Morning.
Getting ready. My backpack is stuffed with printouts of Zak's modules because I never know if I'm going to be GMing. Also with printout of Vornheim, for the same reason. Also there's a list of character concepts I want to play, in case I'm not going to be GMing.
Also a stainless steel fork/knife/spoon/can opener set, in case I get hungry.
I hop on my electric scooter, and I move out.
I don't think the vendors were quite right when they said the "ideal conditions for testing our vehicle - freeway, dry weather, windless". The ideal conditions are these - Saturday morning in Odesa, during war time. Barely any cars around. Still feels strange, I remember the constant traffic jams.
Midday. Some people have already gathered, some are on their way.
"Why is it so quiet?"
We all know what he means by that. It's not about sounds of city life. It's about the sirens of air raid.
We all expect a missile attack.
But it's quiet.
2 PM.
There's how many - six of us? Seven? Eight? Are we all playing? I remember the times when we had three players and a GM. So simple and elegant. Six players, though, damn... I wonder how Zak manages it?
Anyways, I'm not GMing today, so I pull out my list of characters.
"What are we gonna play?"
"Well there's mostly fantasy on my list..."
"Warhammer!"
"Fuck Warhammer!"
"I wanna play a Scaven!"
"Dude, scavens are russians. That's all there is to them".
"I don't wanna play a russian".
"Fine, you can play an orc".
"Didn't you hear what I just said?"
"Look, if we're not going to play, at least let's talk shit about Putin".
"Why is it so quiet, anyways?.."
3 PM. In the end, we decided that we're playing in Ankh-Morpork. The party consists of... a rat, a troll who thinks that the rat is his mind, Luggage, a Nac Mac Feegle, a wizard that the other players know nothing about other than he's, apparently, a wizard. And me. I play a kender ranger. Because I want to, that's why.
"It's a usual patrol of the Night Watch..."
"Wait, so we're in the Watch?"
"Look at yourself. Who else could you possibly be?"
So we go on patrol. We see some thugs ganging up on a man. We intervene, because they don't have a license to gang up on people. They don't have a license because I handled it away from them and then asked where is their license. I think it's a perfect combination of kender handling and police brutality.
After a couple combat rounds the Luggage is stuffed with dead bodies, the rat claims that we saw and heard nothing, the kender has a license for mugging and a license for assassination (sorry, burial), and the Nac Mac Feegle had cut off someone's dick.
Groovy.
For some reason, the rat suggested that we visit the Mended Drum. The Nac Mac Feegle suggested that we visit Cut-Me-Own-Throat-Dibbler and get some sausages-in-buns.
"It's 2 AM!"
"So what? We're customers. He'd be cutting his own throat if he didn't sell us something".
So - the troll, the kender, and the Nac Mac Feegle went to Dibbler. It took some lucky fortitude saves, but we all survived his sausages.The Nac Mac Feegle even found a dollar in his, much to the dismay of Dibbler.
Then we went to the Drum, and things were going nice and easy... up until the moment when the kender saw the Librarian, and yelled "Wow, there's a monkey!"
Which lead to a short but very passionate game of Toss - the Librarian and the kender tossed the Nac Mac Feegle at each other, until Nac Mac Feegle accidentally hit mister Chrysoprase in the head.
Now, let's be clear - no one thought it was a good idea to hit the mob boss of the local trolls in the head. Not the rat, not the troll, not the wizard, not even the Nac Mac Feegle.
The kender felt perfectly fine with it.
The party tried hard to pull the kender out of the Drum before something horrible happened, but the kender didn't want to leave. And for a good reason! He was having fun, and as for the threats of ripping off his arms - that was hardly something new.
In the end, the troll Watchman pushed the completely pissed off Chrysoprase into Luggage (the kender and Luggage were happy about it). Meanwhile, the Nac Mac Feegle and the wizard set the Drum on fire. I don't know why - I think the rat talked them into it.
Then we all had to explain to Angua what the hell had just happened. The rat mostly did the talking. The kender tried to explain what really happened but after the rat promised him more sausages, the kender just nodded and said "yep, what the rat said!"
The rat explained that there was a series of unfortunate events leading to holding mister Chrysoprase as a witness of supernatural crime...
"Angua looks at you, and judging by her face, she thinks "Fuck, you're such a rat!""
Then the rat explained to Chrysoprase (addressing the small crack underneath the Luggage's lid) how the Night Watch has his best interests in mind...
"The sounds that come from inside the Luggage are strangly similar to the words "Fuck, you're such a rat!""
And then the rat started explaining how the Watch would be grateful for Chrysoprase assistance in the investigation... the rat paused, and said "Fuck, I'm such a rat!"
Also I made the Nac Mac Feegle an armour out of the dick. It was a magical armour that would swell and provide a bonus to strength when fighting against an enemy with high Charisma.
Just as we packed up and were about to leave, we heard the booming.
Yep. Russian missile strike. Just as we expected.
We got home safely. Next week, we'll either keep on terrorising Ankh-Morpork... or I'll be GMing.
I don't know what scares me more.
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