Watch For Falling Meteors [4E KotS] Updated Weekdays!
ozziewolf
First Post
Ahh! That makes sense now.. I was actually wondering what two lines you where referring to.
Xorn
First Post
Quick Update
Sorry for the bad news, but there will not be an update before this weekend. I had hoped to find some time today, but due to work basically exploding today, I barely had time for lunch, and I'm still at work now--have a Rock Band marathon tonight, the game tomorrow, and then going to the game shop tomorrow night. Sunday I'll spend with my better half, so Monday is the soonest there will be an update. (I might get something in over the weekend, but I won't promise anything.)
The good news is, the adventure is going strong--by my outline and notes I'm about ten entries behind the actual progress of the campaign. I could just tell you all what happened in a summary, but what fun is that?
For staying tuned though, how about I explain the campaign name? (Maybe I should have done this in the first post, huh?)
I've been DMing for over 24 years, and I've run games under every system from OD&D (pre-Mentzer) to 4E, with special guest appearences from Powers & Perils, Villains & Vigilantes, Bushido, ElfQuest, RuneQuest (the original), Mechwarrior (a real campaign), World of Darkness, and even a short stint with Toon, and GURPS (particularly Car Wars flavor). Besides D&D I did Palladium more than any other system--and I mean the whole megaverse. Owned every book printed up to about 2000 before I sold them all (because of a woman--ugh).
Anyway, I've DM'd a lot, and I've DM'd all kinds of people, and usually really enjoy it. But there was this one guy... I mean I feel guilty calling him a metagamer, because I don't think a metagamer is this bad. But suffice to say I don't think he ever once did anything that wasn't the player trying to figure out what the DM was thinking. Well... after about the twentieth time he said something like, "I'll just open the chest; trapped or not he wouldn't put a lethal trap in the first chamber of the dungeon."
It ticked me off because it was a 1 damage trap with poison that had dried up, for a "Whooo! That was lucky!" moment. So I rolled a die and said a meteor hit him in the head before it even finished rolling. I then chucked all my dice over the DM screen across the map, several flying off the table in the process and announced, "For that much damage." When he verified a meteor crashed through the ceiling of the ruins and hit him in the head, I replied, "Yeah... weird, right?"
Anyway, that event was kind of my trademark moment as a DM, and my players agreed that Watch For Falling Meteors would be a nice memorium to that player, and that day.
Okay, I promise to get story entries in this weekend!
Sorry for the bad news, but there will not be an update before this weekend. I had hoped to find some time today, but due to work basically exploding today, I barely had time for lunch, and I'm still at work now--have a Rock Band marathon tonight, the game tomorrow, and then going to the game shop tomorrow night. Sunday I'll spend with my better half, so Monday is the soonest there will be an update. (I might get something in over the weekend, but I won't promise anything.)
The good news is, the adventure is going strong--by my outline and notes I'm about ten entries behind the actual progress of the campaign. I could just tell you all what happened in a summary, but what fun is that?
For staying tuned though, how about I explain the campaign name? (Maybe I should have done this in the first post, huh?)
I've been DMing for over 24 years, and I've run games under every system from OD&D (pre-Mentzer) to 4E, with special guest appearences from Powers & Perils, Villains & Vigilantes, Bushido, ElfQuest, RuneQuest (the original), Mechwarrior (a real campaign), World of Darkness, and even a short stint with Toon, and GURPS (particularly Car Wars flavor). Besides D&D I did Palladium more than any other system--and I mean the whole megaverse. Owned every book printed up to about 2000 before I sold them all (because of a woman--ugh).
Anyway, I've DM'd a lot, and I've DM'd all kinds of people, and usually really enjoy it. But there was this one guy... I mean I feel guilty calling him a metagamer, because I don't think a metagamer is this bad. But suffice to say I don't think he ever once did anything that wasn't the player trying to figure out what the DM was thinking. Well... after about the twentieth time he said something like, "I'll just open the chest; trapped or not he wouldn't put a lethal trap in the first chamber of the dungeon."
It ticked me off because it was a 1 damage trap with poison that had dried up, for a "Whooo! That was lucky!" moment. So I rolled a die and said a meteor hit him in the head before it even finished rolling. I then chucked all my dice over the DM screen across the map, several flying off the table in the process and announced, "For that much damage." When he verified a meteor crashed through the ceiling of the ruins and hit him in the head, I replied, "Yeah... weird, right?"
