Leafric found an old book of encrypted text in the planetarium, but was unable to make much sense of it at first. He and a bard with a talent for ciphers spent some time trying to crack it before joining the mountain expedition.

You have had some time to examine the ancient tome you removed from the planetarium. It is written in 20 different hands using iron gall ink, apparently in chronological order: the writing toward the front of the book has eaten clear through the paper, while in the middle it is merely surrounded by a reddish halo. Many blank pages remain.

Inside the front cover of the book is hastily scribbled in Classical Anglic the sentence fragment, "It is among our duties as Keepers of the Pact to preserve knowledge of the World Before in order to..." The rest of the book is gibberish at first glance, suggesting a cipher. Acting on the assumption that the legible fragment is the plain text of the first few words of the first encoded part, you and your bardic friend are able to crack the code used by the author of the first few pages. They read as follows:

( Read more... )

Tags: d&d, gaming, great sea

These were emailed to the players whose characters possessed the tokens that served to bind the signatories of the pact.

To Gytha's player:

Over time, Gytha becomes more comfortable with the token she retrieved from the pedestal in the catacombs. She realizes that she can expel it through the skin of her hand at will, after which it solidifies into a dark-colored block roughly the size of small knife. If held up to the sun in its solid state, it is evident that its color is actually a nearly opaque yellow rather than black. But while it is exterior to her body, she loses her awareness of the strange, distant land and can no longer summon creatures from it. Through concentration she can move the token to other parts of the body, but it always appears in the same shape. If she moves it to the skin of her palm and presses it against a surface, it leaves an yellow imprint of the sign as if stamped.

To the players of Idrial and Leafric:( Read more... )

Tags: d&d, gaming, great sea

Agnes decided to investigate Bram's murder before leaving on the expedition to the mountains, and her player decided she was willing to resort to torture to do so. I sent the following to her. ( Read more... )

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Another bit of intermission fiction for the game.

The disheveled, dwarf-like man enters the chamber almost reverentially, his usual mumbled rambling ceasing as he crosses the threshold. The chamber itself is pitch dark, hewed and inhabited by a race averse to light and color. At its center sits an undecorated stone throne, occupied by a corpse in an advanced stage of decomposition. Its feet, bare phalanges protruding from putrid flesh, rest upon an oblong, coffin-like box as barren of embellishment as the throne. Before it kneels another of the man's kin. While dressed similarly, this one's hair and robe are perfectly well-kept, without so much as a fold out of place. The recent arrival regards him with apparent distaste for a moment before taking a place beside him.

"You return empty-handed, Marduc." The voice originates from a point just above the corpse's head, although its mouth makes no movement. Indeed, its lower jaw has long since fallen to the ground beside the throne.

"I make no apologies, master," says the disheveled one. "The thieves will pay. At your leave I will track them to the ends of the earth and cast them into the void. We will have the seal."

"No. If an heir to Carcosa yet remains who could break the pact and abscond with the seal, he will not stay hidden from us for long. As Abraxas nears, his blood will betray him. More urgent matters demand our attention now. The bog-dwellers have ceased to provide us with the raw materials we require to finish the anchor. Eaki here tells me they have grown so bold as to ambush our traders. Marduc, among the savants you have proven yourself most capable of operating in the sun-cursed world above. Investigate the change in their behavior, and take whatever measures are necessary to ensure adequate supply.

Marduc, grinding his teeth, eventually replies. "Very well, master."

"Good. The lifting of the veil that separated us from the first site has had unforeseen consequences. Remnants of the first anchor and other cromlechs erected for defense are evidently still standing. With the veil gone, they now interfere with the functioning of the new anchor. Eaki, you will journey south to catalog the extant structures and adjust new construction to take them into account. Should Marduc fail me again, decide which ones to salvage. Be wary, for the new anchor is just as likely to interfere with them, causing unexpected effects. You are dismissed.

Eaki smirks as he accepts the charge. Marduc's chagrined grinding only intensifies. They turn to leave, but both are surprised by a sudden noise as something inside the coffin strikes its lid.

"Lilit quickens even as I rot," explains the disembodied voice. "Her home calls to her. We have perhaps four years before she wakes. If our task is not then complete, her wrath will know no bounds."

Tags: d&d, gaming, great sea

I inflicted another vignette of game fiction on my players to warm up for the next session.

