# DARK•HERITAGE -- 16 installments to date, updated April 20th



## Desdichado (Jun 17, 2004)

*DARK•HERITAGE -- 16 installments to date, updated April 20th*

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[size=-2]_Banner courtesy of shadowlight._[/size]​
Now that my Dark•Matter Story Hour is complete, and done, I thought it'd be fun to start one up on the campaign I'm currently running, the [smallcaps]Dark•Heritage[/smallcaps] Campaign.  [smallcaps]Dark•Heritage[/smallcaps] has been a fun game for me so far, although we're still only a few play sessions into it.  I hesitate to call the game D&D, as there are so many changes to the rules that it's almost unrecognizable (the link above explains the changes, for those interested in those kinds of things.)  Basically the setting assumes a lower level of magic than core D&D, at least in terms of what characters have access to, as I've replaced most of the classes with classes that do not have access to spells.  The setting is intended to be a high-octane swashbuckling type of game, though, with flying ships, floating islands, flintlock pistols, and occasional odd steamtech devices.  Imagine a combination of Warhammer Fantasy Roleplaying with _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and John Carter of Mars and you've got a pretty good idea of the setting.

My players are all members of the boards here: Quickbeam, shadowlight and Stockdale.  All of us are in our early to mid thirties, we're married, we all have kids; so we end up not playing quite as often as I'd like to, but after we get through the summer, and our various vacation schedules, we may improve in that regard, with any luck.

The story hour itself is not a faithful game log, in some ways.  I'll be adding interludes and cut scenes from time to time, I don't really recall much of the specific dialogue or combat actions or that kind of detail anymore, so I'll be recreating most of that from scratch.  However, other than that, the story hour will be pretty faithful to the actual course of the game, as much as possible.  It's quite likely, and indeed I hope so, that my players may pop in and comment from time to time as well. 

Without further ado, let's get this party started!


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## Desdichado (Jun 17, 2004)

*Prologue I*

A very long time ago...

_(The following is a cut scene/flashback and was not part of the game itself...)_

"And so you see, friends and colleagues, that these slight modifications to Nimlanâth's charm's, using the research I published earlier in _The Annual Review of Advances in Thaumaturgical Science_ do indeed make the summoning of creatures from the Shadow Realm not only possible, but quite safe for the Mage who casts the spell. The implications for our understanding of the Shadow Realm moving forward, and our ability to advance the art, speak for themselves. Thank you."

Zimurrun bowed slightly to indicate that his presentation was over, and smiled to himself at the sound of applause. He was at the bottom of a large indoor arena, converted over for this conference. A hardwood stand was placed on the sands at the bottom of the arena, and dark hardwood benches and paneling rose around him in a ring, row after row. Probably two hundred of his colleagues, fellow students of the magical arts, had risen to their feet and were clapping enthusiastically. His summoned daemon bellowed at the applause, and raged within the carefully prepared pentagram he had placed on the hardwood floor. He was still surprised at what had come in response to his summoning, but was gratified that it was such an imposing creature. Grotesquely obese, covered with brownish scales and bristling with ridges and spines, the creature bellowed again. A fetid odor wafted from its wide, froglike, but wickedly toothed mouth, and four beady eyes came to rest again on him as the author of the creature's current helpless condition.

Zimurrun turned slightly weak under that baleful gaze, and his hands shook. He smiled unconvincingly at the creature and spoke the words that would banish it, although he cringed to hear his voice crack, higher pitched than his normal silky lecturing voice. The daemon's outline turned smoky then, and it looked around confused and a bit alarmed, to Zimurrun's satisfaction. He kept his eyes on it as the outline began to break up, and the massive bulk began to fade, and didn't look away again until it was completely gone. He then realized he hadn't taken a breath either while watching it fade. He panted slightly, as his lungs struggled to catch up again.

He looked up again, and nodded and smiled, waving even to a few familiar faces, as the other Magi filed from the room. His was the last presentation of the evening, and most of them would either be heading for bed, or heading for the taverns. His presentation had been a complete success, and he could see most of them talking animatedly about his demonstration.

Well, except for one. Probably the youngest Mage invited to the convention, Virrun Salthukk was an enigma to most. He sat near the top of the seats, unmoving as the rest of his colleagues gradually filed out. He had a small frown, and was looking carefully at Zimurrun with his sharp blue eyes, who couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious under the intense scrutiny. Virrun Salthukk was a smallish man, pasty faced and thin, with slick black hair pulled back from his face. Finally, he stood, and with a final chewing of his lip as he watched Zimurrun pack away his materials, he left and the converted lecture hall was empty.

Zimurrun let out another sigh. His eyes turned slightly shifty themselves. He bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, until he was level with the doors. Poking his head around the corner, he couldn't see anyone in the corridors beyond, and the sound of muted conversation was fading quickly. None of the other Magi had remained. Shaking slightly, he shut the doors and locked them. Then he walked around the circular landing that ringed the arena checking all the doors and locking them, as well as extinguishing all the oil lamps at that level. In a few minutes, he was confident that he had ensured himself of privacy. More slowly now he walked down the darkened steps to the hardwood floor and the pentagram that he had inscribed earlier. A feeling of dread filled him, and he questioned whether what he was doing was really wise. Although the summoning he had demonstrated to the convention of Magi had been successful, it had been more difficult than he imagined to control such a powerful, malevolent entity, and his will had been shaken. He imagined that he could hear a dark, murmuring rustling sound behind him, and he whirled. 

Nothing.

The murmuring seemed almost to he laughing at him. He knew that no one was there, knew that he was hearing things. Knew that he should not attempt another summoning, especially of so powerful a being as he intended, until he had recovered, rested, let his sanity gradually seep back in. Magic of such a powerful nature always impacted the caster to the point where he became confused, he hallucinated, his mind and will could be broken if he was not careful.

But no, he had very carefully prepared this room for this event. Although his earlier summoning had been spectacular, that was really only the warm-up. Being able to showcase his new theories was a bonus, not the end result. The ultimate goal was to summon a creature capable of striking a bargain that would make him the most powerful Mage ever; one who did not need to fear death, one who could rule forever, as the Magi were meant to do. The accolades of his colleagues would be hollow at that point. He would be far beyond the need of them.

He had reached the bottom of the arena again, and he felt very small. He trudged through the sand to the steps of the lecture platform. There were two lamps here, that gave a fair amount of light to the arena floor, but beyond a row or two of the seating, the rest of the room vanished into pitch blackness.

Zimurrun nervously shuffled his parchment notes, making sure he had everything he needed. Most of what was required for this summoning was in his head, of course, and most of the ritual had been completed hours before, but he double checked his formulae one final time. A fleeting panic crossed his mind again that he was not in a good enough state of mind to go through with this, but he quashed such thoughts. He had prepared for this moment for months, and he wasn't going to let cold feet bring a stop to his plans now.

He carefully relit the candles at the junction points of his pentagram as he chanted slowly under his breath in a strange tongue. He nearly winced at the smell as he scattered crushed brimstone around the inner layer of the pentagram, continuing his chanting slightly louder and faster now. Next to each candle he placed a rat skull, deliberately and stiffly. Even louder and faster his voice rolled over the unnatural sounds of the words of magic. Then he reached into a small, dark wooden box that he had cached innocuously next to his notes.

Earlier he had killed a slave as part of the ritual, a teenage girl who's body was surely even now being rent and devoured by feral dogs in the grim alleyways of the city. Inside the box was her heart, which he had brutally ripped from her ribcage using a small saw and his hands. The heart still beat faintly, even after hours of sitting in the box. A strongly unpleasant smell swept up from the heart, and it suddenly began beating more strongly, and very quickly. A trickle of blood seeped from the organ to run down his forearm. Zimurrun's chanting was now a feverish shout, but his voice had gone somewhat hoarse. He set the beating heart in the center of the pentagram, turned and walked back out of it. He thought he could hear the murmuring voices again, stronger now, but he knew that it was probably not his imagination this time. So close to completion of the ritual, the Veil between the Shadow Realm and the Material Realm was parchment-thin.

Suddenly the pounding heart in the center of the pentagram burst into flame. A cold sweat drenched Zimurrun's face and back, but his hoarse voice continued to chant. Greasy black smoke starting pouring from the fiery heart, filling the room quickly, but all the while contained by the mystic boundaries of the pentagram. And then glowing eyes appeared in the smoke, first one pair, then another, and then another. The smoke faded and dissipated, and Zimurrun's voice stopped with a gurgling rattle in his throat.

The entity before him was blasphemous in every sense of the word. It was huge; swelling up into the dark recesses of the arena, and was only vaguely humanoid. It was the color of a week-old bruise; purple and yellowish. Scaly wings stretched from its back to scrape plaster from the ceiling. Its hideous, daemonic head had three faces, and the central pair had its eyes fixed hungrily on the mage who had summoned him. A long, slavering tongue writhed from a leering, grinning mouth. And then the thing spoke.

Zimurrun abruptly stopped sweating and turned as dry as he could imagine. His mouth was so desiccated that he could barely open it. He felt the blood drain from his face, and a hot flash of panic surged through him, but he seemed unable to move. The daemon spoke with all three of its mouths at once, and although the words were the same, the three voices were all different. One voice was a rumbling deep bass, and the words that spilled from that unnatural mouth seemed curiously malformed, as if it was unable to form the sounds used by mortal mouths. Another voice was a ghastly shrieking, as of a man having his eyes burned out of his sockets. And the final voice was the worst of all; a penetrating chilled whisper, colder than the grave. 

"You are daring, mortal, to summon me to the your Realm. Surely you did not think to control me with this pathetic scrawl on the floor?"

Zimurrun was blasted by the voice; his eyes rolled up in his head, and his catatonia became complete. He pitched forward on his face. His forearm fell across the border of the pentagram.

Unseen, but most certainly not unsensed by the daemonic entity, Virrun Salthukk crouched behind the benches, watching in horror. The daemon grabbed almost daintily at Zimurrun's arm and pulled him completely into the pentagram. A long claw disemboweled the hapless mage, and three tongues shot from the beast's mouths to lap up the insides of the man. Salthukk realized with horror that each of the tongues had a ringed toothy maw at the end. He heard a sickening fleshy crunch from the writhing body of Zimurrun, and in just a few seconds he was reduced to a bloody but emptied skin.

Salthukk lost his composure then, he wasn't aware of anything for many hours, he finally came to himself to find that he had been screaming for the god's knew how long. His voice was long gone; his throat damaged beyond repair from the constant screaming. He was still covered in cold sweat and stale vomit, and he stank of stark, naked terror.

He looked around wildly, but the spell had faded and the daemon was gone. In the center of the pentagram was a book, bound in pale leather. Salthukk heaved dryly for several more minutes, his stomach spasming uncontrollably as he realized that it was made from Zimurrun's skin, and that his face -- locked forever in a silent scream -- decorated the cover.


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## barsoomcore (Jun 17, 2004)

Hee. So this is a story about fiendish librarians who take people with overdue fees and, ahem, ADD them to their collections?

*grabs popcorn, settles in at the front row*

Yay! Bring on the demonic swashbucklers!


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## Desdichado (Jun 18, 2004)

*Prologue II*

A not so long time ago…

_(The following prologue was actually played out by the players; I gave them some pre-generated characters to use for the better part of our first session.)_

“Wanna fried tomato?” Acton asked. In his hand, he had a battered iron skillet with a silvered wooden handle. It still sizzled invitingly, as he speared the breaded and fried fruit with an equally battered fork and put one on Dacey’s and Toren’s wooden plates. Then he sat down next to them on a hard, dried log. The three of them silently chewed their food for a minute, watching the caravan porters finish setting up the small camp. Maybe caravan was too generous a word for what this was; three wagons, and as near as the hired muscle could tell, only one of them had any cargo. The owner, an obviously wealthy, yet suspicious and secretive fellow named Chauncey d’Albereau stalked by the guards, giving them a frown before turning aside again.

Toren spat. “Five silver marks says he tries to sneak whatever he’s got in that trunk in the hard way. He’ll pay us and let us go right before we get to Razina, mark my words. He don’t want our eyes around when he bribes the gatekeepers.”

Dacey burped and waved nonchalantly. “As long as he does pay us, I don’t care if the trunk is full of _haoma_. Since when have you cared anyway? As I recall you were a two bit bandit six months ago.”

Toren sneered. “A little honest thievery’s one thing, but this bloke’s up to his arse in something worse than that.”

Acton nodded his agreement. “Yeah, haven’t you heard the porters? They’re dead scared of whatever he’s carrying in there. Rumor is he pulled something off the plateau of Leng. Don’t wanna stick your poke in anything from there.”

Toren laughed, although a bit nervously, as he struck a match on a nearby reddish piece of sandstone and lit up a large brown cigar. “The dread plateau of Leng!” he said sarcastically, waving his hands mysteriously with his eyes open wide. He spat again, and chomped down on the cigar. “There ain’t no such place.”

Acton had an indignant look on his face; clearly he was about to lay into his fellow guard with a scathing argument, but Dacey elbowed him. He was staring upward into the sky. “Oi, what’s that?”

All three of them stood. For a moment, it was hard to make out what Dacey had seen. The ground was dry and dusty; a rusted orange-red color, and the dust particles that were constantly suspended in the air gave the sky the same color. It not only made the horizon seem to disappear, but it also cut down in visibility considerably. But they could soon all see a large shape drifting slowly, almost lazily towards them. It was a ship, but a battered, dusty, and moldering one. It looked like it had been abandoned for years, floating aimlessly from who knew which island. It was a miracle that it was passing over them at all, and even more miraculous that the magic that suspended the ship hadn’t faded, sending it plummeting into the void.

But miracle or not, it was clearly coming right for them, and would drift right over their heads no more than thirty or forty feet up.

Acton suddenly had his heavy flintlock pistol in his hand, checking the loaded charge and ball. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he said, not taking his eyes off the ship. 

“Oh, c’mon! That’s clearly just a derelict…” Toren started to say. He thought he saw movement on the deck of the ship, which would be directly overhead in mere minutes.

Dacey spat. “That’s what comes of meddling with Leng,” he said, drawing his sword. The ship was slowing down, and now ropes were dropping from its deck to hang down near them. The porters had all stopped working, staring wide-eyed at the old ship. And then people were disembarking, coming down the ropes slowly. But something was wrong with them. They moved jerkily, and seemed to be malformed. He couldn’t place what it was until they came down to the ground. Then he screamed.

The figures were all dead. Desiccated, mummified faces, with grinning, skull-like countenances and blank eye sockets regarded the screaming and running porters. But that wasn’t all – the walking corpses had been “modified” by some insane genius. Tubes and pipes burst from their torsos, and their hands were replaced by huge, spiked and vicious metallic claws, like grotesquely oversized boxing gloves made of cold steel. The corpses clanked and hissed as they moved, and their dried flesh rustled like parchment in the wind. And they were slaughtering the caravan with powerful blows from their mechanical hands. Chauncey d’Albereau came out of the wagon, screamed and fired a pistol shot at one, right in its face. The skull exploded, and the creature fell to the ground, but another one gripped the man’s extended pistol arm and ripped it from its socket in a spray of blood. Then another blow crushed his ribcage, and he fell in a red splatter to the rusty dirt, and did not get back up.

The three guards saw the hideous corpses coming their way, and drew their weapons. Dacey screamed as he shot one that jerked backwards from the force of his ball, but did not stop. With shaking hands he started reloading his gun. Acton was diving under a wagon.

Then Dacey and Toren noticed that someone was suddenly standing next to them. Toren stepped back with a start. The someone was a person of a race that he did not recognize. She was tall, and had soot-colored skin and piercing blue eyes. She smiled at him, showing teeth that seemed unnaturally white against her dark skin. Her head was shaved, and she wore strange black clothes; a tight leather tunic that fitted her like an ophidian skin, and extremely voluminous trousers. She had two large curved swords hanging low on her hips, but even as she smiled they seemed to leap almost of their own accord into her hands. Toren shouted, “I don’t think so!” as he loosed a blast with his own pistol directly at her chest, but she wasn’t there – she had melted into the shadow of the wagon. Instantly she reappeared behind him, leaping out of another shadow nearby, and her swords flashed so quickly that they were mere blurs. Toren fell to the ground stone dead.

Acton got out from under his wagon as the strange steam-powered mummies smashed it to splinters. His sword chopped down one of them before he took a resounding blow that spun him around. He shook his head, spitting blood and tried to rise, but fell again under the pummeling fists of three of the creatures. His screams were short-lived.

Dacey had given up trying to reload his pistol, and tossed it to the ground, running as fast as he could for Chauncey’s wagon. The shadow woman was suddenly next to him, slashing at him, but he dived to the ground, avoiding all but a stinging blow from her sword, and he was back up again, scrabbling into the wagon. There was the chest; the valuable cargo that they had been hired to protect. With a shout, he chopped with his sword, and the lid of the chest flipped open. Inside was a book. Just a book.

Disbelieving, he picked it up, but as he did he suddenly shivered in terror. The book was made of human skin, and a stretched face was on the cover. He thought for an instant that he saw the face mouthing obscenities at him. He quickly put it down where he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. 

And then he saw that the dark woman was standing right behind him, an amused smirk on her face. He stumbled backward, holding the book in front of him like a shield. She jammed one of the swords into the floor of the wagon to watch him for a minute, chuckling slightly to herself, and shaking her head and her finger at him. “I don’t think so, hero. Give me the book.”

Dacey tried to speak, but his mouth had gone dry, and only a hoarse rattle came from his throat. Then he turned and ran. The dark woman’s face hardened, no longer amused.

He leaped madly for one of the ropes hanging from the flying ship. If the entire “crew” were here on the ground, he might just escape if he could hijack their ship before they could reboard. He began shimmying up the rope as fast as he could. He felt the boat wobble slightly, and he looked around. Several mechanical zombies were also climbing ropes. He would be hard pressed to cut their ropes and get the ship underway before the deck was swarming with the things again.

Breathing heavily, he clambered up on the deck. It was deserted. He cast his eyes about desperately for a knife, or sword, or anything he could use to cut the ropes. And then the dark woman stepped nonchalantly from out of the shadow of the sail. She smiled mirthlessly at Dacey as she slit his throat with the end of one of her swords. He was still choking on his own blood as she pitched him over the side to smash to the hard ground below.


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## Desdichado (Jun 18, 2004)

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Hee. So this is a story about fiendish librarians who take people with overdue fees and, ahem, ADD them to their collections?
> 
> *grabs popcorn, settles in at the front row*
> 
> Yay! Bring on the demonic swashbucklers!



Welcome aboard!


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## Quickbeam (Jun 18, 2004)

Hey Josh, I just wanted you to know that I'd stopped in.  I haven't had a chance to read anything beyond your initial announcement post (that will come later tonight), but I'm here nonetheless.

I can tell you that your efforts herein _may_ prompt me to resume the Call of Cthulhu Story Hour I began long ago.  Heck, if you can have fun at my expense as a player in your game (not to mention stockdale and shadowlight), I should probably attempt to return the favor .


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## Desdichado (Jun 20, 2004)

Glad to have you!  As the player of the one temp player who gave me a lot of trouble (instead of dying gratuitously like the rest of them) represented above by Dacey (can't remember if those guys even had names or not, much less what they were, so I made up new ones) it'd be great to have some commentary!


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## ledded (Jun 21, 2004)

Oh, so very cool.  I can't wait to see how this develops, I'm very much wanting to play/GM a game similar to this sometime soon.  Nice work setting the tone so far.

*grabs his own popcorn and coke, rushes to take a seat two down from Barsoomcore before the place fills up*


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## Desdichado (Jun 21, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part I*

The _Blue Dart_ was an unfortunately named ship, but the Captain had taken her in with good graces, even making sure the bright blue paint that coated the hull was smooth and unblemished. And the little ship did dart, as it turns out -- she was a fast ship, although small. So the Captain had decided that his niche was in passage, not cargo. Airships were already few and expensive, so if one wanted to travel between the islands, booking passage on a freelance ship like his was the best way to go.

This particular voyage was not one of his better ones; the passenger hold had only three takers for a four day flight to Razina, one of the most important towns in the kingdom of Cassant, and one that was perched on the very edge of the Great Island, a continent sized chunk of rock that floats unmoving in the Day Realm. The _Blue Dart_ was making good time, and if his navigation was accurate, the Captain believed he'd beat his schedule, arriving in just a few hours. He put the glass to his eye again, scanning the sky in front of him to see if there was any sign of his destination.

Clear, brilliant light bathed the entire world around him; far below was a puffy floor of clouds that stretched out as far as the eye could see -- which in this clear air was very far indeed -- in every direction. Above him, the brilliant yellowish white sun made him squint; although he saw the brightly striated orange and tan globe of Fallare suspended like a gigantic moon in the sky. Later today, it would obscure the sun, giving a relatively short nightfall; an event that only occurred once a week in Razina. A small chunk of rock; an island no more than a few miles across, rose off his port bow. Through the glass, he could see a bank of gray fog ahead, dank, forbidding and cold. He shivered a bit, but accepted that his destination most likely was lying just within that bank of fog.

He heard the ringing of the cook's bell; the passenger's meal was served. He stuffed the glass under his belt, and determined that as the Captain, he should share this final meal with them, and tell them the news that he expected to arrive before lunch. He clambered down the stairs into the passenger's hold. Three small cots were folded up and out of the way, and three sat at a table bolted to the floor, talking and eating a meal of salt pork sandwiches, liberally seasoned with lemon juice, and reasonably fresh water. The fare on ship wasn't great, but it was healthy enough. The Captain decided he would seek out a good hot meal as soon as he was berthed.

"Good morning, fellows!" he said as he sat next to them. They nodded and continued eating. The three passengers were nothing if not an unusual group, but they seemed to have hit it off fairly well during the course of their journey, and were now talking animatedly of seeking lodgings in the same inn, and even helping each other in their various goals in Razina. 

