They get down to business, to defeat undead!

Brunt: We get to play whose game is it?

Extremely long silence. The PCs have had a crown-funded shopping spree, and now prepare to return back to Prole and act against the undead. Normilan goes to cadge a teleport from Zook.

DM: At your inquiry Zook shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid I’ve never had cause to master that spell! I don’t usually travel like that, and it’s very inadvisable to send your monarch by means that could result in him being embedded in a rock wall.”
Normilan: “Makes perfect sense. Sadly, seems I like I will be needing it very soon, so as soon as I’m able to master it I will.”
DM: “Well, I wish you the best of luck! I hear you’re off to the County of Prole.”
Normilan: “Unfortunately – well, seems like there’s no time to sit around and dawdle.”
DM: “I don’t envy you that life, but you’ve got to promise me one thing while you’re out there.”
Normilan: “What’s that?”
DM: “Don’t eat anybody.”
Normilan: “You keep asking that of me, I don’t know why you think I’m going to constantly make people into food.”
DM: “Look! I’m just making sure. I’m glad you’ve noticed the running gag!”
Brunt: When did you eat someone?
Normilan: Eh – why do you think I was –
DM: To the best of Normilan’s knowledge, never.
Lucian: Lieeeeee.
Brunt: Zook spelled backwards is Kooz.

The group bemoans having lost the written prophecy, and Cruroar wonders if they were supposed to go back and talk to the Gatekeeper. The DM reminds them that Keyvan Lassarin had an offer for them.

Normilan: And he offered me a reward that I don’t give two shits about.
DM: Somewhere, Normilan’s father cries and he doesn’t know why.
Normilan: Good! Fuck him! I don’t give two shits about my elven lineage any more!
Brunt: Like your father suddenly cares.
Normilan: I have respect for Keyvan, the Princess maybe, and Quirion, that’s about it.

Cruroar heads down to the lower city, and finds himself being regarded cautiously by most everyone, guards and civilians alike.

Cruroar: I have a 22 Charisma, I’ll be the fanciest demon they done ever seen if that’s what they think.
DM: Oh no, no one thinks you’re a demon.
Brunt: You’re a demon?
DM: But you have the street to yourself. As you head down it, you see people crossing to the other side, putting distance between them and you.
Brunt: What did you DO?
Cruroar: I take note of it.

The group recalls that there had been rumors of aasimar troubles! They remember Cruroar’s old friend Tisiphox, and at that the DM calls for a Spot check. Cruroar hurls down a pencil angrily.

DM: Wow, that pissed him off…
Cruroar: That pencil, I went to sharpen it and somehow found another spot that couldn’t write!

A figure looms out of the alley to seize Cruroar, but he backs the hell off – only to discover it’s Tisiphox, who motions him in with dismay that they’ve been seen. He looks roughed up!

Cruroar: “I’m assuming this has to do with the problem with non-humans.”
DM: “Yes. They’ve been putting us into – prisons, jail, call it what you will, I don’t believe the king’s aware. The bureaucracy working underneath him… the king’s favor will protect you but it’s very easy for someone to say, ‘this is one of those people, we didn’t know he was a count!’ and then you’re never seen again. I’d get out of here quickly if I were you.”
Cruroar: “I see.’
Brunt: (laughing) You always have the most dry responses to the most dire news!

Tisiphox points a finger at the judges of the kingdom, saying at least one must be responsible. Normilan leans out a window of the castle and screams epithets at the lower city, having apparently become very classist. It gets weird.

DM: ‘Brunt, why are you leaning out a window shouting ‘deez nuts!’ at the lower city, I don’t understand…’
Brunt: It’s D&D Poop, volume 1.

Cruroar judgmentally condemns the DM’s enjoyment of his conundrum. They quickly plot to do as much as they can before they leave.

Cruroar: I don’t know who I can trust.
Normilan: Definitely not that Normal-lawn.
Cruroar: I trust you! I meet up with him, Normal-lawn – Normilan! You son of a bitch!

Normilan and Cruroar mutter plans to each other while Lucian… probably tries to abuse some sort of magic item. Normilan recalls that rumors had pointed a finger at one Judge Nicotera. Cruroar contemplates hiring spies; Normilan zips off to see Zook again.

