Savage Tales of Xoth, The Headsman's Debt

 The first chapter of Dor Stryker is now written. 2,600 words of pulpy goodness as a try and complete Lester Dent's pulp formula for writing seriels. 

THE HEADSMAN'S DEBT

from the Chronicals of Xoth

 “The sword remembers every neck it has kissed.”

— Proverb of the Sword Sisters of Khazrahj

I.

The drum beat came before dawn. Dor heard it from the rooftop where she slept — a flat expanse of cracked limestone wrapped in her cloak, above the Street of Copper Lamps, where the smell of tallow and wine drifted from warm cobblestones below. She lay on her side, one hand on the hilt of the long blade next to her, unsheathed, naked of adornment, and unlike any other. Three strokes, pause, three strokes. It rolled across the awakening city like a stone cast into still water. Dogs could be heard yelping, and their master’s then scolding.

Zhul-Bazzir squatted at the junction of two caravan roads and the banks of the Sorrowing River — a city of yellow stone and ambition and rot, its minarets rising from a base of accumulated squalor . Flowers sprouting from a dung-heap. The Grand Inquisitor, Massad Ul-Khet, had held the city for eleven years. In that time, the headsman's yard had never gone cold. Stone-paved, drain-channeled, sluiced each evening with grey river water, running red before it ran clear — the yard behind the Palace of Corrections was the true heart of Zhul-Bazzir, the place where the Inquisitor's theology was written in a language everyone understood. Dor Stryker has been the yard's master author for the last three.

She rose, rubbed her face, stroked the fracture along her nose which marred her otherwise comely appearance, and tied back her oiled black hair. She relaced her high leather boots and buckled her corselet over bare skin, strapped on her belt sheath. She flicked her sword deftly into it and climbed down before the echo of the drum had fully died.

II.

The condemned was already kneeling at the block when Dor arrived. A crowd had gathered in the grey predawn — merchants, harlots, off-duty soldiers, the idle poor — drawn by the drum as they always were. They pressed against the low iron rails and watched with the frank curiosity of a people long accustomed to public death.

Dor noticed the prisoner's hands first. The knuckles were scarred in a pattern she knew: the callus ridge where a sword's grip meets the first two fingers, built by a thousand mornings of drilling. A fighter's hands, bound at the wrist with cord rather than chain. The Inquisitor's bailiffs had underestimated their captive or been paid to.

Then Dor came around the block and saw the face.

The prisoner was forty years old, with burnt-bronze skin and hooded eyes. Her hair had been shorn indicating a freshly taken slave, but the cant of her shoulders, the way she held the back of her neck against the pressure of the guard's hand — these weren’t slave-postures. These were postures Dor had learned in the training yards of the Sisterhood decades ago, from a woman who had beaten those lessons into her with a length of oiled cord and a practiced contempt for weakness.

The prisoner turned her head and Dor met her eyes.

The recognition struck like a cold blade through the heart.

Maret. Senior-Blade Maret of the Seventh Company. The woman who had once stood between a fifteen-year-old Dor and the anger of a training-master who believed broken bones were pedagogy.

Maret did not smile. She inclined her head —and Dor was uprooted, not understanding. The absence of begging; the unbowed calm not resignation, something more deliberate. A Sword Sister going to the blade the way a Sword Sister should, no this is not what unmoored her from her present place, present duties.

“Why here, why this?”

Dor breathed once through her nose and took her position.

“Why are you here sister?” This time she said it aloud, like steel pulled against the whetstone.

III.

The Inquisitor's deputy, a liver-spotted functionary named Ozeh, read the charges from a wax tablet in a reedy voice. He found satisfaction in his words and uttered crisp and polished sentences. Conspiracy against the throne. Harboring enemies of the Inquisitor's peace. Sedition through the distribution of the Sisterhood's "martial catechism” - a document Dor had herself been required to memorize before she knew what language was, though it contained nothing more seditious than advice on sword-grip and the obligation of a warrior to die on her feet.

