Snuggle Nook


Grift-Meister’s Game-Log (Maxen the Saxon)

The Snuggle-Nook Sessions

Advanced Fighting Fantasy: GameBook #36 “Armies of Death” by Steve Jackson, Ian Livingstone

(and Gary Gygax of course, not forgetting Dave Arneson, naturally; also thanking the K&Co. (Hard8) for bringing the game to light, giving it a breath of life with the system, the Knights of the Dinner-Table)

It’s hazy, late, it’s been awhile; since we’ve played some robus [Role-Play]. Anyway. The Hobbit sat in the shire, beside a fire, the hearth, in a little cottage, set into the hillside with circular windows beneath which thick red velvet curtains. For the starry sky with many clouds drifting between the moon, the Færie-Forest lit up with scores of star-bugs and sprites, dancing about in the distance. Beyond the Pixie-Plain, the Shire. Berenshire.

He and his old-man were taking a rest for the moment, Berenger Baggins, and Morris Baggins, rested from within the cosy hearth of the hill-side cottage, in the countryside, in the village, of Snuggle-Nook. Smoking some Hobbit-Pipe-weed together peacefully, discussing the nuances of the nature, the forest, the face of a flower reflecting the face of the divine.

In the next Hobbit-hole along in the village, was occupied by a shadowy character, Paco Jay Meadri, a wizard, also Maud Reginauld, who chose to holiday there as it is a quiet place to live. To every-so often retreat to the Villa (for it was a very large Hobbit-Hole in-fact, the old mayors place. Naturally, the would-be queen of a Neighbouring Kingdom, would have the finest accommodation in Berenshire. At least one the two dark-elves could stand up in.

Meanwhile, beyond the realm lay the city of Orphalese. Sæmus O’Finnigan discovered news of a dangerous threat to the East. The Dæmon King. A storm was brewing in the east, and a character far more dreaded and feared than the truly evil McFinnigan Racket. This could not stand. So, the Leprechaun “Merchant-Prince, Grand Wizard” of Reginauld-O’Finniga, set out on a Quest, with his companion Ermine, an elven Rogue-Wizard {a level 3/4 Mage-Thief} [played by Valraven Yumi, who also had his henchman with him: Gar, the Half-Orc Berserker, level one]

Needless to say, none of the original crew were here. Except for…

    The First-Sesh’ (Originators) played a couple of months ago.

Sæmus O’Finnigan (Leprechaun Rogue/Wizard, Grand-Wizard of O’Finniga)
Valraven (Ermine the elven Rogue/Wizard)
N.P.C. Henchman (Half-Orc Berserker, from Chi-Kung)

Maximus the Hobbit alone is beside his imagined fireside, with only a burning of a lamp, deep within nights shadowy clutches. In a haze, blazed… Meanwhile, Back On the Flex…

Devilspawn shrouded Snuggle-Nook in the Orient. From Achæa to Al’Quar Tur the Dæmon-Lords grew in strength. An army of the Shadow. Of the dark Potentates that dominate the east, is one such Dæmon-King, who’s name is not pronounceable, but who’s reputation is dreaded. Already annexing much of the former colonies of Stone: Dardanians, Achæans, and Ægyptians, all fall under the yoke of darkened oppression. The Shadow-Demons.

Not to be out-done in infamy, Sæmus O’ Finnigan and his companion Gar (a half-orc berserker, ran by Valraven Yumi) amass an army to face this new threat. Recruiting many warriors, and taking his entourage, Sæmus manages to find over one-hundred warriors (A mixture of Keltoi: Eire, Ecossæ, Kernow, and Cymræg), more than two score wood-elves and hill-dwarves alike, and finally his elite Amber Guard from the Elfæ-Isle. Sprites, Pixies, Fæ-kin, flying along with their dread sovereign. Silent and invisible.

