DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 30B: Golems & Ghouls

As Agnarr leapt into their midst, he could see one of them peeling flesh from its own arm and chewing on it.

“They’re eating themselves?!” Agnarr could hear Elestra’s horrified gasp from behind him, but he paid it little heed as he hacked his way through the ghouls.

For a moment it seemed as if Agnarr would dispatch them all – his flaming blade tore easily through their frail frames. But then the last of them leapt suddenly upon him and got its teeth into him.

This might be a little early to talk about this, but over the rest of this session and the next few sessions you’re going to see a lot of horrific beasties and strange curses get unleashed in the Banewarrens, by both the PCs and NPCs.

Something you’ll notice (albeit not with these ghouls), that most of these banes will either (a) attempt to flee after engaging the PCs or (b) target someone other than the PCs as their first (or subsequent) action. This, of course, creates long-running problems for the PCs, as they deal with the consequences of these ancient evils breaking loose into Ptolus or just wreaking havoc on their allies.

This is, of course, thematically appropriate for the Banewarrens, which were originally built to lock all of these banes away from the world; sealing them in a prison from which they were never meant to escape. Whether you agree with the Banelord’s belief that there’s a Principle of the Conservation of Evil that the universe abides by or not, there’s little question that mucking around down there not only risks releasing a whole bunch of evil stuff, but also a whole armada of ethical questions about your responsibility for having done so.

But this also reflects a broader GMing tenet I believe in: Spray your bullets.

What I mean by this is that when we think about releasing something into our campaign, we have a tendency to think about it strictly in terms of how it might intersect and affect the PCs: There’s a phase-shifting troll loose in the Banewarrens, when will it attack the party?

In other words, we aim it very precisely at the PCs.

This makes a lot of sense, because, of course, the other players are sitting at the table with us. Our entire focus is on continually generating and communicating the fictional game space for them to take their actions in. So there’s an obvious predilection, whenever something might happen in the game world, for us to aim it at the PCs. It’s target fixation.

What I’m suggesting is that, when we shoot stuff into the campaign, we should get a little sloppier with our aim: Don’t just hit the PCs. Start hitting stuff all around them. Their friends, their allies, innocent bystanders, even their enemies. To continue our metaphor, let stuff ricochet around a little bit and see what happens.

The ricochet is actually quite important, though, because if stuff happens and the players never learn about it (or its consequences), then it’s probably wasted prep. So you want to have stuff impact things around the PCs, but then you want the consequences of that to ricochet into the PCs: they read the newspaper headlines, they find the body, their friend calls them for help.

The benefit, of course, is that this makes the game feel more dynamic and believable: The PCs aren’t the only people who exist, moving through a world of shadow puppets. Instead, the world is filled with people who seem to be living lives of their own.

And this will also mean, when the bullets in question are being shot in response to the PCs’ actions, that their choices will become even more meaningful.

Campaign Journal: Session 30C – Running the Campaign: Honor Choice with Judo
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 30B: GOLEMS & GHOULS

September 20th, 2008
The 16th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

The rest of the group returned to the Banewarrens. They had not yet finished exploring the farthest reaches of the complex and, since they had nothing better to do while guarding the door, they decided to finish their sweep.

Opening the last of the unopened doors leading out of the generator room, they looked into a wide hall leading to another of the rune-encrusted and warded doors. In the center of the hall, a 12-foot-tall statue of a helmed warrior, made out of interlocking metal plates, stood like a vigilant guard. Patches of rust could be seen on it here and there.

Fearing that it might be a golem or, failing that, some other sort of trap, Tee entered the hall cautiously. Unfortunately, her caution was in vain. Scarcely had she crossed the threshold before the statue suddenly leapt into motion, charging down the length of the hall and slamming its heavy iron fists into her chest.

Tee was thrown back by the ferocious blow. Her head smashed against the wall and she slid to the ground, slumping into unconsciousness.

