DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 31A: Kabel in Hiding

This is a trap. Head to Pythoness House, a manor house overlooking the King’s River Gorge in Oldtown. I will contact you there. Go now. They are coming.

Creative elements — characters, locations, actions, items, etc. — can manifest in a roleplaying game through:

• Introduction, when an element first appears.
• Repetition, when an element reappears.
• Reincorporation, when an element reappears in a new context and/or with connections to other pre-existing elements.

The distinction between repetition and reincorporation is a finicky one, and arguably often doesn’t have any practical effect. But the key thing we’re talking about here is setup and payoff.

It is narratively satisfying to our “evolved to deliver a dopamine hit whenever we identify cause-and-effect” brains when we recognize patterns and see the connections. We’re hardwired to fundamentally believe that the world makes sense, and that’s why we find deus ex machina so unsatisfying. (Plus, the payoff makes it clear we weren’t just wasting our time watching the first half of the film.)

There’s a whole gaggle of writing and improv techniques you’ll find clustered around this concept. You’ve got Chekhov’s Gun (if you make a big deal about something at the beginning of the story, it should have a payoff at the end) and the Rule of Three (you set it up, you remind the audience of what you set up, you get the big payoff by bringing it back a third time). All kinds of stuff.

Of course, the advantage a writer of a novel or movie has is that they can go back and revise the script to setup the stuff they need: If Jayhawk needs a gun in the final scene, for example, they can go back and hang it above the mantlepiece.

In a roleplaying game, though, you can’t go back and insert the gun. (Unless you’ve got a time machine. And if you have a time machine, please get in touch.) This is why it’s usually more useful to draw our inspiration from improv theater techniques, and think primarily in terms of:

• What has already been established in the fiction?
• How can I use those elements to fulfill my current creative needs?

(Unlike pure improv, though, the GM’s scenario design does afford some opportunity to plan ahead. So don’t discount that entirely.)

You can see this, for example, in the Principles of RPG Villainy, where simply asking, “Instead of a new villain, is there an existing villain I can use again?” can add great depth to your campaign.

Another way of thinking about this is that, each time you reuse an element of the campaign world, you are building up the players’ (and PCs’) relationship with that element. It’s kind of like applying lacquer. It’s all about the layering.

You’ll usually not even know what all those layers are adding up to. The mere act of adding the layers is enough. You’ll find the destination once you get there.

The flip side of this technique begins when you first introduce the element. A key trick here is making sure you drop enough specific detail so that you CAN reincorporate that element in the future. This doesn’t have to be a lot. In fact, to start out with, you may not need anything more than a label. For example, when the PCs go shopping for supplies, make a point of giving the shopkeep a name.

The name gives you handle that you can grab. If you don’t give the shopkeep a name, you won’t be able to easily refer to them as being the same shopkeep the next time the PCs go shopping.

Of course, giving the shopkeep a name doesn’t obligate you to reincorporate them in the future. There’ll probably be lots of random details that get scattered into your campaign that will never be revisited. That’s just fine.

WHEN PLAYERS REINCORPORATE

As you make a point of establishing these handles, though, you’ll likely discover that the players also start picking them up.

You can see a very large example of that in this session, as the PCs decide to offer Pythoness House — which they know to be long-abandoned — as a safehouse for Sir Kabel and his knights. But you’ll see it at every scale of interaction: They might choose to specifically go to that shopkeep you mentioned. Or hit up an NPC they met a half dozen sessions ago for a favor in solving their current problem.

Or it might even be a blink-and-you-miss-it reference in casual conversation.

If you’re a player reading this: Do more of this! You’re helping to make the campaign something more than the sum of its parts, gently tugging it into a comprehensive whole.

As a GM, when this happens, you’ve basically got two responsibilities:

First, get out of the way. For example, I had a different idea in mind for Sir Kabel’s plans. I could have easily had Sir Kabel say something like, “Thanks for the offer, but I have other plans!” But that would obviously be a terrible idea.

This is largely just another example of default to yes, but I find it to be particularly vital here. Reincorporation is a really important way of giving meaning to events. (Pythoness House is available to serve as a safehouse because you cleared it out.) It’s also a great way of demonstrating that the game world is persistent; that it continues to exist even when the PCs aren’t looking at it. (Pythoness House didn’t cease to exist the minute you looked away from it.) So unless you have a strong reason not to embrace reincorporation, you should try to avoid stripping your campaign of meaning and verisimilitude.

