Chapter 3-Why I Hate Poultry

“ ‘Shut up Hans’ “

It took only a few more rounds for us (aka Shady) to finish off the last of the bad guys. Drake the Wizzard finally caught on to who the good guys were (the winning team. If you’re going to lose your honor, might as well go all out). We paused briefly to recuperate, looking around the room. Noticing a small plant in one corner, a few of our experts decided to investigate. Unfortunately, one of said experts was the Captain.

I’ve never heard a plant scream for mercy before.

And boy, could they scream. Even the farthest of us were tearing at our ears and vaguely wishing we were dead. The Monk had very sensitive hearing, but luckily he was a statue at the moment. By the time the Captain had sufficiently studied the plants there wasn’t a soul in the caves that wasn’t painfully aware of our presence. It did save us the bother of defrosting the bird, because the ice had shattered moments before. The glowing eventually wore off, too.

Warily, we made our way to the next cavern. Seeing a fire flickering ahead, we prepared ourselves for battle. Paranoia sort of grows on you after a while (not in a good way, more like it’s parasitic. Parasitic paranoia. I could be a poet. Poetic Parasitic paranoia. Yay for alliteration. Alliterative [hey that’s a real word! Spell check didn’t underline it!].[Sorry]. Alliterative Poets performing Parasitic Paranoia. w00t!).

A pot hung from a scaffold over the fire, its contents cast into shadow by the flickering flames (moar alliteration! Poetry mode engage! Gah [shut up spell check, it’s called onomonopia]! This is ruining it. I’ll shut up now). The faint sound of slow boiling created a comfortable, welcoming atmosphere. A shadowy figure leaned forward into the fluxuating circle of light, its warped form still mostly hidden.

A log cracked and burst, sending sparks out and revealing a twisted, doglike form covered by a tattered cloak. What could be seen of its fur was smeared with filth, and large patches were falling out in loose tufts. The creature’s nose and mouth were pressed out into a short snout. But the eyes…

One noticed the other details arbitrarily, but its eyes were what held your attention. They were sunken deep into their sockets. Instead of black dog eyes, they were pure white, glittering with what might have once been feral intelligence.

Shady stepped forward, drawing a long knife. “Don’t try anything, knoll. We’re armed.”

The knoll chuckled, or perhaps growled. Its voice was like slate grinding across gravel. It reached back to a shelf carved into the stone beside it.

Everyone tensed. Those with long-ranged weapons prepared to fire, while Shady drew another knife. The knoll reached behind and grabbed…

…Some bowls.

Thus ensued “dinner at Knoll’s”. He really was a nice guy once you got to know him. The soup was awful (like I cared. I was almost hungry enough to try to steal from Shady again), but we liked him enough that we decided to bring him with us. We never learned his name, simply calling him “Knoll”. He insisted that he was quite happy where he was, but we wouldn’t hear of it. By silent consent, the Monk picked up Knoll and we began on our way. You’ll never believe what we found past the next opening.

Another cave.

It seemed like a good cave to stop and sleep in, so we began unpacking our stuff. I sat back comfortably, eating trail mix as I watched Shady run around looking for his bedroll and tent. I had lost all of my stuff to the penguins, so I didn’t have to worry about setting anything up. I could just sit back and watch the group prepare for the night.

It was quite a sight. The Monk stood watch, leaning Knoll up against a wall to rest. Belial tried to serve his master by stealing someone else’s bedroll. I discarded a raisin (who puts raisins in trail mix anyway?). The Captain wandered around aimlessly, poking stuff with his 7-foot-long lance (i.e. Belial, who immediately dropped the stolen bedroll and dipped his head subserviently). John was holding his hands up, swearing it wasn’t him. Shady was threatening to stab John repetitively until he told him where his stuff went. Drake licked a rock. It was probably tastier than the soup he was still eating.

After getting extracted from Shady’s tent and returning his trail mix (with no small number of threats), I decided to help the Monk keep watch. He wasn’t much for conversation. I reflected for a while on how we always had him on first watch, and how none of us would even know if we were attacked. Our first warning would be thumping sounds—shortly followed by our enemies crying out in pain. What exactly was the use of that?

Today our first warning was the clucking.

Basilisks are popularly portrayed in one of two ways. It’s generally accepted that they hatch from chicken eggs (one exception is in “The Son of Neptune” when they come from Polybotes’s hair, like evil dandruff). The first kind is, of course, as a snake. They’re always venomous, and often breathe fire. The other kind is as a reptilian-looking chicken. Both kinds can turn you to stone or even kill you with a glance.

I shouted a warning to the group, as the Monk didn’t seem very willing to do so. You could almost hear a click as the group rapidly shifted to battle mode again. Each of various sounds demonstrated the drawing of weapons. Even Drake drew a sword. Where’s the honor in using magic against an enemy that can’t use it back? It’s a shame. The group had been excited about having a wizzard. We lined up and prepared ourselves.

We were facing a large group of chickens with sort of reptile-looking tails. The moment Darick (our DM) finished his description, I turned around and studiously looked at the other wall. I can tell when someone is describing a basilisk to me, and I had no desire to die (or worse, expelled) because I looked at their eyes.

One person rolled a “Knowledge: Creatures” check and correctly identified the animals as “Cockatrices”. Feeling a bit foolish, I turned back around. He explained how they a close cousin to the basilisk. They could still petrify us, but only with their beaks.

We did what we do best. We attacked.

Drake immediately used “light” to light up his bowl of soup. Shady rolled highest initiative (as usual). When it came to his turn, Drake ran up to a chicken and dumped the bowl of soup on its head.

The first cockatrice fell with impunity. The Captain was pecked a bit, but he was only slightly slowed. Shady thought for a moment, then asked Darick if the cockatrices’ beaks could still turn things to stone if they were dead. They could. Sheathing one of his daggers, he instead wielded the dead cockatrice in one hand.

After that, things fell into chaos a bit. Everyone chose a different chicken to attack. The Captain had discarded his lance and instead opted for his now-signature acid splash, as it was more effective. Pretty soon Shady was dual-wielding poultry.

Things finally started slowing down a bit. There was only one cockatrice left, and it was getting really lucky on its dexterity checks. No one could even hit it. It wasn't long before the wall behind it was battered, burnt, dented, and dissolving. After a while, Jacob put a bucket on it and Shady simultaneously stabbed it to death and turned it to stone with its dead comrades.

" 'Oof!' "

'Hurry up! The portal's closing! We'll lose him!'

'But...but that was..."

'Yes. It was. Now come on!'

...

'Do you guys run into those sorts of people all the time?'

'Pretty much. Welcome to PlaneScape."

Next time:How to react if you find yourself falling in lava while checking for traps