September Short Adventures 30: Other Mother

Preamble

A September of Short Adventuresis an OSR Challenge initiated by Matt over at the Asshat Paladinsblog. You can click on the Moustache Dragon over on the right-handside-bar (just above Features) to learn more about all of this stufffrom Matt directly. All of our 25 (possibly more...) entries areformatted along the lines of what Matt calls the Get Ready, GetSet, Go! format. In a nut-shell, this approach breaks eachadventure into a Title, Three escalating sections of adventuredetails (the Ready section is limited to an elevator pitch only 2sentences...), and a final catch-all section for any NPC notes/stats.The idea is to keep it short, simple, easy to read without any maps,drawings, diagrams or 8X10 glossies. Keep description to a minimum,avoid lengthy exposition, and no casts of thousands -- unless it's aninvading horde of three-eyed orcs or goblins riding purple wombats.

We're also going to aim to keep thingsgeneric, setting agnostic and thus portable or adaptable to anycampaign/setting using the particular rules-set we'll be using in anygiven September Short Adventure such as Mutant Future,Labyrinth Lord, Swords & Wizardry (White Box), etc.

FreeRules

Labyrinth Lord:http://www.goblinoidgames.com/labyrinthlord.html

Mutant Future:http://www.goblinoidgames.com/mutantfuture.html

Swords and Wizardry (White Box):http://www.swordsandwizardry.com/whitebox.htm

September Short Adventure Number 30

Title: Other Mother

Rules: Swords and Wizardry (WhiteBox)

Ready

Manfred Urdrangibar, former student of the ethically-impaired madman Doktor Morbius has continued his explorations into the blackest arts known to science. But to what nefarious end?

Set

Evidence will continue to pile-up like bodies that something very, very wrong is going on out at the ancestral Keep of the Urdrangibar family. The local worgs are seeing to it. They are dragging corpses of missing persons back to the village and leaving trails that lead clearly to the lands of the Urdrangibar family, including the secret clearing where the Loyal Retainers have traditionally done their sordid hostage-buying business with the local bandits. (see Short Adventure 28: Skin Trade)

The elders of the Urdrangibar family have become increasingly concernedand now quite upset at having their secrets revealed. They do not know yet that it is the worgs behind it, and instead might be likely to blame things on the mucking-about of those Player Characters, especially since they are undoubtedly foreigners, not from around these parts, vagabonds and probably have had dealings with those mountain nomads. (see Short Adventure 27: Burning Hatred.) The worgs have used any/every opportunity to help foster this suspicion, going to great lengths to 'help' the PCs with their investigations.

Theghouls of the Lost Valley have put two and two together after interrogating their erstwhile ally Herr Doktor Morbius and they are themselves concerned that Manfred Urdrangibar is up to no good. The kind of 'no good' that could adversely impact them. However, they are an unknown quantity until the events of Short Adventure 29: Sour Note play themselves out.

Go!

First-off the LoyalRetainers of the Urdrangibar family will deliver an invitation to thePlayer Characters. If they pay the family a visit, they will be addressed by Baron Urdrangibar himself and charged with clearing his good family's good name. The baron will use all his guile, wiles andsome rather impressive blandishments, minor titles, trinkets, a few scrolls of obscure but low-level spells and other bribes and inducements to convince the Player Characters that all the disappearances and bad things going on are the fault of Herr DoktorMorbius. If they aren't buying it, the Baron will reveal that Morbius is working with the ghouls of the Lost Valley, going so far as to produce one of Morbius's own misshappen henchmen whom the PCs can interrogate at-will—at the end of the questioning the Baron will insist that the pitiful thing will be destroyed, of course.

The Baron will maintain all pretense of polite behavior and observe all the niceties, including the provision of sumptuous suites for each guest for overnight.

Should the PCs decide to attempt to go exploring the old Keep, they will find ample opportunity to do so just after Midnight as all hell breaks loose and the Keep is attacked first by one group, then another.

In the ensuing chaos the PCs have roughly an hour or two to go exploring the old Keep, to get embroiled in its defense, or to make an escape--or just about anything else they care to do.

The worgs have sent in a team of Prowlers and the ghouls have sent in some agents (with a new and improved flesh golem courtesy of Morbius) to find out just what Manfred Urdrangibar has really been up to...but none of them arefully prepared for the horrible truth.

Whether the PCs join forces with the ghouls or worgs or go it alone is entirely open.

What is inevitable is that these ancient rivals and enemies are going to discover what is going on in Manfred's laboratory, one way or another.

The laboratory is huge, having been carved out of a natural cavern hundreds of years ago to form something akin to a chapel for one of Manfred's ancestors. At the very center of the dimly red-lit chamber is a colossal, writhing mass of flesh that resembles a bizarre combination of a gigantic Venus of Willendorf and the Diana of Ephesus...it is a living, breathing, faceless mass of human flesh that produces copious amounts of fresh, sweet blood for the Elders of the Urdrangibar family who have been vampires for a long, long time.

Manfred adapted the methods he learned from Herr Doktor Morbius to fashion a living amalgamation of parts, pieces and even whole bodies in order to create the huge fleshy abomination that he has taken to calling the 'Other Mother.'

The pseudo-golemic 'Other-Mother' is Manfred's crowning achievement, and it might have enabled his family to forgo their predatory ways...but alas the Keep is under attack and the ghouls and worgs will quickly realize that this blasphemous perversion of flesh and blood could over turn everything if it is not stopped immediately. They will probably do everything possible to make sure that one of their team gets out to carry word to their faction, the rest will attack the abomination with everything they can bring to bear.

Will the ghouls cooperate with the worgs or PCs to destroy the 'Other Mother?'

This is a perfect time for some well-rolled and well-played Reaction checks, charisma usage, and convincing arguments on the part of the Player characters...

Manfred will hide behind the towering tumorous body of his unholy creation and not engage the PCs in combat. He instead will spend his time gathering up his notes and papers to keep them away from the intruders. The Other Mother will defend him with Her bulk, tentacles, tumorous masses, and those nasty clone-spawn that She can disgorge from time to time after swallowing a victim or two. She is possessive and very dedicated to Manfred's well-being and will do everything in Her considerable power to protect him from the intruders and especially those unwashed and ill-mannered Player Characters.

