Let's Play Arcanum

Just sit right back and let's play:


For this LP, I'm using Drog's UAP and high-res patch (which is making screenshots a royal pain) to make the game more enjoyable, and Terra-Arcanum's Custom Backgrounds pack, mostly because I've never tried them before. The playthrough is finished and I should have all the screenshots I need, so it's all about writing now. I'm trying for something readable, enjoyable, mostly (but not perfectly) true to the storyline, and chockablock full of references. For now, updates should be reasonably frequent, but I'm a teacher, so we'll see how long that continues.



There's a bit of a twist to this LP: we're not going to limit ourselves to just one PC.

First step, character creation.

Meeting our heroes…
The goal here is to produce three distinct characters with role-play potential. I'm limiting myself to the custom backgrounds.

First, we've got Lionel.

So, Lionel's going to be an ex-bodyguard who used to work for a gnome, he's ugly and cantankerous even for a half-orc, and he's reasonably tough. Sounds good to me. He'll be our only tech boy.

Next, meet Ty'Ler Do'Urden.

A fanatical elf with a divinity complex, a narrow, black and white worldview, and a drive to wipe out perceived evil. Like his primary namesake, he'll specialize in melee and persuasion.

Last up, it's Polly Perkins.

A badass Half-Elf assassin whose backstory is going to play around a bit with the main storyline. Can't go wrong with that.




Opening the scene...
This is the maiden voyage of Arland's Imperial Flight Ship Zephyr. Loaded with aristocrats and hiding the odd fugitive or pickpocket, the zeppelin has already crossed the ocean to a distant continent, returned through its home port in Caladon, and is now bound for the great industrial city of Tarant, the capital of the Unified Kingdom.

The latest technological wonder of an age of innovation, its majestic frame is sure to become a symbol of the indomitable spirit of progress that unites the civilized races. For the more socially acceptable passengers, this is a journey in the lap of luxury.


With clear skies and a strong west wind, each is sure to find just what--


What in the…

Well, shit.

 

#1 Crash and Burn


His head pounding and eyes watering in the acrid smoke, a bruised, skinny elf pushes himself to his feet and staggers through the wreckage of the IFS Zephyr.
: Ahh… Hello? Any-- Oof! My leg... What in the name of--
: Please…
: What? [The elf sees a movement under the wreckage. He pulls aside a large scrap of metal to reveal a wounded gnome, his body twisted and burned. There is something odd about the way he looks, beyond his obviously fatal wounds. The dying creature reaches out to the elf--in his fingers he holds a silver ring.] Dear gods...
: Oh, thank you, my friend...
: Sir, don't move. I'm going to find a healer--
: Please...I've not much time [cough]...you must find him, bring this back... f-find the boy... and give him back his ring... and he will know what needs to be done. [He hands the elf the silver ring.]
: Sir, plea--
: No questions...just listen...they've almost finished, and then...[He brings up his hand as his body is racked with a series of explosive coughs--it comes away covered in blood.] Please...just find the boy and give him the ring...he will know what to do...
: What boy? Where might I find him?
: You must listen to me... we had to do it... he did unspeakable things to us... we... we had no choice but to do what he said... there are... so few of us left but the work is... almost finished and then... the evil... you can't imagine... he's... he's coming back to destroy everything... everything... and everyone...
: Evil? Who? What work?
: Please... just find the boy. Tell him that I escaped... I came back to warn...
: Yes, I'll find him. Please, sir, just--
: He will know what to do. You, my friend... it's all up to... you. [His breath rattles in his chest and he struggles to rise, but he falls back, his eyes closing. He takes a last breath and dies.]
: Damn it... [The elf looks up to see a shadowed figure moving closer.] Who's there? Are you okay?


