Runequest 2nd Ed: Tale of Flameshot - Glory of Yelmalio [FINAL UPDATE 6th Jun]

[PieAndDragon]

An Introduction

Greetings Stranger. I am Teal Muskovy, also known as Teal Flameshot, Initiate of Glorious Yelmalio, He of the Sky, the Light and the Truth.

Most of my life has been spent near the city of Johnstown, the only place of noted civilisation for leagues around. Always I have known my path ahead, always have I been destined to server Yelmalio as a warrior and priest, battling the forces of chaos and darkness which plague our every day.

For you see, my family has served the Radiant Lord for as long as any can remember. My grandfather was a Light Priest, the most revered members of our order. His sons, my own father and his brother, were Light Sons, Rune Lords of our order. My life, the lives of my brothers and sisters, the children of any of our unions, all our dedicated to the glory of Yelmalio, however he chooses to use us.

It is said that the ancestor who gave us our name, Arn-Muskovy, was a high priest of the Radiant Lord centuries ago. He made a powerful bargain with our fiery patron, gaining access to the most powerful Rune Magics, dedicating the services of generations of his descendents in exchange. There are many tales surrounding our ancestor and his pact, including several detailing the curses and misfortunes which will befall us, should one of our family stray far from the path chosen for us. To this day, to my knowledge, none have yet done so, and I intend to keep it so.

Ours is not an easy path, for we have no special favour, despite our loyalty. Indeed, we must strive harder than our brethren, for more is expected of us than others in our faith, the gaze of our Lord ever watchful upon our name. The lives of the Muskovy tend to be short, and very few live to see our fourth or fifth decade. Most die by our mid-twenties, battling the enemies of Yelmalio with our last breath.

The time for me to prove myself in Yelmalio’s came a shot time ago, as Johnstown and the Muskovy family reel under recent events. By father and uncle were slain in a recent attack by followers of Chaos, alongside the most powerful of our city’s priests and leaders. My older brothers have not been seen in Johnstown since the attack, and my eldest sister died in the plague which recently struck the city. My grandfather has retired to seek unity with the Sun, living in a roofless tower which he will not leave until he perishes, accepting only visitors who are also Light Priests.

So it falls to me to continue the service of the Muskovy to Yelmalio. I have served the Sun for over three years, a skilled rider and passable warrior, trained to seek out the truth, ward others from the darkness and face my foes with spear and shield. My stature is greater than most, and I have the stamina which has always belonged to my ancestors.

Among my blessings when awarded the status of Initiate, Yelmalio has granted an uncanny knack with a bow, along with magics to fire flame instead of arrows, and the name of Flameshot, which I have taken in this honour. These gifts are balanced by the strictures expected of my status. I cannot allow a horse to suffer needlessly, nor speak an untruth, eat fish, potatoes or raw eggs, use any sort of axe, torture one under my power, or show mercy to the trolls. A constant vigil must be kept for the races of the darkness, and they are never to be trusted in any matter.

So my tale truly begins, as I seek to find a worthy place among my ancestors, guided by the Lord of Fire, armoured in my faith and strong in his power. The plague cults that besieged Johnstown have been rooted out by vigilant adventurers, and a uneasy peace lies across the city. The people look for new leaders and priests, waiting for strong warriors to lead them out of the darkness and into a time of glory and might. With a steady aim and strong heart, maybe I will stand among them.

Story Hour Notes
This is my Third story hour. The first, Legend of the Monkey Mage, was a D&D campaign which finished in June 06. The second, sadly never got completed, as the party was wiped out in a bloody last battle.

This will be the first where I am writing from the perspective of a player, having found someone else in our group willing to run a game .

