Braggart IC: Lies, Outrageous Lies and Tentacles....

Shaking the rain from your cloak, you gaze up at the sign hanging above the entrance to the tavern, sigh and step inside.

The kingdom is home to taverns where a weary traveller can find solace, peace and tranquility.

This isn't one of them.

Taverns where the merest sip of the golden brews inside can restore the dead to life.

This isn't one of those either.

Taverns where the barmaids are of such fairness that kings have cast away their crowns and lands for a sweet maid's kiss.

Well, there's a little of that here, but let's not go nuts.

The Queen's Bosom, for such is this tavern named, is a fetid little dump run by "Sir" Impley the Vertically Challenged, a former knight who gave up a life of depravity, squalor and great personal hazard in order to run a tavern. He may live to regret his decision. Between the name of the place, the poor quality of the beer, the even poorer quality of the clientele and breaking every single food hygiene law in the land, it's a wonder the King hasn't razed the place to the ground.

Our eye turns to a group of six people gathered around a table. Impley's wife, a former Amazonian Warrioress, is serving them beers as she fulfills her twin roles as a barmaid and bouncer. Six of the sorriest examples of the term "hero" are sharing tales of their adventures and money is riding on who can tell the best tale....


....of course, "best" doesn't necessarily mean "accurate".

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Draft Phase in OOC then Thufir, you're up first!

Fellow travelers of the world. What stories have you to tell on this dreary night?

A small figure takes a large gulp from his tankard of murky beer.
“So then, anyone got any good tales?“

"Alright, well I suppose I could tell you what happened to me last tuesday. No, wait, wednesday. You see, I'd been out drinking - not here, at a different tavern, I think they may have banned me at the end of the night, but I can't quite remember, I was pretty drunk. Anyway, while I was on my way home, I stopped by the side of the road when I saw this chest. Not, I must say, the kind of chest for which I usually stop by roadsides... mmm, chests... er- ahem. But no, on this occasion, I had a higher purpose in mind. Or, lower, I guess, since it was on the ground. Whataver. There was a chest on the ground, so I figured, money, right? Gotta be money. And money's almost as good as wenches, plus it buys me drink. So I open the chest. And you know what? There was no freakin' money in it! In fact, out jumped this group, this, er- this series, of increasingly skilled assassins. You know, they're one of those groups that you come across know and then, and they always engage you in ascending order of skill? Never understood why, but whatever. Thing is, usually they'd be no trouble, of course, but I was a bit worse for wear after the drink. My hand-eye co-ordination was a little off, you know? So I was a bit worried the better ones might actually get the better of me. Only, only you see, youseeyouseeyousee, you see it turns out the whole increasing skill thing isn't, like, combat specific? So in fact these assassins were just increasingly skilled at basket-weaving. Not sure if anyone mentioned that to the King when he had that painting commissioned, but eh. I mean, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, right, when it comes with fame fortune, and a painting of yourself above the King's own fireplace? I mean, I've done some pretty great things in my time, but that one's gonna be pretty hard to beat, am I right?"

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Deed - I opened a chest and was surprised to find... (4 - 2)
Foe - A series of increasingly skillful assassins (6 - 3)
Result - ...and now a painting of these exploits hangs above the King's fireplace! (6 - 3)

The small, bearded man from the far end of the table raised his head out of the pool of beer being soaked into his long grey beard.
“Hanging in his toilet more like. Ninjas are all very well, if you‘ve never fought Super Mysterious and Scary Desert-type monsters.

Well, you know how I always have said how I felt a lack of purpose in life, well... Yes, I do. Anyway, I went to see the wise woman. Now she‘s this woman righy, wot is wise. Anyway, she put this curse on me. I was completely in her control. Now she‘s a fan of mud wrestling, but there was no mud available, so I had to use oil. Anyway, she sent me out into the desert to fight ‘The Mysterious Creature Beneath the Sands‘. It was a mighty battle but ai eadily bested it due to my superioir prowess an‘... an‘... stuff. Anyway, I beated it mighty like *Hic*...
After that, well I know I‘m awesome and better than what I was...“
He slumped back into his puddle.

