A good deed never goes unpunished

"Gsflug" Grumbleshanks protested to the tickling on his nose. With eyes closed, he brushed his nose. Nothing. Must've been the wind. Ugh, this headache, only more of that gas would help this out. Naptime. He resigned to his splitting skull, and attempted to nap when his nose was brushed by a soft something. A deliberately tickling soft something. Zlkts. When the soft something tapped his nose thrice in rhythm, he grumbled and slowly opened one eye. The light was blindingly painful. His head erupted in fury like a disturbed bee hive. As his vision returned and the pain dissipated, he counted eight beady eyes. Strange number for a gnome. He counted eight long hairy legs. Squkdjgls? He counted two large fangs. Didn't notice those before. All the better... he opened his other eye. Arugh, divine retribution--rotting cleric. I survive the happy gas to be poisoned by the fangs of a creepy-crawlie. He let his eye focus and sat upright, much to his head's protests. Who're you, little tarantula? Haven't you any manners? Didn't your mother tell you about staring with all eight of those peepers? The arachnid pointed down past the Halfling's hairy feet. Grumbleshanks followed gaze and point into the room where the haze had settled. Cursing the gnome, he attempted to stand. Thunk. He grabbed the door for support and dragged his dazed body upright. Oh, that does smell nice, doesn't it. Hey, that's my fried squid tentacle, you bloody hinkypunks. Avast before I blow you're squishy brains out. He called out to the nymphs frolicking on the table. Eh oh. Air. Fast.

The source of the most light and, hence, pain, drew his attention: the window. The closed window. Grumbleshanks held his breath and stumbled across. Fumbling for the latch, he couldn't find one. He pushed, but it wouldn't open. His legs began to wobble. Shit. He steadied himself. Head spinning, he reached for his spear on the ground, but only found a carrot. Darkness encroached upon his vision once more. Dizzy with the gas and running out of light, he was about to succumb.

"It opens inward" the tarantula clicked, quickly followed by a "don't do it" and immediately after an "ouch" as the hobbit tossed his body headfirst into the window. It skittered across the floor, up to the window sill, and looked down with it's eight beady eyes. He saw the stoned halfling muttering. Poor thing, he thought, which was the last thing to pass through his mind except his spinnarets and silk. For suddenly, a mighty gust ripped through the window, swiping the heroic arachnid from the sill and onto the opposite wall with a dull thud, click, and squish.

The next thing Grumbleshanks remembered was something playing paddycake with his belly. He awoke to piercingly bright light and immediately covered his eyes and held his forehead. Slowly he opened his eyes to a squint, ready to close them at the first sign of pain. To his alarm, a cat was kneading his stomach, readying for a nap. The audacity of these things. Bugger off he said and waved of his hands in what he hoped was an intimidatory gesture. With a hiss, the cat skedaddled. Then with great care and an ent's appreciation for speed, he leaned against the wall. From inside he heard voices. Well, they found a body. What kind? he wondered. Gingerly, he rose to his feet and looked through the window. He saw the rest of the gang around a groggy and blinking gnome, but otherwise alive. Grumbleshanks let a sigh escape his lips. Anyone seen a tarantula creeping about? About yay big with long furry legs, beady eyes, and fangs like this? the halfling gestured as he drunkenly clambered through the window, leaving a trail of blood, flesh, and broken glass.