Surely not a level 10 (note - we are level 3) hall of the dead?
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but in our case, it simply led us to a Cliffside fortress that screamed, "Enter if you want to regret every life choice you've ever made." Naturally, being level 3 adventurers with a death wish, we ventured inside. What could possibly be lurking in a place like this? Surely not a level 10 Hall of the Dead. That would be absurdly unfair, right?
Well, turns out the game's developers have a rather twisted sense of humor. Within moments, we were face to face with an undead army that made the Grim Reaper himself look like a friendly tour guide. And so began the dance of death—wiping, resurrecting, and wiping again as we tried in vain to retrieve our gear. Craig, bless his soul, managed to get his body 200 meters into the temple, which is now effectively his tomb. The undead, clearly insulted by our presence, chased us for a good 500 meters outside, making sure we knew just how outmatched we were.
Eventually, we gave up. Craig's body? Well, it's now an honorary member of the undead legion. We weren't about to test our luck any further—one hit from those monsters and it's lights out.
Ah, the lightning ball trap - easy, just judge your run - or not.
Spiders - why did it have to be spiders
After barely surviving the Temple of Doom and leaving behind a body that now belongs to the undead, we finally settled around the campfire. The warmth of the flames, the sizzle of raw meat cooking, and the soft crackle of burning wood offered a much-needed respite from the horrors we had just faced. Zaph, Dave, Craig, and Myles—four veterans of online adventures—sat together, healing up, resting, and inevitably, exchanging stories.
As we sat there, comfortably full from our makeshift meal, the conversation naturally drifted to one of our favorite topics: reprimanding Craig. This time, it was about his incessant digging near Spiderhouse, our base. Craig, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to dig random holes around our workbench and storage crate. As if navigating the undead in the Temple of Doom wasn’t challenging enough, we had to worry about falling into pits right next to our own home. Dave, who had fallen into these traps at least three times, was particularly vocal about his displeasure. "Seriously, Craig, I’m starting to think those holes are there on purpose to sabotage us," Dave grumbled, half-jokingly, half-seriously.
And then, as often happens, the stories turned to the past—specifically, the infamous Neverwinter Nights incident. It’s been over 24 years since the four of us started playing together, yet we still can’t let Craig live down that one time. We were in desperate need of supplies, the town seemed peaceful, and then Craig, in a moment of inexplicable madness, decided to pick-pocket a Gold Dragon. Not just any dragon—a benign, peaceful one that was the linchpin of the town’s security. The entire town went hostile faster than you can say "bad idea," and we had to flee with nothing but the clothes on our backs. "No food, no supplies, and no hope," Myles chuckled. "Craig’s finest hour."
As the fire crackled and the night grew darker, we were reminded that, despite the mistakes, the frustrations, and the years that have passed, these moments—both the triumphs and the disasters—are what have kept us together for so long.
