reg
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Posts posted by reg
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Sorry, I carry the condition "Pedantic Grammarian", (hefty penalties for any interactions involving the incorrect use of grammar).
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(Die. Die. Die)
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DIE! DIE! DIE! YOU MEAN DIE!
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Try http://www.talismanisland.com mod dice - a company offer printed stickers for dice and a special set of die that take the stickers. You'd have to get over the copyright stuff, but ....
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Its just I read a post by someone that reckoned you couldn't publish adventures for wfrp3
https://www.fantasygrounds.com/forums/showthread.php?21905-WFRP3-Adventure-Modules-What-s-the-story
Seemed a little extreme
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Not looked at the forums for a considerable time. The long and ridiculous saga of the 'Trouser Bandits' has come to a satisfyingly bloody end after completing the first edition TEW campaign - there is now a mainly posthumous Imperial decoration known as 'der Grande Hosen Banditen', awarded for great acts of heroism by those of a rather low moral and social standing. Anyway, we're thinking of starting another epic campaign, home made, again centred around a bunch of pathetic low life losers, but perhaps publishing the modules as well as the game play (so I can highlight just how stupid my players are and show off our wonderful maps and cards). Just a quick question, though. Am I allowed to publish material for wfrp3 after the closing down of the game but not the relinquishment of rights by the publisher?
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Read a lot of them but to be honest none of them really stick in my mind. Often the stories seem to be driven by the setting or game mechanics as much as the plot, and some are quite badly written. I prefer good novels about interesting characters - Ben aaronovitch's 'Rivers of London' series is the flavour of the moment.
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Too many to write them all, but perhaps the sight of Grim Grimnirsson, mighty dwarf troll slayer vaulting over the landing of a sleazy Inn prior to drop-kicking a band of marauding undead - and, after catching his foot on the bannister falling ten feet to lie stunned in a mob of eight bemused zombies. Or our mighty scout falling down a manhole into the sewers then being used as a stepping stone by the rest of the party. Or the destruction of the clock tower in Ogasse by the entire Trouser Bandits crew whilst in hot pursuit of a giant killer chicken. Magic!
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Oh yes, that WTF! moment when they come up with something so far out of field that you either cry or just roll with it, and watch your carefully scripted adventure turn 180 degrees. When my players get the bit between the teeth I'm improvising so fast I really have no idea what is going on. And their emphasis on inter-personal stuff over earth-shaking plot drives me crazy (but I love it) - we recently had a session that took 15 minutes to play out going down a manhole! Weird.
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I'm guessing most of you started playing D&D (- the box with 3 booklets, only went up to level 10 for me; smelt soo nice out of the box). But what, exactly, made it so good for you that you continued in the same vein up until now? For me, sadly, the absolute highlight was buying stuff before the first adventure. Did I need that 10' pole? The oil? How about a holy symbol? The adventure was ok, but rarely matched up to the excitement of equipping myself for adventure on a limited budget. (Oh, the mapping was kind of fun too). Later we got into miniatures, and, until rules mania set in, having figures and floor plans was pretty good too. And now? Well, not counting the pleasure of humiliating some close friends as they lurch through an adventure, its the dice, the action cards, the items. The stuff. Go figure.
And you?
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Nah, I don't give corruption pouts for trivial stuff, I pretty much follow canon there, but I do like to use them for moments of high (or low) drama. After all, the mighty Tzeentch, changer of the ways, is inscrutable, and who knows when tripping on your shoelaces may serve his purposes.
The one thing that is essential, though, is payback. The players enter into a kind of contract with you and take chances - flying dropkicks down the stairs, leaping across moving stagecoaches - and fail gloriously. You've got to give them some kind of reward for that kind of behaviour if you want them to keep it up; praising them to high heaven, laughing about it, ensuring it goes into the backstory. And if the next disastrous dice throw is when they're lying flat on their back amongst a horde of undead, well, fudge it a bit. I guess that puts me firmly on the narrative side of the debate.
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Nah, the GM can be chaos God, backstabbing cheat, enemy, best friend, impartial judge, as long as everyone has a good time, GM included. Yes, you do get to hand out corruption points 'cos the players do things you don't like; if you think you're not doing that you're fooling yourself. It's only a game, and hopefully you're playing with friends, so make mistakes, apologise, bear a grudge, be whimsical, generally have a good time; it's only a game!
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Dwarves put a great deal of importance into names. Family names, Hold names, weapon names, enemies names, Trade Names. But how do they acquire names such as ‘DragonSlayer’, ‘Orcs Bane’ or Elf-Killer? Surely they can’t just pick them out of the air willy-nilly, else there’d be an abundance of ‘Eric Mighty Thewed’ ,’Jak-the-sexual-dynamo’ and ‘Honest John’ Dirksson’s. Sure, there’s popular acclamation, but stuntie’s are such a contentious lot that there’d be constant disagreement (“Goblin slaughterer, how can you call him goblin slaughterer, he only killed thirty seven. And two of them were asleep!”), leading to an inevitable dust up and yet another entry in the book of Grudges. No, the mighty dwarves race has it’s own unique way of allocating acclamation - Runes.
Once a dwarf feels ready for an addition to his name, he merely seeks out a rune priest, pays him a tidy sum of gold, drinks (many) bowls of purely ritualistic bugman’s and waits. The priest, communing with the supplicant’s family ghosts via the petitioner (easier when they’re pissed), casts the runes and viola, a name appears.
Now, a double barrelled name provides mucho prestige when dealing with other dwarves, but care needs to be taken that the appellant has earned enough fame to receive a truly top notch honorific - you could develop some kind of a test to decide what sort of name the hero should get, but I prefer to pick one out based upon the characters feats, characteristics and the general vibe of your game.
