A Long Way Home - game thread, players only!

The Game Room
1

This thread is for players in the rpg campaign, “A Long Way Home.” If you are reading along with us and would like to comment, please do not post here, but head over to our OOC thread.

The Cast

Suburban Plankton as Gerald Blake - Perhaps the single Blake with the most reason to be bitter about his lot in life, yet he has refused to give up. He pursues his goals with unrivaled passion. His bastard cousin may have come from nowhere to claim a title that should have been his, but Gerald Blake will make something of himself, or die trying.

Mahaloth as Clayton Blake - Travelling with Gerald, to assist the older Blake in his quest to claim a title inherited from his deceased father. There’s nothing left for Clayton back home. He is too far in the succession line to be considered for any important political role, but he might make an important member of Gerald’s court, should things go well.

Hoopy Frood as Cobar Yani - A native of the vast Obe plains. His people are in a constant war with the orc tribes in the area. Cobar has earned an important place among his people, and has agreed to help the Blake party. The Blakes will see him as a guide, although he may see himself as an ambassador. If the Blakes succeed, they will owe the Obe a debt of gratitude for Cobar’s assistance.

Johnny Bravo as Maxwell Grey - Once servants of the Blakes, the Grey family has made a name for themselves as impressive and competent mercenaries. Maxwell is fearless in battle. Although no longer in service of the Blakes, Maxwell has joined the party in the hopes of earning his way into the nobility.

Time Stranger as Tasha Stables - A wide-eyed youth with an unrivaled affinity for nature. Hopefully, her experiences with the real world won’t crush her spirit. She has joined the party as servant to the Blakes.

Phnord Prephect as Moftar the Hermit - A ragged, unlikable middle-aged madman in tattered clothes. He has devoted his life to hunting demons, and insists on following the Blake party for reasons unknown. For some inexplicable reason, Gerald has agreed to let Moftar join them, although he still keeps a wary eye on him.

2

The party is on a quest to deliver Gerald Blake to Preston Tower, a disputed keep far to the east. We’ll get to know each other over the next couple of days before any major encounters happen. Feel free to write introduction posts, interact with each other, tell us a bit about yourself, and start getting comfortable with your character.

One thing I’d like to encourage players to do is “tag” their posts with their character’s name first. For example, Suburban Plankton’s first post could be something like:

Gerald, to Moftar – “Heard any good jokes lately?”

or

Gerald searches through his pack for his most fabulous nightgown.

This format helps readers to immediately identify the source of the speech or action, and helps greatly with the flow of the narrative. Also, use some kind of visual tag to distinguish in-character parts from out-of-character stuff. As you can see, I like to change the color of OOC stuff to green, but you can come up with your own method.

You of all people should know things are not always as they seem.

Gerald Blake can’t shake the memory of the last thing Old Man Art said to him. But Arthur was wrong. Things are indeed exactly as they seem. The bastard Octavian “Blake” ruled the castle that rightfully belonged to Gerald. The bastard’s mother was cunning and deceitful, and had prepared everything for her son’s ascension. Gerald had no hope to claim what was rightfully his. Exactly as it seemed.

The middle-aged Blake is accompanied by a motley crew of peasants, madmen, and mercenaries. They all know only what they were told – that Gerald was sent to press a claim on Octavian’s behalf. The lord of Preston Tower was dead, and all his descendants with him. The line of inheritance was unclear and confused, but the bastard’s (now thankfully deceased!) mother had a legitimate claim, and through her, Octavian.

Sending Gerald was Octavian’s ultimate insult. It wasn’t enough for him to steal Gerald’s birthright. Octavian found it necessary to crush his cousin utterly, to send him across the continent as an errand boy, doing his will…

The group approaches the end of an Obe camp. The savages have provided Gerald’s group with one of their own, a scout named Cobar. The guide isn’t particularly impressive to look at, but the Obe elder insisted he is a master linguist and excellent guide. The elder escorts Gerald and his group in silence. At the edge of their camp, he pulls Gerald aside and looks uncomfortably into his eyes.

“We are strong, and you are weak,” the elder says to him. “But one day, you will be strong, and the Obe will be weak. On that day, remember your debt to us.”

Gerald looks out across the great expanse of rolling plains. There is an ominous feeling of something looking back to him. His party assembled beside him, Gerald mounts his horse and takes the first steps toward his destiny…

“Careful, Blake,” the elder calls after him. “Goblin bands patrol the plains.”

