Secrets of sha-Arthan: Milesho

Milesho (Ashen Spirit)

A milesho by Zhu Bajie

The tombs of Inba Iro hold not bodies but cinerary urns filled with the ashes of the honored dead. Sometimes, whether through sorcery or an incursion of the False World, the twisted shade of one so entombed returns to sha-Arthan, seething with hatred for the living and a desire to spread chaos and destruction.

Called a milesho, this accursed spirit can form a "body" from its burnt remains. The process of doing so takes 1d4 rounds, during which time it cannot attack and can be harmed by normal weapons. A milesho can also disperse its body at will so as to attempt to enter and inhabit (see below) a living being. If it fails to do so, it is then vulnerable to normal weapon for a round, as it reforms from its ashes.

DR 20, LVL 10 (45hp), Att 1 × weapon (1d10) or touch (Vigor drain) or inhabit, AB +8, MV 90' (30'), SV F6 D7 M8 E9 S10 (10), ML 10, NA 1 (1), TT E, N, O

    • Undead: Makes no noise, until it attacks. Immune to effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Immune to mind-affecting or mind-reading disciplines and spells.

    • Mundane weapon immunity: After forming its ashen body, only harmed by spells or magic weapons.

    • Weapon: Capable of wielding any weapon available with great power (dealing 1d10 damage, regardless of type). If treasure includes magic weapon, the milesho will make use of it.

    •  Vigor drain: Victim permanently loses 1 VIG per hit. If reduced to 0 VIG, the victim dies. Lost Vigor cannot be restored through the usual methods (advancement, training, etc.), but several mystery cults of the Eternal Gods (see Alignment) are reputed to have the means of doing so.

   • Inhabit: A living being within range must make a mind save or become inhabited. Failure indicates the milesho gains control of the being's body (but not mind, including his spells or disciplines). The ashen spirit retains control until it relinquishes it, the inhabited being dies, or dispel is successfully used against it.

Retrospective: Death's Ride

Over the years, I've mentioned my affection for the third boxed set released as part of Frank Mentzer's revision of Dungeons & Dragons, the Companion Rules. The reason for my affection is quite simple: the Companion Rules were an attempt to restore D&D's lost endgame in a way that was accessible and fun for a new generation of players. While reasonable minds can differ about how successful Mentzer was – I judge it a partial success – I hope it's not controversial to say that his attempted restoration may have been the last time that any version of Dungeons & Dragons took seriously the idea of player characters establishing and ruling domains (or "baronies," as OD&D calls them). [I seem to have forgoten the existence of the Birthright campaign setting from the '90s. Silly me – JM]

I've long suspected that one of the reasons the original endgame of D&D was abandoned by both the game's publisher and its players is that there were never any good examples of what characters did once they cleared a wilderness hex, built a fortress, and settled down to ruling. The promise of the Companion Rules was that they might go some way toward correcting this oversight and, in my opinion, they did, albeit with some qualifications. Of course, I had hoped, as I expect many other D&D players at the time did, that the Companion-series adventures would go even further, providing multiple, clear illustrations of how to run a Dungeons & Dragons campaign centered around high-level, domain-ruling characters. 

Sadly, like the Companion Rules themselves, what TSR offered instead was a very mixed bag that did little to clarify the situation. Indeed, if 1984's Death's Ride is any indication, Companion-level D&D was just like lower-level D&D but with more dangerous monsters, more potent spells, and more valuable treasure. It's a real shame, because there was – and is – a need for guidance on this level of gameplay and the ways in which it differs from lower-level campaigns. That's certainly what I was looking for in the CM-designated modules, which is why I bought so many of them during the period when they were being published.

Written by Garry Spiegle, an author I remember mostly for his work on the second edition of Gamma World, Death's Ride takes place in the distant mountain-based Barony of Twolakes Vale. The barony, it seems, has gone silent recently. This includes the cessation of tax payments to the King of Norwold, which naturally raises his concern. Since the barony is remote, he tasks the player characters (who are assumed to be between levels 15 and 20), to investigate the situation and resolve it, if possible. In return, the characters will receive a large monetary reward and the king's gratitude. 

As you can probably already see, the set-up of the adventure does not assume the characters already have baronies of their own to rule, treating them instead just like rootless adventurers in search of another patron. Actually, that's not entirely true. The introductory "How to Use This Adventure" section briefly alludes to this possibility when it cautions:

Some player characters may want to lead large bodies of troops, retainers, or hirelings in this adventure. Don't let too many characters get caught up in this, as it can bog your game down in a mire of detail. Encourage your players to concentrate on their own characters. 

While I find the advice odd, it's important to remember that the Companion Rules are not aimed solely at domain-ruling characters. They, in fact, introduce quite a number of interesting and unique options for adventurers who reject becoming tied down by the demands of rulership and that's fine. What irks me, now and then, is that modules like Death's Ride offer so little for characters who do decide to take up rulership. I think the adventure might have been more useful on several levels if, instead of detailing a threat to an NPC's barony, it had instead detailed one to a player character's. I realize that would have required more work on Spiegle's part, given the likely variability for which he'd need to account, but it would have expanded the utility of Death's Ride immensely.

The Barony of Twolakes Vale languishes under "the Deathcloud," a roiling, black magical phenomenon that has alighted upon the area because a pair of evildoers have opened a portal to the Sphere of Death – an otherplanar realm that is the source of negative energy and, therefore, undead. The Barony is thus overrun with a veritable army of the undead, not to mention a dragon in league with the two main antagonists. The characters thus have their work cut out for them, with plenty of fighting against enemies both powerful and numerous. The result is a bit of slog in keeping with the mantra of "More! Bigger!" that unfortunately characterized Mentzer's Companion, Master, and (Gygax preserve us) Immortals rules. 

