Greetings. My name is Hillebrand. I am recruiting players for a Dungeon World campaign I hope to begin soon. My player limit is 4 and players will start at level 1. The only starting gear you will have when the game begins is your armor and weapons, including spellbooks, depending on your class - things that would have been buried with you when you were put in the ground. No potions, equipment, food etc.
The rules for Dungeon World are very simple. All dice checks are decided by rolling 2d6 and adding the stat modifier for the stat most relevant to the check. Strength for attacking with your fists, Int for knowledge checks, and so on. A result of 6 or less is a failed roll; mark 1 XP on your character sheet and I, the DM, will tell you what went wrong with what you were trying to do. A result of 7-9 is a partial success; you accomplish what your roll was trying to do, but something bad also happens. A 10+ is a full success.
More details, including character classes, can be found at www.dungeonworldsrd.com. It's a free online wiki-resource. Very helpful. There are also other character classes for Dungeon World that have been made up by players that I will allow, if you can provide me with the online character sheet. Most of them can be found with a simple Google search if you want to play a class that isn't listed on the base wiki.
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THE STORY:
The last thing your characters will be able to remember is the fading memory of your death - all players will describe their final moments to the group as part of their character introductions. No matter when, where, or how you died, however, you were buried in Oronod Cemetery, a gray and quiet hilltop overlooking the coastal town of Oronod. Oronod is a "crossroads town" and a minor city-state in its own right - it has a large and active sea-port due to a natural bay on its east side, and well-maintained roads leading north, east and south can be found in that town. It attracts traders and adventurers from all over, even if many of them are just passing through. Maybe Oronod was your home town and your body was returned there to be buried after your death, or perhaps you were simply passing through and met your end in one of the crypts, towers, or dungeons that dot the landscape nearby. Regardless, your "eternal sleep" did not last long uninterrupted.
A young necromancer - an adventurer, like you, whose ambition outstripped his mastery - violated your graves, dug you up, and attempted to revive you all to serve as the first soldiers of a budding zombie army. However, the art of necromancy requires immense force of will to maintain the necessary concentration. The young necromancer lacked the will to keep his focus sharp enough to finish the spell that locked your unliving essence to his command.
At the start of the campaign, you have almost no memories except of your last moments, and of what just happened. What just happened was that you and the other players broke free of the young necromancer's control and overran his spell defenses, and you just finished eating him, as a group. In the middle of devouring him, your mind clears and you realize what is happening as the hunger frenzy fades, and your free will reasserts itself.
What happens next is up to you...
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This campaign will be a little different than other campaigns in that every player begins the campaign dead. Specifically, you are a recently revived Revenant, or animated corpse. To reflect this, there are a few changes that will be made to your characters during character creation.
Replace the racial move on your character sheet with the following:
Revenant: You do not feel discomfort or fatigue - you do not need food or sleep and you have low-light vision, which manifests as a faint ruddy glow about the eyes. However, you are weakened (-1 STR), confused (-1 INT) and nauseated (-1 CON) by direct sunlight. Also, you feel a constant, nagging hunger for the brains of the living. Sometimes, the hunger can be almost overpowering. Once per session, if you have consumed all or part of a living creature's brain, mark an XP.
You also won't be able to heal using the same methods that living adventurers do. Bandages, healing potions and divine spells don't work great on Revenants. Instead, the dark necromancy that sustains your cursed existence causes you to recover half of your current XP automatically every hour, up to your maximum. If you are reduced to 0 HP, you cannot take any actions, but you remain aware of what is going on around you forever.
I'd like to toss my hat in for a Ranger if that's okay.
I would like to show interest in holy dude, either Cleric or Paladin.
I just recently picked up the dungeon world rules, I'd be very interested in being part of this. Let me have a scrawl through the classes and I'll decide, but count me in.
