It’s the 3d6 game! Last time the group had endured the five-way barroom brawl from HELL!

DM: All of whom had tracked you to one inn, mysteriously, for reasons unknown.
Brunt: NOT for reasons unknown! I told you, we checked in that inn on company orders! …okay, I’m sorry.
DM: …Something about me DMing brings out the worst in you.
Brunt: When you say a line that way, which is directly pulled – not you pulling it, but comes from a movie, I have to go into react mode. Not your fault.

The DM has them escape out the back door, with the battle still raging on in the inn behind them. They and the high elves make it to their carts.

Normilan: So long, gay Bowsie!
Brunt: Bowsette.
Cruroar: Don’t bring that up.
Brunt: Bowsette is canon!
Cruroar: It was not really confirmed!
Brunt: It’s not canon.
DM: AND WITH THAT the leader of the high elves turns to fix you all with a steely glare as she bonks her head against the side of the cart and quickly takes a step aside.
Normilan: Oh right, she’s related to fucking…
Lucian: Quirion.
Normilan: Just as clumsy.
Brunt: She’s got that unfortunate genetic Stormtrooper Disorder.

Though the high elf leader tries to menace them with her sword, Cruroar rolls some Knowledge to see if he can legally protect Quirion. The DM attempts to make him roll Profession(barrister), then reminds Cruroar that the Empire is trying to end-run the official procedure and he should throw legalities in their way. He does just that, rolling Diplomacy.

DM: Natural 1. ‘Fuck off, fucker!’
Cruroar: If I roll a natural 1, at least let me roleplay it… sweet Jesus, she doesn’t stand a chance, that’s a 32!

Cruroar begins speaking, then arrows slay them both Skyrim cutscene-style. Cruroar lapses into a long, boring speech; Brunt conks her on the head and steals a runabout. No one will ever know. Cruroar is still going.

DM: 32 IS NOT THE NUMBER OF MINUTES YOU HAD TO GO ON FOR, CRUROAR!
Cruroar: Oh, I thought that’s how it worked. Let me check the book.
DM: As you wrap up your speech, she turns and looks back at the four elves in tow with her. As one, they all just share a baffled shrug. She takes another moment to note the condition of her warriors – battered, bruised, bleeding…

The woman elects to withdraw, claiming it’s in deference to the aid in the brawl, and bids a wizard take them home. The wizard promptly snaps a stick. Nothing happens.

Normilan: “Did you get the wrong stick?”
Cruroar: “Did they give you the broken stick too? That happened to us!”
Lucian: ‘You know they make pills for that.’
DM: “The RING, you idiot, use the RING!”

Cruroar ease Quirion well out of teleport distance. The wizard teleports them off, as the woman glares at Quirion.

DM: “I’ll see you again, brother! Sooner than you expect!”
Cruroar: Please tell me they teleport behind us! Please tell me they teleport behind us!
Normilan: If I was a bad person and I took Scramble Teleport, I actually would have cast it.
DM: The magic engulfs them in a column of light. Just before they disappear, you hear, “Well THAT sucked, I really—“ Puff!

They start rolling to try to figure out how all those people tracked them. Normilan immediately suspects their wagon is the target, either a focus or a mark, though the DM does note there are many other potentials. Lucian finally starts attempting to introduce himself, despite everyone’s suspicions of wood elves. They vow to drop the wagon and get a new one the next moment possible.

Lucian: 39 on Knowledge(geography).
Giles: 25 on a rogue Search check.
DM: Your search turns up many missing pieces that as near as you can tell seem to be just routine wear and tear. Nicks here, chips there, you’ve kind of been rough on this wagon on the course of your journey.
Eilnys: Yeah, there is that.
DM: Up here you don’t encounter too many towns for a ways. There are a couple of remote towns up here but not that much, it’s only once you start getting more towards the eastern half of the kingdom that villages and towns become more frequent.
Lucian: But do I know of anyplace where we can lay low and do some repairs on the wagon?
Cruroar: We’re not going to repair the wagon, we’re going to buy a new wagon.
DM: The axel breaks.
Cruroar: …well, if it breaks, we gotta fix us on the way.
Normilan: Seven Clans’ horses are unattended?
DM: Yes!
Brunt: Well let’s attend them!
DM: You guys want to stop and go back? Because Cruroar was VERY clear on the fact that you were making tracks out of town.

