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!