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sian22redux · 7 years ago

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He followed me home

Title: He Followed Me Home

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Rating: T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup: Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series. Whoever won got a drabble. It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland. So here is her choice: Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name: from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney. Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic. Enjoy!

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.

Thanks so much to @mypatronusismrpricklepants and @arizonapoppy for their awesome help.

Chapter 1: Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable. You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.

His arms are folded across his chest. His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once. It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago. Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.

“Oh really.” The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.

It was just the first thing that popped into your head. Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”

“Maybe,” you squeak. It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun. It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees. Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes. His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch. Probably with Dodger on his chest.

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.

He so needs it. The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point. The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before. How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa. How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out. That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip. You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat. Change was hard for animals.

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.

How do you explain? You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run. Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window. So cute, and so in need.

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist? Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,�� you admit. “It just kind of happened.” Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again. “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap. At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup. The little guy whimpers mournfully. You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure. The smells and sounds are new. There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much

“Come on pal, leave off.” Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host. The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.

Puppy is still scared. He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing. “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.” A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy. He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur. He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly. "Homer, I can see your doodle…"

“Chris!”

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis. It is also a recognized crossbreed.

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip. “Shuddup. A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross. You shouldn’t tease the little guy. He’s had a really rocky start. Was just busted out of a puppy mill. He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t. Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose. His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle. Quirky and utterly adorable. You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick. “Awww. Sorry dude.”

You shift the warm furry load at your hip. A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure. Bring him in.”

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail. So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing: white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.

“You, too. Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee. The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked. A picture of controlled enthusiasm. His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack. You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety. Chris is the alpha male: one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts. “Ow.” he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp. And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder: how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home. The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home. It’s been years since you had a pet. Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen. You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note. He has been so good. Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check. In a sec. Does he have a name?”

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records. At Ace they called him by his number. They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam. I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash, a comb, smaller steel bowls. Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time: all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell. Pure heaven. And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.

(No ticking clocks, here. Nope. None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up. Coughs once. Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.

Chris looks over at you alarmed. “Is he ok?”

This time it’s you that melts a little. Chris worries. Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time. He’s a rescue from a puppy mill. The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.” Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over. Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet. All is in order. Case # A201206 has been dewormed. Had all shots. Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements. Has been off his feed because of illness. Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy. You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention. Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush. This is the tricky part. “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup. Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur. Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates. Hefty and solid. He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”

Chris chokes. “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”

You hold your breath. This is a gamble. Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow. You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back, reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek. A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart. “Chris, I feel like this meant to be. You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard. He’s like your kindred spirit. Bernese are also big and loyal and loving. They adore kids. But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”

“So you’re just like me, hunh?” he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds. I’d be doing curls with you…”

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it. Keen on it right away. This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning. Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog. Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems. There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving. Possibly another Broadway run. There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too. Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour. It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once. As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist. You’re a name on the end credits. Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with. A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great. Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game. You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date. No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter. No one’s staking out your house. Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up your calf. Hidden. Secret. Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do. Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going. Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much. The frequent long distance trips make it hard. Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode. Constantly catching up. Two steps forward and one back. Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate. Case in point: today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice. “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.” Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap. He sighs. “This was a really good idea. I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?” You sit straight up. Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian. He experienced and no-nonsense. A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay? You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.” Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed. Easy. Intimate. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“How can anyone resist this face?” he says, tickling Puppy under the chin. It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out. You’re lost, the both of you.

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins. “I was just surprised. Needed to think it through is all. Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain, but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.

“What do you….?”

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you. ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps. Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected. Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you. Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say. Going public seems like a giant step. Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy. Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath. This is truly what you want but can you make it work?

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation. He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling. “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit. I am getting old. The flights are getting harder.”

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask. You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.

“Ancient.”

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head. Dodger’s head pops up. If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead. He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity. Chris sets the puppy on the floor. The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh. Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins. This new development is surprising but not scary. He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.

