You're very welcome to join! I'm glad it was comprehensible; I had a slight fear that I was subjecting everyone reading it to sanity damage...
@Sarah, you're welcome too.
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I agree, the computer games are really very good.
OK, Atlas has also replied to say tentative yes so I'm going to give it a go. I'll put up a quick write-up of the rules and chargen stuff and post the link here. It will probably be tomorrow.
@Sarah, I'm sorry to hear that but not surprised given what you've told me :( @Everyone: the talk earlier about other gaming systems has prompted me to want to give the Fate system a try out. Would anyone else be interested in giving it a go with me if I offered to run a one-off game? I'd probably set it in the 40K universe: it's been a while since I gamed there and I'm familiar enough with its tropes that I'm reasonably confident I can adapt it to the Fate system. Let me know.
Hi all, just to let you know that Sarah's been in hospital: it's not Covid, she had an accident. The good news is she's OK; she's keen to get back to posting (genuine quote: "I'm bored out my f***ing skull here, tell me a story!") but struggling with pain management and other dull RL things. So, if you're open to hanging around then this game will probably carry on after a slight delay.
I had a look at the FATE system a while back, and would definitely be interested in giving it a go at some stage. Lorgan would definitely be up for helping Guthrim reclaim the ancestral lands of the Woodmen. If he can find the village where his mother grew up in the process, that's an added bonus.
*The GM actually didn't wanna let me play a Vampire because one time this one guy he knew did it but was a total munchkin jerk about it. But everyone else in the game was shooting plasma guns or was a battle robot or things, so it seemed like since everyone else was going all RIFTS about things, then it would be more okay. It turns out the class wasn't munchkin-y, and was a LOT of fun to play. Indeed, I dare say that I've always wanted to play a vampire, but no other system does it right -except- for DW. I was completely unaware of this add-on for DW with the Vampire class, and can only say that my life has been incomplete until this moment. D&D is combat simulater with story and RP nailed on afterwards. This comment reminds me of the bit in Big Bang Theory when Amy pointed out how irrelevant Indy is to the plot of Raiders of the Lost Ark... Sorry to all for my intermittent radio silence. I'm still here and still interested in pursuing this game, but I understand the difficulties. My attempt at running this (before I lost 2 of the players) worked because I ignored most of the suggested adventure as-written and ran my own thing. I have an especial hatred of deus ex machina -just because Tolkien did it, doesn't make it right. I have to say that your world-building (particularly your interpretation of Radagast) has been first class and I'd love to see more of it.
Lorgan doesn't feel worthy of the thanks he receives from Amaleoda, but he accepts it with a nod. "You fought on even while wounded, and kept your warriors in the fight. That is bravest of all." He looks on guiltily while Guthrim and Agnar tend to the Forester's faithful companion. It should have been him who was in the fight, not shooting in fear from a safe distance.
Lorgan shakes his head, trying to clear the after-effects of the club's blow to his ribs. He moves to attack again, but is still off-balance and he misses.
Now thoroughly shaken out of his earlier cowardice, Lorgan throws himself at the foe, his dwarf-forged sword cutting into the troll, as he shouts his defiance. "Not this day! We will not fall this day!"
Lorgan presses the attack with renewed vigour now that the leader is dead, keen to make up for his earlier cowardice.
The sight of Grimm, the faithful hound of Mirkwood, being struck by the troll is enough to spur Lorgan back into action. He charges at the troll-chief, his dwarf-forged blade singing in the wind as it cuts into the creature's hide.
Once again, Lorgan's nerve fails him and he is unable to approach the great Troll and he has to watch in shame as Guthrim takes a devastating hit. He draws back his bow, but his arrow buzzes spitefully in flight and misses his target - only just narrowly missing one of his companions.
Lorgan spends the rest of the day at Woodsedge circulating among the locals, swapping stories and trying to keep people's spirits up. At some point he consults with Agnar to see if the scholar can heal the injury he took from the spiders that attacked them earlier; otherwise he does his best to help Amaleoda with administering to the remaining villagers.
