An Adventurer Is You & The GM Hates Your Guts (game)

"IF I may" interjected the platypus, (who’s name was Gerald by the way) “a very long story short, the person hencforth referred to for brevity’s sake as “Hassen” was a powerful sorcerer who specialized in transmogrification- the transforming of people, creatures and objects into other people, creatures and objects. His attempt to conquer the land was thwarted by King Bedwetter; but unfortunately his evil legacy lives on, in the sadly common tendency for everything around here to not be in it’s proper form. I for example, used to be a perfectly ordinary bactrian camel; now I’m a sentient talking platypus-”

“Wait” said Dirk “were you sentient before?”

“Oh no, perfectly ordinary bactrian camel, stupider than a poleaxed mule- and frankly happier back then. Sentience is vastly overrated. Anyway, Bedwetter slew the evil sorcerer and took as a prize the source of his power: the Protean Orb, with which one could reform anything: lead into gold, pebbles into gems, ugly girls into beautiful ones- whatever. Unfortunately, while Bedwetter was a pretty brave and accomplished hero, he didn’t know squat about magic. His botched attempts to use the Orb lead to his untimely death and to the chaos that plagues the land to this day.”

Ploothka added: “and the Orb is supposed to still be in the castle somewhere; many have quested for it but no one who has ever tried to recover it has ever returned. It holds the potential both for limitless wealth and power and for danger unimaginable.”

“Limitless wealth and power unimaginable,” Dirk repeated (incorrectly).

“No,” Ploothka sighed, audibly losing her patience. “Limitless wealth and power and for danger unimaginable.”

“Seems worth it to me,” Dirk said.

“Wait, don’t you want to hear my story?” the rock interjected.

“Not really,” Dirk replied, “but I have a funny feeling you’ll be telling me anyway.”

“Well you see,” said the rock. "This all began many, many years ago during the reign of the kind and benevolent King Uther Bedwetter. You see, King Bedwetter’s reign was a long and glorious one…”

“Ach, here we go again,” Dirk rolled his eyes.

“Of course, during King Bedwetter’s time, his kingdom fell under its darkest hours after the evil mage Hassenpoppagallootamagog appeared. Hassenpoppagallootamagog, as you know, had an amazing source of magical power called –”

“The Protean Orb?” Dirk asked in an attempt to get the story finished quickly.

“You’d think so, but no,” the rock shook his head. And then he continued on his exasperatingly long tale involving Crags of Doom, jewel-encrusted fowl, asparagus, duck ponds, and Protean Orbs. Dirk tried to listen carefully, he tried really hard. Four minutes later, however, his mind drifted back to the town and the old man sending him on his quest. He thought about BFF pendants and of the steel spikes sitting in his pack. He shuddered as he thought about old women in skimpy bikinis. He also wondered whether the half a sandwich in his pack was still good or not, then he started thinking about the cathouse and the large breasted woman there who gave him a sack of cheese. He thought about her for a while until his mind then wandered over to the town’s duck pond. Boy, I bet it would be great to be a duck, he thought. Not a care in the world, I bet. People toss you bread all day and you get to swim in a pond. You never hear of a half octopus-half spider monster molesting ducks or of beautiful maidens who were just rescued by ducks kissing them and then telling them to sod off and running away. Ah to be a duck—

“Understand?” asked the rock. “This may be important as we near Castel Igthorn.”

“Of course,” snapped Dirk. “Uh yeah, I was paying attention. Totally. Really.”

“Good,” nodded Ploothka, “Because there are the twisted Trunks of Terror right now.”

Dirk looked down the road and saw two malevolent looking trees on either side of the path. Their baneful branches reached towards each other, twisting and entwining, blocking the path for anyone who would try to pass.”

“Only you can open it with the magic words the rock just told you,” Ploothka prodded. “Well, are you gonna say them?”

Dirk looked at the villainous vines and the wicked wood. They seemed to leer at him as he licked his lips, readying the only magic words that could possibly allow them passage.

“Open Sesame!” intoned Dirk. Nothing happened.

“You weren’t listening” Ploothka said. “Now repeat after me: Owah…”

“Owah”

“Tajer”

“Tajer”

“Kyam”

“Kyam”

“Now repeat it seven times”

“Owah tajer kyam, Owah tajer kyam, Owahtajerkyam, Owahtajerkyam, O waht a jerk y am, oh wat…” Dirk scowled as the rest of the party laughted at his expense.

