*DM note: I really should know by now that the best laid
plans will be erased by the simplest of questions or actions which my little
pea-sized brain never considered – I mean, why wouldn’t you jump to the aid of
a stranger about to be accused of exploding a building the size of a city-block
and levelling it past its foundations?
Have discovered learned the only pre work I need to
do is prepare the starting, or opening, line – after that I should just let my
heroes do their thing and should they wander aimlessly for the entire evening,
maybe nudge, but (I hope) NEVER lead them again... My apologies for what seemed
like such a FUN side trip to acquire a bit of information and some components
in a unique way, backfired into a tedious, confusing evening... (It sounded so
GOOD on paper...)
Let me just ensure that the purpose of the trip is not lost:
ACQUIRED: Three (3) orange-yellow vials about as big as a
man’s finger with wax stoppers.
INFORMATION: When you combine very fine dry powder with a
specific insect and the vial, you obtain a lethal incendiary device with an
unknown delay before it erupts spectacularly. Further testing may reveal the
full process – or it is possible someone in the castle has a working knowledge
of this crude and clever mechanism... It’s too bad they tossed the carcass
before they returned... or did they?
The way it was supposed to go, (to find out HOW it actually
unfolded, please visit the YouTube recording – if you want to see how NOT to
run a campaign...)
~^~^~
Following the longest day shopping any of our heroes has
ever undertaken, they are grateful for the thick eiderdown mattresses and fires
crackling in the grates warming their rooms.
After a filling ‘family-style’ supper, (which Queen Lucy
INSISTED they eat, and watched like a hawk that they did, teasing, "It's
not poisoned," dipping her silver spoon into the serving bowls scooping
dainty bites and swallowing them, feeding her guests personally if they do not
‘dig in’), of consume, bread, roast pheasant, broiled tubers, a vegetable
terrine and rich cream-filled pastries for dessert, their eyes grow heavy and,
uttering good evening's, they are shown to their rooms on the third floor. Lucy
insists on Ooma sleeping with her on the first floor and, despite the protests
of the others, they do go to their assigned rooms.
Martonis pausing in the Gentlemen's lounge intent on reading
is interrupted by Wik. The two have a terse conversation, Martonis not hiding
his disdain for the Elf, as Wik exchanges some of the information he learned
during their tour of the castle.
Then, Wik, shrugging, yawns, excuses himself and heads to
his allocated room where he enjoys a bath, re-straps his daggers to his body, puts
on his ointment and the soft nightshirt left for him before slipping between
the silk sheets, falling asleep, the candle burning low in the safety of the
holder…
Martonis, his reading disturbed, heads to his room, performs
his absolutions, undresses, puts on the nightshirt provided, and slides between
the silk sheets, leaning against the padded headboard his mind a whirlwind of
thought, most concerning Lucy and her apparent fragile state although a scowl
creases his face as his thoughts touch upon Wik, and a frown as he thinks of
Amaril...
Morgan, after Ooma assures him she will sleep in the same
bed as Lucy, finally is persuaded to follow the others to his own room. He
enters, spies the rum, turns, smiles at Martonis, who is going to the lounge,
"Goodnight." His plans changing from an evening in the library to an
evening before the fire. Closing his door and setting his backpack and other
items on a large round table and fixing the new contraption he purchased to his
possessions before cracking open a bottle, he grabs a mug and settles himself
in the overstuffed easy chair, putting his feet on the pouffe, filling his mug,
tossing it back, and repeating the process… a fluttering of a greyish vision
infiltrates his dreams. Awakening, he puts another log onto the fire, goes back
to the chair and resumes consuming rum...
Amaril also has a bath, but before he can get into bed, he
has a visitor, whom he receives after pulling on the nightshirt laid out for
him. When his guest leaves, he ponders his next move whilst climbing into his
comfortable bed, blowing the candle's flame out. Resting his head on his hands
he thinks, staring into the darkness...
__________________________________________
About an hour after the last of our heroes enters their
room, a loud explosion rattles the castle and they grab the robe at the foot of
their beds and rush out of their rooms tugging the cloak-like robe on, Ooma,
mace in hand, tells Lucy to hide under the bed as she exits the room into the
hallway, closing the door firmly behind her. Martonis manages to snatch his
morning star as he rushes from the room. Wik and Amaril, daggers strapped to
their bodies fling the robes on and pull back their doors, following Martonis
to the rail. Morgan takes both his staff and scimitar as he hustles, still fully
clothed into the hall... (DM note: ALL weaponry and armour was to be left
behind – they were supposed to rush so quickly out that they were caught with
their pants down, so to speak, to avoid an lengthy discussion I allowed these
items.)
