Magic World solo - Part IX - In the mire

Tzingaal awakens on the damp ground with a chill and a runny nose. She sees her companions fared little better. Even the tracker seems waterlogged and miserable. Fortunately it was a quiet night; Fmurkhrez, the little demon bound into the iron collar about her neck, has no need of sleep, and its sharp little eyes made it the perfect candidate to stand watch. And as the diminuitive fiend was commanded to obey Mazgandrvehss in all things, it did so quietly, without troubling the sleep of the rest of the band.

Following a silent, joyless breakfast, the band once again sets off on thier slog through the marshes.

T3 : water - none - deahtrap

[The trap can affect 1d2=1 person, Rolling Luck (POWx5%) according to marching order (I T P M G) for each to avoid it: I ok, T ok, P fails. 3d6=15 -1d6 armour = 14damage, to -3hp]

The driest path is over dead weeds and brambles. Tzingaal must hod up the hem of her skirt, and Mazgandrvehss his robe, to avoid being constantly entangeld. Their guides had thought to warn them about wearing such cloting intothe swamps, but thought better of it, fearing to anger the sorcerers with their peasant criticisms. Each of the band chooses their own path through, as those ahead of them invariably sink up to the ankle in mud.

And then Pnoorgunth lets out a sharp cry. The others turn to see him gone, with a hole where he'd just stood. Looking down they find him at the bottom of the pit, limp and motionless, wooden spikes protruding through his leg and torso.

"We should be more careful, I suppose," says Mazganrvehss.

"Do... do we just leave him there?" asks Imlatie.

"I don't propose we waste a day trying to retrieve and bury his corpse."

Again, one does not wish to argue with sorcerers.

T4 : special - toad men - none

Location: Supersize

[random roll to determine what about the area to supersize: powerfully / ancient]

They press onwards. Their path takes them through a densely-wooded region. The gnarled and twisted boughs make it often difficult to walk erect, but the dead trees fallen over the path now and then provide convenient walkways over the muck.

At length they come to a clearing. Atop the grassy hillock is a colossal wooden statue of a toad god, to which (1d6=)a trio of toad men priests make croaking obeiesance.

[Q: Do they notice the party? unknown, 1d6=6: O2 C7 - no.]

"Let us not disturb their rite," says Mazgandrvehss.

T5 : water - basilisk - none

They give the batrachian priests a wide berth and move as stealthily as possible until they can no longer hear their groaning chant.

The trees thin out somewhat, and the ground becomes marshier, and at several points they have no choice but to wade through knee-deep brackish ponds. 

Tzingaal, second in the file after Imlatie, grabs the scout by her tunic and bids her halt. [Difficult nature roll was needed: T (53/2=27%) 06!]

"Can't you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"The water. It's foul!"

"You're just now noticing that?"

"No, this is different. Poisonous, somehow. We'd ought not to go this way."

[Q: Does the basilisk attack immediately? 50/50 (4+): Oc C3 - no, but...it stirs.

Hide (40%) roll: 61, failure]

A noise in stand of unhealthy seeming brambles draws everyone's attention, and causes them to freeze in their tracks. For in its midst is a nest made of blackened vines and bones, and a scaly tail and filthy plumage are just visible within.

Mazgandrvehss casts a charm of lassitude. The sorcerer's will is strong enough to overcome the creature, and the basilisk settles back into its nest, preferring to overlook intruders in its domain in favour of a nice littie nap. [He cast Fatigue (1MP); MP 16 vs 14 (60%), 35=success]

They back slowly away from the nest and befouled waters, and Imlatie finds them a new path, looking often back over her shoulder to ascertain that the sorceress is always at arm's length, should she need to stop her again.

[Day 2 end. Navigation roll=18, not lost]

T6 : water - special - none

Special: goes deeper (+3 PP for Encounters instead of +1)

The third day begins much as did the last. Tzingaal finds herself actively looking forward to her meeting with the hag. For all the misery it is sure to occasion (her Masters have seen to that), at least it will involve a speedy return to the Cabal and a warm, dry bed.

By mid-morning they have come to a river, slow and murky, and scarcely over Tzingaal's waist when they check with an obliging branch, but it is the landmark they sought, and will lead them on a surer path. Providing the bank doesn't give way beneath them.

T7 : water - expected - death trap

They keep following the river. The bank seems partly trodden-down, and they surmise they aren't the first to have come this way. But they're scarcely 500 paces down the trail when disaster strikes. 

Mazgandrvehss and Gosk are foolishly skirting a patch of mud when the ground beneaththem gives way, dumping them both onto the merciless wooden spikes at the bottom of a wide pit. Mazgandrvehss has spikes protruding from his gut and his right arm and leg, whilst Gosk finds both legs and a shoulder skewered. But miraculously, they both yet live, as the screams and curses rising out of the pit immediately attest.

