NDT 22 Play Report: Ochre Jelly

There are people, like me, for whom D&D figures as a alternate outlet for their thwarted writerly ambitions. (Was that dependent clause necessary?) But it's likely a mistake-- though a mistake I'll keep on making-- to recount an evening's session and expect it to sound like a passage from a readable novel. We reached the lowest levels beneath the temple and even found the bottom of the flame-encircled pit that dominates the main temple room. Wandering through the maze of rough-hewn tunnels, with Roger directing us-- "East, east, and if we can't go east, go southeast"-- we at last came to a dead end. There was jackal-headed statue. Martin approached, ready to duck behind it when . . . gobs and gobs of gloppy blobs of yellow-brown bloppy goo slip and slobbed out of the statue's mouth and began eating away Martin's flesh! (not a direct quote of the DM) [Crazy stupid right? But it was super-awesome to play and gets better.] Thinking fast, Pavel announced his plan to invoke his gods' power to protect Martin from fire so they could burn off the goo without harming him. Thinking faster, Martin pulled out a magic potion to dissolve himself, his clothes, and his posessions (all temporarily) in a floating cloud of vapor. The thwarted writerly ambitions goo landed on the floor! And then dwarf stepped up and brought out his special bottle, and sprinkled poisonous powder all over the goo and it froze, crystalized and disintegrated!

D&D Miniature: Ochre Jelly (!), a photo by Ochre Jelly on Flickr.

NDT 21 Play Report: Hutakaan Temple

#529. Anubis, a photo by hawhawjames on Flickr.

Our group left the scene of the battle, and allowed the Traldarans to escort us back to one of their encampments. Like their lowland brethren, the Traldarans are a stiff-necked lot, coarse, bad-tempered, and unreceptive to wisdom, more likely persuaded by displays of power than reason and insight. They do not know of any way out of the Lost Valley, and hope to achieve secure freedom by eliminating their Hutakaan overlords. That campaign began three seasons ago and they have had considerable success, including the take-over of the Hutakaan temple about a month ago.
The Hutakaans have tried several times to re-capture their temple. And, various evil undead things have been coming out of it. So our group proposaed and the Traldarans agreed that we should go inside, find out what’s there and destroy it.
The temple was a large stone rectangular building with a dome roof and, according to the Traldarans, an extensive network of underground chambers, most of which they had not explored. Roger climbed up on the roof and, peering through a hole in the dome, confirmed that the main Temple room was safe to enter. The Traldarans opened the main doors and our group entered, accompanied by two of the Traldarans. The most notable feature in the Temple room was a pit surrounded by blue flame and with a person-sized cage hanging over it. Roger climbed on top of the cage so that he could peer into the pit. Darkness.
Leaving the Temple room, we immediately encountered a large group of re-animated skeletons and walking corpses. Pavel and Nitely, calling on Halav, Petra, Zirchev introduced the formerly benighted Traldarans to their powerful and benevolent gods and obliterated the undead horrors.
Beneath the temple, our group discovered a Hutakaan crypt containing still more of the restless dead. Not just skeletons and zombies. But also “fast zombies” whose mere touch will kill most mortals, and who gave the stalwart Olimarus a little cold taste of death. And, in a disgusting pantomime of life above, a long-dead, jackal-headed Hutakaan despot, his mummified remains most unnaturally preserved and animated with evil, lorded over the other undead. Like the flesh-and-blood Hutakaans, this mummy was something of a coward. Late to join the battle, it was destroyed by Martin’s magic fire, by Olimarus’s hammer, and by Roger’s well-timed shot with a vial of holy water.
In searching the crypt, we claimed the mummy’s crown and scepter, and found a narrow unworked tunnel descending still lower into the earth. Eager to share news of our success with the Traldarans, we resealed the secret tunnel and returned to the surface.

