RotSM, part 1

Return of the Shattered Mail

Tomb of the Naive King

…beauty, weather, leading to gold? …happy, innocence?

As mentioned in my previous post, we will go with the motivation, “follow the map leading to the naive king’s tomb, where the golden death mask is said to lie” that will also be the adventure’s title.

Whenever I come up with a blank, it's time to roll a Cube. That could be a new scene, or just a new threat or element to appear within a scene. The “Die of Fate” (“DoF”) will give a context for the Story Cube. Subsequent sessions will build out the plot from cues given by past events. I rolled a few Cubes and came up with the campaign title, “Return of the Shattered Mail”, but I have no idea what that means.

Mitra cantered to a stop…

…as she entered the forested dell. Majestic mountains arose about her, capped by snow, jagged peaks lost on cloud. She removed the dogeared map from her bosom and confirmed. Here, of old, lay the crypt of the last of a dynasty of men that ruled a small empire long before the coming of the Dalesmen settlers from the Vast and the Vilhon Reach. It was here that the former mercenary hoped to find the death mask of the naive king that suffered an untimely death. It was said that the mask was gilt of pure gold and crusted with gems. Won in a wager in Daggerdale at cards, Mitra would discover if the map was real.

DoF: 4

…a light in the distance? …the way is illuminated?

Reading the map, the first clue in Dethek runes began to make sense. When molten gold falls between the hammer and the anvil, the way to the threshold of the king’s rest shall be paved by light.

Now, she saw that the setting sun sank between two peaks — one was calledDorithon, the Hammer of the Earth, and the other was called Relacthin, a flat peak opposite it, or the Blacksmith’s Platform. In the narrow wedge between the two, the sun sank, passing a shaft of light between as could only happen at the autumn equinox. Luck again struck the former Black Dragon, as it was now two days to Highharvestide. Still, it was close enough that the golden ray shone in the direction of a wood that covered the side of the valley wall opposite the mountains.

Mitra clicked and set her black charger on a forward course, marking well the direction.

By the time she reached the forest…

…the sun had sank. Before her was a thick primeval forest that exuded eerie silence, mystery, and even a sense of malice.

DoF: 5

She dismounted Umbril, her black steed, tethering his reins to a nearby sapling. She then drew forth her sword. Under the overgrowth of moss-covered trees, she saw two old statues flanking an overgrown flagstone pathway. The statues were in the form of mailed knights, though their features were all but worn away. She had found the king’s threshold! Slowly, she continued forward, with eyes alert and senses wary.

The way continued more or less straight forward, gently winding between great boles of trees. Ahead, Mitra made out a mound overgrown by foliage and shrubbery. Slowly, she inched forward, ever cautious of her surroundings.

Suddenly…

DoF: 1

What’s this? Glasses? Something smudgy? Hard to see? A displacer beast!

Displacer Beast

Descriptors: Tentacled, Savage Magical Predator, I’m Not Where You Think I Am! Fearsome, Claws

Conditions: ☐Angry, ☐Trapped, ☐Injured, ☐Dying, ☐Slowed

…from out of nowhere, a dark beast leapt out. Umbril nickered nervously and pulled against his reins. A flurry of movement bewildered the warrioress. She saw the massive frame of a great cat bearing its fangs. However, this strange creature had black tentacles sprouting from its shoulders. The thing struck out with these.

Does Mitra defend herself? No, and…

☑Scared

She cried in surprise as flailing appendages lashed out. Mitra was scarcely able to bring up her blade to ward these off. The terrible thing’s yowl was terrifying, and the swordswoman’s courage failed her and she gave up ground. She wanted to turn and run, but doing so would mean certain death.

Does she find a more defensible position? No…

She leapt aside and tried to put a great tree between her and her predator — however, the beast was too fast. She cried out again, and leveled her blade against the thing. She had no choice but to put on an offensive assault.

Does she strike the thing? No, but… (1 FU spent to change from “No, and…” with a re-roll)

She swung against air with a slice that should have skewered the thing from shoulder to breast. However, steel split naught but empty air. The powerful blow overbalanced her, and she tumbled head over heels down a ferny embankment and through overgrowth and bramble. Although she had fallen, she was unhurt and had put some distance between her and the monster. She quickly got to her feet and scanned for a defensible position. She spied a mound flanked on two sides by trees that would serve such a purpose.

Does she gain a tactical positioning?Yes, and…

With four large strides, she mounted the turf and spun into a defensive posture. Having an advantage, her fear fled, replaced by hardened experience. From above, evil yellow eyes regarded her hungrily. Another terrifying yowl heralded the monster’s approach. With a great leap, the thing bounded down, tentacles writhing.

Does she strike the thing? Yes…

☑Injured

Mitra ducked out of harm’s way as one tentacled arm thrashed. She saw the thing crouched before her, but the yowl it made came from the left. She remembered about such mythical creatures that could throw their own image beyond their actual presence through innately magical means. She let her ears guide her and she struck true. The beast roared furiously.

