Game Over

Well, they didn't make it out of the dungeon, so it's out with the old campaign and in with the new. The guys have asked me to run a zombie-based one-off for them, and since none of my players are particularly interested in having to read any rulebooks, I'll be adapting Greg Christopher's Cascade Failure rules [link]. This has the advantage of using a rule-set similar to one they already know, and lets me try out a new system I've been wanting to play-test for a while.

One of the things that first struck me about this system when I first reviewed it [link] just over a month ago was how flexible it could be. So I don't imagine converting the rules to a modern setting should be too much trouble.

So in just over a weeks time (come the end of my night shift) or possibly longer depending on how much background I have to do (and the fact I need to read the rulebook again) we'll be enjoying some good old fashioned zombie mayhem on a Caribbean cruise.

In other news I met my painted miniatures quota for the month (pics to follow) though my goal of painting up the colonial marine platoon I've been collecting for tomorrows war was subverted by the need to paint more miniatures for fantasy gaming. I only managed four marines, but I take consolation in the thought that my army of evil gribblins has been expanded with the addition of four kobolds, six hobgoblins and ten skeletons. Add in the random collection of misc. figures and I painted 31 altogether in the month of may.

Pictures will follow just as soon as my dearly beloved gets her camera out for the lads.

Humiliation and Rejection in Castellan Keep

I've only just now realised that I never actually posted session 6 of my OSRIC campaign (from way back in March) here on the blog. So I'm adding it here now. Should you wish to read the blog in chronological order, please visit the Campaign Page here or else clink of the "Currently Dming" link to the right.

26th Thaumont – 3rd Flaurmont
With most of the party remnants reunited in the outer bailey of Castellan Keep the first order of business lay in finding the dwarves some new clothing and armaments. With Hans now the de facto custodian of the party treasury, any hopes the dwarves had of blowing the remaining party funds to equip them in a matter befitting that they were accustomed too were dashed. Leading the two half-naked (and deeply shamed) dwarves back through the tap room of the Orc’s Head past the leering mercenaries proved to be a humbling experience for the two proud warriors. All the more so when the inn-keeper, when begged for spare clothing, had to turn them away.

In the end, the dwarves were forced to accept charity from the Keep’s chaplain, who provided the pair with soiled rags left behind by fallen members of the castle garrison. It was in this bedraggled state that, after purchasing some leather armour, shields and a spear each from the party funds, that Hans once more led his two bedraggled companions back to the waiting Klara and Elra in their rooms at the Inn.
Counting out their remaining coins and calculating the inn fee’s for the week it would take Elra to recover (once again) from her near-mortal wounds, Hans frugally allowed the group a little stew and some small beer. This Klara took to Elra in her room. It was while the three male Shorn were sat in the taproom discussing the dire straits in which they found themselves that the gnome money-lender and a much younger, more attractive female gnome in good quality armour and priestly vestments entered the room. The gnomish pair made a beeline for the seated group of mercenaries, whereupon the money-lender began to negotiate a contract for the mercenary band to escort his daughter to her new diocese in Kelvin.

Ever the optimist and never one to miss an opportunity Boindil leapt to his feat, butting into the negotiations and offered the services of his group as a cheaper alternative – much to the ire of the mercenaries and money-lender and the contempt-ridden bemusement of the priestess. Looking the bedraggled, beggarly dwarf up and down she scathingly asked, “Why on earth should I lower myself to travel with the likes of you? I should rather have proper fighting men to escort me, should I not?”

With the humiliating laughter of the mercenaries in his ears, Boindil returned to his table and the flabbergasted, vaguely annoyed Hans. Hans wasted little time in expressing his annoyance that his companion had so quickly ruined any chance of travelling in the company of so experienced a group. Even more by the dwarf’s bumbling attempts to steal a contract from another group in their very presence. Especially in light of his presently somewhat pathetic appearance. Demoralised, hungry and in a foul mood, the three Shorn retired for the night.

They were awoken the next day by the blaring of horns. Rushing to garb themselves in case some threat approached the Keep, the four battle-worthy Shorn rushed outside. There the found the Keep in a commotion, but not the kind associated with panic or alarm, but rather celebration. They did not have long to wait before learning why. With the trump of marching feet echoing through the hills like the roar of a dragon, the three expeditionary companies of the Keep’s garrison marched homewards into the keep. As they drew in through the gates, the Shorn noticed that the vast majority of the soldiers bore wounds of some sort, though most were minor, and that the helms that had seemed so shiny at a distance were in fact battered and scored. The wagons in the rear carried not just plunder or trophies in the forms of giant heads, but also a large number of groaning wounded. (The party cleric missed a chance to ingratiate himself with the garrison here by offering his services, but such is life).

With the column formed into ranks along three sides of the courtyard, the Keep’s Guard Captain and the returning Castellan performed a brief handover ceremony. There-after the Keep’s woman folks broke from their places at the edge of the bailley to search franticaly amoung the returning men for their loved ones. Not a few wails and keening screams rent the crisp morning air. The Shorn were left with the faint impression that this was not as triumphant a return for the garrison as it might be.

Feeling strangely subdued, the Shorn returned to their rooms until shortly after mid-afternoon when a knock at their door led to a summons to speak before the Castellan in his war-room. Escorted by a pair of spear-men from the garrison, The Shorn entered the Inner Bailey of the Keep for the first time. There, they were left by their guards in the presence of the Castellan, a tall, worn-looking man whose fine clothing and armour still bore the stains of the road. After introducing himself as Captain Pytro Trannic, he insists that the party explain the strange goings-on over the last few weeks. The Castellan concedes that the Keep’s Chaplain had expressed some concerns over the strange behaviour of the false-priests residing at the castle and promises to hunt down the surviving brigands as soon as resources become available. Captain Trannic commiserates with the party over the loss, conceding that not everyone is cut out for a life of adventure and dropping hints that the Keep always has an opening for brave Karameikans who can handle a blade. The Shorn adeptly deflect the Captain away from this line of conversation and take their leave. Not before learning, however, that the Duke’s youngest son, Valen Karameikos, has gone missing from the Palace in Specularum. The Captain warns them to keep an eye out for the lad in their travels, and to report anything suspicious to the nearest garrison or noble of the realm.

Finally, later that night, with money and funds running low, The Shorn are perhaps forced to reconsider their options. Lamenting their decision to abandon their obligations to Caldwell, there is some talk of packing in the adventuring life altogether. Salvation comes in the form of their erstwhile travelling companion, Stefan. After knocking on their door he announces he has completed his business with the Castellan and will be travelling to Kelvin shortly. He offers to hire them on as an escort on the return journey (as he is now somewhat laden with gold and a fresh order of horses for the garrison). Afterwords, he adds, if the party has still not found a new avenue for adventure, he offers them a place as farm-hands at his family ranch in the Dymrak Forest. He allows that he will rest for a few days before leaving, giving Elra time to recover from her wounds.
Gratefully, somewhat cheered by the offer and the timely reminder that they have at least one friend in this world, the party accepts. They gather by the main-gate on the morning of the third, ready to resume the journey into adventure.

