This simplified method for handling encumbrance using an imprecise, medieval-mindset way of thinking about weight was originally designed in 2011 for OD&D and 3^rd Edition. This version of the rules is fully adapted for 5^th Edition.

Encumbrance, measured in stones carried, determines the load a character is currently carrying. A character’s encumbrance can be normal, encumbered, or heavily encumbered. A character has a carrying capacity equal to their Strength in stones (which is the maximum weight they can carry), they are heavily encumbered if they are carrying more than two-thirds of this number (round down), and encumbered if they are carrying more than one-third this number (round down).

Each character has an encumbrance rule to keep track of these thresholds, which are precalculated on the table below. For example, a character with Strength 10 has an encumbrance rule of 10-6-3 (meaning they are encumbered when carrying 3 or more stones, heavily encumbered when carrying 6 or more stones, and cannot carry more than 10 stones).

Encumbered: An encumbered character’s speed drops by 10 feet.

Heavily Encumbered: A heavily encumbered character’s speed drops by 20 feet and they have disadvantage on ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws that use Strength, Dexterity, or Constitution.

Push, Drag, or Lift: A character can push, drag, or lift up (without carrying) twice their carrying capacity. While pushing or dragging weight in excess of their carrying capacity, a character’s speed drops to 5 feet.

Adjusting for Size: The encumbrance rule for a creature is doubled for each size category above Medium. The encumbrance rule is halved for Tiny creatures. (It is easiest to consider a Tiny creature as having half its Strength score for the purposes of calculating encumbrance, a Large creature to have double its Strength, and so forth.)

Variant – Quadrupeds: Quadrupeds can carry heavier loads and have an encumbrance rule equal to twice an equivalent biped.

WEIGHT BY STONE

To determine the number of stones carried by a character, simply consult the table below.

Miscellaneous Equipment: Up to twenty items of the same type (scrolls, arrows, potions, rope) can be bundled together for the purposes of encumbrance, with five bundles being equal to 1 stone. Items of different types aren’t bundled when determining encumbrance.

Stowed Weapons: Stowed weapons have been compactly stored in a way which makes them more difficult to draw (but easier to carry). Stowed weapons must be retrieved before they can be used, but they only count as 1 stone per 5 weapons.

Heavy Items: Anything weighing more than roughly 10 pounds can’t be effectively bundled. Estimate a weight in stones (about 10-20 pounds to the stone). When in doubt, call it a stone.

Clothing / Worn Items: Worn items don’t count for encumbrance, unless the individual items would qualify as heavy items.

CONTAINERS

Weapons are assumed to be in sheaths, armor is worn, and you might have a wineskin or two strapped to your belt. But since there’s a limit to how much you can hold in your hands, everything else you’re carrying needs a place to live. As a rule of thumb, containers can carry:

Empty containers count as miscellaneous equipment. Containers being used to carry items don’t count towards encumbrance.

Larger sacks (often referred to as “loot sacks”) are also possible, but these cannot generally be stored on the body. They must be carried in both hands.

VARIANT – CREATURE WEIGHT BY SIZE

Your own weight does not count against your encumbrance, but these figures are important for mounts. (They’ll also come in handy if you need to carry a corpse or prisoner.)

These figures are meant to serve as a useful rule of thumb, being roughly accurate for creatures similar in build and type to humans (i.e. fleshy humanoids). There will, however, be significant variance within each size category. Even typical animals of Huge size, for example, can easily range anywhere from 400 stones to 3,000 stones. Creatures of unusual material can obviously shatter these assumptions entirely (ranging from light-as-air ether cloud fairies to impossibly dense neutronium golems).

ENCUMBRANCE RULES

Part 2: The Sheet

V. writes:

I’m heading into Chapter 2 of Dragon Heist next session. We left off right after Volo “paid” them with a deed for Trollskull Manor, so they want to start with inspecting the tavern in the morning. I’m going to have them re-encounter the urchins there, but then what? I’m not really sure how to keep the session moving after that.

