A Giant in Xuun Pt.11: Demon Day of Summer

The hill-giant Freeman Nezor, now officially Guardsman Nezor, stood proudly in the parade ground in front of the Southgate city guard headquarters. It was the happiest morning of his life though it was very damp out and the oppressive heat of the previous day was already mixing with that of the new. A tear almost dropped his eye as he was presented an armband striped blue and yellow signifying his promotion to the rank of captain of the guard by Lt. Krolin himself. If the air hadn’t been so still the giant would swear that his own cloak was wafting heroically behind him. It was a reward for foiling a burglary at the apothecaries down the street from the Troll a day or so just before he reported for training.

With the brief ceremony over Lt. Krolin began shouting his orders and the entire troop of new guardsmen began their rigorous drills and week-long training regimen. Occasionally it included jaunts into the swamp and a fair amount of mass-organized weapon-katas using the standard pike and long-shield. For most of the recruits it was hell for Nezor on the other hand it was a breeze. He never seemed to stop smiling. At the end of the seven-day stint of forced marches and wading through waist-high (or in Nezor’s case knee-high) muck and a very well-deserved bath at the local brothel, for Nezor it was in the carriage park of said establishment, Lt. Krolin took him with the usual entourage in tow to the Whiskey Troll to celebrate the giant’s new rank and probably in part to cement him as a permanent fixture of the Southside city guard. It wasn’t long before a bar-fight between two opposing pirate crews broke out but the guards didn’t interfere as they were busy celebrating.

The day after that and more towards the evening as the orange-gold and rapidly reddening rays of the dusk weakly flooded the entryway of the Troll, Phenox walked in with a curious looking companion unknown to Nezor. He guided the new potential addition to the ‘goodfellows’ up to the giant who was in his usual place flanked by his “men” on either side. He was signing up “new recruits” for his command. The scroll rolled out over his table even had several sloppy black ‘X’s on it.

Phenox introduced the new addition as Xxoosha, he struggled to pronounce her name as he was not fluent in Scael Split-Tongue. Nezor was having none of it as he despised Nagas, they had taken out Cantra after all and this one had black scales. He had heard that Scaels with black scales were marked by “other forces”. Xxoosha the Black Scael smoothed over the giant’s concerns in the course of the night through sheer charm. The giant took to calling her Zacháah, it was the natural pronunciation of her name in his hill-lander drawl.

Zacha was a mage and a mighty fine flutist, her familiar on her shoulder which appeared much like a small sized monitor-lizard with draconic wings; it was never far from her when not on her shoulder. The newly hired mage wore a hooded purple cloak and seemed eager enough to join whatever mission Phenox had planned out but he was reluctant to reveal exactly what that may be as “there were too many ears abouts”. The giant shrugged his shoulders. He was confident that whatever it was he could simply stomp, smash, or crush his way through it.

Another uneventful day passed, the Lt. was running forced marches every other day and at the end of the day the giant and the other ‘goodfellow’, he still wasn’t quite sure about the mage because you simply couldn’t trust that type, were drinking in the Troll. Zacha was piping on her flute, a nice and cheerful medley; someone tossed her a few coppers. It appeared to be another typical evening in the Troll until a massive explosion somewhere outside shook the walls. The patrons rushed outside to see what had happened.

The street was littered with shattered stone and disintegrate adobe. A tower that had overlooked the street around an alley from the Troll was partially destroyed and flying on its wings of glittering mist was what appeared to be some sort of frost demon. Nezor pointed ‘dog-smasher’ at the howling creature and before he could shout, “stop in the name of the law” the creature had landed heavily in the cobbled street before him and the grim-warrior Phenox; Zacha who had been behind them slithered for cover behind a large crate.

The demon was nearly the size of Nezor, about 20 ft tall, and had wings that seemed to be mostly immaterial composed of poisonously glittering mists. It had a pair of curling horns as jagged as bent icicles on its malformed skull-like head and claws on its hands just as formidable. A hideous bluish light shone from its empty eye-sockets and from between the spaces in its glassy ribs. For the most part the creature was bluish-white in color. The frost-demon bore a battle-axe of ice in one of its hands and in the other it held the bleeding corpse of an apprentice mage. A handful of guards charged the beast and it spat a ball of blue energy at them which simultaneously froze them solid, reduced, and blew them away like a gust of snow. The gathered crowd immediately panicked fleeing in all directions.

It was Nezor’s “men” that acted first, Oxwulf dropped his pike and ran back into the Troll, Derig charged the demon. The monster responded with a swing of its axe horribly wounding the boy who dropped to the ground at its hoofed feet.

The giant roared and rushing in put all of his power behind his carven great club smashing out most of its ribs in the first hit then on the backswing the entire beast shattered like an ill-conceived ice-sculpture filled with blue-flame and exploded. Nezor was left standing there triumphant but a little frostbit, Derig was down and unconscious but otherwise untouched by the demon’s death throe. The giant acting quickly snatched up the boy’s body and rushed him to the local apothecary for immediate treatment. After Nezor was assured that the young guard would recover by the old apothecary, he left him there and returned to the scene to find the Lt. and his men already there.

The investigation lasted for only about 2 hours. A group of elder mages from the Obsidian Guild had appeared all of them old men in plain but clean brown robes with golden eye on a brown escutcheon embroidered on the breast. Their fingers and necks were bedecked in gold however and each also carried finely carved and lacquered staffs some bearing gems. They were a little indignant and rude towards the Lt. until the giant stepped in with a disapproving glare. They got cooperative real quick. It appeared that they had no information on the case as the apprentice was unknown to them and he assuredly wasn’t licensed to practice magic within city limits.

After the investigation was finished Lt. Krolin commended Nezor on his conduct and promised him a medal for his slaying of the rogue demon. The hill-giant was in the clouds as he strutted back to the tavern. The new trio reconvened at the Whiskey Troll.

Over some whiskey and while Zacha noodled with her flute, Phenox talked with Capt. Nezor about that new caper he had been planning for some time now. It concerned an evil mage, he emphasized the evil part, and the horrible things he was doing under the noses of the city guard such things as hiring foolish young mages under the impression that they would be his apprentices then having them do suicidal things like summoning demons too powerful for them to control. This mysterious and evil mage was known only as Shadow-Scale. Of course Phenox neglected to mention the contract out on the mages life that he was holding.

Nezor stood up suddenly, held his club above his head, and declared, “I dub thee Dog-Smasher-Bull-Crusher AND demon-SLAYER!” The entire place erupted in a riotous cheer. The giant turned to his stunned companions and said, “let’s do some JUSTICE”.

It wasn’t long after that the 3 were standing in the dark underneath the moon-shadow of Shadow-Scale’s tower. It was a relic from another time, a crude and strange structure fashioned from what seemed to be a single titanic stone and the few orifices in its face including its main door were fashioned in the Scael fashion of things, circular and deep. Just a few moments previously they had fought their way through four monsters with skull-like faces, shriveled skin, and hoofed feet. The giant assumed that they too were demons and seemed to be guarding the alleys that led to the tower. He was determined to take this guy down vigilante style.

Phenox (kneeling by the recessed entryway and inspecting the ground): “Yup. There’s a trap door here. Guess we better…”

Nezor with an earth-shaking roar ran past his companions and leapt at the bronze double door jumping over the supposed trap-door hurling himself straight into it. Either the doors or his shoulder would shatter. For just a second he feared as he felt the doors flex only slightly that he would be catapulted backwards onto his back and onto the trap-door. Fortunately, the timber bar that held the door gave with a sharp crack and the giant landed heavily just inside on the smooth stone threshold as the metal doors swung open wide with a crash.

To be Concluded…

A Giant in Xuun Pt.10: Snake & Dagger

It was another humid morning in the Whiskey Troll Tavern and it was late morningDagger and snake assassins guild mark by the time Phenox and Cantra came rolling in looking for their hill-giant companion, Nezor. They found him at his usual table, the wall behind decorated with the trophies from last night’s fight with the Black Hoods along with what appeared as a pair of new recruits, a pair of very young men, accoutered in the standard equipment of the city guard: quilted azure gambesons, a dagger, a pike, and a wood longshield painted with blue and yellow vertical stripes.

Nezor introduced the young guards as Derig (an Ivoran youth from a prominent Northside family) and Oxwulf (a Westlander from an immigrant family). They were his “men” and with them he was going to clean up “this whiskey town”! Sent by Lt. Krolin both boys had been officially put in the giant’s charge.

A pair of hunters stinking like the marsh pushed past the stunned pair of killers carrying a butchered pygmy-deer. Shaken from the stupor of ill-surprise the grim-warrior and deathgrin rolled their eyes as they sat down. They wanted to talk business, something about a mage; the giant was again not paying particularly close attention to them as he kept turning to his “men” to throw what he thought were clever bits of wisdom their way about the harshness of the streets and the worthlessness of the criminal element.

The trio could overhear two well-dressed Southlanders discussing something about a deal to sell a dozen gladiators being “off” and now they had to deal with Corvo-Doom. His name was mentioned with a palpable level of distaste.

Suddenly all of the tavern patrons stood up and began to hurriedly file out into the streets and slithering through the entrance-way with the trio in their sights were 5 Scael-Nagas armored in scale-mail marked with the coiled serpent and dagger symbol. Another flopped out of the shadows apparently running into a table fumbling his crossbow the poisoned bolt thudding into the table just in front of Cantra. The fight was on.

Nezor stood up and kept the young guards behind him ordering them to guard his flanks. Phenox leapt headfirst into battle behind a storm of scimitar strokes. Cantra knocked away another bolt with her brand new buckler and ducked into the shadows. Phenox dropped one of the assassins and when 3 others converged on him waving their naginatas, Nezor swept them away with a single deadly swing of his great club ‘dog-smasher’. Another nailed the giant with a lucky thrust of his naginata.

