The Fall of Twist-Tail – Part 2: Bureaucracy & Bruises

By Harnak’s shattered pickaxe, I should’ve barred this party from the Rusty Pickaxe the moment Kitara turned herself into a furry windchime. But nooo … I let 'em go, figured the ruins would chew ‘em up. What I didn’t count on was how many traps, spells, and forms they’d survive just to come back and spill more ale on my floors.

This is the part of the tale where things could’ve gone heroic. Could’ve. Instead, we get paperwork, pratfalls, and the unholy union of bendy limbs and bureaucratic doom.

The Ruins of Redtape Ridge

They finally reach the ruins, ancient stone, crumbling gates, and a sign that reads “Visitors Must File Form R-113 Before Dying Horribly.” Y’know, the usual.

Kitara, still sore from her firewood crash landing, charges a skeletal guard like she’s got something to prove. She swings wide, too wide, and her over-flexible spine corkscrews her into a wall. Her axe lands in the stone. She lands in the splits. Again.

Jenkins, helpful as always, whistles and mutters, “Nice form, Furry.”

The skeleton drops its clipboard and flees.

Grok, trying to be useful, casts “Detect Traps.” He sneezes mid-cast, and the spell fizzles into a cloud of glowing green mist. Now everyone’s hair glows like enchanted kelp.

I’m hearing all this from a trapper who passed ‘em on the trail. Said they looked like cursed carnival performers. He wasn't wrong.

The Trap of Endless Forms

They stumble into a chamber with desks. Lots of 'em. On one desk: a magical quill and a glowing sign that reads: “TO PROCEED, COMPLETE ALL 47 FORMS.”

Kitara tries to sign the first one. Bends so far forward she flips headfirst into a wastebasket. Legs flail like a broken windmill. Jenkins laughs so hard he drops his own form, then forges it with “Jenkins Rules” in massive letters. The wall groans and sprays him with ink.

Grok, proudly declaring he’s “fluent in bureaucratic enchantments,” writes with invisible ink. Paper looks blank. The quill explodes in frustration.

They’re stuck there for hours.

Arguing.

Scribbling.

Kitara’s still in the basket, yowling something about “respecting my real name,” while Jenkins calls her “Bendykins” and uses a form to make a paper hat.

Filing Forms Shouldn’t Be a Dungeon Crawl

👉 If yer group spends more time arguing over handwriting than solving the puzzle, maybe it’s time for a different kind of trap. Learn how to build better challenges in The Toolshed or laugh through someone else's red-tape disaster in this tall tale.

The Slippery Slope Trap

Next room? A long, greased hallway with a treasure chest at the end. Classic trap. There’s even a sign that says, “Definitely Not A Trap.”

Kitara, stretching like a show-off bard before a duet, says, “This one’s mine.” She sprints forward, slips, and folds into a full-body accordion. Slides down the hallway in a blur of limbs and hissing. Slams into the wall.

Jenkins calls out, “GO, TWIST-TAIL!” and tries to tiptoe across. Slips. Lands on Kitara with a thud and a squeal.

Grok, having apparently learned nothing, casts “Grease” to “counter the grease.” Now the hallway’s a skating rink. They all slip. Slide. Crash. Bounce. End up in a glowing green heap of wizard limbs, rogue curses, and one very angry tabaxi barbarian swearing about her knees.

The chest? Still unopened. Still laughing.

The Hall of Spiky Chandeliers

I’m told this next bit by a bard who made it out (barely). A vast chamber with low-hanging chandeliers. Spiked ones. Because of course.

Kitara goes first. Cartwheels in. Her body folds, flips, bends, and then folds some more. She ends up tangled in a chandelier, upside down, tail wrapped around her own ankle.

“AcrobatFail,” Jenkins says, and pulls out a dagger to “help.”

He cuts the wrong rope. A different chandelier crashes to the floor, missing Grok by inches. Grok panics and casts “Floating Disk”, which flies up and hits Jenkins in the face like a glowing pie plate.

Meanwhile, Kitara’s chandelier is swinging like a wrecking ball, carrying her back and forth, legs flailing. She hisses, “It’s KITARA!” and gets smacked into a wall.

The bard left after that. Said it was like watching interpretive dance performed by idiots.

By Brunlin’s Missing Eyebrow! This Ain’t Strategy

👉 If yer rogue’s cutting down chandeliers and yer wizard’s casting spells like he’s throwin’ soup at a wall, maybe yer party needs a strategy upgrade. Check out this sorcerer who actually knows what she’s doing or learn how not to split yer party in this etiquette rant.

The Puzzle Door of Doom

At last, a glimmer of progress. They reach a stone door with puzzle tiles meant to form a picture of the Goblet. Kitara, confident, stretches out like a gymnast warming up for the circus.

She places one tile. The door creaks open an inch. The party cheers.

Then she bends backward to place another, and folds herself in half. Her elbow hits a corner. All the tiles fall.

Door slams shut.

Jenkins cackles. “Furry just yeeted the puzzle! #Catastrophe.”

Grok tries to “arcane lockpick” it. Sets off a loud magical alarm that yells, “INVALID ENTRY!” in a tone more disappointed than dangerous.

Kitara, still folded like a hairpin, mutters, “It’s KITARA,” through clenched teeth.

Part 3’s Gonna Hurt

👉 The worst is still ahead — cursed skeletons, sliding halls, and yes, another Kitara split gone sideways. If ya liked the disasters so far, swing by Mike’s contact hall and tell me which idiocy made ya groan hardest. Or if you’ve got yer own Furry-Fail party? Pull up a chair. I’m listenin’.