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I ran a lot of Shadowrun in the mid-90s, which as a group of teenagers meant zany runs, insane character concepts and ... this. =========== Maybe the Boy Scouts had something with their “be prepared” motto—a little forethought went a long way into not having to deal with afterthoughts. Sometimes the universe had a special way of showing its serendipity to those not normally enthusiastic about planning. When the running crew, coming off several very successful, very lucrative runs, bought a high-end apartment in a posh downtown skyscraper, they made sure to demand the inclusion of a garbage disposal unit that could “handle anything.” Used to the odd requests of the social elite, the builders did as asked and the team moved in, enjoying the comforts that most runners would never see. It wasn’t two months later when the runners heard a disturbance in the hallway outside. Flipping open the security feed, they saw a rowdy twenty-something trying to pound his way into old Ms. Jenkins’ across the way. He had a gun and was pretty agitated—likely high on some illicit substance. It’s a wonder he made it past the door guard on the ground floor. Taking aim with his customized Ruger Super Warhawk™, the team’s ork mercenary let two bullets fly through the soft exterior wall. With his aim as good as ever, the would-be burglar crumpled to the floor in a mess of quivering flesh. Opening up the door to appreciate a job well-done and to inspect what damage the high-caliber pistol may have done to their wall, the runners saw Ms. Jenkins poking her head into the passage. “Jeremy?” she called, worried. Seeing the body of her nephew on the floor and the large, armed, grinning ork across the hall, she screamed and locked the door behind her. “We should save the cleaning crew some time,” the team’s dwarf suggested, nose wrinkling at the sight. “They’ll have enough trouble with the carpet alone.” Without a second thought the ork hoisted Jeremy’s cooling body over his shoulder and head directly to the apartment’s expansive kitchen. “Time to test that disposal!” he grinned toothily, pulling out a cleaver to turn the body into more “manageable” chunks. Unceremoniously he began to ply his cyberware-enhanced strength to the task. It was about the time he noticed the industrial-strength disposal had begun to back up when his commlink beeped with an incoming message from the team’s resident hacker, who was spending some time away from the city enjoying a retreat in Tsimshian lands. quote:A swarm of police are en route to the flat. Something about shots fired and a dead body? “Aww hell,” the ork grumbled, frustrated both from the inability of his fancy garbage disposal to deal with human remains and the impending arrival of the not-so-understanding police force. Pulling a heavy rifle out of the dish cabinet, he told his partner to get ready for a tactical assault. Little made the fire-haired and heavily-augmented dwarf happier than dishing out bullets and explosions. Little made him less happy than being on the receiving end of the same. Crouching near the front door, just below the two bullet holes added by his robust friend minutes earlier, he made sure his SMG was ready for action. Going through a mental checklist of his available armaments, he was pleased to remember having restocked the concealed travel case in his cyberleg with fresh explosives after the last run. “You never know when you need a little boom” was almost a life motto of his. It didn’t take long for the Lone Star rapid response team to make their way to the fifty-third floor of the luxurious apartment building, filling the hallway with heavily-armed and -armoured paramilitary goons. “Apartment 5381!” they yelled by way of introduction. “This is Lone Star Police and Security Services, Incorporated, serving the greater Seattle metroplex under contract with the UCAS government”—did they have to say the whole thing every dang time the dwarf thought, rolling his eyes—”and we are ordering you to come out with your hands up!” “What’s this about?” the ork yelled back, taking cover behind a ballistically-reinforced leather couch. He counted ten, maybe fifteen soldiers in the hallway, and was not for the first time thankful that their hacker friend had ensured the entire hallway was covered in barely-noticeable security cameras linked to monitors they had all around the apartment. The dwarf didn’t wait for a reply, stepping in front of the closed door and spraying a long line of bullets at waist-height before ducking back to the side. The bulletproof door they wanted had been on back-order, so they had gone with thin plastiboard as a temporary solution. Return fire erupted from the hallway squad, almost obliterating the door and punching large holes on the walls to either side. Struck several times, the dwarf grunted, tasting blood as he retreated to the kitchen. Several of his artificial systems had been damaged by the barrage, including access to his leg compartment. Plenty of his meat parts were worse for wear as well, but he gave those merely a passing thought; he could always replace meat with more metal. The back-and-forth firefight continued until the ork managed to throw a fragmentation grenade through the remains of their front door—though the assault team dove for cover, the narrow hallway amplified the blast, forcing them to pull back, dragging their wounded with them. “Control, we need aerial support now!” one of the men barked into his shoulder-mounted radio. “Buddy, we’ve got company coming!” the ork yelled to the dwarf, who had retrieved a barely-portable LMG from its hiding place in the oven. “Time to get out of here!” Grunting with effort—both from the overwhelming weight and unwieldiness of the weapon and the strain of his wounds—he managed to join his friend in the blackened remains of the hallway. Walls, floor, and ceiling had all been blown apart by the hail of gunfire and explosive charge, and the ork thoughtfully helped his friend across the more treacherous rubble as they made their way to the elevators. Screams and shouting could be heard from the floors above and below, but the runners were more concerned with the dozens of soldiers likely making their way up the stairs. A cold drizzle greeted them as they stepped onto the windswept roof, a constant irritant as water crept under their coats and soaked into their shoes. “What are our options?” the dwarf asked. Leaning over the tall railing, the ork shook his head. “They have a gunship sweeping the outside of the building. Maybe we shouldn’t have bought a place in such a high-security tower.” The dwarf’s retort was cut short as bullets spewed from the roof access hatch, striking him up and down his back. The ork returned fire, dropping the officer that had joined them on the roof. “This isn’t good,” the dwarf slurred, his blood mixing with the rainwater puddles. “They hit the meat this time.” “Dreck,” the ork cursed. They didn’t have any medpacks or stim-drones or any other medical provisions handy. He knew his friend was dying. “I always knew Lady Fate would catch up to me some day,” gurgled his wounded companion. “Just do me a favor,” he asked, slowly turning an eye to the tall mercenary above him. “Anything, pal.” “Make ‘em pay for getting me.” His red hair was matted with rain and blood. “Any way I can, buddy, any way I can,” the ork promised. Within moments he was alone on the roof, the dwarf having slipped beyond the pale horizon from which no traveler returns. He could hear the gunship making its way to the roof, the whine of its powerful rotors louder than the gusting wind and sheets of rain. He checked his munitions—half a magazine of ammo, no grenades, and a combat knife—and searched the roof for any means of escape. The dwarf’s cyberware glinted in the evening pallor, a stark contrast to the stained and dulled fabric of his clothing. The ork stopped. He had an idea. Hoisting the remains of his friend—and more importantly the cache of explosives suck inside his cyberleg—over the railing, he nodded a toothy good bye to his long-time friend and running companion. Adjusting his grip ever so slightly, he heaved the mass over the edge, on a direct course for the ascending police craft. With a cacophonous roar the building shook as the rotors made contact with the falling dwarf body, igniting the explosives hidden within his artificial limbs. The copter streaked groundward, flames and broken glass falling in a shower to the street below. The ork’s grin widened as he turned his muzzle toward the roof access door. “They’ve paid, buddy. They’ve paid.” ======= It sure was one way to end a campaign.
