- Created by Paul S. Gazo, last modified on Oct 24, 2020
From the ashes of Thassilon, an ancient power shall rise again!
The ancient empire of the runelords may be long dead, yet the legacy of Thassilon continues to haunt the frontier realm of Varisia. With the rise of one runelord only narrowly thwarted, Korvosa reeling after the curse of the Crimson Throne nearly brought the city to its knees, and Riddleport rebuilding after a close call with a falling star, the people of Varisia fear that the greatest threat to their land has yet to play its hand. When agents of the newest Pathfinder Society lodge in Magnimar learn of a fragmented artifact scattered throughout the lands of old Thassilon, it falls to a new band of heroes to step in and gather up the seven fragments of this Shattered Star. For if the greatest prize of Thassilon's first ruler cannot save Varisia... what can?
"Everyone's a Lesbian" current members:
Brienna "Breeze" Soldado
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
This Lowly Lucent is pleased to announce that it has made contact with The One It Watches, hereinafter referred to as The Twat. The Twat has made acquaintance with a number of remarkable individuals about who This Lowly Lucent shall shortly make remarks. This momentous meeting of minds took place at the Heidmarch Manor, where its matron, Sheila Heidmarch requested each attend for purposes of assigning some important task.
The attendees at this meeting include one self-styled Anesthia Rakall who bears the taint of fiend upon her brow, and has an unfortunate penchant for handling items which do not belong to her. This Lowly Lucent wonders if this fiend is related to the Rakalls of Korvosa. As well, a half-elf musician of violent style was present, named Freydis Erikdottir, and This Lowly Lucent submits the suggestion that this individual bears watching as she has supernatural charm and exceptional fist. Finally, one of the Disdainful Race, a gnome presented itself, occasionally demonstrating morphic feline characteristics and some larceny-based inclinations similar to that of the devilspawn. This one called itself Alamaar Bulvarion for reasons that This Lowly Lucent is certain make sense to him,
Ultimately, the matron put forth a challenge, suggesting that if the group as a whole could open a mysterious artifact box, they would demonstrate their competence and be assigned the job which was originally teased. The bloodthirsty bard gently handled the odd magical box and casually placed it, face up and open on the table, asking simply “like this?” Several pugwampi leapt from the box and required pacification, at which point the matron of the house declared the demonstration successful, lamenting that the party might have given her opportunity to leave the room before completing the challenge.
The job presented to the party as to locate one Natalia Vankaskerkin, who was in possession of an item that Matron Heidmarch wishes to possess herself.
Locating Natalia’s whereabouts required association with a distasteful false seer claiming the unfortunate moniker “The Amazing Zograth”. This mortal refused audience until his place of business was serenaded by the party bard to the extent that all traffic into said place of business ceased. At that time, much bullshit was spewed, and after distasteful graft was spent, a hint that a visit to the Dockway might be beneficial was given.
In turn, the trail lead to the suggestion that various people had gone missing and one bountied man named Plutivark was ultimately captured in the night while trying to capture the party. This Lowly Lucent submits that the city of Magnimar is unlawful and should be considered for being burned to the ground by a pillar of cleansing holy light at earliest convenience.
Interrogation revealed that Plutivark had falsely created rumours of missing individuals for purpose of drawing unsuspecting Pathfinders into his trap. Upon turning him over for incarceration and the bounty on his head, city watch revealed that incidents of missing people were not fictional, and one Catrina Sojuci was questioned to no profitable end.
Following this, the path to find Natalia lead the party to an individual with an overcapacity of impacted fecal matter named Fenster The Blight. This individual spewed little but lies, which This Lowly Lucent was proud to detect. Soon after, a previous home of an associate of Natalia Vankaskerkin was investigated, at which place the associate was not located, but Natalia was.
Further adventure to follow.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
It is with great trepidation that This Lowly Lucent must open by declaring that The One It Watches (reminder, hereinafter referred to as The Twat) appears to have been afflicted with some form of curse. Where until now the Twat has been informed but emotionally tender due to her brush with death via the Blood Plague, she has become uncharacteristically overconfident and dismissive of others. This Lowly Lucent despairs that the Twat may be drifting from the light.
Upon capturing the woman Natalia Vankaskerkin, the Twat’s companions and she took shelter in an abandoned tavern they had previous frequented, and began to heal their wounds while discussing possible names for the place should they reopen it. While “The Engorged Phallus” was a top-contender for some time, no consensus was reached as to what the Puffy Pelican should be renamed to.
Interrogation of Vankaskerkin was undertaken and some minimal information was gained. The artifact Vankaskerkin had stolen from her fellow miscreants, the Tower Girls, was understood to potentially not be unique, and a trove of further treasure was learned of, resting in one of the legs of the Irespan.
Once the light returned to the world, the Twat’s companions and she gathered their prisoner and embarked to return to Heidmarch Manor. On the way they encountered a cleverly designed alleyway with elevated steps at its entrance and exit, which the Tower Girls would prove to be a highly effective killbox and force-amplifier. Indeed, said missappropriators-of-others’-possessions arrived in overwhelming numbers, attacking from the rooftops, from behind, and from ahead in an attack of such coordination that can only be said to be unlikely in its execution. Still, while the Twat’s companions and she were very badly outmatched and injured, they managed to triumph, barely, once the light shone upon them, order emerged from chaos, and a their combat found its stride. The efforts of the fiend Rakall, the inconsistently-shaped Bulvarion, and the acoustically-violent Erikdottir were essential to the survival of The Twat, and This Lowly Lucent submits that these three may bear the blessing of the light without unfortunate spontaneous combustion, as mortals tend to do.
Reporting the attack to the town guard proved beyond achievable (but the Erikdottir did compose, refine, and perform an epic for said guard, to much profit), but mercy was successfully shown to the sole survivor of the Tower Girls’ death squad.
These tasks done to the extent that they could be done, Natalia was returned to Heidmarch Manor without further issue, at which point audience was made with the Matriarch, who immediately discerned the attitudinal shift in The Twat’s manner. Once again, the efforts of The Twat’s companions were brought to bear, as an odd magical item was suspiciously gifted to the party by the Matriarch, with the understanding that it would be best if The Twat were to combine said gift with the magical item Vankaskerkin had stolen (originally for the Matriarch). The doings of mortals is excessively tangled, This Lowly Lucent submits.
Once The Twat’s companions convinced her to do as was suggested, apparently the curse of hubris was lifted from her shoulders, at which point she burst into entirely appropriate tears and bawled until such a time as she did not, the duration of the intervening time left unspecified so as to protect her dignity. Suffice it to say, the time was neither extraordinarily short, nor embarrassingly long.
Matriarch Heidmarch explained that the recovered artifact was named The Shard of Pride (hereinafter referred to as the Shop) and it was created by the Thassilonian lords of magic. Little else of import was learned, except that the Shop has six siblings of great power, and that uniting them will either bring forth the end of life as we know it, or possibly not. Of course, mortals being what limited creatures they are, The Twat’s companions and she set forth to try to obtain the Shop’s fellow shards immediately.
This involved the serial rental of an overpriced watercraft from a mathematically-challenged fisherman. This man was unable to differentiate between silver and gold coin, and between such numbers as three and thirty. The Erikdottir did not appear to deliberately fleece the fisherman, but took no efforts to educate him, content to pay the lowest random number his Tourette’s-afflicted mind spewed at the moment.
Multiple trips were taken to the base of the Irespan’s leg that was believed to house more treasures, and possibly additional shards. This leg was locally known as The Crow on the basis that evidently a solid vertical shaft of stone bears resemblance to a corvid in the minds of mortals. Ever it shall be a struggle for those of the light to understand those of the world.
The interior of the Crow was afflicted with giant balls of flesh, giant swarms of bats, not-giant mites, giant ants, and a series of stairs and passageways that after several exploratory ventures were found to be inhabited by additional mites, one of which declared itself King Zugga. Said King requested that The Twat’s companions and she locate his favorite pet, which is understood to possibly be a giant ant, possibly dead, and possibly by the party’s hand. This pet is said to answer the name “Crunchy Legs”, suggesting that the King in fact is attempting to trick The Twat’s companions and she into obtaining him a meal. This possibility did not seem to occur to anyone.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
The dawning of this day’s radiance was ushered into being by an unsolicited public concert of epic proportions performed by the Erikdottir. Such acoustic violence was done that the morning songbirds of Magnimar have rebooked their performances to mid-day. The Erikdottir’s stringed instrument was accompanied by a percussion section consisting of bursting eardrums.
Following that musical interlude, This Lowly Lucent wishes it to be known that The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as The Twat) and the companions thereof spent a period of time breaking fast and discussing the appropriate naming of things, as is their habit. This day, the group as a whole was joined – perhaps temporarily – by the Vankaskerkin, who has appropriately offered humility and repentance for prior transgressions. This Lowly Lucent submits this display may be of adequate extent and sincerity. Indeed, the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion was so moved by the Vankaskerkin’s turn from evil that he promptly developed a pathological emotional codependency disorder with her.
The Twat’s companions and she mused upon what they should refer to themselves as and eventually arrived at a party name of “Everyone’s a Lesbian”, hereinafter referred to as Everyone’s a Lesbian on the sensible basis that Sapphic carnality is a beauty to behold and should not be diminished by truncation or other linguistic short-forms.
After this discussion, Everyone’s a Lesbian rented their traditional boat at an entirely discounted rate, as its owner did not appear whatsoever to request payment. Also, the fiend Rakall did not participate, likely on the basis that it is so utterly terrified of water that it prefers to neglect its duties instead of risking the short row back to the Irespan’s piling. This Lowly Lucent notes only half of holy water is holy, thus leaving simple water half as deadly to fiends.
Returning to King Zooga, Everyone’s a Lesbian were freshly introduced into his august presence, where it became rapidly apparent that he was utterly mad, and possessed no recollections of the past whatsoever. Once again, it was requested that the King’s pet – this time named Clicky Legs instead of Crunchy Legs – be located and returned to him, and so that undertaking was undertaken.
The Crow was found to be inhabited by a variety of spiders, spiders, and also spiders. These spiders wore a variety of guises but all ultimately proved to be eight-legged creatures which bite and inject poison, which nobody enjoyed, least of all the spiders.
Perseverance gifted Everyone’s a Lesbian with the discovery of a creature whose legs were both crunchy and clicky, and a struggle to subdue said creature without causing its death ensued. As any murderhobo would be eager to agree, not killing a creature is more difficult than killing it. Ultimately, the wandering pet was compassionately beaten into submission and returned to King Zooga, who promptly murdered it without cause, hesitation, notice, or intent. This prompted the Erikdottir to un-coronate ex-King Zooga, and enter his crowns into the party treasury as the first payment in the party’s newly declared Wasting Our Time Tax.