: I can't believe it...! I mean, you... And then the zeppelin...! And the fire...! And the altar says that...! Do you have any idea what all of this means?
: (Oh dear, a simpleton.) What are you going on about?
: [The man's jaw drops open.] You speak!
: Gods help us...
: I mean...of course you speak...what am I, a blithering idiot?
: (Should I answer...?)
: Wait! What did you say? Maybe I should I be writing all of this down... [He fumbles in the pockets of his robes.]
: Right. Look, I'd like to help you out here, but I'm a bit confused.
: [The man wrings his hands, obviously flustered.] I'm at a loss here, I don't quite know what to do...uh...I mean you ARE the...of course you are, I mean you DO know who you are, right? Of course you do, what sort of brainless, half-baked question is that for the uh...what exactly do you call yourself?
: That was almost coherent... You haven't hit your head, have you? If you wait here, I'll get a healer...
: What? No, I'm a healer, you... That is... Please, forgive me...I'm making a bloody mess of this whole affair. [He takes a deep breath.] My name is Virgil, sir. And I'm new to the Panarii religion, er, your religion, and I...oh! Wait! [He kneels on the ground in front of the elf, then hesitates, as if trying to remember something.] I...uh hereby dedicate, no, uhm...commit my life to the Living One. I, Virgil, am at your service, sir.
: (Good gods...) Virgil, please. That's hardly necessary. I'm Ty'Ler Do'Urden. And now, you REALLY need to explain things here.
: Yes, yes of course. You see...you're him, I mean, the uh...reincarnation of...er, what's his name? I can never remember...and I'm always getting him mixed up with the other fellow...the bad one. You, uh...well, you know how all of those old elven names sound the same...
: Really? You just went there?
: I, uh, that is…
: …Don't worry about it. Look, I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm quite getting the gist of it, old boy...
: Yes...right...uh...just give me a moment here. You see...the Panarii...that's the religion that was formed around the things that he said, I mean that you said...oh, forget it...let's start at the beginning. Or THIS beginning, since there is a lot more that came before this. You are the reincarnation of a powerful elf, who the Panarii worship, and whose name is, uh....
: Yes?
: Right...yes, the name...uh, wait! I remember something! It is written in the scriptures. "The Living One will live again on wings of fire." No wait, I think it says "reborn on wings of fire". Oh, blood and ashes! Why do elves always have to be so damn cryptic? Uh...
: Do the scriptures speak of a dying gnome and a ring, and a warning about something evil?
: [Virgil thinks for a moment.] Hmmm. I don't know about the ring. But this business about the evil one returning...as I've said, I don't know a whole lot about the Panarii prophecies, but I think you were supposed to return and fight someone evil. Bloody hell! I should know more of this...
: No offense, my friend, but you don't seem well versed in the scriptures.
: Blast it all! There's a damned altar around here somewhere...look on that if you're so bloody smart...uh, esteemed Living One. Sir. [He pauses, thinking.] Look, I am as new to all of this as you are. I thought this was all allegorical until I saw you crawl from that flaming zeppelin wreckage unscathed. It seems the Panarii were right after all...
: The Panarii? Who are they?
: The Panarii are a religion, based around the belief that you will return to destroy evil, or something like that. No, wait, I think there's someone you're meant to fight. You know...that other fellow. The evil one...oh, it's all so elven...wrapped up in fancy language and metaphors and all that... [Ty'Ler cocks an eybrow.] That is... Umm...
: ...Right. Look, Virgil, you've been really, uh, helpful. But I really must go and search for survivors...
: I'm sorry. I told you I was new at this. Imagine the way I must feel...here you are, the Chosen One, er, Living One, and I can't even remember who you're supposed to be. Please...just follow me to Shrouded Hills and we'll talk to the Elder Joachim. He's very knowledgeable about the Panarii, and will know much better what to do...
: Well, if you help me look for any survivors, I'll come with you to talk to this Joachim fellow and straighten this out. Okay?
: Yes, let's get to work.


The duo begins searching through the rubble for signs of life, but finds little of interest. The occasional half-starved and terrified wolf or boar attacks, and Ty'Ler, magically sped, dispatches each one with his gauntleted fists.

: Do you know much about this place, Virgil?
: I don't know much about these mountains, but the Panarii believed this was the site where the Living One would come again...there's a shrine around here explaining that much. Shrouded Hills, a small village, is just a ways down to the mountain...to the east of here...
: Yes, you mentioned that. So what do you think we should be doing now?


One of the corpses nearby has a camera around his neck with a card identifying him as Isaac Zaprudder, a reporter for The Tarantian. Virgil puts the camera in his pack in case it caught any photographs of the tragedy.


A few meters further along, they catch sight of some particularly strange machinery.


: What is this? It seems a strange flying device, but much smaller than the blimp...I've never seen anything like it...
: Yes...it looks very much like the machine that attacked us...
: And isn't that an ogre among the wreckage? It seems very unlikely that an ogre would have the intelligence to fly such a complex device...
: They didn't, really...they destroyed themselves in the attack...
: Do you see the strange amulet that he's wearing? And that symbol on its face...I don't recognize it. Do you?

