new digs

Front door, a photo by biktopincanada on Flickr.

This was a really great session. After thwarting the goblins' attack on the Viper Clan Compund, we mounted a swift counter-attack. We went into it thinking that after picking off a few easy targets, we'd have to retreat before the main force. Instead the "retreat" was mutual. We dealt with the two wolf-riders on patrol outside, and the successive waves of defenders were badly-organized. We stayed until their leaders called everyone back inside the tower. We had no casualties and returned to the Viper compound with a "prisoner," a charmed goblin named Nebling.

Nebling gave us some details about the goblins forces, and gave us the impression that we had significantly reduced their number, especially the number of wolf-riders-- but that they had associates would be returning soon. We resolved to attack the next day.

Our plan was to split into two groups, with one group distracting and dispatching the wolf-rider guards outside and anyone on top of the tower, while the other group secured the door closed from the outside. Next, we would scale the side of the tower and attack from above, hoping that at least we'd only have to deal with goblins and not wolves, and might even be able to make use of burning oil.

The problem with the plan was that, it didn't prepare for contingencies, even beneficial ones such as the fact that there were no wolf-riders on patrol. The "wolf group" went ahead and scaled the tower while the "door group" had trouble with some pits. Rather than hold the door itself, the "door group" created a nice mess of grasping weeds right in front of the door. The group on top of the tower just held the trap door closed.

The goblins panicked and were routed. Unfortunately, the goblin's shaman escaped, and the dead body of their captain, now doubt laden with treasure, was carried off by a fleeing wolf. But we got a tower in Mor!

SLEEP!

Forest Flower (Oriental Poppy - papaver oriental), a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

Strathbogie brought the awesome power of forced slumber down on the maurading goblins. We'd recruited a large war party, adding Dusty (experienced adventurer) and Robbo (adapt of the temple of divine purpose) plus 5 wage-earning men-at-arms. Our trip to Mor and to the the Viper Clan's palisade was not without incident (a big rock ate one of the men-at-arms) and as we were arriving, a band of goblins attacked us.

The Viper clansman wanted to rush us into the palisade, but we were at full-strength and could boast some element of surprise. So we held our ground, threw big magic, and shot down the stragglers. One worg got away unfortunately.

Our plan now is to attack the goblins at the tower before they have a chance to organize.

back to the swamp

cattails, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

While Mendel the earth-magician was otherwise occupied, Dreyfus, Brigitta, and Strathbogie returned to the place in the swamp where they'd met him-- and at last retrieved the wild centipedes. It went very smoothly, but the pay was meagre.

Perhaps it was in humbling ourselves, that we were prepared to answer the notice posted by the Vipers (one of Mor's orkin clans) recruting warriors to help them rebuff marauding gobbos for the sake of "honner." And Des, the orkin scout, is very charming in his own way. Strathbogie has also been doing some reading in the library and is coming to the conclusion that he has been chosen by the bull god to do great deeds. Reclaiming a part of Mor is likely a part of that.

Party!

what have we here?, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

It started as a wake. For the hirelings who died while we were fighting the Gargoyle. And for Thakko, who loved the ocean (from afar). Some other things happened, and when Strathbogie woke up, he found that he had received a secret mark, that of the Red Bull. (Or Winged Bull? The mark is in a place where it's hard for Strathbogie to see.)

Other news . . .

Ysden's friend Hardtack was found dead in the swamp, and he didn't do it.

Mendel the swamp magician found the body, but he didn't do it either, even though it was just punishment for the man's treatment of Mendel's friends the giant centipedes, and even though it's clear that the killing was done by wild beasts.

When Dreyfus went to the myriadrome he got beer dumped on him and attacked by one of the centipedes. That's strange in a way. Strange as in ha ha.

Brigitta has discovered that when wild honey is mixed with wine, it loses its addictive properties!

Strathbogie's stubborn friends

Gargoyle, a photo by Vicki & Chuck Rogers on Flickr.

An old adventurer named "Gummy" had given the party a lead on a treasure-enrcihed tomb inside of more. Known as the tomb of the four gargoyles, and identified by a curious mark that he drew on paper, the tomb was said to be found "due west of the breach."

