“Meet me at the Basilica of Khors,” said the man in the white cloak, at the end of your conversation. You had to think a while, perhaps ask around, to figure out where he actually meant. The Basilica is out by the West Gate, at the edge of Zobeck’s Gear District, and these days it’s not a temple but a market, the Gearmarket, as it’s called, where Zobeck’s gearworkers and traders of clockwork magick sell their creations, and buy the materials to make more.
The building’s old, very old. It dates back to the days when Khors, god of the Undying Sun, was the main god of Zobeck, before he began to fade, so to speak, from the citizens’ consciousness and faith. It was never the main temple of Khors; that building is now the Temple of Volund, at the centre of the Temple District. But, as a building, it was - and is - a big deal, a quite spectacular example of the architectural achievements of Zobeck’s first builders, with its high vaulted ceiling, its terraced, arcaded balconies and the great Eye of Khors, the window at the very top of the building, which lit and redirected the sun’s light at certain times of the day, on certain days of the year. Just like magic.
The conversation had been about a job of work. An adventure, if you will. Perhaps a quest. You’d met the man through a friend of a friend, or a rumour in a tavern, or a pamphlet picked up in the street. No matter now. A meeting had been arranged. The man was nondescript - of average height, olive skin, black hair, dark eyes. He wore a white cloak over his grey clothes - a simple tunic, leggings and knee-high black boots. He had the look and bearing of a man who was both present and not present. His mind was both intensely on the conversation and wandering elsewhere. But he told you this: that this would be the making of you, that it would change your life, that you would be rich if you wanted, powerful if you wished and famous whether you liked it or not. And you bought it.
So now you’re standing outside the Gearmarket, watching men, dwarves, elves and kobolds running around holding gods-knows what to sell, wondering if you’ve been duped and what you’ll tell yourself to smother the embarrassment.
And the man reappears. He smiles at you, holds out his staff.
And, quite suddenly, it would seem, you’re somewhere else entirely.
Prologue 2:
Abraxas sits, by himself, at a small table, situated on the third floor balcony of the Guild’s Rotundra, which lies beneath the Gearmarket, the old Basilica of Khors, by the western gate of the city of Zobeck, which is, as everyone knows, the greatest city in the world.
Not many people know about the Rotundra. It’s a Guild secret. You’d have to know the hidden stairways from the Basilica’s (disused and forgotten) Chapel Panthea. You’d also need to get past the signs, the glyphs, the puzzles; the steps that open into nowhere and the sequence that they trigger; how not to wake the greystone men; when to jump the River Bronze; and so on. Or you’d need to know about the Ways. So most people - most regular and upright civilian citizens - have no idea that there is a second great temple, three more floors of arcaded balconies, set underground beneath the Gearmarket.
But here, in this vast hall of the Rotundra, where so many roads - both visible and not - meet, is the ideal place for the Wordguild to go about its business. From here, the Guild’s masters send their emissaries near and far, to embark upon adventures and quests, to hunt down artefacts of power and fragments of lost knowledge; to tug upon the threads of that which is known. To see what shakes loose.
There are no other tables on the third floor balcony. In fact, there seem to be no other people, right now at least. Others are expected, very shortly, but they will enter the ground floor. Noisily, and in some degree of confusion. Once calmed, they’ll receive their instructions, be sent on their way. Some will succeed; some will not return. Some, unfortunately, will be lost or damned. But the wheels will turn, and the Guild will have its way.
Abraxas looks out across the great space within the Rotundra, down past the concentric balcony on the second floor below, to the Guild’s Assembly Place on the ground floor. At that area’s centre is a large circular table, hollow at its centre with a round space. At one point in the table’s perimeter, there’s a cutting to allow entry to the hollow centre. The table is surrounded by twenty seven seats. Twenty seven is a propitious number for the Guild. Eighty one - thrice twenty seven - of the Ways meet here, in this very hall. Each balcony - and the ground floor - has twenty seven arches, apparently leading to nowhere, but which a Guild Adept might open, onto a Way. And the Ways lead, well, everywhere.
The third floor balcony is briefly lit by the appearance of a spiral of purple white sparks, as one of the arches behind Abraxas sparks into life. A figure steps through. Abraxas does not turn.
“Gallard,” he says. “You’re late. How stands House Firax?”
“Stands well, stands still, stands always,” says Gallard, making the traditional response as he takes a seat beside Abraxas. Gallard is, like Abraxas, tall, white haired, grey skinned with snow white hair, incongruous against his young features. Vestigial horns poke out beneath the silver hair. “I heard there’d be a sending?”
“Shortly,” rasps Abraxas. “And there’ll be three. Here comes Varell.”
Almost on cue, a number of individuals - eighteen? twenty? - shuffle into the hall below, and take seats at the round table. An odd variety - mostly human, or human-like, but with a couple of dragonkin, one dwarf, a solitary kobold, and - Abraxas notes - a large gearforged metal creature, made apparently in the shape of a minotaur. A dark haired man, dressed in a white cloak and carrying at his side a long, gnarled, wooden staff, follows the group into the hall, moves to the centre of the table and addresses the newly arrived throng.
