Malachite and Mithril: Dead Passion's Grave 1

A game originally played using an off-the-cuff d20 system, but now converted to Maze Rabbits. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Bob Wizard and Dan Jun-Explora enter Dead Passion's Grave, an intersection of the dungeon dimension and this world. As they cross the threshold their lanterns dim slightly and a wave of lethargy passes over them.

DC 17 Will save or take an ongoing -1 malaise penalty to all d20 rolls. Dan rolls 9, Bob rolls 19.

Dan falters as the lingering echoes of past defeats saps his resolve. Bob has no regrets, his mind knows only how to seethe with barely contained power. With a mystic pass of his hand he attempts to brush away the curse that grips Dan.

Spellz check (each character has a special stat, roll under on 1d100 to pass). Target 60%. Outcome 93%

The magic here is powerful! Bob is unable to dispel it so sees no other path but that which lies ahead. He leads Dan across the chamber toward the arched passageway that beckons them to come deeper inside.

The narrow passage opens into a circular room with a fountain at its centre. The fountain resembles a woman pouring out a ewer, the water now just a muddy trickle. Two archways lead out of the chamber, one to the right and one straight ahead. Dan sits at the edge of the fountain while Bob sniffs the ether around both exits. He scents a blockage in the first passage so looks to the right. Before he gets close he's interrupted by a yell of surprise from Dan. The woman in the fountain has lowered her ewer and is reaching out for him.

DC 13 Reflex save or be grabbed. Dan rolls 19.

Dan evades the woman's grasp and draws his longsword. Bob whispers words of power as his eyes glow with a blue light. The woman remains on her pedestal and faces the pair. Her calm expression shifts to a mask of fear as she portends doom for all who take the righthand path.

DC 13 Will save or flee in terror. Dan rolls 3. Bob rolls 9.

The pair brick it and run shrieking hysterically back to the first room. They cower together in each other's arms for a time, and eventually manage to console each other enough that they feel able to continue. Returning to the fountain room, the woman in her original pose, the pair skirt the edge of the room to reach the far exit. At they cautiously proceed, Bob smells that blocked ether again. Dan's taking point and comes to a sudden halt. He reaches out a hand and feels the surface of an unseen barrier. He flexes and readies to try and push through it.

Gainz check. Target 22%. Outcome 57%

It resists him and he frowns at the clear use of sorcery. Bob's beard crackles with arcane power, neon yellow lightning sprays from his eyes...

Spells check. Target 60%. Outcome 94%

...and ricochets off in all directions!

DC 11 Reflex save or be struck by eldritch lightning. Dan rolls 17. Bob rolls 7.

Dan dives to safety, but Bob takes a lightning bolt to the face. A pile of fancy, if scorched, robes falls to the floor. Dan looks on in despair, his grief hiding the approach of another adventurer.

Mystic Marge is large and in charge. She wasn't shaken by the entrance, had no time for the confrontational water features, and is striding towards Dan. She channels her divine power to banish the ward.

Divine Intervention check. Target 82%. Outcome 64%.

The barrier is torn aside like gauze, Marge's aura cuts it aside before wrapping itself back around her. She takes a moment to compose himself and then reaches out a hand to comfort Dan. It's awkward, Marge is an instrument of celestial wrath, not a people person. They form up and press on into the dungeon.

They enter the chamber of the Font of Passion, the heart of the dungeon and their target. If they destroy this they can leave. As they take in the sight, they hear footsteps echoing from an alcove on the far side of the room. The nine-limbed, carapace-armoured, towering guardian construct crawls into the room.

[GUARDIAN CONSTRUCT: HD 2; AC 14; 3 claws +2 (1d6+2); ML 9]

Dan readies his longsword and squares off against the guardian. Marge holds back and appraises the situation. The guardian's mechanical voice box clicks and chitters a challenge.

To be continued...

Inquisition into the Unknown - Preludes

A series played using Dark Ages: Inquisitor. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Amelina's prelude: the streets of a small town

Concept: Reformed child thief

Order: Oculi Dei

Nature (Flaw) / Demeanour: Penitent (Masochism) / Bravo

She hides in the shadows of an alley, waiting for a drunken mark [Dexterity + Stealth; 7 dice; 3 successes]. As one stumbles past, she makes to reach for their purse [Dexterity + Legerdemain; 7 dice; 5 successes]. With a graceful hand she relieves her mark of the burden of their wealth as a robed figure watches on [Perception + Alertness; 8 dice; 3 successes]. Amelina notices her watcher and pauses to gauge their reaction. The figure looks on impassively before slipping away into the darkness.

She sits in the vestry of the small church, her book of simple Latin verse open before her [Intelligence + Linguistics (Latin); 4 dice; 1 success]. It is a struggle but she passably completes her studies. Later the teacher questions her knowledge of catechism [Intelligence + Theology; 3 dice; 2 successes]. Her answers please her teacher well enough.

Nigelle's prelude: the Murnau estate

Concept: Politically married in

Order: House Murnau

Nature (Flaw) / Demeanour: Dreamer (Escapism) / Gallant

He meets with his soon-to-be father-in-law to discuss his prospects as a suitor and potential member of the family [Charisma + Politics; 5 dice; 4 successes]. He makes a good impression with a mixture of charm and political acumen. He is invited to walk the grounds of the estate with his intended [Appearance + Etiquette; 6 dice; 0 successes]. He fails to impress; it's a very chilly day even for the autumn. He makes a desperate play for her affections to secure the match [Manipulation + Empathy; 4 dice, 3 successes]. A bold action that breaches protocol turns out to be the key to making a good impression.

He is taken through the family crypts and libraries with his mother-in-law. She quizzes him on aspects of historic accounts of the supernatural [Wits + Investigation; 4 dice; 3 successes]. He's learned well and she invites him to duel her [Dexterity + Melee; 4 dice; 0 successes]. She politely disarms him and demonstrates the shortcomings in his technique, he graciously accepts the critique and promises to train harder.

Sister Anna's prelude: the Convent of Saint Perpetua

Concept: Nihilist theologian

Order: Red Order

Nature (Flaw) / Demeanour: Rebel (Anarchism) / Judge

She attends mass in the convent's small chapel, her sisters sing their hymns around her. She joins her voice with theirs [Charisma + Expression; 4 dice; 1 successes]. She sings well enough but her heart isn't entirely in it. After the mass, in her seclusion, she contemplates scripture and tries to rationalise away her doubts [Intelligence + Theology; 8 dice; 4 successes]. She's able to console herself for the time being. Later that evening she is preparing the evening meal with another sister, taking time to listen to her sister's pious prattle [Wits + Empathy; 5 dice; 3 successes]. As little as she actually cares, she is able to mask her impatience.

She stands over the fallen witch and bends to pry the worn codex from her hands. Somehow the book is untouched by the flames that had consumed its owner [Courage; 4 dice; 1 success]. She is able to overcome her distaste and recover the text. Later that evening, still in the witch's hovel, she pores over the text [Perception + Occult; 6 dice; 3 successes]. She learns much and vows to uncover more mysteries...

