Fruition

I am going to run a GURPS one-shot adventure. For a variety of reasons, I've decided to give the system a try in preparation for the future. I've selected an elite cadre of gamers to come along with me on this ride so I am optimistic that it will be a productive and entertaining adventure. I'm going to stat out a few characters, some mages and warriors and gunmen and such, and let players pick and choose who they want to play. Once everyone has a character I'll run them through a relatively quick scenario that will involve some skill use, combat, and dialogue. The goal is to get a little bit of everything done in the scenario so we kind of get a picture of how GURPS works. I plan to make it short and play it as a learn-as-you-go type thing, which should make even a short scenario take a ridiculous amount of time to complete.

The main thing I hope to get is an idea about how to construct scenarios and battles and how to make the transition from d20 to GURPS an easier process down the road. I also want to get an idea as to what sort of information needs to be kept on hand for quick reference during sessions. I guess this thing basically amounts to an investigative report on GURPS and whether or not we can figure out the intricacies of the system and find them delicious.

I have to say, I'm really rather excited to try this out and see how it goes, even if it is just a little one-shot thing. It's a chance to see my campaign world through the GURPS lens rather than the somewhat foggy and misshapen d20 lens. There is however a danger associated with that, I may get too excited or spend too much time on this one shot idea and I may end up too focused on GURPS and end up not putting the effort I should into my current d20 campaign. I have to restrain myself. The GURPS test run will come, but not at the expense of other stuff I am working on.

This leads me to another thought. Is GURPS going to be the right system for the group? I mean, there are dozens of generic systems out there and a fair few are just as neat as GURPS. Should we take a break from campaigns when we finish this current one and try out a few different systems before committing to one? There are lots of pre-made adventures to go along with all those systems I imagine, so it would certainly be easy enough for me, or any of us really, to run stuff. Hell, it might even be a time to explore the possibility of someone else becoming a GM when they had no idea they'd like the role.

I've just used d20 rulesets too faithfully for so long that I missed out on something great like GURPS. I think a little exploratory gaming might be in the group's best interests, but who knows. I guess I'll just see what the groups has to say about it when the time comes.

I dunno, we'll see I guess.

A Good Indicator (and An Unexpected Insight Granted Me By Blogging)

I own a lot of random shit that related to DnD. I have more six sided dice than could possibly be used by the group in a single turn (at least for DnD, I may actually need more for GURPS). I have...two DM screens I think, a stack of character sheets and maps that is quite literally as thick as my EMT-B course textbook. I have four dice rolling programs and an obselete 2nd Edition AD&D toolset installed on my laptop. I own like five Planescape box sets, one for Dark Sun, one for Forgotten Realms, and so on. I bought 3.0/3.5 Edition books on a monthly basis and got a hold of pretty much every product with the d20 logo on it. I purchased every d20 Modern book except Future Tech, Dark * Matter, and some monster manual type book (Shadow Chasers had just bottomed out though and Modern caused me to get a little wonky in the brain just then).

Point is that I guess you can say I put my money where my...I dunno, heart is.

I mentioned to Jeremy the other night that I haven't purchased any 4th Edition books since my initial five book purchase. I think that, more than anything else I could say says something about 4th Edition. Sorry Mr. Perkins.

The thing is, I love 4th Edition. Seriously. I think its great if you can get past the dragonbewbs and the whole leather is the new hawtness motif of the artwork. If I was still sixteen or seventeen, or if I had never read The Iron Dragon's Daughter and way too much Michael Moorcock stuff, 4th Edition's high fantasy rules-light glory would take me to a happy place. I know that sounds like a backhanded compliment, or an outright cut down or whatever, but I do genuinely like the system. The problem is that I'm too overly aware of its flaws because I'm not who it was made for.

I don't know the name for my breed of gamer or DnD nerd or whatever you'd call me. I am what I am though. I need overly complex rules that account for everything, I need my heroes to be scarred and scruffy with vices as big as Conan's biceps. I need my magic to be twisted and destined to be the ruin of man. I need technology to be at a believable/realistic level based on the age of the world and its starting tech level. I'm that kind of gamer, whatever the name for it is.