As I said earlier in this post, it's all a great shame, because, in principle, an adventure like this has potential. The premise of an evil cleric and an evil wizard joining forces to open a portal to a nightmarish Other World filled with undead isn't a bad one – all the more so when they do so in the domain of a player character. The challenge of overcoming enemies of this sort while at the same time working to limit the damage they can do to one's own holding is a significant one worthy of a high-level character. I would have loved to read such an adventure. Instead, what we got was a fairly unimaginative slugfest without any personal stakes for the characters beyond the quest for every greater gold and XP. Alas!

Nothing New Under the Sun

This week's installment of Pulp Fantasy Library discussed Robert E. Howard's story of Kull, "The Cat and the Skull." To the extent that the story is known at all, it's because it features the first appearance of the undead sorcerer. The revelation of his involvement in the events of the tale is quite memorable.

The face of the man was a bare white skull, in whose eye sockets flamed livid fire!

"Thulsa Doom!"

"Aye, I guessed as much!" exclaimed Ka-nu.

"Aye, Thulsa Doom, fools!" the voice echoed cavernously and hollowly. "The greatest of all wizards and your eternal foe, Kull of Atlantis! You have won this tilt but, beware, there shall be others."

Years ago, when I first read this story, I was convinced that it had to have been the origin of D&D's lich. While I knew the lich from the AD&D Monster Manual, with its unforgettable illustration by Dave Trampier, the lich was introduced into the game through Supplement I to OD&D, Greyhawk. There, liches are described as "skeletal monsters of magical original, each Lich being a very powerful Magic-User or Magic-User/Cleric in life, and now alive only by means of great spells and will." The longer description in the Monster Manual adds that a lich possesses not just a skeletal form but "eyesockets mere black holes with glowing points of light." That sound a lot like REH's description of Thulsa Doom to me.

The early 1970s was a remarkable time for aficionados of Robert E. Howard's writing. Not only was Lancer releasing its paperback editions of Howard's sword-and-sorcery yarns, but Marvel Comics was producing comic adaptations of many of them as well. In addition to the much more well known and celebrated Conan the Barbarian (and, later, Savage Sword of Conan), Marvel adapted Howard's characters and stories in other

magazines, such as Monsters on the Prowl. Issue #16 of that magazine (April 1972) featured an original Kull story called "The Forbidden Swamp," in which Thulsa Doom is introduced to comics readers. As drawn by the brother and sister team of John and Marie Severin, Thulsa Doom shares a lot with D&D's lich, don't you think?

For years afterward, I held on to my theory that it was Thulsa Doom who had inspired Gary Gygax in his creation of the lich. Not only was there much similarity between their descriptions, but Thulsa Doom's earliest published appearance, whether in Lancer's King Kull anthology or Marvel's comics, occurred just before the publication of OD&D. There was thus a certain plausibility to the one having been inspired by the other.

As it turned out, my theory was wrong – or at least not the whole story. Many years later, in one of his many online question and answer threads, I recall that Gygax admitted he swiped the lich from "The Sword of the Sorcerer," a Kothar story by Gardner F. Fox. In that tale, Kothar encounters an undead sorcerer named Afgorkon, who is repeatedly referred to by the word "lich," something that cannot be said of Thulsa Doom so far as I can tell. That's not to say that Thulsa Doom might not have exercised some influence over the creation of D&D's lich, only that he wasn't, at least as far as Gygax claimed, the primary one. It's not as if the idea of a skeletal, undead sorcerer is a wholly unique idea anyway.

That's something I keep in mind whenever I look almost any element of Dungeons & Dragons. Very little of it is genuinely unique to the game. I'd wager that almost all of its monsters, spells, and magic items derive from a pre-existing story, comic, movie, or TV show. Indeed, it probably wouldn't take much work to demonstrate this, since Gygax and others were often quite open about the earlier creators and works that inspired them. I don't mean this to be a criticism – far from it! Rather, I bring this up simply as a reminder that what makes D&D special is not any of its individual elements, very few of which are original, but rather the strange alchemy of their admixture. 

The Lich

Here's an interesting piece of artwork from the 1985 book, The Art of the Dungeons & Dragons Fantasy Game. Does anyone know the artist? It doesn't look like one of the usual TSR heavy hitters from that era.

Addendum: I am apparently blind, since the artist's name – John Totleben – is on the piece itself. Perhaps I should get new eyeglasses!

Grognard's Grimoire: Kelthaga

Kelthaga (Hateful Dead)

A kelthaga by Zhu Bajie

A kelthaga is a mindless undead being fueled by hatred of the living. There are two known means by which a kelthaga comes to be. The first is death through obliteration (see Magic); the second is through a recondite version of necromancy known to certain sects (see Alignment). The only difference between the two types is the singular focus of the first compared to the more general malice of the second. Once a kelthaga of either type comes within 6p of living beings, it will relentlessly pursue them until it is physically unable to do so. 

DR 14, HD 3** (13hp), Att 1 × touch (1d6 + Vigor drain), AB +2, MV 18p (6p), SV F12 D13 M14 E15 S16, ML 12, XP 65, NA 1d4 (1d6), TT None (see below)

    • Undead: Makes no noise, until it attacks. Immune to effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Immune to mind-affecting or mind-reading disciplines and spells.

    • Mundane weapon immunity: Only harmed by spells or magic weapons.

    • Regeneration:  A damaged kelthaga regains 1hp at the start of each round, as long as it is above 0hp. Severed limbs reattach.

    • Return from death: If killed (0hp), will regenerate and fight again in 2d6 rounds.

    • Fire: Cannot regenerate damage from fire. The only way to kill a kelthaga permanently.

    • Vigor drain: Victims lose 1 VIG per hit. Recovers after 8 turns. If reduced to 0 VIG, the victim becomes a kelthaga.

    • Necromantic plaque: Kelthaga created by necromancy wear a plaque worth 500dm for its materials alone, possibly more to a connoisseur of the arcane.

