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i cannot possibly be the first person who has had this idea

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incredibly moving feature on the great ally beardsley in the washington post

link to article:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/07/31/dungeons-dragons-anniversary-game/

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Unknown Photographer. Tstenkaku Tsutenkaku tower. Osaka, Japan 1964

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Men would rather have a psychic projection of their wife nearly kill them than go to therapy

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I asked the boy beneath the pines.

He said, “The Master’s gone alone

Herb-picking somewhere on the mount,

Cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown."

- Chai Tao, Searching for the Hermit in Vain

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And I'm back! For no-one in particular but myself.

The party has just sat down for dinner with the Gallowgates. There's some spooky unexplained shenanigans going on. What's the deal with Alexander? Wheels within wheels, baby!

No sooner has the dinner started that things get spookier and spookier. The clock strikes midnight, the candles dim, fog presses at the windows. The table was set for a dozen or so guests but why? Rising from their slumber come the guests of honour. The reason for this meal. Once a year the veil between this world and the next becomes permiable and the Gallowgates of years past come for a feast.

Old Gormon Gallowgate, who misplaced his specactles before he died, comes to pay a visit. Matilda Gallowgate, who died tragically on an anthropalogical expedition crushed beneath boulders. Archibold Gallowgate, died at sea by some great beast beneath the waves. All members of the family are here to enjoy in the festivities. All except the infamous and deceased patriarch, Enoch Gallowgate.

The party mingles with ghosts and the living until at last the family retires to the crypt located beneath estate. They are to pay homage to those who came before them, a ceremony the party is not privy to. No sooner than the family disappears to the crypt the ghosts of four vengeful spirits appear! Enoch's trap is sprung! The family is encased in screaming souls of dead; green, ectopic fire engulfing the family. For what purpose? The party must find out before it is too late!

Enoch is joined in his endeavour by three of the worst of the Gallowgates. Skeletons in the closet the family would sooner forget. Black Bart, a roguish bard of the worst kind, famed for his song and silvered tongue. Esmerelda the Untethered, a witch whose cruelty was only matched by her cunning. King Killmonger, a self-styled warlord whose fame was built upon a mound of corpses. Together they sought to return to the land of the living, taking posession of the bodies of the young Gallowgates. The party must work together to thwart this evil plan before their dark ritual can come to fruition.

Their journey brings them to the ruined tower of the Gallowgate estate. At its base dwells the former labratory of Enoch and his twisted assistant, ßpeigßpel. These lands have always harboured spirits from the beyond. They have found their way in through inamimate objects and ßpeigßpel was no exception. A spirit of a long dead mage, now inhabiting a collapsed chandelier, he skulked within the laboratior when the cold air of night drew close.

ßpeigßpel proved to be a fast ally however. He had learned of his master's foul intent and sought to undoe his endeavours. Before he had died Alexander had secreted information away at the top of tower, for those who would come after him. After besting a magical puzzle he had put in place to disuade any but the most adventurous of souls the party procured his treasure.

Indeed, Alexander had hidden a strange device which left more questions than answers. To anyone but a learned magic user it seemed like a stack of gibberish notes. When imbued with magic and arrayed about they became an inversed magic circle. A standard magic circle would endow any who stand within its confines with protection from anything outside. By reversing its powers anything locked within its circumference would be subjected to a spell cast upon it.

Here is where I must digress with my own, present observations. The greatest flaw of this adventure is the fact the players must follow in the steps of a preordained plan. Alexander had already set in motion a plan that the players must follow. Not soon after this session the campaign collapsed in on itself and never continued. It was after its demise that I had time to reflect on its positives and negatives.

Unlike a story a TTRPG campaign follows no set narrative. I however as a DM attempted to make the campaign follow a course of action through internal means. Though my players had enjoyed the story I gave them I see that this falls short of the strengths of the medium. The beauty of a collaborative narrative is indeed the former part of its name, collaboration. So obsessed was I with "telling a good story" that I left no space for my players. A would lead to B would lead C.

