This is a fantasy story I'm writing by playing a solo roleplaying game. I will improvise my adventures guided by the rules of the game, random prompts, and rolls of the dice.
Story premise: Milo, a nerdy teenager, gets summoned into an abandoned Dark Tower by a band of goblins attempting to resurrect their former master. In a world where the forces of light have conclusively defeated the darkness, restricted the use of magic, and now rule with the iron fist, he becomes the seed of the resistance. To build a Dark Empire powerful enough to liberate the world, he must pretend to be the fallen Evil Overlord, master forbidden magics, and lead a tribe of goblins, all while hiding from the Evil Overlord's former enemies and allies, who would kill him if they knew he existed.
Milo was on his way to school when he heard sinister chanting, and the world around him disintegrated into a whirlwind of saturated colors and geometric patterns. His body turned into a series of abstract symbols and streamed through some vast and alien space. Then, he found himself lying on the floor of a round candle-lit chamber, staring up at the stone ceiling, encircled by a dozen of cloaked figures.
They excitedly chanted words in a strange language. The figure draped in indigo robes, clearly their leader, held a large tome and an ornate wooden staff with an angular gem embedded in its top. With every word he read, the strands of orange light escaped the gem and traced complex patterns around Milo, weaving his body out of thin air.
Milo's mind raced. Let's just skip the denial and disbelief. I've seen this a thousand times in movies and books, so why go through the whole "this can't be happening" phase. Obviously these weird cultists are performing some ritual summoning me into their world. Which means, my life is about to get very exciting. Or very short. Let's see where this goes...
As Milo's eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the figures were small, like children, wearing robes that were way too large for their size. They had green hands with tiny sharp claws, which they enthusiastically waved in rhythm with their chanting. Their hooded heads were mostly hidden by shadows, but the currents of magic flowing through the air briefly illuminated the large floppy ears poking from under the hoods, the round faces, the spikey teeth. Milo immediately recognized the familiar features. These must be goblins! But why would they be summoning me of all people?
Soon, the ritual finished, filling the chamber with awkward silence.
"This isn't our Evil Overlord," complained one of the figures in a squeaky voice.
"It's just some guy," replied another one, voice filled with disappointment.
"Silence, you fools!" snapped the one in the indigo robes. "We've activated the resurrection circle, just as our Master desired, and it brought him back, just as he foretold!"
In response, another figure picked up a small rock and threw it at his head. "You're the stupid one! Where are his scales? Why aren't his eyes glowing red? This is just a regular human, and a small one at that. He doesn't even have a beard! Are you sure you've read the instructions right?"
"How dare you! I'm the shaman," the leader waved his staff gesturing at his robes. The staff emitted a few sparks. "I'm more literate than all of you put together!"
As the goblins continued bickering, Milo slowly rose to his feet. He was in the middle of a circular room with rough stone walls. On the floor around him, a circle of metal runes and complex shapes carved into the stone. Next to him, his backpack, apparently brought with him during the summoning. Around him, about twelve goblins, some excited, some confused, some angry. Behind the goblins, a spiral staircase leading to a hatch in the ceiling - that must be the exit.
As he stood up, some of the goblins cheered, lifting up their hoods to see better. Others rushed to pick up their spears and pointed them at him.
"The shaman messed up the spell again! Pfft, some shaman!" said a larger, more muscular goblin, to vigorous nods of the others. Then his face lit up with a bright idea "We should eat him! At least we'll get a good meal out of this ordeal."
"Eat who? The guy or the shaman?"
"Why not both? We're hungry, we need more meat for the stew!"
"Yes! We must not abide by such insult to the memory of our dear beloved master. I can't stand such offense, such dishonor! Eat them now!" said a scrawny goblin, eyeing Milo with malice, holding his spear way too close to Milo's face.
Milo really disliked the direction in which this discussion was heading. It would be so disappointing to end up in a goblin stew just minutes after getting transported into a magical world. I''m not letting my adventure end in such a boring way. They want their Master back? No problem.
