Showing posts with label npc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label npc. Show all posts

Friday, February 21, 2025

Red Sorceress

"Go into the woods he says..." Irene says to herself, holding the torch aloft. "No magic, he says..." The forest was dark, and the torch illuminated just a small portion of it. Mostly though, it just showed the wisps of fog that hid the soft turf below her boots. "Find the purple mushrooms below the old oak tree" she droned in a mockery of her master's voice "and pluck the caps from the stems"

"Oh be nice Irene." Chelsea chattered up from the fog. "You like going off on these errands! I don't understand why you feel the need to complain about it."

"Because I also like my sleep."

"I do too, but this is more exciting."

A branch snapped off in the darkness. "What was that?" Irene whispers.

"A branch snapping" Chelsea whispers back.

"Funny."

"This is your master's estate. It's not like he'd let some nasty alpha predator-"

Another branch snapped.

"Do you know him at all?!? He'd do it just for this!"

"Good point"

Irene felt Chelsea's little rat claws climbing their way up her leg. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. Looking at her torch, she debated tossing it to the side

"I said no magic, I didn't say make as much noise as you could." His muddy boots clomped into the torchlight.

 Irene is a low level but gifted sorceress who her master delights in sending on errands that he knows she'll hate. Her preference would be to never leave the comfort of the manor house or school, but her master insists she get some "in the field" experience. She is always accompanied by her rat familiar named Chelsea. She is very attractive and not at all interested, thank you very much. Her bed is for sleeping. That said, she isn't above using her physical beauty to try to get what she wants.

Friday, August 26, 2022

Leveled NPCs availability week to week

In my weekly Stonehell/Rappan Athuk game, there are a number of leveled NPCs that regularly join in on our adventures... but not always. Given that each of these NPCs is an independent character, and not a paid hireling, I wanted there to be situations where they wouldn't be available, for whatever reason. To keep it simple, I decided a simple morale check would work, with anything 5 or under would mean that NPC wouldn't be available this week.

Thinking about it more, I wanted to add a little something to the check.

Charisma modifiers were a good place to start, especially as my character Nick has a penalty. It just made sense.

But then I thought about other things that would impact whether someone would want to brave the dangerous dungeons with these particular murderhobos. This is what I've come up with.

Make a morale check. A modified 5 or under means the NPC is unavailable to adventure. Under a 2 means it is very unlikely they will ever rejoin the party, and may organize a rival group)
-1 Reduced to 0hp last adventure
-1 Someone died
-1 Unsuccessful delve (no magic items recovered, not enough treasure to cover expenses
+1 Successful adventure (a magic item was recovered, profit was earned, quest complete)
+1 Leveled Up (NPC gained enough XP to level up)
+3 Very successful adventure (NPC got a magic item)
+/- Charisma Mod of group leader (not necessarily the highest level or most charismatic)
+X Bribe (varies by what's offered)

Thursday, August 25, 2022

Juliana The Herbalist

She's cute, bubbly, smart, but critical (of others) to a fault, and can be vicious when things go against her. One of 9 siblings, she spent much of her time away from the family farm, exploring the woods near her village. There she met a hedge witch. Initially the witch wanted nothing to do with the girl, trying to avoid the villager's attention. Juliana was persistent, and eventually the witch began to teach her. First by sending her to collect various herbs, plants, and other things that could be found in the woods. Later she began to teach her magic. Not the fancy flashy magic of the wizards in their towers, but earthy magic.

One day the witch and Juliana were both in foul moods, and getting on each other's nerves. They fought, yelled, screamed, and in the end Juliana stormed from the woods, and told her family about the 'evil witch in the woods who tried to charm her' and then the story spread. The witch was hounded out of her cabin, fleeing in the night before the mob came and burned it down... but not before Juliana had snuck in and taken a few useful trinkets.

Now Juliana lives on her own at the edge of the village making herbal cures and strong flavorful brews. A pair of hedgehogs are her only companions. Whispers in the village are beginning to spread that maybe Juliana didn't resist the witch at all, and she's putting something in her brews... and those hedgehogs? Probably demons.


Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Fulhoff the Dwarf Wizard

One of the limitations of old school Rules Cyclopedia D&D is the way it treats demi-humans. It’s both restrictive, and tough, with a clear human-bias. Elves can’t be clerics, just fighter/magic-users. Dwarves are stocky fighters with infravision. It’s interesting from the “being creative within these tight restrictive guidelines” but sometimes you want to push out beyond that.

For example, my wizard in my 5e game is a battle ax swinging, chainmail shirt wearing, dwarf with impulse control issues. Kinda hard to pull that off as a PC in RC D&D.

However… as an NPC/monster? Totally doable! It’s basically just a handwavium deal!


Fulhoff, Dwarf Wizard, level 4
Armor Class: 5
Hit Dice: 4d4+8**** (18hp)
Move: 90' (30')
Attacks: War Hammer or Spell
Damage: 1d8+2 or per spell
Save As: W4
Morale: 10
Treasure Type: C (plus spellbook)
Intelligence: 16
Alignment: Lawful
XP Value: 425

Fulhoff is smart, but foolhardy, and just as likely to charge into battle with his hammer as he is to use his magic. He's come close to death a few times already, and is beginning to learn a little more self control.

Spells Known
Cantrip: Zap
1: Thunderwave, Witchbolt, Charm Person, Shield
2: Invisibility, Mirror Image

Saturday, February 27, 2016

Thau'tier, Hobgoblin Warchief

"Captain Tresh! There's someone at the eastern gate!" The young private all but yelled as he burst into the planning room.

