 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rolemaster Moments for January 2002 - page 7
<< previous | RM Moments Main Index | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
Characters die. As a GM, I’ve seen it. Sure, you get your die rolls that doom you, a crit that is just too good to waste. Sometimes your “buddy” rolls bad and causes misery for all. But sometimes my friends, you players think of the dumbest ways to go and get yourself killed.
So there they were, the 3 amigos, the Dwarvish warrior, Northman Paladin, and the “fierce” High Elf mage. Traveling on a back road in the wilderness, (quite lost but THEY thought they knew the way), they decided to make camp just before dusk. The elf and dwarf find a clearing off to the side, while the paladin remains on the road, instructing his squire in the ways of the blade.
Oddly enough, it was the NPC squire who noticed the approaching riders, with 3 goblins on leashes, using them much like hounds. Please keep in mind, dear readers, that this is the same paladin who thought he would miss his companion dwarf and smite a prone bandit with my earlier submission.
Yes, the obvious comes next. The paladin charges, not caring to inquire just who the heck he was charging, but they did have Orcs, (and they were Chaos Warriors), and seemed evil somehow. Outnumbered, and thinking a lance is a good closing weapon, you can guess what happens next. Given he’s dead, lets turn our attention to the plan you don’t expect.
There, hidden in the bushes, are the mage and dwarf, watching the mayhem, but not doing much else. It was at this moment, that the dwarf said:
“You know, you’ve kept those candles of demon summoning, and you’ve invoked demons to fight for you in the past. Step out there, and act evil. Maybe they’ll leave us, and spare the paladin.”
Now, all of you reading this would never expect a player’s announced action to be: “I stride out into the road, and command them to stop, for I am Sildor the powerful.”
I don’t know if it was the sincere look in his eyes, or the 5 beers, but I almost, ALMOST, believed he thought it would work. Maybe he did. Oh, it didn’t, no sir, not at all. He died, not at the hands of the armored knights, but ripped to pieces by their goblin hounds. The dwarf, most likely to preserve the gaming group, charged to his death, since the good horse was running wild with the dead paladins body on it, and what the heck, what’s 1 rank in riding anyway. The squire, with 3 ranks, grabs a horse, and rides for home. The dwarf didn’t even get a lick in before a hammer to the head sent him to the big tavern in the sky.
Beware, they’ve rolled a new band of hardy adventurers, and are just
itching for a keep to plunder.
This is a story that took place in a long running Rolemaster campaign that I was running. In order to get the proper feel for what happens I think it is necessary to supply a little history.
First, The Land: The players had recently arrived in a country that was populated by very eccentric magicians. These people had very long lifespans and operated completely with magic. Tools, weapons, clothing, everything was based on spells. Suffice it to say that these people were very bored and were constantly trying to keep up with "the latest fashion." The more unusual the better, platform shoes that were also mice cages, hats with small birds attached to the brim by strings and enchanted to constantly fly in circles, well you get the idea. The soldiers of this land wore armor made from an enchanted smoke. It was very strong and did not encumber in the slightest.
The Player: Now Dave was one of those players that were always trying to do something to upset the other players or munchkinize his character. Every little thing he did was to get over on either me or one of the other players. It got so bad that my saying "No Dave you can't.." became synonymous with the game.
The Situation: Dave had separated from the party and was cruising through the town when he happened upon a clothier. He went in and immediately started asking about some enchanted clothes (for better defense of course). The proprietor replied and the conversation went something like this:
Dave: Can you make me some clothes that will protect me better?
Clothier: Of course, I can make anything.
Dave: Can you make me a smoke gi (a type of a shirt)?
Clothier: Make you a smoke gi? Well, I've never done that before. It might be interesting.
Dave: You did say you could make anything.
Clothier: Yes I did. So you want me to make you a smoke gi?
Dave: Yes.
Clothier: A smoke gi.
Dave: Yes, I want you to make me a smoke gi.
Clothier: Are you sure you don't want anything else? I could make you into something much more colorful.
Dave: No, I want you to make me a smoke gi.
Clothier: OK, that will be one gold piece please.
