Dolmenwood Campaign Diary: Part 6

This is the sixth post summarizing a campaign I run for a group of three wonderful players.

·         Want to read the previous entry? Check out this post.

·         Want to learn more about the campaign setting? Check out Dolmenwood by Gavin
Norman (the Necrotic Gnome).

Grendel faced forward. In front of him, a massive blob of yeast towered ten feet out of the pool. Its only distinct feature was a blubbery maw that opened wide, forming a massive bubble. The bubble grew. It continued to grow. It kept growing until it almost touched Grendel’s astounded face, then suddenly popped. Its discharge sent yeasty air and little flecks of dough blowing past the adventurers.

They immediately sprang into action. Gwomodom and Lambob rushed to Grendel’s side as he stowed his axe and began to murmur incantations under his breath.

The creature reached out with two pseudopods. Gwomodom ducked one that flew over his head, while the other struck Lambob. Sticky dough slammed into his chest and propelled him backwards into a tree, knocking the breath from him.

Grendel’s eyes lit as he finished his spell. He summoned a gout of fire from his hands that washed over the pseudopod sticking Lambob to the tree.

Smoke and the smell of burnt toast filled the air. The yeast pool’s surface bubbled with rage. It began to retract its pseudopod back into its form, dragging Lambob with it. Desperately, the dwarf clawed at the grass as he slid closer and closer to the pool’s edge. Digging his fingers into the dirt, he found purchase and held on. The dough sucked off him as the creature reabsorbed its burnt limb.

“Maybe we should’ve worn flour,” he called to his companions, pushing himself to his feet.

The creature lashed out at Grendel and Gwomodom with two mushy tentacles. Each of its arms slid by harmlessly as the adventurers dodged out of their way. Gwomodom turned and drove his spear into the creature’s soft form. As he punctured it, fermented air escaped and whiffed through his mossy beard.

Grendel prepared another spell, widening his stance. He shouted words of magic as fire leapt from his hands and wrapped around the mound of dough in the pool.  It quickly baked.

Clearly suffering, the creature attacked Grendel once more. Its pseudopod raised in the air and fell on him like a downed tree. Grendel’s body disappeared under the raw dough.

Lambob and Gwomodom each let out a cry. Lambob ran forward and attacked the mass atop Grendel. His hands and feet moved like pistons and fell like rocks, punching the dough. Gwomodom thrust his spear again and again into the creature’s other pseudopod, struggling to free it each time.

The creature retreated. Grendel’s body revealed itself as the creature’s tentacle lifted, stuck to its bottom like a squashed insect. Lambob latched onto Grendel. The tentacle raised Lambob into the air for a moment before he peeled Grendel away. He and Grendel fell back to the ground together.

Furious, Gwomodom threw his spear into the creature’s mass as the center of the pool. There, it caused a great percussion that sent yeasty wind through all the trees in the glade. For a few more moments, the pool bubbled like boiling water taken off the stove. It then fell silent with one last, wet “pop.”

Gwomodom rushed to where Lambob stood over Grendel. Brothy tears fell from his eyes. “Quick, we have to help him!” he urged.

Gwomodom tried to peel the sticky dough from Grendel’s form, but it was no use. Grendel wasn’t breathing. The moss dwarf pounded on Grendel’s chest. As he pounded, dough oozed in and out of Grendel’s mouth like an indecisive turtle’s head peeking from its shell.

They lingered there for what seemed like hours as the moss dwarf wept. When he ran out of tears, Gwomodom simply knelt by Grendel, contemplating his own life choices.

Lambob stood passively and watched. He eventually broke the silence. “That was stupid,” he observed.

Gwomodom rose to his feet. The vines sprouted from his chest and lifted Grendel onto his shoulder. Together, he and Lambob returned to the cottage.

The path led them from the trees to the cottage’s back door, where half a dozen women rushed outside and waited for them with hands clenched on their dresses. Looks of despondence washed over their faces as they saw Grendel on Gwomodom’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t bring him through the kitchen,” Mother pleaded. “We’ve got food in here.”

Listlessly, Gwomodom looked right and left, unsure of what to do with his friend’s corpse. He settled on propping Grendel’s body against the side of the house. Solemn, Gwomodom and Lambob followed Mother through the kitchen and returned to the living room. The daughters trailed behind.

