Rewarding Players

The following describes a series of events that took place on February 19, 2018, on the post Brought Back to Stavanger.  At this point in the campaign, the players have made their escape from the dungeon of Mimmarudla, narrowly escaping all being killed by a large dog-headed humanoid beast.  Rescued while floating in a boat near the coast of Rogaland, they have been returned to Stavanger.

As they arrive in Stavanger, the party has a dilemma.  They have entered Mimmarudla twice; the first time, they woke up the denizens within, a group of killer frogs, or froglings, that have spread out through the countryside and initiated a guerrilla war with the inhabitants, burning farms and killing inhabitants.  While the party regrets this, they haven't actually told anyone their part in these events.  While expressing a desire to right the wrong, and bravely choosing to enter Mimmarudla a second time, while the froglings were drawn away into a fight with the army, the party has chosen not to tell the authorities all they know.  This has given them cause to be concerned.

Once they are brought into the town, the party is given the following information by an alderman of Stavanger:

Sigurd Trevvaldson: "We would ask, if you could, to wait here on the dock for some bit of time. We have made some space at a workshop at the top of the pier ... if you would please consent to wait there, until we can have things organized ...

"See, the Prince and Ordforer have just returned themselves ... and we understand there is to be some sort of ceremony and celebration. In which, we were hoping, humbly, that you seven would take a part. May I know all your names, and how you relate to one another, in order that when the presentation occurs, we are all well-informed?"

I meant this to sound perfectly ordinary and innocent.  But then, as it is often the way with these things, the party was led to an abandoned workshop, a place where the could be kept conveniently away from the audience of the town.  They are told that there is a barrel of water, that benches have been added to the room for their comfort and that they have access to a water dipper and five "cheap" cups.  Then they're left there for a long, long time, while they hear people outside, cheering.

As DMs, there's a lot to be said about the simplest of situations, as they encourage players to ask "why?" ... just as you and I would, in similar situations.  Why are we being kept here, and not someplace nicer?  Why are the cups cheap?  Why is it only water?  What's going on?  Why haven't we been given more information?  And what does it mean, "take a part?" What part, exactly.

It was intended that the players should ask these questions ... for a simple reason.  It might seem logical for the town to set the players up someplace comfortable and luxurious ... but given the way the players arrived in town (they were found only hours before, and brought at all speed only to arrive here now), and the fact that the battle against the froglings ended just the night before and the army has also just arrived back in town, there's been no time to make preparations.  Sometimes, before they give you the Medal of Honor, it's under short notice and bureaucracies don't always do well with short notice.  The players are in this warehouse because it's close to the hastily created stand where the war is being celebrated in front of a crowd.  There are soldiers hastily bivouaked all over town.  The players are being kept aside because the authorities know how to set up a show; keep the heroes hidden, then reveal them to a roaring crowd and everyone loves the spectacle.

No one has explained this to the party because they're too busy.  Trevvaldson thinks he has explained it.  He said they'd be part of the celebration, right?  He doesn't know the party has no idea what exactly is being celebrated.  That's how bureaucrats and politicians are.

The players, however, are thinking:

Engelhart: Uhm, guys, I don't like the sound of this... we should send someone to get a handle on what's what; I don't know, call it a gut feeling.

I expected that.  I deliberately set up the austere surroundings and then let the players stew.  And once Engelhart opened the subject, I had to make a decision.

Did I want the players to stew about it or not?  They'd been through a lot.  I could have let them sit in that room for awhile, chatting among themselves ... and probably would have, if we had been at a game table.  Instead, I decided to open the door and have a guard chase away the potential moment while making a snub:

DM: The door opens, finally, and a guard in a very clean, very polished uniform beckons at you; not rudely, but certainly business-like.

Guard (npc) [paced]: "They're ready for you.  Time to get your rewards."

I could have gone the other way.  Sometimes it's a lot of fun to let a party get started overthinking.  As a DM, I can often predict it, seeing it in their faces or hearing it in their voices as they begin to ramp themselves up.  And that can be great in game play if that's what we want.  Overthinking can be a gamewasting process but it can also be a tremendous opportunity for role-play, particularly when you're holding the player-reward card and the player's don't know it.

See, I'm set to drop a bunch of nice magic items on the party on the part of the Town of Stavanger, who thinks only that the players are a bunch of heroes who bravely entered the dungeon (a fact that was discovered by others who followed them in, unknown to the party), who fought a huge monster, who survived to tell the tale and are, in part, made up of hometown boys.  Stavanger doesn't know anything about what deeper part the party played and the town doesn't care.  The town leaders are thinking, "These are brave fellows, with their hearts and minds in the right place: let's give them more stuff so they can accomplish more things!"

As a DM I am thinking, they beat the dog beast but because they had to run, they got no treasure.  I want them to feel rewarded, I want them to go up levels, and this is a good way to give them what they didn't get in the dungeon.

But I am also thinking, what a great practical joke to scare them, then reward them!  So the guard says his piece ominously (perhaps he's jealous he's not getting rewarded), and the party expands on their thoughts:

Engelhart: In fact, since we weren't actually under guard, I'm not thinking of trouble, rather I'll go on a limb and say that the big-wigs have probably just done stolen our glory. Nothing at all unexpected.

Pandred: So be it. I take a moment to gather myself, and stride out in the forefront as confidently as my weary self is able. I AM a big damn hero!

Lothar: We've still got our weapons, so they aren't planning on hanging us, and they wouldn't have bothered healing us. Forward into the sunshine to allow the bureaucrats to have us hold their banners. Sooner we're through with this pageantry, the sooner we can get back into the wilderness and seeking real treasure.

Love the bravery, the self-talk ... and even the acceptance behind the outward cynicism.  I can hardly blame Engelhart.  That is how a lot of DMs would play the scene, because there's a deeply held belief that the role of the DM is to keep the players down, to hold them back and not to act the part as enabler.

I don't see "enabling" as my responsibility as DM.  But if the players risk it all, if they act bravely, if they make their retreat with grace, if they don't trash talk each other for failing to achieve their goals ... then they deserve to be enabled.  They deserve a win.

I mean that in the same sense that we would describe our own good days.  Real life isn't about "winning," though many do like to self-describe as winners and we know what sort of people those are.  But life is about winning today, or getting this win for this effort ... and since there is no actual force of nature to recognize when the party deserves that win, it falls to the DM to do it.  I don't want the players to win all the time ~ as evident in their nearly dying to a man, prior to their escape.  But when they do win a battle, they ought to win at life, too.  That seems fairly obvious.

And so, I brought them out on stage to applause, to recognition and to status.  I granted them a heraldic symbol that they could wear, and that their descendants could wear; a symbol that would bring them recognition throughout Scandinavia, as any person of importance would see it and ask themselves, "What has this person done to receive this?"  It is instant respect.

Does it make the party stronger as fighters?  Does it guarantee they will win the next fight?  Of course not.  But it is a real addition to the way they think about themselves, about the way they can expect to be treated as they move about my world.  It is MY commitment to the party as DM: "Appear in front of NPCs and I'll have your back.  I'll take care of you."

Which is what I did, when they went back to Mimmarudla a third time.

Next, I gave them money.  In part because it gave them experience, but ALSO because it enabled them to lick their wounds, buy more equipment, ready themselves for the next fight and soldier on.  Money is not just experience.  It is a game mechanic that should be given carefully, thoughtfully and with full intention to enable the party to do more.  It should never, ever, be a false promise.  Money shouldn't be stolen from the party after it is given, under the argument that, "Well, they got the experience, and I don't want them to be too wealthy."  That's a very shitty attitude, betraying a very shitty code of ethics, Mr. Gygax, sir.  The right way is to give the party exactly what they deserve, and then as DM, eat the consequences.  If we're not prepared to eat those consequences, then we shouldn't be giving out that coin.

Finally, I gave out four magic items, one to each hero.  I put thought into them, with the following intentions: (1) not to give anything that would overpower the party; (2) to give items that would be specifically appreciated and treasured by the party; (3) to give unique and unusual items, not simply things from the rulebook; and (4) to give items with a history.

The party consisted of an assassin, a fighter, a ranger and a cleric.  The assassin had clearly shown in previous fights a need for more fighting power, so I gave the assassin an axe.  The fighter had consistently shown a tendency to be wounded and badly hurt, so I gave an iron bottle that would pour out a salve that would heal 1-4 hit points each day.  The ranger had chosen "scouting" as his sage ability, and had consistently shown interest in leading the party back and forth through the forests around Stavanger, so I gave him the bloodhound figurine that had actually been used to track the party (remember I said they'd been followed?).  And because the cleric had shown a tendency to be high minded, I provided a flag that would enable him, and the party, to raise a small force of fighters (15) on a moment's notice.

None of these things were particularly powerful.  Each was unique to the player and unique in make.

The axe had been used by a fellow named Gabriel Oxenstierna.  Gabriel's brother was Axel Oxenstierna, who in 1650 actually was the Lord High Chancellor of Sweden; and a confidant of Gustavus Adolphus; and a major mover and shaker in Swedish politics.  And though I haven't said in this post until now, the Prince who hands these four items to the party is Charles Gustav, future king of Sweden.  Think about that a moment.  At the time of the player's adventure, this Prince of Sweden is on a hunting trip in and around Stavanger, when he gets involved in this fight (for fun) and ends up following this little party of 3rd levels until he feels the urge to give them some gifts.  So when the assassin in the party turns up with Oxenstierna's axe in Sweden, with a heraldic sign of Rogaland prominently on his chest, how do YOU suppose he'll be treated?

What's more, I know how the axe was made, and who made it, and I can tell you there is a story there.

Just as there is a story behind the hound figurine given to the ranger.  And the flag that was given to the cleric ... though some of that has already come forward, as giving the flag to Engelhart is ALSO giving a flag back to Norway that was lost during the 30 Years' War ... which makes the mere possession of the flag an act of heroism to the monarchy of Denmark and Norway, as well.  Boo-yah!

Now, there's a story behind the bottle, too.  And I would absolutely love to tell it, having created it at the time of giving the bottle to Pandred.  Moreover, Pandred had to step down from the campaign due to time issues; she wanted to leave the bottle for the party, but I ruled against it.  Even if Pandred the player is technically no longer in the campaign, Pandred the now NPC is still alive, and I don't accept that she would part with it just because she's not running now.  She wouldn't have parted with it if she had stayed in the campaign, yes?

It would seem, then, that there's no harm in telling the story.  The party hasn't got the bottle and so they can't chase it down to its origin.  Pandred won't be doing it.  And yet ...

As a DM, I just don't feel right ever giving out the truth behind any part of my world that isn't earned.  In my youth, I used to pour out this sort of detail cheerfully.  But as I get into my old age, I feel reluctant.  Perhaps that's not the only bottle.  Perhaps I'm waiting to pass another one to the party, at the right time, and reinvigorate the story.  Perhaps Pandred will come back and play some more.  In any case, the truth wasn't found through channels, so perhaps the truth will never be known.  Perhaps it will die with me.

