As the Lost Boys draw to a close then another campaign starts up, we're playing using RPTools and Skype, and every week so far- it's been fun. Once again it's another Goodman Games product that's being put to the test DCC51 Castle Whiterock, and so to begin with here's a little intro to the characters- Twiglet comes first.
Oh and if anyone has any experiences of using RPTools then feel free to share, I'm having real issues with Dundjinni, like even the Demo doesn't work properly, Java problems- any advice...
Castle Whiterock- The Backstory.
Turn 1.
“But I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going son, there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me change my mind. It’s for your own good.”
“Ohhh Daaaad.”
“Sh’up.”
“But Daaaaad.”
“Nope. You’re going.”
Twiglet looks up into his father’s tired eyes, one-hundred-and-fifty years hauling slabs of granite from “Pog’s Granitarium- Rock Bottom Prices”, a delivery driver, two Fire Beetle mounts (Bert & Ethel) and a hole in the ground called home- that’s all he has to show for a century-and-a-half of hard labour. One-hundred-and-fifty years, a hell of a long time, and the last thirty without mum, a shale slide, treacherous at the best of times, still they were lucky to survive it- mum got away though, rumour has it she’s shacked up with Mister Lard the fattest dwarf in the seven clans, he’s got a finger in every pie- and an inside toilet, all the luxuries. No wonder she left them.
Twiglet doesn’t want to go though. To leave his old dad, adventuring, it doesn’t sound safe, lots of other dwarves went away to prove their worth, topside, the human lands- they never came back, none of them.
Some said they made their fortunes- why would they come back, to this dump. Nobody said that they had just died up there, nobody, everyone thought it though, they had to- it was true.
Twiglet looks around him, the one bed mansion, actually hole in the ground, they call home- a palace to him, all he ever wanted, warmth- well actually not a lot of warmth; shelter- actually not much in the way of shelter either, especially when the middens flood, he’d been knee deep in turds in the summer of 83, during the Kaka Keepers strike; and dad- dear old dad.
“Here, take this.”
Twiglet looks over, his father holds out a parcel, wrapped in a dull red neckerchief, his father’s neckerchief, the one he wore to work, day-in day-out, for the past Moradin knows how many years.
“What is it?”
“Something for the journey.”
He takes it, bundles it away into his backpack, out of sight, out of mind.
The silence goes on a while.
His dad wads tobacco, stuffs the plug into his pipe, then lights it, Black Scumble, he’ll be out of it in soon, if he’s got something to say to him, some last words, parting wisdom, then he’d better get it said soon, because in twenty minutes dear old dad will be talking to the walls.
About mum again.
“Dad.”
“It’s no use…”
“I know, I just wanted to, well…”
“Well what?”
“I just wanted you to know, well…”
His father strikes another match; it’s hard to light Black Scumble, wet to the touch- greasy even.
“What is it?” Almost irritated.
“I…”
“Spit it out son.”
“Mum shouldn’t have left, she was mad too, I mean we don’t have much but you stick it out don’t you, if you’ve taught me anything…”
“I’ve taught you nothing. Nothing worth learning. Until now.”
“Dad?”
“Go son, don’t come back, don’t even look back, there’s nothing here for you- portering knocked off lumps of mica, lichen rubs to make them look like granite, that’s no job for a young dwarf- you know how to swing an axe, the rest you’ll pick up. Adventuring son, that’s the future.”
“But I…”
“Son. Son, please listen to me- I know what I’m saying, stay here and you’ll end up like me, waiting centuries for someone to tell you that you’re dead already, that nothing is real anymore, that all your dreams and hopes have turned to chippings. Don’t waste your life like I have, too long going nowhere, and back-breaking work- I’d rather have died on an Orc’s axe… well not an Orc, a Giant- one of them big ones with the bald heads, throw stones around…”
“Stone Giants”
“Yeah them, with the bald heads, I’d rather have died battling a Stone Giant, a chieftain mind, than… this.”
“I don’t want to though- I’m scared dad. Really scared.”
His father stares at him, puffs contentedly on his pipe a while longer.
