Today’s D&D session went badly when our Warforged (a big golemy type unique to Eberron) missed the rope to cross to another ship and fell about 200 feet into a particularly nasty and surreal area known as the Mournlands.
We had to set down to rescue him, and found ourselves fighting zombie chickens and walking through talking corn that was rhapsodizing about the glory of dying in battle. It was deeply surreal. We found our badly broken comrade and dragged him home, where hopefully he can be patched up.
To make matters worse, that talking shapechanger-hating sword my paladin is carrying around got riled up again, and made a try to take over his mind. Possibly I am the only paladin to ever put off “We must KILL THEM ALL! Give me your mind!” with “Yes, well, maybe when I’m not so busy, okay?” but whatever works…
Our GM is cool.