Tuesday 25th November Asi van Dit - Male Halfling Thief 4 - Adrian McKinnon Finn Finnegan - Male Halfling Thug 3 - NPC Flung Chow Wong - Male Human Monk 3 (FW TF) - Ian Luxton Gavin Scone - Male Human Fighter 2 - Darryl Sherwood Mel Licious - Dwarf Psionicist 2 - Steven Krijnen Polly Ester - Female Human Bard 5 - NPC DM - Andrew Earl
Even well-briefed, and having experienced the full effect of a psionic Death Field before, Stan was still nervous with anticipation. Waiting now for the sickening blast from Gordon Kreskin, the much-vaunted Head-Popper, a psionicist, beneath him in the carriage.
It started first as a tingling at the base of his skull, then an oily pouring sensation down his spine, then someone shoved a red hot poker into the the centre of this brain, and finally, his stomach turned inside-out. Then there was the blood - there was always blood. He coughed out some gobs. However, the Death Field will kill most sedentary people within twenty paces. It happily goes through walls, too. That means everyone in these adjoining houses. Tell someone who cares.
The horses screamed. Oh, them too.
Then, as fast as it started, the Death Field stopped.
Arrows! Out of the gloom. One struck a horse and, already mad with pain, it shied. The carriage lurched down the street, twenty or so paces. Stan struggled to control it, but the stupid horse had got its leg caught in the tracers. The carriage scraped to a halt.
"Time to go, sir!" Stan croaked and leapt off the carriage.
Already, there was running on the street behind him. Those pesky adventurers! How did they know we'd be here?!
Gordon's overweight body wobbled out of the carriage and bolted down the street. His pasty bald head still giving off some heat - steam rising.
Another arrow.
Mercenaries Benson and Carol emerged from their hidey-holes nearby, and raced past the carriage, now behind Stan, arrows nocked. About time too.
"Eh! lads! One hun'ert gold pieces for the psi!" came the reedy Noah voice from the gloom behind him.
Stan couldn't help but think "How bloody pathetic! Those stupid adventurers! In the midst of a battle, they think mercenaries will just stop what they're doing, and turn on their employers for some hollow monetary offer?! Yeah, right."
Thunk thunk - more arrows. That'll be Benson and Carol answering with their bows this time.
"Ow! Eh that hurt!"
"Heh, got the Noah bastard," thought Stan.
Up ahead Gordon was wobbling, wheezing and puffing, as he ran. Stan kept up with him. Stay with the boss, at all costs.
Suddenly, from the side-street, a brown-robed figure sprinted, fast as the wind, towards Gordon.
Stan groaned - it was a monk! But how?
Gordon eyed the closing monk, then concentrated.
Stan groaned again. Not another Death Field?
A flash of heat radiated against Stan's cheek - heat from Gordon's head. The monk slowed marginally, flecks of blood on his lips. Stan coughed himself. More blood. And then it was over again.
The monk closed and let forth a wild kick at Gordon's face. Despite his weight, Gordon moved like an agile kitten, and the blow that would have felled an ox, glanced off Gordon's studded leather, and landed on ear, spattering his cheek with blood.
"I'll get you, you funken slope!" yelled Stan as he closed and drew his mighty double-sword. He stepped between the dazed Gordon and the monk, his blade flashing.
Soon there was blood on it.
The monk frowned, a trickle of blood down his forehead. Stan smiled a "I'm better than you, librarian prick" smile.
But there was another bloody adventurer. A girl in chainmail. She closed, longsword out, and attacked Gordon. He will have to defend himself, thought Stan, as he felt the monk's solid kicks and punches bounce off his chainmail. Stan swung his sword at the monk again. Missed.
By now, there were more of them! A little hobbit with a bow, the Noah chap with some kind of large sausage and a stupid hat, and an ugly rotund dwarf with the most hideous beard-combover he had ever seen. By Imag's dark butt it looked like the dwarf had toothache and his beard was the napkin. Tied at the top with a hair-ties too. What a tosser!
Gordon raised his hands. "I surrender!" he shouted.
Stan noted that the group just ignored this and got in a free round of blows. So Gordon lowered his scimitar, hate in his eyes, and hacked around himself again.
The monk kicked again, futilely, Stan parried with his hilt, then twisted the blade, cutting the brown-robed fellow in the groin. He yelled, clutching himself, and toppled.
Gordon was managing surprisingly well, against Mr Comb-over and the girl. Already she was bleeding from several cuts, and Gordon was barely wounded.
The sausage chap swung his meaty weapon at Stan, bouncing off the chain. Stan reeled a bit from the rancid stench of the lard, but swung back and smacked his double-sword into the Noah fighter's belly. The sausage fighter sagged and fell, his herring-bone cloth cap rolled in the gutter.
Clear, for a second, Stan had time to see the girl stumble on a piece of lard, giving Gordon just enough time to land his scimitar on the back of her exposed neck. She collapsed face down.
An arrow glanced off Stan's armour - must be that bloody hobbit, he thought.
"I'll take the dwarf!" yelled Stan. And intervened giving Gordon a breather.
The bald dwarf was no match for Stan and in two swipes, was dropped.
Another arrow appeared from the gloom and struck Gordon. Gordon was midway through drinking a potion so didn't seem to notice the arrow.
With no targets left standing, Stan advanced on the hobbit. Another arrow crashed off his armour. Stan ignored this and sprinted, but the hobbit was too quick and Stan could not get close.
Blow this for a joke, thought Stan. He retreated to the scene of the fight.
By now, Gordon was gone, leaving just the downed bodies of the so-called adventurers in various growing pools of blood.
Another arrow hit a nearby wall.
"Time for me to go too," muttered Stan.
He left the scene.