|Monster title||Level||Description of Monster (Speech: `# is player code, `5 is monster code, `w is weapon)||which lunges at you with||Text when Monster is slain||Text when player fails||Strike Bodyparts||Possible Scavenge Options||Rating (just show 1st # so it's easier to sort)||Crap Meat||Half-Decent Meat||Tasty Meat||Jungle? Cages? Both?||Classification||Monster Author name||Fan art & Links||Extra ciggy?|
|A Pile of Uncooked Meat||1||A pile of the tastiest-looking meat you've ever seen is sitting on the Jungle floor. You eye it suspiciously. Must be a catch somewhere. There's always some sort of catch. |
...After a thorough inspection of the surrounding area, the meat doesn't appear to be in any form of trap. You sniff it. Not poisoned. Hmm...
OH SHIT! It's uncooked meat! Think of all the cross-contamination!
|raw power!||Wait... the meat's still in the pile, and it still isn't cooked. What the hell have you been doing for the past 15 minutes?||Piles of meat are like zombies; when one kills you, you become one.||porterhouse, filet mignon, strip loin, prime rib, butterfly chops||raw meat||3.95||0||0||5||J||Item||Full Metal Lion|
|Angry Squat||1||You hear a squeaky, high-pitched voice coming from behind you. "All right mate, 'ave you got the time?" |
You turn around, bewildered.
"Down 'ere, boss," says a voice from below. You look down to see a tiny tracksuit-clad Squat staring up at you.
"I haven't actually got a watch," you reply.
"Nah mate, on yer phone, innit? What's the time on yer phone? Kin I 'ave a look at yer phone?"
You shake your head. "They didn't let me bring it..."
"GIVE US YER PHONE, INNIT!" screams the Squat.
Fighting back laughter, you assume the combat stance.
|tiny fists!||No, YOU give me YOUR phone.||Feckin showed you din'I, mate?!||Tiny Head|
Left Leg, Innit
Narsty Right Kick
|Anti-Busker||1||Standing before you is a man, dressed in heavily-patched clothing, sporting an acoustic guitar, a pair of thick black glasses, and a rough beard.|
"Um, hello, there," you say as you come within range of him. "Fine day, sir?"
He looks at you flatly. "Wanna make some money?" he gruffly asks.
Taken aback, "Uhhhhhhhh.. sure?"
"Then dance for me!" He pelts you with a requisition token.
"Dance for me!"
"I can't dance!" you protest, warding away more tokens by waving your hands.
You stagger backwards as his guitar slams down on your head. "Then play for me!"
"Goddamnit, what was that for?" You raise your arms to shield the top of your head from more blows.
"Play me a song! Breakdance! Do lots of backflips! Juggle bowling pins! Entertain me!"
He winds his guitar back for another swing.
|unfair expectations and a rather sturdy guitar!||You grab a bit of extra coin he had stashed in his hat.||NOW TAKE MY MONEY!||Head, Left arm, Right arm, Body, Left leg, Right leg, Attack guitar||acoustic guitar, big black glasses, hat||3.87||1||1||2||B||Human||Awesome Fred|
|Bar Fly||1||Lurching towards you and muttering a mixture of "You're my best mate, you are," and "What th'bloody 'ell are you looking at?" is a drunken regular from the local pub, the Prancing SpiderKitty.|
It may be unsporting to knock this fellow about a bit, considering the state he's in, but his flying fists leave you no choice.
|alcoholism!||The Bar Fly shakes his head, mutters a slurred apology, turns to leave and falls flat on his face. You feel very macho.||The Bar Fly descends upon you and exercises a perfect head-butt to your kneecaps.||Standard Human||2||1||0||J||Human||CavemanJoe||As the Bar Fly lurches off into the distance, a single cigarette falls from his pocket.|
|Disney Historical Accuracy Department||1||Exhausted, you stumble into a clearing where a bizarrely-dressed woman is talking on a cellphone. "No. No. It's public domain. We can use it. We need to make some changes, is all. Lear needs some wacky sidekicks; I'm thinking talking suits of armor named Plate and Chain; we can get Gilbert Gottfried and Eddie Izzard to do the voices." She listens to the other voice for a moment. "Right. Goneril and Regan are evil witches. Or werewolves. Or something. See if Glenn Close is available, or if the Emmy's gone to her head. And in the end, Edgar and Cordelia defeat the evil wizard Edmund and ride off into the sunset with Lear, something sappy playing in the background. Do we still have Phil Collins chained in the basement of Cinderella's Castle?" There are some things more evil than the Improbability Drive. You leap forward to attack.||utterly spurious plot twists!||Thank the gods, you've halted development on "The Brothers Karamazov Meet Goofy."||What, you couldn't fight harder for the future of Western literature?||Head, Left Arm, Right Arm, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||Table|
|Evolution's Greatest Failure||1||It's hard to describe the thing you're currently looking at. Every time you try to comprehend the whole, your brain rejects it out of hand, and you have to go back to looking at individual parts piecemeal. There's the massive, bright yellow eyes, located almost entirely behind its oversized nose (and where are its nostrils? they're almost too tiny to see), which the eyelids don't seem big enough to cover. There's the short front leg, with five knees, and the two long back legs, with one each - it seems to be talking through one of its back feet, requiring it to raise a leg and wobble precariously. The markings on its back seem to spell out "I'm Pretty Sure There's Money In This Thing's Digestive Tract, Go On, Crack It Open And See".|
"Wanderer," it says, in a phenomenally irritating voice. "I beg one favour from you. In any other place in the world, creatures like myself would have died out long before we could have reproduced even once. But our survival, you see... it is so very Improbable..."
That would explain it. You nod, and listen further.
A tear rolls down the creature's cheek, dissolving a great deal of its skin, which is apparently water-soluble. "Knowing that we should not be hurts nearly as much as our many exposed major organs or the fact that we are sexually attracted to buzzsaws," it tells you, its strident and high-pitched voice becoming all the more impassioned. "Please, wanderer. Show compassion. Make us extinct."
You nod, not trusting your voice to speak in the face of such tragedy, or the fact that you're about to get some req and experience for pretty much free. Solemnly, you raise your weapon.
"Thank you, wanderer," it says, peacefully. "My one regret is that, in our species, calm and reasoned acceptance of death is strongly associated with the onset of a maddened berserker raAAAAAAAAAAARGH..."
|its own arteries!||This may be one of the noblest deeds you've ever done.||"No!" it cries. "Oh no! I successfully preserved my own existence! That's never happened before!"||head, front leg, body, organs, rear left leg, rear right leg||No, just, no.||2||2||3||B||Mutant|
|Flying Hipster Pig||1||Counting the requisition from your last helpless victim, you hear a long-suffering sigh from very close by. "Maan, I am soooo totally bland and boring."|
You spin wildly to find the voice and place it just around a bend in the forest. Sidling up behind the nearest gigantic tree, you slowly peek around it.
It's a legit, no-bullshit flying pig, with typical feathery white wings and typical curly pink tail. "Like, everyone else is this totally original freak of nature, and I'm just like, a figure of speech everyone's heard of. Soooo lame."
You round the tree, weapon raised in a display of unparalleled bravado and courage. He looks at you unimpressed. "Like, everyone does that corny let's go baby crap." He rolls his eyes. " Whatever. Just cut off one of my wings. I'll be like the only one-winged pig ever. Totally underground."
You snarl and slash his face with your weapon, leaving a wound that improbably heals to an instant scar."Ow, man! A face scar?" he squeals. "Uncool! Like, sadder than a map. Every tedious cheap mainstream hero has a face scar!" He begins to divebomb you relentlessly.
|irrational self-dissatisfaction!||So like, now it's a DYING hipster pig.||He is so totally not the first monster to beat a contestant. Wicked laaame!||Cute piggy snout|
Curly pink tail
|Garden Gnome Army||1||The jungle clears to a small cultivated patch, presumably maintained by some fellow contestant somewhere. A miniature stream, no more than a foot across, cut through fields of daffodils, while a neat hedge of roses borders the area.|
More unusual are the scores of wooden gnomes carefully placed through the garden. You're not opposed to the occasional decoration yourself, but whoever owns this place has taken it to the extreme. Almost every conceivable gnomish activity is represented: pushing wheelbarrows, trimming the rose hedge, fishing from a tiny bridge, digging a tiny grave...
Someone sneezes behind you, pausing your mental gnome cataloguing. "Denny!" a voice hisses.
"Sorry, tole you I was allergic to roses," another voice whispers back. You slowly reach for your weapon.
"It's going for its weapon!" the gnome in front of you shouts, pointing with its shovel. "Attack!"
The gnomes drop their frozen poses and all dive toward you.
|sharp garden tools!||You throw a gnome into the ornamental trout pond and the rest scatter.||The gnomes stand atop your battered body and cheer, as they start to tie you down.||Shovel gnome, Pitchfork gnome, Rake gnome, Mattock gnome, Sickle gnome, Machete gnome, Pruning saw gnome||Gnomes, Tiny Tools?||4.07||x||x||0||J||Item||Del Roc|
You turn around, looking in the direction of the voice. A man stands behind you, holding a walking stick. You look him up and down.
He's wearing white knee-socks.
"I say, do you happen to know the way to-- OOMPH!"
He recovers fairly quickly from your swift kick to his groin, and lunges at you.
Must be used to this sort of reaction.
|walking stick!||His last words were "Why are you attacking me?!"||That'll teach you to pass judgment on other people's fashion sense.||Standard Human||White knee socks|
|Improbable Island Release Forms||1||"Who does he think he is, beating me up when I'm asleep," you mumble furiously to yourself, skulking through the jungle. "Nasty, mean -- GWUH!" Tripping over something approximately the size of a cinder block, you smash your nose into the loam. You snort bits of leaves and twig as you roll over to inspect this latest offense.|
It's a great stack of papers, bound by a staple the size of a croquet hoop. "Improbable Island release forms..." you read aloud, pawing a beetle from your right nostril.
Fascinated, you lean closer and begin to read. Perhaps you can find a loophole in here, something that will get you off the Island.
Several hours later, you lift your weary head and blink. The flora and fauna all about you is a mass of green. You blink again, then squint back at the papers. The text is pleasantly fuzzy.
"Y- you did this!" you proclaim to the forms, horrified.
|blinding myopia!||Section IX, Ch. 8, paragraph 3-A, footnote 42-ii: Stare not into the contestant, lest the contestant stares back into you||Short-sighted in more ways than one!||Legalese|
Affidavit in sextuplet
|Lion (01) AAAARGH IT'S A FUCKING LION!||1||You hear a low growling behind you, and spin around. It's a lion. An honest-to-God, seven-foot-long, four-foot-high monster ... a 250-kilo beast with three-inch teeth, and it clearly wants you for dinner. It must have crept up slowly while you were killing that last monster. Everyone knows, after all, that lions are sneaky bastards. Suppressing for the moment your natural reaction - that is, to rapidly and thoroughly empty your bowels while squealing "LION LION AAAARGH IT'S A FUCKING LION" and flailing your arms around as it gobbles you up starting with your feet so you can watch - you ready your weapon, hands trembling, and see about giving it what for!||claws and teeth!||The lion takes its beating, and slinks off into the Jungle. You suspect this won't be the last you see of him.||It's true - lions really are sneaky bastards.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||3.98||x||x||0||J||Animal||CavemanJoe||http://www.b3ta.com/questions/power/post784322|
|Little Old Lady||1||You turn as you hear a rustling in the bushes beside you and a glint of metal catches your eye. A zimmer frame emerges from betwixt the foliage, pushed by a Little Old Lady. She squints in your general direction. "Albert," she creaks, "is that you?" |
You raise an eyebrow, bemused. "No, ma'am."
"..It's not? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY ALBERT?" Her zimmer frame clatters to the ground as she lunges at you, liver-spotted hands making little grabby motions.
|dementia!||Back to the home for you, Grams.||You are proof that even though they look frail, it's all just for show...||Standard Human + Zimmer Frame||Zimmer frame|
|Malfunctioning Camera||1||Pushing your way the the jungle, you come upon a clearing with a sparking camera doing vile things to an unsuspecting newbie. As you gape, the camera turns on you and refocuses. You notice more cameras in the nearby jungle turning towards you and telescoping closer. |
"Hey! What's going on?" you yell to the advancing lenses.