Speaking to a Captain Bardolf, aboard the Flying Falcon, the Merchant-Prince negotiates a fee for the crossing. Handing the Capt’n five-hundred sceattæ (gold-pieces) Sæmus reluctantly agreed to pay the full-fee. His men aboard, Capt’n Bardolf shouts the order to cast-off from the Port of Noir Sable. The Santa Maria IV sets sail, the motley crew splice the main brace, clamber the rigging, and hoist the sails, which unfurl into favourable winds. The calm blue ocean, studded with what seems like a million zircons, and the early-morning sun reflects off the waves. She sliced through them and headed eastward toward there destination: the city-port of Orphalese.

The voyage was underway, and it wasn’t long before they’d lost sight of land, and cut across the ocean. T’was an uneventful journey. Before long the lookout in the crows nest shouted, “Land ho!”. Soon they were setting a course along the river that ran either side of the continent of Al’ Qaratur. They spotted a barrel overboard, and Gar dived into retrieve it unthinkingly (he had not any swimming abilities) and made a Swim: Doggie-Paddle untrained skill-check. He just about managed not to drown, after being recovered by one of the crew, more able to negotiate the flowing tidal river’s waters. A rope was thrown down, and both man and half-orc were hoisted up, along with the barrel. Upon opening it, the team found it contained only rotten apples, but at the bottom of which, lay an old eroded treasure. Unidentified.

As she rounded the river, the Santa Maria the fourth suddenly came under attack. A large fireball fired from a catapult came hurtling through the air towards them, striking the genoa sail and cinging the beams about it. The crew frantically lowered buckets and put the fire out professionally, calmly, as Bardolf barked orders to do so. A score of tribesmen paddled out towards the ship in canoes. River Raiders. Another fireball flew through the air, only narrowly missing the ship.

Sæmus ordered the fifty or so wood-elf archers to the starboard side. They immediately began peppering the oncoming invaders. Several arrows found there mark, and a few raiders slumped in their canoes, and drifted downstream. Ermine cast a Magick-Missile of Skewering at one of the tribesman. Naturally, the iridescent bolt of light-green energy honed-in on its intended target, slamming into a pilot, and putting another river raider out of action.

Sæmus let rip with a Lightning Bolt which spells electricity burned a further three canoes and crew, the trio of tribesmen smouldering and racked with lightning, tipped downstream, floating to the bottom of the river Krall.

Having the initiative, Ermine gave a knowing look to the leprechaun, who passed an unspoken signal to Gar, the half-orc henchman. [notes were passing] Ermine then cast Proteus’ Uncontrollable Fits of Laughter just beyond the rear starboard side of the ship, tactically, that the river-raiders may drift into the spells area of effect. His plan worked, two wounded tribesmen entered the zone, laughing so hard they fell out of their canoes, sinking to the base of the eddies.

Gar the half-orc took Capt’n Bardolf by surprize, hoisting him in a bear-hug and throwing him overboard. He shouted in broken Anglyn (common) “Keep sailing! Maintain course!” to the crew, who were now surrounded by a hundred and eighty odd warriors, brandishing their weapons threateningly. The remaining fifty elves fired another volley or two, taking out another few river raiders, away from Capt’n Bardolfs whereabouts. Bardolf was flailing about in the water, being lynched by river raiders, who then all drifted into the Proteus spell, and began to drown, giggling as their lungs all filled with water. A dozen upturned canoes now drifted downstream.

Another Lightning Bolt from the Leprechaun put a few more raiders out of action, and the tenacious pirates retreated. The catapult launched from the shore, another missile of Achæan fire spilled over the ship’s prow, and landed harmlessly on the other side of the ship. Ermine returned fire with a Fireball: Sidewinder Factor 1, which fell short of the mark. However Sæmus’ Fireball found it’s mark, thus destroying the enemy catapult. A cheer went up from all the army, and soon enough the river patrol was out of sight. The crew were not taken prisoner, nor worse, but told they must now serve the Merchant-Wizard Sæmus. They did so with little choice, under duress…

Sæmus and his army sailed upstream for another hour when the look-out in the crows-nest raised the alarm. A man lying a across a log, facedownwards, motionless. His limbs were trailing in the water. Ordering a warrior to dive into the water, the soldier did so, and swam over to the log. “He’s dead,” shouted the warrior, “and there’s an Orc’s knife sticking out of his chest.” Hauling them up on-deck, they picked clean the corpse of the only treasure: a golden key hanging from about the dead-mans neck. Letting the corpse overboard, it drifted downstream with the tide. Inscribed on the key was a number in Achæan, reading “222”. Possibly someone’s house-key, who knows?

