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21085072 No.21085072 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]

Dramatic PC deaths thread. Bonus points for hilarity.

In one of my CoC games, the last surviving investigator was cornered in an alleyway by a shoggoth. His weapon was already out of ammo. When I asked him what he wanted to do, he declared that he was yelling at the top of his voice and holding open his jacket to appear bigger.
When the entire table had finished laughing about three minutes later, he died.

>> No.21086536

>>21085072
Guard Inquisitor Valen inspected the dead body of Howarth Redfield, a local farmer executed half an hour ago by a band of adventurers. To all accounts Howarth had been nursing a small mead in a corner booth, his warm winter cloak wrapped tightly around the shoulders, when the band of five suddenly attacked him without provocation.

"Sir?"

"Yes," Valen asked, lighting a cigarette. "What is it, Ablesmith?"

"We've found 'em, sir, the blackgaurds that done this, sir."

"What do they have to say for themselves?" Velan asked inhaling the halfling pipeweed and offering a small prayer to Yolanda.

"That's the thing, sir. They're dead, sir."

"Take me to them."

*****

Valen looked up at the clear night sky as if somekind of portent or omen would appear from amidst the stars, when none was forthcoming he looked down at the five broken bodies lying in the street: Adventurers.

"Any clue where the rocks came from?"

"They aren't local, sir, at least according to the stonemason. Our consultant at the Tower didn't register any portals to the elemental plane of earth, but they aren't ruling out the possibility. One of their specialists in on his way now, kept on saying something about the "Quasi-elemental plane of Fury". Does that mean anything to you, sir?"

"Rocks fall." Valen whispered, "Everybody dies."

****
/tg/csi thread?
/tg/csi thread.

>> No.21086575

"FOR QUEEN AND CUNT TREES!"
>Charges into a swarm of goblins, at level 1, alone.

>> No.21086917

>>21086536
"Any witnesses, Ablesmith?"

"Yes, sir. After the five suspects in the Redfield slaying fled the scene, they were spotted out here in the streets arguing for several minutes. One of 'em, sir, is quoted as referring to something called a," Ablesmith flicked through her notes, "Rael-road. Ever heard of that sir? Sounds like some elven nonsense to me, sir."

"Anything else?"

"Uh, yes, sir. The whole group reportedly stopped arguing and began making a series of strange movements and noises, that sound like some kind of ritual magic to me, sir."

"Somatic and verbal components, Ablesmith?"

"Yes, sir. Our witness described them with shoulders down, arms bent 90 degrees at the elbow, sir, palms flat and facing each other, and moving in small vertical circles. This behavior was accompanied by the words 'chuga chuga chuga chuga choo-choo.' The actions and words were repeated several times by the group before the rocks fell out of the sky and killed them, sir.

"Does that make sense to you, sir?"

"No, Ablesmith, very little in this world makes sense to me, but it sounds familiar. The ancients spoke of a ritual of mocking, directed to the gods of fate and destiny, intended to break one from the iron bounds of fate."

"It looks like it worked, sir."

"Yes, Ablesmith, it does."

>> No.21087097

>>21086917
"So any idea who these people were?"

"Adventurers new to town, not a lot is known about them, though the witnesses have described them as strange.

"We think one of 'em was a halfling..."

"Kender,' Valen corrected softly whilst padding amidst the carnage of the crime scene.

"Sorry, sir?"

"If you're referring to this," Valen pointed at the badly mangled form with a childlike build, "it was a Kender."

Ablesmith had a habit of looking vague, but now she looked vaguely confused. "I'm sorry, sir. A Kender?"

"Halflings from another plane, Ablesmith. Annoying little bastards, too. Each and evey one a compulsive kleptomaniac."

"How can you be sure of that, sir?"

"Because, Ablesmith, Halflings don't wear shoes." Valen illustrated the point, holding up a pair of tiny black boots by the toes. A slurry of pulped tissue dripped out, followed by a rain of precious gemstones and a silver throwing knife.

