Magic World solo - Part VII - The runaway

"How could the Cabal have found me?" thinks Tzingaal as she sprints down the narrow, filthy alleyway. "I'd put hundreds of leagues between myself and them. And I've never been to this city before! How can Mazgandrvehss have tracked me here?"

She hazards a glance behind her as she runs out into the next street. "Only three of his henchmen still on my tail, and no sight of him, the slovenly bastard! Got to find a crowd to lose myself in."

But as she turns into the next narrow lane, she finds her path abruptly blocked by a wagon piled high with corpses. She skitters to a halt before running straight into the putrid thing, and draws her dagger as she turns to face the sorcerer's three sneering lackeys. They advance on her with drawn swords.

Tzingaal invokes her magic, calling up that first and most awful of spells her wicked mentor had insisted she learn. Two of her assailants make lazy swings at her, neither of which connects. But the third is wracked by white hot pains of the lowest Hell, and drops twitching to the damp cobblestones, jaw clenched too tightly to scream.

The others' nonchalance fades at once, and they attack in earnest, though unnerved as they are at their comrade's fate, their swings go even wider than before. One swishes harmlessly over Tzingaal's head, the other crashes down on the ground well before her, and with such force that the blade becomes bent in a most ungainly fashion.

Tzingaal begins to call up the magic anew. But before she can finish intoning the 6th Iniquitous Appellation, she finds a sword thrust directly into her stomach. She chokes on her incantation, spewing blood from her mouth as she coughs out inarticulate syllables. The sword is retracted, and a jet of blood follows from the gaping wound. She falls to her knees, and topples over. She sees a dim, blurry shape arrive at the end of the street, panting and wheezing, then hears Mazgandrvehss' distinctly nasal voice saying, "I told you not to kill her!"

Then all is blackness.

[I don't usually like to start in medias res, because the game mechanics clutter the prose too much to set the scene properly. But apparently I do like to start my Magic World adventures by giving my PC a Major Wound. She took 1d8+1=8 damage and suffered (1d%=) a deep stomach wound. Fortunately she made her Luck roll (90% due to POW 18), so there was no permanent damage. I really thought she had a chance of escape when the first attack against her fumbled! The chase was run with some Chase Cards I'd printed out. The combat came to an abrupt end in the 3rd round.

I had no real idea about how to start the adventure, but after finishing Tzingaal's character generation (i.e. putting points in her skills), I rolled a Complication on the table in Sharp Swords & Sinister Spells, and found out she had committed treason against the cabal of sorcerers with whom she trained. So she'd fled as far as this (as yet unnamed) city to hide and/or seek her fortune with only a dagger and 170 bronze coins to her name. But at least she had gotten away from the creeps who made a novice learn Agony as her first spell.

Tzingaal

Human female, age 28

Culture: State

Occupation: Sorceress

STR 11  CON 11  SIZ 10  INT 16

POW 18  DEX 11  APP 15

HP  11  DB  --

Skills

------

Physical (+6): Dodge 68%

Communication (+8): Bargain 43%, Fast Talk 43%

Knowledge (+8): Evaluate 43%, Nature 53%, Own language ("Common") 80%, Other Lang. (The Ancient Tongue) 48%, Other Lang. (a foreign tongue) 18%, Potions 68%, World Lore 53%

Manipulation (+6): Hide 46%, Move Quietly 46%, Sailing 31%

Perception (+6): Insight 61%, Search 46%, Sense 41%

Weapon skills: Dagger 61%

Spells: Agony (2), Sorcerer's Strength 3, Witch Sight (3)

I ran her through 4 weeks of the catch-up tables in Cities until she was hired for a Dangerous Mission. But as she set out on her errand, I rolled a random encounter: magician recognises character (correctly). And the rest you know.

As I mentioned, the first adventure was played completely analog. I used Mythic + my MCSV for the GM emulator, and bibliomancy for random idea generators. The immediate circumstances required the following queries:

Q: Is the sorcerer who sees her loyal to the Cabal? Likely (3+) O3 C7 - yes
Q: How many days distant is Cabal? 1d20=20
Q: Any complications getting the prisoner back? Doubtful (6): O5 C5 - no
+Event (flipping through rulebook for verb/noun) Take / Poison]

"I think she's coming round. Get the boss."