Moonrise - Act 3

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition) 

ACT 3: CUPS

SCENE 1: TWO OF CUPS

Shaken by the memories of accusations, I made haste along the boulevard. Hateful, treasonous, words echoed in my mind and my body reacted to their memory by taking flight from danger. My path was eventually blocked by a large pair of iron gates, an unfamiliar crest emblazoned across them. A featureless lock held them shut, though when my fingers made contact with it lines of sigils lit up and flowed across its surface. With a dry, rusted, creak the lock disengaged and the gates swung open. Lights alongside the path beyond lit up in pairs, moving forward from the gates to the palace ahead. As I walked along the path I heard the gates close and lock behind me but I was too distracted by the towering edifice before me to be concerned. In contrast with the buildings outside, the palace had rough stone walls fronted with colonnades and topped with cupolas. Alcoves vied for space with each other and within each was a extravagant figure, each face stirred distant memories that remained out of reach though I saw a clear family resemblance among them all. I pushed open the ornate doors, carved with bouquets of flowers and swooping birds, and entered the halls of the palace.

In contrast with the exterior, the interior's decadence had been violently rebuked. Frescoes were smashed from the walls and lay in piles of rubble, statues had been dismembered and scattered, heaps of broken furniture were piled as kindling. The palace had clearly been attacked but only inside, I wondered how this could have come to be as I crept through the chambers and passages of this once grand building. As I went I saw frequent signs of habitation post-assault; tapestries bundled into crude nest-like beds, the bones of small animals strewn across the floors of some rooms, and at every barred window were deeply gouged scratches. Eventually, at the far end of a vast ballroom, I found them. Close to a dozen withered, partially mummified, bodies huddled in a corner behind an overturned table. They held each other in their stiff arms, as if comforting each other in the face of some great tragedy. Or perhaps just the quiet end of a once great dynasty now fallen so low. I crouched beside my family and for what felt like forever I held their hands and mourned with them.

SCENE 2: SIX OF CUPS

I made my way up the vast central staircase as it wound it's way around the edges of the central hall, passages branching off and burrowing deeper into the vast mass of the palace. The weight of the cracked opulence now weighed on me as heavily as the sheer volume of stone and metal of its structure. One corridor in particular drew me along it, something about the way the shadows fell across the faded and torn tapestries perhaps? As I padded along the carpeted length my hand traced a line along the hall, my fingertips feeling the cracks and scratches that pitted its surface. I came to a halt in front of a large set of wooden doors which I felt certain barred the entrance to my personal chambers. The doors held firm despite the damage about them and I wondered if even in their madness and despair my family had spared this room out of some sense of respect. I pushed against the doors and they reluctantly gave way with a dry groan, revealing a room filled with dust, cobwebs, and discarded objects that clamoured for attention in my memory.

Louder than the rest was an iron orb resting atop a pedestal. It sat in a shaft of light from a high window, dust motes danced about the orb like an entourage, flickering away as my hand reached out to pick up the object. Much like the crown in the cave, the orb was wrought iron inlaid with gold. The gilded patterns formed whirls and spirals that my eyes struggled to follow, the effect was almost hypnotic. As I turned the orb over in my hands I saw that, as with the crown, the surface was marred with bloodstains. I froze the weight of the iron sphere threatening to slip from my hand as I recalled the moment I had pried it from my father's hand. My hands were awash with crimson though enough time had passed that they were now merely sticky as opposed to slick. The marks on the orb and crown were my own fingerprints, left when I stole them from the dead king's throne room.

SCENE 3: KNIGHT OF CUPS

The orb still in gripped tightly in my hand, I staggered across the room to the grand fireplace. It had stood cold for many years and held none of the comforting warmth and light it had once offered me. As I gazed into the ashes in the grate, I noticed that it was slightly askew and that there were the faintest finger marks in the ash around it. I knelt and with my free hand I brushed the ash away from the edges of the grate which I then slid aside. In an alcove beneath I saw an ornately carved wooden box. I knew that this box was unusual as unlike nearly every other object I apparently owned this was not carved with birds and flowers. Its surface was covered in geometric patterns of overlapping triangles and scattered, solid circles. As I ran my fingers over it I felt a shudder of anticipation and the box almost seemed to hum with the dormant power of forgotten meaning. I set the orb down beside me and used both hands to lift the box from the fireplace and rested it in my lap.

The lid slide softly aside under the gentlest of touches and heard the barest hint of a sigh as if an airtight seal had been broken. Inside the box I found a sheaf of papers covered in strange diagrams and scribbled marginalia. I recognised some of the notes as being in my own handwriting but had no direct memory of writing them. I spread the pages across the floor in front of the hearth and began the laborious process of deciphering them. They hinted at some kind of ritual or perhaps alchemical operation, a working that would present a body in a state of deathlike sleep and preserve it for generations. A partial page, apparently torn from a diary, weighed doubts about the safety of the procedure but ultimately dismissed them as being worthwhile in the face of brewing rebellion. I found no traces of concern for my family's safety, either in the pages or the embers of my memory.

Hex and the City 1: Saturday

A series played using Songs of the City.  This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

THE WITCH

Name: Sasha Wolfe

Pronouns: They / Them

Aesthetic: Cottagecore

Transport: Public transport and walking

Home: Studio flat in a converted warehouse

THE CITY

Name: Requiem Hold

Description: Historic walled city that has grown with successive migrations. Architecturally it is a classical stonework foundation with steel and glass above towering it. Culturally it is a mixture of traditions and peoples sharing and innovating practices, technologies, and festivals.

Fear: That the overly conservative local government will cause the city to break apart into factions and lose its pluralistic coherency.

Hope: That small acts of community will help to strengthen the bonds of community and promote wider civic participation.

Time: The middle of a cold, wet autumn following a long, hot summer.

Saturday

I jumped on the azure line at Gaffcairn and rode the monorail into the north of the city. It was early, before the height of the rush hour traffic. In an hour or so these carriages would be packed full of office workers on their way to Diamond Waterside and their workplaces in the shining chasm carved by the river. Now it was me and a dozen or so cleaners, labourers, and other service workers on the way to work in preparation for the office workers' arrival. As the monorail wove its way up and around the towers of the administrative centre, I watched the brutalist concrete of Auburn Terrace give way to the wrought iron and polished glass of Nova Park.

As we slid into the station I rose to disembark. Several cleaners joined me and together we made the long walk along the concourse to the exit. Nova Park acts as a hub for a cluster of corporate enclaves but the extensive, manicured park itself is a civic landmark. While the workers made their way through, I gathered my woollen coat and scarf about me as the chill breeze shifted in my direction. A sycamore tree rustled and unleashed a flock of its seeds that spun towards me like a cloud. I reached out a hand into the cloud and felt it flow around me, until a single seed danced its way between my fingers. I felt the papery wing and its delicate structure. The thickness of the seedpod foretold the potential tree it contained.

Holding the seed tight in my hand I perched on the edge of a low wall that ran alongside the path. The grey clouds above me threatened rain but for now their threats were hollow. In time the station disgorged the first wave of suits, a grey tide bustled past and I listened to their steady chatter as I twirled the seed in my hand.  I concentrated on these commuters, their work, and the role they played in providing the goods and services that fuel Requiem Hold. I reflected on the need for compassion over purely focusing on profits. I took that hope, that spark of light, and imbued it into the seed.

