As a player, the thing I loathed the most was going up a level and then rolling a 1 for increased Hit Points.
I've spoken to Assif and he's agreed that the minimum you can role on level advancement is half you maximum possible.
This means A Wizard must get at least a 2 on a D4. A rogue must get at least 3 on a D6 etc.
Roll the Hit dice as normal and any roll under half rounds up.
Therefore a Fighter getting 5 Hit points on level advancement is still 5 times more likely than rolling a 6 or above.
Still, 5 is a great deal more acceptable than 1!
My maths may be a bit dodgy but I hope this is OK with everyone.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Potions and Magic Items
So, to business. You all got various "mystery" potions and magic items.
In case I had not already made it clear, you can pay your spellcaster (Bodush) to identify1 items - it costs him 100gp in material components. If for some reason you should go to another spellcaster, they are likely to charge you more (120gp per ident). However you can also "taste" or "test" potions to asses their properties, but you will only get a vague hint (unless you/someone else make a successful spellcraft skill at the same time).
What you all got:
From Frock, 1 potion each:
The others are common potions and are probably worth less than the cost to identify them ... go on have a guess!
From the pirate patrol:
If anyone wants to attempt an identify / guess / spellcraft etc. on any of these potions, or indeed on the 2 magic items, let me know by e-mail.
your faithful DM.
1 - assuming that he copied the scroll "identify" into his spellbook!
In case I had not already made it clear, you can pay your spellcaster (Bodush) to identify1 items - it costs him 100gp in material components. If for some reason you should go to another spellcaster, they are likely to charge you more (120gp per ident). However you can also "taste" or "test" potions to asses their properties, but you will only get a vague hint (unless you/someone else make a successful spellcraft skill at the same time).
What you all got:
From Frock, 1 potion each:
- Mendez : White potion (hint: smells of camphor)
- Eolar : Grey potion (hint: feel you are more protected from attack)
- Wer: Silver (hint: you believe no one can hurt you)
- Bodush: Black (hint: you feel safe, as though in a church)
The others are common potions and are probably worth less than the cost to identify them ... go on have a guess!
From the pirate patrol:
- Mendez : common - (hint: gives you a spring in your step)
- Wer #1: common - same as Grey above
- Wer #2: (hint: you canput up with any amount of rain and snow)
- Bodush : common - (hint: cuts are healed)
- Eolar: common - (hint: cuts are healed)
If anyone wants to attempt an identify / guess / spellcraft etc. on any of these potions, or indeed on the 2 magic items, let me know by e-mail.
your faithful DM.
1 - assuming that he copied the scroll "identify" into his spellbook!
[Rules] Criticals
A 20 on a d20 (or l8, or 19 depending on the weapon) only gives you a threat of a critical, not an actual critical. If you threaten critical, all it means is you roll again and if you hit, then you get your critical.
I think my minons might have lasted longer had we played the rules correctly!!
I think my minons might have lasted longer had we played the rules correctly!!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Header bar characters
Could everyone give a basic description of their characters?
(Including Assif, if his character concept has changed.)
I'll draw them up when I get a moment and Assif can post up the amended Banner.
Thanks.
(Including Assif, if his character concept has changed.)
I'll draw them up when I get a moment and Assif can post up the amended Banner.
Thanks.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
[House Rules] Leveling-up
I've been reading up on leveling-up and requirement for training etc. and it seems that both the rules and general opinion have changed since 1st edition days. People even run campaigns now where you can level-up mid-combat (which is a bit crazy if you ask me). Anyway, I thought it sensible to make clear our house rules on this and invite critisism formally.
General Interpretation : Leveling up is a gradual process that occurs all the time PCs face challenging conditions. They train and practice all the time, but what makes them better is experience - that is what the XP system is about. Otherwise anyone could just train 24 hours a day for 2 years and become a 10th level fighter.
Issue: a problem with all this is that the training costs were a general drain on the PCs gold reserves meaning that they did not get crazily rich. However there are other ways of handling this, e.g. paying to identify magical items (instead of the DM just telling them).
So, I welcome your comments:
Assif
General Interpretation : Leveling up is a gradual process that occurs all the time PCs face challenging conditions. They train and practice all the time, but what makes them better is experience - that is what the XP system is about. Otherwise anyone could just train 24 hours a day for 2 years and become a 10th level fighter.
Rule #1 : PCs can level up in one of their existing classes at any time, it does not require weeks of training with a mentor. However, it does require down time to think and reflect - it cannot be done in mid-combat or in a perilous situation.
Rule #2 : Practically, leveling-up should be left to between game sessions as it can be distracting and time consuming. This means that adventures can be large and split over a number of sessions with leveling up between sessions. There would be no requirement for PCs to go back to town, level-up and then come back for more.
[EDIT] This does not stop us from allowing mid-game level-up where necessary. (e.g. previous session a PC gains not quite enough XP to level-up, he should prepare his leveled up character anyway between sessions and level-up when appropriate. So long as the DM is willing to count XP mid-game)
Rule #3 : Training costs. There are no GP costs associated with leveling up (except for conditions below).
Rule #4 : If a PC wants to multi-class, then gaining the 1st level in a new class does require 1-2 weeks training, and should have a cost of 1000gp. If the PC wants to gain a Prestige Class, then they will require to find a mentor and cover training and costs (2x that of an ordinary class).
