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The Runic Storyhour: An Oriental Adventure in The Dream
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<blockquote data-quote="Rune" data-source="post: 1879" data-attributes="member: 67"><p>Session 2, part 2</p><p></p><p><strong>Reality Shift</strong></p><p></p><p>The next day, it is winter in the Black and White Season. The Dreamer does not always dream in color. Snow, knee-high, covers the camp, and everything in the world is faded into different shades of gray, except for the snow, which is the purest white, and the darkest nights, which are the emptiest shade of black. I lose track, but I think it is four days that we have sought warmth and shelter inside an abandoned and ruined hut in the bakemono camp. Following the fourth day we wake, and it is spring--still black and white. The snow is gone. We head east again, but this time, north, as well. We travel until we come to a river, running west and intersecting with our burnt forest. Now that once mighty forest of ancient trees is nothing but a mass of densely-packed stalks of charcoal with layers of ash on the ground. We follow the river upstream, into the forest of ash. At one point a mass of shriveled and burned carcasses of trees bridge the swelling water. We consider a crossing, but it is too unstable. We move single file again, for the dead forest has thickened. We are wary of the possibility of collapsing trees falling upon us, and we turn back to travel downstream through the blackened hell.</p><p></p><p><em>DM note: the Black & White season is one I've been wanting to spring on my players since it was first conceived. It came as a total surprise to everyone there, even my brother (Fighting Man Dances), who had helped me create the setting, and actually came up with the premise of the season. He just didn't see it coming. That was most satisfying...</em></p><p></p><p>In two days, it is autumn. We have left the forest far behind. We come to a giant swath of cleared ground; the clear path of a huge war party, with both men and elephants, traveling south from the river. On the north side of the river, there are no tracks of any kind. We continue to follow the river downstream, to the west. It is dusk as we top the rise of the hill and see them: hundreds and hundreds of campfires, fires enough for a great army. We decide to make camp and watch, but fear that we may be close enough to be discovered by scouts. We are. We are invited (coerced) into joining the encampment by the scouts that have discovered us. They are friendly and in good spirits, but it is clear that they will not let us stay in our private encampment away from the army.</p><p></p><p><em>DM note: the swath of cleared ground is presumably left by the army that the party saw passing southward to their west in Session 1. Another hook the players didn't bite on.</em></p><p></p><p>From the camp comes the sound of music and merriment, men and women in camaraderie. Food and drink is abundant, and the sight of it, even though it is a mighty army, tugs at my heart. In my life and in my companions, there were once homes and laughter and welcoming hearths. We feast, yet all stay sober; we are too wary to give in to drink. All of the warriors are amused by the presence of the halfling, "Why, he is but a child!" they exclaim. He is, and he is not. It is hard for them to understand.</p><p></p><p>The camp, we find, is divided. The conscripts eat and talk at the many campfires in the center and the cavalry and commanders are separate and unapproachable. In addition, the tents are divided by the campfires; there are tents on the north side of the camp, and tents on the south side. Everyone we talk to is very friendly--with each other and with us. The morale in the camp is quite high. The camaraderie around the conscripts’ fires is intoxicating. Intelligent Chameleon Survives and I are even offered naganatas (Swift already has one) by a sergeant. This is the weapon that the sergeants use. The yari footmen use yari spears, and the archers, of course, use bows. We happily accept these gifts and enjoy the evening, although we are still wary of the purpose of this army. No one has been able to tell us why they fight, save for the fact that it is their job to do so. </p><p></p><p>We are approached by a sergeant as the evening wears on. "Which side will you go to?", the foot soldier asks, "You must choose one, for tomorrow we fight." Then, the terrible truth is revealed to us. We know then that we will be sleeping with two opposing armies for bedfellows. Tonight two armies shared friendship, fire, and feast. Tomorrow, they will kill each other. War makes no sense.</p><p></p><p><em>DM note: the player of Fighting Man Dances began to suspect, not necessarily accurately in any way, that the soldiers were caught in a time loop, because one type of reality shift that can happen in this setting is temporal. He figured that if a whole lot of people died at once, it might create such an effect. The party has no evidence that this is the case, however.