A Letter To Mother - Why Don't I Have A Cult Dedicated To Me Yet?

My dearest mother,
 
That's right, it's not a mirage, you're actually getting another letter from me and it didn't take me another 3 years! Aren't you proud of my consistency?
 
You might have heard rumors that I've returned to Port Manai, sneaking through the streets after showing up at the docks, buying supplies, meeting with an adventurer's guild and heading back out of town. Not true at all. It's probably one of those "costume players" pretending to be me at one of the many conventions I'm sure Port Manai now runs to honor my heroism and growing legend. I'm in some far off land, seeing and doing things you wouldn't believe even if I told you (And I'll tell you them anyways, because I'll need these letters some day to write my best selling autobiography.)
 
In any event, I recently got word of a particularly suspicious ziggurat that needed investigating, so I enlisted the help of a bugbear by the name of Batonk. Batonk was a good lad. Dumb as a sack of rocks, but boy was he a prime choice to be my canary in the coal mine. We made our way to this enormous temple, figured out some puzzle up top with rotating and moving statues (There's ALWAYS a puzzle with these things. The lengths some people go to avoid solicitors.) and made our way inside once an entry popped open. Well, *I* did, but Batonk didn't. Poor fella got a crossbow bolt to the face from a trap he just walked right into. RIP Batonk, I knew you we-... actually, I didn't really know you at all. You won't even be in the ballad that they write about my glorious return. A great shame. I'll remember you fondly until I've finished writing this letter and then you'll cease to exist for me.
 
So, coming to a couple ladders... I had options. I chose the one in the middle on a whim... aaaaaaaand sleeping gas knocked me out. I mean, only because I *let* it knock me out. I saw the trap before I climbed, and figured it would have been rude to insult the creator of the trap to simply power through the flimsy poison concoction and half assed trap. I'm a truly giving man.
 
When I came to, I found myself locked in a cage. Great. Not the first time I've been held captive, and knowing how valuable I am, it won't be the last. I spent about a week being fed and given water by some cultist gentleman in blue robes with a weird shiny mask. I only assume he was a cultist because no sane man would wear such a stupid outfit.
 
There were two cages next to mine. I had no immediate next door neighbor, but two doors down was the skeleton of a long since expired elf. I named him Bonesy. We shared quite the friendship actually, as well as stories to pass the time. Well... *I* shared stories. Bonesy just listened. He's almost as giving as me! I was telling him stories and *he* was giving me nothing. That's fine, Bonesy. I forgive you. I may ask for you to be included in that return ballad in a footnote.
 
After a few days, the cultist wackjob stopped coming and so did my meals and water. Thankfully I've got excellent control over my physiology and metabolism and I simply tanked the starvation and dehydration. My body is a temple and unlike the one I was held captive in, it was actually worthy of worship.
 
It was a day, or two, or three or I don't know how many because I was indoors, that I heard a loud thud from around the corner and down the hall. I assumed that perhaps a daring rescue had been mounted by diehard fans of mine who had heard of my return and were desperate for autographs. I was actually close to breaking out of this cage myself. To make it a challenge, I had purposefully broken my own lockpick in the keyhole of my cage. I love a good escape... but I decided I'd share some glory and let my rescuers have their moment in the sun, believing they had saved me when in reality I was simply enjoying my free room and board as well as my longtime companion and sworn blood brother Bonesy. Not that he could bleed to swear our oath of brotherhood, mind you. But I'm sure he would if he could. Ah Bonesy, truly the best of us all.
 
Eventually, I came face to face with my rescuers. The world's tallest dwarf, named Thorek, and a tiefling fellow by the name of Zardic. They were so overjoyed to meet their idol and definitely didn't give me blank stares when I introduced myself. They rushed to help me out of my cage and didn't insult my capabilities as a legend-in-the-making at all. In fact, they were quite complimentary and made me team leader immediately. It's alright lads, you're safe now that I'm here and running the show. I gave a firm farewell nod to the greatest friend I'd ever had, Bonesy, and left him behind me forever. (Well, until we walked past him again later, but I simply looked the other way and pretended not to notice him. It would have been one of those awkward interactions with an old friend where you make small talk and you say "Oh hey, this was great, we should definitely catch up sometime." and then you never actually do because you were just being nice.)
 
We ended up quickly finding the cultist git that had left me high and dry and stopped feeding me. I delivered a firm, hard kick to him in revenge, which disturbed a pack of bloodsuckers hanging above us on the ceiling. I distinctly saw one wake up and look me in the eye. He panicked and quickly closed them, pretending to be asleep again. He had clearly heard of my reputation and knew better than to tangle with the Handsome Devil. Meanwhile, Thorek was only thinking of himself as he pocketed some blue jewels that the cultist jerk was coveting. Glad to see you've got your priorities in order, Thorek.
 
