Chris wrote:Yes please
I'm thinking about only posting a single scene when it introduces kinds of administrative handling of a game that were not yet shown in the campaign. If no new kinds of administrative handling were shown, I may do more compression of scenes and post several scenes together.
I'll add a header to the posts. There are two bags of Cheetos per session. There were about 10 posts for the last session. I'll call each post a part, as per the following example.
Session 2, Bag 1, Part 1
With fresh luck points and 5 hours of rest to restore some of the magic points that Marvin had earlier spent, the game continued in a new session. They hadn't slept for the usual 2 magic points per hour, but rather only rested at the 5-hour feast for 1 magic point per hour. That meant that Marvin was only down 1 magic point from his full 16, but the two bags of Cheetos were somehow completely renewed for the session. Now did anyone expect that?
Everyone hung their cloaks over the trees outside the hall until it was quiet enough inside for a huddle on strategy over the noise of the amphibian love talk. Marvin, Tacitus, and Jake had discussed the situation quite a bit, when finally Saul could take no more, "The head of the snake is surely in the human area. We must cut the head off the snake to kill it. Just let me whack open this door I keep hearing endlessly about and get to it."
"The noise might bring in the demi-humans from the other door. Let me talk the door open," countered Marvin.
"They might have a way of alerting the demi-humans, anyway," complained Saul. "My way is better."
"I'm going to let Marvin try talking the north door open," then Tacitus assigned a few tacit command codes to various troops.
Tacitus joined Granger at the end of the hallway. Jake took the rest of the warband in column to the right side of the hallway 10 feet back from the door, with the troops in probable order of battle. Jake instructed them to move into position along the left side of the hall on tacit command.
Tacitus surveyed the situation at the end of the hallway with his tiny light source. The scenario didn't indicate the kind of doors, so the GM ruled them to be average dungeon doors with 4 armor points, 25 hit points, and no locks or bars. The scenario didn't say in which direction the doors open, so the GM ruled they open away from the hallway.
Tacitus quietly kicked a couple of wedges under the unwanted door, the one to the West. It might seem at first to your average inexperienced duneoneer that wedges should only work on the side to which the door swings, but the Classic Fantasy rule book clears this up for us. It doesn't matter in which direction the door swings for the wedge to work properly. Perhaps the reason is that it's harder to pull a door than to push it, such that the wedge slope being in the wrong direction equals out perfectly with the barbs on these these specially designed wedges.
Knock-knock, knocked Marvin.
"Who's there," called a guard through a door.
"Warrior," said Marvin.
"We're your who?"
"We're your escort to trial for aiding and abetting theft and murder."
"Repent and follow Lolth!"
"A wedge is being slid under the door," warned Granger.
"Do you really hate life so much that you'd rather die than help preserve life?" asked Marvin to the doorman rhetorically.
"My life for Lolth!"
"Doh! Doh! You making Lolth reeeeeeeeeely angry!"
While you're getting your sergeant, could we wait inside, please?"
"You're wasting my time with words."
"Sorry to waste your time, Zeally, but we have to do this, so any non-zealot can see who the good guy is in all this."
A half-minute later, there was a distant mumbling, according to Granger, who was on the floor by the door, furiously sniffing the crack with an oscillating nose, ears all a wriggle, and eyes aflutter. A minute later, "Sounds of approaching foot steps. Shapes of bipedal approach." A different voice called though the door this time. "State your business. Make it quick and accurate. You'll have no second chance to get your story straight."
"We're here to escort you to an official court of trial in the city of Dyvers for theft and murder."
"Repent and follow Lolth!"
Do you really hate life so much that you'd rather die than help preserve life?"
"My life for Lolth!"
"Doh! Doh! You're making Lolth reeeeeeeeely angry!"
"Just making sure. While you're getting your lieutenant, may we wait inside?"
"You waste my time with words."
"Sorry to waste your time, Zealottery, but we have to do this, so any non-zealot can see who the good guy is in all this."