Thoughts:

I made a particular (and cruel) effort to make the players (and characters) feel like miserable failures this session. I wanted to hammer home the loss of confidence and bravado that stems from such a humbling experience as seeing two companions fall and another two in need of ransom. Then, when I felt I couldn’t push them any more, I decided to give them a glimmer of hope by having Stefan turn up and offer them an opportunity to resume their adventuring careers at a time when it seemed they would have to pack the whole thing in altogether. All in all it worked well I think, and the session ended on a real note of optimism for the future – both for the players, and the campaign.

The Shorn Triumphant

Sessions 7 and 8 of my ongoing OSRIC Karameikos campaign (featuring Dungeon #58's Trial of Champions) are now up on the Obsidian Portal site and can be read here.

4th to 10th Flaurmont
Leaving with Stefan the next morning, the party spends a a miserable three rainy days travelling downriver by boat back towards Kelvin. Perhaps it is the rain, or else the poignant reminders of their two missing comrades, but regardless of the cause The Shorn are considerably more subdued in this latter journey. Stefan tries without great success to bolster their spirits by regaling the youths with tales of heroic triumph in the face of adversity.

On the evening of the third day, the riverboat makes port at the quays of Kelvin. Stefan leaves the group there, informing them that he will be staying at the Merchants Weigh Inn for the next few days should they decide to accompany him back to the family farm. Keen to keep a tight grasp on the party purse strings, Hans refuses to allocate funds to staying at the Merchants Weigh and so the party spend much of the night searching the dock and trade quarters for a decent but reasonably priced place to stay. At one point, they hear sounds of a scuffle in a nearby ally, including a few pleading calls for help. The dwarves are eager to assist but, after a stern admonition from Hans that they are no state to do other than mind their own business, the dis-spirited party carry on.

Eventually the find rest in the Duke’s Arms, little more than a working man’s tavern with a few beds set aside on the top floor for patrons who have imbibed a little too much to be trusted to safely make it home. There, in the tap room, they hear more rumours about the brigand Skarda and his raiders. It seems yet another village in the neighbouring kingdom of five shires had been burned and looted, it’s inhabitants carried away to who-knows-what-end by the evil raider and his mysteriously vanishing warriors. Perhaps wisely, the Shorn realised that this particular foe was not for them, at least not until they were older and wiser. More promising news surfaced in the form of the main topic of gossip in the tap-room that night: The Shorn festival would begin on the tenth, with games , music and feasting galore. Not to mention the highlight of the event: The Trial of Champions, in which teams of the newly Shorn would demonstrate their worth and ingenuity in overcoming a series of ten perilous tests. Intrigued, the party decided to make their way to the Caravan fields on the morrow to learn more about the upcoming trials.

So it was that they took to their beds early, thankfully to soon to overhear talk turn to tales of a merchant from up North named Caldwell who’d been telling all and sundry about the “terrible betrayal” of an adventurous band of Shorn who had taken up his offer of employment only to leave for distant parts without bothering to finish the job. That lot, it was generally agreed by the locals, would not likely do well in the trials at all.

That dawn, the party made their way to to the Caravan fields to register for the trials. They learned that they would be required to enter the arena (actually a winding series of tents containing a number of
unbeknownst to the characters

illusionary chambers with hidden gantries from which the crowds may watch) clad only in normal clothing and without weapons. Spell casters were warned that they would be permitted to cast no prayers or spells save read magic and that they should therefore prepare their spell selection accordingly. The master of the trials assured the party that any weapons they would require would be provided for them. The last admonition was that any team found to enter the Arena under the influence of any magical effects or carrying any magical items whatsoever would be disqualified. Now, they had only to determine a team name for themselves and await the day of the trials: the tenth.

 

On the way back to the Inn, they learned that a prominent city merchant had been murdered the night before, presumably by a love rival; that the suspected murderer had fled the town and that both families were now likely making preparations for a covert war of murder and assassination.

If any of the Shorn felt guilty at the news, they passed no comment.

The day of the trials dawned clear and bright, and the Shorn made their way through already packed crowds to the starting pavilion where they were met by the master of trials and announced their new team name (“The Dragons”). There, they were mocked by a particularly disreputable seeming band (more brigandly than adventurous in appearance) led by a particularly noxious dwarf by the name of Dolgrim, seemingly the leader of a band calling itself the Skull Legion. The party denies the dwarf his offer of a friendly wager and settle down to wait their turn.

The party, when called, overcome nearly every challenge with a perfect score, dropping a total of only twenty points throughout the course of the competition and even coming up with several novel solutions (other than those devised by the Master-of-Trials) including:

• Making their way past a pair of Iron Cobra guards equipped only with Dust of Invisibility and Dust of sneezing -and not knowing which dust is in which pouch.
• Retrieving a prize from within the gullet of purple worm.
• Safely crossing a river infested with man-eating piranhas.
• Successfully crossing 30ft of green slime to open a locked door
• Successfully crossing a wide pit at the bottom of which slumbers a deadly dragon.
• Scaling a sheer cliff equipped with nothing more than a scroll of rope trick and a rope that’s too short.
• Successfully and safely travelling down a corridor filled with lava and warded by a pwerful fire serpent.
• Boindil single-handedly rescuing the rest of the party from a castle dungeon (despite sending his animal messenger down to the bound and gagged prisoners to ask the self-same gagged prisoners (did I mention the prisoners were gagged) if they had any ideas.
• Sneaking past a bear guardian blocking a tunnel without actually harming it.
  Solving a magical-door puzzle using the prizes obtained through earlier trials.

The party emerged victorious, scoring higher than any other group and placing three members on the podium for the individual “class” competition as well. Boindil, despite his slight error in the dungeon rescue scenarion, managed to win the cleric even, with Elra coming third in the wizards even and Hans coming second in the fighter category. Medals and trophies were awarded by Baron Desmond Kelvin (including a generous cash prize which the dwarves immediately tried to claim as “gear money” only to be shouted down by the three companions who wanted to pay Artax the Sage the remainder of the funds they owed him).

