The Thirteen Moons of Shamballa (in-character thread)

Best Selling RPGs - Available Now @ DriveThruRPG.com
Major Hunter takes a breath, holds it, and quickly pulls off his new :clothes" and tries to block the grill.

OOC: Hopefully the others will follow suit and add their rags as well...
"Go!", Spisarevski roars, and shoulder-bashes the door.
Tricks failed. Time for brute strength!
Gilipollas strips off his coarse garment and he and Sinbar attempt to help Hunter block the grille, but the gas seems only to moisten your raggedy apparel and threatens to seep through as a liquid. Buttersocks holds his nose and drops to the ground, rolling across the floor of the rocketship as if trying to smother a fire.

Let's have a Strength roll for Spisarevski.
 
Let's have a Strength roll for Spisarevski.
I went ahead and rolled for Spisarevski since I don't think AsenRG AsenRG is aware the thread was updated:

Spisarevski finds that the door easily resists his attempt to bash it open through brute force, and discovers it has been electrified for defense. Spisarevski receives a bad shock that throws him back into the others and onto the floor, where Buttersocks begins rolling on top of him.

Spisarevski is Wounded: all die codes reduced by 1D.

The green gas continues to seep through the garments and drips through in liquid form onto Sinbar, Gilipollas, and Hunter. The areas of the skin where the liquid makes contact immediately begin to swell and all three feel a burning sensation.
 
Spisarevski immediately looked for a weapon to use on the door, or at least something non-metal to bash it with.
 
OOC: Well Major Hunter will continue to try and block the grate, hoping that the gas is on a timed spray cycle, and that Spisarevski can open the door to the cockpit.
 
Spisarevski immediately looked for a weapon to use on the door, or at least something non-metal to bash it with.
There are a few plastic straps on either wall. They appear to be handholds for supersonic travel. You could possibly try to tear one (or more) loose and figure out a use for it (or them).
OOC: Well Major Hunter will continue to try and block the grate, hoping that the gas is on a timed spray cycle, and that Spisarevski can open the door to the cockpit.
The gas keeps coming, and though the grate is blocked, it continues to seep through the fabric as a liquid. Major Hunter and his companions are now being soaked to the bone with the liquified gas!

Everybody in the cabin needs to make a Strength (or Stamina if that's better) roll versus a target number of 15 to remain conscious. Failure means you slip into oblivion for 1d6 hours.
 
16 on 3d6+1. Even I can tell that's a success.

Spisarevski fights off the gas effects as well as he could, for now...

But his next action would depend on who else passes.
 
Spisarevski sees Major Hunter, then Gilipollas, and then Sinbar slip into unconsciousness and fall to the floor, while Buttersocks keeps rolling back and forth and calling out in a terrified whine, "We're all gonna DIIIIIIIIIEEEEE!!!!"
 
OOC: Wait, did I have to apply the 1d penalty from the shock to my Stamina roll, too? Because if it's true, Spisarevski slips off as well! I forgot to do that earlier, on account of being used of having stamina as a non-wounds-penalizable stat!
 
OOC: Wait, did I have to apply the 1d penalty from the shock to my Stamina roll, too? Because if it's true, Spisarevski slips off as well! I forgot to do that earlier, on account of being used of having stamina as a non-wounds-penalizable stat!
Yes, he is reduced by 1D...

Spisarevski realizes that although his spirit was willing to keep fighting, his flesh was unable to do so, and he, too, collapses to the floor. Buttersocks rolls up against Spisarevski and the last thing Spisarevski hears before everything goes black is the gnome whining, "First I miss out on the orgy and now I'm gonna die! I never should have followed you big people!"

The dice say each of you will be unconscious for 3 hours (Hunter), 6 hours (Spisarevski), and 5 hours (everybody else), so my next post will be where and how Hunter wakes up.
 
OOC: Oh well. Apologies that I didn't think of that earlier...but then he got to hear the gnome's whining! A big bonus, that!
 