Chapter 2 of Dragon Heist presents a little sandbox-like interlude between the introductory events of Chapter 1 and (in the Remix) the Grand Game literally blowing up on the PCs’ doorstep in the form of the fireball. It includes:

• Fixing up Trollskull Manor so that it can be re-opened (or sold or whatever else the PCs want to do with it).
• Other businesses and NPCs in Trollskull Alley for the PCs to meet and build relationships with.
• A half dozen factions who will be interested in recruiting the PCs, along with short faction missions that the PCs will be asked to do if they join up.
• A hostile businessmen (Emmek Frewn) who will hire a gang of wererats to harass the PCs.

To this toolkit, you can add any loose threads from Chapter 1 that the PCs are interested in pursuing: Relationships with Volo, Renear, Floon, etc. Investigations into the Zhentarim or Xanatharians. And so forth.

That’s a whole bunch of stuff! But how do you actually bring it to the table?

(As a quick aside: One important thing to keep in mind is that you’re not supposed to wrap up everything in Chapter 2 before Chapter 3 begins. The Remix, in particular, decompresses the Grand Game so that you have space to continue incorporating the faction and Trollskull business into the campaign. Doing so will add depth as the PCs’ actions weave together the Grand Game, the factions, and Trollskull into a dynamic interlock. But I digress.)

What you want do at the top of Chapter 2 is basically a massive dump of options — stuff that needs to get done around the tavern, scenario hooks, etc. You want the players to immediately have to start making choices about what they’re going to spend their time and focus on. This is what will keep things interesting.

To achieve this:

1. Factions will start paying house calls to say, “Hi. Heard you’re awesome. We have a job we’d like you to do.” Renaer is a VIP and saving him in Chapter 1 created a lot of buzz for the PCs.
2. Immediately start having guilds show up to discuss repairs that need to be made and services they can provide. (This is why the Remix breaks down the costs associated with repairs and assigns them to specific guilds. The guild reps humanize the expenses and the individual breakdown also gives the players a chance to think creatively about how they might work around each guild’s remit to save cash… while probably earning the guild’s enmity for scab labor.)
3. Get Frewn, the urchins, and one or two other people from Trollskull Alley involved. Frewn, in particular, will start a whole chain of events, but the ongoing relationships with the other NPCs will develop similarly in an organic fashion. (I recommend giving space to the other alley residents to give the PCs a chance to seek them out and explore the alley for themselves.)

Make sure that the guild costs are significantly (but not impossibly) higher than the group’s cash-on-hand. This will motivate them to figure out a paycheck (i.e., they can’t just focus on remodeling the tavern, they’re going to have to go do interesting things to pay for it).

Put them under a time crunch. They should NOT be able to do everything, at least not without splitting up. Have stuff from two different faction missions happen at the same time; or at the same time as the guild reps show up for some “hard negotiations.” They’re going to have to make choices.

Similarly, don’t wait for one thing to wrap up before triggering the next. Interrupt scenes with other scenes and hooks. For example, they’re negotiating with a guild rep when Frewn shows up or one of the urchins runs in to report that Nat has fallen into a sinkhole. Or both.

MAKE YOUR MENU

If this feels like a lot to juggle… it is!

Across all of these different elements of the campaign, you might have forty or fifty different things you’re trying to keep track of. It’s too much.

The solution?

Make lists.

Specifically, make a sequential list for each category:

• Guilds
• Factions
• Trollskull Drama
• Follow-Ups

Under “Guilds” list all the guild visits in the order you think they should happen (or just randomly if order doesn’t seem significant). Do the same for your faction recruitment/mission assignments, Trollskull-related NPCs, etc.

As you’re running, you can now just glance at your lists and trigger something happening by just grabbing the top item off any list. (This isn’t a binding contract, of course. You can still bounce around if it makes sense in the moment.)

