Anshelm and Delfig find the food simple but abundant and in excellent flavor, consisting predominantly of old potatoes, turnip greens, young birds eggs, dove, roasted dormice and fresh milk. This being the spring season, and the store of food from the previous autumn having been spent, there are no grains, nor the bread made of it, nor vegetables, nor fruits.
The smallish man, the head of the community, is named Emmanuel; he introduces you to the other men, whose names you’ve forgotten, and to the two women who were present earlier, Frieda and the pretty one, Suzanne. Suzanne is married to Emmanuel, and Frieda to one of the other men. These are the only members of the small hamlet, and you learn that four of the houses seen earlier are unoccupied.
Emmanuel gets quite angry when you mention the blockhouse. “Obvious?” he asks bitterly. “The town knows nothing about it. They’ve been told Jan and his wife were sympathizers who gave comfort to Protestants during the war. They were innkeepers! They gave comfort to whomever knocked on the door!”
Suzanne tries to soothe him but he won’t have it.
“It’s the war that’s done this,” Emmanuel says. “I’m naught but a cotter, and I’ve naught to do but tend the lord’s sheep and find what food I can, but I can say there’s an evil loose on the land. It’s these men taking pay for doing nothing. My father could remember when the men who owned and worked the land would rise in war to defend it—but those days are gone, and but in one generation. Now it’s the soldier, always the soldier, fighters with no master but the paymaster, who defend not the town but the purse of the town. Hired to fight the Protestants and now kept in hire to fight innocent innkeepers and their wives!”
Emmanuel stands up, needing more room to continue to rant.
“And who holds the purse? The merchants, that’s who! None of them landowners, none of them with a stake in this town nor any town, who gather their things with them whenever they wish to steal from us before moving on to steal from someone else. It’s they who dictate to the army, its they who pay the soldiers and feed the soldiers. If you go into the town, and you look in the town hall, do you know what you’ll find? There’s a notice there asking for more soldiers! For what I ask you? For the good of the peace? Not at all! For the good of destroying the peace, that’s what, to make more monsters to hulk out from the town and pillage the gentle folk here! God, I beg you, put an end to it! Deliver us from these money-loving sinners!”
He sits again, quite worn out, while Suzanne wets a cloth in the corner water barrel and wipes his forehead with it.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Campaign: The Dachau Courthouse
There is very little going on in the market square as the afternoon progresses into the evening. Many of the produce stalls are closed, and goods are loaded up in wagons in front of the market hall. The sun will set at a quarter of eight, so many hours from now.
Josef and Kazimir have had little luck, if they have tried at all, to discover the whereabouts or situation regarding Tiberius—only to discover, quite suddenly, that someone has aroused the judge into his chambers so that the prisoner can be presented at court at five bells. They have time to arrive and gather in the events.
Tiberius has had a fairly comfortable stay in one of the jail cells; as a mage, his hands have remained cuffed, but he has been fed, given water, a stuffed straw mattress to lie on. Upon being put into his cell, Tiberius hears the jailer remark, “Get comfortable. They’ll likely forget about you.
A cleric-monk appears about an hour later, speaks very little to Tiberius. He takes the time to cast a few spells, none of which Tiberius could be familiar with, before taking his leave.
At the quarter chime before the fifth hour, the jailer reappears with two guards. “You must be one of the lucky ones,” he says. “Got some friends in court, have you?”
Tiberius is taken into the court room, a small affair barely twenty feet by fifteen, with an imposing, raised desk and a wrought iron pillar affixed to the stone floor, to which Tiberius’ manacles are attached. There are four guards, the judge, a well-attired gentleman and both Josef and Kazimir in the room. The latter two were admitted only a few minutes before Tiberius was brought in. The stranger, Josef and Kazimir sit on a narrow, rude bench along one wall. Tiberius can’t help feeling the stranger is oddly familiar.
“This is the prisoner from the Merchant Guild Hall?” asks the judge?
Any attempt by Tiberius to speak will be quickly dealt with—Tiberius, being a bright fellow and having watched prisoners in the dock, wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“And who speaks for this man?”
The stranger rises. “I do.”
“You may proceed.”
“Your honor. I was present at the dinner in the Merchant’s Hall when this man’s honor was astoundingly and insultingly impugned by the action of the Hall’s concierge. The very idea that this man could stand in a public place and prepare to throw a spell in such a manner is utterly ridiculous and fully fantastical. This man is a well-known figure in the business world in Graz, in Syria, and is in the employ of the Baron von Furstenfeld, an upstanding gentleman and one of the Electoral College of the Empire, your honor. His faithfulness to the crown, to the wellbeing of his fellow man and to God is indisputable. I demand that compensation be made for this unforgivable attack!”
Tiberius is staring closely at the man—and then realizes from where he knows him. Some five years ago, the stranger—name of Johann Mizer, bought seven horses from the Baron. Tiberius remembers himself, Adelbert, closing the deal. He remembers too that one of the horses was half-blind, something the Baron chose not to mention.
The judge clears his throat. “I have spoken to the concierge. He feels he cannot be mistaken.”
“He must be,” says Johann.
