I’ve been wanting to explore the world of Tarvannion that Castle Grief created for a while now, but I couldn’t figure out what system I actually wanted to run it with. Luckily, a few weeks ago Castle Grief released a new single d6 rules system called Hacksilver. In the back of the Hacksilver rules, they suggest using something like Tarvannion as a suitable setting for it. Clearly, the stars had aligned and the universe was telling me now was the time to begin my journey
I wrote up a bit of fiction for my characters first foray into this world of dark high fantasy as. things did not start out well for him.
Redven retched, vomit slopping down onto his leather chest plate. The acrid stink of bile filled his nostrils, a noisome companion to the metallic tang of his comrades blood already residing there. The young mercenary had just finished clawing his way out of a pile of his former brother’s bodies, slain in battle against a group of goblin raiders. As he sat atop the bodies and steadied himself, he realized that the only reason he still drew breath was his cowardice and inexperience.
He was now the last remaining member of the Brotherhood of the Iron Elk, and what a pitiful remnant he was. He could barely remember the battle – the clash of sword against shield ringing in the dawn like the crow of a cock – but he remembered the moment the goblins surged out of the tall pines and into their battle line. He had pissed himself in fear and turned to run. In his panic, Redven lost his footing and slipped beneath the surge of battle. He would remember that moment of cowardice that still let him draw breath for the rest of his days.
Now was not the time for regret though, nor mourning. There would be time for both if he lived. Redven knew he had to get away from this field of slaughter before bandits or worse descended to pick the bodies clean of anything still useful. The goblin charge burned into his mind, the mercenary set out north, determined to get as far away from the treeline as he could. He remembered the brotherhood marching past a stronghold the day before the battle and hoped he may find refuge there behind its walls.
Hours later and the midday sun saping what little energy was left in his body, Redven came to a dry riverbed. Exhausted and his head still ringing from the battle he didn’t notice the Fell Wolf until it was upon him, all gnashing fangs and bristled fur. The mercenary barely got his axe in hand in time to deflect the gaping maw of the beast. In his state, Redven knew he was no match for such a beast but he was determined to go down fighting. Anything to make up for his cowardice.
Wearily the mercenary ducked and weaved, promising himself to at least strike the wolf once before he dies to nature cruelty made manifest. Overcoming him and knocking him on his back, the beast’s jaws clamped down on Redven’s arm and the wolf’s saliva mixes with his blood. Pain shoots up his arm and a thought of his mother toiling in the fields passes through his mind. She had always told him he wasn’t a fighting man, to leave that dream behind and take up the plow; live a safe life. Mother was right.
Consigned to his death and ready to release his soul to whatever lie beyond, an arrow streaked past his face, lodging itself in the Fell Wolf’s neck. As the creatures dark red blood pours out of it and the weight of its lifeless body collapses upon him, he sees a group of soldiers wearing the green and white livery of Thane Juningen. Redven’s last thought before the world became dark and he lost consciousness is one of meagre hope. A thought that he may yet live…
Drunk in a Space Hulk 