This significantly simplifies what you’re trying to keep track of in your head at any moment: Instead of forty or fifty different items, you only have to think in terms of “guild stuff, faction stuff, and alley stuff.”

I think of it like ordering off a menu: If you dump everything into one big category, ordering is a nightmare. So you organize stuff into appetizers, main course, dessert, and so forth.

Then, during play, you’re like, “Hmm… Getting peckish. Let me take a peek at the menu.”

And because you’ve pre-organized stuff, you largely just need to jump back and forth from one menu to the next.

FOLLOW-UPS

“Follow-Ups,” it should be noted, is a list you can use to follow-up on previous scenes: They piss off a glazier guild rep, so you think, “That guy’s gonna bring some muscle to break their new windows.” Jot that down in your Follow-Ups list.

You could, of course, just add this to the end of the Guilds list, but then you’d have to cycle through establishing everything else on the Guilds list before the PCs would start experiencing the consequences of their choices. Alternatively, you could put it on the top of the Guilds list, but then you’d have to cycle through all your follow-ups before you could introduce new stuff. It’s better to keep a mix of new stuff and old stuff cycling through.

Note that stuff from Chapter 1 – like Renaer or Floon or Volo dropping by for a visit – could also go on the Follow-Ups list. This is a good way to transition stuff from one phase of a campaign to the next and is easy to keep track of on your campaign status document.

Go to Ask the Alexandrian #6

Combat is ubiquitous in tabletop roleplaying games. A little bit because the modern RPG evolved out of wargames; a little more because combat is mainstay genre element in the pulp fiction and procedurals that underlie most RPGs; but mostly because simulated combat is fun!

As a GM, therefore, a lot of your time will be spent running and describing combat scenes. To do that successfully, you’ll first need to visualize the battlefield. Only when you can truly see what’s happening will you be able to evoke it for your players.

ON THE BATTLEMAP

Part of this, of course, is keeping your vision of the battle clear and consistent. If the continuity of the game world is constantly morphing without rhyme or reason, it will undermine everything you’re trying to accomplish.

One way to objectively achieve this consistency is through the use of a battlemap, particularly in combination with rules that are designed to take advantage of the battlemap’s precision. When everyone at the table can clearly see the map of the battlefield and where everyone is located on that map, it’s trivial for everyone to stay on the same page.

When using a battlemap, however, it’s also easy to suffer from grid rigidity: Your mental picture of the battle gets locked into the physical, unmoving miniatures on the battlemap. This results in static, boring descriptions of combat in which the goblin is standing in their 5-foot-square and the barbarian is standing in their 5-foot-square and the two of them stand there, swinging swords back and forth.

To escape from grid rigidity in your descriptions, the first thing to realize is that characters are not simply standing in the middle of their square. Part of the abstraction of the grid is that you are SOMEWHERE inside the square, but we don’t know where. There’s even times when you’re “actually” in a neighboring square (because, for example, you’re punching someone in the face who’s “in” that square).

A miniature’s grid position on the battlemap is best understood as an approximation of the character’s location. You can almost think of it as a quantum superposition, where the character’s specific location and action only becomes certain when it is “measured” by description.

Once you’ve internalized this reality that the map is not the territory, you’ll be freed up to describe dynamic, active interactions on the battlefield. For example, let’s consider our goblin and barbarian once again:

If we imagine these characters standing in the middle of their squares and exchanging blows, we might say something like, “Athargeon lifts his two-handled blade high above his head and swings it down! The goblin tries to squirm out of the way, but isn’t quick enough. It’s gutted from shoulder to nave.”

And that’s cool enough. Nothing wrong with it.

But if we can escape grid rigidity, then we’re freed to introduce descriptions like this: “Athargeon dashes forward. His two-handed blade plunges through the goblin’s belly, driving it back into the bookshelf behind it. A shelf shatters and crystal balls fall from the ruin, splintering to pieces on the stone floor. The goblin scrabbles at the blade pinioning it to the wall, knocking more books to the ground, before giving a final bloody gasp.”

