“Bueller… Bueller…”

Bueller… Bueller… Bueller…

My voice echoes plaintively as we are left in the darkness and encroaching silence… Finally a glimmer of light that is almost blinding in its contrast appears above Darla’s head.  “I can hold it for a few minutes, but I really need to recharge after last night’s Ginger Ale fest.”  Everyone nods in quick agreement and we quickly head back up the stairs and exit the Scarlet Bard.

The wooden bunks at the Adventurer’s Guild have never felt as soft as I quickly pass into unconsciousness.  When I finally hoist the eyelids at the crack of noon I learn that nearly a week has passed!  To arms fellow adventurers!  Fame and fortune await!

Back to the Scarlet Bard!  Only to find that some moron has reconstructed the stupid guardian statue… fortunately we are able to dispatch the interloper with a minimum of loss, despite the fact that our brave Alfalfa has sworn off Ginger Ale for at least the next century (or maybe Bard’s Tale II).  Up to the bar and with renewed confidence we order a bit of Wine.  With a wink and a grin our benefactor gives us the nod and we head into the cellar, torches in hand.

This cellar is truly cavernous (probably to be expected as it is the cellar of one of the most powerful beings in existence) and the air is musty with old wine.  The torches only illuminate the area directly around our group and so it appears we will be forced to explore every aspect of this area inch by slow inch.

There is obviously a great evil that has taken hold of Skara Brae, so great that it has infested the great one’s own cellar.  The baddies are the same as those found wandering the streets of Skara Brae at night, only in greater quantities.  No sooner is one group dispatched before another group seemingly appears like magic to take its place.  The body count starts to pile up as we head deeper and deeper into the cellar.  Being blocked from the rays of the sun, our spell casters quickly burn through their available mana.  Throw in the occasional trap and the larger number of baddies, and every soirée is cut short before too much can be accomplished.

Hours turn into days and the days to a week before I can carefully map out the entire cellar.  Countless bottles of reds, whites and chardonnays are to be found throughout.  I actually lost Froggy for a couple days and was lucky to stumble upon his comatose figure sloshed in a corner room of the rare wines.  I sure hope I don’t get stuck with that tab.

All my patience and mapping, the gore and pain of nearly constant battle, pan out as I finally discover a little used staircase leading down to the city sewer system… it appears that I have found the source of the endless supply of baddies that have plagued my every step.  On the morrow we throw ourselves ever deeper into the darkness.