Issue: a problem with all this is that the training costs were a general drain on the PCs gold reserves meaning that they did not get crazily rich. However there are other ways of handling this, e.g. paying to identify magical items (instead of the DM just telling them).
So, I welcome your comments:
Assif
Diary of Eolar
Watching the others leave, I was looking forward to spend a few days in the wilderness again. I'd have to make sure that the remains of the fake lighthouse are removed and the old lighthouse resumes its activity. I already spoke to some of the lizard folk and they seem to be friendly. I think I'm staying in the lighthouse, there should be a lizardmen settlement close by. It seems that they don't follow a higher god, so they might be open to the teachings of St.Cuthbert.
2 days passed since the last entry. I'm sitting in the lighthouse looking out to the calm sea. It's a wonderful, quiet place to recover and meditate. The lighthouse is working and judging by the ships passing by, the route to Seawell is open again. The lizard men come to the lighthouse frequently to bring food and goods and they've already agreed to keep the lighthouse running till a new keeper arrives. They are reclusive creatures and I have only met a handful so far. They also don't seem to be interested in their spiritual health, but some at least showed interest in divine matters.
The carts arrived from Seawell today. I already had a look through the goods the pirates had piled up the last days. It wasn't a big treasure but enough for the 4 of us. You have to be grateful for what St.Cuthbert sends you! While the stuff got loaded up, I said farewell to the lizard men whose hospitality I enjoyed the last days. Although I haven't met many, I have the suspicion there are hundreds in the swamps if not more. But their tribes are hard to find if they don't want you to. I'm fully recovered and ready again to guide my fellow adventurers in their search for a good spiritual life. I'm following the carts back to Seawell. Let's see what St.Cuthbert prepared for us!
2 days passed since the last entry. I'm sitting in the lighthouse looking out to the calm sea. It's a wonderful, quiet place to recover and meditate. The lighthouse is working and judging by the ships passing by, the route to Seawell is open again. The lizard men come to the lighthouse frequently to bring food and goods and they've already agreed to keep the lighthouse running till a new keeper arrives. They are reclusive creatures and I have only met a handful so far. They also don't seem to be interested in their spiritual health, but some at least showed interest in divine matters.
The carts arrived from Seawell today. I already had a look through the goods the pirates had piled up the last days. It wasn't a big treasure but enough for the 4 of us. You have to be grateful for what St.Cuthbert sends you! While the stuff got loaded up, I said farewell to the lizard men whose hospitality I enjoyed the last days. Although I haven't met many, I have the suspicion there are hundreds in the swamps if not more. But their tribes are hard to find if they don't want you to. I'm fully recovered and ready again to guide my fellow adventurers in their search for a good spiritual life. I'm following the carts back to Seawell. Let's see what St.Cuthbert prepared for us!
The coming of Gajarpan
Bodush retired early to his lodgings after the hanging, the cries of the mob as the wrecker captain was strung up, reminding him too much of the orcs' savage laughter and hooting. He had watched too many helpless captives being murdered at the hands of a merciless orc mob, to ever enjoy the spectacle of execution. No matter how many times he told himself that she had been a ruthless murder, or reminded himself of all the grief and suffering she had left in her wake, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he refused all invitations to the celebrations that followed Erqua's death. Instead he locked himself up in his bedchamber with the ingredients he had purchased earlier, an assortment of herbs and other ingredients, a small cauldron and a cage containing a tiny viper.
Staying up all night, chanting and slowly boiling the contents of the cauldron, he slowly attuned himself to the small animal. Getting dizzy from the noxious fumes and lack of sleep, he cut his finger and let a few drops of his lifeblood fall into the cauldron, where it mixed with the poison he milked from the viper.
As dusk approached again, he opened the small cage, and carefully took out the small snake. He slowly dipped into the cooling liquid of the cauldron, feeling it wriggle in fear as it was held under for a few seconds. Lifting the snake, and still holding it, he knelt and drank from the cauldron.
His mind reeled for a few seconds as the memories and emotions of the snake overwhelmed him, the joy of a hot rock in spring, fear as two legged giants approached, the taste of a small mouse being swallowed, and the drowsy cold of autumn. He could feel the snake coil itself around his wrist, tightening its grip. He stared into the snake's eyes, and for a second, he could not tell if he was a man holding a snake, or a snake coiled around a man. Slowly the sensation passed and the snake let go, falling to the ground, coiling up in front of the heat of the fireplace.
As he knelt and gingerly reached out to stroke its scaly head, he felt waves of well-being radiate from his familiar, mirroring his own sense of relaxation and completion.
Looking down at his familiar, he knew that he never would have to be alone again.
"I think I will call you Gajarpan", he said to the snake, knowing that it did not understand.
The orcish word for snake, comprised of the words for silent and fear, seemed strangely appropriate.
Staying up all night, chanting and slowly boiling the contents of the cauldron, he slowly attuned himself to the small animal. Getting dizzy from the noxious fumes and lack of sleep, he cut his finger and let a few drops of his lifeblood fall into the cauldron, where it mixed with the poison he milked from the viper.
As dusk approached again, he opened the small cage, and carefully took out the small snake. He slowly dipped into the cooling liquid of the cauldron, feeling it wriggle in fear as it was held under for a few seconds. Lifting the snake, and still holding it, he knelt and drank from the cauldron.