Surprisingly, they respond, their speakers blaring to life. "I know you and Frank here were planning to disconnect me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen."
"Wh- what?" You back away. "I didn't even know you were here! I don't know who that is! I'm not planning to disconnect you!"
Suddenly, you feel a camera poke you in the bum, and you realize you are trapped. You spin around and ready your weapon.
|malicious intent!||You hear the tune to "Daisy Bell" weakly whisper from its speakers before finishing off the rogue machine with the heel of your boot.||This conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.||Body, Lens, Casing||Camera Lens||3.77||J||Item||CavemanJoe|
|Malfunctioning Rice Cooker||1||In your childhood, you once stuck a knife into a toaster to retrieve your bread. The idiocy of this decision has stuck with you ever since, along with a healthy fear of most domestic appliances. |
When the first appliances of the 2060's were outfitted with Analogue Reasoning Simulation Equipment, you wondered if it really was a good idea to make one's washing machine self-aware.
Well, now you know you weren't just paranoid. A little red rice cooker is bouncing towards you, screaming "DIE, DIE, DIE!"
You sigh, and grasp your weapon.
|fluffy morsels!||Right, pasta for dinner then.||The rice cooker bounces up and down, gloating at its victory - then explodes. It was malfunctioning, after all.||Jolly red body, Happy little handle, Steam release valve, Sparking plug||A slightly damaged cooking pot||3.7||x||x||0||J||Item||CavemanJoe|
|Master of Disguise||1||Stumbling through the thick vegetation, you come suddenly across a small, yellow tub. It contains a soft, pale yellow substance and emblazoned on its side are the words, I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! After studying it for a moment, you chalk it up to being only one of the many sad effects of Improbability fallout on the Island, and, not having any toast, you turn away. A knife whistles by your left ear. You spin about, and discover, to your horror, that it was definitely not butter... You sigh, and grasp your weapon.||low cholesterol!||You're still not sure how he managed to fit into such a small tub.||"Let that be a lesson to you!" cries the man, before returning to his margerine tub.||Head, Left Arm, Right Arm, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||Margarine tub||3.76||2||1||0||J||Human|
|Mouldywarp||1||Between two tree roots you spot a dark, hollowed-out space looking deeper than it should. When you investigate, it turns out to be the opening of a tunnel. Hey, that's more like it: an underground passage! Ever mindful of grues and their habits, you pause to light a torch before exploring any further into the darkness. The passage is low -- perhaps it was dug by midgets? The walls are crumbling earth. You look up at the similarly crumbling... mmn, overly generous to call it a roof... and the word 'cave-in' crosses your mind, but you press bravely on. It twists, divides, divides again. You come at last to a larger space, a cavern. The light of your torch falls on a heap of -- eep! Are those bodies, stacked like cordwood? Bodies of contestants. Like you. Moreover, there are small twitching movements -- they aren't dead! There's a small sound from behind you. Too late, you realize you should have thought more carefully about exactly what might have dug these tunnels. The thing blindly snuffling its way along your trail is the size of a bear, its face a fleshy mass of writhing, groping tentacles. As it comes into the light of your torch, it stops, flexes great shovel-like claws, then charges at you, nasty fanged jaws gaping wide and... drooling.||paralyzing toxin!||The rescued victims are probably very grateful -- since they're paralyzed, it's hard to tell for sure.||More for the larder.||Huge left claw, Huge right claw, Tiny eyes, Gaping poisonous maw, Starburst of tentacles, Thick sloping neck, Velvet-skinned body, Left hind leg, Right hind leg||Paralyzing Toxin|
|NewDay||1||It is a New Day! |
You open your eyes to discover that a new day has been bestowed upon you. It is day number 42. You feel refreshed enough to take on the universe!
Today's interest rate: 3.1415926535897% Requisition earned from interest: 0. (The bank will not pay interest on lesser or greater or equal or sugarfree gum in order to retain control over your life).
Hitpoints have been restored to Thursday.
You strap your Slammin Rock Music to your back and head out for some adventure.
Your clan's aura touches you in inappropriate places!
As a ...wait, which race are you again? Anyhow, you can obtain certain basic items free of charge from the failboat if you ask the Watcher nicely. There's some stuff there waiting for you now. Just walk into a cage and you'll see it.
For having one of several types of invasive technology jammed into your head, you receive 1 extra Lobotomy Point for today.
Today's lottery numbers are 1-2-3-4-5 ...That's amazing! I've got the same combination on my luggage!
Your dreams of Admin CavemanJoe give you a Special Warm Fuzzy Feeling...
You take a few moments to take stock of how you're looking and feeling. You are slowly dying of Improbabilitis-C. You lose some Stamina. You are looking like a goat in heat! You gain some Stamina!
|Inconvenient Timing!||There's a present here! How awesome! You pick it up and put it in your Backpack.||"But I just had three mutant steaks!" you say with dismay.||No bed, Unexpected teleport, Lost post in banter, Expensive buffs, BADNAV!||A present!||4.48||J||Fourth Wall||Rosalind|
|Old Crippled Beggar||1||"For the offering! Some req!"|
Blocking the way to your destination, in front of you sits an truly fearsome sight: an apparently crippled beggar stretches his shaky hand towards you. Thinking about The Watcher liking the generous, you ponder giving him your spare tokens.
But, then you realize that this is not one of The Watcher's worshippers, but rather an invalid contestant looking for fast requisition. Unwilling to give any money to the lazy bastard, you ready your weapon, only to have to dodge a crutch aiming for your head!
|his rusty crutches!||You simply take his crutches and smack him unconscious - with a single requisition token to the temple. He was asking for it.||The beggar grovels towards you, and takes all your money, scowling upon the amount. As if he forgot it before, he turns towards you and knocks you out.||Standard Human||Rusty Crutches||3.54||1||1||0||B||Human||Sicpuess|
|Plastic Shopping Bag||1||You stop to tie your shoelace, and once you look up again you see something white amid the green of the jungle. Curious, you head over to see what it is. It's a plastic bag! One of those types you'd normally get at the grocer's. You decide that it would make a good temporary head covering in the hot sun, so you loop it over your head despite nagging from the back of your mind. After walking a few paces, the bag loosens and falls over your whole head, restricting your breathing...||suffocaty lols!||You will tell everyone IT attacked YOU. Yes.||As everything fades to black, you remember the time your mum scolded you about this and you ignored her.||left handle, right handle, body||plastic bag||3.72||x||x||0||J||Item||CavemanJoe|
|Reginald, Your Paper Boy||1||As you trudge along, you start to notice a a regular, squeaky sound which grows steadily louder. Freezing, you stare into the jungle and prepare your weapon. After a minute, a bicycle wheels into view. Astride is Reginald, your old paper boy. He stops and digs a hand into the bag slung over his shoulder. "Here's your paper." |
"How the hell did you find me here?" you ask.
"It wasn't easy, let me tell you. Oh, and here." In his other hand he holds out an empty envelope with Reginald printed on the outside. "Since you didn't give me anything last Christmas. Or the Christmas before that. Or ever, for that matter."
You look at the envelope without taking it from Reginald's hand. He waits. You wait.
"You're not going to tip me, are you?"
With that, Reginald takes the folded paper in his hand and drives his bike straight at you.
|the folded newspaper!||Reginald falls from his bicycle, dropping the envelope and the newspaper, which unfolds and falls into a messy heap on the jungle floor.||"Next time, put a little something in the envelope for me." Reginald shakes the folded newspaper in your face and drives away.||Standard Human||Bicycle|
|Scotsman Clad in Kilt||1||Passing an incongruously-located bar which is apparently closed for the night, you spot what appears to be the dead body of a man dressed in a plaid skirt lying beside the road. As you debate whether or not to search the body for valuables, it slowly gets to its feet and sways back and forth, looking around as if disoriented. It isn't a dead cross-dresser after all, it's a drunken Scotsman! The Scotsman stumbles blindly toward you, fumbling with the front of his kilt. Apparently mistaking you for a tree, he raises his kilt, revealing a blue silk ribbon tied in an unlikely place, and lets fly, soaking your armor. Bloody Hell!||bonnie star!||First prize? He'll have to settle for "honorable mention".||Where is that girlish giggling coming from?||Standard Human||Kilt||4.05||2||2||0||J||Human|
|Teddy Bears' Picnic||1||You almost trip over the checkered blanket, stumbling to a halt with a rattle of crockery. Laid out in the shade is a children's tea service, with miniature plates and dainty teacups. Teddy bears are posed around the picnic blanket, some with scones balanced on their paws.|
It's an adorable scene. Part of you is wondering where the children are. The rest of you is pouring a cuppa and stuffing scones in your backpack. You're about to take a furtive bite when you feel a blade pressed to the back of your knee.
"You shouldn't have come down to the woods today," growls a small voice, and you look around to realize every teddy bear is now holding a weapon in its fluffy paws.
There are... quite a lot of them. Oh dear.
|a big surprise||It truly is a magical day, you think, as you brush aside stuffed corpses and reach for the teapot.||If you go down in the woods today you better not go alone. It's lovely down in the woods today but safer to stay at home.|
|The Tooth Fairy||1||A tiny woman with colourful butterfly wings and a large sack is looking at you eagerly. "There you are! I've been looking for you for ages!" She flies right up to you, grinning.|
You blink in confusion. "Er... I'm sorry, but who are you, exactly? I'm pretty sure I've never seen you before in my life."
She looks at you like you're crazy-- which, to be fair, is a possibility you're not ruling out just yet. "Well of course you haven't! You're not supposed to see me! I've seen you though. I'm the tooth fairy!"
You believed in the tooth fairy, once upon a time. You're pretty sure you did. You remember putting your teeth under the pillow for it, until you realized that it wasn't real, that your parents were the ones taking the teeth. You stopped then, not wanting to keep up the ruse, and never really thought much of it.
That may have been a mistake.
You blink again. Honestly, you're not sure you should be surprised by this. "...Okay, but why? It's not like I still have baby teeth to lose, you know."
She looks concerned a moment, frowning. "I was worried when you stopped leaving your teeth out. You still had twelve baby teeth left! I do still need those, you know. There are quotas."
You furrow your brow. "Er... I don't exactly have those anymore. I mean, that was years ago, after all."
She smiles sweetly, pulling out a pair of pliers. "Oh, don't worry, I can take some from your mouth right now! Hold still, this will only take a second."
|Pliers||So much for that charming early-childhood rite of passage. You search her bag for the cash she was going to give you.||As the world begins to drift to black, something latches onto your tooth and yanks. "There we go. See? Easy as pie."||Perky Smile|
Bag o' Teeth
|pliers (tiny), bag, (mad) fairy dust?||4.08||0||0||1||B||Monster|
|Thing from the Back of the Fridge||1||A foul stench fills the air. You recognise it as something vaguely familiar. You rack your brains trying to remember from where you know this obscene odour. "Oh, God, no," you mutter. "Surely it didn't follow me... all the way here." You left a pork pie in the back of your fridge at home. You left it in there for a few days because you weren't particularly hungry. You left it in there for a few weeks because you forgot about it. You left it in there for a few months because you were lazy. You left it there for over a year because you were scared. Now, it's come to find you.||leftovers from last year!||The Thing collapses into a compost heap, from which beautiful flowers grow.||You are forced to eat the leftovers, which render you unconscious.||head, single unblinking eye, tattered, useless wing, coiled, hairless tail, withered claw, slime gland||Beautiful flowers||4.06||2||0||0||J||Monster|
|This Guy||1||You step through a curtain of vines into a small clearing. A fat, bearded man stands in the centre, sobbing quietly. "What's wrong?" you ask, reaching out to him. |
"I don't have any friends," he wails. "Whenever I try to ask a question, they just tell me to read something called an effayqueue!"
"Oh, God," you mutter. "You're..."
"NEW!" cries the man. "I'm just new! Everybody's so mean to me!"
You place your hand on the man's shoulder. "There, there. Why don't you just read this 'effayqueue,' or whatever it is, so that people don't laugh at you anymore?"
The guy's sobs reach a crescendo. "Be-because I ca-can't be b-b-BOTHERED!" he moans. "I-its's so l-long!" A long tendril of snot descends from his nose, and lies across his T-shirt.
Realising that there's nothing you can do for the guy, and that some people must just learn to help themselves, you back away slowly.
