[ Editors note: I've tried my hand at making some footnotes to minimize the amount of errata that regular readers need to sift through. HTML/CSS fancery that may fukup, sorry-if-so. ]
Another session falls. I took this one in the woodshop. I've woken the day following at 2 20, unable to sleep, likely the late light tacos and chocolate chips that sent my blood sugar high and maybe never let it down. These things happen. Once upon a time, I would've thought that it was the ghost of Benjamin Franklin's late running mind keeping me up to do good things when everyone else is asleep. I suppose the optimist's mind has me still believing that, wondering why I don't treat the diseases of the body as the workings of the body instead, and deal with them in the neutral way of a DM.
A good session, man. Sort of the end of an arc.
The end everyone thought it would be? No. But gasps were had about the table.
TOC - Corrheo Playlog
- Working Player's Survey of Corrhéo
- Session 1 - Corrhéo - West Marches - "To Bero's Boon"
- Session 2 - Corrhéo - West Marches - "The Stakeout"
- Session 3 - Corrhéo - West Marches - "Resolving Veel"
The Play
The group has been tense. Two of the more outspoken characters who have never played with one another were at odds about how they'd reacted to confrontation with What's Due. A faction representing the harsh and dissective end of druidry. Includes jailers, torturers, executioners, judges, and Investigators. Known for their obsession with cleanliness and order. Serve as enforcers of justice feared for their ruthlessness and surgical precision. Their reputation evokes dread, unlike the derision faced by the Stand. Killings had been made in a pub near the Grey Misnan The Misnan or The Grey Misnan if preferred: a Corrhéonic outpost of mudworks and stove-edge fencing. A waist-high wall of black stones run like a long cemetery along the keepland's northern edge & the grass here is tall and the hills are golden. and the party had fled the small skirt-town of Bast like they were being pursued.
They were and they weren't.
Their fear made them think that they were being pursued by all parties. The Stand An order of knights from the diminished upper class whose political power has waned. Once respected, they are now mocked as relics of a bygone era. Serve as protectors and enforcers of the old ways, though their influence has drastically faded, and often stationed at crossroads and key points across the country. would chase them down, a police force. What's Due would chase them down, a false police force full of thugs (a cartel, perhaps, the closest analogy).
What's Due was already tracking them. In fact they'd tracked them to the pub, Perry's, in Bast via a scrying glass, a glass tablet which could be 'locked on' to a living creature via simple hand gestures and which then displayed their visage to paired, proximal glasses in the hands of others. A confrontation at the Aperture C-04-01 - Aperture
Steep cliffs hall a barren valley at whose center is a crumbling, circular archway lathed in mind-breaking elder sigils and cryptic reliefs. Inside the circle, illusions phase in and out, an everchanging display of different places in time.
Deeper: This site has drawn a permanent sect of ritual inquisitors and apostate monks, both groups obsessively studying the aperture’s mysteries and how it may be controlled. Their camps dot the landscape alongside those of repentant pilgrims, the desperate, the cursed, the blighted, and the injured who have come to seek divine intervention.
None of these groups knows that this is a Well-spring Gate to the Underneath. The aperture is the key to “lock-in” one of many Underneath locations.
In the cooler evening hours, canyon trails to the camps becomes a hunting ground for desert bandits who prey on those traversing the area, launching surprise attacks to seize what meager valuables and supplies the pilgrims have. with a withered figure from Zugg Dax's storied past sealed this into play. Led to Perry's. A 'get your hands up' moment that the party responded to with stout refusal, and when the effort to capture them was put in motion with slithering shackles, etc, three youngbloods lay carved up easily on the floor and their breakerman operator held up outside. This was the end of a session. But two sessions ago.
The following session was their flight. He, the breakerman, happened to be family, and not well-loved family either. Senseless violence continued as Godfrey the Mercenary Whose Mother Died of Abuse put his knuckles repeatedly into the captive's face in broad daylight. The breakerman was his father's cousin.
It only took the gathered crowds' shouting at them from the not-silent street for the group to break like rabbits in the morning lawn when the dogs get let loose. All of their plans to visit Zugg Dax's farm collect and pay a visit to his foster family, to collect gilfernGilfern salve: (alt. sacaia to foreigners) gilfern grows native to the northern shublands. See C-14-03 (The Grey Misnan) for a proliferation site and harvest, to 'see something new', flew out the window and the further they got from town, the more the bow drew tight on their group dynamics.