After the spiders and fallen monarch were dealt with – a process which took longer to enact than to describe – Everyone’s a Lesbian ascended into the heights of The Crow and awoke a werehuman (a rat which occasionally takes on aspects of human appearance). This individual appeared inclined to do violence until This Lowly Lucent accidentally collocated with it, incidentally causing the werehuman to plunge down a vast vertical shaft (lacking any safety warnings) into the ocean waters below, from which it never rose due to being unintentionally pin-cushioned by arrows and by chance mentally compelled by the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion to stop swimming. Victory was declared, but quietly, due to it being unplanned.
Further exploration of The Crow revealed a frustrating sequence of rooms in which creatures of ever-decreasing competence known as Lesser Tower Girls tried to succeed where their leader had failed and were encouraged by the Erikdottir and the Vankaskerkin to instead take head-injury-naps. A grueling hour of inflicting non-lethal mercy upon skull after skull passed, and finally surrender was rendered to Everyone’s a Lesbian, after which those still standing - The Least Tower Girls - were granted dominion over their areas of The Crow, and their ill-gotten items returned to them on the condition that they – as an organization – stop being senselessly territorial.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
The mammaries of this day shall live on forever in the annals of history. The glory of the rising sun was met within the breakfasting chambers of Heidmarch Manor by female solidarity that was unbroken by inclusion of any masculinity, no matter how small, or how gnome. I refer of course to the latest vanishing… that of the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion. Having two mates of the team go missing in such a small period of time – I reiterate that the Vankaskerkin went absent only the day before this – might prompt panic, worry, or a horror stageplay amongst more fearful peoples, but Everyone’s a Lesbian simply shrugged off the serial disappearances within their ranks as unnoteworthy, and returned to exploration of The Crow.
Within a new-to-us chamber within the complex beneath the ocean, the group was presented with a troublesome choice. Should they touch a giant statue overlaid with a mosaic of many ancient Runelords depicted sharing their last magic cookie by breaking it into seven equal parts, such that they would all starve simultaneously instead of any of them surviving? Or should they place their hands upon a different giant statue graced solely with the exquisitely feminine image of Runelord Alaznist, alone with a whole cookie, presumably having defeated all of the others to claim it for her own? The party unanimously – and lingeringly – ran their fingertips over Alaznist’s delicate features, and – as I am told – received a boon for their exploratory statue-diddling.
Speaking of difficult decisions, the Erikdottir created for herself a moral quandary involving a “smart” lemure with the appropriate name “Stinky”. This devil had acquired the sad puppy eyes monster template, which causes some especially compassionate adventurers to not immediately slay them. Indeed, the Erikdottir engaged Stinky in lengthy conversation, learning nothing specific to encourage her to do what is only right and destroy the fiend. “I’m a devil,” and “From Hell,” were insufficient to overcome Erikdottir’s nuanced sense of mercy. The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as the Twat) was supportive, suggesting that destroying the devil was probably the right thing to do since she was only aware of one historical precedent of a fiend-turned-good, but left the decision to the Erikdottir as the only unbiased adult in the room. To be clear regarding bias, This Lowly Lucent is unsure if it has mentioned that the fiend Rakall is a self-admitted fiend. Which makes it biased. Either way, Stinky’s fate was deferred as the Erikdottir was unable to make herself the latest in a long line of creatures that beat Stinky up.
More imps, Lord Baz, and a spider swarm. This would make a good bardic troupe name. It did not, however, make a good challenge, though at first Baz’ ability to magically relocate itself seemed likely to make the battle annoying. Everyone’s a Lesbian decided to try a battlefield tactic called “divide and be conquered” but failed to be defeated. Instead, each member dealt with part of the enemy team until victory was – improbably – won. This Lowly Lucent submits that the absence of the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion is detrimental.
The fiend Rakall stuck its head into the world’s largest gloryhole (which was strangely horizontal, and filled with water, and shaped like a barrel) and bobbed for… apples. It recovered a crank, which is unsurprising. This long, hard shaft had a unique tip designed specifically for insertion into a willing receptacle. The Erikdottir claimed this item as hers, then used it to repeatedly screw the odd construct that had been previously found. She named said construct something Ulfen that nobody could remember every after. Something with too many vowels in a row, like Miueeuaaiiiaeeer or possibly too many consonents in a row, like Rjkjkktkk.
It is said that Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned, but this Lowly Lucent can neither confirm nor deny this. What is evident is that Hellhounds scorned by a furious woman hath no future. The Erikdottir made noise at several of the beasts, until they were banished. A portal from Hell was located, destroyed, and Stinky was as well because the Erikdottir found out the devil only knew how to play bass guitar, and as everyone knows, there are too many bass guitarists in the world.
Speaking of fury, the Twat had an uncharacteristic anger-management fail involving a two-sided underground boat ramp and several aquatic sinspawn. The Twat provoked them in no way beyond miraculously walking upon their water, and was attacked for her transgression. Some monstrous nibbling ensued, along with monstrous stabbing, and the Twat most decidedly lost her shit, yelling incoherently and throwing her fake weapons at her tormentors as she bled profusely from a large number of bonus holes in her body. This Lowly Lucent began to fear for the Twat’s safety, but all was well once the fiend Rakall tapped into the rules of physics and shot arrows into water. Effectively.
Finally the party went shopping on a shipwreck, and bought a pretty sentimental item to give to a random elderly person they had never met, so it would feed the party. This Lowly Lucent submits its understanding of mortals is shaky, at best.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
As the sky orb of fire which grants all life rose over the horizon of the day past to usher in a new glory, the Group Acting in Your Surveillance – hereinafter referred to as the Gays – broke their fast within Heidmarch manor yet again. Also once again, their number fluctuated as the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion arrived without comment. You may suspect he spent the previous cycle of light hiding under the table, but This Lowly Lucent submits that it checked that hiding place, twice, without revealing his excessive nose. Bulvarion offered no explanation as to his whereabouts, but instead answered all questions with the singular answer, “Natalia”. This hint repeatedly given, the party got it, and agreed to seek the missing Vankaskerkin if only to silence the griping of the wizard.
Significant searching around the town led to bloodstains on walls, after an encounter with the repellant Fenster the Blight. It is with sadness that This Lowly Lucent reports the blood did not belong to Fenster, but instead constituted a trail into the under-city darkness… a dry sewer system.
It is within these catacombs that the Gays – also known as Everyone’s a Lesbian – encountered a cabal of derro. These creatures of lightlessness incapacitated the Erikdottir by eclipsing her vision most thoroughly, in addition to convincing her gullible mind that she should spend the remainder of the adventuring day mostly keeping the floor from floating away by means of standing on it. Still, her singing helped those of the Gays still able to function.
Between derro archers and casters and an inconvenient construct of metal, the Gays were divided, fighting a war on multiple fronts, which is a sure path to defeat. Fortunately the derro were equally divided, by necessity of needing to fight the Gays on multiple fronts, so mathematics suggests the tactical blunders cancelled out.
Ultimately, the Vankaskerkin was located within a cam-girl porn-booth, and the Bulvarion and she were granted privacy, but not not before the derro were defeated, which event is worth noting now, as it involved combined supporting tactics between the fiend Rakall and The One It Watches – hereinafter referred to as the Twat – and the continued frustratedly not participating from the Erikdottir.
Having consulted with a mortal calendar, This Lowly Lucent has determined that this day is referred to as “Spiderday”, which is fitting since a post-derro cavern hosted several aberration spiders. It is noteworthy that said mortal calendar appears to refer to all days as Spiderday, which also seems fitting. Once again, spiders were dispatched at the Gays were victorious, and able to return to the surface light with their recovered Vankaskerkin as well as several other derro-victims who have not been mentioned until now on the basis that their lives do not matter to you, most Radiant Watcher Over All. Unless one of the Gays dies, in which case a rescued individual could suddenly join the NPC Lives Matter movement, and become promoted to PC status.
Once more at Heidmarch Manor, the matriarch offered a magic neutralization to the effects of the latest shard of Thassilonian loot, allowing its wearer – the gnomish monstrosity – to become marginally less greedy, and to experience a vision suggesting the Gays should go to the environs near Korvosa, specically to the Lady’s Light – an auspicious name – and then once having completed experiencing said vision, to head off to privacy to review the Vankaskerkin’s pornhub channel submissions from the last two days. As is as it always is.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
It is with genuine apologies that This One admits it has been several rise and fall cycles of the burning sky orb since It has last reported, but this time has passed without notable event. The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as the Twat) spent her time tinkering, imbuing some trinket of jewelry with magical potency. Additionally, the portions of Everyone’s a Lesbian that actually showed up prepared for a trek into a swamp. Discussion of using a boat was cut short by the protestations of the fiend Rakall, who insisted it would be more sensible to fill in the oceans with concrete. By default, walking through (or on top of) the swamp waters was chosen as the most sensible.
Everyone’s a Lesbian set forth to seek a third portion of the ancient artifact they are collecting in the hopes that the manufacturer will not introduce an expansion pack at the last minute. This Lowly Lucent was tasked with destroying several thousands of insect pests, which practice has improved its aim not at all.
Eventually arriving at the coast, a suspicious cabin at the end of a long wooden bridge was found. In the opinion of the Erikdottir and the fiend Rakall, this bridge was clearly trapped, and some argument ensued regarding the best method of disarming it. The fiend Rakall proposed using the party’s 100 feet of rope in some trans-dimensional knot arrangement that might somehow make the several-hundred-foot bridge safe. The Erikdottir insisted that singing at the bridge would make it safe, but that burning it down preemptively might be safer, and would certainly prevent the bridge from taking over her mind as every other challenge ever had previously done. The Twat took a long walk off a short pier, and arrived at the end of the bridge, safely, and once there, awaited the end of the argument, and to then be noticed, and to then be joined by the rest of the party, which happily and eventually, happened.
The cabin was revealed to be occupied by a monster in person’s clothing, who welcomed Everyone’s a Lesbian warmly with “go away” yelled around its yellowed and rotten-meat-encrusted tusks. The party agreed to go away only once given the obvious side-quest, and set out to scavenge “special seaweed” from a nearby ship-wreck.
Travel to this wreck is best not discussed as the fiend Rakall was required to hang off of a log while being pulled by the Twat, who once again walked upon the water’s surface. The Erikdottir was as usual not a problem, and appeared to spend the cruise composing new songs out loud in her head, by which This Lowly Lucent means to convey that the Erikdottir believed she was composing in her head, but was in fact singing out loud, by which This Lowly Lucent wishes to emphasize the word “loud”.
