I Put a Spell on You

Trystan's account of Raganni's Tower.

Waking up with a cracking hangover and snuggled up in bed with several of the Fest Hall wenches, Trystan really wasn’t in the mood to go traipsing through the mountains and the rain, with nothing but some raw meat to fend off a grumpy white dragon.  Still, a heroic bard such as himself had a responsibility to find and pen adventures of all colours; and he had to admit that the mention of a wizard’s tower had him intrigued!

Well, they got there in the end, hulking all that beef around for absolutely no reason: Trystan could swear he could hear that pesky dragon laughing at them from behind a mountain somewhere!  The wizard’s tower proved to have an extremely strong front door, that no amount of bashing with Greeba’s hammer could loosen.  Trystan tried to tell the others that perhaps they should go around the back to find an alternative entrance, being something of an expert in hasty escapes from jealous lordlings and their lonely wives, but to no avail.

Eventually, the brave companions scaled the wall with rope to arrive at the glass windows in the ceiling, which Gorlock’s sweet but annoying little sprite had scouted out beforehand.  Trystan was a sucker for brave and commanding women, and Greeba smashing through that glass and jumping down athletically was a beautiful sight, indeed.  ‘As graceful as any elven dancer!’, he called out, and Greeba gave him a flirty growl in response!  Trystan, knowing to strike when the iron is hot, did his best and throatiest growl back, flinging himself toward Greeba boldly!

Finding themselves in a grand dining room, the party grew wary at the silence and seeming lack of servants.  Trystan noticed a rather striking oil painting on the wall, of some old, bearded man and a really rather stunning woman, with long, raven-black hair and wearing a gold circlet with a cat symbol.  Trystan tried to remember if he’d come across her before, she did look strangely familiar. Perhaps it was the name, something to do with Bastet? Trystan smiled fondly as he remembered the marvellous times he had experienced at an up-market establishment of the same name. 

Moving on, the adventurers had a choice between a rather ominous looking, glowing green circle, that would teleport them to who knew where, according to Wisteria, and a harmless door.  Suffice to say, they made the wrong choice as on the other side of the door an undead mummy, riddled with even more strange diseases than Trystan, commenced its brutal assault.

Trystan would usually be completely at home in a beautiful woman’s bedroom, but the risen Raganni and his cat-witch were evidently not pleased to see either him or his brave companions.  The fighting was desperate and bloody, with even Wisteria, at one point, being a hair’s breadth away from the final embrace of her master, Myrkul.  Eamon, very unfortunately, succumbed to the undead Raganni’s disgusting disease, which even Trystan’s special cream couldn’t seem to help, they discovered later.  The cat sorceress Asenath’s amateur attempts at seduction were wasted on the majority of the party, except poor Greeba, that beautifully innocent soul!  Luckily, she came to her senses just in time, helped, Trystan liked to think, by the memory of his flawless pick-up lines.  The party fought like tigers, and especially Arian: the gentle elf seemed as ferocious as a berserker in battle; and Trystan made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of her Shillelagh!

After licking their wounds came Trystan’s favourite part, the looting!  He and Greeba dug through a large chest of beautiful clothes, and Trystan found some dashing silk shirts to wear.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Greeba stuffing a racy, pink silk negligee into her pack.  Not missing a beat, the bard winked at her, saying: ‘I bet you’d look gorgeous in that…and out of it!’.  The party discovered the priestess’ bathroom, where Arian wasted no time in grabbing every soap bar and unguent she could find!

After some debate as to whether they should continue on or head back for the night, given Eamon’s worsening condition, and the safety of the horses, it was decided that a quick check of the teleport circle could do no harm.  Eamon convalesced in Asenath’s bed whilst the rest of the party explored the cramped, strange little room that they now found themselves in, encircled by four doors.

Behind the first door was a trophy room of sorts, containing, amongst other curios, a blue dragon’s head, a suit of plate armour, and a tapestry of Raganni himself, rather grimly seated on a hill of skulls.  Rather alarmingly, the armour turned its head to look at the intruders, but strangely, did not attack.  Perhaps it was because of Arian’s polite curtsey?  Manners are truly the sharpest weapon, Trystan mused.

The second door unfortunately turned out to be a trap, slamming back to crush the already battered party!  This was the last straw for the heroes, who decided enough was enough and to call it a night.  As they settled down to rest for a while before leaving Raganni’s tower to find a cleric or priest who could help Eamon with his affliction.  Trystan strummed on his lute, playing a soothing song to remind them all of happier times in the golden summer sun, of blood-red wine, and fire-flies, and true love amongst friends.