((Dear adventurers at the far end of the table:
I am sorry if I have mischaracterized you, forgotten your names or confused your classes. I will try to pay closer attention next time.))
Adventurers Log
-- the personal anthology of Griff Goodmeade
It was dark, and it had been dark for a very long time. I don't quite remember how it happened, but as we were searching for treasure in an old creepy house Tharn must have pulled a lever activating the trap. Then I woke up in a room with no light and no food. And Tharn.
Rather than describe the malodoros predisposition of dwarves (I'm not racist), I will focus on the group of adventurers that heard our desperate pleas for help from within the bowels of the jail. I will be forever grateful for their help.
Upon climbing out of our filthy squalor, It didn't take long for the evil darkness to return that had once dimmed our vision. Thorindor ran past us and bravely swatted at evil, while--I believe it was Alex--who, standing atop the stairs began to rain arrows down towards us and in the general direction of the evil darkness and Thorindor.
Fleeing the jail, we ran into a safe room, of sorts. It seemed like the adventurers had constructed a base of operations there on the second floor of this creepy house. I knew it was safe because Konrad was keeping the door closed. Alex and Thorindor covered our retreat, while Konrad covered the door. Konrad offered food, water, AND some marginal measure of safety from our unseen, nebulous foe.
This group was well-prepared. They had several lengths of rope, and they even had their own elf. I knew it belonged to them because its hands were tied.
After I was sated with a bit of food and water, we headed into a long hallway. I found myself toward the back of the formation; many grueling days of intensive Ranger training have honed my perception. Nothing surprises me. (Except the guy who is fond of... I'm not sure, but his reputation with orcs is frightening). Tharn made his way toward the front of the formation. Due to his diminutive stature, the size of our party, and the curvature of the earth, I could not see him.
Eventually, we punched through a false wall and were greeted by two doors. Alex, the "Treasure Hunter," searched for traps and levers, and the party chose to enter door #2, where Alex received a near-fatal hickey from a transgendered weeping person. Our formidable bulwark, Konrad blocked the doorway preventing half the party from witnessing the terrifying sight.
While some were flirting with the gray, weeping transgendered person, the disreputable guy and his fierce battle chicken (whose reputation was vastly superior to the his own) along with Thorindor, I believe, decided to continue down the hall. Door #1 was there. Right there, smelling of adventure. Some hardy individuals aren't comfortable with adventure though, and went off down the corridor. Using a dwarven lockpick, Tharn, the reputable Cleric and myself cleared a room of zombie gnolls. Without breaking a sweat, I bisected a dozen of them in a single stroke from my non-magical longsword. Cleaved in half from crown to foot, their motionless bodies lay aside revealing the most dreadful blue orb. Persuaded by other adventurers who were afraid of the dark, we all left to rejoin the party that had scrambled down the hall with a chicken.
We encountered door #3. Adventurers don't always follow logic, and instead of opening door #3, the party was drawn to music emanating from a chapel.
The chapel was lovely, but the ghosts near the altar were mostly terrifying. All but brave Thorindor took turns relieving themselves in the hallway before door #3. I was able to splash holy water on one, and destroy another with a ceremonial dagger while Tharn desecrated the altar. Another was cleanly dispatched with a magic missile spell, and Konrad even took out a ghost or two after setting the place on fire. Some papers caught fire, some dwarfs were castigated, some enslaved organists were roasted, and another slave was found in a hidden alcove.
Now we went to door #3, the hallway was now slippery and reeked. Mustering all the courage available, the heroes went in. And then back out, backwards. Some were convinced that doorknobs had moved to opposite sides of the doorframe. When Konrad acknowledged the truth of it (and Konrad knows doors well) I had to check and see if my alignment had changed. Checking for a goatee can usually do that.
The gender had changed for one hickey-dispensing weeping person, and the glowing blue orb in a room knee-deep in zombie gnoll goo had turned read. Door #1, as it turned out did hold some significance. The orb was destroyed and was found by those who touched it to taste like delectable morsels of crack.
I wasn't too afraid of the dark, so I went ahead with a rope into a dark tunnel. When I didn't die, the other emboldened adventures decided it must be the way to the beacon, so we pushed onward through the darkness.
At the other end, we found a ladder leading upward to a room with peacock feathers, pillows, and potions. I didn't really try to figure out what those three things had in common, other than they were all in unmarked crates.
Lastly, there was a giant silver dragon and his hoard of treasure beyond the attic room. He wouldn't take an elf, he wouldn't take a cursed deck [awww crap] he would only allow us to have the beacon if we would destroy it and free him... or something like that. He was large, and even though dragons prefer dwarfs, I thought I was going to end up a snack. Our pious monasterial adventurer was able to crush the beacon with a feather, sending the dragon merrily on his way separated from his treasure and the house with it's only remaining occupant crashing to the ground, killing him/her instantly.
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