"Water Like A Stone" (a Yuletide adventure set in Legend)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

It wouldn’t be Christmas around here without a seasonal scenario by Tim Harford, but we’re trying something a bit different this year. Normally Tim gives me his notes and I lick them into shape so that it’s possible for someone else to run a game from them. Last December, though, there was a fly in the ointment.

As Tim put it, “This one was very skimpy on notes, even by my standards. I was in rebellion against our current D&D game, which has many good qualities, particularly the vividness of the NPCs, but which is overprepared and thus plays too much like a bravura performance from the GM, with not enough player agency. So I really wanted to push the other way and challenge myself to see how far I could get with minimal prep.”

Tim is also a very busy man, so he could hardly take time out to meticulously plot a six-hour roleplaying special just for one use with half a dozen friends. His notes in full were:

Tim adds: “Not much to go on I realise. There is an old scenario for Flashing Blades (‘The Grand Theatre’ in Parisian Adventures) which involves an actor who's also a spy who has stolen secret documents, and two teams of musketeers battling it out backstage. That was a direct inspiration for the Grand Theatre section, although in truth you really only need the premise, don't you? I also had in mind the image of Ferromaine's canals freezing under a supernatural cold, and the thought that a chase scene or a fight scene on ice would be a good challenge if the antagonists were equipped with skates. That's really it.”

That’s quite a challenge. My thinking for a scenario is that if you’re going to go in with a lot of plot elements then you need to work them out in advance, ideally to the extent of having a timeline of everything that would happen if the player-characters did nothing. You need to know those details (if they are going to be there at all) because the players will be trying to make them fit into a coherent picture.

For instance, imagine trying to play a murder mystery game in which all the clues were randomly generated independently of each other; it would be a complete waste of the players’ time because the clues couldn’t be assembled into any logical solution.

But once the game starts, everything can and should be improvised in response to what the players do – and that improvisation works because you had a clear idea of the NPCs and their actions and intentions to begin with. In short: plan your story as tightly as the writer of a novel or movie ought to, and then be perfectly happy to let that planned story disintegrate in response to the interpretations (correct or otherwise) and consequent actions of the player-characters.

Remember von Moltke’s advice: “No operational plan extends with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main enemy force. Only the layman believes that in the course of a campaign he sees the consistent implementation of an original idea that has been conceived in advance, thought through in every detail, and retained to the end.”

All right, so how are we going to do this? I’ll kick off by describing how it played out in our last Christmas game.

Act One

(Yes, I hate all that Hollywood three-act guff, but we're going to need some structure to get through this bit.)

The characters are in the service of the Cotulio family of Ferromaine. Specifically they have lodgings at an orphanage run by the Abbess Emerentia, sister of Count Saltado Cutulio, who tells them to go and fetch a pine tree from the Drakken forests. Not just any pine tree, either. Rival families are contending to raise the Yule tree in the Piazza San Paolo. The tallest tree will be chosen. And off they go.

In the game as run we went upriver to a town in northern Kurland, so we must have been on the Arakose river. Another option would be to take the Liederkehn river, but that would involve passing through Tamor which the characters may prefer to avoid – and we might expect timber prices to be much higher in the New Selentine Empire. (If you opt for that, there's a possible tie-in to "The God in the Bowl" adventure, which also takes place in the New Selentine Empire.)

It’s also possible to set the whole adventure elsewhere. The characters could be hired in Brymstone to fetch a tree across the Mergeld Sea from Mercania. But let’s not make this any more complicated than we need to. Tim ran it as a Blades in the Dark heist game in Ferromaine; we’ll stick with that for now. 

The complication: when they reach the town of the timber merchants, it turns out the best two trees have already been sold to representatives of the Senfriti and Vassilvio families. The merchants say there is no hope of finding another tree taller or finer than either of those. The Senfriti barge has already set off the day before. The Vassilvio barge is loaded and ready to depart the next morning.

A couple of strange incidents occurred. First we noticed a white star or comet in the sky. White Light, often seen this close to Krarth? It seemed not, for this star shimmered in and out of vision. The other incident was the arrival of a mechanical bird, inside whose beak was a clay effigy of Parcelus Pike’s face (see below) telling us that he had a lucrative job for us if we would return at once to Ferromaine. But that meant abandoning the Yule tree errand so we declined.

The barges descend the river by means of locks that bypass the occasional rapids. At each lock there are customs officers – more organized if this is the New Selentine Empire, more lackadaisical in Kurland, both susceptible to bribery. Tim’s notes suggest the officials have already been bribed, so perhaps they will hold up the player-characters or demand excessive tolls to use the locks.

In our session we masqueraded as tax officials inspecting the locks. The obstacles you might consider would be that in Kurland those tollkeepers would be locally recruited under the jurisdiction of a local duke-elector and would know each other personally. Selentine officials would be identified by seals and documents (literacy being higher there) and the penalty for forging such seals or pretending to be an imperial officer is painful and brief. Directly targeting the other families’ barges, on the other hand, is mere affray and not of any great importance to either Kurlanders or Selentines.

The first “act” ended with the tallest (in fact sole remaining) tree being delivered to the Cotulio family and set up in St Paul’s Square.

Act Two

Oliver Trout is a clown whose fame has preceded him around the Coradian Sea. He’s now arrived in Ferromaine where he is booked to perform for five nights at the Grand Theatre. In our game the Abbess asked us to go to the Grand Theatre while the show is on and steal an object from Trout’s dressing-room: a wooden puzzle box.

Some of the player-characters also spoke to Parcelus Pike, a local sorcerer and curio collector, about stealing the puzzle box for him. He wasn’t interested, having already hired another team (we had disregarded his message conveyed by the mechanical bird in Act One), but left the matter open in case we should obtain the box instead of them.

We went to the theatre that night, all with the goal of stealing the box but not all with the same buyer in mind. We waited for the show to start and then sneaked backstage. The complication this time was that somebody got there first; Trout’s dressing-room had already been ransacked. The other team of thieves had not found the box, however. The player-characters did, and on the way out were ambushed by the other thieves, eight Chaubrettians who were no match under the favouritism of the Blades in the Dark rules for two murder hoboes – er, player-character fighters, rather.

The player-characters got away with the puzzle box and then cast lots to decide who should get it. The Abbess, our patron? Parcelus Pike, never very trustworthy but at least offering cash now that his other team were all dead? Or return it to Oliver Trout, whose performance most of us hadn’t even stayed to watch?

One of us (my character, Arnaud -- aka Flambeau, le Stégologue de Vyônes) objected to the way one of the murder hoboes had bullied the others during the vote, so hid the puzzle box in the mouth of a gargoyle on the roof of the church overlooking St Paul’s Square.

All through this, the white star/comet continued to grow larger in the night sky. At the same time it was growing unseasonably cold in Ferromaine. There were even some flakes of snow.

Act Three

The snow is falling steadily now, piling up in drifts around the city. Few citizens of the Ferromaine League remember living through a blizzard like this. Is it "an elfin-storm from faery land"? The player-characters may think so. Most people huddle inside by the fire.

It gets colder. Much colder. Through the driving snow a single light shines in the night sky: the strange star, bathing the whole city in an icy white radiance.

The snow stops. The star descends and settles on the top of the Yule tree. A creaking sound is heard, a little like the soft skittering of hordes of insects. It’s the unprecedented noise of the city’s canals freezing over.

Seven white-clad hooded figures are seen skating towards St Paul’s Square.

In our game, the player-characters climbing up to retrieve the puzzle box were beset by scuttling sprites with bodies of ice. On the ground, the seven hooded skaters arrived at the square, along with a tall white-clad woman who emanated waves of freezing cold that our murder hoboes were hard pressed to deal with – though they managed, of course, this being Blades in the Dark rules, and when they slew the Frost Witch she turned into flakes of ice.

One of the player-characters, a psoriatic pilgrim named Dropskin, ignited the tree with the aid of a flaming torch and fervent prayer. It was consumed in roaring orange flames accompanied by the sharp tarry tang of burning pine needles.

