May 11th, 2008
The 9th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty
Tee turned around. “Ranthir?”
Ranthir muttered a few words of magic and then carefully examined the invisible barrier. “It’s completely impenetrable. And beyond my ability to dispel.”
“I thought we got rid of the ghost.”
“Apparently not,” Agnarr said.
“Or there’s more than one ghost haunting this place,” Tor said.
Tee grimaced. “Let’s hope that’s not the case.” She paused for a moment and thought things over. “All right. We can’t get out this way, but we can always climb down the walls. Let’s head back up to that collapsed balcony. I think that’ll be easiest.”
Tee headed back into the courtyard. A flash of lightning drew her eye upwards… and she suddenly caught sight of a large, hunched figure leaning over the edge of a walkway that stretched between two of the keep’s towers. Instinctively she whipped out her dragon pistol and fired.
The blast of energy struck the edge of the bridge. The figure jerked back and then shambled off towards one of the towers – disappearing from sight.
“What was it?” Elestra asked.
“I don’t know,” Tee said, slowly holstering the pistol. “I couldn’t see it clearly.” (more…)
From here Tee could look down onto an outdoor terrace surrounding three-quarters of the courtyard. Half of this terrace had, at some point in the past, been turned into a rooftop garden. Various boxes and pots – most in disrepair and many spilling their dirt out onto the stone roof – lay here and there. Many of the plants were still alive, although most of the garden had been overrun with weeds.
Almost directly across from Tee – on the wall near the door leading to this terrace – she could see a strange face that had been carved into the wall. Something glinted in the eyesocket of the carving, glittering like a gemstone.
The “Pythoness House” adventure comes from The Night of Dissolution, a campaign supplement for Ptolus written by Monte Cook. It’s a fantastic little haunted house scenario that’s greatly enhanced by the convoluted, heavily xandered design of Pythoness House itself.
As with many of the Ptolus scenarios, SkeletonKey Games designed absolutely gorgeous battlemaps for the whole keep:
If you’re thinking about running Night of Dissolution on a digital tabletop, these maps are absolutely perfect. You can buy them in PDF here.
I, however, was no longer running the campaign on a digital tabletop at this point, and so I was faced with a choice:
First, I could follow my standard operating procedure of chicken-scratching out the map onto a Chessex battlemap. This would be both time-consuming (due to intricate, overlapping complexity of the maps) and force me to sacrifice the awesome visuals of the SkeletonKey maps.
Second, I could print out a copy of the maps and lay them down on the table. But this would almost certainly compromise the fun of actually exploring the castle.
In many cases, you can mitigate this by laying out sheets of paper or notecards in order to block sections of the map and then only reveal them as they’re explored. But this tends to be finicky and unreliable (as papers get nudged or blown around). It was also a poor fit for these particular maps because of their claustrophobic, interwoven design.
So I used another technique that I’m going to refer to as Post-It mapping:
As you can see here, I cut out each individual room and labeled the back of each room with its keyed number (to make it easier to find the correct rooms during play). As the PCs explored, I could pull out each room one at a time and attach it to the neighboring rooms using Post-It notes.
If you’re familiar with digital tabletops, this is basically an effective way of creating an analog fog-of-war effect.
USING THE POST-IT NOTES
Post-It notes are ideal for this method because the temporary adhesive makes it easy to correct mistakes and rearrange room tiles as necessary. As the map begins to grow on the table, you can easily slide a Post-It note partially under edge of the map (without needing to pick the map up) and press the edge of the map down to adhere it to the Post-It note. You can then position the new room tile and press it firmly down to easily attach it to the map.
What you end up with looks like this on the backside:
But the front side, as you can see here, is very clean and gives a great presentation:
(click for larger image)
In practice, it will actually look a little better than this: These are photos of the maps I used when running “Pythoness House” back in 2008. They’ve seen a lot of use over the last eleven years and have bounced around any number of storage solutions (some of them quite poor).
And although they have gotten a little ragged around the edges here and there, I think this is also a testament to just how durable Post-It mapping can be in practice: These are also the original Post-It notes. So, despite all the abuse these maps have received over the years, they’ve held together almost as well as a flat print out would have done.
The drawback of this technique, obviously, is that it does require a fair amount of prep work to set it up. So is it appropriate for every dungeon? I wouldn’t say so. (Although there are plenty of people who build out 3D terrain for every single dungeon they run, so your mileage may definitely vary here.) But I do use it from time to time when I want to be able to share a particularly awesome piece of cartography with the players.
This, of course, also requires a module’s publisher to actually present their maps in a format and resolution that makes printing them out as battlemaps viable. Over the years I have seen so many incredibly gorgeous pieces of cartography and been immensely saddened by the fact that it was all so much wasted effort that the players would never get to enjoy.
Thankfully, the rise of digital tabletops seems to be changing this, with more and more publishers recognizing that if they’re going to spend hundreds of dollars on great cartography, then it’s in their best interest to make that cartography accessible at the actual gaming table.
