# X-PATH 3 : The Soviet of Dreams (completed 27 November 2006)



## Capellan (Aug 14, 2006)

*Prologue*
Johnson shifted nervously from foot to foot as the huge, black iron chair descended from above him.  General Patton looked cheerful.  That always made Johnson uneasy.

"Johnson.  What's the word on Operation Whack-a-Mole?"

The nervous executive suppressed a sigh of relief.  So it was just the leathery old bastard's pet project that had him almost smiling.

"We believe things are about to start, sir.  Almost all the team are in place –"

"Almost all?"

"Yes sir.  The one who calls himself –" Johnson flipped through a stack of papers, "- 'Fabio', is not with the rest of the group any more."

"And where is he?"

"He seems to be occupying himself by cutting a swathe through the widows and neglected wives of Brindinford, sir."

"Anything we can use for the late night broadcasts?"

"Not really sir.  He seems more interested in the size of their bank balance than their physical attributes."

"What about the sponsorship deal?"

Johnson nodded, not unsettled by the old man's sudden change of tack.

"Panda Cola signed, just like you said they would.  A masterful ploy -"

"Spare me the sycophancy."

"Yes sir.  There was one condition."

"A condition?"

"Yes sir.  The Panda people felt that the group was a little rough around the edges and might need some guidance and grooming to give them their full money's worth.  They insisted we send a marketing consultant."

The General drummed his leathery fingers on the arm rest of the chair.

"How did you explain that to the men in the field?"

"We told them we thought we'd got the gate fixed, and sent the consultant through to them.  Then we sent through forty pounds of pig's intestines and told them it was a reporter from the _New York Times_."

The General barked a laugh.

"Well done, Johnson."

"Thank you, sir.  We've told them we think we can transport small amounts of non-living matter back and forth, should they need supplies, but that we can't risk bringing them home until we work out all the glitches in the system."

"Who did you send?"

"Sir?" He knew what the old man meant, but he didn't want to answer.

"The consultant.  Who did you send?"

"Um ..." Johnson pretended to flip through his papers.  He didn't want to talk about _her_, "Josephine Coltraine, sir."

"Coltraine?  The name's familiar."

Johnson's mind raced.  _What explanation would the old man believe?
_
"She was involved in the Turner deal –"

"The Christmas party!" the General cackled, "The girl you slapped on the fanny.  How is your wrist, these days?"

"It's fine thank you, sir.  I did try to explain to her that the contact was accidental –"

"Is that what you were saying?  It was hard to tell through all the whimpering you were doing."

Johnson bit his tongue, inwardly seething.  _One day, you decrepit old corpse ..._

"Don't look so sour, Johnson.  She had a mighty slappable fanny.  Now, let's check in on our boys.  I have a feeling the dung is about to hit the fan."


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## Hammerhead (Aug 15, 2006)

Nice to see another Capellan story hour . I wonder what class Coltraine is? And any relation to the musician?


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## Mantreus (Aug 15, 2006)

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Nice to see another Capellan story hour . I wonder what class Coltraine is? And any relation to the musician?



 I'd like to know that as well! I can't remember everyone that's playing?

Very much looking forward to ninjaing things once more.


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## pogre (Aug 15, 2006)

'ere we go!

Looking forward to more!


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## Lefferts (Aug 16, 2006)

Yes! More Capellan goodness!


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## Capellan (Aug 16, 2006)

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> I wonder what class Coltraine is?




She's a marketing consultant.  Dangerous folks, marketing consultants. 


She's a Cleric 3/Monk 2.  The Monk levels represent the self defence classes she takes every week.  Her deity is Mammon.  And of course she's a negative channeller, because as a marketing consultant she's used to ordering zombies around ...


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## Hammerhead (Aug 18, 2006)

Heh. As someone with a level in Marketeer, I'm not sure if I should be impressed or offended.


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## Graywolf-ELM (Aug 18, 2006)

Just about anything that Capellan posts is pure *Gold*.  I can hardly wait for an update to this.

GW


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## Mantreus (Aug 19, 2006)

Capellan said:
			
		

> She's a marketing consultant.  Dangerous folks, marketing consultants.
> 
> 
> She's a Cleric 3/Monk 2.  The Monk levels represent the self defence classes she takes every week.  Her deity is Mammon.  And of course she's a negative channeller, because as a marketing consultant she's used to ordering zombies around ...