Looking up from a map of the countryside weighed down by an assortment of personal items, the guard captain fixed the soldier with his dark eyes. "What do you mean, there's someone at the gate? We're in the middle of a siege!"

"That's just it sir, it looks like one of their captains."

"And the rest of the force hasn't moved?" Tresh grabbed his helmet from the stand next to the door and slipped it on.

"No sir." The private shifted to clear the doorway.

Tresh paused, nodded, and then quickly sped out of the headquarters and headed for the east gate. The soldiers manning the walls and gatehouse were all on high alert, and the tension in the fort had clicked up a notch with this new development. Upon reaching the gatehouse, Sgt. Casius intercepted the captain. "Sir, he says he wants to talk to you."

Tresh noted the emphasis on the last word. "Me? Specifically?"

"By name, sir."

Tresh considered, brow furrowed in thought. "What do you think of him?"

"The barbarian? Hard to read sir. But fearless, and he seems pretty sure of himself."

"Why shouldn't he be? He outnumbers us 4 to 1. And you've seen the hydra they've got." Tresh sighed. "Very well, let's see what he wants." Looking up to the guards manning the gate, he ordered them to unbar the door. When that was done, the right door was pushed open.

Standing just beyond it was a striking figure. Clad in ornate armor, with a curved single edged bastard sword hanging at his side, the humanoid looked at Tresh with red intelligent eyes. His wild hair and beard the color of storm clouds shifted gently in the spring breeze. He sneered at Tresh, revealing teeth like those of a wolf.

"You are Tresh, captain of this fort?" The words fell from his lips roughly, though clear enough to understand.

"I am."

"These lands are claimed by the Tyranny of Gortho. You will abandon this fort and return to your puny lands."

"This valley was inhabited until we arrived. We claim it for the Baron of Roesone."

"Your claim..." he spit the word "is of little interest. And I am not here to trade words with you. Abandon this fort, and return to your lands, and you will be unmolested. Refuse, and we will gut you and string you up by your own entrails from the walls of your fort as it burns around you."  


Thau'tier, Hobgoblin Warchief, Fighter 8. Plate armor of command (+2 bonus to AC and moral), Bastard Sword "Shock and Awe" (on a hit target must save vs spells or be unable to attack for 1d4 rounds) 

Monday, January 18, 2016

Nissa, Lady of the Blade

"That's a mighty big sword for such a little girl."

Nissa sighed loudly, and the bartender just stepped away shaking his head.

"Maybe I can show you how to really handle such a... big weapon?" he said just a little louder.

The taproom had gone quiet. Nissa turned away from the bar and looked at the idiot before her. He was big, both tall and wide, with thick meaty hands. Not old, but no longer young.

"How exactly do you think this is going to go?" Nissa asks. "That I'm just going to swoon over your bravado? That you'll just overwhelm me and force me to bend to your superior bulk? Do you really want to fight me? Just wrestle around a little before I go with you to your flee infested bed? Or is it a lice infested pile of hay?"

His grin fell as she spoke, and his face reddened. Nissa smiled up at him and took a swig from her mug. "Now leave me alone." She held his gaze until he shifted his weight back away from her.

Turning back to the bar, she calls out to the bartender "Refill please?" and holds up her mug. A meaty hand falls hard on her shoulder, and spins her around. The upraised mug is redirected and smashes solidly into the big man's head.

He staggers back, pressing his hand to his bleeding cheek. "Why you..." he snarls, and swings his other fist toward her.

All but pressed against the bar, she throws her weight back, kicking her feet up, and lays flat on the bar. As his fist passes harmlessly over her, she kicks out, both feet pounding into the man's gut.  He falls back as she's pushed off the top of the bar. She lands on her side, and springs back to her feet while he gasps for breath, hands on his knees, half sitting in the side of a table. Blood drips along his jawline, and drips from his chin.

Nissa vaults back over the bar. "Things not going as planned big guy?" He glares back at her, reaches down and flings a stool toward her. She knocks it to the side, sending it clattering against the bar. "Throwing punches that miss, throwing stools that can't connect. Seems like there isn't a whole lot you can show me." She stalks toward him. He pushes himself upright, fists held between them. "Are we done?"

She can see him waver, uncertainty in his eyes. It hardened when another yokle yelled "Come on Garth, you're not gonna let that girl show you up are you?"

He looked briefly at him, then back to Nissa. "You're gonna be sorry."

"No doubt..." Stepping forward, she slaps his fist aside as he begins to swing, slips low, and hits Garth again in the gut. He curls low, and she slams his face down onto her upcoming knee.

"Are we done?" She yells to the room. Silence answers her. "Good." she says, and turns back to the bar.

Nissa, Human Fighter 4
AC 3, HD 4, #AT 1 bastard sword, Dmg 1d8+5, MV 120' (40') Save F4, ML 10, TT U+V, AL N, XP 75
Nissa stands a mere 5' tall, but is very skilled with the bastard sword (2 weapon expertise slots for 2-handed use, 1 for 1-handed). She has served as a sell-sword, body guard, and dungeon delver, and vastly prefers dungeon delving, as the pay is significantly better. 

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

The Scribe

The velvet robe of scarlet stood out starkly among the brown of the monks hard at work in the scriptorium, each of them hunched over their work, their quill pens scratching softly over parchment, and all chanting softly together. Young lord Saren watched their small precise movements as each worked on their individual pages for his mothers new prayer book. The sunlight streaming in through the glazed windows warmed the still air, and all worked with their hoods down, and sleeves tied up... all but the scarlet robed figure. From behind, it was impossible to see anything of the figure, but the chains locked to his wrists were plain enough.