"Good morning to you, Cap'n," said Tson, clapping him on the back. Tson was a hulk; one of the Bred folk. His ancestors had been selected for their strength, endurance, and ability to withstand harsh conditions. He was fairly large, as were most of his race, and the sharp definition of his enormous muscles was hidden by a fine layer of down-like fur. Tson was albino, however, and instead of the reddish brown that most of the hulks sported, his fur was a strange pale gray. The large fellow was normally taciturn, and the Captain had not expected him to give him the first friendly welcome. Rumor had it that he was an escaped, or perhaps freed, slave in some far-off place, where he fought as a gladiator. He rarely wore more than a ragged kilt around his waist, belted with a chain, and the Captain could believe that he was a former gladiator. His unclothed chest was criss-crossed with a fine network of scars, most of them old.

"Indeed, 'tis a fine morning! The view from the deck was spectacular," acknowledged Roshan Boh. Also one of the Bred folk, Boh was in many ways a complete opposite of Tson. He was quite garrulous, to the point of often not knowing when to shut up. The Captain was initially suspicious of having a gray on the ship, but Roshan was a friendly enough sort, and the Captain had come to like him over the course of the last few days. He was short, and quite gracile, with chalky, colorless skin, piercing blue eyes that darted about like a hyper-alert hawk as he spoke. His short hair was dark, and his body was wiry yet hard and supple. He did not speak of his background, and the Captain wondered what this one used to do, although he privately suspected he had been trained as a spy, assassin, or both at some point in his life. Regardless, his motives for traveling to Razina seemed to be his own.

The final traveler was also a quiet one for the most part, Konrad, the only Unbred human of the bunch. The Captain privately wished he could follow him around for a while to see how he reacted to life in the extremely large and populous city of Razina. Konrad clearly had not spent much time in high society; he was dressed in leathers, and had more hair on his head and face than any four other men the Captain had ever seen. When he did speak, as often as not he made some obscure reference to outdoor life, as if the others could possibly understand metaphors or sayings related to the mating habits of a wild thuin, or the truculence of a herd of inwns.

Still, for all their idiosyncrasies, they were a good lot, and the Captain had enjoyed giving them passage more than many he had booked over the years. He would almost be sad to reach his destination and drop them off in the urban wilds of Razina. "We're making better time than I expected," he said, which prompted an impromptu toast with their water cups. "This'll be our last meal on the _Blue Dart_, I'm afraid, so I thought I should spend a few minutes with..."

He stopped as Collins came barreling down the stair, his face flushed and nervous. "Cap'n!" he said. "Another ship, off the port bow and up 30 degrees. They're heading is straight for us."

The Captain stood, his face a bit nervous. "If you'll excuse me a moment, gentlemen..." then he walked upstairs. The three passengers watched him go, only Tson continuing to wolf down his food as fast as he could.

"That doesn't sound good," said Konrad sourly. "Suppose we should see what's up?"

Roshan waved aside the suggestion. "Surely the Captain and his crew are qualified to deal with these types of things more than we. There's no reason we should interrupt our last meal on the _Dart_ is there?"

Tson grunted. "If it does mean trouble, we'll be glad we ate, anyway." Indeed, Tson had finished his food, and began rummaging through the hold looking for anything they could use as a weapon. He found a long chain, rusted and dirty, but made of heavy iron. "Here, Roshan, this little girl's sword looks like it might be your style." He handed the gray a slim blade, with bad balance and dotted with orange rust. Roshan smiled mirthlessly. Indeed, he did prefer the dancing rapier to the next shoddy blade Roshan found in a chest, a huge piece that Konrad looked pleased with. 

"What's that for, chopping wood?" Roshan asked innocently. "Because I can't imagine that would do you any good in a fight."

"Wood or bones, what's the difference?" Konrad leered, but their banter was interrupted by a sudden lurch in the floor that sent them crashing. The heard a sickening splintering sound, and the _Dart_ did not right herself.

Tson was the first to hop up, but all three quickly followed up the stairs. "Glad we found these; I could feel trouble coming..." the large man said. They burst out on the tilted deck to see that they had been nicely rammed and grappled by a larger ship. The Captain stood on the deck shouting orders to his small crew, who were valiantly trying to hold off a swarm of boarders. Collins was the first to go down, hit by a pirate swinging on a line, and pushed over the side. His screams took a long time to fade as he plunged into the void. Then Bradburn was shot in the face with an enormous blast from a pistol that another of the pirates wielded. The tide of invaders rushed their deck; at least six or seven.

Tson swung his chain in a wide arc, first causing the one with the pistol to duck, then catching his arm on the return stroke. The pistol fell from his arm to slide across the deck, and Tson yanked the man down, where he slid as well to land at Tson's feet. The hulk kicked him cruelly, a blow designed to break his neck. Then he waded into the melee, his chain sending the pirates flying. Roshan Boh also dived into combat with a grin on his face. The sword he had was not good, but he wielded it like a dervish. It danced through the pirates, leaving pierced lungs, slashed throats and severed hamstrings in its wake. Konrad, on the other hand, decided he needed to take the battle to the enemy, so he leapt into the air with one of the pirate's own grappling lines in his hand. He slipped attempting this bit of derring-do, though, and slammed into the side of their ship. Only through purest luck, he was able to grab the edge of their deck with his fingertips, where he held on for dear life, the echoes of Collins' screams as he disappeared into the void filling his ears.

Everyone paused for a moment as a strange, clunking noise came from the bowels of the _Blue Dart_, followed immediately by "Rat" Galloway, one of the nastier members of the crew. "The lift engines!" he shouted hysterically. "They're gonna blow!" For the less ship-savvy passengers, the meaning of this was not clear, but obviously it was not good news. Even the pirates who still stood blanched, turned and ran back to their own vessel. Tson and Roshan knew how to take a cue from them, and climbed along the great wooden ram to climb up on the deck of the pirate ship. The Captain and the Rat also pitched themselves over the railing just as the lift engines exploded with a thunderous blast. Everyone was thrown to the deck, even Konrad, who was lifted over the railing by the explosion, landed heavily on top of one of the pirates. Then the deck tilted sharply downward.

The two ships were stuck together, and with the lift engines gone on the_ Dart_, it was dead weight. The pirate ship angled sharply, as everybody and everything loose slid along the deck to smash into the front railing. Konrad pitched one of the pirates who had slid into him over the side. Then with a lurch, the ship righted and seemed to bounce for a moment. The ram had broken finally, and the _Dart_ had fallen. The Captain sobbed slightly as he leaned over the rail, watching his fortune plummet down into the cloudbank, many hundreds of feet below them, to finally disappear for good.

The three passengers stood and shook their heads. There were only two pirates left; a dispirited and wounded group that offered no more fight. Roshan Boh took his crappy rapier and held it under the chin of one of the pirates. "Maybe you can tell me what the meaning of this is?" he said quietly, but very chillingly.

"Right," said Tson. "Konrad and I will just see if this barge has anything of value we can loot, eh?" The two larger men disappeared into the bowels of the pirate ship, while the Captain and the Rat went to inspect the ship they found themselves on. In just a moment, the Captain came running back upstairs, his face slightly green. 

Roshan Boh turned from his uncommunicative prisoner to see what the problem was. "Well, now I know why they were so desperate to board us," the Captain said. "Their lift engine's going out. We'll be lucky if we can make it to land in this piece of junk." With that, the ship suddenly dropped ten feet before straining to catch itself.


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## Stockdale (Jun 23, 2004)

Ahh - Konrad Jones - I know him well. Konrad here is a Wildlander, which is way out of the norm for me; I prefer to play spellcasters. In fact, all the players selected character classes that they normally would not play. 

This was a fun session. It was the first time, we, the players got to test out our characters. I thought for sure that ole' Konrad was a goner at the start and finish of this combat between the poorly executed swing onto the attacking vessel and the lurching of the _Blue Dart_. However, the combat inbetween those two events was quite exciting, and, a credit to Josh's style, I used almost all of Konrad's feats and skills in this encounter.  

Josh - this is a great little story you have going here. You certainly capture the feel of the game in the retelling.


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## skullsmurfer (Jun 23, 2004)

pretty neat story can't wait for more!


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## Desdichado (Jun 23, 2004)

Stockdale said:
			
		

> This was a fun session. It was the first time, we, the players got to test out our characters. I thought for sure that ole' Konrad was a goner at the start and finish of this combat between the poorly executed swing onto the attacking vessel and the lurching of the _Blue Dart_. However, the combat inbetween those two events was quite exciting, and, a credit to Josh's style, I used almost all of Konrad's feats and skills in this encounter.



Ole Konrad probably should have been a gonner, but I couldn't have you lose him ten minutes into playing him for the first time.  You better be careful now, though -- you've got several sessions under you, so I consider him fair game.     

Incidentally, you might want to invest in a new d20; you do seem to have pretty rotten luck with yours.    


			
				Stockdale said:
			
		

> Josh - this is a great little story you have going here. You certainly capture the feel of the game in the retelling.



Thanks!  That's all I can capture, since the details are too hazy anymore for me...


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## Desdichado (Jun 23, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part II*

"Well, do you have any bright ideas?" Roshan asked the Captain.  Apparently he didn't, as all he did was dart his eyes back and forth across the deck as if hoping a solution would miraculously manifest itself.

"I...," he started.  "Well, we could look for that big rock I saw floating up above us earlier..."  However they were now ensconced in the fog bank, whether because the ship or the fog drifted was unknown.  Visibility was too bad to find the little floating island again.  But Roshan Boh had another idea.

"Shhh!  Do you hear that?" he said.  Both he and the Captain went still.  The muffled silence of the fog bank was oppressively smothering.  For a moment the only thing either of them could hear was the sounds of Konrad and Tson below decks moving things and talking to each other.  An occasionally woody creaking sound, or flapping sail came from their ship, but seemed to fall quiet more quickly than expected, as if the fog were eating the sound.  Then, very faintly, they heard a voice calling out.

"Ahoy!  Ahoy there!"

The Captain began shouting to get the attention of whomever it was that called out of the fog, and then without warning a massive ship of the line appeared from the fog as suddenly as if the hands of the gods had suddenly placed it there.  The massive vehicle turned then, and pulled up alongside.  Roshan Boh had never seen such a large ship; multiple gun decks bristled on the side of it, and multiple crew decks clearly made up a significant portion of the rest of it.  The poop deck and fo'c's'le were also several stories tall and well adorned.  Fluted mahogany carvings decorated every exposed surface on the massive ship, and large areas of the ship, especially in the rear and on the poop deck were actually gilded.  Three finely embroidered flags, shot through with gold and silver thread, adorned the masts of the ship.

"That's the flag of the kingdom of Cassant," said the Captain, indicating the foremost mast.  "And that's the flag of the duchy of Razina, and that...," his face went white and he swallowed hard.  "That last one means this is an Inquisition ship."

Tson and Konrad and "Rat" Galloway all came clumping up the stairs to see what all the commotion was about.  They gaped at the massive ship, now just a few yards off their starboard side.  They could now see the crew, staring silently at them as the ship came to a slow stop, it's much larger sides looming over them like a cliff.  A handsome young face smiled at them from the middle of the ship.  

"Ahoy there!" he said in a silky voice.  "Well met!  You may not have seen us, but I watched your handling of those pirates through my glass, and I'm suitably impressed."  He held up his spyglass as evidence that he had indeed been watching them.  "Might I invite you aboard before the ship you are on plunges into the void?"  His face moved aside, but within a few seconds, a wooden ramp was extended by the crew to connect the two ships.  Roshan Boh looked at the others, smiled and shrugged his shoulders and led them aboard, walking carefully on the thin planks of wood across the gap that fell into nothingness below.

Their host was waiting to greet them.  He had a black velvet tunic shot through with silver threads, and a fine silvery cloak.  His trousers and boots were made of soft, black leather.  His head was bare, showing his dark hair and blue eyes, and he had a thin moustache and small beard on just his chin.  He smiled at them again.  "Welcome aboard _The Monarch's Justice_!" he said, "finest ship in the fleet of Cassant.  I am Lord Gauvain FitzGilbert d'Aubigne, High Inquisitor of Razina, and if I may say so, it's damn lucky for you that we were coming this way when we did."

The group all inclined their heads slightly and shook his hand.  "Let me introduce also my sister, the Lady Alainna FitzGilbert d'Aubigne, gentlewoman of leisure, and my most trusted companion and counselor, who will also be your host for the time being."  He indicated a woman next to him, also young -- late twenties or early thirties at the most -- and she stepped forward to give them a limp wrist to kiss.  

"Charmed," she said with a small, insincere smile.  She was obviously Gauvain's sister, as the two looked remarkably alike; both very beautiful, with pale white skin and dark hair.  Their sharp blue eyes that were mirrors of each other took in the strange little group.  Her outfit was made to be the female version of Gauvain's -- black velvet dress, with silver threads in the same pattern as his tunic decorated her bodice.  A silver net held her hair in a magnificent coif, although the humidity of the fog bank was quickly added a limp element to her hair that no doubt was not the stylist's intention.

"If you don't mind waiting in my quarters," Gauvain continued, "I'd love to talk to you three momentarily.  I do, however, have the pressing need to see to the disposition of this salvage and your prisoner."  The remaining pirate, under the barrels of several pistols, gulped loudly.  "I'll just let Ramsley show you the way."

A straight-faced, older man, also in a black uniform, although of plain material stepped forward.  "If you'll be so kind as to follow," he said, and then turned and started walking towards the doors of the poop deck without looking to see if they actually were following or not.  Tson, Konrad and Roshan made sure to stick close on his heels.

The poop deck itself opened to a receiving area.  An elderly clerk, also in a black uniform, half-stood as they entered, saw that it was merely Ramsley with three very odd (but not really important-looking) individuals and sat back down, his attention on the parchments in front of him.  A door to the rear of that room led to a narrow and steep staircase with a gilded handrail.  Ramsley led them into a richly furnished and relatively spacious room, surrounded on three sides by large panes of glass that lent the room a light and airy appearance.  Silk upholstery bedecked several extremely comfortable-appearing chairs, and the three each took a seat.  Ramsley presented them with silver-rimmed goblets and poured them a light wine from a bejeweled crystal decanter.  

"Will you be requiring anything else?" he asked.

"Do you have anything we can eat?" Tson asked. 

Ramsley bowed low and walked out of the room.  "Do you think that means he's getting me something?  I hope it's not some fairy aristocrat food; y'know, a few dainty bites of some disgusting vegetable.  I want a good, solid 60 oz. steak..."

But before Ramsley came back, they could hear some faint sounds coming from outside the room; cries of pain. Then a long shriek that gradually faded; moving away from them as if its author had been thrown off the ship. "So, that must have been our pirate friend?" asked Roshan Boh with an innocent smile.

Within a minute or two, Gauvain, followed by his constant shadow Alainna came into the room.  Gauvain sat casually amongst the three adventurers and poured himself a glass of wine while Alainna stood quietly in a corner.  Once poured, he handed the decanter to his sister, who to everyone's surprise (except evidently Gauvain's) downed the rest of the wine in the decanter, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and set the empty crystal down.

"Well, my friends," said Gauvain slowly, "as I said, I was very impressed with your little maneuver on the pirate's ship.  You demonstrated that you are savvy combatants, quick thinking, and handy in a tight spot."  He absently swirled his drink, staring into the wine.  "You have another advantage as well, at least to me," he said, almost to himself.

Then he looked up, more alert again, his eyes bright and his face smiling.  "So, I have a proposition for you.  I can offer you some good freelance employment in an item that my own men are too scant to resolve."

The three glanced at each other quickly.  This sounded somewhat suspicious.  Roshan Boh suspected that Gauvain also didn't _trust_ his own men, and was glad to have an excuse to hire some outsiders who couldn't yet have been reached by some source of corruption.  He sat up, nodding at Gauvain's words.  He thrived on this type of implied intrigue.

"A few days ago, a caravan bound for Razina from Cassant was ambushed and its cargo raided.  The cargo was very secret, and very sensitive, and it was an important Inquisitorial matter that needed to arrive in front of my desk.  I believe that is in Razina now, but I need some operatives to locate this cargo and bring it back to me.  In return, I can set you up with a safe house (complete with fully trained butler) and any equipment you might need to complete this task.  In addition, you will have a pass to carry weapons in the city as part of this assignment."

Konrad missed the subtleties of the conversation, but went for the direct response.  "So, what's the cargo that got stolen, anyway?"

Gauvain glanced at his sister almost imperceptibly before answering.  "It was a book.  A highly illegal book, as a matter of fact, known as the Book of Eibon.  It's full of sorcery and heretical teachings, but it's also rumored to be powerful, and even to reveal a potential weakness of the Monarch himself, may all the god's bless him forever."

The three of them were stunned.  The Book of Eibon was legendary; they hadn't really believed that it existed at all.  Roshan Boh spoke slowly after a while.  "And it was a very secret cargo, known only to the Inquisition, and yet it was robbed _en route_ anyway?"  Gauvain's face pained slightly at the implied accusation of someone in his organization.

"Yes, and the utmost discretion is necessary.  I'm afraid I can't offer you any direct aid from the Inquisition, partly for your own protection.  I'm not sure who is after it, but I fear he has penetrated my ranks.  If you need to communicate anything to me, trust the butler only; he can transmit a message to me without fear of corruption.  That's why it's so important that talented outsiders be my men for this job.  Of course, after its successful completion, I can offer you better and more stable employment as well.  Talented operatives are worth their weight in gold."

"Aren't there any leads you can give us to start with?" asked Konrad.  "So far the trail is too faint for a blue-nosed sagovarr to follow."

Gauvain looked blankly at the rural metaphor, but answered quickly enough.  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have something.  Yesterday, a man claiming to be a porter on the ambushed caravan was seen in a local tavern known as _The Singing Sword_.  He seemed paranoid; frightened out of his wits, and he didn't last long before he left the tavern in a rush.  But he did leave a detail or two about the attack, if it's accurate.

"Apparently, the attacker was some kind of dark sorceress herself; able to disappear and reappear at will on the battlefield, and she had a number of corpse-demons with her that rent the caravan's defenders like they were nothing.  This sorceress, if she exists, has a description -- a tall, dark-skinned woman with a shaved head.  She must be a Bred human, although I don't recognize the breed; he said her skin was black as smoke, and she had two wicked swords with which she murdered several of the caravan's defenders personally.

"And the odd thing is; rumors of other caravans, commercial caravans that is, having been robbed by a figure matching this description have also started to surface.  I think that's where you should start.  _The Singing Sword_ is a tavern known for its patronage by traveling bravos; caravan guards, mercenaries and the like."

The three travelers looked at each other, but each saw the same gleam in the eyes of the others.

"Lord Gauvain," Roshan Boh said, standing and bowing stiffly to him, "we gladly accept your charge to track down and return to you this stolen cargo."


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## Desdichado (Jun 23, 2004)

skullsmurfer said:
			
		

> pretty neat story can't wait for more!



Thank you.  Hopefully today's update suffices!


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## Stockdale (Jun 23, 2004)

> Ole Konrad probably should have been a gonner, but I couldn't have you lose him ten minutes into playing him for the first time.




Why Not? 



> Incidentally, you might want to invest in a new d20; you do seem to have pretty rotten luck with yours.




Indeed. That blue D20 was bad news. All 1 and 5s. But the black one ... Now, that's another story. (Knocks on wood).



> Konrad missed the subtleties of the conversation




Looks around. Walks over to the Roshan Boh and says in a hushed voice, "ahhh - What's that mean?"


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## Desdichado (Jun 23, 2004)

Stockdale said:
			
		

> Why Not?



'Coz although I try to pretend I'm not, at heart I'm a bit of a softie as a GM.  It seemed too cruel to kill the only character that the player had made ahead of time...

But now, of course, everyone has had time to play out their PCs for a little while.  The kid gloves come off...


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## Desdichado (Jun 30, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part III*

Roshan, Tson and Konrad had climbed to the crow's nest, on Gauvain's invitation, and the three were crammed in the small wooden bucket, but they had an unparalleled view of Razina as it approached in the mists.  They also had a virtual guarantee of privacy.  They were silent for a moment as the first houses and buildings of Razina came into view like islands or small boats poking their tops up through the thick mists.  The first wave was on the terraced slopes, and was the dwellings of the wealthy and important.  Although they couldn't see it, below the lowest of the buildings the giant floating continent dropped off in a sheer cliff face that fell for many miles before curling inwards.

"So, Roshan, take a look at what we found on that pirate ship," Tson said quietly, and he carefully handed the gray an old, battered book.  He flipped through it for just a moment, looking around cautiously to make sure nobody was watching him.  The book was written in a script that looked familiar, although cramped and archaic.  Whether the language itself was one he knew he couldn't determine from a simple glance at the book.  But one thing was for sure; the book was ancient.  Quite likely, it was written before the founding of Cassant itself.  And that meant there was a good chance that it was illegal and heretical both.  Roshan smiled as he tucked it into a pocket in his cloak.

"Yes, that looks intriguing.  And just maybe," he confided quietly to Tson, "it will have some information on our origins.  But we don't want our new Inquisitorial buddy finding that out, since they'd love us to believe that Cassant has always been a glowing, legendary bastion of everything good and proper, don't they?"  Konrad snorted at that.

More of the city of Razina was starting to march into view as their ship sailed peacefully over the rooftops, all strangely muffled by the thick mist.  Now they could see the rim of the great continent, and perched atop it like a bloated, squatting vulture was an enormous, soot-stained brick building.  All three of them gaped as it came closer and they realized just how big the building was.  They had heard of Bricktown before, but the reality was more than they had expected.  Many stories tall, sprawling over many square miles, and built like a giant brick and smokestack patchwork, Bricktown was an entire ward of the city of Razina that had been paved over with vaulted brick ceilings covering the streets and alleyways, converting the entire area into a gigantic building of sorts.  Their ship took a course designed to sail to the side of Bricktown, but they could all see the forest of myriad smokestacks, hovels and other strange structures made the rooftop of Bricktown.  It was said that an entire ecology of squatters, beggars, fighters and gangsters made their homes on the rooftops, and indeed, they could see tiny forms like people moving about on the enormous structure.  The rooftop was perpetually blighted by the black vomit of smokestacks, belching the product of never-ending coal and oil-burning fires into the sky over Bricktown.