“Good, you’re supposed to be, scared is Moradin’s way of letting you know you’re alive- scared is good, just remember though… you’re a dwarf, don’t act scared, of anything, ever- and don’t say anything unless its worth saying- strong and silent, like the stone.”
His father reaches out, for a second Twiglet thinks, but his dad’s hand passes on, over his shoulder and smoothes the stone wall behind him.
“Go now.”
“Dad I…”
“Taciturn, grumpy even, that’s the dwarven way. Don’t let them see you’re frightened, not ever- even when it’s terrifying- Orcs, Goblins, Bugbears, Trolls, Giants- scares the iron pyrite out of me just thinking about it.”
His dad coughs, remembers what he’s saying, and to who, he bites his tongue.
“You know what I mean?”
Twiglet nods.
“Now your mother, your mother was a strong woman, she wasn’t scared of anything.”
His dad rises, stumbles the two yards to the cold stone wall that’s marked forever with his filthy hand prints, over the years the indentations have taken the shape, exactly, of his father’s hands. The old dwarf’s body shakes and strains as he braces and begins to push against the unmoving, unfeeling stone.
Nothing happens, just as it had been doing for decades.
The old dwarf trembles, tears come unbidden.
Twiglet turns away quickly, goes to leave.
His dad turns swiftly to face him.
“And don’t, whatever you do, don’t tell them you’re a girl.”
Twiglet nods once, grimaces, and heads off.
Out of the mine, out of the clan, out of the cave, out of the dark.
He passes two guards on the way- they watch him for a while, they know where he’s going, there’s only one thing in the direction Twiglet’s travelling- the surface.
The younger of the two dwarves makes the sign of the Hammer and shivers, the other chews tobacco and looks away.
“You know where he’s goin’.”
“Moradin help him.”
“It’s too late for that lad.”
“Who was it- I didn’t see properly?”
“I think his name’s Twiglet… funny looking little… a nobody really.”
“He live in that hole in the ground on Feldspar Way?”
“He did.”
“With his dad?”
“His dad died thirty years ago, shale slide- big one- didn’t stand a chance.”
The younger dwarf nods and goes back to leaning on his axe.
“And put some bloody pants on before the Sergeant comes round again.” The older dwarven guard spits and shakes his head.
Twiglet strides on into the light, it’s blinding.
Oh and if anyone has any experiences of using RPTools then feel free to share, I'm having real issues with Dundjinni, like even the Demo doesn't work properly, Java problems- any advice...
Castle Whiterock- The Backstory.
Turn 1.
Twiglet’s story.
“But I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going son, there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me change my mind. It’s for your own good.”
“Ohhh Daaaad.”
“Sh’up.”
“But Daaaaad.”
“Nope. You’re going.”
Twiglet looks up into his father’s tired eyes, one-hundred-and-fifty years hauling slabs of granite from “Pog’s Granitarium- Rock Bottom Prices”, a delivery driver, two Fire Beetle mounts (Bert & Ethel) and a hole in the ground called home- that’s all he has to show for a century-and-a-half of hard labour. One-hundred-and-fifty years, a hell of a long time, and the last thirty without mum, a shale slide, treacherous at the best of times, still they were lucky to survive it- mum got away though, rumour has it she’s shacked up with Mister Lard the fattest dwarf in the seven clans, he’s got a finger in every pie- and an inside toilet, all the luxuries. No wonder she left them.
Twiglet doesn’t want to go though. To leave his old dad, adventuring, it doesn’t sound safe, lots of other dwarves went away to prove their worth, topside, the human lands- they never came back, none of them.
Some said they made their fortunes- why would they come back, to this dump. Nobody said that they had just died up there, nobody, everyone thought it though, they had to- it was true.
Twiglet looks around him, the one bed mansion, actually hole in the ground, they call home- a palace to him, all he ever wanted, warmth- well actually not a lot of warmth; shelter- actually not much in the way of shelter either, especially when the middens flood, he’d been knee deep in turds in the summer of 83, during the Kaka Keepers strike; and dad- dear old dad.
“Here, take this.”
Twiglet looks over, his father holds out a parcel, wrapped in a dull red neckerchief, his father’s neckerchief, the one he wore to work, day-in day-out, for the past Moradin knows how many years.
