Before recorded time in pockets of antiquity the poets and singers of the old songs described a rich and dangerous land called Myrrgoth. Here the young human races grew alongside the fey and wild of valley and orchard and isle. The earth belonged to these children, but they were not the first inheritors. The children of the chaos god Vartek and the primordial mother Yyngalla-- whose house had been supreme before the new gods arrived--slithered into caverns, grottoes; they dove deep into the yawning chasms of the earth, to the bottom of the briny oceans, shriveled into air and fire, water and earth. Driven mad, succumbing to lust and violent rage, greed and bitter hatred, or gnawing hunger, Vartek's children populated all the dark corners of Myrrgoth.
On the borderlands, the space between these monsters and human civilization, men and elf went mad. When meeting the dark horrors, some were enticed into dark bargains with the old god's children and thus, chaos spread like a mindless plague across the plains and hills and forests. To fight such beasts and rid the land, the new gods took pity and emboldened the hearts of individuals: these the heroes of this early age.
You wish to be one of these brave souls, sponsored by a deity. Seek out your destiny.
Adventure awaits!
[PLEASE POST YOUR CHARACTER DESIGN AND NAME TO THIS ENTRY. IT WOULD BE HELPFUL TO GIVE YOUR GODSELF--YOUR ALTER-EGO--A NAME. THIS WILL BE THE PATRON GOD FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S).]
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Epic Journey #1 - A Test for Heroes
Directions:
I am conducting a blog-based, open-style dungeon adventure. To contribute, you will need to post a fantasy-based character using the rules below. Similar to D&D, the object here is to immerse ourselves in the story telling process, develop character, and have a chance of interacting on-line, sometimes several times daily, as player's move their fictional "pieces" (their characters) across a board that only I, your game master, can see -- but will describe to you.
As this is a test, I will be tweaking the system as we go along.
Rules:
Using your posts, I will insert your character's choices and the element of random luck to tell a story. The more often you post reactions to the story, or help out with details, the more involved your character will be in the story.
Creating a character:
Roll a standard d6 for each of the following stats, to help me understand who your character is and what inherent strengths and weaknesses he/she may have.
In general all the stats break down to mean the following:
1 is weak or deficient, 2 is below average, 3-4 is average, 5 is above average, 6 is gifted or exceptional.
Strength: a measure of physical power. (STR) measures a character's muscle and physical power. This ability is especially important for combat. High or low STR affects a character's ability to hit and cause damage in combat, and the chances of a character performing an act of strength or brute force.
Dexterity (DEX) measures hand-eye coordination, agility, reflexes, and balance. This ability is important when avoiding attacks, or using ranged weapons. It is important when using any skill based on hand-eye coordination, or fine manipulation (such as playing a musical instrument, crafting or painting).
Constitution (CON) represents a character's health and stamina. It determines how quickly your character heals or endures extremes of pain, infection, or annoyance before succumbing. It also determines how much you can push yourself physically, how exhausted you might become after strenuous exercise, how fit you are, and so on.
Intelligence (INT) determines how well a character learns, remembers, and reasons. This ability also indicates how much knowledge your character possesses regarding history, skills, etc. It is also how observant and creative your character is in dealing with the fictional world.
Wisdom (WIS) describes a character's willpower, common sense, perception, and intuition. While Intelligence represents
one's ability to analyze information, Wisdom represents being in tune with yourself and other people (or the universe). It also measures how spiritual or "mystical" your character is likely to be.
Charisma (CHA) measures a character's force of personality, persuasiveness, personal magnetism, ability to lead, and
physical attractiveness. Please note: not everyone who has a high charisma is physically beautiful. A low charisma score is also likely to be a person who has no leadership skills, is awkward, or hesitant when trying to manage a situation. Many bad bosses might have low charisma scores, even if they are good-looking. It is also how a character sees him/herself, for example a character with low charisma is likely to second-guess his/her options because he/she does not trust him/herself. This ability is important for how other characters or monsters will respond to a character in an encounter, and affects the morale of hirelings and the number of companions or associates a character may have.
Luck: (Luck) measures how fortunate a character is. It is a vague attribute, one reserved for the Gods of the Game. In general, it determines how often you may get out of tricky, nasty situations; or whether good fortune is likely to strike at a random time.
MInor characteristics. Minor characteristics help us flesh out your character and give us a little more understanding who/what he/she is (and how to play the character). These may be rolled normally (d6) or simply chosen by you.
Size: Indicate whether or not your character is small or skinny for his/her type, large or tall, or average. A character with a low size score but high strength score are likely to be beefy, muscular types. A character with a low strength score and a high size score might indicate someone overweight or flabby (of course, depending on constitution as well).
Skilled: Indicate how skilled or educated your character is. A score of average (3-4) might indicate some schooling or proper apprenticeship in one specific area, or more than one in general areas. A low score might indicate little practical skill ability (or irrelevant skills pertaining to being a hero - like learning how to sew or brew beer... handy, but not a skill that is often called for in a dungeon, generally. After the adventure, however, it is). A highly skilled character may know various helpful skills and may teach these skills to other players.
Status: Indicates class and background. It will help determine the ability to keep and utilize helpful contacts, how much material aid may be received or used, and also indicates starting possessions and resources. It is a relatively fluid statistic, one that will change with the game.
Morality: Indicates your character's understanding and ability to follow societal rules, how pious or sacrilegious you may be, or your general behavioral alignment in regards to breaking/upholding the law, attitude toward societal structure or tradition. For example, a thief who has a score of above-average (5) for morality, may still steal (particularly if that means surviving), but will feel either very guilty about it, or compensate society in some way for each broken law.
Now, examine your stats. Determine what kind of character you have created. Once you have thought about the possibilities, write a short description of your character. Include any background notes you think may come in handy in playing or using the character in our story. The more detailed you are, the more I will be able to include this sort of thing into the structure of the story. Remember to include a name. NOTE: this first campaign is a fantasy setting. You are free to choose any type of character class or racial stock that would normally be found in a swords & sorcery or high fantasy setting. (Unlike D&D there are no prerequisites or limitations, except for your imagination.)
