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ShortQuests -- individual adventure modules! An all-new collection of digest-sized D&D adventures designed to plug in to your game.

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Vigilance" data-source="post: 832271" data-attributes="member: 4275">“New Contest.”Kimmy stepped into the center of the ring, ignoring the snickers.  Stretching, she watched her opponent shrug off his jacket, going bare-chested in the cool night air.  He was watching her too, as he squatted low several times, swinging his arms back and forth, military tattoos rippling on a wiry frame.  The way he never took his eyes off of her made the hair stand up on the back of Kimmy’s neck.Stop being a Daddy’s girl.  She walked over to the man, extending her hand, “Kimmy”.He still hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and just nodded at her handshake.  “Marcel Bontecou.”  His accent was so think she could barely understand him.  French.  Almost funny, in a way, his accent was like something you’d hear in a bad movie it was so thick.Then he stood up, smiling at her.  Although she was barely five feet, he wasn’t much bigger than her; bald, with bushy eyebrows, and a scar of some sort on his chin.“Begin.”Suddenly the smile was gone.  The man began bouncing on his toes, dancing around her.  He looked wired. Manic.  Suddenly, his leg snaked out. Kimmy darted back with the agility of a cat, but he still grazed her.Right on the inside of her knee.Pain exploded in her knee and the wind was sucked out of Kimmy’s lungs.  She made the mistake of giving into her reflex, reaching down for her leg, balancing on one foot.  Marcel dropped down like a dancer, hands planting on the ground, both legs knocking the girl’s one good leg out from under her.  Before she was on the ground he was up.  Around her, smiling as she tried in vain to locate him.  He loved this.  Me missed it.  Too much.  Was she crying?  So delicate.  Like a butterfly.  Marcel loved to hunt butterflies.Don’t cry.  You cry too easily Kimmy.  Kimmy could hear her father’s voice in her head.  God she hated that voice.  She wanted to yell at him when he got like that. He wanted a son.  She wished he had admitted it just once.  He had other ways of showing his disapproval.A shadow.  A glimpse out of the corner of her eye.  Kimmy rolled and the Frenchman’s foot landed beside her head.  Right where her neck had been.  He’s going to kill me.Kimmy moved on instinct.  Stop looking for him.  You can feel where he is anyway.A scuff of a sneaker.  In her world, so contracted, the sound was like a car skidding on a rain-slick road.  No crowd.  Just her and the maniac.  Her hand snaked out and caught a pantsleg.Kimmy pulled like her life depended on it.  Another thud.  This one much louder.  Kimmy rolled away from it, onto her feet.She went down again just as quick as her knee gave way.Marcel was up again immediately.  “Butterfly has some spark hm?”Marcel licked his lips as he saw he try to get up and go down again.  Can’t fly on a broken wing.Kimmy saw him coming toward her again.  Straight toward her.  No dancing this time. She tested the ankle he’d swept experimentally while she crouched on the pavement.  Still works.She drove herself forward on one leg right into Marcel’s midsection.  She felt the air rushing out of him.  But he rolled with her movement, pitching her away as he went down.  She punched him in the groin as she hit the ground, and heard him cry out in pain and surprise.  Reflexively, he kicked her, the point of his shoe hit her right in the temple and the streetlights seemed to stretch and swirl.  Why was Daddy practicing her so hard anyway?  She hated the dojo.  Hated the history.  Especially hated him.Wait.  Maybe this was her rape prevention class.  That was it.  Kick to the groin.  What’s wrong with my leg.  Eye gouge.  Ridgehand to the throat.  She couldn’t sleep yet.  She had an exam tomorrow.  Daddy would kill her if she didn’t get honors.</blockquote>

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