DM: “Huh, I heard you’d already left.”
Normilan: “From whom?”
DM: “The grapevine.”
Normilan: “How close IS your finger to the pulse of the grapevine?”
DM: (making an extremely absurd noise)
Cruroar: He’s having a stroke! Get a Medicine check on him, quick!

Normilan straight-up asks and discovers Zook knows nothing about aasimar dealings or trouble – but then relates the tale of aasimar ringleaders of a riot! Normilan naturally suspects a frame job.

Normilan: I am acting too wise for my Wisdom score.
DM: “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Normilan: “Neither am I.”

Normilan confides his suspicions in Zook, and the DM calls for a Diplomacy check.

Normilan: I don’t have a good Charisma, are you kidding me?
DM: I’m aware! You could roll Intimidate.
Normilan: ‘GOD DAMN IT LITTLE MAN!’
DM: You could use your Strength! I’ll let you!
Normilan: I’m not gonna threaten him! All right, dwarven dice, let me down. Ha! 5.
Brunt: They did as you asked.
DM: “I’m not comfortable having someone snoop on a judge, Normilan.”

Zook advises diplomatic caution, though Normilan is naturally unswayed. His position is solely on doing the right thing, even if the means can be a little shady!

Normilan: “Like a good wizard, using a bit of necromancy.”
DM: “That seems very unlikely.”
Normilan: “That’s all right, it’s a barred school for me, and I agree with you. Fuck them all!”
DM: “THANK you! So long I’ve been waiting for someone ELSE to say it.”

Cruroar goes to look for the king, rolls a Diplomacy check, and promptly runs into him in the hall.

DM: “Good heavens! Cruroar, thank goodness you hadn’t left. I heard you had, but I thought that was impossible.”
Cruroar: “It seems that some people are passing knowledge they shouldn’t. Some things have come to my attention that have me concerned. It seems that there’s more to the riots then I have come to know. The people of my race seem to be targeted for some reason. I fear for their safety, but also my own, if they would so boldly go after people who share my race and the deeds I have done. They don’t fear anything.”
DM: Well, look, Cruroar, it’s obvious that part of you is angel, so you really should only count as three-fifths of a person.

The King is somewhat skeptical, though Cruroar is convinced that it’s a plot to discredit him. Aundon reassures him on that score, and Cruroar passes him the letter Jabez left him which hinted at this plot.

DM: The King leans in slightly closer to you with a greater scowl on him than perhaps you have ever seen. “You did see the hidden message.”
Cruroar: “Yes, that’s why I’m not telling anyone else.”

The King questions if it is Jabez’s writing or not. He vows to handle this, even as Normilan pops up and asks for a word in private.

Normilan: I lean in close. TOO close.
Cruroar: His lips purse. Soft kiss on his cheek.
DM: Uh, roll a saving throw vs. gay?
Normilan: I don’t know…
Cruroar: How do you save?
DM: You find yourself bicurious.
Normilan: I lean in close and whisper, “Nicotera. Keep an eye on him.”
DM: “Have you aught else to say on the matter?”
Normilan: “I don’t think he likes aasimars very much. And there are a lot of aasimars in the lower city.

The King reveals that Slamhand himself had given the word they’d set out already. This is suspicious and the players devoutly hope it means nothing bad.

Cruroar: “Thank you, King, for your time.”
Brunt: ‘Thank you, King.’
DM: ‘Thanks, king.’
Brunt: ‘Thank you, King, for deez nuts.”

A bow-off erupts; Normilan wins. Cruroar vows his next character will be terribly stupid so he doesn’t have to RP any more.

Cruroar: I don’t want any more political intrigue! I want a basic moron! I don’t want to be the enter of everything! We didn’t play Birthright for me to build a kingdom!
DM: Oh come on! Normilan destroyed a kingdom! You’re not the center of everything this game.

They discover they’ve been playing Birthright all this time. Normilan shakes his head.

Normilan: Man, you’ve got a lot to your name. Killed a dragon, killed the king – an evil king. What do I have? Oh, it’s the asshole who committed ethnocide.
DM: I LOVE that we need our word in our vocabularies now.
Cruroar: “Get the group together. And on the trip I’m gonna have a long talk with our young ward. I’m going to find out everything about him.”
Normilan: “Get talking.”
Brunt: War’dovich.
DM: “Well .as it happens, I’m a dragon, as you well know, and a brass one at that. That means I—“
Brunt: ‘Which you occasionally remember.’
Cruroar: OUR YOUNG. WARD.
DM: Yes!
Cruroar: We’re HIS wards if he’s a dragon!
DM: I’ll agree to that.

