Normillin! Normal-in.
Cruroar: He keeps saying it differently!

Normilan enlarges Bront; it puts him into the acid, turning him into Two-Face. Marros steps forward to engage the kobolds; two sling at him for 1 total.

DM: The one you approach drops his sling and whips out his spear – the weapon.
Eilnys: Eww.
DM: And promptly proceeds to challenge you in a duel to the death. His spear vs. your weapon. Whatever it is.
Marros: My longsword.
Bront: So I guess from a proportional point of looking at things, his is bigger than yours.
DM: What’d you roll?
Marros: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I – I kind of whiffed.
DM: You rolled a natural 1?
Marros: I rolled a natural 2.
DM: Oh, that’s okay. It would’ve been the greatest thing if you’d rolled a natural 1 as well.
Cruroar: Is that what the other guy rolled?
DM: Yes. Your swing is completely wild as you are blinded by rage and hatred for these kobolds. You are furious. You are maddened with bloodlust. Your urge to kill these kobolds is so great that you hack a full three feet off of where you should have, which would be disastrous for you if not for the fact that the kobold had failed the swing of his spear so badly that your sword managed to lop the head clean off of his spear, sending it flying into the darkness.
Marros: “I just gave him a circumcision.”

The tunnel behind them lets out a heavy whump-crunch, followed by cracking sounds. The group continues to jockey for position; Cruroar discovers the mage has Shield up, which blocks Cruroar’s blast. The DM is right back to mispronouncing Normilan’s name; while he hesitates, the kobold casts Sleep on the melee, taking out two of them. Eilnys rolls a much better Listen check to hear what’s going on in that tunnel.

DM: The sounds of digging have completely stopped, and in fact if you listen carefully, you believe you can hear what can only be described as a kobold letting out its last gasp as it’s crushed to death beneath who knows how much dirt. On the other hand that sounds that have not stopped are the sounds of the supports nearest that wall cracking.

Normilan assess himself; 1 hit point, no spells but mage hand. With no other options, he grimly hurls his dagger – with a -8 penalty in total.

Normilan: This is all I can do though. (rolling) Well, at least I didn’t botch it. 3.

The game gets distracted by an argument over whether a kobold had a spear out. The kobold does 2 points of damage, then runs like hell; Cruroar gets an AOO as it leaves his threatened space, which drops it. Normilan slaps Bront awake.

DM: You are rudely awakened by a vicious slap from the oddly strong mage.
Normilan: RAAAAAAAAAAAGH! (vicious slap) AAAAAAAAAAAGH! THREE SUBDUAL DAMAGE!
Bront: The oddly-intelligent fighter awakened by the oddly-strong mage.
Marros: Gently shake me awake. Gently shake me awake!

The supports continue to crumble, along with another side-tunnel. The players frantically round up the sheep.

DM: You hastily badger them out.
Normilan: With badgers!
DM: It’s the phrase, dude…
Cruroar: And the phrase happened to be, old shepards happened to use badgers back before they evolved to use dogs.

Marros debates running back to loot the kobolds, but finds instead the kobold mage! He immediately surrenders.

DM: Your hated enemy is trying to offer surrender.
Normilan: It would not be against your alignment to slaughter him where he stands.
DM: Mmmmm…
Normilan: Hey, they’re enemies, they hate each other.
DM: Even so. It is up to your own moral judgment.
Normilan: I say beat him within an inch of his life, tie him up, and that’s good enough.

Marros tries to run him through. And fails, rolling 12.

DM: As you attempt to stab him he shrieks a curse that the rest of you hear, draws a dagger, and plunges it for your vitals. And it would be a brutal hit if your vitals were about three feet on the outside of your body.
Marros: Can I get a different d20, please.
Cruroar: And in the time it’s taken them to do this, we’ve gone back to town and are declared heroes. How do we tell his tale? “He died a coward’s death…”
Marros: Seven points of damage.
DM: He clutches at your arm as you punch it through his chest clean to your wrist. “Our tribe will see you burn…”
Cruroar: He knows Common, that’s awesome.
Marros: “Not before you.” I would like to loot all three bodies.
Normilan: Meanwhile… (miming the cavern collapses)

Marros Reflex saves to get out. And fails. The DM calls for a Dex check.

