Friday Encounter: The Blazing Pillars

Elder Scrolls Online

Here's a simple puzzle, designed to encourage creative thinking by players, that you can throw in as a random encounter or in a dungeon room. There isn't intended to be any one solution - it's meant to be addressed by thinking in terms of what's possible within the narrative context of the session. Your players may surprise you!

The party should come upon a circle of tall stone pillars - these may be a monument out in the wilderness, or placed in a dungeon room. If outdoors, they should be on a tall hill with little surrounding foliage or rocks to protect the hilltop from the wind. If in a dungeon, the pillars should be in a wide, tall-ceilinged chamber, preferably with cavernous exits to all sides to ensure a draft can pass through easily.

There are four pillars, ranging from ten to twenty feet high; each is five feet higher than the last if one walks in a clockwise circle starting from the shortest pillar. In the center of the circle is a stone platform, fifty feet across, carved with a clockwise spiral. A DC 10 Investigation check will reveal that there is a circular seam in the middle of the spiral, forming a smaller concentric circle fifteen feet across.

Atop each pillar is a shallow bronze brazier, heaped with coals, but these coals are cold and extinguished (they are cool to the touch, indicating they have not been lit in some time). Optionally, the bases of the pillars (at eye level to the PCs) may be carved with designs recalling rising flames and swirling winds, or an image of the four braziers lit simultaneously, if you feel a hint is necessary.

The goal of this puzzle is to light the brazier atop each pillar in sequence, starting from the shortest pillar, moving clockwise, and ending at the tallest, without any of the braziers going out. This is perhaps easier said than done, as the breeze blowing through the circle can easily to extinguish the flames. If one brazier goes out before all are lit, the sequence must be started over from the shortest pillar.

In order to solve the puzzle, the PCs must find a way to light each brazier without the wind blowing them out. They could climb the pillars, but doing so would take time, and the fires might go out in the meantime. They could try to jump from one pillar to the next, but that would create a breeze that could put the fires out. They could use magic or flaming arrows to try and light the braziers from below, but the wind might make aiming difficult. They could try to block the wind, but that might be a daunting task, especially if the circle is outdoors! Just go by what solutions and consequences make logical sense, and use your judgment.

Once all the braziers are lit in the correct order, the smaller circle on the platform recedes into the stone with a rumbling noise, revealing a spiral staircase down into a secret chamber. In this chamber, on a stone slab, is laid a pair of enchanted velvet gloves, their surface embroidered with the images of flames. The gloves are magically resistant to fire; although they feel no different than ordinary gloves while worn, they cannot catch fire by any means, and the hand beneath them will not feel the fire's heat. The rest of the wearer's body remains vulnerable as normal. If this encounter is used in a dungeon, it might be fun to hide treasures or secrets in the same dungeon within fires so that the gloves unlock new options for the wearer.

Alternatively, the DM may wish to substitute another treasure, a clue to an ongoing quest, or a secret passage. Feel free to use whatever would be most useful to your purposes here.

Yo Dawg, I Heard You Like RPGs...

This is an idea that could be either a lot of fun, or incredibly stupid. It's probably both.

Recently, I was reading a very interesting article on the history of roleplaying games, one that discussed how, although RPGs as we know them - with codified mechanics for conflict resolution, character stats, randomized mechanics using dice or cards, and such - are a recent innovation, we have evidence that people engaged in structured forms of roleplaying for hundreds of years. Rather poetically, much of the surviving records of these traditions date back to medieval Europe, in which roleplaying was a popular diversion among noble courts to pass the time when there was nothing more important going on.

We have to go deeper!

Many of these games involved the use of a ragman's roll - a scroll with a series of ribbons attached to it, each of which could be traced back to a particular passage. Each participant would pick one of these ribbons and follow it back to the passage it corresponded to, which would describe a character or scenario. Then, they would have to take the role of that character, talking and acting as they would do so, while interacting with other players doing the same. (Incidentally, this is where the term "rigmarole" comes from).

It's a fascinating bit of history, and one of the many, many examples of interesting medieval trivia that popular culture is woefully unaware of. But it also means something that carries a lot more potential. There is a nonzero chance that the people in your medieval fantasy RPG world play RPGs.

