Session One: The Witch's Hut

I am hoping to produce shortish chapters covering one or two hour sessions of play fairly frequently, to build up a habit of writing.

He screamed as the poisons coursed through his veins, burning and twisting his flesh. He raged with all his might but his binds would not come loose. He clenched his jaw so taut he thought his teeth would shatter but, then ... sunlight spilled over the lids of his icy blue eyes and he woke up. In one smooth motion, he tossed his covers away and pulled his nude frame upright. He groaned in pain and clutched his head. 'Fucking hell,' he muttered.

I am including rolls at convenient points but pretty much everything you see (names of NPCs, details of quests, backstories, geography, and so on) has been derived from rolling against oracles and/or drawing tarot cards.

'Good sir,' a woman's voice called from behind the door. 'My lord sent me up with some honeyed porridge.' He recalled the woman, as if for first time. As if piecing together the forty years of his life from broken fragments. This girl was slender and blonde but he did not remember her name. Perhaps that memory had slipped entirely from his mind or perhaps he'd never bothered to learn it. He could not be sure. Nevertheless, he remembered her face, with those shiny come-hither eyes and plump lips. He opened the door to prove to himself that he was not merely imagining it. She recoiled, averting her gaze from his nakedness.

He pulled her roughly inside, slammed the door behind her and tossed the porridge away. She squealed pleasantly and he let her go.

'Good sir,' she repeated, her tone scandalised, 'it's not right for me to see you like this.'

'I say it is,' Johann replied, boldly. 'Look at me, girl.'

Though it went against her instincts, she could not disobey. She beheld him, looking up and down. It was subtle, but he caught her gaze lingering on his half-erect member.

'Let me see you,' he demanded, motioning for her to remove her frock. She complied after a moment's hesitation and her hands were a little unsteady.

She permitted herself a nervous laugh but nothing more, as he approached her. He dwarfed the girl, standing well over seven feet tall, and she had to crane her neck once he was close. Those eyes enchanted him and his cock stirred, brushing against her belly. She let out another delightful little squeal once she felt it but did not step back. Her breasts were soon flush against him and for a long while, neither of them said a word. She eventually intuited that he expected her to make the first move and tentatively grasped at the ten inch behemoth between her breasts, stroking it awkwardly and ripping grunts and groans from his throat.

Once she gave it the gentlest of kisses, he escalated the encounter and hoisted her up. Panic seemed to strike her, then, and her eyes went wide. When he turned her upside down, effortlessly, she realised what was expected of her and began to awkwardly lap at the head of his cock whilst he buried his mouth in her nethers. Her scent was the perfect, intoxicating, distraction.

I think this counts for Vice-ridden, and would get him a point of Willpower back, if he'd needed one.

He had inhuman stamina and she wasn't doing a particularly good job, clumsily mouthing his throbbing member, which gave him plenty of time to indulge himself. She was wet beyond belief and screaming in ecstasy by the time he'd swung her back around. She flashed him a look of hesitation before sliding down onto him. He grunted in relief and let her dictate just how much she was willing to take. Her arms were wrapped tight around his neck as she squirmed, squealing each time she lowered herself another inch. He helped her find a rhythm as he ran his calloused hands down her arse. Soon enough, she was screaming loud enough for the whole castle to hear, proclaiming the fullness of her love for him, blaspheming the gods and crying out for his seed as she bounced up and down.

He recalled, then, every buxom tavern wench and serving girl he'd ploughed. The memories were strange, still a little unreal. What was real, however, was the pressure around his cock and he relieved himself with a harsh grunt, releasing all the morning's tension and a torrent of semen into the girl before dumping her onto his bed. She writhed in bliss, leaking heavily, as he dressed himself and made his way down to the courtyard, where he expected the lord to be waiting for him.

Weather Conditions (1d12): 4 = Stormy

Icy rain battered the muck as Johann marched over to the lord. Otto of Many Talents, as the commoners loved to call him, looked miserable, his hair damp and his moustache sodden as he looked off into the distance at the storm clouds.

Quest Type (1d12): 1 = Rescue Mission

'Johann,' he called out, straining to be heard over the rain, 'I have need of you.' The knight said nothing in reply and simply continued in his stride. He misliked Otto and the feeling was mutual. 'A witch has kidnapped three peasant girls and called this damn storm upon us. The fathers of these girls have whipped up a mob and are headed to the hut, somewhere in swamps, but they're likely to be stopped by the weather, or else killed when they do arrive. Make yourself useful and do a good deed for once. Behead this damn witch and save those poor women.'

Three peasant girls, likely virgins, since the lord spoke of fathers but not husbands, stank of blood sacrifice. The storm spoke to her power and Johann couldn't help but assume the lord expected him to suffer the same fate as the mob. 'Alright,' he said, 'but we shall be talking about your sister upon my return.' Otto's late father had promised the lady to him but he was, as yet, unwed.

'Of course,' the lord shrugged, before hurrying back inside. 'Away with you now, and godspeed.'

Johann chuckled at that, wondering which god would deign to grant him speed. As many people said he was cursed by the gods as blessed by them. Tossing the thought from his mind, he made his way over to the armoury. The wooden doors clattered in the storm winds and the banner looked so sodden and heavy that it seemed a miracle it hadn't torn itself free. The water had turned the golden yellow of House Tänzerin a murky brown and the pink skin of the lovely dancing maiden dark red.