Every 2d4 turns another group of 1d4 random attackers will enter the chamber and join the fight until the 'Other Mother' is finally destroyed once and for all. You can also throw in an Angry Mob of villagers, if you like. This is a climactic show-down and the culmination of all too many plots, schemes and nefarious plans all going down in flames at once.

Once the ersatz group of 'heroes' are on the verge of destroying the 'Other Mother,'it will use its last dying breath to extrude a winged polypous spawn that will envelop Manfred in a gooey embrace and attempt to carry him away from here on buzzing almost hummingbird-like wings. If the group manages to trap or kill the flying polyp-thing, it will disgorge 2d4 clone-spawns of Manfred that will run away in different directions, each one using secret passages, trap doors, or whatever else is within reach to beat a hasty escape.

Some version of Manfred Urdrangibar will most likely continue...as will a new and improved form of the Other Mother...but that is a problem for another day.

After Destroying the Abomination
Once the Other Mother is destroyed, it's just a matter of cleaning-up a few dozen vampires and their minions. Killing-off the remaining Loyal Retainers who will never surrender, never flee, never give-up. Sorting out the ghouls, dealing with the loot-crazed bandits, avoiding the torch-wielding Angry Mob, and noticing that the worgs are gone -- or are they?

If the flying polyp-thing escapes, just where will it take Manfred?

Will he continuehis blasphemous experiments? Almost certainly...

Will any of his clone-spawn also escape? Will they then take up his insane experiments as they slowly come into possession of Manfred's memories and warped genius? Almost definitely...

What comes next? I shudder to think...

Loose Ends

The Urdrangibar Family Elders are all vampires (there are approx. 2d6 of the things), and they didn't get this old and powerful without knowing when to cut losses and wait out a temporary set-back, and for a practically immortal undead, even the sacking of their family's Keep is just a momentary inconvenience. It is very likely that at least one of the Elders foresaw some of what is happening and has prepared contingency plans. These are very old vampires, and they each have at least ten levels in at least one class, probably a spell-casting one...so they are not going to be easy to take down and will not submit to this accumulation of rabble and opportunists. They will withdraw, abandon the field and bide their time so that their revenge will be all that much more sweet and terrible when it comes...so now the Player Characters have made enemies of some nigh-immortal undead sorcerers with a real grudge against them...


And you thought that the worgs could get spooky and manipulative...

The rest of the family are most likely to pretty much get killed by all these enemies in one place at one time, though you might have 1d4 survive just to keep the family name alive...


The elders might have some sort of back-up plan for this particular contingency as well, and they still have loyal agents and allies in the surrounding regions, so this could get interesting and complicated as still more rivals and former allies seek to profit from the Urdrangibar family's fall, while supporters and followers try to restore them or protect them until they can rally those forces still loyal to them for a come-back...this is just the start of all sorts of fun stuff!

The Baron Urdrangibar will never surrender despite the odds, and most likely fall in the midst of defending his beloved Keep. If so, then it is suggested that his body will not be recovered and some small group of 1d6 Loyal Retainers carry away their beloved Baron to some secret crypt out in the mountains, perhaps in another hidden valley where the rest of the Urdrangibar family have their tombs, etc. He will not be taken prisoner, as the few personal guards he has will make sure that his body never falls into enemy hands. At least one of his personal retinue is a full vampire, so in a worst case situation, the vampire will assume gaseous form or change into a bat-form large enough to carry off the Baron. If however, the PCs are able to prevent this from happening, they will find that having the Baron's body on their hands will prove a dire challenge in its own right--it will serve as a weirdness magnet, attracting all sorts of sycophants, followers, minions, slaves, and followers, even cultists will arise who worship the Baron...all of them intent on recovering the body and resurrecting the Baron. So, if the PCs do succeed in preventing the Baron's removal from the scene...it won't be an easy victory, and it will lead to a lot of skullduggery, conspiracy and worse.


But then, that makes it all that much more fun...

Notes / NPCs

GhoulAgents(3d4) [HD 2; HP 12; AC 6[13]; ATK 1 claw; Move 9; Save 17; CL/XP:3/60; Special: Immune to Sleepand Charm,Save or be paralyzed for 3d6 turns.] Note: Each wears a bone ring thatallows it to move about in daylight under the guise of its mostrecent victim. These agents of the ghouls have infiltrated the Keepand are seeking answers that they are not prepared to discover.

Flesh Golem Mark II(1d4) [HD 12; HP 88; AC 7[12]; ATK 2 axes; Move 10; Save 9; CL/XP24/2,000; Special: Only lightning(which heals the thing), fireand cold spells (onlyslow it down) affect it, and you need a +1 or better weapon to harmit.] This is one of Morbius's new-models and wields a pair ofscythe-bladed war axes and obeys any command from the ghoulscompletely and literally.

WorgProwlers (1d4)[HD 4; HP 20,20,18,18,16,15,14,12; AC 6[13]; ATK 1 Bite; Move 18;Save 15; CL/XP: 4/120] Note: These creatures are supernatural andhave been trying to steer the PCs toward some sort of confrontationat the Keep in order that they might disrupt Manfred's work on theflesh golems.

WorgHybrids (2d4)[HD 4; HP 20,20,18,18,16,15,14,12; AC 4[15]; ATK 1 weapon/spell; Move9 (14 mounted); Save 15; CL/XP: 12/220] Note: These creatures aresupernatural and are the elite shock troops that the worgs have beendeveloping in order to face the threat of Manfred's flesh golems.They are all equipped with a random variety of +2 weapons and cast1d4 random spells.

LocalBandits (4d6) [HD 3; HP 14 on average; AC 6[13]; ATK 1 weapon;Move 10; Save 15; CL/XP: 4/80; Special: +1 to hit worgs, move withouttrace through the woods, move silently as a thief.] The bandits areextremely upset over the way that the Urdrangibar family have cut themoff from any further dealings, so they have come to raise trouble andmake mischief. It is a matter of pride to them – they've served thefamily well and loyally for centuries. Now they are drunk, angry, andstirred-up by worg-cultist agitators.

TherioclastTroopers(6d10) [HD 3+1; HP 12 on average; AC 6[13]; ATK 1 weapon; Move 12;Save 16; CL/XP: 4/80; Special: +2 on Saves vs lycanthropy] Grim anddour warriors who might be either Humans, Dwarves, Elves orHalflings. Studded-leather armor, crossbow (with a mix of silver andiron headed bolts), silver-headed hand-axe or blessed scythe,rune-engraved short-sword and skinning-dagger. These are hard-bittenprofessionals who exterminate shapeshifters and each one has a 10%chance to spot one outright. Someone has delivered incontrovertibleevidence to Somber Jill that the Urdrangibar family are up tounspeakable things and she is not losing a single minute in attackingthem all out...

