DM: There you stand in the half of Castle Aquis that remains!
Brunt: Ding! ‘Grats!’ ‘Grats!’ ‘Grats!’ ‘Grats!’ ‘Grats!’!
DM: The horrible silence that has descended over the terrain as the last of the bones clatter into place is truly horrific. Sunlight shines down on you, blinding in its sudden abruptness. Where once a structure of bones stood, now only the stone half remains.
Giles: “Wow, guys, I think he’s dead.”
Cruroar: (dramatic miming) “Hand… can I get… dying…”
DM: You’re not under the bones.
Cruroar: All I remember was… I was at negative?
DM: You got the shit beaten out of you.
Cruroar: I was at -7.
DM: Someone had healed you. And then Quirion had also yanked Lady Tasha out of the horrible collapse of the bones.
Tasha: “You are earning your keep, Quirion, you are earning your keep.”
DM: “Guh… uh… thank you… Lady Tasha…” (continuing to gasp)
Tasha: “Would you like me to create some water for you? You sound thirsty.”
DM: “I’m good…”
Tasha: Damn it, I really wanted to Create Water.

The DM continues to feed them flavor text; Cruroar discovers cookies, an hour after they’ve been put on the table. They loot the skull lord, finding several scrolls, and then head further into the castle to keep looting. Quite conveniently, they find a workshop or laboratory full of loot! The DM passes a loot list over, and promptly gets flicked off by the players for not including the scrolls on it. Books also fill the room, and the one open on the desk draws their eye immediately.

DM: It is written in a language none of you can understand, I’ll tell you that right now.
Brunt: I set fire to it!

The language is the old kingdom’s tongue, and the DM calls for Knowledge(arcana) check. Normilan rolls poorly and deals the last shred of damage necessary to pop the page out of the binding.

DM: Eilnys, of all people… You glance at the paper that Normilan accidentally ripped out, then double-take. You recognize a sketch that is on it. Though the sketch is fairly crude and you’d guess it probably came from secondhand information—
Normilan: It’s a picture of Cruderoar.

Dead silence.

Normilan: What?
Cruroar: 23!
DM: You also recognize this. Both of you immediately jump to the same conclusion: what you are looking at is a picture of the tattered cloth you rescued from the depths of a cave behind a waterfall, then gave to the elder Keyvarin Lassarin.
Normilan: Oh right!

Now the DM calls for a Listen check. Most of them hear the noise outside: the distinct sound of air being displaced by a teleport, probably outside the castle in front. Giles peers out with his keen rogue vision and spots a troll wearing many belts – who they last saw at the parley with the undead!

Giles: “So for some reason we have that troll with the belts back.”
Brunt: …he said around the corner, to no one in particular.
DM: A moment later, you all hear the bang of the front portcullis being lifted, as if it were wrenched from the ground and hurled back up, instead of properly wheeled up as it should have been.

The group responsibly argues over what Giles has actually told them. Giles clearly reiterates for all, and the group questions horribly if they need to get into another fight. The DM points out there are hiding spots within the room if they don’t wish to fight; unsurprisingly, they take this as a command.

Brunt: This won’t work out so well for me.
Normilan: We’ll put you in the wardrobe.
Giles: I could probably hide pretty well, but I’m not confident we could all elude detection?
DM: You hear a pair of voices gradually growing louder as the speakers draw closer.
Normilan: ‘So I says to Mabel, I says…’

The DM prompts them to act. They scramble for hiding places, and end up in a fight with Tiamat in the closest somehow. Listen checks ensue, and they begin to pick up on some of the dialogue…

DM: (ridiculous voice midway between idiot and Southerner) “Well yes, it obviously was. But nevertheless, he had a right to it, and we had an obligation to give it to him.” (calmer and measured voice) “Yes, I suppose that is the truth.”
Normilan: (ridiculous voice) ‘Don’t forget to eat yer oatmeal!’
Brunt: I was hoping one of the voices would be like, ‘Mama mia! That’s a spicy meatball!’
DM: (ridiculous voice) “I hope the book is still there. I’d hate to have to go hunting for it, especially after spending the spells to get up here, interrupting my research…”
Brunt: Did someone pocket that book? Out of character…

Normilan still has the book. The two voices discuss how Morden’thal was useless and inevitably doomed, as Normilan doesn’t actually fumble desperately at the book.