I think that, when approached with the right mindset and the right players, a session in which the party takes part in a game of Ragman's Roll could be a lot of fun. For the session, the PCs would be tasked with stepping into new roles and personas, acting as they would interpret the roles from within the context of their character traits. Essentially, the players would end up playing characters who are themselves playing characters. Instead of making decisions that they feel their characters would, they would have to make decisions they feel that their characters would feel their characters would.

There's a number of different ways to do it, too. It could simply be used as a framing device for a one-shot session in the middle of an existing campaign, such as if one of the players can't make it to the table - the players would be using new PCs in a self-contained story, but that story could also exist within the context of the greater campaign as a scenario played out by the original PCs. It could be an opportunity for players to experiment with new PC ideas they've been developing, or to reuse a PC from a previous game, perhaps with some tweaks due to being filtered through the PC taking their role. Such a one-shot wouldn't even need to use the same system, and it could be a way to try out a different game without committing to a full campaign.

It's not like we don't enjoy
playing old games anyway

Alternatively, a game of Ragman's Roll could be a part of an adventure, or a plan by the PCs - perhaps they need to infiltrate a noble court in order to gain intelligence, and in order to blend in or to get closer to potential informants, they need to partake in the game. Since these games usually took place among courts, and most interactions between players appear to have been settled through in-character debates and discussion, this could present a unique spin on a social encounter, offering the PCs with different challenges and encouraging some interesting roleplay. Integrating oneself with nobles, knowing the right things to say and the right people to cozy up to, can be a challenge already - now, imagine doing all that while you're expected to pretend you're someone you aren't!

Obviously, a scenario like this wouldn't be for everyone. Roleplaying as someone roleplaying as someone else would no doubt be a challenging task, and it could easily get confusing for some players to keep track of balancing both how their character would behave and how their character's character would behave, to say nothing of the code-switching between three different roles. It can already be difficult to distinguish in-character from out-of-character talk at the table; now there's another layer beyond that. All these challenges would be present even if Ragman's Roll is used as a low-stakes diversion - if the PCs are actually trying to gain something through the game, that could make things even trickier. Some people might find the whole exercise a bit meta, too, but that's where you can bust out that this is all historically accurate.

But I do think, when approached with the right mindset, it could make for a very memorable and enjoyable session. A lot of roleplayers might enjoy the challenge of roleplaying someone roleplaying, and such an opportunity to get deeper into their characters' heads (or maybe that's just my theater kid self talking). At the very least, it'd probably create some amusing chaos if combined with alcohol, which I'm sure was what medieval people got out of it anyway.

Land of the Golden Peace

If you ask a Vardessian to describe a Togarman, you'll often hear the same things - usually unflattering. They are a coarse people who live in the woods, drink heavily, wear deer skins, weep openly, and have a morbid sense of humor.

If you ask a Togarman to describe a Togarman, though, he will not know what you mean. He will, however, have plenty of appelations for his neighbors. The Veneci are pompous, the Zelskys eat horse meat, the Korjans drown themselves in wine, and the Leshes speak in tongues. As they would remind you, there is no such thing as "a Togarman." There are many peoples who belong to the banner of the tethered unicorn, and many of them would be quite insulted by being lumped together.

The people of the Togarman lands are united by a common heritage, but that heritage has long since divulged into a multitude of languages and cultures, and often an individual citizen will have more loyalty to their brothers and sisters at home than to their cousins far afield. In fact, not all Togarmic peoples pay homage to the same king. The majority of the population of Kvesland is of Togarmic stock, even if the noble classes are descended from Northmen, and Vardessy controls a Togarman March. Then there are the numerous cities on the Togarman coast that belong to the League of Three Crowns, and will often side with their interests. Nevertheless, the Togarmah most known to foreigners is the Kingdom of Togarmah - though it encompasses many lands and many peoples, they have long stood as one.

In ages past, the land that is now Togarmah was split between several kingdoms and tribes. Occasionally some of these petty kingdoms would stand together against a raid by Northmen, but they would wage war against each other just as often. There were too many competing interests for the tribes to come together for a lasting peace, it was thought, and blood feuds between rival clans could not so easily be forgiven.

That changed with the coming of the Orc Wars.

