GM Slowdrifter's page

Thanks for the kind words and understanding, all.

Hi all, I've been looking at all the feedback and it's not a secret to say that we’ve lost some momentum here. Ideally I would like to resolve this but at the moment real life time pressures are intruding and I don't feel I have the wavelength to give this game the energy it deserves. Therefore I’m afraid that I am going to call it for now. Thank you all for playing and maybe in the future it might be something we could revisit if people are interested.

I know I'm guilty of this but can we try to keep OOC discussion over here rather than in the gameplay thread please. It seems the Discord isn't really working for everyone so my suggestion is we just use this as the main discussion forum.

I've been having a think and I'm not averse to splitting the party for a bit if that's what you would like to do. It does make sense in the context of where things are. If so, you'll need to agree on a time and place to reconvene. I assume that you do have some ways of getting messages to each other if necessary but not for easy real-time communication. Factoring in travel times I think you'll probably want a few days in-game to both go into the forest and to start combing the hills some more.

Thank you. Going forward I’d appreciate it if you could let me know your plans so I can move things along please. It makes it clearer to me what your intentions actually are and avoids confusion, especially if there are time jumps where things can go a little out of sync. I can also factor in any encounters and other points of relevance along the way.

Just checking, and apologies for any lack of clarity on my part, but as things stand you're still on the farm and it's still early morning. Basil is following the riders to the edge of the wood but won't return until the end of the day (though you don't know this). I'm assuming that you are waiting somewhere in the vicinity of the farm/village until he returns (i.e. for the rest of the day) otherwise he won't know where to return to. I'm taking from the posts that your intention is to pursue the riders and you're doing this the following day. Is that right?

Maintaining a bat’s eye view of them from above becomes rapidly impossible in the dense forest so Basil would have to drop down lower to fly beneath the treetops. Erring on the side of caution, and having tracked the riders as far as he safely can, Basil decides to call it a day and return to Ialia.

Basil Survival: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Time: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Unfortunately it's much easier to follow riders than it is to retrace his path. A creature of the night, the bat struggles with the bright daylight and the hours of flight. There aren't a lot of villages or other landmarks and the river in the distance stretches as far as he can see. He sets off in what he thinks is the right direction but when it comes to crossing the River Tesh he's no longer convinced. It takes a couple of hours longer than it should have done but, exhausted, he finally nears Goldfields and reaches out to his mistress to locate her. When they are reunited he relays his trip and where the two travellers went. Given the direction Basil travelled and the time he was gone, there’s only one forest that the riders could possibly have travelled to: the Border Forest.

This is happening early evening, please carry on with things for the rest of the day as you were.

His instructions from his mistress clear, Basil continues to shadow the two horsemen as the wind their way north. After a few miles they approach a river of not insubstantial size flowing west to east. The two men clearly know the lay of the land as they make for a ford and the horses are able to wade across to the opposite bank. After navigating some gently sloping low hills, the undulating landscape for which the Dales are both famed and named, for a few more miles they cross a trail.

By the time the sun is at its zenith they are in the shadow of an enormous forest, stretching in all directions as far as the bat can see. With nowhere obvious to go other than into the wood, he assumes their destination must be within. This is confirmed as, after they break in a lightly logged area on the outskirts of the forest, they head inside. The wood quickly looks to grow thick, a mix of pines and deciduous trees and choked with vines and shrubs. The light that breaks through the tree cover is sporadic and does little to lift the gloom, adding to the feeling that this is not a welcoming place.

Ialia - Do you want Basil to continue to follow them? He will need to track them and navigate to find his way both out and back to you. What are his instructions if he is spotted or attacked? What happens if they don’t reach their destination before they stop for the day? How will he find you when he does return?

Ok, that’s fine. As a heads up they will be travelling for multiple hours here and while Basil can easily follow them from a distance out in the open without being spotted, they will be going into woodland, where he’ll have to track them. And navigate his way back.

Ialia emotes for Basil to stay on task, a simple instruction understood through years of familiarity.

How long do you want him to keep tailing them for?

Basil continues to tail the two riders as they head northeast. His link with his mistress is getting faint as he reaches the limits of their special bond of communication and asks her whether he should continue to pursue them and report back later or to return to the farm.

Sorry, forgot to post re. Basil. He's reached the limit of empathic link (1 mile).

Thanking the farmer for his hospitality, you head back out and follow the path a little way north, away from the village and in the direction of Korwen's earlier visitors. Samara waves the trio over from behind an empty animal shelter. The closest creatures, sheep, are all away grazing in the early morning light on the far side of the field. Which is just as well given a magnificent eagle is sat perched atop it, surveying the land.

OK, so assuming we're all happy to move things along, if anyone wants to ask any further questions of Korwen please jump in and do so - I'm assuming that you will be. Otherwise let me know and I'll wrap it up.

First, I’m glad everyone is enjoying their characters and wants to continue, that’s good news. I was asking the question to check given the same was asked of me. I wasn’t necessarily expecting anybody to stop but it felt like a sensible time to check in, gather some feedback, and also to say “that’s fine” and give an easy out if anybody wasn’t feeling it any more as that’s probably not an easy conversation to initiate for everyone.

I’m also assuming that unless you jointly present me with a document signed “We the People” then everyone is only speaking for themselves. =)

With regards to posting rate, I’m sure many of you have played more games than me and maybe other people’s experiences vary, and this is just the ones I’ve been involved in, but after the first initial burst of excitement, I don’t think I’ve been in one where everybody meets one post a day over an extended period of time. That doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a good thing to strive for and momentum is certainly needed to keep things going, but I think the pace of most games naturally varies. Players also have dips and lulls and busy periods and that’s fine with me. If you can give people a heads up that’s great but it may also not be top of your agenda. I assume *everyone* has plenty of other stuff going on outside of their game, many of which naturally have to take precedence.

I take the point about rolling more dice. You invest skill points etc. in your characters and you want to use them - that totally makes sense. I can think of some examples where I can (and will) add some in. But I also think this only works up to a point - turning every interaction just into a dice roll takes away a bit of player agency (and potentially satisfaction) in terms of actually sorting through clues and information and putting things together.

