"Where's the ***ing city?!" Helca never one to mince words. Trolls, men's heads, well, men in general, but never words.
She was a touchy sort. She had spent most of her life telling people that she was a Half-blood. We found out recently that she is, in fact, human. Apparently, after being told over many years that she was ugly, selfish and fat, she decided that in oorder to avoid being laughed and jeered at, she should pretend to be a race in which those qualities were 'normal', IE a Half-blood. So she grew her hair into traditional Half-blood style (IE none) and turned most of the 'fat' into muscle. A few Half-bloodish clothes and she had fooled everyone, including the party, for nearly three years.
In case you a little confused, here's the story so far: I (Thera) joined up with this bunch, we went to Dryden to deliver a message (for a VERY well-paid quest) through a disgusing swamp, because of the battles in the area. After an entertaining (from my point of view) argument our elf mage, Rochine, beat our 'Blood, erm ... human, fighter, Helca in a debate on using/wasting the gold from the quest on Magic Skill. The extra skill enabled Rochine to learn Teleport II. She decided to do a 'practice Teleport' to get the hang of it.
The story continues: we're lost.
"Where's the ***ing city?!" Helca was determined to get a reply out of Rochine, even if she had to pull one out through Rochine's nostrils.
"Look, we can't be that far from the cityº- 10ºsectors at the most. Rochine teleported us South, so if we walk North, we'll be back in two days at the most. After all, the exercise will be benificial to us." Tarawera pointedly (well he was an elf) avoided looking at Zug, our newest (and shortest) recruit.
Helca eventually agreed to Tarawera's plan - Sahama's REALLY good at that Charm miracle, and off we set.
That was five days ago. Two days ago, we found a village, Bula Pest. Usual stuff, inn, food and weapons. We asked about Dryden's location, but all we could get was "Whey it is a long way from these paarrts. It's said it lies to the West, though, if that be being of any help to thee." Naturally, even adventurers as desparate as ourselves worked out that he had no idea what he was talking about. The only useful information we got was about a nearby road.
And so, our Northward trek (much speeded by the road) continued. At least it did until we spotted *IT*.
The first we knew of IT was when we started seeing refugees with their few carryable belongings coming from the North. Some merely cried "Our relatives, our homes", others were past that stage and warned us to flee, not to go towards *IT*. But we, well, Helca, could not be persuded to abandon the road, because, as everyone knew, cities lie at the end of roads. With this and other arguments ("You come with me, or your ashes remain here!") we were all convinced to follow her.
We saw it the following morning. It was HUGE, enveloping anything and everything which came within a dozen sectors of it. From a distance we saw two groups engulfed into/under its massive self. As we continued up the road (now at axe point), we saw Half-blood's trying to talk it into submission, elves shooting arrows at it and even dwarven Sundonak worshippers attacking it bare-handed. No-one and nothing survived. And it was directly in our path and closing quickly. We were doomed. But Helca, forever a leader, disagreed.
Plans were laid. No miracle was too evil, no spell too destructive, if we were to survive. Ythcal's Touch, Call Monster, Engulfing Globe, Deflect Magic and Plague wind were all ready for use. Axes and swords were sharpened and bow and crossbow arrows made. Everything was ready, so we stood and waited.
Spells were flung and proved ineffectual, missile fire was lost into the mass. But before melee a miracle happened. No, not Charm or Healing, but a Miracle. *IT* exploded! Pus, yellow and green and sticky and smelly covered a twenty sector radius. But *IT* was gone!
And then we saw the second Miracle - Bakerson City in the, no longer obscured, distance. We all cheered and laughed, even the Dwarf Fighters. Half-way through our sixth keg of beer, Tarawera noticed that his thieving partner, Qara, was missing.
Our party split up and searched. Gently prodding residual piles of goo should she be buried in one. With the coming of night and after nearly six hours we gave up and returned, in mournful silence, to our makeshift camp.
And there we found the third Miracle of the day, Qara alive, well and shovelling chocolate fudge cake down her throat at a remarkable rate.
"How ..."
"Where ..."
We all shouted at once, but as usual, Helca's voice over-rode all others.
"QUIET! SHUT IT OR I'LL RIP OFF YOUR LEGS AND RAM THEM DOWN YOUR THROOOAATS!!!!!"
"I've seen one before" Qara explained, "But with all the preparations, I didn't have time to tell you what I was going to do. Anyway, I wasn't even sure that it would work and this way you would still have had a chance if it didn't, rather than just relying on me."
"Yes, but how ..."
"I stuck it with a pin." Qara managed in between the last few mouthfuls of cake.
"EH??!!"
"Normally they burst on their own, in some un-, or sparsly, populated part of Kharne and do little damage. This one must have got so big that it floated on the wind, it would still have burst eventually though. I just hurried the process up a bit."
"Yes, but WHAT was it?"
"A newsletter editor's ego."