This is part of the ongoing narrative of our D&D campaign, which is graciously being run by Proud Lion, a fantastic comic shop in Cheltenham. Their RPG Encounters nights are a lot of fun, and give me some entertaining material to work with.
[Before reading, please be aware that there may be spoilers ahead for the D&D campaign books. Equally, our stories are fluid, so things may not follow the books too directly]
Moving into the next room, with the new gnome tagging along, the group was surprised to find this room stacked to the ceilings with barrels and crates. The wooden containers were clearly old, but there wasn’t anywhere near the dust build-up that covered all the ancient objects in this citadel. Anyway, the wood would have rotted to nothing in the long ages, so they had to be a recent addition.
“Hmmm, I reckon the goblins must have put these here,” the detective half-orc mused, before finding some goblin glyphs scratched into the lid of one crate, “and this says…can’t quite…ah, ‘Elf Pudding’. Wonder what that means?”
His ears prickling at the possibility of mischief, the warlock Kalashnikov walked to the crate, but he was cut off by the elven fighter Knott.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” the imperious elf responded, then cracked open the lid to see piles of perfectly preserved pies. He recoiled a little at the smell, but couldn’t quite work out why.
“Mmmm, they smell sweet!” Kalashnikov exaggeratedly patted his stomach, “pass me one, eh Drenk?”
“Wait!” Knott called out, “in my entire lifetime, I have never ever heard of an elven pudding dish, and certainly no elf would ever eat a…processed…pie! What are these?!”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” the warlock said, pushing past Knott Important and grabbing a large pie from the box.
“I only hope it’s a pudding for elves…” the gnome muttered at the back of the group, a moment of sudden, horrible revelation spread across the faces of the elven and half-elven members of the party.
Knott rounded on Kalashnikov, just as the troublesome dwarf was trying to stuff the largest pie into Logan’s chest cavity “for ‘ron”.
“Or you’ll do what?” Kalashnikov turned on Knott, angry that potential life-saving, or at least life-filling, food was now rolling in the dirt. But as he squared off, he realised just how much taller the elf was, and that if it came to a tussle, how badly he’d get his arse kicked. “Oh Cthulhu, you’re tall!” he squeaked out, and not even his brother would come to his aid in this case.
“Errr, I suppose I could let just this bit of food go…to…waste.” Kalashnikov muttered, cowed, and placed the pie back in the crate.
“Good, now, shall we move on? I don’t intend on staying in this place for any longer than I have to!” Knott said, but a loud noise disturbed the group before they followed along. The sound was emanating from the gnome’s stomach, and he looked really quite apologetic.
“I…I’m really sorry, I know it’s probably inappropriate, but I haven’t eaten in months, and I can’t help feeling hungry!” he complained, and Drenk took pity on him and passed a few pieces of jerky and bread over to the practically-starving gnome.
“Great, now ‘e’s eating our food too. Never thing you’ll be giving him the apples…” Burian complained under his breath, and the group headed off to the next door. Jester nimbly checked this one for traps, of course finding none, and opened it into a much larger room, obscured by a smoky substance in the air.
None noticed that Kalashnikov seemed to slip off behind the group, his ego battered and bruised. The warlock dwarf cursed them quietly and traipsed in the other direction, figuring some time alone would bring him back to his usual self. He settled down in the cage room, trying to think how he could occupy some of his spare time, and his eyes turned to the rancid wine in his possession.
“Hmmm, I wonder what I could do with this? A new…flavour, perhaps?”