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Watchers Zul'Gurub Raid CYOA
The Zul'Gurub Choose Your Own Adventure
As written by Sir Romulous Miketomsanbill, Playwrite to the Queens of Chesterfield
You stand within the frondulous corridor of ancient hallway that marks the beginerations of Zul'Gurub, the oldish city of trollsome. You are a Watcher: a warrior bestowed at the dawn of time with a sort of insatiable laziness. A hero, some might say. But not me.
Your valiant leader stands before you, his golden ponytail streaming from its mount on his massive, snaggletoothed headgear. He calls upon his army to charge, and charge they might.
"These trollniks will rue the day they got out of bed today," he says valiantly, valiantly thrusting his pelvis in a northerly direction.
A cheer goes up about you. At least one third of your mates, Watchers all, tremble into actioning! The battle is on!
a) Go fishing.
b) Climb on top of a big pot.
c) Charge to the North with the rest.
You chose A
You catch a mudskunk! Woot!
Go back to Room 1.
You chose B
You clamber atop the pot, its oldness impressing you almost at least as its bigness. Several trolls suddenly become immunized to the weapons of your comrades. Their wounds heal before your very eyes! With grimacesque grimaces they slaughter your friends; their slaughtered limbs fly at you like popcorn that is being slaughtered.
Unable to escape for fear of becoming a slaughtered too, you are trapped atop the pot for all eternity. Until, you, someday, too, become a pot yourself. O, cruel irony.
You chose C
Heedlessly you trampsicate after your valiant leader, bleating as you go. The trollstars heed no warning are are kilt upon your heaving bosom. Go to Room 2.
You have crossed a bridge and come to a room that hisses with the slithery sounds of snakehood. Masquerading as snakes are also snakes that are blue, and these send a chill down your very loins.
"Snakes, why it must be snakes?" bemoans your leader, his steel teeth chomping like ponies.
But this poverty of valiantness is short lived and soon the snakes writhe no more, writhing on the ground in death. Beyond, Venoxis, the serpent god of the tidal pools and bleak dreams, waves to you in spite and hubris.
"Charge," commands your leader, "take his nose!"
a) Hop off of the cliff.
b) Go AFK.
You Chose A
Into the air you soar, like an eagle who lost its beak and wings in a trucking accident. You splash into the sea, hopeless and alone, riling the waves as boilt peas rile the soup. The water becomes your grave soon after. Stupid, so stupid. You deserved what you got.
You Chose B
You go smoke a butt while peeing, or pee while smoking, and by the time you have returned Venoxis lays dead. Unable to determine exactly what part of a snake's face constitutes its "nose," your leader has decided to award magical items instead. But you missed it. Because you were pee smoking.
Go to Room 3.
You Chose C
Poison and filth rise around you as the battle rages. What manner of creature is this, that can raise poison like animals risen like zombies on a moonless night in the '80s like in a movie? These thoughts and others race through your head as the battle wages on. You're really just not paying a lot of attention.
Soon the Snake God dies, an arrow thrust into his thorax. You quickly remove the arrow and replace it with your blade. Glory and honor are yours! The hunters complain but nobody listens.
The night is still young and there are more beasts to slay! The next is a woman who says she's a bat. "We shall see who is the bat," your leader mutters, "and who is the bread."
For reasons unexplicable, bats explode around you like firecracker-stuffed salmon. BOOM! BANG! Guts cover you as if hosed from a fire hydrant in a terrible dimension where guts put out fires.
"Why the hell are these bats explodicating?" asks your leader, but nobody knows.
It stops mattering after a while because all of the bats have exploded. Once all of a thing has exploded, is it important any longer what exploded it? I believe not. And so do you.
Jeklik, the Bat Goddess of salt and woeful creamsicles, cackles as you saunter into her lair.
"Hirek! Grant me wings of vengeance!" she screams, and much to everyone's surprise Hirek actually does. Even Jeklik looks a little surprised. You wonder if she even knew what a Hirek was before today, but you expect that she will probably ask for things a lot more from now on. IF SHE SURVIVES!
The battle begins anew.
a) Ask for Wings of Vengeance.
b) Play dead.
You chose A
Go back to Room 3.
You chose B
It doesn't work. Bats eat you and then explode while eating you. You are extremely cadaverous even before flying bats drop bombs on the mush that is now you. Then your leaders kicks the you-mush out of the guild. So sad.
You chose C
Battle battle! Halfway through the kerfuffle Hirek apparently realizes he backed a losing horse and yanks those wings right off. Jeklik tries to heal herself, like a druid, but alas she forgot entanglizing roots. You smash her nose with your shield like a jerk. Finally an arrow pierces her nebula, killing her.
The hunters cheer before being valiantly silenced by your great leader. They contributed nothing, after all. Dubloons and mighty boodle is distributed amongst the warriors and priests.
Then your leader commands you all to mount up. "You all, mount up!" he intones gravely, "It is time for the final battle!"
You have ridden your pony over a bridge and up a hill like a ninny, and have come to a great web of 'piders. They wiggle and kick their knobbled legs like many-legged infants bloated with cheese. Loathesome 'piders. You hate them, don't you? You want to squash and squash and squash until they are all dead, don't you? Then you want to spit on their tiny graves!!? You should relax.
Marli, the spider queen of Rigel Seven, looms lousily before you.
"Die for our glory," your leader screamates, but it is not clear if he is speaking to you or to Marli.
a) Lie upon a pulsing sac.
b) Do some hoodoo.
You chose A
Only a degenerate would choose such an option, you degenerate. A bear eats you. Righteously.
You chose B
A big pile of Hoodoo lays before you. You would not have guessed that "Hoodoo" was the sort of thing that could be piled. Yet here it is.
There is a little knob made entirely of Hoo on one side. You touch it nervously. Moments later a hunter shoots an arrow into your valiant leader's gusto, slaying him dead. Shall we blame the hoodoo? Or the hunter?
An easy question.
You chose C
Battle onward! The 'pider queen pounces on you, her mandibles wiggling, wiggling, wiggling.
"Hey! HEY!" Jorren shouts, "HEEEEY!"
The great 'pider turns, enraged by the incessant shouting. Even you feel a little pissed off, frankly. Then the beast enters a mammothic mandible through Jorren's face. O' tragedy! You see his face-innards held aloft for terrible moments before an arrow pierces the 'pider's munich. In a bundle it dies.
The hunters cheer queitly amongst themselves but then quickly hush up. They've learned their place.
Solemnly you try to scoop the head innards back into Jorren's face, but your brave leader touches your shoulder and shakes his head.
"No," he says sadly, "He is gone. Let us upgrade /roll on his loot to cherish his memory."
Your leader, so valiant he is, rolls a 2, but then decides to distribute via loot council instead and grants himself everything. A giant amongst men, he is.
Zul'Gurub has been defeated, for now. Someday perhaps Hakkar the Souffle'er will die as well. For now, get thee gone.
|29 Jun 2006 by carwin|