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Apr 9, 2021 08:39
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Playing 5e, I'm a Rogue (Phantom) with no magical items Me: So, my arrows at nearly max damage just bounced off this guy's resistances? GM: Yes Me: Unrelated question: if I attack something, can I willingly do minimum damage? GM: Yes Me: Including sneak attack dice? GM: I don't know why you would, but sure Me: Another unrelated question ... if I were to attack myself, would you say I have Advantage on the roll? GM: ... Yes? Me: With all of the aforementioned, my next action is to Attack myself for minimum damage. Due to Advantage I apply Sneak Attack. Because I added Sneak Attack, I'm able to use my Phantom "Wails from the Grave" ability and deal 2d6 necrotic damage to the bad guy. GM: That's so stupid I'm definitely allowing it
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Apr 13, 2021 23:06
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Apr 17, 2021 02:17
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Some years ago I ran a Legend of the Five Rings campaign full of political intrigue, blasphemous magics, and dark temptations around every turn. It was a five-year, weekly saga where a single “bad guy” was behind (almost) all of the party’s woes, and yet they unwittingly furthered his goals at just about every turn. After the party had interrupted one of his minor plans in the opening adventure, he decided that he wanted to see who these would-be heroes were, and arranged for them to be invited to the same prestigious party he would be attending. Ingratiating himself to the group, he soon became a close confidant, particularly when other members of his family spurned their attempts at politeness. In time the party came to trust his advice, or at the least regularly keep in touch as they crusaded across the land. Thus began a years-long repeating cycle of them writing to their “friend” about their expected upcoming travels, only to find that the object of their search had been moved or that specific individuals had been made aware of their impending arrival. One or two times the party had to change direction quickly, without the benefit of writing friendly letters prior, and in those cases they actually caught up to or overtook the plans of the mysterious and shadowy figure whose aims they were hoping to thwart. Pleased with their victory, they would often write to their allies to give them the details—details the antagonist used to ensure his other plans wouldn’t be so easily stopped. It was only in the final months of the campaign, with years having gone past both in- and out-of-character, that some in the party started to put the breadcrumbs I had lain throughout the entire story together. I remember the specific moment when the first of the players figured it out (even if her character hadn’t), and the stony look she gave me from across the table. It was such a rewarding moment as a game-master, to have had a consistent and continuous thread woven through the larger story of the game world, and for the reveal to finally hit home. The campaign ended with the party stopping an attempt on the Emperor’s life by said antagonist, and the entire table celebrated in triumph when they finally dropped him. They still had to deal with the whole “drawing steel in front of the Son of Heaven” issue, but that took a back seat to finally getting their well-earned revenges.
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Apr 21, 2021 07:59
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JustJeff88 posted:Please elaborate on this; it sounds grand. In short, the party of magistrates had traveled all across the Empire, including during one particularly brutal winter season, trying to stop the spread of Kolat (anarchist) and maho (blood sorcery) influence across the empire. Though they rarely saw eye-to-eye amongst one another about how to perform their particular duties, they could at least recognize that everyone in the group was working toward the common good. My game was set in the year ~1120, and rather than the Scorpion Clan Coup I had a powerful blood sorcerer of the Crane Clan take possession of the blood sword Ambition and plot to destroy the Hantei dynasty, securing himself and his dark master as the supreme power in Rokugan. Eventually they learned that their quarry was set to strike during the inaugural dinner which kicked off the Emperor's Winter Court, and between them they had enough political clout, bolstered by their reputation as tried-and-true heroes of the Empire, to get themselves invited. While guests sampled the food and conversed on topics far above these samurai's pay-grade, they were nervously watching every shadow and every curtain for signs of distress. As the Emperor stood to make a toast to the assembled movers and shakers, one of his guards stumbled out of the back room, covered in blood and with a large knife sticking out of his throat. Half of the remaining guards, bribed, threatened, or corrupted by the Crane, turned on their brethren, while the party members leapt into action. Not having brought weapons of any kind of their own—it would have been unthinkable to bring steel before the Son of Heaven—the two shugenja (wizards) summoned katana of pure fire into the hands of their more martial brethren. The fight was on, and with the guards roughly evenly matched, it was the five heroes versus the maho-fueled and bloodsword-wielding Crane "courtier". I didn't pull any punches or fudge any dice rolls, and two of the characters were a breath away from death when the villain finally fell. Here's the story writeup I did for the end of the campaign, closing the book on a five-year chronicle: --------- With the banquet guests’ screams giving way to silent shock, a hush fell upon the hall. The most important and noteworthy men and women of Rokugan could hardly process what unthinkable horror had struck in their very presence – someone raising a blade against the Son of Heaven, working with co-conspirators in an attempt to slay the Emperor himself. In over one-thousand years of Hantei rule, not a single one had his life threatened, much less taken, by an assassin’s blade. He was the very embodiment of the wisdom of the gods, ruling and governing the Empire, as had his fathers before him, protecting the land and its peoples against threats both from without and within. Five samurai lay prostrate in supplication, their faces pressed firmly to the polished wooden floor, as if attempting to will the ground to sink, that they may present themselves even lower, more humbly, before the great Hantei. Their victim lay motionless nearby, blood oozing from a dozen wounds, any one of which would have proved fatal to a normal man. The five had wielded weapons of steel and magic in the presence of the Emperor – a capital crime – even if it had been to save his life from the would-be assassin, the man they once called friend, twisted and fueled by terrible rituals and unspeakable crimes. With their leader fallen, other, less capable, assassins were soundly routed by the Emperor’s personal