After the wave had passed, I planted the newly-enchanted seed in the soil of Nova Park and made my way home.

Moonrise - Act 2

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition) 

ACT 2: SWORDS

SCENE 1: TWO OF SWORDS

The features of the cavern had either been examined or were items that I'd rather leave alone for the time being, so I decided to venture outside to see if anything else was familiar. I carefully walked up the narrow path as it wound its way up to the top of the cliff. The wind whipped past and tugged at my shroud as if urging me forward, upward. I cast a glance down and saw the waves crashing against sharp rocks some way beneath me. I decided against looking down again and instead concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until I was at the end of the path.

Here I was confronted with a scene of vandalism. A great iron pedestal stood close to the cliff edge, a pair of feet and ankles emerging from its top. At the base lay the rest of the statue that had the once stood here. The salt air had not been kind to the statue's features, but their crown was still recognisable atop their head. It bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the one I'd left in the cavern below, and as I considered the fallen statue I came to understand that the weather-worn features were once my own. I sat at the base of the pedestal and stared at my fallen image, deep within my mind I knew the statue had been erected to survey the landscape; a representation of me surveying my kingdom. Looking further inland, I saw a land slope downward towards what appeared to be city in the distance. By this point the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, so I rose to my feet and set out towards my city.

SCENE 2: PAGE OF SWORDS

I reached the walls of the city shortly before dusk and through broad sections that had been reduced to rubble I saw the ruins of vast buildings. I picked my way across the ruins and gazed upon the desolation of what I assumed must have been my once-proud city. A open area stood a short distance from the wall and upon closer inspection appeared to be an overgrown park. The ruined buildings around me felt stifling, they pressed against me with the weight in both stone and significance, so I sought respite in the park. Among the verdant growth, lines of worn stone hinted at pathways and borders lost to nature. Perhaps these were landscaped gardens once.

I absent-mindedly followed a series of weather-beaten mounds that I suspected may have once delineated a winding path. As the light rapidly faded, replaced by the collected light of a crowded starscape, it occurred to me that I was following the path by memory. My senses were haunted by faint echoes of the aroma of exotic flowers. Where my eyes saw dense foliage either side of me, my mind's eye saw elegantly sculpted topiaries resembling mythical beasts. I felt a hand in mine and an air of tension looming; I knew that this seemingly romantic walk was destined to end in heartbreak for at least one of the two parties. With this in mind my steps slowed, both in the memory and now, as I tried to delay the walk's outcome as long as I could stand to.

SCENE 3: NINE OF SWORDS

I left the winding paths of the park onto a long boulevard which eventually took me under a crumbling arch and out of the park. The buildings that lined my way were somewhat more intact; tall, sleek structures with the remnants of geometric patterning and faded colours that must have been vibrant in their heyday. I suspected that each must have once been a monument in its own right, testaments to the might of my city. I wondered how far their reach had extended at the height of their power, and that in turn brought the dawning realisation that I knew so little about the wider world. I stopped in my tracks at this thought and gazed about me. My eyes were drawn to a curious sculpture which stood in front of a nearby building, a pair of stylised figures posed in heated debate. I wondered what was the source of their conflict, why it had be chosen to be immortalised in stone, and why it was placed here.

I reached out to touch the sculpture but withdrew my hand in shock as soon as it touched the cool stone. In my mind I flashed back to the outcome of that walk in the curated gardens. The path between the topiary had led us to a small clearing with a low stone bench, the edges carved with flowers. Here we had sat in awkward silence, each unwilling to break the tranquility of the garden with our words. Eventually entropy won, as it always does, and we had quarreled. I began by trying to politely, respectfully, disengage myself from our series of trysts, claiming that the need for an appearance of integrity must be placed above our own needs. I was lying; I had been here before and had this conversation with others, my words were obviously rehearsed. They were seen through, how could they not be, and not only was my own honour challenged but that of my dynasty. I recoiled in shock at the anger I was being presented with, stood shakily, and crossed to the edge of the clearing. It wasn't meant to be like this, it was never like this. As I returned to myself I saw that my still outstretched hand was trembling.

Hilde Ironhand 6

 A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Kamron the Rogue

Hail Kamron, the greatest thief the land has known.

Tales of your cunning ans proficiency are legendary. Brintha also speaks highly of you and thus i seek your aid.

I wield an axe more often than a swift dirk, but can recognise the need for subtlety. I tried a front-on assault and failed. A more strategic mind however would perhaps find a way.

The enemy I stand against hides their true face behind a coward's masquerade. They send minions and powers against the people of Swanvale but never leave their tower. I beseech you to join me in unmasking them.

By the by, Kuhlo, Master of Tomes, holds the only copy of a book that would aid us. If a certain notorious cutpurse were to pay him a visit. Well, the value of his library is said to be limitless.

Brintha and I will be assembling oit allies in the Swanvale tavern. We expect many will flock to us eager to learn, so a potential mentor could take their pick. I await hushed whispers of your coming.

Hilde Ironhand.

The letter is successful! Kamron agrees to meet Brintha and Hilde at the Swanvale tavern. If he happens to pay Kuhlo a visit on way... so much the better.

Hilde Ironhand 5

 A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

The Setters

To whom it may concern,

I am writing regarding my recent order to your esteemed crafters. The custom axe-handle charm bracelet I ordered arrived today and it was utterly unacceptable. This is nowhere near the normal high quality of your work.

I have been a loyal patron of your artisans for many years. I know that this is a heinous, but uncharacteristic, error. Your fine smiths are surely labouring under some fell curse when they fashioned this piece.

The item received is most assuredly a grave error. I ordered the charms to be kittens with bejewelled collars, these kittens have gold-inlaid collars. I'm sure that my intense disgust is understandable.

I regret to inform you that I will be suspending all further orders. I will hold short of advocating an absolute boycott for now. Though rest assured I will resort to such methods if restitution is not prompt.

Once the correct order is supplied I will resume my trade. Further, I will bear my newly-adorned axe into battle so all shall behold your guild's work. Eventually it will become a legendary weirgild that future generations will speak of in awe.

Hilde Ironhand.

Hilde Ironhand 4

A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

The Elven Princess

A letter ghost-written by Hilde on behalf of a Prince in need and delivered by hand.

Beloved Princess Elenda,

When you visited the Court these past weeks I was so entranced by your beauty. I longed to speak with you but the loathsome tyrannical King forbade me. Thus I send this missive to you in the hope of wooing you from afar.

I beseech you to look within your heart to find if my flame of passion is mirrored therein. If so, I would ask you to elope with haste with me to the Shimmering Lands. There we could be together and start a new life.

Truly you are the fairest of all elvenkind and the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Would that we could be together, the half-even offspring of our union would be enchanting to behold. And I'm sure we'd find our dynasty to be just and fair rulers of the Shimmering Lands.

I lie awake each night since your departure, struggling in vain to recall the vibrancy of your beauty. Alas, like the delicate sun orchid, the memory of your face fades in the long winter of your absence. Would that you would return to me that I might know spring again.

One final time, Elenda, I ask you to be with me. Your fair skin will shimmer with the light of the... Shimmering Lands. Together we shall shine our love for all to see.

