Session Three: Rogue of Changes

I was watching 'The Man in the High Castle' on Amazon Prime, a pity it was but one episode. Looking for more information, I was both comforted and stunned that Philip K. Dick used to the oracle to help him write his novel. In some cases he let the oracle decide his  novel. The author even commented that he did not like the direction the oracle took the story.

Thanks to all this, I discovered an old friend.

Since the age of 15 (going on three decades) I have been an avid reader of the Yi Jing oracle. The book is my deserted island book. That being the only book I would take to a deserted island. I have at least a dozen translation of The Book of Changes, and fantasize about writing my own (perhaps another blog?) With this in mind, I thought I would follow in Dick's footsteps and hand over my Scrawl to one of my oldest friends- the Zhouyi- the Book of Changes.

For those not into this oracle, or any oracles, I will not bore with the changing lines or anything of the sort. I will simply catalog the basics and how they appear on rpgsolo.com. That online oracle did have a few things to say and I add a bit of commentary:

Asking about Murk's adventure. Hexagram 6 Conflicts, disputes the courts, there is no doubt that Murkstav will be encountering many many swords on his journey through this dungeoness. Nor will this change. What will happen next, I draw 48-46, he descends into the well for drink, the water is clean the way is clear and he will ascend because of this. What does he seek? He seeks to retreat, 33, 3 to chaos the dreaded 12. He retreats his wound is poisoned and there are bandits waiting at the entrance... Inferior men, common thieves. How does Murk get out of it? 49.6 to 13. A Shedding revolution, sheds his skin like a leopard on the inside, there is a deep change on the inside. Murkstav realizes full well that he is no better than the bandits before him. How many bandits does he face? 2 = 2_[d2]

Are there two bandits? Yes, and...

>Will-o-wisp.

Murk is poisoned and he fighting at a good only, he is up against two guys and that is a great in my book, does he make it? Yes.

Yes he makes it out of it, solidly, there is something else in the room. A whil-o-wisp, fast little sucker. Note: How does Murk change inside,

Create.

Conclusions:

• This will be a crawl of constant obstacles. To take from the Tarot "Full of Swords".
• Murkstav retreats into the bowels, into the well of the crypt.
• He is poisoned, rather severely.
• He faces two bandits and a will'o'wisp.
• In order to defeat these he must change, have a creative revolution from within.
• Is he just a bandit?

I plan to write up this little instance very soon but I wanted to illustrate how perhaps K. Dick had written 'The Man in the Castle'.

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?

Rogue in the Crypt Summary of Session 1

     Murkstav, an amateur dungeoneer, hired mercenary raised under Rivermoon, breaks out on his own. Unlike most, he selfishly decides to go at it alone. But he soon finds out why people venture into the underealms in groups. 

     Finding a map as part of the booty from a wizard (they always say, whatever you find is yours my friend, but the staff or the tome, or the mirror is mine) Murk moves northward toward a forest burial site. Stealth is not the easiest thing among the undead. 

     Chased by ghosts appearing from about the shattered trees and out of the torn and desolate leaves upon the ground, Murkstav comes upon the temple or the crypt that he had been looking forward. Even with ghost swirling around him, the aggravated thoughts of the wizard ring in his mind. He fuddles with the lock, for he is nothing but a good thief, usually hired by others, so he is used to being a sword hand a defender. He fuddles with the lock and taps it, moving the tumblers until something snaps and the gate opens, perhaps opening too easily.

     Careful when things are two easy, a paternal voice says in his mind. 

     Locking the gate behind him Murkstav crept into a 25 foot crypt divided into four chambers with a large coffin or sarcophagus in the middle. Amateur, amateur, for when Murk turned he found a witch practicing her dark arts on the floor. He goes on to learn that it was the witch manipulating the dead in defending this temple, the temple of the village idiot. 

     A battle ensues that ruins Murkstav’s bow and forces him to slay the witch with his sword as she used her powers to creep about the walls of the crypt. 

     No one was more surprised than myself when nothing emerged from the crypt in question. 

     Immediately something registers as wrong in this chapter. Why would the village idiot be buried in such an elaborate tomb? There was obviously something more to this, a secret somehow. Using his skills Murkstav, noticed smudges in the frayed map. A map drawn upon another map. Where the information lead him just to this tomb there was something, more something underneath.

     Murkstav liked underneath, away from the topsiders. The mercenary always felt better under the civilized world.

     An arrow pointing north. Or was it down? Cartographers in the continent could never really decide on one method of symbols. An arrow pointing north on a panel.

     Relishing, Murkstav heads for the panel, easily pushing it and watching it turn.

     Then a click.

     The clicks are the worst parts of this job. Before he could remove his gloved hand, a rounded blade followed immediatly after the panel opening downward. The man caught a glympse of warm orange light before his hand was sliced. Then the blade stopped with a whir and a dying crash and clunk.

     Murstav reeled back, looking at the gash in his hand, wondering if there was an ancient poison spread upon the ancient mechanism.

     And since suspense is good for the soul, this is where the session ended!