I must start. I want this endeavour to be perfect. But I know that it will not. Besides, perfect is the enemy of good, which is the enemy of completely mediocre, which in turn is the enemy of complete and total crap. So while I hold out for inspiration, every other possibility dies a silent death. Therefore, I must begin.
Maybe, I should start with the base conception. I play this mind game every once in a while that I call making a Reconstructive Personal History: if I were to live my life over (and be a fundamentally different person while doing so), what changes would I make?
My father had an elaborate (but not that elaborate) model train setup in the basement. The base consisted of two 4'x8' plywood sections butted up next to each other with a 3'x3' hole cut out of the middle for easy access. I envision taking over this table for game play... and then, of course, taking it over completely.
Let this be our main play area.
Like I said, this was in the basement. And so, there is more room to play with and take over. I grew up in a big ranch style house with a full basement. Let us assume that it was 50'x100' (that might be a bit large, 35'x70' might be more accurate) and that half of this area (to start, anyway) is available for additional theatrics: bunk beds, a sofa area, and curtained off areas for Set Scenes.
Yes, I shall spare no expense for this Flight of Fancy.
On the other hand, I am getting too wordy.
The Mine
A Test Campaign
Please do not be surprised (though, feel free to be disappointed) when this proto-adventure stops on a dime, having gone nowhere.
{I wrote the base document on my phone while sitting in the library. Trust me, it's not the ideal writing set-up. But it had the benefit of transferring possible future writing into the actuality of the present.
Asides such as this (something in italics between curly braces: {}) come during the editing process, as there is always something that needs clarifying... like the fact that I seemed to be obsessed with my childhood and often play the game of What If, a re-imagining (or reconstructing, if you will) of my life... to dubious effect. After all, to exist in a different reality, The World is not the only thing that needs changing. Meaning, since I try to hold The World static and unchanging while playing my games of What If, it really is I who would need to change. And let us just say, that in the end, my Ego is very resistant to such a notion.
Asides such as this (something in italics between curly braces: {}) come during the editing process, as there is always something that needs clarifying... like the fact that I seemed to be obsessed with my childhood and often play the game of What If, a re-imagining (or reconstructing, if you will) of my life... to dubious effect. After all, to exist in a different reality, The World is not the only thing that needs changing. Meaning, since I try to hold The World static and unchanging while playing my games of What If, it really is I who would need to change. And let us just say, that in the end, my Ego is very resistant to such a notion.
Very much, Slaughter Quest is about Character Identification... and Visceral Heroics. By which I mean, the feeling of accomplishment one gets from Levelling Up or completing an Adventure... while the tie-in to writing should be abundantly clear: I get to amass the treasure that is a personal oeuvre.
Our starting location shall be a Coal Mine. I've thought about this Coal Mine often. As such, developing the locale (as long as the locale is important) is as key and central as any character.
{I should note that I started thinking about a Coal Mine as a Campaign Local upon reading a story in The Dragon. Nothing that follows has much to do with that story, as it focused on a Ranger whose Hell Hound Familiar (of Friend) had been killed and turned into a Sentient Cloak. But the story was good enough that is changed my idea as to what a Role Playing Adventure should be like. And since I believe (it has been a long time) the story took place in and around fields of coal, the idea for such a Campaign Location was born.}
In my Fictionalized Worlds, mines progress. The Mine (which needs a name) shall start as a Coal Mine. But over time, the coal shall turn to lead, zinc, copper, silver, gold, and beyond. But outside of a bit of hand waving (and mentioning Dark Dwarves), I could not tell you the mechanics involved.
Eventually, invitations will go out {for make-believe friends in a wrapping story to come over and play}. I know not how this will be handled. Campaigns should be self contained, lasting a weekend at best. Well, maybe not Campaigns. But certainly, the Adventures that make up a Campaign should be self contained... to say, a slumber party lasting a weekend... or a quick 24 Hour Spree.
I don't see {as in, envision} the same folks playing every time. There's a big difference between Role Playing (for the actors in the crowd), Roll Playing (a more nerdy pursuit in which Game Mechanics are more central), and Miniature Battles (call them War Games) in which Tactics are central but the needs of a Campaign hardly touch base.
