Glendal Lorg in the City: Scene 8 and 9 (Finale)

Welcome, welcome, welcome!  Thank you for being here.  If you're here to hear the story of the mighty Elf Thief Glendal Lorg, then you've come to the right place.  The tale marches on, rapidly approaching its fateful climax.  If you're unfamiliar with the adventure so far, may I suggest catching up here?

Threat Level = 1

Heat = 2

Victory Points:  Glendal 9, Foe 1

Clues I have = 2

Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

* * * * *

Scene 8:  Conflict:  "Discredit or frame an Actor ally of the foe."

Scene 9:  Action:  "Rally an Actor and their comrades to oppose the foe."

Even though Dassadal Ul was removed from the immediate equation, Glendal still felt a sense of urgency in finishing off his foe, Boon Kal.  Once word got back to the Cannibal Myrmidon from the Living Beach and head Priest of Morrigan, goddess of war, then Glendal's precarious situation would only get worse.

The Elf fretted as he made his way to the secret residence of Fargle Nex, Cleric of Cernunnos, god of virility.  He had so far spent most of all of two days to-ing and fro-ing with regard to this vicious game.  He desperately wanted to sink into soft cushions surrounded by soft Elf dancing girls, with a nice cold drink, but his temper and his temperament would never allow it.  Not until the work was finished!  And then....  And then, he promised himself, then he would reward himself.  There was still quite a lot of coin left over from his foray into the Fort of the Unholy Mound.  Much fine wine was in his future.  But not yet.

With Dassadal dead, and Mirthby Meem if not totally on his side then at least not opposing him, there were few threats actively working against him at the moment.  He crossed the dark, dirty, smelly streets of Sorcerer Crest as he retraced his steps to find Fargle Nex.  This time, while he still maintained his usual alertness, he knew the danger was minimal.

He arrived at the abode of the cleric, and knocked on the door with the pre-arranged signal.  The door opened and Fargle motioned him inside.

"What news, my friend?" he asked.

Glendal grinned.  "Much progress has been made.  I think I see a way to solve both your little problem as well as my own.  Is Immuth here, and do you still have the wedding statuette?"

The answer was yes to both questions, and Glendal quickly laid out his intentions.

Fargle was hesitant.  "It's audacious.  Is it too much?"

"Audacious, yes, but also the bolder the better," the Elf replied.  "This is your greatest weapon, and he will have no recourse."  He looked intently at the cleric with earnestness.  "Your love for your woman is the key.  If it were false, it would fail, but being true, it not only can succeed, it must.  He will have no response that can save him."

"Very well," Fargle sighed.  "Your advice has been instrumental so far.  We will follow you.  Wait here while I fetch them both."

Moments later, Raglia Bazh, now the married Immuth Nex, swept gracefully into the room, accompanied by floral scents.  She greeted him with a smile, and one finger tweaked a strand of hair away from her ear.  Glendal couldn't fail to notice the slight point at the tip; she had Elf blood!  Well, that would explain her elegant movements, he thought.

While Fargle went to retrieve the idol, Immuth moved closer to Glendal.  She placed her hand gently on his arm.  "Thank you for helping us.  You've been so very kind."

Glendal shrugged, stepping away from her.  "It's nothing.  You're lucky my reasons happened to align with Fargle's.  Ever since the Fort of the Unholy Mound, he's been bothering me."

She smiled knowingly.  "You put up a brave front, Master Thief, but I know better.  You're not the hardened brigand you pretend to be."

Glendal's reply was cut short by Fargle's return.  "I have it, here in this satchel."  He put out his hand to Immuth.  "Come, my dear, let us claim our destiny."

* * * * *

A short while later, the three conspirators stood before the entrance to The Knight & Knave, Sorcerer Crest's poshest watering hole for the elite.  Two burly bouncers guarded the door, both of whom looked to have more than a trace of Orc blood in their veins.  Over the archway were stone-carved exotic weaponry, filigreed in gold leaf.

Fargle looked worriedly from the bouncers to Glendal.  "I don't know anyone here.  Will they let us in?  I don't want to endanger Immuth."

The Elf put a hand up to stop the cleric.  "Worry not, libidinous one.  Trust me."  With a sure step, he approached the guards.  They regarded him impassively, their hands resting lightly on their truncheons.  "Greetings, my fine fellows," Fargle heard him say, "please to tell Lazorz that Lalifax sends his salutations via my own self, Glendal."

The two burly toughs shared a quick glance, nodded once, and then stepped aside.  Glendal threw a quick wink over his shoulder and motioned for the couple to come over.  Fargle and Immuth tried not to show their nervousness as they passed between the guards.  With one last side-eye, Glendal followed them inside.

Immuth leaned close to the Elf and whispered, "How did you do that?"

Glendal laughed softly in reply.  "Everyone thinks Lazorz Ryz the Hexed Warrior from the Transformed Library owns both this establishment as well as the lesser Captain & Brigand, which I often frequent.  But very few know he is actually a twin, whose brother is named Lalifax.  His identity is so secret even I don't know his extended name.  But," he added, "I do *know* his name.  It allows one certain...privileges.  In particular, there is a back room at the Captain & Brigand where...."  He stopped abruptly, recalling to whom he was speaking, after seeing her interested expression.  "Never mind.  Now to find Boon Kal."

They entered the esteemed social club's main venue area.  It was a large, slightly ovoid room with rounded corners, teeming with tables and chairs.  Candelabra depended from the lofty ceiling, shedding a golden glow over the inhabitants.  Elegant statues and carvings decorated every niche and sconce, gleaming with expensive gilt.

The patrons were equally impressive, each outfitted with their most elaborate jewelry and clothing, every one attempting to outshine his or her neighbors.  There were the usual wealthy guests, appearing every night, the richest of Sorcerer Crest's society.  However, wealth alone is not the only source of interest in the world, but those who wielded power were also in attendance:  the Constabulary leadership, the Merchant Guild overseers, representatives of the twenty-five oligarchs (if not the oligarchs themselves), and even Mirthby Meem occasionally.  But most importantly for the trio was Boon Kal, sitting with a lofty insouciance, flaunting his command over the other clerics of Sorcerer Crest's religions.

And there were many other clerics, priests, monks and churchmen in attendance, by the seeming dozens.  Glendal suddenly had an inkling to change vocations and take up the Cloth; these fellows appeared to be making out quite well.

The room was crowded to excess, the buzz of conversation louder than an easy tête-à-tête would afford.  Laughter flowed up suddenly from one corner, drowning out the thin whine of the musicians at the far end, then was itself drowned by another swirl of chatter.

Their entry went unnoticed at first, and then a maître d' sidled over.  "Good evening, m'lords and lady," he cooed.  "Welcome to our humble establishment.  Do you have reservations?" he asked, looking with a jaundiced eye at Glendal's dingy, rather dirty armor.  "Erm, we do have a dress code here...."

"Oh my no," Glendal replied in a loud, carrying voice, "we have no reservations, nor are we expected, but I can assure you," even louder, "that Boon Kal will be most interested in seeing us."

Conversation in the immediate area dimmed in response to his voice, but the rest of the room carried on normally.  It would take more than that to get the result he wanted.

The steward began gesturing for the guards, recognizing that the Elf was up to something, but it was too late.  With a lithe leap, the Thief vaulted onto the nearest table, scattering plates and tableware in every direction.  The surprised guests flung themselves back in shock.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" Glendal shouted, feet dancing a tattoo on the table, "lords and ladies, gentlemen and honored guests, may I have your attention please!  I have something important to tell you about Boon Kal."  When the guards started to approach too close, Glendal leaped to the next table, breaking china and glasses.  The guards were unable to reach him each time due to the patrons sitting there.  Women screamed and men were dumbfounded.  Silence descended on the room, with the exception of tinkling crystal being crushed under the Elf's feet.

Across the tables, Boon Kal stood up angrily.

