Tsunami Quarterly Review #03

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Tsunami Quarterly Review YOUR OFFICIAL ‘ZINE FOR THE PRISMATIC TSUNAMI RPG COMMUNITY

FIVE COMMON

GM’ing

mISTAKES RPG CRUCIBLE BUILD A BETTER

MIX A LITTLE

HORROR INTO YOUR

FANTASY CAMPAIGN

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BACKSTORY

SUMMER 2013 ISSUE #3

A Rich Fantasy Life... Like many of my contemporaries, I was introduced to the world of roleplaying games through the auspices of Dungeons & Dragons. It was 1983, and my neighbor’s mean older brother talked me into sitting down for a game that involved no board, no little pieces, some hand-drawn maps, and a handful or funny-looking dice. I’ll admit, it wasn’t precisely a fish-to-water moment. I know this because he was reluctant to repeat the exercise on succeeding days, despite my near-constant begging. To get my fix, it quickly became necessary to start building my own maps and walking my generally less-than-interested playmates through grand adventures in faraway lands.

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I was 8. It was another year or two before my mom surprised me with a copy of the Red Box. D&D paranoia was at its highest in the media, but my parents were swords-and-sorcery -lovin’ hippies with a strong disdain for taking anybody’s else’s word as gospel. It wasn’t long before I was not only playing D&D, but running games for my parents and their friends. Sure, they weren’t the most original and evocative stories of the age. I had a long road ahead of me before I’d become the master wordsmith and psychodramatist I am today. I had to weather edition changes, social ostracization, academic pressures, puberty, Palladium, the strange fascination with vampires, Jason “I will roleplay you under the table until you LIKE it” Kidd, the loss of old friends, more edition changes, the anime craze, the MMO revolution, Edition Wars, marriage and kids, and ultimately the decision to tell the world about my gaming addiction and try my damnedest to share the love. And of course, the distractions have been numerous indeed… After D&D, there was Gamma World, Champions, MERP, World of Darkness, Rifts, Runequest, Call of Cthulu, Star Wars, Star Trek, WoT, and so on and so forth… up to my latest obsessions like Fiasco and Savage Worlds. Yet somehow, with all the different themes, genres, milieu, and system navigation, I always came back to fantasy adventures and my beloved Dungeons & Dragons. Now, with D&D Next on the horizon, I’m more excited than ever to see what stories and legends the future holds for me and my intrepid comrades.

SUMER 2013 • ISSUE #3

Erik Emrys Carl Editor/Layout and Design

Special Thanks to this month’s contributors: Jonikka DeAnn Frazier George Sedgwick Jason “JiB” Tryon Stu Venable

Writer Writer Writer Writer

Cover Art (’Dreaming the Surreal’) by Debra (aka Shorra) Mason Additional art from Wikimedia and free clipart resources

TABLE OF CONTENTS RPG CRUCIBLE: PREVIOUS LIVES

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Erik Emrys Carl

Huzzah!

FIVE GM’ING MISTAKES

Erik Emrys Carl, Editor

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Stu Venable

TSUNAMI CITY PROJECT

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Metagamers Anonymous

OLD FOE, NEW FOEHAMMER

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George Sedgwick Metagamers Anonymous is a weekly podcast dedicated to tabletop roleplaying games and (mostly) related material. Our regular program focuses on immersive play at the game table, and you can also find entertaining Actual Play adventures and interviews with some of the industry’s top personnel. www.prismatictsunami.com

OF PINS AND NEEDLES

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Jason “Jib” Tryon

THE MORTLOCK, Pt. 1

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Jonikka DeAnn Frazier

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons AttributionNonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 license

RPG Crucible TIPS FOR IMMERSIVE GAMING

PREVIOUS LIVES

ERIK E CARL

W

henever an opportunity to write up a new campaign character rears its lovely head, before I crack open a single book or even touch my dice, I begin the painstaking task of developing a backstory. Inevitably, I begin with the obvious: what do I do and why do I do it? Was my current path the consequence of a sudden tragic event in my life, or was it a gradual evolution over the course of many years? Did I leave a family behind, or did they get wiped out by orcs or pirates? Am I driven by a thirst for revenge or a lust for adventure? Any experienced player has considered all of these questions and more time and time again over the course of his or her gaming career. Is my character a farmer destined for greatness? An orphan with a mysterious heritage? The last survivor or a noble line? Is he devoted to a cause, the servant of a god, or somehow bound to another person? The pivotal moment at which our characters take the stage and enter this exciting new phase of their lives requires some sort of basic definition, and the tendency for players to delve deep into the process is as varied as the players themselves. Er… ourselves. One formative approach to beginning characters that is not particularly common for gaming, however, though prevalent in other forms of fantasy fiction, is the character who has simply reached a profound turning point in a life that has already been full. It is increasingly more common in modern society for people to make drastic changes in their lives at least once before reaching their twilight years. In stark contrast to my father’s generation, many of my peers are starting second families in their 30’s and 40’s. I myself have already experienced one major career change, and it’s inevitable that I will do it again before retirement. Of course, in medieval society—on which the common assumptions of traditional fantasy are largely founded—this was far less common. Men who were born to a craft or trade often spent the whole of their lives (which were considerably shorter than today’s specimens) engaged in that singular pursuit. But your D&D character is, by definition, far from typical. Next time you write up a new character, consider constructing a backstory with more character to it. Perhaps your fighter was a traveling entertainer before joining the king’s army and setting aside his lute. Maybe your smuggler captain was the governor of a lone space colony that thrived for more than a decade before being attacked by alien marauders. Or perhaps your occult investigator is a hardcore atheist who used to manage a successful evangelical ministry before a bout of terrible disillusionment. Or maybe he was a high-powered stockbroker who woke up to find that the thrill of financing just wasn’t the same anymore. Many of us are bound to experience the joys and hardships of living numerous lives in the course of our given years. Our characters can certainly benefit from a similar experience. It may not make their lives easier, and it may not make your thief any better at thieving, but it definitely adds depth and character where we often don’t think to look for it. Next time you explore the life and times of a brand new companion, give a little weight to the life your new friend has already lived.

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Want to be a contributor? Tsunami Quarterly Review is a community magazine, open to submissions from members of the community. What kind of contributions? We’re always on the look out for original articles on gaming, game advice, reviews, and so forth. We’re also fond of original artwork that we can use to spruce up the content. Can anyone be a contributor? Absolutely! You don’t need to be a professional writer, blogger, or game designer to submit material for the magazine. If you are, that’s fantastic! If not, all the better! If you have something to say, just let us know. How are submissions selected? The screening process is very simple. We look for material that is topical, follows the basic rules of grammar, and makes sense. Some small amount of quality control is necessary to provide a quality publication, but we’re here to serve the community, not our own narrow interests. Do I get paid for my contribution? Sorry, no. The Prismatic Tsunami community isn’t out to make any money, so we’re not really in a position to help anyone else do so. Not directly, anyway. In fact, we operate at a deficit. The small charge for the publication is to help raise money to offset the costs associated with the website, the Metagamers Anonymous podcast, and small print efforts like this one. What do I get, then? Recognition? Exposure? The gratitude of your gaming peers? We’ll put your work between the digital pages of our magazine, put your name on it, and share with the community. Most of all, you get the satisfaction of knowing that you contributed something to the community at large. That you, my friend, are a hero. Now you’re making fun of me. No I’m not. Seriously. Take it from someone who spends a lot of time, energy, and resources to bring something new to the community each and every week. It’s a big deal. So, how do I get involved? Send your contributions directly to our editor at [email protected]

FIVE GM*ING MISTAKES No GM is perfect. We all make mistakes. We all do things in the heat of the moment at the table that we wish we could take back or just handle better. Here are some mistakes I’ve made or seen other GMs make that we should all try to avoid.