So, different nights would draw a different crowd, with parchment invites deciding the who, the what, the where (my basement), and the when.
Double lines denote a new day at the library, while single lines denote a new idea.
I don't want this to be too sequential. I am writing this on a phone. So, it's not my intent to write a story, much less a book. I just want to hit on ideas.
In that same basement (the one that existed in the house in which I grew up), I often imagine a Super Computer. Or when listening to the song Good Life by ----- (a group whose name eludes me at the moment, but is, probably, most likely, New Republic), I imagine a Refrigerator Box Time Machine (if that makes any sense). I do tend to compose my own private Music Videos as songs roll along.
It's odd how I never (yeah, pretty much never) imagine playing music (guitar or whatever) down in the basement. When dreaming of a Misguided Youth consisting of Rock Stardom, the Recording Studio is always located in my old bedroom. I had a huge bedroom.
I imagine the lead in-game character as being a noble born outcast, who did something to piss someone off; and so, has been sent to the boonies as punishment.
Perhaps, he had some sort of scandalous affair. But in truth, I doubt I want to go down that road.
So, he's more likely (as in, he is) a third cousin two-times-squared removed from The Throne, 4,328th in line, a complete nobody... but noble enough to be trained in the arts.
Long-term (game time wise), warlocks and wizards and others of that ilk are the most powerful. But they tend to die young. Meaning, they don't tend to live long enough to become powerful {assuming one is playing by the rules, of course, with no Mulligans).
Personally, I never accepted the class distinctions.
I like sword-wielding magic-using types, who aren't afraid to call on the gods, pick a lock, or run away into the night when that is what the situation calls for.
Thus, this guy {the main, we'll need a name soon enough} lost a bet.
I say such a thing; and then, immediately feel the need to flip it around.
Rather than losing, he won a bet: some magical test of wills, involving a candle placed between two opponents, the flames slowly growing, licking this way and that {the point being to burn the other, so it's a lot like a magical game of chicken} with Our Hero eventually coming out on top and singeing the hair of his opponent, who happened to be higher born, twice as high born as himself. And such an affront was enough to send Our Hero out here, to this desolate post: a Coal Mine in the middle of nowhere. It might as well be The Salt Pits.
We will not be doing Evil.
I, suppose, that's always open to interpretation but things like rape and torture are off the table.
I don't put theft in the same category. After all, "Sometimes you've got to steal just to get what's yours." I have no idea where I first heard that line. But it rings true.
And this is Slaughter Quest, so folks will die.
But we will not be raping babies.
I guess that means all sex (if any, if any is implied) will happen off-screen.
And in the distance, could be heard...
We will need a Dark Dwarf (in search of The Light: i.e. Star Crystals, don't you know) to run The Mine.
Paging through a Music Magazine for inspiration (back in The Real World), my eyes alight on a likely subject: cigar in mouth (I am sure it is K'rf), mirrored glasses, and wool covering the rest, from head to toe, even his ears, nose, and mouth. He (being our Dwarf, because good luck finding the magazine based on my description) has a healthy dose of leather, iron, spikes, and chains to give the rough woven wool a little colour and round it all out.
The wool provides some protection against coal dust, but of course.
While the rest is ambiance... and comes in handy whenever someone questions his rule.
"We'll ship all the coal you want, just as long as you never forget who runs this mine."
Mine & Mine: They're both spelled the same, if you catch my drift.
"'My Mine,' you say. Not as long as that creature is living down there."
Nothing tough.
Something simple
A snake.
A creature which our lead will take care of handily.
Neil is his name, because "That is something I never shall do."
I think I need to smoke a few with the Dwarf, who, also, needs a name.
"You can be, Stef, you know, Stef'fen... even if he's Fey... and you're just gay."
Yeah, sure. In this day and age, such words might be a mistake. But it is the language in which I think. Much more than calling into question one's sexual preference (because who really cares about that), Fey is a reference to a man of slight build... in a word, a wimp, which is how I always see Stef'fen, so no harm no foul. Besides (as the name historical belongs to an Elf), he likely has a little Fey in him, anyway.