Onwards, we moved onto a room with a blacksmith's forge. While I saw nothing of particular value, once again, Thorek decided to help himself and pocketed some weapons. I'm already sensing a pattern here. He might make for a good pack mule at least. Meanwhile, the room also featured a big fancy mural covered in more cult guys with weird looking masks. Zardic saw the painting and went off to talk with some guy in his head about it for a few minutes. Think he's got an imaginary friend or something. Nice kid. Bit weird. Should probably be on medication.
 
Meanwhile, Thorek is perhaps the greediest dwarf I've ever met. He was pocketing anything of value he found. Hells, I'm 90% sure he started pocketing rocks at some point, just in case they were worth something. I also asked him politely for a sip of water from his practically overflowing waterskin and was rudely denied.
 
We moved on to another corridor, and wouldn't you know that karma bit Thorek in his loot goblin ass. If it weren't for the fact that he was so weighed down, he could have perhaps avoided the pressure plate trap which caused rotating saws of death to give him an impromptu vasectomy. That'll learn ya, dwarf. Next time share the water and I might warn you of the plate ahead of time.
 
I decided not to disarm the trap, feeling that I should respect the challenge presented to me. I dived over the blades, performing a quadruple axial corkscrew vault entwined with a reverse aerial half-twist somersault, landing perfectly on my feet. I did not in fact land on my fucking face and if either of those two claim I did, they're dirty filthy liars.
 
Up next, we came to a crossroads of two rooms. I decided to take charge and walked into perhaps the grossest room I'd seen in some time. The walls and floor were covered in a gross, viscous green slime... and some poor dead sod was lying in the middle. We didn't need to use this poorly planned bathroom, so we simply shut the door and entered the other room. We found a group of pixies by the names of Wenly, Weenly and Wally, who explained a little bit about the ziggurat and that the deeper one goes, the worse it gets. I never shy away from danger, but I also don't like to leave a floor unexplored... so instead of taking the stairs down behind them down, I handsomely suggested exploring the rest of the floor first. Those pixies were also EXCEPTIONALLY racist. They're lucky I didn't have a bug swatter on me, or I'd have turned them into more goo for the goo room.
 
We doubled back and soon found ourselves in another room with a hobgoblin, who'd seemingly been stung to death. Poor sod. Behind him was a door that quite probably lead to the realm of honey as it oozed from the doorframe like the goo from the goo room. Thorek, of course having not learned his lesson after being almost sawed in twain, immediately started funneling that honey into a bottle. Said it helped "ease the pain from the sawblades". Whatever you need to justify your rampant and untreated kleptomania, my friend.
 
We entered the next room and surprise, surprise... we found ourselves staring at a large beehive, inside of a giant cage that was also filled with treasure. And wouldn't you know that Thorek was immediately making plans to try and steal said treasure despite already seeing a sting-ridden corpse in the last room? DO THESE LESSONS IN PAIN MEAN NOTHING TO YOU, DWARF? HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON OLD MAN?
 
We finally managed to pull him away from his impending trip to ouch-town, and that's when we found ourselves face to face with a group of cultists. I took the lead once again as spokesperson and leader and immediately spoke my mind. Instead of asking trivial questions like what the purpose of this ziggurat was, or who they were, or what old and spooky dead god they were worshipping... I asked the most important question of all. How the HELL did they get that beehive into the cage? I mean, we could see that hobgoblin was turned into a pincushion at the hand of those stingers. Did they simply build the cage AROUND the beehive? Did they create a network of pipes to funnel in the bees one by one? Was the god they worshipped in fact a bee god, here to turn Ashai into it's master hive? If I didn't get the answer to this crucial and important question, it would bug me forever. Heh. Bug.
 
The old guy in the back rudely ignored my question and started to blab on that there were Mages of Margery and Warriors of Madrua and some Grom of Zargon blah blah blah. Typical cult hogwash. That's the thing about cults. Everyone thinks *they're* the cult who are all powerful and all knowing... but if that were true, why do they keep dying so easily when I stab them with the pointy end of my rapier? WHERE'S YOUR SQUID GOD NOW?
 
In any event, I'll leave you on a cliffhanger and send you another letter next time, where we'll find out just how many more heroic deeds I can muster, how many more people Zardic has in his head and how much more Thorek can shove into his pack before it's bigger than he is. Lucky he found a bag of holding, because Kord help his poor fucking knees otherwise.
 
Until I see you again, know that I am safe, healthy, and love you and father always.
 
All my love,
 
Cy
The Handsome Devil Of Port Manai
 
P.S. They asked us to join their cult and wear masks. I should have slain them where they stood as hiding THIS handsome face is most certainly a crime worthy of an immediate execution. Lucky for them I was severely dehydrated and beginning to see shapes and colors beyond mortal comprehension.