We had a blast with this one-shot. It was really good to have a light-hearted session after running and playing in much more serious and high stakes games.

This takes place after the story hook posted previously.

I hope you enjoy!

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Dramatis Personae

CASPER FIRESTONE

The laziest warlock you’ve ever seen. Casper floats everywhere because walking is simply too much work. He wears dark robes and a giant floppy wizard’s hat perfect for blocking out the sun during naps, and carries a large teddy bear everywhere he goes. His patron is a shadow demon named Bob, who is increasingly frustrated by Casper’s lack of ambition for evil.

RUNA

A walking block of amethyst crystal, educated wizard wrapped head to toe in an oversized blue robe to hide their distinctive appearance. Despite being a caster, Runa is ironically the beefiest member of the party, a fact that causes them considerable distress as they’d much rather hide behind someone else.

SNOKS

A red-scaled kobold artificer riding a turkey he insists is an ostrich. Snoks wears a trench coat over suspenders, carries a tool belt, and has invented an auto-loading crossbow. The turkey, possibly the dumbest creature alive, gobbles at inappropriate moments and has a habit of staring up at rain with its mouth open.

JO’HANA

An 18-inch tall ball-jointed doll, a Wechselkind(fey changeling) who was once swapped for a human child. When people realized she wasn’t aging, she was violently cast out. Now wearing mismatched adventuring gear that barely fits, she’s determined to help others despite her size and has a surprisingly powerful mind.

Scene I: The Dying Rabbit

As you near the far edge of the valley, you spot something lying in the road ahead. An overturned cart. Its contents spilled. And beside it—a furry, bloody, still-breathing humanoid shape.

CASPER: (squinting with one eye barely open) “Is it edible? Can we eat it? I’m hungry.”

SNOKS: “Possibly. It’s still alive though. Moving. Take care of that first.”

Jo’hana moves closer immediately, her healer’s instincts overriding caution. As she approaches, the details become clear: a badly beaten leporine figure (rabbit-like) hanging on by a thread. His clothes are torn and every pocket sliced open and emptied. Patches of purple and green sprouts have begun to push through his wounds and spread slowly across his fur.

The overturned cart behind him was filled with vegetables; cabbages, carrots, pumpkins, jars of sticky sweet-smelling preserves, all broken and strung across the ground in a scattered mess.

One eye flutters open. A crimson hand lifts weakly, clutching a scroll.

DYING RABBIT: “You must… take it… to the… Magus… the Maaaggguuuuussss… Bluuuugh….”

Jo’hana takes the scroll and tries to stabilize him, pushing healing magic into his body. She feels it start to work…

Then it dissipates. The rest of his body is being engulfed by purple flowers and green vines. She feels his body give way under her hands, falling forward into nothing but blooms.

Looking around, there are six additional patches of purple flowers scattered around the area. Each patch is arranged in a shape that is eerily, unmistakably humanoid, as if something once stood or fell there before dissolving into blooms. And a seventh patch is larger and equine in shape, its outline stretched and uneven, as though the transformation took over the poor creature mid-stride.

Jo’hana unrolls the scroll, reading aloud in very calligraphic hand:

To the Great and Powerful Magus,
The people of the Heather Valley Warren are in desperate need of your aid once again. The winds of purple lights have returned and have begun sweeping through the village. We beg you to act before we are overtaken as we were once before. We hope you will accept the humble tribute we are able to provide as fitting recompense.
Forever in your debt,
Mayor Fabian Lapin

JO’HANA: “The way I see this, we have three options. Ignore the scroll entirely and keep going. Go check out what’s happening in town. Or take this note to where it belongs.”

SNOKS: “Which one makes us the most money and gets us out of the most trouble?”

Runa investigates the perimeter, crystal form catching the morning light. They find tracks, dog or cat-like, leading north toward a hidden trail. And far to the east, peeking from behind a tall hill: the tip of a tower.

Scene II: The Infected Hyaenids

Following the tracks through tall grass, the party discovers a single oak tree in a clearing. Beneath it: five humanoid hyena-creatures ravenously devouring stolen vegetables and preserves. Each one is covered in strange wounds of purple heather and green vines.

Runa, who failed to sneak, barges directly into the clearing. The creatures drop their food and turn.