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Scene - While under a witch's spell..(2-1)
Deed - I covered myself in oil to wrestle with.... (8-4)
Foe - Mysterious creatures from beneath the desert sands(7-4)
Result - ...and am probably a better person for it! (3-2)

"What utter bunkham!" shouts the portly baker, wedged between the table and the wall. "Mud wrestling? Oil? I never heard such rubbish!"

He eyes the top of the bearded man's head, awaiting a reaction. When the man fails to rouse himself from the puddle of ale under his nose, the baker instead turns to the rest of the group.
"I had a friend under the spell of this 'wise woman'," he explains, "And he said it's one of her favourite tricks to use lost souls like this poor wretch here to go treasure hunting in places far too dangerous for her to ever dare to tread!"
Glancing sideways at the boaster, the baker places a supposition.
"Much more likely," says he, "That instead of being a strong, rope-muscled wrestler and shrinking since, our small and hairy friend here was little more than a common tea leaf - and not even his own boss to boot!"

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I play the LIAR! card.
I replace "I covered myself in oil to wrestle with..." (8-4)
with "I pillaged the lair of..." (3-2)

"Tealeaves *belch* notwithstandin', did I ever tells you about the time I cleared the assembled pantheon out of their treasures in a no hold barred game of Cluedo?

I did?

Well, darn. I, uh. I...

I don't talk about it much, but a funny thin' happened to me last nigh on the way to the Laundrette. I happens to dabble in a little magi', you see, nothing too fancy, but one thin' had come to another and I had the most unsightly stain on my robes. Nine tenths of magi' is the robes, see, so I had to get them washed pronto. Only when I'd stuck my robes in the mangle did I realise I was clean out of cash. No problem I thought, I'll just magi' me up some money. Simple as pie for an accomplished magician like me, even one currently berer... befert... bereft (that's it!) of his robe. Only, I must have mispronounced somethin' somewhere, 'cos instead of a handful of coin I ended up with some bloke in a ridiculous looking dress. Said he was gonna curse me. I was 'avin' none of that, so grinnin' like a loon I socked him one.

Next thing I knew, the Kin' himself, who'd just stopped by to wash his crown, was offering me a job, for vanquishin' the evilest and vilest magician in the realms. Well, after my robe had dried out I walked right on down to the Royal Court and settled into my new quarters. I was the Kin's new Wizard-Finder General, I was, I was.

What were we talkin' about again?"

Scene - While wearing nothing more than my boots and a smile... (6 - 3)
Deed - I accidently summoned.....(3 - 2)
Foe - A rogue magician of dubious morals (6 - 3)
Result - ...and now I am employed at the Royal Court! (4 - 2)

The baker chortles.
"A fine yarn, that. Always like me ones with magics in them."

He strokes his beard whistfully, and drains the tankard in his pudgy fist.
"Speaking of the king, though, reminds me of the time I was in the King's Own Foot. Not in his foot, you understand, the regiment. I was fit and strong in those days; lithe and wiry." As he says this , he places his hands on his enormous stomach. "So slender in the shadows, was I, that it was me who was chosen for a daring night raid on the enemy encampment. Still, with my pasty skin - if you'll pardon the pun - I was something of a shining beacon in the silvery full moon that night. That's when I got myself an idea!"

He lifts the tankard to his whiskers once more, and seems surprised and indignant that it's already empty.

"Most people would have used mud to darken their features, but this was in the desert. Instead, I decided to use oil! Thick, black crude oil. While I was at it, I thought to myself, if they catch you, you're done for! So removing my shirt, trousers and... well, everything else, I took a dip in the barrel of oil so that nobody would be able to grab a hold!"

Now, I evaded all the soldiers, and my plan was working perfectly! That was, until I stumbled into the wrong tent. I thought it was the map tent, where I'd find the battle plan I was to steal, but sadly as I drew back the tent's canvas, I was met with the smell of incense and an incensed, smelly man! Before me stood the High Priest of Kalam Sha'ildar, no less!