</em></p><p></p><p><strong>Reality?</strong></p><p></p><p>It is drizzling in the morning, spring again. Still, the season is the Black and White. The south army, with which we slept, prepares for battle, gray flags (that particular shade of gray which would be the brightest of reds at other times of the year) with white arrows fluttering from the backs of the conscripts’ armor. "Where are the generals?" the Chameleon calls out with great urgency. "We will see the generals!" The conscripts are astounded at the presumptuous nature that we display. "You must don your armor, and prepare for battle!" they call to us.</p><p></p><p>"Where are the officers?" shouts Chameleon. The answer is obvious, however. As the soldiers form their lines, the cavalry do also, and behind the cavalry, is the richly decorated troop of commanders, on the only elephants in the army. </p><p></p><p>The cool air floods over us while we smoke and make our plans for escape. Swift and the Chameleon are at each others throats. Again, Chameleon sets our course of action. We will approach the officers and offer our services as a special troop, and escape when we get the chance. With each step we take closer to the officer's camp, more and more conscripts around us stop what they are doing and stare at us. "We seek the officers, " we call. We, peasants, are approaching the commanders! The conscripts look at us in awe.</p><p></p><p>The cavalry are more disciplined than the foot soldiers, and their formations are nearly complete. We humbly, humbly bow. "There is no way out", I hear Swift's voice in my ear. "We cannot fight", the Chameleon snarls back at him with a sharp instruction to follow the plan. The Chameleon addresses himself to the commanding horseman, and diplomatically pursues an audience with the commanders. The cavalry leader assents.</p><p></p><p><em>DM note: Intelligent Chameleon Survives rolled a natural 20 on his diplomacy check right here, for a total of 27. Nothing spectacular, but at least it was success.</em></p><p></p><p>We are circling west, behind the army, past the sound of horns and the rain of arrows flying until at last we stand before a mounted officer, his elephant towering above us as he moves forward to address us. Chameleon calls out in a loud voice, filled with the delusional authority with which he views himself: "We have some skills that might be useful to you in battle. Hear us out!" The man glares down upon us, but this is enough. This is what we came for. Now we present our offer. But the commander is unimpressed. He does, however, grant us a place in the troop of yari footmen flanking on the east, where we have come from, if we can don our armor and catch up in time. (There is no armor for the halfling, of course—he is only a halfling, after all.) That would put us on the edge of the battlefield--an easy escape! In elation, we hastily put on our conscript armor and run. I do not notice the volley of arrows descending until it is too late for me to react. I feel the burn of the assault bursting through me. Four arrows have pierced me. Through a strange mix of tears and the clarity that a close brush with death brings, I can see that the others have avoided the hail of metal, wood, and fletching. I still stand. Chameleon casts a spell and becomes a commander before our eyes. The resulting reality shift has no comparison to the tremendous shifts that are to follow. Our hearts are in our throats, for the cavalry has divided into two troops, each riding behind the army to flank from either side. One troop rides down upon us. Some of the riders have slumped in their saddles, having taken arrows through their armor. Swift and I both attempt to seize the horses of two such warriors, but both attempts are failures, which leave us lying in the mud and amongst the trampling hooves of the cavalry.</p><p></p><p>Chameleon, the commander, calls out for the cavalry to stop. They do. Every single horseman in the east flanking assault halts and gathers around him. "I am a general and these are my men." (I little cared at the time to point out my femininity.) "Horse for the four of us at once! You three, I command you to dismount and report to the other officers that we are in need of reinforcements. Things have not gone as planned."</p><p></p><p>I am aware one of my companions (Swift, I think, or maybe the halfling) taking some arrows in another volley, but I am soon pierced by another four. I am not dead, but I have lost touch with my body, and I fall into the darkest black of this colorless season. I will not be saved this day. But Swift is running to me and drags me up and onto the horse and the last thing I remember is the weightless sensation of being lifted and of movement--violent movement--of the horse and every jolt an arrow of pain.