Dogs on the Isle, Session #1 Report: The Beaching
Recently, I resolved to stop blustering and pussyfooting and actually start running games. I had been too scared to do so on account of my own self-doubts, and decided that it was time to jump into the deep end and run Wolves Upon the Coast, the famous hexcrawl by Luke Gearing. To keep it simple to start, we began in what is largely regarded as the most straightforward (and best) part of Wolves, the Isle of Ruislip. I am generally running it RAW, with a few small changes:
When boasting, a PC can choose between 1HD or a +2 to Attack Bonus, as opposed to the traditional +1. Makes it a more viable choice.
When a PC is dropped into negative HP, they may roll a d6. If the value is higher than their negative HP, they are treated as being at 0HP (two turns to tend to them with bandages or they die). For example, if a character is at -2 and rolls a 3 or higher on their d6, they are not dead, merely dying. A 1 or 2, and they are killed outright. Just adds a small boost to these characters' odds of survival.
Truth-Telling by Newt is on the table, as are Glamours and Seemings by Nathan. I don't know how or if these will actually come into play, but I am leaving them as a possibility, and the players know this.
Otherwise, things are (for now) as written in Wolves.
The game opened up on a rain-beaten beach amidst the splintered ruins of a Norse karvi. The sand was littered with weapons, chests of equipment, a dozen or so shuffling, waterlogged survivors, and a single bloated corpse.
The corpse had once been the master of this ship, a Norseman slaver on his way home for the coming winter. He had collected a heavy bounty, and had fed it to the rocks along the coast when he sailed into the mouth of a storm. Now his remains fed the crabs along the beaches while his slaves collected their senses- and his plunder.
Among the seventeen-odd thralls the Slaver had taken, five were player-characters. For the remaining 12, considering the context, I rolled a d12 to see how many of them survived the wreck.
And I rolled a 12. Providence, some might call it, a reward for enduring enslavement. The players certainly thought so.
The first of our player-characters to introduce themselves was the Norseman Sigusthir, a musclebound reaver who was eager to take credit for the slaver's demise. He claimed to have choked the life from his master when the ship began to capsize. None thought to thank him.
(Katt, his player, bets that this lad is likely to become some sort of monster by the end of the story.)
He was not the only Norseman in this band; Gripir (played by Pieman), armed with bow and mail, and a rare man of letters, was also a former marauder taken by one of his own. Also in their numbers is Flynn Sturlasson, played by my Devil World Heroes cohort Cellar.
The next to be introduced was Vasilii, a frail and long-haired man with an accent that none of the other Thralls could place. He claims to be from the east, far east where the snow bites with teeth. He took no armor, but did take charge of the Slaver's dog and his hunting hawk.
The final member of the party to be introduced was Ruadhan, a Ruisman and priest who had been taken from his clergy by the Slaver. A beast of a man with 15 in his Strength, Ruadhan's true strength was in his words; he is the only one here fluent in the most spoken language of the island.
Once the situation was surveyed, and the ship confirmed to be beyond repair, the Dogs decided to seek out higher ground and survey the land. To the north was the ocean, to the south forest. They headed west to find the edge of the isle, and seek civilization.
The Norsemen walked for some hours, rain beating on their brows in the aftermath of the great storm that had devoured their ship. For a few fleeting minutes, the Dogs heard a sound akin to the screech of an eagle and the yowl of a great cat; over the sea to their North, they saw a terrible shape swooping over the water, headed east. The rain prevented them from seeing any closer.
When night fell, the Dogs decided to make camp near some large, engraved stones they found, and set a watch for the night. It was here that their first encounter with the locals was had. In the cloud-wracked dusk, a crowd began to melt out of the forest. Half a dozen figures, maybe more, led by a fellow in a straw cloak. They approached slowly, the cloaked fellow's arms outstretched.
I had rolled for a random encounter, and had gotten a Druid and 7 fanatics. It was here that, for the first time, I truly understood how reaction rolls elevate the game. I almost forgot to roll one, and did so before the table.
For the second time that evening, I rolled a 12. The Druid was enthusiastic, he and his followers carrying water and food. They had seen the shipwreck and come seeking survivors. When they saw that none were hurt, the Druid, calling himself Macullen, invited the Dogs to his village, Stamullen. The Dogs accepted, seeing no alternative.
The Dogs spent the night in stables and straw, all of them eager to sleep on solid ground again. They were fed bread crusts and honey, which the entire village smelled strongly of. In the morning, they met with Macullen to thank him, and to learn more of the area.
The Druid was found tending to the beehives circling the village with bare hands, the bees totally docile as he collected their honey. He explained that he was a member of the Druid Cult, and had come to preside over his village and give them the guidance of his order. His magic allowed him to tame the bees, and their honey gave the small village new life.
At the mention of magic, the Dogs became interested- most of all, Vasilii. The Druid would not, or could not teach them any magic, as it was forbidden by his order. However, he had other wisdom for them. He told them of how betony garlands ward against magic, as do the branches of a Hazel tree. He told them that spreading the paste of a Rowan berry across a shield gave it resilience against sorcery, at least until it dried. He even gifted Ruadhan a cluster of these berries.
Once they had learned what they could of the druid's wards, the party had more questions. They sought to know what other towns were nearby, and who was the King of this island. Macullen pointed them westward for the first two queries, telling them that the towns of Culmenwardern and Cloyne could be found that way. Well-guarded and secure, but fraught with political tension.