I'm fine with that.

The long and short of all this is the reaction of the party.  The party was ... well, go read their words.

You know, people talk about how D&D is such a simple game, and how a world doesn't really need all that much depth and detail.  People chatter about one-page dungeons and playing on the fly, and how this is the best way to play, etcetera.  And I look at these items, and the history behind them, the world behind them, the depth of that world, the insane, crazy depth, not just in the wikipedia pages but in my own fundamental desire to invest myself into the complex strands that underlie what a Prince might be Stavanger, or what might be under an ordinary mound in west Rogaland, and how these things are drawn together and laid out ... and then at the staggered reaction of the players ...

And I think, a lot of people who talk about D&D are very, very deluded.

Math

As the rewrite of the Senex campaign has not progressed far enough to write another deconstruction, I'll be writing about the Juvenis campaign today.  That is, the campaign that is ongoing, though in hiatus the past few weeks (hopefully, that won't last much longer).

I'd like to talk about events that stretched out over a series of posts throughout May and June of 2018, during which time the party investigated the depths of the dungeon under Mimmarudla, discovering that it went far, far deeper than they would ever have dreamed.

On their first venture into the dungeon, they got as far as an immense stone block, at which point they decided to turn back as a party.  The way was clear ahead of them, but as it was determined that they were hungry after their battle, they realized ...

Embla Strand the Assassin: My pack is back with Willa, and most of my food is with our donkeys.

Mikael the Mage: My food went with Valda.

Rob Munro the Druid: I have no food on me. (come to think of it, I've forgotten to buy food...)

I've tailored the lines a bit for the sake of the point, leaving out Mikael's suggestion of turning back, which was affirmed by Rob and then by Engelhart Askjellson the Cleric.

There's no fault on the party's behalf in this situation.  Most dungeons, particularly those that are sold over a counter, can be physically walked through in less than and hour.  Most DMs do not expect players to eat, or suppose that the eating is done "off stage," as they don't want to worry about such trivialities ... but this is will be the point of today's post.  Eating, and other things that involve the dreaded math that DMs and players resent alike, are not trivialities.

For the moment, I'll put math on a shelf and come back to it later.  I'd like to repeat that the party did not make a mistake in not bringing enough food.  When counted among equipment, as it is in my world, food is heavy, it slows down combatants and can, in fact, be a hazard to bring along on an adventure for a number of reasons.  For example, even dried food can attract monsters, just as we are warned not to carry open food in forest or mountain campgrounds because it attracts bears and other dangerous animals.

If I had not brought up the matter of food, however, by pointing out that the party was hungry, they would have continued on into the depths of the caverns without a reason to stop.  And that would be a loss to the immersion of the campaign.

My intention was to create a sequence that would play out something like Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth, a classic adventure story, but without going so far.  I conceived of a route that would be 17 miles of continuous tunnel, which the party would have to negotiate in order to reach the actual conflict.  I did not want that to be easy ... and I wanted the players to feel the length of the journey, without giving away the game by telling them up front how far they were going to have to trek.

So prior to telling them they were hungry, I had been playing with their perception, to draw the length of the journey out.  I told them they had walked five minutes in game time and that the tunnel continued, then asked if they wanted to continue.  Then I had them walk another five minutes of game time, again without reaching an end to the tunnel, and asked again.

Then I had ten minutes of game time pass, and gave them a good description to provide a sense that they were making progress ... but the end result was the same.  The tunnel continues, do you want to keep going?

Now the party begins to discuss this:

Embla: OK. Let's head back and inform the foreman what we've dealt with.

Engelhart:  But ... the sacrifice chamber?  [alluding to a clue the players have received, that suggests such a thing is in front of them]

Rob: There seems to be a disconnect between the bit of text Mikael deciphered and the tool marks at the switchback path, and the natural aspect of this tunnel. Also, a few things have pointed toward this being a very large cave. I think ther may be something of interest there, but one can always come back another day.

Engelhart: C'mon, let's give it a third leg in, just ten more minutes. I'd hate to go all the way back up when all that was needed was a final push. There's bound to be a sacrifice chamber at a practical, workable distance on in. (Of course, on the way back, we'll *have* to look for a hidden chamber at the base of the ascent)

Rob: Not necessarily if that's the entry way to an underground kingdom ... But 10 more minutes can't hurt.

Embla: Fair enough. Let's press on.

This is gold for a DM.  The party has done no actual walking, they've just had to concur with me twice, but they are starting to feel that some distance has been covered.

It is damned hard in a role-playing game to convey a sense of distance, or effort, or strain.  Players are sitting on comfortable chairs and can willy-nilly declare that they're going to walk a thousand miles before stopping, and the only thing that stops that from happening is some rule that says, You have to sleep, you have to eat, you have to stop and pee.  You can't walk for a thousand miles just because you say so.

The same goes for walking five minutes.  We have to imagine ourselves exploring a cave we find in a nearby wilderness.  Out of curiousity, sure, we jump into a hole, find an interesting tunnel and explore it.  The idea is straight out of Tom Sawyer and Mark Twain knew what he had a hold of.  He had, no doubt, explored a dozen holes around Hannibal, Missouri, where he grew up.  He no doubt imagined, long before writing down his thoughts, the chance of encountering cutthroats or river pirates in such caves.  We might ourselves, if we were young enough and climbing into a similar cave.  We would certainly begin to feel our skin crawl a bit after we had travelled for five, then ten, then twenty minutes.  We'd be thinking, what if we slip?  What if we break something and can't climb out?  What if we knock our heads?  Will anyone find us?  Even if you're sure they would, there's something creepy about a cave that just keeps going ... and as a DM, we want to impart that feeling to the party, despite their sitting at our game table.

So we do it incrementally.  We don't say, "The tunnel continues for 17 miles and you find yourselves overlooking blah blah blah."  Omg, how fucking dull is that?  We have to make them feel every part of the journey ... and the deeper in they get, the deeper that feeling has to be.

We don't tell them how deep it is.  And we begin to paint the distance as something that taxes the players by making them pay for it as they go.  And how do we do that?  Math.

I continue to puzzle over the resistance against the use of simple math in game play.  I have trouble with many forms of math, primarily because I haven't used them since my teens and through disuse I've forgotten much.  I couldn't plot a curve with a formula, I have to rely on the internet to calculate volume of any object, I can't manage calculus, physics is utterly beyond me and I couldn't even calculate a mole in chemistry, even though that is one of the easiest things.  Yet most of these things never come up in my RPG; I deal mostly in arithmatic.  Occasionally I need to do a little geometry.  Very rarely I have to invest some time in algebra.  That's it.

Yet voices online speak with great angst and hatred against the use of any math, even the simple subtraction of objects from a stockpile.  The only math I've never heard anyone complain of is the math needed to add new experience to old experience.  Players are always happy to do that.

We are drilled five hours a week for ten months of every year, for 12 years of our lives most of us, not counting the time spent doing homework ... and yet despite the repetition that should at least make us numb to the processes involved, we walk away hating even the scent of math.

All the better.  If players would rather actually walk a twenty mile distance in a day for a LARP experiment rather than do the math necessary to calculate how much food they'll need that day, all the more reason to force players to use math.  Math makes the experience of calculating an investment in the campaign.  If the players want to get to the bottom of this dungeon, and they want to have all the equipment they'll need, and they don't want to die of starvation, then Yes!  Let them do math.  Let the math for food depend on how much equipment they dare to carry, which determines how long it will take them to get from point A to point B, which changes how much food they'll need, which changes how much they'll have to carry, in a terrible circle that all means working their skulls to death doing the math.  I can't make them actually get out of their chairs and carry 73-point-seven pounds of equipment a distance of 17-point-one miles (old-style units because my world occurs before metric will be invented).  If I could, I would know that when they got to the end of their journey, they'd be damned grateful to have succeeded.  A lot more grateful than simply saying, "Okay, we walk the distance, what do we see?"  But if they have to do all this grueling, hateful math to get there, at least we can get some of that sense of accomplishment.  It didn't require much to say we were walking the distance, but gawddamn, figuring out how the math worked was a fucking nightmare.

All the better that it is unpleasant.  Walking great distances is unpleasant.  Starving is unpleasant.  Not having a pan to fry the meat is unpleasant. That's why chairs and piping hot food is so appreciated.  Life is full of unpleasantness.  Learning to appreciate the little things ~ like that the math part of this adventure is finally over, yay! ~ is essential to having a meaningful experience.  There is no yin without a little yang.

For the Juvenis party to get to the bottom of the dungeon, where stuff was happening, took three attempts altogether, two where math was a hurdle to overcome.  The problem was made worse because I did not explain how deep the tunnel was going to be.  Their first time in, they did not even know there would be a tunnel, so it was natural they wouldn't take a lot of food.  Their second time in, they assumed they must be close enough that a little further would reveal the main dungeon, so they did not fill their packs with food.  They soon recogized the problem that every hour walking down meant two hours of food, counting the return trip ... and nearly judged it wrong, with some of the party going on half rations for a short time.  My rules on food consumption added to the difficulty in calculating need (as it was meant to do).

The discussion of what to do began to build up with this post.  I threw in some notes of my own as DM, both in my own capacity and in the mouths of an NPC named Fjall.  It took time for the party to discuss their situation fully, which is always what I want as a DM.  A party deep underground in a strange place shouldn't be able to see a clear solution to a problem, if it is complex enough.  The need to calculate insundries like food, torches, oil, where to sleep, distance and so on puts the party on their heels, forcing a rational, careful parley.  Here are some key statements pulled from the comments field that steadily got the party around to what to do next:

Embla: Stopping and eating seems a good idea. We might also start looking for a place to rest - this ledge is clearly unsuitable, but there might be an acceptable location further on.

Rob: Looks like we may have to come back, and stock way more food and fuel on our next trip (maybe set up camp closer).

Mikael: Maybe forge shead seeking a suitable camping spot, set up camp, and send some people to go get way more food so we can continue from a more suitable location?

Lothar: It's too bad we wouldn't be able to get a donkey down here... Who all has the ability to see without light? In order to conserve our remaining oil I think it would make sense to send those folks to fetch and carry, and leave one with the group here.

Embla: We need to rest - this is not a good place for forced march penalties. Tomorrow, some of us can run back to resupply. I can carry the most and don't need light, so I should be part of the resupply run.

Rob: Well, it all hinges on how long we plan to wander in search of a proper camping place, no? To me 1 or 2 hours are amenable (so 2-4 hours if we count the return trip).

Lothar: I've got some ability in cavernous environments, so it'd make sense for me to scout ahead. I like that plan. Anyone else have some skill to volunteer?

