Here’s a small detour from my current project: I have a third piece of Pathfinder web fiction up today, as part of Paizo’s launch of their Player Core 2 rulebook from their Remastered rules. The link:
Korakai and Seoni fight fire with ice in this illustration by Gunship Revolution
It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published anything for Paizo, so the request to write something for their Iconic characters (who are the “protagonist” characters they use to show off each of their character classes) as part of a major book release certainly came as a surprise. Apparently one of their writers fell sick, and I’m on the list of “potential other writers” in their stable. As a result, I received the request with only a couple of weeks before the deadline, and a day or two before I left for Greece, a two-week holiday to celebrate my daughter’s high school graduation. That’s right: The deadline and trip meant that, if I agreed, I would need to write the story while on vacation.
I’m of the belief that when an editor asks if you’re interested in writing fiction, always say yes. So I agreed, they set me up with a quick freelance contract and background reading materials, and off to Greece I went. Once I’d recovered from jetlag, the story came together fairly quickly, and I submitted it well in advance of the deadline.
There is one character in the story that does not appear in the above image (which was meant to be inspiration for the story): He’s a doddering old university professor, and nominally the reason the Iconic characters are in their current predicament. I named him “Rodos,” which is the Greek name for the island of Rhodes, where I was staying for the bulk of the writing.
“The moon is barren,” Erin Wywood sang with a mournful, strong voice as she clutched the charm around her neck fervently, head bowed and eyes closed. Her companions, now only Ethys Haffoot, Hilda Breadon, and Umur Pearlhammer, stood around her in silence. All of them were caked in dried mud and blood.
“The moon is old.
“The moon is knowing.
“The moon is cold.
“Its light’s a mirror,
“And moves our souls.” The minstrel opened her eyes as this last word lingered, and they were brimming with tears. She looked around at the bodies arrayed before their small gathering. They had worked together to drag them here, at the foot of the giant throne.
“Leda Astford. Bern Erswood. Veric Cayfield. May these souls find you in the heavens, Shul, God of the Moon, Dancer of the Half-light Path, Husband of the Three. May you also shepherd Giliam Haffoot,” at this Ethys choked a sob. “Gyles Teahill, Finasaer Doladris, Mythey Wyebury, and Egerth Mayhurst.”
The halfling snarled. “No! Not him. Let Egerth burn in an undying hell.”
Erin sighed and nodded sadly at Ethys, which seemed to mollify her. “May these souls find rest in your domain among the stars, and may you find good use for them in your celestial domain. May your light banish the Chaos in darkness and remind us of a brighter day. May it be so.”
“May it be so,” the others repeated.
Erin released the pendant in her grip, a simple silver crescent moon. “Alright,” she said wearily. “Thank you all. Now, do we explore the door that Umur found behind the throne, or do we simply leave? There are only four of us now. I’d like it to be a group decision.”
As the others cleared their throats, Erin looked around the vast chamber. Shattered clay pieces and slabs of mud were everywhere, littering the throne, floor, and shallow water of the pit below them. Only hints at the vast army of soldiers remained; clay arms, hands, broken spears, and half-heads were scattered around the floor. In the pit was only brown, thick water and chunks of the ceiling above.
“You said you thought it was treasure, didn’t you Umur?” Hilda asked. She had dropped her rolling pin and held in both hands the glowing orb from atop the throne, big as a small watermelon and seemingly made of pure crystal. This close, the pulsating light was harsh and cast deep shadows on Hilda’s face and arms.
“It’s me best guess,” the dwarf sighed. “Whoever built this place would hide the vault behind the throne. But, mind, it could be trapped as well. The door was not easy to find.”
“I suspect it is trapped,” Ethys frowned. “Everythin’ in this cursed place is trapped, eh?”
“I agree,” Erin conceded. “We have jewels from this place we’ve salvaged, silver figurines, and a magical orb,” she nodded at Hilda. “Plus armor and spears nicer than anything we could forge. It’s enough, isn’t it? I don’t think that I can bear any more of us dying here.”
Hilda frowned, clearly the dissenter. She looked at the others in turn, then eventually puffed out her breath in a mighty heave.
“Alright, alright. We leave it. I’m sure you’re right that it’s trapped, and we’ve seen enough death to last our lifetimes. Imagine what this place could be hiding…” emotions warred on the baker’s face. “But okay. Alright. We leave it.”
Erin nodded. “And we do not explore the rooms on either side of the giant statue, either, not the one Councilwoman Leda and Bern opened, nor the one Egerth disappeared into. We are retracing our steps as best we can and getting out of here. Yes?”
“Okay, but how are we getting past that giant statue without getting burned alive?” Ethys asked, tamping the end of a black spear on the stone.
“I’ve been thinkin’ on it,” Umur said. “May have an idea there.”
The dwarf had strapped Leda’s ancestral longsword to his belt on the opposite hip from Mythey’s shortsword. He, Hilda, and Erin all wore the black scalemail from the spear-throwing statues. Ethys declined to peel the armor from Leda’s corpse, but she was happy to take Bern’s spear and have two of the weapons. Erin, meanwhile, had taken Veric’s iron scissors, not as a weapon or tool but as something to bury when they returned to Graymoor. They had all agreed that they couldn’t realistically bring the bodies of the other residents with them.
“Let’s go then,” Erin announced.
Slowly, painfully, the four companions made their way from the large throne around the pit and out the way they’d come. Hilda glanced back at the throne, where a door lay open behind it, and sighed heavily. Then she followed.
Interestingly, the treasure vault is not trapped, and Hilda’s greed would have netted them a number of tasty items. I rolled to see if they would discover the secret door (Umur rolled a 14, the only success), but with only ¼ of their original party remaining, I had a hard time justifying why they would continue to explore this deadly dungeon. Here is an example of solo play where I tried to picture myself as a player, and not rely on an Intelligence roll. If we were down to 4 PCs given what we had just survived, I sure as heck would be advocating to leave and cut our losses. And, as described above, this means that the western and eastern wings of the complex will also go unexplored. The completionist in me is sad about these decisions, but that sadness is counterbalanced by my absolute giddiness at having a party of 4 PCs that I can level up to actual characters and continue to play.
The pulsing orb banished the darkness in the long, wide room containing the miniature clay soldiers on its ledges. As they passed through it, Ethys wondered aloud.
“Who built this place, then? That guy from the statues… seems a wizard, yeah? But also a warlord. Where is he now, d’ya think?”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” sighed Erin. “Some knowledge is not meant for mortals.”
Hilda harrumphed at that, disagreeing but choosing not to say so explicitly.
“Quiet now,” Umur growled. “We don’ know if the room with the pool is still there, or what effect it’s had on those crystal people.”
They climbed the spiral staircase to the closed door at its top, which Umur opened hesitantly. The room was indeed still there, but no longer lit by shimmering gemstones beneath rippling water. Instead, Hilda’s orb showed that the long, rectangular pool had fallen away below, but the rest of the floor was intact. Stone walkways interspersed with tall, floor-to-ceiling pillars, allowed them to stay wide of the now-gaping hole where the pool had been.
The crystal figures remained, and they shambled their way towards the companions once they’d arrived. Erin hoped they could bring the strange creatures with them to Graymoor, but once they moved towards the door to the giant statue, the crystalline humans edged away like frightened animals. They would not step closer than five strides from the exit, and nothing the companions tried could convince them otherwise.
“Do we force them, then?” Hilda asked.
“No,” Erin sighed. “I suppose we leave them here, in their home. Like everything else in this place, I have no idea if that’s the noble decision or not.”
“I’m still wonderin’ how we aren’t gonna be cooked by the statue,” Ethys muttered.
“Calm yerself, lass,” Umur grumped. He was wheezing in pain from his shoulder wound and a mosaic of smaller hurts. Mud caked his broad beard and armor. “I’ll go first. This is all based on it not cookin’ me when I first open the door. If it acts like it did when we first arrived, though, I’ll try me idea.”
The dwarf placed a bloodied, dirty hand on the latch and pulled. The door opened.
There was the enormous stone statue, fully thirty feet high and dominating the square room. Its outstretched finger pointed directly at the doorway in which Umur stood.
He winced and waited, then, after several heartbeats, exhaled. “Alright, good. Let’s go then.”
Ethys hobbled in on her club foot and made her way to the burned lump that was once her brother. She sank to her knees, dropping the two black spears in her hands, and wept. Erin lay a hand on Umur’s uninjured shoulder.
“I’ll go be with her,” she said in a low voice. “What’s your plan, Master Pearlhammer?”
“I need to look at the base,” he said. “And I need one’a those spears.”
Erin nodded, leaving him to examine the base of the enormous statue. Hilda followed Umur, providing light with her glowing orb. Their footfalls and Ethys’ sobs were the only sounds in an otherwise silent space.
Without saying a word, Erin plucked the spear that was briefly Giliam Haffoot’s from the floor and brought it to Umur. Then she returned to Ethys and crouched down at her side. Erin had prayers to her Moon God at the ready but chose to reflect on them them silently. She closed her eyes and lay a hand on the middle of the halfling’s small back as it shuddered with grief.
A long while later, the light from Hilda’s strange orb grew closer. Erin looked up to see the baker and stonemason standing a respectful distance from she and Ethys.
“I’ve done it, then,” the dwarf said, clearing his throat. “We can go now, or at least try.”
Ethys sniffled and nodded. As she rose stiffly, she hugged Erin tightly for several heartbeats. When she let go, Ethys looked up gratefully.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Erin nodded, a warm, sad smile on her face. A memory flashed of Leda comforting Ethys immediately after her brother’s death, and a pang for all they had lost today ran through her. How long ago had that been? She suddenly felt very small and fragile.
“So,” Ethys said shakily. “What’s the plan, then?”
Hilda answered for him. “He’s hammered one of the spears in the place where the statue rotates,” the baker said proudly, as if she’d done the work herself.
Erin blinked, impressed. “Do you think it will keep it from turning?”
Umur shrugged, then winced in pain at the motion. “Hard to say. But it should at least give us time to leave. The exit is the opposite of where he’s pointin’, so even if it just slows the thing we can make it.”
They all wandered over to inspect the dwarf’s handiwork. Indeed, one of the black spears now jammed into the crease between the statue and its base. The stone around the shaft had been chipped away to give the spearhead better access to the mechanisms within.
“Are we sure we don’t want to explore the side doors, then?” Hilda asked, then started at the dark looks the other three immediately shot her. “Alright, alright. Let’s go home.”
They assembled around the southern door, with the statue’s broad back looming above them from the center of the room.
“When I place me hand on the door, crowd forward. I don’ know how much time I bought us.”
They all nodded. Sweat had broken out on Erin’s forehead and she wiped it away. The back of her hand came away mud-smeared.
“On one,” the dwarf rumbled. “Three. Two. Go!”
He threw the door open as the statue began to turn. A sound like a mallet striking a large iron rod echoed in the hall, then again, then a mighty CRACK! that set everyone’s teeth on edge. Erin and the others pushed through the doorway and, as Umur and Erin slammed it closed, they heard the telltale hiss of the flame from its fingertip. The door grew hot, and they all stepped away, panting.
Erin had never seen the dwarf whoop in joy, but he did so now. The relief of surviving the warlord’s death trap was palpable, and for awhile they all hugged and cheered and, eventually, cried again.
“That’s it, then,” Hilda beamed, cradling her orb with both hands. “We can go home now.”
“If the portal’s still open, ya,” the dwarf chuckled.
At that statement they all grew immediately silent.
“Wait, what?” Ethys stammered. “Do you think it may have closed?”
“I… uh,” the dwarf said delicately, pulling at his beard with one hand. “It only opened with the star directly overhead, so I don’ know.”
“There is only one way to find out,” Erin said soberly. “And I believe it will be open. We’ve done all of this under Shul’s watchful gaze. It won’t have been for naught.”
The others clearly did not share the minstrel’s faith, but they hustled to the door facing them. Lining the wall behind were statues with arms cocked back, now armor-less and without weapons.
Umur did not pause for ceremony. As soon as he’d reached the door he unlatched and threw it open.
A long hallway greeted them, and at the corridor’s end was a blue-limned, shimmering doorway with night sky beyond.