Damnit - we're not in Kansas any more…
Morgan, Wik, Amaril and Martonis find themselves looking
over a wooden balcony-rail two stories above the main salon. Pandemonium reigns
as people scramble about the large area, furniture scattered and flung about,
some broken, most toppled. Ooma, on the main floor of a public house or tavern,
is looking around and up at the bedlam. Shouts, gasps and shrieks fill the
evening air.
Others, nearly everyone is a Gnome, exiting their rooms, are
pushing past rudely in their haste to find out what happened, or to escape in-case
it should happen again.
Their room doors locked, they descend the sturdy
wood-staircase, (making their way towards Ooma), catching snippets and bits of
conversation – enough to piece together a large explosion has taken place
across the street from the fashionable inn and everyone is shaken. A squad of
soldiers are ineffectual in calming the crowd, although no one is particularly
out-of-control.
Our heroes catch snippets of conversations...
“Whatcha think, ‘eh? Inklebyrds Incendiary Devices or Estale Eitherdip’s Exciting Explosions?”
“Yah, Balderk’s Blazing Bonfires would never be so careless, a dwarf who’d make a mistake like that would be run out of town!”
“No, Samuel Valdkjurdi’d never allow that!” Ribald snorts.
“Did the fireworks started early!” a particularly drunken man spouts.
“Wonder if the celebrations will be cancelled?”
“Anyone hurt?”
The squad's captain shaking his head at the carnage, making
his way to the front of the thick, stone foundationed building when a comely
woman runs in. Screeching when she spies the captain, moving towards him her
fists balled and her arms animated.
"I told you that note was trouble, now look! It’s
already started! Rywyn is a fool! What are we going to do?" He goes to her
and wraps his arms about her, embracing her as she clenches him. He peers
around and, in the confusion, spies our heroes standing in a group, their white
robes denoting their higher station in the town guard.
A smile forms on his face, brightening it, "Look my
dear, we are saved, these must be the ones the Manor has sent to help us. They
must have thought the note had merit after all!"
He strides over to the group and extends a hand, "You
must be the detectives my cousin, Rywyn Nackle, promised from the Manor. I
thought he was in jest. I’m Errick Nackle, Town Guard Captain. You've come at
the best and worst time. We've a lunatic on the loose who...," he flushes,
stammering.
The woman speaks up, "We received THIS!" She
forces a note under your noses. “We have to find
As the noise and cacophony of voices becomes louder with the
arrival of those in nearby establishments, seeking information, Martonis grasps
Errick’s hand, “I am Martonis, but I’m afraid there’s been some confusion, we
have not been sent by this Rywyn Nackle, nor the Manor. In fact we aren’t sure
where we are?”
This elicits raised eyebrows and confused gazes. Errick’s
wife pleads, clasping Morgan’s arm, “Please, please help my husband. If you are
not from the Manor, then it’s true, they do not believe him and are going to
blame him for this disaster! We will be ruined because of a madman!”
Morgan rolls his eyes; his demeanour suggests he is not
thrilled with this development. Martonis, on the other hand, wears an
expression of sympathy. “We will help, but what would you have us do?”
The party tries to return to their rooms to no avail, with
nothing else to do they are forced to accept the challenge. They agree,
reluctantly, to assist Errick and the town through their immediate troubles,
and begin posing questions.
They learn from the bartender, a lovely red-headed human,
that a tall, lanky human fellow with a slight limp, had been lurking around the
exploded building about two weeks ago. Several of the gnomish patrons nod
thoughtfully corroborating her recollection, one commenting, “I think it was
only a week ago, though.” Another describing the fellow in question so well,
Errick is immediately able to name him!
“That sounds like Arnold Bennedikt, a soldier under my
command! Are you certain?” Several nods firms his resolve and he beseeches the
party to go with him to an establishment called the Rabid Rodent, “He can
usually be found there. This could be the reason he has not reported for duty
for the last two evenings.” (DM NOTE: THIS is a alteration of MY plans. Errick
was to go and drum up more help while the party courageously deciphered clues,
swiftly located and brought our culprit to justice, OR were caught in an
explosion of epic proportions...)
