Last week I had a chance to finally
play in the irrepressible Robert Parker's Krul
and by play, of course, I mean die horribly by my own hand after 45
terrifying/exhilarating minutes of being lost in the dungeon and
firing my stolen rifle like a maniac. Among the many colorful and
nifty house rules (the downtime mechanics are a delight) is a very
simple rule that I love dearly: on achieving third level the PC can
choose an appropriate nickname (usually of the “X the Whatever”
variety.)
This pushes all my buttons the right
way, as a player I am awfully fond of the “pretty, shiny beads”
types of status awards, the kind that have little to no mechanical
effect other than bragging rights or peacock-like displays. But as
far back as the pre-gens in my first module, B1, (“Kracki the
Hooded One,” “Mohag the Wanderer” and company) I have also just
happened to love the hell out of archaic nicknames.
Near my desk sits a copy of the Steel
Bonnets, a narrative history of the Scot-English Border Reivers
feuding and raiding, by the author of the scumbag-extraordinarie
Flashman series. One chapter in particular is well-marked for
inspiration, a chapter wholly devoted to the weird and wonderful
nicknames earned the hard way in the period. It starts up with the
somewhat pedestrian but nevertheless colorful examples based on local
geography, rank or relationship: “Jock of the Side”, “Hob of
the Leys,” “Sim the Laird”, or “Whitbaugh's Andy.”
From there they just get wilder,
reveling in strange, offensive appellations and best of all those won
in actual exploits on the field. There's the Elliot brothers going by
“Buggerback” and “Dog Pyntle”. There's David “Bangtail”
Armstrong riding along in history next to Archie “Fire-the-Braes”,
“Ill-Drowned” Geordie, “Nebless” Clem Closer, “Fingerless”
Will Nixon, “Crack Spear”, the odd “Laird-Give-Me-Little”,
and the mysterious “Hen-Harrow.”
Research for Feudal Anarchy
uncovered an amazing variety of similarly satisfying nicknames.
Many just piled up in ecstatic proportions. I mean who could turn
their back on “Catherine de' Medici Jezebel, the Barren
Wife, the Black Queen, the Eclipsed Consort, the
Italian Duchess Without a Duchy, the Maggot from Italy's
Tomb, the Merchant's Daughter, the Monstrous Regiment of
Women, the Mother of the Modern High-Heeled Shoe?”
The Hill Cantons in fact are sloppy
with these kinds of constructions. My usual formula being a
“one-letter off Czech, Slovak, Slovene, Archaic German, or Wholly
Fantastical name” THE “in-joke, archaic occupation, lovable underused word, or bad pub.” So thus the Marlank
playboy-philosopher Jarek “the Nagsman,” the addled sage Slavo
“the Salacious,” the doleful bandit Libor “the Lugubrious,” the god-eating patriarch Ummas “the Unctious,” the cranky robo-dwarf
Xhom “the Contumelious,” and so on down the line.
Having a nicknaming convention works
fall around for me. On one hand it provides a silly, but consistent verisimilitude
that helps me get in the right mood to create a NPC (I always, always
start with the name). On the other it provides me with the kind of
mini-game that helps me keep rejuvenated through the more humdrum
operations of running a long campaign.
We'll see next Saturday what nickname Evaro earns for himself.
ReplyDeleteHopefully it's something along the lines of Evaro "The Not Killed Horribly."
DeleteI do like the idea of waiting to the third level to gain a nickname, as this makes it "realistic," a shared history among the players, rather than back story. When I play, I like having a back story, but admit that unless that is part of the plot, it is quickly forgotten. Much better to earn your title of Canker the Kobold Whisperer, as all the best nicknames should have a story.
ReplyDelete