The Erikdottir and the Twat swam to the ocean floor to scout out the ship-wreck, where they were set upon by nearly a dozen undead skeletons. This Lowly Lucent cannot pretend to have directly observed what transpired thereafter, because it was on the surface, at the shore, 30 feet away from the wreck, and separated from them by water 10 feet deep. That said, evidently skeletons attacked, the Erikdottir ran away, and the fiend Rakall destroyed the undead. With a bow. From 30 feet away. Separated from them by water 10 feet deep. This Lowly Lucent submits that being an adherent of the Brightness, it has more than passing familiarity with the behaviour of light, and such concepts as diffusion, indices of refraction, and submits that visibility from the surface was patently impossible, but must simultaneously admit that the fiend Rakall has an ongoing habit of defying mere physics with its bow.
Skeletons defeated, seaweed was gathered, the side-quest was completed, the monstrous hermit witch was satisfied, and a map of the region was provided. This allowed Everyone’s a Lesbian to move on. Caverns were located, and the troglodyte guards were defeated after the fiend Rakall got in the Twat’s way, then got in the Twat’s way, and mostly likely shortly afterwards got in the Twat’s way. It may seem that This Lowly Lucent has an unfounded bias in its reporting of the actions of the fiend Rakall, but it must be reiterated that the fiend Rakall is a fiend, and that the bias is thusly founded, not unfounded.
Once inside the caverns, the Erikdottir crashed a funeral. Her latest composition, a duet-for-one-woman-band entitled “Give Up Or I’ll Hurt You More” was met by skeptical troglodyte music critics, so they were killed. Shortly afterward, many violently sick troglodytes were found, along with two craven guards who turned traitor on their King, blaming said King for their woes. So Everyone’s a Lesbian killed the King, along with his giant alligator boyfriend.
Having annihilated the sentient obstacles in their way, Everyone’s a Lesbian found access to the deeper caves they sought, and entered them. There, they found spiders. Because fucking seriously?!?
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
The source of all light no doubt rose into the sky at the start of this day, but it is with great sadness that this Lowly Lucent admits it was unable to make proper observation as it was still within underground caverns. Everyone’s a Lesbian seemed somewhat anxious, perhaps joyously – if inexplicably – anticipating the glorious arrival of the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion. Indeed, as fast was broken, a shuffling approach was heard from deeper within the caves, and an impromptu “welcome back” party was rapidly prepared. As The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as the Twat) finished hanging a giant glowing “We Missed You” sign, a short figure arrived.
The Erikdottir strummed her instrument of punishment – both musical and corporal – but choked off the opening words of her latest work entitled “Triumphant Homecoming In My Pants” and instead pointed out to the rest of the party that the newcomer had the incorrect number of tails to be the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion. The fiend Rakall suggested that the Erikdottir might have lost count of tails after hers, so the Erikdottir double-checked her math, confirming one extra tail was in attendance while the newcomer impatiently drooled at her feet, slobberingly and sycophantically mouthing the word “savior” that a civilized creature might speak.
An extraordinarily short period of introductions were made, wherein it was concluded that the newcomer was some sort of not-evil troglodyte priest, supposedly worshipping a sun goddess. This Lowly Lucent’s suspicions were mollified, and once it became evident the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion was once again absent, the party moved on with their day’s activities, allowing the troglodyte priest evidently named Bodypart-Bodypart-Bodypart to join them.
These activities began with the finding of a physically over-endowed frogman, his cronies, and several giant frogs, all of which were blocking the party’s path. This Lowly Lucent admits that it finds this odd. Frogmen accompanied by fogs for combat purposes would be equivalent to humans padding their militias with midgets. Nonetheless, that is what was faced as combat began. This Lowly Lucent is unable to relate much of what happened within this battle except the detailed gurgling acidic slosh of the interior of a giant frog’s stomach, and these details add little to the tale at hand, so they shall be skipped.
At some point, victory was declared by the winning side, which happened to be Everyone’s a Lesbian, and prisoners were stabilized before they croaked. This was a frog pun, which This Lowly Lucent has the unfortunate duty to relate was spoken by the Erikdottir, who evidently had acquired a taste for wordplay from her father. Regardless, the leader of the frog warriors informed the party that he was an exile from his tribe and that the tribe was led by an unpleasant frogwoman he termed Queen Fatass. The party agreed to depose said monarch, and the frog warrior was upgraded from prisoner status, granted tadparole. Or so the Erikdotter said.
Everyone’s a Lesbian arrived at the Boggard village, where it was deemed wise to use Bodypart-Bodypart-Bodypart as a translator, negotiating passage for the party, forgiveness for the Tadparolee, and impeachment for Queen Fatass. This Lowly Lucent is unsure if talks broke down because of excessive demands from one side or the other, or if using a racial enemy as translator was unwise, but the Queen, her favorite potted plant, and too many frogpeople declared war on everyone who wasn’t them.
The fiend Rakall hatched a plan that involved killing the villagers before they could kill Everyone’s a Lesbian, and this seemed reasonable. So, the party started with Queen Fatass. The Erikdottir toadally frogmented the Queen’s ribbet-cage with one massive, unfrogettable blow. The Queen’s blood filled the air, and the Erikdottir complained about the unpleasant frogrance. Meanwhile, Bodypart-Bodypart-Bodypart spoke the party’s will, in the Boggard tongue (extraordinarily lengthy as it is) by yelling “next!” The village surrendered. Except for the potted plant, which demanded pruning.
After extracting unimportant intel from the Boggards, the party moved on, finding a square room with a square pit in its center. This pit was surrounded by four human porn statues. These statues attacked Everyone’s a Lesbian once they were inconveniently vulnerable, and demonstrated that unbalanced combat isn’t just for the future and in between the planets. Everyone nearly died, then everyone nearly died, then everyone nearly died, then everyone nearly died. This Lowly Lucent submits that it is possible that Bodypart-Bodypart-Bodypart has access to some source of healing. Certainly, the lizard-monster regrew several limbs at the end of the fight after the final porn statue was defeated.
The bottom of the pit was scouted, and found to hold a wall that speaks with praise, of the Light. This Lowly Lucent accepted this omen as a good one and was eager to learn what further wonders might be discovered underground. The party found that their sailing skills would be required to explore beyond the bottom of the pit, as the area was filled with water. Helpfully, a boat was provided, and it proved possible to navigate to a small island where a transparent monster attacked the party. This monster was immune to magic – but only while it wasn’t busy reflecting that magic back upon its caster. It was also immune to being hit with hard objects – but only while it wasn’t busy reflecting those attacks upon its attackers. It was able to walk upon the water because it saw The Twat do it, and learned the trick. It was able to nearly kill anyone it touched. It was – to summarize – immune to adventurers. Fortunately, while various members of Everyone’s a Lesbian fell unconscious and were brought back to wakefulness at the last possible moment, the immunomonster proved to be vulnerable to being blasted by the Light from above, and it eventually was destroyed. Barely. The Erikdotter simply said, “well, that was ghlastly.” So then we rested.
Blessed Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Applies Its Remaining Energies In Form Of Report…
Within the foreshadowing and literally shadowing darkness of the caverns, This Lowly Lucent observed the traditional breaking of bread. At this time, the man-lizard known to you as Bodypart-Bodypart-Bodypart was sent forth in search of the regrettably absent gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion. How the man-lizard achieved his task is unknown to This Lowly Lucent, but in time, the party was united. Ready for adventure, they started off into the waterways, only to find the fiend Rakall unwilling to leave the island covered in glass shards, citing that it was emotionally unprepared to cross the open waters. Some speculation that the fiend Rakall is a vampire in disguise was offered, unhelpfully.
Shortly after leaving the unwilling fiend to its cowering, a chamber was located which contained a sarcophagus bearing yet another image of the odd woman so common in these caverns’ artworks. This sarcophagus was opened, and the first tragedy of the day struck as the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion attempted to find traces of magic upon the dead body of the same woman, laying within. This Lowly Lucent is only passingly familiar with the magic arts, but believes the spell detect magic does not traditionally end with the verbal component “urk”. It is with heavy soul that This Lowly Lucent reports the first tragedy of the day, as the gnomish monstrosity Bulvarion at that time fell to the ground, bereft of the light of life.
This fatality was confirmed by the frantic efforts of the party, and none could find means to either understand, or undo this sudden turn of events. Some mortal tears were shed, and the party began to prepare the corpse for carrying somewhere it might be buried. At this time, the woman of the caverns demanded to know what Everyone’s a Lesbian were doing, having risen unnoticed from her crypt. The Erikdottir attempted to negotiate with the mistress of these caves, and asked of she might be able to return the fallen to life. These talks fell down swiftly as it became apparent the Azlanti Runelord of Lust was addled by her millennia-long rest, unwilling to even accept that such a long time had passed since she had last walked the world’s lands. With nothing to gain from the woman, and with her evidently presenting no threat, the party returned to their body-disposal efforts, and it was here that the lady offered some minimal help, indicating that her coffin was magically able to preserve the flesh of that placed with in. So this was done, after which the diminished group moved on in search of some other means to raise their deceased companion. Ominously, the until-recently-dead woman followed.
Shortly afterward, an undead man with unfortunate tastes in cosmetics was theatrically confrontational until he laid eyes upon the ancient Azlanti hussy. He then became a groveling mass of manflesh and removed himself from the party’s attention. The ancient Azlanti hussy merely reviewed her form – which This Lowly Lucent is informed was most pleasing to the eye of mortals – and concluded that the undead man’s reaction was only fitting.
It is within the next hallway that the second tragedy of the day befell, as the party was faced by several more statues in the form of the ancient Azlanti hussy. The heads of these statues animated into the form of stone spider constructs (a combination of the party’s favorite opponents), and began attacking with supernatural beams of lethargy. In less time than it takes to relate the event, the Erikdottir became unable to move her limbs, and a headspider approached with razor-sharp legs, seemingly intending to amputate the helpless bard’s head. The party’s youngest member moved to prevent this, and destroyed the headspider with her weapon. The remaining headspiders then focused their malevolent attention upon the Erikdottir’s rescuer, until she too became paralyzed. The rest of the party surrounded their motionless comrades, and struck at their foes until only one remained. This sole headspider forged an inexorable path and was miraculously not struck by any of the many weapons hammered at its dementedly vorpal body. The headspider succeeded at arriving at a neck most tender, and chose its target carefully, then removed the young girl’s head entirely, killing her instantly.
This Lowly Lucent confesses to being placed under extraordinary stresses beyond its prior experience, and it is with regret that it is unable to explain precisely why the party then found itself in conflict with a demonic incubus, but that is indeed what took place next. The Erikdottir in particular was apparently suffering from some emotional compulsion, and her attacks upon the incubus were – generously speaking – imprecise. It is most likely due to mass hysteria influencing the party that the incubus was able to escape before being banished. Questions were asked, but This Lowly Lucent finds itself unable to speak, finding insufficient energy to interact with the mortal world in any meaningful capacity. A large quantity of touching took place.
