The RPG Corner

[Solo GPC] 526: A Squire's Life

2012-01-27T13:17:00.000-08:00

For this first installment in the new phase of the campaign, I decided to cheat a little bit. There's a little introductory scenario that comes in the back of the Pendragon core rulebook; I think everyone who's played Pendragon is familiar with it. I've run it before (although not for Des) and she's run it for me (twice, in fact!). Yet, because the GPC starts out (way back in 485) with a different intro scenario, the adventure had so far not featured in this particular campaign. I felt this was a shame, as it's such an iconic Pendragon experience. I asked Des if she'd mind playing through the adventure since she'd only experienced it from a GM's perspective. She had no problem with this, and so we faded in on the Vale of the White Horse on a breezy early summer morn...

The arms of Baron Uffington

With the coming of the thaw, Arthur had summoned his knights to Portchester to assemble for the coming invasion. Sir Lamorak and a band of compatriots had seized Barfleur in a daring raid the year before, opening up a bridgehead for the main force to land. Nearly every able-bodied knight in the realm had answered Arthur's summons, anxious for glory and conquest. This included the lord of the Vale, Sir Malcolum, Baron of Uffington and father of Salisbury's Countess Katherine. He had departed a month ago, taking his elder squire with him. Loholt, newly squired, was left behind in the care of Sir Asser, called the Knight of the Old Ways. Also in residence at the manor was the page Gondrins, son of Earl Robert and Countess Katherine.

Gondrins, despite his youth, had a tendency to throw his privilege around and Loholt found it much easier to avoid the lad than deal with his irritating personality. He preferred to spend his days, after completing his morning training and afternoon chores, out riding the sweeping plains of the Vale on his trusty charger, White Star. The Knight of the Old Ways largely left him to it, sometimes even joining him on a ride; his approach to training was unorthodox but effective.

It was on one such afternoon ride with Sir Asser (and his hound Bucephalus) in tow that the old knight suggested a trip out to Uffington Castle. Despite its grand name, the "castle" was little more than an ancient man-made mound surrounded by a ring of ramparts and ditches. However, the wide flat top of the mound, several acres across, made for ideal training grounds. It was here that Loholt practiced his tilting; Sir Asser had erected two tilting targets on the windswept fort and many a day had been spent aiming a lance at the wooden foes.

Loholt readily agreed to the old knight's challenge and they galloped off, the chalky outline of the Vale's eponymous horse looking down on them from the nearby heights.

"Right," said Asser as they trotted up onto the summit of the Castle's mound. "Let's see you take a few passes at the target."

He indicated a wooden plate attached to a long post. The plate bore many dents from previous passes, and Loholt added a few more as he warmed up, galloping past the target and striking it with his lance. He recalled how, just a couple years ago, he could barely manage the task on foot with a half-size lance - striking a target precisely with a wobbling 10-foot spear took great skill and practice, even without doing it from the back of a trotting steed.

Reigning White Star about, Loholt nodded to Sir Asser, who was reclining on the grass, playing lazily with Bucephalus.

"Go at it, then," said Asser, his weathered face cracking into a grin.

Loholt turned his steed to face the other target, the quintain. This devilish device worked like the simpler wooden target but with a twist. Mounted on a swivel with the target on one side, from the other side hung a small stone on a rope, positioned perfectly to swing around and whack a passing squire upside the head if he didn't hit the target at the perfect speed and angle. This infernal machine always gave Loholt trouble, and he was determined to best it no matter how many hits to the skull he had to take in the process.

Feeling like today was his lucky day, he squared himself up with the quintain and put spurs to horse. White Star, rearing slightly, took off, hurtling Loholt and his bouncing lance towards the target. Loholt gritted his teeth, felt the lance connect, and then - WHAM! The stone pummeled him across the neck. The force of the blow knocked him off his horse and he landed hard on the packed earth. He could hear Sir Asser laughing heartily over the whipping wind.

"It's alright lad, you'll best it one day," said Asser, picking himself up and dusting leaves of dead grass off his tunic and hose. "That wasn't too bad, truth be told. Just a glancing blow this time, right?"

Ruefully rubbing his sore neck, Loholt nodded and tried to smile.

"Ah, don't feel so bad. Come, let's race back to the mansion!" With that, Sir Asser hopped up on his horse, Bucephalus barking excitedly at his feet.

A race! Just the thing to clear Loholt's head! Excitedly, he jumped into his saddle as well - and promptly fell off the other side. Landing hard again, he laid in the grass, staring up at wispy clouds blowing across the milky sky. Asser's laughter rang out once again.

"Oh son, perhaps the rock hit you harder than it seemed! Still, best be back on your horse because I'm off!" And with that the old knight galloped away down the castle's ramp. Quickly, Loholt leapt back to his feet and remounted White Star. "Go!" he commanded, and the charger was off, swift as the wind.

Sir Asser had a decent head start, but Loholt was hot on his tail. Slowly the distance began to close. Loholt could make out Bucephalus, keeping pace with the galloping horse and barking excitedly. Suddenly, the dog dodged between the horse's galloping hooves, causing the steed to pull up sharply. Sir Asser went flying with a bevy of curses, landing in a dusty heap on the open plain. Loholt quickly caught up; he could've kept going and won the race, but he decided to check on the old knight instead.

He found Sir Asser, groaning and winded, slowly picking himself up, unleashing a string of curses vile enough to strip the paint off the frescoes of Salisbury Cathedral. Bucephalus sat nearby, wagging his tail and panting happily. Sir Asser chucked a rock at the dog, but it went well wide of the mark.

"Well, come on then - is this a race or not?" Asser asked as he remounted his horse. And with that they were back to galloping through the vale, passing over pasture and field, leaping stone walls and weaving through orchards, until at last the stone edifice of Uffington manor hove into view. Asser, the more experienced horseman, had gradually pulled ahead of Loholt and by the time the young squire thundered through the gates of the manor's courtyard the old knight was down off his charger and leading it to the water trough.

"Well run," said Asser as Loholt brought White Star over for a drink. It was a rare compliment and took some of the sting out of the loss. "Now go and see if Gondrins needs any help in the kitchens."

Loholt slouched off to the scullery, sulking.

As evening closed in and Loholt was finishing his supper of bread and cheese, a group of peasants came into the great hall to petition Sir Asser for help.

"Please, m'lord. It's a bear in the west acres, great and terrible! It's taken to eating man-flesh!"

"What? Bollocks. I've never heard of such a beast," said Sir Asser, visibly annoyed.

"We speak the truth, sir," said another peasant, nervously crushing his cap in his weathered hands. "We're afeared to venture into the fields. It dragged off old Tom t'other day when he was out in the far pasture."

The other peasants hung their heads in sadness, but Sir Asser merely smirked. "Looking for an excuse to get out of your tallage work, eh? Very well. I'm too old to go chasing after bears, but I'll send young Loholt here to look into the matter of this supposed man-eater."

Loholt's head jerked up, his mouth half full of bread. "Me?" he asked thickly.

"Faringdon is a half-day's ride from here," said Sir Asser, ignoring the squire's surprise. "Do you wish to ride out now or wait til morning?"

"Morning, I think," said Loholt, eyeing the purple sky through the window of the hall.

"Very well," said Sir Asser. "Set out at first light. Wear your hunting leathers in case you run into any trouble. Once you arrive in Faringdon, seek out the local priest. It's still Old Garr, isn't that right?" The peasants nodded.

So the next morning Loholt set off for the west acres, down in the Thames River valley. He rode under threatening grey clouds scudding across a brilliantly blue sky and, around noon, came to the village of Faringdon. A church, the only stone structure in the town, stood at its center. Leaving his two horses outside, he headed in. There he found a fat old priest, stretched out on a bench near the alter, eating sweet meats and sucking his fingers with great relish.

"Hello?" said Loholt tentatively.

"Eh? Who are you?" The priest got laboriously to his feet and plastered his last wisps of hair to his scalp with greasy fingers.

"I am Loholt, sent by Sir Asser at the behest of - "

"Ah yes. Yes, yes. A squire by the look of you. That old coot Asser must not have thought much of our petition."

"No, I dare say he didn't," agreed Loholt. "But I'm here to do what I can. Are you Old Garr?"

"That's what they call me," muttered the priest. "Very well, I suppose you'll have to do. Give me a moment to fetch my ass and we'll see if we can't find this beast."

"What? Now?" Loholt asked, a little alarmed.

"You'd prefer to wait til All Saint's Day?" Old Garr asked with a croaky laugh. "Yes, now! What did you come all the way out here for?"

Loholt waited for Old Garr outside the church, trying to ignore a gaggle of children standing nearby and pulling faces at him. Presently the priest appeared, mounted on the back of a mule. At his side strode a young boy with three hounds straining at their leashes, pulling him along.

"I know a bit of the ways of the creatures of the forest," said Garr, a gleam in his eye. "I can help you pick up the spoor."

The group set out along a track leading out of Faringdon. It wound through fields, then pastures, and finally came to wild woods that grew along the path of the Thames, girding the river in a wide belt of green. They entered the woods and left the trail, picking their way carefully through tall elms, the dogs sniffing eagerly among the thick, loamy mulch of the forest floor.

The day began to grow long; twice, the trail was picked up then lost again, first thanks to a stream, then due to thick undergrowth preventing good progress. Finally, just as it was beginning to grow dark, Loholt spotted something; motioning to Old Garr, he pointed it out.

"That's it! And fresh, too. The beast can't be far away - release the hounds!"

The dogs took off in a cacophony of baying, Loholt and White Star hot on their heels. He found the bear, rearing up on hind legs, the dogs snapping and barking ferociously. It was black as midnight and nearly as tall as he, mounted though he was. With a yell to match the bear's angry bellows, he charged forward, driving his spear into the beast's chest. Such was the force of the blow that the bear was sent tumbling backwards, ass over claws. The dogs rushed in at once and began to harry it and it quickly regained its footing and scooted away into the woods.

"Go, White Star!" Loholt leapt his horse over a fallen log and chased after his quarry, the dogs coursing around him. Against the roots of a great oak tree, the bear pulled up short and reared again. Loholt charged in once more, his spear blade flashing. He connected twice, but neither was a telling blow, the sharpness of the blade being turned aside by the thick hide of the bear. Then it happened: with a great roar and a flash of tooth and claw, the bear lurched into Loholt. He felt his leather armor torn asunder, felt himself falling from the saddle, heard the barking of the dogs and the roar of the bear...

...Loholt's eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his back, but he wasn't in the woods anymore. Golden sunlight was streaming in through three arched windows and wooden beams overhead supported a peaked roof. Looking around, he realized he was lying on a cot in the corner of the Faringdon church. His mouth was swollen with thirst and his whole body ached; a dull flame of pain traced across his chest with the slightest movement.

Then a door opened and Sir Asser himself entered the church. He actually smiled when he saw Loholt, revealing a row of crooked teeth. "Boy!" he exclaimed.

"What happened?" Loholt croaked. Sir Asser did not answer right away but proceeded over to the altar and poured a goblet-full of the Eucharist wine, then brought it over to Loholt. "Drink," he commanded.

As the watered wine slaked Loholt's thirst, he listened to Sir Asser's tale. Apparently the squire had been unconscious for a week, left at death's door by the bear's attack - only his hunting leathers had prevented his untimely demise. [The bear scored a Critical and knocked Loholt down to a single Hit Point!] The dogs had chased the bear away and Old Garr, who had been doing his best to keep up, found Loholt shortly after that. He took the squire back to town, bound his wounds, and sent word to Uffington. Sir Asser had come at once; the following day, they had ventured back into the woods and killed the bear, which had been severely weakened by Loholt's spear blows.

"I'm sorry I sent you, lad," said Asser, his wrinkled face creased all the moreso with worry. "I'm just not the man I used to be. I wanted to stay here until you got better, but now I must return to Uffington to see to the manor's affairs. You are to remain here until you've healed enough for travel. Do you understand?"

Loholt nodded, too weak to speak.

It took three months before Loholt felt back to full health. In that time he got to know Old Garr well. Like most village priests, he was illiterate, having only memorized relevant passages in the Bible to "read" at sermons. He loved hunting and gossip, however, and he kept Loholt well entertained with tales of past hunts, both successful and disastrous, as well as rumors from the war overseas.

"Arthur's army set out two months ago, in July," Garr reported. "The only news I've gotten has come from peddlers and mercenaries who have been to the Continent. Some say that Lamorak and his men conquered half of France before Arthur got there. Others tell me that our army is trapped in Barfleur, under siege by King Clovis. Whatever the case may be, and personally I don't believe either story in its entirety although both may hold grains of truth, it would appear we're spending this year fighting the French instead of the Romans!"

As September faded into October, Loholt at last made ready to return home. Thanking Old Garr profusely, he mounted his rouncey and, leading White Star by a trail of rope, rode out of Faringdon. Like his ride in, the skies were again full of threatening clouds and this time even a few raindrops fell, smacking the dirt trail between two vast fields, recently shorn of their harvest. As he rode, Loholt noticed a commotion at the edge of one of these fields. A scrawny milk cow was mooing in dismay as several men seemed to be fighting over it. Then he heard one of the men shouting and it was a cry for help. Securing his spear, Loholt trotted forwards.

"Help, please! They're trying to take my cow!" The cries came from an aged peasant; the three men around him looked like rough customers, perhaps of Saxon extraction. They had clearly been living wild for some time. One was holding the cow by its ear while the other two beat the old man with cudgels. Dropping his trail and arming his shield, Loholt charged into their midst.

Two of the bandits fled screaming, but the third turned from the farmer and tried to knock Loholt out of his saddle with a well-aimed blow of the cudgel. Despite connecting solidly, the squire's shield absorbed the full force of the blow, numbing Loholt's arm. He in turn stabbed down with his spear, opening a bloody tear in the bandit's chest. At this, the thug threw down his club and surrendered.

With the farmer's profuse words of thanks ringing in his ears, Loholt continued his journey, the bandit following behind, hands bound and tied to a lead. As the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Loholt rode to the gates of Uffington manor. He noted that a banner hung above the gate, the yellow and blue stripes of the Earl's court. A guest was paying Uffington a visit, clearly.

Within the hall, he found Sir Jaradan, legendary swordsman and Marshall of the County, dining at the table with his wife, Lady Gwiona, and their daughter. He knew of the young damsel Orlande by reputation - she was said to be the most beautiful lady in the county. He could now see that these rumors were flat-out wrong: she was easily the most beautiful lady in the whole realm! Loholt stood, frozen in the door of the hall, his mouth slightly ajar, unable to tear his eyes from the vision of loveliness seated at the table. Orlande. In one swift moment, she became his heart and his world. He smiled at her and was delighted when she deigned to smile back!

"Ah, our squire has returned!" said Sir Asser. His voice seemed to be coming from very far away.

"Hm? Oh. Yes," said Loholt, shaking his head, blinking rapidly, as he tore his gaze from Orlande and remembered his manners. "I have brought a prisoner, m'lord."

"What's this?" asked Asser, standing.

Loholt, inspired by Orlande's presence, gave a thrilling account of his defeat of the bandits and his adventure with the bear. Sir Jaradan looked on approvingly.

"Perhaps we have the makings of my heir to the title of Marshall?" he asked, a wry smile tracing his wrinkled face. "You have done your grandfather proud. And your father." He gave Loholt a meaningful look and the squire felt his face flush crimson.

"I was only doing my duty, sir," he said.

"Well keep it up and you'll be a knight before your eighteenth summer," said Jaradan, raising a goblet in toast. Loholt smiled in spite of himself.

The arms of the Lady Orlande

[Okay, two things about this adventure: it's usually pretty much of a cake walk with a group of knights, but I failed to take into account this would be getting run for a single character, and a squire to boot. So it turned out to be WAY tougher than we were expecting; Loholt nearly snuffed it before his career even got under way! This nicely echoes Herringdale's first adventure, in which he too was nearly killed. Like Herringdale, Loholt lost a point of APP from his Major Wound and picked up a wicked-cool facial scar.

Second, the Amor he generated for Orlande. When you generate a new Amor or Love passion, you roll 3d6 and add a variety of modifiers based on the target's APP, holdings, whether you successfully flirted, etc. Orldande's got APP and holdings in spades plus Loholt made his Flirting roll, so the modifiers really stacked up, and then Des rolled something like a 16 on her dice. So the Amor started in the low 30s. I'm pretty sure it says somewhere in the rulebook that the modifiers should be capped (at +10, perhaps?) but I'm ignoring that. Solo games are deadly enough as it is, and I don't see a problem with the scion of a legendary king possessing a legendary passion. We are heading into the Romance Period, after all!]

[Solo GPC] Loholt, Squire of the White Horse

2012-01-27T08:40:00.000-08:00

We're a couple sessions into the new year of Pendragon gaming with Des's new character, Loholt. As mentioned before, with Meleri's premature retirement we decided to roll with the changes and bring in Arthur's illegitimate son (via Meleri) while he's still a squire. The first two years of Loholt's squireship have been full of fun teenage drama and unexpected twists and he's well on the path to knighthood. Here are his stats (after two years of play) at the beginning of what will hopefully prove an illustrious career befitting the son of a king and queen!

Loholt
Personal Data
Age: 16
Son Number: 1
Homeland: Carlion
Culture: Roman
Religion: Roman Christian
Liege Lord: Earl Robert of Salisbury
Current Class: Squire
Current Home: Uffington

Statistics
SIZ 12
DEX 16
STR 10
CON 12
APP 15

Damage 4d6
Healing Rate 3
Move Rate 2
Distinctive Features: Red Hair; Piercing Gaze
Hit Points 24
Unconscious 6

Family Characteristic: Keen on Status

Personality Traits
Chaste/Lustful 17/3; Energetic/Lazy 10/10; Forgiving/Vengeful 14/6; Generous/Selfish 10/10; Honest/Deceitful 8/12; Just/Arbitrary 10/10; Merciful/Cruel 15/5; Modest/Proud 12/8; Pious/Worldly 8/12; Prudent/Reckless 10/10; Temperate/Indulgent 14/6; Trusting/Suspicious 8/12; Valorous/Cowardly 16/4

Chivalry Bonus: NO
Religion Bonus: NO

Passions
Loyalty (Lord) 11
Love (Family) 10
Hospitality 5
Honor 18
Hate (Pellinore's Murderer) 8
Amor (Orlande) 36

Skills: Awareness (7); Chirurgery (5); Dancing (2); Faerie Lore (1); Falconry (2); Flirting (3); Gaming (2); Heraldry (7); Hunting (5); Law (14); Orate (8); Play: Harp (1); Read: Latin (4); Recognize (2); Religion: Roman Christian (2); Romance (4); Singing (1); Stewardship (2); Swimming (2); Tourney (2)

Combat Skills: Battle (7); Siege (5); Horsemanship (12); Sword (5); Lance (9); Spear (2); Dagger (5)

Equipment: Chainmail armor (10 points); Shield (6 points); Sword; Spear (5); Charger (White Star); Rouncey (2); Sumpter; Arm Ring of Chastity

Since Loholt spent the majority of his childhood in residence at Carlion with Meleri, Des decided he identified more with the culture of that city (Roman) than of his "homeland" Salisbury (Cymric). Romans are much more court-oriented (their special skill of Law encompasses Courtesy, Intrigue, and Folk Lore), but this is well-timed as we're gearing up to head into the Romance period. And speaking of Romance - check out that Amor passion! The love story will begin to unfold with the first session update (Year 526), so you'll just have to wait for the details. Also of note in Loholt's passions are his abysmally low Hospitality (I guess he's got a lot to learn about being a proper host) and his lack of the family Hate (Saxons) passion - he's trying to move past old prejudices in this new world. Loholt's family gift turned out to be an Arm Ring of Chastity; perhaps it was given him by King Alain so Loholt might avoid some of the pitfalls of lust that tripped up his mother and grandfather?

Pardon Me While I Geek the Eff Out

2012-01-26T09:01:00.000-08:00

I've written before of my deep and abiding love for the Lone Wolf gamebooks and the game world presented therein, Magnamund. Aside from my natural nostalgic inclinations, the setting itself is a damn fine example of Silver Age fantasy world-building and one my longest-held unrealized gaming goals is to run a campaign set in Magnamund simply because I think it'd be a great place to adventure. All other elements aside, the books are still a good read, even a quarter-century later, and I return to them for linguistic and aesthetic inspiration at least once every couple years.

As a result, I try to stay plugged in with the Lone Wolf fan community online, perusing message boards and so forth. On my latest trawl a couple months ago, I learned of a new project being undertaken by Lone Wolf author Joe Dever in partnership with an Italian fantasy illustrator, Francesco Mattioli: a poster-sized map of the world of Magnamund!

To say I was excited by this news would be an understatement, but when I received the actual map in the mail yesterday I went into full-on geek mode. I'm not normally one to fan-boy out, but this thing had me "squeeing" as if Joss Whedon himself had come down from on high, killed George Lucas, and appointed all 11 Doctors as new rulers of the world.

The map comes folded in a sturdy slip case with an absolutely gorgeous cover illustration.

It's a full-size poster map; the colors are rich and the paper is glossy and of heavy stock.

This is called "the definitive map of Magnamund," and I can well believe it - every island is named, every landmark noted, every settlement shown.

So this is when I absolutely turned into a drooling Fanboy Spawn; a personally-inscribed signature from Joe Dever himself! My inner 10-year-old's head exploded with joy.

The signature aside, what I really love about this map is how it absolutely nails the visual aesthetic of the gamebooks. The last 10 years have seen the world of Lone Wolf getting a lot of support from Mongoose Publishing (the original books being re-released, two RPGs being put out), but my reaction has been decidedly mixed and this has been founded largely on the art direction of the Mongoose books. No matter what artist they used, they seemed completely, almost willfully, incapable of doing anything but make Magnamund look like Generic Fantasy World #815 (and some of those artists were absolutely terrible on a technical level to boot, only adding insult to the injury). What Mattioli has done with this map is demonstrate that there are still people out there who understand part of the appeal (a big part) of Magnamund lies in the visual aesthetic developed by Gary Chalk and Brian Williams. Seeing Magnamund transformed into some kind of WETA Workshop reject was an ongoing source of quiet distress for me, and I'm simply overjoyed to finally see a product that recalls the past glories of the game books. Here's to way more where that came from!

[Solo GPC] A Winter Interlude

2012-01-17T11:31:00.000-08:00

Photo by Antony Spencer

This is an account of what turned out to be Meleri's last session as a full-time PC. I had an adventure prepared for this year as usual, but what turned out happening was an all-roleplaying session that took the form of a conversation between Meleri and Morgan over the winter of 525-26. If you recall, we left off with Meleri journeying to the castle of Morgan le Fay as the rest of the country prepared to go to war with the Roman Empire. Morgan had made an intriguing offer, luring Meleri away from Sarum where she was to spend the duration of the war in the company of her rival, Countess Katherine.

"I can offer you all you desire," said Morgan, a twinkle in her eye. "Lamorak can at last be yours, wholly and unreservedly."

"How?" Meleri asked, uncertain.

"I shall make you Queen of Norgales," said Morgan. "Pellinore is dead. His land has no ruler. As Queen you will rule over Lamorak and he will serve you. You cannot rely on your beauty alone to keep him; it will not hold forever. Even now I see lines gather like crow's feet about your eyes.

"You will never be old in the eyes of those who love you. And if they refuse to love you, I can teach you the subtle arts of persuasion that will make them your slaves. Come with me to my hall; you are better than the provincial dolts who people this court. Spend the winter as my guest and think over the offer."

And so the pros and cons were weighed. Morgan had dangled Lamorak before Meleri (how Morgan knew of their affair, Meleri did not know - but she was not surprised at the knowledge). Regardless, Meleri was skeptical that her being made queen would bring Lamorak to her. In fact, if she knew the chivalrous knight at all, she felt that he would see her differently once she became his liege lord.

On the other hand, there was the promise of power, and that was considerable. The power of a queen. The power of an enchantress. The power to never age, to never lose her looks or her influence.

What of Ontzlake? What of him? He was down in Portchester, preparing to embark for the Continent, not knowing when he'd return - or if. He had been a good husband to her, but she had never felt any particularly strong ties to him...

And so it was decided. Meleri would take up Morgan's offer and become Queen of Norgales and learn the sorcerous arts.

And with that, Meleri entered the realm of NPCs. There are no canonical rules for magic in Fifth Edition, and with good reason. I've run Pendragon with magician characters before, and it really does change the tone, tenor, and focus of the game before. On top of that, once a character achieves a certain level of temporal power (and ruling a country would certainly qualify in this regard), the rules recommend retirement. Again, I've run campaigns with characters at the level of Earls and Duchesses, and I much prefer lower power scales.

So we're going really low for our next chapter in the unfolding saga. The year 526 just happens to be the year that Meleri's eldest son Loholt, who has been serving as a page at the court of the Baron of Uffington, becomes a squire. And so we're shifting back to the world of knights and starting at the earliest possible age. The next full update will be the first installment in the life of Loholt the Squire and his teenage misadventures in a land emptied of knights gone off to war. It should be fun to see how he fares, and as with Meleri's adventures it gives us an opportunity to explore another of the less-ventured corners of the setting.

As for Meleri, she will make cameo appearances from time to time, I'm sure. There might even be occasion for Des to run her once or twice. The price she owes to Morgan for her boon will also become apparent over time. But for now the focus shifts onto a young squire in the Vale of the White Horse...

How I'm Rolling My Three-Sided Dice From Now On

2012-01-12T21:38:00.000-08:00

I'm listening to the Bradford Players' actual play podcast of Tatters of the King right now and I just picked up the coolest little trick for rolling a d3:

Roll your d6. If it comes up a 1, 2, or 3, take the face value. If it comes up a 4, 5, or 6, take the obverse value. So a 6 would read as a 1, a 5 as a 2, and a 4 as a 3.

I don't know why this appeals to me so much, other than the fact that I remember being fascinated as a youngster when I discovered the obverse values of a die always tallied to 7. This is also a great trick for the math impaired who don't enjoy taking a couple seconds to confirm that, yes, 2.5 rounds to 3 or what have you. (I've known a few of these folks in my time at the gaming table.)

This trick may be as old as the hills, but it's the first I've ever heard of it. Of course the system only works if you have standard dice; I have a vintage d6 in my collection, for instance, that does not have the regular obverse values. So be sure to double-check those dice before trying out this system!

The Solo GPC: Two Years On

2012-01-01T22:24:00.000-08:00

Two years ago today, inspired by ChicagoWiz's late, lamented blog posts about solo D&D sessions with his wife, I outlined my own ambitious plans to tackle the Great Pendragon Campaign with my wife as solo PC. Although 2011 saw a less packed schedule than 2010, the grand old campaign is still rolling along. This year saw the death of Des's first character, Sir Herringdale, after an epic 30-year career span and the arc of Herringdale's daughter, Lady Meleri.

The Meleri adventures were always intended as a bit of an experiment; how would I fare as a GM, presenting adventures that did not center around combat (indeed, that rarely featured combat at all) and focused more on inter-personal relationships, social climbing and status, and other such "out of genre" activities?

Looking back, I'd have to say that I struggled. RPGs tend to take two elements as a given: combat and the supernatural. Running a campaign that featured very little of either was definitely a challenge, all the more so for doing it with a single player. Still, all in all the Meleri arc was a success and we definitely added some memorable moments and stories to the unfolding canon.

It might have been partly due to the challenge inherent in the departure from the normal Pendragon game structure that slowed me down, but this year's reduced schedule (advancing the timeline a mere 10 years compared to 2010's 30) was also down to several real life interruptions and (more significantly) the happy development of finally getting together a solid, reliable face-to-face gaming group. There's only so much gaming time to go around, and the priority largely went to the group.

Having said that, my main gaming resolution for 2012 is to finish the GPC. We're exactly halfway through, chronologically speaking. With 40 game years to go, this is doable with weekly sessions; we even have 12 weeks worth of wiggle room to account for skipped weeks or multi-session years (of which there are bound to be at least a couple).

As it happens, we'll be starting off the new year with a new character. I'll save the details for the next session report, but here's a teaser in the form of a Christmas gift I gave to Des; like last year, I painted up a miniature of her character, this time in the form of Lady Meleri. Her fate and the reason for the entry of a brand new character at this point can be gleaned from the caption on the base...

Miniature from the excellent Thunderbolt Mountain "Arthurians" range

I weep for the newbs

2011-12-20T13:15:00.000-08:00

One of the people in my group from this year's Cthulhu/Pendragon group is in his mid-20s and came to RPGs via Fourth Edition D&D. Although he is hardly a 4e partisan, it's his "home" system and he has his own 4e group that he runs weekly games for; I don't know any details about his group other than they're fairly into 4e as well.

So this is one of his latest tweets:

Apparently suddenly implementing secret doors in my campaign is infuriating. Need to do stuff like this more often. #dmwoes

This is what it's come to for the latest generation of D&D players? Secret doors are somehow considered "Evil DM tricks"?

I tried Fourth Edition. It wasn't for me, but I ultimately decided I didn't want to engage in any edition wars and just sort of let my reservations about the game's current iteration lie. But when I see stuff like that, I'm reminded of why 4e drove so many older gamers into the arms of the OSR; it just seems to operate in a completely different universe. One where secret doors aren't assumed, but added as a nasty trick. I mean, to me D&D and secret doors go together like chocolate and peanut butter, but a Google search seems to confirm that they're vanishingly rare in 4e; the top two results deal with secret doors in Third Edition, most of the other links on the first page deal with secret doors in old school D&D, and the few 4e-specific links are all about "how to do it" in that edition. Most tellingly, another link is to a forum question asking "what's the point of secret doors?" Fourth Edition isn't just another flavor of D&D; it's mutating the system on a molecular level. I weep.

[Solo GPC] 525: The Goblin Market; or, "Puck You!"

2011-12-05T22:44:00.000-08:00

Ever since reading a Dragon magazine article ("Organization Is Everything!") during my formative GM years, my process with running any long-term campaign (GPC included) is to draft a rough outline of where I'd like to see the campaign go over the course of the next half-dozen adventures or so (anything beyond that being almost guaranteed to crumble due to players taking things in unexpected directions). These aren't hard and fast guidelines; I happily amend my plans on the fly if something comes up in play to justify it. But if I don't have something "penciled in," no matter how vague or open-ended, I tend to feel a little lost. Plus knowing what's in the pipeline allows me to drop a bit of foreshadowing into current adventures.

Prior to my break, my outline for the next few years of the GPC was full of lots of question marks and vague statements. I just wasn't sure what to do with Meleri's storyline that would be exciting and different. Coming back from the break, I have a definite plan and can't wait to see how things will play out. It all hinged on this year and the adventure I had lined up. It's one of the few full-length adventures in the GPC, found in an Appendix in the back and meant to be dropped in at pretty much any point. And the best part? The adventure intro noted that the scenario was "easily adapted" to running for a lady character!

And so 525 would find Lady Meleri paying a visit to the Goblin Market...

Art by Charles Vess

We actually picked things up still in the year 524. Meleri was spending Christmas Court at Camelot, enticed to stay by the return of the Knight of the Lake, who came riding into the city just as the first snows of winter were falling.

Before a packed court, the young knight related his adventures, culminating in his arrival at the forsaken citadel of Dolorous Garde. He told of coming to the night-haunted halls of the keep, now the lair of an evil, undead enchanter. He battled lions, ghost knights, copper giants, and finally the necromancer himself. After felling his foes, the young knight moved a massive boulder in the courtyard, revealing his true name and heritage written beneath: Lancelot, son of King Ban of Benwick.

The court hailed this great young knight and Arthur toasted him: "At last, all is well. We have peace, and as this young Sir Lancelot has shown to us, the great and talented knights of the world continue to come to Camelot to join our fellowship. Our thanks and blessing to all."

Meleri observed "this young Lancelot" as he moved about the court. He had a natural grace about him, but also a hint of danger and sadness, even at this young age. Her heart warmed at the sight of him and she felt that she was witnessing the paragon of knighthood at last. She also noted his sword was girded about his waist even though she'd heard that Lancelot had departed from Camelot the year before prior to his knighting ceremony being finished; if Arthur had not girded the knight's sword, who had?

After Yule, Meleri made the cold journey back to Levcomagus where she settled in and tended to the tasks required of a great lord's wife. She was again pregnant and delivered the child - another daughter! - before Easter. She had not come to full term and the child was born sickly, nearly perishing soon after delivery. Meleri personally saw to the babe's care and with her tender ministrations it grew stronger and healthier, but there was little doubt it was to be a runty child. Meleri wondered how much longer she could continue to bear children.

Sir Ontzlake, meanwhile, was beginning to dwell increasingly on attaining a seat on the Round Table. To that end, he announced his plan to attend the Pentecost Tournament this year, hoping that a win there might secure him a coveted seat. Preparations were made to bring the whole family along and so a great noble train departed Levcomagus in May, the cruel winter months a distant memory, setting off for Camelot.

Arriving a week before Pentecost, Ontzlake's entourage found the city already crammed with people. Old Archbishop Dubricus was stepping down to pursue a life of quiet hermitage; Bishop David was to be elevated to the position of Primate of Britain, and it seemed every priest on the isle had turned out for the event.

