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  #31  
Old May 5th, 2021, 12:16 AM
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Terms and conditions apply

Rico Rattin, a rat
right-aligned image
Rico Rattin sprawls lazily across the Leather Throne, stroking his whiskers as the Familiars state their conditions. “You drive a hard bargain, Brie,” he chuckles, once the animals have finished. “But I agree to these terms.” He snatches a morsel from the serving-tray that bobs past, borne by another servile rat in a ridiculous chapeau. “Passage to the Academy should be no problem at all, assuming you’re not too proud to play into a tired old stereotype.” Brie can hear Wensley and Dale snickering from where they’ve hidden themselves, behind the Throne of Laces. “Quiet, you two!” Rattin bellows, twisting in his seat to swat at the twins. “What’s so funny, eh? You’re going with them, after all!” The don turns back to the Familiars and explains, “The humans’ sewer intersects the mine not far from here, and runs all the way to Summitstone. A bit cliched—rats using sewers to move about—but effective.” He gives the goblin, Rocco, a limp, dismissive wave. “And plenty big enough for your long-legged valet there.”

Rico holds his hors d'oeuvre aloft, turning it between his fingers and licking his lips. He blows a stray flower petal from the mouthful before gobbling it down. “Now, as for ratpower, you are correct - we have ‘muscle’ of our own in abundance.” He gives Ernest “The Exterminator” a dubious glare before turning his gaze on Brie. “Your cousins will accompany you. And you’ll have ten of my best wiserats besides.” Wensley and Dale emerge from behind Rattin’s boot-chair, talking up positions alongside their boss. Dale hefts the dog-whistle and Wensley rolls his head from side to side, cracking his neck. As if from thin air, the don’s Not-So-Goodfellas appear behind the Familiars. They are a predatory, ruthless-looking bunch, all yellow teeth and slicked-back fur. “Ciao,” grunts one particularly greasy specimen; the rest nod their soundless greeting. Rocco lets out a pathetic Eeep! in reply and ducks behind Ernest, trembling.

“I won’t try to guess what you need a spoon for,” Rattin says, rubbing his head as if the thought pains him, “but procuring such an item will be simple enough.” He snaps his fingers and Wensley immediately hops forward a step. “Sure, Don Rico,” he squeaks. “Between here and Summitstone you got, uh, (A fancy human restaurant)Chez Gygax, and, uh—” Dale raises a finger and interjects, “And (The silversmith’s)Pelagatti’s!” Wensley claps his paws excitedly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. And, uh, (A local nobleman’s mansion)Leichenberg Manor, too.” Rattin clears his throat loudly, silencing the twins. “You see,” he says to the Familiars, “plenty of places to stop off for a piece of flatware.”

“Last but not least,” Rico sighs, clearly growing tired of the Familiars and their terms, “Furchtbar.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning way out over the scuffed toe of the Leather Throne. “Furchtbar is a coward, even by human standards. If you bring him a fight, he’ll turn and run.” Rattin’s beady eyes dart from side to side. “You’ll need to draw him out, away from his human lackeys. For that, you’ll need bait.” The don smiles wickedly. “And the only thing that old devil likes better than maiming unicorns is his pet goose.” He pauses to let the implications set in, watching with unabashed glee as the Familiars’ expressions curdle. “Get the goose, and you’ll get your man.” He cackles long and loud.

Suddenly, Rattin stops, all humor draining from him in a blink. “Now get outta here,” he growls. “This is meant to be a happy occasion.” He indicates a distant gathering of rodents, tucked nearly out of sight in an inconspicuous corner. “If you insist on staying for dinner, you eat at the pups’ table.” The Familiars look to where the don is pointing - the area is positively teeming with bawling, shrieking, unsupervised young rats. “Food for thought,” he spits. “Pfah!” With that, Rattin turns his back on the Familiars and does not acknowledge them again.

GM - MechanicsHere are the rules for controlling Rattin’s crew of Not-So-Goodfellas:
  • When just one of Rattin’s Not-So-Goodfellas assists a Familiar with a task, simply reduce the DC (amount determined by GM).
  • When the entire mob of Not-So-Goodfellas works together to perform a task, treat them as one creature with the following Traits: C0 F6 S4 Q4.
  • The Not-So-Goodfellas track DANGER just like the PCs.
  • If the Not-So-Goodfellas ever reach 3 points of DANGER they become demoralized and will abandon their mission.
  • There is no way to remove DANGER from the Not-So-Goodfellas’ total, so call on them sparingly!