The next morning he is awake early, making a point to sharpen his weapons and make sure that his armour is free of rust and other blemishes before he puts it on. As the gate opens, he crosses swords with his companions, for luck, before offering Amaleoda a grave salute.
When they charge the troll, however, his spirit momentarily falters and he cannot bring himself to charge the beast. His face is pale, but his aim doesn't falter as he draws back the string of his great bow and fires.
Lorgan nods, in complete agreement with Guthrim. The village in which his mother once live lies beyond the pale of Woodsedge. If this place should fall, he has no hope of finding it. "Guthrim is right. We cannot move safely and protect your brave wounded. My vote is for a sortie, to gather what strength you have and take the fight to these vile monsters. From what I saw, you have thinned their numbers considerably. Let us hope that the day is ours."
wades in to the room of prone bodies much the way a steel-clad warrior might wade into the enemy ranks. Except in the opposite way. Ah, I do love a good dissimile. Anyway, I spent the weekend rereading the Blades in the Dark rulebook and I have decided I really, really don't want to sit this one out. Assuming I can get the game I'm currently DMing back up and running, I'd really like to be considered for your game, Sarah, if you still have any places left.
Lorgan is similarly awed into silence as he sees what the Enemy's arts have wrought upon the brave warriors of Woodsedge. He gives Amaleoda a bow. "I do not know what cold steel - even dwarf-forged steel - can do to aid you, but my blade, and that of my friends here, is at your service. More importantly, my companion Agnar here is a healer without whom we none of us would have survived our travels. It may be that he can bring your wounded back from whatever ill they are suffering from."
Lorgan looks relieved as the other spider flees. "And so perish all who stand against us." He patches himself up as best he can, but it was a nasty wound even without the poison. He is glad that Guthrim seems to be able to lead them through the path; as the inhabitants of Woodsedge converse with them, he stands by, ready to interject when needed but fully conscious that he remains an outsider here.
@Sarah: I'm very tempted but given my posting erraticity lately (which is definitely a word) I don't think I can commit to this, unfortunately. Blades in the Dark is a great system and I had a blast running it, and I'm sure you'll have a great time with it too. I will read along with interest and if you find yourself in need of another player in a few months then I will take a view then. @Guthrim - I think you're spot on with that assessment! I bought Band of Blades when it came out and decided it was a clever interpretation of the Blades in the Dark game system... but not something I would ever, ever want to run. Some portals are best left unopened.
Finding strength from somewhere, Lorgan redoubles his attack and this time he hits! There's a satisfying *crunch* as the dwarf-forged steel cuts through the chitin, and when the blade withdraws it is covered with ichor.
Lorgan winces at the bite, but he shrugs off the vile poison that works its way into his wound. "I will not fall this day!" Keeping his shield raised, he hacks once more at the spider that is menacing him. The pain of his wound unfortunately throws off his attack, and he misses.
The smell of the Tarn, and the fresh breeze that brings it, is a relief to Lorgan's senses after the oppressive, almost airless, closeness of Mirkwood. Lost momentarily in staring to the horizon, he is almost caught flat-footed by the would-be arachnid ambushers - in Mirkwood, even being lost for a moment risks being lost for good. Grateful for Faem's warning, he gives the Hobbit a quick look and a nod of thanks before he draws his sword and moves to intercept the spiders. The Dwarf-forged blade strikes true.
Sorry all, the delays are on me - I've been mired in depression for the last few months and I kept promising Sarah I would post and then not following up on it. My bad. I am slowly getting better and will do what I can to post more often, but Sarah - please do boot me from the game if you would prefer not to have to wait on me. Our friendship would survive it!
Lorgan nods, slowly, as he looks a the corpses that Beorn has felled. "We could not stand against so many as this, for sure. But let us hope that whatever has befallen Woodsedge is not so perilous. I don't think that we can go back just yet - let us at least try to get sight of the town and its fate." He gives a grim smile. "The single advantage we have is that these things are unlikely to be able to creep up on us..."