The air felt cooler and crisper than Erin had remembered. The others laughed and hugged again as they made their way outside, then grew more sober as they saw the bloody body of Little Gyles and the burned, stripped corpse of Mythey.
For her part, Erin Wywood looked up at the blue star, what Old Bert Teahill had called the Empty Star. It twinkled and gleamed overhead. Then her gaze shifted to the full moon, bathing the old stone mound with pale light. Indeed, for the first time she realized that the orb Hilda held was like its own miniature moon and would banish shadows wherever she brought it. In that moment, the full divinity of their harrowing, miraculous experience flooded her. She felt without a doubt the divine guidance of Shul steering her and her companions’ movements, from agreeing to join Leda’s expedition earlier in the day to now. With newfound appreciation, she looked from the sky to Umur, Hilda, and Ethys, all smiling and tear-streaked and inviting her to join them.
Under the light of the full moon and Hilda’s orb, Empty Star twinkling blue overhead, she joined them.
“I can’t see anything,” Hilda Breadon panted in the darkness. “We– we have to stop.”
Seven Graymoor residents bumped into one another in a halting, huddled column, all breathing heavily from the surge of fear they’d just experienced escaping the pool room.
“Does anyone have a torch or lantern?” Leda asked. Her burned and painful back pressed against the rough stone of the wall through her black-scaled armor, seeking solidity and support in the dark.
“The halflin’s an’ I don’ need it,” Umur panted. “But this might work for the rest of ye.”
Soft white light filled the space as the dwarf opened his palms to reveal the glowing jewels Ethys had retrieved. Leda smiled despite her pain. She hadn’t relished bumbling blindly in this deadly, alien place.
“Ah,” Hilda chuckled. “Ya, those work.” Soon more light spilled into the cramped staircase as she held a handful of the beautiful, spectral gems.
Ethys followed suit, then Leda herself, fishing the gems out of a pocket at her belt. They passed stones to Verik, Erin, and Bern. Soon all of them had at least a few of the luminescent jewels, which banished the shadows as well as any torch.
For those who know Portal Under the Stars: Technically, the adventure doesn’t make the jewels themselves luminescent. Instead, as written the light is from the room below and shines up through the gems. But I liked the visual of white, glowing gemstones that had some utility as torches (especially since I unfortunately hadn’t really been attending to light sources throughout the rest of the map… something I didn’t realize until the pool room. oops). As an additional perk, they add to the otherworldly and magical vibe of this unexplained structure beyond the portal.
They stood on a descending, spiraled staircase, the stairs wide enough that they could almost walk two abreast without their shoulders scraping against the stone. Almost, but they assembled themselves single file to proceed down to the lower level of this palace-beyond-the-portal. Leda maneuvered herself to the front of the line. Umur and Bern followed behind her gripping weapons in one hand, glowing jewels in the other.
At the bottom of the stairs, the residents found themselves in a long, narrow room, perhaps ten steps wide and five times as long. A door, iron-banded and wooden as all the others, stood firmly closed at the far end of the room. The room itself was bare except for ledges that ran the length of the long walls. Veric, short even for a halfling, stood on his tiptoes to peer up and into them.
“Um,” he whispered in a small voice. “What are those in– oof! What are those in there?”
Bern raised his handful of the glowing gems near the ledge and squinted. “Huh, good eyes you’ve got there. Little soldiers. Made of clay, if I’m not mistaken.” He plucked one from its place and handed it to the haberdasher. Veric made a pleased sound as he turned the solder over in his hand.
There is a small bit of treasure for those who search the length of the ledges. Who would do so? I think the two halflings, Veric and Ethys, are too short for a thorough search. Leda and Umur are both injured and are acting as the de facto leaders of the group so wouldn’t allow themselves to be distracted. I’ll roll for the other three:
Bern rolls a [7 + 0] 7.
Erin rolls a [4 + 1] 5.
Hilda rolls a [14 + 0] 14 and hits the Search DC of 10. This makes some sense to me, since she seemed the most excited by finding the gems. I think Hilda has a little bit of greed in her.
As the group moved towards the door warily, Hilda lingered behind. Tongue lodged between her lips in concentration, she brought the glowing jewels up to peer into the ledge nearest her. Her eyes darted left and right, scanning the clay figures.
Leda noticed the baker dawdling with some annoyance. Now that they had some treasure and had realized the deadliness of this place, she considered Little Gyles’ death… not avenged, per se, but at least serving some purpose. The town councilor was anxious to see if now they could find a way back to the old stone mound. She opened her mouth for a reprimand, but then Hilda surprised her with an excited yelp.
“I found some silver ones!” she whooped, not at all whispering. Tamping down a growl, Leda followed her companions to crowd around the sturdy woman in her patchwork armor.
Hilda had to tuck the rolling pin into an armpit as she displayed what she’d discovered. Sure enough, they were small figures of soldiers, like the one that Bern had handed to Veric, each as long as a finger. Yet the four Hilda held up gleamed metallically.
For several minutes the other humans searched the ledges, but to no avail. Hilda had spotted the only obvious treasures and seemed none too eager to give them up. She proudly tucked the figures beneath her breastplate and blouse, smiling broadly the whole time. “For safe keeping,” she chuckled, patting her armor.
“Away with us then,” Umur growled. “See if tha’ door can lead us out or if we ha’ to go find out what all the crashin’ was about upstairs.”
“I’m certainly ready to leave,” Leda nodded. The others agreed, and, with a quickly held breath, Leda opened the door.
Amazing map art by Doug Kovacs
The room beyond was as breathtaking as it was intimidating. As large as the room with the giant statue and the pool room combined, the cavernous space was thrice tiered. An oversized throne rested upon a raised dais at the back, and seated upon the throne was a large clay statue. To Leda, the warlord on the throne looked identical to the visage above that spewed fire from its fingertip–barrel-chested and wearing animal hides and charm-laden necklaces, with a heavy sword at his hip. The deadly stone statue above had been as tall as three Graymoor dwellings, and this clay one was perhaps half that size and seated, yet no less intimidating. Atop the throne, light pulsated from a crystal globe, illuminating the entire chamber. Absently, Leda tucked the glowing jewels from her hand back into her pocket as the others did the same.
Below the dais, at floor level, seven other clay statues–these perhaps half again as tall as a person–stood motionless. Each looked fierce and distinct from the others, carrying a variety of clay weapons in menacing poses. Below them, in a huge sunken pit that ran the length of the room, stood an army of identical clay soldiers, all the size of a human, their clay armor and spears seemingly ready for war.
The ceiling above had partially collapsed, sending debris and water into the sunken pit. Carnage from the collapsed ceiling had settled, though dust still drifted through the air. Many of the clay soldiers lay broken or canted to one side, and all of them drooped from the pond at their feet. With a start, Leda realized that the pool room must have been directly above this one, and the crashing they’d heard earlier had been the collapse she now witnessed. A pang of guilt ran through her at the thought that she and her companions had utterly ruined not only the beauty of the shimmering pool, but this majestic statuary garden. Then she remembered Little Gyles’ dead, empty stare and all guilt vanished.
Suddenly, the large figure on the throne jerkily and mechanically raised its arm, pointing at the doorway in which Veric, bringing up the rear of their line, stood. In reaction, the seven figures at floor level snapped to attention and mimicked the gesture, their fingers leveled at the party of villagers.
And then, with a yelp from Veric and scream from Hilda, the entire army of damaged clay soldiers lurched into motion.
My first DCC combat! And what an epic combat it is. There were originally 70 clay soldiers in the pit, plus 7 generals and 1 warlord. Each statue, regardless of rank, has an AC of 12, 9 hit points, and a spear. On the surface, this is a completely and utterly unwinnable combat for a handful of Level 0 peasants.
But the party’s perseverance in getting the jewels from the floor of the pool has helped them immensely. The debris from the falling ceiling did 1d6 damage to every figure in the room except the warlord (I spent a very long time rolling, like a maniac, individual damage for each figure). More importantly, the pit has filled with water that is rapidly dissolving the clay soldiers. Every round they stay in the pit will mean an additional 1 damage. I’ve let two rounds “tick” since the collapse, which has destroyed more than 20 of the soldiers. The remaining 47 or so have between 1 and 6 remaining hit points. The soldiers are slow (10 feet of movement), and only those at the edge of the pit can climb out, which uses a turn. All others will continue to take damage. So the party will soon have far fewer opponents to fight than they would have without the collapse, and the longer they can keep them in the pit the fewer they’ll face.
The generals and warlords will remain motionless while the soldiers attack and are non-combatants. If a savvy character can deduce it, taking out the generals will cause the soldiers to become disorganized and more random. If they destroy the (currently undamaged) warlord, all remaining clay statues will become inert. I’m not sure how I’ll determine that a PC can puzzle out this tactic, but without good tactics this is absolutely a Total Party Kill (TPK), so I might just give it to them. Dang these solo games are tough!
I’ve rolled initiative for each PC and the soldiers. Erin, Veric, Hilda, and Leda will go first, then all of the soldiers en masse, then Umur, Ethys, and Bern. Remember that the soldiers won’t be able to attack until they’ve climbed out of the pit, whereas the PCs can attack from higher ground (giving them a +1 to hit as well).
Oh boy. Here we go.
I’ll roll the first four PC attacks here and then narrate the action:
Erin with her dagger rolls… a natural 20! That’s a critical hit that destroys it. Wow what a way to start.
Veric rolls a [2+2] 4. Yep, he’s a haberdasher.
Hilda rolls a [10+1] 11, missing by 1 with her rolling pin.
Leda rolls a [11+0] 11, also missing by 1 with her father’s longsword. Not a great start, and things are about to get scary…
Quick-witted Erin Wywood, town councilor’s daughter and local minstrel, was the first to act. While the others stood goggling at the army rising up before them, she jabbed out from the lip of the pit into the head of a rising clay soldier. Like a log briefly surfacing in swamp water and then sinking below, the soldier toppled backwards and into the muddy pool behind.
“Get to the one on the throne!” she yelled at the others. “It’s controlling them!” Against all sense of reason, the girl then began jogging her way around the edge of the pit, deeper into the room, as clay soldiers rose up all around her.
Veric, wide-eyed and clearly near panic, followed close behind her. As he passed a rising soldier he flailed with his iron scissors, missing it by a country mile. Cursing and screaming, Hilda was right behind him.
Without realizing she was doing so, Leda pulled her father’s longsword free of its scabbard. Yelling in fear and pain, she swung at the first clay soldier climbing out of the pit nearest her. Yet she had never swung the sword, however, and misjudged its length. The blade sailed in front of the oncoming figure ineffectually.
Clay soldiers were boiling out of the pit on all sides, many missing arms or large chunks of their heads from the fallen ceiling, with legs soft and distorted by the water filling the hole. Some within the pit listed and fell without rising again. It was chaos, and every one of the Graymoor residents yelled or screamed in visceral peril.
Any soldier near and edge of the pit climbs out of it, spears to the ready. Those within the pit move to the nearest edge and tick a damage. Seven more die, leaving 24 in the pit and a terrifying 16 that have climbed out.
Umur lashes out with his shortsword for [17+2] 19, dealing 5 damage and killing another!
Ethys stabs at one who’s cleared the pit with a roll of [17+0] 17, dealing 3 damage with her spear! Another soldier down.
Bern stabs with his spear, rolling [19+0] 19, dealing 5 damage and killing another one that rises!
Okay those last three rolls made up for the first group. But there is still a long way to go.
14 clay soldiers are alive and have cleared the pit, but the walkway around the pit is narrow and will prevent many of them from attacking.
Round 2 attack rolls:
Erin [9+0] 9. Veric natural 20 with a hit in the eye! Hilda [17+0] 17 for 2 damage! Leda [19-1] 18 for 5 damage! Woo!
Roaring, Umur lashed out with the shortsword he’d plucked from Mythey’s corpse before even entering the portal. How long had it been, some part of Leda’s mind wondered hysterically. Two hours? More? The dwarf cleaved an oncoming soldier nearly in two as it toppled, inert. To his right, Ethys and Bern stabbed in tandem with their spears, pushing two soldiers off the ledge of the pit and into the muddy slurry below.
