Somewhere Over a Dark Rainbow

[Brimshack]

This is the first of what I hope to be a continuing story. The game is a homebrew, combining a skirmish game we developed at Crunch-Waffle with a point buy system for developing abilities. We have been adding features of the the RPG system as we come to them, and tweaking the game after every session. What started as 3-5 pages of completely unorganized notes, has now become a 70 page list of modifications to our skirmish game, ETC (itself about 70 pages as I recall).

We are somewhere around game 8 or 9. There are 4 players, one of which has just finished the last of a 2 week absence. A 5th player made just 2 games before scheduling conflicts kept him from continuing.

The narrative will start part way through the campaign, and cast backawrds for a few posts. I will move rather quckly through the first stages of the campaign. The narrator is the wimp of the party, so to speak. I guess, maybe she is spending too much time at night writing in her journal. I can only hope that her lack of focus doesn't get her killed before she completes her account of the adventures.

Comments are of course welcome.

Post 1: Context
Post 2: Introduction, A Spirit, The Jubilee, and a Cast of Characters.
Post 3: The Journey East

 

[Brimshack]

At dusk the apparition finally made its appearance. This was the confrontation for which we had been waiting all day. Emerging from the charred remains of the main house, it moved slowly to the fresh graves. For a time, it stood before the grave, or hovered before it, as the case may be. There it remained for a time, and then it turned towards us.

There is only one means to destroy a ghost, and that one means differs from one of these spirits to the next. We did not know the means to kill this one. Yes, it was a frightening moment.

So, there I stood, making a conscious effort to retain my water, staring at a creature capable of inflicting terrible damage, and knowing full well that the best we could hope to accomplish was a stalemate. The latest of many a lose-lose equation that had been lain before us.

It wasn’t more than a few weeks ago, that we all stumbled into this place, this terrible land with its dim sunlight. We washed up on its shores, so to speak, all of us comeing from radically different worlds. They found us lying on the ground. The orcs, I mean. They found us, and it is never good to be caught sleeping by orcs.

It was a “Jubilee.” That is what the orcs had called it, a blessing of wayward souls offered up as if by cruel gods for the benefit of cruel beings. And so the ocs came to harvest us just as one might an ocean of fish flopping about on the shore in the wake of some strange tide.

None of us had much to offer in those days; we could barely walk much less fight. Still we managed to ward off the first wave of orcs attempting to feast upon us. A Few have come and gone since then (the odd bat and an orc we never really knew). We still hope that a few of our friends who stayed back will catch up soon, but for now let me describe my current companions:

A CAST OF FOOLS, NOT QUITE ON A SHIP

Ilkahn: Ilkahn is a Dark Elf. Despite the stories one hears of his kind, Ilkahn is an honourable creature, and one quite devoted to justice. It should be said though, that he is a little short on mercy. But that could be said of our group as a whole. I would not wish to fall in our hands after a battle. Still, none of us have sought out victims; they have all, down to the orc and the elf, sought out conflict with us. But I digress...

Ilkahn wields a Long Sword and a Shield. Plus, he wears armor. As fate would have it, both his sword and his shield are highly magical. Each was made by Elves, and each bears the traits of its maker. So, Ilkahn gets the most out of these items. He is primarily skilled in defensive tactics. Even without the shied, he is very hard to hurt. With it, he is nigh impossible to harm by any means. Ilkahn is by all accounts our ringer. With the possible exception of our Offensive caster (one of the wayward party), we have no offensive powers quite so effective as Ilkahn’s defence. And if that does not sounds too impressive, consider that Ilkahn is highly effective in riposte.

Ilkahn presents something of a dilemma for us, because he would be great to have on the front line. And yet, we need someone to protect the spell casters. Where this elf stands his ground will be the most important decision in every battle we fight. If we move Ilkahn foreword, the casters will be without the benefit of his shieldman skills. If we keep him back, then our best asset in melee combat is left passive, applying his skills only on the initiative of the enemy. It’s a tricky trade, but one I would rather to have than to have not.

Daidoji: This character comes from an island kingdom far off in the Orient. For all I know, he could be from my world, but that is another question. Daidoji is skilled with a kind of spear, and he too wears armor. Daidoji leads the attack as often as not. He too possesses a strong sense of Honour, though he is less keen on matters of Justice than our Dark Elven Shieldman. I do remember one battle which began with words. Serving as our spokesmen, it was Daidoji that began the hostilities by promising he would kill the main enemy. True to his word, it was Daidoji’s spear that finished the battle.