During the festivities, much to his awe and surprise, Hans was approached by the famous adventurer and Lord Knight of Verge, Ser Retameron Antonic. Retameron, Knight and Lord of Han’s home village and a former student of the knights sword-master father, Teranon. The famed adventurer commented that the group had done much to redeem their “frankly appalling” reputation by winning the Trial of Champions but suggested that they fetch themselves back to Threshold to fulfil their obligations and pay their debts right quick, before the “shine of this latest and (so far only) notable achievement loses it’s luster). The party agree to return North with him tomorrow and further agree to spend the next night as guests in Verge before continuing on to Threshold. However, the seasoned adventurer warns the party that a second party hired by Caldwell has already ventured down in the second level of Castle Caldwell in their absence, and has so far failed to return.

With that dismal thought, the suddenly sober Shorn once more make their way to bed,puasing only to send Stefan a messenger explaining that they will not be accompanying him to his farm after all.

The Shorn

Here are the painted miniatures of the Shorn, as the party stood just prior to the events of Session 5 (before the deaths of Vaslav and Uric).



From left to right: Elra, Klara, Uric, Boindil, Tungdil, The Mule, Vaslav, Hans.

Here's a slightly less arty shot, one which hopefully shows the details a little bit better.


Many thanks to my dearly beloved for the photos.

Shorn Cloaks and Tattered Shields

Inspired by the need to actually name a campaign before being able to set up a wikki on Obsidian Portal, I've finally come up with a name for my Karameikos campaign. My post count will be down for a while as I set about getting the wikki up to a decent standard.

Here's the link for those who are interested:

SHORN CLOAKS AND TATTERED SHIELDS

Treasure vs Monsters: The XP Debate

Those of you who have been keeping up to date with my actual play, Karameikos posts will be aware that last session (played as part of our Christmas festivities) resulted in a near TPK. This brings me to focus on a certain quandary I've been mulling over for weeks. We've now had three out of five sessions where, because the characters looted no treasure, they have earned little or no Xp. Given the many lessons learned last session (listed below) it seems unfair that the characters haven't learned anything from the experience (even if the players have). So let's take a look first of all at the lessons they learned, then I'll go over the reasons I chose to run an "only treasure counts for XP game". Then I'll have have a think about what I'm going to do about it (if anything).

Firstly, here's what the players learned from last session:

• Never trust a new party member (or members) until they've earned it.
• Blowing most of your funds on hirelings is never a bad move.
• When ambushed, don't try to fight your opponents when they have the advantage. Focus your maximum effort on breaking out in one direction, then come back for revenge later.
• When bluffing for your life, don't show your hand. ESPECIALLY not once negotiations are over and have been resolved in your favour.

Here's what the characters learned:

• 0 Xp.

Now I've mentioned before why I like the variant rules that characters only acquire experience points for treasure acquired. For the sake of consistency, but to avoid repetition, I'll go over them again briefly.

• Encourages exploratory play and roleplaying rather than fighting to overcome non-essential obstacles, even in Dungeons.
• Players try to avoid, rather than actively seek out, wandering monster encounters - quickening the pace of play. Mostly because they don't spend an hour checking every room for secret doors.
• The slower pace of level gain keeps the players at optimum dungeon exploring levels (1-9) for longer and invokes a real sense of achievement with each level up.
• At the rate we're sitting down for sessions (near enough every time all the members of both households are able and available -more often than you would think) we could conceivably reach name level within a matter of months.

However, that being said my earlier choice has so far had a lot to be desired. In the last session, the party learned a great many lessons about trust and tactics. In the previous session, the adventurers left the environs of their home to travel on a long journey for the very first time. In the other (near) Xp-free session, the party negotiated their first quest (and earned 50gp each up front -the only Xp gained in the session), began their first quest and had their first ever combat.

Now surely, all these experiences themselves justify an Xp award of sorts. Xp does stand for experience after all. Some of the were story experiences, some were combat experiences. Now, when it comes to OSR games I tend not to give out story Xp awards. After all, a sandbox campaign is not about me, as the DM, railroading the party down a specific plot line. But I'm contemplating issuing small Xp awards for good ideas and "first-time" events, such as the first time they fight a battle aboard ship, venture to another plane of existence, encounter a new type of monster (in broad terms: Demon, Undead or Ooze for example, as opposed to every time they meet a new type of humanoid). I'm not wild on this idea, as such awards could pile up really quickly. So if I do begin issuing them, it'll be at the rate of about 10 Xp per character level. Or something equally minor. Yes, I am a total experience point scrooge. Why? Because I like high level characters (NPC or otherwise) to feel special.

Secondly, there is the issue of Xp awards for defeating monsters. Now, I like this idea in principle. Of course you're going to learn something from every fight (hell, I do in real life). My concern is simply that, over the course of a single session, so many monsters bite the dust that I've seen characters go from 1st to second level in under three sessions. That's waaaay to fast for my liking -especially considering how often we, as a group, are able to meet. Five sessions in less than a month, remember? And we still might be able to squeeze in a sixth before new year.

In some OSR games, the Xp award for defeating a monster consists of a flat rate (usually relatively low) followed by a modifier of +1 Xp per hit point. This just seems way to high for me. Sure, the monster Xp ends up split between all the PC's and their henchmen, but combined with treasure Xp, the rate of advancement still feels too high.

So, what are my options:

• Keep things as they are, an option I would remain dissatisfied with.
• Add the occasional (small) story Xp award to the existing system -something I feel I should certainly do, as it's a system I've used in just about every non OSR game I've ever DM'd.
  
• Give the PC's full experience for monsters and treasure. Something I definitely don't want to do.
  

I'm reluctant to even trial the third option. Once you've given players a bone like this it's extremely hard to take it away without annoying the hell out of the players. I'm tempted to initiate a rule where the characters receive the base Xp award for a monster kill (with no extra Xp based on hit points) but that feels like too large a first step.

So, here's what I'm going to do. For the next few sessions, I'm going to issue the characters with 1/2 Xp for treasure acquired and 1/2 the base, unmodified Xp award for creatures they kill. I hate to alter the focus of the game this way. While I certainly don't expect the players to actively seek out wandering monster encounters, I'm concerned that they are likely to become somewhat more blaise about time wasting.

If anyone has any thoughts or suggestions for a better idea than this I'd love to hear them. It's a common problem, and one I'm sure I solved easily enough in previous Old School games a good ten-fifteen years ago. If only I could remember exactly what it was I did then, I'd be a much happier bunny than I am now.

Karameikos Journal Session V: The Xmas Day Massacre (Or: "By the Way Mr Bandit, Your Companions are Only Sleeping")

Typically, I finished painting specific miniatures to represent the entire party on the morning of Christmas Eve. Then, on Christmas Day (after tiding up from dinner and playing guitar hero) we damn near have our first TPK. Ah well. The Dice Gods must have their due.

21st-25th Thaumont.

