Secrets of Stonehell: Hall of the Elders

The second entry in an occasional series that reveals the design process, Easter eggs, and inside jokes that went into creating Stonehell Dungeon: Down Night-Haunted Halls.

There is a room on the third level of Stonehell Dungeon which seemingly contains nothing but a handful of marble busts set atop pedestals. Each bust depicts an older human male and is labeled with a name.

In true old school style, each of the five names is an anagram of the name of a real figure from the hobby’s history. Some of the anagrams are simple; others less so. The identities of all five figures are revealed here for the first time.

The first is easy enough: Yrag the Elder, who is of course Gary Gygax, a man who used “Yrag” himself. I included it in this room because I figured it to be the most blatant anagram example and hoped that it would encourage the players to try and decipher the rest of them.

The second bust is labeled “Evaders Noan,” which sounds like a pretty badass name for a D&D character. It also happens to be “Dave Arneson” rearranged. I used this name in a previous unfinished and unreleased dungeon, but liked it so much that I had to recycle it here. It is also my first “in game” tribute to Dave, appearing in my notes before he passed away and predating vaedium by several months.

Next in line is “Jeermilch So,” who is also the reason why I decided to reveal this secret of Stonehell now. “Jeermilch So” becomes “J Eric Holmes” when shuffled around. Like some of the gamers in my age bracket, I was introduced to the game by way of Holmes’ “blue book” when an older cousin convinced me to play around Christmas time in 1980. Unlike many gamers who also entered the hobby via Holmes, however, I never developed the personal fondness for that edition that they did, instead preferring the Moldvay Basic set which was released soon afterwards. Granted, I was eight-years old at the time, so the more introductory level writing of Moldvay’s edition was probably responsible. Despite this character flaw, I do have a great deal of respect for J. Eric Holmes’ efforts to promote the game and draw connections between the hobby of roleplaying and psychological development. I do feel a little ashamed for us as hobbyists who are trying to keep the old ways alive and honor those who blazed the trail. We dropped the ball on missing Holmes’ death by more than a month and we should all be a little red-faced about that.

The fourth bust is labeled “Yammod Volt” and, after the previous revelation, I suppose it comes as no shock to admit that that’s “Tom Moldvay” all jumbled up. Moldvay’s another designer who I find myself respecting more and more as I grow older. With Watchfires & Thrones leaning heavily on pulp sword & sorcery as inspiration, I suspect it’s only a matter of time before the Moldvay’s “pulp trilogy” of modules show up in the campaign world. I finished clearing out a space for The Lost City over the weekend and I have some fiendish plans for the other two if the PCs start heading down certain paths…

Lastly, there is the bust “Rolo Utes.” Old Rolo differs from the other four in two respects. First off, he’s not a writer but an artist, and secondly (and sadly for the others), he’s the only name who’s still living. “Rolo Utes” is none other than “Erol Otus.” If I have to explain his presence in Stonehell, you’ve obviously wander onto this blog by some very bizarre pathway. This is not the sole appearance of Erol Otus in my work either, although his other manifestation is somewhat blemished. Those of you who own a copy of The Dungeon Alphabet should turn to the “One Hundred Book Titles” chart on p. 8 and take a look at entry #98. There, due to a typographical error (one that will be fixed in the book’s second printing so you really should go preorder a corrected copy right now), “Rolo Utes” shows up as “Rolo Ites,” the man responsible for the book, The Master’s Art. And speaking of “One Hundred Book Titles,” there’s one chart that’s rife with anagrams and inside jokes. Perhaps I’ll do a post about those one day when the creative juices are running slow and I feel like pulling back the curtain on another work of mine.

New Magic Item: Galoot Cologne

Created by an evil prince (and part-time theatre critic), this vile substance is extremely lethal when consumed in its purest form. Anyone drinking the galoot cologne (cuh-LOG-nuh) must save vs. poison at -4 or die.

However, when the galoot cologne is mixed with food before consumption, the results are quite different. On a failed saving throw, the consumer’s Charisma is permanently reduced by 6 points unless he or she already has a Charisma of 6 or less.

If this is the case, the consumer’s Strength is permanently increased by four points up to a maximum of 18. Additionally, the consumer develops certain antisocial tendencies and becomes quick to anger. Should the consumer have a Strength of 14 or better (and a CHA of 6 or less) prior to consuming the liquid, they become a strange creature (never before seen on Broadway).

In this event, the referee is encourage to determine their new form using the tables and methods presented in Exquisite Corpses, The Random Esoteric Creature Generator, “Random Monsters” from The Dragon #10, or similar products. Referees strapped for time may use the stats for an ogre and assign the character 2-5 bizarre traits or new body parts.

From Around the Watchfires: Heavenly Bodies

Since the campaign world is a work in progress, I tend to avoid thinking about aspects of it until they become important. Take geography, for instance. Currently, I don’t even have so much as an inkling of what’s to be found past the edges of my rough map. I’ve composed thumbnail descriptions of the three closest nations, which has given the players some ideas as to where their characters originally hail from, but that it. There is, however, one big exception to my seat-of-the-pants world building: the skies above. As events would have it, I’ve had to give some thought to the night sky—more than I imagined I’d have to at this early stage of the game.

It started simply enough. In my initial notes for the campaign, I decided I wanted to employ a fantasy cliché that I’ve never personally used before: multiple moons. In this case, two of them. If there’s one thing that fantasy artwork from the 60s and 70s taught me, it’s that multiple moons are shorthand for bizarre alien worlds. With this in mind, I made a quick note about them. One is a big, bright moon, similar to our own Luna. The second, however, is a smaller and more battered body, cracked by some ancient catastrophe and trailing large chunks in its wake. That moon has a pallid, even putrid appearance, earning it the nickname of the Rotted Moon.

