In this latest session of my “The Rotten Labyrinth” Dungeons and Dragons campaign, we kept things pretty short. My players tried to revisit a magical source of treasure, one of the player characters sulked instead, the party continued to roll horribly enough that they blundered into a few traps, they found two new sources of treasure, decided that chopping through a wall was a better idea than looking for secret doors in a move that would eventually be revealed to be much less expedient than they thought it would be, and discovered that sometimes the dungeon giveth danger disguised as magic items. One of my players also joked about keeping track of how much damage they’ve taken after chugging what turned out to be a potion of poison rather than a potion of healing and having their character knocked unconscious for the second time that hour despite starting the hour at full hp. All of which happened in just about two real hours because one of the players had to leave early and, following the interrupted night’s rest (the encounter with the strange memory-stealing ooze), the rest of the party decided to just call it a day after their trapfinder and healer got knocked out twice in maybe an hour of exploration. Which gave me the opportunity to give them their next level-up, courtesy of surviving so many nasty encounters, and now we’re primed to start the next session fully rested and with an unknown group approaching from outside the labyrinth.
Continue readingPoison
Poison Drops
These little drops of poison dew
Collect upon my heart.
These little drops are not from you
Nor did you make them start.
No, my dear, they have always been,
So do not shed a tear.
These poison drops feel lesser when
I can hold you near.
These drips have taken no small toll
But they are not a threat.
You need not worry for my soul,
Its strength is greater yet.
I will not lie or hide the pain
Poison drips can cause me
But worry not, they leave no stain
And are temporary.
They’re little remnants of my past
That will not go away.
They do not fall upon me fast
Nor do they overstay.
I’ve lived with them all of my life
And doubt they’ll ever cease
But they are to my wit a knife,
It’s sharpness to increase.
I’ve made my peace with poison drops,
Painful that they may be,
For I have pulled out all the stops
So they may work for me.