guard. The first banquet of Winter Court had become a public abattoir, friend and foe of the Empire alike having fallen in the unexpected melee. Unexpected, save by the five samurai who had spent years derailing the vile plans of the assassin at every turn, forcing him to make this most public, and drastic, move. Each one of them, entering the banquet hall among the other, more jovial, guests, knew at their core that they would not survive the night – either they would die defending the Emperor or they would be rightly punished for bringing violence to his court. In either case, they had made peace with their decision. They were the only samurai capable of stopping the terrible plot, and honorable samurai serve their lords, even beyond death itself. Five samurai, unique backgrounds leading to very distinct interpretations of the ceach ode of Bushido, were prepared to hear their sentence. One hoped the act of saving the Emperor would finally impress his ancestors. Another that his actions would keep his wife safe. One shugenja prayed that the assassin’s foul blade would be secured, never again to poison the minds of men, the other that she, eventually, would be regarded as a heroine in the halls of legend. The last warrior finally saw the whole of her lifelong training come to fruition, with a blinding epiphany – no matter the honor and sanctity, the awe and reverence, a samurai held for their blade, it was no less a tool than the farmer’s scythe or the historian’s brush. The samurai, not their blades, were both the attacker and the defender. The samurai was singly a device of great good or great evil, and it was only through a harmony of the elements that enlightenment could be reached, through purity of purpose and conduct. “Out,” the Emperor whispered, his aging voice hoarse and raspy. “Out!” he barked more harshly, turning to his guards. Broken from their stunned reverie, guests began scrambling for the exits, encouraged by the imperial troops. Over a hundred guests flooded from the room, in many cases the most important representatives of their respective Clans. The five samurai did not move – the order was not for them. When the doors finally closed and the sound of rustling dinner kimonos had faded, the large hall felt impossibly large, and yet still filled with the oppressive gravity of what had just transpired. The Emperor, his son, several guards, and two high-ranking Scorpion Clan members were all who remained, aside from a large compliment of guards, hands at the ready to draw steel at their lord’s command, and the five samurai, with hands and faces still pressed to the floor in apology and obedience. “Explain yourselves,” the thirty-eighth Hantei demanded to the emptied room, his dark eyes looking over each of the samurai before turning to the corpse fallen at his side. Four of the samurai knew better than to respond. They were each magistrates serving an imperial office, but even in their camaraderie there was a first among equals. Isawa Tamaseiko, a shugenja of no small renown, who’s jade-infused magics had burned the flesh of the traitorous monster, almost imperceptibly lifted her head from the floor. “Great Hantei,” she began, her voice eventually finding purchase. One did not lightly speak in the presence of the Son of Heaven, let alone to him directly. “We five are magistrates who became aware of a terrible plot that culminated in the plot against yourself this very evening.” She paused, swallowing hard, that the Emperor may interject, should he choose. He did not. “The man known to this court as Kakita Kendai has been the architect of tragedies and crimes across your Empire for at least three full years,” she continued. “Including instigating the Crane-Crab war of recent memory, in allegiance with the Kolat separatist faction.” The war had cost countless samurai and conscripted ashigaru their lives, as well as diverted essential resources away from investigations into dark events that were spreading across the land. A diversion, the magistrates knew, very nearly worked. Hearing nothing from the Emperor, Tamaseiko explained further. “We five, under the instruction of the magistrates Daidoji Shunmichi and Shosuro Tokata, have worked to stop both the Kolat and the foul sorcerers that threatened your great Empire, traveling from the northern reaches of the Phoenix mountains and down to Earthquake Bay, attempting to put right what these monsters had designed to enact.” The Emperor tapped a single finger against the table, a soft sound that nevertheless filled the hall and quieted the Phoenix shugenja. “Daidoji Shunmichi fell in the line of duty, protecting some of this court’s most important members. Shoju, do you know of this ‘Tokata?'” he inquired of the Scorpion Clan Daimyo, a man it was said possessed secret information on almost every samurai in Rokugan. “I do, my lord,” the masked and red-robed man replied, bowing deeply. “He is well-known to your Emerald Magistrate and has been tasked with the research of many underhanded events that have occurred of late across the Empire.” Cold eyes turned to the Phoenix. “Just as this samurai claims.” The captain of the Imperial guard, breathing heavily from his own wounds taken during the skirmish, nodded in agreement. “These five brought their concerns to my personal attention, and have kept me abreast of their investigation while within the Imperial City. Her words match their actions.” Grimacing with the effort of even a slight bow, he exited the room to tend to his wounds at a gesture from the Son of Heaven. The Emperor considered the Phoenix and Scorpion’s words, along with those of his personal guard, heartbeats echoing like unrelenting drums in the prone samurai’s ears. “Stand,” he said, gesturing to his guard to give them room. The desire to immediately follow the Emperor’s command was in each of them tempered by the shadow of fear of what he would order next. Even the most honorable and stalwart among them felt its cold hand on his heart as he rose, slowly, keeping his head bowed out of deep respect. The five samurai had been in the Emperor’s presence once before, where it was decreed that, the following Spring, each of them would be attending the Emerald Magistrate’s own academy, in honor of their service to the ideals of peace and good order in society. None of the samurai expected him to remember the meeting, for surely he had many such throughout the his day, but each of them could hardly contain a gasp as he addressed them by name “Isawa Takaseiko. Iuchi Minoriko. Akodo Teiji. Murimoto Inazuma. Doji Satoru.” His voice was unreadable. Each of the samurai felt at once unimagined pride and innate shame at being recognized by the Emperor himself. Though they had spent their careers serving the Empire, witnessing and overcoming more hardship than any samurai could be reasonably expected to, almost to a one they felt they were all of them unworthy to be addressed so. “You will retire,” he began, old voice at odds with his fierce eyes. “You will retire from this place and your needs will be seen to. Shortly we will reconvene that I may hear the whole of your story.” He