Gamez Knight
Joe's was unnaturally quiet on that particular night. The owner had closed his doors to the regular clientele, for the first time. It was all for a good reason, however. After all, when a sorry bunch of heroes made your pub famous enough to set up reserved seats, a few little services for them could not go wrong. The nature of the particular request was unfathomable to the simple bartender, but hey, they were still buying drinks and snacks.
A rather large number of people huddled around a set of tables, each clutching a small stack of papers with droves of text and peculiar imagery attached. Gorasho guffawed loudly as Miriana continued her rant:
"I mean, the low-tech setting is interesting, I suppose, but these racial options are a bit underwhelming. Take the elves, for example. They're literally eldar, just with three letters different and no shuriken pistols."
"Oh, yeh. And da' orcz in there ain't even spelled right."
"The class distribution is sufficiently varied, however." the tech-savant sat right next to his betentacled... acquaintance, as he vehemently claimed. Rita was positively ecstatic, as her flashing eyes evidenced:
"Oh, indeed. Every party needs at least two alchemists, though, right?"
A deep voice suddenly echoed through the building as a massive figure entered the room:
"Hail, adventurers," the grey knight's armour was covered in a tattered robe, tattered only due to the sheer size of Beren's armour and confounding archeotech backpack, "are you ready for adventure?"
He sat down at the head of the table, surrounded by large tomes and secret plans. The tomes' titles featured the words 'Bright Heresy' prominently.
"About as much as we are for redundancy."
"Good, good! I have been crafting this devilish session for a while now, so I hope you enjoy it. Now, I've gone through all your character sheets and everything should be set. So, why don't you introduce yourselves to everyone, heroes?"
In a plane of fiction and imagination, they materialised as living level one legends, images of their originals. First was a seemingly frail maiden clad in the finest steel and wielding a spear-and-shield combo as her armament. Her hair was silver as moonlight.
"I am Elenwe, elven battle cleric. I fight to rid the world of Fantasyrealm of darkness and all that is impure using both weapon and divine gifts."
A large, green-skinned brute with more armour than brains, wielding a two-handed battleaxe the size of a giant.
"Iz Nagosh Ubzug, head-smashingest orc boy this side of da' world. Gonna' krump some stuff up, yeh?"
A much smaller orcoid, dressed in a black robe covered in occult markings.
"Iz Gobroz da' orc warloo... waerlo... evul weirdboy. Gunna' be tryin' ta' get daemunz in 'ere somehowz."
A pair of rather mysterious figures, dressed in concealing travel cloaks and sporting one-of-a-kind weapons and gadgetry:
"I am Vassar, human alchemist."
"And I am his travelling companion Ralena. If we can't find a solution, no one can."
A demihuman mixture of several elements, the huntress stood on hooves, carrying a high-tech gunpowder rifle.
"I am Elia, expert markswoman and tactician. If a good shot alone can't win a fight, a few tactical ploys will."
And last, but not least decomposed, stood a decrepit, sickeningly thin man, covered in a mixture of steel and bones. His helmet was akin to a skull, a sight as chilling as his owner's voice:
"I am Imhotep, necromancer from the far east. The dead shall rise as I beckon."
They stood for now in a Void, before finally, an all-consuming voice gave shape and form to their reality.
Very good, everyone! Now, let us begin our first adventure in Fantasyrealm! You find yourselves in a tavern, late at night. Most of the clientele is either half-conscious or already asleep under the tables from a night of heavy drinking. Nagosh, the undisputed champion of the drinking game, currently occupies a solitary table.
"Iz burpin' loudly, Iz imagine."
A most noble pursuit! At your side is your ever-trusty companion, Gobroz, drinker only because of daemonic endurance.
"I'z wanna' summon a daemun squig."
What?!
"Youz 'eard me."
Well, roll the die, but know it's an extra difficult task.
The ruffling of pages dispelled the illusion of immersion as Beren looked through the OMMfAP - Official Monster Manual for Adventurous Persons, trying to find this daemun Snogrot spoke of.
"I can't find any bloody squigs at all. I'll house rule that later. Roll that die already."
The fateful roll finally settled on the table. A measly ninety-eight.
"Iz dat gud?"
"No, that is quite horrible, actually. You need to roll under your characteristic, after modifiers are applied."
"Ohz. No daemun squig, then?"
"No. Now, where were we?"
Suddenly, the doors of the tavern are flung open and a quite peculiar entourage enters. First an elf in a proper set of armour, followed by two rather exotic-looking figures, a strange beastwoman and what looks to be a rather skeletal figure.
"I speak to the orc. In the name of the Light, are you the one known as Nagosh Ubzug?"
"Oy, Iz sit up in da' chair and look da' lil' elfy one right in da' eye. Who be wantin' ta' know?"
"I am Elenwe, emissary of the divine powers. I have gathered a party of racially and ethnically varied followers in order to cleanse the evil from these lands, starting with... what was his bloody name again?"
Dark Mage Zarock, Miriana.