Red: She is a late-comer. Another of the stragglers from the “Jubilee.” She had been captured by goblins, and we bargained for her release. The goblins begged us not to attack them, saying instead that we ought to fight the very minotaur that bade them to war against us. They had already sent for the Minotaur. It was a simple matter - we either fought the Minotaur for the freedom of the goblins or we fought it along with the goblins or our own lives. But we made a deal on the strength of our own honour (or at least that of Ilkahn and Daidoji), Red was given to us, and we slew the Minotaur before leaving the goblins in peace. Red wasn’t much use in that battle, come to think of it, but I digress again. It seems to be a character trait of mine.

Please excuse me, I will return to the subject at hand. Red is a spell caster. She specializes in Offensive magic as well as Support. Despite a weak frame and a dainty set of skills, she has an exceedingly violent character, as demonstrated when she cut off the middle finger of an elven archer who had served in an attack against us. Red likes to wear clothing appropriate to her name. She has chosen the power of colour symbols, and the colour she has empowered with that choice is obvious enough I shant bther to mention it. The choice of colour has enhanced her aggressiveness well enough; it has also made her that much more dangerous to those clothed in fabrics from the other end of the colour spectrum. A few archers felt this power quite recently.

And then there is Quenthalos: He is our main Support caster as well as our primary Healer. Quenthalos too has a hyper developed sense of honour. It seems I am surrounded by those who would keep their word, even at our own expense. That is not my way, but in this company honour is a value to be reckoned with. Quenthalos can usually generate a great deal of powerful magic very quickly. He is responsible for keeping many of us alive, and giving us many a power needed to defeat our enemies. Together with Ilkahn and our missing Offensive caster (the one left behind), Quenthalos has proven himself the key to many a victory.

Hanse: What can be said of Hanse? He is a Centaur, one who joined us a little late in the game. His fighting skills are moderate at best, and he needs to work on his Defensive abilities if we are not to find ourselves in need of Resurrecting him again. But none of this really stands out. The most striking thing about Hanse is that he can only be described as Omnisexual. Everything makes Hanse happy. I do not really know what else to say about this creature. He is a good sort, I suppose, but he leaves me just a little queezy.

Stump: Stump is our greatest archer. I try to keep up with him, but I have divided my efforts with the Healing magic. Until recently, I could shoot a target as well as he, but I am unable to move and shoot as he does. And when I fire quickly, the shots typically fall a bit off the mark. When stump wishes to shoot with speed, his arrows are nearly as dangerous as a single arrow fired with great care.

Valosh: He is another one late to the party. Valosh joined us shortly before we took Red from the goblins. He is a melee fighter with pretensions to holy purpose. I should not say pretensions, I suppose, Valosh has the aura about him, one which conveys righteousness with every word he speaks. It is actually quite inspiring, though I must say that I am unsure of the values which he chooses to personify. Valosh too is a minion of Honour and Justice. He too keeps his word, even when doing so would be foolish. Unlike Ilkahn and Daidoji, Values has yet to prove himself worthy of the bother.

Spleenfritter: I don’t get this guy. Spleenfritter is an orc. He claims to come from a land where orcs are the great protectors of Hobbits and where Elves hunt small helpless things in the night. I do not know just how seriously to take these comments, but I do know this. Spleenfritter washed up in this land just like the rest of us, and he lay there helpless on the first day just as the rest of us. When we fought the orcs, Spleen was true to our side of the conflict, charging out in front. We had to ressurrect him that day, and he claims to feel the traces of death still every morning. Of Spleenfritter, I will trust his sword, even if I don’t think much of his silly stories.

And then there is me, Keleska Tain, your faithful narrator (and one of the few of my party literate enough to relate this tale to you this tale). I will tell you of our wayward friends if and when they catch up. For now, there is just me that remains to be described. I too am an archer. I had trained to serve my king in the armed forces of my homeland, but that is hardly important now. This place has little to do with home, and my efforts upon arriving in this place could hardly be better understood in the light of my past ambitions. Seeing as it was needed in the early days after the Jubilee, I took the time to learn how to heal others. Still, I am no great healer, just an assistant to Quenthalos, so to speak. What I do best is to shoot my bow, though I am not so good at that either. So, I guess you could call me a Jill of All Trades, a kind of secondary archer and a secondary healer to the party. I do what I can to fill in the gaps left by our companions. Most recently, I have learned to use physical attacjks as a means of cancelling magic. The next fool to come at us with powerful spells upon him may lose them quickly, at least if I get my way. Perhaps, I have finally found my niche in this party?