Behind him, Mirthby Meem squatted in a pile of cushions, a pensive, anticipatory look on his face.

"I'll only bother you for a trice," Glendal continued, "mostly I want to impart one thing to the world at large."  He dance to the next table.  Chairs were flung backwards, spilling their occupants to the floor, blocking the guards yet again.  "And it is this:  Boon Kal has stymied and squashed the wishes of too many for too long.  Not only that, he has tried to kill to keep his malevolent grip.  Only I have prevented an innocent death!"

There were audible gasps at this claim.  Most did not know what to make of this light footed interruption; was he serious?  Was he demented?

"Only his own shame and humiliation of his own life choices guides him now!" Glendal yelled.  "Because he chose poorly and has been miserable his whole life, he must make those below him miserable!  For no reason!"

Another leap, another table.  More crashes, more screams.  Each table took the Elf closer to Boon Kal.

"Even now, he seeks to thwart true love, by a cleric who is not even of Kal's own order!"  There were shouts of astonishment.  "I know!  I agree, it's shameful."  Glendal waved an arm in the direction of Fargle and Immuth, who had been standing quietly and even timidly where he had left them.  "This man you all know, he is Fargle Nex the Polygamist from the Accursed Island, Cleric of Cernunnos!  But he is a Polygamist no more, and soon to be no longer a Cleric of Cernunnos, either!  He has forsworn them both to instead pledge his undying love to the lady by his side, she whom I helped save when Boon Kal would have killed her, Ragliah Bazh, the Scribe from the Fallen Castle!"

There were murmurs and looks of concern that passed between the other clerics in attendance.  Some appeared outraged, but others were obviously sympathetic.

Boon Kal shook his fist at the Elf.  "Lies!  All lies!" he shouted, moving closer, stomping on his wooden leg.  "Fargle is a madman!  He would shatter all the norms of Sorcerer Crest for a slut!"

Fargle's eyes blazed with anger at the insult.  "Slut!?  She is no slut, you despot!  And what 'norms'?  The only norms are the ones you have insisted upon for your whole wasted life!"

Glendal leapt to another table.  Alert waiters adroitly removed the glassware before it could be broken.  He danced in a circle on one foot.  "And how many of you, my fine fellows sitting there in your religious robes, have wished to marry?  More importantly, how many of you ALREADY HAVE?  Is it not barbarous that you must live a lie, all because one man made a bad decision before most of you were even born?"

There were more shouts of outrage, but instead of being directed at the Elf, they seemed to be directed at Boon Kal.

"Then know this, you Teachers of Truth," the Thief continued, "there is one among you who is not afraid to tell the world he has married!  Fargle Nex, show them!"  With a grand gesture, the Cleric of Cernunnos drew out the marriage statuette, that simple wooden idol, plated with pewter.

"This is our public proclamation of our wedding!" Fargle crowed.  "Raglia Bazh is now my wife, Immux Nex!  Now my brothers, live no more in secret shame!  Cast off your shackles of shame and join me in living like free men, only shackled by our vows!  For me, I leave my service of Cernunnos, but you have no need to!  Live like men!"

The volume of confusion grew louder, as the various factions separated themselves.  Around Boon Kal circulated the stodgy elders who valued tradition first; next to Fargle swarmed those who sympathized with his predicament, or were in the same situation themselves.  The tumult continued; tables were overturned, those without concern in the matter retreated away from the scrum.  The guards and waiters milled about uncertainly, not sure of who to support or punish.

The situation was reaching its crisis point.  Boon Kal was shouting, attempting to rally the recalcitrant clerics back to his side, the guards were starting to press in on the more disruptive elements, and Fargle was equally involved in making himself heard.  Fists were raised.  Voices turned more to anger than argument.  The mood was worsening.

Glendal threw himself back into the center of the controversy.  Picking up a silver platter, he banged the hilt of his knife against it repeatedly like a gong.  As the ringing died away, the crowd quieted briefly.  "Fighting about this will achieve nothing!" he shouted.  "The deed is already done, and none can call it back.  The only thing left now," and here he looked directly at Mirthby Meem, "is to move forward with the way things are going to be from now on!  For those who can see the future can control it, and he who controls a thing extracts the opportunity from that thing!"

With a heave, Mirthy levered himself up from the cushions.  As he passed near Glendal, he said, just loud enough for the Elf to hear, "You move quickly, Lorg.  Perhaps too quickly, but let no one ever say Mirthby Meem doesn't know how to seize an opportunity."  Then, plowing his bulk through the throng surrounding Boon Kal, he put his arm around the priest.  "My old friend and mentor, let me help you today..." and began to guide him away.

With one last look around, Glendal stepped off the table and began to thread his way back to Fargle.  There were a great number of supporters surrounding the cleric, each of whom was trying to both congratulate him and at the same time tell him his own story.  Glendal caught Fargle's eye and pointed at the exit.

"My friends!" Fargle called.  "Let us leave this place and find our own place to celebrate.  Come with me!"

As the crowd straggled out into the evening streets, certain individuals began singing, and from somewhere someone else found a musical instrument and began playing music.  Soon the whole congregation was laughing and humming along as Glendal steered them towards the Captain & Brigand.  He felt it was the least he could do to help offset the cost of his behavior at The Knight & Knave.  Soon, much coin would be spent among new friends, many of whom had gone to find their brides in order to celebrate together in public for the first time.

For the redoubtable Elf Thief, he was content to make his way to the back room, where he knew a particularly nubile Elf dancing girl he favored was to be found.  The night stretched out before him with much promise, but he knew the morrow would bring change.  He suspected he wasn't in too much favor at the moment with many in Sorcerer Crest, and no matter how much Mirthby Meem and the Phantom Cabal profited from these events, he thought it best to make himself scarce for a while.  He had always wanted to find out what was on the other side of those hills just outside the city.  Tomorrow sounded like a good time to learn.

* * * * *

Scene 8:  Conflict:  "Discredit or frame an Actor ally of the foe."

Scene 9:  Action:  "Rally an Actor and their comrades to oppose the foe."

Originally, I had these two scenes separated but after writing the fiction above, I realized they were two halves of the same event.  Scene 9 is basically the winning finale.

Having demoted Dassadal Ul to the status of minion, this by default made Boon Kal the main foe.  Apparently he really just doesn't want clerics to get married and has been running the show this whole time.  Huh, who knew.  Even though the directive says "an Actor ally of the foe" I twisted this to mean "the Foe himself."  Seemed more appropriate.

This appeared to be a pretty straightforward situation that required very little in the way of game play.  The rules state, "By default, each scene requires that your hero succeed on a trait check based on whatever kind of situation they are attempting to master.  The difficulty for the check is 9 plus half the Threat of the adventure, rounded down.  If you succeed, you win the scene and gain a Victory point."  You may recall I started this adventure with Glendal at level 1, so the Threat level has been 1 rounded down to 0 when necessary.  But then I leveled Glendal up to level 2, feeling it was the proper time; however, I never increased the Threat level equally.  So this whole time Glendal has been getting off pretty easy!  I didn't really put the pieces together until fairly late in the game, and now I truthfully don't feel like changing it.  Is it too easy for Glendal?  Possibly.  But whenever dice are involved, nothing is certain.

The long and short of all this is that Glendal only had to succeed at a Check of 9 in order to win Scene 8.  I rolled 2d8 + Trait (Streetwise) + CHA = (8 + 3) + 2 + 1 = 14.

Technically, that's all that's required to win the Scene.  Obviously, the fiction demands more information.

I rolled on the Urban Location table, Elite d20 = 17 = "Social Club."

Somehow, Glendal has to confront and discredit Boon Kal in front of his peers at a Social Club.  The answer was obvious once I stopped to think about it, as shown in the fiction above.

In order to win Scene 9 and win the "game," I again only had to succeed on a Check.  I rolled 2d8 the same as for Scene 8:  (8 + 7) + 2 + 1 = 18.  A success!

