|Posted by CaptainZM on November 3, 2013 at 12:50 PM||comments (0)|
If you haven't gotten enough of the writing yet, and want to read more, a blog hosted by the character you know as "Z" is up and running with more content on the way. It's more of a novel rather than a retelling but if you enjoyed the style of SI, you should enjoy this as well.
You can find it here, along with the same Stealing Immortality stories from before.
|Posted by CaptainZM on October 30, 2013 at 4:25 PM||comments (0)|
So, my friends and I had all JUST started playing D&D, and we're starting with a 4e game set in our DM's own world. Things are going great, we have 6 players (an Eladrin Warlock, an Elf Rogue, a Dragonborn Warlord, a Deva Druid, and Wilden Seeker, and me, the psychotic Dwarf Battlemind.) We're playing our second session in our first real dungeon, and we decide to scout out two rooms. Torsk (me, the dwarf) and the mysteriously unnamed Wilden check out a room with a large tree in it. He communes with the spirits of the tree and becomes trapped.
Meanwhile, Voron the Elf and the warlock (can't recall the name, alas) go further down the hall to inspect another room. While testing one of the doors, they get sucked in and the DM takes them outside to complete the encounter while we wonder what the hell is going on. The druid and warlord have been watching the entrance all the while.
The rogue and warlock suddenly reappear next to the warlord and druid with spears through their chests. The spears are retracted by skeletal knights, and the two adventurers crumple to the floor. After an explanation, it turns out that the warlock had tried to teleport out of the room with the rogue in her arms after realizing there were too many enemies for the two to take on. She rolled terribly, to say the least.
It so happened that her awful roll had teleported them to the domain of Orcus, the Demon Prince Of The Undead. Here, the warlock learned that her powers did not stem from the Fey as she thought, but from him when he tricked her. For punishment of her interruption, Orcus took his wand, slashed the rogue, and stole most of his soul and put it into a gem. He then sent them back, impaled by the skeletal knights.
We were all still level 1. This is where we learned to never, ever, split the party.
|Posted by CaptainZM on October 27, 2013 at 4:20 PM||comments (0)|
So in our gaming group we were playing Dark Heresy Ascension and an interesting (and funny) situation happened.
Here is our party:
Me- Mordred an Inquisitor
Cain the Storm Trooper
Magos (I can’t remember his name)
Jack of Blades the Crusader
Primaris Psyker (As with the Magos I can’t remember his name)
We decided to have a meeting with Vladimir, a man that talked with the planets Judge (A man who is in charge of the planets entire police force!). We had reason to suspect that he tried to assassinate me while we were doing investigations in the under hive. So our conversation goes pretty smooth. I’m finally satisfied with his answers (He was blatantly lying about his needle pistol being stolen but I didn’t want to put him underneath the spot light for heresy at any rate). We get up and get ready to leave. As we are passing him Cain decided it would be a good idea to slap the guy. As soon as he hit Vladimir with his hand he combusts into black flames and jumps out the window and gets onto the floor beneath us. We open up the elevator as it gets up to our floor only to discovered a man sized burn hole in the elevators ceiling. The judge’s room is above us.
So we decide to go up to the judge’s room, fearing that Vladimir went to the judge. We end up walking in on the Judge after he got out of the bath. The first thing that comes from the group was Cain saying “So it’s a man!” I started to tell the Judge him about the meeting and what happened. Next thing I know Cain started to threaten the judge. All of us are sitting here, shocked. Next thing we know the Judge’s guards appear and start to aim at Cain. So the rest of our party decided to put him down. The Psyker cast Spasm which forced him to the ground, making him drop all his weapons. I slam my foot against his chest and drew out my power sword, pointing it towards his throat. We managed to convince the Judge that Cain was being controlled.
After the encounter we decided that we are going to put an explosive collar around Cain’s neck in case he does even more stupid things like that.
By: Grey Knight
|Posted by CaptainZM on October 24, 2013 at 4:35 PM||comments (1)|
This is a character for a current game of DND 3.5e I am participating in. This is the first in at least 3 origin stories for Milo, before I start writing about what happens in the actual sessions. Enjoy.