Hence how the dwarf in my current campaign acquired the moniker - Grim (small) dog-slayer!*
*Whilst being introduced to some of the more prominent citizens of Altdorf, mistook a sleeping lap-dog on a chair for a cushion and sat on it, with fatal consequences.
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Winds of change (4) - Epilogue
Characters
Petra Nunce, Reiklander - ex-gambler, thief
Wesley Smitt, Reiklander - scout
Grim Grimmson, Dwarf - trollslayer
Jeremy Dewbender - apprentice grey wizard
The rescue of eight young apprentices from the depths of the cities underworld was an overnight sensation.
“Pervert Priests Pinched My Pants!”
proclaimed one of the more sensationalist pamphleteers, along with a crude woodcut of our heroes, bleeding from many wounds, leading out a group of young people in various states of undress. (Wesley, as well as looting the bodies of the dead cultists, had also plundered the unconscious bodies of the apprentices, then gone on to steal their trousers! The rest of the crew, in a state of near hysteria brought about by their near-death experience, had not thought to stop him. [Though Jeremy had ensured the Grey Wizard apprentice, Gratz, was not de-bagged, as it was not ‘in keeping with the dignity of the College’])
The gutter press loved the Bandits. Grim, after a disastrous meeting with the town dignitaries, is wined and, well wined again by various reporters, leaving a trail of pissed-up journalists and wrecked drinking dens in his wake. Wesley, his blank stare and patent stupidity mistaken for taciturn woodsman’s philosophy, was taken on as an advisor by a local bowyer, and received a rather impressive longbow. Jeremy was hailed as a hero by the Grey College, partly for rescuing Herr Gratz, but mainly for embarrassing the other colleges by undressing their underlings (in fact ‘keep yer trousers on’ was fighting talk in the magical colleges local watering holes for years afterwards).
Petra was the only one who was disappointed, discovering that though the aristocracy may look like inbred cretinous painted fops, quite a few were considerably better at cards (and cheating!) than they looked. Still, despite owing large sums of money, she managed to outfit herself according to her new station, keeping a few steps ahead of her creditors by the simple expedient of climbing out a lot of hotel windows in the early hours. She even managed to acquire a pair of matching pistols in one of her few successful gambling sprees!
As for the authorities, after interviewing the Rock Steady Crew they gave them their blessings. None of them seemed to have a clue what had really been going on, and were surprisingly reticent on the matter of the killer-demon parrot. The touch of smut was enough to distract and disgust more discerning readers from the discovery of yet another chaos cult in the city, and led to some unusual headlines in the more eccentric sections of the press
“No trousers - a secret chaos signal?”
and
“Chaos underpants - a sign of the times?”
being two of the more interesting captions.
With their lives now seemingly on an even (and prosperous) keel, our band of brothers rapidly discovered they wanted nothing more to do with each other. So they separated, each to their own comfortable little circle of friends/drunks/creditors/fetishists. And if they gave each other a thought it was on the lines of “thank the @!#% they’re not about anymore!” completely oblivious of the immense shitstorm that was about to descend on them.
The first inkling of any trouble was an urgent summons from the Grey College, individually addressed, on nice parchment with an important looking seal affixed.
And so, with no idea what was to come, the four smug heroes found themselves at the rooms of one of the more senior of the wizards in the Grey College. On finding their erstwhile companions waiting there also, their greeting was as warm as ever.
“Oh crappola, it’s the pervert!” (Petra to Wesley).
“New dress, you big girls blouse?” (Grim to Jeremy, poking him with his (new) axe).
“I thought there was a smell in here. Ever heard of washing?” (Jeremy to Grim).
And after a few moments contemplation, “Feck off the lot of ya!” (Wesley).
Honour satisfied, the four waited happily for their interview, thinking warm thoughts about money/fame/beer/trousers.
The door opened.“Greetings!” said the under-Magister, smiling and gesturing them in. They took seats.
His smile makes him look a bit like a shark, thought Jeremy, glancing idly around the room.
“So pleased to greet such illustrious … characters,” continued the wizard. His smile widened and he spread one of the more colourful pamphlets out in front of them.
“No Pants - No Chance!”
Oh ****, thought Petra, not another one of the looney perve’s who want their underpants checked for chaos stains.
“This pants … erm … motif, seems to crop up in the most unusual places,” continued the wizard. “I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere else.”
He pulled out another piece of paper and idly tapped it on his desk before opening it.”Ah, here. One of our operatives reports capturing an associate of your friends in the sewers, one Yuri Popov. A big, tattooed brute, found sans trousers, so to speak. Do you know him?”
Denials all around. Petra began to feel a little, well, worried.
“And here, another, a stage robbed just outside Lachenbad, its passengers and crew stripped of their trousers. Strange.”
Silence. He turns over another piece of paper. “And then there’s this.”
The Trouser Bandits - 100 crowns reward
Three desperadoes wanted for highway
robbery and various lewd acts.
A dwarf, a woman and a short man.
“Ah,” says Petra, scenting an escape route. “But there’s four of us.”
Wesley counts in his head, then nods agreement. “Yeah, four. And there’s three of those wicked robbers!”
“True,” agrees the Magister, then looks closely at the bottom of the poster. “Oh but look, a date.” He looks at Jeremy. “Hmm, I seem to recall your departure date from the college as some time after this, eh, apprentice Dewbender? That would leave three again.”
Jeremy, recognising a lifeline, grasps it vigorously. “Oh yes, well after then. Always thought they were bad-uns, them, always stealing trousers, oh yes.”
