Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
Problems? Well, i didn't get to assassinate anyone for the subplot I'd worked out...
Seriously, if I had a chance to run this again, I'd probably change a few things. One would be the inclusion of slightly more plot elements and NPC interaction to break up the sporting action. While we enjoyed the session, it tended to be carried by the excitement of new thing (sporting events) which gradually wore down as they became less new.
The three big things I have written down in my notes after this session were these:
* Bhally games are very timeconsuming to play out. I'd made a few changes to the rules ont he fly to make it more dwarvish, and one of those considerably lowered the timeframe of the game and eliminated the use of substitutes, but it still took quite a while to get through a three point match. In many respects it's like a combat, but with more rules added in. Next time we do something like this, I'm making copies of the rules and handing them out before the game.
* The players are much sneakier than me. In terms of doing sneaky things with the powers and generally being able to rough up the opposition, they had it all over most of the dwarven teams for the competition. There wasn't really much point in playing out the entire festival's worth of games, because it'd largely come down to six rounds of "I chase him, I do something weird, Blarth and Yip beat him into a pulp..."
In the end I used the law of averages to work out who won what, and we only played out the really important matches. For Bhally, that essentially came down to the first match and the last one - because the usual tactic of beating the opposition into the ground wouldn't have worked on the Laughing Stones.
* The only other problem lay with me not really knowing what the group was capable of. In Bhally, this turned out to be a good thing. In the obstacle course, not so good - it was essentially put in as an event that Yip could really shine at (being a monk-rogue with better speed than the opposing dwarven monks and rogues), but I failed to take into account that everyone's favorite kobold doesn't have climb ranks
Seriously, if I had a chance to run this again, I'd probably change a few things. One would be the inclusion of slightly more plot elements and NPC interaction to break up the sporting action. While we enjoyed the session, it tended to be carried by the excitement of new thing (sporting events) which gradually wore down as they became less new.
The three big things I have written down in my notes after this session were these:
* Bhally games are very timeconsuming to play out. I'd made a few changes to the rules ont he fly to make it more dwarvish, and one of those considerably lowered the timeframe of the game and eliminated the use of substitutes, but it still took quite a while to get through a three point match. In many respects it's like a combat, but with more rules added in. Next time we do something like this, I'm making copies of the rules and handing them out before the game.
* The players are much sneakier than me. In terms of doing sneaky things with the powers and generally being able to rough up the opposition, they had it all over most of the dwarven teams for the competition. There wasn't really much point in playing out the entire festival's worth of games, because it'd largely come down to six rounds of "I chase him, I do something weird, Blarth and Yip beat him into a pulp..."
In the end I used the law of averages to work out who won what, and we only played out the really important matches. For Bhally, that essentially came down to the first match and the last one - because the usual tactic of beating the opposition into the ground wouldn't have worked on the Laughing Stones.
* The only other problem lay with me not really knowing what the group was capable of. In Bhally, this turned out to be a good thing. In the obstacle course, not so good - it was essentially put in as an event that Yip could really shine at (being a monk-rogue with better speed than the opposing dwarven monks and rogues), but I failed to take into account that everyone's favorite kobold doesn't have climb ranks
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Lela
First Post
I've always found that to be a problem for me too. The players know their charactes so well it's very difficult to pull one over on them. Be it in battle, political situations, or competitions. They just have a major advantage in that one character against my 5, 10, or 15. I think it might be a lot closer if two teams of players faced off. Each would have that special advantage and the game would be much more a spectator sport.
Hmmm, I wonder if a General forum discussion could turn up some good tactics and teams. Might be interesting to find out. I'd post the opener but I don't have the book (yet). Anyone else care to make a go?
This is one of those things that could turn into a fun RPA style minigame. You know, fun at first but it can get old fast.
As a thought, has Halgo considered starting a team back home? Might be great for relations and could very well be excellent for magic use among the local dwarves. All that gawking and hero worship. You'll have new magic recruits signing up by the dozen (and one or two might even have talent).
Hold a compitition between the clans and see about pumping some life back into the languishing dwarves.
