Dolmenwood Solo, Session 1

Introduction

Some time ago I read Gavin Norman's Wormskin zines and loved the world they were building. For me it was the perfect mix of fairytales, traditional D&D and potential for grimdark fantasy. A short time later I got Old School Essentials and loved the art, the presentation and the surprising depth of the old B/X rules, which I hadn’t read (only LotFP).

Fast forward a month or two, after an enjoyable solo mini-dive into Mothership, I decide to try to solo OSE Dolmenwood.

The way I play is I write an ongoing “Log” of game events, interspersed with some dice rolls and other notes. I keep character sheets in a google doc or a notepad/textedit file. In this blog I will present my mostly unedited Logs, with added commentary to explain why I wrote them the way I did, to share my ideas about solo rpgs.

Comments will be in italics like this.

Character creation

This is what my character sheet looks like. Relatively easy to reference, easy to edit, and fits in a narrow Notepad/TextEdit window. 

Stelfri Ironpride, Level 1 Dwarf

HP 8/8 (HD 1d8) AC 15  XP 266/2200

STR 16* melee +2, open doors 4/6

DEX 8 AC-1, missile -1, initiative -1

CON 12 hp+0

INT 14 languages n+1 (Goblin)

WIS 6 magic saves -1

CHA 10 reactions +0, retainers 4, loyalty 7

    XP +10%

Alignment: Lawful

Death 8 Wands 9 Paralysis 10 Breath 13 Spells 13

Gold: 43 GP

  Warhammer 5gp

  Sword

  Platemail 60gp

  Shield 10gp

  Waterskin 1gp

  Wine (2 pints) 1gp

  Rations, iron (7 days) 15gp

  Torches (6) 1gp

  Pouch (small) 1gp

  Hammer, Iron spikes (12) 3gp

I rolled up four sets of ability scores and picked classes to match. I wanted a bard (from the Advanced Genre book) whose Lore skill I felt would be useful to allow the characters to learn the setting.

Daughter of a family of smiths and armour makers, she trusts in steel over anything. Her skill in battle made her the figurehead of the family business. She was encouraged to fight in tournaments, ceremonial battles, duels, promoting the Ironpride Armours name, was unmatched. She hungered for battle and glorious victory, and set out to find stronger foes. Ever loyal to her family name, she now wants to expand her family’s legacy - the Ironprides will be known not only for fine armours, but for bravery as well.

This was inspired by her having platemail. Here are the other characters:

Falkin Dunwallow, the Bard: Childhood spent in Prigwort, until his mother stole her away (he never learned why). They ended up in a city in the South. He made money telling fantastical stories of his youth in Dolmenwood, singing songs in taverns, betting, fighting. His mother died of the pox. He buried her in the nearby woods and left city life behind, starting his long journey back to Dolmenwood.

Lucien Isselhardt, the Magic-User: Lucien was born half-noble, a bastard son of a noble mother and a commoner father (who never met his child). Out of sight, out of mind: Lucien served his youth as an assistant to an aging, half-blind Cleric, reading aloud old tomes and translating them. Lucien discovered the old Cleric’s forbidden stash of books and became enamoured by spellcraft. He escaped with a backpack full of stolen books, determined to uncover the secrets of the arcane. 

Boros Ygwalsson, the Barbarian: Born in icy Thule to an immigrant mother. He loved his mother, his family, his town-tribe, but was always curious about his roots in the mythic South. He listened to his mother’s stories of Dolmenwood magic and hot summers, and imagined this world. He became an admired leader, a warrior, a husband. While he was visiting another tribe, monsters laid waste to his village, family and tribe. Having lost everything in his life, he set out to find another life, the one in the South. Maybe there was some fate for him there, in Dolmenwood. If nothing more, monsters to slay and good folk to protect.

Please remember that this is not meant to be great prose. I wrote it for myself and never intended to share it.

Session 1

Four paths cross on a nameless northbound road through the woodlands of Rabenau, in an inn called the Birch.

The air is musty and humid. A band of dirty, sweaty hunters occupies three tables. They stink of hides. Their dogs are howling outside. The place is small, and the crowd is packed, with people trying to keep some distance to the rowdy hunters.

I got the hunters from using the MUNE oracle and a random 2-word generator.

Falkin finds a table with a Dwarf woman, emptying frothing pints of ale and plates of fermented local cheese and custard with bread. A hearty meal.

“Mind if I squeeze in, milady?”

“If you’ll fucking never call me milady again, then yeah, sit down if you will.”

Falkin orders some roasted goat’s tongue with beans.

All food rolled from Tavern Fare Generator, Wormskin #2.