"I hardly believed it to be true when I first heard the stories. The monks keeping an ancient monster chained up, forever drafting heretical texts..." Saren whispered to Prior Lemmy. "Is that truly the Undying Brother?"

"We call him The Scribe." The prior rubs his beard, then hitches his thumbs in his belt. "He was here when I was first brought here, and nothing has changed in all that time."

"And the chains?"

"For our protection, though they would do little in the long run. The monks around him are what truly protect us. As long as there are at least six of them here and chanting the canticle of binding, he will continue to write."

They stood in silence, contemplating the scarlet robe. "He's not working on my mother's gift, is he?"

The prior chuckled. "No. His works are all original. And contrary to children's tales, nothing he writes has anything to do with heresy, or even the gods. Mostly they're astrological treatises... sometimes histories... For 6 months back 200 or so years ago it was poetry! It's all very random, but it's all carefully reviewed for anything dangerous. and in the last 1200 years, nothing has been. Though the notes from the inquisitor who had to read the poetry weren't flattering."

"If he's so harmless, why the chains and the chanting?"

The prior sighs. "Because if he isn't allowed to write, constantly, he becomes very violent. If the chanting ends, he becomes very violent. And long ago, he was one of ours, cursed to this existence, so we must do all we can to allow him to work through his curse." 

After the sun had set, and oil lamps dimly lit the chamber only the Scribe still scribbled away, endlessly inking pages with his own blood while six monks chanted softly around him.

"Was it wise to tell the boy?" Brother Jaro, Keeper of Keys, asked the Prior.

"That 'boy' will soon be a man, and will then have dominion over these lands."

"Not ours."

"No, but our lands are within and completely surrounded. Better that he knows a little truth, and does not seek deeper."


The Scribe writes constantly, but produces grimoires, spell books, and arcane treatises, usually at a pace of about 1 or 2 a year. Each is carefully studied and bound before being locked away below the crypts of the monastery.  Should he be interrupted from his writings or the soothing chanting, he will fly into a berzerker rage, and attempt to kill anyone within sight.

Note to DMs - Use whatever nasty undead stats are appropriate, but it can never be killed in combat or destroyed by turning.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Barbarian Princess and the Eye of the North

The rain had fallen steadily for the last week. Never a torrential downpour, but constant. The fields and hills beyond the fort's walls were saturated with the moisture, making travel into the wilderness all but impossible. The few patrols sent out had quickly bogged down and returned home exhausted, covered in mud, and soaked to the bone. Not that things were much better within the wooden walls. Even the walkways along the walls were slick, and dangerous. The constant grey clouds made telling the hour impossible.

Yet there they were. On the appointed day, at the appointed time... and somehow they'd arrived at the gate without being completely covered in mud. Gaius stood at the top of the gatehouse, looking down at the small party. "Open the gate" he ordered the guards as he took the ladder down to meet them.

Sinking into the sucking mud at the bottom of the ladder he sighed, and continued around to the now open gate. The barbarians remained in place, looking into the fort with ill-disguised distaste. As Gaius stepped into the gateway, their eyes all swept quickly over him. Most returned to watching the rest of the fort, but the young woman in the center of the group locked her eyes with his.

While lacking the hulking forms of the more northern barbarians, the local tribes were no less ferocious in battle, making up for what they lacked in size with guile. This princess was no exception. Her pale eyes bore into his. Unnervingly the circlet she wore held a stone the same pale blue as her eyes, and all three orbs seemed to stare unblinkingly at him.

Sniffing the runny nose the gods-forsaken weather gifted him with he raised his hand in greeting. "Welcome to Fort Artok. I am Gaius, son of Geldar and Philena, commander of this troop." He hoped they spoke a civilized tongue.

"On behalf of the Tribe of the Grey Spirit and the Tribe of the Morning's Dawn I have come to treat with you, and bring warning that further encroachments into our territory will be met with deadly force." Her voice was strong, clear, and spoke his language with barely an accent.

The barbarians around her gripped their spears a little tighter, their backs straightening. Behind and above him, Gaius knew his troops were doing the same. "You come to treat, then please enter in peace" he said 'and get out of the rain' he thought to himself. 

She held his gaze, and only the ever present rain and dripping of his own nose punctuated the long silent moment.'There's a fire and hot spiced wine inside... please...'

Finally she nodded her ascent and the whole group stepped forward toward the gate.


Barbarian Princess
AC 5; HD 4+4**; #AT 1 spear or 1 spell; Dmg 1d6+1 or by spell; MV 120' (40'); Save Elf 4; ML 10; TT Vx3; AL Neutral, XP 275
The barbarian princess casts spells from the Druid Spell list with 3 first level slots and 2 second level slots. She wears the Eye of the North.

Eye of the North
This pale blue zircon stone, set into a simple circlet, grants the wearer the ability to find paths in dark places, both physical and metaphorical. The most notable power is to reduce the chance of becoming lost in the wilderness by half. In addition, it can provide an insight bonus when dealing with strangers. This can manifest in a +1 bonus to reaction rolls.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

NPC: Lady Ishtan

"Why do you seek me out?" the lyrical voice chimed behind Nimble.

Spinning around, Nimble crouched with his dagger in hand.