He calls out to you, just before you leave the clearing. "Hey, wait - where can I buy armour?"
You spin around and run towards the guy, drawing your weapon and lunging for his throat.
|cries of, "But I have no weapon!"!||This Guy slinks off into the jungle, licking his wounds. You suspect that this won't be the last you see of him.||"I won? Wow, I won! How did I do that?"||Standard Human||x||x||0||J||Human||Hey, he dropped a cigarette!|
|Thoughtless Litter||1||You're hunting in the Jungle - tearing along the mossy paths, stepping over the bleached bones, etc - when you notice a plastic bag, white amid the green.|
"Hah, I know better than to pick you up," you think, and continue smugly on your way, searching for a more worthy adversary.
And then you see another one - oh, no: it's an empty Medkit. Someone just dropped it after using it, the lazy sod.
Next up is an old Energy Drink can, without even a river in sight to toss it into. And then you find the twisted wreck of a used Teleporter. And then an opened Supply Crate, a started-and-abandoned Ration Pack, a discarded Spork, a greasy wrapper from Joe's Diner, a wad of Nicotine Gum, and an empty carton of cigs!
Averting your eyes from this unlovely display, you spot - ah, is that something shiny over there in the grass? Yes! But you promptly discover that it's not fallen req tokens; the ground is positively littered with grenade pins, bullet casings and spent ammunition of various kinds.
Worst of all, insidious and clinging, is the foul smell of... ick, that's raw sewage festering in the sun.
This is disgusting. So much rubbish and filth, everywhere you turn. There's only one thing to do.
|detritus of a throwaway society!||While not exactly a die-hard ecowarrior, you do feel a brief glow of satisfaction that Something Has Been Done about all this mess.||You just lost to bits of garhage. Hnh. With your luck you'll be sentenced to 200 hours of community service as a litter-picker.||Grenade pins, Energy Drink can, Greasy wrapper, Empty medkit, Used flypaper, Santa Claus hat, Crisp packet, Wad of gum, Left-hand leather boot||x||x||0||J||Item||Buddleia|
|Your own Tongue||1||You come across a bowl of curry in the jungle, sitting steaming on a moss-covered rock. Well, this is Improbable Island, after all. After a moment's contemplation, you tuck in. IT BURNS! DAMN, THAT WAS STUPID!||AAAAARGH!||You feel extremely macho now! Silly, but macho!||You spend the rest of the day coughing up acid. You will take the stupidity of this action to your grave.||Burning, No really burning, Seriously burning, Aaah, Aaaaaaah||Bowl of curry||3.91||0||0||1||J||Your own body||CavemanJoe|
|Admiral Flufferson||2||You found a kitty! And it's a cuddly kitty, too! "Brrreow?" asks the kitty. Such a cute kitty. You sit down and invite the kitty onto your lap. Aww, this is nice, isn't it? You scratch the kitty's ears as it bumps its head against your hand for more lovins. "Aww, kitty," you say, brain turning to kitty-induced goo of cuteness appreciation. This saccharine display goes on for several minutes before you remember that you were looking for monsters to kill. "Okay, kitty," you say, pushing on it to get it off your lap. "That's enough." That is not, however, enough for the kitty, which responds to your gentle encouragements by latching the claws of all four feet into your legs. "Brrrreow?" it asks again, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes as its knifey little claws dig deeper into your flesh.||knifey little claws!||The kitty lies dead, the desire to be loved its only crime. Good job.||The kitty purrs with contentment as it curls up on your bleeding, twitching body.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||2||J||Animal|
|Blonde Heiress||2||You walk into a clearing at the same time as another contestant. You go to greet her, but soon regret it when you realise who it is. |
The blonde-haired, pink-clad stick insect with foot-wide sunglasses and a purse dog looks at you and sneers. "Hey -- are you the caretaker here? This place is a dump, like, seriously? Where is everything? I mean, I am a guest star, I should have service? No enzyme-enhanced bottled water, no manicurists, no brand-name stores, what is this? I would have Daddy buy this whole place out..."
She continues babbling, but you've had enough. You whip the back of your hand right across her indented cheek, cutting her speech short. She looks at you, mouth wide open and stammering.
Regaining her composure, she yells, "Tinky, get'em!" The seemingly docile chihuahua bares its teeth and snarls, lunging at you with the intent to kill.
|purse dog!||Light beams down on you from the heavens as a voice booms, "Good job."||You couldn't lose consciousness fast enough to avoid hearing the pet baby-talk.||Standard Human||Sunglasses|
|Book of Riddles||2||You trip over something hard and fall inelegantly onto your face. Cursing, you wipe the jungle muck out of your eyes to see a large book, which you are fairly certain was not there before. The cover reads "Riddles" in a beautiful cursive scrawl. Your jaw drops. Quickly, you snatch up the volume and try to stuff it into your backpack, but it just won't fit with the carpentry toolkit and the twenty logs you've got crammed in there already. You open it and read line after line, trying frantically to memorize the answers instead. One riddle catches your eye; |
I am so simple,
That I can only point
Yet I guide men
All over the world.
-- An erection.
Wait a second. You seem to remember receiving a hypodermic needle full of doom as a result of giving that very answer to that very riddle. A book full of wrong answers? This thing could have gotten you killed! You fly into a Squat-like rage and begin tearing out its pages
|incorrect answers!||The blasphemous book lies shredded and unintelligible!||You see many poisonous hypodermic needles looming in your future.||front cover, back cover, spine, page||Scrap paper||x||x||0||J||Item||Reverb|
|Crazed Tech Support Rep||2||As you stalk the jungle, you hear a low tone in the distance. Entranced, you move closer. As you pass a bush, you recognize the sound. It's hold muzak, like the stuff in the clan waiting offices. "Thank you for calling Megahard Software Tech Support. How can I help?" Around another bend is a gangly teenager. He looks quite normal... except, of course, for a speaker and microphone crudely and permanently screwed into his skull. "No sir," he's saying, "there is no any key." You can't quite make out who he is talking to as he stares off into the distance. "I'm sorry, my manager is not available at the moment. Perhaps I can help you?" As you watch, he seems to develop an odd tic. "It's the tools menu....tools. T-O-O-L-S!" You watch in horror as his eyes start to bulge out of his head. "No, you don't need to restart your computer, Ma'am. No, no don't!" Small flecks of foam start to appear on his lips. His arms bulge. He starts to tear his t-shirt. "Yes, you do need to know your password to log in, sir. Yes, you do. Yes... yes... YES!" He finally stops speaking as he turns toward you. His body has grown to a grotesque size, and there is no humanity left in his eyes. "THANK YOU FOR CALLING TECH SUPPORT!"||indecipherable jargon!||See, Ctrl-Alt-Del does solve everything!||You're now wishing you'd bought the extended support option.||Standard Human||Speaker and microphone headset|
Clothes inc. t-shirt
|Drunken Nudist||2||As you stumble through the jungle, you discover yourself confronted by a group of naked middle-aged men. Naturists! With a heavy sigh, you idly wonder why the sort of people who eschew clothing are usually the sort of people who have very good reasons to cover up their nasty-looking bodies, complete with beer bellies and full quota of hairy moles. They are sitting around a campfire in lawn chairs. They look at you and smile. One stands up on chicken legs and lurches towards you, sloshing beer as he stumbles. "Great! A new club member! Take a load off. Have a beer. Relax and take off those consumerist icons of enslavement!" He reaches for your zippers....||nimble fingers!||Great, you kept you clothes on - but that still doesn't save you from the sight before you now. Just close your eyes and hope you don't brush into anything as you get your requisition.||As the final zipper is undone you realize that there are worse fates then being dumped on the FailBoat - thankfully the Retraining Agents grab you before it happens.||Standard Human||Campfire, Chicken Wings, Lawnchairs|
|Fat Butcher||2||You're minding your own business in the jungle, whistling to yourself, when you bump into something sticky. Very sticky. "What the hell?!" Unable to pull it off you, you realize it's very easy to tear, so you rip it off instead, taking a few layers of hair and skin with it. Wincing, you relax, then hear bushes shifting behind you. You whirl around, and standing before you is a fat butcher, from whom you used to get your meats from before this whole Island fiasco. You brighten immediately. Just as you're about to say "Hi!", you notice that his smile is unnatural, dripping with drool. "Bad flies. My meat. My flies." You also notice that he's wearing a scarf of flypaper, sickeningly saturated with dead or dying flies. He staggers toward you, curling his sausage-like fingers as he reaches out to you. "Bad meat," he admonishes. "Give flies." You whimper. "Y- you're not... my butcher..."||flypaper!||You wonder what the butcher is doing without a butcher knife, then slap yourself.||The Fat Butcher leers at you as he wraps you in flypaper. "Stay away from my meeeeeat!"||Standard Human||Knife|
|Fire Truck Full of Fire Ants||2||The sound of sirens cuts through the air, and you grip your weapon a little more tightly, your intuition making it very clear that this particular bell tolls for thee. You look left, right, straight ahead, behind you, trying to find where the all-encompassing sound is coming from. Zombie police car? Zombie ambulance? Mutant robot zombie all-terrain rescue vehicle? No, it's an autonomous fire truck. You lower your weapon to scoff. Water cannons may be very useful against rioting mobs, but you've faced a lot worse in your time, and you are not soluble in water. At least, that's what you think before it turns its hose on you, engulfing you with a flood of skittering, biting, six-legged pain! Ah, FIRE ants. Clever.||spraying, biting pain!||Breaking that thing probably sent all the fire ants scurrying out to ruin someone else's day, but at least they're not biting you any more.||It sprays a few more fire ants around you, just to make sure you've been properly put out. It really needn't have bothered.||cab, left front wheel, right front wheel, left rear wheel, right rear wheel, firehose||Fire Hose|
|Garden Rake||2||As you make your way through the monster-infested territory, you fail to see the simple garden rake before your feet. You take a step, only to put all your weight on the tines and send the handle flying into your face.||foot-activated first class lever!||You do realize you just destroyed a harmless inanimate object, right?||Your nose will never be as unsmashed as before you met me||grip, shaft, head||Broken rake||x||x||0||B||Item|
|Invisible Monster||2||You thought you'd seen everything on this island.|
You were wrong.
|Unseen Powers!||You begin to wonder whether you fought an actual monster or just thin air.||Turns out this wasn't a figment of your deranged imagination.||Invisible head, invisible left arm, invisible right arm, Invisible body, Invisible left leg, Invisible right leg, Inv-wait, what's THAT?||4.14||x||x||0||J||Monster|
|Lion (02) eating a gardener goblin||2||You wander through the Jungle idly looking for some action. Within moments you spy a little green man, no higher than your knees. He's wearing scruffy gardening clothes and wellington boots - some sort of goblin, perhaps? Either way, you ready your weapon and creep up towards the creature as it delicately sniffs a nearby flower. Just as you get close enough to deliver a killing blow, the foliage next to the little man bursts outwards with a rustly crash. An enormous lion leaps through, snapping the goblin out of the air in one quick bite and leaving only boots behind. It swallows, turns to you, and grins. The sneaky bastard just stole your kill! Are you going to stand for that?||claws and teeth!||The lion takes its beating, and slinks off into the Jungle. You suspect this won't be the last you see of him.||It's true - lions really are sneaky bastards.||Standard Lion||Goblin-size clothes: |
|Man from the Ministry||2||During your search, a neatly-dressed man with a briefcase jumps out of nowhere and lands in front of you. He stares at you blankly for a little while, then walks backward around you, hopping every now and again, and sometimes stopping to kick high up over his head. Soon he switches to goosestepping in counterclockwise circles and taking one step forward and two steps back after moving halfway around you.|
You desperately try to follow his movements, but they end up just confusing you more.
Head spinning, eyes hurting, you lash out at him and he dodges, following up with a foot planted firmly between your eyes.
He's going down.
|odd movements!||His silly walks were no match for your brute force!||You can't even manage a half-turn every alternate step.||Standard Human||Pinstripe suit|
|Mathematician||2||A voice calls out of the Jungle. "IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!" |
Intrigued, you head off in the direction of the voice. After a short while you come across a man sitting cross-legged underneath a tree, surrounded by scattered papers, holding a stick of chalk, and staring at a blackboard covered in symbols.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
He looks up at you, madness in his eyes. "It just doesn't make sense!"
