DM: What campaign is it?
Cruroar: One more gold than we are willing to spend!
Brunt: Hunnerd gold! Great Book of Gummi…

The game begins with a rigorous discussion on Giles’s personal supplies, after which they tie up the assassin. Another group of guards appears! Normilan wisely dispels his flaming sphere.

Eilnys: Is it Captain Slamhand?
Brunt: Or is it the other captain?
DM: It’s Captain Slamhand himself.
Cruroar: Awww, I thought it was Captain Megafoot.
DM: They take her off. The Captain lingers behind to congratulate you all on a job well done.
Brunt: “Just doing my duty, Captain.”
DM: Formal nod.
Cruroar: He’s like, “Now for your reward. It would have been 2000 gold, but you did 6000 gold in damage. So you owe us 4000 gold…”

The Captain bids Brunt walk back to his office, giving his report on the way.

Cruroar: His character can’t walk-and-talk, have you read his character sheet? He doesn’t have walking feat…
Normilan: He trips and stumbles.
DM: He trips and dungeoncrashes himself in the face…
The Captain closes the office door and sits behind the desk, looking quite serious as he faces Brunt.

Normilan: “What you did was brash and beyond protocol, I would normally thank you, but they want me to fire you.”
DM: “Turn in your badge!”
Brunt: Oh yeah, I humiliated the Sixth Army.
DM: How dare you not let her make a Fortitude save to show off how badass she is? “I wish you to speak with the utmost honesty. Your friend… Cruroar.”
Cruroar: (sighing)
Brunt: (bursting into laughter) I’m sorry, that really – it’s just ‘cuz you’re being so serious, and I want to be on that level with you, but when you say the word Cruroar…
DM: “Your friend… Ultrabiceps.”
Brunt: “Cruroar.”
DM: “Yes. What is your opinion of him?”
Brunt: “He has a bit of a meandering tongue, but I believe his heart to be true.”
Cruroar: …meandering… tongue?
Brunt: He appraised you for a long minute, as if rolling a Sense Motive check, but eventually nods.
Cruroar: But since this DM is DMing, no roll is necessary for this check.
Brunt: Well, I could have said something like, “Well, he’s a bit mouthy, so I think he should be in a dungeon.”

The captains explains that aasimars have been causing trouble lately, and also that Cruroar, the first to act, might have arranged things to get the glory… but Brunt’s word is good enough for him and he will think no more on it.

Cruroar: Well, I’m not going to any more –ing functions.
Brunt: Don’t take offense, you’re not THERE!

Brunt returns to his post and the ceremony continues on without much description, but the king later commends him in a speech!

Brunt: I do kinda like this long-winded king. At least he’s not that… was that the Adventurers’ Guild game, where no matter what a good display or show we made of ourselves, he was just, “Eh, another group of freaks here to lick my boots.” This king’s like the king from Berserk. He may not like having us here, but at least he won’t dismiss us out of hand, ‘cuz we’re useful. So he’s expunging… expotulating… he’s making a speech.

Blah blah blah, a long long ceremony that bores everyone. Brunt gets a polite nod from the Sixth Army which relieves his concerns that she’s mad at him. The players hang out and are seen, which is reasonably prestigious.

DM: At last the audience hours end for the day. The king rises—
Normilan: “OH THANK GOD!” Just kidding…
DM: “Sorry! Sorry! Natural 1! Didn’t mean it!”
Cruroar: At least I’m not the only king who has to deal with assassination in his throne room. Apparently guards can’t keep weapons out of people’s hands. They got the knitting needles from the old lady but not the crossbow bolts from the messenger…

The PCs head off to a tavern near their home, The Tankard of Nails, a hangout for mercenaries and military types. Members of the Blades, the other half of the guard, give Brunt a condescending look and then go back to their gambling.

