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 A little Light Bureaucracy

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Phlegm

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Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: A little Light Bureaucracy   Tue 23 Nov - 13:19:12

A little Bureaucracy

The wizards decided to waste some time attending a seminar on magic that the elf assured us was somewhat crude and factually flawed in certain areas, then we all traipsed down into the bowels of the monastery to find the source of the establishment’s water. En route, snotling Dieter showed us the tombs of previous generations of brethren and we noted the distinctive numerals matched at large II emblazoned on our partial clue. A word to the impressionable lad and he showed us the alcove containing Cilla, corpse number 2.

I prised off the lid with some difficulty revealing an almost intact cadaver within. The missing part? A finger. Significant? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe a ring attached to it was important? We continued down to the ground floor where the well lay near the entrance cavern. A bored guard, slightly star struck at our heroic presence watched over us as we searched the large chamber. It was a storehouse for everything from foodstuffs to firewood.

The search was fruitless, nor did the well bear any helpful inscriptions though Carstein assured us he could sense some kind of magical residue from its area, together with a strong sense of foreboding at one point.

Meanwhile Snorri and the elf decided that the time was ripe for some gambling. After all, it was only one of the four activities specifically forbidden us by our hosts, so what harm could there be in that? Getz put is foot down and brought that possibly disastrous avenue to a halt. Meanwhile Carstein was raring to descend into the depths of the well, however, cooler if not wiser heads preferred to leave this as a last resort.

The clue card showed somewhat puzzlingly two goblets pouring liquid into the well and we felt this incongruity could be significant, after all, wasn’t liquid supposed to come out of a well, not go into it? The elf, having already lost some of his silver to the dwarf, lost some more testing out the wishing well potential of the construction, but it came up short.

The elf wizardess meanwhile walked to the entrance bridge to take a look at the mountain and warned our guardsman to watch out for wolves, but given that he looked about nine years old, we felt that it would hardly be a test for an opponent of a tenth of Werner’s ruthlessness or ability to best him. Our only reliable defence would be our own devices.

Pouring some liquid into the well as illustrated on the clue had no effect and we decided despite the wizard’s protests to see if we could find anything resembling the goblet. Up then to the kitchen perhaps, but first the brewery where we conferred with the learned and somewhat tipsy Brother Dilbert, or Dogbert or some such.

In the course of our discussions, Carstein examined what proved to be the final destination of buckets from the well, hundreds of feet below. The brewer could pull water all the way up for his needs with no effort at all. Carstein was so impressed that he fell into the shaft, tangled up in the ropes and plummeted down several floors before dropping neatly into the wellshaft far below. Snorri just managed to grab the winch mechanism and bring his fall to a halt in time to avert a watery death.

The wizard interestingly found himself adjacent to an alcove in the shaft and exploring it discovered – another clue. We brought up the triumphant magic user and examined it. Intact at least, bearing a picture of a monk in a barrel, seemingly drunk, plus a playing card, a jack or king* bearing a goblet similar to the one pictured by the well.

*Or knave as it turned out

We were flummoxed by this one, but with time moving on decided it was time to retire for the evening. The night passed quickly but we were rudely awakened by cries of alarm and dismay in the morning. Scrambling to the battlements we saw away to the east the unmistakeable green tinged mass of an orc army accompanied by unpronounceable flying creatures* and quite possibly cave trolls. Half a day distant perhaps, no more, and bristling with impressive looking anti monastic siege equipment.

*Wyverns

A council of war was called after breakfast and after some unsuccessful attempts to gather information from the cook, we gathered to await the response of the intrepid defenders. Two hours of committee followed peppered with motions, resolutions and minute taking. Our elf newcomer tried to match the administrative bobbing and weaving with little success and we confessed ourselves beaten and retreated from the pointless ramblings of the brethren.*

*Hardly pointless, Digger is being a little harsh here, the monks successfully set up committees to examine the logistical consequences of the modern siege, the implications of unseasonably inclement weather on the scaling of sheer cliffs, the importance of strategic financial planning in the conduct of modern defensive operations… and countless others.

After the meeting broke up we met with the brewer again. In the interim we had requested some maps and information on our opposition to be fetched from the library as the monks had told us of a spirit guardian who would attack any non monk. Snorri had also broken in to the Roostmaster’s quarters and stolen the set of keys we had seen there earlier. He also continually ranted about the need to start building our own catapults.

The brewing brother revealed now that like the Smithy, he was custodian of a clue: This one was an image of seven dwarven coins. This reminded the elf of the original message from the great architect of this place. The seven coins he referred to specifically were for payment to the stonemason who would bury him.

We consulted the Roostmaster who revealed the location of the last and sadly late stone mason of the place: Tomb thirteen. During this conversation the elf ‘found’ the Roostmaster’s keys and returned them to him, much to the chagrin of the dwarf.

We were led to the tombs by a monk who fortunately was aware that the last stonemason was infact in tomb thirty three. The chief monk was a little forgetful. Another clue to the good then, this one in double quick time. It was a little less straightforward, but seemed to hint at the eastern side of the monastery, possibly one of the towers or an armoury. This would be our next port of call, but the orc horde was already close at hand, time was running out: The third doomstone would need to be recovered and spirited away to prevent it falling into their hands; or would it provide a weapon sufficient to defeat them? If we were caught here, the other two stones would be within their grasp, yet the monks seemed serenely confident that the prophecy would see them protected. And still, the forbidden library calls…

21.11.10
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