goodLast Saturday was especially therapeutic, because it was the first time in three weeks that we'd gotten to sit down and sling dice. It was also the first time in months that we played our original Lindonian campaign -- the one that inspired the tales of CSI: Luvine. The one without a single character of good alignment (although my character is attempting to develop a conscience on his way toward druidry). Needless to say, there was much gleeful slaughter.
But while we were capturing siege weapons and making elf-kebabs**, something even more awesome happened.
I got a text message.
No way! it was you that did it (:It was pretty clearly from a wrong number. I read it out to the guys and asked if any of them knew the sender. Nope: just a completely random, out of the blue, mobile misfire. So I whipped out my phone and sent back:
It was the ninja. They're sneaky that way.
While the other players were laughing, Mike asked for the other party's phone number (which I supplied.) I quickly got back a profusely apologetic response explaining that I wasn't meant to be the recipient. And Mike fired off a text, from his own number:
I heard the ninjas are on the attack again.
Of course, we giggled over this, in the manner of postadolescent boys reliving their teenage days. But the real win came when he got a response:
Yep! fortunately, I managed to fight them off with my machete.--
* Or, in my case, dice box. I actually have an old fishing box I've converted over to hold dice and miniatures. Which says more about me than I'd probably like.
** No shit, there I was: Just after combat had begun with a group of dark elf cavalry that charged our positions, I had to go to the bathroom. Having uncharacteristically won the very first spot in the initiative order, my mage completely failed to hit anything with his looted elvish autocrossbow. So I said "On the off chance that I'm still in the bathroom when my next turn comes around, I'm going to be firing again at the nearest enemy, and I'm going to preroll my attack." The die tumbled down a 20 and I confirmed the crit. Five minutes later, after having heard much whooping, laughter and loud conversation from my seat on the porcelain throne, I returned to discover that Cole's character had quadruple-critted his attack with a repeating ballista, and skewered the entire raiding party except for the leader in two clean shots. The remaining elf had surrendered and begged for mercy, at which point my mage's declared action came around -- and my crit ran through the head of the remaining elf, killing him instantly.