It was a dark and stinky night.

We marched over narrow walkways toward the Citadel of Pain. The air reeked like smithing acid and rotten pickled eggs. Made my throat sore just breathing it. The whole dimension was hardcore feng shui with wrought iron bars, spikes, chains, and torture gadgets galore.

Did I mention that we were all red and slickery from the constant fine mist of BLOOD? Wonderful. Like most of us weren't already popping marrcillin after our recent Lxanvom trip. Mind you, a few from temscouts were on it for other reasons. Pork swords get gunky without a sheath. And that's One to Grow On.

Inside, Torment's garrison tried to play goalie between us and their spankmistress. Most of those barking poodle mutants didn't have much fight in them.

You want strange, though? Check out Maareq the Prophet (pics below). He's like a powdered human donut with facehugger jelly filling.

Slowly, steadily, we hacked and shuffled forward through the jagged Citadel. It was a wire monkey mama of a place. I kept wishing I had a pair of gnomemade Solu-socks® and a basket of gravy fries. Comfort is a foreign concept in Saryrn's plane -- like toilet paper in Grobb.

   In the fifth and highest floor of the tower, we spotted her.

A demi-god of Torment. The Mistress of Pain. She turned for a moment, giving us a full body profile. Everyone noticed IT at once. We were all thinking the same thing. It was Moonglum who spoke out loud.

"Heh. That is one bouyant booty."

I guess a little too loud. Spiked-toe boots clackered toward us. AGGRO! Sweet mother of meatpies. Was this surprise engage month?

Her beloved pet crow, Sorrowsong, burst onto the scene in a heartwrenching bid to save its master.

Somehow he got lit on fire! We tried our best to smother its flames with the axes and spears that were available. Awkward.

Bleeding magical energy, her necrochicken dead at her feet, a woozy Saryrn struggled to stay upright. She cackled and sneered insults until the very end. They made no sense, though.

"Your victory came centuries too late to have ever happened."

Uh, okay, Patootie Kong. She was batcrap insane, right?

Oooh look. Shinies.

Grats Moonglum on the earring, Thoran on the staff, Linkamus on the whip, Nydi and Moonglum on a belt each. 'Bout time they got something to hold their pants up. Pervs.

I know, I know. 'Nice' loot, Zetro. Our readers like their dessert sweeter and in bigger scoops. We get it! Now scroll down for your sugar coma.

Still on our theme, Tem went shopping at Thal-Mart this week for the other kind of booty. Aten Ha Ra treats us right. Unlike some other bosses. Nothing more embarassing than following a tough kill with an /rsay like, "Send tells for a_half_off_sandwich_coupon. Anyone? Apps or guests? Please link current lunch plans."

Sugary enough? Oh my. Nurse, we need insulin over here, STAT. Or kaopectate. Whatever. Good thing I didn't mention that we also stopped at Ssra that night, picking up Linkamus and Kudadil a pair of Cloak of Dark Shadows . It would be just plain medically irresponsible for me to mention the Vyzhdra that Linkamus found in his cloak pocket.

Oops, flatline. So much for that Hippopotamus Oath thingy I swore to uphold.

(Continued)