Ismael and the Value of Greed, Part II

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. His sinewy physique wears a plain grey thawb and black sirwal covered by a mail shirt. Ismael frequently carries a spear and shield.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (907 coins weight) : axes (2), backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gems worth 100 dinar (4), horizon walker token, jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (8), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin (1 carried, 2 on horse), 70 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal, 87 electrum, 73 platinum

1,341 experience

... And the Value of Greed, Part II

[E Muzeki, The Kiss]

Turn 1: empty room

"A life of adventure," Ismael mutters, watching the amethyst beads swirl. "What are you waiting for?" He considered many things. Fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. "And to conquer fear, you face it." His fists clench. His eyes shut. Ismael steps into the darkness. But in the back of his mind, "Or die in the attempt..."

It was warm, welcoming. It feels like stepping through a skin of wool, heavy but easily pushed aside. The vortex gives way; the world behind him pulls back. Each step, Ismael can feel invisible fingers release their grasp on him, failing to coax him away from the portal. Ismael presses on.

When the pressure falls away, his eyes snap open. He is... in a garden. Ismael looks around. Ankle high brick barriers. Green grass. Ferns. Bushes. Flowers. Brilliant white walls to his left and right. A short red brick path leads forward. With a dark tear in the air behind him circled by amethyst motes. 

Turn 2: encounter with treasure and a wandering encounter. Ismael, not surprised; monsters, surprised

Ismael follows the brick path, an arched opening in the white wall permitting entrance into the building. The room is richly decorated. Lush carpet, tapestries on the wall ahead of him. Two corridors to either side. Pillows with intricate designs and tables laden with plates of food. Lamps rest on tables, and torches held in sconces, brightly lighting the area. Milling through the room, eight dark robed figures, hoods lowered, have quiet conversations with each other. At a desk across from Ismael, one figure in shining scaled armor sits, writing notes on a piece of parchment. Two more stand ready nearby.

"Good morning," Ismael says, walking into the room. Perhaps these people would be as open as the others.

No such luck.

Initiative check : Ismael, 6. Guards, 4.

The two standing guards pull iron clubs free from their belt loops; the guard sitting at the desk smiles menacingly. The eight figures seem prepared to follow the leads of the guards.

Ismael retreats back beyond the arch; he was confident in his ability to defend himself, but he also didn't like the idea of being surrounded. Ismael unslings his spear and eyes the guards cautiously.

"No!" the seated guard says to the robed acolytes. "One of you tell Master Valerius of our guest; you two, detain him." He rises, pulling his own iron club free as the two guards approach Ismael.

Ismael's attack roll : 14, 2 damage.

Ismael's defense roll : 17.

Morale check : acolytes, pass; guards, pass.

At the approach of the pair of guards, Ismael's spear jabs forward, the spear tip slipping under a jaw. The guard gives a brief gurgle as the blade punctures through his throat, stopped by the top of his skull. The second guard swings his club down toward Ismael's shoulder; the shield rises and pushes it aside.

"The rest of you! Bar the exits!" growls the commanding guard, rushing forward to join the fight.

Ismael's attack roll : 14, 1 damage.

Ismael's defense rolls : 19, 2, 1 damage.

Ismael jerks the spear free from the corpse and slashes a cut across the second guard's leg. A dark stain appears beneath the linen trousers. The wounded guard thrashes and beats his club against Ismael's shield. The onslaught provides an opening for the commander to strike the back of Ismael's leg.

Ismael's attack roll : 13.

Ismael's defense rolls : 4, 7, 1 damage.

He was knocked off balance by the strike to the knee. Ismael's spear skated across the scale armor of the wounded guard. The guard takes advantage of Ismael's harmless attack and clubs the attacking arm. The commander's club strikes ineffectively across his armored shoulder.

Ismael's attack roll : 4.

Ismael's defense rolls : 19, 17.

Ismael's attack roll : 13.

Ismael's defense rolls : 9, 8.

Ismael's attack roll : 18, 2 damage.

Ismael's defense rolls : 14.

The acolytes look uncertain as they watch the trio circle each other. Ismael defends himself against both opponents then finds an opportunity. The spear lances out and skewers the wounded guard through the chest. Lung punctured, he collapses to the floor.

"You won't survive against our numbers," the commander growls.

Ismael's attack roll : 17, 1 damage.

Ismael's defense roll : 19.

Ismael's attack roll : 20, 2 damage.

Ismael, unshaken by the threat, thrusts his spear forward, tearing the fabric of the remaining guard's shirt; a small wound opens beneath the blade's edge. The guard's response is carefully brushed aside by Ismael's shield. The spear slips between the gap beneath the scaled shoulder, entering between the ribs.

"What is this?" a voice calmly asks. A robed figure, unhooded to show dark hair and slightly lighter eyes. A middle aged man, he strides confidently into the room. "Why did we not offer refreshments?"

Ismael keeps a wary eye of the newcomer, his spear held ready. The double tap on his chest reminded him of his purpose.

"Have a seat," the man said, gesturing magnanimously at the cushions on the floor. "I am Vicar Valerius."

Ismael didn't move toward the offered seat. Instead, he glanced down at the corpses on the floor, blood staining the floor. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Valerius moved toward the desk where the guard had been sitting. "I seem to be a few guards short. Perhaps you would be interested in some work?"

The Anchor's heartbeat pounded harder, persistent.

"No, thank you," Ismael repeated.

"Suit yourself," Valerius repeated. He sighs, "The Prince rewards his subjects well." Valerius gestures around the room, including the table laden with food. "Wealth. Fame. Power. One way or the other, you will serve."

Ismael's grip on the spear tightened. "And their reward?" he asked, nodding down to the dead guards.

"Clearly undeserving of such." Valerius looks at four of the acolytes, nodding toward Ismael. "One way or the other, he will serve." His tone turns from conversational to menacing. The acolytes spring quickly into action.

Initiative check : Ismael, 2. Acolytes, 6.

Ismael's defense rolls : 13, 17, 9, 10.

Ismael's attack roll and fray die : 20, 1 damage.

The four acolytes stride forward with clubs drawn and swing haphazardly at Ismael. The shield wards off most of the blows, the chain intercepting the rest. Beneath the weight of their attack, Ismael only manages to shove his spear into the chest of one of the acolytes.

Ismael's defense rolls : 20, 12, 6, 13.

Ismael's save vs. Spells : 11, failed.

Ismael's attack roll and fray die : 6, 1 damage.

Another acolyte joins the battle and manages to distract Ismael with a solid hit across his back. Valerius chants in gutteral tones, one hand pointing at him with a sharp finger. Dark smoke flows from beneath the priest's robes and cling to Ismael's feet, coiling upward and stretching to anchor his arms. The distraction causes Ismael's return strike to fail; the shield barely manages to catch an acolyte on the chin.

Ismael's defense rolls : 3, 2, 6, 14, 3 damage.

Ismael drinks potion of healing : 6 hit points healed.

GM Note : According to Old School Essentials, it takes a full round to drink a potion. As a round is equal to one minute, I can only guess that includes removing it from its container then drinking it.

Ismael's defense rolls : 5, 1, 17, 4, 2 damage.

Ismael's attack roll and fray die : 13, 1 damage.

Surrounded, more clubs rain down on Ismael, bypassing his defenses. A couple of strikes impact his shoulder and the back of his head. His ears ring and vision blurs. Ismael steps back and retreats several steps, frantically pulling a potion free of his pack. Ahmad mentioned it would heal his wounds; he hoped Ahmad was correct.

The throbbing in his head begins to diminish; Ismael's vision clears. Even then, the acolytes press their attack and more attacks land on his limbs. The vial scatters across the floor. Desperate, Ismael's shield rim smashes into an acolyte's sternum, leaving him gasping for breath and prone on the floor.

