RotSM, part 6

Last time, Mitra recovered her beloved black steed, and a few of her coins, but was still without her mask. On the trail of Stordfast, the alleged thief, she must guess which direction he went. In the meantime, the hordes of Dragonspear threaten to break like a tital wave over the settlements of the Sword Coast. Things look ill for our heroine!

To help, here's a summary:

1. Part One — Mitra ventures to remote regions of the Thunder Peaks and recovers the Death Mask of the Naive King.
2. Part Two — In Luskan, two conspirators discuss the progress of Mitra. A wizard has the means to observe her movements remotely.
3. Part Three — After a long journey, Mitra travels west and north with her prize. Near the High Moor she encounters wounded Red Beard who warns of hobgoblins and devils. They traveled south together to Soubar to warn the folk of the region, but Mitra is robbed, her mask taken.
4. Part Four — In Luskan, Hacarthor the wizard meets his contact's employer, Zalibar, the nemesis of Mitra. They learn that the cursed mask was stolen. We also learn that Zalibar has imprisoned Sanbar Axegrinder, Mitra's friend and his clan who are building a mechanical horror — the mask is key to its completion. We also learn in Soubar about the thieves — the Calashite orphan flees Soubar with the mask.
5. Part Five — Mitra send Redbeard to the town's officials to break news of the impending invasion and goes in search of the thieves. She finds their lair, but the trail of the thief grows cold.

And once again, our heroine:

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

However, before we continue her story, we follow the mask with a set of freely interpreted Cubes:

lightning bolt, tower, eating watermelon

A lone cloaked figure clutched something...

...against his belly as he lurched forward. He was weak and confused. Lightning struck again, the skies boomed, and the dark heavens finally released torrents of heavy cold rain. Hungry and aimless, Stordfast sought for refuge against the elements. Off the road, the barrens were devoid of much of any cover. Trees were stunted and provided little foliage. Cursing the gods, the young man scanned the horizons. Suddenly, the broken line of a ruin in the distance caught his eye. You will find safety there, he said to himself. He cocked his head to one side. ‘I’ will find safety, he corrected.

Forward he went. The distance was greater than first appeared. For the better part of an hour he waded through soggy muck and stinking bogs to get to the place. When he climbed out of a pool and onto dry land, he lay at the foot of a once great tower. Little else remained of the attached keep. The young Calashite cared little. He only wanted shelter.

Panting, he tossed himself through a vacant crumbling doorframe overgrown with bramble and into the black stony recesses. He was exhausted, sodden, cold, and famished. You will find food here, he said to himself, or had he?

Turning to examine his surroundings, Stordfast saw a round room choked with fallen stone and debris. An empty windowframe was partially filled in by a pear tree. He wandered to the window. The tree was bent, laden with ripened fruit. The young thief eagerly picked four and devoured them, juice running down his fingers. They were sweet!

matches, descending stair, baseball

His most immediate urge taken care of, he next turned his attention to warmth. He scanned the darker recesses of the round chamber. As if waiting for him, a lantern, tinder, flint, steel, and fuel sat on the floor as if left by someone. He examined the items. They were dusty and smeared from ages of disuse. He hastily lit the lantern and tried to warm his hands against the little flame. He removed his sodden cloak to dry and rubbed his arms.

As he stood trying to warm himself, he spied a dark hole partially exposed under a collapsed stone. Curiosity got the best of him.

You will find power and riches within, he said to himself...or had he?

He picked up his newfound lantern and investigated the corner. Now he could see a winding staircase descending into blackness. The stone was easily removed. He stared down within the mysterious, frightening, and yet promising depths in awe. He descended.

He arrived at a landing. His dim flickering light illuminated little about him. It was dark with very close air. A sense of dreadful, watchful malice filled the air. Stordfast began trembling.

You are well, he said to himself. Fear not, he added with an urge to move forward. Rather than from his own mind, the thought seemed to emanate from his hip where the heavy object hung that he had stolen from the warrior woman rather from his head. Yet, too filled with wonder, he seemed not to notice. The passage moved only forward.

Shuffling along, he came to a seemingly dead end. The short passage seemed to lead nowhere. A strange crest medallion was mounted on the wall. Leaning against the wall was an old iron bar. Judging by the scratch marks near it, someone had tried to pry the medallion loose. Immediately, the old feelings of excitement filled his breast at the thought of filching an item of great beauty and value.

He picked of the bar and tried to pry. However, the stone medallion was stuck fast. After many attempts, the young Calashite grew frustrated and began banging on the wall. By some chance, he struck something that moved. Suddenly the wall gave in and swung away on hidden hinges. It was a secret door!

He fetched his lantern again and peered within the space beyond. It looked to be some treasure room! Glittering coins were strewn about...and jewels! He was rich beyond reckoning! His luck had turned astonishingly for the better.

He danced about and scooped up the shiny valuables, letting them fall between his fingers. He enjoyed feeling their weight, and the feel of their cold, smooth surfaces. He took joy in the clatter and jingle as they fell to the floor, overflowing with abundance.

crown, puzzle piece, cut with scissors

His eye was drawn deeper within the treasure room. In the back, set upon a dais of three steps was a high-backed chair. A throne! Unlike the other items, the chair was not lavish or bejeweled...it was old, and somehow twisted. The leather looked like old desiccated skin — stretched and brittle. It was black and drab and somehow terrible beyond what eyes alone could see. It was also large...a grown man would appear small upon it.

The voice came again. Sit on the throne, it said. This time, Stordfast did not confuse it with his own thoughts. He was flooded by fear. He turned to leave, but the voice repeated. The voice was deep and commanding. So powerful was it that Stordfast might have torn off his own face with his hands if the voice so commanded. Sit!

Drawn, the lad approached irresistibly. He climbed the stairs and stood before the seat. It looked like a dead thing still possessed of a malevolent animating force. But, it was just a chair.

