Hi there, I'm not terribly well-versed in forum-stuff, so pardon me if I seem a bit lost. I'm working with a mate of mine on a pen and paper role-playing game system, and whilst things are coming along well on the mechanical side (We're attempting to capture the cinematic/dynamic cut and thrust of fighting games and martial arts movies) He's partially entrusted me to fleshing out the... Less savoury aspects of society in our little game setting. In terms of style: Fusion Oriental-Middle Eastern-Egyptian fantasy setting with an underlying social commentary on sexism. Sample session: You shiver as you awaken on cold granite, lying crumpled on the blackened stone, you find yourself in a cell for about four people. A bucket of water is in the corner; someone has seen to keep you hydrated. The cell, were it fully occupied would be a very confined space, but as you find yourself alone, you can see three of its walls are of solid granite and the fourth wall is a lattice of bolted iron bars. A single door leads out, but it is closed. No doubt locked. Beyond the bars you can see a long corridor. At first glance, all the other cells appear empty in the torchlight. You can hear murmuring a short distance away. Perhaps if you were closer to the bars you might catch what they're saying. You ache all over, weakened from your ordeal What will you do? Player: Kayla groaned as she awoke and reached up to brush a strand of her hair out of her eyes as she looked over her surroundings. She remembered the fight out on the sands and how right at the end she'd dropped her guard only to be clubbed in the head and knocked out. She crawled over to the bucket of water and picked it up, drinking from it deeply to sate her thirst as she realized how thirsty she was. After she set the bucket down and wiped her lips she heard the low voices. She tried crawling over to the bars to see if she could make out the conversation any better me: You hear two voices, one thick and raspy; speaking in the harsh tones of nomadic Pardissian. Responding to it is another voice, also male, but this man's tone is far softer, with a certain degree of mirth and warmth in his voice. Voice 1: So, what do you think? Voice 2: A pretty one, no doubt. She's a little battered though. I take it she did not come quietly? Voice 1 (incredulous): Do they ever? Voice 2: When inspecting them i noticed that last one had a rather large dent in her; the healers did a fine job of patching her up. Voice 1: Yes, yes... and my fee? Voice 2: Ten crowns, I think. Voice 1: WHAT?! That is outrageous! Your brother-! Voice 2: Husam would have paid you a lot less and frankly I may be paying for damaged goods. As an addled Sandwalker, I can see how this might escape you, but magical healing can only do so much. If she wakes up a drooling idiot, my brother is going to kill the both of us. Voice 1: ...What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have some maidens to ravish in town? Voice 2: Very funny, Farhat. Husam has other matters to attend to and so kindly volunteered me to inspect your stock. I cannot move this one to market until she awakens and i can ascertain her state as well as which section to put her in. Voice 1/Farhat: (sigh) fine, i understand your plight, Assad. Voice 2/ Assad: Ah-ah-ah! Farhat: Son's grace... *prince* Assad. Assad: Much better. For your good manners, here's eleven crowns. See how far manners can get you, slaver? Farhat: Very well, prince... Assad: Here is your money. Shade and sweet water, my friend. Farhat: Shade and sweet water to you, lord. ...So... Any idea? On where she'll go? Assad: Your guess is as good as mine; she's a beauty, make no mistake. But her hands show wear. This girl has lived off the land and may not be the delicate flower you're convinced she is. Farhat: Oh she's a vicious little wench, no doubt. Stabbed young Ibn when he first grabbed her. Women with swords; what are your generation teaching them these days? Assad: A woman is a dangerous creature, Farhat. They need to be kept in their place, lest they use their wiles to doom us all. Farhat's voice trails off, laughing Assad: sigh I'd better take another look. Last thing i want to do is find i paid eleven crowns for a comely bag of drool. You hear footsteps, soft and padded headed towards your cell. Whatever will you do? Searching yourself, you find everything including your clothes were taken. You are unrestrained. Player: Kayla had listened to the talking figures intently, gripping the bars tightly as she did so. She'd been kidnapped by slavers, the thought immediately made her heart sink. One of them seemed to be a prince no less. As he talked about her hands she looked down at them for a moment before she heard the footsteps approaching. She stood up and backed away from the bars. Looking down at her nakedness for the first time she gasped and covered her chest with one arm, keeping her legs closed and covering her nethers with the other as she waited me: The footsteps stop as a young man steps into the light. He looks to be in his early 20s. His skin is a warm brown and his long raven locks fall to his shoulders. Sturdily built, he stands at average height, muscles across his chest and arms indicate a very active lifestyle. His hair and skin have been coated in scented oils, marking him as a man of status. Shirtless, he wears only a pair of trousers, emblazoned with black, yellow and red flame designs. His muscled arms are shielded by two ornate armlets of gold with inlaid precious rubies. Upon seeing you awake he gives an impish, lopsided grin This self assured man, handsome as he may be, looks like the sort mother always warned you about. Player: She looked the man over warily and glanced down at her own body to