Campaign journals, reviews of TTRPG stuff, and musings on D&D.
A zine chronicling the Conquering the Barbarian Altanis D&D campaign.
This issue details session thirty-eight and follow-up play-by-post session. Enjoy account of brutal skirmish at the Circle of Stones!
You can download the issue here.
Overlord's Annals zine is available in print as part of the legendary Alarums & Excursions APA, issue 576:
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Charlie Mason, of White Box: Fantasy Medieval Adventure Game fame, has just released a Player's Guide for OSRIC:
This is intended to be a table copy for players. Use it, write in it, spill soda on it and get cheeto fingers on the pages. Then when it falls apart, get another one.
You can get print version, at-cost, from Amazon.
PDF is available for free from here.
Thank you Charlie!
Old School Reference and Index Compilation (OSRIC) is an OGL retroclone of the AD&D 1E. It restates PHB, DMG and MM in a single book, with minor modifications for legal reasons.
Version 2.2 was released in 2013, and is freely available on Lulu and DTRPG. Knights & Knaves Alehouse hosts a thread for tracking and cataloguing latest known errata.
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Every month I get emails and messages about Conquering the Barbarian Altanis campaign; usually comments or requests to clarify what actually happened.
A few months ago I received a question that required some marination:
My question is one for you and your players. Modern sensibilities in gaming frown on beginning player death, and support a myriad of ways to increase survival and heroism. ... I believe hearing from you and especially your players about their characters many deaths would be great data to clear the air regarding the notion that character death is unenjoyable, and that character death does not support long term play and is unwanted by players. I hope you and your crew can address this topic in a posted piece discussing your thoughts and feelings through actual play.
As of session 70, 64 player characters met their end:
| Fate | Count | % |
|---|---|---|
| Dead | 50 | 78% |
| Uncertain | 6 | 9% |
| Retired | 8 | 13% |
| Sum | 64 | 100% |
With the following causes:
| Cause | Count | % |
|---|---|---|
| Monster | 42 | 66% |
| Character | 9 | 14% |
| Trap | 7 | 11% |
| Environment | 4 | 6% |
| Disease | 2 | 3% |
| Sum | 64 | 100% |
Character related reasons are the most common cause for retirement, while monsters and traps were responsible for most deaths. Numbers (in percentages) are quite similar to the character death analysis shared by Lyle Fitzgerald in It's a good day to die (Dragon Magazine #20).
Note 1: detailed causes of characters death can be read here.
Note 2: above numbers do not include retainers. That'd double the numbers of deaths.
We currently have 14 players with 25 active player characters, with three players each controlling three active player characters. Everyone except the most recently joined player lost at least one character.
I run Wilderlands as an open sandbox where players have the ultimate freedom to do as they wish. I never fudge dice. The world is alive—it is shaped and shapes the characters in return.
Moss, 2 dead, 2 retired, 1 uncertain:
Character death being a real possibility (and something that actually happens, and frequently) really instills in me a desire to play smart and pay attention. It makes even the small successes matter and feel rewarding, because I know that it is actually possible for my character to fail.
And the big successes make you feel like you've actually accomplished something as real as if it were in real life. On the other hand, I will say it can be frustrating, and does require some adjustment and patience. But for anyone who does have the patience, and the desire to get good at interacting with the fiction to succeed, it brings a satisfaction that I've never encountered in games where death is either ultra rare, or non-existent.
I'll add this: I believe I might enjoy it more if there was a more frequent risk of various injuries instead of instant death. Though I realize there is such a risk in the Wilderlands, just in my experience it hasn't happened often.
Snoop, 12 dead, 1 retired, 1 uncertain:
Yea, I like dying.
Sleazy_b, 3 dead:
I'm only controlling two characters now, Barad and Derennan. RIP Hist. There have been deaths I've enjoyed and those I haven't. Fairness, and narrative both play a role in my enjoyment of a character's death.
The character's I've played that died are: Hist, Mano Stern, and Ulster. Ulster felt bad. We were surprised and lost initiative and there was a very powerful enemy. Mano Stern died in the same encounter and set himself alight from within a fungal monstrosity which was pretty badass.
Hist was a mix of both. He got poisoned on an attack that dealt 1 HP of damage. He drove off the barbarians with an arrow but had no ability to cure himself. I don't know how I might have played that differently.
Nevertheless, I imagine him leading the band back to Ahyff, sick, dying, but still brave and committed.
Mostly to me it's about expectations. I expect my characters to die quite a bit so it's not the end of the world when they do. To elaborate on this, I think the ease of character creation and the fact that we don't do elaborate backstories helps.
But this is all to say that if Derennan dies I'll cry.
I appreciate that the game is hard. I wish I'd played more BX before getting into it and was a more knowledgeable player but I've learned a lot and enjoyed it a ton.
Idle Doodler, 1 dead, 1 uncertain:
Speaking as presumably the current holder of the Shortest-Lived Character record, I say take the dice. If you ain't going to accept their results, why bother rolling anything? Though nothing wrong with a few phantom rolls to keep players on their toes.
I've enjoyed reading through the session summaries as an account of an adventuring company, rather than as a collection of individuals living their adventuring lives parallel to each other. Old school gameplay is for an ensemble cast, and the best ensemble stories are ones that can survive a rotating cast of characters.
BloodyHand, 10 dead, 3 retired, 2 uncertain:
I thought about the question and this is my answer.
PC death is one of the big allures of OSR gaming. The main reason, I think, is that the threat of death represents a fail-state. Old school games can be lost, and PC death is equal to losing the game. If there is winning and loosing, then D&D becomes far more game-like, with real stakes, rather than the more story focused methods of modern gaming, which essentially cannot be lost, and are mere exercises in amateur dramatics. This gives the player a heightened sense of accomplishment and verisimilitude, which most OSR gamers find enthralling.