The sorcerer orders the tiny demon to manifest and extract him from 'this most damnable position'. It pours out of Tzingaal's iron collar like heavy smoke and coalesces in mid-flight. 

"Whatever you say, O Great-of-Magic," squeaks the demon.

"Less... editorialising and more --augh!-- rescuing."

Fmurkhrez may only be the size of a sickly child, but is posessed of the strength of a charger [STR 29]. As the demon begins pulling Mazgandrvehss from the rough, splintery spikes, the sorcerer's feigned bravado yields immediately to screams so agonisingly hideous that Tzingaal cannot but feel moved by his suffering. Indeed, when the imp as flown up and deposited him safely on the path, she is right there to dress his wounds.

[Death trap: 1d2=2 PCs; M&G both failed their Luck rolls; 3d6 damage total (each die a separate wound): M 3+2+2dmg to 7hp, G 4+5+2dmg to 3hp + major wound: severed leg tendons -1d3=1 to Dx & Mv. Luck roll (70%) 81, fail = permanent injury.]

Meanwhile, Gosk has lapsed into unconsciousness. Imlatie looks over to Mazgandrvehss, wild-eyed. "He's still breathing! Do something!"

"You heard her," he says weakly to the demon. "Get him out."

With Tzingaal and Imlatie's ministrations, Gosk lives long enough for the half-bandaged sorcerer to crawl over and apply some healing magic to the bloodiest wound. A few minutes later, thanks to the combined strengths of magic & medicine, both of them are up and walking, though Gosk with a pronounced limp. [M uses 12MP for healing -- 3 spells each; Between spells & first aid (successful Physik rolls), both recover all HP.]

Still, the near disaster has shaken everyone's nerve, and they find a secluded spot in which to spend the rest of the day recuperating. [no random encounters]

"I suppose I should thank you," says Mazgandrvehss in a private moment when the guides are out patrolling the area.

"Wherefore?"

"The way you jumped to my aid, when you needn't have done."

"Why do you say that?"

"I feel very certain you wouldn't mind watching me die."

"The success of my task rather hinges on you surviving to the end of it."

"Ah, good! I was beginning to fear your blazing hatred were dying to mere embers."

"No. I still hate you. I just can't bear to see anyone suffer like that."

"And yet evoking the pangs of Hell itself is just about the only magic which you can effect."

"I'm considering giving you a taste of it right now if you don't leave me alone..."

"That's better! You know, when this is all over, I'm really going to miss our little tête-à-têtes.

next post: ever deeper...

Magic World solo - Part VIII - Expiation

Upon waking from the effects of the Labyrinth Seed elixir, Tzingaal is surprised to find herself laying in a plush, soft bed. It's her own! Or rather, her old room in the Cabal's sanctum in Ka-'ahhad, the freeport at the easternmost edge of the so-called Empire of Vond. None of her things -- what few she had -- appear to have been touched in the slightest, as the layer of dust attests. Were they always expecting her return, or is this just the Cabal being rubbish at attending to mundane matters like cleaning out an extra room?

As to herself, she finds that the Labyrinth Elixir hasn't left any lingering effects, just a soft drowsiness like waking slowly from a cosy dream. And she doesn't feel like she's gone the least bit mad... but then how would she know? A worry for a later time, perhaps. She finds her bonds have been removed and all her wounds fully healed. She can't see even the slightest hint of a scar through the hole in her dress. Her poor, blood-stained, ruined dress, which she's now been wearing for the better part of a month. Her nose wrinkles at the thought of how she must smell. As she's not bound or in prison, perhaps she'd ought to enquire about a bath. Oh, but she is bound! A heavy iron collar has been affixed round her neck, and when she sits perfectly still she can feel it pulse faintly with insidious magics.

And as she finds when she gets bored of waiting and tries to leave, there is some awful thing guarding her door, summoned up from the very recesses of the netherworld.

[Q: Does Tzingaal wake in the Cabal's dungeon? Certain (2+): O1 C6 - no.
Q: Why isn't she dead yet? (never mind, I have an adventure idea of my own)
Q: Is there time to rest/reflect before setting out? 50/50 (4+): O5 C1 - yes, and...

Experience Rolls from the first adventure--
dodge x
swim +4
*bargain x
*nature +8
move quietly x
repair/devise x
*insight +2
search x

*profession skill, 1d8 instead 1d6; I chose Insight as her automatic improvement.

