3. Memoirs of a Henchperson

Memoirs of a Henchperson


  • Lagermane - you nearly got me in trouble reading the above.

    Laughing out loud while I am supposed to be diagnosing some weird equipment problem, leads to questions about what is so funny 🙂


  • she still is a great character 🙂

    thanks lagermane you are a much better writer than me and its a true joy to read your posts.

  • J

    I KNEW I recognized that login name! Darya Frost! Leaving for 2 years tends to make ya forget a thing or 2! 😛

    Darya was a great character.

  • S

    chuckle

    If there's anything I won't easily forget… it's the story of the by then famous "5 seconds of woe" 🙂 Even if I wasn't there, the recount was always great to hear.

    Thanks for putting it up, Lagermane. Gave me a chuckle reading about it again.


  • Five Seconds of Sheer Terror (or When Bandits Attack)

    I admit it. I miss the Eastlanders.

    They were the first dangerous thing I met in Narfell (not counting Sam and his subdual damage on Day Two). When I say 'met', I mean 'heard die as I huddled behind a rock whilst Azrael killed them in swarms'. They were the first corpse I looted.

    They had impeccable fashion sense. For those of you too new to have encountered them, they wore a sort of… well... it was an orange-and-blue monkey suit, really. It was like being attacked by an army of escaped jongleurs gone bad.

    This led to one of the rites of passage with newcomers, the old Eastlander Armor scam. Someone'd offer a tenderfoot a great deal... chain or halfplate, real cheap! And they'd buy it, and walk proudly into town with it on...

    ..and ten different PCs would scream 'EASTLANDER, KILL HIM!' and dial in PK requests at the same time, because hey, a human or elf in Eastlander colors, they must be an Eastlander, right? This was before dyes.

    Of all the opponents PCs fought, we had the most ambivalent relationship with the Eastlanders. You almost never saw the level of hate towards the orcs or goblins that veteran players had towards Atol and his merry band of cutthroats. Some characters (hi Azrael!) loathed them with a passion that bordered on psychosis. Yet at the same time, they were also the mobs that we had the most dealings with, from brief and not-so-brief truces to alliances against common foes to simple extortion at toll bridges. When the Defiler made his final push against Norwick, the Eastlanders marched to Norwick's aid. You didn't see that from the orcs, goblins, or hobs, obviously.

    Their leadership was the stuff of legend and nightmare. Atol was scary. Real, real scary. This was a guy who could partner with Rass, an ancient red dragon.

    Trying to list all the run-ins Narfell, or even me alone, had with them would take a telephone book, so I'll simply recount the one that stuck in my mind the most.

    It had begun as a simple skirmish on Sam's Hill. In these days the bandits inhabited the entire pass, including the map just north of Norwick where the temple of Kelemvor sits now. The skirmish grew, and grew, and before long a runner was sent south to Norwick to muster help.

    We answered the call, of course; nobody therfe was going to miss a good fight. I'd just recently gotten the ability to cast Call Lightning, and was itching to demonstrate.

    We set up our lines on Sam's Hill. It was night, pitch black. The Troff brothers were leading us, and much of the battle consisted simply of mowing down the waves of bandits charging the hill.

    Well, then the waves started pulling back, and we charged them in a long straggling advance. We pushed onto the next map.

    I transitioned, being somewhat in the rear of the force, and, well, time seemed to slow down over the next few seconds, to the point where I can give a timeline of it.

    • .5 Seconds: Darya appears on the map, I look around, trying to get my bearings. There are scattered fights taking place.

    • 1 Second: I see a blue-and-orange figure advancing without opposition, which I took to be an Eastland Marauder Infantry, and attack-click on it. Easy prey!

    *1.5 Seconds: Darya gives her little 'I'll see you cut asunder!' battle cry and rushes forward.

    *2 Seconds: Belthor Troff runs by in the other direction yelling, "FARK WE ALL GONNA DIE". My brain seizes up as I try to look frantically about for what could be causing BELTHOR such panic. I'm thinking 'war machine'.

    *2.5 Seconds: I notice the 'Infantry' I'm charging has a little red floaty over its head saying 'Chief Atol'.

    *2.7 Seconds: I gibber and try not to wet myself.

    *3 Seconds: As I lunge for the mouse and frantically try to get Darya heading on a different course she reaches Atol and swings, missing.

    *3.2 Seconds: Atol swipes at her as my RUN AWAY kicks in and she flees. By some miracle he misses.

    *3.7 Seconds: Darya flees towards the transition. Atol seems to be following.

    *4 Seconds: Yup, he's still coming.

    *5 Seconds. Transition.