And here’s an example:

The Not-So-Goodfellas attempt to swarm a human and steal his hat. They will test Sly at DC 10 and it is DANGEROUS. The Not-So-Goodfellas’ current DANGER is 1. So, in this case, if the rats roll a 6 or higher they succeed. If they roll less than 6, they fail and take a point of DANGER. If they roll a 1 they fail, take a point of DANGER, and they are “in serious trouble - dead, trapped, lost, or captured.”
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Last edited by Mallothi; May 5th, 2021 at 08:55 PM.
  #32  
Old May 7th, 2021, 08:12 AM
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Beau
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'Thank you, sir Ricco,' Beau says, lowering her snout to the ground in deference. Then, she turns around, gesturing for her companions to follow her. 'Best if we first find a way to procure the spoon, I think. Once we get Furchtbar or that horrid goose alone, things will move quickly I fear. We might not have time to stay and steal a spoon then- and no doubt the humans will be more suspcious of us, after we're done with Furchtbar.'

Sighing, she looks around, making sure she has the attention of her companions- both old and new. 'Perhaps, ah- Perhaps we should go to this Chez Gygax place? Lots of people there, I think- guests, and personnel serving the guests. Making food for them. Lots of eyes on us- which means lots of people to notice a distraction. And restaurants hate rats.' Her tail lashed excitedly- perhaps, their mission wasn't so unattainable after all?

'if Ricco's rats go in the front and make a ruckus, the cooks will come to chase them out. That means the kitchen will be empty- empty enough for us to search the spoon we need. No doubt a fancy restaurant like that will have plenty of spoons- they won't miss one, I think.' Her snout drooping somewhat, the white rat added, 'in the manor, they might- and we don't want the humans looking for thieves. And we don't know if the silversmith has any silver spoons in stock. So, the restaurant may be our best bet.'


 
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  #33  
Old May 7th, 2021, 10:15 AM
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Brie
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Brie had a hard time keeping a straight face and not letting the euphoria and excitement bubbling just beneath the surface ruin his poker face with a huge grin.

He agreed! The Ratfather agreed! No bargain, no extra conditions, no nothing. Who would have thought? It must be our lucky day!

"A wise decision, Don Rico. You will not regret it."

Still suppressing the grin that threatened to break free any moment now, the dark rat beckoned „his“ team to follow him away from the Leather Throne and its obese occupant so that they could discuss in private.

Beau seized the initiative and Brie could only stare at „his“ sweat, little Beau that had proved to be quite the diplomat and tactician.

"My dear wife is right. We should…"

The dark rat froze with horror as he realized his mistake. How did he call her? It was one thing to pretend to be the paterfamilias in order to impress Rico Rattin, but to take such liberties with another one of Mother‘s familiars was dangerous… and stupid.

"So… so sorry, Beau. I… I… I got carried away. No offense was… was meant."

Smiling at the white rat in a way that was just pathetic enough to spare him an immediate retaliation, he desperately tried to change the subject.

"I too think that the „Chez Gygax“ restaurant is our best bet at finding what we require for the ritual, though I would suggest procuring it in a somewhat different manner. Why mess with humans at all if we can avoid it? The restaurant is bound to close at some point. We can go in, take what we need and be out again before anyone suspects anything. It‘s what rats have been doing for countless generations. Now, I don’t say there will be no danger at all. The humans like to put canines" -the word was spoken with the utmost distaste- "to do their work for them. One of the dumb and hairy folk might be guarding the place, but… thankfully, we have in our group one who is an expert in dealing with hounds!"

Brie‘s eyes sought Ernest’s good one.

"What do you think, Ernest? Throw it a bone and let it slaver over it while we plunder… ah… carefully look for what we require?"


 
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  #34  
Old May 10th, 2021, 07:50 AM
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Ernest the Cat
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The old Bombay listens to the choices available for the procurement of a spoon. None sound particularly appealing. Either lots of people, or lots of opportunity to get caught by people. Eventually, the dark one addresses him directly.

