“Hunt me? Hunt me? The hell you will. The boots will give me a head start. I’ve got friends in every city from here to Quay Shai. I speak a dozen languages, know all the customs, every religion. I’ll blend in and disappear; you’ll never find me in a hundred human lifetimes.”
d20: 18 + (Persuade +9) + (Worked for Indy +2) = 29
The dragon loomed closer as Gary stood motionless except for the heaving of his chest. “Maybe you even could. You smell foreign, yet you speak the tongue like a local. There’s something… very odd about you.”
It sniffed, and Gary’s unbound hair streamed toward those deadly nostrils.
“Yes, something strange indeed. And yet, you look so human. You’re not foreign at all; you’re otherworldly.”
The lizardling voice called out once more. “Master, I beg your mercy, but there are intruders after the elf!”
Zebaxkurgath reared up, not onto his hind legs but off the ground entirely. Despite being wingless, the dragon simply treated gravity as optional and air as valid terrain. “What?” it boomed.
It twisted and writhed until its face came in line with Gary’s. “Remain. If you wish to bargain for you wretched life when I return, you may yet keep it.”
“Wait!” Gary shouted after the dragon as it deftly uncoiled from around him and shot toward the exit to its treasure hoard. He scrambled across rolling dunes of coinage—enough to buy a palace—not caring about the wealth he trampled. None of that mattered. This was DEFCON 1 of crazy schemes gone wrong. “Don’t kill them! This is all my fault!”
Zebaxkurgath paused mid-air and turned. “And thanks to those boots, you’ll flee while I kill them. Can’t be helped, I suppose. But I can’t be letting my only hostage escape.”
This was a disaster. Gary hadn’t created Pellar for the villains to win. He’d wanted to push his friends to the brink of disaster time and again to see how they’d prevail. Because he trusted that they’d never give up, that they’d always find a way out no matter how stupid, brave, or underhanded. But this was a dragon. This was a dragon designed for them to maybe kill sometime around level 10 or 12. Right now, Zebaxkurgath was a Total Party Kill waiting to happen.
Gary was going to have to be the brave, stupid, underhanded one.
“Take me!” Gary said, pulling off Nethel’s boots and flinging them into the pile of treasure to splash with a pecuniary clatter. The dragon cocked its massive head. “Miriasa was some elf we took pity on and pulled from a dwarf ruin. I’m their friend. They’ll hand over Nethel to get me back.”
“How very interesting…”
Gary’s breath came deep and quick. Makoy had hinted that death was the way out of this world. While Gary didn’t want to die, he told himself that being bitten in half would only hurt for an instant.
His churning guts weren’t buying that argument.
But his argument seemed to be working.
The dragon coiled back into the room, encircling Gary once more. The sinuous bulk created an impassable barrier to Nethel’s boots—presuming Gary couldn’t dive down and swim through the lake of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck.
“Do… do we have a deal?” Gary asked. He kept looking over his shoulder, both to check the blocked exit back down the secret tunnel and to avoid meeting those horrible eyes.
The dragon’s chuckle shook the pile of coins beneath Gary’s feet, causing him to fight for his balance. “Deal? You’ve given yourself up. At best, you’ll wait and find out how your friends fare against my minions. Perhaps they’ll even escape. Doubtful, but adventurers are nothing but wellsprings of surprise. Some unpleasant. Some—such as yourself—quite welcome indeed.”
“But… there’s no reason to hurt them. You’ve got all the leverage you need. They’ll turn over Nethel.”
“Perhaps. But time will tell. Would you like a word of advice, human?”
Gary nodded, not trusting his words just then.
“Your kind bargains too readily. Never give up anything. You had your freedom and laid it upon the chopping block like a farm-bred chicken. Speaking of which, if you have dietary preferences, make them known. I do not starve my prisoners, especially ones I’ve promised to eat. I prefer plump, flabby meals. You’ll receive rich foods and no exercise.”
Gary forced a chuckle. “Sounds homey.” Junk food and no outdoor activity described the high school experience he, Mary, and Zane had shared.