As they entered the living room, they saw a halfling at Mother’s table where there was no halfling before. He had light brown hair and a cheery face. He wore priestly garments. Though all halflings were small, Gwomodom and Lambob could tell that the halfling’s legs were especially small. His atrophied thighs and calves seemed like they could snap under the weight of his feet.

The halfling cheerfully struggled out of his chair to greet them, but reconsidered when he saw the sadness on their faces. He sat back down, instead.

Gwomodom and Lambob slid out chairs and sat. Mother settled herself down. It creaked under her weight as she leaned forward and slid a purse across the table to the two adventurers.

“Thank you for what you did. Here’s your payment,” she explained. “I’m sorry about your friend. He was very brave.”

Gwomodom weighed the purse in his hand. It felt light, compared to the weight the death of his friend exerted on him.

“At least we only have to split it two ways now,” Lambob offered.

“I know now might not be a good time,” Mother said tentatively, “but I might have other work for you, if you’re interested.”

Lambob’s ears perked up. “Does it pay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mother confirmed. “Three-hundred gold pieces. Though it’s even more dangerous than some yeast monster.”

“I’m interested,” Lambob replied. “Danger’s the nature of the work. Gwomodom?” Lambob looked to the moss dwarf.

Gwomodom stared at the table.

“He’s in too,” Lambob told her.

Mother turned to the halfling seated at the table. “Copper, does it suit you if these two help with your job? Apologies if I spoke out of turn, but I assumed you could use the company.”

“Of course!” Copper the halfling replied, “I’m always open to making new friends.”

            “Very well. Copper here is visiting a creature named Farthigny. He’s a fiddler that lives on the east shore of Lake Longmere. You three will to take him this as payment for a special ingredient I need from him,” Mother explained. As she spoke, she removed a glass jar from one of the china cabinets. Three small gingerbread men were inside, apparently imbued with life. They tapped at the glass futilely and seemed to scream inside, though no sound issued forth.

            “This,” Mother continued, holding the jar aloft, “should buy us the feathers of twenty-four blackbirds slain by fiddle music. I believe Farthigny is the only one who can get this for us.”

            Lambob eyed the jar with discomfort. “Can do,” he said. “I’ve never been one for questions. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be going back to town.”

            “Good!” Mother exclaimed. “But before you leave, I have something for you. Amonie, can you bring in the cookies?”

            Amonie left to the kitchen and returned with a tray bearing a dozen cookies, each shaped like sliver moons.

            “I baked them just in case you got injured while working,” Mother explained. “Made them special.”

            “With love?” Copper asked.

            “No. Moonbright,” Mother corrected. “It helps injuries heal.” She looked with pity at Gwomodom. “I’m afraid it won’t do much for your friend, though.”

            Gwomodom nodded in understanding. Lambob immediately took some cookies from the tray and stuffed them in his mouth. He poured the others directly into his bag.

            “And I should say that this job is bound by the same strictures you swore for the last one,” Mother added. “You shan’t tell anyone the exact nature of what you’re doing, or why. Again, this secret ingredient is secret!”

            Lambob and Gwomodom then departed with their coin, the cookies, and living gingerbread men. Gwomodom slung Grendel’s body over his shoulder and they left for Prigwort. Copper limped alongside them.

            They hadn’t gotten far when they heard a whisper from behind.

 “Psst!”

The party turned. Cranduil the Bard crept up, giving furtive glances back towards the cottage.

“Friends,” he began, “I couldn’t help but overhear the job Mother gave you. I was pressed to the floor, and… well, never-mind. Listen, I wanted to tell you that Farthigny’s bad news.” Cranduil gulped, sweat visible on his brow. “I’ve heard stories about him, see… bad stories. Bad things happen to people who cross him.”

The party nodded. “Thanks for the warning,” Gwomodom offered. “We’ll keep that in mind.” They prepared to leave.

“It’s not just that,” Cranduil continued, licking sweat from his lips and sneaking another glance at the house. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but… there’s a bounty on him. Or his fiddle, you see. The Bardic Guild. They’re offering five thousand silver to anyone who brings it in.”

Lambob’s eyes lit up at the sound of five thousand silver. “Thanks for the tip,” he said. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Cranduil nodded. “Think nothing of it. Just one good-looking man helping another.” Cranduil winked, then turned back towards the house.

Gwomodom and Lambob returned to Prigwort. All the way, they schemed how to both win Farthigny’s help and rob him of his most valued possession.