Turn Fifty NineIn the dead of night, a pair of strange lights approach the western gate of the small town of Bletchley.
Two guards look at each other.
The lights come nearer, steadily, bobbing up and down, occasionally disappearing and reappearing as if describing erratic and
totally entirely deliberate circles. As they get ever nearer, further details become clear.
The lights belong to a ferocious flying warsquid; the squid belongs to a well-dressed Lady. Often behind and nearly always underneath this strange mount and its comparatively non-strange rider can be seen an assortment of further voyagers.
As they get closer, it becomes evident that not many of them could be described as... non-strange.
There is a heavily-bandaged what-seems-to-be professional messenger. He looks normal enough, apart from the blood-stained improvised turban. There is what is, very probably, a professional wizard, riding upon the shoulders of a devoted serf. Again, reasonably normal, and not odd enough for the guards to exchange anything more than a single raised eyebrow. Then there is a man – visibly angry, even from a hundred metres of darkness – who seems to have voluntarily chosen to travel in a barrel of sick. He pokes his head out from time to time to shout obscenities and whip the peasant who has, for the gods alone know what reason, decided that dragging the stinking red-haired abuse-factory is a perfectly reasonable career choice.
Perhaps his homeland is stricken with particularly bad drought and poverty?
Next come a man and a donkey. A mangy donkey. A mangy donkey being dragged along with as much happy cooperation as the above barrel, and filled with only slightly less sick. The man whose duty seems to be dragging the mangy bastard is clearly one of life’s unfortunates.
He has only one arm and even less faces.
The two guards exchange a look of repulsed pity, a look immediately followed by a look of bewilderment.
Is that a giant spider?
Made of bone?
Ten foot tall?
”Shite, Bill. Shall we just get inside and lock the feckin’ gates right now?””You don’t think that thing could just step over the walls?””Hmm.””Eh, is that that woman on top of the bloody thing? That blasted wench that conned me out of a dozen Yuros for that love potion that turned me toe into a gerbil last Thursday? I swear to the gods it bloody well looks like it…””Mmm.””Oh wait, no. I’m sure that cursed thief had ribs. Oh well.”The life of a curse crafter is, it is said, often short, brutal, and filled with many happy hours of riding enormous bonespiders: Medha Correo has narrowly escaped what would not have been her first lynching.
… … … … … …
The squidrider – the renowned adventurer and Glamorous Ravenhaired Crusader Lady Foxglove Vainglorious III, as it turns out – buzzes her trusty steed towards the guards, wheeling to a halt nearby in a manner which clearly suggests that she could, very easily, fly right over their feeble walls if she, or rather the squid, so desired, but that she was a well-bred lady and keen to demonstrate her considerable politeness.
"Make way!" she bellows, in a ladylikeish fashion.
”Okeydoke.” "Lady Foxglove Vainglorious the III! has graced your tiny town with her presence."”Okay.””I've got a letter of free passage here from Lord Nirila himself, and I know the exact color of his undergarments-hunter green! We're here for a short stopover and a hearty meal, then off to heroic adventures in the morning, while you stay here watching this rotted gate for the rest of your lives."”I see.”"Yes. Indeed. Oh, and, make way for my servants as well-ahem! The skinny one is Gervedder the Letter Eater, the tall one is Whizzard the Whizmatic Whiznificent, the one without a face is Tacky the Odious Flatulamancer, the drunk one is Bukkar Vomitguts Von Ragingut, and the ugly woman is Medha Nohope the Boneless. We're adventurers, of course. Well, I'm an adventurer, they're following me-sort of like groupies, you know? It's sad."”So, uh, milady, what exactly is it you’re after?”"Hey, Foxy, or, Ge-eh, Messenger Guy. Can one of you just let us in? I kinda gotta find a pawn shop soon. Like, really soon soon, and frankly this is taking far too long. Do we have to be polite? Can’t you lot just stay here while I… attend to important business and just walk over the bloody walls on Hermit?"”Hermit?”"Even bonespiders have names you know. And feelings. A bit like Curse Crafters, in fact, Foxglove. You might want t-""Wait, Foxglove, does that mean the groupies that were following me were groupies of groupies?""Oi! I was busy threatening the milady here in a not-overly-aggressive-for-an-adventuring-companion kinda way, Whizface. As I was saying, Foxfeatures, you might want to watch who you call ugly, if you don’t want doors and walking to become your mortal enemies..."Tackov defuses the rising tension by waving his various missing appendages at the gate guards.
