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<< RM Moments Homepage | 1 |
Still playing my mentalist, and still level five, the party is riding at night (too many people wanted us dead for us to travel by day) when the world goes deadly quiet. Not a bird, insect or amphibian can be heard. We start to feel anxious, anxiety turns to fear, fear to panic and our horses bolt. Charging breathlessly through the night, afraid of who knows what, I'm thrown from my horse, breaking my leg and stunning me for some rounds. The rest of the party, all being fighter types and better riders than I, disappear into the gloom.
I'm just coming to myself when the cause of our woes hovers into view over the hill: A Herald of the Night! Staggering onto one good leg, several tons of Herald and Black Unicorn charging towards me, sword leveled (i.e. casting absolution) I mutter to the GM: "Eyes shut, light eruption, falls left and crawls to bush!" There's an explosion of light, the Herald and his steed both roll disastrously and, at full charge, crash to the ground. A few crits later—some hairy high numbers—and the Black Unicorn is severely dead while the Herald is a mess of broken bones. Result! But my problems are not over, as the undead monster, immune to pain, starts crawling towards me (one arm dragging the rest of its body) with that damn sword.
I can't run, I'm deader than dead! Desparately scanning my list of totally ineffectual spells (will light eruption work again, or audio attack?), time running out (our GM is a pig!!!) and absolutely without hope my eyes fall on one incredibly slim chance. Without thinking it through (GM was counting down from 10 and had hit 2) I squeal, instant cast Mind Merge! The other players gasped and groaned as my little 5th level mind hooked into the eldritch head of the Death Knight.
Thus followed a desperate battle of wills that lasted for about 20 rounds. I had to roll over 89 just to stay in the battle. The GM (pig-boy) was unashamedly brilliant, painting the horror of mental contact with this creature of the Abyss in Lovecraftian hues, but finally his dice failed spectacularly and against all odds I dominated the creature and destroyed it—incidentally bounding up a level. Unfortunately, pig-boy decided that extended contact with the creature had blurred my Id. The creature had cast a Wierd upon my soul and its evil nature had warped me. For months my character could be heard yelling: "Fear me, mortal!" or "Kill it! Kill it, now and drink its blood!" or "Death is come for you!" Then there were black outs, psychotic episodes and the blood rage that lead me to attack, single handed and armed with a rapier (3 ranks, OB 40-odd) an entire troop of city guards (for which I was sentenced to death but rescued by my long suffering companions).
As I was saying, my GM's a pig!
This is my first submission of a Rolemaster Moment. This particular moment happened in a group with 7 players that I have been running for the last 3 years. I hope you enjoy it.
While traveling through the wilderness of the Guardian Forest, all but one character in the campaign were bitten by poisonous snakes. The sole remaining character (Felban) nursed the rest back to health. The group consisted of Xanaro (a wood elven Ranger), Felban (a wood elven Magent), Maruan (a half elven bard), Lectar (a dwarven cleric with a hideous appearance), Marbak Rock Hewer (a dwarven fighter who fights with a tunneling pick), Tathlor ( a crystal mage), and Vayga (a grey elven rogue who is a natural horsemaster).
When they finally recovered Xanaro who was leading the group by following an all but forgotten Elvish Trail through the forest, failed his tracking roll and got lost in the woods. The rest of the party were pretty upset with him, so he was way out in front away from their bickering. As he passed a large bush he heard a rustling noise inside it. Immediately he drew his scimitar and attacked the bush. (His former experience with the snakes was obviously on his mind here). He fumbled the roll and his fumble roll stated that he swallowed his own tongue and choked for several rounds. When the party caught up to him he was still choking. As might be expected they simply laughed at him until he could breathe again.When he finally got his breath back, he told them that something was in the bush, whereupon Lectar drew his mace and swung it at the bush. He fumbled and rolled the same fumble, so now he swallowed his tongue and choked. Now the group was really enjoying these misadventures but what happened next makes this one of the finest Rolemaster Moments we have ever had.
Xanaro again attacked the bush, and again fumbled. (The group had warned him not to bother, but he was pissed off at them laughing at him, so he did it anyway). When will he ever learn to leave well enough alone?! You guessed it, he fumbled again and again he rolled the fumble result of choke on your own tongue. (I'm not making this up, believe it or not). At this point the group is having the time of their lives laughing at Xanaro. So when he gets his breath back what does Xanaro do? He asks me what kind of bush it is. At first, I thought what an ass, now I have to think up what kind of bush it was, then I had an epiphany. Without missing a beat I informed him that it was a Chokecherry bush. That brought the house down. For at least 10 minutes we all rolled on the floor laughing. All of us except Xanaro that is. He just looked at me with a dark look until we could finally stop laughing. But he finally admitted it was pretty funny.