Second, lean into it. If a player cares enough about a past event, person, place, or thing to spontaneously attempt to re-engage with it, they’re sending a clear signal that it resonated with them. Maybe they like it. Maybe they hate it. Regardless, it mattered to them. It interests them. So take your cue and run with it:

• Drop that location into your campaign status document so that it can develop over time.
• Next time, have that NPC reach out and initiate contact with the PCs (instead of vice versa).
• Flesh out that shopkeep with a universal NPC roleplaying template or some sort of unique twist to their merchandise; or maybe use them as an adventure hook.

In the case of Pythoness House, I just needed to completely embrace Sir Kabel’s use of the location: Not just a safehouse for tonight and a meeting place for tomorrow, but the headquarters of the Imperial Church loyalists during their rebellion against Rehobath’s false-novarchy.

A one-and-done dungeon would now be a major centerpiece for the entire next phase of the campaign.

Thanks, players!

Campaign Journal: Session 31B – Running the Campaign: PC vs. PC Social Checks
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 31A: KABEL IN HIDING

November 9th, 2008
The 17th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

After leaving the Banewarrens they went first to the Temple of Asche. There they had the wraiths’ malaise cleansed from their bodies. Then they crossed the Temple District to the Imperial Cathedral, hoping to claim Brother Heth Neferul’s promise of covering their expenses.

They were looking for healing resources – divine energy reservoired into wands or healing totems. Unfortunately, as Heth explain to them, such resources were not available in a limitless supply – not even from the Church. However, they were able to obtain three such wands for a minimal tithing.

From there they returned to the Ghostly Minstrel. Tee took a brief detour to the Delvers’ Guild offices in the Undermarket to see if “Laurea” had received any messages from the cultists, but she had not.

When Tee joined them in Elestra’s room, Tor once again raised the idea of having Dominic assassinate Rehobath.

“We shouldn’t be saying that in front of everyone,” Tee said.

“We shouldn’t be saying that in front of each other,” Dominic said with a worried look.

Tor nodded. “You never know who might be listening.”

“That’s true,” Shim said, slipping through the wall. He looked at Tor. “Are you okay with me talking in front of them?”

Tor nodded. “Go ahead. Anything you can say to me you can say to them.”

“All right,” Shim said. “My man found Kabel. He’s at a place called Nadar’s Pub in Rivergate. It was tough. He was well hidden. In fact, the only reason we knew he was there was because Sir Gemmell knows where he is. The Order of the Dawn is assembling a posse out of the Godskeep to arrest him.”

Tor’s heart sunk. The letter from Sir Kabel had been real. He’d unwittingly betrayed him.

“Kabel sent you answer: ‘I am glad that the eyes of Vehthyl see clearly. Such sight will be needed in the morning light.’”

No one said anything for a long moment.

“Do you want me to do something more?” Shim asked.

Tor shook his head slightly, deep in thought. “I shouldn’t go there.”

“No,” Tee agreed.

“I could go,” Elestra said. “I could transform into a bird and fly there with a message.”

Shim took his cue and bowed out. “I shouldn’t be hearing this.” He slipped back into the wall and disappeared.

(“How do we know he’s not still listening to us?” Dominic asked. “We don’t,” said Tee.)

They eventually agreed that Tor should write a letter and have Elestra deliver it.

This is a trap. Head to Pythoness House, a manor house overlooking the King’s River Gorge in Oldtown. I will contact you there. Go now. They are coming.

“Should we tell him about the evil ghost?” Elestra asked.

“He’ll figure it out,” Agnarr said.

Elestra called upon the Spirit of the City, allowing it to flow into her body and transform it into the shape of a crow. When the transformation was complete, they tied Tor’s message securely to her leg and opened the window.

ESCAPE FROM NADAR’S PUB

Elestra flew straight to Nadar’s Pub, covering the distance to the Rivergate District quickly through the air. She took a moment to circle above it and then landed on the ledge outside the front window.

Peering inside she saw the barkeep tending to two customers. Clearly the mid-afternoon trade was slow.