Nevertheless, it was talk of Lancelot that dominated dinner conversations. Tales of his adventures were told and retold, mostly with great approval. As a participant in one of Lancelot's great deeds from the year before, Meleri often found herself the center of attention. She was even asked to compose a poem about her rescue at Lancelot's hands, but couldn't manage the task. Meleri also noted Sir Kay was among Lancelot's detractors - whenever he could, he'd interject his opinions that Lancelot wouldn't be great without his (rumored) magical ring, shield, and sword.

Meleri was more concerned by the behavior of the knights who grew in number with each passing day as the tournament grew closer. She witnessed frequent squabbles, drunken brawls, and petty bickering. Sir Griflet, in conversation with her and Ontzlake at Arthur's court one day, weighed in, opining that Britain's knights were growing bored and restless now that there were no more great battles to be fought.

"Sir Marhaus has gone away you know, returned to his homeland of Ireland," Griflet continued. "I heard his kinsmen are having difficulties, so who can blame him for going back, I suppose. But what a dreary place to go. Imagine going from the sophistication of Camelot to someplace as primitive as Dublin! Still, perhaps there will be opportunities for glorious battle there..."

"Still no sign of Merlin, then?" Ontzlake asked.

"Nay, though a thousand knights have searched for him," said Griflet. "Maybe he is truly dead?"

Meleri was only half-listening. She had spotted Lamorak in attendance at the king's court; they managed a few assignations over the next few days. After a hectic and exhausting week, the first day of the Pentecost tournament arrived. As always, it was to be kicked off by a grand feast in the Keep of Gold's massive hall. And as always Arthur refused to start the feast until a marvel or wonder had appeared. Everyone assembled in the hall in the morning, taking their seats or else mingling among the tables. Meleri chatted gaily with Lamorak as Ontzlake played chess with Sir Tor. An hour passed. Another hour. Then a runner came dashing into court, hurling himself before Arthur in a positively indecorous manner. The king bent his ear to the runner as everyone craned their necks to see what was going on. Arthur stood.

"To the Great Court, everyone. I think that this is not the type of marvel which Merlin would have planned."

Arthur, Guenevere, and the king's advisors then departed through a small door behind a tapestry. Everyone else filed out the main doors of the hall and made their way along a covered portico or else out through the bailey, forming a scrum at the entrance to the Great Court. Meleri took up a position with the other ladies towards the back of the Court as most of the knights crowded forward towards Arthur's high throne. The king, having arrived before everyone else, was seated on his throne, Guenevere radiant on her own throne at his left; to the right sat the empty throne reserved for Arthur's eventual heir. Arthur's advisors - Sir Bedivere the Cup Bearer, Sir Kay the Seneschal, and Sir Cynrain the Castellan among them - had taken up positions on the stairs mounting the throne. A dozen armored Round Table knights stood guard at the foot of the dais. The hall was so packed with people that only a narrow, red-carpeted aisle leading from the great doors to the throne was open.

Shortly after the last of the knights and ladies had filed in, the doors of the Hall admitted a curious party of visitors. Standing on her toes, Meleri could see a dozen men, several sporting outlandish garb. She noted a black Ethiopian with a long shield and spear, an African Vandal, a turbaned Arab, two shaggy Goths, an eastern knight in scale armor (bearing an unmanly bow and quiver!), and six Romans. Three of the Romans were wearing Senatorial togas and another bore the Imperial fasces that marked him as a tribune.

"Send 'em back to Rome!" The shout came from somewhere in the crowd, which responded with a mix of appreciative chuckles and scandalized gasps.

"Silence!" Arthur yelled. "Let no one bring insult in my hall!"

The Roman delegation stopped at the foot of the throne dais. The tribune and Senators inclined their heads to Arthur in the slightest of bows. The tribune then spoke, his voice ringing out through the empty hall.

"The high and mighty Emperor Lucius sends his greetings to you, King Arthur,
and with it a command to acknowledge him as your lord and to send the tribute which is due from Britain to Rome. Your father, and the kings before him paid, as is on record. But you, a rebel who does not know custom, withhold your tribute contrary to the decrees of Julius Caesar, conqueror of your realm and first Emperor of Rome.

"And if you refuse this commandment, know for certain that Emperor Lucius will make strong war against you, and against your land, and make an example of you and your people for all princes to submit to the noble empire which rules the whole world."

Meleri was unsure what to make of this development. On the one hand, she thought the Romans had some cheek to come back after so great an absence and demand tribute. On the other [and with a fumbled Loyalty (Pendragon) roll], she felt the Romans were at least due a fair hearing; they had, after all, ruled Britain for nearly four centuries. Many of the other lords and ladies in the hall were much less ambivalent in their feelings, however. Many of the knights drew swords or daggers, threatening the envoys. The tribune remained unmoved by this violent demonstration and Arthur raised his hands for calm.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Anyone who harms these envoys will pay with his own life. These Romans are great lords, and though their message pleases neither me nor my court, I must remember my honor.

"Sir Bedivere," said the king, "Bring these men to their lodging, and see that they have all that is necessary or desired, and with good cheer. Spare no dainty for them while I confer with my court to prepare an answer."

As the envoys were led out a side door and Arthur disappeared with his earls and barons to confer in another chamber, the remaining crowd went wild. Swords were waived in the air and chants of "Down with Rome!" and "AR-thur! AR-thur!" could be heard. Pandemonium was breaking loose as knights sought out lords for counsel and many others began talking excitedly of the prospect of war with Rome. Sir Griflet leapt atop a table, his arms spread wide.

"Gather to me, soldiers. Now is the time for those veterans of ten battles to be leaders of ten staunch men, and those of us who know a hundred will each lead a hundred more. We go to fight the greatest and worthiest foe in the world: Mother Rome herself!"

At the back of the Court, Meleri saw mostly worried faces among the ladies. They all knew what war would mean: many of their husbands would not be returning, and even those who did would be gone for years most likely.

After some time, Arthur and his advisors filed back into the hall. "Send for the envoys," commanded Arthur. When the Romans had once again assembled before the king, Arthur gave his decree.

"Envoys of Rome, return to your lord, the Emperor Lucius, and tell him that his demand means nothing to me. I know of no tribute or loyalty I owe to him, nor to any earthly prince, Christian or pagan. In fact, I know I am entitled to be sovereign of the Empire by right of my predecessors. I have learned that Belinus and Brennius, kings of Britain of old, conquered Rome. And also Constantine, the son of Saint Helen, was a Briton. By our right of being descended from them, we have the right to claim the title of Emperor ourselves!

"Tell him that I have fully decided to go with my army to Rome, and God willing, take possession of the empire. Wherefore I command him, and all Romans, to come to me and pay homage to me as their Emperor and Governor, or else suffer the pains of war.

"Sir Kay, give these envoys gifts suitable to their stations, and pay all their expenses incurred coming here, and departing here. Sir Cynrain, escort these men with my safe passage out of our country."

The envoys departed to a chorus of whistles and hisses. As the last of the party disappeared through the great doors, a great cheer was raised. Many knights immediately rushed from the hall, anxious to return home and begin preparing for the war. Meleri noted that Sir Lamorak was among that number. As she watched him depart, Sir Ontzlake approached, his eyes alight.

"This war will be my ticket onto the Round Table!" he proclaimed excitedly. "Come, we must return to Levcomagus to settle our affairs and make ready my departure in the coming campaign season!"

And so Meleri rode with her children and entourage back to Levcomagus. Once back at the city, she saw to helping Ontzlake prepare for an overseas journey. As the summer passed, Ontzlake looked increasingly preoccupied. Finally, over dinner one night, he made his feelings known.

"There is a chance the army could be gone for a year, maybe more," he said. "I've been thinking. I don't like the idea of you here alone. As admirably as you conducted yourself under the threat of Sir Damas's besieging force, if something of that nature were to happen again...there would be no relieving army two days' march away to rely on for rescue.

"So...I was thinking, perhaps you would pass the lonely months in greater comfort and safety if you were back in your homeland. Say, the court of Countess Katherine?"

Meleri blanched. She despised Katherine and most of the courtiers at Sarum.

"The walls of Sarum are second only to Camelot in their grandeur and safety," Ontzlake continued quickly. "And Earl Robert is sure to leave a suitable force behind to man its walls. Uffo's rebellion has left Silchester leaderless for the time-being and the countryside is not safe as it once was. Bandits and worse," Ontzlake finished ominously.

He gave Meleri an imploring look. She cast her eyes down, nodding assent. She knew she was bound by her husband's wishes regardless, but she also knew he had a point. Still, she couldn't help but feel things were going from bad to worse - a year or more in the company of Countess Katherine!

She took some solace in the knowledge that she would not be departing for that cold welcome until the following year. Or so she thought. As September and the harvest came to a close, Levcomagus welcomed the arrival of none other than Sir Lamorak. Meleri was at first elated until she found out why he had come. He told her in a private audience in her solar.

"I have organized a raiding force to sail the Channel and seize Barfleur as a bridgehead for next year's invasion. I have asked Ontzlake to accompany me on the expedition and he has agreed."

"I see," said Meleri, her stomach plunging. Lamorak reached inside his tunic and withdrew a satchel hanging on a leather thong.

"I take this with me as well," he said. He opened the satchel and removed the lock of hair Meleri had given him several years ago.

Meleri smiled. "Do you leave me with no token of your own?" she asked.

Lamorak removed his signet ring and gave it to her. "Keep it close to your heart," he said. They moved into an embrace and shared a soulful goodbye kiss. Then, with a courteous bow, he turned and departed.

Ontzlake's imminent departure moved up Meleri's own trip to Sarum as well. Much sooner than expected, she was leaving Levcomagus with her court, bound west for her homeland of Salisbury and the fortress-city of Sarum. After traveling for several days, including a stop at her manor in Broughton, she arrived at the Countess's court. As expected, Earl Robert was not there, having gone off on Lamorak's raid as well, but strangely Katherine was not there to meet Meleri either; she was met instead by Father Dewi, the Earl's confessor. At first Meleri wondered if she was being deliberately snubbed. The court seemed strangely subdued, however, and she began to suspect something else was going on.

Food was served and Meleri was about halfway through her meal when she distinctly heard a high-pitched, far-off wailing noise. Looking up from her stew, she noted most of the other courtiers seeming not to notice the noise - or perhaps pretending not to.

"What was that?" she asked Father Dewi. He shrugged noncommittally, but in seconds no one in that hall could feign deafness any longer. The wail became increasingly louder and more keening, a mounting shriek of frustration.

"What in the name of all the spirits is that?" Meleri [failing both her Courtesy and Hospitality rolls] asked.

"Very well," said Father Dewi, looking quite upset as he rose from the table. "Follow me."

Meleri followed Dewi out of the hall to a tower staircase. The door was closed and locked, but Father Dewi produced a key from his pocket and unlocked it. Without a word, he proceeded up the stairs, Meleri following in his wake.

At the top of the stairs was a sad scene indeed. In a small chamber was a bed shrouded with curtains. Meleri recognized Lady Gwiona, the Countess's chief handmaiden, seated at the bedside, dabbing the forehead of the bed's inhabitant with a cloth swabbed in warm water and spices. Father Dewi drew the curtain aside and Meleri saw an aged woman lying in the bed, sobbing quietly. She looked vaguely familiar, but Meleri couldn't quite place the face. She was a portrait of misery, whoever she was.

Father Dewi let the curtain fall back and laid a hand on Gwiona's shoulder. The maid set her cloth aside and rose, silently following Dewi out of the room. Meleri accompanied them to the bottom of the stairs, where Father Dewi turned to speak.

"The woman who lies at the top of the stairs is none other than Countess Katherine," he said. Meleri's hands flew to her mouth, suppressing a gasp of horror. Tears leaked from Gwiona's eyes as she nodded confirmation of the Father's revelation. "Not two months ago she was as young and gay as ever," Dewi continued. "Then, a terrible curse was laid upon her, reducing her to the condition you saw. Her maid was there and can tell you more. Go on."

Choking back tears, Gwiona picked up the story. "I blame myself for all that follows. We were in the fields nearby, gathering wildflowers to brighten the keep, when we heard the cry of the Goblin Market in the distance. I'll never forget their terrible cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, come buy, come buy! Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; come buy, come buy!'" I quavered in fear of this call, but my lady Katherine said she would go and see the Goblin-men and the fruit they boasted of. I tried to dissuade her from tasting the Goblins' fruits - who knows on what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots? - but she would not listen.

"I did follow her, I did, but could find her not, though it were many hours that I searched. Then at last, at the deepest part of night, she returned from those darkened woods, stains upon her chin and bodice and said, ‘Never have I tasted the like. I will return tomorrow, and partake of more of their fruits.’

"She would not say another word, not the whole day, until the next evening when she started to cry. She could no longer see or hear the Goblin-men, nor any night thereafter, though I could hear them, with their mocking laughter, in the darkness."

Gwiona dissolved into tears and Father Dewi picked up the story as the maid excused herself. "And so it has been since that night, the Countess growing older, each week a year, and yet she still cries for the fruit of the Goblins. I fear she has had her soul stolen by these devils. They say you are learned in the diabolic arts. What say you?"

Ignoring the priest's ignorant language, Meleri thought on all she had heard. "It does indeed sound like the Countess's very soul is in jeopardy," she said. "I fear I may be the only one who might retrieve it and lift the curse. I have had dealings with the Good Folk, I know their ways."

"Many thanks and blessings be upon you, lady," said Dewi.

"I shall depart on the morrow," said Meleri. "I shall go accompanied only by my faithful dwarf servant, Higgins. And I must warn you, Father - I may pass into a realm where time passes differently than here. What seems a day to me may be several days...or weeks...to you. I pray the Countess is still alive when I return."

Meleri was shown to a small bedchamber where she made ready for her journey and caught as much sleep as she could. She was up and ready for departure by sunrise. Before retiring the night before, she had received directions from Gwiona pointing her to where Katherine had heard the sound of the Goblins. Meleri set out on the back of her favorite palfrey as the morning fog began to lift.

By midmorning she had come to the shallow vale that Gwiona had spoken of. A line of woods stretched across her field of vision in the near distance, but closer still she saw a peasant lounging on a stump. His face was ruddy and bloated, but his clothes were of particularly fine make. He wore a doublet and hose of bright green and on his head was perched at a jaunty angle a red hat set with a long quail's feather. Meleri had never seen a peasant dressed quite like this.

At her approach, he lazily hailed Meleri with a yawn and a casual wave.

"A good day to you, most noble lady. Why do you travel these lonesome dales at such an ungodly hour?"

Meleri glanced at the sun, well above the horizon, and wondered how shiftless someone would have to be to consider this an "ungodly hour" of the morning.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply.

The peasant at last got to his feet and recited a poem:

The gossip and the wise old aunt
The tailor and the bean-fed horse
Do know me as a good fellow true.
To call me Robin is no sin, for
No better name my mother knew.
Story and song pay my bed and board
The kindness of strangers paves my way
Many have partaken of my lore
I would offer it to you, if I may.

Meleri reached in her purse and extracted a silver penny, which she handed down to Robin. He bit the coin, smiled and placed it in his pocket, then bowed to her.

"I would know where the Goblin Market can be found," Meleri said to Robin as he smiled unctuously up at her.

"Of a certainty I have heard of that strange market, good lady, and for a few pence more, I might even show you the way. But I must inform you, dame, that I have heard they sell strange fruit there, of which it is better not to partake. Worse, the Market is near to the Fair of the Woods, which is a place of the Good Folk, and it is never wise to meddle in their affairs…"

Meleri could see Robin was indeed knowledgeable, but she feared that in order to retrieve Katherine's soul she might have to ignore his warnings and venture to the Fair regardless. "Lead on," she said, handing him more coins.

Robin skipped ahead, leading Meleri towards the distant woods. After a half-day of travel they passed under the boughs of the trees. The setting sun barely penetrated the overhanging canopy and Meleri was soon in shadow; soon after she could hear a melodic chant: "Come buy our orchard fruits! Come buy, come buy!"

By a small stream, Meleri could make out a strange scene. Several dozen small men clustered around, bearing silver cups and golden platters overflowing with juicy, scrumptious fruits. The men wore wide hats and baggy cloaks, but these could not wholly disguise their bestial features: clawed hands, the occasional tail, and a wide variety of startling faces. Meleri saw cat faces and dog faces, mouse faces and bird faces. And they saw her. As a single mass, they surged forward, pulling Meleri from her horse and mobbing her. "Come buy! Come buy! Good fruits, yes! You eat!"

Meleri dashed away a platter of fruit that was being shoved in her face; the morsels did indeed seem more tempting than any food she'd ever been presented with, but she knew that to take even one bite would be to forfeit her soul.

She grabbed a goblin by the hem of its cloak. "Where is Lady Katherine's soul?" she interrogated.

"Ack! Gerroff!" the goblin bellowed. The others, instantly dropping their supplicant attitudes, began to mob Meleri viciously, tearing at her clothes and attempting to bite her flesh and scratch out her eyes. She drew her dagger and began swinging, sending goblins flying off of her with piteous cries.

"Back! Back!" she yelled, felling one goblin after another. Even with several goblins clinging to her arms, she soon laid seven out on the ground. The rest of the group began to scatter in terror. With her usual whiplash reaction time, she reached out and grabbed the long ears of a hare-headed goblin.

"Oy! Gerroff me!" the gobin piped in a rabbity voice.

"Tell me what you've done with Countess Katherine's soul!" she said, shaking the rabbit by its ears.

"Wot? A lady's soul? Not 'round 'ere, missus - ow! Alright! I'll tell ye wot ye wish, I will. A great stranger, cloaked up in black and 'ooded, 'e was. 'E came ter us, traded us sweetmeats fer the soul, 'e did. 'E 'ad glowin' red eyes and said 'e wos from the Fair!"

"Lead me," said Meleri.

Meleri followed the goblin along a nearly-invisible forest path. So intent was she on tracking the hopping creature she failed to note the growing intensity of the colors of the darkened forest, the fresher smells of loam and lichen, the fact that no birds twittered or creatures stirred at her passing. Had she noticed, she would have known she was passing to the Other Side and that, as an uninvited guest, was risking a fate worse than death.

Night had fallen and stars were peaking through the canopy overhead when Meleri reached the end of the trail, the rabbit-man bounding off into the brush. Before her, a great hall made from towering ash, elder, and oak trees contained a bustling market beneath its 100-foot ceiling. The floor of the hall was dewy grass and mossy rocks. Among the booths hung paper lanterns and lit torches sufficient in number to light the fair as well as daylight. Beyond the tents, Meleri could see a tournament area where knights jousted to the cheers of spectators. The tents themselves held all manner of great wonders: silks, tapestries, illuminated books, jewelry and gemstones, and more.

But the Fair's most notable aspect was not its wares but those who browsed the stalls. Meleri was certain she was the only human in that grove. And as she stared, all activity ceased and all eyes turned on her. She saw Unseelie Lords cloaked in shadow and mist, other Fae nobles who looked to be part tree, and great darkened trolls. Pixies fluttered about and squat-faced dwarves leered up at her. Higgins shifted uncomfortably at her side.

Art by Larry MacDougall

Meleri was frozen in place, petrified with fear. She watched as three figures detached themselves from the crowd and began marching towards her. Two, marching to either side, looked to be nothing more than small, wretched sprites. But as they walked they began growing, their black skin cracking and revealing pink, rubbery flesh beneath. By the time these strange creatures reached Meleri's quaking form, they stood 12 feet tall. Between them stood a powerful-looking man, a knight of towering build and martial mien. Limbs that had trod battlefields and raised weaponry high were his. He regarded Meleri with a piercing, disdainful look and spoke.

Not for many moons, nor in many days
Have we seen the like as thus we do now.
For none ’til now has dared what you essay
Without lore, without herald, without crown.
Still, whatever purpose leads thou hither
Shall not abate when thy fate turns awry.
However you came upon this heather,
Turn thee back: hold no hope within a lie.
Yet if you insist this wayward course,

Know that you must answer my riddle true,
Or else owe a boon to enter this place
And this day forever afterward rue.

"Speak on," said Meleri, attempting to collect herself.

I have a thing precious to me,
Long, deadly, and true,
Yet worth far more when shattered.
What is it?

Meleri knew the answer in an instant. "A lance broken at tourney joust," she said. The Marshal inclined his head and stepped aside, allowing Meleri free passage. Lifting her skirts, she hurried past and soon lost sight of the Marshal's piercing gaze among the labyrinthine stalls. She began to browse, hoping to find some clue to Countess Katherine's missing soul.

She saw many amazing wares on display. She saw jewel-encrusted swords, colorful silks from far-off Samarkand, wine made from grapes from Hy-Brasil. She was particularly intrigued by a cedar box set with good locks and engraved with scenes from the legend of Pandora.

"How much?" she inquired, pulling coins from her purse.

"Ah, we have little use for silver here!" squawked the toad-like proprietor. "A little honesty, though..."

Meleri felt her purse bulge with new coin. She realized she was going to have to trade a bit of herself for the box. She handed over two of these strange new coins, becoming a bit more Deceitful in the process. She had Higgins hoist the box on his broad back and moved along. She nearly bumped into an aging man in long robes as she departed the booth.

"Excuse me," she muttered, passing Merlin without recognizing him.

She saw many more wonders on display: a tapestry depicting the many adventures of her father Sir Herringdale (a treasure which sorely tempted her), a bejeweled and engraved chastity belt, a purse with drawstrings that could only be opened by the owner. She was even offered a lead dagger that could give power to the wielder if used to assassinate a lord, which she turned down.

Finally, after two circuits of the Fair, jostling through otherworldy shoppers, she spotted a small table set up among the twisting roots of an oak tree. It was little more than a rickety wooden platform, but it boasted five magnificent objects. Meleri moved closer.

She saw an ornate mechanical clock. As she looked at it, the hour chimed. A portal opened and from it marched a small metal knight. He swung a needle-like sword around, blustering in a tiny, tinny voice, before retiring. As she watched, Meleri was horrified to realize the knight was none other than Sir Haegirth!

Unnerved, she next picked up a small silver hand mirror. The reflection in the polished glass was not her own, but rather a ravaged and unrecognizable noblewoman. A puppet, dressed and painted as a gypsy, next caught Meleri's eye. As she looked away, she was sure the puppet's eyes were following her. Behind the puppet sat a gilded cage with a gorgeously plumed songbird within. Meleri realized the tune it was whistling was the very song she had heard sung at feasts at Camelot the year before.

Finally, Meleri spotted a miniature tableau under glass. It appeared to be a bedroom with various figures surrounding the bed. The figures and furniture were all constructed of dried flowers and other plants. There was a red rose on the bed, which curiously had not faded as the other flowers had. As Meleri stooped to examine the tableau more closely, a figure emerged from within the curtained recesses of the booth. Looking up, Meleri saw the figure wore a dark hooded cloak that didn't quite conceal eyes that burned like coals. The soul taker!

"May I help you?" the creature asked, its voice a sibilant whisper.

"How much for the clock and the tableau?" Meleri asked bravely.

"I deal only in trade," said the figure. "If you do not object to it, there is something that I desire. There is a circlet, well guarded in a cavern that is not far from the Fair. Return here with the circlet, and I shall give you the tableau and clock in trade. Are we agreed?"

"Very well," said Meleri. "Tell me the way to this cavern."

Soon Meleri was picking her way along an even more overgrown forest path, the noise of the Fair receding behind her. Overhead, the first hint of dawn could be seen in the night sky. Meleri was quite certain that if she failed to return before sunrise, the Fair would be gone. With an urgency to her step, she hurried on until she reached a rocky hillock. She could indeed see a cavern entrance, but it was guarded by two of the ugliest giants Meleri had ever seen. They were each at least twice as tall and wide as she, and they talked in grumbling voices that sounded like stones rolling down the side of a hill.

Meleri took a few minutes to think. "Higgins. Run that way and make sure the giants see you."

The dwarf gave Meleri a look of apprehension, but she nodded encouragingly. "Go on!"

Higgins trotted off and Meleri's deception worked; the giants lumbered after him, clearing the path to the cavern. Meleri proceeded within. Inside, she could see a crown suspended on a shaft of light. The circlet was made live oak branches studded with red berries and green leaves. As Meleri approached, a voice boomed out, "“Only those pure of heart and purpose can pass the test of flames!" With that, a great column of flame roared to life around the crown.

Taking a deep breath, Meleri concentrated on the purity of her task. She was doing this for her liege lord and his wife, not for her own personal gain. [With a successful Loyalty (Lord) roll] Meleri walked through the flame unharmed and took hold of the crown. In an instant, she was standing back at the merchant's table at the Fair, her hand still extended and now holding the crown.

The hooded figure rushed forward. "You have it! Excellent. Give it to me."

Meleri hesitated, pulling the crown back from the grasping fingers of the soul taker. "Why do you want this crown so badly?" she asked.

"It is not for you to know," snapped the figure, his voice hissing angrily. "We had a deal. Take the tableau and the clock for all I care - just give me the crown!"

Reluctantly, Meleri handed over the circlet and took her goods. As the dealer's hand closed over the crown, he let out a howl of joy. His cowl fell back, revealing the face of Robin the Minstrel.

"You!" Meleri shouted.

"What fools ye mortals be!" japed Robin as he danced around. Meleri could see his face taking on a more bestial cast as his ears lengthened somewhat and his features became more angular. "Did ye not reckon the depth of mine own cunning and spite? No peasant, but that Hobgoblin of famed lore, called the Puck am I!"

[At this point Des slapped her forehead in frustration - she's no stranger to Shakespeare and couldn't believe she'd missed the "Robin Goodfellow" connection. She exclaimed out of character, "Puck is it? Well, puck you!"]

Since she herself was a babe, Meleri had heard many tales of the mischievous, scheming Puck and how he always managed to get caught up in his own machinations. This time he seemed to have won, however. Triumphantly he placed the circlet on his head despite Meleri's best efforts to grab hold of him, proclaiming a little rhyme as he did so:

All claim love for Robin Goodfellow,
Yet do curse the Puck behind his back.
Thus must Hobgoblin, shorn a home,
Discover fane to fill the lack.
Such is the object of my cunning plan
To quench the thirst of heart-felt desire,
Yet still I must needs bold and simple mortals
To claim sovereign crown from holy fire.
Thus the taunts of Goblin-men
To lead the damsel astray,

To gain her soul to bargain with
So the Puck might yet win the day.

With these last words he settled the crown over his pointed ears, smiling. His smile quickly turned to a grimace of horror, though, as his features began to run like hot wax. "No, no!" he cried, covering his face. And then he was silent.

After a moment, he straightened up - but it was no longer Puck. The Marshal of the Fair, wearing the oak crown, looked down at Meleri approvingly.

Thus the fate of Robin Goodfellow
And all those who lust beyond their state,
Dolorous envy, ambition unbound,
By such transformed into those we hate.
But your fate has not arrived this day,
For we know thy plan in this affair
Was but to save a Father’s child
And to ease a Mother’s care.
Yet, ‘tis best for ye to take our leave
And speedily hie thy noble way.
Remember thy adventure, as well ye should,
And journey no more to the Fair of the Woods.

Meleri didn't need telling twice, and she quickly fled the Fair, failing to notice a raven-haired woman watching her quick departure, a wry smile upon her face. Meleri found her horse waiting near the stream where she'd left it. By the time she emerged from the woods, the sun was high in the sky. She made her way as quickly as she could back to Sarum, arriving as the sun was going down, exhausted but elated.

Father Dewi came running to meet her as she passed into the keep's bailey. "You have been gone a week! We feared you lost forever. The Countess is near death. Tell me you have lifted the curse!"

Meleri nodded and rushed to the Countess's tower. Removing the glass dome from the tableau, she picked up the rose and laid it on Katherine's bosom, which rose and fell only slightly. Her hair was white as snow and her face a mass of lines and wrinkles. But as she breathed the essence of the flower, her hair began to darken, the lines began to decrease. A rosy complexion returned to her cheeks, her lips became full and red again. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked from Meleri to Father Dewi to Lady Gwiona.

"Wh-where? What?" she stammered. Gwiona dissolved into tears of relief and joy as Father Dewi, his own eyes bright with tears, took Katherine's hand and helped her rise.

Over the next half-hour Meleri told and re-told her tale, first to Katherine, then to other courtiers in the great hall. Finally, pleading a very real exhaustion, she retired to her chambers. As she was combing out her hair, looking through the window at the blood red setting sun, she realized she wasn't alone in her room. Whirling round, she saw Queen Morgan le Fay reclining on the bed.

Morgan rose, smiling. "Well done, lady," she said. "There are few who could have completed that quest. Fewer still would have risked a venture to the Other Side in the first place. You seem to be comfortable moving between the two realms, however. I have had my eye on you ever since you served me at court as a young maiden."

Meleri held her tongue, waiting to see where Morgan was going with this.

"I can offer you all you desire," said Morgan, a twinkle in her eye. "Lamorak can at last be yours, wholly and unreservedly."

"How?" Meleri asked, uncertain.

"I shall make you Queen of Norgales," said Morgan. "Pellinore is dead. His land has no ruler. As Queen you will rule over Lamorak and he will serve you. You cannot rely on your beauty alone to keep him; it will not hold forever. Even now I see lines gather like crow's feet about your eyes."

It was true. The stress of the Fair had brought fresh lines to Meleri's face. [Meleri had earlier lost a point of APP after she failed to make a passion-inspired skill roll.] The image of the ravaged noblewoman in the silver mirror, the sight of Countess Katherine prematurely aged, these weighed on Meleri's mind. At the same time, she realized Morgan had not apparently aged a day since Meleri had served at her her side nearly 20 years ago.

Morgan seemed to sense Meleri's thoughts. "You will never be old in the eyes of those who love you. And if they refuse to love you, I can teach you the subtle arts of persuasion that will make them your slaves. Come with me to my hall; you are better than the provincial dolts who people this court. Spend the winter as my guest and think over the offer."

Meleri, despite her tendency to trust Morgan, remained unconvinced that taking this path would bring Lamorak closer to her; on the contrary, she was afraid it would drive him away. Nonetheless, she assented to Morgan's request. They departed with no one at court taking the slightest notice, as if they were mere shades. They rode across the darkening Salisbury Plain until they came to an ancient hill fort, a great artificial mound that rose in ditches and ramparts to a rubble-strewn top. As they rode up the undulating path leading to the top of the fort, however, a great wall and gatehouse began to sketch itself out of thin air. The two women rode beneath the massive portcullis, now a dark shadow against the night sky. Within, a huge keep similarly materialized out of nowhere. Meleri passed inside and as she did so the edifice of Castle Chariot dissolved once again into nothingness...

Playing the Adversary

2011-12-02T14:53:00.000-08:00

"Some days I hate NPCs. But I also love NPCs."

So says Lowell Francis in this recent post on the always-outstanding Age of Ravens blog (and if you're not reading that blog, why the hell not?); I couldn't agree more with the sentiment. NPCs are my Achilles Heel when it comes to running games. They're nigh essential to most any good game, but they present an endless source of headaches (many of which are elucidated in Mr. Francis's post, so I won't repeat them here).

For me, the biggest challenge is making my NPCs unique personas with individualized motivations and keeping them from fading too much into the background. I can usually manage to pull this off with, at best, one NPC per campaign it seems (players in my "Beware the Odd Angles" Cthulhu campaign will well remember the dangerous ingenue Daphne Bell, for example), but I'd like to have my whole cast of NPCs come alive and I really hate it when an NPC who should ostensibly be traveling with the group fades so completely into the background that the players have to remind me they're there.

To that end, I've been thinking about a nearly-forgotten (it seems) section in the old GURPS 3rd Edition Basic Set. On page 180, under the heading "Playing the Adversary", we read:

When the GM plays an NPC who is an enemy of the player characters, he should try to limit his knowledge to those things that the NPCs would really be aware of. The GM knows all about the party's strengths and weaknesses - but the enemies don't. One good way to solve this problem is to have another person play the adversary characters.

The GM should tell the Adversary as much as possible about the characters he is to play. But the Adversary should know no more than is "realistic" about the overall situation. In particular, he should know very little about the PCs and their abilities - especially at the beginning of an adventure! For total realism, you might even want two Adversary players - one for the knowledgeable enemies who are familiar with the party, and one for stupid cannon fodder.

The Adversary is like an "assistant GM." His job is to roleplay the foes as well as possible.

The Basic Set was literally the second gaming book I ever bought and read, and I remember that section well. It kind of blew my mind, the idea of this para-GM helping to run the game and constituting a separate brain behind the screen. As I was still very new to gaming, I wasn't sure just how "normal" this Adversary idea was. In the two decades since, however, I've only seen a similar idea expressed in one other place, and that was simply in notes detailing a "deluxe" Cthulhu convention scenario (No Man's Land) that utilized sound effects, mood lighting, and kabuki-esque assistants dressed in black. The Basic Set presented the idea of the Adversary as if it were a perfectly normal aspect of the RPG gaming experience, but I have yet to see that reflected either in real life or in other rulebooks.