There is a fine balance with this though because PC death should always be a risk that is taken relative to some reward, or win-state. This is why procedures are so important because they allow the player to take informed risks. Dying in combat is always a reasonable assumption, so the party of players must take the (hopefully) informed decision whether to engage in combat procedure when it arises. The hydra lair was a perfect example of this, we knew there was a huge pile of gold coins in its lair, so we took the risk of entering, even though we knew from experience it could kill us very easily.
When it comes to fudging die; I think the reasonable time to do this is when there is an arising game state where a PC death is imminent with no-win state, or no way for the PCs to make a choice. In a sense this situation is no more a game than the amateur dramatic kind of D&D I mention earlier. The most common way this emerges in OSR games is via random wilderness encounters. Gygax recommends fudging these in the DMG exactly for the reason, that there is no real victory condition, or a hard won victory is negated for no apparent reason.
Kublaibenzine, 2 dead:
What made me move back to OSR was not only the flexibility and cleanliness of the system but the harshness of character existence. No one likes to see their character bite the dust (unless he had crap stats and shouldn't have been adventuring in the first place) but I object to 5Es mechanism that makes characters almost unkillable. Stupid deaths may be a bit frustrating, but I like the idea of the dice landing as they land. So, when Vincensini got dropped by the Roc from a great height, I was a bit saddened but then looked forwards to the next character and playing experience. As my boardgame buddies like to say, it's about telling a good story in the process!
Snoop later added:
I like character creation cause it’s fast and special roles are fun to roll up.
Never_plays_elves, 3 dead, shared after publication of this article:
I read the article on character death, it was interesting and I agree that PC death is not as closely linked to skill at it seems. I mean that it is not connected so much to personal skill but to party skill.
If the party makes the wrong decisions (by vote or caller decision) or some PC manage to turn powerful factions against the party everybody will suffer and sometimes the ones who die are not the PCs of the player who made the wrong decisions. Sometimes the ones causing the problem are the ones who flee first. It also can encourage passive play. “I stay out of trouble, follow along and get a share while risking less while other PCs die.”
How to stop this: PCs (not players) could try to resolve these issues. You know try to get them beyond the “my character would do that.” Such attitudes are passable for less risky narrative focus games not for OSR or classic play. Also rules that foster comradeship and bravery (not recklessness) instead of individualistic play can help.
BTW these are not reflections based on my experience in this campaign; that is a general problem.
Also PC death and campaign continuity. Yes that can be a problem. If players get stuck at 1–3 level forever you cannot really move on to the good stuff. I don't say take them by hand but that is where AD&D can help. AD&D PCs are less flimsy for exactly this reason. Also AD&D play is less based on strict procedure implementation. It allows the DM to be more flexible with random results.
That is why you need the DMG. It shows you both the procedures and where you need to deviate from these procedures and how to do it, for the good of the campaign, not for the fun of the players (like in newer editions).
On the other hand even BX parties who are united and fight systematically as a military unit can survive a lot (my Dwimmermount experience, I never had a PC die in there although he did lose some beloved henchmen). I have been in deadlier campaigns than yours btw... A unique setting with interesting locations, NPCs and rewards can do much to keep the players coming even if it is deadly.
As a Judge I root for my players.
There is a lot of advice in Dragon Magazine to fudge the dice when character death feels unfair. And we had several of those. Even though I felt sad with my players, I did not alter the results anyway. I like seeing them win, but I prefer not to alter “the reality” to make them win. In my mind that would be akin to cheating them out of their victory. My grandpa always crushed me at chess. Each of my victories felt so good, because I knew I earned them.
One would expect number of deaths to correlate with player skill, but I haven't been seeing that. The most reliable predictor has been the number of sessions played. Play long enough and you will die. Makes sense... From what I can see at the moment, player skill becomes a better predictor once character hits levels four and above. That too makes sense, since that is the time they are resilient enough not to day from a single slap from an unfortunate roll.
Finally, I must draw attention to the selection bias. Above data also includes numbers from players who joined for a session or two, lost their character, and then left the game. Since they left they couldn't respond to the question posed by the reader. Did they leave because they hated their character dying? Something else? Who knows. Are current players playing because they are masochists? No, I don't think so.
After 70 sessions I can't say that frequent character death impedes long-term campaign play. As long as someone lives they'll be able to recruit more adventurers and continue their career. Hydra Company survived its many members—it fled Antil and lives on in Hara. At the same time, would we have a better game or more fun if less characters died? Who knows. What I do know though is that those who live to see high levels will damn well have deserved it!
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| Character | Class | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Derennan | Dwarf level 3 | A dwarf hailing from Western Wastes. |
| Barad the Bald | Magic-User level 1 | Bald, beardless, chinless, and lazy-eyed. |
| Tamren | Cleric level 3 | Stoic paladin of Coriptis, the Goddess of Battle and Inamorata of Berserkers. Aventail hides all but his two piercing blue eyes. |
| Hagar the Hewer | Dwarf level 1 | Imagine Conan as dwarf. |
| Nolmbork | Dwarf level 1 | Portly, bald, red bearded, with an epic nose. On a mission to have a drink in every settlement in Wilderlands. |
“You know what? We should go back to the den and finish what we started. Look we even have a paladin with us now! And Derennan is no joke either!”
On top of that Barad, Zarifa's Toy-Boy, also disclosed a marvellous discovery he had—a wand he recovered many months ago turned out to be a potent weapon. It was in fact a Wand of Paralysation, with a conical effect.
The quintet prepared for expedition and set out at once. They reached the familiar tree by next day's afternoon.
One of the dwarves moved the broad plank concealing the shaft leading into the den. As he did so everyone could hear loud tumbling sounds of rocks and debris falling down the shaft; as if something was lodged right underneath the plank.