But as he withered beneath the dragon’s glare, Gary also struggled to come up with a plan. Remaining as a hostage was intolerable. Sure, the party might come back for him, might exchange Nethel for his life, might slay Zebaxkurgath half a dozen levels from now.
What about the meantime?
Sloppy, greasy medieval food cooked by a dragon’s minions? A cramped cave prison, probably with a bucket to shit in? Hobgoblin conjugal visits? Gary shuddered at the mental picture he’d accidentally painted.
Quickly, he checked his character sheet for anything that might help him pull a rabbit out of his hat.
Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns
Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B XP: 8,106/16,000 Race: Unknown
STR: 7 DEX: 9 CON: 8 INT: 21 WIS: 17 CHA: 18
To Hit: +2 Weapon: Hair Splitter (1d8+1)
Armor Rating: 11 Armor: Leather (+2)
Path Powers: Inspire (+2), Lullaby, Fascinate, Historian, Befuddle
Skills: Persuade (+9), Music (+9), Study/Search (+9)
Tricks: Fast Talk
Profession: Cook (+1)
He wasn’t going to lull the dragon to sleep with a song. Fascinate and Befuddle were equally unlikely to overcome the willpower of a dragon. Hair Splitter was more likely to annoy the dragon than harm it—and Gary was no Bard the Bowman, just a regular old bard. There was also an old text computer game where the player attempted to kill a dragon with his bare hands and prevailed. But Pellar wasn’t written quite so tongue-in-cheek.
He’d entered this lair as a diversion. The only way he was getting out was as a con man. Or, in the local parlance: a bard.
“So, care to place a wager on my friends getting out of here without either of us interfering?” Gary asked.
The dragon growled at the back of its throat. “I already plan to take all you own. What could you possibly offer?”
“I can tell you where Nethel is stashed,” Gary replied.
To his surprise, there was no need of a Persuade roll. He supposed it was because, as soon as Gary discovered the party’s fate, he’d have the information he promised.
“I’ll squeeze it from your little mind, vermin,” Zebaxkurgath replied. The wingless, serpentine body coiled closer around him, still not touching but no roomier than the space between sets of automated doors at a grocery store.
“Quicker if I give him up willingly.”
“Why would you?”
“He’s not my friend. Why wouldn’t I?”
d20: 12 + (Persuade +8) + (Well, He’s Not +2) = 22
“I meant, why would you honor the bargain if you lose? I warned you once about giving up your leverage. Are you dim-witted or merely brash?”
“Look, I’ll even take a one-sided deal,” Gary said.
Keep the dragon talking, he told himself. Every combat turn he delayed Zebaxkurgath was one where the dragon wasn’t aiding its minions in hunting down the party. Also, it kept him from pissing his pants. Talking was a distraction from letting his mind ponder the details of being bitten in half, swallowed whole, engulfed in flames…
“If my friends make it out, I’ll give up Nethel’s location,” Gary continued. “In return, I’m hoping that in your magnanimity, you allow an up-and-coming bard to go free to sing your praises—literally—all across Kovia and into lands beyond.”
Zebaxkurgath chuckled. “A bold presumption. Let’s see how that works out for you.”
They waited together. Patience, it seemed, came easily to an ancient beast. More easily than to a 25-year-old guitarist and short-order cook whose days were so packed w
ith activity—if not excitement—that he hardly knew how to hold still anymore.
The dragon’s breath and the shifting of coins each inhalation and exhalation brought were the only sounds for what felt like hours.
At long last, the silence broke. “M-m-master… the prisoner…”
“Yes? What?” the dragon bellowed, partially uncoiling to face its minion at the entrance. “Just say it.”
“Has escaped.” With a yelp, the creature ran off, its screams and pleas for mercy growing distant by the second.
Zebaxkurgath slithered around. “So… time for you to keep your promise and beg for clemency. In that order, if you please.”
Gary’s mouth was suddenly dry. He tried to lick his lips, but his tongue was a towel. “Or… not.” The words came out as a croak, barely audible.
“How DARE you defy me! I shall devour you a piece at a time; you’ll divulge the thieving Nethel’s location to stop the pain. Only then will I grant the mercy of death.”
