Campaign: the North Gate II

As I understand it, Kazimir and Delfig are approaching the North Gate to converse with the guards there. More about it I don’t know. The weather has been described on the previous post. There has been no rain yet, but it promises to start at any time.

The guards are concerned mostly with the sky. It is the players’ move at this point.

Campaign: Slipping Through Dachau

The guide, Udo, shows the way to the stable. You climb into the loft, and Udo opens the shutters on a side window. It opens with a bang. To remind you, there’s quite a wind blowing; the sky is blue-black with storm clouds, flashing with sheet lightning. The window is about 25’ above the street.

(OCC: a fall would cause 3-18 + (3-18/2) damage)

Udo demonstrates how, by sitting on the window sill with your back towards the street, you can reach up, grab the eave and pull yourself up so your feet are on the sill. Then he scrambles up onto the ceiling and out of sight.

Campaign: Notes, and Moving Along

Okay. I apologize for making a lot of hay about players and methods on Friday. I don't mean to imply that I intend to stop running, or to leave this campaign in the lurch at this time. I said when I started this that I would give it at least three months, and it hasn't been that yet. I feel I have a responsibility to you fellows, and I intend to live up to that responsibility; to help you along, get your characters on track and to make this enjoyable for everyone.

I don't say that people have been playing in a way that has impugned me. I find myself baffled from time to time, and yes, it would be easier if goals were clearer. But I can understand that there is a lot of information, a lot of baffling characterizations and apparent purposelessness in my descriptions and that the methodology of the blog can compromise interaction among the players. You fellows have been tremendously committed in coming here and giving it your best shot and I want you to know that I'm not blind to it. I sincerely appreciate it.

Let me suggest that if things really seem that out of phase with you, that you go ahead and ask me outright what the hell is my motivation. Get out a d20 and tell me that you've made your intelligence check and maybe then I can give you the information that you need. The problem must be communication.

Regarding the campaign, then.

Anshelm and Tiberius will both arrive back at the Pig tavern independently. Matters in the square have reached something of an impasse. The armed guard has begun pushing people (insistently but not threatening) off the streets. Tiberius attempts to have a message sent to the Merchant's Hall and is denied. Further attempts to take action will clearly have to happen surreptitiously, as the guard have become quite wary. The sky is beginning to show signs of a storm coming, and somehow this seems linked into the general mood of the city.

Delfig and Kazimir,

At this point it is well that you're dealing with a Christian cleric, who in the face of your confession forgives you at once. "My son," he will say, "You must make an act of contrition. This gold you received you must pass over to your church father, in recognition that it was a gain from those who would do evil, and not from good work that you might have done.

"As regards this Triskoon. He might very well be the master of this creature here on the table. I spoke that it would have served another--clearly you have discovered one of the doppelgangers that plot to destroy the city. They are evil creatures, who will invent whatever reason they can to destroy man.

"The story given to you was a lie, to trick you into giving your blood willingly. You are right in your guess. The blood is needed to raise Reekhova. It must come from a bard and it cannot be taken by force if the dweomercraft is to be successful. This is an old legend, but perhaps not one that is known outside the circle of some clerics.

"I cannot say now what we must do to make it right. Someone must be told--but it is perhaps too late." The cleric will go to the doorway. "See? A storm rises. It is a sign."

Emmanuel will ask: "Who? Who must be told?"

The cleric thinks. "There is only one who might listen. You must tell the paladin Hornung. But to do so would first require entering the town."

General Comments

I feel as though I've said this before, but I feel now that I have to say it again:

I am not going to suddenly KILL characters who fail to overlook some small detail, or who stumble into someone's presence, or who otherwise do something stupid. I may, with some development, make an attempt on a character's life, because they have failed to overlook something they've done, but in EVERY case this will be done in a manner that allows a reasonable expectation of the character overcoming the situation.

I will set up death dealing traps. These will not occur is apparently benign places, but will ONLY occur in situations where it is reasonable to assume that a death dealing trap would be almost certain to occur. I will not have vastly powerful, high ranking masters of power sitting randomly at the next table, who might take offense with a party member and then kill them mercilessly and without cause. I will not have a mage randomly blast a party member out of boredom (he'd send his minions to do it, and probably very minor minions if the party was low level).

Once again: I have absolutely nothing to gain by killing a party member just for the hell of it.

