Tchono, the larger of the two werewolves, looks bemused for a moment as you tell the joke.
Suddenly, he begins to make a series of short barks and growls you assume to be laughter.
"Bvaso, did you hear that?"
The werewolf is now trying to get a hold of himself, but he fails and begins to giggle uncontrollably.
"No, what?"
Tears of laughter are now running down Tchono's face and snout.
"The seventh guy goes, 'Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo!' Oh, that's classi- OH MY GODS I'M ON FIRE"
The unpleasant smell of singed fur fills the chapel as the flaming Tchono runs from the chapel, making it about three steps beyond the door before he has been completely transformed to ash.
Bvaso turned to watch his companion's flight from the chapel, and his back is now turned. You pull your silver dagger from your knapsack and with a savage roar, you leap onto his back and plunge the blade into his neck. The werewolf struggles for a moment before sinking to the floor, dead. A flash of bright light fills the chapel, and the carcass of the werewolf is transformed back into that of a nasty-looking (and kind of scruffy) adventurer.
As you lean back and lie against the cold stone floor, breathing heavily, you marvel that you were able to do that.
Not long after, the rest of the party makes their way up the stairs.
"Holy shit, Plor, did you kill this guy?"
"He must've. Look at the dagger in his neck." Cromwell pulls the knife out of the nasty-looking (and kind of scruffy) adventurer with a grunt.
"Silver. It's one of ours."
"Well done, friend."
"Certainly impressive, for an amateur, but I could have done better."
"Indeed. As for the bodies of the missing villagers, I would guess that they're mixed in among the bones down there. Tragic, but at least the townspeople will have nothing to worry about from now on. We should hurry back to the village, the festival should be starting soon. I'll carry poor Pythios' body."
Your party returns to the village, and explains all of what happened to the gathering of people in the main square. Well, Plor does most of the talking, adding quite a few embellishments to the story along the way. "And then, all of a sudden, more werewolves rushed in! There must have been twenty of them, each one nine feet tall! It was only with my wits and my trusty silver dagger that I was able to-" While Plor continues recounting his story to the mesmerized villagers, the rest of the group retires to the Baying Hound. Ianthe and Diokles are there to greet you at the door. "Splendid work, gentlemen, splendid work!" Diokles blusters. "A pity what happened to old Pythios, though." You take seats at table, while Ianthe ducks back into the kitchen before returning with three mugs of the local moonshine. "Ask her for a dish of warm milk, too!" Felyx hisses into Blacke's ear, poking his head out of Blacke's knapsack to do so. "Why don't you ask her yourself? You're a talking cat!" Ianthe looks a little bit perplexed at Blacke, who is now having a heated conversation with his knapsack. "Don't mind him. Those wizarding types, they're all a bit batty." She nods in agreement. "We haven't much we can pay you, I'm afraid," says Diokles, "This is all we can spare." He sets a small sack of gold coins on the table. About sixty coins, Cromwell's keen eye estimates. At fifteen per person, a meager profit, to say the least. "Wait," Ianthe says, "There is one thing." Unclasping a polished brass locket from around her neck, she places it in Cromwell's hand. "Show this to King Artemas the Young in High Aerilon. He'll know what this is." Cromwell appraises the locket in a split second, and sees it is almost worthless. Let's hope it's got some sentimental value to the king, he thinks. "Thank you."
"Aye, thank you. We'll set out for High Aerilon tomorrow morning. Anybody want to go for a stroll along the town, or do you guys want to call it a night?"
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Topic: AD&D: Heroes of Ilbete (Read 30529 times)