There was only one thing for it. I pounced upon him, trying to drag the man to the ground. He was trying to scramble to the altar for the ceremonial knife. I grabbed at him however I could, but since the oil made my hands slippery too, the only bit I could grab was his robes!

That was when the soldiers burst in and saw me with a naked holy man, yanking his ankles and trying to slide over his back to reach the knife first.

Only, they weren't the enemy soldiers. Unbeknownst to me and the rest of the King's Own Foot, the Kings 1st Light Infantry had decided to attack under the cover of night! The blokes who bullied me at school now saw me in this compromising position, and turning the brightest shade of beetroot beneath the oil, I turned tail and ran all the way from the desert, back to this town, and hid in my house, sobbing into my pillows."

The baker's eyebrows fell and his top lip quivered with the memory.

"I didn't leave the house in weeks..."

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Scene - Having infiltrated the enemy's camp.... (3 -2)
I covered myself in oil to wrestle with... (8-4)
Foe - The High Priest of Kalam Sha'ildar (5 - 3)
Result - and then I hid in my house crying! (1 - 1)

A rather smelly priest in dirty robes lifts his face off of the bar, wipes drool off of his face.

"Speaking of high priests and such, that reminds me of something incredible that happened to me out by the local temple. I was going out to get some water from the well behind the temple, when all of a sudden one hundred armed men jumped at me right out of the well!

Like any man of delicate disposition, I promptly we and shat myself in terr- excitement for the glory of battle. I made a tactical retreat to the nearby outhouse where I fended off these men by flinging a magical brown substance found on the floor. Negotiations began once these men retreated behind cover. It turns out they were a band of vicious mercenaries who had battled far and wide across the world, and they had been hired to conquer my well.

Well, I told them to scram, but it turned out that they had been stalling to allow a group of them to sneak around and flank my outhouse. I however outmaneuvered them by leaping right down into the hole where my robes helped me stay camouflaged. I cowered in terror for a while, before they eventually left.

Unfortunately, the stains from that glorious day of battle just won't come out of my robes.

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Deed - I hid in terror from.... (2 - 1)
Foe - A small army of mercenaries (6 - 3)

A short, fat man with unkempt hair and an uneven goatee, dressed in a leather jacket that looks at least one size too small for him and badly patched-up trousers listens intently to the stories told, sniggering occasionally when hearing some of the outlandish boasts of the others gathered around the table.

"Hah! Hid in the crapper, didya, priest? That's just parthetic. I woulda taken 'em all on and beat the crap outta 'em. Geddit? You hid in the crapper, and I woulda beat the crap outta 'em. They'd crap more onya." *he lets out a hearty laugh*
"Now, I'mma tell you a story that'll blow your socks away, it's so epic an' all.
I.. errr.. I just need to get me a new drink first."

He stumbles out of his seat and heads up to the bar for inspiration.

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I draw three cards from the deck, please.

As the figure in dire need of a barber lurches towards the bar, his movement impaired by such things as tables, chairs and what appears to be a bear trap, the rest of group focus their drunken gazes on the small pot of cash in the centre of the table. Who had spun the best tale and what price could you put on a fabulous yarn?

Hint: Not much.

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So, assuming I've crunched my numbers correctly....

Thufir - a score of 16.

Grlump - a score of 15.

Etc - a score of 19.

Lime - a score of 17.

DP - a score of 8.

Ku - is busy getting plastered, so a score of 0.

"Sir" Impley was worried. The conversation from the large group gathered around the table was disturbing him. It was becoming more coherent and it had been at least 10 minutes since one of them had thrown up.

They were becoming......sober.

This called for immediate action, lest one of them came to their senses and realised which fetid hovel they'd been drinking in. With surprising swiftness in spite of his short stature, Impley poured and brought them all a round of draught beer.

Draught.

Round.

:smallbiggrin:


......Just get your butts over to the OOC. :smallannoyed:

Seeing Impley wandering over with the round for the group left at the table, a surprised yelp is heard from the bar, and the scruffy, fat man stumbles back toward the table.