It was then Cantra shouted out a warning, “There’s THREE crossbows over there!” Then the twang of the bowstrings signaled the flight of the poisoned quarrels one aimed at each of the ‘goodfellows’. Phenox was struck but the poison didn’t stop him, the giant was mostly unaffected but Cantra froze in place paralyzed by the exotic toxin. Seeing this Nezor flattened the last Naga within his reach and intended to move to her aid.

Phenox moved in her direction as well but was caught up in a fight with another assassin as was Nezor who easily squashed his enemy. Another Scael slithered from the shadows near Cantra’s paralyzed particolored form as he pulled his naginata off his back. Grinning the creature put the blade of his weapon on her throat and slid it in nice and slow then twisted before ripping it back out. She collapsed and died on the dirty floor of the Whiskey Troll Tavern in a pool of her own blood.

Nezor roared and finished Cantra’s killer in a single blow. Phenox finished his foe. After finding that they had “won” the fight the pair stood over the corpse of their dear departed companion. Phenox went through her gear and checked for valuables.

Nezor: “She’s gonna get a heroes’ burial, nah expense sparred!”

Phenox (a large amount of gems and coins in his hands): “Um. Okay?”

Three days later Phenox and Nezor were sitting at their table in the Troll, their mug and bucket of whiskey untouched before them. The hill-giant had been carving something into the mutilated tabletop with his dagger for the past few hours or so. Cantra’s funeral had been two days ago in the age-old cemetery that bordered the city along the swamp just outside of the old battlements.

A fair portion of the graveyard was partially submerged under green swamp-water the ground studded with whitened grave-stones and stone tombs of varying sizes and degrees of decoration. They had hired professional mourners and had a procession of flowers that had moved along the streets from the charnel house to the cemetery. The money that Phenox and Nezor had found on Cantra’s body had also paid for a small stone tomb. On the front of the mausoleum was an image of her grinning hastily carved and painted with bright colors.

Nezor punched the table and went on a tirade about the hoods that they were “gonna pay for what they did!” Confused, Phenox simply let him go on until the giant just suddenly stood up and stormed off. The grim-warrior looked at what the giant had carved expertly into the booze-soaked wood of the heavy oak table: an image of Cantra grinning and balancing on the blade of her bowie-knife with a flute in her hands which she appeared to preparing to play.

Phenox had neglected to clue in the giant as to exactly what had actually happened. It was the Coiled Snake & Dagger, Xuun’s premiere assassin’s guild, which had killed her because she had foiled their attempt on Corvo-Doom as well as adding insult to injury by working freelance right under their noses. The final straw was when she had taken an extremely high bounty on the head of a Creschan merchant, a mission on which Phenox had accompanied her returning bloodied but victorious during Nezor’s celebration of his signing with the city guard. But Phenox had a plan, he had the information on the last bounty she had taken up and the grim-warrior would need the giant’s might.

To Be Continued…

A Giant in Xuun Pt.8: Whiskey City

Morning in the cavernous taproom of the Whiskey Troll tavern and Nezor wiping Heraldry---Nezorthe sleep from his eyes picked over the cold leftovers from the previous night’s repast, a large number of swamp-constrictor steaks. After breakfast he hit the streets in search of an armorer and a herald. His friends had dropped off his pay last night, 10 gold talons, and went about their business afterwards. The “goodfellows” were to reconvene in the Whiskey Troll later that night.

It didn’t take long to locate the services he required in the city bazaar. He put in the order with the armorer for a suit of polished plate-mail which would take a surprisingly short time to be ready, 1 week. He also found a herald who quickly drew up a heraldic device for him: a white eagle’s claw on a round purple field with the motto “the Great Liberator” beneath in Hyvalian characters but the giant being illiterate took the herald’s word at what it actually read. When the armor was ready the herald was to enamel the device over the breastplate.

While wandering the impossibly crowded bazaar marveling at its smells and sights of strange animals, vast arrays of brightly colored fruits and pungent vegetables, and the shear variation of people and dress Nezor noticed a tight group of dusky Creschan sailors fresh and salty from the docks escorting a fat and apparently very rich merchant judging by his rich attire, also Creschan, by way of the bazaar to the “better” end of town and one of the nicer inns found there, most probably the Golden Moon Inn. He also noticed what appeared to be a very poor local following close behind them whom struck him as somewhat suspicious. What he didn’t realize is that it was Cantra in disguise.

The giant continued on his way deciding to patrol the streets as a sort of vigilante until he ran into some of the city guard. He tried to join in on their patrol but was denied so he got directions to the city guard headquarters for the Southside. He couldn’t find anyone but a clerk there and was thus directed to the North Gate instead. It wasn’t long before he found himself there under the auspices of one Captain Vorbaer signing up for the city guard. Apparently they saw recruiting one of the few, possibly currently only, hill-giant in town a major asset plus there was a definite lack of guards in the sector of the city around the Whiskey Troll for some reason which the captain seemed reluctant to elaborate on.

Nezor would get paid 15 silver pieces at the finish of each seven-day and it was his duty when he heard the guard bell being rung, to make haste to the Southside headquarters. For the now he was to keep a light patrol around the Whiskey Troll. Captain Vorbaer gave him what was essentially an old city flag clumsily stitched into a makeshift Acton bearing the arms of Xuun: A bold orange phoenix with a green man-faced serpent in its beak and talons while above a golden chalice radiated golden sun rays flanked by a white bladed broad-sword pointing upward on the left and a white-bladed black hafted scythe at the right with the motto “the path is clear” in Hyvalian characters along the bottom. Tears of happiness filled the giant’s eyes as he strode to immediately take up his duty. He would in time have to report to training sometime soon under his commanding officer named Krolin.

Of course, on his way back to the tavern he managed to gather up around 15 other city guards and even a few well-meaning street thugs into a vigilante mob which stomped through the streets and alleys of the Southside rousting beggars, pimps, and pickpockets eventually landing on the Whiskey Troll at the end of the night. He bought them all the whiskey and ale they could drink and the place was alive with a riot of drunken guardsmen around Nezor’s table, the candles had never burned brighter. Later in the night his companions, Phenox the grim-warrior and Cantra the deathgrin, stumbled in on the scene.

Cantra was in her “noble lady” disguise which was mostly torn away and she was obviously badly beaten up and sporting many savage sword wounds. She quickly buzzed through the clatter of guards and behind the bar where she predictably disappeared. She had been carrying a bag that may have been bleeding but he hadn’t got a good look at it. Phenox limped over to the drunkenly singing hill-giant. He was holding a rag saturated with his own blood tightly to his side, his armor was in shreds and he dripped a crimson trail on the floor behind him. Overjoyed to see him Nezor slapped the grim-warrior on the back causing him to have to recover himself from the friendly blow.

Nezor: “Hey! Wh’as happenend ta yoo!”

Phenox: “Nuthin’, nuthin’ I’ll be fine.”

Phenox waved away the giant’s concerns and dragged himself to a nearby seat. Nezor shrugged it off and went back to celebrating his new office in life.

Come morning the sudden blare of a bugle rudely awoke Nezor and the rest of the guards passed out on the benches and strewn about the filthy floor of the tavern. The giant shot straight up suddenly wide awake, the harsh light of morning searing his bloodshot eyes and when he caught a glimpse of a superior officer in the city guard before him, immediately stood at attention.

The man was in gleaming full-plate armor studded with diamonds and his azure & gold striped cape billowing, in Nezor’s mind anyway, behind him. The officer introduced himself as Lieutenant Krolin. He first scolded the drunken guards quickly dismissing them for the day as well as fining all of them for drunkenness and then escorted Nezor to the Southside headquarters to be cleaned up and assigned his gear. Lt. Krolin would be Nezor’s commanding officer and when he heard the guard bell ring he was now supposed to beat it to the Southgate.

Krolin gave the giant a quick verbal tour of the city while they walked to the station; his attendants were leading his horse behind them with the bugler and a handful of elite guards also in polished plate armor. The important points were that there was a Brighthouse church in the Southside, that faith having certain dominance in this part of the city. The Hyvalian faith dominated the north. Apparently there were frequent riots between the different parishioners from time to time. The Southside was also the poor side of town consisting of a large conglomeration of slums and shanties as well as densely packed apartment buildings, several old Hyvalian built estates, and several abandoned buildings and a few ruins. The only other places of note in the southern part of the city were the City Guard Headquarters (for the Southside) and the Whiskey Troll Tavern.

As the giant and his commander were about half way to the station Phenox passed by and halted for a brief moment at the sight. He decided to inquire of the giant as to what was going on.

Nezor: “Join’n da guards!”

Phenox (flabbergasted): “Wait, what, WHY!”

Nezor (looking to the sky, his chest inflating): “I have ta. For my sense o’ duty, the strong blood in mah’ah veins, and da need ta’ stomp out CRIME!”

Phenox just rolled his eyes and walked away. The lieutenant seemed genuinely impressed. They continued on. After a short while and seemingly out of nowhere the conversation turned and Lt. Krolin spat out his utter hatred of Corvo-Doom and pretty much all slavers. The giant mentioned that “he really didn’t seem that bad o’ a guy” but otherwise Nezor kept quiet on the subject of the master-slaver fortunately it was just before they entered the courtyard of guard H.Q.