(21-18=3)x5=15% to increase POW: 21, no]

Tzingaal loses track of time whilst she's confined to her quarters. Every so often the door opens and a taciturn servant brings a tray of food and water and maybe a cup of that vinegar that passes for wine (the one the Cabal reserves for apprentices). She'd tried counting meals, but boredom has forced all figures from her mind. The servants never respond to her questions, and the demon outside glowering through the open door convinces her not to force the issue. More infrequently a different servant comes to bring a fresh bucket of water for washing and also a clean chamber pot. Her room may be a prison, but the Cabal does have certain standards for its adherents, no matter how far fallen into disgrace.

The rhythm of her days and nights becomes oppressive. She can either pace or sleep, and does so without regard to the steady entry and exit of the servants and their ministrations. Thus it is when the door opens, she does not even look over, fixed as her eyes are on the canopy of her bed.

"They'd told me the Labyrinth Seed elixir had worn off over a week ago," says Mazgandrvehss, jolting Tzingaal from her weary reverie. "Perhaps I shall have to see the herbalist about a purgative."

She sits upright to face him. "No need. I'm sure if you just keep talking it will have the same effect."

"Charming, as always. And to think I'd come with good news! Now I find myself too wounded to share."

"Sorry. It's been so long since I've spoken to another living soul. My retorts used to be much more cutting."

"You soon shall have ample time for practice on me, it seems, for we're going on a little trip."

"We are? Whither? And wherefore?"

"Why, into the swamp of Hththum! The elders have need to consult the hag Gogoda on the workings of a great incantation. You are to bring back her answer."

"I see. And this will win my freedom?"

"Should everything prove successful, it may very well do."

"I see. And why are you going?"

"For is to me, and to me alone, that our elders have entrusted knowledge of the question."

"Even with you as a minder and this demon bound round my neck, they still don't trust me?"

"Can you blame them? Now, you should not find it surprising in the least that your task carries several important stipulations..."

--- --- --- --- ---

That night Tzingaal was given a proper meal, and found that Mazgandrvehss had left her a bottle of decent wine on her vanity. In the morning, only slightly worse for wear after having drunk the whole thing, she puts some extra clothing in the bottom of her pack and waits for her summons.

Mazgandrvehss himself comes to fetch her. After some perfunctory verbal sparring with the groggy sorceress, he dismisses the demon guard and leads her to the main door of the Cabal's fortress. As the ianitor unlocks the heavy brazen door, Mazgandrvehss produces a dagger from his satchel and addresses Tzingaal directly. "This is yours. You can have it back, provided you promise not to do anything foolish."

She stares at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"I thought you were speaking rhetorically! Fine, I promise not to do anything foolish. With the dagger or otherwise. Satisfied?"

"I haven't any truth magic, so I suppose I shall have to be."

They do not speak further as he leads her through he streets of Ka-'ahhad to the harbour, where they board a swift sailing ship and sail a few hours up the coast.

[Sea Legs and Sea Sickness: on the first voyage, roll CONx3 to get sea legs (avoid caps on Physical skills). If this roll is made, the PC never need make it again. To avoid seasickness, it's a Stamina (CONx5) roll, check every trip. Since Tzingaal put away a whole bottle of wine herself the night before, I'm giving her a -3 penalty to CON for the resultant hangover; Mazgandrvehss' largesse may not have been an entirely friendly gesture!

So with an effective CON of 8, she's got 24% to finding her sea legs, and a 40% chance to avoid spending the whole voyage being sick over the side: rolls are 02 & 17!]

Tzingaal spends the voyage enjoying the breeze and fresh air above deck. The sailors know who she and her companion are, and their superstitions keep them well clear.

Their destination is no harbour, but a little village on the coast where the forest begins giving way to swamp land. Mazgandrvehss and Tzingaal are rowed ashore in a little boat, and then the ship swiftly departs. Then there is a short wagon ride over a bumpy forest path to another village further inland where they meet the three locals who are to be their guides.

Pnoorgunth is a spearman who once served in a foreign military unit, but some terrible wound removed him from active soldiering [CON 7]. He likes to hunt in both forest ad swamp, and says he knows a few secrets about leech men and their gruesome ways.

Gosk is also a mercenary, and will not say why he returned home. He is always impeccably dressed, neatly groomed, and well-manicured. It would seem like these habits were picked up in some far-off land, but the other villagers swear he was always this way.

Imlatie is a shy tracker, and has never been more than a day's journey from her village in her life. She carries a small crossbow, mostly for bird hunting. She trusts she'll be able to steer them round anything bigger once she picks up its trail.

[For the next adventure, I was in the mood for a swamp crawl. I used Word Mill's Location Crafter to run it; this may have been my first use of it.

Time will be abstracted a little: 3 LC turns per day unless events suggest otherwise.