    I think the army pulled back to regroup on Sam's Hill. I don't know because I ran and ran and ran. I ran til I got to Jiyyd, and didn't stop there. I burst through the gates and ran screaming through the town with "ATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!" trailing after me. Then I had Darya huddle behind a barrel in the east part of the town until Just'ene came and coaxed her out in her usual kindly, caring way ("Why shouldn't I have you arrested for starting a panic, running through town screaming 'Atol'?")

    Of course, forever afterwards Darya would frequently remind people that she had crossed blades with Atol and lived to tell the tale... ah, bragging rights. I'm sure there's others who can make the same claim, but not, I suspect, many.

    -Lagermane


  • :lol:

    Reading your stories is a hoot! It brings back so many memories of the earlier days of Narfell.

    Excellent. Very, very excellent.


  • A Stint As Robin's Minstrels (or Death Slaadi, Very Dangerous, You Go First)

    It was somewhere in here that I found myself as the low-level henchman of much of the Phoenix Guild at that time, mostly by accident.

    I think I met Call Sanner first. Met probably isn't the right word. Accosted, really. Noticing his arcanely glowing eyes, Darya walked up and tried to sell him soothing eye balm on the grounds that it had to burn a bit. When he declined, she offered her services as ore-hauler.

    Call took her up on this offer, and about half an hour later I found myself 3 hitpoints from death and in hand-to-hand combat with a goblin archer while Call fought about 20 goblins at once with a two-handed sword. This got to be pretty normal. But at least I got paid. That sadly never really got to be normal.

    The trip left an impression or two on me, several of which had to be cured using clerical magic. I guess it must have left an impression on Jazz as well, since that night he nominated me for a C-token. I was duly gratified.

    Jazz got a nomination and promotion of his own soon afterwards, to DM, so I didn't see much of Call. I saw a fair bit of Jazz, mind. Our first meeting seemed to set the pattern, really; every time Darya wound up being stabbed repeatedly in the woods by goblins there was a good bet Jazz's benevolent hand was hovering over the scene, like a flock of evil seagulls. It was almost his theme song. Although once he had her nearly stabbed to death by gnolls instead. But I digress.

    Most of my hench-ing was done for Equinox and Khaya, whom I met fairly early on and liked to hide behind.

    I'm going to laud both of these characters here for something specific. I know and like a lot of people on the server, and I won't say these two are my particular favorites (I won't say they ain't either, mind). The quality they did display, though, was that they were devoid of discrimination based on level, server time, or clique. If you said something, and the something was good sense, they would listen and take it seriously. This may sound like a small thing, but it is not. It was… still is... a pervasive problem in Narfell, where if you aren't of the mighty, the well known, or the elect... you might as well not be there, your questions and comments are ignored, and even the valid contributions you might offer are spurned.

    Equinox and Khaya were both refreshingly free of this, and I've tried to model my own conduct in this respect on them.

    Traveling with them was quite an education, as it often led me into areas or situations that I never would have gotten to at my level. Back in these days, the disparity meant combat XP wasn't going to happen. Then again, back in those days combat XP after a certain level was almost mythical.

    Among the situations that I recall with particular clarity...

    *Sitting on a ledge outside a ruined tower inhabited by a skeletal devourer, at Near Dead, with Cera (and Mojo), also at Near Dead, playing cards on Arryn Raven, who was at All The Way Dead, using his belongings as the chips, with the stakes being who would volunteer to be eaten by wolves first if they found us before Equinox brought back help.

    *Going into the Crypts for the first time with Vino Sten, Alan Kyffin, and Karion Silverbow, thinking "It'll be find, we've got a 12, a 10, an 8, I'm well-protected." We made it into the entry chamber and then OH MY GODS GET EM OFF ME GET EM OFF ME AIYIIEEE! The fangs! We ran outside leaving Karion dead in the crypts, and then Alan dropped dead for absolutely no reason that I could see. So it was just lvl 4 me and Vino, and I was under no illusions who was going to die next. I didn't stop running til Jiyyd.

    The DM's comment to us on the affair: "Sorry guys, I tried to hold the vampires back, but they just kept getting away from me."

    *Going into the crypts for the second time with a monk, Equinox, and Khaya, and winding up at the very bottom of the complex frantically running after a Feared Equinox and trying to dump Cure Light Wounds on him faster than the Dark Enchantress' summoned elemental could take them off. There was a period of 20 minutes of straight combat intended to challenge lvl 11 where I was running around the tomb passages with 2 HP. It was the most utterly certain I've ever been on Narf that my character was dead, and yet somehow I made it out.

    Ever since then Darya has flatly refused to enter the crypts.

    *Playing translator between Khaya and more orcish destroyers than I've ever seen in one place since for a book.

    "I hope y' gots cherrywood on y'."

    "Why? Do you think they'd like some?"