- Zugg Dax was righteous. He had done no wrong.
- Maddeson, Clothchilde of Genemene couldn't stand this. However, it was they who said 'run'.
- Taamog Peets was less inclined to believe one way or another but simply kept saying 'investigate'.
- Godfrey the Mercenary didn't think it best to be seen back there.
- Zahir the Half-Orc Priest of Balance hated the killing, and kept staring at his hands even though he'd stood aside the entire time and done none of it.
What they could decide was that the scrying glass they'd pulled from the breakerman's kit that showed Zugg Dax's face had a twin and the twin was in the hands of the withered man at the Aperture, so at least, perhaps, they could break the curse. To all of my prep's surprise, they turned from the farm collect, a whole What's Due hideout, the Keep itself, and went back the way they came, into the mountains.
They laid a trap at an old camp above the Aperture at their previous camp. A juvenile thing. Dress in what little pieces of theater they had (a barbed sword, a black cloak) and leverage the glass to make Zugg Dax appear bound nearby. Conjoined intelligence rolls competing with those of the What's Due members who set the visual binding at the Aperture led to 'Tanner' and his breakermen coming to investigate. Bait set, fat fish coming: the breakermen got close enough to smell and the group jumped them. Heads popped, throats pierced. Another bloody mess to end a session.
This was one session ago.
We woke up this session with a hamstrung breakerman named Cors, a huge one. I also happened to have debriefings with multiple players regarding their concerns about the direction the party was taking. Three separate beliefs that there were three ways things were going. Two of them were convinced of their correctness in opposite directions. The third wavered, uncertain, neutral, but sure that things weren't right.
So the 'interrogation' began.
Cors was pinned (unnecessarily), studied with some internal magics, and healed all in the same breath. Cors was scoffed at, but ultimately, a Steady Figure for What's Due. They were described as an orphanage for those who lost their families to Rot. They wore black not as a sign of evil but to hide the body fluids that stain the cloaks of first responders. The body of this world has a blister that needs to be lanced, he said, and yes, people shy from a lancing, so they fear us.
A lancing is pain but sometimes pain heals, he said.
He spoke with surprising authority for a man whose colleagues lay slaughtered around him. He condemned the PCs in every way they sought to condemn him. Tell me of murder and evil, he said, when it was you who refused questioning and chose instead to slaughter boys on a barroom floor. Tell me of oaths and directive when you can't agree that you trust the man who brought you here, the man I was simply told to apprehend.
He stared pointedly at Zugg Dax.
The group crumbled. Zugg couldn't stand near. Maddeson couldn't stand near. Godfrey's questioning became the releasing of bonds. Godfrey, who carried the barbed sword and wore the black cloak as theater.
They shook hands. Cors never relented. He also never looked back when they released him. When they re-united, there was something sheepish and broken in them.
Zahir the Half-Orc priest refused to leave the spot until rites had been performed on the bodies. Maddeson and Zugg could hardly bear these pleasantries and began to walk off in silence, despite knowing that travelers approached from the Aperture. They walked in silence to a juncture, one that split either back to Bast, or 'home' to HQ and Villa Chi A tomb and open-air villa where A. RESPECTABLE, an immense yet gaunt aristocrat, holds court. His sleepless estate is frequented by sculptors, elders, and spirits, while he broods nightly in a blood-soaked courtyard..
The travelers came and beneath them, the ground rumbled faintly.
A brother and sister, she with a wide-brimmed hat.
She spoke.
What would the characters do with the bodies? Had they come into trouble?
Peets, Zahir, and Godfrey would leave the bodies, they said, as their rites of balance had been performed.
This suited the pair. This was the Brother & Sister Peele, Clenns and Menae.
They said they would take care of the bodies.
Zahir the Half-Orc priest was just finishing the last rites with head bowed to the ground when his sense of what was troubling the ground beneath them made his spine crawl.
They left the siblings in a hurry, Peets discreetly using the scrying glasses they'd looted to capture a visual lock on the pair. It was not discreet enough. From over the next rise, the group watched the brother incant the bodies to begin to clatter, shake, and then snap to attention. They also watched the sister blow a knowing kiss directly into the scry with a wink, and the glass tablets transmogrified to a horrible bone lattice in their hands, useless.