: I can't say that I do...
: Ah. Something isn't quite right about all of this. I don't remember the, uh...scriptures talking about flying ogres and the like. We'd better get to Shrouded Hills and find Elder Joachim as soon as possible...
: Priorities, Virgil. Survivors first, priests later...
: Yes, of course. But be careful...these wolves are none too friendly...

The pair continue scouting the area but find no survivors from the crash. In the hand of a well-dressed human woman, Ty'Ler finds a note.


: What does it say, sir? [Ty'Ler silently passes the note to Virgil.] …Oh dear. Well, if we pass through Tarant, we must be sure to find this Jared fellow. [Ty'Ler nods.] Hold on a moment... Look over there, sir.
: Where?
: That cave.
: What about it?
: Well, all the plants and rocks are cleared away from the mouth of the cave. Someone's been there.
: You're right. There may be survivors. Let's check it out.


Inside, Ty'Ler finds and kills several. Virgil looks through several containers, finding them full of technological salvage.
: Guns… and grenades. In a cave in the hills. Good grief, we'd probably better be careful if we meet the man who left them here.
: I don't think that will be an issue, Virgil... Look over here.

As they approach the corpse, dark magics swirl in the air and a low moan grows steadily louder.


: Please…help me... [This spirit appears to be in great pain.] Please...I beg of you...the pain...
: What happened to you?
: I was...cursed by...evil...priest. My name was Charles Brehgo...my friend and I...asked only for something to eat...some sustenance...we were poor, wandering...and he cursed us...my friend cursed with madness...attacked me...killed me...the pain...I am cursed to be held to this realm, unable to be released...please...I need your help...
: What is it that you would have me do?
: Need to kill priest...Arbalah...he lives here [he points at your map]. Only his...death will free me...
: Sir, as horrifying as this is, I'm not so sure I trust this man.
: Quite right, Virgil. I don't know, Mr. Brehgo. What will you give me for doing this?
: I...know of a treasure...buried for years...
: If you know of this treasure, why were you poor?
: We had taken an oath of poverty...we were monks...
: Monks, eh? [Virgil holds up a stick of dynamite he found in the cave.]
: I don't believe you, but I will check into this for you, regardless.
: Please, hurry...release me from...pain...

The two living men exit the cave and finish their search. Finding no other survivors, they turn downhill.

: Well, then. It looks like no one else made it. Come on, Virgil, let's go see this altar of yours. Then we can check in on that priest the ghost mentioned.


: There...the altar should clear things up for us a bit. Hmmm...it says, uh..."And the spirit of Nasrudin shall be reborn on wings of fire in hills shrouded in fog, and fight the last battle with the evil one."
: And the evil one? Who is that?
: [Virgil takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.] I'm sorry, but I don't know. [Virgil chuckles.] I guess we better find out, considering you're supposed to fight him...
: That's probably a good idea, Virgil. But we'll check in on this Arbalah fellow first, alright?
: Yes, of course...
: Hey! You!


: Hold there...what are you doing up here?
: Who are you to ask? What are YOU doing here?
: [Virgil whispers to Ty'Ler.] (I mean no disrespect, uh, sir...but I don't trust this bastard one bit. Bloody convenient he happened to show up here just now, don't you think? [He seems to remember himself.] Excuse my language, uh, sir...)
: (What do you recommend, Virgil?)
: (I've, uh, dealt with buggers, er individuals like this before. Perhaps you'll let me talk with him for a few minutes...?)
: (Of course, Virgil. Feel free to do what you think is best...)
: (Thank you, uh...I'll take care of this.) [He raises his voice.] You there! What exactly are you doing up here? And what gives you the right to ask us so many questions?
: I'm just asking a simple question...what are you two doing up here? I'm from Shrouded Hills, a village not far from here, and I witnessed this terrible accident! Is it such a crime to wonder what exactly is going on?
: Oh, really? [Virgil takes a step closer.] Listen. I came from Shrouded Hills myself. It's at least a day's journey from here. [His voice gets dangerously soft.] There's no way you could have traveled here that fast. I think you're lying, sir...
: I...uh...I didn't come from Shrouded Hills just now. I was camping not far from here, and saw the blaze. Why are you questioning me? I've done you no harm...
: [Virgil takes another step towards him.] No, I don't think you understand. I'M asking the questions here...and I don't like your answers. I'm going to ask you one more time...WHY ARE YOU HERE?
: I don't recommend you speak to me that way, friend. I've just asked a question, and I'm expecting an answer. [He looks at the scowling Ty'Ler, then back to Virgil.] We can make this simple, or more difficult...
: [Virgil smiles, thinly.] Oh, I think difficult is the best way, sir. I find that there's fewer questions afterwards. [He clenches and unclenches his fists.] I'm ready to begin this discussion whenever you are...
: (Ty'Ler adjusts his gauntlets and stares intently at the strange elf.)
: [The man seems unsure what to do. Ty'Ler sees fear in his eyes.] Perhaps this is a discussion we'll have later, friend. I'm sure that this issue will be resolved in time. [He looks at Ty'Ler, nodding. In his eyes, a burning hatred.] Good day to you, sir.
: Good day.