Meanwhile Oliver Trout ambled into the square and cheerfully received the puzzle box back from Flambeau. With a few deft twists he converted it into a stellated polyhedron which drew all of the snow and ice (including the sprites and the hooded figures) into itself, banishing the unnatural winter and restoring the city to normal.

Assumptions

After the game I told Tim my interpretations of these events:

(1) That the Frost Witch came in the white star/comet from Krarth and would have plunged Ferromaine into an eternal winter.

Tim said: “That's much better than what I had, which was that she was a supernatural antagonist who wanted the puzzle box for reasons unknown.”

(2) That Oliver Trout was a wizard or mythic being who opposed her and his puzzle box gave him some means to counter her ice magic.

Tim said: “Oliver Trout is a Santa Claus-like figure, of course – an avuncular spirit of all that is jolly and numinous about the bleak midwinter. Thank goodness I watched an episode of The Box of Delights the evening before the game.”

(3) That the white skaters on the frozen canal were her emissaries and their job was to kill Oliver Trout before he could stop her.

Tim said: “They were her emissaries. I had in mind that they would steal the box and there would be a chase scene along the grand canal. But you didn't stash the box where I expected and it became a set-piece confrontation rather than a chase.”

Here’s what ChatGPT thought:

Assumption 1: The Frost Witch and the Comet

Your Assumption: The Frost Witch came in the white star/comet from Krarth and would have plunged Ferromaine into eternal winter.

Refinement: The comet could be more than just her mode of travel—it might be her prison. Long ago, a cosmic force (perhaps linked to Oliver Trout or the city itself) sealed her in the icy heart of the comet. The comet's proximity to Ferromaine was drawn by the Yule tree ritual, corrupted by the rival families’ selfish motives. This not only makes her arrival more meaningful but also ties her deeply to the scenario's events.

She might not want to destroy Ferromaine outright but instead transform it into her icy domain, drawing its magic and culture into her eternal kingdom. This makes her a more nuanced antagonist with a vision, albeit a chilling one.

Assumption 2: Oliver Trout as the Frost Witch’s Opponent

Your Assumption: Oliver Trout was a wizard or mythic being whose puzzle box allowed him to counter the Frost Witch's ice magic.

Refinement: Oliver Trout is perfect as a mythic "spirit of midwinter," embodying the warmth and hope needed to survive the harsh season. Rather than being solely a wizard, he could be an ancient protector whose jovial demeanour hides immense power. The puzzle box could symbolize the delicate balance of winter—it holds the key to containing the Frost Witch but must be wielded with wisdom and care. To deepen their rivalry, Trout might have been the one who originally imprisoned her. She now seeks both vengeance and the box, which could free her fully. This personal connection raises the stakes of their confrontation.

Oliver Trout might not be omnipotent. His reliance on humour and goodwill could mean his power wanes in the face of despair. This would explain why he leaves the puzzle box unattended—he can’t directly confront the Frost Witch without gathering enough "light-hearted energy," which is why he was performing on stage at the Grand Theatre – but the wintry weather meant smaller audiences, making the PCs’ intervention crucial.

Assumption 3: The White Skaters and Their Mission

Your Assumption: The white skaters were emissaries of the Frost Witch sent to kill Oliver Trout before he could stop her.

Refinement: Rather than simply assassins, the skaters could have a dual purpose: to retrieve the puzzle box and prevent Trout from using it, as well as to sow terror and chaos in the city. They might represent different facets of the Frost Witch’s will (eg, cold precision, relentless pursuit, and icy despair), making them thematic extensions of her power. The skaters could be former residents of other cities she has conquered, now turned into icy thralls. This twist would highlight the stakes for Ferromaine—failure means the citizens could share the same fate.

The puzzle box could be tied to the very nature of winter—when solved correctly, it harmonizes the forces of cold and warmth, sealing the Frost Witch while allowing winter to remain balanced. Solved incorrectly, it could unleash an eternal winter or destroy Trout's protective powers, adding a moral or tactical dilemma for the PCs.

Explanations

These were the things I still wasn’t sure about after the game. What was actually going on? Players are going to ferret away at the details looking for an advantage, so you’ll want the answers at the ready even if they’re never needed.

What was it that invited the Frost Witch into Ferromaine? (The tree in some way, perhaps?)

Tim answered: “My initial premise was merely that the Frost Witch wanted the puzzle box, but in truth that's a fairly flimsy idea – and almost immediately came the idea (Christmassy, but also ominous) that she had a celestial body that steadily approached as the adventure progressed.”

ChatGPT suggested: “The Yule tree seems a strong candidate. It could serve as a mystical beacon tied to ancient traditions, perhaps imbued with ceremonial significance that inadvertently opened a pathway for the Frost Witch when it was raised in St. Paul’s Square. Maybe Ferromaine’s people used to perform protective rituals tied to the tree, but these have been forgotten in recent years. Alternatively, the comet/star might have been drawn to the competitive, somewhat self-serving motives of the rival families vying for the tallest tree, allowing the Frost Witch to exploit this discord.”

Why was Oliver Trout performing at the theatre?

Tim said: “I love these questions but I have no answers to any of the rest of them – the perils of the improvised game. Any answers you can dream up will be better than anything I had.”

ChatGPT’s answer: “Oliver Trout’s performance could have been part of a larger plan to mask his true purpose in the city. He might have been drawn to Ferromaine because he sensed the Frost Witch’s growing presence, and the show was an excuse to stay nearby without arousing suspicion. Alternatively, the theatre could hold symbolic power, such as being a historic cultural heart of the city where his magic would be stronger. Or see above, the idea that his performances at the theatre were parts of a magical ritual intended to build up a ‘charge’ of good-natured warmth to counter the winter spell."

Why did Trout leave the box unguarded?

ChatGPT: “Oliver Trout likely underestimated the Frost Witch’s influence—or overestimated the secrecy of the box’s location. He might have thought his jovial reputation or distractions like the theatre performance would deter any would-be thieves. Another possibility: he intended the box to act as bait, drawing her agents into a trap. It would also add tension if he intended for the PCs to become involved but misjudged their chaotic methods.”

What would have happened if the characters had failed to act? (The white skaters would have killed Trout?)

ChatGPT: “If the PCs failed, the white skaters might have killed Oliver Trout or captured the puzzle box, allowing the Frost Witch to solidify her hold on Ferromaine. This could mean the city plunging into eternal winter, its citizens slowly frozen into lifeless statues as her icy dominion spread across the region. The PCs' intervention was likely the only thing standing between the city and its doom, adding weight to their actions.”

Would burning the tree have had any effect once the frost had already taken hold of the city?

ChatGPT: “Burning the tree could have served as a powerful symbolic or magical act, disrupting the Frost Witch’s anchor in Ferromaine. If the tree was the conduit for her power, destroying it could sever her connection and weaken her ice magic. However, the tree might also act as a focal point for Oliver Trout’s magic, meaning its destruction could have been a desperate gamble—potentially undermining his efforts to banish her unless done at the right moment. This ambiguity could leave the PCs wondering if they helped or hindered.”

Time for the robots to take over

ChatGPT was doing sterling work, so I thought I should let it off the leash. How would it have improved on the scenario? This is what it said: 

1. Tie the Frost Witch to the Yule Tree More Strongly 

The Yule tree could be central to her power. Perhaps it is the "World Tree" in miniature, a mystical link between realms, and raising it without proper rites allowed her to invade. The rival families’ selfish competition could amplify the magical imbalance. You could use the apples and wafers used to decorate the base of the tree to symbolize temptation, sin and redemption. The Frost Witch might need the tree to fully merge her icy domain with Ferromaine, giving the PCs a clear reason to stop her.

2. Oliver Trout’s Purpose 

Oliver Trout can have a more defined backstory. He might be an ancient protector, akin to a winter guardian or even a rival to the Frost Witch in a cosmic balance between light and cold. His performances could be a way to gather joy and goodwill—essential to his magic—and the puzzle box might store that energy, which he intends to use against her.

