Tuesday our group ran an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition one-shot using T1: The Village of Hommlet. It was a memorial to Gary Gygax, the father of Role-Playing Games, who passed away earlier this month.
Well, it was supposed to be a one-shot. Everyone liked it so much we decided to go on with it, at least for now, in place of the Outremer 4130 campaign. I so much prefer 1E to 3E, I was ready to jump for joy, let me tell ya...
Anyhoo, here's the first part of my log for the first session. My adventure logs are a mix of adventure notes, events, and semi-fictionalized versions of party banter (i.e., this is how I imagine the characters would speak to each other, sometimes semi-fictionalized versions of player-speak, much like you might see comparisons of "in-world" and "in-game" samples side-by-side in game books).
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Friar Pudge (NG male Velunan human 1st level cleric of Pelor)
Kor the Woodsman (LG male Highfolk human 1st level fighter)
Adamond Bigtoe (CN male Velunan halfling 1st level thief)
The adventure begins in media res, with the party of three already having completed the trek from the village of Hommlet to the ruins of the Moathouse. From their vantage point on a small hillock in the swampy lands around the ruins, they can see the drawbridge still stands over the moat, though the door into the bailey stands wide open in the shadow of the tower, as do the two doors into the Moathouse hall; also, the upper level of the Moathouse hall has burned, leaving nothing more than tattered remnants and burned rafters.
They proceed carefully down the trail, watching for any signs of inhabitation; they hear nothing more than the rustling of the cattails in the wind, and the caw of a murder of crows in the nearby trees. Then, too, they hear a rumbling… from Friar Pudge’s belly, for so prodigious was his hunger on the trip from the village that he had already finished off all provisions brought with, and was yet unsatisfied!
“Perhaps we shall find something to eat within?” the cleric wondered aloud to no one in particular.
Rolling his eyes at the gluttony of his companion, the halfling Adamond carefully checked over the old drawbridge. “Well, it is safe for men and halflings to cross, methinks,” he reported to his friends, “But not, I would say, for horse or mule. Fortunately, we have neither. However, I do fear for its strength and integrity in the challenge it faces from our good friar…”
Giving the halfling a dirty look, the cleric retorted, “well, if you are so afraid of following me, feel free to be the first across!”
“My idea exactly,” the halfling quipped, as he flitted across the drawbridge. The woodsman and friar followed after, slowly, especially as the drawbridge gave off creaks and cracks as the cleric passed over its old, weather-beaten boards.
While his companions slowly edged their way across, the thief carefully checked the doors, or such as remained of them, and the area around them. Finding no traps, he did express worry at the footprints he found there. “Boot prints, hobnailed… hobgoblins perhaps?” he muttered aloud. When they finished the crossing, he availed his friends of his discovery.
“Hobgoblins… or maybe bandits!” ejaculated the cleric. “Hmmm… bandits mean food!”
“And swords, and spears, and combat, and pain and screaming, likely,” said the laconic woodsman.
“Yes, that too, but food; better bandits than hobgoblins, say I!” said the friar.
“Yes, you shall have your screams, and then you shall have your feasting, lest your belly gorged itself on the end of a hobgoblin spear…”
“Enough banter, you two!” the thief interjected, exasperated at the banter. “Hold on a moment, while I check this tower door nearby; perhaps whoever it is has gone in there. If they have not heard you two, maybe I can ring a bell for them, to let them know we are here!”
The two waited quietly as the halfling checked the door to the tower. He discovered that it was old, worn, and not used in some time.
“Nothing there… at least, so it seems to me. We had best leave the tower alone for now and check the Moathouse hall, as that is where I surmise our boot-wearer to be, unless he has left the way we came.
The three slowly made their way to the Moathouse hall, noting the small slit windows and the darkness within the ruin…
To be continued...