From: mmcalees@sol.UVic.CA (Michael McAleese)
Subject: STORY: Dingbat and the Brooch (Part Six)
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Summary: See below
Keywords: Rodent, Playdough, Sauramud, Dingbat, Dracula, Vaseline, 10' pole
Organization: Those Dudes
Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1993 19:12:19 GMT


                      Dingbat the Monk and the Brooch
                             by "Those Dudes"

(Synopsis of Parts 1,2,3,4&5:  The party finds a jeweled brooch, loses it
and the monk to wererats while dodging a band of irate orcs, and then
recovers the monk at the wizard's expense.  The party gets Sauramud raised
by promising to track down and kill the wererat priests who have apparently
spirited the brooch away.  Dingbat starts a fire in the temple.  The party
braves the horrors of the dungeon depths where Dingbat mortally offends the
wizard and gains a pair of magic Boots of Monkish Kicking in a desperate
trap that nearly ends the story.  The party encounters many fell creatures
enroute to the hidden temple and Rodent makes a masterful deduction.  The
party is less than impressed with Rodent's deduction, but in so informing
him they almost alert the wererats to their presence outside the temple.)

Part Six

	"Close one." said Dingbat.  "Lucky for you there was a monk with you."
	"Huh?" said Playdough.
	"Well it's a well known fact that monks are harder to surprise." said
Dingbat.  "And concequently can surprise much easier."
	"So?" said Rodent.
	"Well don't you see?  It's obvious.  It's harder for us to be
surprised by them so it's harder for them to be surprised by us, thus they
must be surprisingly hard to be surprised by surprising us, thus they
didn't hear us and..."
	"Eh?" said Sauramud, his eyes spinning.
	"Look, I'll explain it in point form." said Dingbat with the pained
look of a misunderstood scholar.
	"Duh, no you won't either." said Playdough, who had had quite enough
of the talking and was eager to get to the chopping stage.  He flung
Dingbat out of the way.  "We's gonna attack 'em." Before any of the others
could think to stop him he drew his mighty glowing sword and stepped into
the room swinging at the first animate thing he encountered.  Luckily it
was a wererat and it had time for only one startled squeak before it's
upper and lower halves flew in different directions.  "Well hey!  These
things are EASY." chortled the paladin in holy glee.  He laid into another.
	"By Le Thick he speaks truly!" said Dingbat in awe.  "Quickly men, we
must aid him before he kills them all and gets all the experience and
treasure!"
	"Don't be too hasty.  There's still six of them." warned the wizard.
"Fortunately I still have a fireball spell left - if no monks jostle me
before I can get the spell off that is." Dingbat just rolled his eyes as
the wizard began chanting.  Fortunately nobody bothered him and Sauramud
managed to nuke the three wererats racing to them from the direction of the
altar.
	"Ha!  Four against three now!  _Too easy_." said Sauramud, buffing his
nails in a disgusting show of smugness.  At that moment twenty more
wererats came bursting into the room from the many archways which the party
had forgotten about.  "Oops."
	"Nice going." muttered Dingbat.  "You and your big mouth."
	"Well don't just stand there!" snapped an irritated Sauramud. "Pull
your thumb out of your arse and get in there with those magic booties of
yours." Dingbat grinned.
	"Hey that's right, time to test these babies out!  All right wererats,
prepare to get your faces kicked in!" With this Dingbat launched himself
towards a pair of advancing wererats (passing Rodent and Playdough who were
retreating to a defensive position at one end of the temple with Sauramud).
With a bound the monk was among them, and with a second, much higher bound
was beyond them.
	"What the heck is he doing?" said Rodent, as Dingbat bounded down the
temple floor with higher and higher leaps.
	"HALP!" cried the monk.  "I can't stop!  Every time I land I just
bounce higher!"  True to his words Dingbat was fair caroming off the
vaulted ceiling at this point.
	"Oh no!" cried Sauramud.  "Those aren't _Boots of Monkish Kicking_,
they're the dreaded _Cursed Monkish Boots of Prancing_!" With a wail,
Dingbat ricocheted off the far wall and rebounded hard off a column.