Yet the simple idea expressed in the Basic Set has merit, I think. It would certainly take much of the burden of running games off my shoulders. I'd be very interested to hear from any readers who have tried employing an Adversary-style co-GM to play the NPCs or villains of their campaigns. Does anyone do it as a matter of course or is it strictly for deluxe scenarios like No Man's Land?

[Solo GPC] 524: The Knight of the Lake

2011-11-28T22:50:00.000-08:00

My recent break from running the Solo GPC campaign came at a good time. I was starting to feel a little uninspired in terms of running adventures for a lady-centered game and wasn't sure how I wanted to handle certain emerging themes and story arcs. After re-reading Steinbeck's Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights during the break, I came back refreshed and full of ideas. Frankly, I can't wait to see how things play out over the next few years. This year's adventure would be a brief respite after the high drama of poor Sir Haegirth's quest and the beginning of new challenges for Meleri. Of course, in Pendragon, respites aren't exactly free of drama...

We'd left off with Meleri returning to Levcomagus minus one loyal vassal knight. Upon arrival back at home, Meleri realized she was carrying a child. She and Ontzlake welcomed a daughter into the world as the last leaves fell and chill winds began to blow amidst an air of uncertainty. Two days' ride away, the city of Silchester remained in rebel hands. There was little doubt that Arthur would send an army against Count Uffo and his brothers come the spring.

Sir Haegirth's loss still troubled Meleri, but she hoped to add another knight to her retinue over the winter. On the way back from Gloucester, you'll recall, she'd met Sir Melodiam, a kinsman of her lover Sir Lamorak. Meleri's half-sister Feunette, at 13 years, was old enough for a betrothal to the young bachelor knight, and so Meleri arranged an Easter marriage at Levcomagus. Sir Melodiam arrived in the company of his brother Lamorak a month before the nuptials, and the halls of Sir Ontzlake rang with manly conversation as the last of the winter snows melted and the sun began to shine brightly again. And at night Meleri hosted Lamorak in her chambers for intimate conversations of rather a different sort.

As they lay in each other's arms before the fire, Lamorak bemoaned his fate: besotted with love for Meleri, he still felt shame in going behind the back of such a just and noble knight as Ontzlake. "I would proclaim my love for you from the highest towers if it would not bring such shame on his name," said Lamorak woefully. "I must set my mind to a way of showing the depths of my love for you but discretely."

Meleri sighed, irritated by these Christian knights and their strange ideas of romance and fidelity. Two days later, offering his apologies to his brother and the bride-to-be, Lamorak left, clearly troubled.

As anticipated, just before Easter a company of knights flying the royal standard came to Levcomagus. The eschille was led by Sir Gawaine and he was gathering forces to march against the Silchester rebels. Ontzlake immediately pledged his service and made arrangements to depart after Melodiam's wedding, insisting Gawaine and his men stay for the ceremony. [Incidentally, all of the preceding came about through a couple rolls on the Yearly Events table that indicated "Affair" and "Wedding" - a fine example of random events driving excellent gameplay.]

Melodiam and Feunette were wed in the chapel of Levcomagus keep and a great feast was laid out. Meleri impressed Gawaine with her masterful command of dancing (learned from the fae Gallant of Sauvage) and she spent the evening dancing and feasting until she was nearly ready to retire from overindulgence. Throughout the festivities, her gay mood had been somewhat soured, however, by Melodiam who, she noticed, was continually shooting filthy looks at Gawaine. When the latter approached the former to offer his congratulations, Melodiam finally snapped. Throwing a goblet-full of wine in Gawaine's face, Melodiam leapt to his feet.

"You cur!" he shouted. "I have barely tolerated your presence here out of deference to my host, but I cannot hold my tongue any longer! My father, King Pellinore, has been murdered and I accuse you, Gawaine of the Orkneys, of perpetrating this foul deed!"

The hall fell immediately silent, stunned. Meleri, her hand clapped to her mouth, remembered how she had set Melodiam on the path to the Isle of Fees that he might learn of the death of his father. What evidence had Melodiam uncovered since visiting the Isle that would lead him to make such an accusation?

Gawaine was clearly wondering the same thing. "And what proof do you have to back up this ridiculous claim?" asked Gawine, wine dripping from his shaggy beard.

"The proof of my body against yours with the God of Battles as our judge!" spat Melodiam.

"So be it," said Gawaine. "I shall meet you on the field at sunrise." With that, he turned and left the hall, many of his knights following. Meleri tended to Feunette, who was white as a sheet.

At sunup, all of Levcomagus had turned out on the market grounds to witness the fight. Melodiam and Gawaine stood, fully armored, swords in hand. At a signal from Ontzlake, they began to fight. Melodiam proved himself an able fighter and the two knights battled for some time, neither managing to score a telling blow. But as the sun rose higher in the sky, Gawaine at last gained the upper hand. He knocked Melodiam to the ground with a mighty stroke that sent the accuser's helm flying.

"Yield!" came Gawaine's voice from within his own helmet. Melodiam drew himself to his knees, staring defiantly up at Gawaine.

"I will never yield to my father's muderer! Coward!" he screamed. Gawaine took Melodiam's head off with a swift swing of his sword.

Feunette screamed, tears gushing down her cheeks. Meleri hurried her away, speaking soothing words as she herself fought back tears. An hour later, Ontzlake came to her chambers. She had given Feunette an herbal draught that had put her into a deep sleep; Ontzlake spoke quietly.

"We have buried Sir Melodiam in the church grounds," he said. "I make ready to march to Silchester."

"Under the banner of that murderer?" Meleri asked, her cheeks flashing. Ontzlake held up a conciliatory hand.

"He prevailed in trial by combat," said Ontzlake. "Whoever killed Pellinore, it was not he. I have heard that King Arthur himself has set up a royal inquiry to look into the death."

Meleri was somewhat placated by these words, but still felt ill at ease.

"I wish you wouldn't go," she said, embracing Ontzlake.

"I must," he said. "The rebellion of Uffo and his kin is a foul blot on our land and it must be eradicated. The army is under the command of Sir Griflet, and he is a chivalrous knight. If the Silchester rebels surrender within 90 days, as dictated by Arthur's rules of chivalrous warfare, they will receive our mercy, although they'll still needs stand in judgment of the king."

Gawaine's company was soon on the road, Ontzlake among their number. Meleri was left in charge of Levcomagus and its garrison in her husband's absence. Over the next couple months, she anxiously gathered as much information as she could about the course of the war. Griflet's army had indeed laid siege to Silchester it seemed, but a small rebel raiding force had slipped out before the city was fully invested and was now wreaking havoc around the countryside. Meleri ordered the city's defenses strengthened against a possible attack.

Her preparations proved well-advised. A fortnight after Gawaine's departure, a force of about 1,000 men, mostly mercenary infantry, marching under the banner of Sir Damas, Ontzlake's outlawed brother, arrayed itself before the gates of Levcomagus. A messenger bearing a white standard of peace was admitted to Meleri's court.

"Sir Damas sends his regards," simpered the herald, "and bids you open the gates of Levcomagus that he may regain his rightful place as Steward of the city."

"You may tell Sir Damas that if he dares set foot in this hall again I will finish the work I began when we first met," said Meleri, fingering the pommel of her dagger as she spoke. Her eyes flashed as she recalled plunging the very same blade into Damas's thigh on the day Ontzlake had won his birthright back from his treacherous brother.

The herald took Meleri's response back to Damas, who promptly laid siege to Levcomagus. His force was too small to fully invest the city walls, so he set up around the gates, blocking access and egress while his catapults and battering rams assaulted the walls. Due in part to her advance preparations and state of alert, Meleri was able to successfully counteract Damas's initial efforts. Days turned to weeks and still the garrison of Levcomagus, under Meleri's able guidance, resisted. A month after Damas had laid his siege, he packed up and dispersed. The reason for his departure came to light the next day: Gawaine's company of knights was approaching!

Art by David Macaulay

[I finally got a chance to see my own Siege Tables in action! The combination of Meleri's already-respectable Siege skill of 12 and the high Defensive Value of the Levcomagus walls meant Damas never really stood a chance, which makes sense considering the size of his forces. If Meleri had fumbled her Intrigue roll to discover the activities of Damas's raiders, I was prepared to have him launch a surprise attack that would have taken the outer defenses, making things much closer run. But Des rolled well, both with her Intrigue and the subsequent Siege rolls, and was duly rewarded with a brief and relatively bloodless siege.]

Reunited with her husband, Meleri told Gawaine and his knights about her defense of Levcomagus to great general approval. In return, she heard of the capitulation of Silchester: after 90 days, Count Uffo and his brothers showed no sign of surrender. The city fathers, however, threw the gates open anyway and presented Griflet with the keys to the city on the condition that they and the citizenry be spared. This was agreed to. Unfortunately, the rebel leaders gave Arthur's men the slip. Nevertheless, the rebellion seemed quashed - wherever the rebels were, they were scattered, all signs of resistance now evaporated.

Ontzlake invited Gawaine to stay on for a spell, and so there was much feasting, hunting, and hawking. Meleri and her retinue would often join the lords on their jaunts over field and forest in pursuit of game, and it was during one such excursion that [with a failed Hunting roll] Meleri became separated from the main group in some light woodland.

As she rode on with her ladies, looking for signs of the others, she heard the sound of galloping hooves approaching. She spotted a lone knight riding hard, mounted on a palfrey, towards her. It was none other than Sir Damas! He fell upon Meleri and easily scooped her off her saddle and laid her over his own, then thundered off. [Des obliged the kidnapping by rolling a fumble on her DEX check to resist Damas's grapple attempt. And here I was all prepared to play out a dramatic chase scene. Ah well.]

Meleri attempted to curse Damas for a cur and a coward, but could barely breathe with the saddle pommel digging into her solar plexus. On the rebel knight rode through increasingly thickening woods for what seemed like hours. At some point, at a pre-arranged meeting point, other knights fell in alongside Damas. The hour was growing late when the party at last drew their horses to a halt. Meleri was roughly pulled from the saddle. She rubbed her aching ribs as she looked up at a crumbling tower surrounded by a rotting palisade.

"Welcome to my castle, lady," sneered Damas. "Well, it's not mine yet. First we must propitiate the denizen within. That's where you come in."

Damas manhandled Meleri within the palisade's bailey. She screamed as he dragged her along. A young ash tree grew within the court, and he began to tie her to it. She attempted to resist, but he was simply too strong. As he labored, however, Meleri distinctly heard the sound of a scuffle coming from beyond the wooden wall where Damas's men had remained. The noises ceased as quickly as they'd begun and all was quiet again.

Damas straightened up after tying the last knot about Meleri's ankles. He turned, making to call to the tower, but was interrupted by the sound of hoof falls on grass. A knight mounted upon a white steed was coming through the palisade gate and he was not one of Damas's men.

Meleri did not know who he could be - he bore a white shield with no device upon it. His armor was gleaming silver, as was his helm.

"I do not know what sort of devilry you are up to, Sir Knight," came the silver knight's voice, "but I cannot allow you to bring this lady to harm."

"Turn around and ride away, stranger," said Damas, drawing his sword.

The silver knight dismounted and came at Damas, his own sword bared. The fight lasted barely a minute and when it was over Damas's head had parted ways with his body. In a trice, the strange knight had Meleri free from her bonds. His mailed hands rubbed her sore wrists where the rope had bitten deep.

"Who are you?" asked Meleri, curiosity overwhelming her.

The knight stepped back and took his helmet off. He was very handsome and very young.

"I do not know," he said. "That is to say, I have not a proper name. You may call me the Knight of the Lake until such time as I discover my true heritage."

"Very well, Sir Knight of the Lake," Meleri said, smiling. "I thank you. Had you not arrived, I fear I would have soon wound up dinner for the creature that dwells within this tower."

"A creature you say?" asked the knight. "Your pardon, madam."

With that, he put his helm back on and disappeared into the dark interior of the tower. It was nearly nightfall when he returned. His shield was battered and blood oozed from a nasty wound on his shoulder, but he had triumphed over the creature that dwelled within.

Meleri tended the knight's wounds as his squire made camp. Over dinner, the knight told Meleri that she could ride with him.

"I am on a quest to discover my true name," he said. "And I ride north. These lands are too wild to leave a lady such as yourself alone in; ride with me until we find a lord of suitable character to leave you with."

"Very well," said Meleri, who was frankly intrigued by this young wunderkind and wanted to see him in action some more. His every movement and word seemed the very definition of chivalry.

The next day they rode on through the forest, and for several days after that. Often they made camp in the wild, Meleri sleeping in the tent while the knight stood guard like a statue outside, but sometimes they found shelter in small villages, inhabited by rude and malnourished peasants, tucked away in the woods. Presently, they came to a small stone bridge crossing a swift-flowing, rocky stream. On the far side of the bridge stood a pavilion tent. A shield was displayed outside the tent, but the arms had been covered with cloth. At the party's approach, a squire rode forth onto the bridge.

"Hail, good sir knight!" he called. "My lord wishes it known that he has claimed this bridge as his own. Any knight who wishes to cross must first cross lances with my lord. He fights in the name of the woman he loves and will not depart this spot until he has met defeat."

Meleri noted no less than three dozen captured shields were hung from various tree branches around the tent. Clearly this was not a knight to be trifled with. The Knight of the Lake did not hesitate, however. He spurred his horse forward, leaving Meleri behind with his squire. She watched as the other knight, in full armor, emerged from his tent and mounted his horse. The two knights then jousted. On the third pass, they knocked each other from their horses. Rising, they drew steel and continued the fight on foot.

The battle was even closer than the contest between Gawaine and Melodiam. The day grew long and still the knights fought, only occasionally pausing by mutual consent in order to catch their breath. As dusk gathered in the branches above, the Knight of the Lake finally landed a telling blow on his opponent, knocking him to the ground. The bridge knight yielded at the Lake Knight's feet and the combat was done. The Knight of the Lake offered his hand and helped his foe to his feet. The two knights then embraced as brothers, each completely exhausted.

Meleri crossed the bridge and approached on horseback. The bridge knight let out an audible gasp at her approach and Meleri soon discovered why - the knight removed his helmet, revealing his face, and it was none other than Lamorak!

"My lady!" he cried, sinking to his knees. Meleri quickly dismounted and she too helped Lamorak back to his feet. The knights' squires produced camp stools and began fixing supper. The three nobles sat around, tending the freshly-made fire.

"I have fought in your name, lady," said Lamorak, "and it has inspired me. This knight is the first to defeat me."

"You fought very well, sir," said the Knight of the Lake. "I have heard of your exploits even in my far-off home. You are one of the greatest knights of the Table Round and have been an inspiration to me."

Meleri couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Lamorak was blushing. She smiled as she tended to his many small wounds sustained in the day-long combat. Next she tended to the Knight of the Lake. As she did, he said, "I should think it will be safe to leave you in the care of Sir Lamorak. I ride for even rougher country in the coming weeks."

Meleri readily agreed. The next morning the Knight of the Lake set off and Lamorak struck camp. "For Camelot, then?" he suggested.

"A fine idea," agreed Meleri.

And so they rode south, the two lovers reunited again. They talked of many things on their journey, not the least of which was the identity of the Knight of the Lake. Lamorak had also had word of Melodiam's death at Gawaine's hands. "I do not care what the outcome of the trial was," he said venomously. "My brother would not have leveled false accusations. I will prove those Orkneys are responsible for my father's death if it's the last thing I do!"

The travelers stopped at Levcomagus so Meleri could be reunited with her husband and let him know she was safe. As harvest was coming up, he demurred in following her to Camelot but sent her on with his blessings.

Arriving in Camelot, Meleri once again found herself lost among a sea of richly-dressed courtiers and haughty gentry. The city was as grand as ever, its white walls shining in the late summer sun, numberless banners fluttering from its many turrets and spires. Meleri heard many rumors at Arthur's court: Count Uffo had raised his rebellion under the fell influence of his lover, Morgan le Fay; Ireland and Cornwall might be going to war soon; Merlin was still missing, presumed dead. An old herb-woman that Meleri went to for replenishing her stock of healing herbs told her that Merlin was trapped in an invisible tower by his lover, one of many different rumors regarding the old wizard's fate.

Throughout the autumn, prisoners trickled in to Arthur's court, sent by the Knight of the Lake after being defeated in combat and made to promise they'd swear fealty to Arthur. They also brought news: the Knight of the Lake had rescued two other damsels besides Meleri, defeated one Sir Alibon of Queen's Ford, and even rescued Gawaine, Ywaine, Galegantis, and others from the traitorous vavasour. As winter came on, the prisoners came from farther and farther away. The last of them hailed from Nohaut and brought news that the Knight of the Lake had defeated none other than the bandit King of Northumberland himself!

Finally, the first snows began to fall and Meleri prepared to return to Levcomagus. But then all plans were put aside. Word had it that the Knight of the Lake was returning to Camelot - and what was more, he had discovered his true identity!

Thoughts on Being a Player

2011-11-27T20:29:00.000-08:00

As much as I'm sure the title of this post will draw in a record number of Google searches executed by desperate 14-year-old boys trying to figure out how to score chicks, this is in actuality just some random thoughts on my three-month tenure as a PC, a rather novel experience for me these days.

In days of yore, I'd say my time running games and my time playing games was about evenly split. As the other members of my old high school/college group became increasingly disinterested in putting in the work and hours required to be a GM (having been lured away by the siren call of CRPGs and MMOs), I found myself taking up the slack. That was the beginning of my career as full-time GM. Over the last 10 years, I've more often than not found myself gaming with newbies or lapsed gamers just getting back into the hobby, neither category being particularly well-suited to running games. So my full-time GMing continued.

When my last campaign wrapped up in July, my wife Desiree kindly volunteered to step up and run the next game. This was more than a little brave on her part; she's only ever run one-shots or short mini-campaigns, usually just for me or, once in a while, me and one other person. Our group at the time consisted of six other players (myself included), so this obviously constituted quite a leap for her. She chose Pendragon, her hands-down favorite RPG, and I duly looked forward to getting a chance to see how things are as a player in a good-sized group over an extended campaign, something I frankly haven't experienced since John Goodman was making cameo appearances on SNL as Linda Tripp.

I was prepared for the experience to be different, but even then I had little idea (or rather had forgotten) just how different being a player in a campaign can be. I've been a player in one-shots from time to time, but that's a totally different beast from campaign play. I'd forgotten how challenging, how frustrating, and how rewarding it can be to be a player.

The challenge element, of course, was of wholly different nature from the challenges faced by a GM. It was a novel experience for me to be faced with a problem and not know the right answer. As a GM, it's all about putting pieces of the puzzle together on the fly. As a player, one has to find out what exactly the puzzle pieces are to begin with!

Ergo the frustration. I've got a great group right now and we managed to keep moving forward, keep from getting stymied, but I still found myself frustrated at times. I was frustrated at character generation because I'd frankly forgotten that with Pendragon it's best to let the dice tell you what kind of character you've got; I came in with a pre-conceived idea of the type of character I wanted to play and spent a lot of time trying reconcile that image with the character I got. I was also frustrated because, as I found out, the role-playing muscles required to play a PC are quite different from those required of an NPC. Then there was, again, the simple frustration of not having all the info in front of me. Weird!

Ah, but the rewards. In order to talk about that, I have to talk about the campaign and my character a bit.

His name was Sir Driant. Son of a sub-Roman British nobleman from Glevum (Gloucester) he thought rather a lot of himself. I envisioned him as a young James Spader in the sort of roles he used to play back in the 80s. Driant's privileged background meant he started the campaign with the most Glory, and didn't he know it. The rest of the campaign seemed to revolve around breaking Driant down and remaking him. Driant spent the campaign as an errant knight; even an attempt at an arranged marriage backfired disastrously when the prospective wife turned out to be landless and, worse, a shapeshifting murderer. Driant killed his wife personally and turned to raiding his ancestral rival, the Duke of Clarence, to support himself.

He was also a fair jouster and won twice as many jousts as he lost, culminating in the winning of a golden lance (as depicted on his coat of arms above). Driant took on a second squire just to tote around the golden lance in his wake. He and his brother knights (i.e. the other PCs) formed the Order of the Chain (represented on Driant's shield by the circle in the corner) based on an adventure in which they tried to free a giant from its underwater chain. Driant's family trait of "Swims Like an Otter" came in very handy that day.

But I mostly found myself playing second-fiddle throughout the campaign owing to my atrophied player muscles, Driant's largely negative personality Traits, and some good old-fashioned abysmal dice rolling. This didn't bother me too much, but there were still several times I seriously considered recklessly charging into combat so I could suicide Driant and start with a fresh character I might feel more attached to. But I trusted our doughty GM and persevered, and I'm glad I did.

The final adventure of the campaign took us across a giant sword bridge to Merlin's Island and thence into the mystical Wastelands. At the Turning Castle, we met the Maimed King. Attempting a Passion roll to boost my chances of solving the riddle of the king's wound, I rolled (of course) a natural 20, which in this case meant a fumble! Worse, fumbled Passion rolls mean Madness and surrender of the PC to GM control. At this point, Des pulled out some brilliant improv and had Driant, in his madness, see clearly what needed to be done - he took the Grail and healed King Fisherman.

I pledged my service to the Fisher King and Driant became a Grail Knight on the spot. His negative traits flipped to positive and he became a Religious Knight, his life now filled with meaning. The climax of the campaign was a rousing battle on the Plains of Joy against the diabolic forces of Duke Klingsor, the dastardly fiend who had been laying siege to Castle Joy. In his new white robes and armor, Driant charged with his Grail Knight brethren to one side, his Chain Knight brethren to the other. We kicked Klingsor's ass to hell and gone and Driant bid a fond farewell to his brothers in arms as they returned to the real world.

Des will likely run a follow-up Pendragon campaign sometime next year and I'll make a new character for it; Driant is effectively retired, home at last at the Turning Castle. But the experience of that story arc will live on in my memory for years to come as an excellent example of the benefits of patience and perseverance and the unique rewards that can come from being a player in a campaign.

Having said that, I'm very much looking forward to getting back to running games again. Having GM'd so often for so many years, I'm afraid it's in my blood now. The Solo GPC is back on (the next session summary is due shortly) and I'm working up a World of Darkness chronicle to run for the group at large when we reconvene after the holidays. Still, I think I'd like to make a resolution for 2012 and beyond to try and get back towards the balance I once enjoyed between playing and running games. As I was reminded, they may be two sides of the same coin but they are very different sides indeed.

WTF White Wolf?

2011-11-27T09:59:00.001-08:00

So as you might have inferred from the quiet atmosphere around here lately, I've sort of been unplugged from the online gaming world for the last couple months; haven't been posting, haven't been reading. As I'm slowly plugging myself back in, I now discover that apparently White Wolf Game Studios is possibly defunct?

Art by Carol Cavalaris

Wikipedia paints a very gloomy picture; the unofficial White Wolf wiki is not quite as dire, but undeniably grim as well.

Regardless of the true extent of the damage and the company's (lack of a) future, this news makes me very sad. I got into gaming right as Vampire: the Masquerade was blowing up in a big way. For me, the World of Darkness has just always been there in the background, as much a part of the gaming hobby as D&D or Call of Cthulhu and White Wolf has always been an industry giant. Granted, I knew that the WoD has waned in popularity over the last decade and wasn't nearly as red hot as it was in the Nineties, but I didn't think things were that bad. Personally, I've had a bit of a star-crossed relationship with the WoD, particularly Vampire, always wanting to get into the game but being stymied for a variety of Byzantine reasons.

Ironically, earlier this month I (finally) picked up the nWoD core rule book and have been loving it. The refocus of the new edition brings the world more in line with how I always envisioned it; gone are the days of trenchcoat-wearing goth superheroes, thank god. The nWoD seems to be more of a general horror game now, which is great. A nice companion to the highly specific horror of Call of Cthulhu. But it was in the course of Googling around to catch myself up on the state of the WoD game line that I discovered the links above. My star-crossed relationship continues, it would seem.

Another pillar of my hobby experience crumbling? Say it ain't so!

Follow Us to Glory

2011-11-19T18:07:00.000-08:00

Today we wrapped up the group Pendragon campaign my wife's been running since July. I'll write up a summary of what went on and my thoughts on getting to be a player for a spell in a forthcoming post, but I wanted to share a little doodle that came out of today's session.

The campaign culminated in a big battle against a supernatural baddie and his army, and a big chunk of the adventure today prior to said battle consisted of us going around the country trying to drum up allies. In addition to specific lords we had in mind, we wanted to pick up volunteers "on the hoof" as it were. To that end, I had my squire make a sandwich board to wear whenever we passed through a new village or town...

Sadly and inexplicably, this tack didn't get us much in the way of volunteers, but we went on to win the battle anyway.

[Solo GPC] 523: Grave Concerns

2011-10-31T09:54:00.000-07:00

So as I mentioned in a recent post, the Solo GPC has been on a brief hiatus in order to avoid Pendragon burnout. "Unthinkable!" I hear you cry, but alas it is possible. In fairness, this was owing to the fact that Des is currently running Pendragon for our regular group (a write-up of the first phase of which should be coming along sometime in November) timed with a mild case of generalized GM burnout on my part. Having taken a break from running anything more than short mini-campaigns and painting lots of miniatures over the last two months has cured the latter condition, and being "just" a player has gotten me itching to get back into the Pendragon saddle. So regular Solo GPC sessions should be starting up again soon.

In the meantime, here's the long-overdue summary from our last session, which we played, uh, a while ago. First week of September, maybe? At any rate, posting it now is rather timely, as the session turned out to be pretty creepy and well worthy of All Hallows goings-on...
We had left things off the previous session on a bittersweet note: Meleri had accepted the proposal of Sir Ontzlake, Steward of Levcomagus, and married him at Yule. Now the wife of a high-ranking official, she moved her primary residence to Levcomagus, bringing along her family - or most of it. Her eldest son, Loholt, was turning 12 this year and was due to be sent away to serve at a foreign court and begin his training as a knight. Meleri had several candidates in mind, but these were trumped by a request from Earl Robert (thanks to a roll on the Yearly Event table); his wife, Countess Katherine, had specifically requested Loholt be sent to the court of her father at Uffington. Meleri didn't much care for this - there was hardly any love lost between her and Katherine and she suspected a power play on the Countess's part, but in light of the many favors Robert had done her she consented to the request. Shortly after Easter preparations were made for Loholt to be sent off to distant Uffington in the shadow of the White Horse.

The night before the lad's departure, Ontzlake threw a small feast in Loholt's honor. As the feast was getting under way, a stranger presented himself at the hall. He was a tall and strapping knight with skin the color of porcelain and hair so fair as to be almost white. His surcoat, which was the purest white, bore a gold cross as its only heraldic device. Although she had never seen the man before, Meleri guessed his identity based on his reputation: this was the White Knight, notorious for being the only knight to turn down a seat on the Round Table.

"My lord, I am sorry to disturb you. I shall not tarry long," said the White Knight. "I am seeking dedicated Christians to form a spiritual brotherhood that will emulate the rigorous virtues of both knights and monks. We will be a brotherhood dedicated to the unification of the spiritual and chivalrous ways of life, and be called the Temple of the Holy Grail. Interested?"

The Knight's speech was met with bemused silence. Inwardly, Meleri started at the realization that another of the talking eagle's predictions had come true: "A white knight will also be a monk."

Finding his message coolly received, the White Knight excused himself, politely brushing aside Ontzlake's offers of food and board for the evening. Talk centered on the remarkable Knight for a time before turning to the events of the year previous: people were still buzzing about the appearance of the May Babies at court. Arthur had granted demesne lands in Lothian to Margawse's son - "What was his name? Mordat? Mordrec? Mordet? Something like that?" - and the other children had been appointed to the boy's household. There was also much talk of the "Triple Questers" - Gawaine, Yvaine, and Marhaus - and their adventures in the Forest Arroy. They had returned from their self-imposed exile this year to find welcome back at Camelot.

"Did you hear what Sir Yvaine did? What a terrific hero he is, and especially being so young! How old is the lad? 20? 25?"

"No, only 19, I am sure."

"I guess Sir Gawaine still has something to learn about women after all. Did you know that he caused Lady Ettard to kill herself out of longing for Sir Peleus?"

"Sir Marhaus is the one who slew a giant, you know. And jousted down four Round Table knights with one lance! What a man."

Meleri sat in silence listening to the gossip of the courtiers around her. She was still getting used to their faces and names in her new home. As she took a sip of wine, she decided she'd visit Broughton once the weather cleared a bit, check in on Sir Haegirth, who she'd left in charge as steward.

Loholt departed for Uffington the next day and Meleri busied herself with supervising spring cleaning and the myriad tasks that befell the lady of a grand urban manor such as Levcomagus. It wasn't until a couple weeks before the solstice that she found time to think again about her visit to Broughton.

"My lord," she said to Ontzlake one evening as she was doing the darning while he sat poring over account sheets from the city's latest round of tax collection, "I intend to travel to Broughton soon to check in on my lands."

Ontzlake looked up and smiled. "Very well, my lady," he said. "By your leave, I will accompany you. I would like a bit of travel now the weather is pleasant." Meleri agreed to this and plans were made to move Ontzlake's court to Broughton for several weeks. There was much talk of the fine hunting and hawking to be had in the woods around the old manor, and messengers were sent to Earl Robert to arrange a meeting between the neighboring lords; Ontzlake was ever anxious to patch up the bad blood that had existed for so long between Salisbury and Levcomagus.

Having arrived at Broughton shortly after Pentecost, the party settled in. Even though she was only separated from her old home by about 20 miles and a stretch of light woods, Meleri felt she was returning from a foreign land. She enjoyed being back among familiar sights and sounds and was welcomed warmly by the villeins and by her steward, Sir Haegirth.

Three nights after arriving, however, Haegirth approached Meleri with an anxious look on his face.

"My lady," he said, "I have finally remembered why I was in the vicinity of that old cemetery where you found me wandering insensate."

"Do go on!" Meleri said, her curiosity piqued.

"Well...I was on a quest," said Haegirth, his features screwed up from the effort of remembering. "That much is certain. What is also certain is that I was to retrieve a-a thighbone. From a grave."

"I see," said Meleri, somewhat puzzled by the bizarre nature of this quest. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"

"I...don't know," said Haegirth miserably. "I still cannot remember who set me the task, or indeed if anyone but myself desired the bone. Why I might have, I cannot say."

"And how do you fair with your demons?" Meleri asked, inquiring about the spirits that had taken possession of Haegirth and driven him mad in the graveyard.

"The potion provided by Queen Morgan keeps them at bay, but they are not happy and the potion is running low."

"Then I propose we return to the old graveyard and set about retrieving that bone," said Meleri. "Perhaps in finally completing the quest you will find some release from your torments."

"My lady!" exclaimed Haegirth, sinking to his knees in gratitude.

And so arrangements were made to journey to Gloucester. Ontzlake would, naturally, be riding along, but most of his court would remain at Broughton. Meleri could have stayed as well, but her natural curiosity compelled her to go as well - she was quite interested in getting to the bottom of this strange mystery.

It was a blustery summer day when the two knights and the lady set off across the Salisbury Plain, their squires and retinue in tow. At Sarum, Ontzlake stopped to pay his respects to Earl Robert and make arrangements for a longer get-together upon his return to the county. After four days of riding, the party passed out of Salisbury and turned north, riding through Somerset under golden clouds.

By and by, they came upon the mouth of the Severn River. They rode along the banks of the mighty watercourse for two days; shortly after setting out on the third day they happened upon a strange sight.

A small islet sat just off the main bank of the river. On the isle grew a single large elder tree. Beneath its branches on one side sat a silk pavilion tent; on the other side there was a small marble tomb. Three ladies stood around the tomb, weeping and wailing terribly.

Naturally intrigued, the party rode over towards the isle. Ontzlake hailed the ladies from the bank and they turned, wiping tears from their pale and wan faces. Meleri could see that they looked to be in a sorry state: they were underfed, their skin was waxen, their eyes dim and red-rimmed.

"Are you ladies from the Other Side?" Meleri inquired gently.

"You may well call us fee for how we look," said the eldest, "but we are in truth flesh and blood such as yourself. We look as we do because we are bound to remain on this island at the side of this tomb until the good knight who lies within, a good and worthy king, is properly avenged. The king was our father and was treacherously slain by another knight."

"Who did this?" Meleri asked at once.

"We cannot say," said another of the fees.

"Who lies within the tomb?" asked Ontzlake.

"Come over to the island and swear to avenge his death and we will tell you."

"We'll give you anything you wish in return," said the third fee.

Meleri exchanged a look with the other two knights. A moment passed, the decision was made, and they rode across the shallow brook separating the isle from the shore. Ontzlake and Haegirth dismounted and knelt before the ladies.

"We swear to avenge the death of your father upon whomever might have perpetrated this heinous crime," they intoned.

"Then arise," said the eldest lady, "and know that the king who lies within the tomb is none other than Pellinore de Gales."

"No!" Meleri exclaimed.

"Would that it were not so, but it is," said the lady sadly.

"This is a terrible blow," said Ontzlake, his face almost as pale as the fees.

"Come into our tent and sup with us," said the second lady.

The food provided was meager and so was the information the ladies provided. They had no clue as to the identity of Pellinore's murderer. They also swore the trio to secrecy: "Our father's murderer cannot know that there are knights looking for him else he might flee the country."