Cruroar: Was it worth the loot that you got?
Marros: I got nine copper and a broken short spear.
DM: You scramble forward on your hands and knees. Another collapse from the side blasts out a pile of rubble as that side tunnel collapses. It slams you up against the wall, and only just barely do you just manage to roll over it and end on your hands and knees in the main section of the cavern. Even as you get to your feet, this side collapses. Give me a Fortitude saving throw.
Bront: I’m gonna charge back in and see what’s taking him so long.
Normilan: “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?”
Marros: 19.
DM: A wave of dust surges over you but you fling your rangerly cloak over you and surge forward through it. You step in to see him blindly lurching through the dust cloud, carrying several sets of spears and leather armor.

The group laughs itself silly and exchanges high-fives. Both Bront and Marros have to save again.

Marros: …5.
Bront: 9.

The group exchanges looks, then bursts into laughter.

DM: From the outside, all of you see the entire hill abruptly lose about fifteen feet of height.
Eilnys: Oh dear.
Marros: Wow, they hollowed it out, that’s awesome.
Bront: She’s gonna have to use that pickaxe, then…
Normilan: Did they trip out, at least?
DM: They’re halfway out. You each have taken six subdual damage as your legs were caught under the collapse of this cavern.

Marros absolutely refuses to give up the loot from the mage. The DM quickly rolls up the loot and distributes it. The sheep also have been used as pack animals, and the bags contain large amounts of gold! Freshly-minted, in pristine condition, and probably minted by their earl.

Cruroar: How much gold?
Normilan: Are we sitting there counting this?
DM: ARE you sitting there counting it?
Bront: Let’s get clear of… that.

They also have several magical scrolls human-sized chain mail, which raises the questions of what the kobolds were doing here – or goblins. The DM elaborates that neither of these creature sorts have been seen here in a long time. The chain mail seems to have had an emblem removed from it. There are also horseshoes that have been recently cast. The last bag has potions. The group begins badgering the sheep back… and find themselves needing to camp on the edge of the forest.

DM: It may help to inform your decision that as the moon begin to rise, you hear the howl of wolves lifting towards it. You’ve heard this on previous nights but that’s normal. Tonight, however, it carries a particular weight for you – as what would wolves like to eat, as any cartoon has taught you?
Eilnys. Sheep.
DM: Roadrunners.
Cruroar: If only we were going up against a dire skunk, all they would want to do is rape our cats.
DM: I’m sorry, you now have a white stripe down your back, as you have brushed up against the staining tree.
Cruroar: Each fist does 27 subdual damage. I am WAY unconscious.
Bront: We’re not gonna get much sleep tonight.
DM: I assume you don’t set a watch.
Cruroar: Huh?
Bront: Why would you assume this?
DM: To be a jerk.
Cruroar: I’m definitely putting up a watch.
DM: Then what is your watch order?
Cruroar: I’m gonna go first, and I’m gonna try to set up a crude fence of sticks around the sheep, keep them from wandering too far.
Normilan: They laugh at your sticks and wander off.
DM: The sheep seem more intent on sleeping tonight…

Marros, on his watch, hears a sheep slaughtered too late to prevent it. They all surge awake (Normilan making a quivering-board sound effect as he does). Marros runs out of the way of the sheep.

Marros: What else can I do? I mean, I can take out some caltrops and throw them in front of the sheep.
Normilan: Yeah, that’s not a good idea. At least we got lamb chops for the morning breakfast.
Cruroar: Anyone got Handle Animal?
Marros: No.
Cruroar: Really? A ranger? You should really have Handle Animal!