Somewhere in my notes, I'm certain I intended Raglia Bazh to be Elvish, but when I introduced her a few Scenes ago I made her Human.  Today, I split the difference.

Also, I only just realized that I have another NPC character with the last name of Meem:  Essem Meem from Scene 2.  Somehow I managed to not remember that at all when I created Mirthby Meem.  I guess two people can have the same last name and not be related (obviously it happens in real life, but always seems odd in fiction), but I made a specific exception with the last name Nex, kinda coerced the whole direction of the plot.  Oh well.  I had not been keeping a character record because I never thought I would have this problem.  The Wampus Country Name Generator has 100 entries each for first and last names.  It's pretty wild I've rolled the same name twice, twice.  Life and Art, don'cha'know.

At the end of Scene 8:

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 2
Victory Points:  Glendal 10, Foe 0
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

At the end of Scene 9:  I rolled 1d10 vs Heat (2) = 2.  "If the total is equal or less than the community's Heat, your hero needs to either move on or run an adventure where the Plot revolves around coping with the consequences of your notoriety."  I think Glendal will be seeking calmer waters soon, which I had in mind anyhow, but it's funny I rolled a 2.

Glendal wins the Urban Adventure!  Hooray!  "After a winner is determined, subtract the opponent's Victory points from the hero's total.  If the score is 5 or more, it is a Complete Victory."  I think 10 to 0 qualifies.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 2 (probably more like 3 or 4 by now)
Victory Points:  Glendal 10, Foe 0
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

One last look at Glendal, mainly so I can find it again if/when I continue from here:

STR 16 +2

DEX 16 +2

CON 16 +2

INT 11 +0

WIS 14 +1

CHA 15 +1

Leather Armor AC 7 + DEX = AC 5.  Attack Bonus +2.  Primary Trait:  Adventuring Thief +4.  Other Traits:  Elven Senses +1; Former Fighter past life +1; Keen Danger Sense +1; Streetwise Info Gatherer +2.  Nothing else really changed, except he has a metric ton of loot from his dungeon crawl.

Did I do everything correctly?  Probably not.  Was it close enough without compromising either the story or the rules?  Probably.  Did I enjoy myself?  Absolutely!

The actual playing of the mechanics are fairly straightforward and quick.  It is, as always, the writing of the narrative that is time consuming.  But to me, that is the only way to really tie the two things together.

* * * * *

Thanks for reading!  Will more adventures be coming soon?  I don't know.  I might take a short break (10 years?  I hope not) and play some tabletop miniature games instead.  Check out my other blogs (sadly neglected, I know) if nothing pops up here anytime soon.

Thanks again!

Glendal Lorg in the City, Scene 7

I liked what I wrote last time so much, I'm going to use it again.

Welcome, weary traveler!  Step inside and find rest, solace and perhaps a story.  What story, you ask?  Why, the tale of the mighty Elf Thief (2nd level) Glendal Lorg and his foray in the city of Sorcerer Crest.  'Tis truly a tale still being told (and still being written, even now) using the Scarlet Heroes rules from Sine Nomine Publishing.  Where stand we in the chronology of events?  Why, you only have need to go here to find out.

And now, come, sit and listen to Scene 7.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 8, Foe 2
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

* * * * *

Scene 7:  Conflict:  "Waylay a minion of the foe.  Face a Fight instead of a check."

...with a sense of relief, Glendal accepted his dismissal.  Yet he didn't feel truly safe until he breathed the outside air from across the street.

He was also dissatisfied with Mirthby Meem's decision.  On the one hand, Glendal could see his point, that Mirthby ought to be the one to discipline Dassadal Ul for stepping out of line.  However, he was only punishing him for going outside of the Phantom Cabal's hierarchy; Dassadal was not being punished for attempting to kill Glendal.  That was the bone sticking in the Elf's craw.  In point of fact, Mirthby had even laughed it off as business as usual...which it was, the Thief admitted, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

No, Glendal was not one to let an insult go unanswered.  Oddly, in fact, for one of a race so long-lived as the Elves are, he was quick to take offense, but just as quick to forgive...if forgiveness was warranted.  Here, he was adamantly convinced, it was not.

Perhaps it was a result of having lived among the hot-headed Humans for so long that his own temper was so short.  Either way, he decided, Dassadal needed to be taught a lesson, not from Mirthby Meem, but from himself.  And the sooner the better, before the Cabal could act and make Glendal look like he was taking revenge instead of simple vengeance - a clear-cut difference in any Thief's eyes.

Consequently, instead of his initial plan to return to Fargle Nex and inform him of the current status of things, he directed his steps to first one ale shop and then another, until he found someone who knew where Dassadal was lurking.

The answer was a surprise to the Elf:  the Forsworn Path, that is, the Wizards' College.

Apparently, the Vainglorious Coachman from the Primordial Road was quite the scholar.  Glendal laughed inwardly at the hubris of a man like Dassadal thinking himself to be a mighty wizard.  Dassadal?  The one-eyed thug known more for his signature truncheon than his learned reading?  Impossible.  And yet, the informant insisted, it was true.  Even now, he was with his mentors at the Forsworn Path, known colloquially as Word Spitters Hall.  Well, one never knew what was in another's heart of hearts.  So Dassadal knows a little magic.

That just made him all the more dangerous.

Any practitioners of the arcane arts were to be considered dangerous, especially those from a city named Sorcerer Crest!  The wizards' guild here was known to be one of the best in the realm.

Accordingly, Glendal's native caution increased.  There could now be no possibility of "honorably" calling out Dassadal; no, now it must be the true Way of Thieves:  an ambush.  Any opponent who could conceivably split you in twain with a wave of his pinky finger was not one to be trifled with; he must be singled out and cut down as quickly as possible.

Glendal hurried across the dirty, busy streets, stepping over the refuse and rot, and made his way to Word Spitters Hall.  Lurking in the shadows of an overhang he watched.  Obvious practitioners of the arcane arts came and went, and some who were not so obvious, too.  Wizened old men and women, hunched from too many years of studying dusty old tomes, creaked in and out of the main entrance.  Younger, more spry aspirants, their robes clean but their fingers stained with ink, also went hither and yon.  Glendal was surprised by how busy the Hall was.  It seemed everyone and his brother had business within its portals at some time or another.

The day stretched on and the Elf stretched with it:  both his patience, and his back.  The body must be ready when the patience reached it's end.

Finally, the waiting ended.  As the city's shadows lengthened into darker pools of night, Glendal heard Dassadal's voice from inside the Hall, saying his farewells.  "He means it more than he realizes," the Elf smiled to himself.

Then the Vainglorious Coachman himself appeared in the entrance way, surrounded, as usual, by three burly hangers-on.  As he turned left onto the street, Glendal spared a glance around.  There was the normal foot traffic for this area and this time of day.  There would be witnesses.  "So much the better," he thought.

Before any of the four men even knew he was among them, Glendal had slipped between the rearmost thugs, bringing himself directly behind Dassadal.  He placed his left hand on Dassadal's shoulder, causing him to look in that direction, while with his right, he slid the knife between the Vainglorious Coachman's ribs.  As the magic-user / thief slumped to the ground, Glendal withdrew the knife and with the same continuous motion slashed the throats of two of the thugs.  The third took one startled stare into the Elf's eyes before he turned and ran.

Glendal knelt down next to the bleeding Dassadal Ul.  Leaning over, he whispered, "Next time you try to kill me, do it yourself.  And when you come for me, you'd best not miss."  Then with a certain grim pleasure, he watched the understanding and the light fade from the dead man's eyes -- eye, really, since the other was covered by the gem-encrusted patch.

The Elf wiped his blade on one of the thug's tunic before returning it to its sheath.  With another quick look around, he moved away, disappearing quietly into the shadows.  Were there witnesses?  Perhaps.  But the shadows were long and the deed was done quick.  Let Mirthby Meem wonder who beat him to the punch.

