This is a play report for a megadungeon run by my friend bue. I have been told that it contains material from Dyson's Delve.
A protocol transcribed by the dreamer of Kurt's life. Abrupt changes in style, inconsistencies, or complaints about tangents are to be addressed to the Lord of Morphine.
Goodbye, sun. Shine all you want, oh burning orb in the skies. The only shine I care for is the one found deep beneath. I look to my buddy Korbinian as I lift my pack. I signal with a nod that I am ready, and he, the ever-vigilant mage that he is, only returns a smirk, while the hired swords Münze and Schwerthelm prepare torches.
We return to the cave we left but a week ago; the smell of rot and the taste of earth greet us—home sweet home. Ah, what’s that, a familiar noise? A mixture of noise, squeaking, and chattering, known to us individually but novel as a duet. We move carefully through the mountain’s bowels and approach the source of our aural stimulation. Münze notices the drops of sweat on his left hand, how they reflect the flickering light of his torch, and he wonders if this is fear. No, this isn’t fear; I am not afraid, he reassures himself. I am tense because I remember the enormous ferrets, and my employer, Kurt, has promised me wealth beyond my wildest dreams. I have yet to see anything. That greedy bastard.
This might be a death trap. If these ferrets are still here and if they are hungry, we might be just what they are looking for. I love this kind of danger. It makes me feel alive. I am Kurt, the greatest warrior these lands will ever know, I remind myself as I look at the scene before us. A troupe of seven batfolk are wrestling with the three ferrets we observed last week. They are quite capable and don’t seem bothered by the audience. We commend their bravery with a formal applause. I offer them my knife, hoping to gain their friendship. Oh, what a brute I am! Korbinian only shakes his head; the cave dwellers do not hunt these beasts for sustenance, no, their aim is domestication. I apologize profoundly for my ignorance and gain the attention of one of them.
Warrior? You help, the little one articulates in broken trade speech. He reminds us, big! big problem!, and we agree to lend our arms to their cause. The earthworm listening in to our conversation only shakes its faceless head; it disapproves of violence. What does it know? It’s only a figment of my imagination. Begone, worm.
Our new friend leads the willing band of would-be heroes towards where they have traded mushrooms with his kin. Three fire beetles chitter with aggressive joy when they hear about this. The three skitter and race each other, fighting for the right to lead the ambush. The winner sprays a salvo of fire. Münze burns, learning true fear. Schwerthelm remains steadfast but hurt. Korbinian recites one of his metalogical verses and blinds one of the insects. Kurt throws his magical dagger but misses again and again. Korbinian, Schwerthelm, and our guide do not. They squish the pests.
The display of bravery by our batfolk accomplice does not go unnoticed, and we bequeath him Münze's old sword, which he fashions into an improvised glaive of an impressive quality. Münze had a wife, children, and a mistress who all depended on him. How will they survive? Do we owe them compensation? Korbinian reflects on this while I claim the dead man's chain shirt for myself.
Our hireling lies dead, and our new friend has earned himself a nom de guerre. Henceforth he will be called Bill Batmann. Life moves on, and so do we.
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| I have only known Bill for one session but I love him like a son. |
The two guards are happy to see us again but unwilling to join us. Still, we manage to convince them to stand guard as we approach the problem. We observe bat noises of different pitches and an open fire as well as two smaller batfolk, occupied with menial tasks. Through the use of hand signs, I try to signal to them that we are here to liberate them and try to encourage them to rise against their tormentors. This prompts them to run towards us. Their captors do not hesitate and give chase. We retreat with a plan to use the door as a choke point, holding it shut as good as we can. Thump, thump, thump, the adversary’s fist bangs against the door. And then we pull it open just as another hit would have landed. Caught on the wrong foot, the large batfolk squints, visibly uncertain where to swing its mace. We strike, and I miss again and again. My comrades do not, and the beast falls, Bill Batmann gutting it like a fish. We hug the wall, knowing that this was not a lone foe.
A second hulking figure appears in the doorframe, and we strike again. My dagger does not find its target. Bill Batmann gets struck and hits the ground. Thirst for vengeance has never been more justified; the giant is slain.
And as if the gods heard our pleas, Bill Batmann still breathes, though he will need treatment by a proper barber surgeon.
We decide to look beyond the chamber where the beasts resided, before retreating to town, and find their squalid quarters. A locked chest sits in it and mocks us with its weight. Tears in my eyes, fearing for the life of Bill, I take the great axe I have given to Schwerthelm and ready myself to smash it open. Fortunately, my comrade Korbinian is a man who can keep his calm. Without much effort he produces a key he has found by inspecting the table in the same room. He might think Kurt is acting strange. Since when does he care for anything but silver? Schwerthelm definitely seems a little irritated by the warrior’s impulsiveness.
Eventually, the chest is opened, and a large cave truffle worth 500 silver pieces is revealed.
The party hastens back to town, carrying Bill Batmann all the way. A shady surgeon is paid a handsome sum to care for the wounded bat hero. Korbinian convinces Kurt to pitch in for a little widow's fund for Münze's wife. Kurt orders a chain mail to be made for Bill Batmann.
And thus the legend of Bill Batmann begins.
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| An updated map of what we call the Batlands. |
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