Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Easter monster challenge

Happy Easter for tomorrow everyone!

If you're like me and find holiday gatherings equals you drinking too much and reading blogs such as this to avoid a) helping with the cooking b) breaking up fights between your wife and mother and c) admitting that you ate all the easter eggs, help me out with a little BoL monster mash.

I'm constructed a sandbox-esque BoL campaign, basically our pcs roll into town and are presented with a variety of things they can do:

-want to sign on as a caravan guard and escort traders out through the old graveyard and through bandit country? Sign here me good lad.

- want to explore the ancient catacombs and tombs beneath the city? Well, yes young blade - find that the big bloody hole in the street.

- Interested in getting caught up with the feuding noble houses of the city? Sure, sign on over there.

One of the offers will be to go and loot an old wizard's tower in the foot hills to the east. The priesthood that runs the city of Oxy want two large stone tablets "retrieved" from the ruined tower.

Anything else in there is open season.

I've built up a back story about An-nut Sadat, a powerful sorcerer some 300-years-ago. While a lover of the high priestess, he fell out with the Temple over his research into undeath.

Seemed Sadat wasn't keen on running into the arms of the Grim One when his time came.

He was exiled and settled in the flinty foothills about a three day journey to the north east.

It's made known that the temple wants certain tablets brought back from the tower - for what reason? Well, no one's saying.

BUT - what does one populate a BoL style dungeon with? If we were playing DnD - it would be a simple matter to throw in a tribe of goblins, a couple ghouls and let it roll.

BoL, with its sword and sorcery setting provides a whole new set of challenges.

I'm thinking a mechanical guardian/trap poised over the tablets themselves. A couple ghouls in the crypts and a giant spider roosting in the main hall.

But what else - lend me a hand in populating my wizard's tower

Monday, March 29, 2010

BoL hero Alluxus (Al the Fingers)

Alluxus gave the rope wound tightly around his waist two hard pulls and his companions stopped lowering him into the pit.
The thief hung suspended in darkness, his torch only giving off a small pool of illumination.
Two tugs for stop, one for go and three meant "get me the hell out of here", he hoped he wouldn't be needing the third.
Leaning forward, careful not to up set the rope harness too much Alluxus peered at the walls of the shaft.
His torch offered only meagre light but in its yellow flame he could just make out the ancient mural that covered the walls, worn smooth by the passing of eons.
"What's wrong, Fingers?" a gruff voice barked from above where his companions waited.
"We don't have much time," the voice of the swordsman Drul came again.
The party's sorceress Isparla had said she'd cast a spell that would silence the loud clanking and groaning of pulley system but the crypt creepers still didn't risk staying exposed on the streets of Oxy for too long.
A patrol of temple guards could easily chance upon the group feeding a rope into a big gaping hole in the middle of an alley way.
But Alluxus ignored the muffled growling of his comrades as he wiped centuries worth of dust and grime from the wall revealing art work that had never seen the light of day.
Early Uritian work, probably he mused, tracing his his finger along the flowing runes.
Some sort of warning?
Leaning back so that he could take in the full picture he spotted first a feline-like foot in the far edge of his light source and then gasped as he discovered the entire picture.
Above he could hear the angry muttering of Drul and the female wizard.
Metres below street level the thief hung in wonder at what he had discovered.
Before him a beautifully worked mural of gold leaf and other wondrous paints depicted a great lion-man creature attempting to bring down a warrior kitted out in golden armour.
The picture had faded horribly and much of the lion was gone but the image was unmistakable.
"We've certainly found it - this is it," he shouted.
"What?" came the muffled reply from above.
"This is certainly the tomb of Ralj the Pious. We're going to be rich very shortly."
But deep below Alluxus could hear something stirring, a rapid slithering sound emerged in the darkness as something was awoken by all the commotion.
Alluxus looked down nervously as the sound became louder.
Above him, his companions ignored his frantic, repeated tugging on the rope.
"What? Have you been reading again, Fingers?"

