SESSION 23E: WITH NOUGHT BUT THEIR LIVES

June 7th, 2008
The 11th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

BATTLE OF THE MINOTAURS

Tee gathered up the items, put them into her bag of holding, and then headed back towards the underwater tunnel.

“Wait,” Elestra said. “What about they key we came for?”

Tee looked at her quizzically. “I think it was the key from the chest.”

“The one that hurt you? But that doesn’t make any sense. And we’ve found lots of keys here. Maybe there’s another one. Why would we want a key that hurts you to use it?”

“We don’t know why we wanted the key,” Tee said. “We don’t know what it’s for.”

“We should open the door,” Elestra said. “See if there’s another key back there.”

“The door the minotaurs were afraid of?” Tee said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe they were just pretending to be afraid.”

The argument continued for several minutes, but eventually it was decided that they would at least look through the door. Tee picked the lock and edged the door open, peeking through it.

There was another icy cavern, this one larger than the rest. A multi-headed construct of frost-rimed brass and levianthan proportions lay in a heap in the center of the floor. But even as Tee’s eye fell upon it, the construct stirred – one of its heads slowly rearing up with the rasping sound of metal upon metal.

Tee slammed the door shut.

“We need to go. Now.”

WHAM!

The cavern rocked with the bone-shaking impact of the construct on the far side of the door.

“What is it?”

WHAM!

“Go! Now!”

They fled back through the underwater tunnel and up through the fleshy membrane… and found the minotaurs waiting for them.

“Segginal tells us that Wuntad sent you on a mission. Give us the weapons of chaos.”

Tee was bleary-eyed and exhausted, still suffering from the ill effects of using the key. She didn’t want to do it, but they didn’t seem to have any other choice. With a heavy sigh she reached into her bag, pulled out the spear, and handed it to the nearest minotaur.

Agnarr attacked.

“Agnarr! No!” Tee was perhaps even more surprised than the minotaurs. Her hand was still half in her bag of holding, reaching for the next item. She quickly changed her aim and withdrew the modified dragon rifle. But she was too weak to fight, and simply stumbled back towards the nearest corner.

The minotaurs roared. The claws of one smashed into Agnarr’s side, sending him spinning towards the other who caught him with a similarly devastating blow. Agnarr dropped to one knee. He swung his sword feebly towards them, but then a third blow crashed down on his head and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Tor hesitated, his sword half-drawn from its sheath, waiting to see what would happen. With Agnarr down, would Tee begin negotiating again?

Perhaps she might have, but even as Agnarr thudded heavily to the ground, Dominic extended his hand and murmured a prayer. A bolt of silvery energy emerged from his fingertips and struck one of the minotaurs. The energy flowed about the creature as if it were liquid mercury, and the motions of the minotaur slowed… and stopped. It had become frozen in time.

Tor finished drawing his sword and charged the other minotaur. He nimbly weaved his way through the flurrying claws of the creature, turning the closer blows with his shield. His sword, crackling with electricity, struck here and there – opening painful wounds in the creature’s thick hide.

As Tor kept the creature occupied, Elestra and Dominic darted forward and laid their hands on Agnarr. Their joint strength flowed into the barbarian, healing his wounds.

As Agnarr groggily regained his consciousness he quickly focused on the battle being waged almost directly above him between Tor and minotaur. He grabbed up his sword and stabbed up… straight through the minotaur’s groin. The creature gave a bellowing roar of unimaginable pain and collapsed in a pool of its own blood and viscera.

As Agnarr stood up, shaking off some of that same blood and viscera, Tee weakly stepped forward, lowered the modified dragon rifle, and immolated the surviving minotaur (who was still trapped by Dominic’s spell).

LEAVING WITH THEIR LIVES

“Wuntad is very angry with you.”

It was the voice of Segginal – the statue-bound chaos spirit.

“I don’t care, Segginal.” Tee shouted. “Open up!”

After a moment, the statue above them slid aside. They climbed up and then moved away from the statue before discussing their options.

“We could still try to escape,” Agnarr said.

Tee shook her head. “We couldn’t beat them before and now I’m less than useless in a fight.”

“They might have left.”

“I doubt it,” Tee said. “But we can check.

They climbed up to the second floor, hoping to look down through one of the tower windows. As they reached the tower, Elestra asked the question that was weighing on everyone’s mind: “Do you think the Segginal guy is telling Wuntad where we are?”

Tee looked out through the window. “Yeah… I think he is.”

Wuntad was standing on the path before the gate, staring straight up at her. He was now accompanied by more than a dozen of the cultists. Now he shouted, his voice loud enough to be heard through the lead-framed window.

“The minotaurs don’t matter to me! They were foul, primitive creatures. Unworthy servants. All I want are the weapons! Give them to me and you can still leave here with your lives!”

“Damn it.” Tee sighed heavily and turned away from the window.

“We’re not going to give them to him, are we?” Elestra asked.

Tee looked at her. “I’ll say it again: Do we have any other choice?”

“But we can’t! We don’t know what he’ll do with them if he gets them!”

“But we do know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get them.”

“We could always try going out the back way,” Dominic suggested.

“With Segginal telling him everything we’re doing?” Tee said.

“If we do give them to him,” Tor said. “I don’t want to go out there. I’m sure he’ll betray us.”

“Maybe we could get the Cobbledman to give him the items? I don’t think he can actually come into the keep. Otherwise he would have just killed us and gotten the weapons himself. Or done it years ago.”

A shadow fell across them. Wuntad had flown up to the window and was looking in at them. “This is your last chance.”

“Will you agree to free the Cobbledman?” Tee asked.

Wuntad’s eyes narrowed. “He lives?”

“He does. And he misses you.”