    "Nah, but when I translate wha' y' tole me to t' them, they's gonna kill us, an I'd like a cherrywood coffin, I think."

    It was valuable training, really. Sometimes in what not to do, but...

    -Lagermane


  • Hm.. I remember the Norwick Crest, damn shame I always sold it off. Band up with a ton of peeps, hunt Skara, turn in her head. Get free cleave on a ring. 😄


  • Wow. I can't express my laughter and joy at reading this with any simple "lol, or lmao, or lmfaowrabacul."
    Excellent writing Lagermane. I love it. Really makes me wish I could have been around back in those days. Back when Narfell was young. You just don't get these kinds of stories and experiences anymore.
    Thanks for sharing.


  • The Great Bugbear Hunt (or, Run, Ani, Run)

    At level three I felt confident enough to actually leave town now and then. Not that you had to leave town to nearly get killed.

    Norwick was like a gold rush mining camp in those days, flooded with novice adventurers out to get rich quick or die trying, and mostly succeeding at the latter. It was customary to dump any bodies you found (but weren't interested in raising) on the lawn in front of Friar Fred's. It was unusual not to see at least one corpse there. On busy days there could be up to seven. When you topped level 7 you tended to retire to Jiyyd and refer to the place as Nutwick.

    Jayfal's Uthger added a touch of barbarian charm by hitting anyone who got out of line with an axe, repeatedly. He remains to my mind the quintissential Norwick militia captain, whose idea of 'community relations' tended to be 'chop bits off the community until it stops causing trouble'.

    The usual hangout for the riffraff was at the south fire, always crowded. Especially after the other Norwick meeting spot, the Well, turned out to be a node of Wild Magic that occasionally belched up undead monsters. That sort of ruined the ambiance, you know?

    Not that the south fire was all that safe either. This was back when it shared the same map with a small goblin outpost, two soldiers and a shaman on permanent duty. They liked to chase people back to the gate, whereupon the fire people would beat them down and then yell at whoever 'led the goblins to attack us'. I miss that shaman. The menhir also used to spit things out fairly regularly.

    So one day there's the usual mob of us at the fire; Darya and one of her friends, an elf named Aniasomethingorother Silverleaf. I never could recall how to spell that name so I always just called him 'Ani', 'Silverleaf', or 'ey you'. Much talk about nothing, and someone finally makes the usual offer: 'I'm going to go hunt goblins; anyone interested?'

    Well today, everyone was interested, for some reason.

    We party up. There's 12 of us. At this point a party comes back in the gates, and they want to join in. And more people wander down from Norwick…

    By the time we head out the gates we have upwards of 35 people, most of us 3-5th level, the highest of us level 6 and only two of them. But in those days that wasn't unusual. And we had over half the server!

    We strode boldly into the south Rawlins. The goblins vaporized under our combined firepower. We started to get giddy. "Man, we're an ARMY!" one person exulted. We couldn't get over how many people we had and how easy taking down the goblins was.

    Someone at this point suggests we hunt bugbears. "Think of the XP!"

    Yes! We cry as one. Oh gods, yes! Let us hunt bugbears!

    Well hold up, some of us wiser hands say. Let's hunt them, but let's do this smart and organized! We're not hunting shorties, this is the BIG TIME.

    Everyone agrees to this, and we get organized with a vengeance. One person, a fighter, was elected our general. Captains were chosen for the healers, the mage-types, the ranged fighters, and the melee fighters. We carefully crept over the border into bugbear territory and arrayed in a line. Mages were questioned as to spells and coordinated their tactics. Rogues were put to work setting what few traps we had. The fighter-types conferred earnestly about 'kill boxes', 'focused firepower', and 'wolf-pack tactics.' The healers were given their 'person of priority' and told to keep them up no matter what.

    We had a monk with us, and it was decided that she would sneak out, get the attention of a bugbear, and lead it back to the army. Whereupon, as our learned general put it, 'we open up a can of whupass on that big hairy sucker'.

    This was widely hailed as genius, and the monk crept off. We all chortled, rubbed our hands with glee, and then waited eagerly for the army to claim its first bugbear scalp.

    Back ran the monk. She'd snared one! No, two! Wait, three!

    We opened fire. The bugbears didn't really seem to notice. Lots of bugbears.

    Then they hit our line and it became obvious something wasn't going according to plan, because our fancy kill-box focused-fire plan of attack had left out the part where the bugbears kill our melee people with two hits and then start rampaging through the casters.

    Faced with this confusing development, the army reacted with discipline and spirit; namely we all ran like hell over the border.

    It was like some sort of nightmare. The bugbears followed. They chased us through the forest. The army was just ones and twos scattered throughout the south rawlins trying to get away, or at least hide. The bugbears had split up too. A blackguard would lose one group, then spot another trying to creep away.