Roshan, Konrad and Tson all climbed down from the crow's nest to stand next to Gauvain and Alainna on the deck.  The dark parasitic growth that was Bricktown was now behind them, and they could see a middle-class ward that was pegged tightly up against Bricktown, stretching away across the plain into the interior.  Beyond that ward, they could see a strange greenish smudge, which gradually turned into the brownish red of the desert highlands beyond.  "What's that?" Tson asked, pointing at the green patch, which was distant enough that to show as prominently as it did, it must stretch for miles.

"The Razina Marshes," said Gauvain.  "In the center of it, there is a giant pump, of ancient manufacture, that pulls water up from the giant aquifer below ground, and brings it to Razina.  The pipes have leaked a fair amount over the years, creating that marsh, which fades away into the desert beyond.  But I don't expect you'll have any need to go in there," he said quietly.  "It has a foul reputation."

They all fell silent again as the deck became a beehive of activity.  The ship was slowing as it approached a tall, needle-like spire that shot into the air.  Upon getting closer, they realized that the spire was dotted with large openings, each fronted by a flat dock of sorts.  At many of these were berthed airships, securely tied to the docks, while others were still vacant.  The _Monarch's Justice_ pulled into a large dock that was the highest on the spire many hundreds of yards above the ground.  Broad, flat gangplanks quickly followed the many ropes that secured the ship to the dock.  The deckhands still buzzed about busily, furling the sales, shoring the lift engines and cooling down the boilers.  A rush of steam blasted from vents in the lower part of the hull on either side of the airship.  Gauvain and Alainna ignored the blast as they strode regally across the gangplank, gesturing Konrad, Tson and Roshan to follow them.  However, they promptly ignored them to find their own way to the address Gauvain had given them earlier for their safe house.  A large contingent of officials, lined by formal Inquisitorial guards, looking extremely fierce in their shiny armor was waiting for them, and they were quickly ushered out of sight.

The three freelancers, on the other hand, walked quietly and alone to the entrance into the spire itself.  Along the outside edge, a long, winding staircase brought them finally down the ground, their knees aching from the long descent.  Konrad in particular gawked at Razina at ground level; his background in the wilderness of the Twilight layer had not prepared him for the urban wilderness of Cassant.  The streets below were literally packed with people; most of them humans, of course, but great red-furred hulks, slight grays and manikins, dark sanders, and even a few breeds that they did not recognize bustled about the city as well.  The buildings were generally made of grim brick and were flat-roofed, and the streets were all cobbled and hard, funneling whatever water and sewer there was through channels where it did not disturb the pedestrians.  Strange, two-legged and leathery creatures with sharp quills protruding from the backs of their heads and serrated beaks clacking angrily at passers-by pulled carriages that served as cabs for those willing to part with their gold in favor of convenience.   Other cabs were pulled by steam and coal-smoke belching constructs and clanked their way through the streets.  Strange birds croaked harsh sounds overhead and squabbled for scraps of food and trash on the street, grubby carnivorous and feral monkeys screamed as they fought for the same scraps, and tiny clockwork creatures like brass insects the size of cats scuttled across the walls, delivering messages and small packages.

Roshan Boh was the only one of the three who was more or less accustomed to the wilds of a large city, so he led the others with a minimum of gawking as they sought out their assigned safe house.  Konrad, however, had a nervous feeling.  There was a man; tall and thin with a shock of blonde hair, who he saw behind them many times.  He could never be sure they were being followed, as he always was looking the other way when he surreptitiously glanced back at him, and yet he continued to stay the same distance behind them.  Konrad suddenly veered towards a vending stall, pretending to look at rather poorly made steel knives and other utensils.

"Ah, my good sir, I can see you have a taste for finer…"

"Shut up!" Konrad growled at the obsequious shopkeeper, who quailed under his harsh gaze.  Tson and Roshan came up behind him.

"What's going on?" said Tson a bit irritated.  He was obviously in a hurry to reach their destination.  Konrad took another cautious gaze, and saw that the blonde man had also stopped, and was talking casually with a salesman of parchment bulletins.  Some coin changed hands, but the man stayed where he was, looking slightly interested in perhaps picking up another bulletin.

"See that gangly fellow with the sickly yellow hair back there?" he said, pointing slightly with his chin.  "He's been following us for at least a quarter mile.  I stopped here to see if he's really following us, or just coincidentally going the same direction.  And what do you know; he made sure not to pass us up."

Tson cracked his knuckles and took a step towards the man, but Roshan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  "Not a good idea at the moment, my overly direct friend," he said quietly.  "We're close to where he need to go; this is 45th West we're on and the street ahead is 13th North.  We only need three more streets straight ahead and six more to the right to arrive at the address I have.  Let's split up and see what he does, and meet there."  Tson nodded.

So the three of them took separate routes to the house.  None of them saw the blonde man, but Roshan worried that was because they hadn't been discreet enough and tipped their hand.  He headed in a zigzagging route that took him through the neighborhood, while Konrad headed straight for the house.  Tson was the last to arrive, having taken a large spiral route that also gave him an overview of the entire neighborhood at least.  He felt much more comfortable about getting around without getting lost for his troubles, although the street numbering system did help in that regard.

Their safe house turned out to be a three-story structure on a relatively quiet residential street, sandwiched carefully between two other buildings.  It did have several advantages, however.  A large iron-bounded wood front door was the main entrance, but an unobtrusive back door led out into an even quieter alley behind the house.  Better yet, there was a roof entrance, and cached unobtrusively on the roof were a number of long ropes with grappling hooks, enabling quick emergency escapes to the ground, or even neighboring rooftops if it came to that.  And finally, on the second floor was another heavy iron door that only opened one way, but which when examined, led directly to the abandoned warehouse next door.

"This will do quite nicely," said Roshan, already imagining all kinds of dire consequences of their actions.  Their host in the house was a tall, stiffly polite and quiet man named Elroy, who was dressed in a dark uniform.  

"I am here to see to your every need," he said stiffly.  "Lord Gauvain gave me advance notice that you would be arriving."  He indicated a clockwork bug, its movements now quite slow and painful.  It needed to be wound quite badly.  "I have drawn baths, if that is what you require."

That sounded good to all three of them, so for the next hour or so, they all were quietly soaking in their tubs.  Some more quietly than others.  "Elroy, can I get something to eat while I'm in here?" called Tson.  Afterwards, they were all clothed in clean cloaks and new clothes, although Konrad still preferred his trusty woodsman's garb.  They then hit up Elroy for equipment that would come in handy for their investigation.

He led them to a small armory, in which extremely well crafted weapons of various types were stored.  Each of the three of them strapped on a gun belt with a pistol, while Tson picked up a wickedly spiked chain, Roshan picked up a light steel rapier, and Konrad hefted a heavy mace with a spiked head.  He casually crushed a wooden chair, and then nodded his approval.  "Please, sir, that chair is very expensive," said Elroy in a flat voice.

"Any armor here in the ...armory?" asked Tson, but there was not.

"I can commission to have some made for you if I take your measurements, but it will take a few days," said Elroy.  Both Tson and Roshan opted to ask for leather jerkins, but Konrad merely sneered at the idea.

They then found a box for petty cash for them to use.  "That's your allowance for a week," Elroy said.  Roshan emptied all the gold marks and divvied them up amongst the three of them.

Now feeling considerably more confident, as well as cleaner and fuller, the three of them started to discuss strategy.  Tson elected to go to the _Singing Sword_ right away to talk to the proprietor before the later shift ended and the tavern became more crowded.  They all agreed they should arrive separately.  Konrad decided to take a nap.

Looking out from the rooftop for anyone suspicious before he went, Tson satisfied himself that the blonde man was nowhere to be seen and no one else looked like he was up to anything untoward.  Then he departed on his own towards Bricktown.  The _Singing Sword_ was close to the dark, heavily guarded gates to that blighted ward of the city.


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## Desdichado (Jul 2, 2004)

I had hoped to do one more update, and show Konrad's relatively robust sanity start dropping faster than Bill Clinton's pants, but my vacation starts in a few hours, and I'll be away for two and a half weeks.  It's looking increasingly clear that I won't get to it today, which means I won't get to it until the 21st or so of July.

Sorry!


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## Stockdale (Jul 27, 2004)

Before this disappears.... bump.


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## Desdichado (Jul 28, 2004)

I've made a few updates to the campaign website, including mirroring the story there, and tomorrow (and the next day, if necessary) I plan on writing another update.  We're still only about halfway to where we are in game (if that) and, with any luck, another game session coming up next week.


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## Desdichado (Aug 3, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part IV*

_The Singing Sword_ was one of those mazelike taverns; numerous small common rooms twisted through a large setup around multiple bars, tables, booths and private rooms.  The entryway led into a relatively large area though, with a dark bar that had a sander bartender absently polishing glasses and listening to a lute player on a small stage.  There were other chairs also on the stage; Tson imagined that during peak times, the lute player was part of a fuller band of multiple musicians.  However, the room only had two or three patrons at the moment, sitting in dark, smoky corners and chatting in low voices.  He got several interesting looks when he walked in, but that wasn't unusual.  It wasn't often that people saw an albino hulk.

He walked up to the bartender and smiled.  "A drink, please…  Whatever local ale you have on tap is fine."  The bartender smiled and poured him one; it was a bit spicy, and quite strong.  Tson took a swig then sat it down, not wanting to cloud his wits with drink.

"So, you new in town I take it?" the bartender asked, seeing that Tson seemed interested in conversation.

"Yes," he replied.  "I'd heard that this establishment was well known as a place where one looking for... er, security work, can strike up a bargain.  I'm interested in partnering up with a caravan heading to the interior."

The bartender leaned forward, apparently eager to follow this train of conversation.  "Tell me, good fellow, have you not heard what's happening to the caravan guards lately?  Finding able-bodied folks has been difficult, and many of the caravans have pushed back their schedules until the troubles."

This was interesting.  His first time out it looks like he found just the type of gossipy bartender he was looking for.  "Troubles?" Tson said nonchalantly, arching an eyebrow.

The bartender nodded eagerly.  "Right, caravans all over the place have been attacked by some mysterious dark woman with two swords.  She is supposedly a powerful witch, bringing demon corpses with her to kill the caravans, and then she raids them for some mysterious treasure.  She's attacked at least three caravans in the last few days.  One of them was only found later, the bodies already stinking and ravaged by wild beasts, another had three guards who faked their own deaths and thus survived.  And the last one had one claimed survivor who was in here just recently; a crazy old man who says he was a porter for the caravan.

"I'm telling you, caravan duty may not be what you want right now.  There's plenty of other security jobs to be done, though.  Although there's a fair amount of off-duty caravan guards who are interested in taking them, so competition's fierce."  The bartender looked Tson up and down.  "You look like a likely candidate though.  Nice and big, and that chain looks pretty wicked."

"What's the deal with that crazy old man, then?" Tson asked, trying to not appear too interested.

"What?  The old porter?" asked the bartender.  "What was his name?  Alexander Nuvksy or Nasky or something like that.  Yeah, he was in here yelling and crying and throwing a fit.  Not many people believed him, then these other guys, guards who've been stopping in here for years stand up and say their caravan was attacked by the same woman.  Got real quiet in the common room then, let me tell you!"

"Any of those guys still around?  I'd be interested in a first-hand account of this woman," Tson said, again, trying to appear fairly nonchalant about the entire affair.  Luckily the bartender was too caught up in his own story to think twice about the questions Tson was asking.

"Yeah, there's a good chance any of them could come in here a little later, when the shifts are over.  Not only that, it'll actually get dark in a few hours, and we always get bigger crowds when the sun's behind Fallare."

Tson thanked the bartender, took another swig of his ale and plopped down a few coins to pay for it.  Then he made his rounds through the labyrinth of rooms to get the layout of the place.  He saw more patrons, and gradually the place began to fill up.  Konrad and Roshan showed up a little later, separately, though they did not acknowledge each other.  

As the tavern filled, it became much louder and more raucous.  More musicians appeared in time, and the songs also became louder and more raucous; quite vulgar even, and the increasingly more drunk patrons banged their tables and tried to sing along with rowdy and bawdy songs.  Tson cruised through the tougher looking tables, trying to pinpoint any groups of off-duty caravan guards who may have been the ones mentioned by the bartender.  He didn't find them yet, but if he truly had been interested in taking on any guard duty, he made a number of very promising contacts.

After a few hours, Roshan approached him quietly.  "We've got company," he said, jerking his head ever so slightly towards the door.  There, looking eagerly through the crowd, was a tall, blond gangly fellow in a long leather coat.  Tson turned away quickly and ducked his head down lower.  

"Our friend from the street?  Does Konrad know?"  Roshan nodded that he did.  Then both of them dropped their jaws in amazement.  Konrad had walked right up to the man and was talking to him angrily.  The blond man suddenly spun on his heel and dashed for the door, knocking over patrons on the way and causing a fair amount of loud curses to be hurled his way.  They all hurried outside as fast as they could.

It had gotten almost completely dark by now; a very faint shimmer of light edged off the rounded shape of Fallare high in the sky.  Tson and Roshan could see Konrad belting inside a squat brick four-story building across the rough cobblestone street, although the blond man that he was chasing was already out of sight.  They hurried and followed him, Roshan drawing his rapier and Tson loosening his spiked chain.

Bursting through the ancient silvered wood doorway, they discovered that the building was a forlorn tenement that seemed largely abandoned.  A handful of tenants were standing in the hallway in various states of casual undress, apparently disturbed by the pounding feet of the pursuit.  Tson and Roshan pelted across the hallway to reach the rickety wooden stairs at the other end.  They could still hear the sound of two pairs of boots clumping heavily and quickly up the staircase, so they followed suit.

The staircase ended in a door that was swinging open, and when they burst through that they found themselves on the rooftop.  Konrad was there, but there was no sign of the blond man.

"What happened to him?" asked Tson, not yet breathing heavily.  

"No idea," Konrad answered.  "I was right behind him, but as soon as I came outside, he was already gone."  They inspected the roof in the growing darkness, but there was little to be seen.  A stinking pile of rubbish and rags sat in one corner, but they ignored that for the moment to look around.  The building was not closely contiguous with any others, so their quarry could not have jumped to another building.  There was no sign that he had climbed down either; he would still have to be clinging to the side of the building.  What happened to him was a complete mystery.

Konrad decided to go inspect the pile of rags, so he poked it with his mace, perhaps hoping to find the blond main concealed underneath it.  He gave a sharp cry that brought the others over running as the pile started to move.  They all watched mesmerized while it rose into an almost human-like form.  Roshan nearly retched as he realized that it was a humanlike suit made of sewn-together human faces.  Something inside the suit was writhing and buzzing. 

With a yell he stabbed it with his rapier, ripping open the suit.  A vomitous spurt of something white and chunky erupted from the wound.  He and Tson dived out of the way, but Konrad was caught by the blast and fell down screaming and writhing.  "Get them off!" he shouted repeatedly, and Konrad and Tson realized that the blasphemous creature was filled with maggots that were now crawling over Konrad and burrowing into his skin.  Konrad continued to scream and dance madly, swatting at the putrid white creatures.

Roshan pulled out his pistol and emptied the chamber into the creature, and Tson attacked it with his chain, which allowed him to keep his distance.  It surged forward again to engulf Konrad in a bear hug, belching another putrescent stream of maggots right in his face.  Roshan approached it again to stab it, but it swung a clumsy arm-like appendage at him, knocking him back.  The rooftop was slick with crushed maggots that had spilled out from Tson's repeated slashes with the spiked chain.  Konrad himself, in a fury of fear and loathing bludgeoned the thing repeatedly with his mace, finally knocking it down where it did not get back up.  The bag was extremely deflated by this point, and a few maggots still writhed listlessly, but whatever foul magic had given life to this abomination had fled.

Konrad was trembling and hyperventilating, his face staring hauntingly at the mound of human faces and rags.  Roshan and Tson were also somewhat pale and were breathing harder than their exertions demanded.  Tson finally spoke, "I think maybe we should go back home and try again tomorrow…"


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## Stockdale (Aug 3, 2004)

Konrad would tell you that it really didn't go down like that (but, in truth, it really did). 

The incident with the facebag 'o bugs has set the precedent for Konrad in this campaign. Now, the running joke is "hey, Konrad, did you see this bug" or "hey, Konrad, do you think there'll be bugs in here?"


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## Desdichado (Aug 3, 2004)

Konrad has set a lot of precedents.  If someone is going into negative hit points, it'll be Konrad.  If someone is gonna lose sanity, it'll be Konrad.  If someone is going to get a facefull of maggots, it'll be Konrad, etc.


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## Quickbeam (Aug 5, 2004)

OK Josh, I'm finally checking back in.

Before I make my general comments, I have a couple of corrections:
1) The Gray's name is Rosham Boh, with an 'm'.  I know that there was some discussion and handwringing over this topic, but not any longer.
2) Rosham has never carried a pistol.  I may have sliced the maggot sack into goo, but I certainly didn't shoot the foul abomination.  Just an FYI so that you don't give my PC credit for equipment/gear he isn't carrying.
And while there may be another detail with which you've taken poetic license, the rest seems amazingly accurate.

As for overall impressions of the game and the Story Hour...Both are excellent IMHO.  The game is unlike any other I've played in recent memory.  The plot is intriguing and convoluted; the NPC's seem quite real; the setting is unique; our motives are compelling; and while the pace can bog down at times, the sessions are always good fun!!  As for the Story Hour, I've got to say that I'm truly impressed.  You weave a captivating tale fraught with great detail, interesting dialogue, curious circumstances and plenty of action.  I really am taken aback by the fantastic job you ro reiterating the events of our prior gaming sessions.  Kudos to you JD!!

Henceforth I shall be a regular contributing member of this thread.  After all, Boh does plenty of taking in game, so why not here as well ?


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## Desdichado (Aug 5, 2004)

True, Rosha_*m*_ has definately made a niche for himself as the faceman of the group.  I'm glad your enjoying both the game and the associated story.

Hmmm.... I wonder who shot the maggot bag, then, if it wasn't you.  _Someone_ was carrying a pistol.


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## Stockdale (Aug 5, 2004)

Konrad carries a pistol, well two. But, I don't think he deserves credit for the death stroke in this encounter. He was using his mace here.


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## Quickbeam (Aug 5, 2004)

Well, it's not likely that chain-boy (Tson) shot the accursed thing, so...

a. We've got flawed memories and Josh is right.
b. Rosham made like a cuisinart and hacked it to bits.
c. Someone shot it during the encounter, but the effect was minimal and the killing blow was struck with another weapon, thus spreading the maggoty goo.  Our fearless GM's memory has now merged the events into one graphic moment of bloodlust using a pistol, instead of several separate attacks.
d. The blond guy that Konrad was chasing shot the monster, hoping the ichor freed by the wound would kill us or drive us insane.

I'm gonna vote 'd' because that sounds like something Josh would do as GM   .

Anyway, great SH Josh, keep it up!!


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## Desdichado (Aug 6, 2004)

Just a quick mechanical aside; we just played, literally 15 minutes ago (I'll catch up to tonight's session in, oh, half a dozen more updates or so...) and I'm finding that some of these rules need a little playtesting.  The lack of healing is working out fine with the armor conversion rules, so that a fair amount of the damage the PCs are taking is converted to subdual, plus swapping the Heal skill description for the beefier Treat Injury description from d20 Modern means a successful Heal check can restore a fair amount of hit points.

However, I'm finding that I'm not really encouraging the swashbuckling as much as I thought I was.  Action points are hoarded to either stabilize when in negative hit points, or stabilize mentally when having a Sanity episode.  Rosham Bo (sorry, spelled his last name wrong too) is in the twenties in Sanity right now.  So, I'm going to whip up some kind of Sanity "healing" mechanism.  Not sure exactly how it'll work yet, but we'll have something by next session, or everyone will be too scared to take anyone on.  Although the presence of a fair amount of really freaky undead horrors in this adventure may have caused Sanity to drop faster than it otherwise would have.

Anyway, I know some folks like a little mechanical discussion in their story hours -- my position this time around is this: I'm playing with a bunch of folks who are also DMs, and whom I can trust to not try and game the game, so to speak.  I'm also cobbling together a set of rules, and the aggregate of all those changes is a bit unknown at this point, so I'm being really flexible about making changes to things that aren't working out the way we hoped.  Anyway, I also wanted to just post a quick preview of coming attractions in the form of an image I showed my characters...


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## RangerWickett (Aug 7, 2004)

Nifty pic.  Considering the trouble they've had with more 'natural' foes, I'm sure the critter you got there will be sufficiently frightening.

I really loved the beginning.  It was just a great mood-piece.  Likewise, the concept of the setting is phenomenal.  It reminds me of Trigun in an odd way, only with huge cloud expanses instead of deserts.  I'm also imagining some time in the future, the moons and planets are going to line up, and the entire world will be pitch black for days.  But maybe I'm just amalgamating a few too many sci-fi settings.  *grin*

From a reader's standpoint, you do occasionally have over-long paragraphs, and you tag your conversation a bit awkardly.  It's usually easier to know who's talking if you tell us at the beginning of the paragraph, or in the middle of the first sentence.  As for the paragraph length, sometimes you mix a lot of description with some action, and it distracts from the action because the reader's mind is thinking it's still just something being described.

I enjoyed the stuff on the airships the most, but I am hoping to see more of their investigation.  It's the interactions that make the characters stand out more, and good characters are what make for interesting stories.

I'll keep a look-out for updates on this one.