Slowly, he turned and lowered himself. The feel of the old leather was sickening. The smell of decay was in his nostrils. There was old evil within it...terrible, ancient, and unearthly. As though bound into place, Stordfast could not move.

Put on the mask, came the voice. The lad's hand moved to the bag at his hip. Fingers undid bindings and the hideous visage stared at him, eye holes alight with greenish flame. Put on the mask!

Stordfast did as he was compelled to do. As if a fine-fighting piece of a jigsaw puzzle, it seemed perfectly contoured to his face. Suddenly, it fused to his skin with painful burning. He cried a shriek of agony, muffled behind gold. Green flame wreathed his body and the throne upon which he was set. He convulsed and wrenched painfully, screaming, but he could not rip the mask free, nor get up from the hideous seat. His skin rippled and bubbled as though the green flame boiled within him. His shrieks continued, until his own skin ripped open along hundreds of fissures and cuts as though it were mere paper to be torn. Revealed underneath was a demonic form with fearsome face of gold that shed the shell of flesh that was only moments before, Stordfast.

Tune in next time... Mitra wants to quietly pay the hostler, collect her horse and begin her search. Does she lose Redbeard to continue her doomed quest? Does she find sign of Stordfast’s trail? Do the hordes of Dragonspear overtake her? Does she meet the horror unwittingly released by the young Calashite?

These answers and more await...

Hour of Dream, part 4

Here is the next part of my "Last of the Drowsbane" campaign. Things get a little crazy here, but fun!

Scene 8

Setup: Tengrym sneaks through the night to find a quiet and seemingly unoccupied granary near the shipyard

CF: 4

Altered? Interrupt! Focus — move away from a thread (stop Shandorin’s plan); meaning — Eating Watermelon, Little Faerie, Key

Interpretation: it is a fantasy after all — so, here’s the gonzo — Tengrym hears noise and sees an elf being led in chains to an ogre in a building who is seemingly ready to make a meal of the elf. I’m also adding in another hook — “Last of the Drowsbane”.

Tengrym hastened back into town, keeping to the shadows along the edge of the street and staying alert in case he had another chance encounter with Shandorin. Instead, along a more desolate part of town where the shipyards, warehouses, and granary lay, the half-elf ducked behind cover as he heard approaching whispers.

What’s the elf look like? Eye, cauldron, sunflower

Male? Yes, and… (a great physical specimen)

Four figures escorted a fifth in chains. The four were dressed in black — a deeper-than-night black that might have been the cloaks of dark elves. The fifth was plainly a moon elf. He had pale skin, long hair the hue of black iron, and striking golden eyes. By his bruises and cuts, it appeared he had been in some sort of fight.

What is his relationship to the Drowsbanes? ‘L’, counting coins, magic beans

The tall elf was familiar to Tengrym. Something registered in his tired brain — something deep and nearly forgotten.

The elf was led to one of the warehouses. The figures stopped and rapped on the door. It was flung wide revealing a massive figure of gargantuan proportions and ugly distorted goblin-like features backlit by pale yellow light from within — an ogre!

“Just in time for me meal!” the giant grumbled in bass tones. “Elf flesh, no less!”

“Do with him as you will, Hapray,” answered one of the four.

The elf was thrust inside and the door slammed shut. As the four returned to the direction from which they came, Tengrym reeled. He knew the elf!

Arafraulyn — ‘Ara’ — was the highest paid of Dergan Drowsbane’s servants. Master of Arms for the noble house, Ara taught the novice lordlings the art of dueling and swordplay, sewing the seeds of future warlords, as well as leading the soldiery of Sullaspryn. Indeed, Tengrym had apprenticed under his rigorous and disciplined tutelage, learning the elvish tongue and art of elvish fencing from a true master.

What was Ara doing in Scardale?

Tengrym leaned back and tried to absorb the implications. Ara was a trusted ally and friend of Tengrym’s dearly departed father, and the young half-elf had respected and feared him…he owed much to the master elf who had taught him courage, self-reliance, and the skills to survive in a dangerous and ruthless world.

As Tengrym eyed the timber structure, a great owl alighted on a bent lamppost just above him. Its flapping wings startled the half-elf. He looked up at the golden-eyed bird with a frown. He contemplated lobbing a stone at the nuisance, but turned his attention back on the building.

The height was too high and sheer to climb. However, a word and a gesture blinked the half-elf on the perch. Gingerly, he crept over to an open vent onto the rafters of the ceiling within, looking down over a most filthy habitat. Even now, the giant stirred a pot of boiling liquid, adding some roots.

“This be Hapray’s tastiest meal in a long spell,” the ogre said.

“May my bones stick in your gullet,” answered Ara.

Does their banter reveal clues as to what Ara is doing there? Yes, and… (reveals some other relevant truth)

What? crab, scary shadow, compass

“How about I pull out your tongue while the pot is stewing?”

“Had I not been pinched tailing Shandorin, I might be separating your head from your neck about now,” answered Ara, unimpressed. “Curse this mess! If only I had his moon dial, I could be free of this gods-forsaken place!”

Moon dial? Tengrym had never heard of such a device before. Obviously, Ara had tracked the enemy here for wholly other purposes. Tengrym was intrigued.

Nonetheless, it was time to save his old mentor. Plucking an eyelash and producing a pinch of sand, he began chanting.

“Eh, what’s that?!” the ogre growled turning to follow the sound up in the dark rafters. Then the big oaf fell into a snoring heap.

Another word of magic brought Tengrym floating lazily down to the floor by the ogre’s side. He relieved the sleeping giant of his keys and released the elf.

“It’s been a great many years, master Arafraulyn,” he said.

Is Ara not surprised to see Tengrym? No, but… (he guards his reaction)

“Only by the count of men,” the elf replied cooly.

“What are you doing here?” asked Tengrym.