Alluxus the thief
Strength: 1
Agility: 1
Mind: 2
Appeal: 0

Brawl: 0
Melee: 1
Ranged: 1
Defence: 2

Noble: 0
Thief: 2
Scribe: 1
Slave: 1
Protection: None
Weapons: sword (d6), daggers, Crossbow

Languages: Lemurian, Sorceric.
Boons: Blind Combat

Alluxus was born Alluxus deStan, eldest son of the Lord deStan, a wealthy noble of Oxy.
All of this changed when he was five. The deStan family had been locked in a cold war with another one of the city's noble houses, the Ricol for close to a decade and finally Lord Hassid Ricol found a way to bring his rival down.
A "loyal" retainer of the deStans, allowed the Ricol swordsmen into the family villa one stormy night.
Aided by hired killers and magic the Ricol family fell on their rivals, overpowering the men at arms and dragging every member of the family out into the courtyard for execution.
Alluxus' father, mother and five siblings were beheaded in the courtyard along with several cousins, hangers on and men at arms. The Ricol's sword arm was red to the shoulder that night as he personally saw to the slayings.
However Alluxus' wet nurse swapped her own son with Alluxus so that the young peasant boy was hacked in two by the Ricol while the young noble scion was spared and sold into slavery with the remaining servants and retainers.
Heartbroken at what she had done the wet nurse hurled herself on Ricol's sword moments after her son's death.
But now the pampered boy was a slave, sold to slavers who sold him onto the salt mines of Carage on the edge of the Phut plains.
Most five-year-olds would have died within weeks but Alluxus was helped by a former thief by the name of Lance, sold to the mines when he was caught lifting a merchant's purse.
Lance first taught the lad to survive and later how to walk without making a sound, how to pick a pocket or a lock and evade traps.
By the age of 15 Alluxus and his new friend had planned their escape. Sadly before they could break free Lance caught the flux and died, forcing the teenager to escape on his own.
He returned to the city of his birth where he lived like a rat - thieving for food and living in bolt holes, abandoned buildings and the streets - until a kindly old street scribe took him in.
Sensing Alluxus' wit and keen intelligence he taught the lad the trade until the lad was old enough to branch out on his own.
Things were not to be - by his 22nd year the would-be scribe had found that going straight was not as easy as he thought.
Now he once more travels the Thieves' Highway above the city streets and delves into ancient crypts and temples to make his living.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

BoL hero: Ardan Arkados, son of a merchant prince

Ardan Arkados gave the riding Kroark a spiteful kick in the guts as it stumbled off the path again.

The gray skinned reptilian lifted its long snout and let out rueful hoot, bucking its rider around.

High up in the saddle Ardan was forced to grab the saddle horn with both hands as he struggled to stay atop the riding beast, which was once more drifting into the path of the Bouphon-pulled wagon, trailing behind him.

He gave the lizard another kick and pulled the reigns hard to the right, obediently his mount moved out of the wagon's way.

With another hoot the creature settled back into a loping gait.

I left Tyr-Sog for this? Ardan thought, wrapping the reins firmly into his hands.

Six days on the road and he ached all over. Six days in the saddle, cold camps every night and only the company of the caravaners and the sell swords his father had hired.

Craning his neck Ardan could see the four large wagons trundling along behind him, a dozen caravan guards - all attired in the standard leather brigandine and heavy trail cloak - mounted on their own Kroarks.

All were armed with long spears and had small, round wooden shields slung over their shoulders.

No one could say that Ardan's father didn't equip his men with the best.

Suddenly there was the sound of pounding feet ahead, followed by the high pitched hoot of a Kroak.

Ardan's hand dropped down to where his own slim sword rested at his hip. The blade was more more costly than anything any of the caravan guards could ever afford but it had seen its share of blood in a series of duels back in the capital.

Onfra Rue's mount galloped around the corner, the head of the guards sat high in the saddle, his spear slung over his right shoulder.

The mercenary, considered his father's best fighter, reigned his Kroak in, falling into step with Ardan's mount.

"We've found a snug little dell just up ahead," he said, running his free hand through his dark hair.

"We can make camp there and call it a day a little early, if his lordship agrees?"

Ardan nodded curtly but he groaned inwardly. Another night of rough camp.

Scratching at his newly grown beard - he'd stopped shaving before leaving the city, partially as a signal that he'd finally grown up and partially to confuse assassins on his trail - he thought ruefully of his exile.

"This is the last toss of the dice, lad," his father had told him the week earlier when the pair were alone in the old man's study.

"The last chance."

Swordsmen working for the duChain family were searching the city for the scion of the Arkados family as the pair spoke. Probably trawling through the seedy collection of dockside taverns, high class brothels and wine-sodden salons Ardan frequented.

Only hours before Lord Edu duChain had entered his daughter's bedchamber only to discover her wrapped around an enthusiastic Ardan.