glanced about the room, with the spilled food, pools of blood, and corpses from the battle. “We shall meet again in a more comfortable setting.” The Emperor rose, his son helping him to his feet. “And Minoriko,” he added, starting to leave the room, “make sure that terrible blade is secured safely,” he cautioned, referencing the cruel katana which filled its wielder with terrible ambition – the kind that had caused Kendai to attempt the life of his Emperor. The shugenja’s cheeks burned – of course she would keep such a thing safe, such that it could never be used. Even as the thought passed through her mind however, the seductive tendrils of its power flitted across her imagination. Perhaps only she was worthy enough to protect such an artifact. She, and she alone. With the Emperor and his advisors gone, the samurai were left surrounded by the imperial guard. The Emperor had said they would meet again, but that shadow of fear remained – would these loyal soldiers strike them down for their crimes, dispensing the Empire’s justice on orders the samurai missed? “This way,” one of the guard said, gesturing to the hallway from which the Emperor’s most distinguished guests had entered the hall. “Baths and changes of clothing are waiting.” Outside the bloody banquet hall, in the expertly-tended gardens which dotted the Emperor’s personal home, soft snows began to drift lazily from the sky. From a nearby cherry blossom tree, a petal softly falls. ----------- I'm running the last session for a two-year-long L5R chronicle this weekend, with the heroes fighting legions of oni in the realm of Jigoku (hell), trying to prevent them from forcing open the gates to Tengoku (the celestial/blessed afterlife), as the walls separating spirit realms crumble and shatter all around them. I think it'll be another great campaign wrap-up, and it even has many of the same players who were in the above campaign.
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Apr 25, 2021 01:36
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Re: Legend of the Five Rings It was certainly in-character conflict; most of the group had been gaming together in one campaign or another (often overlapping) for years. For most of the game the party consisted of:
They were magistrates acting on orders they didn't fully understand, with very different interpretations of their role as keepers of the peace and their responsibility as samurai, and that resulted in as many disagreements within the party as without, particularly as each tried to keep different other members in the dark regarding different parts of their strategies for fear that their plans would be a) blurted out at inopportune times, b) subverted, or c) ignored. The players generally had a lot of fun, even if the characters absolutely did not. At times I felt like I had to track an unending number of disparate (and desperate) plot threads that were all player-created, but ultimately I was very happy that they were running with their character concepts and the world as presented so fervently.
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Apr 26, 2021 06:37
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So my latest Legend of the Five Ring campaign ended last week and I like to think it came to a satisfying—and emotional—close. The major plot of the game had the characters (one bushi, two shugenja, a monk, and a merchant) finding themselves trying to correct an elemental imbalance in the world that was causing a multi-season famine in or around around the year 600. Long story short, they discovered that the Nothing had helped create an artifact that would, if unchecked, unmake the world. This artifact was banished to the Spirit Realms in an effort to dampen its effects, which did not work, and caused the famine in the first place. Our protagonists traveled all across the Empire, getting the blessings of each Elemental Oracle so that they themselves could survive the pursuit of the dark artifact into the lands beyond. This was the overwhelming bulk of the campaign, and had them meeting many strange and curious allies, foes, and situations, including bearing witness to the sleeping Naga in the Shinomen Mori’s deepest recesses. When they successfully crossed over I told each of them, in private, that they now had a merit called “Spirit of [Element]”, but gave no hints on what it did. They found the Spirit Realms in chaos as each plane, formerly distinct, was blurring into others. L5R has a number of terrible, awful planes and so these were causing quite a headache for the less terrible ones. They saw the spirits of those who had lived before glowing a faint amber, and those corrupted by evil glowing red. A select few they noticed glowed white, and these were the souls of those who had not yet been born. None but the party seemed to see the glowing. After saving some souls and interrogating dread spirits, they prepared to make their final push toward the artifact—it was boring a hole from Jigoku (realm of demons) into Tengoku (the holiest of holy afterlives). They knew they had to destroy it before it merged the two diametrically opposed planes and corrupted everything forever. Fighting their way through hordes of demons, one character was mortally wounded and eaten whole by a demon the size of a mountain. The next turn however she burst forth from the bowels of the beast, fully healed—but glowing faintly sage green. I had her remove the merit from her sheet. After several more combats They came at last to The Dark Samurai, who was waiting patiently for the Nothing’s device to pierce the heavens. This ten-foot tall inverse samurai wielded a katana of obsidian and while the party was ultimately victorious, another of their number was slain and reborn. After the brilliant and blinding flash of them successfully destroying the artifact, which was an endeavor in and of itself, they were approached by a new entity, one they didn’t recognize. Perfectly androgynous, the Spirit of Man smiled at them and thanked them for their service to the Empire, to their species, and to creation as a whole. The being offered them each a choice—they could stay in the afterlife among the honored ancestors, or return to the mortal world. Unfortunately the two who had died could not be so easily returned, and they would be reincarnated instead. A very long and emotional discussion was had by all, particularly by the fallen shugenja who realized she’d never be able to go home again and see her family. With tears in their eyes (both the characters and the players), they all agreed to return to Rokugan, in whatever form that would take. The merchant returned to tell their story. The monk returned to heal the sick. The Crab shugenja returned to prepare the world for a war against the Shadowlands she knew was coming. The Lion bushi and Kitsune shugenja both vanished, to be reborn again someday. For a game that only lasted two years (60 weekly sessions), I was honored and humbled that the players were so attached to their characters and to the story. It felt genuinely good as a GM/ST to provide that kind of cathartic entertainment for all.
