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Uncle_Putte
2008-02-19, 07:14 AM
A while ago, I decided to finally put down on paper one of my campaign ideas, and since it's quite unlikely I'd ever get to DM any of my game ideas, I'll rather put them up here, hoping someone will find use for them. Please, do whatever you please with this - run, modify, copy, steal, anything. As long as it pleases someone.

Now, a word of warning; Even on my own, jaded levels of measurement, the beginning of this campaign is without exception on the disturbing side. This is on purpose, though, as I am a great fan of horror games, and lately I've noticed how little impact horror-themed games and scenarios seem to have on people. One of the tools of terror I've chosen this time is having the players start the campaign as something as helpless and innocent as possible; children. To be honest, though, I am also strongly motivated on making a comment on the position of children in society, as well as the role of violence and "grown-ups' rules" in their world. I'm no philosopher though, so the whole message may drown into the mass of self-purpoted evil circumstances.

The campaign setting is free 3.5 medieval fantasy setting of choice - I initially intended this for Forgotten Realms, but as an afterthought, removed realm-specific properties from it for the sake of ease of use for anyone who wishes to have a go with it. Player levels are also a subject of great freedom - the first part ought to be done with toned down level 1 characters, but the second part could be very well started with anything from level 2 to 8, and so on. As such, I'll also give a general description of encounters, but less on their stats. Most likely DM's will have to modify them anyway, depending on how... hm, creative, their players are in terms of character developing.

The outline of the first part of the campaign will be the following: The player characters will be children of ages 9 to 13 - I regret it, but I have little option but to restrict player races to human and half-orc, as the following parts of the campaign is intended to be played with the same characters having entered maturity. It won't do if the elf is in his late teens while the human is bound to a wheelchair. Size category will be reduced by one, stats apart from dexterity and charisma will be three quarters of a normal. For the sake of simplicity, level 1 with no combat abilities apart from BaB. 'Natural-born' spellcasters such as favored souls, bards and sorcerers may be granted a cantrip or two, and exceptions may be done with divine spellcasters as well - divine connection could be something considered natural as well. Arcane casters should be the only ones granted read and write or multiple languages. Most of details can be, and should be, compromised upon depending the whims of the DM; the PC's rollwise abilities aren't as important right now - the first part will comprise more of riddles than actual tests, while skills and abilities will be used more to gain additional information to the situation the PC's are in, as well as later in the game in the final, optional attempt to "break the game". Limiting the PC's abilities too much may be hazardous though, since a lot of players tend to throw hissy fits over loosing the mathematical option of "beating the game".

As for character backgrounds, a fair bit of freedom should be given with the stipulation being that the PC should be:
A: An orphan.
B: Living in the city chosen for the starting location.
C: Somehow connected to the other PC's, such as by living in the same area, being in the same beggar gang, whatnot.

I'll get into the actual game in the next post. Hope I haven't forgotten anything important this far.

::EDIT::

It seems the writing of the campaign will be slower than I anticipated. I never expected it to be fast, though, as I am compiling it from a set of old notes and drafts of situations, vague ideas I've been entertaining since the ages of yore, as well as odd pieces of children's literature. In addition, I have to translate most of it from Finnish. Even worse is the fact that my D&D-fu has deteriorated over time, and my grip on the rules, pacing as well as general campaign writing format is loose at the best. I bid readers to contact me via PM in case you have improvement ideas concerning my way of writing, which seems to have broken loose and taken on an excessively prosaic form. The kind of advice I most look for is on how much detail of the surroundings and situations should I include in my writing, as well as suggestions on how to keep the whole mess as easily readable as possible.

Uncle_Putte
2008-02-19, 09:30 AM
Part 1: Introduction.

"The streets are never hospitable, especially to children. In big cities, it always seems like everyone's desperate over something all the time, and the people you spend your days with are no exception. Yours is a more tangible despair, the most tangible one there is - survival. It's not all misery, of course - even the poor play and laugh - but at the end of the day, when you curl up under the bridge, there's nothing that could make you forget hunger and cold."