A lot of it may be dreams, I admit. But isn't that what D&D is made of?
Hmmm, I wonder if a General forum discussion could turn up some good tactics and teams. Might be interesting to find out. I'd post the opener but I don't have the book (yet). Anyone else care to make a go?
This is one of those things that could turn into a fun RPA style minigame. You know, fun at first but it can get old fast.
As a thought, has Halgo considered starting a team back home? Might be great for relations and could very well be excellent for magic use among the local dwarves. All that gawking and hero worship. You'll have new magic recruits signing up by the dozen (and one or two might even have talent).
Hold a compitition between the clans and see about pumping some life back into the languishing dwarves.
A lot of it may be dreams, I admit. But isn't that what D&D is made of?
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
Amarin sits perched on tip of the goals, the roar of the crown echoing in his ears as he watches the game in progress. The stone ball has dropped from the ceiling, and both teams have started surging through the stone maze in search of it. From his vantage point, Amarin can make out nearly everything. Yip and Blarth are charging up the two long corridors that link both sides of the play area, their counterparts from the opposing team charging forward to meet them. Halgo and Geoffrey follow at a much slower pace, both of them in the process of casting spells as they move.
On the far side of the field, through the shimmering haze of moisture created by thousands of sweaty dwarves watching on, Amarin can see his counterpart. The Laughing Stones goalkeeper appears to be a black-scaled kobold, flying in front of the scoring area. Amarin remembers what Ogath told him of the opposition, of the kobold in particular, and Amarin permits himself a brief smile.
He focuses his will as both teams reach the drop-chamber at once, the air in front of him slowly coalescing into the form of an astral construct. With a thought he gives it dwarven features, adds a set of wings, and gently guides it in its task.
“Grab me that ball.”
The drop chamber becomes a zone of melee and spell casting almost immediately. Yip and his opposition counterpart reach it first, both of them leaping to the attack without bothering to draw weapons. Yip’s flying kick seems to shake his foe, but the back fist delivered in retaliation leaves the kobold stunned and bewildered. Before the dwarven mute-runner can pick up the ball, Blarth is there to fight him off with sword and spiked shield. As the second mute-runner arrives, Amarin can see Yip recover and press the attack. Both teams seem evenly matched – the speed and strength of Blarth and Yip easily countered by the opposition’s inherent toughness. The ball lies on the ground, untouched.
Amarin manifests a second construct, identical to the first, and smiles as he sees his initial creation scoop the ball from its cradle and fly towards the gaol. The kobold standing guard seems distracted, preparing to fend against a thrown ball, but the construct simply flies past and through the goal with ease.
The crowd goes wild, but Amarin can barely tell whether they support his tactics or decry them.
Halgo and Geoffrey start firing spells at Blarth and Yip. Both the Copperhead Mute-runners are closer to the ball, and they’ve managed to wound one of the opposition badly enough that he’s retreated to the Heal-caster. Amarin spots the opposition Attack-caster covering the area around the ball-drop with a layer of grease. Yip seems barely phased by the magical obstruction, smoothly skating across the area of effect as if it were ice before hammering a paw into the dwarf’s throat. The dwarf drops to her knees, choking.
A whistle sound as the second ball is dropped into play. It never hits the ground.
Amarin has three constructs at the ready, hovering eagerly beneath the drop-point. One of them manages to catch the ball before it lands, flinging itself towards the goal at high speed. The area around the goals suddenly fills with mist and fog, obscuring vision, and one of the dwarves throws a spell at the construct as it streaks towards the gaols. Amarin can fill a faint tickle on the edge of his consciousness, the slight mental link that allows him to communicate with the construct letting him know that the opposition has tried a mental effect of some kind.
Not for the first time, Amarin wonders at the people beyond his homeland and the poor knowledge they have beyond their backwards “magic.” The second ball goes through the hope. Blarth and Yip don’t even bother trying to hold the drop-zone, joining Halgo and Geoffrey in trying to force the opposition back towards their own goals. There is a shower of sparks as Halgo tags an opponent who tried to turn invisible. A loud cry as Geoffrey boosts Yip’s strength and speed in preparation for an offensive.
