Let's Play Lordsworn! Part 3: Peace
Hello, disillusioned denizens of the divine. Hope you’ve been enjoying the campaign. Let’s move on to Week 2. The Events for this one are Panicked and Desperate.
Event 1
3d4 Panicked table: 1, 1, 1 = Farmlands, Panicked, Waiting
The d4 shows its repugnant nature with an all 1 roll. Luckily, this wasn’t a check.
Lordsworns St. Quieteria of Stone, the Fervent Follower Xoti Apollin, the Scarred Medic Athalos Gallant, the Noble Knight
Opening Narration
A quiet fear stretched over the lands. The farmhands watched the sunset with eyes hollow and despondent. Tools lay scattered around the abandoned fields, and the livestock was long gone or rotting in mounds buzzing with flies.
When the Company arrived, the workers turned to them as one.
St. Quieteria offered a prayer, remembering the words from her childhood, when her father guided her hands in the fields. She could still feel the earth beneath her nails, the sweat dripping down her back as the sun pierced the horizon. It used to look so large and bright back then. Mavos blessed those who used physical strength in daily tasks, and with Her blessing, Quieteria’s strength transferred seamlessly to warfare.
Xoti moved among the workers, noting signs of exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, and the deterioration of body and mind. How long would those people last?
Athalos shook their head, feeling for them. They needed leadership and hope above all else. Athalos could provide direction. He approached an old farmer, his skin dark and rugged by years under harsh sunlight, and greeted the man. “What are you all doing here, sir?”
“We’re done running, son,” the old farmer replied.
Resolution
St. Quieteria of Stone, the Fervent Follower: 4, 3, 3 = Success, 0 Wounds (1/3), 0 Morale
Xoti Apollin, the Scarred Medic: 1, 2, 2 = Failure, 1 Wound (1/3), -1 Morale3d4 Wound table: 4, 3, 1 = Legs, Could be worse, For life
Athalos Gallant, the Noble Knight: 4, 2, 1: = Success, 1 Wound (1/3), -1 Morale3d4 Wound table: 1, 2, 3 = Head, Bad, You can walk it off
Event resolution: Success
Morale: 6/8
Closing Narration
As night fell, the horrors it kept burst forth. The shapes moved fast, all humanity they once had now twisted into beastly remnants. Mavos’s fall brought more than just sorrow into the world. It broke something fundamental to life.
St. Quieteria finished her prayer and opened her eyes. Mavos didn’t answer, but the emptiness in her soul didn’t seem so daunting. Several farmers had joined her, and something like gratitude twinkled in their revitalized eyes. Was there hope, after all? Fervor burned inside her once more. Her blessed flail met flesh and bone, breaking the attackers and protecting the dejected workers. Maybe hope should be carved, fought for like Mavos had always demanded of them.
Athalos held the line as best they could. Blood ran over their eyes as claws and fangs raked their head. Athalos shouted, but their orders never came through the farmers. The beasts tore through most of them. Someone had to hold, though. Someone had to seem strong, noble, and proud, even when doubt threatened to swallow them, even when their heart sank and nothing seemed worth fighting for.
Xoti paid the price for staying in the thick of it. A man screamed as she set his shoulder. Another went still before she could finish binding the wound. Something heavy crashed into her side, sending her to the ground as pain flared in her knee. Xoti gasped, trying to stand and failing. She crawled away, dragging herself to the next wounded, refusing to stop and care for herself. By the time the attack ended, she realized her efforts did little that day. Her torn knee would give her a permanent limp. And still, many still died under her hands.
As silence returned to the fields, the Company looked around. Most were dead, lying beside the slain beasts. Those alive shuffled, still gazing uninterested at the horizon.
The Soaring Eagle left, their adage ringing in their heads. ‘We will persevere.’ Would they, though? At what cost?
They wondered if anyone could outlive a broken world. Who would even want to?