Ganzorig was a peddler. A merchant of the long road. Oronod was the last stop for him and his burly yak Hep. On their way into town, Ganzorig was beset by what he thought were bandits. He was shot in the back, and scarcely had the wits to cut Hep loose and abandon his cart full of wares. He bled his life out on the road. The undertaker took his yak as payment for the burial.
Ganzorig has ruddy glowing eyes, a tattered hat, travelers' clothes, and an angular frame.
Well, excellent. I'm glad to see that people are interested, it felt like my only audience was crickets at first. You may also note that I've changed my name to Donovan Twist. You may call me Donovan.
I like what I'm seeing so far. Whet, how old are you? Death by sudden onset heart disease seems almost like God had it out for you. I assume your job in life was closest classified as Thief? Or were you a bard with those legendary poetry skills?
Ganzorig, I like that you already have an alias, complete with avatar, picked out. Your wares were pretty average for the most part, but there was something special and rare - possibly even unique - that you had hidden away in the bottom of the cart. At your time of death, you hadn't decided whether to try and sell it or keep it for yourself. What was it?
Elsine, Louxman, I will have questions for you when your character is written up. Then, when everyone's character is ready, 4 people is the party size I was hoping for. Recruitment's not tightly closed per se, but we have enough to get started.
Well, this seems interesting. Would have been here faster, but I had grave dirt to clean off.
Rather than meet his end on the road, fate had something different in mind. They'd stopped off in Oronod briefly - supplies, drinking, the like. He'd left the weapon that everyone knew well back with the rest too recognisable to come into town, taken off his mask, and was currently drinking everyone else under the table.
A bounty hunter came in, and as misfortune would have it, he recognised Amarant. Not from his features, not from his belongings, but from a wound he'd received from the armed escort of a noble the day before. It seemed this bounty hunter was well informed.
The bounty hunter went past Amarant's table, and ran him through right there and then, in that tavern.
In the ensuing chaos as people tried to figure out what happened and folks hurried to call the guard's attention, Amarant's companions proceeded to attack the bounty hunter at once, and bail out with Amarant's body. His corpse was brought back to the rest of his crew. They knew they burned the bodies of criminals here. They didn't want that for Amarant.
They fitted Amarant with his armour and his old weapon, bribed the undertaker, and laid Amarant to rest in Oronod Cemetery. If anyone looked, the bandit known as Breaker Amarant would be nowhere to be found...unless they were digging up graves, of course. But no civilised person would do that.
All they would find was the grave of a man named Venin Halkett, murdered in his home by a common criminal. Nothing special. The rest of the world would find that Amarant had simply vanished one day, and the original bounty hunter that killed him became one of many voices trying to take credit for it.
That bounty hunter was the only one who knew for sure that they were dead. The rest...well, they just hoped that they wouldn't be the one to find the Breaker on the roads once more.
The man who would later call himself Leonore died in a ditch, robbed by bandits, and left with nothing but his clothes. His body was discovered by a travelling merchant, and dropped at the first temple they passed, to be interred. with ceremonial weapons, wearing a locket the bandits missed. for most, this would have been the end, his spirit would have passed through the black gates, and gone on to what awaited next. but alas, for him, it was not to be so.
The necromancer tore his mind from beyond the black gates, and placed it into this world. He does not fully remember what lay beyond it, but he knew his spirit had found the peace it so craves now.
In his first moments of freewill, he did 3 things. firstly, he deduced his name, from the locket around his neck (Originally meant for his lover, 3 towns over). Secondly, he resolved to slay himself,a nd return to his peace, and thirdly, someone stopped him, and told him what would happen if he did.
he turned back to the graves, and stared at the temple beyond. one of the gods of light and justice, heroic an kind and healing. a church for the living, that god would not help him now. He decided, there was only one god who could help him now.
And perhaps, if he served them well enough, they would bestow their mercy upon him.
Bandits, bandits, bandits. Don't think we'll have too much trouble figuring out an initial group objective.