Cruroar remains convinced that they’d had a dragon before. No one is sure what the heck he’s talking about.

Cruroar: I talk to Quarion about his position and everything.
Brunt: Who?
Cruroar: Quorion?
Normilan: Quirion. And Quirion’s probably older than you.
Cruroar: I know!
Brunt: Our young ward.

Quirion is a hundred something. Quirion tries to dodge the conversation furiously.

Normilan: He’s trying to dodge your questions! Quick! Break his legs so he can’t get way!
Cruroar: “My plan is to keep you—“
Quirion: “Hi, Brunt! How’s it going?”
Cruroar: (snapping his fingers) “Hey! Hey! You’re talking to me now! Hey! Old guy! Hi! We’re having a conversation now! I want to keep you aboard. I want to keep you safe. Because based on what I found out, your kingdom is the most suitable to take care of this undead threat, and it seems like you’re the key to it all.”
DM: “I’m not comfortable with that.”
Cruroar: “Neither am I—“
DM: “Let’s pretend it never happened.”
Cruroar: “But you’re here, and we have a very powerful sister coming after us.”
DM: “She’s not that powerful, you saw how she did in a fight.”

Quirion complains that he’s fourth in line, and Cruroar demands he asks amnesty from him. Quirion asks asylum instead, which is what he meant.

Cruroar: I’ma put my age at 30 now, because of all the bullshit my character keeps going through…

Quirion claims he was trying to put his past behind him; they point out it keeps showing up. Cruroar complains about how Quirion doesn’t live up to Dirk and Matthias.

Brunt: We’re trying to sequence-break the campaign, and he’s REALLY trying to let us off easily. And I don’t blame him. If we really wanted to press the issue we could just hogtie him and march him back to where they want him to be. It’s not going to help things in the long run.
DM: Eilnys might have a word to say about that.
Eilnys: Eh heheheheheheheh.

They set off for Prole, sabotaging the burgeoning road by planting trees.

DM: ‘No more politics,’ Cruroar yells.

They arrive at Prole; Cruroar describes his flag as ‘some guy getting things he didn’t want’. The DM explains the flag of the kingdom is in four quadrants with lots of symbols and no one likes it. They squabble over the flag some more, which dissolves into political complaining and Cruroar’s insistence that he’ll end up king somehow.

DM: I want, 50 sessions, Cruroar to have to utter the phrase, ‘I am the Senate.’ But really sadly, as he acknowledges the truth.
Cruroar: I’m like the opposite of Palpatine, who was trying to get it. ‘Listen, guys, you could give me emergency powers, but you know –“
DM: ‘I, Quirion, propose that Cruroar be given emergency powers!’
Brunt: ‘I, Quirion, will crush you just as Cruroar crushed… mad… god…’

Trumpets play, blocking Cruroar from entering the castle till he chain-felblasts them. They get on with the ceremony.

Normilan: From the distance, all we can hear is, ‘Blah!’ ‘Bleh!’ ‘Bleh!’ Oh god, they’re all vampires.
DM: That’s okay, I promise you that Mer’dovich has taken over no more than half of your people.

Cruroar gets a fancy entry beneath the lifted swords of Soldiers. Mr. 22 Charisma mutters a flat ‘thank you’, making everyone giggle.

Brunt: You’re like every time Ruby Rhod sticks the microphone in Bruce Willis’s face and he’s just like, “…thrilled.” You are Chris Tucker’s buzzkill!

Cruroar attempts a better speech. They predict dragons, enghouled subjects, vampires in Brooklyn, and then the soldiers all yelp and menace Glimmer with swords.

