It is my greatest pleasure and shame to have this opportunity to relate to you the continuing story of my band of brothers, and our heroic war upon the orcs of Agrathor, as played out in our game of Dungeons Full Of Dragons.

To recap quickly the personae dramatis involved:

Where once I was the Giant Squid, former President of these estados unidos and scourge of the internets, I was now Timmy Wu, mace-wielding Priest of the warrior-god Helm, mammal.

Joining me on my quest were:

• Slaymaster, the blood-craving Dwarf—his family devoured by rabid centaurs, this angry half-man seeks vengeance and gold in every shadow.
• Orluin O'Duighhnasse, an Elvish archer—his love lies in a state of dreamless sleep and he seeks the potion that shall awaken her.
• Gandalf the Grey, great wizard and fiercesome strategist—his methods and reasons are known to none.

The orchestrator of our adventure and master of our destinies was Donny, now known only as the GamesMaster or Gee Em.

Gee Em: Okay, so, first off I want to say that I'm glad we all made it back for this. D&D campaigns can often be a war of attrition with real life, one in which real life does all the attriting. Attrionating? Attrioning. Whatever. Real life gets all the good hits in, and we lose one player every three weeks or so. My point is: I'm glad we're all here. Let's get on with it.

Gee Em: Here is what happened last time. You arrived at the Inn of Great Forboding. The inn was packed full of townsfolk and adventurers who were too scared to leave the safety of the group at night, because murderous orcs roamed the streets and hills nearby. The orcs have been doing this for a long while, and you found out they were holed up in a cave just outside of town. The cavern of Agrathor. It's an abandoned mine at the back of this sprawling, over-grown farm. You've followed the trail of blood left by an orc that Mr. President, I mean, Timmy Wu wounded in the face. You've walked about fifty paces into the mine, and found it ends at a large door with a mean-ass lock on it. In front of the door sits an orc, on a chest. He is heavily armored and has a shield and a club with some broken glass tarred to it.

Gee Em: What do you do?

Gandalf: We should fuck this bitch up. Take the chest and call it a night. We can go back to the Inn and hook up with some fly honies.

Timmy Wu:FLY HONEY? WHAT IS THIS YOU SPEAK OF? I WAS LEAD TO BELIEVE THAT HONEY ONLY CAME FROM BEES. IS FLY HONEY AS SWEET AND STICKY AS THE BEE HONEY?

Gandalf: Not as sticky, but twice as sweet. Y'know what I'm sayin?

SlayMaster: We should just rush the orc. There's only one of him and like four of us.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: I nock an arrow. We should do this quick before any more show up.

Gandalf: Alright, I'll Magic Missile his ass. But not in an orc-o-sexual way.

Timmy Wu: I WILL GRASP THE ORC IN MINE THIRD AND FOURTH TENTACLES, WHILE USING THE REST OF MY APPENDAGES TO REMOVE HIS WRITHING LIMBS. THESE I SHALL EAT.

[Dice are rolled. This happens frequently and is a great mystery to me. Often, I am instructed to roll them to hit things, but when I fling the dice so as to hit my compatriots no one is amused. I shall endeavor to not mention the dicing in this narrative, but please when reconstructing this tale in the eye of your mind, imagine that the dice are rolled four times for every word spoken. The rolling of a twenty is met with whooping and braggadocchio, while the rolling of a one is a very shameful act. When a one is rolled no one will meet your glance and comments are made regarding your worth that are quite rude and hurtful, irregardless of how hard you are trying, or the fact that all of this is much new to you.]

Gee Em: Okay, SlayMaster rushes the lone orc. Gandalf hits him with a spell. Orluin looses an arrow. And, uh, Mr. President Squid, you're playing a human, so you don't have, like, tentacles or a beak or optically perfect eyes or ink or any of that. You just have human parts and abilities.

Timmy Wu: PERHAPS I SHOULD ROLL A NEW CHARACTER? ONE WHO IS NOT SO SMALL AND LIMITED? ONE WITH A POWERFUL GRIP, RAZOR-SHARP MOUTH, AND YET IS STILL RUGGEDLY HANDSOME?

Gee Em: I... Listen, maybe next time. We're in the middle of this one so, just stick with being Timmy.