In the course of locating the tomb, Strathbogie had several great ideas that were ignored by the rest of the party. First, they were too cowardly and untrusting to introduce themselves properly at the Orkin village located "due west of the breach" and after ingratiating ourselves, inquiring there of the location of the tomb.
Second there were too many other good ideas offered and ignored to even begin to rememer here, excpept that after we found the gargoyle and had him throughly entangled in weeds and vines (this was the doing of Mendel, a swamp man, although Strathbogie has started learning earth magic himself, too), everyone despaired of how to destroy the foul monster, which made from magic could only be harmed by magic, and we boasted only one magic sword among us and no warriors brave enough to wade in among the thrashing vines to engage in hand-to-hand (or even sword-to-back) combat. What is the need for bravery when wit abounds? We had a magic sword and we had a rope-- were there no clever sorts among us who could so afix the rope to the sword, and-- in imitation of those hunters who bestride the waves throwing barbs at leviathans so as to extract that slow-burning vicosity by whose flame the scholar pores over his books long into the night, TO WHIT, WHALERS-- by as many tries as there are rounds in ten turns, hurl the sword at the monster, and then snatch it back by way of the rope to make another strike? So it would seem. Fillory, an agreeable lass, was half-persuaded, but Isden would not release his sword. Strathbogie tried to resolve the dilema and got hit on the head for his trouble. Needless to say, the monster remains at large.

Strathbogie is nearly certain that it was Dreyfus who knocked him out with the back of his axe. He also believes that, in some way beyond mortal understanding, Dreyfus is associated with Thakko's violent death. Sure Dreyfus "seems trustworthy." But why did he just pop out of nowhere, the day after Thakko was killed?

Review : Lesserton and Mor II (One Player’s Perspective on Mor)

This is a continuation of my previous post on the “Lesserton” portion of the Lesserton and Mor product. Lesserton is the town where adventurers may base themselves in between expeditions to the ruins of Mor.

Perhaps the best testament to the interest of Lesserton is the fact that our party has spent little game time in Mor. There’s enough going on in town that we’ve only ventured out on a few narrowly-defined missions. It’s also because while Mor itself probably contains dungeons, we haven’t been looking find them, and have experienced Mor as a “wilderness.” In some ways, Mor is not so different from Lesserton—some of our most interesting encounters have been with the Orkin tribes, who are of the type that put the “human” back into humanoid. We have not fought any of them (although there are rumors of more warlike tribes who might attack on sight) and have instead engaged them in trade.

Whether Mor is a “dungeon” or a “wilderness,” it is an expansive ruins and this type of setting is popular for good reason. The mirror image of the dirty little town of Lesserton, the ruined capital of Mor juxtaposes the grander of towers, temples, palaces, and fountains with weedy swamps and lots of beasties. Although the Mor Book includes a “dungeon crawl,” I expect that our adventures have been generated by random tables supported by concise descriptions of notable locations.

A glance at the Mor map shows that much of Mor is left for the referee to fill in. It seems that there is enough background description and random tables for the referee to run a few sessions as a way of introducing the setting and gauging player interest. I think my group has reached the point where we’re hoping for something meatier. Again, leafing through the Mor book, I don’t know that there’s anything ready-made. But as a player, I am curious about all those supposedly empty building, and I know that we haven’t even seen more than a small portion of the ruins. There’s a lot of “emptiness,” but the it doesn’t feel empty; I’m engaged enough to believe that there’s a lot more to discover.

What makes Mor most engaging are the constant subtle reminders of its connections to Lesserton. These connections are probably most evident in Lesserton. Many of the townsfolk will speak openly of their distrust or dislike of elves, and their “reason” (something about the elves failure to prevent the destruction of Mor) is so well-know that it doesn’t need to be said. Likewise, anyone who shows strong Orkin traits is regarded, with a mixture of fear and condescension, as being “from the ruins.” Then, when you’re in the ruins, those residents (the Orkin tribes) speak of Lesserton with their own mixture of wonder and disdain.

