Homebrew system thread II, part 2

[Kaelan]

'Where, exactly?

"Up"

OOC

Have a Happy Christmas.

Also, given that this is ISDN - a link to a some space fun
http://www.spacejanitors.com/

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Kaelan hasn't actually met Njal Strongarm, has he? Might have seen him zooming by at high speed...

Larric noticed that the dark orc's interest isn't entirely professional. I don't think Njal said so in so many words, but the fact is he's trying to avoid her, specifically; for romantic reasons. Or deeply unromantic reasons. She's decided she wants him, and he's decided he'd rather be several hundred miles away, several of them straight up.

Physically they're a good match, and they're both very odd by the standards of their society; problem is that they're just not being odd in remotely the same direction, he's well aware of this and she has chosen and determined to deliberately overlook it.

Technically he's actually absent without leave or the officer equivalent thereof, which he expects to be less painful than letting her catch him, and the Countess who knows exactly where he is is finding it all at least amusing enough not to tell the sargeant- major.

Unfortunately, that means she's a bit on the grumpy side and not very likely to take silence or a glib answer for enough. 'Second arvan, halt, 'bout turn, rally on me.' Five humans and seven orcs, their lances wreathed with a peculiar spiral garlanding of ribbon, mesh and runework, that is quite interesting and would reward study- although not quite from the pointed-at-your-head angle.

(Not much to be lost by telling her, actually; it's highly unlikely that was anything like a permanent base for him, he only put down there to repair damage from a bird impact. If there's anything you want from her, information, help, a good word put in, you could probably afford to give it away.)

She decides to be tactically informative. Otherwise known as spinning a tale. 'He's on the missing list; he's one of ours. We look after our own.' A couple of the troopers' eyes roll; they know. 'I need you to tell me where and in what state you saw him.'


Merry Christmas, too, everyone.

[Simon_Jester]

Ah, so THIS is why Larric rolled an intelligence check after the Human Perception check!

The alchemist smiles the smile of a man who knows there's a rocket launcher pointed at his head, but is trying to be friendly anyway, as opposed to merely 'collaborating under duress.'

"Oh, he's missing? I wouldn't worry. I doubt he's in any danger- most ferocious thing left alive in the district, more like. The elf's familiar got sucked into his engine over Caer Edric, that's all. We met him a few miles north of there. I imagine he flew off once he got the engine patched up."

[Fiji_Fury]

Dale, until now completely unaware of these events, is keeping an impassive face. The description offered is, however, ridiculous. He really has found himself into the company of lunatics.

He'll sheath his sword, slowly so as not to endanger himself or others. Then he continues to listen.

OOC: Merry Christmas everyone.

[Simon_Jester]

OOC:

Merry belated Christmas!

[I will be totally incommunicado for the rest of today. Consider that a Charm-Persuasion attempt if you like; I'm trying to convince the amorous dark orc that:

1) Her intended is just fine,
2) We're not trying to conceal information about him,
3) Um, this isn't exactly a 'trying to do,' but... Complimenting his formidability* seems likely to make her happier rather than unhappier, or so I'd imagine.

*If that wasn't a word before, it is now

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

And a happy boxing day, too. Just been to see The Hobbit ; An Unexpected Journey. I didn't expect to be dragooned into going to see it, actually. I think I can now state with a fair degree of confidence that Peter Jackson has never plummeted off of anything. In fact I'm not entirely certain he understands gravity, or the meaning of the words 'up' and 'down'. He certainly refuses to believe in falling damage. Do not see it if you suffer from vertigo. Really. (Remember the old- freeware now? computer game Descent? Jackson thinks people can do that.)


How you got the idea that you were being told this in character I'm not sure myself, either- that explanation was very much for the players' benefit. One of the squaddies might be willing to tell you if you asked when she wasn't listening; if it was a private or an ugly thing perhaps not, but this has- for them- become one of the running gags of Regimental life and one of the few signs that their tyrant of a sargeant- major has any kind of personal existence behind the mask of the job and any vulnerabilities at all.

Besides which, can you really blame her? He's a pioneer test pilot.

