Crossed Paths - Part I





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    Crossed Paths - Part I

    Crossed Paths is a DnD campaign set in my homebrew world similar in culture & geography to Europe circa 20 BC.

    Notes to the party
    1. First a big thank you to every player for submitting such well thought out characters. I think this is going to be a great game. Please continue to be a consciencious player by posting regularly, every day or as often as is appropriate for the game. Everyone will enjoy this more if we keep it moving. Please let us know if you will have to miss some time.
    2. This will be the first 3E DnD game Ive Dmed. Some, maybe even all, of you may know the rules better than I do. Feedback and CONSTRUCTIVE critisism is welcome, preferably by email.
    3. As I stated in the intro, a certain amount of inter-character conflict is likely. Please do not feel obliged to create such conflict. Act as you characters alignment, personality, and history dictate. But do not actively avoid conflict. If your PC choses to leave the party, is killed or otherwise, I will get you back into the game as your second PC (or other PC) as soon as possible. If you leave in a manner appropriate to your PCs disposition, I will probably give you an experience point bonus for good roleplaying, and will assign that bonus to your new PC.
    4. Try to act in character. If you are a rogue and plan to take your next level as a fighter, please ask the other warriors to give you pointers as part of the game. If you plan to take Improved Disarm as your next feat, have your character practice that in the evenings. It is possible I will disallow a feat or multi-class decision if I feel it has not been supported by role-play. I will try to be generous, of course.
    5. If you need to talk to another PC one-on-one, use email. If others would know about it, note it in the thread. Kindly cc. Me on any inter-PC email.
    6. Have fun & good luck!
    Last edited by Manzanita; Wednesday, 3rd December, 2003 at 10:26 PM.

 

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    September 21, 1011. 3 pm. Sulina

    You travel as fast as possible & arrive at your destination on the equinox. This falls on September 21 in the year 1011. It is a chilly day, overcast with gray clouds. You pull up your cloak as you feel a few heavy drops of cold rain. Sulina seems to be a prosperous harbor town. The streets are muddy, but still busy with people. Warm bright shops offer goods from across the Empire. You quickly find the Green Griffin Inn. Weary after long travel, and happy to warm yourself with good food and a seat near the fire, you go in & sit down. The local language is Slavic, but Latin is widely spoken, as is Germanic. You are near the frontiers of the Roman Empire. About 50 miles north, across the Danube, is the land of the Huns.

    The large common room in the Inn of the Green Griffin is bright & cheerful. Patrons sat around many rough-hewn tables. The ceiling is supported by natural tree-trunk pillars, all dark with smoke & age. Most of the customers appear to be locals, farmers, artisans & merchants. But several are armed & appear to be travelers or soldiers. Several barmaids circulated the room, cheerily bringing food & drinks. Conversation drifts towards you in a number of languages, Latin, Germanic & Serbian.

    At table 1 sits a young man standing at five foot five and weighing roughly one hundred and fifty pounds. His skin is a dark bronze. He is clad in a long skirt made of crocodile skin. He has sandals on his feet and a circlet of peacock feathers around his shaved head. A medallion emblazoned with a horned crocodile hangs from around his neck. In his right hand he holds a reed spear topped with a giant sharply pointed tooth. In his left hand he holds a large heavy metal ankh.

    Near the doorway(table 2) sit six large, tattooed, fierce-looking men. They wear leather armor studded with metal and large swords and axes lay at their feet. They have long fair, unruly hair and blue eyes. They are drinking & talking loudly in Germanic.
    These appear to be Germanic tribesmen. Normally one wouldnt see armed groups of these men in Roman territory, but youve heard that recently a large number of Visigoths had settled in this area. They had fled from their lands North of the Danube under pressure from orcs and the Huns. The Romans allowed them to settle there, as a buffer against the ferocious Huns.

    At table 3 sits 3 merchants. They are well dressed in the local style, and speak softly. They have scrolls & an abacus on the table, as well as a picher of wine.

    At table 4 sits a lone man, eyes darting around the room. His hair is bowl cut in Roman fashion. He has dark hair & eyes & is dressed in styled leather armor. At his side rests a long sword.

    At table 5 sit four tradesmen. One seems to be a blacksmith, & all are somewhat dirty & seem weary. They sit at the table, their heads in their hands, large mugs of ale before them.

    Four farmers sit at Table 6, eating hearty meals & talked animatedly.

    At table 7 sits a young man, tall, lean and athletic with harsh, hawkish but attractive features. He wears his long black hair loose and sports a short goatee beard. He typically dresses all in black riding leathers with a chain shirt under his overcoat and always wears a long red scarf around his neck.

    At table 8 sit three roman soldiers. They seem dusty & tired. They wear chainmail, with longswords at their sides & red cloaks on their backs.

    At table 9 sits a lone male elf. He is slight and bookish. His awkward angular features add a mysterious look to him but his could not be called attractive. He is dressed in a robe and is meticulously clean and well tended. He carries a dagger.

    At table 10, sits a young man wearing well-made monastic garb over studded leather. His keeps his deep brown hair long and
    untrimmed, tied back away from his face, and sports a scraggly and incomplete beard that wires its way out from his chin. He wears a long sword.

    At table 11, sits a man, about 6 foot 2 inches tall. He has short, spiky, dark brown hair with long, thin sideburns, dark brown eyes, and somewhat thick eyebrows. He has a fairly narrow face, but is very attractive. His skin is a dark olive color, and he is well muscled, but lithe, and heavily tattooed. He carries a saber at his belt.