Hunter, Spisarevski, and the others awaken with a bracing splash of icy cold water in their faces. Looking up and around, you see a dozen blue-furred ape legionaries armed with rayguns standing ready to disintegrate you. Directly before you is a piggish little man sniggering as his emptied bucket drips onto the cold marble floor of a large and ornate throne room. Looking past him, you see a gilded throne atop a set of marble steps. Seated on the throne is a man of wicked countenance whom you presume to be Emperor Malvolio, who is flanked by Professor Prospero on his left and the Slave Lord of Shamballa on his right. You feel the cold iron of shackles binding your wrists, and a heavy metal ball chained to your ankles. The stentorian voice of Emperor Malvolio echoes throughout the throne room as he sets down his hookah pipe, blows smoke rings, points down at you and languidly asks, "Who...are...you?"
i0ZG6R2.jpg
 
Major Hunter will stand straight and proud, and "show his breeding" as befits a true scion of Gormenghast. Formally bowing his head he will address the Emperor in his best courtly tone:

"Your Imperial Grace. I am the Marquis d'eau noire, Tiberius Groan, rightful heir and Duke of Gormenghast, late of his Imperial Brittanic Majesty's Royal Infantry, at your service. I, and my companion Mr Spisarevski, are travelers lost in your realm, and we mean no harm. The other two are boon companions that we have met during our journey. I profoundly apologize for my, and my companions, appearance. If you would be so kind as to allow us to retire, we would greatly like to clean ourselves up and present ourselves in a manner more fitting to your august person."
 
Malvolio stifles a yawn and responds, "You bore me with your politesse. And what of your friends? Can they not speak?"

The Slave Lord of Shamballa leans in to whisper in the Emperor's ear, causing the latter to grin wickedly and say to no one in particular, "Indeed, the arena can always use fresh gladiators."

Buttersocks sputters nervously and pipes up, saying, "Your Excellency, I am Buttersocks, a Lord of the Picklenut Forest and your most loyal and humble servant. I was abducted by these big people, Your Imperial Majesty, for reasons I cannot say! Whatever they're up to, I have nothing to do with it!"
 
"I'm Spisarevski, of the Spisarevski's family, member of His Majesty Boris III's finest. I usually let my friend Marquis Groan to talk with crown-wearing persons, while I await and watch. I can, however, state with conviction that gazing at your Imperial Grace's splendour has helped my enlightenment, including regarding the values of a little-known philosophy that happens to be popular at my native place".
 
Malvolio scratches so near the inside if his nostril that you're not sure if he might be picking his nose with his creepily long fingernail. Then he yawns openly and says, "All this blather falls upon my ears as mere flattery from the silver tongues of escaped slaves, my good Slave Lord of Shamballa. This audience taxes my patience. Why is my time being wasted on such matters? I crave entertainment. That Mongrollan looks fit to fight in the arena. What of these others? Is that one of my legionaries? Surely he can fight." He claps his hands together and announces, "I hereby sentence you all to slavery in the gladiatorial arena of Shamballa. Whether you live or die depends entirely on your skill as a fighter. Perhaps you will even earn your freedom one day. Be it known that I care not what becomes of you so long as I get to enjoy my entertainments! Except that little fellow who dares refer to himself as a lord in my presence: I don't see what chance he would have in the arena, so we shall just stretch his neck now for an afternoon's sport and spare him the humiliation of being slaughtered as a pig in an abbatoir. Slave Lord, put my fancy into practice at once!"

Buttersocks simultaneously pulls at the hems of your respective tattered potato-sack garments, drops to his knees, and tearfully begs both of you: "Ahhh! Save me, dear friends! Save me! Don't let them hang me!"
 
"No need for the stringing", Spisarevski says. He doesn't like what he needs to say one bit.
"You could just send him in the arena with us. As long as there is an equal number of opponents, why would you care?"
 
"No need for the stringing", Spisarevski says. He doesn't like what he needs to say one bit.
"You could just send him in the arena with us. As long as there is an equal number of opponents, why would you care?"
"Ah!" says Malvolio. "You give me a wonderful idea for a jest! We will spare your little friend...and you may square off against him in the arena! We shall see just how much his life means to you then!" He laughs mirthlessly and motions to his legionaries to come forward. "Conduct these brave warriors to a trainer. I want them fed and in fighting trim. There's no sport in watching a tired, hungry man be quickly slain by an acidbeast. I desire my pleasure to be prolonged!"
 