Out at the edge of the pit, halfway to the warlord sitting motionless atop his throne, Erin swung wildly and then, panting, stepped back. Veric leapt forward, both hands holding the ends of his scissors, and plunged them into the clay head of a soldier while Hilda bashed one aside with her rolling pin. Soldiers crumpled and slumped, even as more used their bodies for purchase to climb out of the pit.
Leda saw all of this out ahead of her. The grip on her father’s sword was slick with sweat, but she had the balance and length of the weapon now. Drawing inspiration from the others, she screamed and cleaved a soldier’s head from its clay body.
I won’t try to describe the mayhem on the map I’m using to track all of the PCs, soldiers, and their movements. Suffice it to say, two of them have cleared the pit and are adjacent to PCs, giving them an opportunity to attack, one on Veric and the other on Leda. They each have a whopping +4 to attack with their spears and deal 1d8 damage if they hit.
The clay soldier facing Veric rolls a [3+4] 7 and misses.
The clay soldier facing Leda rolls a [13+4] 17 and hits. Leda only has 2 hp remaining, and the soldier rolls max damage. Our fearless town councilwoman is very, very dead.
Six more soldiers die from the water in the pit. That leaves 12 still in the pit and now 16 up on ground level with their spears. The way is clogged, but Erin is going to see what’s going on and shout out a new tactic for the others to follow.
Leda shouted triumph as she felled the soldier. In that moment, she felt like a warrior of old, black-scaled armor shining under the light of an alien, mystical orb as she cleaved foes with her ancestral longsword, all while some alien warlord god looked down from his throne. She wished her father could see her now, like an avenging angel of battle.
“Ha! Did you see, Umur?” she shouted. Then she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her back.
“No!” Umur yelled, eyes wide. Leda looked down, confused, to see the clay spearhead protruding from her chest, and then thought nothing at all.
Erin watched the town councilwoman fall to her knees and then face-first to the stone floor, a clay spear protruding from her back. Umur was swinging his sword, beating back soldiers as they crawled out of the pit in a vain attempt to reach her fallen form. Bern and Ethys were near him, stabbing with their black spears. Ahead of her, Hilda swung her rolling pin and Veric his scissors.
But a tidal wave of soldiers were climbing up ahead of them all, blocking the way to the warlord on the throne. The odds were impossible, and she realized with fatal certainty that they could not survive the dozens of clay soldiers.
Using a voice honed by countless hours of singing, she called out across the cacophony of battle. “Into the pit! Dive into the pit!”
It’s the start of Round 3. At the end of the last round, Umur, Ethys, and Bern all hit with their weapons and felled one soldier each, but Erin is correct that they are all going to go the way of Leda unless they change tactics.
Attack rolls this round: Erin rolls a [7+0] 7, Veric rolls a [2+2] 4, and Hilda rolls a [9+0] 9. Ouch. None of them hit, so I’ll say they just swing wildly as they follow Erin’s lead into the slushy, muddy pit.
The advantage of being in the pit is that the clay soldiers now outside of the pit can’t hit them (assuming they move away from the edge, which they all will do) without taking a turn to reenter. The downside is that any remaining soldiers in the pit can move to attack them. Each of the three who’ve dived in are facing a spear.
The one facing Hilda rolls a [2+4] 6!
The one facing Erin rolls a [2+4] 6!
The one facing Veric rolls a [10+4] 14. Poor Veric only has 1 hp, so he dies.
Then there are the soldiers at ground level and one of them is facing Bern. The soldier rolls a [14+4] 18, hitting. Bern has an impressive 5 hp, but it rolls 7 damage with its spear. The herbalist dies as well. Dang. The body count is getting high!
Two of the soldiers die from the continued water exposure, and every other soldier in the pit now has 1 hp.
Up on ground level, Umur dives into the pit and rolls a [19+1] 20, killing one of the soldiers there (the soldiers are slow, whereas the PCs can get into the pit and attack in one round). Ethys jumps in too, but rolls a [4+0] 4, missing the one nearest her.
This next round is going to be huge.
Dagger in hand, Erin took her own advice. She leapt into the pit, stumbling in the knee-high water across ceiling debris and half-dissolved clay figures. The minstrel moved away from the edge and any spear thrusts. A splash from Veric signaled that he had followed her lead, and then a thunderous crash and whoop as Hilda joined them.
The three shouted for the others at ground level to follow. Ethys dove as nimbly as she’d done in the pool above, despite the shallow water and debris. Umur, roaring, landed directly atop a soldier in the pit. The impact of dwarf on soft clay utterly crushed the thing.
Bern readied his leap, but not before a spear clipped his side. He turned to face the soldier attacking him, which allowed another soldier to jab out. Erin watched the herbalist die under a barrage of blows, mere fingerspans from the edge of the pit.
The clay soldiers that remained in the slushy, muddy pond had lost much of their cohesion and moved sluggishly, but they were still threats. Erin ducked under a swing from one. Hilda blocked another spear with her rolling pin.
“Veric! Behind you!” Ethys yelled out. The haberdasher spun and made a brief squeal as the spear thrust through his neck. Soldier and halfling went down beneath the water’s surface.
Round 4 and it’s a desperate run across the pit now. Erin zigs and zags to make it as close to the southern part of the pit as possible, killing a soldier in front of her thanks to a [14+0] 14 roll with her dagger. Hilda is right on her heels, but unfortunately rolls a [3+0] 3.
Thankfully, when it’s time for all the soldiers to go, Hilda continues her preternatural dice luck. One soldier rolls a [2+4] 6 to miss her and another rolls [3+4] 7. No other soldiers can reach any PCs this round. Amazing.
The soldiers do, however, start piling back into the pit in pursuit. At the end of their turn, there are now 15 soldiers in the pit, 11 of which die to water damage. Only 4 more are outside of the pit and ready to climb in. None of the 8 remaining clay soldiers (4 in the pit, 4 outside) are at a single hp, however, so the PCs will either have to evade them more than a turn or kill them to survive.
Umur drops one in the pit with a roll of [14+1] 15, doing 3 damage. Ethys doesn’t stand and fight, and instead dashes to Hilda and Erin’s side.
Can I just pause a moment and say: This is crazy! I’ve heard DCC adventures are epic and gonzo even at Level 0, and this feels like a good example. Nice job, Joseph Goodman.
The flood of soldiers had become a trickle. Several slogged slowly towards them, but often the water took their legs and they fell face-down into the slurry. Other clay soldiers moved from the pit’s edge back in. Their numbers were manageable now, Erin thought. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to judge each soldier’s relative cohesion, the speed of the damage done by the water, and her companion’s retreat.
Two soldiers made it to either side of Hilda. As they pulled back their spears to attack, they slumped like melting candles.
“Keep going!” she urged them on. “To the back! To the throne! Keep them in the water!”
Panting, laboring, and terrified, the three Graymoor residents followed Erin to the far southwestern corner of the pit. Clay soldiers moved awkwardly towards them, stumbling, falling, and never rising as they went. Eight soldiers became six, then four, then two.
A mere handful of feet from Erin and her group, huddled in a corner with weapon raised, the last soldier collapsed.
Rounds 5, 6, and 7 are like a game of “Marco Polo” in a pool. The PCs move to the far southwestern corner of the pit while the remaining soldiers slog their way through the water towards them. But they can’t reach the PCs in time. Erin, Hilda, Umur, and Ethys have survived! Holy crap!
Without pausing, Erin pulled herself up and out of the muddy mess. Hilda followed, then turned to pull Ethys and Umur up.
“Careful,” she cautioned. “Now the generals might attack.”
At this alarming statement, the others leapt to a defensive formation, weapons ready.
But nothing moved. The warlord on his throne and generals assembled at his feet had been merely the catalysts to activate the clay army. They stood, fingers pointed accusingly at an empty doorway far across the cavernous room. That is, until the residents of Graymoor destroyed them with repeated blows to their clay bodies. Eventually, not even the giant warlord on the throne remained.
Only then did Erin allow herself to relax, hands on muddy knees. Of the twelve who’d assembled around the portal beneath the stars, only the four of them remained.
The seven remaining Graymoor residents, in wonder, examined their surroundings. The room they found themselves in was rectangular and larger even than where they’d just escaped the deadly, fire-spewing statue. This space was dominated by an enormous pool of water running the entire length of the room. Something shone from beneath the water’s surface, illuminating the polished walls and ceiling with dancing, spectral light. A walkway of stone surrounded the pool, and along the western and eastern sides were several pillars reaching floor-to-ceiling. In the far, northeastern corner, Leda spied a doorway.
“It’s beautiful,” Erin Wywood, the minstrel, sighed.
“Oh, but– oh no!” Hilda Breadon whispered urgently. The baker looked incongruous wearing pieces of enameled, black armor while wielding a rolling pin in one of her large hands. “Something’s moving. There! Between the pillars.”
They all froze. Indeed, it wasn’t a single humanoid figure moving, but perhaps half a dozen. All of the creatures, it seemed, were shuffling their way towards them. The movements were stilted and slow, like a puppet on the end of a beginner’s strings.
All around Leda, hands gripped weapons, and Umur drew his short sword from its scabbard. Veric Cayfield even fumbled in the pouch at his hip and pulled forth a pair of iron scissors.
Leda, for her part, left her father’s sword sheathed. She had never drawn it in combat–never fought with any weapon, really. Instead, she involuntarily made fists at her side, hands shaking, and her back still throbbing with pain.
The nearest, shambling figure rounded a pillar and came fully into view. It was a human woman, except that she seemed to be made entirely of a translucent crystal. Because of her glasslike nature and the shimmering light, it was difficult to make out too many features, but the details were astounding. The figure looked exactly like an armored, barefoot woman, yet transformed to crystal.
“What– what is it?” Ethys Haffoot gasped.
“Traps, not monsters,” Veric whispered fervently. Leda saw that his hands were shaking far worse than her own, the scissors bobbing in the air in front of him. “Traps, not monsters. Traps, not monsters.”
The crystalline figures are not inherently dangerous, but they will defend themselves if attacked. So the question is: Are any of the PCs dumb or nervous enough to attack unprovoked? I’m going to say that Ethys, Umur, and Erin are all too smart to be reckless. For DCC, Intelligence is a combined stat for what D&D would call Intelligence and Wisdom. From the DCC rulebook: Intelligence is the “ability to discern information, retain knowledge, and assess complex situations.” It’s that last bit that matters here.
There is only one PC currently alive that has a negative modifier to Intelligence, and that is sadly Councilwoman Leda Astford (she has a very high Personality, which is how she became an elected leader). So let’s roll a DC 10 check, giving her a 50/50 shot at success…
Leda rolls a (17-1) 16. Whew.
The crystal figure approached Erin, who reached out a hand in awe and touched its unmoving face. The animated sculpture crowded closer, seeking the minstrel’s outstretched hand. Everyone else tensed.
Then Erin’s freckled face split into a wide smile. “They aren’t dangerous, are they? More like a stray dog needing attention. Why do you think they’re here? What is this place?”
Slowly, haltingly, the other crystal figures came nearer. They stood near the group of Graymoor residents and otherwise did nothing. It was a mixture of male and female sculptures, and the detail from whoever sculpted them was astounding. Up close, Leda could see individual folds in cloth, and each face had its own distinct personality.
Umur stood away from them, close to the pool’s edge, and peered downward.
“Looks like jewels or gems of some kind,” he said gruffly, but his voice was tinged with amazement. “On the bottom of the pool. Glowing gems, if I’m seeing it clearly.”
“I wish that our jeweler Egerth was here,” Bern Erswood said. In his leather armor and holding a spear of jet black, he looked the most like a warrior of any of them. The well-liked herbalist squinted, trying to see though the shimmering water clearly, then looked up to the group. “Where is Egerth, by the way? Did the fire get him?”
“No,” Ethys Haffoot said, the single word dripping with venom. “Selfish bastard watched Giliam die and closed the door in me face.
“Should– should we go back? Find him?” Veric asked in a small voice, not standing on the pool’s edge but stroking the back of a crystalline figure like one might a cat.
“No,” Ethys replied immediately. “He deserves whatever he gets. Bastard!” And then the young halfling burst into tears.