"Put that away, thief. If I'd wanted you dead, you would be." Her fingers, all of them, glistened with jewelry. More distracting, however, were the finger blades that caught the afternoon sun slanting in through the half closed shutters.With one set of hands, she drew back the hood that concealed her face. Tattoos spiraled up her bangle adorned arms and flowed under her black silk dress. "I am Lady Ishtan, and you've come looking for me."

"I need someone dead."

Her silver eyes seemed to look through him. "Of course you do. Why else would you be here?"

Nimble straightened and sheathed his blade as she passed him. "Tea?" she asked, picking up a silver pot.

"Uh..."

She turned her eyes upon him again, silver beneath black eyelashes.

"Sure... I mean, of course... I mean, thank you, yes."

Nodding once, she looked down at the cups, and poured two. "Please, take a seat. The afternoon has gone on long, and you are covered in the dust of it. Ease yourself."

Nimble self consciously brushed at his tunic and pants as he surveyed the room for a seat. Not finding a chair, he settled on a large pillow with his back towards a sandstone wall. Lady Ishtan handed over the silver and glass cup.

She sat opposite him, focused on her drink. Clasping the cup in her upper two hands, she spread her lower hands and bowed her head briefly, then took a sip. Nodding in satisfaction, she rested her lower hands on her lap.

"Tell me how I might be of assistance to you. And tell me how you will be of assistance to me."


Image by Tiger1313

Lady Ishtan was once a normal human, or so the story says. A thief and assassin, she traveled the sands, finding few who would deny her shelter or food, lest they fall under her deadly fingers... Until she tried to kill the Raja Mir Rao, the son of a Jinn. According to the tales, she was sent to the City of Brass where she lived for a 101 years. Upon her return, her appearance was as it is now, and her skills even more highly refined. Now though, she rarely ventures beyond the walls of her own compound, though she is still often sought out.

Monday, July 6, 2015

NPC: Old Vashoth

"Who?" Feris asked.

"Old Vashoth. He lives up stream, about half a mile or so." The farmer pointed vaguely with his scruffy chin.

"And he can tell us about the old citadel?"

"Well, I can't say fer sure... but he's old. Been around for a while."

"That's usually what old means." Nimble mumbled.

"Aye, aye..." the farmer nodded "but Old Vashoth, he's been around." He looked expectantly at Nimble, who stared back blankly. "You know, around here. Local like."

"Ah."

"But... uh... you'd best be careful poking around. I heard he turned Goodman Barak's son into a raven last summer. Went to go talk to him about some map or scroll or something he'd pulled out of the attic, wasn't seen for months. But during that time, Old Vashoth had a crow in his shoulder. Soran wouldn't talk about it when he showed up in the upper cornfield right at harvest time. But his hair was black..."

"We'll be careful." Nimble promised.



Old Vashoth
Tiefling/Demon-touched Sage/7th level Wokan
Master of local lore and veteran of the last great Chaos wars (though he won't generally talk about that)

Old Vashoth was cursed with immortality during the last great war. Unfortunately he wasn't blessed to remain young. At this point in his existence he alternates between searching for a means to become young (or at least younger) or a way to finally die. He's given up on violent means to end his life, as they tend to be extremely painful to recover from.



Image by Joseph Becci

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Vondal Runeforged - 5e Wizard

Last night I finally sat down to create my first 5e character. And like I promised, it's a mountain dwarf wizard. I was pleasantly surprised at how quick and easy it was, even when I opted for some of the slower choices. It did however show me where I'll be making my first house rule for 5e.

What I did:
Standard ability score array
Rolled starting money and individually picked equipment
Chose background, traits, ideals, boons, and flaws.
Picked spells

All told, I think it took maybe 15 minutes, and that was due in large part to double checking everything, and needing to look up the different spells. So here he is:

Vondal Runeforged, Mountain Dwarf Wizard
Level 1
Soldier (standard bearer) background

Str 14 +2
Dex 14 +2
Con 15 +2
Int 15 +2
Wis 8 -1
Cha 10

AC 15 (chain shirt)
HD 1d6
HP 8

Trait: Full of stories
Ideals: Independence
Bonds: Never leaves a friend behind
Flaws: Little respect for those unproven

Features/Traits
Darkvision 60'
Poison Resistance
Combat Training (axes and hammers)
Armor Training (light and medium)
Stonecunning
Spellcasting
Arcane recovery

Languages: Dwarven, Common

Proficiencies
Arcana
Athletics
Intimidation
Investigation

Brewing
Gaming (dice)
Vehicles (land)

Battle Ax +4 1d8+2 slashing (1d10+2 2-handed)
Light Hammer +4 1d4 bludgeoning 20/60

Equipment:
Dungeoneers Pack
Runed Rod
Caltrops
Glass Eye
Spell Book
Pouch made from an orcish banner


Spells
Cantrips
Prestidigitation
Ray of Frost
Fire Bolt

1st Level Spells
Burning Hands
Comprehend Languages
Detect Magic
identify
Sleep
Thunder Wave

Like I said, I'm pretty impressed. While Vondal will not necessarily be the most impressive spellcaster around, the shock of thunder wave blasting a ring of orcs away from what looked like a dwarf warrior... Well, it brings an evil gleam to this DM's heart. I would check with my DM to see if he'd let me use the rod as a club... Although it seems the wizard isn't proficient in club. That's weird.

Ok, first house rule, wizards get clubs.

So what did your first character look like?

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Mangu Timur

“Castle up ahead” Nimble reported as he rejoined them in the clearing. “Red banner with some sort of stylized golden dagger on it.” He shrugged. “The road goes right past it, of course, and there’s a village or small town on the far side of it.”