Ismael's defense rolls : 9, 12, 12, 13.

Ismael's attack rolls : 17, 3 damage.

Morale check : 5, passed.

Recovered, Ismael focuses intently on Valerius. In spite of the smoky tendrils dragging at his limbs, he slowly steps forward and pushes the clubs aside. One spear thrust, an acolyte falls, then a second and a third. Ismael scowls at the priest, stepping past the pile of corpses beneath him. Two acolytes and one priest. He would take these odds.

Ismael's defense rolls : 13, 9, 3, 2 damage.

Ismael's attack roll and fray die : 18, 3 damage.

The two remaining acolytes rush forward to attack Ismael; the shield comes up and parries, the spear thrusts forward and takes a life. The second acolyte falls in a similar manner. Valerius finishes his incantation, striding toward Ismael and placing a hand on Ismael's chest. A dark, spectral talon mimics the priest and drives sharp nails through the chain. Ismael gasps and steps back, the blade of the spear cutting across the priest's chest.

Ismael's defense roll : 2, 1 damage.

Ismael's attack roll : 3.

Ismael's defense roll : 3, 1 damage.

Valerius smiles grimly, the wound barely more than a scratch. He raises his mace and strikes Ismael in the chest. Ismael falls back, feebly attempting to keep Valerius at bay. The mace swings a second time, then... darkness.

[E Muzeki, Kashmir]

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. His sinewy physique wears a plain grey thawb and black sirwal covered by a mail shirt. Ismael frequently carries a spear and shield.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 0 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (907 coins weight) : axes (2), backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gems worth 100 dinar (4), horizon walker token, jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing, potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (8), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin (1 carried, 2 on horse), 70 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal, 87 electrum, 73 platinum

1,341 experience

Ismael and the Value of Greed, Part I

 Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. His sinewy physique wears a plain grey thawb and black sirwal covered by a mail shirt. Ismael frequently carries a spear and shield.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (744 coins weight) : axes (2), backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gem worth 100 dinar, jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (9), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin (1 carried, 2 on horse), 72 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal

1,215 experience

... And the Value of Greed.

[E Muzeki, The Kiss]

"Just Lakos is fine," the stranger said, waving his hand dismissively.

"And what did you discover?" asked Ahmad.

"This backpack," replied Ismael, displaying the weathered leather pack. "This is what was calling to me. The boy asked me to take it or destroy it, and he would be free."

"May I take a closer look?" Ismael handed the pack to Ahmad, and, as before, he uttered strange words and made the gestures associated with casting a spell. "Yes, yes, I think this is an Anchor. Powerless, most likely, after being taken from its Lair. Worthless to you, Ismael, but I could find a buyer..." He began to mutter calculations audibly to himself, "Ask for one thousand, he'll haggle, of course, five hundred. Counter. Maybe seven, eight. I can give you three hundred dinars if you like."

Three hundred. For a bag? "Of course, Ahmad, bu-"

Lakos chimed in, "Probably one of the Horizon wizards. Tell us, Ismael, what creatures did you find?"

Ismael told the story of his adventure, finding emaciated orcs and the spirit of a man that looked like a boy. How an orc fled and brought Taaj back with it. Taaj, the sickly ogre. Then the conversation with the boy about the backpack.

"I think Ahmad's instincts are right about you," Lakos said, causing Ismael's gaze to flicker toward the calculating Ahmad. "The Lost Horizon is always looking for new members; our numbers are very few. Ahmad mentioned you were heading east?"

Ismael nodded, mind racing, trying to consider the weight of what Lakos was saying.

"A corsair, eh? A swashbuckling rogue, perhaps? Perhaps when you've experienced more of this world you'll want to defend it." Lakos handed him a wooden token on a leather strip; burned into the face was an crescent, points downward, with three stars above. "When that time comes, burn this pendant and a Horizon Walker will find you on the third rise of the moon." Without another word, Lakos waved at Ahmad and walked out.

Ahmad pressed three gems into Ismael's hand and smiled. "A token? Lakos sees promise in you, then." He leaned closer, "You know, there's been sightings of a mysterious house a day's ride north. You could, maybe..."

"Discover another, what was it you called it, Anchor?"

"Or you could continue east, and I would remain ready to purchase interesting items you will undoubtedly come across."

Ismael smiled and shook his head. "Fine, one day ride north."

Hibah and Ismael traveled through the desert the next morning. The burning desert was barren and provided nothing to forage. This time, Ismael tracked the sun's course to keep their bearing northward. In the light of the setting sun, a sandstone building lined with red wood shimmered in the distance.

"We'll rest first then see what this palace has to offer," Ismael muttered, patting Hibah's neck.

[DM Turn 1 : rolls 6 for room content, trap. Flash of Blinding Light placed on silver coins.]

At sunrise, Ismael approached and inspected the walls of the building. They were almost three times his height. An arch greeted him, displaying a small courtyard lined with green plants and a pair of trees. A small pool filled with clear water rested in the center, silver dirham scattered beneath. Beyond, the sandstone extended from the wall into a modest home lined with arches on the ground level. Beneath the overhanging ceiling, a lone red wood door waited, a pair of shuttered windows to either side of it.

Encumbered, Ismael padded quietly past the pool of silver and listened at the door. He heard nothing beyond. He pulled at the door and felt it was barred from the other side. Ismael measured the width of the windows then decided a course of action. He would break the shutters and enter through a window. While he lacked the skills of a thief, these windows were low enough he could struggle through.

[Ability Check : 1d6 vs. 3 in 6 open doors. Result : 4]

Ismael slammed his shoulder into the shuttered window with a loud thump. It refused to give. "Even the windows seem to be barred," he grumbled, pulling an axe free. "Well, if it's made of wood..." The wood was strong. Whoever built this took great pains to keep people out. Minutes passed by as the axe bit into the wood multiple times before enough splintered away to allow Ismael access.

[DM Turn 2 : No wandering monsters. Empty room. No treasure.]

It seemed to be a waiting room of some sort. A rug on the floor with pillows to sit on strewn about. A low table the length of a person to hold plates and cups when visitors were greeted. A door to Ismael's right and an open arch to his left which led back to the front door. He crept to the open arch and peeked beyond. A flight of stairs heading upstairs and a room similar to this one across the way.

[DM checks room contents : slide trap, no treasure]

The room across the way seemed clear, Ismael crossed to the other side and listened at the closed door. He heard nothing beyond the door and opened the way to the next room.

[DM Turn 3 : No wandering monsters, 2 acolytes. Monster reaction : Neutral.]

[Surprise Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Ismael, 4; acolytes, 1. Acolytes surprised.]

Ismael stopped short, axe held awkwardly at his side. "Peace be upon you," he said.

The acolytes looked at Ismael's axe, one of them swallowed heavily before responding, "And upon you peace." The talkative one swallowed nervously once again, then, "How did you get in here?"

Ismael's gaze fell to his axe, "I... tried the door," he explained.

The two acolytes were dressed in floor length dark robes edged in red. Neither seemed well armed. The room looked like a den, a desk centered near the east wall; the eastern window open to allow the morning sun to light the room's red carpet. A plain wooden bookcase on either side of the room holding a few books that Ismael could probably barely decipher. The only exit was through Ismael.

"We only joined to help maintain part of the house," the one acolyte said. "Here..." He produced a key from a necklace and used it to unlock the larger drawer.

"What are you doing?" hissed the quiet one.

"He has an axe!" the other hoarsely whispered. "I-If you'll excuse us...?"