His mind reeled for a few seconds as the memories and emotions of the snake overwhelmed him, the joy of a hot rock in spring, fear as two legged giants approached, the taste of a small mouse being swallowed, and the drowsy cold of autumn. He could feel the snake coil itself around his wrist, tightening its grip. He stared into the snake's eyes, and for a second, he could not tell if he was a man holding a snake, or a snake coiled around a man. Slowly the sensation passed and the snake let go, falling to the ground, coiling up in front of the heat of the fireplace.
As he knelt and gingerly reached out to stroke its scaly head, he felt waves of well-being radiate from his familiar, mirroring his own sense of relaxation and completion.
Looking down at his familiar, he knew that he never would have to be alone again.
"I think I will call you Gajarpan", he said to the snake, knowing that it did not understand.
The orcish word for snake, comprised of the words for silent and fear, seemed strangely appropriate.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A hanging
The people of Seawell cheer as Mendez, Bodush and Wer pass through the streets with the wrecker captain Erqua Ashilim bound and humiliated. They push her in front of them forcing her to keep moving, enjoying the grateful cheers of a relieved people.
When back in the mayors house with Erqua behind bars, they start to tell of what they found. Of course their tales are given an extra breath or two to inflate them (A pack of Worgs, A Zombie Army!!), but when the come to the evil deeds of Erqua and her band of Wreckers, no such exaggeration is needed. They know that when the townspeople hear of the heartless muder of the lighthouse keeper and his young family, there can only be one result.
The guard are less troubled by lizard-folk attacks since the heroes return. (Clearly the wreckers had been paying at least one tribe of the lizard-folk to launch these raids in the first place.) So, the mayor dispatches the lieutenant of the guard with 8 men and carts and mules to relieve the brave and righteous Eolar of his charge and bring back the lost goods.
Fittingly, the heroes are given a weeks lodging and all the help they need in recovering from their ordeals. When Eolar returns, all the adventurers split their proceeds1 and resume their training in their arts of combat and magic use with renewed vigor, bringing their recently fought experience2 to good use.
As for Erqua, well, that one is very strange. She was hanged after all, but before she went she made clear to everyone where she knew the mayor from before. Their days as pirates on the high seas became public knowledge. The mayor now sits on the same bench as Erqua once occupied, awaiting his trial.
Notes:
1. Treasure: You found 12 casks of salted meat, 18 casks of wine/spirits, 28 bales of cloth, 1500 copper ingots, 19 casks of oil and 15 casks of herbs and spices. (The total value 1478gp). Plus 600gp and 2 gems (100gp each).
Magic: (in addition to the potions I already told you about from the boy Frok and the pirate patrol): On the pirates and in their hoard:: 3 potions of cure light wounds, 1 potion of Mage Armour, 1 potion of endure elements, 1 potion of invisibility, 1 scroll identify (arcane), 1 scroll chill touch (arcane), 1 scroll summon monster 1 (divine). 1 magical ring (unidentified). 1 magical pair of bracers.
Weapons: On Erqa and her crew at the camp: 4 masterwork Cutlasses, 2 Masterwork Light Crossbows, 1 Masterwork dagger. (Re-sale value 160gp each)
Reward for Erqua alive: 400gp (plus the 50gp each you were promised)
2. Experience Points. You are awarded the following XP: Mendez (1070XP), Wer (1095XP), Bodush (1045XP) and Eolar (1090XP). Congratulations you all progress!! You will need to *pay* for your training though!
When back in the mayors house with Erqua behind bars, they start to tell of what they found. Of course their tales are given an extra breath or two to inflate them (A pack of Worgs, A Zombie Army!!), but when the come to the evil deeds of Erqua and her band of Wreckers, no such exaggeration is needed. They know that when the townspeople hear of the heartless muder of the lighthouse keeper and his young family, there can only be one result.
The guard are less troubled by lizard-folk attacks since the heroes return. (Clearly the wreckers had been paying at least one tribe of the lizard-folk to launch these raids in the first place.) So, the mayor dispatches the lieutenant of the guard with 8 men and carts and mules to relieve the brave and righteous Eolar of his charge and bring back the lost goods.
Fittingly, the heroes are given a weeks lodging and all the help they need in recovering from their ordeals. When Eolar returns, all the adventurers split their proceeds1 and resume their training in their arts of combat and magic use with renewed vigor, bringing their recently fought experience2 to good use.
As for Erqua, well, that one is very strange. She was hanged after all, but before she went she made clear to everyone where she knew the mayor from before. Their days as pirates on the high seas became public knowledge. The mayor now sits on the same bench as Erqua once occupied, awaiting his trial.
Notes:
1. Treasure: You found 12 casks of salted meat, 18 casks of wine/spirits, 28 bales of cloth, 1500 copper ingots, 19 casks of oil and 15 casks of herbs and spices. (The total value 1478gp). Plus 600gp and 2 gems (100gp each).
Magic: (in addition to the potions I already told you about from the boy Frok and the pirate patrol): On the pirates and in their hoard:: 3 potions of cure light wounds, 1 potion of Mage Armour, 1 potion of endure elements, 1 potion of invisibility, 1 scroll identify (arcane), 1 scroll chill touch (arcane), 1 scroll summon monster 1 (divine). 1 magical ring (unidentified). 1 magical pair of bracers.
Weapons: On Erqa and her crew at the camp: 4 masterwork Cutlasses, 2 Masterwork Light Crossbows, 1 Masterwork dagger. (Re-sale value 160gp each)
Reward for Erqua alive: 400gp (plus the 50gp each you were promised)
2. Experience Points. You are awarded the following XP: Mendez (1070XP), Wer (1095XP), Bodush (1045XP) and Eolar (1090XP). Congratulations you all progress!! You will need to *pay* for your training though!