Cruroar ponders sleeping during the day and traveling at night. The DM calls for an ‘incredibly difficult’ Spot check, which Giles makes. He notes a lone bird in the sky, flying around without any apparent purpose.

Cruroar: Oh my god! Where is the bronze dragon?! Where’s Glimmer?
DM: Last you saw him, he was wading into the fray back there.
Cruroar: I hope he gets out…
DM: Well, he IS a dragon.

They go back to debating the bird, wisely concluding that birds flap their wings to fly, and what they see is a bird. Then they hear a roar coming from the town.

Lucian: Oh thank god, Glimmer, go kill it. Out of character, I don’t know Glimmer.
DM: You can all turn your heads and look back to town to see what happened.
Normilan: Of COURSE we’re going to turn our heads!
DM: NOBODY SAID ANYTHING!
Normilan: Why do we have to fucking say it?! Jesus Christ!
DM: Looking back you can see coming down the road towards you is Glimmer, about… seven feet off the ground, his wings beating frantically. Clinging to his tail and dragged by his feet is one of the wood elves, just hanging on. You can’t tell if he’s trying to grapple him and pull him down or just hanging on for dear life because he doesn’t know what else to do. Glimmer just looking furious as he tries to soldier on forward with this thing clinging to his tail.

The DM meant ‘grey elf’ but refuses to acknowledge that he said wood elf. Cruroar continues to discuss plans, even as Lucian and Eilnys try to help Glimmer.

Lucian: I’m going to stop moving and draw my bow.
DM: You stop moving. The cart continues beneath you and you tumble forwards out of the back. How did you do that?!
Lucian: I thought you said I was running beside the cart!
DM: …there was no way that could be taken seriously.

Eilnys zips back and promptly Intimidates the elf into fleeing… without releasing Glimmer’s tail, which makes him crash to the ground. Glimmer assures the others he’s okay.

Eilnys: “You’re my prisoner. Will you surrender and come peacefully?”
DM: Apparently he will.
Normilan: Are we really taking a prisoner?
DM: Apparently we are.
Eilnys: I tie him up, throw him on my pony, and off we go.
DM: You see Eilnys coming back with an elf… not literally in tow, because she’s Good.

Cruroar, still insistent on planning, tosses out other ideas.

Cruroar: “…or we can drop the wagon, make it look like we’re setting up camp, and then sneak away in the dead of the night and just go on without it. However, we are,” someone roll Survival, “how many away from the capital?”
DM: I dunno. In the dark of the night, evil will find you. (Find you!)
Cruroar: (weary sigh)

They ponder their choices for a while. Neither choice is great, and they don’t know exactly what is going on, so they don’t have a good option.

Lucian: “How about you allow me to interrogate our friend?” I’ll drag him out of sight…
DM: Everyone of Good alignment gets a shiver down your spine when he says the word ‘interrogate’.
Brunt: It’s like Tasha never died.
Lucian: I’m actually Chaotic Good, so I’m all about it.
DM: All about the torture.
Brunt: All about just doing evil things!
Lucian: Greater good, man!
Normilan: (looking at the DM) Why is he pulling out the Book of Vile Darkness?

It’s to quote descriptions of torture. They elect to stick with the wagon for now, and ask Glimmer to go check out that bird.

Normilan: “Careful, though! Could be a druid!”

Back they go to debating the cart! This time they feel a little more confident that four different sides won’t come across them at the same time, and so likely they can handle whatever comes.

Normilan: Let’s just keep camping, get enough random encounters to level up, I’ll get Teleport, bam, we’re done.
Brunt: I get Ground Pound next level!

To celebrate in advance, apparently, they have cake. The group makes camp for the night.

DM: The keen-eared among you hear wingbeats, as of some unusually large flying creature.
Brunt: Nazgul! God damn it.
Eilnys: “Oi!”
Giles: Is that Glimmer?
DM: You guys did not fall for my deception. Yes, it is Glimmer.
Brunt: Oh. (a pause, after which he becomes massively indignant) You--!

Glimmer, perplexed, relates that he couldn’t catch the raven because his claws went through right it. The DM reminds them they had dealt with a stealth raven in Cruroar’s keep. They promptly blame Mer’dovich, till Normilan rolls and recalls one of the undead lords was accompanied by numerous spectral ravens. They speculate on this.

