>>5581832>Rolled 16 (1d20)You take a flying leap from the edge of the rooftop, the undulating wall of pale back muscle and wheel your target. The world grinds to a halt–smoke and gunpowder hanging still, the guillotines’ blades catching light mid-drop, the scene is as a dream, and you are at the heart of it.
You find yourself rent from your whimsical dream and by the cruel pull of gravity. The jump runs short of the giant’s back by just an arm’s length and the ground all at once seems a great deal more vast than it ever has before. You hurtle to the ground like a thirty five year old woman.
You lunge for one of the ropes along his back in a last attempt to prevent a bad landing (or splattering)–and you manage, tightening a hand around a length of cord and hurtling about the back of the giant. You plap against the giant’s fat back, free fall along through the air, plap against the giant’s back, free fall along through the air.. until you manage an uneasy, stumbling landing on the ground, legs intact.
You stumble forward along between the giant’s feet (not daring to look up) and end up careening into the wolf, who catches you in his arms. The wolf eases you back up as you wipe the flush mixture of embarrassment and blush from your face. You won’t be caught pink in the face–not by the brutish giant, not by the crowd of mad cultists, and not by the blind wolf, either.
“You can’t seem to keep yourself off me.” Morne remarks as he steadies you up. “Couldn’t thrall him, then..? If that’s the case, we need to leave.”
>Wait! You can still try. If he could carry you up there (you are very light) you could still thrall him.>Call it off. You’ll escape back through the giant’s legs and down the road.>Escape through the crowd–that’s the way forward, even if a great deal more dangerous.>Maybe you could use your power of rhetoric to convince the giant to let you kiss him.>Write-In. 