Primus Sinister

Tactical Bullshit
The Bull Takes the Horns By The...Fuck This Metaphor

Did I say trading up? Burger Boy is certainly no smarter than was Lord Rexcelcior, anyway. We were just about ready to make good our escape, wandering the seemingly endless tunnels of the Velsharoonie complex, having had our fun fucking them up for their audacity in taking us prisoner and stealing some of the Obsidian Bones (Yea, that’s probably going to bite us in the ass later). We had a few more minor skirmishes, but then we saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Sunlight, to be specific.

Of course, there was another path that branched off from the Very Obvious Exit, and the new guy decided it Needed Exploring. Having only just met the meat head, I was happy to write his ass off. I wished him godspeed, while the rest of the Fuckn A’s!!! headed for daylight.

I should have known better.

We’d not made it halfway toward the tunnel opening when Rumplekillskin came trampling along after us with a host of undead hot on his heels. “You son of a bitch!” I yelled at him inaccurately, and we all beat feet for the outside world, since that had to be better than fighting in the cramped tunnel – Right?


Outside, another fucking dragon – this one black – was lurking and naturally, it noticed us stomping our way out of the Den of Idiot Cultists. Grughuge looked over his shoulder at us and grinned, his spear gleaming viciously. “I got this,” he said. Then the crazy fucker charged the dragon.

By himself.

The rest of us had no time to dispute this clearly terrible decision. The undead chasing us had caught up, and we were hip deep in rotting fleshed bastards trying to drag us down into oblivion. To say our fight in the tunnel was a meat grinder is to put it mildly, but at least Burgertown did his part to keep the rest of us from being torn to bits quite so quickly. Eve and Lumiya did most of the bloodletting, while I did what little I could to support the fight.

From outside, we could only hear the dragon’s roar and Grughuge’s battlecries. I assumed it was the last we’d ever hear of him. I just hoped he could keep the fucking wyrm busy long enough for us to deal with the threat that Rumplekillskin had trained to us.

As the last of the undead fell, I was surprised to still hear the sounds of combat coming from outside. We came outside quickly to see the half-orc not only holding his own, but honestly, putting the fucking smack down on that black scaled monstrosity!

We immediately moved to help, but we needn’t have bothered. His dragon-hating artifact spear was all the support he seemed to need, and before we could even close the gap, he’d buried the business end in the dragon’s brain.

What else could I do? I fucking started clapping.

-The Bae’qeshel

The Death of Lord Rexcelcior
You Can't Make an Omelet...

I like to think of it as trading up, but then again I’m partial to burgers.

After we’d busted up the ritual (at least partway), we chilled out for a bit, and then decided to wreak more havoc in this Velsharoonie den. The variety of creatures lurking in that fuckin’ place makes it hard to remember exactly what all we dispatched, but one thing I remember for sure was nest room filled with dragon eggs. It seemed like a Very Bad Thing for a cult dedicated to raising undead to have such a room, and so we threw down with the wet nurses.

Godsdamned things were tough!

I was leaning up against one of the oversized lizard eggs catching my breath when someone decided it would be a good idea to take the eggs for food rather than just smashing them all. Seemed hilarious, so I agreed, but Rexcelcior thought that we meant “right away” and started smashing away at the ones we weren’t gonna take.

And then the undead started crawling out of holes on the ceiling and down the bleeding walls.

I’m not gonna lie. We were boned. No two ways about it. I sounded the retreat and then followed my own advice, hoping that my thick-headed allies were at least smart enough to run with me. Rex and Grughuge fought over being the one to hold the damned things off for a moment before the half-orc got smart and bailed. The goliath stayed a few moments too long and got torn to pieces for his effort.

We ran. There was nothing else we could really do. On our way up and away, we passed a freakin’ minotaur, who looked kind of lost. We told him what was chasing us and he started running with us. Not sure how it happened exactly, but the portable barbecue entree became part of this motley group. His name: Rumplekillskin.

We went back down the next day to recover Rexcelcior’s stuff and though it was rough, put his killers back into the grave for good.

Then we collected our dragon eggs and made breakfast.

Take that, bitches.

-The Bae’qeshel

Bone Picking
Now With Extra Femur!

The answer, as it turned out, was some dragonborn jagoff with a pair of sickly black dragons. Seriously, I think those things were half-dead. Maybe they had summer colds. I hear those things can be pretty brutal. Whatever, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Re-equipped, Grughuge wanted to go back out and take out the acid snakes, and for some reason we followed the barbarian’s lead. There was pain, but it proved to be the creatures’ last act(s) of defiance, as they met their end courtesy of our blades and magic. We decided to check out the door with the waterfall sounds coming from behind it and found an actual waterfall in the chamber beyond.