3

Gerald, to Moftar – “Heard any good jokes lately?”

[OOC]Sorry, Couldn’t resist. I’ve got about 2 minutes before I have to head out to my son’s fiddle concert…more later[/OOC]

4

How exactly are Gerald and Clayton related?

Clayton Blake is a handsome young man of about 25. He’s clean-cut, strong, and if he is worried about the near future, it does not show on his face. He looks confident. He carries a sword on his side and is wearing armor that looks as if it has been used, but is well maintained.

Clayton back to the elder - “Don’t worry, the Blake’s always remember those that help us.”

Clayton to Gerald: “Listen, do you have any kind of plan for what you want to do once we get to Preston Tower? Or after?”

5

Moftar, to Gerald (who is careful to remain upwind): Aye, M’lord! Puts me in mind, reminds me, that is, brings back to memory, a story of a young noble like yerself, aye he was! Had a hankering to go hunting, he did, so around he went to gather a party, a party like this, ya know how you did.

Stepped up to a friend, and asked “Do you want to go hunting?”
Friend replied, “Sure, I’m game!”
So he shot him with an arrow!

Hahahahaaa!

Cackles with laughter and wanders off

6

Cobar is a man in his early 30’s. His dark brown hair, which would reach to the middle of his back if he let it free is held back in a pony tail with a leather thong. His leather armor made of tanned hide is well maintained but shows the wear it has seen over the years. He’s a man of little words, spending most of his time sizing everything up. Until you get to know him (or more to the point, he gets to know you), he scrutinizes every interaction with you with an intensity that is somewhat off-putting for those who aren’t used to it. He comes across as cold and unfeeling to a lot of people, but it’s more that when he has a job to do he devotes almost all his energy to it.

To Gerald upon meeting him:

“Greetings. Pleased to meet you. As you are no doubt aware, I am Cobar, your guide through these lands, and one of the best, if I may be permitted to boast. Let’s get one thing straight to begin with, though, the path we take to get to our destination and the amount of time we spend getting there is not up for much discussion. This is not a committee. If you or your party have advice to give, I’ll take it under consideration, but the decision is ultimately mine. These lands have many pitfalls. Go too slow; go too fast; or ignore an obvious sign of danger and they will destroy you. That being said, if you do me the respect of deferring to me in matters of how we get there, I will defer to you in manners of how we deal with those we meet on the way, assuming they are of the civilized sort. And if they aren’t, well, I’m a phenomenal shot with my bow, and your companions look like they can handle themselves pretty well.”

To Moftar after he tells the joke:

“I believe you were asked to tell a ‘good’ joke.”

7

Maxwell Grey is somewhere in that indistinct period between “young man” and “middle aged.” His features are grim and serious, and his close-cropped beard is black streaked heavily with grey. He’s tall and broad, powerfully built without being excessively bulky. He moves like a professional soldier - no action wasted and no potential foe overlooked. His armor is unadorned: battered but servicable. He wears a shirt of chain that goes nearly to his knees, and over that hangs a kind of leather tunic that has been studded with steel plates, riveted to the leather. The only possible concession to his allegience and family is a grey band of sturdy sackcloth tied around one bicep, like a faded mourning band.
As the group looks out over the vast plain, Maxwell glances up at the mounted Gerald Blake and grunts.

“We’d be better off using the horses as pack creatures and trading for extra supplies while we’re still in a friendly place,” he says. “Won’t be moving any faster than a walking pace anyhow, with only two horses.”

8

Gerald spurs his horse to walk a bit faster; whether to remove himself from Moftar’s aroma or his joke-telling, is anyone’s guess…

He takes a long look at Clayton, as if sizing up the young man. “I *always *have a plan…”

Dropping back, he falls into line next to Cobar, “Thank you for your kind welcome, Cobar. Of course, your skills as a guide are well known to us, and I have no doubt in your abilities. But while we’re laying things out on the table, know this: *you *are in *my *employ, not the other way 'round. Yes, you are the expert in your field here, and unless you give me reason to think otherwise, I am prepared to follow your guidance. But if I require that we slow down, or speed up, or make any alterations to our plans, you may trust that I have taken all factors into consideration. Your duty is to guide us to our destination, and to keep us informed of potential dangers along the way. Mine is to make decisions based upon your ‘expert’ opinion. I trust that’s understood?”

He shoots a quick glance at Maxwell, then straightens his back and stares forward down the trail.