Lt. Krolin took a certain pride in the appearance of his men and had a barber shave Nezor and even set up a bath for him, in the courtyard. He was given a clean and newly tailored cloak bearing Xuun’s colors, azure & gold vertical stripes, and a pike crafted from a flag-pole. After the giant was equipped and cleaned Krolin gave him his orders. He was to maintain a patrol that included the Whiskey Troll Tavern and the immediate surrounding area and after a 7-day he was to report for training. Nezor saluted him and strode off back to the tavern his ego vastly inflated. When he got to the Troll he burst in his chest puffed out and declared, “I am the guard responsible for this place and all Black-Hoods are sentenced to death on sight! I am the law!” The regulars applauded and a random slurring voice exclaimed, “buy that lawman a drink!”

A week later the three ‘goodfellows’ were once again sitting around a table in the Whiskey Troll trying to figure out what to do with themselves. Cantra had spent all of her money on leasing a two-story villa in the Southside complete with serving staff, the only downside according to Phenox was that the place was probably haunted. The grim-warrior himself was claiming indigence though he was sporting a pair of spiffy crocodile hide boots and some new armor. Nezor was due to report for training on the morrow. He was wearing his new suit of armor, he had the crocodile head refurbished to use as the helmet and hide gorget of his new suit. He was quite proud of his brand new armor often stopping to burnish it a little with a dirty rag. Along with his guardsman cloak he felt like a real hero.

Just when the trio thought they would again split up and call it a night in stomped a group of 7 black hooded thugs led by 2 others in leather hoods and scale-mail shirts followed by a hill-giant with a spiked great club also in scale-mail. One of the leathern hooded thugs was seemingly about to declare something when without prompting Nezor was up like shot charging at the hill-giant waving his club which whipped the pipe-smoke-ocean of the tavern into a candlelit cyclone.

Nezor: “DIE, HOODS DIE!!!”

To Be Continued…

A Giant in Xuun Pt.7: The Slave-Pits of Korvo-Doom

After 10-days of drinking and healing the trio reflect on the now semi-mythical Similar to the shield image of the master of the slave-pitsfour way bar-battle between Brighthouse witch-hunters, Corvo-Doom and his lackeys with whom the trio were now lumped in with, the black-skull pirates, and a gang of Naga assassins which rumors assert had been targeting the Hyvalian slaver. Some of the slithering killers had born a tattoo of a serpent coiled around the blade of a dagger. Cantra had already bragged to her companions that she and she alone had stopped one of the Nagas from getting a sneak-attack with an envenomed dagger on the slaver unseen by all including her semi-doubting companions single-handedly saving Corvo-Doom’s life. They were debating the merits of her story when a tall, skinny Ivoran with a shaved head approached them whom they recognized as Corvo-Doom’s interpreter/shield-man.

He introduced himself as Ilhand, the hill-giant simply didn’t pay attention he let the others listen for him while he drank his breakfast, and invited the trio to meet with his lord Corvo-Doom in the Slaver Quarter. So after the giant finished his breakfast all three of the ‘goodfellows’ followed Corvo-Doom’s shieldman letting him lead the way. Eventually he guided them to a large opposing building seemingly grown from a combination of stone, reclaimed ruins, and adobe brick, the slave-pits of Corvo-Doom.

The slave-pits consisted of a circular three story edifice of stone with a large adobe gatehouse enclosing a wide stone-flagged courtyard at the center of which were a few wide stone-lined pits lidded with rusted bars. Iron-barred cells of varying sizes faced inward to the courtyard built into the circular building and along the ground floor of the inner side was a covered adobe walkway along which Cantra and Phenox followed Ilhand, Nezor had to walk along side that uncomfortably close the goings on in the wider courtyard.

As they sauntered they could see that the pits and countless iron-barred cells were mostly vacant. They also spotted a hairy fanged humanoid of indeterminate race whipping a group of slaves herding them into one of the many empty slave-tanks. Two of the trio entered a fair-sized meeting chamber where Nezor could sit just outside and be able to see and listen through the gaping oak double-door.

Corvo-Doom joined them not long after they sat around the long plain wood meeting table atop which sat a decanter of fine wine and a bowl of various regional fruits. The meeting was short and terse with the trio accepting a 10 gold talon apiece pay rate in exchange for a raid on a slaver stronghold hidden in the marshes. Nezor saw and heard the proceedings as an assignment to liberate the helpless and immediately imagined himself as the shinning hero amongst a crowd of cheering newly freed slaves. Ilhand passed Phenox a blood-stained map.

After another 10-day stretch which Nezor had spent in the Whiskey Troll tavern making quick friends with the city rat-trappers, the trio found themselves in familiar territory astride a log raft manned by their old acquaintance Gator-Tooth. The swamp was even more stifling and stench ridden than they had remembered and the boredom and intermittent attacks by monstrous swamp vermin over the several hours that it took to reach their destination served to remind them why they preferred the city. Gator-tooth brought the raft to a small makeshift dock and form there the trio took off on an overgrown path.

Nearly invisible in places, the very narrow path twisted through the thick pungent bush with Phenox leading the ‘goodfellows’, Gator-tooth did the “sensible thing” and was waiting with the raft. The trio did run into a small group of tusked swamp apes and did away with them after some difficulty; Cantra was badly wounded in the fight but was able to restore herself to full health by downing a potion of Heal. It was not long after that they approached the slaver fort.

It appeared a ruin covered in over-growth save for the brand new iron-bar portcullis at the rounded mouth of the front gate. Nezor just strode right in as the portcullis had been carelessly left wide open. Cantra and Phenox were exasperated, they had a plan that they had neglected to clue the giant in on.

Nezor saw that the design of the place was much the same as Corvo’s slave-pits but all the befouled cells here were crowded with human slaves filthy hands feathering the caged pits as they reached up through the bars. It seemed most of the slavers themselves were away currently but the human staff were still there and 10 Naga guards 2 of which were in full plate armor and heavily armed, undoubtedly captains of the guard. Suddenly a noblewoman in a crushed velvet dress and jewels around her neck jaunted in through the front gate after the giant. He at least had sense enough to recognize Cantra in disguise. Needless to say, the charade didn’t last long and in a lightning quick turn of events the trio was engaged in savage combat with the Naga guards.

A naginata bearing Scael-Naga immediately charged and attacked the giant and took a powerful retort from Nezor shattering some of the Scael’s ribs and the backswing of the gigantic great-club finished him. The body flew clanging as it hit the rusted lid of a nearby slave-pit. Two more Naga guards went at Nezor both nailing him with their polearms as the killing stroke dealt their compadre had left the giant wide open. Nezor fell to the ground bleeding, dying.

The next thing the hill giant remembered was Cantra forcing a Heal potion down his throat. He noticed his armor was irreparably damaged being reduced to a tattered half-suit. He stood up anger smeared across his broad dirty face.

Nezor (pointing to his armor): “Ya RUINED it! Ya lousy snakey RUNTS!”

Nezor raised both his arms into the air and shouted to the slaves in the cells and pits, “I am the HERO Freeman Nezor of the Hill-lands! I am prepared to DIE for your freedom! Rise up and turn on yer masters and be FREE!” His words actually inspired the slaves, as probably did his sheer size. They began to try to pry their cages open and tried to fight the other more inconsequential slaver-staff with their rusted chains as improvised weaponry.

The 2 naga guards that had initially dropped the giant turned their attentions back to him and attacked. Nezor held his ground against them as they leveled attack after attack letting fly a virtual storm of flashing blades. Cantra tried to shift the odds in the giant’s favor using her bow against his foes but was too close and took a blow from a naginata blade that nearly killed her.

Phenox shouted his battle-cry as he leapt from the auction block at a Naga-guard. The armored captains made their moves and charged Nezor dramatically shifting the odds of victory in their favor. Nezor barely held out by parrying blow after potentially lethal blow and with a roar of desperation swept his club in a wide and deadly arc killing all 4 of his enemies in a single powerful sweep of his great club.

Phenox was working his way to the cells where he found a single chain securing the cell-doors of a considerably long row. He shouted to the giant as his strength was needed to snap the chain. The grim-warrior then easily dropped a human slaver that charged him then took the keys from the corpse and tossed them to a nearby slave. Two Scael-guards converged on him. Nezor rushed through the chaos and grabbed the chain with one arm and yanked, the rusted chain snapped and all of the doors along that row clanged open immediately.

Phenox continued to battle the two guards on him and the giant spotted 3 more Scaels coming at him. Nezor charged them with a roar killing them all in another great single sweep of his massive weapon. Phenox finally chopped down one of his two foes and Nezor squashed the second with his club. The freed slaves surged over the courtyard overwhelming the rest of the guards and slavers, many were chanting Nezor’s name. Even though he was bloodied and his fine armor was destroyed a very wide and toothy smile broke across his sweat slicked face.

Meanwhile Cantra found the fort lockbox and goaded the giant into snatching it up as they fled from the now burning stronghold as it seemed the liberated slaves had begun to set it aflame. Phenox and Cantra began to lament that they were missing out on the 10 silver piece bounties on each of the slaves’ heads that Corvo-Doom had offered for their return. Nezor wasn’t paying attention.

Later, the trio of “goodfellows” turned off of the trail into an old long-neglected campsite to divvy up the booty from the strongbox. Nezor’s cut was 124 gold pieces, 217 silver pieces, 58 platinum pieces, and 789 copper pieces. From there they discarded the small iron chest and moved quickly back to the raft. It was well past dawn when they finally arrived back in the city, a few minor incidents including an attack by a pair of giant constrictors had occurred on the return trip.

Cantra and Phenox split off from Nezor at the old gristmill intent on collecting the payroll, Nezor made sure to remind Cantra that if they didn’t pay him his fair share he would “squash” her with his boot. He had caught her trying to cheat him on the split back in the marsh. The pair was quickly out of sight on their way to see the master-slaver of Xuun. Nezor was heading back to the Whiskey Troll dragging the carcasses of a pair of butchered giant swamp constrictors behind him.