The mechanical resolution here is the same in both cases (Athargeon rolls a successful hit and deals enough damage to kill the goblin), but note in the latter description how the characters are now dynamically moving through the space and interacting with the environment.

Athargeon can’t drive the goblin back and the goblin can’t smash into the bookcase if they’re both stuck in the middle of their squares with their feet figuratively glued to the floor.

THEATRE OF THE MIND

If you’re not using a battlemap, of course, then grid rigidity isn’t a problem. But without the reference of the battlemap, you’ll need to keep track of the entire battlefield and everyone on it in your head.

With a little practice, this isn’t too difficult to achieve if you’re only dealing with a handful of combatants. It’s also possible to “cheat” a little by doodling a little sketch for yourself (and/or your players) to help keep things straight.

But as the number of combatants grows, this will become more and more difficult. You’ll start making mistakes, confusing your players and leading to a frustrating and unsatisfying experience. The other problem I have is that the more of my brain is tied up trying to keep the continuity straight, the less focus and creativity I can give to providing vivid descriptions of the fight! Ironically, the more epic a confrontation becomes in terms of scale, the more pedestrian its execution threatens to be as we all get tied up in the logistics of what’s happening.

What I’ve found useful is to think in terms of melees and battle lines.

A conceptual melee basically takes a group of combatants and says, “You’re all fighting with each other.” Anyone in a melee is assumed to be able to attack anyone else in that melee as the chaotic swirl of combat brings characters within reach of each other.

For example, a fight might break down into a “big melee in the middle of the room” between the fighter, the paladin, and a half dozen goblins, while the wizard and cleric are holding back outside the melee. But you might also have a fight with multiple melees: There’s a cluster of characters fighting at the top of the stairs and another cluster of characters fighting at the bottom of the stairs while the rogue, who isn’t in a melee, is swinging on the chandelier.

The point, obviously, is to conceptually simplify how many variables we’re keeping track of. We don’t need to keep track of exactly where the fighter, the paladin, and the half dozen goblins are in relation to each other; we just need to know where they ALL are in relation to the rest of the fight.

A melee should not, however, be used as an excuse for your descriptions of the fight to become muddy or generic. This can be an easy trap to fall into, but just as abstracting the goblin’s position to being “in that 5-foot-square” shouldn’t preclude us from describing him getting slammed into the bookcase, so abstracting the goblin’s position as being “in that melee” shouldn’t preclude vivid, specific description.

In fact, the flexibility of the conceptual melee can actually free both you and your players to greater heights of creativity in the actions you take and how you describe them.

There are limitations to the utility of the melee, however: situations in which the abstraction of the melee is either not useful or confusing. The solution, of course, is to simply not use melees in those situations.

(It feels like it should be more complicated than that, but it isn’t: Just Don’t Do It.)

One common case where melees aren’t useful is the formation of a battle line. In my experience, this most commonly happens in the tight quarters of a dungeon: In order to protect the squishy spellcasters, the melee-types form a line across the dungeon corridor to block the bad guys. If the party is large enough, you may see the formation of a second line with reach weapons.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the bad guys usually outnumber the good guys, so they’ll funnel in, forming an opposing line.

What I generally find useful at this point is to simply write out the line from left to right:

Athargeon           Edvinas                Nazli

Goblin 1               Orc                        Goblin 2

Jotting this down only takes a couple of seconds and can be done as the players declare their intention to form the line. Generally characters can attack anyone directly in front of them, or immediately to their left or right. (So in the above battle lines, for example, Athargeon could attack Goblin 1 or the Orc, while Edvinas could attack anyone in the opposing line.)