“Adelbert Volkmann,” intones the Judge. “You have been examined by Father Durer and been found not to be a serious threat to the town of Dachau or any of the citizens therein. A writ has been found on your person, also, providing you with free passage through the Duchy of Bavaria. For these reasons it is decided that you shall not be given over to the Inquisition for further examination. This court believes that you could not have intended to throw a spell. Normally, you would be fined ten gold pieces and expelled from the town gates, but I will take under advisement the word of a celebrated and respected member of our community and suspend this sentence. You are free to go.”
Josef and Kazimir have had little luck, if they have tried at all, to discover the whereabouts or situation regarding Tiberius—only to discover, quite suddenly, that someone has aroused the judge into his chambers so that the prisoner can be presented at court at five bells. They have time to arrive and gather in the events.
Tiberius has had a fairly comfortable stay in one of the jail cells; as a mage, his hands have remained cuffed, but he has been fed, given water, a stuffed straw mattress to lie on. Upon being put into his cell, Tiberius hears the jailer remark, “Get comfortable. They’ll likely forget about you.
A cleric-monk appears about an hour later, speaks very little to Tiberius. He takes the time to cast a few spells, none of which Tiberius could be familiar with, before taking his leave.
At the quarter chime before the fifth hour, the jailer reappears with two guards. “You must be one of the lucky ones,” he says. “Got some friends in court, have you?”
Tiberius is taken into the court room, a small affair barely twenty feet by fifteen, with an imposing, raised desk and a wrought iron pillar affixed to the stone floor, to which Tiberius’ manacles are attached. There are four guards, the judge, a well-attired gentleman and both Josef and Kazimir in the room. The latter two were admitted only a few minutes before Tiberius was brought in. The stranger, Josef and Kazimir sit on a narrow, rude bench along one wall. Tiberius can’t help feeling the stranger is oddly familiar.
“This is the prisoner from the Merchant Guild Hall?” asks the judge?
Any attempt by Tiberius to speak will be quickly dealt with—Tiberius, being a bright fellow and having watched prisoners in the dock, wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“And who speaks for this man?”
The stranger rises. “I do.”
“You may proceed.”
“Your honor. I was present at the dinner in the Merchant’s Hall when this man’s honor was astoundingly and insultingly impugned by the action of the Hall’s concierge. The very idea that this man could stand in a public place and prepare to throw a spell in such a manner is utterly ridiculous and fully fantastical. This man is a well-known figure in the business world in Graz, in Syria, and is in the employ of the Baron von Furstenfeld, an upstanding gentleman and one of the Electoral College of the Empire, your honor. His faithfulness to the crown, to the wellbeing of his fellow man and to God is indisputable. I demand that compensation be made for this unforgivable attack!”
Tiberius is staring closely at the man—and then realizes from where he knows him. Some five years ago, the stranger—name of Johann Mizer, bought seven horses from the Baron. Tiberius remembers himself, Adelbert, closing the deal. He remembers too that one of the horses was half-blind, something the Baron chose not to mention.
The judge clears his throat. “I have spoken to the concierge. He feels he cannot be mistaken.”
“He must be,” says Johann.
“Adelbert Volkmann,” intones the Judge. “You have been examined by Father Durer and been found not to be a serious threat to the town of Dachau or any of the citizens therein. A writ has been found on your person, also, providing you with free passage through the Duchy of Bavaria. For these reasons it is decided that you shall not be given over to the Inquisition for further examination. This court believes that you could not have intended to throw a spell. Normally, you would be fined ten gold pieces and expelled from the town gates, but I will take under advisement the word of a celebrated and respected member of our community and suspend this sentence. You are free to go.”
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Campaign: North Gate
Upon stepping from the town gates, you see the quite beautiful vista made that is the countryside north of Dachau, the road winding up into a low string of hills before descending, just beyond, into the valley of the Danube. To your right, you can see the narrow valley of the Amper, the small stream that flows through Dachau, which will lead down into the valley of the Isar. Not far away, to the left, you can see a grove of apple trees, interplanted with hawthorne and cranberry bushes. The road itself passes through a dry, flat pastureland, where move some seventy cattle tended by a number of herders, townsfolk who bring their animals out of the town in the morning and let them feed before returning them at dusk.
Some hundred yards away you see a stone blockhouse, some twenty feet high and much larger than an ordinary house. There appear to be no windows, nor shutters, only empty cavities where both ought to be. As you approach, you can see a scaffold that has been attached to the front of the structure, from which hangs a man and a woman. You would guess that both have been hanging there for two, perhaps three days. You can see now that the building has been burned out, for charcoal scars, nearly the same color as the stone, score the hard granite above the windows and the entranceway.
There is naught upon the road but a farmer and his wagon, but a quarter full of hay, which is steadily approaching the town from a few hundred yards distant. But a single stile fence runs along the right side of the road for a hundred feet past the town’s gate, and you see three young boys, not yet ten, sitting there. For a moment, you remember what it was like to be a boy.
Some hundred yards away you see a stone blockhouse, some twenty feet high and much larger than an ordinary house. There appear to be no windows, nor shutters, only empty cavities where both ought to be. As you approach, you can see a scaffold that has been attached to the front of the structure, from which hangs a man and a woman. You would guess that both have been hanging there for two, perhaps three days. You can see now that the building has been burned out, for charcoal scars, nearly the same color as the stone, score the hard granite above the windows and the entranceway.