“Serves you right” giggled Ploothka.

“So how do we get past then?”

Ploothka pulled two glass bottles filled with oil out of a pouch, pulleds the cork out and stuffed bits of cloth into the necks. Once they were soaked with oil she lit them and threw one against each tree, splashing them with flaming oil. The party waited there as the trees writhed and screamed as the flames slowly consumed them. “Honestly” said Ploothka, “unless they can actually walk, evil trees aren’t much of a threat”.

“Unless you consider the possibility of tree ghosts”, said one of the two vaguely tree-shaped swirling smoky spirits hovering over the charred remains of the trees in question. “I suppose that they didn’t exactly think of that, did they, Nigel?”

“I’d say not, Percy! Shall we curse them with uncountable multitudes of squirming, biting, and pestilence-laden parasites, Percy?” said the other.

“Oh, that sounds absolutely delightful, Nigel! How about if we were to add in some generous helpings of Scrofula, Black Hairy Tongue, Mange, and Baboon Syndrome, Nigel?”

“Oh, let’s! Wonderful, Percy! I love the way you think!”

The smoky tree ghosts started to slowly swirl towards our heroes.

As Dirk stood there pondering what exactly “Baboon Syndrome” might be (and his ponderings were not pleasant, to say the least), Ploothka grabbed him by the arm and yelled, “RUN, you idiot!”

“Ahhhhh!” screamed Dirk as he, the rock, Gerald the Platypus, and Ploothka ran from the tree ghosts.

“Quick!” Plootka said to him as she indicated to his pack. “Do you have a bed sheet in there? Or a large cloak perhaps? Maybe a muumuu?”

“No,” answered Dirk. “Why would I have a muumuu?”

“I try not to pry into the personal lives of others.”

“I have a towel,” the adventurer suggested.

“That will have to do,” replied Ploothka. “Turn around and hold it up so the tree ghosts run into it.”

“But how woul–?”

“Just do it!”

Dirk pulled the towel out of his pack and held it up. The two tree ghost ran right into it and Dirk quickly folded the material up around them.

“Ouch, say!” cried out Nigel from within the towel. “Rather uncomfortable in here.”

“Quite!” agreed Percy. “It has a rather foul odor as well. Do you use this to carry Kimchian skunk herring or something?”

“Quiet you!” Dirk swung the towel around and then smashed it into a nearby boulder, then repeated it again against a tree and the ground. The two ghosts cried out in pain of being slammed to and fro.

“Ow stop it, really!” protested Percy. “This is truly unbearable!”

“Mostly from the smell, but I certainly agree!” cried out Nigel.

“Quick, do you have a tome of spirits?” asked the platypus. “If you do, we could trap them in there.”

“All I have is a guide to speaking ancient Pindelornian and this Sears catalog.”

“The catalog will have to do!” Ploothka grabbed the periodical and opened it up on the ground. “Now dump them out into this!”

Dirk took the towel containing the ghosts and poured it out onto the catalog. The two ghosts tumbled out and were sucked into its pages.

Ploothka quickly scooped it up and closed it. “Now, do you agree to stay in there until we summon you for aid?” she demanded.

“Fine, fine,” agreed Nigel.

“It smells better in here than the towel, at least,” sighed Percy.

“How did that work?” Dirk asked; his eyebrows scrunched up like two constipated caterpillars.

“Well, they’re wood ghosts,” the platypus stated as if that would explain everything. Dirk still looked confused so Gerald added “Paper is made of wood.”

Dirk still looked confused.

“Never mind,” sighed the three legged monotreme. “It is clearly much too complicated for your primitive mind.”

“Hey, you used to be a dumb camel,” Dirk protested.

Suddenly a fearsome growl came from the darkness down the path. Ploothka readied her crossbow as Dirk pulled out his knife.

“I told you to put that away,” growled Ploothka. “It won’t do you much good here.”

“This happens to be a +9 monster slaying knife of bad-assery,” Dirk answered with confidence. “Plus Nine!”

“You funeral.”

The growling drew nearer. Suddenly…

A Dire Dingo pounced from the dark of the swamp and with a snap, consumed the montreme.

“The Dingo ate my platy!” cried Dirk.

Ploothka quickly fired her crossbow and with a metallic crunch, the bolt hit an aluminum can next to the Dire Dingo. Startled, the wild dog yelped and ran away.

Dirk felt the platypus foot in his pocket and wondered if it was actually lucky or not.