There was no sign of Sir Kabel, but that made sense. It was unlikely that a hunted man would be supping openly in a public tavern.

Elestra flew around to the back. She found the kitchen window open and peeked in: There were several shelves packed with various foodstuffs, a modest cast iron stove, a pump for water, and a large fireplace for roasting. There was also a pair or large cellar doors set at an angle into the floor.

Elestra cautiously flew into the kitchen, tapped lightly on the cellar doors, and then flew back up to her kitchen window perch. She waited several minutes. There was no answer.

Elestra was still thinking over her next course of action (should she turn back into human form? but if she did that how would she get out again?) when the barkeep came into the kitchen to fill a pitcher of water.

She waited until he left and then flew back down to the cellar doors again. She tapped louder this time and then hopped up onto a nearby shelf to wait.

A few moments later, Elestra heard the cellar doors being unbarred from the far side. One of the doors was eased open and an armed woman looked out. (Elestra didn’t recognize her, but Tor later identified her as Sera Nara.)

Not immediately seeing anyone, Nara emerged cautiously into the kitchen. Elestra seized her opportunity: Swooping past Nara she flew down into the cellar. There she found Sir Kabel and two other knights sitting around a small, well-worn table.

Elestra landed in the center of the table and cocked her head towards Sir Kabel, trying to look as innocent and harmless as possible. Sera Nara came rushing back down the stairs. One of the other knights turned to Kabel with a quizzical look on his face. “Why would Killraven be contacting you?”

“I don’t think it’s one of hers,” Kabel said. “It’s too small to be a raven.”

Kabel reached out and untied the note from Elestra’s claw. He unrolled it and read it, his face drawing immediately into lines of concern. He looked up sharply. “Gather your things now. We have to go.”

As the others grabbed their weapons and several large packs, Kabel looked at Elestra. “Thank you, whoever you may be.”

Kabel and his knights headed up the stairs and out the kitchen door. Elestra flew up and watched them head south towards Oldtown, following them long enough to be certain of where they were heading. Then she turned back and circled high above the pub for about fifteen minutes, waiting to see if there would be any sign of covert pursuit or the like.

She saw nothing. Turning east she flew towards the Temple District. As she was passing over the bluffs she spotted them: Sir Gemmell leading a war party of twelve mounted knights up the Wash Street ramp.

Veering aside, she followed them from above. She watched as they surrounded Nadar’s Pub. Sir Gemmell rode forward and called out in a loud voice, demanding that Kabel surrender.

A few moments later the door of the pub swung open. The barkeep yelled out that no one by that name was in the pub. Sir Gemmell gave a sharp gesture and two his knights dismounted and entered the pub. Several minutes later they emerged with no result.

Gemmell and several more knights dismounted. Angry words began to be exchanged… and that’s when the watchmen arrived. From her height, Elestra couldn’t hear what was being said, but a few moments later Gemmell – clearly furious – mounted his horse and rode off, heading back towards the Temple District.

Elestra followed the knights long enough to be fairly certain that they were heading back to the Cathedral and then winged it back to the Ghostly Minstrel.

Returning to her room, where the others had been anxiously awaiting her, Elestra let the Spirit of the City depart her. Her body resumed its natural form.

She quickly explained what she had done and what she had seen. Tor embraced her at the news that they had (just in the knick of time) averted disaster. A weight of guilt had been lifted from his conscience.

Running the Campaign: When Players Reincorporate  – Campaign Journal: Session 31B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 30D: A Plague of Wraiths

“Tee!”

Turning around at the sound of Dominic’s cry, Tee spotted a lamia-shaped wraith and a minotaur-shaped wraith hovering nearby – held at bay only by the divine energy that Dominic was still channeling through his holy symbol. Tee started to move into a firing position, but as she did the wraiths slipped around the far corner and disappeared into the room with the iron cauldron.

Gathering the others they followed the wraiths into the cauldron room. The two larger wraiths were lurking in the shadows here, along with two smaller ones.

Elestra cursed. “It got all of them? We have to kill them all over again?”

Here’s a thing that I don’t think happens nearly as often as it should in a D&D game.

PCs have a habit of leaving big piles of dead bodies in their wake.

You know who loves big piles of dead bodies?

Necromancers.