I should state directly, if it’s not obvious, that I’ve been playing D&D a long time and so have the other players. Less experienced players might have some frustrations with the PC's poverty, the slow level advancement, and the lack of signs saying, “This way to the Dungeon.” These issues could be “corrected.” For instance, there are a couple adventures included, including a mini-dungeon set in Mor. A referee could get this one going in the typical way (“you’re hanging out in the tavern and a stranger comes up to your table.”) To be successful, the referee might have to allow more standard character collection, so that thief characters could not only afford lockpicks but also know where to buy them. Some value would be lost—the way we got to know Lesserton was by, for instance, checking in at various potential purveyors of lockpicks. And likewise, when we entered Mor, we knew that we couldn’t survive more than one or two fights and were thus forced to negotiate with the Orkin. But maybe there are other ways to balance competing values.
In summary, I’ve very much enjoyed playing in both Lesserton & Mor, and having a hard time restraining myself from delving into the “DM-only” books more deeply so that I might start planning a session with my own group of players.

Review : Lesserton & Mor I (One Player’s Perspective on Lesserton)

This review is superior, in its conception at least, to your typical RPG review in two ways. First, I review the product based on my experiences using it in play, rather than after merely reading it. Second, because my experiences with the product were as a player, I can, and will review the product, based on the perspectives of a player. Because I hope players out-number refereees in most sessions, this makes my review more directly relevant to more people. Obviously, the experienced referee and the professional game designer have their own strengths that they bring to the reviews that they write, but I won’t try to compete with those, at least in this post. A friend of mine got an advance proof of L&M at least a month ago and I’ve played in 3 or 4 of the sessions he runs weekly. As he’s run it, L&M feels like what Gary Gygax seemed to have envisioned for the Keep on the Borderlands, but that I never quite pulled off when I tried running that classic module: a multi-layered, multi-leveled adventuring locale paired with a base town that offers not only a relatively safe place to rest your head, but also some intrigue of its own. Granted, my friend is better at running a game than I was at 10 or 12 or 16, but just glancing through the four books that comprise L&M, I sense that he’s been given a few more tools to work with than the bartender’s preference for honey mead over small beer. The greater accomplishment by The Monkeys is in Lesserton, the dirty little town serving as the PCs “base.” I’m not so much saying that Lesserton is “better” than Mor, the sprawling ruins of a once powerful city, but that I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a town/base with such personality, and with the right balance of fixed and dynamic elements. Today’s technology allows The Monkeys to provide players with a free pdf Player’s Guide to Lesserton, and I think this greatly enhances play. It provides a very high-level account of the history of the town, and then moves into concise, but flavorful descriptions of the various neighborhoods, focusing on surface-impressions rather than facts. In other words, it gives players the sense that their characters have spent a little while looking around than the town, and NOT that they’ve just read about something on Wikipedia. The 5 neighborhoods are described both in terms of an overall theme (rich, poor, middle-class, commercial vs. residential) and with two sentence descriptions of notable buildings. I didn’t read the whole thing before I playing. I haven’t read the whole thing yet. But it gives us all a common reference throughout play. We all know what it means when someone says, “I’m going to buy some clothes so I won’t look so conspicuous walking around The Heights.” As it turns out, that character had to settle for buying clothes so he wouldn’t look so offensively poor as to deserve a sound drubbing. And if I can point to one place where the texture and flavor of Lesserton comes from, it’s in the player’s guide section about creating a new character in Lesserton, the most important detail being that PCs start with gold equal to their Charisma with which to buy equipment. Not charisma times 10, but just Charisma. In the case of a charming young magic-user, 15gp is pretty awesome, but it goes quickly, and a little bout with addiction can reduce you quickly to rags, 10 feet of rope, and two rocks. Most everyone you meet in Lesserton is similarly poor and desperate if not more so. Finding a ring in your sausage is a reason to go back to the place you got it—and plunk down another handful of coppers to buy another, hoping for more good luck. Pooling resources to buy a small barrel of lamp oil or “fire-starter” to trade to the Orkin tribes of Mor for cruelly-addictive wild honey to resell to folk of Lesserton is a respected (if illegal) business plan. Over-friendly barmaids with their hands all over you really are very frightening, because they can snatch the few coins that would save you from starving this week. This is not to say Lesserton is joyless or lawless. You can have a lot of fun playing toss-bottle or racing centipedes (maybe not for my PC). There is a town watch. And there’s a temple of divine purpose. So you can’t rough-up the barmaid to get your ring back. The priests really do want addicts to get better. And although you can’t report that elf who stole your spell book to the authorities and expect them to do anything about, you need to get him out of town before you can take justice into your own hands . . . along with the elf's boots and the fancy bridle on his horse . . . and his empty scroll case . . . and To be honest (go on junkie, be honest), not all of Lesserton’s diversions translated well to the game mechanics of D&D, at least not for me. For instance, the idea of different colored centipedes racing each other to get to a staked giant insect is some kind of highly original cool. But resolving it with d20 roll was a little anti-climactic. Then again maybe that’s because my character didn’t have any silvers to bet. For whatever reason, the other players seemed to enjoy this—and toss-bottle more than I did. But to get back on my wave of enthusiasm, Lesserton is a great place for a different kind adventure because despite the corruption and desperation, it’s not a dungeon and you live by your wits, not your sword or your spells. As someone who has real-life experience living somewhere that boys compete with goats to dig breakfast out of other people’s garbage pile, and where too-successful business attract on-the-spot tax assessments, it feels real and alive, donkey-eared, walrus-toothed Orkin bodyguards notwithstanding.

