CHAPTER 5 - SAVE VS. IDENTIFY

When the dead were all slain, the bodies cracked, smashed, and broken in a way that suggested the combat would have been both fiercely interesting and highly worth reading, they sank back into the earth. It was slow and not something readily recognized at first. But they sank all the same. Presumably the zombies and skeletons went off somewhere and spent time recycling and then they’d all come back. Again and again and again if Char Man Dar were telling the truth.

Tracy watched Char from a distance. Then from a space half as far. Then from right next to him. Char Man Dar seemed shell-shocked and his eyes showed hopelessness as well as lizard eyes could. He seemed defeated. Also he seemed uncomfortable, his eyes darting back to the half-elven hippy as his fingers touched and examined his red-scaled face.

“Mate,” the reptilian humanoid hacked and coughed, “can I help you?”

His tone suggested a lack of manners, as did his constant heavy breathing. But Tracy didn’t mind. Ze began to breathe heavily as well, to put the dragon man at ease. Char Man Dar’s reptilian face curled a bit around the eye ridges and he snorted and turned about, walking off to be alone.

Definitely a lack of manners, the sorcerer thought, commending hirself on hir intuition.

Tracy skipped and hopped over to see what Yenrab was up to. The large half-orc had taken a few scratches in the fight, but looked a heck of a lot better than the rest of them did. For one, he’d had a decent rest before the dead had come back for another battle. And two, his danger sense seemed to be on active ping. His eyes pulled this way and that as they picked their way through the predawn ruin, carefully mapping the complex. There was no way to feel sleepy with that thing ringing through his skull.

Tracy Riley smiled and did a bit of a twirl. Everyone was so spread out! They were fun to bound between, though when he came near to Bern Sandros the human gave him a look so dirty that he had to resist the urge to jump back into the lake.

They were now circling a large central building to the keep. It had two doors, and multiple windows, with scratched panes of thick glass that could be looked through but with a bit of distortion. The strange angles that the window gave the objects inside made Tracy giggle, to a loud shushing from the rest of the party. The interior was amazing to look at. It was a building full of kitchen implements. There were blades, sinks, tubs, and ovens, yet it was also empty of dirt and bereft of some pretty obvious things. The space between the stone countertops was empty. There were no wooden chairs or tables. Some of the knives were missing their handles. It was baffling, bizarre, and not something Tracy was going to bring up because he’d already been shushed twice.

“Hey, Char Man Dar, did you guys check out these buildings?” Yenrab called out, prompting the big dragon man to come stomping back over, his heavy breathing echoing between buildings.

“No,” he uttered in a growl, “Not really. We got waylaid by pirates on the way over and were pretty bushed when we got here. We went in, fought the undead, set up camp, got attacked again. Beat them. Set up camp again. Things repeated and we were worn down.” Char Man Dar shuddered.

The big half-orc nodded, looking at the kitchen with a wary eye.

“That building feels dangerous. Hey Bern, can you, ya know, check those doors for traps?”

“I’m on it Mate. I was on it yesterday,” the rogue boasted, swinging his arms this way and that, probing with feathery touch whilst scanning the air for fine threads or strange triggers. Finishing the one, he padded over to the other to repeat the task.

“Looks good to me, Yenrab,” Bern Sandros grinned, swinging the door open and out. The whole party looked in, seeing nothing that they hadn’t seen already through the windows.

“The inside looks great too bro,” Wex noted, giving the place a discerning glare. “Mark it on the map and move on?”

“Yeah, ya know, that sounds like a good plan but let’s not and say we did. I really wanna just look inside and see if there is anything useful,” Yenrab told them, striding up to stand at the threshold. He nodded to them, smiling, his coiled hair looking nothing like portrayed on the cover of book one. He had a sense that this was not something he should know, but he rolled with it.

“Obviously there is absolutely nothing to worry about from this trap free and strangely clean kitchen building,” Yenrab told them, continuing to yammer on as he stepped inward.

Suddenly the half-orc’s skin began to burn and bubble, reddening and cracking as he opened his mouth to scream. His scream was silent, though, and seemed to cause even greater pain.

“Swole is the goal, eyes on the prize,” Bern muttered to himself, swinging around the door with his blades drawn and slashing. At what he didn’t know but they met resistance, carving into some sort of clear gelatin, a large flap of it slopping out the door and carrying the burnt and choking Yenrab with it.

Carric Smith ran forward, his harmonica swung into his mouth with the bar of his helmet.

“Phoot!” he sounded discordantly, the audio blast of a thunderwave rippling apart the thing inside the building. He watched with dismay as it wove itself back together again, though a bit smaller than before.

“I don’t like this island,” Tracy called out, arcing a ray of flame into the gelatinous cube. “Jelly should be eaten off of toast or served at breakfast dance moon parties, not given life and the ability to eat adventurers.”