Yours eternally

Winslow Herrington, Prince of Cornbury

Under Hilde's pen the Prince comes off far too much like a desperate stalker for Princess Elenda's taste. She questions Hilde until she's sure that Winslow merely chose his ghost-writer poorly and Hilde is not a potential kidnapper. Hilde is released with a small amount of compensation and vows never to ghost write another love letter as long as she lives.

Hilde Ironhand 3

A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Brintha the Warrior

Mighty Brintha, whose legend is beyond redeem,

I write to you of a great evil. I have learned of an ancient and powerful evil that needs great heroes to defeat it.

Your tactical prowess is beyond renown so I write to you that you might lend your keen intellect to our cause. A band of heroes needs a cunning leader to guide them to triumph.

The evil of the black tower near Swanvale is plaguing the region and will only spread if left unchecked. I have battled the symptoms but the cause eluded me. We need a mighty warrior such as yourself.

Mighty Brintha, whose power has no equal and wields the legendary blade Blackfang. You are needed to save not just a town, but perhaps all of us.

I cannot guarantee your safety in what will no doubt be an epic confrontation. You and the others who are brave enough to answer the call will live forever in the legends of future generations.

Hilde Ironhand

Hilde's shameless letter to her idol has great effect. Brintha is on standby in the Swanvale tavern and contacted another hero to prime him for Hilde's message.

Hilde Ironhand 2

A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Gunr's Story

Gunr, my old friend,

How have the years been treating you? It feels like only yesterday that we were delving into every tunnel and cavern we could find. I was speaking with Aevi recently and they reminded me of our past exploits.

I've been following the news from the scouts as best I can, my own journeys have been keeping me occupied of late. I do, however, often hear tales of the world-famous Gunr, the greatest scout dwarvenkind has ever known. You must be so proud of all your achievements and have many a grand tale to tell.

Remember the time we were out near Eaglecroft? We'd been scouting for new veins of iron and stumbled across that network of passages. It took us a week, but we eventually mapped them.

The passages were part natural formation and part ancient earthwork. It was like nothing we'd seen before, I've still not seen anything like it. Do you remember the waterfall-like vein of gleaming copper? Such a great find.

I've heard rumours from the people of Swanvale that there is a labyrinth beneath the local forest. From their descriptions it could be the same origin as the ones we found - how exciting. I'm planning a trip and it would be great to have you with me - just like old times.

Hilde.

Gunr was convinced to at least meet Hilde for a drink to reminisce. Drinks became a few rounds of cards but it was clear that Gunr's heart wasn't in a long-term expedition. Glad she'd at least lifted his spirits for an evening, Hilde left with her winnings.

Hilde Ironhand 1

 A series played using Quill: Coal & Parchment and Quill Quest: The Warlord's Downfall. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

The Demon-Haunted Tower

Esteemed Guhlo, Keeper of Tomes,

I trust that this letter finds you in good health. I write to you regarding a matter of great mystery and urgency that is taking place in a nearby settlement. It is my sincerest hope that your wisdom and generosity will save these poor people from the plight that assails them.

People are going missing in the night, vanished from their beds and never seen again. Animals are found dead, the local livestock dwindles in number. Their fields are filled with withered dead crops, their livelihood and that of the kingdom is threatened by this menace.

At the centre of this peril stands a black building. It is said that the architect of this evil resides within, plotting an escalating series of calamities. Their identity is unknown, but what is known is that they must be stopped.

None have able to approach the tower and survive, all who have attempted have died. It is as if the structure is shielded with some kind of magic defence that denies all entry. Perhaps there is a text in your collection that might hold the answer to these wards?

I know that you are extremely protective of your charges, and with good reason for it is the greatest collection of arcane works in the land. There is none better than yourself to protect them, being a weaver of magics with no equal. I trust that you will see fit to share your knowledge in this matter.

Hilde Ironhand.

Guhlo didn't reply to the letter, Hilde's handwriting was too illegible and her flattery too overt. She ventured to Swanvale nonetheless and fought off some of the malevolent symptoms. She couldn't address the cause but she gave the villagers some respite. When she returned home she calculated that she'd made a small profit.

Moonrise - Act 1

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition)

ACT 1: PENTACLES

SCENE 1: FOUR OF PENTACLES

My eyes snapped open suddenly and I saw stone high above me. I woke up laid out on a stone slab in what appeared to be a cave overlooking the sea. The floor was worn smooth by the passage of feet but the curved walls and ceiling retained their rough-hewn texture. I eased myself down from the slab, testing my legs against my weight and finding that I could stand firm by myself. I cautiously walked towards the mouth of the cave, it opened directly onto the cliff face and I could see the waves crashing against the rocks below. A thin ledge ran left to right across the cave mouth, leading to narrow steps carved into the cliff face that reached upward to the clifftop above.

As I took in my surroundings I realised that I was wearing a loose sheet - a shroud? It had slipped from my shoulders and as I pulled it back around them I noticed a tattoo emblazoned across my chest. In the centre was a stylised heart with a crown atop it. Spreading out from around it were dozens of roses, gradually shrinking in size until the reached my shoulders. I placed my hand over my heart, both the tattoo and my actual heart, and felt the latter hammering in my chest. I frantically examined myself more thoroughly, wondering if I had any other tattoos; I didn't find any in places that I could see without a mirror. Wrapping the sheet around me more securely, I tentatively edged back to the mouth of the cave to further observe my surroundings.

SCENE 2: FIVE OF PENTACLES

I took a deep breath, the salty sea air filling my lungs, and something else underneath it. The baking scent of earth, perhaps ceramic, on a hot day. As the wind ruffled the sheet around me I felt my thoughts carried further. Images of a similar scene filled my mind, but in this other vista I stood on a veranda with a marble balustrade. I felt the heat of the tiles beneath my feet, the sun had been bearing down on them all day and had only now cooled to just this side of tolerable to stand on. Rather than the beauty of the scene, I felt a sense of anxiety and impending loss. I calmed my breathing and tried to step back from the memories in order to better examine them.

While the full details of the memories, and my own identity, still lay beyond my reach I was able to grasp that I had been worried about a loss of status and power. At the time I had been watching the calm of the ocean in the hopes that it would translate into mental calm, but the fear was persistent. Unable to quell the fear outright my grip on the balustrade's edge had tightened as I tried to force my mind to quieten. Reliving the experience I found that this time the efforts succeeded, albeit now it was unwanted, and I felt the memory slip from my mind as my thoughts stilled.

SCENE 3: KING OF PENTACLES

I turned back from the edge and walked back into the cave, toward the slab I had awakened on. In contrast to the rest of the cave the slab had clearly been carved by hand. It was hewn from the living rock of the cavern but decorated with flowers and birds. Roses and doves as far as I could tell though the dais had clearly been exposed to the elements for some time and the finer details had been worn smooth. For the first time I noticed a bundle of silk laid at the foot of the dais, purple silk held down by the weight of some object wrapped in it's folds. I cautiously approached it, kneeling to feel the parcel in my hands. Beneath the soft, smooth silk I felt something hard and rough. After a tentative lift revealed the item was light enough to carry, I placed it on the dais and slowly unwrapped it.