CASPER: “You see those two closest to Runa? They’re right in front of that pumpkin. Hard to fight if you’ve got pumpkin in your face.”

He casts Shatter. The pumpkin explodes in a spray of orange pulp and seeds, splattering the infected Hyaenids.

Jo’hana casts Distortion on Runa. The spell takes an unexpected form, rather than flickering between darkness, Runa’s crystalline body becomes a disco ball, reflecting light in dazzling patterns that blind their attackers.

RUNA: (throwing off their robe dramatically) “Bask in my glory! BEHOLD!”

The pack leader, larger, meaner, and far more dangerous, rushes toward Runa. But Casper has seen enough.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial of glass. Inside, an angry liquid, red and black, sloshes around violently, as if trying to escape. It looks furious.

CASPER: (looking at the grouped Hyaenids) “Might as well. It’ll be the quickest way to get a nap.”

He tosses the vial with a lazy arc, using a bit of hedge magic to guide it further than his half-hearted throw would manage. It smashes open in the middle of the pack.

Nothing happens.

You’re almost about to turn around and ask what that was—but no sound comes out. All of the air is suddenly ripped from your lungs as everything around you is sucked into a single, tiny, dark angry red point. All five Hyaenids go flying into that point in space, occupying a single instant—

And erupt.

A fine red mist covers the entire glade.

Casper pulls his big floppy hat down around himself as the rain of viscera falls.

Only the pack leader survives, standing at the edge of the blast radius, wounded, covered in purple and green wounds, but very much alive and very much angry.

But not for long. The party finishes it off.

Not before it sinks its teeth into Runa.

The bite hurts. And with a flash of realization, Runa immediately understands what’s happening. The scroll mentioned the Heather Valley Warren. The purple clouds. These creatures being overtaken. The infection is now inside them.

Runa doubles over as the hunger begins. Unbearable, gnawing hunger.

CASPER: “At least I don’t have to restrain them. I wonder if our wizard friend knows a fix for that.” (pointing at the crystal, who is now eating an ear of bloody corn) “We should avoid telling him it’s delicious.”

They discover that as long as Runa keeps eating, the pain ebbs. The heather remains dormant. But the moment they stop…

Snoks hooks a leather twine to Casper (floating) and to his turkey. The tiny kobold and tiny doll walk down the road toward the Magus’s tower like the world’s strangest, tiniest Macy’s Day parade. Runa floats behind, munching continuously, occasionally making purple toots.

Scene III: The Magus’s Tower

The grounds of the tower are beautiful and immaculate. Almost unsettlingly so—more painted than real. The stones are spotless. The paths wind in perfect order. From several upper windows, strange colors of smoke and drifting mist swim around with sparkling wisps shimmering in and out of sight like little fireflies.

You hear echoing laughter from above. Then an explosion. The sharp, unmistakable sound of frantic honking. A crack of lightning shoots from one window. Fire bursts from another. A massive clap of thunder.

Then the tower falls quiet. For a moment. Before another round of chaos ensues.

Runa tries to float up toward the window where the commotion is happening. They float up thirty feet… but somehow never get any closer. Looking down at the ground, then up at the window, they squint in confusion before floating back down.

RUNA: “There’s more food down here anyway.”

Jo’hana, being 18 inches tall, climbs the door like a gymnast, her tiny dexterous fingers finding cracks in the wood. She grabs the knocker, swings herself like she’s on the Olympic rings—causing it to actually knock—and dismounts with a perfect somersault back down to the ground.

The door slowly creeks open. Something waits in the darkness.

THREE VOICES IN SEQUENCE:

“The Magus—” (first head)

“—is currently busy—” (second head)

“—very busy indeed.” (third head)

Three creatures stacked in a robe. Zzizzick, the Magus’s strange servants, waiting in their serpent-spider-like manner.

RUNA: “Good evening. We find ourselves in need of assistance. I myself have been affected by some sort of… affliction. Do you have any food? I’ve run out.”

Three pairs of hands reach into the robes. In a weird, serpentine motion, the limbs return holding a loaf of bread, a drumstick of something definitely not bird, and a plate with fork and knife.

The party enters the tower. The interior opens into a space far larger than the outside ever suggested. The air shifts around you and each step carries an echo that feels out of scale.