>> No.21087130

>>21086536

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

>> No.21087218
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21087218

>First time playing a PnP
>7th Sea with friends
>Roll generic Pyryem using Russian Archer
>Often sacrificed straight damage for tips coated in flame
>We get into some trouble
>Getting chased by town guards
>Lucky rolls errywhere
>Decide to split up
>Get cornered in their gunpowder storage by myself
>Board up the door with barrels of powder
>"There's no way to get out of here. I can't go back to jail again. Not again!"
>Load two arrows in my bow and set them aflame
>Door bursts and I fire
>Rest of party sees stones, bricks and other shit go flying into the air

>> No.21087309

>>21085072
>V:tM
>Tremere seeks Golconda
>Gets mistreated by coterie
>Gets mixed up with weird magic book
>Nuts out and goes all DEATH FRENZY on the coterie
>Toreador works out that all he has to do is apologize & he's off the list
>Slimy Venture does the same
>Fucking gyppo whatever clan does the same
>Stubborn Ventrue is like "fuck you, I'm not apologizing because you're trying to kill me"
>Stubborn Ventrue stakes frenzied Tremere
>Says, "Now that I have no reason to fear you, I want you to know that I really am sorry"
>Tremere is now a human
>with a stake through his heart
>ex-Tremere dies

>> No.21088336

>>21087097
Grand Inquisitor Valen dropped the Kender's boots and turned back to the scene of carnage as Ablesmith continued making her notes.

"I imagine they had an impossible beautiful woman with them?" Valen asked.

"Yes sir," Ablesmith replied, "Skin as white as snow, hair the colour of onyx with streaks of midnight blue..." she read from her notes.

"Hetrochromia?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Her eyes, they were two different colours?"

"Yes, sir," Ablesmith confirmed, "how did you..."

"Hmm let me guess..." Valen mused, crouching down and inspecting one of the larger bodily remains, "Sapphire blue and ruby red."

"Yes, sir."

"And I imagine your witness described them as mercurial as her moods, yes?"

"Yes, sir. Tamwyn the bard was quite smitten..."

"Yes, well it appears our Kender was joined by a-" Valen paused to consider the evidence: black feathered wings, small horns, pronounced incisors, prehensile tail."A Half-celestial Tiefling. We'll know for sure once the boffins in the Tower run their tests. Probably some kind of Sorceror-Paladin if all these magical items and holy weapons are any indication."

"A paladin, sir? You think a Paladin would have had a part in Redfield's death?"

"Perhaps they were rebelling against their celestial nature, Ablesmith, perhaps they were just a Blackguard, maybe one of those non-lawful types. You know how many a dark deed is done with good justifaction."

"Yes, sir. And the others?"

"I'm working on it, Ablesmith."

>> No.21088429

>>21088336
>justifaction

Well, that's as good an explanification as any.
Unless anyone else has any illumilightenment to shed on this.

>> No.21088440

>>21088336
>an impossible beautiful woman

All women are impossible, man.

>> No.21088594

>>21088336
>"Hmm let me guess..." Valen mused, crouching down and inspecting one of the larger bodily remains, "Sapphire blue and ruby red."

Wait, *not* striking green and hazel?Or very light blue?
What manner of heresy is this?

>> No.21088659

>>21088429
>>21088440
C'mon dude, don't make me trap you in a game I run. A crummy world of plot holes and pronunciation errors. I'm just trying to give you guys some low quality writefagging.

>> No.21088683

>>21088336
Valen stood up and moved to one of the other corpses, positioning his mage-light to best illuminate the grisly mess before him. "Half-Eladrin mix, Rakasta maybe or catfolk. Adolescent build, probably a teenager or simply underfed. See these marks, Ablesmith?"

The juniour inquisitor hadn't gotten closer than 10 feet to the bloody mess of stone and flesh, but peered closer to Valen's current fascination "Ah... yes sir," she affirmed looking a bit green.

"These are the slave-marks of the Feywild. He must have escaped recently if he was still wearing these." Valen indicated some bloody scraps of silver chain and a collar.

"Witnesses reported an underdressed young man amongst the group of suspects, Sir. He demanded to be served warm milk from a silver bowl placed before the fire. Back before all that business in the tavern went down."

"Yes," Valen murmured, "of course he did." He looked amongst the stones. "Lets see who else we have here."

>> No.21088749
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21088749

Alright, /tg/. It's time for the story of how my Rogue Trader group, the commanding crew of the Lunar-class cruiser known infamously as the Mortis Est, got stuck in, and then escaped from the Processional of the Damned, minus one character. I won't get any bonus points for this, I'm sure.