Some four hundred years ago, the great orc chieftain Ghammorz the Maneater surveyed his wealth - gold, jewels, horses, and land won by his great force of arms and strategic cunning. Already, he had cowed his rivals and amassed legions to his name, with would-be contenders finding no choice but to swallow their pride and throw their lot in with him. Many orcs would be content with the glory and riches such strength brought. But Ghammorz hungered for more. He had already achieved so much, he wished to see how much more he could truly attain. He wanted to make a legacy to be remembered - he wanted to become the greatest warlord the orcs would ever know.

Few would deny he succeeded.

In a series of campaigns, Ghammorz and his allies managed to conquer the Togarman lands, forging an empire to rival the nascent Vardessy. Some Togarman nobles saw fit to pledge tribute to the orcs so that they might be spared, but others stayed and fought - but they were no match for the hordes. They were driven from their ancestral homes and fled to Vardessy, seeking refuge from the unstoppable onslaught.

The nobles of Vardessy could not stand for such an injustice to their brothers in arms (or perhaps they just feared having such a fearsome empire on their borders, or had too many second sons without fiefs to their name and needed some land to conquer for themselves). They joined forces with the displaced Togarmans and launched a campaign of their own to retake the lands conquered by the orcs. It was a long and bloody conflict, lasting for generations of on-and-off warfare, but in the end, the last successors to Ghammorz's empire were brought to heel, and Togarmah was again free.

And then, something incredible happened. In uniting against the orcs, the Togarmans found a common enemy, and a common purpose. So too, when returning to their old manors, they found that the orcs had appointed regional governors and vassals, creating a system that managed to unite the disparate kingdoms where they could not. It proved such a thing was possible - and with that in mind, it was deemed that a divided Togarmah was too vulnerable to threats from outside, be they Northmen, orcs, or the neighboring realms of Vardessy and Kvesland, who perhaps could not be trusted to be allies forever.

Thus was issued the Golden Peace. In order to unite such fractured lands, the Togarmans developed a system of governance that some scholars would compare to the republics of the City-States and of Valossa, though Togarmans insist they are a kingdom. Under the laws of the land, all of noble birth - no matter their wealth, origin, or the size of their domain - had equal claim to the throne. To prevent kin-strife from tearing the young kingdom apart, the monarchy would not be passed down from parent to child; instead, whenever the reigning monarch dies, an assembly is called of all nobles in Togarmah who wish to attend to nominate one among their number to take the throne. All may come, and all votes are counted equally.

This system gives the nobility of Togarmah great power; in theory, even the most minor knight has a say in shaping the kingdom's future. Because of this, even though the King has all the authority such an esteemed position demands, he is still beholden to the interests of his peers; one who wishes to be King rarely does so without support from powerful allies. Furthermore, each time a monarch is elected, the nobility also decide on a charter that determines what policies they may enforce and what rights of the gentry must be respected (this is drawn up anew for every monarch, reflecting the shifting interests of the courts over time), forming an agreement by which the King rules by the assent of his subjects. One long-standing right has been the right of revolution, stating that a King who has lost the faith of his vassals has brought retribution upon himself, and that it is not an act of treason for rebellious nobles to take up arms - at least, as long as they succeed in the goals of their uprising.

In practice, this often leads to a weak central government, with its control over regional leaders curtailed by the very structure that gave it power. Although theoretically every noble's vote is equal, the feudal system still ensures that those in the lower ranks are indebted to those above them, and they may be pressured to vote in their masters' interests. So too, the system is ripe for exploitation from foreign powers, who may seek to influence the dukes and princes who hold the most sway so that they might appoint weak or loyal kings. There have even been times where the nobles were unable to reach a consensus on a new monarch, leading to two or three candidates claiming power and waging civil war. But the Golden Peace has ensured that no foreign power has held all of Togarmah since the Orc Wars - and at least when succession crises do occur, they do so in a relatively controlled environment.

Valossa Hex Map

It's that time again. Each hex equals six miles this time (I was hoping to keep three mile hexes, but to keep this project feasible, it's looking like I'll have to vary the scale). More under the cut.

A game: can you guess which entry is based on a real Wild West outlaw? It's (probably) not what you think.