Mazgandrvehss was a random PC I'd rolled up but never used, so had his own character sheet. The three other NPCs were generated by a messy Excel sheet I made which spits out soldiers & thugs (to which I later added sorcerers). The demon bound in the iron collar is a minor demon I designed with the rules in Advanced Sorcery.

All the character sheets are on a page (click here) to keep from cluttering up the post overmuch.]

T0 : expected - none - none
T1 : nest - none - random
Location: mockingly / ruined

An autumnal chill pervades the Swamp of Hththum, but the going is hard and tiring, so that the heavy cloak Tzingaal had brought against the damp is soon relegated to her pack. The tracker, Imlatie, leads the group past murky pools and foetid mires. Despite their route staying to mostly to hunting trails and natural high ground, Tzingaal finds she's more than glad of the high boots Mazgandrvehss has helpfully provided as they trudge through mud and splash through puddles. The slate coloured sky cannot decide if it wishes to rain in earnest, but the misty drizzle has soon wormed its way through the fabric of Tzingaal's simple dress which clings to her skin like a heavy dish rag. But there's nothing to be done for it, so she puts one foot in front of the other and keeps her complaints to herself.

After they pause for food and rest, they must pass through a stand of trees. Mazgandrvehss spots a great nest rising from the mud, and something glittering inside. A wooden staff carved in a twisting fashion and coated in bright red lacquer has been woven into the rim of the nest.

[Q: Does M's greed make him grab the staff? 50/50 (4+): O4 C1 - yes, and...]

As the sorcerers covetous fingers reach for the staff, a horrid creature schlurphs over the side of the nest to devour him -- a deadly swamptapus! But the hapless creature becomes tangled in the new branches it was bringing back to add to its nest, and its tentacles flail comically as it opens an ichor-spurting gash in its own hide.

[The swamptapus rolled a special success (d%=14) on its Hide (100%) check. None of the party made an equivalent roll, so it attacked from surprise -- rolling a 00, fumble. A 99 on the fumble chart ("Really bad fumble") gave it two results: a bleeding cut (cosmetic only), and being tangled (reduces movement). My notes for this part were a bit messy so I'm truncating the mechanics of the fight; the next one will be better (and more eventful!), I promise.]

Swamptapus
STR 24 CON 14 SIZ 19
INT  4 POW 11 DEX 24
HP  17

Skills: Hide 100%, Search 50%, Sense 50%
armour: skin (2d3)
attacks: tentacle (60%) constriction/2d3
bite (40%) 2d6+venom

[Round 1]
The beast soon rights itself and flails at Mazgandrvehss more purposefully. For his part, the squealing sorcerer turns tail and flees back behind his companions [it missed twice]. With his employer out of the way, Gosk hurls his spear, which makes a shallow wound in the creature's rubbery hide [8-5(armour roll)=3dmg to 14hp].

[Round 2]
The swamptapus flops to the ground in front of the nest and advances, grabbing at the three hirelings. Gosk manages to dodge as he draws his short sword, but Imlatie is not as fleet of foot. Fortunately her leather jerkin spares her the worst of the blow [1 damage gets through], though it holds her fast. Her own stabbing sword in return does even less harm to her foe [2-5=0 damage].

Meanwhile Tzingaal is calling upon her magic [spell casting takes a full round, so her spell takes effect on her initiative (from INT) in round 3; she's casting Sorcerer Strength (+6 STR, costs 2MP) which will raise her STR to 17 and give her a +1d4 Damage Bonus.]

[Round 3]
The buffeting tentacles thrash Pnoorgunth and Imlatie, who feels some ribs pop as the tentacle wrapped round her torso begins to squeeze [he takes 3, she takes 2+5 damage, down to 4hp; she makes her POWx4 roll to remain conscious for slipping under the Major Wound threshold].

Tzingaal joins her companions as they fall on it with sword and dagger. Many ichor-leaking punctures are opened in its elastic hide, until at last it loses all strength and slumps into the mud [3+7+6 damage (after armour reductions) kills it].

As they are catching their breath, Mazgandrvehss creeps back to the nest and removes the magician's staff, which falls immediately in two halves. He throws it into swamp in disgust.

"Aren't you going to heal them?" snaps Tzingaal.

"Hm."

He signs and turns back to Pnoorgunth and Imlatie, assessing their injuries before he invokes his sorcery, commanding wounds to close and broken bones to re-knit. As impressive as the enchantment may be, it is no panacea, and the two feel better, but not completely whole. [Healing costs 2MP, and heals 1d4 per injury; the remaining damage is only cured by time; both are now up to 10hp.]

