Solo Expedition part 1: Dealing with Swamp People and Drunks
D&D Adventure: White Dragon Run Campaign
The Adventure Begins
Our Core Cast of Players:
- Fajor Thistlewood - Druid
- Flint Coldfoot - Fighter/Thief
- Rupert Braveheart - Paladin
- Severin Darkstar - Mage
Severin has also hired the assistance of a linkboy (advanced torch bearer) and 5x men at arms.
For our starting village I have opted to use White Dragon Run from Advanced Adventures #13 and Advanced Adventures #38
For Hex generation I am working on my own method which this is part of its dry run and so I will be sharing more about it in its own blog post down the road soon, as I work out the kinks and make sure it is working the way I like. It includes settlement generation as well as item availability and price fluctuation based on additional factors like location size, trade routes, etc.
First things first we check for roads leading out of the village white dragon run: no roads
Rumors Heard from the Locals:
- Those howls from the forest aren't wolves - they're the cries of tortured spirits.
- Old Martha's cat can predict deaths by sitting on people's doorsteps three days before they die.
Since everything is still undiscovered at this point we will just set the southern most hex to Forest and just note it has not yet been explored.
Day 1
Weather: Partly cloudy (for the day)
Explored NW hex, plains, no roads, no encounter, found small village 500+ inhabitants.
Begger's Hole
Ruler: Half Elven Former Cavalier
- 1 General Store/Supplier
- 1 Inn/Hostel
- 1 Tavern/Pub - The Muckdragger's Mug
- 1 Blacksmith
- 1 Temple/Shrine
- 1 Granary
- 1 Carpenter/Woodworker
- 1 Market
- 1 Animal Handler
Decided to check for a Street encounter using one of my favorite books for this sort of thing: Cities by Midkemia Press
This book has opened up a lot of fun interactions in my live games and looks to be well on its way to doing the same for my Solo game here.
From here I opted to leverage AI to help with the scenarios and the roleplaying. I still decide what checks I want to attempt and I roll them myself and just let it know the results and see what options would be appropriate for moving forward. Here were the results:
The Village Square Confrontation
Your party is walking into the village square—a mix of squat timber buildings, livestock pens, and dusty roads. A crowd has gathered near the well where a local guardsman (chain shirt, spear, smug expression) is arguing with a swamp barbarian—a tall, mud-streaked, wild-bearded man with a reed-woven harness, a chipped axe, and eyes blazing with fury.
The barbarian slams a half-torn, soggy parchment onto the guard's chest.
"Your damned map near drowned me! That crossing you people mark as safe—it's death! Mire took my dog and near my leg, too. You sell lies to strangers!"
"Buy a map from Old Jorgen, get what you pay for. I don't draw 'em. You want to swim in a bog, that's your mistake!"
The crowd murmurs. Tension is building. The barbarian isn't quite violent yet, but his voice is rising, and his knuckles are white on his axe shaft.
The Paladin's Intervention
Approach with calm authority, perhaps stepping between them:
"This village is under your protection, yes? Then do it with honor. If the man was wronged, hear him properly."
The paladin lowers his hand slightly, his voice even and resonant:
"Let us not waste honor on scorn or steel. If this map was sold in bad faith, then the man who drew it should answer for that. Not this guard, nor you. We will help you find the one who sold it—Old Jorgen, yes?—and see that justice is served properly."
"And if no one else will make this right... I will."
The barbarian's face tightens, torn between fury and surprise. His grip on the axe loosens—just slightly. You see the calculation behind his wild eyes. He doesn't trust easily. But this? This is a rare thing.
"You'd do that? Hunt the liar? Not just say kind things and walk off?"
He looks around, then growls and shoves the soggy map back into his satchel.
The guard snorts but says nothing, no longer mocking. The crowd mutters—a few look at the paladin with newfound respect.
New Goals:
Track Down Old Jorgen
Ask locals for Jorgen's location—he's a half-mad cart-seller known to wander between inns and the edge of town.
Possible Streetwise, Carousing, or Area Knowledge (Village) rolls from the party.
Barbarian wants a token from the paladin, something to prove he will keep his word.
The Paladin's Pledge
The paladin nods solemnly at the barbarian's story. Without hesitation, he reaches into his own pouch and counts out 1 gold and 2 silver coins—clean and bright against the mud of the street. He offers them, palm open.
