Rich Morris' Comics - YAFGC and The ComixBlog

Sometimes, given how little use many other games make of story, characters and atmosphere, I'd say a pretty good chunk of the industry has set out to prove that most other RPGs don't need them at all.

Of course, most RPGs have come and gone, so perhaps people should chart a new course.

Exactly. The enduring ones usually have a huge mythos behind them.

Balboa wasn't my first character, but he was the first one to survive his initial adventure (his four predecessors having a combined lifespan of about two hours from dice to grave). He turned out to be quite the survivor, being the only character to make it out alive on a few different occasions. This is one of them, reconstructed from memory, and the notes of a certain long-lost thirteen-year-old (yes, I still have Balboa's character sheet), and retold as third-person prose.

Balboa shivered, despite the heat, sweating in his mail and gambeson. The small round shield sung over his back felt as though it were made of stone, and he ached to drop his haversack and leave it behind. Before him lay the long bridge, arcing over the chasm that bisected the cavernous chamber. Although it was a good four paces wide where it met the ledge, it narrowed as it went, so that at its center, it was perhaps a pace across. Just enough for the demon horse that guarded the way. The sooty black animal with smoldering eyes and iron hooves stood at the exact center of the bridge, silent and malevolent. Helea dashed towards it, staff held in both hands, brown hair flowing out behind her. Lithe and fleet in brass-decorated cuir bouilli, the half-Elfin maid raced up the bridge on a sprinter's legs. The demon horse didn't flinch, holding its ground as she closed the distance, just as it had with the others.

There was a sharp, metallic crack as Helea jammed the ferrule of her staff into a gap in the uneven flagstones. The staff bent, but did not break, and a moment later, Thelea was airborne, arcing gracefully through the air.

"That'a girl!" Thorgo crowed, raising his short-hafted great ax. "She's going to make it!"

Balboa thought that the horse smirked at him for a moment, just before it moved. It shook its head, and kicked out with its rear legs as Helea dropped towards the bridge behind it. Briefly, there was the sound of impact, as its hooves slammed into her back, followed by a loud crack, like a small stroke of lightning. And then there was nothing. The sounds echoed to nothingness back and forth from the gray stone walls. The bridge was again empty. Helea was gone; the horse was gone. Just like all the other times.

When they had entered the room, they had been seven - a mixed group of professional adventurers (although Balboa still considered himself an amateur) of many races and professions. But now there were only two of them left, the Halfling Balboa and the Dwarf Thorgo, both of them men-at-arms. They'd fought and snuck and wandered this far, through an underground labyrinth that had promised treasure, but had simply lead them deeper and farther from the entrance. They'd entered this room through a massive door, wood bound with iron, that had swung open to reveal a great chamber as large as an amphitheater, lit by massive bonfires that rested in giant metal bowls that seemed to float effortlessly high above their heads.

The horse had been there then, standing calmly at its post at the center of the bridge, and everyone realized it was trouble. Lacking tack, harness or bridle, it merely stood and observed them through impassive eyes. They looked over the ledge into the chasm, and debated how deep it might be. At first glance however, Balboa knew it to be bottomless. Nothing that black could be anything but a void.

Realizing that the only way to the door on the opposite side of the room was across the bridge, they resolved to cross it - by force if need be. Dramen ventured forth, hoping to lure the animal far enough forward that they could all engage it. Everyone readied themselves, but no one follow him. (Balboa never understood why.) The horse merely stood in place. Dramen was able to get within arm's length without it reacting to him in the slightest. Perhaps thinking it stuffed, an illusion or a well-crafted replica, he reached out to touch it. And, just like that, with a clap of thunder, they were gone, horse and man both. Several seconds passed, and the horse reappeared, alone, at the center of the bridge. Balboa and the others waited, but Dramen was never seen again.

And, one after another, others braved the bridge, and were lost. Once it was down to the three of them, Balboa, Helea and Thorgo, they'd discussed going back, but it had been hard enough getting this far when they had been seven. Going back as three, they decided, would have been suicide.

