It Begins! Part I

As I sit here, bored and angry at work because I am forced to miss a movie date with two of my friends (one of whom is an incredibly attractive single lady that I wish was in my league), I am forced to study the life choices that have brought me to this point.  Sure, overtime is nice, but so is being able to make it to events that I'm supposed to be hosting!

So, having run out of internet interest (I ceased my porn-viewing activities a little while back; its amazing how much time I spent on the web watching other people having sex...), I was thinking about the next Pathfinder campaign installment that I'll be running.  In doing so, my mind drifted to all the crazy shenanigans my group and I have gotten into in 19+ years of gaming (and yes, as I write this, I am a twentysomething male; I started pen and paper rpgs in 2nd grade).  We had always talked of someone recording our hilarious misadventures and tonight I decided, "well, why not me?"  So, here goes.  As I do not yet have the explicit permission of every individual that I may end up describing in lurid detail, assume all names are aliases. 

One of our more memorable adventures took place in a playthrough of some module Wizards had put out in relation to Undermountain.  Paddy McRuleslawer was playing a Jotunbrood Soul Knife, trying out our freshly acquired Psionics book.  I was running a Dwarven Cleric, because it would be a warm day in Hel before I passed on taking a Dwarf into an ancient Dwarven hold.  The Gobbler, a man well deserving of his pseudonym, was a Duergar Fighter.  That left our DM for that campaign, Jimbo Baggins, running the arcanist, however he insisted that we roleplay gaining his services.

So, we began in a bar (hear me out, it isn't as cliché as it sounds) which contained one of only two known entrances to our destination.  We had all received a vision about some evil presence lurking below the surface and, being level 1 and full of bluster, thought that this was one best left to the authorities. Said lawmen laughed and made us go and investigate anyway.

Knowing that we needed someone to fulfill the spellblitz role, we went to the local Mage guild and sought out one of their number to employ.  Enter Billy the Wizard.  To our advantage, because Jimbo was a lazy DM (as most of us were), Billy the Wizard had spells-as-needed.  This meant that Jimbo was able to pull any spell out of his ass, so long as it was the appropriate level.  Paddy informed him that this was against the rules.  Gobbler and I told him to shut the fuck up and that if the DM wanted to help us out, so much the better.  He quickly saw things our way.

Party complete, we headed back to the bar and tried to get down into Undermountain.  The 'elevator', an open shaft with a metal platform controlled by an 'elaborate' pulley system, was guarded by two immense men demanding payment for use of their services.  Apparently, they were the operators of the 'elevator'.  We tried informing them that the Law was on our side and we had been ordered to explore below for threats.  Said guards laughed and held out their hands anyway.  Peering over the side and seeing that the floor below was well out of the range of my 120' dark vision, I easily calculated that jumping was an unsurvivable proposition.

The party had sunk the majority of our funds into our gear and what little we did have left had gone towards Billy's services.  So we did what any normal party should; we forced Billy to pay the men in order to get below.  Jimbo grumbled a bit but we promised his NPC an equal split of the treasure.  The PC in him appeased, Jimbo let the game resume with Billy the Wizard coughing up enough to cover four trips below.

Upon reaching the floor, the squeaky, unstable metal contraption upon which we rode made a confidence-killing shriek and was still.  The guards above could be distantly heard to be laughing.

Looking around, we found ourselves in a cavern with two exits.  One read "horrible death", the other "much horrible death".  Jimbo's mastery over the English language frequently left much to be desired.  So, being the morons that we are, we chose the later.  Big mistake.

We reached the first room to find a giant, conveniently four-armed statue wielding blades in each meaty hand located in the center of a vast, domed opening with three exits.  Intrigued, we investigated the statue.  When we were all within arms reach, the speckled slab roared to life and we faced a whirlwind of stabbity death. 

The first blow fell on Paddy, who survived with enough life to flee down one of the three new corridors, as the death tornado blocked our entrance.  The second sword went through the Gobbler, who had one hit point left.  He, too, fled down a new corridor, though sadly not the one Paddy had taken.  The third swipe of the surprisingly spry statue went to Billy, who was cleaved in twain.  After eating the fourth and final blow myself, I followed after Paddy.

The statue, while quick with his hands, had leaden feet (well, marble, actually) and couldn't keep up with even my slow 20' per round.  We quickly outpaced our pursuer and eventually wound up in the same hallway as Gobbler.


The corridor was full of paintings and mirrors, most of which were ruined in one way or another.  We came to one on the end, which Gobbler was staring at.  Suddenly, the mirror came to life, becoming a hulking goo-creature.

