Anamnesis ex Reddit

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

The shadow and minor arcana cards for this game were drawn and posted on Reddit as part of a group game. I drew the major arcana for each prompt from my Thoth deck and added the names of the minor arcana (though didn't really integrate them consistently into the scenes).

Shadow Card: Death

Act 1

My eyes open to brilliant golden light and for time immeasurable the light is all that I can see, all that I am. Slowly, creeping in from the edges of my perceptions, the world gathers itself around me as the glorious light recedes. I am standing in a narrow alleyway, dusty clay bricks build uneven walls either side of me, a dry earthen path leads ahead and behind, and the hustle and bustle of a busy marketplace can be heard ahead. As the disorientation passes I realise, with curiosity that I don't know where I am. This quickly gives way to a more concerning realisation that I don't know who I am. The sun hangs high in the sky above me and I take a moment to consider.

1. The Magus & King of Pentacles

I feel the weight of something in my hands. Glancing down I see that both hands are wrapped around the shaft of some kind of sceptre, the contoured surface feels right in my grip as if it had been made for me to hold. The head is ornate and shaped to resemble something akin to a blossoming flower or a dancing flame. Perhaps something in between? The sceptre is heavy, not just with the weight of the golden metal, but also with the authority I sense it grants me. This is symbol of power, my power, and I feel it pulsing through every fibre of my being. It's balance is true, I hold it out in one hand and it is easy to wield. It doesn't feel like a weapon, my instincts recoil from that use, instead I sense this is a badge of office that marks the bearer with some hidden significance. I bring it close to my face and turn it over in my hands, scrutinsing the surface for clues. I think I can make out a faint cursive script spiralling around the shaft, but it is etched so softly that it is merely a whisper on metal. It evades my attempts to read it and I must accept, for now, that there are still some secrets beyond my reach.

0. The Fool & Queen of Pentacles

Reluctantly drawing my attention away from the sceptre, I take in my surroundings. Everything here is coarse and harsh, the colours and shapes strain my eyes to behold; the distant market sounds grate on my nerves as the raucous din refuses to achieve harmony; beneath my bare feet the ground is dry and unyielding, my feet already begin to ache and the earth is hot under the noonday sun. Even my body, charged with vitality as it is, feels untested and uncertain. Or perhaps the uncertainty is my own, I have yet to test its capabilities and limits. I turn several times on the spot, both to take in my environment and to test my own balance. My body moves with a fluid grace that makes me think of music, was I - am I - a dancer? I bend to press a palm against the baking ground and deny the urge to flinch as the heat sears me. I lift my hand slowly only when I am satisfied that I have experience the heat and the pain enough to learn something of my limits. This world will not bow before me and my presence here will inevitably cause me harm, but I feel that this is also in some way the reason that I am here.

9. The Hermit & Two of Pentacles "Change"

The only slight reprieve from this rough world is the cool and gentle sensation across my body, I feel a silken cloth wrapped about me in a complex arrangement. I reassure myself that this is not a shroud, that I am not dead, I feel too alive for this to be the case. The silk is voluminous and conceals my form easily, a length of it even coming up to cover my head and cast my face is shadow. I could pass unrecognised if I chose, though I suspect the richness of the fabric itself would draw attention. I pull the cloth about me jealously, as I fearing someone will take it from me. Extending an arm I appreciate the depth of the blue and green pattern, a series of interlocking rings almost entirely cover a black backdrop. As I allow my eyes to wander over the fabric I think I can see ripples flowing over the surface, despite the lack of breeze in the alley. The inky void behind the rings hints at some deeper lore thatm like almost everything, refuses to share its secrets with me. I bring the sceptre into its folds, cloaking its light temporarily, and carefully walk the length of the alley ahead.

Act 2

I emerge from the narrow canal of the alleyway into the life and activity of the marketplace. The broad plaza, with its mezzanines and recesses, is a sea of brightly coloured awnings and a cacophony of voices competing to be heard. I stand for a moment, bolstering myself with my inner reserves to withstand the tide sensations, and then plunge head first into the crowd. Seeing tall buildings on the far side of the market, I carve a path towards them, something about them tugs at my mind.