Grognard's Grimoire: Gorodaka

Gorodaka (Haughty Dead)

A gorodaka by Zhu Bajie

Death knows no distinctions of power or status. This abiding truth has not stopped sorcerers throughout time from seeking a means of sidestepping it. One such means is laid out in the Kadil Sho'i ("The Breaking of the Cycle"), which provides a complex alchemical formula for extending one's life indefinitely. The successful execution of the formula arrests the process of physical decay, transforming the sorcerer into something simultaneously greater and less than human – a  gorodaka.

Initially, a gorodaka looks no different than it did in life, except that it no longer breathes, eats, or sleeps. Over time, putrescence sets in, leading many gorodaka to hide their rot behind masks, as well as ornate suits of armor or other similar finery. Despite their unnatural origins, not all gorodaka are wicked, though nearly all see themselves as superior to the living.

DR 19, HD 9+5**** (45hp), Att 1 × touch (1d10 + paralysis), AB +8, MV 60’ (20’), SV F8 D9 M8 E11 S4 (Sorcerer 14), ML 10, XP 3700, NA 1 (1), TT A

• Undead: Makes no noise, until it attacks. Immune to effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Immune to mind-affecting or mind-reading spells.
• Energy immunity: Unharmed by cold or electricity.
• Mundane damage immunity: Can only be harmed by spells or magic weapons.
• Paralysis: For 2d4 turns (fortitude save). 
• Spell immunity: Immune to magic causing death or polymorph.
• Sorcerer: Casts spells as a 14th-level sorcerer.

An Experiment

Dritlor (Doomed Dead)

The people of Inba Iro burn their dead, believing the soul can only return to the eternal gods if so liberated from the prison of the flesh. For this reason, the priests of Jilho the Protector deny condemned lawbreakers cremation. Through sorcery, they instead compel them to serve after execution as guardians of the upper levels of the Vaults. Only fire can permanently end a dritlor's earthly bondage or else it reanimates not long after its apparent destruction. 

STR 2d6+6 (13), CON 1d6 (4), DEX 3d6 (11), SIZ 3d6 (11), INT 0, POW 0, CHA 0, HP 8, DM 0, MP 0, MR 15, Armor Leather (2), Treasure 0, Dodge 10%, Persistence 100%, Resilience 100%, Close Combat 35%: Longspear (1d8), Medium Shield (1d6)

• Guardians: Always attacks on sight
• Undead: Immune to all diseases, fatigue, poisons, and mind control.
• Reanimation: If destroyed (0hp), stitches itself back together to full hp and fights again after 2d6 rounds.
• Fire: Cannot reanimate if burned after destruction.

A dritlor by Zhu Bajiee

White Dwarf: Issue #35

Issue #35 of White Dwarf (October 1982) features a wonderfully evocative cover by Les Edwards. Covers like this one highlight one of the most visible differences between WD and Dragon. Dragon's cover artwork was, in general, very good, but much of it felt "game-y" to me, whereas White Dwarf's cover illustrations looked like the kind you might see on fantasy and science fiction novels – no surprise, since many of the pieces originally did appear on novels). 

Ian Livingstone's editorial references an unnamed survey of unit sales of RPGs in the USA. According to this survey, the ten top selling games are, in order: D&D, AD&D, Traveller, The Fantasy Trip, Top Secret, Chivalry & Sorcery, Tunnels & Trolls, RuneQuest, Space Opera, and Arduin Grimoire. Quite the list, isn't it? I'm not at all surprised to see both D&D and AD&D there; the same goes for Traveller. With the exception RuneQuest and perhaps Tunnels & Trolls, I wouldn't have expected any of the others to be on the list at all, never mind in the top ten.

"The Necromancer" is a new AD&D character class by Lewis Pulsipher. The class is interesting in two respects. The first is that it's limited only to evil aligned characters, much like the assassin (or the death master). The second is that it's not, strictly speaking, a sub-class of magic-user but is instead a unique class all its own. Consequently, it doesn't have spells but "abilities," rated according to "grades," ranked from 1 to 5. Many of these reproduce the effects of certain existing spells (e.g. animated dead, feign death, speak with dead, etc.) but the majority of them are original and focus on the creation and control of undead beings. The class is distinctive and well done and would work well as the basis for an antagonist. I'm not so sure I'd allow its use for a player character, but then I long ago lost the taste for evil PCs.

"... We Have a Referee Malfunction" by Bob McWilliams is a short, humorous article about how a Traveller referee should handle situations that don't go as planned in a session. While it's clearly satirical in purpose, McWilliams nevertheless presents some genuinely useful ideas in the article. "Green Horizon" by Marcus L. Rowland is a stand-alone Traveller scenario in which the players take on the roles of alien beings – the Ksiffchi – whose ship misjumps and winds up in orbit around a primitive planet. Due to the misjump, the ship is damaged and the crew of the vessel have no choice but to land on the planet and attempt to find the parts they require to effect the repairs. The twist is that the primitive world is, in fact, Earth and the Ksiffchi have arrived in June 1944. If you've ever wanted to play a sci-fi adventure where marsupial-like aliens face off against Nazis, "Green Horizon" is for you.

"Open Box" starts its reviews with the Games Workshop boardgame of Judge Dredd (9 out of 10). Next up are five different TSR modules for D&D and AD&D: The Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh (9 out of 10), The Secret of Bone Hill (8 out of 10), Against the Giants (10 out of 10), Palace of the Silver Princess (10 out of 10), and Castle Amber (6 out of 10). As you can see, it's both an odd collection of modules and an odd array of ratings. I'm particularly baffled by the high rating of Palace of the Silver Princess, which, while it has much to recommend it, is not even close to being in the same category as the Giants modules. Likewise, I take some offense at the mediocre rating of Castle Amber, but I readily admit my affection for the things probably blinds me to some of its flaws. Finally, there's a review of Chaosium's Borderlands, which receives a 10 out of 10. 