Leda moved to embrace her, and Ethys melted into the hug. She cried for several minutes, face buried in Leda’s enameled, scaled armor, while the councilwoman patted Ethys’ twin braids.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said gently. After a long while, Ethys stilled and sniffled, pulling herself from Leda and nodding in thanks.
Hilda stood next to Umur and the two of them continued to peer into the water. “If those are jewels, shouldn’t someone dive in to get them?” she asked. “Isn’t that what Old Bert said? We could change our fortunes? It doesn’t look so deep.” She looked around at the others helplessly, eyes pleading and clearly not interested in exploring the water herself.
“I can do it,” announced Ethys, wiping her nose with a sleeve. “Even with me foot, I s’pose I’m the best swimmer here.”
“If Veric is right,” Umur grumped. “This smells like a trap t’me. Soon as you dive in, lass, I suspect these statues’ll be a lot less friendly. Or somethin’ else more horrible.”
“It’s worth it, though, yeah?” Ethys said with chin raised proudly. “We can’t have come here for nothin’.” And without further conversation, the halfling handed her tall spear to Erin and dove gracefully into the pool.
Leda tensed, hand on the hilt of her sword. But as Ethys’ body disappeared below the water’s surface, the statues did not move or change their behavior. Neither did the chamber fill with poisonous gas, spikes drop from the ceiling, or any number of other visions that filled Leda’s imagination.
In a dozen heartbeats, Ethys gasped to the surface. She was grinning as she swam leisurely to the pool’s edge, legs like a frog.
“With my knife I got a couple free!” she announced, tossing them to Umur’s feet. “Must be hundreds of them down there. Be right back!”
Umur knelt, grunting with the effort, and plucked one of the jewels from the floor. Hilda picked up the other one.
“Looks valuable, yeah?” Hilda whistled. Umur grunted in assent.
Ethys was indeed a capable swimmer. She stayed below the water far longer than the others likely could have managed, and each time she surfaced she tossed more beautiful gemstones to the floor at their feet. What was initially two jewels became ten, then twenty, and each one a luminescent white. Beautiful.
The halfling trader surfaced, paddling closer to the edge and for once not depositing any treasure to the pile.
“Is that all you can pry loose then?” Hilda asked, marveling at the gems in her meaty palm. “A good haul.”
“Oh, I could get all of ‘em,” Ethys said, and Lena noticed suddenly that the girl looked worried. “Only, I think pryin’ ‘em loose is doin’ somethin’.”
“Doin’ what, then?” Umur frowned deeply, pulling at his beard with one hand, something she’d never seen him do before. His eyes scanned the chamber in alert.
“I think– I think the water’s drainin’ out,” Ethys replied, swiveling her head up to the dwarf. “I’m leavin’ holes on the bottom of the pool.”
As she said the words, Lena realized the truth of it. The pool was already several fingerspans lower than it was when the brave halfling had first jumped in, and there was an almost imperceptible hum of water like a drain in a washtub. She turned to Umur, and the dwarf frowned deeply. “What does it mean, stonemason? Anyone?”
I feel like I’m relying on Intelligence checks a lot, but I think that may be the way of solo play in a dungeon full of traps. In many cases, I can predict how characters might react to a situation. But how logical they’ll be about the information in front of them and how much they’ll see potential consequences… that’s more difficult for me to judge without a group of players.
So, we roll. I’ll again rely on the smarties in the group: Erin, Ethys, and Umur. I’ll make the DC to discern the implications of the draining water 15.
Erin rolls a [3+1] 4.
Ethys rolls a [11+1] 12.
Finally, Umur rolls a [10+1] 11.
Nope. None of the usually logical members of the party quite figure out what’s happening here.
The room looked back at her, blank-faced and shrugging. Certainly, the crystalline figures hadn’t changed their behavior; the translucent creatures huddled near members of their group passively and silently, seemingly unperturbed by either the stolen jewels or draining water.
“I suppose the water leaving is a good thing, then,” Hilda offered hesitantly. “It means it’s easier to reach the gems, right?”
“Alrighty, then,” Ethys said, and disappeared again beneath the surface.
For several more minutes, Ethys did her work. Leda and Bern, meanwhile, joined Umur in scanning for danger, her standing by the dwarf’s side and him wandering around the pool’s perimeter. Erin and Veric spent their time talking and interacting with the crystal figures, to no obvious effect. Hilda, meanwhile, never took her avaricious gaze from the growing pile of jewels at her feet. With wonder, the baker knelt and ran her fingers through the gemstones, counting quietly.
“That’s forty-five of them,” she breathed excitedly. “We’re truly all going to be wealthy, aren’t we?”
At Leda’s side, Umur grunted skeptically.
Bern, meanwhile, had made his way to the northeastern corner of the long, rectangular room, where the second door stood closed.
“Should I open it?” he called in a low, loud whisper.
“Absolutely not!” Umur’s bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he again pulled his beard. “By the gods, man! Once Ethys has the rest of the gems, we leave!”
At this point the water level in the pool was only knee-high. Rather than dive, Ethys stooped down to work her knife. When she had another handful, she straightened to her full height, dripping, to make her way back to the pile at Hilda’s feet.
“Five more,” she grinned. It’s getting easi–”
Her words cut off as a giant THUNK! echoed in the chamber. Ethys cried out as she stumbled. Everyone’s eyes bulged with alarm.
“What was that?” Erin gasped.
“The floor–” Ethys splashed her way, stepping with high knees, to the shallow pool’s edge. “It buckled! I think pulling the gems is making it weaker or–” And then another THUNK!
Hilda was frantically grabbing as many loose gems from the floor as she could. Ethys deftly swung up and grabbed a large piece of folded sailcloth she’d brought, helping collect the shining jewels.
“Hurry, hurry!” Hilda yelled. “Help us!”
Leda and Umur rushed to comply, but Erin and Veric were rushing north to Bern’s side.
“This way!” Bern yelled to them across the chamber. “I’ve opened the door! It’s a stairwell!”
Leda was about to argue that they should escape the way they’d come, but then a sudden vision of that enormous statue, finger outstretched, filled her mind. She cursed.
“Let’s go. Follow Bern,” she urged. Umur helped her up, both wincing in pain from their earlier wounds. A quick glance and she saw that the water was almost gone now, draining quickly out of the holes left by fifty missing jewels. “We should hurry,” she panted.
As they all rushed to the doorway, the crystal figures shambled haltingly, following. They moved at a quarter of even the club-footed Ethys’ speed.
“Should we wait for them?” Erin asked, concern in her eyes.
There was another shudder from the pool’s floor, echoing.
“No,” Leda said with finality. She slammed the wooden door shut behind her.
As Bern had described, a spiraled staircase awaited them all, plunging down into darkness. Something from the pool room crashed and boomed.
Councilwoman Leda Astford stared through the open door in wonder. She could feel the other Graymoor residents pressed beside and behind her in the cramped corridor, but her full attention was fixed ahead.
Old Bert Teahill had claimed that beyond the magical portal lay “jewels and fine steel spears.” There were crystals on the now-open door, dotting the wooden surface in star-like patterns, which she supposed could be mistaken for jewels. And spears?
Yes, there were certainly spears.
In a rectangular room, perhaps ten feet from the open doorway, straight ahead, was another stout, wooden door banded in iron, no crystals upon its surface. Four armored iron statues, two on each side, flanked that door. Each statue depicted a person–human men and women, judging by the physiques, ears, and roughly carved faces–in enameled armor holding a black spear, arm cocked back as if ready to throw. All four deadly spear-tips aimed directly at the open doorway in which Leda stood.
It was Bern Erswood, the herbalist, who pulled her aside forcefully.
“Leda! If those things loose those spears, you’re as dead as Mythey, that’s for sure,” he whispered fiercely, admonishing.
“If it were a trap,” sniffed Egerth Mayhurst, the unpleasant jeweler, panting, flattened himself on the opposite side of the hallway as Leda and Bern. His bald pate gleamed with sweat in the pale blue light. “It would have triggered, yes? Perhaps it was meant for someone who forced the door open before it was unlocked.”
“Well then, by alla’ means,” the dwarf, Umur Pearlhammer, grumbled from behind them. “Go on in and try the next door, yeah?”
“Absolutely not!” Egert blanched.
“I’ll- I’ll do it,” stammered Little Gyles, Bert’s grandson. He planted his pitchfork and pushed forward.
“No, son,” Umur and Bern said almost simultaneously, then chuckled at one another.
“Bravest one here is the wee lad,” Umur shook his head. “Step aside, step aside. We’re here. Might as well see what’s behind that next door since we’ve come alla’ this way.”
“I’ll join you, Master Pearlhammer,” Bern smiled, and the two men stepped into the room, shoulder to shoulder. Undaunted, Little Gyles was right on their heels.
Nothing happened.
Leda exhaled loudly at the same time as several others, not realizing she had been holding her breath.
The adventure text says that the statues “wait for an opportune moment, then suddenly hurl their spears at the characters.” Since I’m controlling the actions of both the traps and the PCs, it seems unfair to choose when that moment occurs. Instead, I’ll leave it up to chance.
I’ll roll a d4 to see how many cohorts of three individuals enter the room before the spears fly. I already have their marching order down on a piece of paper.
I roll a 1. Dang. I like all three of those characters in the lead!
Each statue attacks with a +2 against the PC’s Armor Class of 10 (12 for Bern, who is wearing Mythey’s leather armor), but poor Gyles is in the doorway, so any that target him get a whopping +4. They do 1d8 damage each. I’ll say one spear flies at each PCs, and two at Gyles unless the first one kills him. If so, the fourth spear will fly through the doorway at either Leda or Egerth at a +2 (what? You thought the point-of-view character Leda had plot armor? The dice decide the story, and everyone here is as fragile as a… well, as a villager thrown into a magical, alien portal.). Here goes…
The first spear flies at Umur: (19+2) 21, and hits for 2 damage. Umur has 3 hp… whew!
The next at Bern: (6+2) 8, sails wide of Bern. Whew again!
Now at Gyles: (8+4) 12, which hits for 3 damage. The boy only has 1 hp, sadly. Brutal.
That means the fourth spear targets either Leda (1-3 on a d6) or Egerth (4-6): A 4 is Egerth. It rolls a (7+2) 9 and barely misses.
Suddenly, with a coordinated, metallic THUNK! and a quick whirring noise, the four statues released their spears in unison. Before Leda and the others could even gasp, one had buried itself in Umur’s broad shoulder, another had clattered against the wall behind Bern, and a third had sailed through the doorway, narrowly missing Egerth’s leg and skittering across the stone floor amidst the others. The dwarf cried out in pain and stagged just as the jeweler clawed at the wall backwards, into the pressed crowd.
“No!” Bern yelled, much to Leda’s confusion. And then Little Gyles Teahill, the boy with the strength of a grown man, asked specifically to be there by his grandfather, fell back into her arms. A spear shaft protruded from the middle of his chest.
Gyles didn’t mutter last words or even make a single sound. The sleek, black spear must have killed him instantly. A bright bloom of red blossomed on the front of his homespun shirt, his eyes wide, surprised, and glassy. The pitchfork the boy had been clutching clattered to the floor.
For a long while, there was screaming, crying, consoling, and grief. Leda herself carried Gyles’ body to the end of the corridor and outside, placing him gently on the open ground in the nighttime air. She closed his eyes and said a prayer that Justicia, goddess of justice and mercy, watch over him. She had promised Bert that she would keep the boy safe and had utterly failed. The weight of that failure threatened to crush her into a ball on the cold dirt. Instead, she stood and planted fists on hips, staring at Little Gyles to memorize his every feature. Something cold and hard formed along her spine, keeping the tears at bay.
Bern, meanwhile, tried his best to tend to Umur’s shoulder wound, and managed at least to get the bleeding staunched. The dwarf looked pale and weak now, his voice strained. The others tried to convince the dwarf to turn back and head back to Graymoor, but he set his jaw stubbornly.
“You say me, but we should alla’ go back,” he grumbled. “We’ve found only death here.”
“We keep on,” Leda said decisively, joining them after her time outside. “They’ve taken Little Gyles, these bastards. We go in, we take what we can, and we ensure his death was not in vain.”