The cloaked elf turns and heads back the way he came, without looking around once.

: That was close. [Virgil is visibly shaken.]
: What do you mean, Virgil? He was obviously scared of you...
: That man very well could have killed us both. Believe me...I've, uh, seen his kind before...
: So why did you provoke him?
: It was all bluster. I'm no bloody warrior, but sometimes you have to be able to act the part. You learn such things on the...well, it's just something I've learned. Fear is a powerful weapon. [He turns to Ty'Ler.] Something is very wrong here...I think we'd best get out of here as soon as possible...
: Let's go, then...

Continuing down the pass between the hills, Ty'Ler and Virgil come across the slaughtered bodies of a whole wolf pack.


: That elf must have been tougher than he looked...
: I don't think so, sir. His clothes were pretty clean and tidy when he met us, and he looked like a mage. These wolves were shot to death. There was someone else walking these hills recently.
: Well, we'll have to watch out for him.
: Yes... It seems we shall.





Supplement A
1.1.85
My decadent journey has ended early. The third flight of the Zephyr was cut short in a quite extraordinary manner. I can hardly believe what I'm writing. Two machines, roaring and sputtering like overheated steam engines, crashed headlong into the zeppelin. I cannot imagine how this is possible, but in this day and age, that feeling is familiar. What bothers me is not how, but why. No one knew I was on that airship, I'm sure of it.

As my fellow passengers panicked and stormed to the windows, I steadied myself under a heavy sofa in the lounge. I can't describe the feeling when the blimp exploded. The world shuddered for a moment, and then we started falling, and I shuddered myself. There is always a certain, strange thrill when a life is about to end; it was the first time I thought it might be my own. I let my muscles relax for the impact, and for just a moment, I… I don't know how to explain the sensation, but it will keep me warm on cold nights. Not that I expect to see many more.

I came out of the crash unscathed to find the room entirely absent and dense smoke all around. I climbed through the wreckage and caught sight of a plume of darker smoke rising in the distance, a fair way from the blimp. I moved slowly. One can't be too careful.

What I found there disturbs me greatly. The rattling machine was destroyed in the collision, but I could still make out its bizarre design. Batlike wings and mechanical gears were covered in oil and ash, and among these remains was the lifeless body of a half-ogre. I am not a squeamish woman, but what I saw was shocking; about his neck, the ogre wore an amulet of the Hand. It was one of my own. I could no longer hope this was a coincidence.

I snuck carefully back through the rubble, trying not to make a sound, waiting for my former colleagues to reveal themselves. I heard voices, and silently moved to a better vantage point. I saw two men talking, an elf who had been on the Zephyr and a human I didn't recognize. They seemed concerned about a dead gnome at their feet, and they certainly weren't of the Hand; they spoke too loudly and moved too carelessly. I left without speaking to them.

I'm writing now a few miles south of the crash site. I crossed a river and changed my makeup; a change of clothes would have been more effective since that's probably how they'd identify me, but this will have to do until I find a civilization. I know little of this land, but I was to meet my contact in Cumbria. I shall be cautious, but I know of no better place to go.

This has certainly been a unique welcome to the continent.

PP






Supplement B
It's the perfect end to a perfect week. The half-orc simply can't believe his luck. His name is Lionel, and in the past four days, he's seen two friends killed, lost the best job he could ever hope for to a brainless damn half-ogre, and was nearly arrested for walking down a main street in daylight. Life isn't easy for a half-orc in Caladon. Life isn't easy for a half-orc anywhere.

