Core Competencies

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merias
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Re: Core Competencies

Post by merias »

JimboJimbo wrote:
Mon Aug 08, 2022 7:31 pm
Thanks Merias!

I lose a lot of 1st level parties to 1/2 or 1/4 HD monsters. I find if a low-level team lose initiative then they'll usually die. I had a team of 1st level BFRPG characters win intiative and take out a quartet of ghouls (lots of lucky saving throws). The very next adventure, they were TPK'd by a solitary ghoul after losing initiative (no lucky saving throws). It was at that point I decided that all fighters could cleave, regardless of enemy HD ... although I forget to implement it more often than not.
I see the same thing. At some point (hopefully), players wise-up and play a bit more tactically at low level. But that element of chance is always there. Makes it fun!

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

merias wrote:
Tue Aug 09, 2022 12:44 pm
I liked your description of the charm spell. The narrative form is nice, something I should try in my own play reports more often - I think it takes more effort to do in that style.
Thanks! If you enjoy the more narrative form, I'll keep it up. I enjoy your write-ups. There's a deinite paralel with the original game; they provide enough information to get you started but you need to fill the rest in with imagination.

The multiple TPKs were all solos with horrendous reaction rolls. I don't DM anymore. My regular group are hard-core fans of 5e & its derivatives. It's a playable system, but it's not something I'd like to run.

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

Festoonia wants to head back and secure the loot. Astra points out that identifying a source of otherworldly power is far more important than divvying up the spoils. Arn makes the halfling gasp when he sides with the new-comer, stating that who ever is behind the ruin is responsible for the death of their friends.

The room has no visible exits, so rather than sift through zombie habitats, they head back through the bandit room. Festoonia grins at the three men staring at them as they pass. The leader is kicked back with his feet up, sucking on a wineskin, his spearhead pointed at his companions.

“How long will he be like that?” she asks the sorceress.

“Oh, no longer than a month.”

Festoonia leads the quartet swiftly to the first room, her native stealth a talisman against the attention of wandering denizens.

“So whatever lurks in theses catacombs must only be reached through these doors.”

Festoonia snickers at Astra’s weighty words before pressing her ear against the door. Hearing nothing beyond, she turns its heavy iron ring and braces her weight against the wood.

(Mune Engine: Is the door locked? 6, yes and… Is it trapped? 3, yes).

“Festi, no!” Arn growls, shouldering his way past the two humans.

Iron shrieks on stone. The door before her swings inward, as does a door beneath Festoonia’s hairy feet. Her yelp is cut short by a loud thump. A whimper takes its place.

“Fest, are you okay?”

Arn drops to a knee at the trap’s edge and shrugs off his pack. The halfling is sprawled at the bottom of a 10’ deep pit, her newly luxurious hair bedraggled from the fall.

“Just a bump on the hams. Any chance you could toss me a rope?”

Arn pulls Fest up with Nerva taking up the slack. She plants a sloppy kiss on Arn’s cheek and hobbles away from the pit’s edge.

“Right, how are we going to get across this bad boy?” she asks, massaging her right ankle and calf.

“Maybe that’s for the future. I think your accumulated bumps and bruises have taken toll enough. Perhaps we should return to town, rest up, and return when your leg is less trouble?”

“Maybe you’re right, Astra,” she says, favouring her right foot as she heads to the secret door.

(Festi was down to 2hp. Without a cleric, she’s in a pretty bad spot. But with the huge amount of treasure the OSRIC table gives out, she’s now 2nd level, with over double her original hit points and a better saving throw. It’ll still take her 5 days to recover fully, but the other member of the team agree to wait… well, most of them!)

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by merias »

Yeah the S&W treasure tables aren't the greatest. I like using the 1974 3LBB tables, just for the potential hauls you get with jewels. Sounds like OSRIC is similar, but have not used those.

Also you may like this trap table for solo games, made for Delta's Target 20 but applicable to pretty much any game.

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

merias wrote:
Thu Aug 11, 2022 12:56 pm
Yeah the S&W treasure tables aren't the greatest. I like using the 1974 3LBB tables, just for the potential hauls you get with jewels. Sounds like OSRIC is similar, but have not used those.

Also you may like this trap table for solo games, made for Delta's Target 20 but applicable to pretty much any game.
S&W treasure certainly is ood. On the plus side there's no cross-referencing a treasure type table but Festi scored a whole lot of loot from a single brawl! I'm on the wrong machine to double-check but I'm pretty certain OSRIC's unguarded treasure table is basically xd6 cp/sp/gp/ep/pp with a couple of options for magic items and gems.