April 27th, 2008
The 9th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty
Heading back out into the hallway they went to the last door on the second level. This was another iron door and it led into one of the small towers that flanked the front gate. A ladder bolted to the wall led up to the next level of the tower.
Tee and Tor climbed up the ladder. Tor headed through another iron door, this one leading to the gatehouse immediately above the entrance to the house: They could see where a large stone block had been levered out of the floor and pushed to one side, revealing the murder hole the ratlings had attacked them through. A narrow wooden table off to one side held the decrepit remains of four crossbows and three quivers of rotten quarrels, all covered with cobwebs and dust. An iron pot filled to the brim with rusty caltrops was shoved into a far corner. There was a matching door directly opposite.
Tor proceeded cautiously into the gatehouse. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before the door suddenly slammed shut behind him. Tee jumped for it and easily got it open again. She turned and called over her shoulder, “Get up here! Something’s happening!”
The trapdoor slammed shut.
“Tee?” Elestra called. “What’s happening?”
Tee whirled back towards Tor… just in time to see the ghost materialize between them.
The spirit wore the robes of an Imperial priest, but its face was contorted with fury. “Leave this place! The curse will claim your souls!”
Tee hesitated for a moment and then leapt for the trap door, yanking it open. “Agnarr! The ghost is right here!”
Tor, meanwhile, had drawn his sword and – with a single quick swing – sliced it through the ghost’s ethereal form. Although the blade crackled and its electrical arcs flashed as it passed through the ghost, the apparition appeared unphased.
Agnarr began clambering up the tower ladder. Dominic, thinking quickly, ran back around the hall to a window looking out over the courtyard. Through this he was able to look up through one of the inner arrow slits of the gatehouse and see the ghost moving menacingly towards Tor.
Dominic raised his holy symbol and called out a prayer to Athor. But whether it was the distance, the thick stone walls, or the sheer tenacity of the spirit the prayer had no effect. Frowning, Dominic ran back around towards the ladder.
Tor swung his sword again… again to little effect. But at the blow the ghost’s face was transformed into a black maw of rage “YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!”
Every object in the gatehouse began to shake violently, and then handfuls of the sharp, rusty caltrops came flying out of their cauldron – pelting Tor viciously.
Agnarr leapt out of the trapdoor and drew his sword, bounding towards the door leading to the gatehouse. “FOR THE GLORY!”
The spirit whirled: “LEAVE THIS PLACE.”
Agnarr grunted and swung his flaming sword. It ripped through the ghost, and Agnarr could feel it catching and tearing.
The ghost moaned in pain and rushed away from Agnarr… passing straight into Tor’s body.
Tor jerked spasmodically, and then a clearly alien intellect took possession of his limbs and spoke through his lips: “Leave this place or your friend will die.”
Agnarr paused. “I’ll only give you once chance: Get out of his body.”
“LEAVE THIS PLACE!”
Agnarr attacked. The spirit clumsily raised Tor’s sword and parried the attack. Agnarr moved to attack again, but the ruined crossbows were swept off their table and hurled at Agnarr by invisible hands.
Agnarr stumbled under the assault, and barely got his sword back into a defensive position as “Tor” attacked him. Agnarr parried several more attacks, trying to figure out some way of getting rid of the ghost without harming Tor. But there didn’t seem to be any way around it.
“I’m sorry, Tor! Dominic will heal you later!” Agnarr got ready to swing away with all his strength, which would surely sweep aside the ghost’s clumsy defense—
When Dominic, having ascended the ladder behind him, raised his holy symbol and with a shouted prayer focused his faith upon Tor’s body. The ghost was blasted back, forcibly ripped from Tor’s soul, and then faded into wispy nothingness…
Agnarr beamed: “A dog!” He caught it deftly in his hand.
The dog continued struggling, trying ineffectually to claw and bite at Agnarr. It also continued its shrill barking: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Tee grimaced. “Agnarr…”
Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
“It’s a dog! Not a real dog… but a dog!”
Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Tee grabbed the dog from Agnarr’s hand and smashed it to smithereens on the floor. Agnarr’s face fell…. but at least the incessant yipping stopped.
Arguably the most powerful and memorable moments you will experience at a gaming table are those in which a PC faces a crucible of character: Where the outcome of a particular moment will not only change the direction of future events, but will in a very meaningful way rewrite who the character is on a fundamental level.
Often these moments will blindside you: You won’t even realize the significance of what’s happening until you’re abruptly in the moment and the dial has suddenly cranked up to 11.
And in some cases you may be sitting at the same table — or even running the game — and not realize that a character crucible is happening right next to you until long after the fact. This is because, during a roleplaying session, everyone has a unique and privileged view of the game: As a GM, I am gifted with near-omniscience and can see all that is happening from a vast perspective. But each player is given the exclusive ability to experience what’s happening inside the head of their character.
Take, for example, this yipping dog.
