Ocular Viewing #6 A micro viewing or so I thought

[For those not familiar with these chronicles, via the oculus and its machination within my iFruit, I am following the adventures of a dungeoneer named Murkstav through what professionals would call an extraction mission, though many times the man just seems to be CRAWLING through a subterranean world, a DUNGEON for the senses]

REASSURE, REWARD

The hero, the man with the sword, a dungeoneer, needed to be reassured of his reward, needed to make a break and cut bate, make a profit. He noticed the alchemist’s room about him, with an iron furnace and pipes and loads of ingredients around. There was a pumper, a giant iron engine that coughed, Murkstav looked around, bitter with the oil dropping like butter from the ceiling.

Disgusting as the ooze flowed, the subterranean warrior sick with sweat and oil, like heated butter about him, turned and observed his surrounding for anything of value. Everything in his core could not let him return to his TENSION ALLIES with an empty hand. Strange how his guild needed proof for these strange adventures, these dives into the deepest of realms.

Murkstav got his bearings, checked the dressing on his wound, which seemed (7) no better or worse than before. He looked about and wondered if anything, anything at all in that place would somehow salvage this situation.

DungeonWords PORTAL, LOOT, SPIRITS

The man looked up to an archway, wide with a stone trim, complete darkness beyond. He looked at a few carrion tables filled with strange liquors, when smelled scented of simple spirits and liqueurs. He never met an alchemist that was not a drunk, as if the human body itself was a catalyst for simple metals turning valuable. He looked under the tables, seemingly scientific and found a wealth of loot. (MONOLITH) Bars of silver, gold and platinum, perhaps too large to carry but sometimes in extractions, you don’t have to know or make your way back. He clasped two platinum and a gold and snuck them into his backpack. He noticed upon the treasured monolith strange symbols, strange images of a FANATICAL cult, the bars were so inlayed the dungeoneer wondered if there would be more money in trading them to the dwarves. Placing the bars in balanced pockets, he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder, and did not mind the extra weight.

Extra weight for extra pay, not a problem.

Looking to the portal Murkstav looked up into the shaft, knowing full well that he really had no where else to go. The fire above did not look like it had any intention of letting him pass any time at all in the near future. With that he strode into the portal...

NECROMANCY, ACOLYTES, NET

(The thing that troubles me about this method of ocular observation, using a mechanical device rather than a scroll, is the fact that one uses more than one lens. In the referral of dungeonwords I notice I use all three words, but it is the way it is happening, and who am I to question the ocular oracle?

In the room just beyond Murkstav (odd that the oculus has shifted to other people) the men waited, dressed in robes of purple and silver trim, nets in their hands to capture this intruder. There were four of them, bald with hawk noses and expressions of intense hate. They watched Murkstav stealing the bars inlaid with sacred imagery, cursing his form and planning his demise.

Murkstav took one look back, but his instincts suddenly did not push his foot forward. Something was amiss, something indeed and one would ask the oracle if the dungeoneer’s skills would tell him of an impending doom.

(yes and)

Rogue in the Crypt Session Two

Here are two questions that I may have answered with but one button of the rpgsolo.com:

1. Murk is hurt, perhaps critically, he will use his alchemy to cure or something of the sort. 
2. There is a corridor underneath, it is 10' wide and heads north, for now.

I am posting this to illustrate a point. What you are about to read was inspired by just one result of rpgsolo:

NPC Action.

Which turned into:

   The mercenary gripped his wounded handed, fortunately only slashed and bloody. His reflexes saving him, Murkstav cursed himself for being a novice fool. From below a strange luminous glow emerged, almost inviting, that did not seem like firelight at all but something conjured. The rogue did not enjoy conjured things, they never turned out right in the end. 

     Obsessing over his hand, or hypnotized by the glow below, the way it danced on the broken steel of the trap-blade, the sounds behind him did not register in his brain. There the sound of metal and stone moving. It was then that Murk realized he had overlooked the central crypt, the giant sarcophogus centered on it all. Why had he ignored it? Feeling the chills running up his spine, Murkstav turned. Turned to see a giant hand grip the lid of the stone copher (not even sure if that is a word). 