That is me, and those are my companions.

 

[Brimshack]

So, how did we come to face the spirit? It is a long story, but I shall cut the first act a little short. After appearing on the shores near a fishing village (a great coincidence, I can assure you), we fought with a small party of orcs. Our performance was nothing short of pathetic, and yet they possessed no great skills themselves. In the wake of this skirmish, we could hear people screaming to all sides but the ocean. It seems that the orcs of this land had been blessed with a sudden influx of wayward travellers, all stumbling about and blinking, wondering where they were just as I and my companions did. Ripe for the harvest, the whole lot of them were. Sadly, most were not fortunate enough to find themselves clustered with others sufficiently armed to fight off these ugly beasts. We barely survived ourselves, and several hundred others were considerably less fortunate.

In time we found our way to a fishing village where we stood guard for a time as its main protectors went out to fight off the greater threats. We drove off a demon mermade of sorts from the sea, and we fought more orcs. Upon questioning a prisoner, we learned that the monsters of the region were gathering forces to harvest the fishing villages after dining on the fruits of the jubilee. We fought many orcs, and we forced the co-operation of a village of goblins. It was all very dramatic at the time, but it is the stuff of yawns today, so I will move on.

Then we turned to the east where we were told we would find a city, Pflorendriene, and in that city we were told we might find a mage, Pholshare. Pholshare, we were told might bear the key to bringing Justice to this land. I know. I would rather just go home myself, but I do not know how to accomplish that goal. Justice is a quest I did not choose to be sure, but my present company is a comfort and a life-saver (literally), so their quest is mine, at least for the time being.

Anyway, off we went.

OF BRIDGES AND ORCS: A TALE OF SUCCESS AND EXCESS

Upon coming to a river a day or so out, we soon faced an interesting dilemma. At the mouth of the river to the North is elven territory. The river was just wide enough, just deep enough, and just fast enough to pose a little bit of a threat to any who would cross here. Blessed with a bridge, we soon found that Spleenfritter was unable to cross. A Ward bearing the symbol of Fair folk had been placed on the center post of the bridge, and being of a Brutish nature, Spleenfritter was helpless to take a step across the damn thing.

We talked for a bit about removing the ward or dispelling it. No-one wished to risk the damage that could be done to us by such an effort. So, we turned our attention to the prospect of crossing the river after all. Hanse, at least should have been able to ford our weaker swimmers safe crossing. Elven waters would prove hostile to the orc, at least, but it was not such a challenge as to be insurmountable.

And yet, foolishness finds a way wherever it can. Our spell casters soon found a way to resolve the matter themselves. They simply put up a wall diverting the waters to flatter ground. We walked through the bed of the river unmolested. But here is what I mean by foolishness, because our casters were not content to do this. They changed the river bed to rocky terrain, and (still worse) they extended the walls as far as they could so as to divert the river from its original course. We left the site smirking a bit, proud of ourselves, and thinking to have given the elves a bit of a lesson about something called “discrimination.” (It is a magic about which I know little, but to hear Ilkahn talk, only the most evil of mages practice this art.)

Yes, we had shown ourselves capable of a thing or two, and we had put a few pointy eared bastards in their place.

THE WINDS OF CHANGE ...OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

So, I suppose it should not have come as a surprise that a Free wind beset upon us the following day. It began as a gentle breeze, one which could hardly have stirred the leaves about our feet. And yet it grew rapidly in a short time. Soon it was clear that something was wrong. We attempted to outrun the wind, and I assume the futility of that will have struck you as obvious enough without my telling you about the matter. Then we began to cast spells in preparation for battle. But when the wind reached its height, there was no-one to strike. The orc, being a brute, howled in pain for the same reason that he had been unable to cross the elven bridge. More to the point, all amongst us devoted to honour and justice felt great pain with every movement made in the presence of this gale. To most of us, certainly to myself, the wind was but an annoyance. It tangled my hair and whipped my arrows loose n the quiver. But to those bent on orderly thoughts, this wind was a pain to their minds and their bodies. Had it lasted long, we would have been well short of our present numbers. The matter was quickly laid to rest though with a simple spell. Quenthalos cancelled the effect, and we all counted our good fortune. The first tactic that had occurred to us had n this case worked. For that reason and that reason alone we could still count the goodly honourable types among our numbers. So, we continued.

