Sitting in a bar, waiting for an adventure hook to drop in your lap is just about the worst cliche there is for a fantasy RPG. But the thing is, it works. Players know where to go to relax, waste a little coin, brag about previous adventures, and maybe find a new one.
So, there I was, sitting in a bar, waiting for an adventure hook to drop in my lap. I was relaxing, spending very little coin, and not bragging about anything. Now, I know I should probably tell you a little about myself, and I would, but there's not enough time. You see, there's a hook about to drop in my lap.
So as I said, there I was, minding my own business, sitting peacefully and drinking my ale, when the conversation behind me caught my attention. Mind you, I'd already known that the table had to be an adventuring party. Why else would there be a dwarf in plate mail sitting with a halfling in leather armor and a pixie fairy with no armor? Or to say it another way, a fighter, a thief, and a mage were meeting in a bar.
The dwarf grunted. "It's a t-t-terrible idea. Just us three? I'm a w-walking target, he's a c-coward, and after one fight, you're out of spells. No, no, no, no, it's no good. We need another f-front line f-fighter." There was a pause in the conversation, I'd've guessed to let the pixie fairy come up with another argument. Dwarves are contrary by nature, but they’ll give you an honest chance to argue with them. After all, how can you be contrary if you don’t let someone state a position? Anyhow, I wasn't about to let her struggle to convince him when it was such an obvious opening for me.
I turned around and planted myself in the fourth chair, which had been conveniently left open to me. I like to think of myself as clever, so my opening line was as follows: "There's a rumor going around that you're looking for a front line fighter." I then casually quaffed my ale, as if my presence alone was enough of a resume.
Right, I really need to describe myself so the visual impact could be understood. As you may know, your typical pixie fairy is about 18 inches tall. A halfling is usually around three feet tall, and a dwarf is a bit taller but typically still under four feet. These three were fairly standard heights for their respective species. I, too, am a typical height for my race. However, since that race is half-ogre, I'm nearly eight feet tall, and just over 400 pounds. Most of it is muscle.
Now, I figured there were at least three ways this could go. Most likely I'd get a chance to argue for myself, which might be showing off a little to prove my skills; or possibly I'd get told to bugger off, which I would cheerfully have done; or there was the pretty unlikely chance I'd get attacked and even then the resulting bar fight might prove my skills and earn me a chance to join them. Of course, that's not what happened. Remember the chair conveniently left open for me? The one that was large enough for me to sit in?
Instead, the halfling held out a hand to his side, and the dwarf muttered something in dwarvish that sounded like cursing as he dropped a few silver coins in it. "I told you he was looking for a quest." He tucked them away, saying, "Treasure division is one full-share each, group leader gets an extra quarter share, and one share for the group emergency healing fund." He then gestured at the dwarf. “He’s the leader.”
I thought about it. They had picked the table behind me on purpose and spoke up intending to be overheard. So they wanted me. Further, the shares weren’t the standard division. Leaders usually got an extra half-share, not just a quarter. So they needed me. No, actually, I didn't need to think about it. I might have been desperate, but I took enough time that it wasn't obvious; I didn't need to seem desperate. "Agreed."
First meetings are boring. Here's what you need to know: The stuttering dwarf was named Torendrock Oakaxe, the cowardly halfling was Halamin the Fearful, and the arrogant pixie fairy was Marigold Jestercloud. We all swore oaths to one another, most of the bar got stinking drunk, and then someone started a bar fight that ended when the inn caught on fire.
It's possible we might not be welcomed back.
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Monz’tera 2
So, that's how I found myself on a quest for the unknown. Probably could use a bit more explanation about what happened before I found myself in that bar, and I've got plenty of time now. It's quite a hike to the place we're headed.
I'm a bit unclear on the details, which actually means I have absolutely no clue, on how I ended up here. Here in this world, I mean, not here on this quest. I know how I ended up on this quest! So there I was, minding my own business (I think I like that phrase), getting ready for my weekly AD&D game, and the next thing I know, I'm living in a fantasy RPG world. Actually, that's getting too far ahead. It started with rolling up my 'character'. In my defense, while I knew something strange was going on, I did not realize what would happen after I was done. Freaky thing is, I still have this window-like thing I can open up and view my character sheet on.