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Taking Control of the PCs Away From the Players.

The GM controls the weather, the rate at which the planets spin and revolve, every animal, every NPC, every drop of water and speck of dust. Each player controls but one thing: his or her character. Never take away that control. If a player isn’t playing his or her disads, complications, or drawbacks, you can remind, you can question, maybe you can even shame, but ultimately the control is the player’s. Not yours. A player’s character should be considered sacrosanct once it has been reviewed. As I’ve often said, role-playing games are exercises in collaborative storytelling. You, as the GM get to set the scene and populate it with extras, but you players’ characters are the protagonists. They determine the outcome of the scene (either wittingly or not) with their actions. To take control of the protagonists as well means you’re going to tell a onesided story without input from the players. You can probably save everyone some time and just write a novel.

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Getting Caught Up in Solutions Rather than Problems.

STU VENABLE

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Saying “No” When You Could Say “Yes.”

This very much ties in with “Getting Caught Up in Solutions.” We’ve talked for years on my show about the theater sports concept of “yes, and.” The “yes, and” concept is one where each player accepts the reality created by the other players and contributes to that reality. While not exactly the same thing in RPGs, it does give us a good lesson for GMs. If we indeed see our storytelling as a collaboration, the players should contribute to that story not only with the action of their characters but with the questions they ask about the reality you are constructing at the table. As the party comes up with possible courses of action that rely on certain things being present in the created reality, it would be very easy for the GM to confound the players by saying “no” to their question asking or confirming the presence of these things. Here’s an example. The party is presented with a wall and a locked gate. Failed rolls determine they are unable to pick the lock, so they look about for ways over the wall. A player might ask, “did I remember to bring my rope?” Or they might ask, “are there any tall trees growing near the wall?” “Did I bring a shovel?” “Is the dirt soft enough to dig with my hands?” “Can I build a ladder out of tree limbs?”

When I write adventures, and come up with the problems, mysteries and puzzles the party will (or might) face, I make a concerted effort to not think about how the party might go about solving or unraveling these things.

Once you’ve presented the party with something it is up to them to find a solution, and you as the GM have an obligation to say “yes” to one of their solutions. “Yes, there’s a tree with a limb that extends over the wall, make a climbing roll.” “Yes, you brought a collapsible shovel, make a strength roll to see how long it takes to dig under.”

The main reason I do this is to avoid railroading the players. I think railroading is most likely to occur when a GM has put a lot of thought into solutions and is presented by the players with a solution he or she didn’t anticipate.

This is not to say that GMs should say “yes” to every question. On the contrary, that leads to another deadly sin.

When you have presented the party with a problem and you’ve decided there are two ways past it, and the party comes up with a third, there’s an inclination to say “no,” since that’s not a solution you had in mind. This can often fall into a meta-gaming exercise where the players aren’t trying to solve the problems their character encounter but rather try to determine the solutions you have in mind.

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Being a Pushover

Players like it when they succeed. They love to get that awesome enchanted sword. They’ll jump at the chance to take that assault rifle with the extended magazine from the guard they just killed. Successes are celebrated and should be. But if the party meets with nothing but success time and time again, if the party finds that every situation resolves

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with the best possible outcome, each success will become more meaningless. Players like to work and struggle for their victories. It is their efforts that give value to the loot the find. Yet some GMs think giving the players all they want makes for a satisfying game. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s like the first time I try cheat codes in a first-person shooter. At first, it’s awesome to have the BFG-9000 and go around oneshotting every monster I see. But after a while, whatever it was that made me want to play the game for hours at a time is gone. I can go everywhere, do anything I want and nothing can stop me. Yes, it gets boring. Same with RPGs. Years ago, I had a player who had a +1 sword. He kept it for months and months of game sessions. Better swords came along with better bonuses, but he kept the +1 sword. Why? “You don’t know what I went through to get this sword.” Now that might be an unusual player, for sure, but would he have had that attachment if he’d found it on a pile of gold pieces in an abandoned mineshaft, where the only obstacle was a successful climbing roll? No.

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Letting Combat Drag on too Long

This is something I still catch myself doing. Except for undead and automatons, most enemies won’t fight to the death. If they start to lose, they will either give up or run away. A strong leader might convince or threaten them to continue fighting, perhaps, but in most cases fights don’t last until the last enemy is down and dead. Yet in RPGs, for some reason, we often assume that every fight must go on until every bad guy is down to at least zero hit points. This. Gets. Boring. “I hit. I do 6 points damage.” “I miss.” “I hit, I do 4 points damage.” At some point it will be clear to everyone that the tide has turned and one side’s victory is inevitable. When this happens, a GM would do well to see if the enemies he controls know this as well. Will the last Nazi guard keep fighting after the party has taken out his five other companions? Probably not. Have him give up, run away, Stu appears courtesy of Happy Jacks RPG Podcast “Pursuing the RPG hobby with reckless abandon… and beer.:”

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SUNAMI CITY PROJECT The Tsunami City Project started as an effort to introduce usable game content into our regular programming, while simultaneously providing quality setting material to coincide with the eventual release of D&D Next from Wizards of the Coast™. As avid fans of the World’s Most Popular Fantasy Roleplaying Game, we felt that it was only proper to invite the excellent Tsunami community to join the fun and contribute locales to the city along with us. Each month is typically embraced by a particular theme. Much of this material is reprinted from our online forum at http://www.priamatictsunami.com/ forums, where you too can add your ideas to the mix and see them printed in the Tsunami Quarterly Review.

Hidden away in a secluded little grove in one of the nicer sections of the city is a long forgotten little chapel that is run down and clearly showing signs of neglect. At one time it was a place of peace and healing of a god that has long fallen out of the knowledge of the common people. The chapel sits far back in a secluded grove hidden away from passersby and the common folk. Those who find their way to the chapel are greeted by an elderly friar who introduces himself as Rodrick Levelance, a one time paladin and adventurer who, as age advanced, gave up the sword and lance to take up the habit of a monk and minister to those in need. Unruth is a long mostly forgotten deity who’s aspect included the sun and the sky. It is likely that only religious scholars and the occasional historian would even know of Unruth, who’s blazing chariot was once said to carry the sun across the sky every day. Rodrick will help any who come to him in need if he is able, even offering the chapel or the safety of the grounds as a place to stay. He is kindly and gentle and very happy to help. Anyone who spends any amount of time with him, however, will have a chance to notice that there is something very wrong with the aging monk. The secluded grove harbors a fell secret. Rodrick is actually a vampire who killed the old sexton and has taken up residence in the secluded and now perverted chapel. Anyone of a religious background whose alignment or that of their god is good will feel unease in the church. He presents himself as a kindly old former paladin who is very happy to help people and just to have visitors to his little chapel.

