Arcanum RPG

CHAPTER ONE: A PRETEXT FOR ADVENTURE

A dirty tramp hands you a battered envelope, claiming you owe him a penny for 'delvry'.

After obtaining the letter in your own particular way, you open it to find a new-fangled telegram addressed to you personally. It reads:

GREETINGS STOP NAMED IN LINKENBERRY BEQUEST STOP FOUR THOUSAND POUNDS STOP READING OF WILL JULY FIRST EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE STOP GO TO LINKENBERRY ESTATE STILLWATER STOP GO STOP

 

Zalakar snatches the envelope and shoves the tramp away rudely.

"Ooh, luv'ly," Zalakar mutters to himself, wringing his hands evilly as he reads the telegram. "This unexpected bt of luck proves that it my destiny to conquer the world."

"Four thousand pounds, eh? Ooh, mehehe, mwahaha MWAHAHAHAA!"



He laughs all the way to carriage-house in Blackwater where he books a ticket to Stillwater. The ten days on the road promise to be very unpleasant for any other passengers.

 

Gregory gives a penny to the tramp, hoping the smell will leave with him.

Oh, that terrific stink! But, four thousand pounds? I could set up my own smithy! Yes, I can see it all now; the forge the anvil, the ore...
He walked cheerfully down the streets of Tarant when suddenly, disaster struck...

*splash*
Gah...aha ha nooo... He struggled to contain himself. Once walking jovially down the lane, he was now frozen, trying to navigate the quickest way out of a puddle that he neglected to see on his way.
Both feet...together...and... He hopped deftly from the clutches of the evil water, and decided the quickest way to Stillwater was by carriage. He was more of a maker than a doer, anyway. No sense in getting mauled by bears.

 

"My good sir, do I look like someone who is in possession of a penny?" He spreads his arms and smiles toothily to the "'delvrer". "I think not! I know not! But tell you what, I'll take your - most beautiful, I have to admit - present and in exchange, grant you the gift of not making your face a copy of my own. I'd agree to this offer if I were you, I sure would! Oh, I sure would, yes!"

The tramp, noticing the repulsive burn scars on Viktor's face and the disturbing sparks in his eyes, decides that it's in his best interest to just drop the envelope and get the hell away from this man. Quickly.

As the tramp runs away, Viktor picks up the dirty envelope from the ground. He reads the letter and thinks: "Four grand? Why, that sounds rather tempting. Daddy sure could use some coin these days. It will be a long walk all the way to Stillwater, but so be it, I've done worse".

He eats the letter and goes on his merry way.

 

Pug.. hargh? Words? Pugpug...

Said Pug, shaking the letter to his ear. The tramp looked and squelched discomfortingly.

"Well, what will -"

Pug growled.

"Argh" The tramp left quickly.

Pug Buckle sat on the dirty, cold Boil ground. He was dimly aware of cursing around him as the denziens of the Tarant Boil continued their grusome existence.

Eventually a fustrated dwarf explained the letter's content to Pug, who grunted thanks and tried to make sense of what he had learned.

Four T'ousand. That's... One, Two...Many, Lots. Dat's more than lots.

He made his way to the Tarantian Library to find a map. Having assured himself he could find his way to Stilllwater, Pug promptly set off in the direction of Dernholm. He was soon lost but luckly ran across a now almost empty carraige heading straight for Stillwater. He shared his journey with a curious individual, who's striking laugh reminded Pug faintly of the colour red.

 

If it hadn't been for the obvious poverty of the man 'delvring' the message to him, he wouldn't even have given the human a bullet in exchange for the service, but John knew what poverty was like, orc or not, and he didn't wish it on anybody... Except for the bastard human city pigs, of course. So he tossed a coin to the tramp and opened the letter.

He read the telegram at least five times, just to be sure, and turned to ask the tramp if he'd really 'delvred' the package to the right person, but the man was long gone.

Having lost that option, the only one that remained was to go to Stillwater and collect. So John set off to do just that. He only had to find out where Stillwater was, first.

 

One glance at the hulking hitchiker who had negotiated his ticket by holding back the team of horses in one hand until the price came down to zero was enough to quell Zalakar's pathological rudeness in favour of cowardice.

