Playing With Myself
This isn't about jacking off! Honest!
Man, I really love tabletop RPGs but it is impossible to get a group going unless I insist on GMing1 and I hold everyone in my basement at gunpoint. And I like being the GM1! For some reason, I can't fucking get people to commit to anything, get on a solid schedule, read the goddamn rule book, or stick with a campaign for long enough to turn it into a regular thing.
Recently, I tried to get a game going for Basic Fantasy RPG with a couple people that expressed interest, but it's been over a month and we haven't even had our first session yet. It's annoying because I have a lot of other obligations and while I'm trying my best to organize this type of stuff, my erstwhile players (with one or two exceptions) don't seem keen on putting in the effort on their end to follow through with set deadlines for having stuff done or being active in the group chat. I think that, without people who are excited enough about gaming to take on a little responsibility for themselves, I'm just never going to have a solid RPG group that lasts. I don't have the spoons to, after all my other obligations are taken care of, babysit a handful of grown adults through organizing something fun that they would enjoy. It's sad, but that's the reality of the situation and I guess I just have to accept it.
But enough griping! Griping is for sad-sacks who sit around and gripe all day and that doesn't solve anything! And I'm a problem solver goddammit! So, how is a lonely, maladjusted dice roller supposed to get his fix of fantasy escapism and semi-improvised story telling? Well, there's this neat little thing called solo play that can maybe sort of fill that d20-sized hole in my heart! Basically, what you have to do is take an RPG—any RPG of the pen-and-paper variety—and adjust the rules so that you can play the game as both the player and the GM, in a sense. Often times, that means getting (or making up) a set of supplementary rules for whatever you decide to play that help you determine what your story or quest is going to be based around, how it develops, how to make calls on what happens to your character without making the game too easy, and a handful of other things that can keep the game running without that clear line of delineation between the player and the referee.
For my little solo adventure, I decided to go with Mörk Borg, a grimdark RPG with a very light ruleset that lends itself to solo play, along with the Feretory and Heretic supplemental zines and Solitary Defilement as a loose guide for how my solo campaign progresses. It's actually been a lot of fun, and I've particularly enjoyed journaling my game, since I can sort of turn it into a coherent story and add little character interactions for flavor. It's actually so much fun that I've decided to clean up my notes a bit and publish a portion of them here for you all to enjoy:
Backstory
My name is Felban. I am a rogue and a dungeon-delver, seeking fortune in the ancient catacombs and shadowy depths of the Dying Lands. Born in a hamlet outside of Schleswig to a family of millers, my life took a dark turn when the sky darkened and our village was raided by the marauders of King Fathmu IX. My parents were slain, our mill was destroyed, and I learned that the only way to survive in this world was by your own strength and guile.
One day, in the great city of Galgenbeck, I was approached by a priest of the Cretun Order, who promised me forbidden knowledge of how to cheat my way into the Shimmering Fields, provided I fulfill one simple request: HE demands that I present him with a gift of rare anti-obsidian from the Urilian Crypts. The offer was too good to refuse, and thus I began my search. It is said that the Urilian Crypts are hidden away deep underground, and none living know the location of the entrance. However, clues may still exist of their whereabouts amongst the dead. After some time, I came upon a rumor that a clue might be found in the Orphan's Grave, on the outskirts of icy Kergüs. I recruited a Wild Wickhead for a follower (chained to my waist for everyone's safety) and set out for the dungeon.
Day One
We arrive a week later, low on rations and morale. The entrance to Orphan's Grave appears to be an inverted church, with a great stone steeple and capsized gargoyles that will surely make for a perilous climb to the door. We make our way up to the entrance with some difficulty, but I manage not to fall or hurt myself. The door is guarded by a membrane of Sarkantha, something like a wet, translucent hide stretched impossibly far over the great entrance with pulsing purple veins. Since I am strong but not agile, I attempt to push my way through, which I do with little trouble, almost falling to my knees as my momentum carries me past the entrance. I shake off the slime and attempt to help the Wild Wickhead, or "Double Dub" as I've taken to calling it, pull through by pulling on its chain, which I am just able to accomplish with our combined efforts.