For the second quarter of 2013, we again tried different thematic approaches for the cast and contributors to focus on with each month’s material. April was devoted to riverfront properties, for example; while May was all about guilds and organizations. In June, we focused on developing some civil service details, some of which will appear in this article and some of which may emerge in future editions. The city is slowly starting to take shape, and we plan to offer a map of the city in an upcoming issue. Once again, entries have been reformatted and expanded where necessary and to create a sense of consistency. Locations are organized alphabetically for ease of use. If anyone camps in the grounds, Rodrick will come at night and try to secret away one seemingly weaker member of the herd. If challenged, Rodrick will not fight but will try to flee. He will only fight if there is no alternative, and if forced to a fight will use magic and his vampiric powers to try to neutralize the more powerful of his foes.

Several blocks from the affluent section of town lies The Dramarium. Formerly the two-story home of a money-hungry socialite, the well-kept building has been converted into the headquarters of the local theater organization, as is made evident by an above-door marquee which reads: “Thespian Guildde.” This office/meeting hall serves the many actors, directors, stage managers, costume designers, and playwrights who live or work in the city. Theater folk pay a small fee to belong to the guild: they may then enter “The Dramarium,” as they call it, whenever the candles in the downstairs windows are lit, or when the front door is propped open. The layout is simple—the front door opens into a large space for meetings and parties. Beyond that space are chambers filled with costumes and props that theaters rent for performances. The first floor also includes a sitting room, a small library of scripts, and an oversized coat closet. Upstairs is a private bar usually open well into the night. Also on the second floor are a bedroom and a study: these are occupied by The Dramarium’s current owner who also happens to be head of the guild.

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To find more entries like those described in this article, visit the forum at www.prismatictsunami.com/forums and look for the Tsunami City Project. Join the fun by submitting your own ideas and see them printed in future issues of Tsunami Quarterly Review. Fitzle Carrywags is that proprietor. He’s a gnome, a former actor, and an infamous playboy. What’s unique about him, besides his silvery pompadour, is his tendency toward nudism. When inside The Dramarium, no matter the event, he traipses about sans wardrobe. Regular visitors tend to pay no attention to Fitzle’s nudity. Outside of the guild office, Fitzle dons a vibrant purple robe and carries an ornate parasol. He’s quite the show all by himself. The Twist: First, hundreds of theater masks old and new adorn the walls of the main floor party room. Besides the traditional comedy/ tragedy pair, there are masks depicting horrible monsters, immaculate deities, and beloved characters from literature. When any character tries on a mask—and there should be temptation to do so— due to a wayward enchantment, there is a 1 in 4 chance that the character’s form and mannerisms will transform into those of the individual who last donned the same mask. This transformation is merely an illusion, but it is extremely powerful and effective. It lasts for three days and nights, and there is no simple spell likely to undo the enchantment. Fitzle, of course, knows all about this magic. He finds the illusions awfully amusing, and he often encourages visitors to try masks on. He may also know of a way to undo the spell, but there’s no way he’ll give it up without asking for a costly favor in return. Most of the city's performers know the secret, too, so they tend to leave the masks alone. Over the years, however, each mask has been worn by at least one notable person.

CIVIL SERVICES Any sizable city requires a considerable breadth of personnel to contend with the daily challenges of municipal maintenance. Our city is no different, Here are a few notable civil service offices of our community… and what makes them notable: The Constabulary: Enforcers of the law can be a sundry assortment, and the current lot are no strangers to the crime that riddles the city streets. Many of them were hand-picked by the former Lord Constable Pierce Raytheir, now comfortably retired to his country estates, from the ranks of the very criminals he sought to put away. During Pierce’s time, the criminal underworld was an even more significant threat than it is today, and hiring folk who knew the inner workings of the various guilds and syndicates vying for power was a stroke of genius. He was more than willing to look the other way as his corrupt watchmen took advantage of their positions, and many still do. Unfortunately, Pierce’s stalwart replacement, Lord Darius Corning, is the very soul of law and order, though he remains as yet unaware of the corruption in his own domain.

Second, the props room contains a few magic items of note. There’s a crystal ornament that tends to make theater audience more disposed toward enjoying themselves. When placed before any audience, those on the “performance” side of the crystal get bonuses to charm, convince, or threaten.

The Office of Public Records: Managed by a fastidious and generally humorless gnomish scholar, the records office is located on the Promenade in the Old City just across from the Courts. Other than the management, the office is largely unremarkable but for two things. First, access to records is generally granted to anyone with good cause, though there is always a fee, but no document is permitted to leave the premises without an order from the Courts or one of the principle noble houses. Second, magic is forbidden inside the office—literally. Some artifact in residence simply nullifies any magic within the establishment.

The prop room also contains a collection of wine glasses that render ineffective any alcohol or poison drunk from those vessels. These glasses are often employed on stage, as cheap wine can sometimes be less expensive than fresh fruit juice. It’s a little known fact, however, that these magic glasses have been used at numerous political events, during many assassinations, and before late night seductions. Fitzle rents these glasses out for a considerable fee, but of course, only to those in the know.

The Illustrious Street Sweepers Guilde: A small but well-funded group of public servants maintain a small office in the noble quarter, which is also their principle realm of concern. Weekly, a virtual army of maintenance engineers with brooms and small refuse carts make their way through that part of town, keeping it all but spotless. In recent years, the guild has also extended itself to work as groundskeepers for various nobles and wealthy merchants and tends to parks and cemeteries throughout the city. The Lamplighters Office: Located in the heart of the Old City, this small but pleasant office boasts a motif indicative of its primary charge. Lanterns and murals of street scenes decorate the walls, and scented wax wafts pleasing scents through every room. The lamplighters are an insular bunch who pride themselves on a thorough knowledge of the city’s every boulevard and thoroughfare. In addition to lighting the streets of the Old City and the city markets and such, they also serve as city guides and criers who stand on street corners and inform the common folk of all the latest decrees and developments to appear within the city walls.