There is practically ZERO chance in my world that you would walk into a shanty and find inside the Lord of the Barony there. His retinue, entourage, what have you, would be parked all around the shanty, and its likely you wouldn't get within fifty feet of the place. If, by some queer or bizarre reason the Baron would be present because he likes to hide himself among the people, then he's not going to reveal himself without cause, is he?

Please understand, my world is reactive. It is there to present drama, create situations and provide opportunities. It is not a fantasy fun-kill murder death house for my amused and sadistic delights. People will not kill you if you do not give them reason. People will befriend you if you do not act like a constantly distrustful, defensive, timid mouse. I appreciate a reasonable amount of fear; but I am noticing an almost complete resistance to taking any kind of action, and it is beginning to drag the whole process down.

I have described and provided details and made up settings and introduced characters...on and on, in fact, for about a month now, and the party STILL has no plan, will pick no side and displays no willingness to take risk. I just about shouted out at work when Anshelm robbed the mage: "AT LAST!"

I am hesitant to encourage players to take action. Doing so for the sake of doing it would probably be bad, though I can't see how in comparison with the freight train that is coming at the party through the inaction they have embarked upon from the beginning. There is a lot of shit going on that no one has bothered to inquire into, and many, many people who have never been rationally questioned. Tiberius yesterday did not ask one question along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON," while pretty much taking a position of righteous indignation.

Please, please, please, find some kind of action to take. This wandering around and wandering around is driving me mental.

Campaign: A Propituous Discovery

As Anshelm and Tiberius independently make their way back to the Pig tavern, our companions Kazimir and Delfig make their way through the apple orchard, seeking the company of cotters who live just beyond. Almost as they reach the edge of the orchard and come in sight of the shanties, they hear a blood curdling scream--a scream that is distinctly not human.

Pausing or rushing forward, they do not find any evidence for the source of the scream until they move into the clearing surrounding the cotter settlement. It is there that they hear the scream repeated--and are able to locate it as coming from within one of the shanty houses.

Campaign: the North Gate and Apple Orchard

There is not much to say regarding Delfig and Kazimir, who wait outside of town. For all intents and purposes we may assume that it is mid-day, and this post is opened to allow them to message their actions.

Campaign: the Rathaus Marktplatz

Tiberius steps out of the Rathaus, the Town Hall, with several other men who had, like him, tried to get permission to leave town. He finds the square almost empty, except for a few stragglers. Some who had been injured are being loaded onto two carts, but that business is nearly finished and the carts ready to leave the square.

Tiberius finds Karl waiting for him. "My friend," says Karl. "Did you have any luck in escaping the walls of our fair town?"

Campaign: the Rathaus

The Rathaus, or town hall of Dachau, faces a small square called the Marktplatz, opposite the city fortress. The square is but sixty feet on a side, a widening of the principal road, the Mittermayer Strasse, as it passes beside the fortress; the party enters the platz along the Rosster Strasse. Two small lanes, ten feet wide, also lead into the platz: Lane Brucker and Lane Krankenhaus. Two large buildings, besides the Rathaus and the prominent gate of the fortress, appear to be warehouses.

At the present, the platz is full of citizens, at least two hundred, many of them angry. The town guard and members of the private mayoralty guard, plus some sixty glittering plate armored soldiers of the duchy are holding the crowd under control, but the situation is quite intense.

Clearly, much of the crowd is seeking to gain access to the Rathaus—after a few minutes of watching, you can see that the guards are letting a few enter from the crowd. You chance to see a soldier strike insensible, with his mace, a man in dusty travelling clothes, apparently a Pole from his dress, for reasons that are not clear to you.

Campaign: New Doings in Dachau

Wednesday morning, May 7, finds our company in two places. Kazimir has found Delfig, and together they awake in the hay shed, just as the sun breaks the horizon on a bright, promising day. They quickly apply their ablutions and are headed towards the place of proposed meeting within the half hour, feet a bit damp from the dew. All about them farmers and herders are moving out into their fields and pastures, waving kindly to the interlopers as they pass.

Anshelm and Tiberius awake somewhat later, in the common room of the Pig Tavern, finding the space entirely their own. This is nothing unusual for the middle of the week. Helmunt has their breakfast ready, and as each takes their turn in the dung closet at the back of the building, the city has gotten a move on.