It does of course make sense, if you think about it. The free folk of the forest are no friends of order. Their values are not ours, and that may yet prove to be the weakness which brings us down. Sadly this doom will most likely begin with the greatest among us.

AN UNFORTUNATE AMBUSH

The next day we encountered an ambush. Elves, most of them archers, began shooting us from just off the side of teh road. The greatest of their marksmen fired a number of deadly arrows into our midst, bringing Daidoji, Spleenfritter, and Quenthalos, all within a hair’s breadth of their own doom. Red too felt the sting of his first volley, though I believe she had the benefit of a poorly placed shot. To say that the first volley of arrows left us greatly weakened would be an expression far too timid to merit the efforts.

For a time we struggled to keep ourselves alive and put some pressure on our newfound foes. Daidoji charged and closed with the enemy’s leader and Hanse positioned himself to charge their flank. Red and Quenthalos both worked to protect us, casting healing spells and providing us all with magical armor. The party as a whole soon gained the benefit of an Invigoration spell, allowing us to draw on mental strength in reserve against the physical attacks levelled against us. The great danger here is of course that when one has been mortally wounded this spell will only keep one alive as long as it lasts. Should one fail to find a Healer before that time is up, it is the end.

Daidoji failed to get in an attack on the enemy Captain. Yet when the elven swordsmen tasked with protecting that very Captain closed upon Daidoji, he did so on the point of Daidoji’s spear. Several archers also fired at my friend, though none scored. Hanse, on the other hand took a serious wound or two in his chest, enough to make it clear he would not be able to carry out the intended charge. For myself, I traded arrows with an enemy archer. He nicked my cloak and I lodged a shaft in his armor. Little came of that exchange in any event. Both Daidoji and Hanse were too weak from their wounds to fight effectively, and that left our front line unable to press the attack. Victory now depended on our spell casters. Whether striking directly at the enemy or supporting the rest of us, our casters would have to come up with something good.

(Yes, I know, I am a caster too, but only just. Trust me, the fate of the party on this day most certainly did not rest in my hands.)

It was clear by this point that all of these elves had the benefit of support spells making them tougher. Invigorated and blessed with Pre-emptive Healing, the enemy were all surviving attacks which should have brought them down or at least weakened them. It was a thin veneer, this magical protection, but it was sufficient to tide them through our first feeble efforts.

And then the enemy captain cut loose with another volley. With 3 separate arrows, Daidoji was brought to near death. He survived only because the Invigorate spell had not yet spent itself out. Standing there with his spleen half out of his hide and his heart oozing out of his own chest, Daidoji fought with what little strength was left to him and breathed on borrowed time. A 4th arrow lodged further in Hanse, helping him also to negotiate one foot into his own grave. And then, the enemy Captain began a spell. He did not finish it, but we all knew its intent. It was a simple spell designed to push people over, to simply knock them off their feet. If he could get it off, and if he could do so with a wide radius of affect, the enemy Captain could knock nearly our whole party on the ground in one fell swoop. (Indeed, the sole exceptions would be two very ineffectual fighters, both of whom could do little but await a finishing blow.) It is a trivial matter to stand up to be sure, but there is always the fear that lodges in one’s heart when enemy magic grasps hold of it. And in the rush of battle, the time it takes to stand up is sufficient to cost on an arrow, a spell of one’s own, a stretch of ground covered, ...who knows what else. Even this simple spell could not be allowed to finish. It would have been the end of us.

I am still writing, am I not?

Quenthalos cast the same exact spell himself. (Perhaps he thought to mock the enemy elf; perhaps he just found it a convenient option to take). He set the spell to affect a moderately wide radius, and knocked down 3 lesser archers with ease. One looked to have the fear of the gods in his eyes even as he hit the ground. But most important, the Elven Captain struck the ground himself. He too suffered the fear of magical effects, and he too would have to contend with the ground before moving on. In a moment, he was struck with one of Stump’s arrows, and after a some healing frm Quanthalos, Daidoji quickly ran over to dispatch the enemy Captain.

With that, the rest of the elves ran away, all save one who could not have survived a parting blow from Hanse. We ended the morning happy to be alive and happy to have one prisoner.

Fear not. The tale of the spirit awaits.