End your description with what you character is doing right now for a living, and give them one long-term goal. What do they want to do (and why?)
Finally, give your character an appropriate sounding name. Post your character on the site, and I will include that character into the story. After your description, I will post any additional notes or information you may need: such as starting possessions, friends, contacts, skills, job opportunities, etc.
See the post above for a description of the world-setting.
I am conducting a blog-based, open-style dungeon adventure. To contribute, you will need to post a fantasy-based character using the rules below. Similar to D&D, the object here is to immerse ourselves in the story telling process, develop character, and have a chance of interacting on-line, sometimes several times daily, as player's move their fictional "pieces" (their characters) across a board that only I, your game master, can see -- but will describe to you.
As this is a test, I will be tweaking the system as we go along.
Rules:
Using your posts, I will insert your character's choices and the element of random luck to tell a story. The more often you post reactions to the story, or help out with details, the more involved your character will be in the story.
Creating a character:
Roll a standard d6 for each of the following stats, to help me understand who your character is and what inherent strengths and weaknesses he/she may have.
In general all the stats break down to mean the following:
1 is weak or deficient, 2 is below average, 3-4 is average, 5 is above average, 6 is gifted or exceptional.
Strength: a measure of physical power. (STR) measures a character's muscle and physical power. This ability is especially important for combat. High or low STR affects a character's ability to hit and cause damage in combat, and the chances of a character performing an act of strength or brute force.
Dexterity (DEX) measures hand-eye coordination, agility, reflexes, and balance. This ability is important when avoiding attacks, or using ranged weapons. It is important when using any skill based on hand-eye coordination, or fine manipulation (such as playing a musical instrument, crafting or painting).
Constitution (CON) represents a character's health and stamina. It determines how quickly your character heals or endures extremes of pain, infection, or annoyance before succumbing. It also determines how much you can push yourself physically, how exhausted you might become after strenuous exercise, how fit you are, and so on.
Intelligence (INT) determines how well a character learns, remembers, and reasons. This ability also indicates how much knowledge your character possesses regarding history, skills, etc. It is also how observant and creative your character is in dealing with the fictional world.
Wisdom (WIS) describes a character's willpower, common sense, perception, and intuition. While Intelligence represents
one's ability to analyze information, Wisdom represents being in tune with yourself and other people (or the universe). It also measures how spiritual or "mystical" your character is likely to be.
Charisma (CHA) measures a character's force of personality, persuasiveness, personal magnetism, ability to lead, and
physical attractiveness. Please note: not everyone who has a high charisma is physically beautiful. A low charisma score is also likely to be a person who has no leadership skills, is awkward, or hesitant when trying to manage a situation. Many bad bosses might have low charisma scores, even if they are good-looking. It is also how a character sees him/herself, for example a character with low charisma is likely to second-guess his/her options because he/she does not trust him/herself. This ability is important for how other characters or monsters will respond to a character in an encounter, and affects the morale of hirelings and the number of companions or associates a character may have.
Luck: (Luck) measures how fortunate a character is. It is a vague attribute, one reserved for the Gods of the Game. In general, it determines how often you may get out of tricky, nasty situations; or whether good fortune is likely to strike at a random time.
MInor characteristics. Minor characteristics help us flesh out your character and give us a little more understanding who/what he/she is (and how to play the character). These may be rolled normally (d6) or simply chosen by you.
Size: Indicate whether or not your character is small or skinny for his/her type, large or tall, or average. A character with a low size score but high strength score are likely to be beefy, muscular types. A character with a low strength score and a high size score might indicate someone overweight or flabby (of course, depending on constitution as well).
Skilled: Indicate how skilled or educated your character is. A score of average (3-4) might indicate some schooling or proper apprenticeship in one specific area, or more than one in general areas. A low score might indicate little practical skill ability (or irrelevant skills pertaining to being a hero - like learning how to sew or brew beer... handy, but not a skill that is often called for in a dungeon, generally. After the adventure, however, it is). A highly skilled character may know various helpful skills and may teach these skills to other players.
Status: Indicates class and background. It will help determine the ability to keep and utilize helpful contacts, how much material aid may be received or used, and also indicates starting possessions and resources. It is a relatively fluid statistic, one that will change with the game.
Morality: Indicates your character's understanding and ability to follow societal rules, how pious or sacrilegious you may be, or your general behavioral alignment in regards to breaking/upholding the law, attitude toward societal structure or tradition. For example, a thief who has a score of above-average (5) for morality, may still steal (particularly if that means surviving), but will feel either very guilty about it, or compensate society in some way for each broken law.
Now, examine your stats. Determine what kind of character you have created. Once you have thought about the possibilities, write a short description of your character. Include any background notes you think may come in handy in playing or using the character in our story. The more detailed you are, the more I will be able to include this sort of thing into the structure of the story. Remember to include a name. NOTE: this first campaign is a fantasy setting. You are free to choose any type of character class or racial stock that would normally be found in a swords & sorcery or high fantasy setting. (Unlike D&D there are no prerequisites or limitations, except for your imagination.)
End your description with what you character is doing right now for a living, and give them one long-term goal. What do they want to do (and why?)
Finally, give your character an appropriate sounding name. Post your character on the site, and I will include that character into the story. After your description, I will post any additional notes or information you may need: such as starting possessions, friends, contacts, skills, job opportunities, etc.
See the post above for a description of the world-setting.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Chapter Two: Imp-possible Undertakings
According to people who know better, an imp is a creature akin to a pixie or sprite, only more mischeivous. On the sliding scale of small fantastic creatures who would do a person serious harm as good as look at him, the imp is somewhere in the upper average.