Fortunately few of the bounds were over thirty feet thus Dingbat, being a
monk, was taking no damage.
	Sensing that Dingbat was little threat to them now the twenty wererats
formed into a mob and slowly advanced towards the threesome at the end of
the temple. Suddenly the wererats stopped advancing.
	"Duh, what're they waiting for?" whispered Playdough.  Rodent seemed
about to reply when there rang out a familiar voice...
	"Ach!" rasped a voice behind them and the threesome whirled to face
Ach'ptooe the orc chief!
	"You again!" gasped Sauramud.  "I thought we lost you!"
	"Ach, nein!" said Ach'ptooe smugly.  "Ve chust vait for you to meet vit
rat-men allies and hand over der brooch.  Findt der monk, you say.  Ach,
der monk ist bouncing over dere, monk vast vit rat allies!  You lie!  Ve
come troo side door, avoid der nasties.  Now you handt over der jewelled
knick-knacker ting, undt ve kills you qvick, hokay?" Behind him were sixty
orcs, most with silver painted swords and large bunches of wolvesbane
stuffed in their belts.  In the back two orcs were still spray-painting
their swords silver.
	A rustling sound from the wererats caused the party to turn again and
check out the mob of lycanthropes, from who's midst a huge wererat in
cerimonial robes appeared.
	"So!" the wererat shaman squeaked.  "You and the orcs are allies, are
you?  Stealing the most holy eye of the Rat God demanded a sacrifice, thus
the monk (he ducked to avoid Dingbat whistling past at this point) was to
pay the ultimate price.  Now you have entered the temple and gazed on the
Rat God, all must die!"
	"Bummer." groaned Playdough.  "This is turning into one of those
days.  I'm startin' to get real tired of orcs an' wererats."
	The wererats shuffled forward, the orcs shuffled forward, and Rodent
leaned over to Sauramud and Playdough.
	"On my signal, follow me." he whispered.  He paused.
	With a roar the orcs charged.
	With a squeal the wererats charged.
	"NOW!" cried the ranger, and the group made a quick break for one side
and took up a defensive posture in an alcove.  Orc met wererat in the grand
melee and even though the orcs outnumbered them three to one the wererats
were making a pretty good dent in the orcish numbers.  Anyone that strayed
too close to the adventurers got whanged by magic swords or riddled with
magic missiles, so understandably the conflict raged around them more than
at them.
	"This is great!" enthused Sauramud.  "Maybe they'll kill each other
off and leave the brooch for us."
	"Duh, look!" said Playdough, ducking as Dingbat bounced past.
"Dingbat's still bouncing around."  As they watched Dingbat caromed off a
column hard enough to crack the stone, but since he had lost conciousness
some few rounds ago he made little protest.
	"I suppose we should get him down." said Rodent, pulling out his bow.
	"Not like that you ninny!" said Sauramud.  "Here, Playdough, hold onto
the end of this rope."  So saying the magicer handed Playdough the end of a
rope and flung the other end out into the air as Dingbat passed.  With a
'TUNG' the rope straightend, nearly pulling the paladin over.  There was a
nearby 'thump' of a monkish form hitting the ground.
     "Now reel him in quick so we can bandage him." said Sauramud.
	"A grappling hook?" said Rodent angrily.  "Why didn't you use that
when we were in the pit?
	"It was the principle of the thing.  Dingbat had to apologise." stated
the thaumaturge smugly, ignoring the spluttering sounds from the ranger.
	"Duh, Dingbat's kinda dead." said Playdough morosely, dangling the
monk from one hand.
	"Nonsense, just heal him with your holy touch and he'll be
salvageable." said Sauramud, wiping off the grappling hook and coiling up
the rope.
	"Hokey-dokey." said Playdough cheerfully, healing Dingbat with a faint
"Ahhh..." of an angelic chorus echoing in the background.  With this the
monk was found to be alive, yet still thoroughly unconcious (and suffering
two or three really nasty holes in his robes).  With a snicker Sauramud
pulled off the cursed boots.