Once inside, we come upon an unclean abbattoir, with long-dried blood and viscera clinging to the walls and floor. The room smells mainly of old dust but the iron of blood and the stench of rot still linger. Near the end of the room we spot a dread creature, shimmering as if unreal with a face like a rotting intestine, covered in its own terrible mewling spawn. The creature, pale and covered in a thin layer of white hair, turns to our general direction and lets out a shrill scream. It bounds toward us, probably to chop us up into little pieces and put our dismembered corpses into some sort of disturbing collection. Double Dub and I exchange a glance, and without exchanging a single word, we know exactly what to do: get the fuck out of there. We try to run past it, but as we do, the beast swipes at us with its foul claws. It manages to catch my rawhide cuirass, but it is only a glancing blow and the claw slides off, leaving a long scratch mark across the side. Double Dub manages to duck out of the way, and we pass through to the next room, quickly shutting the giant stone door behind us. Sweating and panting, I turn to address my partner in crime, "Well buddy, looks like we get to live another day."
"VooOOOpvoopooovoooOOOOp!", Double Dub replies, sardonically.
"Yeah, yeah, always the pessimist. Look, we'll probably be down here for at least a few hours searching for the goods. By the time we come back this way, the terrifying abomination might have wandered off!"
"Voop."
"I like to think of it as being full of optimism."
We move through a short passage and come into what appears to be a torture chamber: an eerily smooth, undecorated concrete room, it's only features being a wooden rack with rusted manacles sitting in the center, flanked by two small columns each topped with what appears to be a cat skull. The one on the left begins to speak: "Hello travelers! What brings you here today?" Before I can answer, the one on the right interjects: "Oh no no no no no, not today! Today was supposed to be our day to spend time together, and now we have to give riddles to another couple of grave-robbing douchebags! I'm tired of this shit, man!"
"Listen, I understand we were supposed to hang out today, but we do that literally every day! Adventurers don't come by so often anymore, not with that weird shimmering thing wandering around. Half the time it kills them before they even get to us!"
"I don't care! Thursdays are supposed to be when we open our mouths as wide as we can and chant blasphemies into the endless void! That's my favorite thing, and it's only fun when we do it together!"
"Oh jeez, well, I didn't know that you felt that way. Listen, why don't we just give them the riddle and maybe they won't even take too long to solve it. They could be out of our hair in jiffy and we could get right to our horrible blasphemous chanting that puts hexes into the souls of young children."
"Alright, but if these guys take two weeks to solve it again I'm gonna be really upset with you."
"Hey you two," I interject, "I've got a proposition for you: how about we just skip the whole riddle thing, you let us pass, and you can get back to whatever you were gonna do before we showed up?". The left head replies, "Um, well, I suppose I've never thought about it that way before. I... I suppose we don't have to give you a riddle before we allow you to pass. Or do we? I was never really clear on what the rules were for this place. Tell you what: how about, instead of giving you a riddle, why don't I simulate the mental effect of having to solve a really complicated riddle by hitting you with a wave of psychic distress instead?" Before I can answer, I'm hit with what can only be described as THE WORST THOUGHT I HAVE EVER THOUGHT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. I drop to the ground, shrieking in a register I didn't know I was capable of reaching. After five minutes that feel like a fortnight, I'm able to collect myself and get to my feet. Suddenly, two passageways appear on the walls of the room, allowing us to keep moving forward. "Er, thanks, you two," I awkwardly say, wiping the blood dripping from my nostrils.
Passing through the exit on the left, we come upon an unholy hall, filled with a distant cacophony of discordant moans, either from the spirits of the damned that met their fate here, or some twisted living inhabitants. Eventually the moans converge into recognizable words, uttering a terrible warning: "The Day of the Foul Convergence is nigh at hand. Rejoice! Soon the Curse of the Orphan's Grave will be unleashed upon this world, and you living shall be its evangelists!" Double Dub begins jesturing at me while tugging its chain, "VoooooopvoooOOp!" "You said it pal," I reply, nervously grasping at the hilt of my warhammer, "we need to find what we're looking for and split, ASAP!" We walk past the blackened walls and ash piles toward the end of the hall, but before we can reach the door, a hooded, prowling Scum slinks out of the shadows and takes a cowardly backstab at Double Dub, hitting it in the kidneys. It lets out a low cry as blood pours from its wound. "You lot shouldn't be here. The treasure in this place belongs to ME. Soon I'll have your treasures, too." I draw my warhammer from my belt, snarling, "Listen here, gutter trash, you aren't getting shit from us but a dirt nap!"