DM: A great fist descends upon the door, then pauses. (calm voice) “You DO have the spell prepared that locates objects, do you not?” (idiot voice) “Course I do!”
Normilan: Crap.
Brunt: Did you think you were going to get away with it? He’s giving you every chance to ditch the book. Just saying…
Cruroar: You found a burrito! I forgot about that, I was hungry. I memorized Locate Burrito.

They envision a world in which Normilan flings the book away so hard he kills one of the creatures. The DM reminds them of the source of the other voice: Kurien, Slaughterer, who they had been warned against. They load their last save, but it was before they entered the castle, so they quit to play Overwatch. The door at last creaks open and admits the troll, who begins sweeping books off the shelf as he seeks the one tome.

DM: He looks over to the chest where Cruroar is hiding. Steps over to it
Cruroar: I’m just gonna get found.
Brunt: Slams it against the wall like a sleeping bag.
Normilan: Try to put yourself into the lid.
Cruroar: I’m kinda holding the chest closed, if that helps?
DM: (miming opening the chest) “Oh. Should have known it was you. I assume you’re the perpetrator who has wreaked death on my companion?”
Cruroar: “Yeah. By myself. We split up.”
DM: He reaches down. Puts a hand over your head.
Cruroar: “It was a great battle…” I’m using, uh, what is it called.
DM: Bluff?

Cruroar babbles out some surprisingly convincing lies thanks to his modifier; Eilnys botches her class mechanics. The troll cares nothing and demands the book; Normilan hides the page with the picture on his person.

DM: He slowly picks you up… by the head.
Cruroar: “Ow. This is not how you pick up things!”
DM: “Is when I want answers.”
Cruroar: “Oh. Probably. I don’t have the book. It is not on my person.”

The group happily envisions Cruroar being dismembered by the troll in a search. Why is it happy?! They’re so weird! Even Cruroar is enjoying this! They also wish death and crashes on the transcription laptop! Cruroar gets shoves back into the chest, and the troll crushes the lock.

DM: He turns next, looking around… to the wardrobe! Normilan’s obstinent sacrifice of you all…
Normilan: All right, fine.
DM: He’s like, ‘I really gotta hold onto this book, no matter how many of my companions get maimed.’
Normilan: He didn’t get maimed, he just got crushed into a chest. He’s fine.
DM: Till starvation sets in.
Normilan: I’ll open the door. “Your book. Just don’t harm on us.”
Brunt: Yeah, what was the Slaughter’s take on all this?
DM: ‘I’m Large size, so I’m outside.’
Brunt: Well thank you, Slaughterer, it’s nice to speak with you outside of the game environment.

The troll seizes the book, and mutters something so long it’s untranscribable; something about being Normilan’s superior in magic, and shuts the door on his arm. The two enemies then teleport off. Cruroar gleefully imagines his favorite spell, Teleport With Plenty of Error.

DM: And again silence has descended over the castle.
Normilan: I pull my crowbar out of my backpack and get to work on that chest.
Brunt: You should’ve traded the book for that scroll, then we could have gotten the hell out of here.
Normilan: In a very meta sense, are we done with the adventure until we get to rest?
DM: Yes, I’ll give you that one.
Normilan: I cast Knock on the chest.

Cruroar attempts to finely weld his way out of the chest with a 5d6 beam. Giles asks the important question.

Giles: So can someone explain to me why that book was so important?

A long silence.

Normilan: No.
Brunt: The DM could have, half an hour ago.

Normilan blubbers so badly he becomes Aliarra’s uncle. The DM complains that they didn’t fight the fate-blooded mummy, bemoaning the lack of mummy rot. Quirion waxes rhapsodic.