The group quickly realized that the black, sleek spears were better weapons than any of them wielded. Bern and Egerth were the first to take theirs, and after some discussion the Haffoot siblings, Ethys and Giliam, gripped the other two. The halfling pair, who made their living trading tea leaves in a small boat up and down the Teawood River, looked particularly small carrying the long, wicked weapons. When offered one, Finasaer Doladris explained that, as an elf, he could not touch the iron of the spears for long, but he did pick up Little Gyles’ wood-shafted pitchfork. Even the scholar, it seemed, had recognized the danger of their situation.
It was Erin Wywood, the sharp-witted minstrel and councilman’s granddaughter, who recognized that the armor on each statue was not part of the sculptures and could be removed. It took what felt like ages, but together they puzzled out how to unstrap the pieces from the unmoving iron and help others don them. Umur looked the most natural in the black metal, even though his dwarven physique forced him to exclude some of the original pieces. Hilda Breadon, the stocky baker, followed Umur’s lead and made hers fit in much the same way. Erin donned a full, scaled suit, which the others thought only fair since she had discovered it in the first place. And, thanks to the particular urging of Umur and Bern, Leda took the final suit of armor herself. She was unaccustomed to wearing anything but simple cloth, though she found the weight somehow comforting.
When everything was sorted, only the haberdasher Veric Cayfield found himself armor- and weapon-less. He smiled brightly and said that he didn’t mind… it was fun to help get the others fitted into armor, and he would feel ridiculous holding a spear.
“I have my scissors if it comes to fighting,” the halfling announced with cheer, patting a pouch at his hip. “But I don’t think it will. This strange place beyond the portal is full of traps, not monsters. What do you think the traps are protecting, do you figure?”
“And who was the principal architect of this demesne?” Finasaer wondered aloud, tapping his lip. “Fascinating.”
At that, the group grew quiet and looked warily at the closed, iron-banded door. After the experience of the last two doors and the talk of traps and mysterious builders, no one seemed especially eager to go first.
Filled with visions of Little Gyles’ glassy-eyed stare, Leda sighed and told the others to stand aside. “From now on, I’ll go first,” she announced. “Everyone keep sharp and have your eyes open. If you see something, speak up.” The others murmured assent, even bitter-faced Egerth. The smell of sour, nervous sweat filled the room. Leda’s gauntleted hand reached out to the door, she exhaled sharply, and tried the latch.
It clicked and the door swung open. Leda winced, expecting pain. Nothing happened.
Beyond the door was a large, square room with marble flooring and polished walls. At the far end of the space was a towering granite statue of a man. It was a detailed work of artistry Leda could hardly fathom, and must have been thirty feet tall. The statue’s eyes looked somehow intelligent, and his barrel-chested body was carved to show him wearing animal hides and necklaces from which dangled numerous amulets and charms. A heavy, stone sword was carved to hang at the man’s hip. Leda thought he looked both like a barbarian warrior and shaman, though from where or when she could not begin to guess.
One arm of the statue was outstretched, its index finger pointed accusingly at the doorway in which Leda stood. After the room with the spear-throwing statues, it was a nerve-wracking pose. She quickly stepped into the spacious room and aside.
“Come on,” she said to the others. “There are more doors here.”
Indeed, the square room had three additional doors, all identical to the one she’d just opened, at each wall’s midpoint. Four sides, four doors, one enormous statue. Otherwise, the room was empty.
Time to see if anyone notices some other features of the room with an Intelligence check, at DC 12. I’ll give the three high-Int PCs and Leda, as the first one in, a chance.
Erin for once misses an Intelligence check at (2+1) 3. Ethys also rolls a (2+1) 3. Leda rolls a (12-1) 11. Thankfully Umur rolls a (15+1) 16, which makes sense since he’s the stonemason of the town.
As everyone slowly filed in, boots echoing on the marble floor, Umur peered up and around, studying the statue and room’s construction.
“Careful,” he growled. “See those scorch marks on the floor and walls? And look here, this statue weighs tons but there’s grease here on the base where it meets the foundation.”
“What does that mean, master stonemason?” Bern asked nervously.
“It means, methinks, that the statue rotates and shoots fire, is my guess,” he rubbed thick fingers in his beard, frowning. “Though the masonry involved in such a thing, well… it boggles the mind.”
“Traps, not monsters,” Veric said from the back of the group.
At that, everyone froze and looked wide-eyed up at the enormous barbarian shaman, its finger outstretched accusingly at the empty, open doorway.
“What– what do you think activates it?” Erin Wywood whispered. Still no one moved.
Umur continued rubbing at his beard, eyes searching. “Could be pressure plates on the floor, s’pose, but I donna’ see any. Could be openin’ the doors, but it didn’t scorch us when we came in, did it?”
“Eyes open, everyone,” Leda tried to keep her voice from trembling as she called out. This enameled black armor would not help her at all when engulfed in flame. “And let’s not clump together.”
For the next several minutes, the ten Graymoor residents carefully, carefully spread out and searched the room. Other than discovering more evidence of fire to support Umur’s theory, they found nothing.
“Maybe… it’s broken?” Giliam Haffoot, the brother, asked, rubbing sweat from his brow with a sleeve. It was well known that his sister Ethys was the brains of their boating operation and he was there for the labor. “Been here for years, innit?”
“We have no idea how long,” Bern mused. “We could be standing in another plane of existence, outside of time, even on the surface of that distant Empty Star. That statue could be of the god who created everything, ever, all the stars and worlds. Who knows? This place is a wonder.”
“A miracle,” Erin the minstrel breathed, eyes wide.
“Let’s assume,” Umur murmured through teeth still clenched in pain. “That it will roast anyone who tries to open a door. What do we do?”
They all contemplated.
“We could open all three doors at the same time,” Ethys Haffoot tried, planting the tall spear on the stone to lean on it. “Maybe the statue will get confused, then.”
“Or only cooks one of you, at the least, while the others escape,” Egerth mused. Leda frowned that he said “you” and not “us.”
“And then what? The rest of us run to a door where it ain’t pointin’?” Giliam asked, his scrubby face scrunched in thought. “Sort of a shit plan, though, innit?”
“Do you have a better one, Master Haffoot?” Bern asked. The halfling seemed surprised to be asked and looked absolutely dumbfounded how to respond. Neither he nor the others could come up with an alternate suggestion on how to proceed.
With much apprehension, then, they assembled themselves. Leda would open the western door (none of them knew if it were truly west, but it helped to have a description, so they pretended that the door from which they’d come was south), Umur the northern one, and Giliam surprisingly volunteered for the eastern door. The others of them stood near one of the doors, Bern and Finasaer with Leda, Erin and Hilda with Umur, and finally Egerth and the two other halflings joining Giliam.
“Ready?” Leda called out, placing her hand on the handle of the western door. As she did so, a whirring noise began building within the room. “Now!”
I tried to puzzle out who would go with whom here. Bern the herbalist has been protective of Leda, and the elf Finasaer has seemed to gravitate to her side as well. Erin, one of the smartest of the group, will follow one of the other smarties in Umur, and Hilda is a fellow craftsperson (as much as bakers and stonemasons are similar) so would feel some kinship with the dwarf. Ethys would clearly stick near her brother, and it makes sense that Veric would want to be near the other halflings. Egerth, meanwhile, calculates that a group of four means he is less likely to be targeted by the statue than if he were in a group of three.
Egerth’s logic, it turns out, dooms his group. The statue targets the largest group first, and whoever is opening the door. It shoots out a gout of flame, and rolls a whopping (19+6) 25, for 5 damage. Giliam only has 2 hp, so he’s dead.
Into combat initiative we go… The PCs are lucky and most rolled higher than the barbarian-shaman statue.
In surprising synchronicity, the three figures at the door clasped the latches and opened their respective doors. As Umur had predicted, the immense stone figure rotated on its base with a sound of grinding rock so deep that they all felt it in their bellies more than heard it. Ethys and Veric shouted warnings, but too late. A fountain of fire erupted from the statue’s fingertip, engulfing poor Giliam Haffoot. The man shrieked and rolled on the stone as he died.
Veric, the haberdasher with neither weapon nor armor, did not pause. Quicker than Leda knew the man could move, he sprinted on short legs away from the flaming Giliam and towards Umur, diving through the open northern door. Umur, wide-eyed, followed the halfling, with Hilda right on his heels.
“In! In!” Bern shouted over the screams, and he pushed himself and Leda through the western doorway.
Egerth Mayhust, Graymoor’s jeweler, stumbled past the burning, shrieking Giliam Haffoot and into the eastern opening. Then, much to Ethys Haffoot’s utter astonishment, slammed the door closed behind him, right in her face.
There are now three villagers remaining when it is the statue’s turn: Finasaer the elf at the west, Erin Wywood the minstrel at the north, and Ethys Haffoot (facing a closed door) to the east. Since there is no group larger than the rest, we’ll roll randomly who the statue targets next. I’ll roll a d6 (1-2, 3-4, 5-6) and get a 2.
The statue rolls a (14+6) 20, which easily hits the elf. He takes 3 fire damage, leaving him with 1 hp. He is also burning, though, and will take an additional 1d6 of damage, killing him, unless he can succeed at a DC10 Reflex save. I’ll roll that now: Finasaer gets a 6.
The room seemed to shudder as the thirty-foot stone figure pivoted in its base, finger swiveling to the sage Finasaer Doladris, the only elf in Graymoor’s memory.
“No, wait!” he held up his hands, dropping Little Gyles’ pitchfork, before the WHOOSH! of fire jetted from the fingertip to surround him.
Through the open doorway, Leda could see the elf rolling around in his once-sparkling robes, frantically trying to extinguish the flames. Yet within moments he was nothing more than a burning pile, like Giliam Haffoot across the room.
A Haffoot family trait, the siblings had long told the Graymoor residents, was a single club foot. Both Giliam and Ethys had one, lending credence to the claim. Across the wide room, Leda and Ethys locked eyes and the councilwoman could almost feel her mind working out whether she could, on one lame foot, make the distance between them. The quick-witted halfling apparently decided she couldn’t, and ran in a galloping trot to the north using the spear as a makeshift crutch, out of Leda’s view.
“Miss Astford!” a small voice called out clearly from the direction in which Ethys had run. It was Veric, the haberdasher.
“Yes! I’m here! Me and Bern!”
“Quick! Run to us! So we’re not split!”
She turned to Bern at her side and the two shared a quick nod. As one they threw themselves out, leaping over the charred, flaming lump of Finasaer and towards the north. The room shuddered and rumbled as the statue began tracking their movement. She did not even pause to take in the surroundings behind the western door before exiting it.
Damn this armor! Leda thought wildly. Bern, in Mythey’s leathers, sprinted past her, around the statue’s base and into the northern opening. Leda stumbled, feeling clumsy with the weight of the enameled, black metal strapped everywhere. Ahead she could see a group of huddled faces, urging her on. Veric and Umur and Erin, all reaching out to her from the doorway as she panted towards them, each step heavy.
The scale mail that Leda (and Umur, Erin, and Hilda) is wearing decreases her movement by 5’ per round. So while Bern can dash from the eastern hallway to the northern in one turn, Leda cannot. She gets right to the north entrance, and the statue gets to make a strike against her. The only hope is that Leda’s AC is higher than everyone else’s, +4 for the armor and +2 for her high Agility. So her AC is 16, meaning the statue has just over a 50% chance of hitting. Oh boy.
The statue rolls a (13+6) 19, hitting. I literally winced when I rolled the damage, but it’s only 2! That’s half of Leda’s hit points, and now she needs to pass a DC 10 Reflex save. Now, scale mail also provides a “Check Penalty” for a variety of activities involving dexterity. I can’t find in the rulebook if this pertains to Reflex saves, though. A quick web search tells me that, while slightly disputed, no. Leda’s +2 Reflex save bonus is intact. So she has to only roll an 8 or better…
She rolls a 12. Yes! Whew.
Joseph Goodman, author of Dungeon Crawl Classics and the adventure The Portal Under the Stars has said that the statue room is incredibly deadly, able to wipe out whole parties of Level-0 characters if they aren’t careful. He’s not kidding.