Actually, watching most of them you all pick up the odd impression that they're somehow synchronised; whether it's just training, and some of it probably is, or something odder and more eldritch, the collective whole seems to have a life of it's own. When one shifts to watch one way, the others rearrange to cover the other angles. One moves, they all fall in- so close together that it's hard to tell which was the first to move.

Three different ethnicities of orc too, out of the seven of them, the humans from a couple of different parts of the world as well- what did Detrick say, they shouldn't have made it five hundred yards out of their home depot before they turned on each other? He's probably right; but obviously, they did what they shouldn't have been able to do. Most kinds of control dull the will, dull the ferocity- and it's fairly obviously nothing like that.

Next time there's any reason for them to be anywhere near there, a patrol will undoubtedly be detached to look for him. In the meantime, you are (debatably, to stretch a point) civilian contractors of the Regiment, having been hired- bribed with the loot at any rate, same difference- by one of their recon elements to assist with a particular task. You may well have information they'd like, but they expect to get it from him anyway.

Unless you do anything specifically to wind them up, they have a job to be getting on with and will let you be about your business. Are you talking to them further?

[Simon_Jester]

The only thing I can think of to tell the cataphracts is irrelevant in light of what happened in the First Age Fortress- "The colonel's message has been passed on in Qulan." The colonel knows perfectly well that her message has been passed on, presumably; she had a perfectly good opportunity to tell Baron deVerett whatever she pleased.

So, nothing said- why bother?

[Simon_Jester]

OOC:

How you got the idea that you were being told this in character I'm not sure myself, either- that explanation was very much for the players' benefit.

Well, I don't consider it critical to what I said; everything would work just as well on a legitimately concerned noncom who's about to reduce us to a grease spot for trying to get cute with the location of one of her officers.

As to the rest, hell, a 1 on Human Perception might have given Larric at least an inkling that the sergeant-major's concern is a bit more than just the ordinary; how would I know? But I wasn't really trying to use OOC knowledge there. As noted, it works just as well if the character is none the wiser.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Well, there is one thing you could have asked them, and that I was rather hoping you would- help in getting rid of the less sellable and useful items of the assorted toxic goo; but considering you really haven't had time to get it sorted out yet, a field incineration may be premature. (Would have given you a chance to look at their methods from close to without being on the receiving end; could have been worth learning.)

Not so much her- she can make like a disciplined professional (and how does an orc, any orc, get to do that?), but the way the troopers reacted, rolling eyes, looking at each other and making general signs of oh, no, not again, he would definitely have got the fringes of the idea. This is one of the running jokes of the regiment anyway.


In case you were wondering, no nametags or anything like- but again OOC information, her name is Daalura al'Lindraleathan. Her grandfather was a famous bandit chief, one of his exploits being taking and sacking an elvish frontier fortress- all of this in lands far to the north of here well beyond Kuquan- and he took the name too, as a trophy. Her branch of the family ended up with it, and she grew up with a serious case of "boy named Sue" syndrome.

Apart from having been busy hitting people since shortly after leaving the cradle, she can speak several dialects of elvish and yell and swear in several more, so considering, youth in wilderness and frontier survival, broad linguistic knowledge and high violence quotient- ideal material for a senior non-com in the Striking Phoenix.


Anyway, passing on from there with some relief- the next stage of the way down is all right in the middle, but seriously scary at both ends. there's nearly a tumble early on as tyou come out of the lee of one hill into a clearing that lets the wind almost blow straight through you- there's a mis step, and one of the flasks does fall off the door- one that's mostly full of an oily liquid that looks as if it evaporates to gas- it lands on a tuft of long grass that's enough to cushion it and catch it, stop it rolling away.

Later on, you're getting down to the edges of the cleared zone that's routinely farmed, out of the usually reckoned danger area, but there's a lot of brushwood and loose footing- somebody trips on a half rotten log left behind form the last cutting, nearly goes; just manages to find solid ground again, with much clinking as the load shakes, but nothing cracks. It's getting to half- light and the ground's getting worse, you're out of the bad part- is it worth going on, or is it camping time?


Daylight bulbs, on an OOC note, are a good idea- up to a point. I've switched to 6500 K colour temperature lightbulbs, and I find that while they are good for writing by, they keep me awake long after I should have gone to bed.

