Peren and Pirate Sammy Join forces #dnd

So last night was my children’s first game of D&D together. We got set up and I finally found my Midnight Syndicate CD (yes!) so we had some fantasy jams pumping as we got into the actual game.  My son was already in a single-shot campaign and my daughter was playing free-form, so I melded them together in a way so they both could work towards the same goal.

My son’s elven wizard, Peren awoke after having been badly wounded last game to find that the NPC crew of companions I had lent him had gone ahead without him.  They left him some supplies and a map leading him to the city of Althera, the port town that Pirate Sam had visited.  He set out and found that he was but a few hours travel from the town by way of a well-traveled merchant road.  While traveling, he saw an old man stumble and fall, and as he helped him up, the man pressed a heavy card into his hand that showed a picture of a red and green splotched leaf.  He thought nothing of it, but when he looked again the old man was gone.

Pirate Sam however, was rowing her longboat through the mists and saw the port looming ahead, and after docking, realized that the mushrooms that had been overwhelmingly prevalent the night before were completely gone, as if they had been a dream.  The marketplace was alive and bustling once again, and there was no sign that any of the townsfolk had been infested by the mushrooms.  Sadly, however, Sam had neglected to bring along her pack when she sank the ship and had to buy more supplies.

Peren’s companions were set for the Isla Fuerea in search of a scroll of sealing that would close a gate of darkness in this land and had chartered a ship to take them there.  However they had chartered this ship through an intermediary and didn’t have anything but the captain’s name and the name of his boat,  Saint “Salty” James and the Greldhorn.  His first stop is the ‘Swooping Swallow’ inn, a moderately furnished tavern near the waterfront.  He barely had a chance to sit down before Sam and her captain, John, entered.  Introductions were made and Peren made mention of the card he was given which bore an incredible resemblance to the one Sam carried.

After a brief explanation of their past adventures, John made mention that he was familiar with Saint James, and his old haunt, “The Bawdy Wench”.  He led our players down a seedy back alleyway through the slums of the harbor to a bedraggled tavern with a filthy, half broken sign depicting a barmaid lifting her skirt to her knees.  Once inside, the scene was bedlam, raucous fighting, laughing, yelling, and general carousing of unsavory characters filled the pub from wall to wall.  Forcing their way through the crowd, John found himself at a table with a lone, slender figure nursing a pint.  A good three feet around the table was unoccupied and the man sitting there seemed as dry and tough as thick jerky.  His knotted beard was white and tangled and his right eye was covered with a patch.

Through the noise, Sam and Peren couldn’t make out what John was saying to the grizzled old man, but in a blur of movement he stood and cracked the captain a solid blow across the jaw.  Peren rushed forward and asked the man what his problem was while Sam lingered back, commenting that she knew him from her youth and didn’t want to be recognized.  After a brief exchange they came to the agreement that while Peren’s companions did not show up Saint James would take them to the island.

As they were leaving the bar, my daughter’s active storytelling got them into trouble.  “One of the drunk guys grabs me and makes a mean sort of face at me.”  She says.

“Okay.”  I respond.  “What do you do?”

“I pull my pistol on him.”

“I hit him with my staff.” My son chimes in.

“Okay, roll to hit.”

“…I got a 2.”

“You hit the guy behind him, roll for initiative.”

So they started a small brawl, with three of the patrons joining in and my daughter intimidating the guy to let her go by offering to shoot him in the head if he wanted.  Being generous, I offered to let them deal subdual damage to these guys and just rough them up some.  “Do you want to kill these guys?”

“Yes…wait, will that make more people try to fight us?”  My daughter asks.

“It’s a yes or no question.  Are you trying to kill them?”


So her first longsword hit knocks one of the brawlers down to less than half HP, making his ale-addled mind react and he loses his morale save, trying to book it out of the place.  “Now since he’s trying to push past you, you can make an AOO, kiddo.  You want to do it?”

“Oh yeah, I’m taking that.” She says.

Her AOO hits and she scores another 12 points of damage to him, all but gutting the poor fool in the doorway.  To this she yells “I LOVE this game!”

Not to be out-done, my son lays down a Shocking Sphere on the other two, scorching the hell out of them and leaving them with not much HP to spare.  They both score terribly on their morale and surrender immediately, scooping up their dying friend and hot-footing it out of the place.

Once the blood splatter was cleaned up and the patrons stopped being so interested in their drinks, our adventurers made their way to the docks and onto the Greldhorn where they set off for Isla Fuerea.  On the journey they learned of Saint James’s dark past with the island and how he lost fifteen men on an expedition to the accursed place.

He explained how a dark man had hired them as valets and guards for the trip and how his men began to disappear one by one from their campsite in the old ruins where they had been led.  Saint James got no straight answers from the dark man about the disappearances, but remained with dwindling patience until one night a terrible light and horrifying keening arose from the lower levels of the ruins where the dark man had set up his research, and he and the nine remaining members of their twenty man troupe ran through the woods, trying to escape whatever was coming up from that hellish place.

He saw two of their number fall to the jungles around them, and heard two more attacked by whatever horrible clicking monster it was that was bearing down on them.  He didn’t see it directly, only flashes of limbs and white through the leaves and shadows of the jungle.

As the hour began to grow late, he retired to his cabin and bid the others do the same, for they would need their strength to face the island.

We called the game there, since it was closing in on 10:30pm and way past my youngest bed time.  We face the island tonight and shall see how our adventurers fare against the terrors ahead!

~ by darkpatu on November 23, 2011.

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