He avoided eye contact with Pug by re-reading his small, red volume of Dumsperlen's Who's Whom of Where and When?, particularly the chapter which describes how his grandfather almost became a lord.

"...ande thee heire of thee Lorde Burrbottom was decidede bye thee kinge to bee hise cousine thee Earl Winterwood because thee brothere, Edmund Thornton-Dyke, is weake and like untoe ae weasele."

In the margin next this passage, his grandmother had written the words, See?! Nobility!!!!

 

Hannah tossed aside her fencing mask and wiped the sweat from her face. The butler approached and handed her a towel.
"Miss Clayborne, a telegram has arrived for you."

"Very good, I'll take it with my breakfast"


"As you wish madame."

After she had washed and changed, she took her breakfast in the garden. Upon reading the telegram, she decided that four thousand pounds would be a fine supplement to her rather paltry allowance. She had no idea who the Linkenberrys were, nor did the butler profess to have any knowledge of such a family. She assumed they were distant relations of some sort. It hardly seemed important. More to the point, she had heard that Stillwater was lovely this time of year. And Lord Clayborne was away on business in Ashbury, so he could hardly tell her no.

She gave the butler instructions to have the carriage made ready and her luggage packed with clothes enough for two weeks. The Clayborne estate occupied a prime spot on the river a day's travel north of Tarant, so it would only take a few days to reach Stillwater

"I'll see to it madame".

I do wonder who this Linkenberry personage is, and what they have to do with me...

By midday, she was on her way to find out.

 

The rain was not Gregory's friend. He did not have the same disdain for wetness as he did for being wet, but he knew the most traveled roads inevitably ended up with wretched puddles, causing the carriage to dip and jostle along the way.
I say, driver, would you care to not hit every puddle along the way?
The driver laughed, Though you may pay for your final destination, you do not pay for the path I choose to take, my good dwarf! I find that the straight and narrow road upon which we ride is the most expedient towards Stillwater, and I trust that you too, among my many previous passengers, will acquiesce to my judgement of route, as our travels shall be most swift and without incident.
I care not what road you take, good sir, but only that you go across lots through the damned puddles! The sound of the water verily echoes through my mind as the raving of a mad posse of orcs come to take my hard-earned coin!
Across lots, you say? This road is as free of obstacles as any I would direct my horses upon! Surely it is but the water, and not the divots, that drives you mad?
Gregory sighs, Aye, sir, tis the water...

 

Arriving at the Linkenberry Estate, an hour's walk from the centre of Stillwater, you are impressed with the architecture and detailing of the stately mansion, with one exception: an unusual, steel-framed conservatory in the grounds looms over the house like the skeleton of a sea-monster. After knocking at the door, you are greeted by an impeccably dressed man who seems starched all over.

"Mmyes, welcome. You are expected, of course. Guest quarters are prepared, if you'll walk this way..." he names you without an introduction and leads you to immaculate chambers with furniture, food and clothing all tailored exactly to your personal tastes... Weird.

 

"Weeeelcoooome Stillwateeeeeeeeeer! [GASP] [COUGH]"

Viktor was visibly overjoyed. It took him six long days filled with marching (and occasionally running from bears) but he has finally arrived. Noticing a halfling villager watching over some farm animals nearby, he decided to approach the fellow and engage him into a little friendly chat.

"Greetings, minute person! I would be more than thankful if you'd be so kind to direct me to the Linkenberry Estate."
"The Link 'n' Berry? That be in Stillwater, if memory serves."
"Which is very fortunate considering we're in Stillwater, eh? Eh?"
"Huh?"- eloquently replied the confused halfling, frowning - "No, sirrah, this small settlement here is Lynchbany..."
"Blast. Blast it all. Blast the whole world to the deepest depths of hell where it rightfully belongs. BLAST IT TO-"
...though it is on the road to Stillwater."
"Excellent enough! Could you direct me to it, then?"
"Er, sure, anythin' to get rid of ya already, ahem. See, there are two roads outta Lynchbany. One [HE POINTS TO THE SOUTH EAST] is to Tarant, the city from which you probably came (he didn't). The second [HE POINTS TO THE NORTH WEST, INCIDENTALLY THE VERY DIRECTION FROM WHICH VIKTOR ARRIVED] - to Stillwater. Is a week a journey from here."
"...a week, you say."
"Yup, a week. Six days if yer dedicated."
"...marvelous." - mumbled Viktor with fading enthusiasm.