The trio hurried off.
At the juncture, Zugg Dax and the Envoy of Genemene had a final word with each other.
I go to Bast, said Maddeson, because they felt I need to rectify, to pay What's Due.
I cannot travel with someone so concerned with landlords, Zugg Dax said with venom.
That was the last they said, and they walked in opposite directions.
When the rest of the group arrived, both were visible, a long ways off.
A coin was flipped. Bast then.
So Zugg Dax, who organized the mission, who had brought everyone to Bast, traveled alone, vaguely, in the direction of Plath. Abandoned, in many ways.
Pressed, Maddeson sped down the mountain sides, and despite their intention to reveal themselves, to rectify wrongdoing in the town they'd said to flee from, they continued to hide from Corrhéonic patrols which rode the Loathsome Line A treacherous prairie trail where ascetics seek hidden Wellsprings, alchemists hunt rare herbs, and corrupt knights capture pilgrims for slavery—danger stalks every traveler who dares to walk its path. from Bast and the Misnan to the sea.
They buried their weapons at the crossroads where not long ago the group had stood, deciding how to deal with their circumstance, and what to do with a runaway slave called Caln who stood in the high grasses in flight from the Custodial Knight.
As a side note, Caln had, at their urging, come with them into the mountains, his family dead now at the hands of the slavers, dressed in a Cloak of Hiding recovered by Peets. He sought PlathSituated on the southern edge of the Ashwind Mountains, recognized for its free-form spires which now host the bulk of the influential decision makers. While Drek's Landing may still hold the honor of being the largest city, Plath's rise to power is likely linked to the presence of fresh water and strong economic and cultural exchange with the countries to the south, his original home, but had no idea where he was.
When the group murdered the members of What's Due who now walked in undeath, he slipped away dismayed.
Maddeson failed an intelligence check as they buried their weapons at the crossroads. I interpreted the roll I called for as a successful memorization of the location of their weapons despite the failure. They did not see Caln watching them from the nearby grass, still draped in Peet's Cloak of Hiding.
Then they walked towards town.
Meanwhile Zugg Dax had reached the far side of the mountains. A pilgrim hailed him. The man Melehu pulled a cart with his boy Cor in it and hundreds of ceramic vials filled with anointing oils. And a handful of excellent potions. Zugg seemed relieved at friendly company. He entertained a discussion about a vagrant that the group'd met previous, a certain 'Corduroy' who was evidently part of the risen Prim Jae Ascendancy The Prim Jae Ascendancy, a group of bejeweled mystics, were a renegade sect of the Clinchin Fold who sealed the vitality of a 520-hectare land known as the Drab Zone in a set of enchanted crystals in order to satisfy the initial steps of their reading of an encrypted prophecy of a land that moved, flush with forever-life. Their guide into the desert kept them far from the bandits and dangerous fauna, claiming with the drake’s bones she cast, that setting these vital crystals in a sort of humming trap would draw the oasis.
All it drew however was what vitality remained of the Prim Jae Ascendancy, as bereft of the set crystals and waiting for the Oasis at their center, they began to need food and succumbed to cannibalism. The land-water contained in the crystals ebbed into the sand surrounding the Ascendants remaining, becoming ‘the Swirl’, a vast lake of quicksand that swallowed all but the guide., a group who had sought to summon the Penitent Oasis During spring and autumn, the dust nomad caravans pass through seeking the Penitent Oasis, a landscape on legs.
Without fail, some figure emerges from the masses each year claiming to know the location of the Penitent Oasis. They talk hosts of diseased and maimed supplicants to the Gaelthane's Tarn with promises of restoration and cures. and formed the Swirl, a chaotic zone of warping sand, in the process (as well as turning on each other in the aftermath). The only survivor, Corduroy's madness had been brought still by his niece and nephew, a brother and sister pair, and they'd brought him back to the Aperture for healing. He was, even now, gathering a following there.
Curious Zugg Dax suggested they make camp together for the night. He even traded one of his precious thick platinum for Melehu's most powerful warding potion, without full knowledge of its capacity.