 And boy, can she flurry a bitchslap!


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## Capellan (Aug 20, 2006)

*Chapter One : Fun at the Fair*

The streets of Brindinford were thronged with people talking, laughing, trading and generally enjoying the carnival atmosphere of the massive fair that sprawled across half the city.

Floyd Anderson was not feeling the fun.

"It's not _Cherry Coke_."

"It tastes the same.  Better!" Ms. Josephine Coltraine insisted, thrusting the can of _Panda Cola Cherry_ at him once more.

"No.  It doesn't."

"Look, just hold it so the cameras will pick it up when they come past.  No, this way.  We need to see the label."

"Are you sure the Church agreed to this?" Floyd asked, viewing the can with the distaste he usually reserved for _Beatles _LPs.

"Yes.  It's all in the marketing contract in 6-point black and white."

Screams rent the air.

"Now what?" Coltraine flipped her expensively permed black hair with an irritated moue that she'd obviously practiced in front of the mirror.

Joseph Isaiah Smith, perhaps glad of the interruption, pushed aside a street vendor who was craning his neck for a look, and leapt atop the man's cart of pumpkins.  Despite the mass of a newly-acquired M60 machinegun slung over his shoulder, the powerful Mormon easily vaulted onto the wooden platform.

"Some kind of disturbance." He shaded his eyes to see more clearly, and his usually impassive face grew ashen. "Rats!"

In his X-Path career, Smith had fought goblins, orcs, troglodytes, dragons, and all manner of other foul beasts.  None had laid him low so often: and so emphatically, as black-furred, three foot long rodents.

_*BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA.*_  The M60 was in Smith's hands and barking its staccato fusillade before anyone could react.  A young woman (doubtless a painted doxy or common trollop, if the city encounter tables are to be believed) flailed and died as she was caught in the burst.  The rat that was Smith's target squealed in rage as its tail was blown off, but otherwise emerged unscathed.

Emerging from the bedlam came five dire rats, their slavering jaws all eager for Smith's flesh, or so it seemed to the quailing Mormon.  The three rat-like humanoids behind them barely registered in his consciousness.  What one of them barked to the others, however, certainly got everyone else's attention: if not for the words, then for the tongue in which they were spoken.

"Boris!  Sergei!  Kill those interfering fools!"

*Commies.*


* * * * *


Bedlam ensued.

Simon leapt atop another street cart, looking for a clear view of the enemy.  Behind him, Floyd examined the jump needed to make it onto the cart and settled for simply levering his rotund, sequined body atop it.

"Dude!" Simon danced a jig as his end of the cart rose six inches into the air, "Maybe you should cut back on the cheeseburgers!"

Ignoring this blasphemy, Floyd unslung his shotgun and blasted one of the onrushing rat-men.  The spray of buckshot severed the creature at the neck.  Its body tumbled backwards while its surprised-looking head landed in a nearby flower stall.

"Nyah!" Smith unleashed another burst of fire at the tailless rat that was bearing down on him.  Somehow the creature ran untouched through the hail of bullets, disappearing under the cart on which the Mormon stood. "Get it!  Get it!"

"Oh for crying out loud." Ms. Coltraine sniffed.  Vaulting onto the cart alongside Smith, she kicked an onrushing ratman in the face with her stiletto heel.  The creature recoiled a little with a hiss of annoyance, but did not seem hurt.  Coltraine frowned at the lack of damage. "Wererats!  Where's Roy Rogers when you need him?"

"I'll put my faith in Smith & Wesson." Floyd opined, and gave the third wererat both barrels.  The beast staggered, but then lunged through the cloud of cordite smoke to lance a rapier into the Elvisite's substantial belly.  "Argh!  You'll pay for that, son."

"Ninja!" Simon vaulted off the cart, blowing one of the dire rats in half as he somersaulted to his feet.

"And?" Coltraine shouted.

Simon rolled his eyes and struck a pose with both pistols crossed over his chest.

"_Panda Cola_: It puts a spring in my step." He sighed.

Previously unseen, a fourth wererat leapt out of the shadows and sank its blade deep into Floyd's chest.  Fortunately, Floyd's vitals were very deep indeed, and the blow made him more angry than dead. 