"Lashing Out" by Phil Masters is a surprisingly long article on introducing whips into Dungeons & Dragons. In addition to ordinary whips, Masters also presents multiple magical whips, some of which have unusual effects (like the whip of lightning). "Weapon Quest" by Andrew Brice offers up multiple new weapons for use with RuneQuest. Part II of Lewis Pulsipher's "A Guide to Dungeon Mastering" tackles the subjects of "Monsters & Magic." This encompasses not just the choice and placement of monsters and magic items in a dungeon, but also the use of magic and magic items by monsters. As with its predecessor, the advice is solid for it time, but, from the vantage point of 2022, there's hardly anything here I've not before.

"Lord of Kanuu" by John R. Gordon presents a new monster – the spidron – and a mini-scenario in which to use it. The spidron is a malignant green liquid that can disguise itself under a robe to appear as if it is a humanoid being. Instead of being silly, it's strangely creepy, partly, I think, because of the spidron's use of drugs to create zombie-like minions from ordinary people. The author says that he was inspired by an episode of the television show The Tomorrow People. Never having seen the show (that I can recall), I wonder if any readers who have might be able to identify the story that inspired him.

Aside from "The Necromancer" (about which I nevertheless have some issues), issue #35 doesn't stand out in my opinion. It's not a bad issue by any means, but it doesn't quite rise above the level of "workmanlike." That's no criticism. It's difficult to produce exceptional material on a monthly basis; the fact that it ever happens is, frankly, remarkable.

White Dwarf: Issue #34

Issue #34 of White Dwarf (October 1982) features a cover by Emmanuel, the artist responsible for the cover of the Fiend Folio. Although it's a very simple piece in terms of composition, I've always been quite taken with it. Almost as interesting is the fact that the cover describes the issue's AD&D adventure, "Troubles at Embertrees," as "epic." Such hyperbolic language is commonplace nowadays, but I was rather surprised to see it used here. I'll have a little more to say on this topic when we look at the adventure in question.

"Droids" by Andy Slack is yet another attempt to provide rules for robots in Traveller, which somewhat inexplicably lacked them (and wouldn't get official rules for them until 1986). Unlike many such articles, Slack doesn't present a system for creating robots patterned after the rules for starship construction (or vehicles in Striker). Instead, he simply offers up many examples of robot models, such as robodocs, valet droids, and guardbots. It's a reasonable approach and one I personally like, since I've rarely cared much for "build-your-own" systems, though I imagine it would be something of a disappointment for the gearheads that Traveller tends to attract.

"Space Invader" by Mike Costello is a brief article discussing the pros and cons of purchasing a "microcomputer," as personal computers were sometimes called back then, for use with RPGs. The article is mostly of interest as a historical artifact from the dawn of the PC era. On many levels, the same can be said of Part I of Lewis Pulsipher's "A Guide to Dungeon Mastering." In this article, Pulsipher covers many well-worn topics about how to create and set up adventures. While most of his advice is solid, I don't think any of it would come as a surprise to referees today, since what he says had long since passed into the realm of conventional wisdom. That's no knock against the article, only an acknowledgment that there's been a lot of water under the bridge in the last four years (!).

"Open Box" reviews three RPG products, starting with Cults of Terror for RuneQuest, which receives a rating of only 6 out of 10. Why it's judged relatively harshly is unclear from the review, since the reviewer calls it "tremendous stuff." Meanwhile, FGU's Aftermath! is given 10 out of 10, albeit by a different reviewer, and even I, a fan of the game, think that's a bit much. Finally, Chaosium's Worlds of Wonder receives 7 out of 10; this seems fair, given that three included games are more "skeletons" than fully-fleshed out systems. "Runebeasts" presents two new monsters for use with RuneQuest, in this case the humanoid pterodactyls known as the Vrak and the Nachak, weasel-like beings associated with the Darkness and Disorder runes.

"Trouble at Embertrees" by Paul Vernon is a lengthy introductory scenario for use with AD&D characters of levels 1–2. Like so many White Dwarf scenarios, this one is presented in tiny, dense type and is filled with loads of details, some of them quite extraneous to the actual play of the adventure. The basic set-up is that the characters are hired by a woodcarver who wants them to investigate rumors of strange goings-on at Embertrees, a remote village named after the magical Embertree that grows nearby. Once at Embertrees, the characters are thrown into a mess of conflicting factions, allegiances, and secrets, all presented in a way I found both intriguing and downright confusing. I think there's a good adventure here, buried under all the detail, but it's hard to determine, based on its organization (or, rather, lack thereof). Whether it deserves to be touted as "epic," I can't rightly say, but there can be little doubt that there's a lot here for the referee to wade through before he even thinks of running it.

"Morality in Traveller" is an odd little article by Bob McWilliams in which the author is reacting to the apparent fact that many Traveller characters behave badly in adventures and campaigns, owing in part to the game's lack of a morality/alignment system à la D&D. It's a very strange thing to say in my opinion, but then I rarely had to deal with the kind of amoral behavior McWilliams alludes to. Duncan Bisatt's "The Mahwrs" introduces a bat-like alien race for use with Traveller – nothing to write home about in my opinion.

"Fiend Factory" this months focuses on "More Dead than Alive," meaning five new types of undead or undead-like creatures. I'm a sucker for new undead, so I enjoyed this article more than I expected. Finally, "Treasure Chest" details five new magical weapons, another favorite topic of mine, though I can't say any of the five detailed here are stand outs.

This is another solid, workmanlike issue, though, with the exception of "Trouble at Embertrees," of whose actual value I am still not certain, most of its contents are utterly ephemeral. I don't mean to be harsh; that is the nature of periodicals, after all, even ones as storied as White Dwarf. Still, I will confess to some small disappointment that issue #34 was not as memorable as its immediate predecessors.

