Text Adventure Death Game

Because this is always fun.

Rules are simple. One person makes a command, next person posts a horrible death as a result of that command, and then posts their own command along with it.

Be creative and feel free to twist the interpretation of somebody's words. That's part of the fun!

I'll start us off with:

>Gorblesnatch von Humperdink.

> You attempt to snatch the Humperdinck, and gorble it up. Unfortunately, it turns out you were ill-equipped for your hunting engagement. Instead, it gorbles you up in one bite. You are now dead.

> Get dagger.

> Get dagger.

You jerkily reach up for the dagger, still not quite registering events properly. You were going to monologue! What kind of asshole attacks when you're about to monologue? What the hell kind of hero uses throwing knives!?

You dislodge the blade from your jugular, look at it curiously, and die of rapid blood loss.



> Be the other guy.

> Be the other guy.

Bullseye! How dare that fool attempt to break out in a monologue when you're the hero! Serves him right.

However, as you reflect on your rather un-heroic actions you realize what you've done is reprehensible and commit seppuku. With a garden gnome.


> Ooh, free garden gnome!

> Ooh, free garden gnome!

You unlatch the heavy iron gate and let it swing open. You are filled with a sense of immense satisfaction as the garden gnome stumbles blinking into the light after so long trapped inside this awful metal prison.

Unfortunately for you this sense of self satisfaction is short lived as the gnome produces a fist full of daggers and leaps at you, sinking those daggers into your legs. As you go to knock him off he slices at your hand and continues to scale your body. You collapse to the floor and he makes short work of his saviour.

Slipping into the darkness, you guess there was a reason he was locked up after all.

> Sell those fine leather jackets.

You sell those fine leather jackets. Your business is quite successful.

However, unbeknownst to you, your leather jackets are sentient. And they don't appreciate being sold into slavery.

One night, as you're doing inventory after hours, they assault you in a desperate bid for freedom. They tear you apart without mercy.

>make popcorn

You put the popcorn in the microwave. It's going quite well, until you realize that you left a metal spoon in the bowl you were microwaving the kernels in! And what's worse, you think you accidentally put two bags inside instead of just one

Before you can flee, the microwave violently explodes, taking out the entire apartment building. Your blood and bile replaces the butter you would have drizzled atop the mountain of snackery.

> PS: Determine cause of death.

You quickly scramble to your PHILOSOFA, flop down, and commence with the encogitating. What did cause Death? Well, you suppose, most likely his parents. But then, what caused them? Obviously, you realize, mere moments later, it must've been Death's grandparents. But then, what caused them? A few more moments later (longer than the first pause, for there are twice as many causes to consider), you come to the (frankly obvious) assumption that it was Death's great-grandparents.

O(log(inf)) later, you're discovered dead, killed by an infinite loop and acute parentheses poisoning.

> Horribly die

Your death scene was far too over-the-top and didn't come across as believable. The reviews are uniformly devastating. There is an overwhelming consensus among the other actors that you screwed it up and ruined the entire play.

Your acting career is ruined. Your hopes are dashed. You can't bear this at all. What good is your life if you can't be on stage?

So you end it. You decide, for artistic reasons, to recreate the very death scene you were panned for. Perhaps you could not succeed at it in life, but you can succeed in death.

You set up a video camera and stage the death. When your body is found, the tape is examine as evidence.

Unfortunately, the critics were just as unimpressed with this performance as with the original. Gods, it's as if you didn't learn a damned thing.

>Fail to learn a damned thing.

In a desperate bid to win over the critics, you use the forbidden powers of the ancients and resurrect yourself to have another go.

Your death scene was far too over-the-top and didn't come across as believable. The reviews are uniformly devastating. There is an overwhelming consensus among the other actors that you screwed it up and ruined the entire play.

Your acting career is ruined. Your hopes are dashed. You can't bear this at all. What good is your life if you can't be on stage?

So you end it. You decide, for artistic reasons, to recreate the very death scene you were panned for. Perhaps you could not succeed at it in life, but you can succeed in death.

You set up a video camera and stage the death. When your body is found, the tape is examine as evidence.

Unfortunately, the critics were just as unimpressed with this performance as with the original. Gods, it's as if you didn't learn a damned thing.

> Learn a damned thing.

At last, you have read all five volumes of the epic work on demon summoning by Rudominus the Impious. Well, okay, you skimmed them; who has time to read all that? Demon summoning is, of course, an art condemned by the gods themselves, a damned thing, if you will, but it is a thing you always wanted to learn.

And now it's time to put it into practice. Inscribing the appropriate pentagram and burning the requisite incense, you begin the incantation to bring to you a marrow demon from the fifth circle of hell, bound to your service for all eternity.

As you instead somehow end up summoning a demonic elephant shrew that promptly tears your throat out, it occurs to you in your last moments of life that maybe you should have read the books a little more closely...

