Showing posts with label Runequest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Runequest. Show all posts

Friday, 1 May 2026

Runequest solo - part 3: Staying out of trouble

the Esrolian

Wildday - Truth Week - Fire Season


The following day, Hessa goes to the Red Moon early in the afternoon, intent on waiting for Baldakkal to arrive. Her purse is too light for comfort [11L left], but if she plays the helpless provincial she can get free drinks off the warriors who frequent the establishment. [CHAx4=64%; 30, success] She cosies up to the least lecherous of the lot, a maternal-seeming veteran from far off to the south in Esrolia, and is quickly rewarded with as much bread and beer as she dare consume.

There is some minor excitement when [Cities random encounter] a representative of the fighters' guild comes in to post a notice that mercenaries are being sought for an expedition to capture a defile from pro-Lunar elements. The representative's leaving occasions much grumbling amongst the patrons; Lunars this close to Wintertop are the army's problem, and perhaps the Army's fault, too. [Said pro-Lunar elements include my PCs from the mercenary campaign I mentioned in my prefatory notes: a serendipitous roll! This will come up again much later (adventure #3). Less interesting random encounters have been redacted.]

Hessa is sitting quietly by her passed-out protector and idly debating the merits of absconding with her purse when the barkeep waves her over. He hands her over to two bruisers in stained tunics who lead her down a cramped passage to the back room, which is hung all round with old shields and well-used weapons. Her new boss is there, waiting in a commanding posture. Baldakkal is younger than Hessa had expected, possessed of a soldier's bearing, and sports a severe, close-cropped black beard. He's sitting on a low stool behind a folding table, the same kind that Hessa remembers the officers of the regular army had in their tents when leading the militia in the field. She was out-of-bounds when she saw them then, and feels doubly so seeing one now.
Baldakkal

"You're the messenger from Dunstop?"

"Yes, I arrived jus--"

"This isn't the theatre, I don't need a pretty speech."

She wordlessly hands over the tablets. Baldakkal breaks seal and reads, fortunately not as slowly as Big Boss. Why, Hessa can scarcely see his lips move. He soon puts them aside.

"Heffa, is it?"

"Hessa."

"That sloppy old bastard! Anyway, says here you're part of my crew now. Check in here daily at the bar; I'm sure I'll find a use for you at some point. Until then, lay low. Gnarès here will see to your fee. Bring the horse by tomorrow."

Hessa goes back to the Anvil with a new purse, and barricades the door before counting it out on the floor. She's pleased to find herself 50 Lunars richer. Make that 50 Guilders.

[I used the Cities catch-up tables (Avalon Hill RQ edition) for Hessa bumming around Wintertop until a Mission result was rolled. The meeting with Baldakkal was on the penultimate day of Fire Season, so the first week's catch-up includes an extra day (the last of the season) to keep things simple. I did keep careful track of Hessa's finances, but I've removed most of this from the narrative; I'll save that sort of thing for Traveller.]

Disorder Week - Earth Season

The change of seasons comes with a welcome drop in temperature and the cessation of the winds, which won't blow again until the season of Earth has ended.

Hessa spends most of the first week getting acquainted with Wintertop, or at least the poor quarter thereof. She spends a goodly amount of time at the Red Moon, and befriends the tavern-keeper, Rusun, who gives her plenty of free drinks and lets her sleep it off by the hearth if she can't make it back to her lodgings of an evening. She also taps some of the regulars to get the name of a non-judgemental armourer who can repair her shield.
playing at knucklebones

Harmony Week - Earth Season


The Anvil's common room ceiling has been noticeably hanging lower and lower over the middle of the common room. The city council send some officials who quickly condemn it, and give them a few days to get everyone out before it collapses. Hessa spends more and more time at the Moon, and even indulges in a few friendly games of knucklebones. She even wins a little [bets 5L, wins 20L]. Wintertop is colder than she's used to, and with fire season over it's getting colder still, so most of her windfall goes to buying warmer clothes.

Death Week - Earth Season

Rusun decides that it would be cheaper to pay Hessa to work at the Moon than to just let her drink all the profits, so he offers her a job as a barmaid, room and board included. And not to worry about the bloodstain on the floor of her new room, it was probably there for months before she arrived. Probably.
serving from an askos (wineskin)

Fertility Week - Earth Season


Hessa plays more knucklebones with the warriors at the Moon when business is slow. Her winning streak is well and truly over; she loses all 5L that she set aside to wager with. Plus a little more, somehow. She really ought to keep better track of her purse [event: thieves steal 1d100=2% of money =6 clacks]. She doesn't save any of her salary, either.
at the festival of Eiritha

The great festival of Eiritha falls on Clayday. The Herd Mother's cult is not an especially popular one this far from the plains of Prax, and most of the congregants are worshippers of the great earth goddess Ernalda come to pay homage to her daughter.

On Wildday there is a festival to Chalana Arroy, the healing goddess. In Old Tarsh, the anti-chaos bent of the religion is combined with an excessively virulent hatred of the Lunar Empire, and Hessa does not stay long when paying her respects at the temple. Eiritha feels no especial friendship nor enmity towards the Lunar pantheon, so Hessa decides to skive off pay her respects and see what the festival is like. The priests take her for a proper Praxian (thus, a member of the cult by birth) and she's given pride of place amongst the worshippers and the choicest cut of meat at the communal feast. She hasn't the heart to correct them!

[N.B. Clayday is also the great festival of Aldrya, goddess of the elves and dryads, but there are none of the plant folk in the city. The local priesthood of Ernalda leave an offering at the tiny shrine within the Earth Goddess' temple, for she is the mother of Aldrya as well.]

Stasis Week - Earth Season

Hessa gets a night off, and decides to see what it's like in another tavern for a change. The fighters are lovely and all, but she's heard one too many war stories at this point. She finds a less rowdy place peopled by artisans, and sitting at the bar, soon becomes embroiled in a passionate but friendly debate about the various merits of Grazelander cuisine. One of the ropemakers, half-grazelander himself, bizarrely takes umbrage at something she says. Voices are raised and tempers flare, and it ends with him storming out into the street, shouting, "you'll never buy rope in this town again!" [Event: Offends someone (due to a misunderstanding on their part) - ropemaker (10% chance other rope merchants won't deal with her)]
thermae

The festival of Storm Bull falls on Clayday. Hessa spends the morning in the baths attached to [the love goddess] Uleria's temple out of fear, and the rest of the day at the Moon. Rusun quietly lets her know he understands why she's reticent to go out, and not to worry; their 'business family' is free from political and cultic rivalries. Guilders and Lunars all jingle the same in your purse, after all.

Movement Week - Earth Season

Windsday of Movement week sees a festival of Orlanth, possibly the only cult more opposed to the Lunar Empire and its gods than Storm Bull -- at least in Old Tarsh. Hessa is on extra good behaviour and more polite to everyone than she's ever been before. Thus it is especially ironic that on the night of Fireday [i.e. the next day] she finds herself in a makeshift arena in an empty warehouse, surrounded by a drunken, cheering crowd.

Her friend and fellow barmaid, Veika, had managed to mortally offend the only other Sartarite in the Red Moon, a would-be Humakti who challenged her to a duel of honour. Hessa may have had one too many swigs of mead to calm her nerves, and when the tearful, panicked Veika begged her to help find some way out of it, she foolishly offered to fight as her champion -- in earshot of the Sartarite. [Event: friend needs help - fellow worker has offended a barbarian, who demands a duel; PC can fight in their stead.]

So here she is, spear and shield in hand, facing off against a professional mercenary soldier, similarly armed to keep things sporting though clad head to toe in armour. The fight is not to the death, and the proprietor assured her there was a healer standing ready in the throng. She's not entirely sure she should trust him, but the odds that no one in a Gloranthan crowd has at least some healing magic are so slim that they are hardly worth mentioning. Even the 12-to-1 against the bookmaker put on her are significantly higher odds. [Sartarite's stats are randomly Foot Mercenary #24 from Militia & Mercenaries]
[Round 1]
Hessa and the Sartarite circle each other at a distance, brandishing their arms in a displays of menace, and exchanging their choicest taunts. Then they rush at each other. Their shields clatter with an almighty crack, as he rams the side of his shield into the boss of Hessa's. She is stunned by the impact and lurches sideways, desperately trying to keep her balance as she wheels round and feels her spear wrenched from her grasp.

She arrests her momentum without taking a tumble, and looks back to see the Sartarite lying on his back, her spear protruding straight up from his belly. He's trying desperately to remove it as his blood pools all round the wound, giving a red sheen to the bronze links of mail. The spear is stuck in deep, and the Sartarite looks frantic as he tries in vain to dislodge it, growing weaker by the second. Hessa casts aside her shield and runs to his aid. As she finally rips the spear free, he casts a healing spell to stop the bleeding. He lies back down, breathes a sigh of relief.

Hessa tries to help him to his feet, but he still cannot stand. Before the attendants can drag him from the arena, he addresses his vanquisher. "That was quite the manoeuvre! Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Hessa laughs. "At the shrine of Delaeo!"

