(no subject)
Doors hate you
With all the work put into cursing his team mates about having to carry them back up again, the dwarf "forgot" to tell the owner of the cellars that they were practically done with the search. But the dwarf was by now so convinced of his mug-sword idea that he refused to leave before he found one and the argument that this was basically just some ordinary cellar and as such would not hold such a useful relic did not seem to bring much good. And so the party stood yet again in the dark, damp corridors of the cellar, most of them with a surrendering look on their face, with the exception of the dwarf, who was going for more of a pissed determination vibe.
Another inspection of the room where their last battle took place revealed two more exits. One was a corridor leading to small storage spaces filled to the brim with all sorts of weapons and the dwarf followed by the rest of the party filled their backpacks with swords and daggers of all types, but it was clear that the dwarf's heart wasn't completely in it, despite the fact that he was gonna fetch quite a nice sum for all the loot. He was still looking for the ultimate weapon. Nothing. By this time, the tension around the dwarf could kill kill upon touch and the druid swore she saw a rat keel over and die on it's own just by getting too close to Canhasgold.
With the search being fruitful, but the goal still out of reach, the group went back to inspect the other exit. This one ended at a locked door. The dwarf sighed and knelt down, fidgeting around with his new lockpicks to open the door. And fidgeting... and fidgeting some more.
"Get on with it, lil fella," Bashme sighed bored. And as such, was instantly thrust out of his boredom and into the door by the on he'd describe as lil fella. Yet, despite the hardness of the warrior's head, the door stood strong.
"Ye... GODS! LET ME IN! I WANT MY STABBING MUG! LET ME IN!"
"Calm down, dwarf. We're not getting in there yet it seems," Chrt sighed at the Canhasgold's temper. "But if it's there, you at least know no one will steal it from you."
"Except for th-" Bashme started before Trickortreat interrupted him with a kick into his side. "She's right hun, it'll be here, waiting just for you and you alone. Where no one else can get to it." It seemed that with each emphasised bit of a sentence, the witch jabbed another kick into the lying warrior. But whether it was to keep him quiet or just simply felt like it was anyone's guess.
"......fiiiine." Dwarf snorted like a little child would. Perhaps seeing the warrior being kicked calmed his nerves just a tad. And with that the party returned to the owner of this storage place, leaving behind nothing but a pile of bodies, shattered doors and rows of empty racks where once weapons and supplies used to be. Said owner took the message about pirates comming in through an escape route that no one else knows about and/or could find rather well. At first the party was relieved and confused, so they decided to accept an invitation for a party on their behalf. But during the evening they were beginning to understand why. The amount of booze that was brought to the table was immense for such a small school, the plates and mugs were suspiciously expensive. In the first half of the evening, the party was able to count many a way in which this man could be happy about learning of a secret escape route in his home. In the second part of the evening however, the party was unable to count to five. The wines and brandy that flew in streams clouded their minds, sight and memory to the point where they would be unable to remember their own names - and in the druids case nor species nor gender, as she forced everyone to call her Mr Frog for the rest of the night.
And thus our party made their first step into becoming heroes of Arkania by aiding the poor and opressed... Even though the poor and oppressed might turn out to be filthy rich underground overlords. But hey... it's the thought that counts? ... If we weren't too drunk to have any?
-------------------
OOC Disclaimer:
While the game does not say anything about the school master being an underground overlord, I still say that giving a pack of strangers the access to your supplies and being happy about the damage they've done to your property is very, very suspicious. ... >>
With all the work put into cursing his team mates about having to carry them back up again, the dwarf "forgot" to tell the owner of the cellars that they were practically done with the search. But the dwarf was by now so convinced of his mug-sword idea that he refused to leave before he found one and the argument that this was basically just some ordinary cellar and as such would not hold such a useful relic did not seem to bring much good. And so the party stood yet again in the dark, damp corridors of the cellar, most of them with a surrendering look on their face, with the exception of the dwarf, who was going for more of a pissed determination vibe.
Another inspection of the room where their last battle took place revealed two more exits. One was a corridor leading to small storage spaces filled to the brim with all sorts of weapons and the dwarf followed by the rest of the party filled their backpacks with swords and daggers of all types, but it was clear that the dwarf's heart wasn't completely in it, despite the fact that he was gonna fetch quite a nice sum for all the loot. He was still looking for the ultimate weapon. Nothing. By this time, the tension around the dwarf could kill kill upon touch and the druid swore she saw a rat keel over and die on it's own just by getting too close to Canhasgold.
With the search being fruitful, but the goal still out of reach, the group went back to inspect the other exit. This one ended at a locked door. The dwarf sighed and knelt down, fidgeting around with his new lockpicks to open the door. And fidgeting... and fidgeting some more.
"Get on with it, lil fella," Bashme sighed bored. And as such, was instantly thrust out of his boredom and into the door by the on he'd describe as lil fella. Yet, despite the hardness of the warrior's head, the door stood strong.
"Ye... GODS! LET ME IN! I WANT MY STABBING MUG! LET ME IN!"
"Calm down, dwarf. We're not getting in there yet it seems," Chrt sighed at the Canhasgold's temper. "But if it's there, you at least know no one will steal it from you."
"Except for th-" Bashme started before Trickortreat interrupted him with a kick into his side. "She's right hun, it'll be here, waiting just for you and you alone. Where no one else can get to it." It seemed that with each emphasised bit of a sentence, the witch jabbed another kick into the lying warrior. But whether it was to keep him quiet or just simply felt like it was anyone's guess.
"......fiiiine." Dwarf snorted like a little child would. Perhaps seeing the warrior being kicked calmed his nerves just a tad. And with that the party returned to the owner of this storage place, leaving behind nothing but a pile of bodies, shattered doors and rows of empty racks where once weapons and supplies used to be. Said owner took the message about pirates comming in through an escape route that no one else knows about and/or could find rather well. At first the party was relieved and confused, so they decided to accept an invitation for a party on their behalf. But during the evening they were beginning to understand why. The amount of booze that was brought to the table was immense for such a small school, the plates and mugs were suspiciously expensive. In the first half of the evening, the party was able to count many a way in which this man could be happy about learning of a secret escape route in his home. In the second part of the evening however, the party was unable to count to five. The wines and brandy that flew in streams clouded their minds, sight and memory to the point where they would be unable to remember their own names - and in the druids case nor species nor gender, as she forced everyone to call her Mr Frog for the rest of the night.
And thus our party made their first step into becoming heroes of Arkania by aiding the poor and opressed... Even though the poor and oppressed might turn out to be filthy rich underground overlords. But hey... it's the thought that counts? ... If we weren't too drunk to have any?
-------------------
OOC Disclaimer:
While the game does not say anything about the school master being an underground overlord, I still say that giving a pack of strangers the access to your supplies and being happy about the damage they've done to your property is very, very suspicious. ... >>