And this time the problem couldn't be cleared up with a purse of gold and a promise, like it did that time with the serving slave.

No, this time Ardan was in the deep end.

Kicking his Kroark once more the young noble spured to the front of the merchant convey.

"Come on you, lot!"

Ardan Arkados is heir to the vast fortunes of the Arkados trader family. The name Arkados has been synonmous with trade in Tyr-Sog for a century and his father, a master merchant, was rewarded with a patent of nobility by the Sark before Ardan was born.

The boy grew up in the lap of luxury with his every whim provided for, his comforts built on the back of the family's trading and shipping interests.

With a father frequently away on business and an easily manipulated mother Ardan quickly turned into a spoilt little shit.

As he got older his interest turned to girls, drink and dice and very quickly his vices caught up with him.

As fitting the son of a merchant prince Ardan was taught the art of the sword from a young age, which proved fortunate because he was frequently called into duels on account of his involvement with other men's wives, daughters, slaves and in one case grandmother.

He took little interest in the family business, occasionally joining trade negotiations or merchant ships bound for far off lands.

Finally he went to far and was found bedding the daughter of a powerful and malicious lord who quickly dispatched hired swords to find and kill him.

Frustrated with what his son has become, Ardan's father has sent him west with one of their trade caravans, hoping that getting him out of the city will keep him alive and maybe even make a man out of him.

Ardan Arkados


Strength 1

Agility 0

Mind 0

Appeal 3


Brawl 1

Melee 2

Ranged 0

Defense 1


Noble 2

Merchant 1

Mariner 1

Soldier 0

Lifeblood 11

Hero Points 5

Protection: Medium armour (1d6 -1) mail hauberk

Weapons: spear (d6), dueling sword (d6)

Languages: Lemurian

Boons: Great Wealth, Etiquette

Flaws: Arrogant

BoL hero: Ulf the left handed

Ulf the left handed

Ulf shuffled into the elegant throne room. The heavy chain connecting the manacles around his ankles rang as it bounced over the tiled floor.

Dropping onto his knees the big Valkarian knelt before the veiled and bejeweled woman who sat perched on her cushioned throne.

He didn't dare look at her, but kept his eyes focused on the multi-coloured mosaic on the floor before him.

"You summoned me, mistress?" he asked.

Behind him he heard a sharp intake of breath from the palace guard who had herded him through the halls and corridors into this gilded room.

He could imagine the ebony-skinned giant behind him, clad in the flowing red and gold robes and turban and armed with one of the massive falcions all of the guards carried.

He'd been in the Jazalan palace for close to two months, ever since he and the rest of the crew had been defeated and captured. And he still hadn't grasped the myriad customs of the bloody place.

Finally the woman before him spoke. "You dare address me, slave? You, a worthless barbarian dared address the Grand Vizeer's wife?"

Her voice was throaty and rich like amber wine, even with the thick Jazalan accent. Ulf had picked up enough of the language - first on board the galley as a rower and then later in the grand city - to understand her.

"Forgive me mistress," he answered. This time the intake of breath behind him had more frustration than surprise in it.

The Vizeer's wife stood. She was clad in the flowing, shapeless gowns all women wore when in public while a thin, gauzy veiled hid her face, letting only titillating glimpses of glossy, raven hair and high, arched features.

The barbarian gazed up at the woman as she approached, her silken slippers making only the lightest of sounds on the tiles.

Suddenly one of the tiny feet flashed out, smashing full into Ulf's face .

Dazed by the, albeit weak, blow he put up no resistance when she suddenly grabbed a hank of his straw-coloured beard and pulled his face up so he looked directly into the veil.

Unlike the locals the brawny warrior from the icy wastes had hair and beard the colour of dirty, yellow-brown straw and ruddy skin.

His once wild masses of hair had been trimmed and his beard had been cropped close by the slavers but there was still enough for the woman to grab onto.

"No slave ever dares speak to me without my permission," she growled.

"Do you understand, swine?"

Still gripped by the beard, Ulf nodded mutely.

"Good. Palz, give him five lashes for speaking the first time and 10 for being a stupid swine."

Chained hand and foot Ulf could do nothing as the guard behind him kicked him to the floor and slit his brief slave tunic down the back.

His mistress looked on, arms folded as the heavy quirt rose and fell.

