DARK•HERITAGE -- 16 installments to date, updated April 20th - Page 5
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  1. #41
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    As Stockdale and JD both mention in their posts, the action definitely starts picking up during and after the last posted session. The Story Hour writing continues to be very good, and the game itself has an amazing array of different paths to pursue. I loved daring Kisaragi's men to keep us from meeting with him, only to find out he was posing as one of the thugs. I enjoy Konrad's remorseless, wild brutality and Tson's mix of guile and naivety. This last combat sequence was also particularly entertaining...getting Rosham to scale walls and lob stew and molotov cocktails on the ruffians below was great fun !!

    Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike. On the player side of the equation, our personalities are such that we each intuitively know when to push/tease the other players and when to let them snag the limelight. On the PC front, the group dynamic is based on grudging mutual respect, fostered from shared experiences in a very brief amount of time. The PC's don't necessarily like one another yet (and maybe they never will), but they work well together and cover for their collectively shortcomings and weaknesses.

  2. #42
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    Hey, QB! As promised, if you want to use it, here's the new D&D mini treant in (hopefully) avatar size.
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  3. #43
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    What odd timing!! I just finished cropping a logo that I've considered using for quite awhile now, and was going to photoshop edit the treant too .

    Anyway, thanks for following through on your promise so rapidly Josh. I imagine our Entish pic will find its way into my profile at some point. In the meantime I will let the bad moon represent me within the confines of EN World for a bit.

  4. #44
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    Quickbeam Wrote:
    Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike.
    Man, this is bringing a tear to my eye. Touching.

    Quickbeam Wrote:
    I enjoy Konrad's remorseless, wild brutality
    What do you mean? Konrad's just filled with remorse.

  5. #45
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    Quote Originally Posted by Stockdale
    Man, this is bringing a tear to my eye. Touching.

    What do you mean? Konrad's just filled with remorse.
    Remark #1: I'm glad that you are making progress in terms of getting in touch with your feelings. Keep it up

    Remark #2: Yeah...he's sorry there aren't more hapless skulls in his path for bashing in !!
    Last edited by Quickbeam; Saturday, 4th September, 2004 at 09:31 PM.

  6. #46
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    Quote Originally Posted by Quickbeam
    Perhaps what I like best about this campaign has been the interaction of our group -- players and characters alike. On the player side of the equation, our personalities are such that we each intuitively know when to push/tease the other players and when to let them snag the limelight.
    That's what makes playing in a group of four DMs so much fun.

  7. #47
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    Quote Originally Posted by Joshua Dyal
    That's what makes playing in a group of four DMs so much fun.
    I agree. Although plenty of good DM's make poor players and vice versa. I just think our group is interested in being absorbed by the gripping tales you're weaving and steady character development.

    ...just waiting for the next update, and hoping it comes this holiday weekend.

  8. #48
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    I really hadn't thought much about the fact that we all GM other games. I think there may be something to that comment. But I also think on the player side, that the ease with which we play together is also derived from other commonalities such as age (we all over 30), family status (we all are married with kids), etc.

  9. #49
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    Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VIII

    They hurried inside, where the unflappable Elroy calmly tended to their wounds with the application of lots of strong drink, herb poultices, fine twine to stitch the worst wounds back together, and several yards of linen bandages. When he was done, Konrad was nodding where he sat with at least three empty bottles of rum in front of him, and the rest were a bit dazed as well. Still, Rosham decided to have a look at the paper that Elroy had. Apparently he had found it stuffed in a dirty pocket of Alexander Nemsky's. Elroy confirmed that the body had been disposed of, but was not specific on where it had gone.

    The paper smelt badly. Two smells were mingled with it; a rich loamy smell, as if it had been buried in the earth for some time and a sweet, nauseating smell that was presumed to be the smell of Nemsky's own decaying body. However, the paper itself was cryptic; it was a diagram of some sort that had small rectangles drawn at regular intervals, and each rectangle had a name written in the center. There were "aisles" between rows of the rectangles. None of the names were familiar to Rosham, or after showing the others, to them either. The paper itself was only a torn corner of some larger piece, and maybe it took the complete sheet to understand what he could see in context. With a final draw on his drink, and a splash of it on his aching cuts, Rosham decided to sleep on it and see if it made any more sense in a few hours.

    They all three awoke to the smell of Elroy preparing breakfast. Although both placid and sardonic with them, Elroy did do a wonderful job of seeing that their needs were met. After changing their bandages, which required a hefty dose of more liquor, and feeding them a hearty meal, they all felt considerably better; enough so to bathe and make an attempt to face the day still. Rosham was the fastest done, and then he ran straight to the small library on the second floor. After about an hour, he called out "Aha!" heartily and came rushing out to find the others, waving a large parchment in one hand.

    "Look!" he cried. "Look what I've found!" Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge them, he thrust the large paper in front of them. It was a map, and it was clearly done in the same format as the scrap of paper they had. They looked at the title of the map -- Razina: Pauper's Cemetary. "I think we've found what Nemsky was carrying around in his pocket."

    "Hey!" cried Tson. "I remember some guy in The Singing Sword blathering on and on about weird things happening at the Pauper's Cemetary. I didn't think anything of it at the time."

    "Well, if that isn't the obvious next step to take staring us right in the face, I don't know what is," Rosham added, a glint in his eye. "Get up, you two! Let's go see what's down there!"

    Konrad groaned and winced as he stood up. "Elroy!" he called. "I want a fitting for some leather armor when I get back! I'm tired of getting this banged up every time we go out."