The dwarf-like, blue-skinned man stumbles into the chamber and falls, coughing, on his back. Smoke wafts from his smoldering, ragged robes and his beard is a mess of frosty icicles and singed ends. There he lies for several minutes, gasping for breath. He begins to chuckle as the coughing subsides, then breaks into spasms of barking laughter that inhibit his attempts to stand. His frame is wracked with mad guffawing by the time his feet find purchase. But his mirth is short-lived, for he does not see what he expects. Of the five pedestals that dominate the center of the room, four are bare and the fifth supports only a skull carved from a black stone that glitters in the light emitted by a faintly glowing plaque behind it. He stares in silent shock for a moment before desperately running from pedestal to pedestal, clawing at their surfaces and shouting curses.

Finally, he turns on the skull. "You! Tell me who took the royal seal," he demands, his voice dripping with venom. Meeting with no response, he strikes the skull with his scepter. Its steel head rings with the impact, but the skull continues to grin impassively. Mumbling under his breath, he gives the insolent sculpture a final glare before departing. The roar and crackle of magical ice and fire can be heard from the hall.

The chamber returns to its accustomed silence, except for a low moaning. "Oh, my head. That really smarts. Damn it, did I miss something again? It's so easy to lose focus when nothing ever happens."

I should mention that there was a fire trap between the planetarium and the chamber where the parties to the ancient pact placed their tokens. Over the centuries since the treaty was signed, a heat-absorbing brown mold had grown over it.

Tags: d&d, gaming, great sea

The party consists of:

• Agnes, jack of all trades and priestess of Vecna, the once-mortal god of secrets
• Niklos Phanariotes, horseman and prince-in-exile of the distant land of Hellas, where his uncle rules as regent
• Gytha, a sorceress of a strange and secret bloodline
• Idrial, elven scout and ne'er-do-well
• Leafric, rogue and frequent partner in crime of Idrial

Their adventures together began in late autumn when they were reunited with an old friend, Bram, who had learned of a great treasure but was crippled before he could claim it for himself. He swore he'd seen the treasure with his own eyes, but could not explain how because of a curse that caused him to painfully lose a tooth each time he tried. He made a deal with the PCs: he would give them the key and directions, if when they returned they would give him enough of the proceeds to restore his legs. They agreed, and left the next morning for unknown territory.( Cut for length )

The next session, tomorrow, picks up with the members of the party independently applying for work on the largest archaeological expedition to the dwarven ruins in years as the spring melt clears the path.

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Did you know that over 50% of Halloween candy sold has been prayed over by witches?

That's quite a feat. Considering how few witches there are and just how much Halloween candy is sold, they must spend a lot of time running around and praying. They're probably tired and cranky afterward. So give your neighborhood witch a healthy, relaxing snack like an apple the day after Halloween. They deserve it!

Update: I guess some things are too much for even Pat Robertson's broadcasting network. They've removed the linked document. You can still read it in Google's cache.

Well, I'm convinced.

The players in my D&D game are deep in unknown territory, seeking a treasure they heard about from a crippled childhood friend who gave them a talisman of petrified wood inscribed with the monogram of Murdin, a wizard of ancient times, claiming it was the key to great riches.

It appears we won't be able to get together again for at least a month, so I sent the players a brief vignette introducing an NPC the characters may encounter later, and revealing the treasure may not be quite what they expect.

Intermission, in which our heroes are followed
Four men splash through a mire in heavy fog. They are well-outfitted, armed, and wary except for one who looks momentarily distracted by something only he can see. In a moment, he comes to and says, "I have word from the seer. The cripple spoke truth; they had a day's head start on us." He frowns, continuing, "They have already opened the first seal."

"Damn. We might be at the grove by now if it weren't for this fog. I thought the weather would clear with the sun shining so."

They trudge along for a while until the one furthest ahead stops in sudden realization. "Sir, the fog is not of natural orig--!" He is cut off by a confusion of steel and sound. Spinning, lashing blades fill the air, whistling hideously and leaving a red wake in the murk. They vanish as quickly as they appeared, and there is only silence in their passing.

A dwarf-like figure coalesces in the mist. His skin has a bluish tinge, and he wears mud-stained tatters of a robe and a wide hat from under which striking eyes peer: they are pools of milky white, without pupil or iris. Grinning, he leans over one of the corpses and plucks from its neck an amulet of petrified wood. He gazes at Murdin's monogram decorating it and speaks in a chortling, gravelly voice, "What will happen has been foreordained. You will not interfere."

Unfortunately, I realized too late that Blade Barrier is a clerical spell, not normally available to arcane casters. I may have to bend the rules a little. It is good to be DM...

Tags: d&d, gaming, great sea

Learn more about this important holiday.