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The Goodman Gang in The Mysterious Tower
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3866278" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Turn 45: Into the trees.</p><p> </p><p>Two hours later and the raged group are gathered in a clearing, it’s nice here, even late in the day, early evening, the sun shines down, warm- wholesome, they feel a little better already.</p><p></p><p>“Here.”</p><p></p><p>Thistle steps up to a very large tree, twists something and pulls open a previously hidden door. Its obvious now its open, but you’d have to looking for it to spot it otherwise, and you don’t, do you… generally, look for doors in trees.</p><p></p><p>“That’s nice”, Newt admires the secret door, “can you make me one?”</p><p>Thistle smiles a little, the first time in ages, ruffles the Gnome’s hair, Newt strides inside.</p><p></p><p>The room’s quite clearly bigger on the inside than the outside.</p><p></p><p>“Are you a Dryad?” Jim asks, then suddenly feels dumb.</p><p>“No, brave Ranger, although I am a friend of Dryads.” Thistle clasps the Jim’s hand, “just like you will we be one day.”</p><p>“Will I… That’s good. They live in trees don’t they?”</p><p>Thistle nods and motions for the group to spread out, to settle, there are chairs, trestles, beds- there’s a lot of furniture for sitting, lying and generally resting on.</p><p></p><p>Ale is on the table, and spiced teas, and cakes, and sandwiches, and buns, and sweetmeats, and trifles, and sandwiches, and buns, and little things on sticks- cheeses, pickles, exotic fruits; and on some sticks, all three, together. It’s a spread worthy of a king.</p><p></p><p>“Pelor be blessed…” Cas starts.”</p><p>“And Correllon.” Ala finishes, muffled slightly, not standing on ceremony she’s starving, chomping on a chocolate éclair.</p><p>“Here, get one of these down you…” Newt offers up the plate of sandwiches to Bec. </p><p></p><p>Bec examines the bready-host, considers his options, but his eyes are drawn back to the table, to the…</p><p></p><p>“What is it?”</p><p></p><p>Bec reaches and points down to a round-ish object, about the size of a potato, covered in some thin shiny metallic paper, a host to a miniature forest of delicate slivers of wood, each bearing a, that is not one, not two, but three different fine foods. He bends low and moves in until his face is almost touching it, right under his nose, he sniffs. The first is an onion, a tiny delicate onion, next, a cheese, Dwarven Ched-Dar, and on the top a piece of… he wants lick it, to taste it, to be sure.</p><p></p><p>“Have one.” Thistle grasps the savoury laden hedgehog and gestures back at the giant man, “go on- they’re nice.”</p><p>Bec swoops, yanks one free and .</p><p></p><p>The onion crunches- FIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ</p><p>The cheese melts- CREAAAAMMMY</p><p>The pineapple hits- SWEEEEEEEEEEEEET</p><p>The wooden sliver is a little chewy.</p><p></p><p>It’s callisthenics for Bec’s face.</p><p></p><p>“Go on, help yourself to the buffet, all of you, and Bec- next time don’t eat the skewer.” Thistle sits and pours drinks to order. </p><p></p><p>Bec, brought up to know right from wrong, sits by the savoury hedgehog and contents himself with only eating only one of the exquisite morsels every minute or so, smiling politely at any of his companions that reach out towards the delicacy. The smile says it all, that and the wild eyes, those with a Sense Motive score high enough understand the Barbarian’s look, in translation- oh yes help yourself to one of my special foods, I hope you enjoy it’s heavenly delight because later I’m going to snap your arm off.</p><p></p><p>Bec deforests the hedgehog at his leisure.</p><p></p><p>A little later.</p><p></p><p>“So what are Dryads like?” Jim asks through a mouthful of cake.</p><p>“They’re mostly stunningly beautiful female tree spirits, usually clad in something thin and revealing.”</p><p>The cake goes everywhere.</p><p></p><p>The door opens again, Jim continues on.</p><p></p><p>“Excellent. I’m usually quite a hit with the ladies; I’ve got very athletic calves...”</p><p></p><p>The other members of the gang suddenly stop eating, stare at Jim, and then behind Jim, Newt motions for him to look.</p><p></p><p>Jim strains around to see, while continuing with his explanation, “generally the ladies can’t keep their hands off… Mischa!”</p><p>“Hello Jim.”</p><p>“Do you know each other?” Thistle stares.</p><p>“Yes.” A chorus from the adventurers.