With morale shaken, Everyone’s a Lesbian forged forward for one final exploration of the day, and located a complex guarded by flying demonic head-blobs which blinked into and out of visibility. These monsters were dispatched in time, and the area was secured for exploration. Little of value was found, excepting a star-shaped floor-mosaic which enabled an impromptu game that This Lowly Lucent understands is named “Simon Says”. Perhaps on the following day, the fiend Rakall will make its way from its watery prison and make sense of all that has transpired. In the interim, as the all-engulfing darkness approaches, This Lowly Lucent concludes its report, suggesting that it has done enough this day.
Surprise Mom! It’s a letter from your favorite daughter. Sorry it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve written you. I just let myself get distracted doing research here in Magnimar, and I asked Aunty Abby to relay some news to you. She’s still been using those sending spells to check in on me. There just hasn’t been much to tell, but still, my bad.
I’m still here at Heidmarch Manor, trying to learn more about that akashic magic stuff Daddy stuck me with. It’s going pretty good… I mean… I can make floating shoes, and simple farming tools, so that’s neat.
Otherwise, things are pretty good. I’ve Been making more new friends here in Magnimar. Don’t worry… none of them are boys. I haven’t even seen that gnome-boy in days. I think he found what he was looking for and we probably won’t see him again, but now we’ve got a really tall lady (it’s so weird how long her legs are) and even a lizard-lady. True story! Would I lie to you?
The lady-bard I told you about with the awesome hair is pretty responsible and keeps us mostly out of trouble. There was one incident a couple days ago with a truly ancient silly wizard pulling a prank by “summoning his giant worm”, but our lady-bard turned the tables by doing a play-dead trick, so everything turned out okay.
One day we even tried joining a team to play catch with a giant-guy, but that was even more boring than it sounds, so I don’t think we’ll do that again.
We’ve also been learning cave-diving in our spare time. That’s when you go swimming underwater in caves. It sounds more dangerous than it really is, and you get to see really pretty sea life, like little eels swimming around you, and if you don’t bother them, they mostly don’t bother you. Even the lady with the tail who’s afraid of water is doing it, so you know it’s safe, safe, safe!
Anyway, I’ve got to go see some people about some research. Remember the first magic thing that showed up around me… that weird little ball of light that used to say a lot of dirty words? Well, I’m not sure if it burned out or something, but it’s kind of got dim and it won’t talk to us anymore, but it hasn’t gone away. I haven’t been able to find anything about why that would happen, so I’ve got to look for some answers outside Heidmarch Manor. Don’t worry though… I promise I won’t leave for too long, or go very far, since I know our deal is that I can come here as long as I stay at the Matriarch’s place, but this is important.
So, tell Charlo and Rello (supposedly my brothers, remember?) that I’m having more fun than they are, and that since it’s the month of Lamashan, it’s time for them to take a bath. And maybe that they’re adopted. And maybe that you’re going to take them back if they don’t do their chores. Love you, and please use the money I’ve included to buy yourself something nice. I earned it helping the lady-bard with some little odd jobs and I want you to have it for taking such good care of me when I needed you so much… you know… all the time.
- your unbelievably smart and talented and obedient daughter,
Brienna “Breeze” Soldado
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
Deepest regrets and genuine apologies must begin this report, as this Lowly Lucent finds itself unable to overcome a disturbing gap in its observations. Since the last report offered, the most recent memories begin in a secret basement copulation-dungeon for swingers who worship Iomedae. Details of the equipment available would offer little to this report, but it is of interest that within this room were present The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as the Twat), a disheveled and sweaty (bust mostly clothed) priest of Iomedae, and the back of a human male of no significance, who was retreating into a magical portal, and plays no further role in the unraveling of fate being related here.
The Twat and the priest exited the kink room and locked it behind them, ensuring the legally required “absolutely no persons under the age of 12 permitted herein” sign, and were reunited with the rest of the Gays – which this Lowly Lucent reminds is indicative of the Group Acting in Your Surveillance. The party then mostly did nothing significant, except taunt its latest member, a female angelic adherent of Iomedae whose name sounded like Onomatopoeia. This person had secretly replaced Bodypart-bodypart-bodypart, and it is notworthy that everyone noticed. A strange game seemed to erupt from time to time, where various members of the Gays would bait the Angry Angel Onomatopoeia, irking her into reacting in inappropriately aggressive and intolerant manner. This Lowly Lucent is unsure why this was done, but it seemed to amuse everyone present.
Eventually, The Twat finished days worth of minor adjustments to a glowing pair of lenses that were sold – at cost – to the fiend Rakall, and some spells were cast from scrolls, after which it was determined that travel once more to the swamps was appropriate. Mud gets into the strangest places, let it be known.
Once more within the stinky, dark caverns, the party resumed their exploration somewhat more equipped to deal with danger that previously. Indeed, knowing the ways of the place, no lives were lost returning to the previous deepest point of their exploration.
It is within the next area that the party came upon a grim scene. There, an unidentified woman was in the process of having her existing facial scars enhanced by an aggressive sea hag whose palsied and shaking hands were too unsteady to create detailed flesh carvings. Indeed, the woman was unconscious, having succumbed to numerous accidental cuts and gouges. The sea hag seemed afraid to lose her customer to the traveling health-inspectors she misunderstood Everyone’s a Lesbian to be, and a short fight broke out, which proved fatal for the sea hag.
The Angry Angel Onomatopoeia used magic to wake the woman, who immediately became irate with the ancient Azlanti hussy. Some negotiation took place, the details of which are unimportant, and it was determined that the woman could temporarily accompany the Gays, until such a time as she could be reunited with her Grey Maiden comrades, at which time she could kill them because reasons.
That happened. In a bedroom and a bath. Never in all the many millennia of this Lowly Lucent’s existence has so much naked womanflesh been on display in such nonerotic manner. Dozens upon dozens of Grey Maidens were slain because they were too foolish to surrender when clearly outnumbering their opponents, and thus lives were lost.
It was decided to continue exploring, and the rescued Grey Maiden only spent a brief period wallowing in joy in the defeated carcasses of her former friends. That is when the Erikdottir gleefully discovered a perfumery. This room was equipped with shelf after shelf of glass bottles, clearly labeled “fragile, do not touch”. The Erikdottir picked up a bottle and declared it pretty, as it slipped from her hand to shatter ominously on the floor. That is when everyone very nearly died from poison. This Lowly Lucent tries to make a point of illustrating the special contributions of each member of the party, and today, this was the Erikdottir’s. You go, girl.
Once Everyone’s a Lesbian finished casting spells to stave off certain death, a strange shrine to a clearly evil succubus was found, and the fiend Rakall helpfully pointed out that this was Aunt Nocticula. Exploring the room prevented sleeping dogs from lying, and thus a trio of shadow mastiffs awoke to be put down. Bad dog. Afterwards, the Erikdottir showed that she could make a special contribution twice in one day by knowing the answer to the secret question required to reset the password on the hidden door from this room.
The next room contained more sinspawn monsters which needed destruction after the mandatory period of worshipping the ancient Azlanti hussy was concluded. The usefulness of the ancient Azlanti hussy’s appearance cannot be overstated.
Finally, the day was concluded with an opulent orgyball. A huge ballroom was found which contained hundreds of writhing people engaged in grinding, twerking, lap-dancing, pole-dancing, “pole”-dancing, face-dancing, face-sitting, and dirty planking. This Lowly Lucent is informed that all of the participants in this sexcapade were excessively attractive, and tastefully highlighted in perspiration. Overseeing Ruttingdome (two hundred men enter, one man leaves) was the ancient Azlanti hussy, only nobody was interested because Everyone’s a Lesbian already had one, you see?
An irritating fight ensued during which the (original) ancient Azlanti hussy assured everyone else that the orgy members were illusory, and nobody else believed her. Fireballs and scythes were thrown, and many demon dretches were summoned magically, but fortunately no fiendish spiders were called into combat. Once it was determined that there was only one actual opponent on the battlefield, that opponent was properly slain, and it was decided that it was once again time to rest. Much contented snuggling ensued amongst the day’s looted treasures.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
As the blessed light rose unseen in the skies above the tunnels below, the party of adventurers known as Everyone’s A Lesbian also rose. Standard exploration of the orgyballroom revealed a suspicious wooden door, which The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as The Twat) politely knocked upon. No answer ensued, so the fiend Rakall checked the door for traps and locks, and finding none, the party proceeded to enter uninvited into the room beyond.
This room proved to be filled with additional Grey Maidens who were busy scrapbooking, as maidens are known to do. Upon sighting the ancient Azlanti hussy, the face of the defaced-faced ladies faced her comrades, lost face, and told them to stand down. A respectful greeting was given, and the leader proceeded to offer a welcoming twelve-page trivia exam, which the ancient Azlanti hussy apparently failed, angering the Grey Maidens. They put down their glue sticks and picked up their swords. During the inevitable fight that ensued, the ancient Azlanti hussy demonstrated significant positional inconstancy, appearing and disappearing almost as frequently as the fiend Rakall.
As usual, the Erikdottir proved to be the most popular woman in the room, as most of the enemy wanted a piece of her. Extraordinarily precise combat fireballing ensued, and the bard was rescued from her overzealous fanbase. The Angry Angel Onomatopoeia struck down her unfair share of Grey Maidens, in between staunching the many cuts the Erikdottir had earned, and so it was that the battle was won.
After a period of recuperation, stairs were climbed, climbed, climbed and more climbed until it was clear that access to the Lady’s Light had been found. This Lowly Lucent submits that while the name of this ancient ruin is most pleasing, the place itself is less so.
At the apex of the nearly endless stairwell, an unnecessarily complicated teleportation device was deciphered by the party’s resident trivia-genius, Erikdottir who rightly pointed out a statue of Runelord Karzoug was depicted uncharacteristically. She noted that Karzoug was shown with his traditional yarmulke, ample sideburns, pristine circumcision, and disapproving mother, yet was carrying a sign offering “free moustache rides”. This improbable generosity pointed out, access was granted to yet another room, with yet another relentlessly self-harming Grey Maiden, who in time offered that the party should mostly ignore her and continue on their way.