Caring little for making noise—after all they are here to stop a drug ring—the party headed down. Bell-shaped entry chamber was as they left it. Filled with animal carcasses, small bones, a dead elf, and a spider husk.
Two doors to the left, two doors to the right, and an archway straight up ahead. Doors to their immediate right were chosen. A little bit of listening, a little bit of prodding, and a corridor unveiled itself.
Remembering a pit trap from their last delve, the party proceeded whilst carefully tapping the floor.
“Stop! I hear something!”
One of the dwarves picked up on giggling sounds behind the doors they just came through. Alas, everybody heard the next thing—the sound of doors being swung open.
And then Barad felt getting shot in the gut. He fell down to the ground and blacked out. Three dwarves and a paladin charged into the darkness. A mass of small brownish creatures armed with short swords and light crossbows cried and fell back into the bell shaped chamber.
Party gave chase, only to find themselves surrounded from all directions. From now on it was a bloody free-for-all. Wherever they swung something died. In return they got stabbed and shot at and insulted relentlessly.
“Look at that big-nosed dwarf! I'll have his beard!” Nolmbork could pick up between heaves and screams and sounds of metal clashing. It was dirty Goblin language. And they were dirty little goblins. And there was lot of them.
And then a torch-bearer dropped the torch.
Little did the darkness help the goblinoid bunch, for the adventurers kept swinging wildly; back to back. Nolmbork unleashed a fierce warcry, sending a bunch of small critters fleeing for their lives.
Adventurers' respite did not last even a minute. The doors they cam through and then came back from swung open once more!
“Drop your weapons or we slit his throat.” a large humanoid with leathery skin and oversized pig-face spoke in broken Dwarven as he held up unconscious Barad. There were at least six more like it, and they were well armed. Surviving goblins rallied and picked up their weapons once more.
Nolmbork The Quick-Witted explained that all of this is merely a misunderstanding and that they are here to buy some Red Dragon. That landed well with orcs.
“How much is it?”
“How much do you have?”
“A hundred and something gold coins...”
“That will do it.”
Orc dropped Barad unceremoniously, turned around and left.
“Now, which one of you was interested in my beard?”
Remaining goblins did not cry for long.
Tamren hung his head in shame. He bought his life! Instead of earning the right to live in battle! Coriptis would never even look at him; let alone sleep with him! Now he was nothing but a disgrace looking for redemption!
“Uh, are these orcs coming back? For how long do we wait?”
They got out and headed straight back to Hara.
“What did you do to my handsome sage!”
Zarifa Pilter, usually ice cold and reserved, fumed at Barad's beaten-up, bloodied, and battered state.
“You imbeciles! Don't you know that blunt force trauma renders one stupider?! Of course you don't, you bunch of stone-cutters! Oh my lovely sage, what have they done to you?”
The rest retreated to their comfortable townhouse where they rested, recovered, and licked their wounds.
Barad received the finest treatment at the Pleasure Palace. There he also received an offer of employment. Eight hundred gold coins a month to become Pilter family chief sage. A vizier perhaps! The only condition? He would never be allowed to adventure. Ever again!
It is unknown how he weaselled himself out of this deal, but what is know is that he snuck out in time to join the next expedition to the den.
Winter is here. Days are shorter.
This time removing the plank caused no unusual sounds.
Bell shaped chamber was as before. Well, mostly. Five mutilated goblin corpses were hanging from the ceiling.
“Let's head left”.
A thirty foot long corridor leading to a t-shaped junction. Left again, into a four-way intersection. A door to their right, corridors in other directions. Left corridor turned left into a dead-end. Right corridor led to stuck doors behind which nothing could be heard.
Up ahead, thirty feet further, the corridor terminated in another t-shaped junction. Stuck doors at the end of both passageways. The right ones stank of shit.
“Let's head back...”
Backtracking to the first t-junction they encountered, the party turned left and followed the long corridor until they reached another doors.
Loud grunts and noises could be heard from behind.
“Brace yourselves...”
Hagar the Mighty smashed the doors open.
Four pig-headed creatures, with dumbfounded expressions on what is an insult to call face, sat around the table playing dice. Dim-lantern rested in the middle of the table. Left and right side of the chamber were lined with straw-mats on which more of the creatures were sleeping. Another doors were straight ahead.
“Charge!”
The party spilled in, breaking into right and left wing, leaving Barad alone in the center. Magic-User pointed his wand, yelled some incomprehensible words, and sitting orcs froze still. Sleeping orcs were slain before they had a chance to react. Paralysed orcs wept as they were inefficiently hacked to death.
Hagar the Curious opened north doors, “just to check it out.”
First he was hit a strong whiff of rancid alcohol that made his eyes watery. Then he realised what were the shapes in front of him. A dozen or more half-naked orcs singing, yelling, and wrestling. On north wall was a bas-relief of large war-hammer. By it was a dressed orc wielding hammer and yelling whilst holding his arms spread out.
Unsure what to do, Hagar whacked the closest orc that stumbled towards him. Alas, the monster fell and wedged the doors open.
“The wand! The wand!”
Illustration by kickmaniac
Dwarf rolled to the side as Barad unleashed his super weapon once more. Everything, including the imposing hammer-orc froze in place. Everything but a dozen orcs that didn't. Drunk, they stumbled and fell over each other, looking for weapons to fight with.
Barad's triumph lasted ten seconds. An intoxicated orc rushed out and speared him right through heart. Zarifa's lover fell dead.
Derennan, Tamren, Nolmbork, and Hagar formed a gauntlet around the bottleneck. They hacked and smashed and skewered orcs like pigs for slaughter. Drunken horde flailed and fell over each other, and then clashed against open doors as a sea of flesh, yelling & roaring. Too many to fit through, one after another they fell under the mighty adventurers. Except Tamren; disgraced paladin was missing. A lot.