The system isn't quite AD&D, though. It’s something called Hackmaster 4th Ed. It looks an awful lot like 1st ed. AD&D (with the occasional bit thrown in from 2nd ed.) revised by a committee of mental ward patients being paid by the word. Which only differs from AD&D in that it was designed by a singular mental ward… no, I jest. However, to address the elephant in the room, AD&D was a product of its times and had some very questionable recommendations for running games, plenty of inappropriate commentaries, and some blatant racist and sexist overtones. But to get back to my topic, Hackmaster sort of took all the quirks and turned them all up to eleven.
Anyhow, I ended up creating a half-ogre barbarian, which had some amazing synergy for hit-dice. Double hit-dice at 1st level from being a half-ogre, double Con bonus from being a barbarian. Double Dex bonus to AC also. I was pretty proud of myself, gaming a system I didn't even know. I won't bore you with every little detail right now (although I should mention that a barbarian is distinct from a berserker, i.e. I do not have class granted Rage), suffice to say I was happy. And then.... then I was Duromar. Sitting in a bar, drinking an ale, waiting for adventure.
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Monz’tera 3
Still traveling. It’ll be a few days. Dwarves and Halflings walk slow.
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Monz’tera 6
Torendrock says we’ll arrive tomorrow.
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Monz’tera 7
The name of the little stronghold we were investigating pursuant to looting? Quasqueton. Yeah, not that any of the others knew the name yet, but they had a map marked with a Q, and it led up a narrow pathway into a cave set in limestone. I vaguely remembered some details from the first time I ever played, not many of which are likely to turn out to be useful. Quasqueton was the stronghold of a wizard and a fighter and had two levels. I had flipped through the adventure after we finished playing, and noticed the GM had to fill in most of the encounters from a list in the back. Oh, and I was fairly sure this was the one with the room full of pools.
It was quite different from what I remembered. Example: There was a Welcome mat at the door. I am not kidding. I couldn't help myself, I looked under the mat. Utter insanity compounded, there was a key. I can tell you with no hesitation, my party members were damn impressed by that. And it even unlocked the door. At that moment, as I turned the key, a small notification box popped up, in what I would call the bottom right of my vision. It had a simple [+105 E.P.], and then it faded away. I should mention, up until that point, nothing else had really made it feel like I was living in a game; except for my character sheet, can’t forget that. I stepped back, letting Halamin check it for traps before we pushed the door open, and discreetly opened my character sheet. I checked, and Experience Points was now at 105 points.
Halamin reported it safe enough to open, so we went in. I vaguely recalled that there were secret doors into one of the sets of alcoves. We maintained a good guard, with Torendrock at the back and myself at the front in case of ambush. But, nothing happened until we reached those magic mouths.
“WHO DARES ENTER THIS PLACE AND INTRUDE UPON THE SANCTUARY OF ITS INHABITANTS?” came from the right.
“ONLY A GROUP OF FOOLHARDY EXPLORERS DOOMED TO CERTAIN DEATH,” came from the left.
“WOE TO ANY WHO PASS THIS PLACE -- THE WRATH OF ZELLIGAR AND ROGAHN WILL BE UPON THEM!,” came from both sides. They then began to laugh.
It’s one thing to have a GM tell you what was being shouted, and quite another to actually have one of them booming at you. They faded out after yelling, and I held position, waiting to see if guards had been alerted.
I must say, it’s very hard to listen to my metagame instincts when it’s real. At least I assume this is real.
Regardless, we went up the short set of steps into the grisly foyer. There were the remains of a previous party here, and from the smell, it had been a fairly good while. A human fighter slumped against one wall, a human mage pinned to the wall with a sword, and a dwarf fighter that had crawled into the mouth of a hallway. There were also two orc bodies. We checked, but it looked like everything of value had been looted already.
We went down the left passageway. It turned and went quite a long way back towards the entrance, with just one alcove to the side before a door appeared at the end. I strongly suspected that the secret door was accessed through here, so we searched the alcove thoroughly. While we figured out how to trigger it, Halamin found something even more important. There was a trap in the hallway, just past the alcove! He took one look at the wall there, asked to borrow the front door key, and stuck it in a keyhole no one else had noticed. Rotating it, there was an audible clunk from the hallway floor.