[Delaeo is the goddess of fortune & good luck.

Actions were simultaneous as they both attacked on the same SR and have the same DEX.

The Sartarite's attack roll (93) missed vs. Hessa's shield parry, 00 - a Fumble; d%=Weapon dropped (takes D3 rounds to recover).

Attacking, Hessa rolled an 03, Impale vs. a failed shield parry: 14-7(armour)=7 damage to the abdomen, dropping the location to -2hp. He could no longer stand, and would bleed to death in 10 rounds. There were several bad rolls to remove the spear, but they got it out in time for him to stop the bleeding with Healing-2.]


The next evening at the Moon, Rusun tells Hessa she's earned a night off. A good portion of the regulars had been at the fight, and they intend to fête her as the conquering heroine. Veika can cover her shift -- she owes her, after all.
"Another kratêr? Go on, then!"

[The next rolled Cities event was (finally) a mission. Hessa's had plenty of downtime, so I decided to count everything up to this point as the first adventure, making it time for experience rolls. There was a lot more background than adventure, and she only managed to use 4 skills successfully, less than half of what she'll use in the first proper adventure.

Experience rolls for this prologue to adventure:

Listen x
Camouflage +5%
1-h shortspear attack x
dagger attack +5%

There was also a small chance of increasing her Defence, since it had saved her from being hit (by the dwarf), but the roll for that failed too.]



next post: city adventure

Friday, 24 April 2026

Runequest solo - part 2: Earth goddess and Red Moon

Windsday - Truth Week - Fire Season

Yelm is still fierce and angry in the vault of heaven, and there seems to be fire even on the wind. Hessa, and her poor mount, miss the sheltering shade of the little forest as they plod over the grassy hills.

As Hessa's path draws nearer to Earthshaker Temple, the wilderness gives way to settled lands. She wasn't exactly sure when she left Lunar Tarsh and passed into Old Tarsh; the architecture all looks the same, and all the people look and speak and act the same, but Tarshites who live round Mount Kero Fin and the Earthshaker Temple are the sworn enemies of the Lunar Empire.

A unit of militia soldiers on patrol is the first sign that she has, in fact, crossed into enemy territory; the sergeant wears a straight sword at his belt, unlike the curving scimitars favoured by the Lunars to honour their Red Moon Goddess.

The soldiers show a brief interest in the traveller. Hessa is happy to have someone to talk to besides her horse, and introduces herself as a messenger from anti-Lunar agents in Dunstop, bearing coded tablets for certain parties in Wintertop. They tell her the lords of Wintertop have been quiet of late, and everything in the city is peaceful; they hope her news won't change that. "I'm just the bearer. I've not read it. I don't even know the code," said Hessa, quoting verbatim a Lunar soldier she once spied on in an alehouse to add a soupçon of veracity to her tale. The soldiers wish her luck and send her on her way.

[I rolled their response as a Rumour--
background, government
±4 good fortune/ruin
Roughly / Tranquil

Q: Anything amiss at temple? unlikely : O5 C3 - yes, but... Listen check needed to overhear something; Listen (65%): 16, ok
Q: What is overheard? UNE: mysterious - rumour - community (rolling another rumour, as it seems like a good way to get sub-plots/side-quests/Threads going...)

Rumour: misc- warning
±3 gain/disaster
spread / danger]


The evening sky is hazy and forlorn when Hessa first spots the Earthshaker Temple in the distance. There's a leaden feeling in her stomach as she draws near, but being lost in the crowds outside it seems safer than then making camp at a remove.
The mood outside the temple complex is subdued. Bands of pilgrims mill about their tents speaking in low tones, tending to the tethered animals (and one or two chained slaves) they brought as offerings to The Destroyer, but they intermingle very little. Even the sporadic groups of dancers seem aloof from the crowd as they leap and pound the ground in imitation of their terrible goddess. Everywhere is the glint of bronze weapons and the slow booming of drums. Acrid smoke from incense-infused cooking fires stings Hessa's eyes as she moves amongst the throng, searching out a site for her own tent. She strains to overhear snatches of hushed conversations, and learns of a pervasive worry that bad sorts of people are coming to stir things up in Wintertop, harassing pilgrims and farmers alike when passing through. Hessa hopes that none take her for one of these 'bad sorts'; she'd rather not end up a victim on one of Maran Gor's altars herself.

[Spot Hidden to find safe-looking group of pilgrims to camp near 50%: 54, oops
Reaction=uncertain, they leave her alone

Q: Do the malefactors appear? 50/50: O1 C7 - no]


After a restless night, she's relieved to be up with the dawn and on the road before most of the other pilgrims have stirred from their slumber. The road leading up through the foothills of is as well-tended as any one might find in the Lunar heartland, and her horse makes excellent time. But there is surprisingly little traffic.

[random encounter = dwarf
reaction = active dislike

I printed out a copy of FANGS for quick monster stats, along with some pages from the Old School Resource Pack, so I'm set for encounters for a while. For this first encounter, I just went with Fangs' Dwarf #1. As usual for the first combat of a campaign, the game mechanics will be shown in greater detail for the benefit of readers who are less familiar with (or endeared of) the game system.]


Just after midday, Hessa comes to a narrow pass with a dead tree felled to mostly block it. A dwarf stands before it, clad in a scale hauberk and a bulbous bronze helm. "Hold you there," he shouts in thickly-accented Tarshite. "Give your gold or not you pass!" Were she a better rider, she could jump both dwarf and barrier, but as he is punctuating his demand with an aimed crossbow, she dare not take risks.

Hessa dismounts at a distance, lest she injure her mount, and prepares to fight. Hessa closes about half the distance to the dwarf, crouching as best she might behind her shield and gripping her spear as if she aims to throw it.

[round 1]
The dwarf mumbles a spell over his weapon, lets her draw as near as he dares, then shoots. The magic makes one bolt into three, but the dwarf's aim is risible, and Hessa hears the missiles whistle over her head. She changes her grip on her spear and advances the remaining distance as the dwarf hastily readies his warhammer & shield.

[Playing theatre-of-the-mind, so for simplicity I ruled that movement would take Hessa's full action. He cast Multimissile-2, so got 3 attacks at 30%: 88, 62, 37 all missed even without adjusting for H's Defence]
[round 2]
Hessa stabs with her spear, but overcautiously, and barely scrapes the dwarf's shield. He makes a clumsy swing with his hammer, and she and even clumsier block with the bottom edge of her shield. The force of the blow is too great for the dried-out leather of the strap. It snaps in half, and the shield falls to the ground at her feet. Perhaps she'd ought to have oiled it like the commander had said.

[Hessa has a SIZe advantage over the dwarf, so wins the initiative, attacking on Strike Rank 6 (vs his SR 7). Neither her attack roll nor the dwarf's shield parry succeeded, so it's a clean miss. Then the dwarf attacks, also missing, but Hessa rolls a 98, Fumble. d% on the melee fumble table = shield strap breaks.]

[round 3]
The dwarf sneers and says words in a language Hessa's never heard, yet cannot fail to understand. She responds with some equally crude Tarshite argot.

Her spear darts out with all her weight behind it. The bronze tip finds a weak spot in the dwarf's shield and bursts through nearly an arm's length, scraping along the side of his stout helm. Hessa lets go the spear, and the dwarf is compelled to drop his shield. His hammer swings angrily at Hessa, but she dances nimbly out of reach.

[The dwarf has a 5% Defence, so Hessa's adjusted attack chance is (40-5=)35%. She rolled an 06, which is under 1/5 what she needed, so the attack Impales, inflicting full base damage (7) + rolled damage (1D6+1) + her damage bonus (1D4) for a total of 15. The dwarf rolled a successful Parry, so interposed his shield. The shield can absorb 12 points, so three points of damage got through to (1d20=) his head, but were blocked by his 4-point helm.

Weapons which Impale can get stuck; the chance of removing them whilst fighting is twice the unmodified chance to Impale (in Hessa's case, 2/5 of 40, or 16%) and happens, if at all, on the following round. She decided not to bother.

The dwarf rolled a 20 on his attack, which would have hit (30% skill) if not for Hessa's 15% Defence.]
[rounds 4-6]
Hessa draws her dagger. She hangs back, afraid to get within reach of the dwarf with her shorter weapon. Both weapons swish several times through empty air.

[They both attack on SR 7 now; Hessa hesitates so she can parry (so attacks on SR 8). But no attack or parry rolls succeed for 3 rounds.]

[round 7]
Then the dwarf overextends, and Hessa strikes before he can recover. Her dagger pierces the cuirbouilli protecting the dwarf's upper arm, and doesn't stop until it scrapes against bone. His arm falls useless and the warhammer tumbles from his grasp.

[Dwarf missed, her parry failed. Then she rolled a hit against his failed parry. She rolled 7 damage; -3 for armour meant 4 points got through, dropping total HP to 9 and the right arm (3hp) location to -1.]

[round 8]
The dwarf backpedals, casting a spell over his injury. The magic takes hold, and is in the process of knitting his torn flesh back together when Hessa springs forward with a mighty swing, opening a gaping wound in his thigh. The dwarf falls over on his backside.