At the heart of the unfurled silk sat a crown. A crudely wrought ring of iron with jagged, cruel, spines arrayed along one side. The surface was cracked and scarred as if exposed to a great heat and then cooled too quickly. Glistening detailing had been applied to create a delicate web of inlaid gold. For a time I stood in quiet contemplation. The crown stirred memories but they stayed at the edge of my awareness, shrouded in  the same looming dread from my earlier recollection. Hand trembling slightly, I reached out slowly before darting fingers made brief contact. The crown sat there unfazed, but I caught a glimpse of what for a moment looked like a bloody fingerprint on the rim.

Altar of the Forge Gods

A one-shot played using With Sword Heavy in Hand (part of the The Ultimate Micro-RPG Book: 40 Fast, Easy, and Fun Tabletop Games). This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Questions

What is your name?

Hilde Ironhand.

What is the significance of the sword you carry?

It's an axe.

What personal stake do you have in this mission?

It's a matter of family honour.

Why do you still care for your former companion?

I helped to raise him.

What is their name?

Grim Ironhand.

What relationship do you have with them?

He is my younger brother.

Why did your relationship break apart?

I fell in love with an elf and Grim felt it was a betrayal.

Why must they be stopped?

He is travelling to the highest altar of the forge gods to ask them to raise a mountain range between the dwarven homelands and the elven forests.

"Letters"

As I stood on the edge of a cliff face I remembered a moment of betrayal. I came to you overjoyed with news of my success in battle against an evil wizard. Along the way I found a love that I never thought I could have known. As soon as you heard the name of my love I saw your heart harden against me, against us.

As I walked the streets of a city long abandoned to shadows I remembered a moment of openness. I shouldn't have come there, we are forbidden from returning to the oldest city. As children we dared each other to come here one day and you confided in me your fear, which I shared. Following you now we have both passed this way.

As I crossed a valley of ever-blooming flowers I remembered that followed my revelation. The peace of the valley unsettled me. The beauty and serenity reminded me of my love and made my axe feel heavy. I steeled myself and continued.

As I walked through a forest showering leaves like rain I remembered the promise I made to my love. The green and loamy scents reminded me of the elven forests and the memories of my love brought me some comfort.

As I trekked across a desert glittering under the sun I remembered the initial pang of fear I felt before I told you. I pushed the fear aside, sure that our bond would endure anything. I still believe that, and so I follow you.

As I walked the banks of a lake reflecting moonlight I remembered the stories of the sanctuary of the forge gods. I knew this was a safe and sacred place and took a measure of solace in knowing that I would be among the gods of our people.

When I arrived at the high altar I found you finishing your ablutions to purify yourself for prayer. I felt anger and pity in equal measure. Anger that you would bring your bigotry here to this sacred place. Pity that you couldn't see the purity of my love. I shared with you my memories of how we played as children and feared the oldest city. We have shared fears and then overcome them, so could we not overcome this conflict too?

I cannot raise my axe. I lower it, open my arms, and welcome my brother into my embrace.

Shadow and Noir 9

A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 9: Price to West

Casey,

I'm writing to let you know that I'm okay - things have gone sideways, but I'm okay. Even as I write this the sights I saw have started to swiftly dissipate. It was dark and I thought I saw things that I couldn't have seen.

I was checking in on Agnes Maxwell, an old friend and fellow reporter. When I arrived at the guesthouse she'd been staying at I thought as first they'd been burgled. Then I followed the blood stains and the trail leading out the back door.

I followed in into Sycamore Woods and that's where I found them. There were dozens of them, naked and scarred and chanting. It was a symphony of voices and I could have sworn there were fleshy, bulbous creatures feeding on them.

I must have been mistaken though, right? What I can say for certain is that there was another man there; tall, well-dressed, and smiling. I'm scared but I'm trying to be pragmatic - do you think he could be tied to Parminder somehow?

HE CAN'T BE, HE WAS TOO OTHERWORLDLY TO BE CONNECTED TO SUCH A MUNDANE CASE AS OURS. THE SCARRED CULTISTS TOLD ME I SHOULD REJOICE FOR THIS MAN - THEIR GOD - HAD BROUGHT THEM TO PARADISE. THEY DIED PRAISING HIM, THOSE SHAPELESS FLESHY THINGS FEASTING ON THEM. WHAT WHERE THEY!

Shadow and Noir 8

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 8: Maxwell to Price

Maxwell,

I found the missing notes but it's too late. I saw them as they writhed and chanted in Sycamore Woods. I fear that they succeeded where Jemima failed and now we are all in danger.

I paid off a useless cop from Arkham who gave me the lead. For a few months the locals had been reporting strange lights and sounds in the woods. The law were refusing to investigate so I saw a chance to do some digging.

I rented a room in a boarding house and befriended the landlady. There's a field north of the woods where the local dogwalkers go. So I offered to take the landlady's spaniel for a stroll as cover to go check out the woods.

Well, I found the source of the lights and chanting - circle of ten people performing the Vir Stellas ritual. They were covered with the same symbols as Jemima, but their ritual was working. Amidst the spiteful gloam I saw a tall gentleman looming over them.

I couldn't draw my eyes away from him - he was at least eight feet tall and dressed in immaculate finery. As the ritualists chanted and danced around him he cackled at them. This "Mans from the Stars" is a threat and we must stop this ritual from ever being performed again.

Agnes.

Shadow and Noir 7

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 7: Price to Maxwell

Maxwell,

I've got a potential lead on whoever killed Jemima and her friend. There have been some grisly killings and the killer's been made. "Kris" Parminder is known for his ritualised knife work so could be our guy.

I know it's a tricky situation, but did Jemima have any enemies? Parminder works for money so we'd need to ID someone who'd want to kill her. If we can link an enemy to Parminder, we're a step closer to justice.

I know you move in more refined circles, but let's just say I've been known to mix with a gangster or two. I've been putting out some feelers but Parminder has worked closely with the Galdi family. You won't know them but trust me, they're bad news.

I've kept an ear to the ground and had Casey make some discrete enquiries. We've grilled some low-level goons and found Parminder's star is on the rise. He's (allegedly) taken out the big man's right hand and has designs on taking his place.

The Galdi family are in the position to take him out for us if we wanted to go down that route. That said, they'll also rub out anyone they think is a rat, so bringing him to justice might be a lot harder. Casey says he can get an audience with someone who has the big man's ear. I'll keep you posted.

Price.

Shadow and Noir 6

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 5: Maxwell to Price

Robert,

I need your help - Jemima's dead and it's my fault! I shared some notes with her from that old occult book I acquired. She tried one of the mystic incantations and now she's dead.

I stopped by to visit while I was in town, I'd called ahead but there was no answer. What I found shocked me - what would kill, maim, and rend two bodies like that? The scars on the bodies were deliberate patterns.

I knew there was something wrong when she asked me for a copy of the notes. Out of context the ritual tempted her to make a play for power. If she'd had the original text she'd have recognised that there's something truly sinister lurking behind the pages.

The worst part was the meaning that I've gleaned from the patterns of scars. I cross-referenced them against the Vir Stellas - they hint at something unspeakable. A being that ushers in a cacophonous era where all we cherish is torn apart.