There is naught upon the road but a farmer and his wagon, but a quarter full of hay, which is steadily approaching the town from a few hundred yards distant. But a single stile fence runs along the right side of the road for a hundred feet past the town’s gate, and you see three young boys, not yet ten, sitting there. For a moment, you remember what it was like to be a boy.
Campaign: Market Hall
You step into the Market Hall, to find a great space, some sixty feet long and thirty feet wide. There are many stalls set up, selling salt, beer, snuff, wine, carved wooden toys, parchment, glasswares and brass instruments, all the luxury goods made in Dachau. A twin line of pillars, surmounted by great arches holding up the twenty-foot ceiling, stand between the tables and frames supporting various goods which are hung on display. Straw has been scattered over the floor, as here and there goats, pigs and chickens roam freely between the tables along with both the patrons and artisans. These are not the merchants of the guild; the main floor is opened each Sunday for those craftsmen and peddlers who work in shops in the hills surrounding the town, who must have a protected place to sell their valuables.
At each end of the hall are a flight of stairs, without railings, which follow the end walls up into the ceiling. At the bottom of each lounge three guards, while one stands ostensibly at attention.
On the pillar nearest to the door where you enter is a notice board. On it is nailed a piece of parchment which reads, “The town Brux herewith annouces that a price guarantee will be granted for beef at 3,231 gold pieces per ton. This guarantee is valid for a delivery that arrives no later than the first day of June”
Above that is a second notice, which reads, “The town of Dachau seeks a company of soldiers who will perform duties in the defense of those good families that dwell within. There is need for no less than thirty men, well-equipped, led by a learned gentleman of quality standing. The weekly pay shall be 347 gold pieces”
And above that, a third notice, which reads, “The Lord Mayor’s election is to take place on the 24 May 1650. The following citizens have been nominated to date: The competant Lord Mayor Martin Folkes. The competant Councillor Erich Kinski. The competant Patrician Eduard Johannsen. The experience Patrician Eberhardt Hornung”
At the very bottom of these notices is a small wooden carved sign which reads, “Especially recommended today in the guild hall, Chicken pate with a good plum puree”
At each end of the hall are a flight of stairs, without railings, which follow the end walls up into the ceiling. At the bottom of each lounge three guards, while one stands ostensibly at attention.
On the pillar nearest to the door where you enter is a notice board. On it is nailed a piece of parchment which reads, “The town Brux herewith annouces that a price guarantee will be granted for beef at 3,231 gold pieces per ton. This guarantee is valid for a delivery that arrives no later than the first day of June”
Above that is a second notice, which reads, “The town of Dachau seeks a company of soldiers who will perform duties in the defense of those good families that dwell within. There is need for no less than thirty men, well-equipped, led by a learned gentleman of quality standing. The weekly pay shall be 347 gold pieces”
And above that, a third notice, which reads, “The Lord Mayor’s election is to take place on the 24 May 1650. The following citizens have been nominated to date: The competant Lord Mayor Martin Folkes. The competant Councillor Erich Kinski. The competant Patrician Eduard Johannsen. The experience Patrician Eberhardt Hornung”
At the very bottom of these notices is a small wooden carved sign which reads, “Especially recommended today in the guild hall, Chicken pate with a good plum puree”
An Ordinary Word About Non-humans
Well, I managed to get the thing off the ground, and it looks like it just might work out.
But I also think that from time to time I’ll have to make an effort to still produce an ordinary blog entry, or else I might lose everyone not actually running in the campaign.
It would be difficult at this time for any such entry to not mention the current events, or to avoid making comments about. Yes, we might all overdose if this becomes the only topic of conversation, but I can’t resist making a few comments.
I was talking to my daughter about a few circumstances of the campaign, expressing my surprise that out of five characters, four chose to be humans. I can’t remember how long its been since humans outnumbered demi-humans in a party…but my daughter simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “That’s a 3rd edition thing.”
She has had experience with 3rd edition that I haven’t had, since I’ve never played it and she did, all through high school. Apparently, 3rd punished the crap out of non-human players in some effort to balance the game, so that it became impractical to play elves and dwarves. Now, I know nothing about it, that’s just what I’m told.
I more or less came to the conclusion years ago that elves, dwarves and so on had benefits which Gygax chose to balance by allowing humans unlimited levels and denying these to demi-humans. It was obvious early on that this was going to create a great deal of discontent—although I had little experience with it, as my campaigns tended to create players who would struggle hard to get to be tenth or eleventh level, then lose interest. That might have been because it usually took three years of steady running to get to be name level—mine is not an easy world. But I liked that every session was not about experience and my players seemed to appreciate each level all the more for having to actually earn them.
But getting back to the human/demi-human thing. Part of what I did to balance out the game was simply to apply a part of my world towards the difficulties of being a dwarf or a gnome in a predominantly human world. Since virtually every government in civilized Europe or Asia was monopolized by humans, who vastly outnumbered demi-humans, an elven character could expect to be treated with mistrust, antipathy or outright hatred, depending on what part of the world they were. After all, a human, two dwarves and an elf enter the Islamic court in Damascus…which do you think the Sultan will be inclined to lend an ear to?