[Daily Navigation roll - Imlatie (57%) succeeds, so they aren't lost]


T2 : expected - random - deathtrap
Encounter: majestically / glorious (= a knight)

[Q: Is the knight caught in the trap? 50/50 (4+): O6 C7 - yes
Q: Is he still alive? unlikely (5+): O2 C8 - no.]

As the sky darkens further with the steady advance of night, the little band come to the mouth of a pit amidst the trail. They move with great care up to look down into it, and find that it is scarcely as deep as Gosk is tall, but the bottom is filled with jutting wooden spikes, upon which a knight in gleaming panoply is impaled. Rivulets of dried blood run down his armour into the sticky dirt, and his clouded, sightless eyes stare out from behind the silvery visor of his helm.

"That's the fool who went into the swamp from our village these two days gone," says Gosk.

"I told him it were too dangerous to go alone," adds Pnoorgunth.

"Better him than us," says Mazgandrvehss. "But all the same, let's not camp near here."

next post: deeper into the swamp

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

Magic World solo - Part VI - battles lost

As it is 10 years to the day that I posted the beginning of this adventure, you might not remember where it left off. You may accordingly wish to review the other postings (there are only 5 in total) before continuing the thread of the narrative. If so, click here.

I'm going to wait a fortnight between this post and the next to give everyone a chance to catch up (plus I'm really busy). At the end of this post can be found an explanation of why this campaign (nearly) died and what I did to pick it up again.


Scene 9

Chaos: down to 8

Setup: Modified (was: return to camp)
Altered: difficult trip

NPC list: bad guy(s), bad guy minions, contact, quest giver, interested 3rd party, Sergeant Eldega, army, other army, sorcerer, sorcerer's demon ianitor

Threads: Who am I? ; What am I doing? ; Who did this to me? ; Mission

Having been given an enchanted bronze mirror to take to General Angklabas, our heroine fled the sorcerer's tower and walked alone toward the lake [Navigate roll to walk to lake shore directly: 05, success]. But a small enemy force has encamped by the lake, so she must go round.

[Search (66%) roll to notice before too late: 54, ok. Hide (47%) roll to evade: 15, ok. The detour adds (1d6=) 6 hours to her trip. She needs a Stamina (CONx5%) roll to plod on: 17, ok

Q: any more problems? Unlikely: 81, No.]

She avoids all the sentries and patrols, but it is the middle of the night when she finally trudges back into camp.


Scene 10

Chaos: down to 7

setup: Modified (was: give mirror to general)

Interrupt: Remote event - Usurp / A project

She reports immediately to Sergeant Eldega. "You're late. But I wasn't going to denounce you as a deserter until morning. 's always a nice start to my day! Let's go take the general his prize. And be warned: he's not going to be in a good mood. Word round camp is they're sending a new general to relieve him of command. Probably be here in [1d4-1=] three days."


Scene 11

Chaos: down to 6

Setup: give mirror to general

[the general's reaction: hostile -20%; PC needs to make a Charismax5% roll: 96! not good]

"You sent this... this... person on such a delicate mission?" says General Angklabas to Sergeant Eldega. "And you! You're late! And where's the rest of your unit!? Incompetence! Get out of my sight..."

[Q: What are the general's intentions? Overindulge / Leadership
Q: Can PC return with the sergeant? 50/50: 47, Yes.]

"Well," says the sergeant, "I did say he'd be like that... Now go get some sleep. I think you're going to be needing it."


Scene 12

Chaos: up to 7

Setup: the battle

In the morning, Angklabas orders the army to prepare for battle. The whispers that a new general is arriving to usurp his command are already winging through the camp, but there's no way he'll let himself be replaced in the field. They will attack the enemy this very day! Units begin to be called into formation before they've finished their morning rations, and harried soldiers must pull on their armour after they've scurried into line. Sergeant Eldega's irregulars are shunted to the front ranks of the army's right wing.

The clarion sounds and the army marches south to the village held by the enemy barbarians, whose spies have already warned them of the approaching host. The attack is signalled at once, and the battle is joined.

[I used the Adventurers in Battle Results tables from MRQ Empires to determine the course of the battle.

A roll of 1d4 indicates a Losing battle (appropriately).

My PC is not looking to play the heroine in this -- and is still at only 7hp -- so she chooses to fight Cautiously (1d10 with no mods = 10; resulting in (1d2=) 2 kills and an encounter to be played out.

Foe level 1
-surrenders when injured, does not accept surrender
-same HP as PC
-weapon skill 11% worse, smaller weapon (shortsword, 51%)
-leather armour
-Dex 9

So, then...]

