Session 3: Should we stay or should we go?

Ogy was keen to hold onto the amulet, looking forward to selling it for a handsome sum to some dwarf jeweller. It was rather heavy however, and as the scrawny halfling was already overburdened with equipment, it was Lanatil who packed the amulet in his backpack. The group also split the gold the orcs had been carrying, though not without comment from Ogy and Yonnis that the three who had been against the action ought to be thanking them now. Nameless replied, “It was still foolish. You were lucky Lanatil came up with that spell, or things would have gone badly.”

While waiting for their prisoner to regain his senses, the group moved the bodies of the other three orcs away from the trail and hid them in the undergrowth, lest they be easily seen by others sent out to find them. Eventually the captured orc stirred. Yonnis first addressed it in common tongue: “Who are you and where were you going?” The orc gave no response. Yonnis shifted into orc language, posing the same question. No response. Nameless said, “Let me try. I don’t speak orc, but I know something about persuasion.” Nameless tried, using common, to reason with the orc, telling him that cooperation would be in his best interest. The orc still refused to respond. At this point Yonnis levelled his longsword and threatened to sever a limb if the orc failed to answer questions. The orc looked at him balefully and spat in orcish: “Go to hell, elf!” Yonnis carried out his threat. Roaring, the orc repeated its curse, adding that “Bane will do worse to you” before the elf finished him.

It was late afternoon. Elvis said, “We still have a few more hours of daylight. We should put as much distance as we can between ourselves and this place before setting up camp.” They agreed. That night during Nameless’s watch, he noticed Cameron sleeping fitfully and moaning. Then Lanatil suddenly awakened with a loud gasp, shivering in the warm night air. “What is it?” Nameless asked. “We have to get rid of the amulet!” Lanatil was frantically rummaging through his pack.

“Why?”

“I had a dream. It was Bane. He said I had something that belonged to him. He said he was going to send someone to fetch it. And me. He looked at me like I was some sort of insect.”

“How do you know it was Bane?”

“His hand. It was like the one on the amulet. There was green light coming out of it.”

By now the others were awake as well. Lanatil had retrieved the amulet, and said, “I’m going to throw it away.” Elvis tried to stop him. “Wait! If Bane wants it that badly, it must be important. Shouldn’t we try to keep him from getting it?”

“You can mess with Bane if you want to. He’s a god. I don’t want to fight a god.”

Nameless tried to calm the druid. “Bane’s not coming himself. You said yourself he was going to send someone.”

“Yeah, a dragon for all I know.”

Elvis said, “Look, I’ll carry it if you’re afraid to.”

“Not if you’re going to remain sleeping anywhere near me! No, listen, forget it. I’m getting rid of this now.” And with that the druid hurled the amulet into the darkness. Elvis went after it, and after a few minutes of searching in the moonlight he found it among the bushes. The wizard took the amulet and put it in his own pack. By now, attention had shifted to Cameron. The elf was feverish. The arm where the ghoul had bitten him was swollen and suppurated. Yonnis and Lanatil examined him, then looked at each other grimly. “Ghoul fever.”

“Wha..what’s that?,” asked Cameron.

“We need to stay put tomorrow and tend to this,” said Yonnis. With rest and Lanatil’s care, you have a much better chance of fighting off the disease. If you don’t, you will get weaker each day, until you die. And become one of them.”

“Aren’t we close to Anathar’s Dell?,” Elvis asked. “The longer we stay out here trying to nurse him, the more likely we are to suffer further attacks. Won’t he be better off if we get him to a safe place?”

“The Dell is about three days’ journey from here,” Yonnis said. “He might be beyond help by then. We’re not moving. I simply refuse.”

Nameless agreed with Elvis. “I think we need to continue. He won’t necessarily get worse even if we travel. In any case it’s unlikely he’ll die before we get to the Dell. And staying out here leaves us vulnerable.” Cameron agreed, and so the next morning they set out again.