Wuntad seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Very well. If you give me the weapons, I will free the Cobbledman.”

“Fine,” Tee said. “We’ll have him bring the items to you.”

They found the Cobbledman, once again, sleeping in his tower. Tee carefully woke him.

“Cobbledman? Wuntad is here.”

“Wuntad’s here?”

“He is. He’d like to see you. He wants to free you. But I need to ask you a favor.” Tee quickly explained what they needed the Cobbledman to do.

They went down to the courtyard. Wuntad and the cultists were waiting just outside the gate. Tee loaded the Cobbledman’s arms full with the various weapons… but she deliberately held back three items: The journal, the ironwood box inscribed with Lithuin runes (and the crystals it held), and the golden key. She hoped that Wuntad might not notice the missing items, and if he did then—

“Where is the box of ironwood?” There was great anger in Wuntad’s voice.

“It’s right here,” Tee said, pulling it from her bag. “But his arms were full. Send him back and he can bring it out to you.”

And, as she had hoped, Wuntad had noticed the missing item most precious to him… but not the key. Nor did he open the ironwood box and notice that the journal was missing.

“Cobbledman,” Wuntad said. “You are free to leave Pythoness House.”

Wuntad then turned to them. “I am glad that you saw… reason. But pray that our paths do not cross again.”

The cultists turned and left. The Cobbledman came back towards them, a wide grin on his kind face. “Did you hear?”

“We did,” Tee smiled. “I’m very happy for you.”

“Do you have any more food?”

Ranthir laughed and handed him another bar of rations. The Cobbledman, munching contentedly, headed back towards his tower.

“We should do something for him,” Tor said. “He shouldn’t have to stay here.”

“What about those people that Urlenius was talking about?” Tee suggested.

“The Brotherhood of Redemption?” Dominic said.

“Right. They might be willing to help him.” She looked around. The cultists were gone. “Well, shall we go?”

“Not yet,” Agnarr said. “There’s one more thing I want to do.”

Agnarr returned to the statue of Segginal… and smashed it to pieces. As the last of his destructive work was done, a mournful wind howled through the keep and, with a malevolent laugh, Segginal’s voice echoed through the halls: “You will bear my curse forever.”

Agnarr grunted. “Nice guy.”

A PEACEFUL AFTERNOON

As they emerged from Pythoness House, the aeroship of House Shever passed above them – heading out towards the Southern Sea. They followed in its wake, heading down into Midtown and returning to the Ghostly Minstrel.

Tee had an appointment to keep, so she only stopped in long enough to drop off her bag of holding (with its tainted items and, most importantly, the soul draining key) and then left again.

Tor, too, only went to his room long enough to pick up a fresh set of clothes before heading over to the bathhouse on Tavern Row. (Where he sat quietly in a corner, speaking to no one.)

Agnarr headed to the common room and ordered a meal of feast-like proportions.

Elestra and Dominic, meanwhile, talked things over and decided to spend the afternoon trying to find help for the Cobbledman. Elestra knew that the Brotherhood of Redemption maintained a small chapterhouse in the Guildsman District (although there were rumors that they also maintained a large underground fortress somewhere beneath the city).

As Elestra and Dominic headed back out through the front hall, however, a cry came from the common room. “Mistress Elestra! Mistress Elestra!”

Before she even turned to look, Elestra knew that it was Iltumar. She suppressed a groan.

Iltumar was sitting at a table with an elven woman with dark brown hair. The glint of mithril chain could be seen under the woman’s clothes.

“Elestra, this is Lavis,” Iltumar said. “I’ve solved Tee’s riddle! The answer is ‘t’! T for Tee!”

“Very good, Iltumar!” Elestra smiled, exchanging a look with Dominic.

“I’ve got a new one for you, too: ‘My house is not quiet, but I am not loud. I am the swifter, at times the stronger. My house more enduring, longer to last. At times I will rest, but my house rushes on. Within it I lodge as long as I live. Should we two be severed, my death becomes sure.’”

Elestra leaned over towards Dominic. “Do you think it’s a snail? I think it might be a snail.”

Dominic shrugged.

“Do you want to join us for a drink?” Iltumar asked eagerly.

Elestra turned back to him. “I’m sorry, Iltumar. But Dominic and I have something we need to do. In fact, we were just heading out.”

Iltumar’s smile fell away.

“But I’ll let Tee know about your new riddle. I know she’ll be excited to hear it.”

“It’s okay,” Iltumar said. “I know you probably have much more important people to see.”

Elestra awkwardly tried to figure out how to make her farewells. Lavis exchanged a sympathetic look with her. But, at that moment, Ranthir was passing by on his way to fetch his customary bowl of soup for the evening. Overhearing her distress, he tapped Iltumar on the shoulder.

“Iltumar, I have some studies to attend to this evening. Would you, perchance, be interested in assisting me?”

Iltumar’s smile returned, even larger than before. “Really?”

“Yes,” Ranthir smiled. “I have to fetch some food, but then we could begin immediately… if you like.”

FOURTH LESSON OF THE DREAMING

Tee – weakened by the draining effects of the golden key and distracted by the myriad thoughts racing through her mind – had difficulty focusing upon her training. She had difficulty even achieving the dreaming trance, and could do little of consequence.

When the frustrating trance work was completed, Tee began gathering up her things to leave. But Doraedian stopped her.

“The dreaming trance requires a difficult art of balance. It shall never be without effort, although you will find that it becomes easier in time. However, there is another matter that we must discuss today. There are many paths through the arts of the Dreaming, and from this day forward your training will be of your choosing.”

“Choosing?” Tee said.

“Yes, while your lessons with me will continue, you will also be trained in one of three specialties.

