You awake in a dim, dark place, with no memory of how you got there. It is damp in here, and smells of mold, decay and human waste. You are cold. To your horror, you discover that your right arm is shackled, attached by a chain to the wall. On the far wall of the cell is a door made of iron bars—an almost cartoonish jail cell, you reflect—and beyond that is a dim, flickering light.
Listening, you hear the sounds of moaning echo from farther down the hall.
Do you: Try to remove the restraint; or yell out to the other voice?
Suddenly, everything goes quiet. You hear the sound of a heavy wooden chair scraping against the floor, and massive, lumbering footsteps coming towards you. Suddenly, the dim light at the end of the cell is completely obliterated in shadow. You see a monstrous outline of a creature clearly not human—perhaps nine feet tall, with massive horns like a bull and a long lizard tail—standing on the other side of cell. In it’s massive hands is a long, deadly looking dagger.
“Oh, it’s you,” the creature snorts. “I guess you finally decided to wake up. Not that you’ll have long to enjoy it.”
Do you: Ask where you are, and how you came to be here; or ask about that moaning noise?
The monster eyes you cautiously, and then looks down the hall, as if checking to see if anyone is listening.
“Oh ... that,” he says reluctantly. “That was me.”
You ask him what he was moaning about, hoping perhaps to buy yourself a little time. Hesitantly, he shrugs.
“It’s this job,” he moans. “I never wanted to torture people. Certainly not strange little ones we found in the SWAMP OF MAGICAL TERROR like you. My life isn’t working out like I’d hoped it would at all.”
You ask him what he hoped he’d be.
“Do you really want to know? ... *snif* ... I wanted to be an artist. Mother always said I had a sensitive soul.” The monster then starts to moan a little, and you can see him wiping tears from his glowing red eyes. “I’m sorry ... I’m sorry. It’s just so lonely here. I have visitors, of course, but usually, they’re too busy screaming in soul-extinguishing pain to really hold up their end of the conversation.
Do you: Ask about the SWAMP OF MAGICAL TERROR; or offer him a hug?
You offer to give the creature a hug. To your slight surprise, he seems delighted at the idea.
“I haven’t had a hug in years!” he beams, opening the cell door with a massive iron key from a sturdy-looking keyring. Striding into the cell, his musky, ox-like odor filling the room, you note that he resembles a cross between a mythical minotaur and some kind of dinosaur. He immediately grabs you in a bear hug, his hot, snorting breath burning your neck, his sour tears like drops of acid on your skin.
“This is great,” he says. “Just what I needed. Maybe after I’m done torturing you later, we can do this again.”
Your left hand is free, and you notice a large dagger in a sheath on his belt.
Do you: Try to convince him not to torture you; grab the dagger and plunge it into his neck?
You deftly grab the dagger from the creature’s belt, and with a single, clean movement, drive it home deeply into its throat. Its already painful hug becomes a crushing death-spasm, and a great geyser of blood explodes from the wound, covering you in thick, foul-smelling ichor. Soon, however, the beast’s grip grows limp, and it slumps onto the floor. With a final heave of effort, the monster forces out a final phrase.
“That was a crappy way to end a hug ...”
On the monster’s keyring, you find a tiny key that fits into the lock of your manacles. You free yourself easily, and decide to pocket the dagger and the remaining keys. Nothing else on the monster’s body is useful, either being too large to carry or too covered in stinking, syrupy gore to be useful. You are still covered in blood.
The door to the cell is open. Looking outside: To the left, you see a long corridor filled with cells, ending in a staircase going up; to the right, you see a few more cells and a large, sturdy looking door with what appears to be a symbol of a skull painted in it.
