I am involved as a player in a new PBeM game. After talking with the GM about this, I have started this thread to allow the game players (as well as others) to read the adventure in total.
Choose to roll 4 six sided dice, dropping the lowest number rolled. In the drop-down for number of times to repeat this, choose 7 (this should be the default on the web page).
For Subject of the mail note, enter something along the lines of "Set one for Character. Place YOUR email address in the required email field and MY email address in the optional field. Click the "Roll them bones" button. Repeat TWO MORE TIMES. You will be sending me three sets of 7 rolls. Through some hidden and arcane process, I'll take those results and start building your character. If you want a copy of the finished character sheet, let me know. (If you have a good template for this, also let me know. Otherwise I'll use the one I've always used.)
Once you've sent me the rolls, then send me a mail telling me your top three choices for character class and race. General classes that I allow:
* Fighter
* Paladin
* Ranger
* Barbarian (based on an issue of Dragon Magazine)
* Mage
* Illusionist
* Specialist (more later)
* Thief
* Acrobat
* Assassin ('d prefer not to have them, though)
* Cleric
* Druid
* Bard (again, from an issue of Dragon)
(If you have questions on character classes, just ask.
General races I allow:
* Human
* Elf
o High (gray) Elf
o Wood Elf
* Dwarf
* Gnome
* Hobbit
* Half-elf
Come up with a GOOD rational for a different race and we'll talk.
As always, the only stupid question is the one that doesn't get asked - or the one asked by my 7 year old grandson. :-) The magic system works on a basic spell-point. Your average 1st level spell costs one spell point. During character creation, a mage has a percentage chance based upon INT of knowing a specific spell in the 1st level spell book. If they know that spell and have sufficient spell
points, they can cast it. Spell points are determined by a die roll (made each level) plus a modifier based on INT. When a spell increases in power (such as magic missile or fireball) the spell points required to use it at that level of power go up as well. You can always cast such a spell at a lower spell point cost with reduced effectiveness.
A mage can choose to specialize in a school of magic (Divination, Necromancy, Elemental, etc. All spells from that school are cast with increased effectiveness (reduced cost or lower fumble chance, etc.). They have a harder time with other schools. An Elementalist can further specialize in one of the elements. However, a Fire Mage will have greater difficulty with the other elemental spells than anyone else.
That's the nickel tour of my magic system
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
Here’s what everyone has in addition to their starting weapon and armor.
* Basic clothing – nothing too fancy or terribly warm. You’re wearing one set and have one change with you
* Backpack
* Basic cook set (one pot, one plate, one eating knife and fork)
* Water skin
* 2 days emergency (iron) rations
* A serviceable dagger
Unless you tell me you have something else, I’m going to assume you don’t have it. Yes, that is a hint.
No, I’m not going to say more. I have a reputation as an evil DM to keep you know.
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
It was asked: How quickly should players respond to the DM’s request for posts?
Answer: If there’s an urgency, I’ll let you know. In this last case (responding to the caravan master) I’d like to see responses no later than Thursday evening. I have Friday “off” (it’s my 8X90 day off, I’ll still have to work but not as much – I hope) so I’d like to write the first digest post with all your responses and move things along.
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
It's been a long winter. Heavy snows have kept the passes closed - further isolating the small community of Hermsdale. As you make your way into what passes for the town square, you see a burly man dressed in better-than-average merchants garb talking to anyone who passed by who will listen.
"Word has come from Lord Hammerson that the passes are open again and that he is paying top price for a number of items that the heavy winter has kept the merchants from delivering. Dwarven Ale, Khitarian war horses, Dragon-moth silk. Things that I have to sell! Still, I will not brave the passes without a suitable caravan guard. Younglings, this is your chance for adventure, your chance to see the fabled city of Mithraltir, your chance to earn a fat purse of gold. I have need of any and all classes. Come, step forward!"
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
A garishly dressed young half-orc steps from the crowd and eyes the merchant carefully. Though short of stature, only about 5' tall, he is powerfully built. His arms and face are criss-crossed with old scars.
Upon his head is a dirty bright orange silk turban, wrapped haphazardly around his dented helm. He is clad in a leather breastplate with rusted studs, with leather shoulder pads, that covers a faded blue wizards robe adorned with gold stars, moons and suns. Standing arms akimbo, the long flared sleeves of the robe drag along in the churned mud. A plain leather belt encircles his waist and a sword baldric containing a battered long sword hangs on his right side. The robe ends shortly above his knees, cut off roughly and frayed, underneath a studded leather skirt with an old short off-white bartender’s apron on top. His left foot is shod in one new leather shoe and a scuffed riding boot is on the right. Across his back is a short moth-eaten sickly-green cloak of questionable fashion, a serviceable Northman steel shield with a chewed rim, and a rough pack.
