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Ptolus - In the Shadow of the Spire
IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 38B: NASIRA’S STORY

June 7th, 2009
The 21st Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Tavern Row Sign - Monte Cook Games

THE END OF THE TAVERN ROW WAR

They returned to the Ghostly Minstrel, wondering if their scheme had successfully confounded Silion and her minions. (Or if, in fact, it had been necessary at all: They had seen no signs of pursuit.) Approaching the inn they saw, much to Tee’s delight, that Daersidian’s dragon mount was tethered outside. Inside, the Minstrel was humming with activity: Cardalian, eating a meal in one corner, gave them a friendly wave as they came through the door, and she was only one among more than a dozen familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Tee took her meal to a table near the windows where she could look out on the dragon (sending herself into peels of bliss when it looked in at her), but Elestra and Agnarr chose to join Daersidian himself where he was sitting with his friend Brusselt, Jevicca, and Steron Vsool. They chatted casually about nothing of much import, until Agnarr — uncharacteristically finding himself abashed — built up the courage to ask Jevicca to train Seeaeti with him.

Jevicca smiled and laughed. “You have a dog?”

“A fine and noble hound!”

Jevicca politely declined, but agreed that they should find some time to spend together soon.

Ranthir, meanwhile, found himself distracted by a heavily tattooed man who was drinking at the bar. The man was only half-clothed, allowing Ranthir to observe a great many of the intricate tattoos, which he recognized as being of an arcane and particularly esoteric quality. He eventually built up the nerve to approach the man.

“Um… excuse me?”

“Yes?” the man asked with a nasty edge in his voice. “What do you want?”

“I was curious about your rather remarkable tattoos.”

“What about them?”

“What do… what do they do?”

At the first the man seemed suspicious and even a little hostile, but after Ranthir offered to buy him a drink (the first of many) he lightened up considerably. He gave his name as Araki and explained that the tattoos were “living scroll magic”.

“They’ve been bonded to my skin, but I can use them like scrolls.”

“Only once?”

Araki (Ptolus) - Monte Cook Games“It depends upon the quality – the deliblility – of the ink,” Araki explained.

“I would like to learn how to do that myself.”

“I’m not much of a teacher, young one.”

Tor, for his part, had spotted Sister Mara from the Imperial Church sitting at a table in the corner with a half dozen others. He headed in their direction and asked if he might join their table. Mara agreed, introducing the others as members of the Runewardens – a company of delvers that she had once belonged to before her duties with the Church had expanded. Tor got the distinct feeling that speaking of the Banewarrens in front of the Runewardens would be a bad idea, but he settled in for a few friendly drinks and listened to their tales of adventure.

About an hour after they had all settled into the comfortable affability of the common room, a man came bursting through the front door of the inn, gasping for breath. While Tellith was still trying to calm him down enough to speak, he was joined by two others, all bearing the same news: Tavern Row was in pandemonium.

More than a dozen Killravens, including some powerful arcanists, had descended on the Onyx Spider – a tavern well-known to be in the pocket of the Balacazars. The Balacazars, however, must have been waiting for them: A massive melee had broken out in the tavern’s common room. There were even reports that Malkeen Balacazar himself had been there. (When Elestra asked around a little later, she heard reports of a “man with a black maw” – which sounded terrifyingly like the void-mouthed man who had menaced them in the caverns below the Cliffs of Lost Wishes).

Apparently the Killravens had eventually been routed, but only after causing massive damage to the Onyx Spider. Now rumors were swirling that this was only the first strike in a massive gang war. People were worried that the entire city was going to be consumed in violence.

Tee and Elestra excused themselves and headed in the direction of the Onyx Spider. By the time they got there it was clear that the most recent rumors were greater than the reality: The attack had been severe and Tavern Row was filled with members of the city watch, but it was clear that there was no danger of additional violence here.

Peeking inside the Onyx Spider itself, they saw that the great crystal sphere containing a spider of black onyx had been cracked. Asking around they discovered that fifteen minutes before the attack, the watchmen who had been standing guard along the Row had suddenly disappeared. Tee suspected bribery, and that was certainly one of the stories going around. Another, and perhaps more worrisome one, was that the guards had been ordered off by the Commissar. Tee knew that the Commissar countenanced the Balacazars in an effort to avoid exactly this sort of open warfare in the streets, but she hated to think of him as being that far in their pocket.

While Elestra returned to the Ghostly Minstrel, Tee decided to take her thoughts and make a late night of it. She spent the next several hours trying to track down more information on the enigmatic Silion… but, in the end, she didn’t manage to turn anything up.

Tor, meanwhile, had also left the Minstrel. He wanted to reach the Siege Tower before the sun set so that he could see how the Necropolis was sealed at night. It was little more than an idle curiousity, however, and after watching the massive gates of the Siege Tower swing shut (which happened as the last rays of the sun faded from behind the Spire) he spoke with one of the Knights of the Veil about whether they might know anything about the location of Alchestrin’s Tomb.

The knight shook his head. “We are protectors of the Necropolis, not record-keepers. But if any of us might know, it would be the loremaster Sir Seppa.”

Tor waited while Sir Seppa was sought out, and found him to be an affable man of middle years. Seppa was unfamiliar with Alchestrin’s Tomb, but he was quite familiar with the pertinent records at the Administration Building and – if any record of its location was to be had – he was certain he could find it.

Tor was happy to hear it. He made arrangements to meet with Seppa at the Administration Building the next day.