The third ball drops into a waiting constructs arm. Amarin sits on the goals, waiting for victory to come. Halgo webs one of the mute-runners. The other collapses Blarth with a well-placed kick to the groin. There is a brief flare of light as a lightening bolt is fired down a corridor, narrowly missing Yip and Geoffrey, and the construct flies for goal.
It never makes it.
Amarin isn’t entirely sure what happened, all he can see is the construct suddenly thrown off course by an invisible force. He scans the field, searching for the opposition Attack-caster, but she’s barely conscious after Blarth has attempted to club her.
“Wind wall,” Halgo yells. From his vantage point, he’s close enough to see the spell being cast. “The constructs can’t fly through it.
The construct circles away, aimless and uncertain now its goal has been impeded. Amarin hurriedly reaches out with his mind and instructs it, letting it drop the ball into Yip’s waiting hands.
“Clear a path,” Halgo yells. Geoffrey and Blarth do just that. Heavily armed and armoured, they are an imposing sight by anyone’s standards. Blarth charges down the corridor, brimming with enhancement magic that Geoffrey casts time and again. Opponents scatter or try to block them with magic, but Halgo does his best to counter the spells and keep them moving. It works well enough, although Blarth is hit with a hold person half-way down the corridor. Within seconds they have driven their way towards the goals, forcing themselves through the defences. Yip runs at high speed, his feet seeming to dance on the rocky floor. When the opposition kobold flies down to stop him, Yip simply leaps and catapults him off the floor. For a moment he’s caught in the updraft of the wind-wall, momentarily suspended in mid-air, and he lets the ball fly in a single fluid motion.
The Copperheads win three-nothing. The dwarven crowd is shocked, then uproarious, then a single roar that repeats the groups name over and over again.
“COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS!”
From his vantage point on the Goals, Amarin simply smiles.
On the far side of the field, through the shimmering haze of moisture created by thousands of sweaty dwarves watching on, Amarin can see his counterpart. The Laughing Stones goalkeeper appears to be a black-scaled kobold, flying in front of the scoring area. Amarin remembers what Ogath told him of the opposition, of the kobold in particular, and Amarin permits himself a brief smile.
He focuses his will as both teams reach the drop-chamber at once, the air in front of him slowly coalescing into the form of an astral construct. With a thought he gives it dwarven features, adds a set of wings, and gently guides it in its task.
“Grab me that ball.”
The drop chamber becomes a zone of melee and spell casting almost immediately. Yip and his opposition counterpart reach it first, both of them leaping to the attack without bothering to draw weapons. Yip’s flying kick seems to shake his foe, but the back fist delivered in retaliation leaves the kobold stunned and bewildered. Before the dwarven mute-runner can pick up the ball, Blarth is there to fight him off with sword and spiked shield. As the second mute-runner arrives, Amarin can see Yip recover and press the attack. Both teams seem evenly matched – the speed and strength of Blarth and Yip easily countered by the opposition’s inherent toughness. The ball lies on the ground, untouched.
Amarin manifests a second construct, identical to the first, and smiles as he sees his initial creation scoop the ball from its cradle and fly towards the gaol. The kobold standing guard seems distracted, preparing to fend against a thrown ball, but the construct simply flies past and through the goal with ease.
The crowd goes wild, but Amarin can barely tell whether they support his tactics or decry them.
Halgo and Geoffrey start firing spells at Blarth and Yip. Both the Copperhead Mute-runners are closer to the ball, and they’ve managed to wound one of the opposition badly enough that he’s retreated to the Heal-caster. Amarin spots the opposition Attack-caster covering the area around the ball-drop with a layer of grease. Yip seems barely phased by the magical obstruction, smoothly skating across the area of effect as if it were ice before hammering a paw into the dwarf’s throat. The dwarf drops to her knees, choking.
A whistle sound as the second ball is dropped into play. It never hits the ground.