“Thought of that,” Gary said, feeling dizzy but fighting through it. “I didn’t come here without a contingency plan. If I die or go missing, there’s a letter that will be sent.”
“A letter?” the dragon echoed with more bass than Gary could ever have imagined. “You expect a letter to dissuade me. Write to kings and wizards for all I care. None would dare set foot upon my mountaintop.”
“Rainmaker would,” Gary said. The rambling plan took hold. There was no going back, no veering aside. It was plunge forward or die in a dragon’s jaws. “You know Luin Fernwind, I believe. Oh, by that look in your eye I can tell that you do. I wanted a rescue, you see. Trade the thief for Miriasa Starlight. Barring that, sneak past your stooges and take her from under your nose. But I hadn’t intended to kill you. For all your vile deeds, dragons are a part of the world. I’d as soon burn down a forest or demolish a standing spire as slaughter one of your kind. But I don’t think Luin Fernwind is the sort of elf who’ll take kindly to what you’ve done, Zebaxkurgath, son of Ninkantomaya, to a girl he looked after as a niece. I can picture your hide growing a fur made of black arrow shafts.”
d20: 10 + (Persuade +8) + (Historical Details -2) = 16
The dragon widened its eyes. Its teeth gleamed. “Black shafts? You think me a fool to believe the Rainmaker would use any but his famous green arrows? You’ve plainly read his name from a book and seek to frighten me.”
Fast Talk: on a failed Persuade check, roll a secondary check to make up a plausible excuse that the target can believe.
“Shows what you know of the world outside these caverns,” Gary spat back, throwing caution to the wind. “Luin the Rainmaker switched his shafts to black in mourning of his wife’s death in the Battle of Icerend. He’s never stopped grieving her, and he’s never short of black shafts for an enemy of elvenkind.”
d20: 17 + (Persuade +8) + (Suspicious Reptile -2) = 23
Was it good enough? Would 23 cow Zebaxkurgath into thinking twice before either eating him or leaving him unattended to chase the others?
The dragon bared his fangs and issued a low growl that jingled the coins of his stash.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Gary said, plowing forward into the darkness where any step might be the one that put him over the cliff’s edge. “You’re going to call off any minions still chasing my friends and let them take Miriasa away from this place. Then I’m going to walk out the way I came. You’re not going to have us followed, send assassins for revenge, or attempt any retribution against us or Nethel. Otherwise, my contingency goes into effect, and you can spend the rest of your short life running from the greatest ranger the elven species has left.”
The dragon’s breath seethed, washing over Gary like waves of carrion-scented air. Those giant eyes bored into his soul for some answer that would allow him to eat Gary and survive the aftermath.
“Bargain struck,” the dragon answered with grudging reluctance. It slithered through the air and left the passage behind Gary open. “But first tell me this: how did you know all that? The bards of this land know nothing and teach less. I have told no one the tale of my relation to the lair’s previous occupant.”
“I let you off easy,” Gary said calmly. And he felt that calmness in his bones. He’d stripped back the beast from this monster and left it a sullen and resentful being capable of rational thinking. “I could have brought up the painful memories of hatching among humans, being trained for tricks and obedience like an overly smart attack dog. I might have brought up the decades you spent searching for answers after you slew your captors, unable to discover your origins and regretting the search once you had. If I were truly a villain, I’d conjure in your memory the half-recalled songs that your mother sang through your eggshell and the fact of your own name being the only clear memory you have of her voice. I set the elf to be your executioner as a kindness. He’ll only destroy your body. Cross me again and let me live, and I’ll first lay ruin to your mind.”
“Begone!” Zebaxkurgath ordered. “Still your loathsome tongue, human—or whatever you are. Take your bargain and may the taste of ash follow for the rest of your days!”
As he was turning to depart, Gary couldn’t help letting his eyes scan the treasure horde. He’d used a random loot generator to round out the odds and ends without giving it much thought. But one item caught his eye.