Feeling the elation of a well-wrought outing, Glendal directed his steps to his next "victim":  Boon Kal.

* * * * *

After leaving the Phantom Cabal's HQ, when I rolled Conflict:  "Waylay a minion of the foe.  Face a Fight instead of a check," I knew Glendal would not be satisfied with letting Mirthby Meem "discipline" Dassadal for him.  No, Glendal, ever the impetuous Elf, needed the satisfaction of doing it himself.  I therefore relegated Dassadal to minion status (making Boon Kal the main foe) so that the Fight here would be against Dassadal.  I did, however, also roll on the Potential Foes table just to see what came up, d8 = 6, d10 = 10 = "Watch Sorcerer."  Not wanting to create a new NPC subordinate to Dassadal, I decided that the Vainglorious Coachman must have been dabbling in magic.  I had never actually statted-out Dassadal, so truthfully didn't know what he was capable of, beyond the cursory mentions of thug-ishness.

When I originally created Dassadal, this is what I wrote:  "The Antagonist is a Society Fellow (meaning my society), an Underworld Cretinous Street Thug, (likely a former Thief from the Phantom Cabal).  He is uncommonly old for his position; is wed uncomfortably with marital strife; has great personal strength or potential for violence; is wrathful and swift to strike out at all which affronts him; his most powerful motivation is excitement and the thrill of some new experience or lore; and he is missing a limb or eye to accident or battle-wound."  I had forgotten that bit about 'new lore.'  That would explain his interest in magic.

Having decided that Glendal would fight Dassadal, I rolled to see where, on the Urban Location table, elite = 15 = "School of Magic."  This coincided quite nicely with the new revelation that Dassadal knows some spells.  Glendal will confront him there.

I then rolled on the Fight Difficulty table, d8 = 8 = 1 Brute + 3 Thugs.  The Brute was obviously Dassadal.  I now statted him out as a Brute:  3 HD, AC6, to-hit +3, Damage 1d10, Morale 10, Skill+2, Move 20'.  Interestingly this put him one level higher than Glendal.

I'm ignoring every aspect of "but he can't cast spells, he's not multi-classed and he's already a Thief!"  In this case, cool story trumps linear thinking.  Plus, as you read in the fiction above, it didn't matter at all.  Lol

The Thugs are 1 HD, AC8, to-hit+1, Damage 1d6, Morale 8, Skill+1, Move 30'.

The word "waylay" in the Scene description definitively means "ambush" in my mind.  And guess what?  Per the Thief description in the Scarlet Heroes rulebook (and nearly every other D&D-style rules ever), Thieves get +4 to attack unsuspecting victims doing triple damage, even with the Fray die.  I thought this might be necessary given the fact that Dassadal is one level higher than Glendal with 3 goons to help him.  Plus, who knows how powerful magic can be in this solo-game, since I've not used it yet.

Speaking of which, I thumbed through the Magic User spells list (of, to be honest Old School Essentials, since it was handy) and, based on what we know of Dasadal's personality so far, I decided he would know Magic Missile, Sleep, and Invisibility, these being the most useful to not only a Thief but also a Tough.

The fight went off rather anti-climactically:  Glendal sneak-attacked, rolling d20 + STR + AttBonus + enemyAC + sneak = 13 + 2 + 2 + 6 + 4 = 27.  The damage d8 x 3 = 15 = 4 points to Dassadal.  I contemplated not killing him, only blinding him, but decided in the end to kill him.  Glendal really took it personally that someone tried to kill him; I think I would, too.

The Fray die d6 x 3 = 6 = 2 pts = 2 Thugs killed.  I think perhaps technically I should only have killed one Thug.  The rulebook states, "Ambush damage in excess of what is necessary to kill a foe cannot be spread over other enemies."  Nevertheless, I stand with my version.  The third Thug failed his morale check and ran; odds are the second would have too.

The Challenge was to win the Fight (not a Check), so I win the Scene.  Winning a Conflict Scene awards +1 VP and removes 1 VP from the foe.

There is also the matter of Heat.  "Heat is a measure of how much unwanted attention you're getting from the local community.  ...  If you beat a Challenge with violence and your opponents are not socially-acceptable targets for brutal disposal, add 1 Heat to the community."  I haven't really been keeping track of Heat so far, it might possibly be up to 2 or 3, maybe.  None of it matters until the end of the adventure:  "After each adventure, roll 1d10.  If the total is equal or less than the community's Heat, your hero needs to either move on or run an adventure where the Plot revolves around coping with the consequences of your notoriety."  I'm going to say this fight increased the Heat +1 for certain, but the other fights have all been out of sight of the public and with socially-acceptable hoodlums, so I think 2 is appropriate.

Here's where we end up:

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 2
Victory Points:  Glendal 9, Foe 1
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

Hitting 10 VPs triggers the final scene.  Let's see what happens!

Thanks for reading!

Glendal Lorg in the City, Scene 6

Welcome, weary traveler!  Step inside and find rest, solace and perhaps a story.  What story, you ask?  Why, the tale of the mighty Elf Thief Glendal Lorg and his foray in the city of Sorcerer Crest.  'Tis truly a tale still being told (and still being written, even now) using the Scarlet Heroes rules from Sine Nomine Publishing.  Where stand we in the chronology of events?  Why, you only have need to go here to find out.

And now, come, sit and listen to Scene 6.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 6, Foe 2
Clues I have = 3
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

* * * * *

Scene 6:  Action:  "Pass an incriminating or disgraceful Clue to an Actor who can make sure important people learn of the evidence."

Glendal Lorg was a fairly young (by Human standards) and relatively inexperienced Thief.  He more often than not operated under his own code of conduct, which if he or anyone had examined very closely would see that it leant more in the favor of Honor than Corruption, more in the direction of Integrity than Duplicitousness.  That the definition of what constituted Honor and Integrity were of his own devising was irrelevant to him; they were simply how Things Ought To Be, he felt.  Much of this included the idea that he was going to get rich, and if someone was careless enough to leave something valuable unguarded, then it was obviously meant to be the Elf's.  But similarly if he was thwarted by a well-conceived trap or protection, then it's all fair play at that point, and he would wish the conscientious person well.

Generally speaking, then, Glendal's morals did not particularly align with the Phantom Cabal's.  The Cabal was the epitome of a Thieves' Guild, as imagined by someone who thought they knew everything about thieving.  They demanded an interest in any crime, they usually did not permit just any Thief to roam at will, and they provided the customary "protection" to high-ranking and wealthy patrons.  They tended to look with disapprobation on any "unsanctioned" crimes, and it was not unknown for willful Thieves to disappear in the middle of the night, especially if they were seen spending their ill-gotten gains too viscerally.

Any strong organization needs a hierarchy with a similarly strong hand ruling from the top, and the Phantom Cabal was no exception.  The guild had long been ruled by Mirthby Meem the Handsome Mason from the Unknowable Outpost.  Mirthby was a perfect example of the law of Counter-Intuitiveness (the only law he recognized, other than his own):  he was fairly young for someone who ran the largest Thieves consortium in one of the largest cities in the land; he was comfortably married, and was rumored to never partake of the harlots some of his underlings controlled; and despite a vigorous and energetic physicality, he was loathsome-ly fat.  This tended to give him what might be called a "bad attitude," by which he attempted (with mixed success) to conceal both his wrathful outlook and his obesity by wearing only the finest clothes.

He would frequently be seen in many of the city's prime establishments, feigning interest in the rich and powerful while simultaneously scheming for any personal advantage he could wrangle from them.  A slip of the tongue, a hint of indiscretion, and suddenly they would find themselves in his power.  Blackmail was too harsh of a word, oh my no, they simply would owe the wrathful whale a "favor."  For he was extremely wrathful to any who tried to outfox him, or dared to dig into his past, or attempted to destroy the incriminating evidence before he could use it against them.  Then the gloves came off and members of the Cabal's famed (and feared) Effacers would pay them a visit, at the most inopportune time.  Rarely did the victims die, unless it was from shame and embarrassment; Mirthby took much more pleasure from exposing their foibles while still being able to bleed them dry in the future; after all, dead men pay nothing for keeping secrets.