After the somber repast had wrapped up, Meleri and her entourage resumed their journey north. She was greatly disturbed by news of Pellinore's death. Only a couple years had passed since she had used her healing powers to bring him back from the brink of death. She had liked the old man and his wily, randy, pagan sensibilities. And she loved one of his sons, Lamorak.

By day's end, they were nearing Gloucester. Haegirth guided the party up a side road that rose along a gentle slope before descending into a vale. In the vale lay the old cemetery, in use since Roman times. It was bounded by a rusting iron fence and was slowly being overtaken by the encroaching wild. Trees and bracken grew up among the stones and tombs, their roots tilting some of the stones or turning them over entirely. In the center of the graveyard sat an old stone church, its belfry crumbling, many shingles missing from its roof.

"Cheerful place," Meleri remarked sardonically.

"Aye, there is naught but a great quest that could have compelled me to enter these forsaken grounds," said Haegirth, cold sweat beading his brow.

"What say we get in there and get the bone before the sun goes down?" said Meleri. "I would not want to linger here past dark, nor do I want to stay in this vicinity any longer than necessary."

"Agreed," said Ontzlake and Haegirth together.

The trio left their entourage at the crest of the vale to set up camp, then entered the cemetery and began searching the graves.

"What are we looking for, Haegirth?" asked Meleri.

"I will know it when I see it..." said Haegirth, clearly distressed.

The party searched as best they could, but the graveyard's size and condition both worked against them. Meleri became aware of the gathering gloom and was about to suggest they retire for the day and come back in the morning when a great cold keening wind kicked up. Darkness seemed to gather unnaturally quickly overhead; the sky grew dim, but no stars or moon came out of the inky blackness. As the party began to quickly make its way towards the cemetery gates, they saw a spectral host assembling just outside the boundaries of the fence. Looking back, Meleri saw more ghosts rising up out of their graves, armed and armored for battle. The trio changed course and took shelter against the cold marble wall of an ancient tomb, watching tensely.

The gusts died down slightly but the wailing of the wind was replaced by a great spectral cry from the two ghostly hosts as they charged each other. A great battle erupted among the gravestones. Ontzlake and Haegirth stood, swords out, protecting Meleri, who stood with her back to the tomb. She hoped that the ghosts would not harm the living, but these hopes were dashed when a half-dozen specters charged the two knights.

A fierce battle ensued. The ghosts were immune to the hurts of mortals, but with enough beating and battering they could be reduced to a hazy mist. It was taxing work, and both knights were soon gasping for breath beneath their helms.

"Back to the church!" Meleri cried. She was not thinking of it as any kind of holy shelter, simply a physical barrier against further attacks. Ontzlake and Haegirth executed a fighting withdrawal and soon the party was inside the moldering chapel. The sounds of ghostly battle could be heard all around. In the dim spectral light filtering in through the windows, Meleri could make out a dusty altar. On the wall behind was mounted a rusted spear from which hung an ancient, tattered war banner.

Haegirth, almost insensate with fear at this point, collapsed before the altar, sobbing. Ontzlake kept nervous watch on the doors of the church. Some time passed and they were not bothered as the battle raged on outside. Then a ghost warrior burst through one of the church windows and fighting resumed.

Meleri and Haegirth huddled in fear as Ontzlake battled his undead foe. No sooner had he dispatched this threat than the church doors flew open and two more knights charged in. Ontzlake, bleeding from multiple wounds, was victorious in this fight as well, but sank to the floor, nearly unconscious, as the last ghost dissipated. Meleri rushed to his side to tend his wounds but had barely gotten started when another ghost came charging in through the open door. Ontzlake rose again to fight and was run through by the ghost's spear.

The ghost looked down upon Meleri, its eyes blazing with hatred, and raised its spear to strike again. At that precise moment, a ray of sunlight blazed through the eastern window and the ghost faded into nothingness.

Turning, Meleri saw the ray of light hit the altar, which seemed to glow with a white light. The glow was coming from an altar cloth that had mysteriously appeared, draped over the altar. Without a word, Meleri advanced towards the altar, extending a hand to take the cloth. As her hand drew near, however, the cloth jerked away as if yanked by an invisible string. It floated away from her and as she reached for it again it once again tried to jerk away. She was too quick for it however, and she seized a corner of the cloth which tore away from the rest. [Des needed a Crit on Merciful to grab the cloth and managed one on her first try!]

Meleri took the fragment of altar cloth to Ontzlake and bound the spear wound with it. At once, Ontzlake revived. The blood that soaked into the altar cloth dissipated, leaving the fabric a gleaming white again. She then took the cloth to Haegirth and pressed it against his heart. There was a great whooshing noise and Meleri saw Haegirth's eyes change from a muddled brown to bright blue.

"My lady!" said Haegirth, rising. "The demons are gone, I am sure of it!"

Meleri and Haegirth returned to Ontzlake and helped him to his feet. He was sore and weak, but alive. The party emerged, blinking, into the milky morning light. Haegirth, his senses restored, was able to quickly locate the grave he had been searching for: it was an ancient grave, little more than a cairn, tucked away in an overgrown corner of the cemetery. It didn't take much digging to uncover a pile of old bones, and Haegirth gingerly extracted a crumbling femur from the lot.

He straightened up, smiling. "Now I just need to remember what exactly I was supposed to..." He trailed off, sudden realization clouding his face. At the same time, Meleri spotted three great ravens, each as big as a horse, descending from the skies. "NO!" Haegirth screamed, and he began to run, but the ravens overtook him easily. Haegirth was borne aloft in the talons of one of giant ravens, who wheeled about and flew off to the north, Haegirth's screams fading into the still morning air.

Meleri had run after Haegirth and now stood at the iron fence, tears streaking her cheeks. "That poor man," she said.

"Shall we go after him?" asked Ontzlake.

"You are fit only for bed rest, husband," she said. "And as for poor Haegirth, it seems his lot in life is to suffer one ill omen after another."

Sadly, then, Ontzlake and Meleri departed the perilous cemetery, returning to the camp at the top of the vale. They were greeted warmly by their entourage, who had watched, paralyzed with fear, through the night as the spectral horde had descended on the graveyard; they had feared no one would emerge alive in the morning.

The party rode out of the vale, intending to make for the city of Gloucester where Ontzlake could spend some time recuperating before they set out for Salisbury and Silchester. On the road, they came upon a solitary knight riding south. They hailed him, hoping that he might have seen Haegirth. As he rode up to them, Meleri realized with a start that he bore the coat of arms of a member of the de Gales clan, marking him as a direct relation of Pellinore.

She described Haegirth's abduction and the knight listened solemnly. "I have not seen any trace of your friend," he said, his face grave, "but it sounds as if he was borne away by the Raven Witches. Ever do they trouble the local lord with their machinations. They hold a tower in defiance of the Duke's authority, its ramparts patrolled by their many enthralled knights."

This news only strengthened Meleri's reluctance to pursue Haegirth. Perhaps he was better off living out his life as the brainwashed servant of a coven of witches, she rationalized. At any rate, she had a question for this passing knight.

"Sir, are you a relation of the de Gales clan?" she asked.

"Indeed I am," he said proudly. "I am Sir Melodiam de Gales."

"Then I suggest you take the river road south. Ride on until you see a small isle crowned by an elder tree. You will find something of great and terrible interest to you there," she said. Melodiam gave her a quizzical look but said he would do as she asked.

Meleri rode on at the head of her entourage, her mind troubled by the great dooms that were befalling those around her. After another day's travel, the party arrived at the city of Gloucester, where they were well-received by the Duke. They spent a month as his guests, being treated to great Roman hospitality. Presently, Ontzlake was well enough to travel again and they departed for their homelands.

Arriving back in Salisbury, Ontzlake made plans to spend some time at the court of Robert but these plans were cut short almost immediately when word reached Salisbury of a rebellion in Silchester! Count Uffo, the son of the late Duke Ulfius, had risen against Arthur and the city of Silchester itself was under siege. Hurriedly, Ontzlake returned to Levcomagus, Meleri and his court in tow. The year waned and, fortunately, the rebellion did not spread to Levcomagus. Uffo and his rebels had themselves become trapped in Silchester's walls when the king's army had come marching in, and as the first flakes of snow began to fall the city remained under siege, still defying Gawaine and Griflet. News had reached Levcomagus that the two knights had each offered to fight Uffo in single combat to resolve the entire issue, but Uffo had refused. Uffo had counter-offered to surrender on the condition that he be allowed to go free, but Griflet had also rejected this. And so stalemate set in.

[This year's adventures nicely showcased how well things are working with having an entourage of hench-knights at Meleri's disposal. Des took over Ontzlake and Haegirth during all the exciting action scenes when there was little for Meleri to do; the fact it was her dice rolls that were determining the fate of Meleri's companions during the desperate battle against the ghost knights really added to the excitement and tension of the scene.]

[The Miniatures Corner] What Is This I Don't Even

2011-10-16T09:42:00.000-07:00

Oh, the miniatures you find on eBay...

Listed as "Dwarf Deamon Slayer"

The listing reads in its entirety: Description : Warhammer painted miniature ... what u see ... what u get

Alrighty then!

GURPS Horror 4th Edition; or, Why I'm a Ken Hite Fan Boy

2011-10-15T14:29:00.000-07:00

After the Mentzer Red Box and the 3rd edition GURPS Basic Set, GURPS Horror (the 2nd edition with the badass Michael Whelan cover) was one of my very first gaming purchases. I still have the copy I bought over 20 years ago, although I have little need to ever read it again, having practically memorized it with multiple re-readings over the course of my adolescence. It is a title that's near and dear to my heart.

I picked up the latest edition of GURPS Horror on Tuesday and have been happily devouring it since. Like all GURPS books worth their salt, it has broad applicability to anyone wanting to run a horror game, not just GURPS players. This edition (like the last one) is primarily authored by Ken Hite (although some passages from earlier editions remain; it's been amusing picking them out - I wasn't joking when I said I practically memorized the 2nd edition!); Hite is easily my favorite gaming author working today. He never disappoints, and GURPS Horror 4th edition is no exception.

Chris Kutalik of the likewise always-excellent Hill Cantons blog posted yesterday about the disappearance of the idiosyncratic authorial voice from RPG products, a major pet peeve of mine as well. A couple commenters rightly, I think, identified a big part of the problem as the "design by committee" approach to RPG writing that has come to dominate the industry since sometime in the 90s. One of the reasons I enjoy Ken Hite's work as much as I do (other than the fact that he's an amazing font of gamable inspiration) is that he's one of the few "mainstream" authors who has managed to retain a distinctive and entertaining authorial voice reminiscent of games of old (like my beloved 2nd edition GURPS Horror) or indie games today.

By way of example, here are a couple of my favorite passages so far:

Flare Pistol (TL6): This single-shot, break-open weapon is the best thing to shoot at mummies. Ever. Inflicts 1d burn per second for 10 seconds after impact while merrily illuminating the whole tomb - or at least a 5-yard radius.

[From the section describing how to stat up an animal horde.] Example: A jilted vampire fills a football stadium with bats.... [The swarm is] dispersed after losing 800 HP - by which time the vampire will have absconded with her unrequited quarterback love.

I love it when an RPG book inspires me, fills my head with visions of how cool a game could be. Hite's writing is full of these sort of throwaway brilliant ideas, and hardly a page goes by without one cropping up. By way of other examples, I'm now dying to run a short campaign set in a Roman border fort, the PCs dealing with a druid-cum-manitou reaping vengeance for the displacement of the local Celtic tribe; a medieval procedural investigative one-shot featuring a werewolf-as-serial killer; a good old fashioned psycho killer romp (taking advantage of the Psycho Killer template that features the awesome Ghostly Movement ability - turn your head and he's gone!)...and I haven't even gotten through the bestiary chapter or made a start on the campaigning chapter.

::sigh:: So many ideas, so little time. If you want to be as gleefully frustrated as I, GURPS Horror 4th edition comes highly recommended.

What, you want more? Uh, here's a cool movie trailer:

Wot's been going on

2011-09-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

Been a little quiet around here lately. Just one of those months, I guess. For myself, my absence has been for the right reasons: I've been pretty immersed in funtime gaming projects. As predicted, having a turn on the player's side of the table has been really refreshing, and I've been happily scribbling notes and assembling folders in anticipation of my return to the GM throne. I've also been doing a bit of minis painting, so expect a picture post in the near future.

I have a Pendragon actual play post that's due up soon, but the GPC campaign is now on break while Des is running the Pendragon group game. We decided we didn't want to burn out on the game and jeopardize either campaign. So in addition to making plans for what I'll be running for the group once Des wraps up her Pendragon campaign, I started cooking up a little mini-campaign to run solo with Des. Since it's just the two of us, I get to be a little experimental with both rules and concept.

A couple months ago, after seeing some interesting GURPS-related blog posts and Christian's excellent GURPS write-ups in his Loviator zine, I started thinking about the system again. Longtime readers may recall that GURPS and I parted ways a while back, but I never completely swore off the system and I think I'm ready to approach it from a fresh angle and see how things go. We'll be using GURPS Lite on the player's side, GURPS Ultra-Lite on the GM's side, adding rules and such on an as-needed basis. In terms of scope, I'm following my own advice and starting very small in terms of both setting and power scale, then moving out in ever-expanding circles. The campaign concept is a sort of Supers-Illuminati mishmash. My "elevator pitch" conceptualization is, "What if X-Men: First Class had been written by David Cronenberg and directed by John Waters?" Needless to say, I'm very much looking forward to finding out.

(Oh, and as long as I'm talking GURPS, Peter Dell'Orto [of GURPS Martial Arts fame] has started up an excellent blog that looks at running classic D&D-inspired fantasy with GURPS. Check it out!)

"Guess Who Likes You?"

2011-09-06T19:30:00.000-07:00

I received a most unexpected surprise on my doorstep today: a mystery benefactor sent along my GM badges in pin form via Cafe Press:

With apologies to Scott Driver for stealing his Hipstamatic

The pins are really top notch quality. I think I'll stick them to my GM screen, or maybe decorate the lapel of my leather jacket like so. (Seriously.) I'm really flattered that someone would see fit to send along a gift inspired by this humble little blog. Mystery Person, you made my week!

[The Miniatures Corner] Armies of Arcana Battle Report #4

2011-09-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm finding that holiday weekends are an ideal time to get in some miniatures wargaming. With our usual Pendragon game taking a break this week owing to most of the group having other plans, Des and I sat down on Sunday for another match-up between my Undead and her Amazons.

I was particularly looking forward to premiering my new river and road terrain and incorporating my "house rules," which are really just some favorite bits from Fantasy Warriors mostly concerning table set-up and victory conditions. I was also looking forward to exorcising the rather disappointing last outing into AoA land of a couple months ago. Not counting that debacle, my skele-bones were 0-2. Would I finally chalk up my first victory or go down once again to ignominious defeat? Read on... (All pictures clickable, of course.)

The initial setup. Using the FW-inspired scouting rules, my Undead were completely outmaneuvered, allowing Des to choose the terrain and time of day (dawn, naturally). I quite liked the "new" FW-inspired terrain placement rules; after years of playing WWII skirmish games, I have a tendency to overcrowd the board with terrain. These rules created a nice, more open feeling while still creating enough obstacles to have an impact on deployment and maneuvering.

Right before battle is joined. At the last minute, Des ended up shifting her Peltasts (in the nearground) a bit, moving one of the units over to the other flank to guard her avatar of Athena (who was one of my victory objectives, the other being her Centaurs). For my part, I named my War Mammoth as an objective and the ruined temple as the other.

For years I've favored deploying my fast, hard-hitting units on the flanks but this game I took a chance and put my Knights right in the center. So it was that knights clashed with chariots on Turn One, kicking things off in grand style!

The "thousand yard stare" of a seasoned veteran...

The lines draw closer together, as the Amazon skirmish screen moves to contact my two infantry units. Meanwhile, the Centaurs and Peltasts move up towards the ruined temple, which has been occupied by my Troll-riding Necromancer, Germanotta. This marked the first game where I was actually able to get some spells off, finally rolling well against the inevitable Counterspell attempts.

Another view of the early stages of the battle. You can make out the Centaurs between the woods and the marsh...and my catapult drawing a bead on them. Shortly after this picture was snapped, I hit the Centaurs with a truly devastating shot from my catapult that wiped out five of the six horses! That catapult is easily the most effective unit in my army (when it hits, that is).

With one of my victory objectives nearly in the bag, I turned my sights on the other. As Athena was hiding behind a screen of Peltasts and a raging river, it would take some doing to get there. Here we see my War Mammoth about to attempt a river crossing. My Skeleton Pikemen, meanwhile, have made short work of the unit of Axewomen and are gunning for the Amazon Phalangites, whose numbers are being steadily whittled down by my archers. (More thoughtful deployment of my missile unit this battle allowed them an opportunity to play a more effective role, as well. I'm learning!)

Seeing what I was up to, Des sends her Barbarian Queen across the river as well. We had three units in total cross the river this game, and all suffered for it. My river-crossing house rules (developed back in the Fantasy Warriors days) proved their worth. Next game that features a river, I hope to see a bridge or ford if only to see how that affects things.

The situation mid-game. The chariot vs. knight contest turned into a real slugfest as neither side could force a morale check and we were both rolling hot on our armor saves...

In the end, though, the chariot unit broke, proving the old truism that if a chariot doesn't shatter a unit on its first charge it's probably doomed. The ensuing pursuit broke the center wide open and left my knights in an excellent position.

The other big melee in the middle. I'm finding Undead in melee to be an interesting spectacle. Being Fearless, they don't run away, but if they fail morale checks they tend to start disintegrating rapidly. Win or lose, my units are usually pretty depleted after a melee.

River crossings completed. Odds weren't looking good for my poor Mammoth, facing off against a General, a unit of Peltasts, and an Avatar.

After this picture was snapped, I charged the Amazon General with my Mammoth. She had lost 3 of her 6 Wounds crossing the river, but alas I was unable to finish the job. The Peltasts counter-charged and between them and the General my mammoth went down like a Mumakil. You can also see in the picture where I charged the Phalangites with my Pikes. Despite catching the phalanx on the flank, some phenomenally bad dice rolling on my part led to my unit's rapid disintegration. Ah well.

Meanwhile on the left flank, the lone remaining Centaur had charged Germanotta in her temple fastness and been dispatched. One victory condition met by each of us! I then managed to actually cast Raise Dead (a remarkable achievement for this army, trust me) and bring up some fresh skeletons to intercept the Peltasts who were menacing my Necromancer. As their numbers dwindled, Germanotta spurred her Undead Troll forward and joined the fray, cutting down Amazons with bolts of eldritch energy from her impeccably-manicured fingers.

As the melee in the center wrapped up (leaving just my Reaper and a single Skeleton Warrior standing!), my knights became the third and last unit to ford the river. Des had moved her General and Peltasts around to counter this move, and combat was joined.

I lost several knights in the ensuing melee, but the Peltasts could not stand up under the charge and fled, carrying their Queen with them. The loss of a General was good enough to trigger a Command Test (another FW-inspired house rule) and the Amazon army quit the field just as the sun began to set...

So it was a minor, somewhat Pyrrhic victory for me, but a win is a win! Woohoo!

It was quite an epic game: seven turns and about four hours! I was glad for the Command Test rules because without them the game would have probably dragged on for another two or three turns at least and by the end we were both pretty much ready to pack things up. We both had lots of fun, though. Those Amazons are a bunch of badasses, I must say. I'd love to put together another army just to see how they fare against them. May be a project for 2012...

My GM Merit Badges

2011-08-22T16:12:00.000-07:00

Just too many great GM-related memes circulating all of a sudden! Hot on the heels of the Hill Cantons Challenge comes this brilliant concept courtesy of Stuart of the Strange Magic blog. Mirroring the merit badge system of the Scouts, the idea is to choose those aspects of running games in which you excel as a sort of shorthand to describe your GMing style. Here are mine:

I like to play rules "by the book" for the most part. Although I won't bring a game to a screeching halt to look something up, if the rule is easily accessible via the Index, chances are I'll take the 30 seconds required to look it up. Even then, if the rule seems too complicated for the situation I'll probably hand-wave it, but for me it's "rules, then rulings" most of the time.

I was converted to the One True Way of letting the dice fall where they may when I ran a campaign via OpenRPG, which has all dice rolls occur on the screen in front of everybody. Lo and behold, it did not wreck my campaign, nor cause hurt feelings amongst the players. If anything, it added to the game experience and the overall fun. This badge also, I feel, covers devotion to random results, of which I am a big proponent. Considering my narrativist leanings, I feel this particular facet of my GMing is the only thing that keeps me from being a total railroady douchebag. ;)

When it comes to intra-party dynamics, I'm all about the drama, in service to a better story at least. I like a group that will create connections between their characters and NPCs in the campaign and then milk those connections for all they're worth. I know I've done a good job as GM when players talk about NPCs as if they were real people.

By and large, I like to encourage playing characters who are destined for great things. Note this does not necessarily mean Epic Heroes. The PCs in my last Cthulhu campaign saved San Francisco from an incursion by Yog-Sothoth and made the Tenderloin District less filthy-awful than it is in our own reality, but in so doing all but one of them died or went insane - and the lone survivor ended up stranded 85 years in the future!

As I mentioned in my own Hill Cantons Challenge post, I can hardly be accused of shunning pre-published material. For one thing, I've always felt most comfortable riffing off established worlds. Secondly, I wouldn't get to game nearly as much as I'd like if I was having to create adventures and settings from whole cloth. Why re-invent the wheel when you can tinker with one that's already been built?

One of all-time favorite Jeff Rients essays is How to Awesome Up Your Players. Two things give me great joy as a GM: working random results into an established scenario (see above) and facilitating my players' awesome experiences at the table. If players want to do Activity X, I'll go out of my way to make that happen (even if I personally think it's the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard - you never know, it could be I was wrong to despair and the idea was awesome after all!). And if, during idle chatter, they come up with a theory about Villain Y that totally kicks my own idea's ass, I'll happily (and quietly) adopt the players' idea and run with it.

One of my OSR conceits. I don't believe in designing "balanced" encounters. If a new-made knight in one of my Pendragon campaigns wants to take on Gawaine, he better be prepared to get his ass kicked. Although I like to facilitate awesome experiences and great destinies, I firmly don't believe they should be handed to the player on a silver platter.

This ties in directly with my Destiny and Drama badges: I want my campaigns to tell a story in the end. Mind you, that's in the end. Someone once said that RPGs are stories that are told in retrospect, and never have truer words been spoken. I don't mind players going off-track as long as its eventually in service to a good story.

As much as I respect rules and published settings, I also understand they're not carved in stone. I have no compunctions about tinkering with rules or settings/adventures as written, either before the campaign starts or (even better) based on actual gameplay experiences. It's for this reason that I tend to prefer simpler, more robust systems - there's less of a chance that changing one little rule will throw everything else horribly askew.

Although Stuart first envisioned this as a way to facilitate online pick-up gaming, I can see its use as a tool of self-analysis. For example, I was surprised to see that I had both the "by the book" and "rules tinkerer" badges, but after thinking about it, it made sense. I also mentioned in a comment on Stuart's blog that these badges form a sort of ersatz graphic tracker of one's preferred style. Returning to the badges periodically to see which ones still apply, which ones you'd drop, and which ones you'd add is a great way of tracking your changing style and preferences as a GM.

[Solo GPC] 522: Missed Connections

2011-08-22T13:40:00.000-07:00

This year Des once again demonstrated her ability to put her characters through the emotional mill by involving them in tricky affairs of the heart. She certainly didn't make things easy for herself in choosing to pursue a love affair with Sir Lamorak, the prototypical knight errant. This year, dealing with a trickster fairy on her lands would be the least of Lady Meleri's worries...

We left things off last session with Queen Morgan, fleeing from her half-brother Arthur, calling upon her old handmaiden at Broughton Hall. Meleri decided she'd allow Morgan to stay through the cold months, but felt torn in her loyalties. She picked up a Trusting (Morgan) directed trait of +6(!) but also critted her Loyalty (Pendragon) roll as spring came to Salisbury. But before we dealt with the ramifications of that passion roll, there was the Winter Phase to attend to. As Meleri had spent some time in the company of Lamorak the year before, a roll on the childbirth table was in order. Lo and behold, Meleri was with child! Morgan proved an able midwife as Meleri delivered Lamorak's bastard daughter. The queen also proved helpful in providing some clues to the mysterious conditions of Meleri's bachelor knight, Sir Haegirth.

"The man is possessed by, I believe, no fewer than two spirits," Morgan told Meleri in private. "The unquiet dead can at times inhabit the bodies of the living, though it is rare for more than one to do so at a time. Once the spirits have taken residence in their host, they will attempt to exert their own wills over the living person."

"What can be done to drive the spirits out?" asked Meleri, alarmed at this latest development.

"The spirits remain restless because they died with unquiet souls," Morgan replied. "Sometimes there is a task you can complete that will put the spirit to rest. Alternately, you can return to the place where Sir Haegirth picked up his, uh, 'guests'," she continued with a wry smile, "and see about sending them back whence they came.

"It seems to me that one of the spirits in question is very ancient, perhaps Pictish. It is this spirit that is responsible for most of Sir Haegirth's strange behavior. Here," said Morgan, pulling a glass vial from her robes, "I have prepared a draught that will help Sir Haegirth keep his wits about him and suppress the spirits within him. Take care that you decide how to help him before the bottle runs empty."

"Many thanks, majesty," said Meleri, taking the vial. Morgan continued to stare at Meleri with a searching look, then finally rose.

"There is a lake in the woods near here that is great in the power of the old gods. I have been awaiting the approach of Beltane eve that I may perform a ceremony there. In a week's time I will journey to the lake and will be there for a day before returning here." With that she swept from the hall.

Meleri sat, torn by her loyalties. It seemed Morgan was finally preparing to leave. The decision she had been putting off all year was at last upon her. Pocketing the draught the queen had given her, Meleri stood and called for her steward. She had made up her mind: despite the help Morgan had offered her, the queen was still guilty of attempted murder and needed to face the king's justice. As kin, Morgan would no doubt benefit from Arthur's mercy, but she needed to answer for her behavior. Still, Meleri did not want to alert Arthur directly, so she split the difference. She dictated a letter and addressed it to Earl Robert, then dispatched a rider to the Earl's court.

Several days passed with no reply from the Earl. Finally, on the eve of Beltane, Morgan departed as planned. The following afternoon, at last, came a banner of knights, the Marshall of Salisbury, Sir Jaradan, riding at their head.

"My lady," said Jaradan, hopping down from his saddle, "we have received your letter. Where is she?"

"In the woods," said Meleri, pointing. "She told me she'd return tomorrow."

They stood silently contemplating the darkening woods for some time before Meleri spoke again. "What took you so long?"

"The Earl is currently in residence at Devizes Castle, three days' ride from here. We came with all haste once we received your letter, of course."

"Of course," muttered Meleri. "Won't you come in and rest from your long journey?"

Meleri saw to the needs of the Marshall and his knights, proving an able hostess. But as the day wore into night, she couldn't shake the mounting suspicion that Morgan would not be returning. Sure enough, with the dawn the following morning there came no sign of Morgan. The day passed and still the queen did not come back from the woods.

"I fear Morgan may have noted your arrival," Meleri told Jaradan over supper.

"It may well be," said Jaradan grimly. "She is a wily one. They say she has a castle in the Morgaine Forest on the southern border."

"I am sorry to have called you across the county on a wild goose chase then," said Meleri, not entirely sure if she meant what she said.

"We were going to come this way at any rate," said the battle-scarred Marshall. "The Earl wishes to see you and has issued a summons for you to appear at his court."

Meleri nearly dropped her spoon in surprise. What could the Earl want with her?

The knights rode patrol through the Harewood for two more days but turned up no sign of Morgan. The lake she had said she'd be visiting on Beltane was as quiet and empty as ever and the local charcoal burners could give no account of the queen's passing. Finally, plans were made to return to Devizes with Meleri along for the journey. Before they departed, Meleri dispatched messengers to Camelot and Norgales bearing letters for Sir Lamorak. She missed him desperately and wanted to introduce him to their child.

After leaving Broughton, with stops at Sarum and Tilshead, the party eventually made its way to Devizes. The fortress on the northwest border of Salisbury showed evident signs of recent construction and upgrading and Meleri couldn't help but feel impressed by its commanding presence.

Within the castle's keep, Meleri found Earl Robert holding court. She felt the eyes of Lady Katherine and her courtiers upon her yet again, judging her. She watched as Sir Jaradan gave his report on failing to apprehend Morgan le Fay. As Meleri presented herself before the Earl, she also saw a young squire bearing the arms of Sir Ontzlake.

"It is a shame that Morgan gave us the slip," said the Earl, "but you did well in alerting us. King Arthur has declared Morgan an outlaw, all her lands and possessions forfeit."

Meleri nodded, hoping it would never come to light exactly how long Morgan had been at Broughton.

"I thank you for coming so promptly to my summons," Robert continued. "I have a message from Sir Ontzlake, steward of Levcomagus, that concerns you." He motioned to the squire standing nearby, who stepped up and handed Robert a letter. "Sir Ontzlake intends to marry you," said Robert, indicating the letter.

Meleri's heart fell. "My lord, this is most unexpected," she said, recovering.

"But not unwelcome, I hope?" asked Robert, handing the letter back to the squire. "Long have we held an enmity with Levcomagus. A marriage between its new steward and the daughter of one of Salisbury's most illustrious knights would go a long way towards healing that rift. And you would stand to benefit as well: now that he has his rightful inheritance again, Ontzlake boasts considerable holdings."

"I...must think on it," said Meleri. Robert's face fell but he recovered quickly.

"Then stay as my guest here while you make up your mind."

Meleri bowed and excused herself. She knew that, again, the Earl was holding back in deference to her blood. As her legal guardian, he had the option and the right to make her marry whomever he pleased. And he was right: it was a good match, both politically and materially. But she still held out hope about Lamorak...

She lingered a week at Devizes but still could not make up her mind. During her stay, she heard worrying rumors that the Pictish expedition Lamorak had embarked upon under the leadership of Sir Griflet had not gone well. Also, apparently Sir Gawaine and Sir Ywaine had yet to return to Camelot, despite Arthur making it known they'd both be welcomed back. There were tales of three knights riling up the whole of the Forest Arroy with their adventures and it was widely supposed that two of their number were the missing Orkney knights.

At last, Meleri asked the Earl to grant her leave to return to her manor, promising to give him an answer to Ontzlake's proposal by year's end.

"Very well," said Robert, visibly irritated, "but do not tarry long. I do not know how long Sir Ontzlake is willing to wait."

Riding with her entourage, Meleri returned to Broughton after an absence of three weeks. As she approached her manor, Meleri could see the aged village headman, Old Gorwell, coming up the road to meet her.

"My lady," he wheezed as she reined her horse to a stop, "the village has been much vexed in your absence."

Looking out over her lands, Meleri could see no visible signs of trouble; the peasants were out in the fields or else going about their usual business. "What goes on?" she asked Gorwell.

"A curse!" said Gorwell, his bloodshot eyes bugging out. "The devil himself has come! Livestock have gone missing, there have been visitations by malevolent spirits, and old familial feuds have been renewed. It has been a sore vexing time, even with that Sir Lamorak coming by..."

"What!?" Meleri asked quickly, looking about as if expecting to see Lamorak standing right next to her.

"Aye," said Gorwell, "he came through about a fortnight afore. Stayed for a day or two, then said he had to be on his way."

Cursing, Meleri urged her horse past Old Gorwell and up to the manor house. Her steward confirmed it: Lamorak had been by.

"Did he mention my letter?" Meleri asked anxiously.

"No madam, he did not," said the steward. Meleri bit her lip as she turned away from the steward. Old Gorwell came stumping into the hall, panting a bit from the hike up the hill to the manor.

"What?" Meleri asked impatiently.

"The villagers have been clamoring for you, my lady," said Gorwell. "They want to know how you intend to rid them of this curse."

Doing a bit of cursing herself, Meleri departed the hall, taking Sir Haegirth with her. She strode down into the village and, at her approach, villagers began to swarm around her.

"What has been going on?" Meleri shouted to the assembly. She was met with a barrage of complaints.

"My neighbors have started feuding with me!"

"I've been getting the evil eye!"

"A cow's milk has gone bad!"

"I hear strange sounds at night!"

"Evil words spring forth from my mouth!"

Meleri raised her hands, appealing for calm. The crowd settled down enough for her to talk.

"When did all this start?" she asked.

"Right around when you left, lady," said a tall, strapping farmer. "Shortly after May Day."

Beltane, thought Meleri. Could Morgan have known about Meleri's duplicity and left behind a curse?

"I know who's behind it," the farmer continued.

"Oh?" said Meleri. "Pray tell me."

"It's that no-account Caddan. He lives out yonder, on the other side of the orchards and has little truck with the rest of the village. But I found one of my stolen chickens on his land and I've seen strange lights out that way at night."