In some ways, however, this proved fortunate for her. No sooner had the iron golem delivered its tremendous blow than it was seized with a violent vibration which shuddered through its iron plates. A moment later a pulse of magical force burst from it – catching Agnarr in mid-stride as he rushed towards it with his sword drawn and throwing him backwards with a muscle-rending jolt.

And then it simply fell apart. From the seams of its broken form a strange substance poured like thick syrup, glowing with a strange blue light that seemed to sear the retina.

Dominic, with a rush of concern, dashed to Tee’s side. But she hadn’t been badly hurt. In fact, he was able to rouse her easily.

Agnarr had scrambled back to his feet and backed cautiously away from the oozing heap of misjointed metal. Tee, in frustration, gave the heap a spiteful kick and—

It exploded in a hail of semi-molten metal. Shards of the former golem embedded themselves deeply into the walls of the chamber.

Tee spent the next several minutes with Dominic prying shards of metal from her arms and legs.

THE TALE OF A TRAITOR KNIGHT

“What?” Tor gaped.

“It’s true. Kabel and several other traitorous knights attacked the Cathedral. They were driven back and the Godskeep was shut against them.”

“What happened to Kabel? Was he killed?”

“No. He and several of the other traitors managed to escape. Sir Gemmell is pursuing them now.”

The knights loyal to Rehobath and Sir Gemmell were wearing red sashes to identify themselves. (“Red for the novarch’s robes,” the knight explained.) Kalerecent took one and Tor, keeping his private reservations to himself, did as well.

Kalerecent was uncertain what they should do: The Godskeep had been ordered shut until Sir Gemmell’s return, which meant that Rasnir’s body couldn’t be brought into the chapel. “Nor do I want him to lay here on this common field where his blood might mix with the blood of traitors.”

Tor explained that Rehobath himself was interested in the Banewarrens. He felt that they should report directly to him.

But when they tried to reach him, they found themselves stymied by the bureaucracy of the Cathedral. They were eventually escorted to a small antechamber within the Cathedral by one of the priests and told to wait.

They did so patiently and, in due time, Brother Heth Neferul arrived. Tor and Kalerecent quickly told their tales of the Banewarrens. When Heth was satisfied, he asked them to wait again and turned to leave.

“A moment, please,” Tor said.

Heth turned back to him. “Yes?”

Tor chose his words carefully. “We were told of Sir Kabel’s betrayal. I have reason to believe that he may have been… compelled in this treachery by the recent chaotic events that have been happening throughout Ptolus.”

“You believe he may not have been in his right mind?”

“It’s a possibility,” Tor said. “I have found Kabel to be a loyal and honorable man. There would need to be some reason for him to do what he has done.”

“I see.” Heth nodded. “I will mention this to Sir Gemmell.”

He turned and left them alone.

THE FLESH-FEASTING GHOULS

Tee broke the seal on the door that the malfunctioning golem had been guarding. Then she stepped back and waved Agnarr into position.

Agnarr opened the door. Beyond it he saw a long chamber of dust-ridden stone. Near the center of the chamber, also covered in thick, choking dust, crouched four corpse-like ghouls, their skin blackened with bruises of dead, coagulated blood. At the sudden motion of the door in their ancient prison, the ghouls turned with creaking suddenness – staring hungrily with their black, pulsing eyes; their dry, parched mouths hanging open to reveal countless, needle-like teeth.

The moment hung for an instant, and then the ghouls burst into motion with horrible speed – their ancient limbs casting up clouds of dust as they bounded towards the open door.

Agnarr slammed it in their faces.

They took a moment to gather themselves. Agnarr could hear the ghouls snuffling around on the opposite side of the door, but he waited until he had met the eyes of his companions and made sure that they were ready.

Then he smashed the door open again. The heavy iron caved in the skull of one of the ghouls. As Agnarr leapt into their midst, he could see one of them peeling flesh from its own arm and chewing on it.

“They’re eating themselves?!” Agnarr could hear Elestra’s horrified gasp from behind him, but he paid it little heed as he hacked his way through the ghouls.