He pretended to set off to Stillwater at once. In actuality, he stayed in Lynchbany for a while, hidden nearby the farm, waiting, watching. When the halfling went off to empty his bladder, Viktor ran up to one of his chickens, magickally stunned it, grabbed it by its legs and took a run for it.

And so he was on his marry way. Again. At least he knew the way back. Had a toy and a meal, too. 'Twas not such a bad day in the end after all.

 

Hannah was feeling very pleased with her little adventure. It was good to be away from the stuffy and pretentious upper crust of Tarantian society and out on the open road. Also, it was a huge blessing to be away from the industrial wasteland of the Tarantian delta. Upon passing into the forested hill country, Hannah felt a spark of something wild and magickal awake inside her. She could see the mountains of the Stonewall Range away to the west, and could imagine dark caves with old secrets, giant beasts with an appetite for human flesh, and adventuring heroes who would boldly go and vanquish them by strength of arms. Suddenly, the decorative and highly fashionable small sword she wore seemed silly and inadequate, and she determined to avail herself of the much-vaunted Stillwater bladesmiths and procure a stout rapier more suited to the rigors of adventure than to the strictures of organized duels.

As they traversed further into the wilds, the sound of life all around her made her giddy. The buzzing of insects, the singing birds, the calls of wild animals, the sound of wind in the trees that was so unfamiliar to a child of Tarant. And the mountains seemed so close, the air so crisp...
At last she could stand it no longer. She pounded violently on the roof of the carriage, then burst out through the door without waiting for it to come to a stop. Ignoring the drivers inquiries, she made a beeline for the hired hand who was riding alongside the carriage on her horse. She grabbed the reins, ordered him to dismount, and he nearly injured himself in his haste to do so. She then sprang up into the saddle (now very pleased with her decision to wear riding pants rather than a dress), dug her heels in and sent the horse into a gallop.

She stopped fifty yards down the road and looked back over her shoulder. The help was sitting in stunned silence, not sure what had just happened or what to do.
"SEE YOU IN STILLWATER BOYS!" she shouted, then kicked the horse back into a gallop and sped away laughing.

Hannah made good time reaching Stillwater. Upon arrival, she was still feeling adventurous and so decided to stop at the tavern to inquire about directions to the Linkenberry estate. She tied her horse to the hitching post and was about to enter the rather crude-looking establishment when a man grabbed her by the elbow.
"Madam, please! A penny for the less fortunate? I ain't eaten in days..."
She looked at the worthless wretch and decided to take pity on him.
"But of course sir. Unhand me and you shall have your penny... Then you shall see to my horse, that he is watered and fed."
Having thus secured care for her horse, she entered the tavern and took in her surroundings. It was poorly lit and filled with tobacco smoke, and her riding boots made sticking noises on the floor. She tossed the barkeep two pennies.
"A drink. And directions, if you please"
An hour and two beers later, she rode onto the grounds of the Linkenberry estate. She liked it immediately. It had a more solid, rustic appearance than the prevalent architecture in Tarant. After being received by the butler and led to her quarters, she discovered a whole wardrobe filled with clothes tailored to a perfect fit. Equally curious, there was only one dress. The rest were pants and blouses, and one long brown leather duster...

 

Pug grunted as the carraige limped to a stop at the edge of Stillwater. He lumbered out of the door, banging his head as he did so.

Gahfrugh he gahfrughed.

Looking around him he saw snow, buildings and mountains. He mistrusted all three. However, he had been promised... lots of money and was determined to get it. He might buy himself a new shirt.

He arrived at the front door of the Linkenberry Estate fashionably confused. It was larger than he thought buildings had any right to be. He was received by a well dressed man who directed the ever bewildered Half-Ogre to his rooms.