Anyway, that event was kind of my trademark moment as a DM, and my players agreed that Watch For Falling Meteors would be a nice memorium to that player, and that day.
Okay, I promise to get story entries in this weekend!
Caldarion
First Post
I know how life can screw up gaming, and I emphazize. It sounds like you've got a great group going, and that's worth its weight in gold. Did this metagamer take forever to roll up his character? They love to min/max everything, and can drive ya nuts! Anyway, Xorn, keep up the great work, and I'll be awaiting the next update =)
Xorn
First Post
Okay we're back on track now! Should have updates every weekday again!
_______________
As the troupe of adventurers was led into the gates of the Lord Warden’s manor, a noticeable shift in architecture took place. Most of the structures in the crowded little town were wood, clay and thatch. Besides the Wrafton Inn, a few other notable buildings stood out from the general housing. Along the southern walls, sending wispy tendrils of smoke up from the tin stack-pipes in the roof was the smithy. Across the expanse of the barren market square and down the wide main dirt road of the town were the steps to the temple that the warlord had just returned from. Dominating the gaze of anyone that looked above the rooftops in the center of town was an old, worn tower, rising high enough to support five separate floor, and tiny windows spiraling up the column hinted at stairs circling central rooms.
Of all the buildings they passed though, only the tower looming above them to the left, and the manor, staring back at them through the creaking iron gates, looked like they had been standing long enough to show weathering across their supports and stonework. Several small trees grew along the path up to the front porch, which was made of dark, weathered oak planks. Two small boys were peeking over the east lip of the porch at the strangers, while a young servant girl hurried up onto the steps ahead of them to open the large, ironbound wooden doors into the foyer.
The three of them walked into the entrance chamber quietly, looking about the cluttered room with some surprise. As the young girl bowed and excused herself from the room, they were then alone, waiting for the Lord Padraig to see them.
“It’s not quite what I expected.” Said Daichot thoughtfully.
“Aye,” agreed Omar, “ah mighta thought there’d be… fancier stuff inna place like this.”
The room was plain, for lack of a better term. Four wooden chairs, easily the most extravagant objects in the room, were against the west side of the chamber; their backs flush to a bare wall. On the opposite end of the foyer was a single painting of the lord warden, but the canvas was too small to occupy the wall by itself, and was off center. Two doors led out of the room on the north wall, across from where they came in, and the servant girl had slipped through the one on the right.
Besides the chairs and picture on the wall, the rest of the room was devoid of any decoration at all. No richly colored rugs, not family crests over a fireplace, no tables of refreshments. Just four nicely carved chairs and a too small picture.
“What a bunch of junk.” Said the halfling flatly. “There’s not even anything worth taking!”
“I don’t actually think that’s a bad thing, Percy.”
“I’m just sayin’,” the rogue waved his small hands about him to point out the lack of decoration, “it looks like the guy got robbed or something!”
Daichot smiled at the idea, and furrowed his brow in thought as he looked about the room, and found himself agreeing with the halfling. As he started to pull a chair out to sit down, the same door on the right which the servant had left through opened abruptly, and Lord Padraig entered the room with brisk strides.
“The heroes have returned!” he exclaimed with a smile. He extended an arm to Daichot and shook vigorously, truly delighted at the fortune of the town. “Please,” he continued, “come with me to my study! There is much news to talk about, and I have your reward!”
Percy fell into step right on the warden’s heels, leaving Omar and Diachot to exchange a glance before falling in behind them. The older man led them to the right after passing through the doorway, and long hallway which had unlit candles spaced in sconces every twenty feet, and windows between them looking out over the base of the Cairngorn mountains. Light from outside spilled across the walls of the hall and reflected harshly of the candleholders.
After a few dozen paces Padraig opened a large set of double doors inward, and beckoned them to follow him into his den. A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room, and a large rug covered most of the floor, with intricate depictions of dragons and castles woven into the fabric with white thread. Three padded chairs were beside the desk, closer to the door, and one large leather chair was placed across from those, facing the door. Padraig dropped into the leather seat without ceremony, and invited the others to sit. As they settled into the comfortable seats the lord warden placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.
“I have already gotten word from those that saw you return, but I want to hear it for myself,” he explained. “You found the kobold’s lair and ended their threat to Winterhaven?” He was smiling broadly as he asked them.
“Aye.” Said Omar flatly. Percy nodded casually, and was casually looking about the room which had a bit more furnishing than the unusual foyer.