3. The Puzzle Box’s Role 

The puzzle box could act as both a key and a trap. It might be the only thing capable of sealing the Frost Witch away but is equally coveted by her because it could seal Oliver Trout’s power if twisted incorrectly. This would give the PCs a tough moral choice, especially if factions try to sway them. 

4. Escalate Tension With a Chase Scene 

Instead of a static confrontation, you could add a thrilling chase along the frozen canals [I'm pretty sure it got that idea from Tim's notes. - DM] as the white-clad emissaries pursue the PCs, trying to retrieve the puzzle box. Ice sprites could create hazards, and Oliver Trout might aid from afar, giving cryptic advice. 

5. Make the Burning Tree a Gamble 

Destroying the tree could weaken the Frost Witch but at a high cost, such as damaging the city’s spiritual defenses for years to come. Alternatively, the PCs might need to perform a complex ritual at the tree to channel its power against her, adding urgency to their decisions.

And how about some stats? This is ChatGPT’s response, using D&D rather than Blades in the Dark. I haven’t played enough D&D 5e (just one session) to know if any of this makes any sense, but it looks creative and it kept spelling "fay" wrong, which is probably a D&D mistake as ChatGPT is usually right about things like that. 

D&D 5e Stats Suggestions

The Frost Witch

• CR: 10 
• Type: Medium Fay (or Elemental) 
• Abilities: 
• Legendary Actions: Use Cone of Cold, summon ice sprites, or freeze enemies in place. 
• Lair Actions: Intensify cold damage in her lair (e.g., the area around the tree), create difficult terrain with ice, or summon blizzards.
• Unique Ability: Shatterstar Descend – Once per day, create an icy storm that deals 6d10 cold damage in a 60-ft radius and reduces visibility to 10 feet. 
• Defences: High AC (18) from icy armour, resistances to nonmagical bludgeoning/piercing/slashing, immunity to cold.

White-Clad Emissaries

• CR: 4
• Type: Medium Humanoids (Icebound Knights)
• Abilities:
• Frostbite Blade – Melee weapon attacks deal 2d6 cold damage. 
• Glide on Ice – Move effortlessly over difficult icy terrain. 
• Aura of Chill – Enemies within 10 feet take 1d6 cold damage at the start of their turn.

Ice Sprites

• CR: 1/2
• Type: Tiny Elementals
• Abilities:
• Freezing Touch – Touch attack deals 1d6 cold damage and reduces movement speed. 
• Frosty Mischief – Use actions to create minor hazards (slick ice, frosty fog).

Oliver Trout 

• CR: 7 
• Type: Medium Humanoid (Mythic) 
• Abilities: 
• Puzzle Box Mastery – As an action, manipulate the puzzle box to unleash bursts of radiant light (6d6 damage to undead/fay). 
• Aura of Merriment – Allies within 30 feet gain advantage on saving throws against fear and charm. 
• Spellcasting: Casts Wall of Force, Greater Restoration, and Daylight as innate abilities.

Incidentally, I do hope "Frosty Mischief" is a real D&D ability. Finally, ChatGPT had some ideas about how to integrate all this into Legend's medieval setting where the real force is religion, not D&D-style fantasy:

1. The Yule Tree as the “Tree of Paradise”

The Yule tree in St. Paul’s Square could explicitly represent the "tree of paradise," decorated with symbols of humanity’s fall (apples) and redemption (buns standing in for eucharist wafers). These decorations might play a magical role in the story, either as a defence against the Frost Witch or as something she seeks to corrupt.

The apples could represent temptation, tying into the rivalry among Ferromaine's families. Perhaps the tree is adorned with gilded apples to symbolize the city’s prosperity, which the Frost Witch views as a hubristic affront to her dominion over winter. She might aim to corrupt the apples into frozen fruit that spreads despair or frostbite to those who touch them.

The white wafers could become a mystical ward against her influence. If the PCs retrieve the puzzle box and return it to the tree, the wafers might glow, symbolizing humanity's capacity for redemption and banishing her icy hold.

2. The Frost Witch as a “Tempter”

The Frost Witch could serve as a supernatural force akin to the serpent in Eden, embodying temptation and humanity's darker impulses. Her emissaries might offer subtle deals or promises to the PCs and city officials: wealth, power, or eternal life in exchange for cooperation. She might try to claim that eternal winter represents purity and perfection, twisting the tree’s symbolism of paradise into her own vision of a frozen utopia.

3. The Puzzle Box as the Fruit of Knowledge

The puzzle box could represent the forbidden fruit, a mystical object that must be handled with care to prevent disaster. Just as Adam and Eve’s choice brought consequences, solving the puzzle box could trigger a significant moral choice for the PCs:

• Correct Solution: Harmonizes the balance of winter and seals the Frost Witch.
• Incorrect Solution: Unleashes eternal winter or destroys Oliver Trout’s ability to fight her.

This creates tension as the PCs grapple with whether they can (or should) wield such power.

4. The Role of the Nobles and Clergy

The Cotulio and rival families could reflect the pride and materialism that the Frost Witch exploits. Of course Abbess Emerentia’s and Count Saltado's loyalty is to themselves and their family, but lower ranks in the Church might represent humanity’s spiritual side, trying to remind the city of the tree’s true symbolic meaning and rallying the PCs to act with virtue.

The clergy might have an old ritual involving the tree of paradise. If forgotten or corrupted, this might explain why Ferromaine was vulnerable to the Frost Witch’s influence. The PCs could discover fragments of this ritual, such as chants or blessings, that must be restored to banish her. However, this would work better in a northern setting as it’s unlikely that Ferromaine would have ever had any problems with winter magic in the past.

5. The Frozen “Garden of Eden”

When the Frost Witch descends, her icy magic could transform the city into a twisted, frozen garden—a parody of Eden. The canals might become shimmering paths of ice, trees could bear crystalline, inedible fruit, and the citizens might begin to freeze into statues.

The characters could face a challenge to “restore” the true paradise by reigniting the Yule tree’s warmth through symbolic acts of kindness or sacrifice.

6. A Winter Solstice Play

Integrate a play into the Grand Theatre performance that reenacts the Fall and Redemption story, echoing the medieval mystery plays. Oliver Trout might be secretly manipulating events to parallel the play’s themes with the PCs’ struggle, subtly guiding them toward the right choices.

Sources that I suspect influenced Tim and that may be useful are The Box of Delights and The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe. TV/movie versions here for those in a hurry. The old Santa-like character from The Box of Delights was apparently based on Ramon Llull, but I have only Wikipedia's word for that.

If you play the adventure, do let us know in the comments how you got on. I will just add that Tim's gaming group use Blades in the Dark, which casts every adventure in the form of a heist. Perhaps your heart sinks at the thought of heist games, or indeed any preset story-pattern in roleplaying, in which case you would normally get wholehearted agreement from me, but Christmas gaming makes its own rules. After a couple of mince pies I just sat back and went with the rompy flow.

The shape of things to come

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,

The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant.

Hungry ghosts and dream-eaters

Tetsubo was originally intended to be the “fantasy medieval Japan” supplement for Warhammer, but there were personnel changes at Games Workshop after Jamie Thomson and I were asked to write it. On the week we were due to deliver the manuscript, contacts in the GW offices advised us it would probably no longer fit their publishing plans. And so it turned out. We recovered the rights, and over the years talked about doing it with other publishers, but most of them wanted more of a 1960s Japanese cinema vibe than a Muromachi/Edo style setting.

In lockdown I took advantage of the sudden surfeit of spare time to start converting Tetsubo to Paul Mason’s Outlaws RPG system. I’ll get back to it in the next pandemic, if we haven’t had a nuclear war first. (My backers on Patreon have access to the work-in-progress version of the rulebook.) In the meantime, here are a couple of yokai from the book translated into Dragon Warriors rules – or should that be “Tatsu Bushi”? If you want the original Warhammer stats, they're here.