SomberJillis their leader. She is a 10^thlevel Fighter/Magic-user of indeterminate descent and no tolerancefor shapeshifters whatsoever. She wears blessed chainmail, carries aflaming sword and the silver-headed hand-axe and crossbow (withsilver-headed bolts). Adjust her stats to best present something of achallenge to your players, but not an overwhelming one. Her CHAR isat least 15, otherwise her other stats are all open to yourinterpretation. (We might further develop her if there isinterest...)

OtherMother(1) [HD 12; HP max. (regenerates 2 pts/turn); AC 9[10]; ATK 1Slam/Engulf/Spew; Move 0; Save 7; CL/XP: 14/26,000; Special: Slamattack has 25% chance of adhering for follow-up Engulf attack, Saveor be swallowed and be cloned within 1d4 turns, Spew does acid damageas per Black Dragon, spawn minion-clones from swallowed opponents.]Every opponent swallowed by the Other Mother serves as a template forit to clone fresh minions, each new clone that gets spawned causes3d6 damage to the victim until they reach zero hp at which point theyare absorbed/digested and no longer clonable. The clone-spawn servethe Other Mother with complete disregard for their own well-being andemerge completely naked, but will have spells available to them ifthe swallowed victim had spells memorized or available. Theclone-spawn only have 3 HD unless they are able to survive longenough to better integrate the memories/abilities of the victim, aprocess that takes several days but produces an exact replica of thevictim that serves the Other Mother with total loyalty.

ManfredUrdrangibar(1) 6^thlevel wizard with a focus on golem-making, flesh-working, and veryfew (if any) attack spells. This isn't his fight. He never reallywanted to do things quite this way. They made him do this, or sohe'll loudly declare. The Other Mother will see to it that he gets toescape and carry on his work elsewhere, away from his family'smeddling and all these enemies who don't appreciate his genius.

Other Mothers' Little Helper (Flying Polyp-Spawn) (1) [HD 6; HP 36 (regenerates 1/turn); AC 9[10]; ATK 1 sting; Move 120 (extremely maneuverable flight); Save 13; CL/XP: 12/600; Special: requires +1 or better to hit due to speed and agility in the air.] Sting can either cause 3d6 damage, paralysis for 2d6 turns, or impregnate victim (irregardless of gender) with a clone-cyst that will grow rapidly (in about 3d4 turns) into a full-grown clone that serves the Other Mother with complete loyalty (unless they make a Save and are Confused for 1d4 turns after which they have some really difficult identity issues...). The clone-cyst will cause 2d4 damage per turn until it is killed, removed or gives birth. All damage to the cyst is shared with the host on a 1 for 1 basis. Removal of the cyst takes 1d4 turns and inflicts double damage on the host and they must make a Save or have a small fragment of the thing lodge inside them and go dormant for 1d100 days...

Clone-Spawn of Manfred (2d4) [HD 3+1; HP 14; AC 9[10]; ATK 1 fist/weapon/spell; Move 9; Save 16; CL/XP: 4/80; Special: has 2d6 random spells, casts all spells as though 6th level despite current hit dice, carries all of Manfred's memories and a few 'upgrades' courtesy of the 'Other Mother,' including regeneration (1 hp/turn) and a form of parthenogenic reproduction as well as the seed-spores of a new Other Mother...] 

LoyalRetainers (3d4) [HD 6; HP 36 on average; AC 4[13]; ATK 1 weapon;Move 10 (30 when mounted); Save 13; CL/XP: 4/80; Special: +2 on Savesvs magic, regenerate 1 HP per turn unless burned, freely cast Charmin place of an attack.] Tall and emaciated-looking, the LoyalRetainers are elegant in their traditional finery and carry +2 curvedlong swords and an array of secondary weapons includingcuriously-crafted composite short bows dating back to thesemi-mythical hordes of an ancient conqueror who once dominated thisarea as part of a vast, now vanished empire that is credited withhaving driven-out the serpent people. They are old, very old andsmell like catacombs even in the brightest daylight. Most suspectthat they are not really human...

TheLoyal Retainers will arrive every 2d4 turns until a total of 120 have beendestroyed. None of them will retreat, surrender or parley.

Bujilli: Episode 92

Previously...
Bujilli has entered the Farm Market in search of something...

Leeja and Mishka have followed Bujilli's trail and have discovered something that they might not want to find them...

Bujilli was soaked to the skin from the cool spring rain. He didn't care. It was time to look for some answers.

Ever since coming to this place he had been confronted with one horrific thing after another. But it wasn't the monsters that troubled him. He'd grown up around demons and Yeren. No. It wasn't the monsters that bothered him. It was the people.

He looked at the people moving about the blue-tiled walls and market stalls. Tall, thin women in narrow leather smocks riveted with plates of salvaged metal were fighting with a recalcitrant Tripod they had rigged to hold up their awning. They were selling massively hypertrophied fruits, mostly berries. Across from them a fat old man in a heavily stained green raincoat sat on his stool puffing on a pipe and ignoring them He has crates of various edible roots, all packed in clean creamy sand and well out of the rain under an almost origami-like arrangement of rusty sheet-metal. Farther along were a pair of fungal-haired children peddling mushrooms, oblivious to the cool rain. A family of refugees, driven from Karlogne during the bombing and burning, were setting-up their wagon to show off baskets of tree-nuts, recently dug-up truffles, fragrant herbs, bundles of rushes from the Low Marshes, and a few just-shot ducks.