A DRESS OF PALE BROWN

The next morning, as was her familiar custom, Tee arose a few hours before the others and went down to the common room to break her fast. While she picked at pieces of cold mutton, a young woman approached her table. She was a wiry thing — rather plain, and generally brown: tanned skin, light brown eyes, brown hair, and with a dress of pale brown.

“Is your name Tithenmamiwen?”

Tee nodded.

“My name is Nasira. I’ve been told that you were asking questions about a woman named Silion.”

Tee palmed a dagger.


CHARACTER BACKGROUND: NASIRA

Nasira is a young woman. A little taller than average, she’s also wiry thin, rather plain, and generally brown – tanned skin, light brown eyes, brown hair, and often dressed in simple clothing of brown or tan. Quite monochromatic. Around the eyes she has that particular look of worn determination that those who have gazed into the long, hard face of nature often have.

NASIRA’S YOUTH

It is said that the Southern Desert creeps further north with every passing moon. In some of the sandtales of the south it is said that one day Old Satha, the shadow of the desert, will leap where once she crept and then she’ll swallow up all the green lands and the sands shall blow from dune to dune unto the Furthest North and Old Satha will find Frissa Icewhiskers, the Love She Never Knew.

Those are just tales. But if there’s any truth to the histories which say that once the Arathian plains swept far south into what is now naught but desert, then the valley of Jathera stands as a testament to it. Nearly a hundred miles further south than the nearest Arathian settlement to the north, the long, crevassed valley of Jathera is an emerald treasure in the midst of barren dunes. Jathera’s fertile fields support a small village of a few hundred, with enough excess to send along in the seasonal trade caravans which also carry the ore from the silver mine north to the city-state of Tepal.

Nasira was born in Jathera. She was thought a serious and quiet child. She may have even been considered a bit odd, the way that she would keep sneaking out into the desert. Perhaps her father, Aaftab, should have taken her a bit more in hand, but with her mother gone (stolen by the fever when she was small – a woman she only had a few fragmentary memories of now)… well, they got along well and she was healthy and reasonably happy, so he kept her with him and let her do as she would.

Many years before she was born, Nasira’s grandfather had found – by chance – a life-size statue of solid mithril in the desert sands south of Jathera. The discovery had made him a wealthy man. He could have lived like a king for a year, but instead he bought one of the largest plantations in the valley and settled down.

Nasira’s grandfather had made a point of making a yearly pilgrimage into the desert, to offer proper thanks to the gods who had blessed him with his prosperity. Nasira’s father, perhaps inspired by these yearly pilgrimages, became fascinated by the ruins throughout the region.

These ruins were often covered by sand, but Nasira’s father had been born into wealth. And although he worked hard on the farm during the months of the harvest, the wealth gave him the freedom to spend large portions of the rest of the year wandering the desert sands and seeking out whatever ruins had been surfaced by the winds of the summer and the winter. He became known to the people of Jathera as “the Little Treasure Hunter”, a name he kept even after he had grown large with years.

Nasira spent little time in the village school, instead spending much of her youth with her father on his expeditions. There she met the Atapi for the first time – small bands of nomads who wandered the desert sands. The Jatherans were not welcoming of the Atapi and generally the reverse was true as well, but they accepted Nasira and her father. And while her father’s attentions were focused on ruins and artifacts, Nasira spent more and more time learning to ride and find water; sharing the stories of the Atapi when they were near and trying to befriend lizards and little desert mice when they weren’t.

COMING OF AGE IN TEPAL

When Nasira was twelve, her aunt Salla came to visit the family in Jathera. While Nasira’s father had used the inheritance to follow in his father’s footsteps, Salla had taken her share of the inheritance and moved to the city-state of Tepal. Salla was distressed by Nasira’s lackadaisical upbringing and “uncivilized” behavior. She eventually convinced Nasira’s father that it would be best if Nasira came back with her to Tepal to “continue the proper education for a young woman”.

Tepal, as the southernmost of the Arathian city-states, is often seen as the very edge of civilization. In fact, the trade route running between Tepal in the east and Nathia in the west is often drawn as the official border of both Arathia and the Five Empires (although several villages, like Jathera, are located further south).

Tepal is also one of the three coastal city-states in Arathia. Like Casalia and Ptolus, it’s perched atop the Arathian Cliffs and possesses no natural ports. Unlike those other cities, however, its coastal waters are wracked with reefs and functionally unnavigable by larger vessels. As a result, no artificial ports (like the docks in Ptolus or the sea cranes of Casalia) were ever constructed. However, several paths leading through the sandstone caverns beneath the city make it possible for the city-state’s fishing fleet to sail out into the Southern Sea and return.

In short, Tepal may be the poorest and perhaps smallest of the Arathian city-states. But for Nasira, it was wealthy and large almost beyond imagination.

THE CHURCH OF THE TWIN SISTERS

At this time, a religious fervor was gripping Tepal in the form of the Reformist Church of the Twin Sisters. What had begun as a populist wave of mass conversion had reached through the Trade Circle and into the Circle of Princes. Salla had been an early convert of the church, and she was able to use her connections to get Nasira enrolled in the tutelage program at the Temple of the Sun and the Sea.

The Temple of the Sun and the Sea was built on (and over) the edge of the Arathian Cliffs. The Lower Temple of the Sea was crafted from ocean sandstone, its beautiful blue swells welcoming the ocean waves into the artificial tidal pool maintained in its sanctuary.

