Abruptly, Normilan is the DM. No one is sure how this happened. The DM sums up the previous adventure, with the players running MST3K for said summation the entire way.

DM: And so from the throne room you step, possibly shocked and amazed by all the turns and twists that have happened to you. Then again, some of you might just be cynical bastards with world-weary attitudes who are like, “I’ve seen it all.”
Brunt: Not exactly. But what does the DM do? What does he do to Brunt? “I know what to do to Brunt. Escort mission! Congratulations! Prince Aundon will be the bane of you all.”
DM: (outrageous hick accent) “I’m Prince Aundon! Let’s go get some ogres!”
Brunt: “Cruroar! Heeeeelp! Help me Cruroar! Heeeeeelp!”
DM: “That was close! You were almost an heir sandwich!”

The PCs split up. Normilan is promptly stoned by a basilisk for some reason. Cruroar vigorously pummels Brunt with a box of some sort, for unclear reasons.

Brunt: I feel like a Stormtrooper being assaulted by an Ewok!
Normilan: Then you should be dead, sir.
Cruroar: And eaten.
DM: Don’t forget the eaten part, it’s very important.

Tasha, who had taken the Leadership feat, looks at the character sheet for her cohort with some dismay. The DM had written it in his… less than perfect handwriting.

Tasha: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m copying all your stuff down onto one of these sheets.
DM: Taking it the wrong way!
Tasha: Well I told you not to, so that’s your own fault.
DM: Every number you copy, reduce it by two.
Tasha: Awwwwww! This is a vengeful and wrathful DM!

Cruroar volunteers to go back to Cade’s shop, to explain to his girlfriend that he’s a count now. He also injures the DM with a box. Laboriously, Cruroar explains to his skeptical girlfriend what all he’d been through; she takes some convincing.

Brunt: Is she the only person in the kingdom who isn’t impressed by his experience?
DM: “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Cruroar: “Oh yeah, we sat in that one room for an entire evening just planning it out—“ Oh no wait, that was out of character…

Cruroar eventually ends up curled up in a ball on the floor as his explanation peters out. The players debate whether she should come with them, but since she is not an awesome swordswoman, they decide it can probably wait till they build the damn fort.

DM: After some consideration, she comes around the corner and expresses her approval in ways that would demean us all to describe, and so we turn elsewhere.
Cruroar: Yay!
DM: What are other people doing?
Eilnys: I have to go tell Durm that I need to quit.
DM: He does NOT express his approval of your new position in ways that would demean us all to describe.
Normilan: “WHAT THE FUCK.”
DM: No, Durm is quite supportive.
Eilnys: “I’m sorry, boss.”
DM: “Ach, I knew you were destined for greater things, and I knew your time here was only a matter of… days, months, or years. Soon you would be passin’. I’m just pleased I had a hand in yer time here.”
Eilnys: “I couldn’t have had a better teacher.”
DM: “Ah, lass. Yer a good one.”
Eilnys: I did extend that offer to him…
DM: Naturally, he was forced to decline it. His work is here.

Cissy heads to the church to explain she’s going off to be court cleric to the Count, with much bristling and anger.

DM: On your way out of the church, I want you to roll a Strength check.
Tasha: I have to roll a Strength check on the way out of the church?
Eilnys: She’s gonna knock down her archivist.
Tasha: 17.
DM: No sooner do you step off the door and onto the street than a body crashes into you, piling you over to the ground. You collapse with an oddly thin and frail person flailing about in robes atop of you. “Oh goodness! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Tasha: “Eh, not a position I haven’t been in before. Here, let me help you up.”
DM: He attempts to get to his feet, steps on the hem of his robes, trips backwards, and falls on his ass.
Normilan: You have the comic relief in our party now!
Brunt: His follower is like the human Threepio…?
Tasha: “That’s okay. Jeez, let me help you up there. You might want to, uh, you might want to change if you’re going to trip on your robes like that. Might want to buy a pair of pants instead?”
DM: “Oh I tried those, but I kept forgetting to lace them up –“ (pausing, then double-pointing at Tasha with a look of shock) “You’re TASHA!”
Tasha: “Mmmmmaaybe… It depends on who’s looking.”
DM: Halfway to rising through his undignified position, he instead drops to his knees in front of you, clutches at your armor… “Take me with you!”

Silence.

Brunt: He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer!
Tasha: “And WHY would I do such a thing?”
DM: “I can be of help to you, and I so want to see everything that you have seen! You! Have been out there, you have seen the world, all the things you have done are the stuff of legends! I! Want! A piece! I will do anything! I will shine your boots! I will polish your armor! Although I’m not very good at it… I will put the might of my spells at your disposal if only you will allow me to come with you! Please please please please please please.”

The DM has waxed so animate during this entire recitation, pounding the table and gesturing dramatically, that the group is audibly struggling to not burst into laughter.

Tasha: “Calm down, young master, calm down. I don’t even know who you are.”
DM: “My name is Quirion! Quirion. I’m a follower here, although I have a certain knack with magical spells, I have not any clerical notes…”
Brunt: P-p-p-poor st-stuttering P-p-p-professor Quirion.
DM: He attempts to get to his fee, and begins to wobble.
Brunt: Can you see the back of his head?
Tasha: “Calm down, Quirion. Master Quirion, have you been drinking?”
DM: “Water… a little wine… cider… the usual. But if you’re asking if I’m intoxicated, the answer is no. I’m perfectly bright-eyed and clear-headed, and clear-eyed and bright headed, and bushy-tailed, and squirrel….” (a pause) “I’m good.”
Eilnys: Eilnys likes him already, even though she’s not there.
Tasha: “And what do you have to bring to us?”
DM: “Magics, of course! And knowledge!”
Tasha: “I see. What type of knowledge do you contain?”
DM: “Why I’ve studied the gods, both good and evil. I’ve studied the planes, and magic of course. I even know a few fair things about crawling about in deep dank dungeons where all sorts of evils lurk! …no practical experience but a great deal of book learning.”