"Yeah, that's not all he has in him," First Strike, the Dark Dwarf quips. But I will leave it hanging {especially seeing as how I no longer understand the reference to a First Strike}.
No matter... as that will hardly be the first time you, I, or both of us in concert have no idea what I am talking about, so I might as well move on.
First Strike... FS... True Blow... Clanger... Clan... Khan... Katsu... now, there's an interesting twist. And from there, it's easy enough to go Chicken... Egg... Yolk... Polk. But so far, I like Egg the best.
Egg.. Edgard.
I think that will do.
{So, First Strike was the first go at a name for the Dark Dwarf. But it sounded stupid. So, I immediately changed it.
The foregoing is more or less how I work out names. It's straightforward process of free-association until something sticks. And a name has stuck when it no longer feels odd and I no longer need to look at my notes to remember what it was.}
The foregoing is more or less how I work out names. It's straightforward process of free-association until something sticks. And a name has stuck when it no longer feels odd and I no longer need to look at my notes to remember what it was.}
And you will notice, I already forgot we had given Stef'fen the in game name of Neil.
Clearly, Stephen (or Steve, but I like Stephen better) is the name of a player, while Neil (which he never shall do) is his character's name.
"So, who's playing Egg?"
Clearly, someone who likes food.
Ironically (at the age this scenario is taking place), that can mean someone who is either skinny or fat.
And if we are to keep this clean...
"I'm not some whore," {something which is stated in response to the preceding incomplete statement, the thoughts in my head, or something that Egg has blurted out; meaning, we will not be going down that road}. Or in other words, "I'm going to play a Thief," instead. "In an out. There is no stopping her," Jessica says by way of introduction.
I should note that Jesse often plays a neighbour in my Fictional Worlds, but this time around she will be playing Stephen's kid sister.
"Doesn't explain why you got sent to The Mines," Egg (or the player who plays Egg) points out. But that's hardly pertinent. "So," he says instead, moving things along, asking about the important things in life, "What's your name?"
I will have to start a list, which I will leave {scrolling} at the bottom of the document {and where it remains, even today}.
But for the moment, I have:
Stef'fen -> Wizard (Lead) -> Neil
-> Dwarf (Mine Boss) -> Edgard -> Egg
Jessica -> Jesse -> Thief (Sister) ->
Please notice the missing Player Name for the Dwarf and another blank space where Jesse's Character's Name should be."That doesn't matter," she says in reference to her Character Name, preferring to get right down to business. "I want to steal something precious."
"Good luck. It's a Coal Mine."
"I was thinking, like, a necklace or something."
Based on the robot on the cover of one of the magazines in front of me, a skeleton could play a role.
"Gemstone eyes," Dwarf Boy notes.
"Then, it's settled."
And it is, very much.
The duo {Neil and Egg} are drinking deep in the heart of The Mine. And as they drink, they trade jokes, bawdy stories, tall tales, and random rumours... one of which concerns the nearby ruins and the attendant skeletons, who are believed to be powered by the enchanted rubies, which act as their eyes.
And as Little Sis is proficient at Hiding in Shadows, she overhears the conversation and decides to take immediate action.
"I steal the rubies!"
"From the skeletons?"
"Sure. How many do I get?"
There's an elegant simplicity in knowing that your brother won't kill your character lest you go crying to mommy and daddy, ruining all his fun.
"Four."
"Only four?"
"Well, I'm assuming you run away when the others notice what you are doing and start to come after you."
Trolls make fun characters. They are big and strong and can take a lot of punishment.
"I want to play him!" Jesse says excitedly.
"Instead of your thief?"
"In addition to!"
"As a friend."
"Fine."
With a little help, Tiel (is that a suitable name for a Thief) befriends Trog.
"I don't like that name."
"Work it out, then."
"Fine. He's called Trag."
"Tiel and Trag sitting in a tree..."
"Trag no like song. Trag bash. Trag bam."
"Who? Me? I think that must have been somebody else," David (Dwarf Boy), insists.
That settled, let's revisit the blossoming of their friendship.
