On Loot and the Law

Killing things and taking their stuff has been a staple of the RPG genre since it first coalesced. Depending on party, players, game system, and genre, this is more or less of a problem. Some players will delight in hauling a cartful of tattered chain coats, rusted axes, unwashed bedding, assorted crockery, tables, doors, and whatnot back to town and insist that the local costermongers purchase all of it. Others find stripping fallen foes of their arms and armour detracts from their sense of heroism.

One Neolithic Evening

Before the door even opens, awareness born of experience warns him that his home isn't empty. A figure sits quietly beside the fire, wearing black. He doesn't show any surprise. Feigning it would be an insult to both of them. Instead, he sighs deeply and takes a seat. Might as well get it over with.

The fire casts long, deceptive shadows, like flickering memories. Neither of them looks directly at it, carefully preserving their night vision. It's an old habit, and like any old predator, those die hard and mean.

"Come back, Rick. The team needs you. I need you." His visitor sounds almost wistful for a moment. There's a glint in his hand, a polished piece of amber that catches the firelight as he rolls it in a neat circle. It draws the eye and traps the mind, winding thoughts into slow loops. He knows the trick, and knows that won't keep him from falling to its lure.

He leans forward and stirs the fire. Charcoal rattles; sparks drift into the air, burning bright for a moment, and wink out, like a human life. "Stop calling me that. Rick is dead and gone. I let him die a long time ago."

"Fine, Freddie. Real life isn't that simple. You can't stick your head in the sand forever and wait to fossilise. This new situation, it's more than we can handle-"

"Bison coprolites. You just can't let go, can you? Well, I don't do that any more. I walked away into the sunlight."

Little circle, little circle. "I watched you do it. Against my better judgement, I might add. You expect me to believe you've forgotten it all? Haven't thumbed the edge of a flint in all these years? Step into a cave without checking every exit? Never stare into the moonlit night and think about the past?"

It stings to hear the truth so bluntly. But it doesn't matter. "I have a family. A job that means something. A real life." He glances at the wall, at the crude figures drawn in charcoal by tiny hands - bison, bears, brontosaurs. He can almost feel the touch of those soft fingers in his calloused hand, holding him fast.

The amber stops rolling. The figure in black finally turns to make eye contact. "And what do you think will happen to that sweet life of yours when they find out about your past? How will they look at you then?"

The man in black furs feels his shoulders hit the wall, driving the air from his lungs, before Rick's movement even registers. Ancestors, the brute was still so fast. Eyes as emotionless as any Megalodon's bore into his own, so close that their eyebrows threaten to tangle. Powerful muscles, not quite gone to fat, pin him against the stone.

"We're through, Ug. Pick up your club and walk away. There's nothing here for you any more."

Moments creak by, breathlessly, before Ug recovers enough to nod. He's made a mistake, but he's far from a fool. He knows a lost cause when it stares him in the face. The hands slowly lower him, unwind themselves from his tunic, and smooth the rumpled fur back into respectability. Neither of them speaks as they walk to the front door, every stride another step away from the past.

At the threshold, Ug pauses, half-turning to speak over his shoulder. "Listen, Rick-" The look in his old comrade's eye silences him. Rick - no, Freddie, there's no question now - gives a barely-perceptible shake of his head, and swings the door closed.

"Yabadaba don't."

A haunting problem

For today's game, I thought I'd mix up the usual run of half-weasel-half-chainsaw monsters and ex-soldiers who've made regrettable life choices, and let the PCs encounter a haunt.

I was moderately excited about this, because I love the concept of a haunt. Here's a problem you can't simply hack or spellcast your way around!

Necropolitans, episode 59: Launch our hair through the window

Violence and more violence! Innocent ice demons and hags, probably only looking for a comfortable night's sleep, are brutally assaulted by these mean undead, in Episode 059: Launch our hair through the window.

Necropolitans, episode 58: This is why you don't trust the dog.

The Necropolitans accept an offer to join their new acquaintance in an inn, which will surely end well, in Episode 058: This is why you don't trust the dog.