“Look, up the path,” cried out the rock. “It’s Castle Igthorn.”

The trio moved up the path and towards the castle, all silently feeling the dread build.

“Keep your guard up,” advised Ploothka as they approached the citadel. "There’s no telling what will happen next.

“With all the crazy things that have happened already, I can’t think of anything that could possibly happen that would suprose me now,” Dirk mumbled half out loud.

Suddenly…

Nothing happened. Which Dirk found surprising.

Nothing, indeed. There, no more than 10 feet in front of the party, was a blank pitch dark void, about 10 feet across and 7 feet tall, hanging in the air like a sheet, the edges of which pulsated slowly, in and out like an oil-stained amoeba. Each time that our heroes tried to get around it, the void would move to block their path.

Ploothka grabbed the catalogue (British spelling since its inhabitants were now British, natch) and rapped on the front cover a couple of times.

“Do you two fruitcakes know anything about this dark void thing?” she inquired.

“I’ll have you know that I am NOT a fruitcake!” Nigel protested. “I may be a wild cherry, admittedly, but I am as heterosexual as David Beckham!”

“Oh please,” said Percy. “Then how do you explain your mortifying behavior at the Forest Social last year? Does the phrase ‘flaunting my buds’ ring a bell, hmm?”

“That? I was in bloom and proud to show off my spring colors! Nothing wrong with that I’ll have you know!”

“Get away! Everyone knows that you are Hermaphroditic, and always have been!”

“Am not!”

“Knock it off you two!” said Ploothka as she severely shook the catalogue. “We don’t care in the least about the ‘lifestyles’ of tree ghosts. Answer my question!”

“Okay…” said Nigel. “I can tell you how to get past the Void, but you won’t like it. It must necessarily involve…”

“…lewd sexual acts”.

Ploothka raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘lewd sexual act’”.

“Well, urhm, well to put it matter-of-factly, you have to allow a pollen-covered bee to rub itself against your carpels while drinking your nectar…”

“And just how does that get us past the Void?”

“In itself, nothing. I said that my telling you how to get past the Void involved…”

At this point Ploothka produced a match, lit it and held it up to the book. “I am not amused”.

“Oh! My! Look Nigel, the twin has a thing for fire.”

“And her short-term memory is no better than a Daffodil’s.”

“You’d think she’d remember a few posts at least.”

“The twin?” said Dirk, in an uncommon moment of astute awareness. “How did you know she was a twin?”

“I know because she has a heart-shaped mole on her right cheek.”

Dirk looked Ploothka up and down. “I don’t see any moles on her face.”

“That’s not the cheek I was talking about.”

“Hey how did you–!” Ploothka demanded angrily.

“Oh come on,” the tree ghost twittered. “Isn’t it obvious? Ooh whee!”

“Oh come now, Nigel” the other tree ghost said. “Just tell them how, you silly guy you.”

“Fine,” the tree ghost sighed audibly. “I know because I know a tree who knows another tree who knows another tree. Do you think we just stand around holding up squirrels all day? I don’t think so, girl. There is an apple tree in the village that is quite the gossip.”

“You would not believe some of the things that come out of that girl’s mouth,” Percy added.

“Oh, scandalous!” Nigel snickered. “In fact, she once told a Dutch elm…”

“Enough!” yelled the rock. “Stop listening to these yammering bitties, I know how to get you past the Annoying Void.”

“Oh my!” one tree exhaled.

“Indeed!” said the other. “But I would expect so much from an uncouth rock.”

“I know how you can get past the Void because I’m the only one who can get you past,” continued the rock. “Do you see that sentry post over there?”

Dirk looked over at the small shack and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, you must position the Void in between that sentry post and a talking stone that’s about the size of a grapefruit, namely me. I’m the only one who can get you past this treacherous obstacle.”

“But then you’ll be stranded out here,” Dirk answered.

“I’ll be fine,” the rock insisted. “Just don’t forget me when you’re done, alright?”

“OK, here goes nothing.” Dirk scooped up the rock and then he and Ploothka carefully made their way towards the outpost. Moving slowly, sideways, shoulder to shoulder, they edged towards the small building and the shimmering nothingness slid parallel with them the whole way.

“Now!” cried Ploothka.

Dirk tossed the rock. It made a bit of an arc in the air before hitting the ground with a small thud, it then rolled just a little more until was in position with the shimmering abyss between it and the guard post…

“Now go!” yelled the rock. “Run!”