Before you can take in more than a few details, you hear a soft but rumbling yawn emerge from somewhere behind you.

When you turn around, your eyes land on the space above the door you just came in. On a wide recessed shelf sits a massive manticore, lounging, stretching. Its body leonine, its face unsettlingly human, its tail coiled lazily like a resting scorpion. It stretches, blinks, looks at you all for a moment, licks its lips, then lowers its head to its paws and closes its eyes, settling back to sleep.

Jo’hana, walking at the back of the group, looks over her shoulder. The manticore has one eye open. Watching. A little curl of a smile creeps across its face.

At the top of the spiraling staircase: a laboratory in a state of glorious disaster. Liquids hiss in cracked flasks. Smoke curls from burnt runes. Feathers drift like lazy snowfall. The smell is sharp, metallic, and strangely sweet.

In the middle of the room stands a small gnomish man in torn, burned robes. He is laughing uncontrollably, slamming the butt of his staff against a metal cage, jabbing it through the bars multiple times.

Inside the cage: a beautiful, majestic white swan. It huddles in the corner, trembling, wings pulled tight. When it sees you, it lifts its head and releases a long, miserable honk that echoes through the ruined laboratory.

It is pleading. Almost human in its heartbreak.

The Magus spins around, planting his feet in a dramatic battle stance. One hand crackles with lightning. The other burns with flickering flame.

THE MAGUS: “Who the HELL are you? How did you get in here?”

Scene IV: The Swan That Lays Golden Eggs

Runa presents the scroll. The Magus reads it, then waves his sparking hand dismissively.

THE MAGUS: “Got bit? Those stupid bunnies moved into that field of heather without realizing that certain times of year, the veil between this reality and an unstable region of elemental chaos gets thin. Very, very thin.” (He wiggles his fingers, sparks jumping between them.) “Paper thin.”

He stabs his staff into the floor for emphasis—then jabs it through the cage bars again. The swan jerks and huddles tighter.

THE MAGUS: “And what do these furry little morons do? They EAT IT. Delicious! Absolutely delicious!” (throws both hands in the air, scattering embers) “High metabolism. Doesn’t affect them one bit. The problem is they think everyone they meet is their new best friend. So they invite them over for dinner. And it’s not the first time THEY’VE ended up on the menu after breaking Heather-tainted bread.”

SNOKS: “Wait—the rabbits are the ones who get eaten?”

THE MAGUS: “Their guests get infected from eating the food, the hunger drives them mad, and the rabbits look pretty tasty at that point! Do they learn? Of course not! They could move. I tell them—they could walk ACROSS THE ROAD. But no! They stay, build bigger houses, plant more fields, then come begging me to put up another barrier around their precious little warren.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with the weight of someone under a profound burden of stupidity.

THE MAGUS: “Do they bring my candied peaches? That is the agreement. That is the contract. Candied peaches for magical labor. Very simple. But do they bring enough peaches? No! They never bring enough peaches! Two jars for a whole village! I’m a Magus, not a charity!”

The swan just goes: HONK.

THE MAGUS: “QUIET, YOU!”

He rummages through a box and hands Runa a vial.

THE MAGUS: “This’ll take care of that embarrassing little infection you have going on. Can’t have you pushing up daisies in my lab. Pun intended.”

Runa drinks it. The infection clears immediately.

During his rant, the Magus has absently jabbed his staff at the cage multiple more times. With a choked, visible cry, the swan lays a single golden egg, settling it gently into the straw and curling it under its wing protectively.

The Magus does not acknowledge it. Not a glance. Not a pause.

RUNA: “I have to ask… the swan. It seems quite interesting.”

THE MAGUS: “Mind your business! It’s not an innocent creature, no, no, no, it’s a dangerous, scheming monster! Don’t let it fool you! That’s not innocence. That’s guilt. That’s strategy. It knows what it’s doing.”

THE MAGUS: “Anyway, our business is done. If you’ll excuse me, I need a shower and a change of clothes. Zzizzick! Bring me my mail!”

The Magus leaves, walking to another part of the tower.

Zzizzick shuffles past, moving in their strange stacked gait. The bottom one carries a small package. The middle one holds some scrolls and envelopes. The top one holds a tall sheet of paper high for balance.

As they pass, all three heads turn—owl-like, almost 180 degrees—toward the party. The same wide smile on each face.