And so on.  I don't want to say that this is "proper adventuring," but if we add in the battles with strange creatures they've already had, the uncertainty of the length of tunnel, the uncanniness of certain clues I've already given, their extensive knowledge of the creatures that built the place, having fought froglings on several occasions already and found them utterly loathsome ... there are many, many factors going on that are not even mentioned in the dialogue.  Yet the players have forgotten nothing. They know as they talk that separating the party could get half of them in a very bad fight.  They know the nearness of the ledge could be a BIG factor in their survival, because I've demonstrated a willingness to have a creature push a player off a ledge before, in other fights they've had.  The party really feels the sense of weirdness here ... so it isn't just a bunch of people quibbling about how much food and torches they have.  It is a party of adventurers legitimately worried that they won't have enough to survive this.

Forcing players to do the math makes this possible.  If we handwave the food, and the number of torches, and the campsite, and the requirements for seeing because we give everyone in the party ultravision goggles, and encumbrance is ignored, and the distance is just a matter of saying words, then what's left?  A tunnel and maybe a monster.  Or just an empty tunnel.  How is that an adventure?

It's believed by most participants of this game that all these extraneous details can be and should be ignored, because they slow game momentum and math sucks.  Everyone wants to have fun.  No one wants to be scribble out numbers like this is math class.  So a situation like the one facing the Juvenis party cannot exist.  It simply cannot.  There would be no reason for anyone in this party to be concerned about anything until a monster turned up.

That is NOT my memory of adventure stories and novels I experienced as a boy.  Laying in supplies, harnessing the horses, fixing a wheel when it was broken, crossing a river and fearing that we'd lose three weeks of food, having to leave a stockpile behind because a horse died, and then facing the dangers of going back to get it, those were nail biting moments for me when I read tales of pioneers daring their way across the continent. Ships hitting rocks and steadily filling with water, inch by inch, while crew fought to pump the water out and bale it, while bringing the ship closer to a port mile by mile before the fight against sinking went against them ... this was the very stuff of adventure.  But to figure these things in a way that doesn't just jerk the party around by having the DM pull it out from a dark place requires math.  It requires giving a fair accounting to the players of what resources they have (ship's hold vs. water pouring in at such an such a rate) to get those same players to feel like they're in control of the situation, and not just waiting to find out if the DM rules that the ship sinks or not.

This too is critical.  If you look at all the scenes surrounding the players moving their way down into the dungeon, at no time do the players feel a lack of control.  They doubt their judgement, yes; they're uncertain if they have enough.  They worry about the distance still left to explore.  But they're not asking me, "Do we have enough? Is it much further?"  They don't need me. They know that, by the rules, I'm not allowed to tell them. They can't know how long the tunnel is until they reach the end of it ... and getting there is as much of an adventure as fighting the monsters at the end of it.

Which is why I rewarded them with treasure, provided by newly made friends, when they managed the ordeal.  On their own.

True enough, I gave them some advice.  They weren't required to take it.  And I allowed some moments of providence to give them a little more than they expected.  In any adventure, we can't just pour bad things on the party.  Sometimes, things should go right.  But they'd have done fine if I hadn't been a bit generous.  I saw that generousity as icing on a cake; and as a bit of treasure in itself, for the party being brave enough to just keep going.

Many parties wouldn't have. They'd have quit as soon as it was plain they would need stockpiles of food.  They'd have quit as soon as the reward wasn't plain.  They'd have overthought themselves into much more danger than was real.  The math would have been just too damn hard.

The party earned that treasure at the end of it.  Not only because they did the math, but because they found the wherewithal to lift themselves up and overcome a very difficult obstacle, one that challenged more than their ability; it challenged their ability to keep going.

I don't listen when participants of this game complain about math.  They really don't understand anything about what makes a gam exciting.

I should add just a few words about joint effort.  Uncertain situations like this, that need to be calculated and structured, build parties as active, supportive teams.  Players able to do the math more easily teach others, encouraging trust.  Figuring out just what needs to be done encourages group problem solving.  And succeeding at it builds long-lasting friendships.  I should say more; but if you don't understand this intuitively by my bringing up the subject, I could throw thousands of words at the subject and get nowhere.  So I shall save that diatribe for some other post on some other day.

Mechanics of Party Splitting

In this post, I will be making references to events that arose with the Senex Campaign as outlined in Part 4 of the Senex rewrite.  In large part, it will be necessary for the reader to familiarize themselves with this part of the campaign in order to get the full impact of this post.

Quickly, I'll paraphrase what's happening.  The party of four players has broken into two parts, with two players each.  Anshelm and Tiberius had earlier entered the town of Dachau, while Delfig and Kazimir had chosen to visit a cotter's settlement outside the town walls.  While separated, it was discovered by the outside group that a group of doppelgangers were plotting to gate an undefined entity from another plane of existence.

Both groups would have the agenda of getting in touch with persons of importance in the town.  Anshelm and Tiberius would try to reach the home of Johann Mizer, with whom they had a brief acquaintance.  At the same time, Delfig and Kazimir would be bent on getting into the town, in order to share their discovery of the doppelgangers' plan with an important town member they had never met, the Paladin Eberhardt Hornung.

With this post, I wish to talk about some strategies and important functional techniques for dealing with split parties.  While it is true that I had more time with the online campaign to juggle the two parties, as we played the game by blog comment, let me reassure the reader that I have played dozens of similar circumstances in all my campaigns, right back to the time when I began to play in High School.  I believe I had a particular gift for doing this well; but having self-deconstructed my techniques for many years now, I believe I can set the reader on the proper course to being able to do this themselves.  Like any skill, it takes practice, and the first few times you may have trouble.  But if you will keep in mind the ideas behind this post, and trust your instincts, you will master the ability to juggle a split party without a loss of game momentum.

Reading online, this last seems to be the chief resistance to allowing parties to split.  Most, if not all DMs, will insist that it slows the game down and that a night like this can reflect the worst kind of play.  Yes, it can ~ but that does not mean it has to.  It will require more energy from the DM, and it will require a different way of resolving events in your game, which we'll discuss.  Let's get started.

I chose the above example because it is virtually as old as the internet, and gives the most cliched exhortation to "never split the party" that any of us can know.  The reason is referenced throughout the video, and you'll find it repeated all over the internet:  "Parties that split up in dungeons always die."

That's because a typical dungeon is a collection of set-pieces, static in form, all of which are deliberately designed to engage the whole party with every encounter.  It would be easy to build a more flexible dungeon, where the party was encouraged to split up, because it became obvious that the monsters within the dungeon were constantly on the move, and could be caught between rooms by clever party members, who were moving through the dungeon's structure with a measure of freedom that enabled them to pick the moment of their fights. This is impossible in a static, set-piece dungeon ... and yet it is this sort of dungeon that prevails in almost every example we can name.

This flexibility is improved in both an urban or a wilderness setting.  The potential for a smaller group to flee when outgunned allows for small, careful groups to move more freely within the total framework of the setting.  This, in turn, lends dimension to the game, as the separation of parties, moving in different places but controlled by a consistent passage of time, eliminates the linearity of a single party that must move in a single path without deviation.

Flexibility of setting and Inflexibility of Time are absolutely key.  The focus of the game must be free to jump from place to place instantly, like the camera in a movie, just as the characters in their independent courses must constantly be regulated by how much time has passed, to keep separate groups in tandem with one another.  This regulated time helps every person in the party, whether they are playing in the group being run, feel that they are part of all events as they are happening.

Here is where the momentum of a game can grind to a snail's pace.  The DM cannot make the concern of a given player's participation dependent on the resolution of events.  Resolution can take a long, long time; and if we feel that we cannot cut back to the other party members ~ again, just like a movie ~ then the tedious waiting for that resolution will kill momentum.

I cannot stress this enough.  Like a film, to keep the split groups of the party engaged, no period of engagement with any one group can be allowed to last more than six to eight minutes.  Four to five, even less, is better.  This helps maintain the rigidity of time, and keeps the other players on their toes as you might, at any moment, cut away from this group back to their group, to pick up the action as it was left off.

Consider the example of the Senex campaign.  Although there's a great deal of text included in the document, the whole represents about two, perhaps three hours of game time, depending on the amount of additional material regarding character abilities or additional discourse the players might engage in were they face-to-face.

The scenes included are as follows:  (1) Delfig and Kazimir [group A] speak with Father Jan and others in the cotter's village; (2) Anshelm and Tiberius [group B] make plans to speak with the guards in the street and are stopped by Helmunt; (3) group B engages a guide and starts across the rooftops; (4) group B crosses a series of rooftops; (5) group B drops down to the street and fights a pair of guards; (6) group A, outside the walls, speaks with the guards by the North Gate; (7) group A chooses to climb a wall to get into the town; (8) Delfig of group A slips into a tower and knocks a sleeping man unconscious; (9) group A reunites after Kazimir attains the tower room and search the place; (10) They decide to leave and strange things happen; (11) group B reaches Mizer's property and strange things happen; (12) group B sees the gate open above Dachau and experience slow time; (13) group B is faced with slug creatures which appear; (14) group A experiences the gate opening and slow time; (14) group A is faced with similar slug creatures.

Were I to run these events at a game table, I would split the scenes up much finer, interspersing them.  I would split the dialogue between group A and Father Jan with group B observing events in the town square.  Group A would then make their plans on the side while I engages group B with the passage across the roof.  As group B dropped from the roofs to the street, group A would be deciding to climb the wall.  Delfig would see the guards on the top of the wall just as group B was interrupted by the two guards coming out of a random doorway.  I would cut back and forth from the combat, asking Delfig and Kazimir to roll dice as they climbed up to the tower room.  And so on.

As DM, I know what each group is going to meet in their travels.  There are no surprises for me.  I can see perfectly clear how each side of the equation will play out, depending on the group's choices or actions, because I have an excellent knowledge of three crucial elements.

I Know Exactly how Dachau works as a town.  I don't need a street map, but I know how every citizen could conceivably react to any action that group B might make. I have the same knowledge about the reactions of the guards, or Father Jan, engaged by group A.  How?  Because the world is not just a set piece to me.  It isn't fifty words of description next to a number that corresponds to a diagram of the tower.  I see, in my mind, and with my experience, why the tower exists, how it is lived in every day, what is done there, what is kept there, how the inhabitants will respond to outsiders, what answers they would give to outsiders if it came to that, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

And how do I know this?  I try very hard to live in my world, every day.  And because my world is a 17th century version of the real world, this also means I try hard to live in the real world, every day.  As I walk along the street, and see things, I puzzle out how those things might have gotten there.  How was that store sign contracted for, how much money was spent, is the owner happy with it, how dearly would he like another, is the store likely to support that expenditure?  If not, then why not?

The reader should understand that it doesn't matter if any of my musings are in any way accurate. That is irrelevant. What matters is that my musings are ALL stories. The story of that sign, the story of that abandoned automobile, the story of this abandoned railroad track, the story of the fellow sleeping on the bus, the story behind the three bunnies I saw playing in the park, the story of the guy that Delfig hits with the pommel of his sword, the story of the two guards who stumble into the alley, the story of how Father Jan became a cleric, the story behind what is actually happening in Dachau.