Brunt: Which one of us can gamble?! Probably Tasha. She cooks! She dices! She does it all!
DM: Except adventures!
Cruroar: I wonder what that of misfits band behind that dragon are up to?
Brunt: The half-dragon? We could try asking some of the mercenaries.
Normilan: Probably flogging Marros.
DM: Flogging or… ‘flogging’? This is Marros, he could go for either.
Brunt: He became their Toad.
Cruroar: Leave Toad alone.
DM: You all have an interesting conversation, apparently…

Theories about who is responsible for the assassination attempt swirl in the tavern. For some reason, the suspects are all characters from other campaigns. The DM calls for a Listen check!

DM: You distinctly hear, through a slight lull in the conversation, one of the Hands commenting to their friends as they begin dealing out the cards, “Well, that sort of sloppy business is exactly what you’d expect when you put a bunch of green-skinned idiots in charge of guard detail.”
Normilan: Ohhhhhh, raciiiiism!
Cruroar: Whoooa.

Brunt grits his teeth and doesn’t dungeoncrash them; he vows that they won’t be able to start a fight without kicking the legs of his chair out. The DM indicates that the Blades are mouthier in proportion to how many of them there are. Brunt asks how many are in the tavern.

Cruroar: What are you planning?
Brunt: I’m not planning anything! I just wanna know, if they start a fight, what kind of situation we’ll have on our hands.

The group ponders if Cruroar can blast people while appearing to punch them, while the DM hints that the rivalry between the two corps is such that some off-duty brawling is not only expected but will reflect well on the winner.

Brunt: The problem is, if Brunt starts a fight, there’s no telling if people will survive. I don’t have a subdual damage roll!
DM: “I don’t know how to punch!”
Brunt: I DON’T! I don’t know how to not kill someone with my hands!
DM: “I went to punch him, but my hand just grabbed him and slammed him into the pole…”

Brunt renews his vows not to assault, even as Normilan promises he has Enlarge Person memories. The Blades continues to try to provoke the group!

DM: Aasimars should all be resigned to street-sweeping because they can’t be trusted to do anything else…
Brunt: I’m not gonna restrain any of the rest of you. That’s where my insubordination kicks in… This is racism in the non-racism campaign! You know what pisses us off in THIS campaign? People taking our money!

Brunt complains about the transcription for a while, as well as the encounter with the ogres than named the Hunnerd Gold campaign.

DM: “Oh, take a look at that elf-blood, thinks he’s people jumped up in his puffy fancy robes.”
Normilan: I’m not even wearing robes…
Brunt: What game are they playing?
DM: It’s some card game of this kingdom that I don’t have a name for. It’s not quite poker. It’s fantasy poker. You know how there’s always a ‘poker’…

The group ponders screwing with the game, but Normilan only has lethal spells memorized, so that’s out.

DM: “Oh look, the dwarf’s discovered some drinkable beer instead of the swill they make back in the mountains.”

Dead silence. Eilnys turns red. Cruroar suggests she should hurl barrels like Donkey Kong. The group continues to refuse to start a fight. This failure to provoke them starts them muttering.

Giles: They really want us to kick their butts.
Brunt: Not to be meta, but are you hoping we’ll fight these guys, to stretch the session out?
DM: (laughing) “Not to be meta, but I’m gonna be meta.”
Brunt: I don’t want to like, disoblige you… if you want us to fight them, I can break character a little…

Cruroar ponders hurling a coin imbued with darkness into the midst, but the guards end up stating Eilnys couldn’t handle one drink with them.

Brunt: Uh oh. Will save, Eilnys! WILL SAVE!
Eilnys: “ARE YE BUYIN’, YE –- Are ye buyin’?!”
DM: “We got a drink for ya, come and get it!”

Eilnys approaches, and the guards just grin. She sits at their table, practically daring them to pour it on her, but they slide it over with wicked grins.

Brunt: It’s piss in that mug.
Eilnys: That’s what I expect.
Brunt: I don’t know how they managed to fill the mug in the common room…
DM: There ARE four of them.
Brunt: No, not HOW, but how they did it without everyone in the room noticing they’re pissing into the mug. It’s not so easy to undo pants in a fantasy setting as it us for us in the year 2013.
Eilnys: Drawstrings!
DM: Codpieces!
Cruroar: I just realized something! If we were ANY other one of our parties, Normilan would be like, “THUNDERSTONE!”