He found a new shirt, rather bursting that particular bubble, a pair of pre-ripped trousers, a cudgel and a small pot of Dwaven snuff. Pug, not knowing what he should do, sat on the floor and waited.

 

The quarters provided Gregory were most accommodating. He found dwarven snuff in the night stand, which he thought bizarre; not because he doesn't enjoy a good snuff every now and again, but that it was in the night stand.
The estate itself was massive. Who would've thought a small town like Stillwater would have such an impressive monument to excess as the Linkenberry estate? Sure, they have their blades, and their cult of Geshtianna, but magic is beneath a proud smith such as Gregory, and cults are...well, they're called cults for a reason. He laughed to himself, No self respecting dwarven lass would lay agape in such a fashion as these human women...
Gregory pulled out a piece of his namesake and resumed working on a pipe he intended to fill with the finest tobacco, once the four thousand pounds were his. Of course, he had some of his clan's tobacco (which was grown under the greatest of care) until then.
He caught a glimpse of the mountains out of the window, thinking happily on his return to the clan with the means to set up shop.
His pipe nearly finished, Gregory took a pinch of snuff and discovered
Ah, a bracing wintergreen! I shall complete my pipe with heightened alertness and alacrity afforded me by the humble tobacco plant.

 

***Hannah Clayborne is now level 2***

***Pug Buckle is now level 2***

***Gregory Soapstone is now level 2***

 

Zalakar delights in his red-draped chambers with skull-and-dribbly-candle motif.

He changes into a black robe and skull-ring (unmagickal, hrmph, still pretty cool, though) and sits at the magnificent throne-like chair adorned with screaming demons (ah, cozy).

On the dresser he finds a very interesting document:-

COME ONE COME ALL
TO THE GESHTIANNA FESTIVAL
(YOU KNOW THE ONE WE MEAN)
JUNE 21 ONE NIGHT ONLY
TEMPLE GROUNDS FROM 10AM
BYO SPICED WINE

"But that's today!" Zalakar is out the door and down the road faster than you can say, "necromancers do it all night". He is not seen until late the following evening.

(Zalakar loses his three lesser restore fatique potions.)

 

Hannah stripped off her dirty travel clothes and washed up at the basin, then selected a set of clothes from the wardrobe. After wiggling her way into the pants(they were quite snug) she picked up the blouse, but on sudden impulse, cast it aside and pulled the duster from the wardrobe. The leather was thin and supple, but strong, probably the hide of some exotic beast. She would have to inquire about it later. She donned the long coat sans shirt(feeling delightfully scandalous, Father would vehemently disapprove) and fastened her sword belt over it.
Beholding her visage in a large mirror, Hannah was thrilled with the look of the ensemble. Although... The ornate small sword she wore looked put of place. Like a diamond might if set in a wooden ring.
"That simply won't do" she said, as she adjusted the duster to more effectively display her ample cleavage. "I suppose I must to the smithy at once!"

Within the hour she was once again entering the Stillwater tavern. She interrogated the barkeep and a couple of patrons, demanding to know where she could find the premier swordsmith of Stillwater. All three agreed, Master Archibald Leeks was the man, a very wizard of his craft. And his smithy could be found just across the town square, in the shadow of the Giant. She finished her drink, then followed the sound of ringing steel. She stopped briefly to admire the enormous statue in the middle of the square, then marched through the door over which hung a sign with a picture of an anvil.

"Help you miss?" said the man whose hammer had been doing the ringing. He was a man of middle height, muscular and balding. Typical blacksmith, by all appearances.
"Archibald Leeks I presume? Hannah Clayborne of Tarant, the pleasure is mine. I have heard tell of your prowess at fashioning fine blades, and have come to peruse your wares."
"I am he, though you have been deceived if you have been led to believe that I produce anything of that sort" he said, pointing to her small sword.
"I should think not. Rather, I am in the market for a rapier. Have you any such on hand?"
"Aye, one." He turned and shouted, "RICHARD!"
"Yes da?" a boy's voice responded from out in the yard.
"Fetch me that rapier, quick like!"
The boy appeared shortly, bearing the requested sword. Hannah took and unsheathed the blade. She tested the heft and balance, held the blade at eye level and looked down its length, then cut the air with a short swing. Satisfied at the craftsmanship, she returned it to its sheath and said said, "I'll take it!"
"Very good miss. And how will you be paying for it?"
"With this" she said, unsheathing her small sword and offering him the hilt. "A fair trade."
"I have no use for such an item. Probably worth something to someone, but not to me."
"Good sir, the gold in the hilt is worth half again the price of your rapier"

After a bit more back and forth, her charm(and cleavage) won the day, and she departed with a fine new rapier on her belt.