Silence. The rest of the Trouser Bandits glower at the turncoat wizard. “And yet you failed to tell us of your suspicions?” The lifeline turns to dust.
More silence. Petra’s hand slips to her sword belt. Grim rolls his shoulders. Jeremy looks more than a little frightened, whilst Wesley is still taking one from four to get three.
“But what is a little matter of petty larceny amongst friends?” He smiles again. (Oh yes, a great big shark, thinks Jeremy. And we’re very small fishes). “If it was just me, well, I wouldn't worry. These things happen.” He turns his mouth down. “Unfortunately it seems that these same people, as well as stealing a few items of clothing, also managed to acquire a document with a more, well Imperial connection.” A serious look. “Now that is a horse (or a pair of trousers, ho-ho), of a very different colour.”
(Oh ****. The secret Imperial message from the very first game. No-one can really remember anything about it - good for me as neither can I - but it’s probably something bad).
“It seems an Imperial Investigator, one Herr Gobbsplatz, has been in the Ogasse asking questions about a certain group of criminals.” He taps the poster for the Trouser Bandits suggestively.
Petra, realising that the Magister could have had them arrested immediately, scents an escape route. “Cut to the chase, Herr Magister. What do you want us to do?”
The wizard looks a little put out by Petra’s blunt summation of the situation, but bravely continues. “Very well. It occurs to us here at the College that there may be a benefit in us having a few, well, agents, of your calibre working for us. (Ha!). Investigating. Delivering messages. Solving problems, that kind of thing. But completely deniable.”
The Bandits fall over themselves in affirming their willingness to work tirelessly for the College, all the time (in Petra’s case at least), planning to cut and run at the earliest opportunity.
“Do we get to kill lots of things?” asks the dwarf. A nod from the wizard. "Dangerous things?" Another nod. “Well, it sounds like our kind of work. We will die gloriously in your service.” He raises his axe and spits on the table. “We so swear!” (Petra and Jeremy exchange horrified looks).
“Erm, not to be too pushy, but what exactly do you want us to do first?” asks Jeremy. (‘And how much does it pay?’ hisses Petra).
“A good question. It seems that one of our number, a seer no less, has been troubled by dreams of a most upsetting kind. Death. Destruction. Fat cows and thin cows.And in each of these dreams, they have seen a shadow over Bogenhafen!”
(Oh crapolla).
Epilogue
After the heroes had left, a dusty curtain in the wall is swept back. “Ah, Herr Gobbsplatz. All to your satisfaction, I trust?”
The Investigator nodded happily. “Completely.”
“And do you think these … agents …, will be useful?”
When he’d finished laughing, the detective wiped his eyes. “Of course not, they are complete morons. But we build them up as our top operatives, the fearless Trouser Bandits, only they’re pretending to be completely incompetent to lull the opposition into a false sense of security. We send them places and see what happens. Hell, we could send them anywhere, and something would happen!”
The Magister nodded his agreement. “But won’t it be terribly dangerous?”
The Investigator nods his head. “You’ve got to hope so!”
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Dear Steve. This is a great idea. However, my play group is just a tad slow, so would it be possible to change the nice "Clue" on the back of the card to CLUE in something like size 240, and perhaps in a flouro green colour. Alternatively, what are your thoughts about using a permanent marker and just writing it on players foreheads?
Seriously though I use these myself but nowhere as nicely done as these - great job.
(As a PS I must admit that even with clue cards my players often just don't get it. They are very much bottom of the barrel material).
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at least once. Completely not what you want but worth a look
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How do you get players to do what you want them to do?
This is a bit of a perennial problem. You don’t want them to just follow your script, but you also don’t want them suddenly blitzing off to rob a stagecoach and assassinate a random dignitary. Personally I’ve got to the stage now where as long as the vibe is right (very much Low Fantasy in my campaigns [cheap tickets/winds of change]) I’m happy - plot inconsistencies are pretty easy to fudge with players having a good time, and mainly go way over my players heads. Specifically, I reward play I enjoy not just in game, but with compliments etc - child psychology 101 is very much de rigeur - and leave less enjoyable play to wither on the vine. Corruption is now a huge help - its unlikely any of my players will get a mutation as its so much fun to chuck in corruption points to move along the story, and illness/hangovers and accidents all have their place.
How about you?
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Winds of change (3) - Dead parrots
The underground space was huge, separated from the rest of the sewers by a pool of effluent, probably caused by the cave-in that had revealed it. Part of a spiral staircase could be seen set into the wall, climbing to the city above, and runes and carvings could be seen on the walls. Lanterns were lit, and in their light, a number of large cages could be seen, each containing a slumped figure.
“The apprentices,” whispered one of the watchers.
A great chaos star was scribed on the floor, with the cages at the tip of each arm. Strange shapes and colours could be seen swirling around it.
“Magic ceremony,” muttered a second of the watchers, a little smugly.
A cowled man stood at the centre of the pattern, his figure edged with a nimbus of power. He gestured vaguely with a feathered wand and the strange colours seemed to deepen slightly.
“The evil sorcerer,” said the third of the watchers with a nod.
The hooded figure stopped what he was doing and bent down to a small cage for a moment, before standing and gesturing again. The swirling otherworldly lights seem to double in intensity, leaving strange after images in the air.
Long pause. “A parrot?”
Characters
Petra Nunce, Reiklander - ex-gambler, thief
Wesley Smitt, Reiklander - scout
Grim Grimmson, Dwarf - trollslayer
Jeremy Dewbender - apprentice grey wizard
Cat - a cat of indeterminate gender
After leaving their comfortable watering-hole, the heroes wander distractedly around the streets. They don’t really have a clue where they’re going, but figure something will come up. (Yes, it’s the boredom, I can’t keep ad-libbing all evening). Eventually they come across a manhole, and they gain access by the simple expedient of wrenching the retaining bar off the cover.
