spyked bricks in the wall

the horseless horseman (i)

Prefață

Cu destul de mult timp înaintea apariției RPG-ului pe calculator, așa-zisul „role playing” se făcea, după cum probabil știți, pe masă, cu ajutorul creionului, hârtiei și al unor zaruri. Și deși de ceva timp e foarte la îndemână să lăsăm calculatorul să facă o parte din treburi – calculul evenimentelor aleatoare din univers sau desenatul terenului de luptă sunt doar două elemente care îmi vin în minte acum – pentru noi, nerzii adevărați joacă în continuare și varianta clasică, în care „game master”-ul nu este un program, ci o persoană reală, iar jocul se desfășoară în jurul unei mese, sau în cel mai nefericit caz într-o cameră de IRC.

Această organizare introduce pe de o parte o serie de dezavantaje: timpul pierdut cu calcule matematice de mână (chit că majoritatea sunt simple), necesitatea de a crea și apoi a descrie un univers consistent și nu în ultimul rând dificultatea de a implica măcar patru-cinci persoane într-un astfel de joc și de a juca regulat, durata medie a unei sesiuni fiind de vreo patru ore.

Pe de altă parte, role playing-ul clasic are o flexibilitate pe care nici măcar cel mai cel MMORPG nu o poate atinge. Din implicarea participanților (inclusiv a game master-ului) pot emerge povești cu adevărat faine, accentul punându-se în mod real pe „role play” și mai puțin pe niște cifre lipsite de esență. Cu cât povestea e mai interesantă, cu atât jucătorii necesită mai multă istețime și invers, cu cât jucătorii au mai multe skill-uri în a juca, cu atât povestea va deveni mai interesantă și luptele mai spectaculoase.

Articolul de față este primul dintr-o serie, serie care reprezintă transpunerea în text a unei povești bazate pe universul Dungeons & Dragons, inspirându-se însă și dintr-o serie de mitologii, după cum probabil sugerează și titlul. Povestea nu îmi aparține, dar narațiunea este realizată din perspectiva unuia din personaje, acesta fiind jucat de către subsemnatul. Alegerea de a povesti în engleză se poate dovedi a nu fi extraordinar de inspirată, însă îmi va servi spre a-mi îmbunătăți stilul de abordare a narațiunii, în speranța că această primă participare la o campanie de D&D nu va fi și ultima.

Acestea fiind spuse, vă invit să lecturați mai jos primul capitol din jurnalul lui Yog.

Day the First: The End

And so it had begun.

We were in the World’s End tavern, in the middle of nowhere. There were six of us: Ekgar the Deva Runepriest, Kanna the Drow Rogue, Muz the Changeling Psion, S’yatha the Halfling Sorcerer, Velten the Human Weaponmaster and myself, Yog the Changeling Monk. We did not know each other then.

The tavern looked like your average bar: a room with two tables and an ugly, grumpy, bald bartender with a beard, serving our drinks. And that’s all we did for a while; we drank. The drow was playing with a bug in her drink and the human, he was the loudest of them all. And he was buying drinks for everyone, like trying to drink us all under the table. Muz, the other changeling, while much older than myself, seemed to be much more talkative.

The mead was cheap, but the water, it cost us quite something. We found out we were in the middle of a desert, with only a town twenty miles away. So we filled our waterskins then we drank some more. Then suddenly the halfling started saying weird things, like “we never remember, we only forget”, or that the place, the bar, wasn’t really there. The drow panicked, so I had to give her a good slap to calm her.

Then we suddenly heard a loud thunder and we saw the skies beginning to darken. The deva was sure that we were experiencing the end of times as we knew it. It certainly looked like it, since the nothingness of desert started to suddenly rage and the skies turned blood red. I looked out the window and saw a figure in the distance. We all went in its direction, curious to find out who, or what that is.

Kanna was the first to go. We found her hurt on the way, with no explanation. The figure, however, looked like someone (or something) on a horse, someone with a clear intention, though we did not know what that was. Shouting at it would only hurt us, so all we could do was wait for it to approach. Finally, we saw it: it was a hooded figure riding a skinny black horse. It was Famine, a Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was there, right in front of us, with a scale in his hand. The storm had ended.

Then the others started appearing. First came the green Pestilence, on an ill horse. Then came a pale horse, carrying the skeletal Death. We looked around us and there was nothing but the Horsemen, and the tavern was nowhere to be seen.

I tried to figure out what they wanted, but only a fool would think he could figure out Death. I suddenly felt older. The others were either badly hurt, either trying to find a way out of this. Only fools would think there would be a way out of this; no one and nothing can stop The End. We were powerless against the Three Horsemen of Apocalypse. Certainly, they must have been waiting for the Fourth. War was nowhere to be seen, until…

Until we saw the skies split in two and we heard a thunder. From a bolt of lightning appeared a huge man with a giant sword. It was War. He had no horse, however. He claimed that “the bastard” had stolen it from him, and that he was going to “rip his entrails when I find him!” He looked angry, and he looked even angrier after his brothers had left him. Finally, he noticed us and he was about to spill our guts out, not knowing why we were there. If he didn’t know, one can only imagine how clueless we were.

War promised he would spare our lives (for now) if we helped him to find a horse. He would try to pull out some favours, but he also needed us to speak to someone. He sent us to the desert tribe of Mulu’arthai (a tribe famous for their horses), told us to order the finest horse for him, for War. Then the Horseman disappeared in another flash of lightning.

Of course, we had even more questions now – who would steal War’s horse and why? It seems that The End had yet to come. However, we were too tired to think properly, so we decided to rest. We set out camp in the middle of the desert, where we slept until next day.

Yog the Monk