A set of cartographer's leathers was the first genuine magical item Ganzorig had gotten his hands on. It would boost his sales for the next few moths, just being known as a peddler of magic wares; however, any traveling salesperson would understand the value of an accurate map. This set of leather armor sheds rapidly decaying sheefs of velum from its surface. Each sheet depicts the latest edition of the armor's magically recorded map.
funny thing, I hadn't actually read Amaranth's background when I decided on knifed by bandits.
I can change that to death by wandering monster... or maybe shivved in a tavern, drank poison put in the wrong glass (Or poison put in the right glass). Basically, I'm not married to the bandit thing.
I have no problem with establishing that Oronod is in the middle of Bandit Country USA. Any PCs want to chime in with a reason that bandit activity is so thick in this part of the world? Especially given Breaker's backstory (you're fine to join, by the way, Breaker) - hell, he may have been the bandit involved in or related to your killings. That would be an interesting twist.
Leonore, unless a PC jumps in, I'll allow you to try and off yourself. How do you try to seppuku? Your heart is no longer a vital organ when you're a Revenant.
Gameplay thread is here, for dotting purposes.
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Maude had wanted to be a wizard for as long as she could remember, unfortunately Maude was a girl.
Every year on the day after her birthday she would hitch up her skirts and march the three miles to the wizard Beb’k’nothak the Obsequious’ Rickety Tower, demanding to be trained. Every year she was turned away with the same words:
“Om Nom Obtiu! Secrets most arcane are not simply for sharing with all. HekekekI! To hear the call is one thing, but it’s just not for you young lady… Glubtivium Mebeb! Tell your father I’ll pay for the fish when I get fresh!… Glifok tu’fg! Be gone from this most occultest of locations lest you anger the spirits of awesome power! Beleb’nia Poshoku!”
Every year Maude would stomp back, furious beyond words.
At the age of fourteen Maude, never one to be put off anything, took matters into her own hands. She began accruing “Magic scrolls” from any and every passing trader. Amassing such a quantity of mundane and useless paper in her room was ultimately her downfall. A quirk of fate, a joke of the gods, Maude dropped a candle.
When the fire had burnt out and the ruins were cleared Maude and her father, the local fishmonger, were buried quietly in the local cemetery.
The revenant, Maude the Everburning, constantly smolders, igniting anything carelessly left in her possession. Her “Wizard’s Robe” which is rudely fashioned from an old Sunday best dress, is constantly burning at the edges but never burnt. She wears her hair in a tall bouffant, she thinks it makes her look more imposing.
I am reminded of Equal Rites.
I've never seen the Immolater played. I hear it can be fun
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Umm... I've just thought of something. You said that Regular healing oesn't work on revenants... does that include the cure spell?
and if so, IS there still time to consider a different class?
He did say divine spells didn't work well...pretty sure cure counts.
I'll submit a character who isn't useless in about an hour or two.
Astre was a young elf when they left the forest, a mere 170 years old. Once a sorcerer's apprentice, they fled their study chasing after an alluring face. This is not at all uncommon (there is a reason there are few elven journeymen below 200, and it is not that elves learn slower), however, the fancy they chased was human. a young man by the name of Barnabe. This sort of relationship is often discouraged, firstly because elves are somewhat prejudiced against the shorter-lived races, The second reason was a practical one of emotion… elves tend to feel more intensely than humans, and grow attached.
In the the forest, surrounded by other immortals, this is not a problem, as eventually, after a century or two, the fever fades, and the lovers grow apart, often still good friends. But with humans, they will often die, while the attraction is still there.
So it was with Astre and Barnabe, he fell ill, and died 5 decades after they met. It was considered a natural thing by the others, something that happened to 76 year olds… but it was devastating for Astre. They took their own life, in the grips of sorrow, and were buried in cemetery.
Death was, in a way, beneficial to Astre. It allowed him to calm from his loss, to come to terms with it somewhat… just in time for him to be dragged from beyond the black gates, and awaken with gore dripping from his lips.