Ocean sandstone is a rare, beautiful, and expensive stone quarried from the sea floor itself. The stone is a pale blue in color, with delicate bands of darker color running through it in soft, undulating curves. Alchemists claim that the stone is the result of an “elemental infusion” – the stone’s proximity to water literally grants it some affinity to the water’s elemental properties. When viewed through water, ocean sandstone seems to flow before the eyes with the movement of the water itself. This effect is particularly pronounced beneath dim lights.

The Upper Temple of the Sun was built on the edge of the cliffs within Tepal itself. In a massive, magically-assisted construction, the two temples were connected by the beautiful, fluted Stair of a Thousand Penances. Echoing the stairs below, a fluted crystalline spire extended from the top of the temple to catch Sayl’s Light at First Dawning.

Nasira spent the next several years in the temple. She did fairly well in its tutelage, being quiet and studious and therefore seen as obedient, which is better than being brilliant. But she was never very happy there. She liked the quiet, contemplative aspects of the training – the prayer times and the music lessons – but she missed her father and the desert and she found the other girls to be noisy and shallow (although she might have liked them better if they hadn’t spent quite so much time teasing her about being “plain as a sparrow and twice as dull”).

THE TENETS OF THE CHURCH

As they came of age, most of the girls left to get married or return to their former lives. But Nasira had no desire to do either and decided to stay and become a cleric. She was encouraged in this by Sister Tarathara, who had taken a liking to her and offered to become a mentor.

The Twin Sisters: The church worshipped Sarathyn (the Virgin Goddess of the Sea) and Sayl (Sun Goddess of Life and Sexuality). Its teachings were rooted in the dualities personified by the goddesses.

The Divine Daughters: The hierarchy of the Church of the Twin Sisters, known as the Divine Daughters, was matriarchal, reflecting the church’s teaching that the heart of humanity lies in feminine love.

The Duality of Love: Feminine love, in turn, is expressed through the twin dualities of the Sisters: Chastity as personified in the cold depths of Sarathyn’s sea; sexuality as felt in the hot rays of Sayl’s passion.

The Chain of Wombs: The tension within the duality of love is the imbalance from which all sentient life is given birth; the tension is embodied in the woman’s womb; and all life is connected through a great “chain of wombs”. The chain of wombs, of course, can be expressed genealogically through the matrilineal line, and the church believes that the patterns of life can be horoscopically cast through an analysis of the chain. (However, this is not merely a hereditary analysis; the harmonics of the chain exceed the merely familial and are affected by the patterns of your friends and associates).

The Wolf and the Dolphin: Just as the tension of the duality of love becomes the wellspring of the womb, so the tension held in the “goddess chain” is the source of civilization and society. The knitted weave of the chain is seen to pass through shadow and light. Within the shadow it is the hunger of the wolf (the patron animal of Sayl); and in the light it possesses the scintillant grace of the dolphin (the patron animal of Sarathyn).

RETURN TO JATHERA

In 785 YD, Sister Tarathara came to Nasira. Tarathara had been selected as one of the church’s preachers, to go forth and spread the church’s teachings beyond the walls of Tepal. She was to build a chapel in Jathera and she wanted Nasira, as a native of the place, to come with her.

Later that year, Nasira returned to Jathera.

The teachings of the Church of the Twin Sisters were met with some resistance (and occasionally outright hostility) from the people of Jathera (who, in their isolation, had remained almost universally stout followers of the Imperial Church).

Despite this, these were happy years for Nasira. She had not seen her father in years, and now she was often able to journey with him back into her beloved desert and renew her friendship with the Atapi. Time passed in peaceful, hard, and satisfying work.

THE FALL OF JATHERA

In 788 YD, a traveling scholar came to Jathera. His name was Wuntad. Sister Tarathara allowed him to room in the chapel, and it quickly became clear to Nasira that the two of them shared an old friendship. Often they would be up late into the night talking over Wuntad’s dusty parchments and tomes.

Nasira paid it little mind. What did it matter to her that Tarathara had an old friend to talk with? She had many. And, besides, she was busy with other affairs.

However, when Wuntad learned that Nasira’s father had spent years studying the Atapi he asked Nasira to instroduce them. Apparently it was lore of the Atapi that had brought him to Jathera, and he was eager to meet another loremaster of a similar bent.

At first Nasira’s father shared Wuntad’s enthusiasm. But over time he began to view Wuntad’s… fervor with deeper and deeper suspicion. He spoke to Nasira about his concerns, but she thought little of them. If her father didn’t want to work with Wuntad, then he should simply stop speaking with him, no matter how insistent he might become.

Nasira was also distracted by other concerns: She had decided to share her faith with the Atapi and was now working diligently to teach them the Words of the Twin Sisters. For the most part, the Atapi met her efforts with bemusement, but she was often travelling into the desert with supplies and fresh teachings.

In Taranal 789 YD, however, Nasira saw Jathera for the last time. She journeyed into the desert… and when she returned her life was changed forever.

During her absence, a large group of outsiders had arrived in town. Wuntad had led them in an assault on her father’s villa. Many of the other villagers had rallied to her father’s aid, but this only served to turn Wuntad’s wrath upon a village as a whole. Dozens – including her father – had been slaughtered. But Wuntad’s wrath had not been sated by the slaughter: He destroyed the great crystalline sphere whose magic had long protected the valley. Already the verdant fields of her youth were wilting beneath the unforgiving rays of Sayl and the blowing sands of the desert were seeking to reclaim their own.