"Winter is coming. Each morning getting up and moving is harder. Even those better off are turning dour, as always in this time. They hurry by, huddling in their cloaks, only wishing to be out of the cold as soon as possible. Too much of a bother to toss a penny. At least the rich kids are staying inside, too, so there's one thing less to be scared of. Something has to be done though, before the night frosts come. It'll be too late then."

"There's an option, though. A few times a year, they come. A strict-looking old man and his kindly, plump lady, dressed in somber black and white. They don't look rich, but at least they look clean. The man never says anything, just walks down the streets watching us. The old people of the streets either ignore them, which is strange, and when he approaches some of us, they even go as far as to shuffle away out of hearing distance. Everyone's a little scared, even if any of the gangs could mug the two without trouble. Nevertheless, the man never says a word. The woman handles the talking. She talks like a teacher, or a nun. Reminds of orphanages, say the ones who've been to one. Say they're looking for children, to put into good homes. But they have to be good children. They'll find out if they're good or bad, first, though. Everyone has an opinion on what they really do with the children who go with them. All of them are bad ones. They're never seen again. But every time they come, a few go with them. Often the new ones, or those who are at the end of the rope. Today, I am at the end of the rope. Maybe... maybe it'll be alright..."

After leaving with the said elderly pair, the PC is led along through the city for a while. Along the way, they stop by several groups of other children, and a few more join the group. Eventually, they're led into the more reputable, middle-class district of the city, and into a three-story apartment building. The house is well lit and cozy, the lower floor sporting a small living room *** library, a kitchen, and a dining hall. The woman leads them upstairs to the third floor, which serves as a pair of large bunkrooms fitted with cozy two-story beds, footlockers and wardrobes. At the end of the hallway between the staircase and the two bunkrooms is a large bathroom, with several tubs and cistern stalls. The bunkrooms are divided to one for girls, and one for boys. The woman, introducing herself as "Ms. Mirtul" bids the newcomers to wash up and change clothes - new clothes, tidy and warm but of humble appearance, will be ready in their assigned wardrobes - before joining the others downstairs for supper. There are also other children inhabiting the bunkrooms already, and if inquiries are made, they turn out to be street children as well from all around the city. Quite unusually, while everyone's fairly agitated, no-one acts in a hostile manner. Nevertheless, no-one seems to know any more about the hosts - only the same rumours everyone's heard, that they're either witches, cannibals, murderers, slavers, rapists, vampires or fairy godmothers. Nevertheless, after a while of tense conversation, a bell tolls downstairs, signaling dinner. The man and the woman take seat at the ends of the long table, that has seats for 20 in total, and join palms in quiet prayer before starting to eat. Yet another elderly lady, dressed in a classic maid uniform, will emerge from the kitchen and serve the dinner, starting with an onion soup and white bread, followed by pot roast, steamed carrots and boiled potatoes. Drinks are restricted to water, and the dessert will be a modest amount of fruit. All through the dinner, the hosts will stay dead silent. For a DC 10 knowledge (Local) or wisdom check, one could tell that they're paying a nearly pathologic amount of attention to their manners when dining. Each spoonful, bite or cut is practiced and elegant, but seem rather strained. As for the other participants to the dinner, there's much left to hope in terms of manners. Most slop away without a care, spilling and burping. A small food fight ensues after the children gathered at the table realize that the hosts are pointedly ignoring their guests' misbehaving. It dies down soon enough though, as everyone present remembers the value of food. This escalates a little when one of the bigger children, a particularily nasty human boy backed by his half-orc lackey finds it in his rights to empty his neighbour's plate. The dinner ends without further hassle, and the hosts retire to the living room for sherry and reading. The maid will, at this point, mention that it is already 8:15 and lights-out will be at 9, and that good children should be making ready for bed now. The mention of "good children" seems to remind the unruly lot of their position, and everyone, after washing up, head to their bunkrooms. The rest of the evening goes by quietly, at least on the other children's part, and at 9, the maid enters for one last time to check on the guests and to shut down the oil lamps on wall hangers, leaving only one on low light next to a night table. As she leaves the bunkroom with an emotionless "good night", the door clicks shut behind her, apparently locked. At this point, the players may choose to go to bed, as the others seem to, or attempt to break out and explore the house. The lock on the door is a simple affair, and although it may be challenging to a child, it's still not quite impossible - DC 15 Open Locks check. While it's unlikely that any of the children would have a lockpick at hand, a DC 10 Search check will yield a thin, slightly bent nail that's come loose at the end of one of the bunks which will suffice for a tool to the task. If the players choose to break out within an hour after lights-out, they will notice that there's still someone moving about downstairs. This would be the maid, but as a generally unintrested old fogey, she'll hardly notice the PC's unless they manage a natural 1 on a task that would make noise. After 10 pm, though, the house will be completely dark and quiet. At this point, the players are free to explore it to their hearts' content.