As for the matter of kingdom, the Druid sounded less certain. The Isle of Kings had known no king for some time, but the greatest lord in Northern Ruislip was Donnagh, ruler of the great city of Dorbagh. He ruled with the blessing and counsel of the Druids, and kept peace within his demesne. The road southwest from Stamullen would take them to his city in a day's time on foot. The party bid the Druid well, and set out.
The rain had finally broken, but a dense fog had settled over the isle now. Travel was well-paced, but as they passed the stones they had rested by the day before, they saw now that it had a new wayfarer. One far less helpless than they.
Ten feet tall, gaunt with cords of muscle across a near-skeletal frame. Pale skin stretched thin over too much mass. Across its back was a sack, stained black and brown and misshapen with far too much inside. This thing had its back to the Dogs, using one of these heavy stones as a table. The morning fog gave them time before it noticed them, and that time was spent swiftly agreeing that such a creature could not be allowed to live. It was here that the first boasts were made.
"I will land the first blow upon this monster!" spake Ruadhan, brandishing his mace.
"Oh?" Challenged Flynn. "But I wonder. Could you strike its' head, even from foot?"
The Ruisman did not hesitate. "I can," he declared. "I can and will!" And so Ruadhan gained an additional HD, as well as a +2 to Attack for the added challenge of making his first blow one to the giant's head.
It was here that the spirit of competition came alive. Gripir, quiet and pensive, spoke his own challenge. "Not if I strike first with my arrows!" He touted, gaining his own +2 to Attack as he readied his longbow. (I love when boasts compete with one another. It's what makes Boasting 'pop' as a mechanic.)
Now it was Vasilii's turn. "You may strike it first, priest, but my blows will be the last. I am going to stab this giant in its heart!" And so Vasilii's strikes became mightier, gaining +2 to Attack from his Boast.
The loud and bombastic declarations caught the ear of the monster. His wide, bloodshot eyes turned to see Flynn preparing actions instead of words, nocking his arrow. The element of surprise was lost, then, and the ogre rushed the Dogs of the Isle.
The battle was begun at a distance of eighty feet. The archers Flynn and Gripir did their work as Vasilii and Ruadhan charged into the fray; Flynn loosed an arrow that missed the mark, the giant far faster than he seemed. Gripir remained ready, taking his aim slowly and carefully. Swift he was, yet in no hurry.
It was not long before the melee was met, with Vasilii meeting the monster with his shortsword. The Easterner got close, below the hunched abomination's chest, and drove his sword upwards. The blade pierced, but only just; 1 damage was dealt, and the heart was not met. Ruadhan's Boast to be first to strike the ogre was failed, his boons lost as a result.
Now it was the giant's turn to strike. A great, heavy hand struck into Vasilii's side, cracking his ribs precisely where they met his spine. This beast, who had bones hanging upon a necklace and vertebrae braiding his greasy hair, knew the bones well enough to strike brutally; 3 damage was dealt to Vasilii. Another mighty blow came down on the thrall, but it fell short- and was countered. A flash of pitted iron, and Vasilii had taken the fingers from the ogre's hand with a howl. 5 damage dealt, and the creature was bloodied.
Ruadhan swung his mace at the creature and struck its boney hide. The priest was strong, but the beast was stronger; only 1 damage was dealt to the Ogre, and another volley from Flynn and Gripir missed their marks. Now the giant was mad, mad and spiteful. It struck Vasilii once more, this time across his shoulder; a sharp crack was heard by Ruadhan as Vasilii's arm jerked the wrong way, and the witch fell to the ground. Here, our first "death save" was to be made. Vasilii was at -1 HP; he needed a 2 or higher on a d6. He rolled a 2, and thus had precious time before he succumbed to his injuries.
As Ruadhan knelt to tend to his comrade, the ogre turned to the archers and barreled towards them with a scream. It swung its stumped fingers at Flynn, yet found no purchase against the Norseman's mail. Gripir loosed more arrows, but his arrows fumbled this close to the monster.
Flynn, he who had chosen actions over words when the giant was met, now chose both. He cast his shortbow aside and drew a longsword. "We shall defeat this monster," he bellowed, "and it will fall before it lays hands on me!"
The ogre tried twice more to bring down Flynn, and twice more was found wanting. Flynn Sturlasson needed only one thrust to drive his steel into the monster's eye. As hilt met socket, the ogre shuddered and collapsed. Flynn's boast had rung true, and he had gained +2 to Attack.
The Ogre's loot was collected from his heavy sack. Amidst thousands of bones, they found silvered coins, golden thread, rotten wolfpelts (that my players really really latched onto for some reason), and a map of goat hide. Their battle had brought some wealth, but it had exacted a blood-price: Vasilii was critically wounded, and would need to return to Stamullen if he were to survive.
With that, the Dogs of the Isle retreated to the village with their mettle tested and their spirits hardened. They would tend to their ally, and set out for Dorbagh yet again when his strength returned.
Overall, this was a really exciting first session. We spent a lot of it just learning the lay of the land, figuring out what steps the Dogs wanted to take. Sigusthir and Ruadhan both had to step out early for personal reasons, but the session was still a good one. I cannot wait to see what happens next week.