Sir Dutiocs cried out as he saw ten goblins charging towards him. They stared at him, fangs bared, and began to approach, their clubs strapped to their side. Rather than using their crude instruments, they instead swung at him with their claws, their nails as sharp as short swords.
However, the poor critters were no match for Sir Dutiocs' mighty blade. With a single stroke, he Swept the tiny pests and left their battered bodies crumpled at the side of the dungeon.
The party has won the battle. Again.
"Great, now we must make haste to the temple!" shouted his companion Dazmilar. He was hauling the petrified body of their third companion, the paladin Yemandra, on his back. "If we had not had a run-in with that beholder in the cellars of the keep, this would not have ever happened!"
"Fortunately, we are now at the end of this wretched place," said Sir Dutiocs. The two companions stood at the end of the dungeon, a single fortified steel door mounted against a wall. The swordsman proceeded to touch the door's handle.
Does the party leave? Yes they did.
"Welcome to our temple!" shouted a middle-aged priest in green robes, his brown beard becoming slightly gray with age. "How may we aid you?"
"Our companion here is petrified," said Sir Dutiocs, gesturing to the exasperated Dazmilar who was still carrying the 200-pounds-of-granite-Yemandra on his back. "Fortunately, I relieved her of her Plate Mail +3 shortly after she had turned to stone," he grinned, pointing at his own armor.
"And I wanted to try out disabling traps in full plate!" muttered Dazmilar.
"Fool!" shouted back Sir Dutiocs. "You know that few locales ever have traps, climbable walls, unusual languages, or pockets to be picked nowadays!"
"Says you!" growled Dazmilar. "By the way, I just jacked your two-handed sword that you stole from Yemandra just right now."
"Insolent fool!" bellowed Sir Dutiocs. He smashed his long sword against the thief's head, knocking him out cold.
"Ahem...how may we aid you?" repeated the priest.
"Oh, yes..." said Sir Dutiocs. "Well, I needed a Stone to Flesh spell for my paladin friend here...and I guess a Cure Critical Wounds spell for that stupid thief."
"I resent that comment!" growled Dazmilar.
"You are supposed to be unconscious!" shouted Sir Dutiocs. "Why can you still talk?!"
"I don't know, something compelled me to," said Dazmilar.
"Cure Critical Wounds will ONLY cost you 120 platinum pieces," said the priest. "Will you Pay For Cure?"
"What a ripoff!" growled Dutiocs. "I'll just sleep for two months and we'll be fully healed by then." He then pointed to the statue of Yemandra. "What about her?"
"I'm a cleric, I don't know how to cast Stone to Flesh," shrugged the priest.
"What?!" shouted Sir Dutiocs. "Well, can you at least cast Resurrection or Restoration?"
"Sure," said the priest. "Resurrection will ONLY cost you 1500 platinum pieces. And Restoration will..."
"Then you should surely know Stone to Flesh! All REAL temples do!" stammered Sir Dutiocs.
"Oh fine fine, I know a cleric who dualed to magic-user at level 5 in the back...what a useless combination, couldn't even cast spells while wearing elfin chain, not like his Half-Elf multiclass friend," muttered the priest. "I'll go fetch him right now."
As the priest left, Sir Dutiocs pounded his fist against his hand and said, "If only I could give that priest a good whack...too bad my noble instinct prevents me from doing so."
"It sure didn't prevent you from doing the same to me," mumbled Dazmilar.
"Silence, thief!" barked Sir Dutiocs.
After the priest was finished, the companions rested for a good 50 days before resuming their journey to save the neighbouring town under attack by a lich and his five red dragons.