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It turned out the door at the end of the hallway was a fake, meant to trick you into stepping on the floor and into what we suspected was a pit trap. In a second alcove, there was a real door to keep going. I suggested, and the others agreed, that turning the trap back on was the best idea, then we could explore another hallway without worrying as much about something attacking us from behind from this one.
So back we went to the foyer, and this time down the main hallway. The first doorway on the left led to a kitchen. It was trashed, utterly. The only curiosity was the blackboard, which had ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ written on it. Marigold, who it turned out was the party cook, took deep offense to the phrase. I mentioned I knew of a book by that name and got three very puzzled expressions back. Yeah, I’d forgotten that barbarians were usually illiterate. In any event, none of the group knew what I was talking about.
If I didn’t mention it before, Torendrock had put himself in charge of mapping the place out. He used the inside of his shield, and a piece of chalk to do it as we went. Damn clever idea.
With two doors to exit, we took the one on the right. It seemed to connect back to the main system of hallways. Just to the left was a very sturdy looking door. Halamin inspected it briefly, then shook his head.
“Wizard locked.”
So, I was of course readying myself to bash it down; when suddenly Torendrock unexpectedly spoke up.
“Green Eggs and Ham!”
Sure enough, the door then opened for him. He smugly mentioned that he had written the phrase down, thinking that when we found the library, it would be a book we should look for, but then he realized it could be the passphrase for a wizard locked door also. If I had thought that, I’d call it metagaming. But for Torendrock, I’d have to call it genre awareness.
Anyhow, it was a storeroom. 60 or so barrels and casks filled the place, untouched and unlooted. I suggested leaving it alone for now. Having a wizard locked door to shelter behind if we stayed more than a day would be useful. It was a very good thing I didn’t have to bash it down.
So, next, we headed down the main central hallway again. Surprisingly, it dead-ended with some odd turns and nothing near the end except a storeroom full of wool sweaters. I strongly suspected secret doors, but none of us found one.
We tried to explore systematically after that. Across from the kitchen was a dining hall. Connected to that was a drinking lounge, with a statue of a nude human woman. I remembered that statue, and that it was too well anchored to remove.
“Looks valuable,” said Halamin. He was studying the statue, not in a prurient manner, but as an art appraiser.
Torendrock grunted. “Good s-stonework on that. I know it’s t-tempting to just haul that back and call it a good d-delve, but let’s not abandon the exploration j-just yet.”
While they debated trying to take the statue, I took down the mugs on the wall and tucked them into my pack. As soon as the last one got put in, a little notification flashed [11/29]. Sure enough, it was eleven mugs. And then I counted the pegs on the wall. Twenty-nine. Was that like a mini-quest?
“Mimic!” I whirled around to spot Halamin ducking away from an arm swinging at him as the statue rapidly melted into a formless shape. Torendrock was already stepping forward and swinging his axe, Halamin was back-pedaling, and Marigold was fluttering back out of range as well.
Marigold was the first to attack, a pair of magic missiles flying from her hands to unerringly strike the mimic. Didn’t seem to do much, though. Halamin flung a lead sling bullet at it but missed. Torendrock hit it though, a good solid hit. I was a half-step behind him and swung with my first blade. It bit deeply, and a [-19] notification flashed for just a second. I swung my second blade, and [Fumble!] the damn thing slipped right out of my hand! The mimic itself swiped at Halamin as he moved back but luckily missed. With the two fighters in close, the others held fire. Besides, it looked fairly smashed up already. It took a few more swings before I finally scored another hit, and with a [-16], it went down. The mimic shattered and scattered over the floor from my final strike. Two small notifications popped up. [+32 E.P., +1 honor]
I picked up my second sword, slightly puzzled at the fight. I was left wondering if it was possible that Marigold was a 3rd level magic-user. Her magic missile spell had two missiles after all.
My problem is, I don't know if the game mechanics I learned accurately describe this world. If they do, then while judging the level of a fighter or thief would be tricky, with my knowledge I might be able to figure out our magic-user's level.
"Anyone hurt?" Torendrock glanced at each of us. "Then l-l-let's move on. We have a lot of treasure to m-make up for."
We headed on, finding the next room to be some kind of museum to rampaging egos. We left it alone, there was nothing of value.
