Homerooms and Hall Passes

by Tom O'Donnell

  “Still,” said Albiorix.

  June dropped her cat and gave the wizard a hug.

  “Be safe out there, guys,” said June.

  “Safe?” said Devis with a roguish grin. “That’s not really our style.”

  “Is there anything you need before you go do your quest?” said June.

  “Well,” said Albiorix, “there is one thing.”

  “What?” said June.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any torches, would you?” said Vela.

  And so June Westray descended into the basement to obtain several mosquito-repellent citronella torches, which had somehow made the move with them from the big city.

  The Old Mall squatted in the empty parking lot like some massive gray toad. The adventurers approached the glass double doors that marked the north entrance. Closed. Sorrowshade peered inside.

  “It’s completely dark,” said Sorrowshade, throwing her hood up. “Kind of like life.”

  “Devis, the door?” said Albiorix.

  “Okay, so now me being a thief is good thing again?” said Devis as he pulled out his lockpicks and got to work. “Got it.”

  “When last we faced Zazirak, I called upon the Powers of Light to rebuke him,” said Vela, clutching her sunburst pendant. “Yet here in this world, the Powers cannot heed my call.”

  “Bah! You give yourself too much credit, paladin. Boneshatter II will make short work of this ghoul,” said Thromdurr, raising his mallet. “WITH SMASHING!”

  “I don’t know,” said Albiorix. “This time he knows we’re coming and he has his spellbook. I’ve looked through the Malonomicon and it’s pretty nasty.”

  “What a coincidence,” said Sorrowshade. “So am I.” The gloom elf went for her hood but realized it was already up. She attempted to play off the awkward gesture like she was trying to scratch her back with both hands.

  “Onward, then, comrades,” said Vela, drawing her épée. “Evil awaits.”

  Devis popped open the lock, and the adventurers slipped inside the Hibbettsfield Galleria. Albiorix murmured a quiet incantation and his light spell bathed the way ahead in silver moonglow. The wary party trudged forward through the deserted mall. They glanced around as they walked, scanning the flickering shadows for any sign of their foe. They passed the Chicken Hut and LA Jewelers and Trundlebee’s Toys with no sign of any warlocks.

  “Stop,” said Sorrowshade, holding up a fist. “I think I saw someone.” The party froze as the gloom elf gazed out into the darkness toward a clothing store called Style Shack. Albiorix’s luminous orb drifted over to reveal rows of dead-eyed mannequins, sporting stylish winter outfits and accessories, standing motionless in the window.

  “Whew,” said Vela. “Not to worry. They are just—”

  The window shattered as ten mannequins charged toward them.

  “Well, that’s . . . unexpected,” said Devis.

  “There is a spell in the Malonomicon for turning inanimate objects evil,” said Albiorix.

  “Then we have found Zazirak’s lair for certain,” said Vela.

  The charging line of mannequins clashed with the heroes. Thromdurr roared as he exploded one’s head with a mighty downward swing of Boneshatter II. Two of Sorrowshade’s arrows took out the feet of another, sending it toppling to the floor. Devis scrambled between the legs of a third and popped up to plunge an ice skate into its back. Meanwhile, Vela fended off three more mannequins with her makeshift shield.

  True to habit, Albiorix found himself hanging near the back of the fray, away from the main action. He swatted at an errant mannequin (decked out in full ski gear) with his hockey stick, and missed. The thing turned and lunged at him, tackling him to the floor.

  “Unhand our wizard, fashion golem!” cried Vela, running the mannequin through with her épée, before it could tear Albiorix’s hockey mask off.

  “Whew! Thanks,” said Albiorix, panting as the paladin helped him to his feet. “Respect to you guys. Fighting is . . . difficult.”

  “Hardly!” cried Thromdurr, pounding the last of the mannequins into smaller and smaller bits. “To feel an opponent’s plastic skull smash beneath my hammer is almost as thrilling as passing an Algebra I test!”

  With their final enemy defeated, the adventurers now stood in a field of scarves and sweaters and disembodied arms and legs. The Old Mall was eerily quiet once more.

  “Was that it?” said Devis, glancing around. “Amateur hour, Zazirak.”