Glendal had met Mirthby in the past, when he first arrived in Sorcerer Crest, and took "employment" in the Phantom Cabal.  After a few simple jobs to find out if he was suitable (he was), he was given fairly free reign in the city, with all the usual restrictions:  the Cabal always wanted it's cut, and no jobs bigger than a smash-and-grab without prior approval.  Certain officials were always easy to get to turn a blind eye for the big jobs; one might say it was easier to get permission than it was to get forgiveness.

So when Glendal had set out on his own to the Fort of the Unholy Mound, without prior approval, and had returned with a great amount of gold and treasure, he had given so little thought to the potential ramifications of being caught as for it to be nonexistent.  Later, after he had returned to the city and had been spending and spending and spending, the idea did occur to him that perhaps he should be a trifle more careful.  But by then he was caught up in the whole Fargle Nex wedding business.  And then Dassadal Ul made it personal by trying to have the Elf murdered.

The only reason Glendal could think of for why Dassadal tried to kill him was that the Vainglorious Coachman didn't want the Cabal to know what he was up to.  Stealing the wedding statuette was, in itself, a minor theft, really, about which the guild would not care.  But the ruckus it would cause when Fargle made it known that he was forsaking his priestly vows -- and encouraging other Clerics to do likewise -- turned a small event into a major kerfuffle.  Add to that the fact that the whole thing was initiated by Boon Kal, the Cannibal Myrmidon from the Living Beach and head Priest of the goddess of war, Morrigan, and you had the makings of a right brouhaha with a capital Brou.  The entire Priestly order in the city could be sent into convulsions overnight, and with their demise the rest of the oligarchical rulers might follow.  There were said to be twenty-five co-equal leaders of Sorcerer Crest, and many of them were of the Clerical persuasion, representing the gamut of gods worshipped in the city.  If enough of them were deposed, for any reason, the rest might not be able to stop the seizing of power by non-oligarchs.  Any crime of this potential magnitude could only be attempted with the sanction of the Phantom Cabal, due to the potential chaotic fallout.

All these details were swirling around the Elf's brain as he made his way to the Cabal's headquarters.  The fact that it was where the thieves' guild made it's home was common knowledge, there was nothing secret about it.  It spoke to the power that Mirthby Meem maintained in the city that he felt no need to hide.

There were, of course, barriers and obstacles, guards and watchwords to be passed, before Glendal could be permitted to enter the Inner Sanctum of the Handsome Mason.  These were accomplished in short order, Glendal being a Thief in good standing, after all, at least as far as he knew.  Nevertheless, especially after his embarrassment at the city guards' gate, Glendal kept on his toes, paying particular attention to the positioning of the various functionaries and sentinels.  Watching his surroundings with his Elven senses, and more importantly his keen danger senses, the Elf made sure he always knew the quickest way out of a room.

When he finally entered the cloistered office of Mirthby Meem, his inner caution ratcheted up even higher.  The bloated mogul was ensconced in a vast pile of cushions, delicately sipping from a tiny teacup, pinky finger ludicrously extended.  His fat but otherwise handsome face turned toward the Elf as he stepped into the room, and he boomed out, "Why Glendal Lorg, I've been expecting you!  Where's my money?"

Glendal gave no reaction and carefully kept his face completely featureless.  For the briefest moment, he wondered how everyone seemed to know of his whereabouts despite his best efforts:  Essem Meem had warned Aster Doop; and Dassadal Ul had sent assassins to the city gate....

But then Mirthby threw back his head and guffawed at his joke.  "Har haw, that always gets the new guys!"  He motioned a be-ringed hand to a nearby chair.  "Come, sit down, sit down.  To what do I owe this pleasure, hm?  Contemplating a villainous scheme with rich rewards?  Tell me, tell me.  We have yet to see the greatness I expect in you."

Glendal perched lightly on the edge of the seat, his Elf vanity not permitting him to sink into its deeply piled cushions.  Total relaxation was best accomplished alone, or with nubile dancing girls.  He felt it best to get right to the point.  "I've heard of something I think you should know about," he began, "but I wonder if you might already know."

It suddenly occurred to him that, if he were wrong about Dassadal Ul being out on his own, and his theft was in fact approved by the Cabal, then Glendal might very well never leave this building alive.  He silently cursed his own naïveté.  He would try to remain as neutral as possible until he could determine which way the wind was blowing.

Mirthby sat up a little straighter -- no easy task in the voluminous cushions -- and set the teacup down.  "You have my attention," he said.

"You know, I think, Dassadal Ul the Vainglorious Coachman from the Primordial Road?" Glendal began.  "One of your many...workers."

"Ah, yes, he of the gem-encrusted eyepatch," Mirthby murmured with a snarky smile.  "A tough with an air of greatness, seen by himself alone.  Very good at roughing up those that need it but not the brightest torch in the dungeon.  What about him?"

"He appears to be involved with Boon Kal, the Cannibal Myrmidon from the Living Beach and head Priest of Morrigan," Glendal said, carefully, watching Mirthby's face for his reaction.  "I am wondering, due to recent events that Dassadal has involved me in, if you authorized what he is doing with Boon Kal."

Mirthby's round face retained it blandness, simply lifting one eyebrow.  "Oh indeed?  Boon Kal, you say?"  He paused, then said, "No, my fine Elf, I know nothing of this, either officially or unofficially.  What exactly is he up to?"

In a few succinct phrases, Glendal laid out Dassadal's and Kal's plan to steal the wedding statuette, ending with, "...and I need not tell you the how the peace of the city would be, shall we say, disturbed."

Mirthby's face darkened as the Thief explained.  "I do so hate it when those in my employ don't know their place," he grumbled.  Reaching next to him, he picked up and rang a small silver bell.  Moments later, a servant entered.  "Send for my stenographer," he instructed.

Glendal waited while Mirthby parsed what he would do next.  The ugly look of anger was deeply unsettling.  After a minute or two, the Handsome Mason's face cleared, and he smiled at the Elf.  "Why, Glendal, my dear fellow, you seem to be in the know on some very interesting things.  I may need to keep my eye on you a trifle closer."  He picked up his teacup and sipped.  "Dassadal will need to be...reminded of his position."  He grinned over the lip of the cup.  "One thing I do require of my subordinates is their submission to our organization's overall plans.  When individuals, however clever or well-meaning, go galivanting off on their own, they endanger everything we've accomplished here."  He favored the Thief with a penetrating look.  "I'm sure you understand what I mean, of course?"

Glendal could do no more than incline his head in acknowledgment.  Did this mean the Cabal did not know of his own acquisitions?  Perhaps it was just a general reminder.  It was impossible to tell, he decided.  He pressed on.  "Did I mention that Dassadal tried to have me killed?"

Mirthby waved his hand dismissively.  "Oh tush, 'tis simply the way of our lives.  You would have done the same, I think, only you would have succeeded."  He winked conspiratorially.  "And one good turn deserves another, don't you know.  Allow me to...reprimand Dassadal for you.  That way we kill two birds with one stone, in a manner of speaking."

"And the statuette?  Will you permit Boon Kal to impose his will on Fargle Nex?" Glendal asked.

Mirthby pursed his lips in thought.  "Hmm, I don't really care whether or not this Fargle person weds, or quits his priesthood, or is swept away in a flood.  I mostly care that underlings don't undertake ventures of this magnitude without permission.  You are right, if this Nex's wedding goes through unimpeded, there will be much civil unrest..." he leaned forward eagerly, "and that means Opportunity!  This may be the biggest event of the last decade, a chance to swell our coffers and tighten our grip on these hypocrites.  Yes, yes, indeed, I will send a little missive to my good friend Boon Kal, and apply a little pressure, pull a few strings, as the saying goes."  He lowered his voice and stage-whispered, "You may not know this, but I was once an Acolyte of Morrigan.  Many moons ago."  He chuckled.  "I know a few things about Boon Kal.  Let me have a talk with him and I think he can be made to see reason.  You may tell your Cleric friend his wedding may proceed!"