The next door led to a winding hallway that ended in three doors, one with an ugly leather adornment spelling out 'Erig'. Marigold motioned for silence and pointed at both that door and the door across the hall.
Halamin nodded and crept up to each door in turn, listening. We retreated back down the hallway to quietly converse. "Didn't hear anything at Erig's door, but the other one has a horde of orcs."
I thought I was missing part of the conversation. "So the other room is empty?"
Marigold shook her head. "No, there's one in there." I must have looked skeptical or puzzled because she then tapped her head and said, "telepathy."
I nodded in understanding, but my mind was whirling. Psionics! That was always one of the craziest overpowered abilities in existence. I was a bit jealous, I'd never had a GM allow them in any game.
We had a vote. All of us agreed to try taking out the single creature first, quickly and quietly. Since I was the fastest, we agreed that Halamin would throw open the door, and I would charge in first, Torendrock on my heels.
After the earlier fight, I really felt like I needed to make a good showing. I hurled myself through the doorway and straight at the orc. He was quick on the uptake, spinning away from the chest he was trying to force open with his sword. I hit him so hard with the first strike [-30] I nearly cut him in two. He actually managed to swing his sword at me once, but I finished him off with the second sword [-15] even as he swung at me. He missed, I didn’t. [+32 E.P., +1 honor]
Torendrock skidded to a halt, staring down at the corpse. "You c-c-couldn't have left anything for me?" he teased. Seeing the fight was already over, Marigold and Halamin came in, closing the door behind them.
"That's not an orc. That's an org. They’re a bit larger than orcs…” Marigold glanced at me. “Strangely, they’re still much smaller than human-ogre crossbreeds, even though orcs are close to the size of humans. Oh, and orgs don’t have tusks, but orcs do.”
It took me a second, but I recalled that an orc/ogre crossbreed was sometimes called an org. "I hope we weren't related. I'd hate to have killed a cousin of mine." I grinned as big a grin as I could, to make sure they knew I was joking.
We searched the room, taking our time as Marigold kept a mental watch for the larger group. I found another pewter mug [12/29] and took the keg as well. It sloshed like ale. There were some weapons, but not much else. The chest, once Halamin got it open, was a bust. Nothing valuable at all.
Now, I want to take a moment to lampshade something. The damage notifications were rather high, but most of them were in line with what my character sheet claimed. A 2H sword, used by someone of my strength, would deal [1d10+10] damage. But that didn’t explain dealing 30 points of damage unless it was a crit. Would I know if it was a crit? I wondered if there was a different damage doubler going on. Marigold had double missiles, I got double damage?
We headed out of the room, and Halamin took another listen at the door. He nodded, but to be honest, I could hear the orcs carousing in there even from across the hallway. It certainly sounded like a rowdy sports bar watching a game. So, we needed an actual plan which wasn’t Duromar and Torendrock rush into a horde of orcs and get surrounded.
The plan was to block the doorway and have Halamin protect our backs. So, Halamin threw the door open, slamming it into the wall. The orcs were gathered around tables, drinking and waving swords at each other. I suppose that’s typical orc behavior. I stepped in and to the right, and Torendrock to the left, taking a swing at the closest one. A magic missile flew between us, a single this time, but after hitting the first orc, it went right through him and hit a second one! The orcs roared and rushed us, but Marigold managed to get a second spell off, skewering the same orc again, and hitting the same one behind him. As he got up close, a single swipe of my sword took him down for good. I ignored the damage notification, there was just too much going on.
Halamin must have felt the need to pull his weight because I spotted him out of the corner of my eye ducking past me and under some bunks. A third skewering magic missile shot out, hitting two orcs again. It had gotten chaotic to the point that I had no idea which ones because the very next swing of my blade [Fumble!] hit a shield badly, and I could hear it crack. I dropped it, swinging with the second blade, and took down that orc. Torendrock was doing his part, standing behind that huge shield and blocking up the left side. Another magic missile spell flew overhead, this time two missiles again, hitting the one in front of me. I pulled out my spare third sword and took down my third orc.