  “Likely a test,” said Vela. “A greater challenge is surely ahead.”

  The party pressed onward toward the escalators. In the darkness, they found the moving staircases still and silent.

  “Huh,” said Devis, as he started to ascend. “When it’s turned off, it’s just a simple set of—”

  The escalator groaned and shifted beneath his feet, causing the thief to stumble. A horrendous ripping crunch followed. Devis clung on for dear life as the up escalator violently pulled itself free of the mechanical track and reared up like a gigantic metal serpent, ready to strike.

  As a Hall Master, it’s easy to get overwhelmed when running a game of Homerooms & Hall Passes. You are expected not only to know the rules, but to portray every nonplayer character and make sure the nonadventure is running smoothly. At times, you may wonder, “Am I doing it wrong?” The answer to that question is no, as long as you and your players are enjoying yourselves.

  —Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide

  “GUYS?” CRIED DEVIS, WHO desperately clung to the up escalator as it swayed in the air like some gargantuan metallic cobra. “I think this might be the greater challenge!”

  “Not good,” said Albiorix, backing away.

  There was another metal-tearing crunch as the down escalator pulled itself free as well. The pair of escalators now loomed menacingly over the heads of the adventurers.

  “Double not good,” said Albiorix. He doubted a hockey mask would protect him from an angry moving staircase.

  “I KNEW ESCALATORS COULD NOT BE TRUSTED!” bellowed Thromdurr.

  The barbarian swung Boneshatter II at the up escalator, but his blow glanced off harmlessly. An instant later, the escalator struck down at the barbarian like an angry snake. Somehow Thromdurr managed to somersault out of the way as the force of its attack pulverized the floor where he had been standing. The escalator reared again. Miraculously, Devis still managed to cling to it. Three of Sorrowshade’s arrows plinked off it in quick succession.

  “These things are made of steel,” said Sorrowshade. “So unfair.”

  The gloom elf dodged a strike from the down escalator, but its sweeping tail whipped around and smashed into her. The assassin went sliding across the mall floor. Vela saw an opening and charged in to stab at it, but as she did her épée bent nearly in half.

  “None of our weapons are effective,” cried Vela. “What can we do?”

  “PURE BRUTE STRENGH MUST BE THE ANSWER!” cried Thromdurr.

  The barbarian wrapped his mighty arms around the up escalator and attempted to wrestle it. Yet with a shrug, the moving staircase threw him off. Thromdurr pinwheeled through the air and painfully smacked against a concrete column.

  “Or perhaps we need a plan,” cried Vela.

  “Hang on, I think one just came to me,” cried Devis, who still clung to the up escalator’s writhing form, like a spider on a garden hose.

  “Hey, stupid!” Devis yelled over at the down escalator.

  The down escalator recoiled from its fight with Vela and slowly turned toward the thief.

  “Oooh, look at me, I’m an escalator! I’m for people who are too lazy to take a flight of stairs!” cried Devis in a ridiculous voice. “Yep. I’m pretty much a glorified conveyor belt!”

  The down escalator lunged at Devis, who nimbly flipped out of the way. The down escalator smashed into the up escalator, knocking them both into a nearby photo booth. The up escalator rose—now apparently enraged at its twin—and rammed the down escalator, knocking three steps
loose.

  And with that, the pair was locked in mortal combat. Their huge snakelike forms coiled over and over, dislodging more steps as they battled. The heroes watched until the fight ended with both escalators immobile—badly damaged and inextricably tangled with each other on the floor in front of Shoe Cave.

  “Nice work, Devis,” said Thromdurr, cuffing the thief on the back. “How did you know they would turn on each other?”

  Devis shrugged. “Up escalator, down escalator; I figured there had to be a little tension there.”

  Vela hooked her grappling hook onto the railing above, and the party used a nearby sunglasses kiosk to climb up to the second floor. The five adventurers strode with purpose now. Somehow they knew where they were going.

  “There, up ahead,” said Sorrowshade.

  Standing before the fountain near the Cheesecakery, they saw a figure clad in dark robes. Myron Flanagan turned to face them. He looked ghoulish now; his flesh was taut and sallow, with dark circles around glowing green eyes.