A professional bodyguard, he had accompanied his former employer there from Tarant on business. He worked for a gnome called Willoughsby, who received a telegram telling him Lionel's replacement had been hired. That was the beginning and the end of that business. The gnome tossed him away like yesterday's newspaper.

Jobs aren't easy to come by for a man like Lionel. Usually, when a half-orc makes it, it's because he knows how and when to keep a secret. Lionel never had that option. His heritage is as clear as the nose on his face, and no less riddled with blisters. It seemed a life in the factories, or worse, in the Boil, was in store.

But Lionel was brought up right-- plenty of the strop and the occasional faceful of fist taught him to always keep his nose clean, to stay on the right side of the law (which is to say, the other side of the street from wherever a lawman might be), and to recognize dignity for the fool's luxury that it is. As his grandfather said, it's better to grovel than to groan. It also helped that apart from the face, he had a good head on his shoulders. In the right districts, a quick draw who knows how to take care of his own firearms is worth his weight in gold. Willoughsby's offer was a godsend-- and now it was gone, without so much as a letter of recommendation.

There was clearly nothing for him in Caladon-- the few other half-orcs around were too busy trying not to look the part to help some foreign thug, and without many influential gnomes in town, there was little call for personal protection. Caladon had a strong standing army in which he was unwelcome, and while the Royal Police Force employed people of all walks of life, the thought never even crossed his mind. One minor infraction, the first sign of trouble from anyone he'd ever spoken to, and he'd be thrown to the wolves.

Willoughsby was not overly generous when it came time to part ways. He reasoned that since he gave Lionel his gun, he should get it back when he terminated their relationship. Lionel was given his last month's wages, the suit he was wearing, and a discount for a third-class ticket home on the IFS Zephyr, his employer's company's latest major investment. He kept his unused bullets and cobbled together a simple flintlock pistol before departing.

The zeppelin, he knew, was a one-of-a-kind wonder of the age, and easily the quickest way back to Tarant. It was also, in his lower berth, a dangerous hive of pickpockets, thugs, and fugitives. He spent his hours aboard clutching his few belongings. As usual, he kept himself to himself and avoided eye contact with the guards who manned the staircases. Then the blimp lurched wretchedly and his world went up in flames.

He lands in a pile of burning fabric, a sheet of iron coming to rest just beside him. He rolls off the pile, takes stock of his limbs, and stalks away from the choking fumes. He treads on the lifeless chest of a human woman and, looking down at her face, realizes that he has to put as much distance between himself and this catastrophe as possible. Any authorities who found a live half-orc here would look no further for the perpetrator. Setting his sights downhill and keeping his eyes open, he runs. An old stone shrine marks the path away from the hill, which he follows. A wolf pack, likely scared by the crash, waits for him just down the path. Sighting them from a distance, he cooly dispatches the beasts one by one with his revolver and continues toward a distant town.

 

Interesting... but why don't you just make a gameplay video?

Please excuse my ignorance.

 

No worries, Crypton! There are a few differences between an LP and a gameplay video. Gameplay videos tend to focus on the content of the game itself, or on strategy. LPs can do so, but can also focus on roleplay and storytelling. This LP will feature plenty of unique content (different conversations, events, and character development) and is written from a total immersion perspective. It's more or less a form of fanfiction with screenshots. If you haven't come across them before, http://lparchive.org/ is a good site for browsing through LPs.

 

Like the premise so far, I'm intrigued. This has the potential to be an interesting piece of slightly alternate reality Arcanum fanfiction. Please do continue.

I wish you luck with keeping your motivation for this alive. The fact that you already have all the screenshots means you're serious about this LP, which is very nice to hear.

A word of advice would be to check avatars in each post before sending. In the second entry a few lines of the Hand's assassin were accidentally assigned to Virgil. It was easy to figure out the correct speaker here, but it may be harder with some future lines of your own characters, for example.

 

Thanks for the encouragement, Muro! I have a fair start, and I'm going to try to keep up a buffer.

Good catch on the images. Fixed them. Let me know if you see any more errors.

 

Why the fuck are you reposting it here?