Bujilli wondered at the diversity and abundance of food-stuffs on display in the market. He saw a hunchback searing strips of pork hacked off of the boar carcass dangling beside him. A woman in antique yellow metal armor used her ancient blunderbuss to point to the chalk-scrawled menu set next to her neatly patched carnival tent. A child on stilts ran past in pursuit of a flock of pigeons. Haggard veterans with any number of limbs replaced with zinn prosthetics were hawking baked goods, candies, exotic fruits, meat pies; whatever they could get cheaply enough to make it worth trying to re-sell from one or the other box, crate, bucket or bag strapped across their chests and hanging off their bandoliers and belts. A matchgirl screamed as she set her hair on fire only to have it snuffed out by the rain. An oneirist, the 'great Mandroni of Ikrapor' according to the garish placard set before his badly-arranged yurt (Bujilli knew quite a bit about yurts). The Great Mandroni offered a wide selection of services ranging from the Repair of Reputations to the Distillation of Madness, Taming of Nightmares, and Dentistry. His price list included entries for curing bed-wetting, baldness and something called scroufula and thrush. Bujilli scratched his head; he thought that a thrush was a bird, not a disease. He found himself surrounded by various goblins who screeched at him to buy something as their brethren cajoled the crowd to come taste their fruits and buy their produce, all while the 'Great Mandroni' snored loudly from within his leaky yurt. A brief visualization of the first steps in the Oneiric Bubble spell kept the goblins from hassling him, though they did make rude gestures and one of them cast aspersion on his parentage in poorly inflected Etrurian. The goggle-eyed goblin went pale and ran away once he realized that Bujilli could understand Etrurian. With a laugh Bujilli left the goblins to their commecial racket. He was enjoying himself and wasn't inclined to get into a tussle with some minor nightmare-spawn.

Refugees squatted around makeshift camp-fires, some glaring at passersby and others making people welcome in the hopes of selling them something, anything; Feral Children and Street Urchins ran through the crowd, some playing others working; Wretched derelicts and Patchworkers shambled about, some looking for an alternative to Black Liquor, others trying to sell their dubious wares to unsuspecting farmers; Accursed Poets and desperate street performers duelled for the best corners from which to ply their trde; a singularly despairing hunger artist glared disapprovingly at three beautiful Eloi sharecroppers; Murkim collectors hastily tried to readjust their tarpaulin to protect their pails of scrapped lichens,clipped- ferns and gutter mussels; Tsugri gleaners sullenly sat behind a jumbled pile of bundled stalks and twigs and half-dried shoots; burly and well-armed farm kids entrusted by their parents with wagons heaped with the first fruits of the early harvest were hollering and arguing with their neighbors. The Candymen tended to avoid the farm-kids--they'd been warned about Hard Candy and weren't afraid to shoot or stab the dealers on sight.

No horses. Fodder golems dragged heavily-laden travois along the cobblestones. Pack-geese waddled under loaded panniers and penguins in harnesses pulled small wagons. Tripods of various sizes and types carried bundles, boxes and crates to and fro. But nowhere was there a horse to be seen. He over-heard some chess-playing owl-faced strixin who said that the nomads would be sending along the first mule-trains in another week or so. They always brought loads of loot into the city in pursuit of mates, wives and concubines. Their arrival was late this year. Flooding had kept them from making it to the Spring Revels. There'd be a second 'Un-Revel' when they got into town. Bujilli moved on from their position under a large pink umbrella only to jump out of the way of an electric tractor driven along at breakneck speed by a drunken morlock who was cussing up a storm and shaking his mailed fist at the balky, bulky slow-shambling mass of some kind of pack mollusc, or maybe it was some kind of tunicate, one of the ponderous creatures captured in the Kalaramar Drifts and used as beasts of burden. He had heard the phrase that only a fool sent a horse into Wermspittle; the people would eat the thing before it could make it wherever it was going. Now he believed it.

Bujilli kept moving. Always watching. It shocked him deeply to see so much food being made available after such a hard winter. Where he grew up the major harvests were all in the autumn, right up to the onset of winter, not in the spring. Sure, one would find morels, other fungi, even some of the early shoots and ferns were best gathered right as the snow was leaving, but he had never seen anything quite like this before.

Fresh-caught cellar fish, moose jerky, boiled antelope meat, salted frogs, roast insects bigger than his arm, a hundred varieties of jellied werms, peculiar eggs in brine or some other solution, pigeon, ducks, pheasant, geese...he walked past stalls, wagons, impromptu displays, rickety-looking wooded racks weighed-down with things for sale, hastily thrown-down blankets covered with a curious potlatch of mis-labelled spices and curious delicacies. He made his way to the end of the market. It was incredible how much was jammed into that space. All of it rolled, dragged or carried in by those eager to sell to the winter-weary and desperately hungry people of Wermspittle.

He had been told that most of the sellers were from the farm enclaves. Heavily fortified ancestral settlements where old clans raised crops and herds and flocks...those that survived the annual onslaught of winter and the biters, wailers, and worse things that came with it. It was a grim thing to spend a winter fighting for your life against the wandering hordes and strange mobs that drifted in from the wastelands, or from the burning cities and ghost towns. Yet here they were; healthy, robust young people moving about with confidence and well-maintained weapons, going about their business as though they'd been doing it all their lives.

The Low Lands were contaminated, tainted with ancient weapons and old diseases. Anyone who lingered over-long in those places became sterile and eventually they went mad and in some cases became one of the horrid tings that plagued the enclaves every winter. The farmers sent their children into Wermspittle every spring like everyone else in the surrounding area. Like Lemuel had been sent. He wondered how Lemuel was doing, if he was healing, regaining some essential part of his humanity, however little Bujilli had been able to help salvage.

The he felt it. Lemuel. The connection they shared was too deep to deny. Lemuel was in trouble. Needed help.

Bujilli stood off to the side of a gaudily-painted wagon of radishes and considered what he should do...

---

* Lemuel first appeared in Episode 21, fought with Bujilli in Episode 22, collapsed in the throes of a hideous transformation brought on by abuse of Hard Candy in Episode 23, was lent a helping hand by Bujilli in Episode 24, became something of a 'blood-brother' to Bujilli in Episode 25. We've seen Lemuel off and on since then. He seems to have made some significant progress in becoming more human and less a shapeless, loathsome mass of corruption...

Meanwhile...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

A terrible screaming erupted from the street below.

Three voices. Six. A dozen. All of them in direst torment.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

The building shook. Windows rattled and cracked. Somewhere a mirror shattered onto the floor.

Mishka scuttled back from the window, shaking with a soul-deep revulsion. She looked right into Leeja's eyes; "We either run. Or we fight."

The building lurched. They were on the fifth floor and the whole place was rattling like a doll-house being redecorated with a sledgehammer.

"We run."

The door fell off its hinges as they passed under the lintel. The railing around the central stairs collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris. Sections of the rotted railing from the floors overhead were crashing down one after another. More doors fell off their hinges. There wasn't any more glass left to fall out of the windows; it was all broken and underfoot. Dust rolled through the place like smoke.

aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

They turned away from the stairs and headed to the back of the building. The fire escape. Three flights up, five down. They hurried up the wrought iron steps to the roof. The alley below was mounded with debris and garbage.