 

[PieAndDragon]

Teal Flameshot

Human (Sartarite) Male, 19 Years of Age
STR 16 CON 15 SIZ 16 INT 13 POW 9 DEX 11 CHA 14
Hit Points: 16
Skills: Camouflage 10, Climbing 30, Defence 5, Evaluate Treasure 10, Firespeech 20, Hide in Cover 15, Hide Item 15, Jumping 20, Listen 40, Lock Picking 10, Map Making 15, Move Silently 15, Oratory 20, Pick Pockets 5, Read Sartarite 25, Riding(Horse) 50, Speak Sartarite 65, Spot Hidden Item 60, Spot Trap 20, Swimming 30, Tracking 15, Trap Set / Disarm 10
Weapons: Composite Bow (Att 90, Parry 25), Javelin (Att 35), Kick (Att 30, Parry 35), Large Shield (Att 10, Parry 50), Longspear 1H (Att 55, Parry 10), Shortspear 1H (Att 25, Parry 20), Shortspear 2H (Att 15, Parry 10)
Spells: Disruption, Fire Arrow, Ignite

 

[PieAndDragon]

Priest of Fire is for Hire

My morning started much as most others, with prayers to Our Radiant Lord at dawn and duties around the temple. Ours is a temple which takes its duties seriously, and all members of the flock are expected to do their duty to the fullest, be they lay member, initiate, priest, rune priest or rune lord. I am no exception, working hard and constantly look for ways to make work more prominent in the eyes of my superiors.

So when a higher-ranking priest commanded me to report to the Cult of Issaries and make myself available for a caravan heading deep into the troll lands, I did so without question. Why it is was urgent for an initiate of Yelmalio to join onto an expedition funded by the god of Commerce, I did not know, but if I had needed to know, then no doubt I would have been told.

Ready in my full armour, armed with composite bow, bronze-tipped longspear and a quiver of javelins, I approached the Issaries temple, a large, grand structure shining with expensive metals, filled with art and rich finery, displaying the wealth of their cult to all and sundry, granting a glimpse of the gains one could find from such as they. Finely dressed acolytes ushered me into a busy temple room, where warriors such as myself were greeted by a small group of Issaries priests.

Most of those gathered were heavily armed and armoured, with a wary, worldly stance which belied experience beyond common mercenaries. Some had the symbols of other cults upon their person, although none shared the Sun of Yelmalio. We were light on conversation, and generous with glances and weighing looks. Being hired onto the caravan among such warriors would not be an easy task.

A richly dressed man in his mid-twenties spoke to us, explaining the details of the journey ahead. Those the temple chose to employ would be heading into troll lands, paid a thousand lunars each for the work of two seasons, and more if longer was required to complete the expedition. I have been paid more, but not for caravan work. The man introduced himself as Munias, an Initiate of his cult, and organiser of the wagons which would make their way along the spider silk trade route. One man left in disgust at the amount offered, leaving the rest of us to hear the priest out.

“We have more warriors here than we need, and will therefore make a test of it. You will be split into two groups, which will fight one-another, with the winning side winning the contract. Once we know who is coming with us, you will be told more about the journey and what it entails.”

At this, a few more left in disgust at the games being played. Normally, I would have been among them, for there are better ways to deal with such things. However, I was under orders, so battle I would, doing my best for victory. Each side would choose one of their number as their tower, for wont of a better word. The task of each side was to protect their own tower, and eliminate the other side’s from the test. If a sides’ tower fell in battle, they would fail in the test, and the other side would be hired for the journey ahead.

Munias went on to detail the battleground, a large warehouse with stacks of boxes, with both sides starting at opposite ends. We were to avoid lethal blows where we could, and a temple healer was on hand to deal with any serious injuries. Although reattaching limbs was within their power, restoring the fallen to life was not. I was unsure how to avoid lethal blows with arrows, spear points and javelins, but thought that unwise to mention to the Issaries priest.

 

[sniffles]

Neat! A RQ story! RQ was my first introduction to roleplaying.

But by 2 ed. do you mean the actual 2nd edition of the original RQ game system from Avalon Hill/Chaosium, or are you playing the new version?

 

[PieAndDragon]

But by 2 ed. do you mean the actual 2nd edition of the original RQ game system from Avalon Hill/Chaosium, or are you playing the new version?