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## Desdichado (Aug 8, 2004)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> From a reader's standpoint, you do occasionally have over-long paragraphs



Overlong paragraphs?  Now that's not something I expected.  I figger one of my weaknesses as a writer is a penchant for overlong sentences, though.


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## Desdichado (Aug 9, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part V*

_(Quick little update today -- I want to move along, but I've been a bit busy, so I couldn't write quite as detailed an account as I like.  I'm also a bit sick, so this update isn't as well-written or coherent as I'd like, but it'll do.)_

After sleeping for a few hours, the three were back at The Singing Sword to see if they could have better luck than before. It was lighter now; it wouldn't be for several more cycles that it would be dark again, when the sun passed again behind the enormous disc that was Fallare, hanging like an orange and gold striated Yule ornament in the sky. That made the atmosphere in the tavern itself somewhat lighter, as shafts of golden sunlight shone though small greasy windows in most of the rooms. The crowd was less rowdy tonight; more abuzz with pleasant conversation rather than highly drunk. The music was also toned down; the songs were more about the quiet delights in life rather than bawdy exploits. Tson commented on this to the bartender as he ordered a drink and said hello again. 

"Yeah," the bartender answered, "it's the way of things up here. Now, me, I'm from down below the Cloudwall, and a little darkness ne'er bothered me much, but folks up here, where it's usually so bright and sunny, they don't handle a little shadow very well." He stopped and shook his head wistfully. 

Tson thanked him and asked him if there was any improvement in the caravan situation from the cycle before. On a tip from the bartender, he winded his way further through the tavern to a table with several relatively tough looking folks, including a reddish brown Hulk that was spiderwebbed with nearly as many scars as Tson himself. They stopped talking and stared at him as he approached them. 

"Umm, hello?" he said. "Mind if I have a seat?" 

There were a few glances and scowls around the table, but slowly a space was made and Tson gingerly sat at the table. 

It took him a little while, but he gradually gained their trust enough to hear their story. This small crowd of former caravan guards had been en route from small mining settlements near the Ledge, having gone around Cassant entirely and come through the Cratered Desert. As they were nearing the Wellhead Swamp, that sprawling fetid marsh caused by the centuries of leaking and condensation around the ancient pipes and pump mechanisms that brough the water from some vast subterranean aquifer to water the arid lands around Razina, they had their "incident." A tall woman, of a race unknown to any of them, attacked and killed everyone in their caravan except themselves, who feigned death with the help of a narcotic drug that lowered their pulse to an almost inperceptible level. This woman had dark, soot-colored skin, and her head was as bald as a melon. She had two wicked blades, and she somehow seemed to "magick" herself all over the place to kill without remorse. But the worst part of it was that she had an army of the living dead with her, who rampaged through the caravan ripping their associates limb from limb. 

The guards went quiet, and somewhat pale as they finished their account. Nobody said anything for a few moments, then they each took a long pull on their drinks. 

"But what was it all about, I wonder?" Tson asked. "Did she take your cargo?" 

The other hulk answered, "That's the strangest thing about it... she really didn't seem very interested in our cargo. The only think missing was a locked box that was to be delivered to Eiji Kisaragi. You can imagine how we felt telling him we had lost it!" 

"Err, no, actually," Tson said awkwardly. "I'm new in town. Should I know who he is?" 

That finally got a bit of a chuckle out of the dour guards. "Yeah, Mr. Kisaragi -- he's a big name in Bricktown. You don't want to cross him. But if you help him, word is that he pays very well. Of course, Bricktown don't have no proper law and order, but Kisaragi's reach can find you anywhere in Razina, and beyond from what I hear." 

"And if one wants to help him, how does one find him?" Tson asked carefully. 

"Don't rightly know," said the hulk guard, "but a lot of deals are made in his name at the Steams, a bath house in Bricktown. That's a good place to start, I'd reckon." 

They all broke off conversation as Konrad walked up to them, and spoke quietly to Tson. "You better come with me. We've got an interesting visitor." Tson stood up, gave an awkward smile to the caravan guards and followed Konrad to a room further in the back. There, Rohsam was speaking to a thin man with gray hair. His eyes kept darting across the room at any unexpected sound. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but his voice sounded somewhat shrill. 

"Who is he?" Tson asked. 

"He claims to be Alexander Nevsky, the porter Gauvain mentioned earlier. Rosham's trying to coax his story out of him, but I don't think he's buying it..." 

Suddenly Nevsky decided he had enough as he stood and bolted towards the door. Rosham, followed by Konrad and Tson leapt after him, tackling him heavily in an alley right behind the tavern. Konrad closed the tavern door on the faces of some curious onlookers as Rosham and Tson wrestled the surprisingly strong man to the ground. And then Nevsky went suddenly still. 

"It's OK," Rosham said softly to the man. "We're from the Inquisition and we're here to help..." Nevsky's eyes seemed to sink further into his head. 

"Oh, please!" Tson said gruffly. "Whoever's going to trust a gray with their secrets anyway? Let's just take him home, clean him up and calm him down. We'll get his story yet." 

So they did just that. Elroy the butler outdid himself with a steaming hot meal that put a lot more life back into Nevsky's pale face, and a hot bath seemed to do him wonders as well. He no longer seemed quite so paranoid, but was very exhausted. He gave them a story that was similar to the account the guards had given Tson of another attack. This one was coming back from the northeast as well, and this black woman had attacked the caravan with a squadron of dead creatures, sparing no one except he himself, who was away from the caravan digging a latrine at the time. 

Nevsky's speech was slurred by this point with exhaustion, so they decided to let him sleep and try and get more details from him, if possible, the next day. With that they all turned in. 

When they woke up it was to a hoarse shout from Elroy. They came running, still in their bedclothes, but scrambling to hold weapons. Elroy was in Alexander Nevsky's room. Nevsky was as well, but his body was thin and contorted -- brown and parchment dry like an ancient mummy. He was clearly dead -- but he looked like he'd been dead for centuries.


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## Desdichado (Aug 18, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VI*

_(Whether or not anyone noticed, for some reason I got it into my head that it would be "cute" to name all the chapters after Depeche Mode songs.  That has since become tedious to me; it's almost as much of a burden to try to pick a song title that matched the content than it was to actually write the chapters up themselves.  I should have remembered what Robert Asprin wrote in the introduction to one of his M.Y.T.H. Adventure books; that it was harder to write the cute little quotes at the beginning of each chapter than to write the actual books.  Actually, I did remember that, and even thought of it specifically, but for some reason I thought I was going to get past that.  Well, I didn't.  So, I'm going to start a completely new naming convention, calling all of this entire first adventure by one title, with numbered parts for each of the posts.  Eventually I'll go back edit all the post titles to update.  Now, maybe I can still name each larger chapter after a Depeche Mode song...)_

They decided in the wake of the sudden mummification of Nevsky that following up on the lead with the crime lord Kisaragi was their next best move.  After making sure to check and strap on all their weapons, they left their home, with strict instructions to Elroy to make sure the body was nowhere to be found when they returned.  The three walked quietly, with their heads low and their eyes darting side to side, towards that wretched hive of scum and villainy: Bricktown.  It loomed over them like a mountain, scowling forbiddingly at all who approached.  A dark halo of sooty smoke hung like a pall over the entire affair; the lung-ruining effluvia of thousands of coal fires that burned within.  Looking upwards, they could see the tiny figures of the homeless and destitute that lived their entire lives on the rooftop of Bricktown wandering about like ants.  There didn't seem to be any obvious way to reach the roof besides jumping off an airship.

A sturdy hulk with a massive hauberk-encrusted belly spilling out over his belt stood guard at the frowning gate.  There was a fair amount of traffic coming, as it was nearly time for another work shift to change over, and people were coming and going.  The guard half-watched the flow of humanity with a bored expression.  He did note the PCs weapons, but did not seem inclined to question them.  And then they passed the threshold into Bricktown.

Immediately their vision shifted.  It was extremely gloomy in Bricktown as they walked away from the sunlight at the gate.  The light was shortened by the thick haze of smoke the floated in the corridors, adding an acrid odor that partially helped obscure the rank smell of human filth and rot.  Torches and gas lanterns lined the walls at frequent intervals, giving the entire interior of Bricktown a ghoulish orange glow.  Alleys and streets were narrow, cramped and winding, choked with piles of rubbish, collapsed heaps of bricks and wood, and the inert forms of beggers who's hold on life (or lack thereof) was difficult to ascertain.  The dark vastness of Bricktown yawned before them like a labyrinth.

"So, anyone know where we're headed?" asked Tson.

"Sure," Konrad answered.  "Just a sec..."

He reached out and nabbed a thin, soot-stained and hunched man by the arm, spinning him around to face them.  Konrad's hands suddenly had a gold mark peeking out through his fingers.  "Here, can you take us to the Steams?"

The man nodded greedily, never taking his eye off the gold, and they followed him silently into the darkness that was Bricktown.  The healthy light of day from the gate faded behind them and they were soon swallowed by the smoke.  The man they followed did occasionally make some small talk, but he quickly fell silent.  The ambiance in Bricktown was oppressive.  People they passed in the street spoke in whispers, if at all, and hurried past them, their eyes cast downward.  Their guide's eyes darted sideways, and upwards.

Konrad looked around, trying to follow his gaze despite the stinging smoke in his eyes.  He saw a flash of movement; what looked briefly like a man with a crossbow ducking out of sight in a window ahead.  Konrad tapped Tson on the shoulder, and when he turned around, he gave him a meaningful look and gripped his weapons.  Tson got the hint and gave a similar non-verbal cue to Rosham.

"We're almost there; it's just on the other side of this alleyw_uurk_..." said the guide.  Tson had thrown him hard against the brickwall, knocking loose mortar dust that fell over him like a pale shower.  There was a soft click, and Konrad had a pistol against his head, the hammer cocked.

"I think you should call off your goons and take us to the _real_ Steams this time, before I blow your %@$#ing head off."  The guide swallowed hard.

"Back off!" he yelled hoarsely, clearing his throat and coughing dust and soot from his lungs.  "Back off!"  They all heard some clattering from above and then silence.  The guard stood slowly, never taking his eyes off the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his face.  He gulped again and wiped gray mortar dust from his face.  "Let's go this way," he said, and then led them back the way they had come. 

"Just remember, this gun is going to be pointed directly at your head until we get there," Konrad chipped in cheerfully.  They walked for about fifteen more minutes in a completely different direction until they came to a red building with a sign over it that had simply _The Steams_ carved in faded and silvered wood.  Appropriately enough, it was humid and foggy near the door; steam leaking from the bath house.

The guide turned around then to tell them that they had arrived when Konrad casually shot him in the knee.  He fell heavily to the ground screaming and moaning, soaking the cobblestone street in a spreading pool of blood.  

"Thanks for your help!" Konrad added, spitting on him as he walked by.  They opened the door and walked in.

_The Steams_ was unlike anything else they had yet seen in Bricktown; there was a small lobby where they currently found themselves, manned by a thin and stiff man in an uncomfortable-looking suit.  But everything about the lobby spoke of magnificent opulence.  Dark reddish wood panelling, oiled and polished, covered the walls.  Heavy woven carpets with fantastic designs picked out in gold thread blanketted the floor; they were clearly imported from below the Cloudwall where such things were made for kings and emperors.  The dim gaslights burned clean and white, and there was a perfumed smell of sweet-smelling spice.  Behind the desk was a thick maroon curtain.

Rosham quickly put away his rapier that he had drawn when they discovered the threacherous guide's duplicity and motioned for the others to stow their weapons as well.  He smoothed his hair and approached the man at the desk.  "Yes, we need to speak with Mr. Eiji Kisaragi, please.  It concerns some cargo he was trying to ship into Razina via caravan."

"Do you have an appointment?" answered the man with a condescending glance at the Bred, and Konrad's rustic appearance.

Rosham smiled, showing his gleaming teeth.  His eyes remained quite cold.  "I'm sure he will want to see us."

The man behind the desk coughed quietly and the curtain parted.  Two enormous men in armor and holding a brace of pistols stepped out to look coldly at the three visitors.  Konrad stepped back and put his hand on the butt of his pistol.  Rosham kept his smile, despite the tension in the room.  The two men were dark-haired and dark-eyed with somewhat sallow skin and epicanthic folds.  The were Unbred, but clearly not native to the region.

With a strong, lilting accent, one of the two brutes spoke.  "Mr. Kisaragi is not available right now.  Perhaps you can describe your business and make an appointment."

"I strongly feel we should only describe our business directly with Mr. Kisaragi,"  Rosham continued, ignoring the guns pointed in his direction.  "I believe we can reach an accomodation that is mutually beneficial."

"You will not be seeing Mr. Kisaragi right now.  If you do not make an appointment, it is best if you leave."

"What is your name?"  Rosham asked.  "We will be sure to mention that you delayed us when we meet with Mr. Kisaragi and present him with our plan."

One of the big men suddenly laughed out loud and put away his guns.  The other packed up his weapons as well, then turned and walked back through the curtain.  With a nod, the thin man behind the desk also turned around and left.

When the large, laughing man spoke again, his accent had mysteriously disappeared, except for faint traces here and there.  "I like you guys.  Come on back!  I'm Eiji Kisaragi."


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## Stockdale (Aug 18, 2004)

This was one of the best episodes of the campaign so far, And as anyone reading this far knows, we really hadn't done much. More Role than roll playing to this point, and the ending was just a hum-dinger. 

Josh, you really caught the flavor of this session. you're the man.


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## Desdichado (Aug 18, 2004)

Thanks!  It was, shortly after this point, though, that I started to wonder if maybe the pace were a bit too slow (a common problem for investigative type scenarios.)  Readers will see a fairly sharp increase in action very shortly, and only some of it is gratuitous!


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## Puppy Kicker (Aug 22, 2004)

I wanted to say cheers for the great Exit 23 story hour, and that's what got me to this one.  Normally I get pretty bored with fantasy story hours but your writing in the modern one got me interested to try out your Dark Heritage story hour and so far I'm liking it!  Keep up the good work.


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## Desdichado (Aug 23, 2004)

Puppy Kicker said:
			
		

> I wanted to say cheers for the great Exit 23 story hour, and that's what got me to this one.  Normally I get pretty bored with fantasy story hours but your writing in the modern one got me interested to try out your Dark Heritage story hour and so far I'm liking it!  Keep up the good work.



Thank you; much appreciated!  Just out of curiousity, what about most fantasy story hours is boring to you, and what makes mine different?  I think (other than the rules, obviously) that combining some very strong horror, intrigue and steampunk themes into my fantasy certainly makes the game feel quite different than D&D usually is, but that's just what I think, anyway.  Also, I'd recommend you look up any of the three story hours by barsoomcore, who has a setting that features many of the same types of differences from standard D&D.

If you're looking for more storyhours, that is.


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## Desdichado (Aug 26, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VII*

Eiji led them through the curtain behind the counter.  After a short hallway, the bath house opened up into a large room, covered floor and walls both with slick red tiles and hefty lockers.  There were a few surly old men standing in various states of undress in the room who gave them dirty looks as they entered, but Eiji shooed them away quickly.  All four of them quickly undressed, stashed their clothes and other gear in a large locker (Tson put the key on a light chain around his neck.)  After donning large red towels with the initials EK embroidered with gold thread about their waists, they continued on into the bath house itself.

The main room of the bath house was quite large.  Darkly stained beams supported the ceiling, but the walls were largely made of ivory colored paper which separated several smaller rooms around the perimeter.  In the center of the room were a number of pools each lined with pale blue tiles.  It was easy to see which were hot and which were cold by the steam rising from the warmer ones.  Most of the pools had a few nude bathers sitting in them, and a few other nudes, male and female both, were in transit from hot to cold or vice versa, or to the thin rooms on the side which also exuded heavy curtains of steam.  The entire room was bathed in the muted babble of private conversations.

Eiji led them all the way through the main room, warning them once or twice to watch for slippery areas of the tiled floor, then into some other rooms in the back that were very thickly walled.  He closed a heavy door in a darkly panelled room that was lit only by a fire burning in the center that heated several gray rocks.  They all sat on wooden benches around the periphery of the room, then Eiji poured a bucket of water on the rocks, which erupted in a blast of hissing steam.  The room was stiflingly hot, and all four of them quickly broke out in a sweat.

"Now then, that we have some privacy," Eiji laughed quietly, "what is it you are looking for?"

"Some information, naturally," answered Rosham glibly.  "It seems we both have the same problem, and by pooling our knowledge I think we stand a better chance of removing that problem."

Eiji looked sceptical, and even a bit dangerous.  "Who led you to believe I had a problem?"

The three of them smiled.  "We've been hired to look for some cargo that was apparently stolen _en route_ to Razina by a woman with dark gray skin, no hair, and an entourage of dead people.  We are led to understand that you also recently had an encounter of sorts with this woman, and she ran off with some of your cargo as well."

When Eiji smiled knowingly Rosham continued.  "I believe, naturally, that if we find one cargo we'll find the other as well.  We had hoped to find out what -- if anything -- you knew about these robberies that we could pool with our own knowledge.  That way, we stand a much better chance of recovering both of the stolen goods."

Eiji laughed again.  Indeed, he seemed a much more jolly fellow than his reputation had led them to believe.  "OK, you've picqued my attention," he said, wiping his eyes slightly.  "I'll help you if you think you can recover my stolen cargo."

"Err," Konrad blundered, "what was your cargo?"

"Just a book."

"A book?" Tson blurted in surprise.  "Why would anyone steal a book?"

Eiji chuckled again, although this time somewhat disparagingly.  "You really don't know much about these yet, do you?  The cargo you are searching for is also a book.  Everything this woman has attacked and taken has been a book, and she's struck no fewer than four times that I know of."

Rosham, Tson and Konrad all looked at each other blankly.  "What's so special about these books, then?" Rosham asked finally.

"Certain books," Eiji continued delicately, after a long pause of thinking, "are not well recieved by the populace at large.  In fact, it is a death sentence from the Inquisition to obtain certain books, although its rare indeed that a case such as that is brought to trial.  It seems our illustrious government is anxious that certain accounts of what happened in the early years of our kingdom not be revisited.  I am a simple student of history, who seeks information amongst primary sources, so that puts me at odds with the government and the Inquisition, and leads me to occasionally search out books that, alas, I probably should not.  I bought mine from a discreet dealer in Cassant, who was to ship it to me via the caravan that was ambushed.  Your patron, whomever he is, must have done the same thing."

Rosham's eyes lit up.  He was also particularly interested in the history of the formation of the kingdoms that rose from the ashes of the slavers and breeders that had created the Bred races, and before that, even, whatever knowledge could still be filtered down from the mythic times before the breaking of the world, and the causes of that catastrophe.

"Unfortunately," continued Eiji, "my operatives have not been able to uncover much beyond that -- and that is not much to go on.  We've been trying to to locate a man named Alexander Nevsky who supposedly witnessed one of the attacks, but he has eluded my men each time I've tried to bring him in for questioning.

Konrad started, but at a subtle wave from Rosham, he didn't say anything.

After some more discussion with Eiji, where they learned that the book he was looking for was a small little book known as _The King in Yellow_, they got redressed and parted ways, happy to at least have the support, even if it didn't amount to much, of one of the most notorious and powerful crime lords in the city.  That had to account for something.

But it did not, apparently, account for protection from the lower elements of life in Bricktown, at least not yet.  Konrad spotted a small man behind them, limping noticably but marking their passage.  They stepped up their pace, but crossing through a narrow alleyway, they suddenly found themselves boxed in and surrounded by no less than twelve angry men, each carrying a wicked sword.  The limper had a familiar look; he was their erstwhile guide who had tried to lead them into an ambush before.

"This time it's personal, ya pikers!" he shouted, and the street toughs suddenly poured over them like rainwater.

Because of the narrowness of the alley, they were able to keep them from coming all at once and surrounding them, at least.  Konrad pounded away at one end with his mace, but was taking a variety of vicious blows as well, while Tson tripped anyone that came near him, slashing at them cruelly with the spikes on his chain as they went down.  Rosham, on the other hand, suddenly started climbing the wall, ducking inside a window high over the heads of the combatants.  An elderly woman screamed as he suddenly appeared from the window in her kitchen, but when she saw his bared sword, she turned and ran from the room.  He quickly scanned the kitchen for any makeshift weapons he could use against the people below.

Tson looked up then as a pot of boiling stew suddenly landed on his opponents, clonking one heavily on the head and scalding several others.  He took the opportunity to slash a few more to the ground.  One of the men put his sword away and began to chant.  Tson felt his body literally starting to wither and shrivel under the baleful influence of the witch.  Then a bottle of whisky, stuffed with a slashed piece of faded and grimy drapes landed right in front of the chanting spellcaster, exploding into a brief fireball and spray of shattered glass shrapnel.  He looked up to see Roshan's smiling face in the window.  Roshan saluted him.

"Get down here, you stinkin' gray!" Tson shouted up at him, but he was smiling too.  His chain was bloody with the viscera of the wizard.  Rosham did jump then, pulling down several of the goons that were fighting with Konrad as he fell.  Between the two of them, they made short work of those who were still fighting on that side of the alley.  Konrad leapt into combat on the other side with a yell, pummelling to death several folks that were bleeding severely from Tson's continued attention.  Tson had some more hard words for him as well.  "Get yer own bloody kills, ya daffer!"

The fighting had been fierce, but quick.  The limper had somehow slipped away in the confusion.  Before more trouble came a'looking, they all decided to hurry back to their safe house, leaving the groaning and bleeding bodies piled in the alley.

When they arrived, their butler took one disapproving glance at their wounds, particularly Konrad's, who were worse than the others, but then announced in a stately voice that he had found a clue on the body of the man who mummified overnight in their guest room.  In his hand was a crumpled and dirty scrap of parchment.


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## handforged (Aug 27, 2004)

I'm really enjoying the roleplaying parts of this story.  The fighting hasn't interested me as much so far, except for the supernatural elements.  Can't wait for another update.