Sergeant Eldega's unit is sent forth in the first wave. Some manage to outmanoeuvre the enemy and break through their lines, whilst others engage in a pitched battle along the rocky shore. Our heroine is one of these latter. Two barbarians fall beneath her sword, but then she finds herself caught between the rocks and the surf, and cut off from her allies.

A young nobleman -- not a barbarian by his dress but certainly one of their supporters -- comes suddenly before her, shortsword at the ready. His dress is far too elegant for the battlefield: fine raiment and jewellery over a suit of costly leather armour. He seems unsure of himself at first, but summons all his courage and rushes to attack.

[Round 1]
His opponent is faster, and is already swinging her heavy sword at him as he draws near. But she has terribly misjudged his velocity; the blade that should have crashed down upon his brow falls well short and clangs against a large rocky outcropping, snapping off at the hilt [Attack roll 00 -- fumble; d%=weapon breaks]. The noble misjudges his own sword's length as well, but his blade only swishes through the air before his target [he rolled 93, a regular miss].

[Round 2]
She drops the useless hilt and hurriedly draws a dagger [-5 dex ranks=9, simultaneous actions]. The noble turns aside her blade with his own. She easily sidesteps his riposte [both attack rolls succeed; he parried, she dodged].

[Round 3]
But she easily regains the advantage. Lashing out with her knife she stabs him in the side, right through his armour. The wound is not terribly deep [4 damage puts him at 8hp] but bloody nonetheless. He throws down his sword and shrieks, "Please don't kill me!"

"Fine," she says, picking up his sword, "you are officially my prisoner. Let's get moving back up the beach."

The noble, Ealdwig by name, readily complies. But they have hardly gone 100 paces when trumpets sound.

"They're sounding the retreat," she says, "I guess we're through, then." She remarks the terror passing over her prisoner's countenance at her words, and hastens to add, "I'm not going to kill you. How about you give me some of those jewels as ransom and we call it quits."

He pulls off [1d3=] a medallion and two rings and hands them over. He is about to pull off his last ring when he hesitates. "This has been in my family for generations..."

"Keep it," she says. "Call it payment for the sword. Now go home."

[white gold ring 54bp, gold medallion 274bp, silver ring with flawed peridot 53bp]

Scene 13

Chaos: down to 6

Setup: aftermath

The camp has been over-run, so the survivors of Angklabas' army must trudge further north to into the forest. Fortunately, few of the barbarians are interested in harrying their vanquished foes, not whilst they have an entire camp to loot.

[Q: Did the Sergeant survive the battle? 50/50: 63, Yes (but wounded: 1d8=8 damage, 5hp left]

Our heroine regroups with the survivors. She can't find anyone from her unit, save Sergeant Eldega herself, who is bleeding from the forehead and boasts several new dents in her armour.

"Oh, it's you," says the sergeant. "I should have guessed you'd be the one to survive. This is all a mess: the general's dead, morale's low, hardly anyone survived the rout..."

[prejudiced-doubt-current scene]

"So why stay? If it's over...?"

"Got to wait for reinforcements!" [hostile-destruction-allies]

"Seriously?"

Sergeant Eldega shrugs.

"I'm no use here. Send me to the temple with the rest of the wounded." [fast talk (40%) 14, ok]

"I'll think about it."

It takes [1d3-1=] two days for the remaining commanders to rally the surviving troops and begin the northward trek. Once out of the forest, the army splits in two halves. The able soldiers march to the north east and the wounded (to which group our heroine is happy to have been appointed, despite being still under the yoke of the good sergeant) make for the temple to the north at a slower pace.

[Q: Is everything (relatively) ok? 50/50: 78, No.
Q: Enemy attack? 50/50: 80, no.
Q: Disease runs through camp? 50/50: 21, Yes.
Q: Problem on road? unlikely: 96, exceptional no]

But disease has already sped through the camp, and our heroine succumbed the night before the march. Many are those who are left to die upon the side of the road, but she forces herself to ignore the creeping chills (and the somehow still healthy sergeant's cajoling) and put one foot ahead of the other until the temple of the sea nymphs is in sight.

[Disease rolls redacted. She's down to 4hp by the end of the march.

Q: Magic healing given? Very unlikely: 05, Exceptional Yes. =Healing Trance spell
Q: Robbed whilst unconscious? Likely: 10, Exceptional Yes. She loses her 1d6=3 most valuable possessions.]

She is barely conscious as she crests the hill, and only dimly aware of the sergeant shouting something at a frightened novice, who then rushes her off to a makeshift dormitory. She sees the novice, or perhaps one of the higher clergy, standing over her and pronouncing soothing yet incoherent words, then drifts away...