[The Dwarf cast Healing-4. As it affects his own body, he doesn't need a focus, so it takes effect on his DEX SR +1/point of POW expended (4+2=6); Had he taken damage, it would have spoilt the casting (but cost no POW). 4 for the Healing + 2 for the Multimissile earlier brings the dwarf's current POW down to 9, but cures all damage he's taken so far.

But on SR 7 he's hit for (7-3=) 4 more damage. With his right leg at 0, he falls.]


[round 9]
The dwarf just manages to draw his scimitar in an attempt to fight from the ground, but Hessa has no difficulty in getting past his guard, opening a terrible bleeding rent in his left shin.

[There's a +20% bonus for attacking a target on the ground. Attacking from the ground halves skill, but parries are unaffected. Hessa hit for 9-3=6 damage to the left leg, bringing it to -2 and the dwarf's total HP to 3.

Q: Does the dwarf surrender? likely (3+): O3 C6 - yes]


As she circles for another go, the dwarf stretches out his left hand and lowers his blade. "Surrender! Not to kill!"

"Fine by me," says Hessa as she saunters over to pick up the crossbow lying in the dust. It's of real dwarven make, probably the finest device she's ever seen in her life. "Oooooh, this is nice. Think I'll have it as your ransom."
By evening, Hessa has reached the imposing gates of Wintertop. The bored guards let her through with a minimum of questions; it's almost time to close the gates, and they'd prefer not to get caught up in anything this late in their watch. She finds a cheap stable [1L/day] in the poor quarter, then goes in search of the tavern and her new employer.

[inconsequential random encounters redacted.

Via Cities, the tavern she seeks is of (1d3=) Average quality, as is the food. Its clientèle are mostly warriors and their ilk.]


The Red Moon is a nondescript drinking house in the poor quarter, halfway down a dismal narrow street. The shingle above the door immediately arrests Hessa's attention, emblazoned as it is with a cartoony image of a Lunar hoplite baring his spotty bottom. It's so absurd she laughs in spite of her self, forgetting for a moment the utter blasphemy of it all. And when she does remember, it makes her laughter feel terribly inappropriate, and thus harder to suppress.

Once she's finally composed herself, she goes in. The place is filled with warriors and their hangers-on, a rowdy bunch kept under control by the scarred mound of sinew leaning over a troll-maul by the door. Hessa marches straight up to the bar and tells the barkeep she's been sent to deliver message to Baldakkal.

[Q: Is Baldakkal here? doubtful : O3 C5 - no]

"He ain't here. You'll need to come back."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Mmmhhh."

"Is there anywhere I can stay? You got rooms here?"

[Q: Room available? 50/50: O4 C4 - yes, but...]

"Not here. Try down at the Anvil. That way, two streets over. Tell 'em Rusun sent ya."

The Anvil's not the worst inn Hessa's ever been in, but it's well within her budget (so nearly). She hands over 3 silver coins for food and lodging to the proprietress. The beldam's eyes go wide when she sees them.

"Hey! These is Lunars! I run a respectable establishment here. You pays with Guilders, or you gets another room!"

"I won 'em off a Sartarite mercenary, didn't I? An' he got 'em as war booty. They're the same weight as Guilders, so I don't see what you're on about!"

"Well, that being the case..."

The coins disappear under her skirts. Hessa takes the meagre provender she's purchased up to her room, scarfs it down, then collapses on the lumpy straw mattress.
next post: Down and out in Wintertop

Saturday, 18 April 2026

Runequest solo - part 1: Out of Dunstop

Freezeday - Truth Week - Fire Season 1627

"Hey, Praxian girl!"

"Piss off, Iaros. I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"I called your name three times, and you pretended not to hear."

"I'm exceedingly busy."

"Doing what?"

"I've got a full day planned."

"You're sat in the portico of the basilica watching people wander through the forum."

"It's too hot. It's only the marble and the shade that make it bearable."

"So, you planning to rob one of the stalls or something?"

"No."

"What then? Just sit there and eat that whole basket of sweeties by yourself?"

"We begin to understand one another."

"Well I hate to be the one to ruin your plans--"

"--you don't, really--"

"--but Big Boss sent me to fetch you. Well?"

"Now? It's still morning!"

"I'll just tell him you've better things to do, shall I?"

Hessa heaves a histrionic sigh and rises heavily to her feet, brushing crumbs from the skirt of her threadbare chiton. She stomps out of the cool shade without a word. Iaros scurries to catch up with her.

"Where are you going? The meeting's this way."

"I know where we're going. But I'm going to wash up in the fountain first. My fingers are sticky."

"Well you are a thief."

Hessa's attempt at suppressing her ridiculous giggle results in a most indelicate snort, but Iaros pays her no mind. She washes her hands in the fountain, then hazarding a suspicious glance at Yelm blazing high in the vault of heaven, sticks her head under the water spout and lets the cold water cascade through her hair and down her neck and shoulders. With her newly-clean fingers she shakes the excess water from her unruly (and most un-Praxian) black curls, forcing Iaros back a step or two.

"So, do I look presentable enough for a meeting with the man himself?"

"There's jam on your chest."

[It is not at all obvious from previous postings on this blog, but I dig out my old 2nd edition Runequest rulebook at least once a year. I've had a lot of PCs making forays into Snakepipe Hollow and Scorpion Hall, as well as a host of non-RQ solo adventures I converted on the fly, but none of this ever gets typed up. I have also started various free-form adventures with Mythic and other solo tools, but none of those have gotten typed up nicely either. Until now, I suppose. This adventure is the start of a campaign that I began in early 2023 and to which I have periodically come back in the intervening months/years.

I don't really remember what started it, but it came hard on the heels of a mercenary campaign based on a Lunar incursion to the foothills round mount Kero Fin. I probably just wanted something less martial. So I rolled up 4 new PCs (as that's what I can fit on a sheet of A4 lined paper) and picked the most interesting one to use as the main PC, with the idea that she'd encounter the others as things progressed.

Glorantha is a huge and very rich setting, which can be quite daunting and also lead down research rabbit-holes as the answer to a seemingly innocent question involves poring through decades worth of source material. I'm going to keep it very simple and invoke the very useful Your Glorantha Will Vary (YGWV) dictum, so expect deviations from canon. My aim is to primarily use the 2nd edition sourcebooks I have, but I do have all the very lovely RQ:AiG pdfs from a bundle and I am not above mining them for background and monster stats. I will do my best to explain aspects of the game world (and my interpretations thereof!) as I go, for the benefit of those who don't know the setting. A lot of the fun of RQ is being able to mix in all my favourite aspects of bronze (*cough*iron*cough*) age society without worrying overmuch about historicity.

I will do my best to introduce my main character through her actions rather than via a protracted look at character generation, but here follows her initial character sheet with the very broad strokes of her background to help set the scene.
I'd been looking for a chance to use this as a PC portrait ever since I came across it

Hessa originally hails from the city of Furthest, the capital of Lunar Tarsh. Tarsh is split in two: Lunar Tarsh is a province of the Lunar Empire, whilst Old Tarsh comprises the rebellious tribes of Tarshites living round mount Kero Fin. Hessa was born in one of the brothels in Furthest's poor quarter. Her mother was one of the working girls there. Her father was evidently a passing Praxian nomad employed as a mercenary by the Lunar army, but no more about him can be deduced, not even his clan (sable, bison, rhinoceros, impala, etc.). Her mother's profession isn't shameful per se, but Hessa grew up in the demi-monde and never left it, which is why her Previous Experience (Appendix H in the rulebook) was an "apprenticeship" with a gang of Thieves. She's currently living in Dunstop, working for an allied gang.

I've always thought of Lunar Tarsh as akin to romanised Gaul and/or Magna Graecia. Tarshites (and the neighbouring Sartarites) are depicted as Mediterranean types (and I will generally use Grecian/Roman pictures to illustrate them), whilst the Praxians look more like central asians. So Hessa has her mum's dark colouring and thick, curly hair, but a round face with high cheekbones and epicanthal folds; this has made it harder than usual to find good character portraits, so some imagination will need to be supplied to fill in where my picture stock and photoshop skills aren't up to the task! She's also a bit heavier (SIZ 2 higher than STR) than many old illustrators would render, especially in the pulps.

Hessa
-----
Background: Townsman, Lunar Tarsh
Prev. Exp.: thieves

STR 12 CON 15 SIZ 14 INT 17
POW 12 DEX 15 CHA 16 DB+1D4
HP 16 SR 4/2 Defence 15%

Skills: Move Quietly 50%, Hide 50%, Spot Hidden 50%, Trap Set/Disarm 45%, Listen 65%
Weapons: 1-H spear 40%/15%, med. shield 45%, dagger 40%/30%


All PCs/campaigns need some sort of goal to pursue; for a long-term goal I wanted Hessa to go adventuring in the city of Pavis and the Borderlands beyond, so I did my usual thing of starting on the other side of the map. I haven't figured out why she wants to go there yet, but it may just be a place that's far away from her current life. Her other, more immediate goals are: (1.) get clear of the thieves' ring, (2.) become an initiate in a cult (probably the Seven Mothers, as that's how she was raised), and (3.) find a weapon trainer (her underwhelming spear skill from mandatory militia training is not sufficient to survive a dangerous trek across Dragon Pass to reach Pavis). Come to think of it, she should probably (4.) learn to speak some Tradetalk as well; there are probably not that many Tarshite speakers where she's headed.

