SESSION 23F: THE PALE TOWER

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

BROTHERHOOD OF REDEMPTION

Elestra led Dominic down to the Guildsman District. They found the public house of the Brotherhood of Redemption to be a rather small and unimpressive affair. When they knocked on the door, it was answered by a meek-looking man.

“Welcome. Can the Brotherhood be of some assistance to you?”

“I think so,” Elestra said.

“You have captured some bestial creature in need of the gods’ redemption?”

“Not exactly,” Dominic said.

“We met someone in need of help. He’s gentle. And kind. But a little lost and confused.”

“We are no common charity,” the man said. “If this creature is civilized, then he is beyond our purlieu.”

“Well, half of him is,” Dominic said.

“What do you mean?”

“He has two heads,” Elestra explained. “One of them is civilized, I guess. But the other definitely isn’t.”

“An ettin-like divided consciousness?” The man was not only intrigued, but excited. “With one turned against the other? Well, if you can bring him here we would certainly give him any help that we can.”

Taking their leave, Elestra and Dominic – primarily at Elestra’s prompting – decided to return to Pythoness House, by themselves, and try to find the Cobbledman.

They got no further than the courtyard, however, before they realized – given the possibility that a demon was still wandering about the place – that this might have been a good idea. Elestra called for the Cobbledman a couple of times and, when he did not come down into the courtyard, they left.

SHOPPING

They reconvened at the Ghostly Minstrel. Agnarr took the many rat tails they had collected and turned them into the proper officials for the bounty, feeling a great sense of fulfillment at finally managing to accomplish one of the first things he had vowed to do upon awaking in Ptolus.

Tee gathered up the items they were going to sell and led the rest of the group on a shopping trip. Ranthir chose not to go with them, instead remaining behind to continue his studies (while trying to find some useful way for Iltumar to contribute beyond petting little Erin), but did ask Tee if she could try to find for him an item with a particular enchantment laid upon it.

Ranthir described the enchantment in detail. Tee glossed over most of the technical details, but captured the gist of it: The item would attune itself to the rhythms of Ranthir’s own body. Once it had done so, it would be capable of nourishing him, intensifying the refreshment of mind and body during periods of sleep.

“Instead of needing to sleep for eight hours every night,” Ranthir explained, “I would only need two hours of sleep. And in the extra hours of the night I could be copying my scrolls or studying the many books we have discovered or anything of the like.”

Tee knew that Ranthir was frustrated by how little time he was able to devote to his studies and preparations, and she herself had worried that they weren’t spending enough time studying the various books of lore they were discovering. So she was quite happy to discover that Myraeth had recently received a ring with just such an enchantment laid upon it. Ranthir did not have quite enough money to afford it, but Tee talked it over with the others and they decided it would be in their best interests to pool their resources and help him buy it.

“After all,” Tee said. “The best wizard is a well rested wizard.”

THE PALE TOWER

They went back to the inn. Ranthir excused himself from Iltumar and joined them in Elestra’s room for a conference. They decided to follow-up on the offer that Edlari had made and go to the Pale Tower to speak with him.

Ranthir poked his head back into his room and spoke with Ilutmar, who was more than willing to wait for him to return. Ranthir smiled, nodded, and then ran to catch up with the others.

Standing in the northern reaches of Oldtown, not that far from Pythoness House, the Pale Tower stood in stark contrast to the structures around it, rising up from the midst of a perfumed garden more like a marble monument than a building. The windowless round tower was faultlessly white and seemed to shine as if newly built, and yet there was an air of great age that hung unmistakably about it.

There were two great knockers of gold upon the double doors of godwood at the front of the tower. Tee reached up and clapped one of them loudly.

The doors parted without visible hand, revealing an antechamber of marble. The rune-carved Graven One stepped forward to greet them.

“What business brings you to the Pale Tower?”

“Edlari asked us to seek him here.”

“I see.” The Graven One’s solemn face seemed to smile. “I shall seek him and return.”

At his gesture, they stepped into the antechamber and the outer doors of the tower swung shut behind them. The Graven One turned and went through an inner door. They caught a glimpse of a long hallway beyond it, making it clear that the Pale Tower’s interior was vastly larger than its exterior.

A few minutes passed, and then the Graven One returned, leading Aoska through the inner doors.

Aoska smiled. “The Graven One has told me that you seek Edlari.” Her voice was like honeyed silk.

“He asked us to seek him here,” Tee said.

“He did return here,” Aoska stood. “And told us of what you did for him. We thank you for freeing him from so foul an imprisonment. But he has left us again, and stepped through the Jewels so that he might stand once more before the Nine Gods and cleanse his soul of the taint that has been left upon it. He may not return, and Sephranos himself counseled that he should feel no need… but Edlari could not bear the touch of it.”

