“I’ve identified this potion here to be an elixir of immortality, the others I’ve not a clue what they do…” Snerdle commented to the others, “However they do appear to have beneficial effects.” he quickly added as he pointed towards his feet. “We shouldn’t let these go to waste.” Thomas added, the others nodded in agreement or sheer shock.
Snerdle swished around a pink flask and sniffed it, it smelled of sweet nectarines. “Here Borya, drink this.” Borya extended his arm and grabbed the flask, and with a grunt he slugged down the solution. Almost immediately his matted hair unraveled into a long flowing silk sheet. His beard cleansed itself of the decades of neglect and grew from a wiry dirty mess into an even length piece of braided art. His mustache curled and swirled upward gaily. His cheeks were blush, his eyelashes grew longer and fuller, and his lips resembled that of a freshly plucked red rose. He was… beautiful. Thomas took note of this transformation, and quickly closed his gaping mouth when he realized everyone was looking at him staring. He cleared his throat. “Ehrm, lets get going.” Thomas spurted a few words to break the awkwardness.
“Not until I get my fair share.” Môr interrupted, he reached into the pile of of bottles and grabbed one, and he too slugged back the concoction. He felt invigorated, better than the best day of his life. He did a somersault to express his new condition, stuck the landing and flexed his biceps. But way way down, down in the deepest depths of himself, there was a slight twitch, a solitary gurgle of his bowls that he noticed only for the slightest moment while he posed for the group. Ignoring this he exclaimed “I feel amazing!”
“Alright, alright lets see whats behind this door.” Jingle butted in, curious to the whole situation, but a little gun shy to join in the boozing fun. “Ah yes, the magical door.” Snerdle agreed. The party gathered the remaining potions and moved to the door.
“I’ll unlock this.” Môr said with confidence. He knelt down to the keyhole and began to pick the lock only to realize the door wasn’t locked at all. However he skillfully tricked his new acquaintances into thinking he was a master locksmith. He fiddled for a bit and stood up opening the door. “See, I told you.” he smirked with some arrogance.
The party was in awe, a massive room inside the mountain, as far as the eye could see, pillars rose to the very high ceiling in all directions. This room appeared endless. Straight ahead from the door however slept a giant golden dragon. On a small pedestal in front of the dragon was a tiny object. Fyn’s hawk-like eyes focused in on the object with razor precision. It was a glass vial. “I think that is what we are here for.” He squawked.
Most of the party began creeping into the room, Fyn took to the air slowly flying towards the dragon, from pillar to pillar high up near the room’s ceiling. Unknowingly he was far ahead of the party, and he finally made it to a pillar when the dragon awoke suddenly, he saw the dragon’s eyes focus in on him. The dragon stood up and inhaled, Fyn knew he needed cover and quickly dived to the nearest pillar. Just in time, as he clutched to a sconce the dragon’s fire roared past him. He noticed the dragon was inhaling again, he flew back to warn the others.
There was no warning necessary however, they all saw this happen and they took cover as well. From pillar to pillar the group was sneaking their way towards the dragon and the prize that lay at his feet. All but one Snerdle, who was walking in a straight line towards the dragon, seemingly oblivious to the danger, he walked nonchalantly towards the pedestal, dick slung over his shoulder, taking notes of the events he saw.
The dragon was furious, he was spewing fire left and right, some members of the party caught the dragon’s vengeance, while the others used these opportunities to press forward. Jingle was so skillful in his approach that he made it thirty paces to the pedestal without catching the attention of the dragon’s wrath once. “Alright Jingle, you can do this, you’ll be the hero.” He thought to himself. “On three…” He took a breath. “One…” the dragon began inhaling. “Two…” Its massive wings wafting the air, debris flying everywhere. “Three!” Jingle thought as he began to make his sprint, timing the breath perfectly, only to notice Fyn swooping in from somewhere up above. The bird man’s talons grasping the glass container.