What you may realize is that you’ve effectively created a tiny two-by-three grid, just like the one you would see on a battlemap. In order to respect the tactical intention of the characters (to form a defensive line), this shouldn’t be handled as a conceptual melee. The relative positions of these characters should be locked in, just like they would be on a grid.

There will now be a temptation to really lock into the imagery of these two static lines exchanging blows back and forth. And there can be a lot of good material to work with in that.

But you’ll also want to be aware that this can easily loop back once more to grid rigidity: Bring the environment into your description. Let people take dynamic actions within the line. Explore the verticality of the line. Have the line ebb and flow. You can even threaten the integrity of the line, with enemies threatening to overwhelm or break through it.

PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE

All of this, of course, ultimately boils down to what the characters are actually doing during the battle. It’s easy enough to say that there should be a cool finishing move when a PC kills an NPC or that you should incorporate the environment into your descriptions, but it’s ultimately up to you to look at the barbarian, the sword, the goblin, and the bookcase, and then put those together into something awesome.

And that’s more art than science.

But it IS something that can be practiced.

The most straightforward way to practice, of course, is to simply run more combats: Schedule more sessions and play, play, play, play.

But you can also practice between sessions. One exercise I’ve found useful is to watch a really great fight film — John Wick or 300 or Fellowship of the Ring or Police Story — and simply narrate the action as it happens on the screen, as if you were describing it your gaming group.

This exercise will build your repertoire of fight moves, develop the vocabulary you have for describing a fight, and even teach you a little bit about the effective pacing of fight sequences (although the pacing of an RPG fight will usually be distinctly different from that of a film).

You’ll be able to take those skills and use them to fuel your visualization of the battlefield.

Creative Commons Icons: Goblin by Linector, Barbarian by Delapouite.

Cartography by Dyson Logos.

Warning: This is a rant about game design. Ye have been warned.

Guidance is a terrible spell. It’s so bad, in fact, that I’d argue it flirts with being objectively bad.

I mean, not if you’re the character casting it. If you’re casting the spell, it’s absolutely fantastic. Guidance is not only incredibly powerful, it is constantly useful. That’s actually part of the problem.

Let me back up for a second.

There are two principles of game design on which this rant is based.

First, in a game where players choose between different abilities, any ability which is so good that everyone should pick it every single time is almost always an indication that the ability is broken. Whether or not the ability actually breaks the play of the game, it has broken the process of choosing abilities. The auto-choose ability flattens the game by reducing the diversity and variety of characters.

Second, declaration gotcha mechanics aren’t fun. This is basically the, “Whoops! You forgot to say ‘Simon Says’ before collecting your victory points, so I automatically win the game!” school of game design and it almost always results in terrible experiences. Just imagine Dennis Nedry laughing in your face for eternity:

(Another common example of this in D&D are DMs who resolve traps as purely declaration gotchas: “Whoops! You forgot to say, ‘I search for traps,’ so here’s your random damage tax!” See Rulings in Practice: Traps for a better way of running traps. But I digress.)

So let’s talk about guidance.

In 5^th Edition D&D, guidance is a cantrip that allows the caster to touch one willing creature and grant them +1d4 to any ability check of their choice made within the next minute. It requires concentration, but because it’s a cantrip you can cast it as often as you like.

First off, this is clearly a must-have spell. It grants, on average, +2.5 on ability checks. So any group without guidance is, on average, performing 12.5% worse on ability checks. That’s huge! To put that in perspective, getting a +2 proficiency bonus requires at least five levels of advancement. Guidance allows 5^th level characters to make skill checks as if they were 13^th level characters.

This makes guidance the auto-choose spell that we were just saying is a huge, neon red flag in game design. If you’re the character in the group who has it on your spell list, you’re obligated to take it, and I’ve witnessed multiple Session 0’s in which players have specifically coordinated to make sure that someone has guidance covered. It’s absolutely a character creation tax.

It’s also just a terrible spell in actual play.