This never stopped my players from choosing to play elves or dwarves. My offline campaign has only four humans among the twelve principal characters and henchmen (run by five players), and despite the occasional racist reactions they receive, they’re generally happy to be the race they are. After all, parties tend to be insular from the world itself; they learn to trust each other, not NPCs, so that a pervasive us-vs.-them attitude reflects in every action and interaction they take.
I haven’t ever played out a scene where a group of bigoted humans abused or harassed a player on account of their race. Rather, I have most of my humans take a fairly sullen and passive stance. “We don’t bother ‘dem, and dey don’t bother us” is the general rule.
But lately I have instituted the format where humans have slightly more hit points, which has seemed to work. As a result, I have relaxed, somewhat, the discord I once employed.
As I said, I can’t guess what 3rd edition did. I’ve looked through the 3rd edition books, but not at the character descriptions, as a few paragraphs of each seemed to give them an unnaturally high amount of power at a low level. And I can’t recall ever reading anything about demi-humans. So I suppose I shall have to find a source and see.
One last word about the blog itself. I recognize that the prevailing attitude will be that posting into the campaign as a kibitzer will seem inappropriate and annoying. I feel myself that the occasional interjection couldn’t hurt—and that if it actually was inappropriate, it could be deleted as necessary. But these players too are exposing themselves and their playing methods to the general public, and it wouldn’t hurt to give them a word or two of praise when it’s deserved. You are, after all, their peers…and I’m sure they’d like your insight on what they’ve done or how it might affect your own playing styles in the future.
All I ask is that you don’t tell them to do this, or that. Everything else ought to be out and on the table.
But I also think that from time to time I’ll have to make an effort to still produce an ordinary blog entry, or else I might lose everyone not actually running in the campaign.
It would be difficult at this time for any such entry to not mention the current events, or to avoid making comments about. Yes, we might all overdose if this becomes the only topic of conversation, but I can’t resist making a few comments.
I was talking to my daughter about a few circumstances of the campaign, expressing my surprise that out of five characters, four chose to be humans. I can’t remember how long its been since humans outnumbered demi-humans in a party…but my daughter simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “That’s a 3rd edition thing.”
She has had experience with 3rd edition that I haven’t had, since I’ve never played it and she did, all through high school. Apparently, 3rd punished the crap out of non-human players in some effort to balance the game, so that it became impractical to play elves and dwarves. Now, I know nothing about it, that’s just what I’m told.
I more or less came to the conclusion years ago that elves, dwarves and so on had benefits which Gygax chose to balance by allowing humans unlimited levels and denying these to demi-humans. It was obvious early on that this was going to create a great deal of discontent—although I had little experience with it, as my campaigns tended to create players who would struggle hard to get to be tenth or eleventh level, then lose interest. That might have been because it usually took three years of steady running to get to be name level—mine is not an easy world. But I liked that every session was not about experience and my players seemed to appreciate each level all the more for having to actually earn them.
But getting back to the human/demi-human thing. Part of what I did to balance out the game was simply to apply a part of my world towards the difficulties of being a dwarf or a gnome in a predominantly human world. Since virtually every government in civilized Europe or Asia was monopolized by humans, who vastly outnumbered demi-humans, an elven character could expect to be treated with mistrust, antipathy or outright hatred, depending on what part of the world they were. After all, a human, two dwarves and an elf enter the Islamic court in Damascus…which do you think the Sultan will be inclined to lend an ear to?
This never stopped my players from choosing to play elves or dwarves. My offline campaign has only four humans among the twelve principal characters and henchmen (run by five players), and despite the occasional racist reactions they receive, they’re generally happy to be the race they are. After all, parties tend to be insular from the world itself; they learn to trust each other, not NPCs, so that a pervasive us-vs.-them attitude reflects in every action and interaction they take.
I haven’t ever played out a scene where a group of bigoted humans abused or harassed a player on account of their race. Rather, I have most of my humans take a fairly sullen and passive stance. “We don’t bother ‘dem, and dey don’t bother us” is the general rule.
But lately I have instituted the format where humans have slightly more hit points, which has seemed to work. As a result, I have relaxed, somewhat, the discord I once employed.
As I said, I can’t guess what 3rd edition did. I’ve looked through the 3rd edition books, but not at the character descriptions, as a few paragraphs of each seemed to give them an unnaturally high amount of power at a low level. And I can’t recall ever reading anything about demi-humans. So I suppose I shall have to find a source and see.
One last word about the blog itself. I recognize that the prevailing attitude will be that posting into the campaign as a kibitzer will seem inappropriate and annoying. I feel myself that the occasional interjection couldn’t hurt—and that if it actually was inappropriate, it could be deleted as necessary. But these players too are exposing themselves and their playing methods to the general public, and it wouldn’t hurt to give them a word or two of praise when it’s deserved. You are, after all, their peers…and I’m sure they’d like your insight on what they’ve done or how it might affect your own playing styles in the future.
All I ask is that you don’t tell them to do this, or that. Everything else ought to be out and on the table.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Campaign: Getting Started
Even though Kazimir hasn’t put his character up on his blog yet, that’s fine. I don’t need those details in order to get started. This should be an interesting experiment. Feel free to input your character’s actions; I’ll answer questions or add description as needed, until there’s enough of a change in circumstance to warrant a new blog post.