“First, there is the Dreamsight. The Dreaming is the wellspring from which all reality is born and the grave to which all living memory returns. As such, those who can see the Dreaming with unclouded eyes can perceive deep truths of the world around them.

“Second, there are the Dream Pacts. The Lords of the Dreaming are powerful and fey. Those skilled enough in the dreaming arts can turn their souls into conduits through which the Spirit Lords can be made manifest in the world around us. But following such a path requires supreme self-control, for the Lords of the Dreaming are capable of reshaping your very soul.

“Finally, there is the art of Dreamspeaking. Those practiced in the dreaming arts can reshape the Dreaming around them. Those who are masters of the Dreaming, however, can reshape the world around them by reshaping the dreams from which the world is born. These arts have been perfected into the dreaming tongue – a primal language which not only describes the most fundamental aspects of reality, but can be used to transform it.”

“I’m not sure what I want to do.”

“It is not a decision to be rushed. Take your time. Explore your thoughts. Write me by letter before your next lesson on the 18^th and let me know your choice.”

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Diegetic Mechanics – Campaign Journal: Session 23F
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23D: The Chaos Cultists

The end of the key seemed to be twisting and, looking more closely at it, Tee could see that it was actually made of innumerable pieces almost too small for the eye to see – they were constantly in flux, seeming to warp and twist and move in an almost impossible manner, as if their movement were not truly determined by the limitations of the natural world.

Tee was fascinated – almost enthralled – by the artifact. With delicate fingers she reached down and picked it up…

And felt a coldness rush up from her fingers and seem to bury itself in her soul. Despite the throbbing pain and waves of weakness emanating from the key, her curiosity could not be contained. She turned to the next chest, the one labeled “Mysteries of the Purple City”. Inserting the golden key carefully into the lock she turned it.

The lock opened with a satisfying click. But the pain and the cold intensified. Tee almost felt as if her soul were being ripped out through her. Her hand flew to her head and she sagged, nearly fainting where she stood.

“Tee!” Elestra cried. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tee said. “But I don’t think I should be using this key any more.” She slipped it into her bag of holding… but even there she could still feel its presence like a cold weight on her soul.

Dungeons & Dragons generally embraces a fairly simple binary when it comes to enchanted items: There are magic items, which are good. And there are cursed items, which are bad.

This dichotomy, of course, leaves out a fairly large middle ground. And it is, in fact, a middle ground that is occupied by many magic items in fantasy and mythology. Often these items are not simply a boon, but carry some price for their use: Tyrfing, the sword that would never rust or miss a stroke, but which was cursed to kill a man each time it was drawn. The Necklace of Harmonia which granted eternal youth and beauty, but also ill fortune. The Nine Rings given to mortal kings which grant immense power, but slowly transform their wielders into slaves of the Lord of the Rings.

Requiring a price to be paid for the power offered by a magic item can create interesting stories and also unique dilemmas for the wielders (or would-be wielders) of the items. Pathfinder introduced the Drawback curse, which was actually a collection of minor curses that could be applied to an item so that it could “usually still be beneficial to the possessor but carry some negative aspect.”

But you can push the concept farther than that by using the cursed price of a magic item to actually balance (or limit) abilities that would otherwise by unbalanced or undesirable for the PCs to possess.

You can see an example of such an item in the all-key found by the PCs in this session: The key (referred to by the players as Freedom’s Key based on the inscription of the chest they found it in) allows its user to open ANY lock that has a keyhole.

The narrative potential of this key is really interesting. But it’s also problematic because it would essentially excise an entire slice of game play: With the all-key, the PCs would never have to pick another lock or kick down another door.

Removing an entire facet of gameplay like this isn’t inherently problematic, but should be approached with caution. And that caution, in this case, is the price paid by the user of the all-key: Merely carrying the all-key inflicts negative levels, and additional negative levels are inflicted each time the key is used.

The intended result (and, in fact, what ends up happening in the campaign) is that the PCs can’t just carry the all-key around with them and whip it out for every lock they encounter: They need to tuck it away some place safe and only fetch it when they have great need for its power.

This not only keeps the lockpicking and key-finding aspects of a  typical D&D generally intact, but it also makes each use of the all-key momentous: It requires a certain threshold of need to even consider using it, and then its use explicitly involves careful planning. Ironically, the all-key actually feels MORE powerful because of its limitations than an unfettered item with the same ability whose use would become a trivial bit of irreverent bookkeeping.

One of the risks of attempting to balance otherwise undesirable power with a price, however, is that such drawbacks can end up being highly situational and thus, with a little effort, easily avoided. This can be particularly true if you are drawing inspiration from fantasy and mythology, where the drawbacks of the items are often not only idiosyncratic, but would be non-mechanical when translated into D&D. Such limitations either put the weight on the DM to make them meaningful or, in some cases, are simply irrelevant to the PC who might get their hands on the item. (“Using the One Ring will slowly corrupt my soul and turn me into a Dark Lord?” said Sir Patrick ‘the Bloodstained Butcher’ Rasseroth. “That’s adorable.”)

Of course, if you’re designing an item for use in your own campaign, you can tailor its design to the PCs to make sure that the price will, in fact, be paid.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23E – Running the Campaign: Diegetic Mechanics
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 23D: THE CHAOS CULTISTS

June 7th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

… and found their way blocked by more than a dozen sinister men and women.

At their head was a massive, humanoid creature with wings of darkness and shadow that crackled with blue arcs of lightning. His flesh was a sallow yellow-green, and his long, grey-white hair seemed to be coming out in clumps. His drooping eyes glowed with a white malevolence, and his muscles seemed to bulge unnaturally beneath his skin. Strapped about his broad chest was a silvery breastplate.