The only danger encountered that day was a dire badger, a 300-pound beast that suddenly stuck its snout up out of a burrow to one side of the trail. It looked at them, snarling. The druid and the ranger each tried his hand at calming the beast down, but it continued to glower. This time it was Elvis who urged attack. “It may be an agent of Bane. We don’t want to leave it behind to report where we’ve been.” The others demurred, noting that a creature capable of creating a burrow five feet in diameter was not something they wished to tangle with unnecessarily. They backed away carefully, and as the creature did not attack, continued on their way.

That night Cameron’s fever continued to worsen, and he grew visibly weaker. But he was far from the end of his strength, and despite Yonnis’s concern said he wished to continue toward the Dell.

Their luck continued to hold the next day, and they were able to make good progress without mishap. Early in the afternoon they crossed Dagger River, causing Yonnis to remark that they should be able to reach Anathar's Dell by the end of the next day. That night the first watch was the Ethrils’. After a short time, Lanatil heard two wolves approaching the camp. Again he tried to use the wild empathy he had struggled to cultivate as part of his druid training. But not only was he unable to calm the wolves, his attempts to communicate backfired and actually provoked them. Snarling, the two beasts launched themselves at Lanatil. One got behind him and sank a vicious bite into the back of the druid’s leg. Drawing his longsword, Yonnis rushed to his brother’s defense just as two more wolves who had circled around the camp emerged from the other side. Soon Yonnis too was flanked, and taking heavy damage. Cameron spoke a few arcane words, and a luminous missile flew from his outstretched fingers into one of the wolves. He then roused the rest of the party. Jumping up, Nameless smote the wolf nearest him with open hand, so powerfully that the wolf fell dead. Ogy threw a dagger at one of the wolves on Lanatil, but—rarely for him—missed wildly. By this time Yonnis was staggered, barely able to keep fighting. Seeing this, Lanatil moved close to him and laid his left hand on his brother’s brow while speaking the words of a healing prayer. Doing so, however, distracted him from the wolf on his flank, who promptly sank its teeth into him again. Lanatil was now obliged to use another less powerful healing spell on himself so as not to lose consciousness. But luckily Nameless had approached, and with another expert blow, felled the wolf still threatening the druid. Only two were left. One had been wounded by several of Cameron’s magic projectiles, as well as a crossbow bolt fired by Elvis. Now it was under attack by Raptor, Lanatil’s hawk, who clawed at its eyes with his talons until the beast fell still. The last wolf was slain by Yonnis, who emerged from his defensive posture to slash it with his longsword.

With the danger over, the group resumed their rest. Cameron’s fever continued to worsen, and he grew steadily weaker. Again Yonnis urged that they stay put for a day to minister to the fading sorceror, but again Cameron elected to keep moving. So the next day they continued walking. Again their luck seemed to hold, and they proceeded unhindered until the sun was low in the sky. Suddenly they became aware of a large tiger-like cat following them attentively from a distance. Yonnis said, “Don’t worry. That is one of the fangs of the Dell. This means we are close to our destination.” And so they were.

Anathar’s Dell is the site of a dwarven mine, above which are a few farms tended by human and half-elf families. There is an inn called Anathar’s Hall, which is known as one of the few safe resting places in the area. As the party entered the Hall, they were greeted by Kharva, a plump dwarf wife with copper-colored hair and a comely copper beard. There were a few tables in the main room, at one of which there sat a redheaded half-elf strumming a lute for the pleasure of a handful of companions. Kharva asked the newcomers to introduce themselves, which they did. Indeed, under her polite questioning some members of the group seemed to open up and volunteer far more information than they had thus far entrusted to their own travelling companions. Lanatil in particular let forth with a torrent of words. At first, Kharva had asked where he was going, and when he named Oakhurst, she had said, “Oh, there’s a terrible plague going on there now. I’d be careful if I were you.” Lanatil looked momentarily peeved, as though he had not wished to broach this subject, but then went on at length, explaining that he was a member of the Quercus circle in Cormanthor, and had been asked by Zinn, the speaker of the circle, to investigate the disease that had taken hold in Oakhurst. Lanatil believed that it might have something to do with the actions of an outcast druid named Belak, who had been expelled from the circle years before. To the extent that the others could follow Lanatil’s excited speech, it appeared that this Belak had been attempting to create animate trees and other abominations, though it was not clear to any of the druid’s listeners what any of this had to do with the plague in Oakhurst. When Lanatil asked whether Kharva had any knowledge of these matters, she said all she knew was that apparently a group of miners from Oakhurst had suddenly come down with a terrible infectious disease, that many had died, and that the mayor had quarantined the rest.

