Arden Vul - Session the Eleventh (Time to re-count loot and the dead)

The Chronicles of Session 10: A Naturalist’s Tale
As narrated by Sir David Attenborough
In the shadow of the Inn of the Broken Head, a curious and tenacious band of adventurers reconvened, their number swelling with the addition of two new recruits. Here, like weary migratory creatures, they found a haven for rest and preparation. Spells were memorized, equipment replenished, and coins exchanged for necessities. The adventurers, now recharged, set their sights once more on the labyrinthine depths of The Halls, their gateway being the enigmatic Pyramid of Thoth.
Their journey soon brought them to the murky dominion of Kellick, a brooding figure ruling over the wet caves. This damp and treacherous ecosystem held its secrets tightly, but a transaction of information—at a price perhaps too steep to fathom—yielded insights into a fabled location: The Troll Lifts. Yet, as is often the way of such ecosystems, not all questions were answered. A query about acquiring a mount for Bile Spitter, now styling themselves as Dragon Breath, was met with disappointment, for no worthy steed could be procured.
The party then ventured to Goblin Town, a bustling and vibrant microcosm teeming with life. Here, an intriguing phenomenon occurred—half-orcs and goats, it seems, share an unexpected affinity. The local goat herds, their beady eyes glinting with curiosity, flocked to the half-orc, sparking an impromptu market of bartering and inspection. While some surface ale was purchased as a potential bribe for the trolls, more whimsical pursuits unfolded—a fleeting consideration of tattooing a pet spider and the tantalizing prospect of a moving tattoo, an art form as elusive as the aurora borealis.
Dragon Breath, still in pursuit of a mount, dismissed the idea of a fire beetle upon closer inspection, while the half-orc vetoed the goats outright. A badger caught their eye, but alas, its owners were unyielding. Goblin Town, as it so often does, was a stage for both commerce and camaraderie, punctuated by swills of surface ale and the murmur of lore.
But tranquility seldom lasts. Enter the Setites, dark denizens whose arrival set the stage for a peculiar exchange. One of the party, emboldened perhaps by a few lichen beers, taunted a Setite with a provocative question: “Lose something?” A raised eyebrow, a cryptic offer of barter, and the tension dissipated, leaving the adventurers surprised by their good fortune.
At last, driven by a curious mix of courage and folly, the group resolved to confront the Troll Lifts, a marvel shrouded in both danger and mystery. The broken span leading to the lifts was crossed, and the adventurers encountered the lift’s lord. A keg of ale greased the wheels of diplomacy, allowing them passage—though only partway. It was here, halfway down, that a new pair of trolls emerged, demanding an exorbitant toll.
What followed was a tableau of escalating tension, the kind seen in the natural world when predators circle uncertain prey. The adventurers balked at the demands, standing firm even as the trolls pressed their advantage. A failed sleep spell crackled like a bolt of lightning in a storm, enraging the trolls further. In the ensuing chaos, the wizard was hurled from the lift, their form disappearing into the abyss below.
And so, the trolls claimed their grim victory—Trolls: 1, Adventurers: 0.
As the screen fades to black, we are left with a profound question: what compels these adventurers to continue? Is it mere curiosity, or is it the indomitable spirit of life itself, always striving forward, even in the face of certain peril?
Until next time, we shall wait, breathless, to see how this tale unfolds.