"Now what?" Mishka looked at Leeja accusingly.

"We look for another roof and we jump. Then we do it again. And again. Until we finally get away from whatever that thing--"

AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

"Scheiss! Just do what I do. follow, but don't hesitate." She turned and ran off to the edge of the mostly flat tenement roof. Nothing within easy reach in that direction. She went to the left. Another alley. The next building over was lower, but the roof was covered with Red Weeds. She ran over to the right. That building was two stories taller, but she felt that they could make it into one of the open windows. If they got a running start.

"We'll need to run right up to the edge, then jump for all your worth."

"The window?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure I can make it. But I'll try--I'm not staying here."

Leeja nodded once. Gathered up her courage, took a few deep breaths and ran. Leaped. Her hair whipped and flickered through the air like ivory flames trailing an arctic comet. Her foot snagged on the ledge. But she pulled herself past the window and took up position so as to help Mishka across.

The girl didn't make it.

Leeja lunged. Her hair whipped out. Snarled around Mishka's arms and yanked her through the window.

Mishka crumpled to the filthy floor. Leeja released her. Shook out her hair. Looked about the place.

The sweet stink of corruption was overpowering. The carpets were sticky with mostly dried black fluids. There was blobs of soggy plaster all over the floor, more and more of the stuff the farther in they went. The ceiling was sagging, bulging downwards with the wet mess of a Loathsome Mass leaking through the floor-boards above.

They avoided the worst of the detestable rot and corruption and headed for the nearest door. It opened onto a corridor. They ran down the corridor to the end and looked about for another window. No convenient roof was in reach. They ran to the left in search of a stairwell. Instead they found a yellow metal cage suspended off of a small balcony-like platform that had been retro-fitted into the place as an elevator overlooking an atrium or enclosed greenspace. The skylight overhead was grimed over and only let a few rays of sunlight in. They entered the cage and pushed the button for the ground level.

The cage jolted. Cables clattered and gears rattled. It descended at a stately pace.

They spotted some shaggy, dog-snouted figures with spears or pruning hooks moving around three floors below.

Leeja tried to stop the elevator. The emergency stop didn't work. It kept going down.

With luck it would pass by the floor with the shaggy people.

Muishka pulled out her mother's pepperbox pistol and a wickedly serrated and wavy-bladed gutting knife. She was a Wanderer--they bought and sold luck, but rarely indulged in it themselves.

Leeja watched as the elevator continued downwards...maybe they could slip past unnoticed...the elevator didn't make that much noise...

One of the shaggy folk barked and pointed to the descending cage.

"Damn dog-mounting Voormis." Mishka cursed.

Bujilli can continue to explore the Farm Market, or he can try to connect with Lemuel...or he could drop everything and go to help Lemuel...or maybe stick around and wait for Leeja. Or maybe one of you clever readers has an even better suggestion, in either case I'd love to hear your opinion, vote or recommendation.

Leeja and Mishka seem to have escaped whatever was demolishing the building they were in, but now they've run into a pack of Voormis. So now we'll need Initiative Rolls, Reaction Rolls, and it's up to you readers whether Leeja and Mishka attack, parley, or flee--or do something else.

Initiative: Roll 1d6 each for (1) Leeja, (2) Mishka, (3) The Voormis, and (4)That other thing lurking in the shadows.

Reaction: Roll 2d6, and check the result against the Monster Reaction Table on p. 52 of Labyrinth Lord.

As always, if you have questions or suggestions let me know in the comments, or via email.

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

---

Previous                                Next

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

---

Starting Page  |  Central Index

---

About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

---

Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

---

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

---

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Bujilli: Episode 11

Previously...
Last episode we left Bujilli facing both a bizarre creature imprisoned within a sorcerous trap and a wounded Dreamsnail. Quickly dispatching the enraged mollusc, Bujilli has collected a few odds-and-ends for his pack, just like his Uncle would have expected him to do. The Dreamsnail's wicked, sharp teeth might make good arrow heads or one might serve as a pendulum, perhaps. He would sort it all out once he reached somewhere a bit more safe.

Let's dive back in, shall we?

Movements Both Subtle and Malevolent
Bujilli took stock of his surroundings.  He wiped the last of the Dreamsnail's blood off of his hand axe and then pulled a water-skin off of his pack in order to wash the sticky, oily residue off his hands. The water-skin was strangely discolored in places. The seams along one side looked bloated, swollen. He sniffed it. Dreamsnail blood had spattered the water-skin. It looked like it was contaminated. For a moment Bujilli stared at the thing, then he shrugged pragmatically and washed his hands. There was a distinctive rainbowy effect where the light coming off of the entrapped monster on the dais shimmered across the water. It was definitely contaminated.

His hands as clean as they were likely to get, Bujilli re-sealed the water-skin and considered his options. There was a chance that this stuff might be useful, in the right circumstances. The Dreamsnail had emerged from an Oneiric Vortex...it was only partly real. that meant that the water was now not quite factual or actual itself any more. There were people who explored such profound philosophical distinctions through magic and other disciplines. The strange new fluid within his tainted water-skin might fetch a decent price, should he find a suitable buyer. Grinning like a small child, Bujilli marked the tainted water-skin and replaced it to the back-most grommet on his pack's frame. Just to be sure, he doubly-bound the top-plug so he didn't accidentally drink from it.

Things were looking up. If he ever got out of this place alive, there were some good things to peddle or barter. His Uncle would have been satisfied. Instead of the customary beating, he'd very likely have gotten a bowl of gruel, maybe even some weak beer or vinegary wine to sip. Bujilli held no illusions about his upbringing--it had been hard, brutal and treacherous, but it had prepared him for a life his Uncle could never lead and adventures none of his kin could even imagine.

Something was wriggling in the mud towards the Eastern passageway.

Bujilli snapped out of his reverie--the juices from the Dreamsnail seemed to have had a slight dazing effect after all. He felt like he had just woken up. He pulled free his tulwar and and examined the mud half-way across the room from him. tiny sparkles glistened within the mud, as though a great quantity of metal filings were mixed into the sticky mire. It had an oily consistency, thick and glutinous, very unappealing, unsavory.