A few more miles further upriver, the posse came across a bearded old man with raggedy hair, standing on the north bank. He was dressed in animal furs and was waving his arms at the people on-board the Santa Maria the fourth. Sæmus and Ermine decided to investigate, and ordered the ship be brought alongside the fellow. They soon found out what the raggedy man wanted. As the ship drew close to the shoreline, nine other men emerged from the bushes. Though tough-looking, they did not raise their weapons. The one who waved drops his axe and shouted, “Greeting stranger! I and my band of Northmen hath heard of your quest to slay the Dæmon-King of the East. We wish to join your army, for one-hundred sceattæ.” (G.p.)

As the posse set sail once more, the leader walked over to the two protagonists; despite his ice-blue eyed stare, the man appeared trustworthy. “My name is Ælias.” he says with a warm smile, and offers up a strong handshake. “Would you accept a gift, a token of our appreciation?” Sæmus agreed graciously, Ælias reached inside his fur-coat and produced a large curved tooth, attached to a leather cord. “This, is the tooth of a Yeti.” continued Ælias, his chest swelling with pride. “If you wear it, you will never be attacked by Lycanthropes. It is my wish that you should have it, as you are prepared to risk you and your armies life, to save Tadisaga from the fate of the Dæmon-King.” Ælias placed the charm about the little leprechaun’s neck, who proceeded to share the details, all he knew about the dreaded Dæmon-King, and their quest to rid the world of his tyranny.

“It is becoming dark, perhaps we should drop anchor soon?” asked Stumpy, second-in command (the N.P.C. lieutenant). “Indeed.” replied the leprechaun-regent. Instead of sleeping on-deck, Sæmus gave the order to moor-up by the riverside, leaving a score of warriors to guard the ship, and taking the crew, the Dænor warriors, and all two hundred or so remaining soldiers with them, to seek dry land on which to rest, in the long grass.

During the night was peaceful, but come early morning, the army was set upon by a swarm of black Stirges. The Amber Guard took to the skies, but not before Sæmus let-rip with a Fireball spell, and Ermine cast a Magick-Missile of Skewering. A half-a-dozen of the piercing swarm were destroyed, and as many of the army were stung, and fell foul of the mortal wounds, caused by the Stirges. They left the place of ill-fortune, and left the bodies of their fallen comrades in arms in the tall grass.

Casting off straight away from the accursed sleeping place, the Santa Maria set off once again. A couple of hours into the morning voyage, the tranquillity of the river trip was abruptly disturbed by another yell from the crow’s nest. “Pirates! River Pirates!” The lookout pointed directly upriver, and turned to the leader for guidance. The oncoming vessel was bearing down on them at full-speed. The pirate vessel was bounty from Dænor, and the sturdy Drakhaar ship could easily outrun their frigate, so said Ælias. This vessel had a large iron ramming-spike protruding from the bow; double rows of oars extended from both sides. As the Santa Maria the fourth turned about and headed for the north bank, the two score and ten wood-elf archers lined up and peppered the enemy with arrows. Sæmus showered the ship with spells, as did Ermine. It wasn’t long before the Dænor Drakhaar rowed off downstream. The crew and army cast-off of the north shore, and continued upstream to Orphalese.

It was late in the day when the red-roofed houses of Orphalese came into view. Stumpy led the men ashore, just down-river a way from the city, and began to setup camp outside the city walls. Only Sæmus and Ermine took a row-boat within the city limits, and moored up on a small jetty. Heading for the nearest tavern. As the two walked down the narrow streets betwixt olde wooden houses, Sæmus spotted a golden ring lying in the gutter. Ermine ignored it. Our leprechaun went to retrieve it from the ground. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and peering up he was confronted by a brute of a man, looking angrily down at him. An ugly scar ran across his face, and the bald-headed barbarian brandished a battle-axe, he throws and accusing glance at the Rogue-Wizard, pointing a finger into the little man’s face and growled, “That’s my ring. Give me it back, or else…”