“Think it’s Kalemsport?” Rathgar asked.

“Maybe” Feris pointed at the map “but there’s no notation about a castle.”

“Do we go around, or take the road?”

“Road. I want to sleep on a bed tonight.” Feris sighed.

“Me too” Nimble agreed.

“Road” Allianora sighed. “I don’t really care if there’s a toll.”




The tap room of the inn was subdued. The companions claimed a corner table early and none of the other weary traders and travelers seemed interested in them. “A gold each, plus a gold for each horse? You know... you know that the guards were pocketing most of that!” Nimble grumbled.

“I’d have paid ten times that.” Feris admitted quietly.

The door to the inn slammed open, and a squad of plate armored men tromped in. At the head of the group, a large man in blackened armor with a scarlet talbard.

Rathgar downed what was left of his ale and stood “How much more would you have paid?” he asked Feris.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” the armored man growled “and we can keep this... friendly.”

“We’re just passing through.” Allianora said softly.

“Indeed? Rumor has it you killed Salinkari the wizard, and are looking to pawn his spell book”

The companions glanced at each other. “There... may be some truth to that rumor.” Nimble offered.

“Salinkari was my friend.”




Mangu Timur

Armor Class: -2
Hit Dice: 9+6** (56hp) (M)
Move: 90’ (30’)
Attacks: 1 sword
Damage: 2d8+5
No. Appearing: 1
Save As: F12
Morale: 11
Treasure Type: A
Intelligence: 11
Alignment: Chaotic
XP Value: 2250

Monster Type: Man (Unique)
Mangu Timur is a ruthless killer and strongman who came to power by the strength and skill of his sword. His natural talent and skill are further bolstered by his magical plate (+2) and shield (+2) and his sword Witch Hunter (+2, +2 vs spell casters, Int. 9, detect magic, detect traps, healing). In addition, Mangu is always accompanied outside of his castle by 2d8 4th level fighters in plate armor, shields, and swords.

Friday, September 27, 2013

30 Day Challenge: Day 27: A Character I want to play in the future

I feel like I already answered this back on day 8+9.

Realistically, I would like to play pretty much any character in the future. I'm not that picky.

However, there is one character I'd like to get some table time with. Originally he was rolled up for a joust, and he won his first match, but the game was put on hold indefinitely.

Sir Corbus Rassent is a thug of a knight. He goes around from joust to joust winning often, and stealing/robbing when the opportunity presents itself.


Human, Neutral, Fighter 2

Str: 14
Int: 8
Wis: 7
Dex: 16
Con: 10
Cha: 13

HP: 11

Armor: Mail
Shield: Reinforced Round
Light Warhorse

Squire:
Simon Martel, T1 w/ Short sword
5 Men @ arms w/ clubs (Artus, Blaise, Gilles, Jean, and René)


Image Source: Milvina

Thursday, July 25, 2013

NPC: Makpal Abdrazakova, Golden Eagle Hunter

The rhythmic pounding of the yakmen's hooves across the field kicked up a low cloud of dusk. Off in the distance and directly in their path, a thin reed of smoke drifted up into the air, marking their destination.

From deep in the tall grass Makpal whispered "Hunt" to the eagle and lifted her arm. It spread its wings and pushed off, taking flight toward the herd that trotted eastward toward the village of Aksu-Ayuly.

"Archers, be ready" She ordered.

The eagle swooped toward the yakmen, silent and unseen. It struck the rearmost beast, raking its face, before lifting off again.The rest of the herd staggered to a halt, and turned toward their injured member.

"Now" Makpal ordered. The archers stood as one, rising above the grass, and let their arrows fly. The yakmen staggered, and the archers let fly with a second shot.




Makpal Abdrazakova, Golden Eagle Hunter
Lawful Human Fighter 6
S: 14
I: 13
W: 12
D: 10
Cn: 9
Ch: 13

AC: 6
hp: 28
Dmg: 1d8+1

Equipment: Studded Leather +1, Saber (counts as longsword), Golden Eagle animal companion.



Makpal Abdrazakova: AC 6, HD 6, hp 28, MV 120' (40'); #AT 1 saber; Dmg 1d8+1; THAC0 17; Save F6; ML 10; AL L; XP 500



Golden Eagle: AC 7, HD 1, MV 450' (150') #AT 3 (claw/claw/bite); Dmg d3; THAC0 19; Save F1; ML 10 (8); AL N; XP 13

When in flight golden eagles can make a swoop attack as their first attack with a +2 to hit with their claws and inflicting double damage on a successful attack. When trained from birth, Golden Eagles will have a morale of 10.



Source: Kazakhstan’s lone female eagle hunter

Friday, June 21, 2013

Morak's Blades

“Morak!” the boy yelled. “Kargar!”

The three warriors looked up from the fish roasting over the campfire. Vladimir ran back to camp, his dagger gripped tight, and eyes wide. “Demons!” he yelled too loudly, skidding to a stop on the far side of the fire.

The men grabbed their arms and put their backs to the fire and looked out into the deepening darkness.

Vlad tossed a small tightly bound bundle of sage on the fire.

“What’s that for?” Kargar asked softly.

“Mum always burned sage to keep demons out of the house.”

“I don’t know that’s going to help any.” Kargar replied dubiously.

“Hush” Rothwin admonished

Kargar’s gaze flashed to Rothwin “Hush yourself, bastard. I don’t take orders from-”

“Brother, Kargar, shut up.” Morak sighed. “And keep your eyes to the dark.”