Anshelm and Tiberius take their breakfast on the front porch (Helmunt is bleaching the inside floor). A few patrons have settled into a table near our pair, and are filled with gossip. Another horse was killed last night. This one belonging to the stables of Johann Mizer. Something must happen, they say. This is the seventh horse that has been brutally slaughtered.

As if in response, there suddenly comes the clanging of armor. In minutes, some hundred heavy and light infantry fill the square in front of the cathedral. They form ranks, standing at attention, as the Captain of the City Guard, Hans Frinkel, reads a proclamation.

It continues for some time, but the principal words of interest are: “Until the perpetrators of this sinful act are caught and executed for their crimes, the town of Dachau has been placed under marshal law. Citizens and foreigners may continue to be about their business, but to leave or enter the town shall now require the signed seal of the Mayor’s office…”

It is not long before word of this action reaches the ears of the peasants outside of town, and as Delfig and Kazimir hove in sight of the front gates (from the proposed meeting place near the burnt out Inn), they see thirty soldiers posted there.

Type C and Type V

I’ve stumbled onto the descriptions of two books, both of which I believe relate intrinsically to Dungeons and Dragons, particularly to the “story-telling aspects” of the game, as they are so described. Before I get into just how they relate, let’s first describe both books for the benefit of those readers who may not have read either. The first was penned by Miguel Cervantes Saavedra, in the 16th century. The second, by Francois-Marie Arouet, better known as Voltaire.

Cervantes’ work, Don Quixote, describes Hidalgo Alonso Quijana, who, because of his faithful reading of books about chivalry, comes to believe that everything they say is true and decides to become a knight-errant himself. He assumes the name of Don Quixote de la Mancha and, accompanied by a peasant, Sancho Panza, who serves him as a squire, sets forth in search of adventures. Don Quixote interprets all that he encounters in accordance with his readings and thus imagines himself to be living in a world quite different from the one familiar to the ordinary men he meets. Windmills are thus transformed into giants, and this illusion, together with many others, is the basis for the beatings and misadventures suffered by the intrepid hero. After the knight’s second sally in search of adventure, friends and neighbours in his village decide to force him to forget his wild fancy and to reintegrate himself into his former life. The “knight” insists upon following his calling, but at the end of the first part of the book they make him return to his home by means of a sly strategem. In the second part the hidalgo leaves for the third time and alternately gives indication of folly and of wisdom in a dazzling array of artistic inventions by the author. Don Quixote finally recognizes that romances of chivalry are mere lying inventions, but upon recovering the clarity of his mind, he loses his life.

Voltaire’s work, Candide, describes Candide, an unsophisticated youth, as he goes through many adventures. Everywhere he travels he encounters intolerable abuses and the placid attitude of Earth’s people that accept them. Candide loses his home because he loves above his rank, is forced into military service, sees the horrors of war, witnesses material and moral destruction though the Lisbon earthquake, suffers from the Inquisition, flees to South America, visits Jesuit-ruled Paraguay and the wonderland of Eldorado, returns to Europe and finally settles with his companions near Constantinople, to “cultivate his garden,” which is to say to gain his life by the work of his hands, for “work alone makes life bearable, keeps away boredom, vice and need.”

To begin with, I am not--in speaking as a DM--a story-teller. I am a simulationist*. The characters in my campaign, unlike those of Cervantes or Voltaire, are not driven by my thematic needs, but by their own peculiar motivations. I have a problem with the story-telling argument because, outside of D&D, I AM a storyteller and novelist…and I can assure my gentle reader that the method is very different.

But let’s not quibble. I raise the two examples above because I believe they correctly divide the whole D&D community, if there is one. Certainly, one of a sort exists online among bloggers, who condone or eschew each others work, linking here and commenting there, blasting, propagating, propagandizing and quibbling. But I said I would not quibble and I won’t. Here and now I wish only to be a good biologist and stick a few needles in things.

(Second time I’ve used that metaphor on a blog post in the last month. I must like it.)

