Loose threads None. The party gets shit done.
Participants: Swampy, Syltorin Margaster, Stanelin Shazorwyn, Thanja Rhuuk, Naomi, and Archiebald
Locations The Goat Dungeon
Short summary:
Swampy and Co. venture out to the Goat Dungeon with the lead from Swampy that a rather unique situation has risen from it. The party ventures down into the Goat Dungeon with the understanding the Weaver has annexed the space for lack of a better term. The party registered their names and weapons of choice to participate in a good old fashioned fight to the death for the amusement of the God King!
Full Report:
The party begin their expedition with arriving at the entrance of the Goat Dungeon. A mysterious hole opening where the traditional entrance is located. Due to some rather volatile attitudes about floral arrangements, the trees that marked this hole had a thorny attitude! A fight between these wooden elementals and the party broke out that resulted in puncture wounds and fresh charcoal, however brief it may have been.
Down within the hole a small room with a single table set in the middle of it presented a registry book. A closed stone door opposite of the entrance stood with a faint rhythmic pulse set in everybodys chest. The book contained a list of names and weapons and was later discovered to be an extensive list of previous applicants to the battle arena and the key to progressing through the door. The party did all they could to investigate the door, room, and book and concluded this fact. Everyone registered one way or another but eventually all had passed the threshold of the door.
Entering the door lead to a long hallway with the arena at the other end. The beating in the chest intensifying with every step! "Cross this arch with a steady hand and a ready stance, for the ring ahead belongs to those who seize it. The Strong Survive, the Weak nourish the cycle." At the end of the hall, a decrepit elf rests by the gate that marks the entrance to the arena. Crazed chanting, wide eyes, old skin, and stark white prominent bones he speaks:
"The drums! The drums! The druuuums they drum on and on and on and on. Huehuetl. Teponaztli, they bang with such intensity. They argue with each other, I can heaaaar the arguing, feel the anger. The God King breathes, o the earth quakes at the mere step. The smoke, it draws from lip to lip of the petitioners come to hahahaha to PLAY! TO FIGHT! TO WIN THEIR PLACE AT THE FOOT OF THE MIGHTY ONE! Oops. Too late. Have fun dear Petitioner"
The party enter a massive arena larger than life in both proportion and respects to the host Teepēyōllōtl. His voice shaking the very foundations of the earth. “The strong survive. The weak nourish the cycle. Stand tall and be weighed. I take no pleas, only proof. Step into the ring and make your truth with steel, with timing, with will that does not blink. If you cannot hold this ground, you will feed it. If you can, you will keep your name and your place. Choose how you are remembered, as meat for the cycle or as the spine that refuses to bend.”The party is facing off a group of various jotun-born with dozens of other combatants fighting across the entirety of the arena. A long winded fight bleeds into another as a second party of Valkyries interrupts the Guildmembers fight with the giants. A desperate plea convinces the remaining Valkyrie, Freytal to lead the charge against any other remaining groups so that she could claim victory with our final defeat.
From hags, to golems and liches and undead these interfighting groups end each other. The death battle concludes against wicked spiders of the monstrosity variety being slain and the guildmember party facing off against Freytal. Despite her noble and powerful attempt she is unsuccessful against the six members of the party. She dies with honor complimenting us with her last breath.
Then the party woke up looking down the hole. A reveal that the Storyteller, owner and operator of the dungeon facilitated this particular encounter. A memory of a time long past. Real to reality but a mere vision to us; at least that what should be believed. Time however is a mere plaything to a God and even more so to the Storyteller. With the party sufficiently back in the real world they question amonst themselves what the point of that all really was. It seems everyone but Swampy was left disappointed.