"May the King's _searin' spotlight_ find y'all!" he cursed the beast.  A blaze of light struck down from above, and smoke rose from the creature as its fur charred and skin blistered.

Smith's M60 hammered again, finally blasting one of the dire rats into a five-foot wide bloodstain, while Simon's pistols picked off a third.

"Fall back!" the most recent wererat arrival called to his compatriots.  They obeyed his order, melting into what was left of the milling crowd.  This wererat turned to follow them.  As he moved, the light glinted off a red hammer and sickle dyed into his black fur.

"I don't think so, homes." Simon flipped a phosphorous grenade.  White fire roared, and this particular Soviet was decollectivized.

Smith, to no-one's surprise, blew another rat into a gooey mess.

"Is that all of them?" he panted.

As if in answer, a furry body streaked onto the top of the cart and latched its teeth deep into his ankle.

"Argh!  Get it off!  Get it off!"

Coltraine slammed her heel down over the little beast's neck, then sharply twisted her foot.

_Snap_.

"_That's_ all of them."


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## Animus (Aug 21, 2006)

When I saw the title of this thread I said, "Yes!" to myself and clicked on the link, eager for more X-Path goodness. I am not disappointed. I can't wait for more.


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## pogre (Aug 21, 2006)

Yes, yes! Rockin', butt-kickin' good stuff!



			
				Capellan said:
			
		

> A young woman (doubtless a painted doxy or common trollop, if the city encounter tables are to be believed) flailed and died as she was caught in the burst.


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## Capellan (Aug 27, 2006)

*Chapter Two : Things Turn Grim(lock)*

"It was a terrible battle." Ms. Coltraine assured the guardsman as she gave him a winning smile, "But we drove off those evil wererats in the end."

"Thank you for your efforts," the guardsmen smiles back at the attractive young woman, clearly swayed by her charm.  Then he frowns, "There's just one thing.  We've never seen injuries like these -" he gestures at one of the dozen or so civilians caught in the X-Pathers crossfire. "- what happened to them?"

"A new weapon of the wererats.  Like nothing I've seen before."

The bald-faced lie sails right past any Sense Motive check the guard could make, and he nods acceptingly.

"Well thank you once more for your efforts.  That's all we need to know for now."

"You're welcome.  Oh, I did have one thing I wanted to ask _you_."

"Yes, Miss?" The guard puffed up his chest, clearly thrilled that this exotic beauty wanted something of him.

"Have there been any other attacks like this?"

"Oh." The guard deflated, "Like this?  No."

Coltraine's been in too many office meetings not to pick up on the wording.

"There have been some other attacks, then?  Different one?"

"Well ..." the guard hesitated, so Coltraine gave him another of her dazzling smiles, "... there have been some killings in the Southspur region.  Well, I say killings ... there haven't been any actual _bodies_, but there's been a lot of blood, and people are going missing."

"Southspur, you say?"

"Yes.  Just between you and me, Miss, it's got so it's not safe to walk around at night there."

Coltraine nodded,

"Thank you for your time, officer.  I'm sure a busy man like you has little to spare."

"Actually, tonight's my night off it –" the guard began, but Coltraine had already walked away.

She found Floyd and Simon where she'd left them: keeping Smith out of the way.

"It's improper for a young woman to speak alone with strange men." Smith was still insisting as she arrived, "With such Jezebellian behaviour, it's no wonder she's not married." 

"Been there, done that.  Twice." Coltraine flashed her once again bare ring finger.  Smith turns apoplectic.

"Y'all squared things away wi' the guards?" Floyd asked.  Coltraine nodded,

"Of course.  They're like all men.  Their IQ drops 40 points when they're within ten feet of a wonderbra.  I found out there have been some other attacks in the town.  Maybe not wererats, but certainly something odd.  We should check them out tonight."

"Why?" Simon asked, "I'm always up for some ninja-ing, but we're not getting paid for this, right?"

Coltraine sighed,

"Did you read your contract?"

"Only the bit about paid sick days."

"It's a standard GPE clause: _The staff member will investigate and report all signs of Communist activity.  Failure to do so will result in termination._  And with the General in charge, that 'termination' could be literal."

"Besides, son." Floyd reminds the younger man, "These are _commies _we're talkin' about.  Huntin' 'em is our duty as right-thinkin' Americans."