The honking feedback from the telepresence laptop becomes so irritating that Cruroar bitterly knocks over a speaker. Tasha warns Quiron that she refuses to take responsibility for his well-being (despite him being a cohort), but agrees to take him.

DM: “I will do ANYTHING if you will take me under your wing!”
Tasha: There are a few conditions.
Cruroar: Stop breaking the table!
Tasha: “First… calm down.”
DM: “I’ll try…”
Tasha: “That’s all I can ask.”
Normilan: FISTS OF IRON! Clang!
DM: He’s DEAD!
Normilan: I MIGHT be able to kill him… (noting the DM) He’s twitching!
Tasha: Out of character, how much space do we have in the house, if I told him to come stay with us?
Normilan: He can sleep at the foot of your bed.
Brunt: Or in the servants’ quarters.
Cruroar: He’s talking about our house, not my keep! MY KEEP, SIR. I believe I am the Count.

Tasha tells Quiron to gather his things, run his errands, and then meet him at the house. They awkwardly agree to no sex things as a part of this.

Brunt: Nothing’s prohibiting you from knocking on Terry’s door.
Terry: Haaaaaaaaaaaaay….
Tasha: “At least not with me. You’re more than welcome to engage anyone else you want.”
DM: “Right. …welcome or required? Just checking! I could do anything! So long as it gets me there!”
Tasha: “Welcome. You’re welcome to.”
DM: “All right. Nooooothing… laid down solid. Okay. All right.”
Terry: I will totally try to sleep with him just to make this funny.

Tasha explicitly tells Quirion that he’s going to be told to shut up. Quirion agrees, with a whole lot of words, while Eilnys begs to be allowed to answer the door when he shows up.

Brunt: You gonna haze this guy?
Eilnys: Yeah!
Normilan: Gonna send him through a gauntlet.

Quirion collapses and kneels in supplication to Tasha in gratitude. They quickly establish that he’s not praying to her.

Tasha: “Don’t grovel.”
Normilan: Oh his head’s gonna explode, don’t say that. He’s groveled twice to you so far.
DM: “Thank you – thank you – thank you –“ (unclasping his hand quickly) “Can’t do this, it’s too much like praying… thank you! Thank you! I will prepare myself, I will get myself prepared to go out to the mighty County of PROLE, where we’re going, where adventure is, so I will be at your house in the evening.”
Tasha: “Perfect. Go! And I will see you at my house come the evening.”
DM: He takes off, takes two steps, trips, collapses to the ground, picks himself back up, and continues running.
Brunt: He’s gonna roll nothing but 1s in combat. He can’t cast a spell ever because he rolls 1s.
Tasha: I kind of like him though. I’m just afraid we’re gonna be somewhere in a king’s courtroom, we’re standing quietly, and he’s like, “Oh, that’s not how it went at all! Master Tasha, SHE’S the one who conquered the dragon!”
Eilnys: That’s when I punch him in the groin to get him to stop talking.
DM: Fatality.
Tasha: Like, our count here is gonna be talking to the king, and we’re all standing behind quiet like we should, and he’s like, “THE COUNT’S FULL OF SHIT, YOUR MAJESTY!”
Normilan: He’s gonna fidget.
Tasha: He’s all fidgety, staring at Tasha…

Normilan heads off to visit Zook, finding him in his chambers in the castle after the ceremony.

Normilan: “ZOOK!”
DM: “You’re dead to me, sir.”
Normilan: Aww.
DM: “I’m just kidding.”
Normilan: “Yay!”
Brunt: That’s Tyraen, not you.
Normilan: Aww….
DM: “Tyraen’s dead to me, sir…”
Normilan: “I came to thank you, and show my appreciation for all that you have taught me.”
DM: “Ah, it’s been a delight and a pleasure. You’ve been great company, and a good friend all this time. A rare thing in court, and one I appreciate! And remember, even while you’re out there, if you ever want to join the Fraternity of Mages…”
Normilan: “I think I shall.”
DM: “Oh! Are you certain?”
Normilan: “What… bad could come of it?”
DM: “Oh, I just have to ask. It’s POSSIBLE that you could be found unworthy and sentenced to never practice magic again on penalty of death, but that’s extremely unlikely in your case and doesn’t really happen often…”
Cruroar: Don’t worry, you only have to make one lap nude around the city, for your initiation.
DM: Step 2, survive a bull rush from Brunt.
Cruroar: We only take the sturdiest of mages.
DM: “Then I shall submit your name for consideration.”
Normilan: “That would be great, thank you.”
DM: “It shall be discussed either at our next meeting or the meeting after that. As soon as your name is brought up and your application is considered, they will be in touch!”
Tasha: “Don’t worry, we’re only on the letter ‘B’ so far.”
DM: “But I skipped you ahead, I submitted you under the name ‘Cormilan’. Just tell them it’s a typo, they’ll fix it.”
Normilan: “I think my chances are good, being an apprentice to the late Tyraen.”
DM: “They won’t consider that, I warn you! After all, everyone is an apprentice to another wizard… unless they’re sorcerers, but that’s another matter entirely. They’ll consider you for your own merits and nothing more.”
Normilan: “At least I have those who’ll speak up for me. The court mage, and perhaps even Borad…”
DM: 15 XP for remembering his name. I just got him all that scroll experience he used up…

Zook warns Normilan to be careful, but also vows to look out for his interests. They share a comradely hug. The conversation gets weird.