At the mention of the miners, Yonnis chimed in. He said he had heard the mines were potentially in danger from a group of goblins, and was in the area to investigate and get rid of them if necessary. Kharva hadn't heard about any particular goblin threats of late, though she had heard strange stories about a group of goblins supposedly selling magic fruit that could heal anything. At this point however, the dwarf wife fixed her gaze on Cameron. “Who is this handsome elf, and why is he so feverish? He needs to lie down and rest at once.” When they explained his plight, she looked grave. “We have no-one here who can remove such an evil malady, but you can stay here and tend to him as long as you like. It costs two gold pieces per day for full room and board.” She clapped her hands and directed the serving maid who answered to take Cameron to a bed immediately. She then continued questioning the other members of the group, who politely introduced themselves. When Nameless mentioned that he was a novice from the Abbey of the Vigilant Eye, Kharva thought for a moment and said, "Vigilant Eye, eh? Devotees of Helm, are you?" The monk nodded. Kharva also got the names of Elvis and Ogy, but they, like Nameless, never explained the nature of their business in the area. Indeed, they would have been hard pressed to get a word in, for Lanatil had now launched into an account of their encounter with the orcs and acquisition of the amulet. At this point the half-elf bard, who had long since stopped playing his instrument so as to listen in on the conversation, began to take particular interest. Kharva introduced him as someone who might be able to read the document they had taken from the dead orc leader. His name was Bon.

Bon asked them to repeat every detail of their encounter with the orcs. Lanatil was quick to oblige, but Elvis interrupted. “First I’d like to know something about you and why exactly you’re so interested.” Bon smiled. “Ah, a man of caution. I like that. I can tell you that I am an enemy of the Zhentarim. My friends here are Freedom Riders, which as your halfling friend from Dagger Falls can tell you, are the comrades in arms of Randal Morn. How are things in Dagger Falls these days, Mr. Hairsplitter?” Ogy too was somewhat wary. “Do you know someone named Kessla?,” he asked without explanation.

“I know of a Kessla,” responded Bon. “But I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her. My comrades and I are here both to help to defend the Dell and to keep watch on this area. We know the Zhentarim are planning a counter stroke against Morn, and are trying to gather what intelligence we can. It’s rather too bad you killed those orcs, as it would have been desirable to follow them and see where they were going.”

“They were going in the direction of Dagger Falls,” said Ogy.

“They couldn’t have been planning to go far in that direction,” responded the bard. “Dagger Falls is in Morn’s hands, and such a small group was far too vulnerable to challenge his stronghold. Usually Zhentarim travel in stronger groups, which means that these must have been on a mission calling for stealth. They must have been going to a place meant to be kept secret. That’s why this letter you confiscated may be of great value. May I see it?”

Elvis said they would share the letter on the condition that its meaning be shared with them, but even while he spoke Lanatil had already handed it over. Bon looked at it intently. “Hmmm. This is based on Damaran, but it’s in code. I can’t read it, but I know people who should be able to. Can I keep it? I think it may be valuable intelligence, and in return for letting me take it I will arrange for the lot of you to stay here at the inn free of any cost to you. And yes, my friend from Silverymoon, if we meet again after I have learned the contents of the message, I will share them with you.”

The party agreed. Then Bon asked, “Now, may I have a look at this amulet that our good druid seems to be so excited about?”

Elvis passed the precious object across the table. Bon inhaled with a slow hissing noise. “The Black Hand. Bane’s symbol.” He asked Lanatil to recount his dream again. When the druid had finished, the bard nodded, frowning. “It is true then. Bane has arisen.”

Now Nameless interjected. “You already knew this? How do you know it? What happened?”

