Prisoner of Z'thac'thalat 2

Prisoner of Z'thac'thalat 2 is an encounter in Man and Fiend.
==Enemies==
* Prison Guard Slaughterer (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP)
* Prison Guard Warrior (1235 Gold, 152 XP, 95 Energy, 7 HP)
==Transcript==
===Introduction===
"Launch the catapults!" Druka said.
"But, general, we've run out of boulders!"
"Then fill them with kidneys and custard!"
"Ah! Of course, general!" The purple penguin ran off to relay his commands.
Druka jumped onto the campaign table, scattering maps and scrolls. There was also a pile of cakes, for some inexplicable reason, which were strewn in all directions. From that vantage point he observed the battlefield far below the mountain top.
The enemy horde was charging, straight towards the position held by General Druka's forces. But they were doomed! For the catapults were about to fire...
Custard and kidneys flew. Demons screamed.
Demons screamed...
Druka opened his eyes. The battlefield vanishes. The catapults were gone. His insane stratagem, the bombardment of mismatch gastronomy, dissipated. It was usurped by the same stone ceiling he'd stared at for many days, of which he knew every join and crack by heart. His arms were no longer raised in impending victory. Instead they were fastened to the table he lay upon. So were his legs.
Just a dream... A tantalizing, taunting-
A demon screamed.
The imp general's eyes widened. That was no dream... There were more noises -- the clashing of steel, wrathful shouts, the crashing and smashing of bodies. Even to one used to watching battles from afar, the din was familiar enough. The prison was under attack...
And since he possessed no false modesty, indeed little modesty of any kind, Druka knew that he was the most valuable prisoner in the place.
Someone was coming for him...
===Conclusion===
Stomping footsteps, clanging metal... They were in the same room, just yards away. Druka strained and cursed. The restraints held his head in place. He couldn't even turn to look.
There was a wet, viscous splat.
A big, round object flew across the general's gaze. As it span through the air, an aggrieved face turned to him. Its eyes blinked. Then the severed head passed by and thudded against the wall.
"Greetings, Druka."
A purple face appeared over him, flanked by a pair of thick grey-black horns.
"Brach'Xell'Ctharat'Sezrachus!"
"It seem you've fared poorly since we last met."
The imp grunted.
"That big heap of gluttony demon crap, Z'thac'thalat, put me here. I was too important to kill, but too dangerous to go free."
"He was right... Now perhaps we'll show everyone just how dangerous you are."
Purple flames blazed. A manacle gave way with a dismal snap.
"You're raising an army?" Druka stretched his free limb, clenching and unclenching his blue fist.
"Yes. And I need a general."
"You'll have the best..."
Category:Man and Fiend