Lorgan is still taken aback by just how hostile even the supposedly 'tamed' part of Mirkwood is to their presence. He is no stranger to the wilds, but this is something altogether different. He makes a point on their journey of keeping close to the others and paying attention to the things they might spot. He therefore freezes into immobility when Faem sends her silent warning, and he is ready to draw blades when the stranger appears - at least until he recognises Beorn (by description and reputation only: he has never encountered him until this moment). He gives a respectful nod - "Well met, I hope, my lord Beorn." - and waits for one of the others to make introductions. He is aware that his own voice sounds thin and reedy in comparison to Beorn's rumble.
If Lorgan was hoping to get a little more time to relax after their gruelling expedition, he doesn't show it. The life of the Dúnedain teaches you to be accustomed to both hardship and disappointment. He hasn't heard of Woodsedge, but that isn't a surprise: the Woodmen have dozens of small settlements across their realm. He nods along with his companions as the Axe requests their services once again. "Of course. I am ever at your service." He follows Guthrim to the armoury, where they both replenish their arrows together. He also takes the time to sharpen his dwarf-forged blade on a whetstone. After that, he is ready.
Lorgan nods in acknowledgement of The Axe's praise. Truth be told, he rather felt he already had an edge, but then it is just possible that life in Mirkwood is even more deadly than the life of the Rangers in the wilds of Eriador. Certainly his memories of the Sarnlug they encountered in that bleak glade occasionally creep into his darker dreams. He looks slightly crestfallen as The Axe dismisses them and calls them "outlanders" - but he supposes they have much still to do before the Woodlanders accept them as one of their own.
Lorgan's expression is grim as the group wanders out of the mountain narrows and back into the lands of Men. "Keepers of slaves! That is the work of the Orc-minded, if ever I saw it." He shivers, and picks up the pace of his steps to be through this foul land as quickly as possible.
Sorry, the delay is on me - having some RL issues and Sarah has been very understanding about it. Posting now and hopefully we can move on :)
Lorgan returns Domarr's bow. "I am glad we happened across your group. We of the Free Peoples must stick together, or we shall doubtless all fall separately against the Shadow. May the rest of your journey be in safety!" He nods at Faem. "Agreed, although I would hope goblins would steer clear of a well-armed group such as we are. But I have heard stories of them returning to the Grey Mountain Narrows. Let us keep our eyes open."
The sight of those in need galvanises Lorgan despite his weariness. Hurrying down the slope as fast as he can, he tries to move the boulder out the way to clear the path.
Sadly the task is beyond him.
Lorgan catches the evil gleam in Nestor's eye. There's something wrong with that one. Drawing his blade, in case it's needed, he follows after Faem although he too feels the long weariness of many miles of travel.
During the short break they take after gathering the herbs, Lorgan racks his memory for a suitable story to tell over lunch (hastily-cooked fresh fish from the marsh). "What do you know of the Last Alliance, the war for which Agnar's blade was forged?" Time is pressing so he condenses the story slightly, and he doesn't mention the Dark Lord by name. He simply refers to him as the Enemy, with the "E" clearly capitalised. "...and thus the Enemy was vanquished, although at great cost. The last great kings of Elves and Men, Gil-Galad and Elendil, were both slain, and Isildur fell into shadow shortly after. And yet, they triumphed and won the peace we now have."
If we take a short rest we can also spend a HD to recover hit points - and my new 2nd level ability means you get an extra d6 hit points on top of that. Agnar: I'm pretty sure a short rest is minimum 1 hour. If you take 2 hours, that's still one short rest. It's up to the DM of course but that's how I've understood it. Also, the GM was pretty clear in her hint that we are not alone out here. Let's take the 1-hour short rest and skedaddle :)
Jack of All Trades
Campfire Tales
The number of extra hit points gained increases as you gain Warden levels: to 1d8 at 9th level, to 1d10 at 13th level and to 1d12 at 17th level. Doh! Thanks. Guess it's not just my character who's tired :) That gives us 8 doses, plus whatever Agnar rolls. Not bad for a day's work.
Lorgan wipes his sword clean on the nearby rushes, and gives Agnar a grateful smile. "That was some fine work with the Elven blade, my friend. Thank you." He sets about harvesting what reedmace he can find, but the sun beats down on him and he is hurt badly. The work is harder than it should be. But at the end, he has several handfuls of the valuable healing herb.