Dirk and Ploothka dashed towards Castle Igthorn. The hole in space shimmered and pulsed as if it was attempting to follow, but it remained where it was trapped.

“Wow, it worked!” Dirk called out excitedly as he looked over his shoulder. “Who would have thought?”

“It seems obvious to me now that we think about it,” Ploothka admitted. “Haven’t you heard of being stuck between a rock and a guard place?”

After the groans subsided, our band of adventurers started walking towards the spooky Castle Igthorn once again. Ominous shadows played around the dark narrow towers-Dirk was filled with a definite sense of foreboding.

<Knock knock> Ploothka rapped on the catalogue once again. “Do you two know what the next obstacle or minion might be?”

“Hmmmm…” pondered Nigel slyly. “Should we tell them about the…‘Sisters’, Percy?” he inquired.

“The Sisters?” asked Dirk in a curious tone.

“I daresay, the Sisters are best ‘experienced’ directly, wouldn’t you agree, Nigel, wink wink nudge nudge?”

“Oh yes most certainly, say no more! Merely describing them does neither them nor the curious themselves absolutely no justice,” concurred Nigel.

“Hmf,” said Ploothka. “Okay Dirk, be on your guard.”

As they drew closer, they could hear the strains of some very odd music coming from the castle. Dirk noticed some movement on the ramparts, which then became illuminated with an eerie red light, revealing a score of women dancing and writhing to the beat. Some even started calling Dirk’s name; at this Dirk instantly became very determined to get into the castle as soon as possible, not only was he on guard, he was also firmly and rigidly at attention. After a few moments worth of bewilderment passed, he suddenly charged towards the castle entrance, which was open.

“Dirk you idiot, stop!” shouted Ploothka to no avail.

“Looks like our hero will get an answer to his question soon enough!” added Percy.

“Are you comfortable?” a Sister asked Dirk.

“Oh yes,” Dirk replied dreamily. He was laying back with a Sister on either side of him and a third standing over him. They radiated beauty like some sort beautiful thing that Dirk had trouble finding a comparison to.

“Can I do anything for you?” asked the Sister to the right as she stroked his hair. Her own hair billowed slightly as some ethereal wind danced past her.

“That’s nice,” Dirk sighed. “I like that.”

“Can I feed you a grape?” the Sister standing over him popped the fruit in his mouth. Her long white gown shimmered as she shifted.

“Mulph,” Dirk sighed again. “Thank you.”

“Can I suck out your soul and leave you a cold empty shell?” the third Sister asked pleasantly as she smiled at the adventurer.

“Sure,” smiled Dirk wistfully. “Just like my ex-girlfriend.”

Suddenly red flashed in front of Dirk’s eyes and he felt a sharp pain in his cheek. Then another crack across his other cheek.

“Why?” he asked bewildered and looked at the Sisters for answers. They seemed to be pulling away from him with their arms outstretched.

“Noooooooo!” their soft screams faded as Dirk felt like he was waking up from some dream. He looked around and found himself slumped over. Ploothka was holding him up by the crook of his arm and had her arm cocked back to hit him in the face again.

“Ow! Hey! Stop it! What happened?”

“It was the only way to wake you up from the Salacious Slumber of the Sultry Siren Sisters,” his companion answered. The struck him in the face once more, the sound much like a wet ham being dropped on a one pound bag of old cottage cheese.

“Ow! Hey!” Dirk repeated as he recoiled from the hit. “Did you have to do that?”

“I had to be sure,” Ploothka smirked.

Our band, now down to a duo, quickly rounded a corner while the Sisters called out “Dirk, we miss you!”, “Baby come back!” and such and so forth. Dirk periodically kept trying to go back to them, while Ploothka kept slapping him to keep his wits about him. Lurching and stumbling they kept up their frantic pace, the voices of the Sisters slowly fading away as they did.

They soon come upon a shimmering portal arrayed between two massive stones, flowing and sparkling; on the cross stone they saw a message:

To The Remote Lands
Abandon All Hope
Ye Who Enter Here

A massive snake with rainbow scales was wound around the portal, slowly flicking its tongue in and out.

“Do we stay or do we go?” inquired Dirk.

“Well we can stay here and let the Sisters take your virtue (such as it is), or take our chances with the snake and enter the gate.”

Once again she dragged out the arcane tome of “Sears” (with its strange shiny objects of unknown utility and smiling people dressed in strangely colorful clothes) and consulted its inhabitants.