NDT 20 Play Report: Traldaran National Congress

When Pavel agreed to accompany the party to the Lost Valley, he was not, like the rest of them, looking for treasure. He was looking for a purpose. And now he's found it. A community of Traldarans, separated from the rest of their people and enslaved by the jackal-headed Hutakaans for generations, had recently found the courage to throw off the yoke of oppression. There are obstacles. These Traldarans have never even heard of Halav, Petra, and Zirchev. And it shows. They ride lizards. They originally attacked the party. They use crude weapons. Compared to the tall, slim, well-spoken, and brie-eating Hutakaans, there is something very red-state about these Traldarans. But this is where Pavel comes in. He can teach them about their gods and then together they can stick it to The Man. Or rather, first stick it to the Jackal-Man and then stick it to The Thyatian-Man. The Hutakaans with their honey tongues encouraged the party to come and talk to their high priestess so they could hear the whole story. And Martin, not yet entirely ready to free himself form mental slavery, seemed willing to listen. But Pavel asked these Hutakaans why they couldn't tell the story themselves. Why had they enslaved the Traldarans? The Hutakaans had a good story. They had taught the Traldarans about metal-working, and then they took some of them as slaves. This was what Pavel was waiting for them to say. And it was enough for Roger. He shot one Jackal-head with an arrow. And Pavel hit one wit his flail. Olimarus killed the third. The Traldarans are very stubborn. Even after seeing us kill their oppressors, they seem unsure whom to trust. Pavel is patient.

NDT 19 Play Report: The sun has rised the sun has set and we are in the lost valley yet.

Wizard Island II, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

The “city” on the other side of the gate turned out to be a small settlement of not more than a couple dozen stone buildings. We followed an ancient road out of that village of passed through a couple others of similar size and construction. All blissfully empty of people. The ancient Traldaran architecture is magnificently durable and well-designed. Except for the carvings of jackal-headed people. Pavel reasons that sometime after the Traldarans left the Lost Valley, some other beings entered to make the weird jackal carvings. Many of them have been restored to their original undecorated form, and Pavel has done some restoration work of his own.
Although they haven’t seen any other people, they have encountered signs of life. After we tossed a light into one of the shrines that stand by the road, the inhabitants— hundred of small green lizards— scurried out, swarmed all over the outside of the building and then rehid themselves in its nooks and crannies. Another shrine was home to evil, fire-breathing dogs. The blast of heat from their furnace-bellies would have killed, cooked, and charred a lesser man, but Pavel stood fast and slew the monster. (With some help.)
After two or three days travel we came to a clear lake surrounded by rocky cliffs and with a small stone house next to it. Again, this seemed to Pavel a good place to spend the rest of his days. If something could be done about the other party members.

NDT 18 Play Report: We find the lost valley

Every boy’s been warned by his loving father against reaching into dark holes: “You leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone!” Poor Martin grew up an orphan. Olimarrus is a son of the Earth, and the Earth doesn’t teach its lessons plainly. And Roger, I don’t know about Roger. So not only did the three of them climb down the cliffside to peer into dark (and large!) cave, but when something popped out, they stayed to fight it. Because it had insulted them. Or because it had offended their sense of justice. Or because they thought it might have cursed itself with a treasure that they hoped to convey upon their own person. With magical fire and trickery, they slew the beast in its home and then ransacked its middens. That lady-priest Knightley is a smart girl and the guide from Threshhold isn’t stupid. They stayed on top of the cliff with Pavel and enjoyed a hot meal of boiled beef jerky with moss.

fortress, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

We followed the road and the road led us deeper into the ravine and then, as roads do, it ended, and left us to find our own way across the ravine to the door on the other side. To the bottom of the ravine they lowered Pavel on a rope and then they lowered Knightley but the rope broke, and so Martin struck a deal with the spirits of the air and on an invisible throne, lowered the rest of them one by one. We made our camp on the floor of the ravine, on the grassy banks of a bright and gurgling stream where Pavel asked himself if this was the lost holy place that he’d long sought, the secret treasure of Traldar. But in the gray hour before dawn, a pair of metal-eating monsters assaulted him and disabused of his naïve dream—the world was not right, even in this secret pocket. He awakened his companions who drove the monsters away. And then, after a quick breakfast, they began their ascent to the other side of the ravine. And again, Pavel marveled at what his ancestors had accomplished, having crafted a pair of stone doors set between two mountain peaks as a portal to the hidden valley belong. Martin once again called upon his magic to lift the party members first up to the narrow ledge before the doors and then over the doors to the other side where a small valley contained a well-crafted, but seemingly deserted city.