Pygmy elves or what are called domestic elves, the kind that work with shoes and household chores, are probably the nicest of the lot. No one complains about an elf willing to do your laundry. Next come the sprites, for they are playful and refreshing. Then come the pixies with their magical sticks and fairy dust, followed by the nixies who, though universal complainers, generally are good folk. The chubby brownies are next, rating a little above average on the good side. Leperchauns tend to mark the average. As for pookas and kelpies, if you were to give them a "how moral are you?" test, would probably score about a 68%. A high D-average, but they can surprise you sometimes with a kind word. Goblins are definitely troublesome and were never studious where ethics are concerned. Born bullies, the hobgoblins and the bloody red caps, are always too busy killing to take a "goodness" test. Needless to say, they would probably find the essay section a little too much for their violent intellectual proclivities. The brutish orc is simply a cousin of the hobgoblin. Some believe trolls and ogres, bugbears, and gnomes to be related to this family line, but that is not true. They are all related to giants. Rather small giants, but giants, nonetheless.
Imps, then, fall somewhere between pooka and goblin. They are the unholy union of a domestic elf and a wandering demon. An imp begins its life in a scenario much like this: the domestic elf is busy doing the dishes that the householders apathetically left in the sink, her hands soaked with dirty suds, when the doorbell rings. She wipes her dainty good hands on her lacey apron and skips to the door so as not to disturb the sleeping children in the upstairs corner bedroom. When she opens wide the front door, she is greeted by a red-skinned, goatish-looking man, horns and hooves and all, usually well built and carrying a briefcase full of sample encyclopedias or brushes. Before she knows it, she has signed a contract for a complete set of books with her soul thrown in as part of the bargain. Timidly, her tiny elf heart beats madly. She pleads with the demonic salesman to release her from his bondage so that she can continue her "legal" bondage to the household. Surely, says he cleaning dirt from a talon and rubbing his knuckles on his vest. For a price. And from there, I'll let you draw your own conclusion. It involves a lot of heavy panting, an infernal odor, and some well placed saddle soap.
Other grimoires, the ones less studied by mad authors, argue that the imp is none of this, nor that neither. The imp, they say, is really the spirit of a child, most likely those between the years of 1 to 4 years of age. These are called the "brat" imps, caught in their terrible infantine stage of development. If good children go to heaven, imps are children who ended up in that other place.
An imp was supposedly under the service of Paracelsus, the legendary alchemist, who kept one locked inside the crystal pommel of his sword for reasons that are unclear to us today. Like most demons, when under contract, they tend to behave themselves fairly well. But left on their own, their machinations turn to infernal affairs.
The imps attacking the meaty legs of the barbarian had been released from their contract centuries before. They were taking, you might say, a corporate coffee break before going back to business. As such, when they saw Barkhor stumbling over the stones and ruins of the necropolis, wide grins spread like a poison ivy infection across their pointy little faces. They looked at each other, put down their coffee cups, and began the ambush.
Ambushing a barbarian is not as hard as it sounds. This one, in particularly, posed no threat. The imps heard his off-key humming long before he turned the bend in the valley. As for Barkhor, he was expecting an army of skeletons to rise out of the earth and attack him. That was the sort of thing skeletons did. But imps were another matter. They don't rise, so much as hop. And before he knew what hit him, a swarm of imps had sprung from their hiding place behind some big rocks and attacked.
Imp bites fall somewhere between mosquito bites, bee stings, and a laceration with a rusty saw. While their mouths are tiny, they are filled with sharp pointy teeth. To say nothing of the drool. Bitten by an imp is perhaps the pleasant effect. Imp drool is viscous, stains the skin a raspberry color, and has the odor of spoiled milk. At this point, the barbarian smelled like some rancid breakfast cereal.
Barkhor yowled. It took him a moment's composure to give the signal for help. The party discussed what this sign should be. Walorian suggested a red magic candle shot into the air. The others felt that not only would that alert any traveling wyrm or barghest to their party's position, but that, unable to recreate such an event themselves, it would be too showy for the mage.
"That would be fine for dinner theatre," the elf commented. "But it's a little too flashy for my tastes." And at that point the mage reminded the elf of his formal wear during a local prince's recent stag ball.
It was Zalina who suggested the whistle. And all agreed after trying out the signal that this would be adequate. At first Barkhor could only wolf-whistle, never having practical experience with any other kind, but he eventually figured it out.
The others came to the barbarian's aid eventually. In reality, it had been a few mintues before they decided to leave their conversation and pack up their camp gear. When they saw that he was in trouble, they increased their speed slightly. It was a little embarrassing, they had to admit, to save their best warrior from a band of tiny devil children. But because he was caught in a swarm, the imps were holding their own. They were also holding their own limbs, these having been hacked off by the barbarian's great sword.
The battle continued for several minutes. The elf adriotly attacked with his bow and quiver of economy arrows, while the rogue skewered a few with her sword. The old mage fell a group of imps with a spray of magical rainbow colors as they climbed on each others' shoulders to make a makeshift seige weapon.
When the battle was over, imp parts littered the field. Barkhor, bleeding profusely from the knees, simply fainted from loss of blood. They brought him to with a few pungent whiffs from a vial of magical salts. He sat up, rubbed his sore legs with catcher mitt hands, and said, "me think this job have poor health benefits."
That wasn't the half of it.
In the distance, between a field of imp parts and streaks of the barbarian's blood the path sunk into a sinister-looking valley. The menhirs of the ancient temple peeked around a break in the mountainside.
Next chapter: Temple, Temple.
