Session 203: Of Loot and Legends: The Mimic's Feast

 

Day 11 of Ready'reat CY 576

Hullo, my dears! Come, pull up a chair. The wind howls a frightful tune through the Barrel Marsh tonight, but in here, the fire’s warm and the ale is… well, it’s ale! Vilma’s here, and I’ve got a story for you, fresh as the trout they pulled from the icy creek today. A story of our Saviors, who just blew in with the snow, laden with burdens both seen and unseen.

They’ve been away, you know. Deep in that miserable Barrel Maze, a place of stale air and blood-stained stones. They tunneled their way into a gargoyle’s throne room, bold as you please, and walked away with its hoard! And they weren’t alone. They brought back a friend, a most peculiar fellow named Myr. He’s a mimic, they say, and he’d heard tales of Orlane’s feasts and came bouncing along, eager for a taste. A discerning fellow, that Myr!

But oh, to have been a fly on the wall for what came next! Before they could take a single step toward home, our heroes held a great and ponderous council. You think battles are all swords and spells? Ha! The truest battles are fought against numbers on a page, against the sheer, stubborn weight of the world!

For hours they debated, these mighty adventurers, not of dragons, but of the heft of their gear. "Does my armor count against me?" asked one. "These two daggers and a staff can't possibly weigh seventy pounds!" cried another, wrestling with her magical ledger. It was a sight to see! They measured the weight of a single torch down to a fraction of a pound, argued the proper burden of a gnome-sized shovel versus a man-sized one, and recalculated the load of a week's rations. Every coin, every waterskin, every silken rope was accounted for. Such is the unglamorous truth of heroism, my dears. It is a thing of careful mathematics and strong backs. They know a simple truth I’ve always held dear: you can only carry so much, so you’d best choose your burdens wisely.

And what burdens they chose! Coffers filled with treasure, yes, but also mystery. I saw it all in the flames of the hearth. They opened one box to find not gold, but books! One bound in reptile scales, and another beneath it that snarled like a cornered beast when they tried to lift it! Even Myr the mimic, a knowledgeable sort, claimed those books were from before his time.

They made a wise choice then, a choice many fail to make. They found a king’s ransom in copper—a pile weighing more than 700 pounds—and they left it. They knew its worth wasn’t equal to the effort of hauling it home. A lesson for all of you: not all treasure glitters, and not all that glitters is worth the strain on your soul, or your shoulders.

They returned to us as the sky turned to bruised indigo, just in time for a hot meal. And what a scene it was here at the inn! I was just telling the tale of their encounter with the Fearsome Five—a fine story, if I do say so myself—when in they walked! I gave them a wave, of course. It’s always good to see the subjects of your stories in the flesh.

Their new friend, Myr, proved to be the most cultured mimic I’ve ever seen. He transformed his appendages into a knife and fork and ate his trout with the most polite manners before negotiating his own employment as the inn’s new guard! The villagers were aghast at first, but a polite monster who appreciates good wine is a hard creature to hate.

Now, the threads of fate are pulling at them again. Young Eloin and the fierce Sirius are clamoring to return to that dusty barrow tomb they found. Our heroes, meanwhile, speak of needing training in Hook and appraising the giant black pearl they found, hoping it's worthy enough for a powerful spell. And all the while, a hooded stranger sat in the corner, carving the very story I was telling into the top of Floren’s table. A strange way to keep a history, but who am I to judge?

So, watch them, my dears. Watch our saviors. They think they are just counting coins and feeding horses, but they are writing the next chapter of our story with every step they take. And old Vilma will be right here by the fire, watching and waiting to tell the tale.

Session 202: Negotiating with Dwarves, Mimics, and Treasure

 Day 11 of Ready'reat

Well now, pull up a stool and warm your bones by the hearth. Old Vilma’s got a new tale for you, fresh from the whispers on the wind and the mouths of our own brave adventurers. It’s a strange one, full of echoes and arguments, treasures and teeth, and a friendship forged in the most peculiar of circumstances!

Our heroes—they call themselves the Saviors of Orlane, you know — were deep, deep underground in that cold and dreary Barrowmaze. Not a place for the faint of heart, I tell you. They had just finished a tussle with some nasty gargoyles and were headed back to a room where they suspected a bit of treasure was waiting for them.