“I have no knowledge of what happened in the planes where the gods dwell,” said Bon. “But I do know that over recent months there has been a sudden purge among the followers of Cyric, many of whom had been followers of Bane before the godswar. Apparently the Church of Bane has been reconstituting itself, and many of his prior minions are returning to his fold. We weren’t sure what to make of this, but your story leaves little doubt.” He moved his fingers quickly over the amulet, speaking the words of a spell. The amulet began to glow faintly. “It gives off a magic aura, but a modest one. It appears to be simply a holy symbol, the kind any cleric uses as a focus for meditation. But given Lanatil’s dream, I am uneasy about letting it remain here. The Dell is not without defenses, but one of its most important ones is its relative lack of importance. We could not withstand an army, if one were to consider us worth its while to conquer. I will have to consider this. But come now, you should relax from your journey and rest. Have some ale with us.”

They accepted the bard’s invitation. As they drank, Ogy, who had been itching throughout the long conversation to find some way of drawing attention to himself, suddenly offered Bon a bet. “Here Lanatil, let me borrow that rope of yours, “ the halfling said. Taking the hemp coil, still stained with the dried blood of their erstwhile prisoner, Ogy handed it to Bon and urged that he use it to tie him up. “Go ahead. Tie the best knots you can. I’ll bet you a gold piece that I can escape.” Intruigued, Bon agreed. He wrapped the rope around the tiny rogue’s body, binding arms and feet together as tightly as he knew how. Immediately Ogy began to wriggle and squirm, and within a few minutes had wormed his way free of the ropes. Joining in the laughter and applause, Bon handed Ogy a gold piece. “Nice job, Mr. Hairsplitter.”

That night, Cameron’s condition improved. He was still feverish, but he did not lose any more vitality. Lanatil tended him all the next day, and by the following evening his fever had broken. His tall body was still very weak and sluggish, but safely out of danger.

The morning after their arrival at the Dell, Bon had come to speak to Elvis and the others. “I’m afraid that amulet cannot stay here,” he said. “Last night a Baneguard tried to gain entrance to the Dell. The fangs destroyed it, but a few were badly wounded in the process.” In response to their queries, the bard explained that a Baneguard is a particular type of undead creature, a skeletal warrior armed with various magical weapons and defenses. As the name implies, the secret of creating these deadly servants was first developed by the Church of Bane. “As I said yesterday, I don’t believe the amulet to be of any great intrinsic power. I think it is just a clerical holy symbol. But Bane is the kind of god who does not like others to take his property." Elvis, who by now had conducted his own magical examination of the amulet, agreed. “Still,” the wizard said, “instead of just leaving it somewhere for Bane’s retrieval, I’d prefer to destroy it.” Bon thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll give the amulet to me, I’ll take it to the dwarves’ smithy. If anyone will know how to unmake this thing, they will.” Elvis agreed.

Session 2: A halfhearted ambush.

Daggerdale is all rolling wooded hills and small, labyrinthine valleys, broken by rocky crags and tors. Here and there are meadows left in the wake of wildfires caused by storm lightning. The first day of travel south from Dagger Falls was uneventful, punctuated only by summer showers and quarrels about marching formation. Yonnis was sure he knew the best arrangement, but to his great frustration the others refused to follow his instructions. They camped a few hundred feet from the trail, taking turns at keeping watch. Since Nameless’s monastic disclipline allowed him to achieve full rest while sleeping for short interrupted periods, he took a solitary watch shift for the three hours following midnight. On this first night there was no disturbance.

The next day was not so peaceful. During the afternoon, the group was set upon first by a pack of wild dogs, and a few hours later by a pair of marauding krenshar--strange catlike carnivores combining the worst features of a wolf and a hyena. The group dispatched both sets of attackers without much trouble, apart from embarrassment to Yonnis when he was overcome by the unnatural screech of one of the krenshar (uttered while pulling back the flexible skin from its head to reveal the musculature and bone of its skull) and fled for all he was worth, only to return sheepishly after his companions had killed the beast.

