DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 27D: The Maw Opens

Tee read: “The Saint of Chaos shall return and the Banewarrens shall ope their maw. And the name of doom shall be Tavan Zith.”

“What does that mean?” Elestra asked.

“I don’t know,” Tee said. “Let’s ask him.”

She pulled Zith out of her bag of holding. Tor bound him securely. Tee blindfolded him. And Dominic healed him.

As soon as Tavan Zith awoke, however, they all felt a sickening, bursting feeling erupting in their chests. Agnarr instinctively smashed the pommel of his sword into the dark elf’s nose, breaking it and sending him plunging back into unconsciousness.

In a previous Running the Campaign column, at the beginning of Act II, I discussed the fact that I designed the second act to be triggered using two external events — events that originated from outside the domain of the PCs experience and, therefore, could not be anticipated or prevented. (Or, at least, were extremely unlikely to be anticipated or prevented.)

The first of these events was the letter from Shim that arrived in Session 18, informing the PCs that (a) they had hired him during their period of lost memories to find a magical artifact and (b) he’d found it. The second, of course, happens in this session, when Tavan Zith, the Saint of Chaos, appears on the street.

The first trigger is designed to hook the PCs into the Night of Dissolution campaign, which revolves around the cults of chaos and was designed for 4^th to 9^th level characters by Monte Cook.

Similarly, the second trigger leads to the Banewarrens, another campaign created by Monte Cook, this time designed for 6^th to 10^th level characters.

As I’ve described previously, it was my desire to run the Banewarrens that was the primary impetus for the entire campaign. But when I read Night of Dissolution, I was fascinated by it. Which campaign should I run? Could we wrap Banewarrens and then run another Ptolus campaign featuring the Night of Dissolution?

Then I realized that I could just run both of them at the same time!

And although I significantly expanded both of them, these two campaigns remain the primary spine(s) of Act II.

Taking published adventures like this, combining them, and adapting them to the PCs is something I discuss in more detail in The Campaign Stitch. Often when I’m doing work like this, I will be looking for opportunities to create crossovers between the adventures — to tie them together and make them a single, unified whole.

For example, there are a number of factions in Ptolus interested in the Banewarrens and how they can be exploited. It would be perfectly natural for the chaos cults — another powerful faction active in Ptolus — to also become involved in the intrigues around the Banewarrens.

But I actually made a specific decision to NOT do that.

Instead, I used a different technique: The Second Track.

I knew that both the Banewarrens and the Night of Dissolution would be big, complicated conspiracies that the PCs would have to work to unravel. If I fully crossed the streams and truly merged the conspiracies, there was a real risk of the whole thing collapsing under its own Byzantine complexity. It would be hopelessly confusing.

But I knew I didn’t actually have to do that in order to get the same effect! When the PCs first started interacting with the two conspiracies, the players wouldn’t have the information necessary to distinguish them. So, from their perspective, the conspiracies WOULD be merged together, and they’d be utterly overwhelmed.

This meant that:

• I, as the DM, didn’t need to deal with the complexity. (Because I could clearly distinguish between the two conspiracies and wouldn’t’ get confused.)
• Once the players figured out how to distinguish the conspiracies, they would ALSO no longer be confused. The complexity would fall away and the disparate mysteries would cleanly resolve themselves.

That’s the beauty of the Second Track.

With that being said, however, I didn’t want these two halves of the campaign to be completely siloed from each other. That would feel pretty artificial. So I looked for some subtle crossovers (which I knew would also seed the players’ initial confusion between the two threads).

I came up with two.

First, as we saw in Session 20, the PCs discovered the Prophecy of the Saint of Chaos in Pythoness House (a site associated with the chaos cults):

The Saint of Chaos shall return and the Banewarrens shall ope their maw. And the name of doom shall be Tavan Zith.

Tavan Zith wasn’t a big focus point for the chaos cults, but given his unique curse, the idea of him being an avatar of chaos made perfect sense. (And if the PCs did end up tipping Tavan Zith’s arrival to Wuntad or the other chaos cultists, they could easily interpret it as a sign that their time had come and the Night of Dissolution was foreordained.)