</p><p>“Yes.” Out of sink, and pleading, Jim concurs.</p><p>“Yes.” Mischa agrees and shakes her head staring hard at the Ranger.</p><p></p><p>A little while later.</p><p></p><p>The lights have been dimmed or extinguished, poultices have been applied, and healing and herbal draughts have been drunk- Bec snores, as does Anya but don’t tell her. There are one, two, three, four, five… oh hang on, five adventurers sleeping.</p><p></p><p>Where’s Jim?</p><p></p><p>The woods are quiet and a little chilly, Jim takes his cloak off and tries to wrap it round Mischa’s shoulders, she shrugs away from his touch.</p><p>“I never…”</p><p>“Shut up Jim.”</p><p>“I was only…”</p><p>“I said shut up.”</p><p>Silence for a while.</p><p>“Ok.”</p><p>Mischa stops and stares at the Ranger.</p><p>“You’re so…”</p><p>“What?” Jim enquires.</p><p>“So… stupid.”</p><p>“Oh.” Jim looks at his boots.</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“What?” Jim looks up.</p><p>“Just bloody shut up. I’m thinking.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Jim goes back to counting his boots- one, two; time for a recount.</p><p>“I mean I like you…” Jim goes to look up, decides better of it, and counts on.</p><p>“But you’re so frustrating- you always say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing… I want… I want a simple life; I don’t want to be worrying about you all the time, wondering, moment-to-moment, I wonder if Jim’s alive? I can’t… I can’t live like that.”</p><p>Jim gulps.</p><p>“But…” He’s learnt his lesson, he doesn’t look up, “I…”, then he notices he’s all alone; he looks up, Mischa’s ten yards away, and not listening.</p><p></p><p>She turns to face him; he looks down immediately, one boot, two boots, and start again.</p><p>“We can’t be together. We just can’t. I’m sorry Jim- it would never work.”</p><p></p><p>Jim looks up slowly.</p><p></p><p>Meets Mischa’s gaze.</p><p></p><p>Exactly six seconds later they’re in each others arms, and kissing.</p><p></p><p>Two weeks later the adventurers are well again, actually all of them except Ala has sweated their way through a bout of Filth Fever; none of them were infected by the Lycanthrope fortunately. They’re outside the tree, Thistle’s home, or rather one of Thistle’s homes.</p><p></p><p>“I want you to have these.”</p><p>Anya hands the Pipes of the Sewers she’s been carrying over to Thistle.</p><p>“Hide them, destroy them, use them if need be, but I don’t want anything to do with them. If I ever see another rat again it’ll be too soon.”</p><p>The others nod, Bec vociferously.</p><p>“We have to head back to Grimbo.” Cas confirms and shakes Thistle’s hand, “Thanks, for everything. We’ll tell the council about what we’ve seen. And we’ll keep the gem safe, at the Church, send for it when you’ve got Molton Clay back up and running.” The Paladin manages a smile.</p><p>“Molton Clay is gone.” Thistle looks stern for a second, and then switches tack, “but I thank you for your efforts, without you… Anyway, keep the gem safe, and try to find out who the raiders were, I will make my own enquiries, if I hear anything, I’ll send word. Stay safe brave ones, the road is long…”</p><p></p><p>And with that the six mount up and head off through the woods, Jim straining on his saddle to see behind, but Mischa’s nowhere to be seen.</p><p></p><p>It takes the best part of a day to ride back to Grimbo, although none of them are in a rush to get back, it’s late evening when they arrive- fortunately the gate is open, and lit up like a Christmas tree, guards everywhere, and look- a bunch of them rushing towards them now.</p><p></p><p>A swarthy figure leads the charge, its Captain Khan; he’s here to greet them no doubt.</p><p></p><p>“Jim Bowen, Casimir La Frond, the man-child called Bec, Priestess Ala and the Wizard Anya- I have warrants for your arrest, resistance is futile.”</p><p></p><p>A heavily armed and armoured crowd gathers.</p><p></p><p>“You feckin…” Jim starts up.</p><p>Cas reaches across and grabs Jim’s arm, “we’ll come quietly, soldier.”</p><p>“I’m a Captain!”</p><p>“My mistake, I was getting ahead of myself, you may be a Captain now but you’ll be a soldier in the morning. Still, chin up, lovely weather we’re having.”</p><p>Cas admires the night sky as he wanders into the city, grinning.</p><p></p><p>The other members of the troop follow on, smiling down at the Captain, who’s short, even on horseback.</p><p></p><p>“Wait. Men, search them.”</p><p>“Hang on…” Newt trots over on Dobbin, “what about me, you missed me out.”</p><p>“Newt, if you’d…” Cas starts.