Brunt: “If they’ve taken ahead, then speed is indeed our ally. Brook no more delay.

Tasteless jokes are made but are lost under the clatter of dishes, and darkness fully falls. It’s cold! Cruroar persuades Ka Shem to join a watch. The DM reminds Normilam that Keyvan Lassarin offered information about Normilan’s father in exchange for a task.

Brunt: Of course, once you do that – once you kill all the youngling and burn the Jedi Temple to the ground, he’s gonna feed you another line, like, ‘Well, I know together we can discover the secret of your lineage. That’s what I MEANT to say.’
DM: ‘I’m afraid he died… of a broken heart.’
Normilan: Unfortunately, Keyvan does not understand that after all these recent happenings with me and all these elves, I don’t give a FUCK any more.

Somehow the DM suggests putting someone under a water wheel of swords, or chain a guy to a mountain and have his liver eaten by a vulture and regrown every day. Spot checks are called for on watch; most of them spot a raven watching them. Morning dawns, and Cruroar hurls a Voracious Dispelling at the raven. He promptly rolls a natural 1 on the dispel check.

Cruroar: “We’ll just have to deal with it.”

This continues for the duration of their travel back to civilization, with the raven only leaving their presence once they approach civilization. They keep sending Glimmer off into the wilderness whenever they stay in town, and take the opportunity to purchase horses. And a better cart? Lucian is also forced to contribute, even as he struggles to get out of it. It gets weird.

DM: Roll initiative! You have offended the 20th level paladin horse-trader.
Normilan: He may be retired but man, he still knows how to swing a sword.

Horse logistics are discussed. It gets weirder.

Cruroar: We’re almost to the capital at this point. Probably just gonna rip off all my clothes.
Lucian: So now I need my portable ram…
Cruroar: Figure out this arcane mark, whatever’s marked to me, and clean myself.
DM: It’s a good thing you have high Charisma.
Cruroar: IN MY PRIVACY!
Lucian: In my privates!
DM: On the other side of town, Glimmer lands back on the roof of your new and improved cart. “I thought you guys were getting horses.”
Cruroar: “Aaah, change of plans.”
DM: “I guess you guys decided you were done horsing around?”
Cruroar: I laugh.
Brunt: Dungeoncrash the DM proxy!
Cruroar: “Tell me, Glimmer, what’s your long-term goal?”
DM: “To not be in the circus. That’s as far ahead as I thought for a while now. Because for a long time that was my long-term goal, and now that I’ve accomplished it, I’d like to keep it up.”

Cruroar tries to explain that dragons aren’t too common, and offers him a place to stay if the Mad God doesn’t raze the world.

Cruroar: As I go back to the castle, I put my sheet down before the king. Bingo! Vampire, dragon in castle, free spot, princess, and something else in my castle.
Normilan: You’re right, you do deserve another title.
Cruroar: I get the title of bingo, so now I’m Count Bingo.
DM: Baron Bingo.
Cruroar: BB! BBC! Baron Bingo Cruroar. All right. I’m ready.
DM: Lualyrr.
Brunt: (cracking up)

For some reason, they discuss Kim Jong Il – apparently because they’re looking up strange royalty titles, such as ‘Helper of Cows’. They make it back to the capital!

DM: Immediately on rolling up to the gated you notice the guard presence here has been doubled!
Lucian: ‘We heard about Lady Tasha’s death!’
Cruroar: If you had even joked, like, ‘As you come to the capital you see fire everywhere. The city is but a hole.’

Brunt notes they appear to be strained, probably working double shifts. The DM points out that ordinary guard duty is not prestigious.