For a moment it seemed as if Agnarr would dispatch them all – his flaming blade tore easily through their frail frames. But then the last of them leapt suddenly upon him and got its teeth into him.

The thing’s poison rushed into the barbarian’s veins. Agnarr felt his joints lock almost instantly and he fell with a heavy thud to the floor. The ghoul was upon him in an instant, tearing gouges of flesh out of his back and feasting upon them.

The ghoul was so lost in its blood-lust that it scarcely seemed to notice when Dominic caved in its skull with his mace.

Dominic managed to get Agnarr back on his feet and used his holy powers to purge any remnants of disease from the wounds on his back.

They decided that it would be better to wait for Tor to return before continuing their explorations. There had been a moment of true fear when they had seen Agnarr felled. Having Tor’s blade would make them all feel safer.

They retreated back to the room that Kalerecent had been holed up in, thinking it to be fairly defensible, and settled down to wait.

THE AFFAIRS OF THE CHURCH

Brother Heth Neferul returned with Rehobath, Sister Mara, and Brother Thad.

Thad quickly crossed to Tor and shook his hand enthusiastically. “Master Tor! Such an honor to see you again! Whenever I think of the important work you’re doing… And to travel with the Chosen of Vehthyl! It must be such an hon—“

“Brother Thad.” Rehobath’s cold voice sliced through the young priest’s ebullience. “Sir Kalerecent and Master Tor. I am glad to see you both. Brother Neferul has told me all that you have told him. I am sorry to be so brief with you, but – as you know – there are other affairs demanding my time.”

“Yes, of course,” Tor said.

“Brother Thad believes he may be of some help,” Heth said.

Thad nodded eagerly. “Yes. Of course. While the known lore of the Banewarrens is quite limited – even within the Archives of the Church – and divinations have proven quite limited, now that you have access to the actual contents of at least part of the Banewarrens its possible that certain rituals might prove useful.”

He pulled a scroll from his robes. “This scroll describes an arcane ritual. If Master Ranthir were to perform it in front of the sealed door, it should reveal its secrets. It might even reveal how such a door could be opened.”

“Do we want to open the door?” Tor asked.

“It’s more important than ever that we recover the Sword of Crissa,” Rehobath said. “The troubles of today reveal the deep schism within our faith. With the Sword in our hand we would have a powerful symbol to unify those who have lost faith in the Gods.”

“I’m still worried by these reports of the others seeking to gain access to the Banewarrens,” Sister Mara said. “I think we need to use the Order of the Dawn to secure the entrance.”

“That’s a mistake,” Heth said. “We don’t want to draw undue attention to the site. Besides, Master Tor and his friends have already taken care of those responsible.”

“There may be others.”

“There may be,” Rehobath said. “But in light of our… recent troubles, I think it would be unwise to divide the strength of our Order until certain dangers have been properly dealt with.”

“I will return to that place and stand guard,” Kalerecent said. “I swore an oath by the side of my squire that I would not rest until that evil had been laid to rest. I ask only that I be given an hour to stand vigil by the side of Rasnir’s body. It waits not far from here.”

Rehobath nodded. “So it shall be. And I shall see to it that leave is given for Rasnir’s body to rest in the chapel of the Godskeep.”

Kalerecent knelt and kissed the ring of the novarch.

When the church leaders had left, Tor returned with Kalerecent to the carriage where they had left Rasnir’s body. They carried it to the chapel in the Godskeep and Tor left Kalerecent there, praying over Rasnir’s body.

Running the Campaign: Spray Your Bullets  – Campaign Journal: Session 30C
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Go to Campaign Status Documents

In any setting prior to the wide adoption of e-mail (and even moreso before readily affordable long-distance phone calls), correspondence with various NPCs is an incredibly natural form of bluebooking: When the PC writes to a correspondent during the session, you can encourage the player to write the actual letter (or telegram or trans-spectral synaptic encoding or whatever) before the next session. And then you can both reward the player, develop that thread of the campaign world, and encourage further correspondence by writing an actual response and giving it to them as a prop.