make sure her hand still covered her properly. "Prince Assad was it? My father is a very wealthy man, he'll pay you whatever you want to let me go." She glanced around the cell again, other than the bucket there was nothing she could use to defend herself if he decided to come in after her. Just looking at him she could tell he was most likely stronger than her and he had help just a shout away. me: He smiles, tsks and shakes his head Assad: You're new to this sort of... Scene, so i suppose I can't blame your naÃ¯vetÃ©. You, my dear, are the unfortunate victim of circumstance. I sympathize, I really do. Player: "If you sympathize with me then let me go!" me: There is a clink of the keys and a loud clack as he opens the lock. Stepping in, he closes and locks the door behind him. Assad: I wish I could. I really do. Beauty such as yours should not be caged in some bleak, desolate gulag... His eyes soften, looking sad as he slowly steps towards you. He gently reaches out to your face, palm upturned. Whatever will you do? Player: She watched him warily as he stepped forward "It..it would not be caged here if you had not brought me here!" she looked up at him as he reached his palm out but couldn't bear to look him in the eye naked as she was. She averted her gaze, looking down and away from him but not pushing him away. It'd be a futile gesture and she knew it me: Assad: Ssshhh... don't cry... He pulls you close. His strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him. At this range, the scent of his oiled body, filled with cinnamon and sweet spices is almost intoxicating Assad: Put your arms around me if it makes you feel better. I did not bring you here. The slavers did. It is simply an unpleasant part of my duties. I am my father's heir after all. Player: She sniffed but managed to fight back any tears. She did not want him to see her cry. The smell of the oils and spices on him was strong, but pleasant. She knew she should not trust him but she couldn't help it. Slowly she lowered her arm from her chest and embraced him, burying her head in his shoulder. She sniffed again "What..what happens now?" me: As you slide your arm around, you feel the warmth of his skin, his taut, sinewy muscled back, the silken sash worn around his waist... ...and the sheathed dagger concealed within. Player: She inhaled sharply when she felt the dagger at his waist. She hoped he had forgotten about it and did not notice she'd felt it. She swallowed hard as an escape plan vaguely started to form in her head "Thank you for… for being so nice to me... even when I'm stuck in this situation.." she pulled back from him just a bit, enough that looking down at her face would give him a good view of her breasts. She couldn't help but hold her breath as she slowly wrapped her fingers around the dagger me: Assad smiles back, seemingly with relief and general warmth. Assad: I hate seeing a woman cry; especially a beautiful, sweet young maiden such as yourself. He brushes your cheek with his hand. Assad: I'm not going to lie to you. Life is going to be hard. Be strong, and maybe someday, somehow, you'll get out of this place. He leans back a bit, clearly taken in by the view of your comely form Player: She drew the dagger slowly, but hesitated when he brushed her cheek. This could be one of the last men to show her any kindness in her life. She couldn't bring herself to stab him in the back. Slowly, not breaking eye contact she brought the dagger around and held it up to his chest "Or... I could get out of this place today..." She didn't seem to convinced of her plan though, and even in her experienced grip the dagger seemed to waver me: Assad's lips curl into a mockery of the warm smile he'd had earlier Assad: I knew you'd go for the knife. With blinding speed, he grabs your wrist, pulling you past him. Spinning round he uses the force of your stumble to roll around you in a pirouette like spin, as you feel his back roll along yours Sliding his arm downwards from the top, you feel as he locks your off hand, siezing your knife hand in the other and locking your legs by entwining them with his own. You find yourself standing, awkwardly on the balls of both your feet, balanced precariously as he holds you in this very serpentine lock. In all the sword and knife lessons, you've never seen this before... Assad: Hm; clearly a cunning one. A bit slow to be a pitter, though... Remarkable balance. Do you dance? He seems somewhat elated by this experience. As you stand, one arm and the other wrist locked, with his chest to your back, you can't help but wonder what to do now. His pleasant and polite tone makes this all the more irritating… Player: Her eyes went wide as she found herself stuck in this new lock. She'd gone over similar situations with her father but never this complicated. She let go of the knife, letting it clatter to the floor as she listened to him talk. "I… I do dance, my mother and some of the other women taught me." Assad: Oh. You dropped it. Such a pity. ...And I had such a fun little game planned... You do realize you just made yourself completely and utterly harmless to me, don't you? Well, since the game I'd planned hinged on your ability to hold that knife... Player: "Game? I'm already stuck, clearly I could do no harm to you with you holding me like this anyway." she argued. me: Assad: A new game then? I really am enjoying this little test. We've already had a look at your hand-eye; needs a little bit of work. Your reflexes are terrible. However you have superb balance, all things considered... Now... You feel his arms, coiling like a serpent, brings your arms behind you, where he locks your slim wrists with one hand. Assad: Oh, fancy that. I've got a hand free now.