“We know something of the Taint,” Tee said. “We have suffered its touch in attempting to cleanse the evil from that place where Edlari was imprisoned.”

“I can sense it in you,” Aoska said. She seemed to think carefully for a moment. “Come. It is the least that we might do to see that such accounts are set to rights.”

She turned and led them through the inner doors, which parted at her approach. They passed in silence through many pillared halls and open gardens, each seemingly more beautiful than the last.

At last, Aoska brought them before great valves of silvered adamantine. She turned to them then and said, “You shall have audience with Sephranos, the First Among the Chosen.”

At her touch the doors parted and opened, revealing a hall of ivory and gold. Atop a dais at the far end, upon a throne of mithril, sat a gold-skinned man with white-feathered wings. His eyes were pits of pale blue fire shining out from a face both regal and welcoming.

Aoska approached him and whispered into his ears, and then his eyes were turned upon them. And, most particularly upon Dominic.

“We are honored to give audience to the Chosen of Vehthyl.” Sephranos smiled and turned his gaze to all of them. “We thank you all on the behalf of Edlari. We were saddened to see him leave us once again, but glad that he is now free to find his own path again. What boon would you ask of us?”

“When we freed him, Edlari healed us of the dark wounds we had sustained in the place where he had been imprisoned,” Tee said humbly. “After he had left to return here, we faced greater dangers and suffered similar wounds. We had hoped that we might find healing here.”

“This shall I do for you.”

Sephranos raised his hand and a golden light shone forth from it. For a moment it seemed as if they had had lost consciousness – but rather than darkness, it felt as if a bright white light had embraced them.

Then their eyes opened once more and all was as it had been – Sephranos upon his throne and Aoska at his right hand upon the dais. But their wounds had been healed without any lingering trace or ache – and even the soul-hung weariness which had afflicted Tee since using the golden key had passed from her.

Aoska stepped forward and led them out of the hall. As the valves of silvered adamantine swung shut behind them and Aoska led them back towards the entrance, Tee turned to her. “Aoska, we have in our possession many artifacts that bear the taint. We know that there are many people seeking them for dark purposes, and we can’t carry them safely. We know that a hallowed place would serve to hold them and even to cleanse them, but the churches we have approached have turned us away. Is there such a place here in the Pale Tower where they might be kept?”

“We could not bear to have these objects mar the purity of such a place as the Tower,” Aoska said.

Tee nodded sadly. “Yes, we’ve been hearing that a lot.”

Aoska smiled. “But there is a place in the Temple District. A hallowed vault and sanctuary where such items may be kept.”

They couldn’t help but notice, as Aoska gave Tee the directions to this vault, that their path back through the Pale Tower was not the same path by which they had come.

“There’s something else,” Tee said, hesitantly.

“What is it?” Aoska smiled encouragingly.

“We… lost some of the tainted artifacts,” Tee struggled to find the words and then, like a pent-up river bursting its dam, babbled the rest of it. “We were ambushed by chaos cultists. They were led by someone named Wuntad.”

“I know the name,” Aoska said. “A minor cultist of some recent years. We had thought he had long since fled the city.”

“He’s back,” Agnarr said gruffly.

“Is there anything you can do?” Tee asked.

“Perhaps,” Aoska said. “But there are many things of greater import to concern the powers of the Pale Tower. There are many such cultists, and their danger is not to be dismissed. But there are also larger dangers in this world.”

The thought of that didn’t sit comfortably with Tee, and she found herself changing the topic. “I was also wondering if you knew Eida Laevantha. I have met her and she once mentioned that she had affairs with the Pale Tower.”

“Yes, I know her,” Aoska said. “Our paths have crossed often in the Dreaming.”

And then they were back at the entrance of the Tower and saying their farewells to both Aoska and the Graven One (who waited there still).

REDEMPTION FOR THE COBBLEDMAN

It seemed quite strange to emerge out of the marbled wonders of the Pale Tower onto the common streets of Ptolus, but after taking a moment to orient themselves they decided that – since they were in Oldtown in any case – they should return to Pythoness House together and try to bring the Cobbledman to the Brotherhood of Redemption.

They found the Cobbledman sleeping in his tower again. Tee gently waked him (from a safe distance) and explained that they had found people who could help him. “You don’t have to live like this any more.”

The Cobbledman seemed trepidatious, but also hopeful. He followed them down to the Guildsman District, and there they placed him in the Brotherhood’s care. Ranthir gave him one last iron ration and, as they left, he was munching it contentedly.

THE FATE OF PHON

They headed back to the Ghostly Minstrel and then split up again: Ranthir returned to his room (where Iltumar was still reading). Agnarr decided that he was going to return to the caverns of the Clan of the Torn Ear. Dominic retired to his room to study the Book of Vehthyl.