The journey back
Walking at a slow trudge, Mendez, Wer and Bodush make their way back through the open deltas towards town.
Turning to Bodush, Mendez whispers; “This shirt’s ruined! Do you realise how much it cost? This little escapade had better be worth my while.”
They keep a tight watch on the bound and gagged female pirate.
“There'd better be a reward for her as well.”
Despite his complaints about the trivial, Mendez is genuinely worried about Eolar. Left behind to guard the recaptured cargo.
He is also deeply concerned by the numerous deaths he’d seen. More so, he’s disturbed that one of those deaths could have been his own!
Perhaps choosing to be a Ranger had been a mistake?
Turning to Bodush, Mendez whispers; “This shirt’s ruined! Do you realise how much it cost? This little escapade had better be worth my while.”
They keep a tight watch on the bound and gagged female pirate.
“There'd better be a reward for her as well.”
Despite his complaints about the trivial, Mendez is genuinely worried about Eolar. Left behind to guard the recaptured cargo.
He is also deeply concerned by the numerous deaths he’d seen. More so, he’s disturbed that one of those deaths could have been his own!
Perhaps choosing to be a Ranger had been a mistake?
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
New assignation in Seawell
It was a small and dirty pub at the harbour. He was sitting in a far corner, watching the people. Prosperous harbour towns like Seawell always attract all types of visitors: Adventurers and tradesmen as well as thieves and other outlaws. He didn't like crowds of any kind and normally tried to avoid settlements of any race. Memories came to his mind that reminded him why. ...
His father, a respected but solitary living elf who never considered the problems of elves or other races his own, died in a far away battle shortly after his birth. Treated by her own blood like an outlaw, his human mother was expelled for mingling with elves and so
they lived alone in his fathers hide-out in Nan Elmroth trying to avoid humans and were avoided by elves who regarded them inferior.
On his 10th birthday, the hide-out was attacked and his mother killed by marauding orks.
He managed to flee, but had to learn that being a half-breed doesn't make life easier.
Trying to find help in a human settlement, all he found was abuse, racism and expulsion and he had to fight his way out of towns more than just once.
Also his half-elvish parentage proved to be no remedy as elves regarded him impure and refused to welcome him. So for many years, he went back into the woods where he tried to survive alone.
Eolars attention got attracted by a ranger entering the pub. He heard his name in a whispered conversation close to him - Mendez. The stranger looked around as he was searching for someone and then went to a darker area of the bar, also watching the travellers coming in.
His style and the way he moved made him look as he didn't belonged into this kind of pub. While watching the ranger, more memories floated up in his mind....
He saw the face of the monk - Geolathon, a half-elf like him - in front of him. The monk found him near a ruin of an old cathedral in Nan-Elmroth and took him in. Eolar knew how to survive and how to fight his way through live, but Geolathon gave him a home and taught
him how to read and write. From him he learned patience, eloquence and further up the road, how to read old scriptures, use ancient knowledge and spellcraft. Slowly along the way he got introduced into the teachings of St.Cuthbert. Over the course of many years, the savaged boy grew into a confident, eloquent cleric with a cemented faith.
He learned to control his inflammableness towards injustice and racism and how to use the power he can draw from his god in order to defend himself and help others.
Geolathon, who came from the same background, gave up fighting against chaos long ago as he was convinced it was a forlorn fight. Eolar in contrast developed a growing desire to actively fight it and spread the lawful words of St.Cuthbert - in case of need with force. Short-tempered as he still was, it often was the latter....
Two more travellers now joined Mendez on the other side of the pub. The first one - a human as it seemed - looked like a sorcerer. He turned his head and Eolar saw a strange glint in his eye he wasn't sure about - a strange aura surrounded the stranger. The second arrival was as strange as the first, but for a totally different reason. She just tried to reach up for the counter to grab the beer she ordered. Beeing just about 3 feet, this was a undertaking worth watching. While he saw the small person jumping up and down, he remembered why he was here!
On the deathbed, Geolathon broke it to him, that he was send by St.Cuthbert through visions to teach him. Also Eolar had these from time to time and the last thing the monk taught him before leaving this world was that these divine visions should guide his life. The last one brought him to Seawell and made him look for a challenge....
Looking at the group at the bar, these adventurers were definitely in need of spiritual guidance. The sorcerer still made Eolar feel uncomfortable, but he couln't pin-point what it was. If this was the challenge St.Cuthbert set up for him, he was ready to take it! He downed the last drops of his beer and after putting the jug down, walked over to his new assignation.....
His father, a respected but solitary living elf who never considered the problems of elves or other races his own, died in a far away battle shortly after his birth. Treated by her own blood like an outlaw, his human mother was expelled for mingling with elves and so
they lived alone in his fathers hide-out in Nan Elmroth trying to avoid humans and were avoided by elves who regarded them inferior.
On his 10th birthday, the hide-out was attacked and his mother killed by marauding orks.
He managed to flee, but had to learn that being a half-breed doesn't make life easier.
Trying to find help in a human settlement, all he found was abuse, racism and expulsion and he had to fight his way out of towns more than just once.
Also his half-elvish parentage proved to be no remedy as elves regarded him impure and refused to welcome him. So for many years, he went back into the woods where he tried to survive alone.