Milo straightened up, gave the goblins his best condescending look, and spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Be quiet, my minions. You wished to see me again? Well, here I am, gracing you with my presence. You will not dare to speak of putting me into your stew," he stared down the larger goblin, whom he mentally named "the muscle". "You shall follow my orders and obey my commands, and you will have more food than you know what to do with!"
Some goblins cheered, some dropped to their knees, but many still eyed him with suspicion. One of them took off his hood, revealing a chubby head wearing a crown braided from what looked like peacock feathers. "You don't look like our master." he said sternly, "I'm the chief, I don't take orders from the imposters. I cook them, and the treacherous shamans who summoned them. Who are you?"
"Yeah! Chief asked you a question, so answer it, child! Who are you?" said the one who felt offended on behalf of his master. Milo mentally labeled him as a "groupie".
"Who am I? You dare ask who I am?" Milo glanced uncertainly at the shaman, hoping he would take the hint. Come on, buddy, he thought, we're in the same boat, help me out here.
"He is Alatar, of course!" the shaman proclaimed, "The Evil Overlord, the Necromancer Supreme, the Lord of Bones, the Terror of the Realm!"
"You heard him," Milo nodded approvingly. Then he made a guess, and decided to take the risk "I am the one you're sworn to obey, the one who shall bring your tribe the prosperity it deserves! You ask why I no longer look the same? Which one of us is the master of the dark arts and arcane rituals, you or I?"
"You..." the chief mumbled uncertainly.
"Then don't question my methods! I am in this body because I decided it suits my purposes better than my old, decaying one. Now, out of my way!" Milo confidently strode past the goblins holding their spears, carefully moving the sharp tips aside. He walked up the staircase, exiting through the hatch in the ceiling. He heard the confused whispers and mumbling arguments from the goblins who followed behind.
On the other side of the hatch he saw a dark circular room illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the windows. From the shape of the walls and another spiral staircase leading upstairs, Milo guessed that he was on the ground floor of a large tower. The room was grim and dilapidated, the floor littered with debris and broken furniture, the wind howling through the shattered windows. A large crack ran up the stone walls, spider webs stretched across the empty bookshelves and a large stone fireplace. A heavy wooden door led outside.
"Now, out of my tower! I need to rest after my resurrection." Milo commanded.
The goblins looked at each other, at the shaman, at the chief. The chief grumbled, but the shaman bowed to Milo. "Of course, master, as you wish! If you have any inquiries, don't hesitate to call upon me!"
The shaman turned to head out, but, at the last moment, Milo realized something important. "Hold on a second," he called to the shaman. "Don't you have something that belongs to me?"
The shaman visibly hesitated, then reluctantly played along. "Ah, of course, my apologies, Master." He took off his cloak and handed it to Milo, along with the ornate staff and the large tome he was holding.
"How dare you!" exclaimed the groupie. "You just give away our dear master's most prized possessions to this impostor? I was the master's favorite minion for years, I know every hair in his beard, every wrinkle on his face, every mean expression! This is not him! I won't let this stand! If you're truly our beloved overlord, prove it then!"
Some goblins grumbled in agreement. "Yes," said the chief, "we risked so much to sneak into the tower and bring you back because it all turned to ruin after your fall. The goblin tribes are scattered, the orcs have been driven deeper into the jungle, the trolls went back to the mountains, the giant spiders hunt us instead of helping us, the werebear village has been sacked, the kobold tunnels collapsed, even the swamp witch went missing! Humans have reclaimed their lands, and they do not treat goblins kindly. We don't do well without an overlord to serve. Prove you can lead us, show your dreadful powers, or off to the stew cauldron with you!"
Milo put on his most menacing tone and tried to regain the control of the situation. "Rest assured, I am your overlord, and, even in this new body, my terribleness still knows no bounds. I shall reclaim my lands, lead your tribe to glory, and you shall be grateful for the honor of serving me. You desire proof of my dreadful powers? You will have your proof soon enough. But first I must recover from the ritual. Now scram, before I turn you all into mice!"
With that, the goblins hurried to scurry out of the room into the night, and Milo was left there alone, to wonder what the hell has just happened.
This is the end of the first scene! If you want to follow Milo's future adventures, subscribe to the updates in the form below.