The boys here had become accustomed to armouring him, though they'd never stopped being in awe of his size and strength. They clad him in plate and handed him his sword. Two hardy boys struggled to lift the thing between them, a flame-bladed zweihänder, but he took it up with little effort. The lord had no horses that could bear him as a rider but that made little difference, since both the storm and the swamp were likely too hazardous for even the hardiest of stallions. So, he set off on foot, marching up the slick mud path to the swamps. Within minutes, he got the impression that he was heading the right way, as the storm intensified.

Travel Obstacles (1d12): 10 = Rival Adventurers
I think it makes sense to interpret this as the mob of peasants Otto mentioned.

For most of the way there, there were few signs of life but, eventually, he caught sight of a sorry lot of aged peasants. They were shivering from the cold and arguing amongst themselves. The group of men noticed him soon enough, however, and turned to face him in awe. 'Turn back,' he bellowed, 'or you'll freeze to ****.' They weren't dressed for the rain, never mind ice and snow, and he suspected they might not make it even if they heeded him.

'The witch has our daughters,' the bravest of them replied, his face red and scrunched.

'You are in no state to take on a witch, certainly not one as powerful as this,' he said, gesturing to the harsh winds all around them. 'You have my word that I shall bring your daughters back alive.'

The red-faced one seemed to want to argue but the others advised him not to and encouraged him to return with them. He permitted himself a chuckle, once they were out of earshot, as he imagined himself finding their frozen corpses on the way back. His journey lasted for several hours more, though he did not tire, and he eventually passed through the storm.

The witch's hut stood, surrounded by a foul bog, entirely unmolested by the storm that raged all around it, just a few yards way in each direction. Even so far out from it, he could feel the heat from its hearth, likely enchanted. The structure itself was not impressive, at all, however. Clearly hastily erected, it was hardly a fitting abode for a witch. Some lesser hagspawn, perhaps, but not a witch. Nevertheless, the foul waters surrounding it were a solid defence against common adventurers.

Johann was not, however, a common adventurer and, whilst swimming was out of the question, he could hold his breath and walk across the bottom just fine.

He emerged soaking but unencumbered and wasted no time, knocking down her door with a single kick. Whatever enchantment had been reinforcing it sparked to life, then puttered and died under his strength in a puff of purple smoke. The witch, a loathsome thing who'd long since disfigured her body with hag magics, shrieked in response and her captives groaned through their horrid cloth gags. The villainess, green and bloated, waddled across the room and drew a fireball from her hearth, flinging it at him. It would've maimed a lesser man but Johann stood his ground and readied himself for an almighty swing.

His weapon is a flammenschwert zweihänder with a damage rating of four (lethal) and a durability of three, it applies the nine-again rule to attack rolls. Strength plus weaponry (with a speciality in swords), minus the witch's defence, gives him a dice pool of nine. In addition to that, Gigantic gives him an eight-again. I'll spend all five points of his Willpower, to bring the pool up to fourteen. The result is five successes which, plus the four from the damage rating, I'm going to say ...

In an instant, it was done. The witch's head had been parted from her shoulders and she collapsed, spraying his boots with her putrid black blood. He stifled the urge to laugh, knowing that it might frighten one or more of the poor young women. Untying them was easy enough, and they showered him with praise, half out of relief and half out of fear. Johann knew that his reputation was poor among the common folk, owing to his insatiable lust and foul temper. 'The storm should subside by tomorrow,' he said, absently, as he peered through the hut's only window. 'Now, help undress me.'

The three peasant girls were wary of such a request but none of them dared to object. Within an hour, he was in his element, sat naked by the hearth, chowing down on a chicken leg from the witch's larder, as his clothes dried. The women busied themselves in his service, fetching him wine and food through the day and preparing his bed. They avoided speaking to him more than necessary and made themselves scarce whenever possible. He didn't let it bother him too much but the tension did compel him to masturbate that night, spoiling the witch's bed covers that her former captives had worked so tirelessly to clean.

Not long after daybreak, when he was jolted awake by another wretched nightmare, some of the lord's guards arrived to escort everyone home. Otto looked sour upon their eventual meeting. 'My lord,' Johann opened, with a wry smile.

'I sent a serving girl to your bedchamber and you made her an adulteress?!' The lord's face had reddened, as if from the cold. Johann wondered if he were truly angry about some commoner's marriage vows or simply saw it as a good excuse to withdraw his hospitality.

'Yes,' he replied, simply, 'now, let's talk about my betrothal.'

'Get out!' Otto shouted, drawing the attention of his guards. He looked set to burst and, for the briefest moment, Johann imagined himself crushing the nobleman's head.

'I shall leave, my lord, but only as a married man.' Johann did not really believe himself. It was not something to make himself an outlaw over, though he knew of many men who'd done far worse for ladies much less beautiful than Otto's sister. Hilde was a rare beauty, indeed, with a perfect hourglass figure and lustrous black hair. A man of lower morals would have long since rebelled. It seemed ironic to him that the gods had given him the body to wage such a war but not the heart to do it.

Otto refused to show fear as he called out, 'guards!' Half a dozen halberdiers rushed over to him. 'Escort this monster from the castle grounds.'

At that, Johann spat. 'Pilzturm is hardly a castle, my lord.' A tense silence soon followed, as the guards raised their polearms threateningly. 'Put those away,' he eventually growled, 'I shall leave.' Relief rushed across the faces of the guards, though Otto's face remained red. 'You have made an enemy today, young man,' he said, deliberately, 'and, one day soon, I will have what you've denied me.' With that, he tossed the witch's head at the lord's feet, causing him to quail. Johann laughed heartily and left.