Monday, 26 July 2021

Plow the Cunning (Solo adventure in The Frozen Meatmarket)

Wanting to explore Infinigrad using automated generators I tried out using my protocols for solo gaming and freeform FKR rules. I've always been a little unsure how to keep a record of solo play so here I tried writing the events down as they happen as if I was writing a story (which I guess I was). Having an ongoing narrative seems to be more satisfying to me than constantly jotting notes down (which has been my approach in the past and I've found it a little frustrating). I'm a very sloppy writer, sorry about that if you end up reading the game log. A few times I had to put generated random results in to the text (The Smoke Blades Gang for example) as a record, even if it maybe reads a bit clunky. Regardless it was a fun experiment. 

The first few paragraphs are all exposition from the results of random automated tables from the Infingrad toolkit. Once Plow approaches the door and finds out it is locked I was "playing" rolling for success or failure or checking in with the d6 demiurge oracle for answers to details.  Anything that changed in the game world (crowds thinning, ghouls appearing) was derived from the d6 demiurge. The freeform rules seemed to make much more sense to me for solo play - allowing interpretation heavy context reliant gameplay and meaning making. 

I stopped writing when Plow unlocks the door to the armour store as any longer seems to excessive for a blog post. I shall continue Plow's adventure at my leisure though! 

I used the following to play: 

Suburb Generated: 


3: Replic The Fence’s Armour Store: The main purpose of the building is an armour store. The building Has Large amounts of stolen goods, treasure or contraband hidden away And Residents who are incredibly and bluntly honest. The prominent ornamentations here are flasks that are leaking gas in pairings of twins.

4a: Alleyway. Frozen puddles of ancient murky water. Several unfortunate beasts and men frozen in craggy iceblocks against the backside of buildings. Icicles dripping from buildings. 

Guild Dog: 

Desire (generated from NPC desire in Infinigrad Automated Suburb Generator): Pay back a debt owed to someone dangerous

Plow the Cunning stands in the freezing alley behind “Replic’s Arms” (Replic was a fence who cheerfully and open bought and sold stolen armour and weaponry). He pulls his massive, somewhat stained, white cloak tight around him. The gilded trim was cracked and fraying. Beneath the cloak Rhino clung tight to his torso, his tiny feet tucked into Plow’s belt. Rhino was a baby sized flesh golem with skin studded with stones. A rubble homunculus. Plow had saved Rhino from the disintegration vat of a golemsmith. Plow was not sure why he had risked the golemsmiths ire for this act, as Rhino was essentially useless (other than being somewhat cute in a rotted, disgusting, warped kind of way). 

Plow looks at the frozen chunks of men, beasts and monsters locked away in the ice mounds in the alleyway. Unsold organs from the nearby meat market. That could be him in a night or two if he didn’t pay back The Smoke Blades the nails he owed them. The Smoke Blades were a gathering of dust addicts that operated supplying dust in the frozen suburb. The lostlings in the gang celebrated their addiction, encouraged and supported by the shadowy chemist who led them. This wild abandon led to them being rather gruesomely heavy handed with their customers who didn’t pay back their debts. 

Plow had been supplied a parcel of their dust on the understanding he would pay for it within the next few days. The ensuing dust fuelled days of pleasure had led to Plow forgetting that fact. Now he was sober it was time to gather the nails together to pay back the blades before they chopped him up for organ meat. This brought him to the back of “Replic’s Arms”. He would break in, steal some of the ill begotten nails within and pay back The Smoke Blades before the evening was up. 

The back door was locked. Around it glass vials bolted to the ice-covered stone wall burned with green flames. An alchemical liquid bubbled away in the vials, both lighting and heating the door – keeping it from becoming covered in ice and trapping those within. Plow notices that the fur wearing crowds of the meat market had thinned, the streets empty beyond each entryway into the T junction alley. Plow knew how to pick a lock – he was quite good at it. Unfortunately, he had no lock picks in his possession. An oversight perhaps derived from still fading dust fugue.  He did have his club though – if the door was padlocked Plow might be able to smash it open – using his knowledge of lock mechanics to land a more precise blow. 

When he approaches it, Plow sees that the green lit doors had no pad lock. Just a brass keylock inset in the wooden door. Plow doubted he had the strength to bash the door open. He would have to find some tool to pick the lock with. He peers around the dark frozen alleyway...and doesn’t see anything that could help him open the door. He does see the spindly figure of an embric ghoul stalk into the darkness of the alleyway from the northern entry though.  Plow sinks low to the ground and moves out of the green light of the chemical flames. The colour of his cloak darkens – sensing its wearer’s need for camouflage. 

