This is the thread for the one-shot PbP
The group has found themselves in the city of Alkenstar, situated deep within the Mana Wastes. The city blends remarkable technology with a constant air of imminent danger. Haunted by deadly mutants and sitting between two competing wizard nations, the people of Alkenstar are protected by pistol-toting shieldmarshals and arquebus-wielding dwarven snipers. Many of Alkenstar’s citizenry also carry their own personal firearms, whether that be a simple dwarven clan pistol or a more powerful gun, and rarely let their weapons stray far from their sides.
It is about two hours before sunset on a Friday evening. For many people, this is the end of their workweek and the numerous restaurants, saloons, and gambling halls of Alkenstar’s entertainment districts are doing brisk business.
Tonight is even more special however as a traveling theater troupe has rented out the renowned Aldivur Company Theater House to perform a much-hyped and never-before-seen play by famous playwright Melsa Aldthistle. While walking the streets there are plenty of people chatting excitedly about the play and there are numerous fliers advertising the play as The First Sin of Pharasma, and promises the audience a “once-in-a-lifetime experience” that is “sure to go down in history!”
The as-yet-to-be-seen heroes are currently relaxing at the Powder Horn. It's a dingy bar, located in the heart of the nearby entertainment district. You were lucky that you arrived so early that you were able to take one of the last remaining tables.
A muscular half-elf approaches the table, half-paying attention to you and half-paying attention to the extreme business of the rest of the bar. "Name's Martelle. Welcome to the Powder Horn... what can I get ya?"
Amara Featherton, better known to her allies as "Doc", was nursing sore muscles from a week of some particularly sad results. The kid went far too early, she thought to herself, recalling the Alkenstar urchin she tried for a grueling hour to mend the damage from a dagger wound in his side. But it was not to be. The cheap and needless fight took him.
She tries not to care. It was the looks on his friends' faces that did it for her. They're too young to see that.
Sulking, and staring at her hands, fingers lightly tapping the oak tabletop, she heard a new voice, though muffled due to the inner dialogue with herself. "Name's Marrrn...herrHorn... what can...get ya?"
She snapped to and blurted, "Boulderhead Bock. Or equivalent. Leave the bottle."
She didn't even give Martelle the respect of eye contact. Deep down, she hoped Booker or the others had something in mind to liven her spirits. That is, if they too weren't going through a cruddy week.
Booker sits quietly watching the crowd. He looks over to Martelle, "rum for me."
The big man then turns his attention back to the crowd.
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As soon as they had entered and sat down, Zindarel had been going over the dingy bar with a critical eye. However, she had no problem with the state of the bar, many years of field training had found her inhabiting less hygienic places. Though she understood why many would think that she with her clean and neat dress would think herself better than this establishment. Instead, her critical eye was mainly surveying the bar for strategic positions and exits. "Always know the best place to get a shot off and the best way to get yourself out if that shot doesn't hit," says a voice from her past. A lesson she had taken with her everyday since a particularly grave situation occurred in Port Peril. In a bar that was similarly as dingy. Out the corner of her eye she notices Zakzak's intense concentration on his work. He certainly has a focus that nearly rivals mine when he sets his heart to it, she thinks to herself as she finishes her memorization of the bar's layout.
She smiles at the occupied goblin as he requests pickles. "Yes, I think it would be best if you brought us any pickled goods that you have. I made the mistake of telling my friend here that I have never had a pickle and he has been raving about them ever since."
You've only been relaxing for a few minutes and Martell is at the bar pouring your drinks, when the anticipatory murmurs of excitement echoing off the walls of the Powder Horn are suddenly silenced by a bloodcurdling scream. A man stumbles through the main door, clutching at a gushing neck wound. A gurgling gasp escapes his lips as he topples to the floor. Even as the man’s body collapses, a shambling horde of misshapen humanoids attempts to follow him through, accompanied by a fetid stench of blood and excrement.
