D&D #3: Sand Devils!

Dear Friar Ignatius,

Dagon hisself knows if this letter will ever reach ye. T’ lads and I find ourselves in t’ trackless wastes o’ t’ southern continent. Came through a magical gate, we did, from t’ uncharted isle we found ourselves on only a few days afore. It looked a mean place. Nothin’ but sand as far as t’ eye can see.

I was set t’ turn around and have a go on t’ ship, save that blasted half-orc spied a wisp o’ smoke some miles away. T’ ugly hobbit turned himself into an ugly beast and set off t’ investigate. Hoped we’d seen t’ last o’ him, I did, but like a bad penny he comes right back and tells us that raiders had torn through a nomad camp. We decided t’ set off and see if they’d left any booty behind. As we hove to, I heard t’ sounds o’ a bloody lute comin’ from one o’ t’ tents. As if thin’s couldn’t get worse! We finally poked our heads inside and found that stowaway hobbit sittin’ in t’ middle o’ a rin’ o’ hungry giant rats. His discordant wailin’ seemed t’ confuse t’ beasts and we jumped t’ t’ fray and set about killin’ them smartly. T’ rats in this place be a might meaner than t’ ones you’ve encountered, says I.

Little o’ value we found and like fools, set off in pursuit o’ t’ bandits what raided that camp. Their trail was easy t’ follow for they left a strin’ o’ bodies in their wake. As we bore down, I spied an imp galavantin’ around one o’ t’ corpses. T’ vile thin’ took t’ t’ air, transmogrifyin’ into a raven. Me and t’ other hobbit feathered t’ little beast smartly. We plugged another o’ t’ little devils further on too. Har! Was just like t’ old seminary days when t’ two o’ us would sneak into t’ diabolists college and shoot t’ familiars those blasted wizards always be summonin’. Good times they were, says I. According to the half-orc, they was joined by some six-legged creature later on and it looked to be bearin’ towards a mountain some miles t’ t’ south.

Overtook t’ bandits we did. Their leader was mounted upon a giant scorpion, he was. Now even an old salt like me knows eight legs a scorpion has. (Keepin’ a weather eye on that half-orc when he splits up t’ loot I be doin’ from here out!) There be eight other bandits and some foul hell-spawn flappin’ above their pitiful band. Rushed ’em we did, blastin’ that devil with our spells and layin’ about smartly with our weapons until we got t’ bastards t’ surrender. Thirsty work and greatful was I t’ find they had some beer with them!

Grilled t’ survivors we did on why they raided these poor nomads and what they was up t’ in t’ middle o’ this god-forsaken place. They gave us some cock and bull story about devils and a gatherin’ at those southern mountains and so forth. Har! Sounds like no booty and no glory t’ me. Fools we be, so we’re bearin’ south t’ see what all t’ hullabaloo be. Ah well, ’twill give me a chance t’ bash some heads and commend their sorry souls t’ Arioch.

May Hastur turn his baleful eye upon your enemies,

Black Jack Barcelona


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