"Hi," he vomits, wildly,
"Tackov Cedtry at your servvvvvuuuuuuuurrrrrhhhhgg."”Oh good gods. Come on, get the feck through the gates before I’ve got even more to mop up. Holy Sef, that stinks. And what in the name of the forty eight hells happened to your face?”… … … … … …
A short while later, having looked about the small hours-empty town square, Gervedder Vietzo walks back towards the gates, a question playing on his mind.
He passes Medha the Ribless But Definitely Not Ugly, squatting against a nearby wall putting the finishing touches on a strange looking cylindrical device. Her bonespider is asleep in a pile next to her.
She looks up.
”Oh hi. A new invention. It explodes idiocy. I'd like to make a joke about it being kinda superfluous with you lot around, but I'm too pleased with myself. And I guess you're ok.”"Aha?"Gervedder walks on, exiting the small town, and turning to the pair of guards still on watch duty – and, for one of them, vomit-mopping duty.
"Excuse me, guards, but do you know of any people who utilize flying warsquids in combat, as strange as that sounds?"”Er yeah, matter of fact. There was this nice looking woman come through oh... about fifteen minutes ago. Flying warsquid and a big sword. Now I come to think of it, weren't you with her? You know, you look lost mate – nearest and best inn's just off the town square, innit. Probably shut at this time of night though, eh...”The guard with the mop gets back to moving lubricated bits of cubed vegetables from one side of the road to the other; the guard without gets back to studiously ignoring the bothersome visitor.
When Gervedder wanders back to the town square and past where Medha was squatting, she's gone.
… … … … … …
He finds her soon enough.
It's mostly the sound that attracts him, in fact.
”Bugger orf!””Stop that bloody banging!””Quit that bleedin' racket this minute or I'll come down there and cleave your bleedin' head from your bleedin' shoulders!””Oi! This is a feckin' pawn shop, not a feckin' all night 'ostel! Bugger off and come back in the morning, yer great bleedin' eejit!””Oh. Right. Erm. I er... you know... time flies, or something...”… … … … … …
Unlike the locals, Tackov Cedtry, Faceless Flatulamancer, is quite grateful for the noise.
It's bringing confused punters out into the street, where they're being confronted by his hideous... headfront, chased by his ferocious vomit, and leered at by his, well, just, this kind of
aura, you know?
One or two of them have been touched by pieces of human gut where they probably never wanted to be touched by pieces of human gut.
Tackov Cedtry's pockets are jangling.
Oh yeah.
Suddenly there comes a man who is not repulsed by seeing bits of brain through where a man's face once was. Who is not afraid of speckles of half-digested carrot on his tunic. Who is not perturbed by being tickled under the chin by bits of small intestine.
This man is Gervedder Vietzo, World Famous Damaged Messenger, and this man is a damned liar.
As a bit of human small intestine accidentally brushes against his lips, he puts on his bravest face and holds back a tiny retch. He can take this no more.
”Come, my friend, if friend is an adequate word for someone who has shared such experiences as we. Your wounds may fester; we must attend to them. I have several bits of string, and no spare change, so stop waving that bloody hat at me.”… … … … … …
Around the corner is a man. A very angry man. A very angry man in a barrel of sick, who is being very sick. He thinks he is in an armoury, talking to a blacksmith.
He is not.
Bukkar Crangrom is, of course, very, very drunk.
He has had his barrel impressively modified – impressively, that is, from the point of view of the serf whose destiny it is to drag the barrel across plain and up mountain and through dungeon.
Bukkar Crangrom has had the lid nailed down.
However!
Even being in a sealed barrel cannot stop poor Bukkar from hearing what now transpires, for what now transpires is a great cacophony of cries, shouts, screams – of rage, of anger, of virulent religious fanaticism.
Within three, maybe four seconds of the noise becoming audible, a naked man is being carried past where, if he wasn't sealed in a barrel, Bukkar Crangrom would have seen him.
Whiz the Whiznificent, carried on the shoulders of his faithful serf and one true believer, is being pursued by several dozen, no, several
score equally naked cultists – rival cultists – brandishing hot irons, burning torches and particularly sharp-looking agricultural implements.
”Burn'im!””Yeah! Burn the imposter!””He's not the bleedin' Whiznificentist! He's bleedin' naked!”Whiz's serf suddenly comes to a halt. He seems to be face to face with a suit of armour – a suit of armour that is, if not magical, very much imbued with some form of life force.