“What th—zombies?!” The cry comes from inside the bar as the patrons begin a panicked rush for the upper floor. As they rush for the possible safety of the upper story, the burly bartender leaps over the countertop, a heavy length of wood in her hands. “The doors!” she cries out. “Clobber those blighters and shut the door or we’re all doomed!”
Your table is the lucky table right next to the door.
The rest of the bar patrons push and shove each other to get to the second floor and Martell is holding what looks like the bar for the door. As soon as the way is clear and the door is shut she's ready to move up.
The zombie in the doorway jerks its torso back awkwardly as the bullet slams through its shoulder. It looks towards Zindarel as a ghastly moan escapes its lips.
Zakzak lines up a ball of shrapnel directly at the zombie's head. As its head explodes, shrapnel pelts the surrounding zombies.
Booker's training kicks in as he pulls up his scattergun.
He then lines up a shot on the lead zombie.
◆
He places another cartridge in the gun.
◆ Reload
He moves around the table.
◆ Stride
The zombie Booker aims at is suddenly only half a zombie as it collapses to the floor. Shrapnel from his scattergun pelts the remaining zombies just outside the door.
The rest of the zombies come pouring through the door and shamble up to the first living bodies they see. One takes a swing at Booker but barely misses.
Doc, witnessing the chaos from her seat, draws her closest confidants, Problem and Solution, from the holsters at her side as the zombies gets up close and personal to her and Booker. She opens fire with both weapons, immediately reloading.
◇ Into the Fray is triggered, Interacting with both Problem (+1 dueling pistol w/ bayonet) and Solution (dragon mouth pistol w/ reinforced stock).
◆
◆
◆ Dual-Weapon Reload
Doc sends two solid blasts into the zombie in front of her. They should have downed any living creature, but the zombie doesn't seem phased even as its left arm hangs uselessly by its side and part of its torso is missing.
Booker thrusts the butt of his gun at a zombie. ◆
Shaking his head, he tries one more time. ◆
before he steps back. ◆
Zakzak runs away from one of the zombies to put more distance between him and them. Aiming for the mass of zombies to maximize his scattering weapon he hits one of the zombies squarely in the back , slicing it up pretty good. The surrounding zombies also are slashed with flying shrapnel. One of the already weakened zombies collapses . Booker gets caught in the blast and catches a blade on his upper arm. Unfortunately, when Zakzak rushes to reload and fire again the weapon jams leaving him defenseless!
Booker tries pummeling the zombies back with the butt of his gun but their erratic movement makes it hard to connect properly.
The zombie that Zakzak left behind crumples into a heap as Zindarel sends a bullet right through its brain stem.
Both of the remaining zombies move up and try swinging at a seemingly less aggressive target, Doc! As she manages to dodge one, she backs up into a chair giving the other a clear shot to her stomach as it punches her with an already gangrenous-looking arm.
Doc takes the gut punch, which she'd felt before... but from the undead? Whole new experience. One she hopes to never have to feel again. Taking one step back from the zombie in front of her, she opens fire with her guns again.
◆ Step
◆
◆
Doc takes her revenge on the zombie that punched her, blowing the head off at near point-blank range. Her second shot wounds the last zombie. It appears to be barely holding itself together.
With the last zombie's attention fully occupied, Martell looks around at the situation. She's holding the door barlock, but needs the doors closed. "You! Goblin or anyone, shut those doors before more come in!"
Booker continues to slam the butt of his gun into the zombie before stepping out of the way.
◆
◆
◆ step
As soon as Zakzak gets the door closed, Martell hustles over and slams the door bar into place. Almost immediately the door rattles, pounding and moans from the other side of the door indicate the doors got secured just in time. There are sounds of fighting and screams heard in the distance.
Booker bashes the last zombie with two quick strikes and crushes in its head.
The bartender quickly addresses the heroes. “Name’s Martelle. We oughta follow the rest up to the second floor and get a view of the street, see what in the Hell is going on out there.” Martelle starts to head up to the second story herself as she speaks.