    At table * sits a young man of medium height. He has long black hair tied in three plats, and light brown eyes. His skin is tanned and he looks fit & healthy. He's dressed in simple, hard wearing clothes of greens, browns and reds. A scimitar rests at his side

    At table &, sits a slavic man in steel mail. His long composite bow lays on the table in front of him, next to his mug.

    At table % sits a tall Norseman, nearly 6'5". His beard
    is flecked with gray and full, but he keeps it carefully trimmed. His hair is shoulder length and curly, with a light brown hue. His eyes are the gray of a winter storm.

    In a rear corner (table 12)sits a man draped in a weather stained cloak, his hood pulled up over his face. He is smoking a long-stemmed pipe. Reddish hair covers his wrists & creeps up the back of his hands.
    Last edited by Manzanita; Monday, 28th April, 2003 at 09:22 PM.

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    OOC: Hopefully you all can recognize your PC.

    As you sit, pondering your next action, a commotion occurs. Laughter rises louder from the table of the barbarians. The barmaid is there placing another round from a tray onto the table. She is young, tall & pretty. She has thick wavy dark hair that falls past her shoulders. Her smile attracts the eyes of many men. As you watch, you see her gasp & stiffen. You notice one of the men has thrust his hand up her skirt. The tray crashes down on the table, spilling ale in the lap of a large Visigoth. "Ach" he shouts as he jumps up. "Clumsy Bitch" he shouts in Germanic as he sends a powerful backhand across her face. She falls to the ground heavily, her face hidden by her hair.

    The other barbarians laugh. "Another round on the house for that one you spilled!" shouts one in Latin.
    Last edited by Manzanita; Monday, 28th April, 2003 at 09:33 PM.

  • #4
    The man wearing the crocodile skin shendyt looks across the table; his eyes coming to rest on the tribesmen. He finishes his wine with one last gulp and places his cup on the table. Stand up, and get the drinks woman; just let it go, he thinks to himself. He glances around the room looking for a bouncer that he might have missed seeing earlier, or for a patron about to make a poor choice and try to be a hero. If one of the tribesmen gets upset and cleaves some stupid peasant in two Ill miss him for sure in the chaos that would follow. He lets out a long quiet sigh his charcoal eyes again resting on the volitile tribesmen and the fallen wench.
    Last edited by Khenemetsobek; Monday, 28th April, 2003 at 11:41 PM.

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    The elf jumps to his feet, staring in shock at the incident occuring before him and then sits back down just as quickly, averting his eyes from the scene. He then peers about furtively looking to see the reactions of the humans in the room. His emotions are plainly written on his face and flit from shock to fear to disgust. He slides his chair back slightly, spreads his feet and sits tensely in his chair watching the table of barbarians with nervous glances.

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    The young man with the saber grimaces at the uncouth barbarian's poor technique. He mutters in Greek, "Barbarians.. barbar barbar.. can't understand a word they say."
    He notices the elf''s reaction, and ponders further why an elf would be among these barbarians. Maybe that's something that needs looking into, but after dinner.
    He considers what he wants for his meal, and watchs the Centurians at the table next to him, wondering if they'll act. If they do, he might just play the role of the savior and see if he can get into that barmaids... good graces...
    I will build a throne with the skulls of my foemen.

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    The man with platted hair sharply looks up from his drink at the sound of the falling mugs. His surprise is mirrored by the large, wild looking dog lying under his table, which gets to it's feet, hackles up.

    The bastard! Brioc's hand starts to head for his scimitar, before he thinks better of it. Balling his hand into a fist, he turns away from the Visigoths. I can't stop the six of them. Better not to start anything, less I get myself or someone else killed. He pats the dog under the table, trying to calm it. Oh hells, I can't just let that go by...

    Brioc stands from his table and move across to the German's table. He helps the barmaid back to her feet, and pushes her towards the kitchen. "I'd stay back there for the next few minutes." He says quietly to her, before turning back to the barbarians.

    "Hardly the acts of warrior, my friend." He frowns at the man who hit the barmaid, speaking in Germanic. "And no way to garner favour with the gods. I hope you show more valour in battle, else you may have a grim time in the afterlife." He moves back over towards his own table, gesturing to the wolf to come to heel, hoping that the Visigoths take heed of his words.

  • #8
    The tall Norseman looks up from his steaming plate in disgust.

    ~Odin's Spear. If one of these fools starts a fight over a woman, my contact might be killed or scared off. Hopefully they will take it outside.~

    ~On the other hand, I haven't killed anyone in over a fortnight.~

    Ecghtow loosens his sword and a hand axe just in case.

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    The inn has become silent. Many wary and angry looks are turned to the Visigoths, though no one appears to willing to face them. The soldiers whisper among themselves, then one rises & starts to walk casually towards the door, spurs jingling.

    The Innkeeper, a stocky, older man, helps the crying barmaid behind the bar, & motions for the other maid to bring the Visigoths more ale. She hesitates.

    Two of the barbarians notice the Britain's comment. "He called Olaf a coward!" one states thoughtfully, his words somewhat slurred. They gaze hesitantly at the dog, then rise, one unsheathing his sword, the other picking up a great axe.

    They follow the Britain back to this table. 'It is not wise to question the valor of a Visigoth," he says ominously. The other hefts his axe & frowns at the dog.

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    The young man in monastic garb sits over a small book, scrawling about something unimaginable, in between making glances up at the back of the elf's head, apparently sketching as well.

    He seems only half-interested in the confrontation across the room. It seems clear, though, that he records the knowledge: "It is not wise to question the valor of a Visigoth."

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