Phil Stone

Lydian Phil Stone

WARNING AND FULL DISCLOSURE FROM THE PUBLISHER: THIS IS AN EVIL CAMPAIGN SETTING OF AN ADULT NATURE! You awake to find yourself stripped of all clothing and bound tightly to a wooden X suspended from four points from the ceiling by chains. You want to scream for your comrades, but there is a wooden bridal bit strapped into your mouth, the tight leather wrapped around your head. This place is damp, humid, the shadowy stonework drips with moisture. The lighting is poor at best; you cannot make out how large this room actually is. What is even harder to make out in your mind, however, is how you ended up here in the first place. Your last recollection is that of a bar wench serving you and your party after you had just saved their town from almost certain doom. The Goblins had invaded their sewer systems, that you know for sure. Your party had cleared them out, it was not easy because of their sheer numbers. And then the celebrating started. That's where it gets a bit fuzzy. That bar wench hadn't charged you or your compatriots a copper piece the whole night. After your third tankard, it all goes black. And now you are here. The figure in the corner is an Orc for sure, that was the first smell that came through your conscious nostrils. He appears to be almost naked save for a tattered loincloth. His back is to you and you can't figure out exactly what he is up to leaning on his battered worktable. It sounds like a whetstone on steel. He must have noticed your change in breathing from sleeping to panic stricken, as he turns toward you, his grotesque body is noticeably aroused. You cannot move, try as you might, against the bindings. You have no idea where the rest of your party is and your attempts to scream at the top of your lungs comes out only as sputters and grunts. The Orc can sense your fear, his shattered, toothy grin says it all as he leans over with the newly sharpened dagger, and begins to ceremoniously shave your entire body.