~hf


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## Desdichado (Aug 31, 2004)

Thanks, I think.  At least I'm doing something right.


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## ledded (Sep 2, 2004)

Great story JD, I'm diggin' the pistols-and-swords feel.


The writing is solid, and it flows well.  Daddy likey, daddy likey very much 

I loved what you did with Exit 23, so I'm glad to get caught up on this one and see that your level of story goodness is staying up there and consistent.  Nice work.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 3, 2004)

As Stockdale and JD both mention in their posts, the action definitely starts picking up during and after the last posted session.  The Story Hour writing continues to be very good, and the game itself has an amazing array of different paths to pursue.  I loved daring Kisaragi's men to keep us from meeting with him, only to find out he was posing as one of the thugs.  I enjoy Konrad's remorseless, wild brutality and Tson's mix of guile and naivety.  This last combat sequence was also particularly entertaining...getting Rosham to scale walls and lob stew and molotov cocktails on the ruffians below was great fun !!    

Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike.  On the player side of the equation, our personalities are such that we each intuitively know when to push/tease the other players and when to let them snag the limelight.  On the PC front, the group dynamic is based on grudging mutual respect, fostered from shared experiences in a very brief amount of time.  The PC's don't necessarily like one another yet (and maybe they never will), but they work well together and cover for their collectively shortcomings and weaknesses.


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## Desdichado (Sep 4, 2004)

Hey, QB!  As promised, if you want to use it, here's the new D&D mini treant in (hopefully) avatar size.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 4, 2004)

What odd timing!!  I just finished cropping a logo that I've considered using for quite awhile now, and was going to photoshop edit the treant too .

Anyway, thanks for following through on your promise so rapidly Josh.  I imagine our Entish pic will find its way into my profile at some point.  In the meantime I will let the bad moon represent me within the confines of EN World for a bit.


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## Stockdale (Sep 4, 2004)

*Quickbeam Wrote:*


> Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike.




Man, this is bringing a tear to my eye. Touching.  

*Quickbeam Wrote:*


> I enjoy Konrad's remorseless, wild brutality




What do you mean? Konrad's just filled with remorse.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 4, 2004)

Stockdale said:
			
		

> Man, this is bringing a tear to my eye. Touching.
> 
> What do you mean? Konrad's just filled with remorse.




Remark #1:  I'm glad that you are making progress in terms of getting in touch with your feelings.  Keep it up 

Remark #2:  Yeah...he's sorry there aren't more hapless skulls in his path for bashing in  !!


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## Desdichado (Sep 5, 2004)

Quickbeam said:
			
		

> Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike.  On the player side of the equation, our personalities are such that we each intuitively know when to push/tease the other players and when to let them snag the limelight.



That's what makes playing in a group of four DMs so much fun.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 5, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> That's what makes playing in a group of four DMs so much fun.




I agree.  Although plenty of good DM's make poor players and vice versa.  I just think our group is interested in being absorbed by the gripping tales you're weaving and steady character development.

...just waiting for the next update, and hoping it comes this holiday weekend.


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## Stockdale (Sep 5, 2004)

I really hadn't thought much about the fact that we all GM other games. I think there may be something to that comment. But I also think on the player side, that the ease with which we play together is also derived from other commonalities such as age (we all over 30), family status (we all are married with kids), etc.


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## Desdichado (Sep 7, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VIII*

They hurried inside, where the unflappable Elroy calmly tended to their wounds with the application of lots of strong drink, herb poultices, fine twine to stitch the worst wounds back together, and several yards of linen bandages.  When he was done, Konrad was nodding where he sat with at least three empty bottles of rum in front of him, and the rest were a bit dazed as well.  Still, Rosham decided to have a look at the paper that Elroy had.  Apparently he had found it stuffed in a dirty pocket of Alexander Nemsky's.  Elroy confirmed that the body had been disposed of, but was not specific on where it had gone.

The paper smelt badly.  Two smells were mingled with it; a rich loamy smell, as if it had been buried in the earth for some time and a sweet, nauseating smell that was presumed to be the smell of Nemsky's own decaying body.  However, the paper itself was cryptic; it was a diagram of some sort that had small rectangles drawn at regular intervals, and each rectangle had a name written in the center.  There were "aisles" between rows of the rectangles.  None of the names were familiar to Rosham, or after showing the others, to them either.  The paper itself was only a torn corner of some larger piece, and maybe it took the complete sheet to understand what he could see in context.  With a final draw on his drink, and a splash of it on his aching cuts, Rosham decided to sleep on it and see if it made any more sense in a few hours.

They all three awoke to the smell of Elroy preparing breakfast.  Although both placid and sardonic with them, Elroy did do a wonderful job of seeing that their needs were met.  After changing their bandages, which required a hefty dose of more liquor, and feeding them a hearty meal, they all felt considerably better; enough so to bathe and make an attempt to face the day still.  Rosham was the fastest done, and then he ran straight to the small library  on the second floor.  After about an hour, he called out "Aha!" heartily and came rushing out to find the others, waving a large parchment in one hand.

"Look!" he cried.  "Look what I've found!"  Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge them, he thrust the large paper in front of them.  It was a map, and it was clearly done in the same format as the scrap of paper they had.  They looked at the title of the map -- _Razina: Pauper's Cemetary_.  "I think we've found what Nemsky was carrying around in his pocket."

"Hey!" cried Tson.  "I remember some guy in _The Singing Sword_ blathering on and on about weird things happening at the Pauper's Cemetary.  I didn't think anything of it at the time."

"Well, if that isn't the obvious next step to take staring us right in the face, I don't know what is," Rosham added, a glint in his eye.  "Get up, you two!  Let's go see what's down there!"

Konrad groaned and winced as he stood up.  "Elroy!" he called.  "I want a fitting for some leather armor when I get back!  I'm tired of getting this banged up every time we go out."

Their progress was initially slow, as they minced gingerly down the street, but after working out the initial stiffness, they soon went along reasonably normally.  It was between shifts now, so the streets were clearer than they might have been, as most of the inhabitants of this neighborhood worked in the carefully irrigated fields outside of town.  Those of Bricktown were more likely to work in the iron or coal mines nearby.  They did get some strange looks from those that did pass, which Konrad didn't react to well, returning glares to any who stopped and stared, but Rosham was used to be stared at warily, and Tson was also singularly unique in appearance and didn't think twice about it.

This time they headed the opposite direction from Bricktown, towards the outskirts of the city rather that deeper into the heart of it.  The walk was not long, and they soon found themselves standing next to an abrupt wall that ended the progression of houses and buildings.  A large turretted and crenellated gate stood before them as well, but the guard was sleepy at best, and barely gave them a passing glance.  The gate was wide open.

Outside, they were surprised by the humidity and the strange but distant smell of rotting vegetation.  According to vague maps and the answers of Elroy, that was the Wellhead Swamp.  Long ago, before the founding of Razina as we know it, an ancient well was drilled that went straight into an aquifer, and massive pumps have brought that water out via brass pipes for centuries.  And after centuries of condensation and leaking, a massive marsh, miles and miles in circumference, spread in all directions from the wellhead, reaching almost to the city walls of Razina.  Mist poured off the swamp, obscuring objects from very far away.  

They could see a station to their right, though, right outside the wall.  A number of steam-powered constructs, currently powered down and rusted, stood idly under a corrugated iron awning.  A large uruun (_see attached picture_) was chained nearby as well, and several long, heavy covered wagons were under another corrugated iron roof.  A few men in rough clothes and gray stubble eyed them as they came out the gate, but made no move to talk to them.

"Not that way, I think," Konrad said.  Instead, he pointed to their left, where the ground was unable to grow any vegetation.  "It looks like a number of holes that have been refilled.  This is probably the edge of our cemetary right here."

They were, however, initially frustrated by their inability to mark any landmarks of substance.  Few of the graves had any markers of any kind, and most that did were made of wood with rough carvings indicating the deceased's initials.  Rosham finally wadded up the scrap of paper from Nemsky's pocket in frustration and shoved it into his own pocket.  He started to spit a litany of curses, but Konrad hushed him suddenly.

"What's that?" he said, then started trotting off further north into the mist.  Then they could all hear it; the gritty sound of someone repeatedly putting their shovel into the dirt and mumbling to himself as he did so.  They drew their weapons and slowly approached.  When they saw who it was, though, they put their weapons away.  A very elderly man was cursing and grumbling to himself as he filled in a hole in the ground.  There were two other such holes nearby.  From his grumbling, it was obvious that he was an official "groundskeeper" or some such position with the cemetary.

They hailed him, and he seemed a bit jittery, but perfectly willing to talk once they calmed him back down.  "Aye, I's been working here since I was a lad, living in th' littl' shed off t' the north, there.  Mostly's I jus' dig the graves and report any suspishuss folks a'snoopin' aroun' to the Watch."

"So, what's this; a rash of deaths?" Tson indicated the several open holes.

The old man spit and made a sign to ward off the evil eye.  "No, thissus somethin' else.  Somun's been takin' folks outta their graves, and of course, I gotta fill 'em back in.  Had half dozen this week, an' another dozen or so afore that."

Konrad immediately began searching the ground near the open graves for any clues.  Although the old man had trod over much of the ground in his efforts to fill them back in, it was fairly obvious that something large and heavy had made wide footprints in the soft ground, and long narrow furrow seemed to accompany the tracks.

"What does this mean?" Rosham asked, seeing the signs Konrad knelt to look at, but lacking the ability to decipher them.

It means that someone brought a steamo into the graveyard, and it looks like the steamo was carrying a wheelbarrow or some such tool with him.  And look," he pointed to another small marking on the ground, "the steamo didn't come alone.  Here's the operator's prints right next to him; either a woman wearing men's shoes, or a small light man with small feet.  I'm betting on that last one, myself.  The way the prints come up here; that's more like a man's walk."

Rosham gave the "Huh!" expression to Tson; he had never guessed so much information could be gleaned from such frugal clues.  "So, uh, where do they go, then?" 

Konrad stood and began walking a little bit more.  After about ten minutes he came near to the end of the graveyard.  Dark tree trunks were starting to peer out from the mist in the distance, and the ground had become fairly squelchy.  "Looks like they went back into the swamp.  And look; here's where they came out of the swamp too; they went both ways at this point."

"Look, I dunno who you folks are, an' whatnot, but you're damn fools iffin you go in that swamp," the old gravetender said, who had followed them discreetly for some distance.

They all turned to him slowly.  "Yeah?  Why's that?" Konrad asked.

"Because it's haunted, o' course," the old man said.  "I reckon it's safe enough down south wheren that littl' swampie village is, but e'en the swampies don't go out much.  And iffin they do, they don't much tend to come back."

"And this from the guy who lives in a cemetary?" Rosham asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Bah!" the old man spit again.  "Yeah, the graveyard's spooky enough, but it's jus' dead folks layin' inna ground.  But there's some real strange noises what comes outta that swamp, especially when it's dark.  Hisses, and growls, and roars, and strange scrabblin's and scratchin's at my door in the dark; I lock meself inside when Fallare a'covers up the sun, but it's bad in there in the brightest day.  That thar mist never lets up, and you can't see more'n a few yards ahead o' yourself.  I been in once or twice a'lookin' for firewood, and I had vines a'start to grab at me liken they wanted to choke the life outta me.  I chopped 'em with my hatchet, but I came a'lightin' out o' there as fast as I could, I tell you what."

The three investigators looked at each other, then smiled and drew their weapons.  Rosham saluted the old man with his rapier.  "See you later, old-timer!" he called out and they turned and walked into the swamp.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 8, 2004)

More.  More I say!
Thanks for the update Josh.


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## Desdichado (Sep 8, 2004)

I'm going as fast as I can!    Luckily, I'm making these updates faster than we're actually playing, so in theory we'll get caught up sometime in the (relatively) near future.


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## shadowlight (Sep 11, 2004)

Just in case any of the readers are interested, here's a cross-sectional map of the Dark Heritage world I just finished:


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## Desdichado (Sep 13, 2004)

Dude, that map RAWXX0rs!!!!11!


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## shadowlight (Sep 13, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Dude, that map RAWXX0rs!!!!11!



 heh heh


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## Quickbeam (Sep 13, 2004)

shadowlight...

The image is gone.  Wha' happened?


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## ledded (Sep 14, 2004)

Niiiiiice map.  I *really* like that map.   And the story hour is coming along very nicely JD, major props to you.


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## shadowlight (Sep 14, 2004)

Quickbeam said:
			
		

> The image is gone.  Wha' happened?



It's linked from my geocities website, so you may have to hit refresh or right click on the empty image and select View Image...

BTW, that's my old Spelljammer 3E website from back in the day... http://www.geocities.com/tgomm/



			
				ledded said:
			
		

> Niiiiiice map.  I *really* like that map.   And the story hour is coming along very nicely JD, major props to you.




Thanks!!  It was fun to make.  I decided to break out my old Wacom digitizing tablet so I actually "drew" most of it.  I used radically different techniques on the different cloud layers just to learn more Photoshop tricks.  My next map will be the an overland map of the main Day Realm continent... Have we named that one yet Josh?


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## Desdichado (Sep 14, 2004)

Yeah, that map rocks.  shadowlight (and also Mrs. Shadowlight) are very talented Photoshoppers.  Photoshoppists?


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## Desdichado (Sep 14, 2004)

shadowlight said:
			
		

> My next map will be the an overland map of the main Day Realm continent... Have we named that one yet Josh?



I haven't, no.  I've been hesitant to throw out too many exotic names which end up just confusing everyone who isn't familiar with them.  Which, in this case, would be everybody.  That's part of the reason I've used somewhat familiar names for characters as well.

I probably should name that one, though.  It's kinda important after all.


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## Desdichado (Sep 15, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> Niiiiiice map.  I *really* like that map.   And the story hour is coming along very nicely JD, major props to you.



Thanks for the comments!  The campaign is really fun for me to run, to.


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## Desdichado (Sep 17, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part IX*

The mist which already overwhelmed them became even thicker as they approached the swamp.  Visibility dropped to only a few feet in front of them; the world disappearing into a vast, fetid and humid muted grayness on all sides.  Dark trees; slick with green moss and humidity rose like haunted standing stones out of the fog, and they had to step very carefully to avoid the gaping pools that appeared suddenly in front of them to stare balefully and hungrily at them.

They could hear strange slurping sounds from time to time, which fell like dead things to the ground, muffled by the oppressive mist.  Konrad kept them moving very slowly.  The trail was easy enough to follow, but the ground was constantly suspect.  He also stopped frequently to look around.  Soon, Tson and Rosham started catching his nervousness.  "Are we expecting something to jump out at us?" Tson whispered to Konrad after a particularly long pause.

"Yeah," said Konrad, pulling up his sword and gesturing forward, his eyes glued on the mist ahead.  Tson and Rosham readied their weapons as well, peering intently into the mist, not sure what they should be looking for.  Then they saw the first hints of movement; a darker gray against the otherwise featureless gray wall around them.  Then figures starting appearing slowly.  At first, they looked like thin people, but then their ghastly features became more noticeable.  They looked like corpses; thin, emaciated, skeletal with just stinking rags of flesh left on them, but they were covered in dark, swampy moss and lichens.  Their teeth and nails were elongated and hard as iron, dripping with a sickly black ichor.  "Oh, and I'd keep an eye out for those claws; those look nasty," he added.

Konrad, Tson and Rosham rushed to attack the shambling creatures before they could get them first.  Konrad's pistol sounded dull and dead in the misty blanket that surrounded them, but he blew the head off of one creature.  Tson's chain slashed two more, but he grunted in pain as the black-dripping claws raked his back, steaming and hissing with their vile poison.  Rosham found it difficult to hurt them much with his rapier, as the blade slid easily through their bones and desiccated flesh without doing much damage.  He ducked out of the way, picked up a large rotting log and swung it like a heavy club at one of the corpses.  It fell apart with a heavy thud as the log slammed into its ribcage, but his log also split with the sweet smell of rotted wood.  He looked up from his broken log to see two more of the shuffling creatures bearing down on him.

"Time for a little tactical maneuver," he said to himself as be ran away.  A little out of the creature's shambling range, he dropped to his hands and knees, digging through the rotting leaves on the ground for another log.

Tson was bleeding and steaming from a number of gashes, as he had been heavily surrounded by the creatures, but he was carefully whittling them down like so much dried firewood.  Konrad had struggled as well; several of the creatures were trying to push him under the water.  He fought them off as Rosham came back with his log, pounding them down.  Finally, panting, covered with black slime, stinking black mud, and dried leaves, the three stood up, their weapons lowered, the last of the swamp corpses destroyed.  The Konrad's eyes narrowed again.

"There!" he snarled.  An elderly man with a scowl on his face had been watching them, and on seeing them overcome the swamp corpses, he sneered, but turned and ran off into the swamp.  Rosham, Tson and Konrad hurried after him, into a small, mud-covered hut that he hadn't seen earlier through the mist.  As Tson burst through the door, a horrible screeching sound like rending and twisting metal shrieked through the air.  Black tendrils of life-sucking energy blasted through Tson's form, and he doubled over in agony.

Then Konrad bashed the head in of the old man and the tendrils stopped.  "OK there, then?" he asked Tson, who nodded grimly as he stood back up.

They proceeded to ransack the hut for any clues.  In a rank cellar, they found more moldering bodies, some being fitted with strange, rusted iron fists and tubes, just as the creatures that had been described attacking the caravans.

Rosham found a book and a clay tablet that immediately sparked his interest, although looking at them for even a moment made him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous.  He quickly put both in a spare pouch for examination later.

"Aha!" shouted Konrad from the other end of the house.  He had apparently found a watercolor portrait of a dark gray-skinned woman with no hair, as drawn by an apparently loving admirer.  "Looks like our old necromancer here had a sweeter side to him after all!" he laughed.  The portrait was labeled Abarraine.  "So now we have a name to go along with the elusive murderer of all those caravan guards."  But the real jackpot was in the notes below the portrait, which referred to a hideout of sorts below ground at the wellhead that was the source of the Wellhead Swamp.  Looking at those notes, Tson was grim.  "I think it's time to put an end to all this...  after we have Elroy patch us up a bit first, of course."


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## handforged (Sep 23, 2004)

wow, that was great!  I love the description of the swamp and the way it sucks up sound.  I bet the players were completely immersed in the place.

~hf


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## Desdichado (Sep 23, 2004)

Yup.  In more ways than one.


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## Desdichado (Sep 23, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part X*

After two days of rest and recuperation, Tson decided to go out.  Konrad was still healing, and Rosham had been shut in his room nearly continuously since returning from the shack in the swamp.  He wandered a bit through Upper Razina looking for local sources of information, but his interest was mostly in making his way to Lower Razina, past Bricktown, where he understood there was a fabulous library.  He had Elroy get the smartest clothes he could before leaving, a black silk suit with a dark purple velvet cloak and gilt threads embroidered in geometric patters, and when he past Bricktown, his breath was taken away by the view of Lower Razina.  The slate-roofed mansions and expansive green parks and gardens of the wealth of Razina sloped away on terraces into the void below.  It was a clear day, and he could see all the way the swelling, puffy, white Cloudwall miles below.

He walked further into the district, having to show the pass that Gauvain had given them,which allowed him enter the walled city within a city without comment.  All around him the broad streets were lined with flowers and bushes sparkling with color like he had never seen before in the otherwise harsh regions near Razina.  The people he passed were either messengers and servants, who typically were attired in colorful uniforms and seemed to be in a hurry, or else well-dressed, indolent Unbred walking slowly as they chatted, or riding in carriages or in palanquins carried by oiled slaves, or smoking brass constructs.  He received a few haughty glances from under raised eyebrows as a scarred and faded albino hulk in the otherwise nearly completely pure Unbred population of Lower Razina, but his fine clothing at least ensured that no one challenged him overtly.

The library itself was a large columned marble building surrounded by tall, flowering trees.  Up the wide steps and through the heavy brass-bound door, he found the library to be very spacious inside, liberally decorated with fine carpets, bright open windows, and dark wood.  He smiled and flashed his identification again at the thin old librarian who gave a slightly strained obsequious smile and offered to help him in any way.

"Can you show me a private room, and then any maps of the Wellhead Swamps you may have?" Tson asked.  He was shown into a room that smelled slightly of dust; cobwebs arced gracefully in the upper corners of the room.  The walls were off-white plaster, with dark hardwood floors, baseboards and crown molding, and the large windows were made of slightly frosted glass ringed with dark wood.  He opened the window to hear the birds and bugs from the garden-like grounds of the library while he waited for the librarian to come back with the map.

When he did return, it was empty-handed.  He was extremely apologetic.  "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but that item has been removed by one of our patrons.  It is in use, and not on the premises."

"Do you know who has it?"

"I did check, sir, yes.  It was picked up by Remy Ormiteau, a servant of the High Lord's household.  He typically runs errands for the High Lord's wife."

"His...  his wife?"  Tson said in obvious confusion.  He didn't know the local heirarchy well, and was suspicious of any interest the High Lord's household would have in the area.

"Yes, the lovely Catarina Llorença Raeganhere, may all the god's praise her beauty."

"Err, I'm a bit new in town.  I don't have the pleasure of knowing much about Catarina ... er, the High Lady."

_(At this point, I launched into an OOC aside on the nobility of the Cassant Kingdom, which I'll repeat here.  The leader of the nation itself is known as the High Lord Imperator, and he has supposedly ruled for hundreds of years, where he sits deathless in his throne.  However, most of the actual running of the kingdom is handled by the Council of High Lords.  Each of the significant regions of the kingdom has a High Lord; the High Lord of Razina is Heneric Raegenhere, who is often absent with court business in the capital.  Other High Lords manage specific functions of the government rather than regions; there is a High Lord who is the ultimate authority to which the Inquisition reports, for instance.