(Here we blend what our heroes did and what I, the DM,
forced upon them...) The party, still in the throes of utter confusion
themselves, decide to examine the detonated site to look for clues or patterns
or gain some indications as to what happened before the sun completely set and
the land was awash in inky blackness. A thorough inspection provides some
surprising evidence. Amaril climbs around inside the smouldering remains and,
with careful processes, discovers that the pattern of the explosion verifies
the building was targeted from the inside, and he locates the probable source.
Continuing, Wik discovers a white powder residue lightly coating the area and,
upon closer scrutinizing, announces, “Flour. It’s flour? Now why would there be
flour everywhere?” Outside Wik locates two large hind legs of some kind of insect.
Across the River Bridge on the western banks of the Sparkle
River, GlitterTop becomes a dissimilar place. The safety of the town’s walls
and sanitation of its streets are replaced by a muddy, filthy neighbourhood
filled with lean-tos and shelters in improvised shantytowns between the few
standing edifices. Drunks and ruffians of all sorts stagger around, carousing
without a care in the world. The Rabid Rodent Tavern, discernible by a sign
containing a crude depiction of its namesake, stands as the most solid building
in the whole neighbourhood. It’s still a two-story wooden jumble, however.
As the party enters the barely habitable establishment,
Errick, in the lead, peers through the sooty dimness spotting his man fairly
quickly. Marching his direction, he is almost to the table when Arnold lifts
his bleary head, his eyes unfocussed, he utters a nonsensical muttering before
his head drops again, his fingers tightly clutched around the handle of a
Toby-jar, the contents mere drops clinging to the bottom.
“Soldier!” Errick barks at the slovenly male.
Arnold leaps to his feet, his chair tipping backward and
landing on the dirt floor with a thud. “cursh in the shervice of the greedy
Nacklesh!” He pulls a long sword awkwardly from his belt, waving it wildly as
it flies from his hand and drops a distance away. “Yoush sink yor sho graysh...
he’ll showsh you, all you hoity-toity shnomes...” He falls across the table.
Errick lifts his head by the hair, Arnold barely notices, muttering, “Eshplode;
all exshplode.” He laughs maniacally.
“Explode? What do you know of this?”
Arnold fixes his one open eye on Errick, “Gnomes, bah! Learn
yoursh lesshon shewonight.” He belches loudly, jerking his head back and stumbling
into a few other drunks. One of whom turns to the party, “Piss off,” he
rumbles, tossing his empty mug at the party, missing, before launching himself
unsteadily at Wik.
A wonderful melee ensues as the party fully over compensates
to their drunken antics, especially as the other twelve or fifteen patrons in
the bar takes no notice as the five stumble about, flailing their arms
ineffectually. As they are knocked unconscious, one at a time, Arnold holds his
hands up in surrender, and falls back into a chair his eyes rolling and his
head lolling a sudden panic overwhelming him. “Hurshy, on hish shway...”
Errick searches the man and pulls a map from his cloak.
Spreading it on the table, the party can see, in the dim greasy light, several
‘x’s’ placed about. “It’s a map of GlitterTop!” Errick gasps.
The party concludes the X’s are where the devices have been
placed. Is this where the explosions will take place? At Arnold’s giggle, he
continues, “My gawds man! That the Tenements! A lot of families live there! We’ll need to split up it’ll take too long otherwise.”
Errick concludes. "We still don’t know what we're are looking for."
Errick quickly explains the map to the party, pointing the various
places and ease to get there; GlitterTop is not a large town. Memorising the
map, our party nods and hurries toward the door. Before they exit Arnold rises
halfway up from his seat, “Fower; barrelsh of dry flours; dry! Dry! Dry
floursh; barrelsh of dries flour in place. Another rounsh!” He swings his arm
widely, falling off the seat.
Carefully retracing their steps they come to the bridge, the
party decides to split up, each taking a separate ‘X’ on the map, joining the
others as they or when they diffuse the explosion or fail to deactivate or
diffuse the trigger. As they query people on the bridge a loud explosion rocks
the waterfront and off to the south a fiery ball lights up the sky and the air
is thick with the faint screams of the injured or dying.
Ooma elects to search the bridge. “I’ll catch up with you if
I can’t find anything,” she tells Morgan.