Eilnys challenges them to drink with her, though – and she gets the bartender to bring out a round of the strongest drinks on the house.

DM: The bartender nods and heads off into the back. After a few minutes he comes back out with four drinks in heavy earthenware goblets. The air above them is visibly distorted from the fumes. He sets them down in front of them and they visibly recoil from it.
Brunt: “What’s the matter, Blades?” Now, I’m not saying that. I’ll feel bad in the morning when one of them’s found in the river with no face.

The drink takes out the Blades entirely, leaving them in a pile on the tavern floor. The other Blades in the tavern shake their head and haul their comrades off. The PCs cheerfully refuse to RP any further. The next day, Brunt reports to the Captain’s office, seeing the bolt that was fired sitting on his desk.

Cruroar: “This is an aasimar-made bolt. It has Cruroar’s initials on it: C.U.”
DM: C.U.B.MB.
Guiles: I was thinking “C U later.”

The Captain explains that the bolt is a Bolt of Human Slaying, and that indicates a much deeper level of conspiracy afoot. Brunt snipes at the transcriber for some reason, possibly due to his overwhelming failure to be as awesome as said transcriber. The Captain informs Brunt he is sending him on a mission out of town, to prevent any reprisals against the players for their actions. Cruroar draws an exclamation mark on a sheet of paper and holds it over the DM’s head.

DM: “I’m asking you to go to the southwest. We’ve heard a great number of rumors from that location. We’d like you to investigate them and prepare a report on the reality of the situation.”
Brunt: “I’ll gather my comrades and leave at once.” Oh man, which one of you wanted to talk to that dragon?
Normilan: I didn’t say I wanted to, I said it was a possibility!

The DM mocks the players for their previous insistence that the Gatekeeper was way out of their league or responsibility. The Captain gives Brunt a draw on the treasury for a thousand gold, for resources and transport and whatnot.

DM: The Captain also, with a glance around, reaches out and puts out a small pouch of coins.
Cruroar: “Some say the dragon slipped. Some say he had the strength to push the dragon. Others say the dragon hit his head on the top of the cave, killing it instantly, causing him to win.”
Brunt: “And what would this be, Captain?”
DM: “If your little dwarven friend should happen to come along with you, tell her to… have a drink. On me.”

The players snicker and laugh at this. Brunt inquires about what rumors are circulating around about the events of last night.

DM: “Let’s just say they had to call up a few extra guardsmen to cover some holes in the shift.

Dismissed, Brunt goes around to round up the PCs! Eilnys is his first stop…

Eilnys: My poor boss.
DM: “Ye’re goin’ down to the homeland?!”
Cruroar: You don’t realize that she has money debts down there, and money officers that are after her head…

Eilnys’s boss hauls her into the forge, shuttering the shop, then produces a massive gem from the base of his anvil, urging her to get adamantite! The other PCs all agree to come, of course…

Cruroar: I gotta go tell my friend to not go to jail while I’m away.
DM: “Ohh… if only you’d told me before.”
Cruroar: “Damn it.”

They go through the process of roleplaying out their requests for vacations! For some reason, Normilan’s gnome mentor requests he not eat anyone. Normilan inquires about the Fraternity of Mages, which turns out to be a great society of magic which all primary arcane casters are inducted into.

Cruroar: You are sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Brunt: Where your chances to die shoot up immensely.

Zook and Normilan talk about the Gatekeeper, while the other players begin considering what equipment they need to take and what they should purchase.M

DM: You’ll be able to stay at inns and so forth, for the purpose… for… por… (dropping his hand into his head)
Normilan: You okay…?
DM: I can’t get this sentence. It just won’t come. I’ve tried everything, man… I’ve tried everything!

Abruplty, they retroactively grill Sir Krostun on what happened in Spindlethrift!

