6.05.2007
I1: The Deep Freeze
It is cold, and dark. But where there is sensation, there is life; where life, there is memory, or maybe dreams?
...
You recall the fight at the ice cream factory. You recall King Tut failing to roll his two saving throws vs. spells, so the DM used the first two blogroll'd d20 result in combat, which alas, failed the save. King Tut was held paralyzed by the magicks of the evil gnome Illusionist Barnabas Frye, enemy of the people, and former enemy of, well, you.
You remember Theodore, valiantly fending off tons of Bugbears and more awful illusion magic with his 1 hp and awful illusions of his own, to no avail. He was rendered unconscious. You remember the bitching of the PCs after this pseudo-storylining, although the bitching was not quite as fierce as when Paul was an active player.
You remember waking, bound, captive again. Shit.
You remember Barnabas Frye cackling in glee, counting his monies like a miser, as he sold you to slavers, a Captain Tom Frick, 100 gp a head. Barnabas waved and gave you the finger as you were led off in chains and gags. He was especially happy to have recovered a few of the famed '31 Flavours' illusions. Which you took from him before of course.
You recall cold nights and sweaty days, bound in the cargo hold, while Tom Frick and his crew of slavers sailed off to parts unknown, although it was clear there was something special in store for you sorry lot.
Your last memory is the strangest; that of being bound still, but questioned by Frick and his orcish henchman, at the edge of sharp knives and a hot iron. No, 'twas not Frick doing the questioning, but Ambassador Bekkers, looking suddenly healthy, sane, and dapper.
"So," says the Ambassador, stentorian rather than slurred, "I'm to understand that our beloved Princess, along with that... ahem, evil twin of mine, have moved sideways in time? What the hell does that even mean?"
No answer you had.
The Ambassador, cross, begins anew, when interrupted by the Captain, banging the side of an old B&W television, trying to get reception despite the storm outside. "Uh, WTF?" said that Captain, this one more slurred than stentor'd.
On the television, pictures of you. Pictures of you, being led off a ship, a different ship with a different crew, you in different dress. Pictures of you, captives of the Chums of Charon, being handed off to the 'proper authorities' of Onze. News broadcast. Headline is "Princess's Kidnappers Finally Brought to Justice... CoCs Surrounded by Adoring 16 Yr Old Girls"
The Ambassador looks confused and disturbed. You're tortured into sweet oblivion.
...
Cold and dark. But together, alone, unbound, unequipped, spell-less but fully healthy.
...
You recall the fight at the ice cream factory. You recall King Tut failing to roll his two saving throws vs. spells, so the DM used the first two blogroll'd d20 result in combat, which alas, failed the save. King Tut was held paralyzed by the magicks of the evil gnome Illusionist Barnabas Frye, enemy of the people, and former enemy of, well, you.
You remember Theodore, valiantly fending off tons of Bugbears and more awful illusion magic with his 1 hp and awful illusions of his own, to no avail. He was rendered unconscious. You remember the bitching of the PCs after this pseudo-storylining, although the bitching was not quite as fierce as when Paul was an active player.
You remember waking, bound, captive again. Shit.
You remember Barnabas Frye cackling in glee, counting his monies like a miser, as he sold you to slavers, a Captain Tom Frick, 100 gp a head. Barnabas waved and gave you the finger as you were led off in chains and gags. He was especially happy to have recovered a few of the famed '31 Flavours' illusions. Which you took from him before of course.
You recall cold nights and sweaty days, bound in the cargo hold, while Tom Frick and his crew of slavers sailed off to parts unknown, although it was clear there was something special in store for you sorry lot.
Your last memory is the strangest; that of being bound still, but questioned by Frick and his orcish henchman, at the edge of sharp knives and a hot iron. No, 'twas not Frick doing the questioning, but Ambassador Bekkers, looking suddenly healthy, sane, and dapper.
"So," says the Ambassador, stentorian rather than slurred, "I'm to understand that our beloved Princess, along with that... ahem, evil twin of mine, have moved sideways in time? What the hell does that even mean?"
No answer you had.
The Ambassador, cross, begins anew, when interrupted by the Captain, banging the side of an old B&W television, trying to get reception despite the storm outside. "Uh, WTF?" said that Captain, this one more slurred than stentor'd.
On the television, pictures of you. Pictures of you, being led off a ship, a different ship with a different crew, you in different dress. Pictures of you, captives of the Chums of Charon, being handed off to the 'proper authorities' of Onze. News broadcast. Headline is "Princess's Kidnappers Finally Brought to Justice... CoCs Surrounded by Adoring 16 Yr Old Girls"
The Ambassador looks confused and disturbed. You're tortured into sweet oblivion.
...
Cold and dark. But together, alone, unbound, unequipped, spell-less but fully healthy.
Labels: ...
