MÖRK BORG: Chapter I: Nurse the Rot

[Stormbringer]

I roll a 66 from d100

Lying in the dust, amidst scattered bones, you find a choker with a pentagram on it.

"What would Barbarister think?"

I silently despair.

You hear your sword quietly berating you from your scabbard. No-one else does though.

BLADE OF THE ANCESTORS:
"Ugh. Another inspiring speech. How is it that your proud bloodline has come to this? A snivelling coward who takes orders from a horse!"

[Stormbringer]

Grin emerges into the circular room and peers about at the rather unusual scene before him. Spiders legs and flame-engulfed bones seem like bad choices, so he wanders to the southern corridor to see why anyone would build opposing staircases in an otherwise normal corridor. As he does so, he runs his fingers over the anti-prayers carved into his sacred crook, possibly in search of inspiration.

Grin, meanwhile, wanders down these stairs into a pointless feature of architecture, and is now at the bottom of a stairwell, with another flight of stairs ahead of him, leading back up to the room beyond. There is nothing down here of note, save the work of a builder who apparently had nothing better to do.

[Wrathbone]

In an effort to prove my sword wrong, and discouraged from the spider antics to the east, I adopt a mask of confidence and stride down the north corridor.

[Animalmother]

Malaiz picks up the choker with excitement, he usually never finds anything so interesting. Dare he try it on? Oh how envious the others will be when they see it hugging his throat! Malaiz is both short and a tad chubby, his round head sits on his round body. He has no neck worth speaking of. Disappointed he stuffs the choker into his backpack, might be worth something later.

[Raid]

What does Alpha's nose pick up; what would be the most interesting smell? Fechr will follow Alpha.

[Wrathbone]

I like how Margar's Rimmer-level leadership has now been usurped by the feral dog.

[Sly Boots]

Giant's pale, bulbous eyes dart anxiously between the disappearing back of Margar and the impressive canine figure of Alpha, trying to decipher the shifting levels of authority and leadership, and determine where he should apply his loyalties.

[Snowy]

Bored by staircases, Grin wanders back to the main group. Once there, he schools his face into a pose of priestly wisdom and piety, then remembers he has a mask on and nobody can see him. How on earth did he forget that?!

[Raid]

I like how Margar's Rimmer-level leadership has now been usurped by the feral dog.

Ok, I now can't help but picture Margar with a big H on his forehead.

[Wrathbone]

I propose we hit the evil denizens of this crypt hard and fast with a major - and I mean MAJOR - leaflet campaign.

[Raid]

Margar have yellow streak longer than stampede of diuretic camel. Follow Alpha, Alpha smart.

[Sly Boots]

I propose we hit the evil denizens of this crypt hard and fast with a major - and I mean MAJOR - leaflet campaign.

Raising a quivering hand, Giant suggests that, while they're still reeling from that, following up with the t-shirt slogans, eg: "Old hags out" and "Mysterious, pissing denizens of the crypts? No thanks"

[Wrathbone]

[Animalmother]

The important thing is what are we going to call ourselves? My personal favorite is League Against Basilisk Insurrection Authority, unfortunately the acronym for that is LABIA.

[Sly Boots]