Worse yet, Nasira discovered that Tarathara had been complicit in the attack. She had aided Wuntad in his slaughter and left the village when it was complete.

THE LONG AND LONELY ROAD

Nasira’s faith in the Church was broken and she fled into the desert, trying to escape the guilt of surviving… and for not realizing that anything was wrong with her mentor or her strange friend.

For many months she stayed with the Atapi, thinking that she could lose herself in their way of life. But, in time, she realized that she was following a false path. Her faith in the Church may have been broken by Tarathara’s betrayal, but not her faith in her gods. And she also discovered the deep, burning desire to learn the truth of what had happened. Who was Wuntad? What was he trying to accomplish that was worth the blood he had shed?

She left the Atapi and returned to Tepal. She had no leads on Wuntad himself, but she began the long and arduous process of retracing Tarathara’s past.

What she discovered was terrifying: Both Wuntad and Tarathara belonged to chaos cultists dedicated to the Lords of Chaos and the sowing of destruction and anarchy. She eventually succeeded in tracking Tarathara to Ptolus, who she hoped would lead her in turn to Wuntad and her revenge…

Running the Campaign: Adding a New Player (Part 2) Campaign Journal: Session 38C
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Two criminals planning a heist, surrounded by maps and miniatures.

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 38A: The Arathian Job

Once Agnarr’s tail-lopping duties were completed, they loaded the various ratmen corpses – along with the Iron Mage’s crate – into the cart Elestra had procured and started the long haul up the Dock ramp.

As they went, they mulled the question of how they could protect the Iron Mage’s crate. It was too large and too dangerous for them to haul around with them, and it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing they could just leave lying about their room.

They rejected a plan to place illusions on the ratbrute corpses to make them appear like duplicates of the real crate before dumping them in the Midden Heaps or scattering them around town. They felt it was a ruse too easily penetrated… and once the illusions lapsed the corpses might lead to some unwanted questions on their own account.

“Besides,” Tor pointed out. “I promised to dispose of them properly.”

What the players decided to call the Arathian Job (it’s like The Italian Job, but we’re in Arathia!) isn’t the classic image of what a heist looks like, but it has the same attitude: Planning, prep work, execution.

And as you look at the Arathian Job as a heist, you might find it remarkable that it just… works. The players simply put together their plan and executed it.

If you look back at Session 8, when the PCs were hired to sneak a scrying cube into Linech Cran’s office, you’ll see a similar dynamic:

Once there, Tee went down the narrow alley between the Yebures’ and the house next door. From there she climbed quietly onto the Yebures’ roof. She had some difficulty climbing the next section of wall up to Linech’s window – falling and cracking her head once – but she eventually secured a grappling hook in the chimney on Linech’s roof, climbed the rope, and then rappelled over to Linech’s window.

The lock on Linech’s window yielded to her thieves’ tools easily enough and she slipped inside, falling to the floor next to the life-size gold statue they had noticed the last time they were in the office.

In looking for a place to hide the scrying cube, Tee’s eyes were naturally drawn to the bookshelves along the room’s north wall. Clearing some of the books away she reached back to place the scrying cube behind them… only to find a crumpled up sheet of paper lying there. She pulled this out, glanced at it, and then stuffed it into her bag. Placing the scrying cube and then carefully replacing the books she had moved, she went back to the window, shut it behind her, and climbed down.

Tee gave the signal that the others, scattered around the lower burrow, could disperse. It had all gone as smoothly as anyone could hope.

They’d done their legwork, come up with a plan that worked, made their skill checks, and walked away clean.

It can be tempting, as a GM, to think that if we don’t make things hard for the PCs or complicated in some way that the game will be “boring.” That might be true if every challenge is trivial and the PCs simply streamroll their way through the campaign, but the reality is that coming up with a strategic plan, executing it, and having it work is immensely satisfying.

Hannibal from A-Team.

So when the players earn a victory, let them bask in it.

These successes also create great contrast for when things DO fall part. You can see a very clear example of this in the case of the Linech Cran job because in Session 9 the PCs had to come back and break into his office all over again, this time to steal the gold statue he had on display there. This time there were new complications (someone else was trying to break into the office at the same time), and the PCs ended up flubbing one of their skill checks and dropping the statue, creating a loud noise that raised the alarm and created even more complications. The PCs were still ultimately successful, but it was a much more stressful heist.

The great thing about this contrast is — if you’re playing fair — then the players truly feel like they earned their victories (because they did), which makes them even sweeter. And the players also own their struggles and even failures: There’s no reason the second Linech Cran job couldn’t have gone smoothly. (The first job proves it, after all.) The complications they need to overcome (like dropping the statue) feel legitimate, partly because they are and partly because they’ve seen the proof of that. That legitimacy keeps the players immersed in the scenario, and also makes their ultimate success (assuming they achieve it) all the more satisfying because they earned it.

By contrast, when the players become convinced that they can never truly succeed because the GM will always find some way to thwart their best laid plans (whether in the name of “making things interesting” or otherwise), it steals the luster of the campaign. It’s the reason some players don’t enjoy making plans; after all, what’s the point when every plan is doomed to failure whether it’s good or bad? And other players will respond by spending even more time making plans in a Sisyphean and ultimately doomed effort to make them perfect. (And this, too, becomes a reason why players don’t enjoy making plans.)

The same thing is even more, in my experience, if the players becomes convinced that they can never fail because the GM will always twist things to make sure they succeed. Again: Why bother making plans if making the plan has no meaningful impact on the outcome?