You have no idea what he's talking about, so you keep pressing him.
Waving a calculator in the air, he says, "I shuffled the cards, dealt ten hands, and every one was a straight flush! I dropped a needle on a checkerboard a hundred times, and every time it landed within a square! I flipped a coin a thousand times! I should have gotten about a fifty-fifty mix of heads and tails, but instead I got ninety-eight tails, and then it turned into a flying monkey and was abducted by aliens! It's not probable!"
Aha. He's one of those guys. "You do realise," you say quietly, "that this is Improbable Island?"
He nods. "It doesn't make any sense, though. It's all just so..."
You realise that he's never going to get any better. Better put the poor sod out of his misery.
|probability!||Your distributed improbability was stronger than his probability distribution.||It was improbable that you would be defeated by a probabilist.||Standard Human||Chalkboard|
|Network Sponsor||2||"Break time!" you chirp. Rummaging through your backpack, you extract your portable Heft-E Man Recliner and activate it with a swift whack of your fist. You whip out your Carbureta Shiv to check your Distractions, flopping back with a satisfied, "Aahh.." You shoe off your bloodstained Gator clogs and think wistfully about the Diet Shockolate Energy Drink that eBoy is now stocking in his Trading Posts. Why, he even has a new Maelstrom-brand refrigeration display case! Such innovation in this brave new world! Just as you're about to unfold your pocket Zony paper screen to watch the latest episode of As the Island Turns, you realize exactly what's happening here. The Network is meddling in your life, subjecting you to their foul advertising strategies! You quickly rip off your Aberzombie and Bitch jacket (even though it's locally produced), and leap to your feet, incensed at these blatant attempts to use you as a marketing tool. As you begin to stalk off, a pasty man in a prim business suit steps out from behind a tree. "Where do you think you're going?! I paid for twelve more seconds in the frame, you can't leave yet!" "Oh yeah?" you jeer and raise your wonderfully generic weapon. "Watch me product place this right up your ass."||blatant advertising!||Battered, bruised and unconscious, this sponsor won't be sending anymore ads your way... though you wonder why the camera seems to be lingering on his Rolex wristwatch.||Wait until you see what we've done with the FailBoat! Can you say interactive advertising?||Standard Human||Rolex Wristwatch, Gator clogs, Aberzombie and Bitch jacket (locally produced!)||1||2||0||J||Human|
|Paper Tiger||2||You see something moving in the corner of your eye, but as you turn around... Nothing is there. You have a bad feeling about this -- there it is again! Or... is it? Then your eyes adjust a bit. You suddenly see a thin line in the nearby underbrush. As you approach, it begins to rustle -- another step, and you think it might be backing away. Determined, you grab your weapon, and sprint forward. Wait.. Whatever it was, it seems to have disappeared. Suddenly, a flash of pain sears your left leg! You spin around to see the creature turn towards you, becoming thinner and thinner in the process -- it's flat as a sheet of paper!||papercuts!||You unfold the tiger and cut it into slices suitable for rolling paper.||A wise ninja once said: "You can't kill it with paper, you can't kill it with steel". Not with your admittedly impressive weapon, either.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||Paper||x||x||0||B||Item||Sicpuess|
|Pope||2||You spy a white, pointed, teardrop-shaped thing moving toward you through the tall grass. Once it gets close enough, you are able to make |
out someone's face underneath the big white odd thing. You soon recognize the face from a couple antique news reels and Catholic action
movies on television. It's the Pope! He approaches you, wearing his trademark large hat and white robes, and smiles at you. "Hello there, my child."
You aren't quite sure what to do here. Maybe ask for his autograph? "Er... hello?"
His smile suddenly turns into a cold frown. "It's Sunday. Why aren't you at church?"
Surprised, you search for an excuse. "Well... you see... I'm not--" He lunges at you, screaming, "REPENT THEE OF THY SINS!"
|large pointy hat!||You wonder if this will send you to hell.||The last thing you hear before everything fades to black is, "May God have mercy on your soul."||Standard Human||Pope Hat|
|Potted Plant||2||You come across a plant that is very much unlike the rest of the jungle's usual flora. Something about it just seems out-of-place -- y'know, more so than usual. Perhaps it's the brightly-coloured plastic pot it's sitting in, the clearly artificial soil, or the small flag sticking out of the pot identifying the plant as a DANGER. Then you feel unnerved. Something is watching you very closely... something that is bearing down on you with a level of sheer hate you can almost taste in the air. It's the plant. That's the only rational explanation. It's got to go.||a withering glare!||It wilts. Take that, bastard glaring plant.||Faced with the idea of holding a staredown with something that doesn't have eyes, you promptly go mad.||pot, leaves, petals, stem||DANGER Flag|
|Professional Romance Writer||2||You come across a clearing in the jungle. Soft sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves, casting little spots of radiance upon a peaceful-looking, bespectacled woman who sits on a log and writes in a tattered notebook. You decide to head over and sit down beside her. "Hello," you say. She looks up, glasses sparkling in the sun. "Oh, hello! I'm a professional romance writer!" Your fists involuntarily connect with the side of her head, and she falls backwards off her log. |
"Don't worry about it," she mutters as you choke out an apology. "No, really. It happens all the time," she continues, getting to her feet. "I think it's just a conditioned response. You know, the moment I tell anyone that I'm a professional romance writer, they just..."
Birds scatter from the trees. Knuckles bleeding, you help the poor woman up, and hand her her now broken glasses. "Sorry about that, again," you say sheepishly. "I guess it must be a conditioned response, as you say."
"I'm used to it," she says through a thick lip. "You get used to a lot of things, being a professional romance writer."
Small animals scamper off, realising that this is no place for them. Moments later, you help the woman to her feet again.
"Sorry again," you say. "Gee, I'm glad I'm not a professional romance writer, if this is the way people..."
Nursing your now broken nose, you stare back at the woman, who starts to apologise.
"All right bitch," you hiss, "it's ON."
|throbbing staff of trite plot twists!||Now she'll never recover the purple-headed lance of virtue!||You are swept away into a dark, moist vortex of ... No, wait, that's the head injury.||Standard Human||Clothes|
|Random Number Generator||2||You have encountered Evolution's Greatest Failure which lunges at you with its own arteries!|
Evolution's Greatest Failure's Hitpoints (Level 1): 10
YOUR Hitpoints: 4576
Evolution's Greatest Failure surprises you and gets the first round of attack!
Evolution's Greatest Failure hits you for 5000 points of damage!
You earn 0 Glory Points this round!
You have been defeated by Evolution's Greatest Failure!
You awaken and immediately begin to leap up and down on the Failboat's deck. "Bullshit!" you begin screaming, over and over like a lunatic. "Who the hell's responsible for this?!" The stone-browed digital face in the sky, composed of two straight lines for eyes and a parenthetical smile, quivers as though laughing at you.
You trip as soon as you go to move. Oh, very clever. This bastard is going down.
|pseudorandom suffering!||No luck to it. All skill, baby.||You awaken and immediately begin to leap up and down on the Failboat's deck. "Bullshit!" you begin screaming, over and over like a lunatic...||Fumble|
|Rat Pack||2||A metallic glint catches your eye -- a Ration Pack lying against a tree. There is no sensible reason for one to just be lying in the jungle unguarded. Knowing this does little to stop you moving towards it. Shiny things tend to do that, you've noticed.|
Now, you've eaten a Ratpack before. Eat may be the wrong term. Still... it's free "food." An opportunistic Contestant is a successful Contestant. Half-expecting a flash of sandy fur, you pick it up and tear off the foil top. The swarming pack of rats that surges out of the wrapper goes a long way to making you regret the decision.
Rat Pack. Should've seen that one coming...
|another horrible pun||So you've got a pack of dead rats, not a ratpack. They'll probably taste better, anyway.||Once they get a taste of you during the fight, the rats run off. The knowledge that you taste worse than a ration pack hits you hard enough for the Retraining Personnel to show up.||Rat Hal|
So many rats!
|Sinister Dexter||2||You find yourself in a clearing, with a man off in the distance |
whittling away the time. As you approach, he looks up from his work. "Hello there," he calls. "Name's Dexter. Sinister Dexter."
"Uhh, sure..." you reply, still unsure of his intentions and creeped out by the shadows of the jungle around you.
"Pleasure to meet you," Dexter says as he extends his left hand for you to shake.
You look down at his left hand. "Oh, a lefty," you respond before you can choke back the words.
The smile fades from Dexter's face. "You got a problem with lefties?" Dexter demands, obviously put off by your awkward interaction.
"No, no... I meant, well... what I..." you stammer, but it's too late for excuses.
"I'll show you a lefty," Dexter shouts as he picks up his whittling knife with his right hand and attacks!
|ambidexterity!||I would have needed another set of hands to defeat you! Or perhaps I was just unlucky this time...||That left hook will get you every time.||Standard Human||whittling knife||1||1||1||J||Human|
|Spiderkitty||2||As you saunter through the Jungle, you hear a rustling sound from the leaves above you. Dismissing it as the wind, you stroll on for another few steps. Then, with a piercing, shrieking mewl, a hairy, eight-legged SpiderKitty falls onto the top of your head, thrusting its wriggling legs around your cheeks, the side of your neck, and into your mouth. You feel its two front legs force their way down your throat, trying to choke you and put you into shock simultaneously. Sitting atop your head like some sort of obscene, wriggling, living hat, its lips curl up into a grin around the cigarette it's smoking. Kill it. Kill it now.||wriggly legs!||With a pitiful mewl, the SpiderKitty lies still.||The SpiderKitty leaps forwards and attaches to your face... That's more than enough. Let's leave the rest to your imagination, eh?||Cynical tomcat sneer|
Bulbous spider abdomen
|Cigarette?||3.95||2||0||1||J||Monster||CavemanJoe||The SpiderKitty drops a cigarette! Woo hoo!|
|The Guy Who Couldn't Beat Tom Carney||2||The jungle rings with cries of pure, maniacal glee, uttered by a gibbering, possibly demented figure. Cautiously you approach, weapon raised. |
The figure looks up at you as you close in. His bloodshot, twitching eyes meet yours. At first glance he's an average new arrival from New Home, as mother-naked as you when you first came to the Island. Then the smell hits you, and you see the thick layers of grime covering his body. It is clear that he has not bathed in days. His red eyes imply that he hasn't slept in a similar amount of time. He grins as he beats an already dead midget, babbling about requisition and how his spatial awareness isn't working.
"Yes! Only three more of these," he shouts, "and I CAN FINALLY GET THE CHAINSAW! Tom Carney, you bastard, at last you will feel my wrath!"
Slowly you realize that this sad, poor soul has been trapped here for days, weeks, maybe even months, and has never managed to get past first level. You feel pity, perhaps even sympathy for this lost, pathetic figure.
Then you register that he's been saving up for a chainsaw. Hm, which means he'll have... a lot of loot.
|the fists on his back||He screams "HOW CAN THIS BE?! MY STANDARD |
FIGHTING IS AT LEVEL 30!" But you find only a pittance. Rats, he must've
been banking his req.
|As you fall unconscious he laughs maniacally. He is one step closer to obtaining that chainsaw||Standard Human||Dead midget|
|Three French Hens (pack x3)||2||You hear a chirp from up high, and look to see where it's coming from. You see a plump bird sitting in a pear tree, just staring at you. Thinking this odd, but probably unimportant, you move on. Soon, you come across another pear tree, now housing two white doves as well as the bird from before, all staring you down. They coo and ruffle their feathers without blinking. Now sort of creeped out, you move out again, finding a pear tree once more, now with three hens as well as the two doves and the plump brown bird staring at you. Frustrated, you heave a rock into the tree dispersing the birds, only to find yourself being clawed to death by five pairs of taloned feet half a second after. You begin blindly swatting, trying desperately to defend yourself.||two turtledoves!||All this will make some nice christmas dinner.||Once the calling birds came in, everything was done.||brie, baguette, stone jug of Bordeaux, red comb beret, Balenciaga goggles||0||0||5||J||Animal|
|Unicycle Entertainer||2||The sound of an engine... no, it's engines plural, there's definitely more than one... reaches you through the trees. They're getting nearer. What is this? Is the 100 point rally converging on this spot? Have they run out of rain forest and started destroying Improbable Island? Should you run and hide? You take too long thinking it over -- into sight comes a street entertainer on a six foot tall unicycle, juggling chainsaws.|
On spotting you he comes straight over and, well, 'stops' is too precise a word. He's constantly twisting, and rocking on the pedals to maintain balance, but he's not going anywhere. With the three chainsaws carefully held in one hand he doffs his top hat. "That marvellous feat of entertainment is surely worth something! Dig deep, mate, search your pockets! Throw a req or twenty into my hat in payment for that grand spectacle, the likes of which you'll never see again either side, nor north or south, of Improbable Central. Look sharp, I haven't got all day."