Ismael stepped aside and allowed them to pass. Unlike the orcs, he felt more comfortable thinking the two would actually flee the house instead of warning anybody. Walking over to the desk, his eyes were attracted to the strange coins held within the drawer. The copper fal he ignored; he knew those. But the others : over half of them were a strange green yellow, minted with some foreign stamp. The lesser half resembled the silver dirham but were brighter and also bore foreign stamps. He placed the foreign coins into the sack reserved for coinage.

[DM Turn 4 : No wandering monsters.]

[Trap Check : 1d6 vs. 2 in 6. Result : 6.]

Ignoring the stairs leading upward for the time being, Ismael walks into the other sitting room. It mirrors the first, rug and pillows across the floor, with another opening off to the right. A curtain provides a barrier between the sitting room and the room beyond. He walks to the curtain and listens, peering through the gap between the fabric and the wall.

[DM checks room contents : 8 acolytes.]

The faint tinkling of glass and metal greets him. His eyes catch a glimpse of a kitchen beyond, a small group of people dressed in the same dark robes as the other two cleaning dishes. Ismael puts his axe away and wagers on talking to them first; it worked with the other two. He steps beyond the curtain, seeing the steps leading down into a cellar. Six acolytes work diligently and barely look up at his entrance.

[Monster Reaction : Uninterested.]

As the acolytes seemed uninterested about his intrusion, Ismael shrugs slightly and walks down the stairs into the cellar. Two more acolytes are busy taking inventory and checking supplies. Then he feels the familiar tapping against his chest. The heartbeat of what Ahmad had said was an Anchor. It pulls him toward a portion of masonry between two shelves.

Ismael presses his hands against the sandstone and feels one give under the pressure. An audible click. A door slowly opens. Beyond the door was darkness. A darkness made darker by the swirling particles of amethyst light that moved as if stuck in a vortex.

This was not a backpack...

[E Muzeki, Kashmir]

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. His sinewy physique wears a plain grey thawb and black sirwal covered by a mail shirt. Ismael frequently carries a spear and shield.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (907 coins weight) : axes (2), backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gems worth 100 dinar (4), horizon walker token, jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (8), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin (1 carried, 2 on horse), 70 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal, 87 electrum, 73 platinum

1,341 experience

Three Systems, One Scene

I want to play another session using Shosuro Ritsuko again after the OSE sessions with Ismael. These are my top three choices: Wushu, Simple World and QuestWorld. Each of them are interesting games in their own way; I'm narrowing down which suits my play style more.

Shosuro Ritsuko, Enigmatic Ninja

5 Protect the Empire Whatever the Cost

4 Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi

3 Scorpion Clan Operative

1 Hidden Identity

Resolve [ ] [ ] [ ]

Ritsuko walks down the narrow alley, concrete walls rising five floors toward the night sky. The half moon provides just enough light to turn the path moonlit grey and highlights the dumpsters just outside of the shadows. The passing clouds sometimes obscuring Lord Moon.

She wears dark leather pants with matching boots; her jacket bears Yoritomo green stripes running down the sleeves. The motorcycle helmet still conceals her features, and her Shinjo Motors Furinkazan is parked on the street behind her, also black with green stripes that mirror her jacket.

At the other end of the alley, three figures detach from the shadows. Ritsuko can see dark robes and jingasa. Two of them approach with staves in hand; the middle one appears to not have any weapons at all.

"Shouldn't be looking around the docks this time of night," the middle man says, voice monotone and detached as if distracted by something. "Who are you?"

Ritsuko pulls her helmet off. She reveals black hair with equally dark eyes. Her fingers tap the watch and scribble the kanji to unlock the device. Ritsuko's false identity is transmitted with a gesture. A quick smile crosses her lips, "Yoritomo Mare," she replies.

Social Encounter : 4 Threat

[Ritsuko attempts to bluff her way past the guards. Ritsuko rolls six dice and commits four to the social attack and two for defense using Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi : three active successes and two defense successes.]

The unarmed man produces a tablet from the folds of his hitatare. He scrolls down the display. "What brings you down here, Yoritomo-san?"

She responds with a slight shrug as her eyes glance quickly to the two men on either side of him. Ritsuko returns her seemingly complete attention to the man asking questions. "I heard a cargo ship docked earlier today, and I was hoping to be first to see what arrived."

Social Encounter : 1 Threat

[Ritsuko did not completely bypass the resolve of the guards, so Ritsuko rolls four dice and commits three to the social attack and one for defense using Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi : three active successes and one defense success.]

[GM Note : Wushu is more like an ebb and flow. You have Chi (which I call Resolve) and so does the Threat. The narration passes back and forth with the players rolling dice to defend their Chi while taking Chi from the Threat. You fail when you run out of Chi.]

He returns the smile she offered previously. "You have good instincts, Yoritomo-san." He leans closer conspiratorially. "I hear we managed to secure a rare blade."

Ritsuko shares the smile, "Thank you for that. I'll keep watch for it. And you are?"

"Moshi Sadateru," he does not offer the names of his two guards. "Well, we'll not detain you any longer. Good evening, Yoritomo-san."

Moshi Sadateru. As the three men walk past her, she subtly makes a note of the name on her watch. What secrets do you hide?

Shosuro Ritsuko, Scorpion Clan Shinobi

+3 Wisdom

+2 Dexterity*, Intelligence

+1 Charisma*, Strength

+0 Constitution

Shosuro's Awareness : When you reveal hidden things, add +1.

The Shadow Has No Mask : When you appear nondescript, add +1.

The Shadow Has No Mercy : You have the ability to attack from the shadows. It counts as a basic move using Dexterity.

Gear : Bayushi Tech Sasayaki (2-harm, close, semiautomatic, silenced), chokuto (3-harm, hand, long blade), leather jacket (1-armor), Shinjo Motors Furinkazan motorcycle (speed 1, handling 0, massive 0, 0-armor, fast, pristine, responsive, sleek, temperamental), 3-sho

[:45] [:30] [:15] [:10] [:05] [:--]

XP : [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Ritsuko walks down the narrow alley, concrete walls rising five floors toward the night sky. The half moon provides just enough light to turn the path moonlit grey and highlights the dumpsters just outside of the shadows. The passing clouds sometimes obscuring Lord Moon.

She wears dark leather pants with matching boots; her jacket bears Yoritomo green stripes running down the sleeves. The motorcycle helmet still conceals her features, and her Shinjo Motors Furinkazan is parked on the street behind her, also black with green stripes that mirror her jacket.

At the other end of the alley, three figures detach from the shadows. Ritsuko can see dark robes and jingasa. Two of them approach with staves in hand; the middle one appears to not have any weapons at all.

"Shouldn't be looking around the docks this time of night," the middle man says, voice monotone and detached as if distracted by something. "Who are you?"

Ritsuko pulls her helmet off. She reveals black hair with equally dark eyes. Her fingers tap the watch and scribble the kanji to unlock the device. Ritsuko's false identity is transmitted with a gesture. A quick smile crosses her lips, "Yoritomo Mare," she replies.

[Ritsuko attempts to bluff her way past the guards and rolls +CHA : 12, success and marks XP]

[GM Note : Interesting thing about games Powered by the Apocalypse, failing (rolling a six or less) results in a GM Move. It continues the ebb and flow as the narration goes to the GM's reaction to the 6-.]

The unarmed man produces a tablet from the folds of his hitatare. He scrolls down the display. "What brings you down here, Yoritomo-san?"

She responds with a slight shrug as her eyes glance quickly to the two men on either side of him. Ritsuko returns her seemingly complete attention to the man asking questions. "I heard a cargo ship docked earlier today, and I was hoping to be first to see what arrived."