With Elra still abed recovering from injuries sustained on the road, the party spent the majority of the next day holed up in the Orc's Head, a Tavern within the walls of Castellan Keep's Outer Bailey. They found themselves sharing the tavern with two other groups - a band of four armed men, clearly not members of the garrison, with the mercenary look about them and a party of three Priests. The Priests were marked out as belonging to the faith of young Bogdin by their robes, and so, in time, Bogdin decided to head across to share a few words with his Brothers from the Church of Karameikos.

He soon learned that the trio were a battle-scarred, shaven-headed Bishop and his aides, a diplomatic embassy from the High Patriarch to the Emir of Ylaurum. Between the winter snows and the roads being unsafe due to a mixture of problems with Frost Giants and humanoid raids, they had been stranded at the Keep for the last six months. Unable to go on and unwilling tio simply go back and abandon their mission. Why not go by sea? Because, the Bishop confessed, a trifle reluctantly, he suffered from terrible sea-sickness, and in any case his mission was not urgent.

The young dwarf soon made his way across to the mercenaries, where he was invited to join in their dice game, which he did, and promptly lost a great deal of small change from his wallet. Again, he learned that these mercenaries had been waiting a great deal of time at the Keep. Having served all across Karameikos for the last year as caravan guards and brigand hunters, they were accompanying the Jeweller the party heard about from the Gate Corporal on his way home to the Emirate. They hoped this would be their last stint -they'd lost many companions over the last year, and fancied chipping in to buy themselves a tavern back in Ostland. Ogden thanked them for their hospitality and set off to the bar to buy a round of drinks.

There, he quizzed the barman, a one-armed old veteran, about the "goblins" in the mountains. The veteran laughed and told the young dwarf that there were more than goblins in the lands about. He seemed to take great pleasure in regaling the dwarf with his own extensive knowledge of the local humanoids tribes - 2 of orcs, 1 of kobolds, 1 of goblins, 1 of bugbears, 1 of gnolls and a bunch of particularly nasty and well organised hobgoblins. He further went on to explain that if Bogdin was looking for trouble, he'd find plenty of it up by the Caves of Chaos - a combined series of Holy Caves and various patches of neutral ground where the tribes met for trade, intrigue and religious observances. But, as the veteran pointed out, "You'll need a lot more men than what you have here to tackle them caves."

The dwarf thanked the tavern keeper for his time, wandered back to the mercenaries at their table, and made enquiries as to their rates of employment. He learned that each would expect a retainer of 60gp each and a flat payment of 40 silver peices each, per day of employment. When the young dwarf balked, the four men laughed at how wet behind the ears he was. One, their leader, explained that the 60 gold was a one off "hiring fee" to pay for any wear and tear sustained by the gears (and to buy replacement weapons, if required) over the course of their service. It also acted as a kind of "death benefits" to be taken home to the man's family by his colleagues in the event of his death.

[This is a House Rule of mine. I've never understood why mercenaries in D&D wander from place to place without gear, relying in each employer to buy their equipment for them. It doesn't make sense. For one thing, a mercenary has enemies. it's not safe to travel unarmed. For another, how else does a mercenary advertise his trade and worth if not by the quality and style of his weapons?]

Bodgin thanked the man, made no further commitments at the time, and went back to the others to explain what he'd learned. This news concerning the caves of chaos had the party in something of a tither. Hans was all for packing up and going home. Vaslav was outraged -they hadn't come all this way, abandoned their first paying employer and risked death at the hands of wolves just to turn back now. He firmly stated that the others could leave if they liked -he and Uric would be staying. And besides, there were other capable looking warriors in the tavern who had been stranded for months and would no doubt be desperate for a crack at the same humanoids who had boxed them in. further discussion ruled out hiring the four mercenaries (though the party had plenty of cash in the form of party funds, they decided it was too expensive) and approached the clerics instead.

Upon learning their destination, the Bishop seemed most interested in accompanying the room, and agreed to meet them on the morrow outside the Inn. Satisfied with their day's negotiations and rumour-mongering, The Shorn turned in for an early night.

The next morning the expanded party (no ten strong) set out for the Caves, content to allow the Bishop (who claimed to know the way) take the lead. Pausing only for a brief religious ceremony conducted by the Bishop (and for party to drop off the party funds in the form of a promissory note with the Jeweller and leave their mule in the capable hands of the Stablemaster) they departed in high spirits. The first days travel northward was uneventful, though the three clerics kept to themselves. If Bogdin thought it strange that they were heading north when the tavern keeper indicated the Caves lay to the North East he gave no sign.

That night, the Bishops two companions volunteered to take second watch. A little too trusting of their new companions, none of the Shorn elected to share that watch with them. A few failed Detect Noise and Listen checks from the slumbering party later, and a shifty looking young cleric promptly snuck out of camp for an hour or so during his watch. Likewise, no one heard him sneaking back later. If any of the PC's noted this youths rather haggard expressions the next morning (and they did) no one thought to make anything of it.

The next morning say the group again heading north. Though as the day wore on, the Bishop began to fall further and further towards the rear of the party (he blamed old age and advancing wounds) causing the two acolytes with him to fall back and offer their support. At this, Klara finally began to grow a little suspicious, and made sure to keep the three clerics between her and the rest of the party, where she could keep an eye on them. Alas, it would prove to be too little to late. The party blithely followed the Bishops directions into a narrow gully, rather than simply going round as a more experience (and cautious) party would have done. Therefore, they were in a very bad spot indeed when the arrows began to fly.

12 brigands, five armed with bows, five with spears and the two leaders with double-handed war-axes, appeared at the other end of the gully. Even as the did so, the Bishop began his prayers. Beside him the two acolyte turned, leering to Klara. "can't let you near the Caves little missy" the shifty one hissed, before the two drew their weapons and attacked.

Tungdil, scouting in the lead with his crossbow ready, fell immediately, peppered with arrows then charged by the two leaders. The one bright spot in all this being that one of the axe-men drew back his arms for a strike a little too vigorously and saw if flying from his hands. Uric, Vaslav and Bogdin hurled themselves forward into the fray, Vaslav saving the dwarf fighter-thief's life with a well timed cure spell, while Elra let loose with her sleep spell. Alas, warned the night before that one of the party might be a mage, they had spread themselves thin and so only four spearmen succumbed to the spell. Meanwhile, Hans could not prevent the Bishop from completing his spell but Klara, demonstrating admirable agility, managed to keep his two subordinates busy and herself unwounded for the greater part of the fight.

Right from the start, things looked bad for the party. Bogdins morale (both the players and the characters) was shot down in flames by his brother Tungdil's fall, the resultant player (and character) apathy severely affecting his normally quite creative thinking. When Vaslav went down at the beginning of round two, even some of the other players began to think it was all over, yet in terms of foes downed the party were as yet more than holding their own. Yet the dice gods were cruel, Uric quickly followed his brother into the dust, but not before taking a few of the foemen with him. That left Elra and Bogdin at the north end of the gully, facing five brigands (with four more asleep at their feet).