Initiative was rolled, and Gobbler won.  Shouting, "Enuck-Chuck," Gobbler used his Duergar's ability to double his size and attacked the doughy monstrosity, dealing a fair amount of damage.  The thing's response was to swallow Gobbler whole.  While the rest of us were in shock, the now vaguely fighter-shapped creature chose to parlay with us.

"I eats this one and we no more fightz?"  Seeing as how we were all in pretty bad shape, we thought this a prudent trade and made our way back to the 'elevator', stopping along the way to loot what was left of Billy the Wizard's corpse.  The Gobbler was too busy laughing to be mad and quickly began work on his second character, a Halfling Rogue, while the rest of us rode back up the rickety contraption to the sweet, sweet daylight.  The guards heartlessly mocked our loss and wanted to know when we would return to further line their pockets.  Little did they know just how inaccurate they would be.

Paddy and I promptly went to the Mage's guild, telling them the bad news about Billy.  Giving them ample time to mourn, a whole round, we then asked for the services of another wizard.  Astounded yet impressed by our gall, the headmaster offered up Jimmy, fledgling necromancer, to our groups rotating clutches.

After a food break and waiting for Gobbler to finish his character, we returned to the 'elevator' and our 'friends'.  We paid their blood-price and returned to Undermountain.  Having learned nothing from our previous jaunt into the Abyss, we again chose Much Horrible Death, because it is always better to go with the devil you know.

Double-timing it past our marbley nemesis, we found a chasm with a rope running to the other side.  Having ranks in Balance, Gobbler's Rogue was sent in first.  He made it halfway to the other side before a globe of darkness overtook him and his screams were quickly punctuated by crunching noises.  The rest of us stood on the bank, deciding whether or not avenging his loss was a worthy goal while Gobbler began work on his third character.

Deciding that vengeance was the true Dwarven way, I led the charge against our inky foes.  We ended up on the ground below fighting cloaker bats.  Jimmy the necromancer met a quick fate when one of the flying manta rays hugged his face predator style and quietly shushed him until the poor bastard quit squirming.  Paddy and I hid behind my shield until we had killed them all.

Looking around, we dutifully looted the corpses of fallen friend and foe alike.  Upon returning to the room of stabbity death, we high-tailed it back to our gooey friend, to see if the corpse of Apache Chief was there.  The mirror was back to its previous state, although the bottom sagged as if it had eaten a horse (which, to be fair...)

"You here for fightz?" it asked, obviously not enjoying that prospect in its tryptophan bliss.  Paddy and I, again being quite depleted in the HP department, declined.  We told Squeemish, as he politely informed us of his name, that we just wanted the effects of his previous meal.

"The unfleshy bits?  This way!"  He led us to what could only be considered his toilet of horrors.  We stared in awe at the vast collection of riches therein.

"Uh, what do you want for this, uh, waste," Paddy asked, already calculating the worth of what Jimbo had described to us.

"A foodz pact?"

"You... want us to feed you?"  Squeemish's eyes lit up and he nodded, his head wobbling disturbingly in unnatural ways.

"Well, we did just kill some cloakers..."

Paddy and I braved the whirlwind twice more, the second time with a few cloakers each loading us down.  Squeemish sated, he allowed us to take his droppings.  Loaded down with something else entirely, we rushed past our four-armed friend once more before pulling the pulley strings on our way back up.  We stoically ignored the jeers of the pulleymasters.

We quickly sold our new treasures and the belongings of our fallen compatriots and equipped our selves more spectacularly than any 1st level character had a right to be.  Then, swagged out, we returned again to the Mage's guild to break the bad news.

Giving them ample time to mourn, two rounds this time, we again requested a replacement.  Shocked and appalled, the headmaster still acquiesced to our request when we slipped him a platinum.  Enter JimBob the hillbilly Sorcerer, complete with Nascar hat and WWE foam finger familiar (don't ask).

Meeting up with Gobbler's third character, a Gnomish inventor in a steamcrafted suit of armour, we returned to the pulleymasters.  Before going down, Paddy and I had worked out a charter for how many trips into Undermountain one had to survive in order to get a full share of dead party member loot.  We even took out bets with the two bellmen on what the odds of the new party members' survival rate was before they lowered us back down.  They liked the odds of the stick-figure sporting a wheat stalk from his buck teeth but strangely not those of the guy walking around as a primitive Iron Man.  Go figure.