</p><p></p><p><em>DM note: this battle was particularly viscous. The PCs never saw the archers that were raining arrows down upon them. In truth, it was more of a prolonged trap--as was the forest fire in the earlier part of the game. I was treating each arrow volley as an area of effect attack, letting each PC make a Ref save to avoid being hit. If a PC was hit, they got 1d4 arrows, and Ocean always got 4. I seem to remember that she actually took another volley before dropping: 12 arrows total.</em></p><p></p><p><strong>The Dying Begins</strong></p><p></p><p>I am unconscious, but conscious of all that matters. When the dying truly begins on the field of battle, all elements cut loose, and earthquake, fire and flood play at the heels of our horses. Debris and explosions are spurring the horses on to incredible speed. The Dreamer is crazy. But we are out. We are headed south, away from the battle, but I still cling precariously to life. Maybe if I die, everything will become clear…</p><p></p><p><em>--Ocean Deeply Sleeps</em></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>DM note: notable moments--the fire and the battle were both potentially very lethal situations and it is certainly a testament to the ability of my players that they all survived. They work well as a team. The fire, in particular, was a frantic encounter for the PCs. It took them hours to get that deep into the forest. It took them less than ten rounds to get out. When Intelligent Chameleon Survives fell unconscious, I was sure that he would be burned alive, especially when Swift Serpent Strikes failed to re-enter the forest 2 rounds in a row. That halfling was not going to get the human out without help. Of course, I thought the halfling would perish, as well, for his selfless act. I'm thinking of giving him a point of good karma.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Swift Serpent Strikes' player was also playing the halfling's monkey friend. The comic effect that the monkey provided relieved a great deal of tension throughout the game, particularly after the monkey had been tied to the tree, and wasn't "speaking" with the halfling.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Intelligent Chameleon Survives...well, what can I say? His tactics weren't too different from the last session, but this time, his illusion worked better than he could have imagined. I couldn't decide if he deserved good karma or bad karma for it, though, so in the end I gave him none. (Karma is a game mechanic unique to this setting.)</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Ocean Deeply Sleeps now has a naganata, but hasn't yet had the opportunity to use it. I was a little surprised to see her try to dismount a wounded cavalryman on her own side, given her honor, but only mildly. Perhaps we have the kernel of a personality conflict?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Fighting Man Dances is a trip. He is going to give his butterfly sword to the monkey when (if) he has taught it martial arts. The monkey is the size of a cat!</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rune, post: 1879, member: 67"] Session 2, part 2 [b]Reality Shift[/b] The next day, it is winter in the Black and White Season. The Dreamer does not always dream in color. Snow, knee-high, covers the camp, and everything in the world is faded into different shades of gray, except for the snow, which is the purest white, and the darkest nights, which are the emptiest shade of black. I lose track, but I think it is four days that we have sought warmth and shelter inside an abandoned and ruined hut in the bakemono camp. Following the fourth day we wake, and it is spring--still black and white. The snow is gone. We head east again, but this time, north, as well. We travel until we come to a river, running west and intersecting with our burnt forest. Now that once mighty forest of ancient trees is nothing but a mass of densely-packed stalks of charcoal with layers of ash on the ground. We follow the river upstream, into the forest of ash. At one point a mass of shriveled and burned carcasses of trees bridge the swelling water. We consider a crossing, but it is too unstable. We move single file again, for the dead forest has thickened. We are wary of the possibility of collapsing trees falling upon us, and we turn back to travel downstream through the blackened hell. [i]DM note: the Black & White season is one I've been wanting to spring on my players since it was first conceived. It came as a total surprise to everyone there, even my brother (Fighting Man Dances), who had helped me create the setting, and actually came up with the premise of the season. He just didn't see it coming. That was most satisfying...[/i] In two days, it is autumn. We have left the forest far behind. We come to a giant swath of cleared ground; the clear path of a huge war party, with both men and elephants, traveling south from the river. On the north side of the river, there are no tracks of any kind. We continue to follow the river downstream, to the west. It is dusk as we top the rise of the hill and see them: hundreds and hundreds of campfires, fires enough for a great army. We decide to make camp and watch, but fear that we may be close enough to be discovered by scouts. We are. We are invited (coerced) into joining the encampment by the scouts that have discovered us. They are friendly and in good spirits, but it is clear that they will not let us stay in our private encampment away from the army. [i]DM note: the swath of cleared ground is presumably left by the army that the party saw passing southward to their west in Session 1. Another hook the players didn't bite on.