Baku

The baku is a powerful quadruped. It is called the Eater of Dreams, and people in rural areas sometimes make offerings so that it will devour their nightmares for them. Nonetheless the baku is not a kami but a physical creature, albeit one with myriad wondrous powers. Its ability is not restricted to consuming evil dreams. It can devour any dream, and characters whose dreams are taken frequently can become irritable or enervated.

If a baku takes up residence in an area it may come close to human habitations by night in order to feed. At all times it exudes a narcotic sorcery – characters who are unaware of its approach must resist with a Psychic Talent roll of difficulty factor 16 or else fall into a deep slumber; the roll is made using d20+2 if the character was already recumbent and ready for sleep.

Characters visited regularly over several nights suffer temporary penalties of −1 from PERCEPTION, Psychic Talent and Reflexes for as long as the baku's visits continue. If the visitations persist for more than a week, characters also start to lose 1 experience point per night. (This only applies to experience built up since the last level break; if it goes on long enough the character will not drop a rank, just lose all their unconverted experience.) If the visitations go on uninterrupted for a month, the victim develops insanity (randomly rolled). If the baku is slain or prevented from reaching its victims, depleted characteristics recover with just a few good nights' sleep but lost experience is gone and must be earned all over again. If an insane victim sees the baku’s dead body, he or she loses their insanity.

Baku are semi-intelligent and have been known to speak in guttural, half-coherent tones. It may be that they do not understand what they say but only regurgitate garbled phrases from the dreams they have eaten. Sometimes baku can be controlled by magic, so players could encounter one as the steed or servant of a powerful wizard.

Physique: The body of a baku resembles a tiger as large as a bull. Its fur is slick black and patterned with green circles like staring eyes. Its head has a long snout like that of a tapir or elephant, usually crested with long slender horns. It has a mane, but its domed forehead is bald (or even, in some accounts, fleshless). This is the appearance of a male baku. Females have a completely different physiognomy, but there are no reliable accounts from which any description could be attempted here.

Behaviour: Baku fear daylight and will always return to their lair before sunrise – usually a burrow or cave, sometimes a deserted temple in thick woodland. Although powerful they are not used to encountering opponents who fight back; any time a baku takes a wound it must make a morale roll or flee; deduct the rank of all opponents it is facing from 25, and the baku must roll the result or less on d20 to stand its ground. Sometimes baku will flee without waiting to be wounded, as they are intelligent enough to recognise there is nothing to be gained in fighting against the odds.

Special rules: A baku given an hour to feast on the dreams of a sleeping spellcaster will cause him or her to suffer the loss of d3 Magic Points the following day. Mystics suffer a penalty of 1 to Psychic Fatigue Checks.

When a baku strikes someone in combat it steals some of the strength of his dream-self. This has no perceptible effect on most people, but against a spellcaster it causes the loss of d6 Magic Points; mystics must roll a Psychic Fatigue Check with the damage they took substituting for spell level. Also, anyone injured must make an Intelligence roll (difficulty factor 14) or fall into a deep sleep until the baku leaves the vicinity.

If the baku is able to feast on dreams it fights with an ATTACK bonus of +3. If thwarted, its ATTACK is as listed.

In retreat, this creature can move ‘like the wind’ according to the description given by Kotei in his Bakemonojin. When the baku is fleeing from combat it moves at three times normal speed.

ATTACK 21                                    2 x Claws (d8,4) or 1 x Bite (d10,5)
DEFENCE 10                                 Armour Factor: 4
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 18             Movement: 14m (42m when fleeing)
EVASION: 8                                   STEALTH: 28
                                                        PERCEPTION: 20 (darksight)
Health Points: 2d6+24
Rank Equivalent: 10th

Abilities & Traits:

• Aura of Slumber: Anyone within 10m of a baku who has not already perceived it must make a Psychic Talent check (difficulty factor 16) or fall into a deep sleep lasting 1d6 x 10 minutes unless the sleeper is physically shaken awake.
• Dream Eater: Anyone injured by the baku’s attack must make an Intelligence roll (difficulty factor 14) to avoid falling asleep as above. If a spellcaster, they lose d6 Magic Points; mystics roll Psychic Fatigue.
• Nightmare Parasite: If a baku visits a person repeatedly, the affected individual experiences a penalty of −1 to PERCEPTION, Psychic Talent and Reflexes for as long as the visits continue. If visited for more than a week, they also lose 1 unbanked experience point per night.
• Wary Hunter: Baku are cautious and will retreat if seriously injured. If a baku takes a wound, it must roll [25 minus combined rank of opponents] or less on d20 or flee.
• Windborne Escape: A baku that flees from combat increases its movement to three times normal, vanishing into the night with uncanny speed.

Gaki

Gaki (‘hungry ghosts’) are tormented spirits cursed with an insatiable hunger due to their past sins, resulting in negative karma that means they cannot be reborn. They manifest in different forms depending on their cravings. Someone who stole from the bodies of the dead, for example, might become a corpse-eating gaki.

Bukyo teaches that appetite and desire are the cause of suffering, a doctrine vividly illustrated by the existence of hungry ghosts. For this reason it is sometimes possible for a Bukyo priest to placate a gaki by offering to perform the Segaki rite. This gives the ghost a chance to escape its suffering and be reborn as some lowly creature such as an insect. However, it is difficult for even a devout priest to reason with a gaki in this way because all gaki are effectively insane in human terms.

Physique: Like all ghosts, gaki are not restricted to one form. Sometimes they appear as roiling clouds of black smoke on which their human form is superimposed. This is thought to be a glimpse into Gakido, or the Hell of the Hungry Dead. Sometimes they are reported as having furry limbs or insectoid features, but this may be a subjective impression resulting from the observer's fear of the gaki. More usually, just as a gaki is about to attack, it will take a guise based on its craving. So a ketsu-gaki will manifest a face of wet blood, a chokenju-gaki might wear features molded of clay, and so on.

Behaviour: Gaki find it hard to resist any opportunity to assuage their hunger. To do so the gaki must roll 5 or 6 on d6. If the roll fails, the gaki must feed even if this means putting itself in danger.

Usually the gaki’s locus of haunting will be a graveyard, temple or mansion, and they will not move beyond that, but in some cases it can be a much more extensive area. One notorious gaki that was eventually enlightened by the priest Dogen had been condemned to haunt the entire length of the Shokowado highway, more than two hundred miles from end to end.

Special rules: Gaki cannot be harmed by nonmagical weapons. They can only manifest with any force at night, or occasionally during the daytime if there is a fog, blizzard or thunderstorm.

People surviving an encounter with a gaki commonly develop a phobia – often, strangely, a fear of insects. Any character who succumbs to a gaki’s fright attack acquires a phobia – 50% of entomophobia, 20% arachnophobia, otherwise roll randomly.

Other powers vary according to the type of gaki encountered. The list here is only a framework on which the referee should feel free to build. Many gaki have magical powers as a residue of merit from much earlier incarnations, and no two are entirely alike.

Chokenju-Gaki

The spirits of men who despoiled shrines for the sake of gain, or who took treasure from ancient tombs. They are cursed with a ravenous hunger for grave-clay, funereal offerings and the charred remnants of funeral pyres. A chokenju-gaki will usually be restricted to a graveyard and will not bother anyone who does not intrude on its feasting.

This variety of gaki is prone to taking normal human form by day. Often they will wear the guise of a solitary priest or hermit living in a cottage in the graveyard. They are typically less obsessive and more reasonable during the day, and they may even ask for help if confronted by one who has guessed the truth about them.

At night the chokenju-gaki may take a monstrous form of earth, cerements and mouldered bones, instilling dread in any living creature who sees it. Roll 4d6 for fright attack, and a victim who succumbs will flee in terror or fight at −2 from ATTACK if cornered.