And what happens as a result is that the tactical and strategic elements of the game become deeply weakened: Figuring out what you need to do and then doing it is in fun in games, it’s fun in life, and it should be fun in an RPG.

When that thrill gets pulled out of your roleplaying game, it’s a sad loss.

Campaign Journal: Session 38BRunning the Campaign: Adding a New Player (Part 2)
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Ptolus - In the Shadow of the Spire
IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 38A: THE ARATHIAN JOB

June 7th, 2009
The 21st Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Crates

The commotion had inevitably attracted the attention of the Watch. A small squad of them cautiously approached the end of the dock. Agnarr, busily chopping off ratmen tails, glanced up. “It’s about time you got here.”

Fortunately, several members of the Watch recognized Sir Tor. Tor, humble yet quietly quite pleased with the recognition, took advantage of the situation. Offering a brief (and well-edited) accounting of the situation, Tor offered to dispose of the bodies. The watchmen were delighted to have this unpleasant duty taken off their hands. They quickly pointed them in the direction of the Midden Heaps (“that’s where we dump all the bodies”), waved their goodbyes, and headed on their way.

Once Agnarr’s tail-lopping duties were completed, they loaded the various ratmen corpses – along with the Iron Mage’s crate – into the cart Elestra had procured and started the long haul up the Dock ramp.

As they went, they mulled the question of how they could protect the Iron Mage’s crate. It was too large and too dangerous for them to haul around with them, and it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing they could just leave lying about their room.

They rejected a plan to place illusions on the ratbrute corpses to make them appear like duplicates of the real crate before dumping them in the Midden Heaps or scattering them around town. They felt it was a ruse too easily penetrated… and once the illusions lapsed the corpses might lead to some unwanted questions on their own account.

“Besides,” Tor pointed out. “I promised to dispose of them properly.”

This plan, however, spawned another and they quickly sketched out a scheme for protecting the crate through a combination of both security and obfuscation. While the rest of them stuck with the slow-moving cart, Ranthir and Elestra hurried ahead into the city.

Ranthir went to the Exotic Market, which specialized in one-of-a-kind items, strange livestock, miscellaneous magical trinkets, alchemical compounds, magical reagents, and the like. Amid its odd jumble of small wooden stalls and tents, he was able to find – as he had hoped he might – someone who could sell him five identical lead-lined crates. The lead-lining, as Ranthir had explained to the others, would block even the emanations of the powerful magical aura exuded from whatever artifact was hidden within the stygian darkness of the Iron Mage’s crate.

Elestra, meanwhile, headed to the Stockyards and hired five identical (or, at least, near-identical) carts. She had them driven to the Exotic Market, where Ranthir directed the loading of one crate into each of the carts. Then all five carts were driven back to meet the rest of the party at the Midden Heaps.

There they found Tee and Tor in a frustrated negotiation with the scrap merchants who ran the Midden Heaps. Apparently there wasn’t any profit to be had in scrapping bodies (“these don’t even have their tails!”), and the scrap merchants were inclined to either refuse the bodies entirely or charge a hefty fee for their dumping.

Eventually they talked their way to Delloch, an ornery dwarf who apparently ran the Heaps. Although he grumbled about “having enough ratmen running live about these Heaps”, they managed to talk him down to a reasonable fee and were able to dump the bodies, according to his directions, deep in the Heaps (making their way between and over heaping piles of slag, scoria, scrap iron, and other guildcraft chaff).

Then they were able to turn their attention to their more immediate and important affairs: Removing the outer crate they had placed over the Iron Mage’s original crate, they plunged the street near the entrance of the Midden Heaps into darkness. Under the convenient cover of this darkness, they placed the original crate into one of the five lead-lined crates. Ranthir also took the opportunity to create additional illusionary doubles of the crates, carts, and themselves. Then they sealed up all 5 crates (disguising the identity of the actual crate), dismissed the cart drivers, and clambered aboard the carts themselves.

And off they went.

THE ARATHIAN JOB

Their first stop was the Foundry. The elaborate caravan they had constructed pulled up across the street. Ranthir led (and directed) illusionary versions of Agnarr and Tor to the front door and oversaw the delivery of an illusionary crate into the front hall.

“What will they do when they find that its disappeared?” Elestra asked.

“Well, nobody is expecting it. So they might not miss it at all,” Tee said.

Their plan was to put some of the crates where they might not be found; some of the crates where they might force a confrontation between their enemies; and some of the crates with their most powerful allies. They felt a little guilty about potentially putting their friends at risk for the sake of an empty crate, so they were careful to only approach those they felt could handle the cultists and ratmen.

They left the Foundry and headed north into the Temple District. They weren’t sure if they should count the Church among their enemies or their allies, but it seemed like a good place for ensconcing a crate. Tor spoke to Sir Gemmell, who readily agreed to keeping the crate in a locked room on the third floor of the Godskeep (one of the rooms recently vacated by the knights relocating to the Holy Palace).

They were worried that anyone spying on them might notice that the crates were empty, so they decided to make sure that they pretended there was something heavy in them. This actually proved an unwarranted worry: When Tor and Agnarr tried to lift the heavy, lead-lined crate they found it almost impossible and eventually needed to get help.

Next was Greyson House, where they took an illusionary crate into the basement and “hid” it among the other crates in the basement. (In reality, Ranthir simply let the illusion drop away after they had reached the basement.) Then they crossed the bridge into Oldtown and headed towards the apartment complex above the Temple of Deep Chaos where an illusionary Ranthir levitated an empty crate into one of the rooms on the ground floor. Ranthir grinned at Tor and Agnarr. “I don’t know why you’re having so much difficulty moving them.”