Dave handed over the one gold and after some chanting and waving of hands
the clothier made Dave a smoke gi. To this day he is still hanging in that
clothiers shop waiting for someone to buy him.
After seeing Legolas’ performance, in Lord Of The Rings, it is quite clear that an elven archer makes a difference.
In my game experience (as a GM) it is indeed veryy true. The party in my current campaign contains 1 wood-elf bard, who is an expert with the bow. So far he has managed to kill every big-shot that I have thrown at them. They are currently in an up-side-down world where friends are enemies and vice versa. They have met the terrible dwarf (with a lot of HP and AT). The bard archer single-handedly killed my 10th level dwarven fighter with 1 shot (they are currently at 3rd level I think) - all you need is a good E critical.
Growing tired of this I introduced them to the horrifying elves, and this time they also had a good elven archer. After some rumbling they entered the elven camp, but not as quietly as I had anticipated -- which means that the elves were alert and ready. Once again this bard proved to be a pain. On the first shot he killed the elven archer, while the human fighter used all his OB on DB making sure that he wasn't killed by the 12th level elven fighter. On the second round the famous bard takes an arrow and shoots the elven fighter down (I'm starting to really hate this guy!).
What tops this story is what happened while they were walking quietly through the woods on their way home: they were attacked by a troll, which the fighters readily dispatched off during a few rounds of melee. I figured that I could as well throw in another troll to make the fight more interesting, but as my new troll emerges the bard kills it with 1 shot (again!).
I had crafted a long term campaign that set my players to find a series of rings that gave mastery over elemental powers. They had successfully found the ring of earth in a previous game, and were finally face to face with a tribe of primitive, but potentially quite deadly natives who held the ring of fire as a sacred relic. They had already miserably failed to sneak up and steal the ring, so the rogue of the party decided now was as good a time as any for double talking in double time. They found the natives spoke a broken dialect of the common hand signs and established a dialog in which they explained they were in desperate need of the ring of fire. Needless to say dozens of bows and spears began to appear around them while the rogue self importantly held up a hand and hastily assured the savages that they had hardly come to steal... oh,no! Certainly not! They had come to trade fair and square.
At which point the rogue produced the shiny (but powerless) tin whistle which the party had been mocking her for buying in the previous game and which she had been carrying for no apparent reason ever since. She nodded to the ranger who held the ring of earth as if to say, "We have to show them -- they need to know" and then gave one sharp blast on the whistle causing a number of the natives to flinch and leap back, raising their weapons.
Just then, a column of earth tore up through the ground, lifting the tribal shaman high into the air to the shocks and gasps of his tribesmen. No one had noticed the ranger had quietly taken three steps back into the party and was quietly holding his hands behind his back where no one would see the faint green glow from the stone on his ring, or the beads of sweat that popped out on his forehead as he concentrated. Within no time at all, the tribal shaman had succumbed to the rogue's persuasion, and a very successful public speaking roll had convinced the entire tribe that the rogue was no less than an appointed messenger of the gods who had come to trade them this magnificent whistle of earth control in return for a sacrifice which the gods, in their ineffable wisdom had dictated must take place.
Reluctantly, they traded the ring of fire and smilingly invited the party to partake of the rituals for sanctifying the new relic. The party made hasty apologies and explained that their mission was a matter of life and death (failing to mention whose life or death might be involved...) and that they must therefore hasten forth immediately without delay.
Now the party possessed a ring of earth, which was not by itself enough to save them against a whole tribe of angry savages, and a ring of fire which they did not yet know how to use, so as they had nearly reached the beach where their longboat was hidden and heard from the distance the shrill, unmistakable sound of a tin whistle, one fighter looked to the rogue and asked, "Run?"
"Very fast, yes," the rogue replied as the party broke for the shore.
I have been dating a wonderful woman for about 6 months now and she has never played Rolemaster (or any RPG for that matter). Well she expressed some interest and I quickly obliged and helped her make a character.
In our first session right near the end her and her newfound NPC partner were about to bed down for the night. Seeing as how they were in friendly territory and in no danger the NPC said 'there is no need to set watches'. To which my girlfriend replied 'We have watches?'
It was quite a laugh for the both of us as soon a she realized what she had said and what I had meant.
Shop
ICE