DM: “I’m here for a lot of things. In fact, one of them I just got to do, which was experience a great adventure at the side of a noble band of heroes. This is everything that I ever dreamed for. IT WAS SCARY. Is it always that scary?”
All: “Yeah…”
DM: “I mean I always kind of imagined it as you went in and you had things under control! Like the might of the spells struck down the enemy, and then Brunt was in the front bashing people left and right, while Cruroar laid waste to them all with eldritch devastation, Eilnys smashing things, Lady Tasha doing whatever it is she decides to do, probably creating water.. And you know, all of those thing happened, but wow!”
Normilan: “Yeah.”
DM: “I mean, wow!”
Normilan: “Yeah, you don’t hear that part of it.”
DM: “Yeah, wow, wow.”
Eilnys: “Honestly, lad. There’s a reason why we’re usually wearing our brown pants.”
DM: “Because they’re made out of leather?”

A very long silence. They vow to explain it to him later. Quirion explains that elves trance, as they shove him towards the door. Cruroar begins claiming all the fancy paintings they looted for his castle, as Eilnys questions the history of these paintings. Racism bafflingly ensues.

DM: That’s right, there’s world-building in your trash drops. Suck it.

On to treasure distribution! Normilan and the DM argue vigorously over the loot list and the spacing resulting from tabbing. Cruroar gets into the argument and the DM starts revoking loot. With nothing else to do, they start to head back into the chasm through which they traveled, with many memories of random encounters lightening their steps.

Cruroar: Holy fuck! All that was before the castle?!

Nothing happens on the way back, to their amazement, and the group reaches the castle of Prole once more. However, there’s a different flag flying from the pole, in addition to Cruroar’s own.

Cruroar and Eilnys: Oh, the prince is here.
Brunt: Vampire flag.
DM: (NOT to Brunt) Wow, A+ on immediately getting that. I’m proud of you guys.
Brunt: I thought Mer’dovich was just running the place now.
DM: I’m sincerely gratified by the fact that you guys immediately picked up on what that meant.

They refresh themselves on the backstory, remembering that the Prince had gone back home, but apparently now had returned (and become a vampire).

DM: (vampire accent) ‘Hello, Brunt! It iz zo gud to see you agenn.’
Brunt: ‘I didn’t notice you having that accent before we left.’
DM: ‘I’ve been practizing foreign langvuages.’
Brunt: ‘How many languages are you practicing?’
DM: ‘One! Ah ah ah! TWO! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

The guard contingent emerge and formed ranks on either side of the path; Brunt is unable to resist and dungeoncrashes the lines. Trumpeters hail the Count’s return, but have their trumpets blasted and are told to get on with the ceremony! But there is a lot of ceremony, as the guards herald their count’s arrival with a hell of lot of pomp and circumstance. Donato, Cruroar’s butler, advises him that the prince has returned, and they exchange information on the goings-on.

DM: “Lass! Lass! Lass! How ya doing?!”
Eilnys: Is that my dad?
DM: Yes.
Eilnys: “I’m fine!”

Donato reports that the front lines are a stalemate, and that the prince spends most of his time in the library. A weird bard apparently emerges, demanding that all present give the gift of a Google Play Gift Card.

Cruroar: “Perhaps the weird page can be translated by…” Um. Mal’dovich?
Normilan: Malkovich. John Malkovich.
Brunt: Being John Mer’dovich.

They go to greet the Prince in the library, sensibly knowing that fealty to royalty and protocol count. On the way, Quirion speaks!

DM: “Lady Tasha! Lady Tasha!”
Tasha: (ripping an absolute chair-breaker of a fart) “Yes?”

The game ends for the night.

Well, maybe five minutes or so. The group can’t stop laughing. Quirion slowly backs away. Cruroar is actually in danger of laughing himself to death like a cartoon weasel.

DM: “I don’t suppose of you can put in a good word for me with your acolyte… you know, how good I did. I saved Bimmy and Jimmy, who are still with us, I should point out, they’ve been travelling with us all this time, just unmentioned. And you know…”
Brunt: I give him a hearty clap on the shoulder.
DM: “Gwoof!”
Brunt: “Of course we will.”

As Quirion relocates his shoulder, they enter the library to find the Prince entranced by the librarian, so deep in conversation with Kaliya that he does not even notice them. Tasha farts up a storm.

Brunt: “Your Highness, we have returned.”
DM: The prince makes an idle gesture, sort of waves, acknowledging someone speaking to him, and continues to talk up the girl.
Brunt: “Well. I’ll return to my duties then.” (marching off)

Silence.