Marros and his 9 Charisma blow a wild empathy check and the sheep charge on ahead into the forest. Cruroar angrily sprays the DM with compressed air.

Bront: We’re gonna have to round up the sheep later, we need to find the wolves.
DM: There’s only one wolf, and it’s fairly obvious, it’s eating a sheep. It’s the only thing left on the hills.
Marros: I’m gonna go after the wolf.
DM: It’s too late for the sheep no matter what happens.
Marros: Right, I’m gonna go kill that son of a bitch.
Cruroar: Vengeance is his.
DM: …well, he’s not a druid!

Marros advances on the lean wolf, which growls at him, uncertain as to whether it will run or fight. As he gets closer, the wolf attacks him for 4, then trips him. Marros bemoans his limited options, and ponders a double-kill with alchemist’s fire. Bront charges forward and whacks it.

DM: You strike him but good, but the wolf seems undeterred. It turns and lashes at you with its jaws, tripping over Marros as it does so and falling in a heap on the ground itself.

Bront’s AOO ends the wolf’s life. The DM bemoans his wolf’s fate.

Marros: “Thanks, Bront!”
DM: You accomplished nothing but getting injured and killing a wolf, which had already killed the sheep. You – you did nothing. I can’t emphasize this enough. You accomplished nothing.
Marros: I plan on cutting off this wolf’s skin and cooking the meat. I roll for my cooking – and we all get sick.
DM: That’s just terrible. The sun slowly rises. You come out of the forest, sheep slowly in tow, to find him sitting on his ass in front of a cookpot. You might be inclined to be angry—
Normilan: “You guys want some wolf?”
DM: Except for the fact that he’s obviously having problems standing because there’s a half-moon taken out of his calf. You’re all tired and miserable and the thing that he’s cooking, it smells like he basically managed to boil salt water. REAAAAALLY salt water. You also find a few rocks in there. Apparently he’s been very confused about the idea of stone soup. It’s fairly clear he just cut the skin off and shoved the corpse of the wolf in there. Like tamped it down with a big stick, then poured water over it, along with as much salt as he had. Which is a lot – I can’t emphasize how bad this wolf is.
Marros: I rolled a 5, man, not a negative!
DM: You all have gotten no sleep, you do not heal or regain spells, I’m sad to say.
Cruroar: No you’re not.
Eilnys: You’re enjoying this, we know you.
DM: It’s not my fault he chose to take a highly-disproportionate response to the wolf! Circle of life… take that circle of life, kill my sheep will you…

Cruroar vows to commit suicide if a hurricane arises, but the characters plod to home across the day. They reach it just as the sun is setting. The DM goes on a rambling explanation of how the millworker’s brother uses the mill basement to brew alcohol and that most people are probably outside the mill drinking. Normilan runs ahead to alert the shepard.

DM: You going back there first, not choosing to report to your master?
Normilan: This comes first, he can be told after.
DM: Hmm, very studious of you.
Cruroar: He appears behind you.
Normilan: “HOWCOMEYOUDIDN’TCOMESEEME?!” “Aaaaah!”
DM: Polymorph.
Cruroar: You’re also a sheep. One of these sheep is our friend.
DM: “If you can figure out which sheep is your friend, you may have him back.”
Normilan: “You turning him back?” “Oh no, he’ll stay a sheep.”
DM: I made rules for it.

Normilan bursts into the light, scaring the villagers, who apparently didn’t expect any of them to return. A cheer goes up as he announces the return of the sheep!