"Tiel steals something!"
"An extra slice of bread or something."
"Frag that!"
"Don't you mean 'Trag that!'"
But it doesn't really work.
"I work some kind of con in the chow line."
"Well, if he had two heads..."
"He can have two heads?"
"Sure. Why not? I like Two Headed Trolls."
"Awesome!"
"But he's going to get confused easily, even if he has better vigilance."
"Why?"
"Because I say so."
{Or if you want the real reasoning, Trolls are notoriously stupid; hence, the confusion. And a two headed creature can look in two directions at the same time; hence, his increased vigilance}.
"And I say the con works."
I would fake the roll. But why bother? I would simply be faking the roll.
"So, how much experience do I get? Oh, and Trag, too, for Looking Ferocious."
"Is Looking Ferocious an XP Situation?" David asks.
But no one likes a Rules Lawyer. So, yes. Looking Ferocious grants about as much experience as Bribing a City Guard, Detecting a Trap (and/or removing one), and/or Working a Con in a chow line.
"Yes! Me and Trag do our High Five thing."
"So, that's what Jesse does for the next three hours. How about me?" David quips.
But nothing comes to mind.
And as such, it should come as no surprise, when I cop out and end the scene.
Gnomes ruined fantasy.
"What?!"
But I am not in the mood to introduce someone new.
"Oh, because it would take too long to give me a name?"
"Yeah, seriously!" David jumps in.
"Fine. Congratulations. G'norman the Gnome."
"No way! Call him Grey Beard."
"Grey Beard?"
"Grey Beard."
"Implying he's old."
"And wise."
"He's The Mine's Accountant."
"Who cooks the books!"
"Works an Illusion or two?"
"Oh, gads. But do Illusionists suck!"
"So?"
"So, let's see where this goes."
I'm not a fan of Illusionists. I'd just use a Charm Spell (of which, I am quite fond) and call it a day.
I'm even less fond of Tinkerers.
Somewhere along the way {in the annals of Role Playing History}, Gnomes became the gatekeepers of Steam Punk Crap Tech, Rube Goldberg Contraptions, and the like.
It's not the type of fantasy I like.
I'm OK with Cross Over and High Tech Fantasy Hybrids. But I don't really care for Steam Punk. The aesthetic can be pleasing enough. But the logic is not.
I'll take Star Wars over Flash Gordon or John Carter {of Mars} any day of the week. And although Jules Vern was fine in his day, it's no longer his day.
Thus, if we are to have devices, we will have magic (or super high tech: quantum electronics and the like) at the core. No. I am not planning on developing a custom rationale. But something will fall into place.
Like, those Skeleton Eyes, just as a for instance. I'm OK interpreting them as a magical cross between a quantum computer and a battery pack that somehow animates a pile of bones; and as such, can be hacked to do... something else.
Not by a Thief, mind you.
Hacking those Enchanted Ruby Eyes is a job for Neil (never shall I) our lead.
But then, I'm OK with blending the roles and giving The High Five Duo {Tiel and Trag, ye of the short attention span} a crack at it.
Not today, though.
There is a Wolf Tracker.
There was a Wolf Tracker.
Next Adventure, please.
One who consorts with a wolf is how I am defining a Wolf Tracker. I like the idea of a Companion or Familiar. But a Werewolf might work better.
Either way, the pack is dead... without much ado.
It's not hard to see the inhabitants of The Mine swarming the countryside. And since 1st Level Characters seldom are pitted against anything higher than 3rd, 4th, or 5th, the Wolf Tracker {even at a daunting 6th Level} never stood a chance.
I would fake the roll. But why bother? I would simply be faking the roll.
"So, how much experience do I get? Oh, and Trag, too, for Looking Ferocious."
"Is Looking Ferocious an XP Situation?" David asks.
But no one likes a Rules Lawyer. So, yes. Looking Ferocious grants about as much experience as Bribing a City Guard, Detecting a Trap (and/or removing one), and/or Working a Con in a chow line.
"Yes! Me and Trag do our High Five thing."
"So, that's what Jesse does for the next three hours. How about me?" David quips.