The half-orc crosses his arms and squints intently at the merchant.
Digging a copper coin out of his pocket, he flips it and checks the result. Frowning, he does it again. Then again. Having let chance guide his future, he steps forward and waves at the merchant to gain his attention. With nary a word, he gestures his interest in becoming a caravan guard. Silently, he demonstrates his martial prowess, then calmly turns to the merchant for his reaction. Sporting a grin that shows his sizable and malformed Orcish teeth, quietly he awaits his potential employment opportunity.
He does not have to wait long. The caravan master observes his antics with a bemused smile upon his face. Seeing that he knows at least the rudiments of sword-work AND spying the bulging muscles he sports, the master says, “Quiet one, eh? No matter. You’ll find I talk enough for two men anyway. My name is Nagel, though it seems you won’t be using it. My rates are simple as are my rules. I pay 100 gold for the journey along with provisions. If you’re wanting fancy fare, you’ll need to bring or catch your own. If we make it to Mithraltir without losing any cargo, I pay a bonus. I pay a bounty for any creature killed that attacks the caravan or that is tracked back to it’s lair after attacking the caravan. I’ll give you a marker you can take to the outfitters down the street and he’ll supply you with weapons within reason and armor should you lack. Certain other tools he may have as well.”
“Now, if you’ll step into the tent here, we’ll see about getting you sworn.
The pay and benefits apply to all players. He’ll do the same thing with each of you in turn. You’re taken into a decently appointed tent and shown a rock the size of your head which glows slightly.
“Nothing to fear, lad. It’s magical, of course. I got it off a holy man. You lay your hand on it and agree to the oath I say. If you break your oath, you’re cursed. But I swear an oath to you first.”
Matching actions to words, Nagel places his hand on the rock and chants, “I swear to deal fairly with . I will pay him what was promised, feeding him 3 healthy meals per day, binding any wounds he receives and giving him a fair bonus should the caravan make it to Mithraltir without loss. “He tells each of you the oath you are to speak, “I swear to obey caravan Master Nagel in all matters of caravan security and to take no item which does not belong to me from him, the cargo or any other member of the caravan until such time as we reach Mithraltir or Nagel releases me from my oath, whichever comes first.”
With the half-orc, he tells him to nod if he agrees to the oath.
Any who refuse to give the oath or attempt to alter it in any way will be left behind.
An elf steps forward from the crowd, a look of determination on his face. He moves with a quick grace and is garbed in simple studded leather and carries a bow, quiver and backpack. The dirt of the road is thick on his boots.
"Many stories have been told of the great city of Mithraltir. I have often longed to see such wonders for myself. I will join you in your journey. Any danger that the road may hold for you will surely be dispatched quickly by the arrows from my bow. My knowledge of the magical arts will also be of great benefit to your party on this perilous journey."
Nagel asks him his name, Elrohir Elesar, and repeats his offer and takes him into the tent for the swearing of the oath. When he comes out, both he and the half-orc each have a bronze plaque. Nagel tells them to take it to the outfitter’s store. They will be able to buy supplies for their journey there.
Another elf steps forward, he carries a long sword and is garbed in worn studded leather armor. "Have you a need of an acolyte of Heimdal on your journey?"
“Happy I am to have an acolyte of the guardian of the Bifrost bridge along on this journey. Nagel asks his name and is told Padraic. They retire to the tent and emerge some time later as the others did.
Pirrik is ready to dismiss and ignore the human as yet another town crier or - worse - brain-touched preacher, when the words "top price" and "number of items" reach his copious ears.
It is "fat purse of gold" that finally disengages the vestiges of his will from his motor functions, allowing his avarice to steer him over to the speaker, in front of whom he manages to turn a greed-drunken totter into a graceful bow.
"My lord, I am but a humble elf, who has only his rusty blade, his shining wits, and his innate connection with the very pulse and breath of nature itself to offer in return for the aforementioned purse and the honor of serving Your Grace. My name is Pirrik. When do we leave?"