Does it run off? DoF: 3

Does she finish it off? Yes, and, AND…

☑Dying

The creature launched itself through the air with a mighty leap ready to take down its prey. Again, Mitra had to gauge the actual trajectory of the thing, knowing that some property of the beast’s shiny coat or other magical nature caused it to always appear in a different place than reality. She lowered herself to a crouch and braced her blade as the thing impaled itself. She twisted out of the way as the creature fell, clear of harm and also pulled her blade free. Heaving great gulps of air, she stared with horror and relief at the horrible monster that nearly caused her demise. She gave it one last look, cleaned her blade, and resumed her quest.

Returning to the path…

DoF: 6

…Mitra approached the mound. Evidence of stone works lay under thick foliage. Thanks to Tymora, it looked as though it was undisturbed for ages. Poking around carefully, Mitra found the telltale signs of an archway filled in by erosion, forest growth, and time.

She went back to Umbril and soothed her horse. Getting out her tools from her pack as well as a lantern, she got to work.

Does she open the tomb easily? Yes, and…

It was not long before her shovel hit more masonry, and much of the mortar had given way under her light touch, breaking the seal. Immediately, old still air rushed out, blowing ancient dust and decay into her face. Quickly, she opened the entrance further, revealing a dark antechamber with a stairway descending from its center.

She descended…

The obvious interpretation? Maybe. What else could it be? A burrowing monster? Something with a shell? Umber hulk? Too “on the nose”. Going to go with a scientific explanation of a ‘sheathed wing’ or blade trap.

…arriving at a landing some hundred feet below. Mitra held her light aloft. A passage led forward which opened to a larger room. Statues of knights in the service of the forgotten king flanked the passage. The warrioress stared at these in wonder as she stepped forward. The room opened to a square chamber with two rows of supports. At the end was an elevated slab upon which rested a sarcophagus.

With eagerness tempered by practiced caution, Mitra stepped slowly forward. The light cast shadows in the form of flitting phantoms that darted behind pillars. At last, she stepped up to the tomb of the king.

Old Trap

Descriptors: Concealed, Fast Bladed Weapon, Old Mechanism

Does she avoid the trap? Yes, but… (2 FU spent to re-roll)

As she drew closer, she could make out the relief carven upon the sarcophagus slab in the likeness of a young man with smiling face and closed eyes. Suddenly, a metallic shriek ripped through the stillness as a hidden blade lashed out from the stones around the tomb. Crying out, Mitra fell back, avoiding a grievous maiming wound. However, she dropped her lantern, which shattered and doused out, plunging her in darkness. She cursed, but got up and dusted herself off.

She tried again, this time crawling on hands and knees, searching for the trigger mechanism. She found the pressure plates and so avoided them. Getting to her feet, she pushed on the slab, which was immensely heavy.

Sarcophagus

Descriptors: Heavy Slab

Does she remove it? No, but…

With all her might, she pushed, bracing her feet against a stair. It was too heavy, but a grating scrape let her know that it was possible with a little ingenuity.

Returning to her steed, she fetched many lengths of rope and lit torches. She tied one end to Umbril’s harness, and the rest she fed into the stairway. Rigging the rope around the slab below as best she could, she whistled to her courser. The sound was loud enough to wake the dead many miles further than the tomb. Nonetheless, Umbril pulled.

With his help, does she succeed? Yes, but…

The grating sound of stone against stone rumbled in the chamber. The slab moved, but broke in half, some of it falling into the tomb. Dust and the old smell of leather filled the room, choking her lungs. Coughing, she awaited until it cleared. When it did, she saw that she would have to wriggle under the ruin directly atop the corpse to pry out any valuables.

And this is how I’ve become a lowly tomb robber, she thought. 

Nonetheless, it was her job, and she could get little dirtier than she already was.

Wriggling inside the sarcophagus…

DoF: 2

What does this mean? Sounds like the job of a Cube!

A tree? Growing things? Fungus? Something old and gnarled? I’m going with undead…

Revenant

Descriptors: Vastly Strong, Dead, Tough, Grasping

☐Slowed, ☐Maimed, ☐Out of Action

…Mitra continued to choke on dust and the tatters of decayed and desiccated things that disintegrated under her touch. She shrank in disgust from the feel of old bones. She crawled closer to the corpse’s face to find the bejeweled object she sought. It was close. It was black. It reeked of death.

Suddenly, something immensely strong grasped her arm! The thing was not fully dead. She screamed and kicked, yet its unholy grasp was relentless. Her torch dropped from her hand and guttered out. Dry bones held her thin wrist in a crushing grip.

Does she get out? No, and…

☑Trapped

She struggled, but failed to break free of the crushing grasp; and as she struggled, the thing’s other arm slowly reached up and opened, taking her neck in its cold and dry embrace. She fought furiously as pressure began to crush her windpipe. The cold realization that death was close washed over her; but still she fought with every fiber of her being.

With desperation, she hoped that the rope was still attached to some part of the sarcophagus or the broken slab still partially covering the morbid container. She whistled with her last bit of wind.

Does Umbril break more of the sarcophagus? Yes…

She heard the strain of hemp and the remaining shard of covering came off. All she had to do was break its grip. She now had more room to maneuver.

Does she break free now? No, and… (Spent 1 FU improving the roll and 1 to re-roll, but no dice!)

