Sunday, July 7, 2013

A Travelogue of Role Play: Where Do We Park?

The morning sun was still casting its shadows when the party roared up to the ancient burial site where the tunnels opened into the outside world.  As they took off their helmets and surveyed the scene, excitement was clear in their faces.  They'd finally  arrived, and from here they would delve down deep into the dungeon, facing puzzles only the most devilish of Dee Emms could craft, challenges that had already killed many adventurers.

The first challenge they faced: finding a place to park their bikes.

Aerandir turned the big engine of his Harley off and leaped to the side, walking around to survey the site.  "Okay, you up there, it's time for your bathroom and drink-pouring break!" he yelled into the air above.

"You know they can't hear you," Azo said.

"Of course I know that.  Our players left the action several minutes ago.  We always get to the boring parts and suddenly we're left entirely without guidance.  I wonder if my player even thinks about my new Harley when I'm down in the dungeon.  I know I do."

"That last guy did warn us about rogues in the area," Samanthia reminded the party.  At their last stop the convenience store clerk had recounted the tale of his party's adventure, one that had ended in disaster as they'd reached a dead end and then returned to the surface to find their motorcycles had been stolen.

"Thieves, dear.  They were thieves.  I'm a rogue.  I'd never steal a Harley.  Unless I needed one, that is, but that's neither here nor there," Aerandir said.

She shrugged.  "Thieves, then.  The point is that we'll want to park away from the road and lock them up well.  All except Tarn, that is.  Tarn, you can probably leave your scooter wherever you wish; I doubt anybody would bother it."

"What are you saying, Sam?" Tarn asked.

"Oh, nothing," the bard said with a lilt in her voice.  "Nothing much, anyway, other than pointing out that your transportation is a little bit different from the rest of ours, a fact that graces you with several more possibilities than we have."

"Hmmph," the priest snorted.  "Don't you be insulting my baby.  She's gotten me everywhere I've needed to be over the many years."

"Me?  Insult your baby?" Samanthia said with a perfectly straight face.  "I'm sure she has taken you everywhere quite reliably, Tarn.  All joking aside, I think you have the perfect ride for you."

Tarn's eyebrows creased as he considered Samanthia's words, but then he had to hurry to catch up to the rest of the party as they walked their motorcycles away from the road and deeper into the woods.

"I wunner wut dey drink," Andouille said.

"What?  Why?" Yslea asked.

The dwarf shrugged and said, "I jes' wunner.  Beer?  Wine?  Whiskey?  Gotta be sumthin' alcoholic, er else me accent wouldna change s'much, s'often."

Aerandir nodded, a serious look deepening on his face, and he said, "Indeed, friend Sausage.  Why, sometimes you even sound like an elf."

The dwarf's expression turned angry and he said, "Fightin' words, elf.  I'd fight ye if'n der was summun ta roll initiative."

"Well, there's not anyone to roll initiative right now, so let's just settle down and get our bikes secured before they come back," Samanthia said.  "The last thing any of us wants is to come back up out of the dungeon to find our transportation gone and us having to walk back to town with all our loot.  Right?"

A few minutes later the party had managed to secure their bikes, chained two to a tree, far enough away from the road that even the elves' sharp eyes could not spot them.  They walked back to the tunnel entrance in silence, each running through the gold-filled future and the challenges he expected to face along the way to it.


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