NB. Dates will be expressed according to the standard Gloranthan calendar. I may switch to the Lunar reckoning, which is the one Hessa actually knows and uses in daily life, when she spends more time in Lunar-controlled areas (her first adventure takes her outside it almost immediately). I have been keeping fastidious track of time on a copy of the calendar I printed out from Cults of Prax, mostly with the aim of figuring out weather and seeing when important religious festivals fall. It's not really necessary to understand the timekeeping to follow the adventure; just look as it as more background colour.]


The Big Boss holds court in a nearly-windowless attic above a seedy tavern in the poor quarter. It smells marginally less of stale sweat and spilt wine than the rest of the establishment. Some of his heavies are sat on the floor in the corner beneath a skylight, playing knucklebones for clacks [copper pieces]. The Big Boss himself is at a table with a burning candle, laboriously scratching a missive into a wax tablet. The Big Boss —for he answers to no other name— looks up at the sound of footsteps, and squints at the newcomers with his one good eye. "Take a seat, me dear. I'm almost ready."
Hessa does as she is bidden, opposite the Big Boss in the only other chair. She slouches more and more as he writes, twisting her curls absently round one finger. Iaros merely shifts his weight from side to side, trying not to look as bored as he must certainly be.

The Big Boss finishes writing, then reads over his letter with excruciating slowness, his stylus stopping on each word in turn, his free hand over his face so none can see the words as he mouths them, even though Hessa and Iaros are canny enough to look away. [Read/Write Native Language defaults to 10%.] Satisfied, he snaps the tablets closed and wraps a piece of cord round them thrice, then tips his reeking tallow candle over them to keep the cord in place and provide a field in which to roll the cylinder seal he had cut to counterfeit the mark of a local trader.

"Y'ever been to Wintertop?"

"Huh? Oh, er, no," stammers Hessa, roused abruptly from her daydreams. "Dunstop is the furthest I ever been from, you know, Furthest."

"I hear Wintertop is nice. So Baldakkal tells me. He runs things there. Out of a tavern called the Red Moon, if you can believe it. I need you to take this to him. Go see Sada about a horse. It'll be a gift to Baldakkal from me. And you work for him until he needs to send a message back."

"Sounds good, Big Boss."

Hessa runs off home at once to equip for the journey. She throws her extra tunics and her decent remaining underthings into a sack with her mirror and comb, deciding against the new pair of sandals which rub her feet all wrong. Her militia gear will most certainly be required: the heavy travelling cloak she's been using as a blanket, the round wooden shield that saw most of its action as a tabletop, and the spear she'd rammed into a chink in the wall to make a drying rack for her laundry. She lugs her gear to the stables, where the Big Boss' underlings give her a sleek riding horse with a saddlebags loaded with trail rations and camping gear. Hessa had hoped for a travelling stipend, but alas none was provided. There's a grand total of 15L in her purse; she'll have to forage or steal should she need any more food or equipment.

Hessa is soon out the city gates and underway.

[NB: 15L is 15 Lunars (silver pieces). A Lunar is worth 10 copper Clacks. A golden Wheel is worth 20L. All of these carry cultural connotations, and some places use different currencies.

The journey to Wintertop was largely played via the random encounter (Cultivated & Open terrain type) tables. I'll be omitting uneventful encounters to get to the good parts.

Her first 'quest' (take item X to place Y) was something I came up with just to get things moving, on the theory that something would eventually happen to spark an actual adventure. As it started with overland travel, I didn't use scenes and just set the Chaos Die (MCSV) to d10.]


It's a gentle ride through farmland to the river, which she reaches by evening. There are clusters of cottages near the banks with fisherfolk coming to-and-fro as they pull in the last catch of the day. Hessa is looking for somewhere to stable her horse for the night when she spots a familiar face.

[Encounter=NPC Friend, d6=m
Q: Who? Quaintly / Warm]


Bomoor is a spry old fisherman, garrulous and avuncular, and also a bit of a smuggler. He puts her up in his cottage for the night, and the next day helps her cross the river. She bids the smuggler farewell, then sets out towards Wintertop. She's little worry of getting lost in the open country; the 12km high spire of Mount Kero Fin points the way.

As she travels, she spots a magnificent sky bull winging overhead. Though a reminder of the Storm Bull cult, ever hostile to followers of the Lunar pantheon, she cannot help but stare in wonderment at the beast until it has flown out of sight.

That night she sleeps in the wilderness, concealing her tent beneath fallen boughs and leafy vines in a stand of trees.

[Night encounter= Dragonewt Party
Camouflage roll default 10+10=20%; 11, success; they don't spot her camp, and wouldn't care about the horse grazing nearby.]
next post: hazards of travel

Monday, 5 January 2015

Runequest solo 2 - part XI, The sign in the heavens


Scene 20

chaos 7

Setup: kill time in Hasharu

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza / death rune cult
5. The Evil Jeweller

Threads:
1. find a certain sage

[Back to the Cities tables. Lachaidiga first needs to deduct 80sp for room & board for the end of week 3.

Week 4: no events.
Lachaidiga pays 200sp for Level 5 companionship for both herself and Wihiyaba. She at first tried to coax the jeweller out for the evening, but he is still recovering from his captivity. She's quite bored, however, and manages to drag Wihiyaba out. Her tastes are a bit too posh for him, or else she'd have gone for Level 6 (300sp each) again. Perhaps this is best for her purse. She does spend another 20sp to send the jeweller a basket of fruit and cheese to speed his recovery.

Week 5: no events, but I rolled a 1 on the d6: the time is right. so...]

Since receiving the grimoire, Lachaidiga has done her best to study it, but her increasing boredom with Hasharu and her aggravation at not being admitted to the temple of Ishq-Ihar has made concentration difficult. She's tried going twice a day, every other day, even waiting a whole hour on their doorstep, but the much vaunted Time never seems to be Right. With a groan of frustration she tosses aside the scroll she has been reading, or at least at which she has been blankly staring. The ancient papyrus lands with a crackle, and pieces flake off the edge onto the tablecloth. She gasps at the realisation of what she has just done, take the scroll and kisses the damaged edge gently, promising never to be so unappreciative again. She also make a mental not that learning the charm of Mending should be one of her more immediate priorities.

"Maybe I should get out for a while," she says to herself. "Perhaps if I bought some nicely scented candles, I could study these scrolls after dark, when the heat of this tiresome city isn't so overwhelming." She hunts through her strongbox for some copper coins, and heads purposefully to the market.

As she is admiring a bolt of fine mauve silk, a shadow comes over her. She pays it no notice at first, but then the murmuring of the crowd begins to change. Some screams pierce the air, and the merchant who had been singing the praises of his fine textiles suddenly trails off. She looks around to see a darkness spreading over the market place, over the whole city. A shadow is slowly moving over the face of the sun, blotting out its light. Many fingers are pointing skyward, many voices are praying for deliverance, whilst Lachaidiga has but one thought: the sign!


[Q: Is there general panic? Likely: 32, Yes.

Lachaidiga will need an Athletics (19%) check to make it through the crowd: 82, failure - resulting in 1d8 damage to a random location: she take 1 point to the Right Leg.
Now she needs a Brawn (21%) roll to push through or she'll take more damage: 04, success.]

Lachaidiga leaves her parcel of candles, sweetmeats, a new handkerchief, and cut glass baubles forgotten on the ground as she rushes out of the market -- or tries to. Panic has gripped the crowd and people are running every which way, shrieking and crying, and none mindful of their neighbour. She is nearly swept away amidst the stampeding marketers, falling once or twice but managing to regain her feet before being trampled. She is forced to rudely elbow her way into a side street. Once free, she sprints across the city to the silent temple, driven by her purpose.


Scene 21

chaos 6

Setup: meet the sage

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza / death rune cult
5. The Evil Jeweller

Threads:
1. find a certain sage

Running through the dark streets, aided of course by her magic, Lachaidiga arrives swiftly at the temple of Ishq-Ihar. She is torn between pausing at the entrance to the alleyway to catch her breath, or going right up to the door. She neither wishes to appear absurd nor arouse their ire with a delay, but when she senses that the door stands open at the end of the dark passage, she knows that she must enter at once.

A monk is waiting inside in the dimly-lit outer sanctum, the same one with whom she has always spoken, the same one who always turns her away. "I got your message," gasps the sorceress, bent nearly double as she hangs on to the door post.

"We did nothing but wait in silence," responds the monk, "The sign had been foretold. That is all. Now compose yourself, for the first of us would speak with you, and whilst your zeal in coming immediately upon witnessing the omen is to be commended, it is best that you enter the sanctum in a state of reflection and serenity."