Of all the Roleplaying Moments I have ever had, this is one of the most memorable and certainly the most humorous. I never would have had it had it not been for the excellent Rolemaster system. Thank you for providing such an excellent system. I have played many different RPGs, but in my opinion Rolemaster is the best system and the system that I will continue to use. Oh by the way, Xanaro is still playing in the game and if you like this Rolemaster Moment, I have quite a few more that I think you will enjoy.
Get real, get Rolemaster.
Well, it wasn't precisely a stairway, but the destination's appropriate, at least for the fearless ranger, Areseth Isildur. Poor Areseth just couldn't win for losing that day.
We were deep in a dark dungeon, scouring the place for its villainous inhabitants. Several small ones, snaga sized, fled down a tunnel with Areseth and a couple of his fleetest footed friends in hot pursuit, torches flickering as they cut through the stale underground air. With a skittering, the snagas darted down a corroded, ancient bronze affixed to the side of a hexagonal hole in the floor.
There was no time to regroup, at least for Areseth. The miserable scum was
getting away! (If memory serves, one of them might have had his coin purse,
too.) Wasting no time, he deftly grabbed hold of the ladder's edges and hurled
his 200+ lb body down the ladder, girt in full chain and carrying probably
20# more in miscellaneous weaponry.
This was his first mistake.
It was an old ladder. He was a strong fellow, but his strength could not compensate for the brittle, corroded bars. Ten feet down or so, a foothold broke. Areseth grabbed for the slick metal, but he missed. His fall was slowed thirty of forty feet below when he hit the first snaga. The snaga too, lost grip with the ladder and started to free-fall. Then, the two of them hit the first snaga's friends.
I'm not sure exactly how one of the snagas held on, but Areseth and two others plummeted down, banging off of the bronze bars, tearing several of them loose and landing in a heap at the bottom of the ladder. He was never sure just precisely how far he fell, but he knew it was about 100'. He landed on top of the snagas, and survived. They didn't. Far above him, dimly through his pain-clouded eyes, he could see the light of his friend's torches as they crowded around the top of the hole, trying to look down and see him. The snaga saw the light too, and fearful of being hit by more large people being thrown at him, he started to limp down toward Areseth's prone figure.
Now Areseth was stunned for a while, bleeding quite a bit, and generally feeling the effects of free fall. Ever so slowly, he used the base of the ladder to pull himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the ladder trying to catch his breath, and figure out what injuries he might have sustained. It became clear that he'd broken his right arm, probably broken a few ribs and twisted one of his legs rather badly, but he was at least in one piece.
Fifty feet above, the snaga was still coming down the now fairly badly damaged ladder. Normally it would have taken his weight without trouble, but as damaged as it was, several strength checks were needed to see if it would hold. On its first strength check, it failed, and failed huge.
Now the poor snaga had been holding on for dear life, and so when the rung gave way beneath its feet, it managed to stay attached to the ladder. The RUNG, however, did not. Down it fell toward the near prone form of Areseth, fifty feet below.
A moment of divergence is necessary. The guy that played Areseth always figured he had bad luck with dice. So, when the opportunity came to choose who would roll the effect of the 7 lb falling bar of bronze, he gave the rest of us a stricken look and said for someone else to roll it: if he did, it would go right through the top of Areseth's skullcap and bury itself in his throat.
One of us replied that that was one way to get a tonsillectomy, though not a recommended one, and before an argument could ensue, one of the party, who played an insane gnome thief (who thought he was a cleric of a god of blinding law and light half the time) volunteered to roll the dangerous dice.
Tumbling went the dice upon the table. and rolled off. Reroll! Areseth's player slumped back: he would have to undergo the stress of a roll again. Again the dice flew. and indicated an impact, but not a terrible one: a few concussion hits and a B critical.
The gnome promptly rolled the crit. Areseth's player's relief at only suffering a B critical and some damage was quickly washed away: "66"!
Now I was GM'ing, and I didn't want to outright kill the character, so the bar flew down and broke his wrist. I figured this made sense, as it would fall away from the ladder somewhat and land in his lap, which would mean it either whacked an arm he had held over his chest or hit him in the leg. Neither would be good, but it wouldn't be instant death either.