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Apr 29, 2021 09:39
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Here's another Shadowrun story, from just a few years ago. One of our players always tried to utilize ... "creative" solutions to problems, usually without any explanation to or consultation with the rest of the group. ----- “Guys, something’s wrong with Casper,” the mechanic called out to the rest of his crew, worry tinging his normally gruff voice. He understood mechanical systems—pistons, pumps, and the like—no matter how ubiquitous cyberspace had become, it wasn’t his area of expertise, nor was tending to those who were lost inside its currents. Casper, their young hacker, had blood seeping from around his neural jack and spasms shook his whole body as he lay on the couch. Whatever he had run into while trying to investigate the team’s next target—a local subsidiary of a large multinational conglomerate—he wasn’t handling it well. “Can we pull him out?” their driver asked, a normally quiet and reserved woman who could pilot almost anything on land, sea, or air. She nervously brushed a lock of hair behind her pointed ears as she looked on with concern. Their medic shook his head, walking into the small back room and taking quick stock of the situation. “Absolutely not,” he chided, beginning a quick diagnostic of the comatose hacker’s vitals with a hand-held scanner. “Something’s got a hold of him in there; he’s not just browsing the Matrix like some passive observer. Our boy went into places you and I can’t even dream of—if we yanked the plug now he’d spend the rest of his days as a vegetable. We have to keep him comfortable until he either finds his way back on his own, or dies.” The team’s commlinks all bleeped in unison—an incoming message. The more tech-integrated among them were able to mentally command their devices to display directly in their field of vision while the more old-fashioned reached down to glance at their screens. Letter by letter Casper was reaching out to them, the message printing with anxiety-rising slowness. Inside the Matrix time moved at the speed of thought; whatever electronic foe he was facing was taking enough of his attention that he could only spare enough attention to send each new letter after what would have felt like minutes on the inside. code:The mechanic joined the team’s muscle in distributing weapons to everyone who wanted them—most had some experience with burst-fire weapons but more than a few pistols and shotguns were loaded and checked. “About time for a proper dust-up” mumbled the green-skinned mercenary. He wasn’t one for logistics or lengthy information-gathering. To him, any time spent without a weapon in-hand was boring, and he hated being bored. The driver plugged herself into the pilot seat of the armoured van that served as the team’s primary transport, subsuming her own senses in favor of the full-spectrum cameras and detectors custom-built into the heavily-modified vehicle. If it came to a quick escape, she knew she’d be able to plow through the roll-up door with almost no damage. Connected as she was, she could keep a detailed eye on everything happening around or within the large van. She opened the back hatch to facilitate a rapid embarking, hoping the team wouldn’t need it. Sinking to a comfortable position on the floor, the magician closed her eyes and allowed her consciousness to leave her body, trying to give as much forewarning of approaching danger as possible. As the doctor and the group’s resident faceman—a genetically- and technologically-enhanced smooth-talker—made preparations to move Casper into the waiting van, the wizard’s voice seemed to come from the air itself. “Team of four, heavily armed. Drone support and at least one spirit in tow.” A pause, as if she were confirming a suspicion. “They’re headed right for us; time’s up.” The medic signaled for the face to lower Casper back onto the couch. His unexpected patient situated for the time being, he tucked a heavy revolver into the back of his waistband and moved toward the front door; it was one of his aliases that had rented the small shop and he knew he had to be the front line of defense when it came to nosy corporate goons. The face, perking up with a new idea, sprinted into the back of the combat van. As a heavy three-knock staccato echoed from the front door, the team’s driver could only look on with horror as the face started peeling off clothes. While the rest of the group prepared for a tense standoff—and possible combat—with corporate hit-men, their smooth-talking negotiator was stripping down to his birthday suit. With the van’s enhanced sensor package the driver was getting a front-row seat to all of the details, whether she wanted one or not. “I’ll need everyone inside the premises to come with me,” the heavily-augmented corporate mercenary said by way of introduction when the medic opened the door. Just out of view most of the team had their firearms at the ready, some more eager than others to use them. “You have no authority here,” the medic answered, unimpressed with the heavily-armed team at his door. “We’re not on corporate grounds and I don’t imagine the municipal cops gave you a bulk arrest warrant for whatever it is you think I’ve done. Run along back home and stop bothering me.” With a heavy visor obscuring most of his face, only the soldier’s deepening frown was visible. “The Shiawase Decision of 2001, amended by the BRA treaty of 2042, permits corporate interests to extend beyond the physical grounds of their holdings, and includes the ongoing defense and recovery of electronic and intellectual property, even if said property has been exfiltrated from recognized corporate holdings and territories.” “You probably say that a lot, don’t you,” the medic stalled, crossing his arms. “How about you report it was a false alarm and we can all go our separate ways?” As the medic stood up to the collectively glowering corporate goon squad, he noticed a message come in from the team’s resident trigger-happy mercenary in the bottom corner of his vision. Waingro posted:Can we just kill them already? “Fine, fine,” the medic sighed, both to his unexpected guests and to his ambitious teammate. “Come on in if you want and have a look around, but you’ll see there’s no reason to take anyone anywhere.” He stepped back from the doorway, hands spread wide. As the corporate thugs warily entered the rented shop, the driver couldn’t have paid attention to them no matter how much she wanted to. The team’s face was squat-thrusting in the back of the van, now completely free of any shred of decency. “Time for the big show,” the man murmured to himself, as if part of some pregame ritual, “gotta get everything aired out just right.” Gunfire rocked the confined industrial space as the third corporate heavy cleared the door. The team’s mercenary sprung up and riddled the first two with bullets as the medic dove for the reinforced couch, his heavy pistol brought to bear. Tearing her electronic eyes from the horrifying gyrations going on in the van’s back compartment, the driver deployed several automated mounted weapons and set them to free-fire. As the third intruder stumbled backward into the small back room where Casper lay unmoving, he was hit with a powerful arcane blast from the mage who had taken over his protection. Cobalt flames licked at the man’s armour, finding the spaces between its thick plating and seeking out the soft flesh beneath. As the final shots rang out, four corporate goons having fallen beneath the weight of the team’s heavy-weapon onslaught, the face strode proudly out of the back of the van, with all the energy and poise of a Hollywood star walking down the red carpet. “Alright, now where were we—” his voice trailed off as he took in the carnage around him. “What the frag were you doing?” the driver’s voice came from the van’s speakers. “Why the hell are you naked?” the medic called out. “You know we can see your junk, right?” the mercenary asked, gesturing with his SMG “Well if you all hadn’t taken the violent option, it would have worked,” the face harumphed, almost pouting. “You never give me time to work.” The medic pressed again. “What was your plan here? What on god’s green Earth possessed you to strip in the middle of a gunfight?” “I’m telling you, it would have worked.” Rolling his eyes at the non-answer, the medic looked around the would-be headquarters. “We need to get Casper to the van and get out of here. This place is blown. And you—” he added, looking disdainfully at the face, “put on some drat clothes. We’re rolling out in five.” ------ It took literal years for the player to let us know what was going on in his mind for that one. His idea was apparently to make the corp goons uncomfortable by putting on a "super-gay naked ork routine", to the point where they would abandon investigating the group who had been caught hacking their systems. No man, it wouldn't have worked.