"Oh, right! Dark Mage Zarock, whose fortress-dungeon of evil is conveniently located within several days of travel and its location is well-documented by local authorities."
"Technical question, GM."
Yes, Malakar?
"What is a fortress-dungeon?"
A new-fangled and innovative approach to villain housing. Technically a proper fort, with only half of it sticking outside of the earth.
"How is that practical?"
It's not. Let us continue, I assume you all introduce yourselves and sit down for negotiations?
"Elia will stand at the doorway, watching silently like a bird of prey."
"I'd like to order a drink for Ralena"
"And I'll order one for Vassar."
Riiight.
"So Iz gunna' take anotha' swig of me fungus beer and..."
There is no fungus beer in this setting. Just regular beer.
"Zog, it'z da same. So Iz say: You be talkin' 'bout choppin' evul, but wot'z in it for me and Gobroz 'ere?"
"A feeling of existential fulfillment? Also, we have some gold to spare."
"Sounds gud enough for me. Evul weirdboy Gobroz!"
"Yeh, kaptin?"
"Let'z go krump some stuff up!"
You gather up your belongings and purchase some supplies for some silver. Deduct that from the group funds, Rita. You are soon on your way to a bright future of merciful demise! It does not take long before you enter... the forest!
"The forest?"
Yes, Elenwe, the forest! You follow a dirt path for most of the day, enjoying the sight of endless trees in every direction. Can everyone give me an awareness check, please?
"Oh, Divines, this is bad."
Hmmmm... man, your rolls are starting out awful today. Elia, you're the only who succeeded. You hear a rustling in a set of shrubbery nearby. Sounds like muffled whispers.
"I immediately take cover behind a nearby tree, aim my rifle and shout out: Who's there, show yourself!"
The whispers die down and then, several figures clad in dark blue armour emerge from the brush. Two of them are armed with an axe and shield combo, the third has a rather large crossbow. They all seem quite... unnatural. The crossbowman shouts to you:
"Racially and ethnically diverse group of adventurers! You are trespassing within the forest of the illustrious, magnanimous archmage Zarock! As his majestic greatness demands, you are to pay a toll."
"Guys, let's try and play it straight. Hail, custodians of the forest! We are messengers of the divine powers, on a journey towards that very magnanimous uhhh... person."
"And what may be your intentions, cleric?
"Well, we would..."
"Nagosh be screamin': To zog you all up, gitz! And then 'e chargez right in with 'iz choppa'!"
"Bloody Warp..."
Oh-hoh, an upset! Roll initiative, everyone! No, Snogrot, use the ten-sided one. Okay, Nagosh's initiative is lowest, but he narratively strikes first. The enemy group is considered surprised. Which one are you charging?
"One of da' shield boyz."
Got it. Roll to hit! Oh, nice, you hit the body, so his shield's armour will apply. Roll for damage!
The die seemed to fight against the fates themselves, taking a strangely long time to settle. Finally, it fell. Natural ten. The table roared in appreciation and the heavilt-armoured GM exclaimed:
"Critical! Roll another attack," a success, "awesome! Roll an extra damage dice!"
"Worrr, anotha' ten!"
"What?! Roll more, you bastard," the cycle continued, complicating the mathematics of damage calculation, "and added to the square root of... sixty-three damage total!"
"Oy, not a bad startz!"
"Indeed! I don't even need to look, with a single swing, you cleave the poor sod in half, spilling his guts on the ground! His allies are positively shocked! Ralena and... Vassar, you rolled the same initiative, so you act at the same time."
The two gearheads looked at each other, grinned, then exclaimed as one:
"We use our semi-explosive blunderbuss ammunition on the crossbowman!"
The two dice clinked against the same spots on the table and again landed on the same sides. Two hits. Beren gave them a sideways glance:
"You wouldn't happpen to somehow be synchronising your die rolls, would you?"
"We wouldn't dream of it!"
He merely sighed and tallied the damage:
"He's still technically standing, though his right arms seems to have gone limp from your combined barrage. Elenwe, your turn!"
"Let's finnish him off before he does something. Divine blast, centred on the shield-bearer."
"Area of effect to avoid a to-hit roll. Clever. Yup, he's not getting back up. Gobroz, show them some pain."
"Iz want to summon a daemun squig," those at the table groaned collectively as he rolled a pathetic ninety, "worrr, dat ain't gud."
"Nope! Elia, you're up."
Mont'yr examined her sheet for a few seconds, then made her plan:
"I use Death Mark for my half-action, followed by a called shot to the enemy's head."
"Called shots have a penalty."
"I am aware, but I still have a forty-five percent chance to hit."
"Zog, dat'z a lot of aimin' skill."
"Aaaaand... three degress of success. My weapon is accurate, so I gain extra damage," the table was suddenly cluttered with numerous damage dice. Beren watched incredulously as they finally came to a halt, "twenty."
"Och, you're just destroying these guys. Imhotep, can you finnish him off?"
Thebes beeped as the dice levitated into his gauntlet:
"I shall do my best. Imhotep shall make use of Withering Mist. He shall step forward, arms raised in the air as the foul wind leaves his very lungs and scream: 'Gaze now into the maw of your own mortality!'"