Catarina Llorença Raeganhere is a perfect example of the nepotism that is typical in such inbred societies; she is the daughter of a High Lord and lived her entire life until recently in Cassant itself, the capital.  She has only recently married our local High Lord and moved to Razina.  She is supposedly both very young and very beautiful... and very bored with life in provincial Razina with her busy, middle-aged husand of convenience and politics.)_

~●~​
_(This next little bit was actually glossed over in-game; this was a bit of dead time where the characters tried to fill time while Konrad healed.  So I made up some of the detail here after the fact...)_

Late during the night cycle, Konrad woke up to the distinctive feel of somebody choking the life out of him.  He tried to scream, but his voice was cut off.  Trashing wildly, he was able to throw his assailant off and give a hoarse shout.  His attacker came at him again, scratching him and pummelling him unmercifully.  Tson burst into the room with a lantern and wrestled the attacker to the ground.  Despite his prodigious strength, he seemed unable to hold the wily, snakelike figure, until finally he went limp.

Konrad shined the light on his face and was surprised to see Rosham.  His normally chalky gray skin was yellowish and sickly, and his red-rimmed eyes stared vacantly.  He felt clammy and cool to the touch, despite the sweat the covered his body.  He started shaking uncontrollably, and Tson tried to hold him down.  Then it stopped as suddenly as it started, and Rosam looked around, surprised to see them.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"You're in my room, you bloody fruitcake!" Konrad exploded.

"Oh," Rosham said vacantly, rising slowly to his feet and shuffling slowly back to his room.

Tson and Konrad looked at each other meaningfully.  "Better lock your door," the big man said finally.

~●~​
When they awoke late, Rosham was gone from his room again.  They found him finally, shoved tightly in a cupboard in the kitchen, naked and shivering, and apparently restlessly asleep.  "What the devil is wrong with you?" Konrad asked angrily when they managed to finally wake him and cover him with a wool blanket.

"I... "Rosham started, then bowed his head, covering his eyes and straining his face as if he were undergoing physical torture.  "I read the sorcerer's book that we found in th shack in the swamp; _The King in Yellow_," he said.  "It said...  it... NO!  Don't make me say what it said!  The thing is evil!  Blasphemous!  Obscene!  I... was not myself.  I felt ...constrained... by powers from beyond the thin, weak farce of a veil that we call reality."

He paused again, breathing heavily.  Tson and Konrad were dead silent.  

"There is a place... somewhere in the desert between here and Cassant.  The book gave clear indications of how to reach it.  A temple that survives from before the founding of Cassant; from before even the liberation of humanity from the slave-masters.  If it's really there at all..."

Tson was silent for a moment, then waved aside the comment.  "There's another place too, somewhere in the Wellhead Swamp, that is a higher priority as far as I'm concerned.  When will you be ready to investigate that lead?"

"I'm good any time," Konrad said.

Rosham sighed.  "Give me a day to rest; I'll be ready too."


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## ledded (Sep 23, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> <snip>When they awoke late, Rosham was gone from his room again. They found him finally, shoved tightly in a cupboard in the kitchen, naked and shivering, and apparently restlessly asleep. "What the devil is wrong with you?" Konrad asked angrily when they managed to finally wake him and cover him with a wool blanket.



Heh.  If you've never had your PC wake up or stagger along, naked, shivering and/or gibbering, you just don't have a classic RBDM with a good flair for the horrific. 

Good work so far JD, I like the way this story is shaping up.


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## Desdichado (Sep 23, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> Heh.  If you've never had your PC wake up or stagger along, naked, shivering and/or gibbering, you just don't have a classic RBDM with a good flair for the horrific.



Quite right!  Indeed, I'm really enjoying the whole "mix genre [x] with horror" theme in gaming lately.  I'm really looking forward to running my DarkMatter/Delta Green game at the Detroit gameday.  Now if only Quickbeam would run his Cthulhu game again...


			
				ledded said:
			
		

> Good work so far JD, I like the way this story is shaping up.



Thank you!  As you can see, I tried to make sure the PCs had plenty of potential avenues to continue doing things after this adventure came to a close, which will probably happen with one more update.


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## Quickbeam (Sep 23, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> Heh.  If you've never had your PC wake up or stagger along, naked, shivering and/or gibbering, you just don't have a classic RBDM with a good flair for the horrific.




Yeah, well, I could have done without the naked part, thanks!!  BTW, since Grays are a bred race, does Rosham have any sexual organs that clothing would conceal?  Or would his nakedness simply reveal more chalky gray skin with nothing special to take note of?  Just asking


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## Quickbeam (Sep 23, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Quite right!  Indeed, I'm really enjoying the whole "mix genre [x] with horror" theme in gaming lately.  I'm really looking forward to running my DarkMatter/Delta Green game at the Detroit gameday.  Now if only Quickbeam would run his Cthulhu game again...




Alright, alright!  I promise to track everyone down; log their schedules through November at least; and FORCE people to commit to a date for our next session.  It is woefully long overdue, and the game was just starting to get interesting.



			
				Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Thank you!  As you can see, I tried to make sure the PCs had plenty of potential avenues to continue doing things after this adventure came to a close, which will probably happen with one more update.




Gotta give you big props here, JD.  There are more loose threads in this game than you could find on a tailor's sewing table.

Also, I really liked this last update...even if your poetic license depicts my character as naked and frightened shell of his true self .


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## Desdichado (Sep 24, 2004)

Quickbeam said:
			
		

> Yeah, well, I could have done without the naked part, thanks!!  BTW, since Grays are a bred race, does Rosham have any sexual organs that clothing would conceal?  Or would his nakedness simply reveal more chalky gray skin with nothing special to take note of?  Just asking



No, he's fully human, just physically quite different.  Just like a chihuahua is fully dog, but very different from an Alaskan Malamute or an Irish Wolfhound.


			
				Quickbeam said:
			
		

> Also, I really liked this last update...even if your poetic license depicts my character as naked and frightened shell of his true self   .



I think some poetic license was needed there; in the actual game, it wasn't too much more than make a few Sanity checks -- oooh, lose a few points there, here's yer spell, let's move on.

For a Story Hour, that needed a bit more fleshing out!  For the game itself, I'm all about "let's get back to the action.  Or at least the roleplaying."


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## Quickbeam (Sep 30, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> No, he's fully human, just physically quite different.  Just like a chihuahua is fully dog, but very different from an Alaskan Malamute or an Irish Wolfhound.




Well that's good to know...I think.





			
				Joshus Dyal said:
			
		

> I think some poetic license was needed there; in the actual game, it wasn't too much more than make a few Sanity checks -- oooh, lose a few points there, here's yer spell, let's move on.
> 
> For a Story Hour, that needed a bit more fleshing out!  For the game itself, I'm all about "let's get back to the action.  Or at least the roleplaying."




No argument here.  I was just poking fun at the story version as compared to the in game version of events.

BTW, we play again tonight and Boh is ready to put the hurt of someone or something!!


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## Black Bard (Oct 5, 2004)

Great, great story, JD!!!
I must say I was about to start an Eberron Campaign when I found your SH...  Yours and Barssom`s have just the "tone" I had in mind!!!
Can`t wait for the next installment...


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## Desdichado (Oct 7, 2004)

Cool, thanks!  Good luck with that Eberron campaign; it's a setting that greatly intrigues me in many ways.


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## ledded (Oct 7, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Quite right! Indeed, I'm really enjoying the whole "mix genre [x] with horror" theme in gaming lately. I'm really looking forward to running my DarkMatter/Delta Green game at the Detroit gameday. Now if only Quickbeam would run his Cthulhu game again...



Our group is really enjoying that also.  While OldDrewId doesnt actually use sanity checks (at least, he reply to that is "I dont use them... as far as *you* know... aheheh") we roleplay them because of some of the absolutely horrifying things he comes up with.  And we love it; not just the crazy things we run across but your own magic can put you over the edge (you just gotta love wisdom damage).  

I've tried to mix a few of those elements into our WW2 supers game, but it just doesnt jive because, well, those guys just aren't scared of anything till it blows off a limb or two.  And then they mostly just get angry.  Something about being super, I dunno... .

Most of our recent one-off's have featured horror as a major theme or element, and our next major campaign will have that as a facet as well.



> Thank you! As you can see, I tried to make sure the PCs had plenty of potential avenues to continue doing things after this adventure came to a close, which will probably happen with one more update.



Well good job with it, my man.


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## Desdichado (Oct 8, 2004)

Thanks again.  Although, despite all the hooks to follow, we had a session or two where we kinda floundered directionless before I got some real firm direction from the players on what and where they wanted to head.  Our session last week was particularly mediocre, I thought.  It had some good moments, but then it bogged a bit.

I'm looking forward to continuing next time with some real firm direction that I can plan ahead for and come up with something a little better than; "uh, here's another ambush..."


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## Quickbeam (Oct 15, 2004)

BUMP

The middle of page 3 simply won't do .


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## Desdichado (Oct 17, 2004)

Yeah, it's the update that I'm way behind on putting out that does it; if only I'd add it, the page would stay up front a bit longer...


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## Desdichado (Oct 22, 2004)

*Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part XI (conclusion)*

The next day they found themselves poking around through the dim, cloyingly chill mists of the swamp again.  The directions they had received were only so much help; the swampie village tended to migrate slightly from time to time.  After a few hours of searching, Konrad was able to find a trail, and shortly thereafter the sounds of habitation came drifting softly through the muffling blanket of the mist.

Ahead of them was the swampie village, a ramshackle collection of old, warped and silvered wood buildings built on rafts made of pylons.  The rafts also featured thick wooden wheels, allowing them to move through either watery or the semi-solid land of the swamp as the villagers wandered in search of better grounds to practice their trades.  They approached the half-dozen or so buildings quietly.  Dirty women, old men, and thin children stared sullenly at them from their tasks; scraping the skins of dog-sized swamp rats, snakes, or worse creatures, boiling the poison out of various swamp plants in huge iron cauldrons so they could be eaten, patching faded, worn and torn woolen or leather clothes.  Rosham nodded and smiled as he walked directly up to a sleepy looking middle-aged man with only a few yellow teeth, and a grizzled beard stained by reddish brown roots that the habitually smoked wrapped in brown paper.  One such home-made cigar dangled limply in his left hand as he dozed, now stone cold and ashy.

"Good day, sir!" he said cheerily.  "My companions and I have been directed to your charming and picturesque corner of the world to enlist your aide in finding a location deep in the swamp.  Might you know of an individual who could accomodate us?"

The main opened one eye and looked at him quizzically.  "What you say, man?"

Tson shoved Rosham gently aside and stood right in front of the man.  "We need a guide in the swamp, and we've got gold.  Can you help us?"  With that, he pulled a few coins from his belt pouch and tossed them lightly in the air, catching them again with a satisfying jingly sound.  The old man sat bolt upright.

"Yessiree, why don't you say so de first time, eh?"  he said.  "I can help you, yesseree.  I have a nice boat, I take you anywhere in the swamp you wants to go."

Rosham looked at the man distastefully, evidently put out that his diplomatic entrance had gone over the old man's head.  "We need to go to the Wellhead, and we need to go now," he said.

The old man whistled softly.  "De Well 'ead, eh?  You's is all crazy, den.  Dat cost you more."

"Ten gold now, and ten when we get back," Konrad said.  

The old man's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at such an astronomical (to him) amount of money, and he eyed the group appraisingly for a minute.  He noted in particular their tall, muscular bodies, their bright steel and the hard looks on thier scarred faces -- and decided that it wasn't worth attempting any funny business with this crowd.  "OK, den, I's your man.  Come dis way, I've a good boat, she take you safe and lickity split."

'Good boat' was definately a value judgement that the three Inquisition agents did not share when they saw the old man's boat; it was an ancient tub, a steel steamer covered in green algae and rust, and the residue of years and years of wood-smoke soot.  The boat smelled foully and lurched uncomfortably as they walked out on its deck.  But it didn't sink immediately as the old man dumped a smelly burlap bag full of mossy and soggy wood, with the occasional lump of coal, into the boat's boiler, fired it up, and  slowly put the boat out to water, leaving the taciturn village to disappear behind them in the mist.  The swamp was relatively open here; almost a broad lake, with the skeletons of occasional soaked trees poking their black branches up through the water like claws.  They heard burbling sounds in the water from time to time; whether it was just fish poking up to see what caused the ripples in their lake, or something darker and more noisome they didn't ask, but their imaginations made up the difference.  They traveled in silence mostly.  The old man had tried to make conversation for a while, but Rosham, Tson and Konrad were too focused on what was waiting for them in the center of the swamp to desire it.  He quickly dropped the effort and fell as silent as they did.  Their own silence made the various noises of the swamp stand out all the more, as they listened to insects, frogs, fish, and something that they never saw, but heard often from just beyond sight that rustled in the vegetation and howled, and made disturbing gurgling and chittering sounds.  The terrain closed in around them, as the open water turned into narrow and choked passages that meandered past black, rotted trees.  

Konrad spotted something out of the corner of his eye then; hanging vines that seemed to be moving just a bit unnaturally.  He brushed them aside with his mace, but it suddenly lunged forward to wrap around his arm as he did.  He shouted, and Tson and Rosham, taut as harpstrings, had their weapons out, slashing at the vines.  They noticed a vast network of the hanging vines, now weaving sinously like snakes and groping for them.  Rosham dived to the floor, out of reach, and slashed upward with his rapier.  Tson threshed his spiked and bladed chain like some kind of twisted harvester.  The vines retreated.  The old man was shaking and muttering to himself that he was glad he had left these folk alone.

They remained crouched and watchful, their weapons ready, until several hours later the water opened up again onto a broad, shallow black lake.  The mist was thicker here than anywhere they had yet been, cutting their visibility to just a few yards.  Suddenly a large dark shape lurched out of the mist, but as it resolved itself, they all let out sighs of relief.  A thick metal pipe stood straight up out of the water, nearly ten feet in diameter, and covered in greenish slime and rust.  Huge rivets thicker than Tson's thumbs ringed the various plates that made up the pipe, and corroded and weak-looking rails provided a way to climb to the top.  "'ere we are, yessiree," the old man said.  "The Well 'ead itself."

"Wait for us," Konrad said grimly.  "And there'll be another ten gold in it for you."  With that, they hoisted a rope and climbed up shakily to the lip of the pipe, flaking off rust and slime as they did.  Inside it was dark, and they heard a steady plopping sound of dripping water echoing through the tube below, but they could just see a damp floor below as the pipe levelled off.  They lowered themselves one at a time into the dark.

Inside the smell was thick with rotting vegetation and the kind of fungus that thrives on moisture and death.  Ahead of them, the tunnel opened up, and they could step outside of the pipe and walk along a hard tunnel that went through the solid bedrock.  Konrad lit a torch; the other two didn't need one.  The tunnel was only a few feet larger in diameter than the cold, sweating metal of the pipe that ran through it's middle, so they brushed both it and the rock sides as they descended at a fairly sharp angle into the darkness under the earth.  From time to time they passed level landings of rock that looked like they had been used as storerooms.  Ancient barrels and crates dotted with black rot still stood in the corners, though they disintegrated when touched.  Occasionally, they even passed smaller tunnels moving off to the right side, although they ignored them.  Presumably there were other passages on the other side of the pipe, and although occasionally Konrad would climb up on the pipe to see what was there; it was always empty.

After nearly half an hour, they were deep within the tunnel.  Although the pipe itself was still wet with condensation, the rock and the air around them had turned noticably drier as they progressed.  Konrad pricked up his ears and stopped the march of the others.  "I think I heard something behind us," he said.  They all drew their weapons.  And then they all heard it; a coughing growl, and the scrabbling of claws on the rock and metal behind them.  Glowing yellow sets of eyes appeared both behind them and above them; apparently some of the creatures could climb sufficiently well to get on top of the pipe.  Then the bodies of the creatures came into view.

There were at least three of them they could see immediately, although it sounded like there were more further up the tunnel, and maybe even some on the other side of the pipe.  They were covered in a brownish gray fur, with a stiff mane that ran up their sharply inclined necks. _(Imagine something that looks vaguely like a hyena, but almost the size of a black bear.  I used slightly toned down dire badgers for the stats, and a Sam Wood picture from _The Legacy of Dragons_ to show the players.  I'll see if I can cut that image again and post it as an illustration for the storyhour later.)_   The first of the creatures pounced on Tson, savaging him through his leather armor.  Konrad and Rosham couldn't reach past Tson to attack it, but the creatures were also similarly prevented from attacking more than one at a time.

Rosham cast his eyes around wildly, looking for an avenue to attack.  He climbed up on top of the pipe, although the ceiling was low enough that he had to duck to avoid scraping his head on the rock above him.  On the floor of the tunnel on the other side of the pipe, he saw several more sets of stiffly furred bodies and glowing eyes.  With a snarl, one of the creatures leapt full on to the pipe, scrabbling with its claws as it snapped at Rosham.  The gray put his hand down for a moment to keep his balance on the slippery rounded footing of the pipe as he lunged forward, driving the point of the rapier deep into the creatures shoulder.  It yelped and growled deep in its throat like rumbling thunder, but it lost its balance and fell behind Tson.  Konrad eagerly rushed it, bashing in its skull with his mace.  "Thanks!" he called up.  And then, "back here!  There's a landing; we can spread out."

"So can they," shouted Tson through gritted teeth.  He had finally killed one of the beastly creatures, but another had stepped up to take its place, and the hulk was dripping blood and animal saliva from a number of heavy bites.  But he was slowly backing up under the continuous applied pressure of the creatures' attacks.  

Rosham hopped down to inspect the landing, but as he did, two more of the creatures jumped up on top of the pipe, and then pounced down behind Tson near the landing.  One of them attacked the hulk in the back, savaging him more fully, while Rosham and Konrad quickly waded into melee with the things, dispatching one of them handily between them, and then attacking the second one in the back as it was concentrating on Tson.  Konrad dealt it a heavy blow to the withers that caused its rear legs to cave in, and then Rosham leaned forward to stab his rapier through its torso.  It turned on them savagely, limping on its hind legs, blood streaming from its sides, and Rosham and Konrad finished it quickly.  Tson had backed up by this point, and the two remaining creatures spread out on the landing.  The three of them fought better when they could maneuver, however, so they killed the savage creatures quickly once the combat had opened up.

They stopped for a moment to catch their breath; Tson ripping cloth from his cloak to bind his many bleeding wounds.  Konrad had lit several scraps of wood on the landing that had probably once been a crate, and he threw them down the sloping tunnel ahead of them.  A hundred yards or so later, the lit brands skidded out on to a level floor.  "Almost all the way down," he said with a wry smile.  "Let's see what this place is all about."

"You first," Tson said.  "You're the one best suited to scouting our way ahead, right?"  Konrad shrugged and set off lightly down the slope, followed by the big man and the slight gray.

At the bottom of the tunnel was a wide, though not tall room, with square edges; obviously carved by intelligent hands.  There were a few lit torches in sconces at the far side, and a small natural-looking tunnel that continued laterally.  All of them had a strange feeling; a smothering oppressiveness, and the conviction that they were not alone.  They did not speak.  Konrad motioned that he was going to go ahead into the natural tunnel, from which a flickering orange light could be seen.  He walked in as silently as he could, crouching low.  Soon he could hear voices ahead of him, although he wasn't close enough to make out the words.  One of the voices was a strong female voice; clear and musical, while the other was a cold rasping whispery voice that seemed to echo dully, as from a tomb.  He crept closer to hear them.

"Very well," the female voice was saying, "I will return when the next dark cycle hits the city, and seek it out.  Should we concern ourselves with these reported meddlers that are poking around Bricktown?"

"No," said the whispering voice.  "Leave now, and I will concern myself with the meddlers.  Unless I am very much mistaken, they have found their way here, and are now crouched just outside this room in the corridor."

Konrad swore softly to himself, then stood up with a yell to attract his comrades.  And he nearly dropped his mace from what he saw.  The female voice must have belonged to the shapely, armored woman, with soot-dusky skin and a shiny bald head.  Her face was turned towards him curiously, although not particularly alarmed.  She had thick _hakama_ pants on over her reptile-skin-like body armor, and two large, curved swords hung from a sword belt at her hips.  But the whisperer blighted his eyes with its blasphemous appearance; it was a large construct of iron and brass, sturdily built like the industrial steamjacks used in Razina.  But in place of the head of one of those semi-sentient constructs was a yellowed skull, with parchment like skin pulled tight over it, cracked and mummified.  Lank, rotting hair still hung from its dusty scalp, and a cold, feral light glowed obscenely in the eye-sockets.  It raised it's metallic fists, pistons and greased metal joints humming slightly.  A crackle of eldritch energy arced like lightning from its fists.

Tson and Rosham came running into the room behind Konrad, but stopped as if poleaxed at the sight of the strange undead being.  "Take the book and return to your safehouse," the cold voice said.  "I will deal with these interlopers."

With that, the dark woman seemed to disappear into a shadow, to reappear instantly at the far side of the room, where they could just spot a small wooden door in the gloom.  She quickly passed through it and then closed it behind her.  They could see another small alcove back near the door, and there was something in it... but they couldn't quite make out what.

"I think maybe we should run back up the tunnel..." Tson started saying, just as Konrad and Rosham were tightening their grips on their weapons and advancing.  "Oh, what the hell..."

The hulk rushed forward with a shout, swinging his spiked chain in a wicked, gleaming arc.  It wrapped around the ...undead thing, and scraped with a metallic screech over its body, leaving shiny scratches.  It didn't seem to notice the attack, although it did turn towards Tson and backhand him almost casually.  The hulk flew through the air, arcing blood, to smash heavily against the stone wall.  Rosham ran with a cry towards the hulk, convinced that maybe running was the right idea after all.  Konrad, on the other hand, sprinted to get past the Undead and to the alcove.  As he approached it, he could see that it contained a huge, black sword laid out on an obsidian altar.  The sword was longer than he was tall.