Click here to enlarge

The Lake Country

Valossa has a reputation as an arid land, and not without reason - the western part of the main island of Aballa consists mainly of deserts and prairies, and even the mountainous north is dry and sparsely populated. However, there are substantial wetlands on Aballa too - and perhaps the most famed is the region known as the Lake Country, located north of Porto Libre.

Even prior to Taldameeri settlement, the Lake Country was a major agricultural region for the scattered inhabitants of Aballa. While it still boasts many lakes today, those lakes were larger and more numerous centuries ago. Many have since been dammed or drained to make way for settlement, and for the establishment of artificial islands the native peoples of the island used to grow crops. Through heaping soil onto the lake bed, plots of land were built up over time, stabilized by the planting of willow and juniper trees, and fertilized by the fish and salamanders that swam in the waters between them. Such floating gardens could feed many, and over time, they saw many of the region's lakes disappear into mazes of islands and canals.

It has been decades since the last floating garden was built, but they still yield handsome harvests, and some have been in use for centuries. Those close to the Lake Country's settlements are abloom with greens, fruits, rice, beans, and gourds. But so too, these man-made islands have seen kings rise and fall, and some of the reclaimed land has in turn been reclaimed by nature. Large tracts of Lake Country wilderness stands upon the silt of a lake bed, and as the roots that anchor the ground are lost to blight and flash floods, sinkholes and quicksand erupt across the ground without warning, which has caused the doom of more than one ill-fated expedition.

While most Valossans are descended from both Taldameeri settlers and native islanders that mingled and interbred, the sophisticated agricultural systems of the Lake Country sustained a strong population of the natives, and many full-blooded Valossans make up the population to this day. They are dark of skin and hair, and cultivate flowers for ceremonial usage, using them in decorative arts and offerings to the gods (although most are Pantheonists, some families cling to the worship of ancestral, animal, and nature spirits - some more covertly than others). They are also quite proud of the beauty of their women, and many villages in the area hold festivals with pageants to crown a "queen," who oversees ceremonial duties for that year.

The largest festival in the Lake Country is held during the Bloodmoon olive harvest season at the Hacienda Obando (hex 055.022), which is famous for its extensive olive groves and draws merchants from afar with its great market. The hacienda is owned by Countess Josefina Obando, a flamboyant woman who boasts of her great wealth with her elaborate fashion sense and delights in the company of the wealthy and powerful; her family has a permanent seat on the Grand Council. However, she resides in a villa in Florezentina, leaving day-to-day operations of the estate to her steward, Sebastian Barca - who takes his responsibilities with pride, though he begrudgingly wishes his mistress would step up and assert her authority once in a while.

The heart of the Lake Country is the city of Florezentina (hex 054.023). Sitting on the edge of a lake, and surrounded by islands and canals, it is a powerhouse of agriculture and trade, supplying its produce to Porto Libre and other nearby settlements, including the Abbey of Saint Mariquilla the Learned (hex 054.021), a monastery devoted to Mimir, the god of knowledge, which has a large courtyard to preach virtue and education to great assemblies of people from the surrounding villages, and Tarameca (hex 057.021), a major port town that ships its wares on to Taldameer and beyond. Many noble families, including the Margaritas, Vilalbas, and Obandos, have ownership over enterprises in the city, and it has no one feudal lord of its own, instead electing officials from the populace. But it has a strong local culture, and is known for the vividly painted gondolas that paddle across its many canals, as well as for its frequent festivals.

One important position in Florezentina is that of the Mayordomo of the Child - although it carries no actual political power. The city possesses a sacred wooden statue of a baby, said to have miraculously appeared in a field centuries ago, which brings good fortune and heals illnesses to those who pay homage to it. The Mayordomo and their family keeps the statue in their home, sheltering and clothing it like an actual child, and it takes part in festivals and processions. Each year, at the beginning of Snowmoon (equivalent to February), a new Mayordomo is appointed by the city's bishop at the temple of Eostre, and the statue is passed from one family to another. The city credits its prosperity to the child's blessings, but so too it is held that if the child is displeased, it may bring down plague and misfortune upon the people. Some even report seeing tiny footprints in the dirt around the home of the Mayordomo.