>READ THE BOOKS CLOSELY

You open the first book and press your face to the page. Yes sir, you are reading these books very closely indeed.

Suddenly, the Book Mimic snaps shut, biting your face off! Maybe you shouldn't have kept it so close.

>slay Book Mimics

Your quest has taken you long and far, but you've finally done it. After years of fighting and searching, only one Book Mimic remains alive. You smile as you draw the flaming blade to your own binding, and slice yourself cleanly in two.

> Criticize obvious twist.

"Eurgh. I can't believe you just pulled the old 'last-of-my-kind-time-to-off-myself' chestnut."

Guy whimpered a bit as I affixed him with my best condescending glare. I sighed, tossing his manuscript and hopes and dreams aside.

"Really, I get pulp like this all the time from all manner of novices trying to be original, and please don't take this too personally, Mr Guy," I continued, pulling a revolver from my desk drawer, "but we are a respectable publishing house. In the interests of furthering literary enlightenment everywhere, I'm afraid I can't leave a tripe-spewing philistine like yourself alive."

I smiled a bit. "Any last words, sir? If you manage a single nugget of insight, we might get a sub-editor to posthumously edit you into our next critically acclaimed novel. Without crediting you, but that was a given."

"Uh- uh, I think you committed a cardinal sin of writing, yourself!"

"Oh?"

"Blatant self-insertion."

I reflected upon that for a moment, then nodded slowly and put the gun to my own temple.

"Well played, sir. Well played."

> Be hoist by your own petard.

...But not played well enough.

As Schazer's finger closes on the trigger, the edges of your vision curl and blacken into nothingness, like a page being set aflame. A written world cannot sustain itself without a writer. Everything slows down, prematurely crumbling to ash and dust as the universe nears the moment of her death - the one moment that a writer can never record.

And you're stuck in her written world with her.

It's so slow, you can hear the sharp click come first.

She smiles grimly.

BANG.

The universe's linchpin has shattered.



The universe slips off of reality,




and shatters on the floor









and you never existed at all.



> Pause to say a one-liner.

The head scientist depresses the button, activating the most amazing thing to reach science. You're not too sure what it exactly is, but it is quite awesome in the literal sense. Your wit getting the best of you, you smoothly say, "I doubt that in this lab, there will ever be a..." take off your shades, and attempt to continue with "dull moment" before the massive UV rays get into your eyes through the absence of UV-blocking glasses and permanently blind you.

You shriek and stumble, falling onto the switch labeled "Blast Door Control." The only physical barrier between your co-workers and the mass of energy opens up and everyone in the room is instantly burnt to a crisp.

>Fund the making of said mass of energy

One hundred.

Two hundred.

Three hundred. Man these bills are crisp.

Four hundred.

Five hundred.

Six oops paper cut! Smarts. Six Hundred.

Seven Hundred.

Eight Hundred.

Nine Hundred. Wow these bills are actually really crisp.

One thousand!

Okay Here you go! You know I have a lot more of these laying around...I wonder...I bet that they would make and AWESOME CEREAL! It would be just like Coco Crispies, Rice Crispies, BENJAMIN CRISPIES!

Let me get my milk! Oh man this is the best idea ever I am so hungry.

Ugh. *cough* Kinda scratches going down. *cough* *cough* oh man yikes is that blood? Oh...oh god I can feel them in my stomach...they're they're STILL CRISP. THEY'RE TOO CRISP.

AGGUH! Curse my gastrointestinal muscles! THESE RAZOR BLADE BILLS ARE CHURNING IN MY STOMACH.

NO MY FRAGILE STOMACH LINING! I NEED THAT TO KEEP ALL THAT ACID AT BAY!

OH GOD THEY CUT THROUGH THE WALLS OF MY STOMACH! ACID IS BURNING MY ORGANS FROM THE INSIDE!

OH NOOO. MY SKIN MY SKIN IS ON FIRE UNDERNEATH. THE ACID IS EATING ITS WAY THROUGH MY FLESH. OH GOD ITS BILE AND BLOOD ALL DRIPPING OUT!

NO MY INTESTINES ARE EXPOSED TO THE AIR. THEY'RE SWELLING UP AND EVISCERATING. EVISCERATING IS WHEN THEY START POURING OUT OF YOUR BODY.

I CAN SEE A BILL. THERE IS A BILL STILL IN MY INTESTINE. NO IT IS SLICING IT AS IT MAKES ITS WAY DOWN. DAMN MY SPECTACULAR INTESTINAL MUSCULATURE. ALL MY FOOD IS POURING OUT OF ME.

NO MY MILK!

WHY! WHY DID I COAT THESE BILLS WITH RAZOR SHARP DIAMONDS? I COULD HAVE JUST USED REGULAR BILLS.

> Use regular bills.