Tasha: It’s like hentai porn.
DM: As opposed to that completely worksafe hentai. Eilnys, later that evening there’s a knocking at the door. An elf!
Eilnys: “Aye?”
DM: “Um. Hello.. there. Is this the elf of the magnificent priestess Tasha?”
Eilnys: “Aye…”
Brunt: That’s all she says.
DM: “Well I am her new, um… flunky. Lackey. Servant. Hanger-on. I have many roles, the exact nature of which have not been identified to me yet, but Iiiiiiii was told to come here, by her, for a purpose, that purpose being, to come with you, on adventuuuuure… yes. Hi.”
Brunt: Did you tell him he was a flunky or a lackey or whatever or did he name himself that?
Tasha and Normilan: He named himself.
Brunt: Okay, okay.
Normilan: He has no self-esteem.
Eilnys: “You got a name?”
DM: “My name is Quirion.”
Eilnys: “I’m Eilnys.”
DM: “Hi there… ooh! The dwarf barbarian whose axe lay low a thousand horned hoofbeasts?! Give or take…”
Eilnys: “Aye…”
DM: “Interesting, I’ve heard so much about minotaurs, but I’ve never actually seen one. Is it true that their horns have distinctive patterns based on the variations of their hoov—“
Eilnys: (mimes shoving her drinking horn into his hands)
DM: He immediately seizes it and, seeming to forget all about you, bends over it to do a careful study.
Brunt: What.
Normilan: Do that inside.
Eilnys: “Lad. Lad. Lad. Come inside. D’ya have bags?”
DM: He attempts to follow, promptly trips over the door sill, and sprawls on his face.

Eilnys hauls him to his feet, to his amazement, then brings in his bags to shove in the closet… leading him to question where he’s staying.

DM: “If it’s too much trouble I can stay in the closet myself and be out of your way, I know this is an imposition –“
Eilnys: “Lad. Lad. There’s a couch.”
Tasha: Did he just offer to sleep in the closet?
DM: “Yes. Um. I assume people would sit on it at some point.”
Eilnys: “Aye, but you could sleep on it.”
DM: “Oh, and it wouldn’t be an.. imp..o…sit… I mean, I am an elf, I don’t… sleep, I sort of meditate, it’s a thing we elves do.”
Eilnys: “Aye, and you can sit on the couch and do that.”
DM: “If that’s okay. I mean I can do it in the closet if it’s not a problem—“
Eilnys: “Lad.”
DM: “I don’t wanna be in the way—“
Eilnys: “Lad.”
DM: “I just want to come with you so bad—“
Eilnys: “SHUT UP!”
Normilan: We’re gonna have find a sap for this guy…
Eilnys: “Lad, lad. I’m fine with ya here, I’m glad that yer here. You’re very exuberant.”
DM: Cruroar, Brunt. This is about the time you guys get home.”

Both of them immediately see this scene and attempt to abandon ship.

DM: You had a good date, Cruroar, it was a good evening.
Cruroar: I’m happy, I don’t need to be dealing with some strange person. “Get out the way. Hello.”
Normilan: I just imagine him walking in… ‘Who the fuck is this?’
DM: “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee it’s the Dragonslayer!”
Cruroar: “Yep, that’s me, I slay dragons. Pardon.”
Eilnys: “This is Quirion. Aye, that’s Cruroar.”
DM: “I’ve heard so many stories and they all speak highly of you.”
Eilnys: “He’s Tasha’s new waterboy or something.”
DM: “I’ve never met someone who’s slain a dragon, I have heard a lot of stories, I have heard a lot of potential theories about how it could best be accomplished, but I have never met anybody—“
Cruroar: “Yeah, I’ve heard the stories too, I shoot lasers and I crap thunder.”
DM: “I’m so – that’s really – I didn’t hear the second part. I’m familiar with the arcane—“
Cruroar: I’m continuing to move upstairs!
DM: And he’s following behind you, babbling onwards.
Brunt: That’s the sound of Brunt’s bedroom door slamming shut.
Normilan: “Look, unless you want to follow me into the privy…”
DM: You hear a heavy thud as he walks into the door right behind you, followed by another thud as he collapses on the floor.
Cruroar: “I am sorry, Quirion, I am tired. I had a nice evening and wish to sleep on it.”
DM: “Oh, um, uh, um, good night. Sir. And I look forward to traveling with you.”
Eilnys: And then Cruroar hears a yelp as I pick him back up and put him on his feet.
Normilan: This is babysitting.
Eilnys: “Come back downstairs with me, sit on the couch, and have a drink.”
DM: “Um… I… am… not a dwarf, so if you could give me something to drink that wouldn’t kill me outright, I would very much appreciate it.”
Eilnys: “I think I can handle that, lad.”
DM: “I mean I assume that’s… essentially… water for you? Or the essential equivalent thereof, but I’m sorry, I’m not as tough as you…”
Normilan: Beer watered down in the ration of 10-1.

They give him a little beer and get him settled, just as Normilan walks in the door. A spit-take is, of course, quite naturally called for and produced.