4th Edition wasn't made for dudes like me. It was made for this generation of gamers and I'm not a guy that grew up on MMOs and pokemon, though I have great affection for both and have dabbled in them. Call that a criticism if you want, its not, to be relevant and ensure its continued survival a game must evolve with the times. Don't get me wrong, I like pokemon games and I enjoy MMOs and am not saying being hardcore into them or growing up with them is a bad thing in any way. I'm just saying I reach a point eventually where they don't interest me. To continue: 4th Edition is (bold)DnD, just as every edition preceding it has been DnD. I explained what DnD is in a previous post I believe so we can stop here on this "what is DnD" issue.

Back on topic-ish. With 4th Edition I've basically just been going through the motions. I keep abreast of the release schedule, interesting projects like the PA/PVP Podcasts and the Robot Chicken sessions, and I keep up my DDI subscription so I get info on new releases and have access to the character builder if anyone wants to utilize that fun little resource. The only reason I do all of this, if I am being honest with myself, is to access as much power creep as possible to keep Spineplate as over-powered as possible so that he can be shiny and stand in front of a bunch of lace wearing quiche eaters (i.e. pansies).

The following is meant in jest...mostly.

Rage GM Interlude: If Spineplate dies because those idiots don't understand concepts like "focus fire" or "give the dude between us and the swords backup" I'm going to bend them over and make them bleed. From their asses. Because I'm raping them. With Spineplate's hammercock. End Interlude.

We're getting somewhere here, just bear with me. If this all seems to be random and the point seems to wander, its because I often switch points mid-post. What I've figured out after writing all of the above is this:

I haven't played DnD in a long time. A long, long time.

As I've said before, DnD is color coded dragons and dread gazebos. It's ripping off Tolkien. DnD is narrowly defined/vauge to the point of uselessness alignments. The settings I have always gravitated to are Planescape (where alignment, religion, and philosophy are dead-fuck-serious business), Dark Sun (magic eats life, no color coded dragons, hobbits, or water), and Spelljammer (SPACE! [and miniature giant space hamsters]). In my opinion (pro-tip: every word hammered out onto this page is always just that, an opinion) those are the least "DnD" of all the settings published so far by Wizards/TSR and Ravenloft comes in a close 4th and I like it too.

My campaign uses a d20 ruleset currently. My magic ain't pretty and doesn't come in a variety of shiny and useful plusses, my campaign has rifles so powerful that they make full plate irrelevant and crude semiautomatic weapons are even in the process of being developed. My dragons are greenish-brown komodo dragon and crocodile looking motherfuckers that spit acid and are the size of a house.

I don't play DnD anymore and I'm ok with that.

Music: To The Kill - Violent Femmes

Music: Gimme The Car - Violent Femmes

The One-Eyed Man, Part 5

Seventhmonth, 9995 DK

Callifay and I stood waiting to enter Hell. We were both dressed as the one-eyed, bandanna wearing Child of Volung, we looked enough alike to be almost twins in the disguises. Citizens of this strange country bore identification numbers on their bodies and each of the multitude attempting to enter Hell must be logged by the wardens and guards of the gate before they could be allowed into the city. I found the wait annoying, but I desired to enter the city by subtlety. I could not shed my disguise and mention my name to bypass the lines, my reavers could not know of my presence within the city till the last moment or they would surround me and foil my plans.

When our place in the line neared the wound in the wall that had been the gates I struggled to suppress a smile. I could see in my mind the bears we had dragged from The Beast Lands and clad in massive plates of barding. I could hear fifteen of them chained to the gates and snarling and roaring as arrows and bullets clattered against their armor. The gates had been bound in place by sorcery and forgework and it had taken both brute strength and arcane forces to remove them.

Once I could have just willed them away, or burst them apart with destructive forces, my Gifts had once been that potent. In this era I was forced to use my Gifts with finesse and care and had managed to achieve the same effect. The protections bound within the gates had taken the shape of a crystalline latticework of protective energy that made the metal and stone of the gate far more resilient than any mundane gate could ever be. With my Gifts I had acted as a chisel or lever and pried sorcerous struts away from the defensive forces and enabled the brute strength of the bears to defeat the gate when I could not. Even that minor effort had caused my ears and nose to bleed and I had almost collapsed in the midst of the battle surrounding the gates and the bears.