☑Dying

The thing was too strong and willful, even in death. Though she staggered to her knees, the grip was ever at her throat. Her breath came in painful wheezing gasps and her perception wheeled nauseatingly. She now saw the bony apparition, something glinting in the dim light that fell away to reveal hollow sockets. She was dying; but the embers within still glowed red with defiance. She had survived great battles and terrible betrayal, hunting a man across seven realms, and had survived a deadly winter. She could not give up!

Does she cut off the things arm? Yes…

☑Maimed, ☐Trapped

With one final effort, she swung her blade awkwardly while in the narrow embrace of the dead king. Bone shattered, and she was freed from the deadly grip. She spilled over the lip of the stone coffin and gasped choking gulps of air. The one-armed thing rose from its resting place fueled by unquenchable wrath.

Somehow, she pushed away, finding a column at her back. She managed to gain her feet as the shadowy shape of the fell king swept forward in its tattered shroud. Its eye sockets gleamed with an unholy hatred.

Does she vanquish the thing? Yes…

On shaky legs and nearly blind in the dark, Mitra kept herself propped up with the help of stone to her back. When the hissing thing came within reach and she could feel its undead presence, she sent her blade arcing through the air, crushing bone and severing the skeletal king in two parts. Bones clattered, and it’s force of existence suddenly fled in defeat, leaving naught but old bones.

Slumping down in terror and exhaustion, the warrioress gulped in more air. She sought about the stone floor next for the object. She first found the wet evidence of spilt oil and cut her hand on broken glass from the lantern. Then she came across a heavy mask, presumably of gold. It was studded with precisely cut jewels and stones.

The death mask of the naive king!

With her prize claimed, she fled the tomb and did not look back.

...Up Next: NPC Cut Scene

The next chapter will be about building some NPCs and plot. I will roll nine Cubes and pick to taste to accomplish this free story-telling segment. This will help build a reason for Mitra to raid the king’s tomb, building some intrigue.

Back!

Well, October is wrapping up, and with it concludes a long project that will gradually free up some time. Don't get me wrong — I still don't have anything copious in quantity, but I can at least look at some odd gaming again.

So, what's up now? Recently, John posted a nice concept and write up about freestyle solo delving on his blog after some discussion around the ’sphere on the subject of dungeon crawls. John came up with a nice simple system for inspiring improvisation as you go.

As most who read this know, simple is my motto. I thought that any solo GMless adventure can run this way. So I've modified this concept somewhat for my own purposes. I don't have a name yet for this, but here's what I'm doing:

The rules are simple — FU RPG provides the engine, but Rory’s Story Cubes provide the inspiration. The adventure starts with a randomly determined (2 Cubes) motivation that ties in with the character’s backstory. A two-Cubes adventure title provides the context for events. From that point forward, roll a single cube to inspire a new scene or element. The “Die of Fate” (borrowed from John Harper’s World of Dungeons) will provide a context for the scene/obstacle/element’s interpretation.

The first adventure's anchor and character’s motivation must be explicitly defined and short-term in scope so that it is attainable in a few brief scenes. When the motivation has been met or the character fails, it proceeds to the next adventure/chapter. At that point, select or roll a new motivation. If none can be found, write a narrative cut scene featuring an antagonist produced spontaneously by rolling nine Cubes and freely interpreting. The Cubes will answer Who? What? When? How? and Why? building a motivation for the enemy that will help build new adventures and bring future conflict into the protagonist's life. These motivations need not be (and perhaps shouldn't be) clearly defined — they should only heighten the suspense, danger, and provide new hooks to build adventures. I will try to include at least one antagonist cut scene for every two or three adventures/chapters.

This will, by no means, be limited to dungeoneering. I will use this to develop a new campaign set in a familiar setting. Meet our protagonist:

Mitra of Gauntharia

A native of Damara, Mitra took part in the wars with Vaasa until Damara was overrun. Since, she had joined the Black Dragons mercenary company, rising to the rank of a captain. During this service, she worked for, among others, Zhentil Keep, doing some regrettable things until she had to leave. She is tall, not entirely unattractive with a muscular build and square face. Her once wild brown hair is cut short, military style.

Relationships: Xavier Zalibar—a Zhentarim agent who she once served and betrayed. Sanbar Axegrinder—a dwarf and former mentor and friend. Other enemies include former colleagues of the Black Dragons, and other members of the Zhentarim.

Drives: Seeks to right regrettable wrongs done during her time with the Black Dragons.

Descriptors: Tactician, Tough as Iron, Fencing, Uncompromising
Gear: Trusty Broadsword, Headstrong Charger
FU Points: 1
Conditions: ☐Angry, ☐Trapped, ☐Unconscious, ☐Scared, ☐Dazed, ☐Injured, ☐Tired, ☐Dying
☑ = checked

And for the cubes that build the short-term motivation...

…beauty, weather, leading to gold? …happy, innocence?

We will go with the motivation, “follow the map leading to the naive king’s tomb, where the golden death mask is said to lie” that will also be the first adventure’s title.

Shout Out

Lastly, a shout out to another great new actual play solo rpg blog! Welcome Carsten and his blog, http://solospelunking.wordpress.com/

Chapter System, continued

I’m working on a few new things. With a major non-gaming project coming to fruition in three weeks, my time is very tight. However, my Chapter system still allows me to plug in a scene while I’m waiting between appointments.