Milo Blanton, named by his lackluster parents, was born in a small tribal village, populated by the Khajit, or "CatFolk" as the rest of the world portrayed them. Milo was always getting into trouble, from the first time he would walk. One day, early in his childhood, the event that began his reputation occurred... That irreparable day... Milo was doing what most other children in his tribe did for fun; he was climbing into the trees surrounding the village, alternately jumping between them and falling to the ground, landing and proceeding to scamper back up the trees. Milo, during one of his falls, gathered up a few smooth stones from a nearby riverbed, their rounded surfaces perfect for throwing. His reason for gathering the rocks was Drrashr, another Khajit child whose incessant bullying against Milo had grated his nerves to no end; it was time for some revenge. Milo, approaching the ring of trees, glanced through the branches to locate Drrashr... "There," Milo whispered to himself. He spotted the offender easily enough, what with his out-of-place snow-leopard pelt betraying him easily. He was in a tree towards the north side of the village, surrounded by three of his cronies. They were laughing at something one crony had said, and Milo began his trek towards his own tree. He selected one about twenty feet from Drrashr and his group, with enough foliage to hide Milo from Drrashr's view. Milo slipped the rocks into a belt pouch he had put on that morning, and proceeded to climb to his destination. Upon arriving at an appropriate spot, high enough to give Milo a good view, he glanced again at Drrashr. He and his posse were there still, and still unaware of Milo's presence. Milo judged the distance, factored in the height advantage he had, and let loose one of the river rocks he had gathered. It went high over Drrashr's head, but neither he, nor his friends, noticed the projectile. Milo Tried again, but that one traveled underneath his intended target. Milo had two rocks left, and he needed to make a shot perfect, when he glanced up into the tree ahead of him, directly above Drrashr, maybe ten or twelve feet above him. Milo noted an object attached to the tree on one of its branches; it was a nest! Milo wondered what type of nest it was, as it was rather large, Wasp or Bee... He decided it didn't matter, only that it gave him a good opportunity. Milo looked square at what he needed to hit, the part of the nest connecting it to the branch, and threw one of his last two rocks. It hit the connector dead on, causing a large gouge in the material, but didn't cause the nest to fall. cursing the connector, Milo tried again. Three things happened in quick succession: Milo threw his last rock, which hit squarely where the last one had, breaking the connector and causing the nest to fall to the ground.
Before the rock hit the connector, Milo saw a large insect exit the nest and fly away from it, circling the nest angrily. And Milo understood, far too late, his horrible mistake. "PHASE WASP!!!" He screamed as the nest flew to the ground, shattering into innumerable pieces, and let loose a horde of wasps, all a foot-and-a-half in length, primed for vengeance. Milo scampered down the tree halfway, jumped to another tree, rushed to the ground and ran to the nearest adult as the wasps targeted and attacked Drrashr and his cronies, all of whom began screeching in pain and terror, running towards the village. The adults who ran out to counter the wasps' offensive, of which Milo's parents were counted, were confused as to why these wasps attacked the children. They engaged the wasps, who spewed projectiles every-which way from their stingers, with more than a few injuries on the Khajit's side.
Milo knew this was his fault, and his heart felt as if it was dying every time he saw one of his fellow villagers get injured because of his stupid mistake.
He saw a female a few yards away from his hiding place near one of the buildings of the village; she had a shortbow in her hands and was diligently shooting at the wasps, most times hitting them. The wasps took an interest in her, and the other archers in the vicinity, because of the damage they were doing. Three separate wasps homed in on the female and fired a barrage of projectiles, six in total, and she flew back, her feet leaving the ground, with the successive force of the projectiles.
Her name, as he would come to understand later, was Makrrass, and she was only one of the casualties that day as a result of his reckless bid for revenge. Makrrass fell into a heap after the wasps attacked her, her shortbow and quiver of arrows near her deceased body.
Milo wanted more than anything, anything, to right the wrong he had done, that was causing pain to so many of his friends and family. Milo wanted to help.
He ducked out of his hiding place and ran towards Makrrass' body, snatching the bow and quiver as he kept his momentum, heading towards one of the buildings. The wood used to construct the building was great for friction, especially with Milo's claws digging into the bark, and he raced up to the roof in no time.
