Land of Crypts and Frogs (Ron) [Sburb Beta 0.1.2.]

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you're a bit busy trying to coax this NPC out of the bush. Pink? You get pink ones? That... sure is a thing.


hey little bro!


don't be shy


your savior is here:


me.


the player character.


see?


You flash your winningest smile. Only one chance at a good impression, right?


[dice]938[/dice]
 
The brush rustles as the creature tentatively creeps out, watching you closely for any signs of sudden movement. It's a little pink turtle, seemingly a young one, though telling their age is about as difficult as sexing them, since, you know, TURTLE. He slowly but surely approaches you, and stops when he's about a foot away.
 
You kneel down, trying to look a little less intimidating, you guess? Like talking to a little kid.


uh, hey little turtle.


buddy.


you got any dialog?


man, i don't know how this game works, fuck.


do you have little turtle parents?


can you direct me to your little turtle town?


nod if you understand me.


[dice]945[/dice]
 
The little turtle nods, pointing at the huts. Upon closer inspection, you can see other pink forms peeking out of windows and the like. With a tug at your polo shirt, the little one tries to get your attention back. "Mister? What are you?"
 
Oh dang, you had figured that this was, like, a little section, not the whole NPC village. They seem pretty intimidated by you. Well, you'll have to-


Wait, what?


what do you mean, what am i?


i'm ron.


i'm the player character.


uh, a human.


do you know what a human is?
 
The turtle shakes his head. "You aren't an underling, are you?" he asks, head retreating slightly into his shell, "That's what everyone else thinks you are. The Mother of Monsters called them all back, but..."
 
Oh man.


Oh man.


Here it comes.


Break out the little yellow exclamation points, 'cause you got some motherfucking QUESTS, son. Fuck yes, let's get this game started.


i am totally not an underling, my little man.


i am ron adonia.


your hero.


your savior.


i am here to kick some underling ass, and


uh


free your people from their tyranny


(i think? probably.)


but yeah.


mother of monsters ain't got shit on me, you feel me?


i am going to be triumphant as a motherfucker.


hey, little guy, quick question.


do you got your tickets?
 
"Uh, no, actually, I don't think I do," he says, looking even more confused. "I could ask my dad, but I'm still not really clear on what exactly a ticket is." Intimidated by your display, he backs away a little. "What...are you doing?"
 
A tad deflated, you drop the pose. You're bulking right now, anyway, you won't get that good definition until you switch to your cutting routine later this week. Added to the to-do list: find a good gym around here. Does Crypts and Frogs have a Gold's Gym, or a Planet Fitness, or even just a YMCA? You hope so. I mean, you're not holding out for like a protein store or anything, but some basic gear is going to be essential to keep your gains.


nothing, never mind.


anyway, point being:


i am here to save all of you guys from the monsters.


that's me.


ron.


you, uh,


you got any little turtle prophecies about a dude coming to save you?


that's probably me.
 
The turtle shrugs. "I'm only three, I don't really know anything about any prophecies."


As he speaks, several larger turtles begin to come out of their huts, having determined that you probably are not a threat. One of them, a wizened-looking older gent, hobbles up to the two of you and leans its chin on its cane. "Well, well, well. What have we here?" he rasps.
 
ron.


you have ron here.


savior of turtlekind.


kicker of underling asses.


slayer of the mother of monsters!


well, foretold slayer, i guess.


i'm guessing i'm foretold?


was i foretold? be honest.
 
The elder regards you, squinting through rheumy eyes. In the depths of them, you see what might be a glimmer of recognition, before you are summarily whacked on the head by a hard wooden cane.


"How the dad-gum blazes should I know? I'm an astronomer, not some kind of religious scholar. What, you think that 'cause I'm old I'm going to have some kind of insight into legends and prophecies? What's next? Do you want a riddle? A riddle from the old-ass turtle? Well riddle-me-rhee, who's a fucking moron?"


By this point, the little turtle's face has gone from pink to red. "My grandpa's a little...grumpy," he whispers.
 
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son of a bitch!


You clutch your head. That shit hurts! Fuck these turtles!


listen here, turtlebeard, i don't care if you're the high goddamn overlord of shellfuck swamp!


i am player one! i am here to god damn rescue you people from monsters and shit!


don't whack me on the fuckin' head!


you're like the third person i've seen here, total!


aren't you supposed to be spouting out exposition and quest bullshit?!


ah, god damn it!