Normilan: “Huh. All right.”

One of the longest, deadest silences in the history of this transcription effort.

Normilan: I’m gonna start putting my books away.
DM: Kaliya at last turns her attentions, and then a radiant smile, on you. “My Lord the Count, Master Normilan. You’ve returned.”
Normilan: “Aye, victorious.”
DM: “Oh – good -!” The Prince swiftly rises from his seat.
Cruroar: What people don’t realize is, I fell asleep standing up several minutes ago.

Brunt attempts to check on Mer’dovich and is reminded it’s the middle of the day. The prince greets them all most courteously, and they report on their success. And the half-destruction of Castle Aquis.

Tasha: “It’s Brunt’s. He dungeoncrashed into the wall, knocked the whole thing over.”
Normilan: “Lady Tasha lies.”
Tasha: “She does.”

The prince is alarmed to hear of the arrival of the troll and Slaughterer, but sees hope in how the undead have no affection or even respect for each other.

DM: “My father sends his commendations for all that you have done. No titles, however, I thought that you would appreciate that.
Cruroar: “I don’t need any more…”

The prince promises a reward coming: fine furniture, additions to the library, an upgrade to the forge. Additional soldiers are coming to serve under Lady Tasha.

Tasha: “All in the name of Lord Cruroar!”
DM: “…That is the most blatantly insincere thing I have ever heard, and I am Prince of the Realm.”
Normilan: He is not a god. Yet.

Somehow Cruroar kills a god and ascends to divinity by accident. The prince requests to speak to Cruroar privately, and they step aside. The other PCs lean in to listen and he shoves them back.

DM: “There is a… bard, I believe, a musician, who has been stalking me on the road. Constantly trying to warn me against coming here. I would appreciate if you see this lady in her insistence, that you keep her well-shot of this place. Her attentions are not welcome. I believe she may have… designs on my…. Future, shall we say. I believe she is more disturbed than truly dangerous, but when one has someone leap out of the bushes shouting warnings at you, ‘do not go to that castle,’ one becomes suspicious.”
Cruroar: “Yes. I’ll see if I can have her located.”
Normilan: And DESTROYED.

They chat a moment more, and the Eilnys goes to take a bath. Then everyone takes a bath, except for Cruroar.

Cruroar: I use my newly invented shower. Several servants slurp up water and then spit it on me.
Normilan: I do NOT want one of those.

Cleaned, they feast! Normilan mutters about the Prince being a doppelganger, and then they head down to talk to Mer’dovich and give him an update. And ask about a book!

Cruroar: “What do you know of… a book?”
DM: “Ah...”
Cruroar: “THE book. A book that would require two of their strongest to come to the castle to find the book. So important that they took the book from us and left us alive.”
DM: “They left you alive because they consider you no threat to them. That book you are speaking of, I know of it.”

Cruroar offers over the page, and Mer’dovich confirms that he is illiterate. Or, uh, rather that he speaks Durish, the ancient tongue of the falled kingdom.

DM: “This page speaks of an artifact.”
Normilan: “A shroud.”
DM: “Yes.”
Normilan: “What do you know about the shroud?”
DM: “Exactly what it says here and no more. The shroud was taken from its last owner. The language used her suggests to me it was a hostile force… And split up among several races. This shroud was given to the elves. The crown was given to humankind. The rod – and there it cuts off. “

Mer’dovich believes the book is key to the undead’s victory; Cruroar believes it is a Magic Item Compendium. But Mer’dovich says the crown is that which belongs to their king – and refers to a loot painting, the better to describe the coronations how they once had. Cruroar, weirdly, attempts to give Mer’dovich the painting.

Cruroar: “This artifacts have something to do with the Mad God.”
DM: “I do not know. The book may have said more about this. I see now why they wanted it.”
Cruroar: “We were not exactly in a position to take those two on. Even at our full strength, we might have been capable, let alone in our weakened state. Yet I’ll tell you something I thought was truly troubling. Near the end, when he was weakest, he took a moment to put all his anger into me. He cursed my parents’ name.”