Second, I identified the Pactlords of the Quaan as a faction who could potentially intersect with both the chaos cults and the Banewarrens. (We haven’t met them yet, but they’ll be showing up shortly.) The short version is that they were big enough that I could have one wing of the Pactlords tangentially involved with the chaos cults and a completely different set of Pactlords focused on the Banewarrens. Just enough crossover that the PCs would find references to the Pactlords in both places and assume a connection, but distinct enough that they wouldn’t cause the two threads to collide with each other.

This division between Chaos Cults and Banewarrens, I should note, is quite explicit in my own notes: There’s a binder of chaos cult-related adventures and a completely separate binder of Banewarrens-related adventures. A really clear example of how you can have absolute clarity in your own perception of the campaign, while nonetheless miring the players in delightful enigma.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 28A – Running the Campaign: One Job, Multiple Patrons
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 27C: The Saint of Chaos

Now that the half-orc was more of a curiosity than a threat, the crowd that had been scattering in a rapid retreat instead began to draw closer. But just as it seemed as if they had successfully calmed the situation, another man suddenly grabbed at his eyes. Bolts of blue lightning shot out of them, striking several people in the crowd. The thick stench of ozone filled the air. At least a half dozen people collapsed.

Panic erupted once again. In the midst of it, Tee was suddenly struck by the sight of a dark-cloaked man striding boldly down the street and seemingly oblivious to the chaos around him…

Crowds.

In an urban campaign, you find them cropping up all the time:

• on the street
• in a busy market
• at the local tavern
• storming the necromancer’s castle with pitchforks

Handling dozens or hundreds (or thousands) of NPCs individually would, obviously, be a hilariously bad idea. So you generally want to figure out some way of handling the entire crowd as a single entity.

Often, of course, a crowd is just part of the set dressing: You’re in a shopping mall and it’s filled with people. That’s pretty straightforward. At most you’ll want to think about what effect the crowd might have on the actions of the PCs and significant NPCs in the scene. (For example, the PCs might need to make a DC 10 Dexterity (Acrobatics) check to race through a thick crowd; on a failure, the crowd is treated as difficult terrain for them.)

But sometimes the Green Goblin comes swooping in on his glider and starts throwing pumpkin bombs around. Now combat has broken out and the crowd is panicked.

What often seems to happen is that the crowd is described as running and shouting (while having little or no effect on how things play out), and then they completely clear out as quickly as possible to simplify things even more.

But where’s the fun in that?

When I was preparing the riot scene in Session 4 of the campaign, I prepped a full set of rules for handling crowds and mobs in D&D 3^rd Edition. After some refinements from playtesting them, I posted them here on the Alexandrian way back in 2007.

Those rules are useful (with advanced options that help when the crowd is the focal point of the scene), and you could use them as a basic structure for fashioning similar rules in other games:

• What is the effect of moving through a crowd? (A moving crowd?)
• What happens when a crowd panics?
• How can the PCs manipulate crowds?
• What happens when the crowd turns into a mob? (i.e., a crowd that can take focused violent action, whether directed or random)

If you want to keep it simpler, though, I have a few quick rules of thumb for handling crowds.

First, give the crowd some basic characteristics so that it “exists” in the scene. I recommend:

• Making the crowd difficult terrain (or whatever the local equivalent is in your current RPG). As mentioned above, let the PCs make an Acrobatics check as part of movement to ignore this (by deftly weaving through the crowd).
• Having the crowd offer cover to anyone in it.

Design Note: These two factors have a nice balancing effect — the cover encourages a character to move into a crowd; the difficult terrain imposes a cost for doing so.

Second, put the crowd on your initiative list. In D&D, I like putting them at initiative count 10 (so that PCs might go before or after the crowd, depending on their initiative check). This is, if nothing else, a great way to make sure you don’t forget to include the crowd in the scene.

Whenever the crowd’s initiative count comes up, the crowd does something. This might be:

• Just a colorful description (which will help make sure that the crowd is a consistent part of the scene and doesn’t get forgotten about or glossed over).
• A bystander in the crowd being placed in jeopardy.
• A random character needs to make a saving throw or take damage.
• Make a saving throw or get knocked down.
• The crowd moves.

And so forth.

Make sure to have the crowd affect (or potentially affect) both NPCs and PCs.

