Forbidden Lands: Short Fiction
Yesterday I was very happy to start a new game of Forbidden Lands. This is my first time running this system, published by Free League, and I have to say it is a total blast. I'm a big fan of the Free League games and in particular, the Year Zero Engine. There is enough crunch to create choices, but the system is easy and is very good at keeping the action going.
We played using the Foundry VTT, which is a new program to me. I have used Roll20, Fantasy Grounds, messed around with Astral, and backed Role on Kickstarter. All of these virtual tabletops definitely have a place, I think, and are definitely suited to some people more than others. Foundry itself definitely has a learning curve, and I'm sure I'll talk about that in an upcoming post in the near future, but that's not what this post is about.
So, as I said, we started a new campaign last night. If you play TTRPGs, you probably know the dread of the first session and the "meet in a tavern" kind of episode. Well, as much as I love meeting in taverns, I decided to start them in the middle of the woods on their way to a village called The Hollows. However, part of creating a character in most Year Zero games, Forbidden Lands included, is describing the relationships to your fellow player characters, and that means that you've been a team for some time. Thankfully, Forbidden Lands has a supplement which features a table of "How did you come together?" In an effort to get the game going, I decided we would get a result from that table which gave us the following:
“You wandered too far into the marshes. Suddenly, you were lost in the fog with only the sounds of strange creatures for company. In that moment, you were surrounded by dozens of Saurians, hissing amongst themselves. You were brought to their village deep in the wetlands, and met a few other adventurers who had been captured the same way. You eventually managed to escape. Maybe you hate Saurians now, maybe you acquired unexpected allies.”
With this in mind, we simply carried on playing, but after the session I introduced an idea which I had gotten from my friend and award winning author David Larkins. I had recently played in an amazing Castle Falkenstein game he had run (all 12 episodes of which you can listen to here!) and he introduced the idea of "Midweek Tasters" to me. These are in-between stories, which can take place any time chronologically speaking, but give some idea on backstory or downtime on the characters involved. Players can involve other PCs or NPCs in their stories, and can treat them as short fiction or a back-and-forth "play by post" kind of thing.
My Forbidden Lands group sounded interested in the concept, so this morning I decided to write up some short fiction about what had happened to the Saurians that had captured them not so long ago. The following fiction is a snippet in time for these wandering lizardfolk:
Far to the east in the swamplands of Blackwater Bay, a dejected band of eight saurians trudge through the mud and stagnant water, mosquitos buzzing around their heads. Their plans to create a new home for themselves in Blackwater Bay were smashed; not enough food to fatten up for the winter and not enough trade to supply them otherwise. In a desperate attempt to start a new life and survive the winter, they had captured two goblins, a wolf, and a wolfkin for eating. It is unusual for a saurian to do such a thing, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Now they must return to their homelands of the Blush, a place from which they had been exiled, in hopes of finding a small swamp to call their own. Throzk, a stout saurian with yellowish-green skin and a great, fat neck returned to his companions after scouting their path home. Planting his trident in the mud, Throzk croaks,
"The aurcs. They caum. Us cannut run, must faeght." Their language is a mix of throat clicks, smacking sounds, and a bad imitation of the common tongue. Though it can be understood by humans, they lack the ability to use any vowels except a, u, and e.
A large, hulking saurian called Gashk, clearly the alpha of the group, lowers his great crocodilian head. A massive neck sits upon his shoulders full of powerful muscles, giving Gashk enough biting power to crunch a breastplate with ease. A low growl gurgles into a throaty hiss while his clawed hands gripped tightly the haft of his massive halberd. The beastly saurian looked to his fellow exiles who nodded in agreement. Gashk was not known for great speeches; in fact, he hardly said anything at all. But he was a cunning leader and none could best him in combat. The exiles knew the look in Gashk's cold, reptilian eyes. It was time to hunt.
The orcs had been tracking them for days. A trade deal with the saurians had gone badly, leaving the orcs with nothing except a grudge. Though the orcs were no strangers to the swamps, the insects and knee-deep sludge did little to maintain their morale. These orcs were large, brutish creatures with powerful tusks jutting from their mouths and keen eyes perfect for hunting. However, their moods were dour, their boots full of mud, their skin spotted with mosquito bites, and their armor cold and wet. In-fighting is a common occurrence amongst orcs and with bad tempers, the slightest misstep can lead to disaster. Unfortunately for a slouching orc called Garra, a mudhole caused him to slip, twisting his ankle and lurching him forward to one of his companions, a war champion called Archa. In an effort to maintain his footing, he reached out, grabbing hold of his companion's armor which only pulled him back and down into the mud with him. The two orcs looked at each other, the rest of their hunting party silent and still. To say Archa was furious would be an understatement. Slowly he stood up over Garra who looked on in horror as Archa reached forward, grabbing Garra by the tusks and shaking his head until Garra's eyes went crossed. Archa yelled and slapped Garra as the other orcs chuckled and jeered, which is probably why they did not see the slithering forms closing in around them.
It was too late when the orcs had realized they were surrounded. The saurians were upon them in blinding speed. Leaping from the cold, swampy waters with tridents and spears, the exiles dominated the skirmish. Gashk with his halberd, swung the steel with barbarous strength, lopping off arms and legs, followed by lightning quick gnashing of his massive jaws, crunching armor and snapping bones. The battle was over quickly. The saurians began to loot their prey, satisfied that all the orcs were dead. Though the orcs kept little on them of use, the saurians knew they would at last eat. They gathered the corpses of orcs, piling them together in a great net and began dragging them north toward the Blush. Within the net, the frightened eyes of Garra, still alive, darted around, fearing for his life. Thankfully, saurians cannot chew and thus wait for their meat to ripen for several days so it is easily torn, if a bit spoiled. Perhaps Garra would have a chance to escape with his life.