In other news, I’m still finishing the next chapter in my Drowsbane campaign, and I found myself sketching out a couple of original fantasy characters — something I haven’t done for a while — and revisiting one of my favorite systems, Jaws of the Six Serpents.Trying to find balance, I don’t want to completely abandon gaming even when my work project intensity spikes.

In any case, here’s the next in my Chapter system experiments with the random title anchor.

More of Doria:

Chapter 2: The Knights’ Crusade

I

Rain continued to pour. Doria picked herself up and considered the direction of her horse. Just then, a figure approached draped in a voluminous cloak and masked by an old helm with a respirator. He introduced himself as Blazespawn and beckoned the warrioress to follow. “Your horse has no doubt been captured and sold,” the man said in a metallic voice as he led the warrioress through a maze of backstreets lit by the occasional bonfire around which vagrants stood listlessly. Inside an abandoned building, he led her deeper into a guarded room behind a steel mesh fence.

II

Inside was a round, dimly lit chamber of concrete and steel. Doria looked warily into the room. Suddenly, she was shoved within, and the door to the steel cage was slammed shut behind her. With an oath, she whirled with sword and dirk in hand. “What is the meaning of this?!” she growled. “What do you know of the cult of the storm bringer?” the man asked. “Nothing!” she swore. After came a slew of questions, including what she knew of the Balarhen skyships. She admitted that she had seen many as a girl in the north, and had even been brought aboard one before she fought her way to freedom, but she could remember little. “That should suffice,” the man said cryptically. Suddenly, he flipped a switch on a control panel, and a metallic behemoth of a construct whirred to life within her cell, grinning a display of yellow and red blinking lights. The thing rolled forward, chopping the ground repeatedly with a massive cleaver attached to a bionic arm. She rolled out of the way as the mechanical monster rent the concrete she had occupied. She saw coils of fluids at the base of the thing’s armored dome top, and worked her way closer with a series of parries, spins, and dodges. With her blade, she sliced through an exposed hose. Hot fluid sprayed out and an even louder buzzing and squealing filled the room. It slowed significantly. Next, a different mechanical arm extended bearing some sort of long chrome barrel. Doria leapt aside as a brilliant beam of hellfire ripped through the steel mesh behind her. She ducked again, and took the opportunity to leap through the sizzling hole. The armored man who stood at some control panel panicked. With a sword leveled at his throat, Doria commanded, “Shut that thing down!”

III

The man did so and cowered, sobbing behind his metallic mask. “Please,” he cried. “Spare me! I am the last of the rune-knights who seek to undo the cult and see the shackles they have placed on these people thrown away. I have waited for years to find someone worthy…I have waited this long for my replacement — I have waited for you!” Blazespawn related that his knighthood was a divine order sworn to protect the folk of the Blackened Bowl from their oppressors — the priests of the cult and their sorcerer allies who flew in on the old warships to take slaves and materials, leaving all under the domination of the priests of the cult. “Please! You have the skills to defeat them!” he said. “You can defeat their technology! Will you not take my cause?”

IV

Doria regarded the man, unable to see even his eyes through his visor. “I am no noble knight, sir,” she answered. “I am a sell-sword, and no more. You seek another.” “But you are wrong!” answered the man. “I have been shown the only path to salvation, who shall cometh as a woman radiant of the darkness, who shall cleanse the unnatural overlords with shadow and blade…she shall herald her coming by condemning a feared and powerful Padh to righteous justice where all others have failed. This prophecy names you, my lady. Wouldn’t you want to exact justice on those same ones who obviously enslaved and ravaged your kin?”

The Stone of Baolnor, part 3

...and now for the final part of the "Stone of Baolnor".

The 9Qs: Questions 7-9

Warning: this gets a bit cheesy, but I like it...

Q7.

defiance

The two heroes ran among the many fleeing townsfolk as the skies darkened to almost nighttime blackness. “Where are we going?” asked Thedric.

“To Elminster’s tower!” answered Tengrym.

Although he had never before been to Shadowdale, the fame of its many retired adventuring residents and its storied history was common lore to most. This was the Heartlands, and many heroes who had rocked the world and swayed nations lived here. As they ran, they saw the twisted tower along the riverbank, the Old Skull rising up beyond, and a rather disused path leading into a tangled grove.

“That’s it!” the half-elf confirmed to himself. Into it he ran. A few warning sigils and flagstones leading the way further testified that this is where the old arch-mage lived.

Suddenly, caution flared, and Tengrym came to a stop, holding Thedric with him. “Careful now…this is probably one of the most dangerous thresholds on Faerûn!”

“More danger?!” cried Thedric.

crescent moon

Tengrym came up short and started, nearly bowling into a bearded man in a red robe. The arch-wizard Elminster was an imposing sight, especially when he materialized suddenly where before there was nothing but air. Elminster was purturbed…or, one might say, angry. Bushy brows formed a harsh “V” wedge, and dark eyes glared at the two intruders.

“Who are ye to intrude upon an old soul?” sang the wizard. “And what have you brought upon the poor people of Shadowdale? Answer quick, lest I hastily indemnify ye both with fire and ice!”

Use the heroes' abilities to respond to the threats' resistance as per their heroic motivation and the RPG’s rules.