Cruroar: “Men! Please—“
Brunt: “Stand down!”
Cruroar: “Stand down, please. He will be staying…”
Brunt: “This test of your battle-readiness has been passed!”
Cruroar: “And please, this is – this will not probably be the worst thing I bring home to the castle. This is probably the best thing I could do. This could be the highlight of things I bring to the castle! A bronze dragon—“
DM: Brass!
Cruroar: “Brass dragon!”
Lucian: Brass monkey.
Cruroar: “Unless I bring, like, a divine guide with me—“
DM: Now the cart has wheeled its way into the castle and you’re just shouting back at them…
Brunt: This is a brass monk vampire dragon.
Cruroar: I pull out my bingo sheet. Vampire, good dragon, free space…
DM: Oh boy do you have some squares filled out on that that you don’t even know about.
Cruroar: We are close to a bingo, guys, the last ones I need you to bring in aren’t going to be good. We need an undead lich…
Normilan: Part of me wishes this was 2nd edition, I’d just cast Haste on Glimmer a lot and get him to adult size.
DM: ‘Please stop stealing my youth…’
Normilan: ‘WE NEED YOU NOW!’
Cruroar: That would be monstrous!
Brunt: A factory-farmed dragon.

The DM insists nothing suspicious is going on, the castle clean and ordered. Donato scorns the cart, angering the players who insist it is a quality cart! It leads to demands that Normilan whip up some magic sedan chairs. His animal tender promptly drags Glimmer towards the stable.

Cruroar: “Don’t worry, he’s going to take good care of you!”
Normilan: “Whoa – no! Not the dragon!”
DM: That’s exactly what Cruroar was telling him to do.
Normilan: “Oh.”
DM: “-Stables?!”
Normilan: “You want to stay in my tower?”
DM: “Yes please!”
Cruroar: “I wanted you to get fed!”
DM: “I can get fed places that are NOT demeaning to my dignity.”
Normilan: He can stay in my tower. I’m a wizard. I should have a dragon.
DM: ‘Hey, why does this tower have such a prominent gibbet?’
Normilan: ‘Oh, my mistake.’
Cruroar: “I’ll be meeting up with Mer’dovich this evening.”
DM: Glimmer hurriedly flies off to the tower, going in a window.
Normilan: …Oh, we should probably tell people that he’s coming in. …I’m gonna hustle to the tower.
DM: You arrive just in time to hear the screams and are nearly bowled over by your apprentice as she runs out.
Normilan: “Whoawhoawhoawhoa, sorry, sorry—“
DM: She slams into you, her feet working at the ground but unmoving against your superior strength.
Normilan: “Hold on, hold on, hold on!”
DM: “Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!”
Normilan: “Yes, brass dragon, good dragon, friendly dragon!”
DM: “We’re being pillaged!”
Normilan: “No no no, he’s fine, he’s not going to pillage anything.” (a pause) “He better not.”

Normilan calms things down, even as her apprentice tries to reconcile her opinion of him with this discovery of his Wisdom score. The guards present themselves with ridiculous salutes, apparently. Cruroar, with some struggle, demotes Tasha to ‘associate’ as he explains why Lucian is here instead. For some reason, the entire castle goes into pon farr simultaneously. The DM certainly doesn’t imply the servants have been turned by Mer’dovich to the point that Cruroar threatens to quit.

DM: At last, a game with no players to ruin it.
Cruroar: I assume every now and then he’s downstairs GMing for the best players he’s ever been with…

When night falls, they venture down to Mer’dovich’s chamber. The DM adopts a ridiculous vampire accent in response to certain people complaining that he didn’t have an accent. With unhelpful commentary in the back, the players debate whether to challenge the troll-ghost-wizard, or Kurien, Slaughterer.

DM: “It’s not simply a matter of destroying one’s ethereal form. Ghosts are bound by the chains of undeath to the world.”
Lucian: “Got it. Must destroy the world.”
DM: “Yes. Except no. Who IS this?”
Brunt: ‘It’s for you, you know, you haven’t tasted blood in a while…’

Mer’dovich finally does force them to explain Lucian’s presence. He apparently turns into an android or alien queen or something. He supplies them with a map, as he did before, and they have an option of taking a longer or shorter route. Circus music erupts for some reason.

DM: I see you’re ready for the return of Gundark!
Cruroar: ‘Count! There is a circus here!’ ‘Aaaaaah! NO MORE CLOWNS!’
DM: You’re gonna find your girlfriend in the circus to replace the dragon you released from there.
Cruroar: She’s just gonna be in a cage. They changed their whole business strategy! They’re no longer a circus, they’re just a brothel!

It gets weird.