Amarin has three constructs at the ready, hovering eagerly beneath the drop-point. One of them manages to catch the ball before it lands, flinging itself towards the goal at high speed. The area around the goals suddenly fills with mist and fog, obscuring vision, and one of the dwarves throws a spell at the construct as it streaks towards the gaols. Amarin can fill a faint tickle on the edge of his consciousness, the slight mental link that allows him to communicate with the construct letting him know that the opposition has tried a mental effect of some kind.
Not for the first time, Amarin wonders at the people beyond his homeland and the poor knowledge they have beyond their backwards “magic.” The second ball goes through the hope. Blarth and Yip don’t even bother trying to hold the drop-zone, joining Halgo and Geoffrey in trying to force the opposition back towards their own goals. There is a shower of sparks as Halgo tags an opponent who tried to turn invisible. A loud cry as Geoffrey boosts Yip’s strength and speed in preparation for an offensive.
The third ball drops into a waiting constructs arm. Amarin sits on the goals, waiting for victory to come. Halgo webs one of the mute-runners. The other collapses Blarth with a well-placed kick to the groin. There is a brief flare of light as a lightening bolt is fired down a corridor, narrowly missing Yip and Geoffrey, and the construct flies for goal.
It never makes it.
Amarin isn’t entirely sure what happened, all he can see is the construct suddenly thrown off course by an invisible force. He scans the field, searching for the opposition Attack-caster, but she’s barely conscious after Blarth has attempted to club her.
“Wind wall,” Halgo yells. From his vantage point, he’s close enough to see the spell being cast. “The constructs can’t fly through it.
The construct circles away, aimless and uncertain now its goal has been impeded. Amarin hurriedly reaches out with his mind and instructs it, letting it drop the ball into Yip’s waiting hands.
“Clear a path,” Halgo yells. Geoffrey and Blarth do just that. Heavily armed and armoured, they are an imposing sight by anyone’s standards. Blarth charges down the corridor, brimming with enhancement magic that Geoffrey casts time and again. Opponents scatter or try to block them with magic, but Halgo does his best to counter the spells and keep them moving. It works well enough, although Blarth is hit with a hold person half-way down the corridor. Within seconds they have driven their way towards the goals, forcing themselves through the defences. Yip runs at high speed, his feet seeming to dance on the rocky floor. When the opposition kobold flies down to stop him, Yip simply leaps and catapults him off the floor. For a moment he’s caught in the updraft of the wind-wall, momentarily suspended in mid-air, and he lets the ball fly in a single fluid motion.
The Copperheads win three-nothing. The dwarven crowd is shocked, then uproarious, then a single roar that repeats the groups name over and over again.
“COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS!”
From his vantage point on the Goals, Amarin simply smiles.
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
*celebrates*
Well played, lads!
Well played, lads!
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Lela said:
In a party that has this Yip in it, it's always time for drinking
Seriously, the next update is quite short:
There is much rejoicing, and the alcohol flows like Thorbeck's magma as dwarven wizard and smith alike revel in the outlanders victory. Amarin takes notes. Geoffrey is gracious in victory, but quietly excuses himself to discuss exactly what kind of magic items the group is best served taking as its price. Yip proves that a kobold liver is just as effecient at processing dwarven peat mead as dwarven livers are. Blarth probably starts a fight.
Something light that. It was getting late, and we kind of glossed over the aftermath by this time. During the period between games, we worked out who was buying what with the prize money, a few odds and ends that occured during the celebration and other stuff via e-mail.
Hence, the next update will start at the beginning of the next session, and all the celebration will be conviniently glossed over because I'm lazy.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
“Why do they always have to give us stuff we can’t sell,” Geoffrey grumbles. He turns the burnished helm over in his hands, examining the workmanship that has gone into it.
“Because it’s a gift,” Halgo says blandly. “Not a reward. There’s a fine difference between the two.”
“Yeah, but a helmet made of copper? It’s not like we can actually wear them.”
“I don’t think it’s actually copper,” Halgo says. “The metal’s to hard, and the colour is slightly off.”
“Mithril and adamantine alloy,” Amarin says eagerly. “I heard one of the smiths talking about it at the party.”
“Just as hard as normal steel then,” Halgo tells Geoffrey. “Good, solid dwarf work, fresh from the king’s forges. What more do you want?”
