After having visited the market at Voronezh a couple of times, for my trade tables were up and running at the time (though they'd undergo a severe overhaul in 2009), the party indicated they were more interested in exploring to the north and east, rather than the west. They set out for Borisoglebsk, an alternate market yet in the county of Voronezh, but very different. With the history of my Russia being very different from the real world, much of the central Volga river remains in the hands of the Tatars and the Jagatai (or Chagatai) peoples. That is, orcs.
Borisoglebsk is a seasonal market, a tiny village of just 150 people, where orcs and humans trade by agreement with each other. Starting in the late summer, the steppe is too cold to travel upon, so only the permanent residents of the village remain and no sales take place. In the summer, when the party was there, nomadic peoples travel there and settle for a month or more, so that the "population" swells to more than 2,000. Many of the things sold aren't officially part of the village market, but rather goods that can be got by wandering among the tents. Both orcs and humans understand that this tenuous arrangement is more valuable than an outbreak of violence would be; but there are young fools on both sides, and brief fights to occur.
These are usually arranged to take place in stone pits, a la the beginning of the old Conan film. While the party was here, we picked up three new players. Mike and Andrew lasted for all of one running. They chose to ignore the dangers, double-dealing a set of ruffians; frankly, I can't remember the details, but it would have been pretty transparent what they were doing.
These two players were friends of mine, about 30 y.o., who learned I was running a campaign, something they hadn't done in many years. They had all the bad habits of players who think roleplaying is about being a jackass and getting away with it, with the usual assumption that a DM won't kill them, but will always find a back door for them to escape through. Andrew's character was quietly assassinated, the way someone would have to be in Borisoglebsk. Mike was forced into a pit match and he died there. Neither held it against me, but they decided my kind of serious gaming "wasn't for them."
The third player to join was Tucci, who goes by his last name because his first was far too common in school. He was a schoolmate of Celeste and Kevin. Tucci rolled up a monk, which also still lives to this day, a fellow named "Shalar." Even back to 1980, my associates and I understood the two basic flaws with the Player's Handbook monk character was hit points and armour class. Improve the latter by two points, and change the HD from a d4 to a d6, and a monk as written is totally sustainable. I've run a few myself; they remain my favourite character, though I never play any more.
Tucci is a terrifically goodnatured fellow, sardonic, brave but not completely stupid, though the balance was different back in those early days. I'll talk more about that after. He took advice, fit easily into the party and I liked him right from the start.
The party decided to travel north from Borisoglebsk, circling around the orcish lands up to Tambov, then towards Nizhne-Novgorod, modern-day Gorkiy. This is a huge market town on the Volga River, which enabled the players to improve their belongings to some degree. Damned if I remember what they bought, but they were pleased. From there, they travelled southeastward into the small land of Harnia, a gnomish kingdom in the present day oblast of Penza, for those who might be interested. There were a few combats along the way and the party had reached 3rd level. Tucci, unfortunately, wasn't as consistent a player as the others, which only meant that he tended to gather experience a little slower.
They felt intimidated in Harnia, deciding to travel through and see what was there, without disturbing anyone. In Bortrun, a fair-sized city of Harnia (modern Kuznetsk), the party was approached to carry a message eastward into orcish Jagatai, to the city of Samara on the Volga. The same Samara that's there now; in my game world it's a fairly international market city, with strong ties to the far east beyond the Ural Mountains, Siberia and such, none of which is in human hands; it's also the first step on one route to China.
The letter was to a Moscovite noble, Petrov Famitch, who was posing as a merchant in Samara. There was no danger, they were told, but the letter had to be delivered soon, as time was a factor. The players agreed and set out, the journey being about 150 miles. They encountered an orcish patrol and dispatched them with little difficulty, as they'd made friends with a hill giant by that time (name forgotten) who agreed to help them through the more dangerous hill country. Three days from Samara, it rained heavily, a cold rain, and Pikel rolled a 1 on a d100 and came down with a bad cold. A similarly bad die roll the next day nearly spelled his death. When the party reached Samara, Pikel was unconscious with pneumonia, carried thankfully by the monk, who by the tables I was using in those days, had rolled a height of 7 ft. 2 in., and a weight of nearly 300 lbs. An apothecary was found and Pikel was saved, but it took three weeks for him to recover. Kevin's bad luck with that incident has come up many times, for as I said, bad luck is rare with him.
Petrov Famitch was nowhere to be found, but at last the party located an associate of his. The letter told that there was a siege planned upon the Moskovite river fort of Saratov, down the Volga from Samara. This was something that Petrov had discovered on his own, and being a paladin lord, had already taken a collection of his retainers down river to accomplish what the gnome in Bortrun had wanted him to do — prevent the siege if possible, or remain there to lead a force the Bortrun gnomes intended to send.
This associate, name long forgotten, but we'll call her Maria Sokolova, was also a retainer of Petrov and was waiting for more of his retainers to gather in Samara before heading out. Learning of the party's bravery in crossing the Jagatai frontier, she offered for them to attend her down to Saratov and the party agreed. They had neared 4th level by the time they reached Saratov, which was under siege by an orc army.
Following "suggestions," the players harrassed the fringes of the orc troops, picking up some treasure and improving their fighting skills. They met Petrov, appreciated greatly a few gifts he gave them in the way of +1 weapons and armour, and then accepted a dangerous mission. Gnomish support was just days away; when they arrived, an attack at a key point of the orcish horde would be made, to break into Saratov if possible. The party was asked to hazard a passage through the army to a concealed door in the city's fortifications and bring maps and a message of when the attack would occur, and where, so they could lend whatever forces that Saratov had, to squeeze a passage through the orc army.
This proved dangerous but doable. Garalzapan died on the way and was raised inside the city successfully; the rest of the party made it there on vapours. The attack was made, Saratov citizens flooded out of the gates, the party missing everything because they were recovering. The orc army broke and ran, Saratov was saved ... and Petrov Famitch died in the effort.
Nevertheless, the party was deeply moved by the whole adventure, and in particular felt warm and fuzzy because of their own contribution in helping a hero (for the city of Saratov were shattered by Petrov's demise) to retake the city. I could see plainly through the eyes of players who had no long-standing perception of what D&D should be or usually was, that making changes in the game world was better, by far, than just gaining treasure and gold. I'd always tried to make my adventures meaningful, but perhaps because they players were young (18 by that time, since it was about 2006), and perhaps because my ability to run had improved, I could see they were gobsmacked by the way things had played out.
Anyway, the treasure reward brought them to 5th level, and that meant henchmen, or "henchfolk" as I'm calling them these days. Shalar didn't get one that day; he'd missed too many runnings, and monks level very slowly. We also got three new players ... so it is regarding these details that I'll pick up the next post.
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