* * * * *


The streets of the Southspur proved far less appealing than those where the fair was at its peak.  Dark and narrow, they lacked even a single cobblestone, leaving the X-Pathers to squelch their way through ankle deep mud.  Beverly, when they finally found her, refused to even consider going.

"I don't care if I do get fired." She declared, "It's not like I need the money, and there's no way I'm going into that muck.  These shoes are Gucci!"

_Ssssslurp.  Pop._  Smith pulled his boot free of the clinging mud.  _Sppllt._  He put it down again.

"Don't look now." Simon whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "But we're being watched.  Two on the left, at least two more on the right.  Pass it on to the others and we'll jump them togeth-"

Smith opened fire.

Heavy tracer bullets stitched their way through a flimsy building, then slammed into the burly, grey-skinned creature that had thought it was safe behind cover.  It disintegrated in much the same way as the wall.

Sighing at his companions lack of Mad Ninja Skills, Simon lobbed a grenade down the street and watched in satisfaction as a severed grey hand was blown high in the air.

What had probably been meant as ambush quickly disintegrated after that.  One of the grey-skinned creatures was cut in half by a shotgun blast; another bolted out of sight as soon as it saw what was happening to its fellows.  The last, still clutching the gushing stump where its hand had once been, kicked open a door and staggered into the nearest building, apparently hoping to find shelter.

Floyd looked critically at the structure.

"Looks like it should be condemned." He remarked.  Then rolled a grenade inside.

When the dust and the body parts settled, the group tallied up its injuries.

"Anyone hurt?"

"Nope."

"Right, let's find that last one."

In the mud slurry of the street, it wasn't hard to follow the recent passage of a burly humanoid.  The large footprints, slowly oozing closed, were a dead giveaway.  'That last one' had run up to the nearest corner, then taken a sharp left and raced toward a large, wooden building.

"Looks like he's taken cover in that warehouse." Coltraine observed, "I wonder what's in it?"

Simon shrugged,

"Grenades, very shortly."

"Go ninja it, son." Floyd gestured toward the building.

Simon set off, trying to move with his usual stealth.  _Ssssslurp.  Pop.  Sppllt.  Ssssslurp.  Pop.  Sppllt._  It wasn't really working.

Which is probably why, when he reached the warehouse door, it swung open and a massive battleaxe crashed into his neck.


* * * * *


"It's always the brat that gets it.  Have you noticed that, Johnson?  Almost makes you believe in karma, and all that other sappy nonsense that ruined this country in the sixties."


* * * * *


Spurting blood like a latter day Buckingham Fountain, Simon staggered back towards the others.

"Here, have a _Panda Cola Light_." Coltraine thrust a can into his hand.  Instinctively, Simon swallowed it down.  His colour improved immediately.

"Wow, homes!  It really _does_ pick you up when you're down!"

Coltraine beamed.  _That_ ought to be worth a big fat bonus at the end of this.

"Die, you godless commies!" Smith charged forward through the mud, firing from the hip as he went.  A broad section of the warehouse wall started to disintegrate: a process Smith completed when he slammed into the boards and burst inside.

"I s'pose we all should help the man." Floyd remarked.

_*BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA.*_

"He seems to have things in hand." Coltraine replied.  "Oops, no, one's got past him." She leapt forward as a grey-skinned humanoid staggered out of the warehouse interior, striking it with a flurry of slaps that left it reeling.

"Now, now Ms Coltraine, Don't Be Cruel." Floyd stepped forward and put the creature out of its misery.

Simon, meanwhile was fulfilling his earlier prophecy: leaping through the opening Smith had made, he began hurling grenades throughout the darkened warehouse.  Perhaps the creatures inside had thought the dim light would help them: if so, they were sorely disappointed.

Within seconds, only one was left: a burly figure with filmy white eyes and a pair of black-stained axes.

"He must be the one who struck you earlier." Smith remarked to Simon.  The Super Ninja wrinkled his nose.

"Homes, I think that one's a chick." 

Snarling, the whatever-gender-it-might-be creature leapt forward, slashing at Smith with its axes.  The Mormon, fortified by his faith, shrugged off the blows.

"You cannot poison the Word of God, She-Devil." He informed it.