“Welcome,” says the man, as the group find their seats. “Welcome to the hall of the Guild of the Divine Word, to your new careers, to fame and to fortune. Welcome, my friends, to your new destinies, fresh-forged and spear-won.”
“Varell does this stuff very well,” whispers Abraxas.
“He’s had plenty of practice.” says Gallard. “And he has to maintain the veil at the same time. It’s tricky work. Recognise anyone?”
“No,” says Abraxas. “Probably not worth learning names and faces at this point. How many of the last expeditions made it back? For that matter, when did the last expedition actually complete without losing all hands?”
“Onward and upward,” counters Gallard, cheerily. He nods back in the direction of the sending.
“Three expeditions!” calls Varell, in the hall below. “One to the Northlands, the red sending. Seek out the javelins of Thor, bring them home.” Varell moves around the table. He stops at several individuals around the table - six in all - giving each of them a small red cloth.
“One to the Margreve, the blue sending! Find the crown of the first Fey! Bring it back to us!” He hands a small blue cloth, to each of six further individuals.
“And lastly - to the Wasted West, because there are powers that can break the world, that can shackle the gods. And we would know what they are. Bring the key to the Night’s Gate. This is the black sending.” He hands a black cloth to a final group. Now everyone has a cloth of some description.
Varell holds out his staff. Three of the archways on the ground level crackle and spark into life, rippling and pulsing with striations of blue-white energy. Above each of the arches, a crystal shimmers and spins. One crystal is red, one blue, one black. “To the Ways!” calls Varell. “May the Guild’s words guide you and protect you”.
The individuals in the hall below rise from their seats and shuffle toward the arches, like formations of sleepwalkers. There is no conversation, no chatter, no response to Varell’s words. The groups walk as if compelled, bewitched to walk, out of the Rotundra, through the crackling arches and into the unknown.
At last, Varell stands alone. He looks up towards the gallery, to Abraxas and Gallard. The two smile, look down, clap their hands slowly, regularly and loudly in appreciation. Varell smiles and bows deeply. As he straightens, he changes; his hair is no longer dark but snow white, long and curling across his grey skin. Silver horns just through the hair. He turns on his heels, swiftly and as gracefully as a dancer, and walks softly out of the hall.
“What now?” says Gallard.
“We wait,” says Abraxas. “And while we wait, I have something to show you.”
Prologue 3:
Abraxas reaches beneath his cloak, takes out a golden disc and places it on the table.
”I found this in Aramal. On the forty-eighth level.” he says.
The object is about the size of a man’s palm. The circumference is covered in small cog-teeth. He raises his right hand and presses down on the disc, the thumb and first two fingers at points forming a perfect triangle within the circle. He raises his hand once more. The disc rises, perhaps a hand’s width above the table, and starts to spin.
Gallard looks at him quizzically. ”What …?” he starts to say.
”Wait.” says Abraxas. “Wait and see.”
After a few moments, four similar discs appear, seemingly from nowhere, around the first, each with their own teeth, grinding and turning in conjunction with the original.
Gallard claps, almost involuntarily, in surprise. ”Very nice. What is it?”
”I don’t know,” says Abraxas, his eyes on the group of discs, spinning now in combination with one another. ”A toy, perhaps. Or a weapon. Or the seed of something greater?”
Another group of discs - seven? - pop into being, some at right angles to the first, rather than being in the same plane, but all of them linked in some way to its motion.
Abraxas brings his hand down hard on the original disc. It falls to the table and stops spinning. The additional discs blink into non-existence. Abraxas looks at Gallard.
”What would happen, if I were to walk away, or fall asleep? If I were to let it grow, so that I could no longer reach the first disc and stop it? Would it cover the world in clockwork? Would some great new machine reach out into the sky? I can’t risk leaving it running to find out.”
”How will you find out, then?” says Gallard.
Abraxas looks at him and smiles. ”I won’t find out. They will.”
He nods towards the still crackling gates, and adds: ”In Aramal. In the Aramal Beneath. Eventually.”
Gallard smiles back at him. ”Yes. Eventually.” he replies. The two stand up and back from the table. Abraxas puts the disc back into a pocket beneath his cloak, clasps Gallard’s hand and grins. ”Well, then,” he says; ”till next time!”
”Next time, then.” says Gallard. ”Stand well!”
Abraxas removes his cloak, and with a great sweeping gesture throws it across the table between the pair. As it falls onto the table, the cloak collapses, as though the table were not there at all. The cloak falls straight to the floor, into it and through it, as a shadow. The material object - the cloak itself - has disappeared. As has the table. As has Abraxas. And Gallard. The balcony, the entire Rotundra, is now empty, silent and dark except for the soft buzzing and crackling of the three gates. Over the following few minutes, those too fall quiet and dark. The entire hall is silent.
Till next time.
