That's what happened this week.
For us, D&D is what we use as a mechanism to bring everyone together into one room. We're best friends; rolling dice is simply an excuse. So, when two of our six bowed out, game night remained as scheduled. My friends A, S and I cracked a few beers as the last of our group, L, joined us online via Google Hangouts.
While technology has brought us leaps and bounds when it comes to virtual gaming, there are still limits. Most prominent amongst those: without a virtual board, such as Roll20, tactical combat can be kissed 'goodbye'. This renders the vast majority of 4e's appeal null, especially for a one-shot with little prep. We simply didn't want to fiddle that day.
Dungeon World was a strong possibility; but it was S's turn to DM and he hadn't used the system yet. I assure you, though, the results were perhaps the most fun that I've had in any of S's DMed games.
We made up the rules.
The premise was simple. A d20 determined rolls for all actions ranging from combat to soft skills - no modifiers. The DM ruled on thresholds and damage dice on-the-fly, sometimes with the most arcane of reasons. Maps and tactical placement was purely in the mind.
And then came the characters. L, A, and I chose from three characters: a reaver, a shaman, and an archer. The character sheets were devoid of attributes and skills save for arbitrary health points. Oh, and we were orcs.
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| Orcs. Burninating the villages. Thanks, Wizards. |
A kept to his arcane ways and chose the shaman, who he quickly bedecked as a shadowy figure named Kashyyk. Yes, our hooded and dark-cloaked figure is named after a planet from Star Wars. And looked like a dementor. How's that for cross-over?
Finally, L chose the archer, who he chose to name Olga. This ferocious female carried a composite bow and a quiver full of poisoned barbed arrows. The poison? Simply a concoction that cause erectile dysfunction, then eventually death, from blood clotting.
S fleshed out our characters by asking one important question before starting: which races did we hate? Gruum hated halflings, while Kashyyk loathed pixies and Olga, humans. Rather, "hoo-mans", as Kashyyk called them.
Then - we stalked our prey.
The hunting party had been travelling far and wide. Their efforts were rewarded with the smell of a cook fire at dusk. Travellers.
Slowly, but surely, the band crept upon the unsuspecting quarry. The scent of roasting meat, and even more succulent humanoids, nearly sent Gruum careening into the thick of things without plan. Olga's keen sight showed her adversaries. An elderly human couple. Two elven servants who fingered their belt knives and bows in the night. One dwarf, heavily armed and armoured, occupied with mead and a haunch of roast.
Easy meal.
An arrow from Olga's bow signalled the assault, but was just stopped by the dwarf's thick mail. Gruum threw himself into the group, twin cleavers seeking to eviscerate the hapless elves. One evaded the blow. Another was not so lucky; his cries sounded an alarm as a chunk of shoulder flew free.
The elderly couple remained seated, their eyes now closed in deep concentration. Hidden by the din of his wild brethren, Kashyyk emerged from the brush behind them. Dark magic issued from his staff, binding the humans in torturously cold coils. They screamed deep inside their mantra.
The three guards circled Gruum, now a whirling dervish of bloodlust and hate. Keen daggers and strong axe blows fell upon his flesh. He paid them no heed, such was the glory of his battle fury.
A second volley of arrows from Olga. One struck an elf; the poison began to seep into his soul. The dwarf's armour turned the worst of it away, though. In the firelight and dimming light, Olga cast her bow aside and leapt at the back of the stout follower of Moradin with a jagged dagger.
Too late. A hasty parry saw the blade sink into the meat of his arm rather than more vital organs. Arms locked, a viscous struggle for the next blow.
Still the elders concentrated. Still Kashyyk's spell slowly crushed the life essence from their frail forms. An elf servant, seeing his masters in peril, leapt between the danger and his wards only to be ensnared in the very spell he hoped to shatter. Still he brought another arrow to his cheek, aiming with wild desperation at the dark figure in his stead.
The scent of terror brought Gruum looming behind the now-occupied dwarf. A wicked cut to the orc's back could not stop him now. Down the cleavers went, rending flesh from the unsuspecting dwarf. An anticipated wild swing high; Gruum dropped low. Tossing his cleavers to the ground, Gruum hoisted the dwarf high into the air. With great force, he drove the dwarf down to the ground - and onto the wicked cutlery discarded there. No further movement came from that guard, save for the throes of death.
Olga had seized the opportunity to take up her bow once more. A barbed arrow flew at the elders, one sinking deep into the thigh of the patriarch. Blood spilled forth, corrupted by the poison. Blood spilled forth, yet did not reach the ground - it hovered, defying all nature.
Still the humans concentrated.
Crackling energy flowed from Kasshyk as he punished those around him. An aura of dread filled the space he occupied, and the travellers nearby realized their deepest fears. With a final cry, the elven servant threw himself at the orcish shaman only to be flung aside. Char blinded eyes that now saw nothing.
Without warning, the crimson orb coalescing in front of the old man lashed out at Olga - the source of his torment. Her body recoiled from the hit, but she kept her ground. The man's eyes were now open; white. Both un-seeing and all-knowing.
The tension from this arcane attack was cut by a shrill cry. Gruum had brought the remaining elf to the ground, a long chef's fork in his hand.
A flash of metal. A flurry of desperation. A skewered elf hand and a roaring orc.
Knowing the danger the elders - no, blood mages - now posed, Olga took careful aim. Another black-fletched arrow buried itself into the man's other leg. The blood-thing retaliated once more. Ichor now stained Olga, her own blood mingling the the dark forces.
His will bending into the two seated mages, Kashyyk funnelled dark energy into his foes. A darkening miasma crackled across the earth, shaking those around him. One last retaliation from the old man, this time striking all three orc marauders. And then, the last of his life's blood spent, he slumped to the ground.
Now only one remained. One woman past her prime, blood mage or not, against a tide of orcish muscle and rage. Gruum pushed aside the carcass of a well-throttled elf servant and eagerly advanced upon his remaining quarry. Olga stood, another arrow drawn and taut against her cheek. Their shaman loomed, his features hidden by dark magic but not his amusement at the prospect of an easy kill.
The woman's eyes opened. So, too, were they white and unseeing. Blood trickled, then gushed from every orifice. One last stand. Despair and rage and regret - that was what she funnelled into her final attack. Every ounce of magic. Every ounce of blood.
A red tide rippled across the smouldering remains of the camp, lifting the orcs from their feet and throwing them back. And so the last blood mage perished.
The orcs looked up from the wreckage and pain that ravaged their bodies. This was supposed to be an easy kill. They had fought many battles. Devoured many enemies. Who where these travellers? Why were they so far from civilization?
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We end this tale here, for now. There was more, but I will give you time to rest your eyes. I'll wrap-up our encounter next post, as well as provide a re-cap on what mechanics we used to paint this lovely picture of gore and macabre delight.
This was a much longer post than I have produced in the past. What did you think? Have you, too, played an evil campaign? Share your experiences in the comments below!
Liked what you saw? Click on over to part two for more actual play and rules discussion goodness.
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