DM: Several of them step forward to slap you heartily on the back.
Normilan: “Gaaah! Guh – aagh!” (mimes collapsing) I only have one hit point, aaagh!
DM: They appear to have forgotten that you’re something of a social outcast as they usher you into your circle and beer is bought for you.
Cruroar: Make your Con check, you only have one hit point left!
DM: They beg of you to tell the tale of what happened.
Cruroar: Uh-oh, this tale is going to be very bloated in favor of him.
Eilnys: I am horribly sad and this is a tragedy, I am missing beer, god damn it.
Normilan: A 15 on my untrained Performance. I orate a great tale.
DM: Gimme the gist, I wanna hear how much it differs from reality.
Normilan: Aww, I‘m not gonna be that bad.
Cruroar: “And that’s when he cowered behind me, and I began to cast spells…”

Normilan jumps the number of kobolds up to two-score, betting that no one knows what a score is. (Cruroar promptly proves him right.) He skips the goblin part--

Normilan: “Because that’s boring. We tracked them to their cave! We boldly stepped in to face them. I, using my spells to thwart them off. The mighty Bront charging into the fray! The… uh…”
Marros: Questionable.
Normilan: “Flagrant Marros… doing something. Cruroar, his eldritch blast flinging back and forth, and the stout dwarf flinging her spear across the room.”
DM: The crowd is hanging on your every word. You have them wrapped around your little finger.
Normilan: “So great was our battle that the cave itself began to tremble!”
DM: It certainly wasn’t those kobolds rolling a 1 to dig themselves out!
Cruroar: They did?
DM: That’s why all of that happened.

The shepherd is prostrate with relief and gratitude. The DM reveals that they’ve gotten 990 gold, shocking the hell out of the players. Normilan insists they report this find; Marros advocates running with it for the hills. The DM briefly digresses into a description of the lands and the political structure, then questions why they’re not going to join in the beerfest.

Cruroar: I don’t know there’s a party there, what are you talking about? Unless the one guy led us there.
DM: This is not such a large town that you didn’t hear the cheer and the hip-hip-hooray for our heroes.
Cruroar: I don’t know! Let me see my Listen check! (rolling) Goddamn natural twenty…
Normilan: I think that’s the first time anybody’s ever said that. “Goddamn natural 20!”
DM: “How dare you not allow me to spite the DM!”

Normilan is the hero of the hour, and even the girls are hanging on his every word – even the most attractive one! The DM describes the attention he’s getting lavishly.

DM: The local toughs are not pleased, but they realize now that if you slew forty kobolds with your magic, you’re not someone to be trifled with.

The other players vow to sabotage this numbers-inflation at the first opportunity. Normilan sure doesn’t correct it.

DM: In the midst of retelling the story for the fourth time, a bony hand lands on your shoulder.
Normilan: Uh-oh.
Marros: Skeleton, it’s undead.
Normilan: He rakes me for five points of damage, that’s it.
Cruroar: It’s Skeletor!
DM: “Not so tough NOW, are you, He-Man?”
Normilan: It’s my master, isn’t it.
DM: Yes.
Normilan: Aww crap. “Oh hi, Master.”

The elderly mage leads Normilan away, without trouble since no one dares cross him. They return to the tower and Normilan tells the tale…properly. The master praises him for his success, but bids Normilan to bring him a coin from the loot.

DM: The rest of you, choosing to eschew the celebrations—
Eilnys: No! I’m going to get me beer!
DM: You show up! No one’s quite thrilled to see you, but nevertheless, you’re greeted as a hero for what you’ve done, if not for who you are.
Eilnys: “Now where’s the lad fine brew?”
DM: Beer is bought for you aplenty, and your story is demanded.
Normilan: Uh-oh.
Cruroar: Am I the highest Charisma?
DM: Yes, that’s why all the hot girls were hitting on you.

Luckily, everyone’s foggy enough to ignore the difference between the versions of the stories. The next day sees everyone up a little late.

DM: People rise.
Cruroar: From the ground.
Eilnys: Rise from my grave!
DM: So great was the party that the dead themselves rose to partake of it. But now they won’t settle down again. Here’s your next adventure, you have to kill your answers.
Cruroar: There’s dancing.
Eilnys: “’Cuz it’s a thriller!”

Marros heads to the blacksmith to sell his dagger and the leather armor.