“Down you go, lad,” says Grim, gesturing towards the hole.
“Not me!” says Jeremy, “I went up the bloody clock tower. It’s got to be little miss prissy-pants’s turn. She’s the thief!”
“Not in a million years, dress-boy. We professionals prefer a more cautious approach. How about the scout? Sneaking around and spying out the land. Jobs made for you.”
(And so it goes. Again. Eventually they play rock-paper-scissors and Wes loses).
“Off you go then,” says Grim with a smile. Wes swears gloriously, then starts to descend. Ten feet down, he stops.
“There’s no more ladder!” he complains, and starts to come back up.
“‘Course there is, you fecking half-wit, you’re just having a man-look” mutters Grim and starts down. His feet meet Wes’ head and they argue for a few moments, Wes losing because Grim places one foot on his head and forces him back down the ladder.
“There really isn’t any more ladder down here,” shouts Wes, then distracted by Grim’s foot, he slips and falls down the manhole.
Unfazed, Grim descends further then stops. “He’s right, there really isn’t any more ladder down here you know!” he shouts up to his companions.
(No, there really isn’t. All the ladders from the sewers end ten feet off the ground to prevent unwanted visitors. But this is getting boring, time to push the plot along a bit).
There is a whistle, and the sound of running feet. Six men appear, armed and armoured, and demand the Trouser Bandits surrender.
“****, the watch,” mutters Jeremy. “Quick, Grim go down!”
“But there’s no fecking ladder, you idiot. I’m coming back up!”
Petra, realising that the dwarf coming back up out of the sewers to confront six armed and excitable watchmen would be a Very Bad Thing, slips her boot under the back end of Cat, who’d been smugly watching the proceedings down below. She flips her down the manhole directly onto Grim’s face, who claws wildly at the spitting monster trying to tear his face off and promptly falls off the ladder. More wet squishy sounds. More swearing.
Jeremy, seeing his familiar falling quickly clambers down the ladder, followed by Petra. He drops the last few feet into a pool of effluent, and is just getting up when Petra lands on his head. “Thanks,” she says stepping off the choking wizard and onto the walkway next to the sewage channel. “Let’s move along.”
And they come face to face with there first problem, no light. But, surprisingly, Phil, (Jeremy) has already sorted this out. After discussion with me, his advance for last session is a custom made spell card [‘Eyes of the Moon’] that gives the group the ability to see in darkened areas as if the illumination was two levels greater than it was. Complete darkness, however is treated as the lowest level of illumination possible.
The crew stagger along in the sewers, again not really knowing what is happening but enjoying squabbling about who’s fault this whole mess is. (But this time I don’t fall for the old boredom trick, and unleash my secret weapon - encounter cards).
“Cor Grim, have you farted?” says Wes, and Grim, recycling the old joke points out if it had been him, he’d be dead. More infantile banter, and they push on. (And that’s it. First encounter, gas, and they’re completely oblivious. No light, so no flame, so no exciting explosion. Ah well).
The crew push on, getting more and more lost, and eventually Jeremy suggests they start scratching crosses on the wall, so they can find their way back.
“Yes, but to where? We’re bloody lost already,” points out Petra.
The wizard snootily points out that they can’t possibly get any more lost, so why not, and has she got any better ideas, when Grim calls out. “Movement!”
The gang tense up. Indeed there is some movement. One or more large shapes can be seen ahead (It’s totally dark, so ‘Moon’s Eyes’ only gives minimal details). Behind, the sounds of something wading through the effluent behind can be heard. The bandits bunch up, expecting an attack, but nothing happens. Nervously, they start to move on slowly, and again the sound of wading can be heard.
Suddenly a shape jumps over the sewage channel ahead, there is a scuffing of claws then silence. Odd clicks and whistles, then nothing. The heroes wait tensely, then move on again. “How the hell can they see …,” starts Wes when something strikes out from an alcove in the wall, a large claw cutting deeply into his back. The sound of wings, and a dim shape flits out of the dark, enfolding the Trollslayer in its wings and striking at him with a sharp beak, driving him off the walkway and under the liquid of the sewage channel.
More wading sounds, faster this time, and Petra turns to find something large charging towards her. She draws and strikes instinctively, and the creature staggers back, wounded. (Oh yeah, one for the bandits!) A terrifying screech, and another shape swoops along the tunnel, but this time Jeremy turns, spouting strange words and slashes with his sword here, into a shadowed corner. There is a cry of pain there, and a massive winged shape tumbles to the ground (Blade in the dark spell. Nice.)
Wesley, staggering from the sudden attack manages to draw his blade, and, flailing wildly fends off his attacker, another one of the monstrous birds they’d seen earlier. Petra, calm as ever, inflicts another wound on her attacker, splitting it’s head open, spilling brains over the wall. Dead. Jeremy, instead of using his arcane powers, dashes forward and slashes at the injured monster bird on the floor. Bad move, he misses and receives a slash across his chest for his trouble as the bird blurs suddenly and leaps to the attack.
There is a moment of calm as various opponents eye each other, considering where to strike next, when suddenly the filth in the middle of the canal erupts and Grim appears, dripping ordure, mouth bloodied and spitting feathers. “Troll Slayer’s Bite!” he screams, flinging the lifeless corpse of a feathered fiend at one of the survivors, and scrambling up onto the walkway. This is too much for the remaining creatures, who turn tail and gallop away from the party. Cat, appearing from the shadows, hisses wickedly at their back’s.