If engaged in combat, the gaki slashes with jagged talons which carry a variant of the Wasting Disease (see The Elven Crystals). Anyone who takes damage must roll Strength or less on d20 to resist the disease, then if they fail roll again each day to recover. Each day of illness causes −1 to both Strength and Health Points. If the character loses a total of half their Strength or more during the whole course of the disease, then even after recovering their appearance will be permanently affected, making their flesh grey and pitted: the character suffers −2 Looks.

ATTACK 20                                Talons (d8,5) and disease
DEFENCE 16                              Armour Factor: d3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 15         Movement: 10m (15m)
EVASION: 4                                  STEALTH: 10
                                                        PERCEPTION: 10 (darksight)
Health Points: 3d6+10
Rank Equivalent: 8th

Doku-Gaki

The ghosts of poisoners, doomed to thirst for poison themselves. Anyone who is carrying or brewing any form of poison risks attracting a doku-gaki's attention. The creature is likely to begin its attack by approaching the character while he or she is asleep, usually in the form of a vapour with weak (2d6) toxic or deliriant effect.

Taking a more cohesive form if combat becomes inevitable, it strikes with envenomed claws. Each time it hits and inflicts damage, make a roll for poison of normal strength. The first failed roll results in the victim becoming drowsy (−1 from all rolls), the second in partial paralysis (like a Weaken spell), and the third in death. If rescued in time, the victim will recover from the venom after a day’s rest.

ATTACK 18                                Claws (d8,4) and poison
DEFENCE 12                              Armour Factor: 3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 15         Movement: 12m (20m)
EVASION: 5                                  STEALTH: 20
                                                        PERCEPTION: 14 (panoptical)
Health Points: 2d6+12
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Jikininki

A ghoulish creature, usually the ghost of someone who robbed or defiled the dead. Anyone confronting a jikininki unexpectedly is subject to a d20 fright attack that can result in them becoming awestruck – unable to move, speak or attack, though they can still defend themselves. The character can attempt to snap out of it by rolling Intelligence or less on d20 each round, and once they do so there is no need to check again in that encounter.

Jikininki do not kill to eat. They usually crave the flesh of someone who has died from other means, and will only fight if kept from reaching the corpse. A person eaten by a jikininki can never be restored to life.

In areas where a jikininki is known to haunt, some families have acquired the habit of murdering wayfarers whenever someone in their household dies. This ensures that the jikininki's hunger will be assuaged by eating the wayfarer instead of the family member on the first night, allowing the householders time to arrange a cremation the next day. Of course, people who do this kind of thing are only ensuring that they will return as gaki in their next life.

Encounter with a jikininki

All then left the house except the priest, who went to the room where the dead body was lying. The usual offerings had been set before the corpse and a small Buddhist lamp—tomyo—was burning. The priest recited the service and performed the funeral ceremonies, after which he entered into meditation. So meditating he remained through several silent hours, and there was no sound in the deserted village. But when the hush of the night was at its deepest there noiselessly entered a shape, vague and vast, and in the same moment the priest found himself without power to move or speak. He saw that shape lift the corpse, as with hands, and devour it more quickly than a cat devours a rat, beginning at the head and eating everything, the hair and the bones and even the shroud. And the monstrous thing, having thus consumed the body, turned to the offerings, and ate them also. Then it went away, as mysteriously as it had come.

– Koizumi Yakumo, Kwaidan

ATTACK 19                                   Claws (d8+1,6)
DEFENCE 13                                  Armour Factor: 4
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16             Movement: 12m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 18
                                                            PERCEPTION: 15 (darksight)
Health Points: 2d10+9
Rank Equivalent: 8th

Ketsu-Gaki

A Yamatese vampire, this is the ghost of a murderer or an excessively cruel and violent person. The presence of a ketsu-gaki induces dread in living creatures: d20 fright attack to induce −2 ATTACK, −1 damage for the duration of the battle. In combat, the ketsu-gaki can either strike normally or else grapple. It will usually do this only when fighting a solitary opponent. A character who is grappled must make an immediate d20 roll trying to score equal to or under the average of their Strength and Reflexes score; if this fails they are paralysed and unable to act for 2d6 rounds. The gaki will make use of this time to drink the paralysed character's blood, extruding a proboscis or long needle-like teeth with which to do this. Each round it spends drinking will drain the victim of 1 ealth Point. When HP reach zero, the victim is discarded and must roll Strength or less on d20 or die at once. If the roll succeeds, the victim is incapacitated and may suffer from recurrent bleeding; assuming they survive, they recover as from normal injury but only get back half their rank in HP each day.

Ketsu-gaki can sometimes appear during the day wearing the appearance they bore in their previous incarnation. While in this manifestation they are able to control their hunger and are effectively just ghosts passing for living people.

ATTACK 22                                 Claws (d10,4) or grapple
DEFENCE 12                              Armour Factor: 3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16         Movement: 12m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                  STEALTH: 13
                                                        PERCEPTION: 13 (darksight)
Health Points: 3d6+10
Rank Equivalent: 9th

Kwa-Gaki

Arsonists, particularly those who have set fire to Bukyo temples, are reincarnated as kwa-gaki, or ‘fire-eating ghosts’. All forms of heat and light are consumed by this goblin, including spells such as Dragonbreath and Dazzle as well as the light of lanterns and candles. Such attacks are neutralized within a range of fifteen metres of the kwa-gaki and light sources automatically dim in the same region, with bright firelight guttering to the level of a candle and ordinarily dim illumination dropping to pitch darkness.

The creature’s touch draws heat from the target's body, causing the loss of an additional 1d3 damage from any successful attack.

A kwa-gaki which comes across a sleeping character may try to possess him or her in order to steal bodily warmth over a long period. This process takes 2d6 minutes, but works automatically if the gaki is not interrupted during this time. The character will begin to develop a chill as the gaki first feeds on their body warmth, interspersed with periods of burning fever when the gaki is satiated. This causes the character to be temporarily at −2 to all rolls most of the time, and totally incapacitated while the fever is on them. Normal medical treatment is ineffective, and the character must guess that they have become host to a gaki and seek the aid of a Bukyo priest. If and when the gaki is exorcized, the victim recovers almost immediately.

ATTACK 12+d10                            Claws (d8,4) but will usually attempt possession
DEFENCE 12                                  Armour Factor: 2
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16             Movement: 10m (20m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 22
                                                            PERCEPTION: 14 (darksight)
Health Points: 5d6
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Yokushiki-Gaki

Demonic spirits of carnality, corresponding to the incubi and succubi of Occidental myth. These beings were driven by overwhelming lust when alive, or else acquired bad karma through unnatural sexual practices. By night yokushiki-gaki are able to appear as preternaturally attractive individuals, but this is only an illusion and if encountered at all by day it is in the form of one made hideous by age and depravity.

In its night-time form the yokushiki-gaki can seduce characters of either sex. If the intended victim chooses to resist (they might not even try) roll 4d6 for the force of the attraction, subtract the victim’s rank, and the gaki must roll that or less of d20 to seduce them. If a yokushiku-gaki succeeds in coupling with a character, it drains them of their vitality, and they will awaken the next morning with their Health Points permanently reduced by 1.

A yokushiki-gaki will usually retreat if threatened with combat, though if interrupted in the throes of lovemaking (perhaps by the comrades of its victim, belatedly coming to her assistance) it will lash out violently. If its claws inflict damage on a character it will infect him or her with a disease (roll Strength or less on 3d6 to resist) that causes no HP loss but applies a −5 penalty to Looks for the 1-6 months that the disease lasts. At the same time the gaki will discard its comely appearance, the repugnant sight of its true face instilling dread (2d6 fright check; those succumbing are unable to act for 1-6 rounds) in everyone present. If someone who has had sex with a yokushiki-gaki sees its real face, he or she immediately acquires a form of insanity (randomly rolled).