Wriggling. He could detect a slight wriggling movement close by the entrance to the passage leading Eastwards and slight upwards. The shimmering light given off by the Thing That Watches showed that the passage went on for a good ways before anything noticeable from this position intersected with it.

Another wriggling movement. this one was much closer. It reminded him of eels. Squirming eels wriggling in the viscous mud. A terrible smell began to roll out from the Eastern passage. Bad gas. It made Bujilli's eyes water and his nostrils burn. Something must have just recently stirred up a lot of rancid, rotting muck and mud back there. The smell was fetid and foul and incredibly strong, which made him think it was a fresh development. Something was going on over there, and it involved or at least affected the 'eels,' whatever they might really be.

The notion of wading into the mud to fight eels while slipping around or falling just didn't appeal to Bujilli. He withdrew away from the edge of the mud and took another look back South, towards the way he entered this chamber, and the Thought Wall that he had left in-place to guard against the mind-numbing effects of the Oneiric Vortex.

He recalled the empty room and the other space, the one that had a tunnel or burrow of sorts dug right into the spot where the wall and floor met, as though the angle of that junction was somehow essential to the thing that dug its way into that room. Whatever it had been, the stale ophidian scent that came from the hole was not terribly appealing. Bujilli had seen gluttonous pythons gobble-up three or more Almas at a time as they tried to wriggle through the reptile's own narrow passages. With a shiver Bujilli once more thanked the spirits that he was blessed with a talent for finding things that his Uncle valued so that he wasn't forced into hunting pythons in their own dens any more than he had already done. It still made him uncomfortable. It was like deliberately crawling right down the gullet of a waiting beast. Once, it had turned out to be just that. But Bujilli had earned his tulwar by then, and he had butchered the huge serpent from within. He hadn't had a nightmare of being swallowed whole for three years now. The hand-tooled python-hide belt he wore now helped.

No. He wasn't inclined to go mucking around in snake dens any more than he was interested in mud-wrestling with unseen eels. Neither option made much of an impression on him.

The way behind seemed clear. All was fairly quiet. He watched his breath come out like little puffs of steam in the cold air. There was still a slight wriggling motion over in the mud, but it seemed non-threatening, for now.

He had asked three questions of the green Gem that he carried. It had been that same green Gem that had whispered to Bujilli in his dreams of whole other worlds, and grand adventures beyond the rootless wanderings of an illiterate vagabond. The Gem had helped Bujilli to read the scrolls he stole from his Uncle's collection, and those that he had found and never turned over to his Uncle as well. The Gem had changed Bujilli's life in many ways, but the most dramatic was how it had opened his eyes to the possibilities so few of his mother's people would or could ever imagine. He was a dreamer, and the Gem had used that to motivate and manipulate Bujilli into pursuing its alien agenda.

Bujilli was going along with the plan, for now.

But he had no illusions about this whispering green Gem--it was an alien intelligence and it was only helping him in so far as it would help it. The Gem had dreams of its own, ambitions and schemes that it wanted Bujilli to take part in. So far, it had been worth it. So far. Listening to the Gem had worked out fairly well. So far. Bujilli had learned several useful new spells. He had learned a number of strange secrets and gained the use of a number of languages he otherwise would never have learned from his Uncle. But most of all, Bujilli had learned how to question everything, and not just how he was raised or the cruel ways of his Uncle, but to ask questions of everything, including the aims and goals of the green Gem.

The Gem had advised him to go 'Forwards. Onwards. Downwards.'

So be it.

Bujilli adjusted his pack, gripped his tulwar----

SSskKkRrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeCch!!!!

Sounds of violence explode from the Southern passage.

THUD!

Something huge and heavy just struck the walls behind Bujilli. Dust was sifting down from the ceiling. He strained to listen closely. There was some sort of movement or commotion going on back in the room with the burrowed hole in the floor. Something was going on back there. Whatever made that massive thud had to have been much bigger than any Almas-gobbling python Bujilli ever ran into as a child.

For an instant Bujilli hesitated -- should he go and check out the noise behind him or should he move on, perhaps place the translucent, slightly out-of-phase portcullis between him and whatever made all that racket?

People who make loud noises in places like this tended to travel in groups. At least as a rule of thumb. Bujilli had been raised to sneak in, grab a few things, and sneak back out without disturbing traps or attracting undue notice. Low-landers and Yeren were notorious for marching in like soldiers on leave and just smashing things until they found gold or jewels or good things to eat.

Bujilli padded over to the Northern passage as quietly, yet quickly as he could move. He positioned himself in front of the portcullis in the North, with the Thing That Watches squarely at his back to obscure him from sight should anyone enter the room from the South.

He sighed, letting a billowy cloud of breath curl upwards from his lips. The portcullis was translucent, almost transparent. It was slightly mottled in places with patches of corrosion that seemed to almost clutch at thin air. He had seen things like this before. It meant that the weird energies surrounding the imprisoned creature at the center of this room had been subtly affecting the metal of the portcullis for a very, very long time.

Bujilli observed the translucent bars as they cycled in and out of phase rhythmically. It wasn't so much like a heart beat as it was more akin to waves washing upon a beach, like the Bitter Sea that his Uncle liked to skry through his obsidian shewstone that had been mounted within a clockwork-orrery of delicately nested  gold and platinum hoops and rings.

One distinct advantage of being scrawny like Bujilli was that he could usually fit through a lot of tight spaces that burlier, bulkier robbers and desecraters couldn't get past.

But this time it wasn't going to work. The bars were just a little too close together and he did not trust touching them. Things that cycled in and out of phase like that could drag along portions of whatever came into contact with them, or they could trap him within a specially-prepared anteplane. He'd grown up pilfering trinkets and treasures from the ancient tombs of dead sorcerers. He knew some of the old tricks these vile old spell casters had used to confound and kill off trespassers, rivals and even their own descendants.

He wasn't completely sure, but the portcullis seemed to be sliding along the Aethyrial axis, which was a far more common gambit than any of the more exotic options. If he was right, then he had a spell that just might do the trick. If he was wrong...it could get ugly...but it still beat hanging around to get jumped by a bunch of yahoos with delusions of dungeon delving.

Bujilli centered himself and cast the Protection From Aethyrial Intrusions spell. It was another spell that the Gem had taught him, but it seemed to be the best option he had available. The spell enfolded Bujilli in a sphere of scintillating light. things got quiet. softer. Indistinct and smoother. He reached out to the portcullis and prepared himself to jump across and through the barrier in one strong, decisive leap. It would either work or it'd probably kill him. But the Gem wouldn't tell him to go 'forwards' if it didn't think he had the means to make the assay. Or at least so he hoped.