(OOC, +1 persuasion)

 

Pug Buckle lumbered into the party, (he could easily have walked but lumbering seemed more appropriate.) His small mind began to spin when he saw just what was happening. He grinned and cracked his knuckles. As he did so, his crumpled, ugly face twisted into the horrible, death mask he wore for a smile. The activity around him suddenly ceased, all eyes were trained on him. Then someone shouted "Make it go away!" and a multitude of naked men and woman descended on him, striking him with whatever they could lay their hands on. Pug, having endured quite enough beating with ugly sticks already, whimpered and fled. He was found the next morning by a wearied butler, curled in a ditch trying to think of more words for 'horrible vengeance.' (He had thus far found three but they were all mispellings of 'crush.')

(OOC +1 to Constituion)

 

Upon departing the smithy, Hannah once again stopped to consider the Stillwater Giant statue, wondering whether such a tremendous bipedal beast could indeed be more than a myth.
Surely not, 'twould be preposterous... But still, the statue seems so lifelike...
Her musings were interupted by a great crash as a hideous beast burst through the doors of the temple across the square. The unfortunate creature was beset on all sides by angry naked men.
By the gods! Could that be... no... no, he hasn't any antlers...
She laughed at her foolishness. 'Twas only a half-ogre, and an especially ugly one at that. The huge eyesore was gone in a hurry, and the nudes returned to the privacy of the temple walls. She stood there laughing to herself a moment longer, for she found the whole spectacle rather comical.

Hannah made her way back to the tavern, silently pondering the unfortunate lot of the half-breeds of Arcanum. She counted herself very fortunate to not be among them.
Such thoughts were soon displaced by the pressing matter of obtaining more of the delicious beer that she had lately taken a shining to.
Father would not approve
She laughed and entered the tavern.

 

Making fine blades was well and good, but if one doesn't know how to use it when the moment arises...disaster may strike!
Gregory took one of his balanced swords with him on a small sojourn in the mountains of Stillwater, hoping to find some wild beast upon which to practice his swordplay.
There was an ailing wolf, terribly underweight and undoubtedly starving. It smelled Gregory coming and, through desperation, launched itself at him!
Gregory shielded his face with his forearm and the beast sank its fangs in.
Aaargh! Damnable cur! Have at you!
Gregory had his sword at the ready and began somewhat clumsily swinging it at the wolf. He landed a few choice blows, the wolf struck once more, and then Gregory had an opportunity to stab at the beast's heart! The wolf was dying, its heart pierced, pumping and hemorrhaging in great spurts. Gregory was stunned; he had never killed anything before, but was confident in his ability to dispatch ailing wolves from this point on (plus one to melee). He gathered some ginka root and kadura stems to make a healing salve, and applied it to his wounds. They began to itch right away, a sure sign of healing, and he stopped bleeding almost instantly.
He sighed at the state of his clothing. The wolf had indeed torn several holes in his dress coat.
Hmm...I did see a small leather armor in the wardrobe of my quarters...I probably should have worn that instead.
Gregory found a guard in town willing to show him some basic pointers in combat for a small fee of 100 coin. He then practiced with his blade (Gregory is now an apprentice in melee).
The blade held up nicely in combat, and served even an amateur fighter such as Gregory quite well. He walked back into the estate, changed into his leather armor, and went to the local pub to enjoy an ale as a small celebration of his victory.
Inquiring as to the location of the local smithy, Gregory then endeavored to purify the iron ore he had obtained with some steel he found, and upon this he wished to procure a fine hilt for which to assemble another blade. One can always use a spare.