Gar

Gar is a smallish city on the western coast of a wide peninsula in the northern areas of the inland sea. Although larger than Poori a week's sail to the north, it is still not far from the wilderness of the hills and mountains to the east, and is the next-to-last stop on the merchant lines. The cool climate is moderated from the sea, but with a constant wind blowing in salty sea air and lending a weather-worn look to even the newest structures.

The city is firmly in the hands of the New Faith, at least on the surface. Several temples, including The Searing Light, The Nine-Pointed Star, The Blistering Sun, The Just And The Bloody, and others collectively administer some degree of rule and justice to a city of traders and the thieves who prey upon them.

The wealth in Gar, relatively speaking, is concentrated in the hands of the powerfully-named Alliance of Merchants, who have acted as secular patrons of sorts, funding the impressive-by-any-standard Tome-Hall of the Towering Spires library and its concomitant sages and men of letters; subsidizing a society of collectors and master craftsmen; a number of specialized schools and academies for a fortunate minority of literate folks to expand their minds; and the Red Veil club for the entertainment of the well-off and their hangers-on, some who prefer their identities go unmentioned.

Meanwhile, the rivers, natural and engineered, bearing barges of lumber and stone from the hills to the sea, border the Canal Town, a self-governing district of porters, miscreants, drunks, and shellfish cultivators, under the shadowy influence of "the Skull", a master manipulator and schemer whom has not been seen by any reputable soul.

Into the hinterlands, the control of the Temples is inconsistent. Some areas, sharing a common history with Gar, provide it with food, manpower, and metal enough to buttress its continued existence. Other areas, like the Outer Hold nestled in the mountains, retain a strong regional spirit and bristle at Gar's dominance. Here, too, among the farms, herds, and mines, the Old Ways remain able to color lives and dictate attitudes, to the disgrace and anger of the Temples.

Poori

Poori is the last town on the usual inland sea merchant routes as they ply their way along the Gulf and north through choppy waters and ship-flipping gusts. Its main goods are timber, furs, and meat collected from the vast swamps and forests stretching several weeks' hike further inland. The people are mostly too poor to buy much from the passing merchantmen. For these two reasons many vessels pass it by altogether, turning back south from Gar to more profitable ports.

Poori is one of the gateways to the Old Ways. It is at one time the last bastion of civilization which struggles to maintain its grip. The New Faith, based from its threshold here, tentatively reaches into the wilds, but as often as not these tendrils are swallowed up after thrashing around a while.

In this, two main elements mix in the muddy streets and low wooden houses: the city-builders, with family names from Gar to the south and long-ago migrants from warmer climes to the southwest; simple farmers, loggers, and hunters with their own language and ways, struggling to adapt to a more urban life.

Although officially outlawed by the passive rule of the Baron and by the more active efforts of the New Faith, the Old Ways are king in the inland reaches and simmer below the surface in town. Here they are expressed as a reverence for the wild, monstrous, and deadly legendary beasts and the mysteries of the swamps.

Overlooking the town, on a hill to the north, is the Baron's fort, mostly quiet and staffed by local boys, many of whom strain their muscle for work on the side. To the northwest, on another low hill, is the house of the Magister Hienimi, the Gray Wizard. Respected by the few who bother to concern themselves, he has long offered his occasional wisdom and intellect in exchange for being left alone to his studies. The docks are relatively rough and the hotbed of the strongest Old Ways sentiment, while the rest of the town quietly labors and struggles to stay warm and dry.

In the docks area stands the Old Oak Inn, the most welcoming establishment to outsiders. Inside the single room towers the eponymous giant tree, powering through the roof and with branches hanging over adjacent buildings.

The Curtain Lifts, Moistened by the Mist

Welcome, Friends.

The sprout is now growing into a fine sapling. Our Labyrinth Lords game, started on Gio.'s first sessions and a whim with my attempt to wrangle a handful of mostly-strangers at a Tokyo community room rented out for wargamers, has become a campaign now worthy of the term.

Writing after our half-dozenth successful session, below are some thoughts as I attempt to grasp the essence of what we together are trying to create:

Our Approach

Old School: Labyrinth Lords is a recreation of the basic D&D and 1st Ed. AD&D rules. The system itself is older than half the players and simple enough for the GM to still have mostly-memorized from a childhood of collecting and reading the Classics of the genre.

Loose and Free: Dice are something to keep our fingers busy. Gio.'s painted miniatures are second-to-none, but mere props. Character sheets are mostly a fig leaf we use to cover our naked egos as we leave behind our adult lives to speak in funny voices across a table; also to help remember who has the cursed shortsword. The rules were designed for a game we are not playing. You systems-engineers speak up, but this flaw is in its own way liberating -- if you step outside wearing an out-of-style coat three sizes too small you have only your imagination and wits to rely on when greeting the world head-on.

A Collective Story: I take pride in assembling and executing a good session, but it is really the players who own the game. We play with who can make it, characters (made by me but shaped by you) sometimes swapped between players as we settle into our favorite roles. Every session you wrest control and take us all for a ride to test my preparations and ad-lib skills. Sure, the outcome can be messy, but it's our collective mess -- if any of us wanted to write a book or script by ourselves we wouldn't ride halfway across the biggest city in the world to do it.

Themes

A Banal World: We are creating a world, not just an underground dungeon or tableau for high fantasy gear-fetishism. This is a world full of normal people living normal lives interrupted by adventurers, the wrongs they right, and the chaos they leave in their wake. Wounds hurt and are not easily healed, and the dead cannot be raised, even by those who are not charlatans. Magic, when not the theoretical plaything of the literate few, is both rare and terrifying. Thieves are too busy scraping by to organize into guilds of merry miscreants. Magical artifacts too often bring grief upon their wielders (and envy upon their beholders) as much as they bring power.

Tragic Heroes: No one is without flaws. Like in real life, our foibles don't buy us "bonuses" elsewhere; they just make life harder but at the same time infinitely more rich. Heroism is much more heroic in contrast with smothering normalcy and human frailty.

The Core Remains: Despite this, there are still the tropes of the genre -- a party of misfit adventurers bound together for unknown reasons; lists of quests to uncover ancient power; cozy inns filled with big personalities and story hooks at every table; backwoods filled with filthy evil humanoids reflecting the dark side of our own psyches; often-surprisingly lethal battles in the swamps and streets, with or without consequence.

Motifs: Fate, mostly inescapable. The Old Ways, disappearing into memory and legend, but not without a fight. Provinciality, ignorance, and backwardness. Human weakness; emotional, spiritual, and physical. Wrenching ethical decisions amidst moral gray areas. Discomfort from cold, wind, and rain.

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Let us get started, here, this record of our adventures!

-RK
24 September 2011