One cycle. Two. Thr--

Bujilli jumped for all he was worth.

He rolled back to his feet on the other side of the barrier.

It had worked.

He had beaten the old portcullis.

Now all he had to do was follow the corridor onwards. Downwards. Northwards.

He tried to suppress a giggle when he heard the screams and shouts of three or four different voices and the tell-tale squealching noise of a group of heavily encumbered people slipping and sliding around in thick mud.

Those weren't eels after all. Those were tentacles. Ropy, fungoid limbs. Bujilli knew he had made the right decision once he heard the distinctive raspy-gasping belching and grunting of a Var'Quom, what the Low-landers called a 'muck raker.' Whomever it was that had come in after Bujilli was in a lot of trouble. Those fungal creatures were ferocious and much feared among his fellow crypt-kids.

With a shiver of distaste and the lingering taste of bad memories of being chased through night-black mazes by grumbling, grunting fungal things, Bujilli picked-up his pace and headed onwards. Downwards. Northwards. away from the mud the blood and the fear that filled the room behind him.

Whomever they were back there, he wished them luck...

So...does Bujilli keep on keeping on, heading on into the depths towards his destination and destiny, or does he turn back and observe the carnage behind him?

Does he attempt to go to the rescue of these unknown adventurers?

It's not uncommon for rival tomb-looters to patiently wait for the demise of their competitors and then to swoop in on those who survive an ambush to finish the job, or to just pick-over the remains.

Decisions, decisions--but in the end--

You Decide!

---

Previous                                                  Next

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

---

Starting Page  |  Central Index

---

About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

---

Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

---

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

---

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Bujilli: Episode 56

Previously...
Bujilli finds himself right beside Leeja as she is subjected to the Entrance Exam. He could have stayed well out of it, having had his own Exam deferred due to his earlier actions (Ep.24,25,and 26). Abandoning Leeja was not an option he was interested in. He stood beside Leeja. He would fight beside her. Either they made it through the Arena together...or not at all...

Something went bump in the dark. Again. Heavy gears grated. The floor was descending. It felt like the walls were receding. The air grew cold.

"You...you didn't need to do this. Eberhard already gave you a pass..."

"We're not the monsters here. Neither of us. We'll get through this. Together."

Dim red light seethed through the darkness. The walls were farther away now. A fence of hair-thin blades extended a couple of paces out from the walls. The ceiling was obscured by a cloud of tiny, shiny dots. The cracked and cratered sun-sphere loomed overhead, a fitful aura of flames flickered across its surface but radiated no heat.

The floor shifted again. The darkness subsided to a murky reddish dimness.

Bujilli quickly scanned the changes to his surroundings. The space was round now. Hundreds of feet across. Four massive pylons were rising from out of the grit, each one equally spaced around the perimeter. He and Leeja stood at the center of it all.

He looked to Leeja.

"We pick a direction. We either reach one of the safe zones at the wall, or we don't."

He nodded.

Leeja began walking towards one of the pylons. Bujilli matched her pace. Did a quick check of his new weapon, his old stand-bys. He considered options. Which spells might be most useful.

SIZZLE -- Bujilli dropped to one knee. A flurry of his own hair surrounded him. His skin burned. He fought past the pain to erect some kind of defense against the attack.

Chartreuse light spilled off of his Shield spell in greasy gobbets of viscous magical energy. His skin was raw. His hair continued to fall out at a distressing rate. Bujilli spat in anger.

He spotted the Molg. Fat, sluggish; the gellid thing quivered as though laughing. Bujilli shifted his Shield and prepared Magic Missile. That spell dropped from his mind in a flare of imposed panic.

The Fantomist laughed. Her eyes flared mauve behind her white-metal mask. Then she began to cough.

Leeja was using Charnel Breath. The Fantomist screeched in outrage; "How dare you!"

The Molg was beginning to glow with a sparkly green light. Bujilli ran towards the bloated thing. There wasn't time to waste farting around with spells. He drove his hand-axe into the thing's fore-section. Green violence exploded out across the gritty floor of the Arena. It barely missed him. It nearly caught Leeja.

Bujilli hacked the thing once more.

"Wait!" the Fantomist wheezed through the foul black fumes surrounding it.

Bujilli raised his weapon for a third, possibly killing blow.

"Please! Stop!" the Fantomist extended her hands, palms up, empty. Not even a spell simmered on her aura. She was up to something.

"Why?" Bujilli shook more hair out of his eyes. Axe poised. He began to consider his options. He tried to connect with Counsel, the machine etched into his bones. Nothing. Not quite. A dim echo of something muffled or at a distance. Hedrard had told him that something had been done to interfere with his access to Counsel. She accused Idvard of deliberately meddling with it. Of suppressing it.

"My Molg. Don't kill it. Please." the Fantomist came closer.

Leeja laughed: "This is the Arena--"

"I am am a mercenary. No one paid me to fight in this place. I was summoned without so much as a by-your-leave."

"So what?" Leeja scowled.

"Pay me. We're done. Screw these sick bastards and their stupid games."

"You would barter with us? Here? Now?"

"Why not? We can all die anywhere, at any time; why not transact some business instead of mindlessly murdering one another for nothing?"

"Not for nothing--"

"For. Nothing." the Fantomist focused her too-bright mauve eyes on Leeja.

"It is a test--" Bujilli considered the Fantomist's offer.

"Exactly! You're not as stupid as your partner here. Make me an offer. Quickly. Before--"

"What is your price? I carry little in the way of money--"

"Not money. Never money. I can sense interesting things. You carry fragments..."

"Yes. I have some pieces of a crystal skull--"

"Perfect. One decent-sized shard and we're done here."

Bujilli motioned to Leeja. She came over and held her own had-axe over the Molg. It had no mouth. Its whimpers of pain echoed outward telepathically.

He reached into his pouch. Retrieved a rolled-up section of carpet. Felt around for a suitable piece. Worked it past the others until it fell out onto the grit. It shone darkly. Like burned glass. Tempered in screams.

"There. Will that do?"

"Nicely!" she gestured and the shard rose up from the grit and turned end over end. Satisfied, she held out her left hand and the shard flew to her. It hovered a few inches above her up-turned palm.