“Can we not talk next to this snoring, stinking heap?”

The two made their way to the door which was barred from within. As they unlocked the door, a curious owl watched their movements from above.

Do any negatives hear their escape? Yes, and… (the four drow are waiting outside)

The two were talking when they pushed the door open, but came up short, face-to-face with the same four dark elves that had escorted Ara to the ogre. Perhaps Tengrym had not been perfectly silent in his rescue. Dark steel was borne in the evil elves’ hands.

Arafraulyn, who was weapon-less, leaned back against a beam and gestured to Tengrym. The half-elf’s face twisted to a sarcastic grin. He drew steel and advanced.

The exchange was quick and fierce. Tengrym rolled before a magical globe of darkness targeted him, avoiding the impenetrable blackness. Steel sang as blows were countered and the four seemed at first to outmatch the one. However, the seemingly slow grace effectively countered each blow as one by one, Tengrym found and exploited each dark elf’s defenses. In moments, he had soundly defeated them without a mark or a scratch in return.

Ara applauded. “Well done! Very fine execution — if a bit unconventional.”

“Isn’t convention in combat synonymous with predictable — and defeated — to quote a master?” Tengrym countered.

“Yes, young Drowsbane…however, unpredictability and a flawless technique are two separate things entirely.”

Tengrym rolled his eyes. “I assume I will ever be the pupil.”

Ara relieved one of the dead drow of his blade. The two dragged the bodies into the warehouse. “These may be needed to prove my claim to the officials here,” Tengrym said.

“Don’t you think we should take care of him?” Ara asked, pointing to the ogre who continued to snore. “Tengrym, he could be a further nuisance.”

“About my name,” Tengrym corrected. “I’ve been going by the name, Veldis.”

“Veldis? You’re hiding from your good name? A finer and truer epithet could not suffice.”

“Not hiding…discretion. The last bit of blood in my veins and that of my brother is a commodity rather in demand by fell forces these days…”

“You would do well to wear your namesake’s livery once again.”

“Perhaps the opportunity will present itself.”

“And the ogre?”

“Leave him be…he may sleep a good while.”

The two left as Tengrym quickly filled in his old mentor on Shandorin’s plot.

Is this moon-dial some relic from Sullaspryn? Yes…

Is Ara under the employ of living members of the Drowsbanes of which Tengrym is yet unaware? Yes…

Who? falling, bouncing ball, drama

Interpretation: someone dear to Tengrym, thought dead, but actually alive

Does Ara withhold the identity? Yes, and… (won’t tell under any circumstance for the time being)

Arafraulyn briefly told Tengrym about the moon-dial, a holy relic taken from the chapel of Selûne in Sullaspryn which Shandorin had stolen. Ara had been tracking the renegade for years. Tengrym naturally asked for whom the elvish swordsmaster was working. “Why would you have any further loyalty to an all-but-dead family from which you have been released for decades?”

“Not all the Drowsbanes are gone,” Ara answered cryptically. “Even those believed long dead…”

“Who? Who, Ara?!”

The elf kept his lips sealed, however. From above, an owl blinked.

Conclusion

CF: +1

NPCs: Anoris Shandorin, Dark Elves, Thedric, Illistyl Elventree, the basilisk, Dynas Dundragon, Orlimpar Eveningfall, Arlgoth the Mighty, Soldiers of Sembia, Arafraulyn, Hapray the Ogre

Threads: Find a new safe haven, Stop Shandorin’s plan, Hunt down Shandorin and challenge him in single combat

The Hour of Dream, part 3

Hello all! I've been absent for some time from this here blog, and not by lack of desire. RL has intervened, of course. I also have plenty of distractions during my scant dosages of free moments. That has been eaten by a little fun reading, working on my own adaptation of John Harper's World of Dungeons, and trying to get in on the Fate Core popularity.

Too little time. Too many distractions.

Ensuing frustration results.

In any case, I'm posting the next part in my "Last of the Drowsbane" campaign. I'm going one or two scenes at a time, since they are stretching longer at this point. This is old, by I want to get this on the blog.

Here is a brief scene wherein Thedric, the protagonist's sidekick, goes in search of help for their predicament. Using Questers of the Middle Realms for this as well as my Epic Mythic GM Emulator lite adaptation.

Scene 7

Setup: Thedric goes to the first garrison, finding a sleepy skeleton garrison of Cormyr
CF: 3
Altered? Yes
Interpretation: Only the Sembian garrison admits anyone at this hour

Are there many there? No, but… (more are within a quick call)
Is their stance unfriendly? Yes, and…* (they’re in no mood for shannanigans)
*Twist: focus — Protagonist positive; meaning — cauldron, goblin, lightning bolt
Interpretation: Tengrym may have some un-looked for help in the form of one rival wizard

Heaving breaths, Thedric braced himself in the doorway of the only garrison headquarters he found with light inside. The only Sembian warrior — a man on the portly side and not so spry — looked up in anger from his warm bowl of stew. He sat at a table facing the roguish intruder with a look so sour — marked by suspicion that the newcomer to take his meal.

“What do YOU want?!” the man blurted out.

“I…I need…” Thedric couldn’t quite spit the words out. “I need help!”

The man grimaced. “Come back in the morning! We’re closed, can’t you see?!”

“No, wait!” Thedric panted. “Do you want DARK ELVES overrunning this town, and every other town in the Dales and… probably… all of Sembia and Cormyr with it?” he said, making it all up as he went. The off-the-cuff manner was all too apparent, he realized. Yet, on he went. “Free do dominate with sleepy folks who can’t do a thing ’cause it’s too late already?”

The man turned a brighter shade of red. “What nonsense is this? You been in your cups? Looks like you’ve been bruised up a fair bit.” The man pushed his chair back and approached, obviously to push Thedric out the door of the little lodge. “Sleep it off, I say. Come back in the morning if there’s still an emergency.”

“STOP!” screamed Thedric. “You Fool!” He tried to sound a bit like his half-brother for effect — to shame the man. However, it had quite the opposite effect. The man turned even brighter and tried to land his hands on Thedric.

The younger man easily spun out of reach and was now in the room, running with the older on his tail. Thedric leapt up on the table and knocked the stew to the floor. He swung on the chandelier and alighted far away. This angered the soldier even more. This was going nowhere. Thedric needed to do something. Tengrym counted on him!

The man turned to the wall and went to heft a great battle axe from its resting stops. With deft maneuvers, Thedric sent two daggers end over end. Each pinned the man’s arms to the wall through the loose fabric of his sleeves. The man’s eyes went wide with fear now and he struggled to pull them free.

“Hold!” Thedric said, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Just listen! Could a drunkard throw like that? I need you to listen!”

Note: I will leave this scene hanging as-is for now. The result of whether he could talk sense into him I will leave for a roll at the critical time in an upcoming scene.

Conclusion

CF: +1
NPCs: Anoris Shandorin, Dark Elves, Thedric, Illistyl Elventree, the basilisk, Dynas Dundragon, Orlimpar Eveningfall, Arlgoth the Mighty, Soldiers of Sembia
Threads: Find a new safe haven, Stop Shandorin’s plan, Hunt down Shandorin and challenge him in single combat

RotSM, part 5

Okay! It's been a while. Lots has happened, and both my time and attention are divided (among non-gaming projects, and far too many solo games!). In any case, it's enjoyable to return to Mitra's campaign.

With some questions answered last time here, and a new set of complications (the need to find the mask, the mask now in possession of one mind-controlled Stordfast, the petty-thief), Mitra's next stage motivation is clear: do some investigative work to find out what happened. Sounds like some Rory's Story Cubes, "Clues" MIX set is in order to help us along!

On top of all of this, a horde of devils and hobgoblins from Dragonspear are threatening the region. Daurauvyn Redbeard, the swordsman Mitra rescued near the Moor, also has his mission: warn the people of the Sword Coast. Mitra as of yet doesn't want Redbeard to know about the mask due to its evil background and potentially evil purpose (which gives her much inner turmoil). How much does she really know about the relic? We may find out...

Here is Mitra again:

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

Game on!

Mitra paced the streets wildly...

A gavel? Okay, that could mean justice, wrongful indictment, or possibly even the authorities.

DoF: 3

...unable to think clearly or plan her next move. Unconscious of the fact, she still had her blade in hand. Redbeard approached her and tried to calm her once again, and barely saw a gang of peacekeepers around the corner just beyond the square.

Soubar was not a place of worthy justice, a sprawling city with great thinkers and art. Instead, it was a backwoods sort of mining town, a last stopover between perilous leagues. As such, the local authorities were little better than the lowly villainous scum that picked one's pocket.

Three men wearing a sort of sash around their waists marking them as the local militia spied the two, and especially honed in on Mitra and her naked steel. It seemed that the group was bored and in need of some kind of sport, or perhaps the scared woman she had approached directed them to her location with warnings of possible trouble.

In any case, the three stalked over to the pair. By this time Mitra had had the sense to lower her steel, though she did not replace it in her scabbard just yet.

"What's this?" the lead one said.

It was then that the stableboy wandered out into the street, still holding his head with a the rag that was now spotted with blood.

The ruffians' eyes widened, and stout cudgels were wielded.

Mitra rolled her eyes. "Put away your weapons," she said in a low tone. "This is not what it appears, just ask the boy."

The three had fanned around the two at this point. Daurauvyn was still unarmed and still wounded. However, his hands were planted at his hips and it looked as though he could handle himself despite the disadvantage.

"Listen!" she repeated. "I've been robbed! My money was taken, along with my horse. This boy can confirm about the assailant..."

"True," the boy said.  "It was a goblin!"

Militia Gang

Descriptors: Physical Brutes, Unscrupulous

Gear: Cudgels

Does she convince them to stand down? Yes, and...

"Goblin?" repeated the leader. "That could be none other than Kwizzel and Stordfast."

"Kwizzel?" asked Mitra.

"Aye! Only one vagabond goblin in these parts. He's the only friend of a cutpurse that haunts these areas."

"Do you know where I might find these two?"

"We could lead you..."

"No!" said Mitra quickly. Her mind spun with implications of her next move. If there was a way she could split from Redbeard, all the better. She desired no extra baggage during her journey if she was no longer needed for the sake of life or death. She spoke virtually as she thought.

"Daurauvyn," she continued, turning to Redbeard. "Go with these men and help them spread the news about the looming danger from the north. I'll go after these two thieves. I don't want to scare them off."

Does she convince them of this plan? Yes, but...

"I don't like this idea," the old captain responded, again putting a hand on her arm. "It could be dangerous."

"I can take care of myself!" she snapped, collecting her arm with a quick maneuver. "It will go bad for these folk if they are taken unaware by hordes of bloodthirsty enemies. There's little time...go!"

Reluctantly, Daurauvyn agreed.

Next, she turned to head to...

Does Mitra encounter Umbril? DoF: 4

...where the militia indicated Stordfast's haunt was thought to be. She stormed down the street toward the ramshackle holdings that made up the old warehouses of Soubar. Her sword was back in its scabbard for now, but she nervously fidgeted with the pommel as she sped forward.

Suddenly, she heard voices along a less populated street from around the corner. She slowed and listened.

"What have we discovered here?" said a man in a lowbrow tone. This was followed by a nervous nicker.

Mitra turned the corner to see her black charger standing nervously in the middle of a muddy street, reins dragging on the ground. Approaching him were two men of apparently seedy quality by their garb. Hands were outstretched to entice the beast closer.

"That's my horse!" called Mitra, her voice yet full of rage from the misfortunes that had befallen her.

"Says who?" the other man challenged.