As they dropped off the crates, the empty carts would peel away from the caravan – some disappearing a few blocks away as they exceeded the range of Ranthir’s spell, others being driven back to the market.

Staying in Oldtown they went to the Pale Tower and spoke with the Graven One. He agreed to keep a watch over a crate and easily heaved it out of the cart with one hand. (Tor and Agnarr reflected on the basic unfairness of the universe.)

Once they were safely through the Tower’s doors, they confided in the Graven One, telling him that the crate was empty. He nodded his understanding. “We will keep it safe. What is in it – or not in it – is of little consequence.”

Their impromptu caravan had some difficulty passing through the Dalengard, but once they had identified themselves and given Castle Shard as their destination the gates to the Nobles’ Quarter were quickly opened to them.

Tor had been thinking. “What do we really know about the Iron Mage?”

“Not much.,” Tee said. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just wondering if we should really be doing this,” Tor said. “For all we know, we’re working for the bad guys.”

“If it turns out that the Iron Mage is just going to give it to Wuntad, I’m going to kill somebody,” Tee said.

They decided that was unlikely. Why would he tell Silion to steal the crate if the Iron Mage was going to deliver it to him? (“Maybe he didn’t want to pay him,” Elestra suggested.)

“Maybe you knew him before?” Tor suggested.

“You mean before we lost our memories?”

“Yes,” Tor said. “Why else would he keep coming to you with a list of chores?”

“Maybe,” Ranthir said.

“Or maybe that’s just the Iron Mage,” Tee said.

On the other hand, maybe not. They ran through a list of people the Iron Mage might be: Wuntad. Zavere. The Surgeon in the Shadows. The Banelord. The mysterious Ritharius. Or all of the above. Or some combination thereof.

They hadn’t reached any sort of a conclusion by the time they reached Castle Shard. Kadmus, of course, was waiting for them. He easily hefted one of the crates in one hand and carried it across the drawbridge. (Tor and Agnarr groaned.)

Zavere greeted them with a friendly smile. They had decided to leave the real crate with Zavere and, for that reason, not to hide anything from him. They explained everything that had happened and Zavere readily agreed to keep the crate safe.

They thanked him and left. There were only a few of the crates and carts left now. They hired a messenger to anonymously deliver one of them to the front gate of the Balacazar’s mansion and then they headed back down into Oldtown.

There the illusionary remnants of their caravan split apart in a final effort to lose and confuse any potential spies. Ranthir led the illusionary remains down into the Guildsmans’ District where they winked out one by one. Meanwhile, Tor and Tee drove the last of the real carts to the Hammersong Vaults. There they rented a vault for a month and placed an empty crate inside.

The Arathian Job was done.

Running the Campaign: Heists That Just Work Campaign Journal: Session 38B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

International Newspapers - Tony Baggett

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 37E: On the Iron Mage’s Business

Tee and Ranthir both rose early the next morning and went shopping for potions. (Without Dominic’s divine aid, they needed more healing resources.) By the time they returned to the Ghostly Minstrel, the others were awake and they breakfasted together.

The Freeport’s Sword was due to arrive that day, but – as Tee had learned – it was unlikely to arrive until the afternoon. They decided to spend the morning attending to minor chores and the like.

Elestra decided to spend the morning gathering information from around town. But as soon as she walked out the door and bought a newssheet, she turned right around and went back inside.

“Shilukar has escaped.”

There’s a question I’ve been asked a few times about the newssheets that appear throughout the In the Shadow of the Spire campaign journal: Are these props that you’ve prepped? Are the players actually reading through these articles at the table?

Short answer: No.

I’m not averse to ginning up full newspaper articles as props for the players. I created quite a few of them as part of my Eternal Lies remix, for example, even going so far as to purchase actual newsprint paper that could they could be printed on.

Bonus Tip: You can easily find period-appropriate newspaper ads online. To go the extra mile, print the ads on the back of the sheet. Now, when you cut out the article, it will look like an actual clipping.

Bonus Bonus Tip: Take half of your newsprint and store it on a shelf in direct sunlight. Take the other half and make sure it’s hidden away in a dark closet. Newsprint yellows surprisingly quickly, and you’ll shortly have a supply of paper for both aged clippings from the morgue and new ones from today’s paper.

In fact, I’d originally planned to do something similar for this campaign, likely involving full daily broadsheets that I could hand out. There are a couple reasons, though, why this never panned out.

First, I wasn’t happy with the results I was getting. I’m not a fan of producing something that looks like a modern newspaper for a D&D-esque fantasy city like Ptolus; it feels anachronistic and cheap. Even historical analogues don’t quite feel “right” to me, and the aesthetics still weren’t great. There was some room for correction here: In my head canon, the newssheets of Ptolus are produced by enchanted quills, not a Gutenbergian printing press. Unfortunately, I just lacked either the artistic skill or vision to produce something that felt “right” to me.

In short, I just wasn’t getting much value-add from this.

Second, it was obviously very time-consuming: Both the trial-and-error of the graphical design and the work that would have gone into writing up all of the articles in detail.

In the Shadow of the Spire is a big campaign: There’s a lot of adventures. There are lots of factions and NPCs in motion at any given time. There are backdrops and subplots and chaos lorebooks. There’s just a lot of stuff, and I am kept more than busy enough juggling all of it!

