Dungeon delve (for Manicorn)

[Pseudosym]

Three things are known for certain about the mysterious mansion in the woods.

The first is that it has been in a state of increasing disrepair for several decades, at least. No one in the village can remember the previous owners, but they must be long gone, for the roof is crumbling, and the windows are thick with dust.

The second is that it is filled with treasure. One could guess from the stately exterior that the mansion's occupants had been prosperous, and anyone who dares venture into the yard itself might be granted a clear view through the shattered window of the first-story parlor. A parlor that positively shimmers with jewels and gold, as though it drips from every surface, and treasure chests lining the walls spilling over with fine silks and silver chains.

The third and final undeniable fact about the mansion is that anyone who enters will never be seen or heard from again. There is a popular game among the children of the village to see who can get the closest to the condemned house. They will squeeze through the wrought-iron gate, stuck open on its rusty hinges, and stalk through the weeds and creepers of the overgrown lawn, before hearing (or imagining) some terrible sound and turning tail to bolt back to safety beyond the fence.

Such games are met with swift and sound retribution from the village adults. It is considered one of the most foolish things you can do to go messing around the old mansion in the woods.

An ancient, ornate sign is posted at the entrance: "NO TRESPASSING" and another, crudely hewn, and clearly more recent, tacked beneath it: "Traveler, if you value your skin, stay away."

Despite these warnings--or perhaps taunted by them--the occasional witless treasure-hunter is lured through the gate and up the overgrown path.

We find one such enterprising traveler now, climbing the cracked marble stairway up to the foreboding front door. Standing unlocked, as it has been for decades, the door will admit him freely to unimaginable temptation... and to nigh unspeakable danger.

[Manicorn]

"Tch. They really think these signs will keep anybody out? These village bumpkins must be even more superstitious than I thought!"

Brosh is a bandit--well, former bandit. He was run out the last town he'd set up camp in by a nasty sheriff who wouldn't cut him a break. But hey, he figured if the rumors are true about this mansion then he won't need to be a bandit anymore. He can just retire in style, put his feet up and never work another day in his life.

"Man, and nobody from this village has claimed this shit? I was wrong. They're not superstitious--they're stupid!"

Making his way through the gate, Brosh takes a lay of the land before proceeding.

He's in his mid twenties, well-built and muscular (to intimidate folk into giving him their money). Dark, medium length hair spills down to his shoulders, typically unkempt, along with a permanent case of 5 o'clock shadow. Hey, he's never had to look pretty before. Brosh's most valued possession--his sword--is strapped securely to his side, along with a dagger or two hidden in his boots. As for clothes, he's wearing the typical gear of a bandit: a tight leather jerkin, under which he wears cloth under-armor, leggings, boots and gloves. Everything is form-fitting and functional.

The bandit smirks as he draws closer to the great house.

[Pseudosym]

The path to the front door, at one time a tidy array of wide pavers, is now barely discernible among the weeds of the yard. Brambles brush against the bandit as he passes, finding little purchase on the tightly-fitted clothing.

At the top of the front stair is a tall double door, arching to a point well overhead. The doors are oak, solidly built, bearing a matching set of knockers. They appear to be made of copper, covered in green patina, each rendered in the shape of a scaly reptilian claw.

There will be no need to use them, however. As Brosh climbs the steps, he sees that one of the doors stands ajar, offering a glimpse into the dark interior. A clear invitation--as though he needed any more enticing.

[Manicorn]

Man, now if that wasn't an invitation, he didn't know what was. He still couldn't believe none of the villagers had moved in here. It was all so convenient. Almost... too convenient.

Part of Brosh almost hesitated at the doorway. Should he be cautious here and look this gift horse in the mouth? Even find an alternate, less obvious, way in?

But then he overcame that part of himself and shouldered his way inside. No rest for the wicked or... somethin'.

"Hellooooo?" he called out, almost mockingly as he stepped through the open doorway. He smirked. "Anybody home?"

[Pseudosym]

The door gives unexpected resistance. Maybe it's heavier than it looks, or the hinges have rusted shut after decades of disuse. At first, it doesn't budge under Brosh's shoulder.

Then the door begins to glide smoothly open, as though by an invisible hand--though, of course, there is nobody else here.

As Brosh steps over the threshold, a series of candelabra burst into flame.

The room in which he finds himself is a sizeable foyer with a magnificent staircase at its center. The railings are mahogany, as is the paneling on the walls and the trim around the doors. A chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, glowing bright with dozens of slender candles. The light plays off the marble floor, a swirl of greens and deep browns. The carpet lining the stairs is an intricately patterned work of the most luxurious silk.

The décor, lavish as it is, is not the most impressive thing about this room. For as the candles flare to life, Brosh can see that the foyer is absolutely dripping with wealth.

Immense treasure chests line the walls, propped open to display mountains of glinting coins. Mithril jewelry drips from the candelabra and the banisters. The stairway is rendered practically useless due to the precious gems and trinkets piled high on every step. In fact, this room can hardly be providing any functional purpose. Every exit (except for the front door) appears to be blocked by a heap of gold.

The question of how to get to the rest of the mansion is hardly important. The sheer fortune in this room, alone... Just a handful of this stuff would make Brosh richer than a dragon!

He is struck with an odd sense of déjà vu--why did that sound familiar? A line from a bard's song, perhaps?

