Today was our second session of our amnesiac D&D campaign. Still bereft of their memories, armed with a few fragments of knowledge and the sorts of weaponry one picks up around an abandoned farmhouse, clad only in their undies and two sets of womens clothing*, we woke from hideous, personally tailored nightmares (our GM is workin’ overtime) and spent today on the vital tasks of digging up cursed objects, finding a town, lying our asses off, and getting clothes. And hurting ourselves. No combat, so naturally my neurotic probably-a-rogue elf “Twitchy” rolls four natural 20s, entirely on things that don’t matter at all, like smiling at the bartender and hiding from a cow.
We did learn several vital facts, like that one of our players gets panicky in the face of small talk from NPCs, and wound up claiming that we were a party of travelling entertainers, to the shock and horror of the rest of the party.** He was de-nominated as spokesperson. Second of all, one of our party has successfully identified their class and is a cleric. Thank god. We were desperately in need of a healer by that point. In addition to various injuries sustained last session by all the players, Twitchy was trying to see if he knew how to juggle, in order to lend versimiltude to the horrible travelling circus story. He had two knives airborne, and without thinking things through all that well, requests somebody throw him an axe. We’ll draw a merciful veil over the rest of the scene, which mostly involved Twitchy running in circles, and the screaming, and the blood spray.
After further enmeshing the party in a web of lies involving a fictional goblin attack, the clothed members of our party returned from town with duds for the rest of us. While left to our own devices, and in their underwear, Twitchy, Gnomey and Dwarfy had attempted to determine whether or not any of them were good with animals by trying to milk a passing cow. A cow can kick a gnome quite a distance. Interesting. If any of us are druids, we’re hiding it well.
Finally dragging ourselves in to the town, we discovered yet ANOTHER vital fact–namely that the mysterious Empire we found ourselves on the wild borders of is an elven empire. Elves are treated with great deference. Our party rapidly metamorphized into Citizen Twitchy and entourage. This fills no one with confidence, least of all Twitchy, who is filled with intense paranoia by the mere mention of “Citizens” and was having nightmares of fleeing crime scenes pursued by elves in plate mail.
So obviously our GM is doing a fabulous job.
*Twitchy’s cross-dressing was foiled when our other female human party member regained conciousness. Sigh.
**Seriously! Me, I wanted us to be a travelling party of nuns. Nuns aren’t expected to swallow swords, breathe fire, belly dance. Well, unless they’re very special nuns.
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