“Yes,” added Daichot, “we tracked them to their lair, under a waterfall to the southeast.” A flicker of concern creased his lips. “Oleaf tracked them, I should say…”
Padraig genuinely shared the concern in his eyes as the warlord spoke of their injured friend. “Yes, I heard too, of that. I have instructed Sister Linora to use whatever she needs that the town can provide to help—she is a capable healer, and I wish the best for your friend.”
Daichot waved his hand in acceptance. “I know her fate is in the hands of the gods now, and we also know the risks we take.”
“The risks we take for money.” Added Percy, as though he felt the tiefling had forgotten.
Padraig stifled a chuckled, and opened a small chest on a table behind him, pulling out a small cloth pouch that clinked heavily with coin as he dropped it on the desk before them. “One hundred pieces of gold, as promised. And a week’s stay at the Wrafton Inn, if you’re not leaving immediately.”
Daichot quickly reached up and retrieved the pouch before Percy could, and tucked the coin purse into his belt. “It was an honor to assist your town, Lord Warden. We haven’t made plans yet as to where we will go next, but thank you for the accommodations, all the same.”
“Got anymore work that needs doin’?” chimed in the halfling.
Padraig nodded. “Possibly. While you were gone, a stranger arrived at our gates yesterday afternoon, and asked of you.
“Of me?” squeaked Percy, drawing looks of surprise from his companions.
“Of all of you. But you,” he indicated Daichot by holding out his hand towards him, “you he asked about by name.”
“Oh,” sighed Percy.
“Did this person know me?”
“Yes, or at least he claimed to” continued the lord, “when he arrived in town he looked ready to collapse with exhaustion, and understandably so—as he single-handedly saved a small merchant and his guards from an attack by kobolds! I doubt you would need his name, as this was truly a unique sight to behold. He was wearing the robes of a wizard, scarlet fabric with gold trim about the cuffs and in intricate patterns of dragons sewn into the material. When he pulled back his cloak, that’s when we realized he was a dragonborn.”
Omar and Percy were listening to the man speak as Daichot felt a smile creep onto his face. “Vrax.”
“Yes, that’s the name he gave. Dragonborn are rare enough in these parts, but this one was… well…”
“A runt.” Finished the warlord. “It’s true, he’s not gifted with the strength and stamina of his race—but his mastery of the arcane is something to behold.”
“According to the merchant he saved, truer words could not be spoken.”
“So ye know this one, lad?” asked Omar.
“Yes, I met him when I was younger, at the temple in Fallcrest. His father was an explorer and an inspiring man. He probably had as much to do with me taking up an adventurer’s life as all the other influences in my life. Vrax was his son, and we grew up together—but I haven’t seen him in years. When I left the city guard and he was accepted as an apprentice at the Emerald Tower, we didn’t see each other much.” Daichot thought of a question for the warden, “What is he doing here, in Winterhaven?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, “but he mentioned his father had gone missing, and was hoping that you would be here to help him.” Daichot was paling slightly, but Padraig had not noticed. “Weird thing is, there hasn’t been a dragonborn around this town for years—so I guess he was coming to find you to go somewhere else.”
“No…” said Daichot, his voice trailing off with a dread of realization.
“What is it, Daichot?” asked Omar.
“His father… at least his adopted father… is Douven Staul.”
“Now Douven I’ve met,” offered Padraig, “he’s been staying at the inn while exploring the area to the south for some burial site he thinks he’s found.”
Daichot nodded, “I heard that, I planned on finding him, just to see how he’s doing, after the kobolds, but if he’s gone missing—and I had days I could have been looking for him…”
“Ye dinnae know he was in trouble laddie.”
The tiefling shrugged. “I can’t change what’s done. Where can I find Vrax?”
Padraig rose, and started to show them out of the manor. “Head for the tower you passed on the way here. Vrax has been conversing with Valthrun, the town sage. He’s not a wizard, but he’s very knowledgeable, and has some small ability with rituals.”
_______________
As the troupe of adventurers was led into the gates of the Lord Warden’s manor, a noticeable shift in architecture took place. Most of the structures in the crowded little town were wood, clay and thatch. Besides the Wrafton Inn, a few other notable buildings stood out from the general housing. Along the southern walls, sending wispy tendrils of smoke up from the tin stack-pipes in the roof was the smithy. Across the expanse of the barren market square and down the wide main dirt road of the town were the steps to the temple that the warlord had just returned from. Dominating the gaze of anyone that looked above the rooftops in the center of town was an old, worn tower, rising high enough to support five separate floor, and tiny windows spiraling up the column hinted at stairs circling central rooms.