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The Courier Station: An old single-story structure just inside the Noble Quarter serves as a waystation for the bevy of couriers paid by the city government coffers to serve the needs of the noble houses. Despite their charter, anyone can pay for messenger and delivery services to anyone within the city.

though he makes a much more comfortable income reporting on what he sees and carrying out his master’s orders. The Ferry Shack is a small, lonely boathouse long since fallen into disrepair. The structure is generally unattended and unremarkable but for the boarded-up windows and a tendency to creek in a strong wind. Rumors abound regarding the shack’s nefarious purpose, however. Every month during the dark of the moon, casual observers report the approach of numerous bundle-laden figures in heavy robes who disappear into the shack for about an hour or so, during which bystanders can hear the mournful tolling of a bell and witness a heavy fog rising on the river. Some people speculate that a creative group of smugglers is simply using a magical fog to hide their movements at the darkest time of the month. Others claim that anyone who enters the shack on those particular nights is never seen or heard from again. Particularly cynical folk suggest that the group is some of dark cult, their bundles body parts or some similarly gruesome cargo. In truth, the figures belong to a little-known death cult called the Order of Drogo, more casually referred to as the Ferrymen. Their principle representative actually maintains a small shrine and office in the Old City, where supplicants can pay exorbitant fees to ensure the passage of their loved ones to the realm of the dead. The bundles carried down to the shack are actually coppers offered in a bizarre ritual to the ferryman who, according to doctrine, shepherd’s the souls of the dead unto their final destination.

The Hall of Flowers can be an excellent setting for private dealings with members of the criminal underworld, and a good place to sniff out informants. People who clearly don’t belong in the place, however, generally feel like they are being watched – which, of course, they are – and may often find themselves coerced to search elsewhere.

The Illustrious Finder’s of Lost Treasures and Artifacts, referred to locally as the Finder’s Guild, works out of an old wizard’s tower not too far from the East Market. Though the tower was once the lair of Enzo Whitestaff, oft called Enzo the Withered, after the old magus’s demise the tower fell into the hands of his nephew Giles, who has little talent for wizardry but a considerable knack for turning a profit. Following a few years of exciting experimentation, Enzo managed to find at least one item in his uncle’s enigmatic collection of mystical gizmos that has provided just such an opportunity.

An enterprising GM can use the cult as a red herring, or perhaps have someone in the cult hide something important in the shack. You could also potentially extend the cult’s grim conduct to include accepting payment to herald the soul of someone who has yet to perish, thereby purchasing an assassin-for-hire as part of the contract.

The Finder’s Guild operates on a simple principle. You need to find someone or something you have lost; they find it for you. They claim that they can locate anything that’s still located on the same plane of existence, so long as you have some sort of personal connection. To employ their service, you file a request with the receptionist at the office, pay a small fee, and Giles or one of his agents will arrange a meeting at a neutral location. Following a brief interview, and a somewhat more substantial fee, they will conduct an investigation to learn everything they possibly can about the object or person of interest. Ostensibly, the informationgathering is part of the arcane process. In truth, all they need is a name and description, and some sort of physical connection really helps.

The Hall of Flowers is a grandiose name for a broad, low-ceilinged cavern located beneath the cliffs of the Old City and overlooking the river. Excepting the occasional truly ambitious climber or enterprising bit of sorcery, the cave is only accessible from the sewers, making it a popular place for clandestine business transactions and private conferences between the various thieves and ne’er-do-wells who travel the undercity. The chamber earns its name from the long-standing tradition of filling the room with blossoms to help mask the odors drifting in from the sewers, which are tended by a quiet young woman called Peony who only speaks in addled whispers when she speaks at all.

Giles then activates the locator, a device he keeps locked away and explains the use of to absolutely nobody, and generally comes up with an answer. In truth, unless the description is very thorough, there is little to suggest that the answer is the correct one, but Giles has honed his skills as a grafter to the point that he can easily sell the lie and typically explain away any discrepancies.

The hall has become a valuable resource for the local thieves’ guild, and though it is considered neutral territory, the guildmaster exercises some small amount of sovereignty by watching the place and quietly dealing with anyone he considers a threat. His agent Remus spends most of his time in the cave, posing as a beggar,

Another avenue for adventure could easily involve the rest of old Enzo’s tower, and the myriad arcane devices he collected over the years. A group of PCs could be hired to steal something from the tower, or Giles could hire help to deal with one of them suddenly going off.

In recent months, however, Giles has developed a rather serious tic and has a tendency to act a little nervous. Using the locator is beginning to take its toll on his psychological state, and he is becoming increasingly irritable and more than a little paranoid. This is compounded by the wrath of a customer or two who seem to be waiting for an opportunity to take their frustrations at being duped out on their oppressor. An enterprising GM could find an encounter with Giles – whether for business purposes or a completely random association – both entertaining and more than a little tense.

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Kenyo Canoe is a small riverfront business owned by an exotic family of boatwright entrepreneurs who have settled in the city and established similar businesses at towns upriver and down. The Kenyo brothers have designed a series of shallow-draft, narrow one- or two-man vessels which can be operated easily on the river and can provide simple transport or recreation. They will occasionally craft a vessel to order, but the canoes are generally rented out on a temporary basis. The arrangement of business locations thus allows for a traveler to navigate the river between townships and simply return customers, it is generally a surprisingly successful business.

Customers do sometimes report a disturbing similarity between the three brothers, giving rise to numerous rumors that some unnatural force is at work. The truth of this similarity is relatively innocent – in that the brothers mean no harm – but they are not in fact biological brethren. The three men are actually magical constructs that escaped their master’s lair and are doing their best to blend in with society. This could lead to interesting tales should the wizard responsible come looking for them.

Mingan’s Arms is located off of the bustling East Market on a little-travelled side street. It is a tidy, mostly stone and frame building that is actually set half into the ground, and it is the home and workplace of Seamus Mingan Oakstave and his family of dwarves who make and sell some of the finest weapons in the city or, reputedly, anywhere in the region. Mingan is known far and wide as the best craftsman of weapons to be found anywhere. He makes and sells weapons of superior quality for prices similar to what other smiths offer common weapons. For discerning customers he will custom make a weapon to suit the wielder. Mingan does an honest business and never cheats his customers in any way. However, Mingan and his family harbour two dark secrets.

First, Mingan and his family are actually not dwarves. They are in fact a group of earth genasi who have taken the form of dwarves so as to not arouse suspicion as they gather intelligence and forge the foundations of a plan to invade and destroy the human kingdom and claim it for the lord of the earth elementals. They think that he will reward them if they are successful. The problem with their plan is that the lord of the earth elementals has no idea any of this is going on. Whether he would object or not to this plan is unknown. It is likely though that if the actions of Mingan and his family brought trouble for the earth elementals he would not look with any kindness on them Second, Mingan and his family keep as slaves a trio of fire elementals who they force to provide the fires for their forges because the elemental fire is much hotter than normal fire. This allows the earth elementals to make much better weapons than can be forged by even the most accomplished metal smiths.

