The area was surprisingly devoid of traps, which surprised them after the previous rooms in the dungeon. There was a whispered conversation at the door as they tried to deduce what horror could be behind it.

Korgath, grunted his suggestion in a high voiced growl that sounded strange coming from his half-orc body. “We should rush in, and kill everything.” There was a chuckle from across the table, and he added quickly, “with all due caution, of course. And I haven’t done it yet.”

Denethialiala, the mage, made an impatient gesture as though she were about to hit the barbarian over the head. “What we really need to do is rest. I mean, I have maybe one or two spells left, but I think Venta’s all healed out.”

“Nearly,” the cleric confirmed, her voice almost masculine in its depth. “But I don’t think there’s a safe spot unless we retreat to the previous floor.” There was another chuckle from the table, but Venta just glared. “And I’m not sure even that would guarantee safety, all things considered.”

“Well,” came the deep voice of the Rengar, the halfling rogue, “if the rest of you would just hold still, I could try unlocking the door and scouting the room.” The laughter on the other side of the table had turned to a maniacal giggling. “Or maybe . . .”

“Too late,” came the voice of doom (still giggling). “The adventurers are surprised with the door opens on its own. An irresistible force overpowers the adventurers, and they find themselves walking forward. Everyone make a will check.”

There was the rattle of dice. Before they could shout out their rolls, a hand slammed down on the table. “You all fail.”

There was some random protests from the adventurers, but the dungeon master continued.

“You are in a long room, twenty feet wide by fifty feet long. It is well lit. At the far end of the room, there is a white robed figure, holding something in its hand. You cannot see it very well, because it is shining. You feel compelled forward, until you are within five feet of the glowing figure.”

The adventurers took deep breaths. Korgath confirmed that his axe was still in his hands, but Rengar’s daggers were sheathed because he had been about to pick a lock. Venta’s mace was in hand, and Denethialiala was still under the protection of mage armor, although she was wracking her elven brain for a reasonable way to use summon magic creature (the only spell she had left) when they were obviously bespelled.

“The figure speaks, apparently speaking to the thing in its hand.”

The dungeon master’s voice changed to a cackle. “We sees them, don’ts we, my pets. Nasty heroes after our treasureseses.” Venta rolled her eyes, but none of the adventurers spoke. “Only one last tricks we haves, do we, my pets. They must pass our tests.”

Grinning, the dungeon master brought out a box from under the table. “To pass the last test and escape the cave with the treasure, you must attack the venerable place. Its pets.”

He lifted the lid, and the adventurers leaned over to see what was in the box. It was a writhing mass of millipedes, looking like skinned worms with too many legs.

Korgath sat back abruptly, unable to maintain character, her face pale and her hand over her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

"Legs"