He veered back toward the pile of coins and extracted both Nethel’s boots and a mandolin, studiously shaking loose coins that stuck among the strings and body of the instrument. “And these. I lost my lute on the hunt for your stupid thief. I’m taking this as recompense. You can’t even play it, even in human form. And… well, I guy can’t walk outside in this snow without a warm pair of teleportation boots.”
Acquired Mandolin +2: +2 to all skill checks using an instrument.
Acquired Farjump Boots: Teleport up to 1,000 feet. Cooldown 5 minutes.
Gary sauntered out the secret back door of Zebaxkurgath’s lair. As soon as he was out of the dragon’s sight, he broke into a run.
Suddenly, a curious feeling came over Gary.
Acquired Fate’s Blessing.
Oh, gods above. He’d gotten defeat credit for Zebaxkurgath. It was meant to have been a major campaign milestone, maybe somewhere around level 10 or 12 for the whole party. Fate’s Blessing was a bonus reward meant to give them a little something above and beyond the (by then) modest XP gain and loads of money.
For Gary to have gotten it meant that he’d…
Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns
Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B XP: 18,106/16,000 Race: Unknown
STR: 7 DEX: 9 CON: 8 INT: 21 WIS: 17 CHA: 18
To Hit: +2 Weapon: Hair Splitter (1d8+1)
Armor Rating: 11 Armor: Leather (+2)
Path Powers: Inspire (+2), Lullaby, Fascinate, Historian, Befuddle
Skills: Persuade (+9), Music (+9), Study/Search (+9)
Tricks: Fast Talk
Profession: Cook (+1)
Special: Fate’s Blessing
Yes, he’d gotten the full 10,000 XP for the dragon on top of the blessing.
Gary’s head spun. The blast of cold wind when he reached the outside air barely registered. Not only had he leveled up in a single encounter, but he also had a one-time chance to break the game rules.
58
Stumbling around the mountainside in a delirious haze, Gary finally caught up with the party, with Miriasa bundled in blankets in Beldrak’s arms and Nethel looking smug.
“Look who’s nice and clean,” Nethel said, showing the back of his hands where blood was caked around the fingernails.
Zeeto held up a hand. “Wait a sec. That’s not your old lute.”
“That one broke,” Gary explained. “Remember? I needed a new one, so I made Kurgath throw it in as part of the deal. C’mon. Let’s get off this mountain.” Shivering, he tugged his cloak close around his collar and started down the trail that would take them to the relative warmth of the
barely freezing valley below.
“Agreed,” Beldrak said. “The lady needeth the warmth of fire and tent, and I daresay taking either hereabouts wouldst be an error best to avoid.”
As they fell into a rough procession, Sira and Braeleigh took up flanking positions on either side of Gary.
“What was he like?” Braeleigh asked, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen a dragon before.”
“Be glad of it,” Nethel called out from just within earshot.
“Was he magnificent?” the elf persisted. “Did you get to see him breathe fire?”
“Forget all that,” Sira snapped. “What deal? What kind of deal did you make with that monster?”
“Oh,” Gary said. “Nothing much. I just traded our freedom, Miriasa’s, and Nethel’s in exchange for allowing him to live.”
Zeeto wiggled a finger in his ear and turned to look back at Gary and the two women. “I musta heard that wrong. You bargained to let him live?”
“Nope. You heard me. As he was trying to get rid of me, this mysterious beauty caught my eye. I’ve got some plans for what to do with it too.” He held out the mandolin. “So, I made old Kurgath throw it in as part of the deal.”
Zeeto snorted. “Well, to each his own. Knew you had a mouth like the back end of a cow, but that’s pretty impressive. Me? I’d have wanted gold.”
“Only so far you can push a dragon,” Gary mused. “Didn’t think he’d throw a hissy fit over a musical instrument. Start threatening the gold, and maybe some emotional decision-making steps in.”
“Well, while you got an oversized banjo, the rest of us murdered our way through a fortress and saved a princess. Got nearly halfway to the next step on the Path of Power.”
“She’s not a princess,” Braeleigh corrected. “The elven royal family is in exile. She’s not in exile. Ergo, not a princess.”
Homebrew (Metagamer Chronicles Book 1) Page 27