But nothing comes to mind.
And as such, it should come as no surprise, when I cop out and end the scene.
Gnomes ruined fantasy.
"What?!"
But I am not in the mood to introduce someone new.
"Oh, because it would take too long to give me a name?"
"Yeah, seriously!" David jumps in.
"Fine. Congratulations. G'norman the Gnome."
"No way! Call him Grey Beard."
"Grey Beard?"
"Grey Beard."
"Implying he's old."
"And wise."
"He's The Mine's Accountant."
"Who cooks the books!"
"Works an Illusion or two?"
"Oh, gads. But do Illusionists suck!"
"So?"
"So, let's see where this goes."
I'm not a fan of Illusionists. I'd just use a Charm Spell (of which, I am quite fond) and call it a day.
I'm even less fond of Tinkerers.
Somewhere along the way {in the annals of Role Playing History}, Gnomes became the gatekeepers of Steam Punk Crap Tech, Rube Goldberg Contraptions, and the like.
It's not the type of fantasy I like.
I'm OK with Cross Over and High Tech Fantasy Hybrids. But I don't really care for Steam Punk. The aesthetic can be pleasing enough. But the logic is not.
I'll take Star Wars over Flash Gordon or John Carter {of Mars} any day of the week. And although Jules Vern was fine in his day, it's no longer his day.
Thus, if we are to have devices, we will have magic (or super high tech: quantum electronics and the like) at the core. No. I am not planning on developing a custom rationale. But something will fall into place.
Like, those Skeleton Eyes, just as a for instance. I'm OK interpreting them as a magical cross between a quantum computer and a battery pack that somehow animates a pile of bones; and as such, can be hacked to do... something else.
Not by a Thief, mind you.
Hacking those Enchanted Ruby Eyes is a job for Neil (never shall I) our lead.
But then, I'm OK with blending the roles and giving The High Five Duo {Tiel and Trag, ye of the short attention span} a crack at it.
Not today, though.
There is a Wolf Tracker.
There was a Wolf Tracker.
Next Adventure, please.
One who consorts with a wolf is how I am defining a Wolf Tracker. I like the idea of a Companion or Familiar. But a Werewolf might work better.
Either way, the pack is dead... without much ado.
It's not hard to see the inhabitants of The Mine swarming the countryside. And since 1st Level Characters seldom are pitted against anything higher than 3rd, 4th, or 5th, the Wolf Tracker {even at a daunting 6th Level} never stood a chance.
{I am willing to assume that a Monster, Character, NPC, or whatever of a certain Level, can handle the square of that Level in total opposition easily enough.
10th Level = 102 = 100
5th Level = 52 = 25
So, a 10th Level Character could take on four 5th Level Characters (or NPCs) and likely come out on top.
1st Level = 12 = 1
While a single 5th Level Character could likely battle twenty-five 1st Level NPCs and have a reasonable expectation of victory.
I'm not saying it's realistic. I'm saying Role Playing Games have always been tilted towards the concept of Epic Heroism. And that is what these numbers represent.
Anyway, as I conceive it, there are at least 100 Characters, Creatures, and whatever working The Mine. So, the Wolf Tracker is toast... by design.
Of course, I should note that in addition to it being considered bad form to pit Player Characters against a force they have little chance of defeating, Player Characters also have the option (which NPCs typically do not) of picking and choosing their battles, so as to split the opposition and whittle it down over time.}
10th Level = 102 = 100
5th Level = 52 = 25
So, a 10th Level Character could take on four 5th Level Characters (or NPCs) and likely come out on top.
1st Level = 12 = 1
While a single 5th Level Character could likely battle twenty-five 1st Level NPCs and have a reasonable expectation of victory.
I'm not saying it's realistic. I'm saying Role Playing Games have always been tilted towards the concept of Epic Heroism. And that is what these numbers represent.
Anyway, as I conceive it, there are at least 100 Characters, Creatures, and whatever working The Mine. So, the Wolf Tracker is toast... by design.