"Says I!" she replied, throwing her cloak over one shoulder to reveal her sword hilt. "Care to discuss this further?"

Does she convince them? No, but...

+FU (current: 1)

The two looked at one another uneasily, but were apparently unconvinced. Mitra evaluated them with a look from head to toe. They were armed only with daggers, which they had not yet drawn. She sighed. This is what I have to deal with! They are no different than the thick-skulled bravos in my old mercenary company, she thought. She stalked forward like a lioness.

She pushed through them roughly, watching through the corner of her eye whether the two had the balls to escalate the game.

Do they draw weapons on her? DoF: 6

The two decided on the wiser course, much to Mitra's surprise. They nudged one another and moved off, losing their fight. The warrioress allowed Umbril to nuzzle her affectionately.

"What happened, old boy?" she asked, stroking his snout. "Where have you been? What have you seen?"

Does she get Umbril to lead her back? No, and...

When ready, she leapt upon the horse's back and clicked to urge him forward toward the warehouses. Much to her chagrin, Umbril turned away from the old warehouses and headed back to the Water Hole. Mitra checked him, but Umbril whinnied and shook his head against her control. Despite what she tried and all her horsemanship, she could not turn him around.

Sighing, she had to find some place board the horse until her business was finished, then collect him.

Does she have enough to pay a few pennies? No, but...

Her purse strings were cut. She had not a penny to her name. However, her belt buckle was adorned with crystals. Perhaps someone would accept it as collateral until she could recover some money. She turned and headed back to the busier areas to stable Umbril and continue on her way.

Does she find a suitable place closer than ‘The Water Hole?’ DoF: 5

Before the Water Hole, she found another establishment with stabling for its patrons. A gangly old man was the hostler. "My good man," Mitra called as she unbuckled her belt. "Be a kind one and watch my horse for some time...a few hours at most. If I don't return, the buckle and horse are yours."

Does she convince him? Yes...

In moments, Mitra returned to the street along which she found her horse.

Are Umbril's tracks easy to follow? DoF: 4

Soubar was a muddy, filthy excuse for civilization. However, it had one advantage at the moment. She could still make out Umbril's path. The warehouse district was less traversed in the morning, but it was still difficult to discern them among countless others. Still, they were the freshest.

She hadn't far to go before they turned into a most decrepit building huddled between two better ones. The cladding of the building was loose and warped, and it appeared the old building might come caving in on itself at any moment.

There were none about. Mitra drew her blade again and ran in a low crouch to the entrance. Back to the wall and peering cautiously into a black gap where the door was supposed to meet the jamb. There was no movement within.

With a sudden movement, she leapt out and kicked in the door. She easily broke within and entered, both hands on her sword and glancing quickly at the darkened corners of the room. A group of noisy crows took to flight, but there seemed to be no other movement.

It was evident that this was someone's home, at least recently. Someone had made bedding with old rushes, and a table was surrounded by two old stools. There was refuse everywhere. That's when she noticed the glint of coins and a crumpled body.

Darting quickly over the body, she saw the goblin. He was unmoving. Checking, there was no sign of breath. The ugly thing's tongue lolled out. Someone had strangled the thing. About him were a number of coins...just about the exact sum Mitra had carried with her. She picked them up and inspected further. There was no sign of her mask or the cloth in which it was wrapped. There were no other items that might belong to another, but there were clearly two beds, and two stools. An idea began to fill her mind that this Stordfast fellow had killed Kwizzle and absconded with the mask.

Are there clear fresh tracks of someone leaving the building? DoF: 1

Quickly, she exited and examined the muddy ground again for more tracks. Someone had taken care to either tread with stealth, or left by another way. Cursing, she returned within. Finding a lantern and some oil, she lit it and had a better look. If there was any clue to be found, it was perhaps the only opportunity to find her prey.

Stordfast & Kwizzle's Abode

Descriptors: A Virtual Pigsty, Large, Dimly Lit

Does she find any relevant clues? No, and...

She began tearing the place apart. Rats scurried from dark corners and birds cawed noisily and circled. She found nothing that might provide any identification, purpose, or direction. In her fury, she knocked down a precariously placed beam meant to keep one part of the roof from collapsing. Dust and debris filtered down and covered the only thing that might have aided her — an amulet set with a rendering of a woman, who bore an astonishing resemblance to the young man. Underneath the picture was an inscription in Alzhedo, the Calashite tongue, professing a mother's love for her son. It was the only thing Stordfast had of his real mother whom he remembered little. Ironically, it was one of his most cherished possessions that somehow he had left behind...or perhaps it was the madness of the mask that drove out the need for it. In any case, it was now buried.

More unfortunate turns for Mitra! Next chapter will detail her search for the young man with perhaps a cut scene to find out where he went and build some purpose behind his actions. Stay tuned!

The Hour of Dream, part 2

And now, the second, and more entertaining part of “The Hour of Dream.” This one had some nice twists and turns that brings up some past demons for the protagonist. I’m liking the direction this is taking this far. More twists come in the forthcoming part.

Also, here are some NPCs that are featured here: Dynas Dundragon — former member of the Drowsbane court (all we know at this point is that he has an Expert [+4] Polymorph Spell), Orlimpar Eveningfall — a remaining sun elf noble of Cormanthor, and Arlgoth the Mighty, a more than capable barroom brawler.

Scene 4

Setup: The characters blaze their way through the woods, and must navigate, fighting time

CF: 3

Altered? Interrupt!

Twist: focus — close a thread (Find a way to Scardale through the forest); meaning — camera, cane

Note: during the last scene, Tengrym generated a Story Hook from his Quality, ‘Homeland: Northern Moonsea (Sullaspryn)’ — I’m adding this in for interest

Interpretation: an acquaintance from the old days of Sullaspryn who has banded with the elves who have remained find the heroes wandering and guide them to safety

Does Tengrym know this person well? Yes, but…* (not on good terms)

*Twist: focus — NPC action, negative (new NPC); meaning — serpent, angry face

Interpretation: Dynas Dundragon, a former court wizard of Tengrym’s father’s court in Sullaspryn, had been a trusted servant. Before the city’s fall, there were accusations that Dynas had fallen in with an evil serpent cult, brining shame and scandal on the house.