A minute later they stood victorious on a carpet of corpses. Nineteen of them. And Barad. Somewhere at the bottom of the pile. Paralysed monsters were promptly executed—sans the shamanistic figure.
As they moved into the chamber, they could see what was an obvious party scene: wine spilled all over the ground, food trampled in chaos, and two dead goblins pinned to the west wall with daggers and darts sticking out of them. Several small barrels, wine or some other dark red liquid, and three sacks of flax seed were the only obvious “valuables.”
“Gag the shaman, frisk the corpses, take Barad, and let's get out of here!”
The party recovered 97 gold coins, one small lapis lazuli, one small piece of obsidian, one black onyx, one small ruby, one jeweled scabbard of fine make (possibly elven), and one magic-user corpse.
Enroute to Hara the party had been accosted by patrol heading to Violentague. Patrol was taken aback by their shabby prospect and were very disinterest in their affairs.
The party reached Hara on noon of Coldrain 6th, Airday.
“Quick, to the temple with Barad! Before Zarifa finds out!”
As if they could afford Mavis the Magnificent, High Priestess of Poseidon, whom said no to the mightiest men of Hara and paid the price for it!
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| Character | Class | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Hagar the Hewer | Dwarf level 1 | Imagine Conan as dwarf. |
| Nolmbork | Dwarf level 1 | Portly, bald, red bearded, with an epic nose. On a mission to have a drink in every settlement in Wilderlands. |
| Celeborn of Revelshire | Elf level 1 | Hails from a distant community led by an Ent. Also potentially the ugliest elf you've ever met. |
| Oberon | Fighter level 3 | A tall, supple hunter adorned with bones and horns of his prey. |
“Surely there is something for us to do...”
B-team left behind in Hara was hard at work collecting intelligence, seeking new opportunities, and taking care of their newly acquired townhouse.
Myrna Blaxter offered one such opportunity to Flamthwynn and Barad the Bald. Hara's alchemist—queen's good friend if rumours are to be trusted—is concerned that Red Dragon is back on the streets of Hara. It is a highly addictive paste that leads to a zombie-like existence after sustained use.
The name comes from eye-wateringly hot belch that follows each consumption. A decade or so ago, Myrna was a member of an adventuring party that executed the brewers of Red Dragon, destroyed the recipe, and demolished their den.
She offered 800 gp worth of gems, as well as her friendship, if the party would check the old drug den for any trails.
Another opportunity came in a form of a distressed man knocking on the doors of their new home. The man sought Norwood Bode, previous owner. Hagar the Hewer and Derennan greeted him and learned that he wants to sell information about Klekless Racoba's whereabouts. You know, the notorious wizard whom had to flee Hara because of our brave adventurers and whom currently has a large bounty on his head (3 000 gp by Imrael to bring his head, 3 000 pp by Namelin to bring him alive). The man asked for mere 847 gp for this information.
Finally, Tamren dreamt the following, vivid as reality itself:
A circle of large stones atop a dark hill; a circle that runs in circles and circles; a black hole in the ground, broken round stone slab next to it; a seal of something that should be sealed; a spiral staircase covered with roots and bones and dust going deep, deep, deep; a dark hole, a blue mist, an army of many legged and many armed horrors; a pulse that makes you sick a pulse that makes you angry; a site where Paladin of Coriptis could find his glory—in life or death.
“You know what? Checking that den out could be some easy money. And it's just days walk away. Can't be that bad, right?”
Hagar assembled an A-team of Oberon, Nolmbork, Celeborn of Revelshire, and, of course, himself.
“There!”
Indeed, there stood a large tree fitting Myrna's description. It didn't take a lot of searching to find a poorly concealed entrance next to it. Broken branches, an assortment of bushes and random detritus covered a solid wooden plank, which in turn covered a ten feet wide hole. A shaft led deep into the ground dropping fifty feet straight down. Old, rusty rungs were spaced along the shaft to allow persons to descend deeper into the earth. Some of the roots of the old tree have found their way into the shaft, making the descent difficult at times, and causing those lowering themselves down to be blinded to the room below.
The quartet descended, with Nolmbork leading the way.
Soon enough they entered into an oddly shaped chamber. There were doors the their left as well as right, and an expanse up ahead. The air was a mix of dampness and rot. Small animal carcasses littered the floor.
“Oh, my.”
Oberon's torch illuminated a rotting elven corpse impaled on a spear in the center of the chamber. Behind it were two more doors as well as an archway leading into a corridor.
Listening at the doors revealed very little. The corpse was in bad shape. Eyes, teeth, and tongue were missing.
“Watch out!” Nolmbork spotted a large spider dropping from above on unsuspecting Oberon. Luckily the fighter was agile enough to avoid the insect's bite. He squashed it without breaking a sweat. Then he pulled out the spear from the elven corpse, letting the latter slump down to the ground.
“Pssst, I heard something!”
Sounds of something hard hitting something soft could be heard from behind north-east doors. The quarter huddled up and opened the doors.
A corridor up ahead as well as to the right.
“Let's check it out quietly.”
Not even five steps in the party was rewarded with arrows to their faces. Celeborn took two hits, nearly dying in the process. He took out his sword and charged on into the darkness. Others followed.
They soon clashed against three pig-faced humanoids.
Celeborn ran into one holding a bow, took a swing, missed awkwardly, and then dropped his weapon. Hagar followed him, but was checked by an unexpected monster to his right. Pig-faced one was promptly turned into flat-faced one; dead on the floor.
Nolmbork challenged the biggest looking one, preventing him for chasing after wounded Celeborn. Brief but brutal skirmish ensued. The elf recovered a weapon from downed monster—which he recognised to be one an orc or similar breed. As he did so he overheard the other two discuss which one of them will get to eat elven ears.
Outnumber two-to-one, two remaining orcs had no chance. Celeborn cut down one in a single strike while others beat the other into retreat. Celeborn gave chase and stabbed it into its back as it tried to open the doors into the chamber whence the party cometh from.