Riverside Mill is a small mill house located just at the edge of the New City docks. The miller, Jorge, is a rail thin specimen with a sleepy demeanor, generally one of the most unthreatening figures anyone has ever met. The mill is a rickety affair seemingly held together by old nails and a lot of luck, and it serves as a home to the miller and his plump wife Eugenie. Despite the ramshackle quality of the structure, however, Jorge reputedly pays his help quite well and is more than willing to offer employment to immigrant laborers. He even maintains a small bunkhouse nearby. Jorge and Eugenie do share a very macabre secret, however. The miller’s mask of conscientiousness hides a voracious appetite for the flesh of sentient creatures, particularly humans. Eugenie is renowned as an excellent cook, and she and her husband will occasionally select a candidate from amongst their staff who can be fattened up and removed from circulation with minimal concern. Then the miller’s wife puts her baking skills to test to craft excellent meat pies and similar dishes for her husband’s enjoyment. Though her duplicity in her husband’s perversity is unquestionable, it is also true that Eugenie lives in fear that she will one day be unable to satisfy him with her cooking and will instead become a meal. Until that day, however, she lives in revulsion of her own excitement over participating in such heinous, taboo activities. And after all, Jorge takes excellent care of her.

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Old Foe, New Foe Hammer Part of what we enjoy about fantasy is—for good or ill— repetition. As proof, consider the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section of your favorite chain bookstore. How many fantasy novels begin with a provincial young man who discovers an arcane weapon or latent magic just in time to meet the rising forces of the Dark Lord? And doesn’t that Dark Lord always have red, blazing eyes hidden beneath a shadowy hood? Along the way, the hero meets elven rangers and stout, beer-drinking dwarves. Oh, and probably a geriatric wizard. It happens time and time again, but we love it. As such, we should not be surprised that fantasy roleplaying games often employ the same character classes, plot hooks, and villain types. It’s part of gaming in an often-used milieu. But sometimes, repetition breeds boredom. Even combat, the focus of some sessions, can feel much too repetitive. That sense of repetition in combat can be caused by rules that favor attrition over effects: you lose three out of fiftytwo hit points vs. an arrow pierces your arm and you can’t draw your sword. (D20, I’m looking at you.) GM’s and players should be more descriptive about the effects of their weapons—if they do, fighting will become more colorful. However, characters using the same weapons time and time again can also foment the humdrum nature of fantasy warfare. Think of how many PC groups you’ve encountered in which one character has a bow and a short sword, someone else has a two-handed weapon, and one other character—the sneaky one—has daggers and a crossbow. The fourth dude probably wields an axe. Oh, and don’t forget the geriatric wizard who has a staff or a wand that shoots fire. Huzzah. The problem here is that 1) the weapons list is limited, and 2) we tend to utilize the same basic weapons, give or take enchantment, for so many of our characters. Well, combat can be more exciting, and one way to generate that excitement is to use less popular weaponry. Consider the following weapons that could be equipped more often: Nets: Back when I was a youngster, nets were more popular. I’m not kidding. In the 70’s and 80’s, nature shows like Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom or National Geographic often depicted conservationists who would visit the jungle, find a wildcat, then toss a net or shoot a tranquilizer dart. Usually, someone piloted a helicopter, too. Nowadays, most nature shows feature an unshaven guy in sandals who trods through the rainforest pointing out strange insects. You rarely see nets or dart guns anymore. Even standard entertainment—Sid and Marty Kroft’s Land of the Lost, for example—was more net friendly back then.

GEORGE SEDGWICK

In a fantasy setting, though nets make perfect sense, few folks use them. Perhaps GM’s don’t like nets because the affiliated rules of entanglement are usually somewhat entangled themselves. But from a player’s point of view, nets ought to be pretty damn cool. All a PC should need to do is successfully roll to hit, then… Boom! your enemy is in trouble. It’s hard to dodge, parry, or fight back when you’re netted, and it takes way too much time to cut your way out. Also, because a net can be thrown or dropped from a distance— not a long one, I know—net-using characters who want to avoid swords and axes can do so. One final benefit is that a netted or otherwise captured character may not need to be killed. At least, not right away. Sword-breakers: I don’t remember which game it was, but one of the first role-playing games I enjoyed offered sword-breakers on the standard weapons list. Rarely have I seen them since. However, a quick search online reveals how cool sword-breakers look and how effective they can be. Typically, a fighter using a sword-breaker holds it in his or her off-hand while using a longer sword, axe, or mace in the other. The sword-breaker can be used to stab or slash, but it is best used to parry or trap an opponent’s weapon. Since many games ignore the swordbreaker, there may not be helpful rules for them in whatever books sit on the table. However, a sensible GM should realize that swordbreakers don’t do much damage, but they probably have a nice parry bonus. Furthermore, with the right roll or a strong enough PC, the sword-breaker might even do as its name suggests. Throwing Axes: Every dwarf illustration I can think of features a beard and an axe. Well, maybe a war hammer instead of an axe, but you catch my drift. However, not too many characters choose throwing axes as their weapon of choice. That should change. Throwing axes, when hitting the target, ought to do more damage than the typical dart or dagger. Plus, they can be used in hand-to-hand— try that with a dart. Whips: Did you see the film based on The Return of the King? Not the recent Peter Jackson epic, but the oldschool animated one? If so, you might recall one of the best tunes from the movie, “Where There’s a Whip, There’s a Way,” sung by a bunch of frog-like orcs. (Though it’s not mentioned in dialogue, I believe Sauron penned the hit himself, back before his prog-rock days.) In any case, whips are more about effect than damage. They can slash, pierce, entangle, disarm, and if you’re

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Harrison Ford, swing. Also, whips are usually light, so characters can easily hold a shield or weapon in the other hand. Because whips are so flexible, they can be tough to defend against. Put your sword in the way, and the whip might still get there. If you come too close, you risk getting your legs wrapped. In short, though whips aren’t lethal, they can put an enemy in a really difficult situation. Sometimes, all you need is a slight advantage, and the fight is over.

“1d3+2” may be inferior to “your sword-breaker catches the orc’s scimitar—he can’t use the weapon next turn and he stops singing about whips,” then everything should work out just fine. Plus, I haven’t mentioned any exotic weapons, just four typical items that PC’s rarely use. Throw in chakram, bagh nakh, or manriki-gusari, and there’s no way your combats will feel cliché.

The problem with the weapons above is that they rely on rules that may not be adequately explained or easily applied. Entangling, parrying, breaking weapons, two-weapon fighting—these aren’t always the simplest situations for GM’s to handle. But if the players and GM agree that effects do matter, and if folks realize that

George appears courtesy of RPG Circus, the Greatest Show in Gaming!

Of Pins and needles

JASON “JiB” TRYON

Some Thoughts on the Use of Horror in Fantasy Games The moors spread out around them, a damp, misty, forlorn blanket of expanse into the night its voice a low muttering moan of wind in the shifting grass. At least Shaleigh hoped it was just the wind in the grass that she was hearing. Hidden among the tumbled ruin of the long abandoned castle she turned her gaze upon the sleeping forms of her comrades barely seen lumps wrapped in cloaks and blankets only slightly visible even to her keen eyes in the dim glow of the banked fire. There it was again, that sound, just a whisper but different than the unending drone of the night wind. For the hundredth time, she was sure, she cast her gaze across the chill waters and hummocks of the swamp. Her eyes fixed on a spot in the night, not a thing more the absence of a thing, a spot of shadow darker than the rest. Then the shadow moved. For many years as a gamer and GM I have heard people say that one could not really do horror in a role playing game. I have to disagree with that precept, though, I think a great deal depends on the player’s ability to embrace the emotion of the game. Some players will look at any situation and break it down to its game terms, and some will scoff at the horror and say it doesn’t affect their jaded character. But players who can accept the horror and how their character will react to it stand to find a deeper and richer game in which to play. The purpose of this article is to explore some ways to incorporate horror elements into a fantasy game. First though, let me make an assertion. Horror is not a genre. WAITAMINIT! What are you talking about? Of course horror is a genre, there are horror novels and horror movies and … Yes there are, let us consider the definition of horror as a genre.