"Take me to this Caddan," said Meleri. She told Haegirth to stay behind and take down details of the villagers' complaints. The farmer led Meleri along a trail out of the village and down through the orchards. The neat rows of trees soon gave way to a somewhat overgrown wooded area. "It's just beyond these woods," said the farmer.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of a crying child came from a nearby stand of hawthorne. "What's that?" Meleri asked, coming to a halt. They stood listening as the cries continued. Curiosity piqued, Meleri walked cautiously towards the hawthorne. The crying was definitely coming from within the dense stand of thorny bracken. "Hello?" she called out. The crying intensified.

Trying not to snag her clothes or hair on the hawthorne thorns, Meleri pushed her way into the bush. Despite her best efforts, the hawthorne tore at her clothes and scratched her skin, but she pressed forward. As she neared the center of the bush, the crying ceased. Looking around, Meleri saw nothing but more thorny branches.

Fighting her way back out of the hawthorne, tearing her clothes a bit more, Meleri emerged panting and sweaty. "Nothing in there," she said to the farmer, who nodded grimly.

"Aye, you're not the first to hear phantom voices."

Continuing on, they emerged from the woods and Meleri caught sight of a rude, ramshackle farmhouse across a field of green wheat ripening in the June sun. As she and the farmer cut across the field, an apple-sized rock came flying out of nowhere. Meleri tried to duck but it was too late; the rock struck her on the temple, opening a bloody gash and leaving her dazed.

"What the-?" she asked as she steadied herself. Reaching to her belt, she found that her dagger had gone missing.

"It came from out in the field!" said the farmer, rushing off through the wheat. He looked around frantically, but, "Nothing!"

Without another word, Meleri marched up to farmhouse and banged on the door. A young, handsome farmer answered her call and bade her enter. "It's about time!" he sneered as she walked in.

"Excuse me?" Meleri asked, one hand clutched to her throbbing temple.

"For nearly a month I've had nothing but vexations and you finally deign to come and see what goes on," said Caddan, his buxom wife looking on as she stirred a cauldron of bubbling pottage.

"I have been away," said Meleri, "and came as soon as able. Besides, I have reports that you are the one behind all this mischief."

"Says who?" asked Caddan, clearly affronted. Meleri pointed out one of the cottage's open windows towards the tall farmer, still out in the wheat field looking for the stone thrower.

"Oi! Clear off, you!" Caddan shouted out the window. The strapping farmer made a rude hand gesture back at Caddan and began walking back towards the village. "That's Odaf," said Caddan. "He's had it in for me for some time now, for all the bleeding saints know why. He would try to get me hung from a gibbet over all this, but I swear to you I've been as much troubled -"

Meleri had raised a hand to cut Caddan off. Still looking out the window, she had seen something: a wizened little man, about two feet tall and bearded, tip-toeing between two fence posts about 10 yards from the farmhouse. Meleri's time in the Forest Sauvage had taught her much of the ways of the Good Folk, and she sensed she knew what she was dealing with. This was a trickster faerie, a creature of pure deceit and malevolence. She remembered that they were normally invisible, but one could sometimes catch a passing glimpse, as she just had. Furthermore, they were attracted to lies like flies to honey.

"My, what a lovely cottage you keep!" said Meleri, turning from the window and beaming at the Caddan and his wife. The peasants exchanged shocked expressions.

"Shut it, bitch!" This came from Caddan's wife, who immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Meleri merely smiled; she knew the faerie was very near and playing more of his tricks. Casually, she picked up a rough wool blanket that the wife had been darning earlier.

"Yes, I would simply love to have you up to my hall for a feast as soon as may be," Meleri continued. Her eyes lit upon movement among the rafters - it was the faerie, tip-toeing along a beam! She hurled the wool, catching the little creature full in the face. He fell with a thump to the packed earth floor and Meleri was on him in an instant, bundling the wee bastard up in the wool blanket.

"Lemme go!" shrieked the creature from within. "I'll gut ya! I'll kill ya!"

"Shush," said Meleri calmly. "I'll let you go if you tell me why you've come to bother my commoners."

"Came through on Beltane," said the still-wriggling form. "Door got left open on the lake. Lemme go and I'll lead you there."

Meleri wasn't fooled for an instant. "I know the way myself, thanks," she said. Bidding Caddan and his wife farewell, she made her way back to the village, the fairy slung over her shoulder in the "bag." There she found Haegirth still taking down details of the peasants' complaints.

"Me puppy's gone missing!" one was lamenting.

"Come, Haegirth," said Meleri, leading her knight and his squire out of the other side of the village and out across the sheep pastures towards the Harewood. They walked for two hours through the light woodland, making for the lake Morgan had visited three weeks ago. Reaching its shores, Meleri stared out over the half-acre of green water, rippling gently in a summer breeze. "Now what?" she asked as the deceitful faerie continued to struggle and curse in its woolen sack.

"My lady!" said Haegirth, pointing. "I see an island! Or...I think I do. It twists before my very eyes and seems hidden behind a veil."

Meleri signaled to Haegirth's squire. "Build us a raft, boy, that we may make our way out to the island."

An hour later, a makeshift raft lay bobbing in the water. Gingerly, Meleri, Haegirth, and his squire got on board and Haegirth used his shield to paddle them out into the water. As they proceded, Meleri began to see it too: a small island with a great castle! Could this be the castle of Morgan le Fay that Jaradan had referred to?

Suddenly, the water around the raft turned from green to red. They were no longer floating on water but on blood! Shocked, Haegirth lost his balance and the whole rickety raft turned over, dumping its occupants into the bloody lake.

Meleri came up spluttering, her feet finding the muddy lake bottom. She hauled herself up onto the grassy shore of the island, Haegirth and his squire close behind. Standing, she was surprised to find her clothes and hair completely dry, no trace of blood upon her. Before her stretched a cobblestone road leading to the castle, a remarkable ramshackle structure as grand as any she had ever seen.

The party began walking up the cobblestone road, but hadn't gone far when, with a great rumbling, the stones before them rose up and coalesced into a large massive stone man!

"Why do you walk upon me?" it asked in a grating voice.

"Because you are a road!" said Meleri indignantly. As if it resented being called something so lowly as a road, the stone man gave a roar and swung a massive fist at Meleri. Haegirth was there in an instant, blocking the fist with his shield. He began to rain down blows upon the stone man, but his blade only drew sparks from the stones. Still, he was quick while the stone man was slow and he managed to keep out of the way of its massive stoney hands for a time. Then Haegirth's luck ran out: the stone man landed a solid hit to the knight's helm that sent him sprawling. With a scream, Meleri ran to his side along with Haegirth's squire.

With no one on the road, the stone man sank back into cobblestones. Haegirth's squire removed his master's helm, revealing a bleeding and dazed - but still living - face beneath. Haegirth tried to rise, but sank back to the ground with a groan of pain.

"Lie here, Sir Haegirth," said Meleri soothingly. "I will continue on my own."

She left Haegirth in the care of his squire and continued walking - off the path - up to the castle, the deceitful faerie slung over her shoulder. Shortly, she spotted another small man approaching from the castle gates. He was about four feet tall and wore a bright red cap.

"Good day to you, my lady," he said, sweeping his cap from his balding head. "I am Ratat the Redcap, master of this castle."

"Good day, sir," said Meleri courteously. "I have come to return a missing member of your court."

Ratat looked delighted as Meleri heaved the wool blanket down on the ground and the little faerie came tumbling out, cursing viciously.

"Tad, you scoundrel!" Ratat exclaimed. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to." He looked up at Meleri, all smiles. "Please, you must come an join our feast by way of thanks."

Meleri had heard tales of faerie food and what it did to mortals who ate it, but looking into Ratat's eyes she felt she could trust him. She allowed him to take her hand and lead her up to the castle, Tad following behind grumbling, hands thrust in his pockets.

Within the courtyard of the castle several trestles had been laid out and the members of Ratat's court were milling about, chatting and laughing. Meleri saw lords and ladies dressed in outrageous garb, their faces cruelly beautiful. She saw giants and pixies and other small faeries who looked like they could be Tad's cousins.

A horn signaled the beginning of the feast and Meleri was seated at Ratat's side. The meal began with jellied faerie dust before a platter of roasted dragon cuts was laid before Meleri. She picked up a knife to spear some of the meat when it suddenly began to talking to her!

"Hey, careful with that knife missy!" it said, two of the juicy cuts forming a sort of erstaz mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Meleri said, dropping her knife. "I thought we were supposed to eat you."

"Oh. So you are. I forgot," said the meat. "Dig in. I'm most delicious!"

As Meleri started tucking in, an elfin knight seated to her other side toasted her. "Are you a friend of Morgan's?" he asked, his purple eyes twinkling.

"I served her at court," said Meleri as a plate of poached saltwater kraken was laid before her.

"An honor!" said the faerie knight.

"She was here recently?" asked Meleri, guessing the answer.

"Indeed," answered Ratat, who had been listening in. "Tad must have slipped past when she crossed over."

Meleri was distracted at this point by the sight of several faerie knights, including the one sitting next to her, jumping up and stripping off their clothes to go for a swim in the castle moat, laughing uproariously. A pixie filled Meleri's goblet with 1,000-year-old wine as Ratat offered her an apperitif of boiled moss from the rocks of Stonehenge and green cheese.

As Meleri enjoyed some powdered dragon scales ("to aid digestion," as Ratat explained), she watched a giant and pixie provide the evening's entertainment: a pantomime farce about the life and marriage of Sir Herringdale and Lady Elaine! She watched the giant take the pixie's remonstrances with good humor only to be literally stabbed in the back by the pixie when he turned away. The giant crushed the pixie, then cried great tears of remorse, all to the enthusiastic applause of the assembled court. The giant took a bow, as did the pixie, now miraculously returned to life. Meleri clapped along for politeness' sake but felt a great sadness in her bosom for the doomed romance of her mother and father. Was she simply repeating the same mistakes with her pursuit of Lamorak? Was she afraid of marriage? Was Lamorak's very inaccessibility the root of his charm and attraction?

Meleri's sadness was dispelled when the faerie knight, returned from swimming and fully clothed again, asked her for a dance. The evening slipped away into endless reels and japes and the last thing Meleri could remember was laughing and laughing and laughing...

She was awakened by a leaf falling on her face. Sitting up, she could see she was on the shore of the lake and Haegirth and his squire were slumbering nearby. The woods, she noted, had turned orange and yellow, the ground sporting a carpet of fallen leaves. It was autumn! Even though she had been at Ratat's castle for a single evening, a whole season (or more?) had passed in the world.

After waking Haegirth and his squire, Meleri hurried back to the village and her manor. She saw peasants out harvesting the ripened wheat as she trotted up the path to Broughton Hall. Within, she found her children and servants overjoyed at her reappearance. Three months had passed since she had departed into the woods, and they had feared her dead. To her great distress, Meleri also learned that Lamorak had once again paid a visit to Broughton. He had received her letter and left behind one of his own, telling her that he would be in residence at Arthur's court at Camelot until after the harvest.

Wasting no time, Meleri made ready to depart for Camelot, riding out as soon as her horse was made ready.

Night was falling when she reached the walls of Camelot. It had been a little more than a year since she'd seen the new capital and the difference was striking. The white-washed walls were gleaming orange in the setting sun and the king's Golden Keep was nearly completed. The city already looked like it had been there for generations. Like it had always been there.

Due to the late hour, Meleri did not make for the king's court, instead taking a private room at an inn. The following morning, not knowing where exactly to find Lamorak, Meleri made her way up to the Golden Keep. She found the antechamber to the hall crowded with petitioners. She registered her name with Sir Kay and patiently waited to be announced. About an hour later her name was called and she entered the hall. Seated at the far end was Arthur in his throne, Guenevere to his left, to his right an empty throne representing the royal couple's future heir. Meleri presented herself with all due courtesy, then took her place among the milling courtiers. She scanned the hall looking for Lamorak but could not see him.

Several more lords and ladies were announced, then Kay stepped forward with a most arresting announcement: "A fisherman from France has come seeking an audience, sire. He says he has a letter of great importance to give you."

"Show him in," Arthur said as all eyes turned towards the great doors of the hall. In walked a man of middling years dressed in a brown tunic and grey leggings. Despite his homespun clothes and rough appearance he carried himself with undeniable nobility, and when he spoke it was with a courteous manner. "Your majesty," he said with a deep bow.

Sir Kay stepped up and took an old, time-worn letter, its seal broken and unreadable, from the man, looked at it, and presented it to Arthur. The High King glanced at the letter, furrowed his brow, and handed the letter to Guenevere. She too read it, then handed it on to Bishop Dewi, who had been standing nearby. "Let's hear your tale," said Arthur.

"Your majesty," the man began in a thick French accent, "While young, I was so poor that I had no boat and worked my nets from a rocky headland on the coast. My wife and I were childless, and each morning we prayed to God for a child. One dawn, after a storm, I came upon a wrecked ship with its back and ribs cracked and its cargo strewn across the beach. A baby cried; then two more, a dozen, twenty! And although many children lived, none of the crewmen were alive. In the hand of one child, who was wrapped in a silk-lined wool blanket, was the letter now in your possession.

"I have kept these children and raised them as my own household for the last ten years. Only recently did my parish priest read this letter to me and urge me to return the boys to their own land. When I heard of your kindness and honor, I knew they would be well received here, so I brought them home."

At this point Bishop Dewi cleared his throat and began to read. "To his Highness the Pope: This child is the son of a king and a queen of Britain. His father hight King Lot, the greatest king of Britain, and his mother hight Margawse, daughter of Uther Pendragon. The gifts sent by messenger are a token of appreciation and trust that you will raise our children in the best manner possible. Please save them from the devil worship of Merlin the Enchanter."

Arthur, clearly intrigued, rose from his throne. "Bring the children out."

The hall was completely silent as two dozen ten-year-old boys marched in. Meleri noted they were all wearing tunics and hose to match the fisherman. She also noticed one of the boys wore a hat and cloak and that the rest of the boys seemed to be looking to him for their cues. As she noticed this, the boy in the cloak and hat stepped forward and kneeled before Arthur, practically touching his nose to the ground. "Oh mighty king," rang his high voice, "we place ourselves at your mercy."

As if they had rehearsed this, the rest of the boys kneeled and, as one, intoned, "We have been lost for years and long to be home."

Arthur, not taking his eyes off the kneeling boys, addressed the court at large. "Britain is the refuge of the innocent and helpless. In this land, the strong defend the weak, and no one is helpless who lives within the law."

Meleri quietly gasped, remembering the eagle's second prophecy: "A boatload of children will make you marvel and fear."

"Guenevere," Arthur continued, "welcome these guests to our court. Kay, have a special table set up here before the high table, just for tonight. Cynrain, call out the messengers. Send along those herald fellows, on the fastest horses, to Queen Margawse. Tell her that her missing son has been found, and that she and all the other mothers robbed ten years ago should come to Camelot immediately."

As the children were led from the hall by Guenevere, Arthur raised his arms, beaming. "The stability and peace of he realm is welcome, and everyone is prospering. And look, our children have been returned to us! This is how the world ought to be."

A round of applause greeted the king's words. Looking around, Meleri at last caught sight of Lamorak. He had been in a side chamber prior to the arrival of the children; just beyond, Meleri could see the gleaming Round Table. Their eyes met and Lamorak made his way across the hall, smiling.

"I am pleased to see you," he said.

"And I you," she replied. "I feared for your safety. I heard rumors about the northern campaign..."

"It was...difficult," said Lamorak, his shoulders slouching at the memory. "Those damned Picts. They refused to give open battle. Just attack and run, usually when we were at our most vulnerable. Many good knights lost their lives and for no gain."

"Well, you're home now," said Meleri smiling. "I'm here."

"And I am glad for it. I am due to depart on the morrow and feared I might miss you entirely."

"You're leaving again?" Meleri asked.

"I must return to Norgales before the winter sets in," Lamorak said, averting his gaze.

"Come back to Broughton with me for the winter," Meleri pleaded. "You have a daughter, you know."

Lamorak smiled at the news, but quickly grew sad again. "I cannot."

They were quiet for a time. "Sir Ontzlake of Levcomagus has asked for my hand," Meleri said at last.

"Has he? A wise match. Ontzlake is a good knight, chivalrous and true. He will treat you and the child well."

"I see," said Meleri, fighting back tears. Lamorak covertly reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, but quickly excused herself.

She was on her way back to Salisbury within the hour.

Once back in Broughton, she had a letter sent to Earl Robert, indicating her acceptance of Sir Ontzlake's offer. A winter wedding was arranged and they were married at Sarum Castle on Yuletide Eve. Meleri now found herself the wife of the steward of Levcomagus and made preparations to move to the Silchester city on the other side of the Harewood.

Ontzlake proved himself to be every bit the noble husband Meleri could have hoped for. Her residence at Levcomagus was well appointed and she found her standard of living greatly improved. But as she got settled in, her mind and her heart were never far from Lamorak, far away in Norgales...

The Hill Cantons Challenge: Building a Better GM

2011-08-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

I think game blogs are at their best when they're either (a) facilitating a free and fecund exchange of ideas; or, (b) providing insights into how other people game, both in terms of the behind-the-scenes action as well as the actual in-game philosophies. This very blog leans heavily towards the (b) end of things (it's basically why I bother posting my Pendragon actual play reports, for example), so I was delighted to see the inimitable ckutalik of Hill Cantons post a challenge for all us GM-bloggers (aka 99% of us) to extrapolate on our creative techniques:

1. Name three “best practices” you possess as a GM. What techniques do you think you excel at?

2. What makes those techniques work? Why do they “pop”?

3. How do you do it? What are the tricks you use? What replicable, nuts-and-bolts tips can you share?

Before I get into my answers, I just want to address the opinion expressed in the comments to the original post that this sort of thing is a waste of time because GMing, in essence, can't be taught. As someone who had to teach himself how to run games with almost no outside input, I to this day greatly appreciate concrete insights into other folks' GMing approaches and very much enjoy sharing my own as a way of passing on the shared oral tradition of GMing to folks who are just starting out. Sure, GMing is largely a question of instinct and experience, but there's also a major cognitive component to the activity. I doff my cap to the "thousands" of GMs back in the 70s who, apparently, were able to intuitively run endless dungeon crawls through bottle cities with "minimal guidance" but - call me jejune, if you will - I for one have always appreciated adding any hands-on analysis of GMing style to my creative quiver.

At any rate, with that mini-rant out of the way, here is my constructive attempt to add to the conversation via my answers to the challenge:

1. I'd have to say my three best practices as a GM are: preparation, pacing, and characterization. Of the three, I'd say I excel at preparation (as explained below).

2. When I talk about excelling at preparation, I'm not talking about statting up NPCs or writing detailed, plot-heavy adventure notes, both of which I actually find a bit tiresome (although I'm working hard to change the former). In fact, my adventure notes these days, whether adapting a published scenario or running one of my own, tend to be in the form of tersely-worded bullet lists. When I talk about preparation, I'm talking about research. If the game is set in the real world, I research the adventure locale and time period extensively. In a fantasy environment, I look for real world analogues and weave them into the setting. But most of my games these days tend to be set in the real world or something based very closely on it, partly due to my penchant for research. When I ran my Cthulhu San Francisco game, I had at my side a 1924 California travel guide and a poster map reproduction of a map of the city circa the mid-1920s mounted in a cheap frame. My players were very appreciative whenever I hoisted that map up to show them where things were happening in relation to each other; it really gave them a sense of place. Players can also tell when you've done your background research properly; it comes through in the game in many subtle ways.

Pacing is something I worked on for years, and I'm quite satisfied with how I pace my games at this point: I always keep one eye on the clock and make an effort to not only wrap things up on time but also in a satisfying manner. If that means wrapping up an hour earlier than planned, so be it. If the scenario is finishing up that day, I make sure there's enough time to handle after-game tidying up (skill checks, experience points, etc.). If I can tell we won't be able to finish the scenario that session, I make sure we leave off at a suitably dramatic point (a cliffhanger, if I can at all swing it).

Of the three practices listed above, I personally feel that characterization is my weakest, but at the same time I have received many compliments on how much my players love to hate my villains, or on managing to successfully run multiple NPCs at once. I feel like my NPCs "pop" because I put some effort into differentiating them while simultaneously not making it overly obvious at first which ones are the "plot NPCs" and which ones are there merely for local color.

3. Getting a handle on pacing is partly a matter of knowing your group and how quickly they work. It doesn't take that long to do this. I started a new group made up entirely of strangers back in February and by the third session I had an excellent idea of how they worked together (which is quite quickly and efficiently, as it turned out!). Probably the best advice I got on pacing came from John Tynes in an old Unknown Armies essay online (link long since lost, unfortunately). He suggested watching movies, particularly thrillers and capers (I remember Heat was specifically called out), with an eye towards how the director paces the scenes, alternating intense action with dialogue-heavy sequences. (GMing advice really came into its own with the internet; some of the bet tips I've picked up have been from online sources.)

The internet has, of course, also been a godsend for my preparation-related activities. As much as possible, I try and prepare visual aides, and the internet is great for finding fodder. My Pendragon games are full of color printouts of heraldry, armor, actors-as-NPCs, and maps, for example, all culled form the internet. When I run Call of Cthulhu, I go out of my way to create "realistic" handouts: if there's a photograph-cum-clue, I find a suitable subject on sites like Shorpy.com or the photo archives of major metropolitan libraries and then print it out on glossy photo paper; if a note is supposed to be crumpled, I crumple the paper. Nothing too over-the-top, just enough to let the players' imaginations fill in the gaps (good GMing advice in general, incidentally).

I've always been a bit of a mimic, so my characterizations sometimes feature different voices. I don't go overboard with this either, but if the PCs are talking to a Russian count, for example, I trot out my best Russian accent. Working on mastering a broad range of believable accents is one of my great ongoing goals as a GM. For differentiating multiple NPCs without resorting to cartoon accents, I can't recommend enough simply listening to audio books (available for free from your local library). Just as you'd closely watch movies for their pacing, so too should you listen attentively to how the reader gives each character a slightly different inflection. Listen also to how male readers read female characters and vice-versa. Stephen Fry's readings of the Harry Potter series are particularly excellent. It doesn't take much to give an individual NPC some vocal character and you certainly don't have to resort to hammy acting or cheap theatrics to do so.

I think that about covers things, but if I've glossed over anything feel free to ask follow-up questions in the comments. I hope this has been some help to fellow GMs out there, veteran and novice alike. Thanks again to ckutalik for posting these excellent questions in the first place!

Edit: A couple other things to add from my GMing toolbox that don't fit the "big three" I came up with above but are definitely worth mentioning:

Accept the "iceberg theory" of GM prep: there will always be more going on behind the screen than the players ever see, and that's a good thing. Having a few notes on an NPC's background, even if the players never find out about it, can help you determine the NPC's motivations and actions in the moment.
Random elements are your friend. In fact, the more randomness the better. It helps keep you from turning into a railroader, and it's just plain fun. Don't forget the "G" part of "RPG": these are supposed to be games for everyone involved, including the GM, and figuring out a way to integrate off-the-cuff random elements into your precious story is a tremendously fun challenge that can open up possibilities you'd never previously thought of. It's one of the reasons I love Pendragon so much: the trait and passion rolls can drive PCs and NPCs alike in completely surprising directions.
Don't shy away from using published scenarios, but make them your own. There's a certain snobbishness, particularly in OSR circles, about running your own material in preference to using modules or published adventures. The poor reputation that published adventures enjoy, I suspect, comes from GMs who simply run them as-written, reading blocks of text out loud, their noses buried in a book. As someone who, due to time constraints, more often than not will use a published adventure if at all possible (it also helps that my two favorite games each boast repositories of literally dozens of scenarios), I can firmly say that running someone else's stuff in no way need hamper your own creativity. Take the published stuff and make it your own. Replace NPCs in the text with NPCs from your own campaign. Add or drop encounters. Change place names. Change MacGuffins, motivations, and anything else you don't like. Don't simply read the flavor text aloud; extemporize off the text the same way you would your own notes. Over the years I've observed that, doing this, the players legitimately can't tell the difference between when I'm running a published scenario versus one of my own devising.

The GM As Frustrated Player; The Player As Frustrated GM

2011-08-17T13:51:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I had a rather startling realization hit me upside the head. It was a long-forgotten fact, a suppressed memory if you will, that once remembered seemed so strikingly obvious I couldn't for the life of me fathom why it had slipped down beneath the waters of my sub-conscious for so many years.

The suppressed memory was simply this: when I first got into RPGs, I was interested in them as a player, not as a GM.

As someone who has spent the bulk of two decades in gaming as the guy making them happen, this was a real revelation. But I suddenly got back in touch with those feelings that had flooded my fevered 12-year-old brain after picking up and reading through the Red Box: I'd imagined the badass characters I'd create and run up to high level, their epic exploits blazing a saga of glory across the imaginary worlds I was about to enter. The monsters and treasure were things for me to kill, loot for me to take, not things to unleash on others. Had I managed to find an established gaming group into which I could have inserted myself, character sheet in hand, I would certainly have followed this course. It's impossible to say now whether I ever would have felt the siren call of running my own games, but in reality I pretty much had to start running games right off the bat since it was either that or not game at all.

It's, I think, fair to say that one of the truisms of traditional RPG gaming is that the act of running a game is an utterly thankless labor of love. Despite persistent rumors about "professional GMs" the vast majority of us do it for free, enjoying at best the simple compensation of not having to pay for the pizza or what have you. Many (most?) of us, if offered money to run games, would not take the opportunity, wanting to keep the experience "pure" and unsullied by filthy lucre. (For the record, I am not one of those ideologues, in case there are any millionaire GM-less gaming groups reading this post...)

There are probably as many different reasons for why people choose to take on the task of running a game as there are individual GMs, but I suspect these could be lumped into fairly broad categories. For me, the reason I started running games was because I was a frustrated player. I wanted to play RPGs, but didn't know anyone else who could make that happen.

Of course, eventually I got to be a player too. But by then I'd been running games so often I found it hard to turn off my GMing brain. I'd silently judge the GM, thinking about how I would have done things differently. Or, deprived of a campaign to work on between sessions, I'd start cooking up something to run "when this campaign's over" - and then get so excited about what I was working on, I'd lose interest in the game I was playing in. In effect I'd gone from being a frustrated player to being a frustrated GM.

These days, of course, I'm happy to be playing RPGs at all. I know a lot of folks in the "adult world" don't have that luxury, so I'm appreciative of whatever gaming time I can get in. I still feel little twinges of the old frustrations: when I'm running a game, I envy the carefree fun the players are having; when I'm a player, I can't wait to get back in the control seat. I have managed to work past the silent judging thing, at least.

I'm curious, though. Any other frustrated players running games out there? How about frustrated GMs? How do you deal with having to slum it in the peanut gallery? And more broadly, if you do run games, why do you do it?

[Solo GPC] 521: Her Father's Daughter

2011-08-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Another one of those years that crop up periodically during the canonical GPC: wherein the PC is given the chance to witness and play a minor role in episode from the stories. This year happened to feature one of my favorite tales and Meleri found herself stuck in the middle, having to mull over where exactly her loyalties lay. In the process, she proved herself to be every bit the daughter of Sir Herringdale, much to the chagrin of one Sir Damas of Levcomagus.

Winter Phase brought with it an interesting development: a suitor had made an effort to win Meleri's hand. Sir Gergore, a bachelor knight of Salisbury, made overtures that were dismissed out of hand. Meleri knew she was viewed with fear by some in the county, self-righteous pity by others, but she was not so desperate as to accept the hand of a young knight so lacking in glory and honor. She didn't see any reason to tell her suitor as much, though. Nothing wrong with having another knight at her beck and call, should she need one. Still, the proposal, along with the birth of her third child earlier that year, had left her thinking seriously about marriage for the first time in her 29 years. If only Sir Lamorak would settle down and devote himself to her...

After swimming with the sharks at Countess Ellen's court, Meleri decided to take on two retainers: Rosamund, an expert in courtly protocol and practice, and Arawine, a tailor and expert in the latest fashions. Her own household knight, Sir Haegirth, had continued evincing strangely erratic behavior, at times disappearing for days before turning up again, bedraggled and travelworn. Although his actions were of some concern to Meleri, she turned a blind eye towards them through the winter. When he was acting himself, Haegirth was proving to be an able and chivalrous pagan knight and an asset to her household.

Spring came and the land began to stir with life once again. As Meleri had feared, Arthur's choice to establish a capital city just a day's journey away had markedly increased traffic on the main road running just south of her lands. On the upside, the increase of traffic passing by brought with it an increase in news from around the realm. She learned of the bloody suppression of the Saxon revolt in Anglia by Duke Hervis and Sir Griflet, and of the High King's dismay at the slaughter of besieged townsfolk at the hands of his own troops. She learned that Arthur was planning to institute a new knightly order for those who would swear fealty directly to him, the Companions of Arthur. She learned that King Anguish's war in Ireland had gone well, and the king had ridden to victory largely on the strength of the British knights he had recruited. Sadly, she learned that Sir Heraus de Ganis had been among the casualties on the victorious side; Lady Gaille of Wilton was a widow for a third time, it seemed. Whether the de Ganis knight had died valorously in battle, Meleri did not know, although based on his somewhat uneven behavior while in her presence she rather doubted it. A passing druid brought news from even farther afield: two royal dependents, or perhaps hostages, of the French king had killed the king's son during a quarrel. Slated for execution, the youths managed to escape by transforming into dogs! And shortly after the Spring Equinox, a messenger came to Broughton. He was a young squire, and he flew a pennant with the arms of Sir Lamorak!

"My lady," the squire said, bowing before Meleri in the great hall. "I bring you a token sent by my lord."

The squire produced a small wooden box. Meleri stepped forward and opened it, finding within a jeweled gold circlet resting on a velvet pillow.

Scarcely had the squire departed than another rider arrived at Broughton. This young man had come at the behest of Sir Ontzlake, whom Meleri had met the year before as a member of King Arthur's party when the Pendragon had come to Broughton in search of the talking eagle.

"Lady," the messenger said, "I am bidden to come and tell you that Sir Ontzlake requests you come to his manor at your earliest convenience. Your man, Sir Haegirth, is currently a prisoner in the custody of my lord, and he would have you come fetch him away."

Meleri was quite startled by this development. Now that she thought on it, Sir Haegirth had indeed been missing from Broughton Hall for the last three days or so. That was hardly unusual for this knight, but what sort of trouble had he gotten himself into that he would end up imprisoned by a knight of Silchester?

Sir Ontzlake lived on the other side of the Harewood, just over the border from Salisbury. Meleri made arrangements to depart at once, putting her children in the charge of their nurse and taking along her usual entourage. Picking their way along backroads and trails through the woods, they made it to Ontzlake's manor on the afternoon of the second day after departing Broughton.

Meleri noted the manor itself was well-appointed albeit a tad modest in size. Entering the hall, she saw fine tapestries lining the walls and a great roast turning over the spit on the hearth fire. Near the fire sat, or rather reclined, Sir Ontzlake. He was laid out on a long couch, wearing only his chemise and a blanket over his lower extremities.

"I apologize for receiving you into my hall thus," said Ontzlake as Meleri curtsied before him. "And you must forgive me for not rising to greet you. I have been grievously wounded." He motioned towards his pelvis as he said this last bit.

"If it would please you, I can take a look at the wound," said Meleri. Ontzlake turned slightly crimson, but nodded his assent. Delicately, Ontzlake's squire pulled the blanket back just enough to reveal a fearsome spear wound: the weapon had pierced the knight at the point where thigh met pelvis and gone straight through, exiting out the buttock. Both wounds were bloody and angry and the whole area looked painfully swollen.

Meleri excused herself and went to the manor's herb garden, where she found the ingredients she required. Fetching a mortar and pestle from her traveling gear, she prepared a poultice which she then applied to Ontzlake's wounds. As with Pellinore, she also prepared a restorative draught which she had the knight sip while she tended to him.

"Thank you, my lady. I am more at ease," said Ontzlake as his wounds, having been dressed with wrappings, were covered again. "Now as to why I summoned you here: I regret to tell you that the wounds you have just tended to were caused by none other than Sir Haegirth."

Meleri blanched. "Say it isn't so!" she blurted out. "It is well that I was able to help you, then. It seems the least I could do."

Ontzlake nodded. "I was out hunting in the Harewood not five days ago. I saw Haegirth approaching, on foot, spear in hand. I thought perhaps you had sent him on an errand, so I hailed him. As soon as he saw me, his eyes bugged out, he gave a fearsome scream, and he came at me. I managed to knock him to the ground, but not before he transfixed me with his own spear. He is currently under lock and key." He waved an arm towards a tapestry. "He is in the storage pantry. My man can take you to him."

At that, Meleri followed Ontzlake's squire through a tapestry covering a doorway, then through the kitchens and to a stout oak door, beside which hung a key on a ring. The squire unlocked the door, then stepped back. "I'll be right here if there's any trouble, madam," he said. Meleri thanked the squire and stepped through the door.

Illuminated only by the light from the kitchen, the pantry was a dark, shoebox-shaped room with shelves full of dry goods down one side. At the far end of the room, crouched on the packed-dirt floor, was Sir Haegirth, also stripped down to his chemise. He had about a week's worth of beard grown on his face, a nasty bump swelled on his forehead, and he looked haggard, like he'd been crying for long periods. Meleri's brow furrowed in pity and consternation.

