I chose Tropeland by Dr Gerald Ravenpie. I had never used it before so it is perfect for this challenge. Simple yes/no questions are resolved with a d6. The first thing to decide is which theme or themes to use. Usually horror is not my thing but since this is going to be a short game, I chose Horror as main theme. To go with that Faery Tales, as they can be quite dark, and as little extra Regency England. To start the adventure, I just used a search engine with those terms and found a nice book blurb that I plundered for ideas.
Effie has most inconveniently fallen in love with the dashing Mr. Benedict Ashbrooke. There’s only one problem: Effie is a housemaid, and a housemaid cannot marry a gentleman. It seems that Effie is out of luck until she stumbles into the faerie realm of Lord Blackthorn, who is only too eager to help her win Mr. Ashbrooke’s heart. All he asks in return is that Effie sew ten thousand stitches onto his favorite jacket.
Effie has heard rumors about what happens to those who accept magical bargains. But life as a maid at Hartfield is so awful that she is willing to risk even her immortal soul for a chance at something better. Now she has one hundred days—and ten thousand stitches—to make Mr. Ashbrooke fall in love and propose…if Lord Blackthorn doesn’t wreck things by accident, that is. For Effie’s greatest obstacle might well be Lord Blackthorn’s overwhelmingly good intentions.
I generated details for all (N)PCs using a German tool but in the end I did not actually use any of that. Another reminder to not determine anything until the moment you actually need it.
I roll for two items:
It is a bright Saturday morning in 18— when Benedict Ashbrooke storms into the house, his bagwig thumping heavily against his shoulders as he bounces on his feet. "But Sir," says Eupemia Reeves surprised, "I thought you said you wouldn't be home before dinner." "He wasn't home!" Benedict says curtly, throwing Effie his top hat which she can barely keep from falling to the floor. "Shall I instruct the cook to make you lunch, Sir?" she asks while hanging the hat on its peg. "Don't bother," Benedict says curtly as he undoes his cravat. "I'll change into something easier and will go and search for Olin. He's missing!"
Wistfully, Effie sees him leave again. She feels unsettled now she knows that her employer is unhappy, even though it has nothing to do with her. She would gladly have volunteered to help in the search, knowing how important the friendship with Olin Dinan is for Mr Ashbrooke but he would never allow her. Was there a way in which she could help him? Maybe she could ask Lord Blackthorn. The man scared her a little, but he had offered her his services.
As if he had been listening to her thoughts, Blackthorn came up to the house. "Master not home?" he enquired in his unsettling way. "No, he is … well, you see, his friend went missing and he is off searching." Before she can think better of it, she bleats out "Couldn't you help him? You always seem to see hidden things." With rather a smirk Blackthorn answers her. (What price does he ask? Oracle says: The Curse of Shape Changing). "Oh, I could help you for sure, but it will work much better if you will help me too." "I will do anything to help Mr Benedict!" "Good. Then it may sound strange, but please dress as an old grandmother for the rest of the day. At midnight you may change back." "But I don't have any clothes …" "Codswallop. Just look in your wardrobe." With these words, Blackthorn left the house.
On the threshold he turns around. "What was that friend's name again?" "Olin Dinan. He's quite a dandy." "That's neither here nor there," says Blackthorn, turning away again, "I just need to know his name."
"What a strange man he is," muses Effie, "and what would he know about my wardrobe? There's just another two dresses in there and they're both for service." Puzzled she goes up to her room and opens her cupboard. To her surprise there are not two but three outfits hanging there; the third perfectly suitable for an old lady. Hesitatingly she tries it on. To her astonishment it fits exactly! Curious she takes a look in the mirror to see how such clothes look on a young girl but while she looks she sees how her skin ages; wrinkles criss-crossing her cheeks and forming clusters near the corners of her mouth and eyes. Startled she brings her hand up to her face; her face feels weird. Dry, brittle, uneven. "It's only till midnight" she imagines a voice saying.
I roll three tropes for the chapter (probably should have done that earlier, but…)
Effie has not been long at scrubbing the kitchen floor when she sees some red spots. "Spilled with the chicken blood again," she thinks as she has to go down on her knees to scrub away the dried blood. It takes some intense scrubbing to finally remove the sticky stuff but fortunately she gets the floor spotless. Satisfied, she stands up to rinse her cloth but when she turns back she sees new red spots appearing on the floor. For a moment she stares at the floor in shock, then slowly tilts her head up to the rafters.
There, half hidden in the shadows… She lets out a piercing shriek that rattles the windows. The head stares at her with wide open, unseeing eyes, blood dripping slowly from the ragged outline where a neck used to be, the area now hidden by a mass of congealed blood. With a loud thump Effie lets herself fall on one of the chairs standing around the table. Who could have done such a gruesome thing? Or is it an apparition? A ghost? But the blood had been real enough. Deflated she stares ahead of her. Suddenly she becomes aware of someone sitting next to her. Another shriek escapes her and though she feels like fainting she forces herself to turn around to look the visitor in the face. However, all she sees is the back of a man's head covered in short, brown hair. A heavy feeling of dread descends on her as the man begins to slowly turn around.
She wants to jump up but she is pinned to her chair. Her mouth won't open and besides, it would have been too dry to produce any sound. "Who?" she eventually manages to croak, leaning back in her chair as far as she can. The man turns slower and slower and in the dead silence she imagines she can hear his neck creak, interrupted by the splash of a final drop of blood. "Are you not going to clean that?" a hollow voice asks. But… she knows that voice. Now she sees the face and yes, it is the face of Olin, but grotesquely distorted. "What must Benedict think when he comes home and finds blood on the floor?" Though it is Olin's voice, there is a hissing quality to the sound, making it grate on her ears. "I'll tell you what he will think. He will think that you're too old now to clean!"
The man, Olin, if it really is him, begins a strange hollow sound that Effie can recognise with difficulty as laughter. While laughing, the man's body begins to shimmer and then becomes transparent. The laughter sounds more and more distant until at last she isn't sure whether it is still there or whether it is something in her fevered brain. Stupidly she stares at the empty chair. "Too old?" she stammers, bringing her hand up to her face. Yes, she had nearly forgotten it but the wrinkles are still there.