It is early afternoon on a Sunday, May 5, 1650. Four of you are resting yourselves on the porch of a town gasthaus, the Pig, at the corner where a narrow lane meets with the town square. You‘re waiting for your friend Kazimir to arrive. Not long ago, you watched the usual scattering of most of the citizenry from the town cathedral’s doors from your usual place across the square…whereupon the gasthaus threw open its doors for business. A number of stalls and tables were quickly erected by teams of young boys in the employ of their merchant masters, a goodly number of them against the side wall of the church, where you can the usual piles of vegetables and sacks. Various less blessed members of the town are picking them over, haggling with the sellers and stuffing their bought wares into sacks to be hauled off to the various common quarters of the town.
The bartender, Helmunt, fills your drinks at no charge. Upon an agreement, the four of you have been given the privilege of drinking free in exchange for your endorsement, your willingness to put an end to any trouble and the simple fact that you represent the higher end of Helmunt’s clients. He has hopes that your presence on his front stoop might expose the quality of his kitchen to a few of the better members of the town.
You’re bored. This has been the routine for nearly two months now. You four, Tiberius, Josef, Delfig and Anshelm, met on a cold morning in mid-spring (for the region), finding yourselves all stranger, fairly compatible with one another and equally of the opinion that many of the vicissitudes of life are unappreciated by most. At the moment, however, you could stand a few more changes than there have been.
But it is a fine day; May Day celebrations were four days ago. The Bishop of Friesing, the nominal lord of the town, along with Dachau’s burghermeister, gave a fine festival--and since, all of you have been fairly restless. The discussions around the table have suggested a number of reasons for this…that you can’t stay in this dull town forever. That it is these ridiculous Catholics with their fascinations with guilt and sin. That a small taste of the outside world has whet your appetites. But what to do now is left to your minds to conceive. So far, there has been little luck there.
It is early afternoon on a Sunday, May 5, 1650. Four of you are resting yourselves on the porch of a town gasthaus, the Pig, at the corner where a narrow lane meets with the town square. You‘re waiting for your friend Kazimir to arrive. Not long ago, you watched the usual scattering of most of the citizenry from the town cathedral’s doors from your usual place across the square…whereupon the gasthaus threw open its doors for business. A number of stalls and tables were quickly erected by teams of young boys in the employ of their merchant masters, a goodly number of them against the side wall of the church, where you can the usual piles of vegetables and sacks. Various less blessed members of the town are picking them over, haggling with the sellers and stuffing their bought wares into sacks to be hauled off to the various common quarters of the town.
The bartender, Helmunt, fills your drinks at no charge. Upon an agreement, the four of you have been given the privilege of drinking free in exchange for your endorsement, your willingness to put an end to any trouble and the simple fact that you represent the higher end of Helmunt’s clients. He has hopes that your presence on his front stoop might expose the quality of his kitchen to a few of the better members of the town.
You’re bored. This has been the routine for nearly two months now. You four, Tiberius, Josef, Delfig and Anshelm, met on a cold morning in mid-spring (for the region), finding yourselves all stranger, fairly compatible with one another and equally of the opinion that many of the vicissitudes of life are unappreciated by most. At the moment, however, you could stand a few more changes than there have been.
But it is a fine day; May Day celebrations were four days ago. The Bishop of Friesing, the nominal lord of the town, along with Dachau’s burghermeister, gave a fine festival--and since, all of you have been fairly restless. The discussions around the table have suggested a number of reasons for this…that you can’t stay in this dull town forever. That it is these ridiculous Catholics with their fascinations with guilt and sin. That a small taste of the outside world has whet your appetites. But what to do now is left to your minds to conceive. So far, there has been little luck there.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Campaign: Last Pause
I've seen four of your characters set up; it's great that I can have a look at them. Kazimir has been held up on being able to set up his character, so we'll give him tonight to get a start on it. Not his fault, of course.
Tomorrow sometime I'll begin posting the actual campaign. It's not going to start off hardcore, in the middle of a combat, so Kazimir should have time to catch up any last details by tomorrow or by the end of Wednesday.
Until then.
Tomorrow sometime I'll begin posting the actual campaign. It's not going to start off hardcore, in the middle of a combat, so Kazimir should have time to catch up any last details by tomorrow or by the end of Wednesday.
Until then.
Kazimir Kropt
Str: 15
Int: 12
Wis: 10
Con: 16
Dex: 13
Chr: 8
HP: 9
Kazimir was born, on February 5, 1609, on the Cumana Steppes, near the town of Sumi. Like many cross-bred half-orcs, his ancestry reaches back to the time of the Mongols, four centuries ago; not he, nor his family, has any specific recollection of a pure-bred orc as an ancestor. Kazimir comes from a large family: last he knew, both his parents were yet alive, and his paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother. He is the youngest of six children; he has three older sisters and two older brothers.
And yet Kazimir has not seen his family for seven years. He would not follow his father into the family’s occupation (his father was a rat catcher), and he would not place himself as a soldier nor let himself be apprenticed to any of his uncles. He has, through most of his life, found nothing to interest him. When his family grew sick of his laziness, they cast him out. For many years he lived on the streets of the city of Sumi, then later in Mutrakan, capital of Cumana, where he learned the stealth needed to stay alive.