The only thing they will find, though, is that the house is completely empty. Not only are the inhabitants gone, but also the numerous drawers, lockers and shelves about the house will be empty apart from an unreasonable amount of dust. Even the bookshelves in the living room will contain only a single shelf of actual books - which, while all at least a decade from printing date, seem to have had nearly no use at all. The second floor, which houses what was assumed to be the master bedrooms and a guest room are decorated, but everything matches the theme mentioned earlier. No personal items, or items in general. The kitchen will be a bit of an oddity as well; the eatery from dinner are piled in a sink, still dirty. The stove is completely cold, as if never having been heated up for the dinner a few hours earlier. The cookery seem to be completely untouched; not only are they dust-ridden, but by condition they seem brand new as well. The sharpest objects available in the kitchen seems to be the forks and knives used at the previous dinner. As a slight bonus, though, a determined explorer could find the half-full sherry bottle seen earlier in the evening in the wine cabinet. The other bottles in it are empty dummies. All exits to the house, both the back entrance in the kitchen and the front door, as well as all the windows, are locked, this time with something that'd challenge even a professional thief. DC 30 Open Locks. The windows can be broken if willing, though, but would the player choose to escape the house, he would be more or less eliminated from the campaign. At this point, there are few options for the players to undertake; either go to sleep, or drink the sherry and pass out. If one were to stay awake, they'd hear nothing before 5 AM, when the kitchen back door would open and close with a clank.

The coming morning, at 6 AM sharp, the children are awakened by the elderly maid met the previous day. They will be ushered to wash up and change, and all questions or complaints will be met with apathetic shrugs and general disintrest. At worst, she will remark that "That certainly isn't a way for good children to behave". After the brief morning chores, breakfast follows, with a half-hearted repetition of the mucking about of last night's supper. The hosts are not present at this time. After a short recess, the children are called to the living room, where Ms. Mirtul and the somber old man wait, standing at the end of the room and looking as grave as always. He speaks up for the first time, introducing himself as Mr. Kythorn in a faint, rasping voice, and continues to explain that he and Ms. Mirtul represent a group of people who, for personal reasons, seek to adopt a child. "These people are all respectable, wealthy and well-known members of their societies, and under their wing any of you could have a future of happiness and fulfillment. There is a stipulation, though; as we deal with people of respect, it is most important to ascertain the nature of the youths they intend to entrust them, so as not to cause them unwarranted pain. Thus, with the best of the most modern scientific methods, we will seek to ascertain your ability for obedience and good conduct, your future potential as members of society, and your moral integrity. Simply," he intones, "I wish to know if you are good children. This will be done by a series of games that imitate real-life situations, and you will be handled according to your choices. Good children will be rewarded, and bad children will be removed from the program." At this point, the crowd will show a fair deal of anxiety. He announces that they will leave for the tests within an hour. If someone wants to call it off, it should be done by then, as it will be too late to leave during it. No-one from the NPC children steps forward though, as the free food, warm beds and a general lack of discipline displayed the last night cloud good judgement. Players who decide to leave at this point will be, unfortunately, eliminated, as the whole campaign depends on the coming tests. The hour falls to a close, and the group - now with matching overcoats, shoes, gloves and woolen caps - settles to a paired line outside in the small front yard covered by the year's first snows. Led by the hosts, they set off for uptown by foot, and after a half an hour of walking in the cold air, they finally come to an old but well-kept building surrounded by a high iron fence. A DC 10 spot check will tell the adress to be 101 Whitehall Lane, from under the snow-smeared signpost.

