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So after the success of Maurice Greene I decided that I had to try for an ironman win in Vanilla. For this I've reverted to my favourite and most trusty character the mage and upgraded to 3.3.0. So far I've found it easier than 3.0.9 but I guess the ironman effect balances it out a bit.
I'm again keeping a diary to keep myself interested in playing him and hopefully not get lazy (which is the easiest path to death in my experience).
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Mr. Wickham was the most magically gifted Elf of his small Sindarin tribe. While his brothers perfected their skills with the bow in the forests of middle-earth, Wickham dreamt of one day conjuring great spells and wielding mighty arcane power like the ancient mages of old. He already had learnt how to cast magic missiles, which he had used to best his brothers in the hunt on one occasion at least. He decided that he could not accomplish his lofty goals by waiting around and so resolved to adventure into the pits of Angband to properly learn the craft of magic, perhaps one day to face the Lord of Darkness in a mighty duel should he dare. Taking the small dagger inherited from his father and a spellbook he'd been given called 'Magic for Beginners', he purchased what supplies he could afford from the small town near his home before resting for the night.
When he awoke the next morning, there was a strange air about the small town. Walking down the main street, Wickham was struck by what seemed a stone silence. A tumbleweed rolled across the road in front of him. He found all the shops were locked. On the door of the magic shop, where the day before he had purchased a spellbook called 'Conjuring and Tricks', he found a note, left by his father. It read:
"Wickham, word of your intent reached me after you finished your shopping spree. While we will not impede you, I cannot condone what you are doing. Taking such a path into the dungeon, with no bow and no skill is suicide and you are a twit for attempting it. If you descend the stairs you will not be welcome in this place again, but if you return to me now I will pardon you."
He frowned in thought. His backpack felt heavy on his shoulders. It was laden with food and wooden torches. He'd come this far, why not go further? His fingertips tingled and a strange sense of purpose washed over him. He tore the note from the door and scrunched it into a ball. He then walked over to the stairs and descended into Angband.
His first impression was that the dungeon was in fact very dirty. He was glad he was at least wearing some leather sandals, but some closed boots would be more proper. He lit a wooden torch and began exploring.
Wickham was quite pleased to stumble upon a number of creepy crawlies such as centipedes and icky things, which really did not like being slammed from afar with a magic missile. Before long he had honed the technique and had levelled up, learning additional spells from Magic for Beginners.
On dungeon level 7 he detected a family of spiders nearby and decided to retreat back up the stairs to the previous level. To his horror, he found that his foot would not obey his command and he could not ascend the staircase. Was this some curse from his wounded father? Whatever it was, perhaps it could be undone if he could destroy the dark one and become the master of this dungeon. This grim reality slammed home and Wickham sat for a while contemplating his fate. There was nothing for it. Those spiders, and everything below and beyond them, must die.
He had recently learned how to blast a column of lightning down a corridor and used this spell with good effect against the spiders. It wasn't long until he had also deciphered the spell 'Frost Bolt'. This was a potent weapon indeed as it did not take much concentration and dished serious damage.
He was approached by Smeagol and promptly threw a salvo of frost bolts at him. The little wretch eventually died, and dropped some arrows of lightning. Ironic, thought Wickham. If only his brothers were here to enjoy them. On the same level, he found Bullroarer the hobbit sleeping at the end of a long passage. Bullroarer could not withstand multiple shots from the wand of wonder Wickham had found, and died easily.
Wickham's first serious test came when he detected a horde of Kobolds, being led by Mugash the Kobold Lord. He made just the right amount of noise from a distance, and a small crew of large kobolds were roused and began running the corridors to get to him. Wickham was ready and began unloading his lightning columns in repeated flashes. The kobolds went down, severely owned by the little elven mage, who grinned happily. But suddenly, the tide began to turn. The dead kobolds were replaced with new ones who had heard the commotion, but Wickham was actually now really tired and was finding it impossible to concentrate hard enough to cast his spells. To make matters worse, Mugash was in the corridor!
Err, run! Wickham turned on his heels and began pounding the dirt. His sandals nearly fell off as he awkwardly lugged his huge backpack in the opposite direction. The kobolds hooped and hollered as they began chasing him down. He could not outrun them. He put down his backpack and opened Conjuring and Tricks. This was one untried trick that had better work. With the last of his mana he gestured at the leading kobold, who immediately fell asleep and fell backward on his companions. The kobolds began shouting and pushing but could not get past in the confusion. Wickham kept running until he was suitably far away and then rested until he was sure his head was clear. From now on he had better plan how he was going to use that mana in advance rather than just go in slinging spells left and right. He now did just this, and with a combination of lightning columns, phase door, sleep monster, and resting, eventually isolated Mugash in a long corridor. Though the kobold managed to hit Wickham a couple of times, he could not withstand triple Frost Bolt from the chilly hands of the elf and went down.
