https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/1568415/the-ghost-of-a-masturbating-ape-haunts-the-hallways-of-a-grand-country-estate-in-dorset/
Next time Chris takes a trip back home, think he can make a slight detour into England for some ghost hunting?
Idea for a campaign, got it. Sketch out a quick hexmap, no problem. All kinds of ideas for magic items, plot hooks, NPCs, locations to explore and things to encounter. Grand scenes play out in my mind's eye of the incredible experiences my players are yet to face. Ready to start on the first dungeon the PCs explore, crack open Dungeondraft, and... nothing. Pen meets digital paper and nothing comes out. The same 3 rooms and corridors are drawn out and erased ad infinitum. I find myself getting caught up obsessing over the specific shape and dimensions of every hallway and chamber and the placement of every pillar to the point where I can't get anything committed, banging my head against the mossy brick wall until I get too frustrated to continue. Why does this happen, have you experienced anything like this, and what's the remedy?
Last month, I met the original mascot who inspired the name of a certain fast-food restaurant. I still have nightmares every night after the experience. It started with an anonymous email sent to my work account. I am–*was–*a reporter with a bit of a bulldog reputation for my neck of the woods. Exposing unethical business practices, local political corruption; I was all over anything secretive or scandalous. So when that email came in promising me a massive scoop if I investigated a particular branch of this national franchise not far from my town, I was packing my bags by that afternoon.
The building didn’t look special from the outside. It was just a typical fast-food place. Lots of big windows and cheap-looking trim. A giant sign with the restaurant’s red-headed mascot loomed over the parking lot. According to the anonymous email, the real story was hidden in the sub-basement. I decided to go inside to grab a meal and scope out the location. The place was just as boring on the inside as the outside. I spent an hour picking at my food, watching the clock. The only interesting thing I noticed was an unusually small door marked, “SENIOR STAFF ONLY,” located in the same hallway as the bathroom.
Eventually, I left the dining room but stayed nearby in my car waiting for the place to close. They shut down earlier than I expected, not much after 8 pm. I stayed in my car until all of the staff appeared to be gone then I casually approached the front door. It was locked, naturally. But my time as a trouble-making reporter left me with several useful skills, lockpicking being high on that list. I had the lock opened in fifteen seconds, then I was inside.
It was dark so I pulled out a flashlight and headed right to the hallway with the unusual door. That was locked, too, and this mechanism was far more complicated than the security lock on the front door. It took me closer to fifteen minutes to open the door marked SENIOR STAFF ONLY but finally, I heard the satisfying click of all of the pins lining up in the tumbler. I pushed the door open gently, not sure what I might find.
Stairs. Lots and lots of stairs lay before me, steep steps down a dark, narrow stairwell. I encountered three more doors on my descent, each harder to pick than the last. In fact, the last lock was covered by years and years of rust. By the time I reached a final door marked in faded letters with–AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY–TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT– I estimated that I’d been wa
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“You’ll have to pardon the delay. I wasn’t told to expect a diplomatic meeting,” Darius said, approaching the trio of Russell, Io, and Nerazek as they walked slowly between rows, shelves, and lockers of personal arms. He had a well used cloth in one hand that at some point in its life had likely been a pristine white. It was now a patchwork of gray and black smudges, testament to its long service cleaning spent gunpowder residue and lubricant. The well built, dark haired Persian wiped his hand and then extended it to Nerazek, looking between Russell and Io to see if there would be any help with communication. “Strong grip and plenty of calluses? I think I might like this alien.”
“He says he appreciates your work,” Russell paraphrased approvingly before Io rolled her eyes and provided a more literal translation. She didn’t think it that winging it was quite appropriate given the situation. Nerazek grunted in response and spoke for a moment, reassured that the human seemed to understand the realities of a craftsman’s life. Russell translated for Darius’ benefit. “He wants to know if you made everything here.”
“You don’t need me to answer that question,” Darius insisted. “But you can tell him that I look after them, to an extent. Don’t think this means you can slack on your own gear by the way. There was a lot of dirt in the barrel of your rifle.”
‘Before you say something self-assured and snarky, we had a fabricator on the planet. And your personal weapons are not the purpose of this visit. I am actually unsure of the purpose of this visit,’ Io declared, hand on her hip. ‘We shouldn’t waste Nerazek or Admiral Kaczynski’s time.’
“I’ll second that,” Darius added, hand in his pocket as he and the alien scrutinized one another. There was plenty he didn’t understand, but he understood heavy leather aprons and to
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Chapter 41 – Fraternization
Commander Keone’s tune had changed considerably from his earlier “I’ll be asking the questions” demeanor, as he intently listened to Shida’s explanation of the events on the G.C.S. three weeks ago with an attentive expression, only interrupting her very rarely to ask for some clarifications.
All the while, his crew was still handling the process of taking Congloarch’s ship into custody, after the Salem had arrived at its location.
Finally, after Shida had finished retelling what felt like year’s worth of events, even though they happened over the course of only a few days, the Commander cleared his throat, seemingly wanting to start his reply to her elaborations to her side of the story, however he stopped himself, remaining with an open mouth. He slowly closed it again, looking to the side in thought. Then, with a new burst of vigor, he lifted his hand, taking a deep breath to answer once again. However, as soon as it had kindled, the spark died out again, and he slowly and audibly let the air out of his lung, bringing his hand around to rub across his mouth.
Shida felt a bead of sweat run down her forehead and nervously twitched her ears, as she watched the man seemingly struggle to determine how he should handle the situation.
Finally, Commander Keone sighed, lowering his hand again and lowly mumbling,
“You’re probably aware that all of this sounds pretty hard to believe, aren’t you?”
Something about his voice told Shida that their story was just about crazy enough that he didn’t expect they would try to make something like this up to save their skin.
“Yes, we are,” Shida said, feeling her voice drift off as she spoke as the memories of the events resurfaced in full force. Quickly, she shut her eyes tightly and shook out her head, recomposing herself, before continuing with more force behind her words, “But you don’t have to believe us right now. We have evidence James has personally collected with us. If you let us show it to you, I’m sure it will be a thousand times more convincing than us trying to persuade you.”
Keone replied with a sideways nod, while also lifting his shoulder on the same side, forming a ‘fair enou
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