There is something terrible coming, I feel it to be true. The notes and paraphernalia from that wretched, horrid ritual were taken and could fall into the wrong hands. We must recover them before anyone performs the ritual again.

Agnes.

Shadow and Noir 5

A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 5: Price to Maxwell

Maxwell,

I'll need to keep this quick as I'm in hot water again. I'm keeping watch for a blue sedan with my name on it, and not in a good way. I got justice for my client but now I've got a irate professor out to get me.

I solved the case pretty quickly, an extortion case where the crook got greedy - and sloppy. She lawyered up fast but I bypassed that mouthpiece and went straight to the Dean with my story. I had to book an appointment but met a potential witness in the process.

My would-be stoolie agreed to meet for lunch, which would pass the time before my appointment. They confirmed my theories enough to boost my confidence, but wouldn't go on the record. I thought they were afraid of repercussions.

It turns out they weren't, they were in cahoots with the dodgy professor. I had my time with the Dean and made my case - even without the witness I'm pretty sure I was convincing. Sure enough given that the professor/extortionist  tried to run me down as I was leaving the campus. I anticipated a shakedown but not an assassination.

I never figured academia could be so cut-throat. Well, if this professor wants to play rough, I'm ready to roll. This broad will learn that I'm no helpless pigeon.

Price.

Shadow and Noir 4

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 4: Maxwell to Jemima Carter

My darling Jemima,

I have it! I acquired a copy of the Vir Stellas at an auction and with M. Durand's notes I have unlocked its secrets. Or at the very least have unlocked the first ritual.

I am nowhere as gifted as you, my love. The ritual requires two participants, it doesn't specify expertise but with as skilled a magic-user as you we will complete it easily. This initial ritual should open up more of the text to us.

Even with Durand's notes much of the text is couched in metaphor and mystery. It alludes to forms and shapes existing in higher dimensions. However, it offers no concrete means of accessing them.

The text makes repeated to a state of being that the ritualists must attain. The translation from Durand is "exalted deathlessness" - a term that certainly sounds intriguing. Apparently deeper rituals will guide us through the steps.

Even the simplest rituals appear to use an array of rare and exotic ingredients. In preparation I have begun to inveigle my way into some less well funded occult societies. They won't miss a few items if we're careful - I will keep you updated.

Yours always

Agnes x 

Shadow and Noir 3

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 3: Price to Maxwell

Maxwell,

Another day another case, this one was barely a challenge if I'm honest. Nothing like this rare books story you're working on. I'm still not sure why you're so interested in a book, but from your last letter is does sound pretty hinky.

In my case it looks to be a case of a crooked bank manager trying to pull an inside job. I threw Casey West a few bucks to do some digging and he turned up the manager's secret - crushing gambling debts. I still feel bad for how the Henderson affair ended so I'm glad to be able to keep him occupied.

So the manager had a cash-flow problem and decided to make a withdrawal from his customers' accounts. Of course there's no way he could get away with that much cabbage alone. I figured he must have had an accomplice.

I leaned on the night security guard - the one who claimed the thieves knocked him out. When he realised his boss would sell him down the river if needed, he spilled the beans. In exchange for a measly five hundred clams he took a smoke break while his boss emptied the safe.

So the guard's going to the Big House and barely covers expenses. The bank manager's a different matter, I've got only the word of a couple of ex-cons to corroborate my story. I know you don't like it when I mention your family ties - but it looks like wealth wins out over justice as usual.

Price.

Shadow and Noir 2

 A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 2: Maxwell to Pierre Durand

M. Durand.

I trust this letter finds you in good health. I am writing to ask you for your professional perspective on a recent purchase. It is a rare book of emblems and designs - the seller claimed it is a copy of the Vir Stellas.

I'm no artist but I have enclosed a sketch of some fragments of the designs from the early chapters. Sadly I don't recognise the language, or possibly languages, the book is written in. The drawings are tantalising alone, the lack of context amplifies the effect.

A librarian colleague has examined the physical object, and confirms that this is an authentic sixteenth-century tome. Together we compared the text to contemporary volumes but found no direct comparison with the language or the drawings. This book is a mystery to me.

I've studied the Vir Stellas long into the night in the hopes of deciphering this infamous book. By candlelight the images - particularly some of the woodcuts - seem to take on movement. It is folly of course but something about this book becomes curiously oppressive after dark - it chills me to behold.

I'm reluctant to let the book out of my hands, but if you'd be able to visit the city to view it in person I'd be happy to cover your expenses. I really do hope you can help shed some light on these fascinating illustrations. I feel we are on the verge of some great discovery.

Agnes Maxwell.

Shadow and Noir 1

A series played using Quill Noir and Quill Shadow and Ink. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Letter 1: Price to Maxwell

Maxwell,

I've got a case that might be up your alley - Oliver Henderson's missing daughter. Turns out she's alive and well but her daddy's not going to be happy. I'm working up some Dutch courage before I go tell him.

My contact with the police let slip (for a fee) that Justine Henderson isn't the only missing persons case on the books. Casey West, some petty hoodlum, hasn't been seen for a while either. My first thought was a ransom job, so I set about tracking him down.

It took a while but eventually led me to a run down motel on the edge of town. A small gratuity to the owner got me the news they'd been there a few days and were the picture of two young paramours. I got a glimpse into their room - they've got matching jewellery.

Seems the kidnapping is actually an elopement. Her father thinks she was grabbed but she's gone willingly and seems happier than ever. Great news for gossip rags like yours, less so for me.

I've got to tell Oliver Henderson - one of the wealthiest men in the country - that his only daughter is slumming it with a crook. I can only guess the incandescent fury I'm about to unleash. If you don't hear from me at the cops will have a lead.

Price.

The Clockhouse - The Cast

A series played using Cocktails & Cantrips. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

THE MAGE

Noble Lambert, the ephemeral enchanter. He has millions of followers across multiple platforms, leverages his brand to work his will, and is desperate to claim his master's staff.

Spheres & Spells

• d8 Permanence (lose vitality): Commit a memory to paper in symbolic form.
• d6 Alteration (visible change): Move a small item to/from hammerspace.
• d6 Destruction (pain/blood): Wrack an individual's body with agony.
• d6 Emotion (passion): Aggravate the dominant emotion of a crowd.
• d6 Illusion (a memory): Show someone the image of a loved one.
• d4 Revelation (secret betrayed): Read an individual's surface thoughts.

Power: Sacrifice of blood.

Specials

• d8 Skill: Social media influencer.
• d6 Talisman: A silver ring set with a large emerald.
• d4 Skill: Lapsed Catholic.

Goal & Motive: His favourite staff, honour/lust.

THE RIVAL 

Mara Stanton, the nihilistic necromancer. She teases secrets from the dead with scalpel and spell, carries her master's staff as a memento mori, and wants to find the book in the library containing the doomsday spell.

Spheres & Spells

• d8 Emotion (passion): Pacify a crowd by leaving them dulled and numb.
• d6 Destruction (pain/blood): Cleanly remove a small amount of matter from reality.
• d6 Illusion (a memory): Conceal an object or stationary person from view.
• d6 Permanence (lose vitality): Make an object immovable.
• d6 Revelation (secret betrayed): Look into a corpse's eyes to speak to their shade.
• d4 Alteration (visible change): Cause organic matter to decay.