“Gold,” Geoffrey says. “Spell-forged armour. A small keep to call my own.”
“You’re never satisfied, are you?” Halgo asks, eyeing the bulky suit of fine full plate that Blarth and Geoffrey both commissioned as their prize for winning the Bhal’Meral tourney.
“The better the equipment, the greater service I can be to my god,” Geoffrey says piously. He takes a pose of resigned nobility and spurs his horse forward. Halgo and Amarin, sitting on a merchant’s wagon as it rattles along the road, watch him go. The merchant caravan is small, little more than three wagons and a half-dozen guards, but it was the first human contact to be made with Thorbeck since the trade treaty was hammered out over the festival, and the Copperheads were eager to catch a ride home.
“Is he always like this?” Amarin asks.
“Sometime’s he’s worse,” Halgo says. “Wait until you see why we’re going to leave the trail tomorrow.
“Why would we leave the caravan?” Amarin’s tone is surprised, and full of curiosity. “I mean, the Reldenfolk are fascinating in their own way. Sven over there has told me a dozen stories about his homeland that I simply have to verify one day. Surely it’ll be safer to stay…”
Halgo cuts him off.
“You’ll see.”
The group parts company with the caravan around noon the next day, shunning the overland route in favour of trekking along the river. It’s early autumn, the air starting to fill with the slight bite of winter, but the fast-flowing river cuts an easy path through the thick redwood forest.
“Hope troll not down here,” Yip comments as they follow the banks. “Not want to fight again.”
Amarin’s eyes shine as he hears.
“A troll? Here? I thought they were only native to the northern swamps. Well, I guess they’d be the southern swamps to you people, what with you all being northerners. What kind of troll was it? Was it big?”
“Can somebody shut him up?” Geoffrey asks from the front of the column. Nobody answers Amarin’s questions, which seems to do the trick. The young scholar sinks into silence, contenting himself with conversing with the small crystal he carries in one hand.
“Hey, boss, check this out – that tree looks kind of like a sword,” the crystal explains, forcing its observations directly into Amarin’s brain.
“Wow,” Amarin thinks back. “It does to.”
“And in the dirt around that tree – I bet those are badger tracks,” the crystal says. “Maybe we should tell Halgo? He’s always carrying a badger around in that cage he made, trying to keep it out of danger?”
“Maybe,” Amarin says.
Then both the crystal and its master see the sight at the same time, and think the same thought in unison.
“Oh look, a battle-axe tree.”
Amarin pauses, mentally running through his notes on botany and nature. As far as he can remember, there shouldn’t be a tree that grows battle-axes. Actually, wait, no, there were elven communities that do that, but they sing to the wood. And they don’t normally make battleaxes. Especially made out of metal. It’s strange. Definitely strange.
He wonders if he should mention it to somebody.
“Yip, Blarth, up the tree,” Geoffrey orders. Both follow without delay, clambering up the smooth trunk and throwing metal axes to the forest floor below.
“We’re harvesting the Battleaxes?” Amarin asks.
“Geoffrey stored them here,” Halgo explains. “Killed a bunch of gnolls near here, and he thought the weapons and armour could be worth some coins when the mission was over. So now its over, and the weapons have to be taken back to town.”
“And you make money doing this?” Amarin asks. He looks confused.
“A little,” Halgo says. “Although it’s debatable whether it’s worth enough to justify the effort. Geoffrey just has something approaching a mania.”
“Really?” Amarin says, suddenly perking up. “Do you think I should try doing something about it? I mean, in theory I should be good at manias, with the psychic surgery I mean. Not that I can actually do that yet – no-where near powerful enough, but I’m good at laying the groundwork.”
“Perhaps not,” Halgo says.
Amarin opens his mouth to say something else, but he catches the strange look on the dwarf’s face and stops without speaking.
“Because it’s a gift,” Halgo says blandly. “Not a reward. There’s a fine difference between the two.”
“Yeah, but a helmet made of copper? It’s not like we can actually wear them.”
“I don’t think it’s actually copper,” Halgo says. “The metal’s to hard, and the colour is slightly off.”