21. The Universe & Six of Swords "Science"

As I push through the market I start to attract attention and I realise that I stand at least a head taller than anyone else in the crowd. I hear voices, first indignant poeple I've cleared from my path, and then trailing behind me curious voices wondering at the tall stranger in their midst. I'm halfway across the plaza when they start to notice specific details, the style of my silken garment, glimpses of the sceptre within its folds, and perhaps even my regal gait. Just outside of my comprehension I hear a word repeated that escapes my grasp. I can't slow my pace, my momentum carries me inevitably towards my goal, but I strain to hear the word and understand its significance. I press on through the crowd as they whisper about the past, old powers, and things thought lost to a nameless doom. I know in the pit of my stomach that the word that continues to elude is my own name. As much as my inner drive urges me to reach my goal, the threat of hearing my name clearly repels me from where I have already been.

18. The Moon & Queen of Swords

I step off of the plaza onto a boulevard lined with date trees and tall buildings with deeply recessed windows and doorways. I see few people as I make my way along, appreciating the shade the trees provide, and those I do see look well-appointed and concerned more with their own affairs than speculating on those of others. One building in particular catches my attention and I find my pace slowing and then halting outside the arched entrance. The sides of the arch are carved, each from a single piece of sandstone, to resemble a pair of date trees bowing to touch at the top of the arch. I know I have passed beneath this arch many times and in my mind's eye I see the shaded courtyard beyond, the ornately tiled fountain at its centre, and the figures that meet there to share rumours. I understand that I shared many secrets here, and kept at least as many back for my own purposes. I hear the echoed lore I gained here, the knowledge beguiling me enough to want to step through the archway now. I catch myself as I am directly under the arch and pull myself free from memory's grip, telling myself that it isn't really memory that beckons to me but something else. Something I would gain no benefit from returning to.

1. The Magus & Ace of Swords

I spend the rest of the day striding purposefully through the streets, not knowing my destination and suspecting my path is overly complex and circuitous, but nonetheless knowing in my heart that this is the path that I must take. I pass through the alleys between the workshops of the potters and stonemasons, hearing the trundle of wheels and the chipping of stone, smelling baking clay and the exertion of labour, catching glimpses of bright glazes and pristine slabs of stone. I cross the open plaza of fountains where the older women gather water, wash clothes, and watch the children. I hear the splashing of water, the slap of wet cloth on stone, and laughter - the high voices of children at play and the raucous laughter of the women as they work. As I pass the temples I smell clashing scents of incense, fresh fruit and flowers, and the coppery smell of blood. I hear many voices and languages and prayers, all reaching upward to the same heavens. This place is complicated and varied, it has many facets and many centres of importance - of power - for the people who live here. My journey is nearing an end as my bare feet trace the final length of the sigil my path has drawn across the city. A tall house stands before me, apart from the surrounding buildings which seem to draw back from it to keep it at a respectable distance.

Act 3

The building is tall, narrow, and twisted; gently spiralling a few degrees with each of its many levels. It reaches up to the firmament like a gnarled staff driven into the earth. The construction is sandstone blocks, like the surrounding street, but complemented with exposed and weathered wooden beams and window frames. Each of the narrow windows is tightly shuttered and gives away no clues at to what they conceal. The front door, up a short flight of steps, is painted a worn and flecked shade of purple. Faint chalk markings run along and up the steps before flowing up over the surface of the door. With an unwavering hand I touch the outline on the arch softly and feel a stirring of memory and power. I hear a dry and stiff creak as the door opens inwards and I without hesitation I step forward into my house.

16. The Tower & Five of Cups "Disappointment"

I walk the halls and rooms of the house, the walls looming over me as they reach up to the vaulted ceilings, searching for any trace of my life. The rooms are almost bare, minimally decorated and the furniture covered with musty sheets. I push open the shutters of each window I pass, slowly filling the house with daylight. Midway up the house I find the first of the notes, a scrap of paper torn along one edge, hastily scrawled words spilling off. As I progress I find more, increasingly more legible and increasingly more manic. Some are reminders to complete mundane tasks, excruciating in their precision. Others are lists of obscure ingredients and materials for unknown purposes. The paper varies, sometimes notepaper, sometimes pages torn from printed books and written over. The handwriting is the same across them all and I confess to the empty stairway that I am afraid to annotate them for it will confirm that they are written in my own hand. By the time I have swept the lower two thirds of the house, I have assembled enough notes to see that I was obsessed. Obsessed with the accumulation of arcane knowledge, first for it's own sake, and then for some greater purpose that the notes only alluded to. Nowhere in the notes could I find humility, restraint, or a recognition of my limits.