To Be Continued…

A Giant in Xuun Pt.2: Walking the Bazaar

The Whiskey Troll Tavern was a-buzz with the noise of conversation, sinister and riotous laughter, and the loutish shrieks and yells of its loyal but filthy patrons. Floating just above the clamor barely able to take wing in the thick sea of lamp-yellowed pipe-smoke were the sweet banjo notes of a doshpuluur (a 3-string long-necked lute) and its turtle-shell sound-box as a bard plied his trade. The young bard was dressed in the half-brown, half-green colors of the Bardic College at Ezmer bearing also the school’s mark, a golden acorn with a ram’s horn curling about it, on his breast. He was singing a traditional song which involved something about a maiden and a dragon somewhere in the Marshes of Gorloc. Nezor threw with some force a handful of gold coins at the musician leaving a few marks on the young man’s forehead. The bard was happy for the coin however and pausing, stooped to collect them from the damp, filth be-speckled flagstones.

Black Hoods before the Bazaar

Phenox worked the raw skull of the half-giant, the blue-boar, fashioning it into a helmet for himself. He was quietly chatting with Cantra, dressed in parti-color, about a group of Scaels that had just slithered in; one was lurking in the shadows. Corvo-Doom burst into the place making his way to a table by way of a wide angry stride his minions and shield-man in tow. His Ivoran shield-man bore a heavy spiked gold longshield bearing the image of a severed demonic head with a crown atop it and rimmed with demonic-script.

The night shapes up to be another in a long string of loud, vacuous, and uninteresting nights tinged with a strange and looming paranoia. Cantra eventually decided to retire to her apartment. Not soon after she had retired than Zevor the swamper pulled up a stool to table where Nezor continued to drink and eat and the Grim Warrior Phenox continued to carve. The Ivoran swamper set down a bucket of whiskey then sat after scooping some up in his jack.

Zevor: “They treatin’ ya right here?”

Nezor (played by me): “Well, ah ain’t droonk ye’eht!”

The swamper goes on to talk about some “highwayman work” somewhere in the swamp north of town. Nezor seemed a little interested but his ears perked up when Zevor, as if sensing what would properly motivate the giant, mentioned that the caravan was hauling a stash of “unearned” cash and certain “stolen” items. It was “vital to certain concerned citizens of Xuun” that they, meaning the tinder and gear, be “liberated”. Nezor mulled it over for about an hour while Zevor covered the tab. In the end the giant agreed and volunteered his companions whom he referred to as the “goodfellows”.

By about midnight Nezor had passed out drunk. It seemed that as soon as his eyes slid closed the screams of the “goodfellows” yanked him into the full blinding gold-light of morning out from his peaceful stupor. He was awoken to three human black-hoods armed with short-swords raised stood around his table and his prostrate figure. The dark shape of Phenox flew into the fray leaping on a tabletop and slashing away with his paired scimitars separating a hooded head from black draped shoulders.

Another slashed at Phenox’s legs but missed and the other stabbed Nezor in the side renting a hole in his cowhide jerkin. A ratling streaked from the shadows and slashed at Cantra with its dagger but she evaded the oiled blade easily. Yet another ratling made an appearance and this one buried its dagger to the hilt in Phenox’s side.

The Hill-Giant snatched up his club ‘dog-smasher’ and with a mighty sweep forced one of the human thugs to dodge out of the way clobbering the other and launching his corpse through the air into the dark inner reaches of the tavern.

The ratling on Cantra nicked her with its blade. The other on Phenox lashed out missing then quickly backed away. Phenox slashed at the creature in response but it dodged away disappearing into shadow. Cantra whipped out her bowie-knife and stabbed her tiny chittering foe wounding it badly.

The remaining human hood nailed Phenox with his weapon and Nezor immediately took him out with a sudden sickly wooden thud followed by an explosion of blood and gore. Cantra’s little foe struck at her but she avoided the blade and as it turned to flee she stuck it in the back killing it. The trio noticed that these thugs’ hoods were of fine black leather this time.

After looting the corpses of coin the trio makes their way to Xuun’s bazaar. The wide avenue was noisy with the clatter of people and wagons as the traffic jammed up under the continuous cloth awnings on both sides and the masses of vendor-carts and produce laden carpets dividing the cobbled street into two chaotic lanes. The sheer diversity of the people was still humbling to Nezor. There were civilized Ivorans, dirty Westlanders, Nagas (most being of the Scael persuasion, a few may have been of Southern Barbarian stock), dark-skinned Creschans, and even a few Hill-Landers though all had appeared to be pirates in need of a ship. The air was rich with scents of fresh spices, the delicious oily smells of cooking food, and the exotic bursts of scented oils and incents. However, the stench of unwashed bodies and the general filth and sewage which ran in the gutters was only just detectable underneath the exotic pall of the marketplace.

Phenox located an alchemist and Cantra purchased some items to fill out her disguise repertoire and a make-up kit. Nezor split off from his companions when an armorer called him over to his stand which was covered in crocodile and alligator leather and skins. The shopkeep directed the hill-giant’s attention to the massive skin with its head still attached hung on the wall behind. The crocodile had been massive and was perfect as a suit of hide armor for Nezor, so naturally he paid half up front and spent awhile he was measured for his new suit. It would be ready for pick up in about 3 days.

As the “goodfellows” found each other as they were heading back to the Whiskey Troll they caught eye of a large group of about 12 fighters all wearing white armbands. One of their number armed with a golden sword was killing a tentacle creature at one of the booths. Another wearing chainmail and wearing a white Acton with a gold solar-disc over a blue wavy line on its front turned and raising his straight bladed broadsword into the air shouted, “We seek the enemies of life; we are looking for witches to BURN!” By the looks of him he was either a Cleric or Paladin of the Brighthouse (the Creschan Church). Nezor wasn’t quite sure nor di he care much. The ‘witch hunters’ then proceed to savagely beat the gypsy purveyors of said shop-stand.

The “goodfellows” turned and head back to the tavern, there the roguish Zevor later met with them letting them know that there “has been a delay” and it would be about 3 and half more days until the liberation of the goods form the criminal caravan in the swamps. Phenox tossed 3 leather hoods onto the ale-soaked table and Zevor without missing a beat snatched them up and tossed out 30 gold pieces onto the damp board.

So, Nezor committed himself to drinking, eating, and waiting for his new suit of armor to be done.

To Be Continued…

A Giant in Xuun Pt.1: Black Oak Mishap

The sweaty greasy crowd in the smoke-fogged taproom of the Whiskey Troll Tavern was in a cacophony as the clatter of coin changing hands began to wash over the former uproar generated by the evening’s entertainment. Among the grungy ragged crowd were a group of ethnic Scael Nagas with a dagger and coiled serpent design on their pectoral plates, and a lizard-man (probably a descendant of slaves escaped into the swamps centuries ago) and his human companions all dressed in coats made of a patchwork of rat-skins with an embroidered patch bearing a rat impaled on a dagger sown on the backs.Giant Hogshead with troll-face

A stumpy Westlander with a studded black-leather cowl was the luckiest gambler in the crowd as he had apparently made a significant wager on the hill-giant and his two companions against the 7 black-hooded thieves’-guildsmen whose corpses now littered the place. The leader of the rogues lay splattered all over a far wall opposite the scene.

A silk-robed Hyvalian, a gold signet ring on his hand and a great sword at his side, seated at a private table and surrounded by servants looked on as he sipped whiskey from his golden goblet studying the giant and his two companions. He had passionlessly observed the brawl but seemed to take a little more interest in the night’s victors, at least for the moment. In the course of the night Nezor would learn that this glittering and seemingly out-of-place character was Corvo-Doom, a powerful slaver.

Nezor the giant flopped down near his table, back against the wall nursing two nasty spear wounds in his side made by the short-spear wielding thief-leader. Phenox, a dusky southlander in alligator-hide armor his face hidden behind a mask fashioned from a human skull, after tossing a healing potion to Nezor, went to lopping off the heads of the corpses that were still mostly intact with one of his paired scimitars. The giant poured the potion on his tongue like an eye-dropper and began beating his club on the stone floor.

Nezor (played by me): “Gimme some whiskey! A hero thirsts!”

Meanwhile Cantra, the other of Nezor’s two companions, had already buzzed away and disappeared somewhere behind the bar. She had been sporting a single but deep quarrel wound.

To the giant’s surprise the stumpy Westlander in the black cowl jogged up with a full cask of whiskey and eagerly filled his copper drinking horn to the brim instead of Ebuyah, one of the troll-mutilated maidens which worked the fetid place and one of Nezor’s favorites.

Cowled Westlander: “Those whoresons deserved what they got. The Black Hoods have been interfering with my business for years. I’m Zevor by the way!”

It turned out that the stump of a Westlander was a “swamper” which meant little to Nezor. The giant continued to drink on the little man’s tab for the rest of the night while the ‘swamper’ tried to recruit him for some sort of a job that could “use some muscle”. He also offered a bounty of 10 gold pieces for each hood taken from a black hood member.

Come morning all three companions rejoined at their table in the Whiskey Troll Tavern, Nezor and Cantra having met at the House of Healing run by the ubiquitous White Star Guild in order to get ‘fixed-up’. Phenox was not-so-subtly de-fleshing a severed human head, one that he had taken during the battle the previous night. Nezor was ordering breakfast, a mass of steaming meats, a massive bowl of some sort of thin stew and a bucket of frothing ale. Cantra fluttered away to the barkeep in order to ‘ask him something’. It was a short while till she jaunted back and said that the group was heading to the city’s wood mill in the extreme east separated from the swamp only by a deep creek. The group waited until the hill-giant finished his meal of course.