Grognard's Grimoire: Dritlor

Dritlor (Doomed Dead)

The people of Inba Iro burn their dead, believing the soul can only return to the eternal gods if so liberated from the prison of the flesh. For this reason, the priests of Jilho the Protector deny condemned lawbreakers cremation. Through sorcery, they instead compel them to serve after execution as guardians of the upper levels of the Vaults. Only fire can permanently end a dritlor's earthly bondage or else it reanimates not long after its apparent destruction. 

AC 7 [12], HD 2* (9hp), Att 1 × weapon (1d8 or by weapon), THAC0 18 [+1], MV 60’ (20’), SV D12 V13 P14 B15 S16 (1), ML 12, XP 25, NA 2d4 (4d6), TT None

• Guardians: Always attacks on sight
• Undead: Makes no noise, until it attacks. Immune to effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Immune to mind-affecting or mind-reading spells.
• Reanimation: If destroyed (0hp), stitches itself back together and fights again in 2d6 rounds.
• Fire: Cannot reanimate if burned after destruction.

A dritlor by Zhu Bajiee

"Very Well Preserved"

Firstly, thanks to everyone who has offered their comments on my recent post about my House of Worms session reports. Ironically, given its subject matter, that post is now one of the most commented upon posts in recent months, disproving that readers of this blog are disinterested in commenting. If anything, I think, it suggests I need to up my own game by writing posts that better invite reader engagement. In any case, I encourage people to continue offering their thoughts, suggestions, and criticisms. I appreciate them all and hope to learn from them going forward.

To that end, I offer something light and, I hope, amusing from my House of Worms campaign. In a recent session, the player characters returned home to the Tsolyáni colony of Linyaró after an extended absence. Upon returning, one of the characters, Znayáshu, inquired after his wife, Tu'ásha, whom he had left behind to handle affairs of state in absence. (Znayáshu is the vice-governor for internal affairs in the colonial administration.)

What he discovered is that Tu'ásha was no longer in Linyaró, having journeyed in his absence to the Naqsái city-state of Pichánmush as an ambassador. Since the player characters had business in Pichánmush themselves, they assumed it'd be a simple matter to meet up with Tu'ásha there; such was not the case. Upon arrival in the city, they learned from a local government agent that Tu'ásha had been "detained," which is to say, taken prisoner. Naturally, this led to some pointed questions as to why and if she could now be released.

I'm not sure if I'd ever mentioned this before in any of my session reports, but Tu'ásha is undead. More specifically, she's a Shédra, an intelligent type of undead created by the temples of Hrü'ü, Ksárul, and especially Sárku. At the start of the campaign, all the way back in 2015, Znayáshu's player established said character was engaged but that his fiancée died as a result of too diligent practice of the rituals of the Brotherhood of the Amber Coiling (she had starved herself to death). Znayáshu had Tu'ásha's body carefully preserved after her death and intended to have her reanimated as a Shédra once he found someone who could do so. In the meantime, he kept her body in his private quarters at the House of Worms clanhouse in Sokátis.

Eventually, Znayáshu was able to secure the rite needed for Tu'ásha to begin her undead existence (though he did have to negotiate with her own clan for permission to do so). The temples of Sárku and Durritlámish, to which most members of the House of Worms clan belong, think nothing of the undead. In their beliefs, undeath is simply another stage of existence, one that preserves the most important parts of the self – the intellect and the body – so that they might better be able to witness the Coming Forth of Universal Diversification wrought by Lord Hrü'ü, the Supreme Principle of Change. Most other Tsolyáni are not quite so comfortable with the undead and, as a consequence, undead beings generally restrict themselves to the catacombs and underworlds of the empire.

Since Tu'ásha did not intend to confine herself to such darkened places, the decision was made that she would hide her undead status as best she could when traveling abroad. She covered her body as much as possible – unusual for the very hot world of Tékumel – and concealed her face behind a mask of jade. Only Znayáshu, her husband, regularly saw her in her true form. Most others simply believed her to be an eccentric, if frightening, woman in the employ of the governor of Linyaró.

The Naqsái of the Achgé Peninsula have a belief system unlike that of the Tsolyáni. In their worldview, Stability and Change are not separate things but instead two sides of the same coin, both of which are governed by Hánmu, the highest divine principle. As an undead being, the rulers of Pichánmush saw Tu'ásha as an abomination, an attempt to circumvent the natural order over which their god ruled. When she presented herself to them as Linyaró's ambassador, they took it as an affront. Fortunately for her, their longstanding diplomatic alliance with Linyaró stayed their hand; they did not destroy her but only imprisoned her.

When the player characters learned of this and asked for clarification, these facts were explained to them. Further, a local priest explained that Tu'ásha was "one of the soulless" and, therefore, anathema to the Naqsái. In further conversation, he referred to her as a "rotting shell," to which Chiyé, one the characters and a priest of Sárku himself, replied, "That's no way to talk about a man's wife." Znayáshu himself added, "I'll have you know, she's not rotting at all; she's very well preserved." In one of those moments that only makes sense if you were there, we all broke out into laughter. It was an unexpectedly funny release during a potentially tense moment in the session. It was also a good reminder of the kind of fun we regularly have in the campaign. 

Random Roll: DMG, p. 119

The Dungeon Masters Guide devotes three paragraphs on p. 119, right before the descriptions of magic items, to "Energy Draining by Undead or Device." When my eyes came across this section, I knew immediately it'd be worth examining. The matter of level drain remains one of the most contentious topics in all of D&D and AD&D, right up there with alignment in terms of spawning debates and disagreements, even after more than forty years. I've touched on this topic several times previously and in those instances it generated a lot of comments, suggesting people have strong feelings on the subject. I've personally never had any real issues with the rules as written, but, even so, I remain keen to see if there are details and nuances about it that I might have missed.

Gygax begins his discussion of this topic in the Dungeon Masters Guide by stating that "when a character loses a level of energy, he or she loses an experience level," adding

he or she loses hit points equal to those gained with the acquisition of the former experience level (including bonus points for constitution), all abilities gained with the experience level now lost, and experience points sufficient to bring the total possessed to the mid-point of the next lower level. 