I think the point is that even one day won't heal us of our exhaustion. We got what we came for, and we're weary and bloodied in the process. Welcome to Middle-Earth :) Also, Edoras seems a long way to go from here :P
Lorgan gives Agnar a grateful nod for killing the enemy who was about to disembowel him. Sheathing his sword, he draws his bow and fires at the last remaining marsh-hag.
Faem's arrow might have missed, but Lorgan gratefully uses the distraction it provides to plunge his new sword into his opponent. The Dwarf-wrought steel bites deep, cutting flesh and sinew.
Lorgan barely has time to blink before the marsh-hags are on him, slashing with their claws. Badly wounded, and dripping blood into the water, he scrambles out of the marsh and back on to dry land.
"Get out of the water!"
Lorgan has also noticed the craftsmanship of Agnar's weapon. He nods in agreement with Guthrim. "Indeed, that is unmistakably Elven work. It would not look out of place in Rivendell." He claps Agnar on the shoulder. "A fine weapon, I would guess it is more ancient by far than even these ruins! May it serve you well." He does not sleep well that night. Normally suited to outdoors, the time spent in Rhosgobel has clearly softened him.
Lorgan retrieves a blade for himself, carefully picking off the worst of the waste and giving the broadsword an experimental swish, admiring its weight and balance. He tests the edge carefully, finding that the blade is still as sharp as it ever was. "Oh, that is a fine weapon indeed!" He gives the Hobbit a respectful nod. "But for your keen eyes, we might have missed these altogether." When they are finished exploring, he looks around. "I must admit, I have no particular desire to sleep in this dragon-scarred place. Shall we move along before we lose the light?"
Lorgan wipes his sword clean before sheathing it. He too looks up at the retreating crebain. "I hope we will not rue letting that one escape." But it's out of bowshot; there's nothing to be done. He wipes a trickle of blood from his forehead, where it was starting to run down his face, and shakes his head at Guthrim's comment, smiling at the joke. "I really would not. Let them lie where they fell, evil creatures." His eyes brighten as he looks at the ruins. "This place is fell indeed and the Shadow lies heavy upon it. Still, we should investigate the ruins - if only to see what these creatures were doing there."
Lorgan does his best to protect himself, but sword and shield don't work well defensively against birds - or at least, if they do he hasn't worked out a strategy yet. Or course, sometimes attack is the best form of defence. He strikes another of the crebain dead, its mangled corpse landing on the dragon-melted rock with a wet thud.
Lorgan manages to grab hold of his shield, using it to guard his face as best he can. Thus protected, he is more willing to use his sword for attack rather than defence, landing a hit on one of his attackers.
I like this. I'm wishing I'd thought of it.
Lorgan flinches back instinctively as the bird rakes his cheek, drawing blood. Letting his now-useless bow fall to the ground, he draws his sword and launches a counter-attack.
Lorgan sprawls in the muck of the stable, looking up ruefully at the mule that put him there. He gets up, brushing the worst of the dirt off his clothes as best he can. "Yes, I think I definitely made an impression on him." He rubs at the bruise that is forming. "Or perhaps the other way around?" His spirits are warmed by the return to the wilderness, which is where he was raised. It doesn't hurt that the weather is better, too. His eyes widen though as Faem points out the dangerous plant they were about to walk into. "Keen are the eyes of Hobbits! Or, perhaps, dull are the eyes of Men." He gives her a smile.
His blood runs cold as they all suddenly realise the implications of what they are seeing, the effect of dragon fire after all these years. "No wonder nothing grows near!" He is about to muse further on the effects of the Enemy's presence, but the chattering of the birds saves the rest of the group from his attempts at philosophical profundity. "Those are Crebain! Servants of the Enemy, fell messengers of evil. Watch your eyes, that is where they will strike." He looses his bow, seeing the arrow hit true.
That works for me :)
Lorgan bids Calanthas a courteous farewell, before tending to their newly-acquired mules.
"Ah!" He pulls his hand back just in time as one of the mules (Nestor, presumably?) tries to bite him. He hastily stumbles a few steps back. "Perhaps the duty of looking after our new companions would be best shouldered by another."
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