There are dangers in the Lake Country, too. One of these is the threat of river pirates. The region sits at the tail end of the great Chichinapa River, and a band of marauders has preyed on the villages and homesteads on its outskirts. They are headquartered in an old watchtower (hex 048.020) and are led by Galindo Diaz, a black-bearded giant of a man who commands his followers through fear; some even attest he knows how to lay the curse of the Evil Eye upon his foes. Despite the pirates' extortion of the villagers, Florezentina has been lax in taking action, as the dread captain is in fact the brother of an influential local merchant, Ysidro Diaz - he does not profess the relationship openly, but his loyalty to his family is stronger than his moral compass. Fed up with the indifference of their lords, some villagers have decided to take the law into their own hands, with the village of Cobanes (hex 052.022) training a well-armed militia that has even made retaliatory raids of its own.

Art by Matthieu Papy

Not all threats are human. The waters of the Lake Country are home to many salamanders, many of which grow to great size, and they have even been known to topple barges if disturbed. Some Old Faith cults in the area worship these creatures, and one particularly large specimen dwells in a pool beneath an old shrine (hex 051.023). Farmers and fishermen from nearby villages secretly meet at this shrine to pay homage to the creature - and sometimes, offer it victims as tribute so that its anger may be placated.

Finally, there is one floating garden on a lake north of the hacienda (hex 055.021) that has long been abandoned and overgrown. This is the Island of Dolls, for dozens of dolls hang from the trees. The island was once inhabited by a hermit, who one day found a young girl drowned at the shore, holding a doll. As a memorial, he hung the doll from the branches. But he still heard whispers in the night, haunted by the girl's spirit. He tried to appease her by hanging more and more dolls from the trees to grant her spirit company, but the voices never stopped. Finally, he went mad and drowned himself in the water at the same place he found the girl's body. Today, many of the locals refuse to go near the island, and those brave enough to set foot on it swear they have heard voices on the breeze. And the dolls seem to move when no one is looking...

Friday Encounter: In Their Footsteps

This encounter is best used in or near a settled area. It will work best if the PCs have had some time to build up a reputation, and they should have performed great deeds that have become known to the people, preferably those in the area they are currently in (whether that is a town they use as their home base, or a town they are moving on from after a quest nearby).

Some distance down the road after they leave town, the PCs should be approached by a boy, Milo Oleastor. He is about ten years old, with a dirty face and a rusted old sword (an heirloom of his family from a great-grandfather who fought in a long-bygone war) trailing at his side, too big for him to comfortably carry. Word of the party's deeds has reached his ears, and he was spellbound by the feats of heroism and grand adventures they could accomplish. His family chided him, citing the dangers of life on the roads and insisting that he had better things to worry about, like tending to chores on the family farm - but he had already made up his mind. Looking to live such a life of excitement for himself, he decided to run away from his humble homestead at the outskirts of the town to join the party, hoping that he could become as great a hero as they!

Milo, of course, is no stronger or more capable than a typical child of his age, and has the stats of a commoner. Though he wields a sword, he is notably untrained in it and it is too heavy for him to use effectively, and he blunders with it in combat. Nevertheless, he has been led so far astray by tales of heroism and chivalry that he will not let this stop him. He displays an almost foolhardy level of valor, believing himself capable of taking on any foe, and should the party encounter danger, he will be the first to charge headlong into battle, with no heed to the consequences.

Naturally, Milo's actions will likely make him as much of a danger to himself as any enemy. Many PCs will likely wish to return the boy to his family, or else leave him in another safe location, for his own protection. The real challenge to this will be convincing him to abide by this. He will speak of the PCs with awe and admiration and believes it to be an honor to accompany them, and it will be a great disappointment to be rejected. He will not, however, let that quench his dreams of high adventure - if the PCs attempt to abandon him, he will make it clear that he will become a great hero on his own if he has to. The challenge will be to leave Milo some place safe before he gets himself killed, without letting down his spirits in the process - of course, some parties might wish to keep him around, perhaps providing him with some training to better hold his own, or else counciling him to stay out of trouble.

Optionally, if one wishes to add another complication to this encounter, if the PCs attempt to return Milo to his family home, they might find it burned to the ground in an attack by bandits, orcs, a dragon, or some other threat. Not only will this embolden him with a desire for revenge (and make him all the more likely to risk his life), it will also mean the PCs won't be able to go to the most obvious and accessible option to kep him out of trouble, necessitating they think outside the box.