It was close to noon when the trio neared the mill. As they continued to tread the yellow dirt road high piles of cut logs began to rise to either side. Suddenly the Cantra and then Phenox ducked out of sight leaving the clueless giant to stride right up to the yawning front gate through which lay the mill’s front yard. Nezor shrugged at the apparent absence of his companions and looked about. He could see a small caravan that had curled into the yard some hours ago flying a green flag on each wagon bearing the images of a black axe in a black oak. A small group of men, southlanders mostly, were talking.

One noticed the hill-giant and approached introducing himself as the yard foreman. Not knowing what to say Nezor simply said that he was looking for a job, the foreman seemed pleased and told the giant to wait a while as he had to ask the boss before hiring anybody. The boss was busy he said as he motioned to 3 men at the lead wagon of the caravan. Between that trio and the rest of the yard was a handful of human fighters.

The foreman: “He’s over there meeting with Zaraid, the merchant.” Nezor dumbly nodded in the affirmative.

There was a half-giant in boar-skins armed with a boar-spear wearing a bright blue enameled pectoral plate, an obvious human merchant, a Westlander, decked out with lots of gold jewelry and wearing a brown & crimson studded arming doublet, and a brawny sun-darkened man probably the mill-boss. The foreman jogged over across the dusty yard past the group of armed men, probably hire-ons for the caravan and a few guards from the mill, to the brawny older man. Just then, Nezor noticed a Southern Nomad girl stride right in through the front gate. She was bare-footed, wearing a clean but simple gown and was painted like a prostitute. The heavy make-up probably a ruse to hide a Naga heritage, he couldn’t see any goatish features in her countenance.

The gypsy strode with a rapid gate straight towards the merchant and the caravaners. She had a certain resemblance in build and attitude to Cantra. Nezor continued to wonder where the hell his companions went. The mill-boss had in the meantime approached Nezor who still stood just inside of the gate.

Mill-Boss: “Yeah, you are a big one. We’ll pay you 1 gold piece a week.”

Nezor: “What? Why, dat wonna e’en pay m’beer tab for ah tree-day! Ya got any’un for me ta’ bash!”

He waggled his club.

While the two men were parsing the giant’s heavy Hill-lander accent, a girl’s shriek echoed through the yard. The caravaner half-giant had thrown the nomad girl over his shoulder and was striding behind a high wall of piled logs. Nezor gazed after them with head cocked. Not soon after the boar-skinned mug was out of sight than his voice bellowed, “YOU gypsy WHORE!” All heads in the yard whipped towards the discreet pile.

The merchant Zaraid waddled quickly to where his man was. After quickly excusing himself with, “don’t worry boss I’ll check dis oot”, Nezor followed him behind the wood edifice. The giant was in time to see the gypsy girl hopping up the wood pile part of her dress ripped off and her make-up smeared off of half her face revealing her as Cantra to Nezor. The boar-skinned half-giant had a bleeding knife wound on his throat. The brute threw a punch at Cantra but she easily evaded and back-flipped to the top of the pile.

Zaraid unhooked his battle-axe from his belt then out from nowhere Phenox emerged slashing at the barrel-shaped merchant with each of his paired scimitars. The fat man dodged backward 10 ft. and the Blue Boar forgetting Cantra lunged at Phenox with his flanged-spear to defend his master. The blow was easily deflected. Nezor brought Dog-Smasher to bear and prepared for battle.

Zaraid the merchant caught both of Phenox’s swords in a clinch with his battle-axe. Taking advantage of the Grim Warrior’s vulnerability, the Blue-Boar stuck him in the guts with his spear. Nezor popped the fat merchant’s head with his club using a single-handed grip. Both Phenox and the Blue-Boar skipped backward away from each other, though the Grim Warrior did so in order to recover from the grievous spear-wound in his stomach. The Blue-Boar held up his spear and shouted, “Parlay! Parlay!”

Cantra immediately leapt down to the ground to fall upon and search the merchant’s corpse. Phenox surged forward and viciously attacked the Blue-Boar. The Blue-Boar struck back unsuccessfully with his boar-spear. Nezor crushed the half-giant with a two-handed club strike. Phenox immediately fell upon the half-giant’s corpse and commenced to looting it.

Nezor just turned around and strutted back around from behind the pile towards the Mill-Boss and the Foreman. He gave as quick an explanation as he could without missing a step in his stride on his way out the gate. He blamed the Blue-Boar for the whole debacle as the ‘villainous’ half-giant had turned on his master over ‘first-dibs’ on the gypsy whore.

Later, back at the Whiskey Troll the three companions reconvened at their table. Cantra had received a bounty for the merchant and his servant and had lifted a lock box from one of the wagons after the giant had fled. She wanted to split it up ‘behind closed doors’ back at her apartment. Nezor basically threatened her to get his share ‘now’. As they were leaving a small group of thugs entered the place wearing black hoods over their heads.

Nezor stood up and roared at them, “this tavern is for the justly goodfellows only! NO Black Hoods!” He gestured towards his two friends. The black hoods ran back out the door.

To Be Continued…

 

Tabletop Meditations #7: RPG Narrative

Discussions about the writing and running of tabletop games in terms of fictional narratives or as a sort of collective fiction or exercise in communal story-telling are very common as are the debates brought about by such subjects. Especially when discussing the writing of Game-Masters and the use of not only the terms but the devices of fictional narrative. According to my own personal experiences in roleplaying in both the Game-Master and Player roles as well as an avid reader of fiction, Fiction Narrative and RPG Narratives are completely different.

“RPGs cannot easily be characterised in terms of standard narrative theories, presenting a different approach to narrative. Their interactive character-based approach differs both from the classical Aristotelian theory and the analytical models proposed by the French Structuralists.” [Louchart, Sandy & Aylett, Ruth. 2003. Intelligent Virtual Agents: Solving the Narrative Paradox in VEs – Lessons from RPGs. Springer-Verlag Berlin Heidelberg, Germany. 245]

Narratives in fiction and that of Tabletop Role-Playing Games (TRPGs) are fundamentally different even though they have certain similarities. From the smallest units used in their composition to visualizations of their basic overall narrative structures to how they are composed (authored) and to what audience they are meant for both forms have an array of differences though in these differences also lay similarities.

Narrative in its most basic sense is a chronology of events which build upon or relate to one another from which the basis of story and plot is built.

“Chronology is made up of identifiable events or episodes. These episodes are identified by where they occurred (the setting) and by recalling who was there (the characters). The moments in between which are often not remembered serve to merely link one with another.” [Minot, Stephen. 1993. Three Genres: The Writing of Poetry, Fiction, and Drama. Prentice-Hall Inc., New Jersey. 177-178]

As narrative is a very basic element of story, plot may be considered a separate idea artificially constructed by the author(s) where concerning fiction to give the narrative direction.

Plot, as opposed to narrative, is constructed in order to follow the narrative to an ends which can carry personal meanings or messages and is meant to immerse and propel the reader along the course plotted out beforehand by the author(s). Narrative is not constructed of plot but plot does steer narrative in a certain direction that is determined by the author(s). In Fiction Narrative plot is directed by the author(s) and similarly in TRPGs plot can be said to be the same as all the participants (GM and Players) are in place of the author(s). However, in RPG’s plots are less ‘plotted’ rather than constructed by the interaction of the participants against some sort of framework previously setup by the Game-Master which can be termed ‘Adventure’ as the equivalent of ‘Plot’ where concerning TRPG narrative.

“The Game-Master exercises control at a high level over narrative unfolding, plot, pace and the structure of the story. Since the a priori plot line for a campaign is only hypothetical, the Game-Master needs specific tools – in the form of […] encounters […] – to gain some control over the overall campaign.” [Louchart & Aylett. 246]

The TRPG narrative is collectively gathered from the participation of the GM and players including the accumulation of details authored by each whereas the plot of standard fiction is determined by the author(s) and is often carefully constructed to follow the intended narrative.

“A fictional plot is a weaving together of events that are interrelated and which work toward a conclusion.” [Minot.183]

The plot of fiction and TRPGs are similar on a very basic level and this is where the confusion between Fiction Narrative and that of TRPGs can produce unfavorable results which should be familiar to most TRPG gamers.

The desire to change the shape of the adventure and/or campaign into that of a traditional fiction narrative on the part of the GM is the prime example of the confusion between TRPG narrative and Fiction Narrative. When the GM behaves in this manner they essentially hijack the agency of the players taking away their power to affect the game world and alter the shape of the story. This is called ‘railroading’ and is often to the detriment of the game (however, I have met and played with those that prefer the rails and often spend time in-game seeking them out).

“While the DM [Dungeon-Master] can limit players’ actions, in reality, the players have a great deal of agency in creating the story of the TRPG.” [Grouling-Cover, Jennifer. 2010. The Creation of Narrative in Tabletop Role-Playing Games. McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers. 49]

Essentially when trying to steer the roleplaying game into the territory of narrative fiction the railroad-GM begins to exclude a major part of the gaming experience and excising an essential part of the TRPG that makes it unique and apart from standard fiction. Railroading is the practice of forcing the players to stay within the confines of a plotline written or in the mind of the Game-Master thereby changing the very nature of the game. Where the GM has acted more as an author of a choose-your-own-adventure book rather than acting in the more appropriate referee mode though commonly in tabletop RPG’s (TRPG’s) the GM may author elements of the adventure particularly the background elements of the campaign world perhaps even the campaign world itself. “The player in a TRPG [Tabletop Role-Playing Game] is not out to discover the secret to the DM’s story but to help create that story through active participation [.]” [Grouling-Cover. 37] There is no sole author when it comes to roleplaying.

The GM acts less as an author of fiction or the care-taker of an all-important storyline but should behave more as an arbiter of the rules, a referee when it comes to negotiating in-game conundrums, and maintain control of the game using the tools available to them such as encounters, playing on meta-knowledge of the players, and the capability of the characters among a few others.

