Quixotic1
2022-10-10, 03:16 PM
I was recently hired by a group to run a one-shot 5e game for their friend's birthday.
I had someone on here ask if I could relate how it went, so I figured I'd give a little synopsis:
Before the game--
I thought it over and sent them character creation information, a few notes about the setting and this intro:
The Weissanwood is an endless, dark forest of pine, ash and the towering ironwood trees. It is an abode of wolves, ghosts and demons.
The village of Pitch sits at the very edge of the Weissan, and the villagers are terribly afraid.
There is something in the woods. They can hear it's mournful baying in the lonely hours of the night; a fell and monstrous Beast.
Winter will be here soon. The year is drawing to an end and the nights grow long. Will you dare the darkling paths through the wood? Do you have what it takes to face the Beast?
Subgenre: fairy-tale/horror
Tone: ominous
Theme: there are monsters everywhere
--characters were made, questions were asked, ideas were thrown around. Things seemed to be coming together.
Then they wanted to add another person. And then another. And then another. I had to cap it at 7, and even that number seemed high. I was worried 4 hours wouldn't be enough for me to deliver something mechanically satisfying and that resembled a complete narrative with such a large group of people I'd never rolled with before.
The day of the game came. I still didn't have everyone's characters, which was nerve-wracking. I like to know the kinds of characters that will be in the game so I can give them each some time to shine in the spotlight. And it just helps me with my visualization techniques if I've had time to consider the cast beforehand.
I head out with time to spare so I can get set up and settled in...then I found out that most of the characters hadn't actually been 100% finished. And there were some players running late. We get started just over an hour past the original time, but I get the OK to run 20-30 past, if need be.
The game itself--
Our heroes are, for various reasons, in the village of Pitch, resting from the road in the Barely and Stave on this dark and stormy night.
And that's when they hear it. A long, shuddering cry from deep in the forest. The villagers speak of the Beast in low voices.
Being the rag-tag ruffians, nere-do-wells and vagabonds that they are, a hasty deal is made with the townsfolk to hire on a band of mercenary monster hunters.
One of these travelers noticed a young woman in the corner, tense and quiet. Joan Whithart. When they approach her, she simply says "please, you must find him before the dawn! Hurry!"
Our heroes head out on the old lumber trails and into the Weissanwood. Old Ricard Von Horstman, the hunter and trapper in Pitch, says the Beast's lair is near the old ruins northwest of town.
There are three paths; one along the river Gloaming, one through the Pinetar Swamp and one straight through the dense heart of the forest. After some deliberation, the party decides to trust to their endurance and speed more than anything and takes the first trail. It is the easiest, but it is also the longest. If they really do intend on making it before dawn, there is very little margin for error.
Along the way they encounter two massive boars amidst the thorny brambles. The travelers decide the most direct approach is the most favorable and aim to slay the ill-tempered brutes.
They soon learn the peril of straying too close to the thorns; there are many pale spiders, each the size of a ripe melon, lying in wait.
One of the would-be monster hunters noticed a small den full of piglets nearby--and most likely the reason behind the boar's aggressive behavior--but by that point the beasts have been felled.
They continue on their way, but some of them just can't keep up the grueling pace over these long miles. The night is growing old.
There is a clearing in the forest, a hill topped with ancient carins and henges. One of the adventures can decipher the runes scrawled across them.
The wraiths emerge from their tombs and seek to drain the living of their warm essence.
But through holy might, quick thinking, quicker fingers and good old fashioned brawn, the curse upon the mounds is broken and the restless spirits depart.
It comes down to one last attempt to put on speed. If they falter or fall behind, there's no way they'll have enough of the night left before the dawn.
They try...and they fail, but only just barely. Oh well. What's the worst that can happen?
The hunters come upon the ancient ruins. There is a fire burning low, foodstuffs and blankets--hardly the lair of some slavering monster. There is also Joan, fast asleep.
Some assumptions are made. Blades are drawn and questions demand answers. But there is a low growl behind them as they advance upon the girl; a great grey wolf, but of monstrous proportions, tenses and bares it's fangs.
Joan tries to explain; he is not always a wolf. And he is never the wicked, cruel forest demon the villagers make him out to be. And she loved him. Won't they please help her?
