Call for Players, Spring Festival
Subject: Call for Players
::puts on fancy DM hat::
I mentioned the possibility of another ?play by email? dungeons and dragons campaign in another thread, and here?s the official call for players.
The world I am running is a new one, more along the ?dark fantasy? train of thought. It isn?t so much the ?high fantasy? I understand Tom has been running, nor the ?Lovecraftian horror fantasy? that Slash has been tormenting us with. There aren?t castles or dragons, nor are there hordes of undead or lycanthropes.
The game will be set in a fantasy world of my own creation, something I?m currently working up as a d20 campaign setting supplement. It?ll start in a more familiar, comfortable D&D world, then branch out into the unknown. This PBEM campaign will be part playtest and part trial by fire for the new setting and system info, giving me insight into what I need to tweak and change.
I?m looking for a group of adventurers willing to strike out beyond the known. If you?re interested, please email me a basic personality and history of your character at RynDrythorn@aol.com. Those already involved with Slash or Tom?s games are perfectly welcome to send in a character ? though, those who are currently gameless will be given a bit more of an advantage, I hope you understand.
Keep the following in mind before you send your email:
Characters may be of any class or race found in the open source material for D&D 3.5 (excluding psions), and may be of any nonevil alignment. If you wish to take another race or whatnot from another book, please email me and ask if that?s cool before you go ahead with it. I?m looking for good stories and backstories, so make your initial pitch a good one. Don?t worry so much about level and points and whatnot, though you can assume that your character is higher than second level (not sure where I want to start everyone yet).
I?m requiring a commitment from each player of one turn per day, Monday through Friday. We may have more turns per day depending on how quickly everyone responds, but I?m only asking for one. Take a look at www.sakeriver.com/game for an example of what I?m looking for in terms of players.
Please tailor your characters to incorporate the following basics about the start of the campaign:
Far into the countryside, east of the city of Abeson, there lies a frontier town called Segreda. Originally a mere trading outpost for farmers in the area, Segreda grew to a bustling hub of trade and communication, nestled between the dwarven mining town of Maignan in the north, the fishing community of Neelin in the south, and the fertile Caro plains to the east.
To the east of the Caro plains lies the uncharted wastes, marked by a wide sea of tall grasslands that seems to continue as far as the eye can see. The frontier has attracted adventurers of all types, each looking to make a name as an explorer or great frontiersman, or even as the leader of a small encampment or village. Rumors persist of lost cities in the grasslands, of legendary treasure, of mythical grass dragons and other monsters. Many who ventured out were never seen again, which only added an aura of danger to the myths and legends.
Two years ago, a group of explorers returned from the grasslands bearing news of a game-filled woodland area a month?s travel across the plains, and a large, fishable lake. Claiming rights of ownership of the land, the explorers, led by a ranger named Krell Daimyann, gathered a group of intrepid souls from Abeson and Segreda to set out and settle the new land. All told, a group of fifty men, women, and children set out to stake a claim to this new territory. Fifteen wagons, with several months of supplies, ventured forth ? even luring Galidan Stormshield, the legendary fighter of the Kass Wars out of retirement for one final adventure.
A little over a year has passed without any word. Scouts were sent looking for the settlers, and they too disappeared. Some say the Caro plains are haunted, with the ghosts of the grasses swallowing those that trespass too far into their realm. Others claim that the region is in magical flux and any who enter too far are subject to chaotic, uncontrolled magical forces. Still others believe there is another civilization on the other side of the plains, one that has killed or taken the settlers captive, and may even surge across the plains to lay siege to the great city of Abeson.
I?m looking for a group of characters who would be willing to set off in search of this ill-fated group of settlers. Characters should have some reason for venturing into the unknown: familial connection to one or more of the lost people, a desire to explore, a need for adventure, or some other plot hook that draws your character?s eye into the vast expanse of the Caro grasslands.
As soon as I get a group together, I?ll email those people specifics about character creation and the like. For right now, though, I?m looking for solid character creation.