The great thing about correspondence — like any form of bluebooking — is that it allows the player to remain engaged with the game even when they’re not physically sitting at the table (or participating in the video call). It also affords them an opportunity to engage with their character in a different way, a more introspective and considered way, than they normally would. The benefits of this will often reflect back into how they play their character at the table, too, resulting in richer and deeper roleplaying.

Some games lend themselves particularly well to this dynamic. In Trail of Cthulhu, for example, the players are specifically required to create Sources of Stability during character creation — NPCs who are particularly important to their character and help them retain their grasp on sanity. Mechanically, the PCs must have meaningful interactions with their Sources of Stability in order to recover their Stability score between scenarios. For the globe-hopping Eternal Lies campaign, which naturally took the PCs far away from their Sources of Stability, I allowed the PCs to count each meaningful act of correspondence to count as an interaction.

The result was a rich set of correspondence which kept the PCs connected to a wider world, while also giving the campaign a rich multi-dimensionality that extended beyond the immediate circumstances of the current adventure.

CORRESPONDENCE TRACKER

From the GM’s side of things, however, it can be non-trivial to keep on top of all this correspondence. Particularly if you get a group who is eager and willing to really lean into things, starting up multiple missive chains with a wide cast of characters.

Keeping track of stuff is, of course, exactly what the campaign status document is for. So even if you hadn’t noticed which series this post belongs to, it probably won’t comes as a surprise that I often include a correspondence tracker as a module in my campaign status document.

Here’s what that can look like, taking an actual example from the campaign status document of my first Eternal Lies campaign:

LETTERS AND TELEGRAMS

• 11/17/1934: Robert to Julian (Session 4); response sent to St. Paul (arrives 12/1/1934)
• 1/3/1935 : Robert to Julian (Session 9), mailed from Athens around 1/23/1935, response sent to Allaghmore House on 2/20/1935 (arrives 3/15/1935)
• 1/15/1935: Robert to Rose (Session 9), mailed from Prague around 1/25/1935, response sent to Allaghmore House on 2/22/1935 (arrives 3/15/1935)
• 1/21/1935: Alice to Margaret (Session 9), mailed from Cairo, telegram sent to Allaghmore House on 3/1/1935 – Margaret was given a list of people to investigate
• 1/21/1935: Alice to Cora (Session 9), mailed from Cairo, response sent to Allaghmore House on 2/24/1935 (arrives 3/16/1935) – asked for news from home
• 1/21/1935: Jason to Kitty/Rachel, multiple letters from Cairo (including gifts of turban, Bast statue, and a racist doll)
• 1/21/1935: Jason to Rachel telegram [NEED DRAFT]
• 2/1/1935: Jason to William Dalton (attorney) , telegram sent in response 2/28/1935 – people have been making inquiries about Frankly Aviation
• 2/1/1935: Jason to National Geographic, telegram sent in response 3/5/1935 – National Geographic very interested, would also be interested in McCandalass’ accounts

RESPONSE SCHEDULE

• 12/1/1934: Julian to Robert (waiting in St. Paul)
• 2/28/1935: Telegram from William Dalton to Jason
• 3/1/1935: Telegram from Margaret to Alice
• 3/5/1935: Telegram from National Geographic to Jason
• 3/15/1935: Julian to Robert
• 3/15/1935: Rose to Robert
• 3/16/1935: Cora to Alice
• 3/16/1935: Kitty to Jason [NEEDS DRAFT]

There are a few things to note here.

First, of course, there are dates for correspondence. The utility here seems pretty self-explanatory. I was also indicating what session the correspondence was sent during, but you’ll notice I ended up dropping this. I think this was primarily because, when one of our players got a new job and was leaving town, we ran marathon sessions for two straight weeks in order to wrap up the campaign, so the sessions were really blending together at that point. The intention, though, was that it was easier to find my original notes on the correspondence (when necessary) if I told my future self where those notes were located.

