Tales from the Table: Work Builds an Appetite

From a campaign about five years ago, playing Stephen Grodzicki’s Low Fantasy Gaming

Last night we were at Talomar Keep, returning the body of one of the Queen’s Rangers we’d found. Well, most of the body, the head was missing. We were offered a place to stay for the night, before planning to head into Erebannien Forest to deal with an undead problem they were having.

I will state for the record that their problems started some time after we had been to Sleeping Bear Rock (located in Erebannien Forest) and found the door open, and as such was totally a coincidence. We were there, we left, problem started… not us.


We found, when awakened late that night, that the village outside the Keep had been suffering attacks by some strange man-wolf things. Between the howls and the screams we weren’t able to sleep, so I went to the wall to see what was going on. While I did that, one of my comrades (with even lower Charisma than me… and it showed) was talking to one of the Rangers.

“Aren’t you going to go out and help?”

“Nope. I didn’t draw the short straw, so I don’t gotta die tonight.”

“FFS… what does it take to become a Ranger? Eat a doughnut?”

… this did not go over well, so when we decided to go see what was going on the Rangers were totally okay with opening the keep gate for us. They expected to rid themselves of an insulting nuisance… little did they know.

We then went out and killed four of the man-wolf things.

“All right, I’m gonna cut off their heads and make a big flail and beat on that dude.”

“Is there a bakery nearby?”

GM: “… this is gonna be AWESOME. Yes, yes there is. The woman you rescued knows someone who makes excellent doughnuts. Rangers won’t go out because the man-wolfs are too dangerous, you guys do and kill four of them, and come back with their heads and a box of doughnuts? I’m not even going to roll, this has to happen.”

A couple hours later we make our way back up to Talomar Keep, carrying four man-wolf heads… and a box of doughnuts. We walk through the gate — the rangers opened it for us, probably afraid that if they didn’t, we’d kick it down — and made our way to the mess. We come walking in, still covered in the signs of the work through the night — blood, gore… flour — and throw the man-wolf heads on the table. We sit at another table and put our feet up, each taking a doughnut.

“They taste better when you earn them, boys.”

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