“Where does this go?”

“Err umm well I don’t think you want to be going there. 'Tis a very odd place I hear, and nobody has ever returned,” said Percy.

“But I have heard rumors that great treasures lie in said realm,” added Nigel. “Treasures that you cannot find here.”

“Okay, we’ll make a deal with you two; we’ll let you free if you agree to take care of the snake.”

“Oh certainly,” Nigel instantly agreed. “I have no problem taking care of huge snakes.”

“You would say that,” Percy giggled.

“Hey now,” Nigel scolded in mock anger. “Don’t go there.”

“I can’t believe you went there with ‘don’t go there.’”

“Let’s just take care of the snake for the nice man, shall we?” The two ghosts peeked out of the catalog at the serpent. “Oh my, it’s a Farooquan. Very deadly.”

“She sure is,” Percy concurred. “Let’s grab her and pull her into the next level of existence!”

“Oh yes! Get this mother Farooquan snake off my mother Farooquan plane!” Nigel giggled.

Instantly, the two ghosts leapt out of the pages and grabbed the snake. In a flash they were gone, leaving only Dirk and Ploothka.

She looked back down the corridor and then back at the adventurer. “Ready?”

“I don’t think I want to go.”

“We have to,” Ploothka said.

“But what about the treasures of the castle?”

This is the treasure,” Ploothka insisted.

“But what about the Crags of Doom and the Barbarian Wench and Mako the loan-shark?”

Ploothka grabbed Dirk’s hand and held it tightly. “Just jump, would you?”

“But if you and Ethyl are twins, how come you two don’t look so much alike?”

“We’re not identical twins, dummy! Jump!”

Dirk looked at the portal. Wind rushed through his ears, sounding like a powerful, angry river. He tried, but he could not shake the doubt echoing in his mind.

His companion kissed him on the cheek. “Please Dirk. We have to. It’s always been about you.”

Dirk felt his cheek flush. He nodded; his reserve steeled by the unexpected kiss. He clutched Ploothka’s hand tighter and felt a wave of strength and intelligence wash over him like he had never been washed before.

“Let’s go,” Dirk nodded grimly. The two leapt in unison right into the portal just as the Siren Sisters nearly grabbed him. They screamed, but the sound was washed out as Dirk felt his body get pulled like so much Pindelornian taffy.

Suddenly, Dirk shot awake. He propped himself up on his arm and looked at the clock. It was 5:00 and he had an hour before he would need to get up. His eyes strayed past the clock across the night stand until he saw the Sears catalog with his +9 letter opener of badassery resting in top of it. He chuckled silently as he thought of that gag gift students gave him for Christmas last year. Next to that, of course, was his book on ancient Pindelornian legends. Filled with fantastic tales of King Uther Bedwetter of Pinhedlor, the Warlock-King Nenkara, the Crags of Doom, and so many others, Dirk had loved this tome since his days as a student of ancient civilizations. He hoped that his students loved today’s lecture on the life of the evil wizard Hassenpoppagallootamagog as much as he loved researching it.

Dirk’s eyes looked next to the beloved text and saw the lucky “platypus” foot keychain that his sister-in-law Ethyl got him when she went to Australia. sure wasn’t lucky for the platypus he repeated to himself with a chuckle.

He heard a slight moan and a rustling of sheets next to him and he looked over at his dear wife Ploothka, sleeping soundly with her arm lightly cradling the comforter. She was so frustrated with him when he said that he didn’t care which duvet cover she bought. He thought it silly to spend so much time deciding if the brown with blue swirls looked better than the blue with brown whirls. The aluminum can sitting on her nightstand was crunched, as always.

His eyes then tracked to the bedroom door and the grapefruit-sized rock used to prop it open. The happy face painted on it smiled at him through the shadows as he thought of his darling daughter Lin bringing it home from summer camp.

Dirk crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, mentally trying to decide if he wanted to just get up or if he could squeeze another half hour of sleep in. He looked at the toilet and stopped to think if he needed to sit or stand. Sit or stand? Sit or stand…?

“Just go already, would you?” his wife mumbled with her face half buried in the pillow. “And don’t forget to lower the seat when you’re done.”

“Man, that was one weird-ass dream…” Dirk said out loud as he prepared to relieve himself.

“That’s what YOU think!” said the grinning rock.

The End…?

As one who waited with baited breath for the next installment

BRAVO
encore- encore