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Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Thursday, 29 September 2016

The Temple of Elemental Evil - part 1

And so into one of the legendary OD&D modules with the kids. The ToEE (T1-4) was one of those iconic modules I recall as a teenager mainly because T1 (Village of Hommlet) had been out for what seemed an age before the rest arrived. It was released as a 'super-module' in an era where the ethos of OD&D changed from simply providing a setting populated by monsters and traps to one with a story/ narrative.


Now I love both aspects of play, but I find the down side of the latter can be that players get railroaded through, as there's often only one real way to make the story work. This was much the case in the Dragonlance series, and in the re-working of A1-4 and G1-3/D1-3/Q1. For my part, the kids had already started T1 a few years ago before our playing was de-railed by them arguing all the time! So this time around, I went straight for the dungeon with a fresh mission and a mild tweak to some of the locations in the vast dungeon....

So, our heroes are: Elangos (half-drow assassin), Crue (elven mage), Vicdak (half-orc fighter-cleric, and general hard-ass), Emelia (half-elf mage-thief), Loren (half-elf paladin of Pelor), Loki (human ranger) and Gideon (NPC cleric of Pelor). The intro I wrote them was as follows....


Fireseek CY577

The deep snows of winter ground the normally vibrant streets of Verbobonc to a frigid halt. After three weeks in the city, having brought in the New Year, you are itching to find of the urgent task that has brought you so far north.

It had been mid-Autumn, in the end of Patchwall, when the novelty of a house in Saltmarsh had run dry and the desire to return north had crept in. The merchant ship had sailed north from Keoland, skirting the treacherous coats of the Pomarj, and its infamous slaver lands, and followed the Wild Coast to Safeton, the homelands of Vicdak. By this time the first snows of Sunsebb had begun, but an urgent summons for Gideon and Loren from the Temple of Pelor in the City State of Verbobonc had dragged you from the warmth of Safeton and across the Gnarley Woods and Kron Hills.

A few minor skirmishes on the journey kept you occupied. The slaver ships notorious for raiding the Wild Coast had got braver, pushing inland as far as the northern Gnarley Woods. Their misguided attempt to spring a trap on the caravan that you all accompanied resulted in Vicdak and Loki competing in who could kill the most slavers in one battle. Astonishingly, and much to Loren's disapproval, it was a draw.

Enjoying some hospitality from the gnomes in the Kron Hills, you reached Verbobonc in time for the yuletide festival of Needfest. The small city, capital of the Viscounty of Verbobonc, sits on the Velverdyva River and enjoys a healthy trade with the gnomes of the hills, the nearby walled city of Dyvers and the great kingdom of Furyondy to the north. As with many cities in the north it has a temple to the sun god, Pelor, although meagre in size compared to the huge edifices in Ulek, and it was this church that provided shelter through the vibrant festival.

Whereas Loki, Vicdak, and Emelia enjoyed the festivities Crue spent his time more constructively. Huddled away in the moderate library of the Viscount Wilfrick, Crue sought more information on the bizarre appearance of the masked wizard in the underwater layer of the Sahaugin. There seemed little to find on wizards wearing masks, save the association between mummer's masks and the elven god, Erevan Ilesere. Of the trident, Wave, there was slightly more: crafted by the sea elves of the Sea of Gearnat, originally as a weapon of their god, Sashelas, it became a weapon in the fight against demons and devils in the hands of holy warriors, such as paladins. It had been lost for nearly a hundred years, seemingly destroyed in a naval battle between the Holy Warriors of Procan (God of the Sea) and the evil forces of the witch Iggwilv, on Lake Quag, in Perrenland.

Crue knew that to find more he would have to seek a larger library, whether back in Ulek, or to the east in Dyvers or Greyhawk. Accepting this, he re-joined the others for the much anticipated meeting with the High Priest of Pelor, Tarin Hyret, at the grand cathedral of Pelor.

Tarin was a trouble man. Originally from the Shield Lands that ran between the foul Empire of Iuz and the fair kingdom of Furyondy, Tarin had been sent south to Verbobonc when his temple was sacked by a horde of bugbears. His wrinkled face reflects many of the fears of the Furyondy folk: three years ago the Crown Prince of Furyondy, Prince Thromell, went missing following a battle against the forces of Iuz. His betrothed, Jolene of Veluna, is now in mourning and open once more to suitors and the potential force for good that a unification of two great nations would bring has disappeared on the wind.

Yet Tarin's fears are more local. Four months ago, in late summer, he received word from an agent in Nulb, who worked for both him and the Viscount, that there had been secret traffic spotted near the ruined Temple of Elemental Evil near Nulb. Accordingly, Tarin dispatched a party of adventurers, led by his daughter, Allis, priestess of Pelor, to investigate. The months have passed, but no word has come and the Viscount's agents have not seen Allis or her companions.