"Agreed. Chez Gygax sounds like the best option. Like the little one said, we can send in Rattin’s fellas to cause a stir, then swoop in for the spoon after. Perhaps one of them could knock it off the table, and I could carry it out in my teeth?"

Ernest sifted through the memories in his again mind... Chez Gygax... the name sounded awfully familiar. And then, as if from nowhere, he remembered! He had spent many a night in the alley behind the establishment, rummaging for food with other cats of the night. "Say Brie and Beau, did you know that back before the mistress rescued me, I used to frequent this particular establishment? Their Definitely a dumpsterback stock of fish is the finest in the entire village! I’ve never been in as far as where the humans dine, but it can’t be too far past the kitchen." He licked his lips at the thought of fresh fish, sharp font teeth gleaming.

"What do you say, rats? Dinner and a show?"


 
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Old May 10th, 2021, 01:02 PM
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Beau
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Beau glared at Brie, fuming at the "wife" remark, but decided again not to slap the dark rat in such close proximity to the ones he was trying to fool. Neither, however, did she respond to the apology- instead she just sighed and shook her head, turning back to the matter at hand.

And the matter, apparently, included fishy treats! 'That... That sounds very nice, Ernest. A bit of salmon to give us strength sounds perfect. As for when to enter,' she continued, frowning. 'Going when the humans are away is all well and good, but they tend to lock their doors and windows tightly. Do, ah... Do we have anyone with us who is any good at unlocking human locks?' she asks, casting a furtive glance at Rocco. She quickly scribbled the image of a padlock in the dirt with her paws, then rose up to looked at Rocco, before dropping to he sketch again, hoping the goblin would get her meaning.


 
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  #36  
Old May 25th, 2021, 10:07 PM
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A table for 16 by the dumpsters, if you please

GMRocco studies Beau’s doodle with the utmost seriousness. He furrows his brow, scrubs his chin, and nods gravely. After a moment, he looks back up at the white rat and gurgles something in his noisome native language before touching his thumb and forefinger together in an “OK” sign, winking, and clicking his tongue, tch-tch! The Familiars have no idea whether the goblin understands at all what he’s so confidently affirmed. But, before anyone can ask, Wensley and Dale begin shooing the group away from the Throne of Laces toward the pups’ table. “C’mon, cuz,” Wensley growls, “best leave the polite company alone.”

The twins lead the Familiars to the remote “pups’ table,” hidden behind a diamond-crusted stalagmite. Rattin’s Not-So-Goodfellas follow close behind. The pups’ table is literally crawling with unaccompanied young rats, a writhing, wailing mass of ill-mannered, snot-snouted vermin relegated to this island of lawless social isolation by parents unwilling or unable to supervise them while also enjoying the wedding festivities. Beau can’t help but shudder - these tiny, feral brats would be her wards, should their plot fail! Her reverie is cut mercifully short when Dale cuffs the first pup to raise its head above the fray. “Outta here, you little punks! Grown-ups are tryin’a sit here!” The Not-So-Goodfellas shoulder past the twins to loom over the table. They begin quietly, methodically snatching pups by the scruff of their necks and lobbing them into the shadows. Soon enough space has been cleared that all the “adults” can be seated. The Familiars, twins, and ten wiserats all cram together around the low wooden table. It’s too small for the full-grown rats, let alone a cat or goblin - even sitting on the ground with his knees folded up by his chin, the table barely clears Rocco’s ankles. The handful of pups spared ejection continue their incessant squeaking while climbing over, under, and around the Familiars. Wensley leans low over the table, gesturing for the others to join him. A conspiratorial gleam in his eye, he asks, “So, Chez Gygax, eh?”
...

GM - Some Time Later...Though it pains Brie to admit, Rattin was right: the sewers are, indeed, a phenomenally convenient and comfortable way to travel Whitebridge. A short trot through the mines had brought the Familiars and their new allies to a junction with the sewer system - a cylindrical brick passage large enough for a human to walk in, with gently sloping sides, a wide, dry walkway, and the pleasant burble of raw sewage below. At Wensley’s suggestion, the group had decided to depart Little Rataly without delay. Chez Gygax, for all its admirable qualities, does not serve brunch, and so the animals would be able to infiltrate the restaurant without human interference, so long as they acted quickly. That left only the guard dog to contend with - a fact that the wiserats had confirmed.