That night during Nameless’s watch, he heard two creatures approaching in the shadows. They were humanoid, with mottled, decaying flesh drawn tight across clearly visible bones. Ghouls. He shouted to rouse his companions while fending them off in a flurry of arms and feet. The two ghouls flanked the monk, and the one behind him tore a hideous gash in his back with one of its claws, a blow that would have caused instant paralysis in any creature other than an elf. Awakening, Cameron muttered an incantation. A ray of positive energy erupted from his fingertips, burning the undead creature who had just wounded Nameless. The rest of the group too was stirring, grabbing weapons. They destroyed the ghouls, but not before one of them succeeded in sinking its feral teeth into Cameron’s arm.

As both Nameless and Cameron had sustained serious injuries, the group elected to spend the next day camped a little way off the trail in order to recover as best they could. Yonnis went off foraging for food while Lanatil tended to the wounded. After Yonnis had returned to camp, he spied a group of dark humanoid figures approaching in the distance. The party hid in the underbrush to observe. The figures were coming from the southeast, in the general direction of Castle Daggerdale--which, as Ogy whispered, was in the hands of the Zhentarim. There were four of them, and Yonnis could tell from their movements that they were orcs. As they closed, more details became discernible. The three in front were footsoldiers, and they were followed by a commanding figure wearing some sort of amulet atop his breastplate that sparkled in the afternoon sun. When they reached the trail, they turned north and started marching up in the direction of Dagger Falls.

Yonnis whispered to his companions, “We should attack. I hate orcs, and am quite good at killing them.” Ogy agreed, not liking the fact that this group was moving in the direction of his hometown. Nameless and Elvis were dubious. “It's foolhardy to attack now, while we are wounded. And to what purpose? Just let them go by.” Yonnis insisted. He, Lanatil, and Ogy started to move toward the trail, while trying to remain under cover. Nameless hissed, “If you do this, you do it on your own.”

Suddenly, the leader of the marching group barked an order, and the three footsoldiers halted. The leader was looking in the direction of the elves. He had seen something. The footsoldiers shifted formation to put themselves between the leader and the elves, then continued to march warily up the trail. Again Elvis and Nameless told the Ethrils to come back, to let the orcs pass. Heedless, Yonnis and Ogy advanced again. Lanatil hesitated. The orc leader barked another order, and the two orcs nearest the elves each hurled javelins, hitting and seriously wounding both Yonnis and Ogy--the latter to his great surprise, as the halfling had been sure he could advance unseen. Thinking quickly, Lanatil did two things. He whispered a command to his hawk, and cast one of the spells granted him by Silvanus. Suddenly the underbrush surrounding the orcs began to writhe and stretch, forming long tendrils that entwined themselves around legs and torsos, immobilizing the four of them. Yonnis began to rain down arrows on them with his shortbow, concentrating on the leader. Elvis and Cameron too emerged from hiding and began firing crossbow bolts, which were soon joined in the air by Nameless’s javelin. One of the orcs managed to break free from its living bonds and was able to escape the area of the spell’s effect before being shot down. Lanatil’s hawk swooped down and snatched the amulet from the leader’s neck as he too fell. Soon only one orc was left alive, still pinioned by the animate vegetation. They now aimed merely to subdue rather than kill, seeking to knock the orc unconscious. They succeeded, and once Lanatil’s spell had worn off they approached the sprawling bodies.

To the group’s delight, each of the orcs was carrying a small purse of gold. The leader wore a breastplate clearly marked with Zhent devices, and had been carrying a document of some sort, written in a language none of the party could read. Ogy believed he recognized it, however, as being in Damaran, the language of the region of Zhentil Keep. They bound the unconscious orc with a hemp rope from Lanatil’s backpack, and examined the amulet the leader--who they now saw to be only half-orc--had been wearing. It was made of gems and precious metals, and depicted a hand clenched in a fist, with green beams of light escaping from the between the fingers. Ogy’s appraising eye reckoned that the precious materials alone were worth at least 200 gold pieces. Yonnis and Nameless, however, recognized the symbol as the mark sacred to Bane. They were disturbed. And puzzled. Everyone knew Bane had been destroyed over a decade ago, during the Time of Troubles. So what was a half-orc Zhent priest doing wearing his symbol?