When we talk about stories in D&D, people think we mean just one story; the great arc that justifies the existence of all the set pieces we have created for the players.  But for the world to be living, there have to be millions, billions, an infinite number of stories that are all stuffed inside the DM's head, ready to pour out if the player asks, "How are you," instead of screaming, "Die, you bastard."

With stories in place, I can flip from group to group, and maintain the momentum because I'm not confused about what's happening.  I can see, in my mind, what I am telling Delfig about the tower ~ not because it is written in a book, but because I made it, I built it with my imagination, and like any builder I can feel every brick I put in place.

This is what you could do.  This is what you could practice.  Even if it takes years ... because it will serve you long past these games, and in a thousand ways.

But I digress.

Picture the flipping of scene to scene in the same way you would envision a movie.  This is done with film all the time, and you as the viewer are rarely confused, even when the scenes come fast and furiously at you ~ because you've been prepared.

Let's take a popular film with a complexity of scenes: say, The Avengers.  I'm choosing it because the party is definitely split up, but they are free to move and re-engage.  Remember, with magic such as message, ESP, clairaudience or other similar powers, a D&D party could fare just as well as the Avengers communicating with radios.  If you haven't access to a copy, try to remember the scenes I'm going to outline in your mind, and remember how fast the cuts piled one upon the other.

Pick it up from the moment the gate opens and Stark says, "Right. Army."  At that moment, the party is scattered.  Imagine here that you're the DM, running these scenes.  You describe the sky opening up and the chitauri pouring through the gate.  You let the player behind Tony Stark dive up into the sky to fight the first chitauri he can reach.  You let him fire a few shots.

Then you describe the people on the streets, watching these first moments of the invasion, to remind the players there are many innocents here.  You describe the scenes of the street being shot up by the chitauri.  Then you let the player behind Thor act.  He says he lands, and tries to reason with Loki.  The dialogue fails and Loki attacks, gaining initiative.  Loki misses, they exchange a few rounds.

So you abandon that player and jump back to Stark, who is eluding chitauri by flying between the buildings.  That's going to take time, so we jump to Hawkeye, Black Widow and Steve Rogers in the jet.  These characters decide to fly into the city and contact Stark; they share a few words.

We jump back to Thor and Loki and play out a few more combat rounds.  Remember, we're keeping the time element constant.  We let Stark fire a few missiles.  We cut back to Hawkeye and Black Widow, who open fire on a Chitauri.  Rogers, in the back, is stuck waiting.

As DM, we play Jarvis inside Stark's suit and tell him more chitauri are coming.  The player blows it off with a crack and makes up his mind to "Keep them occupied."  Thor and Loki are still rolling dice at each other, trying to take the other down.  Hawkeye pulls the jet in sight of them, Loki gets a critical hit on Thor and then fires at the jet with the spear. The jet starts to spin out of control. We tell Thor that he's free to attack again and he rolls dice ...

And so on.

The party is split geographically but they are not split chronologically!   As DM, you have to splice the events happening to one part of the party into the other, maintaining momentum.

So, we might ask; what if the one party is trying to break into the alchemist's guild and the rest of the party is sitting in a bistro across the street?  How does that work?  Do we ask the burglar to roll dice to avoid the trap, then jump over and ask one of the other party to roll dice to see if they noticed the coffee was too hot?

No.  We have two strategies.  Either we compress the amount of time the one member of the party is inside the guild, or we create a balancing incident that engages the rest of the party.

Okay, the burglar has discovered the alarm and is contemplating how to remove it.  At the same time, the party in the bistro notices two alchemists enter and order coffee.  One says, "I am concerned about the McGuffin. I feel a strong need to ensure it is safe."  The other says, "You're such a worry wart.  All right, we'll go look, if that makes you feel better."

There.  The bistro party is now engaged.  It is up to them what to do.

Another technique we must employ is to created a Shared Experience.  My players in Dachau were all informed of the storm, of the pyrotechnics, of the wind and the noise ... and even if the players in town could not advantage their knowledge in their actions, all were affected by the tension that this was probably the gate opening.  No one knew for sure how long it would take to open, and that was also relevant to the momentum.

To draw the players together, even if they are separated positionally, there should be something they are all experiencing, though from different sides.  The pieces then begin to fall together for the whole party as each part of it can be revealed by the DM, in the proper time to create the best effect.

This is done in film constantly.  And we have all seen it.  But have we looked, have we deconstructed those moments, have we considered how the shared experience of the film has resulted in each character within the film having a separate piece of knowledge that we, the audience, can reflect upon?  I would guess, from the simplistic way that we approach the linear method of running parties, insisting that parties that split up MUST die, that the answer is no.  We watch the film, but we don't learn from it.

The same incidence happens in literature, of course; but film is much more reflective of the real time experience of a campaign running.  The momentous events of a campaign are not paced like literature, but like the speed of a film.  Slower than real time, with unimportant moments of time dispensed with, but still with the importance of carrying a momentum that multiple participants can experience.

It is true, the characters in books and movies don't have the benefit of shared knowledge that players have.  And there are cases of players advantaging that shared knowledge in ways that have a potential to break our game.  It takes a strong DM to police these players; and a DM that can detect this sort of advantaging when it might be trying to pass under our radar.  The alternative is, unfortunately, dragging players repeatedly out of the room, to run the game in cones of isolation ... and for decades, yes, I have done this.

But better still, it is best to restrain the shared knowledge in such a way that none of the players really can take excessive advantage.  Take that example with the alchemists outside and the burglar inside.  Now, we might suppose that the burglar, knowing the alchemists are coming, will immediately decide not to dismantle the trap and flee.  Suppose, however, that we encourage the burglar to believe that the rest of the party will "handle" these two alchemists, enabling him to continue his part of the adventure.  Once again, the attempt might continue.  The shared knowledge hasn't upset the campaign.  The burglar always knew there was some chance of being discovered.  Telling him that he's specifically going to be doesn't necessarily change that.  Particularly if there are others around to help keep him safe.

To handle the splitting of parties, it does take skill.  And the right attitude.  And a setting that doesn't depend on every person in the party participating in the same battle, all the time.  Most battles, of course, will be played with the party in one group.  But they don't necessarily all have to be played that way.  There are other options, other opportunities, other ways to experience the passage of the game.

We just have to practice them.  And know what we're practicing.

Senex Campaign 4: Approach of the Gate

Delfig’s confession causes all within the room to go silent; the first to respond, however, is Father Jan, who as a Christian cleric seeks to forgive Delfig at once.

Father Jan (npc): “My son. You must make an act of contrition. This gold you received should not remain in your possession, but should be tithed to your church, as a lesson. We should not gain from the doing of evil, but from doing good works. And as regards this Triskoon: he very well might be the master of this creature here on the table. I said that it must serve some other creature – and clearly you have proved that, by revealing a doppelganger, plotting to destroy the city. These are evil creatures, who will invent whatever reason they can to destroy humans.

“The story the creature gave you was a lie, to trick you into giving your blood willingly. You are right in your guess. The blood is needed to raise Reekhova. It must come from a bard and it cannot be taken by force, if the dweomercraft is to be successful. This is an old legend, but perhaps not one that is known outside the circle of some clerics. I cannot say now what we must do, to make it right. Someone in authority must be told – but it is perhaps too late.” The cleric will go to the doorway. “See? A storm rises. It is a sign.”

Emmanuel (npc): “Who? Who must be told?”

Father Jan [after consideration]: “There is only one who might listen. You must tell the paladin, Eberhardt Hornung. But first we must find some way of getting you past the gates and into the town.

Kazimir Kropt, the Assassin: I shake my head and look at Delfig. “This is what happens when I leave you alone a moment, hey?” I bark out a short laugh. “Whatever you’re in, I s’pose I’m in it with you, lad. It’s sure to beat harassing Jews and sleeping in hay, I’ll wager.”

Delfig Kôlhupfer, the Bard/Thief: I bow my head and nod, accepting the task of contrition given. I glance sorrowfully at Kazimir as if to apologize for having to give up the most amount of loot we’ve made in awhile. Then I open my pouch and spill out all 100 gold at the feet of the Friar. “It is blood money, evil and tainted. I will not have any part of it.”

DM: As the coins hit the floor, Emmanuel will seem to take the sight of it in stride; but Igen and Heinke will goggle at the wealth. Father Jan will direct them to pick up the coins, perhaps wondering why they had to be thrown on the floor, before accepting your penance graciously.

Delfig: “You speak of an old legend ... what is this legend? You said you had not heard of Reekhova, but you’ve heard of a legend concerning the blood?”

Father Jan: “The legend tells of how the thing is done, but not of what will come through the gate. I cannot guess what the creature might be, I have no knowledge of such things. My father superior in Augsburg would know better than I…but then they have reason to know. I do not.

Delfig: “This Triskoon might have a lair at a small hamlet not far from here. It is where I encountered the skulks and Triskoon. Perhaps this Hornung would be interested in that. But my friend,” I point at Kazimir, “has said that the gates of Dachau are closed and the guards do not allow anyone to enter. We will either have to enter by stealth or perhaps by your good offices, Friar. Would a pass by you, given to us to allow us to enter on authority of the Church, be enough? If so, we can make the attempt. If that does not work, we’ll have to gain entrance perhaps by some sewer, or gap in the wall, or some other means to allow us to get into the city unseen. Do you have any thoughts?”

Father Jan: No doubt this Triskoon has a way to slip into the town, probably as a guard or someone familiar. We can not get in so easily. And, Hornung will be inside the town. I have no means of entering in mind. I know of no sewers or open doors.

I know only doors that cannot be opened from the outside. And the river, I am told, I full of wards.”

DM: Jan is describing the Amper, which flows past the walls and through the town, protected by magical runes and glyphs.

Father Jan: Still, you must try. I cannot give you the authority of the church, as I have no such authority. I am only a common friar, hardly associated with the church. I attend only to the poor. But I can offer you this …”

DM: He holds out a gold crucifix, worth perhaps as much as the coin you just gave him. It is of an odd shape, carved from a knotted tree, and therefore unique.

Father Jan: “I once did Herr Hornung a favor. Perhaps he will remember this cross.”

Delfig: “And do you think this silversmith, Herr Meyer, he might be a doppelganger or in league with this evil plan?”

DM: He shakes his head. He doesn’t know.

Kazimir: I furrow my brow and look at the captive skulk. I will motion Delfig and the good Friar off to the side and say, “Perhaps this captive skulk could be used to set off the wards, hey? It would serve him right, and we’ll be able to sneak into town with nary a scratch to show for it.”

Father Jan: “And how would you compel the creature to do that?”

Kazimir: “The river runs between the wards, yes? We simply tie the thing to a crude raft and let it go between the wards. Delfig and I can follow in a raft of our own. Once the wards go off on the skulk, we raft into the city.” I think a moment, then say, “Do bards have any charms or spells they can use to cloud the mind?”

Delfig: I shake my head at Kazimir’s question. “My friend, it’s not a bad idea, but I would not willingly go anywhere with that evil thing.

DM: The wall above the river is unmanned. The river is controlled by guards with boats, who would seize anyone encroaching without license upon the walls, in a raft or any other vehicle.