Milo pulled an arrow from the quiver he had slung over his back, notched it into place, drew the shaft back along his finger until the arrowhead was less than an inch from his finger. He remembered the small amount of training he'd had with archery and he knew, based on his previous shooting, that he had to make these shots count. He had thought of the training as a game that wouldn't amount to anything until years from now...
It wasn't a game anymore.
Milo drew the arrow back, sighted, and let his breath out slowly, slowly, until there was almost
no air in his body, and fired.
The arrow was going wide; there were no wasps in the vicinity of the shot, and Milo cursed, rather colorfully for a child, while he reloaded.
He looked up fast enough to see a wasp intersect with his arrow, dropping to the ground from the shot.
"Yes!" Milo shouted, elated. Calm down, Milo told himself, this scat isn't over yet.
He sighted once again and heard a screeh from a Khajit, a low-throated sound that originated close by. Peering around quickly, Milo spotted two large cats, a male and a female. The male was probably two-hundred pounds heavier than himself, but that was pure muscle. It was Ytarrar, the tribe's chieftan, being bombarded by five wasps as he cut a sixth one in half with his greatsword, which was passed down to each successive chieftan.
The other was his wife, Kataacc, who had been by his side since before Milo's birth.
Milo saw them just in time to see Kataacc get hit by a barage of ten missiles from the five wasps, and the concussive force of the projectiles hurled her a few feet from her place by her husband.
Kataacc's fate led Ytarrar into a murderous rage, and he threw himself at the next wasp.
Ytarrar was blasted again by the wasps as he rushed to kill another of the bunch, and he fell to the ground under the force of the missiles.
Four of the wasps turned and flew off, proceeding to attack other members of the village, while one stayed behind. It moved forward, facing Ytarrar, buzzing angrily. Milo knew it was going to kill him.
So he acted, almost as if by instinct. He drew, sighted, breathed out in one second, and fired, grabbing another arrow and doing the same, sending two arrows into the wasps just seconds apart.
The wasp was pierced through the abdomen in one shot, and again with the other, and it fell to the ground writhing in agony, shooting missiles from its stinger randomly in its death throes.
Milo jumped from the roof, landing on his feet (That, at least, is a true stereotype!) and he rushed over to Ytarrar, who was bloody from dozens of wounds to the point of being unrecognizable.
"Help!" Milo screamed, "HELP!!!"
Milo was at a loss for what to do, he pressed his hands to the worst looking wounds in an attempt to keep Ytarrar here, in this world, and tears rolled from his face as he understood just how horrible the consequences of his actions were.
Ytarrar, however, pushed his hands away. "Kit, there is nothing you can do to help me, Obad-Hai has deemed me unfit to live in this realm."
He continued, "At least Kataacc will be there with me, in Obad-Hai's Hidden Woods, where we can be together for eternity... Milo, kit, do not be troubled. I saw this day would come to pass,
the moment I would pass from Material to Outland, and I welcome it. It is not your fault, not at all."
Milo, tears steaming from his eyes, nodded, letting his chieftan monologue the last moments of his life.
Ytarrar, his voice barely above a whisper now, said, "I can see what you will become, Milo, I can see the Khajit you will grow to be. You will encounter a group of people who need your help, and you will help them. One shall be your friend from the start, always having your back. Another shall be your rival, almost always opposing your decisions. The last shall be an enigma, a danger as well as safety, one who will grow to be your greatest ally... or your worst enemy...
Ytarrar's face scowls, the pained lines in his face deepening. "But take care, Milo, for you have a great destiny. You have great things ahead of you... I pray you will live long enough to fulfill them... for there will be a force in the world that wishes to break each and every one of you..."
His breathing was becoming shallower, his speaking more strained; he didn't have long, and Milo knew it.
Ytarrar made his hand rise from the ground and lightly touched his fingertips to Milo's forehead. He said, "However, you cannot remember this until the time is right, until certain events have occurred... Take care, Milo, and be swift in your victory..."
To any other Khajit who looked upon the two, they wouldn't see anything extraordinary happen, but between Milo and Ytarrar, something did happen. There was a jolt of energy from Ytarrar to Milo, and the latter forgot the monologue he had just heard.
Ytarrar spoke again, piercing the cloud of confusion that hung over Milo's mind, "Milo, there's something in my boot I want you to have... its in my left one. Take it."