</p><p>“Shut it face ache this is serious, how come you’re arresting them and not me?”</p><p>“I have my orders.” Khan goes to move off.</p><p>“We’ll see about that.” Newt spurs Dobbin on, alongside Khan’s mount and in an amazing feat of horsemanship, leans down and under the Captain’s horse, a dagger appears in the Gnome’s hand, slice, and the saddle strap is cut. Newt struggles back up and into his saddle.</p><p>“Oi, short arse.”</p><p>Captain Khan swivels around in his saddle, which instantly slips, snaps and sends him tumbling hard onto the dirt.</p><p></p><p>Ten minutes later the six adventurers, Newt in chains, make it to the city gaol, on Vicky Street.</p><p></p><p>Thirty minutes later they’re prisoners number 9112 to 9117 respectively.</p><p></p><p>And in single cells and yet seemingly prisoner in some special segregated dungeon, there are plenty more sells, all of which seem to be unused at present.</p><p></p><p>At least they can still talk to each other.</p><p></p><p>“Cas are you asleep?” Ala half-whispers, half-shouts.</p><p>“He’s not, but I am.” A foul looking tattooed wretch clangs into the bars of his cell, opposite Ala, obviously they’re not entirely alone. “Now shut up before I come over there little missy and…”</p><p></p><p>SPRUNG-CLATTER.</p><p></p><p>Another cell door, a short way away, is smashed open- actually wrenched off its hinges, Bec walks out of the wreck as half-a-dozen guardsmen stumble into the far end of the passageway, they’re over thirty feet away from Bec, they stop, fumble for clubs, then decide to see how this is going to play out.</p><p></p><p>Bec stares at them for a moment then strides off towards Ala, turns and heads for the cell opposite, home to the foul looking, and rude, wretch. Bec grasps the bars, bends them a little, veins explode in his arms, he redoubles his efforts and wrenches them apart, leans in, grabs hold of the surly prisoner within and drags till the prisoners bald head is sticking out of the cell and into the passageway. Calm as you like Bec leans in and whispers something in the man’s ear.</p><p></p><p>Bec lets go and the prisoner dodges quickly back into the darkness and shadow of his cell. The Barbarian strides back the way he came, picks the door to his cell up and reverses into his new abode, wedging the door back in place as he goes. He leans back through the bars, and locks the door again- well, of a fashion.</p><p></p><p>A nervous soldier rushes over and fumbles a length of iron into place, a brace of sorts.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t do that again… please.” The soldier scuttles off.</p><p></p><p>Silence returns.</p><p></p><p>“I’m over here Ala, I take it we’re all present…”</p><p></p><p>The others sound of, they are indeed all present, they chat and snooze till morning comes, uninterrupted this time.</p><p></p><p>Next Turn: Newbies</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3866278, member: 16069"] Turn 45: Into the trees. Two hours later and the raged group are gathered in a clearing, it’s nice here, even late in the day, early evening, the sun shines down, warm- wholesome, they feel a little better already. “Here.” Thistle steps up to a very large tree, twists something and pulls open a previously hidden door. Its obvious now its open, but you’d have to looking for it to spot it otherwise, and you don’t, do you… generally, look for doors in trees. “That’s nice”, Newt admires the secret door, “can you make me one?” Thistle smiles a little, the first time in ages, ruffles the Gnome’s hair, Newt strides inside. The room’s quite clearly bigger on the inside than the outside. “Are you a Dryad?” Jim asks, then suddenly feels dumb. “No, brave Ranger, although I am a friend of Dryads.” Thistle clasps the Jim’s hand, “just like you will we be one day.” “Will I… That’s good. They live in trees don’t they?” Thistle nods and motions for the group to spread out, to settle, there are chairs, trestles, beds- there’s a lot of furniture for sitting, lying and generally resting on. Ale is on the table, and spiced teas, and cakes, and sandwiches, and buns, and sweetmeats, and trifles, and sandwiches, and buns, and little things on sticks- cheeses, pickles, exotic fruits; and on some sticks, all three, together. It’s a spread worthy of a king. “Pelor be blessed…” Cas starts.” “And Correllon.” Ala finishes, muffled slightly, not standing on ceremony she’s starving, chomping on a chocolate éclair. “Here, get one of these down you…” Newt offers up the plate of