“The Game-Master expects that the encounters specifically created for a session, will trigger actions, reactions, discussions or decisions from the party in such a way that an anticipated plot will unfold. This plot however has a hypothetical aspect since what actually happens is the direct result of the party’s generated reactions to the different encounters. They can be used by the Games Master to shape and pace the dramatic unfolding of the narrative as well as presenting the main source of entertainment to the players, and embodying key events in the construction of the plot. Their smooth orchestration by the Game-Master is critical to the creation, development and unfolding of an RPG campaign.” [Louchart & Aylett. 246]

The GM makes use of in-game devices such as encounters, expressing scenarios that the players may happen upon or induce through their behavior, and determining when the element of chance is required to be relied upon which typically takes the shape of a dice roll of some type. If the party gets too far off the path of the adventure at hand threatening take the campaign into territory which would diminish the overall fun for the group then it is the GM’s responsibility to get them back onto the trail as it were by intervening in certain ways.

“Interventions are generally caused either by players taking longer than expected in dealing with encounters or by the story branching in an unexpected manner. Branching may occur when the party incorrectly determines their role and what is expected from them, pursues future plot events omitting essential encounters or attempts to reinvent themselves. The need for interventions illustrates the plot’s provisional nature and stresses on the Game-Master’s preparation and flexibility.” [Louchart & Aylett. 246-247]

This can be avoided with certain other GM techniques such as “sandboxing” or keeping the details of the adventure as fluid as possible allowing the actions of the player to codify them and the Game-Master should allow themselves the flexibility to work those elements into the adventure allowing them to keep a firm hold on the direction of the campaign.

“Because the DM [Dungeon-Master] cannot predict players’ actions, he or she can not [sic] know what direction the story might take or what parts of the world might be explored. While the DM may control the world to an extent, this control is far more ephemeral than that of an author.” [Grouling-Cover. 92]

In the classical understanding of narrative the author constructs the fictional world, the characters, directs their actions within it, and develops the plot-line via the chronology of events within the story. “[…] RPGs work with a hypothetical plot which is dynamically modified, the mechanisms supporting this dynamic modification seem to rely … on out-of-character and out-of-play direct interactions.” [Louchart & Aylett. 248] Right off the bat it is evident that the narrative of TRPGs is very fluid and mimetic as compared to that of fiction which is much more monolithic. Of course, plot and narrative in both veins are composed of smaller more basic bits. These smaller parts of Fiction Narrative and TRPGs respectively are Scenes, Story-Beats, Episodes, and Play-Units.

Fiction narrative is written by a single author or group of authors who for the most part are all considered primary authors with each more or less contributing an equal amount of material to the story. Authors write for a captive audience whom as they read have no choice but to follow the narrative set down by the author upon whose shoulders and skill rests the ability to keep the readers immersed and in a state of suspense. This allows for a structured plotline running through the events contained in the narrative to make sense of them to the authors’ ends.

The underlying structure for fiction narrative known as Dramatic Structure when visualized appears very similar if not identical to a Bell-Curve (a more strict analysis could yield something more akin to Freytag’s Pyramid but this is a more general discussion) with the climax of the story, the height of the action, occurring at a single point. Of course, the events following the plot often will increase in intensity building up to the climax afterwards the main plotline if not all plot-lines including those attached to participant characters are tied up ending the story. High points on the curve would be points of high-energy and/or action and the low points would of course be lulls in the action. Each of these points represents a single scene or event, the building blocks of the story.

Fiction “is made up of a sequence of related scenes [and] is a construction of units in which the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” [Minot.184] A scene is the smallest unit of story and each scene is built of beats which are marked changes in the fuzzy or emotional bits or ‘feel’ (not to be confused with mood) in a scene. Story-Beats are the smallest unit that makes up fiction most often applied to screenwriting, or as defined by Robert Mckee in his book Story: Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting (1997) as an exchange of behavior in action/reaction.

In fact, by this definition the GM and the players are included in the story which is not far from the truth of the matter but it is a little lacking when it comes to TRPG’s due to the breaking out of bounds of the ‘story’. Instead of Story-Beats that make up fiction’s narrative, in roleplaying the smallest unit of narrative is a Play-Unit which consists of a scenario (presented by the Game Master) + decision (made by the players) which then may lead to action (a high point) or inaction (a low point). [Edwards, Ron. 2001. Sorcerer & Sword. Adept Press, Chicago. Pg.80] Basically the Story-Beat of fiction narrative can translate with some work to the Play Unit of TRPG’s. Similarly, scenes can absolutely be drawn from the narrative that forms during play thus relating RPG Narratives to that of fiction and as fiction has its smallest units (technically the scene and emotively the action beat) so does the narrative that evolves from a roleplaying game session.

However, the narrative flow of TRPG’s as opposed to the narrative flow in fiction is very different.

“A narrative in a RPG is here defined as a description through game play of a series of events created by the interaction of two or more participants.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 55]

The narrative flow of an RPG campaign is essentially a sine-wave with the high points being moments of action and the low points being those of calm or inaction, the definitions of the highs and lows being identical to those of fiction narrative.

The narrative flow of fiction usually moves upwards climbing towards a climax (or anti-climax) with the high and low points on the visualized graph being much the same as that of those on the Sine-Wave of TRPG’s but may be increasing in intensity as the author can reliably craft or manipulate these events in order to do so, in RPG’s the events as they also depend on the unpredictable actions of the players and many times on an element of chance (the dice) will have varying and sometimes seemingly random variances in intensity/thrill-level.

In the same vein, the thrill-level may be at variance for each of the players as well. This is because the narrative of a TRPG is authored by not just a specific individual or group but a whole gamut of folks from the Game-Master, each individual Player, to the deeper levels of authorship which may not be personally present during the game such as the authors of additional supplemental game material.

Basically, it’s the participants who share the authoring of the TRPG Narrative not to diminish the work of the GM whose responsibility it is to both referee games and often provide background material and characters as well as incorporating any supplemental material into the campaign. This also includes authors that are not direct participants in the campaign those authors that have written material used to supplement the game by the participants thereby creating several levels of authorship with the players at the shallower end.

“Although RPG players have a good idea of the overall story in which they are involved, they are more concerned by the development of their characters and their focus is situated at a fairly low level within the overall story, the individual level.” [Louchart & Aylett. 247]

Essentially, it is more helpful to refer to what is called Story in Fiction Narrative as a Campaign in the context of TRPGs as the authorship of narrative between TRPGs and fiction is so very different.

“The creation of a campaign is a collaborative process where the characters, as well as the worlds and environments in which the campaign is set, are developed in common accord between the Game-Master and the players. […] This laborious but highly participative creation process allows the Games Master to prepare the campaign episodes with a good understanding and knowledge of the different characters and world involved. This favours the delivery of a highly flexible narrative structure[.]” [Louchart & Aylett. 245]

The narrative of a TRPG is dynamic, it is a contributive exercise involving the players and the GM and commonly other remote authors where the narrative is simply not consistent across its audience.

“Game play is dynamic and, as it relies upon input from the player, can at least possibly differ for each player. Any narrative will be experienced by a player as a result of their game play. As the game play of each player differs, so their narratives may differ.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 54]

This can dramatically alter the narratives not only retold by each participant when recounting their experiences but their view of the campaign through the experiences of their character and their own meta-game experiences actually playing the game around the table.

“The narrative experienced by a player will be informed by the total sum of their game play experience.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 55]

This very fluid structure and continual nature of the narrative structure of TRPG campaigns seems that it would be at a sublime disadvantage when it comes to the attentions of a passive audience.

A Campaign World is the collection of information that forms the background essentially the stage on which the game occurs and where the characters act. This is aside from the TRPG narrative component equivalent to story in fiction narrative. A campaign world is often referred to as the setting, the place where the adventures happen.

“Campaign settings are designed not to tell stories, but to create spaces for stories.” [Grouling-Cover. 79]

What differentiates these game settings from the worlds of traditional fiction narratives is that the players have agency within the world having the power to leave their marks on it.

“[W]hile the world exists independently from the way the characters and players progress through it, the participants of TRPGs do influence the development of the world.” [Grouling-Cover. 77]

The players and even the GM change and build the setting as they progress through their adventures and thus the fantasy world. In many cases it’s the players’ interest in the world that surrounds their characters (the PC’s) that fills in the minute details and sometimes even creates whole new aspects and features within the setting.

“The interests of the players and the questions they ask also affect the world in more detailed ways that more directly influence the narrative.” [Grouling-Cover. 78]

This is not to say the players and their characters have ultimate say in the course of events unintentional or otherwise, the GM still has certain planned events which can alter the player characters’ paths.

“Many details of the world get fleshed out only as the players (characters) progress through them; however, certain events in the world progress regardless of the characters’ involvement with them.” [Grouling-Cover. 79]

In TRPGs it’s the audience that has agency over the narrative.

The audience that TRPGs are written for or rather meant to entertain is the participants around the table playing the game. “A RPG narrative is not made for an audience, but for the people participating.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 55] The audience of an RPG Campaign is also its authors. When it comes to relating their adventures the players and Game-Masters will form their tales into narratives from their point of view which may be from outside of the game or from within coming from a specific character. These ‘tales from the table’ often divide the narrative into scenes which are extracted from the over-arching campaign. These scenes as they are called in fiction narrative are better referred to as Episodes in TRPGs.