As he dashed past it, the undead monstrosity suddenly dashed forward with alarming speed, striking Konrad hard and sending him spinning through the air to clatter heavily near the altar.  Then it came rushing forwards towards him again, as if anxious to stop him.  Konrad was convinced that it didn't want him to get anywhere near the sword.  He could see that it was a very baroque weapon, with leering, daemonic faces carved into the blade.  He reached out and put his hand on the two foot-long hilt...

...as he did, he seemed momentarily to black out.  He could hear voices screaming, whispering, groping over his mind, filling it with blasphemies, heresies and worse.  He turned pale and broke out in a cold sweat.

Rosham suddenly began chanting in a loud voice.  The Undead turned to look at him, perhaps disturbed by the inhuman words and tenor that suddenly came over the gray.  Then a strange presence seemed to fill the room; a dark, unnatural presence, and the Undead was thrown backwards to crash into the wall, it's iron plates dented and clattering loose.  Rosham shrieked and collapsed to a fetal position on the floor, muttering and shaking like a leaf.  Then Konrad struck it with the sword.  The weapon keened through its metallic body with a shower of sparks and a screech; the voices in Konrad's head seemed to rise to a feverish pitch with their blasphemous, mindless bloodlust.  He felt a piercing pain in his hand, and his grip on the hilt of the sword was suddenly slick with his own blood.  He looked at the sword, and the leering faces were dancing and mouthing obscenities at him, moving along the blade like rats.  He had the distinct impression that one of the faces had bitten him when he attacked with the sword.

The Undead bellowed in alarm and flailed wildly at him.  Konrad was able to avoid its blows and attack it again, and the mind-blasting daemonic influence, and the painful _bite_ on his hand struck again as he did so.  Then the obscene creature hit him, sending him sprawling to the floor, not getting up.  Tson had crawled to his feet, though, and rushed forward to pick up the sword before it could reach it.  He swung the massive blade forward, cleanly severing its mummified head from its metallic body.  He too felt the unholy whispers, the arcane attack that withered his hand, and he hastily dropped the sword with a clatter.

The mummified head started rolling away, rattling like a bag of sticks, but Tson ran forward to grab it and stuffed it in a sack, where it continued to wiggle and squirm.  Konrad lay on the floor bleeding his life away, Rosham was still curled in a fetal position, and Tson dropped to his knees from the combined effects of mental fatigue and loss of blood.  Then he did what he could to clean up his companions.

_(GM's notes:  Wow, what a climactic combat!  At the end of it, Konrad was in negative hit points and had lost enough Sanity to be in "Sanity Crisis mode"; he would have, if he was still conscious, gone temporarily insane.  Tson was in single digit hit points, and Rosham -- dude, that character's got a pair made of iron.  With an extremely low starting Sanity right off the bat, he went ahead and learned and cast that spell (Fist of Yog-Sothoth for the curious) anyway, knowing that even a single use of it was a big risk for going temporarily insane (which is exactly what happened.)  If Konrad had waited even one more round to go for that sword, this encounter would likely have been a TPK.  And I had toned this villain down and ignored some of his abilities in combat as it was!  And I loved their reaction to the sword; every attack you made with it did 1d6 damage to *you* not to mention 1d6 Sanity damage.  I think they were grateful it was there, but they have no intention of ever touching it again...)  As the end of the first "module", the culmination of several sessions and nearly six months of playing (we only play once a month or so, though) everyone levelled up following this session as well._


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## Quickbeam (Oct 25, 2004)

Love it, man.  I just simply love reading the DM's version of our game session events told from his POV after the fact.  This particular night was probably the best session in the campaign to date (with perhaps one or two others competing for that honor), and the results were rather harrowing .  For the first time Tson took not one, but two beatings; Boh's Sanity was further compromised, but we learned he has the moxie (and wherewithall) to cast spells; and Konrad just keeps tempting the reaper.

The undead construct monster was freaking brilliant IMHO, and the dark sword was equally cool.  I believe that Rosham also wielded it for one blow during the fray after Konrad was knocked unconscious.  He then slid it along the ground to Tson and began casting that fateful spell...which scrambled his brain while saving our hides!!  Also, it was a great plot device having us unwittingly stumble onto the dark lady we've heard so much about, only to have her quickly flee the scene without so much as a backward glance. 

For those interested, I thought it would be neat (interesting?) to create a savvy, nimble character who was high on intellect and knowledge, but equally low on common sense and impulse control.  I realize that building PC's with low Wisdom scores isn't too bright for games which involve Sanity (given that your starting Sanity score is 5x WIS), but it just felt right for this character...and seemed like a *LOT* of fun to roleplay.  What's made it even better, is that Rosham sees the arcane/occult tomes and relics we've stumbled across as interconnected to his search for knowledge about the great sundering...and thereby the origin of the Gray race.  Thus, he can't help reading these accursed texts and further jeopardizing his already fragile psyche.  I must say that Rosham Boh is one of my favorite PC's in over 20 years of gaming, and I owe a lot of that to Josh and my game companions Stockdale and shadowlight.


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## ledded (Oct 25, 2004)

GREAT update man.  I love what you did with it.

The undead-construct combo is something I especially liked;  we're doing a similar type game we've been planning for a while and will feature some creatures like that.  It was nice to see one described so well.

As far as the old guy and his boat, all I could think when I read that was this quote:

"We're gonna need a bigger boat..."

Excellent stuff JD.


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## Desdichado (Oct 25, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> The undead-construct combo is something I especially liked;  we're doing a similar type game we've been planning for a while and will feature some creatures like that.  It was nice to see one described so well.



Thanks!  Are you thinking of using miniatures on that game?  I know your group is somewhat famous for elaborate miniatures usage.

I had thought of picking up a Warmaching steamjack, snipping and filing off the head, and putting a plastic head from the Warhammer zombie regiment in its place.

However, I think I'd actually be better off making the creature just a little more svelt after all, and using a Warmaching Bane thrall to represent it.  Then the only converting I'd have to do is remove the big ole axe.


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## ledded (Oct 25, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Thanks! Are you thinking of using miniatures on that game? I know your group is somewhat famous for elaborate miniatures usage.
> 
> I had thought of picking up a Warmaching steamjack, snipping and filing off the head, and putting a plastic head from the Warhammer zombie regiment in its place.
> 
> However, I think I'd actually be better off making the creature just a little more svelt after all, and using a Warmaching Bane thrall to represent it. Then the only converting I'd have to do is remove the big ole axe.



Oh yes.  I already have a small stable of Warmachine stuff along with a few other manufacturers for the 'Necrotechnikas' (tm  ) as I like to call 'em.  Started assembly and spraying a while back, but havent gotten around to getting any paint on them yet.  I've also picked  up a few lots of Foundry and other Victorian minis and painted a couple so far.  The Steve Jackson Steampunk set is very, very cool if you can find it.  I also have a small bits box full of pieces and ideas for sawing up things and whatnot; between some GW bits and some old minis I have a few frightening things in the pipe for the future.  I've gotten quite froggy with a saw and putty lately.  I just *love* the minis in that IK Warmachine line, especially the new 'heroic' minis meant for the adventurer types.  Fludogg (Joe Empire/Hank's player from our Story Hours) and I have been putting together ideas for building airships, and Fludogg has a base for one almost put together now.  We have a system worked out so that we can have them 'flying' without using table bases that can easily get knocked over, and we've got a nice collection of sailing ships already.  

Dark Age makes some very nice undead/techie looking things that I've picked up a couple of also, there is a tortured-looking construct/man ensemble that I'd like to get.


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## Desdichado (Oct 29, 2004)

Well, I've only recently started using relatively fancy minis to represent in the game, and what I've found is that by doing so, I'm more likely to find some monster stats that can represent the mini, rather than the other way around.  Just recently, I tossed my converted rat ogre at the PCs in, what I think turned out as a pretty decent fight, but I would never have even thought of it if I didn't have a rat ogre mini that I quite liked the conversion and paint job I had done.

Not that I'm really all that good at either, but y'know.  I'll try to get a decent picture of that and post it here as we get closer to that session.


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## Quickbeam (Nov 5, 2004)

Since the campaign itself is on hiatus until after the Detroit Gameday in early December, I will *BUMP* this thread back to the top of the Story Hour page in the hopes we can get a few more sessions worth of action posted...


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## Desdichado (Nov 5, 2004)

That's my hope; get all the way up to date on the Story Hour before we actually have our next session again sometime in December.  I can probably do it in two or three more updates.


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## GPEKO (Nov 9, 2004)

I'm gonna give this SH another bump in hope that we get to see these guys loose more sanity  .


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## Desdichado (Nov 9, 2004)

Actually, the PCs haven't made a Sanity check in the last two sessions or so.  After the strong horror vibe of the first "module" I decided to tone it down temporarily and play up the swashbuckling nature of the setting more.

Luckily, they've decided on a course of action where I can give them both moving forward...


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## Quickbeam (Nov 11, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Actually, the PCs haven't made a Sanity check in the last two sessions or so.  After the strong horror vibe of the first "module" I decided to tone it down temporarily and play up the swashbuckling nature of the setting more.
> 
> Luckily, they've decided on a course of action where I can give them both moving forward...




Are you threatening me?


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## Stockdale (Nov 11, 2004)

I think he was! I think I heard him dare your character to cast another spell.


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## Desdichado (Nov 12, 2004)

Well, yeah.  You'll have that shiny new list of spells to choose from; how can Rosham possibly resist?


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## Quickbeam (Nov 12, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Well, yeah.  You'll have that shiny new list of spells to choose from; how can Rosham possibly resist?




Nope, not a chance.  Nonetheless he shall prevail by thwarting your plans to leave him lying shivering and naked...oh wait, that's already happened.  Well in any event he will *NOT* perish.


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## Desdichado (Nov 13, 2004)

I've actually realized that it is very difficult to actually kill any of you without going to extreme measures to do so.  Because of the damage conversion rule from _Unearthed Arcana_, even if I have a TPK, you'd all stumble back up after a few hours of being left for dead.  To actually kill you, you'd need to stumble on some creature that ate you immediately, or someone smart enough to slit your throats to make sure you were dead, or have you fall into the void between the floating islands or something like that.

So yeah, you probably don't need _too_ worry quite as much about dying.  The sanity, on the other hand, well, that's a different story...


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## ledded (Nov 18, 2004)

...because there _are_ things much worse than death, especially with JD at the helm 


Reminds me of our GM's statement once when we complained after being nearly stripped of gear, badly wounded, left naked near-dead and shivering and lost in the woods after an encounter...

"Hey, guys, sometimes survival is it's own reward... aheheh..."


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## Desdichado (Nov 18, 2004)

*Interlude, Part I*

Some time later, the three of them dragged themselves back up the shaft to where their boat was waiting for them still.  The big sword was hidden under a cloak, but their bedraggled and bloody appearance was enough to give the old swampy quite a turn already.  While helping them aboard, the cloak slipped momentarily from the sword.  One of the daemonic faces on it leered noticably and hissed.  The swampie jumped back as if stung.

"What is that?" he said quavering.  

"Don't ask," Rosham's face and voice were hard and grim.  "Get us back, and we'll leave your village and not trouble you again."

The swampie was nervous, but he piled coal and wood in the boiler as fast as he could, and they made relatively good time back to the city.

The guards at the gate didn't much like the rough look of the group, but after a gold piece or two, they were able to slip into the city and limp their way back to their safehouse.  Stalwart Elroy opened the door and helped them in.  He already had his first aid equipment ready before they had even approached the house.  "Nice," observed Tson sarcastically.

"The mark of a good butler is anticipating his employer's needs," Elroy said bitingly (although rigidly politely) in return.  "By the by, when you've got a moment," he continued in an unflappable voice, "a message arrived for you today while you were out."

About half an hour later, with brandy in their hands and liberally swathed in bandages, and smelling of healing poultices, the three of them crowded around the sitting room table with finely wrought parchment.  The edges were gilt and an unmarked wax seal kept it closed.  Rosham slid the wax off, unrolled the parchment and read out loud.


> My dear sirs,
> 
> I have had the pleasure of observing your coming and goings in Razina these last few weeks.  Clearly we have similar interests and goals.  I would very much like to meet with you.  Please accept my invitation to dine and converse at _The Overlook_ in two days time at eight o'clock.  I look forward to speaking with each of you.
> 
> ~A.​



"Who is A.?" Konrad asked.  "Does it look like a woman's writing?"

"It does," Rosham scratched his chin thoughtfully.  "Perhaps Alainna?  Our patron's sister?"

Tson shook his head.  "Why would she want to meet us?  She already knows us?"

"Why else does a woman want to meet secretly with a man?" Konrad said skeptically.  "Or maybe she's got some agenda of her own that she doesn't want Gauvain knowing about.  I don't trust these Inquisitor types."

"_We're_ Inquisitor types," Tson retorted.  "Sort of, anyway."  

"No matter," continued Rosham with a smile.  "I'm going whether or not you wish to.  _The Overlook_ is a very swanky restaurant on the terraces.  I'm more than happy to have this A. pay for my meal there."

That certainly decided it for Tson, and Konrad decided not to let himself be left out.

~•~​
In two days, at about 7:15 they walked together into the lobby of _The Overlook_, dressed nicely and walking stiffly.  They had not had the best reception, two Bred, and the only Unbred among them clearly a foreigner and a hairy savage, but nobody had overtly accosted them.  The _maître d'_ looked at them askance when they first walked in, but as they discreetly flashed both their gold and their Inquisitor badges, and asked where the private room where they were supposed to meet was, so they could wait for their host, he changed his tune.

"This way, if you please," he said formally, walking smartly into the restaurant, past diners at tables and in private rooms and booths, all the way to the rear of the restaurant.  There, near the kitchen and hanging out over the cliffed terrace, was their room.  The door was open, and the _maître d'_ bowed to signal them to pass inside.  They could see a dark wood table and dark wood paneling on the walls, but a fire burned in the hearth, and many candles were lit.  There was a draft of air from a vent in the roof which allowed the air to clear of smoke, and patrons to catch a view of the sky, which was dark.

They walked in.  At the far end of the table sat a woman in tight black leather with dark, soot-colored skin and a smooth, bald, head.  On the table in front of her were two sheathed and wickedly curved swords.

Konrad swore and reached for his pistol, while Tson and Rosham fumbled for their weapons belts as well.  Then, with a clanking and hissing of escaping steam, a hulking construct that had been standing like a statue in a dim corner of the room rushed up to stand in front of them.  A massive sword; both long and as thick as a plank was in his hand  _(At this point I gave them a little GM hint… the steamjack was about CR 10 or 11; the characters were level 4.)_

The woman laughed, and her voice was silky and light; like the giggling of a teenage girl.  "Please," she said, tilting her head to the side and shaking her finger at them as if she'd just caught them with their hands in the candy jar.  "That's hardly appropriate behavior for guests at _The Overlook_.  But your rather rough manners are part of your charm, I suppose."  She laughed again.

The three of them slowly moved their hands away from their weapons and sat down at the near end of the table.  "What is it you want with us, then?" Rosham asked, slipping into his role as spokesman for the group.

The woman smiled, and put her fingers together in a tent-like formation in front of her face.  "As I said, to talk with you.  We clearly have some very similar interests.  My name, by the way, is Aberraine.  And I want your help."

Tson, Rosham and Konrad all looked at each other with open astonishment on their faces.  "Help?  With what, pray tell?"

"Aberraine smiled ruefully.  "With escaping from a situation that I unfortunately find myself in.  I am bound in service to a cruel and wicked master, and forced to be his thief and spy.  I do not know him, as he is very discreet and secretive, but he holds a claim on my life that I cannot escape alone.  He has set upon himself the goal of collecting all the books of heresy, arcane lore and sorcery that he can find.  The Gods only know the details of his plan, but I know he hopes to overthrow the King in Cassant and take his place.  I think we both are interested in seeing that he is not successful in that particular venture.  The book you seek is crucial to his plan, and I'd much rather you find it than him.

"Also," she continued, "I summoned you here to give you a warning.  The Inquisition for whom you work is an organization riddled with plots, secrets and corruption.  I know that there are Inquisitors who work for my master as well.  Be cautious if you intend to continue in their employ."

The three of them were stunned into silence.  Finally Rosham spoke again, "Give us a token, then, of your intentions.  Bring us one of these books that we can hold it."

Aberraine thought for a second, then nodded.  "Very well."  She checked a large, wooden grandfather clock.  "Already I'm risking too much by remaining here with you.  I will take my leave.  Feel free to order anything you like; I have an arrangement with the management of _The Overlook_."

"When and where will we meet again to discuss our next steps then?" Rosham asked.

Aberraine again thought for just a second.  "There is a place in Bricktown known as _The Steams_; a bathhouse renowned for its discretion and secretiveness.  Have you heard of it?"

Rosham indicated that they had, desperately hoping that neither Konrad nor Tson gave away any hint that they were already on friendly terms with the owner, Eiji Kisaragi.

"Wonderful," Aberraine replied.  "Then we'll meet there tomorrow at 2 o'clock?"

~•~​
After a delightful meal at _The Overlook_ the three of them came home quite late.  Elroy was not up, but someone else was waiting for them in their sitting room, helping herself generously to their brandy.  It was Alainna FitzGilbert d'Aubigne.

"Ah, I'm glad you are home," she said as they walked in.  "I have a small request to make of you."  She smiled at them with false innocence.


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## GPEKO (Nov 19, 2004)

Is it just me or is this campaign really filled with dangerous woman?


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## Desdichado (Nov 19, 2004)

In my experience, every good campaign is.


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## Stockdale (Nov 19, 2004)

You said "the only Unbred among them clearly a foreigner and a hairy savage"  as though that was some sort of bad thing.


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## Desdichado (Nov 22, 2004)

Indeed.  Every group needs a hairy savage, right?  In our Eberron game, it's me; in this game it's you.


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## LostSoul (Nov 23, 2004)

Very cool story.  I love Bricktown!


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## Desdichado (Nov 23, 2004)

Thank you!  I'm quite fond of Bricktown myself; it seems an unusual element in a fantasy campaign.

Oddly enough (or maybe not so) it was largely inspired by downtown Detroit.  There is a neighborhood of Detroit that is called Bricktown that's a bit on the older side; it has, as can be imagined, many older buildings that are made of brick.

There is another area, part of the Greektown neighborhood, actually and right across the street from the Greektown casino, a city block that has been roofed over, yet restored to be a somewhat scenic representation of what the street might have looked like.  If you're ever in Detroit, say for the auto show or something, and you eat at Fishbone's Cajun Bar and Grill downtown, you'll likely see it; it's right outside the restaurant.

Naturally, my Bricktown isn't so much scenic as it is grim, gritty, dark and choked with soot and smoke.  But that was the inspiration for the neighborhood anyway.


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## LostSoul (Nov 24, 2004)

For some reason, it reminds me of the season of Lexx they spent on Fire.

I love the gritty feel of it; it seems like you could easily get lost down there, no place to run, enemies lurking in every shadow...


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## Dakkareth (Nov 27, 2004)

I just read your SH and I have to say, it's damn cool. CoC meets Eberron  Count me among your readers from now on ...


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## Desdichado (Nov 29, 2004)

Right, on, Hastur.  Eberron does tend to coincide with a lot of my tastes in gaming, in a lot of ways.  Our other game with this same group is Eberron; we're running through the modules arc.


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## Campbell (Dec 7, 2004)

I've just resumed my reading of your story hour, given the slight  similarities between our games. I should have a few questions for you  in a few days once I've caught up.


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## broghammerj (Dec 7, 2004)

Interesting read Josh.  You've piqued my interest.  I'll be awaiting more updates.


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## Desdichado (Dec 7, 2004)

I typed up about half of another update during lunch today; I'll try to finish tomorrow and get another official post up.

Cambpell, I do still want to "talk shop" about DMing a game of this nature as well.  I'll fire you off an email tomorrow.


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## Quickbeam (Dec 7, 2004)

Stockdale said:
			
		

> You said "the only Unbred among them clearly a foreigner and a hairy savage"  as though that was some sort of bad thing.




That is perhaps the funniest thing I have ever heard you say .

And, Josh, thanks for the update.  We are starting to catch up a bit, aren't we?  It's a good thing the game will resume soon!!


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## Desdichado (Dec 7, 2004)

Yes, we are catching up.  This next update should have the fight in the Steams with the "ninja-pirates" (not an actual in-game term, but that's what my notes call them), and then one more session to do the rats and the aftermath of that.

And after that, we better play again or I won't have anything to write!


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## Album Cover X (Dec 7, 2004)

I've been trying to read more Story Hours as of late... This one is very solid... Bravo Josh... I'll be here to read future updates... And maybe someday I'll have the time/courage to post my own...


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## Desdichado (Dec 7, 2004)

Cool, thanks!  You should post your own!  It's fun, albeit sometimes a lot of work.


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## Campbell (Dec 9, 2004)

JDyal: I'll be sending an email your way tommorow.

 Quickbeam and Shadowlight: I'm really digging how well your characters play off of one another.

 When I have more time I hope to have a few questions about the game.


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## Desdichado (Dec 10, 2004)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> I typed up about half of another update during lunch today; I'll try to finish tomorrow and get another official post up.



Well, that half update is sitting on my computer at work, and i'm stuck at home with sick kids.  It'll have to be next week, I guess.


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## Quickbeam (Dec 13, 2004)

Campbell said:
			
		

> Quickbeam and Shadowlight: I'm really digging how well your characters play off of one another.




Thanks Campbell.  I think we all do a pretty good job in this regard, which is critically important in a three person party!!  The funny thing is, Stockdale's character and mine trade several barbs each session but because they tend to occur away from the action which makes reading SH posts so enjoyable, you don't get that sense.  FWIW, here's my take on the character relationships:

Tson & Rosham: Tson respects Boh's willingness to explore the unknown and occult, and his ability to talk his way into and out of most situations.  Rosham admires the hulk's brute strength, loyal nature and knack for earning people's trust despite his rough appearance.

Konrad & Tson: Both are capable combatants and acknowledge the other's battle prowess.  They also seem not to mind the other person's quirks or shortcomings and probably work together better than either does with Boh.