But even as he turned thirty, he continued to drift, directionless. For a time he worked as a laborer, sometimes as a collector for usurers, more often as a ruffian in the employ of some thieves’ guild.
Although he’s lived many long years in the worst places, he has always suffered less than others; he has a profound tolerance for the effects of hunger and dehydration, being able to live for weeks at a time on half the provisions of an ordinary man. This was nearly his downfall...for he developed a taste for hard liquor, which after became an obsession. One night in Odessa, again out of work, with no one to turn to, he began drinking heavily.
Five years later he found himself in a tavern in Innsbruck. He has almost no recollection of what passed in those years. Asking the innkeeper for a drink, a stranger offered him as many bottles as Kazimir wanted if he would only be willing to help them—Kazimir agreed. The plan was to murder a butcher who had refused to pay money to the assassin’s guild. Kazimir was supposed to enter his shop and distract him—but the assassin failed and the butcher caught him a lucky blow with a meat cleaver. Kazimir, to his own surprise, seized the butcher and smashed his head on the butcher’s block.
Kazimir liked it.
The assassin’s guild took him in, taught him a thing or two in gratitude and released him. Kazimir cleaned himself up and, for a time at least, hasn’t had a drink. Upon an agreement with the guild in Innsbruck, he has made his way north into Bavaria, and wonders how he shall set himself up as a professional killer.
A serious obstacle is his inability to make a leap of more than four feet, due to a strange quirk in his balance and a feeling of vertigo he has when is feet leave the ground—which has kept him off roofs for the time being. His father and grandfather’s experience with rats has given Kazimir a +1 save against poison, which has proven a boon.
Kazimir is 41 years old. He stands six-foot-two, which is tall for a half-orc, and is 183 lbs. He has deep crimson-brown eyes which have always been compelling, despite his less than attractive appearance. Thankfully he does not have the skin disease so common among his people. Kazimir has learned that a trapped and helpless victim, looking into Kazimir’s eyes, will pause—giving the half-second necessary for the death strike.
He has 20 g.p. in his pocket.
Int: 12
Wis: 10
Con: 16
Dex: 13
Chr: 8
HP: 9
Kazimir was born, on February 5, 1609, on the Cumana Steppes, near the town of Sumi. Like many cross-bred half-orcs, his ancestry reaches back to the time of the Mongols, four centuries ago; not he, nor his family, has any specific recollection of a pure-bred orc as an ancestor. Kazimir comes from a large family: last he knew, both his parents were yet alive, and his paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother. He is the youngest of six children; he has three older sisters and two older brothers.
And yet Kazimir has not seen his family for seven years. He would not follow his father into the family’s occupation (his father was a rat catcher), and he would not place himself as a soldier nor let himself be apprenticed to any of his uncles. He has, through most of his life, found nothing to interest him. When his family grew sick of his laziness, they cast him out. For many years he lived on the streets of the city of Sumi, then later in Mutrakan, capital of Cumana, where he learned the stealth needed to stay alive.
But even as he turned thirty, he continued to drift, directionless. For a time he worked as a laborer, sometimes as a collector for usurers, more often as a ruffian in the employ of some thieves’ guild.
Although he’s lived many long years in the worst places, he has always suffered less than others; he has a profound tolerance for the effects of hunger and dehydration, being able to live for weeks at a time on half the provisions of an ordinary man. This was nearly his downfall...for he developed a taste for hard liquor, which after became an obsession. One night in Odessa, again out of work, with no one to turn to, he began drinking heavily.
Five years later he found himself in a tavern in Innsbruck. He has almost no recollection of what passed in those years. Asking the innkeeper for a drink, a stranger offered him as many bottles as Kazimir wanted if he would only be willing to help them—Kazimir agreed. The plan was to murder a butcher who had refused to pay money to the assassin’s guild. Kazimir was supposed to enter his shop and distract him—but the assassin failed and the butcher caught him a lucky blow with a meat cleaver. Kazimir, to his own surprise, seized the butcher and smashed his head on the butcher’s block.
Kazimir liked it.
The assassin’s guild took him in, taught him a thing or two in gratitude and released him. Kazimir cleaned himself up and, for a time at least, hasn’t had a drink. Upon an agreement with the guild in Innsbruck, he has made his way north into Bavaria, and wonders how he shall set himself up as a professional killer.
A serious obstacle is his inability to make a leap of more than four feet, due to a strange quirk in his balance and a feeling of vertigo he has when is feet leave the ground—which has kept him off roofs for the time being. His father and grandfather’s experience with rats has given Kazimir a +1 save against poison, which has proven a boon.
Kazimir is 41 years old. He stands six-foot-two, which is tall for a half-orc, and is 183 lbs. He has deep crimson-brown eyes which have always been compelling, despite his less than attractive appearance. Thankfully he does not have the skin disease so common among his people. Kazimir has learned that a trapped and helpless victim, looking into Kazimir’s eyes, will pause—giving the half-second necessary for the death strike.
He has 20 g.p. in his pocket.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Small Successes
Well, despite the in-fighting that marred the after division of treasure, that went on for two and a half hours and left most of those who played in a fitful state of repressed discontent, at least one thing went right last night.