Meanwhile, just behind them, Hans dropped the Bishop to 0hp with a well armed thrust between the plates of the mans armour. Unwilling to risk the Bishop climbing once more to his feet thanks to a spell from his two clerical companions, he then spent a round finishing the Bishop off.

Meanwhile, the still unwounded Elra did a fine job of holding off her foes. But as she dropped another opponent to the ground, she saw too, that Bogdin had also fallen, and lay across the prostrate form of her brother. She now faced five foes alone. The men glared at her, putting up their arms. "Surrender bitch. You've lost."

Behind her, unseen by his isolated compaion, Hans closed with one of the two clerics facing Klara. When the man turned to face this new threat, the assassin seized her chance, plunging her dagger deep into the mans neck and triggering a new morale check for the enemy just as the very moment they needed it most. The brigands failed their morale check, but, as the northern group had such a clear advantage, I ruled that rather than fleeing, they would be up for negotiation. Meanwhile, the last cleric turned to flee, took a 1hp wound from Klara and the process and, due to the failed check, threw up his arms in surrender.

During the resultant stand-off, unknown to the players, I timed the negotiations. Uric and Vaslav both bled out at around the time the prisoners were exchanged. As the six brigands still standing (including the wounded cleric) began moving off, leaving the party in possession of the field, the outlook for the remaining Shorn seemed to brighten. They had possession of the field, and resultant high yield of loot (though they didn't know it yet) - the Bishop alone had +1 plate, a +1 shield, and +1 mace and pair of clerical scrolls. If they'd just kept their mouth shut till the foe was out of sight, things would have been rosy. There was still a chance the sleeping brigands would stay that way for a while yet. Alas, as Klara glanced nervously at the stirring men at her feet, Elra caught her eye. Exhausted, tired, and far too naive for her own good (and with a player who'd maybe had just a tad too much of that mulled wine) called out cheerfully to the retreating Brigands.

"Ho there! These four are only sleeping by the way."

The Brigands turned to regard the battered trio, the lead one with a fierce grin upon his face. "Oh are they?" he remarked. Then he and his men proceeded to fill the air (or rather Elra) with a volley of arrows, all aimed at Elra. Not one failed to hit. The half-elf fell to the ground, critically injured, even as the brigands charged back across the field, the four ensorcelled members of their band blinking back sleep as they did so. Howling in frustration (the players I mean, not just the characters) Hans and Klara did all they could.

They grabbed Elra and ran.

Three days later, back at the Keep, the familiar face of the Brigand leader walked into the Orc's Head, holding a white handkerchief which her flourished slyly before taking a long, fake blow-out into the fabric. With Elra abed (again) recovering from her severe injuries, Hans and Klara were alone in the taproom. Respecting the "flag", they agreed to talk. The Brigand chief explained that two of their companions had survived the battle. (Tungdil had been stabilised by Vaslav's cure spell and I had Bogdin make a system shock to see if her survived the shoddy "medical care" he received at the hands of his captors). The Brigands proposed to ransom them back for three hundred gold pieces. Hans quite rightly pointed out that they had no proof that either was alive, so the Brigand happily led them outside to a spot in the courtyard where they could just make a party of men (and two semi-naked dwarfs) on the slope a nearby mountain. After haggling out the terms it was agreed that the ransom would be lodged with the Keep's Bailiff in the presence of the bandit negotiator. After that, the signal would be given for the rest of the band to approach. Once the dwarfs (with their clothes returned to avoid raising the suspicions of the garrison) entered the Gate House, the brigand would cash the promissory note the party had given him and ride off like hell itself was chasing him.

However, the Brigand warned. At the first sign of trouble (or too much interest from the Guards) the Brigand would give a different signal, and the dwarfs would die. Satisfied (if not entirely happy) Hans and Klara agreed to the deal and, after a brief consultation with the wounded Elra, who also agreed, the prisoner swap went ahead. All without a hitch. And apparently all under the collective noses of the Castle garrison.

And so we left it there, with two bedraggled, haggard looking dwarfs gazing sheepishly at their rescuers. No kit, no weapons, no gear, no money. It's hard being an adventurer.

Karameikos Journal Session IV

Session 4: 13th-20th Thaumont

Gathering once again at the Inn, The Shorn reviewed their options for further adventure. With no idea how long it would take for Caldwell to track down his spellcaster and lacking the patience to wait five days for the findings of the Sage, they elected to travel east to Fort Castellan. They had little trouble tracking down the source of the rumours regarding humanoid raids on trade caravans given that he presently had rooms at the Inn. Stefan, it transpired, was a horse trader who had been stranded in the town during the long winter after delivering new stock to the Patriarch and his household (suggesting the news from the East was months old, though no one in the party seemed to pick up on this at the time).

Stefan agreed to act as a guide, quickly gathering his belongings and arranging to meet the party outside after breakfast. As the party gathered, it occured to them that they had best let Caldwell know where they were going. After first having no luck finding him or any of his senior retainers at the merchants townhouse (where wagon loads of his goods were being carted out and wagon loads belonging to the new tenants were being carted in) they elected to speak with him at his new Manor. This was no hardship, for the manor was on the road to the west -a road they must take, for no roads lead east from Threshold, and they must first travel south to Kelvin to find passage on a river boat to the Fort.

Tungdil elected to play the part of errand boy, though he found the Manor's new master not at home. Instead he left word with the Merchant's Steward. It was an encounter that did not go well. Firstly, Tungdil found the man busily directing workmen unloading furniture from carts. Then the news that they were simply riding (more accurately, walking) off eastwards on what would be at least a two-week round trip had him all but accusing them of abandoning their contract (which, frankly, they were). Tungdil's attempt to tip the man with a gold piece only made matters worse, the steward (correctly) assuming the offered tip was little more than a heavy handed attempt at a bribe -with his subordinate workers present no less! The Steward all but chased the young dwarf from his master's lands, promising that the party had not heard the end of this.

Tungdil relayed this news to his companions, who did not seem overly concerned by the reminder that they were breaking their contract with the merchant (nor did they note how much this evidently displeased Stefan, who was himself a merchant only just entered into a contract with them). Nor, for that matter, did any of them recall that they owed a certain sage 400gp for the work he was doing while they intended to be travelling. Stefan could not help but think that the group should be more mindful of their reputation, but the horse-trader turned guide held his peace.

