You start in a town with 500 gold. What do you do?
Ended FG RP: It's Finally Happening!
- Thread starter Chickenspleen
- Start date
Buy a drink.
You check a listing of available properties. It seems there are two buildings available for your price range. One is a bit of a fixer-upper that will require a lot of time and effort to make profitable. The other seems to be the perfect place for a quaint family bakery, all for the price of only 500 gold. The listing does mention an infestation, though...
The gold piece is a completely arbitrary form of currency and amounts to whatever the GM wants it to at the moment.
The bartender offers you a choice between a standard ale(10 gp), a fancy wine from the southern regions(100 gp), or one of the house's famous Dwarven Bowel Devastators(30 gp).
"Try the Bowel Devastator, mate," says a particularly shady customer sitting next to you at the bar, "You won't regret it."
You waste all your hard earned money on alcohol. The bartender hands you a brochure about the next meeting of the local AA. He also informs you that since this is technically an RP and not a CYOA story, you and TC are two different characters. He is still off somewhere being indecisive.
The pseudo-medieval society that you live in has not developed a proper banking system. All reference books begin and end with "ask your liege and see what happens". You wish for a moment that you had been born in the southern regions, where everyone and their uncle uses advanced finance. Why do those southerners get all the good stuff?
Check the local property listings.
Buy a bow and as many decent-quality arrows as the remainder will afford me.
And then shoot the nearest pedestrian in the face.
I order the Bowel Devastator, because maybe it will kill me.
You down all five bottles in quick succession. The bartender tells you that maybe you should go someplace else. Having a raging drunk around is bad for business, see. You ramble something about finding TC and the bartender assures you that TC is just outside the bar. Don't worry, he says, you'll find him. You are shoved out the door into the street where TC very plainly is not.
Meanwhile, inside, a polite young fellow at the bar is still thinking of what to order.
Everything is exuberantly priced. It seems like you're in one of those neighborhoods.
You see psychadelic images of various people in various situations. A man contemplating buying a bakery, a drunk hobbling around the streets, a violent psychopath punching homeless people in the face. You're not quite sure what these amount to, but you get a nice, brief feeling of enlightenment inside you.
FG stands for Forum Games. It's a reference to my old games in this style, which I basically just named after whatever we called that iteration of the forum games board.
You punch a lonely hobo in the face. He starts foaming at the mouth and writhing on the ground. A woman screams a few feet away.
You buy a simple wooden boy and, oh geeze, really? 400 arrows. That's, uh, that's a lot of arrows for one dude. A voice in your head compels you to test your new acquisitions on a local vagrant, but you choose to ignore it for now.
After a short distraction from a certain raging drunk, you choose the famous house drink. The man next to you chuckled ominously. The bartender looks you up and down and reluctantly grabs a small glass bottle. On one side is a skull and crossbones and on the other is a very long DO NOT DRINK IF list. The bartender wipes the sweat from his brow and asks if you really want to go through with this. You seem like you've got so much ahead of you.
Damn, you guys are fast.
You head over to TC and immediately commence an expert and seductive deep tissue massage.
"Huh, wazzat?" says the angry dwarf who turns around and glares at you. "Wuz you just rubbin' me back?"
You realize that that might not have been TC.
You hobble back to the bar. There is a large man standing in front of the entrance who wasn't there before. He says that maybe you should go find a place to lie down. You say that you don't need to lie down because you've got a fash metablolism and you know teeseesindere. The large man sighs and says he'll let you in just this once. He didn't really want this job anyway.
You head over to TC and immediately commence an expert and seductive deep tissue massage.
"Huh, wazzat?" says the angry dwarf who turns around and glares at you. "Wuz you just rubbin' me back?"
You realize that that might not have been TC.