	"I'll have to hold onto these.  Maybe I'll switch them for his Gucci's
some night while I'm on watch." said Sauramud.  "How's the battle going
Rodent?"
	"Not too bad..." observed the ranger, noting that they were down to
five wererats and fifteen orcs.  "The odds are still three to one in the
orc's favor, but at least it's staying constant.  They'll all be dead in a
bit."
	"Uh oh, look!" said the wizard, pointing at the far end of the temple.
Ach'ptooe had broken away from the battle and was climbing the front of the
ratty statue, his orcish squinties firmly fixed on the glinting diamond
brooch in the forehead of the idol.  With a grunt the orc chief pulled
himself up next to the brooch and grabbed it, pulling it from the forehead
with a 'pop'.
	"Ach!  I havt der brooch!  Now ist der time to run away, yah!" he
cried as he shinnied down the statue.
     There was the sound of grating stone and a pair of ratty eyes began to
glow faintly red.
	"I knew it!" said Rodent.
	"Oh don't sound so pleased with yourself, we all knew that would
happen." muttered the wiz.  Sure enough the statue of the Rat God had
animated, one large stone arm swooping down to grab the surprised Ach'ptooe.
With a wrench the statue crushed the orc.
	"Huck!  His head popped like a zit!" chortled Playdough.
	The remaining orcs, somewhat disheartened by the messy death of their
chief, scuttled for the exits.  The wererats had all dropped to their knees
in prostration at the first sign of movement from their idol.
     The brooch, propelled by the final reflexive spasm of Ach'ptooe's arm,
sailed through the air and landed near Rodent, who snatched it up.
	"C'mon, let's get out of here!" he cried, motioning the paladin to
grab Dingbat.  The party ran for the archway they had entered by, only
noticing at the last minute that the statue of the Rat God was making a
beeline for them (stepping on and squoshing two wererats in the process).
	"Uh-oh." said Playdough, noting the massive statue.  "Bet that's got a
lot of hit dice."
	"Can't you disable it with a spell or something?" shouted Rodent to
Sauramud as they staggered along, weighted down by the limp form of the
monk.
	"Hmm." said Sauramud, eyeing the cracks in the columns supporting the
ceiling that Dingbat had caused when rebounding betwixt them.  "How about
this?" With a flourish he pulled out a flask of oil and lobbed it at the
feet of the approaching statue.  The flask shattered, leaving a large
splotch of oil on the tiled floor.  The statue, intent on reaching the
party, stomped one ratty foot directly on the splotch.  Slowly, almost
majestically, it lost its balance.  Arms windmilling all the way down it
did a massive pratfall, one leg smacking into a column.  There was a loud
cracking sound as the column shattered.
	The wererat shaman lept to his feet screaming "Noooo!" as the vaulted
ceiling began cracking.
	"Move it!" screamed Sauramud, who had never expected the trick to work
and now had visions of being flattened into a wizardly pancake when the
ceiling dropped.
     "You jerk!" cried Rodent.  "If we all die here, I'm going to kill
you!"
	"Say what?" asked the wizard, momentarily caught off guard.
Fortunately, however, they had just managed to jump into the corridor
beyond the archway when the ceiling of the temple collapsed with a rumble
of massive stone blocks.
	"Duh, I bet that hurt." said Playdough cheerfully.
	"They'll feel that in the morning." agreed Sauramud.
	"Oh well, I suppose it worked." sulked Rodent, somewhat mollified by
the fact that he still held the brooch in his hand.
	"Wouldja look at the size of the diamond on that thing?" slavered the
wizard, visions of magic wands and cloaks dancing in his eyes.
	"Duh, I thought you said it was zirconimum or sumthin'" said
Playdough.
	"That was just a ploy." said Sauramud a little too quickly.  "I knew
all along that this thing must be worth a cartload of gold.