[/i] From the camp comes the sound of music and merriment, men and women in camaraderie. Food and drink is abundant, and the sight of it, even though it is a mighty army, tugs at my heart. In my life and in my companions, there were once homes and laughter and welcoming hearths. We feast, yet all stay sober; we are too wary to give in to drink. All of the warriors are amused by the presence of the halfling, "Why, he is but a child!" they exclaim. He is, and he is not. It is hard for them to understand. The camp, we find, is divided. The conscripts eat and talk at the many campfires in the center and the cavalry and commanders are separate and unapproachable. In addition, the tents are divided by the campfires; there are tents on the north side of the camp, and tents on the south side. Everyone we talk to is very friendly--with each other and with us. The morale in the camp is quite high. The camaraderie around the conscripts’ fires is intoxicating. Intelligent Chameleon Survives and I are even offered naganatas (Swift already has one) by a sergeant. This is the weapon that the sergeants use. The yari footmen use yari spears, and the archers, of course, use bows. We happily accept these gifts and enjoy the evening, although we are still wary of the purpose of this army. No one has been able to tell us why they fight, save for the fact that it is their job to do so. We are approached by a sergeant as the evening wears on. "Which side will you go to?", the foot soldier asks, "You must choose one, for tomorrow we fight." Then, the terrible truth is revealed to us. We know then that we will be sleeping with two opposing armies for bedfellows. Tonight two armies shared friendship, fire, and feast. Tomorrow, they will kill each other. War makes no sense. [i]DM note: the player of Fighting Man Dances began to suspect, not necessarily accurately in any way, that the soldiers were caught in a time loop, because one type of reality shift that can happen in this setting is temporal. He figured that if a whole lot of people died at once, it might create such an effect. The party has no evidence that this is the case, however.[/i] [b]Reality?[/b] It is drizzling in the morning, spring again. Still, the season is the Black and White. The south army, with which we slept, prepares for battle, gray flags (that particular shade of gray which would be the brightest of reds at other times of the year) with white arrows fluttering from the backs of the conscripts’ armor. "Where are the generals?" the Chameleon calls out with great urgency. "We will see the generals!" The conscripts are astounded at the presumptuous nature that we display. "You must don your armor, and prepare for battle!" they call to us. "Where are the officers?" shouts Chameleon. The answer is obvious, however. As the soldiers form their lines, the cavalry do also, and behind the cavalry, is the richly decorated troop of commanders, on the only elephants in the army. The cool air floods over us while we smoke and make our plans for escape. Swift and the Chameleon are at each others throats. Again, Chameleon sets our course of action. We will approach the officers and offer our services as a special troop, and escape when we get the chance. With each step we take closer to the officer's camp, more and more conscripts around us stop what they are doing and stare at us. "We seek the officers, " we call. We, peasants, are approaching the commanders! The conscripts look at us in awe. The cavalry are more disciplined than the foot soldiers, and their formations are nearly complete. We humbly, humbly bow. "There is no way out", I hear Swift's voice in my ear. "We cannot fight", the Chameleon snarls back at him with a sharp instruction to follow the plan. The Chameleon addresses himself to the commanding horseman, and diplomatically pursues an audience with the commanders. The cavalry leader assents. [i]DM note: Intelligent Chameleon Survives rolled a natural 20 on his diplomacy check right here, for a total of 27. Nothing spectacular, but at least it was success.