_*BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA BADDA.*_


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## pogre (Aug 28, 2006)

Floyd rules! The man needs more camera time! He should be the GUEST OF HONOR next GenCon - afterall it will be very near the 30th anniversary...

I know GG would understand.

Great stuff as usual.


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## Hammerhead (Aug 28, 2006)

Awesome, as usual.


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## BSF (Aug 28, 2006)

I am glad I didn't miss this one for too many posts!  

Oh yeah, X-PATH 3!  Thanks Capellan, and all the other players, it really brightened my evening to have another X-PATH to read through.


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## Graywolf-ELM (Aug 28, 2006)

B-slapping Grimlocks, what can you say about that?  excellent.

GW


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## spyscribe (Aug 29, 2006)

Capellan said:
			
		

> "I don't think so, homes." Simon flipped a phosphorous grenade. White fire roared, and this particular Soviet was decollectivized.



Two updates!  Well, there went my productivity for the morning.


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## ragboy (Aug 30, 2006)

Okay. I've watched the previous two X-Path episodes (available on bittorrent, by the way...black market versions and asian versions, as well). When do we get more?


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## Capellan (Aug 30, 2006)

We play again tonight, so this weekend if I can get to a computer where ENworld works, or early next week at the latest 

What I _really_ need to do is update Q-Ship.


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## ragboy (Sep 1, 2006)

Capellan said:
			
		

> What I _really_ need to do is update Q-Ship.




I guess I'll go catch up on that...


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## Capellan (Sep 6, 2006)

I don't have an update ready yet, but I have been busy with something else X-Path related: a wiki for the game.  Check it out here.


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## Capellan (Sep 11, 2006)

*Chapter Three: Book from the Dead*

"So what do we do now?" Simon wanted to know.

"We question this one." Floyd pointed to the dead leader of the grey-skinned creatures.

"... she doesn't look very talkative."

"Son, in the mornin' I'll show you a little thing I like to call _the King's Posthumous Remix_."


* * * * *

In the morning however, Simon refused to get out of bed.

"Homes," he said blearily when the others came to rouse him, clutching a _Spider-man_ hot water bottle to his chest, "I feel terrible.  Probably a delayed reaction to the poison -"

"Ah told y'all we shouldn't drink that _Panda Cola_ stuff."

"He's talking about the axe injury." Coltraine won't hear ill of her client.

"- I have a delicate constitution." Simon continued, oblivious to the squabbling, "So I'll need at least a day in bed to recover."

"Well, then I suppose it's down to the three of us." Smith remarked.  Which is when Beverly poked her head into the room.

"Hi guys!  Miss me?"

"Yeah he did, but his aim is improving." Floyd sighed.

Beverly giggled, then stepped into the room, her hands behind her back.

"Guess what I got?"

"A brain?" Coltraine arched an eyebrow.

"No, silly." Beverly produced a small black cat*.  The poor creature was dressed in a massive pink bow and its fur was permed into ringlets. "Isn't it beautiful?  It has the cutest black fur!"

"I always knew she wasn't a real blonde." Simon remarked.

At last, Beverly, Smith, Floyd and Coltraine gathered to interrogate the corpse of their enemy.  Floyd invoked the power of Elvis, and the creature spasmed.  Its mouth flopped open and a rasping breath seeped out:

"Asssssssssssssssk."

Floyd had his questions ready:

"Who do you work for?"

"Zimmmmennnnnnevvvvvvv."

This led to a whispered conversation.

"Anyone know of a 'Zimmerman'?" Floyd wanted to know.

"Zimenev." Coltraine corrected him.

"Huh?"

"She said Zimenev.  Not Zimmerman."

"Oh.  Anyone know a 'Zimenev'?"

"No, but it sounds like a godless Communist name." Smith opined. "Is that the only question you can ask it?"

"No.  I have one more." Floyd turned back to the corpse, ""When you want to contact Zimmer ... Zimenev, where do you go?"

"Reeeeeeeealityyyyyyy Wrinkllllllllllllllle."

"What does it mean by 'reality wrinkle'?" Smith wondered. "Some kind of magical gate?"

"We could look around town for some sign of a reality distortion." Floyd suggested.

"It's a big town." Smith reminded him.

"Then how 'bout we talk to those little folks that live on the river just outside the wall?" Floyd proposed.

"How could they help us?" Coltraine wanted to know.  Floyd shrugged.