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“Horror fiction, horror literature and also horror fantasy is a genre of literature, which is intended to, or has the capacity to frighten its readers, scare or startle viewers/ readers by inducing feelings ofhorror and terror. It creates an eerie and frightening atmosphere.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horror_fiction)

All of this talks about (1) what it is intended to do [frighten, scare or startle] and (2) the atmosphere (feel) of the story. I assert that that is not really a genre. Let us consider a classic example of gothic horror, “Dracula”. At its core, “Dracula” is a turn of the century adventure story about saving a girl and killing a monster. So, where does the horror come in? Horror is a flavoring. It is elements sprinkled over a story to give it a particular feel and to elicit specific emotional responses on the part of the reader, namely fear. So instead of thinking in terms of creating a horror game, think in terms of creating a game and adding horror elements to and giving it a horror atmosphere. The question, therefore, is not how do I make a horror game, but rather, how do I make my game horrific? The rest of this article focuses on a pretty typical fantasy game and how to make it horrifying. The basic set up for the game is a small coastal town on an inland sea in a typical fantasy setting. We have swords and sorcery and barbarians and all the things that make a fantasy game fun. The player characters have what seems to be a pretty simple task, go to the town, find a ship arrange passage across the inland sea to the city. A simple enough task and a simple enough set up. (Author’s note: Honestly, it doesn’t need to be more than that to get started. This is the premise for an actual game) Now we need to complicate matters for the characters. Twenty years ago or so a ship made port in the small town and as sailors are want to do one of them seduced a young woman from the town with promises of love and marriage. When his ship left, he promised to return but didn’t. What he did was leave the young woman pregnant with his child. As the months wore on the child was born, and the sailor didn’t return, in grief and shame the young woman cast herself from a nearby cliff into the sea. And right there my friends is the piece we need because ever since, her unquiet spirit has haunted the town and shipping, even driving ships onto the rocks.

“First you got to create … da mood” (Sebastian the Crab) When we set the stage with lighting and temperature and weather we are creating a mood, and atmosphere that will extend to the mood of the player characters. For a “horror” game any number of possibilities can be used to set the tone and mood of the game. Consider the mood of another classic horror story “Frankenstien.” The doctor does not carry out his research in a brightly lit hospital with cheerful nurses. Rather, he labors alone in a remote dank castle on the fringes of society with only a misshapen madman for an assistant. The feeling of isolation and the forlorn castle along with the dismal weather set the mood of the story. Let’s set the mood of our fantasy game. What do we have to work with? A vengeful spirit, a sea-coast with marshes, fens and cliffs, and the weather give us good things to work with. The sun never shines in Tender’s Key but at the beginning of the game a ferocious gale is brewing out on the sea and the PC’s are just approaching the town from inland and it is clear that they are going to have to wait out the storm before they can hope to arrange for their passage. As they approach the town they pass a cliff and will see a forlorn woman with a bundle in her arms walking atop the cliff towards the edge, in a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder she disappears did she fall (or jump) or was she ever there at all. This sets the stage for the rest of the game and establishes the forlorn and unhappy mood of the game all building up to the horror that will come later. As the characters move on into the town we’ll establish the tone even more by the way we describe the town and the things in it. Places have a dismal and almost abandoned feel to them, in fact the once bustling town is now much abandoned and buildings are falling into disrepair and even falling down. People keep to themselves and look fearful and wary. All of this sets the tone of the game and clues the players into the idea that something is wrong. Secondly, be descriptive

As GM’s, our words, more than anything else, are the tools we use to draw the players into the game and immerse them in the fiction we are trying to create together. I have used the phrase, “Lurid and evocative descriptions,” to explain how to use words to enrich the fiction and immerse both the players and myself in the game. This is much more important in a game with horror elements even than it is in a “normal” game. Telling the player of a character on watch, “You see a wolf padding by the camp, he stops to look at you with glowing eyes,” is not particularly evocative or frightening. Telling that same player, “A shadow flickers across your vision moving silently beyond the reach of the light from your campfire,” is almost sure to get their attention. Why? Because the player’s imagination will fill in much more and much more frightening details than you ever could. It takes some practice and having a large vocabulary helps when trying to be evocative in the descriptions we use. Reading (pretty much anything) is a wonderful way to build up one’s ability to weave descriptions together. Describing things in more expansive terms also leads the players in the direction you want them to go in terms of the emotion of the moment. That shadow that flicks across their vision is much larger than the actual wolf and doesn’t move the way a normal animal would move and when it turns to regard the fearful character on watch it is with demonic amber eyes glowing with some hellish intent. Like any other skill, the ability to evocatively describe things improves with practice. I don’t write descriptions out beforehand, but I do go over them and practice them again and again. (Author’s note: If people could hear what I’m saying when I’m driving down the road by myself on my commute to and from work they would laugh at me, a lot.)

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Keep the mystery alive The main reason the description of the wolf as a shadow flickering across their vision works is because it maintains the mystery of what’s really there. By casting the descriptions we use in nonconcrete (and even more specifically non-game) terms more than anything else we do keeps the mystery alive and by keeping the mystery alive we let, and encourage, the players to fill in the blanks with things from their own imaginations. Do not lie, or directly mislead the player. The point is not to tell the player something that’s inaccurate, but simply to tell them things that are indeterminate and let them draw their own conclusions. If the mood of the game has been established and they are immersed in the fiction they will most likely go in the right direction on their own. Casting descriptions in game terms is the surest way to shatter the mystery and destroy the immersion. Regardless of the nature of the thing they are facing the instant the player knows (in game terms) what they’re facing many of them will immediately switch to “tactical mode” to figure out how to beat the problem in game terms. The instant the the GM uses the rules term for something it becomes less scary and just an obstacle to get over. Don’t over do it No mystery story maintains a constant state of tension and horror. That level of tension is impossible to perpetuate over time. Also, the players become jaded when all they see is horror. So while the lead in to the game might be dismal and moody and foreshadowing of awfulness to come, when they get to the inn it might be bright and cheery. A common trope from horror movies is the buildup to nothing. In many slasher films (which the author does not consider horror but to each their own.) the teenage girl alone in the house hears a creepy noise and goes to investigate the music builds and she becomes more and more frightened. Surely, something is going to happen, but when she gets to the back door and opens it the cat runs in and everyone laughs in relief.

