Limbo PbP

Game Master Lekku

Biter rubs his fingers unconsciously where they passed through the fake skull. Some kind of faking magic, he thinks.

Without looking up from his hands, he idly asks, "Why is'ing anyone to wanting to be something different?"

Havelock finally looks up from his drink and spies the lovely lady chatting with the salesman. "Oh, do my eyes deceive? What a lovely sight to see on such a night as this. Would you be kind enough to grace me with your name?" He smiles at the woman, all the while keeping a covert eye on the salesman's wares.

Dude, your avatar is cracking me up. I just have this image of your guy stalking around the bar with a giant syringe filled with thick yellow liquid held upright all the time...

Biter rubs his fingers unconsciously where they passed through the fake skull. Some kind of faking magic, he thinks.

Without looking up from his hands, he idly asks, "Why is'ing anyone to wanting to be something different?"

Bit looks up at Biter, on the counter near the floating Skull, registering surprise and amusement, "Well! What an interesting clientele! To answer your question, good sir... not every person is lucky enough to be born a fierce Goblin Warrior with teeth as sharp as knives. If you had flat teeth, wouldn't you want nice sharp ones instead?"

Biter's eyes open to their fullest. "Tiny Man is saying Shadow Drinking is'ing make Biter's teeth shaper?!"

Biter drinking this stuff could have interesting RP possibilities... Biter the Slick Romantic :)

"No. Tiny Man is saying that Drinking is'ing be changing Biter's brain - is'ing be sharpening Biter's mind. Teeth stay same, sadly. And Biter should know that Tiny Man is 1" taller than Biter. What that make Biter then if Tiny Man is Tiny?"

Bit puffs himself up to full height then repeats everything in flawless Goblin.

The gnome's puffed-up posturing brings a predatory grin to Biter's face, and Biter leans into Bit's personal space.

"O ghalaan daan gheralaan or dekec A'gh tuul'daal'dec kaaklaagec dun or maac, Dekec Ghac.*"

Biter barks out a laugh and slaps the gnome mightily on the back, enjoying the banter.

"So, what was'ing to happen when Dekec Ghac was'ing taking a drink?"

you're also making the poor assumption that Biter's player is capable of roleplaying a Slick romantic… but hey… maybe i'll give it a shot.

Bit laughs as well, mostly from relief that Biter wasn't going to turn the matter into a fight... which Bit was sure he would lose.

"Ys ghedekk an'subatler pensur kkrat."

"One drink'ing was making the Dekec Ghac waking up in a strange place doing useless things with many, many paperpages with writings on them." He laughs again, "You are a stout fellow! Let me buy you a drink and we will discuss the joys of looking up at tall women."

Bit's eyes pop wide, struck by a sudden thought:
"Mahjj Nikt-Dekec Ghac* friend! I have an item you might like. It will prove that it isn't the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog that matters. Would you like to see it?" He glances around quickly to see if Mors is there to object.

Goblin: *'My Not-Tiny Man'

you're also making the poor assumption that Biter's player is capable of roleplaying a Slick romantic… but hey… maybe i'll give it a shot.

I dunno. I think RPing Biter's idea of romance could be damn funny. Imagine Biter falling for Alis (with the Shadow Liqueur's help) and presenting her with a dead and mutilated chicken as a 'gift' to show his affection - assuming that long-ears women must be like Goblin women only taller.

Biter dismisses the possible dog insult, realizing the comment was meant as a compliment to his merit as a warrior. Then he shrugs, "Sure."

From the box, with gusto, he pulls out a flat-bottomed, clear, flask with an ornate, rune-inscribed cork and places it gently on the counter. Instead of wax to seal the rim, it appears gold was used. Inside the flask is a single, very small, insect of some sort. Bitiborium pulls out a huge and thick magnifying glass, focusing on the bug. Motioning for Biter (and others) to view it through the lense. Biter looks closely and sees that it appears to be a teeny tiny Tarrasque rampaging across the base of the glass and bouncing off the walls. Each blow from the Tarrasque chips the bottle which seems to magically repair itself.
"I give you... the Flask o' Tarrasque! Is it real? Is it an illusion? What happens when you pull the stopper? Is it a cursed vessel – that sucks you into the bottle to face the Tarrasque? I have no idea but aren't the possibilities exciting?!"

Gyldyr wakes up from a nightmare and quickly finds his robe and tunic, which he puts on. He leaves his room, closes a door along the corridor that's slightly ajar, and makes his way downstairs. Several evident magical auras emanate from a very strange looking booth.

Biter ... idly asks, "Why is'ing anyone to wanting to be something different?"

Noticing the burly goblin for the first time, Alis takes a loooong step backwards wondering where the heck he came from.