The principles of smart prep decree that you should only spend your prep time on stuff that you can’t improvise at the game table, and fully written newssheets would definitely qualify. But smart prep also means prioritizing: Your time is not infinite. Your resources are not infinite. There’s a limit to how much you can achieve, and so you want to prioritize prepping, first, the essential, and then whatever’s most important and/or most rewarding.

For this specific campaign, the limited value of the newssheets bumped them down and then off the priority list.

So I launched the campaign without newssheet props, instead satisfying myself with a short section in my campaign status document:

NEWSSHEETS

  • Has a story about another high-profile robbery in the Nobles’ District, which is being attributed to Shilukar. The master thief and mage is said to have broken into Dallaster Manor and assaulted the Dallaster’s daughtetr and heiress, Tillian.
  • More reports of ratmen openly prowling the streets of the Warrens after dark. The City Watch still refuses to patrol the streets, although they say that they have increased their patrols along Old Sea Road to keep the problem contained

(This section has since grown to become considerably larger.)

Initially, I believed that I would later find the time to start prepping these newssheets, but I never did.

I also discovered in play that either the pace of the campaign or the inclinations of the players led to a pace where the “news of the day” was actually being split up and parceled out in smaller chunks throughout he day: The PCs were checking the newssheets (or their equivalent) not just once a day, but in the morning, around noon, in the afternoon, and in the evening (or some combination thereof).

So even if I’d started out writing up full newssheets, I might have ended up dropping the idea because it lacked flexibility: The props would be cool, but for this campaign they would be a less useful tool. I need to be able to flexibly figure out how to dole out the headlines to the players depending on when and where they’re trying to snag them, how events have evolved as a result of the PCs’ recent actions, and even the form in which the PCs are trying to find the information.

(And, as noted, some of those forms in actual play aren’t even newssheets.)

Campaign Journal: Session 38ARunning the Campaign: Heists That Just Work
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Ptolus - In the Shadow of the Spire
IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 37E: ON THE IRON MAGE’S BUSINESS

May 9th, 2009
The 21st Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Nordic Lighthouse - MiriShagal (modified)

TO THE DOCKS

And then the vision shredded, passing away like the drifting trails of the incense smoke in her room…

Maybe I don’t want to remember what happened… Or was that something that’s still to come?

She cleaned up the remnants of the ritual and stored the rest of the incense back in her bag of holding before heading back downstairs to meet up with the others in the common room. They headed down to the Docks together.

Once there they still had to wait for the better part of two hours, but eventually – under the mid-afternoon sun – they saw the Freeport’s Sword pulling into one of the deep-water piers.

Heading down the long length of the narrow pier, Tee hailed the captain of the vessel, who introduced himself as Captain Bartholomew. He was a dashing fellow, with a broad and merry grin.

“Aye, I have such a crate. And am glad to be rid of it.”

“Why?” Tee asked, casting a worried glance to the others.

“It came strangely from the hand of the Iron Mage. My crew thinks it cursed and have stayed well clear of its hold.”

“He is strange,” Ranthir said.

“You think we can trust him?” Elestra asked.

Ranthir shrugged.

In short order, Captain Bartholomew’s crewmen had unloaded the crate onto the dock. It was marked with the Iron Mage’s sigil (a plated visor beneath crossed wands), and it also proved quite large (nearly six feet square) and impossibly heavy.

“If I’d known it was going to be this large, I could have prepared a spell to move it,” Ranthir said.

Tee turned back to Captain Bartholomew. “How are we supposed to move it?”

“I was hired to deliver it to your care,” Captain Bartholomew said. “And that’s been done. So it’s no concern of mine.” And he ordered his men to start work on unloading the rest of his cargo.

Tee scowled, but there wasn’t much they could do about it.

THE YELLOW TEETH

Elestra volunteered to fetch and hire a cart. The others stayed behind to keep a guard on the crate while she walked back down the pier.

As she reached the Wharf Road, Elestra spotted a small huddle of cloaked men lurking down the alleyway opposite the pier’s end. The ambush was obvious, but thinking that it wouldn’t be sprung until they were leaving with their cargo, she turned down the street and hurried along to find a cart for rent.

Unfortunately, she was scarcely out of sight when the ambush was sprung. Casting off their cloaks, the “men” were revealed to be ratlings. They stormed the end of the pier, joined by nearly half a dozen ratbrutes as well.

Although caught by surprise (as Elestra had sent them no warning), the others were already on their guard against potential mischief. Long before the ratlings reached them, therefore, they were already moving quickly and efficiently into defensible positions. Ranthir wrapped his magicks around Agnarr, enlarging him to giant-like proportions. The barbarian, his stride increasing with every step, turned and marched down the pier.

The ratlings swarmed to meet him, but were met by Agnarr’s flaming greatsword – working like a scythe through fresh hay. Their assault quickly fell into disarray before him and then, a few moments later, Tor – similarly enlarged by Ranthir’s spells – stepped forward as well. The two of them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, blocked the pier from side to side.

Tee, meanwhile, had been calling out to Captain Bartholomew and his crew. After a quick bout of negotiation, she successfully hired their aid (at the rather exorbitant rate of 25 gold pieces to the head). With the price settled, Bartholomew led his crew into the fight with whooping war-cries.

The initial assault had now foundered completely. Only two of the ratlings had survived, and these wilier fellows now drew their dragon pistols and fell back to take potshots from the end of the pier. But the battle was far from over, for now the ratbrutes were coming forward.