“What’s your name then?”

“Falkin Dunwallow.”

“Now that’s a name that’ll get you attention. Stelfri Ironpride, me.”

“It’s a conversation starter, certainly.”

Falkin. Sounds a bit rude.

A rumble a few tables away, a reedy man in dusty nobleman’s garb is thrown over a table by a drunken hunters.

Rolled some random words and came up with a barfight, and connected it with the hunters. Mulled over this quite a bit,rewriting stuff until it made sense and moved the scene towards introducing a new character.

“Whatchu say about my mother?”

“Got your attention, you big oaf. Your bloody dogs tore my coat coming in. Control those beasts, lest I give you a lesson in humility!”

I tried this snobby voice for Lucien. I went overboard with his confidence, but I hoped it would lead into some drama, and maybe turn into a personality, eventually.

The hunter smacks the reedy man in the mouth, busting his lip and sending blood flowing by the pint. “Fucking hell, you bleed easy. Look at you bleeding over yer fucking coat.” The other hunters laugh, and he lets go of the young man.

I write a lot of swearing. I watched too many Tarantino films growing up. Lucien bleeds easily because I wanted him to feel frail, to feel like a nerd in a movie being picked on by a bully. His character is all over the place for now. By the way, I'm not recording damage, because I don't anticipate this to become a real fight.

Falkin steps in. “You alright, fella? Careful with that bleeding.” He helps the man up. “Don’t tussle with guys like him.”

Falkin hears the young man mutter something under his breath, with a fiery gaze in his eyes. The hunter’s ankle buckles as he steps, and he goes down in pain. His friends help him up. “Ah, stepped on my fucking ankle. Now how the fuck did I do that..”

At this point I was thinking I'd give magic-users a d4 fray die (meaning they could just flat out deal damage in combat, without an attack roll). Quickly abandonded that idea. Here he's maybe doing some minor magic or alchemy. Also plays on the idea that he might be evil.

Falkin shakes hands with the young man. “ A wizard then?” he says quietly. “I guess you gave him fair warning. My name’s Falkin.”

“Lucien.” he says, holding a kerchief to his swelling lip.

“You want to join me and my friend at a table over there? Get a stiff drink in you, my treat.”

Meanwhile, another traveller has sat down at the table. “Falkin Dunwallow, this is Boros Ygwalsson. He’s contributed a plate of offal to our little feast here.”

“Lucien Isserhardt”, he introduces himself. “Sorry for the blood.”

“And this is Stelfri Ironpride.” They sit. “Ygwalsson, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a Brackenwold name. You from there?”

“My mother was, yes. I’m headed that way.”

Ygwal is a female name from the Dolmenwood name lists. Added the nordic -sson suffix, Ygwal’s Son.

I was interested in getting this conversation right, because it would be the foundation of their fellowship. Trying to find everyone's motivation. I didn’t do much rewriting, just kept it rolling.

“Isn’t this a coincidence! I’m headed there myself. I got family there. Well I used to at least, 20 years ago.”

“Dolmenwood? I hear there’s great magical things there. An old forest.” says Lucien.

Boros leans forward. “I’ve heard stories all my life, but never been. Is it true about elf kind and mortal folks living side by side?”

“I came up in Prigwort and never saw one. But people certainly did. They’re a real thing there, along with all the other things in the woods.”

“What things?” Stelfri asks, emptying another pint.

“Goatmen for sure, kids were warned against them, say they eat people, kids especially. They’re supposed to have big castles in the deep forest. Barrowbogies I saw myself. These creepy things with burial urns on their heads, haunting the old barrow. Stories of dragons, even.”

The old barrow... I think I'll place the Barrowmaze module near Prigwort, though I'm not sure how well it would do as a solo module. Anyway, it's gonna be there if I DM this for my friends.

“Dragons?” Stelfri says, barely containing her excitement.

“Wyrms they call them, right?”

Sometimes I just write dialogue without deciding who the speaker is. Saves a lot of time when I just want to advance the scene!

“Aye, they do. Your mother tell you?”

He nods.

“Where are you lot from? Boros, I hear no woldish in your accent.”

“Up north, far across the Frozen Sea.”

“Thule.”

He nods. “We have our own names though.”

Falkin smiles. He can’t believe his luck. A Thulean, a Dwarf and wizard sitting at the same table. What fuel for his stories and songs!

This is set in my homebrew world, which is very barebones but has a few major regions mapped out. Thule is basically Sweden, Norway and Finland and it's where Dwarfs come from.

“Lucien Isselhardt. Am I right in thinking you have some noble blood in you?”