 

Because the Codex is inhospitable and tends toward bigotry, and because I can't edit earlier posts there now that they've switched sites. I figure TA's a more receptive audience. I have a buffer of about 20 updates, but I don't want to start by launching them all and end up needing to take a hiatus the next time work picks up.

 

Because someone here could be interested?

You try so hard to be the bad guy every time you post. Guess someone stole your candies when you were young...

 

Last year one of the original Arcanum beta testers who is credited in the fan graveyard started posting here, and we insulted and harrassed him until he left.

Good luck.

 

Good old Drog, still trying to be like me. Anyway good show old chap please continue with your epic project.

 

Yes, yes. You are a bunch of frustrated cunts.

Whatever...

 

Beta tester or not, he gravedug a lot and was scolded for it, didn't like it and left with a boohoo. That is all.

 

As I recall, it was the accusations of being a sock puppet that did it. Still, at least nobody is in doubt as to the size of our dicks any more.

 

So Smuel is just trying to make people believe he has some balls? I should have guessed...

 

Not at all. If I wanted to do that, I would try to derail an otherwise entertaining thread.

 

Don't you trail to derail ALL the threads?

 

Derail ALL the threads!

 

Lionel: Down to Business

I strongly approve of this conversation. Speaking of rails, we join Lionel as he enters a failing mining town that provided the steel for the continent's first great railway...


: What a dump.

A few hours after the crash, Lionel has arrived in a tiny mining town. Tired and covered in the dust of the road, he walks aimlessly, avoiding the glares of every citizen. He's short on coin and desperate for the funds to get back to the city. Just outside the inn, he spies a dwarf who doesn't seem particularly offended by his presence.
: Pardon me, sir. Might I ask a question?
: [The dwarf looks around and scowls, but Lionel, a connoisseur of scowls, can tell that it's mostly for show] What could a half-orc possibly want with me?
: I mean no offense, sir. Could you tell me a bit about this town?
: Not much to tell. This is Shrouded Hills. Mostly, it's a nice, quiet place to live. [The dwarf narrows his eyes] So you're new in town, then? Where you from?
: [Thinking fast] Cumbria. I'm headed up to Tarant for work, but I need to make a little money first. Anything come to mind?
: You're in the wrong place, stranger. Mine's closed. The ore's been soured.
: I see. Sorry to waste your time…
: [Noticing Lionel's holstered revolver] Tell you what… There's a man maybe you should talk to… See, our Constable Owens likes to strut about like a rooster in a hen house, but Doc Roberts is the real law in this town. Fair man. Hard. Takes care of folks. Word is, he's looking for someone knows how to handle a gun.
: That sounds interesting. Where might I find him?
: Just up the road a ways, past that old eyesore of a temple. Watch you don't do nothing folks around here wouldn't appreciate.
: I certainly will. Before you go, sir, is there anywhere in town I could get my hands on some bullets?
: If you're in need of a good blacksmith, Lloyd Gurloes is the man to see.
: Many thanks.


Lionel walks up the road to meet the local sawbones. The man looks just as tough as his mustache, and his expression has much in common with daggers when he glimpses Lionel in his practice.

: Get on with it, half-orc. I do not have all day.
: Please excuse my intrusion, sir. I meant no offense.
: I don't generally speak with those of your kind, son.
: I'd be most appreciative were you to make an exception for me.
: Very well. I can see that you know your place. What can I do for you?
: May I ask your name?
: I'm called Doc Roberts, in these parts. Who might you be?
: Name's Lionel, sir. It's good to meet you.
: …Right. Well, Lionel, I don't do this newfangled cosmetic surgery, so if there's nothing else, I'll be thanking you to get along.
: I'm not looking for surgery, sir.
: No? Could be you should. Damned if you ain't uglier'n a pastor's outhouse. What is it you need?
: A dwarf by the inn said you might be able to help me find work.
: [The weathered old man looks Lionel over, as if appraising any potential he might accidentally possess.] There might be something, if you don't mind putting your useless hide in danger's way.
: I'm not averse to a bit of danger, provided the pay is right.
: Word has reached me that the Bowen gang is coming in to rob the bank. Too bad for them that my money happens to be in there too.
: So what do you need me for?
: I could use someone to watch my back, and there ain't no one worth their salt in this town.
: Sounds intriguing. What will you pay for my help?
: Well, that all depends, son. Do you fancy yourself a magicker or a scientician?
: [Pats his revolver] I am partial to the ways of technology.
: Well, in that case, I have a finely made pistol here that I could let you have afterwards, were you to back me up when the trouble starts.
: I am intrigued by your offer. What would I need to do?
: Just meet me in front of the bank. I'll be keeping an eye out for the trouble to start. When it does, I'll expect you by my side.
: I'll see you there, then.
: [He looks Lionel in the eye.] Let me warn you, boy, don't think about double crossin' me, or turnin' yellow. I'll drop you without thinking twice.
: Understood. I will see you then.

