The Lays of the Thirteen Claws League - Session 87

       This is another sort-of-IC retrospective by Bert, the party's thief locksmith-turned-bard. I give +1 character point (XP) for those players who submit a summary for me to post here on the blog. This session was played on 2021/02/11. 

    The Lays of the Thirteen Claws League

Canto 6:

After having left that evil cellar

we thought about all the things we had seen:

Davin contrived to destroy the collar,

using it to mend shields and buff their sheen.

After the sewer darkness we were keen

to enjoy being under the blue sky.

Most of us went to Yvor’s place to clean,

then to a festival in town to try

the food: Childerbert helped himself to a free pie.

Amidst the fete, on this holy of days, 

with its sounds and smells, we split into three

groups, each going on our separate ways*: 

wizard Davin went to his guild’s library

to question scholars and their books to see 

a better way to destroy the monster

 - the guild Master said, again, there can’t be -

but he read on, hoping the books and their

words could show the lich’s essence to help end her.

Young Ingoberger went to drink some beer

at the Strangled Harpy, a den of grime,

lowlifes, spit and sawdust, to maybe hear

if the lich had truck with the world of crime.

The crims had heard tell of ghouls, the odd time:

they interfered with trade. So, no deals but

harm from the folk of the lich’s dank clime.

As he walked, Bert saw dogs fighting: one mutt

bit the other, and then they proceeded to rut.

Miao sought the captain of the city guard

and she announced her design to return

to the dungeon with the mana-less yard

(a place where, I hear, there were runes that burn

and living slime things that attach and turn

flesh to mulch).  While she did that, here’s a thing,

Yvor, chevalier, the one whose yearn

to slay the lich drives this tale which I sing

took himself off shopping: to try and buy a ring.

Success.  In short, in the unsealed dungeon

(unsealed by our Yvor with a crowbar)

they retraced their steps and what they had done

last time in that ruin which is a scar

on Marsh Hall, and before they had got far

they found corrosive slimes covering the floor

outside the room with no mana: a tar

that eats you.  They confirmed the magic score:

manalessness was there, proven by Aesalor.

We reconvened at the Cook & Keg Inn.

Old Bert proposed a strategy of guile,

tricking the lich into letting us win.

But Miao disagreed, it wasn’t her style.

She didn’t believe - by a country mile -

“A wizard would fall for your contrivance,

wouldn’t believe their flaw wasn’t on file

within their mind: so, we must choose violence.

It’s our usual method: brute force and ignorance.”

True, we knew no better way.  So our plan:

we’d cut the cadaver off from mana,

use a magickal portal, if we can,

or else transport the lich by some manner

(just how would defeat many a planner)

as intact as possible, to the null

space (the details of how give a man a

headache).  But we’ll do it, by push or pull.

At least, these things are why our lives are never dull.

We knew we may be going to our death:

but we each faced our doom with truth not lies,

and we would fight on while we had the breath.

Maybe that’s what made Yvor realise

a truth that had been there before his eyes

and he acted on: now.  He was truly

madly deeply in love with Miao.  Surprise!

So, he proposed. I tell you factually,

our natural born killers were in love, actually.

Miao, her ears flattened, surprised, accepted.

Two, united in their love of the scrap.

(The rest of us were, of course, elated).

That done, we all began to plan and map

getting the resources we’d need to tap

(lights, splints, bandages, chains, courage, potions  -

we’d learned we’d need lots for healing).  To cap

that off, we bought drinks for celebrations.

A day of showing Ishtanna** our devotions.

*GM note - these events were on the day after the festival (but maybe that didn't scan as well)

**Goddess of Love and War.