The leprechaun noticed that his sausage-like stubby fingers were far too large for the signet, he was obviously lying. Ermine cast Proteus’ Uncontrollable Fits of Laughter and the bully began to crack-up with the giggles. In the confusion Sæmus hit the brute with a Phantasmal Fireball. The barbarian falls about screaming and laughing simultaneously as he failed his save versus illusion, and soon passes out. Sæmus relieved him of his belt pouch, only to see two city guards come strolling over to the scene. The leprechaun tried to explain that he was innocent, to which the guards were highly skeptical. Finally he gave up the pouch in exchange for his liberty, and the pixie-kin kept hold of the gold-ring, which had engraved on it Stonæ numerals marked “XXXXV”.

Some time later, after re-grouping, the two saw a crooked wooden sign hanging over the door of an olde wooden building. A fading painting of a Green Dragon was represented, and from the sounds emanating from within, this looked to be a tavern or inn of some sort. Climbing some well-worn wooden steps, and pushing open the heavy oaken door, the two peer upon a rogues gallery drinking in dingy darkness. Even though t’were daylight, the tavern interior is dark, and candles burned flicking light about the walls, as the small grubby windows let in virtually none of the suns rays.

The tavern is bustling with life, none of it looking too savoury. Groups of cloaked vagabonds are huddled together in shadowy corners, while boisterous rogues, much the worse for drink, sit in the midst of it all, insulting all who pass by; including the harassed barmaids trying to squeeze between the tables carrying trays loaded with tankards.

The sole drink on offer was a cloudy looking yellowish liquid that smelled feintly of apples, if only just. Dubbed ‘Devils Brew’ by the yokel half-ogre landlord, he poured two tankards worth. Sæmus bubbled, but Ermine manage to keep his down. Sneering, the landlord throws down the gauntlet so to speak, “The drinks are on me if you can do that a second time.” pointing at Ermine. The wood-elf accepted gladly, putting his lips to the second tankard, draining it without stopping. His eyes began to water, as he stood up to walk over to one of the tables, he began to lose his vision, and his motor-functions. Losing his footing Ermine fell to the cold stoney floor, the leprechaun tried to help him up as all the onlooking rogues laughed heartily at the lightweight Elfærie-kin could n’er hold their drink. They left in hurry before anything worse could happen.

After passing another row of olde wooden houses, the pair came across a curious shop. Nothing was displayed in the window except straw and an empty cage, about the size of a birdcage. Brown paint flaked off the window-frame and door, above which was a sign that read: "Petshop – normal and unnatural’. They entered and tried to belittle the shopkeeper, who bade them leave. Going back out on to the street, our two protagonists met an another two people, unkempt looking fellows, who asked them what they were doing in Orphalese. Sæmus and Ermine said they were here on business, visiting an associate of theirs. The two street-urchins bade them tell him whereabouts, that they may be able to help guide them there. Our two heroes blagged it, offering a false address of some random street name. Oh, that’s just off the street where we live. Another shabby-looking man arrived, and bid them come home with them. Rounding a corner into a dead-end alleyway, the three men stopped and turned about suddenly, the tallest one spoke, “There is no street of that name in Orphalese. Let’s get the strangers lads, I’ll bet they’re brimming with coin!”

The fight was a short one. Flying above them, a Lightning Bolt and a Fireball later, the footpads were toast. Even Ermine managed to tag one with his Magick-Missile of Skewering. The coins that weren’t melted in the onslaught were pilfered, and a glass phial was discovered, smashed, leaking out a greenish liquid onto the cobblestone streets. Sæmus and Ermine left in short order.

Both Rogue-Wizards came across another shop. T’was an emporium full of old things, curios, boxes, tins, tools, pottery, carvings and cups were all heaped in a haphazard-like fashion. T’was a pile of a window display. The pawnbrokers sign sported the words “Crack-converters”, somewhat weatherbeaten and worse for wear. Entering inside, the shop was owned by a jovial old lady by the name of “Bonny”. The walls were lined with shelves, from the floor to the ceiling; all crammed with olde objects, collected over the many years she had been custodian of this emporium. Most of the things were covered in a thick layer of dust, and only a few caught the eye of our adventurers. The pair bought a brass owl, a copper lantern, an ivory chest, and a green vase.