Now they wear the leaf green leather armour and deep violet robes they were buried in. The blessings of eternal youth do not disperse at death, so their body is rather intact… but they are still identifiable as undead by their onyx black eyes, and the chill that follows them always.
Sorry Elsine, yes, I forgot to clarify after you expressed interest in being a holy person. Due to the special "racial" constraints of character creation for this campaign, holy classes are not currently allowed. There is nothing stopping you from having been one of them in life, but your connection to Heaven has been blocked by the same necromantic spells that bind your body to the living world.
We'll continue this in the gameplay thread! On!
We currently have:
Astre : Revenant Wizard
Breaker : Revenant Fighter
Maude : Revenant Immolator
Ganzorig : Revenant Ranger
Whet : Revenant Bard (?)
You'd bring us to 6. That's my absolute limit, but if I like your character concept I'll bring you in as 6th zombie-monster. What were you thinking?
A human towering over six and a half feet tall moves through a thick wood followed by a group of four more humans, though the group is not as physically massive. One of the thinner of the group speaks up as they move, ”The scouts said that they set up camp about one hundred feet from the tree line in this direction.”
As the team moves forward they begin to slow their pace and seem to focus more on sneaking. Soon the trees just stop and before them is a plains. The group stops and each takes a place behind different trees and look out onto the plain. The rolling plain spans the view like an ocean on the horizon broken only by a camp about one hundred feet from where the woods stops.
The large human breaks the silence and whispers deeply, ”Same thing as before. Klethinal lives!”
”Klethenal lives!" the group repeats, each drawing their bows.
”Be careful Thra,” the thinner man says, his voice slightly uneasy.
Thra looks confidently a the group and smiles, ”They don’t call me ‘undefeated’ for nothing.” With that Thra turns, straightens himself, and begins walking confidently towards the camp. As he crosses the tree line some yells can be heard in the camp and movement quickly ensues. Seemingly to aid the warning Thra gives a loud deep bellow and stops his advance.
Fifteen men emerge out of the camp garbed in matching light armor and surcoats. The insignia on their surcoats identify them as guard of the nearby city. They organize and advance toward Thra. As they march they draw their swords and ready their shields. The guards men halt sixty feet from Thra and a guard from the center of the block steps forward, ”On behalf of Lord Grenis Hallen you savages are charged with banditry and occupying the Lord’s land! Surrender yourselves and beg forgiveness to the Lord and your lives may be spared!”
Thra yells back trying to surpass the guard’s volume, ”I am Thra’raxes! At this some of the guards shift nervously. ” They call me the ‘Undefeated’! On behalf of Klethinal and her people I will end your Lord’s claim!” Thra who, by the way, is wearing naught but a loincloth, stretch flexes his muscles warming his body for what is coming.
The guard spokesman chuckles at this and advances toward Thra’raxes flanked by two guards on either side. ” Stop this foolishness. The so-called Thra’raxes the Undefeated is just a ruse to scare us. You are nothing but a savage and you don’t have any weapon.”
Thra smiles widely at the guards words and quips, ”I don’t need a weapon when I can use yours.”
Now twenty feet from Thra, the small contingent of guardsmen stops as their leader continues his advance until he is just out of reach of Thra. ”Alright sav-“
His words are cut short as an arrow flies just next to Thra and lodges itself in the leader’s eye socket. Not wasting any time Thra charges forward, grabs the sword from the guard’s limping hand and continues the charge toward the small contingent of which four remain. Thra uses the sword in a broad sweep to spill the innards of the two guards to his left.
The rest of the guardsmen shout in alarm (“ambush!” and whatnot), they rush forward to aid their fellows and to organize as they had trained. As they rush forward some sprout arrows from helmets and chests and lose the ability to live.
Coming to their senses, the two guards still alive next to Thra have just enough time to raise their shields in defense of a similar blow. Thra grabs one of the raised shields with his off hand and moves it away as he thrusts his new sword through the guard’s abdomen, shish-ka-bobing the poor man. With the man going limp, Thra begins swinging the body toward his guard compatriot in time to use the body to block the sword slash. Thra then uses the same tactic to run the other guard through on the same sword while taking his sword in return.