21. The Universe & Ten of Cups "Satiety"

I reach the uppermost floor of the house; the study dominated by my vast wooden desk and high-backed leather chair. I run my hands across the surface of the desk, savouring the warmth of the well-oiled wood and the voiceless memories it stirs inside me. I venture to the far side, sliding the chair away, reluctant to take my seat behind the desk. That feels too much like taking ownership of the identity of the person who lived here, and I am not yet certain I want to do that. My hands find the drawers, either locked or jammed, they no longer cooperate with me. All except one which glides so easily I feel like little more than an accomplice to it's opening. The sole occupant is a small volume I recognise as my journal, where I kept meticulous notes of my research. The now-open shutters allow light to shine across the desk where I gently set down the journal. I notice a faint tremor in my hand as I open the cover and turn to the latest entry. As I turn the pages I see iterations of diagrams and rituals, a slow but steady development of ideas, and on the final page its blossoming. A working to achieve apotheosis via descent into the entropic sub-realms. A dangerous rite but one that could yield great benefits. Or perhaps it already had?

10. Fortune & Queen of Cups

I push the journal across the desk, I've taken in so much information since the alleyway and my mind reels under the weight. As I move to push the drawer shut, something catches my eye. The journal wasn't the only thing in the drawer after all, I frown, the memories are new but I was certain this drawer was solely for the research journal. I carefully extract a wide and narrow folio tied shut with a sun-faded ribbon. The cover is plain, and gives away nothing of it's contents. As my fingers close on the ribbon I feel my hand freeze, it takes concerted effort to pull the ribbon's binding loose and open the folio. Parchments flows from the folio across the desk, dozens of faces stare up at me, or rather dozens of copies of the same face for clearly I had only one subject who I drew repeatedly. In one sketch his face is in profile; tousled hair tied back carelessly, one stout hand resting idly against an equally robust chin, a rounded nose wrinkled slightly as if in distaste. In another the subject stares directly at me; his broad face dominated by an intense pair of eyes that smoulder from beneath heavy brows. A mouth not accustomed to smiling yields to a slight curve, and I feel a tantalising shiver play up and down my spine. Other images are more candid, some so initmate that I feel heat rising to my face. The studies of my subject's hands suggest someone who has toiled for many years, while the settings where he is at repose hint at a more luxurious lifestyle. I surmise he posed here in my house and wonder how open we were in our relationship.

Act 4

I cross the room to the window and sit beneath it, back against the wall and legs folded beneath me. The fragments of memory are assembling, shards catch the light and dazzle me, jagged edges cause me to recoil from their touch. I feel myself drift back and forth through scenes from my past, reliving moments without context, one in particular keeps returning no matter how much I try to push it away.

6. The Lovers & Knight of Wands

I set down my charcoal and look up from the image that is taking form on the page. My subject, the man from all of my artwork, has turned to face me and his previously detached gaze has become a scowl. The light and shadows that took so long to capture on the page are lost and I sigh. In that exhalation he hears something unintended and the old conversation begins anew. He speaks dismissively of my work, the great project of enlightenment I have dedicated myself to, and I begin to bristle. Seeing this aggravates him further and he edges ever closer to the unspoken ultimatum that has hovered over us for months. One day he will ask me to choose between him and the work and I sense the inevitable heartbreak it will cause us both. With distance, and repetition, I see past the confrontational tone and the casual disrespect, I see the rejection he feels when I speak of stepping beyond and seeking apotheosis. In his words I hear the silent question - what will happen when I go where he cannot follow? I set down my work and walk form the room, his voice echoing after me as I make my way down to the lowest room of the house, the secret laboratory secluded in the foundations.

19. The Sun & Ten of Wands "Oppression"

I drag myself away from the memory and out of my introspection. I haul myself to my feet and turn to look out the window, the fading heat of the setting sun warm against my face. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing until I am confident that the tears on my face have dried. I walk slowly, uncertainly, down the stairs and effortlessly, helplessly, find the hidden door in the entrance hall. It slides open and sepulchral air hisses free, the narrow stairs beckon to me. I make my way down, my hand on the wall to steady me, when I reach the laboratory I fall to the ground. He's here. Or he was here. His body lies immobile and empty on the floor in the centre of the crudely drawn circle of symbols. I can't take my eyes off of him, but even with my peripheral vision I can see that he's used an earlier version of the schematic, one that I'd long since discarded as unfit. I must have forgotten to properly destroy it, in my hubris I must have failed to even comprehend that someeone else could grasp it enough to use it. I should have shared the work with him. This journey should not have been for me alone, we should have stepped across the boundary together, hand in hand. The tears have resumed and this time I make no attempt to stem their flow.