Third, create a short list of crowd actions. These work like legendary actions in D&D 5^th Edition: The crowd has actions or reactions they take after another character’s action, and they can take X of them per round. (Let’s say three, by default.) The things they can do will be similar:

• Knocking people down
• Interfering with attacks (the jostle the archer’s arm, inflicting disadvantage on the attack roll)
• Making an attack against a character
• Moving

Et cetera.

Keep in mind that the crowd is not a bad guy, so these actions are a choice you’re making as the GM to model the crowd’s behavior. This also means that some crowd actions might actually be detrimental to the crowd. For example, a crowd reaction might be “1d6 bystanders get caught in the crossfire.”

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 27D – Running the Campaign: Trigger & Stitch
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 27B: Sights of Venom

Ranthir used his more powerful spell of clairvoyance to peer into the room… and there, standing in the midst of wrecked furniture and miscellaneous debris, he saw two massive, insectoid creatures.

At the sight, he blanched.

As he watched, one of the creatures reached out with its sharp talon and literally drilled the still-drafting curtain into the wall, pinning it in place.

In our last installment of Running the Campaign, we talked about what happens when the PCs miss clues. That actually continues into this section of the session: The project site (i.e., the apartment building controlled by cultists) had been prepped using status quo design. That meant that everything inside the building was basically held in a state of plausible stasis up until the point that the PCs interacted with it.

Once Ranthir cast his clairvoyance spells, therefore, and peeked inside, that status quo was disrupted and events started playing out. One of those events was the argument between members of the Ebon Hand and the Brotherhood of Venom. My anticipation had been that some very important information would get dropped during this conversation (i.e., clues), but because Ranthir was (a) using a spell which only granted sight, not sound; and (b) he couldn’t read lips worth a damn, most of that information was forever lost.

(Well, until the PCs gained it in a different way. Three Clue Rule and all that.)

As you’ll see in future sessions, the decision here to briefly engage the project site (setting events in motion) and then almost immediately withdrawing (“Let’s get out of here.”) had a significant impact on how subsequent events would play out.

But there was also something else the PCs did here that I didn’t expect:

The apartment building being used by the cultists was one of several similar buildings lining Crossing Street. Since Ranthir would only be able to target two specific locations with his spells, they decided to scout out the other buildings to get a better sense of what the layout might be like inside the cult’s building.

This tactic emerged because I have a giant, 8-foot-long map of Ptolus hanging on my wall during sessions, which meant that the players could see exactly what these buildings looked like:

But such a moment could easily arise in any number of ways. The key point here is that the PCs unexpectedly went into a building I had not anticipated them going into.

Now what?

This, of course, is exactly why so many video games nail the doors shut on all the buildings in town.

IN THIS CASE…

In this case, the players’ proposed reason for going into the building conveniently gave me the solution: They hypothesized that the neighboring apartment buildings, although slightly different in size, would have similar floorplans to the project site. I had floorplans for the project site, so it was relatively easy for me to just use those floorplans as the basis for some quick improvisation.

This exact scenario probably won’t crop up that often for you, but the general principle can be more broadly applied: Grab a floorplan you already have prepped — from the current session or perhaps from a previous session — and use it.

Just like these apartment buildings, the similarity of the buildings can be quite diegetic: The world is filled with structures built to a common floorplan.

MAKE IT UP

Obviously the easiest thing for me to say is, “Just make it up.”

Easy to say and great if it works. But improvisation takes practice and, honestly, no matter how much practice you get, there’ll still be times when you come up dry. That’s what the rest of this article is for.

But before we dive into that stuff, a quick word about making it up: Don’t feel like the whole building needs to spring full-blown from your brow like Athena doing Doric cosplay. You can build it up over time, describing only what the PCs need to know at any given moment. As play proceeds, a sketchy understanding of the building will start filling in with details.

A few thoughts on this:

• The first thing you’re likely to need is the exterior of the building. What’s the first thing that pops into you head when you think of the building? Describe that.
• If it’s a tactical situation, a key thing here will be entrances (do more than one) and windows.
• The second thing is to think about why the PCs are interested in the building: They’ll have probably already told you. (They’re looking for the CEO’s office. Or they’re trying to get to the roof. Or they want to hack the mainframe.) Roughly speaking, where is that stuff? First floor? Basement? Top floor?
• Once they pick an entrance, describe the lobby or front room or kitchen or whatever it is they see when they go through that door.
• Once again, think about where the exits are and start getting a sketchy feeling for where they might lead (with some thought for how they might connect to the PCs’ goals).