Now early morning light filters in from the storm drains above, along with the sounds of the village’s waking. After an hour’s easy walking, Wensley brings the group to a halt with a raised fist. “There,” he whispers fiercely, jabbing a claw toward a drain at the top of the sewer wall. “That will put us in the alley behind Chez Gygax.” He glances down the sewer, giving the air a cautious sniff. “And just a bit farther that way,” he says, “is Summitstone.” He does a few quick gestures with his paw and the Not-So-Goodfellas spring into action. The wiserats deftly navigate the wall of the sewer, vaulting from brick to brick until they reach the drain. Perched shoulder-to-shoulder they quietly chant in unison, “Ah-one-two-three,” and heave the metal grate open with one perfectly coordinated shove.

All the creatures pile out of the storm drain and into the alley. The area is still in shadow, the sun not yet high enough to have burnt off the lingering pocket of night. As Ernest promised, both sides of the alley are lined with wooden hand-carts, heaped high with the previous night’s scraps - it’s a veritable scavenger’s buffet. Beau, ever focused, forgoes the feast and—in pantomime—bids Rocco pick the lock on the nearby back door. The goblin stares dumbly back at the rat for a long moment. He scratches his head. Finally, he points toward the key-hole, then back at himself, questioningly. Encouraged, he approaches the door’s metal handle and peeps through the hole, situated right at his eye-level. He huffs, wedging his fists against his hips in consternation. Suddenly, inspired, he lets out a little, “Ah!” and darts behind one of the garbage carts. After a moment he returns with a wooden apple box, which he places in front of the door. He unslings the bindle from his back and rummages around inside, producing one of the pear-a-shoots. He leaps up onto the apple box, drapes the bit of cloth over a balled fist with a flourish, and punches the door’s plate glass window, CRRRAAASH! The Not-So-Goodfellas all gasp and jump, scurrying for cover. “You great, green dimwit!” Wensley hisses from behind the wheel of a cart. Rocco, unfazed, listens at the broken window. Nothing. He reaches inside, flips the lock, and pops the door ajar. Then the goblin hops down, kicks the box away, and flings the door wide, BANG!

There are several moments of expectant silence. No animal moves. Finally, Dale pipes up, “Seems okay to me.” That’s when the barking starts. From somewhere within the restaurant there comes a deep sonorous baying, and it’s drawing closer. The Familiars know it won’t be long before one of the passing humans hears. Even more concerning is the fact that Ernest recognizes this particular bark. After all, how could he forget the cry of the mongrel that took his eye?
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Last edited by Mallothi; Feb 11th, 2022 at 11:48 PM.
  #37  
Old May 26th, 2021, 03:27 PM
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Meanwhile, in the Goblins’ Hidey-Hole...

Meanwhile, in the Goblins’ Hidey-Hole...

Brijida & Colette, animals and artists both
right-aligned image
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“Yes, yes! Perfect!” Brijida chases her tail in a quick circle then jumps with delight. She grins at their handiwork, tongue lolling.

“Oh, oui,” Colette agrees, “she is just as you described, Rousse.” The little mouse squints through the eye of her needle, held upright at arm’s length, to check scale. “Powerful, confident... with just a hint of mischief.” She has just finished embroidering a subtle smile on the Witch’s totem - the finishing touch on their masterpiece.

The doll is perfect, with luscious alpaca fiber hair, teased into an effortless bouffant, and kind, playful eyes made from peppercorns. The figure is perhaps a little generous in some places and too-slim in others, but the overall effect is certainly in keeping with the kind of artistic license that the Witch herself employed in her blue book. Even the doll’s dress is perfect - a gray, shapeless number that Abigail would’ve described as “cozy clothes.” In a flash of inspiration, Brijida had even thought to splash a drop or two of wine on one of the hems.

Colette smiles up at Brijida. “Our part is done, chère.” With that, the fox gently collects the totem in her jaws. Colette tips her head in the direction of the hidey-hole’s exit. “Shall we check on the boys’ digging?”

Brijida does another quick spin, yipping around a mouthful of stuffing, “Oh, yethh, yethh!”

...

