ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/crawl/crawl.7

Internet Message Format | 1991-10-28 | 9KB

From: [e-mail] (Lydia Leong)
Subject: Dungeon Crawl #7 - Repost
Summary: Chapter 6 beginning

The story so far:
  The ranger Trevor is trying to rescue his beloved from a bandit clan. Because
  the front door is heavily guarded, Trevor -- accompanied by Jarvik, an
  apprentice mage, Drek, a brawny warrior, Furball, a fuzzy, and Yorl, a
  half-orc thief-turned-cleric -- of course decides that the easiest way into
  the lair is through the abandoned fortress of a long-dead mad magic-user.
  Currently the party is stuck underground, after having fallen quite a
  distance. Yorl is unconscious. The others are somewhat dazed but ok. A
  door has just mysteriously appeared in one of the walls...

CHAPTER 6: Beyond the Door

Part I: Where...?

  "I don't like doors that appear out of nowhere," Jarvik complained, staring
at the wooden door that had just appeared in the east wall. It was a nice
enough door, oak by the looks of it, reinforced by iron - all in all a fairly
standard dungeon door.
  "Do you have any other ideas for getting out of this room?" Trevor snapped.
"With each passing hour, my beloved suffers in the foul clutches of the
brigand leader Shadrak. We must go on!"
  Furball prodded the door with his weapon. "Seems okay. I don't hear anything
on the other side."
  "Something might be listening for us," Jarvik said grimly. "Anyway,
Yorl is still unconscious. We don't know what's on the other side."
  "Drek can carry him," Trevor said. "Now, I'm going to go through that door.
I'll whistle like a mockingbird if it's safe."
  "Yeah? And what will you do if it's not safe?" Jarvik asked.
  "Scream," the ranger told him grimly. Trevor gripped his sword firmly,
strode to the door, and with a firm push, opened it a crack. When a ravening
monster failed to batter down the door, the ranger opened the door just far
enough to squeeze through. He charged forward, brandishing his sword...
  ...and nearly fell headlong into a chocolate river. He swayed on the brink,
flailing his arms wildly, and finally succeeded in balancing himself by falling
over backwards. Wide-eyed, he looked around him.
  He was apparently in an indoor garden. Globes of yellow light hung from the
high, vaulted ceiling; they illuminated a pasture of soft grass, flowers,
and other assorted plants, as well as shining upon the rich brown chocolate
river. It looked safe, but then again, places always looked safest right before
some slavering beast came hunting for dinner. Nonetheless, Trevor whistled like
a mockingbird. He was relieved to see his companions come through the door,
with Yorl slung over Drek's meaty shoulder.
  "Flowers!" squealed Furball happily. "Yummy!"  He uprooted a red tulip and
stuffed it in his mouth. "Hey!" he mumbled, chewing away. "This is strawberry
flavored!"
  Jarvik knelt and examined a bush with pink-and-white rosebuds. He peeled off
a petal and sniffed it. "It's peppermint," he murmured in amazement. "Just
where are we, anyway?"
  "You're in Candyland!" a piping little voice giggled. "And there's no way
out unless you can get past the Honeycomb tower."
  Jarvik whirled. Out of nowhere, a three-foot-tall figure which was apparently
made out of white dough had materialized. It had stubby little legs and arms,
sported a dough chef's hat, and wore a beatific smile. Trevor regarded the
little dough golem with distaste. "Too much cute," the ranger groaned. "I'm
going to be sick."
  Furball sniffed disdainfully. "Bread creatures," he said. "What's flour and
water compared with a lovabobbable furry fuzzy?"
  "And just where is Candyland?" Jarvik demanded.
  "In the hearts of children everywhere," the dough golem cooed. "I'm Iggy -"
  "Icky?" Furball asked.
  "No, Iggy. Short for Ignatius. Only cookie golems get long names. I haven't
been baked yet," the dough golem giggled.
  "I don't know about that," Furball said. "You seem half-baked to me."
  Iggy ignored him. "Long, long ago, in a dimension far, far away, the gweat
mage Merle cweated Candyland from the wisps of dweamstuff. He put his
favorite cweations in it so that they would have a place even when he went to
that Great Kitchen in the sky. But the bad sorcerer Ghuler didn't like
candy, so when he discovered us, he built the Honeycomb Tower and set the
Wicked Witch to watch over us. Candyland is a widdle pocket dimension
between the Big Bad World Outside and the rest of Ghuler's fortwess."
  "Terrific," Trevor groaned. "My beloved is captured by brigands, and I'm
off to fight a Wicked Witch and probably a Gingerbread man. This is NOT
going to sound good in bardsong."
  "Hey, door gone," Drek interjected, pointing towards the now-blank stone
wall where the wooden door had once been. There was a soft >>pop<< and
the wall vanished as well, to be replaced by a tall wooden fence.
  Jarvik stared at the fence. There was something not quite right about it -
perhaps it was the way his eyes kept sliding off before he could see the top
of the fence. As an afterthought, he glanced up at the ceiling. The top
seemed to be just beyond his vision; he had a curious feeling of being both
indoors and outdoors at once. Clearly some sort of dimensional manipulation
is at work here, he thought. Magical Constructs 271: Pocket Dimensions.
He hadn't done too badly in that class. Now if he could just remember how
one got out of a pocket dimension...
  "Only one way out!" Iggy piped. "Through the ovens of the Wicked Witch!"
  "Valarian have mercy," groaned Trevor, rolling his eyes upward. "All right.
How do we get to the Witch?"
  "Down the Chocolate River, through the Peanut Butter Swamp, deep in the
Lollipop Forest, is the Honeycomb Tower. Beware, for mighty foes seek to
smite you down," Iggy recited. "So says Pilbur, patron god of food. All we
have to do is follow the river downstweam."

