As moonlight shone upon the secluded forest, the four adventurers made their way through the trees.
A snarling, musclebound bugbear led the pack. They said their name was “randkreet”, and the others knew better than to question it. Their fur was in the same condition as their iron hammer was - dirty, tattered, and covered in dried blood flakes. Some of the blood was fresh, some of it had been there for weeks.
Behind the creature was a sorcerer quietly chanting to himself, as small sparks of sorcery twirled around his bronze-scaled fingers. Axols was a man of few words, and the ones that did escape his mouth were short, concise, and deadly. The magic that ran through his veins made him a fearsome spellcaster, and his draconic lineage made him a dominating presence wherever he went.
Walking next to the sorcerer was Sylvia Autumnleaf. She walked at a brisk pace, every breath of hers controlled, and every movement of hers intentional. The path of a monk was a rigorous one, requiring one to sacrifice much and endlessly train, but she was walking proof of the benefits such dedication could bring. She would move like a shooting arrow, strike with the force of an axe, and never need to even catch her breath. Not that she’d need to, having taken a vow of silence.
Having taken the opposite of a vow of silence was Syth Vorn, an assassin notorious for both his deadly skills, and his motor mouth. A dark elf was already assumed to be a trickster with no fear of backstabbing his fellows, but Syth’s story was covered head to toe in broken promises and spent blood. Hiring him for the expedition was a risky choice, but one their patron was willing to take.
Hairs raised on the Bugbear’s neck. There was a sound coming from the foliage. Sounds of walking, of moving, of climbing. “Trees,” they moaned, raising their hammer. The rest did not need to question what it meant, as a swarm of goblins started coming out of every nook and cranny.
Randkreet moved first, darting like an arrow towards a lone goblin next to a tree. They raised their mighty hammer and slammed it forcefully against the creature, only stopping once the hammer collided with a tree, breaking it in half. The red mist that once called itself a hunter didn’t have time to settle before the tree crashed to the floor, bringing down an archer to the berzerker’s eyeline.
They did not bother to lodge the hammer out of the tree, as they walked up to the goblin, grabbed it by the ribs, lifted, and started pulling. A sickening CRACK echoed through the woods, as Randkreet’s fur was covered once more in the blood of their victims.
Axols’s silent chant did not stop, as his eyes looked towards the horizon and saw a small group coalescing in the distance. More were coming. He raised his right palm upwards, as if offering a helping hand, and the spark between his fingers crackled into a torso-sized ball of flame. It flew forwards, scorching the grass in its wake, and it exploded into a violent display of wood splinters and bone marrow.
By the time the two others managed to take down a handful of goblins, a dozen were already laid down at Sylvia’s feet. Their bodies were limp, their eyes bloodshot, and their necks bruised and bloodied. But they would live. For now. She picked up a handkerchief from the pockets of one of the goblins, and used it to wipe her hands as she walked back to the rest.
“You’ve screwed up now,” Syth chuckled, as he unsheathed Zatha’ar, the Demon Blade. The katana glowed in an ominous dark hum, as it proceede-
Syth unsheathed what?
Zatha’ar, the Demon Blade.
Zatha’ar, the Demon Blade?
Yeah, the Demon Blade.
That’s not real.
What do you mean.
He can’t do that.
Why not.
“Do you- is this demon blade on your character sheet anywhere?”
“yea dude what do you think i am, a moron?”
“OK, and, when exactly did Syth acquire this demon blade?”
“yesterday.”
“Yesterday your characters were at camp, was that in the store owner’s sheet or-”
“no like- like yesterday in real life. in a homebrew campaign. I played one person dnd with myself. wanted to grind a bit before the big fight, homeboy, whatchu think I am?”
“Y- Gri- Un- Haauauugggnnnn…”
The loud humming of the Games and Recreation Club’s mini-fridge did not help the increasing exasperation of its helpless DM. Maxima held their head in their hands, trying their best not to melt into one big puddle of rage only fifteen minutes into a session. “So… ok, just to make sure, I do remember that you’ve said you’ve played tabletop RPGs before, but… how familiar are you with the rules of Dungeons and Dragons, specifically?”
“I play this shit all the time, man, who you think you’re talkin’ to?” Kurt replied, leaning back on a school chair that was absolutely not designed for that purpose. “I been playin this game for years. other people can’t keep up with me tho. can’t keep up with the wrecks style. few can, really. I have a talent, yknow. a primo, grade-a, success talent for this game. these goblins won’t know what hittem. they were livin’ their stupid lil’ goblin lives, huffin’ eau de perfumes, munchin’ on that axe body spray, eating horseshit from the side of the road, whatever the fuck, and then bam, the raddest ninja-” “You’re playing an assassin.” “-raddest ninja this side of narnia shows up and BAM. chopped to mincemeat. you’re fuckin welcome, dulcinea of tabasco.”
On the other side of this teacher’s-desk-turned-tabletop-game-central sat three other students, each going through a different stage of grief.
Sayuri was in denial. Partially out of shock, mostly out of inexperience. “I’m sorry, I know this is probably basic but, can he do that?” she asked in a hushed tone, “I wanted to give Randkreet the Donkey Kong hammer but Maxi told me that I can’t do that.” She was very excited to play DnD for the first time with a group of experienced players, an excitement that was being tested every time Kurt opened his mouth.