    Their progress was initially slow, as they minced gingerly down the street, but after working out the initial stiffness, they soon went along reasonably normally. It was between shifts now, so the streets were clearer than they might have been, as most of the inhabitants of this neighborhood worked in the carefully irrigated fields outside of town. Those of Bricktown were more likely to work in the iron or coal mines nearby. They did get some strange looks from those that did pass, which Konrad didn't react to well, returning glares to any who stopped and stared, but Rosham was used to be stared at warily, and Tson was also singularly unique in appearance and didn't think twice about it.

    This time they headed the opposite direction from Bricktown, towards the outskirts of the city rather that deeper into the heart of it. The walk was not long, and they soon found themselves standing next to an abrupt wall that ended the progression of houses and buildings. A large turretted and crenellated gate stood before them as well, but the guard was sleepy at best, and barely gave them a passing glance. The gate was wide open.

    Outside, they were surprised by the humidity and the strange but distant smell of rotting vegetation. According to vague maps and the answers of Elroy, that was the Wellhead Swamp. Long ago, before the founding of Razina as we know it, an ancient well was drilled that went straight into an aquifer, and massive pumps have brought that water out via brass pipes for centuries. And after centuries of condensation and leaking, a massive marsh, miles and miles in circumference, spread in all directions from the wellhead, reaching almost to the city walls of Razina. Mist poured off the swamp, obscuring objects from very far away.

    They could see a station to their right, though, right outside the wall. A number of steam-powered constructs, currently powered down and rusted, stood idly under a corrugated iron awning. A large uruun
    (see attached picture) was chained nearby as well, and several long, heavy covered wagons were under another corrugated iron roof. A few men in rough clothes and gray stubble eyed them as they came out the gate, but made no move to talk to them.

    "Not that way, I think," Konrad said. Instead, he pointed to their left, where the ground was unable to grow any vegetation. "It looks like a number of holes that have been refilled. This is probably the edge of our cemetary right here."

    They were, however, initially frustrated by their inability to mark any landmarks of substance. Few of the graves had any markers of any kind, and most that did were made of wood with rough carvings indicating the deceased's initials. Rosham finally wadded up the scrap of paper from Nemsky's pocket in frustration and shoved it into his own pocket. He started to spit a litany of curses, but Konrad hushed him suddenly.

    "What's that?" he said, then started trotting off further north into the mist. Then they could all hear it; the gritty sound of someone repeatedly putting their shovel into the dirt and mumbling to himself as he did so. They drew their weapons and slowly approached. When they saw who it was, though, they put their weapons away. A very elderly man was cursing and grumbling to himself as he filled in a hole in the ground. There were two other such holes nearby. From his grumbling, it was obvious that he was an official "groundskeeper" or some such position with the cemetary.

    They hailed him, and he seemed a bit jittery, but perfectly willing to talk once they calmed him back down. "Aye, I's been working here since I was a lad, living in th' littl' shed off t' the north, there. Mostly's I jus' dig the graves and report any suspishuss folks a'snoopin' aroun' to the Watch."

    "So, what's this; a rash of deaths?" Tson indicated the several open holes.

    The old man spit and made a sign to ward off the evil eye. "No, thissus somethin' else. Somun's been takin' folks outta their graves, and of course, I gotta fill 'em back in. Had half dozen this week, an' another dozen or so afore that."

    Konrad immediately began searching the ground near the open graves for any clues. Although the old man had trod over much of the ground in his efforts to fill them back in, it was fairly obvious that something large and heavy had made wide footprints in the soft ground, and long narrow furrow seemed to accompany the tracks.

    "What does this mean?" Rosham asked, seeing the signs Konrad knelt to look at, but lacking the ability to decipher them.

    It means that someone brought a steamo into the graveyard, and it looks like the steamo was carrying a wheelbarrow or some such tool with him. And look," he pointed to another small marking on the ground, "the steamo didn't come alone. Here's the operator's prints right next to him; either a woman wearing men's shoes, or a small light man with small feet. I'm betting on that last one, myself. The way the prints come up here; that's more like a man's walk."

    Rosham gave the "Huh!" expression to Tson; he had never guessed so much information could be gleaned from such frugal clues. "So, uh, where do they go, then?"

    Konrad stood and began walking a little bit more. After about ten minutes he came near to the end of the graveyard. Dark tree trunks were starting to peer out from the mist in the distance, and the ground had become fairly squelchy. "Looks like they went back into the swamp. And look; here's where they came out of the swamp too; they went both ways at this point."

    "Look, I dunno who you folks are, an' whatnot, but you're damn fools iffin you go in that swamp," the old gravetender said, who had followed them discreetly for some distance.

    They all turned to him slowly. "Yeah? Why's that?" Konrad asked.

    "Because it's haunted, o' course," the old man said. "I reckon it's safe enough down south wheren that littl' swampie village is, but e'en the swampies don't go out much. And iffin they do, they don't much tend to come back."

    "And this from the guy who lives in a cemetary?" Rosham asked, raising an eyebrow.

    "Bah!" the old man spit again. "Yeah, the graveyard's spooky enough, but it's jus' dead folks layin' inna ground. But there's some real strange noises what comes outta that swamp, especially when it's dark. Hisses, and growls, and roars, and strange scrabblin's and scratchin's at my door in the dark; I lock meself inside when Fallare a'covers up the sun, but it's bad in there in the brightest day. That thar mist never lets up, and you can't see more'n a few yards ahead o' yourself. I been in once or twice a'lookin' for firewood, and I had vines a'start to grab at me liken they wanted to choke the life outta me. I chopped 'em with my hatchet, but I came a'lightin' out o' there as fast as I could, I tell you what."

    The three investigators looked at each other, then smiled and drew their weapons. Rosham saluted the old man with his rapier. "See you later, old-timer!" he called out and they turned and walked into the swamp.
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    Last edited by Joshua Dyal; Friday, 22nd October, 2004 at 07:24 PM.

  10. #50
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    More. More I say!
    Thanks for the update Josh.

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