Lachaidiga says nothing whilst she steadies herself, trying to breathe slowly and evenly, and fighting against her own curiosity and impatience. It takes a supreme effort of will[-power (79%)] to wait in the doorway under the irritatingly impassive gaze of the monk, but she thinks back to her years of study at the college and regulates her thoughts and attention as if preparing to work a great spell.

At length she appears to have recovered for her exertions. "I am calm now," she lies. "I believe 'it is time'."

Lachaidiga thinks she sees the faintest trace of a smirk pass the monk's lips as he turns and silently motions for her to follow. He leads her to a bare wall at the back of the sanctuary, between two idols. He pauses before it. Lachaidiga does the same, aping his every movement in an effort not to do the wrong thing. She cannot help but think that she is still being tested, and must remain on her guard.

As they stare at the rough grey stone, it begins to move, seeming to become almost liquid, draining away like a melting candle. Beyond is a long, marble-floored hypostyle hall with a stepped altar at the far end. Bronze tripods fill the room with a sharp incense; Lachaidiga's nose wrinkles involuntarily with the strong odour. Man-sized, conical candles provide what little light illuminates the scene. Ahead in a pool of darkness, a lone monk sits upon the altar under the glowering image of the Lord of Silence. Lachaidiga cannot see him, nor indeed the great basalt idol behind him, but through her magic she is aware of their presence.

Lachaidiga steps forward into the sanctuary. The monk does not follow. She feels a sudden change in the air, and knows that the wall behind her is solid once again. She does not look back, but proceeds steadily toward the altar. Candles flare into life around the motionless figure as she draws near. The man is very small in stature, and dressed in the same habit as the other monks Lachaidiga has seen in the temple. His face is covered in an intricate pattern of tattoos. She has heard tell that a race of painted men live far, far to the east, across the trackless wastes, but she had never considered that one day she should meet one.


"Sit," he says quietly in the ophidian tongue. Lachaidiga kneels in a gesture of respect as she was taught to do at the sorcerers' college, then thinks better of it and sits across from the monk on the marble floor. She feels his eyes -- and moreover the eyes of the idol behind him -- examining her with more than mundane attention. She mimics the monk's posture, sitting cross legged with hands folded in an attitude of prayer or meditation, and bravely meets his gaze. She is desperate to speak, but dares not.

"You are Lachaidiga," says the painted man, again in flawless Ophidian, "moon-daughter and sorceress. You bear a message from Hhsasv: 'The old one stirs in the darkness below the Crescent. You must seek audience, that she render up her dream'."

"Y--yes," she responds, "but... how can... if you already know the message, why was I sent?"

"The message," says the painted man, "is not for me, but for you. It is you who must go to the ruins of the Crescent, you who must seek audience with the Old One who sleeps in the darkness below. You must report to us her dream."

"I have turned this message over and over in my head, wondering first if within it lay clues to finding you, and then later if perhaps it would tell me when the time for our meeting was ripe. I am afraid I still do not understand it, even with this new revelation."


"Your master," says the painted man, "like most of his kind, is a seeker after ancient knowledge. His especial subject of enquiry is very old indeed, for it concerns the origins of things that were ancient even before the cataclysm. He has, perhaps, told you of this?"

"He has made no secret of it, but has said little to me directly."

"You are young. Perhaps he feels you are not yet ready to understand."

Lachaidiga is about to interject, but bites her lip to avoid an outburst.

"Do you know why you were chosen as his student?" continues the painted man.

"No. All those born in Anzakàr who have the talent for magic are brought to the colleges. Since the serpentfolk care little for our social hierarchy, the masters choose students based on aptitude and merit. I know I was one of the choice students from my raw ability, but my schoolmates used to tease me that my teacher must have offended the other masters somehow to get stuck with that prissy little c-- well, with the cruel thing they called me."

"Your birth was attended by signs, was it not? Your eyes bear the mark of a goddess, is it not so? How then could you fail to see why you were chosen?"

"If the Crescent to which the message refers is the ruins of the great Moon Temple, then I suppose the connexion is obvious. But as to the rest..." Lachaidiga's voice trails off expectantly, but the monk does not complete her sentence, as she had hoped. He continues to stare at her, his face a mask of whorled lines and impassivity. She waits and waits, and the realisation that the monk will not talk until she has arrived at the answer, rather than goading her to solve the problem, rather pushes all other thoughts from her mind. She has always hated these exercises in mysticism, much to the consternation of her teachers and the delight of her classmates who were always jealous of her facility with the practical aspects of spell weaving. Even her sweet Nillath used to tease her gently when she complained of it, saying that she was destined not to become a wise old sorceress, but a mad one. But this is certainly not what she should be pondering now. Flustered at her inability to respond, she gives voice to her confusion, hoping it will provoke the monk into a response. "I have consulted with a prophetess. Not even she can tell me the meaning of these portents, and says I'm particularly resistant to prophecy besides."

"Hhsasv had appraised me of your lack of clarity, and insisted that it be no impediment to your performance of the task that has been set for you."

"I can assure you that it will not. I came to find you and was told I must await the right time. I did so, and saw the sign. I have learnt the lesson--"

"You have learnt nothing," interjects the monk. "Your impatience and inability to trust in the judgement of others do you no credit. It was quite a commotion you caused in our order, applying to the Speaking Brother so often as to make your self a true nuisance to the serenity of the temple. More than a few of the aspirants were found to treat your coming as a game for their amusement, and put aside the Teachings of Holy Silence to laugh and joke like unruly children. And all the while you came, and came, and came again, a drop of water to wear away our stone. Nor did any reflection on your part reveal the truth of your task. Hhsasv and I have been in communion for some time. We had felt a change coming, a movement of ancient and hidden powers. The first stirrings he saw by observing the heavens and reading the signs writ on the face of the Moon. It was he who traced the moon's path through the heavens, who knew the time was drawing near to send you, moon-daughter, to seek the interview with the dreamer. And, being overly given to sentiment, he still feels you are under his tutelage. You had troubles in Anzakàr, and he wished to see the burden lifted. So he sent you here to await the coming of the eclipse, that you might be free to prepare for the task at hand, and that you might learn to stand on your own. There is much you must yet do to prepare, moon-daughter. But I see you do not yet understand. Come, seat yourself closer to this censer. Think deeply on the lessons you have received, and contemplate the task ahead of you. May the Lord of Silence bless your meditation with his understanding."

Lachaidiga does as she is bid. She wraps her garments more closely about her, against the cold of the dark hall. She sits next to the smoking censer on the marble step, trying not to fidget overmuch as she makes herself comfortable. She breathes deeply of the bitter smoke and clears her mind of all distracting thoughts, concentrating solely on the stone image of Ishq-ihar she can feel gazing down at her from atop the altar. After a few moments of discipline, reflection, and solid determination, a profound sense of peace washes over the sorceress, who falls quite asleep.

Monday, 22 December 2014

Runequest solo 2 - part X, The prisoner


Scene 17

chaos 6

Setup: Identity of the prisoner is revealed. Hilarity ensues.

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza (the mission-giver)
5. Prisoner

Threads:
1. find a certain sage

It is a most peculiar sensation for the sorceress to stand face to face with someone whose power she actually fears, and to know that he is now wholly subject to her whims. The fear itself is even a strange and unaccustomed feeling, for there are few who have ever inspired her with even a hint of terror. She cannot be said to fear her brother Enzzal in the slightest -- though she truly does dread seeing him most of the time, she generally views him with antipathy and spite, and sometimes in fact actual hatred, though in the most familial sense. Unlike many in Anzakàr, she has never felt fear of the serpent folk; veneration and respect, certainly, and through long familiarity with them, gained as she studied sorcery under their cold and exacting tutelage, she would honestly say that she finds them less frightening than those of her own species. Even the city prefect, who publicly regards her as an enemy, and has considerable resources he could bring to bear against her, should he wish (and his wishes are tempered only by the law of the City, which he has sworn to uphold), even such a one cannot arouse any fear. She has nothing to gain over him, and thus rather enjoys their one-sided rivalry as a joli divertissement.

And now, the fear in her breast is struggling against actual pity at the pathetic sight of the prisoner before her -- and not a little revulsion, too. For there before her, in the stout iron cage, restrained by powerful magic and heavy chains, battered and bruised, in once-fine tatters now stained with blood and his own filth, is the man whom she knows only by the appellation 'the evil jeweller', whose awful sorcery had once overcome her own.

He looks up at her face framed by the glowing lamp, his eyes unaccustomed to light for many a day. A sudden recognition passes over his face, his surprise momentarily the equal of her own. "Well," says he, "isn't this embarrassing."


"You!" shouts Lachaidiga, "How... what are you doing here?"

"The alchemist was planning to drain my life-energy to work some sort of grand spell."

"The irony is stifling..."

"Quite. So, what do you intend to do with me. I am, indubitably, in your power."

"What should I do? What would you do in my position? No, don't answer that; I don't hold with murder. But I'm not sure if I should let you live after... well! I think you know."

"I shan't beg, if that's what you're hoping. But I would like to be free of this loathsome predicament. Kill me or free me, just be quick about it."

