Skill, Luck, and Terrible Ideas

The worst ideas are the last things the bad guys ever see coming. 


“Skill, Luck and Terrible Ideas” is based off of two stray scenes discovered among this writer’s collection of story ideas and notes. The two scenes were not accompanied by any clues about character or plot however, due to the enjoyment I get out of reading them and the encouragement of a certain someone (*cough/Jen*), I am building an adventure around them.

This serial story is the result.

Scroll to the bottom of the page to read the scenes (they’re pretty short).


Lally grabbed me by the collar and shook me once, his blazing eyes inches from mine. “I’ll never give up on my friends.” 

“Good.” I lifted the satchel for him to see. “Then I haven’t taken Captain Seymour’s treasure for nothing.” 

His eyes widened, with either horror or amazement. I couldn’t tell which. “You’re insane.” 

Oh, he doesn’t want it? I lowered it. “I can give it back.” 

“NO!” He shook me again, giving me whiplash. And then he let me go. “Sorry — no, don’t. We can save them with this, definitely. It’s just…” 

“Perfect, let’s go.”


“MEEESSSAAAA!!!” Captain Seymour ripped the door from its hinges and threw it aside. He stomped in on fur lined boots, his first mate by his side. 

Oh. He’s talking to me. 

The rest of the room fell silent. Not a scabbard clattered or coat rustled.

Seymour didn’t seem to be able to find me so I raised my hand. “Present.” 

Those around me all seemed to choke at once. Odd, as half of them weren’t eating or drinking anything. A thin echo of people questioned my sanity, bid me farewell, and asked my name so they could avoid giving their future sons the same name. 

Seymour stomped up to the table where Lally and I sat. His feathered hat dusted the ceiling 20 feet up.

This man is unreasonably tall. “What can I do for you, sir?” 

More choking. I heard doors and windows squeak open and smack shut. Outside, feet sprinted away on the wet road in every direction. 

A jagged grin crossed Seymour’s bearded face. “You’re a forthright fellow, aren’t ye?” 

“I try to be.” 

“Then you’ll be honest with me.” 

“Of course.” 

“Did you steal my treasure from The Blackwood?” 


His first mate choked.

There must be an illness going around.

“Give it to me,” said Seymour.

“I can’t,” I said. “I destroyed it.” 

His first mate collapsed into a dramatic heap.

I really don’t know what’s going on. I turned to the chair beside me to ask Lally for advice. “Oh. Lally’s gone, too.” 

Seymour’s eyes glowed. “Indeed he is.”