Drew Hayes
NPCs
NPCs
By Drew Hayes
Copyright © 2014 by Andrew Hayes
All Rights Reserved.
Edited by Erin Cooley (cooleyrevision.com) and Kisa Whipkey (http://kisawhipkey.com)
Cover by Clay Kronke
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
I feel it is only appropriate to dedicate this book to my college tabletop group. To Matt, Dan, Neil, Alex, Jenny, Alaric, Kendra, and Biggie; the people who made those dice-based adventures into the fond memories I still carry to this day.
I also want to thank my beta readers for all their input and assistance. To E Ramos E, Priscilla Yuen, Bill Hammond, and Chad; whose time and energy helped make this book the best it could be.
Prologue
The halls stank of death, a sour mixture that cobbled together the worst parts of time, neglect, and rot. With every step, he was certain something would spring from the shadows, show its visage in the dim light of the glowing runes on his staff, and then tear his throat out. He was desperate to run, to turn and flee from this strange labyrinth they’d uncovered, but he dared not. Any moment of cowardice would be his last, for when word reached the king, there could only be one outcome.
Moving carefully past the broken door housed in an ancient arch, he entered a room different from the others he’d encountered so far. It was circular and compact, where everything else had been sprawling. There were accoutrements for living: bookshelves and a stove, both long ago ravaged by time. They started to call to him, for he’d been walking over a day now and hunger gnawed at his belly, but then he saw the pedestal.
It sat in the center of the room, a dusty, white material that might have once gleamed in a different life. Atop it, without any grandeur whatsoever, sat a strange object that reflected the enchanted light from his staff. He moved toward it, and as he did, he felt a strange pulse of magical energy ripple forth. The strange item gleamed now, fully illuminated by the staff’s mystical glow.
He knew better than to reach out and pick up a clearly enchanted object. Even as a lowly court wizard, that lesson had been beaten into his head by all of his teachers. He did know better… and yet, he was still unable to stop himself as his slender elven fingers curled around the object and plucked it from its perch.
The glow intensified; no longer was it reflecting his staff’s light. Now, the object generated illumination of its own. Around him, sounds filled the air as the dungeon began to come alive. Traps re-armed, monsters stirred, and magic poured from every surface. He paid no heed to any of it, however.
All he saw, all he could see anymore, was the curious object clutched tightly in his hand.
1.
“Your party finally makes it into town sometime past midnight. The streets are vacant, save for the occasional guard making rounds, and the only light seems to be emanating from the local tavern.” Russell took care describing the sleepy hamlet of Maplebark, determined to get all of the details just right.
“About freaking time,” Mitch grumbled. “That took forever.”
“I told you, I want to do more realism in our games. That includes dealing with physical travel time,” Russell said, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Whatever; I say we hit the tavern. Boys?” Mitch asked.
“Hells yeah,” Glenn echoed.
“I’m in,” Terry agreed.
“I’m not sure if paladins are supposed to drink,” Tim said quietly.
“Oh, would you relax? The oath of purity isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, you’re a level one character. If your god abandons you, then just re-roll,” Mitch said. “We’re going to the bar.”
“Fine,” Russell said. “Roll me Vision checks.”
“How does that work again?” Tim flipped through the character sheet in front of him, trying to make sense of the various numbers. This was his first time playing Spells, Swords, & Stealth, a tabletop RPG, and there was a lot to remember.
“You roll the die, in this case a D-Twenty, and add your skill bonus. For you, that bonus should be four.” Having helped make Tim’s character, Russell was quite familiar with Tim’s skills and stats. It was the duty of every Game Master, or GM as they were informally called, to help the new players get acclimated to the system. “If you roll a twenty, that’s an automatic success and you pull off whatever you’re trying. If you get a one, that’s a critical failure and you screw it up, no matter what your bonus is. Those rules also apply when you’re trying to attack someone, only the repercussions are worse. You have to re-roll on a one, and if it’s not above five, then you hurt yourself. If you ever get three ones in a row, your character has failed so badly they accidently kill themselves.”
“We can do that?” Tim’s already pale face seemed to lose a few shades.
“Unbunch your panties, it almost never happens,” Mitch said. “That’s as rare as getting three twenties in a row, which auto-kills your opponent. Now, hurry up and roll; my character’s got a thirst only ale can slake.”
Once the dice were thrown and the results had been tabulated, Russell described the scene that met their characters’ eyes. “You see two humans sitting at the bar—one, a man who appears to be a local guard, and the other, a woman dressed in slightly more noble clothing. Drinking alone at a table in the back is a shadowy figure, small and crooked. You notice him glance at each of you carefully as you walk in.”
“Yeah, he better be scared,” Terry declared.
“Right. Sure. Anyway, tending the bar is a half-orc. Once you’ve all entered, he cocks an eyebrow,” Russell said.
“Oh, he is so trying to start something.” Glenn almost giggled. “Destructive wizard time.”
“No way, he hasn’t provoked us. Can I roll a Read Motive?” Tim asked. He’d finally found the page with his various abilities and was anxious to be of use.
“Sure,” Russell told him. Tim’s roll was sufficient, so Russell explained the gesture. “You understand this is his way of inquiring what you all want to order.”
“Oh,” Tim said. “I step up to the bar and say ‘A round of mead for myself and all my friends’, then put a silver piece on the bar.”
“He gives you back several coppers as change, along with four mead-filled, metal mugs.”
“Damn paladin, stopping us from fighting the bartender,” Glenn grumbled.
“I know. I wanted to loot all of his cash. But at least Tim’s drinking with us,” Terry pointed out.
“Oh, crap! I forgot.” Tim cringed. “Is it rude not to drink something I ordered from him?”
“Who cares? He’s just an NPC,” Mitch said. He turned to Tim, who had already halfway opened his mouth to ask a question. “That means Non-Player Character, someone who doesn’t matter. They’re background scenery, like the buildings and trees. But you’re still drinking the damn mead. Bad enough we have a paladin in the party. If you’re a fucking buzzkill too, then we’ll stab you in your sleep.”
“You know that would lead to an alignment shift, Mitch,” Russell warned him.
“Whatever, it’s not like alignment affects my stats,” Mitch countered. “Okay, boys, hoist them mugs. To the quest!”
“To the quest!” echoed the other three players.
“So, you all toasted with your mead, does that mean you all drink?” Russell asked.
“Duh,” Mitch said. “I drain my mug in one sip.”