(Also strange necromantic miasmas, unfathomable alien spirits from beyond our plane of reality looking for a body to inhabit, toxic chemical spills, experimental zombie viruses, etc. etc. etc.)

The point is that if you’ve got a setting where undead are common + the PCs are constantly killing people, it just makes sense that they’re going to see some familiar faces when the shambling hordes show up.

This isn’t just a great seed for restocking your dungeons or dynamically keeping your sandbox in motion: It personalizes what would otherwise be generic undead encounters, while also getting the players to think about the long-term consequences of their actions. (Do we really want to be leaving all these corpses lying around?)

Once you’re thinking in these terms, of course, it’s not much of a leap to realize that this doesn’t have to be limited to slain enemies. Dead friends and allies are an equally fertile field. (Or, since we’re talking about undead, I suppose it might be whatever the opposite of a fertile field is?) This trope — of a one-time friend or family member returning as an undead monster — is actually quite common in horror films, so it’s surprising we don’t see it more frequently at the game table.

(I suspect this is because published adventures generally have to either eschew this sort of thing or take considerable effort to contrive the outcome: The can’t just say “…and then Lord Harlech comes back from the dead!” because they don’t know whether or not Lord Harlech has died in your campaign. But at your own table, of course, you don’t have to worry about infinite possibilities: You know who ranks among the dead. But I digress.)

Regardless, this technique is a great way to ratchet up the stakes and emotional investment of the players in the bad guy.

There is no greater enemy than one who was once a friend.

Campaign Journal: Session 31A – Running the Campaign: When Players Reincorporate
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 30D: A PLAGUE OF WRAITHS

September 20th, 2008
The 17th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Sir Gemmell’s letter only affirmed what Tor had already been planning: In order to keep with his image of loyalty to the Order and to Rehobath he needed to attend his training that day as planned. On the morrow he would meet with Sir Kabel and find out the rest of the story.

But by the time he had saddled Blue and begun riding north into the Temple District, Tor began to be plagued with doubt. What if the letter purporting to be from Sir Kabel was a trap of some sort? Surely he wouldn’t have been so foolish as to sign his own name? Why had the two letters arrived at nearly the same time?

Without having reached any sort of firm conclusion, Tor arrived at the Godskeep. He was escorted to the office which had once belonged to Sir Kabel… and were now occupied by Sir Gemmell.

“Master Tor, I’m honored to meet you.”

Tor thanked him and exchanged pleasantries, but Sir Gemmell was quick to his business. “I know that you were squired by Sir Kabel. I don’t know what his intentions were. But you’re a companion of the Chosen of Vehthyl and so I know that you must be faithful to the Church and to the Nine Gods. Know, then, that Kabel has betrayed both the Novarch and the Gods. His treacherous plots have resulted in the death of many of our brothers.”

“All I have ever wanted is to be a knight,” Tor said truthfully.

“Yes. And with Kabel’s treachery it is more important than ever that your training be completed as quickly as possible,” Sir Gemmell said. “It’s very likely that you will be contacted by Kabel. If that happens, you should alert us as quickly as possible. As long as he remains at large, we’re all in danger.”

“You think I might be harmed?” Tor asked blithely.

“Not as long as he thinks that he has some use to you. But after that? Who can say.”

Tor was given over to Sir Lagenn – a knight of the Order that he had not previously met – for his training. Sir Lagenn was burly and heavy-set, with a shaved head and a vicious, purple scar running from his left temple down to his jaw. Despite his brutish temperament, Sir Lagenn proved to be a competent and able teacher.

But as he trained, Tor’s thoughts were distracted by the two letters he had received. By the time Sir Lagenn called a halt to their exertions he had reached his conclusion: The letter from “Sir K” must be a fake. His loyalty was being test by Sir Gemmell.

Tor returned to Sir Gemmell’s office and gave the letter to him.

After reading it through, Sir Gemmell looked up at him. “Why didn’t you give this to me before?”

“To speak truthfully,” Tor said. “I felt torn in my loyalty between the Order and someone who had quickly become a mentor to me.”

“Well, your loyalty in this matter will no longer be tested. We shall attend to things from here. And do not seek any contact with Sir Kabel.”

“Of course,” Tor said.