“On my mother’s side, yes.”

“Who taught you magic, then?”

I don’t know how Falken picked up that Lucien’s a magic-user.

Boros goes white. “Magic?”

Lucien grins. “You have a problem with that, Boros?”

“Well. I’ve been taught a certain way. Been told things about sorcerers and the lot. Been told not to play with things mortals weren’t meant to play with.”

Lucien runs his hand across the candle at the table. It burns a sickly green, for a moment. Boros jolts back. “By Crom!”

Crom. He’s a Barbarian. Why the hell not.

Lucien laughs. The flame regains its normal colour. He opens his palm to reveal some grains of metal. “Just a parlour trick. I’m no great mage. Not yet.”

Lucien has just one spell (Read Magic), but I wanted to give him some magic. He would know some basic alchemy like this.

Boros leans back in, embarrassed. “Just never use your magic on me, and we’ll have no problems.”

“Let’s stop this kind of talk. Stuff your mouths with some goat and whatever that stinky stuff Stelfri is having.”

Falkin is me thinking I don't want too much inter-party conflict this early.

He whistles at a passing barmaid. “A round of tall ones for the table.” He hands her some coin and gives her a wink. She gives back a rehearsed smile and leaves, unimpressed by his charms.

I rolled for Charisma, failing.

“Tell me Falkin, Boros. Are there great wizards in Dolmenwood?”

“There was a man in Prigwort who dealt with magic quite openly. I don’t know if he’s a great wizard, though. He’s got a shop, or had a shop.”

Referencing Wormskin. Falkin never met him, because he was like 6 years old, just knew him like any kid would know if there was a Wizard living in your town.

“I’ve heard tales of witches.”

“Yes, scared the shit out me back then. Them and the fairies.”

“Dolmenwood sounds like a place I’d like to visit”, Lucien says, sipping his wine.

“I would too”, says Stelfri, belching a potent cloud of goat-intestine and pungent cheese. “Give these barrowbogies, witches and wyrms a taste of an Ironpride warhammer.”

Boros nods. “Say we head up north together then, the lot of us?”

“Aye.”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell not.”

Days later...

Now we're on the Dolmenwood hex map! Checked the wilderness movement rate from the rulebook at this point and was disappointed to find we had to make camp before reaching Castle Brackenwold. I wanna get going already!

A signpost reads “King’s Highway” and the road curves eastward. In the horizon, over the rolling hills of Brackenwold, there’s a thin line of green.

The path runs along the border of the forest. The party sets up camp at hex 1807, a days trek from Castle Brackenwold, the major settlement in the ear. Camp is made under the eaves of the trees on the forest’s edge.

Wormskin uses the word "eaves" a lot I wanted to include it too.

Falken and Lucien gather firewood and water, while Boros heads into the forest to forage and hunt. He comes back with a hare.

I checked Wormskin's Camping section but found it too heavy. In the end I just made a hunt check for Boros (2/6 chance). Success.

Falkin sings a song by the crackling fire, backed by a chorus of crickets and hooting owls. “Oh that bonnie lass / and her heart of glass / Would not hold a candle / to bumming around...” 

A Tom Waits song from the Black Rider album.

They set up two hour watches. Stelfri takes the first watch, before taking off her platemail and catching some sleep. Boros takes second watch, Lucien third.

Stelfri takes the first watch because she needs to remove her platemail when she does go to sleep. Less hassle this way.

An Encounter with Dewidort of Smerne, the undead highwayman and his gang, on horseback.

Rolled from an unofficial Dolmenwood Encounter Table (because there is no official one! I was shocked). I googled Dewidort, I don't know where he's from, and I don't remember him from the zines. I found nothing on him except that he's a highwayman, undead and has a gang. I thought of the Ring Wraiths.

Rolled for encounter distance and checked how many rounds I'd had before they reached the party, in case I wanted to prepare somehow.

160 yards away. 2 rounds before they reach the camp.

“Wake up!” Stelfri snaps. “Brigands!” The party wakes up, gathers their things. 1 round for this. Stelfri takes up a battle stance.

“Good evening, travellers”, sounds a creepy voice, coming from a distance, but heard as if someone was whispering right by their ear. “Be not afraid, we are not working tonight.”

Rolled for monster reaction, got a good roll. The Charisma bonus to Reaction is actually very cool! Not a dump stat!

The party nevertheless draws arms, preparing for an attack. Dark characters on horseback, eyes glowing in the night. The horses whinny, their breath is seen in the moonlight. But none from the brigands. They wear masks, and are concealed by the dark. They form a line 30 feet away, with Dewidort of Smerne in the middle. All on horseback. 6 horses.