Let’s start by pointing out that it’s actually difficult to explain what guidance actually does. If I cast a fireball spell, it creates a giant ball of fire. If I cast absorb elements, we can visually imagine the flames of the fireball being absorbed or noticeably weakened around me. With knock we can imagine tendrils of magical energy turning the tumblers in the lock. And so forth.

But guidance? It’s a spell that can help the recipient with both a Dexterity (Acrobatics) check a Wisdom (Insight) check; and I don’t even have to determine which one at the time I cast the spell. In some cases you can kind of improvise something that the magic might be doing (lightening your limbs? letting you see someone’s pulse? whispering secrets from the primeval Font of Knowledge to help with that Intelliegence (History) check?), but in practice the spell appears to be sufficiently dissociated that its casting is almost always a simple declaration – “I cast guidance!” – with no clear concept of what’s actually happening in the game world.

More importantly, what makes the spell so essential is that it can improve every single ability check. And therefore, of course, it must be cast for every single ability check.

This is the declaration gotcha. You forgot to say you were casting the spell? Congratulations! You just made your group significantly worse!

And even if you do remember to say it, the experience at the table is just dreadful. “I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance. I cast guidance.” An endless, mindless drone which is both a tax you are obligated to pay and an action which is not only devoid of narrative worth, but an active distraction and detraction from whatever the focus of play actually is.

“But I like it when PCs assist each other!”

Me, too. But that’s not really what guidance does. Because the spell has no narrative presence in the game world, it doesn’t create the experience of one character helping another. And because its use is so generic as to be mindless in its application, there’s no true satisfaction or sense of accomplishment. In my experience, guidance actually gets in the way of players creatively coming up with ways of assisting each other!

“You should just tell the player to stop metagaming!”

There’s no metagaming here. If you’re on a dangerous adventure and you have a spell that you can freely cast that will help you or your comrades succeed in your tasks, you would absolutely cast that spell. In fact, because the spell lasts for one minute and allows the recipient to invoke it at the moment the skill check is made, it would actually make the most sense in character to be constantly casting the spell every minute. You’d be a fool not to.

“But guidance isn’t as useful in combat because the caster has to use an action to cast it!”

I honestly don’t care. You could completely ban guidance from being used in combat and it would still be a broken, awful spell.

It is true, though, that guidance is less of a problem in combat. Why? Because your actions in combat are a limited resource, and therefore the need to use one of those actions to cast the spell imposes a cost.

And that cost is, essentially, what’s missing from guidance. Without a cost outside of combat, it’s actually failing to cast guidance as often as humanly possible which is the cost. And it is precisely this which makes the spell miserable in play and broken in design.

So is there a way to fix it?

Yup.

Ditch guidance entirely and roll it into bless, which is a 1^st level spell that currently only affects attack rolls and saving throws. The spell remains quite useful, but you’ll now need to exercise some thought to determine when it is best used.

Go to Table of Contents

In the cosmology of D&D, when someone dies, their soul journeys to the Outer Planes where it is reincarnated as an extraplanar entity. For the damned, this usually means being forged into a soul coin, emerging as a lemure, or otherwise being placed at the bottom of the Asmodean hierarchy.

Those who served Hell faithfully in life, however, can sometimes skip ahead, being immediately incarnated as more powerful devils. (Particularly if they were wise in the bargains they struck.)

In an adventure which begins with the PCs killing devil cultists on the Material Plane and then sees them travel to Avernus, this can have the curious consequence of encountering the same villains they killed at the beginning of the campaign as devils who have received their eternal “reward.” As Thalamra Vanthampur swears with her dying breath: “I’ll see you in Hell.”

Hell, of course, is a very large place and it would perhaps seem unlikely that the PCs would run into these devils purely by chance. But the cultists encountered in the first act of the campaign are all closely connected with Zariel’s Elturian schemes; and, of course, our adventures in Hell focus on both Zariel and Elturel. It may actually be rather unsurprising to discover that these foundling devils have been drawn to the same place.