"Ah!" says Malvolio. "You give me a wonderful idea for a jest! We will spare your little friend...and you may square off against him in the arena! We shall see just how much his life means to you then!" He laughs mirthlessly and motions to his legionaries to come forward. "Conduct these brave warriors to a trainer. I want them fed and in fighting trim. There's no sport in watching a tired, hungry man be quickly slain by an acidbeast. I desire my pleasure to be prolonged!"

"That doesn't seem very sporting at all. In fact it is down right mean.Yon Buttersocks was merely helping us get to your court. He meant no harm. Surely your Grace, you are having a joke with us?
We are much more valuable alive than dead. We have traveled a great distance to see the splendour or your realms. Our craft was destroyed in a storm. We are emissaries from foreign lands, and we seek to establish an alliance. Establish trade, and if you are as mighty as I think, even, perhaps, become your vassals. Kill us for a moment of sport and you throw away a chance of increasing your power. Is
the mighty Emperor Malvolio so omnipotent indeed that he needs no more friends and followers?"
 
Emperor Malvolio casts a cold eye on Major Hunter and smirks, "Indeed, my omnipotence is the stuff of legend." He then turns and exits the chamber through a side door.

The Slave Lord of Shamballa then lashes Major Hunter across the back with a weapon resembling a cat o' nine tails. "Uppity fool!" remarks the Slave Lord. "We shall soon humble you!"

A troop of legionaries prods you all to your feet as the Slave Lord continues, "Come, we will escort you to your new accommodations. It's such a delight to have new slaves from foreign climes. I cannot wait to see what attributes your kind will exhibit! I believe the trainer for you shall be...let me think...ah, Hijabastarda should be a perfect match for you."

You escort leads you out of the chamber, down a sloping ramp to a lower level where you come to a large metal door which the Slave Lord opens with a code at a keypad. Beyond the door, the hall extends as far as you can see, and on either side there are cells with metal bars and you see slovenly, broken men of seemingly endless variety lying on cots, gripping the cars, pleading for release, and even begging for death. "Worry not," comments the Slave Lord as he grasps a prisoner's outstretched hand and deliberately breaks its fingers, eliciting a howl of pain. "These are mere criminals sentenced to a lifetime of hard labor. Your lot is enviable in comparison."

The legionaries escort your group through another metal door with a keypad, and down another slope until you pass under a wide archway and enter a well-appointed new chamber that resembles nothing so much as a Turkish bath. Several burly gorilla-men stand ready to serve as attendants and hot, dry air flows through the room.
hammam11.jpg
"Strip off those rags," commands the Slave Lord. "First order of business is scrubbing away the grime and filth you have tracked into the imperial estate. Then you shall be fed and shown to your accommodations. Tomorrow you shall meet Hijabastarda and begin preparations for your service in the arena. Do not attempt to escape, for guards will be posted and you would not like to receive the punishment of hard labor in the mines of Shamballa. Do you have any questions?"
 
Major Hunter ignores the onerous Slaver and removes his rags and jumps into the nearest bath, silently vowing that he will strangle this creature with his own whip one day, and pull that vile Malvolio from the throne by his beard.
 
Last edited:
"But of course. No filth on the Imperial estate", Spisarevski comments, before stripping. He's familiar enough with hamams, that should even be fun.
Of course, he thinks, the biggest piece of filth is on the throne, surrounded by its likes. Maybe they don't want visitors to bring competition?
 
A group of effeminate attendants, perhaps eunuchs, bearing bottles of oil and luffa-type sponges enter from a tunnel on the left, almost simultaneous with the entrance of a squad of burly, naked gladiators from a tunnel on the right.

"Ho! Newcomers!" says an especially muscular gladiator, whose body is ridden with scar tissue from numerous injuries.

"Be ye free men or slaves?" inquires a squat but equally muscled warrior standing beside the first. His face is dominated by a bloodied porcine nose and cauliflower ears.
 
"We are free men, contrary to what that Slaver may think. I am Major Hunter, and this is Spisarevski, Gilipollas, Sinbar, and Buttersocks, a Lord of Pucklenut Forest. And you are?"
 
Spisarevski just nodded upon hearing his name, and left the talking to Hunter.
At least, for now.
 
Been very busy helping some friends and acquaintances with relatives exposed to the Wuhan virus, plus since I was already working at home I've been showing people the ropes since our company sent everyone home with minimal training and equipment. I should be able to update this thread tomorrow.
 