Of course, I should note that in addition to it being considered bad form to pit Player Characters against a force they have little chance of defeating, Player Characters also have the option (which NPCs typically do not) of picking and choosing their battles, so as to split the opposition and whittle it down over time.}
Back in The Real, I am paging through a promotional brochure (souvenir booklet) for Siegfried & Roy dating from the later years of the preceding century.
And is it just me or does that last have a wonderfully romantic air about it.
I like the idea of Skill Progression and Acquisition instead of Levels. And might (the operative word, here, being might) be happy to replace Traits (Strength and so on) by an array of Skills. Thus, if Skills worked on a Percentage System, I might be happy to add one point to the underlying Trait for every hundred Skill Points in a relevant category... or perhaps, every ten, if Skill Points were hard enough to come by.
I will leave it to the reader to figure out the details. I haven't Play Tested a thing. So, it's really just an idea... a concept.
Suffice to say, Sword Work is very much like Pole Work and both lend to one's ability Lift Heavy Objects and Throw Things.
But even in that, we are getting more detailed than I wish to go.
Make Way For Ducklings
by Robert McCloskey
I like giving credit to the inspiration... sometimes. In this case, the total inspiration consists of an egg. So rather than inspiration, a prompt might be more accurate.
I have 'played' The Mine, before. In past go rounds (which only goes to show how old this locale is), I have envisioned Neil with a Turtle. Back in The Real, it was a Gem Encrusted Turtle Keepsake Box that inspired the desire.
Fine. The gems were fake.
Fine. By 'Keepsake Box', I mean Stash Box.
Either way, the idea is to give Neil a Familiar.
Turtles give Protective Bonuses.
Stash Boxes have an obvious tie-in with K'rf... though, I wonder if that isn't spelled K'fr.
K'fr sounds like kerf.
So, K'fr (counter-intuitively) is the correct spelling.
I like the idea of the little guy (the Turtle) eating K'fr. And he was probably found by Edgard (Egg), eating his (i.e. The Dwarf's) stash. But sensing the potential, he (or she, as the potential for future eggs make some sense, after all) was rescued by Neil.
In The Magazine before me {as I am sure I have mentioned elsewhere, this is a library project}, a man is smoking a cigar... really pulling on it. It makes him a douche in my book. And as my mind seeks a good example, my mind alights on Diet Soda. Drink or drink not. But if you are going to drink, then drink. The same with smoking. Smoke for effect not affect. And sorry, but tobacco just doesn't do it for me. It's akin (the smoking of tobacco) to giving a character (fictional) an aspirin addiction. I just can't see doing it... unless the intent was to expand to more... and more... and more... {or to just make fun of the idiot}.
Thus, Egg can smoke. But if he is smoking (which he is), he is going to be smoking K'fr... maybe a bit of Drip... and from there, I'd have to make it up. I've never delved into the world of Fictional Drugs any further than Drip.
"He's a Dwarf," of some sort. "So, Heavy Metals."
"He smokes music?"
"No, dumbass."
But I like the idea... some crystalline form that hums when heated, as the gods whisper in your ears, as the substance is consumed.
K'fr can best be thought of as a high powered form of Marijuana that grows as a Trans-Dimensional Vine. And there is every reason to believe (as the exception has yet to be found) that every single last instance of that vine (every flower, every thorn, every cutting, every seed, and every seedling) is part of the same vine. The K'fr Highway refers to folks using the interconnected nature of the vine for a means of magical transport. But we need not get into that here. Suffice to say, both the flowers and thorns can grow to immense size, connecting worlds as the vine does. And I am sure there is a flower the size of city or planet somewhere with many a primitive tribe (and those not so primitive) surviving solely on (and within) the plant in some sort of symbiotic relationship.
As there have been entire books written on the subject, I will not bore you with the details any further.
Drip's origin is a bit more gruesome. When a sentient being dies and their soul leaves their body, a bit of the soul's essence (connective material, whatever) remains behind. Dark Necromancers, Alchemists, and Teenage Boys The World Round have been known to raid graveyards for bodies (the older the better) and extract that portion of the soul, which remains after the dearly have departed and only the 'useless' corporeal coil remains. Of course, I say useless. But then, this leftover husk yields Drip, so that's not so bad. And if one is not into the whole Dark Necro Drug Scene, corpses can always be turned into Skeletons and/or Zombies (depending upon how much tissue remains) and rented out as contract labour or put to work at such menial tasks as may be required... say, working a pick, ax, or shovel at a Coal Mine... not that I believe we will be doing any such thing.