9

Maxwell stops, his expression neutral, and watches Gerald’s back as he rides further ahead. He shoots a sidelong glance at Cobar and smirks a smirk that’s halfway between wry and bitter.

“Well,” he says to himself as he trudges ahead. “Gonna be that kind of job. Better to know it sooner than later.”

10

Tasha blinks at Moftar’s joke as the punchline sails cleanly over her head. “I don’t get it. Why would you shoot your friend? Is the friend a goblin? Do they really live on the plains? Will we meet some? My brother said goblins eat eyeballs for breakfast. Do you think they poke out your eyes before or after they kill you? I’ve never seen a goblin before.”

She hoists her pack up on her back and steps quickly after Maxwell, a hop here and there to keep up, still invigorated from their start. Tasha barely stands above five feet, with a short poof of brown hair restrained by be a small head wrap. They’ve only just begun, but she’s still managed to be covered in dirt, though the various shades of brown she’s swathed in camouflage it well. In fact, everything about her seemed to be brown one way or another.

“If the tower is so far away, does that mean you’re going to stay there to live? Are you going to be a king, milord? Do you think there’s a moat?”

11

The group makes steady progress through the morning, into the afternoon. It is springtime in Varuna*, with weather that makes traveling almost pleasant. Weariness begins to creep upon each of the travelers, although it is not the aching unpleasant weight of exhaustion. The feeling is well known to the peasants; it’s the tired but satisfying feeling of a job well done.

The party probably ought to stop soon, and the lightly wooded plains will allow the group to set up camp just about anywhere. Their destination is the trade town of Aven, still 3 days away. There, Obe tribesmen trade with merchants bringing wares from the kingdoms and noble families of the east.

Cobar is on the lookout for evidence of goblin infestation nearby, but his trained eye finds no sign of the creatures. He’s comfortable that the group is safe for now. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right. The party probably ought to set a watch duty schedule through the night.

*Varuna is the continent in which this adventure takes place. Varuna spans a vast area, with dozens of kingdoms, hundreds of duchies, and too many shires, earldoms, and counties for a normal person to learn the names of. There is no unifying culture in Varuna, and no sense of “nation” or “country” among any of its people.

12

Clayton pulls Gerald aside when he gets a chance.

“Are you sure we can trust this guide? Requiring us to follow his orders is ridiculous. Oh, and what is this plan you have?”

13

Moftar plods slowly along behind the party, leaning on his staff; whether this is because that’s as fast as he can move, or out of courtesy to the noses of his companions, it’s not important as long as the wind doesn’t shift. He mumbles to himself much of the time, occasionally hurling a bit of invective at an apparently harmless rock or tree or small lizard as he passes. As the sun goes down and the stars begin to come out, he begins to turn his monologue skyward, as if in conversation with the constellations.

One bit of gibberish is carried on the wind in your direction:

Not all’s as it seems, not even in dreams, trust not the rocks or the sky or the streams. A pun’s never funny, a creek’s always runny; who’d like to run faster: the wolf, or the bunny?

Moftar should probably stop eating those herbs.

If the party decides to camp out for the night:

Moftar will try to find a nice ditch to lie down in. Failing that, a convenient clump of tree roots or a not-too-prickly bush to crawl into will work just as well. He’ll avoid the main group, but be nearby enough for (slightly shouted) conversation and able to keep a bloodshot eye out for danger, at least as long as he’s awake, which won’t be long now judging by his droopy eyelids.

If they march through the night:

Moftar plods along behind the main party, getting slower and slower as the morning comes. Should the party still be moving at dawn, he will lie down in the middle of the road and fall asleep.

14

Gerald stops his horse for a moment, shifts in his saddle and scans the horizon through the dwindling daylight. Perhaps it’s simply a lack of practice, but more likely a surplus of years, but the day’s riding has left him much more sore and tired than he expected.

“Cobar, where do you think we should stop for the night? Should we camp here in the open near the road, or would we do better in the shelter of that copse of trees over there?”

He circles around behind the party, then resumes the journey, taking up a position just ahead of Moftar.

15

Cobar to Gerald:

“I recommend we camp somewhere sheltered if at all possible, there doesn’t seem to be much goblin activity around here right now, but why risk any more exposure than we need to. And we’ve had a full day, we should probably stop now before all the daylight is gone. If you can organize some people to search for some firewood, I can see if I can catch us some food for the evening.”

His voice then drops down to almost a whisper.