ATTACK 18                                    Claws (d8,4)
DEFENCE 12                                  Armour Factor: 2
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 18             Movement: 15m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 18
                                                            PERCEPTION: 13 (panoptical)
Health Points: 2d6+8
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Adventure seeds

The gaki make for fascinating antagonists because they aren't simply monsters to defeat; they have tragic backstories and represent moral lessons about greed, lust, and violence. This provides referees with opportunities to create encounters with ethical dimensions beyond simple combat.

1. The Hungry Road: A notorious ketsu-gaki haunts a stretch of highway. Fearful locals have developed the terrible practice of sacrificing travellers whenever a villager dies, to distract the gaki from feasting on the remains of their loved ones.
2. The Beautiful Stranger: A yokushiki-gaki has taken up residence in an abandoned house. Several young people from a nearby village have fallen mysteriously ill after reporting encounters with a beautiful stranger.
3. A Pious Caretaker: A chokenju-gaki haunts an ancient temple, appearing as an elderly keeper by day, in which form it is unaware of its true nature, but transforming into a monstrous guardian by night to ward off looters and defilers.

If you decide to use any of these hungry ghosts in your campaign, they could lead to interesting scenarios where players might need to:

• Investigate the gaki's origin to properly exorcise it
• Navigate difficult moral choices when encountering villages with disturbing practices
• Help a gaki that appears human by day but struggles with its nature
• Perform the Segaki ritual to give a repentant spirit a chance at rebirth

Hear ye

A quick note to let you know that the Fabled Lands CRPG expands today to include The Castle of Lost Souls, as revised and expanded by Paul Gresty. Read more about it here.

And the Dealing With Demons chapbook is free on Kindle till tomorrow. Get your copy here.

Tomorrow: Dragon Warriors goes east, with converted Tetsubo rules for hungry ghosts and dream eaters. See you then.

Simulation vs abstraction in game design

This is an excerpt from Game Architecture & Design, an industry textbook I co-authored with Andrew Rollings. (I wrote the game design bits, Andrew dealt with code, tech and development practices.) The book was originally published in 1999 and a revised edition came out in 2004. In the intervening two decades, a lot has changed, but it's also interesting to see what hasn't...

If I throw a ball and take many high-speed photographs of its flight, I'll see that the trajectory the ball took is a parabola. But the ball didn't follow that path because gravity told it: "Move in a parabola." A parabola is just a symbolic concept in the analytical domain of mathematics, and the universe doesn't know anything about mathematics or analysis or symbols; these are human concepts. In reality, there are just a bunch of physical processes, each of which deals only with the processes and circumstances just before and just after it. So, the ball is at one position, and gravity tells the ball's velocity to change, and the ball's velocity tells its position to change. The balance between kinetic and potential energy over the time the ball is in the air gives you what we call a parabola.

This is the opposite approach to that taken in most software applications. There, processing power is at a premium, so the sooner you can go to symbolic modelling rather than step-by-step simulation, the better. The tradeoff is that software can crash when your symbolic "shortcut" misses something that the one-step-at-a-time approach would have taken in its stride.

Researchers in Artificial Life have identified an analogous problem:

"The classical AI approach has been criticized because the symbols and symbol structures on which planning and decision making are based are not grounded in the real world. The problem is that unequivocally decoding sensory data into a symbol and turning a command without error into its intended action may be unsolvable."

- Luc Steels, "The Artificial Life Roots of Artificial Intelligence" in Artificial Life (MIT Press, 1997)

One big advantage of the way that reality does things is that the universe, being non-symbolic, cannot crash. As an example of the principle at work in a game, suppose I am putting a monster into my new Frankenstein adventure and the idea is that it will jump out of its vat when the player enters the laboratory. Instead of putting in a lot of complicated AI to do with detecting humans and having the goal of wanting to kill them, I just choose the short cut of placing a trigger tile inside the laboratory door. When the player steps on the trigger, the monster will appear and attack.

Okay so far, but what if the player manages to get onto the tower roof, jumps down, and, by some fluke, manages to land safely on the balcony of the laboratory? Now they can explore the lab, get all the power-ups, and read the journal about the monster (an entry that is supposed to be poignant if they've just fought and killed it, but that is meaningless otherwise). Only when the player goes to leave via the door does the monster climb out of its vat and growl, "You shall not steal my master's secrets!"

In the past, the nonsymbolic, step-by-step approach was not practical. The the processing capability wasn't available to deal with that and graphics too. But now much of the graphics work is done by the video card, and computers are doubling in power every eighteen months or so. At last, it is starting to be possible to create "uncrashable" games by avoiding the need to design using symbolic shortcuts.

Comparing Nonsymbolic And Symbolic Design

In the original Warcraft, peasants collected gold by entering a gold mine and bringing sacks back to your town hall. At the start of the game it was always worth spawning peasants because, the more peasants you had, the greater your revenue stream. However, there came a point when the peasants started to get in each other's way. Adding more peasants would then lead to “traffic jams” as the peasants encountered each other on the streets of the town and would have to back up to let others get past. The situation was alleviated by leaving wide streets. Additionally, it was not a good idea to place your town hall too close to the gold mine – giving a little more space also helped avoid traffic congestion.

Now, an economist could derive an equation to describe the flow of gold to the town hall. The factors would be the number of peasants, the placement density of the town buildings, and the distance from the town hall to the mine. We can imagine that it would be a pretty complex equation. The point is that the designers of Warcraft never needed any such equation.* They simply programmed in the basic rules and behaviours and the economic simulation emerged directly from those.

Contrast this with a game like Caesar II, which used underlying equations to create a simulation of an ancient Roman city. This approach is less satisfying because the player is not directly viewing the reasons for success and failure. Instead, when playing a game like Caesar II (or any simulation of its type) you are trying to build an abstract match to the game’s underlying equations in your head. The simulated economy and the gameplay are less visible, lessening the sense of immersion.

And you know what? The same goes for stories. If you construct them from symbolic forms (arcs, paradigms, act breaks) you'll end up with less robust and varied stories than if you allow each micro-event to trigger the next and see where it goes. Which is why in roleplaying terms I'm a simulationist rather than a narrativist. Hey, if it's good enough for reality then it's good enough for me.

* This gives me an excuse to digress onto the topic of AI. Foundation models (or indeed any deep neural net) are sometimes referred to as algorithms. I find that term misleading. In principle you could express all the weights of a billion-node net in the form of "an algorithm" but that's not really an accurate way of talking about what the AI is doing in, say, ChatGPT, which is akin to (though much more complex than) the peasants collecting gold in Warcraft. That too is governed by multiple algorithms (for route-finding, collision detection, etc) but it would be more accurate to talk of it as a model. An algorithm could be derived to express the rate of gold production in terms of all those variables, but the Warcraft system doesn't have that algorithm built in, and nor do AI systems. There is an example here, where the article refers to "a separate algorithm" where they really mean " a separate model".

Principle of Least Action image by Maschen CC0, 

Mummers' games

As later Dragon Warriors books were released and we began to introduce creatures that were less familiar from folklore and fantasy fiction, I liked to include adventure seeds in the description as a guide to how to use them. Some have found the Blue Men silly, for example, but my excuse is that if a bit of wackiness has your players giggling then the cold grue that follows will be all the more chilling.

Blue Men

By night in the sailors' taverns of many a port, with salt spray lashing the windowpanes, one may hear old adventurers in their cups whispering seafarers' tales. Sometimes the talk is of the Blue Men, who plough through the cold northern seas in their dragon-prowed warships, and plunder riches and souls from the living.

They come out of churning grey waves with the gnawing icy gale of an approaching storm billowing out their sail. A pallid flare of phosphorescence limns the rotted timbers of their vessel - an ancient, barnacle-encrusted hulk, waterlogged and impossibly afloat, like a grim wreck that has been raised by sorcery from the ocean depths. The grisly mariners of this ship stand silent on her creaking decks, blankly observing the terror-struck faces of their human prey. Chilled to the marrow of their bones by a cold no earthly fire could dispel, they possess the hunger of the dead for the living. Their flesh is shivery blue and their long beards are tangled with kelp, and in his hand each grips a cutlass of brine-corroded bronze. 