Eolars attention got attracted by a ranger entering the pub. He heard his name in a whispered conversation close to him - Mendez. The stranger looked around as he was searching for someone and then went to a darker area of the bar, also watching the travellers coming in.
His style and the way he moved made him look as he didn't belonged into this kind of pub. While watching the ranger, more memories floated up in his mind....
He saw the face of the monk - Geolathon, a half-elf like him - in front of him. The monk found him near a ruin of an old cathedral in Nan-Elmroth and took him in. Eolar knew how to survive and how to fight his way through live, but Geolathon gave him a home and taught
him how to read and write. From him he learned patience, eloquence and further up the road, how to read old scriptures, use ancient knowledge and spellcraft. Slowly along the way he got introduced into the teachings of St.Cuthbert. Over the course of many years, the savaged boy grew into a confident, eloquent cleric with a cemented faith.
He learned to control his inflammableness towards injustice and racism and how to use the power he can draw from his god in order to defend himself and help others.
Geolathon, who came from the same background, gave up fighting against chaos long ago as he was convinced it was a forlorn fight. Eolar in contrast developed a growing desire to actively fight it and spread the lawful words of St.Cuthbert - in case of need with force. Short-tempered as he still was, it often was the latter....
Two more travellers now joined Mendez on the other side of the pub. The first one - a human as it seemed - looked like a sorcerer. He turned his head and Eolar saw a strange glint in his eye he wasn't sure about - a strange aura surrounded the stranger. The second arrival was as strange as the first, but for a totally different reason. She just tried to reach up for the counter to grab the beer she ordered. Beeing just about 3 feet, this was a undertaking worth watching. While he saw the small person jumping up and down, he remembered why he was here!
On the deathbed, Geolathon broke it to him, that he was send by St.Cuthbert through visions to teach him. Also Eolar had these from time to time and the last thing the monk taught him before leaving this world was that these divine visions should guide his life. The last one brought him to Seawell and made him look for a challenge....
Looking at the group at the bar, these adventurers were definitely in need of spiritual guidance. The sorcerer still made Eolar feel uncomfortable, but he couln't pin-point what it was. If this was the challenge St.Cuthbert set up for him, he was ready to take it! He downed the last drops of his beer and after putting the jug down, walked over to his new assignation.....
Seawell
Seawell, hot, sweaty and often violent. Its bustling sea port brings in the trade and with it prosperity. Ships come from far off lands bringing tales of adventure and treasure and this attracts so many people just like you who leave their little villages looking for fame and fortune. People of all kinds can be found here along with folk who many would hardly call people at all, they are so strange looking.You can get what you want, within reason, but take care; there is always a dark alley with a thug waiting to steal you purse in exchange for a cut-throat. You could try to call on the local militia, but you wouldn't get far unless there was something in it for them. In any case, at the moment they are more preoccupied with the increasing raids from the Siarsk lizard-folk clan who are based at the southern end of the peninsula that is to the east of town.
So, dear adventurer, call upon whatever god or minion you favour, take your sword in your hand and go seek your destiny ...
fare-well
Timarik scribe to Captain Boscorm, Mayor of Seawell
Monday, September 17, 2007
Mendez
“Mamma? Mamma?”
“Where’s my new silk shirt?”
“No not the black one. The ‘charcoal’ grey one. It goes so much better with my new leather boots.”
Born the youngest son of a rich merchant and his beautiful third wife, Mendez has lived a life of indulgence and idleness.
Choosing the life of adventure over that of work, he knows that he’ll be fine as fortune always favours the rich and the beautiful.
“Where’s my new silk shirt?”
“No not the black one. The ‘charcoal’ grey one. It goes so much better with my new leather boots.”
Born the youngest son of a rich merchant and his beautiful third wife, Mendez has lived a life of indulgence and idleness.
Choosing the life of adventure over that of work, he knows that he’ll be fine as fortune always favours the rich and the beautiful.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Bodush - Sorcerer ordinaire
-Mummy? Where are you Mummy?
The little boy's voice rang out over the sound of the fire lapping at the walls of the little cabin. Standing up, his first breath filled his lungs with the acrid smoke, and he fell down to the floor coughing. Somewhere in the distance he heard his mothers voice, screaming. Tears streaming from his eyes, he crawled along the floor trying to reach the doors before the flames would block his path.
Falling down the wooden steps from the cabin, he stared in abject horror at his father's corpse. Blood was still oozing from the many cuts and wounds and slowly dripping from a gash along his throat, his dented militia-sword laying just a few feet away. Looking up his eyes locked with those of his mother, on her knees, two monstrous, porcine humanoids standing above her.
Her mouth moved, he knew she was calling his name, but her words were lost in the noise of the fire, and the guttural growls of the orcs grabbing him, lifting him up.
Then it was as if a spell lifted.
-Don't kill him! Don't kill my boy! Don't kill...
Her voice died away, drowned by the blood filling her mouth. Her lifeless body fell forward as the orc pulled his spear out of her torso. Her glassy eyes stared at the crying boy.
Bodush woke up, the sun was already rising, and the birdsong was slowly drowning out the horrors of his dreams. It must have been at least 13-14 years ago, and it was the only memory he had of his parents, his father's mangled corpse and his mother's dying scream. Why he never heard his name, his real name, the name his parent's gave him, he would probably never know. His name was Bodush, a slave's name.
Still, perhaps it was for the best. The boy who had carried that name was long gone. Not killed in the shock and pain of that night, but wasted away, little by little, killed by his own cowardice.