The Shrine of the Most Holy Death

Founded as it was by Taldameeri exiles, the culture of Valossa has much in common with that of Taldameer, but influences from the natives of the islands have allowed it to develop into something all its own. The Taldameeri influence is strongest in Porto Libre, but even there, one will see some things unlike anything on the mainland. One particular way in which the two cultures differ is in their veneration of Morthanos.

On the mainland, the worship of Death is a grim and dour affair. Black is the color used in the overwhelming majority of his temples and icons, and his clergy is called upon to perform last rites for the departed to help them find passage to the Land of the Dead. The cult of Death is particularly strong in Taldameer, where his Grand Temple sits in the city of Olarra. In Porto Libre and its surrounding lands in southern Valossa, there are a number of temples and monasteries devoted to Morthanos that practice the quiet seclusion and mournful colors of the Olarran orthodoxy. But further afield, there can be found a cult of Death quite dissimilar, but no less powerful.

This cult is based out of the city of San Catrina, which sits above the deserts that characterize much of western Valossa, and the temple of Death there is almost as large and just as popular as that in Olarra. Rather than dressing in dark vestments and conducting rites in whispers, however, the Valossan cult of Death favors vivid colors, elaborate patterns, and an almost festive atmosphere. Their priesthood preaches that death is not something to be feared, but celebrated, as a natural part of the life cycle and as the moment the soul of the deceased reunites with their ancestors. Priests of Death can be seen walking the streets with masks and painted faces depicting many-colored skulls, and altars to placate wandering ghosts with offerings of fruits and liquor can be found on any street corner. But nowhere is San Catrina more festive than on the occasion of Samhain.

On this day, Valossans celebrate both the rightful guidance of Death, who keeps the workings of the world in motion, and their ancestors who have since made the passage to the Land of the Dead. At just about every dinner table, a seat is left for the spirits of the ancestors when they wander the Mortal Realm on this day, and the memories of the dead are celebrated with stories and toasts to their accomplishments. Candies in the shape of decorated skulls are often passed out by the cult, as offerings of good fortune and protection.

It has been argued that these traditions show a closer link to the ancestor worship of Sonderlund than to conventional Morthanos worship, leading some scholars to propose a syncretic origin tracing back to the beliefs and rituals of Old Faith believers that dwelled on the Valossan islands before the founding of Porto Libre. Even the veneration of the god themselves takes on a very different form - in Valossa, it is not uncommon for Morthanos to be perceived as a goddess, appearing as a skeletal woman draped in robes.

Relations between the Olarran and San Catrinian cults of Death have been shaky. The official statement of Morthanos's cult is that, although the rituals, practices, and perceptions of the Valossan heterodoxy may be unusual, they do not contradict the revelations of the patriarchs of Olarra, and the Valossan death goddess is merely Morthanos in another form. However, some traditionalists find the festive atmosphere surrounding the solemn occasion of death distasteful - and this has led to friction between San Catrina and Porto Libre, where the Olarran traditions are more common.

The cult of San Catrina has been gaining favor in the capital, however. Within the last decade, a shrine to the Lady of Death - the Shrine of the Most Holy Death - was erected in the Temple District of Porto Libre, tended to by a maiden, Teofilia Rosario, whose aunt was a devotee of the Valossan tradition before her, but who kept her worship to the privacy of her own home. Teofilia's shrine represents the most powerful presence the San Catrina cult has held in Porto Libre proper, and despite opposition from Olarran sects, it has grown a sizeable congregation of its own. Some clerics have attempted to stop this cult in its tracks before it grows to rival their own - but rumors speak of ill fortune following those who dishonor the Shrine, and few are willing to test them.

Furthermore, the cult of San Catrina has even begun to expand beyond the isles. Valossan pirates introduced the practices to the ports of Taldameer and the City-States, where they have taken a limited foothold. In these lands, the death goddess - dubbed the Thin Lady - is often perceived as an entity distinct from Morthanos. And this belief has led to her cult becoming popular among criminals and outlaws, who feel it unwise to pray to more conventional gods in conducting underhanded acts. But surely invoking a goddess not recognized by the Pantheonist cults would not bring such inauspicious fortunes...