Stealing from the Gamebooks, #3

So it's apparently NZ's hottest summer in 60 years or so, and the water restrictions and fire bans are popping up all over the place. Personally, I don't care if my lawn dies (less mowing) and my tomatoes are quite good this year. I'll work on the Eternal Summer setting later on, as it would make a change from all these Eternal Winter novels out there. Keeping as far away from Dark Sun as possible...

Also, not a good season for being hunched over a computer screen, hence the lack of posts, and thinking about RPGs.

However, sorting out the moving boxes has gone well, as has my pillaging of the books that started my interest in this, some 30 years ago... The Fighting Fantasy series. Although aimed at young children, at least at first, and having a rather goofy, somewhat simplistic world that does not agree with me, there are some hidden gems in their descriptions, characters and 400-odd paragraphs that I can pilfer for my own use.

Today, #3, The Forest of Doom...

Handsome guy on the left, right?

Shapechangers, strange leftovers from the Age of the Lizards, that hold a fearsome reptilian appearance in their natural form, but that can mimic any living form temporarily (of roughly the same size - mass is shifted, not created or removed) that it has viewed, or, as some suggest, slain and eaten. No signs of greater than goblin level intelligence and no attempts to communicate with anyone, at least attempts that didn't end with one of the parties dead.

Absolutely no relation to the Doppleganger, at least, hopefully not. These guys (girls? who knows?) lurk in places named "Doom" while Dopplegangers infest civilised places. That's the theory...

Meanwhile, the plot of the book is simple; a dying dwarf tasks you with recovering the Hammer of the Dwarves. It's a little more complicated in execution, though.

Anyway, the ideas;

• The Northern (or Eastern, or Western, or Southern) borderlands, where few people venture and a traveller can go weeks without meeting another. Wolves and Trolls, though, seem rather common.

•  A learned old witch, dwelling in an isolated cabin in these wilds, with only a hunchbacked servant for company. She knows many arcane or historical secrets, and those needing this knowledge may seek her out, but she is crafty and dangerous, and may trap unwary seekers with her schemes and dark bargains... She is also skilled in herbalism, and can escape violence by transforming into a bat. The servant is a drooling idiot, but she may require groups to take him somewhere dangerous as a condition of her help. Think of assistance from her being a form of Faustian bargain...

•  A secret underground mushroom farm where small humanoid clones tend the giant fungi for a Fire Demon. Actually, the Demon is victim of a curse, and any who slay it, and don the golden crown that it wears, finds themselves transforming into a similar Fiery figure, but are distracted by the quiblings and telepathic reports of the clones, and are trapped overseeing the operation. The end destination of the fungi, and who is responsible for the whole set-up, remains unknown to this day, but certain types of dried fungus are becoming a problem in the Coastal Cities these days... 

•  Wild hillmen do range in these parts, so be careful when entering land that might be occupied. Read up on the Welsh or Pictish 'barbarians' (well, at least to the Romans and various types of English throughout the centuries) to get an idea of how these peoples live, and hunt, and why they want to kill you. They aren't mad, and only want to kill you because you've offended one of their strange and bizarre taboos. Like pissing in their sacred river, for example, or killing a sacred deer out of season, or perhaps they don't like people wearing shoes...

•  The Eye of Amber. A simple palm sized circle of amber on a silver chain, it appears unimpressive, but when worn, in plain view, it allows the wearer to discern when someone is lying to their face, in a one-to-one situation. Useful, but not admissible in most courts..

•  The Brass Flute of Wyvern Calming. A legendary artifact, that features in many of the bards stories, where the exiled Prince must find a number of special items or blessings to defeat the guardians and claim the kingdom/princess/pot of gold. This flute, however, is actually real, and, given the frequency of wyvern flights in the mountainous areas in my worlds, of practical use. If played properly (which means some experience in flute playing, mostly) it can send a Wyvern to sleep. Any wyvern affected by this wakes if something dangerous approaches, but otherwise sleeps normally until dawn or sunset, whichever is soonest. Last known holder was Barrot the Wanderer, who financed his wastrel lifestyle by looting Wyvern nests, and the remains of past victims. Rumour is he got careless and one woke on him. All that is known for certain is that he hasn't been seen since last Winter...

•  And finally, a lesser class of bandits. Men and women of peasant stock, driven to theft and murder due to a lord's displeasure, crippling tax rates (110% bites), other bandits stealing your stuff...

Look at them - rags for clothes, chipped and rusty weapons, no armour, no safe way of shaving. Give the players a sob story about hard times and eating your dog, rather than having well armed and armoured lootable bandits.

That's all I could hoist from this book - most of the traps, tricks or even dungeons were set pieces for the use of one-shot magic items you buy at the start, and that tends to be very situation dependent...

Second post from Moonstone...

Although safely back from the trials of Ghar's Farrow, the boys have still not found Sreth. That night they recounted their adventure as the main attraction at The Copper Branch, the only inn in Dhath, and even then only drinking one mug of ale each before off to their sleep in the shed at the General Store.

Early the next morning, breakfasted and wounds bound, bruises salved, they headed off to the second of the halfwit's hiding spots - a ruined keep a good four hours south by south-west, into some low hills covered in dry yellow grasses. Home to a noble family that died out three generations ago, they had been told by Kereth, nothing remained except some tumbled towers, although Sreth had muttered about underground chambers.

Turning off the main road as it turned westwards to the Moonstone River, they made good time, and encountered nothing of note, except for a small grove of trees that stood alone in the grassland, perfectly still despite the freshening breeze. As a prime example of Fey Witchery, they gave it a wide berth, and when they looked back from a safe distance, it was gone.

The grasses, and low thorny shrubs had reclaimed the ruins, but after a few minutes of searching the tumbled blocks, they found an earthen tunnel, big enough for a man to walk upright.

Although trying to be quiet, a human voice called out from further along, asking them to identify themselves. As most monsters in this setting can't (or don't) speak, and attacking other people is frowned upon, even in the wilds, they replied, although on their guard.

A man, although tall, thin and slightly rat-like, waited for them, and led them, with a lantern, a few tens of metres into a chamber at the end of the tunnel, with passages on either side leading into the darkness. He claimed he and his group were herbalists, seeking uncommon herbs and berries from these lands, and a series of glass retorts and brass chambers set on the packed earth bench supported his claim.  He spoke of the surroundings and his luck in finding certain herbs in a continuous monologue, setting the boys at ease. He made them a drink of chat, the common tea-like herbal drink of the lands, as he talked, and passed each of them a clay cup containing the fragrant brew.

It was Sarialin, the apprentice mage, who, passing a herbalism skill check, detected in his mug the distinctive smell of Graveweed, a noxious herb that induces sleep with a light dose and certain death in more concentrated forms. Shouting to the others, he flung the mug at the Stranger, jumping up from his seat...

The others hadn't drunk their brews yet, and they rapidly formed an armed huddle. The Stranger seemed apprehensive too, holding a twisted staff that glowed with a pale green light. He shouted at them to "Leave now, before the others return, and they will not be as merciful as I"...

The boys remained standing with their weapons drawn, but Imaghan shouted a question about the boy they were seeking.

The Stranger, appearing even more nervous, shouted back that they had seen no others in their time here, and that they had better flee for their lives. Now they could hear noises of advancing feet from each of the tunnels, so they staged a dignified but fast retreat until out of the tunnel, then a panicked run until beyond the ruins.

A quick assessment - a mysterious tunnel, the Stranger, obviously a herbalist and mage, and a potential poisoner, but then again, why urge them to escape, and who are the others? Still, trusting that he had no reason to lie about a single boy, and unsure of who these people are, and how powerful, they vowed not to speak of this to anyone else, and returned to Dhath, each pondering the events of the day. Two days wasted, and still the boy not found, as well!

[GMs appraisal - great! No combat, a tense stand-off resolved, a mystery found but not solved, and some quick thinking getting them the news about the boy they sought. The players have the idea that drawing weapons and attacking unknown forces is not the recipe for a long life, and at 1st level, they are still small and squishy.

The Keep inhabitants are a power group, operating secretly, and may relocate, or may not, given this intrusion. The party is lucky, however, that I rolled most of the group away from the lair when they arrived]