“Let's frisk them!”
Two shortbows, 16 arrows, one spear, one solid wooden shield with metal rim, and eight gold coins.
“Aaaa!”
Celeborn just caught glimpse of Oberon falling through the floor in the corridor to the right of the doors.
Oberon rolled and tumbled until he hit a patch of cold soil.
“Huh...”
“Time to take out that ten foot pole!”
Hagar commanded everyone to stand behind as he taps the floor.
Nothing.
Nothing.
“Aaaa!”
Hagar's pole might have not been enough to get the trapdoor to open, but his heavy frame sure was.
He too tumbled down, nearly falling on Oberon's head.
Both found themselves in a very small area, barely five by five feet. The chute they fell through was at an angle they'd find impossible to scale without proper equipment. To their right were iron rungs leading some twenty feet above, terminating with a trapdoor.
“Listen, I have an idea!”
Nolmbork and Celeborn came up with ingenious plan. They tied orc corpse to the door handle on the opposite side, closed the doors, tied on the handle on this side, and then placed it on the trapdoor. Nolmbork the Engineer figured out the mechanism and how to keep it open!
Then they threw down excess rope. Nolmbork slowly descended, holding rope in one hand and torch in another. This was definitely a chute leading down, at an almost 60 degree angle. The fall was at least 50 feet long, if not longer.
“I am at the end...”
The dwarf gingerly sat down and then he let go of the rope, sliding down on his bum. Celeborn followed.
The duo found thyself in a very small area, barely five by five feet. To their right were iron rungs leading some twenty feet above, terminating with a trapdoor. Oberon and Hagar were nowhere to be seen.
“Uh, I might be too heavy!”
Nolmbork worried as one of the rungs squeaked under him. Hence he got rid of everything but essentials. Celeborn waited before climbing.
“I hear fighting sounds!” Nolmbork forced the trapdoors open, bursting into a chamber some twenty by thirty feet. There he found the other duo victoriously standing atop a pile of bones.
“Four dog skeletons and two bird skeletons animated when we entered. As you can see we successfully deanimated them.”
This chamber was full of doors as well. One to the west, one to the south, and one to east. But it was not doors that occupying Oberon's attention. No. It was a chest by north wall. Big iron padlock made it only more attractive. So attractive he took out his little axe and hacked it to pieces. The chest, not axe.
Inside was a rectangle of solid silver, roughly palm-sized. Its lightness suggested it might be hollow, but it had no hinges, nor any opening of any kind. Hagar inspected it closer. Ha! There was a hairline thin seam running around the whole circumference of the rectangle. But what for? Who knows; Hagar threw it into his backpack.
South door led into a short corridor, leading to locked doors, which Hagar battered down without even blinking thrice. Another twenty by thirty chamber, with a door on each wall. A ten feet wide fountain dominated the center. A small, winged cherub, spewing water from its mouth, was perched atop an evil looking gargoyle.
The moment Hagar stepped into the room, the water stopped flowing from the chubby cherub. Then the gargoyle and cherub rotated to face Hagar. Dwarf heard the following:
You take up thy knife And slice off my head Then you stand o’er me And weep that I’m dead
“Ooook?” dwarf stepped in and to the side. Upon entry, both Celeborn and Nolmbork heard the same cryptic message. The stone duo faced Nolmbork since he stood between other two characters. The elf separated to check on the east doors. Hagar took out his pole once more, and prodded the fountain statues.
The cherub sprayed both dwarves with viscous oil. And then gargoyle breathed fire upon them. The duo quickly rolled out of the chamber, while Oberon beat on them with a blanket. Celeborn hurried out of the room as well.
Backtracking into the chamber with hacked chest, the quarter went through west doors, eventually finding their way to the corridor with pit trap. They jumped over and then got the hell out of this place.
“There were no drugs here?”
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These are may reading notes of various Dragon Magazine articles. Learn more about the collection here.
Author: John Setzer Issue: Dragon Magazine #184 Rating: ★★☆☆☆
Trust is vital to the Judge-Player relationship. John offers six ways to build it:
The advice isn't bad (although there is a fair bit of player pampering with fudging rolls and avoiding enticing them to do stupid shit by asking variants of are you sure) but is so verbose. Three pages (less when you remove ads and an illustration that takes 2/3 of the first page) is too long. Hence two stars.
Author: Tom Armstrong Issue: Dragon Magazine #106 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆
A confused article. First half is an attempt to generalise anecdotal data and fit it into some kind of progression model. Tom argues that Judges go through the following three stages:
Above doesn't resonate with me at all. Following that we get two long example of how Tom mishandled his games. He does share a following important titbit for all Judges:
I hadn't thought to ask the players what kind of campaign they wanted. ... Dungeon Masters should try working with their players instead of for or against them; players have good ideas, too.
Playing Dungeons & Dragons is a cooperative affair. Yes, it is very important to be giving feedback to each other throughout the game. That's how we make it better, together.
Another article that could've been two paragraphs.
Author: Lew Pulsipher Issue: Dragon Magazine #75 Rating: ★★★★★
Now we are talking! Lew runs games! His first-hand, lived experience drips from every paragraph. And he packs a lot in this article; twenty points on being a good Judge!
First we get ten point about Judging procedures:
And then we get ten points on Judging style guidelines:
Great article every Judge should read; even if you disagree with some of the points. I'll include it in the final Judge Advice collection.
Author: Mike Beeman Issue: Dragon Magazine #80 Rating: ★★★★☆
Mike argues that every good campaign has the following five elements:
Good article. One star removed for shit, contradictory advice on giving player characters “a focal point for their life.” Players should do that. The article will be included in the final collection.