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Last edited by Mallothi; May 26th, 2021 at 03:29 PM.
  #38  
Old May 28th, 2021, 08:24 AM
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Beau
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'Very good, Rocco,' Beau manages to bring out, shaking her head. 'Very good indeed.' Looking around, she quickly comes up with a plan. 'We need to silence the dog- quickly. And nothing quiets dogs down quicker than a nice meal, I think. Why don't we see if there's a nice, juicy sausage or the like in one of those food containers?' she asks, pointing towards the dumpsters. 'Better than hurting it, no?'

'Once the hound is happily eating, we can sneak in, quickly get what we came for, then leave before the dog is done eating. Yes?' she finishes, looking to her companions for approval.


 
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Old May 29th, 2021, 06:59 PM
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Brie
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The low table, the swarm of unruly ratlings, the frenzied squeaks, the constant chewing and munching, the chaos of voice and motion were sights and sounds all too familiar to Brie, who had tried long, and in the end unsuccessfully, to forget the one thing that had shaped his life as a child the most: Sunday lunches!

His real mother was a kind, not to mention fecund, rat-lady with a heart of gold cheese, but she had been absolutely adamant about the whole family (including all generations of her children) coming together every week after church to enjoy the good (but usually not especially plentiful) food and above all the heartwarming (in a mother‘s eyes) company of close and extended family members.

It had been paradise for the matron, but true hell for almost everyone else, especially the youngest and smallest of her children like Brie had been at the time. It had been during occasions such as these that young Brie had come to the realization that there was no benevolent Rat-God watching over His children. No matter how devoutly -and desperately- he had prayed to Him to send a plague of cats to decimate his ill-mannered, bullying, and sometimes plain „evil“ relatives, He had never bothered with it, which was proof that He either didn’t exist, didn’t care for the ratling or that He couldn’t do anything to help him, which made Him unworthy of worship in Brie‘s eyes. In time His image had been replaced by his human Mother, but the original wound had never healed.


*****

"Mooooooom! Havarti took my cheese again!"

*slurp, much, munch, munch, gulp*

"Uh, you are such a „human“, Estrom. And you stink!"

*burp*

"You wanna die, Chechil? You wanna die!? Just tug my tail one more time and you‘ll see if I am capable of murdering you, you maniac!"

*sniff, sniff, sob*

"Hey, who nibbled at Ayibe‘s ear? Staazer, was it you? Manouri? Remoudou, you cannibal, don’t you think you are fat enough already? Must you try to eat your little sister too!?"

"Mooooooooooooooom! Havarti still won’t give me back my cheese!"

"Put it down, Bryndza! This onion ring is mine. Mine! My own! Prrrecious…"

*Remoudou sticks out tongue*

"You‘re stupid."

"No, you‘re stupid!"

"I said it first!"

"I said it louder!"

*loud scream*

"Ouch! Now you‘ve done it, Chechil! Now you‘re dead!"

"Show mom some respect, Lappi. Your paws are filthy. Does the name „bubonic plague“ ring a bell? Go wash them immediately!"

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!"

*****


Brie‘s eyes widened in terror and sweat ran down his snout as scenes of Sunday lunches that he had thought buried deep, deep inside him suddenly resurfaced. No, he would not go through such torture ever again. They had to succeed. They just had to!


*****


For once Brie simply walked without talking, without listening to the others, without even thinking about anything, too busy keeping the horror of his former life from completely overwhelming him. The filth of the sewers didn’t bother him, the enticing aroma of quality food, discarded for no good reason, didn’t excite him, the barking of the restaurant‘s guard dog didn’t scare him.

Only one thing managed to penetrate the madness and reach him.

Beau.

His sweet, sweet Beau. Well, not his Beau per se, but incredibly sweet nonetheless.

Brie looked at the rat with fur as white and fluffy as the clouds and nodded his agreement. Her plan was good and he would help her with it. Looking around, he searched for something suitable, something special, a snack that no hound would be able to resist. Now, if that tasty morsel could be used to not only distract the dog, but also lure it into a trap even better…


OOC actionsLooking around for suitable „bait“ and a way to somehow detain the dog (capture it inside a garbage bin, a hole that is too small for it, a net etc). Clever check: 2! (my rolls are unbelievably bad this week).