"Explain," she said.

"My lady," he croaked. "You came for me. I...I fear I am possessed. I am losing my mind." He began to cry, obviously distraught. Meleri moved in and comforted him. Through the choking sobs, a picture of a tortured knight began to emerge. Haegirth lamented that he was missing time, that he would come to his senses in the middle of the woods or on the road for London.

"The last thing I remember before meeting you," he concluded, finally collecting himself, "is heading into an ancient graveyard outside Gloucester. I...remember I was supposed to fetch a thighbone from a grave, but I cannot for the life of me remember why..."

Perplexed, Meleri took Haegirth's hand and led him from the pantry. "I will help you figure out what is causing these episodes," she promised. She turned to Ontzlake's squire. "See to it that my man is cleaned up and made presentable for this evening's supper." She then returned to the great hall and related Haegirth's tale to Ontzlake.

"A remarkable adventure!" the knight marveled. "In light of the poor devil's state, I release him from my custody. You are a most forgiving and merciful lady to take him in like that."

Meleri couldn't help but agree. A table was brought out from the wall and laid for the afternoon meal. Haegirth emerged, looking much better with a fresh shave and clean clothes. As the trio prepared to begin eating, the sound of a rider approaching the manor came in through the open hall doors. Seconds later, a knight in full armor entered and immediately kneeled before Ontzlake.

"Forgive my intrusion, lord," the knight pleaded. "I am lost and well away from home."

"Then come sit at my table and sup with us and tell us your tale," said Ontzlake.

As the strange knight took a seat, Meleri noted his sword, which looked to be of exceptional craftsmanship. Certainly the scabbard alone was something to behold, being encrusted with jewels, gems, and gold.

"I am Sir Accolon of Gaul," said the knight. "I was lately of Camelot, and rode forth in the presence of King Arthur and King Uriens on a hunt, but we became lost in the wilds in pursuit of a deer. The chase left our horses spent, and we proceeded through strange woods on foot until we came to a lake. There, from out of the mists, came a boat draped in silk and samite. As soon as we entered the boat, it bore us back across the water to an island, where waited nine damosels. They fed us and provided us with sleeping furs and tents to rest our sore bones. But when I next awoke, I was alone, hovering on the edge of a deep well!

"As I turned from the well, I saw before me a dwarf. He held this sword out to me," he said, patting the jeweled scabbard at his waist, "and told me I would have need of it soon to perform a great and noble deed."

"What sword is that?" Meleri asked.

"Behold!" said Accolon, rising and drawing the blade. Before the awed assembly gleamed Excalibur itself, seeming to reflect back the light of the hearth fire double. A slight humming sound filled the air before Accolon sheathed the magical blade and resumed his seat.

"Why would you have Arthur's sword?" asked Meleri. "Is the High King safe?"

"I do not know!" lamented Accolon. "After the dwarf gave me the sword of power, I wondered for a day through the woods until I came upon this manor. What nature of quest I am yet to fulfill remains unknown to me."

The diners finished their meal speculating about Accolon's destiny and the fate of Arthur and then retired, Meleri and her retainers being given the use of Ontzlake's private chambers while the three knights slept in the hall.

The next morning, as she was finishing her toilette, Meleri heard a commotion down in the hall. Rushing to find the source, she found Ontzlake in a state of great agitation.

"A message from my brother!" he wailed from his couch, waving a piece of parchment. "Delivered just this morning. He has found a champion." He spoke these last words with the same heavy weight one would invoke when pronouncing a death sentence.

"I'm sorry, I don't..." Meleri began, but Ontzlake began to wail again. Presently he collected himself and explained the nature of his dilemma. "My brother, Sir Damas, has been steward of Levcomagus these last three years," he said. "But by rights the title and the lands forthcoming should be mine. Sir Uffo, the Duke's eldest son, has repeatedly denied my petitions of redress for reasons that remain obscure to me. My brother has said he would put his lands and title on the line in battle before God, but he refuses to fight himself. He says he will fight me when he finds a champion. They say he waylays wandering knights who come to his lands and throws them in his donjon if they don't agree to fight for his cause. It is not just, and so far he has been unable to find anyone who would prefer championing him over rotting in a cell. But now he has, it seems. And me, unable to fight!" he wailed again, indicating his wounds.

"Could your brother not be convinced to delay the day of challenge in light of your condition?" Meleri asked.

"Alas, the terms of our agreement were that we would fight on a day appointed by him. If I don't present myself or a champion of my own later today on the field outside Levcomagus, I forfeit my few remaining possessions."

"Sir, I believe this is the reason I've been placed at your service," said Accolon, placing his hand on the hilt of Excalibur. Ontzlake and Accolon exchanged meaningful glances, then shook hands. Meleri, suspicious of the timing of Accolon's appearance and his possession of Excalibur, merely pursed her lips. She decided to ride with the knights to Levcomagus to witness the fight between the champions of Ontzlake and Damas.

Three hours later, the walled city of Levcomagus came into view. Tents were erected on a great lawn under the shadow of the mighty fortifications and Accolon rode through the gates to summon Sir Damas and his champion. A quarter-hour later, Accolon re-emerged, followed several minutes later by a remarkable procession: two riders came forth, one in full armor. Behind them shuffled about 20 men, all in varying stages of decrepitude. Their skin was pale and waxen, and they blinked in the bright light as if they hadn't seen the sun in ages. Some were so weak they had to lean on their brethren for support, and as soon as the procession came to a halt they collapsed to the ground, scarcely able to lift their heads. Meleri realized these must be the knights that Sir Damas had imprisoned when they refused to fight for his cause.

"I told Sir Damas you wished a parley," Accolon said to Meleri as he rode back. She flicked the reins of her palfrey and rode forth, meeting Damas in open ground between the two camps.

"Sir," said Meleri as the two drew near and she reined her horse in, "I have come to appeal to your better nature. Your brother wishes to defend his rights himself, and asks only that he be allowed to recover from wounds recently sustained at the hands of one of my own knights. I feel some guilt for his current state, as you can imagine, and it would mean much to me if you were to grant this."

"It has taken me this long to find a champion that would match my standards," sneered Sir Damas, smoothing his linen bliaud. "Ontzlake knows the terms of the agreement; if he cannot fight and will not field a champion in his stead..."

"I was merely hoping to appeal to your better nature and your respect for the bond of family," Meleri said, her expression hardening.

"And who are you to lecture me on such things? Keep your tongue to yourself, loose-lipped trollop!"

It happened in a flash. The small knife Meleri kept at her belt when traveling was out of its scabbard in a flash of silver and, like a snake striking, was quickly buried in Damas's thigh, inches from his groin. Damas screamed in agony, his hands desperately pressing on the wound as Meleri quickly withdrew the knife and turned her horse about. Blood gushed between Damas's fingers as his squires rushed forward to help him off his horse.

"Now you have the same excuse as your brother for not fighting today!" Meleri called back over her shoulder.

Des invoked her Honor passion successfully and proceeded to Crit her Dagger roll. With no armor, Damas was knocked down to Unconscious. He made his CON roll to stay awake, but was in no mood to do anything in retaliation...right away. We agreed that in that moment Meleri showed she was indeed Herringdale's daughter - the action recalled something the old knight would have pulled in similar circumstances.]

As Meleri resumed her place near Ontzlake, she spied a young damosel talking to Damas's champion. She was handing the knight a scabbarded sword. As soon as the knight took the weapon, the young lady was away with all speed. Damas, still cursing Meleri's name, called his champion forward. The knight, helmeted and wearing Damas's colors, hefted a lance, the mysterious new sword strapped to his side.

As Accolon also rode forth, Meleri took a closer look at the sword at the other knight's side. It appeared to be a duplicate of the sword and scabbard that hung from Accolon's baldric. A copy of Excalibur. Or the real thing? As Damas's champion made ready to charge Accolon, Meleri couldn't help but feel she'd seen the knight before. With the helmet on, it was impossible to tell, but there was something awfully familiar about his build and carriage. Could it really be...?

The knights were charging. They collided, and such was the force of their charge that they unhorsed each other. Slowly they rose to their feet as Meleri rushed forward alongside Accolon's squire.

"I am fine," wheezed Accolon's voice from inside his helm.

Regaining his feet, Accolon drew Excalibur and strode forth. The two champions began circling each other, then launched a flurry of blows. The only sound was the ring of steel blade on wooden shield, the echoing grunts from inside their helms. Then Damas's champion landed a telling blow on Accolon's sword arm. The chain links were broken, but no blood was drawn. Several more blows were scored against Accolon, all with similar results. Accolon, though somewhat outclassed by his opponent, was still managing to land the occasional blow. Each hit, no matter how slight, was severing metal as if it were paper and cutting deep into Damas's champion, causing blood to issue forth in copious quantities.

Then Damas's champion brought his sword down in a great smashing blow - and the blade broke off at the hilt! A great gasp went up from the onlookers, but the champion, not missing a beat, rushed Accolon with his shield, throwing the knight off balance, and struck him on the helm with the broken hilt of his sword. Accolon went down, stunned, and Excalibur flew from his grasp. Damas's champion snatched it up, then held the glimmering blade to Accolon's chest.

"Yield!" came the breathless cry. Accolon threw up his hands. Damas's champion lowered Excalibur and helped Accolon to his feet. The number of deep bleeding wounds that covered the champion's body was truly alarming, and Meleri wondered how he was keeping his feet.

"Who are you?" Accolon asked. In answer, the champion pulled his helmet off. Ontzlake let out a great cry; it was none other than King Arthur!

"My liege, I knew not!" cried Accolon, throwing himself at Arthur's feet and pulling off his helm.

"Alas," cried Arthur, "I fear we have been the subjects of base treachery." He limped over towards Damas, who was laid out on the ground clutching a crude bandage to the knife wound Meleri had inflicted. "As for you, cur," the High King snarled, "before I fought for you, I extracted your oath that these men would all be set free whether I win or lose."

Damas nodded weakly in assent.

"Furthermore, although I fought on your behalf, the cause was unjust. I rule the decision by combat void. Rather, I rule your title and holdings forfeit in favor of your brother Sir Ontzlake, a chivalrous knight honorable and true. I furthermore rule that you may never again mount a charger, unfit as you are to hold the title of knight, and must from this day forth ride naught but a palfrey like a lady."

Damas merely closed his eyes, what little color was remaining in his face draining away.

"Now I must rest," said Arthur weakly, and with that he limped over to a nearby oak tree and threw himself down in its shade. Meleri was at his side almost instantly, tending to his many wounds.

"This seems familiar," said Arthur wryly. It was the first time he had acknowledged the circumstances in which they'd first met ten years previous, the circumstances that led to the dalliance that produced the child Arthur didn't know was his. Meleri smiled back.

After seeing to bandaging his hurts, Meleri rode at the king's side as he was conveyed up into Levcomagus, thence to an abbey that stood hard up against the city walls. She consented to stay with the king while he was healing at the abbey, but her stay was to be much shorter than anyone could have anticipated.

The morning after arrival, Meleri heard a gaggle of nuns talking nervously outside her door. Opening it, she found them about to knock.

"Begging your pardon, but the Pendragon is preparing to leave," said one nervously.

"What!?" exclaimed Meleri, hurrying forth. She came to the courtyard just in time to see Arthur galloping away with Ontzlake and Accolon at this side. "Why?"

"It was his sister, Queen Morgan" said one of the nuns. "She arrived in the dark of night. We saw no reason not to let her in..."

"Morgan?" asked Meleri. Her mind flashed back to her six years spent at the cold northern courts of Gorre waiting upon the enigmatic queen, of the sacred secrets she had learned at her feet. "What did she want?"

"Well...she tried to steal Arthur's sword," said one of the nuns, looking mortified. "Or so it seems. She only managed to slip away with his scabbard, though."

Meleri and the nuns spent the next hour in nervous anticipation. Then Arthur and his two companions returned, but without the scabbard. Over a simple meal of bread and cheese, Accolon explained what had happened: Morgan had come with an escort of 60 knights, but they all fled at Arthur's approach, the Queen in their midst. Arthur rode hard in pursuit, but the Queen had enough of a head start that she was able to pause and hurl Excalibur's scabbard into a lake. As Arthur and his men gained on Morgan and her knights, they briefly disappeared over a small rise just beyond the lake. Cresting the rise, the trio marveled to see only a field of standing stones, the Queen and her knights nowhere to be seen.

As Arthur concluded his tale, his eyes met Meleri's. Both were remembering the first of the eagle's prophecies from the year before: "You will almost die, and then find yourself lost
among a field of stones." Meleri could tell something else was bothering Arthur as well, but whatever it was he kept it to himself.

Arthur spent three weeks at the abbey recovering from his wounds, Meleri helping greatly in his recovery with her masterful chirurgical skills. At last the king was preparing to return to Camelot, two days' ride south of Levcomagus.

"I must insist you accompany us, my lady," he told Meleri over supper the day before departure. "Your contributions to my recovery deserve to be recognized at High Court."

What could Meleri do but assent? And so she found herself the next day riding in a royal procession along the King's Road. The day after next, she caught her first sight of Camelot. For obvious reasons, she had never personally visited Winchester when it was under Saxon control, but her understanding was that it was a half-inhabited pile of crude thatched huts built within the crumbling walls of an older Cymric settlement known as Caer Gwent. So what met her eyes now was nothing short of remarkable. With less than a year of building under way, the city was already transforming into a thriving metropolis. A massive cathedral was rising inside the scaffolded city walls. Two mighty castles were going up, rivaling the cathedral in size and scope. And the fires of dozens of homes and businesses left wisps of smoke trailing up behind the battlements. If Meleri hadn't heard that Merlin was either sleeping or dead, she would have bet silver the old magician was behind the city's rapid growth.

All along the road to the city, travelers stopped to hail the passing king and his entourage. As they entered the city proper, this attention and adulation became downright alarming. Men, women, and children flooded the boulevard and hung out of second-story windows, calling the king's name and wishing good health and blessings upon him. Arthur waved regally, smiling at his adoring subjects. Meleri had never felt so many eyes on her at once; it was unnerving.

They rode through the Jewish District, past a massive stone cross in the center of a great market, under the shadow of St. Stephen's Cathedral, and across a massive tourney field. Beyond lay Caratacus Keep, the smaller of the city's two planned castles and the royal residence until the Keep of Gold was finished. After dismounting in the courtyard and being seen to by an army of pages and squires, Arthur and his party passed through the first floor gallery, where sat the massive Round Table, then up a sweeping stone staircase. Entry through a set of double doors on a landing off the stairs granted entrance to a grand gallery that looked out over the rooftops of Camelot.

Waiting to receive the travelers was Queen Guenevere and her court. She and Arthur embraced, and the king planted a kiss on the queen's hand, eliciting a flattered laugh from her and her maids. Then Guenevere caught sight of Meleri.

"Could it be my cousin?" she asked, beaming. She strode forward and the two embraced. Guenevere's hug felt warm and more than perfunctory, but Meleri could feel the eyes of the other women of the court upon her. If she had thought Countess Ellen's court pageant was tough, it was as child's play compared to this. Still, she could tell that she had been accepted as "good enough" by most of the ladies present after a short period of silent vetting [having progressed through two rounds of the beauty judging portion of the pageant, a decent showing considering the competition].

As this was playing out, a table was being laid out with food and guests began to arrive; even for a simple repast at the end of a long journey, the king and queen never dined alone. King Uriens of Gorre, husband of Queen Morgan, was announced and entered. Arthur's nephew, Sir Gawaine, then entered the gallery, talking closely with a handsome young knight Meleri did not recognize but who was announced as Sir Ywaine of Gorre. Sir Accolon and Sir Ontzlake were of course welcomed to dine with the king. Then, as everyone was sitting and preparing to eat, a late arrival was announced: Sir Lamorak de Gales.

Lamorak started visibly as he entered and caught sight of Meleri. He presented himself before Arthur, then bowed to Meleri and took a seat next to her.

"My heart is gladdened to find you here," he said to her as jellied eels in spicy currant sauce were laid before them. Meleri smiled back. They listened as the king held forth on the new rules for chivalric siege he'd be instituting, the founding of the Companions, and, finally, as he recounted his tale of fighting Sir Accolon.

"But how did you come by Excalibur?" Guenevere asked Accolon as Arthur finished his tale. Accolon's eyes flashed towards Uriens before he answered.

"I believe it came to me by Queen Morgan," said Accolon nervously. An awkward silence descended until Arthur called for music. As the minstrels struck up a reel, Meleri looked up to see the green eyes of Sir Ywaine looking down at her.

"My lady," he said in a thick northern accent, "would you care to lead a dance with me?" He held out a youthful hand pale as marble. Meleri shot a glance to Lamorak, who clearly felt like he was being upstaged, but took Ywaine's hand courteously. She moved with him out onto the rush-carpeted floor before the high table and they began to lead a dance which was quickly joined by most of the feasters, Lamorak included. Ywaine definitely knew his steps, but Meleri, remembering her tutelage under the direction of the Lady of Sauvage, danced best of them all. Arthur rose as the dance wound down, goblet in hand.

"To Lady Meleri of Broughton!" he called, and the toast was echoed by the laughing, sweating dancers. The laughter died quickly at the sound of a trumpet fanfare, however. Sir Cynrain of Cornwall entered and announced the arrival of a messenger from Queen Morgan.

A young lady, whom Meleri recognized as the same damosel who had handed Arthur the fake Excalibur, entered the hall bearing a parcel wrapped in cloth. She cut a path through the dancers and curtsied before Arthur, who was still standing at the high table. To either side, Uriens and Guenevere watched the lady closely.

"I bring a token from my mistress, Queen Morgan," she said. "It is but a mere token to show the Queen's deep remorse at her actions of late, and an entreaty for forgiveness that brother and sister might reconcile their ways." The damosel then daintily unwrapped the parcel, letting the cloth fall away to reveal a magnificent cloak of ermine, velvet, and precious gems.

"That is indeed a fine cloak..." said Arthur, transfixed. He began to reach a hand across the table to take the proffered cloak when Meleri, unable to contain herself, burst out.

"Majesty, no!" Meleri heard a disapproving cough from her protocol expert who was standing in the gallery eaves, but paid Rosamund no mind. "Make her put it on first," she said, nodding to the damosel. The young lady turned whiter than Ywaine's hands, but, with a nod from Arthur, swung the cloak around her shoulders.

At once, she was consumed in a pillar of flame. She died screaming, her charred remains smoking on the floor of the gallery as the assembled revelers all back-pedaled away in horror, covering their faces against the horrific stench of burnt flesh and hair.

"Base treachery!" Arthur bellowed. "Perfidy!"

"Your majesty, I had no idea!" said Uriens, eerily echoing Accolon's protest of some weeks prior.

"I trust your word, friend," said Arthur. "You were by my side on the hunt that led to my capture, I know you had no part in this." At this, Arthur's gaze fell upon Ywaine. "But this one carries the seed of his mother's evil within his heart," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the son of Uriens and Morgan. "Hie thee from my court. Let my gaze fall not upon you again!"

With a courteous bow, Ywaine swept from the court, stunned silence accompanying him. The silence was broken by Gawaine. "Sire, you go too far! I am sorry, but whatsoever you do to my cousin, you do also to me!" He then hurried from court, close on Ywaine's heels. Meleri saw a shadow of regret cross Arthur's face. Close to, she heard Lamorak mutter, "Good riddance to Orkney scum."

After that evening's horrible events, Meleri was happy to linger in the presence of her love for a week. Lamorak had taken a townhouse in the city, and they spent much time at Arthur's court or else exploring the burgeoning metropolis - and even more time in private in each other's arms.

"Come back to Broughton with me," Meleri asked Lamorak one evening. She felt his chest rise and heave with a sigh of deepest regret.

"Alas, I cannot. I have pledged to march with Sir Griflet in two days' time. We go north to campaign against the Picts beyond the wall."

The two fell silent as the candle lighting the bed chamber burned itself out.

Lamorak, true to his word, departed for the marshaling grounds outside Silchester and Meleri, having no reason to remain in Camelot, returned home at last. She was looking forward to seeing her children, at least. As the sun sank below the western horizon, she guided her horse up to the entrance of Broughton Hall. Dismounting, she headed inside; she could hear her baby, the fae offspring of the Gallant of Sauvage, squalling within.

But she did not find the old nurse soothing the crying babe, no. She found instead her old mistress.

"Good evening, Meleri," said Queen Morgana, smiling as she held the baby to her shoulder.

[We technically left things off there, but I informed Des that Morgan, ducking the armies heading north along the same roads she'd need to return to Gorre, intends to stay at Broughton for the winter. Des is pondering how to handle this conflict of loyalties, but figures for the time being at least Meleri will bend to Morgan's will. I think Meleri will pick up a Trusting: Morgan le Fay directed trait for that, and/or possibly lose a point of Loyalty (Pendragon). We'll hash out details during next session's Winter Phase.

This adventure is a great example of how you can insert PCs into canonical events. In the stories, it's the Lady of the Lake who warns Arthur of the treacherous cloak; in some versions, the Lady also bails Arthur out from the fight with Accolon, though I've read others where Arthur triumphs through sheer chutzpah, as we had here. Still, the opportunity for Meleri to save the day was there. I thought in particular that Meleri might try to slip Accolon some of her sleeping draught potion once she got an inkling about the identity of Damas's champion. After the game, I asked Des about this and she said she considered it, but since she wasn't sure about Arthur's identity (which would have required a Critical Recognize roll), she didn't want to risk using up her limited supply. But at least she didn't shank Arthur!]

Pendragon Appendix N

2011-08-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

When I first started running Pendragon in a major way back in 2006 I quickly found myself seriously out of my depth. My comprehension of Arthurian mythology, my understanding of medieval history, these proved rather patchier than I would have liked. So I hit the books. And the movies. If you're looking to run a Pendragon campaign (or any medieval-drenched fantasy campaign - Dragon Warriors, I'm looking in your direction) I heartily recommend the following:

Le Morte d'Arthur: When most people think of the Arthurian myth, it is the version laid down here by a mercenary knight at the tail-end of the age of chivalry that they're thinking of. On the advice of the "Suggested Reading" section at the back of Pendragon I picked up the Penguin edition, which does a nice job of balancing readability with archaic diction. But I also have a "modernized" edition I can turn to if I just want to quickly reference a particular section to use in a game. Apart from Gawaine and the Green Knight, I have yet to read any other medieval versions of the myth like the Vulgate or the Mabinogion, something I hope to correct in the near future.

The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights by John Steinbeck. T. H. White gets a lot of attention, and deservedly so, but his take on Arthur is just a bit too idiosyncratic for gaming inspiration purpopses. For a modern treatment of the mythology, this is my favorite collection.

The Arthurian Companion by Phyllis Ann Karr. Absolutely indispensable. An encyclopedia of people, places, and things exhaustively compiled from the full range of available medieval sources.

Castles by Alan Lee. In some ways this was where it all started. I received this book as a gift (birthday? Christmas?) back during the height of my childhood interest in things medieval (about age 11-12). I still reference Lee's gorgeously evocative watercolors (example at left) for inspiration, and the well-written "thumbnail myths" that accompany them (scribed by David Day) have provided both direct and indirect material for some of my past scenarios.

Medieval Knights by David Nicolle. This is a representative entry for children's books in general. Yes, kid's books, the greatest friend of the harried GM ever invented. Particularly books on history, mythology, and other fun subjects. The big quarto or folio-sized, full-color jobbies with lots of pretty pictures are the way to go: like the veritable mother bird preparing to feed her nestlings, flip through their pages and gobble up the visual inspiration for later regurgitation at the game table.

Life in a Medieval Castle and Village Coloring Book by John Green. Another representative entry. Forget Osprey - there are tons of great, cheap Dover-style paperbacks available with original line art depicting arms, armor, castles, and scenes of daily life. My most recent addition to this list; I wish I'd had these sorts of books from the get-go.

A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman. The 14th-century was arguably the Middle Ages at their worst, and Tuchman paints a brilliant picture of church corruption, mercenary knights, plague, excess, war, famine, and peasant revolts. Indispensable for depicting the darker side of chivalry and the Arthurian cycle.

Excalibur (1981). Movies were my real introduction to the wonder of Arthur and the Middle Ages. I saw a TV-edited version of Excalibur when I was about 9 years old and it rocked my world. This movie is still my touchstone for what an epic Pendragon campaign should feel like, and Nicol Williamson's Merlin will never be bettered in my opinion.

"Come father, let us embrace at last!"

The Lion in Winter (1968). Great sets, great costumes (especially for the time it was made), absolutely indispensable for court politics and the true heart of Pendragon: the rack of human relationships.

"Poor John. Who says poor John? Don't everybody sob at once! My God, if I went up in flames there's not a living soul who'd pee on me to put the fire out!" "Let's strike a flint and see."

Knightriders (1981). An under-appreciated entry in George Romero's oeuvre, despite its modern setting this movie is the best treatment I've yet seen of the clash between chivalric ideals and hard reality. Plus, if you want a treatment of Merlin-as-hippy as an alternative to Nicol Williamson's take, look no further. (Oh, and Des thinks Tom Savini is sex on toast in this film, for what it's worth.)

"No, it's just getting too tough. It's tough to live by the code. I mean, it's real hard to live for something that you believe in. People try it and then they get tired of it, like they get tired of their...diets. Or exercise. Or their marriage. Or their kids, or their job, or themselves...or they get tired of their God."

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975). The most obscure entry on the list, apparently this was a comedy movie released by some nobody British troupe back in the 70s. Mainly useful for its fantastic attention to detail in sets and costumes and the following clip, which is an apt summation of what happens when every knight in your party fails their Valorous rolls.

"We'll not risk another frontal assault - that rabbit's dynamite!"

Bonus Section: Ludography

As per regular reader Dangerous Brian's request, here is my personal list of Pendragon supplements I've found most useful, given more or less in order of precedence. All are available as PDF and/or POD selections from DriveThruRPG.

The Great Pendragon Campaign: Absolutely indispensable, even if you don't plan on running the whole hog. Jam packed with scenarios, regional detail, NPCs (although, unfortunately, not their stats; see the GM Characters PDF for that), and a background narrative that keeps you up to date on what's going down with the wider world.

Greg Stafford's Pendragon Page: Not a book per se, but just as useful, Greg Stafford's personal Pendragon page is a wonderful cornucopia of essays on the setting, new rules, house rules, regional details, and lots more. The biggest problem with this page is deciding what to include in your campaign and what to leave out!

The Book of Knights and Ladies: The current (fifth) edition assumes you're creating knights from Salisbury in the year 485 during the reign of Uther. This book opens character creation up to knights from any part of Britain (and beyond) in any period of the saga.

Tales of Mystic Tournaments: All the "Tales of..." collections are worth a look (particularly Spectre Kings) but this is my favorite. As the name implies, it collects three adventures centering around tournaments, plus it includes rules for feasting and events therein (always a favorite part of my group's Pendragon experience). This is the collection that includes "The Grey Knight" and "The Tournament of Dreams", either one an excellent way to kick off a campaign (although I'd bump the latter up to the 530s at the earliest in order to fit in better with the chronology).

Blood and Lust: The best of the early-90s regional sourcebooks thanks to the inclusion of "The Heart Blade" story arc, my all-time favorite Pendragon adventure.

The Book of Knights: Greg Stafford is understandably cool towards the Green Knight-era Pendragon publications, but I have to say that this is my favorite treatment of the core rules: excellent layout, editing, and presentation provide an ideal introduction to Pendragon novices (GM and player alike).

Savage Mountains: As much as Blood and Lust is a sentimental favorite, I'll admit it's a bit uneven as a cohesive sourcebook. This sourcebook on Cambria (i.e. Wales) presents an integrated collection of information and (outstanding) scenarios that would allow you to run an entire campaign set among the eponymous mountains. If you're running the Great Pendragon Campaign, be aware that some of the scenarios in here have been placed into the GPC chronology at specific points.

Beyond the Wall: Does for Scotland what Savage Mountains did for Wales. The scenarios aren't quite as good, but there's lots of truly outstanding information on the kingdoms and Pictish tribes of the region to make up for that. Plus the simplified Battle system in the Appendix has become my go-to system for handling mass combat.

Honorable Mentions
Not exactly essential, I've nonetheless gotten enough out of the following titles to feel I'd be remiss in not including them.

Pendragon 4th Edition: You've got the 5th edition, why would you need the older version? Mainly because it gives you options to expand beyond the narrow scope presented in the current version of the game. If you have a player who really wants to play a sorcerer or enchantress, the rules are here. Details on Salisbury during the height of Arthur's reign are worth the price of admission alone if you're running the default campaign.

Lordly Domains: Until the Book of the Manor is available in PDF, this is the go-to source for rules on domain management (albeit at a rather more complex level that the BotM). It also includes a much more detailed system for hunting and falconry that's a lot of fun to play around with if your players are particularly interested in that side of play.

Perilous Forest: Most of the material in here dealing with the Wastelands is repeated or expanded on in the GPC, but this is still a useful reference if you plan on running a campaign set in the North and features a couple well-written scenarios that will likely be making an appearance in my own Solo GPC campaign.

[Solo GPC] 520: Many Meetings

2011-08-10T10:55:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to get a feel for running these Lady-centric adventures. As anticipated, they're much heavier on the role-playing and personal interaction side of things. This session saw nary a dice rolled in anger, but the dice that were rolled often carried with them heavy implications or repercussions. Again as anticipated, it's been a nice change of pace, but I'll be honest: I'm looking forward to getting back to a knight-centric framework. I'm not above admitting this is due in large part to simple creative laziness on my part; it's much easier to come up with set piece encounters centered around physical challenges than social or emotional challenges. This may be why our two Meleri adventures so far have both run rather quickly; about two hours of game time each. Also, there's just so much material out there for knightly adventures. I'd love to create or contribute a Book of Ladies' Adventures to rectify this situation, but I don't have enough ideas at the moment to do as such. Anyone want to come onboard as contributors?

At any rate, to the year at hand. When we left off last time, Meleri had departed for the Forest Sauvage to stay as a guest in the court of the Sauvage King for the winter...

We picked things up again with Meleri riding the Royal Road south out of Wuerensis, her dwarf servant Higgins riding along in her wake on his donkey. There was nothing overtly different about her, yet those who knew her well would have noticed a subtle change in her demeanor and bearing. Certainly, along the road she was given a wide berth by the local peasantry, and those lords that welcomed her to stay at their manors for the evening seemed fretful in her presence and were quick to dismiss themselves once the evening repast was concluded.

Spring was coming on fast as Meleri made her way south. Entering Gloucester and coming down from the Cotswold Hills, she took in the grand panorama of green fields and budding woods before her. The Severn River traced its route like a silver ribbon to the west. But ahead on the road, much closer to, she could see a lone traveler making his way on unsteady feet in her direction.

Meleri reigned in her horse and sent Higgins forth to intercept the man. The dwarf returned with the vagrant in tow. As he came closer it became apparent he was actually a knight, albeit in a pretty poor way. His surcoat was dirtied, his armor in bad need of cleaning. His battered shield bore a device of a boar's head, which Meleri recognized of being typical of Gloucester knights.

"Who are you, good sir knight, and whither are you bound?" she enquired. He stared back at her, a somewhat haunted expression on his face.

"I...am called Sir Haegirth," said the knight, still looking confused. "But as for how I now find myself before you, I cannot say. The last I remember, I was venturing into an ancient graveyard not far from Gloucester City."

"You are still in Gloucester," replied Meleri, "albeit a fair ways from the city. Come, I am need of a proper escort. Ride with me to my home in Salisbury and perhaps there you may recover your wits."

Sir Haegirth assented, mounting Meleri's spare palfrey. "I do not know what became of my horse or squire," he muttered, clearly upset.

The duo continued south. They talked as they rode. Meleri was pleased to find that Haegirth was a pagan like her, and a rather proud one a that. "I just want to prove that those of us who follow the Old Ways are as good as those who follow the Cross!" he said fervently at one point.

At Bath, while staying as guests in the old Roman palace of the Lord Mayor, Meleri heard an interesting bit of gossip: the Questing Beast had been spotted limping along the edges of the Marshes of Avalon to the south, a great spear splintered and buried in its side.

From Bath, Meleri led Haegirth along the old road southeast into the Blakemoor Wood. Somewhere among the ambling track that wound its way through the trees, Meleri knew, they would pass into the territory of Salisbury. The ride was uneventful until, as the day began to grow dark, Meleri picked out the sound of horses and tack on the road ahead. Unconcerned, she rode on, and soon caught up with a curious procession.

Two riders were leading their horses along the path, but between two other horses hung an ad-hoc pallet made of spear shafts. On the pallet reposed a third man, his groans of pain audible even from a dozen yards away. With a quickening in her bosom Meleri noted the coats of arms on the shields hung at the horses' sides: these were men of the de Ganis clan! She rode forward.

At the sound of her approach, the riders halted. The leader craned his neck around and Meleri recognized him at once: it was young Sir Lamorak de Gales, whom she had met at Arthur and Guenevere's wedding a few years previous. Looking down at the man in the stretcher, she saw it was none other than Lamorak's father, King Pellinore! He looked to have most grievously wounded.