"Fine. Prepare to die, then."

"Wait!"

The sorceress laughs. "I'm only calling your bluff. And my own, if truth be told: I don't intend to kill you. But Wihiyaba may have other designs..."

"Who?"

"Wihiyaba! The warrior you had imprisoned in your lair. I'm sure he'll have something to say about all this. And I daren't stop him from administering justice, should he feel so inclined."

"It may surprise you to learn that he was only there by chance. The others had caught him snooping around. I only saw him the once, myself. He probably won't even remember me. I dare say my recollection of the meeting is a mite hazy."

"You came in and announced we were to be sacrificed to your Dark Masters in some sort of summoning ritual."

"Ah. Yes. That... it was nothing personal. We had originally intended to just use some vagrant for the ritual: someone of no consequence, who'd not be missed. But then the prefect's men started nosing round our affairs. And then, you appeared. 'Twas nothing personal, but... well, as a sorceress, your soul is just so much more attractive to certain parties. You must understand."

"Oh, of course I understand. If I were an evil cultist, I'd certainly want to sacrifice someone like me, brimming with magical power. Plus, I'd look ravishing all splayed out on the altar. But that's neither here nor there; tell me, why shouldn't I just end your evil ways right now?"

"I offer you a trade. A grimoire for my freedom: a book you won't find in the library of your precious college."

"Tempting... but I'm not so sure I should be reading anything you hand me."

"You mistake my meaning! I meant only that it was very rare, not forbidden."

"But what assurance do I have that you won't just turn on me again once you're free?"

"Would it make any difference to tell you that I'm done with daemonolatry? that I've had done with the cult entirely?"

"No, because I suspect you're lying."

"Of course. What if I were to furnish you with a list of names of cultists still at large in Anzakàr...and in Hasharu."

Whilst they have been speaking, a white mouse has crept into the room, unbeknownst to either party. It scurries in front of Lachaidiga, and runs in circles to get her attention. She bends over to look at it, and notices its eyes shine with their own light. It stops, stock-still, and a voice emanates from within it. The voice is that of Kurkeza, the man who hired her for this mission. "Sorceress! You have done well. Leave the prisoner there. We shall come and take possession. Wait until we arrive, and the agreed payment shall be yours."

"Wait," interjects the jeweller, looking pointedly at Lachaidiga. "That rogue Kurkeza sent you?"

"Yes. Why?"

The jeweller does not reply, but picks up the wooden bowl he's been given for his 'supper', and hurls it between the bars of his cage, crushing the little mouse. It expires with a squeak, and the points of magical light behind its eyes are instantly extinguished. "Kurkeza," says the jeweller, "is a nobody, but there is a great deal of raw power inside him. I doubt he'd ever make a decent sorcerer, but then I could be wrong about that; you've certainly exceeded my expectations--"

"Hey--"

"but in any case," continues the jeweller, undaunted by Lachaidiga's outburst, "he is the errand boy for a cabal of death cultists in this lovely city with which I have had some dealings... mutual cooperation amongst sorcerers and all that. Though I'm afraid I may owe them a fair bit of money."

"Does this mean I'm not getting paid?"

"This means you've been set up to do their dirty work. Now, I've made my offer, sorceress: the book for my freedom."

Lachaidiga unlocks the cage, and hands the jeweller the keyring that he may loosen his bonds. "I'm sure," says she, wrinkling her nose, "that we can find you something decent to put on upstairs."

"And then we'd better flee," he replies, "before the cabal gets here."

---

[Die rolls for the above:

The jeweller needed to make a Hard (skill x2/3) Influence (66% x2/3 = 44%) vs. Lachaidiga's Willpower (79%) to get her to listen.
36 vs. 85, success

Q: Will Wihiyaba remember him? 50/50: 96, Exceptional No. (after all, it was dark and Wihiyaba was Seriously Wounded for the few seconds they met.)

Q: What can he offer? Guide / Magic. A grimoire!

Q: Can he offer any assurance of his intentions? Unlikely: 35, Yes.

Q: What? Change / Allies - he's against the cult now

Q: Can he offer anything else? Unlikely: 22, Yes. + Event
NPC action - Kurkeza - Communicate animals

Does Lachaidiga believe him in the end? Influence (66%) vs. Insight (60%)
87 vs. 29; if he's lying, she'd know.

Q: Is the jeweller lying? 50/50: 82, No.]

Jeweller
STR: 13
CON: 12
SIZ: 11
DEX:  9
INT: 12
POW: 17
CHA:  6

Action Points    2
Damage Modifier +0
Magic Points    17
Movement         6
Strike Rank 10(10-0)

Cult rank: Overseer
Cult Mage of Dark Forces Order

1D20  Location AP/HP
01-03 Right leg 0/5
04-06 Left leg  0/5
07-09 Abdomen   0/6
10-12 Chest     0/7
13-15 Right arm 0/4
16-18 Left arm  0/4
19-20 Head      0/5

Skills: Athletics 74%, Brawn 53%, Endurance 60%, Evade 18%, Influence 66%, Insight 79%, Invocation 77%, Locale 68%, Perception 76%, Ride 90%, Shaping 79%, Unarmed 85%, Willpower 72%
Maximum shaping: 8
Intensity: 8
Sorcery spells: Castback, Imprison, Smother, Store Manna, Tap Strength, Tap Constitution, Evoke, Wrack Darkness
Sorcerer Manna Store: Wand with Stored Manna of Max Intensity (Invocation/10).
Combat Styles: knives 55%



Scene 18

chaos 7

Setup: 6=interrupt (was: meet jeweller next day to collect grimoire)
Interrupt: PC Negative - random pic

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza
5. The Evil Jeweller

Threads:
1. find a certain sage

As the jeweller had predicted, Wihiyaba does not recognise him from their brief encounter. The generous-hearted warrior is all to eager to help another victim of the wicked alchemist, and even more pleased to hear that this last has information of the movements of pernicious cults which threaten the good people of Anzakàr and Hasharu. The jeweller promises to send a list to him at the barracks in a day or two. Lachaidiga vacillates between being pleased at the outcome and feeling guilty that she has lied to her old friend. But, she reasons, allowing a sorcerer -- and a powerful one at that -- the chance to atone for his evil ways will do more good in the end. And should the grimoire he has offered to her turn out to be full of lost secrets, then she herself could donate it to the great library at the sorcerous college.

Such are the thoughts going round her head as she hurries through the market towards her rendez-vous with the jeweller. She is on the point of reminding herself yet again that she must learn his name when a small band of ragged-looking townsfolk block her path. Their leader, a brawny man in a long filthy robe, steps up and addresses her. "Sorceress!" he shouts.


Lachaidiga has just noticed the death rune amulet he wears and is about to speak when he strikes her solidly with his fist. She is caught off guard by the sudden attack, and falls half to the ground, seeing stars from the force of the impact [1d3+1d2=4 damage].

[Q: Do any passers-by intervene? 50/50: 42, Yes.]

Before she has time to react, some passing nomads have already interposed themselves between her and her assailant. One of the nomads shouts angrily at the cultist in a language Lachaidiga does not understand, and makes a great show of the curving knife he carries without actually drawing it from its scabbard. The man backs down, but is no less defiant.

Lachaidiga climbs to her feet, and wades in to the fray. "These miscreants," says she, "are dabbling in forbidden magic and are trying to get me killed!"

[She needs to make an Influence (63%) roll: 98, failure.]

The nomads look at her, somewhat puzzled. The leader throws up his hands, and backs slowly away. She thinks she hears one of them mutter the words, "crazy witch" -- or something that sounds very much like it. The crowd around her disperses, leaving her to face the lead cultist alone. At least the threat of the nomad's knife has left him somewhat chastened.

"We need to talk," says he.

"I've no idea what about," she replies. "As far as I'm concerned, our dealings came to an end when I found I'd been lied to. I'm just off to the market now to buy a new gown, so if you'll kindly--"

[Formidable (skill x1/2) Influence (32%) roll to get rid of them: 62, failure.]

"You're hardly just going shopping, sorceress! Take us to him. If he pays us you'll get your thousand silvers."


Scene 19

chaos 8

Setup: meet the jeweller to figure out the next move (+collect grimoire)

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza / death rune cult
5. The Evil Jeweller

Threads:
1. find a certain sage

The jeweller's residence is a smallish house in an unremarkable street. Lachaidiga arrives, death cultists in tow, and pauses before the front gate. She turns to address her unwelcome entourage.

"Perhaps I had better go in alone at first. If he hears you all tramping up the stairs, he may run."

[she needs to make an Influence (63%) roll to convince them: 12, success.]

"Agreed," says the lead cultist, "but be quick about it. And don't try anything funny."

Lachaidiga gives not a word in reply but marches straight up to the gate with a dismissive wave. She climbs the steps of the little house to find the jeweller waiting for her in his cramped study. As he rises to greet her, she blurts out, "there's a pack of death cultists outside who've come looking for you. I'm afraid I couldn't get rid of them. How's your magic?"

