Inside the Den of Olidammara








Some say there are no quiet corners in the Den of Olidammara, but even those who say this agree there may be some areas quieter than others. In one such place a small table topped with exotic food scraps and half empty flagons is occupied by three Divine Forms. Ignoring the raucous merriment all around them, they seem ernest – as ernest as three Noble Angels of revelry can be expected to seem.

Pygmalian wears the mantle of a Death Slaad, his Silver Flute of Destruction still slung over his black cloak. The other two have never seen him laugh and they are well aware that his constant grin has nothing to do with humour. Serena wears the slender mantle of a female wood elf. Her brown hair is wild and free and as they sit talking to each other her nimble fingers caress her Lyre of Opportunity. Gregorius beats on a tambour strapped to his knee. He wears the mantle of a human minstrel and his black curly beard is soaked in beer.

All of the lesser deities in the hall avoid these three for they are The Three Tricksters of The Laughing Rogue, and what deity in his right mind would want to gain their displeasure?

Serena: Where is Our Noble Lord tonight? He attends not this feast?
Gregorius: He stands on the edge of Limbo, his mind entranced in the dreamclouds of Shimring. Pygmalian has spoken with him. He knows his will.
Serena: Shimring? So our Lord joins the Droomalith’s schemes then?
Pygmalian: So it seems.
Serena: The Droomalith must have granted Our Lord a TRICK. On which Plane do we play?
Pygmalian: The Flannaes of Oerth. In the very Godtrap of Zagyg!
Gregorius: Laa-de-da!!! Sweet music to my ears! Which unfortunate God succumbs this time?
Pygmalian: You know that is occulted. But there are Shimring Questors there at this very moment.
Serena: Yet we have no Players in that game or I would know.
Pygmalian: That is the TRICK! I call it the Droomalith’s Interplanar Student Exchange Scheme.
Gregorius: Well I am looking at the Oerth table now. Which of these Fine Mortals has been so honoured to serve our Master for the Droomalith?
Pygmalian: Who has drunk the most potent mix of wine? See you not the drunken rascal on the floor, swimming in his own glory, his ring finger pointed up at all the Gods? Now you see him, now you Don’t!
Gregorius: And who is this DEAD dwarf who lies before us?
Pygmalian: His name was Sven.
Serena: He must have dishonoured his God. What was his crime?
Pygmalian: Being too good, I hear.

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Inside the Den of Olidammara

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