The adventurers heading
our way were an average of fifth level, and we were given appropriate skills,
damage and a couple special attacks to match them. Armed and packed with a few Stuns and Slays
we met the group…and determined almost immediately there would be no need to
lead them to anyone else.
What we found out
post-massacre was almost every single one of the unsuspecting kids were first
level, many on their initial adventure as a player character. The average was artificially inflated by one
long time, plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearian
spouting player whose character level was in the thirties, supposedly showing
them around.
The unsuspecting kids’
trouble started as soon as we revealed our true intents. Because their “guide”
had so much experience, he was all too familiar with the disconnect between
character stats and reality.
Therefore, like many
long time plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearean
spouting players, he worked the game’s rules to insure he wouldn’t have to
physically illustrate the disconnect by preventing anyone from engaging him in
combat.
With a bean bag held
majestically over his head protecting him from any and all damage, he rapidly
exited the field of battle in a direction perpendicular to any other planned
encounter on the tour.
Thus abandoned to our
overinflated damage levels, the unsuspecting kids’ did a large amount of
running and screaming in their simulated blood bath.
All but one, that
is. While the predominantly male
contingent shrieked like little girls, the lone female in the gang became a
whirling dervish of lethally accurate beanbags.
She weaved between us; causing nearly our whole band to have at least
one foot “magical pin”ned in place while most of her companions were “dead” on
the leaf covered ground.
Yes, until we figured
out what happened with the level calculation fiasco, we were applying the
“Killing blow one, killing blow two, killing blow three” to the poor saps once
they were out of hit points. If that
happened without interruption (highly likely do to the aforementioned running
and screaming instead of helping their comrades) there was to be no recovery or
resurrection. It was time to toss the character sheet and start over.
I continued my then
prolonged epic streak of guaranteeing myself to remain dateless by noticing
that while she was much faster than I was, she also was considerably
shorter. She hit me with an “I create a
magical pin” beanbag, sticking one of my legs in place, but the length of it
plus its similarly large mammal sized twin meant I could lunge and stretch the
end of my sword juuuuuuust far enough to reach her and say, “Slay.” Despite the fact that I did not follow
through with the killing blow cha-cha, I remained dateless.
We considered chasing
the long time, plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume,
Shakespearean spouting player, but decided to call the encounter over when we
saw he could make us lose limbs by waving beanbags in our general
direction. How fun for him.
Encounter Two brought us
up a couple of levels, but correctly this time.
The powerful party consisting of a couple long time, plumed hat,
interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearean spouting players plus
others were well out of our solo reach. Therefore we brought them up to the bad
guy camp helmed by our own long time, plumed hat, interesting facial hair,
fancy costume, Shakespearean spouting player.
Shortly following the
dramatic reveal of our enemyness, we all faced off with our revealed foes,
muscles tensed, weapons at the ready and forces poised for battle.
The main long time,
plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearean spouting
player of each group faced off with each other and began hurling threats and
insults…
And continued hurling
threats and insults.
We continued facing off,
with muscles relaxed, and weapons starting to wobble a bit.
The main long time,
plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearian spouting
player of each group continued hurling threats and insults…
We lowered our weapons,
and sort of looked in the general direction of each other.
The main long time,
plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearian spouting
player of each group continued hurling threats and insults…
We took to leaning on
our weapons, or nearby trees, and struck up friendly conversations with our
foes.
The main long time,
plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearean spouting
player of each group continued hurling threats and insults…
I realized that not only
was my back to the spouting, but the back of the long time, plumed hat,
interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearian spouting player
supposedly leading we bad guys was facing directly toward me and the
theoretical enemy I was having an entertaining conversation with as he rested
on a large oak.
I looked at my partner
in bored dialog, glanced over my shoulder and made a grand gesture, of stepping
out of the way, bowing, and waving both hands toward the two frustrated actors
who had supposedly led us to this position.
My new pal mouthed, “Really?”
and grew a wicked grin when I nodded my head.
He took up his sword with renewed vigor and charged howling at the back
of my long time, plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume,
Shakespearian spouting leader.
OK, so I was a traitor
to my specific team, but as a ginormous scale, chaos filled battle erupted on
that tiny plateau, shattering the boredom quite completely, I bet I was a hero
to many.