And then proceed along those lines.

But it also doesn’t have to be that complicated!

It’s very often true that you don’t actually need a floorplan at all.

For example, if the PCs have come here to meet with the CEO, you don’t need to know the whole building. In fact, you can probably just cut straight to a scene in the CEO’s office.

On the other hand, if you do need a floorplan and you need it right now (it’s a tactical situation, you’re playing with a VTT, etc.), then you can…

GOOGLE IT

Just hit up a search engine and type in whatever building type you’re looking for plus “blueprints” or “floorplans.”

This tends to work most reliably with modern buildings, but adding “fantasy” or “science fiction” to the search can often pull up what you need. (More reliably with the former than the latter.) These days if you add “RPG,” too, you’re likely to get a full-blown battlemap more often than not.

BUILD YOUR STOCK

Instead of scrambling with image searches at the table, you can get ahead of the game by building up a supply of stock floorplans for common locations.

• 4 or 5 different houses
• 2 or 3 warehouses
• 3 or 4 offices buildings
• A shopping mall

That sort of thing.

You can make a big push to assemble this in a marathon prep session, but it’s also something you can slowly build up over time: When you prep an adventure with a house, for example, tuck the floorplan for that house into the accordion folder or computer directory where you’re keeping your generic stock of floorplans. Over time you’ll just sort of accrete what you need.

Either way, you’ll slowly develop a sense of exactly what type of floorplans you’re likely to need, and that knowledge can often transfer from one setting to another. (As can many of the floorplans, in fact. Particularly if they don’t need to be seen by the players.)

RANDOM FLOORPLANS

Another option is to use a random generator to create the floorplan you need on-the-fly.

If you poke around a bit, you can find a number of online generators, like this Random Inn Generator from Inkwell Ideas. Collect these links in your digital notes and you can get something like this with the press of a button:

Personally, I prefer a more generic generator that I can use with just dice-and-paper. You can find the tool I use in my article on Streetcrawling Tools. It provides enough of a scaffold that I can iterate the rest, but is generic enough that I generally only need the one tool. That way I don’t feel overwhelmed hunting for precisely the right tool if my stock of generic floorplans doesn’t have exactly what I’m looking for.

It’s sort of the multitool of, “Oh crap, my players just went into a random building!”

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 27C – Running the Campaign: Playing to the Crowd
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 27A: The Midnight Meeting

“By coming here, you have already joined this Brotherhood,” Dilar continued. “Over the next few weeks you will be contacted. For many of you there will be training. You will be asked to do things. Many of these things will seem simple or even unimportant, but you should never doubt that in even the smallest service you are aiding the Brotherhood and all that we are attempting to accomplish.”

If you’re a long-time reader of the Alexandrian, you’re probably familiar with the Three Clue Rule: In a mystery scenario, for any conclusion that you want the PCs to make, you should include at least three clues.

This redundancy makes mystery scenarios robust, so that they don’t break down during play and leave either you scrabbling frantically, your players frustrated, or both. In my experience, the process of fleshing out a scenario to support the Three Clue Rule also usually results in a more dynamic and interesting scenario.

When I’m prepping a module, therefore, I make it a point to check each revelation and make sure that the Three Clue Rule is being observed. For published adventures, unfortunately, this often isn’t the case, and I’ll need to add clues. Session 27 of In the Shadow of the Spire is a good example of this.

Many of the events detailed in this session — the secret meeting and project site — are from Monte Cook’s Night of Dissolution mini-campaign. A key revelation is, in fact, the location of the project site. From the secret meeting, the published adventure includes one clue pointing to that revelation:

Dilar has a number of papers and notebooks with him. […] Among other things, the papers show the location of the Brothers of Venom’s secret project: an apartment build in Oldtown off Crossing Street. The documents refer to the building only as the “secret project” or the “joint project,” however. (The address can lead them to the Temple of Deep Chaos, found in Chapter 4.) The pages also discuss the cult’s new allies, the Ebon Hand cult, and mention that cult’s leader, Malleck, and their activities involving kidnapping young people and transforming them.