To understand the gravity of the situation, you need some background. This session came at the end of years of successful campaigning, but things had been wearing thin at this point. An in-game rivalry had developed between the crew's arch-militant, Vice-Admiral Decimus Decimus of Krieg, and the primary enginseer, Explorator Castiel - a rivalry, I should note, that was mirrored in the real world by an unfortunate falling-out that was taking it's toll on the group. Significant events in this history of animosity included Castiel bolting a warpsick and unanaesthetized Krieger (Decimus had his own regiment on board) to an operating table and forcibly replacing his inferior biological organs with superior machine parts. These actions resulted in a short and unresolved stand-off in which Decimus threatened to kill Castiel, and Castiel threatened to vent the entire crew into the void of space - but that's another story.

In the previous session, the crew, led by the intrepid and space-mad Rogue Trader Gaius Tiberius Aurelius, had raided an ancient and dead Eldar craftworld after being tipped off to the location of a hidden warp gate. They made away with countless priceless artifacts, and only just escaped from the claws of the ruthless Biel-Tan craftworld, using primarily blatant lying... but again, that's another story. On to this one.

>> No.21088762
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21088762

>>21088749

In their hasty escape, they neglected to properly calibrate the warp drives, and the Mortis Est plummeted into the warpside of the Alenic Depths - a portion of the Koronus Expanse which, during warp travel, I had previously described as an endless cloudscape with dim flashes of hellish light and the stirrings of terrible warp monsters barely visible through the haze. Now, they plunged full through the clouds and into a vast hellscape of spinning, razor-sharp mountains of rock and warp lightning. Odius the pilot, in a manner that I described as steering a blue whale with rockets strapped to it, aimed the Mortis Est towards what appeared to be an anomalous portal back into real space. That session had ended with one of the rock shards spinning - as if manipulated by some daemonic force - straight towards the gellar field generator, a 500m tall statue of the God-Emperor of Man. I asked the party, at that moment, to write down their action during the final moments before the shard struck.

Gaius the Rogue Trader ordered all hands to brace for impact and possible horror. Decimus whipped out his trusty hellgun. Odious tore his cranial uplink out of the ship and held on to his chair. Missionary Hatoris, currently in the temple to the God-Emperor that overlooked the spine of the ship and the gellar field generator itself, fell on his knees and prayed. Our comms operator and backup explorator Lucius braced for impact and prepared to repair any damages.

And Castiel... poor, poor Castiel, remained linked with the Mortis Est, the 5km long beast of plasteel and ceramite that he had cared for the entire game, that he had constantly pushed and repaired and communed with every session since we began our game.

>> No.21088890

>>21088683
Valen began his examination, then paused. "Ablesmith, I need a second set of eyes over here, right away."

"Yes, sir." Ablesmith stepped gingerly amongst the gore to where Valen stood above one of the dead suspects. Her eyes grew wide, "No, it can't be."

"I believe it is, Ablesmith." Valen nodded his head. "The last of the Furians."

"No," Ablesmith shook her head. "They're gone, they all died out during the last age."

"And yet, he bears all the marks of prophecy." Valen counted. "The noble visage, the birth mark of kings, the Sword of Righteousness..." As Valen pointed at each of the marks of the Last Furian he's voice grew more certain. Granted the noble visage was bloodied, and upon a fractured skull and the glowing Sword of Righteousness was bent by an impact, but Valen was sure.

"But he's dead." Ablesmith countered, her hands rubbing the sword pendant she wore as a devoted vigilant of the Furians. "The Last of the Furians is prophesied to lead us in the final battle against the Ancient Evil. He can't be dead."

"He's looks pretty dead to me, Ablesmith."

"But he and these others, they murdered Redfield. He can't be the Chosen One. It makes no sense."

"Like I said before, Ablesmith: I don't think any of this makes sense." Valen stood and wiped his hands upon his breeches. "You said there were five?"

>> No.21088947
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21088947

>>21088762

At the beginning of the next session, I told how a sudden flash of light blinded Hatoris who - though his eyes were closed - witnessed the painfully bright form of the God-Emperor himself superimposed in the space where the gellar field generator stood. At that moment, a burst of energy surged through the ship, blasting apart vidscreens, disabling voxes, and searing the brains of any and all of those poor souls who were still linked physically to the Mortis Est. The ship blacked out, and moments later, gellar field generator miraculously intact, had passed through the portal back into real space - or what passed for real space. The Mortis Est had entered the galactic graveyard, that place where all lost and forgotten vessels go to die - the Processional of the Damned.

For those unfamiliar with the Processional, I'll lay it out as succinctly as I can - the system consists of a disc-sized field of debris extending out a few AU from the center, where a planet-sized... well, hole or void really don't fit here. It's basically a spherical blackness - a negative area in space. The disc is full of vessels from all time and space - a fortune lying in wait for any adventurous treasure hunter - but is inhabited with a nameless and sadistic intelligence that, in it's own domain, commands a terrifying power.

