Oi! Muscles!

The party stepped through the door.

There was a room. It was filled with cats. A hundred or more. One dead one. Beneath it, a note. And two people who, somehow, they knew instinctively that they were not supposed to attack.

Bevis and Morgs were back this week, playing a bard and a rogue.

Introductions were made. A key recovered.

The party stepped through the door.

A small wooden shed, the floor littered with notes on slips of paper, each one a love letter. The shelves lined with empty bottles. Outside, it was clear that they were on some sort of promontory surrounded by sea.

At the end of the promontory, a lighthouse. Within, a man; outside, a hag making protestations of love, while the man vainly warned her away.

The party attacked. The hag and her squid companions eventually were driven back into the sea.

The lighthouse-keeper told his story: sending out messages in a bootle, until one day they were answered. The party rested the night in the lighthouse, the keeper returning to his shed. The looted the place thoroughly, the rogue visiting the shed and robbing the keeper. In the morning, they found that a key fitted the inside of the lighthouse door.

The party stepped through the door.

Beyond was another underground structure. Through a door, a kitchen staffed with goblins. The party attacked. All we killed, except one. Before he died, the alchemist goblin called out in orcish, “Muscles! Help!”. The half-orc inquisitor flung open the door. Beyond, a mess or feasting hall full of orcs. “Oi! Muscles!”, he challenged, “Come here and get fucked up!”

I suppose it was inevitable that Brus would wind up channeling Korgul. Maybe Brus has a bit of a split personality – talking orc brings out the happy-go-lucky headkicker and temporarily leaves the emo human inquisitor of Yog-Sothoth to mope in the corner. Could work.

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