Let's consider the shingle...
I was not ready for this. I especially wasn't ready for the jean shorts. I feel like they were photoshopped on to undo the Donald Duck look.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course Hilda's going in.
Choice: In: 62
I dig it. Big scary monster's head mounted on the wall, bottles on display, a member of East Enders behind the bar. Game of knifey-finger up front, dwarf chugging in the back, spittoon neatly positioned at his feet. At least... I hope that's a spittoon... awkward place for a chamber pot.
I really just have one question.
What the leprosy donkey drinker is this thing? Is it a grinch who got stretched out in the face? A warrior of virtue on hard times? What?
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| Okay, not all the customers are human, but is the barkeep? |
Choice: Innkeeper: 136
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| I... how do you do business in a port city while ignoring the out of towners? |
"I'm local," I inform him.
Choice: Fight!: 270
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| You'd be amazed how many establishments keep their bouncers in the cellar these days. |
Oh, no, a troll!
 |
| Looks like something my grandpa would carve... |
The cries of 'Fight!' are like a splash of cold water on my ears. They wake me from the slumber that is the dullness of not being in a fight, and I am laughing joyfully by the time the Troll has fully emerged.
Round 1
Troll: 8-2=6
With a swift jump to the side I miss the tremendous club as it splinters the floorboards. I strike the troll in the back of its hairy head with the hilt of my blade, and as it staggers forward knee it in the stomach. The creature reels in the agony of the impact.
Round 2
Troll: 6-2=4
The creature valiantly tries to swing the great club at me, but I jump into the air and flip over the clumsy assault. The dwarves are not so lucky, as their table, their dice, and one of their number are thrown across the room by the impact. I applaud as the dwarf strikes the dartboard. "Bullseye!" I cry. The troll turns to sneer at me, and I strike it with the flat of my blade hard enough to send its teeth flying down its throat. When it coughs and spits them back up, I grab one from the ground and throw it at the dartboard.
"Shucks," I say as I examine the fang in the board, "Only a double 20. Looks like you win."
Round 3
Troll: 4-2=2
I duck under the club without turning around. "I don't think I can count that, you've broken the board."
The inn is filled with laughter that roars louder than the beast as it strikes again in unbridled anger. I once again slip by the club unmolested. I let the jeers of the crowd do the work of destroying my opponent for the moment.
Round 4
Troll: 2-2=0
The troll shrieks in indignant rage, lifting the hefty club back up into the perfect position. I run forward, leaping into the air, I grab the club and pull it backwards. The troll falls at once off balance, and comes careening, club and all, back to the floor. Back to the very place it already spintered and weakened the floor. I leap back a moment before the full weight of the troll strikes the floor, and the floor in question retreats down into the cellar.
There is a tremendous crash, then uproarious laughter, and then a strained silence.
I lean over the hole and peer into the darkness. "You alright down there?" I call. Only a low, pained groan, responds.
I return my sword to the counter, point first, "Like I said: local."
Choice: Victory: 26
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| 'Unfriendliness'? Is that all? |
"Wasn't so hard, was it?" I say when he's done talking. "Don't worry," I say as I'm leaving, "If I have any trouble with the directions, I'll be back to confirm them." I keep my hand casually on my sword hilt when I say it. Just in case there's any misunderstanding.
Choice: North: 296
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