Try this thought on for size. The Gamemaster presents a setting and each of us describes a character to fit the setting. There would be no ability scores or specific descriptors like 'elderly mage who sometimes forgets his spells in the middle of casting.' If you wanted to get that point across, you might describe an encounter in which the character flubbed a spell while he and his partners were seeking the pathway into a ruined temple. I can't say what Linus is thinking but the message that I picked up on was that he's looking more for a complete narrative story rather some punchy dialogue. What follows is an example of something I did about 20 years ago. It's in first person but could easily be modified to third person.
"My friend, the Wizard Azuron, sent me a message by way of his youngest apprentice, Lucien. When I tore the card in half, there was a quick flash that produced a vision of the old mage. In Azuron’s voice the vision said, "Good to see you, my old friend. Meet me at Mama Guri’s two hours before midnight. I have an interesting proposition for you."
As the ghostly image completed its speech, I wondered why Azuron would want to leave his comfortable apartments in the castle for the chill streets of Ulothia. I soon saw his point. Mama Guri’s Inn was close to the walls; Mama was a close friend of ours (she was a retired herbalist and had saved our skins more than once); she had a couple of private dining rooms which were often used for quiet meetings; and there was a secluded atrium in the back.
Since Azuron had some enemies around town, I expected him to show up in disguise if not in some other form altogether. I decided to reach Mama’s before he did so I could try to catch him in his ruse. Mama and I always had a lot to talk about anyway, and it seemed there was never enough time to really get together for a chat.
Before I go on, I should set the record straight. I am writing this journal more as a history for those who follow than as an exercise just to please myself. Not only do I intend to catalogue the days, but, as time permits, I will set down as many stories of my travels, trials and travails as I can remember.
As an orphaned youth I was called Bertie. Not the sort of name a young man could be proud of. It caused me to have to learn early on how to defend myself. It was in the last month of my sixteenth summer that I learned of my parents’ real name for me. I was, and am, Rambert. The "Ram" helped a lot, although it did make me a little hard-headed from time to time.
When I reached manhood and wanted to do business in the community I found I had to have a surname. I felt Mr. Rambert was a little too pretentious for someone who was living on the hard edge of life, barely managing to survive. I had been studying the warrior’s way for about a year and had taken to wearing very dark clothing so it was with little effort than I settled on the surname, Black.
That tells you my name, or at least the name by which I am known. The Maker has yet to divulge to me my true name. He may never do so. What I have become is a very long story and part of what this journal is about.
I have earned the blessing of Knighthood from my liege, King Enoch, although it was given ceremonially rather than as a reward for great deeds. That is not to say that I haven’t performed well and steadfastly for his majesty these many years. I have, and gladly, but I think it was more for the piling up of years than for any one deed.
Enough of me for now. I would tell something of my good friend, the great Wizard, Azuron. He is a gentleman of great years and quite a masterful wizard by current standards. Indeed, he is powerful by any standard, but the Arts just don’t seem to be what they used to. It’s not that the Magic is being lost or forgotten, but rather that fewer seem to taking an interest or showing an aptitude. Perhaps Azuron has discovered something that would explain this.
Azuron had been a boyhood companion of the King’s father and knew the Royal family well. He had been invited as a young man to enter a position at court, but he was more interested in other, more scholarly pursuits. This led him into the arcane arts where he prospered, learning spells of great power and discovering artifacts of unfathomable craft. It was soon after his entry into the halls of magecraft that I met him.
It was not until much later in life that Azuron took the Royal family’s invitation and moved into the Castle. Now he advises King Enoch on matters of the Arts, casts a few spells from time to time, and spends most of his hours with his charges doing research.
It is from his perch as a court wizard that he sends for me to meet with him. His research could take him anywhere, and his position has earned him ill wishes from those who would claim throneright from the King. And there was no dearth of these in the realm. Peace had been undergoing great strains in recent years. Bandits were everywhere; other kingdoms were demanding concessions at the borders; and the Mountain Trolls in the North were becoming more aggressive. Every adult male seemed to have his own idea of what would save the realm.
Under this cloud, I prepared for the meeting with my old friend. Although I didn’t expect any trouble, I thought it advisable to take a few precautions. A simple chain shirt would offer some protection from a poorly thrust blade. Although wearing a weapon openly on the street suggests a certain expectation, I felt it worth the risk and took my prize blade -- Scathe. She would stay on my back in case of certain need while I would defer to my staff for an ordinary defense. And there were still a couple of small missiles on my Necklace in case of a major problem.
I wrapped myself up in a greatcloak that I had picked up in the Northern Mountains during the Troll uprising some twelve years ago. It was still quite serviceable and certainly warm enough. Autumn had set in and, as usual, it was blustery. I half expected a frost by morning. The trees on the manor ground had all changed and a carpet of leaves was being laid upon the lawn.
As I strolled through the grass toward the road I noted absently that the leaves were still fresh, not having had the time yet to dry out and crunch beneath my feet. The thought of those soon-to-be crunching leaves sent me back to the time I had explored the catacombs beneath the ruins of the Citadel of Hanamus II. Hanamus had been the first king who had tamed this region over a thousand years ago. His ruins had been explored many times but no one, to my knowledge, had penetrated the catacombs. There was a chamber somewhere near the end of my trek whose floor was carpeted with the dried husks of long dead beetles. How they perished and had all been placed there in such vast numbers, I’ll never know and will never even begin to guess. It’s just one of those things that you can never quite get out of your mind."