He returns the smile she offered previously. "You have good instincts, Yoritomo-san." He leans closer conspiratorially. "I hear we managed to secure a rare blade."

Ritsuko shares the smile, "Thank you for that. I'll keep watch for it. And you are?"

"Moshi Sadateru," he does not offer the names of his two guards. "Well, we'll not detain you any longer. Good evening, Yoritomo-san."

Moshi Sadateru. As the three men walk past her, she subtly makes a note of the name on her watch. What secrets do you hide?

Shosuro Ritsuko, Enigmatic Ninja

17 Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi

13 Scorpion Clan Operative

17 Enigmatic

17 Flaw : Hidden Identity

17 Flaw : Traitors of the Empire

Hero Points [ ] [ ] [ ]

Experience [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

9 abilities and 20 points left

Ritsuko walks down the narrow alley, concrete walls rising five floors toward the night sky. The half moon provides just enough light to turn the path moonlit grey and highlights the dumpsters just outside of the shadows. The passing clouds sometimes obscuring Lord Moon.

She wears dark leather pants with matching boots; her jacket bears Yoritomo green stripes running down the sleeves. The motorcycle helmet still conceals her features, and her Shinjo Motors Furinkazan is parked on the street behind her, also black with green stripes that mirror her jacket.

At the other end of the alley, three figures detach from the shadows. Ritsuko can see dark robes and jingasa. Two of them approach with staves in hand; the middle one appears to not have any weapons at all.

"Shouldn't be looking around the docks this time of night," the middle man says, voice monotone and detached as if distracted by something. "Who are you?"

Ritsuko pulls her helmet off. She reveals black hair with equally dark eyes. Her fingers tap the watch and scribble the kanji to unlock the device. Ritsuko's false identity is transmitted with a gesture. A quick smile crosses her lips, "Yoritomo Mare," she replies.

[Ritsuko attempts to bluff her way past the guards using Scorpion Clan Operative against the base resistance of 14. Ritsuko : 10, Guards : 13, defeat.]

The unarmed man produces a tablet from the folds of his hitatare. He scrolls down the display. "What brings you down here, Yoritomo-san?"

She responds with a slight shrug as her eyes glance quickly to the two men on either side of him. Ritsuko returns her seemingly complete attention to the man asking questions. "I heard a cargo ship docked earlier today, and I was hoping to be first to see what arrived."

"I see," he mutters, casually nodding his head toward Ritsuko. The two armed guards advance with their staves held forward. "You don't appear to be in the system."

Ritsuko quickly considers her options : pull her pistol with the possibility that someone will miss these three, knock them unconscious or run. Running would mean further failure; their security would undoubtedly increase for some time. She chose the second option; let them remember that someone dressed as a Yoritomo did this. That would at least cast some doubt.

[Ritsuko opts to try a different tactic and attacks the guards using Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi and spends 10 of her points to increase the ability to 7M1 against the base resistance of 14. Ritsuko : 6, Guards : 13, success.]

[GM Note : And here's where it gets really interesting. If Ritsuko hadn't increased her Pistol Wielding Shosuro Shinobi ability right then, she would have failed a second time. Though she succeeded in her skill roll, so did the guards; the guards rolled a higher success, so they win. Either Ritsuko would choose a new ability, spend a Hero Point on the first encounter or concede defeat.]

Ismael and the Price of Hunger

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, jewelry worth 3900 dinar, leather armor, potion of diminution, potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal

1,135 experience

[E Muzeki, The Kiss]

It was one more day to Ylaruam. A long trek burdened by the heavy backpack. As he neared the city, Ismael foraged to replenish the rations he had consumed : abal, acacia and dates. He had come across enough for four days of food, but he only took half; Ismael had a week's supply in total now, and someone else may need it more than he.

As evening approached, Ismael made it to the gates of Ylaruam. It's outer walls were two, maybe three, people tall, white plaster with an iron portcullis. A pair of guards stood by, watching people pass with bored expressions. The streets beyond the gate were still filled with people going to and from the markets even in this hour. The horse can wait until morning, and, perhaps, he could acquire some better equipment. For now, he followed Coppersmith Road to the nearest inn, Copper Vine, its name etched beneath a vine of grape leaves painted in copper with silver highlights.

[Odds Check for "Is the purchase at listed price?" Likely, 75%. Result : Yes]

The next morning, and seven silver dirham for a common room and meal, Ismael began his excursion. A riding horse with saddlebags were foremost in his mind. A pair of axes. Mail replaced the leather he wore. A short bow with a quiver of arrows for some distance. Two small sacks to organize his belongings. And, lastly, a lantern and oil.

"You seem ready for adventure," a reserved voice remarked.

Ismael tested the sling of the lance with the saddle horn. He turned and saw an older gentleman, greying hair, bearded, in a dark thawb embroidered in blue. The stranger's smile seemed genuine.

"My travels have been strange lately," Ismael noted.

"There must be a story in there," the stranger replied. "I collect curiosities. And stories as well. I am Ahmad, peace be upon you. Care to tell your tale?" Ahmad gestured across the way toward a tent where the scent of coffee lingered.

Ismael shrugged, seeing no reason not to entertain the elder. One of the reasons he had left that mysterious ruin was to tell someone about the strange things happening in the night. Ismael started with the story of Manahil then the ruins that appeared out of nowhere with emaciated orcs. The skeletal man that looked more like a boy that sent him away. He half expected Ahmad to mock him, so he produced the scroll of indecipherable script as proof.

"May I see that?" asked Ahmad. Ismael handed over the scroll. Ahmad spoke an incantation, fingers contorting with arcane gestures. A minute later, he smiled. "Ironic," he said, "it holds the magic to read languages. As you were not able to read it, I would take this off your hands at the market rate. I could use it for my personal studies, if you don't mind."

Ismael didn't know what the market rate for a scroll of reading languages was, but something was better than carrying something worthless. He nodded.

"Standard price for a scroll such as this? Five hundred dinar." Five. Hundred? Ismael didn't know a piece of parchment would be worth that price, but he agreed. "And did you find anything else in these ruins?"

Ismael showed him the vials of liquid of various colors. Ahmad studied each one carefully, holding it up to the light to check opacity, unstoppered the vial to smell the scent, a quick taste from the tip of his little finger. Ahmad waited almost a minute after each taste, nodding absently to himself.

"This one," he pointed at the vial containing a murky liquid. "Do as I did, it is not poison, and it will likely help you. You taste the mint? The fennel? This will allow you to walk unseen for a short while. Keep it." Ahmad tapped the two vials of scarlet liquid. "This one has notes of cinnamon and ginger. It will help heal wounds." Ahmad looked at the final vial with a slight smile, "And this, the one that is sapphire and tastes of juniper and rosemary? You would shrink to the length of my hand. Mostly a curiosity, but I would offer two hundred dinar for it. Not the fair market price, but I'm mostly interested in its novelty."

Seven. Hundred. Dinar. Ismael came away with almost a thousand dinar in the past two days. Imagine what he could do as a corsair, sailing from port to port. His daydream was interrupted by Ahmad placing a handful of gems, rubies and sapphires, into his hand. "Easier to carry gems with moderate value than hundreds of coins," he added sagely. "Invest in gems, jewelry and goods. Your wealth will be easier to manage."

"Why do you know this?" Ismael asked.

Ahmad smiled. "As I said, I collect curiosities, and, sometimes, I have to go to the site myself. In this case, I would ask that you return to the ruin and deal with Taaj. You were called there for a reason that only Al-Kalim knows."

"I was headed east," Ismael said, "to the Sea of Dread."