“Mithril and adamantine alloy,” Amarin says eagerly. “I heard one of the smiths talking about it at the party.”
“Just as hard as normal steel then,” Halgo tells Geoffrey. “Good, solid dwarf work, fresh from the king’s forges. What more do you want?”
“Gold,” Geoffrey says. “Spell-forged armour. A small keep to call my own.”
“You’re never satisfied, are you?” Halgo asks, eyeing the bulky suit of fine full plate that Blarth and Geoffrey both commissioned as their prize for winning the Bhal’Meral tourney.
“The better the equipment, the greater service I can be to my god,” Geoffrey says piously. He takes a pose of resigned nobility and spurs his horse forward. Halgo and Amarin, sitting on a merchant’s wagon as it rattles along the road, watch him go. The merchant caravan is small, little more than three wagons and a half-dozen guards, but it was the first human contact to be made with Thorbeck since the trade treaty was hammered out over the festival, and the Copperheads were eager to catch a ride home.
“Is he always like this?” Amarin asks.
“Sometime’s he’s worse,” Halgo says. “Wait until you see why we’re going to leave the trail tomorrow.
“Why would we leave the caravan?” Amarin’s tone is surprised, and full of curiosity. “I mean, the Reldenfolk are fascinating in their own way. Sven over there has told me a dozen stories about his homeland that I simply have to verify one day. Surely it’ll be safer to stay…”
Halgo cuts him off.
“You’ll see.”
The group parts company with the caravan around noon the next day, shunning the overland route in favour of trekking along the river. It’s early autumn, the air starting to fill with the slight bite of winter, but the fast-flowing river cuts an easy path through the thick redwood forest.
“Hope troll not down here,” Yip comments as they follow the banks. “Not want to fight again.”
Amarin’s eyes shine as he hears.
“A troll? Here? I thought they were only native to the northern swamps. Well, I guess they’d be the southern swamps to you people, what with you all being northerners. What kind of troll was it? Was it big?”
“Can somebody shut him up?” Geoffrey asks from the front of the column. Nobody answers Amarin’s questions, which seems to do the trick. The young scholar sinks into silence, contenting himself with conversing with the small crystal he carries in one hand.
“Hey, boss, check this out – that tree looks kind of like a sword,” the crystal explains, forcing its observations directly into Amarin’s brain.
“Wow,” Amarin thinks back. “It does to.”
“And in the dirt around that tree – I bet those are badger tracks,” the crystal says. “Maybe we should tell Halgo? He’s always carrying a badger around in that cage he made, trying to keep it out of danger?”
“Maybe,” Amarin says.
Then both the crystal and its master see the sight at the same time, and think the same thought in unison.
“Oh look, a battle-axe tree.”
Amarin pauses, mentally running through his notes on botany and nature. As far as he can remember, there shouldn’t be a tree that grows battle-axes. Actually, wait, no, there were elven communities that do that, but they sing to the wood. And they don’t normally make battleaxes. Especially made out of metal. It’s strange. Definitely strange.
He wonders if he should mention it to somebody.
“Yip, Blarth, up the tree,” Geoffrey orders. Both follow without delay, clambering up the smooth trunk and throwing metal axes to the forest floor below.
“We’re harvesting the Battleaxes?” Amarin asks.
“Geoffrey stored them here,” Halgo explains. “Killed a bunch of gnolls near here, and he thought the weapons and armour could be worth some coins when the mission was over. So now its over, and the weapons have to be taken back to town.”
“And you make money doing this?” Amarin asks. He looks confused.
“A little,” Halgo says. “Although it’s debatable whether it’s worth enough to justify the effort. Geoffrey just has something approaching a mania.”
“Really?” Amarin says, suddenly perking up. “Do you think I should try doing something about it? I mean, in theory I should be good at manias, with the psychic surgery I mean. Not that I can actually do that yet – no-where near powerful enough, but I’m good at laying the groundwork.”
“Perhaps not,” Halgo says.
Amarin opens his mouth to say something else, but he catches the strange look on the dwarf’s face and stops without speaking.
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