Life as a slave is never kind, and for a child amongst the orcs, it is lethal. Bodush shook his head, wondering what his mother, as she lay dying, would have thought of her boy, now, if she knew what he would do, what he would become. Bodush remembered the look on Massy's face, the emaciated halfling, caught stealing extra foods from the kitchens, as they fed him to their wargs as punishment. It was funny how the orcs never noticed how the little human never seemed to be hungry or how he would always volunteer for extra duties. While the other slaves working in the kitchen were executed one by one for stealing, Bodush was always there, always loyal, always telling the overseers when the others had secreted some food in their quarters. It was funny how the orcs never noticed that the slaves they thought were stealing food always were on the brink of starvation, while the little human tattletale always was in good health.
Bodush grimaced, thinking of those he had sent to their death. Still, he was alive, they weren't. . He could feel the cool morning heating up, and watch the sun rise over the distant ocean, while they were wargfodder. Who could blame him?
Not the gods. Bodush knew little of the human gods, and had nothing but hate for the gods of the orcs. Oh yes, he had become the personal slave of the tribe's shaman, a senile fool. The shaman had thought Bodush' magical powers, manifesting as they did when his voice changed, were a favour from the orcish gods. He had become less of a slave and more of an apprentice, preparing and sometimes performing the ritual sacrifices, reciting the litanies of hate that the orcish gods require before battles, and, not least, used his growing magical power to trick everyone into thinking that his meagre magics were all signs from the gods.
The shaman was dead. Bodush had shackled him to the altar of the gods and offered him up to Gruumsh as a parting present, before making his way out of the camp and into the lands of the humans.
This murder, the murder of an orc, was the only thing Bodush would feel a tiny sliver of guilt over.
He had made his way into the human lands, living by his wits, sometimes finding employment, mostly just wandering, relearning the language and customs of his own people. It is amazing how useful a well-placed spell and a hard-luck tale is, when your purse is empty and your stomach is growling.
Still...it was no way to live. Looking down on the town of Seawell, Bodush felt his spirits lift. Where there were people, there was money, and where there was money, there would be a job for him. He was ready to make his mark on the world.
After all, what did it matter that his name was forgotten? He was Bodush now, the boy who became a slave, who became a murderer.
He had earned his new name and someday, the whole world would know him by it.
The little boy's voice rang out over the sound of the fire lapping at the walls of the little cabin. Standing up, his first breath filled his lungs with the acrid smoke, and he fell down to the floor coughing. Somewhere in the distance he heard his mothers voice, screaming. Tears streaming from his eyes, he crawled along the floor trying to reach the doors before the flames would block his path.
Falling down the wooden steps from the cabin, he stared in abject horror at his father's corpse. Blood was still oozing from the many cuts and wounds and slowly dripping from a gash along his throat, his dented militia-sword laying just a few feet away. Looking up his eyes locked with those of his mother, on her knees, two monstrous, porcine humanoids standing above her.
Her mouth moved, he knew she was calling his name, but her words were lost in the noise of the fire, and the guttural growls of the orcs grabbing him, lifting him up.
Then it was as if a spell lifted.
-Don't kill him! Don't kill my boy! Don't kill...
Her voice died away, drowned by the blood filling her mouth. Her lifeless body fell forward as the orc pulled his spear out of her torso. Her glassy eyes stared at the crying boy.
*-*-*-*-*-*
Bodush woke up, the sun was already rising, and the birdsong was slowly drowning out the horrors of his dreams. It must have been at least 13-14 years ago, and it was the only memory he had of his parents, his father's mangled corpse and his mother's dying scream. Why he never heard his name, his real name, the name his parent's gave him, he would probably never know. His name was Bodush, a slave's name.
Still, perhaps it was for the best. The boy who had carried that name was long gone. Not killed in the shock and pain of that night, but wasted away, little by little, killed by his own cowardice.
Life as a slave is never kind, and for a child amongst the orcs, it is lethal. Bodush shook his head, wondering what his mother, as she lay dying, would have thought of her boy, now, if she knew what he would do, what he would become. Bodush remembered the look on Massy's face, the emaciated halfling, caught stealing extra foods from the kitchens, as they fed him to their wargs as punishment. It was funny how the orcs never noticed how the little human never seemed to be hungry or how he would always volunteer for extra duties. While the other slaves working in the kitchen were executed one by one for stealing, Bodush was always there, always loyal, always telling the overseers when the others had secreted some food in their quarters. It was funny how the orcs never noticed that the slaves they thought were stealing food always were on the brink of starvation, while the little human tattletale always was in good health.
Bodush grimaced, thinking of those he had sent to their death. Still, he was alive, they weren't. . He could feel the cool morning heating up, and watch the sun rise over the distant ocean, while they were wargfodder. Who could blame him?
Not the gods. Bodush knew little of the human gods, and had nothing but hate for the gods of the orcs. Oh yes, he had become the personal slave of the tribe's shaman, a senile fool. The shaman had thought Bodush' magical powers, manifesting as they did when his voice changed, were a favour from the orcish gods. He had become less of a slave and more of an apprentice, preparing and sometimes performing the ritual sacrifices, reciting the litanies of hate that the orcish gods require before battles, and, not least, used his growing magical power to trick everyone into thinking that his meagre magics were all signs from the gods.
The shaman was dead. Bodush had shackled him to the altar of the gods and offered him up to Gruumsh as a parting present, before making his way out of the camp and into the lands of the humans.