To be continued. (Dun dun dun dun!)

Uncle_Putte
2008-02-19, 11:09 AM
Invisible Children, part 2.

The building the children are led to is rather shabby; bare walls painted ivy green, and wooden plank floors painted brown, scraped and worn. The hallway itself is only 30' long, and ends into three doors; one leading to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead. You are led through the middle one. If explored, the other two reveal rooms equally bare. The final door leads into a hall, roughly 90' x 90', also empty apart from a pulpit set into the middle, facing towards the door. A box lies on the pulpit. Mr. Kythorn makes his way to behind the pulpit and starts opening it, while Ms. Mirtul instructs the lot of you to arrange in a queue. As each of you pass by the pulpit, you are handed a small, night-blue satin pouch embroidered with a golden pattern; some depict the sun, others moon or stars. No explanation apart from a bid to fasten it to your belts is given, and after that you are again lead to the door at the end of the hall. Behind it is a hallway running the length of the building, ending to staircases on both sides; on the left, it leads down, on the right, up. You are led up two floors, passing another door-flanked hallway, and finally up to what seems to be an attic door. Mr. Kythorn picks something from his pocket. A spot check DC 15 will let a player know that it was some sort of a small, shiny object, most likely a gemstone. He then does something with it, but this time he takes care to conceal his actions with his back. This will take only a few seconds, and after it he will merely open the door without pocketing the gem again. At this point, he will step aside from the doorway, and bid the children to enter, so that the tests may begin. Beyond the doorway awaits a new, dimly-lit room from whence a hallway extends forwards.

At this point, an intelligence check of DC 12 is warranted. A positive result will let you know that the room beyond is a little odd; while the rest of the building was completely of wood, the room ahead seems to have walls and floor of stone. As you are at the top floor of the house, it isn't just peculiar, but would seem almost dangerous.

Nevertheless, despite any protests, the bravest members of the group will stride forward into the room ahead. One by one the group will step in through the door, others walking in without a thought while a few stop abruptly just after entering.

As the PC's enter, they're entitled to a DC 15 spellcraft check as a sort of an improvised "magical sensitivity" check; the ones that succeed feel an odd, disturbing sense of pressure or pulse in their heads as they step in.

As soon as someone has the sense to look around, they will undoubtedly notice that there's no actual doorway behind them anymore - it seems there may have been once, but it has now been bricked shut. While the room is dimly lit, there seems to be no visible sources of light whatsoever. The air in the room is cold and musty. A slight panic ensues among the group; someone bursts to tears, others huddle together to speculate what's going to happen now, where they are and whether Mr. Kythorn was a cannibal vampire fairy afterall. One of the bigger kids, the bully from last night's dinner, vents his fear by verbally trolling the crying girl.

A minute or two pass in this manner, before an interruption comes. A seemingly disembodied, rather ominous voice speaks out in a serious tone.

"Welcome, children. You have been explained what is before you already, but now you will be introduced to the test in detail. The first purpose is to determine, as undoubtably explained before, whether you are to be considered... good. This will be done by a series of tests in form of games, most of which you no doubt know by heart already, as well as tests of judgement and proper behavior. Failure will lead to you being considered bad children. But even the sinners are to be granted an opportunity to redeem themselves - in case of failure, you will be taken from the group, and sent to a different test to determine whether your behavior is incurable. In the case that no-one is willing to enter a test first, a drawing of lots will occur. Each of you have a pouch upon your person, which will manifest straws of varying length upon such a situation. The order will be determined by length of the straws, shortest first. Being caught cheating will be punished. Turning back or quitting will not be allowed."

The voice will not react in any way to attempts to question it; it will merely go through it's litany without interruption and fall into silence. At this point, a stunned silence falls over the group. No-one seems to know what to do.

To be continued.

Uncle_Putte
2008-02-20, 02:23 AM
Invisible Children, Part 3.

At this point, the DM can finally loosen up on the reins as the force-fed introductory phase ends and the actual adventure begins. I'll kick off part 3 by introducing the group the PC's are with.