“Not a bad—” (first head)

“—likeness—” (second head)

“—is it?” (third head)

On the paper: a very familiar wanted poster. With a massive bounty.

The three heads continue smiling. Slowly, exaggeratedly slowly—heads still turned almost 180 degrees behind them—Zzizzick walks across the room until reaching the other side, then continues out the door.

The party is now alone with the swan.

Jo’hana uses her mind reading on the swan. Because it’s a creature without language, she gets only surface emotions: Fear. And hope—strong, but slowly fading.

CASPER: (the golden egg glinting in his peripheral vision) “Food is cheap. Golden eggs could buy a lot of food. And with a lot of food, that thing could lay a lot more eggs…”

The lazy warlock realizes he could literally be making money while he sleeps.

CASPER: “You know what? We should help it out.”

RUNA: “Everything here is dangerous. Why do you think that thing is in a cage?”

JO’HANA: “Speaking of the cage…” (examining it) “…it’s not locked. Just bolted latches. Requires thumbs to open.”

CASPER: “I don’t trust that unlocked door.”

He casts Cutting Light and slices through the bars anyway.

The swan’s head rises. It starts to emerge, then stops—looking back at its egg. With one wing, it tries to drag it along.

Casper hedge-magics the egg into his sack. The swan makes a beeline for him, colliding with his chest. Its wings wrap around him, its long neck curls around his shoulders, and it trembles against him, holding on with every ounce of strength in its little feathery body.

Its head stretches back and it starts doing these little chittering nuzzles on Casper’s stubble—little birdie kisses all over his face—before wrapping its neck back around him.

CASPER: “I like my teddy bear, but a feather pillow is really nice.”

Jo’hana casts Illusory Disguise. The swan becomes a second teddy bear wrapped around the floating warlock.

They make their way down the spiraling staircase, past the manticore still lounging on its shelf. Casper attempts to cast Daydream on it—a spell that should make the creature see something mundane and ignore them.

He feels the magic leave his body and travel to its target. He does not feel it take effect.

The manticore does not stir.

JO’HANA: “Let’s just keep going.”

They escape on tiptoes and chicken feet, the turkey occasionally going GOBBLE at the worst moments.

About a hundred yards down the road, they look back over their shoulders.

Standing in the doorway: Zzizzick. All three heads smiling. Slowly closing the door.

Scene V: The Eggs Begin

The swan will not stop laying eggs.

Every hour: 1d6 golden eggs roll out from beneath it. It refuses to move without them, honking pitifully until someone collects each one. Casper accidentally drops one—the swan looks at him with absolute heartbreak.

The eggs are gold—shell is solid gold, and inside is a golden-colored yolk. Each whole egg worth roughly twenty gold pieces intact, three gold broken.

By the time they reach a secluded spot to camp for the night, they have accumulated thirty eggs.

SNOKS: “How the hell are we going to keep up with these eggs? How are we going to sell them if she doesn’t want to detach from them?”

The swan slowly walks over to Casper, nuzzles down into his lap, drapes its long neck over him, and makes little chittering noises as its eyes close.

Six more eggs roll out.

CASPER: “Hey Bob. Is this thing a demon?”

He turns to his shadow, summoning the demon he draws power from. A coiling shape emerges, looks at the swan, looks at Casper.

BOB THE DEMON: “What? Is that a demon? It’s a fucking BIRD.”

CASPER: “Yeah, well, the fucking bird is—I can tell there’s something magical about it. Conjuration magic.”

BOB: “I do NOT appreciate being in this fucking thing. We had a deal.”

CASPER: “You give me power! That was the deal!”

BOB: “No, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be getting shit from you too now! Come on! You’re going to do glorious fucking things for me! You’re going to do evil things! Kick the fucking swan! Do it! I’m HUNGRY!”

CASPER: (to the group, with a pleading look) “He gets like this every so often. I’m sorry.”

BOB: “I swear to God, you’re not going to get any sleep! You’re not going to get any rest! I’m going to slap the food out of your mouth! You’re not getting NOTHING until you do what I need you to do!”

CASPER: “So you’re not going to tell me if this is a demon?”

BOB: “It’s a BIRD!”

Casper sends Bob back to the shadow realm.