When the time came, Callifay and I gestured at our red-brown armbands and glared menacingly at the gate guards. They let us pass with little more than a casual glance. We were clearly reavers by our demeanor and our armbands, and they were free to enter and leave the city as they desired.

In the first district of the city we passed the monument to my victory quickly, not paying it much attention. The warped remains of the gate were not a medal of honor, they were a reminder to the inhabitants of Hell. With the broken gates forever hanging above their head they would never forget that this city was mine and I could do with it as I wish.

"Where will we go?" asked Callifay.

"I think we should walk the streets for a few days and gauge the state of the city before acting."

"What care you for Hell? Once Cenn dies, this place will no longer be yours."

"If the reavers do not claim this place as their own, or if someone as powerful as Cenn does not lay claim to it, The Bleak Tyrant will attempt to claim its power."

"And...?"

"If we are to fight the Nel, I do not wish to do so with a creature whose motives I do not know at my back. This city must remain ours or at least allied with us."

"Could I not kill the rulers of Hell? That would meet the letter or your decree that no nation take it with an army."

I shook my head, "We must be subtle. You are not well known enough to be respected as a tyrant and master of this place. It would take time for you to make a name for yourself and when you did show yourself to be in command of this place the Tyrant might be on our eastern wall and the Nel on our west."

"Then let us leave off this farce of your death and just claim the city as ours. You are known and feared, but you weave plots within plots and it is infuriatingly difficult to try and keep them all in mind while we speak."

"The Nel will come and we will war with them. They must find you here but not I, they will seek you and think you know my whereabouts. Perhaps they will even suppose I am Volung or the creature Cenn. Regardless, if they find you but not me they will be wary and think me somewhere within these lands and that will make them overly cautious in battle."

"I gathered all that, I am a general of long years as well, Cenn."

"Cast aside your pout brother, or you'll find me reluctant to share a bed with you this evening."

He chuckled and asked, "Why this fixation on Hell and its condition?"

"We are two warriors, Callifay. We wage war as veterans of countless conflicts, but there are still only two of us. If I die here and in the chaos rumors are born of my continued survival it will draw the Nel to one of the most fortified cities of this land. A city riddled with hundreds of miles of underground tunnels and chambers."

He laughed again, "We will lure the Nel here and entrap in a maze?"

"We destabilize the city with my death, you will garrison the reavers here to restore order and to investigate rumors of my survival. If the Nel reach this continent they will track you here and lay siege to the city. The reavers will fall and you will flee into the depths."

He smiled, "And they will be forced to infest the city and keep order or have it angry and at their back while they face other forces of this country. With Nel permanently camped here we can sally forth from the catacombs and make war at our leisure."

I smiled at him and nodded my head.

"What of the rebels already within these walls?"

I removed a rolled up sheaf of papers from my belt and handed to him, he looked it over while we spoke, "They care nothing for my reavers and what they did in Kusseth's employ. If you come to the gates of this city pledging to defend it with our reavers, they will accept your aid and the logic of you seeking rumors of my continued survival."

"You think them that close to taking the city?"

"No," I said as I gestured to the paper in his hands, "but I do know that Kusseth relies too heavily on our men to keep the peace and to act as a symbol of control. If reavers suddenly vanish from my city and those left make a mass exodus upon my death, the power structure of Hell will have large gaps that the rebels can exploit."

He nodded when he finished reading the papers and made to return them, I waved a a hand at him and he put them in his belt. We walked the city for a few hours making small conversation as we sought our destination. Eventually we found our way to the 302nd district and stood before the Jigging Jackass. It was quite truthfully the best lodging and bar in Hell, and also the place I was destined to die. I was also a key location in the rebel underground of Meroteth.

A cadre of hard looking soldiers, mostly greenskin Abraxens and Uncout, stood guarding the front door of the place. I flipped up my eye-patch and shifted my bandanna and was immediately recognized. They nodded and let us pass without comment and we entered through the wolf-iron bound door and entered the main room.