Second, I used the [NEEDS DRAFT] tag to indicate a piece of correspondence which had happened in the campaign, but for which the player had not yet provided me the actual text.

Third, I track the NPC responses in a separate Response Schedule. This indicates when NPC letters would arrive. (Or, more accurately, when they would be available. With the PCs globetrotting and going on weird expeditions into strange corners of the Earth, it often take some time for their mail to catch up with them.) Although I refer to it as a “response” schedule, this list also includes NPC-initiated correspondence, and it would also act as a To Do list for my own letter writing.

Which, it should be noted, is another advantage of correspondence-based play: It also gives you, as the GM, the opportunity to explore your NPCs in a different way, often adding depth to their presentation in countless ways.

Next: Trackers

Go to Campaign Status Documents

A GM’s role at the table can be almost entirely described as providing the world’s response to a PC’s actions. “You do X, therefore Y happens. Now what do you do?”

This is relatively easy to maintain and keep track of in the normal course of play as reactions happen in more or less immediate succession: You swing your sword at the orc and we immediately learn whether or not you hit them. You negotiate with the Admiral and their responses to your repartee is an immediate back-and-forth.

But in some cases, the reaction to the actions of the PCs will be delayed. Or the PCs will knock over a chain of dominos which continue to topple offscreen: They leave evidence of their break-in and the Herschfelds begin an investigation. They retrieve a powerful artifact and deliver it to one of the heirs of the throne. They write a letter to their contact in Paris and must wait for a transatlantic response.

The campaign status document, of course, is the perfect vehicle for tracking the fallout from an in-game event. This generally takes the form of either a single event or a timeline of events.

For example, when the PCs in my Ptolus campaign fought a demon, got coated in demonic filth, and then teleported directly back to their rooms at the Ghostly Minstrel, they ended up impregnating the rug in their room with some of that filth. I decided that this filth would fester for several days before generating a half dozen demonic maggots. It would have been easy to lose track of this cool idea, since it wouldn’t happen for several sessions. But I simply included it in the timeline of bangs and supported it with a small sub-section in the campaign status document (which included the bespoke stat block for the maggots). Once there, the event could simply sit and wait until it was triggered at the appropriate time.

(Due to COVID-19, it actually took more than two years of real-time for this to pay off.)

Other events will have more complicated or multi-step resolutions. These basically work like the timeline of continued events that you’ll use as part of your scenario updates, except that the events in question aren’t connected to a specific scenario. (Remember that the campaign status document acts as a good catch-all for all the stuff in a campaign that neither belongs clearly to a specific scenario, nor rises to a level of complexity where it would be appropriate to spin it off into its own scenario.)

To take another example from my Ptolus campaign, the PCs recovered an artifact known as the Horn of the Atapi. It didn’t take much effort for them to conclude it might have something to do with the Atapi clans who were currently besieging Casalia (another city-state south of Ptolus in my campaign world), and so the PCs decided to give the Horn to the Commissar to see if it might be somehow relevant to the war effort. The consequences of this choice are actually still playing out in my campaign, which means that my current campaign status document includes a timeline of future events relating to the Horn and its disposition.

Preparing these timelines, for me, often takes the form of solo roleplaying: I’m putting myself in the shoes of the NPCs involved, thinking about how they would react, then looking at the NPCs who would be affected by that and then figuring out how they would react. (And so forth.) In fact, I will often go so far as to roll dice and actually resolve the offscreen action to see how things would turn out. (Usually at a fairly high-level of abstraction, but nonetheless.) That’s not necessary, of course, and there are plenty of times that I’m simply making creatively appropriate decisions as I lay things out.

MINI-SCENARIOS

Event fallout can also include “mini-scenarios” that become part of the campaign status document. Again, anything that becomes sufficiently complicated should simply be spun off into a full-fledged set of scenario notes, but I often find there’s a fuzzy middle-ground where you’ll want to prep some interactive stuff, but handling it as a full-fledged scenario would really just clutter stuff up and make it harder to use.