Lucian: It’s the Sixth Army!
Brunt: Neh—uh. I think I’m forbidden from mentioning her, so I won’t.
Cruroar: The Sixth Army is this game’s Mahlissa. You should have figured that out.
Brunt: No, I have respect for the Sixth Army. I’m not going to exchange any words with Blades. I’m not in uniform anyway. Hopefully they don’t even recognize any of us.
Cruroar: ‘Dere’s da guy!’ ‘Yeah, dat’s him!’ ‘Dat’s da guy right there!’
Brunt: It’s like a bunch of Joker thugs taking shots at Batman as he walks by. I’m just going to press Square and Y and break half of your bones.
Normilan: Into unconsciousness.
DM: So you all have a princess of a hostile nation in your cart. What do you want to do about getting into the city?
Lucian: They don’t know she’s a princess from a hostile nation.
DM: It kind of shows.
Cruroar: Yeah.
Lucian: No no no, let’s just claim she’s somebody else.
Brunt: (heaving a sigh)
Lucian: What?
Brunt: Your plans NEVER WORK!
Lucian: No no no, don’t say anything!
Cruroar: Stop, stop, stop!
Brunt: Especially like the more nefarious your plans are, the less they work!

Cruroar introduces himself to the guards and informs them they need to see the King; a Diplomacy check convinces them he’s a noble.

DM: It just shows through. Your shining presence, the blasphemous dark magic that crackles around you…
Brunt: The dragon heads hanging from your shoulders…
Cruroar: Oh, I forgot to increase that stat because I just got 1 extra Charisma.
DM: Before their eyes you grow more majestic!

A strange argument over Star Wars erupts. Cruroar ends up in charge of an ice planet with a Senate seat that’s an ice rock.

DM: Better to reign in Hoth than serve in Heaven.
Brunt: (exhausted sigh)
Cruroar: That sounds too real to not be fake. That was actually pretty good. I can applaud that one.
DM: I like that description. ‘It sounds too real to not be fake.’ You are eyed repeatedly by the guards as you trundle this cart, no matter how fancy, up to the castle through the more noble districts and so forth, but again, your regal command and noble bearing serves to—
Normilan: Are you, like, Captain Morganing off the front of it?
Cruroar: Oh that’d be fucking sweet. Just barely holding onto the reins.
Brunt: Normilan has his collar popped. ‘I don’t always drive wagons, but when I do, it’s to the king’s gates.’
Cruroar: ‘To the limits of douchiness.’
DM: Pointing at the two ponies pulling the wagon, he says, ‘I don’t always drive wagons, but when I do, I prefer dos equess.’
Lucian: Ugh, god.
Normilan: That was a stretch.
Brunt: No, I handed him that one.
Cruroar: The ponies are like, ‘We don’t always pull douchebags, but when we do, we pull the best.’

They reach the castle. Cruroar bets hard on King Aundon’s brother having usurped the throne, and vows suicide when that proves true. They unload Ka Shem, to the guards’ surprise!

DM: “Lord Cruroar, we bid you welcome,” says this guy, who is educated enough to recognize the nobles by sight.
Brunt: He scored well enough –
Brunt and Normilan: On his Knowledge(nobility).
DM: He’s an expert. That sword is just for show.
Giles: People say the pen is mightier than the sword.

Cruroar slips Ka Shem a note in case there’s a coup or something, telling her where to find him and his castle. Just to be sure she’s safe if and when shit goes down.

Cruroar: I don’t know what’s happening.
Lucian: Look for the vampire, he’ll take care of you.
Brunt: Let me find out!
Lucian: Don’t you have like a vampire, an uber-powerful monk—
DM: Where did he get a monk?!

Where this monk came from, nowhere knows. Eilnys angrily protests that Ka Shem can’t read Common. Several arguments proceed at once. Once again, Cruroar insists that the entire campaign is being told as a flashback by himself on the throne of the kingdom.

DM: Now I imagine this as the start of Final Fantasy X. All your weapons are lying in a pile, you’re sitting on a throne, everyone else is around, you’re all looking absolutely miserable. ‘Listen to my story.’
Brunt: It’ll all be worth it when we get to the point where we all go, ‘Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha!’

They are told the war is worrying all and tensions are pushing the kingdom to chaos, with King Aundon doing his best to hold it all together. Captain Slamhand shows up!

DM: Your keen and familiar eyes note he’s wearing a new uniform.
Brunt: What’s new about it?
Cruroar: The Superhand.

Brunt accurately concludes that he’s Brigadier now! Eilnys is excited; Cruroar misunderstands.

Cruroar: Brigadier Spider-Man? I don’t know what she says.
DM: Yes, he took another prestige class.

Slamhand welcomes them. A ‘walk this way’ joke erupts as he brings them to a private audience chamber. Lucian is introduced to him.