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This ebb and flow of tension and relief is a critical element in any horror story, and controlling it is the surest way the GM has to keep that horror story alive. Also, don’t always build up to horror or build up to nothing. Mix it up and keep the players guessing. In a moment of brilliance, a GM friend of mine, Stu Venable from the Happy Jacks RPG Podcast, played this card perfectly. The game up to that point had been fairly light hearted and almost comical but things became very real when the PC’s came upon a little girl, her face covered in blood and vomit, who turned to them and said, “Mommy’s eyeballs made me sick.” The impact of that moment on the players is so utterly clear and memorable. That one event drove the entire rest of the game. Final thoughts It doesn’t really matter whether we consider horror to be a genre unto itself, or whether we consider it to be a flavoring that we sprinkle onto other games. The point is that elements of horror bring uncertainty and real emotion to the fiction we are working to create and are almost certain to aid in immersing everyone more completely. Hopefully the ideas and thoughts in this article will help GM’s give their players a little fright and enrich the game for everyone. Don’t just use the tools here for scaring your players though because that in itself will give away the mystery. Use them all the time so the players don’t know what to expect and that will keep them off balance as well, and as we said people who are off balance and uncertain are naturally afraid.

JiB appears courtesy of Happy Jacks RPG Podcast “Pursuing the RPG hobby with reckless abandon… and beer.:”

WWW.DICEPOUCH.COM

The Mortlock, pt. 1 haria was snuggled someplace warm and safe, cocooned away from the world. These exhausted sleeps were something she'd come to cherish in her waking moments, but right now all she knew was the bliss of dreamless sleep. She should have known it wasn’t going to stay that way. Slowly something tugged her from her cherished rest , a nagging sensation that everything wasn't as it should be. Something moved into the realm of her senses again. It fluttered against her face and then disappeared, only to repeat itself just as she'd settled back into the darkness. She mumbled 'stop it' to whatever was bothering her and attempted in her still mostly sleeping state to swat it away. She sighed as the sensation disappeared again. "I'm almost done, Lady Mortlock," an unfamiliar voice replied. "I promise I'll leave you alone once I get the last of the blood off your face." The voice was very close and it belonged to a man. Startled, she jerked awake, her granite colored eyes fixing on the young man in front of her. Habitually, she raised her hand, pushing his away from her. "Where am I? Who are you? What are you doing here?" she demanded, struggling to sit up straighter as she realized she was sitting in a battered but sturdy rocking chair. She looked around the shabby room. After a few seconds she recognized its sparse contents. Bundles of herbs hung on all the shutters and the door, the ones she'd just placed there this morning. Over the fire hung her supper, a rabbit stew with potatoes, carrots and herbs. She looked back to the young man, who was recovering from her sudden and unexpected reaction. "I'm Caeden, Lady Mortlock," he answered. “How did I get home?" The last thing she remembered she'd been trying to help a local woman birth a child who was determined to come out backwards. The man shrugged nonchalantly. “Grandmother said you were exhausted after helping Charis, so I brought you home . You weren’t responding when I tried to wake you. I carried you in and put you in your chair.” He nodded towards the bed. “The bed is missing a few things.” Her eyes strayed to the bed. Just this afternoon she’d washed the mattress cover and it was lying folded on the frame. She had no straw to stuff it with yet. She'd intended to trade for some before she'd been called away. The day had not gone as she'd hoped, and neither had the birth. She closed her eyes as the unpleasant memory slid into place. “You killed her, you bitch! You killed her!” the an-

JONIKKA DEANN FRAZIER guished man said as she tried to pull him from his unconscious wife's body. She should have expected the blow, but didn't. She never did. It hit her square in the nose, sending brilliant pain through her. She gasped and stumbled back, almost falling. Sharia didn’t defend herself as the next blow came, or the ones after that. She let him strike her until she fell to her knees, blood flowing from her nose as freely as it rushed from the woman next to her. His wife wasn’t dead. Not yet. She hadn’t killed this woman, but that didn’t mean the words weren’t true for so many others. She knelt, waiting for the next blow, it never came. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. She looked into the face of a man she didn’t know and blinked at him through a crimson haze. He had beautiful blue eyes. She opened her eyes and studied the young man. No longer dazed from a recent punch, she really took a second to look at him. Tall. Blue eyes. Tanned from work in the sun. Sandy blonde hair. She guessed most of the girls in the village wanted him to court them. The pick of the litter as it were. She was sure the Elder was proud of such a good looking grandson. You should kiss him. Images of them tumbling onto her bed, all skin and heat and need flashed through her mind. She turned her eyes away. How far does that tan go , do you think? She cleared her throat and though she couldn't make herself meet his eyes, she said, "Thank you for helping me. Earlier... that is..." He blushed softly and shrugged, rinsed the rag in the small bowl of water at his hip. "Why did you let him beat you like that? You carry a knife that could gut a deer. You could have stopped him yourself." He finally looked up at her, curious. She had a strong distaste for curious when it involved her. Her reasons for the things she did were silent burdens. No matter how much she might long to share them, she couldn't. She needed to provide an answer that he didn't understand but couldn't question either. So she didn't give him an answer at all. "Would gutting him like a deer have made things better?" "No, of course not. But no man should strike a woman, particularly one trying to save his wife's life." She almost smiled. He'd been raised by good parents. On one hand she wanted to agree with him, pat his hand and tell him what a good boy he was. But he was easily her age and she doubted he'd take it as the compliment it would have been meant to be.

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"At the edge of despair, we all have the potential to do inhuman things." She knew that all too well. She was tired and didn’t want to deal with the intrusion of others. "You should go," she said and took the rag that had been hovering around her face uselessly. "I can't. I'm sorry, Lady Mortlock, but I'm going to have to rely on your hospitality tonight." He opened a shutter, revealing a dark sky with wispy clouds occasionally obscuring the light of the stars that hung in it. Sharia frowned even as the voice in her head danced a dance of joy. She did not suspect for a second the Elder had told her grandson to stay the night with the witch living in the woodman’s cabin on the edge of town. “You should have left before it was dark,” she snapped at him. She could already imagine what the Elder would say about this, let alone the rest of the town when they heard the news that the town’s prize rooster had stayed at her house. He looked hurt. She instantly regretted her tone. He turned his back on her. “I don’t know where you are from, Lady Mortlock, but in Danon’s Watch we take care of each other.” She sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called a lady. She never understood it either. Yes, Mortlock was a noble name in Tyrion, but they were weeks from the capital. And she knew she didn’t look anything like a true noblewoman. Not from the top of her dark auburn braided mohawk, down her overly long, sharp nose, toolong legs to the tips of her calloused boney toes. “I’m not sure where you’re from, but where I’m from ladies don’t eat with their fingers and shave their heads. Hard as it may be for a proper gentleman of Danon’s Watch, just call me Mortlock.” The young man just looked at her, obviously seeing something she didn't when she looked into the mirror. He looked as if he were going to argue, but changed his mind and simply nodded. "All right... Mortlock Ma'am." She sighed. "Mortlock. Just Mortlock." While he was adjusting to the idea of calling a woman just Mortlock, she rinsed the rag, wiped her face with it and tossed it in the basin. “There, ablutions are done,” she said and stood. The second her blanket slid off her body, the scent of blood overwhelmed her. She gagged and put a hand on her clenching stomach. “Okay, ablutions not done,” she said after a few shallow breaths. “I have to bathe,” she said shakily, trying to keep the worst of the memories away. “Now.”