We’d barely stepped into the room with the giant pool when a bunch of skeletons with various implements of stabby doom strapped to their arms marched out of the pool of water and set upon us. Some asshole necromancer had booby-trapped the godsdamned things to explode violently the more damaged they became. Grughuge, Rexcelcior, and Lumiya all dropped unconscious at one point or another during the melee, but I was able to prop ‘em back up and shove ‘em back into the fray well enough. I won’t lie – I was worried for a hot minute, and we were really glad to see the last boneshard explosion.

Following the deadly skirmish, Rexcelcior dove into the pool and swam around looking for treasure. I was dubious, but the giant knucklehead actually found enough to prod Lumiya (the only one among us usually capable of noticing anything more than 5 feet away and not shining brightly) into taking a look around, too. She found a fey-blessed crown on the bottom of the pool and brought it up to the surface, where she promptly placed the silver band on my head. Who’s the man? I’m the man. True fact.

Rexcelcior and Grughuge crossed the pool and went through a passage hidden behind the waterfall, then pulled a lever on the other side that raised a bridge made of countless skeletons that had been sitting on the bottom of the pool. The way cleared, we moved forward and into the next chamber, where we found the guy who’d taken the Bones of Velsharoon – a dragonborn cultist. Yea, the same jagoff I mentioned earlier.

There were a handful of skeletons taking the pieces from an altar and through a portal that the cult leader seemed to be maintaining. He wore a symbol of the Cult of the Dragon, so his interest in a dead god of the undead started to make a lot more sense. We managed to kill the draconic creatures, and I think we made Grughuge – or at least his bloodthirsty spear – mad by not letting him make the killing blow on any of the enemies. Bastard should move faster and hit harder, I guess.

The bad news was that about half of the obsidian bones had been taken through the portal before we closed it, and though we had the ritual book the dragonborn was using to keep it open, it was a bit beyond my understanding. Regardless, we collected the bones and the loot in the chamber and are planning our assault on the rest of the dungeon. Cult of the Dragon, huh? Fine, we’ll kick your asses, too.

No one’s getting away with this.

-The Bae’qeshel

Beaten to the Punch

When Lumiya got back into town, I acted on that three-way plan I had, and that was a hot night. Horns, tails, claws, teeth. That orgy had it all. Let Lord Rexcelsior and Grughuge get wasted to their hearts’ collective content. I’ll take the sex every time.

Every time.

Something about pilgrims with issues cropped up the next morning, and we got roped into helping them out, but as it turned out a few days later, some of them proved to be asshole cultists to Velsharoon. I was pretty sure we’d seen the last of these fuckwits after the last time they fucked with us, but no. No such luck.

We got jumped on the road by a freakin’ army! I guess it would bloody well take an army to bring this crew down, but down we went. I think they were after the Bones of Velsharoon, or something. We were supposed to guard the caravan which was “transporting them somewhere safe.” Yea. Good plan guys. Oh, right. Traitors. I remember now. And no way in hell did I surrender at the end when it was just me and Eve against like half the army. Nope, they were forced to knock me unconscious, ‘cos I was totally fighting tooth and nail right up to the end. Oh, and copping a feel on Eve while we fought. What can I say? Girl’s got a great ass.

We woke up in some half-assed dungeon cell, but once we got our bearings, Eve of Disaster made short work of the lock and we were out. There were some others from the caravan who seemed as surprised as we were. Once we made sure they weren’t Velsharoonies (I’m still not fully convinced), we led them out into the chamber, and tried to figure out how to escape. Before we’d gone too far, some kind of undead ooze killed off one of The Others, and we escaped into a room that, by the gods, had our equipment in it.

Who’s running this two-bit organization?

-The Bae’qeshel

Winter. Unseasonably Mild.
Is That a Breath Weapon or a Refreshing Breeze?

Lady Moonfire told us about a tower belonging to a wizard long dead, and requested that I – we – retrieve some magical tomes from the place. Since we were planning on putting the kibosh on whatever was causing the weather issues anyway – and we’d linked the problems to said same tower – I agreed to do what I could…


She knew what I meant and agreed with a coy smile. Little minx.