13. Death & Prince of Wands

I set down the sceptre, undeserving of the authority of conveys. I have failed my lover and my great work and amends must be made. I stride to the work bench and select the chalks and oils I will need to draw the correct form of the circle around us both. Now that I am set to my task I find myself unable to look directly at him, my shame is too great. Once the circle is ready I ignite the censers and sit in patient silence as the smoke fills the room, wrapping us both in a hazy shroud. I begin to intone the syllables of the incantation of descent, the entropic sub-realms are an unforgiving place (or absence of place to be pedantic) and I know that I must be swift. I will descend, find him there, and then we will both ascend. Ascend to this world and then beyond to the true culmination of the great work.

Shudder-inducing Showdown at the Shack of... Shecrets?

A one-shot played using Green & Unpleasant Land by The Gemfish. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

I was drawing a bit of a blank when answering the prompts, so I decided to draw a tarot card for each one to provide some guidance.

I am Augustin Bischof, a member of a shadowy group of hunters dedicated to protecting humanity from dangerous supernatural forces. I'm sitting in a remote shack outside Falkenhagen, both barrels of my shotgun are loaded and pointed at the door. I await the arrival of my colleague and mentor, Ludwig Schönberger who may have fallen prey to the very powers that we once fought against together.

Hour 1 (Threat: 3)

I remember when you found me, alone in the ruins of that old house, my hands dusty with the chalk I'd drawn the complex, if shaky, sigils with. You appraised my work in silence as I remained in a tense crouch, unsure whether to flee or confront you. After moments that felt like hours, you quietly complimented my handiwork and enquired as to my purposes. I knew in that moment that how I answered would determine how much longer I'd have to live, and decided to be honest that I was a mere dabbler and explorer. I think that combination of naivete and raw talent is what led you take me on as your apprentice.

Hour 2 (Threat: 3)

I remember picking up a copy of Trybuna Narodowa in a cafe in the port of Gdynia. I was on the trail of the warlock Izydor Kotkowski and had tracked him to the city, suspecting he was planning to board a ship to Stockholm and out of our reach. I glanced though the pages as I waited for sign of my quarry and had no real interest in the articles, but somehow the obituary section caught my eye. My hands shook slightly and I tried to maintain my composure as I read the notification of your death in a train accident outside of Ostrava. I was unable to linger, however, as I caught sight of Kotkowski emerging from a side street - I grabbed my hat, wrapped my greatcoat about myself, and set off in pursuit.

Hour 3 (Threat: 4)

I remember arriving at your house in Haganj village, having recovered a map and key from the our active last dead drop in Bydgoszcz. Kotkowski was dead and his grimoire en route to the chapterhouse in Berlin. As I suspected, the house was bare, merely a front for the entrance to the basement lab, and as I descended the narrow stone staircase I smelt the acrid chemical stink of your Great Work. Every available work surface was caked with gore, radiating out from the central operating table where a variety of limbs, organs, and sheets of skin had been abandoned before being fully assembled. I cautiously approached, amulet in hand, and pulled back the sheet that coverered the amalgam's head. A litany of prayers and curses followed when I saw it had your face.

Hour 4 (Threat:3)

I remember the years we spent together in service of the Order, the years of training under your guidance as I learned to recognise the difference between safe, sanctioned arts and the dangerous, forbidden practices of warlocks. I was so proud on the day that you told me I had passed my training and would be elevated to the same rank as you. I anticipated the work that we'd achieve together and was intrigued when you alluded to a higher purpose we might aim for, a Great Work that you'd been pursuing for many years. It never occurred to me to enquire of the wider members of the Order on the rare occasions we were in Berlin, but in hindsight I realise that I should have been more vigilant of signs of occult influence.

Hour 5 (Threat: 3)

I remember recoiling from the abomination you had crafted in the basement of your house in Haganj, whispering prayers until my voice was hoarse. I knew that this thing on the slab could not truly be you, but it wore your face and that needed further examination. Building up my resolve by reciting an incantation to appease the funerary spirits, I slowly paced back to the operating table and peered at the assembled corpse. The edges of the delicately flayed face had been etched with tattoos in a cursive script, the stylus a length of bone which lay to one side of the head. Recalling my Cyrillic lessons, I recognised snatches of meaning, enough to fear that the face had been enchanted and transmuted to resemble your own. I was relieved to learn you had not died a second time, and now had significant doubts that you'd died outside Ostrava. What I could say for certain was that you were involved in harshly proscribed arts and we need to talk to determine whether you could yet be saved.

