The Barman's Final Tab
The whole point of this text, bollocks and dice is to get together with some beer and *EHEM* mates with some beer and pizza to share and have a grand time. Chat some shizz, tell more jokes than Tells-No-Jokes. Even if its only one.
Create a Warband, go questing, laugh at an NPC and totally fail to slay the Dragon. Then do it again, and slay that Dragon and steal his Treasure. Then tell the NPC the Dragon sold his Treasure for Bit-CHZ* and only had a mouldy sofa to sit on, which didn't have a fire rating label so wasn't of any monetary resale value. So you set up a "Just Giving (A Shizz)" for the Dragon because you felt "sorry" for him, and while you did gather some shiners from a pack of local Aunties, they were all stolen by a Sindarkyn Wizard who said he had a larger chest of shiners to give you, he only needed to melt your shiners into the right shaped key the same shape as the lock of the chest. So you gave him your shiners, and long story short it ended up being you and the Dragon both sitting on the mouldy sofa watching the price of Bit-CHZ going down faster than the beer and pizza you managed to order with the leftover shiners you hid from the Wizard. So, technically, the NPC now owes you money.
Roll a Stat-Check, MF.
*Sort of like Bitcoin, but even easier to lose people at parties with if you inject this into the conversation.
Campaign Victory Conditions
At the end of a campaign (or at end of every session), all players tally up their Accolades and Disgraces. Each Accolade is worth +1 Point, and each Disgrace is worth -1 Point. The player with the highest net score is declared the "Legend of The Eightpints," and their warband's name is carved into the back of the pub's dirtiest booth for all time.
The most Disgraced player pays the tab**.
**Or just buys the round if he can't afford the whole tab, because he*** spend all of his savings on Bit-CHZ.
***Yes, "he". No chick would be stupid enough to exchange hard earned shiners for Bit-CHZ. Or, lose.
The Eight Accolades
The Hoard of the Gilded Proprietor
Awarded to the player with the largest stash of Shiners at the end of the campaign. Lord Vincel Rhames respects those who understand the value of a well-filled briefcase.
The Shepherd's Verdict
Awarded to the player whose warband has taken the most enemy leaders out of action. The Shepherd Grimm smiles upon those who deliver a swift, righteous verdict to the powerful.
The Wolfe's Professionalism
Awarded to the player who has had the fewest of their own fighters suffer a Lasting Injury. The Wolfe of the Wastes respects a clean operator who gets the job done with minimal mess.
The Wanderer's Luck
Awarded to the player who won a skirmish with only one fighter remaining on the board. Saint Vincent, the Wanderer, blesses those who embrace the most chaotic and unforeseen of victories.
The Maw of Mawgar
Awarded to the player whose single fighter dealt the most damage in a single attack action during the campaign. The World-Chewer is pleased by this display of ultimate consumption.
The Unflinching Will of Nzzetche
Awarded to the player who won the most skirmishes while being outnumbered. Nzzetche respects those who overcome the odds through sheer force of will and superior strategy.
The Architect's Grand Design
Awarded to the player who has recruited the most fighters into their warband over the course of the campaign (even if they later died). Arkhotek appreciates a leader who understands the value of collecting raw materials for a grand project.
The Bar-Room Legend
Awarded to the player who has completed the most side quests. Their tales are the most varied and entertaining, making them a true legend at The Eightpints.
How To Play
The following guide walks one or two players through the Quest structure. If The Eightpints is being played solo, just ignore the scenarios that pit your Warband against another player's Warband and focus on hard, honest* Questing.
*Or, preferably, dishonest. Get your Metvél-Kaltos and Clout glands pumping MF!!
The Eight Disgraces
The Jester of The Sink
Awarded to the player whose warband has suffered the most casualties (total number of fighters taken out of action) throughout the campaign. They have provided the most raw filth for the cosmic drain.
The Veiled Dame's Disappointment
Awarded to the player who has had the most of their fighters taken down by a single, catastrophic area-of-effect attack (like an Exploding Potion or a spell). They failed to respect the dangerous lines of the battlefield.
Schopenfester's Embrace
Awarded to the player whose warband is carrying the most Lasting Injuries at the end of the campaign. They are a walking testament to the universe's inevitable decay.
The Gilded Fool
This title is a mark of temporary but profound humiliation, passed from one unlucky leader to the next. It is awarded to the player who most recently lost a skirmish by having their leader taken out in the very first round. Should another player suffer this fate later in the campaign, the title of "Gilded Fool" immediately transfers to them. At the end, only one can wear the crown of shame.