"Impley, you cheatin' son of a mongrel! Always waitin' for me to get to the bar before buying the rest a round. An' I wuz just gettin' talking to a few really int'restin' folk over there an' all.

Now, where wuz I? Oh, yeah, I wux gonna tell yous a story that'll blow yer sock clean off yer boots.
Right, there I wuz, right, wandering the world. As you do, yeah? An' I came up to this great big castle in the mountains next kingdom over, right? These guys didn't take too kindly to random travellers, or sumthin', even someone as famous as me.
That thing they said about the missin' bunch of asparagus from the farmer's market had nothin' to do with me, no matter what they claim. Honest!
Anyway, the city guards grabbed me an' threw me in the slammer, and I had to prove my innocence in a test of physical contest.

So they threw me in this big arena, like, where this big, muscly feller' was standing about with an axe in one hand and a trident in the other, just itchin' to finish me off.
All they gave me to fight him, was an old, broken wooden spork.

Facin' these almost insurmountable odds, I did what I bet none one of you could have done in my place. I stood up 'gainst that big feller' and quickly recited an ancient spell that I'd learned in my travels abroad, and suddenly, there was a great, big sandstorm drew in over the castle arena, blinding the other fellar' an' then it started rainin', right? Not like some light summer shower or anythin', right, but a proper downpour, such as you've never seen.
An' then, just as quick as it'd started rainin', the sun broke out, an' the mud from the sand storm and the rain what wuz now coverin' that huge gladiator feller' dried up hard as rock, you know, an' he wuz stuck an' couldn't move cuz of it.

So I walked up to 'im, right, and I shoved that broken spork right up his -"

At that moment, Impley returns from the bar with another drink for the scruffy-looking man, and he gets distracted. He takes a great big gulp from the tankard and then wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

"So, anyway, that's how I proved I never stole that asparagus. Damn tasty asparagus it was as well."

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Deed - I summoned the four elements to vanquish (9 - 5)
Foe - The gladiator champion of a nearby kingdom (6 - 3)

"Pfft! That's nothing to the time when I- when I...
...
..I can't remember. Gonna go get a frink- I mean, drink, to jog my memory."

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I go to the bar.

The old bearded man enviously eyed the drink that his neighbour had purchased. "Alas and Alack" he thought, For I have not the money to indulge in the golden necter of the grain, or the sumptuous offerings of the grape"

"I'll tell you of a story" he began, "There's little to relate, about an aged, aged man... BY THE BEARD OF BOWEN, WHAT IS THAT" He yelled and pointed at the corner. All heads turned towards the spot he gesticulated at. His thin, bony hand dipped into the pocket of the man opposite eating the Steak of Dragon.

"Nevermind" he continued. "Anyway, as I was saying, I was sitting in a pub, not so far from here, enjoying my usual drinks when in came... in came... a mob of drunk... um... bishops... no Dwarves entered and we shared a drink and... and... ... well, that's about it actually..."

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Ploy - Pickpocket: Steal a card at random from another player. Add the card to your hand.
Deed - I got very drunk with... (6 - 3)
Foe - A party of drunken dwarves (3 - 2)

Why has everything gone black?

Guys, this isn.. isn't funny. Guys? Guys?

Waking up in a drunken stupor with his oversized tankard jammed over his head, our hero decides to see a carpenter about removing it and a barman about refilling it.

OOC: Taking a trip to the bar.

The adipose baker tries to squeeze out from behind the table to go to the bar. It takes much apologising to the others sharing stories, as his behind pushes them to the wall, but eventually he is out.

The other tables present a similar problem, but he finally makes it to the bar, pays for a tankard, and begins his journey back.

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Trip to the bar, 3 cards please!

The smelly priest belches and wipes froth from his chin with a grubby sleeve - and you could swear that a swathe of coarse stubble goes with it. He looks as though he's about to start a terribly impressive story, but then drops a coin from his hand onto the floor. He scrabbles around under the table for a few moments, and by the time he arises again he appears to have forgotten what he was about to say - and the pockets of the old bearded man and the fat baker are slightly lighter.