Is Dynas in the company of others? Yes…

With whom/what? commercial building, house

Interpretation: A faction of remaining elves, one a member of a major house

Tengrym and Thedric picked their way forward as soon as they were ready to move. Tengrym tried to keep south and east, but they quickly became disoriented in the dusk light. They were hopelessly lost and starting at the slightest nighttime forest sound (or lack thereof). The two were becoming panicked. In the wilds in darkness, they were easily at the mercy of their predator.

It was then that they heard a curious and nearby birdcall answered by another. In moments, their weapons were borne and they found themselves hemmed in by dark figures. Tengrym called for Thedric to be at ease. He could now see that they were elves, and one was a tall gold elf.

“Well met, good friends,” Tengrym said in elvish, sheathing his sword. “Be at peace! It is a blessing our paths have crossed this night.”

“You are not safe here,” warned the gold elf. “Follow us if you wish to live.”

The response was not exactly friendly; nonetheless, the two heroes followed. They were led by meandering ways and through dell and ridge to a welcoming sylvan glade lit by many dancing faerie-lights. When they came to this clearing, they were greeted by more sentinels, and then questioned.

“I am Orlimpar Eveningfall, of the house of Evalynquestil, and you are now in my power,” said the gold elf in solemn testament. “Answer your names and purpose here so we can deem it ill or good.”

Tengrym did not hesitate to give their real names, for ever the elves of Cormanthor were allies of the Drowsbanes. He told as much of their story as he dared, including their part in Shadowdale and the demon, Egelrenardruth, and the mysterious disfigured man Shandorin and his plan to help the dark elves achieve domination over much of the north.

Orlimpar listened keenly with bright copper eyes, and determined their cause worthy. “We shall help you make swift passage south to the port, for men and elves together share this plight and this one common enemy. Come! Let us drink tonight and share merriment while it may be had and while our hearts may find a narrow place to entertain it.”

So the two were led into the small village made into the boles of great trees and the open spaces around them. A great fire burned brightly, and elvish liquor was passed between them.

It was then that Tengrym spied a particular familiar person. He came forward wordlessly, a hand on his sword hilt and stood before an ancient bent half-elf with a mane of silver hair and a crystal eye.

“Let it be known! I call out one Dynas Dundragon to duel for his treachery upon the House of Drowsbane and the fallen folk of Sullaspryn in the north!” Tengrym cried. His voice shook with barely controlled rage.

In moments, the two were ringed in by elves wielding bows. All were tense and observing Tengrym’s every move.

Does Dynas bear ill will toward the Drowsbanes? Yes…*

*Twist: focus — protagonist, negative; meaning — blackbird, agreement

The man looked up and registered recognition, and even anger. “A duel? Name your terms! Shall it be at swords? Wrestling? How about a simple feat of strength?”

Tengrym was at a loss for words. Obviously the main was being sarcastic. He had always been a feeble man, but a worthy wizard.

“I shall decide,” announced Dynas again. “He who may first lift his opponent in a feat of physical strength wins, and only his victory shall be rightful!”

With that, the man uttered an incantation. Before Tengrym could react, motes of light surrounded him and he screamed in horror as his body withered. His voice became a squawk, and soon there was only a screeching blackbird where once there stood Tengrym Drowsbane. The wizard leapt forward and snatched the frantic dancing bird who knew not how to fly, lifting him up in his grasp with an evil smile on his lips. He looked ready to squeeze the life from the small black creature in his grasp.

Thedric drew two daggers and made ready to let them fly. “You bastard! What have you done to him?!”

Bow strings were drawn, ready to be released at both Thedric and Dynas until Orlimpar intervened. “Dynas! Let him go. What is the meaning of this?”

The wizard released Tengrym, who hopped around awkwardly, continuing to squawk, unable to give shape intelligible words. Dynas then spoke, describing how his time in the Drowsbane court had been a short-lived one. He had uncovered forces at work that were unraveling the dynastic house from within just as more malevolent forces were active underneath the city, preparing for its downfall. Before he could warn Tengrym’s father, Dergan, Dynas was smeared for acts he did not commit, and dark alliances that were not true.

“Dergan Drowsbane, the last ruler of Sulasspryn, would not hear my words,” he concluded. “I was banished with an edict of execution if I ever stepped foot in the city again. So much for the light of justice! I was an outcast and outlaw from the province I loved…all because Dergan was too proud to be associated with my name.”

Does Orlimpar take Dynas’s side? Yes, but…(leaves the quarrel up to Tengrym and Dynas to resolve themselves)

Orlimpar listened judiciously. In the end, he commanded Dynas to release Tengrym from his enchantment. The wizard did so, but Tengrym was still livid and would not listen to the wizard’s defense.

“While I hear truth in your words,” the gold elf replied, “I have little enough power in this, my own fallen shadow of a kingdom, to make any binding decree…nor would my proclamation have any weight among the heirs of the ruined Moonsea city. I cannot break this feud through force of will or commandment. You must settle this for yourselves…however, as long as you are both guests in Cormanthor, there can be no such quarrel. You shall both be removed from our lands if you wish to continue this!”

Turning then to Tengrym, he said, “I can only vouch for this man’s sincerity and service. He has been a valued and accepted member of our court here for many years even before the Retreat. I have never, nor have those more wise than I, perceived any deception in this man. His words ring true, if you would but listen enough to judge yourself.”