“We leave on the morrow, Pirrik,” Nagel says. I’ll be reserving a space in the common room of the tavern for the lot of you, one last night in a comfy bed before hitting the road. In addition to the promises I’ve already made, I can also offer those who wish, an introduction to the GUILD of their choice.”
And they enter the tent.
Tigerseye sits in an old battered tavern, sifting through the contents of his stew with a spoon, trying in vain to actually identify the grayish meat drifting midst the potatoes and watery broth. He sighs softly, quietly hoping that, whatever it once was, that it had been, at the very least, incapable of carrying on decent conversation. The food in this region seems to be greatly lacking in spices, at least the ones his palette was used to, so everything seems bland. Well, to be fair the tavern food, not much can be expected in a town that has been snowed in for months, especially for a traveler trying to conserve what little coin he has left.
His ears pricked as the loud merchant walks by the tavern. Despite all of the flowery words, the job sounded like little more than work as a caravan guard. Still, not only did it hold the promise of gold, a commodity that he was severely lacking at this time, but it also offered the chance to travel the pass in the company of others. While a caravan was a great lure for bandits and things of a similar ilk, a single traveler was often an easy mark for all of those things as well. His heart leapt when the merchant mentioned Mithraltir. It was decided then, while it did not sound ideal, it was the best opportunity that he had come across for a long time.
Tigerseye wraps his cloak about him to ward off the chill, and rises from his table, leaving the ruminants of his meal behind. Politely waiting for a moment when the merchant is not busy speaking with others interested in this opportunity, he finally approaches. He inclines his head politely at the merchant, and smiles warmly. "Greetings, I hear that you are looking for some guards?"
“You’ve heard right, young sir. How may I call you?” After receiving a response, he says, “Aye, your eyes do have the glint of a tiger in them. Come into my tent then, swear the oath and we’ll be on our way at first light tomorrow.”
Finally, a massively built half-elf named Gord steps forward. “Count me in,” he says. “I have the woodland skills of a ranger and will aid your journey.”
Seeing the muscles and solid form before him, Nagel signs him up on the spot. He is giving his spiel once more when a voice from down around the knees of most of you speaks up.
“Down here, down here. What’s a gnome got to do to get noticed?”
Once room is made for him, you see a nimble gnome, carrying a pack that’s very large for him. His fingers are stained, as if by some chemicals as is his beard. He approaches Nagel and identifies himself as Morlan the enchanter.
Nagel offers him the same deal as the others and then they go into his tent.
At last, you’re all signed up (unless any of you refused the oath). It’s mid-morning. You’ve got the rest of the day to visit the outfitter’s and see how much Nagel’s chit is worth there.
If you have any questions of Nagel, he’ll be with his caravan in the town center along with what qualifies as the town militia You can also meet his cook, Dinko. His assistant and master-at-arms, Ahmed. (Dinko is dwarven and Ahmed is human.) Also traveling with the caravan is Twilana, the horse mistress and her two assistants and several drovers.
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
Now that we’ve had our first major post, I’ve had a few questions I would like to take the time to answer.
1) If you want to interact with another character in the game, you can have me relay the conversation for you. If you prefer to interact directly and BOTH / ALL parties agree, I can give you the email address of the particular character(s).
2) Questions regarding the game, the current post, etc. can be handled via email or IM. If you want to IM me, please check my status. If it shows In a meeting, Busy or Do not disturb, please just send an email.
3) No, nobody has IM’ed me at a bad time and gotten me in trouble. So far, everyone has been really good about that.
4) Odds are VERY slim that I’ll organize an in-person play session.
5) Nobody has done a Detect Magic on Nagel’s “oath-stone” so questions as to its magical nature cannot be answered. On a more general nature, nobody has heard of such an item before, but that doesn’t mean much, you’re all 1st level.
6) You have about 8 hours of daylight left.
7) The journey will take you through about 7 to 8 days of farm-land. Then you’ll be skirting an edge of the Bitter Woods, then up into Axe Cleft pass. You’ll be in the mountains for a week to 10 days, depending on conditions. Then it’s rolling hills followed by plains and then about 2 weeks to the seaport city-state of Mithraltir.
8) Horses will NOT be provided for caravan guards.
9) The Master-at-arms of the caravan will provide training for any fighter-types who level up during the trip.
10) It is expected that you spend much of the time on the road on foot. The caravan won’t be moving fast unless everything goes to hell.
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
The first to make his way to the outfitter's shop is the Half-Orc, who
will be called 'Silent' in these posts for lack of a better name.