Each lash was an explosion of pain but the barbarian refused to cry out. This palace dwelling pansy knew nothing of pain - Orm had been beaten skillfully by the slavers at sea. Not to mention the everyday pain of growing up in the Valkarian wastes.

Go on, you bastard. Hit me again. He thought, allowing only a wet grunt to blurt from his mouth as the whip lashed him for the final time.

"You may leave us Palz," the vizier's wife said, waving the henchman away.

Ulf lay exhausted, sprawled on the tiles. He could feel the blood trickling down his back to pool at his side.

"Look at me, slave. And do sit up, you're making a mess."

Ulf rose to his knees. Slowly his mistress reached up to her cheek and unpinned the veil. It dropped away, revealing a face of unrivaled beauty.

Midnight hair framed a dusky, heart shaped face set off by pert, red lips and large brown eyes.

Next she pulled at the cords holding her robes, letting them drop to the floor.

Ulf let out a low growl as he gazed on his owner's wife, naked and beautiful. She looked nothing like the pale, blonde women of his homeland and his eyes drank in every bit of her, dusky-skinned, rosy tipped goodness.

Smiling, the woman stepped towards him, one delicate handing winding around a link of Ulf's chain and pulling him close.

"And now slave, I'll punish you some more."
By Gorm, I've got to get out of his mad house the barbarian thought.

Ulf the left handed was born the son of a minor chief in the Valkarian wastes, from a clan of sailors and vikings.

Big and brawny, the lad could fell a Snow Ape with a spear aged 15, wear full armour at 16 and killed his first man in a drunken brawl aged 18.

Ill tempered and wild when he drank, these drunken brawls became all too common for his family who insited Ulf go somewhere - anywhere - else.

His father, Valk took the lad onboard his longship and Ulf got his first experience at a-viking.

The warrior took to it like a Poad to water and soon he had made himself wealthy.

Later Ulf was second mate on another ship heading south for summer raiding. After several months of raiding and trading the crew met up with another ship and headed further south into the Jazalan lands - lands of swarthy, turban-wearing men and ancient riches.

All was going well until the two ships were ambushed by a fleet of Jazalan warships - most of the northmen were put to the sword but a few were taken as slaves and forced into the rowing benches.

Formerly right handed our hero found himself rowing on the left side of the ship and found himself relying heavily on the other arm. (Hence the name)

After close to a year patrolling the coast Ulf and several others were sold to the country's Grand Vizer Jal-Path where he caught the attention of the vizer's wife Al-Jazeereth.

She took the slave as her lover, insisting he be one of those with the royal couple everywhere. It was on one such trip where his lordship was ambushed by bandits that Ulf proved his worth - rescuing Jal-Path and killing three of the bandits with his bare hands.

As a reward Ulf was commissioned as one of the slave soldiers of the royal bodyguard.

His lord's wife had an even better reward for him.

But it was not long before the vizer learned of the going ons of his favourite guard and his wife and Ulf was forced to flee - his former comrades hot on his heels.

Strength 2

Agility 0

Mind 1

Appeal 1

Braw 1

Melee 2

Ranged 0

Defense 1


Barbarian 1

Pirate 1

Slave 0

Soldier 2

Lifeblood: 12

Hero Points: 6

Protection: Very light armor (protection d3-1) (Battle Harness, Greaves and vambraces)

Weapons: Sword, Spear, Dagger

Languages: Lemurian, Valkarian, Jazalan

Boons: Marked by the Gods (gains an extra Hero Point)

Valgardian War Cry (Scares the hell out of opponents)

Flaws: Taciturn

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The North Kingdoms

So, guess what? I'm really not busy at work today. In case you hadn't guessed.
I'm supposed to be writing up some pub reviews but there's not a lot going on.
How about I upload my "North Kingdom" setting for BoL.
Please tell me what you think?

As I've mentioned before, this is out BoL campaign setting:

Tyr-Sog: The kingdom of Ty-Sog will be out starting setting - a large kingdom made up of several city-states ruled in the Sark's name by Satraps.
It's an old, crumbling kingdom. Some say the rot set in when the barbarian usurped the throne, others says the gods have cursed the land.
Either way, two of the northern satraps have risen up in rebellion - supported by the neighbouring Arnian League.