Similarly I think there’s a balance to be had with how certain rolls are made and handled. It’s not what I’d expect in PBP and is an exaggeration of course, but personally I don’t want to be in a game where it’s “I persuade the king to advance us the gold. I roll my Diplomacy check.” I’d rather work with the arguments and dialogue players put forth, with rolls supplementing that, but different GMs will do things differently. The Sense Motive thing is a tricky one - my view is it would get boring fast to put up a spoiler box for a check for every post/interaction with an NPC. Conversely, only putting up something when there is something relevant to be gained from a roll feels like it’s a giveaway and telling you something is up when you (players or characters) might not have any reason to suspect this. As with most of these things, I think it’s finding the right balance, which I’ll strive to do but it’s definitely more of an art than a science..

My opinion is that I don’t think every NPC needs to be plot-relevant; sometimes they are but it’s not immediately apparent - or not known until much further down the line. Foreshadowing and seeding things is a key part of storytelling. Equally, the early appearance of an NPC doesn’t always mean they’re the Scooby Doo villain. Sometimes they’re just an NPC.

I also don’t think every NPC has one important piece of information only or that if you don’t ask the right questions you should necessarily get the answer anyway. You might also conceivably ask something I haven’t thought of that will give you some information that I wasn’t expecting so I wouldn’t want to penalise that either. That said, I *do* think it is my job as GM to ensure that you have sufficient clues and information to piece things together and I will potentially adapt that depending on what you do (which is happening, but it’s behind the screen). One method of doing that is to come up with another reason to give you useful information from a given NPC, but it’s not something that will always happen and it needs to make sense - an NPC isn’t going to come out with a critical piece of information that’s a total non-sequitur.

Regarding charm person, the charisma roll is just how the spell works. Charm person is probably one of those spells where exact interpretation will vary by GM but generally I read it as they become very friendly and helpful to you but they’re not simply going to tell you where the bodies are buried. It’s for sure a good spell but it still has limitations (it’s level 1 after all). I also don’t think failing the roll shuts the conversation down, but it probably does mean you might need to tread carefully or try a different tack to continue this topic. It also tells you something from the reaction that this is something the NPC doesn’t necessarily want to talk about (which doesn’t automatically mean that what they’re hiding is relevant but there’s a decent chance it might be assuming the questions are sensible).

I also don’t think it’s metagaming to ask questions someone else suggests, that’s just chat. Same as if you’re in combat, the invisible character wouldn’t be asking the party in game not to obstruct their charge line as it gives away their position but I think it’s totally valid for that character’s player to let the others know their intentions. That’s just smart tactics.

To allay any fears, this isn’t a video game where you’ll get into a situation where the one critical piece of information you need to continue means the game stops because you don’t ask the right question, don’t find the secret door, or indeed don’t pass the skill check that it’s gated behind. There will be other clues, evidence etc. The feedback is useful - running (and playing) a mystery scenario is challenging and I’m definitely learning some lessons here. It is a balance between ensuring players have enough information to work with or making it too easy and that isn’t always easy when you’ve got different players with different play styles and preferences that vary and/or you don’t know. Sometimes players will miss something a GM thinks is obvious and players will always send the GM a curveball at some point by doing or saying something that you don’t expect. But to my earlier point, I am adapting things as necessary in line with your actions.

There’s endless essays about railroading and player agency and things but my view is that just leading people by the nose does rather remove the mystery element and, personally, I feel, takes away some player agency and just makes you more characters in my narrative rather than characters with control of your actions. Similarly, I tend to err on the side of players being proactive with their characters for the same reason, though I accept that there are legitimately plenty of times where you are looking to the GM for cues or to set the agenda. People’s thoughts and opinions on this will vary and we could go down some deep rabbit holes here so, mixing my metaphors, I’d rather not get too lost in the weeds of this.

I’ll also say that while this isn’t a sandbox - you have a clear and defined mission - it’s also one which will naturally have various steps and stages to complete it that you’ll uncover through your actions but which were not laid out from the beginning. What you do and how you get there is up to you and if you choose to follow up a lead and it leads to a short sidequest I’m not going to stop that. But if you do get a point where you’re truly stuck, or you’re really going off target or you’re fixating on some minor detail that isn’t relevant (“But he was wearing a YELLOW jacket - that MUST mean something because the princess ALWAYS wears yellow too”) then I will try and give you a steer and nudge you in the right direction. I don’t want things to become frustrating and not fun, though I am conscious that players have different tastes.

Something that I think probably would be useful is to collect together the various pieces of information that you do have, as well as any potential theories or ideas. Having everything in one place is useful in terms of being able to sort things through and given the long form nature of PBP a lot of time can potentially pass in the real world between information that was only a couple of days ago in game. (On the plus side, having a written record of exactly what was said that you can refer back to is useful.) I’ve done this before and I know the players found it useful so I’ll pull something together here. Obviously feel free to add to it because I won’t be privy to all of your ideas. I’ll also look to put together a list of NPCs that you’ve met to help keep track, which hopefully will be useful too. If there’s other stuff like this that would be beneficial please let me know.

Thank you for the thoughts and feedback. I have been reading and formulating a response but I want to make sure I address everything so it might take a little time.

I know things have been a bit slow lately and appreciate that’s not ideal. I know that my time has been under a bit of pressure but specifically in this situation, as stated, I was waiting to see whether anybody was going to ask any further questions after Samara made some suggestions. Presumably she’d have asked them herself had she been part of the in-game conversation but that’s not where we were. My reading of the situation was that you thought they were sensible (FWIW I agree) and was therefore waiting for that. Apologies if I misinterpreted.

More generally I’d still like to play but obviously nobody else is obliged to! If a game isn’t working for you or you’re not enjoying it or you’re struggling for time (or indeed any other reason) my view is it’s fine to step away. Any of those things are perfectly valid reasons. This definitely isn’t a criticism of anyone but if we’re at a point where people are wondering if the game has died, to me that feels like a good time to stop, take stock and have a think about things, including me.

Wanted an intrigue-heavy game of backstabbing politicking? Go play War for the Crown rather than Tomb of Horrors. Sign up for Iron Gods and discover you don’t like magitech? Probably not the campaign for you. Maybe chat to your GM and step away. And that’s fine.

Maybe you’re not gelling with the GM’s style or the group dynamic? That’s ok too. It’s always a bit of a gamble, especially when you’re playing PBP. Some games run more smoothly than others, I’m sure we’ve all played enough to know that.