The man consulted his son, his oracle, and the four-year-old boy from the cart said 'dah' and they made camp together. There they discussed 'magisters' (there are 120 that form a body who oversee Corrhéo), the Raze massive undersea dweller;
ship-wrecker;
a season unto themselves;
bodies of a make to dwell in grit
in sand and crystal
in the Silt Salt Sea;
vast and terrifying;
raw force;
so full of oil; so full of song, and what it meant to be good or evil as the would-be-paladin contemplated his new aloneness in the company of new Others.
Zugg Dax even, depleted of rations and in a rare slip of seriousness, joked about food, and promised to escort the father and son to the crest of the hills the day following if they'd share.
Meanwhile, the group saw Maddeson until Maddeson disappeared into the tall grasses surrounding Bast. They saw the patrol pass by. And then they were desperately hailed from the foothills they were leaving.
An old man was crawling across the rocks, seeking their attention. Magister Crowley. They didn't remember him. He'd been in discussion with Lord Wygmy and Magister Hall and A. RESPECTABLE their first time visiting Villa Chi. He was furiously seeking help.
Wygmy's jet mine C-04-03 - The Wygmy Siltstone Jet Vein
On an unencumbered hill that juts up like an incisor is a seam of black jet struck through with pyrite inclusions thick as a human head.
Deeper: Yes, it has been found and even has been claimed, though Lord Wygmy’s range of enforcing power is limited to routine surveyors and “mineralists” who continue to sap his money redrawing plans of attack for freeing the enormous wealth of gemstone without bringing the entire hill down in their efforts.
These efforts remain as crude scaffolding of imported timber [mud-caked].
Within the seam whose jet runs into the hill nearly 2/10ths of a mile, a family of aquatic perpasi paddles about in a series of freshwater pools and falls whose dark hollows are lit by the energetic sprig fae ever tapping the jet for light and warmth. had been opened, and something released. Thirteen miners were dead and Hall and Wygmy were charmed therein by horrible creatures.
The group seemed more intent on mocking the man's clothing and culling ignorant details and making assumptions than helping, so he brushed them off with a wave and set towards Bast where help was sure.
They caught up to him.
We'll help, they said.
He crooked his eye and sent them back to follow his tracks; they'd meet his guard Baern at the mine's entrance. A terribly incapable boy.
He would go into town and secure more help.
They watched him speed-walk towards Bast and turned back towards the mountains again.
In town, Maddeson walked like a memory. Weaponless, unnoticed, they returned to the scene of the crime.
Patrols passed in two's. People went about the quiet business of a night coming.
Perry's was closed. The door was locked. Maddeson didn't try the windows. I was primed if they were tried to reveal Maddeson's ultimate antagonist, HOOD, the groups' employer. I was ready to reveal the face, and a surprising one, I thought.
But Maddeson didn't try the windows.
Instead they went to the Misnan gate, slowly, and stood in front of two guards of the Corrhéonic Stand.
Pedestrian? said a guard.
I'm here to turn myself in, said Maddeson.
For what, Pedestrian?
I was involved.
In what, Pedestrian?
In what happened over there, at the tavern.
The guards loosened their arms.
Say again, Pedestrian?
I am one of them. We left town after it happened.
One of who, Pedestrian.
A long pause.
I am Maddeson Clothchilde, Envoy of Genemene, and I killed a man in that tavern.
And that's where we ended the session.
The Prep
Hoping this isn't a bother, to switch formats on you. To date I've put prep first and/or incorporated it alongside the play.
However, I've been having a hell of a time writing this particular arc down as a result of that approach. I think it's the desire to overshare every little detail of prep which I'm not sure is all that helpful, if not overcomplicating things.
This has been a difficult set of sessions to get the pitch right. I've done quite a bit of overprep and it's been obvious through the amount of material that made it from my rough draft notebooks to my final draft notebook.
Which is not very much.
Players started the foray at HQ under the banner of Zugg's desire to piece together fragments of an amnesiatic memory.
Bear in mind that all forays scheduled leaving HQ should have a direction so players don't wander forever and can return to the pool of available players. We've had other folks asking about scheduling a game, but with five regular players out for multiple sessions in a row, we lose the West Marches approach, that groups can come and go.
I've had to make rulings on this for myself, which is just that until you return to HQ, you can't dive into another group. With the way that I tend to play, which is very much 'leave space for whatever to happen', and the fact that the players are invested in each interaction, we are where we are.