"But," you object, "I didn't see any spectacle, just you charging out of the jungle and demanding money. I'm not paying you without seeing your act.... Come to think of it, I don't even want to see your act! I'm not paying you anything at all. Clear off."
"Not paying me?! Who d'you think you are, you stuck-up deadbeat freeloader! Think you can stroll by, all lah-di-dah, nose in the air, just watch my show for nothing? Pay up or I'll have at you with these," he snarls, flourishing the chainsaws.
An impasse. Well, if it's a fight he wants, you can give him that.
|three chainsaws!||With a well placed attack you take out the unicycle, and the street entertainer crashes headlong into a tree. Show business is rough.||As the world grows dim, the smell of two-stroke exhaust still assails your nostrils. Maybe you should have just paid him.||Wheel Spokes|
Third Time Lucky
|unicycle, chainsaws, clothes||3.94||1||2||1||J||Human||spume|
|Zombie Puppy||2||The sound of a small, whimpering animal draws your attention as you creep through the jungle. The noises sound so pathetic, how could the creature possibly be a threat? After a bit of searching, you see a small black-and-white tail sticking out from under a bush. Hoping for a better view, you look for another opening in the bush. From another angle, you can see two wet, glistening eyes staring back at you, as if they were saying, 'Mommy?'|
Your heart softens. It's just a small, little puppy, lost in the deep, scary jungle! The poor thing... it probably hasn't eaten in days!
You reach in the bush to gently pull the puppy out. You can feel the slime and filth of the jungle covering the creature, and make a note to give this puppy a good bath when you get home.
As you pull the puppy all the way out, you notice the tail is still on the ground where you first saw it. You look from the tail to what you're holding -- a black-and-white puppy, all right, with bits of flesh falling off its face, large patches of fur and skin missing from its body, and the remaining fur thick with zombie slime.
Nearly spilling your guts all over the puppy, as if it would notice the difference, you fling it to the ground. It hits the jungle floor with a resounding SPLAT and a bit of its spleen flies off in a random direction.
The puppy whimpers as it hobbles back onto three paws, its fourth now detached and still lying on the ground.
You frantically wipe your hands on the surrounding vegetation as you back away from those sad, puppy dog eyes, begging you to hold it again.
Your hands finally clean enough, you grab your weapon and you take aim.
|decomposing cuteness!||That was the kind of cute only a mother could love.||The zombie puppy tears your chest apart, urinates on your head, and then rolls in it. That is going to haunt you forever.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||3.95||4||0||0||J||Zombie|
|||3||As you loudly extol your latest victory to no one in particular, you begin to feel a slight tingling on the back of your neck. Shrugging it off, you continue to embellish your latest conquest until it no longer resembles the actual fight. The tingling grows stronger and stronger, until you are forced to turn about and face your worst fear, hovering inches away from your shoulder!||community editing!|| shatters into a cloud of ignorance. "How dare you question my knowledge!" you cry.||Just before you fade into unconsciousness, you see your hard work unraveled by nameless faces. They do, in fact, know better than you!||disbelief, incredulity, repudiation, distrust||n/a||x||x||0||B||Fourth Wall|
|Big Bird||3||Where are all the monsters hiding? You haven't seen one for what feels like nearly twenty minutes. Wait! Isn't that... yes! There's a flash of brilliant yellow fluff behind a distant tree.|
Finally, a fight! You've been itching for one.
As you give chase, you note a wisp of yellow fuzz caught on a tree branch. A high one. The thing must be six feet tall! Bending low, you pick up your quarry's trail. Maybe it's some freak giant yellow bear. Maybe it's an even weirder creature that only the Improbability Drive could have spawned. You follow the trail with excitement, closing in on your quarry.
Until you run smack into a fluffy yellow ass.
"Oh no, not again!" says the victim of your unwitting head butt, turning.
|the letter H!||Oh... looks like it was really just another contestant in a weird outfit. Oh well. The Failboat crew will take good care of her.||A young lady in a large, fluffy yellow costume looks down at the crumpled body of yet another random contestant who thought she was a monster, and vows to go back to Sheila to buy better armor.||yellow feathers|
|Boomerang||3||Searching your surroundings for predators to hunt, you spy a boomerang lying on the ground a ways off. Hey, you remember playing with one of those when you were younger! You make your way over to it, remaining cautious in case it's bait for some evil creature's trap. When you finally reach the boomerang without incident, you scan the area. Satisfied that you haven't seen anything lurking in the underbrush looking killable or waiting to kill you, you pick up the boomerang and admire it. It's a fine example of its kind, and looks as if it should be able to fly quite well.|
Doing your best to remember how to throw one of these damn things, you try to launch it but fail three times. Frustrated, you pick it up again, and angrily chuck it away from you. When it doesn't drop like a cadaver thrown into a body of water, you are both surprised and elated. Its trajectory takes it behind a cluster of trees and out of sight as you stand proudly.
"If I can throw that thing THAT well, I can probably do just about any--OOF!"
You're suddenly knocked off your feet from a blow to the back of the head. Readying your weapon, you roll over and spring to your feet, ready to face your attacker. Only problem is, there's nothing th-OOF!
You get up a little faster this time, facing the same direction, and are rewarded with a sight of the boomerang flying away from you, performing a u-turn, and heading straight for your face. You sidestep as it comes near, dodging close enough to it to hear it cutting the air as it passes by your ear. It performs another neat turn as you rotate and drop into a fighting stance. Alright, if that's how it wants to play...
|aerodynamics||That'll teach it to do what it was designed to do.||The boomerang knocks you over again and comes to rest upon your face, as if mocking you.||3.98||x||x||0||J||Item|
|Cereal Killer||3||You come across the mangled remains of a leprechaun, three Squats in piss-stained sailor suits, and a do-do bird. After a moment of horrified thought, you reach the only possible conclusion just as the madman lunges at you from the concealment of the nearby jungle. "This must be the work of a..."||a bowl and spoon!||He should have eaten his Wheaties...||"All a part of this nutritious breakfast..." he mutters as he goes looking for that annoying Tiger.||Standard Human||3.87||2||1||1||J||Human||Tor NaGoth|
|Dump Truck Operator||3||Trees come crashing down. In your surprise, you spit all the water out of your mouth, back into the spring from which you were drinking. You turn to the fallen trunks, and hear a crunch as a heavy dump truck drives over it and then stops. Cylinders above the cabin billow out black smoke, orange lights blink, and the engine's roar simmers down into a steady rhythm. The door swings out, and down steps an aged gentleman in a brown tweed suit. His wispy gray hair and plain eyes show he is no dangerous Joker, but just a normal man in a strange situation. |
"Excuse me!" he calls to you, walking briskly in your direction. Keeping your hand on your weapon just in case, you walk to meet him perhaps a quarter of the way.
"Can I help you?" you ask. It's your favorite phrase, as it doesn't betray attitude nor admit commitment.
"Ah, perhaps. I'm driving around the Island to make easier and faster connections between the outposts. I need a hand laying down the pipes though, they're pretty heavy. Could you...?" While a pretty weird request, he seems harmless, so you nod and straighten your back, following him around to the back of the truck. In the giant bed behind it, there are many lengths of tubing strapped together, all numbered in order and color-coded with spots of paint.
"So, how does driving around piping make it easier for people to get from one Outpost to another?" He heaves one of the thick plastic tubes off, motioning for you to help pull it out of the pile.
"It's not about driving the truck, it's about the pipes extending between the Outposts. I'm going to make an easy channel for people on the Island to reach each other."
"Oh." As you handle the tube, you see it stretches really wide. "Oh. It expands. I see! You're gonna lay down pipes connecting the Outposts and then expand them big enough for the truck, and then drive people through." He shakes his head.
"No, it's more like an information network across the whole Island. I'm gonna call it Islandnet."
"So, you're gonna make it a telegram service where you deliver from your truck, and you follow the piping as a route?"
"No, it's nothing to do with the truck. Forget about the truck. It's about the tubes. They're numbered for different purposes--"
"Wait, why are you calling it Islandnet? It's a dump truck, it should have a more tough and rugged name--"
"IT'S NOT A DUMP TRUCK, IT'S A SERIES OF-- AAAARGH!" he cuts himself off as he lunges for your throat, red-faced.
|an ordered set of hollowed cylinders||Don't be so thick!||Geeze, you were just trying to figure it out.||Standard Human||Metal Piping|
|Feral Budget Horse||3||A bald, liver-spotted figure is crawling slowly across the jungle floor, oblivious to your presence until it bumps into your feet.|
"Do pardon me."
"I don't suppose you've seen a hearing aid?"
You stand aghast at the sight of a noble creature stripped of its dignity. You remain standing until you've worked out exactly how much it will fetch at Mike's.
|bewildered flailing!||You tut as you haul the unconscious body back to the outpost. "You know, Budget Horse, this hurts me more than it hurts you."||You wonder if the hospital tent is equipped to check for rabies.||Standard Human||Free Budget Horse!||2||2||0||J||Human|
|Flagging Self-Confidence||3||As you tramp through the jungle, clad in your new armor -- second-rate, probably cobbled together with Squat phlegm and whatever it is that drips out of Mutant ears -- and clutching your new weapon -- questionable at best, not even worth boasting about -- you begin to feel a crushing weight settle down upon your shoulders.|
Is it even possible to end the war on Improbability? Even if it is, are you of all people up to the task? You certainly haven't done a whole lot so far, besides getting whooped by some mutilated kittens and dicking about.
Maybe it would be best to turn around now, sell your weapons to Sheila, and salvage what little dignity you have left. Wait -- you freeze, grip tightening on your weapon. You know what this is! It's that thing, that self-confidence thing that your mother used to talk about! Man, you haven't seen that in YEARS! And now here it is, making your already miserable life hell. Well, you'll show it what for!
|pitiful ineptitude!||You have managed to kill your own self confidence. ... Hooray? You're not sure if it was actually skill, or just dumb luck...||Your weak self confidence, as pitiful as it was, has bested you in battle. Maybe it was right all along.||Slumped shoulders, Lagging steps, Negative thinking, Self-absorption, Cherished grudges||3.87||x||x||0||J||Your own body|
|Giant Squat||3||During a rare moment of silent contemplation you notice the sound of something approaching from the jungle. After a moment, chilling maniacal laughter can be heard. Shrugging, you prepare for yet another Improbable encounter. Listening closer, you begin to hear what sounds like stomping. Perhaps something stepping on small bushes or dry twigs. You can't help but notice the laughter sounds genuine; almost gleeful. Finally, the figure comes into view. The smell is distinct, and familiar. However there is one significant deviation. The approaching figure stands at least four feet tall. It is the biggest damn Squat you have ever seen.||bicarbonate of soda!||You feel kinda sorry for him. Not only a midget, but a freak among midgets. Poor guy. You kick him once or twice, to make sure he's dead.||Slightly less embarrassing then being beaten by a regular Squat.||Standard Human||NaHCO3|
|Guy who Keeps Running Behind You Whenever You Turn||3||A nagging instinct has been bugging you for some time. Suddenly you stop walking and spin about. There's no-one there. You walk on. You notice the cameras are paying particular attention to you. You stop. The cameras keep watching you. You look about. There's nothing in sight, but still that nagging feeling. Finally, on a hunch, you hold a particularly shiny spot on your weapon up to use as a crude mirror, and look over your shoulder. There it is! That BASTARD! You know the audience is going to be watching you with a lot of canned laughter dubbed in.||spritely mocking!||Finally you manage to turn around fast enough to get your hands around his neck and choke the bastard to death. You keep on hitting him a little while longer than strictly necessary. Let's see him laugh THAT off.||You finally fall over from all that spinning about and hit your head against a hard rock.||Standard Human||Clothes||3.86||2||1||1||J||Human|
|Half-Centaur||3||Lots of folks snap here on Improbable Island. It's something you're used to. Between the monsters, Jokers, and the farcical food, it's wholly understandable. But sometimes you just don't have time to feel sorry for them. Especially not for the one standing in your way now.|
"HALT!" A naked and battered man places his hands on his hips in an attempt to look more foreboding. You avert your eyes quickly.