Or real life is busier than it was and you don’t have the time or energy you previously did. It happens to everyone.

I’m sure we’ve all been in these situations before. My view is that it’s fine to be honest and say if it’s not working for you. Players come and go from games all the time for any number of reasons. It’s not some kind of defeat, people enjoy different things, situations change. I know it sucks if you like your character - let’s be honest, we usually are attached to our characters - but there will always be a chance to retool them and play them in another game. Stubbornly clinging on if you’re not having fun - which ultimately is why we play, right? - or hoping something will change to me just feels like sunk-cost fallacy. Similarly, is FOMO or just following what other people are doing (spoiler: everyone’s different) the right reason to keep doing something? I’ve left games (hopefully amicably!) because they weren’t right - or were no longer right - for me.

Obviously much better to be honest about it if that is the case. I’m sure a lot of ghosting happens because people do lose interest or because they get busy. Communication is always appreciated and is at the heart of the game, both in and out of character. TTRPGs are a team sport. I’d say the answer to roughly 50% of RPG questions online (outside of rpghorrorstories) can be summarised as “communication”. (Probably for the rest of life too in fact.) It’s challenging to solve problems if people are unaware of them.

I promise I’m not going to be offended if anyone isn’t feeling it. If you do want to continue, great! I’m open to feedback about what you’re liking and what you’re struggling with and I’ll do my best accommodate that, though there are obviously limits (and I’m afraid external factors like your horrible new boss making you work overtime every day are outside of my control). This has so far been a mystery/investigation game and I probably should have been clearer about that from the start. Some people enjoy pulling at threads and unpicking things, but I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. It does require a certain element of proactivity and play style on the part of players. If what you want after a hard day’s work is a more straightforward “go here” and bash skulls in an old-school megadungeon that’s totally valid but this may not be the game for you.

Which is all a long-winded way of saying take some time to have a think about things. I’m happy to chat here on the Discord and my inbox is always open. Thanks for taking the time to read, and for playing thus far.

"The pleasure's mine, Ialia," Korwen replies, starting to clear away the dirty plates. "You're welcome back any time." He glances out of the window as the sun crests a nearby hillock. "As it is the younglings will be here to start work soon enough."

The farmer turns to face Joreld, standing radiant with his flowing red hair. "Fairly straightforward ones, Lord Huntsilver: to protect me and to guard my property and valuables. I have a weapon too, of course, but I daresay I'd be no match for your skill with that sword of yours, for example."

You don't pick up anything that sounds out of place in Korwen's words.

Korwen looks up in surprise from the loaf he's cutting, putting down the breadknife. The crackle of bacon, cooking merrily in a pan alongside the farmer provides a pleasant background aroma. "I'm not building a golem," he says to Calen, "I own one. Gond's gears, man - I'm not an archmage, I'm a farmer. But living alone out here as I do it's just common sense to get yourself some protection."

"Go on, off with you!" is as much as Korwen can manage as Samara politely scarpers. As the others enter the house and the farmer leads you into the kitchen, Ialia catches sight of the golem in the side room.

Knowledge arcana DC 16 to identify it in line with the post above.

Your host offers you drinks and puts the kettle on the hob before making a quick tour of the house. Satisfied that nothing immediately looks out of place, he seems to relax and his amiable demeanour returns.

"I don't care who you are. What in the Nine Hells are you doing in my house?" Korwen demands of the Bedine woman, his complexion ruddy. "Beautiful or not, this is my house. Get out!"

Samara

Samara moves away quietly and the golem remains still. She makes a tour of the rest of the house, including lounge, kitchen and two bedrooms. One presumably belongs to Korwen. The other looks to belong - or perhaps to have belonged - to a woman, based on the possessions, the dresser and the wardrobe. The room is immaculate to the point that you have the sense that it is rarely used.

There is a strongbox under the bed in the other bedroom, neither well hidden nor original in its location. Samara doesn't find anything else that seems particularly notable and certainly nothing obviously incriminating. The general sense of the place is of a certain level of wealth that brings a certain level of comfort, probably beyond the means of the average farmer, though you've already seen that this is a large farm.

She has just completed her casual inspection of the farmhouse when Samara overhears the others returning.

Going to give you the chance to decide what you want to do - hide, greet them etc. but you don't have long.

* * * * *

Pick

Knowledge geography: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

The dwarven eagle soars high above the mounted riders, following them as they head broadly north-east. From his knowledge of the wilds of Daggerdale, built up over many long years, Pick suspects they are heading to a ford in the River Tesh due east of White Chalk Hollow. After keeping on their tail for a while is pretty confident of their destination and turns back to the farmhouse.

You are correct, too far away to hear anything in spite of the roll.

"Oh yes, of course," Korwen says, "I do apologise for not suggesting we brings cups out with us. It does help stave off the dawn cold if you're not used to it." With that he turns on his heels and starts the stroll the few minutes back to the farmhouse.

The dice gods laugh at us all!

Ialia, Joreld, Calen

A scowl crosses Korwen’s face and he practically spits ”What do you want to be helping that bastard for?” Then, recomposing his face into something friendlier, he greets Joreld and Calen. ”Your pardon. Well met, Lord Huntsilver, Mister Derethor.”

* * * * *

Pick

Pick sneaks off after the two departing men, carefully ducking behind hedges and into fields, keeping a cautious distance away given they seem wary. Their pace is faster than the stolid dwarf can easily cope with, however, especially when they return from the spinney on mounts. Unable to pursue without losing them, the dwarf assumes the shape of an eagle and soars upward for a literal bird’s eye view of things. From the air he can easily keep watch over them. A glance behind allows him a view of Ialia, Joreld and Calen talking with Korwen.

* * * * *

Samara

While the others are walking and conversing, Samara takes advantage of the distraction to slip inside the farmhouse. Her spell doesn’t find any magical essence within the house, so she is able to breathe a little easier than perhaps she feared. The entrance hall she steps into opens up into the large kitchen at the end of it and has a door off to either side before then. The one to the right is open and it clearly a lounge. The decor looks tired and the furniture worn, but there’s a comfort to it. The other door is ajar, allowing Samara a peek inside but not much else. What she sees is enough to bring her up short: a human-sized figure, seemingly made of wood. Rather than being a neatly carved statue, it is instead made of pieces of wood crudely fashioned into the shape of a person.

Perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (5) + 0 = 5

She’s unsure what it is - it could be a creature of some kind, or perhaps just a strange piece of art. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have noticed her and remains absolutely still.

Just to clarify, you’re only aware of one man in the house. You’ve seen three people - the guy at house plus the two visitors who have now left.

Ialia returns the smile. "You're very kind. But I find nothing awakens the mind and spirit better than the crisp morning air in spring time. And I do know how it is, waking to the rhythm of the day. Please, if you'll fetch a coat and walk with me a short ways, I promise not to delay you overlong from your breakfast."

The man shrugs. ”It would be my pleasure.” He disappears back inside for a moment before returning clad in a heavy overcoat. It probably wouldn’t pass for high fashion in the streets of Selgaunt or Saerloon but it’s a well cut piece. Together you step out and begin to walk.

"My name is Ialia. What's yours? And the other person in your home?"

”Ialia! Of course!” He raises his palm to his forehead, looking a little embarrassed. ”I must confess I had been struggling to recall. I trust you’ll forgive me? Thank you for humouring me. I’m Korwen, but you know that.” Korwen turns to look behind him at the farmhouse. ”Nobody else here. I live alone these days.”

"Today must seem unusual, having two sets of inquiries to your farm. How often have you visited with the other party?"

The man nods. ”You could certainly say that. It does get a bit lonely out here. I’ve met ‘em a handful of times on business.”

"I saw them depart but did not see them clearly, and they were much too quick for me to hail them for a greeting. What are their names again?"

”Tuhrell and Marn,” Korwen replies.

"The reason for my visit is that I am searching for a missing person, a lost acquaintance. Have you heard the name Glanwyn and do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts"

"The other party this morning, I wonder what business they have with you and your farm. Would you please tell me about your meeting this morning?"

For the first time the man frowns, looking at Ialia more carefully.

Cha: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (4) + 0 = 4

Ialia, please give me an opposed Cha check to see what he might tell you.

The door opens and the dawn light reveals a man in perhaps his late fifties with a weather-beaten face and the hard body of someone used to a life of toil. What hair he has left is sparse and grey and a light stubble adorns his face and neck. His clothing, however, is of significantly better quality than the average farmer that you've met, suggesting he is a man of means.

A smile lights up the man's face. "Well met, my friend. No bother at all, I was already up - after so many years living in tune with the rhythms of the farm I doubt I could sleep too late. You know how it is," he says in a worn, slightly rasping voice. The look on his face suggests that this is a universal observation, at least for those who work the land. "I could probably manage that, yes" he says. "Though you're welcome to come in. I was just about to make tea - or coffee if you prefer? And you could probably use some breakfast too, I assume you've not eaten? Even if you have, best to keep your strength up for the day ahead."

Meanwhile Basil is off keeping an eye on the two visitors as they depart back the way they came off to the north. In the early morning light the bat keeps a safe distance as the conditions are less favourable than the pitch blackness he prefers. After a while, with the farmhouse having largely disappeared from view, the shorter man nudges his companion and the pair of them begin to hustle at a faster pace and turn slightly from their current path. They appear to be making for a copse.

Calen's thought is a smart one and he withdraws quickly to work through a spell before returning. Night time or not, his precautions enable him to sneak away and back unnoticed. Unfortunately his spell doesn't render the speech and more understandable. The words he can follow still, they just seem devoid of meaning. He continues to watch, slightly frustrated.

The meeting is not a long one and the two guests soon stand to rise. Words appear to be all that is exchanged, too. There is no obvious payment or trade going on that you can make you through the window and your view is good enough that you're confident you would have seen anything had it happened within the open kitchen at least. Moments later the front door opens again and the two men depart.

Magically boosted, Calen and Samara move swiftly across the ground towards the farmhouse. It turns out that trying to move quietly in plate mail is more of a challenge and Joreld isn't exactly subtle in his movements. The opens again and Calen and Samara can overhear the conversation.

"Thought I heard something," the shorter of the two men says, sticking his head around the door and looking around vaguely in your direction. Fortunately there is cover and distance between you and the house and if he has spotted you he doesn't raise the alarm.

"It's a farm - that does happen at all hours," another voice replies.

A third says, "That's as maybe but let's not take any chances."

The first man mutters something and his fingers work in the subtle gesture of a spell.

Focusing, he scans to the west, turning his head from left to right. Safely out of sight and away from the direction of the noise, the two party members who had made it to the house can breathe a little easier as the man has no need to focus his attention in their direction.

"Nothing happening," he says.

"Told you," comes the reply.

As he slinks back inside, you can make out, "And if you want to paint a target on your back that's your own lookout. I'm still for being careful," before the door closes behind him.

Looking through the window, Calen can see a large kitchen, the three men now sat around a table. None of them looks particularly keen to be seated, however, their body language suggesting that they'll all be happier to get whatever business they have planned over as quickly as possible.

Ear pressed to the glass, his keen hearing allows him to eavesdrop on the conversation. If he was expecting to hear details of a nefarious plot then the Selûnite finds he's out of luck. The chat is of mundane matters, mostly food. While he likes a good meal as much as the next man, it's not exactly inspiring stuff. He's not a cook and an exchange of increasingly convoluted recipes and strange cooking tips would have been well down the list of conversation topics he was anticipating the trio might discuss.

Joreld, Pick - let me know if you're attempting to move again or staying put and leaving it to the others. Samara - I'm assuming you're joining Calen at the window but please correct me if I'm mistaken.

"That is well. Although she obviously understands that she has no legal claim anyway," Pava says slightly haughtily. "Thank you for relaying the information anyway. Perhaps I will pay her a visit when we stop in Valten."

* * * * *

The early autumn sun beats down as you reach the river, lifeblood of Isger, and hope for a passing boat. After waiting for a couple of hours and late afternoon slips into early evening the odds are not looking so rosy and you prepare to camp for the night. Desna smiles upon you, however, as a small cargo boat arrives late and moors at the dock. The captain agrees to that you can squeeze on for the journey through to Elidir the following day. Two days bring you to the capital and, after a change of vessel, a further two brings you back to Saringallow.

At some point I'll try and compile the various travel times into something coherent and put them in the discussion thread. Given I've sent you back and forth across the country over the course of the adventure I've definitely got some notes on this.