(You can also see here a secondary revelation — the alliance with the Ebon Hand — which is non-essential.)

Seeing this, the first thing I did was prep Dilar’s papers as a physical handout that I could give to the PCs.

You can see that this is not particularly elaborate, being a fairly simplistic example of the lore books technique we’ve discussed previously. The primary goal here is just to let the players “shuffle through the papers,” rather than listening to me narrate them. The map here also neatly correlates to the map of the city hanging on the wall during our sessions, so the players would’ve been able to take this handout over to the map and literally figure out where they needed to go.

As it turned out, however, the players never actually got this handout. Which is why the next thing I did was so essential: Adding additional clues to support the revelation.

To the adventure’s credit, it does discuss multiple paths by which the PCs might come into possession of Dilar’s papers: They might, for example, kill him and loot them. Or they might bloodlessly infiltrate the meeting, take the opportunity to surreptitiously peek at his papers, and then get out without the cult being any the wiser.

But these routes still all go through Dilar’s papers, creating a chokepoint that makes the scenario fragile. You can see that in actual play here: Because of how events played out, only one PC infiltrated the meeting, making the “kill all the cultists and loot their stuff” outcome basically impossible. Tee was also well aware of how vulnerable she was, meaning that she didn’t want to take any risky actions that might expose her (e.g., looking at papers she shouldn’t be looking at). If I’d run the adventure as written, it would have broken here.

What I needed to do was create additional vectors leading from the secret meeting to the project site. (Alternatively, I could have gone for a node-based approach, adding clues to the secret meeting pointing to cult-stuff other than the project site, and then seeded additional clues to the project site in those other nodes.) My thought process went something like this:

• Well… what is the actual purpose of this meeting?
• What if it’s to brief cult members on the project site? That would also explain why Dilar is bringing notes detailing the project site to the meeting.
• We know that this meeting includes new recruits. They’re not going to be fully read in on the project. (Which is convenient logic, because otherwise all of the scenario’s revelations would get frontloaded into this single scene instead of being slowly peeled back by the PCs over the course of their investigation.)
• What would the cult be asking new recruits to do that might be related to the project?
• They could be assigned as external security/lookouts!

This immediately gives me two new clues:

• The PCs can infiltrate the meeting and get briefed on the contents of Dilar’s notes.
• The PCs could question Iltumar about what he learned at the meeting.

And then, by having the cult members taken directly from the meeting to the project site, I can add another clue:

• Following cult members leaving the meeting will lead PCs to the project site.

While this took a little bit of thought, one thing to note here is how little prep was actually required. This is often the case. In my experience, it takes virtually no effort and a truly minuscule amount of time to add basic clues to a scenario. That’s because clues are just indicators. The meat of the scenario — the stuff you’ll spend the bulk of your prep time on — is what the clues point at.

(The most common exception to this is when you design a handout for the clue, like the lore book for Dilar’s notes. But this is usually not, strictly speaking, necessary, and the time you’re investing there is more in the value-add of the cool handout than it is in the clue itself.)

Despite the relative ease of adding these clues, also note how much depth we’ve added to this scenario. For example, the original adventure only told us:

The cultists are here to plan further murders, trade advice on poison use, and engage in perverted sexual acts.

But we now have a much more specific agenda for the meeting. The natural interrogation of the scenario that happens when we think about the vectors required for clues means that we now understand the what and why of the cultists here. So if the PCs were to eavesdrop on the meeting or, as it turned out, infiltrate the meeting, we have a much firmer foundation to stand on for improvising the scene.

As I say, this happens all the time when you apply the Three Clue Rule in your scenario design.

The other thing you’ll discover is that missed clues will no longer be something that you fear. This can feel weird, but it’s incredibly liberating. For example, if this scenario had still depended on Tee looking at Dilar’s notes, I would have felt the need to reassure her that it was OK to sneak a peek. I would have needed to find some direct or indirect way of letting her know that she didn’t really need to be afraid of exposing herself and getting caught.

But because I knew that I’d made the scenario robust, I didn’t need to do that. The result was a vastly better scene, in which the tension of discovery drove the stakes from beginning to end. It would have been a shame if I’d felt a need to deflate that tension in order to prevent the scenario from breaking.