Pygmy elves or what are called domestic elves, the kind that work with shoes and household chores, are probably the nicest of the lot. No one complains about an elf willing to do your laundry. Next come the sprites, for they are playful and refreshing. Then come the pixies with their magical sticks and fairy dust, followed by the nixies who, though universal complainers, generally are good folk. The chubby brownies are next, rating a little above average on the good side. Leperchauns tend to mark the average. As for pookas and kelpies, if you were to give them a "how moral are you?" test, would probably score about a 68%. A high D-average, but they can surprise you sometimes with a kind word. Goblins are definitely troublesome and were never studious where ethics are concerned. Born bullies, the hobgoblins and the bloody red caps, are always too busy killing to take a "goodness" test. Needless to say, they would probably find the essay section a little too much for their violent intellectual proclivities. The brutish orc is simply a cousin of the hobgoblin. Some believe trolls and ogres, bugbears, and gnomes to be related to this family line, but that is not true. They are all related to giants. Rather small giants, but giants, nonetheless.
Imps, then, fall somewhere between pooka and goblin. They are the unholy union of a domestic elf and a wandering demon. An imp begins its life in a scenario much like this: the domestic elf is busy doing the dishes that the householders apathetically left in the sink, her hands soaked with dirty suds, when the doorbell rings. She wipes her dainty good hands on her lacey apron and skips to the door so as not to disturb the sleeping children in the upstairs corner bedroom. When she opens wide the front door, she is greeted by a red-skinned, goatish-looking man, horns and hooves and all, usually well built and carrying a briefcase full of sample encyclopedias or brushes. Before she knows it, she has signed a contract for a complete set of books with her soul thrown in as part of the bargain. Timidly, her tiny elf heart beats madly. She pleads with the demonic salesman to release her from his bondage so that she can continue her "legal" bondage to the household. Surely, says he cleaning dirt from a talon and rubbing his knuckles on his vest. For a price. And from there, I'll let you draw your own conclusion. It involves a lot of heavy panting, an infernal odor, and some well placed saddle soap.
Other grimoires, the ones less studied by mad authors, argue that the imp is none of this, nor that neither. The imp, they say, is really the spirit of a child, most likely those between the years of 1 to 4 years of age. These are called the "brat" imps, caught in their terrible infantine stage of development. If good children go to heaven, imps are children who ended up in that other place.
An imp was supposedly under the service of Paracelsus, the legendary alchemist, who kept one locked inside the crystal pommel of his sword for reasons that are unclear to us today. Like most demons, when under contract, they tend to behave themselves fairly well. But left on their own, their machinations turn to infernal affairs.
The imps attacking the meaty legs of the barbarian had been released from their contract centuries before. They were taking, you might say, a corporate coffee break before going back to business. As such, when they saw Barkhor stumbling over the stones and ruins of the necropolis, wide grins spread like a poison ivy infection across their pointy little faces. They looked at each other, put down their coffee cups, and began the ambush.
Ambushing a barbarian is not as hard as it sounds. This one, in particularly, posed no threat. The imps heard his off-key humming long before he turned the bend in the valley. As for Barkhor, he was expecting an army of skeletons to rise out of the earth and attack him. That was the sort of thing skeletons did. But imps were another matter. They don't rise, so much as hop. And before he knew what hit him, a swarm of imps had sprung from their hiding place behind some big rocks and attacked.
Imp bites fall somewhere between mosquito bites, bee stings, and a laceration with a rusty saw. While their mouths are tiny, they are filled with sharp pointy teeth. To say nothing of the drool. Bitten by an imp is perhaps the pleasant effect. Imp drool is viscous, stains the skin a raspberry color, and has the odor of spoiled milk. At this point, the barbarian smelled like some rancid breakfast cereal.
Barkhor yowled. It took him a moment's composure to give the signal for help. The party discussed what this sign should be. Walorian suggested a red magic candle shot into the air. The others felt that not only would that alert any traveling wyrm or barghest to their party's position, but that, unable to recreate such an event themselves, it would be too showy for the mage.
"That would be fine for dinner theatre," the elf commented. "But it's a little too flashy for my tastes." And at that point the mage reminded the elf of his formal wear during a local prince's recent stag ball.
It was Zalina who suggested the whistle. And all agreed after trying out the signal that this would be adequate. At first Barkhor could only wolf-whistle, never having practical experience with any other kind, but he eventually figured it out.
The others came to the barbarian's aid eventually. In reality, it had been a few mintues before they decided to leave their conversation and pack up their camp gear. When they saw that he was in trouble, they increased their speed slightly. It was a little embarrassing, they had to admit, to save their best warrior from a band of tiny devil children. But because he was caught in a swarm, the imps were holding their own. They were also holding their own limbs, these having been hacked off by the barbarian's great sword.
The battle continued for several minutes. The elf adriotly attacked with his bow and quiver of economy arrows, while the rogue skewered a few with her sword. The old mage fell a group of imps with a spray of magical rainbow colors as they climbed on each others' shoulders to make a makeshift seige weapon.
When the battle was over, imp parts littered the field. Barkhor, bleeding profusely from the knees, simply fainted from loss of blood. They brought him to with a few pungent whiffs from a vial of magical salts. He sat up, rubbed his sore legs with catcher mitt hands, and said, "me think this job have poor health benefits."
That wasn't the half of it.
In the distance, between a field of imp parts and streaks of the barbarian's blood the path sunk into a sinister-looking valley. The menhirs of the ancient temple peeked around a break in the mountainside.
Next chapter: Temple, Temple.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
An Epic of Epic Proportions
The object of their quest lie in the heart of the desolate necropolis. Barkhor went first into that dry and deserted place. Following his bulk, stepping lightly in her new pointy-toed boots went Zalina. Trailing behind were Gimckle Sagebrush lending an arm to the aged Walorian Prevost.
The tiny band came to the lip of the valley. Barkhor stood upon a convenient outcropping just as the sun rose over the edge of the mountains. Gloriously bathed in sunrise, he shook his golden matted locks and pointed a stubby finger toward the bowels of the valley.
"Here...," he said.
Zalina pressed up against him. Her slender fingers brushing his bare back just above the belt of his loincloth. "The fabled valley of the ancient ones." She surveyed the land ahead and smiled.