 
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Old May 30th, 2021, 09:41 AM
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Ernest the Cat
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As the dog's low bark cuts through the remaining darkness Ernest jumps into the air. Upon landing, he sinks back into his rear legs, hair on his back raised, and lets out a loud hiss. He bears his teeth and his tail grows about three sizes in width as it puffs with simultaneous fear and rage. "Ehhhhhhh! That dog and I have unfinished business! The bastard stole my eye."

He looks to the piles of scraps from the night before. "The bone of a roast, or soup! That'll do! Does anyone see a roast chicken?!" He begins to furiously scratch through the piles, when the idea occurs to him. "If you all can distract the mongrel with a snack, I can make my way in to retrieve a spoon." Without saying much more, the cat moves to remaining dark partches, and begins to sneak his way into the kitchen under the cover of shadow...


OOCRolled a 13 sly to sneak into the restaurant and search for a spoon.


 
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Old Jun 1st, 2021, 11:17 PM
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Well, you ain't never caught a Familiar / And you ain't no friend of mine

GMOf course, Beau is right: every animal knows that dogs are notoriously indiscriminate in their eating habits. Virtually any scrap of human food will most certainly silence the hound-turned-sentry. Brie leaps into one of a half-dozen squat carts lining the walls of the alley, each piled to overflowing with tasty nibbles. The black rat paws frantically through the spoilage as the barking grows steadily in both volume and ferocity. A nubbin of sausage? A t-bone shaggy with gristle? A crust of gravy-sopped bread? Ah-ha! Brie yanks his selection free from the heap - a limp, almost-green miniature cucumber. Dogs like cucumbers, right? There’s no time for indecisiveness - the dog has made its way through the dining room and into the kitchen. It’s bounding toward the door now, a blur of quivering brown folds and slobbery jowls.

Petunia, a hound
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In all the annals of canine history, perhaps no dog is so perfectly unloveable as Petunia the basset hound. The unfortunate beast is built like a lumpy sack of wet leaves, with a relentless stink that defies all conventional fumigants. Her rheumy eyes and chipped, yellow teeth are hidden beneath deep, cascading wrinkles and framed by a pair of tattered ears that are always worryingly damp and waxy. Petunia spent her formative years a perennial stray about Whitebridge, being adopted and immediately abandoned by a succession of well-meaning but naive human families. Ultimately relegated to the dark corners of the village, Petunia survived on a diet of puddle-water and cigarette butts until she finally discovered the alley behind Chez Gygax. There, among that cornucopia of rubbish, she made herself a relatively comfortable—if not happy—home, until that point when her freeloading was discovered by the restaurant’s maître d'. Shrewd and unscrupulous even by human standards, the steward reckoned that such a cur would repel most would-be intruders by dint of her singular bouquet alone, and so Petunia went from unwelcome sponger to valued employee. Since that day, the old hound had traded her services as watchdog for unlimited scraps and an itchy mat in the dining room, to be occupied only after the well-bred were long gone from the premises.

ARROOOO! The basset has reached the threshold. So noxious is her breath that the Familiars imagine they can almost see Petunia’s barking, like a green cloud wreathing the dog’s misshapen head. AAARRRRROOOOOOO! Despite the racket and the stench, and setting aside any desire for revenge, Ernest springs into action. Like an inky shadow, the cat slips right past his old nemesis, through the open door and into the kitchen, undetected. Meanwhile, the others stand exposed in the alley, the object of Petunia’s dutiful acrimony.

GM - MechanicsIn the presence of the guard-dog, Petunia, all upcoming actions are considered DANGEROUS. Her barking has almost certainly alerted humans to trouble in the alley.
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Adventure skeleton, Exquisite Corpse RPG

Last edited by Mallothi; Jun 1st, 2021 at 11:21 PM.
  #42  
Old Jun 5th, 2021, 03:20 PM
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Brie
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Brie had heard tales about a gigantic hound with three monstrous heads called Cerberus that guarded the entrance to Hell, preventing the sinful souls of cats, dogs and, above all else, humans from escaping their eternal torments. Now that he thought about it, the souls of evil geese should most definitely be added to the list of sinners. Chez Gygax was certainly no Hell, except perhaps for its employees that had to work around the clock, but the rat‘s imagination pictured the restaurant‘s guardian very much like an earthly Cerberus.