After several moments, as in all the other times, the horse reappeared, alone. Thorgo suddenly charged the beast, shouting Dwarven obscenities and waving his ax like a madman. His heavy boots pounded out a drumbeat on the bridge that echoed faintly from the distant walls. Almost before he realized what he was doing, Balboa was racing after him, as rapidly as his short legs could carry him, bare feet quiet on the warm stones. Despite the Dwarf's heavier load, Balboa had no hope of catching him, although he closed the gap slightly. The Halfling remembered the naked sword in his hand, and somehow managed to slip it back into its scabbard while running. Ahead of him, Thorgo gave a war cry and lept into the air, swinging his ax with both hands in a vicious arc. The demon horse shifted slightly, its hooves seeming to strike sparks from the stones on which it stood. It leaned forward, and almost gently, head-butted the unrushing Dwarven warrior. Before Thorgo could rebound from the beast's head, Dwarf and animal alike were gone in another echoing peal of thunder.

Balboa fixed his gaze on the door that was now before him, and ran as hard as he could, ignoring Helea's staff where it lay forgotten along the side of the path. Ragged breathing sounded in his ears, but he couldn't spare the thought to recognize it as his own. He didn't even remember tripping and falling until he'd rolled once or twice, and was hastily scrambling back to his leathery feet, looking around wildly.

There was nothing but a broad ledge, paved with broad, uneven gray flagstones. Perhaps twenty yards away stood a giant wooden door, bound in iron. From behind him came a whinny.

He looked back, and there was the horse, back at its post in the center of the bridge. It was facing him, rather than the other way, but it didn't move. Balboa looked at the massive door that lead out of the chamber. His work was going to be cut out for him. But you only live once. He unslung his shield, and drew his short sword. Something made him bring the blade up before him in salute.

The horse nodded, and tapped the bridge with an iron hoof, as the small warrior, alone in the deep, went on his way.

Interesting. So how did you get past it on the way out?

Fortunately, I didn't have to. The DM tended to build his dungeons in a somewhat linear manner, with basically a front door and a back door. So Balboa simply kept going, sneaking around, staying out of sight and ambushing monsters until he found the back door.

You ever find out what happened to the others? I'm thinking the nightmare dropped them off someplace very unpleasant.

They were just... gone. I never found out what happened with them. Presumably they all died, as everyone had different characters for the next game. But the DM never actually specified their fates.

Since nightmares can plane shift at will, with no restrictions, they could've each been sent to their own personal hell. Perhaps literally.

Starwars

We were playing a d20 starwars campaign and we were on Hoth. It was kind of a homage to Firefly as we were a couple jedi and other types hiding out from the Empire under the guise as fringe transport and traders.

Anyway, we were on Hoth and, long story short, after a force-fueled snowball fight (epic) we were attacked by a large worm-like thing. It was a pain and we were all close to being killed when the Jawa in the group ran by, jabbering, and literally dived into the thing's gullet. We all figured he'd just kamikaze'd when the thing exploded and the little dude went rocketing out in a personal force-field, riding the thing down like an energy parachute. Derek, the guy playing the Jawa (we never got a name from him either) had talked to the gm BEFORE the game, without ANY knowledge of what was going to happen, telling him what he'd spent our break period making, which happened to be this very one time use energy shield AND a high powered explosive.

Shortest fight we ever did and I have to say, one of the more entertaining as we imagined a four foot tall thingie in robes shooting through the air yelling "HOOOOOOOTEEEEEEENNNNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"

All right, what follows is a bit of a bragging:

We were playing Oriental Adventures the other day, one of the few campaigns where i get to be a player. I usually am the storyteller, 8 times out of 10, which is great but draining. So when we play Oriental i am starved for crafting one particular character and it shows.