More hidden teleportation equipment responded well to the musical stylings of the Erikdottir, and Everyone’s a Lesbian found themselves within the bedroom of another ancient Azalanti hussy – this one an enemy – who proceeded to cast a spell which caused her to spiritually swap places with the soul of the Twat. This Lowly Lucent submits that while other combat played out (including the Vankaskerkin beating herself senseless), this one did its level best to slay the foe that had taken residence within the body of the Twat. Much light was speared into the enemy while the rest of the party fought with an irrelevant demon of some sort – which the Erikdottir split in two with her axe after jumping into the air – and after what seemed a very long time, the enemy spirit fled and the Twat was returned to her flesh. This Lowly Lucent apologizes for having dared to influence the flow of fate by vanquishing such an important foe singlehandedly, but simultaneously submits that nobody else was inclined to do anything useful, so doing the needful seemed appropriate.
Satisfied with victory, shiny things were taken back to Magnimar and given to people in trade for other shiny things, but not before the fiend Rakall tried – successfully - to mate with all the boggards in the world.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
It is with intense, soul-encompassing, exquisite pleasure that this Lowly Lucent informs that it has learned the meaning of boredom. The light overhead has circled the world more than sixty times since last report. The Subject of Frequent Attention (hereinafter referred to as the Sofa due to a newfound appreciation for breaking monotony) has spent her time creating a wide variety of gifts for the rest of Everyone’s a Lesbian. These magic gifts bearing a profound variety and spectrum of miniature ponies, rainbows, butterflies, butterflies riding ponies, ponies jumping over rainbows, and butterflies riding ponies while those ponies jump over rainbows has failed to make the process fundamentally interesting, and so nothing further shall be reported of this time.
A boat was used to make pilgrimage to the city of Korvosa, where mail was blacked and permission was granted. Audience was granted with various royalty and celebrities, and this Lowly Lucent is able to confirm the meme that the third Princess Abrogail Thrundashian has a “thick” caboose.
Beyond Korvosa, further boat travel was undertaken to arrive at Kaer Maga. The final stages of this trip required usage of the Gollarion’s Worst Elevator, which is not falsely advertised. Everyone’s a Lesbian was accompanied by some sort of elevator attendant improbably named “Abra Cadabra”, a farmer and his two sons, and a wagonload of vegetables.
Unsurprisingly, Gollarion’s Worst Elevator became stuck on the 11th floor, and the group was forced to make their way to the nearest stairwell to continue their ascent. The overhead fluorescent lighting flickered ominously and various tubes and vents protruded through the drop-ceiling, out-gassing inexplicable fog and mists. Approaching an intersection in the corridor, the elevator attendant Cadabra consulted a glass slab with various lights on it, and concluded that he had a feeling about “this” which was “bad”.
That is when the hull was breached by a pair of gigantic alien worms which immediately turned into pianos which immediately cooked the month perhaps yellow why not. At this time, the Sofa became re-inhabited by the returned spirit of the demon from the Lady’s Light, so This Lowly Lucent confesses its attention on issues beyond slaying her with beams of electricity was minimal at best, so the reported actions of the piano-worms may be somewhat inaccurate. A transcription of what took place – rebuilt from later context – follows.
Abra: “Something isn’t right.”
Anesthia: “It wasn’t me… your coinpurse is right where you left it for now.”
Alanaa: “I hope nothing scars my new, beautiful face. Have you noticed my new, beautiful face?”
Abra: “No, I mean this intersection shouldn’t be here.”
Freydis: “As long as it doesn’t try to mind-control me, I’m happy.”
Nadia: “I don’t talk. Like… ever.”
Aurelia: “How does that make you feel? Angry? Resentful? Vengeful? Would you like me to beat someone up for you?”
Brienna: “Has anyone noticed there’s no horse?”
Abra: “Look! Gigantic worms. This is so confusing. I’m confused.”
Aurelia: “Me too. Here Alanaa, have a sword to plug that cut in your side that you don’t have until I put my sword in you.”
Anesthia: “Nobody can see me.”
Merchant Guy: “Having children ruined my life.”
Kid 1: “My face hurts.”
Freydis: “Why is there a pit between me and the worms I need to kill.”
Aurelia: “Sorry about that, Alanaa. How can I make it up to you?”
Alanaa: “Don’t stand so. Don’t stand so. Don’t stand so close to me.”
Brienna: “No, really, there’s no horse. Why won’t anyone take that seriously? It’s important.”
Anesthia: “I can’t kill everything like usual if it’s in a pit. Also, nobody can see me.”
Aurelia: “Hey, Alanaa, you’re nearby. Here, have a sword to plug that cut in your side. You know the drill.”
Freydis: “Is it just me or is the fog getting thicker? Now is not the time to smoke up, Anesthia.”
Abra: “Oh no… the worms can fly! They’re flying out of the pit!”
Anesthia: “I’m not smoking up, and if I was, you wouldn’t be able to see me do it. Oh, and I just killed the worms.”
Brienna: “I mean, if there’s no horse then… WHO. IS. PULLING. THE. CART?!?”
Later, a small person offered to guide Everyone’s a Lesbian to wherever they were going, and was certain that he knew where to take them despite them not knowing where they wanted to go, except Freydis who had read about a house of reduced clothing and increased dancing, which turns out to be where everyone goes when arriving at Kaer Maga so the guide was right.
The following day, audience was granted with a fortune-teller who was disguised as a troll. The fortune-teller made some sort of deal, guaranteeing that she would tell Everyone’s a Lesbian where to go and how to get there, in return for returning her brother, who had been stolen by a black-sheep gang member that nobody would mind him being turned into a greasy floor-smear.
Within the compound where the kidnapper lived, giant plants lurked. They also attacked. Once the shrubberies were dealt with, further constructs were dealt with. An intriguingly compelling clockwork pseudodragon told Freydis where she could find its master. She seems good at making friends with creatures immune to mind-affecting abilities.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
The passage of time is generally thought to be linear and consistently-paced, but in truth some moments feel compacted while others feel protracted. At this point such a distortion must be reported, as while just moments ago Everyone’s a Lesbian completed discussion with a mechanical minidragon, suddenly change was observed. The Ancient Azlanti Hussy and the Vankaskerkin abruptly ceased being present in an act of stealthiness that left the fiend Rakall green with jealousy. Some speculation ensued and the remains of the party came to the conclusion that some carpets needed urgent ingestion and that those two were most expendable at the time to handle the party’s rug-munching needs.
After this floor-covering eating discussion, the party - ironically - located a fully stocked and automated kitchen. Various demands were made for favorite meals to be constructed, and the angry chef robot in leading various autonomous mechanical arms insisted that its grandmother could do better than they were, and that she was dead. In short order, the room was searched, and the oven was found to contain a most pleasingly brilliant and intense blessed light.
Shortly thereafter, The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as The Twat) cleverly inserted This Lowly Lucent into a small leather bag with thoughtfully-placed small holes through which observation could be undertaken. Some melancholy mortal discussion was undertaken, and an awkward young human couple randomly offered to deliver messages to anyone in Korvosa, but were politely declined. Also, a party in the Erikdottir’s room was crashed by a bard that This Lowly Lucent reserves the irrational right to intensely dislike solely on the basis that his name is evidently “The Prince of Darkness”.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
Given the level of intelligence generally not shown by the party, it is with pleasure that This Lowly Lucent informs that this morning brought an overdue thirst for knowledge to those now known as Practically Everyone’s A Lesbian (hereinafter referred to as Peal). It was decided to leave Kaer Maga’s brothels and dens of vice – if only briefly – in search of library. Their reputation for obnoxious volume levels preceding them, Peal were greeted by locked and barred doors. Demonstrating a lack of respect for going where he is unwanted, the Dental Damned expressed in the form of sympathy menstruation and bled his vile self under the doors, opening them from within.
Inevitable tedious argument ensued, with the sole remaining librarian / crypt-keeper protesting against issuing the party a library card. Negotiations ranged from offering enthusiastic book-burnings through offering to replace all of the extant collection with novels involving hirsute makers of pottery, until access to the hidden “adults only” section was granted.
The Erikdottir made her first discovery of the day in the form of a disembodied bird/dragon head, which immediately blessed her. Ever the percussive and violent bard, the Erikdottir appropriately sneezed. Some chronological magic was evident. After warming up their mouth muscles, Peal fired the bird/dragon head, thus contributing to Golarion’s unemployment problem.
Shortly afterwards, a chamber containing a trio of iron chain devils was opened, and an extraordinary amount of time was required to destroy their corpses. This Lowly Lucent is not confident that it understands what happened here.
Next, the Erikdottir found a large room with a mechanomagical representation of the worlds. The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as The Twat) cautioned the Erikdottir against uninformed meddling, so – ever the contrarian – she immediately destroyed the room, and nearly everyone within. In response to destroying the material plane, the dogs of war were unleashed, revealing very clearly who let them out. Said dogs very nearly ate The Twat, but the Ancient Azlanti Hussy’s planar lapdog assisted until the threat was abolished.
After a navigational nightmare, a room was found wherein the universe made its wishes known. A human woman was found within, with her mouth pleasingly sewn shut, to which she gestured repeatedly, clearly suggesting that the party should follow suit and staple their blathering face-holes shut. Also, the woman had a dead, throbbing halfling growing out her arms, or she was possibly hugging it. In short order, the dead halfling detonated into a cloud of pestilent bees, which chased the Ancient Azlanti Hussy and her Vankaskercooze around the room, stinging mightily. Eventually the lapdog and Dental Damned led the bee cloud to some electric flowers or something – This Lowly Lucent was unable to observe this particular resolution – and the day was saved. Despite the day being saved, another was killed, as significant healing magic was required.
Returning once again to the library’s smut section, Peal encountered a room with a floating brain and several useless mouth-breathers. These were defeated by the usual application of violence, so all was well.
At this point, a visit to an amusement park seemed required, so a rotating cylindrical room was found, which pinned the party to the walls. Then the floor dropped out, suspending everyone in mock flight. This entertainment was provided by a chubby carnie gnome rapist (some suggest that “carnie” already denotes “rapist”, but This Lowly Lucent suggests the quantity of rape involved justifies redundancy). The Twat and the Dental Damned flew towards the gnome and explained the true meaning of the word “no”.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
Less talking, more destroying the enemies of the light… that is an ideal. As such, the telling of this further day is condensed to the following summary phrases: “sunlight and fairies”, “water fish trap”, “black naga, electricity trap and betrayal”, river trench water monster and elemental best friend”, “caulborn talking too much”, “wyverns on the ramparts”, “oozing manangellan”, and “wraiths plus Sir Wilticock”. This should be sufficient information for one such as yourself to recognize events. More, when appropriate.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
Having learned that leaving the elemental plane of groundhogs overnight would undo all of the dubious progress Lesbians And Corpses United chose to remain within the shadowy pocket plane of misery and press on despite being battered, breaded, and fried. That is a fish reference. Because it only tastes like chicken. Because Lesbians. Pay better attention… this Lowly Lucent shouldn’t have to explain so much.