Agnarr met the first of the brutes as it lumbered near. He cut the creature down easily, the flames of his sword cutting deep into scorched flesh. But one of the other ratbrutes – shouting orders and clearly in command – approached more carefully, with a third ratbrute serving as his second. Their swords scissored out, and Agnarr was caught viciously between them. With a gurgling cry, he stumbled backward and collapsed.

Tor fell back a few steps, but largely managed to hold the line against the renewed assault from the ratbrutes. With Tor occupied, however, the rat-leader gestured crudely and, a moment later, two of the ratbrutes dropped off either edge of the pier and began swimming underwater.

Tee, who had been shooting from the far end of the dock, saw the ratbrutes disappear into the waves. Dispatching one of Bartholomew’s sailors to bear a healing potion to Agnarr, she drew the rest of them into a tight defensive perimeter around the crate.

It wasn’t long before her fears were realized: The two waterlogged ratbrutes clambered up onto the dock behind Tor and rushed the defenders around the crate. Tee and the sailors leapt forward to counter-attack, but in mere moments two of Bartholomew’s crew had already been grievously injured.

At almost this very moment, Elestra finished haggling for the cart and turned back to discover the chaos breaking out down the Wharf Road. With a cry she transformed into an owl and began flying back as fast as her wings would carry her.

Meanwhile, the pirate Tee had sent with healing potions had reached Agnarr’s side. Although he had been cut down only a moment later by a particularly vicious back-handed blow from the leader of the ratbrutes, he had managed to press one of the potions to Agnarr’s lips.

Agnarr was conscious once again, but one of the ratbrutes – who had stepped forward as Tor fell back – was now straddling him. Still badly hurt and separated from his sword, Agnarr knew that he wouldn’t live long if the ratbrutes realized he was a threat. So, for the nonce, he contented himself with surreptitiously sipping healing potions.

But the instant that Tor cut down the ratbrute standing over him, Agnarr leapt back to his feet. His sudden presence distracted the ratbrute leader, who had been moving to flank Tor. Tor seized the advantage and focused all his fury upon him.

The ratbrute seized a healing potion of his own, quaffed it, and fell back. But Tor pursued and cut him another wound for his troubles. The ratbrute might yet have recovered, but Ranthir – from the far end of the pier – struck him in the face with a bolt of magical energy. The blast left him momentarily dazed, and Tor had little trouble finishing him off.

Seeing him fall, Tee cried out to the ratbrutes fighting near the crate, “Your leader is dead! Turn and look!”

But the ratbrutes merely snarled. “The Yellow Teeth never turn! They never retreat!”

They cut down another of the sailors. Tee, enraged, pressed her own attack and killed one of the brutes. But in the action she left her back open, and the second brute – with a hefty swing of his massive blade – cut her down.

One of the sailors cried out. “The pretty lady is dead! She’s dead!” A general panic settled into Bartholomew’s men and a rout had begun.

Agnarr, seeing the danger, ran down the length of the dock. But the remaining ratbrute ignored him and ran for the now utterly unguarded crate. Agnarr’s last, desperate sword swing narrowly missed the creature as it reared back its own massive sword and—

Smashed open the crate!

An inky, stygian darkness suddenly enveloped the end of the pier. The sailors trapped within it began screaming in terror. One, who had been attempting to flee back aboard the Freeport’s Sword, fell from the gangplank into the water below with a gurgling cry. Others, halfway down the dock in their rout, came to a stumbling and bewildered halt.

The ratbrute’s huge rat ass, however, was still hanging out of the darkness. Agnarr chopped him down. At the far end of the pier, Tor was doing the same (although he needed to chase the last of the cowardly ratlings half a block down Wharf Street before cutting him down from behind). “I thought the Yellow Teeth never turn,” he said sardonically over the corpse.

A DARK BEYOND DARKNESS

Elestra alighted on the dock and resumed her human form. She quickly healed Tee (who had been merely injured, not killed).

Ranthir, meanwhile, examined the crate-born darkness. It could be easily identified as a point-source effect, but he needed to know more. He quickly weaved a few spells—

And was blasted into unconsciousness.

When the others managed to rouse him, he told them of a magical aura so powerful that it had literally obliterated his senses when he tried to look upon it. From this, he concluded that any effort on his part to negate it would fail. However, since the effect had previously been occluded by the crate, it might be possible to physically impede it.

To that end, they paid an egregious and ridiculous sum to Captain Bartholomew for a large piece of sail cloth. By wrapping this around the damaged crate, they were able to blot out the darkness. Then they were forced to pay a similarly ridiculous price for a larger crate, which they levered into position and, thus, sealed the broken crate inside.

 

While those with mightier thews tended to this business under Ranthir’s instruction, Tee and Elestra quickly searched the bodies. In addition to a few small sums of coin and the like, they found upon the body of the leader a letter of some considerable interest:

LETTER FROM SILION TO BATTACK

Battack—

I have need of the Yellow Teeth. A vessel named the Freeport’s Sword will be arriving in port tomorrow. It carries a crate bearing the mark of a plated visor beneath crossed wands. The Tolling Bell has commanded that the contents of this crate be secured.

We have a rare opportunity: None of the other brotherhoods have managed to ascertain the crate’s location. Many still seek it among the islands. If we can obtain it and deliver it to Wuntad’s hand, we shall be honored not only by his hand but in the eyes of the Sleeping Gods.

Do not fail me in this.

Silion

Running the Campaign: NewssheetsCampaign Journal: Session 38A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

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