Franz was well past acceptance. This wasn’t the first campaign he played with a meta-gamer, and it certainly won’t be the last. “Nicht, he can’t do zat,” he answered her. “Some players get into DnD for… escapist purposes rather zan ze creative joy of storytelling, if you’ve been able to tell. Munchkins, is what zey’re called. I haven’t seen someone be zis bold before, but if you want to get into zis hobby, you’ll need to get used to ze experience.” He stopped talking in a whisper and openly addressed the kid, “Kurt, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but please try to create a narrative with ze rest of ze group.”
Sybil was also well past acceptance. Very well past acceptance. She was so well past it, in fact, that she circled the five stages several times over before landing right back on rage. She had played more campaigns than everyone else at the table combined, meaning that she had lost all patience for players who were there to jerk off their own ego. Her stare of sheer unadulterated contempt was noticed by everyone at the table, except the intended target.
“FIIIINE,” Kurt moaned in exasperation, “I’ll tell a friggin story or whatever. fuckin’ whiners.”
Syth stared down the last goblin, armed with a crossbow and shaking in its aim. He dared the goblin to shoot, and as the arrow flew right into Syth’s body, it went right past. It was an illusion. By the time the goblin knew what was happening, his throat was already pouring blood. Syth pushed him to the floor, and wiped his dagger clean.
”It’s done,” growled the beast. “How far do we have left?” “If our map is correct, and didn’t simply exist to lead us into this ambush, it should be right there.” Axols pointed past the scorched earth left by his spells, as a marble construct shone in the moonlight.
“The Lonely Gazebo.”
A small opening in the forest gave way to a small, secluded monument that seemed to almost glitter in the light of the full moon. The four were sent on this quest to retrieve a small locket, belonging to the witch who created the gazebo, which held a small memoir of her love. This witch was known as one of the most powerful in the land when she was still alive, so such a meaningful object must’ve been imbued with untold power. All they had to do was retrieve it.
The four circled the opening, each looking at the stoney construction from a different direction. Each trying to think of some way to see into the mind of this witch, and think of what she would require of those who’d wish to know her deepest wishes.
“So, what do you all do?” Maxima asked.
Franz fiddled with the collar of his coat. “How large is zis gazebo? How far away from it are we?”
“It’s about 30 feet across, and 15 feet in height. Its top has a few cracks in it, and foliage covers the bottom.”
“Is there any sort of mechanism around it that we can see? A lever, some kind of trap door?” asked Sayuri.
“Roll for it.”
Rankreet squinted their eyes, and opened their ears and nose. Trying to spot anything out of the ordinary, they noticed a-
CLANG!
“Oh shit- oh fuc- Shit, sorry!”
“What just happened, are you ok?”
“Yeah, sorry, I- I flung the die too hard.”
The mini-fridge’s half-open door now had a cool new decoration adorning it, in the form of a metallic D20 violently lodged into it, right below its handle. The hand that just nearly survived receiving a surprise finger amputation was Sky’s. “…Friends, if any of you break my mini-fridge, you’re paying for everything that spoils.”
“…sorrryyyyyyyyyyyy.”
Rankreet tried spotting anything out of the ordinary in their dreary path. They weren’t very magically attuned, but something in their fur felt drawn to the path that led to the gazebo.
“‘lright, so, combat starts, yea?” Kurt asked.
“No, no, first we have some exploration. You know, use some of your other tools in your arsenal, prepare, maybe use some of the items you’ve gathered in this campaign? This campaign, specifically?”
“fuckin’… piss on my cereal why don’t you. uhhhh, does the gazebo look dormant?”
“…I suppose, yeah? It’s dormant.”
“mmhm, alright, ok, does it look like it has any weaknesses? yknow like a place to hit it in the knees and make it beg for it?”
“Make it beg for-” Maxima was trying their best to understand what was being asked, “I guess you could hit the support columns? That would- that counts as a weak spot right?”
“goddayum, alright. OP piece of shit, this gazebo bitchass. ok so if i try to-” Kurt stopped, feeling the tapping of a finger on his shoulder. “oh you wanna talk? my bad homegirl, i only sleep with the fishes not speak with fish, couldn’t hear ya with all that omega-3 bubbling,” he added with a chuckle. She did not break eye contact.
She held aloft a phone display that read: “Can I roll a history check to see if anything about this witch would be relevant to this quest?”
Rahab of the South was a person whose life created many conflicting reports from varying groups of people. Some said she was hospitable and kind, willing to help anyone in distress. Others said that she would burn and obliterate anyone who’d cross her path. Some spoke of her legion of followers, and how she wielded their power for her own benefit. Others told a tale of a reclusive hideout.
Some of the tales mentioned another woman she was often seen with: a sister, maybe a friend. She looked sickly and pale, but Rahab would treat her with the patience of a mother carefully protecting her child from the dangers of the world. The ones who told this story mentioned that they’d often be seen in flower fields, sitting next to the lavender patch in a warm embrace.