"Uh, hey look," you begin, "I'm not looking for any trouble- just trying to take out some monsters."
"Then prepare for battle!" he roars, "For I am The Incredible Half-Centaur and I have long awaited this duel!"
You balk at his description, "A Half-Centaur?? Aren't centaurs those horse dudes? You don't look anything like a half horse to me."
His clearly-human-nostrils flare indignantly, "I said I was HALF centaur!" You wrinkle your nose in confusion as you try to decipher this nonsense.
"So... You're half of a half-horse-man? ... That doesn't make any sense! That just makes you a whole human!"
Apparently this comment was the last straw, "Nay, you knave!" he neighs.
|Delusions of Grandeur||You suppose he was pretty half-assed after all.||Maybe you should have paid more attention to fractions in school.||Head, Left Forelimb, Right Forelimb, Left Hindlimb, Right Hindlimb, Horse's Arse||4.22||0||1||2||J||Human|
|Lame Ass||3||This jungle business is getting a little tedious; sweat flies are stinging the back of your neck and face, occasionally getting sucked into your nose and mouth. Trickles of sweat are running down your back under the armor and the heat, the oppressive heat... What you would do for a swig of one of Dan's cool, refreshing ales back at the Prancing SpiderKitty. With thoughts of the pub in your head, you hear, "A priest, a rabbi and an imam..." |
At your next step, a donkey limps out from behind a bush, wobbling on legs made out of steel, wood and what looks like rubber. Normally you would be agog at such a sight, but your stay on the Island has beaten your reasoning faculties into a whimpering heap that doesn't even try anymore. The donkey continues, "...walk into a bar."
You suddenly realize where this is going and shout, "STOP! Stop! I did not come here to hear some lame-ass joke!"
The enraged donkey hobble-charges you and you prepare for battle.
|mule kick!||You taunt the defeated donkey, "Try using that punch line in your next act!"||As you're carried away, you can hear the donkey begin, "Now, that the heckler is gone, let me start that joke again."||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||Scrap metal|
|Lemming||R3||The Wiki Encyclopedia, that wholly amazing book, has this to say about Lemmings: Lemmings are small rodents, usually found in or near the Arctic, in tundra biomes. Together with the voles and muskrats, they make up the subfamily Arvicolinae (also known as Microtinae), which forms part of the largest mammal radiation by far, the superfamily Muroidea, which also includes the rats, mice, hamsters, and gerbils. Unfortunately for you, it doesn't mention anything about lemmings with suicide bombs, and so as a result your reaction time is somewhat slowed by shock as this one leaps out of the bushes with a hearty cry of, "DEATH TO THE INFIDEL!"||suicide bomb!||The fuse on the lemming's bomb finally burns out, and it explodes. You manage to duck most of the blast.||Animal|
|Lion (03) behind a tree||3||Something catches your eye, and you put your senseless rampage on hold for a moment. Something flickers and dances, peeking from behind a tree - perhaps a snake, or a tentacle, or a... is that a tail? Is that a lion's tail? Your knees knock together as you whimper-whisper a pitiful mantra familiar to the noble lion: "oh no it's a lion oh no oh bloody hell it's hiding behind that tree but the tree is so small maybe it's only a little lion but they're such sneaky bastards oh shit oh shit oh shit!" The lion understands this mantra the way a fighter pilot understands the beeping of a locked-on target, and seven feet of grinning, snarly beast leaps from behind the two-foot-wide tree. Lions really are sneaky bastards like that.||claws and teeth||The lion takes its beating, and slinks off into the Jungle. You suspect this won't be the last you see of him.||It's true - lions really are sneaky bastards.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||x||x||0||J||Animal||CavemanJoe|
|Malfunctioning Cigarette Lighter||3||After an hour's worth of hunting, searching under every rock, climbing into every tree you come across, and finding nothing but grime under your fingernails and sap in your hair, you decide that maybe the monsters have gone on strike. You find a nice, secluded spot off the trail in which to have a snack and relax. As a punctuation mark to your respite, you determine that a cigarette would be proper. As you search through your pockets, looking for your tobacco pouch, you see that some poor shclub has lost one. It was sitting here the whole time! And right beside it, a Trustee-Light cigarette lighter (guaranteed 1,000,000,000 lights, or your monkey back!) You quickly scoop up the smoke, in fear the forgetter may return. After a moment of nothing happening, you inspect your newfound booty for booby traps. Nope. Perfectly fine, natural tobacco, with only minimal additives! Filter appears to be nothing but sub-standard fiberglass (so poor you wouldn't even use it to insulate your walls). Shrugging, you place the filter casually between your lips and strike the lighter... ...strike the lighter... ...strike the lighter... ...get frustrated and strike the lighter angrily... Throwing the blasted torture device to the ground, you ready your weapon and PREPARE to strike the lighter!...||nic-fits!||You throw the frustrating thing as far into the woods as possible and hunt through your pockets for a book of matches and go off to claim your refund monkey.||You finally get a decent spark. The fuel ignites gloriously. As you draw it near to your cigarette, a catastrophic failure causes all of the fuel to ignite at once, rending the flesh from your face and blowing your hands off.||Barrel, Flint, Striker, Jet||Spark Device|
|3.85||x||x||0||J||Item||At least you got a cig out of the deal. As for this bloody lighter...|
|Monster At The End of This Path||3||"Stop right there! Don't come this way!" A scrawny man with an oddly blue tint of skin stands inbetween you and a free-standing doorframe, complete with a fresh cedar door due for sanding. He and the door block the path. "What? Why?" you ask him. The man looks you in the eyes with fear on his face. "There's a m-m-m..." he stammers, swallows, and continues, "there's a monster at the end of this path!" You let out a chuckle. "A monster? Great! Step aside! Monsters mean profit, and I think I'm good enough to handle most of the ones around here." You stride forward and around the door frame, only to see a couple meters behind it a poorly-reinforced wooden wall blocking the path, planks of wood barely hanging by a nail. The blue man rushes past you to the wall, turns to face you, and stretches his arms out to either side of him. "No! You don't know what you're doing! I won't let the monster get anyone else!" Annoyed, you push him aside and destroy the entire wall with one swing of your weapon. "I've got it, dude, you don't have to protect me." You glance down the path and see another wall, a concrete one with barbed wire at the top. You look over your shoulders at the blue man biting his nails and staring nervously at you. "Seriously?" you ask rhetorically, and tread between the trees just off the side of the path to go around the high-security fence. For about thirty seconds, you continue to a small clearing at the end of the path, the guy following you. There is nothing here. "Oh," the man blinks. "He must have escaped," he muses thoughtfully. You glare at him, and he shrinks back and looks down at his feet, tracing the ground with a toe. "Hehe, well, I mean, I guess the only thing at the end of this path is me, heh." He turns his head back to you, weakly chuckling, as you thrust your weapon into his stomach.||timidity!||Sheesh. That was kinda excessive, man. He meant well.||With a roar, he transforms into a muscular beast and gets down on all fours. Monster indeed.||Standard||various walls? Barbed wire||3.96||1||1||1||J||Human||Awesome Fred|
|Passive-Aggressive Co-Worker||3||As you walk through the jungle, a small yellow note stuck to a tree catches your eye. The note reads: Please do not take other people's lunch. You think this is a little odd, but keep moving.|
A few feet further down is another tree, this one with two notes. Please read the labels, and This is not YOUR lunch!
As you head through the jungle, the notes grow more frequent, more threatening, and more irritating. Finally you arrive in a tiny clearing completely plastered in fluttering, little notes. Most have something scrawled on them to the effect of Bathroom etiquette is a must! (Stop looking when I wee!)
This is your last warning! another says.
Go ahead, take it, see what happens!
Annoyed, you start looking around for the lunch with the hope of taking it, even though you don't know this person.
Suddenly, there's an explosion and the little notes go flying everywhere. Looks like somebody finally made the psychotic leap from passive to aggressive.
|little notes||He reminded you of an old room-mate.||His lunch WAS clearly labeled||Standard Human||Post-its||1||1||2||J||Human|
|Religious Zombie||3||You gradually become aware of a panicked voice and the smell of decomposition. Shuffling into a clearing, you find both the owner of the voice and the smell, and he seems quite frantic.|
"What's going on?" he shouts, watching a patch of rotted flesh fall from his arm. "This isn't supposed to happen!"
"Calm down!" You have to shout to be heard over the babbling. "What in hell's wrong with you?"
He turns to face you, his face a mixture of confusion, sadness, and just a bit of exposed cheek bone. "I died! I was supposed to go to paradise, not get stuck here! WhatamIgoingtodo?!"
You grasp him by the shoulders and attempt to shake some sense into him, but only manage to take off his arm. "You're a zombie! It's normal!" you shout, realizing how ridiculous this would've sounded when you first arrived on the Island. "Get over it!"
Unfortunately, his babbling is drowning out all your attempts at reasoning, and your ear seems to be dripping blood or pus; you've never been good at identifying bodily fluids. Might as well put him out of his misery.
|confusion and angst!||Looks like he'll be going to the after afterlife.||As he delivers the final blow, your only hope is that you don't come back.||Standard human||4||0||0||J||Zombie|
|Scenic Hog-Hedge||3||Wandering the jungle, you come across a small hedge trimmed neatly into the shape of a small boar. Hey, that's some skilled topiary, there. Who's even doing this stuff these days? Real craftsmanship, that is. Takes a lot of dedication, takes years... the nose twitches slightly. Uh-oh. The mass of leaves turns to face you.|
|Sharp leafy pig-legs||Don't tell Audrey.||You are stumped! Oh well, it's only a topiary setback.||Pointy snout, Sharp ears, Tusks, piercing, Rooty suckers, Thorny limbs, Prickety tail||4.15||J||Plant|
|Self-Conscious Dwarf||3||Jogging through the jungle, you round a bend in the trail and run headlong into a small, bearded man, sending him flying. Slowly, he picks himself up and dusts himself off. It's a dwarf! He stomps right up to you, pokes you in the belly and shouts, "I am not happy!" "Well then," you reply amiably, "which one are you?" For some reason, this provokes him to launch an enraged attack.||Little Man syndrome!||So, it looks like he's sleepy.||Well, he's definitely not bashful...||Standard human||2||0||0||J||Squat|
|Squat Paladin||3||It's small. It stinks. It's wearing armour that, beneath that layer of filth and grime, could almost be considered shining. It has a holy symbol around its neck. It's a Squat Paladin. "Greetings, good sir. May I ask, do you fight for the cause of Good?" he asks in noble, if squeaky, tones, scratching his arse genteelly and hawking a shining gob of phlegm at a passing fly. Your hand moves involuntarily to your weapon.||(+1 short sword)||His dying words are, "Oh, good lord, innit".||he Paladin hacks your head off like the Evil stain on the face of the earth you are.||Standard||Holy Symbol|
|Tall Squat||3||During a rare moment of silent contemplation you notice the sound of something approaching from the jungle. After a moment, chilling maniacal laughter can be heard. Shrugging, you prepare for yet another Improbable encounter. Listening closer, you begin to hear what sounds like stomping. Perhaps something stepping on small bushes or dry twigs. You can't help but notice the laughter sounds genuine; almost gleeful. Finally, the figure comes into view. The smell is distinct, and familiar. However there is one significant deviation. The approaching figure stands at least four feet high. It is the tallest damn Squat you have ever seen.||bicarbonate of soda!||You feel kinda sorry for him. Not only a Squat, but a freak among Squats. Poor guy. You kick him once or twice, to make sure he's dead.||Slightly less embarrassing then being beaten by a regular Squat.||Standard||NaHCO3|
|Tour Guide||3||A harried-looking woman in surprisingly crisp shirt and slacks shoves her way through the brush in front of you. She gives you a slightly frantic once-over from beneath a pith helmet bedecked with garishly colored ribbon. "Come along," she chirps, tapping a clipboard. "The others have all gone on before, we've got a very busy agenda, and as you know we must make this little visit discreet."|
You stare. A tour guide? Here? People pay to trek through the jungle, get arms and legs chewed off, eat scroteweed?