Delfig: I may have to simply climb the wall in a favorable place and slip into the city. I will then see if I can find a door or place to allow you to come in, or fix a rope (if either of us have one) and allow you to climb over. I believe we have to act quickly and that we must do something direct.

“I would also suggest a more direct approach to attempt first. We can declare to the guards that we have been summoned by Hornung and rely on his reputation, hoping that the guards will at least inquire with him and show him this cross. That might gain us an audience. What say you, Kazimir?”

Kazimir: “You’ve a point, friend. If we try your plan and it fails, the guards simply turn us away. My plan won’t work; we’d get blasted to bits by the wards, or we get caught sneaking in and it’s off to jail or worse. I’ll give it a go.”

Delfig: “Agreed.”

I have a question – what about the walls around Dachau? Would I know of any weak points, or any possible spots that I might have a better than 50/50 chance of sneaking past. Is there any place I’ve heard rumored or spoken about during the months prior to this?

DM: There wouldn’t be many weak points in the town’s fortifications. Your best chance would be any place where a tower, usually rounded, met with a curtain wall, as this creates a “shadow” which can be climbed through with the least amount of detection. As a thief, any part of the wall would be comparatively easy to climb. Keep in mind that the walls are about 40 feet high; which means that a climb failure and a fall would cause 3d6 damage. Once successful, however, a rope could then be dropped, enabling Kazimir to climb. Kazimir’s chances of climbing without a rope is only 40%.

Getting off the wall again would depend upon your ability to move silently and hide in shadows, and Kazimir’s luck (as he’s unable to do either). Otherwise you’ll alert any guards.

[OOC: when playing in 2009, my game still employed the old thieving abilities]

Delfig: “Friar Jan, do you have any words of wisdom that might help us with the guards? Anyone in the church that I could use to help speed us to Hornung’s attention? And your dealings with Hornung, can we tell him the full story?”

Father Jan: “Hornung will know the cross. That is enough.”

DM: As an aside, a friar is someone who by definition would have none of the connections you suggest. He is a sort of ecclesiastical outsider “ who works for the church but is not part of the church hierarchy. This is similar to a typical adventurer cleric, who may be of the religion but is not directed by religious leaders.

Delfig: Here’s my puzzler - I want to cast the spell Friends before talking to the guards. Logically, I have no chance in hell of doing this for an area of effect without causing problems with 30 guards; I’d give myself away. I’m thinking that’s not a good idea. Ideally, what I’d like to do is approach the gate so that I could somehow find an isolated guard – they do have to take leaks sometime – and cast Friends, so I can approach him to appeal for help. Time is of the essence, so if I can’t find an isolated guard, we’ll do the attempt without the help of the spell.

DM: Looking at the Friends spell I gave you, I see there is an error in the description; it should read a duration of 5 rounds per level; I don’t know if that helps. As a further note, you won’t find an isolated guard. They won’t go for a leak outside the walls and they would do so in pairs, and only when relieved.

[OOC: the Friends spell has been corrected]

Delfig: “Please bless us in our endeavors, Friar – I fear that we are all in for a rough time.”

Father Jan: “I am happy to bless you both.”

Delfig: “Thank you Friar Jan. I don’t know if I’ll succeed, but I will do all that I can to make this right.”

I will pick up my sword and sheathe it, leave the shack, go fetch my crossbow, put it on my back and with Kazimir, go to the gate as quickly as we can.

So, while these two start out from the cotter’s hamlet, Anshelm and Tiberius will both make their way back to The Pig gasthaus independently. Matters in the square have reached something of an impasse. The armed guard has begun pushing people (insistently but not threatening) off the streets. Attempts to have a message sent anywhere will be denied. An attempt may be made surreptitiously, but the guard have become quite wary.

The sky is beginning to show signs of a storm coming. Somehow this seems linked to the general mood of the city.

Anshelm the Thief: We exchange stories about what has happened. “I am now not sure it was wise to doubt your insistence on honoring our obligations to Mizer. No choices in this conflict seems to be easy, but I am made uneasy by Karl’s speech.” Scratching myself absently, I say, “What can we do? Mizer is unreachable at present, and asking questions might raise suspicions.”

Tiberius, the Fighter/Mage: I speak my intention to go out in the street and speak with the guards. We’ll say that we work for Herr Mizer, and that we must speak with the gentleman immediately. We’ll say that we have information regarding the recent murders, that is for Herr Mizer’s ears only.

Anshelm: “I’m with you Tiberius!”

DM: Helmunt, overhearing, will stop you from doing this. He will tell you that if you wish to speak with Herr Mizer, or anyone, you’ll have to circumvent the guards and find the man at his private house. He probably won’t be there, but the servants at the house would be able to advance any message you would make.

Helmunt (npc): “I can get you in touch with a guide who can take you to the right house for just 3 s.p. Normally, this would cost only one, but the streets are dangerous…”

Tiberius: I thank Helmunt for this, and I pay the local guide when he arrives.

DM: The guide is in the gasthaus. Before you can leave the gasthaus, the guide will explain that there’s bound to be difficulty, as you can’t just walk across the square to the right avenue. You’ll have to bypass the soldiers who are turning people trying to walk the streets back into their homes

Guide (npc): “We will have to go out the gasthaus’s back door, through the stable, and onto the roof tops of the foreign quarter, to reach a place where we can cross to the merchant’s quarter. Then we will still have to hide ourselves as we move along. Do you still wish to go?”

DM: Outside, just to add fun to this, the storm has gathered. There is no rain, but the metallic odor of a pre-storm is in the air, and sheet lightning is beginning to range through the clouds.

Tiberius: Sounds fun. Let’s do this. If I haven’t already, I will cast Armor before going.

Anshelm: I heave a heavy sigh. “Were this matter of less import, I’d be content to wait here, but we must.” I turn an eye outside and watch the coming storm for a moment. “Miserable weather,” I mutter, and gather up my belongings.

[OOC: Despite Anshelm’s misgivings, yeah, this does sound like fun!]

DM: You learn that the guide’s name is Udo. He quickly shows you the way to the stable. You climb after him into the loft, and Udo opens the shutters on a side window. They open with a bang. There’s quite a wind blowing; the sky is blue-black with storm clouds, flashing with lightning. The window is about 25 feet above the street. A fall would hurt. Udo demonstrates how, by sitting on the window sill with your back towards the street, you can reach up, grab the eave, and pull yourself up so your feet are on the sill. Then he scrambles up onto the roof and out of sight.

Tiberius: Despite my misgivings, I scramble after Udo.

Anshelm: I chuckle at Tiberius’ discomfort and follow the other two.

DM: I’ll need a climb check; Tiberius should roll a d20, while Anshelm needs to roll a d100.

Anshelm: Yikes! 83.

Tiberius: Rolled a 7.

DM: Tiberius climbs out and confidently pulls himself onto the roof. Anshelm does the same. [Both made the required success rolls, 85% for the thief and 40% for the fighter/mage]

On the roof, Udo shows the passage you’ll take. He’ll point at the city wall, about two hundred yards away. “We should keep low,” he shout over the wind. “In this coming storm, I doubt anyone will see us.” Some of the roofs look fairly steep, but the spaces between are typically only three or four feet apart. Not much distance to jump. Udo begins to lead. As you go, he points out places where the tiles are loose and should be avoided. He knows these roofs very well.

As you go, you can both see guards in the streets below, typically a 30 foot drop. The guards are moving in groups of four or five. Many are hassling residents. It’s become clear that house to house searches are underway, but for what reason you can’t guess.

After crossing about a dozen roofs, you near the avenue that heads to the East Gate: Schleissheimer Street. At this point you will have to drop to the ground and make your way across; the gap is about ten yards. Udo will indicate an iron frame protecting a pottery waterspout, as a means of getting down. I’ll need Anshelm to roll a d100.

Anshelm: 32.

DM: The roll was not for the climb; but Anshelm hears or senses that there is someone or something else hereabouts on the roof with you.

Anshelm: I pause, throwing a glance over my shoulder, to either side, even upward. I tap Tiberius on the shoulder and say, “Something’s … near. I don’t know what and I don’t know where, but I feel that we’re being watched. It might have been following us. I’ve had these feelings and have been right before. Have you a way to find out who or what they might be?”

Tiberius: Is there a good place to set an ambush on anyone who might be following us? Preferably on the ground?

DM: Not that you can see. Do you want to make your way down the pipe’s iron frame? There is a fair wind blowing along the street below, and the guards may be expected to be somewhat distracted; Udo suggests that this is the time, as no guard is right now within sight of the pipe’s base.

Anshelm: “If this is the only chance we have to surprise who – or what – is trailing us, I say we’d do best to take it.”

Tiberius: “Let’s get down first.” I go down the pipe as Udo directs.

Anshelm: I’ll follow next.

DM: I need a d20 from Tiberius.

Tiberius: Rolled a 5.

DM: And now a d100 from Anshelm.

Anshelm: 75.

DM: Tiberius drops to the ground at the corner of the building – the building you’ve climbed down seems to be some kind of warehouse. There is a narrow lane which enters the street beside you, that’s no more than six feet wide. Tiberius would be wise to conceal himself in the shadows as Anshelm descends. Anshelm does so safely, followed by Udo.

Looking in both directions, the guards you can see are still distracted with their business. Udo points at another lane’s entrance, some forty feet away, across Schleissheimer Street. About a hundred yards away you can see the East Gate. The Merchant’s Quarter begins on the other side of the street facing you. Udo doesn’t wait … he scampers quickly across the street, not bothering to keep low, and soon pops into the far lane.

Anshelm: I glance at Tiberius, take a quick look up and down the street, and follow Udo.

Tiberius: After a glance both ways, I follow after the pair.

DM [rolling dice]: You seem to have accomplished the run unobserved.

This new lane is eight feet wide and divided into two raised block sidewalks, about a foot above the street and 18 inches wide. This makes a drain down the middle, that reminds you of the rain that has not yet started. There hasn’t even been a splatter yet, though the wind is enough to grab at your body whenever you’re exposed to it.

The lane is smooth on both sides, curving steadily to the right, with several doorways. Udo begins along the right side. He slips a dagger out of his cloak.

Anshelm [unsheathing my sword]: “Expecting danger, Udo?” I ask in a low voice.

Tiberius: “You did say you felt you were being followed, didn’t you, Anshelm?” I unsheathe my sword as well.

Anshelm [with a raised eyebrow]: “Indeed.” I follow Udo, sticking close to the walls, doorways and any other cover or concealment offered by the lane. I’m trying to hide in shadows.

Tiberius: I follow closely after the pair, keeping an eye behind me.

DM: I’ll need Anshelm to throw a d100.

I’ll need Tiberius to throw a d6.

Tiberius: Rolled a 1.

DM: As background, houses in this period were sold according to their frontage, and not according to their overall square footage. For this reason, houses were often as narrow as 13 to 17 feet wide, but up to 50, even a 100 feet deep. The doors you are passing are about 18 to 22 feet apart, on both sides of the lane, each door representing an individual property.