Glendal felt it wiser to not correct the Cabal master that the wedding was already accomplished, that this was simply the announcement.  "A distinction without a difference," he thought.

Just then the stenographer entered, bearing pens and parchment.  "Take a letter to Boon Kal," Mirthby instructed him, then waved a fat hand to Glendal.  "Farewell, my fine Elf Thief.  I'm sure we shall meet again soon!"

With a sense of relief, Glendal accepted his dismissal.  Yet he didn't feel truly safe until he breathed the outside air from across the street.

* * * * *

I decided to do an Action Scene next, so spent 1 Clue, feeling that "things needed to happen."  I had already decided to go to the head of the Phantom Cabal (the Thieves' Guild in Sorcerer Crest) and find out if Dassadal Ul was a loose cannon or under orders.  I did not even pause to consider how dangerous this might be if, in fact, the Cabal was in charge of this nefarious plot.  To "succeed" I had to pass a Check with a Difficult of 9.  I rolled 2d8 + CHA modifier + "Streetwise Info Gatherer" trait = [7 + 2] + 1 + 2 = 12 vs 9.  I win the Challenge so gain 1 VP.

I go to see the boss, who I create using the, as usual, Wampus Country Name Generator:  Mirthby Meem the Handsome Mason from the Unknowable Outpost.  To flesh him out, I roll on the various charts in Scarlet Heroes.

Actors & NPCs: d8 =7, d10 = 2 = "Social club leader."  Seems appropriate.

Race = 1 = Human

Quick NPC Generator:

d4 = 2 = Youthful & vigorous

d6 = 3 = Wed comfortably

d8 = 6 = Favors & blackmail held over figures of importance

d10 = 8 = Scheming, seeking subtle angles of personal advantage

d12 = 6 = Concealment of a dire shame or crime they were party to

d20 = 7 = Unusual shortness, tallness, fatness or other build quirk; a d6 determined he is fat.

Memorable traits: d100 = 50 = "Immaculate clothes."

Ruling temperament: d100 = 99 = "Wrathful."

Immediate desires: d100 = 35 = "Destroying evidence."

So we have the leader of the Thieves who blackmails, schemes, was involved in a dire crime, fat but dresses nice, with a bad temper, and is willing to destroy evidence.  I mean....  Could it be more perfect?  Should I have called him "Kingpin"?

Glendal wants to know if Dassadal is working for Mirthby or if he is out on his own.  I ask the Oracle, and since I don't know either, I assign it an "Unknown" 50/50 level.  d20 = 5 = "No."

Does Mirthby Meem even know what Dassadal is up to?  Oracle, 50/50 = d20 = 4 = "No."

How does Mirthby Meem feel about this, now that he knows someone is working outside the Cabal?  I roll on the "Oraclular Adjectives and Motivations" chart, 1d20 x 1d20 = 8, 18 = "Submission."  I interpret that to mean he expects Dassadal to toe the line of the Cabal.

How can Mirthby Meem help?  I roll on the "Quick Character Generation" sub-chart "Relationships" = d100 = 72 = "Once a temple acolyte."  I take this to mean that, against all odds, the head of the Cabal was once in the religious order.  Perhaps he knows Boon Kal and can pull a few strings.

Just as important to Glendal right now, does Mirthby Meem know Glendal has been out solo-ing and not giving his due to the Cabal?  I figure with "all that loot" he brought back, some word might have reached Meem's ears.  I ask the Oracle as "Unlikely" = d20 = 10 = "No."  This is a true "no," but at 11 it becomes "No, but," so for funzies I roll 1d6 on the "No, but" table.  1d6 = 1 = "A twist to the relationship between people in the situation."  This I take to mean, quite obviously, "If I ever found out you were out on your own and not giving the Cabal it's proper cut...[threat hangs ominously in the air]."

I win the Scene.  I rolled 1d10 vs the total number of Investigations + Action Scene (6) = 8, so the enemy does not receive a VP.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 8, Foe 2
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

Thanks for reading.  Scene 7 coming soon!

Glendal Lorg in the City, Scene 5

What has gone before:  Glendal Lorg the Elf Thief (with a heart of gold) has decided to throw in with his friend Fargle Nex in order to poke at a sour-puss priest named Boon Kal and his lowly henchman Dassadal Ul.  More details are available here.

A solo role-play session using Scarlet Heroes by Sine Nomine Publishing.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 5, Foe 1
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

* * * * *

Scene 5:  Investigation:  "Be waylaid by a hostile Actor with a Clue.  Face a Fight instead of a check."

Glendal helped Immuth clean up the mess made by the fight with the Servitor Construct.  After assuring himself that her location was secure, the Elf excused himself and waited outside in the shadows across the street.  Presently, Fargle Nex arrived, looking a trifle road-weary and windblown.

"I did as you suggested," he told Glendal when the Thief greeted him.  "I doubled back and doubled back over and over, always making sure no one followed.  I hope I succeeded."

Glendal saw him into his "love nest," before taking his leave.  "I'll check in with you tomorrow.  Remind me again when your public announcement is?"

"It was set for two days from now, but it can be postponed," the cleric replied.  "The public demonstration is more important than when it occurs, as long as it does occur."

The Elf considered the remaining daylight.  "Very well," he said, "I have someone I want to see, who may be able to help.  I'll be in touch.  In the meantime, that statuette," he said, pointing at the wooden icon, "keep it secret, keep it safe."

Leaving the outskirts of town, Glendal thought about his choices.  With his natural instincts, his Elven senses honed to a keen edged danger sense, he wasn't worried about anyone following him.  He automatically traced a convoluted route back to the city gates without even thinking about it.  Eschewing the main gate, he angled off toward the smaller side gate, more suited for foot traffic.  The day was fast advancing toward evening, and the sun was shining in his eyes as he approached it.

Lost in thought about whether to proceed with his plan, he paid little attention to the guards.  Certainly, he noted they were there, as they always were, dark men in dark cloaks with the glint of steel both in their features as well as their weapons.  Glendal had few dealings with the city of Sorcerer Crest's constabulary, as befits a good professional Thief, but in general he normally had no reason to avoid them.

The normal procedure when approaching the city gate during daylight hours was to simply walk through.  Nighttime was a different story, but during the day there were never any challenges to be answered or papers needing to be shown.  As long as one didn't look like they were going to cause trouble, they were left alone to enter as easily as they wanted.  Glendal considered himself very adept at looking obscure.

So it was with considerable surprise that these guards took him completely unawares, keen danger sense or no keen danger sense.  The first indication that something was amiss was when two of the four guards deliberately moved to block his path.  They stood in front of him just inside the gate area, while the third stepped behind him to block his exit.  The fourth, a much burlier looking man, sidled right into Glendal's face.  The Elf sniffed; the guard had a distinct smell of caustic agents, vinegar or ethyl alcohols.

One of the thugs in front -- for Glendal now knew they were not true guards, but were simply dressed in similar dark clothing (and he cursed himself for his carelessness) -- spoke to the bigger man.  "Well, Bomgoster, is this 'im?"

The man called Bomgoster cast a withering glace at the other, then returned his attention back to Glendal.  "Aye," he growled, "'tis 'im, the filthy Elf.  Lookit them ears, and that flamboyant clothing 'e wears.  There's on'y one scummy Elf thief in Sorc'er Crest like that.  The great Glindal Lorg!"

"It's pronounced Glendal, you half-wit," Glendal returned, more calmly than he felt.