sandwiches to Bec. Bec examines the bready-host, considers his options, but his eyes are drawn back to the table, to the… “What is it?” Bec reaches and points down to a round-ish object, about the size of a potato, covered in some thin shiny metallic paper, a host to a miniature forest of delicate slivers of wood, each bearing a, that is not one, not two, but three different fine foods. He bends low and moves in until his face is almost touching it, right under his nose, he sniffs. The first is an onion, a tiny delicate onion, next, a cheese, Dwarven Ched-Dar, and on the top a piece of… he wants lick it, to taste it, to be sure. “Have one.” Thistle grasps the savoury laden hedgehog and gestures back at the giant man, “go on- they’re nice.” Bec swoops, yanks one free and . The onion crunches- FIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ The cheese melts- CREAAAAMMMY The pineapple hits- SWEEEEEEEEEEEEET The wooden sliver is a little chewy. It’s callisthenics for Bec’s face. “Go on, help yourself to the buffet, all of you, and Bec- next time don’t eat the skewer.” Thistle sits and pours drinks to order. Bec, brought up to know right from wrong, sits by the savoury hedgehog and contents himself with only eating only one of the exquisite morsels every minute or so, smiling politely at any of his companions that reach out towards the delicacy. The smile says it all, that and the wild eyes, those with a Sense Motive score high enough understand the Barbarian’s look, in translation- oh yes help yourself to one of my special foods, I hope you enjoy it’s heavenly delight because later I’m going to snap your arm off. Bec deforests the hedgehog at his leisure. A little later. “So what are Dryads like?” Jim asks through a mouthful of cake. “They’re mostly stunningly beautiful female tree spirits, usually clad in something thin and revealing.” The cake goes everywhere. The door opens again, Jim continues on. “Excellent. I’m usually quite a hit with the ladies; I’ve got very athletic calves...” The other members of the gang suddenly stop eating, stare at Jim, and then behind Jim, Newt motions for him to look. Jim strains around to see, while continuing with his explanation, “generally the ladies can’t keep their hands off… Mischa!” “Hello Jim.” “Do you know each other?” Thistle stares. “Yes.” A chorus from the adventurers. “Yes.” Out of sink, and pleading, Jim concurs. “Yes.” Mischa agrees and shakes her head staring hard at the Ranger. A little while later. The lights have been dimmed or extinguished, poultices have been applied, and healing and herbal draughts have been drunk- Bec snores, as does Anya but don’t tell her. There are one, two, three, four, five… oh hang on, five adventurers sleeping. Where’s Jim? The woods are quiet and a little chilly, Jim takes his cloak off and tries to wrap it round Mischa’s shoulders, she shrugs away from his touch. “I never…” “Shut up Jim.” “I was only…” “I said shut up.” Silence for a while. “Ok.” Mischa stops and stares at the Ranger. “You’re so…” “What?” Jim enquires. “So… stupid.” “Oh.” Jim looks at his boots. “I…” “What?” Jim looks up. “Just bloody shut up. I’m thinking.” “Sorry.” Jim goes back to counting his boots- one, two; time for a recount. “I mean I like you…” Jim goes to look up, decides better of it, and counts on. “But you’re so frustrating- you always say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing… I want… I want a simple life; I don’t want to be worrying about you all the time, wondering, moment-to-moment, I wonder if Jim’s alive? I can’t… I can’t live like that.” Jim gulps. “But…” He’s learnt his lesson, he doesn’t look up, “I…”, then he notices he’s all alone; he looks up, Mischa’s ten yards away, and not listening. She turns to face him; he looks down immediately, one boot, two boots, and start again. “We can’t be together. We just can’t. I’m sorry Jim- it would never work.” Jim looks up slowly. Meets Mischa’s gaze. Exactly six seconds later they’re in each others arms, and kissing. Two weeks later the adventurers are well again, actually all of them except Ala has sweated their way through a bout of Filth Fever; none of them were infected by the Lycanthrope fortunately. They’re outside the tree, Thistle’s home, or rather one of Thistle’s homes. “I want you to have these.” Anya hands the Pipes of the Sewers she’s been carrying over to Thistle. “Hide them, destroy them, use them if need be, but I don’t want anything to do with them. If I ever see another rat again it’ll be too soon.” The others