The Jackass was well appointed with padded leather furniture cut from prime lumber found in Vyanthnem. The chairs and tables and stools and even the bar were all expertly crafted and bore the marks of an artist's vision in the carvings encrusting them. The floor was hardwood and stained to a glossy dark finish where it wasn't covered by thick rugs. Lighting fixtures that provided steady, clean light hung from the ceiling and were shrouded in the thick tobacco smoke that filled the room.

Callifay and I looked to be brigands while those around us wore frock coats or suits. We received glances, but no glares or looks of derision for we'd made it through the front door without bloodshed and that showed us to belong here as much as the well dressed individuals around us did. We found a pair of chairs and dropped our gear to the floor between them. In a moment we had our pipes going and glasses of whiskey in hand.

"The Jigging Jackass has never failed to please," I said with a sigh.

"Indeed," said my lover.

We spent half an hour drinking and enjoying the comforts of padded leather chairs. Our endurance and vitality were near limitless, but the long trek to Hell had lacked certain comforts. When we finished our drinks we rented a suite for the next few days and stowed our gear there before heading down past the ground floor and into the first basement, the Jackass was three stories aboveground and had several basement levels.

The first basement was a game room, full of men and women playing cards or dice or lobbing knives and such at targets around the room while vendors circulated hawking cigars and pricey liquors. We seated ourselves and settled in to wait. Our presence was noted quickly and it didn't take long for the individual I sought to find us. Callifay and I were chatting and he cleared his throat when he approached us.

Nakmander, the last knight of Meroteth was as Fell Human as the breed could come. His skin was wine red and covered in fine scales almost too small to see. His hair was as jet black and straight as my own, his nose hooked like the beak of a hawk, and all three of his eyes were a jaundiced yellow color. The third one peered at Callifay from behind Nakmander's ear while the other two bored into my own.

I gave him a nod and the ram's horns sprouting from the sides of his head dipped a fraction of an inch in return. He wore the white apron of a cook or bartender and beneath that was common clothing, but at his hip was the symbol of his office. The serrated sickle was larger than any normal tool and was wrought of black iron that glowed intermittently with a putrid green light. Meroteth had been a place of virulent sorcery in its prime and Nakmander continued those traditions as best he could.

"What brings the reaver Cenn to my door?" he asked.

His voice was harsh and gravelly and his teeth were sharp and white.

"When one man comes to another's dwelling he does not begin rifling through his possession without first asking for permission."

He nodded and dragged a third chair over to us.

"What then does the reaver and his cohort ask for?"

"Information. How near are you to wresting control form Kusseth's grubby hands?"

"Four years at the most. We have found a means of shattering their power from the safety of our own dark dens. Soon we will be able to strike the capital itself."

"Oh?" murmured Callifay.

"Have you read papers recently? Or perhaps ridden the highway that runs south from Kusseth?"

I nodded.

"The craters south of the city of Tolon, the ones shattering the highway."

"Your doing?"

He nodded, "I must admit that Tolon itself was our target. There were interlopers though and they foiled our plans and cost the cause valuable assets," he paused and his eyes flashed brightly, "we will not fail again."

"Excellent," I said, "I believe I will be able to aid you in the taking of this city."

His hand stroked his chin and he said, "I am listening."

"I have come here to die."

His eyes widened and his lips parted as his jaws grew slack.

"Elaborate," he ordered.

"I have come to Hell, the Jigging Jackass specifically, to die and to do so violently. When I do fall I believe my reavers will leave Hell and return to the main encampment. We both know of the need Kusseth has for their presence in this city. With them gone you could easily take direct control of Meroteth."

He smiled as I spoke the city's true name and said, "Some will not go. Their loyalty to you is unquestionable, but they have families and organizations they have built here within our wals. This has become their home as much as it is mine."

Callifay nodded and presented the rolled up sheaf of papers I had given him to Nakmander.

"A list," he said quietly, "of those that have requested to stay in Hell or have requested excessive leave time here. Remove them from Hell prior to Cenn's death and you will hopefully find your city empty of reavers when the time to act comes."

