The Friday Nite Game
Lee bragged up my write-up of the game over the Starwars Mush (Unsung Heroes), so I guess I better finish it soon, just in case someone’s reading.
Yes, there are little changes. I have memory lapses, lapses when the bebe was dragging me around the house, and the demands of fiction to placate as well as players. Writers are liars, you know. Luckily, I’m not getting any eeps for this, so I’m not bound to absolute purity…
The Story Continues:
After his explosive expulsion from the sewer tunnel, Black Iron rose out of the…muck, looking more like the Swamp Thing than the buffed and polished demigod of superheroism that he was, dammit.
Somebody chortled, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just the GM.
Nice Guy and his Nice Friends (“We are NOT your nice friends!”) pulled Black Iron out of the…muck…and helped him scrape himself off.
Bravely (or at least, not quite as naively this time), they headed back into the sewer tunnel, to meet whatever it was that had caused Black Iron to fire a
semiballistic rocket into a methane-rich sewer tunnel.
“At least we won’t have to worry about setting off any more explosions,” said Black Iron.
Even Nice Guy had to grit his teeth over that one.
“And my magnetic flashlight still works!” Black Iron added. “Neat!”
As the team (getting slightly hungry now, as they’d had nothing to eat all day, not even donuts) moved cautiously into the tunnel again, they saw what it
was that Black Iron had fired upon.
Dragonflies. Lots and lots of dragonflies.
Not…organic dragonflies, either.
Everyone stepped over the inert corpses (if that’s the word) except the Corncob Avenger (“That’s Cornfield Commando. Oh, you’re laughing now, but jest you wait until the aliens take over”). He stopped, pulled one off the ground, and tugged what was left of the dull, bronzish, somewhat-toasted wings, looking as thoughtful as a man in patched armor and overalls can get.
“This reminds me of them aliens,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
Forward, forward into the darkness…
Screeeunk!
A terrible sound, followed by the appearance of a pair of terrible, glowing eyes. But it wasn’t as bad as the noise that followed it: Screeeeunk! The second noise was identical, the sound of metal being torn asunder, but it was made more terrible by the fact that it, too, was followed by the appearance of a second pair of the glowing eyes.
Giant–you guessed it–bugs! Giant centipedes!
“We could shoot ’em with a rocket,” said Black Iron. “The methane’s been burned off already–”
“No!” shouted everyone else.
And so they just attacked. I can hardly relate each blow of the mighty battle. The two mechanical centipedes had rotating knives and a gaseous acid spray. Our heroes had…well, let’s just say that if brains over brawn were one of the standard heroic stats, much like a hit percentage for a baseball player, they wouldn’t get their own rookie cards. However, the terrible centipedes were defeated, resulting in various injuries (Cornfield Commando was left with only 80% of his coveralls, and Nice Guy sustained a couple of fairly serious wounds), another methane explosion (Thank you, Ol’ Lady Johnson), and the revelation that the centipedes were partially…organic.
Hm.
Just as our heroes were scraping the ichor and sewage off their clothing, they heard a noise. A noise not to be ignored. A noise to be feared, especially by people illegally parked, or people who walked their dogs with a suspicious lack of poop-scooping equipment. Or People Who Just Looked Funny.
What did it sound like? It was a combination of things. First you noticed the low rumble of a voice answered by a childlike lisping, but underneath that was the sound of…icky things.
Yes, it was…Mr. Floofy. And Splorch.
Hopefully with donuts.