Unfortunately my
unfamiliarity with the rules doomed me. Thanks to juggler like reflexes and a
couple well placed “Stuns” I was more than holding my own dueling against three
opponents. That is, until a wizard with
excellent cross country sneakers zipped behind me while nailing me in the spine
with a “shatter” beanbag. I hadn’t
learned that one yet, and was so disoriented yelling to him to find out what
happened, I forgot one of the guys on our side hit me with a “Negate”
protection spell before the whole mess started.
By the time I figured out the spinning “Slay” I didn’t need to stop
mid-stream would have ended the sprinting sorcerer; I had already dropped my
bastard sword, yelled its name, and took off in search of a replacement. There
weren’t any, leaving me to say I was out of hit points long before I really was
to curb the enthusiasm of those who gained a giant pile of courage on seeing an
unarmed opponent.
The Third Encounter
brought my carpeted mercenary cronies and I back down to the level we started
at, but the party was an accurate match for us this time, instead of a horde of
fodder and one high powered, bean bag wielding, plume festooned chicken.
The clash played out as
a combination of the first two. We tried
to befriend them and lead them up to the main camp. En route, they figured out we were really bad
guys, likely because they had participated in a role playing game at least once
before in their lives. Luckily, before any
long time, plumed hat, interesting facial hair, fancy costume, Shakespearian
spouting players could start Shakespearing at anyone else, armed combat broke
out on the hill between our starting point and the main camp.
I was battling a goblin
and doing quite well, thank you.
He was a goblin because
he had on green makeup under his hockey mask, which is apparently what all
fashion conscious goblins were wearing that year.
I was doing well
because, in addition to my juggler like reflexes, Mr. Goblin Man decided to
bring a short handled mace to a bastard sword fight. (Hee Hee.)
In fact, I was doing so
well that I had backed him clean away from the rest of the fighting. I could hear large amount of carnage a
distance behind me, but there was no danger of anyone coming to his rescue.
His continual retreat
led him to the top of a large rock that was even with the section of the hill I
was denying him ownership of. The back
edge of the rock he was rapidly approaching being precariously balanced on was
a five foot drop down to the contour line we began our little encounter at.
Basically, he was one
doomed goblin.
Before I could finish
him, allowing me to rejoin and aid the rest of our player slaying band someone
yelled, “Hold!”
This is the method for
hitting the pause button in the game.
The reason for the
needed cessation of action in this large scale medieval battle was…
As God as my witness…
Someone’s allergy levels
triggered a bloody nose.
As I was facing
absolutely zero challenge pummeling the hockey mask clad goblin, and he looked
about ready to pitch backwards (even during Hold) off the rock I was pummeling him on. I gallantly suggested we continue our fracas down at the base of said rock in
the interest of fair play and safety before he could tumble off of it.
He agreed, cordially
thanked me, and we retook our positions a few feet lower.
What I DID NOT notice,
was that as we shifted our location slightly towards the center of the earth,
the green faced weenie surreptitiously pulled something out of his fanny pack.
(Also what all fashion conscious goblins were wearing that year.)
I’d like to point out
that not only was this unsporting, but I learned later it was against the rules
of the Hold.
When “Time In” was
called, instead of raising his short handled mace, he tossed his surreptitious
beanbag at me yelling, “I create a magical pin.”
At first he decided to
take advantage of the guy that was very recently sporting and concerned about
his safety by attacking me in my limited mobility state. Once more, my long limbs, his required placement
for using a short handled mace, my temper, and my bastard sword (Hee Hee) were
highly advantageous.
I took a mighty and mighty
aggravated swing with my plastic, foam and duct tape forged blade and
accidentally…
That’s my story and I’m
sticking to it….
And accidentally swung
too high, smashing the cheating, unsportsmanlike goblin
square in the side of the head. He whined a bit about my response to his
illegal move being illegal and therefore causing no “in game” damage. He then decided to leave me pinned there
instead of reengaging while I was stationary, and ran off. He also decided to
readjust his hockey mask which was doing a stellar impression of Daffy Duck’s
bill after meeting Elmer Fudd’s shotgun.
By the time one of our
wizards worked far enough away from the action to get back to me with a beanbag
of unstuckyness, the battle was complete.
And so was my live
action role playing career.
2 comments:
Ahhhhh, good times
Yeah, they were, weren't they? Thanx for reading.
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