"Still suppressed," he says, eyes downcast. "The alchemist would give me a potion every three days. Perhaps another day or so until the last one wears off..."

"Do they know that?"

"I've no reason to suspect that they should."


"Good. I've been pondering what to do about this mess the whole way over. I've decided to trust you and not them."

"I... I'm grateful you feel that way."

"I wouldn't be; I've notoriously poor judgement! But come, and follow my lead."

Lachaidiga and the jeweller step out onto the balcony and look down upon the cultists standing outside in the street. "You lot!" shouts the sorceress to get their attention. "I believe this little farce is at an end. We decided to join forces and start a cabal of our very own. You are, of course, more than welcome to declare yourselves our enemies. That is, if you believe your magic be strong enough."

[Q: Does this tip the balance? Unlikely: 06, Exceptional yes.]

The cultists pause to consider her words as she smiles down at them maliciously, the jeweller standing behind her with arms crossed, looking rather peevish. Suddenly, one of the cultists bolts in fear. His fellows rapidly follow suit.


"I don't think they'll be any more trouble," says the jeweller, and the two repair to his study. He produces a jug of his best wine and a pair of drinking bowls, making sure to sip first in order to reassure his guest that he's not about to poison her. He then hands her a basket full of scrolls and a pair of nearly-dry clay tablets: the promised grimoire and the list of the daemonolaters with whom he once terrorised two great cities.

The two spend a pleasant hour drinking wine and talking about magic, the way idle sorcerers are wont to do, but the wine quickly goes to the jeweller's head, as he is still weak from his ordeal as the alchemist's prisoner. Lachaidiga leaves him asleep in his chair, and quietly lets herself out. As she walks back to her inn, bundle of scrolls and clay tablets in her arms, she makes a mental note that upon their next meeting, before any other necessary business be transacted or simple pleasantries be exchanged, she absolutely must learn his name!

Thursday, 18 December 2014

Runequest solo 2 - part IX, The alchemist's manse


Scene 16

chaos 5

Setup: 5-room dungeon

NPC list:
1. Ni'arouj, the Caravan leader
2. Sage
3. Underworld Character
4. Kurkeza (the mission-giver)

Threads:
1. find a certain sage
2. rescue the wizard


Kurkeza's master is being held in a townhouse with a walled garden, in one of the more affluent areas of Hasharu. Lachaidiga spends a goodly amount of time wandering the nearby streets, and paying careful attention to the comings and goings around the house. She sees almost no one dare to even approach it, as it some sinister reputation caused the locals to take longer routes around it rather than drawing too near.

[She needs a Perception (51%) check to successfully case the joint. Rolls 25, success.]

She is beginning to despair of gaining any actual information, but in the late afternoon, her patience finally pays off. A door in the garden wall opens, and she is witness to a horrible sight. A finely-dressed, goat-headed broo -- the universally feared and reviled chaos beastmen -- drags a frightened man by his hair out into the alley-way. The man pleads with the hideous creature to spare him, but the bleating fiend dexterously removes the mans head with a single quick stroke of his sword. He tosses the head onto the cobbles, looks around once or twice, to see if there were any witnesses, then, apparently satisfied, disappears back into the garden and closes the door behind him.

[Her Stealth (44%) vs. the broo's Perception (69%) to avoid being seen.
42 vs. 23; it does not see her.
Q: Does anything else occur? 50/50: 58, No.]

Lachaidiga does not wait to see what happens next, but rushes back through the streets to a crowded place she feels is safe, where she is violently sick. Ignoring the disapproving stares of the populace, she races off immediately to find Wihiyaba at the fort.

. . .

Having convinced her friend of the necessity and urgency of her 'Secret Mission', the two go stealthily to the alchemists manor in the dead of night. One street away they pause. Lachaidiga throws a spell over the both of them, so that they may "see" without light [She makes her Invocation roll to cast Darksense: 2 targets, duration 7xPOw=119 minutes, costing 3 magic points)].

The back alleys are empty of all sound and movement. Wihiyaba lifts Lachaidiga up onto the garden wall effortlessly, and then springs up after her. They jump down into a flower bed, the soft dirt cushioning their fall.

[Getting over the garden wall without making too much noise: Wihiyaba made a Brawn (64%) roll to lift Lachaidiga, and an Athletics (59%) roll to climb over himself.

Here beginneth the 5-room dungeon

room 1 - guardian monster
Q: Is the guardian monster around in the garden? 50/50: 28, yes.

The PCs need to make Stealth (L:44%, W:29%) rolls vs. the broo's Perception (69%): Lachaidiga fails on a 60, Wihiyaba succeeds on an 08, and the broo fumbles with a 00.]

From the darkness at the bottom of the garden, Lachaidiga and Wihiyaba see the chaos beastman roaming nonchalantly up an down the flagstone paths amidst the flora. They sink back behind an obliging shrub as the creature ambles towards them, humming some sort of awful, guttural tune and swinging its wicked sword in the air. It passes right by them without even looking in their direction.


Wihiyaba springs out from the bushes behind the oblivious broo. In a single fluid motion he brings his axe about and crashes it down on the creature's head with a sharp crack. The broo falls to the ground, and rolls over to face its attacker. Wihiyab swings again as the surprised beast tries vainly to scurry back out of reach. The tall warrior leans forward, swinging downward, and buries the axe blade between the broo's eyes, smashing its face into an unrecognisable pulp. The sword falls from its limp fingers and it moves no more.

[Wihiyaba made a surprise attack, rolling a 69 (Combat style 79%) for a normal hit. He got 2 special effects (1 for the uncontested success, +1 for attacking with surprise):
Choose Location (head) and Trip.

The damage roll is (1d8+1+1d4=)8 -1 for the broo's armour = 7 points; a serious wound.
Because of the serious wound, the broo needed to make an Endurance (84%) roll, which had to beat the original attack roll: 84 vs. 69 succeeded, so it remained conscious.
A similar Evade (72%) roll vs. original attack was needed to resist the Trip; it rolled a 13, and so fell over.

round 1
The broo suffers a -10SR for being surprised. Wihiyaba's base SR is 15, so the broo could not possibly win initiative. He also wouldn't be allowed to attack in the first round; though this is all largely academic.

Wihiyaba attacked, the broo tried to evade.
rolls were 74, success vs. 84, failure: a hit with 1 special effect.
Going for Choose Location (head) again, resulted in  10-1= 9 damage reducing the location to -9HP, a major wound.
This forced an Endurance roll, which the broo managed to fumble (00 again!), resulting in an instant gory death.

Broo
STR: 16
CON: 16
SIZ: 16
DEX: 15
INT: 13
POW: 10
CHA: 8

Action Points 3
Damage Modifier +1d4
Magic Points 10
Movement 8
Strike Rank 14

1D20  Location AP/HP
01-03 Right leg 1/7
04-06 Left leg  1/7
07-09 Abdomen   1/8
10-12 Chest     1/9
13-15 Right arm 1/6
16-18 Left arm  1/6
19-20 Head      1/7
Skills: Athletics 66%, Brawn 67%, Endurance 84%, Evade 72%, Folk Magic 46%, Perception 69%, Stealth 67%, Unarmed 71%, Willpower 64%
Folk magic spells: Bludgeon, Disruption, Mobility, Slow
Disease: Pyrohoxia - Rq6 pg 114
Combat Styles: Chaos Unleashed 82% - If primary attack is parried, broo gets a free head butt.
Weapons: Scimitar 1d8+1d4, Head butt 1d6+1d4, Heater Shield 1d4+1d4



On to Room Two: Puzzle Or Roleplaying Challenge - random picture below]

Lachaidiga does not come over to examine the results of Wihiyaba's handiwork. "Make sure it's dead!" she whispers.

"Trust me," replies the warrior, "there's no need to check." He pulls the axe free with some difficulty. Lachaidiga is momentarily sickened by the wet squelching sound.

The two look across at the manor house. Some dim light is coming from within. They approach cautiously, hearing low strains of a harp and tuneless singing. As they creep into the building, they espy a group of young women lounging about what appears to be a harem. They are all vacantly watching the musician playing her harp. The room is hazy with incense, which swirls in clouds as a breeze blows in through the now open garden door. Noticing the change, the music abruptly stops and all look towards the new arrivals.


One of the women gets up clumsily and totters over to Lachaidiga. "You must be the new girl," she says through bared teeth.

[Lachaidiga makes an Insight (60%) roll: 08, success.]

"Uhhh... yeah," she replies. "And this is the new eunuch."

"You don't want to mess with me. He's mine! all mine..."

"Of course I don't... I'll just wait outside."

Lachaidiga begins backing away, and the woman loses interest and wanders unsteadily back to the others. Lachaidiga swiftly intones a spell, casting her magic into the room, over the woman and the two nearest her. The woman stops short as it takes effect. She begins to look around fearfully, as do the other two, whilst the rest sit vacantly.

[Successful Invocation roll (fortunately) for Neutralise Magic, costing 3MP: 1 +1 (range) +1 (additional targets)
Q: Can she get info from the woman? 50/50: 46, Yes.]