NDT 17: Above Foamfire Falls

Trekking up the ravine, and following the Foam Fire River toward the falls, we heard the storm gathering behind us: drums, war cries, hundreds of stamping feet, the half-disciplned cadence of the gnoll horde. We cast aside the tapestry, covered ourselves with the magic invisibility powder and doubled our own pace until we reached the falls. There, we found a doorway carved into the rock, the dedicated work of a more long-sighted time. In crossing the river to reach the door, magic powder was washed off us by the the mist in the air, and our enemies, too, began to reach the pool. They saw us, washed of the powder and we saw them, washed of the cheap bravado of bloodlust. The sight of a expertly-carved stone and those who carry light into darkness left them awe-struck and we entered the halls under the mountain unharassed. We climbed up a stone staircase to the bridge and tower that spanned the top of the floors. Below, the impotent horde japed and howled-- but did nothing.


http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaign/bigharas-ndtb10/adventure-log/3rd-soladain-yarthmont-ac1000

Great Falls!, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

NDT 16: wasting time in a dumpy fishing village outside an overgrown logging town

Resolved: What makes D&D awesome is that sometimes it's not awesome at all.

In our last Night's Dark Terror Session, the party arrived in Threshold, a walled logging town and jumping-off-point for expeditions into the mountains. Because of an attack by members of the Iron Ring while we were in Kelvin, we were cautious about how we should enter and argued about how to enter without attracting too much attention-- especially because of the dwarf. We decided that Martin should cast an illusion to make Olamris look like a human-- like a dressed-down version of Golthar (the weird wizard with the dragon bone bed) in particular. The guard was friendly but wanted us to give up our weapons. Pavel, hoping to cut the conversation short, asked the guard about his religious beliefs, but to no avail, and then Martin lost concentration on his illusion.

Who likes towns anyway? Not Pavel.

So we went to the little fishing village outside Threshold and found an inn there. We ate fish and we talked to Mischca, a crazy old lady with a crazy old cat who told us stories about the giants who live in the mountains and the lost valley beyond the firefoam waterfall. Or something. And on the one hand, I think all the players were wondering, "What are we doing? I could talk to a crazy old lady on my own time." But for me, at least, it was really great. It's the prosaic details that help distinguish D&D from pokemon.

fish, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

NDT 15: Raise dead and continual light

On their way back to Kelvin from Xitaqa, the party suffered the misfortune of encountering a bad-tempered dragon with a poison-barbed tail. If it weren’t for Martin the Ineluctable and his skilled use of the magic wand we’d grabbed from the evil wizard, many more lives would have been lost rather than just tragically, ironically his. The party carried Martin’s body to Kelvin and went to see the priests who told us to come back in the morning and talk about whether there might be something they could do. They dropped him off at the temple morgue, and spent a quiet night at the tavern—not exactly somber, because they knew the priests would raise him and were just letting us stew a little so they could get more money. But the party weren’t in carousing mode either, because they didn’t know how much it would cost.

5,000 g.p. and a system shock roll, followed by two weeks of no-adventuring and no-spellcasting. Pavel spent the downtime casting Continual Light onto rocks. (And also finding deserving families to hold onto his share of the hoard before he went in search of the lost city of Hutakaa. (In Swahili, Hutakaa means “You will not stay.” Hmm. Prolly coincidence.))
We, the players, also talked about what a world changer continual light should be. Streets and houses should be lit up just like in our modern day real world. Dungeons might look more like shopping malls.

fire sale!, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

One of the great luminaries of our hobby would chide me for being a DM who wants to "crock magical effects he's not competent to deal with" and there are plenty of people eager to agree with him. Here are some of the "reasons" why continual light rocks are not a world changer:

• They’re inconvenient to extinguish when you want to sleep (no bushels)
• They cost 500 g.p.! (The DMG says so!)
• The thieves’ guild likes things shadowy and so they steal them all and hire magic-users to extinguish them so that they go back later and pick people’s pockets. (This is why they all still live with their moms.)
• People stay up a little later, so what, they still need heat.
• It would be a sacrilege. (This one had a really nice description of a Greek Orthodox festival featuring special candles that “people don’t use in their privies.” )

The last two are ok, except that a world where every family who lives within a couple miles of a parish church should have a little niche in their home where they keep a little glowing icon. Of course they still need fire for cooking, and they don’t (necessarily) throw their glow sticks into holes to see whether they contain coins or snakes—but they are a prominent feature of life. And the village priests who won’t hand them out are as lonely as the adventuring-priest who won’t use his cure light wounds on party-members who torture goblins.

My thought. Magic is almost by definition something that cannot be predicted. Cleric magic (miracles!) maybe even more so. God(s) made the world in a particular way and don’t allow it to be futzed with except for particular reasons. Continual light works when a cleric is going into the dungeon because he or she is going to do battle against the forces of evil. It is both a practical and a spiritual aid. In the village or the city, people just need to huddle together around their fires and talk about how to invent electricity.

Minor wrinkles to figure out: can Pavel cast continual light on lots of rocks while safe in his room in anticipation of going into the dungeon? If Pavel creates a continual light rock while in the dungeon, can he bring it back and give it to someone to hang up over the bar? Major wrinkle: If people are getting murdered in a particular alley, isn’t that serious enough to warrant a continual light spell? Wait, is this theology class?

Ultimately, I guess whether we speak of the gods of tough-love or the thieves’ guild photophobia, it’s really just a matter of one's preferred flavor of DM-ex-machina. Right?

NDT 14: Area hermit, dwarf nearly bite it

After seeing one of his associates enveloped by a semi-intelligent mass of neurotoxin in the form of an eight-foot tall, transparent and gelatinous cube, Pavel, Bishop of the Thicket tentatively set about attempting a single-handed rescue only to stumble into the cube himself. According to an unidentified eye-witness, the cleric, who had recently assisted his fellow “adventurers” first in “defeating” that weird-guy-in-a-yellow-robe-who-actually-bought-one-of-those-dragon-beds-from-the-sharper-image-catalog-as-if-he-actually-expected-a-woman-would-want-to-look-at-that-while-well-let’s-not-even-go-there-he-was-living-in-a-TOWER-can-you-say-compensating-much . . . and then in “outsmarting” the weird guy’s pet steer, was perhaps burdened with excessive hubris beyond even that commonly associated with a holy scourge of law. According to witnesses, after standing there and watching the rest of his “party” (woo-hoo), put distance between themselves and the aberrations which had so no-handedly incapacitated their companion (who is an outlander), Pavel moved in the exact opposite direction and actually got closer to the cubes. Contrary to the expert opinion of sages who state that all cubes, regardless of their composition, have no means of locomotion and that the self-important and deluded fool must have been “seeing a vision” and just walked right into what by all rights should have been his final and complete demise, Pavel himself asserts that “The unnatural composition of deadliest poison so animated by the evil intelligence that labors in constant rebellion against the unchangeable and insurmountable precepts of law went aquivering and ajivering and slidng across the stone floor just as if it had slipped off a porcelain platter onto a lopsided buffet table.”

Gelatinous Cube (detail), a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

His quick thinking companions, following through what one explained “was the whole plan all along” assaulted their gelatinous foe with burning oil and magic fire. Stefan, an area horse-trader whom the adventurers had found tied to a chair on the third floor of the weird guy’s tower (Related story in Life, D5) explains that this wasn’t metagaming since, “It’s just common knowledge or even logic that a sword just isn’t going to do much to something that lacks a skeletal, circulatory, or nervous system. But fire—or heat of any kind— will affect most any substance, whether causing rapid oxidization or a state change. In this case, it was the latter, and the liquid form proved to be entirely inert. Again, I want to thank Pavel, the dwarf, and their thoroughly capable friends for extricating me from what was starting to look like an inextricable situation. Now if they can help me find my lost tapestry.”