The party passed through Han's home village, the settlement of Verge, at around midday where (in accordance with tradition) the newly-shorn youngster was ignored by his family - all except a certain younger lass who looked at him askew as he passed and muttered that he wasn't taking care of himself properly. Just after dusk, they passed near the eaves of the Radlebb forest, on their road to the village of Rifllian. They arrived just as the human-owned bussiness' were closing down for the night (or else handing over to their elven staff). Weary human residents bid the travellers good night while they trudged home for dinner, even as the settlement's elves and half-elves geared up for a busy night. They managed to meet the inn-keep of the Tree-Bough Inn just as he was leaving, yet even so he graciously persuaded them that sleeping on the common room floor would be ill-advised given that his elven customers would be coming in from the fields soon and elves need no sleep. Sure enough, even in the rooms above the party could make out the sounds of revelry from below, but the many layers of fresh leaves cast about the floor of the rooms drowned out the greater part of the noise.

The next morning, the fourteenth, they set out eastwards for Kelvin. They arrived at mid-day, just as Stefen had led them to expect, passing a merchant caravan heading north along the way. It came as no surprise that any boats leaving the docks that day had already taken their leave of the city this late in the day. On Stefan's recommendation The Shorn decided to shop, finding themselves impressed with the town and it's markets, easily twice the size of Threshold and more. Vaslav and Urich left the others to visit the town's famous shrines and temples. As they departed, Elra offered to pick up any supplies the two needed. Uric thought long and hard for a moment before declaring he wanted a puppy. This set off a gentle argument between the brothers when they left on their errands, the one insisting he was responsible enough to look after a puppy on his own, the other bitterly complaining that he would end up being the one to look after it, train it, feed it etc. "Any anyway," Vaslav added, sealing the argument, "It's not as though we can take a puppy down a dungeon can we?"

Though impressed by the city's markets and the variety of specialist craftsmen available (armourers, helm-makers, gauntlet makers, sword smiths, weapon smiths and so forth) they rest of the group bought only essential supplies. Tungdil and Boindil tried to save the group a little cash, first by visiting a shady looking inn called the "Diamond Spider" populated solely by "dancing girls" and men with numerous facial scars and then by trying to hire out space in a stables. Eventually, one of the stable-men stopped laughing long enough to explain to the pair of "dwarf bumpkins" how things worked in the "cities" of Karemeikos. The guilds regulated prices and determined who offered which services. Anyone who tried to take business away from another guild (say, the Hostelers and Tavern Keepers guild, for example) could look forward to having their business burned down by a mob of angry apprentices. Chagrined, the dwarfs took their leave and admitted it looked like they would be staying in the "Merchant's Weigh Inn" after all.

[Personally, I thought this was a cracking name for an Inn catering to Merchants and travellers, but nobody else seemed to get the joke].

The next day (the 15th) Stefan found them a place on a riverboat heading north east up the river, known variously as the Volaga or the Highreach, depending on whether the speaker was Traladaran or Thyatian. Though they journey required frequent stops for the boat to be unloaded and carried past various rapids, the "Spirit of Halav" made good time. On the evening of the first night, they camped not far from the confluence of the Volaga and the Castellan rivers. The campsite was a good spot for a future inn, Vaslav noted, given how many ships had stopped their for the evening. A party atmosphere persisted for several hours while the various crews drank and swapped tall tales but eventually the tired oarsmen bedded down for the night. The Shorn, as paying passengers, were not required to stand a watch that night but were woken by the baying of wolves. In a desperate defence of the party mule, both Elra and Tungdil went down, savaged by wolves. Yet while Tungdil was merely knocked senseless by a collision with a rock while falling, Elra was badly torn up. Over the course of the river journey, the spells of Vaslav and Boindil ensured that all the groups wounds were quickly healed. Yet the fatigue of her near death left Elra feeling weak and sickly for the remainder of the journey. Even the sight of Fort Castellan's mighty walls, rising up from the hills above the river, on the morning of the 20th did little to cheer her.

An hour before dusk, Stefan presented the group to the Corporal of the Guard who, upon asking their business, confirmed that the garrison had been concentrating on their campaign against the local giants and had not had men to spare patrolling the mountain roads last year. He seemed surprised that the party were expecting to meet merchants who would pay for the humanoids to be "cleaned out" (as, for that matter, was Stefen, who'd made no mention of any such thing while talking to the party a week before). The Corporal did allow that a Jeweller and his wife had been trapped in the Fort by the snows last winter and MIGHT be interested in paying to have the route cleared (or else pay for an escort across the mountains) but could make no promises. He did add that the party should feel free to scout for trouble and could keep any loot lifted from dead foes, but reminded them to list all their goods with the Bailiff and his clerk each time they entered or left the Fort. He went on to explain that any goods other than those in their possession upon leaving the Fort would be taxed on their return.

The Bailiff and his scribe thereafter made a careful record of their goods and possessions (a procedure which lasted well past nightfall) before providing directions to both the Guild House (rooms set aside for any Guilded Merchants passing through) and to the Orc's Head Inn and Tavern, where caravan guards and drovers normally took lodging. They left Stefan at the door to the Inn (as a Guilded Merchant, Stefan was himself entitled to free lodging at the Guild House) and bedded down for the night.

Kareimekos Published Modules

I've been going through my modules, trying to remember which ones were set in Kareimekos and which were not. Fortunately, with the help of B1-9 I've already have nine modules more or less adapted to my needs. B1-9 doesn't use everything in these modules (and frankly, it's a little vague about where exactly in the Duchy some of the adventure sites are located) but it's enough to make sure that converting them entirely should be rather easy.

Fortunately, the Grand Duchy of Karameikos Gazetteer is itself quite useful, as it sites several other modules set in the region as reference sources used when creating the source book, including B-10, which seemingly has lots of information on the Duchy's demi-humans.

Finally, B11 (Queens Harvest) and B12 (King's Festival) are also set in Karemeikos, so I can troll through these for additional sandbox sites to add to the map and use the scenarios contained within as well.

To the best of my knowledge however, very few modules were set in Karameikos at later levels. I think the Duchy was expressly designed as a Basic level D&D location. I've managed to remember that X-12, Skarda's Mirror, was also set there but I can't think of many others off the top of my head. I'm fairly certain that Dragon Magazine included a few adventures set specifically in the Grand Duchy as well, but can't think what they are.

If anyone out there can think of a few more, I'd appreciated it if you could shout them out. I'm perfectly capable of making up new locations and modules myself -but given how suddenly this campaign has come about, I need as many pre-made locations and modules as possible to get me started.

I've already decided to plunder some of the early Dungeon magazine modules -including a certain infamous vampires tower with the entrance in the roof from a VERY early issue of the magazine.

Finally, every sandbox needs a mega-dungeon. Right now I'm contemplating the idea o having two. I really like Stone Hell Dungeon -that will be the great ruin I referred to in my previous post, in the hidden valley. However, I also like Castle of the Mad Archwizard. So much so, in fact, that I'm thinking "Castle Caldwell" might have more than one cellar level after all.