Of all the buildings they passed though, only the tower looming above them to the left, and the manor, staring back at them through the creaking iron gates, looked like they had been standing long enough to show weathering across their supports and stonework. Several small trees grew along the path up to the front porch, which was made of dark, weathered oak planks. Two small boys were peeking over the east lip of the porch at the strangers, while a young servant girl hurried up onto the steps ahead of them to open the large, ironbound wooden doors into the foyer.
The three of them walked into the entrance chamber quietly, looking about the cluttered room with some surprise. As the young girl bowed and excused herself from the room, they were then alone, waiting for the Lord Padraig to see them.
“It’s not quite what I expected.” Said Daichot thoughtfully.
“Aye,” agreed Omar, “ah mighta thought there’d be… fancier stuff inna place like this.”
The room was plain, for lack of a better term. Four wooden chairs, easily the most extravagant objects in the room, were against the west side of the chamber; their backs flush to a bare wall. On the opposite end of the foyer was a single painting of the lord warden, but the canvas was too small to occupy the wall by itself, and was off center. Two doors led out of the room on the north wall, across from where they came in, and the servant girl had slipped through the one on the right.
Besides the chairs and picture on the wall, the rest of the room was devoid of any decoration at all. No richly colored rugs, not family crests over a fireplace, no tables of refreshments. Just four nicely carved chairs and a too small picture.
“What a bunch of junk.” Said the halfling flatly. “There’s not even anything worth taking!”
“I don’t actually think that’s a bad thing, Percy.”
“I’m just sayin’,” the rogue waved his small hands about him to point out the lack of decoration, “it looks like the guy got robbed or something!”
Daichot smiled at the idea, and furrowed his brow in thought as he looked about the room, and found himself agreeing with the halfling. As he started to pull a chair out to sit down, the same door on the right which the servant had left through opened abruptly, and Lord Padraig entered the room with brisk strides.
“The heroes have returned!” he exclaimed with a smile. He extended an arm to Daichot and shook vigorously, truly delighted at the fortune of the town. “Please,” he continued, “come with me to my study! There is much news to talk about, and I have your reward!”
Percy fell into step right on the warden’s heels, leaving Omar and Diachot to exchange a glance before falling in behind them. The older man led them to the right after passing through the doorway, and long hallway which had unlit candles spaced in sconces every twenty feet, and windows between them looking out over the base of the Cairngorn mountains. Light from outside spilled across the walls of the hall and reflected harshly of the candleholders.
After a few dozen paces Padraig opened a large set of double doors inward, and beckoned them to follow him into his den. A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room, and a large rug covered most of the floor, with intricate depictions of dragons and castles woven into the fabric with white thread. Three padded chairs were beside the desk, closer to the door, and one large leather chair was placed across from those, facing the door. Padraig dropped into the leather seat without ceremony, and invited the others to sit. As they settled into the comfortable seats the lord warden placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.
“I have already gotten word from those that saw you return, but I want to hear it for myself,” he explained. “You found the kobold’s lair and ended their threat to Winterhaven?” He was smiling broadly as he asked them.
“Aye.” Said Omar flatly. Percy nodded casually, and was casually looking about the room which had a bit more furnishing than the unusual foyer.
“Yes,” added Daichot, “we tracked them to their lair, under a waterfall to the southeast.” A flicker of concern creased his lips. “Oleaf tracked them, I should say…”
Padraig genuinely shared the concern in his eyes as the warlord spoke of their injured friend. “Yes, I heard too, of that. I have instructed Sister Linora to use whatever she needs that the town can provide to help—she is a capable healer, and I wish the best for your friend.”
Daichot waved his hand in acceptance. “I know her fate is in the hands of the gods now, and we also know the risks we take.”
“The risks we take for money.” Added Percy, as though he felt the tiefling had forgotten.
Padraig stifled a chuckled, and opened a small chest on a table behind him, pulling out a small cloth pouch that clinked heavily with coin as he dropped it on the desk before them. “One hundred pieces of gold, as promised. And a week’s stay at the Wrafton Inn, if you’re not leaving immediately.”
Daichot quickly reached up and retrieved the pouch before Percy could, and tucked the coin purse into his belt. “It was an honor to assist your town, Lord Warden. We haven’t made plans yet as to where we will go next, but thank you for the accommodations, all the same.”
“Got anymore work that needs doin’?” chimed in the halfling.