At this point in the campaign, it had become a running gag that Agnarr (a) wanting a dog and (b) could not find a goddamn dog. Speaking of the unique path of actual play, this running gag was not planned: It emerged organically because every time Agnarr would go looking for a stray dog in Ptolus he could completely flub his Animal Handling check. (Hence the quote at the end of Session 20A: “It’s like there are no damn dogs in this entire city!”)
That brings us to Pythoness House, where the PCs find a porcelain dog that was put there by Monte Cook:
Six of these statuettes remain intact. Due to the power of the spirits inhabiting this place, they leap off and attack 1 round after anyone enters the room. Each figurine is a Tiny animated object. Most are statuettes of people, although one is a dog and one is a winged angel. The angel figurine flies rather than walks.
The yipping was my idea, and it was probably crucial to this moment happening because it was really annoying and almost certainly prompted Tee to take the unilateral action of smashing the dog.
AGNARR’S TWO PATHS
At this point in his life, Agnarr was deeply discontented: He’d lost his village. He’d lost a chunk of his life (and, with it, seemingly any chance of recovering his village). He found the crowded, confusing streets of Ptolus disconcerting and frustrating.
When Seth took over the character of Agnarr, he saw the conflict the character was in and he responded by briefly sketching out two potential paths the character might follow as they leveled up: On one path, Agnarr would multiclass into the Tactical Soldier prestige class and specialize in feats and abilities that would make him a natural leader for the team; coordinating the actions of others and enhancing their achievements through his presence. And on the other path, Agnarr would multiclass into Frenzied Berserker, consumed by his rage to the point where he would even become a hazard to his companions.
In the present moment, however, Agnarr wanted a dog. It was a fairly definitional desire that had been established by Dave, his original player, and Seth had continued that pursuit. What was a running joke to me and the rest of the table (including Seth as a player) was actually really serious for Agnarr as a character: All he wanted was an animal companion; a faithful hound that would remind him of the simple and natural life that had been taken from him. But the confusing, frustrating city denied him even this simple thing.
In this moment, with the yipping porcelain dog, Agnarr felt a legitimate emoment of simple joy: The city had finally given him one thing. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was still a kind of victory.
And then Tee smashed the dog.
Right in front of his face.
And none of his “friends” cared.
They laughed about it.
And that was it. The choice had been set. Agnarr was turned towards the path of rage and alienation. It wasn’t like a switch had been flipped — he didn’t suddenly Hulk out or anything — but he had been set into motion.
Later there would be another crucible. A moment that would turn Agnarr away from that path and towards another. (You might spot it in the campaign journal when it happens.)
Now, here’s the thing: I didn’t know about any of this. Nobody at the table did except for Seth. In fact, I think it was literally years later that Seth revealed this.
But that doesn’t make the moment any less important. Or special.
In fact, quite the opposite: In the best campaigns, the fact that everyone is experiencing a personal narrative from their unique perspective of their character is what makes the totality of the shared narrative woven together from those threads so incredibly powerful and unlike the experience of any other medium.
If you’d like another example of this sort of “private narrative” being experienced by a single player — one so powerful that it literally moves people to tears — check out Matt Colville’s beautiful summary of the climax of the first season of Critical Role:
April 27th, 2008
The 9th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty
Tee and Dominic returned to the Ghostly Minstrel only a few minutes before Ranthir emerged from his room. Ranthir introduced Erin to his friends and grabbed a bite to eat for himself.
Then they headed towards Oldtown and, within a quarter of an hour, they were standing on the street before Pythoness House.
The keep-like house seemed dreary beneath the noon sun – grimed and crumbling from years of neglect. Tee and Elestra were able to slip through the iron gate facing Emmitt Street, but Agnarr was forced to shove the rusty metal to one side causing it to emit a horrible shriek.
Looking through the stone arch on the front of the house they could see through a short passage into an interior courtyard. As the others came up the hill, Tee took the lead and headed through.
She was halfway through the stone passage when some instinct caused her to look up: A small, black metallic sphere was being dropped through a small murder hole!
Tee leaped forward as the powder bomb landed behind her and exploded. She managed to avoid the worst of the blast, rolling into the inner courtyard as several small mice scattered ahead of her. Agnarr and Tor, seeing the explosion, came running up – only to dash headlong into a second powder bomb.
Tee rolled to her feet and tried to find a target with her dragon pistol – but the opening was too small and the angle poor. She couldn’t see anything.
“COME TO ME…” The disembodied voice seemed to spring up from all around Tee – echoing through the courtyard and dancing through the empty windows and doors of the house. Tee whirled around, trying to find the source of it… but there was nothing there.
Elestra, Ranthir, and Dominic dashed through the passage into the courtyard. Agnarr and Tor pulled a rear guard, and barely managed to dive out of the way as a third bomb filled with dung was dropped.
Agnarr hauled himself to his feet, wiping a few flecks of disgusting excrement off of his armor. “That was digusting. Wait—listen!” His sharp ears had caught the sounds of skittering claws racing across stone – whoever or whatever had been using the murder hole was running off to the west through the upper passages. Then something large was thrown to the floor, and there was a booming noise – a large door being slammed.