Pava struggles to control her surprise as she absorbs the words. ”I can find no record of her cause of death. Obviously much was destroyed when my family was killed but the one source I could find that made mention of it suggests that Althea’s death was both a tragedy and a mystery.” She inhales and stretches her shoulders upwards, rotating them in a move to loosen tension. ”You have my thanks and my permission to carry out my aunt’s wishes. Make sure that you do so.”

You are unsure if an erinyes can preen, but in the way that she casually spreads her wings and stretches them to their full ten foot span, that appears to be what she is doing. ”You may,” she says. ”I only hope that your artistic skill is an equal of the silver of your tongue. Be quick,” she adds.

While Hawk begins to hastily sketch the female devil, Pava quietly begins to inspect her new treasures. ”You called her ‘Avo’,” she says shortly. ”In line with the inscription on the Hellfire Rod. There are also words on the locket and the mace - and presumably also the ring. Based on my grandfather’s will, together you think they combine to make a name, which gives the wielder power over you,” she surmises, looking at Hawk. She turns to the erinyes. ”And by taking the ring, it is impossible for someone to learn all of the parts of your name, hence your reference to it being your insurance policy.”

”Avomuntifex,” the winged devil says, drawing curious looks given she has freely given the information that you thought she was trying to hide. ”Your logic is sound and I would also assume from his words that you are not the only one to have come to this conclusion.” She looks to Hawk for confirmation.

”Avomuntifex,” she repeats. ”That is the name I was known by to Rutillo Irrica. A shrewd man, cunning, ambitious and willing to use the tools at his disposal. I enjoyed working with your grandfather and we had a fruitful partnership for many years. But a partnership was all it ever was; he never possessed the knowledge to force me to do things against my will. I went along with it because it was mutually advantageous and I appreciated what he did, though I always took care to ensure that he never had need to doubt me. But it is evident from what you have said of his will that he believed he had the mastery of me to his dying day.” She smiles at Hawk. ”It was a good name and you are welcome to call me by it. There is no magic in it, however, neither coercion nor control.”

”So it did not have to be the ring? It could have been any of the items and you could still continue the ruse,” Pava asks. Then, firmly, ”No, there is something special about the ring.”

The erinyes looks mildly impressed. ”Very good, Pava Irrica. It seems you bear your family name well.” Although she tries to keep her face straight, it’s clear the compliment has stroked the woman’s pride. ”The ring bears my true name - if you know where to find it and have the force of will to use it. Most mortals possess neither the wit nor the skill to do so, and nor do they deserve to,” she adds, her voice once again taking on a tangible potency. ”Your great-grandfather was one such man. He summoned me and he bound me. While we again worked in tandem, he would use the ring to exert his will over me if we disagreed. I admired him for his power. But I would still have slain him for this insult against my person. I didn’t kill him though, and he never made it as the great man he thought was his destiny.” The erinyes pauses for effect, though the audience remains rapt.

”Instead he was murdered by a bullying idiot named Vegoran Thrune. Your great-grandfather could see how power in Cheliax was shaping up so courted the man in order to get in the good graces of the ruling family. Vegoran was perfect for his ambitions - not a smart man or a serious player, he traded off his family name and Elgifax Calificus played him like a lute with gifts and flattery in return for lucrative contracts. But as his strength grew, he worked to protect it. In order to conceal the secret of his mastery over me, your great-grandfather made the aforementioned inscriptions in various family possessions and casually dropped clues that would allow somebody smart enough to piece together the fabricated name that could be used to control me. It was a clever bluff and one I was content to go along with.”

”Yet somehow Vegoran Thrune discovered the secret of the ring, slew his erstwhile partner and took it for himself. Cruelty is nothing to me and there is much to be said for the raw use of power, but I chafed being bound to a moron.” A purplish bruise on the erinyes’ beautiful face shifts and grows from her cheek until it covers the eyesocket above and spreads onto her forehead. ”No subtlety in him and no imagination - qualities your grandfather possessed in abundance. I made overtures to him - not easy as Vegoran kept me close and used me as his personal blunt instrument. But stupidity leads to carelessness and your grandfather seized his chance. I took satisfaction in making Vegoran Thrune pay.” The smile on her face leaves you under no illusion about how much the erinyes enjoyed this. ”Rutillo Irrica took the ring, having pieced together the riddle of the four items and reinforced his role as head of a family growing in size and influence. I never diabused him of his mistaken belief in where the power lay. And that brings us full circle to the end of our tale and the end of my involvement with the House of Irrica.”

There is a lot to digest and Pava opens her mouth to speak but the erinyes cuts her off. ”No more questions. My time is done and the covenant is fulfilled.” With that she springs effortlessly into the air, shooting upwards until she is around a hundred feet above you and with a crackle a hole opens in the sky, vanishing just as quickly after the devil flies through it. You get a glimpse of a barren, blackened land and a burnt orange sky as she disappears. A wave of heat rolls down to you before spreading out and then dissipating along with the smell of brimstone.

There is a long silence following the erinyes’ return to Hell. ”Well,” Pava says to her group, ”it’s time we made a move. We still need to make Valten before dinner.” The two acolytes and the mage clamber into the carriage and the riders mount up. Pava bids you farewell before climbing in herself and the caravan sets off on this leg of their journey to Canorate.

Alone at last, the job complete, you are ready to set off again to the Conerica, and beyond to home.

Pava looks at Hawk, a curious expression on her face. ”My aunt Althea is dead. Explain what you mean, please.” As an afterthought, she adds, ”you may stay. It is possible that you have information that you can add to the story.”

The erinyes also looks carefully examines Hawk. ”To what end?” she asks bluntly.

A closer view confirms most of what you could already tell. Both men are dressed in practical leathers and clothes in black, browns and forest greens.

The taller man has a heavy growth of stubble on his face, just about verging into proper beard territory, brown eyes and a nose that has been broken on at least one occasion. Topping six foot he has a warrior's easy stride that suggests he knows how to use the large sword strapped to his back.

His companion is clean shaven and has dead black eyes that seem to draw you into their orbit. At least three knives are visible on his person and only a fool would bet against there being several others concealed. There is something slightly off about him that gives you the impression that he is the more dangerous of the pair.

As they arrive at the farmhouse, a third man - presumably Garvos Brownrivver - opens the door and ushers them inside.

