Gilport – The Story So Far

On Mastodon, I’m running a poll-based role-playing game—a #PollPlayingGame, if you will—with new posts going up every weeknight. After a poll ends and before the next one is posted, it will be added to this post along with its results so that anybody can catch up on what’s going on before voting, if they so choose. Or they can just be chaos goblins and vote without context, that’s fun, too.

Post 1: Pick your ancestry.

Post 2: A banging on your passenger cabin door jars you from restless slumber. “If y’aint dead, git up an’ off my ship!” a gruff voice shouts, their voice muffled through the thick wood. “If ye are, I got dibs on yer shite.” As his heavy footsteps recede, you sit up and light the small oil lamp next to your bunk. More than ready to say goodbye to the dingy, smelly, cramped quarters that have been your home for the past two weeks, you reach for your gear, which includes… (Pick your class.)

Post 3: Making your way up to the deck, you spend a moment at the top of the gangplank to take in your surroundings. Inhaling the cool, salty air, you watch as bustling dock workers unload the ship’s cargo while the town of Gilport awaits you, its weathered stone buildings seeming to stand in defiance of time and the elements. Beyond the town and rocky shore is the dense Titanswood and rugged Mirian Mountains, their towering peaks hidden by the gray clouds overhead. Why are you here?

Post 4: A short time later, after settling in to your rustic room at the Dropped Anchor, securing your chest of personal effects and research materials from the ship, and – having lived off little more than hardtack and water for a week – indulging yourself in a hearty mid-morning meal, you decide to…?

Post 5: Thankfully, the bathhouse isn’t far from the Dropped Anchor and an hour later you are lounging in a private, steamy, hot-spring-fed bath, cleaner than you’ve been in months. Suddenly, a kerfuffle erupts from down the hall, toward the public baths. Fearful shouts and splashing echo through your closed door.

Post 6: “Not my monkeys, not my circus…” you mumble to yourself as you bar the door then slip back into the warm water.

🎲+🧠=5 | A few minutes later, after the noise from outside has died down, a soft gurgling sound from the direction of the door grabs your attention. There, you see a puddle of water flowing into the room through the gap under the door. You leap out of your tub, butt nekkid, as it rises into a swirling column of water.

What do you do?

Post 7: 🎲 (Tie Break) = 2

🎲+🗣️ (Communicate) = 1 ❌️

“WHAT ARE YOU?” you shout over the now-roaring sound of the liquid vortex. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Suddenly, a tentacle of water lashes out…

🎲+💪 (Avoid Damage) = 8 ✅️

You deftly jump out of its range.

🎲+🧠 (Identify) = 8 ✅️

Then it comes to you, it's a water elemental—just a minor one, too, easily dispatched with a simple incantation! You quickly weave the words, then the elemental burbles—almost joyously?—and vanishes.

What do you do?

Post 8: You spend a few minutes donning your leather armor and gathering the rest of your gear but don't hear anything from the hall.

As you scan the public areas of the baths, you find only soaking wet clothes and discarded towels.

Making your way to the entrance, you step outside to find yourself face-to-face with a half dozen town guards armed with pikes. They lower the points in your direction and the lead guard shouts, “Halt! Identify yourself!”

What do you do?

Post 9: “Whut?” Anton, the head guard asks, confused.

You explain what you saw and how you dealt with it, while the guards look at each other and whisper amongst themselves. Anton orders their weapons lowered and steps forward.

“Strange things like dis ‘ave been happening since my dad was a boy, but more over de last few seasons. Water creature dis week, last week a fire monster… could you help?”

Elemental disruptions *could* be linked to the lost artifact you seek…

Post 10: You follow Anton to meet with the town council, then spend the next week working with them to investigate past events. A pattern quickly emerges: whatever is causing these events seems to be centered somewhere to the north of town, in the Mirian Mountains.

“Five hundred years ago,” the dwarf Councillor Armus Deepforge says one day, “the original dwarvish town that stood here, Grymvein, was abandoned. Some say it was something that was dug up in the mines.”