Taking the Long Road

As the last (Cottage of Doom) campaign finished, we all questioned how Nobles, Priests and Wizards gained their positions and power if they didn’t adventure (kill monsters and steal their stuff) to gain experience.

I was thinking about this recently, as you’re going to meet a few of them soonish, and I think I’ve come up with a plausible, game related solution.

If you take the Experience/Level chart and just substitute the ‘000’ after the initial number for the word ‘years’, it could be applied to study, prayer and practice.

There’s the obvious precedent with the path from zero to first level. Characters train up from nought to first level by practice swordplay under a master or long-term study and prayer. Starting age is a demonstration of this. 

One years dedicated, eight-hour, daily practice gets you to level two.

Two more years (Three in total) practice gets you to level three.

Three more years (Six in total) practice gets you to level four.

This means that if a Wizard studies every day, five days a week, in a dusty tower for forty-five years, he would be around Sixty-Seven-years-old and have attained 10th level.

He would also be classified as Old with -3 to his Strength, Dexterity and Constitution and +2 to his Intelligence, Wisdom and Charisma.

(Slightly terrifying to realise Assif, David and I are also, D&D officially, ‘Old’ men now.)

This would make a kind of sense and explain why these Clerics and Wizards have chosen scholastic, non-combat useful Skills and Feats like ‘Magic item creation’ or why high status Nobles choose ridiculous levels of ‘Diplomacy’ etc.

You could apply this to Fighters too and this would explain why most of my solders are drilled to Second level but third level and above depend more on having seen actual combat or a long military career.

Does this system seem fair and reasonable?

Three Score and Seven Years Ago

The extremely impressive, Moradin mantled, Dwarven couple enter the much less impressive, blocky Human tower. Behind them, holding onto his Father’s trailing robe, scampers a very shy and very young Dwarven child. They’re led up the stone steps and announced to the waiting Lord Urdurel and his young wife; Lady Dulcetta. The beautiful, flaxen-haired woman smiles up at her husband before he addresses the two Dwarven ambassadors.

“Welcome to Cottis; the capital of Stowan and, soon to be, the greatest city in all the world!”

It’s the bigger-bearded of the two that answers, as his wife squeezes his meaty hand in a subtle warning not to be too facetious in his response.

“It is indeed an honour to be invited to oversee this massive… by Human standards, project. Our team of architects and stonemasons will do our best to create a metropolis that surpasses anything Human eyes have ever seen.

Sensing her husbands rising annoyance at their, barely concealed conceit, Lady Dulcetta stands, revealing her bulging pregnancy.

“We’re sure that our combined efforts will result in an awe inspiring marvel that will last the ages, and I hope our children will become firm friends over the coming decade.”

Slightly taken aback, the lesser-bearded of the two Dwarves, smiles warmly and honestly.

“I’m sure little Banaal here will love acting as guardian to your baby, once he or she arrives.”

Lord Urdurel, though remaining seated, also smiles. He knows that it’s only his gold that’s persuaded the Dwarves to send their artisans and emissaries, but he also understands that it’s only with their help, that he can create the towering wonder he wants to build here. 

“It would indeed be a blessing for our coming child to have such a stout defender as brave Banaal.”

Peeping out from behind his Father, Banaal puffs out his little chest in pride. He’s already determined that he’ll do his upmost to protect this fragile Human baby from whoever, or whatever, seeks to do them harm. 

Hero for Hire

Rifkin can’t quite believe what he’d just saw… Who he’d just seen. That was Quinn… ‘The Mighty Quinn’! Hero of dozens of stories! Lone protagonist of a score of epic songs and stanzas! Still in his early thirties, the man’s a living legend!

He’d been as tall as his reputation had implied and as wide at his white fur clad shoulders. And that smile! The man radiated confidence and joy! When he passed them outside Lord Urdurel’s office, he didn’t just walk, he strutted. That man was so gorgeous and so full of himself, he could’ve probably strutted while sitting down!

The Mighty Quinn; the man who’d single-handedly defeated the Pigeon Queen. The hero who’d beaten the sleeping giants of Cribarth. The lone warrior who rescued an entire town from the evil Wizard; Dizpare!

Despite living his entire adult life travelling. Despite running with dastardly thieves, dashing Elves, brave Human warriors, Halfling druids and, more recently; Dwarven priests, Rifkin had still not seen anything like the Mighty Quinn!

Heavy is the Head

 

Lord Urdurel’s Bounty

Lord Urdurel (High King in all but title) was not only expecting you but had planned for it. He had sent out, well in advance of your arrival, for specific items as a potential reward or bribes for Liga Bur and Rifkin. He’d even had the time to commission a powerful new shield for Fortu AND had it styled and painted to match his octopus themed armour!