Tyr-Sog is a city of high culture and sophistication. A mix of all colours and sizes, but generally dark haired and dark eyed.Ruled by the Sark Osric the Red, a barbarian usurper who seized the crown 25-years-ago and is now an old man. He has no legitimate children and therefore the court is a mass of scheming plotters all ready for the bastard man to die. A city of traders, courtiers and scholars. The city is protected by an elite force of pikemen and charioteers.
-Great Wealth
-Marked by the Gods
-City dweller

The Arnian League: These city-states are organised in a relatively homogeneous country, mixing people with origins in Tyr, the far north and the surrounding area. A mix of colours and sizes can be seen.
Stout warriors, used to fending off the advances of the barbarians and plainsmen, the Leaguers are a hardy lot that struggle under a draconian set of rules enforced by the Ruling Council.
Rumours has it that the council are in fact wizards - or even worse,Yellow Druids.
They rely heavily on mercenaries but also count some of the best archers, backed by heavy cavalry in their ranks.
Magic Resistance
Nose for magic
Arn Longbow
Arnian War Cry:
Distrust of Sorcery
Morgazzon’s Curse

Kothian Confederation
The people of the confederation are generally slim, attractive folks with olive skin, dark eyes and hair.
A rather shaky alliance of cities that banded together to fend off the river and sea pirates.
On land their spearmen are decent warriors but the confederation’s real strength is it sea power. They constantly engaged in sea battles with pirates (and occasionally Tyr-Sog).
The best mariners are from the confederation.
Born sailor
Pirate killer
Swamp Tracker
City dweller
Missing Eye or Ear
Missing Limb

The Plains of Phut
Home to a mix of men and Ceruleans, a race of blue-skinned nomadic giants, also known as Blue Nomads.
Whilst they are fearsome-looking, Ceruleans are not an especially aggressive race.
They are actually great traders.
Men of the plains are either members of the nomad clans (must take a career in Barbarian) or grew up in one of the far-flung agricultural communities (must take farmer).
A hardy people, they are outdoorsmen, hunters, farmers and herders.
There are no cities on the plains and the nomads have very different customs, traditions and gods to the "cagers" as they labels the farmers. (ie; they live in a cage, not under the stars).
While the farmers gather in small, close-knit and conservative settlements the nomads are a wild bunch.
Their caravans are great, rambling affairs with animals running to and forth.
They also have a strong oral tradition and elaborate customs on welcoming in guests and travellers.
Guests are always welcome with the strong kilsk wine, bread and meat and a spot by the fire. By tradition if a guest enters the tent or caravan of a family he is offered everything by the family and take what he wants: drink your wine, eat your food and bed your wife.
Plains Tracker
Sling: Roll an extra die when firing a sling.
Beast Friend
Country Bumpkin

Oxy (the city of the dead)
Once a great city-state that controlled much of the surrounding lands.
The city’s Sark was a cruel and proud warrior who dispatched soldiers far and wide.
After crushing the armies of the city of Kruell, sacking the city and putting the populace to the sword he declared that he was mightier that any of the 20 gods.
Things turned for the worse - the Sark and his family were murdered in a coupe, crops failed, the army mutinied and plague spread.
The people called on the gods to come but they did not listen. Only the grim temple of Nemmereth, the death god, had remained (someone had to bury the bodies).
They restored order once more - but now the priesthood rules the city.
The dour people are dark and swarthy in this grim city where laughter is rarely heard.
The temple controls every aspect of the city, keeping order with its hired swords and elite temple troops.
There are great crypts beneath the city but few dare to break in - fearing the temple guards and what ever undead horrors lurk below.
Few thieves have come back for the Belows. Those that have gibber like madmen and usually take their own lives.

Blind Combat
Detect Deception
Feels the Cold
Touched by the Death God: Work with the GM to determine how this manifests itself. Madness, etc.

Valkarian wastes: Valgardians are a tall, muscular race, many with red or fair hair, of warlike tribesman.
If you come from Valkard, one of your careers is barbarian. You are unlikely to be a sorcerer or alchemist, but they are not unknown in Valgard.
Keen Scent
Marked by the
Quick Recovery
Valgardian Blade
Valgardian War Cry
Country Bumpkin
Distrust of Sorcery
Feels the Heat

BoL's first outting (or gaming with the missus)

So the kick off for my BoL campaign draws ever close. I tried it out with my wife as a bit of a solo game (I did however bribe her with a foot rub and a solemn oath that I'd take the bins out).

The setting is "The North Kingdoms", which I'll post about shortly, but the basic premise is an expansion on the official BoL map.