A form of definitely hostile life force.
It lurches towards the whizzard and his serf.
”Crikey,” comes a voice not far away,
”Perhaps we should just leave the guts for now and get the hell out of here?” ”Hmm, yes. Shame really. I think I'd nearly managed to fit most of them back in. Oh well – how about you keep this twine and spit for next time and we'll try again?”Apologies for the wait, the lack of visible rolls, the great wall of unexceptional text. Long week and many reasons. Nice to find time to finish this though, so thank you.
Name: Tackov Cedtry
Class: Level 3 Gusty Wind Mage
Status: +1 to gut damage.
Health: [HP: 60/60] |
The Vomiting! |
Severed Guts!Abilities: Magical Typhoon I,
Wind Blast I,
Wind Blast II,
Wind Step I,
Squishy,
Sissy Slap FightInventory: Minor Mana Potion x1,
Scroll of Beginner’s Fireball x1, one memorised use of:
Gee, Mr. Whiz, You Sure Are Fast! Mouldy Wizard Hat, bits of guts (own), You Bastard the Mangy Donkey, 50 Yuros.
Name: Whiz
Class: Level 3 Whiznificent Whiz Wiz(ard)
Status: -1 to lower leg damage. -1 to social interaction. +1 to balancing.
Health: [HP: 85/85] |
Giant Rat’s Tail!Abilities: Red Carpet,
Shield I,
Gee, Mr. Whiz, You Sure Are Fast! Gee, Mr. Whiz, You Sure Are Fast II,
Obviously a Powerful Wizard,
It’ll Make You Blind!Inventory: Crossbow, Unlimited Quiver,
Raider’s Dress of Shin Protection, 37 Yuros, Fancy Clothes,
Scroll of Beginner’s Fireball x1,
Middling Mana Potion x1, Cutlass, Three daggers,
Minor Health Potion x3, +1 Bolt of Accuracy x4, +1 Bolt of Burning x4, +1 Bolt of Paralysis x2,
Middling Health Potion x1,
Carrying Serf.
Name: Medha Correo
Class: Level 3 Alchemist Curse Crafter
Status: -1 to gut damage. +1 to chest damage.
Health: [HP: 85/85] |
Severed Rib! |
Severed Rib!Skull Spider Health: [HP: 25/25]Abilities: Craft Curse Grenade,
Opportunistic Attack I,
Curse Crafter,
Curse of the Fool,
Wandering Asshole,
Curse of the Curse CrafterInventory: Dagger, Half a dress, 73 bandages,
Neckless of the Ribless, Dagger, Lock picking kit,
Iron Cuirass, 91 Yuros (real gold), Crossbow,
Brittle Jagged Groinbone Dagger of Good, 4 Solid Gold Feet (solid gold for 3 turns), 4 vials of human blood, 6 vials of kobold blood,
Grenade of the Fool x1.
Name: Gervedder Vietzo
Class: Level 3 Damaged Opportunistic Messenger
Status: -1 to gut/chest damage.
Health: [HP: 85/85]Abilities: Just a Brainflesh Wound,
Nimble Feet,
This Messenger Delivers,
Make Way for the Messenger! Important,
Stop For DirectionsInventory: Crossbow, Unlimited Quiver, 8 bandages, 2 Yuros,
Iron Cuirass, Crossbow, Gerald the Mule, Two weeks rations and a bedroll.
Name: Lady Foxglove Vainglorious the III
Class: Level 3 Glamorous Ravenhaired Crusader
Status: Super-presentable! -1 to head damage.
Health: [HP: 85/85]Abilities: Ravena’s Ear,
Silent as a Raven’s Wing,
Opportunistic,
Honeyed Tongue,
Vain,
Self-RelianceInventory: Minor Health Potion x2, Crossbow, Unlimited Quiver,
Masterwork Helm,
Flying Warsquid,
Lance x2, Sword,
Mercenary Squidrider Uniform.
Name: Bukkar Crangrom
Class: Level 3 Sprayin' Ragin' Mage
Status:Health: [HP: 85/85] |
The Vomiting!Abilities: Rage Flight,
Rage Lazors I,
Ass of the Flaming Foot I,
Lightning Fist I,
Always Looking For a Fight,
Always HungoverInventory: Sword of Severing! Crossbow, 400 Green Farthings,
Large Sealed Barrel.
Author
Topic: Roll to Dungeon Quest - It's not you, it's me. (Read 194453 times)