“We should be wary tonight. While it’s by all appearances quiet, there’s something a bit off. I can’t figure out what it is; I don’t sense anything directly; it’s just a feeling I’m getting. It’s always a good idea to set watches, but on this night, I feel they are required. While I’m out hunting I’ll range a bit out and keep my eye out for anything suspicious. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Meanwhile, see who amongst your party will help keep watch. We should have 3 shifts, and I’ll take any watch you need me to.”

16

If asked, Clayton will take any shift of watch, no matter the time or risk of danger.

17

The group moves to an area with a bit of tree cover, just out of sight of what Gerald hesitates to call the “road.” Only Cobar seems to be able to distinguish their path from the rest of the landscape.

As the rest of the party prepares their sleeping accommodations, Moftar wanders off. Nobody misses him.

Cobar also leaves the party, bow in hand. “I’ll see if I can catch us some food for the evening,” he says as he departs.

As Tasha and Gerald tend to the latter’s horse, the Blake hears a noise that is distinctly not natural, a steady and soft shuffling and rustling sound. His attention snaps toward the noise, his hand drifting toward his dagger. Tasha seems unbothered by the sound, although she must have heard it too. She knows exactly what the noise is, though. It’s Moftar, shuffling around the outskirts of the camp, out of sight, working tirelessly to no apparent end, or purpose. Gerald can see the hermit picking up leaves and twigs, examining them closely, discarding some, and gleefully and carefully storing others in one of the numerous pockets in his tousled clothing.

The sun has not yet set by the time Cobar returns, holding the skinned and drained carcasses of two rabbits. The others have gathered enough wood and kindling to create a campfire that should last until the night.

As the sunset approaches, the group (minus Moftar) are gathered around the campfire. Some of the group may have spoken, while others may have kept their thoughts to themselves. Soon, though, night comes.

Cobar and Clayton have agreed to watch over the group in shifts, however any character may wake and relieve them.

Day will break tomorrow, at approximately 5pm PST (roughly 22 hours from this post). This is likely to be the last relatively uneventful day on your journey.

18

Maxwell will spend the last remaining hours of daylight perched on a log, methodically writing in his journal. After what seems to be a fairly short entry, he blows on the page to dry the ink, closes and clasps it, and slips it back into his pack. He wolfs down his portion of the evening meal and is asleep almost immediately.

He’ll wake a few hours before dawn to relieve whomever is on duty, taking the last shift of the night.

19

Tasha finished off her rabbit, sucking the bones clean, and licked her fingers, disappointed with how quiet her companions were keeping. All through the day they had passed some amazing new things (odd twisted trees! a purple rock! spiky flowers!), but none of them seemed particularly impressed or interested in talking about them. Tasha considers trying to get a campfire story going, but everyone seems too tired. “Maybe tomorrow night…”

She gathered the remains of everyone’s meal and disposed of them away from the fire, even as her eyes grew heavy with sleep. “Thank you for the rabbit, Cobar! Sweet dreams everyone!” she chirps to the remaining men, before scaling the tree above the tethered horses. Wrapped in her cloak and wedged securely among the branches, Tasha falls fast asleep.

20

Cobar, Clayton, and Maxwell each take a shift watching over the rest of the sleeping crew until sunrise. The shifts are uneventful, until Maxwell’s eyes become heavy. Unwilling to let himself fall asleep at his post, he walks around the camp to keep his body active, careful not to disturb the others.

As Maxwell patrols the camp, he finds Moftar laying in a tangled heap among some tree roots, out of sight of the main camp. He sees one of the hermit’s eyes squint open, and immediately shut again as he makes eye contact with Maxwell. Moftar’s breathing pattern betrays that he is certainly not asleep, but still he lays, pretending.* What a strange man.*

Gerald is up with the sunrise, urging the others awake. One by one, the group rises, sensing urgency in his voice. It only takes a moment to understand why. Where Gerald and Tasha had secured the party’s two horses, now is just an empty patch of grass. The horses are gone!

Gerald can’t help but to suspect one of his own. He looks between the three men who were supposed to stand watch, but in their expressions he sees only confusion. Either one of them is a talented actor, or they are all genuinely surprised by this turn of events. Even more confusing; there are tracks and hoof prints all over the area. The horse thief couldn’t possibly have made his exit silently.

Moftar seems the most concerned. Hadn’t he prepared for precisely this outcome? What went wrong? Something is definitely not right about this scene…