[Panzersharkcat]

(OOC: Standing desks are pretty useful too.)

Alfred votes to make camp before heading for Lillehammer.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Practising this democracy thing already, in time for the peasants' revolt? (Alfred hasn't had word from there recently, has he- remind me about the rest of his family?) Might actually cause one- it's when the grip of tyranny relaxes that the people start to push back. Being on the right side of it though, that could involve tactics.

That would be a sensible solution to the immediate problem, holing up for the night. You're not being chased- you think. Nothing you need to outrun, you can afford to go slow and careful. Two main dangers; stupid thieves and curious animals. Where in relation to you would you want to put the collection of tinkling doom?

[Simon_Jester]

I'd go for:

Downwind and a goodly distance away, but somewhere we can keep an eye on it to warn away the aforesaid threats- animals by shouting or shooting at them, stupid thieves likewise.

[Panzersharkcat]

(OOC: Hey, hey, hey. He's still a monarchist. He just takes the idea of noblesse oblige very seriously. But yeah, he has got to be tired.)

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

A happy if somewhat hazy new year to you one and all, and any odd decimal points that may have snuck in while nobody was looking. I ahve made no resolutions, not yet (well, a couple when I was drunk, but they don't count).

Panzer, you missed the important bit;

(Alfred hasn't had word from there recently, has he- remind me about the rest of his family?)

It does help if you don't miss the important bits. Nominal father, actual father, mother, fully legitimate elder half- brother, half sister by the same father and a different woman, who else?

[Panzersharkcat]

(OOC: Actual father would be Ridebert's father. Half-brother and half-sister are by Alfred's nominal father with the same mother. That should be it. Alfred would be the oldest, I believe. Half-brother is more bookish than Alfred is. That's all I remember from searching through my old posts.)

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Are the holidays over for everyone yet, or is there still time to run in freedomsville? Anyway-

amazingly little happens during the night; there definitely a couple of small furry squeaky things come to root around, but thing is, if it is downwind of you, you are upwind of it, and most of you are giving out rather pungent human smells, having been under stress and doing a lot of physical work lately. The wolfish and ogrish smells just add to the deterrent effect, the blanket of human (and other) scent round it convincing most of the small furry squeakies to keep away.

Whoever's on at about half one in the morning- does anyone actually have the survival skills to be able to find their way by the stars, incidentally? You're likely to get a rough idea of how far through the night you are by them too- anyway about then, there is a flare of cold blue light on one of the foothills, the one just east of where you were; looks more instant, sharp come, sharp fade away. There are a couple of brilliant points of light a few minutes afterwards, in more or less the same place.

Do I need to bring up again that there was not one single wizard in the ranks of the troop you saw? Bush man isn't that powerful- granted he keeps finding ever wierder and more exotic ways to flange it and get a gallon out of a pint pot, but not that much, not yet.

Fifi's pot feels strangely warm, incidentally.

Come morning- half light, at least- and relatively little appears to have happened. Spookily quiet night, in fact- was everything avoiding you and the chemistry set of damnation, (and don't forget the local wolves are arguably on your side), or...?

What's the plan in the morning? On to Lillehammer, across more rough, broken ground- trying to stop anywhere else first, foraging, up and move, what?

[Simon_Jester]

OOC:

Larric would speculate that the Twentieth has found a way to take very lightly-powered wizards, ones arguably not even detectable as such, below Larric's level, and... heterodyne them. So that weak latent magical abilities can be amplified into impressive results, which does a lot to explain the sheer amount of magical destruction they've accomplished.

There's also the option of third parties- like elves; elven politics are still tangled with what we did up there, if Aburon's word is anything to go by. Or, less encouraging, it could be the entities atop the mountain who put the iron controls on the Black Towers outpost in the first place.

Actually, Larric will ruminate to this effect around the camp as people are getting ready to go.

IC:

Step one, make sure there's food and all, that we are physically up for the trip. If not, foraging might be in order. Larric does not have the right skills for that.

Step two, reflect on whether we've forgotten anything- anyone want to make suggestions about securing the cargo better?