The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the normal night noises of the woods.

After a long pause Morak asked “Vlad? What exactly did you see?”

“A demon!” he said excitedly. “It was hiding in a pile of leaves, and I didn’t see it at first. When I went to gather some of the wood near it, it reached toward me!”

The three warriors sighed, their weapons drooped. “Is the fish burned?” Kargar asked, as he turned to the fire.

“But-”

“It was just the wind, Vlad.” Rothwin said, setting his crossbow against the log, and retrieving his winskin from the dirt.

“But-”

“There’s no shame lad, be at ease” Kargar speared one of the fish off the fire, and handed it to Vlad.

“But-”

“Now” came the soft voice from the dark, and diminutive grey skinned creatures loped into the firelight, their large maws open wide.


Morak's Blades

Morak (Human Male F1 N) is a younger son of a minor lord who stands to inherit nothing. Making the best of the situation he gathered his childhood companions and struck out to make his fortune. He fights with flail and shield, wears high quality chainmail and helm, and is proficient with a shortbow. He is young, a bit naive, but cautious.

Rothwin (Human Male F1 N) is the bastard son of the minor lord who fathered Morak. Rothwin was raised with Morak, and feels that they both deserve better, and harbors a strong hatred of the heir. Rothwin wears black studded brown leather armor and wields a crossbow with deadly accuracy. His face and neck are tattooed with a red dragon breathing flames.

Kargar (Human Male F1 L) is the son of the lord’s master-at-arms. His father recommended that Kargar to keep an eye on Morak. He may be a younger son, but he’s still in the line of succession, and his mother (a witch) saw great things in his future. Kargar wears a suit of chain and helm of equal quality to Morak’s, and fights sword and board. He is also learning ancient common from a translating dictionary.

Vladimir (Human Male F0 N) was a stable boy at the lord’s manor, who decided that following Morak was significantly more exciting than cleaning stalls.



Inspired by a result from Meatshields! The Classic Fantasy Hireling & Henchman Generator

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

A Pirate's Life For Me!

Tenkar had a contest to give away a free copy of the S&W version of the Razor Coast and all you had to do was come up with a pirate ship and it's captain, and post it on his blog.


I did a little more than that, and it payed off, since I won! I'm pretty sure it's only because I wrote (and then recorded) a shanty. For those who missed it, my entry is below. I'd also suggest you check out the other entries on Tenkar's post.

Along the shipwrecked shores of the Razor Coast
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain
Under red-dark skies and Pele’s eyes
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain

For he’s faced the worst the waves can bring
Wreck and ruin and hurricane
Pitch black flag and scarlet sails
Sink their hearts and lips a’ wail

With orkish blood and a pirates ire
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain
Cults and Curse of ancient times
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain

He’ll take your silver, gold, n’ magic things
If you get in his way, you’ll be a blood stain
from the isle of Haht to the great Port Shaw
Ruthless Jack’s will plunder them all

Rum and gold and a wind steady
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain
Treasure or tempest upon the sea
Sails the Bloody Haar and her dread captain


Listen to the shanty here... if you dare!


The Bloody Haar is a two masted schooner, with a red stripe running the length of her black hull. Her sails are a sun and salt faded scarlet, and she flies a pitch black pennant. While a relatively small ship, she’s one of the nimblest and fastest that prowls the Razor Coast.

The Bloody Haar’s crew consists of the following:
SkarJak “Ruthless Jack” Urzok (Captain, Black Orc male fighter)
Lady d’Rath (1st Officer, blond human female fighter)
Masked Mage (quartermaster, ??)
Reed & Finnan (riggers and knifers, halfling brothers)
4-8 other pirates (Crew, varies - orcs and humans)

Prior to a raid, the Masked Mage will wreath the area in fog, allowing the Blood Haar to close upon her prey unseen. The rest of the crew will then board their target, eliminating any resistance with extreme prejudice, but not needlessly slaughtering anyone who doesn't get in their way. Their goal is always the loot.

“Ruthless Jack” is a large, broad shouldered bald orc with sun darkened olive green skin and a wiry black beard. He is covered with bright tattoos across his chest and down his arms, and fights with a magical harpoon in one hand, and a hand ax in the other. He’s been a pirate nearly his whole life, sailed the length and breadth of the Razor Coast, and when the Masked Mage offered him command of the Bloody Haar, he lept at the chance. The last 5 years have proven the wisdom of the Masked Mage’s choice.

The Lady d’Rath was the 1st officer under the Bloody Haar’s previous captain, and was initially pissed that the Masked Mage passed her up for the position. SkarJak’s success only infuriated her more. Eventually she challenged him to a duel, and lost, though it was a close thing. SkarJak asked her to remain on the ship as his first officer. Their relationship remains tense.

The Masked Mage is an unknown to all. Clad from head to toe in flowing embroidered robes, with an elaborate facemask that lacks any holes, his voice is low and raspy. Over his robes he wears The Medallion of the 9 Winds, the item which allows him to both call forth the fog, but also to influence the wind, further assisting the Bloody Haar in being one of the fastest vessels upon the sea.



I guess this just goes to show that you sometimes get rewarded for embarrassing yourself in public!

Monday, November 12, 2012

New NPC: Sgt. Stubby

The post below is from the blog Doctor Grumpy in the House. It's about a dog NPC that joined up with a US army unit during WWI.

I'm sharing it here in part because today is the day Veterans Day is being celebrated by federal employees, and because I think it shows just how valuable having a dog, even a little dog, can be during dangerous adventures. Stats for Sgt. Stubby follow at the end of the post.