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She began to unbutton her leather jerkin, trying to get it off as quickly as possible. She was working on the last button when she looked up to find the young man just standing there, staring at her as she worked. “Water?” she asked trying not to notice the flush on his cheeks or the look in his eyes.

Her words seemed to break him free of whatever lustinduced haze had taken him. “It’s in the tub, cooling.” She nodded and tugged the jerkin off, quickly tossed it out the front door, bolting it behind her. She kept her eyes on her task of untying her leather pants as she headed to her room. She knew if she looked up she’d see a man, not the elder’s grandson. Look up! He wants you! She bit her lip tugging at the string, and stepped into her bedroom. She kicked off her boots and slid along the wall separating them. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t give into stupidity. No good can come of it.” She wasn’t sure if she was telling that to herself or the angry voice in the back of her head that raged at the injustice of it. Her pants had taken on a lot of bodily fluids today and had gotten stiff. They would need a good cleaning before she could wear them again. She tossed them out the door to her room. “Put them outside. They stink.” She kicked her boots toward the pants. “Those too.” She hugged the wall, trying to stay out of his eyesight. She wore a man’s shirt and it was long, but she’d been cursed with a great length of leg and there was still plenty to see. She closed her eyes and clung to the wall, waiting for the sounds of the cabin’s other occupant to disappear across the living space. She hurried out of her shirt and then the bindings beneath it, tossing them in a pile. She could still smell the blood. What was it about the stuff that clung so badly? Once it was on you, there seemed no way to get its scent off. She stepped into the steaming water, hissing as it stung her skin. She took her cherished bar of soap and began to scrub. She scrubbed her skin until it was an angry shade of red and felt slightly raw. She dipped her unbound hair into the water, scrubbing it as well. She knew it didn’t matter. No matter what she did the scent of blood and death would still be there. It clung to her through every bath, and every season that passed only seemed to increase its intensity. Finally, she forced herself to get up, praying the Elder had taught her grandson the manners to not peek in upon a woman. It wasn’t that she was worried what he might see. She’d lost such dignity the first time she’d been forced to trade her body for food. But she wasn’t sure that if she saw him while in such a state, she’d be able to deny herself again. The voice had been right. She just wanted someone to take her burdens away, even if for just a night. She hastily put her on her night clothes, which consisted of a loose pair of men’s trousers and a man’s shirt. She’d dyed them a pretty orange color that went well with her hair, but also helped to keep any prying eyes from seeing through them. White was such an obnoxious color in that

respect. She had considered not rebinding her chest, but decided it might be best for both her and Caeden’s sake. There had been a time she’d prayed to the gods for breasts large enough to attract the eye of the boy she had so desperately wanted as a husband. Apparently the gods had been listening and given her an ample gift. Unfortunately, now she lived alone, her first love long gone, and she found herself with an abundance gifts she no longer needed. She cursed her stupidity again. Then she cursed the gods, all of them, for being so damn generous. Finally, she stepped out, feeling somewhat better. Caeden was across the room, tending supper. He glanced back at her approach, eyebrows rising at her masculine attire. “I think the stew is ready.” She just nodded, not trusting her own voice, and retrieved the first piece of her outfit. She covered her nose with the back of her wrist, trying to keep her reaction under control. Caeden just watched her. She could see the confusion in his face. Obviously he didn’t find the scent nearly as offensive as she did. How could she explain what the scent of blood meant to her? She couldn’t. She couldn’t explain the horror, because it would eventually lead to her hand in it. Instead she brushed the worst of it off with a brush before applying leather soap. She worked on each piece separately until they were all coated with the crusty white soap.

Suddenly he looked up, the soft whisking sound of the brush stopping. “What happened to you that you decided you had to do everything for yourself? Who hurt you so badly that you run from what’s standing right in front of you?” Her grey eyes met the young man’s sincere blue ones and she felt tears prick her eyes. Why did he have to look at her like that? Why couldn’t he be just another insensitive peacock, who only had eyes for the low hanging fruit? “Your grandmother would not appreciate hearing that from you,” she said. “I’m damaged goods. Everyone else can see that. Why can’t you?” He looked angry and scuffed the brush a little more roughly over the leather. “My grandmother doesn’t own me. I make my own choices. I know what I see, and you didn’t answer my question.” She stood. There was no answering his questions. If he knew he would curse her and force her to leave. “My business is no one’s but my own. I do what I must. It is my burden, nor do I intend to share it with you.” She tried to take the boot and brush, but he elbowed her away. “Go to bed, Lady Mortlock. I’ll show you. You’ll see, I’m not like them.” For a second she considered demanding he give her back her things, but the stubborn look in his eyes made her back down. “It’s just Mortlock,” she answered weakly. She turned away to find her pallet on the floor. Caeden didn’t answer.

She looked up to find Caeden still watching her. Say something. Anything. Are you seriously going to just sit there like a mute and pretend there isn’t a gorgeous man sitting five feet away?

She thought sleep would be a long time coming, her mind too riled to let her easily find sleep’s embrace. But she had barely found her blankets before the welcoming darkness overtook her and pulled her in.

She sighed and leaned back. That was exactly what she was going to do. She picked up her cool soup and began to eat, paying the man across from her no attention. She looked up when she heard the sound of a stiff horsehair brush rubbing across her leather garments. Caeden, done eating, was brushing away the dried soap with skilled hands. Images of those hands on her skin flickered through her mind and she forced herself to look away.

Sharia woke from vague dreams of flames and the unholy scent of burnt hair to her empty cabin. The shutters had been thrown open and dust motes danced in the midmorning light that played across her sparse furniture and the dirt floor. She sat up looking for her guest, but the only sign she hadn’t been alone all night was a neat pile of leather lying on the seat of her rocking chair. She got up, moving closer and found that atop the pile lay a single green ribbon.

“You don’t have to do it. I’m quite capable of taking care of it myself.”

She lifted it to her lips, smelling his scent on the silky fabric.

The young man didn’t look up from his work. “That’s obvious,” he said softly. “I haven’t met a more independent woman in my entire life, and trust me, I thought that title was owned solely by my grandmother. You’ve already done so much today.” He motioned to her small table covered in herbs and a new basket.

“It’s not you,” she whispered to no one. “It’s me. I’m the monster your grandmother was always warning you about. Don’t let me past the threshold of your heart. I will kill you.” She looked at the fire, considering tossing the silky length in. Finally she pulled her hair back and tied the ribbon around it. She was damned either way.

“Your payment from Harold and his wife. I put the chicken in the animal shed. You didn’t seem up to handling her.”

15