Elf and leprechaun arrived at another building down the street, an old converted barn, sporting large wooden doors at the front. Some sort of commotion was happening inside, hearing cheering and shouting emanating from within the building. A man barred their way saying, “Pie-eating competition, five groats to spectate,” (that’s five copper-pieces.) “and ten sceattæ to enter the competition against Gut-buster, if you think you’re ’ard enough to beat him.”

Ermine stepped upto the plate, paying the entrance fee to partake, while Sæmus Slipped Away Into Shadows then snuck back in, silently, invisible. After witnessing Gut-buster best a half-orc, he had a five minute rest, then took on the new challenger: Ermine; who beat the Gut-buster by a whole fish-pie. Emptying his final bowl, he burped in triumph. Offering his reward up to people who were willing to join him in their fight against the Dæmon-King, a dagger flew out from the crowd. Ermine dodged the spinning blade, and before he could trace from where it had came, the assassin had fled, out of sight. The elf managed to recruit another ten warriors before left, and handed them a note, telling them to wait outside the city limits with Stumpy.

After leaving the converted barn, the two heroes headed down a side alley. Treading on an iron grate, which suddenly flew open, Ermine stumbled upon two Sewer Goblins. One round of hand-to-hand, and a Phantasmal Fireball later, the two were brown-bread. The ambush failed to scratch the two mage-thieves, who searched the nearby barrels rather than venturing down beneath the city.

The first couple of barrels were empty, and the third had a piece of old sack-cloth covering it; before they could even touch it however a man’s voice shouted from inside, “Go away! Leave me alone! Can’t anybody get a decent siesta these days?” They decided to pull back the sacking, and a small man became visible. He wore filthy green clothes, and was curled up inside the barrel. He glared up at them with an angry expression written all over his face. He had angular features and an odd-shaped hat on his head which was held in place by his pointy ears. “I’m warning you.” Then, out of nowhere, a spring-trap was released plastering the two of them in rotten fruit. They decided to attack the fellow leprechaun…

Here endeth the session.

    The Second-Sesh’ (New Player) played on the 9th of July, 2012

Valraven (Human Monk, from Chi-Kung)
Reaper (Dracon Warrior, from outer-space)

Falling from the sky, some time ago, a lone Dracon warrior dropped down in a fiery comet unto Tadisaga (Snuggle-Nook).

By chance he happened to cross-paths with another stranger, equally as baffled about why the two were here, on a busy street corner, in Orphalese.

This quarter had a distinctly oldey-worldy look about it, mediæval style houses and buildings loomed down upon the hustling city street. Beside the monk and dracon was a sign, blowing about in the wind. Upon this sigil was inscribed “Maxy’s Mercenaries.” A wooden-beamed slanting stone-building, whitewashed sides of warped mortar, sporting an old tile roof.

A large neon sign, pink, flashing in coloured lights to a big arrow-shape that read “Level One Adventurers this Way” then blinked out of existence as quickly as it had come in.
Deciding to follow, they walked into the front-room, where another two warriors dueled with wooden swords, a practice fight, a mock battle, the two combatants pulling their punches.

A half-a dozen or so blokes look on, jeering, and stood on a pedestal, above them all, was a striking blonde woman, Maxy. Adorned in leathers, she barks instructions to the two fighters. “Ar-RET!”

The cacophony continued, as her words fell of deaf-ears. She sighed, and shrugged, rolled her eyeballs and thought “boys will be boys”.

The fight was coming to its final stages. The unarmoured Achæn warrior lashed out and struck the elf, who retaliated, and took a piece out of matey-boy. Boom! Another hit, and the Achæn contender ate the floor.

“Stop!” said Maxy. The room was instantly silenced, and all eyes were cast on the two new-comers. She continued.

“Take a break, all of you, while I see what these two… intruders want.”

She walked over to the two and said, “I’m Max and these are my boys. Do you want to hire some N.P.C. warriors perchance? 200 gold-pieces.”