The Fantomist scribed a dim blue Symbol in the air with her right index finger. It throbbed with unhealthy vigor. The Molg wriggled away from them, towards the pylons. It left behind a nasty discoloration where its blood oozed out onto the floor.

She bowed. Fully. Formally.

Black flames roared forth from her right hand as she charged right at Bujilli.

"Idiot!" she screamed.

Bujilli swung his Shield into place. The black flames scattered before him leaving a smoky, oily residue wherever they touched.

The section of crystal skull sliced through his Shield. It might as well not have been there.

Leeja killed the Molg.

The Fantomist lunged. Bujilli twisted. Dodged. Slipped on the grit.

He could feel the cold, hard weight of the crystal poised before his eyes. About to pierce his skull. To end him.

"NO!" he roared.

Everything stopped. Froze.

Bujilli felt Idvard's spell lodged in his brain. He grabbed it with his mind. Crushed it. The spell collapsed. Took on a crystalline quality. A compressed fractal. He spat it out.

Right at the Fantomist's face.

Turgid gray light blanked out everything.

clink

His hand-axe knocked the crystal shard away.

It fell to the floor and shattered.

The Fantomist stood dumbfounded. Her eyes wide in surprise. Her mouth worked soundlessly.

She fell to her knees.

Pink fumes sputtered from her mouth. Her ears popped. Her eyes ruptured. More pink vapor roiled and boiled out of her head.

She fell forward. Her head broke open like a rotten egg. Pink smoke rose from her curdled brains.

The pylon began to descend back into the grit. Whatever portal had been there was closed now.

"We'd best get moving. If we stay here, in the middle, we'll get out-flanked and attacked on all sides. Better we pick one of the Pylons and hit whomever is there before they come after us."

"Makes sense. Good strategy. Any particular Pylon calling to you?"

"Yes. But we'll go to the next one on the left, that will clear half the Arena, maybe give us some breathing room. At least it'll be less stuff behind us."

Bujilli nodded. Leeja smiled. They both ran towards the next Pylon.

"Machine?" Bujilli whispered half-heartedly as they ran.

System Online

"How many more do we need to fight?" he asked his Counsel.

Initiating Scan Extrapolating From Stated Parameters

Three Active Portals Detected

Query: Initiate Translocative Countermeasures

"We have potentially three others out there." He spat hair out of his mouth. It was still falling out. His skin burned painfully. He didn't want to think what might have happened if he hadn't gotten his Shield spell in place fast enough. All those times he had been made to practice, his Uncle throwing knives at him, had been worth it. He'd only been cut a few times. When he was just learning to cast the spell. His Uncle had been furious, at first, but then he relented. Having some sort of defense like that made him expect more of Bujilli. He used it as an excuse to start lowering him down into the more dangerous shafts and chasms. The ones no one else would try because it was known that centipedes or worse were down there.

Defenses were meant to be used, his Uncle had pounded that into his thick skull, one fist after another, one knife after the other, until finally he had learned how to cast Shield by reflex. Then he learned how to turn it into a weapon. His Uncle was a demanding, brutal, but thorough instructor in the sorcerous arts.

"Yes. One for each Pylon. If they're sticking to standard rules."

"Machine," Bujilli  knew things were very likely going from bad to worse. This was Wermspittle. It could always get worse. They needed help. He desperately wished that he knew how to use his Counsel more effectively. It was a tremendous resource, but he didn't know how to use it properly. Yet. That was one of the things he wanted to learn from Gnosiomandus. One reason he was fighting to gain entry into the Academy in Wermspittle.  He glanced over at the other reason. They kept running. "What is this thing you are suggesting? Explain."

Transparent graphic representations flowed through his field of vision. He smiled. It was a way to shut down portals. If it worked. It depended upon Counsel still being able to contact the Transveyance which was back...beneath Zormur's Palace...on some other world...on the world where he had been born...

"Do it."

Nothing happened.

CLANK

"NO!" wailed a piebald hunchback in grimy chain-mail; "You can't do this to me! I've come too far. Damn you all!"

Two-thirds of a heavy, hollow statue of a pig-shaped figure molded from intensely blue iron lay sprawled across the grit. The edge facing the now descending Pylon was mirror-smooth and glistened wetly as a swirling vortex of sparks and smoke coiled upwards from the ruined construct.

Leeja barreled into the hunchback. He didn't go down. She bounced to the side. Slightly dazed.

"Who are you people?" demanded the hunchback. He snapped free his two-handed sword. It was heavily-built. Serrated. The blade had an oily sheen.

Bujilli grabbed Leeja and pulled her back onto her feet.

He began to attempt to parley--

The hunchback rushed them.

There was no time to debate. Only dodge. Go on the attack.

Leeja slipped to the right. Tried to trip the hunchback with her hair.

Bujilli rushed in under the sword, going low and aiming for a knee.

The two-handed sword slashed downwards. Less than an inch from Bujilli's puggish nose. He had to shift his balance to avoid running himself into the blade. His hand-axe missed it's mark.

Leeja yowled. A swath of her pale, white hair writhed where it lay on the grit. Severed.

She spun rapidly. Kicked the hunchback in the back of his knee. Her hair flared out. Snapped in like a sail at sea. Snapped back out. Blood flew everywhere.

The hunchback laid about him with his mighty sword. Blinded by the raking attack of Leeja's hair.

Bujilli rolled. Came up behind the swinging blade. Jammed his hand-axe into the throat of his opponent--there wasn't room enough for anything fancier.

He pushed. Hard.

The hunchback choked. Brought the sword back at Bujilli. Hard. Leeja jumped out of the way. Bujilli tried to get under it--there was no way to get beyond its reach quickly enough. The blade caught him on the shoulder. He rolled with it, as best he could. Couldn't keep his balance. Slipped.

He saw the blade whirl past him and then make a looping motion and come right back at him. Smooth. Clean. Deadly.

He hung in mid-air. Half-way through his fall. The blade was the only thing that seemed to be moving.

But it wasn't.

Leeja dived in front of the blade...

One down. One still swinging. Two to go.

This is far from over.

Will Leeja survive?

Can they defeat the hunchback?

He has a few tricks up his sleeves...

...such as 1D4 Blue Gems capable of summoning allies...

Time to roll initiative for next episode!

---

Previous                                                      Next

---

Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

---

Starting Page  |  Central Index

---

About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

---

Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

---

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

---

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion