Filed under: Organized Event, games | Tags: 4th edition, campaign, Deadweight, Isley
Moving to the next level
Things have progressed – I’ve created a skeleton forum for us to start posting on. I’ll be filling it up as time goes by, but in the meantime it gives us a way to continue game even when you can’t make it to the seems-like-only-once-a-month-these-days sessions. Don’t worry about how great it is – there’s no charge for awesome.
Here’s a link to the game itself – http://www.myth-weavers.com/games.php?gameid=2648
You also have to register on the site and make a character sheet with at least the character name on it. I have excel sheets for pretty much all the characters, so don’t worry about all the details.
Once you’ve done that, go to the above link and choose ‘join game.’ Then you can post on the forums – HERE, which is where the actual gameplay will happen. If you have some spare time, look through the ‘help’ section – it will tell you about dice rolls, private posts and so on.
Here’s where we ended last time:
Well its a bit rough, but I thought I’d take a different tact this week…
Deadweight stared down at the dwarf. Being a Halfling, this was no easy task. Wangson. Son of Wang. It was difficult to imagine. Deadweight searched the features of the dwarf, who was chanting some prayer under his breath. A flash of light arced out from his hammer. If there was some trace of the two-hundred and twenty pound, lecherous whoreson that was his first mate in this cleric, Deadweight was yet to discover it. Perhaps it was more ‘metaphysical’. A crudely hewn arrow thumped into the door beam. Beside him, Giljew peered cautiously through the doorway.
“What’s your count?” Deadweight asked.
“I can only make about three, I think we chased off a couple.” Said Giljew.
In the little corridor between the rooms were strewn a number of hobgoblin corpses.
“Wait here lads,” said Deadweight. “They’ll chase us through.” Lessons past had taught him the hard way.
Deadweight’s ears twitched, as the words of Sam’s incantation crept into his ears like small winged insects. A throbbing purple missile hurled down the corridor. He was glad Geovanna wasn’t here now, he wasn’t sure Isley would have been impressed. On the opposite side of the door, the Eldarin growled. One of the vicious arrows protruded from his thigh.
“It will be alright,” said Wangson. “It’s not poisoned, you’re lucky it missed the bone.”
“Good,” Isley replied, snapping the shaft with a grimace. A warcry echoed from the other room. One of the hobgoblins bashed his cleaver against his shield. Before Deadweight could stop him, Isley tore into the room. Deadweight swore under his breath. “Quick, help him!”
Isley leaned away as the cleaver narrowly missed. His longsword clattered against the hobgoblin’s shield. He turned, hearing Deadweight’s warning as another attacker swept towards his exposed flank. In the return stroke the longsword slashed across the new attacker’s face. Beside him, Giljew had appeared. Isley had to admit, he was fast. The hobgoblin swatted at the Halfling with a shield, raising his murderous blade. The challenge died in his throat on the end of Giljew’s blade. The sword’s razor-edge sang as it was freed from the hobgoblin’s neck to be plunged again through ribs and the heart. Another arrow whistled narrowly past him.
“Get back!” Deadweight called.
Isley cast him a baleful glare, stooping to snatch the slain hobgoblin’s shield before falling back to the safety of the doorway with the rest of the party.
A blast of arcane energy exploded through the doorway behind them, whipping at Wangon’s cloak. Deadweight swore again as the blast of heat seared his face.
“Wait, wait! You whoresons. Wait for that bastard to follow us,” hissed Deadweight through clenched teeth.
Isley groaned.
“Are you alright?” Asked Wangson quickly.
The tall Eldarin brushed him away.
“He looks pale, even for an Eldarin. We need to treat him.”
“Quickly, here he comes!” warned Giljew.
The party’s concern returned to their foe, as the hobgoblin mage bellowed at them from the doorway. Sam unleashed another bolt of obscene energy.
“No!” yelled Wangson, though he was too late to restrain Isley as he hurled himself through the doorway.
Isley roared his challenge as his sword slashed past the mage. The hobgoblin caught the second blow with his staff as it descended towards his head. For a moment the two pushed against each other, locked in combat. The mage growled. Dust fell from the ceiling as a thunderous explosion flared from the mage’s staff. Isley dropped to the ground.
Swiftly, Giljew was above Isley, his sword raking past the hobgoblin’s waist. Before he could withdraw his blade for a second strike, a clawed hand clenched his wrist. The hobgoblin drew his face close Giljew’s, as though to inspect this curious creature that had drawn his blood. Giljew stared into the mage’s face wide-eyed. The mage raised its staff, which amassed as dark energies were drawn to it. Giljew’s eyes rolled in his head and he gasped as though his breath were drawn from his chest. Behind him, Giljew felt himself pushed aside, breaking the mage’s spell. Deadweight pushed himself between them.
The mage cried out with fury, unleashing a torrent of arcane energy. Deadweight hurriedly raised his shield, feeling the crushing anxiety of the doombolt as it blasted around him.
Overhead, arcane energy crackled, slamming into the warcaster. As the hobgoblin reeled backwards, Giljew leapt past Deadweight, the rogue’s blade slashing at the hobgoblin in a quick succession of thrusts.
The party surveyed the room intently. Sam inspected the warcaster’s bloodied staff. Deadweight kicked at a corpse.
“Well that went alr… what is it?” Asked Deadweight.
Giljew’s brow knitted in confusion.
“Mump?” He asked, pointing to Isley’s shield.
Isley, turning the shield over, ran a hand across letters carved into the hardened oak.
“Must have been the poor bastard they stole it off, ooooh look what I found.” Said Deadweight excitedly.
Wangson crossed the room to where Deadweight was standing. The Halfling held up a suit of chainmail, as bright red as an unpicked apple. The dwarf inspected the armour with a cursory finger.
“I know this armour, its such that the deep-vein delvers wear in the Ironcap Mountains.” He said.
“Really?” Said Deadweight holding it to his chest. He looked around the room, a grin from one ear to the next.
“Yoink!”
Filed under: games | Tags: 4th edition, Charater History, Deadweight, Fishguld, Giljew
A person who would think nothing about walking into your house and walking out with your most precious possesion generally wouldn’t be considered a ‘good’ person. Certainly not the type you’d invite to a BBQ party at your place at any rate. Strangely enough Giljew was always well-liked by people around him, right up until his little addiction forced him to leave his hometown of Maphelton.
He was the only son of Bolby and Hen Sturrs, a not too well off family, and had to ‘make-do’ with a lot of things in life. His toys tended to look as though they had come from a tree, and fairly recently too. His clothes were made of that special material that is made when various patches of other clothes are combined into one rather faded pair of pants. In short, he lived a frugal childhood.
Perhaps then it will come as no surprise that the first time he ‘held-on-to’ something was at a friends birthday party. His friend, one Quig Gytha, was recieving all manner of gifts – an ornately carved bokbok bird, an exquisity made magical horse that actually neighed as you pushed it around. Giljew’s eyes opened widest when he saw the third gift. It was a small but very authentic looking statuette of a badger. Quig seemed to pass by it rather quickly, thanking his Uncle Shermer before openning the next present.
Later, once all the presents had been opened, and the hot fruit pastries were being served Giljew took another look at the badger. It was just as enticing as he had remembered. He wanted it. Quig seemed happy at the time playing with the horse and some of his other friends, ‘accidentally’ driving it into one adult until they got angry before moving onto the next.
Giljew imagined playing with the badger, just holding it in his hand, or in his pocket. It’s possible that he wasn’t aware that he actually started to do those things. Certainly when he reflected on it later, it had all ’seemed’ to be in his imagination; And yet, when he got home he felt a certain weight in his pocket that turned out to be the badger.
His stumache went all funny when he realised what he had done. In his mind he thought that Quig would certainly have been treasuring the badger just as he did, and would surely miss it terribly. Images of angry parents stomping through the door came to him. The next day, after a terrible night of not being able to sleep, he secretly left it beside Quig’s front door.
Over time he ‘held-onto’ many other things, and eventually developed his own sense of morals. If he ended up with something, and nobody missed it, was there really any problem?
How Giljew joined the group
This part of Giljew’s history is a little less certain than his childhood. It seems that long after the adventurers became heroes, and had their stories written about them, there was a great interest in their lives, but not so much about how they met. Easily the most popular version of the story is accreditted to Deadweight himself, in his erobiographical ‘Wenches, Wine and Women: Three keys to success.” In this thrilling page-turner Deadweight claims that it was he who recruited Giljew after being impressed by his skills.
Deadweight does claim to have been responsible for a lot of things, including at least 30 fatherless families, but there is a shadow of doubt lying over this particular story. The timeline between Giljew’s known participation in the pirate raids on the ork settlement of Haspork, and Deadweight’s ascendency to leadership disagree by a number of years.
A more likely story, given by Freedman the Older, is that Giljew found he had to leave Fishguld rather quickly after the Governor found out Giljew had stolen something from his daughter that he would be unable to return. In a rather hasty decision he found the best way to descretely leave the port-city: Pirate Ship. Thus began his association with Hannibal Deadweight, as the only two halflings on the boat, and both from a rather challenging childhood, they naturally became friends, and over time, great companions.
Filed under: Organized Event, games | Tags: D&D, Deadweight, history, Isley, Rob is awesome, war of the dragonborn
Here’s what I’ve learnt so far about the history of Isley the Improportionate. To quote the book of Origins:
I was thinking he may see all lands that was once eldarin as being rightfully belonging to the eldarin, and the current occupiers as uspurpers, and the eldarin leaders as weak and not taking what should be theres…
This description was supplied by the local Tavern owner, Hesiod the Uncooth, talking about Isley, then known as Isley the Local. Needless to say this barely covers the strange, heroic past of Isley.
Isley himself is only 25. Although he has already reached manhood by human standards, and is physically mature, by Eladrin standards he has a lot ahead of him. As a child Isley took a great interest in the stories of the Eladrins past and origins. He would spend time pestering elders or perusing books under the disapproving eye of his Father. What fascinated him the most was the War of the Dragonborn, almost 1000 years ago. 
He developed a great pride for Eladrin kind, and was especially proud of their victory in that monumentous war. Unfortunately Isley couldn’t help but notice the disparity between the Eladrin’s status in the world now, and their previous glory. Why hadn’t they faught as valiantly against the encrouching Imperium as they had against the draconic forces? Why didn’t they even seem bothered by their place in the world now?
A fire burned deep within him and he decided that one day he would emulate those great heroes he had read about so often. When the orks took the coast of Rhudgecloth he chose to stay and fight rather than retreat with the rest of the Eladrin defenders. He has decided now to find glory for the Eladrin race, although at the same time, he’s unsure about his place in his Hometown after that battle.
One more note. He’s still rather young by Eladrin standards, and when he first met Deadweight he gave his name as Isley of the Apricots (rather than revealing his actual home), but changed that frequently afterwards. Deadweight siezed this slip and ruthlessly applies suffixes to Isley as they come to mind.
For those of you who are wondering, Touse is a long walk. Far longer than those bastards guys in Belgae had told us. Especially with a hangover. Wintermane and I had a few beverages yesterday for lunch. And for supper, and maybe for breakfast.
“Its a good racket” Wintermane told me. Wintermane was a local member of the merchant council. He owned a warehouse near the southern docks, and helped me offload particular items of my cargo I’d found in my adventures. That was back when I’d been a halfling with prospects. It was Wintermane that had found me this gig. Help the broad get to Touse, some backwater spit in Aquitane or such place. I’m can’t say I was keen, but my lines of credit in Belgae were getting thin. So get this chick to Belgae safely, get some capital from a grateful council, then I can get another vessel and start trading again. Somewhere far, far away from Belgae.
So the next day I trudged over to the hall and met this birdy. Not sure I think much of her, she’s a real ice princess. But she seems pleasant enough and she’s got a nice set-up. Ther’s something strange about her I can’t put my finger on, she doesn’t seem to like the sun that much.
The journey was long and blessedly quiet and uneventful, until we found the chair. It was just a chair on the middle of the road. In the middle of a forest. Strange, I thought to myself. Well the next thing this big hairy bugger brute of an orc runs out, nekkid as the day he was born (or however it is that orcs come about), except for big-arsed jolly large club. And of course, he comes straight for me.
He didn’t do too much harm of course, and I knew he wasn’t much of a threat (the big jobby). So I thought I’d give the wee big lass a chance to show her skills. It would do her a bit of good, a bit of physical exertion. So I cheered her on and encouraged her, and she handled herself alright, for a girl. But finally, enough was enough and I couldn’t let her break a nail or something, so I thought I’d better get serious. He knew his master, and seeing my seriousness, he quickly buggered off decided to depart.
So we made it to Touse. Its not quite the bad town I thought it would be. Not a bad local brew. There is a river through the main part of town. It’s probably not big enough to bring a Caravel up, but a couple of longboats? Not that the town offers much wealth, apart from the piss booze of course.
Seems to be a bit of a bandit problem though. They’ve got a pallisade in the middle of town (prolly to protect the tavern methinks). I took up the tavern as my ‘keep’ to protect the womenfolk and chillers there, it seemed like the most important place, strategically, to me. It seemed to scare the bandits off anyway, though next time I wouldn’t mind a bit of a scrap.
So then the Lord turned up after it was safe with some of his pony-kickers. He didn’t look like much, but he was generous enough with the slosh. After chewing fat with him and his lads, I waited for Geovanna to come out of the tavern (I thought I’d have to set the roof on fire to get her out of there) and we went and had a word with the courier.
Anyway, thats enough for today, I’m writing this from the bigjob’s place. I might get some sleep now, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a poke around the place tomorrow.
~ HD
Filed under: Organized Event, Real Life Adventures | Tags: 4th edition, Deadweight, gaming, Geovanna
It happens to all of us at some stage. We enter a story in the middle with no idea what’s going on or why this person is treating the other so badly. Perhaps your friends have all been watching a new show, and you catch an episode with them. It doesn’t take long to realise how much you’ve missed, so you ask somebody beside you what’s going on.
Due to timing restrictions we didn’t have as many players today as I had hoped, but we still played. This is a summary or what’s happened.
The Boetian Empire has been slowly oppressing its soveriegn states whilst exhaulting the status of its own citizens. The people of Belgae have managed to send a representative, Geovanna, to Baron Garfield Spiggot, an influential man who may be able to help them confront the Empire about its latest edicts.
The two were attacked by an ork on the way to Trouse, the hometown of Spiggot. The ork proved to be much mightier than they had anticipated.
They arrived in town shortly before it was attacked by a group of bandits. The townsfolk grouped together in the center of town, in a pallisaded area apparently made for just such an occasion. As the bandits looted the town Deadweight the warlord, in an impressive display of leadership qualities, survayed the local brew, Spiggot Ale, and tried to stay unnoticed. Geovanna went to find out more.
A guard told her that these attacks are not an uncommon thing, but that Baron Spiggot always protects them. While Geovanna watched, and Deadweight vigorously engaged in innaction, the Baron himself rode into town, blowing a trumpet at the edge of town, visiting the pallisade, then chasing the bandits out of town. What a hero!
He joined the townsfolk for a round of Spiggots Ale and spoke with the two newcommers. They were invited to spend the night in his mansion, but to wait a couple of hours before coming to allow time to ‘prepare.’
Geovanna and Deadweight visited the local courrier, which has been hit several times by the bandits – even to the point of losing several imperial messages…
Spug, the Chief Courrier, gave them a little information and hinted that there could be great rewards if they could find the bandits base, and return what was taken. Deadweight mistreated a young boy. The two went to the Baron’s mansion to spend the night.
other things you missed:
- Deadweight abusing an orphan
- Geovanna’s jugs
- Deadweight leaving Geovanna with the bill for his ale
- Some amazingly low rolls against a super-resourceful ork (able to jump small chairs…)
With a little luck the 1st edition campaign will start soon aswell. The story has been re-written and is entirely compatible with the present campaign.