So the dice again determined which wrist it would be, and amazingly enough, it was the one on the already broken arm. Areseth was still sort of in business. Are gave a shout, and rolled away from the base of the ladder, moving as far across the bottom of the hexagonal tube as he could go.
Did I mention an insane gnome earlier? Well, his name was Nathan, and he returns to the tale of woe right about . now.
When Areseth cried out, a gust of wind blew out the last flickering torchlight from above, and the gnome's dark-vision kicked in. He looked down the pit and saw, dimly, the snaga scrambling down the ladder. He heard his friend at the bottom moaning in pain, and the clank of armor and other metal as he pulled himself along.
Nathan utters a cry, "The orc is charging for Are! I'll save him!"
He quickly grabbed his bow and an arrow, and with great haste loosed an arrow straight down the ladder shaft. Areseth's player jumps up in alarm. If Nathan misses, he could hit Areseth at the bottom!
Nathan doesn't miss. In fact, he has one of the most frighteningly good dice rolls I have ever witnessed. He basically piths the snaga, killing him instantly well before he can get to Areseth.
There is, however, one small problem. The orc is still forty feet above Areseth, and now no longer can hold onto the ladder. His feet still on a rung, his upper body lets go first, and as his knees bend and give some small resistance, gravity causes him to fall away from the ladder and out into the shaft.
Blind from the lack of light, Areseth only knows the orc is coming when it lands on him.
Now a cruel GM at this point would have wondered about whether the orc would have done a flip in the air, and hit him boots-to-the-head or not. I was laughing so hard at this point that It never occurred to me. The now quite angry player of Areseth demanded to be allowed to roll the dice on the fall. I think he forgot his own protests of bad luck.
This was his second mistake.
He rolled very well for the orc. The orc broke one of Areseth's legs and generally bruised him up quite a bit more. Bleeding and broken, all the ranger could do was croak out a call for help, barely heard by his friends far above. The two lightest of them, the gnome and the elven cleric, climbed down the ladder nimbly and reached him in short order.
It should be noted that at this point in the campaign, these characters were not terribly high level. The cleric had an herb that could mend a broken bone quickly, and was able to stop the bleeding and reduce much of the basic damage, but there was little she could do about the wrist and arm. Are needed his leg to climb out, but the rest would have to be improvised. While she tended to the ranger, Nathan looted the snagas, and stole Areseth' s coin pouch.
Well at this point the orcs were dead, but the party wasn't close behind them. So, they determined to retreat and come back when they were better rested to deal a death blow to the snaga scoundrels that inhabited the place. There was only one problem: they had to get Areseth back up the ladder.
They had some rope, and Areseth though he could climb decently. Nathan and the elf took his armor and weapons back to the top in small packets, but when they looked around up top, they realized there was nothing to tie the rope to for leverage.
Nathan came to the rescue again. He opines that they could use the corpses of all the orcs they'd killed like a big bunch of cordwood, the weight of which would surely be enough to protect the ranger should he slip a bit. The party could hold onto the rope too, just in case.
All the party's rope was not employed as a makeshift harness. Orc bodies were dragged in and piled up, rope tied around them, and rope tied snugly around Areseth once they got him standing up.
It did not occur to any of them to make provisions to take up the slack, should he fall.
Up came Are, slowly and painfully, making many climbing rolls to do so. The toughest one was halfway up, where the rung had fallen off. He failed. Then he failed a quickness check to grab ahold of the ladder. Then he fell back to the bottom.
He landed with a thud. The rope around his ribs snapped taught as he hit, and somewhat broke his fall, though he broke an ankle in the process. However, his weight, coupled with the 50' fall, was too much for the pile of relatively light orc bodies at the top (there were only 3 of them I think). When Areseth hit the bottom, the power of his fall tugged them over the edge and into the hole.
That's when the two party members anchoring the rope both failed their strength checks. One even used his only fate point to get a reroll to try to save Areseth from another pummeling by orc. He failed again.
Down came the orcs, hitting Areseth, who was now lying face-up and prone in the middle of the shaft floor, squarely in the chest.
Death was swift and merciful.
Are's player quickly wrote up another character, who was hired on when the defeated party made it back to town. It isn't too surprising: the new character was a mountaineer.
Greetings, I'd like to recount the frustration and humor I've managed to interject on my fellow players. I'm currently playing a child halfling, 9 years old who has been adopted by the remainder of the characters. It's both a challenge and a lot of fun playing child characters since their personalities allow so much range.