From: Matt
Subject: Launch Email; Spring Festival 1
(This is the official launch email for the Segreda campaign. As it stands now, we are down to five players, since my non-hatrack friend has withdrawn from the party due to time commitments. While I had thought to replace him at the start, I've decided to run the game with the five players we have and add another at a later time if need be. Similarly, Jake (Noemon) will not have access to his email on Monday, so Buchek's appearance in this whole shindig will be on Tuesday. And without further ado....)
The morning finds Segreda bustling with activity, as the last of the merchants attempt to make their way through the streets to their assigned stalls in the grand market. The air is still somewhat brisk, but a warm breeze blows from the south and the sun shines brightly. It is obvious that the winter's chill has been broken and spring approaches rapidly.
The inn practically hums in the early morning, guests chattering in the hallways and thumping and bumping of chests and travel items against the walls in the hallway and adjacent rooms. Gurk had set Kayla, Telwyn and Holn up in halfling sized rooms on the top floor - the only rooms available so far into the festival. The two humans had to stoop a bit to get into the rooms and could not stretch out fully on the beds, but they received a reduced fare for their troubles and weren't all that uncomfortable after all.
The three meet up in the common room for a light breakfast, discussing their hopes and concerns for the coming journey. Gurk tells them much of the city is gathering just a block or so away at the city square for the spring rites ceremony, and suggests they attend. After they finish their meal, they set out for the square.
Erk spends his morning completing his dawn duties for the temple and having a light breakfast. When his chores are complete, he accompanies Grev to the gathering of the high priests and then mingles with the crowd.
* * *
The city square is abuzz with chatter and laughing. Wide banners stream from the rooftops of nearby buildings commemorating the spring festival with embroidered designs. Flowers and fruit are popular decorative motifs, as were birds and rabbits. The people all seem to be wearing something green, be it a hat, scarf or simply a piece of jewelry.
At the center of a raised dais, a large, ornately carved wooden chair sits empty, bracketed by two guards with ornamental glaives on either side - each in glinting armor polished especially for the occasion. Several other smaller chairs, each as decorative as the first, stand against a backdrop of white and purple flowers, their stems woven into a sort of curtain.
The chatter of the crowd grows steadily as more people press into the square, when suddenly a fanfare of trumpets silences them. A path clears leading to the dais, and a procession emerges from the guardhouse, walking slowly but purposefully toward the platform.
At the lead are several bannermen carrying high the sigils of their lords. A black dragon rampant on a red field, two golden wolves on azure, a white stag with black antlers on a field of green... there are at least a dozen richly colored cloth banners waving gently in the breeze. These bannermen stop at points along the path and face inward, leaving a corridor of banners that lead to the dais itself.
Following these, a procession of men in glinting armor walk down this corridor toward the dais. Erk nods in approval as the men stride by, noting the fine craftsmanship of ceremonial armor he had not yet seen them wear. In the lead, the gray-haired Berom Windspear walks confidently, chin held high, still as strong as steel after nearly seventy years. Following him, the Trade Commissar, Snylledd Mandrake steps gingerly in head-to-toe black leather studded with diamonds and rubies, his ponytail of shock white hair contrasting against his dark attire. Behind him walks Gurk Bellringer, in silver mail with a jewel-encrusted gold harp in the crook of his left arm.
Behind these a group of high priests walk solemnly. In the lead is Manuuv "Brightstar", cleric of St. Cuthbert. His step is weary, his gilded armor and embroidered robe seem to weigh him down. The extraordinarily ornate cudgel he holds in his right hand glints in the sun, but it seems more a burden than a weapon. His eyes are dark, and his face haggard - showing every one of his 65 years. Behind him comes Grev Steelhammer, high priest of Clangeddin, and Bilfin Merriman, high cleric of Fharlanghan, come from Caro.
The men all take seats on the dais as the fanfare ended, and Berom finally stands to address the crowd.
"Welcome to Segreda!" The crowd cheers, and Berom smiles warmly. "Nearly forty years ago, Gurk, Snylledd, Manuuv and I decided to settle in a small town, away from the world yet on the great frontier - on the border of the future. What had been Greda, just a small trading post, has blossomed faster than we ever thought possible, thanks to all of you!"