Marros: “What would you like to give for it?”
DM: “….nothin’.”
Eilnys: “Ach, Da…”
Marros: “Okay, moving on, thank you…”
DM: The leather armor might be of value to a proper source, but that source is not a blacksmith, who rarely forges leather armor…
Marros: “Quick question!”
DM: “Aye?”
Marros: “These horseshoes, that we found?”
DM: “Aye.”
Marros: “Do you recognize the work?”
DM: “Hmm. Hmm! Nope.”
Eilnys: “Da…”

The smith suggests the work is faintly elven, perhaps half-elven, and that it’s a shoe for a fine horse. Marros is deservedly smited by the god of heterosexuality. Eilnys is smited by the god of gender stereotypes, and Cruroar is smited by the god of don’t-look-like-fucking-sissy-man.

DM: Sorry my gods are assholes. …Normilan, you’ve been smited by Raistlin, he’s just jealous.
Normilan: How is the most powerful wizard jealous of me?!
DM: Your Strength score.

The group heads to the master mage’s tower, which according to legend he raised in a single night. Eilnys and Marros are hanging out together for some reason.

DM: Between the two of you, you have one stereotypical male and one stereotypical female each, if you average it out.
Marros: “That’s not funny.”
DM: Well, the god of gender stereotypes disagrees with you!
Marros: “’Scuse me! But the god of homosexuals is gonna bitchslap your god of heterosexuals right before he gets his ass whooped.”
DM: I’m sorry, the god of homosexuals is an elven god.

The DM waxes eloquent on the mage – how he rarely emerges, how no one knows why he stays here, but how he’s a legend among the townsfolk. The aged mage questions them for their thoughts on their adventure; they share with him their belief that a noble had been waylaid by the kobolds. The mage takes the coin they brought him.

DM: A cheap copper.
Eilnys: No!
Cruroar: “All the gold’s been replaced with copper! I’m gonna find out who did this!”
DM: You quickly venture onto the local boat, where, as you know, all mysteries are solved. He takes the coin in his long, spindly fingers, holds it between his fingers, then with a sharp twist, it begins to spin on his index finger.
Cruroar: His teeth fall out.
DM: He begins to speak words over it, gesturing with a hand as it continues to spin without any knowledge of his own.
Normilan: Spellcraft 27.
DM: Okay, he’s casting some fucking custom spell, stop rocking the boat!
Normilan: I’m trying to learn!

The spell conjures an image out of the coin: a man, wearing familiar chain mail. He is barely out of his teenage years and clearly noble. He is speaking, but there’s no sound; he also passes the sack of gold out of the field of vision. The players speculate that the local baron is making deals with the kobolds.

Cruroar: So did the chain armor… I don’t think we missed the scene where he started stripping and handing that over.
Normilan: “Ah, I feel free.”
Cruroar: “I’m a monk who stupidly bought chain mail.” He took a level in one of the classes that forces him to give up all of his possessions, the kobolds were the first ones he saw…
Marros: I say we bury the gold and bury the chain mail and never speak of this again. Campaign over!

The group proposes to go speak to the bailiff mentioned before, who is down in -- the other town that the DM has to think of quickly.

Elinys: And the DM is like “fuck you”.
DM: Bailifftown.
Cruroar: Insert dramatic pause… all right, quickly think of a name. All he can think of is bad names.
DM: Yeah, the first three names I came up with were all bad… Anyway, the name of the town you’re going to is Grand Mill.
Cruroar: Did we give you enough time to come up with that name?
DM: Well you DID sabotage me.
Normilan: One gigantic mill.
Bront: The entire town is in the mill.
Normilan: It grinds up the peasants.
Bront: No, it’s just a giant wheel they turn outside…
Cruroar: We see young Conan up there.
DM: There’s a line: “Barbarian Training.”

Normilan, on the way back to the tower, is bonked by a piece of parchment. It’s a little drawing of him and a stick-figure girl meeting behind the mill.