Callifay made to add more but I cut him off and said, "Let me be clear, Nakmander. Those reavers, any reavers in your walls, are to be taken alive and unharmed. If a single reaver dies I will burn this city to the ground and stake you out before the shattered remnants of the gate in the first district. Is that understood?"

"If you truly plot your death and it can get the rest of your reavers out of Hell, sending those few dozen out alive and against their will be well worth the trouble. If events play out as you believe we may be able to accelerate our timetable and take back our heritage within two years, perhaps even one. I must ask, why do you do this? I do not count you as a true friend to the cause, but you have aided us in the long years since my uncle went mad with grief and began hunting you. Your death does not sit well with me"

I scowled at the thought of the Butcher but Nakmander was far saner than his uncle and a competent ally, "I tire of my reavers and I tire of Kusseth and I grow weary of leadership. Take your city and explore your sorcerous blood, if I grow bored of life out in some wilderness I'll simply return and take it back."

Now he scowled, "I understand the tiring burden and you have my respect, Cenn. Respect will not grant you mercy should you come to my home with violence in mind, though. Even if you are a dead man."

"I understand," I said.

"I must circulate this information and make plans accordingly."

"Go and set your plans in motion, Nakmander. When my reavers dissappear I will know my time has come."

Nakmander nodded and left us, Callifay and I soon retired to our suite. Once in our rooms, we took advantage of the massive bathtub and heated water in one room.

"Occassionally," I said as dirt and sweat slid free of my skin and warmth filled my bones, "occassionally it is permissible to indulge in comforts such as this."

"Perhaps," said Callifay with a smile, "there will soon be an opportunity for you to inform the rest of our people of that fact."

I slapped the water and splashed his face with soapy liquid saying, "I forget how impertinent you grow when the two of us are alone."

"Impertinent, eh?"

I nodded and we both smiled. Then he surged across the tub at me and quite literally threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the other room of our suite.

Through the noise of the splashing and dripping water and my own surprised bellow I could hear him say, "I'll show you impertinence."

Further Insights (and Revelations)

For about as long as I can remember, my favorite book has been The Iron Dragon's Daughter by Michael Swanwick. At least as far as fantasy is concerned. Apparently it has a sequel and I definitely need to check that shit out.

Its not the best book per se, and I'm not even sure there is a "the best book ever" for me. It has a good story that I like, plus some elves (or faeries) and dragons and magic and all that stuff I really dug when I first read it. I still like a lot of what its selling to this day.

I picked up a copy of the book from the library at that age where I'd finally discovered there was a cool portion of the Bible called Revelations where fucked up shit happens almost as much as it did in The Old Testament. I had just read about Behemoth and Leviathan and had started reading Dragonlance and generally was at that age where dragons were swell. My interest in the book boiled down to the following: It had a dragon on the cover, neat, I'm in.

Now, I was youngerish, so a lot of the stuff about the drugs and sex went over my head. I didn't know what cunt was or why Jane had named it Little Jane, but whatever, you encountered a lot of weird shit in fantasy novels. I certainly didn't understand Swanwick's commentary about suffering and reincarnation and the current state of fantasy literature and whatnot. What I did pay attention to and understand was the fact that Melanchthon was a dragon and dragons were awesome. So I began reading it. Read, read, read, process, process, proce..s...s....wait. Ok, Jane is an enslaved changeling working in a...factory that builds weapons for the Elf Lords or something? Melanchthon is a dragon, a really old dragon...made out of iron? He also has stealth capabilities like a stealth fighter jet?

What. The. Hell.

I understood magic, and I understood magic objects that could do shit, I even understood talking magic items. What I hadn't ever encountered before was a sentient stealth bomber made out of iron and built into the shape of a dragon. It blew my mind and altered my perceptions of what fantasy literature could be and what magic as a force could be in such books.

The Iron Dragon's Daughter is my favorite book because it made me the writer and GM I am today, as least style-wise. Understanding that fantasy could be something other than gruff, vaguely Scottish dwarves, forest loving elves, and knights in plate, or that magic could be more than fireballs and lightning bolts is a lesson I learned at a very young age. I am incredibly thankful that I had the opportunity to learn that lesson before even the idea of writing had ever remotely entered into my head.