[/i] We are circling west, behind the army, past the sound of horns and the rain of arrows flying until at last we stand before a mounted officer, his elephant towering above us as he moves forward to address us. Chameleon calls out in a loud voice, filled with the delusional authority with which he views himself: "We have some skills that might be useful to you in battle. Hear us out!" The man glares down upon us, but this is enough. This is what we came for. Now we present our offer. But the commander is unimpressed. He does, however, grant us a place in the troop of yari footmen flanking on the east, where we have come from, if we can don our armor and catch up in time. (There is no armor for the halfling, of course—he is only a halfling, after all.) That would put us on the edge of the battlefield--an easy escape! In elation, we hastily put on our conscript armor and run. I do not notice the volley of arrows descending until it is too late for me to react. I feel the burn of the assault bursting through me. Four arrows have pierced me. Through a strange mix of tears and the clarity that a close brush with death brings, I can see that the others have avoided the hail of metal, wood, and fletching. I still stand. Chameleon casts a spell and becomes a commander before our eyes. The resulting reality shift has no comparison to the tremendous shifts that are to follow. Our hearts are in our throats, for the cavalry has divided into two troops, each riding behind the army to flank from either side. One troop rides down upon us. Some of the riders have slumped in their saddles, having taken arrows through their armor. Swift and I both attempt to seize the horses of two such warriors, but both attempts are failures, which leave us lying in the mud and amongst the trampling hooves of the cavalry. Chameleon, the commander, calls out for the cavalry to stop. They do. Every single horseman in the east flanking assault halts and gathers around him. "I am a general and these are my men." (I little cared at the time to point out my femininity.) "Horse for the four of us at once! You three, I command you to dismount and report to the other officers that we are in need of reinforcements. Things have not gone as planned." I am aware one of my companions (Swift, I think, or maybe the halfling) taking some arrows in another volley, but I am soon pierced by another four. I am not dead, but I have lost touch with my body, and I fall into the darkest black of this colorless season. I will not be saved this day. But Swift is running to me and drags me up and onto the horse and the last thing I remember is the weightless sensation of being lifted and of movement--violent movement--of the horse and every jolt an arrow of pain. [i]DM note: this battle was particularly viscous. The PCs never saw the archers that were raining arrows down upon them. In truth, it was more of a prolonged trap--as was the forest fire in the earlier part of the game. I was treating each arrow volley as an area of effect attack, letting each PC make a Ref save to avoid being hit. If a PC was hit, they got 1d4 arrows, and Ocean always got 4. I seem to remember that she actually took another volley before dropping: 12 arrows total.[/i] [b]The Dying Begins[/b] I am unconscious, but conscious of all that matters. When the dying truly begins on the field of battle, all elements cut loose, and earthquake, fire and flood play at the heels of our horses. Debris and explosions are spurring the horses on to incredible speed. The Dreamer is crazy. But we are out. We are headed south, away from the battle, but I still cling precariously to life. Maybe if I die, everything will become clear… [i]--Ocean Deeply Sleeps[/i] [i]DM note: notable moments--the fire and the battle were both potentially very lethal situations and it is certainly a testament to the ability of my players that they all survived. They work well as a team. The fire, in particular, was a frantic encounter for the PCs. It took them hours to get that deep into the forest. It took them less than ten rounds to get out. When Intelligent Chameleon Survives fell unconscious, I was sure that he would be burned alive, especially when Swift Serpent Strikes failed to re-enter the forest 2 rounds in a row. That halfling was not going to get the human out without help. Of course, I thought the halfling would perish, as well, for his selfless act. I'm thinking of giving him a point of good karma. Swift Serpent Strikes' player was also playing the halfling's monkey friend. The comic effect that the monkey provided relieved a great deal of tension throughout the game, particularly after the monkey had been tied to the tree, and wasn't "speaking" with the halfling. Intelligent Chameleon Survives...well, what can I say? His tactics weren't too different from the last session, but this time, his illusion worked better than he could have imagined. I couldn't decide if he deserved good karma or bad karma for it, though, so in the end I gave him none. (Karma is a game mechanic unique to this setting.) Ocean Deeply Sleeps now has a naganata, but hasn't yet had the opportunity to use it. I was a little surprised to see her try to dismount a wounded cavalryman on her own side, given her honor, but only mildly. Perhaps we have the kernel of a personality conflict? Fighting Man Dances is a trip. He is going to give his butterfly sword to the monkey when (if) he has taught it martial arts. The monkey is the size of a cat![/i] [/QUOTE]
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