Chapter 3, Side Adventure 2

The Personal Journal of the Venerable Konrad Spindleshanks

Written for posterity with detail and accuracy

Edition 1, Volume 3: Flummoxed

Thirsty for knowledge, drinking in my wisdom, I may have changed some lives today. Standing astride my 

victory, I struck a memorable visage with my foot firmly planted on the Spider-Troll God's lifeless chin. It seems as though my companions were not the only ones inspired by my prowess and bravery because the angel, Nathaniel, chose that moment to visit us...me again. After a very eloquent speech lauding my achievements, Nathaniel presented a most glorious medallion emblazoned with my noble profile. Homage worthy of my station and achievements for sure! For some reason, even I fail to recognize, the other spell caster, I should rather say, dabbler in the arcane, chose that moment to proclaim a wish at the odd little well I discovered. The dullard actually wished for the entire lair to be filled with stone.I have no idea why, however, I, of course, valiantly led the party on a harrowing run out of the cave system just in time. Oh well, another day... another party saved. Just another day in the life of Spindleshanks!

Upon reaching the mouth of the cave system, we met with a group of dwarves rightly proclaiming me as their savior. Being the most humble person I have ever met, I shrugged off their celebrations and blessed them with the retelling of their liberation. Hoping for me to regale them with more tales of my victories, the dwarves followed our motley band back to town. Along the way they soaked up my retellings like a flower in the desert soaks up the life-giving rain. Upon our arrival, the dwarves called all passersby to gather and hear the tales of my liberating them. Reluctantly, I relented to the innumerable requests and gave a brief recount of my bravery and cunning in saving not only the party but the entire dwarven populace. Midway through my recounting, I was taken aback when noticing our little explorer pilfering from these poor admirers of mine. Truly, my companions remind me of a bunch of hobos brawling over lustrous coppers. When I rise to power, it's these kinds of people that I'll have sterilized. I let the lad have his fun because I can't recall one time that he put his talents to use back in the cave system.

One of the faceless in the mass of humanity rejoicing in my revelry was the city's librarian. He all but demanded a copy of my journal to take a place of honor in his library. Being the humble man that I am, I dismissed his first attempt but submitted when he reminded me that this journal is indeed for posterity to chronicle the rise of a most noble and humble Hero of the People.

After gifting the citizens of this impoverished town with the rich, written knowledge of my adventures, we made our way to the rebels' headquarters to turn in the venom sac and hear of our next quest. Acknowledging me as the obvious leader of this little band of (mis)adventurers, Brother Daniel charged me with leading the group to the entrance of an elven forest where we would find the diamond sword. Graciously and humbly accepting this most august of pursuits, we began our journey via horseback. Along the way, we met up with one of Asmodeus' minions. Wisely using my beloved Bobo as a scout, I noticed a foul spawn of Asmodeus leading a ragged band of orcs our way. Deftly and expertly, I conceived a plan to surprise and encircle our foes. The paladin and the dwarf were to feign trouble with our cart whilst the remainder of the party created a horseshoe shape on either side of the road. Springing my clever trap, the foul spawn of the nether regions quickly realized not only were they enveloped, but, with my presence, they were also outclassed. Immediately, four of the orcs fainted in fear and Bobo quickly dispatched with them.

Realizing the folly in opposing me in combat, the demon summoned a wraith and cowardly flew away. Surely, my band of bumbling buffoons could now handle this squabble without my help. Therefore, I allowed them to make the mundane decisions regarding this fight, thus freeing my mind up to do what it does best, enlighten and amaze. Even though it had been 742 days since a similar occurance, my readers will be no more shocked than I when I discovered my decision proved to be... a mistake! Almost immediately, our simpleton of a dwarf inexplicably began to attack the only proven fighter in the group other than myself, the war chicken. Obviously insulted by the group's choice of appreciation, the chicken had no choice but to counter attack. To exacerbate and compound the difficulties the dolts were having without my help, the dabbler pointed his fancy stick, muttered a few words, and encased everyone, foe and ally alike, in a tomb of ice. One would think he had learned from the stinking cloud debacle, but I fear I may give him too much credit. Slapping my forehead in disbelief, I made my way to the top of the cart and with a resounding, “Desist!”, the ice broke away, the wraith collapsed dead and the orcs fell on their own swords. Being the humble person that I am, I did not wish this to be another addition to my growing legend, but the reader should note and understand my intervention. Afterwards, the party clamored to me with appreciation and thanks. Their blubbering and fawning over me was cause for awkwardness, but a stalwart of humility must accept such praise. In retrospect, I've always found it puzzling for humanity's need to be with other people primarily because I'm so interesting on my own. 

They must recognize my austerity, I suppose.