Elangos, hailing from the far northern region of Tenh, had only limited knowledge of the Temple. With a sad smile, Loren recounted the fell history of the place. In CY569, eight years ago, the forces of good (humans of Furyondy and Veluna; dwarves of the Lortmil Mountains; gnomes of the Kron Hills; and elves from Ulek, and Celene) fought the foul denizens of the Temple near the village of Homlett, south of Verbobonc. Defeating the evil army on the Fields of Emridy Meadows, the armies besieged the Temple and defeated, then trapped the demoness, Zuggotmy. The Temple was sealed, and left ruined. Loren served in the human army, one of the Crusaders setting the orcs and gnolls to the sword.

If there was a chance that Allis was lost in the ruins of the Temple, then Loren knows he must investigate, and so too must Gideon. The pair accepts High Priest Talin's mission, and only on insistence from Emelia and Elangos, the fee that he will provide for such a service.

And so to the Temple…
***


The first session was a brief journey to the Temple south from Verbobonc and into the Kron Hills. The weather is turning cold and foggy, and in the mists they encounter a strange group of pilgrims, all with pale features and white hair. The pilgrims are tricky to talk to, and seem fascinated by Vicdak, who's half-Suel/ half-orc. The eagle-eyed Elangos spots one of the pilgrim's dagger is coated in blade venom, and a scrap breaks out.


The pilgrims are the Scarlet Brotherhood, the nutty Suel-supremacists (sort of Greyhawk Nazis), who in this era (pre-Greyhawk Wars) are a largely unknown quantity. They've been tasked by one of Iuz's (half-demon ruler of an evil empire) chosen warriors to gather information on the theft of a sword, Blackrazor, by the wizard, Keraptis.

The scrap doesn't push the characters as much as I'd thought, and they find on the bodies several useful items: bracers of defence, which Crue takes; a Gem of Seeing, which Emelia grabs; and a letter...

***

Fair Greeting to Lord Gryst, Scion of Iuz

It is with heavy heart that our great network has failed to locate the whereabouts of the fabled blade, Blackrazor. It's dreadful reputation is surely matched only by the passion the blade ignites in your fell heart, my Lord.

Our Brotherhood have had greater success in the identification of the vile miscreant who stole your blade. The method of its theft, the destructive use of sorcery, and the mask he wore have led us to identify him as Keraptis. A Suel sorcerer of old, his history is handed down in legends preserved amongst only the purest of Suel supremacists such as our Brotherhood. Yet, Keraptis was only truly half-Suel, an aberration of elven and Suel blood, and it is reputed the impure blood that flowed in his ancient veins was that of the Elven deity,  Erevan Ilesere.

Keraptis's manipulations and trickery earned him a dark reputation amongst the Suel, though his last act of sorcery was in the far off lands north of the Nyr Dyv, near eight hundred years ago. We would surmise that an imposter adopts his visage, although there is the small chance that Keraptis's insanity has returned.

We are certain the value of this information is apparent to you, and your dread father, and a return of those secrets we require shall be forthcoming.

With respect
The Father of Obedience


So the mystery of Keraptis, who the characters encountered in U3 when he purloined the trident, Wave, deepens. Armed with this info, and a chunk of cash from the Scarlet Brotherhood the party continue their journey and skirt the town of Nulb (a grotty pit of vice) and head towards the 'ruined' Temple. The Ranger Knight, Otis, approaches them under cover of gloom and shares what little he knows of Allis and her group. Allis had journeyed into the Temple with five others about two months ago, but nothing has been heard since. Otis is certain there is activity inside the Temple, but his remit is one of spying not assault. He offers his followers, three Brownies, to guide the characters to the Temple. With their range of concealment (camouflage from the pseudo-dragons, a ring of invisibility that Elangos uses, and a darkness spell) they manage to get to the main door without the brigands in the watchtower spotting them.



The main door is sealed with runes and magical protection and the characters wisely avoid trying to break in this way. Rather they jemmy open the side door, and enter the vast Temple... or at least that tiny proportion of the Temple that exists above ground...





Thursday, 12 September 2013

I am rather an expert on that....

Much in the way I never now watch any film rated more than 12 at the
cinema, and indeed actively seek out Pixar productions to watch (‘Up’
and ‘Finding Nemo’ are incredible films), my TV watching home has
regressed markedly over the last few years.

Now part of that is due to the fact that I enjoy reading, writing and
squinting at tiny Warhammer models whilst controlling my tremor with
gin. Another part is my wife’s predilection for soaps and housing
programmes (Property Porn as it is often referred to). And a
significant other part is that I got gloomed out by what was on offer.
After the Wire finished, Game of Thrones killed all the characters
off, and BSG re-runs disappeared I found that all me and the wife were
watching was gloom-vision. Specifically it was variants on forensic
murder programmes (CSI: Llandudno an so on) and now a range of
psychological thriller stuff (Hannibal, Criminal Minds, and now I hear
there’s a Psycho re-boot) that makes me want to go suck exhaust
through a hose-pipe. We escaped into fluff-cop shows like NCIS: LA and
Hawaii 5-0 with their pretty people and feel good banter, but now even
they’ve finished (both with a dollop of drama=torture=misery). So
what’s left to enjoy?