Building tension, getting myself in the mood. Envisioning the scene. Used MUNE and a random 2-word generator to come up with an idea for why they’re not hostile.

Oracle: Do they want assistance? Yes, but...

Do they seek one of our number for crimes? Yes.

Is it Lucien? Yes. “Faultiest eluding” The Cleric wants his books back. Dewidort wants to earn favour with the Cleric.

"Faultiest eluding" is from the word generator. Maybe Dewidort has a deal with the Cleric who Lucien served. I don't know. I'll find out later if I need to.

“Lucien Isselhardt is among your number, yes?”

Falken steps forth, sword drawn but lowered. “What of it?”

“He is in possession of some books that need to be taken from him.”

Lucien steps forth. “I’m Lucien, but I have no books.”

Dewidort’s eyes light up, like green flames, and his half-skeletal, mummy-like features are illuminated for a moment. He wears a mask over his mouth, but his undead apperance is unmistakeable. His voice is guttural and strikes fear into all who hear it, but his manner is calm.

“The blind Cleric wants his books, mister Isselhardt. We will leave your camp with those books. Whether you will live to see dawn, is up to you.”

Your basic well-spoken villain. I like him.

“You steal those books, lad?” Stelfri whispers.

Lucien grimaces.

Falken speaks up. “No need to cross swords here or draw spells here. How about a bargain?”

CHA +1 to reactions, rolled 10, up to 11.

Do they have some loot to give in exchange? Yes, but. Evangelical Turtleneck. Priest’s robes?

Another word generator idea. I actually use italics and bold for some my original game notes, but I removed them here for clarity.

Dewidort glances at his cohorts. He glances back. There seems to be some unheard communication.

He other rider digs into a saddlebag and tosses a roll of clothes onto the ground.

“Our offer.”

Lucien stares for a moment.

Falken pokes him. “Have a look, at least. Those aren’t ordinary brigands. See them eyes?”

Lucien walks forward, putting on a brave face, puffing his chest. Shit-scared he is. He picks up the cloth. “Can I go look by the fire?” he asks, voice trembling, feigning confidence.

“By all means.”

The campfire crackles. The crickets are still. Lucien unfolds the clothes and looks at them by campfire light. A fine embroidered cloak, of dense fabric, some bloodstains. Belonged to a pagan Cleric by the looks. Worth a good heap of gold, if it wasn’t for the stains.

A cool new outfit for Lucien. He lets go of his criminal past, to become something else. A cool moment, I think.

“What do you say, kid? How much do these books mean to you?” Lucien is shaking. He goes to his bag, grabs a stack of books, tied with yarn, and heads towards the undead brigands. His notebook is on top. He takes it out of the bundle and holds it up.

Just enjoying the narrative, knowing where it's going. I get to relax and just write. 

“This is my work. I wrote it.”

“You keep what’s yours. Is this all?”

“Yes.”

“If we must meet again about this, there will be no bargaining.”

“We won’t have to.” Lucien says, voice cracking, tears swelling up.

“Bring them up.”

Lucien walks towards Dewidort. He sees his terrible face, and the masked faces of his comrades. He shakes with fear, handing the bundle of books to Dewidort.

“Lucien, look at me.”

He looks at him, terrified, pissing himself without noticing.

Even if he's got some chaos bubbling under his veneer, he's also a scared kid. Less of a stereotypical snob now. Younger.

“I am Dewidort of Smerne. Most feared highwayman around these parts. You see these eyes? You believe me when I tell you no blade can harm that which is not alive?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You should not be so quick to believe it. Any foe can be defeated. You have stared into the eyes of un-death and survived. Carry this in your heart and find your strength.”

“I will.”

“And, please remember this courtesy by the highwayman Dewidort when you next face my unliving brethen. Not all dark things are evil.”

Dewidort yanks on the bridles of his living horse and rides away, followed by his gang.

Wanted to feed his growth with some wise words. Kinda cheesy, this. Rewrote it a couple of times, but eventually just moved on.

Lucien returns to the fire, clutching his notebook, which contains all his research, his spells and drafts. “Thank you, all.” The sound of the cicadas returns.

They talk for hours before anyone gets any sleep. Even then the horror of Dewidort of Smerne haunts their dreams.

Just enjoying the moment. This is the stuff I don't get to do in a session with other players. To live out the unexciting, small moments.

114 EXP gained each

(2/3 intervention points)

Tallied XP. Intervention points are a part of MUNE. I’m not sure if I’ll use them. End of the first session. Was very tired. Must have played for 3+ hours.