Power: Life.

Specials

• d8 Talisman: An oak staff with runes burned into the shaft.
• d6 Skill: Forensic pathology.
• d4 Skill: Doomsaying.

Goal & Motive: A forgotten tome, honour/death.

THE WILDCARD

 Greta Shields, the ambitious apprentice. She used to rob houses to cover her expenses, is connected to a powerful primeval current, and wants to wreak havoc on the other apprentices for killing their master.

Spheres & Spells

• d6 Permanence (lose vitality): Imbue something with the divine spark.
• d4 Destruction (pain/blood): Cleanse it with holy fire.
• d4 Revelation (secret betrayed): Speak with the voices of the angels.

Specials

d6 Skill: Breaking and entering.

d4 Talisman: A brass coin; a crowned skull on one side, a moon on the other.

Goal & Motive: A forgotten tome, revenge/fear.         

The Clockhouse - Session 1: 9 pm

A series played using Cocktails & Cantrips.

I created a character and their rival using the full character creation, an apprentice for the role of wildcard using partial character creation. The teacher who is hosting the party begins the game just as a name. 

Rather than playing the hours in order I'm rolling 1d6 at the start of each scene to figure out which hour of the sequence it is. 1 is 6 pm, 2 is 7 pm, and so on. Duplicates will be re-rolled, and once all six scenes have played out the final scene at the stroke of midnight will take place. Exactly how this works out in terms of the characters' perceptions of time and past events remains to be seen.

Time: 9 pm.

Location: The Solarium.

Goal: Noble's goal is to make contact with his teacher, Isolde Grove.

I entered the solarium just as the distant clock in the great hall struck 9 pm; the waters of the small pool were still, the moonlight coming through the windows and skylights lay peacefully on the surface.

Oracle: Am I alone?

Yes [4], No [6] - I'm not alone...

Oracle: Is it my rival, the wildcard, or someone else?

Rival [4], Wildcard [6], Someone else [6] - Wildcard and someone else.

I was startled to notice Isolde and her latest apprentice, Greta Shields, standing on the far side of the room, deep in whispered conversation. They hadn't noticed me either, so I waited patiently for them to finish.

Note: I know that in the Cast listing I mentioned that Isolde is dead. I'm thinking that she dies at 6 pm, but until that scene happens she can appear in a later hour's scene. Prior to 6 pm arriving Isolde knows she dies then, and that the mage and rival are responsible, but not specific details. After 6 pm she can no longer appear in scenes and we all know the specifics of her death.

Their conversation ended with Greta bursting into tears and running for the exit, Isolde watching her leave impassively. As Greta neared the exit she noticed me.

Oracle: Is she going to confront me?

Yes [5], No [4] - Brace for impact.

"You!" she spat her words at me through her tears. "How dare you come here! After what you both did!"

I held my composure, paused a moment to finish scrolling my social media accounts, and then casually raised my head to look at her. "Greta, wasn't it?" I sighed "Look, I know that things didn't, or won't, turn out the way we'd like."

She cut me off with a gesture. "I will do everything in my power to stop you. To save her." Her tears had halted, her face a mask of cold fury as she attempted to stare me down. A flickering light, like the soft glow of embers, began to light the space around her. I saw ethereal flames curling around her hands and up her arms.

Goal: Not giving a shit [5] - Success

Danger: Do they hurt me? [6] - Nope.

"Now now, Greta" I chided. "We both know that your power, such as it is, isn't enough to cause myself any real problems. Or Mara for that matter, though I'd love to see you try those parlour tricks on her." I was reasonably confident in my own abilities, and the limits of hers, but nonetheless I shifted my attention to feel the weight of the emerald ring on my left hand. Its power stirred, ready to been called forth at a moment's notice.

Oracle: Is she going to attack me?

Yes [4], No [5] - No, phew.

The flames slowly dimmed and then dissipated. Greta scowled at me. "You'll get what's coming to you eventually. Mark my words." Then she pushed past me and entered the main manor building. Greta was always very melodramatic.

I took a moment to appraise Isolde's reaction to our little exchange; she hadn't moved and her expression was still unreadable. I skirted the edge of the small pool as I approached my mentor, the woman who had taught me so much about magic.

Oracle: Is she going to tell me what she knows about her death?

Yes [2], No [1] - Yes, ooh...

Oracle: Is she going to share details or make allusions?

Details [5], Allusions [6] - Sigh.

Note: I'm going to draw some tarot cards and use them both inspire some BS from Isolde, and to reveal the "details" of what happened at 6 pm.

IV The Emperor: Authority, establishment, structure.

XVIII The Moon: Illusion, intuition, anxiety.

XVII The Star: Hope, faith, renewal.

"Noble, welcome home." Isolde whispered in her usual dramatic manner. I could see why she'd been drawn to take Greta on as a student. "The cycle continues apace, but the phases are not yet aligned."

As Isolde stood and nodded sagely I pulled up a wicker chair and got comfortable. When she was in this kind of mood it was always best to have a seat.

"You and Mara sought to push the wheel by hand, rather than allow the river to turn it. You disrupted the flow, got wet for your trouble, and still the river flows." She turned dismissively from me and gazed out the window. "I always loved watching the mists drift across the hills. I brought me a sense of peace." Her voice, while still quiet, had lost it's portentousness and now simply sounded small.

Realising this was going to be short talk after all didn't fill me with relief as I thought it would. Instead I had a growing sense of unease. I hadn't seen Mara in years; we'd drifted apart after we'd graduated from Isolde's tuition, a few letters here and there as we'd each aimed to outdo our teacher, and perhaps each other, in our own ways.

I decided that it would be best to leave Isolde to her thoughts. I made my way back across the room and entered the manor.

Coins: Noble 1, Mara 0.

Mara's reaction: she acts bodly...

Next scene takes place at: 6 pm *yikes*

Thoughts

Okay, so no actual cantrips were cast, although Greta's power was referenced. That's fine, the night is young (well, that depends on where you count from...). So Isolde knows she's dead or is alive but knows she has died or will die. Interesting. And the tarot card spread came from an online generator that apparently only does Major Arcana.

Sundered Lance - The Cast

A series played using Secrets & Shadows. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Protagonist

I'm Jon Douglas, an author and freelance researcher specialising in local history and folklore. I have a pragmatic approach to my subject matter; folk magic is a sociological phenomenon, not a metaphysical one. I find that people like me and offer to help me with things, which I like but sometimes wonder if I'm not too dependent on them. I've been called charming and it makes me uncomfortable enough that I wear non-prescription glasses and bulkier clothing to "dress down."

Clever

• Observant
• Plan ahead
• Shrewd
• Tactics

Expert

• Folklore
• History
• Research
• Science

Modern Human

• Assured
• Dabbler
• Educated
• Healthy

Witch

• Bind
• Herbs
• Lure
• Magic

Keys and Secrets

• Key of the Dependent
• Key of the Stubbornly Mundane
• The Secret of Hidden Potential
• The Secret of Hollywood Ugly

Supporting Cast

Dorothy Wanda Whitney (the curator)

• Wants to own you
• Short & Timid
• Good (Friendly, Honest, Spirited)
• Possessed by Kythaela

Everette Florencio Chapman (the date) 

• Wants to win
• Lonely & Polished
• Faerie (Nature, Inspire, Glamour)

Jolene West (the Charles de Lint character)

• Hot
• Innocent & Green
• Artist (Paint, Inspire, See beauty)

Kythaela Vathana (in the cape)

• Has an agenda
• Foolhardy & Power out of control
• Faerie (Enervate, Glamour, Terrify)
• Influencing Dorothy?