DM: Krostun tells you there was a great conflict between his men and the much larger but much less prepared goblin horde. They were probably outnumbered fifteen to one.
Normilan: Good lord!
Brunt: Not nearly enough goblins, then.
DM: Yeah, considering how high-level of a paladin he is, the outcome was never really in doubt. Some of his men were unfortunately killed during that particular procedure, but in fact some of the youths of Spindlethrift were quite eager to volunteer in his place, and take their place among his followers.
Normilan: Oh good, those bullies are going to come back and haunt me, aren’t they.

The group grimly accepts that a surprising amount of money will be going to horses. The usual complaint about nothing being useful at the level it’s affordable is brought up. Normilan remembers he can scribe some scrolls, and the DM allows him to retroactively do so! They have a choice: a straighter route, or a more civilized one.

Brunt: So straight up distance wise, it’d cut it from a month to three week… but it could actually be longer, if fighting for our lives.
DM: Dragon after dragon after dragon.
Brunt: The Captain hasn’t given me any time edict for when we have to do this, so I don’t care.
DM: The dragons chase after you as you gallop on. You see it start to fall behind, you’re like, “Yeah, we’re getting rid of it!” Then you realize it’s just tagging out. The next one flies in to pick up the chase… they’re very big on jurisdiction, for dragon.

The game is abruptly interrupted, as the guest from a couple games back shows up to give Normilan a Russian mail-order Flash Gordron fleshlight. When the game finally reconvened, the players spend their time reminiscing about drama explosions in their previous games. After three weeks of travel, they find themselves approaching a deserted town! Brunt questions its defenses.

Brunt: No wall, no moat.
DM: No defenses.
Brunt: They couldn’t keep a cow out of this place.
DM: You’re wrong, there’s a cowcatcher in the road.
Brunt: I produce my mancatcher, then realize I’m unprepared!

In the distance, smoke curls out of a beat-up barn. They roll a quick Search check as they enter the town and look for footprints or tracks or the like.

DM: Eilnys is the first to spot it – among the many faded prints, it looks like rain has come through here and washed away many of the prints, but more fresh, more recent than the rain, are sets of very large hoofprints.
Cruroar: A Knowledge(nature) would be good right now.
Brunt: If only we had a druid.
Eilnys: I have Knowledge(nature).
Brunt: If only we had an Eilnys!
Eilnys: 19.
DM: Something seems off about these. If you had to guess, you’d say cows had taken to walking around on two legs.
Brunt: Centaurs?
Normilan: No, centaurs would still have four. Minotaurs?
Brunt: Minotaur is what I meant to say…
Normilan: Or we’ve reached the Secret Cow level.

They approach the barn from which smoke is coming, and creep forward to roll some Listen checks.

DM: Brunt hears the fearsome whickering of a weregoat.

People inside are speaking in a language no one understands! Brunt proposes burning the barn down, since all the townspeople are dead anyway.

Brunt: Seriously, do we want someone to sneak in? Giles could probably be the guy for the job.
Giles: Yeah, based on the last three times I tried to be stealthy, we all know how that turned out.
Brunt: That’s what the rest of us are for. One of these times, you could get lucky…

Brunt and the DM trade snipes over ninjas, then Cruroar and the DM trade snipes over compass directions. They elect to send Giles in, equipped with a signal whistle to blow for help.

Brunt: If you need us, blow the whistle, and – you know.
DM: We’ll leave you to die.
Cruroar: “Blow the whistle in this exact fashion.” I give him the code.
Brunt: Yeah, he plays the 20th Century Fox fanfare, kazoo-style.
DM: “I’m fairly certain the 27th note was shart instead of flat… I don’t know what he’s trying to say.” Signal to us in semaphore.
Brunt: We fail a Spot check.
DM: You see him going down the dragon’s gullet, frantically waving his flags. “I’m not certain what he’s signaling there! West west east north… fire?”
Giles: I’m going to try to silently open the door slightly so I can slip in.
Cruroar: Come on, you can do this.
Giles: …oh come on, I can’t roll worth crap. Umm… 16.
DM: You gently push open the door and sneak in. Despite your care, the door makes a little creak. I want you to give me a Spot check as you go into the darker parts of the… place… that you’re going into.
Giles: 21.
DM: As you step into the much darker inside of the barn, you’re just in time to see two massive horned figures sitting around a small fire. One of them has looked up from the large leg of meat he was eating, looking straight at you. He grunts out something to his compatriot, and they both stand up to a massive height, seizing greataxes that are standing by them. Roll for—
Brunt: 17!