Behind him, flanking him to either side, were a litorian and an adrak: The litorian had familiar symbols of chaos shaved into her fur and burned into her skin. The adrak, likewise, had symbols burned or branded onto its scales.

And behind them was a rabble of another half dozen thugs.

The sallow-skinned leader chuckled darkly as they halted in their tracks. “Give me the weapons of chaos and you can leave here with your lives.”

“We don’t have them,” Tee said.

“Don’t lie to me child,” the creature said. “Or you will die.”

“We don’t have them!” Elestra cried. “We didn’t get them yet!”

The litorian waved her hand and a beam of light swept over them. She scowled. “They’re telling the truth, Wuntad.”

Wuntad turned to her. “You’re sure?”

The litorian nodded.

Wuntad turned back to Tee. “Very well. Then you’ll go and get them and then bring them back to me.”

“We can’t do that right now,” Tee said.

“You will do it or you’ll die.”

“It’s not that we won’t, we can’t. We need to rest first, and then—“

With a bellowing roar, Agnarr charged. He caught Wuntad by surprise, but his sword caught on the cultist’s breastplate. With an answering roar of rage, Wuntad swung a muscular claw at Agnarr’s head.  The barbarian laughed. “You don’t look much like your picture!”

The other cultists, after stepping back in shock at the suddenness of the assault, were recovering and drawing their weapons.

But they were too slow for Ranthir, who was already completing the casting of a spell: A thick, bulbous sphere of viscous web exploded in the midst of the cultists. It entangled them thoroughly and suspended itself between the wall of the keep and the ground.

Unfortunately, the web blocked their own path of escape. Fortunately, the torch Tor had carried during their explorations through and beneath the keep was still burning. He darted off to one side and began burning a path through the web.

Agnarr had also been caught in the web and he began tearing himself free. But Wuntad was the faster, his wings of lightning-lit darkness tearing through the webs like razor blades and – with a single, powerful beat – propelling him into the air above.

Nevertheless, it seemed as if things were going well: Ranthir’s spell had neutralized most of the cultists, and if they could capitalize on that moment of opportunity, then—

The litorian managed to free her hand and held aloft a bell of tarnished silver. She rang it and, at the beating of its clap, a wave of dizzy darkness swept over them. Tor fell unconscious, the burning brand which had been leading his path falling uselessly at his side. Dominic fell behind him. Agnarr sagged where he stood, only the thick webs holding him aloft.

Elestra, Tee, and Ranthir struggled on… but the bell rang again, and this time both Tee and Elestra toppled.

Ranthir, too, fell… but he was bluffing, hoping that the ringing of the bell would stop if the cultists thought they had all been affected. He was right. The litorian lowered the bell, and the cultists set to work trying to burn or chop their way out of the web.

Once the cultists were thoroughly distracted, Ranthir eased himself over to Tee, who was laying only a few feet away from him. He gently shook her awake.

Unfortunately, as Tee stirred to wakefulness her movement attracted the attention of the cultists.

“Kill them!” Wuntad cried.

“Wait!” Tee shouted. “Just wait! We’ll get the weapons for you!”

Wuntad smiled grimly. “A wise choice.”

AN UNRESOLVED DEBATE

Tee woke the others. They were upset at the thought of surrendering, but she made it clear that they had no choice. In sullen silence they retreated back to the hall where the statue of Segginal stood.

“What are we doing?” Elestra asked. “We can’t help them!”

“Do you have a better idea?” Tee asked. “They took us out pretty easily last time. I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to do it again.”

After several minutes of discussion, it became clear that the group was divided: Some felt they should at least find out what these “weapons of chaos” were. Others felt strongly that they should try to fight. Others suggested that they might escape.

The tide of their argument seemed to be turning strongly towards this latter course of action – escape – when the statue spoke to them: “Wuntad’s patience wanes. I see everything that happens in this house. Bring him the weapons of chaos now.”

Tee grimaced and slapped the spiraled disc into the statue’s keyhole and twisted. The shaft opened. “Let’s go.”

THROUGH THE CAVERNS OF ICE

(09/11/790)

They went down, but they didn’t go far. They stopped in the first chamber and began unpacking their camping gear.

“All right, we’re down here,” Tee said. “Now Wuntad can just wait until we’re ready.”

They kept watch in short shifts throughout the night. In the morning, Elestra and Dominic prepared and cast the spells which would allow them to endure the freezing temperatures below.

Agnarr’s flaming sword easily chopped through the ice above the underwater tunnel and, with the spells of Elestra and Dominic, they were able to pass imperviously through the frigid waters.

At the other end of the watery tunnel, Agnarr needed to hack his way through a second sheet of ice, allowing them to emerge into another icy cavern. On the floor here, rimed with frost, were six chests. An iron door, entirely free of ice, stood on the opposite wall. Off to the left and the right, frozen into the thick ice covering the walls, were two minotaurs.

Tee eyed the minotaurs carefully, but they appeared to be dead. Satisfied that they were no immediate threat, Tee crossed over to the chests and began inspecting them while the others hung back near the pool from which they had emerged (with Agnarr, in particular, making sure the hole in the ice – and their potential retreat – remained open).

The heavy iron chests had been bolted to the stone floor beneath the ice. The top of each chest was marked with an inscription:

“Mysteries of the Purple City”
“Blades of the Galchutt”
“The Kingslayer Spear”
“The Despairing Word of Chaos”
“The Tools of Chaos”
“Freedom’s Key”

Tee pulled out her lockpicks and set to work. The locks on the chests, however, proved difficult, and she reflected glumly that if she had received the magical tools she had requested from the Dreaming Apothecary this would be a much easier task. Magical protections or not, she could still feel the cold of this place seeping into her bones.