Then, Petunia appeared.

To say that her presence was as awe-inspiring as the demon-hound of legend would be an exaggeration. Rheumy eyes instead of fiery ones, chipped, stunted teeth instead of razor-sharp fangs, and only a single head. There was just one thing the sad creature had in common with the mythic beast of Hell: the odour. Though not smelling of brimstone and sulfur, Petunia had a „hellish“ stink of her own, impossible to describe and even more impossible to ignore, especially for an animal with such a sensitive nose as a rat. It emanated from the malformed hound in waves, every time the she-dog moved or opened her mouth to bark, and caused Brie to gag, retch and almost wish he was dead.

Almost.

Despite not being a prime specimen of her species, Petunia was large enough to swallow Brie or -God forbid!- Beau whole and loud enough to alarm every human in the neighborhood. There was no doubt that she had to be dealt with!

Brie saw three options for doing that: fight, flee or bribe. He immediately decided for option number three.

The miniature cucumber he had discovered among the garbage seemed juicy, if somewhat old and wilted, but that only enhanced its aroma. Judging from the dog‘s nauseating breath -the word „bad“ truly didn’t do it justice- Petunia would no doubt consider such food a real delicacy.

Brie aimed carefully and threw the cucumber right in front of the dog, or at least he meant to do so. The vegetable didn’t land on the ground, as intended, but struck the she-dog right in the middle of her left eye.

Brie froze. It was obvious that a bribe would not work now. Petunia would believe herself attacked, giving her no choice but to respond in kind. There was only one thing any sensible rat would do at a situation such as this.

FLEE!!!

Brie jumped down from the garbage bin and started running as fast as his short legs would carry him. He didn’t exactly know where he was running to, but anywhere was better than here. If he managed to lead Petunia a merry chase, allowing the others to infiltrate the Chez Gygax without danger of discovery, so much the better.

He only had to be quick. Very quick!


OOC actions Running away from Petunia and hoping that she will follow. Quick check: 9.


 
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  #43  
Old Jun 7th, 2021, 04:35 PM
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Beau
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Well, Beau thought, seeing the soggy, moldy cucumber hit Petunia's eye, that will at least get her attention. Scurrying over to the vegetable, the white rat closes her eyes, focusing on this bit of greenery in the dead, cold city. Reaching out to the faded spark of life within, Beau's magic molded the vegetable, restoring life, taste and firmness to it. With a cautious smile on her snout, she tried improving it further- making it crisper, more vibrant, even adding the scent of warm bacon to better attract the hound.

Magic: 3But somehow her magic went wrong.

As she willed more magic into the vegetable, trying to add the scent of bacon, Beau thought of pigs. And the thought of pigs supplanted the healthy image of a cucumber. Before she could do anything to stop it, the spell went out of control, and Beau's eyes snapped open with fear.

The cucumber broke open. Within were fangs, teeth, and a thick, lolling tongue- a pig's maw, a deafening squeal of agony and pure hatred escaping from the mutated vegetable. Eyes formed along the length of the cucumber, beady and black, rolling back and forth in search of prey, before disappearing again, only to be replaced elsewhere on the mutant's skin.

A green, corkscrew tail burst from the cucumber, dripping with wet mucus, probing for anything to grab hold of. Before long, the mutated vegetable began pushing itself forward, its maw snapping angrily, hungrily at its creator. For her part, Beau could only stare in horror as the abomination she had made crawled after her.

Thankfully, mercifully perhaps, the vile green horror died within moments after coming into existence... But the white rat's focus was entirely on the putrid remains of what she had created- the dog behind her forgotten...


 
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  #44  
Old Jun 7th, 2021, 08:41 PM
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Ernest the Cat
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As Ernest creeps into the restaurant, he is completely shocked to discover that Petunia is unaware of his presence. Maybe the old, stinking, wretch has lost her touch? If so, I hope it doesn’t com back, as I would truly like to keep my remaining eye...

The cat silently leaps from the floor to an unsteady wooden stool, the stool to a half open drawer, and from the drawer to the countertop. He scans the room for any sight of a spoon of finest silver. There is a sink, next to it, dishes drying on a rack, countless drawers and baskets, but... wait. The dining room!