A few minutes later, the two were joined by the tottering figure of Walorian. His special friend, the fey Sagebrush, helped the old mage up the last few steps of the precarious stone ledge.
"Not far now," the elf said, either to the group or his mage. "Why don't we rest before going further? We've been traveling for a whole hour already."
"Press on," the barbarian spat. "Valley dangerous. Like crossing highway without a cart."
They stood there just before the valley, letting the cold air tickle the back of their necks or, in the barbarian's case, the small of his naked back, and surveyed their surroundings. The ruins through which they traveled lay to the west. Miles of ruins, the decrepit reminder of a long dead civilization, had made the elf weary.
"Doesn't look too dangerous," said the dark haired Zalina.
Walorian wheezed, then coughed into his sleeve. "Looks can be deceiving."
"Still," Zalina said. "The entrance to the masoleum can only be a few miles from here. According to our map."
Barkhor frowned and scratched himself. "I scout ahead. Come back soon with news."
Before the party could stop him, he bounded over the ledge and landed hard on the scree below. He scratched himself again and was out of sight before Zalina unrolled the map and studied it closely.
"There is legend to this place, of course."
"Oh?" Zalina probed an ear socket with a pinky.
The old man lowered himself slowly on a flat rock and began to orate. "For centuries the ancient cities of Balganor, Sweft, and Tilatella buried their dead in the hidden valley along the range of spire mountains that divided their kingdoms. Then when invaders from the west, the grey skinned Gorn, ghoulish hobgoblins of human nightmare, came upon the settlements of Balganor and Sweft and Tilatella, the ancient kingdoms fell, one by one into haunted rubble. Outlying frontier towns avoided these cities. Superstition grew like moss around the area of the ruins. Dark things were said to have broken up from the depths of the dark pit of the abyss and hunted there in the desolation, in the mist."
Sagebrush was shining his scuffed boots and looking off into space. Zalina continued to study the treasure map.
"Some older folk remembered a legend from when they were toddlers sitting on their grandparents' knee listening to stories ancient even then. It involved the original cemetary, where the first corpse was buried somewhere in the valley. She had been noble, that much is known, perhaps a queen or princess, or emperess. No one knows for sure. And she ruled a people fairly so that they trusted her and followed her watery whims, which like a deluge threatened to drown them with her exquisite desires."
Sagebrush rolled his eyes and made a talky-talky motion with his hand. "Blah, blah, love story, fell in love with some jerk, ended up taking her life, people buried her in a glorious tomb... blah blah...haunted."
The old man's eyebrows knit fiercely. He clammed up.
Zalina followed her finger along a crease in the map. "The map says we should find treasure right about here. I could do with some treasure."
"What's taking that lummox so long?" the elf complained.
"What are you going to do with your share of the treasure Walorian?"
"Huh? Treasure? I do not value treasure, girl. There's nothing but death in this valley."
"Ooh. Spooky. If that's so, why'd you come? Death wish?"
The mage shook his white beard and wrung his pointy cap between two gnarled hands. "I am seeking the secret of undeath."
The elf raised a pointy eyebrow. "So what is that exactly in clear language? Life?"
"No. Not at all. It's a state inbetween life and death. You are neither alive, nor are you dead. It's sort of like waiting in a long line at the laundromat."
"Or listening to you babble."
"Exactly."
Zalina shrugged. "Well, I'm sure there's some good treasure in that queen's grave. Probably in some sort of sarcophagus, I'd imagine. And, since no one asked, I am going to use this money to do something really special for myself."
"Breast reduction?"
Zalina shot the elf a sour look. "Something more practical. I'm going to pay off my guild loans and put a downpayment on a small keep. Or buy one of those fancy new dragon mounts--silver or chromatic most likely--I haven't decided yet."
"Fascinating." The elf unwrapped a container of nuts and berries he had collected and was stuffing them into his tiny mouth.
They were interupted by a long, high pitched whistle.
Zalina turned her head toward the valley. "That's Barkhor's signal. Let's move."
They found him a few minutes later around a bend in the valley path. A swarm of tiny red imps were trying to claw his eyes out but could only reach the meaty part of his massive barbarian thighs.
He swung his heavy double-bladed axe twice over his head before burying the blade in the skull of one of the gnawing red imps. The thing burst like a blister. Where its blood and evisera fell, the ground smoked and hissed.
Zalina pulled her throwing daggers from her belt and with a flick of a dainty wrist skewered an imp between the eyes. It fell with a soft thwack.
The elf strung his little bow and fired an arrow into the fray. Meanwhile the imps swarmed the barbarian, nipping at his legs like thirty-pound pomeranians. He was covered in welts and scratches and let out an anguished howl.
"Do something," the elf called to Walorian.
The old man fumbled a bit with his long sleeves. Grinding his teeth, he gestured madly in the air as if he were frantically playing a game of charades. A tiny white-hot missle of ectoplasm doubled up an imp that had separated from the rest of the horde.
The battle continued unrelentlessly, unlike our chapter, which drew suddenly and without provocation to a tidy cliff-hanging end.
READ MORE CONCERNING THE EPIC ADVENTURES OF OUR STALWART BAND OF HEROES IN OUR NEXT EXCITING CHAPTER: IMP-POSSIBLE UNDERTAKINGS!
The tiny band came to the lip of the valley. Barkhor stood upon a convenient outcropping just as the sun rose over the edge of the mountains. Gloriously bathed in sunrise, he shook his golden matted locks and pointed a stubby finger toward the bowels of the valley.
"Here...," he said.
Zalina pressed up against him. Her slender fingers brushing his bare back just above the belt of his loincloth. "The fabled valley of the ancient ones." She surveyed the land ahead and smiled.
A few minutes later, the two were joined by the tottering figure of Walorian. His special friend, the fey Sagebrush, helped the old mage up the last few steps of the precarious stone ledge.
"Not far now," the elf said, either to the group or his mage. "Why don't we rest before going further? We've been traveling for a whole hour already."