So thanks Michael Swanwick. Thank you as well, mom. If not for your utter lack of interest in what I read I might never have learned what I know today. Something ironic I guess, my mom spent so much time keeping DnD out of my hands but never really monitored what I was reading and for a while all I was reading was Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms. Two rather popular and venerable DnD settings. Heh, life is funny and interesting I guess.

Thinking about it that way, my mom is directly responsible for my dedication to DnD and the quality (if you choose to call it that) of my current campaign setting.

Commitment To a Concept

This is kind of about something that has been on my mind lately, and it will become clear once we finish this up. Its also about gaming for the right reasons, I guess.

To really enjoy "role-playing" games I think you have to be committed to the role you're playing. I'm playing Mass Effect 2 and its a fun game, but the aspect I truly enjoy is playing my Shepard and playing him as a Renegade for the reasons I've decided make it reasonable for him to be a Renegade. Does this mean I'm having more fun than someone who just shoots everything and makes whatever dialogue choice he feels like making at the time? Hell if I know.

To continue, Fred plays a Dwarf named Derf (which is actually a blind dwenoren with sensory spines on his chin and face, but he refuses to accept my retcon), and I think its pretty blatantly obvious that he has no affection or attachment to the character. The enjoyment he gets when Derf does something successfully is probably far less than what I get from Spineplate when he pulls off a daily that drops an enemy down to its bloodied value in one hit.

Don't play a fighter or cleric or whatever because you think that the group needs it. Play the fighter/cleric/whatever because you need to. If you play it to screw with the DM/GM or other players, you're playing for the wrong Dogdamn reasons.

Note about the future: From now on I will say GM whenever it would be appropriate to say something like Dungeon Master, Game Master, Storyteller, Sheriff, or whatever the title is for the system. GM is easier and just as recognizable as DM.

I used to GM for the wrong reasons. I had a story to tell and I wanted to watch the players be part of it, but only if they did what I wanted. Nowadays I have a story to tell, but I want to see how the players interact with it and how they alter it and the world around them. I'm not sure there is a right reason to GM, but I think that is a better one.

If you GM because you have to (been there) or because you feel obligated to, you've made a poor decision. You need to care about the world or environment you're building or its going to be trash or you're never going to make the time to work on it so that it can be more than trash.

It all boils down to the following: if you're going to be a part of something that is so dependant on everyone being into it, make sure you're playing or GMing for the right reasons.

Music: Very Poorly Concealed Secret Track (Ping Pong Cover) - MC Frontalot

The One-Eyed Man, Part 4

Fifthmonth, 9995 DK

Our feet tread dark paths in the gloomy forests of The Wild Lands. We had been walking south for a week, each of those ten days had been spent bringing us closer to the time when we must separate again into master and servant. When we had first started south from Kusseth's borders we had spent twelve or more hours a day walking, but as we drew closer to our camp we found ourselves spending more and more time at rest.

We clasped our hands together between us as we walked, I held my bronze blade in my left hand and Callifay bore his in his right. We went armored as well as armed in this land, it was as dangerous as The Beast Lands to the west, albeit for different reasons.

"Should we move the camp west, back into The Beast Lands?"

He half turned his face to me and asked, "Why?"

"If Cenn is to die, the band will fall into anarchy until you are able to restore control. Better to have them away from the villages found here in these forests if that is to happen."

"I suppose that is true," he said, "why such foresight, brother?"

"If Cenn's Reavers suddenly turn on the civilized tribes of Uncout and Abraxens here in these lands, or some of them are seen to, we lose our perceived reliability and opportunities for employment that rely upon our reputation."

He snorted, "Who has our employer been since Meroteth fell? Do they care for a few tribes of Uncout? Do they care for any color of Abraxen other than the greys?"

"Kusseth's standing contract with the reavers would need to be reviewed by whoever takes control of the band when Cenn dies."

"Why have you not done so already?" There was a small smile on his face when he asked that.

"The butcher," I said.