Author: David F. Godwin Issue: Dragon Magazine #99 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆
By Gygax, this article is a torture! Eight pages of three column dense text on how David managed to consistently fuck-up his games and what he did about that! +5 items abound, nigh invulnerable characters doing whatever they want, and what not!
Let me sum up his advice in the following list:
Now, seeing most of the above you might wonder why only one star? First minus: pro-fudging. Second minus: discouraging troupe play. Infinite minus: EIGHT PAGES OF DENSE THREE COLUMN TEXT TO COMMUNICATE ALL OF IT. IT WAS ENDLESS. ENDLESS.
I hope David runs better games today.
Author: Joel E. Roosa Issue: Dragon Magazine #111 Rating: ★★☆☆☆
Joel offers eight yes/no questions to evaluate if a campaign is out of control:
Total score ranges from -4 (pitiful campaign!) to +4 (_excellent campaign!). Scoring 0 or below indicates that a campaign might be out of control and that some fixing might be overdue.
Since you know where you scored low, you theoretically know what you should look into first. Joel, wisely and helpfully, states that prevention is easier than cure. Obviously, if you scored roll, that means your prevention sucks and you should nuke the whole game.
Then he goes on to offer some advice on how to relieve player characters of excessive goods you've provided them: steal it back, swindle it back, back-fix it, tax it, sacrifice it, or use it. When it comes to abusing retainers, hirelings, and so on, remember that they are people too. If abused too much they'll start talking and player characters' reputation will suffer.
Joel believes that it is less work to bring an existing campaign under control than it is to begin a new one from ground up.
Final verdict? Although I like Joel's take on balance (it's relative and depends on the setting and game system you are playing) and his small assessment instrument, the article didn't really jump out to me. The latter is of lesser usefulness than one might think because it is focused solely on player character power. That might've been a big issue back in the day, but nowadays it seems the opposite is much, much bigger problem.
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| Character | Class | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Ert | Fighter level 1 | Lean and dexterous fighter with disheveled hair and wincing eyes. |
| Algon | Thief level 1 | Handsome and friendly heartthrob; shifty at heart. |
| Hist | Fighter level 1 | Young, overeager, and clean-shaven. Muscles practically bursting out of his armor. |
| Tarkus the Promising | Cleric level 1 | Follower of Bachontoi, God of Red Wisdom. |
| Rashomon | Elf level 2 | A dangerous looking elf. |
| Llyfed | Elf level 3 | Thin and balding elf whom also happens to be Rashomon's friend. |
| Brent Goose | Cleric level 5 | An eccentric, but charismatic, cleric seeking the Holy Bird. White robes and black cloak conceal his tall, frail and anemic frame. His eagle-like nose is exposed for all to see. |
“Move! Quick, get into the temple!” Algon yelled at Briaron and acolytes standing guard outside.
A winged, large, black serpentine creature was incoming at great speed. Its horrible shrill could be heard for miles, waking Ert, Hist, Rashomon, Llyfed, and Dorn whom had been trying to rest during the day.
Two acolytes stood frozen; Algon, Briaron, and two others ran into the temple just as the black dragon flew over them.
House crew barred the shutters and closed the doors. Algon fled into the heart of the temple, where exhausted Camus sat on the floor. Brent Goose sat next to him, while Tarkus the Promising jumped up and ran to check where other two acolytes were.
Three clerics—Camus, Brent, and Tarkus—spent the whole day conducting a ceremonial ritual to close the Sinkhole of Chaos; a wound in the very fabric of reality festering in the heart of the temple. It should be no surprise that such endeavourment requires great effort; so much so that it left the clerics completely drained.
Tarkus ran into the chamber where one of the temple entrances was. then through the secret passageway connecting it to the other one, and then up to the stone slab acting as heavy doors. He pushed but it was so heavy!
Man of Law he is, he summoned all the strength he had left and pushed once more. As the doors opened he inhaled strong acidic smell burning his nose hairs. One of the acolytes laid on the floor, his flesh a bubbly, melted mess. Bones were exposed here an there. The man was still whizzing; his death was one of pure agony until his very last moment.
Illustration by kickmaniac
Unwilling to retreat just yet, Tarkus pushed his head out, looking for the other acolyte as well. This one was to the left; same horrible fate as the other one. The cleric let the doors slam shut. Then he ran back into the central chamber.
And what a sight had he encountered there! Algon “I'm hiding in darkness. What?” in a little alcove; Camus with a rejected facial expression sitting on the ground; Brent “I'm too weak to do anything” Goose; and others just standing there.
Tarkus the Motivational Speaker got the surviving two acolytes to join him. They ran back to the temple exit and dragged heavy stone bench in front of the doors. Then they went to other temple exit and prepared an ambush. If they go down, they'll do so on fighting terms!
Eons passed as everyone waited.
High-pitched shrill would remind them what they are waiting for.
Waiting they kept.
And then temple shook.
And then it shook again, and loud, breaking noises echoed throughout Ghinarian Hills.
And temple shook once more; and horrible scream followed.
And then temple shook for the last time as something broke into the entrance barred by Tarkus.
Algon, whom had came out of the hiding during on of the tremors, suddenly saw a flash of daylight to his right. A then a black, slithering, scaly mass filled the corridor.
There are no words that can sufficiently convey how quickly did these adventurers run out of that temple.
Standing at the edge of the cliff they could see Ert, Hist, Rashomon, Llyfed, and Dorn running out of the stone building to join them.
Tarkus and acolytes were helping Camus walk.
Algon decided to take the shortcut by scaling 40 feet down the escarpment. Still sweaty from the stress and panic, he slipped, lost footing, and fell. A wet, crunchy splash was heard by all.
Hist felt excruciating pain with every step; like his arm was melting. Ert on the other hand, felt certain weakness in his body. Adrenaline pushed them both onwards.
At this moment the party on the temple plateau learned what was the source of tremors.