This is met with more cheering before Berom settles the crowd.
"Spring has arrived, and with it a return to life! The first fruits of the year have yielded themselves to us, and for that we give thanks to the gods!"
As the crowd cheers, the three priests rise and step to the center of the dais. Manuuv speaks first, in a halting tone.
"It is through the good will of the gods that we are here today, and that we have such bounty. As one of the founding members of Segreda, I ask for St. Cuthbert's blessing for this festival and all those in attendance. May his grace and goodness shine on you all."
After some cheering, Grev Steelhammer speaks in booming tones, making Manuuv's words seem timid and weak by comparison.
"The strength of the gods led the founders here safely! The strength of the gods holds our city strong against the raids of the barbarians of the east! The strength of the gods gives courage to our guards and soldiers and wisdom to our leaders! On behalf of the dwarves of Maignan and Segreda, I ask for great Clangeddin's blessing to give us strength in this new year!"
Great cheering erupts from the dwarves at this, and Erk again sees the awesome power of his teacher. It seems as though power and strength radiate from him. Finally, Bilfin speaks.
"Here at the crossroad between many towns, many races, and many cultures, I call upon the blessing of Fharlanghan, master of roads. I ask that he improve the ties between Segreda and its neighbors, strengthening our bonds and increasing or friendship. I bring blessings from the end of the road, from the outpost of Caro on the border of the Grass Sea, and I bring blessings to those who have been lost beyond the road... and those who will follow them."
There is no cheering at Bilfin's words, but many hushed words are spoken as the priests again take their seats and Snylledd stands. Whispers of increased barbarian raids, of late or missing caravans, and of the lost settlers filter through the crowd. A persistent rumor is that a guard was attacked by a lone barbarian out beyond Caro, and that the assailant has been brought to the festival to be judged. From the sound of it, many think the "animal" should be put to death for his crime, but bitterly comment that the "old man" no longer had the will to do it.
Snylledd finally speaks, settling the crowd.
"Yes, yes... those who will follow them. It has been more than a year since the settlers set out, and several months since the scouts disappeared. Mist clouds our vision of these lost souls, but I have not yet given them up for dead. The Tall Grass is a treacherous place, and travelers easily lose their way. Before the founding of Segreda, we wandered a great many days in the Tall Grass thinking we would not emerge."
"But we did, because a ranger came to our aid and led us back across the river."
"We need another such service. Guides to find our lost kin and lead them from their danger. Strong arms and stout hearts willing to brave the Tall Grass and rescue our brethren."
"The council has set aside provisions for the journey and a hefty reward for any who return with news."
"Who here seeks to take up that charge?"
The crowd grows silent.
From: Ty
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Erk has worked his way over to the platform as the ceremony went on. When the challenge is issued, he speaks to his master and teacher, Grev, in a loud voice. His words take on a ceremonial tone as he says, ?Master, I would to bring the comfort and strong arm of Clangeddin to those who are lost. Will you give me leave to take up this work??
From: Matt
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Grev smiles at Erk, having had knowledge of his student's intentions before the ceremony began. In a booming voice, he speaks, more to the crowd than to Erk.
"The strength of Clangeddin flows through you, my son! You would bring honor to our temple to perform this task! Bring the blessings of Giantbane to our lost brethren, and return triumphant with news of their safety!"
The crowd cheers, and Snylledd smiles before calming them.
"Your strong arm and the grace of your god are welcome on this journey. The council and the citizenry of Segreda wish you all good fortune - and as a token of our thanks," he says the next part very conspicuously, "I give to you this bag of 30 gold pieces, with a promise of 400 more upon your triumphant return!"
There is more cheering, but Snylledd's voice cuts in before it dies out.
"Who else takes up this charge?"
From: Clara
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Kayla grins wildly and walks up to Grev. She clears her throat, and concentrates on losing her accent for the moment.