Without question, Hidalgo and Sancho are the vast proportion of would-be players, and the main thrust towards which the business community is oriented. They believe themselves heroes, they run about following elaborate adventures, they carry huge egos and massive delusional frameworks which require little more than a giant, a princess in distress and a pile of gold to satisfy. The perception is that the world is inherently good, that this good must be protected and by GUM, we’re the characters to do it. And if we fuck up along the way, well that’s no problem, its fun, its good for the humour of it, nothing ultimately matters except the size of our pounding hearts and the strength of our pounding swords. It is a fantasy, after all. It isn’t real. It isn’t meant to be real. For gawd’s sake, I can’t slay a dragon without my wind machine +5 and my cape of excessive charisma +8 firmly clasped at my throat.

And let’s get on board with that for a minute. It is Saturday night. I have had a shitty week, my boss is an asshole who couldn’t even spell D&D and all I want now is to drink a few beers with my buddies, shout royally at a dismembered troll or two and make believe that the magic testicles of ugliness in the jar hanging from my backpack belong to that rat fuck that hangs his workout clothes in the third floor washroom so that the place smells ranker than hell when I have to use it before getting out of my cubicle by five P.M.

Is that so much to ask? And is it so much to ask for another half-decent module so my buddies and I can get started at 6 P.M. on the dot without my having to spend my rare free time all week getting the fucking thing prepared? Could it have maybe a monster or two in it we haven’t killed before, and possibly a problem I need my brain to solve, and maybe one decent bit of fluff that doesn’t sound like its been rehashed forty times by people with nothing to do but sit in the WOTC bathroom because the bastards served crab puffs again at the monthly writer’s meeting? Please. Astound me. Astound my friends. Hank wants to rip his sorcerer’s blade of tiny chewing mouths into the belly of some bizarre subetheral beast while Donny’s bards screams tunes “to plug heart valves” on his master-crafted lyre to the Immortal Hits part Eight (received from the Great Bard Ronco) before the clock strikes ten and Wayne has to catch the last number 84 bus before it leaves.

It is hard to be a hero.

I am on record as saying the players are not; but perhaps that is because I am not a Cervantean. My worlds are not full of kindly persons who take pity on folly-driven knights out for a good time. I’ve written this already; I won’t expand on that subject further, except to say that it relates excellently to Voltaire’s universe.

Voltaire’s characters are not excellent to each other. They are monsters. Not in the sense that they boil out of caverns to serve master wizards half a continent away, but in the daily unpleasantness that we normally experience. The boss. The bastard and his work-out clothes. The number 84 bus.

There are rarer D&D worlds which do not fit well with modules, which are crafted to obey the synthetic twisted imaginations of their manufacturers--worlds in which behind every smile hides a wife-murdering axe swinger, a denizen of the lower depths or a man who has arrived to collect the taxes. Worlds with the methodical discomfort of a H.P. Lovecraft novel. A Voltairian world, if you will.

It is always perceived that such worlds must be humourless. Everything is so serious, every misspoken word becomes a dangerous liability, every opened case becomes the release of a hideous curse ending with a vast city burning in flames. How, in the name of everything unholy, is a world like this ever any fun?

Well, there are two kinds of humour. There is the brutish, slapstick variety, and there is the tension-releasing, often black variety. Snatch is an excellent modern example of the latter. A death-dealing grotesque circus, deliciously satirical and often maddeningly pleasurable--because the moment of tension ending makes laughter easier.

You will never sell products for the Voltairian universe. For DMs who practice the method, it remains a private thing. Outsiders are welcome to play…but suggestions of new monsters or tools or the like have no uses there. The universe is a fait accompli; if it was meant to exist, it will suggest itself to the mind of the maker, in its entirety, without the need of another source.

Which is what makes all us Voltairians such righteous bastards, I suppose.


* I have since discovered that 'simulationist' does not mean what I thought it meant.  Alexis, Feb 14, 2016.

Update

It's been a rough week. I've been recovering from the bronchitis, and my partner as well (she is two days behind me in being sick), and while I'm only just starting to feel like a human being again (not quite) I find the recession has resulted in cutbacks to my freelance writing gigs. I've just lost $900 a month income in, like, three phone conversations.

Fucking yay.

So, the campaign. I know there are cliffhangers, and I'm perfectly aware of and how to deal with them. All I need to know for now, hoping to get started again with the campaign after this weekend, is whether or not Delfig will provide a vial of his blood for Triskoon.

In No Condition

Gentlemen,

Just to let you know. I'm suffering from a bout of bronchitus, and am in no condition to run D&D online or elsewhere at this time. Take care of yourselves.