"Hey," calls Lachaidiga, "I really need to talk to you."

The woman comes over with obvious trepidation. The other two are too scared to move. Lachaidiga is shocked by her appearance from up close. She is clad in the finest silks, voluminous fabrics concealing a coat of light mail beneath. Beneath her heavy make up, her skin is sallow and drawn, and though drenched in perfume it is clear she hasn't bathed in weeks.

"What's going on here?" asks Lachaidiga.

"Don't come any closer," the woman whispers, "it's not safe. If the others think you're coming to see the master, they'll tear you limb from limb!"

"I an help them," insists Lachaidiga, "as I've helped you."

"It's all a horrid joke of... of... I don't know his name. We only know him as our 'Master'. Though in truth we hardly see him. I think he's afraid of his own spells. He keeps us arrayed here, day and night, playing the part of harem girls. But we're not... we're just guard dogs! If anyone comes into the room too far, we attack in a jealous rage, and tear them apart. The magic compels us!"

At this, she holds her hands up for Lachaidiga to see. Blood is crusted under her vividly painted nails.

"I can free the others," says the sorceress, and immediately begins weaving her spell. One by one the other women come back to their senses. They are terrified to think on what they have done; some sit in shock, others weep quietly, one vows terrible revenge. Wihiyaba and Lachaidiga are full of questions about the layout of the manse, which the freed guardians are all too eager to answer.

[Lachaidiga managed to make three successful Invocation rolls in a row for casting Neutralise Magic. She's spent 9 more Magic Points in total, so has only 5MP remaining.

Room Three: Trick or Setback - Believing the object of the quest now lays within easy reach, an NPC companion turns traitor and betrays the PCs.]

Whilst Lachaidiga and Wihiyaba are interviewing the more cogent of the captured women, one of the others absentmindedly eats a piece of fruit off of a gilded tray. She slips instantly in to a feral rage, and starts screaming that the new girl can't have the master. She flies at Lachaidiga, fingers outstretched like claws, but she is quickly caught by the others and restrained, but the commotion has roused the Master of the house.

[Room Four: Climax, Big Battle or Conflict - Give the bad guy unexpected powers, abilities, or equipment.]

A portly man clad in bizarre finery appears on the upper balcony at the top of stairs. "I see you found a way around my guardians. In their 'jealous rage' they made short work of the last fool that got this far," says he, indicating some awful stains on the carpet with an imperious wave of his jewel-bedecked hand. "Even my broo was afraid of them... poor thing, I suppose you've killed him without a thought. Alas! I see that I'll have to deal with you myself."


Alchemist
STR: 6
CON: 10
SIZ: 15
DEX: 10
INT: 19
POW: 11
CHA: 14

Action Points 3
Damage Modifier +1d4
Magic Points 11
Movement 6
Strike Rank 12(14-2)

1D20  Location AP/HP
01-03 Right leg 0/5
04-06 Left leg  0/5
07-09 Abdomen   2/6
10-12 Chest     3/7
13-15 Right arm 1/4
16-18 Left arm  1/4
19-20 Head      0/5

Skills: Brawn 21%, Conceal 51%, Deceit 83%, Endurance 50%, Evade 50%, First Aid 59%, Folk Magic 75%, Influence 78%, Insight 80%, Invocation 73%, Locale 88%, Perception 70%, Shaping 80%, Stealth 69%, Unarmed 16%, Willpower 82%
Folk magic spells: Protection
Maximum shaping: 8
Intensity: 8
Sorcery spells: Enslave Human, Evoke, Tap CON, Wrack Harm
Gift (Secret Teaching): Gift (Secret Teaching): Mighty - Damage Modifier is recalculated, based on the sum of STR, SIZ and POW. RQ pg 291 (counts as the unexpected power)
Combat Styles: Dagger and Small Blades 51%
Weapon: Dagger 1d4+1+1d4, Shortsword 1d6+1d4



[I am not using a map for the combat, so it will take (1d3=)3 Action Points spent on movement to run up the stairs to reach the Alchemist.

Initiative (SR+1d10)
Alchemist 14+9-2(armour)=21
Lachaidiga 13+7=20
Wihiyaba W 15+4=19]

The women seem cowed by the appearance of their captor. They flee to the corners of the room, fearful lest they be caught up in the ensuing battle.

[round 1]
Wihiyaba springs up the stairs toward the alchemist, who is tracing a pattern in the air with his free hand and intoning mystic syllables of power. His other hand holds a broad-bladed bronze shortsword, which he points menacingly at the advancing warrior. Lachaidiga remains below, beginning a counterspell. Ghostly tendrils, like the legs of a giant spider, appear in a weirdly-glowing halo around the alchemist. Lachaidiga struggles against them with her magic, but they resist her attempt to banish them.

[The Alchemist spent a round to cast Wrack; for the range and extra target it cost 3MP. Whihyaba spent all his AP on movement. Lachaidiga failed her Invocation roll so did not manage to cast Neutralise Magic; at least she didn't lose any MP in the attempt.]

[round 2]
The alchemist gestures at Wihiyaba, causing one of the spidery wisps to lash out at him, which the warrior deftly sidesteps. He slashes at the alchemist in return, but in avoiding the evil magic had retreated too far. His blade sails harmlessly through the empty air. [1AP to attack with Wrack, 1AP to defend: rolls are 22 vs. 25, the evade is successful. Wihiyaba failed his uncontested counterattack; 1AP.]

A second spider leg stabs toward the warrior, but snaps back too soon. Wihiyaba likewise brings his weapon down without injuring his target. [1 AP each for a missed attack roll.]

Lachaidiga is still pitting her magic against the Alchemist's vile sorcery, but it does not yield [Failed another Invocation roll, no MP spent].

Wihiyaba presses his attack against the alchemist, who brings up his bronze sword just in time to turn the axe from his head. The axe rebounds off the blade and into the balcony's railing, where it becomes stuck in the wood. [Wihiyaba's successful attack roll (41) was bested by the Alchemist's critical defence (04), which let him choose a special effect. He chose Overextend Opponent, so Wihiyaba cannot attack on his next turn.]

[round 3]
As the warrior wrenches his axe free, the alchemist directs another spidery filament to strike. It bores a bloody hole in the warriors leg. [Wrack hits, Wihiyaba's Evade fails; 3 damage to Right Leg.]

Wihiyaba re-balances his axe as another filament punctures his stomach [W failed evade, tendril hit for 5 damage to the Abdomen]. Still another of the waving black ribbons darts forth, tearing his arm from shoulder to elbow [It hits on a 23, doing 6 damage to the Right Arm: a Serious Wound. Wihiyaba rolls an Endurance check against the attack roll, beating it with a 48, so does not lose use of the arm].

Lachaidiga finally overcomes the evil spell with her own incantation [costing 2MP, 1 base + 1 for range]. The spidery arms shudder and burst into foul smelling smoke.

[round 4]
The Alchemist's eyes go wide with fear as his spell is sundered and the great warrior, seemingly insensible to the pain in his mangled arm, is bearing down on him. He desperately swings his sword in a clumsy attempt to fend him off.

Wihiyaba does not even seem mindful of the man's clumsy attack [he didn't Evade] as he swings his axe in a mighty arc. The alchemist attempts to ward off the blow but makes a terrible misjudgement. The blade of the axe takes his sword hand clean off. [Attack 14 vs. parry 73 (failure). Hit + special effect: Choose Location. Damage is (1d8+1+1d4=)10, -1 for armour makes 9 points total, dropping the location to -5: Major Wound. The alchemist fails an Endurance roll -- KO].

The alchemist swoons and tumbles forward in a faint at Wihiyaba's feet, blood jetting from the stump of his arm. Wihiyaba roughly picks him up by his collar and drags him down the stairs. He tells the women that he is an elite warrior of Anzakàr and intends to see the brute brought to justice. [Easy Influence (31 x 1.5 = 47%) roll succeeds] The women assent to his plan, as they have no more stomach for killing after their murderous ordeal. He bids them mind the alchemist, binding his wound so he does not escape justice in death, and finally turns to his own injuries. [Wihiyaba successfully rolls 1st Aid (44%) to stop blood loss from his own wound.]


[Room Five: Reward, Revelation, Plot Twist]

"You mind your arm," says Lachaidiga as she take a large ring of brass keys from the alchemists belt, "whilst I go free the prisoner."

The door to the cellar is left unlocked; no invader had ever traversed the harem to reach it before. A long flight of steps leads down into the darkness. Lachaidiga takes an oil lamp from a table before beginning her descent -- more for the prisoner's benefit than her own, as her magic still makes the darkness as bright to her as the noontide.

The cellar is musty and full of old junk, but a path has been left open to the far corner, where a sturdy cage of wrought iron bars is built in to the corner. As Lachaidiga draws near, she sees that a magic circle has been chiseled in to the floor surrounding the cage; how else does one hold a sorcerer captive? She also sees the prisoner slumped on the floor. She clears her throat to speak, and the man stirs, turning to face her.

"I'm Lachaidiga," says she, "a sorceress. I'm here to resc-- oh, shit: it's you!"