For the fifth time, a magic missile spell flew out and hit orcs. I heard Marigold call out ‘Defensive casting!’, a prearranged signal that she was out of combat spells. Torendrock grunted out, “G-Got one!” Not to be outdone, I swung and hit a shield again, this time the shield was the one that shattered. My second blade buried itself in the surprised orc.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with Torendrock, I noticed the orcs were getting tired already. That was even more obvious when a fumbled swing from the one now facing Torendrock hit one of his allies, killing him. There was a commotion at the back of the reduced horde. Halamin had been discovered and hit. It hadn’t registered with me before, but I realized that I hadn’t taken even a single wound yet, despite being double-teamed at every turn. Trusting my defenses, I started making my way towards our thief, but it was slow going. I killed a fifth and then [Fumble!] dropped a sword for the second time today. Those grips get slippery when you’re swinging hard.
The orcs were too drunk to even realize the fight was as good as over. I took down two more making my way to rescue Halamin, who was now bleeding from three different wounds. He bravely stabbed the last one near him from under the table he was hiding under, and I finished it off.
I turned to see Torendrock splatter his second one, and we both turned to the last. I got the final killing blow. I had finished nine of the twelve, which felt pretty awesome.
The experience notification popped up. [+47 E.P.] Didn’t seem like much for the hardest fight we’d had yet, but I suppose orcs weren’t really a hard fight.
We looted the barracks, because that’s what it was. There were three more mugs [15/29], and some assorted weapons and armor that Torendrock thought worthwhile. We left most of it there. After that, we backtracked to the wizard locked storeroom and bunked down for the night.
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And that’s where I am now as I write in this journal.
I learned a bit more about my companions. Marigold is the party medic. She sewed up Halamin’s wounds and said he’d be healed by morning. That puzzled me. I inquired further and discovered I’d found myself in a party of fast healers. Now, I know I heal faster than normal, as I have a very high Con score, high enough to have regeneration.
And so does every member of this party. I had to ask in a round-about fashion, but it seems all three of them do as well. Torendrock put it best when he said ‘If it doesn’t kill me, I’ll be back on my feet in no more than two days.’ Fated to be together, or the hand of some greater being at play? No way to know right now.
Oh, and as best as I can figure, Marigold is a first-level magic-user. She said she’s a sniper specialist, which, as best as I could understand it, means she has seven spells per day, but at least six of them are magic missile spells. Which actually means she’s not always out of spells after a single battle. Also, she casts them at the level of power a third level magic-user would be able to. Not that she described it in such terms. I was told there are three degrees of specialization a magic-user can make. Specialist, double specialist, and sole practitioner. She was the third type, hyper-specialized in magic missile type evocation spells. I suppose I might know this if I’d explored more options during character creation.
Couple more things of interest. Torendrock, in addition to his stutter, has a bad case of body odor. At first, I thought it was just the natural odor anyone would develop who wears armor all day, but seemingly not. It actually doesn’t bother me, I guess a half-ogre’s sense of smell is a bit differently focused. Halamin and Marigold are both bad sleepwalkers, and Torendrock usually ties one foot each to something heavy.
Marigold had plenty more to say about the diagnosis and treatment, but I won’t bore you with it. She can be a bit of a know-it-all. She and Halamin met through a… well, I guess a support group for sleepwalkers, but they don’t use that term. Torendrock couldn’t find a group of dwarves that would accept him, due to the smell was the implied but unstated meaning, and so when Halamin went looking for a third member of the newly forming party, he was eager to join up. Now, while dwarves and pixie fairies normally do not get along, one despising magic and one being unable to live without it, both had good reason to bury the hatchet. That being, no one else would put up with them.
I have to wonder if that was the reason they could both accept me. Dwarves and pixie fairies ordinarily hate half-ogres; yet if you learned to put aside prejudice once, why not twice? But it did remind me that it was Halamin who recruited me. Actually, now that I think of it, why isn’t Halamin the leader? He put this group together. Oh, nevermind, he’s a coward. (It’s his own words! He doesn’t strike me as all that cowardly, either.)
Anyhow, that’s enough for tonight. I have no idea who might ever read this, but if it someday reaches the hands of a scholar, know that Duromar the half-ogre was a being from another world, a world that didn’t believe in magic, a world where humans were the only sophonts, a world that thought of worlds such as this one as a game to be played.
P.S. I just got two more notifications, [MVP: +525 E.P.] and [Damage: +315 E.P.]. I guess those are session rewards.