Padraig nodded. “Possibly. While you were gone, a stranger arrived at our gates yesterday afternoon, and asked of you.
“Of me?” squeaked Percy, drawing looks of surprise from his companions.
“Of all of you. But you,” he indicated Daichot by holding out his hand towards him, “you he asked about by name.”
“Oh,” sighed Percy.
“Did this person know me?”
“Yes, or at least he claimed to” continued the lord, “when he arrived in town he looked ready to collapse with exhaustion, and understandably so—as he single-handedly saved a small merchant and his guards from an attack by kobolds! I doubt you would need his name, as this was truly a unique sight to behold. He was wearing the robes of a wizard, scarlet fabric with gold trim about the cuffs and in intricate patterns of dragons sewn into the material. When he pulled back his cloak, that’s when we realized he was a dragonborn.”
Omar and Percy were listening to the man speak as Daichot felt a smile creep onto his face. “Vrax.”
“Yes, that’s the name he gave. Dragonborn are rare enough in these parts, but this one was… well…”
“A runt.” Finished the warlord. “It’s true, he’s not gifted with the strength and stamina of his race—but his mastery of the arcane is something to behold.”
“According to the merchant he saved, truer words could not be spoken.”
“So ye know this one, lad?” asked Omar.
“Yes, I met him when I was younger, at the temple in Fallcrest. His father was an explorer and an inspiring man. He probably had as much to do with me taking up an adventurer’s life as all the other influences in my life. Vrax was his son, and we grew up together—but I haven’t seen him in years. When I left the city guard and he was accepted as an apprentice at the Emerald Tower, we didn’t see each other much.” Daichot thought of a question for the warden, “What is he doing here, in Winterhaven?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, “but he mentioned his father had gone missing, and was hoping that you would be here to help him.” Daichot was paling slightly, but Padraig had not noticed. “Weird thing is, there hasn’t been a dragonborn around this town for years—so I guess he was coming to find you to go somewhere else.”
“No…” said Daichot, his voice trailing off with a dread of realization.
“What is it, Daichot?” asked Omar.
“His father… at least his adopted father… is Douven Staul.”
“Now Douven I’ve met,” offered Padraig, “he’s been staying at the inn while exploring the area to the south for some burial site he thinks he’s found.”
Daichot nodded, “I heard that, I planned on finding him, just to see how he’s doing, after the kobolds, but if he’s gone missing—and I had days I could have been looking for him…”
“Ye dinnae know he was in trouble laddie.”
The tiefling shrugged. “I can’t change what’s done. Where can I find Vrax?”
Padraig rose, and started to show them out of the manor. “Head for the tower you passed on the way here. Vrax has been conversing with Valthrun, the town sage. He’s not a wizard, but he’s very knowledgeable, and has some small ability with rituals.”
ReeboKesh
First Post
Hey Xorn.
First off I'm loving your Story Hour. I've posted the first two chapters of my own here and I'm gonna take inspiration from yours to improve my writing. You combat descriptions are awesome.
Anyway a couple of questions - How much of the dialogue is from your actual players? What's your process for writing the dialogue - do you extract the general mood of that particular scene during your session or are you making whole scenes and dialogue up to suit the story?
Can't wait to read more.
Reebo
First off I'm loving your Story Hour. I've posted the first two chapters of my own here and I'm gonna take inspiration from yours to improve my writing. You combat descriptions are awesome.
Anyway a couple of questions - How much of the dialogue is from your actual players? What's your process for writing the dialogue - do you extract the general mood of that particular scene during your session or are you making whole scenes and dialogue up to suit the story?
Can't wait to read more.
Reebo
Xorn
First Post
Thanks for reading! For combats I try to stick to the highlights rather than a turn-by-turn description, especially when dealing with minions. They are no match for our heroes, so they don't get much camera time. The dialogue is a combination of both the in-game roleplay, the personalities the players have demonstrated, and the mood of the scene.
I have a few paragraphs from the next entry written, but work just refuses to stop kicking my hump this week. I've just about got all the fires put out, so hopefully I can finally finish that up and continue with the story. There's no game this weekend (Omar's player is getting married) so I'll have some catchup time (and I'm converting Thunderspire into a module for Fantasy Grounds).
I have a few paragraphs from the next entry written, but work just refuses to stop kicking my hump this week. I've just about got all the fires put out, so hopefully I can finally finish that up and continue with the story. There's no game this weekend (Omar's player is getting married) so I'll have some catchup time (and I'm converting Thunderspire into a module for Fantasy Grounds).