When Rahab would come alone, she’d sit next to the lavender, fiddling with some small, golden object in her palm.
“fuckin’ spectacular girl, wild, absolutely kino if you know what i’m sayin,” Kurt added the second he could slide a sentence in, “lesbians. love ‘em. who doesnt love lesbians yknow. double the tits, double the fun. I think homohaters are the fuckin l-word, i’m pro lgtv and all of the panasonic people there, yknow, i aint fuckin stupid, but we ain’t here to taste the rainbow we here to pack up this skittle squad, capiche?”
For the next 10 seconds, the only sounds audible were the air conditioning unit croaking itself to death, and Sky sipping on her drink like she was watching prime time television.
Franz broke the silence, “can I cast detect magic?”
Axols took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled out. He could feel a path of flowing mana moving across the field, like a long red string leading them to their desire. It moved from the entrance of the forest, down the garden path, and then around the gazebo, into the earth below it. A few pink flowers could be seen growing under the marble.
Sayuri leaned over. “Ok, so now we just need to find some way to get under that gazebo, right? Could Rankreet move it somehow?”
“It’s over 10 tons of stone, I believe, so probably not. We’d need to access ze ground beneath ze marble. Maybe a trap door or somesuch?”
Sybil tapped silently for a moment, and showed her notes app: “We could try digging, but killing a flower is seen as a bad omen in some superstitions, so maybe that would only hurt us.”
“or,” Kurt interjected, “or hear me out here, we could just do the obvious thing and wake the stupid bitch up. we wake it up, we turn it into coke powder, snort it into our eyeballs, and pull out this gay ass love locket or whatever out of the ground.”
“Wake who up?” Franz asked in a deadpan tone. Sybil’s irises turned microscopic.
“the fuckin gazebo, duh, are you daft or somethin? god it’s like i’m the only one paying attention to this shit. ayo, blue sis, i scream at the gazebo to scare it.”
“Come again?” Maxima asked.
“you got cotton in your ears or whatever? I scream at the stupid thing. does it answer?”
“Kurt? Kurt. Kurt honey. Kurty. I mean this, in the best possible way. Do you know what a gazebo is?”
“motherfucker i TOLD you i play dnd, do i look like a jackass?” Sybil nodded. “make my ninja scream already and lets see where we go from there.”
Syth bellowed in rage. “Hey, coward, what’s the matter, too scared to face us?”
The gazebo stood in silence.
“really girl? alright sure, playin’ it hard to get, i gotchu, i can play this game too. my bro flash-steps up and cuts the thing in half.”
“You don’t have movement spells.”
“fuckin’- sure, whatever, i run up to it like an idiot and cut it into five guys, hold the fries. fuckin’ fun haters, forreal.”
Syth ran across the flower field, readying his Rapier and striking with force against the gazebo’s support pillars. The blade shatters, leaving a small crack in the marble.
“goddamn! why the fuck is this witch shit so busted, dude? you want us to fight this?”
“I really don’t,” Maxima blurted.
“why ain’t any of y’all helping me with this shit?” Sayuri and Franz looked on in confusion.
“Because I don’t want to try fighting a gazebo?”
“Attacking a powerful vitch’s magical construct vith magic seems like it vuld kill us all.”
Sybil laid back with both her palms lodged firmly in her face.
Sky was having the time of her life.
“alright, fine! sure! weaklings all of you! If none of you are gonna help me, i’m runnin! i’m gonna go back to that barman or whatever and tell him that he can go get fucked because his stupid amulet is shoved twelve inches inside of mecha hulk hogan, and trying to get it is going to end with mecha hulk hogan being twelve inches inside of me. you can all get turned to fuckin paste by a giant golem dick on your own time, i’m goin awol, and all of you can go suck the left half of my moon. this shit mean nothing to me, man.”
Syth gazed in horror at the gazebo - it was omnipotent. It was his end. He had to escape. He dropped his rapier, turned tail, and ran away.
But it was too late.
He had awakened the Gazebo.
The marbled creature emerged from the earth, turning its hideous, glassy eyes at the rogue. It charged, charged faster than any of them could have ever imagined, and grasped Syth with its iron grip. The cursed construct lifted him up, as Syth struggled to fight back. He pushed, he pulled, he screamed, but it was to no avail. It pressed on him, and a sickening CRUNCH could be heard across the forest.
Syth’s body fell limp, and slid down into the Dread Gazebo’s maw. His quest was over.
About 2 minutes later, Kurt had left the room, rambling obscenities about how “[he] knew none of [them]all could handle the wrecks style” and how they were “a bunch of losers” for wanting to tell a story in the story telling game. Sky left the room second, telling the group not to worry about the fridge, as the rest of the session more than made up for it.
The merry gang of four sat in the Games and Recreation Club, listening to the air conditioning unit cough its last breath and finally die off. The four were tired, spent, and bewildered by what just went down.
“So… same time, same place next week? We’ll pick up at the entrance to the flower patch and just undo the… that. That just happened,” Maxima suggested.
“…I’m good with the same time,” Sayuri answered, still looking in horror at her table, “but maybe… maybe not the same place,”
“And, maybe, let’s not inform everyone of this change.”