DM: “It’s the Shapeweaver! Your magical feats are legendary!”
Normilan: “Legendary?”
DM: “Yes! At least, I’ve heard of them. And mostly I deal with facts… knowledge, stuff. So the fact that I’ve heard the stories of you just show how much they’ve been spread around and it’s such an honor to meet you and I am so thrilled—“ Water is splashing everywhere as he gestures with the horn.
Normilan: Take the horn away from him, then, “Normilan Shapeweaver, pleasure to meet you.”
DM: “OH MY GOD YOU’RE STRONG!”
Normilan: “I am half human, and a farmer. We tend to be bred big.”
Eilnys: “He tends to fall over a lot, you might need to pick him up.”
DM: “I’m sorry, I know I’m very clumsy, and often in the way, and I do apologize, I offered to stay in the closet to stay out of the way buy Lady Eilnys wouldn’t let me, so –“
Normilan: I put a hand on his shoulder. “Your heart’s in the right place, boy. Just calm down.”
Eilnys: “It’s just Eilnys, lad.”
Tasha: “Is that Quirion?”
DM: “It’s Lady Tasha! Your friends are amazing!”
Tasha: “Yes they are! Sit boy!”
DM: He frantically scrambles into a seat on the couch.
Normilan: “Don’t treat him like an animal…”
Tasha: “I am very glad you met everyone.”
DM: “They’re great! Except for the tall guy, he didn’t say much, but I assume he’s the strong silent type, and the very competent sort who will always have your back in an emergency and you can rely on him even if he’s really gruff at heart and he doesn’t show his feelings very much, I assume that’s the sort of guy he is, and I don’t take any offense by it.”
Tasha: “Good. Good.”
DM: “Eilnys said I could sleep on the couch, I can sleep in the closet if that’s easier, I keep offering—“
Eilnys: “LAD you can stay on the couch!”
Normilan: “I’m afraid the closet is full of brooms.”
Tasha: “Quirion, where would you be more comfortable?”
DM: “I’ll – I’ll go wherever lets me go with you guuuuuuyyyys!”
Tasha: “Okay, where would you be more comfortable sleeping tonight?”
DM: “Ah, well, technically, I’m an elf, so I don’t sleep, we undergo a meditative process in which we go into a trance—“
Eilnys: “Lad.”
DM: “—which allows us to focus the many memories—“
Eilnys: “Lad! LAD!”
DM: “—because you see, we live for a very long time. I was probably older—“
Eilnys: “QUIRION!”
DM: “—then all of you guys, maybe all of you guys put together, except maybe Lady Eilnys, since she’s a dwarf, and they also live for a long time, but not as long as elves. And come to think of it, I don’t really know about Cruroar—“
Cruroar: Hold up. Hold up. Hold up. I’m rolling my Intimidate and I’m screaming at the top of my lungs for him to shut the fuck up. A 36 to scream out, “SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
DM: The couch collapses as he attempts to throw himself over the back of it. He has ended up somehow underneath of it as it lies tilted backwards on the floor. “Ouch.”
Eilnys: “You all right, lad?” Pull him out, put the couch down, put him on the couch…

Tasha patiently explains to Quirion that he should shut up when people ask him to, while Normilan and Eilnys speculate on how he can actually just go on like that. He falls silent, visibly quivering, and they patiently try to keep him from exploding.

Normilan: I’m just fascinated by this thing.
Eilnys: Eilnys is like, “I’m going to mother this one to death, because he needs it.”

They have a discussion about who will clean up the drink Quirion spilled, although Eilnys finally does it against his every attempt to do it. Silence falls.

Normilan: “So did we ever stop buying that questionable meat?”
DM: Does anyone else have anything they want to do before the morrow?
Normilan: I just wanna sit and watch this guy…
Eilnys: I need to go get this guy a flask.
DM: It’s Dexterity poison! “That got him out of the way for an encounter.”
Normilan: I’m gonna go brew up a sleep potion, I think we’re gonna need one.
DM: Elven resistance!
Normilan: Oh that’s right…
Brunt: This’ll be the guy that pulls a Jack Burton whenever we have an encounter. One of the enemies will bear down on him, and he’ll stick a dagger in his boot, the enemy will fall on him, and then the dead enemy will be lying on him for the rest of the battle.

Before the meeting, Brunt goes to visit Captain Slamhand and request that Lal, the one-armed elven woman, be transferred out to the County of Prole, stating he feels a certain sense of responsibility. The Captain says he will offer her the option, but makes no guarantees. Terry tries to figure out what the hell he’s doing.

Terry: What does Terry have to do in a city?! “Look at these trees! Oh my god, look at this ground – wait a minute, I’m used to this ground.”
DM: “What’s this? What’s this? There’s strange things everywhere! What’s this? There’s music in the air! What’s this?”
Cruroar: Why is their music in the air?
DM: Near a tavern.
Cruroar: Okay.

The DM asks if anyone else wants to do anything. Silence. Silence. Terry babbles a little.

DM: One at a time, you all arrive – What?! I WAITED AND I WAITED—
Normilan: Terry was talking! Never mind. Fuck it. Done. Nope. Mmm-mm. I wanted to do something but now he’s complaining about it.
DM: I complain about a lot of things! Now I’ll complain about you not wanting to do it. Then you’ll want to.
Normilan: I approach Terry!

Normilan asks Terry to deliver a letter when he returns up north. That’s all. The group enters the war room of the castle, joining the Ordained Marshal, the General of the First Army, the Sixth Army, and Prince Aundon.

Cruroar: Whenever he says “Prince Aundon” I don’t hear Prince Aundon, I hear Prince Anduin.
Eilnys: So do I.
DM: I’ll try and pronounce the last O more. He rises as you enter.
Normilan: And we all bow.
DM: (miming their heads colliding with appropriate sound effects)
Normilan: Oh, a wise guy, eh?!
Brunt: What happens when Quirion tries to bow?
DM: He’s not there. You guys are smarter than that.

The prince welcomes them all. The brief plan is that the armies will help them secure the sites, then secure a position to the east to provide a buffer zone for the construction. The position may be troublesome, because scouts who have headed far enough east have not returned, and it seems that humanoid tribes and gatherings are fleeing westward. Somehow this becomes a long discussion about elven birthing habits… After much talking, the meeting breaks up, but the prince bids them stay a moment.

DM: “I have taken the liberty, since I know that you all have… done much for this country, and yet now we’re asking even more of you in return, I have prepared something of a little royal gift for you.”
Cruroar: Uh-oh.
Normilan: “We came here as simple farmers. Look where we stand now. What else do we need?”
DM: “Simple farmers would not have done what you all have done. It’s easy for me to stand forth in front of a crowd and speak of honor, loyalty, duty. I was born to privilege. I am a prince. I was given nothing but the best all my life. And yet you all have done far more than I ever have, starting with nothing but your own two hands and what you got from your skills.”
Brunt: How is it from this guy… was born from—
Brunt, Cruroar, and Normilan: Maximiano?
Brunt: I’m just saying, like. Humility? From royalty? Brunt is impressed.
Cruroar: Suck up those tears, guys!
Normilan: I’m getting all misty-eyed!
Brunt: Is he gonna make a Braveheart speech when the fort is under siege?
DM: He lifts his kilt!
Cruroar: You better have a GOOD speech to him when the final battle comes in!
Normilan: “Such words from the prince himself are very humble.”
DM: “I have had good teachers all my life. I know much of what I have learned about the world from the good Sir Krostun, who taught me a good deal about the nature of good and evil, and what people strive for.”
Cruroar: Of course! That makes sense!
DM: “I had hoped to be a paladin myself, but someday I will be king, and kingship and paladinhood very poorly mix.”
a
Everyone laughs their ass off at this as they flash back to Barack, who apparently suffers in pain across dimensions. The Princes hands them all a handy haversack, emblazoned with the sigil of the gnomish wizard Jansport – or their names, either or. Each of them contain 2000 gold as well! The group becomes convinced they will have to pay 100 gold to ogres 20 times on the trip.

