Turns out that I don't need to do any serious work today because I had a like 90% done turn already written somewhere, stashed (misfiled?) away in some porn folder. The text file was dated the January of this year.
Please don't sweat these details. Just enjoy the turn.
Before the next turn comes out, I have to overhaul the system I used for this RtD, and get the character sheets updated. Jesus. When did I think that that many tables were a good idea?
Actions.
It's very much possible that there's stuff happening up there with the womanizing hammerknight Desmond but really I'm far too tired to talk about that and if we're listening to Desmond's version he solved the entire thing on his own and with one fair lady swooning on each of his arms and I'm pretty sure that's fairly close to the truth anyway. This may or may not become a running gag. Perhaps I'll just write Desmond's side another time, though as for now he seems quite content revelling in glorious victory. Telling barmaidens of his glorious victory. Same thing.
That's been your regularily scheduled womanizing. We now return you to people escaping from angry hungry dragons.
Remy -- RUN AWAAAAAAAY
(2 - Failure)
In retrospective, opaque smoke was a bad idea. Especially in an unfamiliar room. This did remind Remy of that time he practiced fire spells in his uncle's storage room - a bright idea by his standards. Well, in the end his family had a year's supply of smoked fish, and Remy got out with nary a scratch, as he'd been swaying about there in complete darkness often enough before that.
Which was certainly something he could not say for this particular locale.
He decides to be cautious, but doesn't really know whether he actually got any closer to the exit with his step-by-step policy... dragon expletives at four o'clock -- well darn, he hardly got anywhere.
Panic spreads in Remy's heart. A very familiar feeling, actually.
Apollo -- Escape/be unconscious/whatever/evil.
(3 - Slight Success) He thrashes about. This does aid his escape, since he thrashes about in roughly the correct direction, but proves to be a serious hassle to the ex-surgeon in old tunic trying to get him somewhere out of this room. (Operations on unwilling patients are such a hassle, right?)
Helskaya -- Exit to immediate safety! Turn into a bear first!
(5 - Full Success) The urge to be a bear-shaped cruise missile overpowers the encroaching vapors of plot development! Bear-shaped cruise missile exits hole rather elegantly for a bear-shaped cruise missile and bellyflops into the water. Elegantly.
That he paddled to safety and dried himself off is far too boring to describe in comparison.
Taren -- Get that Apollo out and get out! Probably perform some kind of dramatic exit that will not compromise my dignity and/or safety. With the former taking priority.
(6 - Overshot)
EVERYONE GET ON THE TARENMOBILE.
THE TARENMOBILE KNOWS NO BRAKES.
Taren scoops up Apollo. He dashes for Remy, and takes him on too. (4+5-9=0) Oh *religious expletive*, they're really not light, but the adrenaline rush, and sheer will to save his comrades, barely makes him carry through.
However, there's one thing he didn't calculate.
These two people are just too damn heavy. He collapses under the weight in full run, falling and tumbling towards the exit.
SWI check of difficulty 8 to land safely for Taren, Remy and Apollo.
(3+4-8 = -1) (2+5-8 = -1) (2+3-8 = -3)
Taren and Remy land somewhat awkwardly in the water, but aside from swallowing some they're okay enough. But Apollo, largely owing to being unconscious, breaks apart from the group and starts to sink like a rock. Alarmed, Taren leaves Remy alone and tries to dive after him...
(2...)
...but no luck. The bright, but awkward mad scientist Apollo Anderson slips out of Taren's hands, and starts sinking, deeper and deeper.
(2.....)
He does not even regain his consciousness, does not cling to his life in one last desparate attempt... he just sinks into his watery grave. Out of reach. No more hope.
Taren weeps for his fallen comrade, and the ocean accepts it all.
And then he turns for the sunken tower, tugging along Remy. To live on.
Komas -- >Attempt to reach the shore/water's edge/whatever.
>Do not under any circumstances let go of Heinkel-- even if it means sinking.
(4 - Success)
Using Heinkel as a float, Komas slowly paddles (hehehe) into the gaping hole. This is water, this is his element. Though he's used to colder waters, and not seeing a single fish in this vast ocean while paddling makes him feel pretty uneasy.
The other party members can't really tell, though. Uneasy Komas and Grumpy Komas are basically identical.
Maka -- Tickle jelly! Tickle jelly until it's sorry and loyal again.
(5 - Full Success) The jelly jellifies even more. Makas hands are jellyish now, but the jelly's ticklish oscillations probably indicate it would do anything to make the vibration cease. Undying loyalty and all that, just, please, stop.
Of course, Maka thinks it's purring in delight.
Elenor -- Wait for the rest of the team, helping drag to the safe area anyone who decides to fall or tumble down. Explore the lower room.
(2 - Failure)
Right now, Elenor exhibits a remarkable lack of care for his companions, which is no doubt amplified by Maka's persistent, persistent nagging. He goes off to chart and explore and just hope that little devil loses interest as soon as humanly possible.
