After reviewing
this thread from last year and recalling that I dropped it out of laziness, I've decided to give this concept another shot. The rules of the thread are identical to the last one, but I'll copy them over for simplicity's sake.
The rules of this RTD are a little different to what you may be used to. While most RTDs work off a graduating scale of success, with 1 representing total failure and 6 constituting a success of potentially dangerous magnitude, this one operates on extremes.
At the beginning of each round, you (the players) will collectively control a single character present in a random scenario. You will then be asked to dictate this character's actions, the success of which will be decided by a dice roll. Rolling any number between 2 and 6 guarantees some kind of success, or at least the avoidance of failure - you might just avoid getting killed, or you may win the day then and there. Rolling a 1, however, means immediate and spectacular death, which in turn means transitioning to a new scenario and the beginning of a new round. Feel free to take risks when dictating actions for me to narrate - as long as the dice don't come up with a 1, no horrible consequences will ensue. I'll try and include as many player suggestions as possible in every update, but contradictory or particularly nonsensical suggestions will be cherry-picked at my discretion.
Scenario IPat C. McCarthy, Police Sergeant
Downtown Brooklyn, New York, USA
December 24th, 1928
You lurch forward slightly as your vehicle skids to a halt against the icy streets of Brookyln's seedy downtown districts. A gentle waft of freezing dusk air, tainted slightly by the car's lingering fumes, greets you as you push the passenger door open and plant your thick-soled boots on the snow-covered sidewalk. The driver's door slams shut not long after your own and you're quickly joined by your driver and trusted compatriot, Officer Morris.
"Nice night for it, eh, chief?" he mentions as he stops at your side, smiling patiently as you fumble in the pockets of your navy-blue police overcoat for a lighter - the cigarette you're planning to use it on is, of course, already nestled between your stubbly lips.
"Yeah, something like that," you retort flatly. "Let's just get moving." Morris' happy-go-lucky attitude had never quite managed to rub off on you, no matter how many patrols you walked with him.
The two of you begin making tracks in the snow, rounding the corner ahead and scanning the street before you for your destination. "Right there," you note after a few seconds, pulling your hand out of your pocket and pointing out a small residence across the snowy street. If it weren't for the wide windows illuminated by light from within, the place might've been hard to spot past the ever-thickening December snowfall. The sign above the door reads 'Mary's Café'. "Real suspicious that a place like that is open at this time of night, huh?" Morris pipes up again. You offer him a grunt in response and start crossing the silent road between you and the café, with your colleague following suit. You figure that you don't have to look both ways before crossing - with no bars or taverns to play host to Christmas merriment, most people these days stay off the roads and at home.
A small array of bells above the door is disturbed by your entrance, signaling your arrival to the establishment's inhabitants. Most of the tables are vacant, save for the occasional parties of patrons, most of whom try to avoid making eye contact with you as you stride over to the service counter. A good deal of them are nursing perfectly innocuous cups of coffee or glasses of water... although, obviously, you know that there's more to the story than that, or else you wouldn't have been sent here in the first place. Morris casts his gaze around curiously as a portly, moustached man emerges from the back of the café, meeting you at the counter. He looks extremely apprehensive, more so than you'd expect from an innocent man.
"Good evening, officers..!" he eventually manages to greet you, after swallowing the lump in his throat. "Come for, uh... some coffee? Something to make the late-night patrol a little more bet-- uh, bearable? Right?"
You're not here for coffee, and the clerk obviously knows it. Indeed, you're here to investigate a claim made by one of your informants that the proprietor of this establishment has gotten involved in a business that he shouldn't have - and judging by the tension that's rapidly filling the air between the two of you, you suspect that he knows your motives. How do you respond?
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Topic: Roll to Succeed or Die 2 (Read 3524 times)