GM Policy:
What follows is a list of policies on various things that have come up over time in my PbP campaigns. It probably reads as “bossy” but really the intention is to provide an immersive experience where everyone contributes to, and gets plenty from, the campaign. Please do let me know if you disagree with something, or if you think there’s something missing - it’s meant to be a living document.
Style
I really recommend reading the first 3 posts here, because they’re bang on and I don’t have a ton to add on the subject.
Dice Rolling, especially Initiative
Group rolls will always be rolled by me, to keep things moving. Usually this is initiative, it might however include Perception if rolled en masse.
Individual rolls, you can run yourself. In particular you should roll your own saving throws (the exception being where you’ve been inactive too long).
Regarding initiative, the roll is likely usually to generate blocks of players, then NPCs/enemies, then players, etc. I’ll generally represent this as
{ fred, joe }, skeletons { bill, mary }
… where fred, joe, bill and mary are the PCs. In the above example, Fred and Joe can post in any order, then the skeletons act, then Bill and Mary can post in any order. Actions will be resolved by me in strict initiative order.
Spoiler DCx/Take 10/Take 20
Take 10/20 doesn’t always work too well in PbP, because you sometimes know what DC to beat, and for that matter that a roll is required.
If I post a spoiler saying e.g. Knowledge(Arcana) DC15 (or any other such check) - I will normally say if you can take 10 or 20, otherwise assume not.
If you’re initiating a roll, say checking a door for traps, you can take 10 or 20 as you wish, within the rules (i.e. as long as the check permits it and in general, take 10 if you’re outside initiative; take 20 as long as there is no adverse consequence for failure).
If you take 20, an action will take 2x as long and may potentially attract attention (since the assumption is you go through a bunch of failures before you succeed)
Character Specific Spoilers
Sometimes I'll post text in spoilers pointed at specific characters (e.g. "For Illya"); sometimes it might be a translation of a language you may or may not know; and sometimes it might be relevant to specific rolls (e.g. "DC 15"). Please don’t look if it doesn't apply to you. Also assume if it does apply to you then the other characters haven't read it, and you may need to re-explain it to them (please don’t just cut and paste my words though).
Posting length, Social Interaction & Metaplay
Normal post length should be 2-3 sentences if possible. That’s not a strict rule, but a player who just posts dice rolls, with the occasional one sentence comment, isn’t really contributing. If your character has “nothing to say”, please don’t go silent, use internal dialogue. There are a number of posts on the Messageboards about this, check them out.
For dice-driven social interactions, e.g. Diplomacy, you should assume you also have to say or do something (in this case, diplomatically), so just a dice roll isn’t going to work (i.e. don’t just roll Diplomacy, smile, say hello, look them in the eye, etc.; this really applies to most checks, if you’re doing it right there’s some minimal accompanying narrative - e.g. Bob stares intently at the tracks on the ground, trying to figure out how long they’ve been there, what they represent and where they lead, rather than just rolling Survival). If you do a great job I’ll apply a bonus to the roll.
For opposed checks, e.g. Sense Motive, please play to the dice roll. If you the player think an NPC is lying, roll Sense Motive and get a 1, then your PC shouldn’t continue to run on a hunch that the NPC is lying.
One other thing I’ve noticed - characters with INT 18 who can’t remember previous events or conversations. The great thing on PbP is you can search the thread if you wish.
PCs and Death
I’m not a PC killer and in general, if that looks like happening, I will try to find a way of avoiding it, even if it involves stopping the campaign to figure it out. There obviously has to be some kind of hazard but I don’t see this as “me vs the PCs” at all.
Posting Frequency & Botting
I'm assuming people are posting on weekdays about once a day, maybe less so over a weekend or a public holiday. If you're going to be away a while, let me know and we'll work something out.
If you’re away for longer than 24 hours I reserve the right to bot your character, and pick up any rolls, including combat rolls and saving throws. I won’t do this maliciously (see above on PC Death) and if in the middle of a fight may well ask the other players what they want your PC to do. If you disappear on a regular basis, or just go absent for a week without telling me in advance, I will try to find a replacement. Your character will be converted to a DMNPC indefinitely and will either be written out of the campaign or used for nefarious plot purposes.
Moving Along
Let me and the rest of the party know if/when you're ready to move along. I don't want to smother RP and conversations, equally I want to make sure we don't get bogged down (dungeons are notorious for this in PbP).
My general assumption is that, outdoors and en route to somewhere, you talk while you walk, so you're still moving.
Note: I’ll sometimes ask for votes to move along. I’ll wait for enough votes so that there’s at least 50% in favour of some course of action. I’ve had a few people complain about “stopping for votes” but actually it works relatively quickly.
Having Fun
If you have an objection, or feel you’re not enjoying yourself, please contact me via PM. I absolutely promise to try and sort it out. My preference is not to use the Discussion thread for this - I also want to be free to engage with you to solve the problem and I don’t want a public GM vs Player argument going on. But I promise - I really do want you to enjoy the campaign and will do my utmost to make it happen.