We are playing the 2nd edition of the original RQ game, which is older than our GM! This is the edition he likes, and we started the campaign before the Mongoose version came out. Having bought the 4th edition to look at, there didn't seem to be that many improvements over the version we play.

 

[PieAndDragon]

Warehouse Brawl

Divided into two groups of four, we were told to make ready and had several minutes to discuss tactics and prepare. To my dismay, my companions consisted of two Humakt cultists and a slight woman with the symbol of the Lankor Mhy. The Cult of Humakt is a warrior one like my own, and a heated rivalry exists between us. They revel in personal glory and strong individual fighting, often using two swords in battle and taking foolhardy risks. My own Cult of Yelmalio is best-known for its ranks of skilled and orderly spearmen, working together to achieve a finely wrought victory. But I was under orders, and would work with whatever came my way.

The largest of the three was Liverpate, a hulking brute covered in the almost exactly the armour I wore. He wore his long, reddish-brown hair in a warrior’s knot, tied back to avoid his eyes and face. I was surprised to note the poleaxe across his back, a heavy and destructive weapon which required great strength to wield effectively, and certainly not a weapon seen often among the ranks of Humakt. A quiet man, he said little, deferring to the second of the rival cult.

Hoisim, although younger than myself, held himself with the arrogance one would expect from a proven and skilled fighter. Shorter than myself and Liverpate, his dark hair was cut short and he carried the twin blades common to his cult. The area around his abdomen was laid bare, and upon the tanned flesh symbol of Humakt was skilfully tattooed, marred only by a livid scar. Why a warrior would expose vital organs in such a way, I was unsure, especially as his cult believed it a sin to bring back their fallen warriors from death. He spoke for himself and Liverpate, assured and plain-speaking, common traits among his kind.

The last of our quartet was a young, gangly woman named Lorange, as tall as me, but slight with bones poking through taut flesh. Although heavily armoured, she was also lightly armed, with a light shield, a sling and shortsword as her main armaments. Short black hair crowned a plain face, and the symbol of Lankor Mhy shone from a medallion around her neck. A cult dedicated to knowledge, I have had few dealings with their priests, and profess to knowing little of them. She did not carry herself as a capable warrior, and my confidence fell a little as I studied her.

Our preparations for battle were minimal. We considered using Lorange as the tower for the contest, she being the weakest combatant, but discarded when I suggested Liverpate, he being the largest and probably the toughest to bring down. Our tactics would consist of myself covering the others with a bow, while the rest advanced to find our opponents and beat their chosen target to a bloody pulp.

Hoisim knew a little of one of our opponents, having met him in battle in the past. A cunning and tricky opponent, who would use any advantage he had. The quartet facing us were fairly heavily armoured, utilising hammers, swords, shields and bows. They seemed much like ourselves in many respects. As we prepared for battle, I took a good vantage point from atop a stack of boxes, put an arrow to my bow, whispered a prayer to the Sun Lord, and readied myself for battle.

When the signal came, Hoisim enchanted tower with battle magic, making him shimmer in the dim light of the warehouse, harder to strike as his location was obscured. We caught glimpses of our foes hiding behind the boxes, and scrambling into position out of my line of fire. My trio of companions moved forward, Hoisim using more battle magics to aid himself, Liverpate wielding his poleaxe, and Lorange ready with her sling.

As I clambered to a better position, I made out one of our foes, sending an arrow at his head as our Humakt brute engaged another opponent. My arrow pierced his helm but he seemed unshaken by the pain he must have felt. In response he threw a spell at me, causing a burning pain in my chest which I did my best to ignore. Hoisim joined Liverpate in the fray, as the poleaxe of the latter shattered from his opponents hammer blow. Lorange was harassing foes with sling and battle magic, making little impact but causing a distraction nonetheless.

Movement beyond my own opponent caught my eye, as I noticed lightly-armed warrior crawling into position behind a group of crates. I switched my attention to this new foe leaving my target to join battle in the middle of the warehouse. I conjured a flaming arrow to my bow, but as I readied my shot another force took control of my limbs, and my actions were no longer my own.