I suppose this is why I feel the need to tell this story here. I already know how it would go. I have often felt my campaigns were vehicles for my stories and the players were merely extras within it. It is something I have been unable to shake, though long I have understood its shackles. Without a doubt my favourite moments playing TTRPGs are when a player creates a situation I had no prescedent for. A scenario arises which no-one could have forseen, elements fuse together in an unexpected manner and thus a wholly new event occurs. Such is the essence of life. I hope this is how God feels, "Fuck, I didn't expect that to happen." Maybe they don't expect a thing, they just let it happen like water off a duck's back.

A favourite story of mine is the manner in which the old masters would teach the art of swordplay in Japan. Perhaps it is apochryphal or exaggerated but when reality fails the legend holds the truth. When an apprentice was learning how to weild a sword, the master would hand them a broom and tell them to sweep. Sweep they did for hours at a time, for days, for weeks.

During all this busy work the master would creep about the halls, wooden sword in hand. At any moment, from around a corner, from the shadows, when one would least expect it, they would strike like a banshee. The apprentice would then defend themselves anyway they could.

Of course they would fail, over and over and over. They could not predict the onslaught, there was no pattern. As if from nowhere a blow would come from on high or to sweep the legs. At last the apprentice would be a ball of nerves, jumping at shadows, pausing at every doorway. Every moment they would be on their guard until at last, the final blow!

Hit or miss, well, what does it matter? I block or I don't, at least I lunged. Overwhelmed at every moment, you make a decision. Maybe its the wrong one but acting is the real deal. That's all there is to it, acting.

Anyway, back to the melodrama.

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By mimi_aiart

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By kenva

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Why do I want to write a whole AU based around these?

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a simple feeling

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Pixel Art by SUN PIXELS

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Star Trek makes me soooo crazy cuz you got Picard saying things like "It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose."

And Data saying things like "I would gladly risk feeling bad at times, if it also meant that I could taste my dessert."

And Bashir saying things like “You can't go through life trying to avoid getting a broken heart. If you do, it'll break from loneliness anyway."

And Odo sayings things like "It has been my observation that one of the prices of giving people freedom of choice is that sometimes they make the wrong choice."

And I’m just supposed to be normal about it???

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– Susan Sontag

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thinking about the rage mechanic applied to the barbarian warforged I might play one day

I drew him like the mini I bought

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I had such a fun time writing up that last post that I couldn't stay away for too long. Not when I have so much more to tell. Even if no-one ever reads these I am doing it for my own joy and pleasure.

I've loved world building ever since I was young and it's a well I come back to time and time again, and it never gets old. They're long gone now but I had countless notebooks filled with little worlds I created just for me. They never were for anything, I just liked designing miniature worlds over and over and over again.

I can see small fragments of old worlds passed down over time, and I shall delve into them somewhat in this post. Recurring themes and motifs that stuck with me throughout my life.

I would caution a reader as there mentions of suicide within this post.

Anyway, enough nostalgia and onto the lore dump:

The party had been tasked with delivering Griselda Draegil to Westruun before the next Blood Moon. However before they could continue on to their destination they had been asked to deliver a small gift to a family of local note. The De Rolos were not the only family with a ghoulish past in Whiterun, a day or two rides south, deep within the woods that surrounded the city lay the Gallowgate Estate.

The Gallowgates had a long and sordid history in this neck of the woods, for it seemed that they had dwelt here since time imemorium. At first they were only a local order of gravekeepers tending to the grounds of their modest moseleum. Slowly, over the slow spans of time they had accrued a considerable amount of wealth, though perhaps it was best you not ask how it was obtained.

For there was something about their home that drew to it the spirits of dead and brought them comfort. None had ever ascertained, though many had perhaps tried, to find the reason for this. If asked the Gallowgates would simply reply that it was something in waters, or indeed the earth, that drew those from the other side. For time they were quite reputable, functioning as a kind of hospice for adventurers who had set down the sword and staff for the quite life. Though the recent past had seen their estate fall into ruin and disrepair but more on that later.

The adventurers, after besting some ogres and goblins, solving some puzzles and obtaining some gilded treasures found their way to the rusted gates of the Gallowgates. They had been asked by the De Rolos, who had had their fair share of scandals and tragedies had found a kinship with the family, to deliver a wreath of holly and mistletoe for an annual celebration. They thought a minor detour for the party, nothing untoward would occur surely.