“Uh, master Elminster, your wiseness, er…powerfulness,” began Tengrym, getting his tongue tied amid the fear of the coming doom and almost equal fear of the bristling sorcerer before him. “Allow me to explain…although, why do you assume that we bring this doom?”

“It is no matter of genius or foresight to observe that a mighty demon heralds the approach of two strangers who have never before set foot upon my threshold!” answered the mage sarcastically. “Speak now!”

As fast, but as completely as he could, Tengrym explained the situation of the demon, Egelrenardruth, and the stone he most likely bore, and the tomb opened by the merchant and his escort in the Thunder Peaks.

“Well, my boy,” began the wizard, “you do seem earnest, and I don’t sense that you’re to blame for what may happen next.”

A peal of thunder reverberated, almost carrying with it a disembodied unnatural voice filled with horror and the promise of destruction.

“But,” he continued, ignoring the clamor that reduced the two heroes to shaking lumps, “I don’t sense that you are telling all there is to tell. What did you say your name was?”

Tengrym hadn’t given it yet. Most times, he would give a stranger his alias, that of Veldis of Thentia. Word of the deeds of the offspring of the Drowsbanes tended to quickly reach unfriendly ears. This time, although he was conflicted, he let it be said.

“I am Tengrym…Tengrym Drowsbane,” he said slowly. “And this is my half-brother, Thedric.”

“Drowsbane, Drowsbane…” mused the wizard, oblivious of the screams of terror and the clap of more thunder. “Yes, you do look familiar. You have your father’s eyes, don’t you? Dergan Drowsbane I remember. A horrible fate to be laid upon the family…dark elves, curses, and all… My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Tengrym answered in awe. “…your powerfulness.”

“Yet, I still am unsure of what you are still hiding…”

Tengrym met the wizard’s gaze and swallowed hard. “The stone he carries is his weakness, m'Lord. The goddess, Selûne laid upon him a curse to protect the stone. If it is destroyed, he is destroyed with it.”

“And that’s why he comes here, I see,” affirmed Elminster. “And why must this be a secret?”

Reluctantly, Tengrym said, “We would first wish to look upon it to see what fate is written upon it.”

“Well, the right thing to do and one’s desire do not always intertwine, if you get my meaning,” said Elminster with disappointment. “Well, we still have a chance to make things right. I think I know what it is he’s looking for. This is a battle that will be won with words over deeds, at least initially. Here’s what we shall do…”

Q8.

the enemy nears completion of its goals, the enemy takes aggressive action against unsuspecting victims, open book

Descending from the sky in a shroud of void-blackness that trailed behind it like burning soot came the demon. Much of its body burned and was enveloped by licking flames in red to be smothered by smoke of jet. Flames of the uttermost dark red limned the edges of the cloud, but the horror’s face was laid bare for all to see. Black wings and long chitinous arms were crooked and misshapen, studded by thorny protrusions, all black as night. Around always was an invisible but palpable aura of power that seemed to repel light itself. It’s face was a hideous mixture of man and goat and ever black soot marked its path through the sky.

Now, the thing spied Elminster’s humble tower in the grove and it descended. People shrieked and ran for cover, and a shadow was cast over the small township. The thing landed near the weathered flagstones of Elminster’s threshold with a tremor, and though the wards flickered alive with magical potency, and alarms brayed, and numerous magical defenses sparked into activation, the demon stepped forward, unperturbed and unchecked.

Inside the grove stood Elminster in his robes and leaning on his crooked staff. He now looked insignificant and feeble next to the black, burning horror that strode defiantly forward. “Stop there for now, Lord of puss and punchlines,” said Elminster casually.

Tengrym and Thedric stood not far aside him, and other members of the former Knights of Myth Drannor not far to the other side. All shook with barely controlled fear and uncertainty.

The demon showed its contempt by stepping forward.

“Halt!” the wizard repeated, with more firmness this time. “I know what it is you seek, Egelrenardruth!”

The monster roared an inhuman scream of agony and fury.

“Yes, I know your name as well, lord of worms and vermin. You want this?” he asked, producing an old dusty time of considerable thickness.

The demon took another step forward. With a word, the tip of Elminster’s staff went alight with blue-green flame and held it over the pages. “Yes, black one! The tome of Uavona, containing the only rite known to be affective against the curses of the Great Ones.”

The demon backed away a step and regarded the heroes gathered around with hatred and malice. “Fool human!” it spoke in a deep bass and unholy voice. “I will destroy this tiny village and all who dwell here!”

“Yes, but you do want this,” Elminster countered calmly. “So we seem to have a stalemate.”

“What do you want, wizard?”

“What do I want?” he echoed. “What do I want…” Now it seemed he had forgotten what it was. “Oh yes! In exchange for the rite, you will be bound by a task of my choosing…”

“Never trust a wizard,” the demon scoffed.

“Spot on! Spot on!” laughed Elminster. “Normally, I’d agree with you there. But this is one you wouldn’t want to refuse. It is, after all, a single task — quite within your capability — a fair trade for releasing an eternity of bondage, wouldn’t you say?”

“What does the wizard ask?”

“Before I tell you, lord of malice, you must agree to exact the deed immediately and leave the people and land of Shadowdale at peace, and leave the stone behind intact and unblemished. Do we have a deal?”

