A dark pact under the volcano

Living in the shoes of a derelict pyromancer addicted to the Flame, burning stuff and getting hurt in the process. Tome of the Pyromancer actual play, episode 5.

[Solo ttrpg actual play: Tome of the Pyromancer, by Kerova.]

Simone Bianchini, Unsplash license.

She did not sleep well. She was, and is, too excited and anxious. (Also, there was the giant drake bat who woke her up by sinking its filthy teeth in her chest while she was sleeping.)

But the sun is up now, the campfire burned out and died during the night, and the Basalt Caverns stand in front of her, at the bottom of the volcano. And there are tens of them! Mouths of ancient empty lava tubes, some large as burrows, some twice her size. All half-buried in ash. The flint and steel, warm against her ribs, pulses with a quiet urgency. She chooses one narrow opening just tall enough to crawl through. Better to say, she feels that she should go in there.

Alright, we go with the delving rules of Tome of the Pyromancer.

Test the UD d8: 1! Great, this means our next roll will be a d6. We’re getting closer to the tome.

Roll for exits: 1 exit, so I envision a corridor going straight ahead.

She takes her hat off and drops onto her stomach and drags herself inside. A few steps inside the cave and she feels the warmth of the volcano. She shivers, her bones rattled, after some many long night sleeping out in the cold. The rock is sharp; sometimes she scrapes against the jagged walls and cuts herself, leaving thin lines of blood on her elbows and thighs.

Zongnan Bao, Unsplash license.

Roll for area type: NPC. Humm...
Roll for NPC: Knight. Not good.
Reaction roll: Neutral/cautious. That's better! Now I need to figure out why a knight is in this cave.

I roll on the Descriptor, Action, and Spark tables, and I get: Strange, Question, Settlement. Ok, I have enough.

I decide this is the exact same knight the Pyromancer met on Episode 2, who was looking for her. She could hide back then, but not anymore. And this guy can have only *one* reason to follow her and not be hostile. (The only thing that sucks, narratively speaking, is that she already had the Relic Hunter following her in Episode 4; so this is the second person to come along. But dice have spoken.)

When the corridor finally widens she gasps in relief, kneeling on gritty basalt. Her breath echoes strangely. Then there is another sound, behind her. Soft at first, then unmistakable: something crawling behind her, dragging metal against stone. A human voice: “Wait!”

She runs. Foot wraps slapping ash. The glow of her flint and steel throws monstrous shadows along the tunnel walls. She reaches a split in the ancient tube and turns left. Instantly she feels along her spine it’s the wrong choice, but it’s already too late, as she hears the footsteps following her. Then the corridor ends abruptly, and she is trapped. She turns around, and watches an armored figure holding a torch.

She is running for narrative reasons, but for the game, she is still in the NPC area. For the same reason, I put her in a cul de sac. The other corridor at the junction is the one exit I rolled earlier.

She knows him. The knight from the swamp; the one she avoided, the one whose eyes were already wrong. The same deep green eyes, though glazed now with thirst; the same chainmail, clotted with old dried mud; the same monstrous warhammer. He tries to smile, and raises a hand to greet her: “My name is Gryorg.” His teeth look crooked, his skin is dry and cracked. He seems tired. It seems his own armor is weighting him down.

“Did my mother send you, too?”

“Your—what? Your mother?” Her voice cracks with disbelief.

He shakes his head. His voice is deep and fatigued: “No. I heard there was a pyromancer in the swamp. The same pyromancer who burned treants along with half the forest. Everyone fled. But I followed your fires.” He swallows with difficulty. “I followed the fancy guy who was following you. Asked about you, at the village, when people were packing. He always walked faster than me, always knew where to go. I wanted to warn you. But I found his corpse. It was all burned. I see you have his hat.”

“Gryorg, what do you want from me?”

He steps closer: “Teach me. Teach me how a small girl, alone, unarmed, survives Thennborg and Carthagien. Teach me how to find the fire.”

Her fingers tighten around the flint and steel: “It wasn’t me,” she murmurs. “The Flame itself found me. There are venerable sages hidden in these lands. They could teach you. Not me.”

Tracy Jentzsch, Unsplash license.

“There must be a reason you crawl into this cavern. You are headed somewhere. Let me help you.”

“So,” she thinks out loud, “I don’t want to burn you. And you won’t leave. And the Flame desires disciples. So I’ll tell you: I’m looking for a book. A book with the knowledge of the Flame. The flint and steel guide me like a dowser’s rod, but for fire instead of water. This quest is sacred.”

Based on what she said, Gryorg is considering he could smash her head with her hammer, steal the flint and steel, and find the book himself. Because he *knows* what she is capable of; however, he *sees* an unarmed, frail girl covered in filth in front of him.

I roll Presence for the Pyromancer: Success! He is convinced to follow her.

The knight drops to his knees. Stone scrapes his greaves: “Please, bless me! Allow me to follow.”

A sound escapes her—half sob, half breath. She holds her tears, surprised by how strongly this stranger moved her. The Flame desiders disciples. She reaches out with the flint and steel towards his bowed head.

Gryorg asks, wild-eyed, voice trembling: “Can I hold it?”

“No. Never.”

“Then… Can I at least touch it? Just once?”

Will she? Roll for the Oracle: Yes, and... and the Flame will give Gryorg something.

She hesitates, then nods.

The moment his fingertips brush the warm metal, agony rips through her. It feels as if someone is draining her lymph and blood through invisible wounds, as though a deep cut in her womb were pouring out a bucket of warmth. She gasps, clutching her stomach. The knight’s breath hitches. His iris shifts—green swallowed by dark crimson, unnatural and beautiful. His skin tightens, drying even more, darkening to something like leather.

Gryorg is being possessed and changed by the Flame. Does this drain her magic? That is: Did Gryorg steal part of her power? I ask the Oracle: No, but... But he will do something bad to her. I will keep this omen like a chip to play in the future.

Gryorg rises reverently. He no longer looks tired. His voice is filled with maniacal hope: “Thank you. My soul belongs to you now. Our pact is sealed. How should I address you?”

“I was called Amina, once. But it does not matter anymore.”

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