Although it looks different from the mental picture I have of the secondary moon, I used the broken moon from Thundarr the Barbarian as my quick “elevator pitch” sketch when trying to explain how the night sky appears. Just recently though, I discovered this promo image for the video game, Shattered Horizon, and it look much more like the picture I have in my head than Thundarr’s broken moon.

I was content to leave it at that, but then one of my player’s decided that his cleric worshipped the god, Uun (a name of his own creation). I let him run with the idea, leaving it up to him to decide what Uun was like, deity-wise. He decided that Uun (the Unknowable, as we dubbed him because we knew nothing about the god during the first game session) was a moon good and the guardian of cats. That’s all I needed to hear before I decided that the big moon’s name was Uun and the smaller moon was called the Rotting Moon. Done and done—or so I thought.

Then something started to cook on my creative stove top and I knew that I’d have to learn more about the Rotting Moon. For starters, a name was required, and, because of what was percolating in my mental pots, I decided that Nihil was best for my purposes. Since then, there’s been much more added to Nihil, but I can’t talk about that material just yet. It’ll have to wait until after I see what the characters end up doing in the next few game sessions.

But the stellar fun didn’t end there. I found myself in need of a suitable “red planet” to serve as an origin point/launch pad for another idea I’ve been noodling with. I also recently re-watched the first season of Rome and recalled Titus Pullo’s and Lucius Vorenus’ discussion about stars. Thus, Raka Ma’ad, the War Star, came into being. This “star” is one which sages believe may actually be a wayward moon, one that lies “hundreds of miles” up in the sky. If crimson Raka Ma’ad comes into play, the campaign will have taken a very interesting turn.

As a last point of note, it should be mentioned that the general populace believes that Hell, in its many guises, does not lie beneath one’s feet, but in the sky above. That dismal realm of devils and unknown gods lies in the night sky, in a territory just beyond the stars. This is a concept that I borrowed from my previous campaign world, solely on the strength of having a “cold hell beyond space” where things like this can come from.

Market Research

After spending the last hour looking online at various plastic and metal miniatures, I've concluded that, should Mega Miniatures want a surefire way of separating me from my money, they really need to release a line of the oddest miniatures possible. I'm talking uplifted chimpanzees in space suits, mind flayer gladiators, ooze golems, four-armed Martian types, etc. Heck, I'd by an entire boxed set just based on this guy:

If there was somehow a line a figures like that in their wonderful buck and change minis, I'd be an happy gamer. The alien bar figures and grey aliens are a nice start, but I could use more inexpensive weird minis in my collection. Just in case anyone with any clout over there is listening...

Archive of the Rotted Moon

As I anticipated, I’ve found that using Blogger for the Watchfires & Thrones campaign is a much better method for organizing my game material than Obsidian Portal. Nothing against those guys, but I’m already more adept at organizing information using the blogger format than I am with a wiki. I’ve moved most of my game notes to a new blog and, while I will still feature posts such as new monsters, magics, and lessons learned from that campaign on The Society of Torch, Pole and Rope, game recaps and other content of limited reader interest will be posted there in the future.

That new blog is Archive of the Rotted Moon (http://rottedmoon.blogspot.com) and a recap of Sunday’s game can be found here.

House Rule Additions & Modifications

I’ve been using Trollsmyth’s “Shields Shall Be Splintered” house rule since the start of the Watchfires & Thrones campaign with great success. Seeing as how Ian from Swashbuckler’s Hideout took the time to present his own take on the “using a shield to save your bacon” rule, I thought I’d chime in briefly with my own modified version of Trollsmyth’s house rule.

In my game, in order to use a shield to absorb the damage intended for your character, you need to make a successful save vs. death. I realize that this gives the clerics and the dwarf a slightly higher probability of success than the fighters, but I wanted something that was easy to remember and, since the shield splinter rule is most often used to avoid dying, this seemed like the best category. If push comes to shove and an explanation is required, I’ll just say that the gods look out for their own and, with the short stature and inhuman fighting techniques, dwarves are plain harder to hit sometimes.

I introduced the need for a saving throw because in Trollsmyth’s original version (whether it may have changed since inception, I do not know), using a shield to save your hide was a matter of simply saying so and I wanted there to be an element of chance involved in order to keep the players on their toes. That’s merely my own bias. So far we haven’t had to use the rule to avoid spell-inflicted damage. I’m curious to see how I’ll end up using this rule once that occurs.

I did have to make an on-the-fly ruling regarding this permutation during the third game session, one which so far seems to work fine. When one of the PCs was attacked by killer frogs and reduced to his last hit point, he attempted to block one of the frog’s two successful attacks. He rolled a natural 20 on his saving throw vs. death, which I ruled meant that the shield was able to take the blow and remained intact. Then, unbelievably, he invoked this rule to attempt to block the second attack and rolled another natural 20! I again ruled that the shield survived the attack and he remained unscathed by the blow. I could have stated that the shield, already weakened by the first strike, broke regardless of the 20, but I’d rather reward everyone with a really cool game memory, which is exactly what has seemed to occur. Conversely, in our most recent session, another character attempted to block a blow with his shield and rolled a 1. I took this to mean that the attack was so powerful that it not only splintered his shield but carried past to damage him despite his efforts to turn the blow.

Killer Referee

And another PC is slain by my horde of evil minions!

It was a hot afternoon for the referee: four natural twenties during three hours of play, one of which was responsible for the death pictured above. However, the party's two surviving clerics finally made 2nd level, and a cache of healing items was discovered. I think the party's survival rate is in for an sharp increase in future game sessions. I'm quite thrilled at that notion.