“Woof!” It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.” Chris is laughing. Puppy seems very pleased with himself. A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows. Outside the morning is clouding over. It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain. Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird. Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.

Pup looks to him and back. “Boof!” Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger. Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized. A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen. Pad are laid beside the back door. The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket. You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly. He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen. “Lets get the little guy’s space all set. He’ll need to eat soon and then go out. We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend. They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again. It’s hilarious and sweet. Big brother playing with the little guy, but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns. And coughs.

“Hey…”

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest. A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired. It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head. He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell. Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best. There’s a twinkle in his eye. One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

#@theycallmebecca #chris evans x reader #I lost the bet #but this was so much fun #puppies #dodger

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zippdementia · 5 years ago

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Part 83 Alignment May Vary: Mirrors of the Abyss (To Sea What They Could Sea)

The next part of our adventure is taken from Mirrors of the Abyss, by Ryan Durney. I highly recommend it as a rare high level adventure. Very much worth a purchase. I will be covering huge aspects of it and it will not be spoiler-free, though it is a random enough adventure that there is PLENTY we won’t see on this playthrough and some additional material for our own story. Much of the art in this section of the blog is taken directly from the module and is illustrated by Ryan Durney. The purpose in using it here is to show off how beautiful and professional the product is, not to claim such images as our own. I sincerely hope it inspires you to purchase the product!

Vulpine Encounter

Much has happened in a short amount of time. Carrick has fallen. The Prophecy has been revealed to MIlosh (we will share it later this post). Hecate has joined the party. But they all have little time to contemplate any of this: the moment they arrive on the cold wet beach through the latest portal, they are spotted by a strange creature standing on a cliff’s edge, arms outstretched, looking for all the world like a creature about to throw himself into the raging sea.

I say “creature,” because this thing is no man. It is humanoid to be sure, but its vulpine features and furry body speak to some kind of demon or mixed race, dressed in ruined finery from an era long gone. As the thing spots them, it lets out a strange cry and charges down the cliff side, swiftly scaling it with little care to its own safety, only to pull up short by them, hands (paws?) raised in surrender.

“I do not come to hurt you!” the creature chortles, its voice caught somewhere between in the uncomfortable space between hysterical excitement and anxious calm.

In actuality, this is Carrick’s new character, now that Carrick is dead... or at least, no longer with the party in any playable sense. His name is Ruz, pronounced “ruse”, and he was the previous winner of Esheballa’s game, though that was a century ago. The winning came at a great cost, as he tells the party: in the end, Ruz had to murder the rest of his companions in order to “win” the game. For a time after, he was favored by Esheballa and spent much of his time reveling in her passionate embrace. But time passes and Esheballa is fickle. Cast aside by his mistress once she became bored with him, he has wandered her courts and challenge rooms with no purpose for decades, not aging much, rarely being targeted by the demons and things that lurk in her rooms (for fear of awakening her wrath for killing one of her “collected” playthings). Finally, he had given up hope of ever there being a change in his fate and was determined to settle things himself when he spotted the party.

Ruz’s excitement quickly turns to trepidation, however, as he notices a thick fog settling on to the beach. He has seen something like this in his own game, ages ago, and he knows that it marks this place as the next arena, the next battleground.

Ruz decides to take the group under his, uh, paw and guides them to a safe haven, or so he thinks: an old temple that was dedicated to Esheballa, or at least one of her older, kinder, aspects, before she became dark and twisted.

“This coast is where Esheballa forgets things to die. Including me... this temple has been left untouched by her games for years, but there’s no telling what’s changed now that you are here. Be careful!”

The warning turns out to be a good one. Almost immediately in fact, as Milosh decides to try and swim out into the ocean a ways and his key, the one that lets him travel through these realms, that he found back at the beginning of Esheballa’s game, activates a hidden curse and turns him into a merman.