"Ah. Adventure, hm? Believe me, life is filled with adventure right under your feet." Ahmad's expression was amused yet paternal. "Deal with Taaj, explore what you can. The Sea of Dread will still be there. And if you happen across other oddities? I will pay you a fair price for them. Some of them I will resell, others are for my collection. Then you can head to the sea and find a ship, though I suspect you would not be happy."

"Why is that?"

"Because the morals of a corsair are more flexible than what I believe your's to be. You seem to be upstanding; a life of plunder is not as romantic as some would dream. Not always. But in some cases..." Ahmad's gaze turned inward, a sad smile peeking momentarily. "When you head east, you will discover yourself." His fingers tapped the wooden table, the sad smile replaced with a cheerful one. "However, my offer stands. Deal with Taaj. Return with a story. Then you can choose to continue east. Two, three days work and payment for what you find."

The weight of the gems still fresh in his mind, Ismael made his decision. "Alright, Ahmad, I will go back to the ruins. I will return to the Copper Vine in a few days."

"I wish you well," said Ahmad as Ismael rose to leave.

Ismael was thankful for a mount. A blue roan he named Hibah. Hibah cut his travel time from a day's journey to half that. When he arrived where the ruins had been, the sun was still hours from setting. He used that time to feed and care for Hibah and foraging for more food. Then, finally, the night approached.

He awoke in the early morning, the sun concealed by a now familiar fog. The ruined, crumbling walls had returned. Ismael knew where he must go. The cellar with no walls and the stairs leading down. This time, he knew what to expect and approached cautiously, listening for the voices or footsteps of the thin orcs. Nothing.

The steps leading down opened into the small basement where the treasure hoard had been. The lone tunnel stretching back deeper into the earth. There had been, what, four, six orcs down here? His footsteps slowed, ears painfully focused on listening. He could hear his own heartbeat then the almost forgotten one-two of another's heart against his chest. This was it. The tap against his chest confirmed it.

Ismael stepped from the basement and into the tunnel. He could see a small stone chamber just beyond. A fountain, dry for far too long, and four orcs kicking at dirty, empty metal plates. "Nothing!" one shouted, the ceiling bringing an echo down the corridor. "No food! No water! Nothing!" It picked up a plate and viciously threw it at the wall.

Ismael weighed his options. He had spare food, especially after foraging these past few hours. He gambled their hunger against their aggression. "I have food."

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 9]

An orc glanced up at Ismael's words then leapt to his feet. "It's him! The Orcslayer! Taaj! Taaj!" and it retreated through a door at the back of the chamber. The remaining three hung back, peering suspiciously at Ismael. Hands on crude blades, they seemed undecided between fleeing or attacking. The heart within the basement thumped against his sternum. It was beyond the door the orc had fled through.

"I can give you food. I only want passage beyond that door."

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Charisma. Result : 19]

"No!" the angry orc replied. "You want to kill Taaj. Taaj will kill the Orcslayer. You stay; Taaj come soon."

Those prophetic words heralded Taaj's arrival. The door burst open and a large form shouldered its way into the fountain room. The frame flexed and bent then broke as a creature almost nine feet tall struggled into the room. The stonework gave, dust fell from the ceiling. Ismael's first thought was "ogre" but it was thin and scrawny, like the orcs. It looked more like a human that had grown too large.

"We take your food!" the angry orc screamed. "Then eat your flesh and drink your blood!"

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Orcs : 5; Ismael : 6]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 9. Fray Die : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 11 three times and 14. Result : 4 pass]

Ismael grabbed his spear and charged at the ogre. The thrust went between the creature's legs. The shield bashed the angry orc in the face, then the spear reached out and silenced him. His shield parried three blows from the orc then the ogre's club lashed out. The force of the blow pushed him back against the fountain.

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 8. Fray Die : 2 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 11 and 14. Result : 2 pass]

Pushing off the fountain wall, Ismael drove his spear into the chest of a second orc. A third received a kick to the legs followed by a shield bash. As it fell to the ground, another strike drove the shield's rim into the orc's neck. Reflexively, the shield came up and warded an attack from the last orc, and the ogre's club crashed against it, pushing Ismael to the floor.

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 8. Fray Die : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 16. 2 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. 1 damage]

Ismael rises from the floor and swept his spear across the legs of the remaining orc. Splayed against the ground, the spear tip entered its chest and ended it quickly. Taaj swung its club; the shield intercepted it and spun Ismael into position. The spear lashed out and traced a quick cut across the thing's thigh. Another blow, Ismael fell to one knee against its weight. The spear rose and skewered the ogre through the abdomen. Taaj weakly brought a fist down against Ismael's shield. Ismael responded with a kick to the knee, a shield bash to the ogre's face then a spear thrust to its neck.

And it was over. Ismael's breath heaved as he looked down at the corpses. That quick and for what? The heartbeat thumped against Ismael's chest. His work was not yet done. The broken doorway yawned before him, and Ismael had little choice but to press forward.

A dining hall greeted Ismael. The plates were empty but dirty with stains of aged gravy and streaks of old food. The trestle table seemed ready to receive guests, but the placings were barren. Candles were lit and burned with a welcome light. The fireplace offered warmth. But it was a hollow reflection.

"My pack is in the corner," a voice said.

Ismael turned and looked at the young elder. "What do I do with it?" he asked.

"Take it. Destroy it. It matters little. In either case, we will be free."

"What happens when you are freed?"

"Who knows?" the skeletal boy shrugged. "I just want this to end."

Ismael grabbed the pack, within was an amethyst and a bundle of gold coins. "Keep them," the boy said. "As thanks for setting me free."

Ismael nodded resolutely, taking the pack and marching back to Hibah. The fog dissipated with an audible sigh. The ruins vanished beneath the weight of the sun. Together, the two of them rode back to Ylaruam and were greeted by Ahmad and a stranger. A true stranger. He wore a strange breastplate made of brass molded to show his muscles beneath. A red skirt of leather. Brass greaves and bracers.

Ahmad smiled. "This i-..."

"Dasofylakos," the stranger volunteered. "Member of the Order of Lost Horizons." He bowed. "Some just call us Horizon Walkers. Ahmad told me about you, and we suspect you have a short story to tell..."

[E Muzeki, Kashmir] 

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (744 coins weight) : backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gem worth 100 dinar, hand axes (2), jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (9), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 72 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal

1,215 experience

Ismael and the Cost of Hunger

Ismael part 2. I'm still feeling more like playing another game, but I thought I would give this another shot. 

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now two days ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral
Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, leather armor, potion of healing, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal
150 experience

... and the Cost of Hunger

[Opening : E Muzeki, The Kiss]

"This is why we have horses," Ismael muttered to himself. He hoisted the heavy pack filled with the treasure from Manahil. His mind drifted, envisioning himself as a member of the Order of the Desert Rose. To be on horseback, charging through an enemy line, scimitar raised to the heavens. "As if any of the Orders would take a nomad."

His pace was noticably slower with the weight of the coins in his backpack. Ismael was reminded of it with every adjustment of the pack. The setting sun brought him out of his reverie. It was setting in the wrong place; Ismael had wandered off course. He sighed and made camp, the pack fell heavily to the sand. For others, being lost in the desert was death; for Ismael, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. That was enough to know he needed to head north and east to return to the path toward Ylaruam. With that reassuring thought, Ismael set up camp and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, Ismael was greeted by a silver haze that concealed most of the desert surrounding him. The sun still shone, hazily, through the dense fog. Ismael scowled as he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. This fog did not belong here. Nor were those ruined walls that loomed nearby. How had he missed that last night?

