Drabble Challenge
023 New Year.
The party was at Diamond castle. They had a few beers, ate chips, and slew goblins with the ease of a critical success, the roll of a die. Hopping pieces on a mat, faking accents as the elf pulled her bow, the barbarian hefted his axe, the human chanted, stroking his long beard.
Celebrating the new year with a dungeon crawl.
But when the clock struck twelve, he glanced up at the face, as the seconds ticked, and not for the first time he wished that instead of rolling dice, he had someone to kiss in the new year with.
258 Suspect.
The elven princess was suspect. What was she doing here in the middle of a dwarf tunnel, by herself?
Mitchell didn’t trust her at all, she may be a witch in disguise or an illusion. Grimthol, his berserker, on the other hand had an IQ of 7, subpar at best.
And where were all the dwarves?
He had to relent, agreeing to help her, even though he knew it would come to bite him in the ass later, because as long as Grimthol believed it, he couldn’t let his own wariness affect the outcome.
Next time, he’d roll someone smarter.
067 Tattoo.
Originally, he’d wanted a red d20 in the middle of his back. Critical success, just not in judgment.
Dissuaded, he considered his options. Hot babe in chain mail bikini? Bloody barbarian? A Conjurers and Caverns logo? No, no… what if he hated it in 10 years?
This was more difficult than character generation.
He struggled with the idea, but then Abby told him “You don’t need tats to impress girls”
Disbelief. “Then what?”
“Recall the golden rule: Do unto others. Just ask them about their interests, and talk about that”
Forget tattoos, time to ask girls about what they liked.
217 Blackmail.
Mitchell was pretty sure this had to be blackmail.
He’d only been made assistant stage manager because Henry wanted to stare at his butt. Which he could probably had dealt with better if someone younger, more attractive and willing to have sex with him could also stare at his butt, when he wasn’t at work.
Why else would the old fart choose Mitchell, a young man of 21, to help him run the stage hands and make sure everything came on and off the stage on time?
Blackmail, don’t report his creepy stares, earn the right to wear a headset.
165, Joker
His point of view was always just that little bit off, that little bit too different.
If he hadn’t been a heart, he’d probably make a pretty spectacular joker, making everyone reevaluate just exactly why they felt so confident that their point of view was so much better.
He lived vicariously through fantasy, making things up to suit his inner-moods. So much more to him than met the eye: an awkward ginger who couldn’t get laid, and snorted when he laughed.
He was so special, able to see things for more than what they were: what they could otherwise be.
The party was at Diamond castle. They had a few beers, ate chips, and slew goblins with the ease of a critical success, the roll of a die. Hopping pieces on a mat, faking accents as the elf pulled her bow, the barbarian hefted his axe, the human chanted, stroking his long beard.
Celebrating the new year with a dungeon crawl.
But when the clock struck twelve, he glanced up at the face, as the seconds ticked, and not for the first time he wished that instead of rolling dice, he had someone to kiss in the new year with.
258 Suspect.
The elven princess was suspect. What was she doing here in the middle of a dwarf tunnel, by herself?
Mitchell didn’t trust her at all, she may be a witch in disguise or an illusion. Grimthol, his berserker, on the other hand had an IQ of 7, subpar at best.
And where were all the dwarves?
He had to relent, agreeing to help her, even though he knew it would come to bite him in the ass later, because as long as Grimthol believed it, he couldn’t let his own wariness affect the outcome.
Next time, he’d roll someone smarter.
067 Tattoo.
Originally, he’d wanted a red d20 in the middle of his back. Critical success, just not in judgment.
Dissuaded, he considered his options. Hot babe in chain mail bikini? Bloody barbarian? A Conjurers and Caverns logo? No, no… what if he hated it in 10 years?
This was more difficult than character generation.
He struggled with the idea, but then Abby told him “You don’t need tats to impress girls”
Disbelief. “Then what?”
“Recall the golden rule: Do unto others. Just ask them about their interests, and talk about that”
Forget tattoos, time to ask girls about what they liked.
217 Blackmail.
Mitchell was pretty sure this had to be blackmail.
He’d only been made assistant stage manager because Henry wanted to stare at his butt. Which he could probably had dealt with better if someone younger, more attractive and willing to have sex with him could also stare at his butt, when he wasn’t at work.
Why else would the old fart choose Mitchell, a young man of 21, to help him run the stage hands and make sure everything came on and off the stage on time?
Blackmail, don’t report his creepy stares, earn the right to wear a headset.
165, Joker
His point of view was always just that little bit off, that little bit too different.
If he hadn’t been a heart, he’d probably make a pretty spectacular joker, making everyone reevaluate just exactly why they felt so confident that their point of view was so much better.
He lived vicariously through fantasy, making things up to suit his inner-moods. So much more to him than met the eye: an awkward ginger who couldn’t get laid, and snorted when he laughed.
He was so special, able to see things for more than what they were: what they could otherwise be.