Lesserton Pub Crawl

AngieR6P10
Originally uploaded by ntcrwler

Lesserton's much seedier than is represented in the picture at right, but that's kind of the idea.

Strothbogie and Brigitta have lost their spell books. They were stolen. Strothbogie has a couple contacts with some possible leads. First, another young magician, an associate at the Platonic Order says he heard that someone, an elf, had come by trying to sell two books to the order, and had sold one for 300 gold pieces. And his friend Rusty at the Vanhalla, who had helped him in the past, promised to be on the lookout for the books. Come to think of it, he didn’t really have much information, but just questions. How much would a book like that be worth? Those things aren’t like cursed are they?

I don’t know if Strothbogie will find his books, but he enjoyed having money to spend looking for them.

look again

Although the term “role-playing game” works well enough, players’ contributions in a good D&D game are not limited to playing the role of a particular character. They shape the plot, and, to varying degrees create the plot, choosing which objectives to pursue, or at least how. Relative to the referee, players’ contribution to setting is small, but it shouldn’t be non-existent.
For example, in the more recent Lesserton & Mor game, the party met a new PC named Isden. Because we met each other inside the ruins of Mor, it was a little awkward at first, with Isdn trying to hide in the shadows and Strothbogie poking him with a stick to see if he was real. So when the rats attacked, the rest of the party took refuge in the illusionary fire, and Isden fended for himself.
According to the referee, Isden was in a “ruined building.” Isden looked more closely and suggested that : (1) the roof might be intact (2) that there were holes in the roof that would allow access to someone inside and (3) that there would be some wooden support beams that he could use to climb up. I don’t know whether the referee rolled some dice or had to think about how these three ideas meshed with his own impressions of the setting. But it worked out ok for Isden and he got away from the rats. His player didn’t really create or change the setting, he just suggested details that seemed to fit with what he already knew.

Overgrown fountain
Originally uploaded by JMSphoto

Later, we returned to the task of cleaning the sacred fountain. The problem wasn’t stirges anymore; it was the plants growing in it that tried to strangle people. And again, we looked more closely at those ruined buildings. Was there a beam that could be removed safely, set on fire, and be thrust into the tangle of weeds? Yes. It didn’t work exactly according to our plan, but again players and referee collaborated over details that wouldn’t have seemed important to the referee while working alone.

Stirges and a Rust Monster

We made our way across the weed- and rubble-choked moat into Mor, and followed the remnants of the old wall to a ruined tower. From there, we headed south, following the traces of what was once a great avenue leading to the palace. The fountain that I (Strothbogie) had promised to cleanse was overgrown with so many pointy- and twisty- vines and weedes and with them those pointy- and twisty- birds that feast on the blood of men called STIRGES.

stirge
Originally uploaded by RoVaHeiSm

Three of them hunted us and we killed them. But not wanting to confront the entire flock, we withdrew, hoping to make the acquaintance of other good folk eager to join us in combat against a common enemy or, failing, that, a fat goat for the STIRGES to drain in our stead.