Hour 6 (Threat: 2)

I remember discussing you with Artur Janik, a retired priest in the village of Kleszczów. He was unaware of the nature of our group, but recognised the name enough to entrust me with his written account of a series of disturbing events that had plagued the village in recent years. A great wolf, rumoured to be the offspring of the devil and an outcast witch, had been killing livestock for months and now had progressed to attacking lone travellers at dusk. A stranger arrived in the village one morning and, after spending the day enquiring after the beast and its movements, spent the night of the full moon in the woods. Nobody expected to see the stranger again, so it came a surprise when he returned at dawn; streaked in gore and carrying the freshly-skinned pelt of a great wolf. The stranger deposited his trophy on the steps of the church and left without answering any of the community's many questions or accepting any of their hastily-offered gifts.

Hour 7 (Threat: 2)

I remember staggering out of your house in Haganj, desperate for fresh air and natural light. As I reached the front door I noticed something I'd missed on the way in; a crumpled sheet of paper laying on the floor behind the front door. On closer examination I saw that it was a page torn from a book and heavily annotated in your handwriting with what I can only describe as thoughts on how to implement the original page's content. Furthermore, the notes were addressed to me, they were your attempt at explaining how your forbidden experiments shaping and animating dead flesh could be of use to us in our work. I carefully folded the page and tucked it into the inner pocket of my greatcoat, we would discuss this matter further in person and if need be this would be a key piece of evidence in your prosecution.

Hour 8 (Threat: 2)

I remember roaming the streets of Berlin with the rest of my - our - brothers and sisters from the chapterhouse as we searched for any trace of you. The hunt was not my doing, the page was still hidden about my person, instead you had drawn the covetous eyes of several less-accomplished members of the Order. They had conspired to make allegations against you that while lacking any substance they could prove, were nonetheless all to close to the truths that I had uncovered. I decided that it would be best to play along and join the city-wide search on the first night, and then slip away the following day to make my way to our safehouse outside Falkenhagen. I knew that eventually word would reach you and you'd make your way there to make contact with me. I felt the weight of guilt in my heart for betraying the Order by withholding evidence, but I knew that you must have a reason for what you did. I owed it to you to let you explain to us, to me, what you were planning.

The Choice

You arrive. I hear the crunch of dry leaves on the path and the clatter of keys, fully aware that both are courtesies your are affording me; we both know that you are more than capable of reaching and entering the safehouse in absolute silence. As the door creaks open I feel the shotgun shaking, before realising that it is my hands that tremble. I see your face and cannot bring myself to fire, I lower the shotgun and use it to gesture to the empty chair on the other side of the hearth.

The Die Roll...

The roll is 4, you're not here to kill me.

You take the seat opposite me and we sit by the fire. At first we sit in tense silence, but eventually I withdraw the page from my coat and pass it to you, signalling the start of a long conversation that takes us through the night. When dawn arrives we have both learned much about each other and both know that when we leave it will be to travel far from the Order's reach, as they will be pursuing us both now.

If on a Wintry Plane...

A game played using an experimental homebrew system to run the first scenario of the Planarch Codex: Wintry Plane. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Character Creation

Draw from a tarot deck, one card per ability. Take the value as the score and calculate the modifier (using the Immortal rules).

The Freebooter

Strength: 5 of Disks (Worry) [-2] Filled with doubt about their physical prowess.

Dexterity: Queen of Wands (counts as 13) [+1] Favours bold/flashy actions.

Constitution: 8 of Wands (Swiftness) [-1] Prone to minor illness, quickly recovered from.

Intelligence: 18 The Moon [+3] Genius bordering on madness.

Wisdom: 5 The Hierophant [-2] Frequently opposes authority, heedless of the risk.

Charisma: 8 of Cups (Indolence) [-1] Easily led astray by vice.

Gameplay

When a check is required, draw a card from the deck and apply the relevant modifier to the value.

• Minor arcana: 10+ succeeds with a bonus, 7-9 standard success, 6- success at a cost.
• Major arcana: No progress, but the card drawn informs the nature of the insight the character gains.

If the card drawn matches the ability used, the check automatically succeeds and the character marks XP.

The Scenario

Background: Prince of Swords.

Inspiration: 6 of Swords (Science).

Opposition: Queen of Swords.

Goal: Ace of Swords.

Overview: A scholar motivated by pure knowledge seeks to make a discovery, opposed by someone with additional knowledge that they seek to guard against discovery.