(Anyone notice my mistakes here? Feathered Fiends suddenly seem to possess X-ray vision; perhaps their original stock was owls I justify to myself. Oh, and they fly! Oops! Anyway, they’re magical beasts, so what the heck. And they certainly scared the bandits!)
After this skirmish, the fantastic four seem to be less keen on Petra’s whole ‘wander around a bit in the dark and see what happens’ approach. (Why? It’s always worked for them before!). After considerable argument, Jeremy dispatches a very reluctant Cat to scout on ahead, and they move on slowly, Grim leading, sword bared, with Wes at his shoulder, an arrow knocked on his bow. The rest follow cautiously, weapons gripped tightly.
Scarcely ten minutes later there is an ear-splitting caterwaul and Cat streaks around the corner, climbs Jeremy like a tree and sits atop his head hissing and spitting. Hard on the felines tail follows a small but vicious-looking dog, yapping excitedly, that runs full-tilt into Grim’s legs. Stunned, the dog staggers back a little, then unleashes a barrage of barks.
Before Grim can do anything precipitate to the annoying dog, a bright beam of light half blinds the adventurers. Petra steps forward, shading her eyes, and hails the figure half-concealed by the lantern. “Ratcatcher?” she calls.
The figure directs the beam of light away from the heroes. He eyes the Trouser Bandits suspiciously. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Surprisingly, Petra settles on (almost) honesty. “I am Petra Nunce, adventurer, and my companions and I have descended into these foul sewers in search of a foul sorcerer and to rescue a poor unfortunate. Not for fortune, not for glory, but for honour, for simple decency, for…”
Before long, the hapless Ratcatcher is completely under the golden-tongued thief's sway. He listens to a story of glory, loss and betrayal. He is shown the crude map purloined from Yuri Popov’s pocket and points out exactly where they are. Hells-bells, he even volunteers to take the Trouser bandits back to his lodgings to rest before another attempt at the sewers, avoiding the watch (“They are full of the sorcerers minions”. He nods knowingly) and lending them his second best lantern!
The sewers, one more time, with feeling
And so, bandaged, fed, rested and with a bit of illicit spirit in their bellies (the rest is hidden in Grim’s pack) the four banditos head back into the sewers. A simple length of rope with a hook means the bandits can enter and exit the city drains with ease.
The Ratcatcher waves them off from the entrance to the sewers (he’s gullible, not brain-dead!), and the four desperadoes head off into the depths of the cities underground. They leave the lantern unlit, relying on Jeremy’s Eyes of the Moon for dim vision, and have all their weapons at the ready. Cat slips away into the darkness, “Scouting,” says the wizard, like a proud father.
“Hiding, more like,” mutters the dwarf sourly.
More sneaking in the dark, and the wizard opens up his magical sight. Strange rainbow streaks can be seen in the winds of magic, thickening as they approach their destination. Up ahead he notices a huge confluence of the strangely attractive aethyr, and as they approach dim lights can be seen, seeming to come from an opening in the wall of the sewer.
Crawling on her belly, Petra slithers up to hole in the wall of the tunnel. A great vaulted space lies ahead, separated from the sewer tunnel by a pool of effluent almost like a moat. Several cowled figures can be seen, and there are a number of the monstrous bird creatures wandering about, seemingly unconcerned by the hooded men amongst them.
Quickly, Petra waves her companions forward, and they all lie on the lip of the effluent moat, staring into the cavern. A figure of some kind can be seen carved into the floor, and a number of iron cages are arrayed about it, containing slumped figures. “Gratz, I’m betting,” whispers Jeremy, “the Grey Wizards Apprentice we’ve been looking for.” He points at a figure standing in the centre of floor carving. “Evil sorcerer.” He gestures again, taking in the rest of the room. “Minions.”
For some reason everyone looks at Grim. He smiles. “I have a cunning plan.” (I think I know where this is going) He looks thoughtful (difficult) “OK, we kill the evil sorcerer. We kill the minions. We kill anything in the cages that looks troublesome. Then we steal everything valuable. Oh, and we free the apprentice if its not too much trouble.” (Thought so). He raises his eyebrows at the rest of the party.
“Yeah,” says Petra.
“Not bad,” says Jeremy.
“Brilliant!” says Wes.
A whispered discussion, and the Bandits are set. Cat sneaks round one side of the moat and disappears, whilst Petra slides around the other edge, before blending into the shadows. Grim extracts the half bottle of rotgut from his back-sack and fashions a crude molotov cocktail using the sewers map as a wick (hmmm). He then lowers himself into the effluent and wades across to the entrance of the cavern. Jeremy and Wesley move apart a little and ready themselves for action.
(For all the arguments they have, the rock steady crew really are quite decisive when they get down to the nitty gritty. The cat and the thief creep closer, the Giant Slayer moves into charge range and the wizard and the scout get ready for mayhem-at-a-distance. And they all pass various sneaking tests!).
The first the chaos worshippers know of their impending doom is when a fireball explodes between two of the feathered fiends, sending them scurrying apart in terror, flames licking at their bodies. A third is struck by an arrow that pierces its neck like a rather ugly ornament. Unable to cry out, the poor creature can only thrash its head uselessly as a black shape then flies onto its skull, clawing at its eyes (Cat). Mortally wounded and unable to see, the creature blunders about the cavern, knocking into men and monsters alike, Cat clinging to its head like a demonic furry jockey.
One of the acolytes, staring in horror at the mayhem overtaking the cave makes a choking sound and is pulled back into the shadows (Petra). Another is struck by a blade that seems to materialise out of the shadows to plunge into his side.
(That’s the surprise element out of the way. Now lets see what happens when the chaos crew recover).