“First, tell us the task…”

“Upon removing your curse, you must immediately depart this plane of existence — return to whence you came — and remain there for no less than the standard 1,000 year term.”

The monster thundered and screamed, writhing within its veil of black soot. “I think, wizard,” screamed Egelrenardruth, “that instead I shall take it, drink your blood, and raze the town!”

“So I thought!”

The others were tense like springs ready for release. While Elminster worked his magic to distract the demon, the others would figure out a way — somehow — to find and get the tablet.

For these questions, I will balance Elminster’s set of Descriptors plus one (for having all sorts of famous help) against the the demon’s. See how simple that is? Elminster also has a Condition that he placed through magic during their prep before the arrival of Egelrenardruth. Here are the stats I’ve gone with:

Elminster
Descriptors: Legendary Wizard, Vast Arcane Knowledge, Whimsical, A Tough Nut To Crack, Magical Staff, Tome of Power
Conditions: Warded Against Demons

Egelrenardruth
Descriptors: Legendary Demon, Strong Beyond Imagining, Fearsome, Weather Control, Creature of the Night, Flight, Fiery Aura, True Name Is Power
Conditions: None

The mod I’m using to emulate high fantasy adventure (which I call High FUntasy) has Qualifiers that describe a thing’s scale: Novice, Veteran, Expert, and Legendary. Those can add bonus or penalty dice, but I’m capping it all off at 3 for ease. Whenever the demon is occupied, the heroes can factor in all these things, generally leaving a balance of +/– 0. If the heroes vie directly with the demon, they won’t get those benefits.

Battle erupted. Swordsmen of great repute and prowess leapt forward with magic and steel in hand. Flame exploded and lightning crackled, and war cries sang out. The monster roared a terrible shriek and darkness itself seemed to billow out and expand. Noxious fumes filled the air and red-white lightning flickered; but most terribly, the grip of fear — terrible, pulsating fear — wafted out like a living entity, gripping everyone, elf, dwarf, and human alike.

Tengrym’s blade was in his hand. Where Thedric was, he didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to let that worry occupy his mind. He sought about the horrific demon with his eyes for something that might foretell of a stone tablet. He did not carry it, but Tengrym did notice that there seemed to be a sack about the monster’s hip — it was difficult to tell — that seemed to be made of the very stuff of night. Whether it had tangible form or not, the half-elf could only guess.

Chaos was all around, with men and women screaming cries of both anguish and triumph. Magical might sprang forth in a display of thousands of colors. Somehow, through it all, Tengrym fought off his fear and grew bold. His magical elf blade quivered with eager energy, for it was made for just such a purpose — to vie with an infernal power.

Although in the heat of battle, the mass of swinging forms, and those flying away from mighty blows of the enemy’s foul weapons and arms, Tengrym managed to move in. His sword and lithe motions kept him free of harm. He deflected errant blows and rolled under a decapitating slash of a massive axe — to find himself within striking distance of the demon.

Seeing the protuberance of something black at the thing’s side, Tengrym mustered his strength and speed and slashed. Around the thing, so close, he felt the sting of it’s fiery emanation, the overpowering noxious smell of brimstone and decay. His blade went just shy of the mark, landing hard against the monster’s weapon. Then the evil thing sensed the half-elf’s intent and turned on him, ignoring all others. Tengrym felt the full undivided malice of the demon — it almost peered into his very being with those unholy red eyes, laying bare his thought and desires.

The blow came in hard, impossible to avoid fully given the surprising speed and the incredible strength that drove it. Tengrym countered with his blade and was flung away with considerable force. He crumpled against a tree, the wind knocked from him. His blade spun out of reach, smoking from the incredible heat and strain. The ancient elvish sword withheld against the blow, but it was ineffectual to do actual harm against such an opponent. The others leapt in to take the half-elf’s place. Perhaps the others’ weapons were of stronger magic.

When Tengrym regained some of his wits, he gasped for breath. Thedric was approaching at a distance, drawing forth knives for throwing.

“Stay clear,” Tengrym managed to warn.

He staggered to his feet again. Only magic could accomplish what he needed.

In his smarting head, he recalled the symbols and words for a telekinetic spell that might rip the stone free of the grip of the demon. He tried to steady his breathing as the battle raged around him. Then the words came like rote and the magic coalesced into tingling power. When the spell was released, Tengrym reached out with his fingers and demanded, “Give me the tablet, Egelrenardruth!”

At the mention of the demon’s name, it shrieked hideously. From its side, a blue-white slate ripped free of the black material hanging about the creature’s waist and sailed into Tengrym’s waiting hands. The creature stumbled to its knees, trying to reach out at the stone as it sailed away. It’s grasp missed the edges of the tablet. Tengrym had the still-hot stone in his hands. He looked upon the surface and saw thin, delicately chiseled lettering upon its pale surface.

Elminster cried out to the half-elf. “Destroy the tablet now! While there’s still a chance!”

The enraged demon got to its feet and roared with the power of thunder. The trees and ground shook in its wrath and it bounded forward toward Tengrym with astonishing speed and power. Tengrym’s indecisiveness made everything hinge on a very narrow moment. He heard his half-brother call out to do the same. Suddenly, everything slowed, the warriors and mages, as well as Elminster and Thedric, all seeming to barely move.