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May 12, 2021 08:34
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I joined a 5e game recently and rolled up a 5th-level monk fashioned after a old-time carnival strongman, twirly mustache and all. Low INT but full of excitement to be out with “real adventuring types.” We had to sneak our way down a steep 250’ incline, and I roll a natural 1. The DM decides that this represents my character tripping and falling down the incline, and tells me that I take nearly 100 points of falling damage—as if I had fallen out of the sky rather than bounced down. Even factoring in my slow fall ability, the damage was enough to kill me outright. The DM suggested I could make a different character that would be available “after the end of this adventure” which would be 6-8 weeks away. I thanked the group for their time and logged off. I heard from another player that the party wizard, two turns later, also rolled a 1 and died, but was allowed to re-enter the game as a prisoner held in whatever camp we were trying to infiltrate. Good times!
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May 17, 2021 08:26
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Coward posted:It is how you get the best Shadowrun stories. I may have mentioned it earlier in this thread but some players of mind had the idea to infiltrate a food processing facility by hiding inside sacks of organic flour with SCUBA gear (to mask their auras, you see), then polymorphing the team into lemurs so they could crawl through the air ducts ... lemurs wearing tool-belts so they could unscrew any gates or vent covers they needed to. To quote the thread title, it was so stupid I definitely allowed it, and it definitely worked.
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May 21, 2021 06:56
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Tonight the D&D group I DM for were faced with a lightly-defended gate they needed to pass. They, being 8th level and having shown no qualms about murder in the past, decided their best course of action was to use Druidcraft to make a bad smell and to convince the single guard that he farted bad enough—without feeling it—that he should leave his post to check his trousers. It didn’t work like they expected/hoped but the stench did distract him for a moment, long enough for the ranger to line up a shot and kill the level 1 guard with a single arrow. This plan took them 10 real-world minutes to argue about/plan the logistics of.
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Sep 13, 2021 05:41
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The druid in my 5e game just acquired an onyx mastiff statue, which can become an actual dog for several hours if given the command word. Once the duration runs out, or the animal is killed, it reverts back into a small statue and can’t be called upon again for a week. Having acquired and identified this wondrous item in the middle of a dungeon crawl, she immediately activated it… within range of a hidden otyugh’s grasping tentacles. Druid: “I’m going to have a new friend!” *summon* *surprise attack, auto-grapple, slam against floor* Me (DM): “A small dog statue bounces and rolls to a stop at your feet. You can try using it again in seven days.” The rest of the party thought the scenario far more hilarious than she did. I will readily admit to laughing when she pointed out on the battle map exactly where she was summoning her new friend. It was just like that video of the person releasing an animal back into the wild, only to have a hawk come down and snatch it away immediately.
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Oct 23, 2021 09:08
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I tried joining a new level 1 D&D game with some internet randos, and boy I wasn't expecting the reception I received. Stats were rolled (4d6, drop lowest) in a single set; what you roll is what you're stuck with. Most of the team had a single attribute at 16 at the highest, and most had one below 10. I came in and the dice decided to change things up in a big way: 13, 13, 15, 16, 17, 17. After introducing my character and us tromping around the forest for a MacGuffin of the week, the party camped out for a long rest. It was then that the other characters beat mine to death. They apparently felt that it was "unfair" that I rolled better stats, and wanted to force me to play a new character so I didn't "outshine" the rest of the group. The DM thought this was all well and good. Oddly enough, I decided not to continue with that campaign.
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Jan 18, 2022 21:27
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NumptyScrub posted:I hope this was an actual "evil party" game, because a good aligned party murdering a party member due to petty jealousy while the DM allows it... Nope! Most of the party were some flavor of Good or Neutral. IC actions for wholly OOC reasons. So strange that the group was having difficulty finding a fifth. Also I forgot to mention that this was a paid campaign.
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Jan 20, 2022 03:18
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I had rolled up a druid specifically to help buff/heal the rest of the party, too. It wasn’t like I was going to wade into combat and beat up enemies with my big paper dick or dominate social encounters. It’s a funny (bizarre) event from the outside but pure  while it happened
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Jan 23, 2022 04:22
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In the weekly D&D game I run, the party has for some time been in possession of an egg which will pop out a little friendly critter every few days if attuned to. So far they have found a baby piercer, a tiny swarm of bees which can find fresh groundwater, and a spider whose harmless bite grants resistance to cold for 24 hours. Mostly goofy flavor stuff to inject some levity into an otherwise severe, end-of-the-world kind of quest. This morning the bard woke up to the feeling of something scaly winding its way up their leg. Freaking out, they jumped out of bed and discovered that there was a small snake, perhaps 1 foot long and with opalescent scales, glowing with a soft warm light in the covers. Deciding that someone was trying to assassinate him, he took a spear and—critical hit—killed the 2 hp beast. Realizing what had actually happened only while recounting the tale over breakfast with the rest of the party, he grew sullen and returned to his room. The cleric, wanting to help, went out into the town's large bazaar and spent all of his coin on a baby colobus monkey for the bard, and happily presented this new pet (obligation) as a way to "get him back in good spirits." The party then proceeded to spend the rest of the session gearing up to make sure they had everything the monkey would need to grow up healthy and strong as they continued their adventures, going so far as to lash some tree limbs to their pack donkey so it would have somewhere to climb. Honestly, it could have gone a lot worse.