Veteran's day is to thank those who have served the militaries of our respective countries. We throw parades, hold services, and honor our warriors in many ways. But it should never be forgotten that not all veterans walk upright.

Sergeant Stubby, United States Army

No one knew when or where he was born. In common terms he was just a stray dog.

It was an early morning in 1917 at Yale Field in Connecticut. The area had been taken over by the U.S. Army for training, and a group of young soldiers was there, preparing for World War I across the Atlantic.

At some point a medium-sized dog wandered onto the field, and took an interest in the young men. They befriended each other, and Private J. Robert Conroy liked him enough to take back to their base that night.

Stubby, though officially not supposed to be there, quickly became a part of the camp. He got used to the daily routine of orders and bugle calls. He even learned to salute: when he saw humans all doing it around him, he'd put his right paw on his eyebrow.

Eventually Conroy and his division were ready to ship out for the war in Europe. Rather than abandon the dog (now named Stubby) they smuggled him (under coats) aboard the troopship S.S. Minnesota for the journey across the sea.

Stubby turned out to be far more of a dog than his finders ever expected. Staying with his owners, he served in combat in France. He lived in the frontline trenches with the 26th Infantry (102nd division), for over 18 months. His first battle was in February, 1918, and overall he fought in 4 major offenses and 18 ground battles.

Frontline trench warfare is a nightmare, but Stubby, like his fellow soldiers, learned to live with it. At one point his position was under 24-hour continuous enemy gunfire and shelling for over a month. He never deserted his company or position.

In April, 1918, he was wounded by an enemy hand grenade, and sent to Red Cross facilities. While recovering he improved morale there by routinely visiting other wounded soldiers. After healing he went back to his company in the front.

Later that year he miraculously survived a gas attack in the new era of chemical warfare (though was extremely ill for several days afterward). He quickly learned to recognize the smell long before his primate colleagues could. Later, when the Germans launched another surprise gas attack in the early morning, Stubby noticed it first. He ran through the trenches, barking and even biting his comrades to waken them so they could put on their masks. Since there were no gas mask to fit him, after spreading the alert he'd run out of range behind the trench and wait there until the all-clear was sounded.

His keen ears could hear the high-pitched whine of incoming shells before humans could, and his warning barks gave his friends an extra few precious seconds to take cover.

Stubby - of his own accord - undertook some of the most dangerous missions of the war, searching no-mans-land between trenches for wounded soldiers. He could differentiate between English and German speech, and successfully led medical teams to the injured. He also was able to lead dazed, but walking, soldiers back to safety. How many lives he saved is unknown.

Later, Stubby and his men were deployed to the battle of Argonne Forest. There, while walking around on his own, he single-handedly caught a German spy that had slipped behind allied lines to map their formations. Stubby detected him behind a bush, raised the alarm, and then detained him (by holding onto the back of his pants) until 2-legged soldiers could arrive.

For his remarkable heroism and skills, the commanding officer of the 102nd division recommended him for promotion, and Stubby became Sergeant Stubby - now outranking his owner, Corporal Conroy.

Stubby's remarkable skills extended beyond the battlefield. During a visit to Paris with Corporal Conroy, Stubby suddenly dashed out into traffic and saved a young girl who was about to be struck by a car.

After allied forces liberated the town of Château-Thierry, the local women made him a chamois coat. It kept him warm and was also used for his growing collection of medals, including the Purple Heart.

After the armistice, Corporal Conroy returned home with his friend. Stubby was now a celebrity, routinely leading parades. He met 3 Presidents and was made a life member of the American Foreign Legion and Red Cross. In one instance he received a distinguished service award, presented by no less than the fabled American General, John "Blackjack" Pershing.


Sergeant Stubby leading a victory parade. His heart was bigger than his body!

As the cheers faded the pair transitioned back to civilian life. Conroy enrolled in Georgetown law school, and Stubby found employment as the team's mascot. He often performed a football halftime show, pushing a ball around the field.

He died on March 16, 1926, with Conroy holding him. He is remembered by a brick at the World War I memorial and at the Smithsonian. The latter has his remains on display.

 
Thank you, veterans!



Sgt. Stubby (Dog)
Hit Dice: 2+2*
Move: 180’ (60’)
Attacks: 1 bite
Damage: 1d6
No. Appearing: unique
Save As: F4
Morale: 11
Treasure Type: Nil
Intelligence: 3
Alignment: Lawful
XP Value: 45

Sgt. Stubby is a highly experienced combat veteran, and provides a +1 bonus to the first group initiative roll of every combat, all surprise rolls, saving throws vs poison gas, and all reaction rolls from all non-hostile encounters.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Gnip & Copperbeard

"Which way?" a nasally voice drifted down the dwarven tunnel.

"To the right... I think" replied a gravely baritone.

"You think?" came the incredulous reply "this is a dawrven vault isn't it?"

"It is."

"And you procured the map from your mothers own personal treasury?"

"I did."

"And the map not only was from the time this vault was constructed, but was in fact a part of the original construction notes of its building?"

"That's correct."

"In that case I must ask; why do you, a noble heir to an ancient dwarven line, in possession of an accurate map of an equally ancient dwarven vault, not know if we should turn right?"

"Because my sweat has caused the ink to run and I can no longer read the map."

"Meaning?"

"We're lost."