"T'would be my honor to take up this challenge. I offer my skills to those who would venture forth. And when I return, I will bring you tales of our successes."
From: Matt
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
A cheer rises from the crowd along with several whistles. A woman in the crowd shouts, "Maybe with a woman along they won't get so lost!", and her comment is met with a burst of laughter.
Snylledd smiles at the jibe and turns to Kayla, again holding a bulging pouch high so the crowd could see.
"The Council and the people thank you for your generosity and ambition, mistress halfling. As your music roused souls in the Singing Anvil last night, so shall it bolster the will of this expedition! This purse is yours, as is the promise of reward upon your return!"
Kayla catches a wink from Gurk, sitting in gleaming silver mail - looking so unlike the innkeeper of the night before she would have hardly recognized him if she passed him on the street.
As she steps to the side of the dais with Erk, Snylledd again calls out to the assembled masses.
"Two have pledged themselves to the cause - who will give them aid?"
From: Erik
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Previously unseen, Holn emerges from the crowd and pulls back his hood, revealing his sharp green eyes. Fanchec Fa jumps to his perch on his masters shoulders.
"Master Snylled, I would join this courageous company. I do not join for gold, or money, or even loyalty. It is my destiny to see this party through. Simply, I must follow that destiny, and learn from it.
"I will go on your ambitious expedition."
From: Matt
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Holn's words take Snylledd aback when he seemingly declines the money, but he regains his composure quickly. Many in the crowd did not hear Holn's words, as they were directed more toward the Commissar and not heard over the din.
When he stepped forward, a murmur went through the crowd, and words like "barbarian" and "raider" filtered through. It made Holn somewhat uncomfortable, but he was aware what these people thought of the clans.
A dwarf's voice rose from the crowd, "We don't need any of his kind!" and a few scattered cries of approval echoed. Snylledd took a moment to calm the crowd before redirecting their energies.
"We are fortunate to have one so knowledgeable of the grassland wilds willing to assist us in our time of need! It is said the tribes have lost people of their own - and are together with us in our sorrow! The gods have sent us an ambassador to ease the expedition?s passage through the lands of our neighbors!"
There is some cheering at that, but the emotions of the crowd are mixed. They are willing to go along with Snylledd's words, but in their hearts they have misgivings.
Again he raises the bag obviously to the crowd, but this time palms it as he steps forward toward Holn and speaks quietly.
"If you will take no money, I will find something you will take as a token of our generosity, good sir. We will speak after the festival."
From: Mike
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Telwyn makes his way forward. The crowd is dense and it might otherwise be difficult to get through, but people tend to give Liwanu a wide berth as soon as they see him. This display was foolishness; Mandrake already knew that he would be going on the expedition. But let the man have his ceremony.
Stepping out past the crowd, Telwyn meets Mandrake's eyes and wordlessly nods.
From: Matt
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Snylled makes motions as though he is listening closely to whispered words from Telwyn, although there are none. After a moment, he smiles wide and turns to the crowd and speaks again.
"A man of few words, trained to hold his tongue in the wild places of the world! A ranger from Armis in the south, come to our aid as a scout and guide!"
There is more cheering, but also some grumbling. Holn hears the word "dirty elf," "bastard" and "halfbreed" faintly, but he has grown used to such barbs when visiting Segreda. Likely the taunts came from some of the many dwarves present, but he knew there were humans who felt the same.
Snylledd hands him his pouch and turns again to the crowd.
"Four will go into the wilds, will any join them?"
The crowd is silent, waiting in expectation. Snylledd's face grows worried - surely four would not be enough to survive the Tall Grass - and none of them warriors.
"Is there courage in the hearts of the men of Segreda, or would we let these four souls walk alone into the grass?"
Again silence, and a nervous murmur started to grow. The party hears snippets of conversation, talking about how the last expedition never returned to claim Snylledd's reward, how this party has as little a chance of survival, how the townspeople had more sense than to run off to certain death.
Finally, a voice rang out.
"I will go!"
Craning their necks to see where the voice came from, the crowd turned. The men on the dais peered out across the throng to catch a glimpse of this man, and the party squinted against the bright dawn sun.