The embric ghoul is the height of a man, but much thinner. Shards of razor-sharp ice calcified over tubing of amalgamated offcut organs. Plow assumes it must have climbed out of one of the central cooling vents of the suburb, maws of ice that blasted out frigid air from some long lost sorceric factory beneath the earth. It picks its way, shuddering, along the side of the alley, poking with its ice needle arms at the mounds of ice. Plow watches the creature pierce thick ice and shudder as it sups the blood and flesh beneath. It occurs to him that one of those deadly, rock hard ice needles might make an excellent lock pick. 

The embric ghoul pulls its thin arm free of ice, and clatters towards Plow. Beneath the layers of animated ice the ghoul was just old, dead re-animated organs. Embric ghouls crawled out from beneath the suburb to fuel themselves with the blood that was always splashed across the icy streets of the meat market – and grow themselves with any unsold organs they could scavenge.  There were rumours of enormous spider like embric ghouls – so huge they were too large to climb back out of the vents. The ghouls were a pest and dealt with easy enough by melting their ice armour – at which point they generally sloped onto the ground like a thrown bucket of offal. The sight of the undead organs wriggling to escape the ongoing flames and boots of the pest removers was always disturbing. Plow couldn’t completely melt this ghoul though – he needed its arm intact. 

Plow’s cloak shimmers a shade of green as he edges back towards the chemical canisters lighting the rear entrance to Replic’s Arms. The ghoul had found a fresh batch of organs in the ice at the other end of the alleyway and was focusing on sucking up the red goo with its needle straw. Plow plucks free the lowest chemical canister – it immediately warms his thick gloved hands. He would not be able to hold the green canister long without burning himself. With his other hand he pulls Rhino, the rubble homunculus, out from his cloak and places him on the icy ground. The pink, stone studded, creature stares up at him blankly – seemingly unperturbed by the cold. 

Plow slowly, quietly, and carefully, explains to Rhino that he needs him to catch the attention of the ghoul, then run off down the eastern alley way and hide as fast as possible. Plow hopes Rhino’s little legs will be fast enough to keep distance between the embric ghoul. The cost of repairs to the little homunculus would be rather exorbitant if the ghoul was to catch up to him. 

Rhino looks up at Plow, with his bubbly, wonky, black eyes. The folds of his face do not move, there is no change in his expression. But he turns,  and totters off towards the feeding ghoul. When he gets to the T junction, Rhino lets out a garbled, wet scream. The ghoul stops its feeding, extracting its needle from the ice. The homunculus stumble sprints as fast as its little, pink, stone embedded leg will carry it down the east alleyway. The ghoul, red drool leaking from its needle claws, lopes after Rhino – its unsymmetrical legs spindling forward with an uneven gait. Plow waits for the flesh sucking creature to move past him – then creeps out behind it. 

His thick leather slippers, and darkening cloak ensue the distracted ghoul doesn’t notice Plow sneaking up behind it. It is increasing its speed, spider like uneven step galloping forward towards Rhino. The homunculus has decided to hide on top of a particularly well lit mound of ice. He is curled into a warped pink and stone ball, quite obvious to see. 

Plow hustles forward and deftly splashes the burning hot green liquid on to the ghouls uneven, ice covered legs. A sizzling puff of green steam wafts into the air. The ghoul’s legs quickly melt – its movements suddenly pained and erratic as its bottom half is reduced to water and foul red mush. 

The half melted embric ghoul clatters to the ground, its spine head and needle arms spinning to face Plow. He deftly steps back from the, piercing needles as it clambers towards him – watching in disgust as the ancient organs of its bottom half melt in a green puddle of boiling green goo. The ghoul is undeterred in missing half its body. It scratch pulls towards Plow.  In response he tries to crack the thin icy body in half, but the creature is too swift and scrabbling to get a blow in. The ghoul rears its two needle arms up to pierce Plow, launches, and misses. It digs an ice needle into a lumpy pile of ice behind Plow. Plow quickly kicks down on the thin shoulder of the ice lodged ghoul. There is a crack and the needle arm is removed from the body. With its free arm the embric ghoul spins and sinks its still attached arm deep into Plow’s side. Plow feels blood being pulled out of him through the needle. He kicks again, the half-destroyed ghoul falling away from him – taking the blood sucking needle with it. Plow rushes over to the ice mound where Rhino continues to do his best at hiding. Plow scoops the homunculus up and it grips on to his side beneath his cloak – feet tucked into his belt again. 

Giving the scrabbling, dying, insect like ghoul of ice a wide berth, Plow quietly jogs back to rear entrance of Replic’s Arms, hoping Rhinos bizarre scream hadn’t alarmed any one inside. Detached from its host, the needle shard of ice will begin to melt – so he had to be quick using it as a lock pick. He crouches down next to the lock, slides in the needle and is relived to feel that it’s a relatively simple lock. A few moments later there was a “click” and the door was open.