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Feb 14, 2022 09:07
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I was always a fan of “Regurgitate” for those situations. Particularly in social settings. In front of the king.
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Mar 14, 2022 01:39
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The party bard took their first combat turn to use their Horn of Valhalla, creating frenzied berserkers to fight for their side. The cleric used Spiritual Weapon, the Ranger Summon Fey, and the druid Giant Insect, all before the bard topped things off with a toot on his Pipes of the Sewers. All in all they added 17 additional combatants to what was already a harried and well-attended combat taking place inside a palatial theatre (mid-performance, of course). Even zipping through most of the NPC on NPC violence the battle took the entirety of the session. At least the players said they all had a blast, but whew that was a lot of logistics for me to track, even with a virtual table-top.
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Mar 15, 2022 06:22
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Having the Cleric cursing at his god for not helping “enough” during a major fight and the religion-rejecting Bard point out “you are kind of a poo poo follower” means I as the DM got to sit back as the party debates whether or not the Cleric was, in fact, terrible at following his god’s commandments.
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May 13, 2022 03:05
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Oddly enough running a game of Mage is just as much about “consensus” as the in-game storylines can be.
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May 13, 2022 04:25
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Because my party are a band of world-saving do-gooders, they entered into a bargain with a lich who—several hundred years before—had tried to conquer the world with an undead horde. In return for the “strength and conviction to ruin your enemies,” all they had to do was tear down a stone cairn that conveniently also served as the lich’s timeless prison, and which had kept him and his influence sequestered. The deal is struck, they realize their physical stats have gone through the roof (+15 Strength, +10 Constitution, +8 Dexterity, -2 Charisma), and they instantly tell the lich to jog on, that they’ll finish up their end of the bargain after they deal with the current world-ending apocalypse. The lich, having considered means of escape for longer than whole countries had existed, had at least once imagined that those he empowered would want to betray him. And thus, as they rode off into the sunset, the party was brought up short by a terrible affliction. They discovered that if they tried to leave a radius of about half a mile from the monument, their physical stats would drop to low single-digits, with a Charisma to match; only their intellect remained intact so they could fully grasp the severity of their situation. Morose and resigned, the “heroes” turned back toward the structure, and—with their gifted strength returning for the task—had no problem disassembling the earthen shrine. Out popped the lich, wagging a bony finger at them, before hieing over the horizon toward whatever terrible plans he had in mind. As the characters’ stats returned to normal, one player asked what would have happened if they hadn’t tried to betray the lich. “You would have kept a healthy bonus for the rest of the campaign.” Of course, there had been no doubt in my mind that the players, no matter how Lawful their characters, would think nothing of trying to get one over on the ancient being. Little do they realize this won’t be the last time that lich interjects himself into the story, and with another tantalizing offer in mind …
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Jun 14, 2022 08:43
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This afternoon the final session of our campaign came down to a pitched battle in a burning dockside warehouse. I as the paladin was doing my best to keep the heavy melee hitters away from my squishy companions but it looked like a losing battle; I was taking too much damage and the BBEG was staying behind cover, popping of spells to buff her team of miscreants. Seeing our rogue start to close in on her position however, I cast Misty Steps to teleport right next to the enemy spellcaster, and rightly figured I could beat her in a grapple. Our rogue, going next, had clear shots on the normally elusive foe, and introduced her innards to all manner of stabbing. Without her buffs the remaining enemies were quickly dispatched by our sorcerer and cleric, and we (largely) managed to escape the warehouse before the entire thing exploded. It was a good session, and my Lay On Hands prevented anyone from going down permanently, so my usually stoic and uninvolved character (it was an investigation-heavy game; I took a break from my usual tropes and made a meat shield as everyone else was exceptionally soft) got to be a big part of the win.
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Jul 11, 2022 06:23
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A wild animal attacks the town in revenge for a hunter killings its young/pack/brood. Twist: the hunter’s husband/child/parent was slain by the beast, prompting the bloody back and forth. One household has been accused of stealing precious winter resources from another. Is this a case of greed, envy, survival, misplaced anger?
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Aug 23, 2022 07:42
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I recently ran a brief intro 5e game for some workmates and the end boss battle was just a comedy of errors. The barbarian kicks down the door with a battle cry, foregoing any chance at stealth. The wizard hangs back, watching the rear (they had thoroughly investigated and cleared every room so there was no threat there), and both the ranger and cleric take aim at various magical-looking apparatuses around the room, instead of the bad guy, and both roll natural 1s. The BBEG casts Scorching Ray (his only 2nd level spell and spell slot), and crits against the barbarian, the cleric, and the ranger. Cleric goes down immediately, barbarian has 2hp, and the ranger (with healing potions on-hand) leaves the room to go join the wizard, all but leaving the cleric (who was full on healing spells) to die. The barbarian charges, deals 3 point of damage, and is dropped by Shocking Grasp. The ranger and wizard, having been warned against standing too close together while fighting the BBEG, hang out in the small anteroom all but waiting for the bad guy to arrive. Burning Hands. Ranger goes down. The wizard turns tail and runs. A Benny Hill-style chase throughout the dungeon ensues that leaves both casters out of real spells, and the wizard down to low single-digit hit points. The barbarian has bled out while the cleric and ranger are stable but unconscious. Eventually the wizard turns to face his opponent, and begins to cast Fire Bolt (a minimally-damaging cantrip) over and over again while the bad guy tries to grab him. Over six consecutive rounds the BBEG utterly fails to hit the wizard’s minimal armour class for Shocking Grasp and is eventually defeated. The party, “victorious,” left the temple and were crowned might heroes. Luckily everyone had a good time and they want me to run a longer campaign, but what a weird final confrontation it ended up being, both from the die rolls and the party’s tactics. FreshFeesh fucked around with this message at 10:55 on Oct 4, 2022 |
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Oct 4, 2022 09:37
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That is seriously, seriously cool. Awesome on you to dive into infrequently-explored aspects of the setting, and awesome on the players for hitting the gas as hard as possible
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Nov 30, 2022 12:36
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I played in a D&D one-shot this weekend and one character reeked of “OC do not steel”. They were introduced as a Druid who… - was the former ruler of Avernus (1st circle of Hell) - when he was defeated, the heroes thought he was so cool they brought him back to life to adventure with them - the gods took away his demonic powers but he still has silver skin and flaming hair (think Hades in Disney’s Hercules) - has a bad relationship with animals because they can sense his “demonic nature” but gets along with plants just fine - their favored Wild Shape form is of a jet-black wolf with fire-red eyes that leaves burning paw prints in its wake (so, a Hell Hound?) - announces their presence and (former) title to every room they enter And all of that for a level 5 combat one-shot. I did laugh heartily though when the player brought their Druid to go mano e mano against the big baddie, and then got instantly dropped due to two multi attack crits. They got stabilized but spent the entire fight unconscious in the corner while the player sulked about how unfair the dice were being.