The demon was faster.

With his remaining strength, Tengrym brought the stone down hard as he raised his knee, cracking the polished stone. Bright light flashed, and though with the breaking, the demon’s form was being undone, the power, heat, and momentum of the thing followed through and Tengrym knew no more…

Q9.

29 Mirtul, Year of the Shadows

When Tengrym awoke, he found himself in a quaint room decorated with exotic furs and rugs from the Shining South. He heard the sound of water being wrung from a towel. Glancing to his right, he saw an older but pleasant-looking woman. She put the towel to his burning skin.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“In the Old Skull Inn,” the woman said with a cracking voice. “I am Jhaele Silvermane, and you just lie there quiet while I tend to you. You’re lucky to be alive…”

The half-elf glanced down, seeing his clothes and corselet stripped away and his naked flesh laid bare. Various unguents and bandages dotted his bruised and battered body. The worst of his injuries, it turned out, were healed by the priests of Lathander. Just then, Thedric came through the door. He was absently tossing a dagger into the air, catching it in his fingers delicately by the tip almost without looking.

“I heard some voices…hey, look who’s up!” he said jovially.

As he lay there, the better part of two days, it turned out that news of the destruction of the rogue demon had reached far and wide. The whole of the town, which was largely saved by the efforts of the Knights, Elminster, and of course Tengrym and his brother, was abuzz with the gossip. A whole throng of people were waiting in the taproom of the Old Skull day and night for news of the condition of the wounded hero.

Tengrym listened quietly to the stories of how Elminster had pushed the half-elf swordsman clear of the worst of disasters with his magical staff, saving him from a permanent death. Throughout the day, he received gifts from the townsfolk and their praise, but it seemed that he would not be leaving any time soon due to his wounds.

Later that night, Elminster came into his room and sat near the bed, smoking from his great clay pipe. “You almost did not live to see this day, my boy,” he said between puffs. “You also came dangerously close to letting a dangerous demonic power get away with something.”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and flaming flasks of oil,” Tengrym replied flatly.

“Indeed — and delayed fireball blasts…”

Elminster told Tengrym that word of the deed was already far and wide, and within short time, the news would also be in the ears of less desirable folk, if not already. Tengrym understood his meaning, thinking of the drow, who would fight against any attempt to reunite the remnants of the Drowsbanes and to see the prophecy through.

“Don’t worry too much,” said Elminster in answer to Tengrym’s unspoken question. “I know you wanted desperately to see what was on that tablet. You will come into the knowledge you seek when the time is right, I reckon.”

Tengrym was growing annoyed by the know-it-all. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right! What next for you?” the wizard asked.

After a pause, he answered, “The riddle of the disfigured man we encountered near the lair of the demon. I may not have told you, but he looked like kin. I don’t know what his motivations are or who he works for, but I think I need to track him and find out.”

Elminster nodded. “And your brother?”

“Well, I figure there’s few places as safe as Shadowdale where I can trust he will be well taken care of.”

The old mage nodded. “The Knights will see to that — I have no doubt.” The man got up from his seat. “Well, you need your rest — you have a journey before you, and you needn’t indulge an old man and his long-winded stories while in the condition you’re in.”

He put a hand on Tengrym’s shoulder and left. “Thank you,” the wounded hero said.

“You owe me some new flagstones for my path,” Elminster said as he left.

Tengrym grinned and fell asleep.

Ultra-minimalist solo experience thoughts

As mentioned here, I have given some thought about a high-speed solo system that provides little fuss, and lots of speed. And so, I've given my Chapter System a try. As mentioned in that introductory post to this fast-paced experiment, the object was to increase speed of play into a format I can accomplish something in one sitting.

I have run two chapters so far, each with a strict limit of 6 paragraphs (some of those paragraphs get some bloat). Was it successful? Sort of...

Getting through a Mythic game is time-consuming, and I have a low record of completing projects. They can easily get derailed, since there is little to regulate the amount of randomness that can sway narrative and action. With Nine Questions, I have a great deal more success. However, I don't have a chance to sit down and journal out an entire game.

The Chapter system is a bit of a merging of the two ideas: 9Q's sense of structure (though in more nebulous terms), and Mythic's epic, ongoing feeling. What I ended up with is not much different than a typical scene with a 9Q's session. However, the goal is no longer an over-arching narrative that produces cohesion and finality like a 9Q game; rather, it is more focused on the short term with a backdrop that it belongs to something larger.

The cool innovation, in my opinion, is that I've adopted a chapter title that essentially becomes the anchor for all of the action in that chapter. I used this little Random Fantasy Novel Title Generator to come up with chapter titles. The object of each chapter is to reference the random elements and ideas against the context of that title. The result seems like a normal 9Q scene (at least the way I run them), but finding that meaning seems to be a nice manageable session goal. I am also keeping a running tally of threads, things, factions, people, and so forth similar to Mythic's lists.

The paragraph count certainly helps. Seeing emerging arcs over the long term is also something that can keep the exercise interesting and somewhat natural, without letting new twists, such as the way they are generated by Mythic, to leave too many open threads to deal with.

