::Takes notes from Dragon Babbling::
Hey, it comes with the nickname.
:: The dragon does not realise that his mesmerising spell has been broken by his self-congratulatory chortling. People start to ease towards the rope and the entrance chute. ::
Sunspace looks at the rope and mutters, [sub]I’ve a bad feeling about this. Anyone see a handy door? [/sub]
If only the party had someone levitating with a 10’ pole searching for secret doors in the ceiling!
(Yeah, right.)
The dragon whispers disjointed and irresponsible things about “the black pit,” “the carven rim,” “the proto-Shoggoths,” “the windowless solids with five dimensions,” “the nameless cylinder,” “the elder Pharos,” “Yog- Sothoth,” “the primal white jelly,” “the color out of space”. . .
He seems pretty busy, for the moment. . .
:: Sunspace looks around and makes sure that his backpack is packed, on tight and secure, and his knife is sheathed, then grabs the rope and starts tp climb. Soon he is out of sight over the top lip of the chute. ::
Danforth. . . I mean, the DRAGON continues muttering, with “hand” and wing gestures. . . crap about “the wings,” “the eyes in darkness,” the moon ladder," “the original, the eternal, the undying,” and other bizarre conceptions. . .
(why, yes, I am stealing this from somewhere, Free cheetos to the player who identifies story)
MoonCat walks to the top of the chute, stepping out of Sunspace’s way, and watches the dragon silently, trying to stay out of its line of sight.
I wander over to the chute opening, to see what all the commotion
is about.
I cautiosly peek over the edge. The beam of light from my crown, (which I forgot to turn off), lands upon a pantsless Hal Briston, hanging upside down, with his tunic gathered around his waist.
As I recoil in shock, the light beam lands on a giant green eye…
I step forward and say "O great riddlemaster, you are indeed worthy of the honour vouchsafed upon you by our Lord the King, and I therefore in my capacity as Minister Plenipotentiary For Suprahuman Intelligences do present you with this signet ring in earnest of your elevation to the nobility!
“His Majesty is minded to make you a Count, but between you and me, I think he is generally willing to settle for any title you might be pleased to select. Only state your preference and I shall read the Official Proclamation!”
Whereupon I hand over a signet ring and unroll a proclamation that has been living happily in my scroll-case.
The Haunter of the Dark?
His shrieks begins to be repetitive, of a single mad word of all too obvious source, “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li”. . .
But Malacandara’s speech seems to stir him out of his not-eating-humans reverie, and he stops babbling. His eyes come back into focus, on Malacandara.
Ya’ll rope-climbers are now at the top by Hillbilly Queen et al. Just Sunspace (and the NPC thief)?
“We have a king?!” the dragon asks, incredulously.
“We sure do, and he says you’re the tops”, sez I. “So if you’ll just decide whether you want to be a Count, or an Earl or a Duke, I’ll do the formalities. (Duke’s good. That means every human within fifty miles has to do what you say.)”
Whereupon I stand ready to read the proclamation. “By the way,” I add, “this sounds kinda funny. It’s one of those things lawyers draw up.”
The dragon glares at you suspiciously.
“I didn’t know we had a king. . . I thought the dungeon was an autonomous collective. . .”
He huffs, and the steam from his nostrils makes the vellum you hold wilt a bit, the curve left from its storage in the scroll case softening.
Strictly speaking, we’re an anarch-syndicalist commune, but you’ll make a wonderful Duke, O Draco Regalis!
:: piping up ::
“No no no…we most definitely have a king. Yes, King…Thad…Geo…Har…Don…uhhh…ison. Yes, Great King Thadgeohardonuhhhison the…uhhh…Dragon-Lover.”
:: internally grimacing at realizing he inadvertently put “hardon” in the middle of his bluff ::
“…and of course, only the greatest in the realm are offered his signet. So, brother Malacandra, if you would please read the Royal Proclamation…”
oh what the hell
**Anaamika ** vaults in through a hitherto unnoticed window. She somersaults across the room, landing on her feet and drawing two tantos.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on? Ooo! Dragon-guarded treasure!”
At this point, as soon as the dragon has put the ring on his claw, I read the Polymorph Any Object scroll I was fortuitously carrying (heavily disguised as a “royal proclamation”), casting it at the signet ring rather than the dragon, or, to be specific, the cameo on it, which I turn into a rather smaller mass of anti-matter. I think one milligram ought to be enough. I make that about ninety gigajoules of energy released in the resulting explosion - you know, the whole e=mc[sup]2[/sup] thing.
What? My god told me, that’s how I know! :mad: I’ll use my ki ability so if I make my saving throw, I’ll take zero damage. Hope Anaamika didn’t just blunder into the blast radius…
::Real World Mode ON:: Wait, you can join in the middle of a game? I know I did it for Doperball, but I just sat on the bench and cheered. Hmmmm…
No, I think I will just continue to lurk. 
::Real World Mode OFF::
Ah, yes, but here on the Dis. . . the Frisbeeworld, physics are different. Ninety gigajoules is only one quarter of a thaumatamole. The ring goes “fweeeEEEP” and shines for a moment.
“OOh, sparkly. Now, do I get a royal name, too? Do I get to choose it? A DUKE, huh?”
(This is NOT Doperball-- of course you can join in any time. Physics are different here. Git yer ass in here, boy! (or girl))