While that map finishes up with the Icy Wastes in the north, I decided to push these north lands even further north and slot in the North Kingdoms.

As I said, I'll get a post up with details about the kingdoms of Ty-Sog, the Arminum League and the Korean Confederacy and their going ons later.

I ran through the basic rules and character creation with my wife (she's never gamed before) and she decided on a wandering minstrel/scribe who has attained some skills with the sword in her travel.


Lezal the Bard

Minstrel: 2

Scribe: 1

Mercenary: 0

Physician: 1

Str: 0


Mnd: 1

Appl: 2

He idea was the Lezal is a teller of tales and stories from lands far to the east. She's wandered into the town of Yew, a rowdy seaport in Ty-Sog.

Yew, is a rather seedy, squalid settlement built at the meeting of the River Ty and the Great Western Ocean. Trade ships unload at Yew and their goods - precious stones and silks from Kor, pelts and hides from the far north and other items of great value are then barged up river to the capital of Ty-Sog.

While trade has staggered almost to a halt as a result of Ty-Sog's civil war, Yew is still a busy town.

Seeking local tales and legends, pertaining to an ancient cult of druids and tribes of centaurs formerly in the region, Lezal has rolled into Yew.

After describing the dirty, muddy streets and low, tubby stone and wood buildings my wife decided she was off to a tavern to wet her whistle and maybe earn a few coins singing her little heart out.

"So, what tavern are you going to head to?"

"The worse one I can find!"

Seconds later Lezal is hoisting an ale in the House of Syrne Gor, a tavern right on the docks full of people you don't want to meet in a dark alley.

I described the other drinkers: sun darkened sailors wearing short kilts or loin clothes and not much else, a small contingent of the town watch drinking in the corner and a pair of well dressed traders.

Most of the drinkers are watching the dancing girl, who whirls and twirls sinuously in little more than a few scraps of black silk.

My wife was about to ask the barkeep about maybe getting some work when a friendly wrestling match broke out between two of the sailors over the dancing girl.

Pretty quickly the wrestlers - a formidable black-skinned giant and a smaller, lithe fellow with olive skin and shoulders covered in crude sailors' tatts - managed to stumble into a table full of sailors from another ship, upturning it.

The dancing girl fled screaming as the table full of hard men drew daggers and short swords and fell on the wrestlers.

At this point, I asked Lezal what she was going to do. My wife didn't seem overly interested in getting involved in a bloody brawl until one of the wrestlers was stabbed (the dark one).

Now the unarmed sailor was facing five swordsmen and she decided this was just too unfair (with a little bit of prodding from me...)

Lezal got stuck in, her long sword flashing. Pretty soon two of the thugs were dead, both her and her new friend had suffered a few cuts and bruises and the rest of the thugs were fleeing.

With oily charm and a fair dose of sleaze her companion asks her if he can buy her a drink...

NOTES: This playtest went well. I'm planning on starting the real campaign in Yew. It's going to be the basis of a semi-sandbox game.

From Yew the players can branch out - either by sea or land - and do what they want.

I've generated some hooks and at this stage they include:

- with civil war pulling most of the regular forces north, bandits have started hitting the trade barges going to the capital.

- a local merchant is boasting that he's come across a map to an ancient crypt high up in the hills

- no one has heard anything from a small town about a day's hard ride to the north. Could it be bandits? The civil war? Or something worse?

- and the biggie is helping a "sailor" out in a tavern brawl. The sailor is really a the second mate on a pirate ship, docked in Yew for some R&R and pretending to be a mere trader.

The captain is looking to recruit some more likely lads because they've heard about untold wealth on a nearby island.

My wife played very well - she was a bit hesitant to actually talk to folk and needed a bit of prodding but she played the part very well and came up with an excellent back story for herself in a couple seconds flat.

Hopefully I can convince her to play more...

Is this thing on?

Hello, anyone? Is this thing on? Anyone?

Well, welcome to My Mother's A Hobgoblin, my blog about role playing, D&D and just about anything that takes my fancy.

I'm in the process of setting up a Barbarians of Lemuria campaign so I'll be primarily talking about that.

At this stage, it's enough to say that we'll be using a home brew setting with fair slices of the BoL setting and material thrown in.

Stay tuned for campaign details, plot hooks, home brew rules and monster and of course a campaign re-cap.

I'm really looking forward to getting this thing off the ground.