Hal: You have a hard time getting the pole out of your backpack, with the 2 coils of 50 feet of rope, 10 weeks rations, 135,000 gold pieces, and Baba Yaga’s Hut that are also crammed in there, but you suceed. You push yourself to the floor, but you can’t remove the ring! It’s cursed.
Perhaps you can keep using the pole, like a wacky-world gondoleer. Or someone can tie a string to your leg and pull you around?
Brahe: [rolls die] Whoops! You miss the crown, but you do knock the wand out of the Sea Monkey’s hand, which again conveniently lands at your feet.
Lesse…Remove Disease, Remove Fear, Remove Paralysis, Remove Fatigue, Remove Poison, Remove Undergarments,…ah! Here we go…Remove Curse. Yeah, I cast that on the ring.
You do manage to cast the spell-- your ring glows gently blue for a moment.
Along the way, however, you are briefly disturbed by the sight of Daithi Lacha fondling the hilt of his Vorpal Blade in a suggestive manner while staring at your hands. It’s unnerving, and you mispronounce a word. Your BVDs disappear, and you feel a draft in the now-unfinished-basement regions. Malacandra, who is standing below you, glances up your tunic, gasps, and fumbles the tourniquet.
The King of the Sea Monkeys makes a dash toward his wand. . .
Ok…I’m floating on the ceiling, covering my manhood with one hand, and holding a 10’ pole in the other hand (I’ll try not to confuse the two). Hmmm…use the 10’ pole to knock the wand towards one of the other party members, or whizz on the sea monkey’s head…
Hmm…decisions, decisions…aha!
I use my 10’ pole to try and knock the wand towards one of the other party members, while simultaneously whizzing on the sea monkey’s head.
Too many actions, Hal. You grab your “wand” and start waving it about-- your character sheet says ‘left-handed’! You start whizzing everywhere, like a firehose. You pee on the wand a bit, but luckily Brahe grabs the dry end.
Brahe points it at King Ackbar of the Rebel Sea Monkeys and shouts. The wand shoots out a sputtering stream of sparks and glitter with a 'peeeeeeef" sound.
The Sea Monkey is enveloped for a moment by smoke. When the smoke dissapates you see in the place where he stood a small, moist, spongy brick of some off-white substance, in a transparent wrapper that reads “Silken, extra-firm.”
(Do I get a bonus experience award for the gratuitous Doug reference?)
Winding up the now-unnecessary tourniquet, I’ll drop a harpoon round into the pistol crossbow and see if I can snag Hal’s tunic and winch him down to ground level again.
I stand well clear of the mighty slayer of edible fungi, and carry on winching Hal groundwards, while recocking the pistol crossbow. I’m also checking that my hypo rounds are still safely in their clip.
(West coast DM rushes back into room with can of pringles and a beer)
Hal, damn you, your ring’s no longer cursed.
Meanwhile. Hal waves his feet feebly toward the tofu chunk to no avail.
The Sausage Creature prepares to attack in the corner, as if he’d always been there.
Malacandra loads up her not-period pistol crossbow: thirty-five SCA dweebs stand along the wall as a keening Greek chorus going “Nuh-uh! No way!” She spears Hal’s tunic, which is in danger of wardrobe malfunction, and begind to haul him to earth. The winch cries “Nae! Dinna go thea, yeh fook!” and drops a couple of pints of lager off her serving tray.
Daithi Lacha gets a good hit on the tofu (given that it’s mostly inanimate). Critical hit! The vorpal blade severs its. . . something. It quivers and dies, making a squishy farting sound.
1/8 exp all around. Sausage Creature: do you want to prepare to cast a meal?
(ooc- Malacandra is a dude, both in real life and in character here, pal.)
I’ll stow a slab of raw tofu if the chef’s not going to stir-fry all of it. Waste not, want not. Also I’ll introduce the winch (was that a winch or a wench, or just a wind-lass?) to the brandy bottle, who seems to be a little unhappy at the moment, and I don’t want any projectile vomiting in my backpack, sackcloth or none.