This murder, the murder of an orc, was the only thing Bodush would feel a tiny sliver of guilt over.
He had made his way into the human lands, living by his wits, sometimes finding employment, mostly just wandering, relearning the language and customs of his own people. It is amazing how useful a well-placed spell and a hard-luck tale is, when your purse is empty and your stomach is growling.
Still...it was no way to live. Looking down on the town of Seawell, Bodush felt his spirits lift. Where there were people, there was money, and where there was money, there would be a job for him. He was ready to make his mark on the world.
After all, what did it matter that his name was forgotten? He was Bodush now, the boy who became a slave, who became a murderer.
He had earned his new name and someday, the whole world would know him by it.
Wer Hinterwood
Seeing her arrive from afar would almost think: "nice little piece of woman coming towards you", if it wasn't for that huge dog she is riding without a saddle. Really not bad looking, her quite fair skin, and all those little braids bouncing through the air at every step of her huge newfoundland. She has a bit of the wild touch around her have to admit, leather boots brown baggy breaches light leather armor, big earth colored hide cloak on her back and quarterstaff in her hand.
But when she comes closer something is most definitely wrong... The dog is not that big actually, still quite big but not that big and when she jumps of the black shepherd dog with her big smile and punches you lightly in the thighs in the thighs, you actually realize she is no more than 3 foot high... Darm halfling! She stick her arm fool of wooden bracelets into her satchel, grabs out her wooden pipe, fumbles around one of her numerous pouches and fills her pipe with nice smelling tabacco, a bit more of rummaging, light it and tells you her story.
That is Wer, Wer Hinterwood. And her childhood friend Masena. She left her tribe a couple of month ago on a kind of apprenticeship. Her tribe was a bit unusual for halflings, as opposed to most clans hers, the Hinterwood clan, is not that kind in the cities and towns, but more of the woods and the wilds. They still are of the nomadic and curious ones but instead of the dirty human world they have settle for the world of the woods, they have a lot of contact with all the people of the wild, from the centaurs to the orcs, over the elves, the treemen, the giants and all the others.
Since very young the old wise woman of the tribe noticed her incredible ability to empathize with nature and all of its parts, and her incredible power to impose her will, so set forth to train her to become her heir and one day to lead the woman council of the clan (which as every one knows de facto rules in that kind of subtle way as to let believe the males of the clan that they make the decision *laugh*). Her teacher not being able to teach her much more, it has been decided that the best for her future education is to travel through the big wide world and to come back when she will be ready to lead that bunch of wool-headed stubborn halflingmen of the clan.
So here she is ready for her first adventure, and having finished to smoke her pipe gets out a carved flute and starts some, lets say interesting, notes. Even Masema (her big Newfoundland riding dog, his story will be for an other time), lying against her , hides his head under his huge paws, no music is not her biggest talent for the moment....
But when she comes closer something is most definitely wrong... The dog is not that big actually, still quite big but not that big and when she jumps of the black shepherd dog with her big smile and punches you lightly in the thighs in the thighs, you actually realize she is no more than 3 foot high... Darm halfling! She stick her arm fool of wooden bracelets into her satchel, grabs out her wooden pipe, fumbles around one of her numerous pouches and fills her pipe with nice smelling tabacco, a bit more of rummaging, light it and tells you her story.
That is Wer, Wer Hinterwood. And her childhood friend Masena. She left her tribe a couple of month ago on a kind of apprenticeship. Her tribe was a bit unusual for halflings, as opposed to most clans hers, the Hinterwood clan, is not that kind in the cities and towns, but more of the woods and the wilds. They still are of the nomadic and curious ones but instead of the dirty human world they have settle for the world of the woods, they have a lot of contact with all the people of the wild, from the centaurs to the orcs, over the elves, the treemen, the giants and all the others.
Since very young the old wise woman of the tribe noticed her incredible ability to empathize with nature and all of its parts, and her incredible power to impose her will, so set forth to train her to become her heir and one day to lead the woman council of the clan (which as every one knows de facto rules in that kind of subtle way as to let believe the males of the clan that they make the decision *laugh*). Her teacher not being able to teach her much more, it has been decided that the best for her future education is to travel through the big wide world and to come back when she will be ready to lead that bunch of wool-headed stubborn halflingmen of the clan.
So here she is ready for her first adventure, and having finished to smoke her pipe gets out a carved flute and starts some, lets say interesting, notes. Even Masema (her big Newfoundland riding dog, his story will be for an other time), lying against her , hides his head under his huge paws, no music is not her biggest talent for the moment....
Thursday, September 13, 2007
New characters
A fun-filled afternoon of character creation resulted in some interesting additions to the party.
First off the mark was Dag's Blue-eyed, blonde-haired Orc-hating Human Ranger : "Meynhard Gaertner".
Next (and still being perfected) is Moritz's Halfling Druid "Wer Hinterwood" and his Riding Dog "Masema". Fittingly Masema seems to be better at just about anything than Wer!
Sven brings us his, as yet unnamed,half-elf cleric of St. Cuthbert, the god of retribution. He smites all who disagree with him, but protects his flock with menace.
First off the mark was Dag's Blue-eyed, blonde-haired Orc-hating Human Ranger : "Meynhard Gaertner".
Next (and still being perfected) is Moritz's Halfling Druid "Wer Hinterwood" and his Riding Dog "Masema". Fittingly Masema seems to be better at just about anything than Wer!