DM: “I see. The wood elves HAVE extended their hand in alliance.”
Brunt: “Yes, and we’ve found ourselves in need of an extra pair of hands.”
DM: “I’ll assign two more to you immediately.”
Brunt: So he makes jokes now? He’s not drinking all the time so he’s filled the gap with humor?
DM: You guys have come back from your mission, clearly successful judging by who is with you, a princess walking with regal grace and the air of command that seems inherent in nobility, and considering that this will probably go a good deal towards quelling the problems of unrest because of rumors of war, he’s feeling a bit lighthearted.
Brunt: …fair enough.
DM: (spotting a player using a plastic AOE cone model incorrectly) Someone punch Lucian for using that diagonally.
Brunt: “I pray your promotion was without pomp or… other circumstances painful to you.”
DM: “His Majesty offered me the position and I accepted.”
Brunt: “How could you refuse? Well-deserved.”
Normilan: ‘Get on with the ceremony!’
Brunt: ‘My fellow Slamhands! As your new Brigadier…’
Cruroar: That’s when Brunt comes in. Bweeeeo! ‘Brigadier?’
DM: ‘Brigadier? This is bad slamhandery.’
Brunt: If you keep running with this…

A dungeoncrash melts the Brigadier from head to toe. They step into the private audience chamber.

DM: As you step in, King Aundon himself rises to greet you—
Cruroar: Oh thank god.
DM: --then falls at your feet, a dagger stuck in his back.
Eilnys: WHAT?!
Brunt: Shut up.

The King discovers Tasha missing and Lucian present, to his confusion, and is quickly filled in on the goings-on.

Lucian: ‘Where’s that fine piece of ass Tasha?’
Brunt: ‘He’s just like her, you honestly won’t notice…’
Eilnys: Except for the lack of breasts.

The King actually reacts to Tasha’s loss. Lucian attempts to assassinate the King but is prevented by Aundon holding him back with one hand. Aundon and Ka Shem exchange courtesies.

DM: “Captain—“ I mean Brigadier, he’s not stupid enough to make that mistake.
Normilan: Unlike the DM.
DM: I’m just the DM, what do I know? (arching his eyebrows, in indication that they should go on with the roleplay)

Silence.

Normilan: And silence prevails.
DM: I arched my eyebrows! You just can’t see it because of Cruroar’s big melon there.
Normilan: (as Eilnys cracks up) Wow, that made her snort.
Cruroar: I’m not entirely sure if I should care or not.

The DM laughs so hard at Cruroar’s expression that he gives himself the hiccups. Sgt. Sheedy escorts Ka Shem off.

DM: You’re left in the room with the King, who collapses back in his chair.
Lucian: With a dagger protruding—
Brunt: No.
Normilan: The Sword of Damocles falls!
DM: Collapses back into his chair, then leaps upright, removing the pin from his buttocks! Curse those mischievous sons!
Normilan: He has children already?! HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN GONE?!
DM: No.

They continue to wonder what the heck Tasha was thinking, then debate the different groups who all came to kill or abduct them.

DM: “Name your reward and you shall have it, if it is my power to grant.”
Normilan: ‘Freedom…’
DM: You are summarily executed, granted your freedom from this life.
Normilan: All right! I’ll be upstairs.

They all demur rewards, to the King’s annoyance; he practically demands they ask for something. Cruroar accidentally declares himself king. They hire a vampire exterminator.

DM: There are very few people who are able to enter a room in which the King is holding private audience without anything being thought of it. Almost all of them are Hands, simply because it is in the nature of a guard to go where they are needed. With that being the case, the door opens and admits a Hand, who without preamble goes over and has a quiet word with Brigadier Slamhand.
Brunt: What change came over the Captain’s face?
DM: You’d be inclined to describe it as mirth. He turns, and suppressing a smile, steps forward. “Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but I’ve received word the castle is being invaded. A monster has appeared.”
Brunt: “A dragon?”
Normilan: “Oh.”
DM: “And it insists upon seeing you.”
Cruroar: “Is it a bronze dragon?”
DM: “As it happens, it is a dragon.”
Cruroar: “Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s ours.”
DM: He’s a BRASS dragon. “Bid him be brought to me.”
Normilan: ‘Skewered and ready to roast.’
DM: ‘Bid him be brought to me… in irons. I know a circus that will pay well for him.’
Brunt: Ohhhhhhhh!
Eilnys: WHAT?!
DM: ‘We have to fund our war SOMEHOW, Eilnys!’
Normilan: That’s how we found the circus is not only in town, but has enslaved the king.