  “Welcome, adventurers, to the Hibbettsfield Galleria,” said Zazirak, who chewed as he talked. “You really must try the soft pretzel. It almost makes me regret that this world will be destroyed.” He took another bite of pretzel.

  “Destroyed?” said Albiorix. “What are you talking about, Zazirak?”

  At this Zazirak merely cackled again.

  “Next question,” said Sorrowshade. “What are you wearing?”

  Zazirak stopped laughing and looked at himself. “What?”

  “Is that . . . a bathrobe?” said Sorrowshade.

  “It is!” said Devis. “Oh, man. Look, it’s still got the Maximo’s tags on it.”

  Sorrowshade snickered.

  “Do NOT mock my unholy vestments!” cried Zazirak. With a flash of light, a blast of sickly green energy leaped from the warlock’s fingertips toward the gloom elf, who dove behind a bench. The spell left a smoking notch in the wood.

  “Enough!” said Vela. “We have defeated your mannequins. We have beaten your escalators. Surrender now, warlock.”

  “Okay?” said Zazirak. “And then what?”

  “Return to the underworld as a restless spirit,” said Vela. “Leave this realm in peace.”

  “Or,” said Thromdurr, “and honestly this would be my preference: I could pound you into the linoleum with this croquet mallet first. The choice is yours, ghost man.”

  “Hmm,” said Zazirak, taking another bite of his soft pretzel and thoughtfully chewing. “No, I think I shall take the third option. I will slay you all and then watch this realm—”

  “Burn?” said Sorrowshade as she darted out from behind a palm-tree planter. The gloom elf lunged at Zazirak with a lit citronella torch.

  But the warlock whirled and raised a small fire extinguisher from beneath his bathrobe. With a chemical whoosh, Sorrowshade’s flame was instantly snuffed.

  “Ha! I remembered that little maneuver from last time and planned accordingly: Top Alert kitchen fire extinguisher, only $31.99 at Maximo’s,” said Zazirak. “And I wasn’t going to say ‘burn,’ I was going to say—”

  A mighty blow from Boneshatter II cut Zazirak off and sent him flying.

  “I SUPPOSE WE SHALL NEVER KNOW!” roared Thromdurr.

  Zazirak’s limp body tumbled to a stop ten feet away. After a long moment, the warlock slowly sat up.

  “Owee,” said Zazirak, massaging his jaw. “This has been delightful, but . . . that really hurt. Prepare to face my dark magicks, mortals.”

  “Yeah, that’s going to be tough without your spellbook, Zazzmatazz,” said Devis. The thief held up the Malonomicon and flashed a grin.

  “Good point. I need it back.” The warlock yanked a shiny chain that originated from his pocket, and the book jumped from Devis’s grasp.

  “Men’s chrome steel wallet chain with trigger snap hook, only $7.99 at Maximo’s,” said the warlock as he caught the Malonomicon. “Not just for wallets, though. Works for tomes of ancient evil too! And now to end this pathetic fight.”

  “Stop him!” cried Vela. The paladin charged forward.

  Zazirak opened the spellbook and began to wave his hand as he incanted. “Ars raz ilai si’arras nau. Giurr zi’as? Yai’su zi’asi’asilus!”

  A nova of mystical power exploded from the warlock. Vela fell first. Then Devis. They were followed by Sorrowshade and Thromdurr. Albiorix felt himself go limp and slump to the floor. His arms didn’t work. Neither did his legs. He couldn’t move at all. The only part of his body that would obey him were his eyes. He fixed them on Zazirak.

  The warlock cackled wildly as he balled up his soft pretzel wrapper and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  “For those who don’t speak fluent Shadownese,” said Zazirak, with a wink at Albiorix, “that spell was a little ditty I like to call ‘mass paralysis.’”

  He strolled past each of the helpless adventurers, chuckling and occasionally prodding one or the other of them with his toe. None of them moved. Albiorix tried to reassert control of his body: his arm, his hand, even his finger. He strained with all his might. Nothing. He was frozen.

  So this was how it would end. Not with a failing grade or a disciplinary expulsion from JADMS, but killed by an evil undead mage. So normal. So predictable. He never should have tried to be an adventurer in the first place.