"Good lady," said Lamorak with a courteous salute.

"Sir," Meleri replied with equal courtesy. "Your father looks sorely wounded."

"Aye, indeed," said Lamorak with a heavy sigh. "I found him thus, not far from the Avalon Marsh. I had heard tell he was hunting Glatisant in that area."

"Nearly...had...him...," croaked Pellinore.

Meleri slid from her saddle and approached the wounded King. She made noises of soothing calm as she examined his wounds, which were many and deep.

"Make camp here," she said, "and I shall tend to his wounds."

And so Meleri, drawing upon some of the knowledge gained during her time with the Lady of Sauvage at the King's winter court, began preparing a variety of healing poultices and salves, which she applied to Pellinore's hurts. She also prepared a broth from mushrooms and herbs gathered in the forest, and Pellinore drank of it deeply. As the moon rose through the branches overhead, the King was at last able to sit up and brace himself against a tree.

"MY THANKS, LADY," said Pellinore, his usual timbre restored.

"Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have scarcely believed such a recovery possible!" marveled Lamorak. "Tell me, where did you learn such arts?"

"The Forest Sauvage," replied Meleri simply. She saw all three knights exchange nervous glances. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Pellinore raised his leather cup of broth and saluted her: "TO THE SAUVAGE HEALER!" he declaimed.

"Huzzah!" the other two knights chorused.

[All this is an excellent example of how Pendragon characters' fortunes can turn on a single die roll and a bit of role-playing. In this case, it all goes back to Meleri getting a Critical success when she played chess against "Higgins" the year before. I had intended to introduce the dwarf as a possible solution to the basilisk problem, but when she got her Critical (which always means something superlative) I decided to have Higgins swear fealty to Meleri. This in turn got her in good with the Sauvage King. Des's decision to send a token of her esteem to the King after the basilisk's defeat was the second ingredient in Meleri's turn of good fortune (it always pays to placate the fae). Taking a cue from a story seed in the "Forest Sauvage" chapter of the GPC, I ruled that Meleri's stay with the King over the winter would grant her the "Sauvage Healer" template: Chirurgery 20, First Aid 20, Dancing 20, Faerie Lore 15. I set up this encounter with Pellinore to give Des a chance to flex a couple of her newly-raised skills. So of course she proceeds to Critical her Chirurgery roll for Pellinore! Clearly her new role was meant to be.]

With the King in better spirits, the group talked long into the night. Pellinore gave a rousing rendition of his latest hunt for the Questing Beast, which took him from Norgales south through the Cambrian Mountains and to the Marshes of Avalon. He actually got on top of the beast at long last, but paid for his spear thrust with near-fatal injuries at the hands of Glatisant's sword-like claws and teeth.

Haegirth, clearly feeling a bit marginalized, then piped up with a tale of how he won the melee at a tournament in Escavalon the year previous.

"I was at that tournament," Lamorak said. "You fight well, sir."

"Surely not as well as you, Lamorak," said Meleri over the rim of her wine cup before Haegirth could reply, her eyes twinkling. "What brought you to Somerset, by the by?"

"I am traveling to Winchester, and lucky for me that I was, for I might not have heard of my father's plight otherwise."

"LUCKY FOR ME YOU MEAN!" bellowed Pellinore with a hearty guffaw.

"Winchester?" Meleri asked. "What takes you there?" Meleri knew that Winchester was what the Saxons called Caer Gwent, an old city in Wessex near the borders of Salisbury and Silchester, about a day's ride from Du Plain.

"Have you not heard?" Lamorak asked, his eyebrows arching. "The High King has selected it as site for his new capital! Although most of his court still resides at Carduel in the wake of the campaigns in the north last year, Arthur has come south to survey locations for some of the new buildings and fortifications he plans to erect. I've heard tell that the Round Table has already been brought there..."

Meleri saw something in Lamorak's face when he mentioned the Round Table. "You haven't...?" she asked.

"I am to be inducted into the Order when I arrive, aye," said Lamorak, unable to suppress a grin.

"To Lamorak!" Meleri said, toasting him. "My father, you know, was a founding member of the Round Table Order."

"Indeed," said Lamorak. "I am only too pleased to find myself in such august company."

The knight and lady exchanged a long, silent glance before Haegirth piped up again. "Anyway, I believe I was talking about winning the melee at the Escavalon tournament..."

At last everyone retired. Meleri had her own tent, as did Lamorak and Pellinore. Haegirth curled up near the camp fire while Higgins disappeared into the woods, off to do whatever it is that dwarfs do when mortals sleep.

Meleri's own deep slumber was interrupted by someone sliding under the blankets at her side. Rolling over, she could just see Lamorak's features outlined by the firelight filtering in from outside. They embraced...

[Meleri had made her Flirting roll earlier in the evening, so I figured a Chaste/Lustful roll was in order for Lamorak. One failed Chaste and Criticaled Lustful roll later...]

The next morning, everyone was ready to hit the road again. Pellinore was still in a delicate state and so had to ride in the pallet, but Meleri assured him that they should arrive at Warminster, Salisbury's westernmost town, before the day was out. They rode mostly in silence, but Meleri and Lamorak kept stealing furtive glances at each other, their expressions hungry.

[I figured a Critted Lustful roll was good for Lamorak potentially generating a Love passion for Meleri. Poor guy fell hard: Love (Meleri) of 23! Des asked if she could generate of Love passion for Lamorak, and she fell even harder: Love (Lamorak) of 26! Ohhh myyyyy.]

Meleri was as good as her word, and the group arrived at Warminster in the late afternoon. The walled city was flying the colors of Earl Robert, who was obviously in residence. Dimly, Meleri remembered that the Earl's progress usually stopped at Warminster for a few weeks in the spring.

As the city held no castle, the Earl's court was in attendance at the great hall of the Lord Mayor. All the lords and ladies of the Earl's household were in attendance. Meleri noted too Sir Heraus de Ganis, whom she quickly discovered had wed the wealthy widow, Lady Gaille of Wilton, over the winter. He smiled vapidly at her when she caught his eye. Pellinore and Lamorak were welcomed as honored guests, and Lamorak, inspired by his new Love passion, told a rousing tale of Meleri's healing of his wounded father. The sobriquet of "Sauvage Healer" was taken up by all in attendance, and Meleri's place in local lore was fixed for good. As she looked around the hall, basking in the (considerable) Glory this tale had brought her, Meleri saw nothing but beaming faces and good wishes - with the exception of Countess Katherine, whose plain face wore an expression of cold derision. Meleri returned the look with interest until Katherine looked away and called for the minstrel troupe to begin playing.

As the various members of court began to circulate, many coming to congratulate Meleri, the great unspoken game of women's society began. This is known as the Pageant, and it is for ladies of court somewhat like the tournament is for knights. Although not announced with trumpet fanfares or heralds, the stakes of honor and glory are similarly high.

Meleri could feel the eyes of the women of the court upon her and knew she was being judged for her beauty and grace. Through subtle verbal and non-verbal cues, it soon became apparent that although Meleri had been judged a great beauty, the Countess would not be yielding her moniker of "fairest at court" this day. Meleri's plain dress and quiet demeanor meant she stood little chance to be deemed either best-dressed (that honor again going to Katherine) or wittiest (an honor won by the aging but still lively Lady Gwiona). Meleri and Gwiona, in the course of their chat that evening, took turns running down the Countess, but Gwiona's barbs were much more subtle. Sensing she might be out of her depth, Meleri shifted the subject to Saxons, always a popular subject of derision. Gwiona heaped abuse on the invaders as well, but Meleri was recognized by the others for her burning Hatred.

[The Pageant rules were a lot of fun to play out and worked really well. I'm looking forward to using them in future sessions and can see them forming a core experience for any Lady-centered game.]

Gwiona and Meleri's conversation was interrupted by Lamorak.

"My lady, a word in private?" asked the knight.

The pair stepped out into the paved courtyard surrounding the hall. Night had fallen by this point, and Lamorak's features were hidden in the shadows cast by the moon.

"I must ride on at first light," he said, his voice quavering.

"Will you return to me after your visit to Winchester?" Meleri asked, fearing she knew the answer already.

"My heart will not permit me to settle in any one place," said Lamorak. "I am my father's son. But I will carry your love with me wherever I may ride."

"Will I ever see you again?" Meleri asked, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed.

"Whenever I am able, I will come back to you. This I swear."

Meleri moved in and planted a kiss. She then took Lamorak's dagger from its sheath and cut off a lock of her flaming red hair. "To carry with you when you are not by my side," she said, pressing it into his hand.

Lamorak, seemingly unable to speak, clutched the hair to his chest, bowed, and slipped back into the hall. Meleri remained outside, looking up at the moon, which seemed to smile mockingly back at her. She felt deeply wounded by Lamorak's departure, and she felt burning hatred seething inside her for the Countess. So many emotions tumbling about inside!

"I haven't felt like this since...since..." Suddenly Meleri realized what was going on: she was pregnant! Surely it could not be Lamorak. She would not know so soon. Her mind traipsed back to winter and the many nights she spent in the arms of the Gallant of Sauvage. She felt her belly - could it be that she carried the child of a faerie knight?

Lamorak was good for his word and was gone before the sun crested the eastern horizon. Meleri left not long after, anxious to get away from Katherine's poisonous looks. Three days later she was back at Broughton. In her absence, the peasants had been hard at work rebuilding the village and the manor house. The hall was a shadow of its former self, being built of wood and shingles, but it would do for the time being.

As Meleri had promised, she brought along Sir Haegirth. The knight had been strangely taciturn since their arrival at Warminster, not his usual somewhat loud-mouthed self. A couple days after their arrival at Broughton, Meleri asked Haegirth if anything was weighing on his mind.

"I...remembered the quest I was on...before you found me..." he said, his voice quiet and measured. "I am on the...trail...of a Roman lady. She...died. Long ago. I...must...find out...what happened to her."

"I see," said Meleri, somewhat alarmed. "Who was she?"

"Her name was...Decima."

"Well, if there's any way I can help you in your search, please let me know."

Haegirth nodded and returned to his silent brooding.

Meleri took Haegirth on as a bachelor knight. Along with a garrison of 8 soldiers, she felt well protected. Haegirth seemed a good knight, but his personality was also strangely mercurial. Some weeks he was his usual boisterous, pagan self. Other times, he was quiet and brooding. Occasionally, he would turn downright hostile, disappearing for several days at a time.

It was getting on for harvest time when Meleri, her belly heavy with child, went for a walk in the nearby woods, her children Loholt (age 10) and daughter Nest (age 5) in tow. Haegirth accompanied the family, armed in case of bandit or wild beast.

"Sir Haegirth," Meleri mused as they strolled among the trees, "may I ask why you disappear at times? It is not behavior befitting a knight of my house."

Haegirth looked startled. "Have I been--?" he began, but was cut off by the sound of a voice coming from up a great elm tree.

"Pride is the fault of the Pendragons. Tell King Arthur."

Looking up, everyone was startled to see the voice was coming from a great golden eagle perched among the branches.

"Haegirth," Meleri said, "ride immediately for Winchester and seek for Arthur. Bring him back here as soon as you are able."

Meleri returned to Broughton as Haegirth set out at once. Four days later, she spotted a small royal procession making its way up the road from Du Plain. The High King's banner flew proudly in the autumn wind as Meleri came forth to welcome the Pendragon to her humble home, her hair uncovered and blowing just as proudly as the King's banner. Proving herself properly Hospitable and Courteous, she saw to the needs of Arthur and his men. It was a small group, consisting of the King, Sir Kay, Sir Cynrain of Cornwall, Haegirth, and another knight introduced as Sir Ontzlake.

"I came as soon as I could," said Arthur, a flash of recognition in his eyes, as Meleri brought him within the hall and gave him the seat of honor at her table. "Your man tells me there is a talking eagle seeking for me in the woods nearby?"

"Aye, majesty," Meleri said as she filled Arthur's goblet with mead. "As soon as you are refreshed from your travels, we may go to see it."

Arthur stood at once and drained his goblet. "Then let us go!"

The party made its way back into the woods. The eagle was still on its perch in the elm tree. As they approached, Meleri distinctly saw that the eagle appeared to be smiling.

"Is that bird grinning at me?" asked Arthur, his neck craned back.

"Pride is the fault of the Pendragons. Tell King Arthur," the eagle repeated.

"I am he for whom you seek. Who are you?"

"And who are you to come into the forest and command an eagle?"

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Logres and High King of all Britain, Emperor of Rome and Defender of the Faith."

"Such pride! Pride is the fault of the Pendragons."

"And how do you know such things of the Pendragons, eagle, who lives in the woods so far from
court?"

"I am your cousin, Arthur. I am Eliwlod, the son of Madoc, your brother."

Meleri dimly recalled a tale her father had told, of his quest to find the rumored son of Uther's bastard son Madoc - and the answer he had received from the Sauvage King: "Madoc's son is in the forest where lost men find, where only eagles roost."

"Then well met, cousin!" said Arthur. "Had I known you were here I would have come years ago to converse."

"Our business is brief. Since my death and transformation we are no longer truly kin. I am here to warn you. Pride is the fault of the Pendragons, and you must curb your pride or fall. Furthermore, I will tell you five things to prove my powers. Listen clearly.

"You will almost die, and then find yourself lost among a field of stones.

"A boatload of children will make you marvel and fear.

"A white knight will also be a monk.

"You shall sit on a throne in Rome.

"Your son will be King of Britain."

Meleri's ears pricked up at this last one. She thought immediately of Loholt. Could it be...?

The eagle stretched its wings out to their considerable span. "Pride is the downfall of the Pendragons. Son of my grandfather, humble yourself or all these things I have named will be evil for you. Now I am off to serve the King of Eagles, a truly ancient and wise old bird. P'CAAAAAWW!!"

And with that it took wing and flew off. Everyone watched in silence as it flew away.

Arthur stayed one more day before departing. Meleri noticed Loholt watching the various knights curiously, clearly awed by their presence. Meleri saw to her guests' needs as best she could - entertaining even a small royal party was hard work! She was particularly impressed with Sir Ontzlake, who seemed a very chivalrous knight. He was also quite impressed with her [she critted her Flirting roll, but he still managed to make his Chaste roll - these Christian knights, I tell ya...] and told her if she ever had need of his services to call upon him at his manor in Silchester.

On the morning of his departure, Arthur bestowed a gift upon Meleri of 3 libra-worth of silver coins. A month later, Meleri delivered her baby, a girl. The baby did indeed seem to be the issue of the Gallant - her eyes sparkled like dark gems, and she arrived with a full set of teeth and rich head of dark hair.

And so winter came again to Broughton Hall and Meleri, gazing into the hearth fire as she nursed her baby, wondered at what the new year was to bring...

Complexity vs. Playability: A Question of Campaign Scale

2011-08-04T13:24:00.000-07:00

In the historical miniatures wargaming world, there's a widely-understood truism, almost a mathematical formula really, that states that as the complexity and detail of a set of rules increases the scale of the fighting depicted on the table shrinks. This is especially true for World War II miniatures rules: if you're tracking each individual soldier's morale and supply of grenades, if you're paying attention to the type of shell the tank is firing and tracking individual systems' damage levels, you're going to be playing with maybe 30 figures to a side and a vehicle or two in support. Outside of special convention exhibition games, if you want to field anything more than a platoon of troops per side and actually play a game to completion, certain concessions have to be made to "playability" - streamlining the process, boiling things down to a single die roll or two.

Reading through Christian's excellent Loviatar zine and his progress updates pertaining thereto, I was struck with a thought about how this scale could apply to RPGs. See, "PC freedom" is for the most part one of those RPG sacred cows. If you're planning on running a campaign that restricts players in any way, you better advertise it well in advance or you'll be facing mutiny. So most GMs (myself included) tend to plonk down on the side of "whatever's clever" and leave it at that. The thing is, Christian's running his game with Pathfinder but he's restricting action (for the time being) to a single city block.

Part of my personal evolution as a gamer these past few years has been in moving away from complex systems like 3.x/Pathfinder or GURPS in favor of more flexible and "lighter" systems like Castles & Crusades and BRP. But I'll be the first to admit that more complex systems have a certain charm - a well-written stat block for Pathfinder or GURPS is truly a thing of beauty and, as Christian's reminded me through his Loviatar efforts, kind of a hobby unto itself.

I've toyed with the idea of giving the players a complex system while keeping things simple on the GMing side of things. But maybe there's another way, too. I could actually see myself returning to GURPS or diving into Pathfinder as a GM, but with one caveat: as with miniatures games, with the complexity and detail of the rules increasing, the scale of the campaign would have to be proportionately smaller. That is perhaps the problem I've had with more complex systems: my ambition and desire to bow down before the altar of "PC freedom" has far outpaced my ability to actually interface with the rules. Running an open-ended and/or world-spanning campaign using those more detailed systems was just asking for frustration and overwhelm on my part. In terms of WWII miniatures games, it's like I was trying to put on a recreation of the Battle of the Bulge using Battalions in Crisis.

At this point, I'm mulling small-scale campaign concepts that could fit this new paradigm of complex rules/restricted setting. I'm thinking they'd have to be fairly role-play intensive, but with meaningful combats interspersed. Physical scale would be restricted by necessity; Christian's city block is a great example. For a fantasy milieu restricting races, monsters, and other variables would be desirable. I think a campaign that had a definite arc envisioned from the get-go (and discussed with the players) would be a good idea, too.

Off the top of my head, here are some campaign ideas that fit those criteria:

A Roman gladiator campaign where maybe (and realistically) one in four sessions actually features combat in the arena; the rest would be politics of the ludus and associated patrons and their power games.
A cyberpunk campaign set entirely in a single apartment block or urban project in an arcology; the group's only contact from birth with the outside world is through the 'Net.
The (mis-)adventures of a pirate crew and their ship of fortune; perhaps Irish pirates raiding the English from their coastal village base or converted Europeans operating out of a semi-independent piratical city-state.
To take a page from Christian's campaign, a GURPS Goblins game set entirely in a single ward or district of Regency London.

Heh, looking over that list I see it betrays my other burgeoning tendency: a greater and greater interest in running campaigns set strictly in our own world history, or something very close to it. But that's a topic for another day...

[Solo GPC] 519: Enter Meleri

2011-07-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

After far too long of a hiatus, Pendragon is kicking back up into high gear around these parts. This past Sunday Des ran the first session of her Pendragon campaign for the Meetup group. Including myself, we had five players. We've got two others who have expressed interest but couldn't make it that day due to scheduling conflicts and even an eighth(!) player on a waiting list. For a supposedly obscure RPG, Pendragon sure is bringing all the gamers to the yard, as it were.

(And yes, it was awesome to be on the player's side of the Pendragon experience again.)

During the preceding week prior to the Sunday session, we managed to get the Solo GPC campaign up and running as well. Following the death of Sir Herringdale, this session was to be the beginning of a new chapter tracing the exploits of Des's next character, Lady Meleri, Herringdale's black sheep daughter and heir to Broughton Manor. I took the opportunity to reassess and re-calibrate some of the rules I'd been using since we started the campaign in January of 2010. As I wrote way back then, we started with all core and optional rules in effect and more than a few house rules culled from Pendragon websites and message boards. I've since learned that in a solo game, simpler rules are often better. We'd already abandoned the excellent system presented in The Book of Battle for a more streamlined system. Now, as I prepared for the next adventure, I also made the decision to switch to the simpler Narrative economic system presented in The Book of the Manor; trying to balance the books in-game wasn't adding any fun to this particular campaign experience - we get enough of that in our real lives! I also adopted these excellent Yearly Event and Kin Event tables to flesh out the Winter Phase a bit more. Finally, I made lots of notes on the direction of the campaign in years to come, including themes I'd like to explore and ideas for allies and foes to toss at Meleri.

With all that prep done, I somewhat paradoxically prepared a simple adventure for this year. This was both because it had been a while since we'd played and because a lady-centered campaign was going to be such a dramatic switch I wanted to allow both of us to get a feel for it through a simple, rather straightforward adventure. Sort of like the introductory scenario in the core book taking nascent knights through the basics of jousting and opposed combat rolls, this would take us through the basics of how Meleri's adventures would play out in court and in the wild.

The year 519 had arrived with most of Salisbury's nobles and ladies staying as guests at Arthur's court in London. Salisbury and Silchester had been ravaged by the Saxon hordes prior to Badon Hill and there was much rebuilding to be done come the spring. The High King was up to his crown jewels in administrative headaches; with so many old knights killed at Badon, and so many young knights having distinguished themselves in the battle, there were innumerable posts to fill, honors to be conferred, and marriages to be arranged - as a means of pacifying the Saxon kingdoms, Arthur was granting the lands and wives of slain thegns to eager young knights. There were also plenty of now-vacated seats on the Round Table to be filled. Among those who joined that order's august ranks were Sagremor le Desirous and Dodinas le Sauvage, as well as the Brown Knight of the Wilds. Shockingly, the White Knight (who still refused to give his real name) declined a seat at the Table when offered one!

"He said, 'The Holy Grail is my lady,'" Lady Gwiona told Meleri as they watched the snow come down on the courtyard of the White Tower. "Can you imagine?"

Meleri stayed silent, watching Gwiona's young daughter Orlande play among the tapestries. Gwiona's husband, that old warhorse Sir Jaradans, had recently been named Marshall of Salisbury by Earl Robert, taking the place of her deceased father. The Earl had also taken possession of Du Plain Castle and appointed Sir Magloas, son of Sir Lycus, also killed at Badon, as castellan. Meleri was still waiting on word of her own fate and that of her siblings.

Two days before Yule she received her answer. Summoned by Sir Kay, she appeared before King Arthur, who sat in his throne with crown and scepter, draped in a mantle of ermine. If he remembered their youthful tryst some eight years previous, he showed no sign of it in his patrician facade.

"Lady Meleri of Broughton, daughter of the late Marshall Herringdale of Du Plain," Arthur said. "In recognition of your father's heroism and service to the crown, I hereby grant you an annuity of seven libra. Furthermore, I grant you Broughton Manor and its surrounds in perpetuity."

It was a generous bequest and Meleri curtsied deeply before departing. As she made her way from the hall, Earl Robert approached her.

"That was a fine gift and well deserved," he said courteously. But Meleri knew that as an unmarried lady, her ultimate fate was in the hands of the Earl; she waited for the other shoe to drop. "I trust you will look to the stewardship of Broughton as you have in the past," the Earl continued.

"What of the children?" Meleri asked.

"Your own issue may live with you, naturally," said Robert. "As for the others, they shall come and reside at my court until such time as they are ready to serve at the courts of my vassals."

It was a fair deal - Meleri knew Robert could have ordered her to marry anyone he chose. That he was allowing her autonomy instead was perhaps a token of how largely her father's legacy loomed. Or perhaps, as a woman with two bastard children by two fathers, she was simply too much of a liability to marry. This suited her fine - exile in Broughton was preferable to attending to boring court politics at Sarum.

With her future secured, Meleri was able to relax and enjoy the rest of the season at Arthur's court. Unlike Sarum, the High King's court was a buzzing hive of marvelous sights and juicy intrigue. In addition to the many knights and ladies of Logres who were in attendance, there was a great multitude of foreign knights present. They were knights of the de Ganis clan, descendants of the legendary King Lancelot and subjects of Kings Bans and Bors.

Last year, while Arthur and his army was engaged in the fight of its life against the Saxons, King Claudas of France had treacherously broken his peace treaty and invaded Aquitaine, home of the de Ganis. Although Arthur had pledged to come to the aid of Bans and Bors in return for their military assistance during his wars of unification, he had been unable to make good on his promise. Word around court was that Arthur felt awful about this and had extended an offer to host any de Ganis refugees who would flee the persecutions of Claudas.

Many knights had taken the Pendragon up on his offer, and the court was now abuzz with chatter about these strange foreign knights.

"Those poor fellows from Ganis!" exclaimed Countess Katherine one afternoon as she and the ladies of Salisbury sat with their needlepoint in the south tower, trying to catch some feeble winter sunlight through the mullioned windows. "Their kings are dead and their wives and children have disappeared."

"Poor fellows, indeed," said Gwiona, although with a wry smile on her face. "They can stay at my place for a while if they need to." Everyone laughed. "Bad luck or not, have you ever seen such sweet-talking men? And they play harp and sing like they teamed it from birth."

Meleri had to agree - these Aquitanian knights were clearly cut from a different cloth, making even the courtly young dandies of Logres like Sir Tor look like country bumpkins. She watched silently as Countess Katherine prattled on. She did not like the Earl's wife. The feeling seemed mutual; Katherine rarely had a word for Meleri, who dressed plainly but was still counted one of the most beautiful women in the county. Katherine, on the other hand, was plain-looking and one of the worst gossips she had ever met. Obviously insecure about her looks, she draped herself in extravagant fabrics, jewels, and precious metals. What her excesses were costing the Earl at a time of recovery and rebuilding Meleri did not like to think.

Meleri's dark thoughts had seemingly permeated the room, as an uncomfortable silence now descended on the group. Presently, Gwiona piped up: "I hear King Arthur is planning on making a new city of his own. The site is not yet selected."

Hardly able to stand this line of conversation, Meleri rose, curtsied to Countess Katherine, and excused herself to go check on her children, whom she had left in the care of a nurse. As she descended the tower stairs, she mumbled an invocation to the Goddess, asking that the thaw come as soon as possible that she might depart London and return to her home.

Eventually, spring did arrive and plans were made to depart the High King's court. A grand Easter feast marked the end of winter. Some lords and ladies planned to stay on at court a while longer, but, although the back roads were still a bit muddy, Meleri had already made plans to return to Broughton immediately. Sir Magloas had volunteered to escort her on his way to his new post at Du Plain.

The next day, an unseasonably warm one, as Meleri was mounting her palfrey in the courtyard she saw Sir Magloas leading his horse from the stables in the company of one of the de Ganis knights and his two squires. The two knights approached her.

"My lady," said Magloas, "may I present Sir Heraus de Ganis."

Sir Heraus flourished a deep bow. "Your servant," he said suavely.

Meleri nodded, trying to suppress a smile at the foreign knight's manners.

"At Earl Robert's bequest, Sir Heraus and his men will be staying with me at Du Plain," said Sir Magloas, "and will be riding with us on the journey."

The trio rode out, squires and spare horses in tow, making their way along the King's Road up the Thames Valley. They overnighted at Windsor Castle, then proceeded into Silchester the next day. As they made their way across the county, they passed manors and villages swarming with activity; the local peasantry was industriously rebuilding or repairing damaged buildings and setting about reseeding the fields that had been burned the year before.

At Levcomagus, Meleri announced her intention to continue west - Sir Magloas was due to turn south to Winchester, then over to Du Plain.

"My lady," said Sir Heraus, smoothing his thin mustache, "it is not safe for a woman to travel unescorted. Allow me to ride with you to your manor. I will then proceed on to Du Plain, which lies not far from your lands as I understand it."

Meleri assented to this request and after overnighting at Levcomagus they bade farewell to Sir Magloas and took the west road into the Chute Forest. They had passed into the lightly wooded forest when, as noon approached, they came upon a wooden bridge spanning a running river, cold with winter runoff.

On the far side of the bridge sat a silk tent, stitched in alternating stripes of shocking pink and bright green. Within the tent was a table and two chairs; in one of the chairs sat an ugly little dwarf idly toying with a chess piece from the board on the table. Outside the tent, a knight was brushing his horse, which bore hair of slightly greenish hue. The knight wore quartered livery to match the colors of the tent. Nearby, a silver helm rested near a rack of lances.

As Meleri's party approached, the dwarf hopped to his feet and came out onto the bridge, raising a stubby brown hand to signal a halt.

"My lord the Gallant of Sauvage has made an oath to guard this crossing against all who would pass. His toll is a joust for love, best of three passes."

Meleri looked at Sir Heraus, who was exchanging nervous glances with his two squires. She saw him swallow hard, clearly unnerved by the strange scene. [Despite Heraus's better-than-average Valorous score, he managed to fail the roll!]

"Perhaps we should double back and follow Sir Magloas?" Heraus suggested. Meleri gave the knight a disdainful sniff and flicked her horse's reins, riding forward.

"Dwarf," she said, "is there no other way we might allowed to pass?"

The Gallant, who had been watching these proceedings with a wry smile on his handsome face, answered for the dwarf.

"My friend here is a great fan of the chess," he said, nodding to the dwarf. "He has not been beaten in ten score games. He craves a worthy opponent."

"I shall play your game, then," said Meleri although she hadn't played chess since her days as a lady-in-waiting at Morgan's court.

Meleri crossed the bridge and daintily took a seat at the chess table beneath the gaudy tent. Heraus, his squires, and the Gallant stood a distance away, watching with interest. The dwarf took his seat opposite Meleri and the game began. As they played, the dwarf engaged Meleri in a discussion about the rules of heraldry. Although the conversation was illuminating, Meleri kept her focus on the game. Charged with a desire to succeed where her knightly escort had balked [and succeeding in an Honor passion roll], she played the best game of chess of her life and just barely managed to defeat the dwarf.

As she moved her rook into position and announced "check and mate" the Gallant burst into applause. The dwarf hurled himself off his chair and bowed so low his knobbly nose swept the grass.

"My lady," he said in his croaking voice, "I gave an oath many years ago to serve faithfully the one who could best me at my game. You are the first to have done so, and I am at your service from now on."

Meleri was surprised but pleased at this development. "Er, very well," she said. "Arise, dwarf."

The Gallant approached and bowed as well. "Well played, good lady," he said, a twinkle in his eye. Meleri flushed a bit under his intense, otherworldly gaze. She quickly mounted her horse and watched as the dwarf retrieved a donkey and took his seat on its back.

They rode on, leaving the Gallant at his post by the river. They overnighted at Grately Manor despite the fact half the roof was still open to the skies (the locals having only just managed to thatch the other half in the last week) then made for Broughton the next day, figuring to arrive by dusk. As they rode through the vale of Buck Creek, however, Meleri could tell something was wrong. Unlike the lands in Silchester and Grately Manor, the lands around Broughton were not abuzz with activity. Fields still lay in ashes and no lights burned in the ruined village cottages. The manor house clearly lay in burnt ruins, just the way it had been left two years ago after invading Saxons had taken it and Meleri had barely escaped with her life. For a distance of some yards around the house Meleri could see the land had a gray, ashen aspect like that of a rotted fruit.

As she rode the trail towards the manor house, Meleri saw several grubby peasants emerge from the nearby woods. She called a halt and waited for them to approach. As they recognized Meleri's flaming hair, the peasants broke into a run. Meleri could see tears of joy streaming down their faces and as they drew near they threw themselves down before her startled horse.

"My lady! You have returned!" they cried.

"What goes on here?" Meleri demanded. "Why does the village and manor still lie in ruins?"

"A fell beast has taken residence in the hall," the peasants whispered, their voices choked with fear. "It poisons the land and attacks those who stray too near. We have been living in the woods, first hiding from the Saxons, then from the evil that now infests your manor, m'lady."

"An evil beast, you say?" said Sir Heraus, clearly anxious to redeem himself after his cowardice at the river crossing. "With your permission, my lady, I will ride forth and slay the foul creature."

Meleri nodded and Heraus spurred his horse forward. [At this point, I handed Des Heraus's sheet; the plan is that whenever there's a fight to be had, Des can run the NPC knight or knights who are fighting on Meleri's behalf.] The de Ganis knight approached the manor in the fading light. At his approach, a flock of sparrows took wing, startled by the sound of his jangling armor and the clop of his horse's hooves. The birds flew directly over the ruined manor and Heraus saw a jet of clear liquid shoot up into the sky from within. The spray hit one of the birds, who gave a piteous cry and dropped from the sky like a stone, trailing...was it smoke?

Heraus swallowed hard again, reining his horse in. He looked at the burned ruins of the manor, then looked back at Meleri and the peasants watching expectantly - and brought his horse 'round, riding back to Meleri with his head hung low. [Heraus missed his Valorous roll again - in fact, this time he fumbled! So much for the valiant de Ganis knights...]

Meleri felt nothing but contempt for her escort. She sat atop her horse, contemplating the ruined manor, wondering if the lands so recently granted her were now worthless.

"My lady," rumbled the voice of the dwarf. "My lord knows the secrets of all things. Perhaps he might tell you the secret of defeating this beast."

Seeing no better option, Meleri agreed to follow the dwarf to "my master's court" in the Sauvage Forest. She overnighted in one of the few intact cottages in the village, then set off first thing the next morning, Sir Heraus and his squires still in tow but riding well back, shoulders drooping under the weight of their collective shame.

The ride to the Forest Sauvage took a week as the dwarf led Meleri north through Marlborough, Clarence, and Wuerensis. At Lambor Castle, the party turned east and plunged into the Forest Sauvage. Camping under the trees that night, several magpies alighted on nearby branches. The birds cawed and sang, twittering and leaping from branch to branch. Heraus was clearly annoyed, but Meleri watched with interest. Suddenly all the flock but one took wing, flying deeper into the forest. The bird that remained was the largest of the flock and he watched Meleri with cold black eyes. She had the distinct impression she was being spied on.

