Tunnel Full of Purple Worm
I knew we never should have trusted that woman.
What was she doing this far in the dungeon? Why was she only wearing a chain-mail bikini? Why did we think it was any kind of good idea that we should talk to her? But that is what charm does; it is not so much that a charmed person will do anything, but a charmed person will do what they want to do much easier when charmed. Most of us already felt some kind of attraction to the women, after all, we are adventurers, but none of us, with the exception of maybe the half-orc, would ever think of making suggestive comments to her. What is this: 500 CE?
But there we were–all of us, even the paladin–saying things that would make a Lake Quag stevedore blush. Even the women were getting into it: the cleric was saying something about wanting to show her the real Lady Westra and Treilor had conjured up some sensual lighting. I saw the dwarf grab his crotch, and that must have been the final push. Next thing I know, we are standing in front of some giant, cherry-colored drapes. I couldn’t tell at the time if we had been teleported somewhere or if what we were looking at was an incredibly complex illusion. The party made a quick decision, pushed aside the cherry drapes, and headed inside.
Once all the members got inside of the tunnel, the earth began to shake and shudder; I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I did know that dirt was falling off the walls, and things were quivering. We all started running down the tunnel, hoping that the walls would hold. I rounded a corner and there in front of me was the cause of all the earthen contractions: a purple worm. It must have been 40 feet long and completely filled the tunnel. I skidded to a stop and drew my sword. This had all the makings of a disaster.
Immediately after I drew my sword, there was another strong spasm, strong enough to knock me to my knees. There was a loud roar as the tunnel collapsed behind us; we were trapped. I saw the halfling wiggle his way out from under the rubble, and a quick scan indicated that the rest of the party had survived, but survived for what? To be digested by a purple worm.
There are many inglorious ways to die: getting poisoned by a centipede, falling off a horse, being backstabbed by a kobold are a few that come to mind. No bard is going to sing a battle saga about the ranger who slipped on some loose rock. No minstrel is going to regale a bawdy house with the tale of the thief who broke his leg climbing a wall, got a blood infection, and died. To add to this list of ignoble deaths, I submit being eating whole by a giant worm.
At least I wasn’t alone in getting devoured by this giant worm. On my way down the annelid’s throat, I noticed the druid and the cleric. The druid seemed to be non-plussed by the events; he still had on the same benevolent smile that he always wore. The cleric, on the other hand, was panting and screaming. I lashed out with my blade, cutting deeply into the worm’s flesh. But a monster that is forty feet long is not going to die by one sword cut. I could feel the biting sensation of the worm’s stomach acid as I got closer to the beast’s stomach. This was not going to end well.
And it didn’t. I probably lasted about six rounds in the stomach of that worm before I died, my flesh disintegrating in the corrosive acid. That is how I ended up here, my soul trapped in one of the Nine Hells. The woman who we shouldn’t have trusted shouldn’t have been trusted. Turned out it was an erinyes on a special mission for one of the dukes of Hell.
This information is of no help to me now.
The party defeated, the adventure ends.