After a brief debate, they decided that they will try to help Joan and her paramour. Except by then, the flickering light of torches and the clamour of many voices can be heard.
Ricard, the huntsman, is most appreciative of the heroes for blazing a trail for him to lead the townsfolk down and for clearing out all of the perilous creatures and hazards along the way.
Our adventurers can plainly see that they could not win such a fight, even if they were willing to spill so much (more or less) innocent blood. Joan begs the Beast not to hurt these people, who she has known all her life, and he abides, for now. A few of the hunters lend a hand in binding the Beast, but most of them stand aside, unwilling to help these ignorant folk and unwilling to set steel to them.
The village Deacon, Victoria Gaunde, is there to spur them on. Some of our heroes attempt to turn the mob's hearts the other way, but it is a nearly impossible task, and they fail.
After a long and dreary march back to Pitch, the pyre is heaped up high and drenched with oil. And Deacon Victoria declarea that Joan Whithart, for consorting with dark forces and betraying her community, will join the Beast in the flames.
The crowd stirs. There is doubt...but not much. Not enough, yet.
And so begins a debate between the adventures and the Deacon, a duel of wits for the soul of the town.
The Deacon is fair-spoken and knows her audience well. Her grip on this town is sure and strong.
But our heroes appeal to their humanity, to their sense of decency and mercy, and the Deacon's hold on them loosens.
Just when it seems as though they will win the day, the Deacon issues the command. Her templars set torches to the pyre and the flames blaze up, hot and hungry.
Deacon Victoria makes a last, desperate attempt to maintain her control over the village, to destroy the Beast and all who would dare defire her and the Church.
The Beast atruggles against it's bonds, but the dawn comes, and instead of a Beast there is simply a young man. He is no match for the fire and the templars like this.
But it turns out that our heroes are more than a match, saving Joan and her young man from a grisly end and doling out their own version of grim and bloody justice.
The townsfolk put out the fires and go back to their homes, huddling close to their families and shutting out the night.
The heroes are spent, exhausted and bloodied, but they can rest easy now.
They awake late into the evening of the next day. Joan thanks them for all they have done.
A long, shuddering howl fills the night air above the trees. Joan bids our heroes a fond fairwell and steps out of her human skin to join her love in the forest.
I had someone on here ask if I could relate how it went, so I figured I'd give a little synopsis:
Before the game--
I thought it over and sent them character creation information, a few notes about the setting and this intro:
The Weissanwood is an endless, dark forest of pine, ash and the towering ironwood trees. It is an abode of wolves, ghosts and demons.
The village of Pitch sits at the very edge of the Weissan, and the villagers are terribly afraid.
There is something in the woods. They can hear it's mournful baying in the lonely hours of the night; a fell and monstrous Beast.
Winter will be here soon. The year is drawing to an end and the nights grow long. Will you dare the darkling paths through the wood? Do you have what it takes to face the Beast?
Subgenre: fairy-tale/horror
Tone: ominous
Theme: there are monsters everywhere
--characters were made, questions were asked, ideas were thrown around. Things seemed to be coming together.
Then they wanted to add another person. And then another. And then another. I had to cap it at 7, and even that number seemed high. I was worried 4 hours wouldn't be enough for me to deliver something mechanically satisfying and that resembled a complete narrative with such a large group of people I'd never rolled with before.
The day of the game came. I still didn't have everyone's characters, which was nerve-wracking. I like to know the kinds of characters that will be in the game so I can give them each some time to shine in the spotlight. And it just helps me with my visualization techniques if I've had time to consider the cast beforehand.
I head out with time to spare so I can get set up and settled in...then I found out that most of the characters hadn't actually been 100% finished. And there were some players running late. We get started just over an hour past the original time, but I get the OK to run 20-30 past, if need be.
The game itself--
Our heroes are, for various reasons, in the village of Pitch, resting from the road in the Barely and Stave on this dark and stormy night.
And that's when they hear it. A long, shuddering cry from deep in the forest. The villagers speak of the Beast in low voices.
Being the rag-tag ruffians, nere-do-wells and vagabonds that they are, a hasty deal is made with the townsfolk to hire on a band of mercenary monster hunters.
One of these travelers noticed a young woman in the corner, tense and quiet. Joan Whithart. When they approach her, she simply says "please, you must find him before the dawn! Hurry!"
