covaithe
Explorer
INTRODUCTION
Even though we've perhaps not finalized the roster for this adventure, I think it's time to give it it's own thread and stop cluttering up the RDI with sblocks.
This adventure is an adaptation of one that I ran for my tabletop group in late 2007. It's my first time running a PbP game, so you may have to bear with me if things aren't as polished as they could be. Rolls will be by Invisible Castle, please. I'll post my rolls too, when appropriate.
I plan to post at least once every day, even if it's just to say "Hang on, still working on the map" or "Waiting for input from Trouvere" or whatever. There will be exceptions, but I'll do my best to let you know about those in advance. Likewise, I'll be fairly quick to NPC players who don't respond. I won't commit to a specific time interval, since it will depend on the situation, but I am going to try to avoid having play wait on any one person for more than a few days. If I don't hear from you at all for a few weeks, you may find yourself outside the RDI with a lump on your head and no memory of how you got there. Possibly without your clothes.
Of course, none of this applies if you tell me you're going to be away ahead of time.
Finally, when I get the rules wrong (I'm sure it will happen at least once) please do point it out to me, and we'll work out how best to handle it.
For reference, here's Alvar's speech from the RDI:
In the back room of the Red Dragon Inn is a long table, less worn and stained than the one you were just drinking off of. The walls are thick plaster, and when the door closes behind you, you can only hear the noisy common room as a dim murmur.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want you to do, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it all to make sense." Alvar Thorne's voice booms out slightly too loudly for the room. "I'll try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiles nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice drips contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waves towards the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directs this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leans forward and places his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 15]Fewtrell doesn't actually look all that excited about this genealogical discussion. In fact, he shows less interest in them than he showed in going over the accounts in the common room.
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 25]Alvar is quite glib, but he is much more excited by the idea of being a count than he wants to let on.[/sblock]
[/sblock]
Even though we've perhaps not finalized the roster for this adventure, I think it's time to give it it's own thread and stop cluttering up the RDI with sblocks.
This adventure is an adaptation of one that I ran for my tabletop group in late 2007. It's my first time running a PbP game, so you may have to bear with me if things aren't as polished as they could be. Rolls will be by Invisible Castle, please. I'll post my rolls too, when appropriate.
I plan to post at least once every day, even if it's just to say "Hang on, still working on the map" or "Waiting for input from Trouvere" or whatever. There will be exceptions, but I'll do my best to let you know about those in advance. Likewise, I'll be fairly quick to NPC players who don't respond. I won't commit to a specific time interval, since it will depend on the situation, but I am going to try to avoid having play wait on any one person for more than a few days. If I don't hear from you at all for a few weeks, you may find yourself outside the RDI with a lump on your head and no memory of how you got there. Possibly without your clothes.
Of course, none of this applies if you tell me you're going to be away ahead of time.Finally, when I get the rules wrong (I'm sure it will happen at least once) please do point it out to me, and we'll work out how best to handle it.
For reference, here's Alvar's speech from the RDI:
In the back room of the Red Dragon Inn is a long table, less worn and stained than the one you were just drinking off of. The walls are thick plaster, and when the door closes behind you, you can only hear the noisy common room as a dim murmur.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want you to do, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it all to make sense." Alvar Thorne's voice booms out slightly too loudly for the room. "I'll try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiles nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice drips contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waves towards the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directs this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leans forward and places his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 15]Fewtrell doesn't actually look all that excited about this genealogical discussion. In fact, he shows less interest in them than he showed in going over the accounts in the common room.
[sblock=Sense Motive DC 25]Alvar is quite glib, but he is much more excited by the idea of being a count than he wants to let on.[/sblock]
[/sblock]
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