A faint glimmer caught his eye, then the smell of soap wafted through the empty establishment, and Ernest’s memory is sparked. The staff of Chez Gygax always set the tables for the next day upon closing. If he could make it to the dining room, perhaps that was the best option for retrieving ving a spoon?

And then, his train of thought was completely derailed by the vile, hoarse, and relentless braying of Petunia. AROOOOOO! As the dog brayed out in to the night, the cat leapt nearly a foot into the air in surprise. Oh, how I hate. Dogs. I hope Brie and Beau run! No time to waste now... best to find the spoon of finest silver and make a speedy retreat before the ungainly beast returns for my other eye....


 


 
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  #45  
Old Jun 16th, 2021, 12:05 AM
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The best laid plans of rats and cats…

Petunia, a hound
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SPLAAAP!

The cucumber hits Petunia’s face with a loud squelch. There’s a moment of stunned silence and then Brie is off like a shot, leaping from the cart and scampering down the alley. Petunia lets out an angry bark and moves to give chase, but stops short when the withered vegetable at her feet suddenly takes on a monstrous new form. The writhing, gibbering gourd stuns the old hound, and her pursuit is reduced to a flurry of nervous tippy-taps, her knurled claws clicking loudly on the restaurant threshold. Mercifully, the cucumber’s gruesome gyrations only last a moment before it expires and deflates with a pitiful, wheezing, “Kiiiiillll meeeeee.” The spell is broken, and the hateful canine recovers her courage. Like a shaggy pudding on legs, Petunia wobbles into motion and rushes after Brie. Beau, still transfixed on the remains of her botched sortilege, is swept up in an undulating wave of folds as Petunia charges heedless over her and the misshapen produce. Indeed, having once again set her sights on the black rat now scurrying toward the light of the open street, the basset seems completely oblivious to the more than a dozen other rodents, the goblin, and the sentient vegetable all gathered in the alley behind Chez Gygax. Brie jukes and weaves, praying that his erratic dance will be enough to hold the beast’s attention.

For several nauseating moments Beau is hurtled forward in a lunatic somersault, caught beneath Petunia’s fetid undercarriage, before being deposited unceremoniously on the cobbles, damp and reeking of dog. Rocco hurries over to help, scooping up the bewildered white rat and placing her back on her hind paws. The cucumber lies nearby, burbling softly. Without a word, the goblin strides over and stomps the abomination flat, PLOOSH! A spray of seeds and pulpy vegetable matter splatters the walls and ground. All of this occurs unbeknownst to Brie, who has nearly reached the end of the alley. The dark rat’s entire world has been reduced to a single impulse: Run! Each of Brie’s tiny muscles flexes in perfect concert, propelling him forward at breakneck speed. But Petunia is gaining ground - he can almost feel her hot, panting breath on his tail. Suddenly the deep, shadowy cover of the alley is ripped away and Brie is engulfed in bright morning light as he bursts out into the street. Two figures, towering, menacing, decidedly human figures, loom over him in inky silhouette - men drawn to the sound of Petunia’s insufferable baying…

Meanwhile, inside…Ernest moves from the kitchen into the dining room, a soundless, liquid form in the gloom. Just as he suspected, all the tables are already set for evening service. Dozens upon dozens of pieces of glittering flatware wink from within their beds of plush napery, a beguiling constellation of finest silver. The old tom slinks toward the nearest table, ready to claim his prize. BAM! The sharp rapport of knuckles on glass sets Ernest’s hair on end. BAM-BAM! On the far side of the dining room, near the restaurant’s main entrance, a gaggle of concerned-looking humans have gathered around a large window, peering inside beneath cupped hands. “Hey!” one shouts, in that baffling tongue favored by the late Witch. “There’s a damn cat in there! Shoo, cat!” He bangs on the glass again, BAM-BAM-BAM!

Ernest has precious little time before one (or more) of the do-gooders decide to intervene…

GM - OOC/MechanicsIt goes without saying that, as a cat, Ernest is adept at knocking silverware (and even half-full cups of water) from a tabletop to the floor, no roll required. However, if he then wishes to pick up a spoon in his teeth and carry it, NightCheese will have to test Fierce, DC 7.
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Adventure skeleton, Exquisite Corpse RPG

Last edited by Mallothi; Aug 8th, 2021 at 11:10 PM.
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