Grim drags himself out of the sewage pool and charges the apparent leader of the chaos coven. He unleashes a mighty Troll Slayer Strike that has Hugbert Munghaus flying back, badly wounded, falling onto his caged parrot.
Petra, unable to backstab anyone else, moves forward to engage another of the cloaked figures. In a flurry of blade work they exchange wounds, and the thief quickly finds herself engaged in a lightening-fast duel with a slim woman at least as skilled as she is.
One of the uninjured monster birds, catching sight of Wesley, charges and leaps over the sewage pool. Again, reality seems to blur around the creature and it throws itself forward, landing on top of the scout. They roll around, the creature trying to disembowel Wes with its back legs, while he desperately stabs his dagger repeatedly into the monsters gut.
(I rule the ritual is well and truly ruined, what with dead bodies, flaming pools of brandy, squashed parrot familiars and maddened giant killer-chickens blundering around the place. Only thing is the Trouser Bandits have done so little investigating they have no idea who is who amongst all these people they are killing. And they have yet to meet Bobo).
Munghaus, the leader of the coven, instead of being angry at the Bandits attack, looks terrified lying on top of the squashed parrots cage. He tries to get up, then stiffens, a look of shock on his face. He moans in fear.
Meanwhile, Jeremy, preparing another spell, is distracted by showers of rainbow power surrounding the coven leader. Worried, he looks closer and realises they its source is not the leader, but something underneath him, something bigger than it seems. Something scary.
“That …” he begins.
Petra exchanges more blows with her opponent, both scoring wounds. She is very good.
“… is not …”
Wesley manages to drive his dagger deep under his opponents ribcage, piercing its heart. Blood pours from its mouth.
“… a dead …”
Grim intercepts the maddened blind killer-chicken as it careers in front of him. He slices its head off with one blow, jetting blood into the air and catapulting Cat across the cavern floor.
“… parrot!”
Munghaus, atop the flattened birdcage throws back his head and screams as a great clawed arm emerges from his chest. His body tears in two as a massive iridescent feathered form emerges from beneath his corpse.
(Bobo the demon's here).
Screams. Where before the cultists and their creatures were fighting to get at the Trouser Bandits, they now fight to escape, desperate to flee from the demon. Two of the feathered monsters leap the moat, ignoring Wes and Jeremy and dash away down the sewer tunnel. Petra’s opponent turns her back, ignoring the possibility of a knife in the kidneys and throws herself into the sewage pool, moaning in terror as she claws her way to the far bank.
The Trouser bandits stare in horror as an immense form seems to materialise before them. Wesley feels a familiar warm wetness on his legs, and lies frozen, pinned under the corpse of a feathered fiend. Petra, ignoring her fleeing enemy, falls to her knees in shock. Even Grim, the fearless, suicidally brave dwarf is immobile with fear, mouth agape. Of Cat there is no trace.
Only Jeremy seems able to move, and he can only use the simplest of his powers, his most basic cantrips. He flicks his fingers, and blots of shadow dart from his hand, striking the twisted form with little sparks of power.
The creature turns it’s head to regard the wizard and, mocking Jeremy’s action, flicks an arm/wing, and a brightly coloured feather darts at the wizard, striking him in the chest and driving him back. With a contemptuous shrug, it looks away from Jeremy, surveying the cavern, the fleeing acolytes, its ruined ritual, the terrified Bandits. The demon turns it’s attention to the dwarf standing before him. “Slayer,” it says, in a sibilant voice, “Hold burner. You’ve done this before, I think.”
(Lots of things going on here. I ruled that the appearance of Bobo would be enough to send anyone even vaguely aware of his personality [very, very vengeful], fleeing wildly. As a counter-balance, I also ruled that any of the players failing their terror test would be frozen in terror - unfortunately three of the four of them did so! As to Grim, the oracular powers of Tzentchian(?) demons in general means that they have some insight into his background, the reason for his taking of Slayer vows. A good way of introducing a bit of backstory).
The demon gestures towards Grim, and the dwarf seems to fade a little, colours from the glowing monster overlaying the Slayers form (Bobo casts the ‘unravel reality’ spell, stacking on stress, corruption and a temporary insanity!). He falls forward onto his hands and knees before the demon, shaking his head. The monster grins, revealing rows of jagged teeth within its beak.
But all is not lost! Petra shakes herself free from the soul numbing terror (she remembers her gamblers luck re-roll) and throws herself at the huge creature, slicing along its back with her sword. Wes, hand shaking with fear, manages to loft an arrow that misses the creature by a few inches (nice one Wes). Finally Jeremy, pulling himself upright, shouts a word of power and, stabbing into the darkness at the base of the wall, strikes at the creature through the shadows at its feet.
A great shriek splits the air, and the demon dissolves into a rainbow wash of light. “Do not think me defeated,” the creatures voice is both intimately quiet and skull splittingly loud. “I will be back.” And the rainbow light flits away down the sewer tunnels.
There is silence for a few moments, and then in a shaky voice the Wesley asks "What the feck just happened?"
-
One big rule, no funny accents; if you use one, lose it quick or I will ensure you will die sharpish. (Completely arbitrary rule, accents are such a pain to remember and the player (or GM) tends to think they're on Live at the Apollo. Excruciating. We are laughing AT you, not with you).
-
Winds of change (3)
There was the smell of bird on the air, plump and juicy, chicken perhaps. Fresh, sleepy and not-cautious. Scrumptious and tasty, full of crackling bones and high pitched help-cries, flapping broke-wings and bleeding leg-meat; she only had to take it and what kill/food/torture pleasure would be hers. Divine.