"Everything's better with midgets."

* * * * *

Isaac Whimplebottom (of the Broadleaf Whimplebottoms, not the Roundleaf branch of the family) sat with his friends on the clan's mish-mashed raft of logs, aging boats, and just about anything else they can get to float.  Grubby, squealing halfling children dashed too and fro while Isaac and his friends; the closest thing the community has to able-bodied adults; dropped a line in the water, whittled themselves some smoking pipes, and watched the river go by.

"A bit o' fishin' and a bit o' whittlin' be a good day's work for an 'alfin'." Isaac remarked to his comrades.

"Aye." there was a chorus of agreement up and down the raft.

"We might even catch summat, today." Young Abraham suggested cheerfully.

"You'll catch it you aren't careful." Isaac waved his whittling knife, "Too much noise scares off the fishes, eh?"

"Speakin' o' scarin' the fishes -" Ted broke into the conversation "- we got big 'uns comin'."

Isaac watched the big 'uns approach with little enthusiam.  Large folk only came for two reasons: to buy fish, or to accuse the halflings of stealing something.  Which they probably had, but it was so _insulting_ to assume they'd be dumb enough to bring it back to the raft.  _Big body, small brain_, he reminded himself.

"Afternoon sirs and madams!" he doffed his cap with fake cheer, "Have ye come t'buy some fish?"

"No." The one who spoke had a grim look to him, and wore a sharply-pressed white shirt and a black tie, "We are seeking a reality ripple?"

"Oh." Isaac considered this.  _Simple.  Or drunk._ "Well, we got lots of ripples in the river, but those are the only ones I can tell ye about.  Don't know about no ripples in reality."

"Wrinkle in reality, not ripple." The dark-haired woman corrected her large companion, "He meant to say 'wrinkle'."

"A wrinkle in reality?" Isaac sratched his head, "Begging ye pardon, but I don't know where you'd find summat like that, and I'm ain't sure I'd want to."

"What about the name Zimmerman?  Do you know anyone called that?"

The dark-haired woman sighed.

"Zimenev.  He means Zimenev."

"Don't know anyone called either of those names." Isaac shrugged as he mentally corrected his earlier assessment.  _Simple *and* drunk_. "If ye wanted to know about fish, I could help ye.  Or whittlin'.  I'm a damn fine whittler, if I do say so.  Whittled this pipe my own self, so I did." He gestured with his pipe while giving the crazy people a fixed grin.

Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body.


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## pogre (Sep 12, 2006)

Capellan said:
			
		

> Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body.




Yes! Killing an annoying peck, even an NPC peck, is fine form! Bravo!


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## Capellan (Nov 27, 2006)

"What in the name of Uncle Sam is _that_?"

"I believe it's an elasmosaur, sir." Johnson checked his clipboard. "Judging by the coloration, I'd say it's one of the mutant strains the Reds dug up at Tunguska."

"Well, it nearly cut the skinny blonde in half with one bite.  We should get some: they make great TV."

"I'll see if we can get some DNA from the blood, sir." Johnson dutifully made a note as Smith's M60 hammered away on-screen, blowing large chunks of flesh from the dinosaur's side.

"See if we can tweak it to some armour plating, too.  It's got no staying power at the moment." Patton sniffed in disapproval.

"I agree the fight was rather anticlimactic sir.  Still, if we cut to commercial right after it first attacks, it should make a serviceable mid-episode cliffhanger."


* * *


"So this Reality Wrinkle thing is some kind of _store_?" Beverly clapped her hands in glee at the thought.

"That's what the old halfling biddy said, after we drove off that dinosaur." Smith shrugged. "A book store wasn't it, Floyd?"

"A uh-huh yeah."

Beverly stopped mid clap, her features clouding.

"A what store?"

"A book store." Ms Josephine Coltraine rolled her eyes. "You know, a place where they sell books?"

"There are people who sell _books_?" Beverly looked stunned.

"There are even people who _buy_ them."


* * *


Smith's machine-gun hammered.

Floyd blinked at the carnage.

"You just shot the clerk."

"He blasphemed!"

"He said -" Floyd adopted the semi-stoned expression the pimply teenage store clerk had exhibited, "'Like, we have books on _all_ the gods here, man.'"

"Exactly!  There is only one God!  All others are demons and must be expunged!"