The erinyes nods at Hawk, as he speaks of what he knows of the ring. ”Indeed. And is that a theory you would be willing to put to the test? That possession of the ring would protect you?” she asks, raising a shapely eyebrow. ”Even supposing it were true, if the ring comes into my hands then it protects everybody. I return home and there is no risk of it falling into anybody else’s hands. Nobody risks my wrath.”

”You hold it and you appear to speak for your group. That gives you a stake,” she states matter of factly, almost challenging Pava to disagree or Hawk to retract his statement and again claim no part. ”The terms are acceptable to me. Provided they are kept then I have no need to seek vengeance against anyone.”

Pava does not look particularly thrilled by the turn of events but seems to have come to the conclusion that she can only play the hand she has been dealt and that the devil may have had a point. ”Fine. I also accept.”

Beside her Carillus bristles. ”I knew we couldn’t trust them, hanging round with Regilianus and that freak.” He spits the last word.

”Silence!” Pava commands in a harsh whisper. ”Are you a Hellknight or a fool? Where is your discipline? This is not your decision, Carillus, so shut your mouth unless you want me to report you to your Order for insubordination.” Her face at this point looks entirely bloodless.

”Then the contract is made,” the erinyes says with a smirk, her body suddenly limned in flames as if visually representing the sealing of the bargain.

”Ilynia, if you’ll pass me the money,” Pava says to the acolyte who has returned from within the coach bearing a small wooden chest. She steps forward and counts out 16 small platinum trade bars, handing them to Roger. In return she takes the mace, the locket and the Hellfire Rod, as well as the additional jewellery and trinkets acquired from the Adnens. She takes a step back and the erinyes swoops in on her black feathered wings, landing on leather-booted feet and takes the offered ring from Hawk. She glances at it for no more than a moment, satisfied that it is the item she desired. ”The bargain is complete,” she says.

”Thank you,” Pava says to the party, looking happier now that she actually has her hands on her family treasures.

Looking to the Saringallow Seekers the erinyes says, ”If you would learn the history of the items you recovered - such as why that is not my name -” she shoots a look at Hawk, ”then you are welcome to stay. If you are incurious then you are free to leave.”

The party has gained 1600 gp. And that’s pretty much a wrap for the adventure! Great work folks. I had a blast and it also means it’s level up time! Assuming you are interested in the backstory I’ll get a post up later - it’s basically an opportunity for me to fill in some of the blanks - but it isn’t going to change any outcomes.

”Are you not the current ringbearer?” the erinyes asks Hawk. ”Evidently you are, so this concerns you. Clearly you are not stupid as you know something of myself and my history, though equally clearly there are gaps in your knowledge. While I have been intertwined with the Irrica family in the past, I am bound by no oaths to them. And had the ring exchanged hands the fundamentals would not alter and the bargain would remain the same.”

In response to this Pava speaks up. ”Perhaps you would care to enter into a new agreement? You know my blood and my history and by your presence here I assume you know of me too.”

The devil scrutinises her for a long moment, as if weighing her very soul.”No.” The word hangs heavy. She then continues, ”Perhaps we could have found ways to work together as I did with your grandfather and your great-grandfather but I have grown used to my independence. As I stated, my patience with this world grows thin and I have no desire to remain.”

”I see that the deal has value for both of you. But there is a third party to consider. What do I gain from this?” If she is unnerved by the erinyes it doesn’t appear on her face, though her pale complexion generally seems drained of colour.

”That is a reasonable question, Pava Irrica. What do you gain?” The erinyes locks the Irrica heir in her gaze. ”Your ambitions to restore the reputation and strength of the House of Irrica are going well, are they not? It would appear to me that after this trade you have still gained three items of both power and significance. Significant to you both personally and for what they represent in terms of your family.” Her eyes blaze with fury as she asks, ”Would you destroy everything that you have worked towards because in your pride you break when you should bend?” The tone does not seem to have changed but the force behind these words is almost tangible and there is an obvious threat behind them. More emolliently the erinyes adds, ”If it makes you feel better, view this as a lesson in compromise, wisdom, or simply recognising that there are always limits to power. When I have the ring in my possession I am even willing to throw in a family history lesson as one final act before I depart. Consider that my parting gift.”

Off to the side there is a hissing noise and the robed man in Pava’s group appears to have multiplied himself, his duplicates all precisely mirroring his movements.

Swifter than humanly possible – and emphasising that the devil is emphatically not human – her hands a blur of motion, the erinyes draws her huge bow and in one smooth movement fires a single arrow that appears to be made of pure flame. It rips straight through one of the reflections of the spellcaster before it scarcely came into being. It is a highly impressive feat.

”That was a purely defensive gesture,” the man complains.

The erinyes seems to literally boil with fury, though her rage is a cold and a calculated one. ”As was that. If I wanted to target you rather than one of your illusions I would have done so.” To the assembled group she says, ”Any further magic, any weapon drawn, will be taken as an attack. Take me at my word when I say I will retaliate in kind with full force.”

She leaves that last remark to hang in the air, point clearly made.

If looks could kill, the one Pava shoots the man would have stopped his heart in an instant. Given the powder keg situation here, he is clearly here for his magical prowess rather than his diplomatic skill.

”You are wondering what would happen if you refuse the bargain,” the devil says, eyes sweeping between Pava and the party, a statement rather than a question. ”You are making calculations because you are competent at what you do. The question, then, is whether you are good enough. Huntress,” she says to Nerissia. ”The blood of fiends runs through your veins and your history. You are a proud warrior and a good markswoman. But are you a better shot than me? Can you fly, noble warrior?” she asks, turning to Emma. ”And you, magician,” she addresses Hawk. ”Do the flames of your magic burn hot enough to sear one born of Hell itself?” She beats her wings languidly, a movement of a totally different pace to the shot she fired mere moments ago. "I advise you to think very carefully. As I have laid out, the offer is mutually beneficial. I receive my ring and I am gone; you are rid of me. You then make the remainder of your trade as if I was never here. Choose badly and my judgement will be swift and without mercy, raining a storm of bloody vengeance upon you from above.”

”Excellent, you have done very well. I expected you to be capable and you appear to have proved yourselves as such,” Pava says, her pleased expression matching her words. ”If I may inspect the items, I will have your remuneration prepared now.” She looks to one of the acolytes, who makes a move back into the carriage. ”I trust platinum trade bars are acceptable?”