“Come on!” Umur growled from mere feet away. “Run, lass!”
The others dove for cover as the sound of the flames fountained from behind her. Her back and legs seared with heat and she jumped with her last bit of strength towards the now-empty doorway. Leda landed painfully, with a clatter of armor, and suddenly multiple hands were all over her, rolling her and helping to extinguish the flames. Someone slammed the door shut, leaving only the sound of several people panting and the smell of burnt hair hanging in the air.
For several moments, Leda gasped for breath and lay her cheek on the stone floor beneath her. Her father’s longsword, never used once in her life, jammed painfully beneath her hip. Indeed, everything hurt, especially her back and legs. But she was alive, thank the gods. She squeezed both eyes shut and thought of Little Gyles.
Eventually, she rolled to her knees and, grimacing, stood. Umur sat gasping, his back against the door. She could see the dwarf’s bandaged shoulder through the gaps in his armor and it was soaked in fresh blood. Bern, Erin, Hilda, Ethys, and Veric all sat or stood nearby, looking stunned and out of breath. Seven of them, where they had once been twelve.
It was only in glancing at her companions that she first became aware of the shimmering, ethereal light in the room. She gasped as she looked beyond their group.
Bert Teahill lay under a pile of threadbare blankets, shivering and groaning. He was little more than sun-shriveled skin stretched over bones, his gray hair plastered to his skull with sweat. The cramped room–barely large enough for the small bed, a footlocker, and five figures crowding round–smelled strongly of urine and death.
The old man coughed weakly. “Is everyone here then?” he asked in a voice dry as summer leaves.
“We’re all here, Bert,” sniffed Councilman Wywood, nodding. He glanced at the other three town council members, each doing their best to not be there. Wywood was the oldest and most tenured council member and often spoke first. Councilmen Wayford and Seford weren’t much younger but still deferred to him. Indeed, the three men had held their positions so long that they seemed to share more unsaid with their glances than spoken aloud. For example, right then Seford, small eyes in a round face with hanging jowls, looked to Wywood imploringly as if to say When we can leave and get back to our brandy?
The fourth council member, Councilwoman Leda Astford, was the newest member and everything the others were not. Young, brave, and earnest, she interrupted the silent glances from the other three.
“What is it you wanted to tell us, Bert? We’ve assembled the full town council and your grandson, just as you asked,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Councilman Wywood, for his part, pursed his lips and sniffed derisively. The other two old men nodded at his annoyance, silently agreeing Who does she think she is, taking charge?
Bert Teahill whimpered and stirred feebly beneath his covers. For a moment he stilled, and the room grew silent. Then the old man sucked in a breath and opened his eyes wide, searching around the room. He coughed.
“Good, good. Listen to me, all of you. The star… the stars have come back as when I was a boy.”
“What are you saying, Bert?” Wywood grumbled. The man’s wrinkled face shone with sweat. “What is this about stars?”
“Let him speak, please,” Leda intoned. The other three council members traded offended, frowning glances.
“When I was a boy,” Bert continued, wheezing. “Must be fifty winters since. I used to watch the stars, notice how they formed pictures in the sky. Back then there was a particular star. Called it the Empty Star, a blue, twinkling thing, all on its own with no others around it. As it rose directly overhead, a… a door opened. Shimmering blue, at the old stone mound. Swear to all the gods I saw it! A bright blue door, and on the other side jewels and fine steel spears aplenty.”
“What is he suggesting?” Councilman Wayford scoffed at his brethren. He was stooped with age, and his voice was high and wheedling, as if he were always whining. “We’re all here for a child’s fable?”
“A portal!” Bert said, his voice suddenly strong. A liver-spotted hand emerged from the blankets and gripped Leda’s wrist. He looked up at her imploringly. “All my life I held this secret, wishing I’d gone in. Could have changed my fortune, maybe my whole family’s fortunes. Maybe the whole town’s! And every night since I’ve watched the stars. The pictures in the sky all changed. The Empty Star never came back.
“But now it’s all back, you hear me? The Empty Star is rising! Tomorrow night, sure as my grave! I feel it in my very soul, you hear me? Tomorrow night is the night! Someone has to go to the old stone mound to see the portal. Go in, this time. Change Graymoor’s fortunes! There’s treasure there, and glory. Don’t let it pass by this time, please. Don’t live a life of regret like an old, dying farmer. Please. Please…” And just as suddenly as his old, vital self had returned, Bert Teahill deflated and lay panting.
The three aged councilmen said nothing, eyes darting furtively between them in silent discussion. Leda Astford, meanwhile, patted the farmer’s shoulder gently.
“Okay, Bert,” she said. “We hear you. We’ll go to the old stone mound tomorrow night. If there’s a portal, we’ll get those jewels and spears.”
“Take– take Gyles,” Bert whispered and almost imperceptibly nodded.
With a rustle of cloth and creaking floorboards, the four town council members turned to look at the boy. Little Gyles Teahill was Bert’s grandson, who townsfolk said was strong as a man at ten years of age. He had taken over running the Teahill farm with his father’s recent leg injury. Little Gyles looked up at them all with a mix of wide-eyed surprise from the attention and an iron-like determination.
Councilman Wywood snorted derisively and turned his back on the boy. Wayford and Seford followed suit. The three shuffled out of the room, muttering about “waste of time” and “fool’s errand” and “preposterous” and “let’s go have some brandy.”
Leda Astford, meanwhile, met the boy’s eyes. She smiled, conjuring a confused grin from the boy. As the others left, Leda gently squeezed Bert’s thin shoulder and nodded. “I’ll go myself tomorrow night, Bert. And I’ll take Little Gyles and keep him safe, don’t you worry. We’ll see this door of yours. And if it’s there, well, sure as anything we’ll go in.”
Bert Teahill lay still beneath his blankets, eyes closed and barely breathing. Had the man heard her words?
They would never know.
Councilwoman Leda Astford’s breath steamed in the cold night air. Spring had come to Graymoor, but Winter still had its grip on the dark hours. She shivered beneath her traveling cloak, pulling it tighter. She was a healthy woman in the prime of her life but had always suffered in the cold. Her hands and feet especially.
She looked around. A rumor as big as this one had spread, and a large pack volunteered to wander into the darkness in search of Old Bert Teahill’s flight of fancy. Puffs of breath dotted the shadows as the dozen of them waited. It was a clear night and the path to the old stone mound was well-known, so none had felt the need to light a torch.
“How long are we going to stay out here before we decide the old fool is crazy?” complained Egerth Mayhurst. He was Graymoor’s jeweler, a shrewd and unpleasant man of middle years, thin and bald, with a carefully sculpted beard along his jawline. Leda assumed he was here to lay claim to any gemstones they found, if a magic portal did exist. Grimly, she realized that he may also have been sent here to report back to the other council members.
“Calm yourself, Egerth,” a deep, resonant voice intoned. It was Bern Erswood, the town’s herbalist and likely the most well-liked of the group. Bern’s remedies rarely did what he claimed, but the barrel-chested, bearded man made you feel good about taking them all the same. “That blue star that Leda called the Empty Star… It’s still climbing in the sky, and it’ll soon be directly over the old stones. I’m not saying anything will happen then, mind you, but I reckon we’ll find out soon.”
The others mumbled their assent and Egerth Mayhurst snapped his jaw shut, arms folded. Leda looked down on Little Gyles, who stood near her with a pitchfork held like he was defending a castle from invasion. The boy had stayed at her side the entire trek, and she couldn’t decide if he wanted her protection or saw himself as the protector. Either way, she smiled and gripped his firm, muscled shoulder.
“You hear that? Shouldn’t be long now,” she said reassuringly. The boy pursed his lips and nodded.
She looked at the tall figure to her other side. Finasaer Doladris was the only elf anyone in Graymoor had ever met, and his long, pointed ears and long, fine hair made for a distinctive profile even in the darkness. His robes seemed to shimmer in the starlight.
“What do you think, Mister Doladris? Will a portal appear?”
“Mm,” he murmured noncommittally. “Difficult to ascertain, councilwoman. Yet whether folk fable or astrological miracle, it’s a fine entry to my documentation of the local populace. Quite intriguing all the same.”
Leda didn’t reply. The elf had been a genuine curiosity to all of Graymoor since he appeared out of the woodland a year ago claiming to be doing research, but the way he spoke made it difficult to hold a conversation.
The old stone mounds were named such because, amidst a marshy woodland, several large slabs of rock lay against one another randomly like the discarded toys of giants. No other such stones could be found within miles of Graymoor, and against all reason these immense stones never collected moss, bird nests, or spiders. Indeed, no vegetation of any kind grew near the stones. Naturally, most locals avoided the place, and it was a frequent object of childhood dares. If Bert was indeed making up a story, the old stone mound was the perfect location for it.
Suddenly, where three blocks leaned haphazardly together to form an upright rectangle, a shimmering door of light appeared. One moment the space was empty and then it wasn’t, without a sound. The dozen Graymoor residents gasped. Little Gyles took an involuntary step closer to Leda.
As she moved forward, the boy at her hip, Leda saw that it was not so much a door as the opening of a corridor. Where before there had been a person-sized gap, there now stretched a long hallway, limned by blue light.
“There’s nothing on the other side!” Veric Cayfield, one of the three halflings present, called out from the shadows. Like the Haffoot siblings who had also joined their party, Veric had migrated to Graymoor from the distant halfling village of Teatown. He had become the town’s haberdasher years ago, because there was nothing Veric loved so much as clothes and sewing. Indeed, he proudly exclaimed to anyone who would listen that the reason he loved Graymoor is because humans allow him the opportunity to use even more fabric for his craft. Leda had no idea why he’d joined their expedition tonight. Or the Haffoots, for that matter.
A handful of others had wandered to the other side of the three stones.
“Sure enough!” Bern the herbalist exclaimed. “I can see you all clearly through the gap on this side. Can you see me?”
“We can’t, Bern,” Leda called out. “For us it’s a hallway.”
The sound of a sword being pulled from its scabbard rang out. Mythey Wyebury, who Leda always thought was trouble, moved forward to the shimmering corridor’s opening. “Well?” he said. “So the old man was speaking true. Let’s go find these jewels and magical weapons, eh?”
And then he stepped into the portal.
Hesitantly, a small group followed, each clutching the closest thing to a weapon they could find at home. Umur Pearlhammer, the dwarven stonesmith and Graymoor’s most tenured resident, gripped a hammer. Erin Wywood, the councilman’s granddaughter, had a long knife in her shaking hand. Even Hilda Breadon, the town’s baker extraordinaire, gripped a rolling pin in her meaty fist.
“Do we go in now?” Little Gyles asked, looking up at her. For such a strapping lad, his voice betrayed his young age.
“I suppose we do,” Leda answered with wonder, and the two moved towards the opening.
The corridor before them ran about twenty feet, and she was surprised to find that a flagstone floor ran between the portal opening and a large door. Otherwise, the place was bare walls, the same sort of stone as the old stone mound. But it was the flagstones that unnerved her most, for it spoke of someone crafting this place instead of it simply… being.
Mythey and several others were already at the door.
“Locked!” he shouted back at them, clearly frustrated. Veric, Bern, and the others who had walked around the stones were now all at the portal’s entrance behind Leda, peering in.
Leda strode closer, and the door itself left no question as to someone crafting this place. It was wooden and iron-banded. Jewels or crystals of some sort were embedded in the wood, creating star-shapes that twinkled in the blue light.
So far this has all been narrative and no game mechanics. But here we go! Time to roll some dice! Will anyone in the party understand what’s going on? I’ll give characters with an Intelligence of 13 or more (Erin Wywood, Ethys Haffoot, and Umur Pearlhammer) a chance to puzzle it out at a Difficulty Class of 14. Basically, they have to hit a DC 14 on a d20 roll, plus their Intelligence modifier (which for all of them is +1).
Erin’s roll (14+1): 15
Ethys: (11+1): 12
Umur: (2+1): 3
“I think,” Erin Wywood started to say, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I think we need to wait. Bern said the star wasn’t directly overhead yet, yeah?”