You tentatively tap the spot he hit with your hand, then check your palm.


am i bleeding?


i'd better not be bleeding.
 
The turtle brandishes his staff menacingly, eyes narrowed. "I aint gonna be spouting anything, 'cept for a can of whoop-ass if you don't straighten up and act respectable, you whipper-snapper." By this point, the other turtles have all congregated in the square. The old one continues. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect your elders? And we don't need rescuing! All the underlings are gone."
 
Wait just a fucking minute. No monsters to fight? You've got a bad feeling about this.


they're gone?


all the underlings are gone?


when? where did they go?
 
so...


what, then?


what am i supposed to help you guys with?


i mean, i came here expecting to kill monsters and get experience points and stuff.


what is there to do?
 
The turtles all look at one another, looks of confusion plastered across their faces. One or two of them shrug.


"There's always the crypts."


"We've got some stuff on high shelves?"


"I've got a jar of pickles I can't open."


"My kids need a babysitter."


The elder looks smug. "See? Mundane problems, none involving any kind of monster. We're a peaceful farming community."
 
oh.


okay.


um.


i'm going to need a minute.


Great. Fucking great. You wanted God of War, you expected The Sims, you got Farmville. A fucking 300-foot waterslide of expectations. You let out a heavy sigh, and turn back towards the villagers.


well, it looks like i've got a little time to kill.


where's that jar of pickles?
 
After completing a series of increasingly petty series of menial tasks for the turtles, you manage to drag yourself up three ranks on your echeladder over the course of six hours, finally attaining a rank without a lame "bro" pun. You attain the rank of HEIR TO BREADTH, which you feel like you miss a lot of the humor on, but whatever.


You also manage to fill your Grist Cache with about 40 SILVER GRIST and 40 BUILD GRIST, for whatever help that might bring.


The turtles throw you a small, celebratory get-together. It mainly features catfish. The elder looks a little less disgruntled, actually, which is a definite plus, even if the food tastes like it's actually a portal to the pepper dimension.

Additionally, gain the following abilities:

  • Shrunk (Buff): The target gains a Title bonus to Defense.


  • Expanded (Debuff): The target suffers a Title penalty to Defense.
 
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LM: Hey, Ron.


LM: You there?


LM: I haven't really gotten a chance to ask you if you've slept and seen which dream planet's moon you're on.


LM: But I think it's probably Derse. Which'd make you the...I think it makes you the Prince?


LM: Because the guy in the window with turtles was the galaxy swirl guy.


LM: And I know two of the three Derse folks are Jasper (the Thief) and me (the Sylph of Blood).
 
A little worn out from the mindless tasks, you try to mitigate your growing ennui by shmoozing the crowd, a plate of fish in one hand and three turtle-sized cups of some type of alcohol between the fingers of the other. It's an alright spread.


[dice]1320[/dice]


Your phone goes off, and you flip it next to your ear and hold it with a shoulder; text-to-speech should handle the rest.


CS: yo lady, right here.


CS: dream planet moon is a negative.


CS: mostly been passing the time here in non-combat ville.


CS: i haven't slept since i got here, which was fairly long ago to think about it.


CS: terse is the purple one right?


CS: verse


CS: spell dee eee are ess eee


CS: sorry, autocorrect is a bitch on hands-free.


CS: oh!


CS: hold on my phone just buzzed, i think i just got a file transfer.


CS: no 4G on the swamp level, service is slow, one sec


You flip the phone onto the plate, seeing the Prince outfit for the first time. You flip it back, a little greasier now.


CS: holy shit is that supposed to be me in the shorts?


CS: and the little cape?


CS: and the fucking elbow-length fingerless emo gloves?


CS: that is


CS: let's be honest, that sort of game bullshit is par for the course right about now.


CS: oh, hey, do we have any sort of guild going?


CS: cause i got a bunch of cash drops from these odd jobs if there's, like, a guild bank or something
 
LM: Well, we do and don't as far as a guild bank of sorts goes. There's a 100 grist buy-in cost.


LM: I might be able to get access to that amount...if anyone actually believes me for once.


LM: But yeah. Game keeps telling me I'm supposed to heal things, but as far as I can tell, my task at the moment's impossible until I start destroying some things.


LM: I think it might be pushing me toward an early-game confrontation with my planet's boss. And I'm not sure t hat's a good idea.
 
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