	"Sure." said Rodent snidely.  "Nevertheless, we have to get out of
here and sell the thing.  Without the head of the priest back there, we're
gonna have to pay for your resurrection from the proceeds."  Sauramud's
visions of magic vanished with a near-audible pop.
	"Shoot." he muttered, trudging along after the two fighters, Dingbat
slung over Playdough's back.  "My trick was a bit too brilliant, I guess."
	"RARGH!" roared a dark form as it launched itself at Sauramud from
back down the corridor.
	"Keep it down back there Sauramud!" warned Rodent, not turning around.
"There may yet be monsters in these halls to impede our exit."
	"Ack!" said Sauramud, as the battered and bloody wererat shaman
tackled him and sank his fangs in the wizard's neck.
	"Duh, shss!" said Playdough, shifting Dingbat's limp form on his back.
"Yuh gotta stay quiet, remember?"
	"Rrrrrghhh!" said the wererat shaman, clawing at the wizard's torso as
he gnawed at his neck.  Sauramud staggered along half carrying the enraged
wererat and making waving motions with one hand as he scrabbled for his
magic dagger.  Finally he managed to extricate it from its scabbard and
sink it into the shaman's side.  With a groan the wererat shaman collapsed
and died.
	"One lousy hit point left..." griped Sauramud, kicking the corpse.
"Why couldn't an extra rock have fallen on your big toe or something?" With
a sigh Sauramud leaned over and began messily sawing its head off with his
dagger.
	"Look wizard, how come you're lagging behind!" came the angry voice of
the ranger stalking back.  Rodent stopped and stared at the sight of
Sauramud hefting the wererat shaman's head with one hand.  "Oh." said
Rodent.  "He was still alive, was he?"
	"A fierce foe." said Sauramud loftily.  "But no match for my combat
skills."
	"Riiggghht." said Rodent.  "What spell did you use on him?"
	"I killed him in hand-to-hand mortal combat!" said Sauramud angrily.
     "Duh, lyin's a sin." said Playdough, who had tagged along after the
ranger.
	"I AM NOT LYING!" cried Sauramud.  "It attacked me, I pulled out my
trusty dagger and fought it!  It was an epic battle, I must have stabbed it
a hundred times and still it kept fighting!"
	"Strange how it's only got that one tiny dagger mark among all the
crushing bruises." observed Rodent.  There was a strained pause.
	"The other thrusts are to the neck.  That's how come his head's off."
said Sauramud.
	"A-huh." chorused the ranger and the paladin, exchanging glances.
"That always happens in a knife fight."
	"Exactly." said Sauramud with a relieved smile.  "Us wizards have
_many_ dagger techniques not known to you armour clad thugs.  Just so you
know I can take care of myself.  By the way, does anybody have a bandage?
I seem to be down to my last two hit points again..."
	Within a few hours the party had found their way out of the sewers and
were clambering up the rope to the streets.
	"Funny how we never encounter anything on the way back out of the
dungeon, eh?" commented Sauramud as he lent a hand to the Ranger who was
pulling the rope (with a comatose monk tied to the end of it) out of the
pit behind them.
	"Not so strange." said Rodent philosophically.  "There's always a
delay of at least one gaming session between restocking of a dungeon.  Even
a type III dungeon like this one takes..."  He stopped as a distant rumble
in one of the other quarters of the city rattled windows down the street
they were on.  In the distance they could see a plume of dust slowly rising
from the city.  It was at about the same time that the party noticed the
abnormal degree of animation in the peasants and merchants around them.
Rodent flagged down a passer-by.
	"What's all the excitement about my good fellow?" he asked, blocking
the man's passage with a beefy rangerical arm.
	"It's the bloody sewers!" cried the merchant.  "They're collapsin'
everywhere and takin' the town with 'em!"

End of Part Six
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- 
*     mmcalees@csr.uvic.ca (Michael McAleese) : I speak only for me...       *
  "Man can believe the impossible, but never the improbable." - Oscar Wilde
  (For snooping governments: heroin, cocaine, FBI, CSIS, CIA, albatross...)


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