Leigh Woodrow Hicks (the hunter) 

• Wears masks
• Self-conscious & Impatient
• Expert (Maths, Research, Science)

Sundered Lance - Session 3

A series played using Secrets & Shadows.

I returned to the office and slumped into the armchair only intending to sit quietly for a few moments with my eyes closed. Instead I woke up to find light shining through the high, small window, a blanket across my knees, and the smell of coffee. A mug of coffee, still steaming, was perched on a coaster atop a stack of books. Dorothy. Only in her inner sanctum would she permit herself such a moment of sacrilege.

Oracle: Has the cape visibly affected Dorothy? Yes [5] No [5] Doubles

Soft dramatic move: Take someone or something away.

Re-roll Oracle to clarify: Yes [1] No [6] The effects are not visible, but she is possessed.

Aside for follow-ups:

Oracle: Is Dorothy fighting the possession? Yes [4] No [5] She is not actively fighting the possession...

Oracle: Did Dorothy invite the possession? Yes [4] No [1] She did invite it.

Okay, that's enough asides for now, I wanted to know if Dorothy's traits would help or hinder any actions.

The office door opened and Dorothy Whitney breezed in, her own coffee mug in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other. She deposited the plate on the corner of her desk, took a seat, and looked at me.

"So..." she began cautiously. "You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday so did your walk of shame bring you here, or..." She glanced at her desk and raised her eyebrows.

"Oh my god, Dorothy. Yes, we came her briefly," her eyebrows raised higher still "but, nothing happened. Frankly it was kind of a mess. How do you know this guy?"

Striving: To see through their lie [3] + [1] +Clever +Shrewd = 6

Fail: Offer a hard bargain or an ugly choice.

Either accept her lies or (unconsciously) engage in a magic mind fight...

Striving: Magic mind fight! [3] + [2] +Witch +Magic + 7

Partial: Bonus on next roll and turn your move back on you.

"Everette? He's just an acquaintance really, we're from the same hometown so know each other that way. We've never been that close, but I heard he was on the market and thought of you."

I narrowed my eyes, partially because this was another instance of Dorothy setting me up with a random guy she barely knew. At the back of my mind I felt something else stir, however, something which pushed against her words as if probing for weaknesses in her story. Dorothy beamed and ruffled my hair and as she did so I felt the probing part of my mind struggle to maintain its inquisitiveness but then be lulled into complacency. I tilted my head to lean in to her hand, allowing her to get a better angle. From this new perspective I had a clear line of sight to that mysterious cape Dorothy had laid out for conservation.

Striving: Talking about the cape: [4] + [4] +Expert +Folklore +History +1 forward = 8

Partial: Gain a condition (Appearance of docility) and use your traits/conditions/secrets against you.

"So, tell me about your latest project" I nodded towards the cape. "I've not seen that before, or anything quite like it if I'm honest."

Dorothy's hand paused, still amidst my hair, and she glanced over her shoulder at the cape.

"That? It's an old piece I found in the depths of the archive. I'm going to clean it up and make it a centrepiece for an upcoming exhibition on some of the forgotten treasures of the collection."

"What do you think its providence is?" I pushed the issue, curious about the item and recalling Everette's reaction to it. Dorothy withdrew her hand and moved to begin putting the garment back into its protective wrapping.

She waved a hand dismissively. "The theme of the exhibition is going to be the mysterious nature of parts of the collection. My predecessors had an eye for rare finds but not so much of an eye for detail when it came to record keeping. I just like it, it speaks to me."

Oracle: How tired am I given that I slept in an armchair for a few hours last night? Tired enough to need to go home and rest [5] Tired but able to power through for a few hours longer [1] I was exhausted and needed to go and rest.

I nodded along as she spoke, but I have to admit that I wasn't paying close attention, I was exhausted and more than a little uncomfortable from having slept in an armchair. Dorothy noticed and smiled sympathetically, so I made my excuses and left the museum.

Oracle: Without the partial concealment will my awakening magic register to the hunters? Yes [6] No [1] Oh dear...

Oracle: How close are they? Close [1] Far [1] Doubles

Soft dramatic move: Put someone in a compromising position.

I took a deep breath of the morning air, feeling my head clear somewhat even if only enough to get me home and into bed. Someone beside me cleared their throat and I realised I wasn't alone. Startled I looked around and saw a short woman whose hair was piled atop her head in a mass of intricate plaits, a bundle of sticks as long as her forearm bound by tight iron rings lay cradled in her hands.

"Good morning, Mr Douglas. I trust you enjoyed your little jaunt last night. You certainly led us on a merry dance." The nervous laugh which followed undermined the initial menace. 

Striving: Chemistry? [6] + [5] +Magnetic (Jon) +Hot (Jolene) = 13

Success: 2 points of Currency (Spark)

My stomach flipped and dropped simultaneously, my gaze torn between the curious item in her hands and being drawn into her eyes. As we stared at each other, an uncomfortably long period of time passed. I'd assumed this was a confrontation my date's stalker, but if that wasn't happening I was presumably free to leave. Except that I didn't want to. I wanted to know who this woman was and want she wanted with Everette.

"If you'd like to accompany me back to the coffee shop my associate and I would like to ask you some questions about Everette Chapman." She went to gesture in the general direction of the coffee shop, and happened to use the hand holding the wand.

Oracle: Is the wand just for divining? Yes [4] No [1] Yes, it only senses magic, it doesn't do magical things itself.

Nothing happened. I was half-expecting a bolt of lightning maybe. I chuckled as I chided myself for such a ridiculous thought. As if she'd also noticed the absurdity of the moment the woman laughed, a quiet and gentle sound, before regaining her composure and adopting a stern expression.

"This way, Mr Douglas. I think you'll find my associate doesn't like to be kept waiting, and that we have a lot to talk about." She turned and began to walk down the short, narrow path towards the street. I checked my pockets to be sure I had my wallet and keys, and then followed her.

Stats

Conditions: The Museum (Partially concealed), Jon (Appearance of docility).

Currency: Jon/Jocelyn (Spark) 2.

Notes

Yeah, not a bad session. I had Dorothy (the curator) being influenced by the cape in mind, but finding out she's not only possessed, but *voluntarily* possessed? Weird and cool. And the cape is powerful and able to overwhelm Jon's growing power. Hmm.

Oh, and we've got one of the hunters in a non-hunting scene! And there was chemistry!! I think I'll let the currency be spent by either party, or rather to steer the Oracle in the direction that either party would favour. Given that we're apparently heading for an interrogation scene between them.

Regrets? I'd read the thing about tracking the doubles and noting the move used each time a given pair is rolled. The idea being that when that pair is rolled again it reinforces the original theme. I've had a few doubles but tbh I've not kept track and I'm not sure I'll go back and address it.