Booker grabs a cloth and wipes down his gun. He then starts to follow Zakzak and Martelle up the stairs.
Doc begins to follow the group up the stairs, stops to look over at the bar, spotting the bottle she ordered sitting on the shelf, sighed, she then resigned herself shaking her head and heading up the steps.
A wide, open area provides additional seating for patrons of the bar. A waist-high railing surrounds a ten-foot-by-tenfoot opening to the bar below, and each of the room’s walls sport a pair of large windows overlooking the street and alleys below.
The second floor of the Powder Horn is packed with worried patrons, most of whom are crowded around the northern windows overlooking the street. From here, it’s clear that zombies are shambling out of the Aldivur Company Theater House before spreading to the rest of the city. Zombies shamble about the town square and main road below. Across the street is a small market catering to the patrons of the district. Just west of the market is the home of the man who runs the playhouse, which also serves as a storage facility for the theater, and west of that lies the theater itself. On this side of the street, a 20-foot‑wide alley separates the Powder Horn from an adjacent two-story building.
Martelle beckons you over to talk once you've joined her and the rest of the patrons upstairs.
“So here’s the deal,” she begins. “You all clearly have more fight and experience in you than most of the folks out this way, you’re a bit more smartly armed, and who knows what to expect of the guard. We could wait things out, see what happens, but it’s not exactly like the number of zombies out there is shrinking. If we don’t put a stop to this now, the whole city could be overrun. So here’s what I’m proposing—you lot head to the theater house and see if you can’t figure out where all these zombies are coming from. Put a stop to them if you can or come back and let us know if you can’t. You put an end to this mess and you’ve got free drinks for life here at the Powder Horn. I’m pretty sure any of the rest of us that survive can probably scrape together a purse for you if the city doesn’t pay out a reward. Deal?”
Booker looks over at the theater house and then down to the alley before looking over to Doc.
Doc takes a moment to look down, then at Booker, nodding to her friend. She finally looks Martelle in the eye for the first time since they arrived. "I'm afraid we don't have much choice. I'll have to go with Zakzak on this: let's re-dead 'em," she declares, ensuring her guns are loaded. "What's our play besides, you know... not failing?"
As the group considers Martell's offer, the other patrons clamor around asking for your help. Clearly most of their firearms were more of a status symbol than showing they were trained in their use.
Martell claps her hands once in satisfaction as the group agrees. Great! Way I see it, you’ve got two paths forward. The first one is that you make a break for the house across the square. It’s owned by Aldivur, the theater’s operator, and is also used to store costumes and props from the theater. You should be able to lock it up from the inside, keep the zombies out while you look for anything useful."
"The other is maybe a bit trickier, but also safer." Martelle gestures to the window along the west wall. "That clothesline is bolted in pretty good, and the Thuss’s are good folks. If you can shimmy across there without falling into the alley, they might be able to help you out some. Rickard is a gunsmith and is likely to have some extra ammo on hand, maybe even some weapons. If you fall off the line, you can still make a break for Aldivur’s house, and if you get in there, well, they’re closer to the theater than we are, so maybe they’ll have an idea on what your best next move is. Whaddaya think?"
Doc nods reluctantly to the clothesline idea, hoping she won't have to be mending any broken bones tonight, hers or otherwise.
Booker checks the line. "I'll go last."
Booker waits his turn then calmly climbs across the rope.
Doc makes her attempt to tightrope across the alley.
Slipping, she attempts to grab the rope as she falls.
Continuing onward along the rope...
Zakzak hangs by his fingers multiple times while trying to climb across. The terror on his face as he nearly falls multiple times disappears as he finally lands on the balcony with a flourish.
Booker calmly and confidently shimmies across the rope.
Doc attempts to show off by tight-rope walking and falls. She manages to catch the rope but can't quite seem to make forward progress.
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Not one to let others see her fail at thrilling heroics, she gives it another umph, a technical term she learned studying medicine.