Alea Iacta Est

[Viridian]

Alea Iacta Est
By Viridian

I wasn’t sure how to feel when I arrived. I parked my car on the driveway, held my bag close to my chest and walked up to the door. Had it really been a year? The light drizzle made a fine mist illuminated by the street lights. There was a housewarming party across the street. Rock music, beers, the usual stuff I never got invited to, nor was I interested in. That was perhaps the geek part of me coming out. I felt much more comfortable at home with a good book, or a movie. I was doubting making this trip, but I felt it was something that couldn’t be missed. Caught up in my thoughts, I had quite forgotten to ring the doorbell. As I moved my finger over the brass button, the door swung open. It would be a cliché to say that the hallway lights created a halo around Tara’s head, but let’s just go with that. She looked like she had just woken up. Her hair was a mess. She was in her jammies – a pair of old track pants and a white tank top with her areolas barely visible through the dim light.

“Oh, Gary, hi,” she mumbled. “Sorry, I fell asleep. Jet lag. Come in.”

She ushered me into the living room and scrambled around to freshen up and make some tea. I waited patiently, looking around the room. There was a familiarity about it. It had only been a year. The group would rotate between homes, and Tara had the largest living room, so we’d do our gaming nights here. Not the electronic kind – we did that online. Here, it was board game night. Or it used to be, until Greg brought up Dungeons & Dragons, and next thing we knew, we were all into pen-and-paper role-playing. We played every few weeks, and I was usually the dungeon master, mostly on the virtue of being able to keep a straight face and pulling out just the right kind of suspense.

There were a few girls in the group, but Tara was a bit different. We were all friends since high school, but the girls were mostly there for the social aspect, and there were a couple of plus-ones the guys picked up over the years. Tara, however, was an honest gamer girl. Not the kind who wore Mario t-shirts and played Candy Crush Saga. She was the sort who would flip boards, call bullshit on random events, and cry when her character died. She was seriously competitive – she once won the local Warhammer 40K tournament.

And she was hot. Just...simply attractive. She had the wide blue eyes and silky brown hair that made her look like Zooey Deschanel. She had a nice rack that suited her body shape, but she wasn’t pushy about her looks and most of us didn’t care. Admittedly, I probably spent the most time fantasising about her, but as a veteran dungeon master, I knew the line between fantasy and reality. I knew how to play the game. Maybe there was a spark between us. Maybe there wasn’t. It was a roll of the dice.

Tara came back with two cups of fresh, hot tea. She had her hair tied back and had slipped on a hoodie. She also brought something I had been looking forward to – her character sheet. Tara had been overseas for a teaching program and had only just returned. She was keen to catch up with the group and we had another D&D session planned for the weekend, but she wanted to do a solo adventure to catch up and called me over. I was unusually enthusiastic to oblige, and not just because of the game. We got comfortable and sat on the couches around the coffee table. I set up my adventure and erected the fold-up card to hide from Tara’s steel gaze.

So it began. Jora SIlverstar, level 24 fighter, after mysteriously disappearing for a year, emerges from her retirement upon hearing of the journeys of her former guild, the White Hat (Greg actually made the guild banner for us – his version was a white top hat). Knowing that her comrades had gained many new treasures and skills, Jora set out on a personal quest to become stronger and recover the lost Sword of the Golden Moon.

As if guided by fate (or a friendly dungeon master), Jora blitzed through the evil swamp, survived the raging sandstorms of the Karthu desert and slew a whole troop of bandits. Confident with her abilities – and her rolls – Jora marched into the final hallway, ready to take on the final beast and retrieve the lost sword.

“Suddenly, Jora hears the scraping of rock. Ancient gears turn. In years past, many an explorer has tried to claim the sword, and none have succeeded. Jora realises this too late. A spear lunges out from the wall straight at her body. What will Jora do?”

“Shit,” Tara muttered, having forgotten to do the most basic of checks. It was a difficult roll for a warrior, so she probably wouldn’t have made it anyway. “How high is the spear?” I indicated waist-height. It was a subtly awkward trap. It was too high to jump over but too low to duck. “Jora tries to run past.”