As he enters the shop, you can sense the tension in the air - coming
from the shop-keeper. Silent, however, either does not seem to notice or
to care. He carefully examines several longbows before selecting one -
testing the strength of the wood. He ignores comments like, "Break it
and you've bought it, half-breed."
He then selects 2 dozen good arrows, two throwing axes a dagger and a
spear. He bags up a week's worth of iron rations and finds a small, tin
whistle that he attaches to a length of twine and then ties around his
neck. He finishes his shopping with 50 feet of rope and a small pulley
set to be used as block and tackle. All this he takes up to the counter.
"Will that be all?" the shop-keeper asks. "You sure you don't want some
babies for snacks?" The sheer venom in the man's voice sets Silent back
a moment, but he recovers, placing the marker he got from Nagel on the
counter and then starting a pantomime. He appears to be pretending to
play a game on a board, picking up pieces and moving them in set
patters. The shop-keeper gives him an incredulous look and says, "I
don't know why you would think you would want it, but I don't have the
King game in stock here. Best I can do is checkers. Take it and yer
stench and be gone with you both."
Tigereye has watched this with mounting anger. As the shop-keeper is
writing the purchases down in a special ledger, Tigereye strides
forward, his scabbarded sword (quite a strange design, actually. It's
about the right length for a bastard or hand-and-a-half sword, but more
slender. It's possibly oriental in nature) swinging behind him almost
like a cat's tail.
"That was rude and uncalled for," he says. "That man is a companion of
mine and a customer of yours and has given you no cause for offense. We
are here at the behest of caravan master Nagel. I believe you make more
when a caravan supplies itself than you do at any other time of the
year. None of use truly need the items we've come here to purchase.
Apologize to the Silent one at once or we shall withhold our commerce
and inform Nagel of your attitude. And that cudgel you keep under the
counter won't change matters any. Other than making things worse for
you."
You see true fear flash in the shop-keeper's eyes just then. He stammers
out a quick "I crave your pardon" to Silent who simply flashes his
toothy grin in reply. To Tigereye and the rest of you he says, "Orcs
killed my son, left me a cripple fit only to mind this store. That does
things to a man. But I'll hold my tongue and keep my feelings to myself.
I cannot afford to lose Nagel's business."
For a moment, it seemed that Tigereye considered saying more, then
decided to drop the matter, especially seeing how Silent seemed content
to watch the rest of the goings on from the doorway.
Tigereye then browsed the outfitter for several items, selecting the
following: Studded leather armor, a longbow and 2 dozen arrows w/a
quiver, 50 feet of rope, a warm change of clothes(cloak, gloves, boots),
iron rations, an earthenware mug, new backpack, bedroll and blanket, a
lantern and oil as well as a tinderbox with flint and steel
Satisfied with his selections, he makes room for the next customer.
Morlan has been puttering around the shop making occasional comments
about displays being too high for people who aren't infected with
'giantism.' But still managing to come up with a decent list of items:
* flint and steel
* iron pikes
* 50 ft rope
* 8 darts
* A set of leather armor (sized for a child)
* 3 sets of wool mittens (child sized)
* An extra pair of boots
* 2 score of catseye sling bullets
* Flint and steel
* Small mirror
* Lamp oil, Olive oil, rendered animal fat
* Several earthenware jars
* 3 small glass jars
* Belt pouches
* Dried herbs and spices (nothing exotic)
He asks the shopkeeper for glass vials and some more exotic spices, but
is told such items aren't carried here. He takes his purchase and opens
up an amazing backpack. The pack contains many compartments, most of the
padded and sealed separately. From the way Morlan treats the pack, you
would guess this a family heirloom. He asks about getting a pony to
ride, but the shopkeeper tells him that he doesn't not supply those. He
would have to make his own arrangements at the stable. Morlan also asks
about maps of the caravan route. The shopkeeper tells him that Nagel
most likely has those.
Padriac the cleric quietly takes the items he's selected to the counter.
He barters some with the shopkeeper, exchanging his own studded leather
armor for a suit of scale mail that fits fairly well. In addition he
also picks up:
* Shield - Small
* Backpack
* Sacks - 5
* Belt
* Pouch, belt, small
* Skin for water
* Rope
* Tinderbox
* Warm clothes
Upon obtaining his supplies, Padriac retires to the inn.