In the next few seconds my body spasmed, then lurched forward, falling from the pile of boxes to the ground below. From the corner of my eyes, I made out my companions in trouble, Lorange having drawn her sword, while another man attempted to strangle Liverpate with a cord from behind. The pain of my impact against the stone floor was absorbed by layers of armour, but I was helpless to do anything more than flail on the warehouse flagstones.

But I could still hear.

The shouts and sounds of battle reached me as I lay on the ground. Hoisim’s voice taunting one of his foes, bronze on bronze as weapons clashed, screams of pain as combatants took their blows, gasps of heavy breathing that were most likely Liverpate’s, and a female voice shouting something like a warcry. The noise continued for a short time longer, before Hoisim let out a shout of victory, which I could only assume meant we had been the better side.

When the battle magic had released its’ hold, and I regained my composure, I found a scene of carnage beyond. None of our foes had perished, but all lay still, with one missing an arm, and another a leg. The Issaries healer struggled to work his healing magics, while my new allies cleaned weapons and tended their own wounds. We said little of my struggles against their magic. There was a weakness there I disliked, that I would need to overcome.

We had won. Munias knew we had done enough. We would be hired.

 

[PieAndDragon]

Yay, I can get to Enworld again, after nearly 2 months of not being able to access here!

Leaving Johnstown

Although we were reprimanded slightly over our bloody display during the test, we had done what was asked, and a contract was sealed between ourselves and Munias of Issaries. In addition to the four of us, they already had one guard, who we would meet when the caravan left.

We would be guarding two wagons, two drivers, one assistant, the healer who had already tended our wounds and Murias himself. Much of our journey would be as part of a larger caravan, grouping together for safety on the lawless route to the troll lands. Also as part of our contract, one of us would have to undergo a test of stamina to gain entrance to the troll city where we were destined. Although I am a large man, Liverpate would be the best suited to such a task.

I spent the evening at the temple of Yelmalio, praying and later on, the focus of a fervent ceremony of farewell and good luck in the Sun Lord’s honour. No doubt the rest of my companions spent their time drinking, feasting and celebrating with no restraint, fearing what lay before them on the road.

Dawn found me at our meeting place, rays of light flowing over me as I said my morning prayers to the Sun Lord. My associates of the day before were soon gathered and the wagons wasted little time in departing. Leaving Johnstown without incident, I took the time to study those who would be my travelling companions on the journey ahead.

Strong Liverpate, loud Hoisin, mercantile Munias and studious Lorange I already knew. Dyllon was the name of the healer who had tended our wounds the day before, a serious devotee of Chalana Arroy, whose followers bear few weapons and deal no violence unto others. I took little note of the two wagon drivers or the group’s servant, which left only the other guard, Khaki of interest. An extremely small human woman, who claims to be a member of the Savankan Cult. She wears the armour and carries the weapons of a warrior, but how a female so tiny could survive in a male-dominated cult such as the Savankan, I have no idea.

This will be an interesting journey indeed.

 

[PieAndDragon]

Days on the Road

Most of my time on this journey has been spent in prayer to Yelmalio. I hope for events to relieve the boredom of our travels, for the chance to prove ourselves in battle, and for more interesting travelling companions. So far the Sun Lord’s attention has been elsewhere when I make my entreaties to him.

Hoisin has tried to interrupt my prayers several times, having little idea of what dedication to one’s deity truly involves. It is a personal thing, not just to be observed on holy days and during feasts and celebrations. I have found little sign of culture in that one, or his friend Liverpate, who apes his sponsor in many things. Lorange is obsessed with books and strange lore, asking pointless questions of any who will answer them while Khaki spends much of time glaring and staring at any who even glance her way. Munias worries at his cargo and the route, Dyllon is in a far away place and the servants say little. At least my horse listens sometimes.

Our employer has decided that we must learn the tongue of the trolls and their kin, preparing for the lands which lie ahead. He and his servants refuse to speak with us much of the time, unless in Darkspeech. One of the drivers has taught us some interesting rude words, but Munias has been unimpressed, requiring a wider vocabulary. There are better ways to be taught a tongue, than to be exposed to it by those who barely speak it themselves.