(And, of course, it’s dramatically satisfying to see this flipped side of the coin.)

Here we’re going to look at several characters from Act I of the campaign who, assuming they died, can return to torment the PCs when they arrive in Hell.

Depending on how your campaign plays, you may find it useful to use all, some, or none of them: Perhaps the players were careful to capture cultists so that they could face lawful prosecution, in which case they’ll be rotting in cells instead of roving among the damned. On the other hand, there may be some ostensibly minor NPC who, in your campaign, became a major antagonist.

THALAMRA, WARLORD HUNTER

In life, Thalamra formed a pact with Zariel. In death, she has been transformed into a deathlock mastermind (Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes, p. 128). Locked to Zariel’s will, she has been dispatched to hunt down the rebellious warlords of Avernus: Bring them to heel or grind them into the dust.

Thalamra rides atop a demon grinder (DIA, p. 219) crewed by four bearded devils (MM, p. 70). Her two lieutenants ride alongside on devil’s rides (DIA, p. 218):

• Lilxori, a cambrion (Warlords of Avernus, p. 10)
• Asharu, a barbed devil (MM, p. 70)

Chained to Thalamra’s belt are her dead children, transformed into lemures (MM, p. 76).

USING THALAMRA: Thalamra’s full crew is quite dangerous. Fortunately, they will most likely not be looking for the PCs (although that could change) and it should be fairly easy to avoid them on the Avernian plains if they’re on a war-ride.

If they’re not riding out in force, it’s far more likely to encounter Lilxori, Asharu, and/or some of the bearded devils trying to track down a warlord’s lair (or, if the lair is too strong, identify a time and place they might be vulnerable)… information they might be willing to pay a handsome bounty for.

As described in Part 7F, it’s also quite likely that Thalamra will first make her presence felt in Avernus by disrupting the balance of power between the local warlords. The PCs can encounter the vestiges of these conflicts (smoking war machines, a warlord’s lair filled with butchered corpses, etc.) and rumors will begin racing across the wastelands. The PCs might also be asked by warlords to protect them from Thalamra, to help them negotiate an alliance with another warlord to oppose Thalamra, or even to ride in a war-band to take Thalamra down.

THAVIUS KREEG

As described in Part 7D, Thavius’ reward for ultimately delivering Elturel into Zariel’s hand is incarnation as a magugon (The Book of Fiends, p. 170). He has been given the rank of Triarius and serves aboard Zariel’s flying fortress, where he’s most likely to be encountered.

REYA MANTLEMORN & THE HELLRIDERS

Literally any knight of Elturel that the PCs encounter during the first part of the campaign (up until the point where the Tome of the Creed is destroyed) will have fallen and rose as a Hell Knight. Many of these Hell Knights can be found in fallen Elturel (seeking to keep the city under control until it can be dropped into the Styx).

Reya Mantlemorn is the most likely such character for the PCs to have developed a relationship with.

The key thing to understand about Hell Knights is that their souls have been warped by their transformation into devils: They remember their former lives, but their morality has been fundamentally warped and their will is at least partially enslaved to both Zariel and their devilish nature. If necessary, they will not hesitate to use their mortal memories to betray those who were once dear to them.

On the other hand, many are painfully conflicted by the memories of who they were and what they have become. So if they are not actively tasked, the PCs may also find them tragic figures.

(Other Hell Knights, of course, were willing Zarielites actively conspiring to bring about Elturel’s fall. They are far less transformed by their devilish forms, but are probably even more dangerous.)