Morgan elects to search the fireworks factory and sets off
at a quick pace to locate the nearly city-long building across from the marina,
while Martonis sighs and runs, clinking and clanking to the forge, several
minutes away.
Amaril and Wik choose to search the Tenements and get some
help from a few tenants rushing to the dockside fire who report seeing someone
moving stuff in, or out, of the basement in building seven, and either building
four, five or six. Searching they discover the barrels of flour and thinking
quickly, using the nearby sinks, they pour water in the barrels, soaking the
flour before digging their hands in the sludgy mess.
They discover a large bug, about two-feet in length in the
centre of the flour. Wik discovers the bug is dead; a knife has sliced its
stomach right up the middle. He also sees a small glass tube inside, filled
with an orangeish liquid. He shakes the bug and notices a small ‘poof’ of
smoke. Nothing else.
They decide to find Morgan first, as they have diffused
their barrels.
In the meantime, a large stone forge burns with the red heat
that boils to pure white at its centre. Several smaller forges burn, each with
a burly apprentice swinging a hammer, watching metal shards take shape into
useful items, currently horseshoes. The heat is as hot as the lava that pours
down the side of the mountain on the island across the ocean. Six youthful
apprentices and one respected master, a dwarf, who’s trained many blacksmiths
in their art work in the forge and live in the attached small wooden structure
with a deep root-cellar. The barrel has been placed in the root cellar near the
main post. Martonis reaches the forge district and runs toward the door, “Run,
get out now.” He moves to explain to a sturdy dwarf who astutely grasps the
situation when Martonis mentions the first two, and is aided by the rumble of a
third.
The two search the root cellar and quickly locate the
barrel. The timer has not been set, but they know not this. As the forge master,
Samuel Valdkjurdi, lifts the lid, Martonis instantly casts a ‘water’ spell, and
a deluge of water pours from a cloud that appears above the barrel, much to the
surprise of Samuel. Martonis also searches the barrel, after waiting a short
time and finds the large beetle-like bug.
As they exit to the outdoors a loud, massive explosion
ripples the ground and knocks them backward, felling Wik and Amaril. A white
light shoots upward and many rockets, roman candles, sparklers and other
unrestrained fireworks began shooting, their dangerous fires torching nearby
thatch roofs and shanties. The call of “Fire!” goes out and uninjured townsfolk
begin responding.
A boy comes running up to Martonis, ”Sir, they need you at
the Inn, someone is there with a message.”
About the same time, Wik and Amaril are lifted to their
feet, the blast ringing in their ears and are directed to the Inn. They stare
at the gapping, fire-spewing hole that was the building Morgan was to inspect. “Maybe
Ooma didn’t get here yet,” Amaril shouts to Wik, wiping a tear from his eye.
Grimly, Wik nods and they wobbly follow the page sent to get
them.
Finding the Inn crowded with uninjured and seeing people
going into and out of their rooms, our heroes dash for their rooms; all except
Amaril – he tests Ooma’s door and finds he can open it. He steps through and
finds himself inside Queen Lucy’s bed chamber and it is still night.
Queen Lucy, awakening and crawling out from under the bed
confronts Amaril who, very gently and tenderly using simple words he explains
to the child that Ooma and Morgan were killed as they fought bravely to save
many others. He endures her anger and pain as she pounds his shoulders, her
arms tightly gripping him, her tears falling in deep sadness, her sobs bringing
tears to Amaril and Madame K’s eyes.
As Martonis and Wik enter their rooms, they check that their
stuff is there. They go to the doors and find that when they open them now,
they enter the castle hallways. Puzzled, they stand for a moment.
A piercing scream jangles the castle walls. Wik and Martonis
glance at each other and dive for the stairwell, two or three at a time they
descend the spiral, square staircase, barely pausing on the large landings, they
hit the main floor and turn toward Queen Lucy’s room.
As they enter, they pull up short. Before them, alive and
seemingly well, are Ooma and Morgan!
Queen Lucy, tears drying on her cheeks, “You lied! They aren’t
dead!”
What the hell...?
o0o
XP: 1,500 EACH for allowing me to annoy the hell out of you;
EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...);
journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back
story... 50xp x character level, for one entry per week…
o0o
o0o
promising to never lead again...
khrys...
~*~*~*~
No comments:
Post a Comment
Suggestions are appreciated - and may be used against you in a full-on encounter...