Anshelm: ARGH! Rolled a 56. I should know better at 1st level…

DM: Anshelm does not hide in shadows, and Tiberius’ roll indicates that the party is surprised.

As Tiberius pulls up the rear, he is nearest to the door when it opens. Two watchmen [these are private guards, hired by guilds and paid in part by the town] come tumbling out of a door. They are wishing person in the house well as they come out – and are suddenly face-to-face with the fighter/mage. For a moment, both groups stand in the swirling wind and gawk at one another.

Unlike the party, they react quickly and without hesitation. They point their weapons, 8 ft. fauchards, at Tiberius’s throat and demand to know who you are, and what is your business. The party can act now.

Tiberius: I take a moment to recover from my surprise, then identify myself and my companions, explaining the nature of our task. I tell the guards that I am delivering a message to Herr Mizer, a merchant who lives in the quarter.

Anshelm: Well aware I’m not a charmer, I hold my tongue.

DM: These merchant-paid guards do not care at all about your personal needs; they do not recognize you, not as any person who might have the right to be here. They look at your drawn weapons and fail utterly to believe you.

1st Watchman (npc): “Oh yeah? Then why ain’t we seen you before?”

2nd Watchman (npc): “Looks like you’re a looter to me!”

DM: Tiberius, roll a d6.

Tiberius: Rolled a 3.

DM: The guards thrust at you, but you have initiative. You have just a few seconds to do as you will.

Anshelm: Is it even worth trying to get them to listen, or are we engaged at this point?

DM: They’ve decided to engage you. I can’t say at this point whether or not they intend to fight to subdue yet, but that is probably their intent.

[Errata: Since writing this part of the campaign, I’ve done away with “subdue” in my game; the rules always were imprecise. I solve the problem with negative hit points now. I believe that in any battle, both parties have to fight as hard as they can … and that until a combatant is reduced to zero, no critical physical damage is sustained. Above zero hit points, there’s no rule that allows one combatant to knock another unconscious knocked unconscious with a sword. An enemy can surrender, but that is up to them. It can’t be forced on them, by any rule except the attack die. Below zero, however, there is a chance of unconsciousness; subduing, then, is to bring an opponent into the negatives and not kill them]

Tiberius: I want to move a safe distance away, with Anshelm between me and the guards.

Anshelm: I move in front of Tiberius, keeping his blade down as the guards stand by. “We can explain all of this if you’d allow us. We’ve important information about the horse killings.”

DM: Tiberius, you are being attacked by two guards with 8’ polearms, in a lane that is six feet wide. You are face-to-face, I said. And a round lasts just six seconds and you have half that time. There is no “safe distance.” You have time to defend yourself, be cut to pieces. I interpret your statement as an attempt to withdraw from combat; as such, they have an opportunity to attack before you do.

Anshelm, again, you have three seconds. You have enough time to move forward and get out the words, “we can explain all of this if you’d—” and that’s it, before the guards attack.

The two guards will [rolling dice] both attack Tiberius. One rolls a 9, and the other a 19. The latter hits, causing 4 damage. Tiberius is reduced to 7 hp and is stunned [stun-lock] for one round. He can take no action.

Anshelm has one round to respond.

[Errata: Since writing this part of the campaign, I have reconsidered the combat round. I have lengthened it to 12 seconds, enabling each side to enjoy six seconds; this time period is threaded together – so that, in effect, Anshelm would have time to say his piece, but he would be saying it while deflecting the guard’s attacks – as they would absolutely attack two strangers on the street caught moving against curfew.

[In addition, Tiberius should not have been stunned. He had cast armor, which I’d forgotten and which he failed to assert at this time. The armor would have taken the damage and Tiberius would have been free to respond. This was not discovered until later in the fight]

Anshelm: I strike back. To subdue only. My attack roll is a 15.

DM: A 15 will hit. Roll damage.

Anshelm: Damage roll, 4 hp.

DM: You cut your opponent across the top of his thigh and he falls back, stunned. The other guardsman shouts out, but in the wind and the thunder, the sound is lost. He swings – and with terrifically bad luck, he rolls a natural 1, a fumble. He rolls to see if the weapon breaks, a 1 in 6 chance, and it does break.

Anshelm and Tiberius may take action.

Anshelm: I advance on the stunned guard. Again, striking to subdue; I don’t want a death on my hands. I roll a 3 on my attack die.

By the way, where is our guide?

DM: That’s a miss. As far as your guide, what guide? He’s nowhere to be seen.

Tiberius: Furious at getting hit, I will strike to subdue at the guard with the broken fauchard. I roll a 14 to hit.

DM: The butt of Tiberius’s sword connects with the watchman’s jaw and he spins around before dropping to the ground.

Tiberius: I cause 6 damage.

DM: He’s not subdued, but he is stunned.

It becomes the watchmen’s round; only one can attack. He rolls to hit and does [the number was not recorded], catching Anshelm with a glancing blow and causing only 1 damage. Anshelm has 12 hit points and is not stunned.

Both Anshelm and Tiberius can act.

Anshelm: Udo! Where’s Udo? I grimace and take another swing to subdue. Cripes, a 2.

DM: Misses.

Tiberius: I swing to subdue again. I roll a 12 to hit.

DM: That also misses. It is the enemy’s round.

The unarmed watchman dodges back, now that he’s recovered, and slips a hand axe off his belt as he regains his footing. He assesses the situation and does not attack.

The watchman with a fauchard attacks Tiberius, butting him with the end of the polearm. He rolls a 13. Tiberius is AC 10 and is hit. The polearm causes 6 damage, leaving Tiberius with 1 hp.

Tiberius: Earlier, I had cast armor, making my armor class 2 better.

DM: I’d forgotten. The blow still hits, but you’re not stunned. Still, I’ve done 10 damage now and the armor spell is gone. And you take 1 damage personally. That leaves you with 10 hit points.

Anshelm and Tiberius, it is your round.

Anshelm: I try for the fauchard-armed guard, attempting to get between him and Tiberius. My attack roll is 8 … [sunnava …]

DM: That will miss.

Tiberius: I attack to subdue the guard.

DM: The one now armed with an axe.

Tiberius: I roll a 16 to hit. A 14 hit earlier. I roll a 2 for damage.

DM: Your guard wheezes out a last grunt and goes down, unconscious. The other guard [rolling dice] maintains his morale and decides to attack. [rolling dice] He decides Tiberius is the greater threat and he whirls to attack with his Fauchard. The attack is very real. The guard is not attacking to subdue. Unfortunately, he rolls a 1. It does not break, but it strikes Tiberius’ sword and falls out of his hands. He is unarmed and facing two opponents.

Anshelm: I menace the unarmed guard with my sword and say, “Surrender now!” If he does, I’ll restrain him.

Tiberius: I also shout at the guard to surrender.

Anshelm: I quickly tears strips from the guards’ clothing and uses them to bind and gag them both.

DM: He surrenders and will submit to being bound.

[OOC: How was the first combat?]

X.P.:  The combat went fairly well, only 1 real point of damage each, and two fairly clumsy watchmen who couldn’t hold onto their weapons. Anshelm, 60 x.p. (66 with 10% bonus); and Tiberius, 90 x.p. (94 with 5% bonus)]

[Errata: Since writing this part of the campaign, I have adjusted my experience rules. In my present game, Anshelm would get 187 x.p. and Tiberius would get 409 x.p., after percent bonuses]

Tiberius: [OOC: The first combat was exciting, I felt. Especially, since it seemed to go our way and then their way one round after another. I was not really sure who was going to win. The stun rules seem to add to the tension, and makes what would normally be a back and forth hitting contest very exciting indeed]

Anshelm: [OOC: Great combat. I had initial reservations about your d6 system, but I actually like the uncertainty it brings. Stunning adds an interesting wrinkle, and the fumble and breakage rules are cool]

DM: Meanwhile, during this single minute of fighting, something has changed. The wind has shifted … whereas before it was sweeping from every direction, as in a storm, the wind has now begun blowing steadily through the alley, from the direction that you’ve come.

Anshelm: “An ill wind blows,” I say to Tiberius, without a hint of irony. “I’ve a feeling we need to get to Mizer quickly … shall we go onward?”

Tiberius: “Yes, I feel you may be right.”

DM: You see Udo step into sight … he’s been hiding in a doorway. He is looking at you both with new respect.

Tiberius: Once I’m sure the guards are secure where they are and not going anywhere, I’ll he’ll ask Udo to continue taking us to Herr Mizer’s house.

Anshelm: Before we set off, I knock out the one conscious guard, using the pommel of my sword.

With one obstacle out of the way, we return to Delfig and Kazimir at the North Gate, where the two are seeking to converse with the guards there. The apparent storm and wind is much the same; what follows occurs at the same time of day as the fight above ends. There is still no rain, but it promises to start at any time.

The guards are concerned mostly with the sky, and pay little attention to Delfig and Kazimir.

Kazimir: “You’re better with words, Herr Bard. After you …”

Delfig: I will have the crucifix very handy. I’ve made sure that my weapons are well behind me and that I’m as non-threatening as I can be, given my general look. “Guards! Please, I must speak to whoever is your captain. I bring tidings of this evil storm that the paladin Eberhardt Hornung must hear about! Please, I’ve been sent by the Friar, Father Jan, to seek Herr Hornung to prevent darkness from coming upon us all! We are all in danger! This is no ordinary storm, but an evil that will descend upon us all! I bring proof that Hornung would want to see!”

DM [rolling dice]: The guards don’t seem very moved by your entreaty; while they are not unduly rude about it, you are told, effectively, to shove off.

Leader of the Guard (npc): “I’ve got my duty. And it doesn’t involve running errands. And while I don’t like rain, I see nothing unusual in this sky. Move on – the gates are closed!”

Delfig: Any chance of a charisma-based effort that I could persuade them to at least send someone for Hornung? Or is that just wishful thinking?

DM: The reaction adjusted roll did not go that well.

Delfig: I glance at Kazimir and that, “Oh crap, Plan B” look comes into my eyes. Okay, we’ll leave the gate and start scouting for an appropriately covered, quiet and unguarded spot along the wall – say a junction of a tower as you described, as quickly as we can get there.

One additional question: you mentioned the doors that are in the walls. Is it known if they are warded from the inside? Or are they simply locked? Are they guarded and patrolled?

DM: Typically such doors are 2 ft by 4 ft in size, made of iron, recessed and lacking in outside handles or locks. One could not be opened without a knock spell. They are probably warded, but you can’t know without first attempting to detect traps.

Delfig: I confer with Kazimir very quickly, as neither of us have a rope. ”We’ll climb separately. I’ll climb first, gain the top, go down the other side and find a convenient hiding spot. I’ll wait for you to make the attempt. Worst case, if you do not, then I’ll go seek out Hornung myself and we’ll try to meet up at the North gate.”

I seek out a convenient location and attempt to climb the wall.

