Silverhair's Rappan Athuk

Kushlin Kronicle 12

I seem to have found my journal again, lots of things have happened that were less interesting than tea-time with the duchess. But most recently we returned to the Mouth of Doom to start raiding and plundering level 2.

Lots of weird stuff here. There’s a pillar with a face that spits illusion gas at people, a trap that drops the entire floor an inordinate distance and then drops poison gas on them, and a talking stone head that alternately eats or empowers the people standing on it. It’s not just that these many traps suggest the work of a diseased hellscape of a mind, but that they are so very random.

Speaking of strange architects, Bamf continues to be wishy-washy about morality while I continue to point out that all evil ever did for him was steal his power, blot out his memories, and leave him with a traumatized and depressing sword that talks to him. This is still better than Mathilda’s mask, which is apparently possessed of a spirit of gluttony, horror, death and all that jazz. I continue to lobby that not all gods are assholes, and that the ones who are the biggest assholes are the ones who keep saying that and following with, “so serve me since we’re all assholes anyway.” Both sides are bad, so serve Orcus? I think not.

On that note, Mathilda has a new pet. On the one hand therapy pets are often suggested by my friend Dr. Spock as a method of helping traumatized or disturbed individuals. Of course since her therapy pet is a stumbling undead skeletal monstrosity I am understandably concerned. I cannot deny its utility however, it marches where ordered, sets off traps on command, and the blood that infuses its bones puts it back together every time that it is bashed apart by things like the gnolls we ran across shortly after obtaining it.

On the topic of group dynamics, I am concerned at everyone’s obsession with everyone else’ sex life. Frankly I think the blame falls squarely on Mathilda’s addiction to shipping and fanfics, but Devon seems happy to join in the game of assuming everybody’s involved in complicated love geometry that starts at “triangle” before going non-euclidean.

But, we’re smashing undead, freeing slaves, and killing raiders, and that’s rarely ever a bad thing. So onward we go, hoping to destroy the disease devil that Bamf inadvertently summoned.

Because it was Bamf, not me. I don’t care what he says.


silverhair2012_1 shilkund

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