Tengrym brooded in silence and hatred for long moments before responding. At last, he said, “I wish no dishonor to your house here in this sacred land, and with respect, I acquiesce, so will put aside our differences for now. However, they are not forgotten nor forgiven. We shall see what shall be revealed at a time when proper tribunals can convene. Master Dundragon’s treachery remains until disproven among my people on their terms.”

“So be it, heir of the House of Drowsbane,” answered Orlimpar.

Does Dundragon know of the prophecy? No, but… (he knows about one additional copy made from Baolnor’s original stone)*

*Twist: focus — tangential; meaning — eyeglasses, bump the bottle, chaos

Suddenly, from behind, Thedric, who had backed off, relaxing in the knowledge that a confrontation would not be forthcoming, knocked a glass bottle from its perch upon a board near at hand. It shattered, releasing the magical music that was contained within. Ethereal and celestial song broke forth, immediately ending the tension. Thedric was embarrassed, but got a firm clap on his shoulder from a nearby smiling elf. Merriment did ensue among those not brooding over old wounds.

In privacy, Orlimpar took Tengrym aside. “I know of your family’s prophecy…and so does Dynas. You would do well to forgive old unfounded accusations. Only together can you unlock secrets that may aid your grand quest. Where you see an enemy, I see a potential ally. You may take or reject my words as is best for you…”

Conclusion

CF: +1

NPCs: Anoris Shandorin, Dark Elves, Thedric, Illistyl Elventree, the basilisk, Dynas Dundragon, Orlimpar Eveningfall

Threads: Find a new safe haven, Discover if Scardale is the distribution point for the seed, Stop Shandorin’s plan

Scene 5

Setup: Tengrym and Thedric arrive by aerial mount to the outskirts of Scardale

CF: 4

Altered? Yes

Interpretation: Rather than by air, they are given swift boats and knowledge of a river emptying to the mouth of the Ashaba

The next morning, Tengrym and Thedric were roused, their supplies replenished, and a slender elf-boat made ready to wash them down the Ashaben. Tengrym had given thought to Orlimpar’s words, but said nothing further to Dynas. As far as he was concerned, the wizard was still a traitor. The fact that he may have information regarding the Prophecy of the Moon as it was also known could not penetrate the armor of righteousness that Tengrym wore so proudly.

The pair said their farewells and gave their gratitude to Lord Eveningfall and his folk, then paddled their way quietly downstream in the swift little boat. The journey, which should have taken them more than four days by Tengrym’s estimation brought them through open land and finally to the outskirts of the township of Scardale in only two long days. They hid the little craft, and wandered into town as dusk gave way to twilight.

What’s Scardale like? sheep, submarine, parachute

The two immediately noted a town in turmoil — the few townsfolk out and about at that hour went about their daily drudgery, a downcast lot following routine despite the topsy-turvy condition inflicted upon their homeland by a now-defeated despot and currently garrisoned by an uneasy alliance of several nations. The seedy element attracted there — free-swords and thieves alike — was equal to that of corrupt cities twenty times the size of the small port town. Buildings looked rundown and shabby, and bands of soldiers marked by swatches of cloth about their armbands to delineate nationality circled the streets like vultures, eyeing one another provocatively, sometimes even shouting insults or taunts to counterparts among their rivals.

Night was already falling, but Tengrym wanted to find out what they could.

Do they find a populated tavern or inn? Yes, and… (many glib-tongued patrons)

Has there been any evidence of poisoning in town or other evidence related to tainted grains? Yes, but… (the clues are not obvious to those not-in-the-know)

The two found themselves in The Tumbling Tankard, a rowdy watering hole overflowing with all types and colors of folk, local and foreign. It wasn’t long before they got themselves within earshot of gossip. Most locals wanted to discuss the more exciting matters of quarreling soldiers or the last sighting of Lord Lashan, but it wasn’t difficult for Tengrym to steer conversation toward local matters. In his evasive and cautious manner, he didn’t get many answers directly signaling an obvious case of Shandorin’s arrival or operation. There certainly wasn’t any sighting of dark elves, else the locals would have certainly brought it up first given what sorts of things captured their interests. However, he did get stories of two accidents at the local granary — two deaths in the past two days. When asked more about it, he discovered that one was a worker who apparently fell to his death from a high perch, and another fellow was crushed to death from a milling stone in a bizarre, unexplained accident.

Note: Due to a botched legerdemain roll, I will also use Thedric’s Story Hook, “Roguish Persona” to create a problem

Who is the one that caught Thedric’s pick pocket attempt? teepee, starburst

Tengrym was still listening. Thoughtful, he decided to check out the granary that night. He turned to discuss with his half-brother, but found Thedric missing.

A sudden roar broke the festive nature of the tavern and intensified it into enthusiastic wagers. There was a brawl. Tengrym rolled his eyes until he saw that Thedric was the one being tossed across the room. A hulking barbaric mountain of a man stalked toward the young man’s landing point ready to finish him. Tengrym had no clue what his half-brother had done, but it had the potential for explosive disaster. Against his strongest instincts, Tengrym suppressed the urge to intervene on his brother’s behalf until it was clear he couldn’t handle the situation.

Barbaric Mercenary

Qualities: 10 ranks of irrelevant background qualities to round out ‘hit points’, Good [+2] Strong, Good [+2] Brawling, Good [+2] Tough

Thedric took a blow to the jaw that knocked him across a table, smashing it. Tengrym flinched and almost threw himself into the fray. However, the young man was on his feet in a second and smiling with his devious mischievous grin. He danced around, making the hulking figure work to get at him. The half-elf was anxious. He thought that the dancing would tire the mercenary out, but the giant tossed an intervening table out of the way and grabbed Thedric by the scruff, lifting him off his feet. Tengrym eyed as his brother filched some crockery from a nearby table. He smashed it over the big man’s head, but the warrior didn’t even flinch. Next, he drew one hand back and launched a fist. Thedric reeled and landed, not getting up. He was done for. Tengrym’s mind raced.

