Sigil

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Femnal, Scullery Crew

The alteration of sulphurous yolks into a burnable form was a very simple process, if one knew how. Carefully, Keystone cracked the eggs and strained the yolks away from the whites. Proper applications of heat and agitation combined with a couple kitchen staples yielded a pale yellow, chalky paste in very short order. Another moment of preparation had a half dozen ceramic ramekins loaded with one good-sized oven coal each and a spoonful of yolk paste, evenly arrayed on a large serving platter with a covered plate in the center. As he exited the kitchen, he called back to the scullions still inside, "Many thanks, you. You might want to throw a bit of sage and some winter mint in with that roast, but very nice, anyways."

Deftly, Keystone walked around the common room, placing the smoking ramekins evenly about the area. The smell of vinegar and burning egg yolk cut through the air, quickly overtaking the more pungent (and vorpal) odor of The Asspocalypse. The odor, while not the most pleasant in the world, was without doubt preferable to the environment of five minutes prior.

The last ramekin was reserved for the upstairs, or more appropriately put, The Source. Keystone deposited it in a safe spot and returned downstairs, only the covered plate remaining on the serving tray. This was reserved for the proprietor, still recovering from a vomitous heave almost as epic as the arseblast which caused it.

"Right then, Squire. Problem seen to, per request." began Keystone, his underclass accent prominent in his speech, "If'n you'll pardon my assumin', sir, you're going to get proper hungry in a minute or three. I've got you set up here with somethin' that'll sit heavy and gentle."

For just a second or two, Keystone removed the plate cover. Still venting savory steam, therein waited thick slices of toast with butter and clotted cream, a cheesy egg white omelette garnished with young celery leaves, and syrupy, sliced peaches. It was an amount suitable to a man of Keystone's size; it should fill the belly of a Gnome sufficiently and to spare.

"Now, I'm off to that temple one of your serving girls told me about. Yellow Rose, or some such? Maybe I can pick up some incense there, what can chase out the last of the sulphur. By your leave, sir."

Keystone balled his hands into fists and tapped his knuckles together lightly while giving a curt bow. It looked like a motion practiced thousands of times, part of a point of discipline foreign to not only the culture in which the errant pugilist found himself in then, but his own culture as well.

Without further ado, Keystone made his way toward the Yellow Rose temple, directions gathered from the barmaid earlier in the evening.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Twelve minutes in a kitchen after a witnessing a vomit fest. Gotcha.

I went and trimmed my last post in half, will tweak the second half for my next post. Paradox averted. Kinda.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Femnal, Kyra, Scullery Crew

Keystone acquired a look of concession as the Gnomish proprietor demanded that he adjourn to the kitchen to enact his plan for making the Inn habitable once again. "FINE. I'm on it, gimmie a minute."

He noticed an element of distress in Femnal's face; one he had seen many times from bar patrons overwhelmed by more booze than their stomachs could handle in one sitting. Part pity, part curiosity kept him at the bar, despite the nonverbal cues he gave indicating that he would jump on it directly after chugging his drink.

Despite the fact that Femnal's predicament was Keystone's fault, more or less, the stalwart pugilist did not appreciate anyone yelling at him and barking orders. Humiliation (an emotion he was aware of by reputation only) associated with losing control of one's innards in public would put a quick mend on any negative feelings he had at the situation. He needed but to stall, but for how long was anyone's guess. Keystone took an exaggerated drink from his ale, slowly gulping back the bubbly fermentation in one long pull, waiting. Biding his time.

Luckily, it was short seconds before showtime.

Keystone could see the face of the portly merchant outside the window, just as Femnal turned into a Screaming Fountain of Used Stew. Taking the brunt of Femnal's cone of wretch-induced stomach chum, the older man at least had the wit to keep from opening his mouth to call out in alarm. This feat earned him Keystone's respect, at least in part.

The shock of an unexpected consequence at someone else's expense, especially when the expected result was already disastrously funny, froze Keystone mid-swallow. His brain was processing what was happening before him, but his body was held rigid by surprise, keeping him from exploding into laughter and falling on the floor like a sack of yowling cats.

By the time the gurgling roar of Femnal's gut splattage rained heavily upon the walls and flooring of the establishment, oscillating his head as the torrent of vomit took control of his neck away from his cervical vertebrae, Keystone broke free of his initial shock. A wordless scream of unbridled glee escaped Keystone's throat, along with a misting of house ale. This was the event for which he had waited.

Keystone's knees buckled. One hand caught the edge of the bar, keeping him more or less upright. He stopped laughing, or tried to, hoping to complete his swallow and catch a breath. The resulting failure sprayed ale foam from his nose. Keystone gave up, and let himself laugh for another second or two before regaining composure.