As Tee was struggling with the first lock, however, her work was abruptly interrupted: The sudden, sharp sound of cracking ice made her look up to see one of the minotaurs punching his way out from his icy tomb. The ice in front of the other one was clearly melting, and she could already see thick cracks spreading through the ice as it, too, struggled to be free.

Thinking quickly, Tee reached quickly into her bag of holding and pulled out the least damaged set of Crimson Coil robes. She quickly slipped the robes on and stood up.

“Ah, the Night of Dissolution is come at last!” The first minotaur was stepping free from the wall of ice, shaking the ice from his eyes. The second was also emerging.

The first minotaur turned bleary eyes towards Tee. “Who are you?”

“A servant of Wuntad.”

“And has the Night of Dissolution come?”

“Yes.” Tee moved up towards the door on the far wall, trying to position the minotaurs with their backs to the others. “What’s behind this door?”

The second minotaur approached her. “Did Wuntad not give you the password?”

“He didn’t,” Tee said truthfully.

A worried look entered the minotaur’s eye. “Then I wouldn’t go in there.”

“Wait,” Tee said, looking meaningfully at the others. “You wouldn’t go in there?”

But none of the others were taking her cue, so she decided to take a different tact. “Do you have the key for these chests?”

“Wuntad didn’t give it to you?”

“No, he did not.”

“And why isn’t Wuntad here to greet us?”

“He has been barred from the keep by magic,” Tee said, expressing a truthful suspicion that she had. “Go to him and fetch the key.”

The minotaurs seemed guileless – or perhaps deferred completely to those wearing the crimson robes. Without another word they both headed to tunnel of icy water and dived out of sight.

Tor, having watched them go, turned to Tee. “Did we just send him reinforcements?”

“Does it matter?” Tee said. “I didn’t see any of you leaping to stop them.”

“They won’t get far in any case,” Ranthir pointed out. “The statue is shut.”

“Well, let’s get these chests open before they come back.”

THE SIX CHESTS AND THE KEY OF FREEDOM

Tee turned to the smallest of the chests, the one labeled “Freedom’s Key”. She was certain that this was what they had come to Pythoness House for in the first place. Once she defeated the lock, she opened the chest to reveal a golden key laying on velvet lining.

The end of the key seemed to be twisting and, looking more closely at it, Tee could see that it was actually made of innumerable pieces almost too small for the eye to see – they were constantly in flux, seeming to warp and twist and move in an almost impossible manner, as if their movement were not truly determined by the limitations of the natural world.

Tee was fascinated – almost enthralled – by the artifact. With delicate fingers she reached down and picked it up…

And felt a coldness rush up from her fingers and seem to bury itself in her soul. Despite the throbbing pain and waves of weakness emanating from the key, her curiosity could not be contained. She turned to the next chest, the one labeled “Mysteries of the Purple City”. Inserting the golden key carefully into the lock she turned it.

The lock opened with a satisfying click. But the pain and the cold intensified. Tee almost felt as if her soul were being ripped out through her. Her hand flew to her head and she sagged, nearly fainting where she stood.

“Tee!” Elestra cried. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tee said. “But I don’t think I should be using this key any more.” She slipped it into her bag of holding… but even there she could still feel its presence like a cold weight on her soul.

Inside this second chest there was an ancient-looking box of ironwood inscribed with several strange, round-shaped runes. Ranthir confirmed that these, like those on the robes of the giant skeleton above, were Lithuin runes.

Opening the ironwood box revealed four crystals as large as a fist and a journal with a worn leather cover and yellow, blood-stained pages. Without even bothering to glance at it, Tee passed it over to Ranthir and moved onto the next chest.

Tee returned to her lockpicks and began opening the other chests as Ranthir began to quickly skim through the journal. The “Blades of the Galchutt” were two matched longswords of blackened steel with hilts carved in the shape of demons’ heads. “The Kingslayer Spear” had a shaft of adamantium carved with strange runes similar to those they had seen on the idols within Ghul’s Labyrinth. “The Despairing Word of Chaos” was a rod of strange metal.

The last chest, the “Tools of Chaos”, contained several strange items: A cloak of rich red fabric, two small vials filled with ash-like dust, and a skull marked with several symbols of chaos.

Ranthir, meanwhile, was comparing what he was reading in the journal to everything he knew of the lost city of Lithuin. He knew of the ancient tales which claimed that a fleet bearing mystic giants known as the Titan Spawn founded the legendary city of Lithuin on what was now the coast of Arathia. It was said that the earliest caravans and merchant houses were specifically founded to ferry goods to and from the great city. After generations of such trade, the Titan Spawn succumbed to some form of madness and their ships sailed back across the ocean to their mysterious continent of mists. Lithuin itself “fell into the sea” and its treasures and lore were lost to the ages. But the journal claimed that the city – or some fragment of the city – had been found…

LITHUIN JOURNAL

This hand-written journal appears to be the record of an archaeological exploration. No specific year is given, but the entries seem to be spread across at least three months.

Several names are mentioned, most notably Wuntad – who appeared to be in charge of the expedition, although (in the opinion of the writer) not particularly proficient with the methods of excavation. The other names explicitly mentioned are Ibard, Kambranex, Coluvien, Falant, and Navanna – although it’s clear that there were at least several others, left unnamed, accompanying them.

The location of the expedition is eventually identified as the ancient city of Lithuin – or at least, what they writers believe to be the city of Lithuin. Progress appeared to be slow, and hindered by a variety of small catastrophes. Over the course of the journal, these catastrophes grow in severity. In one particularly tragic collapse, Coluvien was apparently killed.