First session: Our tale begins

Our story is set in the Forgotten Realms, a fantasy world about which you can find as much or more information on the web as you can about many real countries in this world. Of course, the more I flesh it out for purposes of my own campaign, the more it will diverge from its multifarious other incarnations. In planning my storyline, I drew from the huge array of published resources available, combined a couple of pre-written adventures, and added my own twists and details as needed. I can only plan the storyline up to a point however, because it largely depends on what the players do. Which of course is what makes it fun.

The region that concerns us for now is known as the Dalelands, and our tale begins in Dagger Falls, on a warm summer evening during the month of Kythorn in the Year of Wild Magic. Dagger Falls is a rough frontier town where people openly wear weapons in the street and one senses that social order might be rent by open warfare in the blink of an eye. Until recently it had been occupied by the Zhentarim and their Black Network, but for the moment the traditional ruler of Daggerdale, Randal Morn, has succeeded in retaking the town and is imposing a welcome but precarious benevolent order.

There is an inn in Dagger Falls known as the Red Rock. Contained in a stone and wood structure two stories tall, it has a down-to-earth atmosphere assiduously cultivated by its owner Kessla, a strikingly beautiful half-elf woman with long dark hair and a wry alertness in her eyes. Kessla runs a sort of informal referral service for adventurers. The way it works is that you go there and talk to her about the nature of your intended journey—as much as you are willing to divulge—and pay a small fee. Many people do this, so Kessla talks to a lot of people and has a lot of contacts. Dagger Falls is a well-travelled hub for people looking for opportunity, and Kessla is a well-known figure, a close friend of Randal Morn. If you are lucky, there’s a good chance that within a couple days she’ll send a note up to your room telling you to come into the tavern at such and such a time because there are some people she thinks you might want to meet. She makes no guarantee that these people will be suitable to your purposes, or you to theirs, but she’s known to have a good knack for putting people together who share enough common interests that they can work together fruitfully.

Over the course of the tenday before our story begins, a number of people had come into the Red Rock looking for companions to travel south from Dagger Falls, down to the vicinity where the Tethyamar trail meets the Northride. Six of them, to be precise. The first two came in together, a pair of elves, brothers from Tangled Trees in the forest of Cormanthor. Both were uncommonly strong and rather ungainly for elves, and had clearly spent more time alone in the woods than in polite company. The slightly older of the two, Yonnis Ethril, was a ranger from a guildhall in Cormanthor. He had green eyes and silver-white hair, and wore a small symbol around his neck—the green-fletched silver arrow associated with followers of Solonor Thelandira. His brother Lanatil shared the same eyes, but had black hair. Lanatil’s scruffy looks and hide armor pegged him instantly as a druid, and any remaining doubt was dispelled by the large hawk perched on his shoulder. The brothers told Kessla that they had business in the village of Oakhurst, located along the Northride a few days’ walk south of the Tethyamar intersection. They were both headstrong and stubborn, given to brotherly bickering.

Next to arrive was a fledgling monk from the Abbey of the Vigilant Eye, located somewhere within the dark wilderness of Cormanthor. He gave no name. He too was an elf, and he too had an exceptionally powerful frame. He bore his, though, with considerably more grace than the Ethril brothers, despite the fact that he was a good eight inches taller than they. Like most monks, he wore simple robes and had few possessions beyond his serious demeanor. He also told Kessla that he wished to find travelling companions with whom to go south down the Tethyamar trail in the direction of Oakhurst.

Fourth to arrive was a wizard who had made the long journey across Anauroch from Silverymoon in the company of a trading caravan. Yet another elf, short and definitely not strong of sinew, he gave his name as Elvis the Conjurer. He too sought comrades for a journey south. Before long a fifth elf came in, and this one was tallest of all. He stood an astonishing six feet and a half, and had a magnetic presence that compelled the attention of all who beheld him. His came was Cameron, and he was a young sorceror who, like the Ethrils, also hailed from Tangled Trees. Unlike the Ethrils, Cameron tended to listen to those around him and speak only when necessary.

The last of the six to speak to Kessla was far from being tall. He was a halfling, by the name Ogy Hairsplitter. The only native of Dagger Falls, as well as the only non-elf in the group, Ogy was a rogue whose family had played a role in the resistance against the Zhent occupation. Ogy was restless and unruly, seemingly unable to stay still for long. He knew Kessla, and when he told her that he wanted to go south she told him she had just the party for him, provided he wasn’t averse to being stepped on by elves.

