Rogue: Trusty daggers

ROGUE: ”Oh, it’s not just about the answer. The secrecy is to protect your modesty... once I win this bet.”

DM: The barmaid’s eyebrow arches in surprise, suspicion written all over her face. ”My modesty? What exactly do you think you’re doing back here?”

ROGUE: I smirk and push off the crates I’m leaning against. ”Oh, nothing major. But since this is a job interview of sorts it’s just a little demonstration of my... skills.” I spin one of my daggers between my fingers, keeping my eyes locked on her. ”Don’t worry, I’m a professional. Hold still...” And then I start cutting through her clothes with my daggers, without harming her.

DM: Before she can even utter a protest, you spring into action. You’re dual wielding daggers, so give me two attack rolls.

ROGUE, rolling dice: First roll’s a 17, and the second is… a natural 20, baby!

DM launches into a description of the action, interspersed with ‘swish’ ‘swash’ dagger noises: Your daggers flick and spin like a blur of silver, each calculated strike slashing through fabric and cutting it to ribbons. Threads snap as cloth peels open, seams pop and fabric flares, falling away in tatters like shredded confetti. The barmaid looks on in stunned amazement as you conduct a symphony of whizzing steel, as her outfit doesn’t just tear - it disintegrates!

> swish, slice, slash<

Your daggers dance along her blouse, sending strips of fabric flying through the air, and unravel her neckline all the way down to her stomach. A lace bra is briefly visible before your next flurry causes it to fall away in pieces like fractured porcelain, exposing her copious breasts with a gentle jiggle.

> swash, snip, shhrrrip! <

A backhanded dagger frolics along the hem of her skirt, severing it in half a dozen places with an artful series of flicks of your wrist. As you conclude with a final, sharp tug, it splits down the side. With a soft, almost pitiful sound, the remaining fabric slithers down her legs to pool around her ankles in a mess of tangled threads.

> slish, slash, swoosh! <

A final encore of blades to round out the few seconds that it took to perform your tailor’s display, as the remnants of her clothes cascade to the floor, disintegrating from top to bottom, peeling away like petals in a storm. Each cut sends fabric fluttering to the ground, until all that’s left clinging to her is a thin pair of red panties. The nearly naked barmaid stands in stunned silence, her chest heaving with baited breath.

ROGUE, taking a dramatic bow: I flick my daggers back into their sheaths, smirking: ”As red as the blush on your face. I think I won a prize.”

DM: She gasps, face turning crimson as she scrambles to cover her exposed chest, arms crossing hastily to hide what you’ve had ample time to see.