Tales From The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern! (chapter 1, now closed)
- Thread starter Lazlow
- Start date
Gray Shade
First Post
OOC: Hello! 
LogicsFate
First Post
OOC: (for all) [sblock] see OOC for groveling [/sblock]
K is skaken out of her relvery, and continues the shake with her head "I wasn't paying attention"
"What should i do?" K takes some time to show Richard how to hit something with out killing it
K is skaken out of her relvery, and continues the shake with her head "I wasn't paying attention"
"What should i do?" K takes some time to show Richard how to hit something with out killing it
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Ranger Rick
First Post
OOC: Sorry, I was off line longer than I intended.
Desert, looks to Seriff Bill and ask's "why are we being followed?
Desert, looks to Seriff Bill and ask's "why are we being followed?
Gray Shade
First Post
"Er, followed?" Berserker Bill freezes and looks about.
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Lazlow
First Post
Allow me to set the scene for you, gentle reader.
Our heroes - the lovely-as-a-flower K and her quiet-as-a-mouse cohort Richard, the rough-and-tumble Sheriff Bill, the homely-as-pie Desert, the larger-than-life Gruammsh, and the bright-as-a-parrot Ranti (sorry, running out of similes, there) - have recently visited the abode of Al the Wizard, local mage and sage, in the hopes of finding some information on the whereabouts of Sir Dudley, patron Paladin of Lizard Spit, and/or the Chromium Orb of Frobozz, an ancient artifact of arcane power. In exchange for said information, Al has enlisted the aid of our heroes in retrieving his beloved pet, Rocky, whom our heroes have rightly identified as a basilisk, a creature capable of turning casual passers-by to stone with its deadly gaze.
And so it is with this task at hand that our heroes have gone outside, whereupon they immediately commenced to discussing plans on how best to capture a basilisk. The well-dressed Elven warrior laid forth a plan involving a sack, some num-nums, and several Sleep spells. The brave lawman Berserker Bill agreed to Ranti's initial plan, but then suggested another, altogether more intricate plan involving polearms, even more sacks, and a tailor. As an option, he also tossed yet another plan into the pot, which involved inter-ocular injury. Meanwhile, Gruammsh smoked, drank, and grunted a bit while K trained her cohort on the finer points of beating someone into unconciousness with the flat of a large sword.
Which brings us to Desert.
As usual, Desert simply stood there, devoting the whole of his attention to his immediate surroundings - that is to say, a singular aspect of his surroundings occupied the ENTIRETY of his attention until another singular aspect of his surroundings imposed itself on his attention, whereupon he promptly diverted all of his attention to this new, singular aspect.
We will get to that new, singular aspect in a moment, dear reader.
Let me refresh your memory: Picture if you will four of our five heroes standing around, animatedly discussing plans for capturing a magical beast, all their attention on the task at hand, a task which is, indeed, a tall order, even for such mighty heroes as ours. The fifth hero stands contentedly in the wings, simply waiting for someone to tell him what he should do when suddenly he hears something, turns to Sheriff Bill and asks:
"Why are we being followed?"
The words caused chills up the spines of the heroes. All the heroes except Desert, that is, who didn't fully realise the import of his question. Our heroes froze, still as statues (yes, they were aware of the irony), pinpricks of sweat forming on their palms and brows, the hackles on the backs of their necks standing up. In the sudden silence, they all heard what Desert heard, quite clearly now: The sound of about a half-dozen or more large, padded feet crunching the gravel of the pathway, about ten or twelve feet behind them all.
Our heroes - the lovely-as-a-flower K and her quiet-as-a-mouse cohort Richard, the rough-and-tumble Sheriff Bill, the homely-as-pie Desert, the larger-than-life Gruammsh, and the bright-as-a-parrot Ranti (sorry, running out of similes, there) - have recently visited the abode of Al the Wizard, local mage and sage, in the hopes of finding some information on the whereabouts of Sir Dudley, patron Paladin of Lizard Spit, and/or the Chromium Orb of Frobozz, an ancient artifact of arcane power. In exchange for said information, Al has enlisted the aid of our heroes in retrieving his beloved pet, Rocky, whom our heroes have rightly identified as a basilisk, a creature capable of turning casual passers-by to stone with its deadly gaze.
And so it is with this task at hand that our heroes have gone outside, whereupon they immediately commenced to discussing plans on how best to capture a basilisk. The well-dressed Elven warrior laid forth a plan involving a sack, some num-nums, and several Sleep spells. The brave lawman Berserker Bill agreed to Ranti's initial plan, but then suggested another, altogether more intricate plan involving polearms, even more sacks, and a tailor. As an option, he also tossed yet another plan into the pot, which involved inter-ocular injury. Meanwhile, Gruammsh smoked, drank, and grunted a bit while K trained her cohort on the finer points of beating someone into unconciousness with the flat of a large sword.
Which brings us to Desert.
As usual, Desert simply stood there, devoting the whole of his attention to his immediate surroundings - that is to say, a singular aspect of his surroundings occupied the ENTIRETY of his attention until another singular aspect of his surroundings imposed itself on his attention, whereupon he promptly diverted all of his attention to this new, singular aspect.
We will get to that new, singular aspect in a moment, dear reader.
Let me refresh your memory: Picture if you will four of our five heroes standing around, animatedly discussing plans for capturing a magical beast, all their attention on the task at hand, a task which is, indeed, a tall order, even for such mighty heroes as ours. The fifth hero stands contentedly in the wings, simply waiting for someone to tell him what he should do when suddenly he hears something, turns to Sheriff Bill and asks:
"Why are we being followed?"
The words caused chills up the spines of the heroes. All the heroes except Desert, that is, who didn't fully realise the import of his question. Our heroes froze, still as statues (yes, they were aware of the irony), pinpricks of sweat forming on their palms and brows, the hackles on the backs of their necks standing up. In the sudden silence, they all heard what Desert heard, quite clearly now: The sound of about a half-dozen or more large, padded feet crunching the gravel of the pathway, about ten or twelve feet behind them all.
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