Milo did as he said, and was rewarded with a glint of metal. It had a sturdy wooden handle, wrapped in soft, supple animal hide, worn with use. The crosspiece was made of a dark, hard wood that he had never seen before, and his eyes then traveled up the blade. It had a rather peculiar blade, starting like any other with the blade an equal width, moving out from the crosspiece for a few inches, before gently curving backwards, as if it were a larger scimitar; it was a dagger! The blade also had the unusual quality of a greenish tint to the metal.
Ytarrar, close to death, spoke his last words to Milo, "This dagger is important for you... Not too you, it is important for you. This will help you in a time of need one day, when you need it most, and it will save your life..."
With that, Ytarrar breathed deeply, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Milo sat there for ages, what seemed like an eternity, before someone laid their hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw his father, who didn't say a single word. He simply reached down, hooked one arm around his son's back, and the other under his knees, picking Milo up and hugging him to his chest. Taking him back to their home, Milo cried the entire way there, clutching the dagger from Ytarrar and the shortbow from Makrrass. He cried as he tried to sleep in his bed. He cried as he swore that he'd fix what he'd done today. He'd fix it.
He. Would. Fix. It.
By: Joshua Reid
|Posted by CaptainZM on October 5, 2013 at 2:00 AM||comments (0)|
So me and group of friends play after school, we were about level 2-3 depending on who showed up and when.
Our party consisted of 5 people:
A halfling Ranger,
A elf/orc Wizard,
A human Druid,
A human Fighter,
And lastly a Human Rogue(Me).
My character had a high forgery of +15 until my DM nerfed me.
So we're about 3 weeks into the campaign, and the story so far is we were trying to overthrow a dictator in power at the largest port town, and we need documents to enter the port town and speak with him. I decided to put my forgery skill to uses, i rolled a 16, it was a decent document and we were let in the town. As we walked the streets we were ambushed by the dictators guards, they were tough, but we killed them all.
After the fight we needed to clear the street of their bodies, and my character thinks, "Oh it'll be suspicious if we did this in public eye." So I decided to forge another document saying we were street cleaners, to the response by the party, "Why do you keep forging documents?" I tried to explain myself, but the party didn't care so i just decided to shout "ALL I HAVE IS ARTS AND CRAFTS!!" which lead to dead silence and then bombastic laughter heard around the table, and now its become a inside joke. If ever there issue I just forge a document to try to fix it.
|Posted by CaptainZM on October 1, 2013 at 1:45 PM||comments (0)|
The setting of this story is basically a world in which the fabric of
time and space are falling apart and our two heros, Turloc the lawful
good halfling sorcerer and Benjamin the neutral evil human rouge, must
find a way to stop the destruction of everything. But in the meantime
they found a strange box in a dungeon. After much deliberation and DM
hinting they finally come to the conclusion that they need a pin to open
this box and go find the nearest thrift shop. Once inside they explain
their dilemma to the women behind the counter, but it turns out that she
wants 70% of whatever is in the box. They both roll diplomacy at the
same time; Turloc gets a 19, Ben gets a 1. The storekeeper pulls out a 3
foot long needle and chases the rouge out of the tore cursing every step
of the way. Turloc manages to haggle so he keeps whats inside and she
keeps the box itself. Meanwhile, Ben is peeking through the window
murmuring how he's gonna steal everything in the store. She hears this a
chucks a needle at him and he dodges it, but when he sticks his head out
to mock her she lands a crit. he doesn't die, but it drops his health
about 20%. Finally, Turloc completes his business and leaves the store
looking for Ben. Unfortunately, Ben is already sneaking in the back
determined to steal every bit of clothing. He almost made it out when he
rolled another 1 on a move silently. The store keep freaks and begins to
stab him with yet another three foot long needle. Turloc hears the
commotion and runs in, throws the pile of clothes on the woman and drags
Ben to a tavern to recover after the women stabbed him to 1hp.