She licked her lips and pressed on, slinking up the roof of the great tall man-tree, silent as a ghost, elegant as, well, anything. No, more elegant than anything. Much more elegant. She stopped briefly to ponder this pleasing thought and smooth her face fur into perfection. She shook herself. Mustn’t get distracted, time for that after the kill.
A belly low crawl and she was at the crest of the building, high above the rest of the smelly human cityscape, the great juicy stupid chicken waiting to be caught just over the tiled ridge. She raised her head cautiously, just peering over the crown of the roof, and saw It.
A chicken. A great fat, juicy chicken. A great fat, juicy chicken as big as a man. A great, fat, juicy, hungry looking chicken as big as a man. And it was looking at her.
Characters
Petra Nunce, Reiklander - ex-gambler, thief
Wesley Smitt, Reiklander - scout
Grim Grimmson, Dwarf - Giantslayer
Jeremy Dewbender - apprentice grey wizard
Cat - a cat (and familiar)
The team are awoken from their pleasant slumbers by the screams of one of their party. Jeremy, the Grey wizards apprentice, is having a nightmare, shouting and screeching.
“Bloody giant chickens!” mutters Grim, rolling over and trying to get back to sleep. “At least be a bit more original, can’t you!”
More screaming, this time definitely feminine in nature, though the expletives demonstrate a less-than-delicate character. “Oh for feck’s sake,” mutters the dwarf, rolling out of bed and joining the crowd in the hallway.
“... bird, a giant bird, after my eyes ...” Jeremy
“ .... and tentacles sprouting from my chin like a hideous living beard ...” Petra.
“... I payed good money for this Inn, I don’t need to be woken by madmen!” Random customer.
“Mummy, they say there’s a giant chicken coming to eat me!” The Innkeepers daughter.
“... demonic, it must have been, to attract me ...” Jeremy again.
“I’ll have the watch on you, disturbing the peace an’ all!” The Innkeeper.
“... I could feel myself changing, twisting inside ...” Petra.
“Is there any breakfast?” Wes, yawning.
And finally “Will you all shut the feck up before I’m forced to kill you?!” Grim.
There is a shocked silence, and the slayer drags his companions into his room. He mollifies the rest of the patrons by grasping his sword in both hands and glaring at them. (Successful intimidate test). The Inn slowly returns to normality, accompanied by much muttering and slamming of doors, and a cry of “I want you gone by the morning!” from the Innkeeper.
Back in the dwarf’s rather smelly room, Petra explains that when she got up to see what Jeremy was shouting about, she glanced in the mirror and saw tentacles sprouting from her face; not a nice experience. (I gave her the corruption token from last episode). Everyone looks at her askance; mutation is not something to be taken lightly in the Empire, even in a dream.
Meanwhile, Jeremy has been cogitating about his dream, when suddenly he sits up straight. “It’s Cat! Something’s after Cat!” he shouts, looking around wildly. His eyes glaze over as he establishes contact with his familiar. “That way!” He points at a wall. “A giant chicken has got him trapped on a roof!”
Shocked silence and much rolling of eyes. “Loony,” whispers the dwarf. “He’s finally cracked. That’s what you get for wearing a dress.”
Jeremy ignores the jibe and closes his eyes again briefly. “The clock tower! Let’s go!” A moment of stunned silence whilst the gang consider the possibility of giant chickens invading the rooftops of Altdorf. Possible, maybe even likely considering what they’ve seen recently.
Complaining, the crew throw on their clothing, strapping weapons and armour on as they leave. By now the Inn is completely awake, and people stand in doorways swearing at the Trouser bandits. Shrieks issue from the Innkeepers rooms as his young daughter has hysterics thinking giant chickens have come to eat her alive. No amount of moody glaring from the dwarf can make this right, and the landlord swears to have the watch arrest them and confiscate all their goods. Lucky everything they own is on their backs, eh?
Out into the street, and a dash across the Ogasse district, turning and twisting through narrow, dirty streets, heading towards the rickety clock tower visible over the surrounding buildings. A couple of toughs step out from the shadows, but the sight of a semi-naked tattooed slayer pounding along the street, bared sword in hand, encourages them to step back.
Finally they reach the clock tower, to find it as quiet as a tomb. A couple of curtains twitch as locals peer out at the disturbance, but no-one comes into the street.
“Seems pretty quiet for a giant chickens roosting spot,” sniggers Petra.
“There’s nothing there,” says Grim, staring at the skyline. “No evidence to suggest that an evil super chuck is crouched on the rooftops waiting to swoop down on unsuspecting late night revellers” [Evidence? Is this the man the slew the friendly beastman Foaldeath on sight? Who single-handedly charged the goblin infested mines outside Stromdorf? Who fell face-down amidst a gang of marauding undead whilst attempting a flying drop kick? Never!]
Wes, always one for (not-so) witty repartee, is strangely silent. He points at a splash of white visible in the darkness at the foot of the tower.
The four heroes approach, but stop some distance from the whiteness. They see a bird dropping the size of a football splashed about the corner of the clock tower, as though a bucket of whitewash had been thrown from the roof. The stench is indescribable, and the dung is speckled with unidentified viscera and small bones.
“Cat!” shouts Jeremy and rushes to the clock tower door. Locked. “It’s eaten Cat!”
[No you plonker. Cat is your familiar, you would know if she was dead. Also how long do you think it takes a giant chicken to digest an animal?]
Petra strolls over and with minimal effort has the door open. Inside, the tower is dark and musty smelling, with a rickety ladder ascending to a trapdoor. The crew stand around looking at one another. This has the smell of a trap.
“You’re the thief,” says Grim, “sneak up for a look around why don’t you?”