I threw an 8 HD, 210 hp polar worm (built according to my system) at the party and it survived for 14 rounds before going down.
Except for the fact that I was phenomenally unlucky (twice, on 6d6, I rolled damage that included 4 "1"s), and that I did not get to roll a 20 and permanently kill a member of the party, the fear level was everything I could hope for and the usual "swarming" the giant monster was held at a minimum. Twas fun.
I threw an 8 HD, 210 hp polar worm (built according to my system) at the party and it survived for 14 rounds before going down.
Except for the fact that I was phenomenally unlucky (twice, on 6d6, I rolled damage that included 4 "1"s), and that I did not get to roll a 20 and permanently kill a member of the party, the fear level was everything I could hope for and the usual "swarming" the giant monster was held at a minimum. Twas fun.
Campaign: a Breather
Hey Fellows,
Last night's offline running was gruesome, with a lot of player in-fighting. Some nights are like that. I'm a bit worn down, and I'm going to take a day. This will happen. I'll still have to put together Ryan's character, which I'll do today or tomorrow, and once I get a confirmation from everyone that they're ready to go, I'll start posting the first session.
Have faith in me. I'm not ditching this concept.
Last night's offline running was gruesome, with a lot of player in-fighting. Some nights are like that. I'm a bit worn down, and I'm going to take a day. This will happen. I'll still have to put together Ryan's character, which I'll do today or tomorrow, and once I get a confirmation from everyone that they're ready to go, I'll start posting the first session.
Have faith in me. I'm not ditching this concept.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Cleaning Up Details
Well, that’s four characters. I’ve got just a few general notes.
Delfig, you’ve got the Bard character posted. For both Delfig and Anshelm, the thief is pretty much the way it is in the Player’s Handbook. Work out your thieving abilities if you will.
Josef, I think I might have forgotten to mention that you have three first level spells to start, on account of your wisdom adding two to the one you always get.
As regards proficiencies: Delfig has 2, Anshelm 2, Josef 2, and Tiberius 4.
Delfig’s Bard/Thief can take a club, dagger, dart, sling, sword, crossbow, javelin, sling, scimitar, spear, staff or sword.
Anshelm is limited to club, dagger, dart, sling, sword or crossbow.
Josef is limited to the usual non-stabbing or cutting weapons.
Tiberius can take any weapon.
Tiberius and Josef are allowed a shield if they wish, and any kind of armor or helmet. The thieves are both restricted to leather armor at best.
The benefit of a helmet is as follows. On a natural 20, damage is doubled. If on the second dice, a 19 or 20 is rolled, the damage is triple. After, every 19 or 20 increases the damage to quadruple, quintuple and so on. A worn helmet means the damage is trebled or more only on a roll of 20.
Weapons are dropped on a 1. A roll is made to see if they break. An ordinary weapon will break 1 in 6. A hard forged weapon (triple the price of an ordinary weapon) will break on a 1 in 8. A welded weapon (9 times the price) will break on a 1 in 10. A blessed weapon (27 times the price) will break on a 1 in 12. And a master crafted weapon (432 times the price) will break on a 1 in 20.
This is a big equipment list, and isn’t arranged alphabetically. A town wouldn’t be. So you’re going to have fun trying to find what you want. The prices are set for Dachau, so if things seem very expensive, it is because they are made a long way away, and not in Bavaria and sometimes not even in Europe.
Take your time buying. Keep in mind that a belt will hold 15 lbs., and that you are limited to 3 belts. You’re limited to two 50+ lb. weapons per belt. A back pack will carry 40 lbs. Coins must be in some kind of container. Equipment stuffed into a backpack can take up to five combat rounds to five. A pound is 16 ounces for calculation.
Anshelm is limited to 170 lbs., Delfig to 150, Tiberius and Josef to 185.
That should be the complete list.
Delfig, you’ve got the Bard character posted. For both Delfig and Anshelm, the thief is pretty much the way it is in the Player’s Handbook. Work out your thieving abilities if you will.
Josef, I think I might have forgotten to mention that you have three first level spells to start, on account of your wisdom adding two to the one you always get.
As regards proficiencies: Delfig has 2, Anshelm 2, Josef 2, and Tiberius 4.
Delfig’s Bard/Thief can take a club, dagger, dart, sling, sword, crossbow, javelin, sling, scimitar, spear, staff or sword.
Anshelm is limited to club, dagger, dart, sling, sword or crossbow.
Josef is limited to the usual non-stabbing or cutting weapons.
Tiberius can take any weapon.
Tiberius and Josef are allowed a shield if they wish, and any kind of armor or helmet. The thieves are both restricted to leather armor at best.
The benefit of a helmet is as follows. On a natural 20, damage is doubled. If on the second dice, a 19 or 20 is rolled, the damage is triple. After, every 19 or 20 increases the damage to quadruple, quintuple and so on. A worn helmet means the damage is trebled or more only on a roll of 20.
Weapons are dropped on a 1. A roll is made to see if they break. An ordinary weapon will break 1 in 6. A hard forged weapon (triple the price of an ordinary weapon) will break on a 1 in 8. A welded weapon (9 times the price) will break on a 1 in 10. A blessed weapon (27 times the price) will break on a 1 in 12. And a master crafted weapon (432 times the price) will break on a 1 in 20.