The Blue Men hold a course alongside the chosen ship, whereupon it is soon clear that they cannot be outrun or evaded no matter what the steersman's skill. Standing by the fierce prow, the Blue Men's chieftain addresses his prey. In a voice like thunder he calls out couplets of verse that describe the terrible fate that shall be meted out to them, but if a spokesman from among the adventurers can immediately reply with a rhyming couplet refuting his words then the Blue Men will be temporarily balked from attacking. So the chieftain might say: 

'Our prow shall split your ship like kindling,
Your own bright blood shall wash the decks.' 

And be countered by: 

'We have no fear of cold blue dead men
Blustering from their sodden wrecks.' 

The adventurers then get the opportunity for a riposte, which the chieftain must likewise deny in rhyme. The contest of verse continues until one side falters or is forced to make an unconvincing or clumsy rejoinder. If the chieftain wins, his Blue Men board the adventurers' ship and fight like demons, untouched by lesser sorcery and all but impervious to wounds. They may be driven back if the adventurers manage to inflict more than 25% casualties, returning to their own vessel which then sinks rapidly below the waves. Any character they slew will be beyond resurrection - his soul taken down with them to the depths, as the legends have it. If the rhyming contest is won by the adventurers' spokesman, the Blue Men will depart at once. 

Hardy adventurers will perhaps refuse to play the Blue Men's game. Ignoring the verse, they may attempt to take the battle on to the planks of the dragon-ship. The Blue Men will respond by lowering the vessel below the waves, and each adventurer who boarded them must roll under his Reflexes on 2d20 or be sucked down with them. The chieftain will hurl a final weird upon those who survive: their vessel will lie becalmed and stricken by plague unless every adventurer aboard can resist his MAGICAL ATTACK of 16. (In game terms, the effect of the weird is to leave the vessel becalmed for 3-30 days, during which time careful check must be kept on rations and supplies of fresh water. The adventurers are exposed to 1-3 random diseases each day the weird lasts.) 

ATTACK 23         Sword (d8 + 2, 6)
DEFENCE 10         Armour Factor 1 (take half-damage from arrows, slingshot, etc)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 8 (but immune to Sorcerer spells of lst-4th level)
EVASION 6         Movement: 10m (20m)
Health Points 1d6 + 16         Rank-equivalent: 7th

Fast-forward thirty-four years and we were in lockdown. One of our gaming group, Dr Aaron Fortune, volunteered to run a traditional Yule adventure featuring the Company of Bronze mercenary characters (later to become known as the Iron Men) whom I've mentioned before. This was on Discord, naturally. Oliver and I missed the opening session but Aaron ran a side quest for the two of us that led into the main adventure. Oliver was playing Whirrun, aka 'Cracknut', who apparently was based on a book he'd published, and I was Calidore of Warens Field, aka 'Caliburn'. This is Caliburn's account of the session, but it's also a description of the macabre Mummers that Aaron had dreamt up:

The Adoration of the Magi

We meet Sir Wulfstan in a tavern outside Cantorbridge. He’s not really a knight, he’s a member of the Company. ‘Here’s your pay,’ he says. ‘You’re to come with me to the cathedral.’ He says a lot of other stuff too but now the sun’s gone down and we’re drinking. It’s Advent, you see, so fasting all day.

Next day at the cathedral, Wulfstan says we’re to escort Sir Joffe (who is a real knight) on a trip. ‘First you’ve got an audience with Subdeacon Elfwine.’

‘Why?’

‘Just listen to what he says.’

So we go in and this young priest tells us about factions in the Church and what his faction stands for and how there are rumours of the End of Days and that. After a bit I can’t hold my tongue. ‘Is there anyone you want killed, your holiness?’

‘Eh? No. There’s a relic at a hermitage up the coast. The hermits have been reluctant to part with it but now they’ve agreed. Go with Sir Joffe and bring it back in time for Christmas. Now, if Sir Joffe gives you orders then – ’

‘He’s not a member of our Company. We take our orders from Wulfstan.’

‘Well, pretend. I don’t want Sir Joffe to suspect.’

Suspect what, I wonder, but I don’t say anything because Church business is not Company business.

Wulfstan finds me and Cracknut and Portus. ‘It’s up the coast a ways. You’ll get another pay packet when we’re back. Also the best food and lodging, and horses all along the route.’

This sounds like when somebody is setting you up as a patsy but we don’t say anything. I put Coronach in the stables here in town because I gather we’ll be riding post up the road and I don’t want to wear him out.

Off we trot, with Sir Joffe and his five Chaubrettian guards, and a few days later we come to an island that you can ride to at low tide. Here the three hermits live, in conditions my granny would call squalid. Filthy wretches they are, claiming to be holy and that. ‘Where’s my relic?’ says Sir Joffe.

The shiftiest of the hermits, who I notice from his bloody shirt has been whipping himself, pushes back the altar and hands us an old box with three crisp new lead seals on it. Funny, I think, but I’m not paid to think so I keep quiet.

Off we go along the coastal road back to Cantorbridge. There’s a foul smell off the sea and some ominous looking ships, but the world is supposed to end soon so it’s not too surprising. Also, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and being in a mercenary company you tend to welcome bad omens.

After a bit Joffe discovers that what I handed him wasn’t the relic but a packed lunch wrapped in an oil cloth. He starts moaning that we’ve been robbed, but then I hand him the real box and he’s so happy he gives me a crown, which is five shillings or a considerable number of farthings.

Pretty soon Sir Joffe is whipping the horses so that two of them go lame. What an idiot. Then Gilbert, who is in the Company, rides up to meet us near Langdip. ‘Give me your horse,’ says Sir Joffe to Cracknut.

‘Good idea,’ says Wulfstan. ‘You three hand over your horses. Go down that track there and you’ll find the home of Mistress Godwina. She’ll give you fresh horses for the lame ones. We’ll ride on to the next coaching inn and you can catch us up.’

Now, this all seems entirely too convenient for anyone thinking to shake us off. Only two horses are lame, but Wulfstan is trying to get rid of me too. Is he up to no good?

‘Cracknut and Portus can do that,’ I point out, ‘and I’ll come with you.’

‘You stay too!’ says Wulfstan, a bit agitated now.

‘Uh-uh. I’m sticking to you like one of Joe’s turds after a big cheese dinner.’

‘I’ll see you sacked from the Company,’ he says.

‘Try it. I’ll answer to Pieter de Fleur.’

So he rides on with me right behind him. We’ll see what that was all about later.

Cracknut and Portus have barely seen us off down the road when they hear a horse whinny, and turn and see a young bloke that gives his name as 'Prince' Aengus. ‘Have a lucky rabbit’s foot,’ he says to Cracknut. ‘It will help you win a dice game against the Mummers. In fact, it will mean you always win.’

‘What you want for it?’ says Cracknut, who is no fool.

‘Nothing. I give it to you freely. And now I ride off.’

As it’s getting dark they go down the lane Wulfstan pointed out and there’s an old house, reasonably grand with a porch and that. They’re welcomed by Mistress Godwina, an old bird who lays out a good spread. She’s a friend of Wulstan, who is even more long in the tooth than Portus so might conceivably have had a thing with this crone at some stage in the past.

‘What about these Mummers we keep hearing about?’ says Cracknut, gnawing a chicken leg.

‘Oh, they’re terrible bad sorts. Devils, some say, or bad fairies. They live in a ruined chapel in the woods and at this time of year they come to the door when people have had a baby, and they shake dice, and when they win they take the baby away.’

‘What if they lose?’ asks Portus.

‘They use weighted dice – or so the rumour goes – so they rarely lose. And if people don’t give them what they want, they kill everyone in the house most horribly. Blood and guts everywhere.’

I guess Cracknut and Portus look sheepish at that, as they are not known themselves for over-daintiness or mopping up people’s guts after they’ve done a killing, but they tuck in and soon forget it.

