Tales

The Fall of the Drow

Posted by Mustela Mustelidae on April 24, 2015

Travelling by night, our party of mid-level adventurers were passing through a mountain forest of tall dark pines that clustered thickly together. Snow was on the ground and there was no moon. The sky was clear and full of stars, looking down on our progress as we trudged over the crunchy whiteness.

Unfortunately, a Drow raiding party was also looking down on our progress. Perched high in the trees, they started taking pot-shots at us, laughing cruelly when their crossbows' sleeping poison sent our Fighter slumping to the ground right at the edge of a crevasse.

Our Rogue struggled to keep him from sliding over, cursing at the weight of his armor.

My Druid, who had been trying to muddle through for much of the adventure, finally had his moment to shine. You see, the DM had allowed me to split the hit dice of my animal companion up and take multiple lower-level companions.

Dire weasels to be precise - four or five immature ones, if I remember rightly. They usually hung out all over my cloak like a living furry mantle.

"Go, my pretties!" I hissed and the weaselly doom scurried forth.

While our Ranger tried desperately to lay down covering fire to allow us to get the heck out of there, the Rogue screamed at me to help with the Fighter's losing battle against gravity. I scrambled over the snow to lend my none-too-mighty muscles to the effort.

Then the screaming started. The weasels had climbed high into the treetops, bitten down hard on various Drow appendages, and were worrying at them in a frenzy that sent the normally graceful and deadly dark elves into a panic that could only end one way.

Thud. Crack. Thud. Squish. Thud. Thud.

The battle ended very suddenly with sickening cracks and squelches as the raiders hit the snow, stone dead - partly from weasel-bites and partly from falling damage.

The Fighter managed to shake off the sleep-venom to look blearily around him. "Well," he said thickly, "now I know why you don't keep'm down y'trousers."

And with that, he passed out again.

Submit your own Tales from the Table!

Please Note: By submitting your story you agree that we can publish it on the Internet and on other mediums if the opportunity arises. The names and events may be edited to protect the innocent.

×