"Ah, it is as I guessed then. Kusseth does their best to keep Smiling Jack chained, at your request."

"His hunger for vengeance is well earned and reasonable, but while I live these dogs are my men and I'll not allow some meat merchant to put them down."

He squeezed my hand before saying, "You must admit he has come far since the conquest of Hell."

"Yes, and if he would stay in the north he could remain free and enjoy his position as master bard of Kusseth's colleges."

"Do you have no remorse in your heart for his pain, for the crimes against him that have filled him with the hunger for vengeance you claim to respect?"

I shook my head and tugged my hand from his as he spoke once more, I felt him egging me on, for what purpose I did not know.

"Was he not a victim? You well know the pain of a lost lover and family."

"I did not spit contempt down from a high tower at an army that had taken every city whose gate they had camped before. I told the rulers of Meroteth what would happen if they did not unbar their gates and allow me to take their city in peace. They put pride before their obligations to their people and Jack suffered the price of their hubris, just as thousands of others did that day."

I could hear the screams and feel the blood and sweat. My skin was flushed with the heat of a burning metropolis. Conquering Meroteth had been glorious and I could feel my eyes grow warm and luminescent as my mind relived those times and those feats of glory. A strong pulse beat beneath my scarred brow and a smile touched my lips.

Callifay grabbed my hand and dragged me close, our lips met and there was a deep hunger there. He had been on the front lines of Meroteth as well. Every drop of spilled blood and smoke shrouded memory of that battle was a shared moment between us. Our blades thudded to the earth as our arms wrapped around each other. We slumped against a tree , shedding clothes and armor as our bodies entwined.

**(Vaguely Awkward Interlude, At Least For The Author)**

We lay there mostly naked and smoking our pipes, our backs against a tree and our bodies touching.

"Why bring thoughts of Hell and Jack to my mind as lure to bring me into your arms? You know you are more than enough, Callifay."

He turned to me, a smirk across his lips and his eyes barely open.

"In battle," he said, "you burn with passionate intensity. Your skin is afire and your eyes aglow with radiance, and sometimes that is the Nel I desire."

"I shall endeavor to keep that more firmly in mind then."

"Whatever you are, or however you choose to act, as long as you know yourself to be Keroen Skathos, that is enough."

You should not speak that name here," I said.

"And why not? Will your enemies come for you? There is an ocean between this land and our own. How would they even find this place with no knowledge of astronomy or navigation?"

"You grow too bold on this trip Callifay, and you forget what brought you to this land in the first place. "

"This Wytchstave," he whispered, "it would act as a beacon then?"

I nodded.

"Could they really find you by the mere utterance of your name?"

"Maybe, it would take luck yes, but maybe."

He turned fully to me, his eyes wide and glowing, "Then let them come I say. Let them come to this land of firearms and cluttered cities and disease. Let them come and find that they are not nearly as mighty as they believe."

"What has come over you, man? Are you an arms dealer that you hunger for such war? Has such a short time spent alone in my arms driven you mad with passion of your own?"

"No," he said still smirking, "but it was a close run thing. You must admit it would be intriguing to face the Nel in this land though."

I nodded and puffed placidly on my pipe and said, "I will admit that yes."

"If they were to come against Cenn's Reavers led by an ancient and legendary warrior from their past?"

"I imagine that would be unsurprising if my name was what brought them to this land."

He waved a hand to silence me.

"I mean, what if they found me in your stead and no sign of Keroen Skathos?"

"I imagine they would be surprised, and perhaps some would be dismayed."

He nodded, "What excites you more, Cenn? Waging war against Volung and his children or the massed might of the Nel?"

"The Nel, I would have thought that obvious. You may recall though that I have done so before, recently in fact."

I chuckled quietly as I finished speaking. His pipe had long since gone out while he spoke and he absently tapped out the ash and paid no attention to my laugh.

"If the Nel were drawn to this land by something, would they be inclined to conquer it?"

"I suppose they might, but I do not know if they could. They have no concept of firearms nor do they understand disease and sickness."