If anyone out there has any knowledge of other published modules set in Karameikos, please let me know. Likewise, if you can think of any D&D or 1st/early 2nd ed AD&D modules from Dungeon magazine that I might find especially useful (not just ones specifically set in Karameikos) I'd be very grateful.

Present List of Modules:

B series modules: In Search of the Unknown, Keep on the Borderlands, Palace of the Silver Princess, Horror on the Hill, The Veiled Society, Rahasia, Castle Caldwell and Beyond, Nights Dark Terrors, King's Festival, Queen's Harvest.

DDA-3 The Eye of Traldar, DDA-4 Dymark Dread

X-12 Skarda's Mirror.

Ruminations

Well, despite the fact that it's ever so slightly crept up on me out of the blue, the current OSRIC campaign seems to be going really well. Even before the end of the first session I had a feeling the players wouldn't be satisfied by a simple one-off "pick-up" game. In many ways, the spontaneous birth of this completely unexpected campaign makes it all the more thrilling for me as a DM. Given how easy it is to arrange a compatible gaming time-table when the occupants of just two-households are involved, it looks like I wont need to wait till march to get a regular game going after all.

On the other hand? Well, I have absolutely nothing prepared. I'm basically having to make up the sandbox as we go along. Real "seat-of-the-pants" stuff, especially for a compulsive (near anal) planner like me. Luckily, I've been using the Castle Caldwell chapters from the excellent B1-B9 "In Search of Adventure" module compendium. So I already have a very nice little min-campaign using the Karameikos setting to start me off in. The module compelition suffers from having been "thrown together" from various modules long after they were first written. But hey, isn't that how most sandbox campaigns turn out? A number of pre-published adventure modules crammed, poked, probed and kneaded until they fit into a game setting? The "module" plenty of plot hooks as you can see. While it's adventures are laid out in a "flow-chart" progression leading from one to the next, it hasn't been difficult to adapt it into the beginnings of a proper "sand-box" campaign . Although I'm not very familiar with the Mystara setting, I have all the Gazetteers and Hollow World supplements. Far from being a problem, this makes the experience for me all the better. Not only am I getting to run a campaign, I'm getting to "explore" a new setting, in much the same way as the players are. There are just as much surprises in store for me as there are for them.

So far I've been able to stave off being over-whelmed by player enthusiasm by providing my players with the Grand Duchy of Karameikos supplement. Hopefully that'll buy me some time to do some more prep work before the next game. My major concern is that, given our current rate of play, the head start afforded me by the B1-9 supplement might not be enough to keep me ahead of the players. Limited prep time might result in my running some modules or home-brew scenarios before I've had a chance to properly prepare them or integrate them into the setting.

As a consequence of this, I'm going to have to put the development of my Harn and Hyborian Age sand-boxes on hold for the time being. For the foreseeable future, most of my efforts will be directed to building upon the strong foundations provided by B1-9 to create a proper, working sandbox setting. Most of what I get up to will be posted here, of course, but it does mean a very sudden, near-total shift in direction for the blog thus far. I will certainly finish off the Necromancer series of articles, but I expect they will be the last non-Karemiekos posts for a very long while. At least until I can establish a more comfortable buffer zone of preparedness for the current campaign. I realise that three game sessions in less than a week is rather a lot - frankly, I'm not convinced the players will be able to (or want to) maintain such a pace, no matter how much they're enjoying the game - but with the weather the way it is just now it's not as though we have many alternative sources of recreation right now.

Which means lots of hard work, hard-gaming and fun times ahead.

Which is, frankly, serendipitously, awesome.

Karameikos Journal Session III

Session Three: 11-12th Theumont.

Everyone but myself had work cancelled yesterday, but since I was on early shift and finished up in the early afternoon, we got together for another game (if you don't live across the road from you gaming buddies, I suggest you move. It's the next best thing to living in a gamer commune. I haven't gamed so much in a single week since I left university.

A week after their return from Caldwell Manor, The Shorn were summoned to a meeting with a rather irate Caldwell, unhappy that his money hadn't purchased him better (i.e: faster) results. The party attempted to explain some of the difficulties they had encountered but the merchant clearly wasn't interested in their excuses. He wanted results now.

And so, pausing only long enough for Vaslav to hire a pair of thuggish northmen, and equip with them leather armour and stout clubs, they departed for the manor once more. Leaving the mule and it's two hired guardians in the ruins of the village, they approached the Manor house with some caution -all too aware that the current occupants had been afforded a full week to obtain reinforcements and bolster the defences. Tungdil approached the entrance stealthily and alone, to find that the doors (with the hinges shattered by Ulic during the retreat from their last excursion) had been crudely repaired and a barricade erected behind. Indeed, the doors had been left just barely ajar, with room enough for but one person to squeeze through the narrow gap at a time. Tungdil drew his longsword and climbed carefully over the barrier, pausing atop the barricade to let his eyes adjust from normal vision to infravision, listening all the while. Sure enough, he heard the snoring of a guard propped up in a sitting position behind one of the doors, whom he quickly dispatched. On the corpse, Tungdil found a strange amulet on a platinum chain, with a dagger-clenching fist carved from jet. It had the look of a religious symbol of some kind, but none that any in the party could identify.

Joined by the others, the group quickly made for the Statue, who repeated it's previous greeting as Klara, Boindil, Tungdil and Hans entered, studiously ignoring everyone else. Through some less open ended questions than previously, they learned that there were three "evil" beings still on the first floor of the keep who wished the party ill. The party made the obvious deduction that this meant the Manor had additional floors they were unaware off. Further questioning obtained the knowledge that the party could not access the cellar by "Any means they now possess."

Moving quickly, the party began scouring the rooms of the eastern hall, insuring that none had been reoccupied since their last expedition. They found the rooms largely unchanged, save that one room had been piled high with corpses and that most furniture had long since been removed (and presumably added to the barricade). Wisely, they checked all the doors as they advanced up the corner towards the single room they had not explored in the hallway last time. Alas, they did not think to check the corridors for traps. Hans, in the lead with Tungdil, had the misfortune to trigger a trip wire, and received a crossbow bolt to the cheek for his troubles. The others paused to dress the wound, but though messy, it was not injurious enough to warrant magical healing, and so the group pressed on.

Outside the door to the last room in the corridor, Tungdil and Klara both searched for traps, disarming a poison needle trap above the lock with some judicious application of candle wax. Alas, they did not detect the trap behind the door when they opened it however. Tungdil was very nearly hit by a second crossbow trap, though luckily the bolt impacted harmlessly into the door.

