"Okay so now I'm sorta clothed. Who the hell are you, where the hell are we, and how the hell did I get here because I clearly recall falling asleep in an alley in Brooklyn. This ain't Brooklyn.
Come to think of it, why was I in Brooklyn?"
Questions!
"This is indeed not Brooklyn!" the boy says with eagerness. "This is Anglefork Castle, last citadel of the once-great kingdom of Benzerwald, home to one of the Four Towers!" he proclaims with a gleam in his eye. "The knife edge of destiny, where we must prevail... or die! Horribly!"
You like the sound of that far less than he does, you would guess.
"And I... I am the blacksmith," he says in a weaker tone. "And I exist for one reason," he adds, looking at the misshapen chunk of iron next to the forge, "a single glorious purpose, oh yes!"
You listen to him for a few moments as he mutters half to himself, working out dramatic phrasings to any more questions you might have.
"Okay so in order, maybe, definitely, and perhaps. What you didn't expect was my backup DO IT NOW!"
While she's distracted shove her arm off me and headbutt the living hell out of her. Grab robe and run!
Her eyes dart around for a moment and her arm becomes minutely less steady. This is sufficient. You smack her hand aside and use your skull to its full potential, butting her in the head fiercely. She loses balance, stumbles back to the wall dizzily, and in doing so lets go of the robe. Bingo! You snatch it quickly, then make a run for it, sprinting right out of this hole of a temple and turning a sharp right.
Feeling your work to be done, you leap through a convenient hole in the chapel wall, rolling flawlessly on the stone floor, then standing up with arms spread out as you declare your right of sanctuary. You have triumphed in this felonious game of hide-and-seek, you're pretty sure. And with a whole lot of time to spare! Hopefully the priest won't be too long.
I don't know if I want to find out what happened here.
I walk toward the rubble... building, or whatever it is.
As you walk toward the who-knows-what, you observe Mr. Codeburn, wearing that silly sack of coins and all, run out at a suspicious pace while holding a robe while a very naked Mr. Calverly stands about at the entrance, aggressively minding his own business. You walk a bit closer, and you hear a rather unpleasant sound come from within, as if somebody had crossed a nigh-mythical boundary of rage and indignation that precludes any form of language. It's something between a roar, a hiss and a gurgle.
Moments later, a woman wearing a dress of rags interwoven with bones rushes out, brandishing a metal spike in her hand. With a murderous, lightly dazed look on her face she asks if either you or Mr. Calverly saw where the wanton defiler went. You're not sure if she strictly realizes that you probably do, as she looks to have taken a rather sharp blow to the head.
Nope I'm not getting involved.
And you don't! Not even when Mr. Codeburn performs some indistinct act of violence and runs out with a robe in his thieving hands, you do not get in any way involved. In fact, you're not even sure you saw that just now. Could have been your imagination for all you know. That's what you'll tell Ms. Minett if she asks, as she seems to have possibly imagined that, too.
As she approaches closer, the priestess of the temple runs out, looking a bit dazed, and asks you if you've seen Mr. Codeburn. You consider how much you would like to lie to her.
The crazy guy sounds less crazy now. Progress! Or perhaps regression?
"I do see the issue. And the issue is going to get someone less hardheaded, hopefully. So what did you do to be imprisoned and what would you get instead of being tossed back in?"
He was caught. And if he is caught again, he will be killed, salted and made into rations. He does not feel like elaborating on that, however.
Which is all right, you suppose, because it's only a minute or so afterwards that you hear the arrival of two people. One is the turnkey, rather silent in comparison to the jingling of his companion - the elderly-looking guard who threw you in here. He stops in front of the door, opening the metal peephole.
"The right honorable turnkey informs me that there are extenuating circumstances you wish to present that may affect your release. Elaborate," he says, squinting as he looks at you in the dark.
Eric Codeburn, COMPUTISTICS SPECIALIST
- Wounds: 1
- 6514 gp (non-sequential)
- Gold-Backed Burlap Torso Garment (worn)
- Inscribed Brick ('Water')
- Anglefork Castle: Demon Prince
- The Impromptu Prophecy: A Job Well Done
- Sun-Priest's Robe
- Adherents of the Great House: Enemy of the Faith
Benny Calverly, Barber
- Naked
- Finally Out Of The Damn Hole
- Finely Crafted Knotted Sack-Club
- Rat Pantheon: Enemy of the Gestalt
Leif Erikson, Miner
- Traces of Gore: Bits On One's Bits
- Reappropriated Skirt
- 1 gp
- License to Bathe
- Anglefork Castle: Lunatic
- The Prison Stone
- Elongated Affairs: A Noble Task
- Elongated Affairs: The Numbers of the Stoat
- Wounds: 1
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Queenly Garments: the Humble Dress
- Sticks: 0.95 (total)
- Rat Pantheon: Disliked
- Traces of Mischief: Mouthful of Blackness
- Anglefork Castle: the New Queen's Confidant
- Doomstones: An Interest
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Gravel-Ridden
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: the Maddened Blacksmith
- The Apron of Mediocrity
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 262764 times)