Rosham & Konrad: Each grudgingly respects the other's contribution to the group and its missions...most of the time.  At the end of the day Konrad wishes the gray would shut up occasionally while Rosham prays the Wildlander might bathe and learn to interrogate people before killing them.

That's my take on group dynamics, Stockdale and shadowlight may see things differently.


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## Desdichado (Dec 13, 2004)

Speaking of party dynamics, there's the possibility of another character (or even two) joining up, but unfortunately no possibility of another session until January sometime.


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## Campbell (Dec 14, 2004)

I hate to clog up the boards, but I finally sent an email your way JD. I probably went a bit overboard on the exposition, but it should give you an idea of what I go for in my games.


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## Desdichado (Dec 14, 2004)

D'oh!  I can't access my work account from home, though.  I'll have to read it tomorrow.


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## Desdichado (Jan 11, 2005)

*Interlude, Part II*

The three of them sat down warily while Alainna helped herself to another drink.  They didn't know where all the alcohol was going; she didn't show any sign of succumbing to even the slightest bit of drunkeness.  She bolted down another shot then sat down with them, smiling slightly.

"See, it's the High Lord's wife," she began.  "My brother and I are suspicious of her.  Strange things have been happening at their house, and we suspect she is somehow facilitating illegal and dangerous occult activity.  But, we have to move carefully, of course.  We don't trust all of our own people, especially in a situation that may implicate the highest authority in the area.  And that's where you come in."  She smiled again.  The three investigators gulped collectively.

"My brother recommended that I recruit you to help me.  I've been invited, you see, to a party at her house while her husband is away.  Hints are that she has planned some occult entertainment; a minor sorcerer or seance or some such activity.  I need someone to come with me, incognito, disguised as my retainers, who can investigate what's going on."

She arose.  "The party isn't for a few more weeks.  But I'll need your help then.  In the meantime, I believe you have something you're looking for for my brother?"  She smiled knowingly, and it seemed mockingly at them and took her leave of them.

Despite the lateness of the hour, all of the group agreed that they needed to discuss exactly what their next plans were, especially in light of this latest ...opportunity for adventure.  They all agreed that it was probably not best to refuse a request from their patron, even if indirectly through his sister.  But it also wasn't something that they were anxious to prioritize.  They had heard their own rumors of strangeness from the High Lord's house, naturally.  But they decided to not do anything about the High Lord's wife just yet.  They had other concerns pressing them that they found more intriguing at present, including the offer from Aberraine.  They decided to go to bed for the night, and then go back to _The Steams_ a good 45 minutes prior to their appointment the next day.  After that, they were anxious to charter some transportation to the location in the desert revealed to Rosham via his dark, fevered dreams.  That trip would take a few days, but they should still be back in plenty of time for Alainna's _soiree_ at the High Lord's house.

~•~​
When the group arrived again at _The Steams_ they were told that Mr. Kisaragi was not available.  Instead, they were shown upstairs into an office of a slight, older man who seemed bothered at having to deal with them.  He was clearly much more interested in compiling his financial records than in dealing with the rough-cut adventurers, although he did mention that Mr. Kisaragi had not been at _The Steams_ for several days due to the threat of some inter-gang violence against the location.

The adventurers weren't convinced and Konrad in particular was anxious to "lean on" the little guy until he coughed up Kisaragi.  Maybe that explains why he didn't hear any of the sounds from outside the little office; the screams of the patrons below, the running and shouting, the ringing of steel and the coarse shouts from outside until the door burst open.

Several armed men, of foreign ethnicity resembling Kisaragi himself, were pelting through the hallway with blooded swords.  One look at Rosham, Tson and Konrad, and they charged them as well, putting up a desperate fight.  Tson and Konrad were both wounded before one of them went down, and the other dived to the ground, rolled away from the combat and down the stairs.  Rosham, with a shout, leapt from the top of the stairs and impaled the brigand on his rapier as he landed heavily on the floor.

Konrad and Tson rushed down to continue fighting the remaining brigands, now spilling out into the steam rooms.  One of them ripped off a knob on a brass pipe as he was fighting Konrad, and the wild man was blased with a jet of steam.  In the obscuring cloud, he slipped into one of the ricepaper-walled rooms.  Tson charged in after him and was pelted with hot stones and coals for his trouble.  Konrad went around to the next room and charged through the damp rice paper walls to surprise the last combatant and strike him down.

Then the steams was very quiet.  There were no more signs of struggle or cries, although a few moans of the not-quite-dead started to quietly soak through the air.  In the main room, besides the bodies of the attackers that Tson, Konrad and Rosham had killed, there were dead patrons and guards on the floor as well, and slowly moving waves of blood soaked spread through some of the pools and slimed the floor.  "I'll go check outside," Rosham said, darting out to inspect what was going on beyond the walls of _The Steams_ itself.  He didn't see anything particularly interesting; a few passers-by looked at him darkly as he emerged with his bloody sword bared, but seemed unaware of what was happening inside.

At that moment, all three of them had a flash -- a vision of death.  Rosham saw it most clearly, as even the passers-by appeared to be bloated and stinking corpses, surrounded by flies.  Then, as soon as the vision hit them, it ended and the world returned to normal.  Rosham collapsed.  In his mind, he saw yet another vision.  A man; jaundiced, sick and old, was strapped to a table.  Candles at each corner gave a dim illumination.  He was wearing nothing but a dirty green loincloth, a metal vice or claw on one hand, and his head was covered with a rusted and broken chainmail hood.  His other arm was wrapped in a tight bandage that was soaked with bloody spots.  He could hear mumbled chanting, and when he tried to focus on the words, they shocked him with their twisted blasphemy, even though he couldn't understand what was said.  He retreated from focusing on them, and let them fade into the background.  Then he saw a pair of hands, as if it were his own, but they didn't look like his.  They were Unbred human, and older.  In one hand was a knife, in another a large rat; sick, rabid and mangy, yet held tightly so it couldn't squirm away.  He saw the hand with the knife pierce the man on the table, who jerked and screamed.  His torso was opened up, then the other hand shoved the rat inside.  The knife hand picked up a needle and thick thread and sewed the rat inside the man's torso.  He could see the man writhing madly, and see even the movement under his skin of the rat squirming as well.  The sutures were raw, crude and big, and the table was soon dripping in blood.  The chanting rose to a fever pitch.

Then the vision ended and he found himself sprawled on the cobblestones in front of _The Steams_.  One of the passers-by he had been watching before his vision was still in sight; he looked like he were weighing whether or not this person who just dropped to the ground were worth robbing.  Rosham scowled and stood up.  The man shrugged and walked away as Rosham turned back inside.


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## Quickbeam (Jan 12, 2005)

I just love the disgusting picture you paint of the rat being sewn into the body of the man starpped to the table.  It was foul two months ago, and it's foul now.  Bravo!!


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## Desdichado (Jan 12, 2005)

Quickbeam said:
			
		

> I just love the disgusting picture you paint of the rat being sewn into the body of the man starpped to the table.  It was foul two months ago, and it's foul now.  Bravo!!



It's been way too long since anyone's Sanity was threatened, says I.    Time for more foulness in January.


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## Stockdale (Jan 13, 2005)

I think we aught to threatens Quickbeams sanity. Let's just stay away from bugs. Konrad hates bugs.


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## Desdichado (Jan 24, 2005)

Just a little note: we had a new character join us this last Friday, Sellah Turik, played by broghammerj.  With four instead of three characters, I can step up the challenges just a bit more.  

He's also brought into light another further refinement that the rules will probably need; since his concept is a bit of a pistolier (who carries two big flintlocks, a musket over his back and a Derringer-esque little pistol in his boot) we've decided we think the reload time on the Freeport firearms rules is too long.  I'll probably shorten it considerably; to one full round, and the feat can improve that to one standard action (so with the feat, you could reload both pistols in a single round.)


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## Stockdale (Jan 24, 2005)

JD: I think changing the firearm reload rules os a great idea. One full round per weapon is excellent. That would make firearms more useful as a rule. Konrad will still shoot then engage, but as happened Friday, hold one pistol back for situations where he just can hack the melee combat.


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## Desdichado (Jan 24, 2005)

Yeah, think they just didn't get enough use to really highlight that issue; Josh's character concept just didn't work all that well as it was, though.  We also figured that with damage of 2d6, but only one attack (per weapon) every other round, the average damage wasn't really out of whack if we had a faster reload time too.


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## broghammerj (Jan 29, 2005)

I'm not sure how I'd handle the firearms reload.  If a feat can knock reload times down to a standard action, then I could start firing once per round for 2d6 damage which could get pretty out of whack.  As it stands I took the quickdraw feat allowing me to draw my pistols as a free action.  If I do that 4 times in a row thats some pretty good damage before I run out of loaded weapons.  By the way, I thought my character concept worked quite well thank you!


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## Desdichado (Jan 31, 2005)

Well, yeah, "doesn't work" is clearly an exaggeration; rather it highlights a potential issue with the rules that we didn't notice before because nobody had relied on firearms as their primary weapon.

I'll have to think about how to handle this; maybe it'd be easier to simply reduce the time to reload and eliminate the feat entirely.


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## barsoomcore (Feb 1, 2005)

Hey, JD I finally catch up with where this thing is.

Very nice! Unique atmosphere (somewhere between Iron Kingdoms and The Difference Engine), creepy settings, big fights and dangerous women.

Never too many dangerous women in one room, says I.

Keep it up!


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## Desdichado (Feb 1, 2005)

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Hey, JD I finally catch up with where this thing is.
> 
> Very nice! Unique atmosphere (somewhere between Iron Kingdoms and The Difference Engine), creepy settings, big fights and dangerous women.
> 
> ...



I will, thanks!  I've actually never read the Difference Engine, though, so any points of common ground are purely coincidental.

Same thing with Dark Sun; I found recently that I converge in many ways with them, but I hadn't really ever looked into Dark Sun until recently.  Weird.


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## ledded (Feb 3, 2005)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> I will, thanks! I've actually never read the Difference Engine, though, so any points of common ground are purely coincidental.




It's definitely worth a read, I enjoyed it quite a bit as I was doing some background work on our own Steampunk-ish campaign.  

I finally got around to reading the latest update and *loved* that bit of horror goodness you tossed in there nice and unexpected like.  Very cool, I may have to yoink that visual for one of my games.  I just love me some horror tossed into a campaign.

And I agree with Barsoomcore, you just really *can't* have too many dangerous women in one room.  I mean, really, who is going to complain about that?


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## Desdichado (Feb 3, 2005)

ledded said:
			
		

> I finally got around to reading the latest update and *loved* that bit of horror goodness you tossed in there nice and unexpected like.  Very cool, I may have to yoink that visual for one of my games.  I just love me some horror tossed into a campaign.



There's actually a follow-up to that in the next update, when I type it.  I want to get a good digital picture of a miniature I used first, though.


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## Quickbeam (Feb 12, 2005)

Just a few random thoughts...

1) Keep the sanity challenges a-coming.  Rosham isn't afraid, but parhaps that's because he's too damn foolish to know any better  .
2) Dangerous women = good for a game, we all agree!
3) Faster reload times without feats to bolster the ability sounds great to me.  Help broghammer's PC save the reckless Gray says I  .
4) I just want to reiterate how impressive (and freaky) the rat vision scenario was, given that its genesis was a painted mini you happened to have lying about.

Can't wait to play again!


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## The Axe (Feb 28, 2005)

*Ach!*

Rats!  I'm caught up now and have to wait with everyone else!

Seriously, though:  good stuff!  I'm looking forward to the next update.


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## Desdichado (Mar 2, 2005)

Still need to take that picture (and I don't have a camera that'll do it, but my neighbor does.  Just need to make the time.)  After I do that update, I have one more session (so probably about three updates worth) to be caught up.

But long before I get to that point, I think we'll have played again, luckily.


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## The Axe (Mar 19, 2005)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> ...After I do that update, I have one more session (so probably about three updates worth) to be caught up...




I'm looking forward to more!


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## Desdichado (Apr 20, 2005)

*Interlude, Part III*

"What was that?" Rosham rasped to Tson and Konrad.  Both had narrowed eyes and pale faces, but neither answered.

"I thought you could tell us," Konrad said.  "You're the one who's so bloody curious about all this bloody arcana."

Rosham started to answer, but there wasn't really anything he could say.  That, and there was a curious sound coming from below them; a skittering sound like thousands of tiny throats calling out madly, and tiny claws rasping on metal.  Suddenly one of the pools erupted with a dark, blot-like stain.  More pools did as well, then the dark blobs were spreading from pipes along the walls as well.

"Rats!" Tson yelled, and he was right.  The "blobs" were tightly packed throngs of mangy, frothing rats that swarmed as if by hivemind onto the three of them, biting, scratching and clawing.  Tson swung his chain rapidly, but the rate at which he could kill rats was swamped by the rate at which they could cover him.  Konrad's pistol rang out once or twice, then went quiet.  Rosham was screaming.

"This way!" Konrad shouted, brushing rats off of him as quickly as he could, his face and hands a mass of small bloody wounds.  Rosham and Tson followed him until he stopped in front of one of the hot steam valves, and broke it off roughly with a blow from his club.  Jets of steam washed over them, scalding them, but the rats also ran, screeching and screaming.

As quickly as they appeared, they were gone.  A few rat bodies twitched and writhed still on the floor, scalded or cut or bashed, but the swarms were gone.  _The Steams_ was unnaturally quiet, except for the hard, raspy breathing of Tson, Konrad and Rosham.  Then another sound, faint at first, but growing quickly, came to their ears from outside.  Screams of terror and pain, and a skittering bellow like a rat given the voice of a lion.  They gripped their weapons expectantly, and looked briefly for a door through which they could escape, but they didn't have time to find one.  The broad front doors exploded outward.  Their faces sagged with fear as they saw the monstrosity that skittered towards them like lightning in spite of its size.  It was only vaguely humanoid, with short clawed legs, a bare, worm-like tail, and a long torso bulging with muscles.  Arms that hung nearly to the ground were used like extra legs, but they had huge hands tipped with black claws.  One hand was encased in a steel gauntlet of some kind.  A dirty green rag of a loincloth hung loosely from the thing's waist, and mangy patches of mouldering and fungus-like fur sprouted on its hunched back.  It's head was like that of a giant, twisted and rabid rat, covered in a ragged mail hood, but its massive teeth flashed yellow and dripping with filthy saliva in their direction.  A sutured wound, apparently rather fresh, was on the side of the beast's torso.

Rosham stood stock still as he put the pieces together and realized that this creatures clothing and wound matched the pattern of the man in his vision.  It rushed at him, slapping him away with a massive arm.  He crashed painfully through the paper walls and a few heavy beams to land dizzy and stunned in another room.  Konrad's gun boomed in time to a shout and the creature reared back to it's full fifteen foot height as it bellowed in pain with an oddly squeeking roar.  It's massive arms and claws scratched huge ragged furrows in the wood of the high ceiling.  Tson's chain was already whirling, it's deadly spikes rasping against the creatures skin and drawing gouts of blood with every whirl.  It turned on him then with a head larger than a horse's as it tried to bite him.  Tson held his chain in front of him with both hands, neatly bisecting the mouth of the creature that struggled to reach him.  The hulk was thrown from his feet, sliding roughly on his back to smash into a wall behind him, still holding his arms and the chain that kept those teeth from clamping on him with all his strength. 

"A... little... help..." he gasped as it arms inexorably lost ground.  In the background, he could hear the gun ringing out one more time, and a curse from Konrad.  Then, a strange chanting sound that seemed to almost take his mind away from where he was, drawing him in like a magnet.  The chanting was with Rosham's voice.  Then the pressure suddenly stopped.

The rat-thing literally flew off up him as if brushed aside by a hand more massive than _The Steams_ itself.  It crumpled with a whelp against a brick wall, mortar dust falling loose, and the bricks caving inwards to collapse on the creature.  Tson saw Rosham leaning wearily against a wooden beam, blood streaming slowly from his mouth, but his hands were still outstretched towards the creature.  He didn't want to know what had just happened, but he could imagine...

Konrad was wasting no time.  He rushed forward and bashed the beast as hard as he could on the head with his club twice, then three times.  And then he dropped his club and jumped back with a yelp.

"It's as I thought..." Rosham said almost to himself.  In place of the rat-thing was a man, or what was left of one.  He was old and sickly, and his skull was completely crushed from Konrad's ministrations.  There was a faint twitching still on the corpse's torso, and then it ruptured like a rotten fruit.  A blood-drenched rat fell out of the wrecked ribcage, writhing in pain and confusion, foam covering its jaws and its eyes glazed.  Rosham shambled forward and ran it through with his rapier.

Konrad ground his teeth as he picked up his club.  "This town gets more interesting all the time," he mumbled.

Tson walked up, breathing heavily still and rubbing his arms as if they pained him.  "Maybe it's time we took a little vacation.  Didn't you say you discovered a place out in the desert, gray?  A place where we can get away for a few days, learn something about the cargo we're trying to recover, and maybe lay low while we're at it until the city cools down just a bit?"

Konrad and Rosham stirred at those words.  "Yes," Rosham rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "A field trip would do us all good, I think."  They were already walking as quickly as they could, stumbling in a near run, away from _The Steams_.  They would need Elroy's help in wrapping their latest wounds, cleaning them from the filth and disease of the rats, and gathering supplies for a journey out of town.  And the sooner they were clear of Razina, the happier they would all be.

--------------------------------~~***~~~--------------------------------​_
Well, there was the end of the interlude.  When next we pick up, there's a minor change in the cast of characters, and our "heroes" make an attempt to get free of the web of intrigues that seem to have plagued them in Razina.  To at least some extent, they're partially successful, but at what cost?  Mwahahaha!!

Anyway, I never did get a good digital picture of my own model, so I'll attach this one of a very similar model someone else did.  In fact, except for the head (and the better paint job on this one) this is essentially my model anyway, so you can get a pretty good idea of what the rat-thing looked like._


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## Quickbeam (Apr 22, 2005)

And now we see that the Gray has begun to embrace the occult, arcane, unknown powers (and horrors) which lie among the pages of the ancient tomes we possess.  Until this past Tuesday, the session you've just described was my personal favorite...now it's a close call.

Thanks for the flashback Josh!


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## Desdichado (Apr 22, 2005)

Wow, that good?  I had no idea you were so masochistic!


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## Quickbeam (Apr 22, 2005)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Wow, that good?  I had no idea you were so masochistic!




Keep the abuse a-coming!!  I still have a few sanity points left .


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## Stockdale (Apr 25, 2005)

I don't know about that . Roshambo needs to rest and recouperate as does Broj's gunslinger. Konrad is getting a little tired of playing nursemaid to the two of you.


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## Funeris (Apr 25, 2005)

Just wanted to drop in and say excellent story hour.  I'll be keeping my eyes open for updates.


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## Desdichado (Apr 25, 2005)

Well, now I'm motivated to get caught up.  And, since I don't have the excuse of waiting for an opportunity to take a good picture of my mini, I'm hoping to have another update this week or the next.

Welcome aboard!


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Apr 28, 2005)

You might like to know you've got another reader hooked.

I've spent far too much time over the couple of days reading this S/H instead of working ... but it's been worth it   .

I love the "steampunk" feel of the world, and it's very well written too. Looking forward to more ...


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## Desdichado (Apr 29, 2005)

Thanks!  I look forward to adding more, hopefully very soon.


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## Quickbeam (Apr 29, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> You might like to know you've got another reader hooked.
> 
> I've spent far too much time over the couple of days reading this S/H instead of working ... but it's been worth it   .
> 
> I love the "steampunk" feel of the world, and it's very well written too. Looking forward to more ...




Been there, done that myself...with this S/H and a few select others.
As a player in this game, I can tell you that the many of the encounters feel even more impressive than the description herein.  Each of the players in this group is a DM with specific setting niches which are their specialty.  JD happens to be extremely creative with campaigns that have a dark, gritty, swashbuckling feel to them.


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## Quickbeam (May 27, 2005)

Last page Josh?!?  Say it ain't so.

BUMP

Perhaps that will help yield another update


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## Barendd Nobeard (Jun 16, 2005)

Quickbeam said:
			
		

> Last page Josh?!?  Say it ain't so.
> 
> BUMP
> 
> Perhaps that will help yield another update




Or maybe this will.

BUMP


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## Desdichado (Jun 17, 2005)

Well, I'm entering a week of my boss on vacation, and not much in the way of assignments to keep me busy while he's gone.  Might be a good opportunity to bang out an update or two.


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## The Axe (Sep 9, 2005)

**Grabs a stick**

*poke poke*


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## Desdichado (Sep 9, 2005)

The Axe said:
			
		

> *poke poke*



Heh, heh.  Believe it or not, a big part of the reason I haven't been motivated to update the thread is that my authorial energy has been directed towards composing a novel, of all things, set in a slightly modified version of this very setting.  

Ever since I was a kid, I've had the nebulous goal of writing a novel, and in recent months, I've finally started to get somewhat serious about it.  I'm finding it much easier, for some reason, to put that together coherently than this story hour, where the dialogue doesn't seem to work for me, and the development of the plot seems forced and stilted.  I don't know why that is, but I'm finding it much easier to write in one form than the other.

Still, I don't want to leave this story-hour hanging forever; at some point I'll go back and update, even if it's just in a much more abbreviated form.


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## The Axe (Sep 10, 2005)

Joshua Dyal said:
			
		

> Heh, heh.  Believe it or not, a big part of the reason I haven't been motivated to update the thread is that my authorial energy has been directed towards composing a novel, of all things, set in a slightly modified version of this very setting.
> 
> *snip*




Cool!  Keep us posted, eh (esp. in the event of publication...)


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## Desdichado (Oct 17, 2005)

Well, better late than never.  Here's some of the digital pictures I promised of the rat ogre I used.  Lighting kinda sucks, but there you have it.


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