(If you’re looking for a rule of thumb, anything longer than a single page should almost certainly be spun off. I generally try to keep these to no more than half a page if possible.)

Once a mini-scenario is complete, of course, you can simply remove it from your campaign status document.

The zaug maggot encounter described above can actually be seen as an example of this: It wasn’t just a single event, technically, it was an interactive mini-scenario featuring the fight with the maggots. Once the fight was done, I deleted the section dedicated to maggots.

Proactive combat encounters like this, often featuring some sort of retaliatory strike from a faction the PCs have pissed off, are quite common, in my experience.

Another common example is when the PCs have declared their interest in doing something that would (a) benefit from a little prep, but (b) once again, doesn’t really support ginning up a full a scenario.

Returning to my Ptolus campaign for a third, the PCs wanted to track down a nightstick, a cool magical item from the Libris Mortis sourcebook that grants additional uses of turn/rebuke undead per day. I knew that there wasn’t one available in the local magic markets, but I let them make a Gather Information check to see if they could locate one in a private collection. The succeeded on the check and, looking through the Ptolus sourcebook, I decided that it would make sense for the Keepers of the Veil, an order of knighthood dedicated to exterminating the undead, to have a nightstick.

I gave the PCs this information, but, having other urgent concerns, they didn’t immediately follow up on it. Believing that they would, however, I added a “Finding a Nightstick” mini-scenario to my campaign status document:

FINDING A NIGHTSTICK

KEEPERS OF THE VEIL (Ptolus, pg. 120)

Meet with Phadian Gess.

• Kind-hearted woman with short black hair and a short but fit frame.
• Became co-leader of the order with Sir Beck five years ago.

Negotiations

• Initial Request: 30,000 gp
• Fallback: 15,000 gp and they assist with a night-ride mission

NIGHT-RIDE MISSION

They have indications of an outbreak from the Necropolis near Wavecrest Way. There’s repeated activity, so they’re going to patrol the streets.

MOTHER’S LEMURES (from Dark Reliquary)

• 5 advanced lemures
• 10 lemures
• A D’Straadi dancer is observing the fight (having come to collect the wayward children). (Ptolus, pg. 622)

Lemures can be tracked back to the Dark Reliquary if tracks are searched for on the Necropolis-side of the wall.

Nightstick: This black rod carved of darkly stained wood is inset with religious symbols of various deities. Anyone who possesses the rod and is able to turn or rebuke undead gains four more uses of the ability per day.
Moderate necromancy; CL 10^th; Craft Rod, Extra Turning, class ability to turn or rebuke undead; Price 7,500 gp. (Libris Mortis)

In practice, it turned out that getting the nightstick was a low enough priority for the PCs that it kept getting pushed back. This mini-scenario hung around in my campaign status document for awhile, until other circumstances resulted in me writing up some scenario notes for the Dark Reliquary. Once that scenario existed, it made sense to embed these notes in that scenario so that I could de-clutter my campaign status document.

Next: Correspondence

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 30A: The Breaking of the Dawn

The red-sashed knight approached with his sword drawn. Tor and Kalerecent stood calmly, careful to give no cause for alarm. As the knight drew nearer they raised their hands and displayed their rings. The knight relaxed slightly, but kept his blade on guard.

“What happened here?” Tor asked.

“Sir Kabel attempted to assassinate the Novarch.”

If I could only give one tip to GMs about pacing in RPGs, it would be to do a cliffhanger every single time the opportunity presents itself. It’s virtually impossible to have too many of them.

We’ve previously discussed cliffhangers at the end of sessions, but here we have a cliffhanger happening in the middle of a session. This is made possible by the fact that the players have split the party: If they were all together, I wouldn’t be able to cut away from Tor immediately after delivering the shocking news that Sir Kabel has attempted to assassinate the Novarch.