Leda blinked, surprised. She knew Erin to be the closest thing Graymoor had to a minstrel, always in public spaces or the tavern singing songs about the gods and the importance of rooting out Chaos from the world. She never thought of her as quick-witted. Leda was suddenly glad that the councilman’s granddaughter had joined them.
“Screw that!” Mythey spat from the front of the group. Before anyone could stop him, he put his hand on the door’s handle and bashed forward with his shoulder. Mythey was an ass and bully, but he was also a hulking man and perhaps the strongest of them assembled.
This is a bit of a sacrificial lamb move on my part, but I don’t want to assume everyone will listen to the town minstrel’s wisdom, and Mythey is a greedy troublemaker whose best stat is Strength. It makes sense to me that he would try and barge in impatiently. It’s also an opportunity to establish the stakes of this little adventure.
The door can be forced with a DC 15 Strength check. Mythey rolls a (11+1) 12, so fails.
Attempting to force the door triggers a trap, however. Before I describe it, Mythey will take 1d8 damage, which he can halve with a DC 10 Reflex check (he rolls a 3). Sort of a moot point since he only has 1 hit point, but he takes 5 damage and is killed instantly.
It was a solid blow, but the sturdy door held. As the man struck it, the jewels on its surface flashed a bright blue that left all of them within the corridor dazzled. Leda blinked to regain her vision, and as she did so, those nearest the door cried out.
“He’s dead!” Hilda the baker shrieked. “Burned to a crisp! Gods help us!”
Acrid smoke smelling of charred flesh began drifting through the corridor towards the open air. Leda gagged and rushed towards the exit along with the others. She glanced back and saw the blackened lump that was once Mythey Wybury.
As the now-eleven of them huddled outside, under the night sky, near the shimmering portal entrance, several people tried talking at once, some in hysterical, high-pitched tones and others in calm, reassuring ones. The effect was that no one heard a single thing the others were saying, leading to a chaotic babble.
“Enough!” Umur Pearlhammer shouted. At once they all quieted. The dwarf’s weathered face, bushy brows over a bulbous nose, regarded them. “Mythey was a fool and trouble besides, we all knew it. First chance he had to take whatever wealth and steal it, he would have. I donna’ like that he died, mind, but there’s a lesson there for all’a us.”
The others nodded and sniffled and gripped their weapons.
“We gotta take care, now,” the dwarf continued in his gruff, commanding voice. “Think an’ act together, yeah? Miss Wywood has the right of it, methinks. What say you, Bern? The Empty Star still tracking overhead?”
The herbalist scanned the sky. “I would say so, yes. Maybe an hour or two and it should be directly overhead.”
Umur nodded once. “Then we wait. Meantime, who can help me haul that fool’s body out so we can bring it back when we’re done?”
For a moment, no one said a word. Then, at Leda’s side, Little Gyles Teahill raised his hand. “I can help, master stonemason sir.”
Umur nodded again. “Right enough. Come along lad.”
The next hour or two passed slowly. Mythey’s body was badly burned and uncomfortable to see, like he’d been struck by lightning. But he had a short sword in his grip and was the only one of them wearing anything resembling armor. After the trapped door, such things seemed more important than ever. Umur offered to take the sword, since no one else seemed comfortable using it. The leather cuirass, however, would never have fit the stocky dwarf. Indeed, only Bern the herbalist, Egerth the jeweler, and Finasaer the researcher were anywhere near the man’s size. The elf held up his hands helplessly, saying he was not a man of arms. That left the two human men, and, after some discussion, Bern had the least distaste for wearing a dead man’s singed leathers. With the help of the others, they pulled the items from Mythey’s corpse and helped Bern with the straps. Umur swung the sword, away from the group, and grunted in satisfaction as he slid it back into the scabbard that now hung from his hip.
“Something’s happening!” one of the Haffoots, the sister, Ethys, exclaimed, pointing a small finger towards the glowing hallway.
Bern looked skyward, drumming a finger on his now leather-clad belly. “Mm. Looks like it’s directly overhead, sure enough.”
“What is it, Ethys?” Leda asked as the group edged near the stones. It was an unnecessary question. Anyone with a view down the long corridor could see what was happening.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I have recently been pouring over the Dungeon Crawl Classics rulebook by Goodman Games. Each of its 500+ pages is a delight. DCC is a game that a) I really, desperately want to try out, and b) for a variety of reasons (time, number of games already in the queue, my group’s interests, etc.) is unlikely something I can play soon with my weekly online group of players. I also mentioned solo play, and not-coincidentally received the Mythic GM Emulator as a Christmas gift (thanks mom!) last year. So, although superhero games are my first love, right now, in this moment in time, I’m going to try my hand at playing my way through an introductory DCC adventure.
One of the quirks of DCC as a system is “The Funnel,” which is a way of describing how players form new adventuring parties. The basic idea is this: Each player rolls up multiple pre-adventurers, called Level 0 characters. These are normal townsfolk living in a dangerous and mysterious world, ready to defend their livelihood but without the equipment or skills to do so effectively. Then, The Funnel puts these poor 10-15 souls in a brief, deadly scenario. Whoever survives the scenario creates the pool of potential Level 1 adventurers, and off you go.
From what I can gather, The Funnel is a barrier for many “modern” players to jump into DCC. Yet there are also countless testimonials for why a Level-0 Funnel is vital for a new group; The Funnel not only introduces beginners to the rules in a digestible way, but it also emphasizes the tone and tenets of the game world, helps players fall in love with their characters, and creates memorable stories the group will forever remember. Besides, it’s such a different way to start adventuring than most modern games, I am fascinated to try it out. I was immediately sold when reading the rulebook:
Woo! Sounds awesome.
There are a lot of DCC Level 0 adventures, and by far the most popular and highly-touted one is Sailors on the Starless Sea. I own SotSS and initially decided that I wanted it to be the object of my playthrough. What I concluded, however, is that I’d rather not have a public playthrough of such a beloved Funnel, which might ruin it for others (including my own group, if I convince them to try out DCC). Instead, I decided to focus on the Funnel provided in the core rulebook, The Portal Under the Stars.
The Cast of Characters
Before I can dive into my first Funnel, however, I need a large party of townspeople. Simulating four players with three characters each, I rolled up an ambitious TWELVE townsfolk. Below is a quick sketch of each, which is all of the backstory I want right now. There’s no need to create elaborate backstories for characters that might die in the first session, plus the spirit of DCC is to find the characters through playing them. It’s fun to wonder which of these poor saps might eventually become honest-to-goodness adventurers.
I’ll also provide the “stats block” for each character. Right now, don’t worry about understanding the gobbledygook of abbreviations and numbers… I’ll briefly explain mechanics as I go. Suffice it to say, if you’ve played any edition of Dungeons & Dragons, Pathfinder, or another d20-based roleplaying game, DCC will be pretty easy to figure out.
Bern Erswood. Graymoor’s herbalist is well-liked and seen as a kind man eager to help his neighbors, even if his remedies rarely have any medicinal benefits. Bern lives on the village’s outskirts, where he has the most access to nature and can cultivate his gardens.
Bern Erswood. Level 0 Herbalist. STR 9, AGL 11, STA 13, PER 16, INT 12, LCK 11. Init +0; Atk club +0 melee (1d4); AC 10; HP 5; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +1, Ref +0, Will +2; LNG Common; AL Neutral; Equipment: small hammer, herbs, 19cp.
Councilwoman Leda Astford. Leda is one of four councilmembers elected by Graymoor’s populace, and the most recent addition to the Town Council (taking her mother’s seat when she perished from illness). She is young, popular with town residents, and perhaps a touch naïve. Her three councilmember peers—all old, grizzled men who’ve held their seats for years—push Leda to do any and all hard work.
Councilwoman Leda Astford. Level 0 Noble. STR 8, AGL 16, STA 12, PER 15, INT 8, LCK 7. Init +2; Atk longsword -1 melee (1d8-1); AC 10; HP 4; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +0; Ref +2; Will +1; LNG Common; AL Lawful; Equipment: 10′ pole, gold ring, 41cp. Note: Born with a clover-shaped birthmark. (-1 to find secret doors)
Egerth Mayhurst. The town’s only jeweler, Egerth has lived in Graymoor since he was a youth and yet still considers himself better than other locals, who he calls “backwater fools.” Selfish and ambitious, he has remained single well into his middle age and is more than a little bitter about it.
Egerth Mayhurst. Level 0 Jeweler. STR 13, AGL 10, STA 10, PER 9, INT 8, LCK 9. Init +0; Atk dagger +1 melee (1d4+1); AC 10; HP 2; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +0, Ref +0, Will -1; LNG Common; AL Chaotic; Equipment: holy water (1 vial), gem, 24cp.
Erin Wywood. The granddaughter of Councilmen Wywood, Erin is the closest thing Graymoor has to a bard. She spends her time in the town’s tavern playing her ukelele. Erin should be more popular than she is, due mostly to her devout religiosity and fervor, which creeps into all of her interactions and songs.
Erin Wywood. Level 0 Minstrel. STR 13, AGL 11, STA 13, PER 8, INT 14, LCK 10. Init +0; Atk dagger +1 melee (1d4+1); AC 10; HP 5; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +1, Ref +0, Will -1; LNG Common, Halfling; AL Lawful; Equipment: holy symbol, ukelele, 32cp.
Ethys Haffoot. Ethys and her younger brother Giliam are responsible for the trading barge up and down the Teawood River, which connects Graymoor to the neighboring settlements (one of which is the halfling village of Teatown, Ethys and Giliam’s birthplace). She has the family affliction of a club foot, but is otherwise hardy and unquestionably the brains of her family business.
Ethys Haffoot. Level 0 Halfling Mariner. STR 11, AGL 6, STA 12, PER 9, INT 15, LCK 12. Init -1; Atk knife +0 melee (1d4); AC 10; HP 2; MV 20′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +0, Ref -1, Will +0; LNG Common, Halfling, Elven; AL Lawful; Equipment: 10′ pole, sailcloth, 36cp. Infravision.
Finasaer Doladris. Master Finasaer arrived in Graymoor ten years ago from the woods, explaining to the Town Council that he was writing a book on provincial towns in the region. He is the only elf in Graymoor, and a town curiosity in every way. For his part, “Fin” (as the locals call him) is friendly but aloof, and his elevated vocabulary often alienates him from others.
Finasaer Doladris. Level 0 Elven Sage. STR 13, AGL 10, STA 14, PER 9, INT 11, LCK 14. Init +0; Atk dagger +1 melee (1d4+2); AC 10; HP 4; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +1, Ref +0, Will +0; LNG Common, Elven; AL Neutral; Equipment: backpack, parchment and quill pen, 14cp. Note: Born on a full moon as a pack of wolves howled. (+1 to attack and damage for starting weapon). Sensitive to iron. Infravision.
Giliam Haffoot. Giliam and his older sister Ethys are responsible for the trading barge up and down the Teawood River, which connects Graymoor to the neighboring settlements (one of which is the halfling village of Teatown, Ethys and Giliam’s birthplace). He has the family affliction of a club foot, but is otherwise hardy and hard-working.
Giliam Haffoot. Level 0 Halfling Mariner. STR 12, AGL 7, STA 13, PER 12, INT 8, LCK 9. Init -1; Atk knife +0 melee (1d4); AC 10; HP 2; MV 20′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +1, Ref -1, Will +0; LNG Common, Halfling; AL Lawful; Equipment: grappling hook, sailcloth, 25cp. Infravision.
Gyles Teahill. “Little” Gyles Teahill is the son of Ephes Teahill, Graymoor’s most prominent rutabaga farmer. Ephes recently had an accident that has left him bedridden, so Gyles has taken up the majority of his father’s work. He is small, but strong for his size and everyone in the town is either overtly or secretly rooting for the Teahills to have a successful year because of Little Gyles’ heart.
Gyles Teahill. Level 0 Farmer (rutabaga). STR 12, AGL 6, STA 5, PER 12, INT 9, LCK 9. Init -1; Atk pitchfork +0 melee (1d8); AC 10; HP 1; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort -2, Ref -1, Will +0; LNG Common; AL Lawful; Equipment: hen, rations, 25cp.