The party were met at gates by a great hound, slavering and barking at their approach. Indeed the estate was the height of Gothic decay, a crumbling tower to the rear by a foul lake, ivy covered gargoyles, the works. Though inside they met a family of great delights and charm.

The hound, Ozymandias, was cowed by the commands of the little lord Gregor, but six years old, who strutted about like the manse was all but his. They were then met by the matriarch of the family, Estelle Gallowgate, a woman of grace and elegance whose outfits would have put Cresida Cowper to shame. Her husband Freidrich, originally from the continent of Wildemount, was bookish but no less charming, though prone to babbling about the local flora and fauna. Following close behind, and bickering all the while, were the twins, Artemisia and Edward. Artemisia, precocious and creative, had an opinion on everything; Edward, scientifically minded and mischievious, thought actions were more explosive than words.

Of course with so many guests and so many hosts there was a great hubbub in the hallways but it did not go unnoted by the party that there was a figure in the family portrait missing from the commotion. Alexander Gallowgate was the best of them, quiet and gracious, a masterful arcanist even at young age. Sadly he had passed some years ago and the Gallowgates were reticent to talk about it. Stranger still was the bricked up doorway at the top of flight of stairs that led to the attic.

Still, the adventurers were shown to bed for the evening though their rest was fitful as many athing went bump in the night at the Gallowgate's residence. Ornaments seemed to move of their own accord up and down halls when one was not looking. A pair of footprints spied in the dark stopped in an empty room. There was scuttling and laughter in the rafters. And again the bricked up room loomed out in the darkness.

Upon waking the adventurers were given free reign of the mansion until the festivities in the evening, a fine chance for investigation. Whilst investigating the adventurers were introduced to the manse's butler, a gnome by the name of Hornwell, and a maid named Rachel, whom though she was exceedingly kind held a frosted sadness in her eyes.

The party investigated the library, where a great number of tomes dating back even to Age of Arcanum could be found. They found a collection of notes made by the late and former proprietor of the estate, Enoch Gallowgate. It seemed he kept an extensive journal, though throughout a number of pages had been torn out seemingly at random. It could be surmised however that Enoch had delved into works of Necromancy and foul sorcery. Indeed his end came a number of years ago when he joined the masses who welcomed back the return of Vecna to the material plane. The notes on his investigations into the defilement of the dead were intact and so what was removed from his journals must have been wicked indeed.

By chance a member of the party found, on the underside of reading table, a crudely scratched emblem: A + R surrounded by a heart. A dead son and a forlorn maid, it did not take a master detective to piece together the connection.

Upon questioning Rachel relayed the story of Alexander and his demise. One does not forget young love easily, especially when you are haunted by his visage day after day.

Rachel had not long come to work for the Gallowgates when she and Alexander became involved. He showed her such marvels of magiks and talked of the great many wonders he would accomplish. Though soon his countenance grew clouded. He began to lock himself away in his study in the attic, frantically pouring over notes and tomes of esoteric lore. He became withdrawn and strange, talking to himself late into the night and when questioned acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. At last one fateful day, the family spied smoke rising from the window of his study and there was Alex upon the sill. He looked frightened as if unsure of what he was doing but claimed there was no other recourse. He had to protect his family he claimed, he had to protect the ones he loved. That's when he jumped and plunged to his death.

When at last they were able to gain access to his study, for he had barricaded the door, they found a mass of burnt papers and instruments in a pile on the floor. They never found the reason for his death and such was the family's grief that they bricked up the entrance and sought never to speak of it again.

So it was settled, the adventurers had to gain access to Alexander's study. Perhaps they could find the reason after all this time. After working the grout that fixed the bricks in place for some time they instead decided on a drastic course of action, blasting the bricks asunder come hell or high water.

Inside they found the scene much as it had been left. Charred papers and broken glass across the floor but there amidst the detritus there was something. A drawing of some occult contraption, esoteric symbols arrayed about it. A great three sided pyramid inscribed with the name: The Unyielding Tetrahedron.

What this creation's nature was was unclear, though clearly it had much to do with both research of Enoch and Alexander. Though the adventurers had to postpone their investigations for at last the hour of celebration was upon and they were summoned to dine with the Gallowgates.

[Cue Memorial from The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover by Michael Nyman]

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I've had DnD story ideas in my head for well over four years now from one of my many campaigns that sadly ended prematurely, as they are often wont to do. Honestly I just need to get this out of my head because I was sitting on secrets with no-one to tell them to and nowhere for this energy to go.