Thanks for the link, that table is an excellent resource! I do like a bit of mechanical menace in my dungeons.

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

Arn draws to a halt before the secret door and drops his canvas bag. His cheeks are red beneath his beard and his lips move in a near-silent curse.

“Sneaking like a filthy elf or useless ‘obbit,” he curses, pulling his mail hauberk from the sack and pulling it over his shoulders.

Ignoring the tug of iron rings on his facial hair, he adjusts the flexible metal shirt and tucks the bag into his pack. Axe thrust in his belt, shield slung over his shoulder, he scoops up his ‘borrowed’ miner’s plank and heads deeper into the complex.

Glad to be away from his night-blind friends, Arn makes his way slowly across the plank. A staircase forms in the blacks and greys of his dwarfish vision. He notes the craftsmanship as barely adequate. For a second, he breaths in the still, cool air and detects a metallic tang that makes his forge-raised heart beat a little faster.

“There’s only one way to go to find who sent those blasted rats,” he growls.

Shield raised high, axe ready in his fist, the dwarf steps into darkness.

The stairs end at the opening of a giant chamber. From what he can see at the edges of his dark vision, he estimates the room to be a huge oval, perhaps five hundred square feet in total. A black shape braces ceiling and floor. Arn guesses its some kind of pillar, but can’t tell its point or purpose.

Back tight against the cavern wall, he circles around the chamber’s perimeter. He sees the grey shape of a straw palette but ignore it other than to wonder who sleeps in such a thing in what was obviously once a great hall.

Noticing an arch opposite the pillar, he crab walks away from it and toward the strange structural support. Revellers mark its engraved surface. Bent-backed crones and doddering geezers cavort around a pole. As the panels progress, each celebrant appears younger. Arn reaches out, traces marks of the mason’s art.

He staggers, breathes deep as weight is pulled from his shoulders. He straightens his back, levels his shoulders. For a moment, he can feel the blood in his veins, the power in his sinews. His hearing seems a touch clearer, his vision sharper.

(The pillar reduces age. I figured that’d be 1d6×10 for a dwarf and scored a 6. Arn is, physically, 60 years younger. I don’t think I’ll let it affect the game).

Heart pumping with renewed vigour, he turns from the pillar. A sneer on his lips, he looks to the arch. A long hallway, constructed from the same bland stone as the level above, stretches beyond the limits of his dwarfish vision. He can see carved architraves jutting from the rock

He strides to the first door and reaches for the handle. Despite the weight he hammers into the wood, it will not open. He moves to the second, barely ten feet further down the hall, and tries again. It swings open, revealing a room barely bigger than a cupboard. A door stands in the opposite wall, but Arn is in no mood for tricks and games.

Arn stalks through the tunnel, growls in anger at the heavy door ahead. Memories of Fest’s tumble spring to the fore of his mind and he scans stone and mortar for any other hidden tricks. Satisfied there are none, he approaches the door. He holds his breath and presses his ear to the grain.

(2/d6, list check passed).

A hellish cacophony vibrates through the door. Explosive belches mingle with heavy slaps and riotous croaks. High-pitched, sawing shrieks add to the racket.

Arn backs away, mind racing at whatever horrors lurk behind the wooden portal. Nerves fraught, he edges back to the small, cupboard-like room. Quick work with iron spikes and a mallet seal the entrances tight. With shaking hands he rests in a corner, takes a flask of whiskey and hard dwarfish bread from his pack. Food in his belly and spirits in his blood, he feels ready to resume his hunt for vengeance.

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

Arn eases his pitons from the frame and stows them in his pack. Axe and shield at the ready, he pushes onward.

Death’s stench wafts through the open door. Shambling, moaning figures lurch at him, knocking the door from his grasp. Skipping back with a grace more suited to his halfling friend, Arn raises his shield and stands ready just beyond the threshold.


(Intitiative: Arn 3 – zombies 5)

(Arn: 16 vs AC11. Damage: 6)

Arn swings his axe in a tight arc, severing a clawed hand at the wrist.

(Zombie: 11 vs AC 15, miss)

The zombie flails with its leaking stump, spraying the dwarf’s mail with black gore.

(Arn: 13 vs ac 11. Damage: 6. Drop & Chop. 19 vs AC 11, 7 damage. Drop & Chop. 18 vs AC 11, dam 5).

