(Photo Courtesy of Rooster Teeth)
This photo is extremely relevant because it sums up what the second half of my first tabletop RPG one-shot was like for me... except I didn't have a gun and I was waaaay less badass. But more on the relevance later.
This one-shot was super-duper fun, essentially we were all mercenaries that had been flung into the real world from the Disney worlds, where our memories of the past were erased and we all went to different spots of the globe, committing (about equally) terrible war-crimes until we were brought back to the Disney worlds five years later, where we discover that Maleficent is generally still a bitch and messin' shit up more than ever. Alright, so we gotta' go kill a dragon-witch-greenladything. But there's only one problem. She can only be killed with a stab through the heart, (and eating of said heart) by a person who has truly, undoubtedly, come to peace with who they are. (Cue Farnsworth.)
"And if you kill anyone, make sure to eat their heart, to gain their courage! Rich, tasty courage..."
And here comes the kicker: Each one of us had been a Disney Princess in our past lives. So half of it is a game of guess-who. I was Pochahontas. So I was good with a bow, I guess. Well, in the second half of our journey, we came upon the always-nefarious Dog Fights, led by none other than Gaston himself. (God, he's such a penis.) Well, we stumbled into his boss room (a bar, one of the only places in Disney Land World Dimension Multiverse to actually have alcohol.) I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. Rather than tackle Gaston head-on in a Biggus-Dickus challenge, like many of my comrades chose, I simply sat down and had a drink. Or two. Or Ten. Witch's Spit, they called it. Much stronger than Moose's Piss, mind you. So my teammates were a fightin', and doin' all the work, really. One of Gaston's minions came over to me and told me something. Well, I was wasted so I couldn't remember what he said. BUT IT WAS OFFENSIVE! So I stabbed him in the eye with an arrow.
Well, stuff got real, real quick like. My friends were lobbin' knives, Gaston was breakin' em in his hand, arrows were a flyin' all over the place! I tried to shoot one, but my hammered consciousness gave me a +4 to all my rolls. Since it was a system with golf rules, I naturally missed. I shrugged it off and had another drink. Well, now the bar was catching on fire, for whatever reason, I can't remember. My teammates had got Gaston to minimum health. He was bleeding out, his throat was cut, his face was on fire, he got audited that day, and he left the oven on at home. My group members scurried around, grabbin' stuff, saving people, you know totally ignoring this blood-gurgling asshole in the middle of the room. My DR (Designated Runner) for the night picked me up and bolted. And just before we were out of the room, I shot one last arrow.
Zing.
Splrch!
Right in the face! Killing blow, bitches! ....hic! That's how I felt. I had made a skill shot, probably firing upside down, on someone's back, a millisecond before we were out the door. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why Mordecai is sitting all proud at the top of this post. Because he was a drunken sniper.
Colors of the Wind, foolz.
-D.
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