Tara rolled the dice for the dexterity check. “Jora desperately hurtles forward to evade the spear, but she isn’t quick enough. The spear strikes Jora.” Roll for armour save. “Jora’s armour absorbs the strike and breaks the spear. However, the blow destroys the armour. Pick an armour piece to remove.”

“Leggings,” Tara chose, sipping on her tea as if the loss meant nothing to her. “They were nearly broken anyway. I guess I’m half-naked now, hey?”

I nearly choked on my tea, imagining Tara playing without her pants. I cleared my throat. “You still have your Boots of Stability but, um, yes, you will have a penalty against blows aimed at your legs.” I wasn’t sure if Tara flashed a grin at me.

Having survived the traps, Jora reached the open rooftop and claimed the Sword of the Golden Moon. The crescent-shaped blade shone with enchanted brightness, its golden hilt adorned with every coloured gemstone. The sword is unnaturally light, but as strong as any broadsword. Tara looked uncertain. She had “this is too easy” on the tip of her tongue. Interrupting her thought, an ancient bird of prey swooped down on the unsuspecting warrior, grabbing her in its talons. This was the boss fight Tara had been waiting for. She set her mug down and listened intently as I described the combat. Though she naturally had good combat advantages, the scenario was different. She couldn’t swing freely and mostly had to struggle against the deadly grip of the talons. Despite good rolls, she was losing hit points from the constant squeeze.

“I hack at its leg.” Tara had her serious face on. She had a habit of switching to first-person when getting excited. She was sweating. Her hoodie as unzipped. She rolled.

“It glances. The magical sword, however, pierces and causes great pain. The beast tightens its grip, crushing your torso.” Another roll, and she lost more hit points.

“Hack it again!”

Another good roll. “The blade singes the leg. The pain is unbearable. The beast lets go with one talon. You are no longer taking crushing damage. Weakened by the struggle, the beast flies low to the ground.”

“I hack at the other leg.”

“The blow nearly slices the leg off. The beast releases you and you fall from the sky.”

Tara stopped. She looked stunned. She had forgotten about the fact that she was in the air. She gulped, waiting for the moment when she would hit the ground. Her low hit points meant that she would most likely die on impact regardless of her rolls. “You plummet towards the ground. The golden desert sands rush at you. You are breathless. The moment comes. You hit the ground. Yet, the bone-crunching impact is absent. The sand ripples, sending a shockwave across the surface. The sand continues to undulate. You are in quicksand.”

Tara breathed a sigh of relief. “I look around. What do I see?”

“On the right, you see a glistening oasis surrounded by trees. On your left, there is a raised road. You are surrounded by the wide expanse of quicksand.” I paused to fill in the details. “The sand makes slow movements. It is dry on top, but underneath you can fill some moisture seeping through the grains, forming a grip on your legs. You are steadily sinking. The closest thing to you is the remains of a wrecked cart.”

“Are my Boots of Stability helping?”

“The enchantment is slowing your descent, but it is not enough to keep you from going under.”

“Is the sand magical?”

“You don’t have enough knowledge of the magical arts to assess the nature of the sand. However, it feels unlike anything you have encountered. You can make the assumption that you will perish in this place unless you act.”

“How do I get out?”

“You need to reach the cart to stop sinking. After that, you can choose how to escape. You must roll against your Strength attribute to see if you can overcome the quicksand’s grip. The deeper you are, the harder it is to break free.”

“How many chances do I get?”

“At the rate you are sinking…five.”

“How many successful rolls do I need?”

“To reach the cart, you require four successful rolls.”

“Okay.” Tara prepared herself. “I walk towards the cart.” She succeeds on her first roll.

“You feel the grains of sand sliding from under you, but your Boots of Stability and strength keep you from sinking further. You approach the cart, but it is still out of reach.”

“Roll again.”

“You step forward, but this time the sand gives way. Your equipment weighs you down heavily, pushing you down to your thighs. Breaking the sand’s grip will require an additional point on your roll.”

“Wait, if I remove my equipment, will I remove this penalty?”

“Yes. You also gain additional attempts, depending on how encumbered you are.”