Celeste Thornheart arrives at Sultana's Crossing just before the train to Svernaria departs the station. She wraps her thick fur coat about herself, both to shield herself from the cold and to conceal herself from her mark. Esmerela Lucca, a disgraced nun going into exile in a distant convent, emerges from the waiting room and crosses the platform to board the train, Celeste weaves through the crowd, hoping to discretely board in the same carriage - without being seen by Esmerela.

Dexterity Check: Ace of Swords [1] + Dexterity [+1] = 2.

The crowds are heavy and bustling, and Celeste is not skilled at discretion. She slips on a patch of ice and collides with a porter, scattering cases and boxes into the crowd, who in turn react angrily. Esmerela mabye doesn't pick Celeste out of the crowd as the instigator, but is certainly aware that an altercation happened. As she settles into her seat, her shawl folded neatly on her lap, she glances out the window and sees Celeste emerge from the fracas and haul herself onto the train. The whistle blows and the train slowly drags itself free from the station's confines, the journey across the great plane of winter has begun.

Aboard the train and with her composure only slightly disturbed, Celeste spots Esmerela and makes a mental note of her seat before slipping into the next carriage to collect herself. As luck would have it, the carriage is the bar, and Celeste nods demurely to the bartender who pours her a tumblr of schnapps over ice. Celeste slides into a seat at the bar and takes a moment to appreciate the cracking sound of the ice, the delicate scent of the lavender in the drink, and the warmth as it makes its way down her throat. The bartender offers her another...

Charisma Check: 16 The Tower.

The tall, dark bottle stands temptingly on the bar, within easy reach, Celeste knows she must keep a clear head but is tempted nonetheless. She considers her options and decides that excess is a path to ruin, and that ruin is a pleasure best kept for when she's not on assignment. She declines politely and, seeing no further reason to linger, decides to seek out a seat in Esmerela's carriage. Technically Celeste neglected to buy a ticket for this train, so she keeps an eye out for empty seats as well as lone travellers she might be able to acquire a ticket from. Her furs are still heavy on her, but will help obscure her movements if needed.

Wisdom Check: 9 The Hermit.

Celeste spies a mature gentleman, thin wire spectacles perched on his aquiline nose, engrossed in a small tome in his lap. Celeste, shrugs her furs off her shoulders, revealing her off-the-shoulder dress and long auburn tresses, before gliding into the empty seat beside the gentleman. Feigning catching her breath she apologises for the disturbance and places a hand on his arm as she attempts to draw his eyes to her own.

Charisma Check: Prince of Cups [12] + Charisma [-1] = 11.

The gentleman is captivated by the arrival of this captivating woman, he slides his ticket into his book to keep his place, and then places it on the small table in front of him. Celeste catches this with her peripheral vision and makes a show of positioning her furs while spinning a tale of the events that led her here. The gentleman is so taken with the story he fails to spot Celeste reaching a hand beneath her furs to grasp the ticket.

Dexterity Check: 2 of Swords [2] + Dexterity [+1] = 3.

As she slips the ticket from between the pages the train lurches and book falls to the floor. The spell is broken and the gentleman looks away from Celeste, fumbling on the floor between them for his dropped book. Several other passengers are complaining about the unsteady journey allowing Celeste the chance to slip from her seat on the pretence of helping an elderly lady across the aisle. She knows that it's only a matter of time before the gentleman notices his ticket is missing and Celeste can't risk being in the same carriage when he does. She glides along the aisle, passing Esmerela who is adjusting her hat, and returns to the bar.

Celeste takes a seat at one of the small tables and decides to pass the time by ordering a brief repaste. Esmerela won't be disembarking any time soon, so Celeste can be patient. She gazes out of the window at the unforgiving expanse of tundra speeding past the window, ruefully wishing she'd brought her furs with her, until a bowl of spicy soup and a thick hunk of bread is set before her by the attentive waiting staff.

As she daintly dines on the warming meal, she habitually eavesdrops on the conversations of the other passengers in the carriage. Much is dismissed as inconsequential, but a whispered exchange at the bar catches her ear. While reaching for the salt, she glances up to a pair of men at the bar, clearly a pair of street toughs uncomfortable in the expensive suits their patron has outfitted them with. She notes the bulge of a dagger in the closest one's jacket. They are having a heated debate on the nature of their job and the value of patience; the older of the two reminding the younger that there is plenty of time and that striking too early will only put them at risk. Better to wait until the passengers are comfortable and inattentive before making their move. Celeste takes in the conversation and their appearance, trying to deduce a likely motivation and perhaps even target.