Inside, they found a desecrated chapel to the Patron Gods of Karameikos and disturbed the prayers of a huge, disturbingly handsome plate armoured man. Rising immediately, the man began chanting in a foul language that offended the ears of the party, a piercing, unnatural sound that caused them physical pain and the plate-armoured mans mouth and nose to bleed even as he pronounced the words of this foul language. The strangers chant was interrupted by the charge of Han's, who drove his short sword deep between the armoured plates protecting the mans upper legs. This seemed to affect the strangers concentration, for he broke of his chant even as Vaslav began one of his own, calling down a Blessing on the party. Urich and Boindil likewise charged the armoured figure, but could not penetrate the thick plates of his armour. Casually, the figure pronounced a curse on Hans, causing his joints to lock and his movement to cease. His companion held, Uric attacked with greater fury and Vaslav moved up to take Hans place in the melee. With the figure hemmed in against the alter, there was little the others could do as first Uric, then Boindil fell to blows from the strangers brutal looking morning star (2 natural 20's on after the other -and each reducing the target to exactly 0 hp). While Vaslav desperately began casting a cure spell, the stranger turned to address Hans with a coup d'grace. Fortunately, Elra picked this moment to case her Sleep spell, dropping Vaslav mid-prayer and sending both the paralysed Hans and the Stranger into a deep slumber. At that Tungdil charged the slumbering figure and, enraged by his brothers harsh treatment at the strangers hands, proceeded to splatter the man's brains across the floor. No-one seemed particularly bothered by his fate -despite the loss of a potential prisoner.

Vaslav was roused first. The young cleric used his last prayer of the day to heal and awaken Boindil, who then proceeded to heal and awaken Uric. Fortunately both the party clerics recognised that Hans was under the effects of a Hold Person spell. Uric put some spikes through the door and they party holed up in the chapel for an hour or so until Hans recovered. In the meantime, the room was thoroughly searched (uncovering two blue vials hidden under the alter) and a small wooden lock box containing a writing kit and a letter in a strange language. The plate armour was duly appropriated and promised to Hans (although it would take several days at least for a smith for re-work the suit to fit the much smaller fighter). They also found another amulet similar to that worn by the sentry around the Strangers neck.

The party proceeded to explore the remainder of the level, checking all rooms from before. In the few rooms they had not yet explored Tungdil very nearly succumbed to poison twice -once from an acidic gas and once from a spider-bite. On each occasion the threats concerned had been found behind a door marked with a red smear of paint. Eventually they approached the room Uric had sealed the two cowering kobolds in, only to find the door slightly ajar. Tungdil sneaked into the room without bothering to check for traps and -for the second time- ended up with a bucket-full of kobold shit smeared all over him. A parting gift from the kobolds. The party found no sign of the other two "evil creatures that wished them ill", and surmised that the statue had probably been referring to the two kobolds who had (apparently) fled.

In time, they found (at the entrance to the very last room) a door with no lock, no handle, and no visible means of opening. The party (or rather Boindil) broke two of their three axes (yes, they had learned they value of axes) and a halberd trying to batter it open before the stubborn dwarf finally got the message (much to the exasperation of his companions). Then the dwarf tried throwing one of the vials at the door, smashing the vial and otherwise having no effect on the door. Finally satisfied that the statue had been telling the truth about their ability to open the door, they retired for the evening in a securely locked room. They next morning they interrogated the statue as to the nature of the magic door (learning it was wizard-locked) and, leaving a guard at the Keep, returned to Threshold and the house of Caldwell.

The merchant was relieved to find that the ground floor at least had been cleared, and took news of the magical door rather well, though he refused to pay over the balance of their fee until after the door had been opened and whatever lay beyond explored and cleared. He did however, express his intention to move in regardless. He dispatched a band of hired men to take over the guard of the Manor.

That accomplished, the party split up, some to sell their latest treasures, others to visit Artax, the local sage. At the sages home they were greeted by a bespectacled halfing, wearing fingerless gloves that proudly displayed his ink-stained hands. The halfing was offended by their (correct) assumption that he was merely a servant or scribe and accused the party of racism. ("What, a halfling can't be a sage? You heightist bastard."). Only the intervention of the sage himself gained the delegation an audience. They hired him for up to five days at a 100gp a pay, for the purposes of identifying the holy symbol and deciphering the writing on the later. Almost immediately the Sage identified the holy symbol as belonging to a dreadful Alphatian Immortal and the writing as a particularly obscure form of ancient Alphatian. He could, however, tell them more at this time but promised to obtain the answers they sought as soon as humanly possible. The sage promised to have the halfing, Apple Merryweather ("The weathers lousy, I hate Apple's and I'm sure as shite not merry!") come and fetch them at their Inn when he knew more.

Quite satisfied with their efforts, the party took care of a little shopping before returning to the Inn for an early night.

At the end of the session, I recounted the rumours they had heard recently:

• Caldwell the merchant has purchased Antilles Manor and it's surrounding estates. He's looking for a band willing to risk a little blood shed to clear the place of certain "undesirables". Likely, he fancies himself a candidate for a noble title some day. I gather he's found some youngsters to so his dirty work, but hasn't been too pleased by their progress.
  
• The infamous renegade cleric, Elwyn the Apostate, is believed to have a lair to the East of Town. The Patriarch can't spare enough men to scour the land and is looking to hire mercenaries for the task.
• Sindar, an elf merchant, needs a package delivered to his home in Selenica. Something about a wedding....
• The Black Eagle Baron is up to his old tricks again. Goblins are raiding the lands around the town on Lensh. He denies his involvement of course? What will it take before the Grand Duke realises his cousin is a snake?
• Some merchant is looking to hire guards to help him find some sort of rock. Sounds like a waste of time to me.
• It seems that foreign noble killed down in Specularum wasn't killed by the Iron Ring slavers after all. The Duke's men are blaming it on the Veiled Society instead.
• Gnomes are smuggling gems down the river in hollow logs
• Two days ago, some foreign warrior staggered into town, delirious and dying. he claimed to have found the legendary lost stronghold of the adventurers Rogahn and Zellicor, the "Caverns of Questueqon". Thing is, that stronghold was built next the ruins of some evil place up in the Lost Valley of Hutaaqua. The folk who find that stronghold could be on to the mother lode. Now, I dont normally listen to rumours see, but I heard the dead guy had some sort of map on 'im. Too good to pass up like.
• You're talking nonsense. Everyone knows Rogahn is alive and well and working for the Black Baron. If them caverns exist anywhere, its out east. I'm telling yah.
• Fort Castellan has been having problems with Giant attacks again. Merchants from Darokin and Ylaruam are complaining that no-one is patrolling the roads. Goblins and worse are playing havoc with the trade routes while the garrison are preoccupied with the giants.

Notes: The players seemed quite keen on investigating the caverns lead, but don't really feel their up to what sounds (to them) to be a difficult challenge. Instead, they decided to wait for Artax to send them word. They'll decide what to do after that. Sensible.