Lionel checks his supplies, cleans his revolver, and walks down the road to the bank. The doctor is waiting for him.

: There you are. Are you ready to throw in with me? I haven't seen the boys roll into town yet, but that doesn't mean they ain't already here.
: I'm ready.
BANG! A gunshot rings out from inside the bank.
: Damn! They slipped inside somehow while we were flappin' our gums! Let's put these fools six feet under, boy!

Two minutes of carnage later…

: (By gods, the man's incredible…)

Having secured his investments, the doctor paces out of the building. Lionel stays behind, picking up the weapons of the fallen thieves. The body of a guard, shot in the head before they entered, is decked in a high quality wool jacket. Lionel brushes off a few specks of blood and puts it on, then walks out to meet the doctor.

: Oh, yeah. [He scratches his head.] I owe you something, don't I? Well, here ya go. And, uh, I don't have much experience thankin' people, but uh, thanks.
: [Taking the gun] Pleasure doing business.
: Well, I'll be seein' you around, perhaps. Good luck.
: Wait! That was some damn impressive shooting, Doc… Think you could give me some tips?
: I might be able to help you with that… Could give you expert training' with firearms if that's what you're after. It'll be costing you 500 coin, though.
: I see. I don't happen to have that kind of money right now… But I'll be back.
: You do that, boy. I'll be here.

Lionel is no stranger to odd jobs and making do with very little. With a sudden sense of purpose, Lionel takes the clothes and weapons from the bank robbers to the general store and sells what he can. After buying a few bullets there, he moves along to the blacksmith he'd heard so much about.

: I cannot help you, half-orc.
: Excuse me, good sir? Is that any way for men of reason to speak?
: [He seems to reconsider his words.] Please forgive the outburst. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain...
: It's already forgotten...and who might you be?
: Greetings. I'm Lloyd Gurloes, the local blacksmith. How might I help you today?
: A pleasure, Lloyd. Might I ask you a few questions...?
: How can I help you?
: How has business been lately?
: Business? Oh, I suppose it's never outstanding here in Shrouded Hills...we're a small town, and a simple folk. But, to be honest, I've had trouble getting my hands on any good ore for smithing...it's hard to bring up anything out of the old Bessie Toone...
: What's the old Bessie Toone?
: The Bessie Toone is our old silver mine, just north and a little west of town. There hasn't been silver down there for a long time, but they'll still bring up some iron ore every once in a while. Worthless, though, as long as Bessie is a-wanderin' her mine.
: What? Who is Bessie Toone?
: [Lloyd winks at Lionel.] Well...I could tell you who she WAS, but I'm no good at spinning yarns. If you really want to know about old Bessie, you should talk to her son, Percival. He lives on up there near the mine.
: I see. What type of ore do you need, Lloyd?
: Well sir, I'm in dire need of some pure ore...I'll not make a blade without it. If you could find some, I might be obliged to make you a dagger out of whatever was left...
: Sounds like a good trade...I'll do it.
: My thanks to you, stranger. I'll be here when you find it...

Lionel sets off toward the mine, and stops in at the nearest house. Therein, he finds a portly man of sallow complexion with sunken eyes. Beside him stands a half-ogre. The sight of the dumb brute causes Lionel's teeth to clench, and he is less than mannerly as he approaches the human.