Tacitus said, "These guys might indeed be zealots," and making his passion roll, Tacitus heaved spastically and tears ran down his face. "I was afraid it would be like this. We might not be taking very many prisoners. Don't drink the Kool-Aid down here guys. The Underground sucks the value of life out of things. Still, some of their prisoners may have spent less time down here. Some may even be salvageable to a normal life back on the surface. We'll do what we can, right men?" Tacitus wiped a wet face with a huge John Wayne bandana.
"No, I've heard enough. My axe is almost completely dried out and my fingers miss a certain crunching feeling. I'm getting ahungered for monster gore. I feel quite at home down here, sir," said Saul with a wide grin and Tacitus vomited into his mouth in unnoticed disgust.
"I know what you mean about that crunching feeling," nodded Harold; and, Saul, Harold,and Mike were all nodding in unison like pendulum dolls in the back of a pimped Cadillac, pink tassels all asway. Strangely, their weapons were all pimped with pink tassels. Maybe they were once all white lanyards. Splatter changes many things.
The GM never ran a campaign with a loose crew like this before. "It's hard to get normal PC's these days," lamented he aloud.
Granger reported the sound and sparks of a rush of many hobnail boots crashing on stone and the larger shape of men in close formation had taken position. "I think the heat signature now confirms it's more of a 10-foot hallway than a full-on room." A new voice now worm tongued through the knothole. "This is Lieutenant Topfkopf. How dare you trespass in Fen of Lolth. Why I'll show you what happens to heretical upstarts. Now, I shall open the door to your doom. Nyah-ha-ha-ha!"
"This guy sounds like a pot head," muttered Mike. "Saint Cutbert clerics would never wear pots on our heads," contrasted he passionately.
"Lieutenant Topfkopf. I am Marvin the Magic-mouth, spokesman to Warband Tacitus, detective to the Mercantile Alliance for Free Trade, ambassador to Dyvers in Fen Hommlet, and an official inspector assistant general to the Saint Cutbert Federation of City-States. In these names, I must insist that you accompany Warband Tacitus to Dyvers to stand trial for aiding and abetting the thieves and murderers who are responsible for disappearing whole merchant caravans. Put down your arms, put up your hands, and open the door. Do it now. I warn you: Resisting arrest is futile and is punishable in Dyvers, by itself, apart from the other charges of theft and murder, and allows me to begin to use deadly force and you might get hurt or killed."
"I tried Saint Cutbert, but he talks too much. I like quiet gods. Lolth is easier on the ears. Repent and follow Lolth!"
"This is not a religious war. Worship who you like, but we must get to the bottom of the thefts and the murders. Even Lolth worshipers of few words can get a fair trial, if they have enough words to answer a few basic questions without dripping venom."
"I have no words for Saint Cutbert."
"What did Saint Cutbert ever do to him?" asked Tacitus, shaking his head.
"He's just a traitor to Saint Cutbert. I would never do that." bragged Mike. "That's why he has to die and not me, because I'm not evil and he is nothing like me."
"Well you're not good either," chided Saul. "Look, your mace is pimped with a pink tassel, just like mine."
"That's because your axe is so messy. I'm not a pimp. It was white, because I'm the good guy and you're not!" complained Mike. "It's unfair!" He started to take the pink tassel off of his mace. "Yuk. This knot is glued together with blood." He reached for his knife.
"Maybe he just hates the spoken word," lamented Marvin. "In that case, my magic mouth is useless here. Remember, this is just a lieutenant, so there must be a war captain someplace behind the scenes. I can't be sure what the war captain's view on words is yet. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get him to the door, but at least it sounds like I've managed to talk the door open." Indeed, no doors were harmed in the making of this scene. How many Classic Fantasy campaigns can make such a claim about the scene outside the first side room?
Granger reported that the two wedges were being extracted out from under the north door--the door that would still be trying to dry out the worm tongue venom still glistening in its knothole, if it were a mimic
. What if it were one? That would explain why the lieutenant didn't bother to put a better peep hole in the door, if the door itself were one of his spies--but alas the GM's hands were tied by the scenario and he could do nothing quite so arbitrary or capricious, lamented he.
Who to be or not to be. That is the question. --Jeffspeare