Conan, Day Three

[pyat]

DAY THREE: SCORECARD
Jeweled Thrones Crushed under My Sandaled Feet: Zero
Lamentations of Women Heard : Zero.
Rowboats Stolen: One
Number of Converts Recruited into Impromptu Apocalypse Cult: Zero. But working on it...

Other Highlights...

Housecats Threatened with Hellfire: One


Bottles of Rancid Wine Purchased: Three


Mysterious Women Glimpsed by Moonlight: One.

I went on two solo quests, which involved delivering a bottle of healing potion from a healer to a spy on an island, and returning to her with a message. At this point she tried to recruit me to pick herbs to heal some grotty NPC I didn't care about. I decided to get down to serious roleplaying, and stood in the town square, warning everyone of the coming Volcanic Apocalypse. Whenever a new player came through the gate, I would try to attract their attention with a dire warning along the lines of:
"Do not trust the town crier!"
"Doom!"
"Death is coming to Tortage!"
"Turn back to the jungle, this city is doomed!"

I didn't get any nibbles, though a 65th level guy with a small army of monsters offered me a guild membership, which I declined.

Comments

[porsupah.livejournal.com]

I'm reminded of a cute little exchange over on SLU (http://www.sluniverse.com/php/vb/general-sl-discussion/30519-more-bloodline-twatwafflery.html), wherein our heroine is IM'd by a random stranger. ("Bloodlines" is a rather pathetically lightweight attempt at paint-by-numbers roleplaying. Originally typed as "pain", which suggests certain possibilities for a reworking of That Machine in The Princess Bride)

Amazing how many diversions a brain can come up with, if it's actually meant to be doing something else entirely.