Righto, start with examining the room the party is stranded in. It's... decently open and wide, though he'd estimate the length across is at most a third or a quarter of the entire tower's. And, really, all there is to the room beyond that is that it's wet, things are made of stone, it is probably a two-story room but the lower story's rather flooded - this is rather visible through gaps in the floor - there's some statues on the far side flanking a staircase and... oh, yup, one of the statues is poorly trying to obscure a doorway, so that's worth investigating until someone goes forward and invents gills. The danger level of the room is low, apart from slipping on the floor - no monsters or hostiles just now. Except for the huge honking dragon now probably trying to force his lazy arse out of his tower. Still, there should be...
...the sound he just heard in the background was definitely Maka providing a data point for the 'it is easy to slip on wet mossy floors' thesis. It was most prudent to get away from that scene quickly, lest one gets dragged into yet another bunch of shenanigans that would surely take at least two turns to resolve. Elenor thus takes the door, which opens into a narrow corridor about ten metres of length.
The rogue knight takes five minutes to improvise a shield from driftwood and another full minute to clear the course, his trusty plank shield raised high. Sadly - well, okay, luckily - there were no traps. Not even on the door. The room that lies behind is delightfully generic, the only distinguishing feature a spiral staircase leading down.
There was no water anywhere to be seen, and the walls did in fact seem to become less damp the farther down the staircase hole Elenor peered. On the one hand, he really shouldn't bother with this. Much too risky. But...
...adventuring was no place for the driveless. He knew what he signed up for. Sometimes you just had to take the risk of venturing into the unknown. The important part was to minimize any risk you have to take.
Thus, the intrepid knight inched down the staircase, hugging the wall carefully and considering each step, until he arrived at its bottom with only one noteworthy incident caused by a bat suddenly fluttering in his face and scaring the living hell out of Elenor. It wasn't a tall staircase, but to Elenor, it stretched like sweetened jelly intestines. The rooms were getting kind of dark now, and he could make out two exits from the small room the staircase ended in... one ladder, one corridor... he should probably call it quits now and rejoin the group.
However, he didn't, for one simple reason. He could make out faint rays of bright sunlight from the corridor's end. That was certainly preposterous, he should be a good ways beneath the ocean now.
But also curious.
Elenor decides to investigate it, despite his gut telling him to back off and bring the party. He carefully progresses through the narrow corridor and finds a wooden door at the end of it, crowned by a corona of what was very clearly sunlight. Now very intrigued, the rogue knight presses his ear to the door only to find the door to be an illusion rather unfit for supporting an armor-clad individual of moderate weight leaning against it. Elenor barely regains his footing and puts his hand on his sword's hilt in one stumbling motion, but he has already ambled straight into the room.
Well, okay, terrace. Wait, terrace? Sunlit terrace? Sunlit terrace with a camping table and two persons sitting at it, politely staring at the person that intruded on their tea party?
Elenor politely stares back.
He appears to have interrupted a possibly romantic (though he was rather terrible with judging that sort of situation) moment of one knight in full armor, who appears to be reciprocating the traditional knightly greeting to surprise intruders by rising to his legs and putting the hand on his sword... actually, more of an estoc or a rapier, Elenor notes. But one of an unusual design - most thrusting swords he knew were rather slender, but this one just looked like a sword that wanted to be a lance, or perhaps an oversized mail breaker. Furthermore, his armor is definitely well made, even though it wasn't full plate - coat of plates and lamellar greaves plus gauntlets wasn't something any knight could afford, as the rogue knight knew all too well from personal experience, and plate mail performed terribly in anything that wasn't combat. Furthermore, he had a coat of arms embroidered on that coat of plates... part of it was the signet all staunch Illyrian knights shared among their crests, the Blind Goddess - but he didn't recognize the other part of it, which was the personal crest. It appeared to be a broken sword, which was an odd choice for a crest in the first place. But maybe it was the small firearm holstered by his belt that scared Elenor the most. It didn't look like it could hold more than one shot, but that could be all it took.
And... that's right, he almost forgot while getting engrossed in armor minutiae... there's also a woman in the room, at an age where some other women in this world already had become grandmothers, wearing hooded clothing of a design he has never seen before. Her gaze was alert, and fixed on him, but she apparently put a greater priority on enjoying her tea... the dagger glinting in a pocket of her clothing, and the loose-fitting pants, sewn to allow freedom of movement made him put her on the threat calculation as well. Altogether, highly unfavorable.
Elenor stands fast, unsure what to do exactly to defuse this slightly awkward air of tension. His counterparts appear to be just as uncomfortable in this standoff as well, but how should he dissolve this?
Not wanting to bother with this sort of problem was precisely why he hadn't become a courtly knight.
--
There is a distant sound for some, not-so-distant sound for others that sounds remarkably like a far too weighty dragon trying to squeeze through a far too narrow hole.
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Topic: Roll to Explore the Dungeon: Ch.2 T.38: Do you even praise the King? (Read 121455 times)