"For the loss of your coin and in memory of your companion animal. This is not a bribe. This is a pledge: we will find the one who deceived you, and you will have more than coin—you will have truth."
A hush falls across the nearby onlookers.
The barbarian freezes, his rough face twitching with unexpected emotion. Slowly, he reaches out and takes the coins—not snatching them, but accepting them. He doesn't thank the paladin, but there's something even rarer: respect.
"You speak better than most priests I've met. I'll wait, two days. You don't come back by then—I take my reckoning from this town."
He shoulders his pack and stalks off toward the edge of the square, muttering something in a swamp tongue. The tension breaks. The crowd begins to disperse, some murmuring approval, others shaking their heads.
The guard just watches, chewing on his lip now.
We are given a description of the seller: he has a lazy eye and wears a red scarf.
While the paladin deals with the barbarian, the fighter/thief slips into the nearest tavern—a low-roofed place called The Muckdragger's Mug. It's dim, smoky, and full of laborers, drovers, and one guy playing dice alone (and losing).
He buys a round, makes a few crude jokes, and before long, is seated at a table with two locals: a one-eyed ferryman and a thick-necked woman in a muddy smock. He casually brings up the topic of Jorgen and bog-crossing maps.
Information Gathered (Success by 5)
- Jorgen's a real person, but a notorious drunk and occasional scammer. Locals know him but don't trust him.
- He's been selling bad maps to outsiders for a while—especially those headed into the swamps. Some think he does it for laughs. Others suspect he's working with bandits who ambush travelers sent the wrong way.
- He was seen yesterday afternoon near the old shrine outside town—about 15 minutes east of the village. He was "arguing with himself and pissing on the altar."
- He wears a red scarf, has a lazy eye, and talks like a "frog that smoked pipe-weed for too long."
- Rumor says he carries a satchel of silver at all times and guards it like it bites.
The party regroups outside the village gate as dusk edges the clouds in gold. After a brief exchange of what the fighter/thief learned, they set off along a narrow dirt road winding through sedge-lined ditches, clumps of willow, and the faint scent of wet rot that heralds the nearby swamps.
The men-at-arms and linkboy follow cautiously. The road grows rougher the farther you go—clearly used more by foot than cart. Eventually, the trees part enough to reveal a mossy hillock rising above the swamp's edge, where a crumbling stone shrine squats in ruin.
Scene: The Old Shrine
The shrine is ringed with old offerings—dried herbs, burnt bones, and little wood carvings shaped like frogs or serpents. Most are long-decayed. A few fresh items suggest someone's been here recently.
As you approach:
You hear slurred muttering from behind the shrine.
The linkboy lifts his lantern slightly and catches a glimpse of a man in a red scarf, slouched against the stones with a clay jug in one hand and a battered satchel in the other.
He's talking to himself:
He hasn't noticed the party yet.
The party fans out in a semicircle around the old stone shrine. The fighter/thief melts into the underbrush to the left, circling behind the slumped figure. It's slow going, but he moves quietly—boots placed carefully on moss, ducking behind roots and stones. He's close enough now to see the sweat on Jorgen's neck and smell the reek of fermented squash wine on his breath.
Meanwhile, the paladin steps forward, flanked by the mage and druid. The men-at-arms stay behind but ready, and the linkboy raises the lantern high.
"Jorgen. You've sold a lie that nearly cost a man his life. Speak the truth now, and maybe the gods—and I—will show you mercy."
Paladin's Charisma/authority: +1
Surprise at being found: +1
Drunk and unstable: –2
Roll: 9 → Modified Result: 8 (Neutral but wary)
Jorgen jolts upright, blinking at the torchlight like a lizard dragged into daylight. He squints through his lazy eye, trying to focus on the paladin. His voice is rough but full of forced bravado.
"That so? Man gets lost in a swamp and I'm to blame? Ha! Maps're suggestions, not contracts. You want exact crossings, you pay temple scribes, not me!"
He clutches his satchel tighter. There's something in his eyes—fear, maybe. Or guilt.
At this point it was getting late and decided here was a good stopping point. In part 2 we will see how the party handles the drunk Jorgen, and see if we can't get justice for the Swamp Barbarian.
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