What immediately strikes me is that the drained character only loses half the XP between the previously earned level and the new, weakened one. I can't recall ever seeing that rule before or, if so, I'd long ago forgotten it. In the years since, I've always docked a drained character all the experience points earned between the previous level and the new one. Thus, a 5th-level fighter struck by a wight would drop down to 4th level and 8001 XP, according to my scheme, while Gygax says that the fighter would have 13,001 XP. Apparently, I've been doing it wrong all these years. I think this takes a little of the bite out of level drain, though probably not enough for dedicated opponents of the mechanic.

That first paragraph goes on to say

If this brings the character below 1st level of experience, then the individual is a 0 level person never capable of gaining experience again. If a 0 level individual is drained an energy level, he or she is dead (possibly to become an undead monster).

This is fascinating to me for what it might imply about a metaphysical distinction between ordinary, 0 level people and adventurers. Does Gygax mean to suggest that no level 0 character can ever gain XP, or does this apply only to characters who formerly had levels above 0 who drop down to that level due to energy drain? He doesn't clarify the matter, unfortunately. 

On the matter of multi-class characters, Gygax explains that the drain always affects the class with the highest level or, if they are equal, the highest experience point total. In the case of an energy drain that steals two levels, one level is taken from each class (at least in the class of, say, a fighter/magic-user; presumably a character with three classes struck by a spectre loses one level each from the two highest classes). 

Gygax also elaborates on the matter of "lesser undead controlled by their slayer/drainer." He explains that, in most cases, "each has but half the hit dice of a normal undead monster of this type." However, in the case of vampires, the situation is somewhat more complex.

Lesser vampires have but half their former level of experience with respect to profession (cleric, fighter, etc.) at the time they initially encountered and were subsequently slain/drained by their now-master vampire, i.e., an 8th level thief killed by a vampire, even though drained to below 0 level in the process, returns as a 4th level thief vampire, as appropriate. However, upon the destruction of their slayer/drainer, such lesser undead gain energy levels from characters they subsequently slay/drain until they reach the maximum number of hit dice (and their former level of class experience as well, if applicable) appropriate to their type of undead monster. Upon reaching full hit dice status, they are able to slay/drain and control lesser undead as they once were.

Though not directly relevant to the overall question of level drain, I found it intriguing nonetheless, since it makes clear how differently Gygax viewed vampires from other undead. As a younger person, I noted that nearly every vampire to appear in a AD&D module had character levels, a possibility noted in the Monster Manual but whose details were never fully explicated until the DMG.

Grognard's Grimoire: Blighter

Blighter (Old School Essentials)

A blighter by Zhu Bajiee

AC 5 [14], HD 4+3* (21hp), Att 1 × claw (1d8 + disease), 1 × bite (1d4 + disease) THAC0 15 [+4], MV 30' (10'), SV D10 W11 P12 B13 S14, ML 12, AL Chaotic, XP 200, NA 2d4 (2d4), TT None

A blighter is disease-ridden form of undead first seen in the catacombs beneath the monastery at St. Gaxyg-at-Urheim but subsequently reported in other nearby locales. Blighters shamble slowly and make no noise until they attack. They are immune to sleep, charm, and hold spells, as well as effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Clerics have the same chance of turning blighters as they do of turning wights.

A blighter looks like a hulking, misshapen humanoid covered in bony protrusions and tumorous excrescences, surrounded by a miasmic cloud. In combat, a blighter attacks with a clawed hand and a bite. Any target within melee range must make a saving throw versus poison each round or suffer the effects of the cause disease spell. Any targets so afflicted are themselves contagious to other living creatures they touch or with whom they come into very close contact; such creatures must save versus poison at +2 or suffer the same effects. The disease can be cured through the application of the spells bless, cure disease, or neutralize poison. Any creature slain by the blighter's contagion rises as a blighter after the next sunset.

Grognard's Grimoire: Eidolon

 Eidolon (Old School Essentials)

An eidolon by Zhu Bajiee

AC 4 [15], HD 4** (18hp), Att 2 × touch (1d4 + fear), THAC0 16 [+3], MV 90' (30') / 180' (60') flying, SV D10 W11 P12 B13 S14, ML 12, AL Chaotic, XP 175, NA 1d6 (1d6), TT C

An eidolon is the undead spirit of a cleric who died while in the grips of despair, no longer finding solace in True Faith. Eidolons can only be hit by magical or silver weapons. They are immune to sleep, charm, and hold spells, as well as effects that affect living creatures (e.g. poison). Clerics have the same chance of turning eidolons as they do of turning wraiths.

An eidolon appears as a ghostly, floating figure in a tattered monastic habit. In combat, the eidolon will attempt to strike with both its spectral hands against a single target. If both attacks succeed, the target must make a saving throw against spells or suffer the effects of the 1st-level cleric spell cause fear, in addition to the damage rolled. Clerics save against this effect at –2.

Imagine Magazine: Issue #23

Issue #23 of Imagine (February 1985) features a cover by Carl Critchlow of Thrud the Barbarian fame. As if that weren't enough to endear it to me, it also features Crusader great helm, something for which I've long had an inexplicable affection. The cover also boasts that this issue will highlight ghosts and so it does in an article by Chris Barlow entitled, naturally enough, "Ghosts." Much like last issue's article on vampires, this one seeks to expand the possibilities for ghosts. Unlike its predecessor, "Ghosts" includes no new mechanical options for these insubstantial undead, but instead devotes its three pages entirely to other options, such as appearance, actions, and origins, with an eye toward individualizing ghosts in this manner. I approve of this approach, which is buttressed with a follow-up AD&D scenario, "The Curse of Arivale," also by Barlow, dealing with an aristocrat's hall haunted by a variety of ghosts, including two new types – good stuff in my opinion.