Sir Gemmell looked back at the letter. “Why would he ask for the Chosen of Vehthyl?”

“I don’t know,” Tor said.

“Should Dominic’s trust in the Novarch be doubted?”

“I would never question it,” Tor said truthfully. (There was no question about it: Dominic didn’t trust him.)

A PLAGUE OF WRAITHS

Tee, meanwhile, had returned to the Banewarrens.

While fighting the wraiths the night before, Kalerecent had suffered a wound. At first he had thought it a small and inconsequential thing, but it wasn’t healing properly. In fact, it proved to be beyond the healing skills of both Kalerecent and Dominic combined. As a result, Kalerecent was forced to leave the Banewarrens to seek more powerful healing from the Church.

This proved fortunate, however, when Tor arrived before Kalerecent returned – giving them a chance to converse privately.

“I need to tell you what’s happened,” Tor said.

“Should we sit down again?” Elestra asked.

Tor nodded emphatically and then began his tale.

“And you’re sure the letter from Kabel was a fake?” Tee asked.

“It had to be,” Tor said.

Before they could discuss it further, Dominic heard Kalerecent returning down the tunnel and silently signaled the others.

With Kalerecent back on guard duty and Tor returned they were free to go back to the Banewarrens and continue their explorations.

But Tee had only barely emerged into the first chamber of the Banewarrens when she spotted two purplish wraiths trying to get past the warded door they had shut the night before. One of the wraiths might have been the one they had encountered before, but the other was larger… and shaped like the half-leonid lamia they had slain the day before.

Tee crept back to where Dominic was waiting and told him what she’d seen.

“That’s bullshit!”

“I know,” Tee agreed.

Tee led them back into the chamber. Dominic was considerably less stealthy than Tee had been and the wraiths heard his approach. But it didn’t matter: Raising the cross of Athor, he banished them into nothingness.

Tee went over to the warded door and locked it securely (which proved difficult to do without a key).

“Tee!”

Turning around at the sound of Dominic’s cry, Tee spotted a lamia-shaped wraith and a minotaur-shaped wraith hovering nearby – held at bay only by the divine energy that Dominic was still channeling through his holy symbol. Tee started to move into a firing position, but as she did the wraiths slipped around the far corner and disappeared into the room with the iron cauldron.

Gathering the others they followed the wraiths into the cauldron room. The two larger wraiths were lurking in the shadows here, along with two smaller ones.

Elestra cursed. “It got all of them? We have to kill them all over again?”

Agnarr took the lead and Ranthir took the opportunity to demonstrate how he had used his arcane arts to duplicate Dominic’s feat of divine infusion: He enlarged Agnarr to twice his normal height and girth.

Elestra and Tor worked the corners, keeping the wraiths from circling around Agnarr’s massive shoulders. But most of the damage was actually coming from Tee’s dragon pistol: Agnarr’s blade passed through the wraiths again and again, but frustratingly couldn’t seem to find any purchase in their semi-ethereal forms.

With the battle largely stalemated into one of stark attrition, Tor eventually got daring. Pushing his way past Tee he plunged through one of the wraiths, ripping it apart on the tip of his electrified blade. From there he raced behind the minotaur-shaped wraith, providing enough of a distraction – and a few wounding blows – for Agnarr to finally finish it off.

With the larger wraiths dispatched, the two smaller ones were quickly driven back up the stairs on the far side of the room and overwhelmed. But even as they were finishing off these smaller wraiths, four more of the goblin-spawned wraiths drifted up from behind them. In fact, they were nearly taken by surprise – only Dominic’s wary eyes saved them.

Ranthir hurried up the stairs and away from the wraiths, while everyone else headed down the stairs to face them. But the wraiths – perhaps sensing weakness – passed directly through the walls and emerged to assault Ranthir. Their spectral limbs plunged through him, and Ranthir felt the living breath and warmth of vitality fleeing from his limbs.

Tor dashed back up the stairs and, half shoving Ranthir out of the way, interposed himself between the staggered mage and the wraiths. But in the process, he, too was struck by their soul-icing touch.

Their tactical control of the situation was rapidly deteriorating. They had been flanked, separated, and badly wounded. But Dominic, having barely ducked away from the wraiths’ assault himself, raised his holy symbol again and called upon the power of his faith.