Shadows moved behind the crumbling architecture. Man sized. Crouched. Ismael grabbed his spear and approached the ruins cautiously. The shadows retreated in response. The fog was dry, like the desert wind, and golden hues seeped through the ethereal current. A quiet sound, loud in Ismael's ears, like a rushing wind then ... a heartbeat. It wasn't an audible thing; it was a heartbeat that tapped against Ismael's chest. One-two. Pause. One-two.

Ismael brought his hand to his chest, reaffirming that there was nothing touching him. Yet it beat again, a double tap against his sternum. He moved closer to the ruins; a loose rock fell from a broken wall and clattered against the masonry. Another heartbeat. One-two. Shorter pause. One-two.

Manuevering between two buildings, their roofs caved in an untold time ago, and Ismael found the village center. Again, like Manahil, the surroundings were broken, but here was a set of steps that led down beneath the sands. A cellar with no building. The heartbeat again, an even shorter pause between them. As Ismael peered into the shadows at the base of the steps, darker shadows moved across the entrance.

"Attack it. Make it bleed," came a hoarse, whispered voice from below.

A loud slap echoed up from the steps. "Clubs. No bleed. Drink the blood while it roasts on the spit."

Ismael swallowed and tightened his grip on the spear and shield. Surely, they did not mean him.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Orcs, 4; Ismael, 4.]
[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 two times. Result : 2 fail. 2 points of damage]
[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. 13. Result : 16. Fray Die : 2 damage. Total 4 damage.]
[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 8]

Two ... things ... charged up the stairs, maces waving madly in the air. Skin like orange tumeric. Sharp fangs instead of teeth. Human sized but emaciated with skin dry like parchment pulled tight across an animate skeleton. Ismael could barely wonder if these were some different kind of orc when their clubs bashed into his head and arm.

Instinct took over, and Ismael screamed. One orc was dispatched with a spear stab into the throat. Another was kicked down the stairs as he advanced. More shadows loomed, and Ismael lashed out with his spear, taking one across the throat. A third received a spear wound in the abdomen, even as the fourth struggled to its feet. Ismael shoved him against the wall and drove his knee between its legs, harshly shoving the spearhead into its neck. Two shadows further into the gloom glance at the carnage Ismael has brought and retreat down a corridor further into the cellar.

The heartbeat pulled at Ismael and drew him further into the cellar. The lone passage shortly gave way to a torchlit cavern beneath the ruins. A small hoard of treasure was heaped in the corner; skeletons and sinew were splayed near the treasure hoard with signs of having been gnawed upon. Four emaciated orcs squat on the ground, pawing at bones, the two fleeing from Ismael rushed in and pointed behind them.

"Run!" They exclaimed. "He has already killed Faathi and Ihaab!"

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 11]

"What?!" exclaimed one of the skeletal creatures. "Run! Warn Taaj!"

Ismael watched the six retreat even further into the darkness. He had no idea where the tunnel led, so he approached cautiously. Amidst the bones and detritus, there were hundreds if not thousands of copper fal for the taking. Ismael never thought he would do this, but, given the weight of his backpack, he chose not to take any of the copper coin. The current trade value was about a hundred fal to one dinar, and he had hundreds of dinar. The jewelry and flasks of liquid, however...

[Event Focus : Thread. Action : Befriend. Subject : Allies]

Ismael shuffled some of the weight around to take the three potions and jewelry with him. He never thought he would say this, but treasure is a horrible thing to maintain. Perhaps that was why corsairs had ships and bandits had horses. Ismael would purchase a horse with these new riches when he made it to Ylaruam. For now, though...

"Don't go further," came a voice.

He turned. Ismael's eyes rested on a thin youth peeking at him from the tunnel. Thin was an understatement; the youth was a skeleton wrapped in a tapestry of skin. "Why not?" he asked.

"The ogre, Taaj. He will consume you in his hunger."

"How do you know this?"

The youth smiled wanly, "Because I made him."

"You made Taaj?" asked Ismael. "How?"

"When my tribe started dying, I begged the Immortal Guardians for help. Instead, they cursed us, the orcs and Taaj. We were cursed to be hungry, thirsty, restless. Taaj only knows one thing now : consume."

Ismael weighed his options. "And if I leave, what of Taaj?" he asked.

"With good fortune, we will go back to the World of Nightmares."

"And without?"

"Taaj may continue his rampage, his orcs raiding and pillaging in their hunger."

The heartbeat tapped against his chest. Ismael, curious, asked the stranger, "What is this that taps against my chest?"

"My pack," he replied. "When we were dying, starving, the pack stored my anguish. As long as it exists, this," and the skeletal man gestured around the cellar, "will continue. Destroy the pack, and it all goes back to the World of Nightmares."

"So if I de-..."

"Go." The skeletal man seemed barely more than a boy but his eyes. Something about his eyes showed a deeper wisdom. "Go. Then come back. Go, find your answers in Ylaruam."

"How di-" but the skeletal man had vanished into the shadows.

Ismael cautiously turned and headed back the way he came. He had discovered more wealth than he could carry, true, but Taaj gnawed at him. How could he not deal with this threat on their lands? Next, he wondered aloud, "And what would happen if no one knew?"

That singular thought spurred him forward. When he emerged, the silver mist had evaporated. The rising sun in the east as it should be. The crumbling walls gone as he stepped from the cellar. Somebody in Ylaruam must be told. He would return to help after the Emirates were warned of the potential danger.

[Closing : E Muzeki, Kashmir]

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, jewelry worth 3900 dinar, leather armor, potion of diminution, potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal

1,135 experience

Tarn and the Watchers

Per my previous post, I have had issues with World vs. Hero. Not because it is a bad game but because it feels too constrained. Per the game rules, I should have each player access each of the five cards, but what happens if you can resolve the scene with less? I could reaccess and use cards just to replay the same thing that already happened, or I could just cut it short. This is the option that I chose. There's a good game hidden somewhere beneath the mechanics. But, working with the rules as written, the game is lacking. It begs to be edited and tinkered with. Why five cards? Why must you use all five cards when three will suffice? I don't know. I enjoy the concept; I don't enjoy the execution.

Tarn wanders through the dirt packed streets of Narak. His feet draw him toward the bazaar, his mind plotting where to find the next handful of coins. Picking pockets worked to a small degree if one were willing to live day to day. He needed something more profitable.

The white stone buildings lining the alley gave way to the open air bazaar. A sea of people in cotton robes, linen clothes or, in rare instances, loin cloths and scaled scraps. Tents and kiosks were strewn about in a chaotic fashion. Shop owners and barkers shout at passers by in a raucous attempt at drawing in more customers. The shopping populace move from stall to stall, haggling for watever goods they seem interested in.

An insidious fog creeps along the ground, a silver mass with greens and blues mingling like oil and water...

[Cards drawn : 8S *AD KS +AS QH, World Player accesses AS and uses AD]

The scintillating mist begins to carpet the bazaar, the silver, green and blue hues list within with bead-like flashes of internal light. As the fog reaches the outer edge of the stalls, brushing across the feet of the shoppers, a surprised scream is abruptly cut off as one of them is pulled to the ground and jerked hastily into the fog.

The initial outcry sparks panic within the market. People run haphazard through the stalls, colliding with other people. Some fall and get snatched into the mists by invisible hands. Others shove their way to safety as they shout for everyone to run or stay back. A small crowd presses their way toward Tarn, intent on forcing him aside.

[Cards played : 8S+ *AD KS* +AS QH, Hero Player accesses KS and uses 8S]

Tarn steps back as the crowd makes its way toward his alley. His eyes glance from one escape route to another. The growing rush of bodies making escape more challenging to find. Tarn spies the window of a nearby stone building and the wooden supports extending from the roof above. He runs toward the wall.