Twenty guards with spears trained on Glimmer show up. King Aundon makes a show of welcome and greeting, which somehow starts a bidding war on Glimmer. The characters do their best to deal with this weirdly normal state of affairs.

DM: King Aundon and Glimmer exchange rather profligate greetings, brass dragons loving to talk and all, and King Aundon seems inclined to indulge him. Though once you guys starts glazing over…
Normilan: ‘Ah, like father like son.’
DM: He does have that capacity.
Lucian: (whispering) “Does he ever shut up?”

King Aundon beseeches them to go strike at the undead, which they are amenable to, Brunt at last gives voice to something bothering him.

Brunt: Is there… any kind of, like, holy coalition that can just, like, do a big number on the undead? Like… Is it just nonexistent in this setting? I would think that would be the time to be like, you know, thumping their tomes and holy items and saying, ‘we’re going to turn this tide’, if not wholesale at least in part.
DM: I’m kind of afraid to answer this because I think you might kill me.
Brunt: Well – never mind then, I just wonder why it hasn’t come up before. Undead are bad thing but in a D&D setting it’s not the end of the world unless every major religion goes tits-up for some reason.

The DM calls on Brunt to roll a Knowledge(nobility) check while Lucian angles for game-breaking bonus that the DM won’t allow him. Brunt rolls a 23.

DM: There is one political power that historically would move to oppose this sort of thing down to its last man. One political power that is dedicated—
Brunt: The grey elves?
DM: No.
Brunt: The Seven Clans?
DM: The grey elves like to sit up on their thrones with their sticks up their asses and behave like they were better than everyone, as you remember from your brief interactions with King Lassarin, who regarded humans as no better than a stain on his boot.
Lucian: Yes, because he dropped a giant ball of humans on us.
DM: Peasants.
Normilan: They’re not even quite human.
DM: You’re close though. Because the political power that would be first, in ordinary circumstances, to mobilize and oppose this undead army is the Empire of the Rose.
Normilan: Ah, the high-elves.
DM: The human-slash-high elves. Who are not on the best political footing, for very petty reasons, with the Kingdom of Urm-Vessing right now.
Normilan: What is the reason?
Lucian: Quirion.
Normilan: Is it literally just Quirion?
DM: And the ongoing battle to get him back.
Normilan: Oh for fuck’s sake. So this… hmm. So the world is in the balance of a man who doesn’t want to get into an arranged marriage, because these guys are cunts?

They try to demand their boon be diplomatic resolution to this solution; the DM informs them they’re gonna get magic items dumped on them.

Cruroar: Listen! You, as the DM, are like the fucking monkey’s paw, okay? You cannot sit down and say, ‘have anything you want’! ‘Okay, I’ll have the +3 breastplate.’ ‘Okay, but there’s a HIDDEN RUNE on it! You don’t know what it does!’ And then boom, it fucking grapples you at the wrong possible moment so you can get a fucking finishing blow off! WE CANNOT TRUST YOU!
DM: This is great!
Brunt: He’s not the monkey’s paw, he doesn’t do that. He just turns into a JRPG vendor. ‘I know you’re here to save the world and everything, but I still need 45,000 for that.”

They raid mansions for unguarded chests and elixirs in clocks. Brunt bemoans that the fare of the world lies on Quirion, of all people; the DM counters by pointing out his whole defective family is fucking things up.

Brunt: I’m not talking Quirion the character, I’m talking about the psyche behind that character. I’m not talking about Quirion – personally, I don’t have too much of an issue with Quirion because he’s basically C-3P0, but

They teleport with massive error and roll to exchange heads. Brunt and Giles swap heads. Lucian get Quirion’s head. The DM promises them a good ol’ dungeon crawl coming up, as they wrap up the session.

DM: And you know how much you love my dungeon crawls.
Cruroar: Oh! Oh, we get to do a huge dungeon, you put rooms behind horrible things that we skip, and then two years later you talk about how we missed so much treasure!
Normilan: And how stupid we are.
DM: And I can’t BELIEVE what cowards you are!