"We are free men, contrary to what that Slaver may think. I am Major Hunter, and this is Spisarevski, Gilipollas, Sinbar, and Buttersocks, a Lord of Pucklenut Forest. And you are?"
Spisarevski just nodded upon hearing his name, and left the talking to Hunter.
At least, for now.
The scar-faced warrior pushes aside a fawning attendant who is trying to rub oil onto the gladiator's bulging muscles. Stepping toward you and your contingent, and closely followed by his pig-nosed companion, he announces, "You have not heard of me? I am Enormuevos! Champion of the arena!" Gesturing to his sidekick, he adds, "This is Carapuerco. He is nearly as accomplished as I. Clearly you have not attended the gladiatorial matches if you do not recognize the greatest warriors in the city!"

"I know who you are," assures Buttersocks. "Your fame has spread far and wide! I'm a great admirer!"

As you speak, a group of attendants uncork bottles of lotion and oil and begin to massage the contents into your flesh.
 
"I have not heard of you or your comrade. We are a long way from home, so don't be offended if tales of your prowess haven't reached our world." Major Hunter looks at Buttersocks "Well it's not all bad, you seem to have a fan here. What!"
 
"I have not heard of you or your comrade. We are a long way from home, so don't be offended if tales of your prowess haven't reached our world." Major Hunter looks at Buttersocks "Well it's not all bad, you seem to have a fan here. What!"
"I have nothing but contempt for insincere and obvious flatterers," replies Enormuevos. He crouches low to be on eye-level with Buttersocks and says, "Fear not, little man. If I must fight you I will merely take your manhood so you may live on as one of these"--he nods toward the eunuch attendants--"unless you prefer death to such a fate."
 
"Good! Then we'll get along just fine I think. Tell me Enormuevos why do you fight? Why do you perform for these effete mandarins? Why do you play their game?"
 
Spisarevski is quietly debating with himself whether the Lord of Picklenut Forest would have any use for his nuts anyway...given that they seemed to only get him into trouble so far. And he has displayed a distinct lack of such attributes in his behaviour, when out of the sight of a halfway attractive member of the opposite sex...though he didn't even behave properly when such were in his sight!
"Indeed. And we might be able to show some advantages", he adds. "Tell us, friends...what's the daily routine here? Now we're going to have a bath with those attendants. Then what? Food? Training? Sleep? Entertainment? All of the above, in some order?"
 
"Where there's a will, there's a way." Major Hunter quietly replies.
"You talk big for a newcomer," says Enormuevos. "Your tune may change once you learn the extent of your situation. But if you have a plan, Carapuerco and I will hear you out. We'll even bring along your brown-nosed gnome if you feel it necessary."
Spisarevski is quietly debating with himself whether the Lord of Picklenut Forest would have any use for his nuts anyway...given that they seemed to only get him into trouble so far. And he has displayed a distinct lack of such attributes in his behaviour, when out of the sight of a halfway attractive member of the opposite sex...though he didn't even behave properly when such were in his sight!
"Indeed. And we might be able to show some advantages", he adds. "Tell us, friends...what's the daily routine here? Now we're going to have a bath with those attendants. Then what? Food? Training? Sleep? Entertainment? All of the above, in some order?"
Carapuerco snorts and says, "We are bathed and massaged, then we dine. Then we sleep and train for the next match. On the days between matches, we do as we please within our confinement. There may be whores provided if you are victorious. Is that what you're hinting at? None for you until you win."
 
"You talk big for a newcomer," says Enormuevos. "Your tune may change once you learn the extent of your situation. But if you have a plan, Carapuerco and I will hear you out. We'll even bring along your brown-nosed gnome if you feel it necessary."

Carapuerco snorts and says, "We are bathed and massaged, then we dine. Then we sleep and train for the next match. On the days between matches, we do as we please within our confinement. There may be whores provided if you are victorious. Is that what you're hinting at? None for you until you win."
"I'll live without until we win", Spisarevski shrugged. "Whores are not what I'm after. But I'd like to take a look around. When do you think I could do that? After dining, maybe?"
 
Major Hunter ignores the alien's comments and continues with his washing. He looks over at Spisarevski, but says nothing.
 
Banner: The best cosmic horror & Cthulhu Mythos @ DriveThruRPG.com
Back
Top