DM: The next day, you all arise, and bid farewell to your house for what might be the last time. You join the procession, and it is indeed quite a procession. The crown prince is leaving town, and the people love him. They have turned out on the streets to cheer, to toss flowers into his path, to scream and wail and gnash their teeth. It’s a joyous occasion… despite my adjectives, and there is much rejoicing to see the young prince go off to war.
Cruroar: The young prince has acquired sixteen bras.
DM: At the head of the procession the young prince waves, smiling constantly, putting the whole crowd under his spell. It turns out he’s a thrallherd. Several of them throw down their livelihoods and come to join him.

The group leaves the city, and rides east in the accompaniment of the prince and the sixth army. A hurricane briefly appears, but is banished by a ritual of bullshit banishment. The prince is very friendly and sociable, eager to talk with each of them about their interests and likes.

DM: And then, many days after you first set out, once again you find yourself entering Spindlethrift.
Normilan: The crater.
Brunt: There’s just a big purple orb surrounding it.
DM: Given that you are a noble procession and wealthy and powerful and so forth, there is a great deal of ruckus as you head into town. People are turning out, eager to see what lofty highborn has come to visit their town. The Speaker surges forward, looking older and more jowly than ever.
Cruroar: He’s still alive!
DM: It’s only been a year… and before the Prince, throws himself to the ground, bowing so deeply his beard scrapes the dirt.

The players openly cheer over the jowly voice the DM uses for this guy, except for Cruroar who complains, because that’s kind of his thing. Eilnys’s dad calls out to her, which breaks the spell as they all recognize the PCs. The prince tries to make things less awkward, but the PCs are made much of and celebrated.

Cruroar: MY SISTER! Where the fuck is my sister?! I completely forgot about her!
DM: I think you’re thinking the prehistory game! You never mentioned her before now.
Cruroar: Wasn’t that the one girl who was banished?
DM: That was the prehistory game! You lose that 15 RP experience.
Cruroar: That’s okay, I didn’t want it.

The DM torments Normilan in the narrative with a view of the tower that brings back many stirrings of guilt and grief in the mage… according solely to the DM.

DM: You notice a gibbet atop. It’d be perfect to hang yourself from. As you look at it, a mouth appears on the side. “Normilaaaaaan…”
Normilan: “Jump off me!”
DM: Magic Mouth has been cast.
Brunt: The actual door is one of the ones from Fable. “You must do something absolutely vile within my sight to gain instance.” He eats 100 crunchy chicks!
Cruroar: That’s how you got in that one door?!
Brunt: You could just bring one of your wives and kill her.
Cruroar: Wasn’t it one of your games, Normilan, where you were so evil that the evil wife was scared of you? And you just kept chasing her around the garden?
Normilan: Yes. And I still got the heir to marry me.

The DM clarifies that no one’s parents have died. Normilan spots his mother in the crowd, and attempts to reunite with her.

DM: With effort, you smash peasants to the floor, Brunting them left and right.
Cruroar: Fists of Iron! Squishing heads!

For some reason, a horde of replacement PCs appear: Grunt, Gruroar, Gormilan, Geilnys, Gasha… Normilan elects to visit his mentor’s tower in the evening. Everyone follows, crowding him vigorously despite Cruroar’s belief that the man needs space. Quirion refuses to go in, then hears there might be nifty stuff in there and is difficult to stop from going in.

Cruroar: He’s telling us we should all go. That means something’s gonna happen in your tower, Normilan. That’s why we all have to go.
DM: I didn’t say you all had to go, I asked you all who’s going!
Cruroar: Which, whenever you’ve said that, means that something’s gonna happen!
DM: Yeah, Normilan was gonna hang himself from the gibbet!
Normilan: There’s not a gibbet up top, is there?
DM: In your mind there is…
Cruroar: Look, trust me, if I ever kill off a character that way, I am done with that campaign. I will be here, you will play it, but I am done.

Normilan knocks on the door, and an aged servant opens the door, identifying himself as the servant of one Master Reginald, who moved in perhaps a week or two ago. A confused Normilan seeks to have an audience with this fellow, and after identifying himself, is invited in. This takes a bit, at the end of which the other players almost literally explode.

Cruroar: GOD DAMN THESE OLD PEOPLE!
Normilan: Mine was worse. This was why I have infinite patience for him.
Cruroar: God damn it! I’m done! Fucking old people, driving me insane!

In they come, with Normilan finding the tower now well-lit and well-decorated. A young wizard awaits them in a sitting room that used to be a storage room.

DM: “You would be Normilan Shapeweaver. The old apprentice of my colleague, Tyraen. He always spoke most highly of you. Was quite proud to have known you.”
Normilan: “I was very lucky to have him as my teacher. Very lucky.”
DM: “I have a word for you from him.”
Normilan: “And that is?”
DM: “Good luck. And he hopes to see you again someday.”
Normilan: “…time will tell.”

Normilan is granted permission to look around, while Cruroar fumes and steams.

Cruroar: No servant in my castle is going to be under the age of 40! And anyone who turns 40 is going to be immediately fucking flogged, and a new servant will replace him! When you’re a servant of Count Prole, you’re a servant for life.