Though Wickham had learned to plan out his mana the hard way, he soon after fell in to a similar terrifying ordeal by using too much of his concentration too early in combat. He had learned a useful though expensive spell called 'Spear of Light'. Not only did this brighten the place up a bit, but the snagas he had been fighting really hated it. He got in to a scrap with a large block of them, happily flinging stinking clouds and light spears and watching them drop like flies. But again, he was now out of mana! About 8 half dead snagas, moaning in pain having fled in terror from him now turned toward him, angry and with a murderous intent. Wickham cracked open his phasing scrolls, trying to jump into another room where he could not be followed. It didn't work, he simply appeared amongst the little orcish brutes, who were now smelling his blood with glee. He ran again now in the opposite direction, and became cornered in a room and surrounded. He read his last phase scroll and prayed. It mercifully ported him back to the entrance of the room, and they were now all behind him! He ran again, quaffing Cure Serious potions as blows began to rain on him from behind. He finally found mana for Sleep and escaped as the leading snaga fell prone to the gesture. About five minutes later Wickham was recovered. He returned to the hall and destroyed them all.
Wormtongue, agent of Saruman did not like the idea of an upstart rival sorcerer on his dungeon level and picked a fight with Wickham. This was a mistake as the weasel was crushed with relative ease by repeated frost bolts. Wickham couldn't wait to loot that mangy corpse but found only a Glaive 2d6. He scoffed. What was this wretch doing carrying such a huge weapon that neither of them could use? He left it on the floor, figuring that 19 pounds of weight was not worth whatever resists or otherwise he might have obtained from the weapon at this early stage. On the same level Wickham came across a room full of hill orcs trapped behind a red jelly. He laughed and rubbed his hands in a somewhat evil manner. The orcs started shouting and gesturing at him, but dared not climb over or touch the huge jelly. Making a performance of it, Wickham flamboyantly brandished Magic for Beginners, and then pulled out a small set of reading spectacles. He cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. The orcs began jumping around like mad things, roaring up the chamber at him in fury. With a tweak of the elven fingers the room was filled with a poisonous gas cloud. The orcs writhed and choked on the stinking fumes, their weapons clanging to the ground. From his safe vantage point a second, third and fourth cloud was conjured until the whole gang suffocated to death, their hairy bodies thumping on to the floor. The red jelly was then easily removed with magic missiles. Wickham made a pistol firing gesture, snapped the little book shut, licked his finger and flattened his eyebrows, and then ambled in and looted the bodies. A nice pair of iron shod boots were his reward, he put them on and tossed his grimy sandals away.
I'm again keeping a diary to keep myself interested in playing him and hopefully not get lazy (which is the easiest path to death in my experience).
------------
Mr. Wickham was the most magically gifted Elf of his small Sindarin tribe. While his brothers perfected their skills with the bow in the forests of middle-earth, Wickham dreamt of one day conjuring great spells and wielding mighty arcane power like the ancient mages of old. He already had learnt how to cast magic missiles, which he had used to best his brothers in the hunt on one occasion at least. He decided that he could not accomplish his lofty goals by waiting around and so resolved to adventure into the pits of Angband to properly learn the craft of magic, perhaps one day to face the Lord of Darkness in a mighty duel should he dare. Taking the small dagger inherited from his father and a spellbook he'd been given called 'Magic for Beginners', he purchased what supplies he could afford from the small town near his home before resting for the night.
When he awoke the next morning, there was a strange air about the small town. Walking down the main street, Wickham was struck by what seemed a stone silence. A tumbleweed rolled across the road in front of him. He found all the shops were locked. On the door of the magic shop, where the day before he had purchased a spellbook called 'Conjuring and Tricks', he found a note, left by his father. It read:
"Wickham, word of your intent reached me after you finished your shopping spree. While we will not impede you, I cannot condone what you are doing. Taking such a path into the dungeon, with no bow and no skill is suicide and you are a twit for attempting it. If you descend the stairs you will not be welcome in this place again, but if you return to me now I will pardon you."
He frowned in thought. His backpack felt heavy on his shoulders. It was laden with food and wooden torches. He'd come this far, why not go further? His fingertips tingled and a strange sense of purpose washed over him. He tore the note from the door and scrunched it into a ball. He then walked over to the stairs and descended into Angband.
His first impression was that the dungeon was in fact very dirty. He was glad he was at least wearing some leather sandals, but some closed boots would be more proper. He lit a wooden torch and began exploring.
Wickham was quite pleased to stumble upon a number of creepy crawlies such as centipedes and icky things, which really did not like being slammed from afar with a magic missile. Before long he had honed the technique and had levelled up, learning additional spells from Magic for Beginners.