Timmy Wu:I SHALL REMAIN A MAMMAL, THEN, IF IT PLEASE YOU. I STAND AT THE REARMOST REACHES OF THE CAVE AND REGULATE MY BODY TEMPERATURE INTERNALLY.

Gee Em: Herm... Fine.

Gee Em: You quickly dispose of the orc with your rush, and he dies sprawled across the chest.

SlayMaster: We should loot the body.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: I want to examine the chest for traps or odd spells.

Gandalf: Yeah, what's in the chest?

Timmy Wu: OTHER ORCS HAVE PASSED THIS WAY, AND WE CAN ASSUME THEY WILL BE PASSING THIS WAY AGAIN, YES? I WISH TO LEAVE A SIGN, SO THAT THEY SHALL KNOW US AND IN SO KNOWING BE GRIPPED WITH FEAR. I WISH TO USE MY CLUMSY FINGER-THUMBS TO REMOVE ALL OF THE CLOTHING FROM THE ORC WE HAVE SLAIN. AND THEN—IT SAYS HERE ON MY CHARACTERIZATION SHEET THAT I HAVE AN EIGHT-FOOT POLE AND FIFTY FEET OF ROPE—I WISH TO DRIVE THE POLE THROUGH THE ORC'S ANUS AND OUT OF HIS MOUTH. THIS SHOULD NOT TAKE MORE PRESSURE NOR STRENGTH THAN MY WEAK, PALE, HAIRED, LACTATING, LIVE-YOUNG-BEARING BODY MIGHT PRODUCE. I THEN WISH TO DRIVE THE STAKE INTO THE FLOOR OF THE MINE AND USE THE ROPE TO ENSURE THIS SIGN AND SYMBOL OF OUR MIGHT AND VENGEANCE DOES NOT TOPPLE IN THE CURRENTS.

SlayMaster: "And they shall know us by the trail of dead."

Gandalf: Fuckin A.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: What god do you worship again, friend priest?

Timmy Wu: I WORSHIP THE DEEP ONES, THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE THE TIME OF MAN, AND THOSE WHO SHALL USHER IN THE NEXT AGE. THE GREAT RISING. THEY ARE DARK AND UNKNOWABLE BUT TO THE MAD AND THE GENIUS. I, TIMMY WU, SHALL SPIT THIS ORC UPON MY POLE IN HONOR OF THE DEEP ONES!

Gee Em: The orc has his armor, shield and club on him, as well as a few copper pieces. When Timmy Wu strips him he finds a large key tied around his neck with a leather thong. You don't find any traps on the chest, but you do notice blood that has seeped or leaked out of the bottom of it. Gandalf tries to open the chest, but it's locked and the lid won't budge at all. Timmy Wu manages to shish-ke-bab the orc, and props him up like a scarecrow. He stares back up the hallway with one of Orluin's arrows poking out of his mouth.

SlayMaster: I'll take the shield, and give the club to Timmy the Squid. The key though, wonder which lock it opens? The door or the chest?

Gandalf: Fuck. If we guess wrong, we die again don't we Donny?

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: Fuck.

SlayMaster: Fuck. Not this again. Y'see, Mr. Squid, this is a stunt that Donny the GM likes to pull once in a while: there are two doors or two locks or—what was it last time?

Gandalf: Seven gems.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: Ugh. I forgot about that one.

SlayMaster: And a legitimate user of the item or door or gem would know which was correct and which wasn't. So they have a lethal trap of some sort on all of the wrong choices. Choose the wrong door or gem and SPLAT!

TimmyWu: SPLAT? WHAT IS SPLAT?

Gandalf: In the room of three doors, SlayMaster—or should I say, "SlayMaster's older, deceased brother, Thermadore the Dwarf"—chose the wrong door and the ceiling crushed us to death.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: In the Temple of the Seven Gems, when my previous character Filggy StoutHand stole the wrong gem the Temple sealed itself and filled with water and we all drowned.

TimmyWu: THIS IS MOST DISTRESSING. IF WE PICK OF THE WRONG LOCK TO KEY, BETWIXT THE DOOR AND THE CHEST, WE SHALL CERTAINLY PERISH?

SlayMaster: Donny has that shit-eating grin again, so I'm betting yes. This could be a short adventure folks.

Gandalf: I say we fuck this mine and head back to the Inn. There are some fine bitches back there and some barbarians we can kill.