"Gain plus thirty to your roll."
Gorasho took issue with that:
"Wot, why'd 'e get dat?!"
"Because that was frikkin' metal. Also, don't question my bonus distribution methods."
"I succeed."
"Your final foe is vanquished!"
The occupants screamed with joy as Beren marked off his final opponent, happy about his players. Getting their spirits up had been the point of this encounter, though, he had at least hoped to score a hit. No matter, there were more chances ahead:
"Very good, my dear adventurers! You find some silver on their persons, as well as a written note. It seems to be written orders from Zarock himself, to patrol the woods and look for potential subjects."
"Subjects for what?"
"That, the document does not mention, Elenwe. Other than that, all they have is gear roughly equivalent to yours in unusable sizes. How unfortunate for you."
"I detect but a smidge of sarcasm in your voice."
"Leave it to Elia to hear the nuances. Now then, shall we continue?"
The party took the scenic route, all things considered. Nothing in the forest could hide from their wrath. Woodland creatures ran from their hovels as most of the forest was consumed by flames created by gadget misfires. That was someone else' s problem at that point, for the mighty fortess-dungeon of dark mage Zarock, its ground floor buried half-way into the ground in a rather impractical way, stood before them. Its walls were black as night and decorated generously by entire legions of sharp spikes.
No flimsy gate could stand in Nagosh's path and no pathetic level one defender even dared stand in their way at that point. A few more skirmishes and they finally made their way to the inner sanctum, bruised but itching for another fight.
The chamber you enter is rather dimly lit, overall gloomy. Ancient tomes and various odd or downright grotesque artefacts line the walls. And there, muttering to himself over some old parchment, is a strange figure. Freakishly tall, his body unnaturally slender, almost lacking any semblance of meat. He possesses not one, but two pairs of arms, yet, as if a tradeoff, no legs. Instead, he slithers along on a serpentine tail. He turns to you, his face a mixture between a human and a snake. Finally, dark mage Zarock turns towards you fully and speaks:
"Aaaaaaah, the flies arrive to the spider's web. I have been watching your meddling for a while and I am afraid to say, it ends now."
"We will see about that, fould fiend! Today, you face the light!"
"And I tremble in my boots," he raises his arm and it begins glowing in a strange, dark pink hue, "now, falter."
Everyone, roll initiative... ouch, that;s low. Zarock gets to go first. A strange pulse of energy is suddenly released from the orb and you feel it begin affecting your mind. Everyone, give me a willpower check.
Everyone at the table sighed in frustration as bad dice came to take their toll. Everyone but Snogrot had failed and was now left to the GM's mercy. And the knight had little:
"How unfortunate. You are all suddenly stuck in a trance, reliving your greatest failures or mishappenings. The only one with the will to resist the dark spell is Gobroz. And luckily for you, I do believe he has just the spell to..."
"Iz want to summon a daemun squig."
The rest released a semi-furious sigh as he rolled without being prompted. They tried to lecture him, one and all, using various logical arguments. And then, the die stopped rolling, and the room fell into silence. A natural one. Beren commented:
"Well, he succeeds. Let's take a break and I'll make some rules for this thing."
"No needz," Snogrot ruffled through a small bag and pulled out a small book, "Iz woz lookin' through one of da' extra bookiez youz mentiuned, 'Daemunologikal'. My daemon squig be basically a Rhodian Thresha' thingy, pagey bit two-two."
"Oh, well, let me see that," it took him a few moments to read all the rules. Ignores armour, increased stats and size for each degree of success, molten breath, unnatural stench, "by the Throne, this thing is nasty, especially with this roll."
"I'z also got da' specific' summona' talent. Two extra degreez of succezz if summonin' my chosen daemun."
"And I suppose that would be the Rhodian Thresher, your daemon squig?"
"Oh yeh. And my summona' gear let'z me control it just fine."
"Bloody hell, Snogrot. You've been rolling so terribly today and now this. Well, let's get to it."
The chamber suddenly shakes violently as the barrier between realities is torn asunder. A monstrous wailing is heard as the beast barges into the chamber, immediately smashing apart one of the walls due to its sheer size. Zarock slithers backwards as he stares at the monster, which is little more than a giant ball of humongous teeth on muscular legs. The dark mage seems to shiver:
"W-what... no, such power, you cannot possibly..."
"Iz yell out to my squig. Good boy, Ugu! Now it'z dinna' time!"
Ugu nods towards you and charges Zarock, the entire fortress-dungeon shaking with every step. Zarock manages to blurt out:
"No, at the brink of immortality and now this!"
The entire table cheered as Zarock's reign came to a decisive end. The spoils were argued over and the players greedily accepted the experience points given to them.
"That was a marvelous first session, everyone. Shall we convene again, same time next week?"
The assembled figures share a look, then shouted in unison:
"Heck yeah!"
Then, they carried Snogrot, the hero of the hour, outside of Joe's, bumping his head on the doorway as they did so.