Havelock finally looks up from his drink and spies the lovely lady chatting with the salesman. "Oh, do my eyes deceive? What a lovely sight to see on such a night as this. Would you be kind enough to grace me with your name?" He smiles at the woman, all the while keeping a covert eye on the salesman's wares.

Hearing Havelock's smooth voice, Alis turns to meet the charismatic fellow. Lowering her eyes ever-so-slightly, she curtsies and says, "You do flatter, sir! You may call us—" she hesitates, thinking better of something, "me Alis."

Alis' Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24
Someone's Stealth 1d20 + 6 + 4 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 6 + 4 + 5 = 33

Gyldyr ... leaves his room, closes a door along the corridor that's slightly ajar, and makes his way downstairs.

EDIT: Oh damn, post #666! O_O

Gyldyr nods briefly to Nell. His raven flutters up onto his shoulder, still holding its bauble.

Alis continues speaking with Havelock, "By what name are you known, sir? What do you think of our good gnome's enticements? It seems that he accepts only the most curious methods of payment..."

Alis continues speaking with Havelock, "By what name are you known, sir? What do you think of our good gnome's enticements? It seems that he accepts only the most curious methods of payment..."

"Oh, forgive me. I am Havelock Ebonwood. These products I'd say are about as high a quality as one would expect from an insane gnome that wandered into a tavern and set up shop. Now, how curious are his payments? Are we talking about trading a good joke for a bottle of wine or trading the soul of a damned angel for eternal youth? Not implying that you're looking for either, of course."

Bit raises an amused eyebrow at the phrase insane gnome but continues discussing the Flask 'o Tarrasque with Biter.

"Waja kilaacka YOIJ mela'an uteggar?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Havelock. As far as payment goes, the gnome cares only for rarities: familiar feathers, demon-kisses, pastries, and even eidolon tears — whatever an eidolon is — for the sake of a practical joke. It seems he has a penchant for... oddities."

Without really looking up, Biter responds, "A magaac'd kaal'dec ghaar dar Kuuc'Kaac."

The miniature monstrosity in a bottle has Biter captivated, each tiny attack on the jar bringing a mild smile to his lips.

"O Kaal'dec druuc'd muul dar't ac maagaan? Togaal'dec den an khruur kaach. A shaakhogaan den an khraagec akuulakaan rhec rhuur maash ac shal togaal'dec duuch khruur al'duul akhaach duun rhaan kaartholaal ac dakhaal ac den ghakaar."

You can see the maddening curiosity building in the goblin, threatening to overwhelm him. He turns to regard Bit, a wickedly impish grin playing across his face.

"Friend Mors is notting going to like this." And before anyone can stop him, he snatches up the bottle and begins to rip off the stopper with his teeth.

sorry all... but you had to see it coming

"Biter!"

"Oh dear, I fear that this is not going to have a favorable outcome..."

Bad outcome? Oh, that's not the same bottle I was looking at is it?"

Alis moves away from the vicinity of the two short ones and casts message, "Sis, wake up, i think there's about to be trouble!"

Arryn leaps to his feet, daggers appearing in his hands out of nowhere.

Seeing people whipping out blades, biting flasks o' tarrasques, and foretelling unfavorable outcomes, Alis hightails it upstairs to get some real clothes on.

honestly, i'm not even sure this is going to be some kind of combat encounter based off where Bit has been taking these things. I guess we'll find out.

Bit was about to say, "I really have no idea except that I am fairly certain this isn't an illusion" when Biter renders the matter irrelevant by popping the cork...

With cork in teeth, Biter's nose is assaulted with the stink from the bottle... caged & raged Tarrasque stink. He can even hear the shrill 'roaring' of the tiny Tarrasque.

Outrageous twist of fate: 1d100 ⇒ 98

Oops. Biter, in his excitement, blows a snort of breath down into the bottle... and, like a mote of dust, the Tarrasque is blown up and out of the bottle. It begins to descend gently towards the floor. However, the stir of all the patrons causes air currents that buffet the small creature and carry it inexorably towards the bar.

"A pleasure to meet you, Havelock. As far as payment goes, the gnome cares only for rarities: familiar feathers, demon-kisses, pastries, and even eidolon tears — whatever an eidolon is — for the sake of a practical joke. It seems he has a penchant for... oddities."

"An eidolon's tears? I could arrange tha-$%#^!" Havelock joins Alis in running for the stairs, but for a much more cowardly reason.

A zephyr caused by Havelock's hasty departure spins the tiny Tarrasque up a column of air to height of 6 feet and then it begins to plummet (leisurely) to the top of the bar approximately half-way down it's length.

Finally landing on the 'giant' countertop, the Tarrasque roars defiance and charges... toward an errant olive on the bar.

The Tarrasque crashes into the olive, rocking it (an impressive feat when you realise the olive dwarfs the Tarrasque). It then does a vicious bite, gore, gore, claw, and claw combination - pitting the olive with surgical skill and rending the flesh into smallish chunks. Then, to cement its victory it swallows a modest chunk (slightly larger than its body) whole.