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Ploy: Pickpocket x2

From his vertically challenged point of view, Impley discreetly observed the "heroes" at the table. Since the last round, a lot of them had been shoving their hands into each other's trouser pockets. He brightened. Perhaps if he couldn't market the Queen's Bosom as a jovial place to drink, he might be able to market it as a gay bar.

The pocket shennanigans seemed to be over now and the various low-lifes appeared to be deep in thought; weighing up the two yarns that had been spun to see which was the greater. One of the crowd seemed so deep in thought he was in danger of sliding off his chair and under the table.

Eventually, the scruffy fat man claims the winner's pot and drags it over to him. Before he could turn his hard earned gold into a vomit stain on the floor, a figure in a long black robe burst in through the heavily abused door and pointed a finger at Impley.

"YOU! AT LONG LAST I'VE FOUND YOU, FOUL GOBLIN! PREPARE TO DIE!"

It's worth remembering at this point that Impley wasn't always a barman; he used to be a proud and valiant knight. With his keen, razor sharp reflexes, he immediately soiled himself and ran for the door in one fluid movement.

"Oh, no you don't! FREEZE!" shouted the black robed man and Impley was immediately encased in ice. The six brave heroes were fighting each other to hide under the table and look inconspicuous. A ball of red fire began to grow in the wizard's hands. Impley seemed to be doomed...

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Ku's score: 9 + 6 = 15
Grlump's score: 6 + 3 = 9

Ku is rewarded with 8 coins and Grlump gains 3.

Total coin scores at the moment:

Thufir - 3 coins
Grlump - 7 coins
Etc - 10 coins
Lime - 4 coins
Dragontine - 3 coins
Ku - 8 coins

Updated hands will go out tomorrow evening, remember that the game is frozen until September 15th!

WHAM!

A wooden serving tray slammed down on the wizard's head and as he fell unconcious on the floor the magical ice encasing Impley disappeared. The six patrons concluded their under-the-table strategy conference and returned to their drinks. With a glare in her eye, the offending magic user was dragged outside as Mrs Impley sought to make her displeasure known.

Sometime later, a freshly cleaned up Impley walked over to the group. His nose was resting on the edge of the table and he had an accusing look in his eyes.

"Here sit six of the bravest and most valiant souls in the Kingdom, yet the only one who came to my help this afternoon was my poor, sweet and innocent wife," he complained, while from outside wizardly screams of agony were punctuated by the snapping of bones.

"So if any of you wretches hope to get another drink this afternoon, I'd better hear some damn good excuses as to why none of you intervened."

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You heard the man, ladies and gents. The person that comes up with the best excuse starts the draft round, with play following in the usual order.

Dusting himself off, and sitting back up on his chair, the scruffy old man looks around with a look that, should people look for it, would indicate that his mind is desperately trying to think of an excuse that would stop impley from throwing him out in the dark streets outside.

After a few seconds, a wry smile briefly flutters across his face as he pieces the details together in a way so as to make up a not too unbelievable story.
He then clears his throat, takes a sip of his ale, and looks around the table at the others.

"Right, here's the thing. I would have of course helped you.

Thing is, right? That guy attacking you is, or at least was, a wizard. An' wizards, as we all know has a tendency to throw about a load of magicky spells and stuff to get their point across, and it just so happens that after one of my great adventures, that I'll be happy to tell you about some time, where I ran into a sinister old wizard who threw a magicky curse on me, I'm highly allergic to.. ehhh.. allergic to.. ummm.. wizard's robes. Yeah, that's it. Wizard's robes. And if I get too close to a wizard practicing his magicky stuff without having a shield in front of me, I'll get these terrible sneezin' fits which render me temporarily paralysed.
So, when I saw that the wizard started throwin' magicky spells around the place, I naturally tried to find the nearest shield I could find, to block the allergic vibes from the robes, like, before springing into action, and that was the table we're sittin' at.

Unfortunately for me, all the other cowards around the table had huddled under the table too scared to do anything, and they prevented me from using the table as a shield to start advancing towards, and obviously and inevitably neutralising the evil wizard that froze you.