This month's Pelinore article "The Big Wide World" expands beyond the City League to give readers an overview of the entire setting. A large scale map of the whole world is provided, along with information on geography and timekeeping. As described here, Pelinore is "a symbol of the central struggle of Opposites: Law and Chaos, Good and Evil, Beauty and Ugliness, Happiness and Misery." While most people in the setting are unaware of this cosmic struggle, it nevertheless colors everything that happens in it, though, as the article notes, "Harmony is the route to peace." I'm fascinated by this, since I've long felt that works best in Dungeons & Dragons when tied to a metaphysical battle á la Moorcock or Anderson. I'm curious to see if this idea is developed more in future articles. Accompanying this article is a single-page one by Venetia Lee describing the Basilisks, a criminal gang in the City League.

Paul Vernon's "Languages in AD&D Campaigns" is a fine, if broad, article on this subject. Its most interesting sections concern how languages can be used to establish facts about a campaign setting, as well as its musings on alignment languages. (I find it fascinating that so many Imagine articles take up the question of alignment and take it seriously, of which I approve. Makes me wonder why this was so.) "A Knight to Be King" by Chris Felton discusses the various ways a player character might acquire a royal title, including seizing it from an existing monarch. It's an interesting mix of advice and history, with some vague mechanical guidelines on how to handle the military conflicts that would inevitably follow any such seizure of power. Meanwhile, Carl Sargent's "The Multi-Character Campaign" discusses the pros and cons of a campaign where each player controls a "stable" of PCs of various classes and levels. I personally like this model of campaigning and have found that, if a campaign lasts long enough, it's almost inevitable that each player will have multiple characters. This has happened in my House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign, for example.

"The Shedu's Hall" by Matthew Parker is a D&D adventure set in Pelinore, which also centers around a hall haunted by a unique ghost. Roger Musson gives us "An Introduction to Board Wargaming," which is a very good sketch of this rather large subject. Most interesting, I think, is Musson's note toward the end that "wargames" need not be about wars or even military conflicts at all, which is absolutely true in my experience and probably explains why many contemporary wargames call themselves "historical simulations" or some variant thereof. "Getting In" by Paul Mason concerns itself with how one much become involved in the hobby of roleplaying, with an emphasis on the types of activities outside of playing at the table on might pursue, from fanzines to convention attendance.

This month's game reviews focus heavily on adventures "suitable for use with AD&D," such as those produced by Role Aids and Grenadier. There's also a very positive review of Chill and some Traveller supplements by FASA. "Fantasy Media" by Colin Greenland includes reviews of the movies Metropolis and Romancing the Stone, the latter film being one I'd completely forgotten existed until now. Roger Musson's "Stirge Corner" focuses on wilderness travel and its pitfalls, a topic in which I have a great deal of interest, having run several sandbox campaigns over the last decade. There are also new installments of "Rubic of Moggedon" and "The Phalanx" comics, though, as I repeatedly say, I've done little more than glance at them.

There's some good material in this month's issue, particularly the overview of Pelinore, but, overall, it's a much more middling issue than I had hoped. Mind you, as someone who's put out twelve issues of a fanzine, I understand very well how hard it can be to ensure that every issue is as good as, if not better than, the last. Still, I'm finding Imagine a good read overall and I look forward to future issues.

Level Drain

Over at Pits Perilous, there's a great post about using the Holmes Blue Book as a complete game. This is actually a follow-up to and expansion of an older post on the same topic. I highly recommend reading both posts, as well as this thread, where Geoffrey McKinney makes a similar proposal (though its specifics naturally differ). There's a great deal of food for thought in all of these, even if you're not sold on the idea of limiting the game to levels 1 through 3.

A good case in point is the rule regarding death, which read:

Should a character die, whether in combat or similar misfortune, they fall unconscious, losing one level.  If recovered by their friends (within a reasonable amount of time), they awaken with 0 HP, but very much alive, and may be further healed, although never beyond what their new level allows.  First-level characters aren't so lucky and die, an all-too common fate, noting that lost levels may only be recovered through further adventures.

I find myself intrigued by this, since the matter of levels and level drain have long been matters of debate among players of D&D (and, sometimes, players of other games as well). I've never really had a problem with level drain in principle, which I think puts me at odds with many of my fellows. As an attack, it's appropriately dangerous and makes high-level undead genuinely frightening. To the extent that I have any issues with level drain, it's that it breaks the imaginative frame of the game by focusing too much on game mechanics. A level, after all, isn't something that actually exists in the game's setting. Characters and NPCs don't talk about having levels; they're a convenient mechanical way of representing experience, ability, and power, but don't really have an independent existence. Given that, what then is level drain supposed to do to a character?

One of the things that makes Empire of the Petal Throne so interesting as a game text is the way that M.A.R. Barker adapted OD&D's rules to his setting. For example, there's a spell in EPT called petrifaction, which, as you might imagine, turns its target to stone. What's interesting about the spell is that its primary effect is automatic, but a saving throw is still permitted to determine whether the target also loses one hit die in addition to being turned to stone. This actually came up in my House of Worms campaign, where one of the characters – Znayáshu – was turned to stone by a strange sorcerer they encountered beneath the Naqsá city-state of Miktatáin. Znayáshu was eventually restored to flesh, but he lost a hit die and the hit points that came from it. This is a permanent loss, meaning that, even after Znayáshu gains a new level, he will still be down one hit die from where he should be.

After reading the blog post above, I began to wonder if something similar could be used in the case of level drain. Rather than inexplicably (from an in-game perspective) sapping a character of experience points, perhaps drain simply steals hit dice, which levels the character permanently weakened, unless a spell like restoration is restored. That makes more sense from the perspective of the game world, with the undead employing the literal touch of the grave to enervate the target. It's a serious disability that has lasting consequences but not one that strips the character of level-based skills and abilities that, to my mind anyway, shouldn't evaporate simply because an undead being has touched you. 