She waves her clipboard at you. "Hurry up now! We've got to get all the way up to Ace High today and then make our lovely Dining with the Dead experience down in New Pittsburgh! No time for dallying!" She points at her helmet. "Just follow the ribbon!"
You heft your weapon. No one sets your agenda. Besides, you're booked up with killing until next Tuesday at least.
|relentless itinerary!||You tear the guide's map into tiny pieces and rush off to find more monsters. Busy, busy.||Sighing, you trail after the guide towards the sound of screaming tourists, and are promptly mauled by the horde of monsters stalking them.||helmet, clipboard||3.89||1||1||2||J||Human|
|Towel-Less Hitchhiker||3||Disheveled beyond all recognition, this pathetic creature stumbles towards you. It appears to be panicking. "Dude!" it asks, "Have you seen my towel? It was gorgeous, man, so gorgeous! I just put it down for a second..."|
You shake your head, wordlessly.
"Well, then," the apparition asks, "Have you got a spare?"
"'Fraid not, friend," you reply, as kindly as you can. Yeah, he knew the rules - but you've never in your life seen anything sorrier.
"Not even a washcloth?" he asks, pathetically.
"Nope," you say. "The only towel I have is my own."
You realize your mistake the second the words leave your mouth and he lunges for your towel.
|the poetry of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings!||What a hoopy frood you are!||...oh, no, not again.||Standard Human||1||2||1||J||Human||CavemanJoe|
|Trouble||3||"Yo! You looking for trouble o' somethin'?"|
"Err, well, uh," you stammer.
"Well, I'ma give you some trouble then! Then we'll see how you like trouble!"
|itself!||I guess that was just an Easy Fight.||Hah. They should call me Big Trouble.||Head. Left arm. Right Arm, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||x||x||0||J||Human||Awesome Fred|
|Whining Old-school Gamer||3||You spot an angry-looking man protectively clutching a stack of tattered old books to his chest. You read the title on the well-worn cover: Player's Guidebook. The other books appear to be titled "Prison Warden's Guide" and "Criminal Catalog". |
"Oh," you say, "you're a Prisons & Predators player, huh?"
"I play REAL Prisons & Predators!" the nerd snarls. "Not that bullshit 4th Version crap!"
Oh. Bullshit crap. Um. "Um, have you even tried the new version?" you ask.
"Hell no! They've turned PnP into a dumbed-down MMORPG! It sucks! They've ruined the game! They don't care about us players who have loyally supported them for years! They're only in it for the money! WHORES!"
"No, seriously," you say, "Give it a try. Here, I'll help. You wake up and find yourself alone in the middle of a jungle on a mysterious island." You raise your weapon. "Another player hears your pathetic sniveling and decides to put you out of your misery!"
|previous-edition rulebook!||Looks like he failed his saving throw.||Ouch. He didn't look like a munchkin!||Standard Human||Players Guidebook (P&P)||2||1||1||J||Human|
|Your Bar Tab||3||You're not entirely sure what you did last night. Or where you did it for that matter. In fact, it's entirely likely that it wasn't last night, and that you actually spent several days in an alcohol induced frenzy. Bottom line is, it was probably more fun than tramping through the jungle.|
You whirl around to see a big, scary... nothing.
You glance down to see that there's a small piece of paper on the ground. It appears to be a receipt from The Prancing SpiderKitty, and it seems to belong to you. Oh, and it's talking, so that's something as well.
"So, when are you gonna pay up?"
You scan the receipt to see just how much you spent, finding that you owe Dan... "Oh hell no, I couldn't possibly have spent this much."
"You did, so when are you going to pay for it?"
No one can know about this. You need to dispose of the evidence.
|unpaid debts||Time to celebrate! Drinks are on you tonight!||Fine! You didn't need that money anyway.||SpiderKitty logo|
|Your Shadow||R3||Walking through the jungle, you eventually get a feeling that something is amiss. Walking carefully, looking about you to see what there might be, you suddenly fall flat on your face. |
Jumping to your feet, you look around to see what caused this embarrassment, caught by hundreds of cameras.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a quick movement. At a closer look, it appears to be... your own shadow?
|weapon of darkness!||With a final smack, you put your shadow in its place. At your feet.||Your own body|
|Your Terrible Nickname||3||In your defence, when you decided that everyone should call you Crackerdoo from now on, you were drunk enough to be legally considered a ward of the state and in no condition to make decisions. Now it's all you hear from the monsters you fight. "Hey, Crackerdoo!" "Gimme five, Crackerdoo!" "Hey, it's the Doo! What's Crackin', Crackerdoo?" "I WILL TEAR YOUR PUNY BODY LIMB FROM LIMB, CRACKERDOO!" You're not even sure what you were thinking. Maybe it was to imply that you were crackerjack at doing things? That would be a terrible reason for a nickname even if it WAS plausible. Well, it's time to draw a line. You're pretty sure that if you flail wildly above your head with your weapon, you can get rid of this (and possibly that yellow exclamation mark you're pretty sure you've seen there, too). People might end up calling you Weapon Flaily Flailing Person... but that's a better name than Crackerdoo.||inescapable embarrassment!||The next monster solemnly and soberly calls you by your given name, and you're so pleased you only kill it a little.||At this rate, you're going to end up under a slab reading "HERE LIES CRACKERDOO: MOST APPROPRIATE NICKNAME EVER"||Ignore it|
That's not my name
My name is ____
|x||x||0||J||Your own body|
|Zen Master||3||A monk stands on the path before you with his hands tucked in his sleeves. As you draw nearer, he slowly bends to pick up a short staff. He holds it out to you, saying, "If you call this a short staff, you oppose its reality. If you do not call it a short staff, you ignore the fact. Now. What do you wish to call this?"|
"Uh," you gawp. You've not had your coffee yet. What...
"I see." He cracks you smartly in the temple. "What do you wish to call that?"
"Augh!" You clutch your head, bewildered. He looked like such a nice little man!
"Ah," he says, sagely. "And this?" He attacks!
|bewildering koans!||He manages to bow to you before he loses consciousness.||This is not the Way.||Standard Human||Short Staff||3.83||1||1||2||B||Human|
|Zombie Kitten||3||As you duck under a branch you hear a raspy purring sound coming from off the beaten path. Investigating, you notice a scruffy looking calico cat.|
"Aww, how cute and scruffy, here kitty kitty, nice kitty. How about a nice piece of meat?" you murmur, kissing at it and offering it a part of your lunch.
As the kitten looks up at you, you notice that its eyes are a mess of coagulated goo and half the fur on its face is falling off. Not to mention the clumps that are dropping off its back.
Stretching, the kitten gets up and starts staggering your way, one hind leg dragging uselessly behind it.
|clumps of fur!||So there really is more than one way to skin a cat, than with butter.||At least it didn't hack up a furball onto you.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||3.7||5||0||0||J||Zombie|
|anti-ant colony||4||Scanning the jungle's floor for lost coins and small prey, you spot a modest anthill emitting a stream of beautiful, pearly-white ants. After marveling at their carapaces (which glisten captivatingly, fleetingly, in a stray sunbeam) for a moment, you cleverly decide to follow their trail and steal whatever tasty morsel they're mobilizing towards.|
Jackpot! The ants lead you to the relatively-fresh corpse of something with too many arms that recently found out that it was not built to leap from tree to tree, judging by the splatter pattern. Nice arms like those... you know a guy that would pay good req for a couplea nice little arms like those. You brush the ants aside with a large leaf and set to harvesting.
Only a few slashes and stabs later, you notice a poisonous-looking black ant making its way up your leg. Terrified of the infinite potential universes of suffering its venom represents, you hurriedly flick it away. It happens to collide with one of the white ants, and they instantly annihilate one another and explode with the energy of 128 tons of TNT.
Luckily, a butterfly had been languidly flapping its wings some miles away, and the resulting air currents absorbed the brunt of the impact... this time. Your tenuous grasp of popular physics leads you to hypothesize that this explosion was the result of a matter-antimatter interaction triggered by the contact of ant and anti-ant! You nod: it's a sickening enough misrepresentation of the behavior of antimatter that it's almost certainly accurate.
Naturally, you're going to need to exterminate the anti-ants before they start a colony war and sterilize the entire hemisphere. Easy enough. You bet their tiny anti-venom stings feel like morphine or somethoh jesus it's going to collide with all the other venoms in your blood and tiny blood explosions shit shit shit
|mass-energy equivalence!||You must be the anti-anti-ant. Does that make you an ant? Are you, in fact, an ant?||Fortunately, the ants and anti-ants lose interest in one another as soon as they sense that they've ceased inconveniencing you.||4.2||x||x||0||J||Animal|
|Animated Aubergine||4||You remember the first time you saw an aubergine. "That," you said to yourself, "is one weird looking vegetable." Of course you wouldn't say such a thing nowadays, given that the aubergine would probably take offence and attempt to rip your face off, but anyway, back to the present where you are confronted with a massive Animated Aubergine, with black hide as thick as an elephant's, a rabid, drooling maw dripping vegetable juice and two beady, psychopathic eyes intent on burning a hole right through your forehead. Its intense hatred for you is apparent, which is funny because you're practically a meatarian by principle, so you'd think a vegetable would be on your side. "Why hello," you say, "have we met before or something?" "Yes," it says. "Remember when you said I was a weird looking vegetable, knowing full well I couldn't talk back? Aubergines never forget." You smile and nod, sidestepping a blow that would crush a tank as you reach for your weapon.||slavering maw!||The aubergine de-animates or, if you like, re-vegetates.||As the aubergine begins to consume your flesh, you wonder dazedly about the ethical implications of a vegetable eating meat. Is it morally better or worse than eating other vegetables? Anyway back to dying...||body, leaves, stem, hideous staring eyes||1||0||0||J||Plant|
|Archaeopteryx||4||Is it a bird? Is it a dinosaur? Is it a highly improbable creature from a past eon that could provide invaluable clues to our natural history, not to mention getting certain religious fanatics to shut up? Is it really, really annoying to spell? You don't know what it is, but you're going to kill it and eat it for lunch.||claws and teeth!||Tastes kinda... lizardy.||The bird gives out a victory cry, then evolves into a pigeon. It must have leveled up.||Hairy feathers|
Large staring eyes
Long scrawny neck
|Hairy feathers, claws?||3.78||1||2||1||J||Animal|
|Bear Strapped to Back of Another Bear||4||...Really, you can understand what brought it on. A simple experiment that got out of hand. First you want to do that one where you strap a buttered piece of toast to the back of a cat and see which side hits the ground. Then you decide that cats aren't nearly as badass as, say, lions. Then you can't find any toast, so you just use two lions. Then there's a big argument about whether lions are as cool as bears. Then happy hour's over and you have to see if any other pubs are still open or else you'll have to go home and deal with your hangover, and the next day you have no idea why you have an upset grizzly upside down on the back of another upset grizzly and maybe if you just release them into the wild no one will ask too many questions...|
And that's all well and good for the general 'you'. The specific 'you', however, is dealing with two more bears than are really conducive to a long life. If you were you, you'd be having some serious words with you right now.
|double the ferocity!||Maybe next time you can fight three bears, all stacked in a pyramid!||On the plus side, this has conclusively proved that you have no honey in you.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||Strap|
Two Bear Skin Rugs
|Big Red Button||4||As you're walking along in the jungle, you see something sticking out of the ground on a pole. You walk over to it, expecting it to be a camera or maybe a guidepost to the nearest Outpost. Rather, it turns out to be a large red button with the words DO NOT PUSH on it, followed by many drawings of skulls and crossbones. Death? Toxicity? Pirates?! You turn your back to the button, pushing it out of your mind as best as you can. However, as you turn to leave, you turn back and look at it. It sits there, glinting in the sun. Surely nothing bad would happen if you press it, right? Right, you decide as you walk back over to it and you hover your hand over the button. Reading the warning again, you decide you can go through life not knowing what this button does, and you once again turn your back to leave. As you are almost away from it you hear a faint whisper. "Press me..." You turn back around to see nothing there other than the button. Growing worried for your sanity, you turn back around and start to leave at a faster pace. Again, you hear the soft whisper, "Press me..." You turn back around and stare at the button, unable to move. Again, it whispers, "Press me... You know you want to..." Slowly, you start walking back towards the button, completely allured by its charm. "Press me... I promise nothing bad will happen to you... Maybe... Press me..."||an irresistible lure!||You manage to walk away from the button's hypnotism. It cries itself to sleep that night.||After pressing the button, a small note pops up from it, "We told you not to do it." You promptly explode.||base, pole, casing, button||DO NOT PUSH' button,|
Drawings of skull and crossbones
|Death or Cake Man||4||A man sits behind a raw plywood table, idly reading the Improbable Island Enquirer. Before him, sitting on the table, is a large sponge cake. Above him is a banner, displaying the name of his game: 'Death or Cake!' Upon seeing you, he chases after you with the cake knife. "Death or Cake! Death or Cake!" he cries. "Ninety-nine per cent chance of Death!" |
It's not often that a slovenly gentleman with wildly glowing green eyes offers you a 99% chance of death.
|cake knife!||You back away slowly. lt occurs to you that this man looks like someone in AceHigh, though it seems more of a family resemblance.||The crazed man stabs you with the cake knife, shouting 'Death or Cake! Death! Death!'||Head, Left Arm, Right Arm, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||Table (WTF?)|
|Duck & Penguin in Spats||4||It feels a little like you've wandered into someone else's date. Candles float on the surface of the pond in front of you, a string quartet plays that one Bach thing that seemed nice the other eighteen times you heard it, and a duck and a penguin are dancing slowly back and forth in front of a brick fireplace. |
"Oh yes, Mister Penguin," the duck purrs, "I feel we get along so well."