Crumbling up some of her bread, she held her hand out and made a chirruping noise. The bird alighted and landed on her wrist and began eating the crumbs. When it was done it too took wing and flew east into the woods.

The next day, the dwarf led Meleri and company along a winding forest track. Many were the times Meleri would have lost the trail had it not been for the dwarf leading her. After some hours, they came to a massive castle constructed entirely of red marble. The dwarf told Meleri to proceed into the castle by herself. With a nervous glance back, she left Heraus and his squires outside with the dwarf and crossed beneath a massive gatehouse that contained a giant portcullis, green with age. Dismounting her horse in the courtyard, she headed up into the red keep.

Within was a massive hall to rival that of Sarum Castle or the White Tower in London. It was completely bare save for a plain wooden throne at the far end. Meleri entered the hall and looked around and suddenly became aware of another person in the hall. It was a lady dressed in an extravagant but tastefully tailored gown. Her visage was beautiful but also somewhat disturbing.

"Why do come hence to the Castle Sauvage?" the lady asked in a voice as cold as ice.

Meleri attempted a curtsy but found her legs suddenly turned to rubber, her mouth dry, her brain buzzing. "I- I-," she stammered.

The magpie from the night before flew in through the open doors of the hall and alighted on the lady's shoulder. It twittered softly in her ear. The lady nodded and the magpie flew off.

"Very well," said the lady, looking harsh and skeptical. "Wait here."

Not entirely sure what she was waiting for and whether it would be a boon or a bane, Meleri stood nervously, alone in the hall, for some time. At last, a small man entered the hall to a fanfare of invisible trumpets. He was stooped and hunchbacked, his nose long and twisted, his hair an unnatural flaming orange color. Despite his freakish appearance, he was draped in silks and furs of the finest quality.

"I understand my dwarf has brought you hence with a request," said the King of Sauvage as he sat himself upon his throne.

"Yes, your majesty," said Meleri with a curtsy, her manners finally coming back to her. "A terrible beast haunts my manor house and none know how to be rid of it."

She described what had happened when she arrived at Broughton, the King listening closely.

Art by Crissy Gottberg

"The creature you describe is a basilisk, the king of serpents," said the King at last. "It is indeed a terrible foe, but it has one great weakness: the common weasel, which will run down its throat and eat its heart. Capture a weasel and set it loose on the basilisk and it will trouble you no more."

Meleri curtsied again and thanked the King profusely. When the King said no more, Meleri turned and left. The journey back to Broughton passed without further incident. Arriving back at the manor, Meleri had one of her peasants catch a weasel in the woods. Sir Heraus bore the bagged creature forward, unleashing it a dozen yards from the burnt ruins. The weasel sniffed the air, then streaked forward, weaving through charred stonework and cracked timbers.

Silence fell. Then a great reptilian cry rose up from the ruins, a chilling, unearthly sound that Meleri would never forget. A minute later, the weasel reappeared, perching on a large stone block, daintily cleaning blood off its fur. Meleri rode forward and with Sir Heraus finally entered the ruins of the manor. The air hung thick with an acidic tang that obliged them to cover their mouths and made their eyes water. But they could see the carcass of the basilisk laid out in the old great hall. It was as long as four horses standing nose to tail, and striped in black and white horizontal lines. Its head was wreathed with a strange plume of feathers and on its head was a gold crown.

Heraus plucked up the crown with the tip of his lance and presented it to Meleri. Over the next day, the carcass of the basilisk was removed by the local peasantry and a set of block and tackle and dumped in the Buck. As the dead basilisk floated away, Meleri could see dead fish floating to the surface around it; even in death, the basilisk was poison.

"Oops," she murmured, wondering how much damage the creature would do on its way to the sea.

Sir Heraus returned to Du Plain castle and the peasants were soon happily back at work, rebuilding the village and sowing the fields as spring rains began to fall, cleansing the taint of the basilisk from the land. Meleri dispatched her dwarf servant, who - after refusing to divulge his true name - she had dubbed Higgins, to take a token of her appreciation back to the Sauvage King: a lock of her auburn hair. Spring turned to summer and Broughton had a roof again. As autumn came in, the harvest was gathered up; although it was meager, there weren't as many mouths to feed as before the coming of the Saxons, so there was no shortage this year.

Meleri was beginning to contemplate how she was going to spend her winter when an unexpected guest arrived. It was the Gallant of Sauvage and he bore a message from his liege, the King of Sauvage.

"My lord was well touched by your kindly gift," he informed Meleri. "He has requested that I come to retrieve you that you may stay as a guest at his table over the winter."

This development suited Meleri just fine and, after leaving instructions with the local reeve for the administration of the lands over the cold months, she departed at once in the company of the Gallant.

[Rifts:2112] Europe Again

2011-07-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

Apart from the occasional playtest one-shot, I've yet had a chance to really take my alternate version of Rifts for a spin. That's going to change this week as I fire up a casual pick-up game with a couple friends who have voted on a Rifts Europe campaign.

Although sessions will be sporadic, this still represents a real shot at putting some of my BRP conversions (yes, after a brief flirtation with Savage Worlds, I'm back on the BRP bandwagon for the time being) to the test and further develop my version of Rifts Europe, which long-time readers will recall differs markedly from the canonical setting. Expect a couple more posts on this topic as I make hay for the new campaign: some fleshed-out details on the British Archipelago and (finally) filling in some details on the long-neglected Mediterranean with much material courtesy of a couple readers hailing from that region.

I spent some time today assembling a document of vehicles commonly found in the Neue Deutsche Republik (NDR) and other inhabited regions. It's sort of the steampunk answer to the original Triax and the NGR sourcebook: lots of nifty tech. My inspiration came in the form of a treasure trove of Lego steampunk vehicles on the net. There's a whole subculture of Lego steam engineers sharing their creations online, it would seem. Who knew, right? I have yet to stat anything out, but selecting the various creations got my brain working in terms of how transportation in post-apocalyptic Europe works. Here's what I came up with:

As nearly all of Europe's roads lie in impassible ruin, the NDR has sunk a considerable amount of time and effort into building a network of rails across its interior, linking all the Member Cities as well as important mining, farming, and commercial centers. The tracks are always built in pairs, allowing two trains to move along any given stretch of rail simultaneously (usually in opposite directions). This configuration has also led to the development of the NDR's justifiably famous "Railships" - massive rolling fortresses, the largest of which run on both sets of tracks. The Railships are used to protect and patrol the rail network, serve as convoy escorts, or transport important parties in maximum security.

All other vehicles in the NDR, civilian or military, tend to be built with rugged off-road travel in mind. Accordingly, non-tracked vehicles as a general rule run either on tracks or on articulated legs capable of clambering on and over even the most untamed wilderness land.

However, given the choice, when rail travel isn't available many travelers both within and outside the NDR prefer to fly. Gargoyles and other flying monstrosities still pose a threat, of course, so most airships are well-armed for defense, but by and large air travel is much safer, faster, and more comfortable than roughing it overland.

Due to the limitations of steam power, flying machines in Europe are almost always built as dirigibles. The NDR's military airships are rigid in construction, sporting thin armored casings over their gasbags. Civilian ships are non-rigid as a general rule. Rigid or not, most airships sport sails for use when winds are favorable. This helps extend the range of the ship and its fuel.

There is a type of airship increasingly found around the British Archipelago that does not fall under the category of dirigible: sky riders. These ships gain their lift through magic and rely on propeller engines to provide thrust. Because they do not need large gasbags, sky riders are generally sleeker and faster and are much prized by air pirates when they can get their hands on them.

Gotta have air pirates, you know?

Here are some of the inspirational creations in question, the first five courtesy of the amazingly talented Raillery:

All this steam-tech stuff has got me going in an even steamier direction (although not in the carnally interesting sense, sorry) for my European tech. Today reader Reese F. sent me some modified digital mock-ups of steam-tech guns.

Reese explains:

The weapons fire solid projectiles propelled from a reservoir of compressed steam. A recent thought that I had was that you could easily make these weapons inflict the necessary damage by giving them the same types of rounds as with the TX-5 Pump Pistol.

I love this idea. For those of you unfamiliar with the weapon in question, it's sort of like a hybrid grenade-launcher/shotgun; it fires small cartridges that explode on impact with a blast radius of about a yard. It only stands to reason the NDR would have developed this sort of technology to combat the "gargoyles" and boosted Brodkil that press at their borders. It also introduces a uniquely European gun technology to contrast with North America's more advanced chemical slug throwers and laser weapons (not that those won't be present in Europe as well, just in much smaller numbers methinks).

I'll leave things off here with some more inspirational pics in the vein of my first Europe post. These pics have been culled from around the Web, often from secondary sources. If you spy your art here and would like credit, please don't hesitate to drop me a line and let me know and I'll make the appropriate changes. On with the show then:

Sea Gypsy settlement in the British Archipelago.

New Camelot

Further details will be forthcoming in my post on the British Archipelago, but I'm turning The Eternal City into a trans-dimensional trading port run by Dickensian Goblins in the vein of those presented in the criminally underrated GURPS Goblins sourcebook.

A Millennium Tree

The City of Ys

A manufactory in the NDR.

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All art is copyright its respective artist.

[Campaign Analysis] Secrets of Yog-Francisco

2011-07-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

Something I'd love to see more of on Ye Olde Blogs are analyses of campaigns, both those that wrap up successfully and those that fall apart. What worked, what didn't. Expectations going in and how those expectations morphed and changed over the course of the campaign. To that end, I'll be posting the very thing whenever a campaign wraps up.

Oh, look - I had a campaign just wrap up yesterday. Talk about good timing!

I've just now dubbed the campaign Secrets of Yog-Francisco. It didn't have that name going in. I know some folks like to name their campaigns right away (and most folks don't name them at all); for the duration it was being run, it was simply "the Cthulhu campaign." It was set in San Francisco from 1923-24 and made extensive use of Secrets of San Francisco and a couple adventures from White Dwarf set in SF.

This campaign marked my first stab at putting a group together over the Internet since 2002. The '02 experiment was, for me, completely unsuccessful, even resulting in my own personal brush with Creepiest Gamer territory. Ironically the group I convened carried on without me for at least a couple years (after they kicked out the Creepy Gamer, of course). Just call me the Gamer Matchmaker, I guess. In all seriousness, they were perfectly okay with playing "tabletop Everquest" - grinding through dungeons and wilderness encounters, killing things and taking their stuff. Not my style, but to each their own. It definitely put me off the idea of gaming with strangers, though.

With the brief exception of 2002 my preference has always been to game with people with whom I am friends or at least good acquaintances with. It tends to cultivate a sense of shared goals for what we all want out of gaming, since we're all by definition sort of "swimming in the same waters" to begin with. I've also almost without exception been the guy who introduces RPGs to others. Whenever I'd put a group together or find a new person joining an existing group it was inevitably an RPG newbie or newbies sitting at the table.

So this campaign represented quite a departure from my usual M.O. on several levels. Not only were these strangers, but about half the group were not just familiar with RPGs, they were actually hobbyists like myself. Another major change of pace for me was the group size: it started with two players but added a new player each session until it topped out at five (and even six on one or two occasions). My high school/college group took years to get up to four players; five was undreamed of and six was just completely ridiculous.

As a result, my preference does tend to run towards smaller groups - I consider three players the ideal balance - but I had a great time running this campaign nonetheless. It's hard to turn people away who want to play, especially if it's a game like Call of Cthulhu; non-D&D campaigns aren't exactly a dime a dozen, especially in a smaller city such as mine.

I really think the secret of success was primarily the fact that I was running a non-D&D campaign. I've alluded to this in recent posts, but it bears repeating: if you're looking to put together a gaming group, it pays to run something a little quirky and off the beaten path. Casting a wide net by running a vanilla D&D campaign (as I did in 2002) pretty much guarantees that you'll get a wide mix of people, which is good for filling seats but also significantly raises the odds of ending up with incompatible aims and goals.

Speaking of aims and goals, the main adjustment I had to make with running a campaign for a larger group was not in the actual running of the game but rather the planning. I suspect there's an inverse relationship between group size and the influence a GM has over the campaign. That is to say, with smaller groups (or solo games), as a GM I have a greater voice in punching up certain themes or recurring NPCs. The larger the group gets, the more autonomy the players can exert. Themes emerge more organically. NPCs, both beloved and despised, tend to emerge organically.

This is not to say these processes don't occur with smaller groups. But I've found, looking back on the just-wrapped campaign, that almost everything emerged organically. At the outset of the campaign, I sat down and made a list of themes, adventures, and NPCs that I wanted to see featured in the campaign. I'd say over 95% of that list went untapped.

Instead of my intention to feature Nyarlathotep, we saw Yog-Sothoth emerge as the central dark force behind many of the campaign events. Recurring themes grew up on their own: ingenues in peril, Pinkerton detectives, sorcerers, and trans-dimensional travel. Although I still prefer smaller groups, I have to say I really enjoyed the organic development that came with the larger group.

What Worked Well
* I have to give myself a pat on the back for pacing. I kept adventures cooking along while seeing each one increase the deadliness bit by bit. The first PC death didn't occur until the penultimate session. Yesterday's grand finale allowed me to pull out all the stops, and we ended with two deaths, one permanent insanity, one PC reduced to a single Sanity point(!) and indefinitely insane, and the only intact PC stranded 85 years in the future in present-day San Francisco (and ready to be dusted off if/when I run a modern-day Cthulhu campaign).
* I think I did a good job with creating a sense of place. There's not much point to setting a campaign in a specific locale if it's indistinguishable from Anytown, USA. Having lived in San Francisco for five years (and the fact that so much of that city has essentially remained unchanged since the Twenties) allowed me to draw upon visceral memories to paint pictures of the city's geography, architecture, public transit, weather, and more. I even have a poster map reproduction of San Francisco in the Twenties that I'd haul out to provide a visual aide at times. If you're running a campaign in the modern era, there's a definite advantage to running a campaign in an area you've lived in and are familiar with.

What Needs Improvement
* About halfway through the campaign I realized that although I was doing a great job with creating a real sense of place, I was seriously lagging on creating a sense of the times. That is, there was little to demonstrate the fact I was running the game in the Twenties other than occasional references to Prohibition. Once I realized this, I started paying more attention to how I was describing NPCs' outfits and other physical props, but I'd be curious to hear others' feedback on how they create a sense of the times with historical games.
* I started the campaign with an omnibus list of "creepy encounters" to throw at the players periodically, intended to keep them off-balance and ratchet up the weirdness factor. I forgot the timeless lesson of The Gazebo: the more something seems like a non-sequitir, the more meaning the players will assign to it. I'll have to work on integrating creepy events into the main narrative or else presenting them in a way that the players can't really follow up or act on them.

All in all, I was tremendously satisfied with how the campaign turned out and the great group that gelled around it. So what's up next? After some discussion over a post-campaign feast, we settled on...Pendragon! Muahaha! This group likes the off-beat games, and for that I am eternally grateful. Even better? I get to be a player this time; Des has volunteered to fill the GM's chair. It'll likely be a brief campaign by Pendragon standards - probably "only" 20 to 40 years of game time...

Weekend Fulla Gaming

2011-07-08T20:58:00.000-07:00

This weekend should be lots of fun.

Tomorrow Des and I will finally be sitting down once again for Pendragon and we're hoping this will get us back on our semi-regular track. I'm particularly excited since this'll be a fresh start with a new character (and a lady no less!), so it's sort of a blank slate situation with many wide-open possibilities. Look for a session summary some time next week.

Then on Sunday my Cthulhu group will be convening for the final adventure in our campaign arc. I've been running a campaign set in San Francisco in the Twenties centering around the machinations of Yog-Sothoth and its worshippers and it's been tremendous fun. Last session ended with the group being sucked into an alternate dimension that exists inside Yog-Sothoth (if you've read the "Beyond the Edges" scenario in Secrets of San Francisco you'll know where this is going...). Win or lose, this will be the end of the campaign as it currently stands. (And I've got a couple "Superlative Death" awards printed out and ready for those moments of heroic sacrifice or batshit insanity.) We've even got one of the founding members of the group who moved away last spring joining us for the last hurrah.

We'll be celebrating with a big dinner bash after the scenario wraps up. Des is making Cthulhu-themed cupcakes from the Arkham Bakery cookbook and there'll be lots of other tasty dishes: quiches, homemade guac and onion dip, pasta, "Necronomicookies" and a few more things besides. Someone's even bringing along their homebrew beer for that authentic Prohibition-era "bathtub gin" effect.

This campaign, started back in February, was my first experiment in nearly a decade with putting together a group from scratch comprising strangers. Unlike my 2002 experience (which I should really write about one of these days for the lulz) this has been a roaring success. I suspect it's because this time I was running Cthulhu whereas in '02 I was running vanilla 3.0 D&D. Running a marginal game that demands very specific tastes is both a boon and a curse: you're dealing with a much narrower pool of potential players, but you're almost certainly going to attract like-minded individuals, which is definitely the case with my current group.

We'll be discussing where to go from here over dinner. If the group pulls off a miracle and survives this last session more or less intact, I'd be happy to carry on with the campaign. I'm also mulling running Cthulhu Invictus or Mythos-inflected D&D (using some combination of LotFP and Realms of Crawling Chaos). I also have a couple non-Cthulhu ideas in mind that I think the group might still dig on, like Day After Ragnarok or even Castle Falkenstein. We shall see. All that I know for sure is that this weekend's going to be packed to gills with gaming.

Trollslayer

2011-07-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

I deleted my last post because Destination Unknown has returned!

That brush with trolls and drama and Negative Nelly comments on this very blog - you know we like to keep it civil around here for the most part - was terribly annoying. I think this blog needs another Gray Box entry post-haste, and perhaps a healthy dose of Pendragon game reports and a heaping pile of more of the usual silliness that goes on 'round here.

Today's lesson: don't let the trolls get you down.

Even if I don't owe it, here's a Joesky tax in honor of the occassion:

Dreed Sporting Chef

A new character class for BECMI D&D inspired by S. John Ross's Uresia: Grave of Heaven setting.

Prime Requisite: Intelligence and Charisma.
Other Requirements: Dexterity 9.
Experience Bonus: 5% for an Intelligence score of at least 13, 10% for a Charisma of 13 and an Intelligence of 17.
Hit Dice: 1d4 per level with Constitution adjustments up to 9th level. Starting at 10th level, +2 hit points per level and Constitution adjustments no longer apply.
Maximum Level: 36
Armor Allowed: As thief.
Saves: As thief.
Attack Advancement: As thief.
Weapon Mastery: Normal (see below).
Damage: Special (see below).
Special Abilities:

The Sporting Chef gains the skill of Profession (Cooking) for free.
God of Cookery: While using any "normal" weapon, the Sporting Chef does a mere 1d4 damage; while wielding food as a weapon (baguette, sausage links, hot soup, etc.), the Sporting Chef does 1d6 damage. Furthermore, the Sporting Chef may use Fighter Weapon Mastery when wielding food items.
Additionally, every level the Sporting Chef may add the abilities of Buffet Demon, Connoisseur, Culinary Encyclopedia, Gustatory Focus, Judge Cook, Lightning Chef, and Portable Kitchen, one ability per level.
At 3rd level, the Sporting Chef begins attracting followers. The first batch of followers (sous chefs) consists of 1d6 retainers, who work for the Chef free of charge and enjoy a +4 bonus to morale. Every other level thereafter, the Chef attracts 1d6 more retainers (apprentices), up to the maximum allowed by his Charisma.
At 5th level, the Sporting Chef's damage increases to 1d8 when using food as weapons. Furthermore, the Sporting Chef's food weapons count as +1 weapons for the sole purpose of determining whether the Chef can hit creatures who can only be damaged by magic weapons. At 10th level, the effective bonus is +2, at 15th it increases to +3, and at 20th it increases again to +4.
At 9th level, the Sporting Chef becomes an internationally recognized celebrity chef. He enjoys the benefits (and drawbacks) of celebrity, and also attracts an "honor guard" of faithful followers:

1d100	Sporting Chef Follower
01-10	10 mounted knights: 1st-level fighters with field plate, large shield, lance, broad sword, morning star, and heavy war horse with full barding
11-20	10 1st-level elves with chain mail, long sword, long bow, dagger
21-30	15 wardens: 1st-level fighters with scale mail, shield, long sword, spear, long bow
31-40	20 berserkers: 2nd-level fighters with leather armor, shield, battle axe, broad sword, dagger (berserkers receive +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls)
41-65	20 expert archers: 1st-level fighters with studded leather armor, long bows or crossbows (+2 to hit)
66-99	30 infantry: 1st-level fighters with plate mail, body shield, spear, short sword
00	DM's Option (pegasi cavalry, Emerald Knights, Minotaurs, a cooking school's worth of Sporting Chef apprentices, etc.)

Level	Experience
1	0-1,800
2	1,801-3,600
3	3,601-7,200
4	7,201-14,400
5	14,401-30,000
6	30,001-60,000
7	60,001-120,000
8	120,001-240,000
9	240,001-360,000
10	360,001-480,000
11	480,001-600,000
12	600,001-720,000
13	720,001-840,000
14	840,001-960,000
15	960,001-1,080,000
16	1,080,001-1,200,000 Sporting Chef Abilities (adapted from Uresia d20) Buffet Demon: You can consume unlimited quantities of food and drink at a rate of up to twice your body rate per combat round. Connoisseur: With a single taste, you can analyze the precise origins of any food or drink. You can also reveal the basic (but not "secret") ingredients of the food or drink sampled. Culinary Encyclopedia: The ability to recall the attributes, quirks, and elements of all known spices, ingredients, and tools of cookery. This ability also includes proficiency in acquiring ingredients and food-related materials. Gustatory Focus: The ability to cook or eat under any circumstance, including in the middle of combat! You can also cook perfectly in total darkness or while blindfolded. Judge Cook: You can accurately judge the level and alignment of any other Sporting Chef with only a few minutes' observation (and not necessarily while cooking). Lightning Chef: Simple "one-dish" meals can be prepared in a single combat round. Portable Kitchen: You will always have easy and ready access to cooking gear and ingredients, including out-of-season or illegal ingredients.

Aieee! (Character Sheets, Part II)

2011-07-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

This is what you call a case of interesting timing.

Having just posted about my fetish for custom character sheets (complete with doffing of cap to Tony DiTerlizzi as king of same), the Man Himself goes ahead and posts a bunch more.

Follow this link and scroll down to the end of the post to unlock the magic.

Thanks to Superhero Necromancer for the link!

[Gray Box Project] Cyclpedia of the Realms: Time In The Realms

2011-07-05T07:52:00.000-07:00

With the introductory material out of the way, we finally get into the meat of the product. It's always interesting to me to read the old 80s-era world guides, because the way information was organized sometimes strikes me as a bit random. I mean, I guess there's nothing wrong, per se, with starting your authoritative tour of the setting with a discussion of the calendar. It seems to be a popular choice - the 1983 World of Greyhawk boxed set started out in a similar vein (before segueing in uniquely Gygaxian fashion into an in-depth look at the setting's various varieties of trees...). Most world guides today would start out discussing matters of a grander scale: cosmology, the role of the gods, and so forth. Or else they'd just launch straight into the cyclopedic entries, leaving the calendar as an entry somewhere in the "C" section between "Calaunt" and "Cavaliers and Paladins".

Anyway, organizational grousing aside, this one-page section is a meaty one with some great little flavorful bits scattered throughout. Straight off the bat, we are informed that the calendar presented is the one utilized in the kingdom of Cormyr, which to my mind indicates the assumed starting region to be that kingdom or a neighboring region. Fair enough.

We're then told the year is exactly 365 days long divided up into 12 months of exactly 30 days with five special holidays sprinkled through the course of the year. Each month is divided up into three periods of exactly ten days each.

"How convenient..."

Honestly, I'm of two minds when it comes to creating calendars for fantasy worlds. I understand the desire to: (a) make years and months map closely to our own; while (b) rationalizing said time periods into logical, neat little base 10 systems. On the other hand, there's a certain verisimilitude in presenting a wonky calendar. Time and again throughout human history we have demonstrated a chronic inability to actually conform to calendrical systems that actually make a lick of sense or even track the seasons with any degree of accuracy. Read up on the Roman calendar before Julius Caesar's reforms to get an idea of how screwed up early time-keeping systems were, and then remember that even Caesar's solution produced a calendar that was nearly two weeks off by the time anyone got around to fixing it (and even then it took another three centuries before everyone got on board with said reforms...). The French tried to implement their own logical base 10 system of months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds in the wake of the Revolution, but the effort went over like a lead balloon. Given the choice, people actually preferred to continue on with a system that divided months up into unequally varying periods, weeks into seven days, and time into base 6 multiples. People - go figure.

The calendrical system presented in the Gray Box is actually remarkably similar to the French Republican Calendar linked above, and I wouldn't be surprised if Greenwood based his calendar directly on that example. Although division of hours and minutes isn't discussed, one could assume that water clocks in Cormyr are calibrated to a decimal system as well.

Some conceit is made to confusing variation, however. "Although the months themselves are standardized, the system of dating varies from place to place," the text informs us, noting that years tend to be numbered from events of local significance (in Cormyr, it's 1332 while in the neighboring Dalelands it's 1357, for example). Months go by two names: the official names laid down by "the long-dead wizard Harptos of Kaalinth" and the colloquial names, which tend to reflect seasonal shifts (and would therefore also vary by region, although this is not explicitly stated - it's hard to imagine someone in Chult referring to the equivalent of May as The Melting, as they do in Cormyr).

Half the section is given over to a discussion of the five special calendar days, which occur approximately every two to three months. Sections like this are the heart and soul of any game setting worth its salt, as it's in these sorts of details that the author can communicate reams of implicit information about the setting with just a few explicit statements. Midwinter is important to nobles, as it is a time to make and renew alliances; for the common folk, it is Deadwinter Day, the apex of their frigid suffering. Wars are usually fought after Highharvestide but before The Feast of the Moon. I particularly liked this facet of the Midsummer festival:

In a ceremony performed in some lands, unwed maidens are set free in the woods and "hunted" by their would-be suitors throughout the night.

Kinky!

Another detail from The Feast of the Moon (the final special day of the year, falling between "November" and "December") struck me as weighty with implications for kicking off a campaign:

Graves are blessed, the Ritual of Remembrance performed, and tales of the doing of those now gone are told far into the night. Much is said of heroes and treasure and lost cities underground.

It never occurred to me before to launch a bog-standard D&D campaign as winter closed in, but I quite like the image now I think of it. The PCs are all locals and are filled with tales of the nearby haunted tower or what-have-you by the local storyteller/retired adventurer. The next day, gold pieces dancing in their eyes, they hit up the local hostelry to equip themselves for a venture...

This perception is reinforced by the final section of the entry, which lays out the Roll of Years. The current year is noted as the "year just ending". Hmm.

Speaking of the Roll of Years, this is another nifty feature of the setting. Although, as noted, precise year numbers can vary, each year is also given a qualitative label taken off a list first laid down by a Nostradamus-style figure known as "the famous Lost Sage, Augartha the Mad...". These labels are supposedly prophetic references to events that will occur that year: The Year of the Worm, The Year of Shadows, the Year of the Banner... Great stuff and grist for campaign inspiration if a GM was so inclined to design a themed, epic year-long story arc. Appropriately, the year we're heading into with the Gray Box is one of the more intriguing names on the list, the aforementioned Year of Shadows. I know that this became The Time of Troubles in the official Realms metaplot, but I'd be inclined to do a campaign based around the Demi-Plane of Shadow encroaching on reality (but then again I've always been partial to Shadows as monstrous foes).

The Realms of Bronze

I am definitely inclined to tinker with the calendar system presented here for my Bronze Age adaptation of the Realms. The Roll of Years would definitely stay, as would the "special calendar days" - if anything, that Midsummer "maiden hunt" is even more appropriate in a Bronze Age context; I'm reminded of Dionysian rites. As for the divvying up of months and weeks, I'll have to give some thought to how I want to do that. Most early calendar systems were lunar-based, and we get our base 6 timekeeping from the Babylonians, so those are two clues to go off of.

Whatever I end up doing, I'm going to resist the urge to make anything even remotely universal or logical. There's a tendency in the Realms, as in most D&D worlds, to homogenize things (I'll save that particular rant for the section on languages), but to me it's both more immersive and more fun (since complications drive drama) to mix things up as much as possible. But since I don't want to spend an inordinate amount of time on this, I'll probably end up lifting several ancient calendar systems (Greek, Babylonian, Roman, Chinese, Mayan...), cutting them up, gluing them back together, and assigning them to different regions and cultures/races. I'll make a special post on this when I get something finalized.

Goddammit Baxa: An Appraisal of Dark Sun Art

2011-07-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

In addition to my character sheet mania, my other unreasonable gaming-related fetish would have to do with game art. I know I've harped on this point here before, but it really does baffle me when I read some gamer claiming that art matters not a whit to them. How can it not? There's little to compare against the power and inspiration of well-rendered game art.

Of course, it's a double-edged sword. Bad art can completely put me off an otherwise deserving product. This has actually been my biggest beef with self-published OSR products - many feature a hodge-podge grab bag of public domain clip art that, to me, cheapens the product and makes it look even more amateurish than if it had simply been put out without art at all. It's possible to use clip art well, but it's very difficult (I know I wouldn't attempt it); I've yet to see an OSR publication that attempted it and succeeded.

But at least those otherwise (largely) outstanding efforts can claim amateur, small-press origins. There's really no excuse for the travesty of art direction that befell the original Dark Sun line.

Despite my nostalgic trip down memory lane with the Forgotten Realms Gray Box, my true AD&D game world loyalties will always lie with Dark Sun. This is because the original Dark Sun boxed set was the first game world I ever owned (Christmas '91, baby!). The setting rocked my world and remains, in my mind, the premiere 2e-era game world (barely nudging out Planescape and Al-Qadim, for those of you keeping score at home).

Around the same time I picked up a copy of the Gray Box on eBay last winter I also ordered a copy of the original Dark Sun set (that came complete with three supplements - gotta love those eBay bargains!). Unlike the Realms, I'd happily run a Dark Sun campaign right out of the box. I've even spent a lazy Sunday or two poring over Athasian material strictly for the joy of doing it.

Last night I pulled out the three supplements (Slave Tribes, The Veiled Alliance, and Dune Trader) that came with my boxed set to page through and graze from. Unfortunately, I didn't read word one because I just couldn't get past the goddamn artwork.

Dark Sun's initial run was plagued by perhaps the most schitzophrenic art direction I've ever seen in a game line. You had nearly every product sporting a jaw-droppingly amazing full-color Brom masterpiece...and every other piece the work of Tom Baxa. Now, I try not to take artists to task in a public forum if I can help it, but Jesus Christ his shit was awful. The irony is that I've seen bits of Baxa's later work and liked it. I have a feeling he was being asked to do too much for the Dark Sun line and his quality slipped.

But I also dislike Baxa's Dark Sun work based on his aesthetic choices. His costume design is reminiscent of bad 70s Marvel comics. His weapons look simultaneously cartoonishly innefectual and ludicrously unrealistic. Rather than catching that "Mad Max meets D&D" vibe that Brom so effortlessly encapsulates in his art, I actually get de-inspired looking at Baxa's work.

I mean, seriously? The head gear...oh god, the head gear... Stuff like this seriously sucks the life out of my enjoyment of an otherwise kick-ass setting. (I seriously wonder if Planescape often gets the nod over Dark Sun in the conventional wisdom for "most inventive setting" due in part to DiTerlizzi's work versus Baxa's?)

The original boxed set at least had the mitigating factor of Brom B&W pieces balancing out the Baxa.

I think one of the reasons I never bought many of the later avalanche of Dark Sun supplements was the fact that Brom stopped doing interior illustrations. Nothing but wall-to-wall Baxa in the later stuff. So I'd see a steaming cup of fried gold like this:

Only to flip through the book and see a bunch of illustrations of the same turd drawn from different angles. I'm seriously contemplating using post-it notes or slips of paper to cover the Baxa illustrations in my Dark Sun books because otherwise I don't know how I can manage to read through them.

On a related note, I'm only vaguely aware of the 4e reboot of Dark Sun, but I have to say I really like Wayne Reynolds' work for this line. Normally I'm not a huge fan of Reynolds and his dungeonpunk aesthetics, but they fit perfectly in the world of Athas, coming across like some kind of bizarre Mad Max-D&D-Lady Gaga mashup.

I especially like his inclusion of the eponymous "dark sun" of the setting. I may have to print out some Reynolds stuff and slip them in my boxed set to use as visual inspiration. Although I have to say, as much as I worship at the feet of Brom's and Reynolds' Dark Sun work, they must think that Athasian chemists have developed some damn powerful sunblock. I can't really otherwise explain how the subjects of the above pieces manage to keep their skin so white and silky smooth!

At any rate, I'd just like re-iterate that I quite admire Baxa's latter-day output. It's just a shame that he was obviously overworked and (in my opinion) not keyed in to the soul of the setting, because the awfulness of the Dark Sun line's art direction continues to reverberate lo these twenty years later. And I'd really like to read the books sitting on my shelf.

Now where are my post-it notes...