"Press on," the barbarian spat. "Valley dangerous. Like crossing highway without a cart."
They stood there just before the valley, letting the cold air tickle the back of their necks or, in the barbarian's case, the small of his naked back, and surveyed their surroundings. The ruins through which they traveled lay to the west. Miles of ruins, the decrepit reminder of a long dead civilization, had made the elf weary.
"Doesn't look too dangerous," said the dark haired Zalina.
Walorian wheezed, then coughed into his sleeve. "Looks can be deceiving."
"Still," Zalina said. "The entrance to the masoleum can only be a few miles from here. According to our map."
Barkhor frowned and scratched himself. "I scout ahead. Come back soon with news."
Before the party could stop him, he bounded over the ledge and landed hard on the scree below. He scratched himself again and was out of sight before Zalina unrolled the map and studied it closely.
"There is legend to this place, of course."
"Oh?" Zalina probed an ear socket with a pinky.
The old man lowered himself slowly on a flat rock and began to orate. "For centuries the ancient cities of Balganor, Sweft, and Tilatella buried their dead in the hidden valley along the range of spire mountains that divided their kingdoms. Then when invaders from the west, the grey skinned Gorn, ghoulish hobgoblins of human nightmare, came upon the settlements of Balganor and Sweft and Tilatella, the ancient kingdoms fell, one by one into haunted rubble. Outlying frontier towns avoided these cities. Superstition grew like moss around the area of the ruins. Dark things were said to have broken up from the depths of the dark pit of the abyss and hunted there in the desolation, in the mist."
Sagebrush was shining his scuffed boots and looking off into space. Zalina continued to study the treasure map.
"Some older folk remembered a legend from when they were toddlers sitting on their grandparents' knee listening to stories ancient even then. It involved the original cemetary, where the first corpse was buried somewhere in the valley. She had been noble, that much is known, perhaps a queen or princess, or emperess. No one knows for sure. And she ruled a people fairly so that they trusted her and followed her watery whims, which like a deluge threatened to drown them with her exquisite desires."
Sagebrush rolled his eyes and made a talky-talky motion with his hand. "Blah, blah, love story, fell in love with some jerk, ended up taking her life, people buried her in a glorious tomb... blah blah...haunted."
The old man's eyebrows knit fiercely. He clammed up.
Zalina followed her finger along a crease in the map. "The map says we should find treasure right about here. I could do with some treasure."
"What's taking that lummox so long?" the elf complained.
"What are you going to do with your share of the treasure Walorian?"
"Huh? Treasure? I do not value treasure, girl. There's nothing but death in this valley."
"Ooh. Spooky. If that's so, why'd you come? Death wish?"
The mage shook his white beard and wrung his pointy cap between two gnarled hands. "I am seeking the secret of undeath."
The elf raised a pointy eyebrow. "So what is that exactly in clear language? Life?"
"No. Not at all. It's a state inbetween life and death. You are neither alive, nor are you dead. It's sort of like waiting in a long line at the laundromat."
"Or listening to you babble."
"Exactly."
Zalina shrugged. "Well, I'm sure there's some good treasure in that queen's grave. Probably in some sort of sarcophagus, I'd imagine. And, since no one asked, I am going to use this money to do something really special for myself."
"Breast reduction?"
Zalina shot the elf a sour look. "Something more practical. I'm going to pay off my guild loans and put a downpayment on a small keep. Or buy one of those fancy new dragon mounts--silver or chromatic most likely--I haven't decided yet."
"Fascinating." The elf unwrapped a container of nuts and berries he had collected and was stuffing them into his tiny mouth.
They were interupted by a long, high pitched whistle.
Zalina turned her head toward the valley. "That's Barkhor's signal. Let's move."
They found him a few minutes later around a bend in the valley path. A swarm of tiny red imps were trying to claw his eyes out but could only reach the meaty part of his massive barbarian thighs.
He swung his heavy double-bladed axe twice over his head before burying the blade in the skull of one of the gnawing red imps. The thing burst like a blister. Where its blood and evisera fell, the ground smoked and hissed.
Zalina pulled her throwing daggers from her belt and with a flick of a dainty wrist skewered an imp between the eyes. It fell with a soft thwack.
The elf strung his little bow and fired an arrow into the fray. Meanwhile the imps swarmed the barbarian, nipping at his legs like thirty-pound pomeranians. He was covered in welts and scratches and let out an anguished howl.
"Do something," the elf called to Walorian.
The old man fumbled a bit with his long sleeves. Grinding his teeth, he gestured madly in the air as if he were frantically playing a game of charades. A tiny white-hot missle of ectoplasm doubled up an imp that had separated from the rest of the horde.
The battle continued unrelentlessly, unlike our chapter, which drew suddenly and without provocation to a tidy cliff-hanging end.
READ MORE CONCERNING THE EPIC ADVENTURES OF OUR STALWART BAND OF HEROES IN OUR NEXT EXCITING CHAPTER: IMP-POSSIBLE UNDERTAKINGS!
Cthulhu Campaign
Episode #1
Players either were hired by Professor Dr. Morgan or were lust struck in a drunken stupor to provide funds for the expedition, or were asked by Miskatonic University's Professor Armitage to join the expedition for the good of the university. You learned that Professor Dr. Morgan was not just looking for Mayan artifacts in the Honduran jungle, but that he was trying to relocate the lost expedition of his friend and mentor: Dr. Williamson.
You learned that Dr. Williamson, with his colleague Professor Baldwin, and four red shirts...er... graduate students left Belize in June of the year 1920. (It is currently late July, the year 1921). Local authorities believe that the mission ran afoul of black marketeers trafficking in illegal Mayan and Aztec relics. Williamson's last documented camp was a few day's journey in the swamps along the Belize River.
You also learned that Dr. Williamson was seen as something of a crack-pot in academic circles when his book published his theory that the advancements of the Mayan civilization were completed by a race of "space men" (i.e. The Chariot of the Gods).
