>OOC: waiting patiently… waiting… waiting… for the post to be noticed. waaaaaaaaaiiting…
:: Sunspace ponders, trying to shake the spell of those mesmerising eyes. ::
That depends, O Mighty and Aureate One. If we guess the answer correctly, do we get to depart with our selves and belongings intact?
:: He shakes himself, trying to dispel the feeling of drifting through water ::
Harimad-sol wishes fervently that she hadn’t been too cheap to buy that invisibility cloak.
Am I there? Do I hear this?
Hal careens down the slide, getting his ankle caught up in the rope just as he nears the bottom. Dangling upside down at the edge of the dragon-floor, he pipes up…
“Riddles? I likes riddles! I mean, I like ka-bonking evil more, but I’m willing to go the riddle route for now…”
Sure, Misk, go ahead and step out of the shadows where you’ve been hiding.
Hillbilly Queen, Mooncat-- yes, with the mighty power of your combined weapons you cut through the carbonite casing. You emerge, covered in something like ash but stinkier. Like Havarti. Ya’ll are in a rectangular room, with a sink. A cooking wok rests on top of it, with the remnants of a mean-- someone had been here recently. There is a slick-looking chute out of the east side of the room (going down)-- a bit of lizardy smoke emanates therefrom. Is that a word? You hear sounds from down below. There is a rope tied to a chunk of what used to be a lever, leading down the chute.
Harimad-Sol-- yep, doncha? You’re standing down with the main group at the dragon, right?
The dragon smiles (or something-- in any case, there are a lot of razor-sharp teeth being shown) and burbles for a moment. “Yes, if answer my riddles three, ye, I shalt. . . um, ‘shall’, rather, make thee. . . ye? thine? Whatever. . . free. In a manner of speaking. Playahs be game?”
He blows smoke rings through one nostril at a time, alternating. Pretty fucking impressive, you all think.
Hal, dangling upside down, above the golden coil of floor, says he’s in.
“Well. . .” thundrously booms the dragon, ponderously and ominously and other adverbs. He thinks for a few minutes. You all start to sweat. Your hands are damp. So are the crotches of your shorts. Ew.
“Ah!” he cries, "What is orange. . . "
Everyone gasps and holds their breaths. . .
“And sounds like a parrot?”
He begins to drum exceedingly long, clawy . . . fingers?
(oh, welcome back, Hillbilly Queen. We’re all nice in here.
EXCEPT THE DRAGON!)
(I’m enjoying this. much better than dissertation.)
"Well…my initial thought was this guy… :: holds up picture that he carries with him everywhere :: “…but I’m thinking I’m going to have to go with ‘a carrot’”
<now zipping into NPC mode 'til tomorrow>
“Ah. . . . . . …hhhhhh… . . .” says the dragon. his breath is REALLY bad. “That initial idea is good, as it seems to be a scarlet macaw, which is a macaw and not a ‘parrot’ properly, yet sounds similar to one, but they are both members of the psittacenes, generically. . but yeah, I was thinking of a . . . carrot.”
He looks slightly annoyed.
“Well, then, clever humans and. . . meh.” He shrugs, looking at Hal and Mr Miskatonic. "I have a second riddle. “What!!!. . . is. . . brown. . .”
“and. . . sticky!?”
A stick!
Damn.Tooobvious.waytooobvious.gonnagetfried.we’redoomed.wentwiththeobviousanswerandwe’regonnagetfried.Shouldaneversteppedouttatheshadows.Wearesooofucked.
:: Sunspace relaxes ever so slightly, but has the feeling that he is wrapped in cotton and bobbing gently. And always, his attention is drown towards the eyes. ::
:: Unnoticed, his knifepoint droops downward ::
:: He tries to whisper to the others ::
[sub]Something’s wrong here… do we get to ask? Something’s wrong… [/sub]
“What!? You you mean the way he said ‘free in a manner of speaking’ which could mean freedom from not being lit like a candle? Free from earthly concerns?”
Shoot, did I say that out loud?
“Ahh!!! You humans and. . . well, you know [glares]. . . are much more clever than I’d intially anticipated.”
His eyebrows or something furrow in deep thought or something. You hope he’s not getting over a constipation-problem, because you REALLY don’t want to go there.
“The third. . . and LAST. . . riddle . . . is. . . ‘What has four legs when it is very young, two when it reaches full maturity, and three when it becomes old? And is tasty when it dies.’”
He leers at you all with a hint of sadism and. . . a sense of. . . appetite. He sticks a huge claw into his mouth to dislodge something unspeakable from between two what-would-be-molars-but-they’re-all-very-sharp-and-unmolarly.
Yeah, I’m sort of near Sunspace, but not so close that if something gets him, I can’t run like hell. Don’t worry, Sunspace; I got your back. I just hope I won’t have to do anything icky to prove it. My dad’ll kill me if I get this sword all nasty.
Did I mention I am poisonous to eat?
I don’t burn well either. My mother was an asbestos factory.
The answer is, a man! [sub]Or at least, a human being.[/sub] Crawling when young, walking on two legs at maturity, walking with a cane when old.
The dragon leers at Sunspace, looking exceedingly smug.
“Oh, a ‘man’? Hee hee. That’s up there with a scarlet macaw. Yes, I guess I failed to mention it, but in it’s teenage years it has 106 legs and 48 tentacles coated with ichor, and during its midlife crisis emerges as the monstrous shambling Old One, emerging from the miasma of its non-euclidian, subaquatic tomb, spawn of Nyralathotep, ia, ia shub niggurah ia thlub klaatu barada nik-hrm hrm hrm. …”
You lost the riddle, you surmise, but the dragon seems caught up in virtuoso descriptive ekphrasis.
Any bright ideas?
(Meanwhile great Zeus sends a lightning bolt down to smite Gaudere, and all DM typos and punctuation issues are forgiven by the masses, who are also forbidden to mention them. It’s my dad’s dining room, you turds! Hand me the cheetos! Don’t touch my dice! Jeez!)
…and is delicious only when parboiled. And funny, I don’t see a single giant kettle here. Nope, nary a one! Oh, well … heh heh … Guess we’ll just be toddling off then … Pity about the lack of giant kettle and all …
poop!