Double Dub wildly swipes at him with its knife but misses as he backs out of the way. I take a swing at him with my warhammer but am too slow, as he dodges to the side. He takes another stab at Double Dub but the Wickhead is too quick and his knife cuts only through air. Shrieking, Double Dub responds with a thrust of its own knife, and this time the blade finds its home between the Scum's ribs. Blood pours out of the stab wound as the Scum backs away coughing and spitting red bile. He turns to flee, and I just barely miss him with a swing of my weapon as he makes his way to the exit and melts back into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of blood. "VOOOOoopvoovooOOOpVVppooovv...", the Wickhead whines as it drops down to one knee. "It's okay Double Dub, I've got you," I say in the most reassuring voice I can muster. I activate my sacred scroll, Grace of a Dead Saint, to try and heal myself and my companion, but the spell fails, causing a small explosion, knocking me back into the wall. "Okay," I manage to choke out through gritted teeth, "never mind. How about we just rest for a bit and try to patch ourselves up the old-fashioned way?" We spend a few hours recuperating, stitching up wounds, and applying bandages before we move on to the next room.
Before long, we find ourselves in a cavernous chamber with a rickety rope-and-plank bridge over a giant pool of boiling tar. There are skeleton carvings on the walls with drooping tongues and sunken eyes that seem to follow our movements. We carefully make our way across the swaying bridge and reach the end of the chamber. On the other side, we arrive at a stone ledge with two doors, one on the left and one on the right. We take the door on the right this time.
The next room we come upon appears to be some sort of perverse inversion of a royal court, with the smashed and hacked-at remains of a throne, covered in dried blood, with a well-dressed corpse sitting atop it. The room is strangely free of dust or cobwebs, and smells less like corpse rot than I would expect. The walls have carved effigies of noble-looking people with fancy names under their bust. Seeing the glint of what might be jewelry, I run over to the corpse to try to loot it of treasures, "Score! Drinks are on me when we get back!" However, I happen to step on a particular stone plate that activates a booby trap! Arrows fly from the mouths of the carved effigies as the room shakes and their haunted eyes begin to glow. I manage to dodge most of them and the rest thankfully only graze the sides of my armor. Double gives me a look suggesting something like disappointment. "Not. One. Word." I say as I begin rifling through the dead man's pockets, "Alright, let's see what kinda goodies moneybags has on him..." I pull out what I think might be an expensive trinket only to find... a wooden mallet. I grumble some unkind things to myself, tossing the worthless object to the side as we continue on our way.
Before we can make our way to the exit, a stone passageway behind the throne, the same Scum from before emerges from the shadows and stabs me in the back shoulder. His knife finds its way through my armor and I cry out in pain, wounded and bleeding heavily. "I TOLD you. The treasures here are MINE!" The Scum makes a quick slash at my Wickhead compatriot, making a grievous slice across its belly. "That's it! I'm caving your skull in!", I cry as I swing and miss with my warhammer. The Scum takes a stab at me, but the telegraphed strike is something even I am able to easily dodge. I respond with a two-handed side-swipe, connecting with the fiend's skull so hard that his whole, intact brain explodes from the side of his head and his eyes pop out of their sockets. Blood and bone splash against the blackened stone walls as his limp body falls to the floor. "Vooopvoop..." Double Dub weakly exclaims while picking up the Scum's knife. "Yeah, no kidding," I say curtly in response. Looting his body, I find an unclean scroll of Foul Psychopomp. "Hey pal," I say to my partner, "let's make camp for the night. That gut wound looks bad and we should try and patch it up before it gets infected. And I don't know about you, but I could use some sleep after all that." Double Dub wordlessly begins making a fire from some coals we had on hand, using the Scum's clothes as tinder, and I roll out our bed rolls. We say little to each other as the fire shimmers and crackles, and I nod off to the sounds of my companion's pained breathing.
Well, hope you had as much fun reading that as I did writing it! Let me know if you thought it was worthwhile—if I see that folks enjoy it, I might make a section of the website dedicated to cataloguing my misadventures in solo gaming. And that's all I've got for today! Until next time :^)
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