Our wagons carry trinkets and gems, as Murias hopes to establish a trade route for spider-silk, which he hopes to purchase in the troll settlement of Crabshell, our destination. Details about the actual town are few and far between, but the merchant-priest appears confident of us reaching some sort of agreement.

The highlight of our journey so far has been a horserace, won by a lucky Hoisin for no reward but pride. The towns and villages of the trail have dwindled to hamlets and lone farmsteads, as we grow further from the civilisation of Johnstown. A few days ago we joined a larger caravan, comprising mostly of simple folk, farmers, teamsters and pilgrims, banded together for protection. Many worship the Sun Lord, but not in the same manner or with the same fervour as myself.

Our wagons have left the larger caravan for the moment, as we made a detour to a system of caves known as the Rainbow Mounds, near to the village of Apple Lane. Hoisin and Khaki guarded the wagons and servants as the rest of us entered the caves. The two of them had been here in the past, and the priests of Dala-Fel refused to let them enter a second time. We avoided contact with the newt-men who inhabited the area, instead partaking of strange mushrooms said to expand the mind of the user. Apart from a burning pain in my head, they had no affect on me. Liverpate and Lorange were more wide-eyed and seemed somehow blessed as we returned to Apple Lane

Now we head after the main caravan, to continue the monotonous journey toward troll lands.

 

[PieAndDragon]

Boars the Size of Horses

The air grew cooler as we headed toward troll lands, heavy with the distinct scent their kind carry. We had left the main caravan now, our two wagons making a lonely trek along a barren trail, with myself and my companions as vigilant guards. On one particular day, something didn’t feel right about the scenery around, but my eyes and ears could find no threat on the roadside. The habitations were mixed here, some areas of trolls and some of human, our kind growing less populous as we grew further from Johnstown.

My misgivings proved correct, as several bandits attacked our small caravan in the early afternoon. Grim-faced human warriors, armed with spears and shields, riding great boars, the size of horses. They were tuskers, the lowest type of sellsword found in these lands. They caught us unawares, charging from their hiding places, intent on crippling the horses so our wagons could not escape. Hoisin was the quickest to react, blocking two from horseback as another dozen charged past him.

Three made for the back wagon, leaving their companions to deal with the lead horses., attacking the defenceless creatures with spears and tusks. Khaki attempted to defend the beasts, aided by Dyllon’s Chalana Arroy magics, which sent several of our foes, boar and riders alike, into deep slumber. I sent flaming arrows into the tuskers heading to the rear wagon, aided by Liverpate’s poleaxe and Lorange’s sling. As the surprise of the bandits attack wore off and tuskers fell to arrows, blade and axe, the battle turned to our favour.

Liverpate finished what I began, and we turned to aid the follower of Sevanka, hard pressed by two tuskers and their boars. Hoisin had the upper had against his foes, and Lorange had yet to engage any foe. Our axe-wielding ally arrived in time to save Khaki, driving off the last of the boars and their riders and allowing Dyllon to staunch the lifeblood flowing from Khaki with prayers to the healing goddess.

Although two horses had been lost, we had driven off our foes, slaying several and capturing two more. For the first time, we had earned our pay.

We decided to camp where we were, as it was unlikely that our attackers would return. Much to my disgust and against my wishes, Murias decided to release the tuskers who awoke from Dyllon’s slumber. I argued that bandits like these should be hung, but no others seemed to care, except Hoisin who was unsure as to our authority here. In the wilderness, the strong have the authority, and I would never expect a merchant to let bandits go so lightly. Maybe we should have cut off their hands at the very least.

Hoisin burnt the fallen tuskers and their one boar, insisting on wasting much good boar-meat in the process. After a long and draining argument over religious beliefs, he finally relented, allowing Khaki and myself to feast on a well-done boar’s leg. Never have I travelled with a warrior with such narrow religious views. By right the decision should have gone to Liverpate, the boar’s killer, but he seems unable to stand up to his fellow Hemakt companion, letting initiate have the say over the lay member.