This is a big equipment list, and isn’t arranged alphabetically. A town wouldn’t be. So you’re going to have fun trying to find what you want. The prices are set for Dachau, so if things seem very expensive, it is because they are made a long way away, and not in Bavaria and sometimes not even in Europe.
Take your time buying. Keep in mind that a belt will hold 15 lbs., and that you are limited to 3 belts. You’re limited to two 50+ lb. weapons per belt. A back pack will carry 40 lbs. Coins must be in some kind of container. Equipment stuffed into a backpack can take up to five combat rounds to five. A pound is 16 ounces for calculation.
Anshelm is limited to 170 lbs., Delfig to 150, Tiberius and Josef to 185.
That should be the complete list.
Anshelm Helbelinc
STR: 14
INT: 14
WIS: 4
CON: 8
DEX:17
CHR: 10
HP: 12
Anshelm was born on November 7, 1628, to a fairly wealthy Catholic family of landowners who controlled extensive tobacco properties north of Krems in Lower Austria. His father had at one time been a monk in a Cistercian monastery in Vienna, who married Anshelm’s mother and came into her money.
The family home was a rambling villa where Anshelm’s four grandparents, his parents, his several aunts and uncles and siblings all live. Anshelm is one of five children, the middle child, with three brothers (all of whom work diligently as landlords in their father’s stead). Anshelm, on the other hand, was a very sickly child and never heeded the words of his elders. Much of his childhood he spent bed-ridden, as his poor constitution has resulted in several maladies: a ravaging skin disease which has made him never very attractive; a constant, painful inflammation of his joints and a weak stomach that has trouble digesting anything beyond bland vegetables and fruits, and heavily overcooked meat. He’s not made sick by the sight of blood, unless he’s meant to eat it. His father, incidentally, loves his meat bleeding rare.
His failed son is much of the reason why Anshelm’s father and most of his family have always treated him with complete apathy and a lack of any expectation. As a thief, Anshelm is largely self-taught; he set out the fix the inequalities of his nature by spoiling himself. His success was greatly improved by the early discovery that he was ambidextrous, and able to use both hands with equal proficiency and no combat penalties.
Still suffering from his earlier maladies, and a general hatred for others which has turned him into a spitting, nose-picking, cursing malcontent, Anshelm has nevertheless gotten stronger as he’s gotten older. At present, he swears that his quarter-pound a day addition to tobacco is the cause of this; an addiction he has been loathe to break. Without it, he feels much weaker and less able.
Now, at 22 years of age, Anshelm has left home, and found his way up the Danube valley into Bavaria. He is fairly noticeable wherever he goes, being a remarkable seven-foot-six in height and only 206 lbs. He has always been able to make this “obviousness” work for him, as being obvious he’s also often ignored by the very people he steals from. Having suffered so much in his youth, Anshelm actually has a 1 better armor class than the average—with his +3 dexterity bonus, he has a natural armor class of 6.
He has 200 g.p. in his pocket.
INT: 14
WIS: 4
CON: 8
DEX:17
CHR: 10
HP: 12
Anshelm was born on November 7, 1628, to a fairly wealthy Catholic family of landowners who controlled extensive tobacco properties north of Krems in Lower Austria. His father had at one time been a monk in a Cistercian monastery in Vienna, who married Anshelm’s mother and came into her money.
The family home was a rambling villa where Anshelm’s four grandparents, his parents, his several aunts and uncles and siblings all live. Anshelm is one of five children, the middle child, with three brothers (all of whom work diligently as landlords in their father’s stead). Anshelm, on the other hand, was a very sickly child and never heeded the words of his elders. Much of his childhood he spent bed-ridden, as his poor constitution has resulted in several maladies: a ravaging skin disease which has made him never very attractive; a constant, painful inflammation of his joints and a weak stomach that has trouble digesting anything beyond bland vegetables and fruits, and heavily overcooked meat. He’s not made sick by the sight of blood, unless he’s meant to eat it. His father, incidentally, loves his meat bleeding rare.
His failed son is much of the reason why Anshelm’s father and most of his family have always treated him with complete apathy and a lack of any expectation. As a thief, Anshelm is largely self-taught; he set out the fix the inequalities of his nature by spoiling himself. His success was greatly improved by the early discovery that he was ambidextrous, and able to use both hands with equal proficiency and no combat penalties.
Still suffering from his earlier maladies, and a general hatred for others which has turned him into a spitting, nose-picking, cursing malcontent, Anshelm has nevertheless gotten stronger as he’s gotten older. At present, he swears that his quarter-pound a day addition to tobacco is the cause of this; an addiction he has been loathe to break. Without it, he feels much weaker and less able.
Now, at 22 years of age, Anshelm has left home, and found his way up the Danube valley into Bavaria. He is fairly noticeable wherever he goes, being a remarkable seven-foot-six in height and only 206 lbs. He has always been able to make this “obviousness” work for him, as being obvious he’s also often ignored by the very people he steals from. Having suffered so much in his youth, Anshelm actually has a 1 better armor class than the average—with his +3 dexterity bonus, he has a natural armor class of 6.
He has 200 g.p. in his pocket.
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