The crowd parted for a man in shining armor. On his chest was a sigil of a spear between two clouds, golden lightning passing from the cloud on top across the shaft to the cloud on the bottom. Around the spear, the steel was worked to look as though wind whipped along its length.
"I, Bermid Windspear, son of Lieutenant Bernin of the guard, grandson of Berom, founder of Segreda, lend my services to this noble band."
Another murmur shot through he crowd as the realization set in, and Snylledd was for once at a loss to speak, glancing at the council before looking back to the young man. It was the grey haired Berom who stood and finally spoke.
"Son of my son, your courage is without question, and the passion that runs through your veins is known well to me. But what reason draws you from our city?"
Without blinking, Bermid answered.
"Grandfather, long have I heard of your deeds. Long have I yearned to one day follow in your footsteps, to strike out with a band of adventurers and gain glory and honor for our family. At my age you had already left home seeking fortune, and your name was known in many places. I cannot be contained in Segreda, content to serve in the Guard. I will go to find our people."
Berom sighed, a look of sadness and understanding in his eyes.
"You are definitely of my blood, Bermid, as your father is before you. Go with my blessing."
While the crows stares in a sort of shocked silence, Berom continues toward the front of the dais as Bermid joins the party.
"Enough of your theatrics, Commissar Mandrake." He says with a wry smile. "You did always have a flair for the dramatic. Those who wish to join the party going east will join with the Commissar when the ceremonies have ended." It seemed as though there would not be any more volunteers, and he did not wish the expedition to look small and weak in the eyes of the people.
"There is a matter many of you have been speculating about - an announcement. For once, rumor gives way to truth. This was my last Spring Rites ceremony as Captain of the Segreda Guard."
A hushed whispering spreads through the crowd.
"Next week marks my 70th year. I am not so young as I once was, and the strength of my body begins to fail after these many years. I have decided to step down before the gods force me down."
"For the last decade, my son Bernin has served as my right arm. My lieutenant in the guard, and as loyal and strong a leader as this city could hope to have. He has defended us against the increasing raids of the barbarian tribes, and has been in command of the training of our guardsman many years already. He has fulfilled all the duties of Captain at one point or another, filling in for me when I have left for Abeson or Maignan to speak with their leaders. And now, I ask him to come forward."
From the side of the dais, a somewhat stunned Bernin stepped up onto the platform. Some gray shot through the temples of his short-cropped black hair, and his jaw was set firm. As he approached, Berom pulled what looked to be a wrapping of cloth some eight feet long from behind his chair.
"As my last act as Captain of the Guard, I name you, Bernin Windspear, as my successor, accorded all the responsibilities and benefits of my office."
Unfurling the wrapped cloth, he produced a beautifully crafted spear with a glinting silver head. Two hawk feathers were tied with leather cords and beads just below the spear head, and as Berom held the spear aloft, these feathers whirled in a growing breeze. As he continued to hold the spear, the banners ruffled and the wind rose, becoming near a gale in the city square before the Captain lowered the spear to the ground and the wind died.
"I give you the weapon of my father, and my father's father - the Windspear of Hurmar. Use it only with pure intentions and for the good of the people."
Bernin accepted the spear with reverence and watched as his father walked to the edge of the dais, unblinking. Berom turned and pointed back at his finely carved wooden chair.
"Your chair, Captain. Do it honor."
(There's more coming, but Jake isn't available until tomorrow, so we're pretty much stalled until then. I'll send out the bit where he comes into the picture later on tonight. There will be some time while Bernin takes some oaths and some procedural things happen here, and you are perfectly willing to use it to speak with Bermid or each other where you stand off to the side of the dais.)
From: Erik
Subject: Re: Spring Festival 1
Holn approaches Bermid quietly, displaying empty forearms.
"You are welcome at my side, Bermid Windspear. May news of our deeds spread across the world, and other realms. I count myself lucky to be amongst such brave souls."
Holn extends a hand in friendship, eyes twinkling in a warm and friendly smile.