This is a little bit of silliness as Milosh comes back to shore and has to flop around on land a bit before he transforms back. A small consequence for a small misdirection. But maybe also a warning of worse things to come.

Sudden Shift in the Plan

A lot happens in the next scene. Ryan Durney set up a ton of threats in this area of the Abyss. The biggest threat is a huge collection of monsters he designed called “sea monkeys.” They are the height of a dangerous swarm, vicious and persistant and come in ungodly numbers. There are a number of hordes equal to the number of players, and each horde has 240 life and they can automatically prone and grapple a player with hundreds of their little sea lice pets and they can attach to players and deal 5 damage per attached monkey and they come with priests who attack using dark energy.

It’s actually a really well designed and balanced fight, though it may not seem like it from the above description. The DCs to break the effects they cast are 18, which is not super high for a party of this level. And they don’t actually deal a ton of damage in their attacks. They are just persistent!

But a DM has to be able to read their party, and after last session, I read a few things in my party, without them having to say anything about it to me. And what I read was, they were feeling burnt out by this dungeon. Now, that’s not a criticism of Mirrors or Ryan at all. Allow me to explain.

Alignment May Vary, the name our group has come up with to describe our overall adventures, is now heading towards its fourth full year of gaming (October 2020 will mark the occasion). We are in the ninth chapter of a game spanning over a dozen player characters. This is post 83 you’re reading! We have so much material and story that I’ve started building an encyclopedia to track names and personas, and a timeline to track events that stretch back to the dawn of time.

What I’m trying to say is that AMV has a ton of history and story behind it and built into it. That narrative now drives the game forward and my long term players are looking for that story now. There’s been a few sessions without a real narrative as they have been stuck in Esheballa’s game, and I can feel them starting to drift. This is a dungeon crawl and as such, focused heavily on survival and the gameplay. The story is taking a back seat, and that’s not what my players want right now, especially in such a late chapter of the story. I have story prepared for them, but I was planning on holding it back for a few more chambers. Now I’m seeing I need to push that forward.

Along those same lines, my players are very dedicated to their characters. Morgan is playing Imoaza, a Yuan Ti who’s own daughter has been trying to kill her this entire time and now just joined the party as her dedicated follower; Tyler’s got Milosh, with this deep backstory tied into the Surveyors and a prophecy that’s being built up for the end of the game; even Carrick, who just died to a Lich, has built up so much history with the game that he doesn’t even die, he ends up back on Faerun in the clone body left for him there! The point is that the players are invested, invested in the characters and in the game. And part of that is good on me: I’ve made sure that every little hook and interest they’ve put out there has somehow been worked into the story. Because of that, if these characters die, it is going to have an impact. The players want it to be meaningful if they die. And it is one thing to die in service to the story, to the narrative; to die fighting for a cause that is integral to that plot. That’s dying in the line of duty. But to die in the madhouse dungeon of a Chaotic Demon Lord, in a dungeon that is clearly designed as a death trap? That kind of death is meant for quickly built on the fly characters intended to be put through such a run. Much as we did years ago with Tomb of Horrors. And to be fair, Ryan even says that in the into to Mirrors. That his warning didn’t stop me is testament to how much I felt his campaign was the perfect, best, simulation of the Abyss I would ever find. My players were going to the Abyss, so I was going to run Mirrors. It was that simple. But now we’re deep enough in it that I have to ask myself, do we need to finish all of it? Or have we done enough to get across the point and feel of the Abyss?

Only one player isn’t dedicated to his character in this way, and that’s the player who has come on to take over Daymos, the only time we’ve had a fourth player in this game. But we’ll come back to that.

