Thrycian, Deep Elf Summoner

This page is a Diary of a Crawler, the journal of an individual character. This page probably contains spoilers.

This is the story of Thrycian, a young elf who decided one day to lock himself in his basement, and see what he could unearth therein.

March 31, 1290

I descend today into the murky depths of my basement. It reeks of foot odor in here, and there are odd stains that look remarkably like dwarf blood on the floors and walls... Where is my sabre? I could have sworn I left it by the stairs. The lake of lava is new, too.

Almost immediately I have come upon 6 potions, 2 each of blue, purple, and glowing red varieties. It doesn't surprise me a bit. My ex-girlfriend was a pretty hard drinker, and left quite a bit of stuff behind. To my surprise, however, when taking a swig, I found not alcohol in the flask, but some kind of healing elixir. The purple potions were even stronger, and the odd red drink rendered me invisible. I also found someone's wallet down here. I took the gold inside.

Overall, I was not that surprised to find massive creatures like newts and cockroaches down in my basement. They've probably been sampling my 'science projects.' What did surprise me was finding creatures I can only recognize from my study years: goblins and kobalds. Why and how they're down here, and how long they've been in my basement, is anyone's guess. However, knowing how to call small, furry animals as meat shields is so far quite helpful.

March 31, 1290 (second entry)

I found several sets of stairs to a deeper section of my basement. Bizarre. The property deed swore there was two floors, an attic, and a one floor basement. What is going on here?

I found a dagger, and after the creatures exhausted my living armor, I was forced to gleefully disembowel them, er, stab them repeatedly until they looked like a gory game of Tic-Tac-Death, I mean, slash them in self defense. I'm not the kind of guy who murders people, you know; I've got a delicate mind.

I ate the flesh of a newt. Raw. It called to me. I had a couple loaves of bread, but a man needs some protein sometimes, you know?

April 1, 1290

I've been in this dungeon which has somehow replaced my basement for a full day now, and I'm wondering to myself: who is the interior decorator? All the walls look the same, he should be shot. I mean, I went down to the second floor, and I was highly disappointed! It's the exact same thing. Even the murderous zoo creatures are the same. And why am I even down here? I don't know if I ever had a reason. But something is calling me. Calling me to the bottom of this place. It must be where the toilet is. I'm sick of the porta-potty outside anyway. That would explain the violence of everyone here. They're desperate to defend the lone toilet from any invaders.

I found an odd ring. It looked untrustworthy, like a malfunctioning happy meal toy. But I put it on anyway, and felt slightly more agile. I was personally hoping for something more along the lines of 'ring of set your enemies on fire,' but they do say beggars can't be choosers. Not that I was begging for a happy meal toy.

April 1, 1290 (second entry)

I found a giant mite. That strikes me as just plain ludicrous. I mean, a giant newt? Okay, that could be the size of a cat. An enourmous newt, more like is what's down here. But I found a creature with a label on it that said 'giant mite!' A mite is the size of the period at the end of this sentence. If they're of the bigger varieties. A GIANT MITE is the size of a tick, for god's sakes. This is no normal giant mite, this is the fabled Elephantine Giant Mite! I mean, it was the size of capybara. Whoever sticks these labels on should also be shot! GRAHGHAGJNEIYAENAE! HULK SMASH! RRRAAGHH!

(The rest of the entry is illegible scribble)

Okay, I've calmed down now. I found a scratched marble ring. Also ridiculous. How often do you find a ring made of marble? And then some fool scratches it with a pocket knife or something? What has the world come to, I ask of you. But when identified via one of the odd gibberish scraps of magic paper lying around here, I found it to be a ring of magic protection. Oh, wait. Damn, it was actually a ring of protection FROM magic. That's not nearly as useful.

April 2, 1290

After a few hours of memorization, I managed to learn the ancient ritual for summoning infernal comic relief; that is, imps. Though my own domesticated body shields are giving me a valiant effort, I need something that can, you know, fight back. Trying them out, first the imp teleported about so that I was next to the dupe hobgoblin, and then offered me some beetles. I knifed the bastard and ate his liver.

Descending to the fourth level of my basement, I was greeted by a change most welcome: The walls changed color! Finally, someone did away with that drab flower wallpaper. I thought I would go insane if I had to stare down one more cheerfully ugly corridor. Soon into this wonderfully hue-altered adventure, however, I ran into something odd. Squinting through the gloom I made out a massive, blubbery shape. "Uncle Huey?" I called out. It stumbled towards me. "Uncle Huey, you look like shit, if you don't mind me being honest." I killed Uncle Huey. Of course, it was soon apparent that it was not Uncle Huey but some kind of morbidly obese ogre. Which is really what Uncle Huey is.

I found my sabre! Attached to it was a dwarf skeleton, still wearing pants. Searching the pockets, I also came upon a glowing bone wand. Waving it at a nearby orc, he seemed friendly to me suddenly. And then cut down his buddy. A man after me own heart. So I killed him.

April 2, 1290 (second entry)

I found a hardcover book. After clearing the level of zealous toilet-defenders, I sat down to have a look-see at it. The book of air, it turns out. I decided to not make use of it, as there was barely space in my mind for all of my summoning spells. Instead, I memorized a spell to summon scorpions. I'm not even going to rant about size descriptions here. In an attempt to emotionally bond with one of my summoned scorpions, it stung me and I nearly died. Soulless meat shields they shall remain.

As I descend, the defenders of the toilet become even more ferocious and skilled. This is the fifth level of my basement, and I'm certain that I'm reaching the bottom, and that holy, gold plated, derriere-cushioning receptacle of waste is near. I feel its power, the power of the gods embodied in porcelain.

I found a temple to the gods. I realize this is the place I've been drawn to. But I still feel a deeper power, pulling me into the dungeon. I decided to give myself to Sif Muna, my patron of years of study. I have fond memories of my days in the academy: Wild parties around Sif Muna's altar, summoning small eyes up skirts, occasionally going to class...those were the days-- All in Sif Muna's name, of course. I headed confidently out of the temple, my head filled with memories of my prime. It was then I stumbled upon an orc priest. He harnessed the power of the Seraphic Toilet and called an Almighty Flush of the Gods down upon me. I died, but happy to have died by the power of the Almighty toilet.