There's a total of 18 children, of which the amount of NPC's will vary depending on the number of players. Only a few of them have any signifigance concerning the campaign, while the rest are more or less considerable as expendable bodies or followers, depending on the PC's choices. The significant ones will be:

The bully, Sveyn. He'll be considered a level 1 human rogue of chaotic neutral alignment. The same ability restrictions as a child will apply to him. While selfish, rebellious and manipulative, he has yet to commit any serious wrong to make him markedly evil. He enjoys, nearly obsesses over being the center of attention though, to the point that where he can't have it in a positive way such as respect out of adoration he'll take it as respect out of fear. Statwise, he's physically strong in all areas for his age, as well as notably charismatic when he wants to be. He's clever, but not particularily, but his weakest point is his impulsiveness and lack of good judgement. Something on the lines of 12-14-12-10-7-16.

"Ham", Sveyn's half-orcish "friend", true neutral half-orc barbarian 1. Thanks to his heritage, he's been an outcast among outcasts for most of his life. Having had more than a reasonable amount of disappointments has left him an emotional cripple, whose motivations are generally restricted to finding the next meal and a place to sleep. Physically, though, he's actually rather overdeveloped for his age. His main reason for following Sveyn's whims is centered around the fact that Sveyn is a lot more capable of coming up with ways of how to achieve the said goals of food and safety. This usually involves Ham hurting someone, though, but for someone as alienated from others as Ham, there's little guilt wasted over it. Statline 14-12-13-6-8-6.

The "spooks", Maure (neutral good female human adept 1, 6/12/10/9/12/10) and Jonah (neutral good male human expert 1, 8/12/12/10/10/14). There's nothing in their appearance that'd warrant the mistreatment they tend to receive from their peers, nor do they behave in a particularily odd manner. Both, though, share an odd, frightening atmosphere around them - best described as an aura - that manifests when under stress, as well as a supernaturally keen sensitivity to their surroundings, Maure's including the emotions of people and beings around them, as well as some sort of echoes from the pasts of places and objects they come in contact with while Jonah's being especially sensitive to magical and psionic auras. (These abilities shouldn't be treated by the rules of psionics or magic in my opinion, but more as a flexible tool for the DM for setting the atmosphere of the game, dropping an occasional hint, and something akin to a deus ex machina in the worst case scenario.) Both have learned not to make much noise about their abilities, though, as supernatural abilities tend to invoke hostile reactions in street folk. They are quite well-known in the streets though, and the other children will likely give away their odd nature if spoken to. By appearance, both are fairly tall for their age but bony-thin from malnutrition, with light brown hair and eyes. They look quite similar to eachother, and most believe them to be siblings, which isn't actually true. By behavior and personality, both are quite introverted except towards eathother, but generally very peaceful and friendly individuals.

Other individuals can be added according to the tastes of the DM. Leaving the rest of the children as blank faces may be inconvenient to anyone intending to run the game, but I consider winging them to be well within an average DM's abilities.

Now, back to the game.

As said, the group of children is packed together in an empty room, the exit behind them to the west closed. The sole hallway out leads to the east. None of the NPC's show intrest in taking initiative and going ahead for now, and the PC's have some options on what to do. Searching the room will yield little, but a success on DC 15 will yield the notion that there's a small, pearl-like stone studded into the ceiling of the room. It is, obviously, out of reach though, and figuring out what it is should be beyond the knowledge of children. What it actually is, though, is a component for specialized short-distance scrying and sending spells. Conversing with the NPC's will bring little information to the situation at this point; while everyone's concerned on getting out, they are also somewhat frightened of the situation. Nevertheless, convincing them to go ahead is simpler than could be expected, as there is nothing else to do in the situation. A DC 8 Diplomacy check will convince a few of the children to follow, and as something comparable to a chain reaction, the rest will come along out of curiosity. If conversed with, Sveyn will be less snide and confident than usual, but of little help. Ham refuses to communicate in any way, as usual. Maure and Jonah will be hesitant to speak of their feelings of the situation, but with little convincing - another DC 8 Diplomacy check - they will open up. Maure will say that the place feels bad, dangerous - and that something really bad has happened, not exactly here, but somewhere nearby. Jonah will add that the place makes his head throb, and that it feels like they're really far away from home.

Continued, etc.