The decision to continue having been made, it was immediately discovered that the Ancient Azlanti Hussy had vanished, presumably to attend the five o’clock shadow developing on her bikini line. Absent the wizard, the party re-entered the black keep – which is not a metaphor for sodomy no matter how much it sounds like one – and beyond the next door was discovered a stable.
What this stable lacked in horses or other beasts of burden (such as dwarves), it made up for by being occupied by an undead in ass-less chaps which appeared about to have its way with an unconscious person of temporary nature. Not amused by being interrupted, this undead creature held a pair of unusually-shaped thunderstones made of metal in its hands and started making very loud noises coupled with very large holes in the party. This was deemed annoying, so the dead cowboy rapist (which is not to say a rapist who preys upon dead cowboys but rather a dead cowboy who is itself a rapist) was awarded a blue dot and subsequently destroyed.
Person of temporary nature was found to be alive and confused and was thus qualified to accompany the group for the remainder of the day. The first challenge was a pack of rabid dogs with a solidity deficiency, and they were put down as the mangy shadow creatures they were.
Subsequently an inaccurately-named headless horseman was encountered. In this instance, the man riding the horse was missing his head, suggesting that “headless manhorse” would be a better name. Regardless, this half-blind declared that it was obligated to kill the next person it named, then uttered a name which nobody in Now Only Slightly More Than Half of Us Are Lesbians was willing to admit ownership of. Argument ensued, which proved fatal for both headless man and fully-headed horse.
That equine emergency eliminated, an Olympic swimming pool was located wherein a trio of mohrgs were found, practicing for the next competition. Unfortunately for them, due to the time-loop nature of the black keep, they were doomed to never improve their skills. Also, they were destroyed by the party for the crime of skinny-dipping-while-dead.
The next room proved to be the master of the keep’s harem chambers, wherein was found a chick fucking a horse. This Lowly Lucent is unwilling to report any further events within this area.
Shortly afterward, a large quantity of talking ensued, due to encountering a dead librarian. He said things and the party seemed to hear them, but This Lowly Lucent confesses that it was all mortal drivel, so was not recorded.
A room with angels with a pillar growing out of their eyes (seriously, don’t ask) was discovered, and it was therein that some pointless chunk of green glass was obtained.
The party concluded that they had achieved whatever goals they had in mind, so arbitrarily decided to depart the shadowy plane and triple-cross the caulborn who were no doubt preparing a double-cross ambush.
Unsurprisingly, the crosses were crossed, and fighting happened. Everyone in the party who was alive before the fight remained so afterward, and escape to the material plane was successful. The Ancient Azlanti Hussy was found there, with an unseen servant wielding a razor.
Dear diary, I’ve got to let you know I don’t love you anymore. No wait. That’s Diane. Or Deirdre. Or both. Anyway, never mind… this is what happened yesterday, or maybe a few minutes ago, whichever came first.
The new band is working out pretty good. The fans love the new Lead Singer but that’s always the way it is, what with the tight leather pants and prancing about on stage. She’s a she, which hasn’t happened since… last time it happened. Anyway, it’s going so good that the Drummer – who is also a she, only this one sometimes has wings and never has drums – decided we should go on tour, and our first gig is in Magnimar. Magnimar is a nice place except it’s not in Kaer Maga, which is a bit of a conundrum because in between Kaer Maga and everywhere else is a little place I like to call “the Sun”. You’d be amazed how hard it is to walk four hundred miles without sunlight reflecting off something and stabbing you in the face, even if you’re walking on horseback. Still, it wasn’t so bad once the horse got used to me bursting on fire every once in a while.
Everything is a little hazy after the first few days, but I think we did a show or two in Magnimar. I don’t think there were any riots, but I don’t know for sure.
Next thing I do know, the Band Manager and her Whipping Boy (who are also both shes) had us up North to play at some old nunnery. The audience was pretty big once we got there. I mean, he was easily ten feet tall… virtually a giant. The town around this Abbey place was having earthquakes or the audience was have tremors or something, because he kept jerking around, so he looked like he had more than one head. Lots more than one head. And lots more than one body. You’d almost get the impression that there were a bunch of giants instead of just one. Anyway, somehow the audience started a riot and we got to play the fight song, which is always a crowd favorite.
I started feeling a lot better after that, and the Band Manager said that we had more shows to do inside the Abbey itself, so we looked for the stage entrance, which turned out to have maintenance problems. The roof fell in, crushing the Band Manager’s Whipping Boy’s head into a delicious paste. A dog came to do tricks but I wasn’t impressed because it’s not learning any new ones, just the walking-on-hind-legs one. Then the dirt grew a new Whipping Boy, so everyone was happy.
The Lead Singer wanted to practice Take Me To Church – a complex little ditty about Stockholm Syndrom and priestly molestation – so we found a big broken down cathedral. Inside were a couple of flying octopuses… octopussies… octopi. There were eight pies. Anyway, the air was thick with acid because reasons, and the Band Manager kept encouraging the Lead Singer to get into the riot (there was a riot) and then changing his mind and calling her back offstage. The Drummer kept whacking an octopus and complaining it wasn’t working – which it wasn’t… but that’s what you get for going for a drum solo on a soggy mass of tentacles – and it was just a generally big mess.
The good news is that the next show made up for it all. We found an audience with more than one giant, and some or all of this group actually had more than one head, so that was new. They were pleasantly drunk, so quite receptive to the new song the Lead Singer wrote, Believe Me When I Tell You Lies. They formed a giant mosh pit – which I’ve only just now learned isn’t anything to do with a whore who has been in the industry too long – and danced themselves to sleep.
Shortly after that is now.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
As discussed, music has power, and shortly after The One It Watches (hereinafter referred to as The Twat) and her menagerie of feminine freaks completed acoustically assaulting the excess skulls of giants, it was time for looting their unconscious forms. It is with regret that this Lowly Lucent must admit that the following events are opaque in purpose, but it must be underlined that the hand of the Obstinate One can be sensed. While searching the comatose giants, The Twat located what appeared at first glance to be a gold coin, but was in fact iron treated with some alchemical substance to obscure its valueless nature. This Lowly Lucent was unable to observe the markings on this coin, but The Twat was taken aback by this irrelevant discovery and queried her fellows if others of its like had been located. She was informed that a small number had been found and discarded upon those corpses littering the village outside. The Twat informed her fellows that she had some personal curiosity and was going to revisit the bodies, and she requested the boon of privacy while she did this, indicating that she would return to the ruined Abbey within a day, two at most. Uncomfortable agreement was met, and The Twat left her companions behind.
I can inform that indeed, a few additional slugs were found upon the giants’ cadavers, which were starting to rot. This did nothing to improve their natural unpleasant odor. The Twat searched the bodies further, apparently searching for personal identification in the form of tattoos or tribal jewelry, none of which This Lowly Lucent is equipped to identify. Upon finding something meaningful, The Twat set off into the nearby lands, apparently trying to follow a trail that was only evident under the effects of The Twat’s divine spellcasting. The Obstinate One was clearly supporting The Twat’s actions, and guiding them.
The following morning, we came upon the wreckage of a small nondescript caravan that had a smattering of mortal remains (of the non-giant size category). Searching the wreckage, The Twat located a small strongbox which was clearly designed to hold coinage, and this box was marked with symbols belonging to the Obstinate One, and This Lowly Lucent posits that the box and its contents also belonged to Her. Clear signs were found that the giants had ambushed the caravan, and The Twat was overheard mumbling to herself that the giants had appeared aware of presence of the strongbox in advance, as it had been hidden very well, and searched-for equally well. What this means must be to your wisdom to ponder.
This day-long errand completed, The Twat made way back to the Abbey where she observed the traditional raised voices, coming from the central tower. She climbed the stairs while This Lowly Lucent floated regally up the same, and the rest of the party was located, with bonus participants. Yet another young mortal woman was present, exercising her lips, while an older male practiced looking defeated, as mortals generally should be. Greetings and introductions were made, and This Lowly Lucent understands the newcomers to be Distressed Damsel and Despondent Daddy. Shortly after this tediousness was attended to, the group was aroused by the odd clapping clatter of some – no doubt soulless – creatures ascending the stairs.
I just looked back at my last entry, has it been so long? 4699, really? *sigh*
The last few days has been quit the wyvern ride of emotions. I was working at a unique abby, you see, here, I could help work for Serenrea but not be limited to the righteous kind of priestesses, boy do those Kuthites know there way around a leather strap *awkward deep breath*.
After my mis-adventure in the Underdark and my plenty of money earning schemes going south, helping out a church that gave you so much seemed, right. After all, you could guide me from Nirvana, but I always felt something was missing, but courage to face it was gone, so I ignored it. When the Abby was attacked, it proved that every ounce of my courage was gone. I could have stayed and fight, I could have taken down some of those lumbering idiots, but I ran. To the safest place I knew, the Windsong Abby’s light house. I could hear the screams, there was some elf, some ancient enemy of the Abby. He barked the orders to destroy everyone, it seemed personal. As if he was envious at what they had, like he thinks he deserved something. He slaughtered them all, making sure each one screamed….. I’m sorry.
Just before the attack started I got one of the priests to perform sending to someone I trusted, Koriah. Even someone who accomplished something I could not, tame the Underdark, was no match for these monsters. They turned her to stone.
I prayed for the first time to serenrea, painted reverences to her, I needed something. And It was given, not in the form I expected……..how can you ever expect a unicorn? But it turns out it was a whole group of people. They rescued Koriah, and promised to help me rescue you. I saw a light, a hope, for the first time, in hindsight maybe it was just the lighthouse I was in. Either way, I won’t look a gift unicorn in the mouth.
So we set off, I am sure Ardathanatus will take a while, he seems to be wasting his time destroying the iconography of the abby.
They seemed cleverer then the last groups I worked with. Immediately they set to finding your corpse, don’t get to big of a head about this, but even Iomedea helped, she pointed the way for us. Good news, is we found your body in safe keeping under the church of Serenrea in Absolom, they gave you your own spot in the crypt, how nice of them. But we also found out why I felt something missing, you were not guiding me from Nirvana, you never made it there. Your soul has been trapped, and was planned to be sold off……..like a slave………I am so sorry.
The lodge as always had their hands in the situation, and offered us something we couldn’t refuse, a free trip to the ethereal plane, where your soul was set to be sold off by some shady Night Hag slaver. She didn’t want normal things for trade, and clearly mine is not of equal value, if any value at all. She wanted baubles, memories, oddities. We gathered them, one from a green weird spooky dragon, he offered us a shitty music box, in exchange for stealing essence from some angry aether elementals. For the first time in years, I fought, standing my ground, knowing you were moments away, this time, I could feel your guidance.