Meeting in Belize, each of you were paid a sum of $750 and put to work getting the boat ready for the expedition. In attendance were:
--Dr. Morgan, head of the expedition
--Dr. Franklin, medical aid
--Dr. Quinn, medical assistant
--Mrs. Wilimina Agnes Packard; assistant archeologist and antiquarian
--Stuart Devlin, river pilot and handyman
--Miguel, Devlin's retarded Indian laborer
--Gordon Lockly, one of the backers for the expedition
--Ms. Maybel Duquesne Devereaux, the other backer for the expedition, an author and socialite
--Nihol To'aszoli Deeschii'nii: a Navajo Indian laborer
--Ted Jackson, a plain looking farmer/laborer (also ex-doughboy)
--John Ryan, a skittish WWI soldier, laborer
Your characters met in Belize and while there, several strange things began to happen. The first is that a threatening note was sent to Mabel. The second was that while working on the docks to prepare the ship, the cable loading cargo had been cut 1/2 way, so as to cause an accident. A small bump on Nihol's head was all that transpired, but a message was being sent to the party regarding the native reaction to your presence. Finally, a non-poisonous snake was left in Mabel's bedroom (she had been shadowed while shopping and from her excursions to the church and seminary). Mabel screamed and ran next door to her boyfriend's room. She interrupted his discussion with Dr. Morgan. Gordon responded quickly and, pulling out his revolver, shot the snake three times. While all this was going on, John, Ted, and Nihol went to the ship and met a band of natives on the dock. They tried to threaten you - "leave Belize or die! - Do not disturb the city of stone!" and one flicked open a switchblade. The trigger-happy John shot the "leader" of the band and the others dispersed. Nihol applied his first-aid while Ted stood defense and grappled one of the furious natives as he tried to defend his shot friend. All ran off, except for the wounded one, who was rushed to the hospital after the police investigated the scene. Once the police realized it was John and not Nihol who had shot the gun, they let you go.
In the morning, the ship prepared, the expedition began its trip down the Belize river. Along the way, you noticed some strange natural occurrences with the native animals. Fish, birds, and then crocodiles were found swarming along the river for mysterious reasons. On the seventh day, Stuart Devlin, Miguel, and Dr. Morgan found evidence of the Williamson expedition's previous campsite. The party went ashore to investigate.
In the camp, you found evidence of the previous expedition. Several metal rings (the grommets for tents) were found along with a few rusty lanterns, tin-cans, and other non-biodegradable materials. About 8 yards south of the campsite Dr. Quinn found a Mayan pyramid. The pyramid was small about 4 yards per side and roughly 3 yards tall. Agnes and Dr. Morgan were able to identify the structure as Mayan. Atop the pyramid Nihol found a smashed remains of a carving and underneath the rubble some old .38 shells. Nearby the pyramid, Ted found a tangle of strange vegetation and underneath the tangle you found two skeletal bodies. Quinn and Franklin examined the bodies and found that one had a fractured neck and the other had been shot in the head. Only belt buckles remained of their clothing. Underneath the bodies, Ted found a metal box. Breaking open the lock, Ted found a crumpled slip of paper which showed a crude map drawing of Dr. Williamson's second day camp plans. Also there was a notebook/journal written by one of the graduate students whose bodies you uncovered. The journal has hardly been used and reveals that Williamson and the others indeed went east and that Peter (graduate student) had wrecked the "awful carving". The rest of the journal entry degenerated into incoherent babbles with the words: "God Help Them" underscored twice at the bottom of the page. The rest of the journal was empty.
Stuart Devlin and Miguel went back to the ship to sail along the Belize river and plan to continue to search the shore in the event that Williamson made his camp along the east coast of the river. They plan to meet you the following day, moving inland from the river.
The rest of you trekked through the swamp and spent an uncomfortable night being bitten by mosquitoes and insects. The following morning, after resuming your journey, you found a clearing in the jungle which served as the second camp for the Williamson expedition. One of you, Nihol (I believe), found a pile of stones that turned out to be a make-shift cairn. On it was the name Johnathan Darris (another graduate student) and under the name was scratched a strange five-pointed star with an eye in the middle. Among the collected rocks, Nihol found a gold medallion. Agnes identified the amulet as Mayan origin and the relief depicts some sort of tangled tree with hooves. A few yards away the team found a tattered tent and the remains of previous tents that indicated the second day camp. Under the tarp you found a collection of Mayan pottery in the process of being tagged. Among the pottery, you found a baked clay five pointed star with an eye in the middle. By one of the other tent areas, John and Ted found a small locked chest bearing the identifying marks: E. W. (Eric Williamson). In the chest you found a small jade and silver sculpture of an elaborately bedecked head. Morgan identifies this as Mayan. Also in the chest is Williamson's journal and collection of papers, and the book: Nameless Cults wrapped in burlap. Williamson's journal catalogues the items and pottery found at camp one. No mention of the jade head is listed, but at the second site, the team had found the five pointed star. Williamson states that the sign is of major occult significance and did research on it in his copy of Nameless Cults. It apparently is believed to prevent entry of supernatural entities.
Dr. Quinn then Nihol called your attention to a section of the jungle. About 50 feet from the campsite, you found a section of the jungle that had been disturbed by previous human presence. Williamson and his team must have hacked their way through the jungle here toward the south. Nihol and Ted lead the way through the dense jungle to a major find: a two step pyramid and large sunken court yard.
End of session #1
Players either were hired by Professor Dr. Morgan or were lust struck in a drunken stupor to provide funds for the expedition, or were asked by Miskatonic University's Professor Armitage to join the expedition for the good of the university. You learned that Professor Dr. Morgan was not just looking for Mayan artifacts in the Honduran jungle, but that he was trying to relocate the lost expedition of his friend and mentor: Dr. Williamson.