Beyond a strange vial of liquid and a valuable gem found on the boar, the tuskers had little of value, their equipment being dirty, old and barely usable. We left early the next day, on the lookout for any more dangers.

 

[PieAndDragon]

Flies and Dinosaurs

Our travels paused at the farmstead of Leopold, a tall and wild-eyed farmer, owner of the last human settlement along the wretched road to the troll city of Kragspider. Our afternoon of drinking moonshine alongside the drivers in a rickety barn was interrupted by Dyllon running back from his foraging of herbs in the fields around. He babbled about a stranger he had seen, an armoured human abducted by troll-kin on large flying mounts. Leaving Lorange to guard the wagons and the disturbed healer, we grabbed our weapons and went to investigate.

Leopold agreed to aid us with his spirit-bound hawk, which was possessed by an entity of the spirit world which the farmer could control. I know little of otherworld things, but we were quick to welcome his aid. He would not travel too far from his farmstead, but sent his familiar to search for our quarry.

The tracks we found from Dyllon’s directions told us little more, we were able to make out boot-prints of a heavy human, and a few isolated troll-kin tracks. The healers description of flying mounts proved to be accurate. Leopold’s hawk relayed details of several small copses to the east, as well as the decaying body of a large dinosaur. Returning our host to the farmstead, we went in search of the troll-kin and the abducted human. The chances of his still being alive were slim, but we could not let trolls keep one of our kind in captivity if we could help it.

As we searched the copses and hills, several of my helpful suggestions on strategy were ignored by the followers of Savanka and Hemakt, leading me to believe what my temple has always taught me. While the Hemakt make deadly warriors who live in a short blaze of glory, and the Savankans make good foot soldiers, it is the cult of Yelmalio which pays attention to strategy and detail, tactics and warfare, seeing the overall whole instead of the small picture. Maybe I will talk of this to those of my temple when I return.

After skirting around several small copses, the corpse of a gigantic dinosaur, over forty yards long, loomed before us, resting against a large tree. We caught the stench of the body before we saw it, reeking of death and decay. As we crept nearer to the mouldering beast, loud buzzing alerted us of imminent danger, followed by five hideous creatures, monstrous flies the size of horses. Upon the back of each sat an armoured troll-kin armed with shields, darts and spears. These were the flying mounts and their riders Dyllon had warned us of.

As the bloated flies and their riders closed, another foe revealed itself from the branches, firing a crossbow bolt into our midst, followed by a hail of darts from the troll-kin, focussed on Liverpate. The fully armoured Hemakt warrior brushed off the missiles, sprinting down toward the dinosaur with Hoisin in tow, hoping to find foes that weren’t airborne. I returned fire with flaming arrows, targeting the riders after a giant fly nimbly avoided a missile headed for its head, displaying supernatural speed. Khaki aided with thrown rocks, the best ranged weapon at her disposal. My theory about tactical cults was reinforced at this point.


A sixth fly rider joined the others, and they soon ran out of darts, readying spears as they engaged Khaki and myself, who were left alone by our brave Hemakti companions. A couple of the troll-kin bore arrow wounds, but sadly none had fallen to my shots. I prepared shield and spear, praying to Yelmalio to guide my arm as three flies and riders dived to engage me. Khaki had similar difficulties, while in the distance I made out our errant brothers, who having reached the decaying dinosaur and tree, were engaging disgusting giant maggots, unable to come to our aid.

My armour saved my life once more, as three foes took my full concentration. Luckily, the flies were not trained to attack, and only the riders were of concern. I took several shallow wounds, but forced off my foes with deeper spear-thrusts in return. They took away on their flying mounts, retreating out of sight. Only one of Khaki’s foes managed to get away, leaving her bruised but proud of the two troll-kin corpses, victims of her mace. Meanwhile, Hoisin and Liverpate had managed to dispatch several monstrous maggots they had stumbled upon, victorious but covered in blood and ichor, Hoisin calling upon healing prayers even as we recovered our breath.