Shortly after the demon debacle, we met up with some peasants who, when realization that they were in the presence of true majesty, showered me with praise and affection. One kind, though dim-witted, soul even carved a wooden likeness of me and presented it as an offering of his immense respect. I find such idols droll and boring, however his boorish reverence reminded me of our newest companion (points at the half-orc). I know that Brother Daniel sent him as my personal valet, but does he have to fawn all over me like an eager puppy who has finally found his home? I suppose I cannot fault the torpid imbecile. He is, of course, in the presence of The People's Hero.

Evidently, my exploits are far-reaching. Along our route, we encountered newly dedicated statues of me and even a shrine marking the entrance in which we must journey. The party insisted on making hefty offerings in recognition of my fortitude and contributions. Again, being the humble patriarch that I am, I insisted only a few coppers and some berries be left. Thus, began our journey into the depths of an elven stronghold.

With great wisdom and discernment, I made note of the hidden entrance using the illegible map Brother Daniel provided. When descending into an ancient tree under which lay an underground labyrinth, I noted that those ancient elves were a crafty bunch. I'm sure if we had met they would be impressed. As I led them through the serpentine passageways, my cronies repeatedly became distracted with empty rooms. My purpose in Havenstone is to rid the world of Asmodeus. Secondary to that mission is the one Brother Daniel beseeched me to accomplish; namely teach these plodding dullards a thing or two about adventuring. Therefore, I began labeling in bold letters “EMPTY!” on the entrances to such rooms. I don't think these simpletons can read, though, because all of the illiterate oafs continued to wander into empty rooms; all save for the dabbler. You know how when you tell a petulant child, “Don't smile! Don't you dare laugh” that child always relents and reluctantly smiles? Well, dear Reader, that is exactly what the dabbler did. I expressly said to NOT touch the shiny suits of armor and pointy things. You guessed it! He touched the shiny armor and pointy things. Why would a dabbler have need for such items you may be thinking? Well, why does a dog chase its own tail? I guess I give the party too much credit sometimes. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I have never forcibly make decisions without first seeking the advice of the group. However, given recent events, I think that I may need to make an exception to the rule from now on. Triggered by his foolishness, the swords became animated and skewered our fair dabbler like a pig roasted in my honor. Not wanting anymore senseless bloodshed, I told the party that if we leave the animations will return to their former state. 

Chalk another salvation up to The People's Hero!

Of course, I then had to lead our “intrepid” band back to town to, reluctantly, reincarnate the poor fella. While contorting and bending the laws of physics and humanity, I thought that I should make a few alterations and improvements to our elven dabbler to teach him a lesson. After all, I am shackled to this group with the purpose of educating them. After weaving my spell, our poor dabbler now looks like this:

(Our dabbler bested by an over-grown pixie harlot)

Upon our re-arrival to the ancient elven catacombs, we met with a curious room. On the floor was inscribed a most mundane and trivial riddle. Noticing that the party was thoroughly perpelexed, I whispered the answer to our elder dwarf because I sensed an increasing competitiveness with our newest dwarf. With a false sense of pride, our little lad proclaimed the answer for all to hear and a door to a secret treasure room revealed itself. Though he is still short, this little dwarf did indeed walk a little taller that day. I guess he realized that when you receive a gift from one such as I, you must take it. In his own simple way, he may be the wisest of us all. Well our newly minted dwarf noticed a rod in this vault and clung to it like an infant with a new rattler. I let the dabbler have his trifle, after all he has had a rough couple of days.

Without further dalliance, we foraged on to a most ironic room. Within the walls of this chamber stood six statues resembling me. At first flattered and humbled by someone's gaudy display of affection, I quickly surmised that this was another trap because the sculptor didn't get the prominence of my brow or the stateliness of my nose quite right. Seeing through this flimsy artifice, I withdrew to the corner so that I could see how the bunglers would handle this situation. Obviously in awe to be in the presence of so many images of their kind hearted leader, they failed to recognize the trap for what it was. One by one, each of my companions shook of the intoxicating effects of so many images of their benevolent leader and attacked the statues; all save one. Our little explorer, obviously still feeling the effects of euphoric adoration, inexplicably made an attack on me. Me! The whimsical, joy seeker everyone clamors to know and follow! Fear never entered my mind nor a flinch make itself seen for I knew who I was dealing with. Just as he was about to strike, the bumbling fool stumbled over his own foot and fell onto his sword. With a display of understanding and kindness, I healed the poor fellow. 

I then mussed his hair and said, “Now scootch!”. Ahh but they do amuse me sometimes!

I surmised that this would be as good a time as any to make camp and rest. Not that I needed it, but I wanted to save my self from the incessant whining that would surely come if we hadn't. Who knows what awaits us in the inner depths of this ancient elven retreat? Whatever may befall us, surely my swarthy, bumbling compatriots will be emboldened by my foresight and wise leadership.