Chapter 33: Chapter Thirty-Three

My father continues, adjusting his voluminous false beard, “The main street of Glenhollow is quiet at this early hour, with only a few villagers running errands or moving livestock out to pasture. It takes only a few minutes to find the bakery, but the lamps are dark and unlit, the door locked. An elderly woman is standing by a side gate, leaning heavily on a walking cane. Her expression is one of abject misery, which brightens with hope as she sees your group approaching.”

My mum clears her throat and speaks up, “Good morrow, dear madam. Be’est thou the one who sought assistance with a… problem of a most unfortunate kind?”

Dad smiles and turns on the ‘old woman’ voice. “The elderly woman nods frantically. “Oh, I am indeed, dearie! Come quick, we best be heading inside.” She turns and shuffles arthritically down the side path, leading you towards a small, charming cottage behind the bakery. She produces a small key and opens the door. “There’s an awful noise from my cellar, there is. I ‘eard it late last night, so I went down to the door with a candle and took a peek. Rats, they was, a dozen at least! When they saw me, they started comin’ at me, all beady eyes and teeth!”

Jeffrey adds, “Ironhand steps forward and states, “We will… handle it, good lady. If you would… let us in… to the cellar, we… will make … quick work of the … rats, for you.” before bowing politely.”

 

Dad responds, “Mrs Pratchett nods, rummaging in her apron pocket, producing a key and pressing it into Ironhand’s palm with a clank.  She wishes you luck, before hobbling into the kitchen and showing you all the sturdy wooden door leading to the cellar.”

Jeffrey uses the key on the door, and Dana’s character ducks in. “what do I see, O mighty and powerful Dungeon Master?” she chuckles, and Dad smirks.

“Inside the cellar, it’s dark, but it smells clean and fresh, not stagnant or musty like any cellar or basement you’ve been in before. Do you have darkvision?”

Dana grins. “Yep! As a Gloomstalker, I have 60ft of Darkvision thanks to my Umbral Sight.”

Dad nods. “Excellent. As you peer into the cellar’s recesses, you can see sacks piled neatly along the walls. A couple of these sacks have been torn open and the contents scattered on the floor. Several giant rats are clustered around the room, unmoving.”

Dana grins. “I tap softly on the door and signal to the others to get in here now!”

Jeffrey, my mom, and I all agree, and enter the cellar, locking the door behind us so no Rodents of Unusual Size can escape. I draw my warhammer, reading through my character sheet to make sure I have everything ready.

Dad announces, “Alright, everyone, I need you all… to roll perception!”

I announce, “NAT 20, for a total of 23!”

Jeffrey adds, “14!”

My mum grins, holding her hand out to high-five me. “Like mother like daughter! I got a Nat 20 as well, total of 24!”

Dana laughs, before rolling her own dice. With a groan, she adds, “well, you’re clearly better off than me! Even the Luck o’ the Irish cannae save me from rolling an 11!”

I can see my dad’s eyes twinkle under the brim of his oversized wizard hat. “Even that is still enough. As you all ready yourselves for battle, something… strange… happens. The rats don’t even stir or twitch. They’re almost sagging, slumped, or leaning against one another. They’re all… dead. Except one, weakly scrabbling towards you. What would you like to do?”

Dana grins. “I… have Speak with Animals!”

Dad pauses. “Oooof course you do. Well, are you planning to use it?”

 

Dana’s smirk widens. “Of course I am. It’s a ten-minute ritual, so I’ll take the time to do it.”

Dad nods. “Okay. As the spell takes effect, the rat’s squeaks shift, only audible to Faeln, into Common.  The rest of you hear only rat noises.”

To the Irish girl, Dad continues, his voice again altered to sound more animalistic, “why… wait? Kill me. Finish the job…”

Dana pauses, and then responds, “What job? We were not responsible for this! You got into this place yourselves, didn’t you?”