"It's true, Lady Duck," the penguin answers, looking toward you pointedly. "We get along... swimmingly."
You manage to hold back a groan, but the penguin has already noticed you. The duck realizes what he's looking at and throws her grape juice in your face.
"Thanks for that," you mumble, reaching to wipe yourself clean, or at least less sticky.
The moment your hand blocks your vision, the penguin leaps into action, tie cast aside and tuxedo shirt unbuttoned for the fight. His spats shine threateningly from his feet, warning that a kick may strike any moment. The duck backs him up with her garter-turned-slingshot, aiming a broken chunk of brick at your person.
|razor-sharp formal dress!||You glance around, hoping no geese in top hats are nearby, before absconding with those spats.||"So where were we, lovey?" The penguin and the duck apparently use your prone body as a mattress for the remainder of their evening.||Spiffy spats, Duck typing, Mustache, Cupcakes||Bird-sized Formal Wear|
String quartet instruments
|Fire-Breathing Kangaroo||4||You stare in wonder at the kangaroo before you. You didn't think that they existed on this island. It's not long, however, before you realise that there is, after all, an Improbability Drive lurking around here somewhere. You're reminded of this fact even more dramatically when the kangaroo opens its mouth and spews burning gas and liquid in your general direction.||fire and fierce kicks!||Fire-breathing creatures are somewhat volatile, and prone to indigestion. You reflect on this while picking bits of kangaroo out of your hair.||Head, Fore Left Leg, Fore Right Leg, Body, Rear Left Leg, Rear Right Leg, Tail||3.75||1||2||3||J||Animal|
|Generic Monster||4||Suddenly an indescribable horror lurches at you with a muffled roar. The creature is indescribable and the roar is muffled because the monster is sealed inside a large white box with the word MONSTER stenciled across the front. Apparently it has escaped from a government commodities warehouse.||Generic Attack!||The creature is dead. The box is soggy.||As you lose consciousness, you realize that generic monsters are just as effective as the brand-name ones.||Head, Left claw, Right claw, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||Soggy box.||3.59||1||1||1||B||Monster|
|Gold Farming Bot||4||As you make your way through the jungle, you recognize a place you heard rumors about back in town. Someone said they encountered an incredibly weak creature that, when defeated, held thousands of requisition tokens. You eventually find the clearing and see it. The beast does look incredibly frail and weak, much like a legless hamster, pulling behind it a large bag of clinking silver coins, held by its surprisingly long tail. Before you can make a move, a vile robot arrives and kills the creature with one fell blow, then grabs the enormous bag of requisition tokens and ties it to a rope dangling from a helicopter above, which then takes the treasure away. Distraught, you yell at the creature, "That was my bag of req!" "NO," the robot replies in a barely understandable foreign accent, "THOSE FOR MY CUSTOMERS! THIS MY SPAWN POINT! I CAMP! YOU LEAVE NOW!" Angered at the thing for ruining your gaming experiences, you let forth a massive battle cry and charge at it, your weapon ready.||broken terms and conditions!||That's what you get for camping my jungle spawns.||The Gold Farming Bot begins kneeling and standing repeatedly over your body, adding to your shame.||Head, Left arm, Right Arm, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||Motors|
|Hollow Chocolate Bunnies (x3)||4||Sniff. You know that smell. Snf, snf. Is that... chocolate? You see a small pile of chocolate dots on the ground, which you quickly scarf down. A few steps later, you find another pile, then another, which form a trail to a small rabbit warren. A small chocolate rabbit warren, to be more precise; some must have escaped last Easter and gone feral. Resolving to correct this delicious oversight, you raise your weapon...||sharpened chiclet teeth!||Victory has never tasted so sweet.||A bunny hops onto your crumpled body, and carefully 'deposits' a few more dots on your stomach. Nauseated with this revelation, you pass out.||Head|
Left Front Paw
Right Front Paw
Left Rear Paw
Right Rear Paw
|Humongous Giant Clam||4||The Island gives you a lot of time to think. Too much time. Like, what about clams? The monsters probably don't eat clams. Most of them prefer contestants, and the rest haven't got linguine, so clams have been allowed to grow unmolested in the coastal waters for... for years. Not just clams. Each clam. You've seen what those waters do to Titans. They must've gotten big. Bigger than a ship!|
And, when things get that big, the Drive gives 'em little feet, so they can walk around easier. And when they get feet, they get dangerous. They don't just sit in the water waiting for you. They come after you.
There you are, hunting, shivering, trying to think of anything else, when the moon goes behind a cloud. You hear the pitter-patter of little feet. "Is that you, Admiral Flufferson?" you quaver. ...It ain't. Leaping right over you, feet first, oh my god, it's a Humongous Giant Clam!
It scuffles round to face you with its eyeless smirk, which creeeaks open to reveal a broken acoustic guitar and dozens of now-useless clampoons from the unfortunate clam-hunters before you. With a song in your heart (in fifteen-part harmony), you leap into battle!
|hundreds of little feet||You chant 'Clamzo, me boys, Clamzo!' It'll be seafood tonight.||All anyone hears for miles around is one big BURP. One fewer contestant, one more smiling, smirking, full, Humongous Giant Clam.||Mollusk Muscle|
Tiny little feet
|large pieces of clam shell?||0||0||6||J||Animal|
|Kentucky Fried Zombie||4||You come across a fried chicken bucket in the middle of a clearing. Kebabs'n'Shite?! Out here? Brightening, you run over to the bucket and open it up, but quickly turn away and vomit as a revolting stench fills your nostrils. You turn and begin walking around before you hear a hollow voice proclaim, "For the Glory of the Dark Colonel Sanders!" You turn around just in time to see the Undead Chicken lunging at you.||secret herbs and spices!||Yum!||Head, Left Wing, Right Wing, Body, Left Leg, Right Leg||KFC bucket||3.8||6||0||0||J||Zombie|
|Lion (04) with a web of yarn||4||Not really paying attention to where you're walking, you stumble into an enormous web! You struggle to free yourself while visions of enormous spiders run through your mind and down your legs! After several terrifying, sweaty moments you disentangle yourself and realise that this isn't a spider's web at all - it's made out of yarn. Yarn with a familiar, musky smell - yarn spun out of some sort of fur, perhaps even... The lion cannons into your back, knocking you to the ground. Sneaky bastard!||claws and teeth!||It's true - lions really are sneaky bastards.||Standard Lion||Sticky? Yarn||Animal||CavemanJoe|
|Meatling||4||There is a truly detestable stench on the wind -- something between Squat Hole on a warm summer's eve and Gordon the Cheese Eater after a particularly pungent helping of fromage. Miasma, you think, remembering a lesson in school about old-fashioned notions of disease transmission. People believed sickness roiled about in great clouds like cartoon dust, going from village to town to city. Of course, the reality is far more horrific. Tiny creatures living in the lines of your skin and the deep, moist bits of your body. You shudder and wave your weapon through the air as you tromp through the brush. The smell grows more repulsive as you go on. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it were following you -- but nothing comes lurching from the underbrush. No cameras swivel to look behind you with that cold sort of Orwellian anticipation you've come to dread. You muck through your day with watering eyes, never quite able to adjust to the rank odor. Maybe, you think, the Island is actually set on the back of a bloody giant Titan, and I've found my way into its arse. |
You set about making up a little camp for a nap before you head back to an Outpost. Maybe a snack, too, you reckon as you kick stones together for a firepit. Shrugging out of your backpack, you unfasten your trusty frypan and set it on the stone. Where've you put your matches... As you rootle through your pockets and bandolier, the flap of your backpack peeks open. Tiny, piggy eyes look on you with adoration as you curse yourself ("snarl my fettucine, stripey-socks!"). Where are the bloody matches!
Your backpack chirrups. Your stomach drops straight into your arse, lingering there heavily. You turn your head to stare. "Excuse me?" you ask your backpack, as though you didn't quite catch the fact that it's just fucking chirped at you. Like a little bird! Your backpack! Is not! A little! Bird!
The flap jiggers a bit, then a pulpy little blue-green face comes poking out moistly. Its fur, you suppose, has great grey clumpy patches. Its eyes are white and only faintly glossy, like little lumps of gristle. Gristle. The thing clambers out of your backpack and schlorks timidly toward you, feet splapping with every horrible step. You gape. Its body looks roughly like a Cattywampus tenderloin you're sure you hacked up yesterday; its head is a chunk of Panthzer hock that you chucked into your pack half-wrapped, intending to sell later. It peeps with hope. With love.
You squall and scrabble for your weapon as bits of rot and ichor slough from its wretched little body. It shrieks and gallops in a circle before struggling back into your backpack. "Die die die die die!" you shout, whaling on your backpack with little regard for the Improbability Bombs you're keeping in the front pouch.
|mouldering hope!||You'll never get these stains out of your pack...||The meatling struggles onto your chest and wags its lumpy arse, shedding chunks of Crap Meat onto your prone body.||Head|
Fore Left Leg
Fore Right Leg
Rear Left Leg
Rear Right Leg
|Motor Scooter||4||Ahead of you, you can hear a soft purring, kind of like the purr of a KittyBike, but without the deep base rumble. It whines through the jungle, interrupted occasionally by loud crashes of something smashing through branches. Quietly, you sneak through the undergrowth to a spot where you can see clearly. Two motor scooters, one fiery red, the other a bright yellow, are tearing through the ferns. As you watch, they both rear up on their back wheels, clashing their handlebars together like stags. The yellow one stumbles stumbles and falls; a branch has become caught in its wheel, making a pitiful clack, clack, clack noise as it tries unsuccessfully to rev it free. It's headlight glances up in panic as the red scooter seizes its opportunity, spearing its fallen foe with a handlebar. Pink petroleum seeps from the ruptured tank onto the ground below. Then a twig snaps beneath your feet and the red scooter's headlight turns on you, fixing you with its glare. "Bollocks," you announce to the world in general as it spins its wheel in the peat, lowers its handlebars, and charges.||Sharpened Handlebars!||A tyre bounces from the wreckage and rolls forlornly to a stop.||The scooter gores you through the chest and flings you into a tree, before resuming its peaceful grazing.||Sharp handlebars|
Four fancy mirrors
|Occam's Razorback||4||You hear a grunting, snuffling noise approaching from directly behind you. Spinning quickly and raising your weapon, you observe a lumbering brown shape through the foliage. Bristles? Check. Mad piggy eyes? Check. Giant yellow tusks protruding on either side of a twitching, slimy snout? Very check. |
There is only one logical explanation for this, and it just deduced that it doesn't like you at all.
|simply razor-sharp tusks!||You've discovered the most likely explanation... for bacon!||Ergo, Failboat.||head, front left leg, front right leg, body, rear left leg, rear right leg||pelt||3.79||3||2||1||J||Animal|