Without further ado, here's an infodump of lore:

The campaign took place in the Critical Role Tal'Dorei setting, post season 1 and pre season 2, starting in the city of Whitestone. Through a series of shenanigans the players had found a mysterious crate which looked strangely like a coffin¹. What do know, it is in fact a coffin with the body of a recently turned Vampiress.

Enter Griselda Draegil, a demure, young woman who was turned into a Vampire against her will by an exotic and mysterious stranger at a ball. She was originally from Wildemount but her father, not knowing what else to do, was having her shipped to Westruun to consult a priest who could reverse the effects of Vampirism². This however was a ruse, fabricated by the Vampire in question, but we shall return to that at a much later point. The players decided to aid Griselda in reaching Westruun before the next Blood Moon at which point her transformation would be permanent³.

Griselda was being smuggled into Tal'Dorei by a local group of The Myriad, who were hoping to expand their operations into the continent. From what I recall⁴ they used the money they had collected from their last adventure to barter with a local crimelord to buy the crate off him rather than take the crate in exchange for a favour⁵.

Further detours and shenanigans ensued involving puritan sun worshipers trying to shut down a local, rowdy gig. This has little to do with overall plot but I bring it up as it allowed me to sprinkle in some subtle foreshadowing. A player recieved a vision after dealing the final blow to lesser demon, who seemed terrified at the sight of Griselda.

A grove of dead trees daubed in blood and foul sigils of some accursed rite. At its centre a gnarled and wicked tree drinking the spilt blood of sacrifices and something within gestating, screaming to be released upon the world. This was indeed Griselda's true origins, a lieutenant of a God of Undeath created long ago to serve in a coming war between the Gods⁶. Though the players would have no context for this vision at this point in the campaign.

It was after this confusing oracular vision that the players set off on their adventure with a small, oh so paultry sidequest⁷ which we shall delve into another time. For now I shall leave it here.

I found this exercise/exorcism to be rather enjoyable though I have noted my own overly critical eye lurking in the footnotes. I am always striving to be the best of the best, a perfectionist, and if it is anything less than so then I am the worst villain imaginable. I am allowed to make mistakes and they need not be a lesson to learnt but simply that, mistakes.

Indeed, if there is a lesson to be learnt it is that I should be thrilled that I can create such elaborate stories. It brings me such joy, rather than seeing it as a stick to beat myself with why not take a step back and marvel, holy shit I made all that up?!

Footnotes

[1] - I have often found that I'll create something completely off hand and not realise that this is exactly something that players will want to investigate. This coffin crate was entirely a random mcguffin to get them back to the city to go on their next adventure. Inevitably this leads me to discard everything I've planned up to that point and have to rework the campaign from scratch.

[2] - It was at this point that I and the players realised the implications of posting a woman through the mail to a priest. Needless to say I made it canonical that this was not some sort of trafficking ring and that religious abuse was not a reality in this world.

[3] - This was my attempt to create an overarching goal, reach Westruun in one month. I was hoping this would lend itself to giving the players freedom to get there however they wanted, whilst keeping them on some sort of track for my own sanity, and allowing us to have shenanigans and detours along the way.

[4] - It's been nearly four years and so my memory on some details is more than hazy.

[5] - In secret Griselda had worked out her own deal with this crimelord which was why the deal came so easy. A fault of mine as a DM is creating wheels within wheels subplots for my own amusement which then cascade into confusion as soon as the players interact with them. I will forever be a DM who should have written a book instead. I did not want my masterful plans derailed but I want to learn to accept that the best laid plans must come to light and be thwarted by players. A secret is only fun if it is eventually found out.

[6] - The players of this campaign were Level 3 at this point. How they were to contend with a Undeath God's avatar I have no idea. It invovled a lot of debuffing of Griselda early on so she couldn't one shot the party or take all the glory in combat. In hindsight this character suffered from DMPCisms, another sin I am guilty of. I had set Griselda up in my mind as this improably omnipotent mastermind who had considered every contigency and had a plan for everything. There was no room for faults and mistakes, everything had to unfold just so.

[7] - Involving yet more wheels within wheels