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(Adventure) Rivenblight's Castaway [Creamsteak judging]
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<blockquote data-quote="Thomas Hobbes" data-source="post: 1553838" data-attributes="member: 8623"><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Yes. Alternate map included one dot representing you, another dot representing safety, and a distance measurement consisting of "Really, Really Far."</span></p><p></p><p>Troi runs as fast as his aching legs and lungs will take him. Down the trail, across the road, and back into the forest, all along the way leaving a trail of blood. He stumbles over a root, twisting him to the right and forcing him to slow. His hand has just shot out to a small birch for support when the metal head and wooden shaft of an arrow go through the weak joining of arm and body of his chain mail, taking him in the side of the chest. Thirty yards away, the bandit lowers her bow and bares her teeth in satisfaction.</p><p></p><p>Troi continues his spin onto the forest floor, the intense pain throbbing from his side. With his face pressed into the loam, he hears rapidly approaching footsteps and perhaps voices. A simple brown leather boot steps into his field of vision, and then his sight begins to fade and blackness claims him. </p><p></p><p>Six miles away, with the distance growing every step, nothing save a (perhaps imagined) chill breeze marks the occurrences. A few hours later, with still no word from Troi, they arrive at the busy and goodly-sized inn at the edge of the forest. Although he says nothing on the subject, even Tylkin looks concerned. He gives you all a faint, distracted nod as he gets off the cart. “Take care of the mule, if you would. There are some words I must have with the innkeeper.” He strides purposefully off. The mule, like the rest of you, is tired and dusty from the trip, although she is saved the burden of anxiety.</p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Right. I'll e-mail all other players shortly, just to make sure they're still around. Whether or not Troi has finally become the first player casualty of ENworld is something narrative causality dictates I must leave veiled, save to GnomeWorks himself, who will also be getting an e-mail.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Edit: Oddly, "the administrator has disabled the e-mail function." Does anyone know if this is a temporary thing, or what have you? Until then, I'll just hope that everyone's still watching and that GW is willing to wait or settle for spoiler tags. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Thomas Hobbes, post: 1553838, member: 8623"] [size=1]Yes. Alternate map included one dot representing you, another dot representing safety, and a distance measurement consisting of "Really, Really Far."[/size] Troi runs as fast as his aching legs and lungs will take him. Down the trail, across the road, and back into the forest, all along the way leaving a trail of blood. He stumbles over a root, twisting him to the right and forcing him to slow. His hand has just shot out to a small birch for support when the metal head and wooden shaft of an arrow go through the weak joining of arm and body of his chain mail, taking him in the side of the chest. Thirty yards away, the bandit lowers her bow and bares her teeth in satisfaction. Troi continues his spin onto the forest floor, the intense pain throbbing from his side. With his face pressed into the loam, he hears rapidly approaching footsteps and perhaps voices. A simple brown leather boot steps into his field of vision, and then his sight begins to fade and blackness claims him. Six miles away, with the distance growing every step, nothing save a (perhaps imagined) chill breeze marks the occurrences. A few hours later, with still no word from Troi, they arrive at the busy and goodly-sized inn at the edge of the forest. Although he says nothing on the subject, even Tylkin looks concerned. He gives you all a faint, distracted nod as he gets off the cart. “Take care of the mule, if you would. There are some words I must have with the innkeeper.” He strides purposefully off. The mule, like the rest of you, is tired and dusty from the trip, although she is saved the burden of anxiety. [size=1]Right. I'll e-mail all other players shortly, just to make sure they're still around. Whether or not Troi has finally become the first player casualty of ENworld is something narrative causality dictates I must leave veiled, save to GnomeWorks himself, who will also be getting an e-mail. Edit: Oddly, "the administrator has disabled the e-mail function." Does anyone know if this is a temporary thing, or what have you? Until then, I'll just hope that everyone's still watching and that GW is willing to wait or settle for spoiler tags. :)[/size] [/QUOTE]
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