The two adventurers parlayed that instead of giving her two hundred sceattæ (G.p.), or as she had suggested, fight her, but instead, those two should battle it out, as have never before met, neither in life, nor the arena.

Max eyed the strangers warily, but could see that they were genuine, so she thought this a good suggestion, and so the two were jeered as they began to start an honour-duel.

Valraven’s character has ten character flaws, put a hundred and ten of his build points (almost all of them) into one Martial Arts Special Maneouver: Distance death which he has at 81%. Anyway, the main point being, of the decimal quirks Valraven has, one of them is a Warrior-Book flaw: “Flashbacks”. (My favourite!) we even randomized the particular conditions under which the flashback happened, and it was when the monk was fighting as a captured slave once, in a gladiatorial arena. Any form of ritual combat or fighting in front of a large audience can trigger the flashbacks, where the character stands inert, trancing out, tripping out for a round. Anyhow, back to the game.

Valraven makes his Willpower roll(s) throughout and manages to stay on the flex, without tripping out. He actually rolled a critical success one round on a save versus Paralyzation flex rule. Back to cases:
The monk wins the initiative by one mere segment, and tries for a Choke Hold Maneouver, but Reaper manages to just about fight him off. Retaliating was futile.

Reaper went in with the claws again, n’owt doin’. Valraven takes a knock in Honour as he delivers his lethal Distance Death Martial Arts Maneouver. He made it. The dracon was not bested by a Paralysing Touch, he made his save.

Then, again Valraven tried for another Choke-Hold. It worked! As the dracon flailed and failed to stave off the monks series of attacks, he was out for the count.

The monk was declared the winner, by the warrioress, who honoured the agreement, leasing out her champion (Ardwyn the wood-elven warrior) to Valraven (who can have but one N.P.C. henchman, due to his horrendous Charisma score. He burned it off, and as Conan says, Charisma is always a bit of a dump stat, rinse those points while you can. Especially that since the latest rules errata, included in the PHB, state that characters cannot pump stats with BuildPts.)

Anyhow, they parted ways amicably, and went on with the adventure, to defeat the evil Dæmon King of the East. Though they both be only level one fighters. Valraven’s soul was linked to that of Gar (the character he ran last session) who was in the service of the O’Finnigan army, that are camped outside the city walls. Beyond the limits. Anyhow…

The door opened into a small cosy room, with low oak beams. Opposite is a warm fire burning in a hearth, near which sits an old man. Above him is a painting of a sailing-boat. The aged man sits in a comfy chair, beside which is a little table. Upon it sits a small silver chalice, half-filled with ruby-red wine.

The palava went something like, “would you like a room for the evening? If so it is two schillings each, per night.” (That’s Silver-Pieces in Snuggle-Nook)

Valraven gave him a scaettæ (a Gold Piece) which the old-boy was most happy with. He regaled them with stories of his adventures upon the ocean waves, voyages to far off lands, all over dinner, with wine, and of course, the warm aroma of chollie, wispy tendrils of smoke.

Reaper wanted to hear more of the old-mans stories to start with, and Valraven seemed stoic and not particularly interested. The old sea-dog recounted his tale, sharing pictures painted about his voyage that had been drawn by three different artists, all members of the crew from the vessel the Santa Maria. The dracon asked to rest, and took the room-key up to where he was to stay, and bade the old man goodnight. Valraven however had a renewed interest in the sea-dogs tale, and bade him share his history with him this night.

After recounting adventures of being attacked by a giant Kraken at sea, twice. A myriad of trips back and forth, whence the Crew bested the isle of the cyclops’. Who smashed her in pieces, and only after vanquishing the giants was she able to make repair. As recent as two months ago, she was on river-patrol, down the River Krall. But that, was another story…

The old sailor said, “Now what about you young monk? What’s your story?”

Valraven spoke of his quest, brought to him through a phantom spirit guide, one of his ancestors, who told him he must bring about the downfall of the Dark-Lord Dæmon King of the East. The old man had heard of this brewing storm, this ascending evil, the darkness the shrouds the East. On this side of the sea, everyone knew of the Dæmon-King, and through providence, the old man had in his possession he had a sword, that was said could harm this foe. (essentially a +1 Magickal Long-sword, +4 against Dæmons). He offered it in exchange for Valravens sword. The monk didn’t have a sword, only his fists, which were as good as. Valraven suggested Ardwyn (the N.P.C. wood-elf) traded blades, he did so for the Quest.