Tara thought it through. Most of her equipment was junk she had picked up and improvised. It was heavy but effective. She could always find new gear. “I take everything off. I mean everything. Armour, pack. Just not the sword.”

I crunched the numbers. She had five rolls, and only required 5-plus on a d20 die. She succeeded on her next roll. “The removal of the heavy equipment frees your body and allows you more movement. You push through the shifting sand and are two more steps away from the cart.”

“Good,” she said. “This had better be worth going naked. I swear, you better get me some good gear when I get out.”

Right, naked. I suddenly had the image of Tara naked and helplessly sinking in quicksand. I felt the blood rushing to my loins. Come on Gary, stay focused. The next roll failed. “The sand gives way and you sink your hips without making any headway.”

“Darn. I get three more attempts. I’m deeper, so that means I need…6-plus, right?”

“Uh, not quite. You need to pass a Will save.”

“Why?”

“You feel the disturbance of the fine sand grains passing over your skin. You become sensitive to the sand’s touch. It becomes…distracting. You need to pass a Will save to see if you resist the temptation.” I really don’t know why I included that. I was obviously thinking with something other than my brain.

Tara, however, seemed to buy into it. She picked up the die nervously. She had invested all her points into Strength and Dexterity, given the nature of the combat she had encountered, and left few points in her Wisdom and Charisma, generally less favoured for a fighter class. She failed the saving throw. “You summon your warrior strength to block out the pervasive thoughts, but the sand’s intimate touch is overwhelming. You feel a moistness between your legs. You move involuntarily with the sand, feeling it flow against your intimate areas. It clouds your mind with a unique sensation. You require an additional 2 points for your Strength check to move. You require a saving roll against your Will to break this trance with each move.”

“I move forward.” Tara gazed at me. I shivered. I recognised this look. Her grey eyes were fixated on me. Like her character, she was in a trance. She was fully focused on the game, absorbing every detail in my narrative. She became her character. She was Jora Silverstar. In my mind, Jora was Tara. She was in the quicksand, fighting her way free. And I was the master of the game. “Roll.”

Success. “You twist your hips and edge closer to the wrecked cart. It is just a short reach away. The quicksand continues to press against your nether regions. Roll your Will save.” Fail. “The warm, moist sand pressed against you like a new kind of beast, sapping at your strength. It caresses at your toned buttocks and strong legs, enticing you to give yourself to the desert. You require 9d20 to proceed.” Tara gazed emptily. The hoodie had come off. Her tank top had wicked up her sweat and turned transparent, revealing her hard, pink nipples. I picked up the die and rolled for her. “You try to push ahead, but your movements drive your hips deeper. You want the sand to fill you, to fulfil the burning desire you have longed for years. You watch as the sand caresses every inch of your submerged body, sinking past your waist and to your hips. You are closer to succumbing to your wanton lust.” She failed her saving throw, bumping the Strength throw to 12d20. She failed that too. “The sand grabs your torso like a greedy pair of hands and pulls you down to your chest. The warm sand moulds around your buxom, playfully, intently, taking away the last of your willpower. Your body thrashes in the sand, continually sinking into its clutches. You sink to your shoulders. You can barely move. Your consciousness lapses between your entrapment and the light at the end, the urge to relieve yourself, to go out with a final taste of pleasure.”

“No!” Tara yelled. “One more roll! I’ve got one more roll!”

It was tough roll – 18d20, with no saving throws. I rolled the die behind the card. It was a 17.

“You summon your remaining strength, but for all the giants you have slain, the beasts you have conquered, your fortitude proves futile against the hungry sand. Overcome by the magic sand, you allow yourself to be devoured, slipping to your shoulders, before…”

My narrative was stopped. Tara was in my face. She was breathing heavily, sweating, her grey eyes drilling into my head. Her heaving breasts were just inches from my face as she leaned over me, enticing me, trying to sway my narrative back to her favour. I don’t know what she was getting at, but I knew what she wanted. She had spent a year building her character. Her eyes pleaded to me. Don’t kill her character. Don’t kill Jora.

Her hand clutched mine, with the 20-sided die underneath. She wanted me to do something. Bend the rules. Give her more rolls. Stretch out the scene. Anything to give her another chance. Her lips wavered. Her eyes glistened.

