fredag 9. september 2011

Death frost doom

During the summer I ran Death Frost Doom at a con in Oslo. Actually it was at the con bar, and the players were two friends and four drunken strangers who had been too late in joining a midnight session of some game I had never heard of. These guys were fond of narrativistic indie games, and hadn't played anything close to DnD for about ten years. That didn't stop them from jumping right into the spirit of the game from the moment I uttered the word "treasure".

Hats off to Raggi, for making a system easy to comprehend even after the consumption of large amounts of alcohol.

Party: Fat elf, paranoid magic-user, bawdy fighter, thiefish halfling, compassionate specialist and a completely insane cleric.


The party began by searching the entire graveyard and finding the shaft. The the cleric commanded the halfling to enter the shaft, and used magic when he refused. As we all know entering the shaft gains you nothing.

They entered the cabin, and the magic-user started experimenting with the clock. While he was winking in and out of time the rest of the party began stealing everything that wasn't nailed down.

Down in the shrine they started using the mirror to look for cursed items and evil magic. Then the cleric smashed it for being an obviously unholy artifact, but he was smart enough to bless the cursed items before picking them up.

The specialist played the organ, but made his save and didn't kill anyone else. The fighter (I think) understood how to open the sealed door almost immediately, and inflicted d4 damage to himself tearing out one of his own teeth. No one drank the unholy water.

The party destroyed the inkpot before anyone could tattoo themselves. They then spent about an hour in game robbing graves. When they reached the eye of many eyes, the halfling tossed a handful of coins into the well, earning him one point of dexterity and a lot of losses to other abilities. They left all of the doors open and cursed themselves at every opportunity.

In the altar chamber they burned the singing briars, before reading the altar text and trying to sacrifice the poor halfling. He escaped, but when the compulsion left the party and he returned the cleric tried to sacrifice him anyway. Luckily they managed to open the way without any bloodshed.

The halfling tried to kill the cleric, and succeeded with the help of the specialist and the fighter.

At this point the group had learned not to read stuff aloud, so no one threw themselves down the bottomless pit.

Then the dead arose. The magic-user and the fighter escaped through the shaft in the tombs. The specialist refused the vampires offer and died fighting zombies. The elf and the halfling struck a deal, and carried the coffin until they met with the reapers. At that point they realized they were probably about to become accessories to mass murder, changed their minds and died like dogs.