I DO NOT take the nasty backwash ale. Game on:

Amalgith turns slowly and looks at Grum, while slowly sliding his longsword and shortsword out (and tries to make eye contact with Gimble when he turns his head). "Filthy swine, those were not the words I expected to hear. I'm in a generous mood -- leave quietly now and leave with your head. Or, speak another word, and it will be your last."

I think we need to have some fun here.


posted by Anonymous at 5/03/2003 09:15:00 AM

Gimble: Well...that's what he does based on what I have read so far. I can't give you an action on something that does not yet exist. There is no contingency, there is no presuppostion, the half-orc has put his mug down and Gimble sits down eyeballing them...that is his action until something else takes place.
posted by Anonymous at 5/01/2003 09:07:00 PM

Gimble sits back down and eyeballs the two half orcs on their way out the door. He calls for a serving wench. "Round of refills please!" He then mutters under his breath as he pets Brinkles behind the ears, "There's a time and place for everything boy, and theirs will come eventually. And I'll be there to see it through."
posted by Anonymous at 5/01/2003 04:52:00 PM

Somebody take a swing. FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/30/2003 08:23:00 PM

No, no, this time I actually didn't mean to harsh on Drusilla. See, there's an actual *canine* dog in the room, and there's trouble coming, so, y'see...
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/30/2003 05:21:00 PM

ruh-roh, shaggy!
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/30/2003 03:44:00 PM

Gimble turns a quick eye over to Drusilla. "Ah yes, but only Drow would smell so good. Our friends here could only dream of being so pleasantly blessed with the dung of Brinkles."
posted by Anonymous at 4/30/2003 01:46:00 PM

Today's required reading:

http://www.nytimes.com/2003/04/29/science/29DRAG.html (Hey, Acavel's got some free time to read the newspaper while the fight's going on.)
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/29/2003 11:02:00 AM

Gimble rises up from his seat and will leap up on top of the table. He looks over to his dog putting his hand out, "Stay." He then takes a deep breath and exhales slow and steadily..."You know, at first I thought something strange smelled as I was sitting down, enjoying my ale. I thought perhaps the smell of sweaty feet, but as I stand here now, I realize that the stench is that of swine and if you have any self respect you'd at least bath in mud to wash yourselves of the perfume you so readily love to wear! Now, if your brains are at least half the size of your snouts, I would recommend that you apoligize to my friends and replenish the drinks you have so ignorantly spit upon!" Gimble places both hands on his long sword, ready for the clash of blades to take place.
posted by Anonymous at 4/28/2003 11:37:00 PM

I may have screwed up, and if I re-post, sorry.

On the live game -- given our Sunday plans for reunion, we may not be able to play. I think we'll need to play it by ear and figure it out as we get closer.

Now, back to this game --

I turn to the half-orc behind me and say "The next words out of your mouth better be an apology to me and the little lady, and an offer to refresh this pint you've spilled. If not, they'll be your last . . ." as I put my hand on my longsword.
posted by Anonymous at 4/28/2003 07:37:00 PM

Yep, that'd work fine-- especially if you'd offer me a place to crash Sunday night. (Shelley will have returned to Chicago on Saturday.)
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/27/2003 10:30:00 PM

Not before, say, 1 pm would be my guess. I know I'm marching; I paid for my doctoral robes when I graduated precisely so that I'd have 'em for occasions like this. But when's Daryl's flight?
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/27/2003 08:50:00 PM

Acavel: Missing the fun...
posted by Jacob T. Levy at 4/27/2003 07:56:00 PM