Step three, on to Lillehammer; it's the nearest secure location still.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

It's actually quite an elegant solution to the problem, once you figure it out-and come to think of it, Rohal was there, and did see large parts of it. He can probably fill in enough of the blanks to let you get it.

Magic is partly an act of intellect, but it is also (and this is partly what lies behind the mechanics, the split of power and skill) an act of will; it is something pushed through, forced, driven into the world until it notices and acquiesces, recoalesces around it.

Intellect without will has been known to occur, will without intellect may be depressingly common, but to be more than poor, you really need both. Here's the catch, and where it gets interesting. Divine magic is another creature entirely, the mechanics similar but the roots very different- done by proxy, by a thing, a god, raised together and patched together out in the individually insufficient fragments of will and mind of the worshippers. Priests are the return stroke, who mediate and apply this- at least, that's the wizard's explanation. They have a few cruel and nasty descriptions for wizards, too.

Priests can combine easily- it's holding on to their individual identities without being swept away on the collective tide that's difficult. Wizards combine with great difficulty and no little theatre involved, if at all.

What Colonel Calvern seems to have hit on is a third option, and a very dangerous half way house at that- a way to make the collective will effective in itself, unmediated, unchampioned, untrammelled by any of those silly ethics. A way to make the will of a small group- necessarily a close knit body, a military unit- effective directly. Choral magic, call it- that's what she's calling it- and it can be taught, along with the arms drill. No years at the academy or apprenticeship required.

Has to be a group, a body large enough to think of itself as "us", as "we", in practise, one two three many, four or five will usually do- four or five troopers between themselves are a wizard. To all practical purposes. This is also howshe managed to get the enormous variety of creatures and loyalties present in the Regiment together and singing off the same hymn sheet- literally, by singing off the same hymn sheet, that's what stops them turning on and butchering each other.

They can combine, too, as easily as two raindrops running together. They augment, they multiply- a full scale regimental barrage doesn't bear thinking about, especially not now that they have had a little practise. Whether they're thinking about it is the question; Certainly the entities responsible for them are bricking it.


Oh, and there are cobwebs on the jars, by the way.

[Simon_Jester]

OOC:

Larric's personal experience of magic would... he'd describe the act of will in less confrontational terms, it doesn't feel like he's struggling with Nature when he juggles some detail of the physical universe into a strange line.

As I said once before, if there were a druidism of the movement of worlds through void, of the dance of atoms and the grand patterns of force fields, Larric would be in it and of it. Not being a prophet by inclination, he's not trying to invent one, but it affects the way he sees the world.

IC:

Cobwebs are fine; cobwebs aren't dangerous as such, though scaring any spiders off before they get bitten by a radioactive bottle and given superhuman strength might be wise. They won't add much structural strength, and I don't think we have the collective genius to summon a swarm of spiders to knot together the jars in a sturdy network of spider silk- would try that, were I playing Aburon or someone like him.

How are we set for provisions? Can we manage one more day? Two? Is it more than another day to Lillehammer? Ask Sir Alfred.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

It's about a day; and cobwebbing them together is a good idea, if you know anyone else capable of doing it- I'm kicking myself for not having thought of that. At the time his head would have been full of the information he ripped out of the minion from the circle though, and he wouldn't have been focusing.

(Inner bark strips, from something green and flexible, maybe?)

Provisions, hm, how much did you give away to those who needed it back at the village? Back when you originally set out you were well stocked, that would actually have been the major drain on it. Enough to see you to Lillehammer but you'll be hungry when you arrive, most likely.

Scaring off spiders before they get contaminated, hm, the technicalities of fishing something small and agile out from a porous pile of things you're trying not to disturb- tricky. Just try not to get bitten. (I had a character in another game who got bitten by a radioactive submarine. He acquired sonar powers.)

[Kaelan]

OOC - almost at the end of the holidays and back to a PC again....
back to the game then.

Survival (education) at 5, though herbalism and monstrology at 10/8 may be of more help.

"What, you hungry now? Ate yesterday. no need food till next week."
Still, humans are almost as bad as goblins for running through food, so Dirt will see what he can find within the nearby area to tie them over (and also not keel them over. He'll also check fifi for size in the pot (speaking of which I will have to trawl back thru the posts for her character sheet for the XP spend).