"Let us say that they could, would that be worth fighting against? If Cenn dies and I take control of his reavers and spend their lives against the Nel invaders, leaving just you and I as the last remnant, would that be a war worth fighting?"

"You and I fighting to free this land from the Nel?"

He nodded.

"That would tax us in ways fighting Volung would not, and would likely offer me more freedom than being your aid would. We would fight this war as equals, as brothers in arms."

He nodded again and said, "Just the two of us, back to back once more with a horde arrayed against us."

I could taste the blood in my mouth and feel my skin slick with sweat, I could see the silver blades of the Nel. I could feel them bite hard into my skin. I could feel Callifay and I pressed back to back our bodies moving in time with one another in the fashion only a true battle brother's could.

I suddenly felt very warm, my brow itched and my tongue felt too large for my mouth.

"Light a fire," I whispered.

His eyes widened, "You would contact him directly, and so soon?"

I shook my head and half-dazedly whispered, "No. He barely remembers the old ways of our people, those that are tied to the seasons and the elements. His Gifts will though, and if we can first draw their attention that may be enough to draw him here to this place."

I felt Callifay call on his twisted Gifts to light a bonfire, when he had finished I wrapped my arms around him to hold as he began shivering and grew cold to the touch. He possessed all the might of our people, the Gifts I had bestowed on them, his were rather potent as well. Something was wrong within him though. Something within his Gifts was broken and sapped his vitality when he drew on them. It was this strange mechanism of his Gifts that made Nel and other creatures uneasy or belligerent in his presence.

When he recovered we dressed and tidied our camp, when we finished we sat next to the fiery orb that had appeared near us. Mosses and ferns had begun to burn and the air was filled with the stench of burning weeds.

"Fire and light," I whispered as my eyes unfocused and a trickle of blood seeped down from my brow.

"Fire and light, hear me."

I could feel something stir within me and felt something stir within the flames.

"Fire and light, her my words and carry them back to your master."

The fire had lost its circular shape and had become something natural and mundane and wholly of this world. Shapes whirled within it.

"Keroen Skathos, Bloody Head, waits upon an eastern shore with The Blade of Old Night in hand. I wait for you, you I once called son and later called grandson when you fled from the dark. I wait for you."

The fire was a blur of shapes and presences now, but his true face never appeared. Maybe the power I had taken from him crippled his most ancient senses, or perhaps he was merely not paying attention. His Gifts had felt the call though, they would hear my words and so he must eventually as well. He come, of that I was certain.

The Forgettening

I left something out the other day when I was talking about campaigns that were and whatnot. Its just a little thing, and I never really got too far on it, but I thought it was kind of goofily neat.

It was during that time that I was first really getting into Led Zeppelin, this was probably around the time I bought I and II and added them to my collection. There was so much...I guess you could call it mythic imagery in some of the songs that they were somewhat inspirational to me. Even when you get past the Lord of the Rings-ish songs there was some neat stuff to be found in there. To be fair though, my brain has been conditioned to "find" mythic fantasy elements in pretty much anything, whether they're there or not.

So, the gist was that I would base a campaign world on the albums of Led Zeppelin. There was going to be a city where doves were a sacred creature, based on the line about doves in Houses of the Holy, and harming them was punishable by death.

There was a race of the world called the Gentle Race, and their elders kept them chained to a vow of pacifism. This was because the elders saw all of time and space and possessed technology that could literally scorch the planet black, that was mostly based off of the first few lyrics in Kashmir.

Another tie in or whatever was that there was going to be a scenario about a city that was situated in a low valley and was perpetually in danger of flood. See where I'm going here? Well, there were bandits that wanted to raid the town, or were being employed to destroy it, something like that. They went about destroying the levees surrounding the town with explosives and the PCs would have to stop them or something while the flood was in the midst of occurring. Do I really have to say what song it is based on? No? Good.

Gallow's Pole and Immigrant Song were some other songs I had scenario ideas for. There were other little things, but nothing that was a big deal. I could just never find a clearly understood way of saying where the inspiration was coming from without being blatant about it. I could never really come up with a campaign focus story-wise either, so that was another reason it never really reared its head.

Music: MC Frontalot - I Hate Your Blog