Event 2
3d4 Desperate table: 2, 1, 4 = Crusading Zealots, Nihilistic, Enforcing
Lordsworns
Jor’ilt Chekrov, the Wandering Spellblade
Sven Strider, the Eagle-Eyed Sharpshooter
Athalos Gallant, the Noble Knight
Opening Narration
Strange signs marked the road ahead. They came across children’s corpses left to rot in the dirt. Women with their backs flayed open. Old men and women bled dry with eyes still frozen wide with terror. The remains of caravans smoldered quietly beneath the evening sky, supplies scattered and ruined.
The Company followed the trail until they caught sight of a heavily armed group. A column marched in armor bearing the symbol of Mavos. Some carried banners stained dark with blood. Others dragged carts overflowing with seized food and weapons.
Athalos approached them. “Are you responsible for the carnage?”
One of the zealots turned calmly toward them. His face was almost peaceful. “Mavos’s will be done,” he replied. “The strong shall inherit the broken earth. Nothing else matters.”
The words churned inside them. These zealots had taken Mavos’s philosophy and twisted it into something pedestrian and inhuman: only the strong deserved a future.
Resolution
Jor’ilt Chekrov, the Wandering Spellblade: 3, 3, 1 = Success, 0 Wounds (0/3), -1 Morale
Sven Strider, the Eagle-Eyed Sharpshooter: 1, 3, 4 = Failure, 0 Wounds (0/3), +1 Morale
Athalos Gallant, the Noble Knight: 4, 2, 2: = Success, 1 Wound (2/3), -1 Morale3d4 Wound table: 1, 4, 3 = Head, Flesh wound, You can walk it off
Event resolution: Success
Morale: 5/8
Closing Narration
Chekrov realized the zealots genuinely believed their ideals. Mavos had fallen, and people were scrambling to adapt, trying to give meaning to that new reality. He knew their convictions were rooted in the Goddess’s teachings, but they were fundamentally broken.
“You lot mistake cruelty for strength,” Chekrov said. “Mavos spoke of perseverance and assertion. She didn’t intend for it to be twisted into slaughter.”
Some hesitated. A number of them lowered their weapons as doubt spread through the ranks.
Athalos seized the moment to steady the group. “Mavos preached strength, but not that the weak deserved death. It is the duty of the strong to carry others through hardships. Without purpose, strength alone is senseless violence. What can we hope to build with violence?”
Athalos felt their heart surge. There were still things worth saving in this world. They could reach others.
Then a thunderous boom cut through the plains. A zealot’s head burst apart in a spray of blood, and the body dropped into the mud.
Sven pulled the bolt, ejecting the smoking shell. He raised the rifle and fired again, felling another zealot.
There was something comforting in passing judgment with such clarity. Forget philosophy, debates over doctrine or intention. Those were monsters walking like humans. Cowardly murderers who had butchered children, left old people to bleed on the roadside. No words would fix that.
They didn’t deserve repentance. They deserved punishment, then oblivion.
The Zealots reacted, surging forward. A mace bit into Athalos’s temple, drawing blood. They staggered sideways, then instinct and training took over. Athalos pulled their maul and shattered the attacker’s ribcage, sending him flying.
Chekrov’s heart sank at the scene. His rapier traced the air at the opponents, his magic singing as it left the silver staff to strike and dazzle.
And just like that, peace was gone. It belonged to a different world, now. Not theirs.
Notes
I think I’m doing a poor job of connecting the Lordsworns between themselves and stitching the story into their time spent together before the fall. I’m mostly going with the first idea I get, which is resulting in them almost doing their own separate thing.
That’s ok, though. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m still having fun coming up with these, even if perfectionism screams at me to not be so lazy, take this more seriously, and make a monumental effort, like it’s my job or something really important.
It isn’t and it isn’t.
Anyway, this is just a short rant to remind you (and myself) to just have a damn good time because, you know, this doesn’t matter and games are supposed to be fun.
Lordsworn is available on Itch.