Wex stared at him, unable to comprehend the type of thought process that might lead one down such a road. Though he couldn’t help but agree.

“Anyone have any bread?” Tracy asked.

Wex continued to stare, his head beginning to pound.

Blistered and burned, Yenrab gasped and then coughed, the sound harsh and bloody. About him the straggly grass steamed and singed in the gooey pool that rolled off of him. With a grunt of effort he pulled himself up by his kneecaps.

“Wex, Carric, anyone have some healing?” he asked with a pained but solid voice. He had been down but he was not out.

“Bro, neither of us completed a full rest,” Wex answered, looking guilty.

“I bet,” the barbarian coughed, standing up with a wince. Out of the acidic blob he looked a bit better, his skin burned but still there. His eyes remained undamaged, and though he was coughing some blood he wasn’t racked over in death-bound agony.

“Rub some dirt in it!” Bern advised, grinning.

Tracy, meanwhile, was quite busily using cantrips to burn and bubble the monster away. The rest of the party looked over at him, shrugged as Tracy finished off the monster and went inside to search for treasure, and set up camp. It was time to bind some wounds and use up some potions.

***

Ribbit. Ribbit.

Tiny frogs hopped back and forth between swampy reeds. The ancient armory looked to have become a froggy paradise or as much of one as any paradise can be. The air didn’t steam but it was murky and thick with moisture, giving the old armory an atmosphere of its own.

Yenrab moved on in, waving his arms in front of himself like a blind man. From a distance his comrades watched, well helped by the red healing liquor that was both expensive and so incredibly useful in this world of Gimmok.

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It wouldn’t be so expensive if you followed the rules in the book, GM.

Oh yeah, well my campaign, my rules. The Chief Gamer paused. Just pretend that they were patented and had their prices jacked up ten thousand percent if that makes you feel better.

Oh man, that really doesn’t make me feel better at all, a voice moaned, fading from their minds.

“What’s a patent?” Tracy asked from the huddle outside the armory.

Char Man Dar broke off his incessant gasping and gurgling to answer.

“That’s something David the Tinker Gnome talked about. So something Teck-Nick-Al. I wouldn’t bother with it mate. If it is tinkerish then it was made to someday fail.” The dragonic warrior paused, beathing hard out of his mouth. “And when it does it’s gonna go boom!”

Char Man Dar emphasized the last word by spreading his hands outward, making guttural grunting noises and attempting the sounds of people burning alive.

Tracy nodded, his eyes wide open in wonder.

“Hey Char, what’s a patent?” he asked again.

Char Man Dar swatted at him but the sorcerer twirled away to walk to the swamp’s edge. Bern stayed alert, blade out and ready. Wex, though, was sitting on the ground against a wall. His mask hid his face and his companions were unsure if he was relaxing or sleeping.

“Wex,” Carric asked, prodding the elf with his foot. Silence fell to snores.

The bags under Carric’s eyes drooped in envy. You know, there isn’t any law that says I have to stay up while mask boy here gets to snooze, he reminded himself. The bard shrugged his pack off of his back and lay down next to the guy. If there is any trouble Yenrab will wake me up.

He began to snore almost immediately. Yenrab looked over them and sighed.

“Let them rest, mate. I got your back and Char,” Bern Sandros said, pointing at the red scaled figure brooding alone away from the rest of them, “well he’s up and proved himself good for a battle. And don’t forget Tracy!”

“Yeah don’t forget Tracy,” Tracy Riley agreed with a shout, returning from the swamp’s edge. “Also I saw something when I was over there.”

“Yeah?” Yenrab asked with curious suspicion. “This isn’t one of your strange Freemeet observations is it? We need to be serious ya know. Things are pretty rough right now Tracy.”

“Yeah. Totally serious!” the half-elf looked about himself and then came up close and whispered into Yenrab’s ear. “There’s a really shiny ax in that swamp armory. It is under the forge. And let me tell you this, it is not much of a forge. For one, it is all rusty and gunked up. Back in the Freemeet the Grand Sorcan had a forge that was shiny and clean. This thing is a disgrace!”

“Hey, what is going on?” the rogue assassin asked, creeping a bit closer.

“There’s a really shiny ax under the rusted and gunked up forge,” the dutiful half-orc repeated. Tracy Riley stared back with a scandalous look upon his face, surprised that his secret had been so easily given up. “I think I’m gonna go take it.”

“You do that, mate,” Bern advised. “But be careful for traps and let me know if anything comes up.”

The half-orc barbarian nodded, though no one could quite see it. His danger sense had him on alert, but he couldn’t for the life of him see why. He stepped further into the swamp of the armory, the frogs chirping higher and louder in surprise and possibly panic.

“No problems here,” he yelled back, noting that a number of sticky-toed frogs had fastened themselves to his body and were spitting strange-smelling goo upon him. Dice rolled in his head. Save versus Poison, man! “The Gamers are doing something though.”