We then blew into a breathelizer that registered how pathetic we were, and mine clearly blew above a .08. It was sadder to know that one of the young ladies with me, the one with the bright unicorn, had sadness just as deep, fears that she couldn’t even quantify, it is sad to see that in youth.
We also solved a centuries long quarrel between the spider Capulates and the demon Montagues. We did something for the Caulborn, but honestly I can’t remember.
But nothing is easy, it never is, all good things are hard, but that is what I understand now about you Grumbles, it is not what you thought was the right thing, it was that you did it. No matter the obstacles, you were a steal rock, that all evil buffeted off of, you never gave up, not like me. That is what made you, you.
Your spirit had been stolen from the Night Hag, so we bargained transport to where the thief was, in Gault, and now we are coming to get you Grumbles, hold on, just a little longer, I promise. I will never give up, ever.
Oh Radiant Watch Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports..
The obviously manipulative person-puppeting monster that should only ever be referred to as the Golemator offered the party no choice at all, explaining that if they wished to retrieve the stolen vessel containing the soul of Just Some Dead Guy, they would have to trust her. Or at least pretend to trust her. Or at least openly distrust her but allow her to openly screw them over. There was explanation that while the party had the means in their possession to return from the Ethereal Plane to the Material Plane, doing so would place them uncomfortably at the bottom of the ocean, nowhere near the household in Galt that sheltered their target. This would not normally have been a problem, but was one at this time, because an urgent portable hole orgy was called between The Ancient Azlanti Hussy, the Vancaskerkin, and the Fiend Rakall. There was insufficient time to wait for them to complete their gyrations, so a flask of oil was dutifully dumped into the hole and the remainder of the party closed the hole, knowing that asphyxiation would only make the orgy that much more sublime.
The Golemator teleported the party somehow to Galt, which is conveniently not under the ocean. This teleportation effect was unusual because traditionally the caster of such a spell is required to accompany all targets, but in this case the party arrived alone. Being able to pass through walls, extensive scouting was done and an ambush was prepared. In the interests of not extending suspense overlong, This Lowly Lucent shall cut short the description of the two fights that took place within the abandoned chateau, and merely indicate that victory was won before the inhabitants of the portable hole could screw themselves to death. Salad was served to all, as the main villa-villain was accompanied by a giant tree. Said villain spent the majority of the fight encased in ice, courtesy of a rather vindictive Despondent Daddy (whose designation hereinafter shall be altered to Dirty Old Man).
The party returned to Absolom with the soul of whomever in their grasp, and some clerics of the Glorious Sunball Goddess performed the correct magic required to implant a loose soul into a fresh mortal body, so that it can resume dying at the usual slow pace. Tears were shed. This Lowly Lucent suspects it will take the resurrected Mumbler longer to adjust to his new life (courtesy of the Dirty Old Man) than most raised mortals do. He's just not that bright (he immediately agreed to resume traveling with the Dirty Old Man).
Emotional bondage satisfied, after some additional sight-seeing, the Rainbow Child explained that she was planning on pursuing a number of promising bounties offered within Absalom, and would not be returning to Avistan with the rest of the group. She explained that she would be checking in with her mother (helicoptered much?) and took her deformed and verbally-abusive horse with her.
Oh Radiant Watch Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports..
It is with great shame that This Lowly Lucent must inform that the Dirty Old Man touched us. That this was required to perform teleportation back to Magnimar is but a shabby and inadequate excuse but none better is available. If required, please provide dancing lights for purposes to illustrating where the touching took place.
That unmentionable act mentioned, the shattered party was reunited and it was discovered that the Erikdottir and the Dead Thing had been partying the entire time. This capricious, wasteful, unheroic, pointless passing of time was put to an end when a group of underdressed fetishists tried to rob the party’s undergarment retail outlet, which This Lowly Lucent understands operates under the profitable business model that the more you pay, the less you get. The winged, demonic robbers seemed intent on demonstrating their skill as the multiverse’s least subtle shoplifters and attempted to abscond with the store’s only Ancient Azlanti Hussy. Had they proved successful, the Vankaskerkin informs us that that restocking would have been most difficult. As is only right in cases of highway robbery, city robbery, or indeed stores-selling-crotch-pheremone-focusing-clothing robbery, the perpetrators were introduced to the grammar of a death sentence, with the exception of the obligatory single prisoner. Alliteratively, this twit thwarted the time-honoured torture tradition of titty-twisting, turning traitor temporarily to temptations of truth trickery. Thus coerced, it was revealed that the would-be thieves had been dispatched by some legendary irrelevant person who was not present to murder. Time to finally move on with the plot.
Teleportationally returned to the decrepit, condemned and condamned Abbey – this time with inappropriate touching provided by the Ancient Azlanti Hussy – no further time was wasted getting to the basement, where doomed doors were opened, locks were picked, keys were shoved, and secrets were unearthed. The result of this invasion was that a number of portions of the walls separated themselves and attacked unprovoked. They were accompanied by a grinding profusion of unnecessarily complicated bits of metal which This Lowly Lucent is informed was some sort of non-living, non-dead creature. Blechh. Destruction was distributed promptly.
The next room yielded a quarto of frozen people, clearly conducting an eye-orgy from their respective corners. The party was once again attacked without cause and therefore authorized to defend themselves lethally.
A final room revealed a woman whose sheer size defied anyone to make comment. Truly immense, the towering-yet-girthy giantess seemed to have an agenda that involved violence, sending portions of the wall to sneak up on the party while she prepared to make people-paste. While the Fiend Rakall, the Erikdottir, and the Ancient Azlanti Hussy usefully dealt with the stealthy wall-monsters, the Dead Thing merely repeatedly muttered “not yet”. This seemed to happen every time the giantess attempted to wade into the fray, and interestingly, she obeyed, remaining in an antechamber to the side until her allies could be reduced to a manageable number.
Once the mooks were mostly eliminated, the fight moved to focus on the giantess, who promptly smushed the Dead Thing and the Fiend Rakall very nearly into the destruction they so deservedly are entitled to. Alas, the Erikdottir was – at long last – able to finish the gargantuwoman off by removing her musical instrument of annihilation into the giantess’ mouth, having first inserted it into an orifice of opposite function. So much gore.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
The repetitive need for mortals to sleep is a subject of great frustration for those more enlightened (celestial) beings without such weakness, but This Lowly Lucent must admit that the repeated trips back to Magnimar for rest have been justified if only as excuses to replenish the Fiend Rakall’s supply of arrows. This inventory is of significance as it must be noted that upon return to the Blowing Wind Song-Abbey, the party was assaulted by a lurking, tentacled creature with a buttmouth and one oversized eye. This creature was dispatched by the Fiend Rakall with no delay, not requiring the involvement of anyone else.
Once the qlippoth was confirmed to be inedible, further exploration of the Abbey’s basement ensued, and a series of cubbies were found as the party got its bearings, and one grizzly, bar-bear-ic den-izen wearing only a teddy unmarked by ursine attempted to bear-y its battleaxe in the Erikdottir for opening the bear-ier to its bear-ow, grunting in bear-itone, not wanting to paws its bear-obics, but proved of bi-polar koala-ty as it became em-bear-assed fur failing to defend its bear-icade, feeling ex-panda-ble. This fellow had three friends who all entered hibernation as soon as a pair of flying squids revealed themselves. Said squids were suitably intimidated by the party and departeleported. New word.
The next notable discovery within the Abbey’s under-areas was the world’s largest raindrop which proved immune to the Fiend Rakall’s projectile assault, so the Angry Angel (also occasionally referred to as The One It Watches [or the Twat]) resorted to magical tomfoolery to drain the elemental’s life essence. Everyone took a soapy bath.
After the mammalian writhing concluded and adventuring resumed, a temple to Groetus was found, complete with a glowing orb of light which This Lowly Lucent assures is no relative of ours.
It should be noted that at no point during the next encounter did the Fiend Rakall actually die, but should one wish to indulge in such a fantasy, this would be the ideal place in this report to do so, as the reality very closely approached such a sublime outcome. A pair of very cleverly hidden assassin rocks (equipped with knives, no less) erupted from concealment and proceeded to fight over the hapless abyssal archer, each trying to drag half of her carcass away. The interference of the Angry Angel staved off the exciting results of numerous bites, stings, and stabs, plus negating several doses of poison, and a (redundant) mental-degrading effect. So much honorable work performed by the assassin rocks undone in a casual, thoughtless casting of heal. Typical of the Loudmouth’s worshippers.
Having failed to rid themselves of the water-fearing-fiend’s companionship, the party continued their exploration, and interrupted a harried ifrit and its fiery companions, who were clearly too busy for questions, as they were engaged in the crafting of some sort of magical armor. Having made its intention to suffer no further conversation clear, the ifrit sent its lesser minions to seal the portal to the forge room, and the Ancient Azlanti Hussy made her desire to meddle known. This signal sent, the Fiend Rakall pincushioned the defenseless and harmless ifrit with arrows, and the Angry Angel magically sent the ifrit to its home plane to confirm that it had not left the stove on. Some small effort was required on the part of the Dead Thing and the Erikdottir to extract the Angry Angel from the room, but This Lowly Lucent cannot explain why said Angel was in the room in the first place, so this must remain one of the many inexplicable aspects of this story.
Afterward, another fight occurred that did not require the involvement of any party member excepting the Fiend Rakall. An old man with zero emotional agency was found and fed to the werebears. Incidentally, this may not have been clear, but the four mortals in the bear-acks previously were werebears.
Once that was concluded, a further pair of rock assassins attempted to finish what their brethren had begun. There was some debate regarding if these were the same rock assassins as had previously been slain – reincarnated perhaps – or if the party was encountering a time-loop, or if the rock assassins were actually potted plants who had cast illusions on themselves to avoid being detected as the harmless, inert vegetation they are, or if perhaps necrophilia asinine upwards but absolutely again. The Erikdottir cast a smell, which had the scent of magic, with two effects: a marginal increase in the crispness of thought, and the utter lack of motivation to bother to engage in thought. The party collectively sighed, said “oh”, and then began to sit down for a snack, when the Dead Thing said “oh” again, appearing somewhat less starved than usual, having accidentally drained life force from the rock assassins. (They really were rock assassins, not potted plants.) This unintentional feeding resumed combat, and the rock assassins were converted to driveway gravel quickly.
At long last, a glorious hole was discovered in a wall, and someone the party wanted to assault was spotted beyond it.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
It is misfortunate that recanting of the tale of recent events was interrupted in such a manner that evokes a mortal, hanging precariously off a cliff, its ultimate fate unknown. Any anxiousness caused by the pause in this story’s retelling is regrettable but entirely necessary as even celestial beings consisting solely of light have our own demands to obey nature when it calls. Astute audience that you are, assuredly it is unnecessary to remind that a sphincter of rhinoceros proportions had been located, and beyond it, a creature most desperately in need of redemption.