Below, I have pasted my first chapter attempt. This is a saga featuring an anti-heroine, Doria Nightraven, the "Dark Raven". The setting is intended to be full of Sword & Sorcery flavor, with a Thundarr-esque sorcery and super-science post-apocolyptic element. I've used FU rpg for this to keep things running lean and quick. Here she is:


Doria Nightraven

Dark-haired and pale-skinned, Doria is an attractive yet imposing figure. She hails from the forgotten north, a place few have seen, finding her way by virtue of the sword. She has served as bodyguard, mercenary, and adventurer. She wanders, seeking to bring down the sorcerers who have enslaved and destroyed her people.

Descriptors: Quick as a Cat, Willful as the Devil, Swordplay, Vengeful
Gear: Iron Longsword, Stiletto Dirks

Special: as a special charm ability, spending 1 FU point and making a Beat the Odds roll allows Doria to summon a flock of ravens upon need to confuse or bewilder.


Chapter 1: The Betrayal of Two Demons

I — scales, pot of gold, sack 

Aldegold — The city of scrap, where merchants, coin, refuse, slaves, and illicit goods are traded and sold to half a dozen races, mutant and pureblooded alike. A red cloud of dust and contaminated haze mingled with the glow of the dying orange sun as it sank, forming a ring around the city of refuse and reek at the depths of a great crater of black stone. Here, a dark-clad temptress — tall and fell — rode slowly through the narrow streets, eyeing the villainy from the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. She noted a particularly shrewd merchant weighing a pile of twisted scrap and measuring out milled grain to a waiting mutant with red pocked skin. Rabid animals fought over the fresh carcass of a bloated and clearly diseased nazrat. All the while, local eyes peered back at the imposing and deadly pureblooded — or so she seemed — passing figure. They looked at the slender longsword strapped across her back, the dirks strapped lengthwise to the tight leggings of her thighs, and to her cold and lethal gray eyes.

II — footprint, crown, chaos 

Suddenly, before the black-clad warrioress came a procession. Several hulking slaves bore a massive palanquin adorned with beaten copper and gold twisted in crude and menacing shapes about its surface. A loud man in a flowing headdress of metallic mesh cracked a whip, sending those who had gotten in his way flying in terror. It just so happened that the multitudes on the Street of Fetid Riches was dense due to the congestion and narrow lanes lined with heaps of refuse, that Doria Nightraven did not notice the procession until the intervening patch of pavement was suddenly cleared, suddenly revealing a vexed procession figurehead, who snapped his whip again. “I said move, vermin!” With that, the man cracked the coil again, but it was abruptly caught in the gloved hand of the rider, who held tight to its end. The procession leader widened his eyes in rage. “How dare you!” The woman only regarded him coldly, unwaveringly, and stood perfectly still. The man pulled, and the two strove until finally the woman was pulled off her horse by the man’s greater leverage. However, she landed catlike on her feet, released the coil, and had sword in hand, all in one quick flourish.

III — pointing man, storm cloud, waves

“How dare you impede the procession of Padh Jerokin, high priest of the cult of the storm giver! Lay thee down and await the wrath of his judgement!” From out of the refuse, Doria heard a whisper. Her attention was momentarily caught as a wide-eyed shadowed figure tried to mime a warning — that somehow the man she now crossed was fearsome and important. “Stop,” came a more audible whisper, “before he calls the demons of storm and flood to destroy us!”

IV

The northwoman had never before heard of the cult, nor the priest named by the fool standing before her. No one stirred, and only a tense watchfulness lay upon the city square. Finally, she answered, still with bare steel in her hand. “The Padh is welcome to find another route,” she said in an uncommonly deep and cold voice, which was punctuated by a snort of derision by her horse. “I go forward.” “Why, you little…!” answered the man, who stepped forward with raised whip. However, that whip was never brought to bare. A thin dagger quivered in the man’s breast before he fell. In a flash, the palanquin was nearly dropped and all the slaves rushed forward barehanded to strike her. Lightning fast spins and fierce strokes dismembered one after another, until the ground was painted in blood and gore.

NPC description: arrow, rainbow, pushing over wall

When at last those survivors fled, the woman in black approached the litter and opened the veil with her bloodied blade to view its occupant. She saw a thin shirtless and bald man sitting cross-legged and straight. About his eyes was painted colored rings and his gaze was intense and equally as deadly as hers. “You know not what wrath you have incurred,” the man said in slow and even tones. The man’s eyes flashed with some sort of intense but brief light, and with it, an unseen wall of force bowled into the unsuspecting warrioress. She was knocked back and to the ground, the air beaten momentarily from her lungs. Her horse fled in terror the opposite direction. The man stood and picked up a shillelagh, and slowly and menacingly approached. “That was most unwise!” He raised his staff up over his head. Somehow, with the promise of death before her eyes, she somehow summoned enough will and speed to thrust her sword through the man’s gut before he could bring the weapon down to crush her skull. His eyes rolled into his head and he slumped to the ground, a hand twitching until he finally expired.

Overhead, thunder rumbled almost in answer to the deed as ominous green-red clouds rolled in, and droplets of red acid rain began to pelt the ground with here and there a hiss like tears of blood. Those hiding souls who had watched the conflict mesmerized still gazed in awe and fear at the stranger who had slain a feared tyrant, unable to react or comprehend what they had just witnessed, or what it might portend.