The tiny Tarrasque bellows its triumph and then stalks the counter-top searching out another victim...

Does anyone have their hand or another body-part on the bar?

"Now this has become quite an intriguing circumstance. In my voluminous lifetime, I have never encountered a Tarrasque so diminutive, nor have I found myself in such a close proximity. What a fascinating specimen! I wonder what transmogrification was required to reduce the creature so... What a capital development!"

The old man begins muttering excitedly to himself... those with sharp ears might pick up a phrase that sounds something like "...wonder what would happen if a virtually unkillable creature such as this found itself trapped within a bag of holding..."

Bit is torn between stopping this potential menace that could get him booted from the bar OR making a sale to Olivier. He errs on the side merchants have since time immemorial...
and hands Olivier the massive magnifying glass, "Please, Sir! Observe the specimen more closely. Note the behavior patterns. No man has ever had the opportunity to study such a creature so closely. Why the research possibilities - behavioral, anatomical, gastronomical, and... er... grammatical - are staggering."

"Why yes, young man, the possibilities are quite astounding - with the possible exception of the field of grammar; you are somewhat charming, so I'll simply let that one pass - but I do have some small amount of concern, as trivial as it might seem. While I am most certainly comfortable with a modicum of risk in my research endeavors, I fear that the potential for lethality here might in fact far outstrip the admittedly horizon-expanding results."

Without the slightest decrease in the earnestness or velocity of his commentary, Olivier nonetheless takes the magnifying glass gleefully and leans in move closely.

"Oh my, this is in fact a wondrous entity..."

Finally his voice trails off as his attention is more sharply focused.

"Acceptable risk, my good sir! And as you have so astutely pointed out... we are faced with, and now must solve, one of the age-old riddles - how do we get the genie back in the bottle?", Bit smiles expansively, "Cogitate on it, my dear Doctor (for clearly you are a man of letters) this creatures presents you with the opportunity to solve TWO mysteries - what is it and how do we capture it?"

Olivier sits back slowly and unconsciously strokes his long chin...

"Indeed, my youthful friend, a pair of particularly knotty problems do present themselves. Of course the conundrum that holds the most fascination for me is the former, but wisdom does seem to dictate that perhaps we should cogitate more vigorously on the latter..."

With that, the old man pulls out his ancient satchel and begins digging through it.

Unfortunately I'm going to be away from my computer for the next couple of hours - naturally this happens right as I'm getting involved in a story line... ah well... If the spirit moves you to forward the story along, please don't hesitate on my account.

No worries. We'll see how it plays out. At this point, I'm totally improvising. :) There could be some fun 'playing' with the Tarrasque before you get back to provide a solution. I mean the real question is - how much is this wee beastie really like a Tarrasque? Does it Regen? Does it have SR? There could be all sorts of 'testing' that goes on here before we get down to bottling it. 'Sides, many folks may be doing all sorts of Friday Night stuff.

Gyldyr walks down to the bar and watches the miniature tarrasque closely. "I really do think that we should return it to the bottle before there is any chance of it magically enlarging."

The young half-elf peers closely at the miniature tarrasque, casts a quick spell, and then attempts to disbelieve the creature. Will save 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

"It's not an illusion," Gyldyr remarks to the half-elf.

The young half-elf peers closely at the miniature tarrasque, casts a quick spell, and then attempts to disbelieve the creature. Will save 1d20+6

If it's an illusion, it's a very good one... because it still appears to be there.

I'm assuming Gyldyr isn't detecting any tell-tale auras from the mini tarrasque.

I'm assuming Gyldyr isn't detecting any tell-tale auras from the mini tarrasque.

Correct. For all intents and purposes, it appears to be miniature Tarrasque stalking the countertop looking for something to vent its rage upon. :) Tremble and despair its terrible might!

It'd actually be pretty funny, if Gyldyr were inclined to humor he might actually laugh.

Glad you like the image. It cracked me up. Gyldyr could crack a sneer that almost passes for a smile.

No one would be able to see, anyway. And he's LN, not Evil. Though I admit he'd make a pretty awesome evil character.

Suny lifts her head from the bar, where it has been resting upon her arm after the sugar induced stupor the wonderful desert put her in.

"Huh? Whut'd I be missin'?" She mumbles muzzily.

YAY! I has a WEEKEND! (^_^) *Does happy dance*

Gyldyr uses a wooden spoon to move the mini tarrasque away from Suny, whom it was trying to charge. "That," he says.

The Tarrasque slashes at the huge wooden wall that has descended from the sky to block it's attempt to get to its victim. It bellows defiance and changes course to run around the offending object and continue towards its hapless blonde victim. Yes, it will feed well tonight!