Wuntad’s frustration with their lack of progress – marked by frequent rages – also become a common theme of the journal. Then, after nearly two months, they find a “box of remarkable crystals”. Wuntad becomes fascinated by these and, reportedly, retires to his tent to study them incessantly.

The last entries of the journal become short and erratic. There are references to “moving shadows”, “ancient shadows”, and “the shadows are coming”. Then the entries come to an abrupt end.

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: The Price of Magic – Campaign Journal: Session 23E
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23C: Beneath Pythoness House

But when they returned to the statue, they found that the hole in its stomach had closed up.

“It’s like its reset or something,” Elestra muttered.

“I MUST FEED…”

Now, standing in this hall, they were sure that the voice was emanating directly from the statue itself.

Last week we talked about techniques that break down the natural firewall of the dungeon: Techniques that will have you and your players thinking holistically about the entire dungeon environment instead of just one room at a time.

Today’s journal entry features a similar technique in the form of cyclical dungeon activity.

Basically, all of these techniques seek to take a static dungeon — in which each room passively exists in a status quo until the PCs enter it — and transform it into an active complex. The advantages of this are myriad and probably obvious: it deepens the players’ immersion by making the game world seem truly alive; it increases the strategic challenge of the scenario; it emergently creates complex dramatic situations and difficult dilemmas.

Cyclical dungeon activity is one way of accomplishing this.

THE GLOBAL TIMER

The concept of a “global timer” comes from video games. To simplify greatly, it’s a counter that is constantly iterating and helps keep all of the events in the game in sync. In video games this can range from the broad to the very specific. (For example, in Mario 64 small snowflakes generate when the counter is even and large snowflakes are generated when the timer is odd.)

You are not a computer and you shouldn’t run your game as if you were.

But we can borrow the concept of the global timer and apply it fruitfully. You can see a simple example of this in Pythoness House:

• When the statue says, “Come to me…” the spirit within it seals the castle so that the PCs cannot easily escape.
• When the statue says, “I must feed…” the statue itself is warded by a curse.
• When the statue says, “Chaos is the key…” the depression into which the spiral contrivance can be inserted opens on the statue’s belly.

In short, your “global timer” is a set of discrete states, with each state determining particular features in the dungeon. As the state changes, the topography, feature, and/or inhabitants of the dungeon will shift.

The advantage of the technique is that you only need to keep track of one thing — Which state is the dungeon currently in? — and you can apply that one piece of information to whatever area the PCs are currently in. This lets you manage dungeon-wide changes and activities with incredibly simple bookkeeping.

PLAYER INTERACTION

As you can see in the example of Pythoness House, the switch state can be both diegetic (i.e., something actually shifting in the game world) and directly apparent to the players (everyone in the dungeon can hear the spirit’s declaration).

Neither is necessarily true. There may be no clear “signal” that will notify the PCs that the state of the dungeon has changed (or what it has changed to). It’s also quite possible for the global timer to be partially or entirely an abstraction that exists only for your managerial benefit.

For example, you might design a slavers’ fortress in both a Day state and a Night state, but this doesn’t mean that the slavers all become clockwork automatons. (Although a fortress of clockwork slavers has some fascinating thematic implications. But I digress.) The global timer is a useful tool for broadly modeling the fortress, but if the PCs start closely examining the place what they’re “really” going to see is quite different than that abstraction.

Regardless, as you can see in the campaign journal, this type of cyclical dungeon activity can naturally function as a puzzle for the players, ranging from the simple to the complex. In addition to more specific effects, figuring out how the dungeon’s cycle works will make it easier for the PCs to navigate and overcome the dungeon’s challenges. (For example, figuring out when the best time to strike the slavers’ fortress would be.)

Something else to consider are player-triggered state changes. This might be something they deliberately choose to do, but more often it’s not: The dungeon might shift every time they enter a particular room, go down a particular staircase, or drink from a particular fountain.

When combined with obfuscated or nonexistent signals, these player-triggered state changes can create delightfully complicated puzzles.

(It’s also fun when the players think that there must be something they’re doing to trigger the state changes, but it’s actually just random or on a global timer.)

Such state changes could also be a one-time event: The dungeon is in one state until the PCs trigger a trap, and then the whole dungeon shifts into a different (and presumably more dangerous) state.

This also creates the possibility for NPC-triggered state changes: Everything is fine until one of the bad guys manage to hit the big red PANIC button and the alarm klaxons start sounding.

KEEP IT SIMPLE

With only a little imagination, it’s easy to see how such timers could be made quite complex, dynamic, and perhaps even conditional.

So let me just briefly reiterate: Don’t do that.

You are not computer. The whole point of this technique is to simplify your bookkeeping and management of the dungeon. It’s real easy to become enamored of the Rube Goldberg device you’re constructing until the tail starts ferociously wagging the dog.

If you do want to increase the complexity of your dungeon states, try adding a second global timer — unconnected to the first and out of sync with it — to your dungeon. I suspect you’ll find the combinatory interactions between the two cycles will add a delightful amount of complexity while keeping your bookkeeping dead simple. This will, in particular, be more than sufficient to mask the nature of cycles you would prefer to keep hidden from your players (because, for example, they’re a non-diegetic abstraction intended to create a living world).

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23D – Running the Campaign: The Price of Magic
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 23C: BENEATH PYTHONESS HOUSE

June 7th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

As far as they could tell, the keep was now empty except for themselves and the Cobbledman. They turned their attention to the statue in the first hall of the keep, and were surprised – as they rounded the corner towards it – to discover that a gap had opened in the statue’s stomach, revealing a circular depression into which the spiraled disc would fit perfectly.

They concluded that the depression must have opened when they had joined the two halves of the disc together.