Anyway, the team got a good nights rest, had green ham and eggs in the morning, and set off on their Quest, saying farewell to the old sea-captain. Thanking the old-boy for his kindness in giving him the Dæmon-Slayer sword. Ardwyn and Reaper should’ve swapped blades really, seeing as he was specialist in longsword fighting, but Valraven kept guard of the magickal weapon.

The following morning, Ardwyn the wood-elf awoke gently, rubbed his eyes and blurred back into the waking world. He had dreamt of being back in the Berenshire, with the elven Wizard, and the Færie-Queen Maud. The Bagginses had been round for tea. Right now he was in an unfamiliar place. The street buzzed with activity, the throng of city-crowds speaking a strange language, Achæn. Ardwyn went over to the basin, had a wash, dried his face and hands, then immediately lit up a pipe of the shires finest. He returned momentarily in his mind, nostalgically, to the cosy circular hill-side cottage in the country. The shire.

Gathering himself, getting dressed, he straightened his hair, and went down to meet the others. The old-man was there, as was Valraven the second, and the Reaper. After parting ways amicably, and moving out onto the busy city streets, cobblestone roads in a windey haphazard alleyways, the bearded left, found their way to the gates, and rejoined the army camped outside.

Sæmus was nowhere in sight, most likely invisible some-place, flying about, getting upto no good. Stumpy the lieutenant had been left instructions to relinquish command to the most capable seeming (player) character that comes along. Valraven seemed to exert more dominance, pressure on the soldiers, and they reluctantly followed his lead[ership].

They decided to cross the River Krall. Marching eastwards the army arrived at a wooden bridge, crossed, and began heading south. Crossing the Pagan-Plains, by late-afternoon, the band of two-hundred or so warriors had put many miles behind them. Giving the order to halt the two ordered their men to drink at a watering hold. Valraven tested the waters as well. Over a hundred soldiers fell ill from the bad-water. The Dæmon-King’s spies had been here first and poisoned the well; however Valraven was unharmed.

Deciding to wait until the men had recovered, rather than pressing on, the two commanders discussed their next course of action. Something drew them to confront the Dæmon-King, for their scouts reported his whereabouts, towards east, beyond Murkwood.

Crossing one of the tributaries of the river, the army marched onwards. The daylight dwindled as they approached the dark-looking forest, under a thick canopy of trees that vaulted towards the heavens with creeping tendrils of branches. High up in the sky, the web of spindly branches rocked lazily in the wind, besides the breeze not a sound was heard from the depths of the dark shadowy wood.

A whisper of uncertainty ran through the ranks of their army. Shouting the order to march, Reaper led the way, Valraven by his side, Ardwyn, and the battalion. The sound of shrieking monkeys broke the silence all about them. After a half an hour, the reconnaissance patrol reported a group of wooden huts disguised by the overgrowth had been discovered. The team decided to take their army with them to investigate…

Here endeth the session.

Experience Point Award Breakdown:

Valraven (Human Monk, from Chi-Kung)
+ 500 (for the Most Valuable-Player [M.V.P.] Award)
+ 50 (for Clever Ideas)
+ 100 (for an idea that saved the team, listening to the old sea-dog.)
+ 150 (for roleplaying his character well)
800 Experience Points in total

+1, 250 from the last session = 2, 050
Valraven would have earned another 60 points for the Most-Damage Dealt in a single hit, but due to a Underground Home-Grown House-Rule by Dungeon Master Maxen the Saxon, which specifies:

No-one, is to be awarded experience points for hurting, harming, or damaging another other player character, in the team, the posse, the Underground Home-Brew Crew.

Reaper (Dracon Warrior, from outer-space)
+ 50 (for Clever Ideas)
+ 50 (for an idea that saved the team, listening to the old sea-dog a short while.)
+ 150 (for roleplaying his character well)
250 Experience Points in total



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