     The witch spoke of her son, her giant son, a thing unknown by men. Remembering the tales of woe, the tales circulated from tavern to tavern, Murkstav realized why Obar sounded so familiar. Years ago there was a creature stalking the swamps around Rivermoon, slain by men from the Black Spear tavern. The men, huddled years ago about mugs of ale and meal, spoke most of the things hands, the giant hands that gripped men and squeezed. The losses had been heavy until the beast was finally put down. 

     Surely those were the hands gripping those men that now gripped the lid, letting out a dull undead moan that Murkstav learned so often was never good news. 

     "Damn me for a fool," Murk hissed, looking at the entrance. "Always keep your exit and back guarded" he repeated to himself echoing C'ang's greatest sentiment, speaking it every time they walked into a tomb. Now there was one that the young mercenary would enjoy, gravely to fight beside. 

     It began to emerge, its head crowning over the lip of the tomb, giant and grey, with strands of slick- slimey hair sticking to a decomposing head and skull. Was that a gag, Murk felt in his throat? 

     Somehow, the strangely lit corridor below the broken trap seemed almost inviting. The smell coming from the tomb hit the man, and it only resolved his decision. Whatever that light was, it was better than the thing coming out of that crypt. With a deep breath, Murkstav dove into the hole made by the blade, hoping there was not another as a back-up. The last thing he saw, at the corner of his eye, was a massive shape moving to his right. 

Followed by: 

Is there another blade?

(Very Unlikely | 6_[d10]) Yes, but...

 

     Falling into the corridor Murkstav heard another catch release. He closed eyes, knowing that he would emerge into the land of shadows, the afterlife, without a head.

Which brings us to a point. If one word, one picture, brings a world of inspiration, what do we need dice and buttons for?

What we (need to) know so far

Here is what we know so far, these will be critical in the moments to come: 

1. Murk is hurt, perhaps critically, he will use his alchemy to cure or something of the sort. 
2. There is a corridor underneath, it is 10' wide and heads north, for now. 
3. No doubt the map points to greater things underneath, something out there, something good, something big, and hell who knows something evil.
4.  At this time I am not sure if he has his armor, maybe this is the mission where he finds it no? 
5. What or who constructed underneath the crypt?
6. Is Murkstav alone on this mission?

Murkstav for Solo Play

 

The term Dungeoneer has always held a certain magic for me. In my stories there have always been professional dungeon crawlers. Professional extractors usually employed by some mage or sorcery, almost always another one of my characters- Orleon Templeton, to go into the under realms, the vast subterranean world underneath the continent, and extract the most unusual of things. Always with this precept- keep what you find.

Originally I wanted to take a band of adventurers into the dungeon. With the help of +John Yorio, I had thought to make the party as character, illustrated in his blog, Then a strong craving for rogue-likes, games like Nethack, DCSS and Tales of Maj'Eyal hit me hard. I realized that I did not need, a band of characters, I just needed one. Perhaps one that mistakenly goes into the dungeon alone- and may regret it later!

Just like in a rogue-like.

So here is the "Character Sheet" for my professional dungeoneer.

MURKSTAV

+2 Great Dungeon fighter-
raised in catacombs, knows the dangers. Swords
odd jobs to get things about Rivermoon. particularly closed quarter fighting

+1 Good Thief: Locks and moving in shadows.
orphan/street rat trope.
+1 Good Archer
For his type death from afar is always better.

0 Fair … Leave this to the adventure.
Perhaps Alchemy, craftmanship, Lore

If he tries things outside of this parameter it goes down to Poor which I tend to think is more than just simply 'slightly unlikely' perhaps unlucky?

Brief Bio: Murkstav raised himself in the murky underbelly catacombs and labyrinths that lie underneath the city of Rivermoon. His odd jobs, assignments and tasks took him from stealing to outright assassination. Feeling more at home underneath the ground than above it, Murk is just now beginning to strike out on his own as a 'professional extractor' in the under realms of the Prytanian continent.