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Dec 5, 2022 02:27
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I recently found myself playing in a rather large Shadowrun chronicle, where the premise was that we were pirates roaming the North American coast from LA to Acapulco, striking against corporations and their overfull cargo ships. This week we came across a scout patrol from Aztechnology (who basically control all of modern-day Mexico and are very rumored to be involved in crazy blood rituals) roughing up a seafaring dragon turtle. They had put huge air bladders underneath it so it couldn't submerge and were drilling into its shell to harvest magic blood. Most of our characters had beef with Aztechnology so stopping this was an easy decision to make. To make a long story short, it was a pretty even match between our guns and magic and theirs, until we got lucky on a few rolls. I was able to use a terror spell on their getaway driver and instead of gunning the boat away he jumped into the water and started to swim off. One of their mages, seeing the tide begin to turn (both figuratively and literally, as we had someone beneath the turtle popping the floats), hopped into the escape craft himself. The gunner on our pirate ship turned him into Swiss cheese, which made the boat go wild ... and then run over the swimming corpo. Unfortunately the goons had managed to stall us long enough that their head wizard could complete his big blood magic extraction spell. This would have been horrible except that a spirit I summoned used the "Accident" power on him. As his big ritual finished he made one last test. Between his bad roll and my spirit's power, it was a critical glitch. Instead of absorbing all of the dragon turtle's blood for whatever nefarious purpose, the spell backfired and now the back of the turtle, as well as our team, was covered in aerosolized Aztechnology viscera. The day was saved, the turtle was happy (or so we think), and we got to deal a pretty big blow against a horrible company doing horrible things. All in all, quite a good deed for a pirate crew normally only interested in treasure.
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Mar 18, 2023 01:08
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That’s what our DM did to us last week; the chest with gems wasn’t the mimic, the box the chest rested upon was the mimic
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May 6, 2023 02:31
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I’m playing in a Shadowrun game that’s very pirate-themed. As in, the very first adventure had us betrayed by a Johnson, whereupon we stole a luxury yacht to escape LA, added some guns, and have been trawling the high seas for lucrative cargo to steal/sell ever since. In last week’s session a competing pirate outfit sought to board us using mini-subs. They were not expecting us to use our aftermarket cargo crane to bodily pluck one of the subs from the water and then force open the hatch. Rather than shoot the people inside (that wouldn’t be sporting), I had a high-force Spirit of Beasts manifest as a giant orca (think Shamu) and use its Noxious Breath ability, which I described as vomiting a truly horrendous spray of sea-offal inside the cramped vehicle. The would-be raiders abandoned ship—hopefully they were picked up by their friends, eventually—and we continued on our way. We tried to sell the newly-acquired mini-sub, but no matter how well we cleaned it there was still a terrible rotting fish smell that no potential buyer wanted to go near. Hopefully our mechanic can still use (untainted) parts of the sub to improve our general yachting experience. Shadowrun!
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Jul 30, 2023 21:20
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We used a combination of deception, subterfuge, and overwhelming force to put down a crazed future version of a party member who had been stuck in a time vortex. The first thing the character (whose alt-future self we just killed) does is cast "Multiply Food" on the body to make 10x the amount of meat, and then start packing it for storage. doesn't convey the sheer "WTF" of that decision, a sentiment shared both in- and out-of-character.No, they would not explain their reasons.
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Nov 2, 2023 05:10
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In a recent Shadowrun game, the team was hired to delay a clandestine hand-off between third parties by at least 15 minutes, with a bonus payout if the targets didn't know they were being intentionally stalled. The hand-off was slated for the lobby/cafe of a local hotel at 6pm the next day. As the meeting time approached, they identified one patron in the lobby as the intended recipient of the mystery item, and so they went to work:
I think it's a staple of the genre that players always make overly convoluted plans, but really half the fun of running this game is seeing what wild ideas they come up with.
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Jan 23, 2024 00:57
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| # ¿ May 21, 2024 15:56 |
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Today’s Shadowrun game started off with the characters having a heart-to-heart with one another about morality and violence, and to not take (meta)human life unless absolutely necessary. Everyone agrees. In the very next scene, a ganger tough flashes the handle of a gun when approached by the team’s Face. Instantly the troll street samurai punches the guy for 17 damage, leaving a crater where his chest was. A fight ensues, including more lethal punches, plenty of stabbing, and the hacker unloading a full-auto burst into another ganger’s chest from point-blank range. The scene which caused the heart-to-heart had one NPC death. The scene following had 8, including someone who was trying to get away being picked off “to clean up loose ends.” The protective, motherly spell caster who thought everyone was on the same moral page as she was nearly apoplectic.
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Mar 18, 2024 04:10
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