Stepping onto the sill, Tarn leaps up and grabs hold of the wooden strut. Kicking up from the wall, he hoists himself on to the roof and watches the crowd funnel into the alley. More people are crushed and battered against the wall, the alley not wide enough to fit the fleeing masses. The shouts rise in intensity as several other people are taken by the roiling mist.

[Cards played : *8S+ *AD KS* +AS QH, World Player accesses 8S]

A lone figure strides out of the shimmering fog. Black trousers, dark hair carrying an iron mace in one hand. His scale armor is crafted from individual discs of polished horn. The mace sweeps in an arc and crushes the knee of a fleeing customer. Crawling and whimpering, the wounded man feebly tries to escape. An unseen hand grabs his leg, an abrupt yelp, and he is dragged into the mists.

[Cards played : *8S* *AD KS* +AS +QH, Hero Player accesses 8S and uses KS]

Tarn watches the carnage from his rooftop vantage point. The armored figure below was something that could be dealt with; the fog was immaterial, something he could not touch. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, taking him uncomfortably close to the mists creeping along the market below. An obsidian dagger comes away from its sheath. Tarn slows his breathing, calms his nerves and waits for the mace wielding man to step closer.

The mace comes down and cracks another fleeing woman across her back. Tarn seizes the moment and drops from the rooftop, stabbing the obsidian blade into the man’s neck, one of the few locations the scale armor does not protect. The mace flails wildly as the man screams at his assailant. Tarn’s dagger comes free, and he drops into a crouch, stabbing into the man’s leg.

Another pained shout, the mace swinging where Tarn had been. Tarn takes advantage of the opening the wide strike creates and stabs upward beneath the arm. The blade comes free and stabs beneath the other arm. The armored figure stiffens, stills; his wounds bleeding heavily. Tarn pulls the obsidian dagger away, their eyes locked.

[Cards played : *8S* *AD KS* +AS *QH, World Player accesses QH]

“I am Baraka,” the scaled figure proclaims, grabbing Tarn’s wrist and pulling him closer. “You may have beaten me, but can you defeat him?”

His eyes glance over Tarn’s shoulder even as the last of his breath escapes. His body slumps to the ground, kneeling and defeated. Behind Tarn, a floating specter of luminous bone emerges from the mists and grabs a passing customer. Its immaterial throat shrieks as bony claws draw the passerby into its cold grip and returns to the silvery mist.

Tarn, Human Rogue of The Architects

Tarn’s brown eyes hold a steely gaze; his umber hair cropped short. A lithe body wrapped in simple, common clothes. Tarn found himself on the streets of Narak, making a living amongst the stone and brick buildings. He was safe within the walls held by Amuneta the Liberator with her promise of keeping the wrongfully accused safe. It was that same liberty that introduced Tarn to The Architects, an organization that wants to depose the current regime of the seven demon lords.

Suit Abilities

Clubs [2] Knife in the Dark : Remarkable knife fighter

Spades [2] From the Shadows : Excellent thief

Hearts [1] Sixth Sense : Good intuition

Special FX

King of Diamonds Now You Don’t… Fade from view like dissipating ink.

Ismael and the Lost Oasis of Jammudaru

I am still working my brain around World vs. Hero. It's an interesting game, but parts of it feel more like work than play. At first, it was generating ten conflicts per location, then I read about using the Event Focus table from Mythic to generate conflicts from Solo RPG Gamer. But I had already created 20 conflicts for two locations. Then it was drawing four high value cards against my Hero, and I was left wondering, "Why would I enjoy a story where my character can't really impact (World vs. Hero term, read affect) anything?"Because the game requires (read recommends) using all five cards, I'm forced (read suggested) to use all of them. Naturally, I got to tinkering, so... I'm still tinkering because the game is interesting, but it isn't my kind of fun. Until then...

Old School Essentials with Advanced Fantasy Genre Rules, Unearthed Arcana's Players Roll All the Dice and Black Streams : Solo Heroes in The Emirates of Ylaruam with The Nightmares Underneath. I have an idea where I would like to take it, but I'll play to find out. So, I've got the original Ismael written at the beginning and again at the end to reflect how the module included with Solo Heroes changed him.

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam three days ahead.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 90' / 30'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (411 coins weight) : backpack, leather armor, shield, spear, standard rations (7), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 1 gold

0 experience

... and The Lost Oasis of Jammudaru

Ismael wandered the desert east of Sulba, the setting sun allowing the heat to slowly dissipate as night approached. Two more days, he told himself. Two more days, and he could rest in Ylaruam before continuing east.

"With what money?" he muttered to himself, glancing at the practically empty leather pouch hiding beneath his loose fitting robe. Water? Ismael had water. Food? A small supply, to be sure. But coin? The life of a nomad was not filled with riches. A corsair, however...

Ahead, an oasis slowly came into view. The Awaliq usually avoided that place. A relic from another time, it had been looted and ransacked years ago. Ismael was not walking with the Awaliq now, and The Way did not discourage curiosity. Ismael's feet took him closer to the ruins. What had it been called? Manahil? Manasir? He scratched his beard absently.

Crumbled mortar, old ashes mixed with sand, broken and burned framework were all that greeted Ismael. In the center of what had been the village was the well that had once offered some comfort to the populace. A small, hairless head peeked out from the well, staring at Ismael before dropping below the lip. A loud splash echoed up from the mouth of the well; a body striking water.

Ismael rushed to the well and looked down into darkness. "Hello?" he called. Silence.

Could this be his first adventure? Wasn't the life of a corsair filled with them? But to leap down a well. As his eyes acclimated to the darkness below, Ismael could see a faint glow lining parts of the wall. Moss, perhaps? Perhaps. He scratched his beard again before coming to a decision. This would be his first adventure: to find whoever it was that lived in this well.

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Dexterity. Result : 2]

Ismael's fingers were strong, and his feet were practiced in climbing the hills and rocky faces south of Sulba. Not so accomplished as some but enough for this task. What Ismael had thought was glowing moss was a phosphorescent slime. The Ranger within him made note of it, unfamiliar with what this could be.

The bottom of the well was filled with water. Ahead, a shore of sorts lit by the glowing slime. Two tunnels retreated further into the cavern. Ismael waded through the water, feeling the brushes of something living in the water. Tiny fish, perhaps? Then the brushes became more adamant, becoming grabs.

Ismael swam faster, feeling the grip across his ankles and wrists. He tore free from the pull and pushed further toward the shore. The water began to churn as pale hands rose to the surface and attempted to pull him down. He scrabbled to the rocky shore and pressed himself back against the rock wall. The bubbling waters stilled. Catching his breath, staring at where the water had tried to grab him, Ismael readied his spear and shield. He had been careless; he would not be so careless today.

Left with a choice between the passage on the left and the one on the right, Ismael decided left was as good a choice as any. The passage opened into a cave, the floor covered with muddy water. This time, there were three tunnels: left, right and straight. Ismael recalled the grasping hands that had greeted him and gripped his spear tight. Left again.

[Surprise Check : 1d6. Result : 1]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 2 vs. 11 three times. Result : 2 pass, 1 fail. 1 point of damage]

As prepared as Ismael tried to be, he was not ready for the three pale bodies that rose from the mud. Portions of their bodies had sloughed off from having been submerged for so long. Bones showed beneath thighs, and teeth appeared where cheeks should have been. They rushed toward Ismael, grabbing with weak, skeletal fingers. One managed to score a hit, sharp talons slicing thin lines into his face.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Hungry Zombies, 1; Ismael, 6]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 10. Fray Die : 1 damage]

Ismael drives his spear forward, but the initial surprise caused him to stab wildly. The thing closest to him received a strike into its face as the shield rim drove into the creature's mouth. Part of its jaw broke away, and it collapsed back into the muddy water.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 two times. Result : 2 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. Fray Die : 1 damage. Total : 2 damage]

One zombie rushed forward and tried to wrestle Ismael into the water. Ismael responded with a sharp crack across the thing's head with the end of his spear. The reanimated corpse fell to the floor, its head misshapen by the impact and broken bones. The remaining zombie raked its claws across Ismael's back, the leather warding off the worst of the impact. He turned and smashed the end of his spear down on top of its head, it, too, falling into the murky water.