Normilan finds the master’s lab to be wizard locked, and snaps his fingers in disappointment.

Normilan: I’ll have my own laboratory. And I’ll show them.
Cruroar: Hey Normilan, remember that lab you wanted? It’s not going to happen. Or the tower, either.
Normilan: I secede from the kingdom.

Unsatisfied but nevertheless having his closure, Normilan returns to the tavern, boozes it the hell up, and has a one-night fling with a girl because he has a low, low Wisdom. The DM attempts to make him roll for disease.

DM: I’m sorry, you rolled a natural 100. You’re Ben Franklin. Every disease known to man at the same time.

They head out the next morning, discussing Brunt’s feelings they go. Out of the kingdom they head, into the domain that should be the County of Prole. They travel forward through some flavor text to the great lake where Cruroar has elected to build his keep. A game of Rampart breaks out. A couple of days later the army itself shows up. Tasha’s minions show up, soldiers of the church who have come to serve and protect here out in the wilderness; she immediately makes it damn clear they serve her and absolutely no one else.

Tasha: “See to Quirion. See that he does not get himself in trouble.”
Brunt: ‘You live and die by my word.’ You got Psilons now.
DM: And immediately on saying that, you hear a great splash from the lake. A moment passes, and Quirion emerges, his arms wrapped around a sizable fish. “THESE ARE HUGE FISH! AMAZING!” The fish slaps him in the face a few times with his tail and falls back into the water. He falls on his ass, trying to figure out what happens.

By the next morning, all the scouts have returned but one, who went north and east. The PCs and the prince spent a bit wondering why this might be; naturally, the characters decide to go out and investigate themselves. With a bit of exploring in the direction the scout had gone, they see a great fort entrance carved into the side of a mountain! A bridge leads over a shallow river to the fort.

DM: In the center of this bridge stands a lone figure.
Brunt: Hunnerd gold…
DM: Roll a Spot check.
Giles: I didn’t Spot nothing…
DM: From this distance you can only really tell that the figure looks very broad and bulky. How much of that is clothing, you’re not sure.

They head closer to find the man to be tall and powerful, garbed in plate armor and furs. One hand raises in greeting as they approach.

Terry: The question is if it’s a friendly wave, or an “Ooh, let’s go kill them!” Does it look like he’s commanding his troops to get ready to kill us?
Eilnys: I thought he was the only one standing out there.

The players continue to demand information about the figure, despite being 150 feet away. The DM angrily raises one hand in a hail and demands to know what they make of that from 150 feet away.

Tasha: Somebody heiling Hitler from 150 feet away?
Terry: God damn it.

They’re a few hours’ ride from the outpost, but that isn’t so far away they’re willing to ignore this. As they get closer, they realize this person is from the Seven Clans Under One Star.

DM: “Travelers!”
Brunt: Hunnerd gold!
Cruroar: “Greetings!”
DM: “Be there among you a strong warrior or perhaps one learned in the arcane arts?”
Normilan: “We are supplied with both!”
Cruroar: “What is your request?”
DM: “There is a fearsome monster that lurks within this fortress.”
Giles: “Fearsome monster, huh?”
Brunt: You can sneak up on him, Giles.
DM: “I fear my sword, enchanted though it may be, cannot strike it.”
Giles: “Whaddya mean you can’t strike it?”
DM: “It resists the power of my blade. That is why I see, perhaps a wizard or a cleric who can help me deal with it.”
Brunt: “Why do you wish to deal with it?”
DM: “It is a monstrous creature. It has caused much harm locally. It needs to be slain lest it continue to cause panic and devastation amongst even the innocent creatures around here.”
Brunt: “It leaves the fort to kill?”
DM: “Oftentimes, yes.”
Cruroar: “Come, let us speak more of this. Perhaps we can aid you.”
Giles: “What is this monster anyway?”
DM: “It is a fearsome thing with great scales and a powerful stench from its mouth. Looks much like a large lizard.”
Terry: Dragon!
Cruroar: Oh god, not the fog thing again.
Brunt: “Has anyone else attempted to slay this beast with you recently?”
DM: “No, though I’ve just come out here again. I’ve heard there’s much going on in the woods and nearby these days.”
Cruroar: “Yes, but let us speak more of this without having to yell across this distance.”
DM: “I warn you, should it sense too many people on the bridge, it may attack.”
Brunt: 19 on Sense Motive.
DM: You sense nothing amiss.
Brunt: But his people are our enemy, yes?
DM: “My shield is proof against its attacks, but I don’t think I can shield more than one of you.”

The figure begs for a spell that can give him strength to smite the beast or empower his blade. The PCs question what beast this could be, to which the DM gives several suggestions. Given that the man is a representative of an enemy kingdom, the PCs question what possible tricks or political ramifications their actions towards him might result in.

Normilan: “Quirion! What would a lightning bolt do to most of these creatures?”
DM: “Ah! The same thing that happens to everything else. Unless they’re lightning-immune.”
Cruroar: Really.

The group insists on coming as a whole, while the man warns them that the entrance to the creature’s lair is narrow and he can only shield one. Recognizing that this is either a trap they have to deal with or a monster they have to deal with, they accept they can’t just walk away. Quirion babbles on in the background enthusiastically. Terry attempts to ride his bird onto the bridge, but the bird refuses to step onto the bridge. He casts Speak With Animals!

Terry: “What’s wrong?”
DM: “Something is WRONG! I WON’T GO NEAR IT!”
Terry: “Go into detail.”
DM: “SOMETHING IS WRONG!” Asking of the animal-intelligence bird to go into more detail…

Detect Magic reveals the bridge is under an illusion spell, and people throw down some disbelieves. The bridge appears ancient and decrepit, standing over water that looks much deeper than it had. The bridge itself has holes, leading to speculation on what happened to the scout.