It's not a pressing question for me right now, since I'm not playing D&D, though there will be undead in Urheim that have traditionally had level drain. My mind isn't made up one way or the other. All I know for certain is that I don't want to abandon level drain without finding a different approach that's just as fear-inducing.

Ghouls About Town

The ever-amazing Russ Nicholson just completed a piece of artwork for Dwimmermount, depicting two ghouls -- technically, ghasts -- from the colony of them that infests levels 2A and 3A of the dungeon. Unsurprisingly, he did a superb job and I look forward to seeing what else he creates for me in the weeks to come.

©2012 Russ Nicholson

Cultists of Dwimmermount

This is my latest take on the idea of anti-clerics. I never got the chance to use it extensively in the Dwimmermount campaign, but, when I did, I didn't encounter any problems with it.

Cultists
Requirements: Chaotic alignment
Prime Requisite: Wisdom
Maximum Level: None

As noted above, all clerics must be Lawful in alignment. This is because all the gods, regardless of their spheres of influence, support and protect the civilization of Man. There are, however, some Men who regard neither the gods nor the civilization to which they give aid to be worthy of their own devotion. Such Men have instead thrown in their lot with Chaos, as embodied as the various demon lords and princes of the Great Void and are known as cultists.

Cultists might be called “anti-clerics,” as they possess all the cleric's abilities but with one significant difference: they can only cast the reverse of any cleric spell listed in Labyrinth Lord “reversible.” That means, for example, that a cultist cannot cast cure light wounds but only cause light wounds . Many cultists infiltrate Lawful religions, passing themselves off as clerics and working from within to sow dissent and distrust. Others form secret societies dedicated to demons and attract like-minded individuals to join their evil cause. All live to bring about the destruction of Man, his civilization, and even his gods.

Cultists have no ability to turn the undead, as clerics do. Instead they may attempt to command them, using the turning undead table. If successful, the cultist may command a total number of hit dice of undead equal the number of retainers he may possess based on his Charisma score. This ability has no effect on the cultist's being able to attract retainers, however. These undead remain under the cultist's command for a number of days equal to the cultist's level. Command can, at the cultist's discretion, be reestablished after these days have elapsed, but a new roll may required to do so. A “D” on the turning undead table means that, not only can the undead be commanded automatically, but they also serve indefinitely.

While under the cultist's command, intelligent undead use the Monster Reaction Table to determine their willingness to obey commands that are potentially self-destructive. If this results in a “Hostile” result, the undead breaks free of the cultist's power and attacks him. The same result occurs if an attempt to command an undead fails.

Cultists (but not clerics) have access to the 3rd-level spell animate dead.

Y is for Yethlyreom

Called "the City of the Necromancers," Yethlyreom is a city-state that rose to power in the wake of Thule's imperial collapse. Originally a pilgrimage site dedicated to Donn, god of the dead, Yethlyreom was swamped with migrants, refugees, and other displaced persons seeking safety and stability, causing its population to swell beyond what its walls -- or its government -- could comfortably handle. The clerics of Donn attempted to make the best of the situation by instituting taxes and fees designed to eject the lowest orders from inside the walls of the city. The clerics' plan worked and soon a sizable shanty town grow up around Yethlyreom, inhabited by those unable to pay the levies.

Events took a turn for the worse when an army of bandits made of former Thulian legionaries appeared in the countryside, bound for Yethlyreom. Those outside the walls begged to be allowed inside to protect themselves, but the clerics of Donn did not hear their pleas. It was then that a magic-user by the name of Bion appeared, along with a small band of comrades and apprentices. These magicians promised to protect not just Yethlyreom but also the shanty town outside it and did so -- by calling up an army of the dead. Skeletons, zombies, and other types of undead were brought forth from the vast necropolises surrounding Yethlyreom. Under the command of the necromancers, these creatures drove off the bandits and saved the city.

It was then that Bion and his companions, at the head of an army of both undead and peasants, stormed the walls of Yethlyreom and cast down the clerics of Donn, claiming the city for themselves. Under Bion, all clerics of any sort were banished from inside the city's walls -- an ironic turnabout considering recent history. Necromancy was practiced openly and anyone, regardless of social status, who demonstrated the ability to work magic would be taught to do so in return for service to the city-state. Since that time, Yethlyreom has grown powerful and influential, rivaling even Adamas. It is now one of the major power centers of the post-Thulian world.

V is for Vampire

Of all the types of undead, it is the vampire that is probably the most terrifying. Part of it the terror it generates is simple revulsion at the vampire's physical form -- an emaciated, almost rodent-like mockery of the human countenance -- but there is more to it than that, as there are many monsters whose appearance is as hideous, if not moreso, than that of the vampire. Equally terrifying is the vampire's mockery of both mortality and  immortality, its cruel reminder that all existence depends upon sucking the life out of other beings.

There are three known ways to become a vampire. The first is to voluntarily seek out this undead state through the use of Chaotic rituals. Comparatively few vampires are created this way any longer. The second is to be drained of one's life by a vampire and then chosen by the creature to be one of his thralls. This is the most common way that vampires are created in the present age. The third is is a variation on the first, in that Chaotic rituals are employed but the vampire is forcibly created against the wishes of the person affected by those rituals. And, just like the first method, this one is quite rare at present, as the rituals needed are possessed only by a few secretive cults.

Like liches, vampires frequently become leaders among the undead, cowing lesser types into their service. After the fall of the Thulian Empire, a number of vampires associated with the cult of Turms Termax took advantage of the ensuing disorder to establish themselves as warlords in several locations, most notably the military base then known as Fort Adamantas. Over time, most of these vampire lords were overthrown, but some survived, either fleeing into hiding or continuing to rule from their strongholds. With the opening of Dwimmermount, there are stories of yet more Termaxian vampires appearing in the world -- which does not bode well for the future.