In TRPGs episodes can be a smaller part of an overall campaign or be limited to a single gaming session especially where the group is playing out a specific scenario in the game. It is also especially useful when referring to Episodic Play where the participants in a gaming group may shift, meaning the group is not composed of a fixed membership of individuals or even set number of participants at any one time where using one-shot type scenarios is a particularly useful tactic on the GM’s part to be able to get a game together and keep it together perhaps only later trying to tie them together into a greater campaign. The TRPG campaign like the Story of fiction is composed of Episodes as a story is drawn from a series of scenes. These scenes are composed of smaller pieces, story-beats, and thus an episode is also composed of what are also essentially story-beats better referred to as Play-Units in the context of TRPGs.

As defined before a Play-Unit consists of a situation presented by the GM and a decision made on this scenario by the player(s). The most fundamental bit of TRPGs is a back-and-forth between the participants.

“[An] RPG narrative is constructed by a continual process of communication and feedback between the participants.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 58]

This interaction is communicated through the context of the rule system they are using.

“Rule books… provide rules that assist participants in creating and controlling their storyworld. These books create the system that is used to structure the game.” [Grouling-Cover. 11]

It is through this filtering medium that the participants are able to negotiate and come to agreement as to what will become a part of the campaign and a reality in their collective fiction.

Negotiation describes the way the group uses social interaction to decide how the events will progress in the narrative… negotiation is a process of reaching a point that successfully lets the story progress.” [Grouling-Cover. 33]

It is from this seemingly basic unit of interaction that the TRPG story, a campaign, evolves from the collective imaginations of the participants, the RPG Group, most likely using material drawn from multiple sources and authors.

The basic smallest building blocks of both types of narratives are similar but still different as they serve different purposes. As discussed previously authors place story-beats of their fiction narrative in order to move the plot along using events which ultimately will lead to the climax of the story. The narrative and indeed the plot that can be extracted from a TRPG session seems to be an emergent narrative, that is it evolves and grows though the GM may set the player group on the path to a certain event and/or climax (which in RPG’s is more of a chapter-mark or framing device) and may completely diverge into completely unforeseen territory. The philosophy of the TRPG is essentially “story now”, the players and indeed the GM will want to enjoy their game NOW, and if any of them find it boring they do have the freedom to try to find the fun in any way that they can.

“The key concept is simple: Story Now. Not “It’ll add up to a story someday,” or “Your character will be tough enough to start a story some day [sic],” or even, “You don’t know this, but a really cool story is underlying these adventures.” No. Story now means that the conflicts and resolutions played out openly on the table are engaging and coherent, at that moment.  […] It means the proposition of conflict, the pivotal role of the heroes’ decisions, and a resolution of the conflict.” [Edwards.80]

When it comes to levels of authorship, traditional fiction is a little more streamlined than the multiple levels found in even a cursory glance at TRPGs. Often there is only a single level with the author(s) being the primary having full control over the narrative and its components. This of course is not taking into account certain series of books or fictional universes where multiple authors contribute to multiple works all set in the same world or universe such as in H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos.

In TRPGs authorship is a multi-level dynamic and liquid thing where not only the participants create fictive elements amongst themselves when interacting through the medium of the game but when adding in elements from materials written by other authors. In roleplaying games the authorship also overlaps with the audience as the participants produce their campaign narrative for their own entertainment whereas when it comes to fiction the author(s) produce their stories for an audience that has no agency within the author’s fictive world. The final demonstration of the absolute difference between the narrative structure of TRPGs and that of Fiction is the visualizations of their general underlying structure, the difference between the potentially perpetual Sine-Wave structure of RPGs and the finite Bell-Curve structure of classical fiction narrative.

In conclusion, RPG Narrative Flow is very different from that of Fiction Narrative Flow which can be demonstrated by comparing any of the most basic components of either not to mention the dramatic difference illustrated by way of their line-graph visualizations. RPG narratives are unlike that of the Narratives of Fiction alternating in action or high points with low points at pretty regular intervals as a sine-wave whereas Fiction Narrative has a definitive structure that escalates in action & drama moving towards a climax. In RPG Narratives a set piece may mark a climax and (hopefully) coincide with a high-point providing some closure to most of the prescient story-lines that were prominent in the campaign.

The various components of either type of narrative can be said to be related and can be translated in limited terms back and forth. Fiction is often plundered for ideas for use in the game world and the basic elements of fiction can be extracted from a campaign narrative with the most bottom level translation between fiction’s Story-Beat and Play-Unit being approximate at best. There are relations between the two different narrative styles and structures but a TRPG is not a novel though a novel can be extracted from the conglomeration of story and detail created through the play of an RPG campaign if the Riftwar Saga by Raymond Feist and the Dragonlance books can stand as examples.

However, the most important difference, at least in my opinion, between the narrative flow of classical fiction and that of TRPGs is player agency and the shared authorship of all involved regardless of their level of participation.

“This [the TRPG Narrative form] is fundamentally different to many other narrative forms, in that the participants have an active role in shaping the future form of the narrative.” [Hitchens & Drachen. 59]

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Character Codex IV RELEASED!

Cover Art by Brian Brinlee
Cover Art by Brian Brinlee

The Character Codex IV: Book of Unconventional Character Classes is now available in pdf format via RPGNOW.com and DriveThruRPG.com!

A new Character Codex containing specialist fantasy character classes that are strange and unconventional adding new flair to any Dice & Glory campaign! This book is a great resource for both Players and Game Masters wishing to introduce some eastern flavor into their game! Among those classes that can be found within the new Character Codex’s pages are the Dragon-Blood Warrior, the Leatherneck, the Leopard-man, Skull-Cleavers, Bookworms, High Sages, and Zombie Creepers!

Requires the Dice & Glory Core Rulebook

This book contains:

  • Over 76 Fantasy Specialist Classes with full descriptions of class abilities and level progression tables!
  • Of these, there are 5 Brick classes, 12 Fighter classes, 11 Adventurer classes, 6 Rogue classes, 9 Psychic classes, 22 mage classes, 6 Clergy classes and 11 NPC classes!
  • NPC tables which can be applied to NPC’s to easily apply specialist class levels!
  • 6 forms of stylized Martial Arts forms!
  • …Plus information on Specialist Class Variants along with 15 variants.

The Arvan Game Pt. 11: The Horrors of Hornstone

Note: As Hornstone served as a testing ground for certain traps, set-ups and chambers that I’m using for the Obsidian Doom module I’ll be abridging the play-by-play in the ruins though a few I’ll have to mention as the results were just too rich not to mention.
In the trees outside of the ruins of Hornstone they decided to sleep through the day in order to confront the monsters within on their own terms (and sleep in safety as the monsters will probably be aware of them very soon anyway). They spied the ruinous tower which was as white as bone with hollow grayish pocks and pores due to the pecking/burrowing of birds throughout the centuries of abandon. They drank the whiskey they were hauling with themselves and both slept while hidden (luckily for them, no encounters). They woke as dusk approached and prowled (well, Dead-Eye was as quiet and unseen as a ghost, Bers on the other hand, stumbled up in the open making all kinds of racket) up to the sagging and slightly ajar double door, the entrance to the ancient tower.
They carefully, or should I say slowly rounded the tower circumspect to try to find an alternate way in besides the front door dissuaded by the cavernous darkness and musty smell. They found that they front door was the only way in and thus they walked in to the high ceiling octagonal foyer. On four of the walls in the dark and musty chamber were the open-mouthed reliefs of frowning yet laughing satyrs, an eerie and soft moan could be heard from each of their mouths caused by drafts. They proceeded carefully into the center of the chamber towards the only other door, a man-sized door barred by a rusted portcullis. The floor dropped open and they both failed their saving throws to dodge so they fell 50ft down into a lower chamber.
They landed onto a pile of bones that shielded them from the spiked floor as the trap-floor above slammed shut. The chamber they found themselves in was suddenly brightly lit without obvious source of illumination and a magic mouth appeared over the only exit a studded bronze double-door. Basically they stumbled into a labyrinth, a magical dungeon-maze used primarily for entertainment by powerful mage-lords. As I used this part of the campaign to test a few trap rooms and scenarios for the Obsidian Doom module I’m just going to relate a few of the best moments and glance over the rest.
In a one of a few chambers with a door at each of the compass directions under Hornstone Bers went to open a door with Dead-Eye guarding her rear watching an open archway in the opposite direction, of course the door was a trap it swung outward from her attached by a chain to a large solid stone block counterweight which was directly above her head as the door was recessed (the only recessed passage in the room by the way as well as the only door), she made her strength check to keep a hold of the door and found herself in a tight spot, Dead-Eye leapt through the passage into the next room after a successful Acrobatics skill check and splashed into a chamber with a flooded floor (the dungeon under Hornstone was a little decrepit after centuries of no maintenance) only to have two revenants rise form the water. They correctly identified one these as the farmer’s missing daughter, Bers dodged the falling block as she let go of the door latch and jumped backward, Dead-Eye had already immediately leapt back as a dodge from a claw attack. The revenants just went around waiting in the North room as it connected with no obstructions to the flooded chamber. As our duo passed through the North door-less arch Bers triggered a tripwire trap after Dead-Eye had already pointed it out and a barbed spring-loaded spear-trap shot out of a hole and nailed her in the knee crippling her leg, she easily pulled herself off of it after a successful Will-save almost tearing the leg clean off. The revenants attacked and she swallowed down a couple of healing potions, the battle was brief and our heroes easily slaughtered the undead corpses of two young girls. Another trap room which they had stumbled upon with no way back was a tabletop-boulder balance room, I thought I was clever with this one but turns out it’s a classic dungeon trap and one which has now appeared in the game I’m currently playing but with TWO boulders of course my mage has the Teleportation I eldritch ability so it was nothing, but enough with the aside.
Dead-Eye barely made it and tossed a rope to Bers who had to be quickly yanked to the opposite side as she stumbled at about the center of the balance-table-floor and the boulder nearly rolled over her. They eventually made it to the end and were a little disappointed to find an empty and long abandoned observation/entertainment room where a central crystal viewing orb gave the only weak flickering light in the room. They found steps and a wide stone step rising to a secret trap-door under the flags of the chamber above (the chamber behind the rusted portcullis) but decided to sleep in the deserted chamber as they were badly beaten up till the next night (hopefully). They missed the secret door leading to the still secret treasure vaults of the place even after a careful inspection of the area (tee-hee).
They got their timing right and woke at the desired time and continued to the upper chamber. They were ambushed shortly afterwards by a murder of Garkains which dropped on them from the high domed ceiling. They were both enwrapped within the stinking pale leathery wings of the monsters and each had three creatures on them and being drained of blood. Bers even had one of the fiends sinking its teeth into her boot and foot in order to suck blood when it couldn’t get in edge wise between its brothers. It looked like a TPK (total party kill) on my part when both Dead and Bers were able to break loose with Natural 20 grappling checks and quickly won the battle Bers even throwing her axe at a fleeing Garkain as she was a bit miffed about the whole thing. They ascended and were met with dusty ruined rooms, rotting wood floors and disintegrating plaster walls. They made their way up through the upper rooms and seemed to find no other monsters until Dead-Eye fell through a rotted bit of floor into a locked armory in the floor below (they couldn’t get the doors open) and onto the rusted spears still on the racks. As Bers was getting ready to lower a rope the vampire warrior had snuck up behind her and successfully used his Seduction ability on her and began to drain her blood, she was very pale and sickly at this point; ready to lose consciousness. Dead-Eye used a grappling hook he had bought upon gearing up before the leaving Fertum Dreyhawk (Cris, Dead-Eye’s player recognizing a dungeon hook when he saw one) to climb out just in time to save her life and they fought the vampire though this time they were able to land a few more blows chasing him off. They attempted pursuit to a rickety balcony only to run smack-dab into a Skrane (Bizarre Beasties #4 on the Ranger Games Publishing website) which they easily defeated but not before taking a few good blows. They decided to barricade themselves in a mostly empty room without a window as the dawn neared needing another bout of healing and rest.
When they awoke thy heard the same mysterious pipe-song they had heard in the barn several nights ago but were able to shake off the effects this time around and basically charged their way up to the top where they faced the vampire warrior again before reaching the top but were able to easily defeat him looting his corpse of a battleaxe, a gold helmet, spiked gold bracers and the strange black cape which seemed to take the shape of batwings when he flew. They left his dagger (a cursed item but other than that there was nothing special about it, guess that’s why they left it). They also ran into a few giant spiders and a shadow creature but took them out pretty quickly (in about 2 rounds) and ran into the final confrontation with a vampire Satyr, which I had named Manaan but they never did learn his name. The battle lasted 5 melee rounds and culminated with their ramming a sliver of shattered wood furniture into his heart after they beat him down with the hafts of their weapons and stripped off his bronze chest plate. They recognized the final chamber at the top of the tower as an old chapel of some kind though it was obviously desecrated. They quickly vacated the place while they had daylight without inspecting for any hidden chambers (which of course there were) and made sure they were far outside of Satyr’s Grove and near the North Spur before camping.