Elestra went out into the streets. Most of the city was still captivated by the story of what Rehobath had done the day before. The newssheets had dubbed him the Novarch-in-Exile and public opinion seemed evenly split on whether Rehobath’s actions were weal or woe.

But Elestra also discovered that the day before Rehobath’s pronouncement, there had been another Flayed Man killing in the Warrens… and there were many whispers of worry coursing through the city.

There had been another atrocity that day, too: A house in the Temple District had burned down. Three dead bodies had been found inside and the rumor of the street was that the Balacazars were responsible.

A sickening suspicion entered into Elestra’s head, and asking further she confirmed it: The house had been Helmut’s. It appeared that Phon was dead.

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Detritus of the Dungeon – Campaign Journal: Session 24A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING:
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 23E: With Nought But Their Lives

“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.”

If you want to check out the mechanics for the Dreaming Arts that Tithenmamiwen is preparing to study, you can find them here on the Alexandrian. (Well, Dreamsight and Dream Pacts, anyway. Tee hasn’t chosen to study Dreamspeaking yet, so I haven’t finished putting flesh on those bones.)

Specialized sub-systems and mechanical options are, of course, quite common in roleplaying games, whether you’re homebrewing them or grabbing some cool new sourcebook. And when you’re playing a popular, crunchy game with lots supplements (like D&D or Shsdowrun or Ars Magica), you have to consider how you want to handle adding this type of material to your game: Do you use all of them? None of them? Some of them? Which ones?

Figuring that out could probably be a whole discussion itself. (And a fairly idiosyncratic one.) For the moment, though, let’s assume that:

1. You and your players have learned the “core” rules of them (however you choose to define that); and
2. You now have a new chunk of mechanics that you want to make part of your game.

How do you actually go about doing that?

Well, it turns out that this is ALSO a pretty big topic that can depend a lot on the dynamics and interests of your group. For example, you might have player(s) at your table who are not particularly interested in all the mechanical gewgaws of the game – they just want to be told what dice to roll. How you approach new mechanics for them is going to differ from how you’ll handle it if one of your players is really interested in exploring mechanical options and is actually the one advocating for a new sub-system to become part of your game. (And what if you have both types of players at the same table?)

There’s also the differences between player-facing, GM-facing, and dual-facing mechanics. Also, mechanics that are going to be used for one scenario vs. those that are going to be permanent additions. We could also look at the difference between modular components being bolted onto sub-systems already in play (like new maneuvers for a combat system) vs. completely new sub-systems (“We’re piloting mecha now!”).

These discussions, however, almost always deal with the metagame dynamic between you and your players. Which makes sense, of course, because the mechanics of a roleplaying game are inherently abstracted and metagamed – they are a thing you and your players interact with, not your characters.

But what I want to point out in today’s session of In the Shadow of the Spire is that you CAN introduce mechanics diegetically – as part of the game world and from an in-character perspective. This also makes sense because, even though they’re abstracted and metagamed, roleplaying mechanics are also inherently associated with the game world: They’re connected to what’s happening in that world and the choices your characters are making.

This connection can flow both ways: By adding mechanics we often add elements to the campaign for our PCs to experience, but by attempting new activities or acquiring new resources, the PCs can also create the need for new mechanics to handle those new aspects of their lives.

If you, as the GM, want to add some new mechanical element to your game – realms management, rigging, mercantile trading, pacts with Lords of the Dreaming – it can similarly be more effective to diegetically offer (or even require) those mechanics than it would be to simply, for example, drop a new sourcebook on the table and then wonder why nobody is using it.

To some extent, this is about how mechanics without a game/scenario structure to serve tend to wither and die, but it’s more than that. If you approach new mechanics diegetically, it gives you a whole bunch of new tools for pitching those mechanics to your group and getting them excited about it.

For example, you can offer the mechanics as a reward. Players love rewards. (Who doesn’t?) “Here’s your new ship!” you say, opening the door to those mercantile and crew management sub-systems you’ve been interested in exploring.

You can also nest new mechanics inside meaningful choices. You can see this with Tee’s dreaming lesson in the current session: The player is empowered to choose which sub-system she wants to introduce into play, which immediately invests her in that choice and makes her eager to read through twenty or thirty pages of custom house rules.

In this way, diegetic mechanics can also be connected to the themes of the campaign and/or the objectives of the PCs. (This also applies to Tee, obviously, who has been obsessed with learning the Dreaming Arts since the campaign began.) The mechanics aren’t just a generically cool new thing that you hope the players will be interested in; in a very real way they are the thing that the players already care about, just manifested in a different way.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 23F – Running the Campaign: Detritus of the Dungeon
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

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