Dad-rat lets out a wheezing laugh that breaks into a coughing fit. “No. Nooooo. We were brought here, scaly one… in sacks. We were so hungry, so hungry… we smelled to food, and gnawed our way out of the sacks…. We ate, and then… then the sickness came… strength could not fight it, speed could not outrun it. It took them all…”

Everyone sits silent, staring, as Rat-Dad lets out a series of gradually-weakening gasps. Finally, he speaks again. “Beware… the man who smells like almonds… he came to our nest, and we got sleepy… then we were here…the food in the… the bags… “

Dad falls silent, before narrating, “as the rat’s words tail off, it spasms, twitching frantically for a moment, before falling limp, eyes glazing over as a trickle of foam spills from its jaws.”

Dana sits back. “Well, that’s… unnerving.”

I speak up. “Master Flightfeather, what happened? You appeared to be… talking… with the beast. Is that true?”

She nods. “Aye. The rats didn’t come here of their own volition. Someone brought them here after drugging them. They ate the grain, and it made them all violently ill. I think… I think someone ‘who smells like almonds’  tried to use the rats as a nasty trap for Mrs Pratchett and her business, only for it to go awry. We might even have two parties working at odds with each other, without knowing.”  We all look towards the ripped-open bags of grain, and I raise a hand. “Um… I think I have a spell for this.”

Dana and my mom turn. “You do??” I grin, and, tapping a finger on my sheet, I elaborate. “I can cast a level-1 spell called ‘Purify Food and Drink’. Could I use that on the tainted grain?”

My dad leans back in his chair. “You can certainly try. Roll me a D20 and add your spellcasting modifier.”

I grab one of the dice and check my modifier. A 3 to Wisdom… I shake my cupped hand and let fly. It skitters into the dice tray in the centre of the table. I rolled a 13, plus my Wisdom Modifier…

“16!”

My dad claps his hands. “Perfect! As the Tiefling waves her hands over the sacks of grain, a drift of smoke rise from three of the bags, one of which was undamaged. It forms into a black, ghastly skull, before disappearing in a whirl of fresh air that smells of cut grass and heated strawberries.”

I smile and fist-pump. “Yesss!”

Dad gives us a little longer to check the cellar out, before we go and report to Mrs Pratchett. We decide not to mention the tainted grain to her, and instead claim our reward, 25gp, and, after thanking her, my mum asks, “could you tell us where your grain comes from? We would very much like to investigate them.”

Dad’s ‘old-woman’ voice makes a return, and he quavers, “The farm outside of town! There’s a mill, they make their own flour! I prefer to mill mine personally, though. That’s why I buy grain from them instead.”

With our next destination in mind, we went back to the guild and reported a successful quest, receiving one mark on our adventurer’s licenses to denote a quest complete. Then, we headed for the farm.

It takes almost three hours, since ‘just outside town’ apparently means ‘a good couple of miles’. It isn’t until past midday before we get to the outskirts of the farm.  Dana looks at us.

“I’d like to sneak in and investigate the place. I have high stealth, and I can move in shadows almost silently. Would everyone else be okay with that?”

I nod. “I’m okay with that. My stealth isn’t very good.” My mum and Jeffrey nod as well after riffling through their sheets.

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Dad smiles. “Okay, Dana.  Make me a stealth check!”

She nods, and then adds, “Oh, I’m taking my scale-mail armour off for extra stealthiness.” She rolls, and then adds, “13.”

Dad nods. “As Faeln Flightfeather removes his armour, and stores it in his pack, his greenish scales seem to blend in with the tall, yellowing stalks of wheat around you. He dips into the crops, and vanishes. You can hear a faint rustling, but it might just be the wind. Would you like to say anything before the ranger’s out of earshot?”

I call softly, “if you run into trouble, howl like a wolf and we’ll come running!”

Dad nods. “So, while Faeln is infiltrating this farm, what will the rest of you do?”

I decide to pray to Kelemvor, while Jeffrey stands guard and my mum polishes her Hexblade, a longsword with a rippling, serpentine blade.

Dad grins. “So far, nothing has happened that might have triggered your need to fight. Faeln, you have managed to weave your way up to the main cart-track that runs across a gap between two fields. What are you going to do?”

Dana answers, “I want to peek out subtly and see if I can spot the mill.”

“Perception check, please, Dana!” My wizard-Dad grins, clearly having the time of his life. She grabs a dice and rolls, clenching a fist in excitement.

“16!” she announces, running a hand through her red hair.