DM: What is a convenient position? I’ll need you to be specific.

Delfig: We’re looking for a place that doesn’t have guards on the wall or tower, preferably in shadows.

DM: As the wall is about twenty feet wide, it’s not possible to see if anyone is up there from the ground. But having selected the place, you’ll note plenty of hand-holds for a thief. The tower rises about thirty feet higher than the wall. Beginning about twenty-five feet above the ground, there are several arrow slits, staggered to the top of the tower. Roll a d100.

Delfig: Rolled an 11.

DM: Climbing the wall successfully, Delfig reaches to the edge of the curtain wall. Kazimir, if you want to make an attempt to climb, you must be unarmored.

Kazimir: Even in leather? If so, I won’t try. I don’t like the idea of stashing my armor outside the wall.

DM: As you are an assassin, I think leather won’t keep you from climbing – so long as it isn’t studded leather.

Kazimir: I’m feeling lucky. My armor is just plain cowhide leather, not studded. I’ll attempt to climb inside the shadow of the corner.

DM: Holding off on your roll, I’ll describe what Delfig sees. Once atop the wall, Delfig realizes there are three guards, about ten feet away.

Delfig: Hehehe ... of course there are guards.

DM: They are relaxed, hardly concerned with thieves climbing the walls, and quite distracted at the impressive sight of the lightning over their heads. One of the guard’s backs presents a fairly nice target. It is easy enough for Delfig to slip between the merlons atop the wall, or into an arrow slit you can see about twenty feet further away from the guards, and five feet down. Your hands are getting cold; but you could probably hang, hidden under the rampart of the curtain wall, long enough for Kazimir to climb next to you.

Delfig: I’ll move towards the slit. Is there a door I can see that provides access from the top of the wall and into the tower?

DM: There is a door like that. There is also an arrow slit above that door, which might have a guard watching. You cannot see if one is there. The arrow slit you’re moving towards looks outward away from Dachau.

Delfig: Once I reach the slit, I’ll stuff myself through and deal with what’s on the other side.

[OOC: *gulp*]

DM: Kazimir, you’ll be climbing as you see Delfig disappear into the slit. I will need you to roll a d100.

Kazimir: My die roll is 10. I want to follow where Delfig is going.

DM: With some difficulty, and some concern, Kazimir steadily makes his way up the wall without falling. It takes about two minutes to ascend 30 feet.

Meanwhile, Delfig learns that the tower wall is ten feet thick; the arrow slit possesses a small space behind it for the archer to stand in, giving a good view of the ground and all around. This space is unoccupied. To make your way out of this space and into the tower, you have to climb a short slope, about two feet up.

The tower is 40 feet in diameter, which makes a circular room inside the walls about 20 feet across. There are three possible ways out of the room. There is a trapdoor in the floor with a short, ten foot ladder laying atop the door. There is another trap door in the ceiling, with no apparent way to enter it. And there is a small, 2-foot by 4-foot heavy reinforced door about three feet above the ground, that would correspond with the top of the curtain wall outside. In all there are three arrow slits, including the one you entered.

The room is sparse. There is a bed with a person asleep in it. As well, there are various household items, such as a table, cups, plates, a wooden candlestick, a bucket on the floor, a lantern hanging from the ceiling, and three heavy crossbows hanging along the wall; each has a full quiver next to it.

Delfig: One arrow slit facing out, yes? With one arrow slit facing the curtain all, does the third slit face the town or does it correspond to the other side of the tower, on the further curtain wall?

DM: The slit that faces the curtain wall has access from the room above you. All three of these arrow slits face outwards at potential attackers.

Delfig: Does the door have any obvious lock or mechanism barring it?

DM: The door appears to be barred on your side.

Delfig: I move to the door, quietly, drawing my long sword. I pause to listen, to hear if there’s a commotion from anyone seeing Kazimir climbing the outer wall.

DM: To hear anything, roll a d100.

[Errata: Since the time of this game, I’ve eliminated all old school rules regarding hear noise and detection, replacing them with my stealth rules. These rules also help replace some of the content immediately below, with regards to moving silently]

Delfig: I roll an 86. Is the sleeping person a guard?

DM: You can’t know if the sleeping individual is a guard or not, but although there is a small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, in a tray-like box, there is no evidence of a uniform.

After listening for a round, you do not hear anything through the door.

Delfig: What are my chances for succeeding at a coup de grace, knocking the person out, say with my sword pommel?

DM: Depends on your level. You approach him by moving silently. If you fail, you will surprise the sleeper 4 in 6. If you surprise, you are +4 to hit the sleeper, and +4 by virtue of being a thief, or +8 overall. A successful hit will cause double damage. If you cause more than a quarter of his hit points, you’ll stun him, which will give you a second chance to hit at +4. This applies each time you stun. If you do sufficient damage to bring him to zero, he’ll be ‘knocked out.’

[Errata: Also since the time of this game, I’ve replaced this rule with my rules described on my wiki applying to Helpless Defenders]

Delfig: Then I’ll quietly approach him and hit to knock him out.

DM [rolling]: You don’t move silently, but he doesn’t wake up. Roll a d20 to hit.

Delfig: I roll a 6.

DM: 6 plus 8 makes a modified 14, which hits. Damage?

Delfig: I roll a 4.

DM: That becomes an 8 with double-damage. It is clear he isn’t going to wake up soon.

Delfig: Awesome. Something finally went right. I’m going to use a bedsheet to make a crude gag, then make crude ropes with the clothing to tie his arms and legs.

DM: Kazimir crawls in the window as you are halfway through the process of tying up the sleeper; together you make fast work of it. Delfig can take 30 x.p. for the action.

Delfig: Is there a way to prop up the ladder so I can reach the trapdoor in the ceiling? Is there some sort of hook to hang it?

DM: There’s nothing to lean a ladder against. It’s built deliberately to keep anyone from entering from below; the watch has to be changed by opening the trap door and lowering a ladder from above. Your trapdoor works the same way. As long as it’s closed, it very hard to come at you from below.

Delfig: Then I put my fingers to my lips to tell Kazimir to remain quiet. I point to the crossbows and make a cutting motion to indicate that Kazimir should cut the strings to disable them. I then turn my attention to the trapdoor in the floor and listen for noises. I’ll scout the surroundings and make a quick check of the sleeper. The doors feel pretty safe.

DM: Within the bedclothes you’ll find a small pouch with 2 s.p. and 14 c.p. You hear nothing coming up from below [using the same roll you made already].

Delfig: A small prize, but I’ll take the pouch and smile at Kazimir. Does a heavy crossbow takes a separate proficiency versus a light in your campaign?

DM: A crossbow is a crossbow.

Kazimir: Am I correct in thinking that an assassin can use any weapon? If so, I take a crossbow and bolts if they are available, before disabling the other crossbows.

DM: Yes, an assassin can employ any weapon, though you must be proficient in the weapon to avoid the non-proficiency penalty. Each of the quivers next to the crossbows holds 20 bolts, for a total of 60 bolts.

Delfig: I take one of the crossbows myself, as well as a quiver of 20 bolts. We’ll disable the third one. “I suggest we get to the street. Since this trapdoor leads down, and the ladder gives us a way to descend, I suggest we take use of it. Cover me while I take a peek, please.” I lift the trapdoor to see what’s below, as slowly and quietly as I can.

DM: It is nearly pitch black. Even with the light from the room you’re in, because the storm has made the sky very dark, you can see little except the floor immediately below. There seem to be no windows or arrow slits in this room. You’ll need a light source. You do detect a musty smell.

Delfig: I’ll shut the door and look at the wooden candlestick. Is there a candle about?

DM: There are several candles in the box under the bound man’s clothes. There’s a flint also, and after a few practiced flicks you manage to get a candle lit.

Then a strange thing happens as the candle lights. About 8 inches to the left of the candle’s wick, a puff ball of dense smoke suddenly appears, only to dissipate at once, blown apart by the ambient wind seeping through the arrow slits. It was about the size of Delfig’s fist.

Delfig: “Kazimir, did you see that?” Whatever his response, I’ll reopen the trapdoor and peer in, keeping an eye out for more puffs of strange smoke.

DM: Below appears to be a considerable amount of storage. Sacks, large barrels and crates. You’d guess about ten to fourteen tons worth of goods. The walls are clearly thicker here; the store room before is only about fifteen feet in diameter. The floor is fifteen feet below, but the ladder would reach to the top of a large square box immediately below you. There are no exits you can see.

Delfig: I’ll shut the door and sigh. “Perhaps another day...” Keeping the candle lit, I’ll shove the rest of the candles in my pack.

DM: There are ten candles altogether.

Delfig: I nod to Kazimir. “I’m guessing we’re doing this the hard way. I’ll remove the bar and open the door. You be ready to shoot or bluff whoever or whatever is on the other side. It seems to be our best chance for an exit.”

Kazimir: I nod and ready the crossbow.

Delfig: I carefully lift the bar on the door and open it, if it will open.

DM: As you reach for the door, putting your hand on the bar, another smoke puff appears right in front of your nose, this one about the size of a cantaloupe.

Delfig: “Kazimir! There’s another smoke puff. Sweep around with your hand and see if you feel anything, perhaps invisible!” What does the cloud do when I blow at it? Is there a smell?

Kazimir: I lash out with my arm, taking a few steps around the vicinity of the smoke.

DM: You feel nothing invisible or anything solid; the smoke puff acts exactly like smoke … except that it appears as though from thin air.

Delfig: Does it seem to be coming from the candle or just around me? I’ll move my hand around it to see if I feel anything invisible.

Kazimir: I look to see if there are any suddenly appearing footprints, depressions in the floor boards, or anything that might indicate a skulk or other invisible creature.

DM: As an assassin, you feel quite certain with your instincts that no one is in the room besides yourselves.

Delfig: “Very odd,” I mutter, after being reassured by Kazimir. I’ll continue to lift the bar on the door.

DM: Outside, the wind has begun to roar with a terrifying sound. And now you feel a great increase in electrical static in the air, as in a tremendous thunderstorm.

Just as Delfig lifts the bar on the door, the sound quits. All movement of the air stops.

Kazimir: “Deviltry,” I mutter.

Delfig: I look wide-eyed at Kazimir. “Get ready!” I shout. I open the door.

Kazimir: I cover Delfig with my crossbow.

At the same time, we must look in to see what is happening with Anshelm and Tiberius, as the moment reaches this crescendo. Udo has led them on through lanes and alleys and they have met no more guards. Being outside, however, they have detected the increase of electricity in the air long before Delfig and Kazimir. The hairs on their arms and on their necks is alive with the static. As they stare at it, Udo shouts into the wind, “COME ON!” The players can barely hear it, as much of the sound is carried away. Udo picks up his feet and starts to run through the lane. Then, Udo stops in front of a fair-sized merchant’s property, with a courtyard, a large double-doored gate 8 feet and 14 feet wide; stopping in the wind at his back makes it difficult, and Udo has to grab the gate handle to steady himself.