But wait there's more, just as they enter the tavern the owner leaves
saying they could have a room but that the bar would be closed due to
the fact that his wife was just attacked and he needed to make sure she
was okay. Not taking the massive hint that he's the storekeepers husband
they stay there the night. The next morning they walk down the stairs
and hear a scream; "Its the man who attacked me!". Turloc continues
walking down the stairs like he doesn't know the rouge and Ben runs to
their room and barricades the door. As the 25 armed patrons are breaking
down the door he breaks the window and gets a 1 on the jump check
spraining both ankles right in front of Turloc who was in the back alley
waiting. Ben now has two sprained ankles, the 25 strong mob are moving
down the stairs to the back of the tavern, and Turloc the HALFLING (half
his size) SORCERER (not focused on muscles at all) must perform strength
checks to drag him into a dumpster. He didn't make it, but the combined
mob rolled the only NPC Critcal Fail of the day on a spot check and
mistook him for a very ugly dog.
|Posted by CaptainZM on September 28, 2013 at 1:45 PM||comments (1)|
So a couple of weeks ago some friends and I started a d&d group. We are all relatively new to the game(I have only played about 6 sessions before) and this is my first time DMing. Here is the party:
Halfling rogue: McDick
Dwarf fighter: Trumpkin
Half-elf paladin: wing ding macadangdang the third
-the paladin has a special ruby that calls a powerful large frog man thing to help fight with them. I just called it a slaad for convenience.
The first two games went along fairly well. I had laid out a campaign that was going to be really cool, they were loving the story/gameplay so far, we were having a really good time. Then it came to the third session. This was the game were I was going to introduce the over arching story for the campaign, and the main villain. The idea came from the d&d encounters rise of the underdark. The Drow have invaded the surface and our players have to go find help to bring into the fight(mass effect 3 style). The villain was inspired by R. A Salvatore's Jarlaxle. Only his equipment though, the villain is a cold blooded killer. This villain was going to appear periodically throughout the campaign to attempt to thwart the players. He was really high level compared to our players and wasn't supposed to be challenged until the conclusion of the campaign when all the forces class with the drow. Then last night happened.
The group had rode hard to get to this wizards tower to see if he could help them understand what the drow were trying to do. When they get near the tower, they were suddenly cut off by 5 drow riders, on the lizard things described in salvatore's books. One of these riders is the main villain. They had interacted with him once before earlier in the game when he slayed one of their powerful npc allies. The group was meant to fight off the other four drow as the villain watched and judged them, then he would escape. So I left the room for 5 minutes to give them time to plan out their attack without me there to potentially foil them (plus, i had to use the restroom). When I got back they had me clarify some things. The group had a bag of holding from the first session because they needed it to transport a large sum of treasure. One of the players also had a bottle of very potent dwarf alcohol from the second session were he ordered a drink to go. And, that drow were sensitive to light. I had absolutely no idea where this was going but I acknowledged all of them. The four drow riders dismounted and the players were given the first turn. The paladin summoned his "slaad". the dwarf took a kerchief and dipped it in the alcohol and made a molotov cocktail. I saw no where in the rule for something like this, but I liked the ingenuity, so I let them do it. He threw the bottle in front of the drow and a burst of fire spread in front of them. The blast of light momentarily blinded the drow because of their light sensitivity, and my poor rolling. While they were blinded, the halfling pulls out the bag of holding and holds it in front of him as the slaad goes to throw him, at the main villain. I was dumbstruck, there was no way this could work. But I let the paladin roll for his slaad. I was planning on either dropping the halfling in the fire, or right in front of the drow fighters. But the paladin made a critical hit. Then he confirmed it with a 17. I was again, dumbstruck. So as this crazy halfling flies toward the villain with a bag of holding held out in front of him I realize what I had said to them when they got the bag. I had played it so that if something went part way in, it was sucked in. They were attempting to capture the main villain! I rolled for the villain to dodge, I rolled a 3...
So my players cheered as the drow was sucked into the bag. I was paralyzed with the thought that the planning I had spent WEEKS on to design this whole campaign had been crushed before it even got started. Then I realized, this character has jaraxles equipment. As some of you may know, Jarlaxle has a portable hole. I then grin as I realize my favorite rule in all of d&d is about to take affect. As the players continue to cheer, I tell them that all the drow, and their halfling are suddenly ripped into the astral plain. They get really quiet as I grin. They now have to go into the astral sea to save their comrade. My plans may yet survive, but now, I also get to run a planar game.
|Posted by CaptainZM on August 28, 2013 at 6:40 PM||comments (0)|
I'm running a game for some beginner D&D players. We have a cleric, a sorceror, an elven fighter, a monk, and a dwarf ranger. The cleric's player is overly enthusiastic and tends to jump to conclusions. Sometimes, to hilarious results.