NDT 13: Rescue!

We’ve rescued Stefan! Or, anyway, we found where he was being held-- tied to a chair, in a room with a minotaur where everyone who steps into it becomes invisible. But I think we’ve got him out of there, and so, assuming that he survives the surprise the evil wizard must be preparing for us, then rescuing him will just be a matter of escorting him over the moors back to Rifilian or Threshold or Sukyskin.

The Minotaur, a photo by STEHOUWER AND RECIO on Flickr.

Surely we are a holy scourge of law. Entered the old library with the two giant black widow spiders: zip, zip! Spiders dead. Cut through the cobwebs and up stairs to the back entrance to the tower and encountered the hobgoblin chief and his frost-breathing wolves: full-on magic assault and they’re dead. Then up the tower. Yes, the minotaur made Pavel feel something he hasn’t felt for a long time: pain. But only for a minute. Now let’s go get that wizard!

NDT 12:

Although deprived of the advice of his genius for several days, Pavel accompanied the party in their “quest” [his word] to find the lost city of Xitaqa, supposedly with the hope of rescuing some hostages. (Pavel is beginning to believe that the hostages may have already perished—and for the greater purpose of bringing himself and his associates to this fabulous construction that could only be the work of Traldaran hands.) On the way, the party encountered a giant (whom they slew) and trolls (who slew, one of their number, the brave warrior Fyodor, and put the survivors to flight.) Disheartened, the party was on their way back to civilization, but decided to rest in the cave where they had encountered the giants. This cave was now occupied by a Traldaran warrior, name Spear Hunter, and an outlander whose name is characteristically unpronounceable. Pavel, once again animated by his guardian angel, declared that these two wanderers were worthy of trust and should be made fellows in the quest. The rest of the party agreed and their number was brought to six: Pavel Bishop of the Thicket; Knightly, the lady-priest; Martin the “Ineluctable” (Thyatian word meaning “half-breed”); Roger Agrippa, an honest Traldaran; Spear Hunter—who hunts the foes of Halav, Petra and Zirchos with his spears; and the short but strong Outlander whom Pavel believes may actually be a Traldaran under some kind of curse.

Resuming the quest for Xitaqa, the party spied a tower on the top of a ridge with a road cut into the escarpment. They avoided the obvious approach, and instead climbed the ridge several miles to the west and approached the tower from the side. They reached the outbuildings—small houses carved into the sandstone in the dry rivulets radiating out from the base of the tower.

look for the horizon, a photo by Brayo on Flickr.

This area was inhabited. The party came upon a group of goblins and baboons. The party killed the goblins—and despite Pavel’s attempts to win some simian allies—drove off the baboons. After poking around some of the buildings, the party at last found the monumental stone doors that appeared to lead into the tower itself.

TPK[1]

As a referee, I enjoy seeing PCs set goals for themselves and achieve them. It’s most enjoyable for everyone when they “win”—at least partially— but when they lose—completely— it gives me confidence that, while I may have my bias, I am applying the rules fairly and that there is a meaningful level of risk in the game. Losing completely of course means that a PC, or all the PCs, get killed, and this is what happened in our less session.

This adventure took place at the ruined gatehouse near Hommelet (Yes, that Hommelet.) on the continent of Alyan (my own faux-Europe/Middle Earth kind-of-place) which is on the other side of the world from Zipang, Zhou Dang, and Khanbaliq. Three of the five players created new first-level characters. One of the players was playing for the first time, and two had never played in this part of the world. Bubu Singe was playing Rahm Sabine, a fighter who had previously explored the moathouse, but was still first level. White Bear played Aurelia, a cleric who had reached 3rd level in other adventures. The travelers met, as if by chance, at the taven of a well-known inn.

dining room at Fort Clatsop
Originally uploaded by Brayo

The trip out to gatehouse was uneventful; entering the moat house provided the first major challenge. Although Rahm had prepared his companions for the giant frogs in the moats, he was surprised by the pack of rabid dogs who had taken up residence in the courtyard. Rahm himself was severely mauled and they all had to return to Hommelet to rest before making their second sortie.