The rain of arrows from the men in the woods have killed all but one of the other guards who were charging in toward Thra and the archers. As the last man looks round at his loneliness his morale breaks and he begins to run, his hand grasping at his side where a horn lies. The arrows cease and Thra, giving a quick sign of thanks, bloodthirstily sprints toward the remaining man sword in hand and beaming smile on his face.
What happens next i the most unfortunate series of slow motion events. The remaining guard grabs the horn from his waist strap and brings it to his mouth and blows. The horn sounds. However, as this happens, the man loses focus on his footing and trips. By the time that the guard had gotten his horn form his waist and blew Thra had caught up to him. Thra saw a glorious jump attack and he took it, his sword raised above his head with both hands, sword tip ready to plant itself into the base of the spine. But the guard tripped, the sword found the spine of the guard albeit a little lower. The end goal of Thra was not compromised. However, the tripping of the guard caused the hilt of guard’s sword to catch ground. As such the point of the sword, though in sheathe, was squarely at Thra’s abdomen. Now if anything is true about the world it is that most guardsmen have decent at best equipment. So, when everything that Thra is, which is a lot, falls on a decent at best sword in it’s sheathe, you can bet that the sheathe will not hold up and the sword will cut through. And it did. There Thra lay, on top of the guard he just killed, quite nicely I might add, with a sword sticking through him.
As the life escaped him Thra’raxes’ last thoughts were, Does this mean I have been defeated? I did kill him first…
Look: Haunted Eyes, Mighty Thews, Unmarred by decoration, Weather inappropriate clothes
HP: 10
Str 15
Dex 13
Con 16
Int 9
Wis 8
Cha 12
Alignment: Chaotic
Revenant: You do not feel discomfort or fatigue - you do not need food or sleep and you have low-light vision, which manifests as a faint ruddy glow about the eyes. However, you are weakened (-1 STR), confused (-1 INT) and nauseated (-1 CON) by direct sunlight. Also, you feel a constant, nagging hunger for the brains of the living. Sometimes, the hunger can be almost overpowering. Once per session, if you have consumed all or part of a living creature's brain, mark an XP.
BOND
Astre's ways are strange and confusing.
MOVES
*Herculean Appetites
While pursuing "Power over others" or "Conquest" if you would roll for a move, instead of rolling 2d6 you roll 1d6+1d8. If the d6 is the higher die of the pair, the GM will also introduce a complication or danger that comes about due to your heedless pursuits.
*The Upper Hand
You take +1 ongoing to last breath rolls. When you take your last breath, on a 7–9 you make an offer to Death in return for your life. If Death accepts he will return you to life. If not, you die.
*Musclebound
While you wield a weapon it gains the forceful and messy tags.
*What Are You Waiting For?
When you cry out a challenge to your enemies, roll+Con.
On a 10+ they treat you as the most obvious threat to be dealt with and ignore your companions, take +2 damage ongoing against them.
On a 7–9 only a few (the weakest or most foolhardy among them) fall prey to your taunting.
*Unencumbered, Unharmed
So long as you are below your Load and neither wear armor nor carry a shield, take +1 armor.
Interesting stuff! Go ahead and jump in to the campaign, and tell me something about your distant homeland in the gameplay thread for your Barbarian class move. Specifically, something about why you're dressed so weirdly.
Stats done, i'll jump in.
This is my first foray into DW so be nice!
On that note, how is everyone doing Bonds? The ones given for the Immolator seem a bit rubbish for Maude, can I just write my own? do I need to keep the number the same?
See you on the other side...
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We're meeting for the first time, so I was just going to make bonds as we go.
So far I'm liking "Astre can't see the forest through the trees."
Can we open the Discussion board please?
Discussion's up.