The group was hired to find out the fate of a mountain town's beloved fire mage, who had not been seen for several years. The group trekked up to the mage's keep on the rim of the volcano and entered the keep using a magic key to bypass the doors. Once inside, they commenced exploring carefully, since they didn't know what other denizens might be in the keep.
Because the keep is dark, the party's dwarf ranger is sent to scout out the rooms just inside the antechamber. Through one of the doors, he notices a horrible sulfur smell, and discovers a room with metal scraps piled against one wall, along with two metal pots sitting in an alcove at the far end. Upon hearing the description, the cleric's player exclaims excitedly, "They're making fireworks!!!!"
Um, nope... those were chamberpots.
|Posted by CaptainZM on August 25, 2013 at 6:35 PM||comments (0)|
We're playing an anthropomorphic campaign (Think Disney's Robin Hood) where I'm playing a bard squirrel named Nutchuck the Melodious. We all play preformers in a traveling circus. Amongst the NPC's are a wizard bull-dog named "The Professor", a foundling kitten (a TIGER cub, but the squirrels don't know that) and another squirrel, Ralph. Ralph has a perpetual case of ADD, so bad in fact that he has a higher difficulty when doing anything when he's bored.
So the squirrels have taken the lonesome kitten under their hairy little arms thinking that he's about 7 years old (if he was a Cat, not a Tiger). Nutchuck starts to think that he may be a bit slow in the head because he acts much younger then that (because he is half that age) and decide to have The Professor look at him.
The professor squares things away by explaining everything to the squirrels.
Nutchuck: We're gonna need a bigger loft... But do you know what this means? We have a SMART kitty!
Ralph: Oh thank goodness. I mean the last thing that we need is another idiot. I mean just taking care of Razor is a full time job. I can't believe they let him handle pointy objects!
Nutchuck stares at Ralph and turns to the Professor. "Can you fix THAT?"
Professor: I'm afraid that's congenital.
Ralph: Professor! Can you believe him talking about my-my-my
Nutchuck: That's nothing. One time I had a sore throat and he wanted to see my *whispers* uvula.
Ralph: PROFESSOR! You should be ashamed of your self!
Nutchuck plays the violin and does acrobatics, she CANNOT sing.
Nutchuck: I am an entertainer, shall I sing for you?
Guy at bar: Is singing how you entertain?
Nutchuck: *blink* Or I could just play the violin.
|Posted by CaptainZM on August 21, 2013 at 6:35 PM||comments (0)|
Me, my husband and my two step children (ages 7 and 10) are running a D&D where we are all children.
Smashie: Half orc soldier (8) (played by 7 year old)
Stabby Jo: Apprentice human assassin (10) (played by 10 year old)
Sticky (me): Human Thief (11) (has ring of regeneration)
Nicky: Half dark elf necromantic wizard (35=13...elves!)
Tabitha: Squire of the Redeemer (14)
Lenore: A zombie wild elf druid/ Priestess of the lord of Death (long story that)
Ishmael: A prince of some far off distant land, Spy, Thief. (12)
On to the show:
Baby Games 1:
The kids attend a ball and try to find the guy with a peg leg and a hook for a hand who we think is going to try and poison our Regent. Sticky has been dragged into the Stabby's closet and is wearing a salmon colored dress.
Sticky: It's pink.
Stabby: No. It's salmon.
We're at the ball, some of us looking very awkward, when a random servant hands Sticky a fruity, fluffy desert thing, which she consumes with great abandon.
GM: Ten minutes later you start to sweat a lot. Your stomach starts to cramp. Roll intelligence.
GM: It clicks. The fruity stuff was poisoned. What do you do?
Sticky: I gesture theatrically to Stabby and point out the servent.
GM: Not only to do you point out what happened you spend the next three minutes have a long suffering if comical death scene.
Me: At least I don't just twitch like a bug.
Well Sticky dies. And they find out that the servant was actually the peg leg man. They toss Sticky's body down in the catacombs.
12 HOURS LATER:
Sticky wakes up and walks out of the catacombs naked.
