Wednesday, February 8, 2017

[CRIT] Modest Mug’s Mouthwatering Morsels

I decided to start recapping my game sessions again! When I tried it before I went on essay-long rants, but that’s because I tried to give context to everything that happened. This time around, I’m doing this for the sake of my players, so I’ll be a lot more concise.
Party: Crimson Overwatch
Adventure: “The Tomb of Rümchata” by Superhorse
System: Torchbearer
Session: #3

First, a quick introduction for each character:
  • Mina Ironbroad: A dwarf unable to grow facial hair, a perceived defect that outcast her from all dwarven circles. She’s on a mission to prove her detractors wrong, that she doesn’t need a beard to be successful.
  • Ba’al: He’s read a book about this.
  • Teryan Fesoni: A disciplined swordsman and forceful orator. If you don’t agree with him, he’ll convince you that he’s right, one way or the other.
  • Irylith: An elf whose reservedness is her virtue. Quiet and observant, she has a keen understanding of any situation, and can approach it with precision and empathy.
The party returned to the town of Baron’s Folly to find a festival in full-swing. But the event was more funeral dirge than festival, one of the many sporadic “Appreciation Days” the Barony forces their scrip-reliant laborers to participate in. Let me paint you a picture:
  • The vibrant colors of the tents and banners have long since faded, reflecting the dread that hangs over Baron’s Folly like pollution.
  • The laborers meander through the stalls in single-file lines, barely stopping to inspect the stalls, just going through the motions in hopes that this is the final pass.
  • Desperate peddlers exchanging half-eaten food and worn trinkets for scrip. Today’s alms are their only chance to avoid dying in the inhospitable mountains, for those unable to work for any reason are exiled at the end of Appreciation Day.
  • The seven barons looming overhead on the porch of the longhouse, inspecting their mandated celebration for signs of defiance (there never are any).
Each of the players fixated on a different part of the festival, some to take advantage, others to recruit, and still others to get paid what they were due.

Jeffery Chaucer (No Relation)

Irylith went off with Durlar – a weathered frost orc who escaped Rümchata’s tomb with the party in an effort to escape the repercussions of the dark ritual being performed by Lorkun, his tribe’s shaman – to sample the local delicacies. The best they found was the peasant Jeffery Chaucer (no relation to Geoffery Chaucer) serving rocks dipped in caramel stolen from the barony’s longhouse. While Durlar gnawed through stone after stone, Chaucer said he was looking for accomplices in yet another carameled heist. Irylith communicated this with Durlar through clumsy body language – Irylith was his main advocate and they’ve since established a rapport – and they both agreed to team up for a heist.

Modest Mug’s Mouthwatering Morsels

Mina was convinced by Rolkûn – an elf merchant rescued from Rümchata’s tomb – to buy out the aforementioned caramel “business venture.” Jeffery Chaucer (No Relation) – having just secured a team for an even bigger payday – gladly exchanges his stall and his barrel of caramel for Rolkûn’s gold. Mina has the idea to cut the caramel up into individually wrapped squares instead of slathering it on rocks, partnering with Rolkûn to create Modest Mug’s Mouthwatering Morsels, which steals the show at the Appreciation Day Festival.
The festival continues past sundown (a first!) and Rolkûn returns to Mina with the promise of some vague investment opportunity, which will require the sack of meteorite shards he gave her back in the tomb. It’s their last piece of loot, but Mina hands it over, trusting her new business partner.
Rolkûn isn’t seen for the rest of the night.

“I Rule on Thursdays!”
That left Ba’al and Teryan. Teryan ascended the stairs with a mission, Ba’al skittering behind him, following the path of toppled peasants left in Teryan’s wake. They had to convince the barony that a hive of death-obsessed elves – driven insane by the caustic embalming fluid that had been pumped into their systems – could storm down the mountain at any moment, awoken by the stirring of the storm giant and people’s guardian, Rümchata.
But to their dismay, the baron in charge wasn’t the intense, unblinking dwarf Ser Gharth, but the avaricious and gluttonous Xerxes Branwell, flabby neck craned over the festival as it stirred with excitement at Modest Mug’s – “They have no packages, boxes, or bags!” Though Xerxes insisted he wasn’t a “pushover” like Gharth and wouldn’t take funding another expedition so lightly, Teryan clearly laid out the dire straits Baron’s Folly was in, which he punctuated by casting his melted sword down on the feast table. Xerxes was silent for a moment before conveniently recalling that it was Thursday, and he thought his day to preside over the town was Tuesday.
Xerxes left Gharth to sort things out while he went to check on a more pressing concern: a sudden shortage of precious, precious caramels.