To Be Continued…

The Arvan Game Pt. 10: The North Spur

Our intrepid heroes find themselves at a feast with the Ivoran Paladin of the Hyvalian Theocracy Sir Chinsalis and his squire, Xingri after agreeing to and being converted to the Hyvalian faith of course. Sporting their new wooden chalice symbols around their necks they recline on pillows as servants pile smoking meats and dew beaded fruits on the low tables before them. They are introduced to the guests for which this feast was set to receive, three Hill-Lander warriors. The first, a half-faun/half-hill giant brick named Skran, the second a half-faun/half-human ranger/archer named Han and Baalkra a faun and fighter/satyr by class the leader of the three. The two adventurers immediately took a liking to the whiskey swilling three, especially Bers (Jen’s character) since Baalkra was flirting with her (she said she also liked Chinsalis since he treated her like a lady and he defeated at arms as well, sheesh).
During the feast the pair (Dead-Eye and Bers) learned that Chinsalis was awaiting “his master” who had commanded him to keep the bridge and his retinue, a small force of Hyvalian crusaders led by an exiled Hyvalian noble named Han-moro, a Templar. Realizing that they are in the nest of the enemy Dead-Eye immediately began formulating an escape plan (though since they converted Chinsalis, or “Chinless” as they kept calling him, would’ve let them go anyway, but…).
The next day they were waked from their whiskey/ale stupor by Xingri and told to “suit up”. They walked out in full gear and saw the Chinsalis being mounted on his Sleipnir in full battle armor and the Hill-Landers fully armed and ready for a fight. Across the bridge they could hear the shouts of a familiar and fanatical voice, that of the druid Siamnecca. He was inciting the farmers whom were still stuck on the opposite side and with him a female archer clad all in green bearing very good gear. It was at this moment or heroes immediately bolted with their donkey and cart (also rescued by the paladin) and continued on their way towards the North Spur to investigate the mystery of the missing girls. Needless to say they made record time. Later that night they could see the glow of a great fire on the horizon in the direction of Miller’s Bridge and were glad that they had had the “foresight” to flee.
They found their way to the Old High Road after traveling North from Miller’s Bridge for a night and walked the road Northward for 4 or 5 days (I can’t remember which) and then traveled East to reach the small collection of farms and ranches at the edge of the Granfor Forest and its spur known as North Spur to the North of the farmers. They noticed the road was an ancient paved road and millennia worn. They found distraught parents in farm after farm in the North Spur whom were missing their young daughters and complaining of a weird presence and overwhelming feeling of dread that something “unnatural” was wandering about the houses at night. Emanations or hideous fiends were wandering in from the forest, possibly originating from the cursed ruins of Hornstone to the North beyond the North Spur past the Horn Wood and Satyr’s Grove. None of the farmers have dared to go past the North Spur and those who did in the past were never heard from again (how’s that for cliché). They decided to stay in a barn at the farm closest to the Old High Road. In wait for something to happen, around midnight they heard a clattering as of hoofed feet on the roof and then a strange haunting tune such as the eerie sound of pan pipes playing in the distance. They failed their saves and fell asleep. In the morning they found the farm and family was unharmed though the now youngest daughter was ill with a fever and chills, Dead-Eye found the unmistakable mark of the vampire on her throat. They inspected the outside around the farmhouse and found hoof prints beneath the windowsill of the girl’s room. They decided to use her as bait and stay in the room with her under the pretext that they were “protecting” their daughter. They chose to get their sleep during the day. Later that night around midnight they heard the same eerie sounds of a pipe playing but through the beeswax that was plugging their ears and they readied to pounce, Dead-Eye was well-hidden under the sill on the inside, Bers was basically just squatting at the center of the room. They heard the sound of a very human tread on the roof after a fairly loud thump as if something had landed on the apex of the roof. They then spied a black-cloaked figure drift down from above before the window the creature appeared as a very pale human in obviously antiquated bronze plate armor and an open helm. His black cape had the odd penchant for flapping and resembling a pair of large batwings. He immediately locked eyes with Bers and Dead-Eye shot at his chest. He backed off as the two fighters leapt through the window and the fight was on!
It lasted for 1 minute (4 melee rounds) as the vampire was very hard to hit and was in fact laughing as he bobbed and weaved slashing at them with his scimitar he continued to hover and back into the woods. They eventually began to score a number of hits as did he and he hit hard. After 4 rounds he suddenly broke off and flew deeper into the woods past a ridge. Our two heroes made chase, Dead-Eye picked up a trail of broken branches but lost it at the other end of the North Spur. By the time they got back it was nearly evening again and they found that the daughter that they were supposed to be protecting was gone, only a small spot of blood remained of her on her pillow.
They got a few hours rest as it was in the afternoon and Dead-Eye would try to pick up a trail and follow it though he correctly surmised they would be heading towards the ruins one way or another anyway. At evening they were up and following a trail that consisted of broken branches, hoof prints and small barely perceptible drops of blood. Bers (and her player Jen) seemed somewhat concerned for the girl, a bit guilty maybe? They followed the trial back onto the Old High Road where it went cold but the general direction was of course heading straight for the ruins of Hornstone and the shortest path would be through Satyr’s Grove into Horn Wood to Hornstone on the other side. They wound up camping at the dead center of Satyr’s Grove and Bers was on watch around midnight when she a strange light in the woods and chose to investigate. She went a way into the trees and found that the light was a tiny dragon-fly winged fairy which suddenly flew to her and began dancing and flying all about her, she was charmed until it darted away and held up a very valuable gem, a fist-sized diamond that she had had on her person. As it flew away giggling she pursued at a full run and fell into quicksand, her yelling for help attracted a prowling wolf and thankfully Dead-Eye who shot the wolf, it ran away to basically die of its wounds, Dead-Eye lamented the loss of an arrow. Bers learned a valuable lesson: beware faeries! They emerged from Satyr’s Grove by late morning it was then that Dead-Eye noticed that the trees of Satyr’s Grove were too evenly spaced and some had the overgrown remnants of old druidic runes carved into their warty trunks.
The crossed a narrow meadow still following the ever fainter paving stones of the old road North into the tree line of the Horn Wood. By dusk they had to camp at the North edge of the Horn Wood and for obvious reasons decided to not have a campfire and made attempts to camouflage themselves while they slept. They could see the outline of the ruined tower of Hornstone hardly identifiable as a ruin by the deceptive black silhouette limned by dusk. On his watch Dead-Eye spied two forms fly from the top of the ruinous tower which flew in the direction of the farms of North Spur.

To Be Continued…