Shield high, the dwarf’s axe flashes low, bisecting the zombie from pelvis to sternum. Another takes its place, falls to a savage back-hand slash that sends its rotten head ricochetting off the walls. A third staggers in, loses an arm to dwarfish steel.

(Zombie: 16 vs AC 15, dam : 5)

Still standing, the zombie rips open Arn’s shoulder with its purulent teeth.

(Arn: 16 vs AC 11, Dam, 5. Drop & Chop. 12 vs AC 11, dam: 6. Drop & Chop: 13 vs AC 11, dam 7. D&C 6 vs AC 11. Miss)

Arn roars, clenches his jaw and slams his head forward. The brim of his kettle hat rips open the zombie’s face, staving in the front of its rotten skull. His axe sings again, toppling one of the beasts and eviscerating another on the back swing.

(Zombie: 19 vs AC 15, dam: 1)

Driven by blood-hunger, a festering claw rakes Arn’s open throat.

(Arn: 18 vs AC 11, 3 dam)

He drops to a knee, smashing the creature’s hold with the rim of his shield. The world spins as his life’s blood leaks from the hole in his flesh.

(Zombie: 11 vs AC 15. Miss.)

Rancid jaws snap loud in the tight corridor. Rotten teeth clang against Arn’s helmet.

(Arn: 16 vs AC 11, Dam: 6. D&C. 15 vs AC 11, dam 8).

Vision swimming, limbs shaking, he bellows his rage. He feels the Ancestral Forge’s heat warm him. Spirit voices call his name, beckoning him home.

Thrusting up with his stout legs, he drive his shield into the zombie’s belly. Pinned to the passage wall, it can muster no defence against Arn’s furious axe.

Arn collapses with the last of the zombies. Panting, exhausted, he plugs his hand against the hole in his shoulder. Squeezing his eyes shut to steady his spinning brain, he pulls a bandage from his pack and stuffs it into the wound. After splashing whiskey on the bloody hole to appease any spirits of sickness, he binds the wound. As he does so, he notices a flash of steel among the putrid heap of re-slain cadavers. He kicks away the top-most corpse and sees a fine spade, untouched by mould or corrosion. He strips the shovel from its owner, taking a pouch of jingling coin in the process, and secures it to his pack.

Weak, in pain, and tired, Arn heads back through the complex, up the stairs and back to the mining camp. He offers a prayer of thanks to his ancestors for his untroubled journey.

(All-you-can-beat ‘chop & drop’ is a bit much. I think it’ll go back in line with # additional attacks = level. It’ still a bit better than the standard fighter option, but much less powerful than the chainsaw boogie Arn [and his excellent rolls] keeps doing in the dungeon).

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Re: Core Competencies

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Agree, unlimited chop-n-drop is too much at first level. I also limit the extra attacks to the fighter's level. Looks like Arn would not have survived without it, however!

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Re: Core Competencies

Post by JimboJimbo »

If it wasn't for the D&C there would have been a TPK on the rat encounter and Arn was reduced to 1hp by the zombies. Usually when soloing I'd just let them die and roll a new party, but I'm really enjoying Core so I figured I'd keep them alive (last time though).

I probably shouldn't have walked a solitary 1st level character into the second level of a dungeon, but sometimes I just can't resist finding out what happens!

(Note: It's death, Jimbo. When you make stupid decisions, death happens).

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Re: Core Competencies

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After a week hiding his newly-youthful appearance from his friends & getting the town smith to drum up a suit of banded mail (I made him pay x3 the cost for the unusual armour, what else is he going to do with his money?) Arn meets up with his friends.

An hour later, the quartet crawled back through the hole in the wall. Bathed in the light of Astra’s lantern, Arn lead the way down ancient stairs into the enormous chamber with its strange pillar.

“There,” he said, nodding to the enchanted column, “that’s what took the grey from my beard.”

Astra approached, back straight and shoulders squared. She extended a palm toward the carved structure.

“Yes,” she said, as if to the pillar of worked stone, “I see.”

Festi. Save vs. Stupid: 8, fail.

“Ooh, oh, can I see?”

Before her voice has finished echoing through the chamber, Festoonia slapped a hand against cold stone. Strange energy filled the room. The scent of air before a storm wafted on the breeze.

“Wow!” Festoonia gasped, looking at the fingers on one hand, “I’ve got baby hands!”

“You’ve got baby feet, too!” Nerva Quintus laughed, pointing at the downy fuzz that had replaced the thatch on her instep.