DM: “Please, I beg of you! If any of you at least have any faith in the gods, I beg of you in your faith to aid me!”
Tasha: “What do you know of my gods?”
DM: You say, in a low even tone that doesn’t carry across the bridge…
Tasha: “Which god do you pray to?”
DM: “I follow the Great Star.”
Tasha: Kill him.

Now convinced that this is a trap, the group grumbles about the attempted murder of their party and ponder how to spring the trap safely. Cruroar, whose invocations now allow him to fly, proposes he fly out while pretending to walk over holes to see how he reacts.

Cruroar: Why don’t we just call him out on his little bluff?
Normilan: We can do that, if you want to drop the charade.
Cruroar: If we’re not going to spring the trap, pretending we’re still going through with it, then we might as well go through with it and see what he has.
Normilan: “How difficult was it for you to traverse that bridge?”
DM: “What do you mean?”
Normilan: “It’s old. Decrepit.”
DM: “It’s not. Look at it.”
Normilan: “Lies! I can see in.”
DM: “Do you dare question the honor of a Paladin of the Star Above?”
Normilan: “Of course.”

Silence.

DM: Will save for everybody!
Giles: I’m screwed.

Few failures occur, but the effect is a suggestion: “Send the wizard out alone.” Brunt groans while Normilan questions this.

Brunt: Damn it. Everyone we fight in this DM’s games is either a swordsage or a psion. It never fails.
Giles: Okay, what the hell is going on?

Normilan heads for the bridge, then promptly casts Stony Grasp on the guy!

Normilan: I’ve been suggested to go out there… and kick his ass!

The stone arm misses the grapple, and initiative ensues! Cruroar goes at 0, to his beffudlement. Giles is first, and cheerfully explains he hadn’t been paying attention to any of the description. Nevertheless, he heads forward to bash the guy with a mace.

DM: You swing your mace at him and it seems to pass right through him as if he was not there.
Normilan: He’s an illusion too…?
Giles: Well, crap. I know what I’m doing next turn. That was a natural 20, too.
DM: I need everybody but Giles to make another Will saving throw. Everybody who rolled lower that 20, you all receive the suggestion, “Go for a swim!” He takes five foot step to no longer be flanked by Giles, but is still within range of Giles. Tasha, what do you do?
Tasha: Sink and drown in the water.

Tasha hops into the water, and rolls a Swim check successfully. Eilnys fires spikes from her manticore belt at the guy, but they also pass right through him. Terry hops into the water and promptly blows his Swim check.

Normilan: So this is how we get rid of Terry.
Cruroar: If you want to, you can wild shape into a dolphin.
Terry: CAN I?! I’m going to do that!
Cruroar: Of course I remember druids can become dolphins. Why would I forget that? My cool fucking sea battle was ruined!
Normilan: Can I at least cast a spell before I take a drink?
DM: What spell do you want to cast?
Normilan: …Lightning Bolt.
DM: You can cast it if you want.
Normilan: “I’m going for a swim. Then I’m coming for you!”
Cruroar: He’s letting you do it, which means it’s not going to work…
DM: I’m telling you right now, don’t bother rolling. It crackles out and passes right through him.
Normilan: What is up with this dude?
Cruroar: He’s probably not here.
DM: Eh-heh, oh boy. Quirion, roll his Swim check.
Tasha: 19.
DM: Oh, he’s good! Quirion’s like, “I’m more at home here than I am on land, this is wonderful!”

Cruroar flies up to observe the area, but spots nothing unusual. He fires off a Miasmatic Cloud at the guy, while Giles gets the hell out of dodge.

DM: Out of the cloud, the paladin bursts, taking to the air as he seems to shed his mortal form before your eyes.
Cruroar: Oh he IS the monster!
DM: The hale figure disappears like it’s rotting off of him, leaving behind the translucent, rotting figure of a long-dead corpse.
Cruroar: Oh, it’s a ghost!

The ghost touches Tasha, with a dramatic pause. It deals 7 damage to her, and she passes a Will save. Tasha whacks it with an Ice Axe, which actually harms it! Eilnys rages.

Brunt: Can you hit incorporeal objects?
Eilnys: I have a holy weapon now. That’s what I spent my money on.
Cruroar: Just now, from that weapon vendor right over there!
Eilnys: No, not just now!
Cruroar: “Get your weapons, we got holy! We got fire!”

Eilnys whacks it for 16. Nope, 20. Cruroar identifies the creature as a bridge haunt, like a ghost that is tied to a bridge. Terry begins calling down lightning, while Normilan fails to drown, then unleashes Manyjaws on the haunt. Cruroar misses his eldritch blast, while Giles remains useless for lacking a +1 weapon.

DM: I’m surprised no one got the hint when I gave you each exactly enough for a +1 weapon.
Brunt: Doesn’t he have, like, Lassarin’s dagger?
DM: It wasn’t magical.
Normilan: Can’t even kill my master with a magic weapon, that asshole.

The DM angrily fires his dice as Normilan takes 4 damage and is knocked 10’ underwater. Tasha surfaces, while Eilnys continues to pummel it. Terry’s lightning passes through it, but Terry pushes Normilan to the surface, who passes his Concentration checks and keeps the Manyjaws up. No one can find ‘dolphin’ in the Monster Manual.

Cruroar: I see manta ray.
Normilan: Oooh, be a manta ray.
Cruroar: Yeah, be a manta ray. It’s easier, ‘cuz we found it.

Cruroar’s earth elemental returns and reports something strange inside the castle, while Cruroar shoots at the haunt.

Cruroar: Yay, I hit him this time! 22!
DM: No you didn’t, I’m sorry.
Cruroar: Why did you let me roll?!
Normilan: To give you hope.
DM: Giles, are you continuing not to fight?
Giles: Unless someone really really needs a potion of healing…

The bridge haunt drifts into the earth beneath it. The DM encourages Eilnys to rage on Cruroar, then sheepishly realizes he’d forgotten poor Brunt’s turn this entire time. Brunt is ruled to be successfully swimming. Terry does some curing, while Normilan finally hauls himself out of the water. Brunt continues to demand that he drown.