    And just to add to the fun, the goblins starting respawning, as if sensing that the time for vengeance had come.

    My panther died making a suicide run to save poor Silverleaf. I teamed up with him and a halfling and we crept our bleeding, paranoid way towards the south gate map. Just in time to be picked up by more bugbears!

    A few of us rallied just north of the lake, and managed to take down a bugbear soldier by playing a sort of ranged-weapon version of 'monkey in the middle' with him. Unable to decide which of us to attack, he eventually fell.

    Silverleaf had gotten separated from me, and when I say 'separated' I mean 'a bugbear started chasing him and I decided not to join him'. But here he came again, around the lake, a bugbear in pursuit. He ran on. I silently wished him luck.

    Our little band conferred on what to do. Get high levels to recover the bodies? Were there still bugbears in the south woods?

    Here came Silverleaf again, around the lake, bugbear still chasing him. Then he vanished from sight.

    Maybe some of us should go back to town and find someone powerful? Or someones? Maybe we should all go back and try and sneak in, get the bodies, and run?

    Here came Silverleaf again, round the lake, and the bugbear too. We glanced over with interest.

    Hey, someone said, think we should give Ani a hand?

    This set off another debate, during which he completed two more laps.

    At this point many high-level adventurers stumbled along, killed everything red, and dragged back the bodies. Sam gave us a lecture on not being reckless. We all cheerfully promised him to be good in the future whilst silently wishing him roasted over a spit. Didn't he know we were an army?

    Nobody who saw or heard of the incident ever let Ani Silverleaf forget it. He rose to eventually be a Gypsy Camp Elder, among other things, but we always thought of him as the guy who ran laps round the Rawlins Lake that day.

    -Lagermane

  • M

    I know this is a place for stories, but I have to say I nearly peed myself reading these two posts! You have given me reason to create my second character Lagermane! Thanks for the laughs.


  • Night of the Living Dead Well (Or, Sage Advice from Mr. Kyffin)

    I started to settle into Norwick. I learned of the ways of Wald and Fine, and made coin and XP thereof. I gossiped, conned, exchanged news with people at the fire and by the Norwick well (at the time the northern gathering spot) and I hung out in the crafting hall (at the time you could, because it was public instead of a Union fiefdom). I reached level three, still only having twice been outside Norwick's walls. Hey, it was dangerous out there!

    Darya was still learning just what the heck a druid was, and so when one of the more powerful ones on the server, Alan Kyffin, agreed to sit down with her for a chat, it was potentially a big moment for her.

    We took a seat by the well, the well which for as long as I'd been on the server (and quite a while before that) had been a completely harmless centerpiece to the north commons. We leaned against it and Alan started to explain the ways of the drui-

    The earth rumbled.

    Alan stopped, looked at the well, sighed the sigh of a seasoned defender of nature who had come through many trials, and then spoke what may have been the wisest thing I've ever heard any character in Narfell ever say.

    "Oh for the sake of the gods, not this again. I'm going to Peltarch."

    And with that, Alan Kyffin got the hell out of town.

    Scabra and Darya, younger and stupider, instead decided to try and look down the well.

    Mas paged us that we saw something coming up.

    Then he started spawning skeletal devourers next to us.

    We ran. The devourers ran after Scabra. I tried casting magic. It was, as far as I know, the first spell cast after zero moment.

    The Wild Magic Well of Norwick woke up. It was Back.

    Well, it was chaos. There was fire all over the well, the skeletal devourers killed Scabra, and started homing in on me. I frantically ran south to the fire for help. I ran staright into the middle of a bugbear attack on the gates and took a fireball to the chin, dropping me instantly to three hit points. I ran back north. The skeletal devourers spotted me again. I ran up Wald's Hill just as some poor soul ran out of the mill, three rats chasing him. He ran straight into the devourers. Now I had two of them AND three rats chasing me through Norwick.

    Meanwhile people had started to realize something was coming out of the well and converged on it. The Troff brothers were casting and hacking and chopping and being generally Troffy. The DMs spawned fire elementals to represent raging fires. The PCs thought they were, well, fire elementals and attacked them. People pulled the devourers off me, and someone healed me back up to full.

    The earth quaked again a few times, causing lvl 1s to drop dead instantly.

    Devourers kept boiling out of the well. More tremors. People still hadn't figured out to stop casting. Some of the Troffs began bellowing for bystanders to get inside to avoid the lethal tremors. It struck Darya as a damfool idea to run into primitive stone buildings to escape earthquakes and I said so.

    Eventually I wound up huddled in Friar Fred's with a stack of player corpses and Scabra's purse. That was the end of poor Scabby; level two and no coin for a diamond. She went out right spectacularly, though.

    From then on, magic got you lynched in Norwick…

    -Lagermane