The entire room began collapsing in on itself like matter into a black hole. The endless labyrinth within the mountain was this whole time a small closet that could comfortably fit two men, and yet six were inside, crunched up asshole to elbow in the small room. Fyn pressed up against the ceiling, wings flapping frantically. It was chaos for but a moment, but within that moment the glass shattered, its contents sprayed all over everyone. A few droplets survived in the shards of glass that lay on the floor. “You broke it!” Jingle exclaimed pointing at the bird, secretly feeling good about this mishap.. “That was my time to shine! Haha good for ya.” he thought to himself. Jingle didn’t yet realize that most of the contents were absorbed by his clothes.
“Lets salvage what we can and we can setup camp outside. Jingle, can you disrobe? I think we can ring out your clothes and recover some of whatever that was.” Snerdle asked and Jingle agreed. Borya’s nose twitched, it smelled like alcohol. He dropped to his knees and found a shard of glass with a droplet of the liquid still on it, he pressed it to his lips and it was sweet release. The best drink he has ever had in his whole life. “This is the best booze I’ve ever drank!” He yelled excitedly, looking for more fragments to quench his new thirst.
“Well this is some bullshit, I’m not leaving here empty handed.” Môr muttered as he slipped some gold coins into his front pocket. Way way down, in the deepest part of his deepness was that twitch again. “No wait”, he thought, “Thats hot! Owww!” Môr yelled in pain as the gold in his front pocket became molten and melted through his pants falling to the floor. Their red glow dulling. “I told you not to touch anything” Snerdle remarked snidely.
The party setup camp outside and prepared for a rest. Fyn took to the trees to perch for the night. Mostly everyone rested well that night… mostly. Môr slept through most of it but the pains from below grew worse and worse every second. “Eugh my stomach…” he groaned as he rolled over for the thousandth time. Fyn was also a light sleeper, and would awake to every one of Môr’s pain outbursts. The morning sun was rising, and it was too much, it was time. Môr jumped up and darted for the nearest tree. His pants were off in an instant, tossed aside with haste. He clutched the tree and let out a horrific yell that echoed through the lands. Everyone immediately awoke to this terror, Môr screaming in agony as the light of the fire flickered against his bare ass. Then they all saw it, the shit baby. It shot out of him like a bolt from a crossbow and slammed into the ground below. Môr’s screams turned into silent relief, he panted and thanked the gods for ending his torment, and then seconds later began the whimpers of a new born babe. He turned around like the proud mama he was and placed the babe’s head to his crotch for it to suckle and the whimpering stopped. Everyone’s jaw was dropped, “What… the… FUCK WAS THAT?!” Thomas yelled. No one answered but everyone felt the same. It was… an awkward morning to say the least.
Awoken earlier than planned, the group took their time preparing for the day’s march back to Willow Creek. Môr has been suckling his child for an hour now and it has grown immensely, the ‘Shit Baby’ as the group referred to it, appeared to be the size of a three year old after only this short time. The light of the sun was cresting the eastern hill tops, and Jingle used this light to browse his new book for an answer to what just happened. He stumbled across an entry in the book describing a necromantic spell that would clone the spell caster and would exit via the anus. The ‘Shit Baby’ would grow at a rapid pace, and would eventually die, the caster of this spell could time how long the clone lived to determine how long they would live naturally, using a mathematical equation to calculate hours lived to years. Jingle shared this information with the party, though it did nothing to fix them actually witnessing or being apart of these events.
Another hour had passed and the group was ready to move, in that time frame the maternal instincts of Môr weened the Shit Baby from suckling, and it was now the size of a young brain dead adult. He tied a rope to his waste and to the Shit Baby’s waist and began walking with the party, it following clumsily behind. The party traveled onward.
“Guys we need to break. The Shit Baby’s seen better days man.” Thomas said. Its been over a half days travel, and the Shit Baby has become an old decrepit elf. It seemed as tho it had sentience, it’s eyes appeared to have a soul, but living an entire lifespan in the matter of hours, it had no way to express itself other than the meaningless moans he would let out every now and then. The Shit Baby was clearly dying. The party setup for a short rest, and the Shit Baby did indeed pass on. “I’ll handle this.” Thomas said to the grieving Môr. He untied the rope from around the Shit Baby and took the corpse off away from the party. Out of sight he began chopping up the body and stuffing the pieces into his backpack, he quickly returned to the group with an obviously overstuffed pack. “Alright I buried him back there, lets head out.” Everyone nodded and prepared to leave, Môr was still heartbroken at his loss, though he wanted to just stay and grieve, the party forced him to press onward.
