You drop your ruck as you rip the mace from its side. You grip the weapon with both hands, spin, and swing widdershins with all of your might. The gilded steel head cuts a glimmering arc through the air before smashing into Abrion’s groin, who had just bowled over the unlucky patron. Abrion crumples like balled parchment and screams like one should with such an injury.
You’d like to track down that wizard and give him a piece of your mind, but you decide that he’s taken enough of it already. It’s time to set out for Mount Mooregardia once again.This time no taverns – or perhaps fewer taverns. No, the same amount of taverns, but no wizards.
The moron before you, face ruddied by his idiocy, seems very pleased with himself. It’s not the taunting that has your blood boiling so much as the arrogance that fuels it.
You never want to set foot in a tavern again but you decide it’s your best chance to learn what happened last night. You will your body to climb the uneven wooden steps to the front entrance of Drake’s.
Consciousness creeps in with confusion and contempt. The poignant tang of dirt-mingled vomit and ale are overwhelming and your head throbs with every heartbeat. The earth beneath you is cold and rocky — an indifferent, albeit familiar, companion.
I had an idea to create a Twitter-based story made interactive with polls. A pollplaying game! (Surely this has been done before since original ideas are no longer a thing?)