On dungeon level 7 he detected a family of spiders nearby and decided to retreat back up the stairs to the previous level. To his horror, he found that his foot would not obey his command and he could not ascend the staircase. Was this some curse from his wounded father? Whatever it was, perhaps it could be undone if he could destroy the dark one and become the master of this dungeon. This grim reality slammed home and Wickham sat for a while contemplating his fate. There was nothing for it. Those spiders, and everything below and beyond them, must die.
He had recently learned how to blast a column of lightning down a corridor and used this spell with good effect against the spiders. It wasn't long until he had also deciphered the spell 'Frost Bolt'. This was a potent weapon indeed as it did not take much concentration and dished serious damage.
He was approached by Smeagol and promptly threw a salvo of frost bolts at him. The little wretch eventually died, and dropped some arrows of lightning. Ironic, thought Wickham. If only his brothers were here to enjoy them. On the same level, he found Bullroarer the hobbit sleeping at the end of a long passage. Bullroarer could not withstand multiple shots from the wand of wonder Wickham had found, and died easily.
Wickham's first serious test came when he detected a horde of Kobolds, being led by Mugash the Kobold Lord. He made just the right amount of noise from a distance, and a small crew of large kobolds were roused and began running the corridors to get to him. Wickham was ready and began unloading his lightning columns in repeated flashes. The kobolds went down, severely owned by the little elven mage, who grinned happily. But suddenly, the tide began to turn. The dead kobolds were replaced with new ones who had heard the commotion, but Wickham was actually now really tired and was finding it impossible to concentrate hard enough to cast his spells. To make matters worse, Mugash was in the corridor!
Err, run! Wickham turned on his heels and began pounding the dirt. His sandals nearly fell off as he awkwardly lugged his huge backpack in the opposite direction. The kobolds hooped and hollered as they began chasing him down. He could not outrun them. He put down his backpack and opened Conjuring and Tricks. This was one untried trick that had better work. With the last of his mana he gestured at the leading kobold, who immediately fell asleep and fell backward on his companions. The kobolds began shouting and pushing but could not get past in the confusion. Wickham kept running until he was suitably far away and then rested until he was sure his head was clear. From now on he had better plan how he was going to use that mana in advance rather than just go in slinging spells left and right. He now did just this, and with a combination of lightning columns, phase door, sleep monster, and resting, eventually isolated Mugash in a long corridor. Though the kobold managed to hit Wickham a couple of times, he could not withstand triple Frost Bolt from the chilly hands of the elf and went down.
Though Wickham had learned to plan out his mana the hard way, he soon after fell in to a similar terrifying ordeal by using too much of his concentration too early in combat. He had learned a useful though expensive spell called 'Spear of Light'. Not only did this brighten the place up a bit, but the snagas he had been fighting really hated it. He got in to a scrap with a large block of them, happily flinging stinking clouds and light spears and watching them drop like flies. But again, he was now out of mana! About 8 half dead snagas, moaning in pain having fled in terror from him now turned toward him, angry and with a murderous intent. Wickham cracked open his phasing scrolls, trying to jump into another room where he could not be followed. It didn't work, he simply appeared amongst the little orcish brutes, who were now smelling his blood with glee. He ran again now in the opposite direction, and became cornered in a room and surrounded. He read his last phase scroll and prayed. It mercifully ported him back to the entrance of the room, and they were now all behind him! He ran again, quaffing Cure Serious potions as blows began to rain on him from behind. He finally found mana for Sleep and escaped as the leading snaga fell prone to the gesture. About five minutes later Wickham was recovered. He returned to the hall and destroyed them all.
Wormtongue, agent of Saruman did not like the idea of an upstart rival sorcerer on his dungeon level and picked a fight with Wickham. This was a mistake as the weasel was crushed with relative ease by repeated frost bolts. Wickham couldn't wait to loot that mangy corpse but found only a Glaive 2d6. He scoffed. What was this wretch doing carrying such a huge weapon that neither of them could use? He left it on the floor, figuring that 19 pounds of weight was not worth whatever resists or otherwise he might have obtained from the weapon at this early stage. On the same level Wickham came across a room full of hill orcs trapped behind a red jelly. He laughed and rubbed his hands in a somewhat evil manner. The orcs started shouting and gesturing at him, but dared not climb over or touch the huge jelly. Making a performance of it, Wickham flamboyantly brandished Magic for Beginners, and then pulled out a small set of reading spectacles. He cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. The orcs began jumping around like mad things, roaring up the chamber at him in fury. With a tweak of the elven fingers the room was filled with a poisonous gas cloud. The orcs writhed and choked on the stinking fumes, their weapons clanging to the ground. From his safe vantage point a second, third and fourth cloud was conjured until the whole gang suffocated to death, their hairy bodies thumping on to the floor. The red jelly was then easily removed with magic missiles. Wickham made a pistol firing gesture, snapped the little book shut, licked his finger and flattened his eyebrows, and then ambled in and looted the bodies. A nice pair of iron shod boots were his reward, he put them on and tossed his grimy sandals away.
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