Banaal’s gift though was more personal. As the very young son of the Dwarven priest couple, sent to oversee the construction of Cottis over sixty years ago. Childhood friend to his baby daughter and her brave childhood protector. When Banaal learned of her murder, fifty years too late, he still shared in Lord Urdurel’s ongoing grief.

Current character wealth (including recently received ‘wanted’ rewards, gifted personal magical items and equipment and minus the gold paid to the leader of the Rogues guild for information about the Assassin, probably in the employ of the Witch Megarna; Finnegan).

Banaal: 

Gold: 975gp

10 gems (worth 100gp each) 

4 gems (worth 50gp each)

Cloak of Etherealness

Fortu: 

Gold: 1306gp

6 gems (worth 25gp each)

Shield Large/Heavy +3

Heavy Warhorse: Night Fever!

Liga Bur: 

Gold: 130gp (Still owes Rifkin 350gp)

Rabbit skin boots of Striding and Springing 

Rifkin: 

Gold: 691gp

7 gems (worth 25gp each)

Brooch of Shielding

In addition you are all now being paid a whopping 10gp a day while in Lord Urdurel’s employ.

Liga Bur can elect to repay some of his debt to Rifkin if he should choose to do so.

The Horses behind the Cart

Clip-clopping along the wide track behind Cookie’s bulky wagon, the two surviving horses, that the Party were loaned by Sir Briefadel half a year ago, whinny quietly to each-other.

Robin, leans in toward his stablemate.

“I don’t like being tied to the back of this cart but it’s still a lot better than being ridden. My back still aches from when I’ve been forced to carry that music-man; Rifkin around all day.”

Maurice rolls his brown eyes.

“Your back aches? My rider’s twice the size of yours and wrapped in metal! He must think I’m some sort of war horse!”

Robin has the grace to drop his gaze.

“It could be worse I suppose. We could have been forced to haul this huge wagon, like those too big, cart-horse idiots; Burt and Ernie.”

Maurice snickers.

“That’s true but I really wish Fortu would work on his rising trot. He bounces around on top of my back like an armoured sack of potatoes!”

Robin flicks his head to draw Maurice’s attention to the eleven tethered men trudging behind them and their, still saddled but seemingly content, riding horses.

“Perhaps, now that they’ve acquired all these extra horses, we might get a job-share situation going on to spread the load… And by load, I mean; Fortu.”

Maurice & Robin

Light Riding horses

Large but (unsurprisingly, considering they saw their stablemate (Barry) eaten by a Displacer-beast) skittish.

Str: 15

Int: 2

Wis: 12

Dex: 12

Con: 16

Cha: 6

HPs: 27

AC: 13

Move: 60’

Alignment: True Neutral 

Initiative: +1

Attack: Hoof: -2 Damage: 1d4+1 (full attack x2 hooves)

Reach: 5’

Feats: Endurance / Run

Skills: Listen: +4 / Spot: +4

Special: Scent / Low-light vision 

Saves: F: +6 / R: +4 / W: +2

Tricks: Stay / Heel / Come

Not so Tough Cookie

As Banaal gently pulls Cookie to her unsteady feet, she looks at him in wide-eyed shock.

“I should be dead! I felt that Psycho Halfling slice my forearms as I tried to defend myself, and then shove his dagger through the back of my bare neck as I hopped off my wagon, trying to get away! I felt my life-blood gush out!”

Retaining a reassuring hold on Cookie’s rein roughened hands, Banaal watches as the young wagoneer tentatively touches her healed neck and looks upon the blood splatter on the woodwork where she fell. Her blood. He watches as she slowly registers what must’ve just happened.

“You saved me. I saw my life flash before my eyes, but you… You must have pulled me back from the very brink!”

Hugging her Dwarven benefactor in raw and honest gratitude, the seemingly tough Cookie crumbles into his strong arms and sobs onto his broad shoulders. She’s actually a few inches taller than him but barely half his weight.

“Thank you Banaal. Thank you and all your Dwarven gods. Thank you for saving my life. I won’t ever forget it.”

Finally disentangling herself from her stocky saviour, Cookie  heaves herself back up, past her own blood stained footplate and onto the wagon’s bench-seat. Banaal though, can’t help himself from overhearing her, as she mutters angrily to herself.

“That’s it! No more of this thankless wagooneer shit! Time to start that little food shack you’ve been saving up for and dreaming about these last few years!”