  “And now,” said Zazirak, “you all get to watch as I perform the ritual to summon Azathor the Devourer, the demon who will feast upon this world!”

  Suddenly there came a crackle of energy, and a blue light shone somewhere to Albiorix’s left. Zazirak’s eyes grew wide. Albiorix couldn’t turn to see what the warlock was staring at.

  “No! NO!” cried Zazirak, raising his hand to cast another spell. “Begone, you—

  A familiar voice spoke a word of arcane power. A radiant blue bolt blasted Zazirak off his feet and sent him flying. Then came another incantation. Albiorix watched as, one by one, his limp companions begin to levitate, slowly rising off the floor. Last of all, Albiorix floated up off the ground himself. As he spun in the air, he saw that he was drifting toward a glowing dimensional portal. Beyond it, there was another world, a world he knew well.

  “Albiorix,” said the Archmage Velaxis, who stood beside the portal in all her terrible magnificence, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  Table 419d: School Punishments

  Whenever player characters run afoul of a teacher or an administrator, roll one to five times on the following table, depending on the severity of the infraction.

  1 to 4: Stern talking-to

  5 to 6: Pointless, unpleasant homework assignment

  7: Visit to the vice principal’s office

  8 to 10: Formal letter of apology

  11 to 14: After-school detention for 1 to 4 weeks

  15 to 16: Saturday detention for 1 to 4 weeks

  17: Visit to the principal’s office . . .

  —Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide

  ALBIORIX STOOD IN THE Archmage’s study on the top floor of her floating tower in Bríandalör. He stared at the carpet—an ornate design comprised of interlocking phoenixes, all the way from Far Draïz. His companions, now free of Zazirak’s mass paralysis spell, stood behind him rubbing their limbs and stretching their necks. All were quiet as the Archmage addressed them.

  “I have scoured the myriad planes of the multiverse looking for any sign of you, Albiorix,” said Velaxis. “My time is precious, and this was a needless waste of it.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” said Albiorix.

  “You’re lucky I am a skilled enough sorceress to traverse countless worlds, and compassionate enough to save the life of a mere apprentice,” said Velaxis. “I’ve had dozens of apprentices, you know. And believe me, you are hardly the most remarkable. Except in the amount of vexation you seem to cause.”

  “I understand, ma’am,” said Albiorix. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You do realize you nearly died in that place, which, as far a
s I can tell, was some sort of mystical manifestation of the ridiculous game you play with your friends.”

  “Archmage,” said Albiorix, “I think it might actually be real. Another world we discov—”

  “Silence!” boomed the Archmage. “I have told you over and over again that you spend far too much time playing that foolish game!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Albiorix, staring at the floor again. “You have said that.”

  “It is useless frippery that constantly distracts you—not only from your magical studies, but from exploring the ancient dungeons of this land to uncover forgotten lore, as is a wizard’s duty.”

  “It can be a time-consuming hobby,” said Albiorix.

  “Well, no longer,” said Velaxis. “You are hereby forbidden to ever play Homerooms & Hall Passes again.”

  Albiorix blinked.

  “If you disobey me in this, you may consider your apprenticeship with me over,” said Velaxis. “Oh, and if you ever get yourself into another situation like that again, I will not be there to save you. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Albiorix.

  “Now begone,” said the Archmage. “I expect you here bright and early tomorrow to work on minor charms. We will be hypnotizing tadpoles.”

  Albiorix nodded and turned to go.

  “Archmage,” said Vela. “If I may, on behalf of all of us, I would just like to—”

  “Begone!” thundered Velaxis.

  The adventurers made a quiet procession down the spiral staircase toward the “ground” floor of the tower (which was actually still twenty feet in the air). Along the way, Albiorix stopped to grab his own spellbook. When they reached the bottom, the party secured a rope and climbed down.

  At long last, their feet again stood on Bríandalörian soil. The world spread out around them, vibrant and green. The hills were dotted with mysterious ruins, every one of them promising adventure. In the far distance, a range of impossibly tall mountains climbed toward the heavens. Devis let out a hoot.

  “We made it back!” cried Devis. “We’re home!”

  Sorrowshade looked around and shuddered. “Worse than I remember.”