Initiative is rolled! A map is drawn! Eilnys moves into the door, and then a minotaur charges Giles! His gore deals 20 points of damage. Normilan casts Bristle on Brunt, then makes a strategic retreat. Guiles, with incredible luck, goes before the second minotaur and Tumbles the hell out of danger. The other minotaur advances forward and kicks the door open, fully exposing itself. Cruroar ponders his options!

Cruroar: I’m gonna step back. Maybe I should heal Cruroar… I mean, not myself, him…
DM: “I got scared, I better heal myself!”

Cruroar fires off an eldritch blast at the visible minotaur, but it isn’t sickened. Eilnys is up!

Cruroar: Now you can charge!
Eilnys: Actually, I don’t have that feat.
DM: (double facepalming)

The AOO deals 18 points to Eilnys, and she returns fire for 12 with her own axe. The DM tells her to make a Strength check!

Cruroar: Oh, it’s because that one dude knocked the door over.
DM: He smashes the door open… let’s see here. He kicks it open. It hits Eilnys, but it shatters over her, splinters flying, and the door, now with a dwarf-shaped hole in it, flies onwards. The minotaur looks in some surprise that you repelled the door like this.

Brunt ponders his attack, while the players discuss that in D&D, a Delorean must travel at 8d8 miles per hour. Producing a scroll, Normilan lobs out a Grease beneath the two.

DM: All right, tip the injured one over.
Brunt: That’s great. “We’ll let you get up… for hunnerd gold!”
DM: This one is standing up, and you get your attacks of opportunity on him…
Eilnys: Oh, natural 20!
Cruroar: Confirm?
Eilnys: I did.
Brunt: I’m not even gonna roll…
Eilnys: 22 points of damage!

The rest of the group spends a few minutes correcting her x3 math and adding in her strength.

DM: So 31 points of damage. Yep, you cut its head off. It stand up, and you take the perfect opportunity. Its head sails backwards till it comes to a stop upside-down, propped up by its own horn.
Eilnys: I’m gonna chop one of its horns off and take it as a drinking horn.
Brunt: That’d be cool. Now I have to kill one so I can do the same thing.
Eilnys: You can take the other one.
Brunt: I didn’t kill it!

Cruroar burns the last charge off a wand to heal Giles. The other minotaur snarls an obscenity and power-attacks Eilnys for 29. Normilan fires off a Magic Missile, while Brunt steps up to dungeoncrash the minotaur, but fails the opposed Strength check. Giles fires, and Eilnys stays up, risking her life to take another attack on the minotaur!

DM: The minotaur, with a roar that’s almost certainly a profanity, shifts its grip to the very end of the battleaxe, intending to swing it at you with a force and power that will surely end your life. It whips its axe around sideways. At this moment, the door, which had been gradually been swinging back closed, manages to interrupt its axe. The tip skims it and the axe goes flying out of its grip, over Eilnys’s stubby body, and spins off into the distance, thudding out into the shield.
Cruroar: It’d be hilarious if the way the swing was, it cut off the head of the ‘whole’ Eilnys. The slash goes through there…
DM: If she’d been human-sized, it would have.

It takes a step back; Normilan zips back into line of sight to drop a flaming sphere beneath him, but he dodges it. Brunt steps forward to attack, complaining about AOOs the entire time, perhaps justifiably considering he gets gored to the face and then misses. Cruroar rolls terribly on an eldritch blast.

DM: Eilnys.
Eilnys: YES! YES! 43.
DM: You just did more damage to it than had been done to it up to this point.
Brunt: So we have two heads now.
DM: Yes. You lop off this one’s head with a mighty blow, adding to your set. Eilnys has kill-stolen both of them.
Cruroar: And the two minotaur heads are sitting by the fire.
Normilan: Where they were before.

With this triumphant victory under their belts, the game comes to an end!