Mer’dovich relates that he knows little; he was viewed as the least among them. Cruroar is left with only speculation as to why Morden’thal hated him, and on that note ,they decide to rest. They cannot strike at the undead now…

Cruroar: And to bed I go.
Normilan: Thud! (banging the table)
Brunt: Cruroar… fell down.
Cruroar: I said to bed, not to sleep!

Brunt seeks out the Prince, and finds him in the library – though this time the Prince rather sheepishly rises to greet Brunt properly. He beseeches the full tale from Brunt, trusting the warrior’s words as a comrade-at-arms.

Brunt: “The journey was long and arduous, the conclusion rather swift, but deadly perilous. Truth be told, we barely survived.”
DM: “So the vampire… was he telling the truth when he said you could handle it, or was he trying to get you killed?”
Brunt: “I think he spoke truly. He knew we were capable of doing so, and certainly lacking any other inspiration for whom to have sent in our place, I don’t think he meant ill in sending us after this opponent. And if he truly was the least of them, we would have had no chance against any of the others.”
DM: “Sir Brunt, I must speak plainly. How can the kingdom reward you? The others are easy. Cruroar we have granted titles, we have knighted Lady Eilnys, we have arranged for books for Master Normilan, supplies and support for Lady Tasha – all this is easy. But you have probably done more for me personally than any of them, yet I do not know what would satisfy you. I suspect if I were to offer you a title you would be offended.”
Brunt: “A title I have, Highness.’
DM: “A proper title, a landed title, that sort of thing.”
Brunt: “I do not think it my lot in life to preside over a… “ What do you call that? A fife?
DM: Fief?
Brunt: “That is not in my future, at least not in the way I see it.”
DM: “Than what is? What do you wish?”
Brunt: “Continued service is enough for me, Highness.”
DM: “But it seems so poor a reward.”
Cruroar: What are your prime directives?
Brunt: ‘Dick Jones is wanted for murder.’
DM: ‘Gotcha. Dick Jones, the full might of the kingdom will see him brought to justice.’
Brunt: “Highness, there is one thing. I do not know if any of my mother’s blood still lives, either in the village of Spindlethrift or elsewhere, but if they do exist, I would have them looked after in such a way that they do not go lacking basic necessities.”
DM: “That I can see done. I shall keep you in my thoughts, Sir Brunt, and I thank you for all you have done.”

They speak more idly of the Prince’s desire to be away from the court and his hope that he need not ascend the throne any time soon. But the hour is late.

DM: “Best I travel to bed, then, we should have a caravan on the morrow.”
Normilan: It takes a whole caravan to go to bed?
Brunt: Caravan of beds! Have him arrested again, and this time I won’t feel bad!
Normilan: Come onnnn. We’re like best pals.
DM: ‘We have a warrant from the wild elves, their leader would like to use you as a sex slave, and we’re inclined to agree.’

Normilan refuses to sleep for some reason! Possibly because the DM is a jerk! Though he does apologize for how much flirting Normilan and Brunt have to endure while the Prince is in the library. The discussion gets weird.

Normilan: I need a husband. Mail-order husband?
Brunt: Mer’dovich can help with that. ‘Ah, you vant vun with accent!’
Tasha: I did the mail-order husband, I ended up with Quirion. No thanks.

Normilan visits his apprentice, to see her working on her cantrips. Which she promptly fumbles in embarrassment as he arrives. They have a friendly chat, which gets weird with foreshadowing, according to Cruroar.

DM: ‘Long live the mage,’ she says, Magic Missiling Normilan off of the cliff he clings to, and into the stampeding wildebeest horde.
Normilan: Wow, I got Scarred.
Brunt: ‘I killed Normilan!’

To their immense surprise, a knocking comes at the window to the tower. Normilan is shocked!

Normilan: I have windows?! I thought these were arrow slits, how are you knocking on the arrow slits?!
DM: Nope, it’s windows in your tower. It’s a mage tower. And you need windows to go… (miming leaning out a window and shouting angry old man gibberish while waving a fist)

Normilan goes to open the window, though some of them fear it’s a ghost. Only Brunt questions why a ghost would knock.