The next night they all met in the tavern at Kessla’s invitation. All were wary of revealing anything specific about their aims, stating merely that they “had business” in the vicinity of Oakhurst. At one point during the conversation, Ogy made a reference to the plague of vampires that had afflicted Daggerdale in recent memory, and the nameless monk was interested in knowing when the last sighting had been. About ten years earlier, Ogy replied. They shared little other information, agreeing simply to meet the next morning to buy any needed supplies and set out down the Tethyamar trail.

Once a geek…

[Note: this post originally appeared on my main blog, here. I have revised it somewhat.]

Lucas had been lobbying me for a while to teach him how to play pen & paper Dungeons & Dragons. He had played Baldur's Gate and Icewind Dale on the computer, and seen some of my artifacts in the basement from the ancient days when we did such things by hand. Stuff I had not touched since the early 80's. I knew that the rules had gone through several editions since the old AD&D tomes I used to know by heart, and decided that I should investigate to see what the state of the art in fantasy geekdom was. I have to say that said state (I'm talking Version 3.5) struck me as quite a bit improved. I particularly liked the skill system and the way it makes all the basic character abilities have repercussions, even the ones that are not key to your class. For example, back when I played as a kid, if you were a fighter, you could care less what your intelligence and wisdom scores were. They were almost never relevant. Now if you have low wisdom you'll be bad at spotting bad guys or hearing them sneak up on you. If you have low intelligence you’ll be bad at finding what you’re searching for. And so on. I also liked the new melee rules, which incorporate miniatures to make battles a lot more tactically complex and interesting, and enable you to figure out with some consistency questions like "what happens if I stop to drink a potion while a hobgoblin is trying to skewer me on its halberd?" Reading of all these improvements, I started to get resentful that they hadn't existed back when my friends and I were playing. Why is there an inverse proportion between the quality of available pastimes and the amount of free time you have to enjoy them in?

You can probably guess where this is going. Someplace very scary. Because, you see, now I'm grownup and gainfully employed. Which means I actually have disposable income to spend on rulebooks, plastic miniatures, and battlemats. I'm now DMing my first campaign in over 20 years. (It stands for Dungeon Master, which I know sounds very S&M, but try to work with me here.) The players are Lucas, three of his friends, and two of his friends' fathers. I'm trying to make this a real role-playing campaign, one with an over-arching story line and characters that mean something beyond roll-miss-roll-hit-get-treasure. (I rationalize my efforts as providing a potentially useful educational experience, as the three of us adults interact with the kids in solving various tactical and moral dilemmas. Yeah. That's why I'm doing it.) So after they all rolled up characters I spent several weeks creating detailed backgrounds for them. I gave each of them a fancy printed copy of his deity's creed. I gave each of them an independent back story containing his unique motive for embarking on a quest, as well as important information that would be unavailable to the other characters unless voluntarily shared. I printed spellbooks in calligraphic fonts. Each person's backstory ended with his entrance into a particular tavern to meet with other potential travelling companions. And so on our first session I sat them all down at the table and let them negotiate what they wanted to do. It's been a very interesting dynamic. It seems that my telling them they had personal information not accessible to the others has made them regard that information as a resource to be jealously guarded. They're being very cagy with each other, even as they travel together and depend upon each other's abilities to survive. Which, I suppose, is just the psychological realism I was looking for. It will be interesting to see how long it takes them to learn to trust each other and work as a team. Right now there's almost no consensus building, no sharing of information that would benefit everyone. That will need to change if they're going to make it …

So since I'm putting a fair amount of time into this, I feel I may as well start documenting the storyline as it develops. Some day it will be a nice souvenir for Lucas. I have neither time nor aspiration to turn this into anything of literary value--while I'll try to make it engaging enough to read, my main goal is to just tell the story so we'll have a record of what we spent all those Friday evenings doing. Because some of the players might read this, I will not reveal anything about the characters' detailed backgrounds or motivations that hasn't yet been revealed during game play. I will probably revise earlier posts from time to time, if I think of additional details worth adding.