“Yeah I can hear that mate. Let’s get this going. Did you get the ax yet?”

“Nah, ya know, I keep expecting some sort of danger. All I’ve got are these little frogs hanging on me though, gobbing all over the place.”

Another 20?! No way man, let me try those dice. A 5? I guess the die is fine. Alright roll one more time.

It’s like, well, my danger sense is telling me that something very bad should be happening, but all I’m getting is a frog massage. Some lotion and oil. And, ya know, it’s not half bad.”

Three twenties in a roll? Seriously? That is horse crap! Jeez Louise. Alright, I’m declaring that Yenrab is just simply naturally immune. Write that down on your character sheet.

Sweet. I got a special ability for awesome organic rolls.

“Any idea what they are talking about, Yenrab?” Bern Sandros called, keeping his distance. He didn’t need to, though, Yenrab thought. His danger sense ability had turned off. He had somehow moved away from the source of harm.

“Not really,” he called back, going down to his knees to seize ahold of the large axe before him. Even from under the shadow of the forge it gleamed and shined with that inner light innate to things of quality. The mud of the swamp slithered off of it as he held it aloft, just a small lump of it splatting over his already dirty face.

So what is it? A +1 weapon? +2? Man this is awesome.

Maybe you better go get it identified. I believe one of your spellcasters has the spell in his repetoire.

“Hey I got it!” Yenrab called back, his grin wide and teeth all sorts of decayed.

“Good deal mate,” the rogue responded. “Bring that thing back here and let’s get a move on.”

The half-orc looked down at the tiny little frogs. Some had hopped off to be replaced with others. The gobbing and snotting continued.

Eh let them ride. No harm no foul, the half-orc thought, the character and his Gamer absolutely unaware of the implications therein.

The big man strode out of the swamp, his barbarian leggings somehow less dirty than they had been before. Not that the barbarian minded. Dirt added to his AC. What AC was he wasn’t sure of, but the accuracy of the thought was as sure to him as the position of the sun in the sky.

Bern Sandros saluted him with his weapon as he walked out of the swampy building and into the growing light. Looking about himself, Yenrab’s eyes settled on the sleeping pair of magic users resting against the wall. Time to figure out what this thing is, he thought in excitement. He was giddy with that sort of feeling felt by those too young to understand the constancy of disappointment.

He strode forward toward the bard and cleric, a skip in his step and a large smile on his face. He slowed as he neared them, his eyes flicking between them.

Which one does the identify magic thingy? The Gamer asked.

No metagaming, the GM smiled, something sinister in his voice. Some dice clattered and clacked ominously.

“Umm,” Yenrab paused, hesitant. Something felt extremely off, yet his danger sense was not tingling.

“Everything okay Yenrab?” Char Man Dar growled out from the perimeter, breathing noisily between syllables.

“Yeah, fine, all okay!” Yenrab smiled, reaching down and grabbing the cleric Wex by one bare arm.

Roll a saving throw versus poison, man, the voice of the GM sounded again. This Chief Gamer guy seemed to be enjoying those words. Another voice, one of the Gamers, yelled out in shocked outrage.

What the heck, man?

As the barbarians hand dripped froggy muck over the suddenly very awake and gasping cleric, little frogs jumped off of him onto the figure. Wex began screaming.

“Oh Mask it burns! My heart, I think it stopped my heart.”

Yenrab looked at him with concern, looked down at his goopy hands, then looked at the little froggies spitting new layers of goop upon his friend.

“Oops!” he said.

“Gaaaaah!” Wex replied.

Char and Bern ran over while Carric started awake in panic.

“Gods alive, what is going on here?” the bard asked, scrambling away from the writhing cleric.

“Um, I think I accidentally poisoned him?” Yenrab answered. The barbarian looked sheepish.

Ribbit. Ribbit.

Sparks flew and then a torch flared as the groggy bard Carric, thinking fast, began to scorch frog things off of the cleric’s body.

Not fast enough man. They’re draining me for 7 hp a round. Can’t you thunderwave or something?!

Fat chance. Everyone is tapped out on magic.

I’ve got an idea, the Gamer said. He was the original, the totem of Yenrab’s tribe, and generally a wise bloke. The characters nodded to each other, looking relieved. Then Yenrab rubbed his hands off on the grass, picked up Wex by his ankles, and bashed him into the dirt chest first.

“Ack!” the cleric sounded, falling into dazed helplessness as his hit points dropped below zero.

Oh my god! What was that?!

I just saved you man. Right GM?

Well, the frogs are dead, that’s for sure. Make one more save versus poison for half damage.

The dice rolled, bouncing twice before settled into a controlled spin. Seventeen! Cried the Gamers, joy evident in their voices as Wex the Cleric narrowly avoided the scythe of the reaper, hovering at death’s door.