Tzingaal doesn't recognise the voice, and trying to open her gummy eyelids is taking a supreme effort, so she just lies quietly as awareness of the world around her seeps back into her brain. Her stomach hurts, but it's a very dull feeling, not the sharp stabbing pain that had brought her low. And there's a pressure on it; someone's bandaged her tightly. There's even greater pressure on her wrists and ankles. She's been trussed up and deposited on a lumpy mattress in a dim room of some low-class inn. So her eyes are open at last. Just in time to see the door open and catch Mazgandrvehss' eye as he plods in.

"So I've died and gone to hell," she says.

"Charming as ever," says the sorcerer. "I used my magic to spare you from death, as it happens. Any hell you find yourself in is of your own creation."

Tzingaal sighs. "So I suppose it's back to the Cabal we go. Tell me, how do propose to take me there? Must I remain bound hand and foot the whole way?"

"Would that that were the only necessary precaution! No no, I've a surer way of keeping you docile. And good thing too; after that little enchantment of yours, Ikkril is too nervous to be in the same room with you. At least whilst you're awake."

He produces a phial from the pouch at his belt.

"A sleeping draught? How prosaic."

"I'd not rely on something so unimaginative. No no, this little concoction was distilled from Labyrinth Seeds. Now, be a good girl..."

Surmising that resistance would be met with only more violence, Tzingaal obediently opens her mouth to receive the elixir. Mazgandrvehss counts out twenty drops from the phial onto her tongue, but by the third her consciousness has slipped away to another place.

Her body falls into complete torpor as her psyche begins to wander the spaces between our world and the divine realms -- or possibly the realms of the dead. Scholars debate the matter to this day, but as most who experiment go mad, no consensus has ever been reached.

[I didn't use the rulebook as a random idea generator, as my eyes were suddenly drawn to a copy of Labyrinths & Mazes (Saward 2003) sitting on my desk, so she would have to traverse a labyrinth of the mind. She'd be asleep for 20 days of the voyage, so I ruled there was a 1-in-6 chance per day for an (unavoidable) encounter: 20d6 put the encounters on day 3, 19, and (appropriately) 20. Failing the last encounter would definitely result in insanity of some sort. My Call of Cthulhu rulebook is ever close at hand.]

Tzingaal knows well of the often contradictory theories on the nature of the mental Labyrinth, but had hoped to never find out the truth for herself. Yet here she is, and with ample opportunity to meditate on all she sees. For three days she wanders the twisting halls of some endless palace, climbing and descending stairways until she feels she must be above the clouds or beneath the bottom of the sea. Every window looks out upon a new landscape, but none open to afford an escape. Nor does she encounter a single soul in her travels, no matter how far she walk nor how loudly call out. And no matter how many turns she may make, never does she see the same chamber a second time.

One the third day -- for though she need neither eat nor rest, she is acutely aware of the passage of time -- she comes to a door: the first, in fact, that she has seen. She strains to push open the weighty bronze portal as its hinges scream in protest, and is just able to slip through the narrow opening she can make. [She had to pit her STR against her own SIZ on the Resistance Table: 11 vs. 10 = 55% to push it open far enough. d%=51, success.]

Beyond the door is a meadow of vivid green grass under a cloudless sky, where three small suns blaze down in an arc overhead, giving Tzingaal a triune shadow. She walks across the grass, which is surprisingly brittle. She looks down and sees her boots covered in blood. Behind her, sanguine footprints mark her passing. With each new step, she fancies she can hear tiny cries from the grass crunching beneath her feet. The cries become louder and louder. She starts to run, and feels a hot wind blow over her back. She glances back to see a ruddy, spectral form coalescing out of the red smoke pouring from her tracks.

The terrible form moves with frightening speed and envelops her, and she feels a thousand little teeth gnaw at her skin and mind both.

[Day 3 encounter (flipping through rulebook...) = Madness spirit. POW 3d6+6=19]

Tzingaal steels her will against the onslaught...