This is one of the primary reasons why, in The Art of Pacing, I described splitting the party as pacing on easy mode: There are just so many extra tools you have at your disposal as soon as the PCs are no longer all together in the same scene.

The trick, of course, is getting the PCs to split up in the first place, particularly when “don’t split the party” has become such a maxim in RPG fandom.

The key to this is that the PCs need to have multiple desires which cannot be resolved sequentially (i.e., they either have to both be done right now, or they can’t be done or become much more difficult to do). This tends to rather difficult to pull off with a linear adventure, but often happens all the time and with little or no effort with non-linear scenarios that you’re actively playing.

In this case, of course, the PCs want to both help Kalerecent take Rasnir’s body to the Godskeep AND keep the Banewarrens securely guarded. They can’t be in two places at the same time, and so splitting the party becomes inevitable.

CAMPAIGN COLLISION

What happens over the next session and a half is one of my favorite moments form the entire campaign. And the fact that it kicks off with this scene — of two knights of the Order of the Dawn bearing the body of their dead comrade home at the very moment that the Order is breaking in a bloody conflict — is, if I may say so, about as perfect as one could hope for.

Which is why it’s so interesting that I didn’t plan for any of this happen.

Let’s peel back the curtain here and take a closer look at how this played out.

First, as I’ve previously discussed a bit, the schisming of the Imperial Church was intended to play out as a background event. It was intended to add some depth and flavor to the campaign world in a way that was, at best, tangentially related to what the PCs were doing.

But Dominic unexpectedly presented himself to Rehobath as the Chosen of Vehthyl, which allowed Rehobath to move up his timetable and declare himself Novarch several weeks earlier than I’d expected. And then Tor ended up getting squired in the Order of the Dawn, placing two of the PCs at basically ground zero.

The schism was now very much onstage.

Second, I had keyed the Breaking of the Dawn — in which Sir Kabel gathered loyalists within the Order at the tournament field north of Ptolus to arrange the arrest of the “False Novarch,” only to be betrayed by Sir Gemmell — to my campaign status document as a timed event: It was going to take place at a specific date and time.

Third, Tor — completely oblivious to this — made plans to take Iltumar the would-be hero to the tournament field and do some practice swordplay with him in an effort to give his aspirations a path that didn’t lead straight to the chaos cults. By sheer coincidence, Tor scheduled this training excursion with Iltumar at the exact same time Sir Kabel was going to be at the tournament field.

This prompted me to prep the events of the Breaking of the Dawn in much more detail — basically as a mini-scenario, since it now seemed quite likely that Tor would be directly involved. But then the evolving situation with the Banewarrens caused Tor to cancel his plans with Iltumar!

Regardless, the Breaking of the Dawn was still keyed temporally.

The fourth element here, of course, is Kalerecent. Rather than being keyed to a specific time, Kalerecent was keyed in a status quo: Whenever the PCs arrived at the Banewarrens, he would be waiting with Rasnir’s corpse. (A sufficiently long delay in the PCs reaching the Banewarrens, or if they had come to the Banewarrens and then left again before actually meeting Kalerecent, might have changed that. But that’s purely hypothetical since it didn’t play out that way.)

So in my prep notes, these two things — Kalerecent wanting to take Rasnir’s body back to the Godskeep after being assured that the Banewarrens were secure and the Breaking of the Dawn — were completely unrelated to each other. It was entirely coincidental that things played out this way. And, in fact, it’s quite easy to imagine a scenario in which:

• none of the PCs chose to accompany Kalerecent;
• Tor stayed in the Banewarrens (“as a fellow member of the Order, I’ll take up your oath, Kalerecent, until you can return”) while some other group of PCs accompanied Kalerecent;
• the PCs screwed up and the Pactlords killed Kalerecent when they returned to the Banewarrens;

or any number of other possibilities.

That’s really the beauty of prepping scenarios that can be actively played: You never know how all of your disparate toys will come together to create something of astonishing and unexpected beauty.

Campaign Journal: Session 30B – Running the Campaign: Spray Your Bullets
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index