(Festoonia lost 10 years (1/d6x10). That makes her 25, which is about teenage for a hobbit I think.)

Astra turned to the halfling, bending almost in half to inspect her features.

“I wonder, does this relic take something away, or does it give something back? We’ll soon see, I suppose.”

Astra turned her back on the halfling to face Arn.

“So where else did you explore on your ill-advised delving?”

“East, but there’s not much there. Only a few rooms that lead to nowhere. Nothing worth investigating further.”

Her sparkling white eyes bored into his skull. Subconsciously, he scratched at the thick pad of scar tissue on his neck.

“I suppose that leaves this way,” he said, waving his axe at the arch on the pillar’s other side.

Shield raised, Arn moved toward the opening. Naked feet slapped against cold stone as Festi fell in beside him.

“You don’t like her much, do you?” she asked in her native tongue.

“Not greatly, and I trust her even less,” he replied in the same language.

Wide enough for three men to walk abreast, a corridor exited the chamber. A putrid stench hung in the air as the traversed thirty feet of bare stone. The passed turned south, extended by the length of five tall men.

“Do you see that?” Festoonia whispered, pointing her sword tip down the passage.

Strange, phosphorescent lights filled the corridor. The strange orange glow seemed to move across the floor, up walls and down the ceiling. A buzzing noise vibrated the air. The sharp, staccato clack of wood on stone played a chilling rhythm section.

“Aye, but I’ve no idea what it is,” Arn grumbled.

“Beetles.”

Nerva’s voice startled the two warriors as joined the line beside Festi.

“They’re rife around the hills of Thrace. These ones look pretty upset by something, too.”

(Reaction roll: 6, unfavourable.)

“Well if they’re as smart as normal bugs, maybe we can scare them off?” Festi squeaked.

“Festi, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Nerva said.

“Shoo, bugs, Shoo!”

Chitinous shells vibrated. Downy antennae probed the air. Five bulky, rounded shells skittered toward the line of warriors.

(Initiative tied 1:1.)

(Nerva, Festi, & Arn can melee. Astra is not in the front line.)

(3 bugs can attack this round.)

(Bug: 19 vs AC 15, hit for 3 damage)
(Nerva: 16 vs Ac 15, hit for 6 damage)

Flapping wings and raking legs slash at Nerva’s shield. The Republic man thrust out, driving his spear between bone-hard plates. Green ichor spurts from the wound, but razor-edged mandibles nick his arm

(Bug: 15 vs AC 15, Hit 6 damage)
(Fest: 8 vs AC 15, miss)
Festoonia dummies a slash with her dagger, follows up with a sword-thrust at the creature’s bulbous eye. Unfazed, it slashes her arm with its hooked claw and biting mandibles. Hot blood sprays from her torn biceps, lubricating her grip on her shortsword.

(Bug: 12 vs AC 16, miss)
(Arn: 8 vs AC 15, miss)

“Enough of this foolishness!”

Astra’s voice raises high in a cutting chant. Arcane forces prickle the hairs on necks and forearms. A momentary vortex ripples through the corridor, spreading the stench of burning parchment. The five beetles drop to the ground, legs tucked under their carapaces.

“Great work, Astra,” Nerva grunts, driving his spear into the last of the sleeping insects.

“I would have preferred not to waste our limited resources, I don’t see myself able to replenish these scrolls any time soon.”

Festoonia chuckles at the wizard’s schoolmarmish attitude then pokes her finger into a beetle’s glowing belly.

“You think we’ll get anything for these back in town?”

“Maybe a coin or two,” Arn grunts, “but I’d wager the stink of carrying them will attract some attention.”

The corridor lead on, turning right then right again. After twenty minutes of walking, they came across a door in the left hand wall. While Arn & Nerva kept watch, the halfling lass pressed her ear against the ancient wood.

“Can’t hear much of anything,” she says.

“Open it up then,” Arn growls.

Festi stepped away from the door. Nerva’s boot slammed into the lock. Wood splintered. The door swung open. A shadowed stairway filled the room’s centre. A large iron chest took up space in the North West corner.

“Ooh!” Festoonia cried, sprinting across the room.

She pulled a knife from her belt, crouched by the ancient container. Eyes narrowed, she probed the slabs around it, switched her attention to the lock, hinges, and lid.

(Find taps: 1/d6. Success.)

“Looks safe to me!” she squeaked, sliding her knife into the lockbox’s latch.

Blinding light and the roar of combustion tore through the room.

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