My character is a Shugenja, a mage/priest type. Our party was in front of the local lord (daimyo) when he got attacked and slain by an impostor, pretending to be of our clan. The whole party attacked the murderer, angry for the murder and the slander. My character on the other hand, being a healer, tried to cast a cure spell despite the player (me) knowing the daimyo was dead -i just felt a healer would do that, even if it was basicaly hopeless.
The DM recounted the hitpoints the murderer had taken, and found out that the daimyo was in the negative hitpoints but not in -10 yet, thus the spell could actually save his life.

It was one of the few times where useless but good role playing saved the day, as opposed to the min max and +100 damage...

One time, during what is still my favourite D&D 3.5e campaign to date ...

Our party had been tussling with an evil Greater Doppelganger Cleric for a while now. He fought smart, he was cruel, enjoying torture, desecration and performing Vauxhall style while his minions were tearing into us, he ruined our reputations and blighted our souls.

We were exploring a secret temple of Set, hidden underneath a temple of Osiris. We had a pretty shrewd idea our nemesis was in the neighbourhood, and we found a room which held: 1) several preserved corpses, 2) a pit and 3) a music box.
We quickly ascertained there was an illusion spell on the box. My character - admittedly a paranoid Wizard - advocated blasting the box. Other players: No, let's listen to what it has to say.
My Wizard: Guys, this wouldn't be the first time he's set a trap for us. Remember the spellbook that had Clutch of Orcus on it, or the museum exhibit that suddenly attacked us? Just break the thing.
Other players: You're being paranoid again, now hand over the box.
My Wizard: Then at least let's listen to it outside, and not in here. What if there's a spell trigger or something in it?
Others: What kind of wizard are you, anyway? That low an illusion spell can't deliver another spell, now hand it over.
My Wizard *huffy*: Fine. Be that way.

The box was opened, music played, and our nemesis sang.
And from the pit rose the vengeful ghost of a priestess of Set, who our nemesis had murdered and reanimated. She thought we were in cahoots with her murderer. The corpses also reanimated as advanced zombies that could turn into swarms - just as our nemesis had ordered them to do once they heard him sing.
A terrible fight was had by all. We won, fortunately, and I managed to say 'I told you so!' only once.

.So last Halloween I was playing something called an "X-crawl" in a D&D meetup group. i was given a character named Carol, and me and my companions began the campain.

allot of non-interesting things happened, fought some giants, a gibbering mouther, golems, ETC.

After a short break, we turned a corner and were faced with a long stairwell. Everyone figured it was trapped, so i, as a barbarian, volunteered to go up the stairs. by the time i reached the third step however, the stairs acted like an escalator on caffeine, and went into overdrive, throwing me up the stairs, and onto a massive spider web covering the ground. i was trapped, and spiders were coming from every direction. after hearing my screams of pain suddenly stop due to unconsciousness, one of my companions launched a flaming arrow over the escalator while another tried to turn the machine off. the burning arrow hit the spider web, and set it aflame. the fire managed to reach several bottles of alchemical fire in my bag, and Carol the barbarian was swiftly burnt to a crisp, wakening from unconsciousness just long enough to shout a loud "YOU SUCK!" before death.


RIP Carol


edit: @Lyger that story of Balboa? best. story. EVAR! the little guy truely is a survivor XD

HAHAHAH! Nice one.
We have a copy of X-Crawl. Never played it though. Sounds pretty funny, but a bit of a one-note joke. Not really interesting for a long-term campaign or anything.
Like Toon, you can't really make a continuing epic adventure out of it. It's more for lighthearted one-off adventures.

I would dispute that! Think of something like X-Men's Mojoverse...

Or a story of a group of would-be celebs trying to eke out an existence where their best route to stardom is becoming what are essentially gladiators...

Or Running Man.

Or a world where convicts for petty crimes are forced to engage in dungeoncrawls and get thumbs-up from the watching crowds to win their freedom.

Without having read the book yet, just knowing the basic outline, I think there's a huge amount of dystopic campaign potential inherent in the system.

I like your DM's style .