Meanwhile I’m at the coaching inn and Wulfstan is distraught. He takes me aside and shows me inside the box. There’s no relic, just a velvet cushion which has got exactly as tatty as you’d expect after a few centuries under an altar stone. It looks like there used to be a mask in the box, and as it’s a relic of St Lucinda I can guess what bit of her that was.

‘Where is it?’

He shakes his head. ‘The box was empty.’

‘Oh. That’ll be why that hermit was so shifty, then. And why the lead seals look new.’

‘You go back and get the others,’ says Wulfstan. ‘Better get back to the hermitage and – ’

‘Say no more. Acquire the relic by any means necessary.’

Now it’s a good job I tagged along, and I bet he doesn’t go bad-mouthing me to Pieter de Fleur after all. But as I ride back I’m wondering why he was so keen to get rid of all three of us. He’d have been well stuffed if I hadn’t insisted – unless, that is, he pinched the relic himself and this is a wild goose chase.

As it happens, roast goose is on the table when I get to Mistress Godwina’s place. I tell the others what’s going down. Luckily Mistress Godwina tells me the story of the Mummers, because Portus and Cracknut are sitting gaping at the food like a couple of flounders on a fishmonger’s slab.

‘Well, it’s clear to me what’s happened here,’ I say. ‘Shifty the Hermit gambled the relic away to the Mummers. Guilty conscience, that’s why he’s been whipping himself. We’ll have to get it back off them.’

‘They might turn up at the house of Leofstan and Hild,’ says Godwina. ‘She had a baby yesterday.’

Sigh. We grab our stuff. ‘We’ll have to get over there and deal with these Mummers.’

‘They’re very dangerous,’ says Godwina. ‘Monsters, really.’

‘Only way to get the relic.’

As we’re riding over, Cracknut mentions the rabbit’s foot. ‘Handy,’ I say. ‘You can gamble against the Mummers for the relic.’

‘No, I want a Yule present for my wife.’

‘Give her the rabbit’s foot,’ says Portus.

‘But don’t we need it against the Mummers?’

‘Look,’ I say to Cracknut. ‘Win the relic first, save the baby, then afterwards you can give the rabbit’s foot to Lady Misery. Sorry, Maisery*.’

The house is down by the shore and it’s quite a hovel really. Poor folks, this couple, but they let us in and seem to believe our story. I suppose they’ve been quaking there expecting the Mummers and we’re a ray of hope.

So we wait, and at midnight there’s a knocking at the door. I open it to find thirteen cowled figures in masks going, ‘Mmm, mmm, mmm.’

‘In you come.’ I’ve got my hand on my sword but they’re all armed and there are thirteen of them. It’s a tight squeeze inside the cottage. The leader goes up to Cracknut, who is sitting at the table. He points at the baby, then he slams down his dice cup.

‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘If you lose we want the face of St Lucinda, which is the relic from the hermitage.’

‘I think I must name you,’ says Cracknut, and he goes on to say they’re all called Death.

They don’t unmask, so maybe that’s wrong. The leader gestures impatiently at the cup. ‘Mmm.’

So Cracknut rolls and the Mummer rolls and, thanks to the rabbit’s foot, Cracknut wins. The Mummers don’t take it well. They start up a horrible shrieking and the leader whips off his mask to show a leathery yellow face with the mouth stitched shut, and he shrieks so much a few of the stitches break and a bit of black spittle rolls down his chin. I’m very glad that nothing scares me, and I’m surprised that Cracknut and Portus don’t lose their dinner at this point.

Anyway, the Mummers have lost so they give us the relic and piss off. The relic is, as I thought, St Lucinda’s face, cured and mounted on a jewelled stick like a posh bird’s mask at a ball.

‘I reckon she was ashamed of how often she got propositioned because of her beauty,’ I say, struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Holy people hate fucking. So she cut her own face off because being holy can make you do things like that.’

The baby was crying. We went and had a look, and Hild agreed to call him Whirrun as that’s Cracknut’s real name. I looked through the mask’s eyes at him and announced he’d have health, happiness and prosperity. But I’m not sure that blessing worked, coming from me, even though it was a relic, so I also left a shilling on the mantelpiece.

We’re riding back when Cracknut says he thinks there’s something up with the road, and sure enough it seems we’re somehow lost in a wood. Well, it is after midnight now. I take out the relic and look through its eyes and now I can see the true path as a clean gleaming trail, which leads to a warm light beyond the trees, but behind us are the Mummers and they have a cold, blue-white glow to them that’s somehow menacing.

We follow the true path and it brings us to Mistress Godwina’s place, and the warm light is shining from her. The Mummers stay lurking back there in the woods, not liking to come near. Bastards. Bad enough that they use weighted dice or magic or whatever, but to be sore losers too. I’m tempted to go out and kill them all to teach them a lesson, but it is pitch dark and it’d be thirteen to one, so maybe not tonight.

We have some mince pies and ale, then we take turns sitting up through the night, and every now and then there’s a soft thump of something hitting the door, and when we’ve had breakfast and we go outside we find three dead rabbits in the porch with their front paw cut off, that the Mummers threw against the house.

We ride on, making a good pace, and by close to midnight on Christmas Eve we catch up to Wulfstan and the Chaubrette geezers. No sign of Joffe, he’s ridden on to present the relic – well, the empty box, as he’ll find out.

We’re approaching Cantorbridge and we hear the bells ringing midnight. ‘Happy Christmas, lads,’ I say, and at that moment White Light** appears in the north like a candle that’s been lit. Or more like a thousand candles. But it doesn’t last long and then it goes out. It makes me think of that star and our Saviour with the Magi that came and did the spells on the manger or whatever. Bet they didn’t leave a shilling. Stingy sods, Krarthians***.

* Cracknut had been wed in an earlier adventure to a lady of possibly fay origin called Maisery.

** One of the so-called Ghosts of the Magi (in common parlance) or, according to official Church teaching, the Pentaphan -- five celestial bodies that appear from time to time in the northern skies.

*** Caliburn is confusing the Magi who attended the Saviour's birth, who were almost certainly from Opalar, Batubatan and Zinj, with the rulers of Krarth.

There are plenty of interesting ways to use mummers in a Legend game. You don't even have to bring in magic or horror. Those masks are perfect for concealing one's identity -- a spy, a thief, a former foe seeking revenge, a proscribed lover sneaking in to see his beloved, an outlaw coming to free his comrade from the castle dungeon. But Aaron's Mummers are actual monsters, fay or undead or diabolic, so let's consider them in terms of the DW rules.

First, Cracknut seems to think that if he can name them they will be robbed of power over him. That makes sense, especially for beings wearing masks, and traditionally you get three guesses too. But there are thirteen of the Mummers, so it won't be as easy as dealing with Rumpelstiltskin. If you're going to let your players discover all the names I think it's fair enough to ask them to memorize them, not read them off a piece of paper. Oh, come on, not every adventure can spoon-feed the adventurers their successes.

But what if the Mummers aren't named? They offer a game with rules -- which is typical of the fays, however they may twist those rules. They roll the dice. If you win, they must depart. If you lose they will take the child they've come for, or something equally precious in its stead -- unless you can outwit them. Think on your feet. 'Do we roll for the one who was born tonight?' could mean the foal in the stable. Pointing to the cradle and saying, 'The winner takes what lies there' could indicate the cat, not the baby who you cleverly hid elsewhere when you heard them knocking at the door.

If they win the game and you haven't managed to outwit them, then it's a fight. A bloodbath, perhaps. They should be more than a match for any normal group of fighting men. You'll scale them to the strength of your PCs, but here I'm assuming they are equal in rank-equivalent to the strongest member of the party.

ATTACK 22         Shortsword (d8 + 1, 4)
DEFENCE 12         Armour Factor 2 (unaffected by nonmagical weapons until the dice game has been played)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 15 
EVASION 7         Movement: 15m (30m)
PERCEPTION 14
Health Points 2d6 + 10         Rank-equivalent: 8th