The Fall of Twist-Tail: Part 1: Ale, Axes & Acrobatics

By Grabgar’s hammer, I’ve seen cursed shields that screamed at ya, mimics that disguised themselves as entire rooms, and one bard who tried to seduce a gelatinous cube. But nothin’, NOTHIN’, coulda prepared me for Kitara bloody Whisperwind, the contortionist barbarian and her band o’ bendy-brained buffoons.

Now I’ve had fools stumble into the Rusty Pickaxe before. But this? This was a soggy paper scroll of a disaster, already soaked in ale and stupidity before they even left my front door.

Let me tell ya how it all started, the night they stumbled in.

The Night They Stumbled In

I’m wiping down the bar at the Rusty Pickaxe, mindin’ my own kegs, when the door slams open like it owes someone money. In walks a party that looks like they got kicked down every mountain path from here to the Ashfang Cliffs.

Leading the charge: Kitara Whisperwind, a Tabaxi barbarian whose idea of intimidation is apparently turning herself into a furry pretzel. The party calls her “Furry.” She hates it. They do it anyway.

She struts in like she owns the place, does a vault over a barstool to “look cool,” twists mid-air like a drunken acrobat, and lands face-first in a table, my table, knocking over two mugs of stout and a sailor I actually liked.

“Just expressing my agility,” she says, picking splinters outta her fur.

“Aye,” I mutter, “and express shipping yerself into a grave at this rate.”

Behind her comes Grok, the wizard, a noodle of a man polishing his cracked glasses with what I hope was a sock. He mumbles something about “arcane imbalances.”

Then there’s Jenkins, rogue, spoon thief, smirking like he invented sarcasm. He pockets one of the spoons from the broken table and winks at me. At me!

Last comes Thudd, the kind of barbarian whose intellect makes rocks feel superior. He stares at a candle, muttering “Shiny,” like it just told him a secret.

I know a cursed quest party when I see one. This one? Cursed, cooked, and corked shut.

The Quest Pitch Turns to Chaos

Enter stage left: Lord Fancypants. That ain’t his real name, but it’s what I call any noble with too many feathers in their hat and not enough brains in their skull.

He orders a round and starts flappin’ his gums about some lost artifact, the Goblet of Marginally Tastier Ale, hidden in the ruins of Redtape Ridge. Supposedly makes ale taste slightly less like donkey rinse. A worthy cause, sure. But not worth this crew.

Kitara gets excited. Swings her axe to punctuate her commitment. But her shoulder joint rotates like a cursed door hinge — spins the wrong way … and slaps herself in the face. The clang echoes like a funeral bell.

“Nice one, Furry!” Jenkins laughs, filching pocket lint off Fancypants like it’s treasure.

Grok tries to cast a “dramatic lighting” spell to help with the pitch, but instead sets a curtain on fire.

Thudd, ever the thinker, sees fire and punches the wall, shouting, “I HELP!” and cracks his own knuckles.

“BY MARGANN’S CRUSTY BEARD! OUT!” I shout, throwing a bucket of water on the curtain. “Get yer bendy circus act outta me tavern before I staple ya to the floor myself!”

They shuffle out, dripping, smoldering, and grinning like it went well.

📌 Why Do the Clumsiest Adventurers Always Think They’re Heroes?

👉 Don’t let your table turn into a pile of pratfalls. Learn from these lunatics and if you’re looking for better ways to build or roleplay your characters, start with this mess of a rogue or this noble-hearted paladin. Then head to the Tavern Tales archive to see more adventures that didn't end in flaming curtains.

The Road to Ruin

They hit the road and immediately regret it. Kitara insists on scouting ahead. Says her flexibility makes her “graceful.” Does a backflip over a rock, mid-air twists into something resembling a knot, and lands in a thorn bush.

Yowls like a banshee in a mousetrap.

Jenkins laughs so hard he trips, then pulls a twig out of her tail and says, “Souvenir.”

Grok’s trying to navigate with a spellbook, upside down, and mutters about “cartographic illusions.” Naturally, they wander into a swamp.

Thudd sees the swamp, yells “SHORTCUT!” and barrels in like a wagon with no wheels. Immediately sinks to his waist, flailing like a fish with stage fright.

They spend half the day trying to yank him out. I hear all this from a passing merchant who says he saw the whole mess from the road. Told me he hadn’t laughed that hard since the kobold opera came to town.

The Treehouse Debacle

Finally, they stumble into a treehouse village … supposed shortcut to the ruins. Kitara tries to climb a rope ladder with a "graceful leap." Her tail wraps around the rope, her legs spiral into a furry slinky, and she ends up dangling upside down, hissing.

“Help!” she yowls.

Jenkins cuts the rope to “help.” She drops straight into a pile of firewood, splinters everywhere.

Grok tries to levitate her back up, but rolls a bloody 1, miscasts, lifts his own robe instead. Revealing polka-dot undergarments. Not enchanted. Just unfortunate.

Thudd? He climbs the treehouse, looks around, and declares, “Tree mocks me.” Then leaps off, screaming “FREEDOM!” and faceplants on the forest floor.

They all stare.

Jenkins shrugs, pockets Thudd’s belt buckle, and says, “Waste not.”

📌 Faceplant First, Ask Questions Later

👉 If yer party’s idea of problem-solving involves jumping out of trees and accidentally disrobing, ya might need a better plan. Get some tips that don’t involve falling outta trees on the Player Tips page, or grab a map that doesn’t require wizard socks at The Toolshed.

The Grief-Free Mourning

Now, I’ve seen parties mourn fallen allies with tears, poems, even ritual sacrifices. This lot? Kitara shrugs. “Too stiff anyway,” she mutters, cracking her spine like she’s loosening a wine cork.

Grok starts a eulogy. Gets distracted by a beetle. Begins analyzing its “arcane glow potential.”

Jenkins loots Thudd’s boots, mismatched, cheese-smelling atrocities, and chucks one at a squirrel.

They leave his body behind.

“He fed the local wildlife,” they reason.

I hear about all this from a bard who stopped by later. Said it was like watching a failed comedy act, one that accidentally killed its lead performer mid-skit and just kept going.

📌 Come Back for Part 2

👉 This furry tragedy ain’t over. They haven’t even reached the cursed goblet yet. So grab a pint, polish yer spoon, and read on in Part 2 when it drops. And if you want to learn how to not be a bendy disaster, brush up at the About page or drop yer own story in the Contact Hall.