As the party traveled south, Thomas’ pack grew lighter, this change was slow overtime so he didn’t notice until it was almost gone. The pieces of the shit baby had returned to their potion form, and were seeping through the bag absorbing through his clothes and into his skin. Thomas felt a pain way way down, in the deepest part of his gut, there was a twitch. He cringed a little and asked for a brief pause to the group. They noticed something dripping from Thomas’ pack, he took the back pack off and emptied the contents, everything was soaked. After cleaning what he could he bent over to restock his pack, and again he felt a slight twitch in his gut, which opened the pressure tap on his poop tube. He filled his pants with pounds of feces, but for some reason didn’t feel or smell a thing. The party questioned the foul odor and the sloshing sounds Thomas made with each step, but he refuted it all, and so they marched on in the hot sun for another half days travel.
The Beautiful Borya was leading the group, and the crested the last hill, they were finally able to see Willow Creek. He stood atop the hill and turned back to the party. “We made it.” He said pointing to the town, the evening sunset glimmering against his beautiful glowing skin. With a second wind the group pressed on to the Apothecary in the tree.
The door opened and there sat Phil at his desk toying with a psuedo dragon, its tail was docked and was muzzled. Startled at their entrance and excited for their return he caged up the dragon and flew up on his pillow placing it atop a high shelve. “Welcome welcome!” Phil said with glee. “Do ya have it? What I sent you out for?!” He awaited a response. “Well kinda.” Snerdle reached into his pack and tossed a waterskin onto his desk. “This is all we got.”
“What the fuck is this and what the fuck is that smell?” Thomas looked towards Phil as everyone else looked at Thomas. The silence was broken when Fyn squawked. “I broke the jar. (Squawk) And the halfling’s clothes absorbed the contents. (Squawk) And we rung it out for you. (Squawk) To bring you what you wanted.” Phil was clearly distraught, he opened the waterskin and poured into a shot glass a murky liquid. He lifted the glass to take a sip and spit it out with disgust. “This tastes like a fucking halfling’s taint. I sent you out for my liquor and you bring me this?! What the fuck! Do you know how expensive that shit was?!” Phil literally felt dead inside, the party totally fucked his day up. “Uh if you don’t want that, I’ll take it.” Borya said politely, trying to make Phil feel better. Phil tossed the waterskin at him out of anger. “Get out of here and come back tomorrow. I am so angry right now! I will! I will!” Snerdle raised his hand and spoke, “We were only doing what you asked, we had some problems, we’re sorry, we did what we could…” Phil’s anger turned to hate and he screamed “GET OUT!”. They hastily exited the tree. “Well lets head to the inn, get a good nights rest.” Snerdle said, the group agreed.
Upon entering the inn, the bartender was happy to see customers that weren’t the locals. “I hope you have coin?” He said with a smile. “We do.” Jingle said, “We need room and board for tonight, and a good meal.” slapping gold down to cover the party’s fairs. Borya stumbled behind the bar drinking bottles while the bartender was preoccupied. Having already killed off the waterskin, he chugged on a bottle of whisky until he fell over passed out. The party ate and was preparing to retire when the bartender yelled “Hey someone come get your friend here, otherwise I’m tossing him in the street.” Thomas’s ear perked up, “Hey uh, guys, uh, I’ll let Borya sleep in my room, I’ll get him.” He went over to Borya and grabbed him by the ankles, and drug him up the stairs to his room, his pants sloshed with each step. “We’ll see you in the morning, good night.” He said to the others as he closed the door, stuffing beautiful Borya thru the doorway.
With the sounds of locks being locked, the party was ready for a good nights sleep after a hard day’s work at the Inn in Willow Creek.
To Be Continued…