[The spirit pits its MP against hers (19 vs 18); she has a 45% chance to resist: d%=23, ok]

...and frustrates the spectre's sinister purpose. There is a fence ahead with a simple wooden gate. Tzingaal runs for it directly. The spirit dissipates with a gruesome howl as she passes through the style and abruptly finds herself somewhere... else.

She spends the next sixteen days wandering through impossible terrain and past indescribable vistas. [Idea (80%) roll to stay on safe path d%=69, ok] She sees no other living creature during this time. There are many terrible sights and awesome scenery, but she finds none as dangerous as the meadow.

[Day 19 encounter: Underwater Combat (not literally, but still a dangerous episode)]

She descends at last to the shore of the Sea of Dream, whose limpid waters stretch out past the horizon. Diaphanous mists swirl lazily in the cool air. Tzingaal walks up the beach through the white, glittering sands until she comes to a simple wooden dock where a tiny sailboat is moored.

She sets out alone in the Barque of Dreams. The sea is vast but never very deep, and Tzingaal marvels at the gaily coloured rocks and bright flowering plants she can see clearly on the sandy seabed. She steers as best she is able, trying to maintain sight of the shore but [Navigation roll (39%) fails] soon loses sight of land. Onward she glides over the endless, shallow waters until at length she sees a wagon-wheel sized cork plug at the bottom. She drops the anchor and plunges in to investigate.

The water is pleasantly cool and not much more than a fathom deep, but it's still over her head. She takes a deep breath and swims down, [Swim (31%): d%=23, success.] taking hold of the cork with both hands.

[She needs to Devise (44%) its opening or force it (STR vs 3d6+2 STR). Each failure takes 1d6 rounds, she's already held her breath for 1 round of swimming (CONx10=110% : 37, ok). Her Devise roll succeeds on the first try.]

It's stuck fast, but she is just able to twist it by throwing her weight to one side and kicking with her legs. The cork pops free and floats to the surface, as the waters begin spiralling round the hole beneath. The sea level drops rapidly, though Tzingaal feels no current pulling her with it. Within a few moments she can stand on the bottom with her head above the surface, and in less than a minute the whole of the sea has drained away.

A cramped staircase spirals down the hole. Tzingaal descends the steps carefully, slick as they are with little pools of water still in the recesses of the rough stone.

[Q: Where does it lead? random rulebook page: Trap / World Lore skills]

A low groan reaches her ears, then a humming, grinding sound begins to reverberate through the entire stairwell. As Tzingaal finally reaches the bottom, she finds herself on a narrow gangway between cyclopean gears and colossal machines, the very mechanisms that run the world, now lubricated by the waters of dream.

The gangway stretches further ahead than she can see. She proceeds along it for an entire day, moving ever lover as the machines tower overhead. At the bottom she comes to a sheer rock wall reaching up to the firmament. A cave opening gapes at the end of the gangway, and she continues inside, following a trickle of water still draining away.

[Day 20, final guardian/challenge: (bibliomancy says...) cliff toad. SIZ=26, INT 4d6=13]

Within the cave is an immense toad. I glares at her with unblinking, bulbous eyes.

"You shall never again return to your world," it croaks.

[Nature (53%) to remember pertinent toad facts: d%=19, success]

"We are not enemies. It was not I who unleashed the waters of dream! But you will dry out if you remain here. Follow, follow them down. Or you'll be lost!"

"But you're a juicy enough morsel to nourish me!"

"Me? I'm just a wee thing. [SIZ 10] Barely a crumb, and no meat on my bones."

[Fast talk (45%): 55, fails]

With a loathsome throaty gurgling its jaws gape wide, and the pulpy pink tongue shoots out, but the sorceress was tensed and ready for it, so she dodges easily out of its path [dodge (68%): 27, ok.]

She looks round desperately for a means of escape, and sees daylight shining through a gap in rock some distance behind the toad. [Search roll (46%) succeeds, she'll need 1d3=2rds of movement to reach it; she makes her Dodge rolls.]

She sprints towards the light, evading the toad's sticky tongue again, and then a second time, until it is too far off to pursue. Then she bursts forth from the cave into a sunlit field. Ahead she sees the gates of dream, neither of horn nor of ivory, but of brass. With all her might she forces open the brazen portal.

Tzingaal awakes with a start.

next post: an awful task