Wednesday 26 June 2019


Actual play narration adapted from module B4: The Lost City. Will contain spoilers.

After losing their way in the desert, the four surviving members of a pilgrimage to the Holy City - Ser Luke, Kostas, Romulus and Xavi - stumbled upon a seemingly abandoned ruin of a metropolis. Desperate for food and water, they entered the structure and were accosted by a group of masked men. Provided refreshment and respite from their hardship, the survivors had a difficult choice to make. Read part one here
After gorging themselves on a simple yet copious meal, Ser Luke's party lay down to rest. The Holy Knight's conscience was troubled, however, as he wrestled with a dilemma. He went next door to parlay with leader of the group some more.

The party had not yet been divested of their weapons, and the leader seemed comfortable to allow Luke to join him in his study for a private conversation. Luke pressed the leader, Kanadius, for more information. Kanadius answered Luke's questions as fully as possible, yet all the while remaining masked.

Sunday 23 June 2019


Below is a very vanilla dwarf-cleric character class, adapted from the BECMI Dwarves of Rockhome gazetteer. This should slot comfortably into Labyrinth Lord, LOTFP, Dark Dungeons, or any other basic-inspired retroclone that employs race as class.

Experience Points and Level Progression
Dwarf-clerics may only progress to twelfth level, as with normal dwarves.

Level XP L1 Spells L2 Spells L3 Spells L4 Spells L5 Spells L6 Spells
1 0 - - - - - -
2 4,000 1 - - - - -
3 8,000 2 - - - - -
4 16,000 2 1 - - - -
5 32,000 2 2 - - - -
6 64,000 2 2 1 - - -
7 120,000 2 2 2 - - -
8 250,000 2 2 2 1 - -
9 400,000 3 2 2 2 - -
10 600,000 3 3 2 2 1 -
11 800,000 4 3 3 2 1 -
12 1,000,000 4 4 3 3 2 1

Dwarf-clerics are always lawful.

Saturday 22 June 2019


The following content borrows heavily from the 5e update for The Sunless Citadel, available in Tales from the Yawning Portal. There will be spoilers, although the module has been adapted for our Crystal Seas Sandbox. If you intend to play The Sunless Citadel, please look away now!

12th Sositi, continued...

The party, after a trap-ridden journey through the Sunken Citadel, happened upon an ancient sarcophagus occupied by a deadly troll...

"It's definitely a troll."

The enormous creature sprung forth from its stone tomb, emaciated after its interminable entombment. It swiped at Kuriakos and Horace with long, blackened claws; it did little more than scratch their armour, however. Kuriakos unleashed a flurry of swipes from his twin scimitars, carving deep fissures in the creature's sallow flesh. An arrow from Analicia's shortbow vanished into the darkness, as did a firebolt from Ursula... and Horace's warhammer proved equally ineffective...

Wednesday 19 June 2019


Actual play narration + account  adapted from module B4: The Lost City. Will contain spoilers.

Ser Luke and his cohorts were heading south to the Holy City when the sandstorm struck. Only their local guide, Mahaba, had experienced one before, and by the time the dust cleared he was nowhere to be seen. Their party of seventeen was reduced to eleven, and some of the mounts were missing, too. Feeling as though his faith was being tested, Luke bid his party press on: the Holy City would not be far.

They continued south, through the featureless desert wastes. One by one, pilgrims and followers succumbed to heat and exhaustion, until only four remained. Beside Ser Luke stood his faithful acolyte, Xavi; the boorish but capable man-at-arms, Kostas; and the poorly educated foot soldier, Romulus. Those mounts that had not already collapsed had been slaughtered for food, and they soon ran out of water.

Thursday 13 June 2019


The Pyramid

Nearly eighty feet high and at least as broad at the base, it dominates the small city of single-storey buildings. Crude granite blocks make up its angled walls, tapering to the apex in three distinct tiers. The temple at the top is open to the elements, and consists of four braziers around a square hole: a vertical shaft leading into the bowels of the pyramid.

The High Priestess

Nira is young. She assumed the post following the ritual suicide of her predecessor, Mirdok, who threw himself into the pit. Since this happened her dreams have all been nightmares, and always of the same thing: a hunger that cannot be sated, a gaping maw threatening to swallow the entire world, a crushing despair that has bled into her waking life.

Nira leads the acolytes and through them controls the city. She alone now realises the horrible truth: her entire culture exists in order that the Pit-Fiend be fed, else it might swallow the sun and stars temselves.

Monday 3 June 2019

The First King of Men

And from our number shall rise a king, and his head shall be crowned with glass
-Enhelem prophecy
For the first time since he had shared his vision with his people, Fasika felt doubt, and he felt it keenly. The last few months had been a heady gallop across the desert, gathering followers and increasing their strength, all building towards the moment when he would lead his people towards their goal, to their shared destiny as masters of the realm. That moment had finally arrived: laid across the horizon like an emerald necklace, Fasika had finally set his eyes upon the verdant fringe of the Great River, not spied by Enhelem eyes since the days of his ancestors.
Fasika tugged his horse's mane, bringing it to a halt, and signalled for his party to follow suit. Only two others rode beside him. The wise-woman Beimnet was his most trusted adviser, and had been his guide since adolescence. Jehemen was much younger: barely out of adolescence himself, but a fine warrior and an honest man. Someway behind the trio massed Fasika's three hundred strong following, nearly half of whom were ready for war. Their dark skin had been painted in readiness for combat, each according to the custom of his clan, but the cries they issued were in unison:

Themeliseni metitenali! We have returned!

Fasika's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

"It is just as my vision foretold."

Beimnet signalled for Jehemen to leave her alone with the leader. Without a word, the young man rode back to join his brothers and sisters in arms.

"If it is true, Fasika, why then is your face so pained?"

"Because I'm afraid. What if I'm wrong? What if my visions were false? What if I'm mad?"

Fasika cast his eyes to those of his adviser, eager to gauge her reaction. Beimnet appeared unmoved, her eyes remaining affixed to the thin green line demarcating the distant river. Fasika felt ashamed. Eventually Beimnet spoke:
"There is no madness, only idiocy: when the spirits speak to us they whisper, we must listen closely and untangle their words. But they spoke clearly and loudly to you. So you see Fasika, son of Fassil, you have been given a task: lead your people to their destiny!"

With fresh resolve Fasika hoisted his spear into the air:

"Izihi metitenali!"

Themeliseni metitenali! roared the army behind him, as together they bore down on their uncertain fate, galloping across the sands and invoking the spirits of their ancestors.