We encounter neither goat nor human friend, but a specimem of those creatures seemingly born in the minds of lunatics and those cunning merchants eager to supply such lunatics with a parade of implausible realities, this one shaped like a tortoise but with legs like a hairless dog, horrible long-toed feet, a forked tail, two equisitely feathry and tickly antennae, and a constant appetite for metal-- to whit-- a RUST MONSTER.

Rust Monster
Originally uploaded by Jack of Nothing

Realizing that despite its fearsome appearence, the beast bore no significant threat to those who do not encapsulate themselves in steel, we negotiated-- in the crude way the beast could understand-- to whit-- the clanking of coins and daggers-- that should the RUST MONSTER follow us to the nest of the STIRGES, it might enjoy those same coins and daggers that so enticed it with their clanking.

The RUST MONSTER drew off a number of the STIRGES, and we-- to whit Strothbogie, Thakko, Briggitta, and Robo-- killed the remainder.

And this is how, I, Strothbogie, was able to taste for the first time the sacred water of that holy fountain.

Less, More, and versatility of D&D

Not only did we find a buyer in the town of Lesserton for the honey, but we earned a nice sum of money and invested all of it a little barrel of lamp oil, which the Orkin tribes of Mor call “firestarter.” And pay very well for. We returned to the beekeepers in the ruins of Mor and traded the barrel for a couple fat wineskins, plus a few doses for Strothbogie to consume. The keepers gave us a word, “snickers” and insinuated that they were most used to dealing with a different, larger, meaner group of honey-traders.

bee
Originally uploaded by Brayo

And so, when we returned to Mor, we had to be cautious about how we sold it. With all of our wealth more viscous than liquid, we slept a couple nights in a barn and ate trail rations before Strothbogie’s friend Rusty could find us a wholesale buyer. Strothbogie’s hankering for the stuff further complicated our efforts—he continued to take the odd dose once a day or so, even relying on magic to deceive his associates. And he bungled the sale, selling off the entire stock, rather than saving a portion to use in brewing or baking.

But this mistake might have saved his life. When he went into withdrawal, there was no honey left for him to consume, and so Brigitta took him to the Temple of the Divine Purpose. His friends worked out a deal with the Priests—heal our friend and we’ll perform a quest for you. Strothbogie rather enjoyed the ritual of purification and is eager to return to Mor in search of the fountain of holy water, hoping to repeat the experience.

Playing in this campaign confirms my opinions about D&D’s versatility. The atmosphere is rather different from that of the standard D&D setting. But these differences are supported by only the slightest tweaks to the rules. The same classes are there and they work in the same familiar way. One of the members of the party, Thakko, is an Orkin, which explains his long pointed ears and low charisma, but his special abilities are of the sort normally granted to demi-humans. Starting the game with very little money is a great innovation—one that I’ve experimented with a little in the past and now embrace whole-heartedly. It makes finding, for instance, a cache of normal weapons really exciting. What I like best is how this might develop in the future. If the players/characters get tired of their current post-apocalyptic setting, there’s no need to switch to a different game or even a different campaign. There’s a road leading south that I can only guess leads to somewhere like Greyhawke or the Grand Duchy of Karmeikos. The fact that we’d be arriving in those places with “baggage” from Lesserton and Mor only adds to the interest.

Lesserton & Mor

that bee on a flower
Originally uploaded by Brayo

Joined another new campaign as player, this time with a magic-user named Strothbogie. The character-creation process was fun as we all had very limited starting gold; we contributed to the seediness of an already pretty despicable little town in order to get more. Maybe just to be able to buy a few flasks of oil, that’s how poor we were. But these turned out to be very useful.
Soon after arriving in the ruins of a long-destroyed city of former importance, we met one of its residents, who with the help of some magic, welcomed Strothbogie and guided him to the clan of the bee-keepers. The honey of these bees has unusual effects on those who ingest it. Strothbogie hoped to sample these effects, while his companions hoped to profit by taking some honey and selling it to others back in town. We traded some oil and other goods for a few doses of honey and Strothbogie succeeded in accomplishing his plan. The others have taken several important steps; we successfully brought honey back to town, and are now trying to figure out how to sell it. (It’s illegal.)