You learned that Dr. Williamson, with his colleague Professor Baldwin, and four red shirts...er... graduate students left Belize in June of the year 1920. (It is currently late July, the year 1921). Local authorities believe that the mission ran afoul of black marketeers trafficking in illegal Mayan and Aztec relics. Williamson's last documented camp was a few day's journey in the swamps along the Belize River.
You also learned that Dr. Williamson was seen as something of a crack-pot in academic circles when his book published his theory that the advancements of the Mayan civilization were completed by a race of "space men" (i.e. The Chariot of the Gods).
Meeting in Belize, each of you were paid a sum of $750 and put to work getting the boat ready for the expedition. In attendance were:
--Dr. Morgan, head of the expedition
--Dr. Franklin, medical aid
--Dr. Quinn, medical assistant
--Mrs. Wilimina Agnes Packard; assistant archeologist and antiquarian
--Stuart Devlin, river pilot and handyman
--Miguel, Devlin's retarded Indian laborer
--Gordon Lockly, one of the backers for the expedition
--Ms. Maybel Duquesne Devereaux, the other backer for the expedition, an author and socialite
--Nihol To'aszoli Deeschii'nii: a Navajo Indian laborer
--Ted Jackson, a plain looking farmer/laborer (also ex-doughboy)
--John Ryan, a skittish WWI soldier, laborer
Your characters met in Belize and while there, several strange things began to happen. The first is that a threatening note was sent to Mabel. The second was that while working on the docks to prepare the ship, the cable loading cargo had been cut 1/2 way, so as to cause an accident. A small bump on Nihol's head was all that transpired, but a message was being sent to the party regarding the native reaction to your presence. Finally, a non-poisonous snake was left in Mabel's bedroom (she had been shadowed while shopping and from her excursions to the church and seminary). Mabel screamed and ran next door to her boyfriend's room. She interrupted his discussion with Dr. Morgan. Gordon responded quickly and, pulling out his revolver, shot the snake three times. While all this was going on, John, Ted, and Nihol went to the ship and met a band of natives on the dock. They tried to threaten you - "leave Belize or die! - Do not disturb the city of stone!" and one flicked open a switchblade. The trigger-happy John shot the "leader" of the band and the others dispersed. Nihol applied his first-aid while Ted stood defense and grappled one of the furious natives as he tried to defend his shot friend. All ran off, except for the wounded one, who was rushed to the hospital after the police investigated the scene. Once the police realized it was John and not Nihol who had shot the gun, they let you go.
In the morning, the ship prepared, the expedition began its trip down the Belize river. Along the way, you noticed some strange natural occurrences with the native animals. Fish, birds, and then crocodiles were found swarming along the river for mysterious reasons. On the seventh day, Stuart Devlin, Miguel, and Dr. Morgan found evidence of the Williamson expedition's previous campsite. The party went ashore to investigate.
In the camp, you found evidence of the previous expedition. Several metal rings (the grommets for tents) were found along with a few rusty lanterns, tin-cans, and other non-biodegradable materials. About 8 yards south of the campsite Dr. Quinn found a Mayan pyramid. The pyramid was small about 4 yards per side and roughly 3 yards tall. Agnes and Dr. Morgan were able to identify the structure as Mayan. Atop the pyramid Nihol found a smashed remains of a carving and underneath the rubble some old .38 shells. Nearby the pyramid, Ted found a tangle of strange vegetation and underneath the tangle you found two skeletal bodies. Quinn and Franklin examined the bodies and found that one had a fractured neck and the other had been shot in the head. Only belt buckles remained of their clothing. Underneath the bodies, Ted found a metal box. Breaking open the lock, Ted found a crumpled slip of paper which showed a crude map drawing of Dr. Williamson's second day camp plans. Also there was a notebook/journal written by one of the graduate students whose bodies you uncovered. The journal has hardly been used and reveals that Williamson and the others indeed went east and that Peter (graduate student) had wrecked the "awful carving". The rest of the journal entry degenerated into incoherent babbles with the words: "God Help Them" underscored twice at the bottom of the page. The rest of the journal was empty.
Stuart Devlin and Miguel went back to the ship to sail along the Belize river and plan to continue to search the shore in the event that Williamson made his camp along the east coast of the river. They plan to meet you the following day, moving inland from the river.
The rest of you trekked through the swamp and spent an uncomfortable night being bitten by mosquitoes and insects. The following morning, after resuming your journey, you found a clearing in the jungle which served as the second camp for the Williamson expedition. One of you, Nihol (I believe), found a pile of stones that turned out to be a make-shift cairn. On it was the name Johnathan Darris (another graduate student) and under the name was scratched a strange five-pointed star with an eye in the middle. Among the collected rocks, Nihol found a gold medallion. Agnes identified the amulet as Mayan origin and the relief depicts some sort of tangled tree with hooves. A few yards away the team found a tattered tent and the remains of previous tents that indicated the second day camp. Under the tarp you found a collection of Mayan pottery in the process of being tagged. Among the pottery, you found a baked clay five pointed star with an eye in the middle. By one of the other tent areas, John and Ted found a small locked chest bearing the identifying marks: E. W. (Eric Williamson). In the chest you found a small jade and silver sculpture of an elaborately bedecked head. Morgan identifies this as Mayan. Also in the chest is Williamson's journal and collection of papers, and the book: Nameless Cults wrapped in burlap. Williamson's journal catalogues the items and pottery found at camp one. No mention of the jade head is listed, but at the second site, the team had found the five pointed star. Williamson states that the sign is of major occult significance and did research on it in his copy of Nameless Cults. It apparently is believed to prevent entry of supernatural entities.
Dr. Quinn then Nihol called your attention to a section of the jungle. About 50 feet from the campsite, you found a section of the jungle that had been disturbed by previous human presence. Williamson and his team must have hacked their way through the jungle here toward the south. Nihol and Ted lead the way through the dense jungle to a major find: a two step pyramid and large sunken court yard.
End of session #1
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