A sixty feet tall eagle idol of Shang Ta had been toppled down. Its large body laid broken on the staircase: its head smashed to pieces. Wings were nowhere to be seen.
Night was about to fall any moment now.
Standing at the low plateau, they party discussed their options.
“Monsters here have a pattern. They attack us and then they leave. Maybe this one will leave too?”
“We are all wounded, exhausted, and now also without supplies. We should head back and live to fight another day.”
Tarkus and Ert decided to remain here and monitor the temple.
The rest lit up their torches and started their descent towards Ahyf. After few hours of march they found the safest spot and made a cold camp. They'd wait for Tarkus and Ert until sunrise.
⁂
The duo never came.
“Son, I cleaned your wound as much as I could. We have to get you to Ahyf as soon as possible. My notes and herbs and salves are there. I'll be able to help you there.”
Camus knew the situation was worse than that. Necrosis was already setting in. But he did not want to break Hist's spirit. Perhaps he misunderstood the young man, whom had stoically endured everything so far.
They descended from Ghinarian Hills on the morning of Maggotfeast 10th. A patrol from Ahyf accosted them. Camus was missing for more than a week and they were worried the man had fallen. No, they were not happy to learn two of their own died atop the hill.
Hist was rushed into Ahyf. His options were grim: wait next day until Camus had sufficient rest and prays for divine guidance or have surgery right now or decide how he wants to die.
“I will wait.”
On the dawn of Maggotfeast 11th Camus prayed to Thoth for divine strength to heal this young man dedicated to the cause of Law.
He laid his hands on the mans black wound.
He said all the right words.
He did all the right moves.
The scarring was gone.
But decay and rot was still destroying Hist from inside.
“Do what you have to do.”
“Can he operate with a mace?” someone less versed in surgical matters was heard.
Camus did his best.
It was not good enough.
Hist passed away due to great bloody loss following the amputation of his arm.
⁂
“How much longer shall we wait?”
“It's night, do you think we'd see it leave?”
The duo decided to retreat back to Ahyf as well.
They travelled without torches and with very little moonlight.
They too decided to cold-camp.
Much to their surprise, once the sun came up they were not where they expected to be.
Luckily for them, they could spot the temple summit a mile or so away from them.
Tarkus noticed Ert was shivering.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I'm hot... I'm burning...”
The duo hiked back to the temple; they reasoned they could find the trail leading to Ahyf there. Otherwise they'd risk weeks of meandering around the hills. Given they had no food nor water, that was a rather a risky option.
With great effort, little luck, and much hardship they party descended Ghinarian hills at the end of Maggotfeast 11th. Too hungry, thirsty, and exhausted to force march during the night, they decided to sleep and go on in the morning.
Sun woke only one of them.
Tarkus buried his friend and then dragged himself to Ahyf.
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Jennel Jaquays needs help due to sudden medical complication: https://www.gofundme.com/f/jennell-jaquays-has-a-long-road-back
Jaquays is a well known RPG author whose work includes brilliant modules like Caverns of Thracia, Dark Tower, Griffin Mountain, and many others.
Even $10 helps.
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Last year I collected 143 most recommended Dragon articles into a reading list. Given the size, I divided them into three collections: Player Advice, Judge Advice, and Setting Advice.
Now I'll begin reading the second collection, Judge Advice, with the intention of noting anything interesting and worthwhile. I plan to share my notes as I go, since others might benefit from them.
Here is the table of contents for the Judge Advice collection:
More on each in the coming months.
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| Character | Class | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Ert | Fighter level 1 | Lean and dexterous fighter with disheveled hair and wincing eyes. |
| Algon | Thief level 1 | Handsome and friendly heartthrob; shifty at heart. |
| Brent Goose | Cleric level 5 | An eccentric, but charismatic, cleric seeking the Holy Bird. White robes and black cloak conceal his tall, frail and anemic frame. His eagle-like nose is exposed for all to see. |
| Hist | Fighter level 1 | Young, overeager, and clean-shaven. Muscles practically bursting out of his armor. |
| Rashomon | Elf level 2 | A dangerous looking elf. |
| Llyfed | Elf level 3 | Thin and balding elf whom also happens to be Rashomon's friend. |
| Tarkus the Promising | Cleric level 1 | Follower of Bachontoi, God of Red Wisdom. |
“Our enemies cannot see in the dark.” Hist perched and continued “We need not fear the night!”
“Whoever they are, they also had a whole day to prepare” Ert the Pessimist sighed heavily “and a good night sleep!”
“Might makes right. Shang Ta will bless our swordarms when it finally comes time.” Hist continued, unperturbed. His heart and mind were set on cleansing the fallen temple of Shang-Ta—even if it'd spell ruin to him.
And ruin did it spell already; for Hist's grasp of reality wasn't as it once used to be.
“Hail, friends! We come to help!”
Brent Goose, Algon and his retainer Briaron, and newly recruited Tarkus the Promising, arrived to reinforce the party just before the nightfall.
“I needed just one good gig to turn my luck around... how did I end up in this situation? Ah yes, too much alcohol and stupid dice, I'm sure that bastard was cheating... but here I am with but a few gold pieces to my name...” Ert lamented in his mind as he sharpened his sword.
A crude tripwire he set up earlier—some string and a pot full of copper coins—should awake them in case anyone tries to sneak up the stairs.
“We need to agree on guard duty schedule.”
“Everyone is already exhausted.”
“No fire; we sleep cold again.”
“Perhaps elves should take double shifts? They can spot anyone approaching us in the dark.”
Henceforth, the party had decided that Rashomon and Hist would take the first night watch; Rashomon and Ert second night watch; and Llyfed and Tarkus the last night watch.