Gnip
3rd level goblin warrior

Copperbeard
2nd level dwarf


These two came free with a White Dwarf magazine as part of the release of the 6th edition Battle for Skull Pass intro box set. It only took me 6 years to get around to painting them... The only reason that I can figure that these two were sent all around the world together as part of the release is because they're actually friends, even though none of their respective clans would approve.

Friday, June 29, 2012

Elves, Humans, & Werewolves!

“Goober! GOOBER! Get back here right this instant!” Rrac waved his hooked hand in a vaguely threateningly way at the wolfish dog that was running toward something it heard in the woods.

The pair of elves looked down at the hook-handed crofter. “If you can’t control that beast, it would be best we leave it behind.” Narsal he redheaded elf commented in his sing-song voice.

“Now, now, the beast has proven its worth several times over.” Nuadeen, the blond elf pointed out.

“I could put a bolt through its ear.” Giloc offered.

Rrac whirled around to face Giloc “Aside from the fact that you couldn’t even hit the ogre, as big as she was, if you so much as pet Goober the wrong way, I’ll...”

“Erts?” The hollow cheeked youth looked up at the elves before quickly dropping his gaze. “Go get the dog.”

Dropping his large pack, the boy leapt off the path and into the woods after Goober. Erts followed the deer trail until it emerged at a fenced in field, a flock of sheep scattering away in absolute panic. In the center of the flock, one of the sheep was knocked down, picked up, and smashed down again hard by a monstrous man-wolf-thing. Erts’ scream died in his throat as the thing looked at him. Dropping the body of the sheep, it’s face already red with blood, the man-wolf sprinted the far too short distance between them. Stopping near enough that Erts could smell the things breath, thick with the tang of blood. “Go back to the path, and say nothing.” It pointed a bloody claw at the boy. “Understand?” it snarled.

Erts’ mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

“Go!” the teeth snapped right in Erts’ face.

Erts stumbled backwards, tripping over a root, his mouth still silently moving. Rolling over, he pushed off the ground and ran down the path as quickly as his scrawny legs could carry him.




Narsal, elf, hp4, Longsword, Leather, Shield, lawful merc
Naudeen, elf, hp4, Longsword, Leather, Shield, neutral exile
Rrac, human, hp5, Hook Hand, Club, Leather, Shield, Neutral Crofter
Gilloc, human, hp4, Light Crossbow, Neutral Serf, Common-Goblin dictionary, Never Satisfied
Erts, human, hp2, Dagger, Neutral Beggar
Goober, war dog, hp11, Leather & Shield equiv., Neutral Werewolf



A little while back, Meatshields was updated to include dogs... and apparently werewolves!

Friday, June 15, 2012

Arag’s Aggrieved

"And don't come back!" The barkeep threatened as she tossed the scrawny farmer to the ground.

The cottar dragged himself off the street, halfheartedly patting the dirt off of his soiled trousers. He started when he saw the small group of men watching him. "What are you looking at?" he sneered before turning away.

"Not much" answered a gaunt man holding a staff. His brown robes were cut in the style of a novice, but lacked the usual adornment of wooden beads and the symbol of an order. The gaunt man smiled when the cottar turned to look at him. Through his yellowed teeth  he continued "but you could be more."

"What are you going on about?"

The gaunt man stepped toward the cottar. "I'm talking about you. I'm talking about me. I'm talking about the men back there. We were all like you. No one treats you with the respect you deserve. Even the lady barkeep tossed out out like garbage. But you aren't garbage. What's your name?"

"Radoon."

The gaunt man held out his hand. "I am Arag, and I am very pleased to meet you Radoon."

The cottar looked at Arag's hand, and hesitantly reached out to take it. He was surprised by the mans grip, and looking into his eyes, even more surprised by the light that seemed to dance behind them.

"Come with us Radoon, and let me show you how you can make people like her, like the patrons that laughed at you, who treated you like a dog, how you can make them treat you like a man."

"How?" Radoon asked, confusion playing across his face.

"By demanding it, and being able to back up that demand. You'll have our help, and we'll count on yours. Will you come with us?"



Arag’s Aggrieved is a motley collection of ne'er-do-wells who feel the world owes them, and that what they’re owed hasn’t been delivered, so they're going to take it for themselves. Rejects, losers, and failures who all have chips on their shoulders, except for Burtis, the younger brother of Samgos, and caretaker of the blind wardog Wolf. Burtis has been trying to get Samgos to go home, but gets beaten for his efforts every time he brings it up. Wolf would happily protect Burtis, if only he could see.

Name Type Race Sex HP Weapon Armor Alignment Background Possessions & Knowledge Notable Features
Arag - Magic-User (Level 1), Human M, 3hp, Quarterstaff, None, Neutral, Failed Temple Acolyte, Nothing, Yellow teeth

Aramil - Man-at-Arms Elf M 4hp Spear, Leather, Chaos, Exile, Camp knife, None

Buris - Man-at-Arms Human M, 2hp, Spear, Dagger Leather, Law, Stable Boy, Nothing, None

Hilwick - Man-at-Arms Human M, 2hp, Club, Dagger Leather & Shield, Chaos, Street Thug, Nothing, Pudgy

Radoon - Man-at-Arms Human M, 2hp, Hand Axe, Dagger, Leather & Shield, Neutral, Cottar, Nothing Useless

Samgos - Man-at-Arms Human M, 3hp, Spear, Dagger, Leather & Shield, Neutral, Crofter, Sock full of sling stones Broken

Wolf - War Dog M, 6hp, Bite (2d4), Fur, Chaos, Blind

As always, Meatshields is an invaluable resource!