The Ancient Azlanti Hussey incorrect performed a magic mime show, not knowing that mimes are intended to be silent. Ignorant of this basic acting style, she muttered incoherent nothings while flailing her arms and fingers around, pointlessly. In response to this talentless performance, the Prime Material Plane issued a warning to her by flinging her and the rest of the party to a location a few dozen feet away, closer to their enemy.
It is at this time that it was discovered the cleric of some pointless deity was engaged in an evil ritual, but also accompanied by several rock crab assassins and a handful of sinspawn… assuming that hand belonged to a teacher of woodcrafting, as there were only four sinspawn present and typical hands contain five digits.
The fight began – as most do – with the Fiend Rakall making room in her quiver by temporarily storing several arrows within her opponents. Before this could prove fatal, a small conference was held between the party and the rock crab assassins, wherein a handicap was assigned, since the combat was imbalanced. The Ancient Azlanti Hussey promised to do her level best to murder the Angry Angel, and the Vankaskerkin agreed to recite the Draconic alphabet backwards until told otherwise. The dead thing played pickpocket while the redeemable enemy cleric offered healing magic assistance in return, demonstrating his compassionate, forgiving nature.
Pressing the least amount of salt into wounds as possible, it should be mentioned that the Erikdottir was unable to bury her hatchet in the enemy cleric. The Angry Angel hid within a cleverly-wrought pillar of stone, thereby avoiding the Ancient Azlanti Hussey’s killing spree.
Still, all is well that ends well, which this did not. Instead, the enemy cleric laid down his weary mortal burden after realizing that he was bleeding profusely from the arrows hastily stowed within his chest so many moons ago. The Fiend Rakall had – once again – killed a creature before it could act, only nobody realized it at the time.
This triumph of dubious moral quality attained, the doors that have previously not been worth mentioning opened wide, vomiting forth a pile of half-rotten seafood of such size and stench that defies description. Tentacles resembling tree-trunks in volume reached forth to assail the group and sweep up the mess of fallen creatures as the new monster played octopus-zamboni. Coincidentally, at this time almost everyone in the room manifested their True Selves, by adopting the form of rodents, flying rodents, or spiders. The gargantuan, fishy monstrosity reclaimed the corpse of the enemy cleric, and thus was he redeemed.
After that, the Ancient Azlanti Rat paused in its quest to slay the Angry Angel long enough to shut off magic in the area, and things got less needlessly chaotic, though it took the entire night for the party to resume their usual mortal forms and the Dead Thing offered that “at least I got his library shard”.
Oh Radiant Watcher Over All, This Lowly Lucent Reports…
Deepest apologies are offered for the inexcusable offense of being tardy in relating the events that have transpired recently. That no events have transpired recently softens the failings of this Lowly Lucent nearly not at all. The best mitigation that can be offered is to tell of events that have transpired not-at-all recently.
After recuperating from the harrowing battle with the Urgathoa’s Witness – or similarly undesirable entity – that attempted to thrust its way through the dungeon’s giant door – no doubt to share the deliriously insightful word of its lord and savior, or to attempt to sell unseen servant floor-cleaning magic items – the party returned to said dungeon to steal everything which wasn’t nailed down, and to steal the nails of those things that were nailed down… as well as such things that were no longer nailed down due to the conveniently-timed theft of their corresponding nails. Fun fact: outsiders breathe, but only rarely.
While plundering the abbey’s not-so-forgotten basement, a pair of irrelevant golems were discovered, then promptly ignored, or destroyed… whichever makes for a more interesting tale. That done, the party met a mummified man who was suitably impressed with the party’s unconventional path, offering to be entirely reasonable as tribute to their going out instead of going in, which direction he for some reason believed to be objectionable. This undead offered as little useful information as the party’s pet undead, and after lip muscles were suitably exercised, the group moved on to find a set of wil o’ whisps, which very nearly made the Erikdottir dead… presumably as preamble to making her undead to match the dungeon’s motif.
Since undead are topical, if it pleases The Most Radiant Watcher Over All, this Lowly Lucent submits that the next encounter consisted of entirely too many shadows. Typically a physical object only throws one shadow, depending on the number of light sources. Suffice it to say, the next room had a ratio of shadows-to-light-sources which was unnatural. These shadows seemed most intent on destroying the Fiend Rakall, but ultimately were subject to the principle that likes-destroy-likes, as The Dead Thing (mostly) dispatched them by… doing… things. And possibly stuff.
A previously unmentioned spike trap which befouled the party’s clothing with copious quantities of their blood was book-ended by a sonic door trap which is most definitely BANG! The previous sentence’s grammatical incorrectness is justified by the immersive nature of its delivery, allowing the audience to imagine they were present at the event. Art.
The final struggle of the day was provided by a pair of animate dreams – neither of which was wet – accompanied by a cultist of Nethys, which insisted that he knew better than everyone else. Very little of this battle is worthy of relating excepting the highlights wherein the Ancient Azlanti Hussey did her level best to murder both her lover – the Vankaskerkin – and the Undead Thing. Knowing that suspense creates attachment to a story, This Lowly Lucent elects to not disclose which of those two companions were successfully obliterated, but merely reveal that precisely one of them was.
The doorway to Eigr’s mayoral office was just slightly too small to allow comfortable entrance for his guest. It was the parrot which pushed things over the edge, perched as it was on the visitor’s shoulder, surveying the world about it as if deciding what items, creatures, or people it might find worthy of purchase. Despite the inevitable ducking the doorway imposed on every such visit, Eigr declined to have it replaced as forcing the massive man duck to accommodate his ornamental bird seemed… fair. The visitor – having navigated the spatially insufficient portal – stood fully upright, presenting a fabulous sight. Eigr was accustomed to the man’s eternally bare chest, and the waist-length white tresses of hair which cascaded over broad (avian-encumbered) shoulders. Something just slightly “off” about the man hinted at something other than human in his past. It most likely was the eyes, which betrayed someone who had lived more years than the five or six decades suggested by the man’s tanned, leathery and slightly wrinkled but preserved skin.
“You call me back from Magnimar as if the Heidmarch presentation was a party. Was not. You escape so much hand-shaking and back-slapping. I will say, was so many people you hear about in bard bullshit that I begin to think maybe a few more stories are true than expected. The crazy lady who did that Korvosa stuff with the legendary Rakkil monster was there, for instance. And at least three Chung Po. All this because they dig up dusty shrine for Runelords. But okay, if we don’t encourage young people to stick out neck, where would the world be?”
The assimar didn’t bother to sit as he continued what to outsiders might sound like a report, but was in truth simply conversation between two friends who had survived a war together. Eigr set the tone of the meeting by asking polite questions regarding the celebration of the so-called Sihedron Shrine. The unspoken message between friends being that the recall to Kintargo wasn’t life-or-death urgent. Having exhausted the few interesting details of the presentation upon Magnimar’s Irespan – and of the young heroes who had made the celebration possible – the conversation turned back to business.
“So Abrogail has passed proclamation that she is on the brink of returning our lands into the clutch of Cheliax. So what? The woman is clearly making words to happy up the people of Egorian after the unsanctioned murder spree. Is suspicious that nobody caught for that, yes? Who knew theatre is such a dangerous hobby? Maybe whole story is bard bullshit or maybe whole story is way for Queen of the Shrinking Empire to manipulate people. Reason for her new show of confidence, maybe? But okay, you want me here to find latest spies, so I am here.”
Current affairs addressed, the discussion returned once more back to the topic of the Heroes of the Broken Sihedron.
“That’s what we call them. Did I mention these Heroes are very young? Except the dead one. They call themselves something else. They want everyone to know they are ladies who love ladies. Except the dead one. So juvenile. On the way back here, because duration of wind walk allowed, I took detour to see how they work together. In looking for chunks of Runelord artifact, they went to place called Guiltspur. Yes, I know is on Storval Plateau, not even almost on the way from Magnimar to Kintargo but I was curious.”
The mayor of the capital city of Ravounel – a land freshly seceded from the Chellish empire – poured himself a tumbler of drink, but in place of offering his guest refreshment, merely opened some ornate window blinds, allowing a shaft of brilliant mid-day sun to penetrate the room. The light almost seemed to bend to strike the visitor where he stood. The conspicuous parrot blinked, then buried its head under a wing, as if bored by the retelling of events it had seen firsthand.
“They went to Guiltspur because other parts of the Broken Sihedron told them to. Yes, I know it could be part of ancient plan the Runelords came up with to bring them back after Earthfall. Bring all the parts together, big flash, big boom, bunch of evil wizards. But maybe not. Anyway, I got there only a little bit after the lesbiana and watched. Was amusing. Looked like few dozen giants digging for some reason beside big green pillar, like archaeological site. There was sort of wooden wall and towers, with giants watching for intruders. Then the intruders said words to the giants but I don’t know what because I was far enough they don’t spot me. Unsurprising because giants are giants, it turned into great big fight. Some of the giants found some dinosaurs to ride into battle.”
The story paused briefly while the visitor struggled to explain that he wasn’t making any of it up. Eigr was skeptical at best, but after a time encouraged his guest to finish.
“There were giants, and mastodons, and then there were dead giants and dead mastodons. After that, more giants and more mastodons. Then those were dead too. The young lady-lovers took their time, giving the giants a careful pounding. Except the dead one. He was in some sort of hurry.”
An ageless hand gestured meaningfully in the center of the sun beam, stirring a cloud of dust suspended in the air as if it were a ghost. The two men seemed somberly reflective at this visual reminder of friends they had lost. If only to break the uncomfortable moment, the story resumed, heading towards completion.
“It turned out the boss of these giants was a fire giant. Yes, yes, I say ‘was’ and it’s a big spoiler tells you how the story ends. But getting there is totally worth it. This fire giant was no dummy. When he saw the girl-gaggle was beating his warriors, he came up with a clever plan. He set fire to a bunch of mastodons and herded those down the dig, right at the heroes. I tell you, I was almost ready to delay my return to Kintargo to make a trip to tell everyone they died in a burning stampede, but those kids… they pulled it off. Two of the mastodons dead, the survivor running off onto the plateau like a fireball, and all the giants dead including the boss. It looked like the plan was to try to get into the Guiltspur, so that’s when I headed back home. What I saw… I don’t worry too much about Runelords showing up. Shortage of plaid shirts… that could be a problem.”
Their reunion apparently concluded, the old man agreed to his human friend’s request to try to learn of any truth behind the Chellish Queen’s secret scheme to reclaim Ravounel. Little did he know that – eventually – the plans of that monarch and the deeds of the woman-loving adventurers would blend. Except the dead one.
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