Sunday, 14 November 2010

Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay - A Beginning.

Here's the beginning of the campaign I'm going to be GMing next weekend. The character in the story is going to be my PC within the game. This small intro is pretty much a framing device, but all criticism is welcome!

It looked bleak.

Virivoldht gazed out at the morning sun, his eyelids hanging heavily. Truth be told he was struggling to do much of anything at this point. His side was in searing agony and he could feel the dried blood cracking with every move he made. Every jolt as the wagon went over a bump in the trail was it's own personal hell. Looking up at the trees he could see the frost thawing and dripping regularly from the needles onto the ground, each making miniscule splashes. This calmed him somewhat, it was like listening to the ticking of a clock. He turned a corner and the glaring morning sun shone brilliantly across the treetops, illuminating them like some row of celestial sentinels.

Passing over another bump he winced. These damn dirt roads are horrible, he thought to himself. Mulling things over, he thought he had every right to afford himself some self pity. His entire convoy lay dead about 3 leagues behind him, presumably stripped to the bone by those beasts. He was the only survivor, and he only survived by fleeing where his companions held. Even then, he still took a few swipes from some follower of the Dark Gods before he fled. But flee he did, and it sat like a ten tonne weight on his shoulders. He was never one for remorse, or attachment, but those men and women had served him well and he felt a tiny pinprick of guilt penetrate his veil of self pity.

Regardless, he thought, what mattered was he had gotten his cargo through intact. Yes, he would be paid very well for it, so at least he had something to be happy about. Hearing a whistle from behind him in the wagon he offered a prayer of thanks, someone had obviously been listening and had decided to add another item to his collection of things to be happy about. His concoction was ready. A foul smelling brew of local herbs and extracts, but nevertheless it would disinfect and speed the healing of his wound, in addition to dulling the pain.

Tying the reins to a railing he turned round to attend his boiling pot. Stepping into the back of the wagon he saw his mobile workroom, full of vials, bottles, jars and bags. Inside everything was an extract, a herb, an elixir. For Virivoldht was an alchemist, and a damn successful one. He had a knack for distillation of essences, and he could make something useful from almost anything found in nature. Stepping up to his pot, which was boiling on a small alchemical fire, he grabbed a rag and dipped it in. He rubbed the scalding hot liquid over his side, dried blood flaking and crumbling away, revealing the gash in it's entirety. It wasn't particularly deep except for the point of initial incision, which would probably need stitched, however it was long. It ran down the length of his side, and he winced in pain for every inch he rubbed the scalding rag down.

Grabbing a bottle of his own (and much improved, sitting at about two thirds alcohol while the kislevites could barely get more than one) brew of Kislevite vodka he returned to the driver's seat, noticing the bloodstains around where he had been seated. Taking a swig he tried to drive out the pangs of guilt as he came to the conclusion it couldn't have all been his own. What was wrong with him? He never felt bad about anything he'd done before in his life and some of his acts had been less than virtuous. Well, he thought to himself, he would just have to get some new companions to replace them. He still had some travelling to do, and this wagon wasn't going to defend itself.

Cursing as he went over a particularly large bump, he came around the top of a small hillock and saw, towering above him, his destination. The archaic city walls, bastions and towers framed by the rising sun, it was something to strike awe into the most apathetic of men. However, he didn't have time to gawp and stare, he hadn't slept in over a day and he very much needed to. Grimacing, he started down the winding trail to the city.

And a pair of eyes watched him the whole way down.


  1. Heh. Cool. Looking forward to this man, hope the other two are up for it.
    Fair enough.
    Now, to Tesco, to buy the requisite energy juice, sweets, cider, and Teclis fag-apples!
    I'm just joking.
    I wanna be a Shadow Warrior!

  2. Thanks for smoothly not mentioning the quality of the writing at all. ^^

    Virivoldht. Viri = Latin word for poison. Vol = will/free will/intention. dht = makes it sound germany/empirey. Method in the madness.

    Ahhhh tesco. Definitely a prerequisite. >:D

    Shadow Warrior.... hrm. Might be interesting. Especially if you go to Marienburg.

  3. I've always been a bit cagey about GMs having PCs; it's too easy to turn them into a device for railroading, granstanding and other habits that edge the players and their decisions out of the spotlight. You might have sufficient control of your ego to manage that potential for downfall, though - if your style can handle it, go for it.

  4. I know exactly what you mean. My guy is just an integral plot device, 75% of the time he may as well be a NPC. My guy isn't good in combat and isn't such a negotiator, he'll be taking a backseat most of the time (:.

  5. Ahhhh im in envy, i've been dying for a good wfrp game for a fair bit now.