DM: No sooner do you open the window than a hand reaches up and seizes you by the shirt. You’re half hauled down as a person hauls herself up. “You’ve got to get the prince out of here!”
Eilnys and Normilan: Oh, the bard.
DM: A raging, frantic female face is inches from yours, looking downright wild-eyed. “He’s not safe here! Get him out of here! You’ve got to get him out of here! The fate of the world depends on it!”
Normilan: (choking noises) Ummm…
Brunt: Think fast.
Normilan: “How the hell did you get UP here?”
DM: “I’m very good. And by that same token that’s why you need to trust me! I can’t explain everything that’s going on but the prince is in grave danger here. His very soul is going to be rent from his body by forces from outside the cosmos if you don’t get him out of here!”

The woman shakes Normilan vigorously and rants more; as Normilan asks his apprentice to get the other PCs, she only gets even more frantic, warning Normilan he will regret it and begging him for trust.

DM: “FOOL! You wait and see! I’ll still be around when you come crying to me for help!” She leaps off the tower! Floats gently to the ground. And then scrambles off into the night, disappearing as she does.
Giles: She reminds me of me when I’m playing an engineer in WoW. Jump off the edge. Glide. Ruuuuun.

Normilan goes downstairs to find Brunt and relate this tale. Brunt, unable to resist temptation, has grabbed a copy of The Art of War as his in-character reading material, and everyone appreciates this. The two try to puzzle out this strange encounter. Normilan, at the very end, realize what Brunt is reading as he goes off to have a word with the guard about this intrusion. The guards are horrified.

Brunt: I have faith or I have confidence in their honesty at this point, so I’m not going to reprimand any of them. This time.
Normilan: They all sigh heaving relief.
Brunt: I wouldn’t personally reprimand any of them! It’d be a fucking Bloody Mess perk going on.
Normilan: You don’t have to dungeoncrash them!
DM: Yes he does. He knows no other option. He’s reading The Art of War trying desperately to find some other way.
Normilan: It’s just ‘dungeoncrash! Dungeoncrash! Dungeoncrash!’ Who wrote this – oh, I did.
DM: Brunt Tzu.
Cruroar: The Art of Annihilation.
DM: The art of jelly-making.

Normilan goes to Cruroar. Cruroar checks for pants, determines he is wearing pants, and bids him enter. They wonder if that truly is a bard – Normilan points out that she’s a looker, to Cruroar’s confusion, and they speculate that the woman has greater magic than perhaps they realized. Surprisingly, they both seem to take the warnings entirely seriously, and question how to get the Prince out of there.

DM: Cruroar abruptly remembers he left his earth elemental behind in the castle.

Dead silence. Cruroar heaves a sigh.

Cruroar: Anyways. Is the prince preparing to leave?
DM: He hasn’t given any sign of leaving, and given his extracurricular activities you kinda suspect he won’t be in any hurry to leave anytime soon.
Eilnys: We could always convince the librarian to tell him that he needs to go.
Normilan: Oooh.
Cruroar: Perhaps our librarian needs to go on a trip back to the castle for some more books.
Normilan: Not our librarian…
DM: I totally appreciate that a crazy woman showed up at Normilan’s window and yelled mad things at him and you’re taking it 100% seriously. I love Dungeons and Dragons. On a meta level it’s like, “Well obviously it’s significant.” I’m not criticizing what you’re doing, I just love it.

Cruroar has a lengthy IC discussion with Normilan, addressing it to the DM the entire time. They elect to take their rest that evening and return to the situation on the morrow, when the Prince is awake. Or dead.

Cruroar: If the Prince is dead in the morning, I’m just going to rip up Cruroar’s sheet. He’s also dead.
DM: It turns out Cruroar was the prince this entire time.
Cruroar: I put the earth elemental in his room.
DM: ‘AAAAAIGH!’
Cruroar: Not next to him!
DM: He wakes up in the morning, it’s like the Godfather…

The DM lapses into extensive Gloop and Gleep impersonations for the earth elemental, as is his wont. The morning sees them awakened by trumpets: royal messengers approach! They emerge!

DM: Waiting out in the courtyard is a lone man, horse heaving gasps to one side as if he’d pushed the thing to almost the limits of his life to get here.
Cruroar: Probably at full hit points now…
DM: He clutches a great scroll case, looking for all the world as if an entire trail’s worth of dust has taken residence on his person, haggard and weary.
Cruroar: “You have something for me? Before we allow you to rest.”
DM: “A message for the Prince’s ears.” And indeed, fortunately, no sooner is his name spoken than Prince Aundon comes stalking out of the castle, looking all regal in his glory. The messenger immediately takes a knee.