A sharp bang nearby interrupts the conversation and announces the arrival of a black-winged figure in tight leather armor, wielding an enormous longbow. Dark hair cascades to one side of her face. Although her face is marked with purplish bruises on her fair skin, they don’t detract from her beauty. She hovers in mid-air, her dark feathered wings keeping her aloft. You recognise the being as an erinyes, both from the statue at the Irrica summerhouse and Rutillo’s mentions of a savage angel.

There’s no expectation that a fight is going to happen but it makes sense to put the info here, not least because it might help determine an answer to the question “Are you sure you want to do that?”

”I believe you have my ring. I will have it back,” she says in a carrying voice, hard eyes fixed upon both parties.

Pava’s nostrils flare slightly and she squares her shoulders, facing down the devil. ”By what right do you claim it?”

The erinyes stares back, eyes aflame. ”It bears my name, Pava Irrica. I helped to forge it when you were not even a gleam in your great-grandfather’s eye. By this right do I claim it.”

Turning to the party she says, ”I have stalked these lands for many long years and I am weary of mortal games, they all too often make for such tepid entertainment. For too long have I been away from home. My bargain is this: give me my ring and I will return to the Hells immediately following the exchange. By taking it I have insurance against being dragged back here against my will; you, I suspect, will not be unhappy with one denizen of Hell less to worry about.” The devil’s lips curl up in a sneering smile. There is also a strong subtext of “and you walk away with your lives” lying around half an inch below the surface.

The evening at the Narcissistic Nymph fades into night and you feel well rested the following day. With all four items now in your possession, you head back towards the river and then home.

In the early afternoon, approximately halfway back towards the Conerica from Valten, you spy a carriage coming the other way. In the wide open countryside it’s easy to spot the horse drawn vehicle and half a dozen mounted guards accompanying it.

Closing, you can see that one of the riders is clad in Hellknight plate and you recognise him as Carillus, Pava’s loyal follower. As you approach, the carriage stops. ”Well well well, there’s lucky,” he says softly once you are within earshot. One of the guards opens the door and Pava Irrica steps down out of the coach along with a short, balding man in carmine robes and two teenage girls garbed in the dress of acolytes of the Sisters of the Golden Erinyes.

”This has all worked out rather well,” Pava says. ”I have business in Canorate and had heard you were venturing to Valten so I was hoping that we would run into each other. How have you been faring?” she asks.

Wisely deciding that attempting to tamper with unexplored magical items, especially those you believe may summon beings from other planes, in the middle of an inn may not be the smartest course of action, you wait until darkness falls and you have full stomachs before heading a little way outside the town to experiment. It does seem to be guesswork but you work your way through the various permutations of the four syllables, and holding or wearing the four items in various combinations. It takes a bit of time but to either your relief or disappointment, or perhaps a bit of both, nothing happens. No fell beasts from the Hells appear, not even a wisp of smoke from the end of the Hellfire Rod.

From this distance, it’s hard to tell much about the two figures. Both are garbed in dark colours and one looks to be half a foot or so taller than the other, but that’s about all you can currently make out in terms of distinguishing features. Both are armed, though that’s just good sense for any traveller, especially those not going by road.

Answers to various questions in the discord.

Samara's search for magic doesn't turn up anything in the outbuildings. Having found nothing in particular of interest in the barn, Pick summons a pair of glossy black beetles and commands them to find a way into the farmhouse, a task they accomplish without too much difficulty. When they report back, they tell of a single sleeping occupant, no sign of a captive elf, a club and some small blades but no obvious armour.

It is indeed something of a waiting game but your patience is rewarded when the sun is beginning to think about stirring. Away to the north Basil is able to pick out a pair of figures, hooded and cloaked, making their way on foot towards the farmhouse.

After conferring amongst yourselves, Majara stumps up the gold. ”It’s done then,” Delara says, quickly counting the coins. ”A pleasure doing business with you and my thanks once again. I will certainly keep an interested eye on your exploits.” With the jewellery safely stowed, your host's steward Stefani sees you out.

Bidding the Adnen mansion farewell, you head back down the hill into the centre of Valten in search of a room for the night and a hot meal. A large painted sign advertises The Narcissistic Nymph as an inn and drinking establishment. The gaudy image leaves little to the imagination regarding the titular creature and its wetly clinging outfit; her reflection in the pool seems designed purely as an opportunity to paint the scantily clad fey twice. As it turns out, the signage is by far and away the most interesting thing about the place. Inside you discover a perfunctory but ultimately satisfactory inn with basic rooms, adequate food and average beer.

However, a chance to sit and talk is a good thing. Away from prying - and ghostly - eyes you are able to look at the locket properly. Hawk is relieved that he is able to open the clasp without issue or interruption. A short word is written into the inside of the shell behind where the painting of Althea’s fiancee was placed.

With all four items now recovered, you have four morphemes, giving Majara the opportunity to add the last one to her formula book and potentially form them into a whole.

Given the size of the farmland, Basil flies smaller circuits with the farmhouse at the heart. Somebody might get closer by the time he spots them, but that's probably an acceptable trade off compared to being a mile away on the wrong side of the perimeter and missing anybody approaching entirely.

Pick changes form again and assumes the shape of a giant rat once more. He scuttles off towards the closer of the two barns. Sniffing the air as he approaches, he can sense the presence of livestock. When he gets close enough he is able to see inside and indeed it is full of sleeping sheep.

The other barn is much closer to the house and as the shapechanged dwarf continues, he discovers this one looks to be used for storage. Various implements and a large amount of fodder take up most of the room inside. There is also a hayloft full of the dried grass that gives the place its name. There are other creatures inside this barn too, but none so large as Pick. Nesting birds eye him warily, but feel secure enough that a hasty escape is assured should the rat attempt to close on them along a roofbeam, and it would take a sizeable number of mice to feel brave enough to try and take on the much larger rodent.

This building is close to the farmhouse and presents a good place to spy on the building, though it's unlikely that Pick would be able to hear anything from within and it would require a stroke of good fortune or carelessness to find another open window in the depth of a cold spring night.

Delara considers for a moment before replying. ”I think you’ve already done us a service,” she says. ”With that in mind, I’m willing to sell the locket and rings for 100 gold, 150 for the whole lot other than Andama’s earrings.”