So we're four sessions from HQ, and the group is splitting up, none headed back to check in. This is in large part because!? DUN DUN DUN: HQ doesn't matter.
The only driving impetus provided from onset was 'make rent', and I reckon with that impetus regularly.
Zugg Dax even notes: I can't party with someone so concerned with landlords. It was a beautiful in-game moment, but it echoed into my heart.
I'm not troubled by this overmuch. It's one thing that made this last session so special. Letting players watch the other players move independently and flash-cutting between scenes very much miles from each other is fun for me. I do worry, after similar campaigns years ago, that players will grow tired of being part of a double or even triple feature as is the case now, but as I told them last night, when they return to HQ, they can join another group. Both Zugg and Maddeson who are quite independent souls have sought to be free of the party, and in a lot of ways, letting them see each other play independently and far from each other I think provides deeper context to when or if they are together. They're seeing how the other person acts when confronted expressly with ME, and not with the intricacies of a five-person party, especially a five-person party played only through audio. There are just obvious cues and social language missing from internet play and these issues are the same issues that plagued group hangouts during Covid over Zoom, or any similar experience. People get overtalked; they can't speak without being a little rushed, and there is a self-awareness that emboldens some folks excessively, while pressing others to meekness.
So: I'm happy, at the end, that everyone's going different ways, even if no one is going back to HQ. As I told them at the end of the session: you're still a group, so I won't schedule you separately. You will watch each other; this is not a punishment. It's an opportunity to get to know each other. I invited every person in this game to play because I would play with them any time. The fact that they don't get along suggests they haven't seen in each other what I have seen in them. So: we expose that, and if it requires watching a dialogue play out as Maddeson turns themself in or Zugg tries to find companionship in a pilgrim and his son, then let it be so. If it requires following their own lead for Peets, Zahir and Godfrey to realize they like suiting up behind the more dominant aspects in Zugg and Maddeson, so be it. Perhaps they will appreciate each other more. Perhaps they will choose not to play together again. I am here to be everyone's ally in admitting their best selves. We came together to play a game in a Time and manner that is engendering isolation and righteous value sets. Being people as a group is hard. But it is also healthy to do hard things.
And this is why I don't talk about prep at the end, because I don't talk about prep. I talk about summary and philosophy and sociology.
Bollocks.
Prepwise, I realized operating in hexes with three major landmarks, that there is a lot of world nearby. I don't necessarily want players to skip anything or not skip anything, but I do find as I've been laying the area around them that I'm eager to integrate nearby landmarks and hexes. My method of doing this has been to create wandering actionables, which as Clane nicely put, are really simply plot hooks.
For example, players have been roughly traveling north-east from HQ and if the vector continues, we run into C-26 and C-14. As a result I made this shortlist of potential 'agents' traveling to and from these places based on the landmark descriptions Clane and I produced in development:
C-26:
- bamboo fissure grove
- bamboo harvester
- brakenwold dale
- a fire warden leaving a 3-month stay,
- the opposite,
- tea caravan,
- rinkhal poison collector,
- an assassin who has collected rinkhal poison,
- penat hoi
- a roving mass of animate limb + head searching for a torso,
C-14:
- loathsome line
- an escaped slave who left behind a family,
- an escaped slave not looking back,
- an escaped orc who can't communicate,
- someone who's just found a new wellspring,
- a hilltown sheriff after the Custodial Knight,
- glintfall ravines
- they struck it rich last spring and its year two!,
- goldmen
As exemplar for how this method worked for me, I drew Caln from 'an escaped slave not looking back'. He became a boy whose family had been enslaved and eventually died in the Custodial Knight's camp.
Caln proved to be a troubled character to play on my end, and my teeth chattered when I did so. He was tender and the characters were kind, but ultimately they didn't have the group regularity or security that made him/me feel sincerely safe, and so despite their kindness (and the less-than-generous offer of letting him wear the cloak of hiding recently looted from the corpse of a What's Due agent), he used a long moment of being ignored to disappear among the sagebrush.
This loss was felt. One of the characters spent a long forlorn moment after the hillside murder of What's Due agents, to try to call him back but the cloak was a good one, and though I could sense Caln was close, the rolls weren't great and he wasn't convinced.