: I have no patience for half-orcs, fool.
: I would thank you to address me with some respect, sir.
: [He cringes.] Oh, please excuse me, sir, I surely meant no offense. What...what is it that I may do for you?
: May I ask your name?
: [This odd fellow looks at you askance, and begins to sweat.] I...I am Percival Toone. Why do you ask?
: I wanted to ask you about your mother.
: My mother? You are not here for...uh, what do you wish to know about my dear mother?
: Here for what? Who did you think I was?
: What? Uhh...uh, I...[he visibly deflates]. I thought you were here to kill me. The..."businessman" I was forced to sell the mine to is rather unscrupulous. He is very upset about the ore in the mine going "sour". [He wrings his hands in despair.] I need to find a way to free my mother, it's her ghost that is ruining the ore, somehow. [He looks at Lionel with a pleading gaze.]
: Your mother's ghost?
: [He shakes his head, sadly.] My poor mother...she killed herself, you know. When the silver dried up, we were forced to sell the mine. She went around the bend, soon after. Went up to the mine, she did, fired all the workers and did herself in.
: Perhaps I can help free your mother's ghost.
: Oh...that would be wonderful! [He claps his hands together.] If you could do that, I would be ever so grateful. It would mean a monetary reward of 500 coins as well.
: (500, eh?) I will return when I have looked into this matter. [Snarls at the half-ogre as he leaves the shack]

The mine is eerily silent, tools and equipment left to rust by the entrance as Lionel walks in.

The occasional sickly wolf or poisonous spider is the only proof that life still exists on Arcanum. What should be the thrumming lifeline of the community is empty and left to rot. Lionel finds many abandoned scraps of technological equipment and worked metal. There's springs and old gears, plates of steel, filament from lamps, the occasional bits of clockwork, and…

: Here we go, Lloyd...
And then, in a deep pocket...

: Mrs. Toone?
: Sarah, my dear Sarah…
: Bessie?
: …
: Right.
In a nearby crate, Lionel finds an old boot that likely belonged to the woman.

: Hmm. You never know. [Pockets the old boot]

On his way out of the mine, he receives a nasty bite from a poisonous spider, and is not feeling very well when he walks back to Percival's home.

: Yes?
: I "spoke" with your mother's ghost.
: You..d..did? What did she say?
: She said, "Sarah, my dear Sarah". Who is Sarah?
: [He looks disgusted.] Sarah. [He spits the name.] Sarah. That is my sister. A hateful person, really. She deserted us...left here to go to that dilapidated kingdom, Dernholm! What an affront to our family!
: Perhaps I should go speak with her.
: Why? Why would you want to do that? She can be of no help, of that I can assure you. It would be unwise...I mean there's nothing she can tell you that would help.
: It can't hurt, though, and I do need something to go on...
: No! I uh, mean, I don't rightly know if she is still uh, living in Dernholm. Actually, now that I think about it, I believe she no longer lives there...I suppose you'll have to find answers elsewhere...
: Right. Well, perhaps you could direct me to the man who owns the mine now?
: Him? Uh, well, he doesn't live around here, he's in Tarant. I don't think he would be helpful either, in fact, it would be dangerous for you to speak with him. Rather an unsavory type, you understand.
: Just the same, if you could tell me where in Tarant to find him...
: Tarant...well, you understand, I've, uh, never actually been there, and, as I said, you wouldn't want to meet with this fellow at any rate.
: ...Good day, then. [Lionel waves as he exits, turning the gesture into a longbowman's salute as Percival Toone turns his back.] Goddamn waste of time…

On his way back into town to sell the scraps he picked up, he accosts a farmer.

: Excuse me…
: What do you want, half-orc? Nothing good, of that I'm certain.
: I do not feel there is any need for such rudeness.
: I suppose not... what is it you want of me?
: Could you tell me how to get to Dernholm?
: Of course. Here, let me show you on your map.
: Thank you for the information.

He gives Lloyd the ore, in exchange for which he is promised a fine steel dagger that's sure to fetch a few coins. He then goes about the business of the day, selling what he salvaged from the mines to the junk dealer. When he has finished, he returns triumphantly to Doc Roberts.

: Evenin' Doc.
: Hello, friend, what can I do for you?
: Can you train me to be an expert in firearms, sir?
: Now that depends. You got the money?
: Wouldn't have come back without it. [Gives him 500 coins.]
: [He counts the money, then the pair spend a few instructive hours outside.] Well, there ya go! You are now an expert in firearms, son.
: Thanks, Doc. Tell me, who taught you to shoot like this?
: That'd be old Willy Thorndup! The greatest firearms master in Arcanum. I think he's livin' over Ashbury way, now.
: Thanks for your time. I will be on my way.
: Good luck to you, boy.

 

I approve of this project. I enjoyed reading that. Please continue to post. I would state that ceasing and desisting on the derailment would be for the better health of everyone involved.