She looks over at her unconscious bodyguard on the couch. ”And if you happen to have anything that will take the edge off a sore head, I’m sure Ridinion will be appreciative when he comes around.”

”I understand. Maybe I do just want it to be true. It’s just that when you’ve spent a long time not knowing what happened and then you get presented with an explanation that makes sense it’s hard not to just assume it’s true. And thank you,” Althea says. With that the spirit of the young Irrica woman grows more insubstantial until she utterly disappears.

”Indeed, thank you,” Delara echoes. ”That was well handled. Are you able dispose of the rakshasa?” she asks. ”Otherwise I think it would be well to conclude our business. I am truly grateful for the service you have performed here, and I shall remember and recommend you should any jobs requiring your skillset arise. However, I hope you understand I wish to attend to my daughter as soon as we can wrap things up.”

Thanks, I'll take a look. =)

I'm also away for a long weekend so don't know that I'll have chance to post for a couple of days at least. Will see what I can do though.

Althea’s ghost is silent for a long while, looking at the raktavarna’s body and trying to take everything in. ”This creature. It… killed me?” she says, sadly. ”I can remember nothing of it.” Another long pause. ”What you say makes sense, it’s just a lot to take in.”

”I understand,” Andama pipes up unexpectedly and the two girls, one living and one dead, face each other. Looked at together like this it’s clear that Althea was a mere handful of years older than Delara’s daughter is now. ”What you said… about the ring, about your behaviour. My mother has been saying much the same.” She laughs nervously and Delara puts a comforting arm around her.

Althea fixes her with a look and her expression turns a little downcast, perhaps wondering what might have been had things taken a slightly different path.

She turns back to Hawk and Emma. ”Thank you. For solving the mystery.” Her eyes dart down to the headless snake’s corpse. ”I think you should burn this,” she says a note of Irrica steel in her voice for perhaps the first time in the conversation.

There is a quiet click and the clasp of the locket undoes and the two halves spring open. Inside is a small oval portrait of a man. With his oiled dark hair and smooth cheekbones he looks not unlike a younger Sirio, though the same could be said of countless young men of Chelaxian heritage. The image is only held in place by the frame fitting within the shell of the locket and can be easily removed. A short word is engraved behind where the portrait was fitted.

”I have a favour to ask, Hawk Hargraves,” Althea says. ”There is - was, anyway - a small grove of trees down by the river on the family estate. We used to meet there a lot, Roderico and me. I would ask you to bury his portrait there, along with a pair of those silver rings from this box.” She gestures to the jewellery collection Hawk had presented to her. ”We can be together and rest at last, in death as we should have been in life.” She smiles sadly. ”You should probably ask my niece - that feels so strange to say - first, or perhaps leave it for her to deal with. But I would have your word that it will be done.”

Information gathering complete - and it has been a fruitful evening, even if you're not entirely sure where it is leading - you gather your belongings ready to leave. The hour is late and the crowd has thinned out as many of the One-Horned Helm's patrons have both a walk back to Goldfields and an early start in the morning to look forward to. Making your way outside in ones and twos to try and avoid too much notice, you retrieve your mounts and hit the road, heading west as a decoy in case curious eyes are watching. After a while, with nobody else around, you turn to the north, skirting well wide of the roadhouse, looping around towards the village and its surrounds.

Pick survival: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29
Calen survival: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15

The land is bountiful, providing plentiful cover and Basil scouts overhead, looking out for signs of movement and places to hide your horses. Tying them up, you leave them food and water and begin the last part of the journey to the Brownrivver farm by foot. Based on where Samara describes it as being, Pick and Calen are able to locate it without much difficulty. The farmland is a large area and fields of crops and grazing animals surround the cluster of buildings at its heart. The main farmhouse looks to be much larger than most you have seen in the Dale and there are a few other buildings, including stables and a couple of barns. No light can be seen in any of them - unsurprising, given it is the deepest part of the night - and they sit in silence ahead of whatever the dawn will bring.

”No,” Althea says, peering carefully at Hawk as she tries to understand where he is going with the line of questioning. ”Roderico always said that the ring called to him when he chose it, though I never believed he meant that literally.” Her lips quirk up into a slight smile for the first time, before looking more pensive. ”I don’t recall that it spoke to me. Certainly not openly, though it was always very precious to me - for obvious reasons, but I was also very possessive over it and kept it to myself. My father did say that my behaviour changed after receiving it. Not for the better, I mean, and he approved of the match. Why do you ask?”

From behind the translucent figure of Althea, Delara shoots Hawk a look of concern as she recognises the description of the ring. Andama looks as if she is about to speak but her mother silently hushes her.

The ghost looks over the jewellery that Hawk has presented to her. ”No,” she agrees, ”they aren’t. It isn't here. And Roderico got it made specially in Egorian,” Althea replies, her face seemingly at war between the love she felt for her fiancée and the sadness that his death has wrought upon her.

Dark tracks of tears line Althea’s cheeks as her eye make-up runs silently down her face. She listens in silence, shaking her head at the mention of the Goblinblood Wars. ”My poor family. Please, leave me be with my grief. And poor Roderico. I know not what evil befell him but without my engagement ring, the portrait inside this locket is all I have left of him.”

She stops, suddenly less lachrymose and eyes Hawk sharply. ”You mentioned other family keepsakes. Have you my ring? It’s made of gold, with three diamonds set in a triangle. Perhaps if you could bring it together with the locket then our spirits can be joined together as we were in life and I can be at rest.” She looks at you pleadingly, with huge sad eyes.

”Little Pava?” Althea says quietly, then, largely to herself, ”I suppose this means she’s not a child any more.” She tries to compose herself, but doesn’t seem to be doing a great job of it. ”First Roderico, then me, now this. Woe that such misery should strike my family. What… what happened to them please?”

SM: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19

"I'll take that as a compliment," Tespen grins. "Thank you, Samara. Very interesting to know I'll bear all that in mind. And I'll look forward to repaying that debt." He catches her scrutinising him, but isn't entirely sure what the woman is looking for and chooses to remain silent on the issue. "A pleasure," the half-elf says, "and with that I will bid you goodnight." With a short bow - or at least as short as one with such a long frame can manage - he heads back to his drinking companions.

No bracelet, or any other green jewellery.