When she comes back to her senses, the scene is much changed. The noise and confusion are all gone. In their place are orderly rows of low cots with convalescents clad in white robes. She finds that she too is similarly clad, and her things (or what remains of them) are stowed on the floor beneath her bed. Her armour is gone -- probably thrown away -- as is her sword and most of her jewellery. Only her dagger and the tarnished silver ring with the flawed stone escaped the predations of her former comrades-in-arms. She also finds a scrap of tattered parchment has been pinned to her robe, covered in a curiously child-like scrawl. It reads, 'Yer the worst soldier ever. Enjoy civilian life. Sgt Eldega'.

[Time for experience rolls!

Potential increase is the usual 1d6, or 1d8 for Occupation Skills. One occupation skill increase roll automatically succeeds -- fortunately, for the dice were not terribly kind to her.

dodge x
fast talk (occ) +8
nature x
navigate +3
hide (occ) +4
move quietly (occ-auto) +5
listen (occ) x
search (occ) x
sense (occ) +1
track x
sword x
dagger x

She also got to roll to see if her POW increased, but sadly it didn't.

The next scene was played a little while later, apparently after I'd written up my MCSV rules.]


Scene 14

Chaos: Average/d10

Setup: to the city

NPC list: bad guy(s), bad guy minions, contact, quest giver, interested 3rd party

Threads: Who am I? ; What am I doing? ; Who did this to me?


Sensing that she may have overstayed her welcome, she bids farewell to the haggard priests and harried temple staff and sets out for the city to the south.

[Q: Can she get to city unmolested? 50/50 (4+): O4 C6 - yes.]

It's a relatively pleasant walk. 'I can't remember the last time I've not been going about with wounds or sickness or broken bones,' she thinks. 'Disappointing that the magic only healed my physical ailments...'

When she reaches the city gate, the guards demand she pay the entry toll. She's not a single coin to her name, but pleading poverty does not move them to shew charity. [Difficult bargain (20/2=10%): 52, fail.] In the end she hands over her ring, as she doesn't rate her chances outside the walls after nightfall; even if there weren't the remnants of an army spread through the countryside, the glowering clouds promise rain. The guards accept the trinket, and let her pass. She briefly entertains the notion of asking them just what city this is, but decides against it lest they think her mad and eject her from the gate.

She wanders the streets aimlessly. Nothing sparks her memory, nor gives her the slightest inkling of ever having been here before. None of the myriad faces look familiar, nor does anyone call her by name with a friendly greeting. Nor even an angry one.

A walk through an open-air market reminds her of the desperation she'll soon feel if she can't find anyone to help her. She surmises that help for one of her skills and (apparent) standing will not be forthcoming in the more wealthy districts she's been drifting through, and so makes for one of the less respectable quarters to try her luck there.

In no time at all a gaudily-dressed youth does call out and wave her over, and addresses her with a torrent of sweet blandishments -- but it's only a pander trying to drum up business for an exotic brothel. [Cities random encounter] The gentleman is truly sorry to hear of her reduced circumstances, but cannot offer assistance himself. He does at least give her directions to the docks when she asks.

[One more encounter check. I'd rolled major personage in the Cities tables, but since I didn't have any defined, I rolled on the d30 Sandbox Companion's NPC column in the adventure generator section.

1d30=magic-user, d6=f
Q: What does she want? Take / Trials - looking for a companion in her trials
Power level? UNE table R-3 (standard): d%=89, Slightly Stronger (has been on 2-3 adventures)

I picked a name off my list and rolled a quick stat block and beginning spells (I have an Excel table that rolls random spells with levels up to 1/2 INT):

Tzingaal
STR 11   Grimoire:
CON 11   Agony (2)
SIZ 10   Sorcerer's Strength (1-3)
INT 16   Witch sight (3)
POW 18
DEX 11
APP 15

Q: Can she help with memory? 50/50 (4+): 02 C3 - No, but... might know someone.]

She makes her way south towards the harbour (she hopes). Her circuitous path takes her down a shadowy narrow street, full of dark, shoddy tenements and boarded-over shops. The only soul with her on the street is a young woman in a costly yet very well-worn dress of light blue. She moves with a willowy grace, gliding down the cobbled street like a phantom. The overcast sky lends extra radiance to her long red hair, but redder still is the arc of blood seeping through the fabric from her shoulder blade down to the middle of her back.

Our heroine is struck with a sudden pity for the wretched creature before her, and cannot help but quicken her pace to see if she can be of any help.

"Are you alright? You're covered in blood."

The woman stops abruptly and turns round.

"I--? Oh. Of course I am. I'm fine. Relatively speaking. Are you a healer?"

"No, I'm... this is just the robe they gave me at the Oceanid's temple. After the battle..."

"Oh. I just heard... I've been away."