The wind’s roar has climbed several levels. It is difficult to talk, while a throbbing has grown between each person’s ears as the pressure drops. made of solid wood. It stands separately from other houses around it. The house beyond rises three stories and is about 40 feet by 35 feet in size.

DM: Udo shouts something, but it is lost in the wind.

Tiberius: Sheathing my sword, I try to push against the gate.

Anshelm: I sheathe my blade as well, but keep my hand on the grip as I take a quick scan up and down the street. I move to Udo and shout, “What!?”

DM: Udo indicates by hand gestures and mouthing the words that this is Mizer’s property. The gate is barred from the inside. The wind is blowing at almost gale force now, at fifty miles an hour. Tree twigs are breaking from the trees. The occasional roof tile is being caught and brought to the ground, where they break (pottery) or tumble along the lane (wooden). There is a lot of dust.

Tiberius: Shielding my eyes from the loose debris, I gesture at Anshelm to ask if it’s possible for him to climb the gate.

Anshelm: I nod and look around for a decent place to climb. I make a climb roll – 94.

[OOC: damndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamn]

DM: Anshelm gets atop the gate, and a gust of wind (along with a piece of wall-plaster) will snatch him into the courtyard on the other side, , where he’ll tumble until he comes into contact with a stable door some 20 feet along. The damage taken from this fall and tumble will be 5 total.

It will take a good ten seconds for Anshelm to shake his head clear, and then longer for him to get up and fight his way back to the gate, against the wind. Around him, the courtyard is empty, except for the large branch from a horse-chestnut tree, which has fallen, and other general debris.

[OOC: Normally, I wouldn’t accept an unprompted roll for anything from a player, but I have had to make some small concessions for a play-by-comment format]

Anshelm: I lift the bar from the gate and let Tiberius and Udo in.

DM: Just as you lift the bar, the sound stops. All movement of the air stops.

[OOC: Coincidentally, as Anshelm lifts this bar, and Delfig lifts the one in the tower, the same effect occurs. I never intended this; and your characters couldn’t know that you’re both lifting a bar at the same moment. In either case, let me assure both parties that lifting the bar has nothing whatsoever to do with what is happening]

All characters, in both places, feel the world as if they are caught in a dream – it is virtually impossible to move, to push one’s hand forward or upwards, or to change position. It is as though time has stopped.

Anshelm very, very slowly finds himself looking back over his shoulder. Tiberius straightens, very, very slowly, and lifts his face towards the sky. An enormous blue-green column, much like a great pouring of clouds down to the earth, than like a tornado funnel, appears in the center of Dachau.

Anshelm’s hand is part-way through lifting the gate – it’s still moving, but it will take perceptually a full minute for him to lift the bar out of it’s place. Anshelm’s speed of thought – indeed, that of everyone in both parties – does not seem to act in tandem with time.

Anshelm: I swallow and try my damndest to get the gate open as soon as possible.

Tiberius: I am very concerned about this phenomenon of time and what it could mean. Upon seeing the blue-green column, however, I cry out in fright and say, “What is that!?”

DM: Tiberius cries out in fright very slowly. Time continues to pass.

Anshelm: We have no idea what’s happening?

DM: You haven’t the knowledge background to guess, no.

Tiberius: After my shouting is done, once the gate is open, I want to make my way into the courtyard with Anshelm.

DM: All at once, time returns to normal. However, at the same time, a shock wave begins in the center of town, centered on the blue-green column previously mentioned. Anshelm is knocked back from his place by the gate; Tiberius and Udo find themselves pressed against the far side of the lane, where they were standing. There is no damage.

Above, the clouds continue to roil and flash with lightning, but there’s no wind. It is unnaturally still. The cloud column slowly retreats into the sky.

In the stillness, the party sees hundreds of puffs of smoke appear, spattered through the air. These range from apple-sized to pumpkin-sized.

Anshelm: After picking myself up from the ground, I swipe at a few of the puffs. I motion Tiberius and Udo to follow me as I run to the front door of Mizer’s home.

[OOC: Wow! Awesomer and awesomer]

Tiberius: Stunned and gathering my wits about me, as I follow to Mizer’s house, I ask Udo, “Are you all right?”

DM: A series of screams breaks the silence all around you, presumably coming from the surrounding properties. Amid the many smaller puffs, a very large puff of smoke appears near the gate about eight feet from Anshelm. A similar puff appears only half a foot of Udo. These puffs, larger than man-sized, coalesce into two unnaturally large slugs, each about four feet in length, weighing perhaps 50 lbs. They are eyeless, pure white in color, very translucent and they smell … well, awful. I’ll need Anshelm to roll a d6.

Anshelm: Argh. Got a 2.

DM: This is for initiative. They take long enough to transmogrify that I’ll dispense with a surprise roll. The slugs roll a 4 for initiative. Anshelm has +2 on his initiative die roll for his 17 dexterity, so he and the slug act simultaneously. The slug will move about 5 feet towards the thief, which isn’t sufficient to be within reach of striking.

The slug in the alley will strike at Udo. It will roll a 14; hitting Udo. Udo will scream. A sizable burn will melt away the guide’s clothing, and his skin will erupt into horrid purple-black necrosis. Udo’s only response is to collapse in agony on the stone pavement.

Tiberius: I look aghast at Udo’s crumpled form. Fearing that nothing can be done for the man, I will withdraw and run towards the gate.

DM: [OOC: wow, coward! Sure, let the guide die]

Tiberius: I thought he was already dead? Is that not the case?

DM: I said he collapsed in agony, not in death. I did not mean every inch of his skin exploded in necrosis – just where the slug touched him.

Tiberius: In that case, can Tiberius stay and attack whatever this thing is?

[OOC: Oh. I seriously need to start reading these at least three times. I keep missing important details]

DM: I’ll accept the change in plan. Roll to hit.

[OOC: Yes, please read the posts carefully. And please resist giving more than one action at a time, such as saying what you mean to do and then, before getting confirmation that it is time to do so, rolling to hit]

Anshelm: My jaw is literally hanging open right now. I beat my feet toward Mizer’s house. How far away is it? If I can reach it, I’m going to start hammering on the door.

DM: Anshelm can reach the door in one round, just – it is about 25 feet across the court. Hammering on the door will require another round. There’s nothing to stop you doing that. The slug turns as you run by, but only travels five feet in a round (1 hex) and is 20 feet away now. Before pounding on the door, Anshelm is partially sheltered by the corner of the stable.

Tiberius: Rolled a 14 to hit.

DM: That hits the slug.

Tiberius: I cause 3 damage.

DM: Its body recoils from the blow of your sword, which cuts into its soft membrane. This spills out a milky fluid that smells worse, if you can believe it. Please roll a d20.

Anshelm: Anshelm will pound at the rear door next round, hoping someone inside hears. Would it be another round to pull out the sling, or could I have the sling out and ready to fire the round after knocking?

DM: It will take one round to get the sling ready, with stone or bullet, so that you’ll be able to fire on the second round. Pounding on the door and listening for a response will take a round as well.

Tiberius: I roll a 20. That would have been cool if I’d rolled it to hit.

DM: The roll saves against acid, so that your sword is discolored but otherwise unaffected by striking the slug. The slug is stunned.

Anshelm will begin the next round with his action to hammer on the house door (he jumped the gun a little), while the slug moves closer. Tiberius will be able to take an as-yet-unidentified action.

Let us return again to Delfig and Kazimir, as the effects of the descending blue-green cloud are felt. Inside their tower room, however, the pair cannot witness all that Anshelm and Tiberius can see – but they, too, feel the strange time effects as they speak aloud. Kazimir’s pronouncement of “Deviltry” and Delfig’s warning to “Get ready” end in coming out very, very slowly. Kazimir moves to lift his crossbow, but the weapon comes into line with agonizing slowness.

DM: Six puffs of smoke randomly appear throughout the room, each the size of a large watermelon, and dissipate very, very slowly.

Delfig: I continue, however slowly, oddly, to try and open the door and ignore the smoke puffs. I want to get the hell outta the tower now.

[OOC: Really very cool stuff]

DM: Time continues to pass slowly.

Kazimir: I move my head, slowly, and watch the smoke puffs. I am ready to follow Delfig out the door as soon as possible.

DM: As we’ve seen before, time suddenly returns to normal. The already described shockwave passes through the walls of the tower, so that Delfig and Kazimir find themselves thrown against the far wall, tangled up on the bed and on top of the bound man. The bar is still in its place, as it proved too heavy for Delfig to lift in the time he had.

Amid many smaller ones, two large puffs of smoke near the floor coalesce into physicality. There are, suddenly, in the room with you, two slugs, just as described already.

Delfig: “Kazimir! Are you OK?!” I lift myself and try to pull Kazimir up.

[OOC: Wow ... that’s really simply awesome]

Kazimir: “I’m fine!” I say to Delfig. “Do we slay them?”

Delfig: “Yes, for God’s sake! I can’t believe that these aren’t but evil things from the gate! I’m going for the lantern ... maybe there will be oil that we can use to burn these things.”

DM: The room is a circle about 4 combat hexes across, and because the party was thrown back from the direction of the center of town, the slugs are between the players and the door. It won’t be possible to reach the door without risking being struck.

Delfig: Thanks for the clarification. Here’s what I’d like to do. If we have the possibility, I’d like to reach the lantern on the ceiling and get it. My thinking is to toss the oil within on them, then toss the candle that’s lit on them. Escargot flambé. I’m going to move so that the bed is between me and slugs (even if it means jamming my legs between bed and wall and standing with my back to the wall) and shoot the things with my shiny new heavy crossbow. Any of that feasible?

DM: The flambé is practical, provided there is any oil in the lantern. Can’t say at the moment if there is or not. I’ll be generous and say that Kazimir’s crossbow string is drawn, and his bolt still in his hand, as he was ready to use it. But Delfig never indicated his crossbow was loaded – and to do so will take three rounds. However, as long as we’re going for miraculous effects after magic, we’ll say your candle is still burning.

Delfig: Right about the crossbow.

DM: Kazimir, roll initiative with a d6.

Kazimir: Rolled a 6.

DM: I roll a 1 for initiative, so it goes to the party.

Delfig: I’ll go with getting the lamp down this round. I’ll try to use the longsword to get to it if needed.

Kazimir: I get to my feet and aim the crossbow at the slugs. Are they moving toward us?

DM: Yes, Kazimir. Roll a d20 to fire. A heavy crossbow does 2d6+2 damage [errata: since changed to 2d6+1]. Please remember to specify left or right slug.

Delfig, it will take a round to get the lamp and it does have oil. You can light the oil in the lamp with the candle.

Kazimir: I fire at the left slug. The d20 roll is an 8, which is doubtful to be a hit.

DM: I’m afraid that is a miss.

The two slugs will move towards each of you. The bound fellow is still on the bed, blessedly unconscious and unaware of any of this. Delfig is on the bed, which served to help him reach the lantern, and his boots have caused a point of damage to the unconscious fellow.

Continued in Part 5 …