And this is, again, something that happens all the time when you’ve got the Three Clue Rule backstopping you. Missed clues are no longer catastrophes; they are a vital part of the scenario’s flow.

If you haven’t experienced this firsthand, it can feel paradoxical. It might even feel like a violation of the principles of smart prep: You have this prepped content that you’re not using! It’s wasted! But, in practice, missing a clue isn’t a waste — it’s a consequence, a cost, or a choice. And even if you have a clue that is “wasted,” it’s not that big of a deal because, as we noted before, the clues are mostly ephemera. They aren’t the meat of the scenario.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 27B – Running the Campaign: Improvising Floorplans
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 26D: Elestra Digs Deep

Jamill slammed back the last of his amber-colored drink. “Okay, this is your last chance. Who sent you?”

Elestra suddenly became aware that two rather large men with short clubs strapped to their thighs had suddenly materialized out of the crowd behind her. She stammered, unable to find any kind of answer that would satisfy Jamill.

Jamill jerked his head and headed towards the back of the bar. The two thugs laid their hands on Elestra’s arms. She got the message and let them hustle her out through the back door of the tavern.

When you have factions in your game, those factions should react to the actions of the PCs.

But if factions act as if they know every action the PCs take – as if they were omniscient, all-knowing entities with an eavesdropping device planted under the gaming table — that becomes a frustrating experience for the players and stifles their ingenuity.

There are a number of methods you can use for handling this, but I’ve generally gotten good results taking the decision out of my hands and mechanically determining it.

For example, you might have a random faction encounter check, similar to a random encounter check. For example, roll 1d6 once per day and if you roll a 1, some faction is going to take action against the PCs (or, at least, based on what they know about the PCs’ actions). Increase this to a 2 in 6 chance if the PCs have been making a lot of “noise.”

Another option is to mechanically check whether specific PC actions are detected by relevant factions (e.g., the faction they’re taking the action against or a faction that has them under surveillance). You can think of this as a stealth-type resolution, but at a more abstract level (and possibly using different skills).

Note: This is different than a situation where a faction DEFINITELY knows what the PCs are doing. For example, if the PCs break into a Renraku facility and get spotted by surveillance cameras or fight NPCs who escape and can identify them, you can just actively play Renraku’s response.

A key thing I recommend here is that the PCs should be able to influence the outcome of these mechanics, ideally in a way that involves meaningful choices by the players and is more than just an all-or-nothing decision to take or not take the risky action.

For example, the events in this session use the counter-intelligence system I shared here on the Alexandrian back in 2010. (When I originally mentioned them in this article and talked about the gameplay they made possible that otherwise would never have arisen, it was specifically this Ptolus campaign I was talking about.)

The other thing to note about these counter-intelligence mechanics is that they aren’t uni-directional: The players can also use them to figure out if people are asking questions about them.

In the case of this session, the impact on play was pretty straightforward:

• Elestra succeeded on her Gather Information check to gain information about the cult Iltumar was involved with.
• But the cult also succeeded on their counter-intelligence check to detect that Elestra had been asking questions about them, resulting in the ambush at the Onyx Spider.

Elestra really had dug a deep hole for herself here, and I thought it quite likely that the scenario was now going to turn into a rescue op by the other PCs. (Or possibly even somebody finding Elestra’s body in an alley. The decision not to tell anyone else in the group what she was doing was incredibly risky.) But she managed to turn the tables quite nicely.

Taking Jamill back to their rooms, on the other hand, was a potentially disastrous decision from a counter-intelligence standpoint: The bad guys didn’t know who Elestra was, but if they knew where she lived they’d be able to figure it out pretty quick.

Tee recognized the risk and took some very smart actions to blunt the counter-intelligence vectors that had been established. Just dumping Jamill somewhere would have left him free to continue trying to figure out who Elestra was and why she’d been asking questions. Running him out of town under the guise of the cult itself AND planting the idea that Elestra had been “dealt with” even if she decided to stay in town was both a plan and a contingency plan.

The follow-up decision to then use Jamill’s identity to infiltrate the cult itself was also smart play, and would shape how the entire scenario would play out.

NEXT:
Campaign Journal: Session 27A – Running the Campaign: Missing Clues
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index