Normilan: All right.
Marros: Ooh, you’ve been solicited.
Cruroar: Did somebody just send you some porn?
Normilan: “We’re not naked in this…”
Bront: This’ll be the last chance you get for a while…
Marros: He’s like, “I know we said we’re going to the other village but I got some things to take care of, we’re gonna have to do this first thing tomorrow morning.”
Bront: Just bring some protection.
Normilan: I go kill some lamb for their lambskins…
Bront: And also in case she’s going to try to kill you. She might be a Bond Girl.

The DM snickers that no one asked the wizard about their magic items, but allows them to retcon. They distribute their newfound wealth.

Normilan: I put them in my pack. “All right. Time to get laid. See you guys later.”
DM: It’s the middle of the day.
Normilan: Damn it, I’m eager!
DM: “I’ll get out there and squeeze out that first one, give myself some longevity.”
Normilan: Pffffthahahahahahah!

Night falls, and Cruroar openly challenges the DM to provide a graphic description of the events. Normilan heads to the back of the mill, and sees the outline of a figure.

Normilan: It’s one of the ruffians, I can already tell.
DM: Stop being genre-savvy!
Cruroar: I was gonna say it’s Marros…
Bront: They were pissed at you…
Normilan: I call out, “Hello? Come out where I can see you!”
Eilnys: Hey, can I NOT have had my fill of drink yesterday? I’m a dwarf…
DM: You have to get ready.
Eilnys: Ready for what? Drinking is drinking!
Cruroar: For adventure. It’s adventure time.
DM: (sighing) You’re correct, it’s one of the ruffians.
Normilan: He steps out?
DM: Yes, as do a couple of others a moment later.
Normilan: Well, I do have a high intelligence, so. “Evening, gentlemen.”
DM: “We think you need to get out of town pretty quick.”
Normilan: “Well I am leaving tomorrow.”
DM: “You’re not welcome here any more.”
Normilan: “Yes I am.”
DM: “No you’re not.”
Normilan: “Yes I am.”
DM: He reaches forward to give you a shove.
Cruroar: Of all the people in the group, the STRONGEST one he’s gonna try to overpower?
DM: He’s a mage, how strong could he be?
Cruroar: His muscles should be bulging out of the bloody robes.
Normilan: All right. I am a pretty big guy…
DM: He’s pretty flush with confidence in the whole numbers thing.
Normilan: Right. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m gonna cast Enlarge Person, I now have a DR 5/magic, and I rolled a 16 on Intimidate. “Do you really want to do this tonight, fellows?”
DM: You shoot up to massive size. At once they all stop in their tracks, motionless, in the same manner a prey animal goes completely still in the hopes a predator won’t notice them.
Normilan: “Run. Along. Home.”
DM: They scatter. One of them collapses as he trips over his own two feet. He curls into the fetal position and begins sobbing openly. His two friends abandon him in the shadows of the mill and run straight away.
Normilan: I give him a little nudge with my foot.
DM: (whimpering) “He’s a wizard, he’s supposed to be weak…”

The game is interrupted by the people upstairs, who are complaining about the noise despite stomping on the floor loudly the entire night. Everyone is baffled at this, but shrugs. The DM explains that the ruffians had resorted to thug intimidation because they could no longer compete fairly with the newly-minted hero. Marros begs for an evil campaign. The crowd gathers the next morning to see them off, but they seem resentful and not sad to see them go.

Cruroar: This’ll be the last time we see this village, because we’re gonna go to that town, it’s gonna start something else, we’ll go till another town… we’ll probably never come back to this village until late in the game.

The Speaker bids them adieu with a long speech about glory and doing right which actually sounds sincere, to the players’ surprise. They roll Sense Motives, so suspicious are they, but still!

DM: The cleric then steps forward and pronounces a blessing on you which has no game effects at all you assholes.
Normilan: Ha, you knew that was the next question.

So the heroes set off on their journey… and the game ends on that note.