Posts Tagged claims

By Fletch

Wells I longed for a spit of my own tyme afer that crabgizzard dryad and more an more spyders bitin for shure.

I aimed to follow the hill path and explore a bit whilst the others rested up. Take a few deep breaths, mayhap hunt or climb a hillside I scouted last tyme we runt up to the claim.

All the fine stammels of the party wouldn’t hear to let me go without their feminine company, and I could not find heart to deter them. So off we went together.

And lo! We found a cave entrance, and our own virago got et up when the entrance closed its mouth. Our salver and me, we poked at the thing until it lost an eye and gave out. Whereupon Sondra cralled out, afore Nin cut the beast and dyved in for gold. A practical doxy, what knows the lengths of lootin. She took the eye and some bone and gooey-bits as well.

I’m not sure I’m good to the idea of boxin up pieces and bits of kill, but Nin tells that it’s good as loot, so I say to let the ewe be happy with her guts and bone.

Behind the creacher was a mine, where Nin looted a spear of spiralliness that propped up a miner corps, rather flash for mine loot.

Behind the mine whart a buryin-place filled with walkin dead. Now, sees, tis necessary I wit that those of feminyne adventurin notions be given due course in battle, for their own thought of self. No soft dimber-mort is of help in the field — they scream off from a dire squirrel and needs constant rescuin. I was vacationing anyways, sos I stepped to and let Nin booga the skelletons away with her symbol.

I even let the fine stammels lead the group, even tho they felled to a spike-pit.And when the Governor, Truth, and Anger rose up from stone, I gave the final kills to Sondra.

But Truth and Anger wher somethin else. 7-foot high, nare skinbare frigates with — hm. I kint wit what they were weildin, weapon-wise. I ne’er met a dell what was taller then me, and had everythin to distract. I played off battle once our gimcracks had upper hand, then was fine to watch the ewes duke it out to final. Aye yes.

Then, a short swim, and up through a grate with me girls to layabout in the sunny cliftop with King Dumbarton, new gold in my pouch and a fine dinner to come.

A good respit from spyders and rain.

by Fletch

I’m fair shoor the blind sog’s map truly not worth the skin it be on. ‘E’s got the lizard mens where the jingle-brained covy be, roads twistin here and to nether. A right down shame of mappin.

Afer all the trials of runnin back t’cower, decides we to sluff a week so our poofy bounce can learn a bit of skill what doan include cowerin up a tree at the hint of blood. I runt into my ol’ chet, the half-orc what been bringing in all the ears.

We talked the area over a flagon and the wily thud oddly was keen to my suttle question manner, and ne’er lispt word one of the whereabouts for his huntin grounds. Bit of a fell to take Rue, I didn’t wit about the chet’s aversion to Elf-men. Oye. Blest that I be a smoothed-tungt  rum-duke, and could cover the situation.

At long last, we rounded back at the claim, the whole of time spent hearin Kai and Sondra squawkin o’er a bow trade for a bedroll. We all burst the party fund for the shurk to learn the arch, and the two wealthiest cant make simple trade without feelin personal slight t’the other ‘lessin a kobold scribbles o’er.

I wit the pissables be our main distraction, p’haps to keep us lively. I wit Kai takes grand pleasure poking a th’others and gettin a growl in turn.

We popped out th’other end of our claim, and the valley crag spread out under. Smokesign and tunnels. We reckon ’tis the fabled Mines of Chaos below. So o’ course the party sees the boon and turns back into the claim to check dead tunnels fulla fake mineral. And beackon ourselfs to a mass of koboldts in the dark, which for once Sondra keeps her head and saved the new little tib from gettin pricked to deth.

I hopes well Rue clads and trains that tib afore she is put to bed with a shovel. I’ve no wit if she were fear-stuck or strong-purpost, but she kept in ’til Sondra run her out.

So now we’re in the dark, tryin to gain exit, hopin the wee mot has enough wit to lower the basket afore the kobolds run us.