Fourteen of them crammed into the stone house resting on the plateau just north of the temple. They closed and barred both of the shutters to the north west. Rashomon sat by the sole window looking to the south-east, scanning the environment for any heat signatures. Hist, and later Ert and Tarkus, has the door guard duty. Meaning they were standing just by them in case anything tries to come in.
The sister moons were shy tonight. Howla was completely obscured, while Vannis showed only her right half. It was poised to be a dark night.
“Hist, something is happening!”
Some time during his second night watch Rashomon observed patches of soil changing colour! Soon some thirty by thirty foot area became warm, pulsating. From it three bulbous masses appeared.
The elf fired an arrow into the darkness. He heard that familiar twang when an arrow hits something hard and bounces off.
“Brace yourself!”
Unwilling to take any risks, Rashomon did the right moves paired with the right words, and two of the three skittering bulbs were stopped in their tracks. The third one burst through the doors.
Now, although there were no lit light-sources in the house, Ert could still see a round black mass, roughly up to his knees. It rammed him, hugging his left left. And then it thrust something log and sharp into the warrior's leg!
Ert could feel the blood sucked out of him.
By now other adventurers slowly began to wake up.
Tarkus the Promising lit up a torch, both to offer light, but also to use it against whatever is assaulting them.
Illustrated by kickmaniac
“It's them, again!”
A giant, deformed tick was hanging from Ert's left thigh. Its hard shell was covered in purplish-spots. And its proboscis was deep into the fighter's leg.
CRASH!
“Huh, what, eh?!”
Algon and Briaron had a rude awakening as another large insect crashed through the barred window.
By now everyone was awake.
Brent Goose kept sending thoughts and prayers as he held torch in the north-east corner of the room.
The rest fought in cramped conditions, ultimately repealing the invading insects. Six of them in total. Hist slayed three, Dorn slayed one but suffered a prick himself, Algon and Briaron crushed one as well, and the remaining two were executed in their magically induced slumber.
“I want to circle the house!” Tarkus announced as he held up the torch outside. Rashomon joined him, while Llyfed went the opposite direction.
Just as he had joined the cleric, Rashomon immediately felt something was off. And then an arrow stuck him in his back.
“Fall back, fall back!”
The trio ran back into the house, and party closed the doors and all the windows shut. It was a stone house—no one could smoke them out!
And then they waited, poised to crush whomever is dumb enough to storm the front doors.
And waited.
And waited.
“Damn, they are just taking pot shots at us...”
“Just like the last night...”
“Brent, can you help with the healing? You know many divine prayers.”
“Sorry, it's bit complicated between Kadrim and me at the moment.”
“OK...”
All but those with guard duty tried to catch few more hours of sleep.
Sun came too soon. Everyone was still red eyed, sore, and hardly well rested at all.
“I'll spend the morning in meditation. I need to center my mind before I return to that horrid place.” Camus shared wearily “Buy me some hours and I'll be ready.”
At this moment all but Hist decided to sleep through morning until noon.
Hist sat on an improvised stool and stood guard by the window looking at the summit where the temple ominously loomed over all. A perennial, dominating reminder of horrors he had witnessed last time he was here. Horrors so horrific and horrible no one believes him.
He'd see a large, rotting bull pace around from time to time. By now he had convinced himself it was all an illusion. What else might it be? They haven't seen a single animal in a three-mile radius, and suddenly there'd be an undead bull trotting around? Come on, let's get real. Illusion. Illusion it is.
Wait. What is that? No... Who is that?
A large, blood-skinned man walked through the bull. He was high up, on the edge of the temple itself. He held a longbow as large as himself in his right arm.
The man grinned, pointed his finger at Hist, and mouthed YOUR HEART IS MINE. And then he fired an arrow. It lodged deep into Hist's shoulder.
The fighter shoot back, missing. Then he yelled, and soon all hell broke loose.
“Damn, what is this, a wagon station?! Have you no manners?!” Brent protested to yet another rude awakening.
Tarkus ran up to Hist, and started shooting at the large man with his sling. Llyfed opened the doors wide open, only to be shot at by another red-skinned man. Algon went through the back window, sneaked around the house, and then hit the other man from afar.
The giant with longbow laughed heartily as he was first stuck with a pebble, then an arrow. He stopped laughing as he got an arrow to torso.
Two barbarians turned around and fled.
The party charged out of the house, giving chase. Alas! Great majority of them was in chain or plate mail, and they had to run all the way around the mountain top before they could reach the stairs leading to the temple.
Ert was slightly disappointed to find his trap disassembled and enriched with relatively fresh turd.
Blood spots on the stairs confirmed that the barbarians were here moments ago.
“They are naked and fast. We can't catch-up with them.”
“They might be leading us into ambush anyway.”
“Let's cleanse the temple and get out of here.”
Rashomon, Llyfed, Dorn, Ert, and Hist decided to spend rest of the day resting in the stone house. Hist's wound was burning. It felt like his flesh was melting away.
Camus, joined by Brent Goose and Tarkus the Promising, went back into the temple. Yes, to the accursed spot where several weeks ago party fought a bull-shaped flesh golem. There they went to close the gaping wound; a festering wound; a Sinkhole of Chaos.
Camus commanded his four acolytes to guard temple entrances. Algon and Briaron spent their time sorting through all the debris, trinkets, and coins threw out from the temple just a day before.
They found 726 silver pieces, a vial with chunky green liquid, a rolled up scroll, and a wand-like object.
Camus focused his blessings on the heart of the temple. Even disgraced Brent was of help, as was Tarkus. All three of them could feel the temple rumbling and shaking and throbbing and roaring and screaming. Except that it wasn't the temple. It was the Sinkhole resisting.
A high-pitched shriek disturbed Algon.
He looked up, to the north.
A sleek, black, serpentine figure with large wings was flying southward with incredible speed.
“I have a feeling this one will be hard to avoid” he thought out loud.
But there was no room for such wishful thinking.
The beast was coming straight for Algon.
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