Noticing these things, I decide we need to move back towards the planned narrative and away from doing any more of Esheballa’s chambers. I also realize my players won’t appreciate having the Sea Monkey fight thrown at them. It is a nice tactical fight, but it asks for players to (a) meta-game a bit in order to take the best tactical actions to win and (b) to be willing to risk dying to win. Neither of those things are going to appeal to my players, for the reasons stated above. So I decide to skip this fight and instead use the Sea Monkeys to drive us into the next bit of the plot. My players know from the book they found in the Library that there is a secret path along the fossil wall at the beach that leads to... something. I know they plan on taking this, so I do some quick moving of things around and get ready to give them a heck of a session, one that will launch them right back into the story in a big way.

I don’t count on Daymos having his own plans.

Lending a Hand

The temple is an odd space, even for her. The left, right and front walls are merely tightly spaced columns, with the gaps open to the outside. The space between these 50 ft. tall columns is tight (about 9 inches) and curtained in slimy seaweed. The rear wall backs to the coastal dam and has been relief-carved into a terraced balustrade, with a tunnel in the middle for ocean water to gush in and touch the back side of a central dais. This side that the water kisses is encrusted in barnacles and draped in dripping sea weed. The light is a dank gloom.

There is a statue of Eshebala’s comely maiden form splayed over the back wall that is a little more reminiscent of what you’d expect. The expression on it is more “come hither” than beseechment, and at 40 ft., it truly looms over the space. While her right hand cups herself lewdly, her left hand is outstretched for some kind of offering.

This is where things start to go wrong, in a way that will delay us in moving on this session and will increase frustrations of the players.

The purpose of the Temple in Mirrors is to serve as a battleground for the Sea Monkey fight. The Statue of Esheballa comes to life during the fight and also attacks the players. And there is a strange seaweed all over the temple as well that tries to envelop players.

I’ve made the last minute decision to cut most of this from this session, in an attempt to keep us moving forward and avoid a long, possibly deadly fight. But there are some things I keep. The Statue can bless players if they give it a proper offering (it “eats” them, or at least teleports the offerings through its mouth to a secret treasure hoard underneath the temple). The seaweed they end up fighting when Milosh goes exploring around the temple, in a brief but fun fight where Daymos gets inventive with Fire Wall and uses it to cut the seaweed monster in half.

But Daymos’ player also has a tendency to like to touch everything in an adventure, to see what everything does. And he likes to push the boundaries of the game. This is how they ended up fighting the lich last time: without his prodding, the rest of the group, far more cautious than him, would never have made the decision to awaken the Lich.

So Daymos tries to figure out what to do with this Statue. He caresses it. He rubs against it. He cups its breast. He wants it to do something! Finally he starts to figure out that it wants an offering. And so he encourages Milosh’s player, who is normally extremely cautious, to offer the Statue his gun arm. The Mega-Man inspired arm that is his huge magical weapon that grows with him as he levels and I keep upgrading for him.

The book is pretty clear about what happens to anything offered. The Gun Arm is taken. The Statue CRUSHES it in her hands and then eats it. It disappears. It goes away. It is gone forever. Milosh is left without the weapon that defines his character. Furthermore, I had told him at the start of Mirrors that I would hide little secret upgrades for the Gunarm all around the chambers and if he could find them, I’d give him big power boosts for the arm. He was very excited and interested in this and now, in one move, his arm is gone. Daymos’ player thinks it’s hilarious. I can see the look on Milosh’s player’s face, though, and it is not a jovial one. This crushes him. It pisses him off. It isn’t fun for him.

And honestly, it’s not a choice he would have made without being pushed into it by Daymos’ player. This is when I start to realize that this player is playing a different game than the others. Most of the team is here to play a story, to play characters they care about. He is here to play around in the world, test the boundaries of that world, and do crazy shit and who cares if Daymos gets killed in the process? This is actually confirmed a few minutes later when, while carelessly trying to see if he can get underneath the temple through a secret water passage, Daymos is dragged out to sea and eaten by a Kraken.