He had a sulphur compound to administer, you see.

It was then that the boisterous fighter was approached by a petite woman with whitish hair and a bow. He'd caught a glimpse or two of her since coming downstairs after "The Incident", but did not know her. The sense of familiarity with which she smacked the hardened hide of his coat (and admonished him for an act not fully his fault) rankled him somewhat. Keystone looked down at her, curious as to whether she was trying to start a fight or had mistaken him for a bigger brother.

An archer woman presenting an attitude of mild superiority. He'd seen this before. Another archer, presumably a world away. Thinking about it amused him slightly. He was about to make mention of it when the ale he power-chugged a moment ago began churning in his stomach. A quiet murmuring at first, it built into a rumbling, bubbly backdraft as it expanded into his throat.

Keystone's eyes widened in momentary alarm, turning his head at the last second to avoid expressing himself directly into the face of the bowmaiden. The resulting expulsion of stomach vapor and carbonic gas rolled out low and violent. Keystone's head rocked back slightly. His eyes watered and brows arched as the powerful, constant sound of a dozen lumbersaws cutting through a live, ball-gagged cow echoed partially in his sinus cavity. The blast, diverted to the bar beside him, opened a crack in a nearby wine glass. Its contents dripped slowly from within, very slowly pooling in a semicircle below.

The belch ended as abruptly as it began. Completely ignoring the event, Keystone snapped his head back at Kyra and mentioned lightly, "You remind me of this Gypsy lady, y'know. Cheers."

Without dramatic pause, Keystone returned his tankard to the bartop, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and strode purposefully to the kitchen door.

From out in the common room, one could hear various yells and proclamations of the determined fisticuffy culinarian, things like, "You! Eggs! Now!" and "Bloody 'ell, did Kobolds teach you to cook?". He yelled, he swore; mostly to keep from explaining his presence in a kitchen to which he was not attached, though he did mention that he had the owner's approval. Femnal was a bit busy at the moment, but Keystone was certain that he'd confirm later.

He hoped, anyway. Considering the look of Femnal's condition, it would be a little bit before he could confirm much of anything.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Thanks to AD&D rules on fighter classes, at level nine that'll be Lord Arseblast, thanxyaverymuch.

Come to think of it, that's also when he attracts a body of followers, loyal and willing to train under him. The imagination soars with potential ideas.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

FINE. Fixing it.

Safe to bunny the NPC kitchen staff?

...poor gnome...

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

So, umm.... yah, after reading the IC, I'm putting this out there:

Keystone's chi infused arseblast has taken on proportions not intended at time of creation. This was supposed to be, to quote the Bard, "...full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Something to break the ice and give a little insight on my style of writing and my character's odd proclivities. A bit of flavor text to separate Keystone from the standard "Huge Guy That Hits Things" type.

Now that the musings of the other players on the matter have been made canon by the approval, and later incorporation of NPC/environmental reactions by the GM, this is out of my hands. This is out there, to be dealt in the IC, without possibility of ignoring it and carrying on.

To put it simply, I cannot un-fart it.

I am left with perilously few options. It must be dealt with, obviously, so Keystone will have to do just that. But for the future? This gaseous expulsion created a shockwave, destroyed things, and let loose "The Kraken", which according to our benevolent GM is a smell capable of inspiring a human stampede and force people who failed their saving throws to vomit uncontrollably. From one floor away.

This seems impossible without the use of magic. So, does this mean that Keystone now has access to the arcane arts, of a sort?

---

Keystone's Arseblast
Range: 0 Components: S, M
Duration: 1d4 days/level Casting Time: 1
Area of Effect: Yes Saving Throw: 1/2

When cast, this produces the same effects as a Shout, Gust of Wind, and Stinking Cloud spells at listed parameters, above. If within the vicinity of an open flame, it does damage comparable to a Fireball at listed Area of Effect in a cone shape, starting at point of origin. Save vs Breath Weapon for half damage. Somatic component is the dropping of trou and flexing of abdominal muscles. Material component is Roughage. Lots of roughage.

---

Or, conversely, does this signal the beginnings of his more mystical Monk abilities coming to the forefront? That being the case, is this a technique he can teach others?

Now, I'm going to address this issue IC, with tact and civility (kinda), but if Keystone has this ability now we're going to have to establish some definitive rules. I welcome suggestions, and just for now, will be keeping his new power set aside for appropriate situations.