The crew awoke to find most of the bridge crew dead. Rows of lifeless servitors and lexmechanics. Getting out would be difficult.

As it turned out, the surge of energy had damaged multiple components on the vessel. A crucial component of the warp drive would have to be replaced, and the life sustainers would only function for a few hours before going offline. Luckily, they were in a system full of spare parts... if they could get them.

>> No.21088996
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21088996

>>21088947

(Also, this RT group has been posted on /tg/ before... an adventure, very early on in the campaign involving Orks infesting the lower decks was archived: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/7428027/ It's a hilarious read, and I'd recommend it, even if you don't read this.)

The adventures that followed, in the context, need not be elaborated on in detail. All that the reader should know is that, in this game, the Processional was a malign intelligence that fed off of the suffering of mortals, and had the capacity to control any computer or neurological system that lacked a machine spirit. The players encountered a Space Marine dreadnaught whose sensors were damaged, and who was forced to fight the animated power armours of his fallen battle brothers for all of eternity. The nameless first character of the player who now controlled the pilot, Odius, was encountered, in a roundabout and terrifying way - a character known only as The Navigator, or The Thing. On board an ancient tomb-ship, a vessel that - for a price - sought the bodies of fallen scions of affluent nobles, returning them to their families for proper burials, an army of void-desiccated corpses attacked the players in zero-g. The players received vox signals from long-dead enemies and friends, and in the end returned to the Mortis Est, successful in procuring the required parts, but having left more than little bit of their humanity behind - what little of it they still had, after the campaign we had been through.

When they got back to the ship, however, they found a situation worse than they had hoped.

Decimus returned to his quarters to find his best-quality courtesan, Tamera (whom he had purchased early on in the campaign, and who was named after the mother of a mutual friend... long story) dead. Slain by his own void-suit, wielding his own las-cutter... controlled by the processional.

>> No.21089037
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21089037

>>21088996

And Castiel, who had been mysteriously missing for the entire session, was suddenly sighted. He was severing the gellar field generator from the rest of the ship, out in the void of space with a melta-cutter, inexplicably sabotaging the vessel.

You see, at the beginning of the session, I had slipped Castiel's player a note, letting him know that the Processional had current but limited control over his character. I had intended, at that time, for him to be subdued and/or incapacitated, and that once the players had escaped from the Processional, he would "come to," and regain his dormant functions.

Looking back, I can't help but laugh at how naive I was - putting the power over one character the hands of the others! Ours had never been an altruistic group. The players had established themselves in the Koronus Expanse upon a foundation of exploitation, rape of natural resources, and genocide. Combined with a circumstantial animosity, I don't know how I could have expected things to end any differently than they did.

>> No.21089039

It was a vanilla 3.5 campaign, in a custom setting where magical items and material components were very hard to come by. Our party mage happened across a staff of the magi and, after considerable research, determined everything it could do. Most of you should already know where this is going, but for us it came out of nowhere.

The Big Bad Evil Guy, in all his evilness, put his lair on the top of a mountain on a small island. The island was ringed with cliffs, and the only way up to the actual lair was to sail to a pier, get past a few guards, and hitch a teleporter ride 1,230 ft. up. After stealing a small ship, forging identities, and bluffing our way past the guards, we needed to infiltrate the base itself, and reach the BBEG's personal area. This alone lasted five sessions of stealth, close-calls, and finding ways to disguise the paladin's aura of good. In the sixth session, we encountered and defeat the boss, after one hell of a battle.

>> No.21089044

>>21089039
In the seventh, the DM cheerfully reminded us of the hordes of evil minions who were now extremely pissed off at the four do-gooders that had just killed their boss. Cue Yakety Sax, as the wizard expended every movement spell he could to get us the fuck out of dodge. So we end up at the teleporter. Thankfully, it's still working. However, the hordes were still chasing us and would easily catch up to us once we got on one of the ships.

The paladin tells the wizard to cast a wall of force. We know it wouldn't last long enough to hold them off as much as we need. Wizard does it anyway and buys us about a minute and a half. So the paladin grabs the mage's staff, kicks him into the teleporter, and uses it to port us down to sea level. He then faces the hordes and, once the wall fell, broke the staff.