Well, kids TV as it turns out. As child #3 enjoys the new found
freedom of bed vs. cot (read open prison vs. maximum security) and our
new puppy Cockerpoo whimpers the house down from 0500h each morning, I
find myself OD-ing on Nick Jr’s Peppa Pig. Now I’ve been a PP fan for
a long while, in fact since it first aired on Terrestial TV on Ch5’s
Milkshake when Charlie was a toddler. But only in the last year can I
say that I’ve watched almost every episode to the degree that I have
my favourite scenes and can talk about character development.

 It’s so bloody good. Not only is the animation perfect—a combination
of simple childish line-style, with tiny intelligent touches—but the
characters and stories are a mirror of family life with kids. Rather,
family life with kids how it should be. Someone called it the
Simpson’s for under-5s, but I think that does it a disservice as the
acidic cynicism that pervades the Simpsons (and I do like that show)
is absent, and the patriarch of the Pig family, Daddy Pig, is no idle
selfish Homer. No, my friends, Daddy Pig is the model of fatherhood...
patient, yet not perfect, family-friendly, yet flawed.

He’s marvellous! They revolve entire episodes around mocking his big
round belly, which he takes almost graciously. He considers himself
‘rather an expert’ at many things, yet in practice his DIY is crap,
and he can’t speak fluent French. He strives at School sports day’s
Dad’s events, but his only great achievement is jumping in muddy
puddles which he approaches with a Taoist demeanour. He always loses
his glasses (as do I), enjoys a hearty meal, would give his last bit
of cake to the ducks, and runs very fast when chased by wasps... all
for charity. And he plays the drums and the accordion.

I could really go on about the other great characters in the show—the
workaholic Ms Rabbit; the guitar hero nursery teacher; Polly the
parrot; Mr Bull and his love of fine china; Grandpa Rabbit, voiced by
Brian Blessed; the useless Dr Hamster and her tortoise. But that’d be
a little tragic for a 41 year old to harp on about all the things he
genuinely enjoys in a show for toddlers. Yet, it’s so well observed!
Peppa can be really gobby, cheeky, mean to George Pig, but lovely and
curious and happy like all children. The toddlers in PP shower
fountains of tears at the drop of a hat—the episode where the ‘older’
kids run the toddler party is pure brilliance—it brings to mind taking
Charlie and Evelyn to some of the parties Henry has been invited to.
There’s Mr Potato and his strange Spanish accent, with his fruit
awareness day, and a theme park. And the trip to the museum to see the
space exhibit, with its tacky gift shop and £5 per ‘fun-photo’ is so
accurate it’s scary.

Ultimately that’s the essence of good kids TV and film these days.
Suitably fun stories with enough ‘in jokes’ to keep Mum and Dad
chuckling—hence why ‘Despicable Me’ rocks big-style, and I’d rather
watch ‘Up’ than another Tarrantino variant.

Embrace your inner immaturity! I am ‘rather an expert’ on that.



Saturday, 17 August 2013

Ice-cream and Internet-voids

Just returned from a week away in the wondrous climes of South Devon and, surprisingly for the UK the weather was actually acceptable (for us this means only half the days begin with rain/snow/Tsunamis).  What this meant was the opportunity for what is known as a 'traditional holiday.'

Now clearly traditions vary across the world and indeed country. For some traditional holiday means incinerating upper layer of dermis and drinking until they are incontinent whilst the kids steal their cigs. For others it may involve exclusive hotels with a fabulous view of the poor (preferably within rock range). And for others Scrabble and domestics in a two berth caravan.

For the Kitsons it means something akin to the holidays I had as a child. I had a great upbringing, and part of that evolution was our summer holidays. For me it was Norfolk- a hotel in a small village near Cromer, which several families used to go to every year. It was beaches, and sea, and ice cream, and windbreaks, and imaginary adventures with my brother in the woods around the hotel. The wife's was similar, agreeably between Northern Victorian resorts like Scarborough and southern tranquility of Dorset.

In this day and age of data, electronic gadgets and Internet it feels almost more important to get back to basics. Where we go in Devon has an advantage of Mobile phone dropouts galore and no 3G. It's like an Internet void. And in an effort to capitalise this we had a hefty restriction on all gadgets in the family- no tablets, phones, 3DS etc- for most daylight time. And that extended to me: I left the phone in the cottage most days, and only picked up urgent messages on my return. It trod the fine line between liberating and unnerving ("what if my house is blown away by a tornado to Oz and someone needs to let me know..?")

And the 'tradition' that act honoured was to create some space, some opportunity, wherein my kids and me could find some common-time. Goofy stuff with sand, seaweed, buckets, shells and sea so cold it eliminated the prospect of a fourth child once and for all. Because as I lumber into middle-age I have become acutely aware that time sifts through my bony digits at an accelerating rate. Big Son is hitting High School this autumn, and although his geekiness  ensures we will maintain common interests for a good few years yet, gradually his friends and girlfriends will supplement my place in his life. 

Seems like a moment ago he popped out a worrying shade of blue and wailed baby-tongue for "welcome to the rest of your life, dude."

So I suppose the tradition of spending time with the kids without them tutting about me interrupting Minecraft is what we aspired to achieve. And I think, as I trawl through 500 e-mails and face a Twitter-mountain, that we managed it well. With the added bonus of ice-cream, of course.  And a castle... always a castle...