Finally, although there is much dripping (boiling and distilling) of liquids involved in the making of Drip, it is named for the excessive sweating (truly excessive) that withdrawal brings with it. Other symptoms of withdrawal include nausea, chills, severe bodily aches and pains (as if one were at Death's Door) and a propensity towards extreme violence (to oneself and others) and what can only be described as Truly Soulless Behaviour... of the sort which inevitably leads to (the ability to sustain) a Drip Addiction.
Drip is pretty much against the law every-where (and every-when). And even Dark Necromancers would not have it any other way... as then, they can both sell the elixir and punish those who buy it in an endless sort of circle.
K'fr, on the other hand, is mostly legal... except in those instances wherein a populace is ruled by a bunch of retarded idiots drunk on power who have long since forgotten the principles on which their country was founded.
Life, Liberty, and The Pursuit of Happiness!
How hard is that to remember?
As there have been entire books written on the subject, I will not bore you with the details any further.
Drip's origin is a bit more gruesome. When a sentient being dies and their soul leaves their body, a bit of the soul's essence (connective material, whatever) remains behind. Dark Necromancers, Alchemists, and Teenage Boys The World Round have been known to raid graveyards for bodies (the older the better) and extract that portion of the soul, which remains after the dearly have departed and only the 'useless' corporeal coil remains. Of course, I say useless. But then, this leftover husk yields Drip, so that's not so bad. And if one is not into the whole Dark Necro Drug Scene, corpses can always be turned into Skeletons and/or Zombies (depending upon how much tissue remains) and rented out as contract labour or put to work at such menial tasks as may be required... say, working a pick, ax, or shovel at a Coal Mine... not that I believe we will be doing any such thing.
Finally, although there is much dripping (boiling and distilling) of liquids involved in the making of Drip, it is named for the excessive sweating (truly excessive) that withdrawal brings with it. Other symptoms of withdrawal include nausea, chills, severe bodily aches and pains (as if one were at Death's Door) and a propensity towards extreme violence (to oneself and others) and what can only be described as Truly Soulless Behaviour... of the sort which inevitably leads to (the ability to sustain) a Drip Addiction.
Drip is pretty much against the law every-where (and every-when). And even Dark Necromancers would not have it any other way... as then, they can both sell the elixir and punish those who buy it in an endless sort of circle.
K'fr, on the other hand, is mostly legal... except in those instances wherein a populace is ruled by a bunch of retarded idiots drunk on power who have long since forgotten the principles on which their country was founded.
Life, Liberty, and The Pursuit of Happiness!
How hard is that to remember?
"Dude, don't you think you are being a bit harsh. After all, as a Dark Necromancer, my Pursuit of Happiness is likely a bit different from your Pursuit of Happiness. And though it's quite quaint to contend that my right to Happiness ends where yours begins, such a statement makes clear that you were not paying attention in the least when I said I was a Dark Necromancer. Guards! Arrest this man for sedition! It's time to make some Drip!"Being an aside, none of this matters for the project at hand.
Moving on, I don't think Egg would see the merit in the current (Real World) sock-less fad. It really is a fad of style over substance. Socks provide utility. Very few mountain climbers forego socks... or so, I will claim.
Neil may have shown up in draping silks (when he first arrived at The Mine) and may well enjoy a decadent slippered smoking jacket ensemble whilst relaxing. But in The Mines, one dresses the part or pays the price.
"Tiel never had that problem," Jessica sneers. "All show no go? More like all go never show."
So, we are talking (or Jessica is talking) about a black silk outfit for her character, which has a tight weave, almost like denim or canvas only softer and slicker.
"Function over form with a fit beyond the norm."
But now, Jesse is just tossing around word salad nonsense.
"Does anyone here not eat meat?"