With regards to the spiders, let's leave them. If they do mutate into killing giants of doom it will give future adventures something to cut their teeth on when they get started. Call it the great circle of PC'dome.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Fifi still has at least two unspent XP, and she is growing, but no apparent health issues beyond being slightly gangly and uncoordinated- natural enough at this stage; given the life cycle of the species she sort of belongs to, she's what, two foot high at the moment, you can expect her to grow grow quickly early on, about a foot and a half to two feet a year for four or five years before levelling out slowly- rate of growth will taper off but never entirely stop growing, she'll be "adult" about twelve feet tall but possibly reach as much as thirty eventually. New pot will be needed around about the end of the summer, can probably get by for the time being though. There are budlets around the roots that suggest she probably will grow up to be motile, with the right diet. And she's slightly ticklish.

Dirt will only have been doing that for a little time before it occurs to him that, with as much left to learn as he has, and as finicky eaters as most humans are, it might take a very long time before he could be able to do this quickly, and the day isn't that long- this no really good artificial light thing the humans have, or rather don't. (Failed survival roll.)

On the road, leaving a trail of mutant doomspiders as you go?

There are a few people once you get out of the woods- there is one near disaster on the way that ends with a positively balletic recovery from Alfred- but it's remarkable how being a group of obviouly armed, crazed and dangerous people cuts down on random encounters. Quite a lot of people look at you and decide to wait at the side of the path until you go by. Some who probably would have had evil intent, but aren't quite that stupid.


It's rising and falling terrain, ranges of low green hills; an awful lot of up and down, but it's growing land. Another near disaster-a muddy riverbank, a slipping heel. Someone got wet, but managed to hold the thing up.

The baronetcy is centred on what was probably once a hill fort, with traces of an old earthwork around a walled town with a keep in the centre; at least, it used to be. The buildings, the buildings suffered very badly- there don't seem to be many fewer people about the place, though, although a lot of them are in sheds and shanties and holes in the ground. Some of them hail Alfred as he passes; few known by name although many of the faces are familiar. Most of the people must have fled- they couldn't have been in the town when that happened to it.

There's a large scar on the face of the hill, where parts of the town melted and flowed like- by that point they probably were- lava. That'd be where the gate used to be. A few grave mounds, with unfamiliar heraldry on the stones.

There are people come in out to meet you; don't drop the door, it's Alfred's mother. She's dressed in a richly embroidered velvet gown, rather higher station than her rank strictly permits, but she's holding a sword and shield- her husband's, Alfred's father in name. Not a small or an inconsiderable woman, she is in charge of the relative handful of armed men- spots and recognises Alfred at once, runs to meet him. Sheathing the sword first, just in case you were wondering.

Actions?

[Panzersharkcat]

He runs up to his mother and holds her before saying, "Mother, it has been too long. Why are you holding father's sword?"

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

She shows no sign of worry at the collection of oddities with Alfred, which is a worrying change; normally she would have something to say about the collection of unsuitable friends he does keep gallivanting around with. (Did you ever settle on a name for her? Right- got one.)

She'd also never be caught in these latter days actually holding a sword. As Alfred grew up, he would have understood that Atheleyne while being quite a tyrant of a mother- and it's in her face, in the worry lines- was at least as rigorous with herself. She forced herself into the part of being the matriarch, and lived it well; until this winter when all things seem to have come unglued.

The rest of you can see where Alfred got some of his build and weight from; she's graceful and fluid for someone who must be in her late forties to early fifties, she is well above middle height and frame. Determined rather than attractive, one of those faces that doesn't look much the rest of the time but might light up when the person smiles; she probably doesn't do that much these days.

'My husband's- if I thought you were anywhere where word could reach you, I would have sent for you. He's not gone yet, but the day cannot be far distant. Come up to the hall- what is this, what are all of these?' meaning the rest of the party and the assorted oddities you bear with you.

[Panzersharkcat]

"They are my companions, mother, many gathered from my stay at Coroghan. Larric Smith, my magical advisor. ..." He goes on to introduce the rest, though he has to pause a moment for Dirt before just saying he's a gardener who came with them. After introductions are finished, "Let us go to the hall, then."