“And you’re the bloody hero, meant to be looking for a glorious death. Scared of the dark?” mocks Petra in a girlie voice.
Grim changes tack. “But we have an expert on wildlife amongst us,” he points out, nodding to Wes. “After all, he did notice the subtle signs of the beast-chickens presence.”
“Er,” says Wes, at a loss. Then, “It’s not my bloody cat. Never liked the creature in the first place.” He glares at Jeremy.
[And so thats how we find the least combat qualified member of the Rock Steady Crew leading the advance up the clock tower. The ladders creak and groan so alarmingly that only one person at a time climbs each ladder, meaning Jeremy is essentially by himself, unable to be quiet and is forced to use both hands for safety. Go bandits, this will end well I’m sure.]
Jeremy leads the climb, the ladders and floors creaking alarmingly as they ascend through four musty smelling rooms, full of rotten furniture and sheets. Not really much of a chance of sneaking, but the wizard presses on regardless.
Finally they gather in the top floor of the watch tower, standing some distance from each other as the floor threatens to give way at any moment. No-one speaks in an attempt to surprise whatever may be on top of the tower, and there is much gesticulating and pointing as the crew decide on who should lead the final glorious charge. Jeremy loses again.
[What fun. I tell the players that they cannot speak from now on if they wish to try to surprise the creature. Much hilarity as they try to decide who will go first with gestures and mouthed words].
Jeremy manages to climb the ladder amazingly quietly. He shrouds himself in shadows, even managing to dull the creaks from the ladder somehow. Reaching the trapdoor at the top he gives it an experimental push and, mercifully, it opens noiselessly. He pushes it gently, half opening it then freezes.
[Again I make the crew run this in silence, exchanging post-it notes with Jeremy - yes tacky I know, but really effective for short periods; the rest of bandits are squirming {quietly} in their seats trying to find out what’s going on.]
The wizard finds himself face to face with a feathered fiend, who has bent to look at the opening trapdoor. They stare eye to eye, neither moving at all, Jeremy hardly breathing. In the background, Cat can be seen crouched down under the eaves of the towers mansard roof. There is absolute silence as man and monster regard each other.
Then, inevitably, there comes sound from below. “What’s going on up there you great poof?”
The monster bird strikes fast as lightning, and Jeremy throws himself backwards off the ladder. Cat, seeing a chance to escape, darts between the creatures legs and leaps through the trapdoor, landing on Wesley’s face. The wizard, striking the floor hard, goes straight through it, taking much of the surrounding deck with him, and lies stunned on the floor below. Wes, trying to pull Cat off his face, follows Jeremy down the hole in the floor; the second impact causes that level, too, to collapse, and both men tumble down another level, the cat jumping away lightly and looking enquiringly down at her two companions lying stunned on the floor below.
Petra, unbalanced by the collapse, teeters on the edge of the hole, but manages to grasp a floor beam, hanging precariously over the drop, before pulling herself to safety on the level below.
Meanwhile, the dwarf, Grim, seems to be stood on the only solid piece of flooring in the whole building, and is completely unaffected by the collapse. He stares up at the feathered fiend who is peering curiously down from the roof. It makes a satisfied trill, then moves off, gliding over the rooftops.
“That’s not a bloody chicken!” he mutters.
[i really thought I had it then, two floors collapsing from successive falls by Wes and Jeremy; I’d even contemplated a glorious scene where the gang brought the entire tower down around their ears. With only Petra to go I played her corruption token to try and force the test but she passed, unfortunately. Interestingly, the crew actually took more damage from this non-combat encounter than they had for a long time; even more of a surprise, Grim was completely untouched!]
A few minutes later four dust covered figures emerge from the wreckage of the Clock Tower; amazingly there are no watchmen waiting to arrest them, but all the curtains in the surrounding house are open, and their inhabitants gape openly at the Trouser Bandits as they stagger away from the ruined building.
At a loss now, the group wander the streets. They can’t go back to their Inn as the landlord will have them arrested. They will probably be ‘persons of interest’ to the watch following the clock tower debacle, and they have no idea what is going on. Also the trouble with Yuri Popov seems likely to rebound on them in the not-too-distant future. What to do?
Thirty minutes later, ensconced in the corner of yet another late night drinking hole, the four battered heroes go through their thoughts and options. After a good dose of recriminations all round, Grim points out that, as the ‘lost sheep’ was a wizard’s apprentice, it seems pretty clear this whole mess is all about magic. Tentative agreement. Also, has anybody realized that today is Geheimnis, the most magical day of the year, with Geheimnisnacht to follow?Anything that is going to happen is bound to happen tonight. Stunned silence follows; that Grim had the ability to actually reason is a bit of a shock, let alone the fact that he’s probably right!
(I’ve started using clue cards as the bandits are just that bad at investigating. I mean, I don’t have to give them at the right time, do I. There’s also the possibility of a ‘red herring’ card.)
Wes digs out the paper he’d taken from Yuri Popov’s pocket the previous night, which appears to be a random set of interconnecting lines. “Map,” he says. “Sewers?” he suggests. Stunned silence. (Smarts seems to be catching; this was without a clue card!).
“OK, so we nip down the nearest entrance to the sewers, keeping us out of the eyes of the law. Then we line up the map, find Herr whats-his-name, kill who-ever’s holding him, nip back to the Grey College and we’re away. Sorted!” says Petra.
Oh dear.
Lack of die
in WFRP Gamemasters
Posted
No, no, you're thinking of 'pathetic grammaryian', an optional magic users talent. Petty Grammarian (note no 'y' and capital 'G' in Grammarian) is only available as an advanced option, after completing 'petty-minded bureaucrat' career in full