Brunt: Drowning!
DM: What did you roll?
Brunt: Uh. I guess not drowning.
DM: He’s so disappointed.
Brunt: I have a huge check penalty…
DM: Well what did you roll?
Brunt: 15.
DM: You’re swimming just fine.

Cruroar bemoans their lack of Ghostbusters, while Tasha and Terry are called upon to make Will saving throws. Terry takes 13 damage and Tasha takes 11 as the ghost knocks them ten feet out into the water.

DM: The suggestion snaps. You realize it’s a bad idea to be fighting in the water.

Eilyns whacks some more at the haunt, while Terry desperately tries to save people’s lives despite no one’s lives actually being in danger.

DM: Normilan! Swim check please – oh wait, you climbed out. Not Swim check please, but there’s the eeeevil undead.
Terry: Wait, there’s an undead?! Oh wait, no, that.
Eilnys: That’s what we’ve been fighting!
Terry: I was like, there’s another thing I need to fight?!
Tasha: Apparently we’re fighting the creature AND the bridge?
DM: …What? This is a bridge haunt. It is a bridge ghost. It is a vengeful spirit that died on this bridge and now is trying to kill other people.
Tasha: So the bridge IS the ghost.
DM: The bridge is not connected to this except for being the place where this guy died!
Normilan: There’s just a hovering fucking bridge. “Ooooooh. Croooossss meee!”
Terry: No, so pretty much the ghost died on the bridge and now it’s killing people because it’s pissed.
Cruroar: This sounds like an enemy from Earthbound. We’re fighting a Disgruntled Bridge.

Quirion continues to swim like a champ. Brunt swims! And whacks it!

Normilan: Stab it up its incorporeal ass!
Brunt: 7.
DM: Well, congratulations. You stole Eilnys’s kill.
Eilnys: All right, dude!
Brunt: It had to happen eventually.

Everyone finally clambers out of the water, except Brunt who demands to drown (and stabilize). With the bridge haunt defeated, the PCs turn their attention to the ominous fortress.

Brunt: I think we should explore the fort and then throw the bridge down. Unless we instead to repair it – not throw the bridge, but…
DM: Tear it down. And then be haunted by its ghost. You wake up at night, clutching your sheets to your breast as five feet of the bridge has protruded through the wall. From the outside, everyone stares as the remaining 55 feet of the bridge projects outwards and into the air from where it’s thrusting itself into your bedchamber.

Normilan proposes they move into the existing fortress and hang some tapestries. Brunt supplements the idea by proposing they just illusion up the bridge so invaders tumble into the water. But in they head! They find a great staircase leading both up and down, with a mighty wind that blows up from the downstairs area, and react to this by sending Terry down to look for bodies in the water. Much arguing ensues, but he finds the skeleton of the ghost’s corpse, and its sword!

Eilnys: Grab that sword and bring it up for Brunt.
Terry: What if something happens, while I’m…
Normilan: YOU ARE EXPENDABLE, grab that sword and – no, I’m kidding.

Terry grabs the sword and eats a negative level for doing so, while Brunt considers if his alignment has shifted to Lawful after all the law-abiding and legitimate-authority-representing he’s been doing. It has, and he can pick up the sword without penalty, yet it feels wrong to him. Quirion identifies it as a holy sword with about seventy sentences, and the group tackles him before he can poke it.

DM: “I’ve seen holy symbols before. I have several.” He lifts up the corners of his cloak—
Brunt: Like in the Mummy?!
DM: Yeah, he has about fourteen different holy symbols right there. “They come in handy when I’m casting various spells, um, but, well… forgive me for saying this if it’s presumptuous or so forth, I mean, you’re all adventurer types—“
Eilnys: “Go on.”
DM: “And entitled to loot you find at the bottom of rivers—“
Eilnys: “Spit it out.”
Terry: “Go on. Say it. Say it. Say it. What?”
DM: “Um… honorable... burial? For the – at least – put – sword – rest, ghosts like that sort of thing?”

Quirion rambles on and on till they finally shut him up again, then… rambles on and on till they finally shut him up a SECOND time. Cruroar does some aerial scouting of the outside of the fortress.

DM: It looks, honestly, like more of a face in the wall, more than anything.
Cruroar: Oh okay. Like… the only place I have reference to would be… where the Cup of Christ was held.
DM: Thank god. You did not go Castle Grayskull, which is what I was sitting here afraid of the entire time.

Some of them head down the castle stairs, only to find an immense cavern at the bottom of the stairs, wide and black and very very deep. They lob a pebble with Light cast on it into the depths, and it vanishes, finally clattering very far below.

Normilan: “That’s very deep.”
DM: (miming the drumming from the orcs of Moria)
Brunt: Hey, something I can fight.
DM: Fool of a Brunt!
Brunt: I can stand there and hack goblins, I can’t do anything about ghosts.
DM: You hacked the ghost pretty well.
Brunt: After I should have drowned.

Quirion speculates with many, many words that this feature was created magically or mechanically, causing Cruroar to explode into a conniption as he convinces himself that it’s caused by that magical paving artifact. Qurion babbles on in the background as they wonder which of these many different features could be responsible for the scout’s disappearance. The conversation derails way off-topic… purely in-character, somehow, because dragons get brought up. They check the upper area, but it’s boring. Still intent on finding the scout’s body, they decide that they should return the next day to have Terry explore more to look for his body. Back to the Prince they go! Quirion comes close to death by being Quirion.

DM: Tasha, I am afraid that your archivist has to be retired now, he’s no longer suited as a cohort. But I have prepared this new adventurer for you. “Hello, my name is Glass!”
Normilan: Oh god.
Eilnys: (hysterical laughter)
Cruroar: I thought he was going to mess with me and have an old man.

Back to camp they go, with their adventure for the night concluded! We bid a fond farewell to Terry now, and turn to brighter horizons…