Inevitable knee-stealing jokes ensue.

Normilan: ‘Ow! My patella!’

Inevitable Skyrim jokes ensue.

DM: “Your Highness,” he says, in a voice carrying enough for all to hear. “I bring you the most dire and grave of news.”
Normilan: The king is dead.
DM: Normilan KILLED the King.
Brunt: Oh gosh, then I’m arresting you for the third time.
Tasha: And he did it with the candlestick in the library.
DM: The Prince, at this announcement, maintains his demeanor.
Cruroar: Wait? Is that what happened?
Eilnys: The king is dead?
Cruroar: The king is dead?
DM: He hasn’t made ANY announcement yet!
Brunt: He’s waiting for a prompt from the prince.
DM: Though you can sense a slight graying around the prince’s jowls.

Brunt questions if they should go somewhere private, but the prince bids the message be heard.

DM: “Your father the King is dead.”
Tasha: I knew it! Normilan did it!
Eilnys: Damn it, Normilan!
Normilan: I said it out of character!
DM: The prince staggers slightly, though to his credit he maintains his posture. You perhaps suspect he might even believe this is a trick or a ruse.
Tasha: Wait, so he doesn’t go, ‘hmm, was that me?’
DM: No. Unlike some rulers I could name, he is a decent man. Again, taking a knee. “Your Majesty.” Offering up the scroll case. As he steps in to take it, I would like each of you to make a Spot check.
Normilan: Wow, that’s the best Spot I ever had…
DM: Brunt, Cruroar, Eilnys. For just a hint of a second, so quickly you think you make have imagined it, though I know the possibility you imagined it will never, ever, EVER cross any of your minds! You believe you saw the faint ghost of a smirk across the messenger’s face.
Eilnys: CHAAAAAAAAAARGE! No, I will literally take the scroll case from his hands, and beat him off—
Tasha: Ha! He will love it!
Cruroar: I was gonna roll a Sense Motive.
Eilnys: Chaotic Good with no chill.
Cruroar: Modified 20.
DM: You think all is well.
Cruroar: Man, this guy is good.
Eilnys: I am not trying to kill him, I am just trying to intercept.
DM: Roll a Strength check – oh Jesus. Eilnys hurls herself bodily at the messenger out of nowhere. The two of them skid a full fifteen feet as she drives him into some of the guards that wait on the side.
Brunt: This is why I didn’t do it. Because he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone anything.
DM: The guards trip over him. Immediately, swords are drawn. The prince stands there clutching this scroll case, looking shocked beyond measure.
Brunt: “Highness, put down the case.”
Eilnys: “Someone else open that damn thing. Someone else.”
Tasha: Tasha summons somebody else from the church!
DM: “What’s up, Lady Tasha?”
Tasha: Not Quirion. I need someone of much lower rank.
DM: The prince immediately drops the case, on hearing both of your commands, and puts several feet in between it, someone managing to make the sudden and abrupt retreat look dignified, because he is a prince.

Giles Searches the case, while the group interrogates the messenger. All is chaos, as they struggle to examine the scroll case and talk to the guy as well. The prince finds nothing odd about this, and Giles finds no traps, so they roll Cruroar up to detect magic on it. His focus detects a magical aura of abjuration upon it.

DM: How thorough are your guards searching him? Are they removing clothing?
Cruroar: Checking every hole!
Brunt: A perfunctory one at first, since anything more thorough is going to be hard with Eilnys sitting on him.

Brunt contemplates feeding him to Mer’dovich, while Tasha asks Qurion to dispel the scroll. They encourage the messenger to talk, while Cruroar continues to rave about cavity searches.

DM: “All right, you want me to wipe this out?”
Cruroar: “Uh –“
DM: “You wanted me to cast Dispel Magic, Lady Tasha, how have you forgotten this quickly!?”
Cruroar: “Normilan, it’s an aberration type spell.”
Normilan: Oh my god.
DM: (miming tentacles)
Cruroar: Abjuration?