Intelligence Check: 3 of Disks (Works) + Intelligence [+3] = 6.

The pieces of the puzzle refuse to take a cohesive shape, but Celeste is nonetheless confident that these two mean harm to someone on the train, no doubt having been hired by a wealthy patron. This patron could be someone who has the wealth to hire more than one set of agents, so Celeste knows to remain on guard against such eventualities. She also knows these men are armed and more than capable of using their concealed weapons, so Celeste must avoid direct confrontation.

[I'm pausing this one here. I think that the basic concept is there; I like drawing and interpreting cards, but I'm thinkin that it maybe skews quite low, or at least has so far. I think that it needs some reworking, but has definitely inspired some other tarot-based game ideas.]

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.

The Pilgrimage of Piers the Agreeable

A one-shot played using Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

THE PILGRIM

Name: Piers the Agreeable

Background: Cloistered

Code: To pursue knowledge and gain honour through sacrifice.

Traits: Studious and ascetic.

Cherished item: A tome of knowledge.

Might: 2

Guile: 4

Honour: 6

Time: 6

Q: What does he wish for under the stars?

A: To rest.

THE DEPARTURE

Swordsaint Azor's prophecies: "I see forgiveness, repentance, penance. I see tenderness, a look."

CROSSING THE DESERT

A week into my journey I was crossing the desert with an extended family of nomads. As I slept I was awakened by the sound of rustling and a soft voice cursing. A child was trying to steal my tome of knowledge, but the leather straps that bind it closed were confounding her. Having already studied this book extensively, I knew that her thirst for its knowledge was greater than mine, so I forgave her attempted theft and gifted her the book.

[-1 Time]

During the second week, we passed a lush and beautiful oasis. The nomads and I were to part ways here, this being their destination. We arrived late in the evening and the nomads invited me to rest with them, but I knew that if I accepted their offer my pilgrimage would be over. While they prepared their camp, I took a few supplies for my ongoing journey and slipped away. I regret  the theft of their supplies, consoling myself that the bountiful oasis would compensate their loss.

[-1 Time, -1 Honour]

UNDER THE SHADOWY PINES

In the third week of my journey I had passed from the sterile desert into the fecund forest, the smell of pine and loam filling the misty air. In the mists I saw a shape like that of a man following alongside me and beckoning for me to follow them. I knew that leaving the path could be dangerous, but I had to learn the source of this vision. I followed the figure to a rotting cabin containing a long-dead pilgrim wearing the tattered robes of my order. Though it delayed my journey I toiled to dig a grave and lay my predecessor to rest.

[-2 Time, -1 Might]

In the fifth week of my pilgrimage, as I was nearing the end of my time in the forest, I heard the sound of wooden wheels clattering on the timeworn path. A midwife was passing in her wagon on her way to visit a distant relative. We spent an evening in pleasant conversation, comparing notes on herb lore. She gave me a poultice of herbs I had no knowledge of, which I used to soothe my sore limbs.

[-1 Time, +1 Might]

THE RIVER VALLEY

In the sixth week of my journey I left the pine forest and entered a valley carved by a mighty river which flowed down from the Frost Cliffs. I followed the river as it took me through fertile farmlands. In one such field I saw a vast loom being worked by mysterious weavers. They wore peasant clothes and burlap hoods which concealed their features. They called out to me to stop and share with them a story of my journey, so I obliged in the hopes of learning more of these people and their craft.

[-1 Time -1 Guile]

First Breach: Anger

Acting in anger, I broke my code. The weavers had shared nothing of their purpose and had instead delayed my journey. I spurned them in frustration and turned to leave them to their mysterious labours, caring not for the truth of their art. They called out to me to wait, claiming that while they couldn't reveal the truth of their art they could at least return what I had lost. They unpicked their work and as they did the bodies of the firmament retraced their steps until four weeks had been unwritten.

[+4 Time, +1 Guile]

In the seventh and yet also only the third week I reached a shrine. Night had fallen by the time I reached the iron gate that barred my entrance to the shrine and its surrounding burial site. As I reached for the gate I saw a pair of eyes burning like coals and heard a rumbling growl. I knew from my studies of the occult that spirits could be appeased by offerings of life, so I shed a small amount of my life's blood onto the bars of the gate as I opened them. As I approached the shrine to make my observances, I sensed the guardian feeding on my offering at the gate.