nod, Bec vociferously. “We have to head back to Grimbo.” Cas confirms and shakes Thistle’s hand, “Thanks, for everything. We’ll tell the council about what we’ve seen. And we’ll keep the gem safe, at the Church, send for it when you’ve got Molton Clay back up and running.” The Paladin manages a smile. “Molton Clay is gone.” Thistle looks stern for a second, and then switches tack, “but I thank you for your efforts, without you… Anyway, keep the gem safe, and try to find out who the raiders were, I will make my own enquiries, if I hear anything, I’ll send word. Stay safe brave ones, the road is long…” And with that the six mount up and head off through the woods, Jim straining on his saddle to see behind, but Mischa’s nowhere to be seen. It takes the best part of a day to ride back to Grimbo, although none of them are in a rush to get back, it’s late evening when they arrive- fortunately the gate is open, and lit up like a Christmas tree, guards everywhere, and look- a bunch of them rushing towards them now. A swarthy figure leads the charge, its Captain Khan; he’s here to greet them no doubt. “Jim Bowen, Casimir La Frond, the man-child called Bec, Priestess Ala and the Wizard Anya- I have warrants for your arrest, resistance is futile.” A heavily armed and armoured crowd gathers. “You feckin…” Jim starts up. Cas reaches across and grabs Jim’s arm, “we’ll come quietly, soldier.” “I’m a Captain!” “My mistake, I was getting ahead of myself, you may be a Captain now but you’ll be a soldier in the morning. Still, chin up, lovely weather we’re having.” Cas admires the night sky as he wanders into the city, grinning. The other members of the troop follow on, smiling down at the Captain, who’s short, even on horseback. “Wait. Men, search them.” “Hang on…” Newt trots over on Dobbin, “what about me, you missed me out.” “Newt, if you’d…” Cas starts. “Shut it face ache this is serious, how come you’re arresting them and not me?” “I have my orders.” Khan goes to move off. “We’ll see about that.” Newt spurs Dobbin on, alongside Khan’s mount and in an amazing feat of horsemanship, leans down and under the Captain’s horse, a dagger appears in the Gnome’s hand, slice, and the saddle strap is cut. Newt struggles back up and into his saddle. “Oi, short arse.” Captain Khan swivels around in his saddle, which instantly slips, snaps and sends him tumbling hard onto the dirt. Ten minutes later the six adventurers, Newt in chains, make it to the city gaol, on Vicky Street. Thirty minutes later they’re prisoners number 9112 to 9117 respectively. And in single cells and yet seemingly prisoner in some special segregated dungeon, there are plenty more sells, all of which seem to be unused at present. At least they can still talk to each other. “Cas are you asleep?” Ala half-whispers, half-shouts. “He’s not, but I am.” A foul looking tattooed wretch clangs into the bars of his cell, opposite Ala, obviously they’re not entirely alone. “Now shut up before I come over there little missy and…” SPRUNG-CLATTER. Another cell door, a short way away, is smashed open- actually wrenched off its hinges, Bec walks out of the wreck as half-a-dozen guardsmen stumble into the far end of the passageway, they’re over thirty feet away from Bec, they stop, fumble for clubs, then decide to see how this is going to play out. Bec stares at them for a moment then strides off towards Ala, turns and heads for the cell opposite, home to the foul looking, and rude, wretch. Bec grasps the bars, bends them a little, veins explode in his arms, he redoubles his efforts and wrenches them apart, leans in, grabs hold of the surly prisoner within and drags till the prisoners bald head is sticking out of the cell and into the passageway. Calm as you like Bec leans in and whispers something in the man’s ear. Bec lets go and the prisoner dodges quickly back into the darkness and shadow of his cell. The Barbarian strides back the way he came, picks the door to his cell up and reverses into his new abode, wedging the door back in place as he goes. He leans back through the bars, and locks the door again- well, of a fashion. A nervous soldier rushes over and fumbles a length of iron into place, a brace of sorts. “Don’t do that again… please.” The soldier scuttles off. Silence returns. “I’m over here Ala, I take it we’re all present…” The others sound of, they are indeed all present, they chat and snooze till morning comes, uninterrupted this time. Next Turn: Newbies [/QUOTE]
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