The Coward's Due
Awarded to the player who has had the most fighters flee the board (if using such rules) or who has conceded the most games.
The Cursed Dice
Awarded to the player who has failed the most Recovery Rolls, resulting in the most character deaths. Their fate is clearly not their own.
The Empty Keg
Awarded to the player with the fewest Shiners at the end of the campaign. They can't even afford to buy the next round.
The Shortest Story
A title for a tale that, while tragic, was at least brief. This disgrace is awarded to the player who most recently had their entire warband completely wiped out in a single skirmish. The title is a curse that shifts to the next player to suffer this total and ignominious defeat. No one wants to be the last one to have told the shortest story.
Vanquish Your Mates *EHEM* Your Foes
Forget the sagas. A skirmish is not a glorious clash of heroes. It is a pathetic, muddy scramble between two groups of poorly-paid malcontents who have realized they've been hired to murder each other over a leaky barrel of ale or a half-plucked chicken.
You won't hear soaring music or the praise of kings. You'll hear the wet cough of a dying man, the squelch of a boot pulling free from the mud, and the quiet, desperate prayer that your tetanus shot is up to date. Victory is a messy, unsatisfying business, a brief moment of relief before you have to loot the corpses of men you might have shared a drink with yesterday.
This is not where legends are born. This is where you get a rusty knife in the kidney because you tripped over a rock. The goal is not to win with honour; it's to survive with enough of your limbs intact to carry your loot back to the pub.
Lead Your Warband
Ah, the glorious life of an adventurer. It's a beautiful tapestry of infected wounds, food poisoning, sleeping in the rain, and being perpetually short on cash. A warband isn't a "found family"; it's a dysfunctional collection of reprobates who have collectively agreed that getting stabbed for a living is marginally better than honest work.
This bond of mutual desperation is the strongest in the land. You'll learn to read a man not by his words, but by the way he holds his axe when the food supplies are low. You'll know his life story by the scars on his knuckles. These aren't your friends. They are the witnesses to your worst decisions, and you to theirs.
You will share your ale, your fires, and your various communicable diseases. And you will trust each other, not out of love or loyalty, but because you know for a fact that no one else is stupid enough to have your back. Cheers.
Quest The Eightpints
Let's dispense with the pleasantries. A "quest" is just a fancy word for a terrible job that will, in all likelihood, end with you being eaten. A "campaign" is just a string of these terrible jobs, punctuated by brief, drunken interludes at the pub.
You are not on a noble path to glory. You are the medieval equivalent of a gig-economy worker, and your primary trade is grievous bodily harm. Your grand story will not be written in books; it will be scrawled on a bar tab and paid for in scars. You'll follow maps drawn by madmen, take orders from merchants who'd sell their own mothers for a profit, and chase legends that are usually just a colourful way of describing a very large, very hungry monster.
And. You'll do it all for a handful of coin that barely covers your next bar tab.
Replenish *EHEM* Expand Your Warband
So, you've got a few Shiners jingling in your pocket and a dangerous sense of optimism. Welcome to the recruitment phase. The Eighpints is full of aspiring heroes and grizzled veterans, all of whom have two things in common: they're for sale, and they're almost certainly going to get you killed.
Remember, you're not looking at their list of accomplishments, because they're all liars. You're looking at their scars, their teeth, and the way they hold their drink. That's the only resume that matters in this pub.
Whether it's the Orc who swears his sparking, volatile contraption is "mostly stable" or the pirate who smells faintly of treason, you're not hiring muscle; you're adopting a new and interesting set of problems.
Choose wisely. Or don't. It's probably more fun that way.
Consult the Oracle
Some people pray to the gods. We, on the other hand, have the good sense to appeal to a higher, more reliable power: a handful of cheap, bone dice.
This is the Oracle's Call, the part of the game where you pretend your grand, tactical genius matters. Go ahead, make your plans. Then, roll the dice and watch as the universe delivers your daily ration of hilarious, soul-crushing disappointment.
Remember, the dice aren't your friends; they're just the six-sided little monsters that narrate your inevitable doom. They are the embodiment of every abyssal god and spiteful spirit, a direct line to the universe's most cynical sense of humour. To roll them is to ask a question, and the answer is almost always, "No, not like that."
Deities who may decide to unceremoniously share their "opinion" on your endeavours