Now, when bad shit happens in my games, I always try to weave it back into the narrative. So for Milosh’s arm, I straight up tell the player, “do not worry, the arm is not gone forever. You will get it back. And what’s more (I invent this on the spot) you have found a big upgrade by doing this! You just have to find out where the arm went and find a way to reforge it.” With those words, that situation is saved. The player is back in the game and now has a new goal: locate the arm! He’s still a little frustrated, I can tell, but now he has a reason to keep playing and stay invested in this awesome character he’s created. Furthermore, he decides he needs a weapon until he gets his gunarm back, so he attunes to a demonic sword they took from the Marilith they killed last session and the sword turns out to house the very demon that ate Tyrion’s soul in Chapter 4. A bit of Tyrion is still in here, too, and the sword has the power to grant Milosh Bardic inspiration by singing him Tyrion’s old songs. It also is a +3 magic weapon with the power to steal critical hits from enemies, and is known as Illrastayne, the sword of Envy. Milosh’s player immediately latches onto the narrative threads and begins to think of ways for Milosh to be affected by this new demonic power he’s making use of.

I try to do the same thing for Daymos. I use some rules from Mirrors to have him come back as a poltergeist and he is able to possess Whisper, the Quasit that was following him around. I also use the opportunity to build on Daymos’ story. For the Kraken that swallows him turns out to be the very Kraken that he once controlled, back in Chapter 2 and 3 of our adventure. And also the Kraken that ate Reeves Sar Testain. And it turns out, a bit of Reeves Sar Testain is still here, and he follows Daymos into the Quasit, talking with him in his mind. But Daymos’ player isn’t really interested in any of that. He confesses to me later that he finds this whole bit boring because he wasn’t able to find the treasure. His favorite part, he says, was Milosh losing his arm.

This highlights the different levels of investment from the players. AMV can be a lot to delve into, I know that. With so much history behind it, it can feel intimidating. When Carrick joined the party, I was worried it would be hard for him to tap into the story, but he was so open to everything that pretty quickly I was able to throw him a couple curve balls (the whole surveyor plotline) and he ran with it, building a unique personality and working everything into a really interesting character. Now it’s tough to remember that we played for two years without him at the table!

For Daymos’ player, I know he enjoys clever thinking and winning combats. My hope was that Mirrors, with its emphasis on those two things, would excite and interest him and give him an in to feel like he was a part of the party and start building up Daymos (or a new character if he didn’t want to play Daymos) into his own creation and make him a part of the story. But this doesn’t happen.

It’s fine. Things aren’t always perfect at a table. But the discord is palpable during this session and it takes an effort not to be derailed. I’m flustered a bit myself, I have to admit! I didn’t expect any of this and I’m having to change big things on the fly to pull together the session. So my descriptions are a bit off, I forget to draw a map of the area, and I fudge some things, leading to some confusion that further frustrates everyone. It’s not as bad as I’m making it sound, really, but it is not our smoothest session and I decide that we need to cover some ground and end on a high note.

The latter part of the session is spent fixing the first half by giving the players hooks to get them back into the game. I hurry the players along, out of the temple, chased by Sea Monkeys, along the fossil wall where they are attacked by the Kraken and through a scene wherein Milosh falls into the ocean and escapes by swimming through a hidden passage to end up in the treasure hoard below the temple, where he reclaims his broken gunarm and befriends a lone Sea Monkey, who shows him a secret passage out of the treasure hoard. The party joins back together on the other side of the fossil wall, where they realize something is wrong. The world around them is... not right. Nothing quite looks right, the sky is frozen, the sea is moving at strange speeds, and a fog is settling in all around them, beyond which the only thing they can see is a lighthouse.

“We’ve broken out of bounds,” Ruz tells them all, wondering the whole time what madness he has gotten himself into. “We’ve left the game.”

“That’s all well and good,” Daymos chitters in his small Quasit voice. “But where have we ended up, if we’re not in the game anymore?”

Where, indeed? We’ll find out next time, in The City of Lies.

#Mirrors of the abyss #Dungeons and Dragons #5e #DND #D&D

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