You can use any devil stats for a Hell Knight. A few likely possibilities include:

• barbed devil (MM, p. 70)
• bearded devil (MM, p. 70)
• bone devil (MM, p. 71)
• chain devil (MM, p. 72)
• ashemde (Book of Fiends, p. 145)
• chamagon (Book of Fiends, p. 150)
• kere (Book of Fiends, p. 167)
• pain mistress (Book of Fiends, p. 174)
• shocktroop devil (Emirikol’s Guide to Devils, p. 187)

If you want some Hell Knight mooks, consider mobs of:

• spined devils (MM, p. 78)
• herlekin (Book of Fiends, p. 164)
• vierhaander (Book of Fiends, p. 181)
• narzugon, variant (Emirikol’s Guide to Devils, p. 181)
• merregon, variant (Emirikol’s Guide to Devils, p. 184)
• merregon (DIA, p. 238)

Particularly potent Hell Knights might include:

• erinyes (MM, p. 73)
• erinyes vanguard (Emirikol’s Guide to Devils, p. 178)
• magugon (Book of Fiends, p. 170)
• assassin devil (Emirikol’s Guide to Devils, p. 171)
• narzugon (DIA, p. 239)

DOOMED REFUGEES

Remember how the Cult of the Companion was murdering descendants of Elturian knights so that their souls would be sucked into Hell?

Guess where they are now.

As a reminder, these victims are definitely dead:

• Edmao Eduardo
• Wemba Oshrat
• Madhuri Akhila
• Leiv Diomidis
• Aneta Diomids
• Annika Silverleaf
• Shohreh Letitia

And these people may have also died if the PCs weren’t in time to prevent their murders:

• Iolanthe Oshrat (sister of Wemba Oshrat, the second victim)
• Valeria Nuska
• Weronika Nuska (sisters)

Unlike those who actually swore oaths, these victims are unlikely to have been transformed into Hell Knights. They are far more likely to be lemures (MM, p. 76), encountered:

• On the shores of the Styx
• In Zariel’s flying fortress
• Enslaved by one of the warlords

And so forth. However, if it makes sense for one of them to show up as a more powerful devil, you can easily use the suggested list above.

Alternatively, they could be placed as hellwardens (Book of Fiends, p. 163), eternally crucified devils who serve as damned watchmen. (Perhaps around the Dock of Fallen Cities or Haruman’s Hill.)

DM Tip: This may also be an opportunity to emphasize that the PCs’ time in Hell is not without costs in the real world. Consider having the PCs meet an Elturian refugee who was alive when the left Baldur’s Gate, but who has died in the interim.

OTHER CULTISTS

If you’re following the Principles of RPG Villainy, then it’s quite possible that other cultists in Act I will end up resonating with your players or otherwise growing to unexpected importance.

The Hell Knight list, above, is a good place to start for bringing them into Hell for an encore appearance. They might be operating independently, or you might put them in service to Thalamra, Thavius, or a Hell Knight.

Note: Quite a few of the bad guys the PCs face in Act I are actually Dead Three cultists who have been hired by the Vanthampurs. While it’s possible for Dead Three worshipers to end up in Hell, it’s comparatively unlikely.

KELTON HUNTER

The Poisoned Poseidon (the beached ship taken over as a base of operations by the Dead Three cultists in Act I) was, as described in Part 3E, originally captained by a warlock named Kelton Hunter who was infamously dragged into Hell.

Whether that story is true or not, Kelton Hunter is now a charonadaemon pirate sailing the Styx. (See merernoloth, Tome of Foes, p. 250.) The PCs might encounter his new ship, the Nether Poseidon, while seeking passage across the Styx (in which case he might rob them or attempt to shanghai them into his crew). Alternatively, the Nether Poseidon might attack a ship that the PCs are taking passage on.

Kelton and/or his crew might also be encountered at Sudok’s Mart (Hex B2a) or the Purple City (Hex F2). It might be intriguing if he was friends with Carol D’Vown (Hex D2a). He might interrupt PCs exploring the wreck of the elemental galleon (Hex H5).

Kelton will be interested to hear how his old ship is faring, and will be glad to hear that it’s being put to “good use” if he hears about the grisly serial killings.

Go to Part 7H: Avernian Random Encounters