Theater of the Mind: Alexiri’s War

Being the shaggy outline of a one-shot D&D Campaign

The Humans and the Elves have been at at odds in this corner of the world for many years. Border skirmishes are frequent, but diplomats have been edging closer to a détente. The Elven King and Queen and their retinue arrive at Horace's castle tomorrow morning to make the agreement official.

The human king, Horace the “Not-As-Awful-as-His-Uncle”, is very happy about the Elves' imminent appearance--he is having a steamy, illicit affair with Queen Oona of the Elven kingdom. Unfortunately for Horace, someone has just this morning manifested an "I heart Oona" tattoo on his forehead in bright, blinking runes.

King Horace has begged his top-most advisor, Murray, to fix this problem, "Fix this! Fix this before the Elves get here!"

Murray corners the members of our party, who are courtiers in the Court of Horace. He quietly explains the situation and that the King desires they find and end the source of this treachery. The party must be stealthy in their inquiries. He suggests they start with Fogon the Unkempt, Wizard of Scribes, Illuminations, and Bus-wraps. Murray assigns Tibble, a spotty-faced boy with a cracking voice and medieval cast-iron braces, to take them to Fogon.

Tibble nervously takes them down, down, down, down below ground and down yet still. Eventually, the party walks down a dank and very long hallway that passes through several doors that feel like bulkheads. They had all been closed, but the door in front of them now is wide open as they approach. A foul stench emanates from it. Before their eyes, the doorway starts shifting, moving and stretching, in due course changing into lips that form a mouth. It speaks:

"Hahahaaa! Oh, yes! I have been waiting for you!"

All of the doors behind them slam shut, BAM! BAM! BAM! and the door immediately behind them starts moving towards the party, chivvying them towards the foul maw. The mouth laughs an evil laugh, and the hallway starts tilting down crazily until the party has no choice but to slide through the laughing mouth and into its slimy black gullet.

Instead of a stomach, the throat excretes them out of a wall and the party falls wetly to the floor of what appears the wide and tall belly of a glass Ouroboros the size of a city. They can see the ribs--almost like the pillars of a cathedral--rise above their heads, receding into the distance in either direction, curving to meet back again far, far above where one end's serpent head swallows the other end's tail. Though suspended in featureless darkness, it is nevertheless lit by beautiful, ethereal light.

What captures their attention, though, is the leathery man-faced bat-like creature before them, two stories tall and slouching on a charred throne, pouting like a schoolboy.

He shakes his head ruefully. "I was really, really hoping for a nice bloody war, and now here you are, messing it all up." He sighs, staring into the distance, and picking at his right incisor with a claw. Speaking around his excavations, he says, "Normally, I'd have you all murdered in hideous ways, but today's your lucky day, my lovely poppets. You see, reliable sources tell me the Coms and the Yangs are going to go at it in another universe and I really don't want to spoil my appetite. So. I have a proposition: You all play chess with Death--that's me, if you haven't been keeping score--and, if I win, you work for me forever, but if I lose...well, I've never lost, have I?"

Before they can respond, the players are transported to a mini checkerboard and placed upon it like chess pieces, along with npcs to fill in the ranks on their side. Death looms over them from the opposing side of the board, many stories tall. His pieces taunt our players. A game (inspired by https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/6ft8yk/oc_i_ran_a_chess_boss_battle_heres_how/) ensues.

- If the party wins, Death congratulates them on playing well and providing some entertainment on what will no doubt prove to be a dreary day. They all get the equivalent of a long rest.

- If the party loses, Death also congratulates them on playing well and providing some entertainment. However, so impressed is Death that he says he cannot in good conscience hold them captive or kill them. Depending on the state of the players, Death may reward them with a little healing or revivifying as needed.

"So, go about your task, I will not stop you. But we *will* meet again, BWAhahahaaaa!"

POOF! The players are back in an unremarkable hallway. They retain whatever injuries they suffered in chess that were not healed. They cannot long-rest b/c of the ticking clock.

Tibble leads them onward to a small door and says, "This is Fogon's laboratory."

The party enters. Fogon, surrounded by flashing neon signs and posters for low-rent bawdy plays put on by wooden-guilder playhouses, lays in a bloody heap. He is barely alive.

Reluctantly--because he's been threatened with death or worse--he eventually reveals he was forced to create the message on the King's forehead by another palace wizard. That wizard is named Alexiri. "She wants war more than anything. She's so seductive. We kind of have a thing going on. She's not as bad as she seems." If any of the party advise leaving Alexiri, Fogon grants them a healing potion.

Fogon says that Alexiri got him to put the slogan on the king's forehead as a joke, but she has locked the spell and is what is keeping it there. Only if her fingers are stilled will the spell be broken.

Alexiri, Tibble tells them, is in the next lab.

Upon opening the door to the next lab, the entire party is sucked in by a mighty rush of wind and the door slams shut and locks behind them. The laboratory is much larger than it has any right to be, and there is a giant three-headed dragon currently hanging from the ceiling. Below and towards the back of the room is a forest of shoulder-high candelabra, above which floats a serene, beautiful Alexiri. Her eyes are closed, and a slight smile graces her lips. Every move of the dragon seems to be related to movements of her fingers. She is some kind of puppeteer.

Alexiri's DC is enormous. Her Achilles heel is the candles, a mechanic that is simple but will take some discovering on the part of the party to figure out. The idea is that Alexiri derives her powers from the flames and her power is proportionally diminished as the flames are extinguished. If everybody's hurling fire bolts at Alexiri, they aren't going to get very far; they'll need to discover that the candle flames are what is fuelling her magic. Dousing the flames by any means is effective. If you knock a candelabra over, it probably knocks over one or more; depending on how many you knock over, you will incur some damage--if you're touching them, that is. If you splash them with water, say, you'll incur zero damage.

The dragon is powerful and will only really die when Alexiri is defeated.

Once defeated, the party needs to hold or bind her hands to break the spell holding the message on the King's forehead.

If the party manages to bring Alexiri back to Murray, he will have guards whisk her away, and present each of our victorious courtiers a level-up.

The King is radiant with relief. Everyone is lined up as the Elven Royal Company enters, the Elven King and Queen born on the backs of silken white horses with sparkling gems for eyes. The King takes a moment to find our players in the crowd and winks at them.

Of course, this is a signal to Murray to have our crew executed for knowing too much, but that's another story...

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