CASPER: “Well, that was fun. I don’t think the bird’s a demon.”

The party debates what to do with the eggs until 1 AM. They are completely exhausted.

They sleep.

In the morning, they wake to find 28 MORE gathered into a pile that the swan is currently sitting atop.

SNOKS: “If we go to sleep again, we’re going to have like forty more eggs. I swear.”

Scene VI: The Great Vincini

The sound of a cart on the main road.

Runa hears it first. They grab one of the cracked eggs, the one Casper dropped, and run to intercept the merchant.

RUNA: “I’m so sorry, I heard you coming and ran as fast as I could! I dropped it in my porridge, that’s why it’s gooey. We found it smashed on the road. Some travelers were running north and dropped it.”

The merchant, a well-dressed man, examines the gold through a jeweler’s loupe. He’s put on gloves first, given the goo.

VINCINI: “I, the Great Vincini, the greatest traveling merchant in these lands, will be glad to take a look at what you have. Come, come, let me see.”

VINCINI: “Golden egg! My goodness! I can give you three gold for this broken one. But if you had one intact… oh, my friend! Twenty gold easily!”

From the woods: a mournful honk. The swan has been honking during the entire conversation, struggling to escape Casper.

It breaks free.

The swan charges toward Vincini, wings spread, hissing.

VINCINI: (scrambling backward) “Oh gods! I do not like the COBRA CHICKEN!”

Runa lunges to grab the swan mid-charge. At the same moment, Vincini’s bodyguard Roscoe, bored, chewing tobacco, spitting occasionally, hired for protection, raises his crossbow and fires.

The bolt strikes the swan.

In Runa’s arms, the swan goes limp.

VINCINI: “What have you done?”

ROSCOE: “You pay me to protect you. Bird was attacking you. Contract didn’t specify no birds.”

Runa puts a hand on Vincini’s shoulder.

RUNA: “Listen…”

They cast Erase Memories. Two points of effort. The last five minutes disappear from the merchant’s mind.

Vincini blinks, confused.

VINCINI: “I don’t understand… I mean… I give you three gold?”

He pays. He leaves. He will barely remember they were there.

Scene VII: The Hatching

Jo’hana and Snoks, who stayed behind with the eggs, hear the sound of cracking.

Two eggs roll down from the pile. They hatch. Two goslings emerge, growing rapidly to full size before their eyes. They stretch their wings.

In unison: HONK.

And go dashing, hissing, toward the sound of Vincini and Roscoe fleeing.

JO’HANA: “I think we need to break these eggs.”

SNOKS: “On the other hand… we could just leave. Leave the eggs right here.”

They do not leave.

The swans multiply. Every time one dies, two more eggs hatch. When four living swans exist, they merge into two two-headed swans. The pattern continues, higher head counts gain new abilities. Poison spit. Acid spray. More heads, more problems.

The party battles swan after swan after swan. They are fighting a hydra made of birds, every kill spawns more. The only way to end it: exhaust all seventy-plus eggs.

The forest becomes a ruin of feathers, acidic droppings, and golden shell fragments.

Finally, the last multi-headed abomination falls.

One tiny golden egg rolls out. It hatches immediately. A gosling emerges, peeping, and starts pecking at an ear of corn.

In Runa’s pack, something vibrates. A compact mirror in a clamshell case, slipped into their pocket without them noticing. They open it.

Epilogue: Spelling Matters

The Magus’s face appears in the mirror, grinning.

THE MAGUS: “Of COURSE you deserved it! That thing was a mistake anyway. A really stupid mistake.”

THE MAGUS: “You see, I got the binding spell right. The binding circle—I got every last rune correct. But you make one small SPELLING mistake in the summoning…”

He leans closer to the mirror.

THE MAGUS: “I was trying to summon a FOUL hydra. The dangerous kind. You know, the impressive one!”

He shrugs.

THE MAGUS: “I got the W and the U confused… and I got a FOWL hydra. F-O-W-L.”

THE MAGUS: “Next time, read the fine print. And never trust a swan.”

The Magus waves dismissively.

THE MAGUS: “Now bring me back that bird.”

The mirror goes dark.

The tiny gosling continues to peck at its corn, harmless as can be.

Casper is already asleep.

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“I literally had you guys play a 5 hour pun.”

— The Game Master

— END —