Our heroes head out on the old lumber trails and into the Weissanwood. Old Ricard Von Horstman, the hunter and trapper in Pitch, says the Beast's lair is near the old ruins northwest of town.
There are three paths; one along the river Gloaming, one through the Pinetar Swamp and one straight through the dense heart of the forest. After some deliberation, the party decides to trust to their endurance and speed more than anything and takes the first trail. It is the easiest, but it is also the longest. If they really do intend on making it before dawn, there is very little margin for error.
Along the way they encounter two massive boars amidst the thorny brambles. The travelers decide the most direct approach is the most favorable and aim to slay the ill-tempered brutes.
They soon learn the peril of straying too close to the thorns; there are many pale spiders, each the size of a ripe melon, lying in wait.
One of the would-be monster hunters noticed a small den full of piglets nearby--and most likely the reason behind the boar's aggressive behavior--but by that point the beasts have been felled.
They continue on their way, but some of them just can't keep up the grueling pace over these long miles. The night is growing old.
There is a clearing in the forest, a hill topped with ancient carins and henges. One of the adventures can decipher the runes scrawled across them.
The wraiths emerge from their tombs and seek to drain the living of their warm essence.
But through holy might, quick thinking, quicker fingers and good old fashioned brawn, the curse upon the mounds is broken and the restless spirits depart.
It comes down to one last attempt to put on speed. If they falter or fall behind, there's no way they'll have enough of the night left before the dawn.
They try...and they fail, but only just barely. Oh well. What's the worst that can happen?
The hunters come upon the ancient ruins. There is a fire burning low, foodstuffs and blankets--hardly the lair of some slavering monster. There is also Joan, fast asleep.
Some assumptions are made. Blades are drawn and questions demand answers. But there is a low growl behind them as they advance upon the girl; a great grey wolf, but of monstrous proportions, tenses and bares it's fangs.
Joan tries to explain; he is not always a wolf. And he is never the wicked, cruel forest demon the villagers make him out to be. And she loved him. Won't they please help her?
After a brief debate, they decided that they will try to help Joan and her paramour. Except by then, the flickering light of torches and the clamour of many voices can be heard.
Ricard, the huntsman, is most appreciative of the heroes for blazing a trail for him to lead the townsfolk down and for clearing out all of the perilous creatures and hazards along the way.
Our adventurers can plainly see that they could not win such a fight, even if they were willing to spill so much (more or less) innocent blood. Joan begs the Beast not to hurt these people, who she has known all her life, and he abides, for now. A few of the hunters lend a hand in binding the Beast, but most of them stand aside, unwilling to help these ignorant folk and unwilling to set steel to them.
The village Deacon, Victoria Gaunde, is there to spur them on. Some of our heroes attempt to turn the mob's hearts the other way, but it is a nearly impossible task, and they fail.
After a long and dreary march back to Pitch, the pyre is heaped up high and drenched with oil. And Deacon Victoria declarea that Joan Whithart, for consorting with dark forces and betraying her community, will join the Beast in the flames.
The crowd stirs. There is doubt...but not much. Not enough, yet.
And so begins a debate between the adventures and the Deacon, a duel of wits for the soul of the town.
The Deacon is fair-spoken and knows her audience well. Her grip on this town is sure and strong.
But our heroes appeal to their humanity, to their sense of decency and mercy, and the Deacon's hold on them loosens.
Just when it seems as though they will win the day, the Deacon issues the command. Her templars set torches to the pyre and the flames blaze up, hot and hungry.
Deacon Victoria makes a last, desperate attempt to maintain her control over the village, to destroy the Beast and all who would dare defire her and the Church.
The Beast atruggles against it's bonds, but the dawn comes, and instead of a Beast there is simply a young man. He is no match for the fire and the templars like this.
But it turns out that our heroes are more than a match, saving Joan and her young man from a grisly end and doling out their own version of grim and bloody justice.
The townsfolk put out the fires and go back to their homes, huddling close to their families and shutting out the night.
The heroes are spent, exhausted and bloodied, but they can rest easy now.
They awake late into the evening of the next day. Joan thanks them for all they have done.
A long, shuddering howl fills the night air above the trees. Joan bids our heroes a fond fairwell and steps out of her human skin to join her love in the forest.