The roof caved in, blocking our way to the staircase. Oh, what a surprise.
So instead, we had to take the long way around (fortunately, Gunney's pace has improved - this whole Armageddon-preventing trip must be rejuvenating), being chased by an acidic, black blob that causes temporary paralysis and which doesn't even taste very good. Unlike the bug-like creatures who attacked us in our sleep, who, when cooked, taste a bit like chicken. With Slick in the party, a whole new world of culinary delights have really opened up for us. This week, he surprised us all by actually managing to make cheese and cucumber sandwiches WITHOUT people in them!
Also, there's a new word on the block: scrota, a portmanteau of "scrotum quota". Best not to ask, eh?
Courtesy of Tuesday 1 November 2011's 1st Edition Deadlands adventure at Chimera.
“Are you ready to die, punks?”
(To another table, who are playing Savage Worlds but had forgotten their playing cards)
“Isn’t it great that we’re playing the same system? Except we came first.”
“And we kick more ass.”
(After discussing testicles … at length)
“Is it weird that I fancy grapes now?”
“We should make a sign: Have you met your scrota for today?”
“I’m crossing out ‘Scientist’ on my character sheet and replacing it with ‘Alchemist’.”
“And yet you didn’t also cross out ‘Mad’.”
“I think I’ve gone too far for that to be plausible.”
“My wind is 18.”
“My wind is smelly. That’s toilet humour for you.”
Player from another group: “Can I join your game?”
Player 1: “Yeah! You can be my sidekick, El Hombre. You’re only allowed to speak Spanish.”
GM: “As a house rule, he can also speak Portuguese.”
Player 2: “But not French!”
Player 3: “French? Ewwww!”
“Are you running Mage? You poor sod!”
“Other people have different viewpoints.”
“Yeah. Me.”
“We might NOT die tonight!”
“We might not START tonight.”
Mary: “You appear to be healed, to be sure, to be sure.”
(Looking at the map from last week)
Player 1: “There’s something wrong with me; in this section I see a bra.”
Player 2: “There’s something wrong with you.”
Player 3: “I see the bra too.”
“I head towards the plot.”
“Our map’s buggered, yay!”
“We’ve changed game systems. We’re now playing Pathfinder.”
“Have we made progress every time we’ve seen the blob?”
“Progress is … debatable.”
Slick: “Make a roll to see if I can resist gnawing on the walls. I succeed; I don’t gnaw on the walls.”
Player: “No one would ever accuse you of chewing the scenery.”
Gunney: “You do know I’m an octogenarian, right? Half a day’s work means just about nap time.”
Sam: “I have a plan.”
Gunney: “Does it involve me risking my neck?”
Sam: “No.”
Gunney: “Does it involve anyone’s necks?”
Sam: “Yes.”
Gunney: “Forget it!”
Sam: “It’s MY neck.”
Gunney: “Oh, go ahead then.”
“I back away. Whenever Slick holds a jar, death’s ahead.”
“I hold the jar out underneath and DARE the thing.”
“Blob gumbo.”
GM: “Have you got any Fightin’ skills?”
Player: “He has a jar?”
Slick: “…Clearly labelled jars!”
Sam: “Does one say alkali anti-goo potion?”
Slick: “No.”
Gunney: “As far as I’m concerned, Alkali is somewhere in Alabama.”
“I’m never gonna get a hand as good as that, and all I did was the OAP shuffle.”
Sam: “Pointless argument with Slick: check.”
Slick: “About money: double-check.”
“Alkali is like acid with a goatee.”
“Life’s like a Slick sandwich: you never know what you’re gonna get.”
“D12 initiative – sometimes it works.”
Reynard (to GM): “Did I neglect to mention I was sleeping down the passageway, around the back …? I meant to tell you.”
“Holy crap, I’ve become a metaphor!”
“We’re all in the Wild West, Sam’s in Aliens.”
“On Porn World, are all the costumes really unconvincing?”
GM: “You’re in agonising pain and paralysed for 29 rounds.”
Gunney: “29 rounds?! Jesus Chris on a bicycle! I’ll go and have a cuppa tea or something.”
Slick: “Bugs attacked us. With fascinating venom. OH GOD! I’m gonna have to taste it now, don’t I?”
GM: “You think the venom will make the ultimate spicy gumbo.”
Slick (far too happy): “WELL, now!”
“Would anyone mind if I shoot him?”
“Hell, I’ll even give you the bullets.”
“There’s mad, and then there’s Hellraiser shit.”
Sam: “I’m making a bug bi-pod!”
Player: “After a while, you learn to just roll with him.”
“You know that horrible, horrible future she brought us here to prevent? We created it.”
(Looking at discarded and useless empty alien skin)
“At least now you have a Halloween costume.”
“It’s the opposite of a horror game: WE frighten the GM.”
“Wait, does this mean I’m the only party member doing what I’m supposed to be doing?”
Reynard: “I’ll get a 10 feet pole from a D&D adventure.”
(Sam puts his newly made alien skin armour on)
Player: “He looks stupid.”
“Did everyone go mad while I was asleep? Is that what happened?”
“Sir, is that swimwear made out of walrus ding-dongs?”
GM: “The alien leg is definitely better cooked. Kinda tastes like chicken.”
Slick: “Louisiana chicken!”
Player: “People?!”
“I’m dragging the bug behind me.”
“You’re bringing your trail rations?”
GM: “You reach an antechamber.”
Player 1: “Anti-chamber?”
Player 2: “Would you describe it as a boudoir?”
GM: “More of a greenhouse.”
“You wanna shoot him or should I?”
“You do it. He’s not worth the bullets anymore.”
“We eventually open the secret door and find a chest with 50 gold pieces and two gems, each worth 30 gold pieces. And a +1 Longsword.”
Gunney: “BTFU. Back the fuck up.”
GM: “Where are you backing up to?”
Gunney: “Somewhere I won’t get ceiling falling on me!”
Sam: “You were only supposed to blow the bloody door off!”
Reynard: “I only DID blow the bloody door off.”
“Go north west before I lose the will to live.”
“Too late. Too bloody late.”
Reynard: “Healing Ungent from Smith & Robard’s.”
Slick: “Wait, you BOUGHT that? From someone who isn’t me?!” (throws hat passionately on the floor)
“Let’s not use blowing stuff up as a way to get upstairs.”
So, as you can gather, much like Osama bin Laden, we're still stuck in a cave. Except he was found in a house and is now dead. BUT THE METAPHOR STILL STANDS! And we still don't know what was behind that hidden door.