(But he's still nearby, headed for Bast as described above).
That said, this has been my habit now each session. Sit down and look at the surrounding environs and say who has a home near here or a job near here or a reason to be going here, whether leaving or staying. I've started to call this small prep moment 'obstacles'. And I try to be bold with this, because yes, I can send lackeys or more merchants or whatever, but really, Corrhéo is steeped with NPCs of note. Powerful people with interesting backstories (to me). If I keep running the players into people whose names I have to make up on the spot, then players are forever going to be making up their own names, metaphorically. They will always be 'people dealing with lackeys' and having to fight to get to powerful entities. The Penitent Oasis is a wandering oasis. Lord Wygmy is a lord. I have such a strong tendency to just add 'Wygmy's guard' rather than Wygmy himself to the list of potential encounters. If I have Teegan Stow, Riverboat Captain as a Big Story in my mind, I instinctively choose to add her second-mate who is on a supply run in the encounter list. This is .. fine? But it's also cowardice. Because Teegan Stow and Lord Wygmy and the Penitent Oasis are capital P People and Places to me, capital E Encounters. They're things that I'm scared to try to describe or act out. And scared means excited, or at least uses the same aspects of my nervous system. And so, in the act of being my own hero. I'm trying, trying, trying, to keep adding at least one or two (or three, Hugh!) Characters With Teeth to my obstacles list when I prep, just so that I know I've got cards that can at least MATCH character power / self-assurance. This allows me to move them, challenge their ideas of what the world is, challenge their ideas of who they are, rather than always letting them write their own narrative of Corrhéo. Because the whole subtext to the place is "the land that knew better than its people", and what are the PCs, if not its people?
I also did develop a small table for randomly picking a landmark using a deck of cards. It was an accident on the development side that I'd just like to play into that we have 52 hexes and there are 52 cards in a standard deck. I just associated landmark numbers with a card each so if someone came to the game setting and wanted to randomize a starting point, they could draw a card and roll a d6 and they'd have a landmark in a jiffy. This of course, as a designer, got me thinking that the cards should serve dual or even triple purpose. They could have details about the landmark on them (with said wandering actionables or keywords or somesuch) and could be arrayed so you could lay them out on a table as a 'current hex and its surrounding hexes' physical map/diagram, but also they could just be a deck of cards, whereon each suit was Ace to King of one of the four major factions of Corrhéo (the Stand, the Fold, What's Due, and the Berrylmen). They could be fortune teller cards. They could be a lot of things. But I love paraphernalia. And this is just asking myself for more artwork, more layout, more knowledge, but, you know, the Kickstarter looms someday and stretch goals are legitimate. And sometimes you have to follow the more ... inspired connections that form out of creative matter.
Last thing I'll mention because this is getting long and unwieldy and I still have to typeset it, is that faction clocks or plot clocks as I've begun to think of them have become a great joy as a DM.
At the beginning of all of my session preps I've been writing or drawing new 'pies' for any NPC that has walked away from the characters. What is the next major thing that will happen to them without player interference. And I try to make it major. It's happening offscreen, so there's no reason to have it be nuanced. Then at the beginning of prep, I go back through my notebook with all its notes and look for all my little pie charts one after another, and I fill one pie piece in.
The first pie charts are reaching completion now. For instance: in Bero's Boon where the characters started, the harpy egg that was in the trees that they never sought or found has hatched. As it turns out, this will turn Bero's Boon into a damned encampment. Next time the players arrive, the world will have changed there for the blacker. Similarly, a pie chart filled in which Lord Wygmy gained access to his jet vein. In the process, he unlocked a problem: there are things down in that mine he didn't want to deal with. Thus we have Magister Crowley scarpering down the hillside desperate for player attention.
This all happened off-screen, but regular readers know players encountered the harpy many sessions ago. Players encountered Lord Wygmy on their first night! They didn't necessarily choose to deal with either, but they intend to go back to Bero's Boon, and now it won't be the same and I already know why. They didn't choose to deal with Wygmy's earlier mine issue (help him gain access), but they already have some perspective or entanglement with an issue that has come calling quite naturally. Crowley recognizes them, they recognize him.
Ta da. A weave is formed.
Which is a great joy, as a guy who likes living worlds, moving tapestries.