Gord, the Ranger, picks up a short bow and two dozen arrows. ((OOC: due
to the hard drive crash I don't have anything else from you regarding
his items. Please let me know what else you wanted to pick up and what
you were planning on doing afterwards))
Elrohir Elensar, the elven magic user, picks up some arrows ((OOC: I
also don't have your shopping list))
Pirrik (yet ANOTHER elf) scours the shop for various items. He comes up
with:
* A throwing dagger
* A cutting dagger
* A short bow
* 2 dozen arrows w/quiver
* Warm clothes with gloves, boots, hooded cloak and cap. Fairly
plain looking clothes, really.
* Rope
* New backpack
* Shuttered lantern
* Oil
* Tinderbox
* A set of small tools
He asks about a grappling hook and is told that such items are not
carried in stock, but the blacksmith can make one in a few days time.
After he gets his purchase, he is content to hang around with the rest
of you.
The rest of the day:
Morlan visits with Ahmed back at the caravan, explaining his abilities
and asking how best he can be of use in the defense of the caravan.
Those of you who have hung around listen in on this.
"Master at Arms, Ahmed," Morlan begins. "I am known as Morlan Tsu and I
will be traveling with this fine caravan to the exalted city of
Mithraltir. I am a student of the scientific and mystical arts, though
my abilities are more geared toward the enchantment of items and
ointments than flashy spell-casting. How may I best serve the defense of
the caravan?"
You get the distinct impression that Ahmed is not a native speaker of
your version of common. His reply is slow and deliberate.
"Warn if animals approach. Scare off animals. Fight monsters. Protect
horses. You ride in middle wagon, you feet too short to keep up."
The conversation with Dinko goes a little better. The two compare
recipes for various dishes and Morlan gets authorization to use the
chuck wagon, so long as he doesn't try to cook any food without Dinko's
supervision.
Content with his new possessions, Tigereye begins to make his way over
to where the caravan is situated in the town center to introduce
himself.
Politely greeting Nagel as he wanders though the caravan's camp, he
chats in a friendly fashion with those he sees who are either obviously
affiliated with the caravan or a another new guard like himself.
As he passes where the horses are penned, one of the drovers makes a
mistake in the exercise circle, lunging one of the prize animals too
aggressively, causing it to rear and snort. The drover is thrown to the
ground and would have been trampled if it were not for Twilana. She is
there in a flash and draws the horse's attention away from the helpless
drover. She manages to calm the horse with steady, even talk and lead it
back to the communal pen.
All the while, not the slightest emotion shows on Twilana's face. That
changes when she turns on the drover.
"You have been warned and warned again, Simon," she says angrily.
"Gather your things and meet me at Nagel's tent to draw your final pay.
You have traveled your last mile with us."
Simon storms off and Twilana assigns the remaining drover to look after
the horses. "Now I must see if this benighted land has anyone who knows
one end of a horse from another."
((OOC: If any of you wish, I can roll for a secondary profession. With
the exception of the Gnome it is possible for any of you to have Horse
Handler or a similar profession. Sorry, Morlan, your people just don't
raise horses.))
Silent meets with Nagel and finds where to store the gear he's obtained.
Through pantomime, he asks Nagel for work to do. Patting the massive
warrior on his back, Nagel sets him up with a shift of guard duty. He
tells him to blow that whistle three long blasts if there's danger.
Silent smiles, salutes and begins to walk his "beat." All haphazardness
vanishes from him as he does so. He seems attentive and alert.
Pirrik sends the rest of the afternoon around the caravan as well. He
asks questions of everyone there, new and old (where are you from, what
do you do, etc.) and is a wealth of information as well. It's possible
that some of what he had to say is even true. However, you do doubt that
Mithraltir is a city built in the clouds.
One person who seems fascinated by him though is Ahmed. Perhaps it's
Pirrik's ability to speak so quickly when Ahmed speaks so poorly and
slowly, but the quick footed and quick tongued elf seems to have made a
friend in the large human. Towards the evening, Ahmed is heard to say,
"You drink. Ahmed buy."
If I've left anything out, or not answered any of your questions, please
let me know.
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
If you have questions that need to be answered or actions you would like
your character to take before nightfall, please let me know. I hope to
work up the next posting over the weekend
__________________
The Babbage Cliological Society
Visit Switching to Guns, a free role-playing game 'zine in PDF. Issues #14 & #15 Available Now!
AD&D 1st Ed PBeM Campaign: Heroes of Cumulat
Linear Mode