The search turns up no credentials or seals, though the messenger claims his mission is a secret one. Eilnys doubts his tale, and get insulted in turn.

Brunt: All right. Intimidation. 23. He’s going to answer me truthfully or he’s going to regret it.
DM: Brunt steps in, wraps his hand around the guy’s neck, and then as you step off, lifts him.
Brunt: Don’t explode him! That’s not what I said!
DM: You pull him in an inch from your face, and give him a full view of just how angry you are at this threat to a liege you respect, and the quality of your position in protecting him. He quails in front of him, and you can see fear wash through his face, and feel his body practically go limp, except for a few faint kickings of his dangling feet.
Eilnys: “I’m smelling urine.”
Brunt: Secret plans were beamed to this ship by rebel spies.
DM: “Talk,” you growl, putting on the whole half-orc thing.
Brunt: Probably my breath would be enough to do it as well. I don’t want him to faint with fear, I just want him to know what will happen to him if he keep lying…
DM: “By the Great Star, you’re a monster.”
Eilnys: What is this Great Star thing? I swear we’ve heard it before.
Brunt: Oh, the cult of the Seven… Stars… or whatever.
DM: Seven Clans Under One Star. The enemy to the west who has long opposed your kingdom.
Brunt: “So King Maximiano is dead.”
DM: “That was not our doing! We didn’t do it! We just thought to take advantage of the situation!”
Normilan: “What’s cast upon this scroll?”
DM: “I don’t know, I didn’t cast it!”
Tasha: “Do you know who cast it?”
DM: “A shaman of our people!”
Tasha: “Where are your people?”
Cruroar: We know now!

Quirion lobs his dispel. Tasha rolls terribly for him. They try to figure out where to toss the messenger, lacking an explicit dungeon in the castle. The messenger babbles frantically in fear.

Tasha: “Silence!” I cast Silence. Shut up.
Normilan: That’s an area spell…
DM: Yes. Everything in a 15’ radius around this guy is silenced.
Tasha: Good. I’m gonna drag him 15 feet away, cast Hold Person on him, and drag him back.
DM: You cast Silence ON HIM.
Cruroar: It follows him!
DM: You can’t cast next to him now!
Tasha: All right, I’m gonna drag him 15 feet away, I’m gonna beat him unconscious, I’m gonna walk fifteen feet away, then cast Hold Person on him while he’s unconscious.

Tasha finally realizes she can cast at range, and does so. Cruroar immediately draws a connection between this, the bard, and the assassination.

Tasha: I’ll open the scroll. I’ll take a chance. Actually, can I grab one of my cohorts?
All: NO!
Normilan: They’re not thralls! They’re here because they respect you! Do NOT fuck that up. Or all of a sudden you’re gonna have a wasted feat.
Tasha: Can I become a thrallherd?

Eilnys opens it. She finds a scroll, and touches it, but nothing happens. Eilnys, pleading illiteracy, asks to open it properly, and she and the prince get into an argument about her risking herself. They check the document for a seal, slowly unrolling it, and after some argument about whether or not a seal actually seals the document, determine it has none! The DM throws out the suspicious idea of Nystul’s Magic Aura; he is the only one who even knows of the spell, so they consider this unlikely.

Giles: So does it say something like, “Hear ye hear ye, something bad is gonna happen”, or what’s on the scroll.
DM: Eilnys can’t read it.
Normilan: “If there’s no seal that means it’s okay to read, Your Highness?”
DM: “I.. I confess I’m as lost as you are. More lost, as I know nothing of the magical arts.”
Normilan: Than I will take a gander at this.
DM: Um… that’s a thing. So Normilan tries to read it…
Normilan: Did that indirectly possibly save my life?
DM: No, it endangered it. (scooping up a handful of dice)
Cruroar: Oh my god! I’m sorry, Normilan. Fire goes to the sheet.
DM: Don’t burn Normilan’s sheet yet.

The scroll detonates for 26 points of damage to Normilan and Eilnys, but fortunately does no damage to anyone else. Normilan belatedly remembers that Explosive Runes is an abjuration spell. The hour is late, so they end the game knowing the prince is safe… and wondering what else is afoot.