Tee stepped forward, but Agnarr took the disc from her and fitted it carefully into the statue. With a twist of the wrist he was able to turn it counter-clockwise. With a rumbling groan and a burst of stale air, the statue rolled down the hall towards him. Agnarr stepped deftly to one side and saw, where the statue had been, a hole in the floor.

A twenty-foot shaft dropped straight down into a room with a ten-foot-high ceiling. Iron rungs set in the side of the shaft made it an easy climb. The chamber itself was of plain stone, but the floor to one side was interrupted by a fleshy membrane that quivered in the draft of air that flowed up towards the keep above. On the other side of the room, slumped against the wall, was a giant’s skeleton.

The skeleton was of titanic proportions and clad in age-tattered robes. The hem of these robes were embroidered with strange, round-shaped runes. Ranthir, glancing over from the iron rungs as he climbed down, instantly recognized them as Lithuin runes. These strange runes – now unreadable – were believed to have been used by the Titan Spawn of the legendary city of Lithuin. Only a few samples of such runes were known to survive. He was excited to study them in more detail.

But as Tee’s foot touched the floor, the skeleton began to stir – clouds of dust rising from its form as it slowly lurched to its feet. “Agnarr!” Tee cried. “Tor!”

Agnarr let go of the ladder and dropped to the floor (he was only a few feet above it in any case). Tor, taking up the rear guard as usual, had to jump clear of the wall to avoid hitting Ranthir and Dominic on the way down, but he landed easily, his sword already drawn.

Things went poorly at first: The titan spawn skeleton’s massive hand easily swept past their defenses, delivering bone-crushing blows. But then Dominic reached the floor and was able to lay his hands on Agnarr – at his touch, the familiar divine strength poured into Agnarr’s body and he grew to match the skeleton’s height and girth.

And despite his size, Agnarr was still possessed of greater speed and agility than the lumbering skeletal giant. Even as he finished his divinely-inspired growth, he whirled low and whipped his sword around – cutting at the giant’s shins and shearing straight through one of its legs.

“Don’t hurt the runes!” Ranthir cried, darting forward a few steps from where he stood in the corner (keeping a safe distance from the titanic struggle).

Dominic, summoning his inner strength, called upon the same divine energies a second time and let them flow into Tor.

Tor, growing as Agnarr had done, followed Agnarr’s example. Ducking low, his blow swept in from the opposite direction and cleaved the giant’s other leg. It crashed precipitously to the floor.

With perfect timing, Ranthir released an arcane attack – piercing the creature’s barrel-like eye socket with a blast of frigid energy that froze the bone. The jarring impact of its collapse caused the brittle bone to break and shatter, sending great gaping cracks racing across the dome of its skull.

Whatever enchantment had knit those bones together in undeath was broken, and the giant collapsed.

THE FRIGID CAVERN

Ranthir drew a knife and carefully cut away the Lithuin runes from the hem of the titan spawn’s robe. Meanwhile, the others were moving towards the fleshy membrane. It was slightly translucent and appeared to be stretched across another shaft leading down.

“What do we do?” Elestra asked.

“Well, the key we were looking for – are looking for – must be down here somewhere,” Tee said. “And there’s no where else to go.” She shrugged, drew her dragon pistol, and blasted the membrane.

The membrane ripped apart, and as it did so a howling blast of frigid air rushed up from the shaft below. Looking down through the hole, Tee could see that the frost-rimed shaft ended in another chamber twenty feet below, although all she could see of this chamber was a narrow patch of floor that appeared to be covered completely with ice.

“I’m going to go down and check it out.” Tee pulled out a sunrod, stepped off the edge of the shaft, and levitated down.

The chamber below appeared to be some sort of natural cave, but it was unnaturally – even impossibly – cold. The floor, walls, and ceiling of the cave were entirely coated in a thick layer of ice. The air was cold enough here that Tee thought there might be a real risk of frostbite.

Tee noticed that along one edge of this cavern, the ice appeared a little thinner. Looking at this broad patch more closely, she could see what appeared to be liquid water under the surface.

With a thoughtful look, she floated back up to the others. “Ranthir, I need you down there for a second.”

It took more than a second, but Ranthir was able to perform several divinations which confirmed that the unnatural cold was the result of a magical aura permeating these chambers. He could also tell that this magical aura extended through the liquid water in a tunnel that curved down and away before it passed behind too much solid rock for his arcane sight to penetrate. He attempted to unwork the magic of the aura, but failed.

Tee and Ranthir returned to the others and reported what they had found. “I think we have to go through that tunnel,” Tee said.

Tor shook his head. “If it’s as cold down there as it feels up here, we’ll all get hypothermia trying to swim through that water.”

“I know certain magicks that could protect us against the cold,” Elestra said.

“So do I,” Dominic said.

“Between the two of us, we should be able to protect everybody.”

“But we’ll need to prepare the proper spells,” Dominic said.

“I hate to wait,” Tee said. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow. But if we need to rest, then we need to rest.”

“We could stay here,” Agnarr suggested.

Elestra gave the barbarian an incredulous look. “I think we should head back to the Ghostly Minstrel.”

“Assuming we can leave,” Tee said ominously.

“That’s true,” Tor said with a slightly worried tone.

Ranthir, meanwhile, had been getting a thoughtful look on his face. Now he suddenly turned to the others. “Come with me! Quickly!”

The others followed him as he climbed back up into the keep. Once everyone had joined him, he reached out and easily pulled the spiral contrivance out of the statue. As soon as he had done so, the statue rumbled back to its original position.

“It suddenly occurred to me that there was still a demon wandering around up here,” Ranthir said. “We could have been trapped.” He pushed the disc back into place. As the statue rumbled open again, he turned to Tee. “Once I’m down below, remove the disc and wait a couple of minutes. Then open it again.”