[-1 Time, -1 Might]

ASCENDING THE FROST CLIFFS

In the eighth/fourth week of my journey I began my ascent of the Frost Cliffs.  I saw two paths before me, a gentle but winding path and a steep but direct path. I felt the direct path to be the truer of the two, fearing not the hardship of a more arduous journey. To me the winding path was akin to giving myself over to comforting fantasies, so I spurned that path. However, my chosen path proved to be more the more treacherous for my footsteps called down the very stones of the mountains upon me. It was only by picking up the pace and dodging the falling boulders that I survived.

[-1 Time, -1 Might]

Second Breach: Pride

It was then that I realised my folly; I had allowed my desire to complete my pilgrimage as quickly as possible to cloud my judgement and I broke my code. I survived by relying on my body's instincts and reflexes instead of my intellect. The realisation that my physical limits were not as severe as I had thought filled me with vigour.

[+2 Might]

In the ninth/fifth week of my journey I reached a plateau halfway up the cliffside. Here I found the spring that birthed the great river that had carved out the valley I had passed through earlier. I filled my waterskin from the stream and spent a moment thinking back to my last meal before I left the company of Swordsaint Azor. It was a simple meal of bread and water but it sustained me for the first leg of my journey. As this memory comforted me, I felt myself held in place while time lost its grip on me - it reasserted itself a week earlier.

[-1 Time, +1 Time]

THE ENDLESS STAIRS

In the tenth/fifth week of my journey I found myself at the entrance of a cave that I suspected would lead me to the next plateau. Towards the end of the week, after spending my time feeling my way through the darkness as I slowly ascended, I was confronted by the guardian of the cave. They asked if I was worthy of ascent and I faltered. I feared that my past breaches of my code, acting in anger and pride, would cause the guardian to deny my passage, so I used my cunning to obscure the truth.

[-1 Time, -1 Honour]

Third Breach: Fear

In my fear of forsaking my pilgrimage I allowed my truth to be obscured by metaphor. I downplayed my sins and tried to appear more worthy than I truly was. Perhaps my pilgrimage should have ended here, I would never know.

THE DECLARATION OF DEEDS

In the eleventh/sixth week of my journey I reached the final shrine. Here I was confronted by the final guardian who asked me to recount the story of my pilgrimage.

First I confessed my sins and the lessons they had taught me:

First Breach: Anger

In my anger at my lack of understanding I turned away from a chance to learn from beings who wielded power over the very fabric of creation. I learned that even the humblest of appearances can conceal great knowledge.

Second Breach: Pride

In my ambition to complete my journey I put my life in danger. I allowed my thirst for knowledge to eclipse my honour. If I had died on the path, my sacrifice would have been unworthy. True sacrifice in the pursuit of truth must not be motivated by personal ambition.

Third Breach: Fear

In my fear of being found wanting I withheld the full truth of my journey, presenting instead a sanitised version of events that told only the story I wanted to tell at that moment. True knowledge is untouched by our fears and cannot be made to conform to them.

Then I recounted the deeds that I had wrought:

First Deed: Sharing the Flame of Understanding

Remembering the words of Azor, I forgave the child and shared a rare gift of knowledge with a young mind. By giving a tome to the nomad's daughter I knew that it's wisdom would be kindled in her mind and be passed to a new generation.

Second Deed: A Tapestry of Shadows

Uncertain of my audience's identity and intentions I decided against sharing the truth of my pilgrimage. Instead I spun them a tale of a simple mendicant preacher who was travelling the land spreading the word of the creator. They worked their loom while I spoke, the cloth taking on a darker shade somehow. The weavers shared knowing looks but did not challenge my story.

Third Deed: The Silent Worship

In that shrine at the centre of a graveyard, with the spectral guardian sated by my blood, I spent a full day and night in silent prayer. When I was finished, I calmly stood and retraced my steps. This time the guardian paid me no mind and as I sealed the gates behind me I heard its forlorn howl - it would mourn my passing.

Fourth Deed: And the Rock Cried Out

As I made my way up the Frost Cliffs the very mountain itself sought to rebuke me. As it sent icy boulders to turn me from my path, I trusted in myself to find the true path to safety. My feet carried me from the path of destruction and I was saved.

Fifth Deed: The Silvered Account

I recounted my journey to the guardian, taking great care to present it as an allegory and emphasising how each aspect could be seen as imagery of a greater story. In doing so I presented each of my failings as moral lessons that a listener could learn from.