The wraiths fled. As they turned away, Tor destroyed one of them and Agnarr cut down another.

Two of the wraiths escaped and they cursed their luck, knowing that they would almost certainly be troubled by them again.

But perhaps it was for the best. Several of them could still feel the cold, cloying miasma of the wraiths sapping their strength and vitality. Knowing that, as with Kalerecent, only a more powerful channeling of divine energy could alleviate the pall, they resolved to abandon their current explorations and return to the surface.

Running the Campaign: The Undead Sequel  – Campaign Journal: Session 31A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 30C: The Two Letters

The next morning Tellith gave Tor two letters that had arrived for him during the night. One of them was from Sir Gemmell of the Order of the Dawn.

The other was from Sir Kabel.

“I think I just wasted two hundred gold pieces,” Tor muttered to himself.

We’ve got a couple of things I’d like to highlight here.

First, the setup.

As we discuss in The Art of Pacing, meaningful choices are the beating heart of a roleplaying game, and as a GM you really want to put the spotlight on those choices by strongly framing scenes around them. In this case, Tor had put himself in the middle of the Order of the Dawn, and now the Order of the Dawn was splitting between two leaders: Sir Kabel, who was remaining loyal to Seyrun, and Sir Gemmell, who was loyal to the self-appointed Novarch Rehobath.

The core question, obviously, is: Who is Tor going to support?

I certainly had my suspicions (and you probably do, too) based on the party’s reaction to how Rehobath had handled Dominic. But the party was also technically working for Rehobath at the moment, so there was absolutely nothing simple about the situation. It was pretty muddy and very complicated, actually, which is precisely what made it such an interesting question.

Having the letters from both Kabel and Gemmell arrive at the same time was, of course, a way of slicing through all that complexity: Kabel. Gemmell. Who do you respond to? How do you respond? What’s your choice?

What Tor actually chose to do blew my mind.

But that will have to wait until our next update.

HONOR CHOICE, BUT USE YOUR PREP

The other factor here was Tor’s choice, earlier in this session, to seek out Shim and hire the information broker to deliver a message to Sir Kabel. I hadn’t anticipated this at all, but it was an inspired bit of gameplay.

(It somehow hadn’t occurred to me at all when I decided to reveal that the PCs had hired Shim during their period of memory loss that they would then continue hiring him for various tasks.)

The problem this created for me, however, can be neatly summed up by what Tor says: “I think I just wasted two hundred gold pieces.”

The logical response to Sir Kabel receiving Tor’s letter, after all, was for Sir Kabel to send him a reply telling him how they could meet… which was, of course, the letter I had already prepped and which was scheduled to be delivered shortly thereafter.

Stuff like this can actually happen quite a bit: You know that something is going to happen. Then the PCs do something completely unexpected, but which logically would result in the same thing happening (with perhaps minor differences). This is just a particularly clear-cut example of it.

And, as a GM, it feels a little weird when this happens. The PCs did something unexpected, so… something unexpected should result, right? But instead the exact same thing happens?

… is that railroading?

Well, sometimes, yes. It is. If you’re forcing things to play out according to your prep, that’s negating player choice and that’s railroading.

But sometimes it’s just a weird coincidence: You are, in fact, honoring their choice. There’s just a weird act of judo where their own momentum throws them right back where they started.

When you find yourself in the position of performing this weird judo, one thing you can do is really focus in on how their choice did make a difference and then think about how that could be significant.

For example, in this case Sir Kabel’s letter was literally identical. (I didn’t rewrite the prop.) But there was a key difference: In the “original” continuity (which never actually existed), Sir Kabel made the decision to reach out to Tor without truly knowing where his loyalties might lie. But in the actual continuity, because of what Tor’s player had done, Sir Kabel sent his letter because Tor had reached out to him; had, in fact, taken great risk to make contact.

That’s actually a huge difference! It meant that Sir Kabel would be far more confident of Tor and far more trusting of their alliance. (Assuming that’s how things played out.)

So even in a moment like this — where the prepared prop of the letter made my player say, “I think I just wasted two hundred gold coins” — I was still able to, a little while later, show them that their actions had been meaningful.

Campaign Journal: Session 30D – Running the Campaign: The Undead Sequel
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index