Tee followed his instructions. Ranthir, from below, watched the statue close above him… there was no keyhole for the spiraled disc down here. When Tee opened the statue again, Ranthir climbed up and informed the others. “As long as we’re down there, we can be trapped by anybody who comes along and removes the disc.”

HUNTING A DEMON

“We have to find that demon,” Tee said.

“And kill it,” Agnarr added.

“Well, we saw it descend beyond the outer walls, correct?” Ranthir said. “Perhaps we should start by searching the grounds outside.”

The others agreed, but after circling the keep they could see nowhere that the demon could have been hiding.

“Maybe he’s returned to his nest,” Ranthir suggested.

They walked back through the gate. “At least we know we can get out of here now,” Tee said.

“COME TO ME…” The familiar voice echoed through the keep.

“Didn’t he already say that?” Elestra asked.

“A couple of times, I think,” Tor said.

The demon had not, in fact, returned to its nest. Tee sighed heavily with frustration. “All right, let’s go back to the Minstrel. Maybe when we come back tomorrow, the demon will have returned and we’ll be able to kill it.”

But when they reached the gate, they found the invisible wall of force had once again been raised to block their passage.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Tee said, her hand pressed up against the energy field.

TRAPPED AGAIN

After a brief discussion, they decided that – if they were stuck here anyway – they might as well try a more mundane way of overcoming the frigid chamber below: Fire. They would gather up the older furniture from around the keep, drag it to the icy chamber, and then burn it.

But when they returned to the statue, they found that the hole in its stomach had closed up.

“It’s like its reset or something,” Elestra muttered.

“I MUST FEED…”

Now, standing in this hall, they were sure that the voice was emanating directly from the statue itself.

“It must be Segginal,” Ranthir concluded. “They bound Edlari so they could bind Segginal to this statue.”

“What does it mean by ‘feed’, do you think?” Elestra asked.

“I don’t know,” Tee said. “Maybe if we feed it, it’ll open the keyhole again.”

Tee walked up to the statue and touched it… she instantly felt a sharp pain and was overwhelmed by dizziness. Pulling her hand back, she saw that her fingertips were covered in a sheen of blood. She cursed.

Next, with a certain sense of desperation, Tee tried breaking the spiral key in half again (it broke naturally along the same line as before). Then she rejoined the two halves. There was another flash of light and the disc was made whole again… but the statue stubbornly remained shut.

“There might be another way,” Agnarr said. He led them back to the courtyard and pointed to the well. “It’s almost directly above the icy caverns below. There might be another way of reaching those caverns at the bottom of the well.” A way not blocked by the statue or its spirit.

Agnarr took the boots of levitation from Tee. He drew his sword – both for protection and for the light its flame would provide – and descended more than fifty feet into the dark, cramped well before he spotted the well water below him.

Something seemed to be stirring in that water… some great, white shape rising towards him. Instinctively Agnarr retreated back up the shaft, but before the slow power of the boots could take him far enough a flaccid arm of doughy white flesh burst out of the water and grasped his ankle.

Whatever the foul creature was, it began dragging its way up the length of Agnarr’s leg. A face of melted, white flesh emerged – gaping a maw of vicious, needle-like fangs.

But Agnarr had already reversed his grip on his sword and, as the creature lurched up towards him, the blade plunged down through its gullet and Agnarr, with a savage whipping of his thews, tore the creature in half.

Taking a deep breath of the now acrid air, Agnarr descended into the greasy, gore-spattered water… and met with a dead end. The water had a depth of perhaps fifteen feet, but did not open out into any larger cavern. He returned to the surface to report his disappointment to the others.

“What do we do?” Elestra asked again.

“Let’s try talking to the Cobbledman,” Tee suggested. “He lives here. He might know something about the statue.”

They found the Cobbledman in his tower.

“Cobbledman?” Tee asked tentatively, unsure of which head was in command.

“Tee!” The right head grinned broadly and the Cobbledman lurched to his feet. “You came back! … do you have food?”

Tee smiled. “Yes, I have food.”

She handed it over and the Cobbledman began munching contentedly.

“Do you know who Segginal is?” Tee asked.

The Cobbledman’s face became crestfallen. “Bad fat man!”

“He was a bad man?”

“Bad fat man!”

“Who is he?”

“Wuntad brought him. Now he watches. Watches all the time.”

“Does he do anything else?”

“Sometimes. Hurts when you touch him.”

“The statue?”

The Cobbledman nodded.

“Is there any way to stop him from watching?”

The Cobbledman shook his head. “But sometimes he goes away.”

“When does he go away?”

“Chaos is the key…”

Tee thanked him and gave him some more food. Then she climbed up to where the others were waiting. “The statue is Segginal. And he’s on a cycle.”

“Is there any way to speed it up?” Elestra asked.

Tee shook her head. “Not that he knew, anyway.”

Since it seemed as if they had nothing better to do for the moment, they began a complete search of Pythoness House again – from top to bottom. Perhaps the demon had snuck back into the keep and was hiding somewhere. Or perhaps there was some undiscovered nook or hidden door.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. Fortunately, as they finished their search and gathered back in the courtyard, the voice of the chaos spirit boomed forth once again: “CHAOS IS THE KEY…”

They returned to the statue and confirmed that, once again, the keyhole had opened on its stomach.

“The gate should be open now, too,” Tee said.

Since they understood the patterns and limitations of the ritual now, they felt comfortable in recuperating before journeying any deeper beneath the keep. They returned to the courtyard and headed towards the gate…

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: TBD – Campaign Journal: Session 23D
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index