The DM ruled that the retributive strike damaged the teleporter pad enough that it broke, condemning the minions to certain death. The rest of us only had to deal with a few hapless lackeys who quickly had a change of heart. The kicker was that it was that player's last session with us, as he was moving away to go to college. The rest of us gather yearly, both in and out of game, to pay tribute to the paladin and his player, the biggest bro you could ever meet.

>> No.21089059

>>21088996
>Decimus Decimus of Krieg
>Purchases a best-quality courtesan

He sounds like a piss-poor Krieger to me. Since when did they buy whores, or, like, have names?

>> No.21089094

>>21088890
"Over 'ere, Inquisitor." One of the uniformed guards directed him to the fifth and final body lying amongst the stones.

Valen began his examination while Ablesmith seemed glassy-eyed and detached.

"Ablesmith?" Valen asked sharply.

"Yes, sir?" she responded, snapping out of her fugue.

"I asked what do we know about the fifth suspect?"

"Uh yes, um... just a moment, sir." Ablesmith fished out her notes. "Human male, fairly nondescript, sir. We believe he may have been some kind of warrior as he was seen carrying a sword."

"Anything else?" Valen asked.

"He didn't take part in the killing, sir. When the others attacked Redfield he was quoted as saying 'Guys, guys I don't think we should be doing this.' and when the killing was over he mentioned that 'he was probably tonight's adventure hook.'"

"Crypic," Valen nodded for Ablesmith to continue.

"When the party were arguing he was apparently trying to dissuade them from killing everyone they came across-"

"Do you smell that?" Valen interrupted.

"Smell what, sir?" Ablesmith asked.

Valen sniffed the air. It smelt like blood and magic and... and something else... "Never mind, Ablesmith, nevermind." Valen looked off into the distance then back at the scene of the crime.

>> No.21089125
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21089125

>>21089037

So, under the assumed control of the Processional of the Damned, sought to deny the players any chance to escape. Of all the spare parts, of all the components they might have salvaged from the surrounding wreckage, a gellar field generator was conspicuously absent.

At the time that this happened, Explorator Lucius - Castiel's second-in-command on the deck of the plasma drive and acting commanding officer while the rest of the crew dealt with other threats, took the initiative and exited the voidship.

When they met face to face (or machine parts to machine parts, more accurately), Castiel immediately unloaded his heavy bolter into Lucius. Unlike the frail and tech-use oriented chief enginseer, however, Lucius was geared for combat. He was heavily augmented, and while Castiel had a Tech-Use score near 170 (or higher, I forget), Lucius had powerfists and Unnatural Strength (x2). Locked in combat, the two traded bolter rounds for powered punches while they drifted away from the ship and into the void. When they were about 30m away from the spine of the ship, the wounded Lucius seized Castiel, and with a mighty throw, hurled him away from the Mortis Est and into the vast, empty vacuum. With the same throw, Lucius propelled himself back towards the Mortis Est, amidst a hail of heavy bolter fire from the rapidly more distant Castiel.

>> No.21089135

My sixty year old human wizard up against an almost-dead demon Knoll (Maldrick for those of you who've played the Thunderspire campaign).

Well, my DM has a habit of giving his bosses some dreaded overpowered attack to mess with the party (makes for better fights), and it just so happens that this one could suck one opponent into a 1x2 room for a one-round fight.

A seven foot tall Knoll with a penchant for maces.

Versus one frail motherfucker of a human.

In melee combat.

>Maldrick takes swing at Quokas with Der Ubermace, breaks his spine
>DM allows a dying action for the wizard
>My drunken bastard of a PC flips him the bird and smacks that asshole Knoll in the face with a fistful of Magic Missile

The characters exit the extra-planar Room of Death as a dead wizard and a boss with exactly one HP left.

>> No.21089174

>>21089125

And so, the crew of the Mortis Est escaped the Processional, leaving behind a vital crew member. Unfortunately, I haven't spoken to Castiel's player since - with the exception of my birthday party, where he left without paying for his drinks. But, eh, so it goes.

>>21089059

Decimus Decimus is his designation, not a name. He signs as XX, as per roman (High Gothic) numerals. And a theme of his character was his "fall from grace," as it were - a deviation from Krieger ideals. Later in the campaign, he constantly purchased best-quality amasec and other luxury goods, and became quite ostentatious.

>> No.21089230

My kobold fighter went to Dal'Quor (with a boost from a warforged) in order to stop evil from pouring out of the portal that the team had just busted their asses to get to.