  "Hey, y'know, Trevor, dis Yorl is pretty heavy," Drek grumbled, trudging
along beside the ranger. The half-orc was slung unceremoniously over the
fighter's shoulder, and he bounced and jangled with every step.
  "Shut up," growled Trevor. The party had been walking for hours - in fact,
they'd seen a beautiful jello sunset in the distance. Jarvik was puffing on
a pipe, sending smoke rings into the sky; the mage's step was weary but his
tread stoically even. Furball's step was no longer as jaunty; exhaustion was
beginning to etch itself onto his cheerful features. Only Iggy bounced on, as
full of energy as ever, chattering aimlessly on about the proper way to make
whipped cream.
  "Want fight," complained Drek. "No good fight for hours now. Drek bored.
Tired of carrying around Yorl, too."
  "Maybe we can give him a dwink fwom the chocolate river," suggested Iggy
cheerily. "Make a fire and heat some up so it's nice and toasty warm?"
  Jarvik smiled broadly. "Yes, a fire! Good idea..."  He dug into one of the
numerous pouches that hung about his waist. With a triumphal grin, he drew
out a small red pebble and threw it onto the ground several feet away. There
was a deafening explosion and a cloud of pink smoke. When it cleared, a small
fire was blazing merrily, complete with dry logs. "Pyrolon's Instant Campfire,"
the mage said with satisfaction. "We could use some rest."
  Trevor seemed about to protest, but then, he simply withdrew a tin cup from
his pack and filled it with lukewarm chocolate from the river. He heated it
by the fire, then handed it to Iggy. "You think you can wake Yorl up with
chocolate, so you give it to him. I don't feed orcish scum," the ranger told
the dough golem.
  Iggy took the chocolate without comment and bounced over to Drek. The warrior
dumped Yorl unceremoniously onto the ground and then sat down to nibble on a
bit of spearmint grass. The dough golem contemplated the inert form of the
half-orc for a minute, and then propped Yorl up into a half-sitting position.
Pinching the half-orc's nose shut, Iggy poured the hot chocolate into Yorl's
mouth.
  "Hey, wait!" Furball yelled. "I haven't tried my Fuzzy Power yet!"
  "Chocolate always works," Iggy said firmly.
  "Urrggh!" groaned Yorl. The half-orc turned over, choking and coughing.
"Wraith... cold death... touch that burns..."
  "What?" Jarvik said, turning toward the half-orc.
  "Urrlll..." gargled Yorl. He opened his eyes cautiously. Light stabbed
painfully at him - even the pale purple of twilight hurt. "Wr... huh?" He
had a vague recollection of a nightmare, a memory that tugged at him... but
as he touched it fleetingly it was gone. Now all he had was a terrible
headache.
  "You've been out for hours," the mage said. "Drek's been carrying you. Can
you heal yourself?"
  "My head," moaned Yorl. "Where am I?"
  "Candyland," snarled Trevor. "I guess we make camp here tonight. It doesn't
look like we can go much further now."
  "Make sure to set a watch," advised Iggy cheerfully. "The blood-sucking pie
monsters are active at night."

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Lydia Leong                  |   If there is anyone here that I have not
[e-mail]     |   offended, I deeply apologize. -- J. Brahms
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