The Legacy

Mortifying Mortician

or "Kill them all, let the Guard sort it out."

A general summary follows, not in character or all that bloody detailed, as half-remembered the next morning.

The first order was to get the possibly contaminated corpses of several dogs burned. After some lazy discussion and several large side conversations, we left it to the guard.

After a brief bit of examination of the crime scene, we spoke with the guards again, getting the name and office location of a ‘mortician’ that may know more about it.

During conversation, our mute half-banshee or whatever he is decided to intimidate the guy by directly attacking him, leading to a combat with the guy who turned out to be some sort of fantasy-era Dr. Frankenstein. Some tense moments, but generally a fairly solid encounter followed.

After killing what would seem to anyone else to be a random person, the party asked around to find the guy’s home, talking to some chick in a store or something. I sorta spaced out here.

Finally, we found that the ex-mortician-zombie-lich had a son and a house. So, using my dwarvenly wiles, we talked our way past an eight-year old and into the house, to find his creepy-ass half-built mother and his somewhat jubilant and amusingly cute zombie dog monster. We sent our own shifter-cum-dog off to get the guards. The guards found the scene to be somewhat suspicious and thus our semi-murder of the mortician was ‘justified’ in a sense.

At this point, I think we just sat around a bit until our scheduled audience with the king came around. Finding your typical hedonistic bored ruler, we blundered around trying to impress someone far above our station for a while, with varying amounts of success.

After a while of watching us look stupid, the king decided to take our money just because he enjoys making people sad, I suppose, and promised to give us the residium. We were also invited to spend the evening in the castle, as this humble reporter assumes was a ploy by the king to create more merriment and diversion.

So our resident bull monster laid some chick. Maybe. Woke up next to her anyway. The castle guardsmen… guardselves… guardseladrins were somewhat annoyed, banging on the door and forcing it open, with a flabbergasted castle Steward. The woman acted pissed, thanked Kemil with a “darlin’” that made her sound remarkably like a southern diner waitress, and then walked out.

Session over.

Tune in next time for “What a Bunch of Cretan Bull”, or “Doppelganger? I hardly know ‘er!”


Dude you should be a writer. Thanks for running the log that was fantastic. I’ve been laughing so hard I probably woke Peter up.

Mortifying Mortician

Attempted to read this over dinner. Currently removing dinner from front of monitor.

Mortifying Mortician

After another day of trying to help people learn how to write…this was great.

Mortifying Mortician

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