GeeEm: You hear some noises coming from the tunnel entrance. It sounds like a bunch of armored orcs making their way down towards you. You only have a few minutes until they find your "scarecrow."

Gandalf: Fuck you, Donny.

TimmyWu: THIS IS NO TIME FOR INTERNAL STRIFE! WE MUST HAVE NEEDS TO INVESTIGATE THE ROOM AND DETERMINE WHICH PATH IS SAFE, AND WHICH WILL LEADS US TO OUR DEMISE BY CRUSHING AND SUFFOCATION. THE ORC THAT WE FOLLOWED HERE, HE WAS BLEEDING PROFUSELY FROM HIS FACE WHERE I DID INFLICT UPON HIM A TERRIBLE WOUND. IS THERE A TRAIL OF BLOOD NEAR THE DOOR? I ASSUME THE CHEST IS COVERED IN BLOOD FROM THE HEAD-AXING AND THROAT-PUNCTURING AND FROM THE CREATION OF MY SCARECROW MOST FOUL AND THREATSOME.

GeeEm: No. There is no blood near the door.

Gandalf: Which means?

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: Put the key in the chest! Quick!

SlayMaster: If this works, I'm totally going to vote for you in the next election, Mr. Squid. Okay, I use the key on the chest lock.

GeeEm: You have chosen . . . wisely. The chest top pops open and within you can dimly see a blood-spattered rope ladder that extends about six feet into a large room below. The room is unoccupied, but fresh torches line the walls.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: I jump down into the room, avoiding the blood-soaked ropes. There is very little as foul in this world as the blood of an orc.

Gandalf: Yeah, I jump the hell down. If it looks like more than ten feet I'm gonna feather fall.

SlayMaster: I climb down.

TimmyWu: I TOO SHALL ENTER THIS CREVICE WITH MY BULK, MAKING SURE THAT THE LID OF THIS CHEST-DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME. ADDITIONALLY, I WISH TO EXAMINE THE LID OF THE CHEST FROM THE INSIDE FOR OPENING MECHANISMS. IF I FIND THEM I WISH TO DAMAGE THEM IRREPARABLE. I ALSO WISH TO CUT THE ROPE LADDER AND TO WEDGE THIS GLASS AND TAR ENCRUSTED CLUB BELOW THE MOUTH OF THE OPENING, SO THAT IF ANY FOUL BLOODED ORCS LEAP DOWN THEY SHALL BE STRUCK BY MY DANGEROUS FAUX-APPENDAGE.

Gandalf: Next game I'm gonna roll a priest that worships the Deep Ones. This is badass. I'm gonna take my caltrops and spread them around the ground where the orcs might jump down.

TimmyWu: DEFECATE UPON THEM. FECAL MATTER CAN CAUSE RAPIDLY FATAL INFECTIONS IF PLACED UPON BLADES OR PIERCING INSTRUMENTS.

Gandalf: Fuck yeah! I take a dump on them.

SlayMaster: Great. So while our mage and priest are shitting on the floor I'd like to take a look around the room. Any orcs in it? Dragons? Huge piles of gold?

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: I wish to hide in the shadows.

GeeEm: No orcs or anything else really. You seem to be at a junction. Four separate hallways lead off from this room. You can faintly hear voices from the first, smell the odor of food being cooked from the second, the third is entirely dark and silent, sounds of chains thrashing about and distant roaring can be heard form the fourth, and it's totally time to call this a day, guys. I got an early shift tomorrow.

TimmyWu: NEXT TIME MY FRIENDS AND CO-CONSPIRATORS THE ORCS SHALL PERISH UPON OUR FECAL-TIPPED BLADES AND WE SHALL EXPLORE THESE FOUR MYSTERIOUS HALLWAYS.

SlayMaster: Sounds good. But no matter what Gandalf says, we should not split up.

Gandalf: We should totally split up.

Orluin O'Duighhnasse: Am I successfully hiding in the shadows?

And so, dear readers and fellow adventurers in a strange and violent land, I must bid you good day until next time. May all your plans be flawless, may all your dice be twenties, and may all your hits be "crits."

I Remain,
Timmy Wu, Priest of the Deep Ones and the Gods that Dwell Behind and Between,
Sometimes Also Known As,
The Giant Squid