No matter. There is a task at hand. But where to begin? There's no way Brosh can carry all this treasure--at least, not in one trip. But he could probably stuff a good number of those precious gems into his pockets, for a start...

[Manicorn]

The door gave him some trouble at first, so much so that when it finally did give way he almost stumbled into the room. He recovered quickly however, and played it off as a purposeful movement. No biggie. Just how things go when you're an adventurer.

He spun as the candelabras reacted to his presence, and would have investigated them further... if his attention wasn't grabbed by what their light revealed.

His eyes grew as large as dinner plates.

Just a handful... nay, just a single piece from this collection could set him up for life. What was it all doing here? Was this someone's repository of riches? No matter. At the moment it was blissfully unguarded. Incredibly foolish of whoever's mansion this was, but their loss would be his incredible gain.

He cursed himself for not bringing a sack along, but a quick jaunt into the village could avail himself of one. In the meantime he stuffed his pockets with coins and gems. It was more wealth than he'd ever possessed in his life.

[Pseudosym]

Brosh's fingers close around a fistful of gems. The moment he does so, there is a tremendous BOOM, and the front door slams shut. Every candle in the foyer is snuffed out, as though by a powerful gust of wind. Brosh is left standing in utter darkness, one hand still clenched around his prize.

And then the floor drops out beneath him.

There is a long, gut-wrenching moment of freefall through pitch blackness. As the air whips past Brosh's face, he feels the gems in his fist lighten, and he realizes they are crumbling in his grip. Motes of dust scatter from his fist and vanish, the last traces of his paltry take.

Beneath him, Brosh can see the flicker of torchlight. He is plummeting toward a chamber. As he breaches the ceiling, there is a flash of blue-green light. He finds himself falling much more slowly now as he is encased in arcane energy.

He can now take better stock of his surroundings. He is in a large, domed chamber of stone, brightly lit by several braziers along the walls. He has just passed through a yawning chute in the ceiling, and he is descending gently toward the center of the room.

There is something else in the room. About a dozen somethings, or more. Small creatures, no higher than Brosh's knee. They are roughly humanoid, with large heads and scaly skin the color of copper. They stand in a ring, gazing upward with beady eyes, wide mouths parted to reveal rows of sharp teeth, grinning malevolently.

The creatures begin to bounce in place, giggling with horrible excitement. As Brosh looks closer, he can see that each of them is clutching, in its reptilian fist, a short leather whip.

Brosh's foot touches down. He is on solid ground once more.

A noise goes up from the surrounding creatures like a squawk mingled with the bark of a gnoll. The creatures brandish their whips, and all at once, like guard dogs let off their leashes, they lunge forward to attack.

[Manicorn]

The whole thing could have been something out of a child's storybook. The girl who falls down a rabbit hole and ends up in a magical world. Except it was frighteningly real, and happening to him. He should have known the treasures were too good to be true, but when faced with such a vision who wouldn't have tried to take some? The tighter he gripped them in his fists, the faster they crumbled away.


Now he's descending towards something out of a nightmare. Is this the mansion's true form? Some sort of den of monsters? Guess I should have listened to those stupid villagers' warnings after all... oh well, too late now. He's scared as hell, but still gets his sword drawn before his feet touch the ground. Don't let 'em see your fear, right? And anyway, with a little luck he could still get out of this--and maybe even find some real treasure this time.


"You guys think you're hot stuff, huh? Tricking honest highwayman like that," he said, brandishing his weapon to keep them at bay. "But you all better back off!" He could dropkick any one of them, or crush them beneath his heel, and in fact will do just that if he gets the chance. He just has to keep any of them from approaching from the rear... sadly, an extremely difficult task since he'd been dropped into the dead center of the room.

[Pseudosym]

Brosh's instinct is good: these things don't seem so tough. There are quite a lot of them, though, and protecting his rear is going to prove quite a difficult task.

Several of the creatures rush him at once, leaping with tremendous speed, like vicious, copper-scaled bullfrogs.

 

The creatures roll d20 + 3 to attack. On a 12 or better, they succeed. Because there are so many of them, they make this roll with advantage.

Roll: [ 7 | 13] + 3 = 16
Hit: 2d4 => 5

They catch his knees, one creature per leg, and the surprise weight is too much for Brosh to shake off. A few more scramble over his torso. They navigate his body as deftly as monkeys in a tree. One of them perches on his shoulder, facing backward, and flicks its whip, nipping Brosh in the rear end with a sharp SNAP.

Another rushes him from behind and swings two broad strokes back and forth, striking with the length of the whip as one might swing a belt.

The one on his shoulder gives him two more with the tip of the tail. Then Brosh is released, and the creatures dart away again, cackling with glee as they rejoin the circle.

 

Roll 2d4 to determine how many of the creatures Brosh can attack this round!

[Manicorn]

"Ah! You damned little critters--!"


Against one or two he'd be fine, but the whole rush of them is more than he can hold off. The first stinging snap against his rear makes Brosh grunt. Then the following lash from another of 'em makes him yowl in surprise. It doesn't seem like they're trying to really fight or hurt him at least, they're only targeting his ass. But when they finally laugh and break away, he's still left growling in anger.


"Okay, that's it!" he says, swinging his sword widely as he charges at them. Screw defense, he's gonna teach these things a lesson!