Ucdauh's Club of Suffering
| Type | Weapon |
|---|---|
| Discovered By | Danost Indirik |
| Discovery Date | 28 March 2007 |
| Discovery Location | Wilwau, Beluaterra |
| Abilities | Prestige +1 |
| Current Owner | (unknown) |
The Creation of the Club
Danost Indirik entered the little hut in the dell with some misgivings. It was small and dark. And it smelled like chicken excrement. With all the chickens running around, that was to be expected. But it didn't make the stench less vile.
Danost entered the little hut, and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dark. A smoke lingering in the air made his eyes water. He rubbed them on his sleeve, trying to clear them. As he did so, a voice came out of the darkness. "Well, what 'ave we here? Another adventurer, eh? Yer a bothersome lot, aren't ye? So, what do you want, yer precious Girdle of Unimaginable Might need a seam fixed? The Shield of Granite Walls need shined, maybe?"
As the scratchy voice stopped, Danost managed to finally clear his eyes enough to see.
What he saw was a chicken. More accurately, a beheaded chicken body, still oozing blood from the neck. Behind the beheaded chicken was a withered, dried old face, surrounded by tangled white hair. The left eye was glazed over and white. The right eye was alive and bright, whether with cunning or madness Danost was not sure. The old man to whom the face belonged was standing in front of Danost with a rusty cleaver in one hand, waving the beheaded chicken in the air with the other.
Danost pushed the bleeding chicken corpse away. "I am not here to barter for repairs."
The old man looked puzzled. "So, what you want then? Do you want some food?" The old man held up the beheaded chicken and started waving it again. "You can have this one here for two copper. Freshly killed, see? I'll even cook it for you, here in this big pot, maybe with some some 'taters?" The old man gestured toward the fireplace, over which hung a battered iron pot. Some noxious brew was boiling in the pot, from which issued the irritating smoke. Danost's stomach roiled at the thought of eating anything that came out of *that* pot!
"No, I am not here for your food, either. I am looking for help in the construction of an item of great power. It is described here in this old tome. I found it in the tomb of a dead priest a few days past. The priest didn't want to give it up. I had to convince him with a few sword blows to what remained of his fleshless skull."
Danost reached into his pack and pulled out a small book, bound in crackling black leather. The old man's eye lit up with interest. He absent-mindedly tossed the beheaded chicken, feathers and all, into the bubbling pot. Danost's stomach roiled again, and he quickly looked away from it.
The old man leafed through the book quickly, his one eye rapidly scanning the ancient script. "Hmm... yes, yes... that makes sense... I see. A ha!" The old man looked up and stared fiercely at Danost. "Do you have a ceremonial dagger? And a ring? Not just any ring, mind you. It must be a rusty signet ring!"
"Hang on." Danost removed his pack and rummaged around for a few minutes. He emerged with the requested items and handed them to the eager old man. The old man cackled with glee. "At last, I have what I need! Now, bring me a log. A big one, from the pile outside the door. A sturdy ash log, with no knots or splits."
Danost did as he was bid, and returned with a long, heavy ash log about 3 feet long, thick around as his thigh. The old man had been busy in his absence: The bubling pot was gone, and the fire raged with queer, greenish tinged flames. The table in the middle of the hut was cluttered with bottles and tools. The old man told Danost to put the log on the table, then pushed him out the door. "Stay out! Do *not* come back in, or you will risk the loss of your sanity. Assuming you have any, that is."
Danost walked over to the wood pile, pulled out a thick stump, stood it upright, and sat down to wait. Over the course of the next two hours various cackles, thumps, and muffled explosions radiated from the hut. He heard some coughing a few times, and even a shout of surprise. Eventually a shriek of triumph resounded. The door flew open, and the old man emerged, coughing, followed by a billowing coud of noxious smoke.
There was a crazed look of exultation in his eye, and he held aloft a long, thick club. It was made of a dark, polished wood, banded in iron that had a curious golden sheen to it. Wrapped around the middle, just above the leather-wrapped grip, was a golden band, in which was embedded a polished silver signet. How the old man had gotten that old ring to stretch and fit around the club, Danost had no idea.
The old man handed the club to Danost. "Here. I call this Ucdauh's Club of Suffering. Now, off with you! That last spell started a fire in the larder, and I have to put it out before it ruins my dinner!" The old man hurried back into the still-smoking hut.
Danost turned and slowly walked away from the hut, marveling at the wondrous club. This could be just what he needed to finally make the Indirik family acknowledge him at last...