It is a barbecue at The Mine. Some slow witted beast (maybe the last of the wolves) wandered into camp. And now, they are being slow roasted over a fire on a spit.
"Should be a deer or a stag."
"Some Bambi thing."
I imagine the official diet (as provided by the folks in The Capitol) is barley mush. But with good morale comes a reduced need for shackles.
"I'm just saying if you don't come back," or don't come back with something to eat, "we are going to hunt you down." And if you think Trolls are picky eaters, you will soon discover the error of your ways.
So maybe, morale is the wrong term and self-preservation (or an understanding of what preserves the self) is more appropriate.
I think I will end the day on this idea... to be carried forward or forgotten forever, as appropriate.
Along with coal, The Mine could work as an outpost... the rational for an initial presence and a test ground for further colonization into the region.
Suffice to say, The Mine is in the boonies, at the edges of the known world, a place for the known world to push into... or fall away from.
We can have expansion or contraction... or neither.
In short, should Plague break out in the Big City, The Mine can be a safe haven. But by the same token, it could be on the forefront of some Horde Invasion. I must admit, I sort of like both ideas.
I'm taking a week off from this project.
And before I knew it, one week became two.
And two became four.
I like using Books, Magazines, and other Media as inspiration. The book before me has a pile of Gold Dust on the cover.
'Does this mean The Mine advanced a level?' Jesse asks.
Probably not, as I am not ready for that. On the other hand, considering the time delay, it seems very unlikely I am ever going to fully 'Work Out' this locale. So, today, let The Mine yield gold.
'Double Experience?'
Nice try Jesse
And here we have an interesting idea. If The Mine can advance, it can regress.
'You're saying The Mine is sick?'
'Call it what you will. But I'm thinking it's a bad sign when a Gold Mine belches clouds of Coal Dust.
Unfortunately, I cannot be bothered to extract any further information from the book before me. The cover photo and the first two sentences from the blurb on the inside cover was all that inspired... and was as far into the story (their story) as I could drop.
As I get older, that happens more and more.
In other news, I think I may be fighting off a cold... or other such sickness.
The next book graces a Half Orc Half Elf on the cover.
'Trag!' Jesse yells, laying claim to the story arc for her friend the Troll.
'No fair! No favourites,' David whines.
But we all know the die has been cast.
I care for this book little more. But I will give the author credit for putting together a highly relatable blurb about himself.
'Trag gambles?'
'Yes. And he has a problem.'
'Meaning he lost?'
'To The Mine. Yes.'
'How does that even happen?'
'One plays Craps... er, sorry, throws The Bones... against the wall of The Mine and the rest is history.'
'Snake Eyes?'
'If you like... but probably just lodged in a crack mid-roll. It's The Mine's play.'
'And what does that mean? Or should I be saying, what does The Mine want?'
'What mines always want.'
'Which is?'
'Um...'
'Oh, take your time.'
The easy answer is to not be mined. But I am sure there is some Spirit that needs worshipping.
The details of which, I can save for another day.
I believe the outstanding question can be answered by means of an infestation of vermin. My first inclination would be mice. But I have wanted to use ants or wasps as allies, before.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
A Thousand Hit Die Dragon is a thing to behold. But it is targetable. Ants have no Hit Points to speak of. But they are hard to target. An Area Effect can wipe them out (like a fireball or flame-thrower). But the counter is width and depth... a nest that extends for miles... through several dimensions.
{Hey! Much like K'fr!}
I can easily see ants as the ideal miners, being able to follow the smallest seam of ore without the need to widen the passage beyond their own size.
There is a problem with playing for gold, though. It's boring and non-rewarding.
Also, I may have played out those twists (call them insect related plot lines) in my head, already. They may not offer much new.
So, how could a Slime Mold play out?
I Went No Further
The Cheat Sheet
Stef'fen -> Wizard (Lead) -> Neil
Turtle ->
Friend (Mine Boss):
David -> Dwarf -> Edgard -> Egg
Sister (Thief):
Jessica -> Jesse -> Tiel
Troll Friend -> Trag
Slaughter Quest
Main Index
© copyright 2020 Brett Paufler
paufler.net@gmail.com