Like Diplomacy checks. Or coitus.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Venua, Thelin, and a Very Confused Fly

It kept flying around his head. Irritating. Threatening to land in his drink. He had noticed it earlier, as he neared the bar, but discussion of finances with Femnal drove the matter from his brain. Nonetheless, it was back again. Keystone noticed, and waved it away again.

He regarded the drink plopped down before him; a good sized tankard of ale replacing his silver coin. The solid brawler took a sip, giving thought to the quality. Not bad, granted, but if that gnome was chiseler enough to think that it was worth an entire argent coin, he was soon for a lesson in percussive etiquette. He took a deep drink, letting the flavor linger for a second before allowing the tangy liquid access to his internals, proper. As he set the tankard back down, that damnedable fly zipped between his face and the beverage.

He growled, with a very quiet rumble, "...little bugger must pay..."

From the corner of his eye, he gave note to another gnome in the common room, next to an open window. This one glowing faintly in the softer light of the tavern. Keystone squinted his eyes and looked back to his tankard. Satisfied that he was, in fact, not addled by drink, he gave a sideways glare at the diminutive cantrip-maker until the gnome took notice. Keystone arched an eyebrow and nodded slowly.

Wizards. Never could tell with those types.

Attention back to his ale gave Keystone another bout of irritation. That same fly, or another that the original fly delivered a dare to, was crawling on the edge of his mug. He sighed and waved it away, AGAIN, and took another sip, this time looking down the bar at the patrons nearby.

Keystone's attention was caught by a rather interesting looking lady sitting alone at the bar. Covered in untanned hides and blue paint, she seemed the wilderness equivalent to his urban slum upbringing. Engaging her with a clumsy pickup line, after the evening's prior events, was far from his intent just then; he merely wished to take stock of the people around him. Before she caught his gaze lingering longer than was polite, the massive pugilist raised his tankard slightly, and began, "Cheer..."

And that's when it happened. The final straw. That little bastard fly landed right on the stubble around his upper lip, hoping to sample a fleck of hoppy ale-foam still clinging there. Keystone had taken enough guff from that miserable, bescombering pest.

Flatly, he set down his drink and closed off one nostril with a thumb. His powerful lungs drew a sharp inhale, sucking the offending insect into his nose with a sound not unlike pulling free a boot held fast in deep mud. A growling, lung-buttery hack later, the fly found itself propelled through the air in a gob of spittle and rage, splatting heavily on the wall nearby.

In a flash, Keystone had freed his great, bone-handled knife from his belt and hurled it after the bug-loogie. It struck heavily, sinking into the wood with a vibrating thunk.

The fly, guilty of nothing except for being a fly, felt somewhat violated by the whole ordeal. The big knife came very near to ending its tiny life, but didn't quite catch its intended target. Carefully, the traumatized bug unstuck itself from its expectorant binding, landing gracelessly on the knife blade below. It drunkenly flew off as Keystone moved to recover his blade, content to leave the man alone.

With some satisfaction, Keystone returned to his ale, raised the tankard to the Woaded Warrior Woman again, this time completing his polite(ish) intonation of, "Cheers, Miss."

It's the little, everyday victories you have to embrace.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

Holo-droid sounds like higher tech than I was thinking. I was under the impression they were something akin to two full sized Rock'em Sock'em Robots.

Ah well. Maybe it will confuse the bad guys into thinking they accidentally came into a Chuck E. Cheese, and politely ask for directions to Grant's after a romp in the ball pit.

Mental note: Install ball pit.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

It could work! Maybe... Hell, it couldn't hurt.

I hope.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

The techno remix of another 80's hit cycled into the PA, just as a burst of awareness hit El Sasquatcho, cold as his companion's new ice knuckles. "We need to make exits unusable from the outside, Cero! El Sasquatcho does not want to get surrounded by slobbering were-owls in the first five seconds."

The Luchador snapped his head back to the gym area, eyes widening, a cheshire grin plastered on his face. "Por favor, if someone can get the points of egress, El Sasquatcho has a wonderful, awful idea."

Leaping and bounding back into the gym, El Sasquatcho returned in a moment, wheeling the racks of freeweights behind him. "Now, these will make great things for El Sasquatcho to hurl at things, but this..."

Another moment had the burly, sadistically grinning wrestler loping back, each of the sparring practice robots over his shoulders in an awkward (but effective) fireman's carry. He placed them in the common area and began moving furniture back. Smiling, giggling with nigh moronic glee, El Sasquatcho turned the difficulty level up to maximum, and set the pugilistic automatons to accept voice commands.

"Heh heh heh... Those metal bastardos are going to have new friends to play with today..."