"Y'all understand that ah'm a priest of _Elvis_, right?"

"I'm contractually obligated not to shoot you.  But I'm confident you'll burn in Hell sooner or later."

"Well naturally, that's where all the fun people go."

"Guys?  Can you quit your arguing for a second?" Coltraine frowned, "I think I can hear someone muttering in the next room."

"You're right." Smith nodded after a moment's silence. "I can't wuite make out the words but it is making my skin crawl.  Let's get him."

With this brilliant plan in mind, the group crowded into the next room: they could see stairs, a closet, a back door, and shelves of books, but -

"There's no-one here." Floyd frowned, "But I still hear the voice.  It's strange.  Makes me want to lose my lunch.  And I only had four fried chickens."

"There must be an invisible spellcaster in here!" Beverly snapped her fingers.  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a packet of glitter into the air.  Unfortunately, she did so just as Smith and Simon were turning around, and the two of them wore a face full of glitter each.

"I've gone blind!" Simon shrieked, "Oh God!  My mother was right!"

Things rapidly got worse from there.


* * *


"Peterson." Patton steepled his hands, the emaciated flesh of his face drawn into a bleak grimace, "I trust you've come up with some way to salvage something from this debacle?"

"I think so, sir.  If I may?"

Patton nodded.

Johnson turned and pressed play on the VCR.  Images popped to life on the screen.

"As you'll remember, it turned out there was some crazed bunch of cultists living in the bookstore.  The team fought them for a very long time.  One of the cultists was a summoner, and there were dire apes and dire wolves and who knows what else crawling all over the place by the time things were over.  And of course it didn't help that the team accidentally blinded half their own people right when the fight started.  Still, they got themselves out of that in the end, and managed to kill all but the cult leader.  She escaped.  Still, the townsfolk were very happy, and invited our team to a big feast in their honour."

Patton sighed impatiently.  "I know all this.  Your point?"

"Well sir, if we end the current series with the feast, it'll look like our guys saved the day.  Especially if we re-cut some of the footage.  No-one has to know what happened next."

"Not bad." Patton admitted grudgingly, "But what about the Panda Cola people?  How are you going to get them off our backs?"

"I'm quite proud of this, sir." Johnson cued a second tape. "We've taken the footage where Smith left the others, and had him come in to dub some new dialogue.  So now, instead of yelling at them for being drunken sinners, he's yelling at them for being drunken sinners who don't appreciate the refreshing properties of a nice, cold Panda Cola."

"And?"

"And then we show this."

The screen flickered to a scene of desperate battle in a ruined church.  A cackling, red-skinned demon tore at Beverly's face as it crouched over Floyd's fallen body.  A black-armoured figure smashed a flail down on Simon's skull.  The demon leapt into shot once more, dragging Coltraine screaming to the ground as her blood spattered the walls.

The image froze, then the screen faded out to a slogan.

_Drink Panda Cola.  Stay alive._




So, after narrowly missing out a TPK for two sessions in a row, the group proved that the third time's the charm and got one at last.  Because what you do when you're fighting an Osyluth is go looking for more enemies to join the fun.   

So anyway, except for Smith (whose player wasn't there), everyone got KO'd.  If they're very, very lucky, the commies just killed them.  So ends the X-Path.  Not what I'd hoped, but at least I got to try and use Beverly as an impromptu missile before the end.


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## Graywolf-ELM (Nov 27, 2006)

What can you say, the synopsis format of the encounters lets you say so much more about what happened with few words.  As always, I like your writing style.

GW


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## Mantreus (Nov 29, 2006)

Capellan said:
			
		

> So, after narrowly missing out a TPK for two sessions in a row, the group proved that the third time's the charm and got one at last.  Because what you do when you're fighting an Osyluth is go looking for more enemies to join the fun.
> 
> So anyway, except for Smith (whose player wasn't there), everyone got KO'd.  If they're very, very lucky, the commies just killed them.  So ends the X-Path.  Not what I'd hoped, but at least I got to try and use Beverly as an impromptu missile before the end.




You haven't actually written the bit where you used Beverley as a missile weapon yet... and I was trying to leave the temple and come back in!


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## pogre (Nov 29, 2006)

Oh sad day!

Still, a great tale that provided a lot of laughs. Fun stuff - thanks for sharing.


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