Once inside, they proceeded efficiently. Rahm helped them avoid the green slime as they entered the dungeon level and the new player (a thief) was a skilled mapmaker. They found the secret passage into an area of the dungeon where the uniformed soldiers of an evil cult made their quarters, surprising and dispatching two sentries. But not before the sentries raised a general alarm. The party retreated and organized a defense; they eliminated the first wave of attackers with nothing more than minor wounds. But when they stepped into a doorway, making plans for a barricade, they were surprised by the crossbowmen waiting just outside. And although this second and third wave of attacking cultists sustained heavy casualties, they provided sufficient cover for a spellcaster to incapacitate the party. Rahm himself and his henchman Dexter were killed; Aurelia, Chiara, and Mapper were held, and Ausric, a magic-user, surrendered, asking to join the evil cultists.

Hommlet T1
Originally uploaded by BalronUK

Lots of decisions for the DM. What do evil cultists do with captured prisoners? Do they have need of new minions? For what purposes? How do they test their loyalty? Some of the answers could be pretty nasty and others pretty boring. (Or both. i.e. latrine duty.) Is that the game we want to play, or is it easier to just call this a TPK?[1]

Cheating Death

Libro 1: “El Exiliado Sin-Cara” Capítulo 7: “Pesadilla y destino”
Originally uploaded by Poblin King

Pavel, Tenniel, Perdu, and their hirelings pushed further into the hobgoblins' lair, overcoming two fiery barricades before reaching their treasure room. Pavel took an arrow in the chest, but pulled it out, was healed, and continued fighting, so great was his zeal to destroy these evil beings. Here, we met another of their seargents, and blinded him with the divine light of righteous vengenace before smiting him. One of the seargent's underlings fled the battle and Samig, our valiant man-at-arms, followed in close pursuit-- only to be shot by an arrow from the darkness. He died the death intended for Pavel, and we would not brave the darkness to recover his body.

nobody here but us rats

naked mole rats
Originally uploaded by I, Puzzled

Pavel and his companions returned to the Keep, sold some jewelry and recruited some new hirelings. And then they returned to the Caves.

We’ve re-entered the hobgoblins lair, but so far it seems to have been abandoned. Hoping to evade any sentries, we entered through the chimney and found a small flock of blood-sucking birds nesting there. The ashes in the fireplace were cold. The dining hall tables had been broken up to barricade and booby-trap the front entrance. We returned to a secret room we’d located in our last expedition, and found nothing inside but half-starved rats. In what we guess was the former sleeping chamber of the hobgoblin chief, we met and destroyed a ghoulish, undead monster. By its features, this may have once been the chief himself.

The Keep on the Borderlands

The Keep on the Borderlands
Originally uploaded by vespathetic

Yet another nother group has asked me to join their game, and I’ve had a great time going back to the caves of chaos and of course the keep. The experience was very like that of my first game ever-- the wild descent from vague notions of heroism and grandeur into sordid brigandry. Just how far can we stretch our conviction that these are disgusting, depraved, soulless monsters who deserve to be killed without quarter? Pretty far since they’re also trying to kill us. Maybe that’s because we showed up in their home bearing the head of one of their leaders, but now that it’s started, there’s only two ways it can end. Given that our two hirelings are dead, leaving just the three PCs, there may not be reason to say much about my character Pavel. Briefly, he is the self-styled Bishop of the Thicket, and has been living rough for some time. Is he crazy because he’s been a hermit, or did he become a hermit because he’s crazy? (We've been wondering the same thing about someone else. --White Bear) Regardless, the Cleric of Law has plenty of Chaos inside him with which to contend.