“J…Jora tries to call out for help. Her voice is carried by the winds. On the road, a group of travellers pass by. Only Jora’s head remains above the surface. You aren’t sure if you are imagining the travellers, but it is your last chance.” I wasn’t sure which rule set I was following, but I went with it. “You need a 20 to succeed.”

“Do it.”

The die fell from my hand, hit the side of the table and rolled onto the floor, displaying the merciless white line: One.

I had never seen anyone so devastated. Part of me wanted to tell Tara that it was just a game, but she wasn’t Tara. She was Jora, proud warrior. She was ashamed – not only about failing the mission and perishing, but to do so in such a vulnerable, perverted manner. She put her head in her hands and sobbed.

“W...wait,” I stammered glancing at her scrunched character sheet. “Don’t you have the Dumb Luck feat?” Tara looked up at me through her red eyes and soaked fringe. I cleared my throat. “Once a day, you are allowed to change a natural one roll to a 20.” She blinked. I continued the narrative. “The travellers somehow catch the sound of your cries and rush towards you. They throw a rope to you. Though you are exhausted beyond measure, you are pulled to safety. They clothe you with robes and offer you water. One of them eyes the Sword of the Golden Moon, but the leader of the expedition cautions him. He tells of rumours that the dark spirit of the temple had been slain by a hero. The evil they had been fleeing from had been eliminated by the very person they had just saved. He approaches you, bows and respectfully hands the blade to its rightful owner. You have completed the adventure.”

Tara was still crying, but she managed a small smile. I began to pack up the set. “Um, I’m sorry. I kind of got carried away.” I bent over to pick up the die. When I got up, Tara was in my face again. She wrapped her arms around me and pressed her body against mine. She was drenched with sweat. There was even a patch on her track pants. I felt her breasts squish against my chest. My loins began to stir. I realised the wet patch wasn’t sweat.

“Not so fast,” Tara murmured into my shoulder. “You think you’re going to get away after that?” She leaned back to face me. “You’re an unbelievable dungeon master. That was the hottest fantasy I’ve ever had. I’m so fucking horny right now.” With the blood flowing down to my obvious erection, it took me a moment to comprehend. She rubbed her hand over the bulge in my pants. “Are you going to resist me?”

She pulled me in and we kissed. Her hands reached under my shirt and caressed my body. My hands found their way under her top. Tara jerked back, feeling something sharp against her rib. The 20-sided die dropped out my hand. We looked down at it. Tara smiled, pushed me onto the couch and climbed on top of me. “No saving throws.”

[PM2K]

Kudos for the most unique take on qs fiction I've read in some time! Absolutely riveting narrative, and just plain cool.

[DJlurker]

Refreshing and original. Nice work.

[Lord Malaphus]

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING AWESOME Viridian! Fucking loved it! I'm wondering have you read my idea of quickdice? It's in this story section also. The idea of a roll of dice leading to a climax in a sinker fantasy is thrilling! Thoroughly enjoyed this!

[Viridian]

Incidentally, I only read the Quickdice thread once I finished this story. What an interesting coincidence.

[Chimerix]

Niiiiiice!!

[Lomax]

And I finally get round to reading this...

And jolly good it was, too. And it took me back. Dungeons and Dragons...

Around n years ago (where n is a distressingly large number) I owned the original three-booklet set. Plus Greyhawk (nostalgic sigh). Around n/2 years ago, I found it in the back of an old cupboard during a clear-out. I threw it away. Around (n/2)-1 years ago I learned that original box sets plus Greyhawk were officially collectable antiques, and worth a bob or two. Sigh.

I also used to play Traveller at university. Anyone else remember that?

[nachtjaeger]

Absolutely excellent tale.

Besides way too much D&D, I used to play a paper RPG called Champions. It was all about superheroes. Interesting rule system. When you created your character, you had a set amount of points. Powers and advantages (like luck) cost points. To get more points, you could take "disadvantages" like unluck. (Luck applied when you were losing, unluck when you were winning.) Add a bunch of interesting characters (both in and out of the game) and a superb GM, and it was an absolute blast.