Poetic Play Report: Hen Horde Horror
After the ongoing discussion about the superiority of proper literature over rpg products and the need for better writing in rpg products on the gay beholder discord, I decided to bear the cross and take it even further: to blogging.
This is the promised second part of the play report, where me and a couple of friends tackle warenunförmig's dungeon in progress: Hen Horde Horror!
Me, contemplating how to make mind images into words.
Hen Horde Horror pt. 2 - Magic Goo
By the staircase in the dungeon's north
Lester survived a trap most vicious.
The others, however, were still ambitious
and so, 'twas decided to venture forth.
Into the castle's courtyard we stumbled
where we caught sight of sleeping hens.
Why were they here and not in their pens?
Let's murder them all, one of us mumbled.
And murdered they were without making a sound.
We took from their bodies what we could carry
and noticed their comrades were making merry,
still celebrating in their captured compound.
Before venturing forth, we found a wire rope pulley
that was obviously used to get the hen's wine.
Let's give them their want and let it, this time,
be poisoned so that we be rid of Helga, that bully!
We poisoned the wine, many bottles and a cask
'twas sent up the pulley, and while we stood unshaken,
we heard sounds of unloading, the bait was taken!
Whom it would affect in the end, we didn't dare ask.
Many more rooms we then did explore.
We murdered more hens and freed more captives,
who were forced by the hens to apply some reactive
to rakes, to hammers and tools galore.
Why they had to do this, they couldn't tell.
We freed some horses, who were used as traps;
explosives were attached to them with straps.
A new plan emerged: Let's blow shit to hell.
We carefully filled some bottles of wine
with the explosive we found in the stable.
'Twas a difficult task, but we proved able.
To the pulley we moved, in a straight line.
The pulley moved upwards, and with a clang
We heard it stop up there, and they began
To unload the bottles according to plan
But then the platform exploded with a loud BANG!
We took shelter and hid near the portcullis.
Soon after, burnt bodies were thrown over the wall
We retched for a bit, 'twas human bodies after all.
We thought we were tough, but the hens were callous!
What had we accomplished at the end of the day?
The bomb did not work, but we didn't lose hope;
there was one more thing that let us cope.
The poisoned wine was still underway.
Epilogue
For those offended by me calling this play report poetic:
Let it be known that I'm aware this isn't aesthetic
to those gay beholders of culture and taste,
but missing this chance would have been a waste.
Play resumes the day after tomorrow. Can't wait to find out how much of our plan will eventually bear fruit. I'll deliver the answer with a haiku!