Does Grok Need to Slap a Dwarf?

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Day 39 and a Half - Midnight Snacks in the Garden of Evil and... More Evil.

I'm not a morning half-person. I am definitely not a wake-me-up-screaming-in-the-middle-of-the-night-after-a-long-day-of-getting-squished half-person. Red is allowed to scream in the middle of the night when given good reason to. Period.

You'll notice my list does not include the crazy old bat who hired us, even if he was being dragged to certain painful death with other members of his family by marauding Orcs through a subterranean cavern turned into a charnel house by our dilligent slaughter. Pillage and mayhem, especially when you get mayhem'd back (see previous note about getting stuck and squished). I was looking forward to a good night's sleep, a couple of healing potions and spells, and maybe boiling a pot of coffee in a dead Orc's helmet.

So I can't really be blamed for waking up grumpy and "inadvertently" kicking the others awake when Stumpy and Baldy roused me and said we had company.

Note to marauding orcs in service of the Barrow King: Conduct your abductions at a civilized hour. Where "Note" means "Have a big taste of cranky axe to the face, assholes."

Of course, nothing is ever that simple (correction, Garg and Stumpy are that simple); Baldy and I started busting heads when it sounded like a million or so rats were flooding the chamber where the prisoners were apparently being held, and Garg thundered past us and shouted at the guard-orcs in a large, friendly voice, "They not REAL rats. DON'T PANIC!" I thought I heard Pinky groaning, and maybe whacking her head on the wall, but it was kind of hard to tell over Stumpy shouting at and interrogating their captives. The tubby little fucker didn't recognize the old guy he'd been mooing at two days ago when he asked for our help, and Pinky gave him such a case of stink-eye that he dropped his sword.

They wisely got the fuck out of there when we told them to, and I got another lousy half-night's sleep.

Day 40: Quad Damage Latte for Breakfast

Have I mentioned before how dumb Stumpy is? Just checking, because rather than sneak up and peer around the curtain (or let Pinky's rat do it), he bolted down the first hallway we came to after breakfast and caught a couple crossbow bolts for his trouble (hey, don't look at me; I think ranged attacks are for sissies). This time I definitely heard Pinky smack her head against the wall, because by the time she had a chance to whip out her web stick, there was no way to get a clear shot, with me, Garg, his puppy, and Baldy engaging a foursome of nasty customers in good armor with bad-ass axes to save Stumpy's dumb ass.

Now I understand why all the fools we engage hate me - trying to get through plate armor while having someone swing an axe at you sucks. However, what probably sucks more is seeing one of your buddies getting sliced in twain and realizing that the follow-through is aimed squarely at you. Yeah, hi. I have a big goddamned axe, and I'm good with it. Be a good boy and die now. They did, but not before roughing me up some, but Sybs did her thing as best as she could under the circumstances.

And then we blew any chance we had at sneaking up on whatever was next because WD-40 hasn't been invented yet. Holy crap, that door screeched and groaned more than Fritter after a bad fight with good loot.

Later: A Short Dance With Death. I Unwisely Let Death Lead.

Apparently, the element of surprise is overrated, since Big, Axe-Wielding Motherfucker just stood his ground and grinned at us. Pinky hatched a plan involving a thunderstone, Sybs using the webstick, and some special effects. Unfortunately (for me), my part of the plan involved throwing the thunderstone, getting his attention, and then becoming very inconveniently extremely dead. The others filled me in on what happened after he laid me out in one fell swoop; I'll get to that in a minute.

But first, a brief travelogue from the realm of Nishrek.

I expected certain things (we hear about the gods all our lives; it's hard not to imagine them doing whatever they do); what I didn't expect was to go from failing to parry a huge black axe to seeing Bahgtru picking his nose. In my studies, it's been pretty common that war gods come in two flavors - chaotic stupid, or evil badass. Yeah, Bahgtru is the former, and Ilneval didn't look like he had another infinite millenia's worth of patience for it. However, they both gave me some very disapproving glares when they noticed my arrival. I didn't bother trying to justify or explain (gods are supposed to know all that already, right?), I just hung my head and hoped it stayed attached.

Having your gods frown at you is like having your father say he's disappointed in you, but about seventeen billion times worse. Note to self: Be somewhat more evil before dying again.

But, damn... they've got some great equipment. I had almost worked up the nerve to ask about it when I got blown apart by a huge bolt of pain in the middle of my head and diagonally across my chest, and the whiteness faded back to reveal everyone standing around me in a simple wooden and plaster room, along with some old crone who I guess was the priest who'd revived me.

High Drama, Derring-Do... and I Missed It

So, apparently, an epic battle waged over my corpse, with spells, counter-spells, mystical incursions, a large orange, a brick, and the ultimate victory of the forces of good (I guess that's us) over the demon from the abyss.

Actually, Garg plastered the guy who killed me with one hell of a smack with his tree trunk, then cut off his hand, picked up my corpse, and then they dragged me and our loot straight back to town. I'd only been dead about five hours.

Which, apparently, is enough time for Stumpy to take coveting lessons from Fritter, because the Big Black Axe has him wetting himself, even though it's bigger than he is (and was embedded in my chest cavity, thankyouverymuch).

Speaking of, we made a pretty good haul - a quartet of masterwork great axes (Stumpy has vowed to practice with one so he can try and steal BBA from me - which is so. not. happening, tubby). Fritter's happy with a new magic dagger of some sort or other, and Sybs has a nifty little twig. I think there's some more booty, but since none of it belongs to me, it's far less interesting than what does - the aforementioned Big Black Axe. Turns out it's called Fiend, and it is suitably bad-ass. First, it's black, and drips blood whenever it feels like it, so it's got serious style points. Sure, it smells like me after a long day of disemboweling kobolds (even letting Stumpy try fishing with it didn't do anything for its bouquet), but that really only bothers Sybs and Baldy. Baldy's convinced it's evil (which is fine, I'm not-so-secretly convinced he's a eunuch), but +2 is +2, and it does extra nasty to anyone who plays by the rules.

Which is awfully convenient. I don't play by the rules. Just ask my gods.