Tonight's D&D gaming session began a new campaign...
(Bri): I am the elven wench.
(GM, making sword-slashing gestures): Or you could go 'fwah!', or 'fwah!' or 'fwah!' (Nykkit, not moving): But you must always go 'fwah!' (GM): Yes, exactly.
(GM, pointing): You are outside the city. You are at home, having just finished another fight with your matron. You are tied down naked to an altar with a priestess looming over you. You and your sparkly skin are up dancing around naked in the sunlight.
You and the rivets on your nipples... (Generally): WHAT? (Angel): Did she tan her own hide? (Nykkit): When did the Sun Elves become the S&M Elves?
Roll to see if I care...
(GM): They're watching someone get his heart ripped out... (Female Drow): I think they'd notice if I took his place. (Nykkit): Yeah. You've got tits. (Angel): She's four foot nine and eighty pounds. How much tit can she possibly have?
(Angel, making the sign of the cross): Go in shit, my son.
(Me): She's the sweetness and light of the whole party, all wrapped up in one little sparkly package. (Angel): And I'm the angst, and you're the sarcasm, and he's...I don't know what he is yet. (GM): He's the meat.
(GM): The sarcasm just oozes from him. (Me): This guy sweats sarcasm. (GM, flailing his hand): Ewww, I got sarcasm on me!
(GM): No stick for your snakes.
(Angel, to sun elf): We look burnt. You're just lightly toasted.
I'm making a value judgment on her ass, and her back gets taken into consideration.
Roll your 'walks with tackle'.
You appear to be a non-fucking foreigner. Unless you wish to change that.
They lead you to a copse of trees. It has its siren on.
I have an extremely platonic soft spot for little drow boys.
(To the GM, who is gay): So...why do you have a woman as your plot whore?