Noone really knows what happened to him. Generally accepted fate is that he cleaned out the realm, then starved to death.

>> No.21089304
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21089304

>playing a Dragonborn hybrid Warlock/Shaman
>decide to model her after a Disney villain because we're on a pirate ship and fuck it, no one else is playing pirates anyway
>model her after Dr. Facilier
>DM loves it, fiats into my background the ability to actually steal souls
>Trick a fellow PC into accepting a shit demonic bargain which ends up turning her into a naga
>she ends up breaking the spell and kicking my ass
>as a consolation prize, the DM has my character literally consumed alive by the Far Realm entity I served

Okay, I have to admit, that was kinda cool, even if I DID fuck up the musical number and the other PC turned out to be genuinely pissed off and disappointed by the whole affair.

The DM actually tried to bring back this character later, but I fucked it up again because I was RPing a new character already and couldn't swap between RP styles quick enough. . . And I ran out of original musical numbers.

My "master" was some kind of abstract "puppet master" creature which used imp-style puppets on the end of massive tentacles to communicate. Shit was cool, apparently also part of the overplot, but. . . Well, the DM should have picked a better player to carry his flagship over-villain on, I guess.

I'm just a piss-poor roleplayer in general. . .

>> No.21089407

>>21089094
"There's something off here, something about this one. The Kender, the Half-Celestial Tiefling sorcerer-paladin, the Last Furian. Their deaths in divine punishment for the death of Redfield, they make a twisted kind of sense. But this man? He didn't take part in the murder, he didn't advocate their killings... why was their punishment also his?"

Ablesmith looked back toward the corpse of the Last Furian, a shudder ran through her as she clasped her pendant. "The gods are mad, Valen."

Valen's nostrils twitched, "What do you make of this, Ablesmith?"

The junior inquisitor bowed down to inspect the fifth body's hands. Coarsened by fieldwork or swordplay, the finger tips were strangely discolored. "I don't..."

"Does that smell seem familiar to you?"

There was a strange odor emanating from the dead man's hands, familiar yet strange. "I don't know, maybe."

"I spent some time in Zelwood," Valen began sounding confident once more. "Amongst the gnomes and halflings they have a snack. The gnomes refer to it as artificial-cheese-snack-product, while the Halflings of the Frito-lay simply call them 'cheetos.' Those who consume the cheetos are forbidden from handling the holy texts. Dire punishment befalls those who do mark their golden fingers upon the texts.

"Perhaps, Ablesmith, this man had angered the gods..."

Ablesmith looked at around. "I see no holy books, Sir."

"Yes," Valen seemed crestfallen. "yes, you're right. There is no sense to be made here."

>> No.21089472

>>21089407
Nothing to contribute, but I am enjoying this story a great deal. The train action in particular.

>> No.21090052

>>21089407

"So five adventurers come into town and kill one of our men?" asked Duke Kheld.

"Yes," Valen nodded.

"And then they get into some kind of an argument."

"Yes."

"And then they all die in some kind of freak meteorological event?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make any sense." Duke Kheld decided, wringing his hands.

"The gods are mad, Sir," Ablesmith interjected.

"Yes, thank you Inquistor Ablesmith," Duke Kheld dismissed.

"I'm afraid she's recently had something of a crisis of faith, your grace." Valen explained, offering his partner a sympathetic look.

"Yes, of course, this Last Furian nonsense," the Duke dismissed.

"Yes, sir, all this nonsense."

"So, now there are no adventurers within the city limits?"

"None sir, at least none alive."

"Hmm, mores the pity," mused the Duke. "I was hoping I could hire someone to take care of a little spot of business. You know: go here, kill that, take the magic macguffin to the geographical feature of doom, come back and marry a princess."

"Yes, while these particular adventurers don't sound ideal for that sir, but I'm sure if they'd just stayed there murderous impulses for a couple of minutes they might have been just the people you were looking for."

>> No.21090083

>>21089472
I'm glad someone enjoyed it, it was kind of fun to write, but unfortunately I have come to the end of my first foray into writefagging and /tg/csi. I'm sorry the "ending" fell flat, I have the sense that I had something there, but didn't quite grasp it... I don't know.

I was going to end it at this post (>>21089407), but your post encouraged me to finish it, somewhat at least.

Anyway I'll resist the urge to explain the joke and end this here.

>> No.21090117

>>21090083
Not the same anon who was all :D
But this was sweet.

Anyone know how to archive?

>> No.21093708

bump

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