Hilda Breadon. Graymoor’s only commercial baker, Hilda is famous for her pies, cakes, and cookies of remarkable variety. She would be more successful if she didn’t eat twice as much of her wares as she sells, but she is a woman of great passions and appetites.
Hilda Breadon. Level 0 Baker. STR 9, AGL 11, STA 18, PER 9, INT 11, LCK 11. Init +0; Atk rolling pin +0 melee (1d4); AC 10; HP 7; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +3, Ref +0, Will +0; LNG Common; AL Lawful; Equipment: chain, flour, 26cp.
Mythey Wyebury. Mythey grew up in Graymoor as a ne’er do well, always in trouble and running from his bad choices. Unbeknownst to most of the town, he and a couple of his friends have recently been plaguing the roads as outlaws, stealing from travelers to fuel their tavern revelry. His most closely guarded secret, however, is that he has a sickness that he believes will kill him any day now.
Mythey Wyebury. Level 0 Outlaw. STR 15, AGL 11, STA 6, PER 13, INT 9, LCK 7. Init +0; Atk shortsword +1 melee (1d6); AC 12 (leather armor); HP 1; MV 30′; Act 1d20; SV Fort -1, Ref +0, Will +1; LNG Common; AL Chaotic; Equipment: small sack, 29cp. Note: Born as a bear visited the village. (-1 to Melee damage rolls)
Umur Pearlhammer. No one in Graymoor knows how old Umur is, but they know he’s outlived anyone else’s memory. He’s still hearty enough to be the town’s primary stonemason, though, and despite his dwarven gruffness he is one of Graymoor’s most well-liked residents.
Umur Pearlhammer. Level 0 Dwarven Stonesmith. STR 9, AGL 9, STA 9, PER 14, INT 13, LCK 9. Init +0; Atk hammer +0 melee (1d3); AC 10; HP 3; MV 20′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +0, Ref +0, Will +1; LNG Common, Dwarven, Giantish; AL Lawful; Equipment: fine stone, lantern, 26cp. Infravision.
Veric Cayfield. Like the Haffoot siblings, Veric grew up in the halfling village of Teatown, but moved to Graymoor several years ago to begin his life as a haberdasher. No one loves clothes as much as Veric, and what he loves about humans is how much more fabric he gets to use to make them.
Veric Cayfield. Level 0 Halfling Haberdasher. STR 13, AGL 16, STA 12, PER 9, INT 11, LCK 12. Init +2; Atk scissors +1 melee (1d4+1); AC 10; HP 1; MV 20′; Act 1d20; SV Fort +0, Ref +2, Will +0; LNG Common, Halfling; AL Lawful; Equipment: fine suits (3), flask, 19cp. Infravision.
And there we go. Have any bets on survivors or early deaths? And yes… several of them have 1 or 2 hit points. Yikes.
Today is a (rather long) State of the Union address on my gaming life.
As best as I can remember, I started playing tabletop role-playing games (or TTRPGs) in Fifth Grade, in 1983, which would make me ten years old. It was one of those phenomena where a friend–though I can’t remember who Gamer Zero was–received a boxed set as a Christmas gift and we all dove in. Soon we all asked our parents to supply us with books, dice, graph paper, and pencils. Throughout the Spring, we played a mix of Basic Dungeons & Dragons and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, not understanding that they were two largely different games. It didn’t really matter, though… what we actually played was some rules-light, make-it-up-as-you-go game that didn’t even try to involve the many complex tables in the books we didn’t understand. Usually our first-level characters wielded something like a +5 Sword of Dragon Slaying that could cut through anything.
I had a new group of friends in high school and quickly introduced them to the hobby. We almost exclusively played superhero games, primarily Villains & Vigilantes and Champions, though we sprinkled in some TMNT, Golden Heroes, DC Heroes, and Super Villains as well. My good friend Ted ran us through a particularly memorable V&V campaign, which clued me into how cool a longform set of adventures with the same characters can be.
We all scattered to different colleges, and I met new TTRPG enthusiasts. Throughout my time at Occidental College, I ran a monthly Champions campaign, even drawing the “comic covers” for each session we played as keepsakes. At that point, Champions was my only game, and I was deep into the HERO System and its math-heavy fun.
Then it was off to graduate school, where I met both my wife and a little game called Magic: the Gathering, which would be the object of my obsessionfor years. Then my working career started to take off, I had kids, we moved around, and, as these things do, TTRPGs faded into the background of my life for nearly two decades. I remember trying to organize a D&D adventure with my wife and some friends once or twice during that time, but it never stuck. During that time, I bought-and-sold the D&D 3E and 3.5 rulebooks without really doing anything with them.
In 2018, I took a year off work to recoup, then in 2019 started a job in San Francisco that, unlike most of my previous roles, didn’t require heavy travel. Around that time, I started listening to a ton of podcasts, including the Glass Cannon Podcast. The TTRPG bug started inching its way into my brain, and I began to seek out my local game stores to see if there were people with whom I could play. After some false starts with Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition and Pathfinderat local stores, I found a group that was playing D&D 5E and were happy to have me join. They were interested in switching to Pathfinder 2nd Edition once it was released, and eventually I GMed us through the game’s first 1-20 Adventure Path, Age of Ashes over three years. During those years we took occasional detours, experimenting with Blades in the Dark, Symbaroum, Call of Cthulhu, Savage Worlds, and, at my urging, even returned to supers for aSentinel Comics RPGone-shot.
That gaming group was my first experience with serious personality clashes in TTRPG groups. I ended up feeling picked on by a person there who was close friends with two other members, and after trying-and-failing multiple times to talk it out, my best recourse was to leave. Suffice it to say, it was the only real negative chapter I’ve had with TTRPGs, which have otherwise been a source of unqualified joy in my life.
For months I was genuinely wounded by my abandoned group. Thankfully the global pandemic had introduced me to virtual tabletops and online games. Eventually I found a couple fun virtual tables, including a delightful online group of Europeans that has met weekly now for almost two years. We mostly play PF2E, but have rotated GMs and done several sessions of Call of Cthulhu, Warhammer Fantasy, and most recently Mörk Borg. On our “really want to play list” are Vaesen, Dragonbane, Traveller, Forbidden Lands, Dungeon World, Lancer, Savage Worlds, and countless others.
It’s fair to say that, at age fifty-one, I’m in the midst of my Second TTRPG Renaissance. At the same time, the whole TTRPG industry is going through its own Renaissance, with intriguing new games popping up seemingly every week. Not surprisingly, my game shelf has exploded. I now own most of the games listed above, plus a metric ton of others I’ve Kickstarted, found in bargain bins or eBay auctions, or used birthday gift certificates on. I’ve even sold old game books and given my college-age son my D&D 5E collection to make room for them in my house.
There are two major differences between my TTRPG life as a gray-bearded geezer compared to my young, wispy-mustachioed self. The most obvious one is that it’s more difficult to find a group with which to play. Throughout middle school, high school, and college, I rolled dice with my core group of friends. Most of our interests were shared and we spent a ton of time together… easy squeezy. These days, in contrast, the vast majority of my contemporaries have neither the time for, nor interest in, TTRPGs. While online platforms make the pool of potential players wider, these online groups are ephemeral. It’s clear to me that if one of my current group members (all of whom are twenty years younger than me) has kids, takes a new job, or moves, it probably spells the end of the group… that sort of “life event disruption” can happen with any group, but somehow in-person groups feel stickier because the investment feels somehow deeper. Meanwhile, I’ve tried to think of how to conjure another reliable, fun in-person group and failed to come up with a solution.
The second difference is in the type of games I’m playing now versus in my youth. If it’s not obvious from the banner image on this blog, my first love is superheroes and comic books, and at one point in college set my sights on becoming a comic book illustrator. As my TTRPG life deepened as a young person, it skewed heavily–and eventually exclusively–to superhero games. Yet all of my groups in the last six years want to play fantasy or investigative horror games. That’s okay, because I can get excited about those games. But none of the groups I’ve encountered want to play superhero make-believe.
The feeling of being an odd-shaped puzzle piece continued recently as I started to discover the “Old School Renaissance” (or OSR) movement within TTRPGs. These games are built by people who love early Dungeons & Dragons and want to recreate the feel of those games for modern audiences. I’ve looked at OSR-type games like Old School Essentials, Knave, Ironsworn, and have absolutely fallen in love with Dungeon Crawl Classics. I’ve also rescued a bunch of my old D&D modules from my mother’s garage, joined the Ancient Dungeons & Dragons Players Facebook group, and have been bingeing the Vintage RPG podcast. Yet when I tell my online group that I’d love to run them through a DCC beginner adventure to test out the system, I get the same lukewarm response that I received when I tried to get my in-person group to play a superhero game. They’ll probably roll with it because they like and trust me, but there isn’t an itch there they need to scratch.
All of this has me reflecting deeply on the years ahead. I’ll certainly keep seeking out online groups and brainstorming how to form an in-person group, because these are games that are most fun when they’re social and played with friends. Just last week, for example, I jumped online with a bunch of strangers to learn to play Dragonbane, a game I own and have considered running for my regular group. I’ll also keep collecting games, because I find real pleasure in reading the books cover-to-cover and seeing them on my shelf. We truly are living in a glorious period of TTRPG innovation, and the sheer diversity and volume of options is awesome.
But I’m beginning to accept that a) I may never have a long, stable group of gaming friends again, even as an empty nester nearing retirement where my time is beginning to be more spacious, and b) the number of games I own and want to play far outweighs the number of hours I’ll be able to play with friends. I surely won’t ever get a chance to play everything, much less everything beckoning to me.
The final addition to my reflections is the rise of solo play in TTRPGs. Solo play has always been a feature of some TTRPGs dating back to the 1970s, but thanks to the global pandemic it has a lot more support now than ever. Many games, like Ironsworn and Vaesen, have solo play built into the base game as an option. Meanwhile, tools like the Mythic GM Emulator allow for being able to play any game solo, without the need for a gaming group. Indeed, one of my recent podcast obsessions is Tale of the Manticore, a great audio production of a guy solo-playing an old-school D&D system.
Maybe the answer is to begin solo play on the games no one but me wants to play? Would I enjoy that, or is the fun of TTRPGs really tied to a group? I’ll probably dip my toe into these strange, solo-play waters soon, while continuing my epic quest to find more time with awesome groups like my current online one. My enthusiasm for TTRPGs is as high as that ten-year-old kid pretending to swing his overpowered sword around. How best to channel that enthusiasm, though, is something I’m still contemplating.
If you have any thoughts about the TTRPG hobby these days, or ways you’ve tackled the hurdles I’ve outlined, I’d love to hear it. Comment below or shoot me an email at jaycms@yahoo.com.
I’ve been ignoring this blog of late, which I hope to remedy soon. The good news, though, is that I have been writing diligently every week. Most recently, that’s resulted in the second novella installment of my Age of Ashes novelization. You can pick it up here: https://www.pathfinderinfinite.com/product/475702/Age-of-Ashes-Vol2–The-Citadel-Below
Actually, Volume 2 came out in March. And while I think it’s both better written and more compelling than the first volume (I challenge you not to cry at the end if you’ve read both volumes), I’ve been reluctant to do any sort of marketing or promotion of it. It’s an odd response to something I’m proud to have written. Just as surprising: I’m finding myself stalling amidst Volume 3 despite a robust outline and a love of both the characters and setting. Instead, I’m turning my writing attention to other, smaller projects.
What’s going on here? I have some theories, and also what it means for this blog. That reflection, however, will have to wait until the next post.
Hello hello! I haven’t been posting here in awhile for good reasons… Each time I’ve thought to write a blog post or some superhero-RPG exploration, I’ve instead wanted to work on a novella-length fantasy writing project for Pathfinder Infinite. I’m excited to share that I’ve now finished the piece, and it is available for purchase:
This is my first time trying to publish something like this, and as far as I know the first time someone has tried to turn a Paizo adventure into a longform story. It’s been a labor of love, and I’m very appreciative of my awesome wife Sarah and dear friend Kathy for being willing readers of the early drafts.
I’ve already started Volume 2, which I’m guessing will be finished sometime early in 2024. Fun fun!
My Hero Brain 