So, not wanting to put up with discomfort from the cold, I performed a ritual to protect us form the inconvenient elements. We set off again, though Lumiya had run off on some errand or something. Whatever. She’d already drunk deeply from the well of my lust, and so I knew that she’d be back in due course. Maybe I can get her and Eve of Disaster into a three-way.

Focus, Ryxis.

A Dish Best Served
Baby Dragons Make Great Hand Puppets

We’d had enough of the weird green kobolds for one day, and pulled back into the forest to camp. The others were stressing about keeping a watch during the night, but The Bae’qeshel reminded them all that he could sleep with his eyes open. Thus reassured, the others passed directly out. The drow elf may or may not have done things to them in their sleep. The truth may never be known.

The adventurers smashed their way back into the trapped hedge maze the next morning, intent on serving up some justice (or at least getting the booze back from the thieving lizard-faced bastards). The celebration that followed their inevitable defeat of the dragon Spiketail has blurred their memories of the events, but there were a few highlights that stood out.

1) Eve of Disaster fuggin’ pwned a dragon wyrmling. Crazy bitch teleported on top of the damned thing, then blasted it to the ground at point blank range. After it was dead, Grughuge thought it would be hilarious to cut off the dragon’s head and use it as a hand puppet. And he was absolutely right. “Eve kills babies!” he kept saying in a high pitched squeaky voice while he flapped the dead wyrmlings jaws.

B – More traps. And we used to like The Gays. Not so much anymore.

Gnome: Spiketail, though a big tough green dragon himself, was no real match for the stubborn ignorance that characterizes most of the Fuckn A’s!!! exploits. Sure its breath weapon locked ‘em down and hurt ‘em a bit, but forgetting that one is hampered is a surefire way to avoid having to worry about that. (Author’s Note: The Bae’qeshel wishes to express his deepest and sincerest apologies for failing to recall that he’d been slowed and could not possibly have moved so far across the battlefield in that first round.)

They also (obviously) found several barrels of the purloined alcohol in a storage “chamber” in the hedge maze, and set to work drinking it all reassembling a couple of the shattered wagons so they might transport it back to Backwater and into the hands of its rightful owner(s).

Beer Quest
The Quest for Beer

When we got back to town, people were freaking out. We followed the hubbub back to the Green Tankard Tavern, where we found the halfling owner guy in a heated discussion with The Bae’qeshel’s future ex-girlfriend Lady Moonfire. Not wanting to interrupt, we ordered a round of ale.

The serving wench eyed us forlornly.

“There is no ale,” she said.

That didn’t process for us for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” The Bae’qeshel finally managed.

The wench sighed.

“The caravans have stopped bringing it.”

That lit a fire up under our asses and we walked right over to the proprietor and Lady Moonfire and told them we would get on the bandit problem immediately. They were startled by our sudden exuberance, but not unhappy about it. Lady Moonfire even offered us a cash reward for proof of the deed accomplished. Hardly necessary, as we were already highly motivated.

We gathered a bit of information about the lost caravans from one of the survivors, borrowed some horses, and hit the trail.

Three days later we encountered our first kobolds. We beat them down and took a note off the soon-to-be corpse of one of the little bastards. He insisted that his boss Spiketail was gonna destroy us all. The Bae’qeshel showed him his windpipe and we progressed into the woods, which got too thick for the horses.

We found the smoldering remains of a number of wagons a little deeper in. Damned kobolds were committed to hiding the evidence of their misdeeds. They must have disassembled the damned things on the road and carried the pieces this far and then set them on fire. Bizarre lizard-minded creatures. Also, we got ambushed by a pair of thoroughly lost otyughs. They were mildly annoying, but we dispatched them.

Bloody living plants set upon us next, and we almost lost Lumiya. But that must have stung Lord Rexcelcior’s and Grughuge’s pride, because they turned and brought the pain to the shambling mound that was trying to eat her.

When we found what must have been Spiketail’s heavily wooded lair, we were set upon by his guarding minions, small-ish kobolds with green-tinted scales and decidedly plant-like countenances. Moving on to the next “room” we found another irritating koboldaisy perched atop a ten foot stump. While the warrior types set upon the ground troops, The Bae’qeshel cleverly tricked Stumpy into attacking Eve of Disaster. She really hates being attacked, and to show her displeasure, she blasted Stumpy right off his perch and into Lumiya’s waiting claws.

Before he fell, The Bae’qeshel said, “You might have gotten away with it. You might have succeeded. But you made one mistake. You cut off our booze supply. Now you’ve all gotta die.”

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