Does the barbarian press the attack? Yes, but… (takes his time, enjoying the cheers)

The giant lumbered slowly toward Thedric’s form. He circled slowly, grinning wolfishly at the many cheers and japes. Tengrym had no assurance that the brawler wouldn’t finish Thedric. Now was his only time to react. Drawing a pinch of sand from his pouch and an eyelash, he uttered an incantation. The giant went down into a snoring heap of flesh where he stood. Tengrym couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Does anyone notice the deception? Yes, and…* (a mob scene erupts)

*Twist: focus — toward thread (Discover if Scardale is the distribution point for the seed); meaning — crossroads, tent, daydream

However, things turned ill as a bystander nearby pointed to the half-elf and cried, “This one’s magicked Arlgoth dead!”

Tengrym’s smile abruptly vanished as the whole tavern turned on him and Thedric alike. Tengrym called across to his brother as he picked himself up off the floor. “Eyes!” …He only hoped Thedric had the presence of mind to prepare. A word of power, and a bright flash exploded in the room. Half of the crowd was blinded, leaving six or so grappling at the two brothers.

Thedric took another hit to the jaw and went down. Just as Tengrym was at a standstill, debating whether it not to turn back to him, he caught sight of a figure outside the door of the Tumbling Tankard. The half-elf was completely stunned by astonishment. There, outside, stood Shandorin. The disfigured half-elf stood idly, almost debating whether or not to enter. Their eyes met, and the villain darted away. Tengrym lunged after, but a fist caught hold of his collar and pulled him in for a punch.

It took Tengrym long moments to dislodge himself. He took two cracks to his jaw and one to his ribs before he landed his first. He was a better dancer and fencer, not cut out for simple brawling. When the last was knocked down, more came rushing. Another pinch of sand and the remaining fell to slumber.

Tengrym clambered over bodies and recovered his brother, slung his arm over his neck and supported his staggering form before escaping into the night.

Conclusion

CF: +1 (already maximum)

NPCs: Anoris Shandorin, Dark Elves, Thedric, Illistyl Elventree, the basilisk, Dynas Dundragon, Orlimpar Eveningfall, Arlgoth the Mighty

Threads: Find a new safe haven, Stop Shandorin’s plan, Hunt down Shandorin and challenge him in single combat

Scene 6

Setup: The two find a quiet place to regroup

CF: 4

Altered? Yes

Interpretation: the only place of refuge is another rowdy tavern

Are there no rooms available? Yes, but…* (they can make use of a private parlor…)

*Twist: focus — NPC negative (Thedric); meaning — nap time, magnet, thief

Interpretation: in the kerfuffle, someone robbed Thedric of all their remaining money!

A little further along Merchant’s Way and through some narrow side streets, the two came to The Dark Bard, if possible an even more rough-and-tumble establishment than The Tumbling Tankard. Thedric was in no shape for causing more trouble, at least that’s what Tengrym thought at the moment.

It was a packed madhouse. Tengrym had hoped to find a vacant room and deposit his half-brother for the time being while he went to the granary on Shandorin’s trail. However, all the rooms were packed full. Furthermore and even more vexing, when offered a private parlor, Tengrym reached into his brother’s pockets to pay finding them empty. Searching every pocket and pouch, they hadn’t a coin between them.

Robbed!

Hearing they had not a coin between them, the pair were asked to leave. With no other choices, Tengrym hauled his brother out.

Do they find a quiet darkened alley to rest? No, but… (the outskirts look promising)

Seeking any darkened corner to rest, the town was overrun by scoundrels and soldiery. There was no peace to be had. Tengrym did the only thing he could and beat a path to the outlying parts just beyond the town. The two found an abandoned barn in which to hole up.

Note: healing done

The two rested, and Thedric came out of his stupor moaning. “Serves you right,” said Tengrym in his best older brother knows best voice. “What were you thinking? While you were testing the rebound properties of the tavern’s many surfaces, I saw Shandorin. He knows we’re here.”

Thedric hung his head glumly as he massaged his aching jaw. “We needed money…”

“And now even more so…you were robbed during the whole affair.”

“Bashaba’s horns!” Thedric frantically groped himself in an effort to disprove Tengrym’s assertion. Sure enough, he had been robbed blind. Literally. “What do we do now?!”

Tengrym contemplated. “I’m not exactly sure. Part of me wants to involve the authorities…they should be warned. Time is now of the essence. Whatever plan Shandorin has, he will press it forward tenfold. He knows we are here…he guesses already what we know, but he doesn’t yet know if we’ve alerted anyone. He may play that hunch, in which case we are targets and things may get dangerous quickly.”

“I don’t know about you, but I already tasted some danger,” Thedric said, spitting out some blood.

Ignoring his half-brother’s statement, Tengrym continued. “Another part of me imagines that few of the fighting nations would listen to the fanciful story we have to tell.”

“No more foolishness!” said Tengrym assertively to himself, slapping a fist into his other hand. “We must act now. Go to the garrisons…tell any who will listen. Alert them about the possible plan and the danger at the granary and a possible dark elf presence. I’ll meet you there. You had best bring as many armed men as you can muster.”

Thedric made a sour face.

Tengrym turned and looked him square in the eye. “I’m counting on you not to mess this up. It could mean the fate of every man, woman, and child in the Dales and beyond. Now go!”

Conclusion

CF: -1

NPCs: Anoris Shandorin, Dark Elves, Thedric, Illistyl Elventree, the basilisk, Dynas Dundragon, Orlimpar Eveningfall, Arlgoth the Mighty

Threads: Find a new safe haven, Stop Shandorin’s plan, Hunt down Shandorin and challenge him in single combat

In conclusion, this was a really fun session. I love it when solo sessions leave me wanting more! That’s not so common a thing in solo games in my experience.

Happy New Year, all!