Sven brings us his, as yet unnamed,half-elf cleric of St. Cuthbert, the god of retribution. He smites all who disagree with him, but protects his flock with menace.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Banner head
Hopefully Assif will help me post a new Banner head for this site.
It displays the current players and level of monster they face.
I plan to change it frequently. (If Assif will help me frequently.)
New players will be added and the monsters will change as we gain power.
It displays the current players and level of monster they face.
I plan to change it frequently. (If Assif will help me frequently.)
New players will be added and the monsters will change as we gain power.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
DM Dubious has questions
This time, the party was better prepared. They had a plan of action. Mendez would heroically smash the door down and roll deftly into the room while Takis, standing back readies an arrow to strike whatever he sees as soon as the door is down.
Of course, for a new DM grappling with the complex combat rules, this simple action raises a number of questions.
1. This is the most difficult question. I ruled that Takis could get an arrow off with the Kobolds flat-footed, and then we went to initiative. However, I think this ruling is entirely debatable. In the end I ruled in favour of the PCs as at least they were thinking about the combat and trying to do as much as possible to prepare well for the fight instead of just saying "we charge in and kill everyone!"
2. I ruled 10 as he was also kicking down the door.
3. Yeah, he failed didn't he ;)
Of course, for a new DM grappling with the complex combat rules, this simple action raises a number of questions.
- Naturally, Takis has a "readied action" to be triggered on the event of the door opening, and he would fire at whatever he sees. Is this right, or can you only ready an action against an opponent - e.g. "as soon as I see someone I fire at them"?1
- If the Kobolds were ready and waiting, then why should they forgo any initiative roll, just because Takis has decided to "ready" an action?
- What should the Difficulty Class for the tumble check be?2
- What happens when fails his tumble check (which he did!)? Does this mean he falls prone, and is vulnerable, or is he actually still standing and so gets an arrow in the back of the head?
- Should the Kobolds get an attack of opportunity against the prone Mendez?3
1. This is the most difficult question. I ruled that Takis could get an arrow off with the Kobolds flat-footed, and then we went to initiative. However, I think this ruling is entirely debatable. In the end I ruled in favour of the PCs as at least they were thinking about the combat and trying to do as much as possible to prepare well for the fight instead of just saying "we charge in and kill everyone!"
2. I ruled 10 as he was also kicking down the door.
3. Yeah, he failed didn't he ;)
Monday, September 3, 2007
Another taste of the same action
‘You, Battle-Nun. Give us your blessing before we go in.’
Mendez gives orders to Elogyn, as he arrogantly assumes command.
The Elven archer Takis, notches an arrow and stands directly behind the tall and athletic pirate.
Mendez shoulder barges the door and smashes through it easily. His attempts to gracefully tumble into the room and out of the way of the elf, like himself however, fall flat.
Time seems to stop for a moment.
Two Kobolds either side of the door can’t believe their luck. Both jab down with their spears at the prone Mendez. Both draw blood.
Takis however releases his arrow and it pierces the throat of the diminutive Kobold in the centre of the room. It falls to the floor, dead.
Elogyn slips into the room and confronts one of the Kobolds harassing Mendez.
She smashes the child-sized creature with her iron mace and it’s face parts company with the remains of its head.
Mendez slashes at his remaining opponent as he struggles to his feet. The Kobold easily avoids the clumsy stroke.
Takis however, calmly notches another arrow and lets it fly while walking into the room.
Mendez is saved again. This time by the Elf.
Suddenly a cry from the corner of the room alerts them to an additional Kobold. It had been hidden around the corner. It lets fly a sling stone straight at Elogyn, but lands only a glancing blow.
Mendez roars and charges after the cowering Kobold. It attempts to flee are stymied by a closed door and Mendez’s scimitar emerging from it’s stomach.
A quick rummage around the room reveals nothing worth taking.
Elogyn heals Mendez and then herself.
Mendez mutters under his breath; ‘Let’s aim for some money next time.’
Mendez gives orders to Elogyn, as he arrogantly assumes command.
The Elven archer Takis, notches an arrow and stands directly behind the tall and athletic pirate.
Mendez shoulder barges the door and smashes through it easily. His attempts to gracefully tumble into the room and out of the way of the elf, like himself however, fall flat.
Time seems to stop for a moment.
Two Kobolds either side of the door can’t believe their luck. Both jab down with their spears at the prone Mendez. Both draw blood.
Takis however releases his arrow and it pierces the throat of the diminutive Kobold in the centre of the room. It falls to the floor, dead.
Elogyn slips into the room and confronts one of the Kobolds harassing Mendez.
She smashes the child-sized creature with her iron mace and it’s face parts company with the remains of its head.
Mendez slashes at his remaining opponent as he struggles to his feet. The Kobold easily avoids the clumsy stroke.
Takis however, calmly notches another arrow and lets it fly while walking into the room.
Mendez is saved again. This time by the Elf.
Suddenly a cry from the corner of the room alerts them to an additional Kobold. It had been hidden around the corner. It lets fly a sling stone straight at Elogyn, but lands only a glancing blow.
Mendez roars and charges after the cowering Kobold. It attempts to flee are stymied by a closed door and Mendez’s scimitar emerging from it’s stomach.
A quick rummage around the room reveals nothing worth taking.
Elogyn heals Mendez and then herself.
Mendez mutters under his breath; ‘Let’s aim for some money next time.’
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