Bomgoster hawked deep in his throat and spat on the ground.  "Dirty Elf, gettin' uppity, ain't 'e."  Without breaking eye contact, he took a small stoppered bottle from an inside pocket.  Uncorking it, he poured a drop on the wet spot on the ground.  It sizzled and popped for a few seconds, leaving a tiny pock in the pavement.

The first thug spoke again, "Well, if it's 'im, let's get this over with.  I don' like bein' out here in the open so long."

Bomgoster nodded.  "Awright, runt, we'll do 'im.  Then we'll go collect what Dassadal owes us for it."

That was what Glendal had been hoping to hear.  Without waiting for any further threats, he shoved Bomgoster away, drew his sword -- just missing the falling alchemist -- and gutted the thug on the right of the one who spoke earlier.

From the ground, Bomgoster tried to slash at the Elf, who easily dodged, and who just as easily dispatched the thug in the doorway.  There was a pause as Bomgoster stood up and the last thug broke and ran.  Bomgoster hurriedly unstoppered the bottle to attempt to throw it on the Elf, but in his haste he spilled some of the contents on his hands and torso.  With a shriek of pain, he dropped the bottle, then crumpled over completely as Glendal skewered him with his sword.  He fell lifeless into the sizzling, popping puddle of fluid.

The Thief stepped gingerly away from the caustic slick, carefully wiping his blade clean on the dead man's cloak.  A quick look around showed that the area was in near-darkness; no one had yet to light the lamps at the gate.  He briefly wondered where the real guards were, then decided it didn't really matter as long as no one knew he was the one who had been here.  

With one last glance, he stole quickly away down the street.  There might have been one or two passers-by, but who knows if they saw or heard anything.  He would worry about them if they made him worry about them.  Right now he was more interested in Dassadal Ul, and just how personal this whole thing had suddenly become.

* * * * *

I decided to do a an Investigation scene next, to find out more of the foe's plans:  I rolled 1d10 = 10 = "Be waylaid by a hostile Actor with a Clue.  Face a Fight instead of a check."

Where?  I rolled on the Public Location table = "Guardpost."

Who?  I rolled on the Potential Foe table, d8 = 8, d10 = 9 = "Violent alchemist."  Hmmm.

Who is it?  I rolled, as usual, on the Wampus Country Name Generator:  "Bomgoster Chook the Celebrated King of the Magical Maze."  This is more for my own amusement at this point, as I assume when I create him, I will be killing him in short order.  But one never knows....  A few more rolls to define him:  he dresses in dark, sober clothes; he is bigoted; and his immediate desire is to collect a bribe.

Since there is no check to perform, this Scene is essentially nothing more than a Fight.  I would say that the Clue I gain if I win the Fight is that Bomgoster has been hired by Dassadal Ul to get Glendal "out of the way" in order to be able to steal the statuette.  I think this will come out as part of the conflict.

I rolled on the Fight Difficulty table: d8 = 9 = "1 Tank + 3 Thugs."

Tanks have 2 HD, AC 3, to hit +2, damage 1d8, morale 10.

Thugs are 1 HD, AC 8, to hit +1, damage 1d6, morale 8.

The fight was pretty straight forward for Glendal, now that he is 2nd Level.

Glendal attacked the Tank, missed, and his Fray die killed 1 Thug.
The Tank missed Glendal.
Glendal attacked the Tank, missed, and his Fray die killed the second Thug.
I had the Tank and the Thug take a morale check.  The Tank passed, the Thug failed and ran away.
The Tank attacked Glendal, and not only missed but crit failed with a natural 1.  I envisioned him as attacking by throwing something alchemical but spilling it on himself, causing 1 point of damage.
Glendal attacks again, misses, and finishes the Tank off with his Fray die.

You might notice a pattern developing with regard to the main attacks and the Fray dice.

I rolled 1d10 vs the total number of Scenes (of Investigation or Action) [5] = 2, so the Foe gains 1 VP.  I'm not quite sure how to reconcile the Foe gaining a VP when I win the Scene, but them's the rules.

Ending status:

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 6, Foe 2
Clues I have = 3
Glendal's current hit points:  8 of 8.

Thanks for reading.  Scene 6 coming soon!

Glendal Lorg in the City, Scene 4

Hail and well met!  We are here again to find out what happens next to Glendal Lorg, the Elven Thief, in an Urban Adventure using Scarlet Heroes from Sine Nomine Publishing.

Go here for previous Scenes.

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 3, Them 0
Clues I have = 3
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

* * * * *

Scene 4:  Action:  "Guide the Target or another important Actor out of the foe's reach for at least a temporary period.  Roll a die; on an odd result, face a Fight to protect them as well as the check."

Glendal Lorg dipped the rag in the soapy water and used it to scrub the blood and filth from his armor and clothing.  He knew he didn't wear the finest available, but he was glad of the chance to look a little nicer.  An Elf had a certain level of propriety, after all.

"Many thanks, Cleric," he said to Fargle Nex the Polygamist from the Accursed Island.  "I am indebted to you."

"Nay, my friend," Fargle replied, "it is I who am in your debt.  You seem to have a propensity for showing up when I need you most.  Healing your wounds, incurred on my behalf, is the least I can do.  While I still can," he added.

Glendal let a smile grace his features.  "A propensity, eh?  It is not without cause I am known as the Visionary from the Phantom Cabal.  But that is really just an epithet; I have no special skills beyond those any Elf Thief of my humble abilities would have.  Although I am better than most."

Fargle clapped him on his shoulder, recently healed.  "Then I need to make the acquaintance of more Elf Thieves, apparently," he laughed.  "But I do wonder, as much as your help is appreciated...what are you doing here?"

Glendal chuckled.  "Our fates seem to be intertwined in ways I cannot explain.  I overheard about a potential theft, designed by my old, er, colleague Dassadal Ul the Vainglorious Coachman from the Primordial Road.  To thwart any plan of his is always a distinct pleasure of mine, but when it was connected to you, I knew that my involvement was more than wanted, it was absolutely required."

"But how did I become connected to it?" Fargle asked.

"Not you, but your...bride?  Fiancé?  Love of your life?"  Glendal shrugged.  "The intricacies of this city's Human schemes leaves me cold.  Nevertheless, her name came up and here I am."

"Ah, yes, she is my love," Fargle said, "whom you know by proxy, I suppose, in that your help at the Fort of the Unholy Mound led to me finding her cure."  He straightened and stepped to an inner doorway.  "But you must meet her, of course.  My dear," he called, "come here, please, to meet a friend."

Moments later, there appeared in the doorway one of the most Human visions of loveliness Glendal had ever seen.  She was not young but neither was she old, was dressed in obviously fine garments, and there floated about her the scent of expensive perfumes.  Dark eyes, dark hair, and the look she lavished on Fargle spoke of rapaciousness:  quite clearly she was his as much as he was hers.  Glendal felt the slightest tinge of envy, but mentally waved it away; he was still very young for an Elf, and there was time enough for love, later.  For now, for him anyway, there were plenty of Elf dancing girls eager for his bulging...coin purse.  And there was much more coin to be won in this world by brave adventurers.

Fargle moved to stand beside her and gestured to the Elf.  "This is Glendal, the, um, adventurer who helped me obtain the necessary ingredients to restore you to health.  Glendal, this is my now and future wife, Immuth Nex.

She made a curtsy and her voice came out in a breathy "Hello."

Fargle continued, "Raglia has...ah, my mistake, I'm still adjusting to calling her by her married name.  Immuth has weathered quite the ordeal.  I now believe her illness was caused by none other than Boon Kal the Cannibal Myrmidon from the Living Beach!"

"You mean that old priest who was just here?" Glendal asked.  "The one opposed to your public marriage?  Just what does he have against you or it, anyway?  Why should he care?"