Then, before I had a chance to get to the next table over to grab that as a shield, your lovely, and beautiful, wife stepped in and took care of the problematic fiend.

That's totally what happened."

With a smug smile on his face after having thought of such a brilliant excuse, he leans back in his chair, daring the others to try to prove him wrong.

The drunken priest has spent the last several minutes pondering the intricacies of certain theological metaphors. By coincidence, it just happens to look exactly like he was gazing mesmerised at the heaving bosom of a startled barmaid. At Impley's words, he struggles to... reshift his focus.
"Uuuuh... What?"

I was... I am... See, the thing is, couple o' years back, I saved this kid who was trapped down a well. And there must have been some fancy magic going on down that well, 'cos as soon as I got him out, BAM! There's this puff of smoke, and I'm wearing a three-piece suit and a fedora. Now, me and the kid were pretty confused by this, but I was thinking on my feet, y'know, and I realised I had become that kid's fairy godfather. Some people say fate has a cruel sense of humour, but I reckon it just likes bad puns.

Anyway, that's where I was. Kid fell down another well (those things spring up like mushrooms in that part of the country), and I had to go rescue him. Sorry.

"Not stopping to help. Why'ya'young whippersnappes wouldn't know not stoppin' to help if it hit you in the face, why when I was a lad I was knowin' what not stopping to help was. Of course back then it was Two Not Stoppin's to the goat, and the goat traders were the most incredulous lot which in those days was known as starving lot. We'd always pass starving lots in the street, sitting with their bowls. And if we had change we used to give 'em a penny, which in those days was called a 'Lucky Jim'. It was called a 'Lucky Jim' because it was named after Lucky Jim Harrison, the man that did that thing. There were 3 Lucky Jims to the Splonder, which could get you a pound of crackling at micklemastide, when there wasn't a war on, which there usually was because..."

The old man's rant faded off as he headed in the direction of gents...

"Why I didn't intervene? Look, look, look. You got to understand, in my line-a work, I sees- I seen a lot of weird things, right? And I know sometimes they ain't what you think at first. Like, this one time, I came across what I thought was a demonic cult summoning their dread lord, they was all movin' around in a circle making arcane gestures - turned out, it was just a dance class. And then when I tried to rescue a young lady from bein' carried off by a hill giant wot actually, as it turns out, was her bodyguard helpin' her into her coach. I did not know where to put my face, sirs. Especially when I nicked the big lug and he dropped the young lady on top of me..."
The drunk fades into a reverie for a little while before recalling what he was actually talking about.
"Anyway, point is, right, you can never be sure what's going on just by looking. So I sees you frozen by a strange man in a dress and your wife comin' up behind 'im, werll, I never seen nuffin' like that afore, but frankly sir, I do not know aught o' your proclivities in that area, nor should I, your own private business, none o' mine, and I do not judge, but certes not a thing on which I felt it would be prudent for me to intrude. Of course I was ready here, sir, and had things taken on a more obviously threatening aspect, I would have sprung, sir, sprung into action, but as it were I felt it best not to jump to conclusions."

the baker looks shocked...

Where am I?... Where has he left me this time?

after a short explaination of where he is and why there is an short angry man looking at him he explains.

Ah yes... magic... it was magic that got me into this problem, you see i share my body with my deceased twin. so sometimes, usually at the most inopertune moments, i find myself... confused. it usally happens every other week or something but sometimes extreme emotions can force the change.. like this one time... oh you don't want to hear that. at least not before a few more rounds

Impley listens carefully and considerately as the six wretched unwashed excuses for humanity explain their lack of assistance. With each tale, Impley feels a small part of himself die a little inside. Sighing disgustedly, he puts the large jug of draft ale on the table and regrets ever speaking to them.

A brief scuffle ensues before the large meaty paw of the scruffy old man seizes the jug and pours himself a drink.

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They were all pretty terrible and you should be ashamed of yourselves. Ku starts the draft round, then Thufir, Grlump, Etc, Archie then the Aussie.