Two incidents come to mind that provide a good illustration how what a child is capable of in a Fantasy settings. My halfling has learned a little magic but hasn't had the formal training to know how it can bite you at times Case in point, Edric my halfling invites the beast boy to try out flying, while the rest of the party members do something boring in an old temple... there was a nearby 3 story building that we ran up to the 3rd floor and unto a rotting landing. Proud of my magic I turn to the beast boy and say "See Krrr" (cast Fly...step off landing) "This is fun!" (rolling of dice resulted in my Spell failing). Edric had enough time to realize that something didn't happen right before plunging toward the ground, leaving a very confused Krrr behind. Fifteen minutes later Krrr comes running up to James our Lay Healer and sticks Edric into his arms "He broke, you fix!" It took the party 2 days before Krrr's imitation of Edric falling out of building was understood. Through it all I lay unconscious slowly being healed by the Lay Healer.
Our second incident proved that bored children make poor night watchmen. On the way back to a portal the party was caught in a snow storm, so exhausted was the party they agreed that everyone would take a shift so the others could rest. All the watch had to do was be alert for danger and keep the snow from building up on the members sleeping. Edric got left with the midnight watch.... shortly after he started watch he heard something crying out in pain out in the forest... not even thinking he took off to help whatever it was. The party awoke at dawn thanks to the centaur whose head thankfully stayed completely out of the snow. The resulting confusion results in two camps: one wants to save the child that wandered off and one that wanted to kill him.
Add a child, add some spice, stay out of reach of adults.
I have been roleplaying since I was thirteen, and I got hooked on Rolemaster at fifteen. I have played many other games, but my friends and I always go back to the best.
This particular adventure happened when I was seventeen and my GM was 18. It was a one-PC adventure, with a few occasional "co-starring" guest PCs. My character was a High Man ranger named Durian Stonebow. The GM gave me a halfling traveling salesman (salesman, NOT merchant) as a companion (there was no explanation as to this pairing). Over the course of our first game session, we came into the possession of a wondrous horn with undefined powers. A sorcerer pursued us and attempted to 'borrow the horn.
Naturally, my noble-minded High Man was quite miffed.
After some nifty work with my bastard sword, the sorcerer, who was of inexplicably low level, was quite banged up. It became evident that my GM was losing control of the plot (I honestly don't know what he wanted me to do: give up, talk my way out of it?). The sorcerer casted some spell that I later determined the GM made up: I was confined to an area a pace wide, and could not escape.
I stood up and yelled, "That is so cheap! What is this, a Sega game?" I eventually calmed down, and tried a new tactic. I argued with, yelled at, cajoled, and generally pestered the sorcerer (who, I now remember, didn't even have a name). Basically about an hour of real time was wasted in these pursuits, until, suddenly and inexplicably, my halfling buddy showed up and killed the sorcerer. No, you didn't read wrong. A level 1 halfling killed a level 3-5 sorcerer. There were no die rolls.
I was plotting the death of my GM when, as soon as we reached the next town, the halfwit--pardon, halfling--suggested we sell the magic horn. I gave my old friend a very level stare that said, "There are sharp object nearby. Explain yourself." He simply said "Dude, he's a traveling salesman." I sighed and stated, "I have received some small wounds; no, no, I require no healer, simply an inn for the night." We did indeed go to an inn, where there was a brief fight for no reason (of course, that makes sense in an inn; one of the few things that did make sense). Stonebow woke up at midnight to discover the halfling and the horn were gone. I was not surprised.
After tracking him down to an ancient temple, I saw him holding the magic horn just as he metamorphosed into a full-sized werewolf (also no explanation). Now, I was a ranger, who up to this point had not been able to use his bow. The enemy was at range, and he was unaware of my presence. I was also looking for a little righteous vengeance. I took aim and let loose.
Now before I tell you what happened, I should state that I am both very lucky and a good roleplayer. I rarely fail at a roll (about 1/4 of the time) and I play to my strengths. I hit easily, and rolled 00 on the critical. "Arrow goes through eye of enemy. Killed instantly." Finally! Some justice! The useless penny pinching salesman (NOT merchant) was dead.
I racked up quite a bit of experience, but my GM ended the campaign because he was "unhappy." I still have Stonebow, and I await an opportunity to bring him out of retirement.
My good friend was only given one other opportunity to GM again, using d20 D&D, and he botched that too. Now I do most of the GMing, and I have yet to unsuccessfully conclude a campaign.
The moral of this story? Friends don't let friends GM drunk. At least, I assume he was drunk. There's no other explanation...
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