“What is it?”
“Something for the journey.”
He takes it, bundles it away into his backpack, out of sight, out of mind.
The silence goes on a while.
His dad wads tobacco, stuffs the plug into his pipe, then lights it, Black Scumble, he’ll be out of it in soon, if he’s got something to say to him, some last words, parting wisdom, then he’d better get it said soon, because in twenty minutes dear old dad will be talking to the walls.
About mum again.
“Dad.”
“It’s no use…”
“I know, I just wanted to, well…”
“Well what?”
“I just wanted you to know, well…”
His father strikes another match; it’s hard to light Black Scumble, wet to the touch- greasy even.
“What is it?” Almost irritated.
“I…”
“Spit it out son.”
“Mum shouldn’t have left, she was mad too, I mean we don’t have much but you stick it out don’t you, if you’ve taught me anything…”
“I’ve taught you nothing. Nothing worth learning. Until now.”
“Dad?”
“Go son, don’t come back, don’t even look back, there’s nothing here for you- portering knocked off lumps of mica, lichen rubs to make them look like granite, that’s no job for a young dwarf- you know how to swing an axe, the rest you’ll pick up. Adventuring son, that’s the future.”
“But I…”
“Son. Son, please listen to me- I know what I’m saying, stay here and you’ll end up like me, waiting centuries for someone to tell you that you’re dead already, that nothing is real anymore, that all your dreams and hopes have turned to chippings. Don’t waste your life like I have, too long going nowhere, and back-breaking work- I’d rather have died on an Orc’s axe… well not an Orc, a Giant- one of them big ones with the bald heads, throw stones around…”
“Stone Giants”
“Yeah them, with the bald heads, I’d rather have died battling a Stone Giant, a chieftain mind, than… this.”
“I don’t want to though- I’m scared dad. Really scared.”
His father stares at him, puffs contentedly on his pipe a while longer.
“Good, you’re supposed to be, scared is Moradin’s way of letting you know you’re alive- scared is good, just remember though… you’re a dwarf, don’t act scared, of anything, ever- and don’t say anything unless its worth saying- strong and silent, like the stone.”
His father reaches out, for a second Twiglet thinks, but his dad’s hand passes on, over his shoulder and smoothes the stone wall behind him.
“Go now.”
“Dad I…”
“Taciturn, grumpy even, that’s the dwarven way. Don’t let them see you’re frightened, not ever- even when it’s terrifying- Orcs, Goblins, Bugbears, Trolls, Giants- scares the iron pyrite out of me just thinking about it.”
His dad coughs, remembers what he’s saying, and to who, he bites his tongue.
“You know what I mean?”
Twiglet nods.
“Now your mother, your mother was a strong woman, she wasn’t scared of anything.”
His dad rises, stumbles the two yards to the cold stone wall that’s marked forever with his filthy hand prints, over the years the indentations have taken the shape, exactly, of his father’s hands. The old dwarf’s body shakes and strains as he braces and begins to push against the unmoving, unfeeling stone.
Nothing happens, just as it had been doing for decades.
The old dwarf trembles, tears come unbidden.
Twiglet turns away quickly, goes to leave.
His dad turns swiftly to face him.
“And don’t, whatever you do, don’t tell them you’re a girl.”
Twiglet nods once, grimaces, and heads off.
Out of the mine, out of the clan, out of the cave, out of the dark.
He passes two guards on the way- they watch him for a while, they know where he’s going, there’s only one thing in the direction Twiglet’s travelling- the surface.
The younger of the two dwarves makes the sign of the Hammer and shivers, the other chews tobacco and looks away.
“You know where he’s goin’.”
“Moradin help him.”
“It’s too late for that lad.”
“Who was it- I didn’t see properly?”
“I think his name’s Twiglet… funny looking little… a nobody really.”
“He live in that hole in the ground on Feldspar Way?”
“He did.”
“With his dad?”
“His dad died thirty years ago, shale slide- big one- didn’t stand a chance.”
The younger dwarf nods and goes back to leaning on his axe.
“And put some bloody pants on before the Sergeant comes round again.” The older dwarven guard spits and shakes his head.
Twiglet strides on into the light, it’s blinding.
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