Sticky: Hey, you, gaurd... I need some clothes.
DM: *frantic dice rolls, sigh* So the guy runs screaming about zombies.
Sticky: I snag a table cloth and go looking for Stabby in the Palace.
Stabby: "You're alive?"
Sticky: "I died... In a pink dress."
Stabby: "No... You died in a SALMON dress."
Baby Games 2:
Sticky, the thief has successfully checked the door for a trap. Rolls to disarm: Fail.
Sticky, covered in soot, her blue hair singed and sticking out. "TA-DA!!"
Baby Game 3:
The assassin and the thief have started a prank war with the paladin squire. Their best idea so far has been to systematically dye her war horse (Princess) pink. Several gaming sessions have passed and the paladin has not been in game.
Sticky and Stabby find themselves trapped in an ally with two massive guys getting ready to mug them.
GM: And then out of nowhere you hear "YOU!" and a shiney, gloved hand knocks out the guy in front of you.
Sticky: Oh crap, the horse! *starts running*
GM: Roll for it.
Stabby: I slink away and hope that nobody sees me.
Sticky: I climb walls.
GM: *Rolls* You're good, but she's bigger and better, she's caught you by your ankle.
Sticky: I shake her off.
GM: Roll strength : Success. "Okay, so you both come plummeting down as the window sill you are hanging on gives way."
Tabitha: "I'm going to kill you!"
Sticky: "Oh yeah." And I head-butt Tabitha.
GM: * Who had already decided that Tabitha was going to head-butt Sticky grimaces and we both roll to hit: BOTH OF US GET NATURAL 20's* "Ugh, oh my god. You BOTH head-butt eachother senseless and fall to the ground. A strange guy pokes his head out of window. "What's going on down there."
Stabby: I didn't do anything! I don't know them. I don't know anything. You can't prove it, so I'm going home. *goes home, leaving 'friends' knocked out in the alley'
Baby Games 4:
Paladin: What the heck is that! *pointing at the assassin's stuffed cat*
Assasin: That's Pirate Kitty!
Paladin: I didn't realize you were such a baby! Aren't you a little old for dolls?
Assassin: I bet you had a doll when you were a kid.
Thief: Yeah! Everyone did.
Paladin: Sure, but "Stinky" here only had a ball of rags."
Thief: *Nods enthusiastically and says "I loved that ball of rags" whistfully.*
Paladin: *stares, shakes head*
Baby Games 5:
Half orc, eight year old warrior comes across a magic wishing well.
GM: You're going through the city eating your bag of peanuts , finally you throw the empty bag away, looking up you see a guy standing next to a well.
Warrior: Is that a MAGIC wishing well?
Guy: Yep, or so they say. They say if you toss in a coin and ask for your hearts truest desire, you'll receive it.
Warrior: *thinks really hard* *Tosses coin in.* "I wish I had more peanuts."
GM: "Okay. You suddenly have another bag of peanuts in your hand."
Warrior: COOL! Hey, Sticky, I got a bag of peanuts from the wishing well!
Sticky and Stabby, who last saw him with a bag of peanuts look at eachother:
Stabby: He just keeps getting weirder, doesn't he?
Baby Game 6
GM: A man steps out of the shadows, his fingers are dripping with riches, he is the Sheik, Ishmael's father.
Sheik Ali: You have saved our princess, how can we ever repay you? Name your reward.
Sticky and Stabby: Iwannacamel!
Sheik Ali: Pardon.
Sticky and Stabby: Camel!
Sheik Ali: You do know that they aren't exactly... friendly right?
Stick and Stabby: Camel!
Sheik Ali: *humorously* And just what would you name such creatures?
And thus the assassin and the thief have camels named hamster and pony.
Baby Game 7
The thief has taken to jumping off of the camel instead of letting it lower her to the ground first, which pisses the camel off to no end. And has consequentially conditioned it to chase her whenever she jumps off of the war trained camel.
Currently she is in front of an (angry?) hoard of zombies.
GM: So what are you going to do?
Thief: I jump off the camel and run straight for the enemy.
GM: Oh god...
Thief: With the camel right behind me.
*Several dice rolls later*
GM: So... Your camel was so delighted squishing zombies that it completely forgot it was ever mad at you in the first place.
Thief: Good Pony.