"Do you live here?"

"No. I hadn't intended to come back. But circumstances forced my hand."

"But you know the city?"

"As well as any."

"I'm not from here."

"Your accent does rather give it away. Are you lost?"

"You could say that."

"Where are you trying to get to?"

"I don't know. I..."

"You don't know...?"

"I can't remember anything."

"Because of your injuries in the battle?"

"No, I remember the battle, and being conscripted. But before that... nothing. I've tried to piece it together, but, nothing makes sense. I learnt a pair of names -- no more."

"I've not got the widest acquaintance in the city, but I might be able to help you find them."

"I think someone called Gzashal had my, uh, comrades and I ambushed because we worked for someone called Yuclender."

[T Fast Talk (43%) to gain trust: success
? Insight (41%): fail, no suspicions

Q: Names mean anything to T? Unlikely (5+): O6 C2 - Yes, and...
Q: Involved with one or other? Unknown: 1d6=5 Unlikely: O6 C4 - Yes, but...
Q: Which? (1d6) 1-3 G, 4-6 Y : Y
Q: Relationship? (1d6) 1-2 good 3-4 neutral 5-6 bad: N
Q: How does T know him? (1d6) 1 retainer, 2 acquaintance, 3 business associate, 4 owes debt, 5 owes gratitude, 6 former student: d6=2
Q: Does T have any ideas about heroine? 50/50: O3 C2 - No, and...]

"Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate...? I don't know. I mean, I don't think so."

"Maybe you'd ought to do. It just so happens I was on my way to find an old colleague of mine... by the name of Yuclender."

"Oh! but, just what sort of person is this Yuclender?"

"He used to be a sorcerer, until something robbed him of his magic. Probably. Now he's a crime boss of sorts."

"Are you a sorceress?"

"Well, I'm no criminal!"

"That's a relief. Or, wait--"

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean... look, why don't I make a discreet enquiry before dragging you in front of him, in case you have it all backwards. My business with him is of a more mystical cast, anyway, so it won't do to dwell on his more... pecuniary concerns. This is his street. Why don't you just linger out here whilst I go in and have a quick word."

The sorceress slips into a building through a door that is cleverly disguised as having been boarded over securely, as our heroine anxiously awaits news of her fate.

~~ End of Part I ~~

Notes on a campaign that failed... and then flourished

This adventure began and then fizzled out back in 2015. I tried to write up the bits in this post back then, but got discouraged and put the whole thing aside.

The main reason it failed was my experiment with the PC. Amnesia seemed like a good idea for revealing the character's background piecemeal, but the dice just weren't super helpful. Maybe it would have worked better in a more defined setting, and maybe it was just bad luck with what few clues I did roll. And trying to write 3rd person narrative about a character with no name is a lot less fun than one might imagine!

But the real death blow came in the encounter with the sorceress. Just from the little bit I knew about her (the stat block above), she seemed like a much more interesting character than my current PC, even with the big revelation when the sorceress went to talk to the mysterious Yuclender. So I put it aside and went off to do other things. I thought about picking it up again once or twice, but inspiration was lacking. I even thought about just consigning it to the dustbin and starting a completely new adventure with the sorceress as the main PC. But I was kind of curious to see what sorts of trouble the two of them might get into together. And I was also curious to see what happened with Yuclender himself. He got a random stat block and then a random Profession from the MW rulebook. So he was a Sorcerer, but with only a 15 POW he wasn't able to use magic (requires 16+); instead of changing the stats or re-rolling, I just ran with it. And as that was too good to discard, I knew I had to keep the whole thing.

The UNE result that said the sorceress was "slightly stronger" than my PC provided the key. I had interpreted that as having been on 2 or 3 adventures already. And instead of giving her a handful of random experience checks and maybe an extra spell, I decided I could just play out those adventures. All I had to do was make sure she got back to the city and had some reason to meet this strange ex-sorcerer, Yuclender.

I'd probably have posted some of it before now, but (due in part to computer woes) I played the first bit totally offline with books, pencil, and paper -- and I have a slight aversion to typing up my notes once they reach a certain length. And I do have quite a few games going that I've never posted about, so...

In any event, Magic World became one of the standards in my eternal rotation of games, and it inched ever closer to the point where the two adventure strands were destined to meet. Of course, had Tzingaal died that would've scuppered the whole thing, but (spoiler alert) she didn't. Everything worked out without me having to put on my GM hat to force things to go a certain way, and it provided plenty of impetus for further adventures. The only difference between the meeting as it originally played out and as written above is the detail of the blood seeping through the back of Tzingaal's dress.

It is the tale of how she came to find herself in such circumstances that shall form the matter of the next series of posts.