Taking the opportunity to regain his composure, Ismael spied another person watching him from the corridor he had just been ready to enter. This one had hair, dark hair. Human, though very disheveled and dirty with tattered clothing. She half hides behind the wall of the passage.

"Peace be upon you," she says, quiet with a small hint of a giggle as if she had made some kind of joke.

"And upon you peace," Ismael replies, just as quiet with a small hint of disbelief as if he could not understand what he was seeing. "Who are you?"

"Jamila," a slight pause as she tried to remember the rest, "ibn Alia. Of Manahil." Stilted, as if her name had not been said in some time.

"How long have you been here, Jamila?" he asked.

"Since the attack."

"Since...," Ismael looked behind him then upward as if he could peer through the cave's ceiling. "You have lived down here for over five years? Wha- How?"

Jamila smiled. "By the Eternal Truth and the blessings of Al-Kalim, of course," she said cheerfully. "Through the grace of the Immortal Guardians and Al-Kalim, the creatures do not come near my home."

"Why haven't you tried leaving?"

"And leave my friends and family? Where would I go?"

"If you came with me, I could lead you to Sulba or Ylaruam. Both are close by."

"Leave? With a specter conjured from my mind?" Jamila laughed. "No, I think I will stay right here. Where it's safe."

Ismael looked back at the muddy water, "Safe?"

"From the Nightmare Priest. He is the one that brings back my friends and family."

"Where is this Nightmare Priest?" he asked skeptically.

"Go up that way," she points to the middle passage, "Then turn left. He waits there."

"Waits for what?"

"The return of the Prince of Nightmares."

"I see," said Ismael. He turned to go. "You're sure you do not want to leave?"

"As sure as you are just some kind of spirit."

Ismael nodded to himself and turned toward the passage Jamila had suggested. The corridor snaked back and forth, the phosphorescent slime highlighting crude carvings of buildings and stick figures. Four large slime covered masses lined either side of the corridor before turning to the left.

[Surprise Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Toadspawn, 3; Ismael, 2. Neither side surprised]

The slimy masses quivered and pulsed, the skin split like some form of egg hatching. Four pale skinned humanoids emerge, covered in the yolk and ichor. Webbed fingers stretch and end in black nailed talons. Their dark hair slicked back wetly.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Toadspawn, 4; Ismael, 2.]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 four times. Result : 3 fail, 1 pass. 3 points of damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 +1 vs. AC 12. Result : 12. Fray Die : 1 damage. Total : 3 damage]

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 9. Result : 7. Stand and fight.]

The toadspawn screeched with primal fury and launched at Ismael. The sheer weight of numbers overpowered him temporarily. He felt one grasp his arm. Another slashed into his leg. Another slammed bodily into him, pressing Ismael against the wall. The last bit into his neck, the leather armor keeping most of his neck safe.

He growled in response and struck at the one in front of him with a vicious kick to the knee. The shield arm ripped free and slammed into the newborn thing's face. He reversed the swing and drove the shield into another toadspawn's chest, granting himself enough room to stab it through the abdomen. The spear also reversed course and slammed a second toadspawn in the chest. A shield bash and spear thrust later, and the creature fell to the floor. The monster recovering from the kick to the knee attempted to rise, but Ismael ended it with a quick jab to the heart with his spear.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11. Result : 1 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 12. Result : 4. Fray Die : 1 damage]

The toadspawn was too enraged to consider its three companions had fallen. It swept its hand down in an overhead slash. Ismael brought up his shield to parry then stabbed the spear through its ribs. The toadspawn gurgled and fell beside its newborn family. Ismael's confidence grew, and he followed the bend as directed by Jamila.

The passage opened into a large cave lined with the glowing slime. On a stone dais of sorts, the bloated form of what had once been human sleeps. Snores softly filled the chamber. Its immense form had been twisted by some vile force, its skin covered in sores and pustules that seep with the phosphorescent ooze. A shimmer caught Ismael's eye. Just beyond the stone throne was a small pile of treasure. Coins. Gems.

Ismael weighed his options. This must be the Nightmare Priest Jamila talked about. The one that reanimated these ... things. The Way spoke of the Ritual of Judgment. To use knowledge and reason. And Jamila had been the only human being he had encountered, a little disturbed, to be sure, but human. These other things had done nothing but grab and pull and attack him. He gripped his spear. This must be how his first adventure would end!

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Dexterity. Result : 11]

Ismael stepped as quietly as he could into the room. He had made it half way across when the monstrosity stirred and opened its eyes. It affixed Ismael with a baleful glare.

"You dare try to sneak up on me?" it asked, voice rumbling. "I am the Nightmare Priest. Bring me Jamila, and I may allow you to leave."

"Bring you Jamila?" Ismael scoffed. "For what?"

"Your life. Or hers," the Nightmare Priest grumbled.

"Perhaps neither?" Ismael quipped, not quite feeling as confident as he sounded.

"So be it."

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Priest, 6; Ismael : 2]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 fail. 0 (!) damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 19. Total : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 fail and 1 damage]

In spite of its bulk, the Nightmare Priest was deceptively quick. It rose to its feet and charged from the dais, a heavy fist meeting Ismael's abruptly raised shield. The force of the blow knocked Ismael back. He returned the charge and drove his spear into the Priest's midsection. The spear pierced one of the pustules which erupted with caustic fluid, scalding the back of Ismael's hand.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 pass.]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 20. Total : 2 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 fail and 1 damage]

The Nightmare Priest howled in pain and flailed angrily at Ismael. Once more, the shield came up to greet the blow, the weight pushed Ismael toward the floor. He grunted and pushed upward, driving his spear up into the Priest's ribs. Another pustule exploded, coating Ismael in glowing slime.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 fail. 2 damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 11]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 16. Total : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 success using dodging doom]

In reply, the Nightmare Priest smashed Ismael's face with a clenched fist. The jarring attack caused Ismael to miss with his follow up. The Priest attempted to press the advantage and beat at Ismael's shield. Ismael seized the opportunity and kept the shield raised above his head. Once again, the spear drove into the Nightmare Priest's body, the pustules exploded and covered Ismael in glowing ooze. The Nightmare Priest and Ismael both fell to the floor.

[Player rolls for Jamila's Cure Light Wounds : 1d6 + 1. Result : 2]

"You're finally awake," Jamila says, again too cheerfully.

"I could have sworn the Nightmare Priest was going to kill me," Ismael muttered.

"You were unconscious from his slime, but I offered what little healing Al-Kalim would allow."

"Thank you," Ismael slowly rose from the floor with a groan. His eyes spied the treasure, and he glanced back at Jamila. "There's coin here. I could help you to Sulba or Ylaruam."

"Follow a ghost into the desert? No, I think I'm safer here. You just killed the Nightmare Priest. Maybe my family and friends will rest peacefully now."

Ismael shook his head and hobbled over to the small hoard. "As you wish," he said.

"Be safe. Maybe you'll return again," Jamila said over her shoulder, walking back home.

"Maybe," he muttered to himself. At least he had coin, but it almost cost him his life. He did leave a small pile of gold in the hallway where he met Jamila. Just in case...

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now two days ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 gold, leather armor, potion of healing, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 gold

150 experience