Dad continues. “Sure enough, you can see the windmill, rising up behind the farmhouse. There’s a few people coming and going, carrying farm tools or sacks, but most seem to be armed with shortswords or daggers. A farm would be prey for bandits or the occasional goblin, so most people go about with a weapon of some kind. What will you do? Take a minute, while I reconvene with the rest of your comrades!”

As Dana puzzles out her next step, dad turns to me. “Okay, I need the three of you to make stealth checks to remain undetected. This is a farm, so there are harvestmen and other hands at work in the fields.”

Jeffrey grins. “19 for me!”

I wince, and sheepishly add, “It’s a good job, since I rolled a 5. My chainmail is noisy, apparently, so I roll at disadvantage.”

My mum bites her lip. Dad looks over at her, and his grin slowly widens. “Oh, hon. You did, didn’t you?”

She nods. “Yes, I rolled… a Nat 1.”

Jeffrey bursts out laughing. “Oh come on! I’m a malfunctioning robot who sounds like a steam-train covered in saucepans, and I’M the stealthiest one apart from our ranger?!”

Dad tosses a wink to my friend, and hands mum a 6-sided dice. “Roll this, please!”

She shakes it vigorously, and lets fly. “3!”

“Okay, that’s how many farmhands emerge from the wheat in front of you. They’re as shocked to see you as you are to see them. Now, I’m going to roll a d4. Odds, they get the surprise round, evens it’s you.” He grabs a little metal pyramid from the dice tray and rolls it in the open. It lands on 4.

“Okay, sweet. You get the surprise round, so you’ll all get one attack with advantage against them before they can react. Ready?”

My mum adds, “I think we should go for non-lethal. If we kill them and they’re innocent of any crime, we’ve murdered those who do not deserve it.”

Jeffrey and I agree, as Dana sits there, chortling. “The second I leave you three alone, you get into trouble! This is typical of the game!”

We all decide to pick on a different target, to maximise our chances of taking them down before they can sound the alarm. I swing for the centre one.

 “I rolled a 4 to hit.”

Dad shakes his head. “That misses, but you have advantage, roll again.”

My next roll is much better. “22?” Dad winces. “Oh yeah, that DEFINITELY connected. Roll damage?”

I check my sheet, and roll a d8 and add my strength. “5 bludgeoning damage.”

Dad snaps his fingers. “As you swing your warhammer, the first attack goes wild, but you make it look like a skilful feint and clout the centre farmhand across the jaw with the haft. He sinks down in a heap, unconscious!”

I let out a little cheer, as Jeffrey grins. “Nice work, Ky, now it’s Ironhand’s turn to deliver a righteous beatdown!”

He rolls his own attack, targeting the left farmer. “First roll, 7. Second roll for advantage, 23!”

Dad huffs, “if a 22 hit, I thiiiink the 23 will. Roll damage!”

Jeffrey cackles, gathering his dice and chucking it. “7 bludgeoning damage!”

Dad groans, “As the farmhand reels back from watching his companion hit the dirt, the mighty, dented metal figure of Ironhand seems to be in just the right spot to catch him in the back of the neck with a palm strike. His brains rattled, he joins his friend, face-down on the soil!”

I high-five Jeffrey, both of our targets down, while mum smiles like a happy cat. “Myyyy tuuuuurn!” she sings, rolling her own dice.  “I cast Vicious Mockery!”

Dad roars, “make me laugh, and I’ll double the damage on it!”

Mum thinks for a moment, and then sneers, “you are so hideously malformed, your parents had to tie sausages around your waist to get even stray dogs to play with you!”

Dad bursts out laughing. “Alright, roll damage and double it!”

My mum grins. “Doesn’t he get a saving throw to resist?”

Dad grins. “I’ll give you the result after you tell me the damage!” he rolls behind his DM screen, and chuckles.

Mum giggles, “6 in total!” Dad sighs. “Well, he rolled an 11, and your spell save DC is 14, so…”

She reaches over and high-fives me and Jeffrey, as dad narrates, “The final commoner turns, trying to flee, but at Nesta’s words, he stops, his eyes roll back, and he falls limp, foaming at the mouth as he relives his traumatic childhood.”

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