A Different Kind Of Dungeon Master - Sex Stories

A Different Kind Of Dungeon Master

... predicted.

“Roll to attack,” I said.

Rachel rolled. “Natural twenty, baby!”

“Seriously?” I laughed. “Roll for damage then.”

She did.

“You plunge the serrated blade into the meat of his neck, right about where his carotid artery would be flowing if he were a living human, dealing seven points of damage and taking him completely off guard.”

Rachel acted out my narration with a thankfully imaginary knife, and I gurgled and stumbled backward.

“So now you’re running down the completely unfamiliar hallways of a palace in Hell, I reminded her. Roll for perception.”

“Seventeen,” Rachel rolled and checked her character sheet. “Plus… that makes twenty-one total.”

“Unreal,” I said. “There’s a door up ahead on your left that says, ‘Prince Bastidio’s Office, please knock before entering.’ It’s slightly ajar.”

“I investigate the room, to see if I can figure out how he stores his files on individual sinners.”

“Awesome. Roll for it.”

Rachel tossed the die and winced. “Ooh, natural one. Do I, like, give myself a horrible papercut rifling through his files?”

“Files? What files?” I joked. “You see arcane instruments, indecipherable runes, nothing that says ‘filing system’ to you.”

“Hmm. Okay. No, wait.” Rachel pointed to a line on her character sheet. “I’m going to use ‘indirect breakthrough.’ When I fail at figuring something out, it makes it so that I instead stumble on some unrelated but significant information.”

“Nice. Let’s see….” The ...

... sparseness of the scenario I’d planned out gave me a narrow range of breakthroughs to offer her. “What youdo see is a map of Hell on the wall. You see Prince Bastidio’s territory demarcated within it. That territory is labeled, ‘Pits of Casual Cruelty.’ There are spots marked around the border, showing the wards that contain the souls that dwell here, the souls condemned for just everyday but relentless, remorseless shittiness. Each ward has its current strength level marked, kind of like the battery symbol on a cell phone. None of them are doing great. Below the map is a leger. You can’t read most of what’s in it, but there are lists of names, written in their original Earthly tongues.”

“Are they women’s names?” Rachel asked.

“Theyare women’s names,” I confirmed. “And there’s a column of what look like numbers on the right side, which shift from black to red as the pages go on, as if an enterprise is sinking slowly into debt.”

“The virgin sacrifices hold the damned souls in place!” Rachel deduced with satisfaction. “Can I tell who set up that bullshit system?”

“There are more legers in this room, dating back to time immemorial, basically.”

“And how old is Prince Bastidio?”

“From your preexisting research, his cult only came into being about three hundred years ago.”

“Ah, so, heinherited the whole deflowering virgins to keep the wards of Hell in place job.”

“For his particular region of Hell, yes, that seems to be the case.”

“Got it. I love me a complicated ...