DM: Why don’t you go into the warwock woom?
Brunt: To find da giwlfwiend…
Cruroar: When we find dat giwlfwiend, we find da witch. It’s just Gundark.

Brunt demands everyone disagree so they have Party Fight, then fishes for experience for fighting his comrades. With their route decided, Brunt elects to go visit the barracks.

DM: Discipline does indeed appear to be preserved in your absence. Sheet corners are tight…
Brunt: I’m fine with that. I don’t want to be an absentee CO. That’s no way for an Ensign Major to act. Yes, they’re just in the barracks flexing.
Cruroar: Just throwing out dabs.
Brunt: Wasn’t that Lucian’s campaign where the dwarves were just all flexing in the combat yard and stuff? Wasn’t that a thing?
DM: Constantly talking about how invincible they were, and it’s just like, oh this place is SO fucking doom.
Brunt: I’ll make my presence known.
DM: You make your presence known for an evening.
Cruroar: One of them has a flag with your face on it.
Brunt: No, no, none of that—
DM: They have a Brunt mask, which they take turns wearing and being in charge. They think it would be better if it was made from your real face. Roll for initiative!
Cruroar: Jesus, what’s happening in my barracks?!
DM: To the best of your knowledge, nothing!
Brunt: Hey, something dungeoncrash will actually work on. My own soldiers.

They begin the journey, relying on Eilnys because Lucian is not useful, although somehow he manages to roll a good Survival as well.

Brunt: He charges ahead of Eilnys.
Normilan: ‘I’LL LEAD THE WAY!’
Brunt: He’s got an arm across her shoulder, like, ‘No! THIS is the way!’
DM: The two of you, after a brief discussion, agree not to go directly into the lake, and so you set off.
Brunt: (after a moment, sputtering) He – did not – YOU’RE AWFUL!

They wind their way into foothills as they travel, seeking a pass through them. The path they find seems oddly clear, to the point of being a road.

Cruroar: What’s the ground made out of?
DM: Dirt.
Cruroar: I send my earth elemental ahead to stay ahead of us bit.
DM: You send Li’l Earthy on ahead. Did you ever name him?
Cruroar: Oh, um. Rock Dude.
DM: You send Rock Dude on ahead.
Normilan: Cruroar! Count of Prole! The Kingslayer! And Rock Dude.

To their dismay, a storm approaches. Thunder rumbles and rain pours down in the distance!

DM: Find shelter.
Cruroar: So what are we looking at?
Normilan: We get that message and it’s just an open field.
DM: Yeah, in the middle of the foothills. There are two potential places for you to take shelter—
Brunt: Oh no.
Normilan: (pained groan)
DM: There are FIVE potential places for you to take shelter.
Cruroar: Phew, much better.
DM: The jaws of this trap…
Normilan: Only one’s going to give us shit.
Lucian: I use my Knowledge(geography) to enhance my ability. I’m just going to add that to my Survival rolls…
DM: You realize you are in the foothills.
Normilan: Well done, Einstein.

An overhang offers poor shelter, a cave offers better ones. Rock Dude reports no trouble in the cavern, and it’s deep enough to make for some comfort. There are signs of former inhabitants here, however, with the remnants of a fire that has been out for perhaps a day at best! Eilnys and Lucian search the place and find some traces of very large boots. Brunt predicts hill giants! Or minotaurs!

DM: And just at that moment, Rock Dude sends a warning to you. Something approaches. Many somethings.

They speculate if what they see is a baby shark doo doo da doo da doo. Marching erupts? Brunt wakes up just in time to see the last of the ponies marched through the wall! The rain is pouring down, and Rock Dude can’t report on sight because he’s hiding underground.

Brunt: Man, if only someone had a psicrystal or something.
DM: I want you to roll me a Spot check.
Cruroar: 22.
DM: Not bad. The flash of lightning illuminates the night for a brief moment. You see several large figures, hulking brutes, in silhouette beneath the darkness, stomping slowly towards the cave entrance.
Cruroar: “Whoever had this cave before, looks like they’re coming back.”
Giles: I’m gonna attempt to find a good place to hide…
Brunt: You jump in the firepit.

Giles has nowhere to hide, and the group moves the cart so it no longer blocks the entrance. Then a massive hand curls on the side of the cave entrance as the humanoid figure begins to enter… and the game ends there. CLIFFHANGER!