Fargle made a slashing motion with his free hand.  "The old cretin is trapped in a past of his own making.  He had the chance in his youth to marry and, for reasons I know not, did not.  And he has ever since led the crusade that no priest of any god in Sorcerer Crest should marry."  Fargle was warming to his oration, his voice rising.  Glendal recalled how the cleric seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.  "What he doesn't know is that many priests here have wed, only not publicly.  That's why he's trying to stop us, because not only are we going to publicly announce it, but I've decided to recant my clerical vows as well.  Nothing we do will affect his petty crusade, and yet he has twice tried to thwart us!"

The Elf put his chin in his palm and thought.  None of this particularly involved him, beyond what he had done himself.  And yet, at the same time, the temptation to poke at Boon Kal, and by extension Dassadal Ul, was very strong.  That fact that Glendal actually quite liked Fargle only made his decision to help easier.

"Am I correct in my understanding," he asked, "that only after this 'marriage statue' is presented in public are you considered married?  That if that is prevented from happening, you're not?"

Fargle nodded.

"Then the obvious next step," Glendal continued, "is to remove the statue, and likely the both of you, from this place to somewhere safer.  Clearly Dassadal Ul and Boon Kal know where you live.  T'would be folly to simply leave it here for them to steal.  Which," he added, "is their plan.  Since I was unable to ascertain how it would be stolen, the we must steal it away from them first!  But where...."

"I know just the place," Fargle ventured.  "It's our secret tryst meeting place, just outside the city.  No one knows about it but us.  I can lead you there."

Glendal stopped him.  "No, you must lead our enemies away.  I will conduct the lady and the statuette to safety.  You can join her there after giving them a winding chase."

* * * * *

It was the simplest matter for the experienced Thief to guide the girl through the backways and byways of Sorcerer Crest, to throw off any potential pursuers.  For her benefit, he tried to keep to the less-rough parts of town, but for his own peace of mind, he forced a path through areas no one of her station should ever know about.  With the statuette secreted in a knapsack over his shoulder, they made their way slowly but surely to the hidden love nest.  He smiled ruefully over the trouble being taken regarding the statue, a plain little thing, wooden, inlaid with pewter, more symbolic than worth any money.

As they approached the door, Immuth smiled and said, "This is a place of fond memories for me.  Fargle and I have met here often, but I haven't been in since before our private wedding.  It is strange to be here now."

They entered, the light from the street flooding the room.  Glendal noted the furnishings were very opulent but sparse, with another small room through a door directly across.  There was no one in sight.  He moved out of the way and Immuth lit a candle.

No sooner had the door closed behind her than a figure appeared in the small room's doorway.  It was human-sized and -shaped, but something about it's movements was distinctly artificial.  Glendal spun at the sound, sword slinging out, and moved in front of Immuth.  He laid the knapsack on a chair.

Immuth put her hand on his shoulder.  "It's alright, Glendal.  This is Minxia, Fargle's personal Porcelain Construct.  She helped him through some long, cold dark nights when I wasn't around."

Glendal grimaced as understanding came.  Minxia was a golem, an artificial being, but by all appearances was a beautiful young maiden.  She had a subtle enchantment that gave her fired porcelain shell the texture and softness of living flesh.  Beyond the obvious, she was given enough intelligence to perform her duties, not mindlessly but with care.  Yet her movements to the Elf's practiced eye were stilted and jerky.

Minxia spoke, in a soft, ringing, hollow sort of voice.  "Hello, Raglia Bazh.  Welcome.  Who is your friend?"

Raglia, now Immuth, laughed slightly.  "I'm not Raglia anymore, Minxia.  Now you must address me as Immuth Nex.  And this is...."

But before she could finish, Minxia's demeanor changed.  Her visage hardened and she took on a combative stance, legs widely spaced.  "I'm sorry, Immuth, only Raglia Bazh and my master Fargle Nex are allowed in here.  I must ask you to leave."

Immuth paused, nonplussed.  "Why, Minxia, I told you, I was Raglia before, but now that I am married to Fargle, I'm...."

Minxia interrupted again.  "You will leave now, or I will make you leave."

Immuth stepped back quickly, sheltering behind the Thief.  "I-- I don't understand.  I've been here many times."

"She only recognizes Raglia, and to her, you no longer are Raglia," Glendal said.  "I'm not sure what Fargle...."

With a sudden move that belied her inhuman-ness, Minxia rushed at Raglia/Immuth.  Glendal, interceding, swung his blade but her adroitness caused him to miss.  The kick he offered her connected, causing porcelain from her smooth stomach to chip away.  Minxia clawed at him, scrabbling on his armor to no effect, before the Elf smashed her head in with his off-hand dagger.

The lifeless automaton sank to the ground, a syrupy fluid leaking from her broken face.  Glendal felt an uncomfortableness he rarely felt in a fight, but then he realized he had never fought either a girl or a machine before.

Immuth had no such misgivings.  "Good," she whispered.  "I never really liked how Fargle had one of these...things.  But clerics of Cernunnos often have two or even three."

Glendal simply shook his head.  Humans, he thought.

* * * * *

I spent 1 Clue to pick the Action category.  Action:  "Guide the Target or another important Actor out of the foe's reach for at least a temporary period.  Roll a die; on an odd result, face a Fight to protect them as well as the check."

I rolled a d6 = 5, odd, face a Fight.

I rolled on the Potential Foes table, d8 = 8, d10 = 5; "Inhuman Thing."  Hmmm.

I determined that Glendal would move the wife and the statuette to a safe place, but in doing so, somehow interacts with a hostile Servitor Construct from the Bestiary section of Scarlet Heroes.  The default setting for Scarlet Heroes is decidedly "Asian-esque" and to be frank, it's not really my jam.  (This is not a knock on the stunning detail in the book by Kevin Crawford, I just don't care for it.)  However, it does have some interesting and unique things (creatures, spells, magic items, etc) that are worth looking at more closely.  One of those is the Servitor Construct, specifically in this case the "Man of Clay and Jade" and the "Porcelain Servitor," each a type of golem with limited intelligence.  Especially important for my situation was that it was an "inhuman thing" with no more than 2 HD!

The check would be whether or not Fargle would allow Glendal to move both the girl and the statuette.  For the check, the Target number was 9.  I rolled 2d8 = I rolled 2d8 + 1 (CHA) = 7 + 8 + 1 = 16.  I succeed on the check.  This earns me 1 VP.

The Servitor Construct had 2 HD, AC 7.  My first attack missed, but the Fray d6 did 1 hit.  The golem attacked but missed; I attacked, missed, and the Fray die finished it off.  Love that Fray die!

I rolled 1d10 vs the total number of Investigations + Action Scene (4) = 3, so the enemy gains 1 VP.

We moved to a safe location.  Where?  I rolled on the Urban Location chart => elite, d20 = 11 = "Hidden love nest."  Of course.  With Fargle, what else could it be?

I needed to know just who exactly Fargle's love interest is.  Yes, her name is Raglia Bazh the Scribe from the Fallen Castle; aka, Immuth Nex.  I rolled on the Quick NPC Creation tables: Age:  "Seasoned by age and experience, yet in their prime."  Family Situation:  "Divorced or widowed, with children to support."  Source of Influence:  "Uncommon wealth for one of their position."  Engaging Attitude or Temper:  "Lustful, rapacious for suitable companionship."  Most Powerful Motivation:  "Elevation in their current role through favor or success."  Most Notable Appearance Trait:  "Hazed by an aura of perfumes or work-smells."

Three d100 rolls to flesh her out a bit more resulted in:  Memorable Trait:  "Laconic speaker."  Ruling Temperament:  "Compassionate."  Immediate Desires:  "Having a man."

I continue to be amazed at how random dice rolls can just seem to coalesce and come together to create a unified story picture!

How far away is this place?  2d8 = 5 = "Within a day's ride."

I win the Scene, 1 VP for winning, 1 VP for it being an Action Scene.

Current status:

Threat Level = 1
Heat = 0
Victory Points:  Glendal 5, Them 1
Clues I have = 2
Glendal's current hit points; 8 of 8.

What will Glendal do next?  Tune in soon and we'll find out together!

Thanks for reading!