But what do they find when they peek around the corner? Not treasure, not yet. They find another group of adventurers staring right back at them! And wouldn't you know it, this other group, led by a haughty elf named Findaloo, calls themselves the Fearsome Five!. This is the first time they have encountered another adventuring party in the Barrowmaze! The world is only so big, I suppose.

A proper standoff it was! Our heroes said they’d slain the gargoyles to earn the treasure. Findaloo’s lot claimed the gargoyles were already vanquished by the power of their deities when they arrived. To prove their valor, our lot pulled out the very heads of the gargoyles they’d slain, including the great leader, Zigbrawl! A fine bit of proof, that. But this Findaloo, slippery as an eel, just scoffs and has one of his friends pull out a tiny vial of acid, claiming they’d defeated a black dragon that had moved in after the gargoyles. A vial of acid! Can you imagine the cheek?

And in the middle of all this was our dwarf, Arn, having a bit of an identity crisis. The other group’s dwarves looked at him, jaw-to-the-floor, claiming Arn Cobblestone had been missing for decades. Forty-five years, they said!. Our Arn insisted it couldn't have been that long — he’d have starved!. But they told him time can get a bit funny in the Barrowmaze. A mystery for another day, that one.

Things got heated. Accusations of being part of the dreaded Band of the Black Hand were thrown about. It all came down to a bit of magic. The noble cleric Armanzi was to cast a spell on Findaloo to see if he was evil. The elf agreed: if he was found to be not evil, our heroes had to let them pass. Armanzi cast his spell, and what did he find? The elf leader was True Neutral, his dwarven friends were Lawful Neutral, their cleric was Chaotic Neutral… but they had a thief with them, a woman named Dazdra, who was Chaotic Evil! Our Norsha gave her a little wink, can you believe it?

The other group left, claiming there was no treasure in the room to begin with. But our heroes are cleverer than that. They searched, and Feno found a small latch, high up on a wall. Behind it? A secret chamber with two massive chests spilling over with thousands of silver and copper coins! So heavy it would take an ox to move it all.

But wait, the story doesn't end there! As they were counting the coins, Feno spotted another latch, in the exact same spot on the opposite wall. This one opened into a larger room, filled with even more promising treasures. But the floor was hollow, dangerously so. As Los, our nimble elven thief, began to spider-climb along the walls to investigate, the entire floor collapsed into a bottomless pit, leaving only a narrow ledge where the treasure sat! Arn was nearly on it himself! A close call!

Los, brave as ever, reached the ledge and began to gather the valuables. But as she did, one of the chests sprang to life! It was a vile mimic, a monster of legend, with a ferocious mouth full of teeth!. It struck poor Los down in a single blow, and she lay there bleeding on the edge of the abyss.

Things looked grim. But then, the strangest thing happened. The mimic spoke!. It wasn't just a monster; it was hungry! It had been forced to guard the treasure by the gargoyles and hadn't been fed in weeks. A deal was struck. Our heroes offered a bottle of fine Orlanian wine in exchange for their friend's life. Nikki, with her plant Fernadette wrapped strangely around her neck, bravely crossed the chasm on a rope to deliver the wine and heal Los.

The mimic, who introduced himself as Myrr, the mimic, was so grateful. Armanzi then used his divine power to create a grand feast for the starving creature. Myrr was so moved by the cleric’s kindness that a holy light enveloped him. He turned to Armanzi, gently touched his hand, and in a flash of divine power, all of the cleric’s spent spells were restored! A blessed mimic! Who has ever heard of such a thing? Myrr has now pledged to leave the dungeon and come back to Orlane with them!

And the treasure? Among the coffers, Armanzi felt a pull to a large brass one. Inside was no gold, but something far greater: the Rebrace of St. Cuthbert, a long-lost holy artifact that attaches to the gauntlet he already bears!.

So you see, a day that began with a bitter argument ended with a blessed meal, a peculiar new friend, and a piece of a holy suit of armor. You never know what you’ll find in the dark, do you? Sometimes it’s a monster, and sometimes… that monster just needs a decent meal and a bit of kindness.