The crowd listened, thirsty for misfortunes which were not their own.

Ozeh finished his recitation and looked at her with the expectant expression of a man who had arranged everything properly and expected others to perform their function just as properly. Lost in the poetry of his own blather, it was obvious he was unaware Dor was addressing the condemned slave before her.

The crowd was still. The drum had gone silent. Over the rooftops of Zhul-Bazzir, the first suffusions of prayer bled into the yellowing sky.

“Why are you here?” Dor hissed vehemently.

Maret's neck, exposed by the shorn scalp, was steady above the block's worn crescent.

“What makes you think I won’t break one oath over another sister?” she spoke again, angrily.

Ozeh looked back to his tablet and then up from his tablet. The absence of the singing blade followed by a wet, shearing thump had awakened him from his indulgence of the law, and its placement on others like a soap bubble snapped in the breeze.

“Finish the sentence,” Ozeh said. He struggled to comprehend his nicely ordered execution had come off the rails.

Dor rolled her right shoulder, testing the familiar weight of the execution blade — not her own sword belted at her side, but the instrument kept in the Palace's armory: a thick-spined, single-edged weapon of practical design, as devoid of beauty as a carpenter's adze. She had used it often enough that her body held the motion without thinking. The angle. The weight-shift. The exhale timed to the drop.

Dor raised the blade.

The single clear note of it — the whisper of displaced air as the weapon reached the apex — was the sound Dor associated with a precise, irreversible moment. Before a thing was done that could not be undone. She had heard it three hundred times and it had never meant anything except the final step of a process.

She held it there. One heartbeat. Two.

The crowd began to murmur.

IV.

Dor lowered the blade.

The sound that went through the yard was not loud — a collective intake of breath, the shift of sixty bodies registering the same confusion. The two guards flanking the bound Maret exchanged a glance.

“No.”

The word came out as flat and unremarkable as cobblestones, and it fell into the silence with the same solidity. Dor rested the execution blade across her left shoulder and turned to face the deputy. She was aware of how she appeared to the crowd: tall, deliberate, the dawn-light catching the brass fittings of her corselet. Her hardened body balanced on the lightness of a raptor's readiness. The end of another executioner's tenur in the service of Zhul-Bazzir.

“This is the Inquisitor's lawful sentence,” Ozeh said. His voice had climbed half an octave. “You are the Inquisitor's lawful instrument. You will—”

“The charge is distribution of the Sisterhood catechism,” Dor said with overblown disgust. “The catechism is a training document. Its oldest version predates Massad Ul-Khet's authority over this city by four hundred years. Executing a woman for possessing it is not law. It is the Inquisitor erasing his critics.”

She said this loudly. She said this loudly on purpose.

The crowd was very still now — the stillness of people who are watching something consequential and do not yet know whether to flee.

Ozeh's face had moved through surprise and landed on something pale and calculating. “Seize her,” he said quietly to the guards.

The guards were experienced men. They did not look at each other this time. They looked at Dor — at the execution blade still resting on her shoulder, her long blade at her hip. They had witnessed three years of her cold killing at the block. There was a pause that lasted one heartbeat longer than Ozeh intended.

Maret, still kneeling at the block, said, “Go, sword-sister. And consider your oath fulfilled.”

Dor looked at her.

Maret's face was a mocking smile. How could Dor anticipate her debt would be called so suddenly, unexpectently. But called it has and in an instant all she had careful constructed over three lonely years was ruined.

    Dor drove her elbow into the nearest guard’s jaw, then struck the second across the neck with the broad edge of the executioner’s blade. As blood sprayed from the severed stump, she pivoted and brought the heavy sword down in a two-handed arc, cutting through the other guard’s leather byrnie and deep into his shoulder. His spear slipped from numb fingers as he screamed and fell dead. Dor then sprinted for the Street of Copper Lamps.

                                                               V.

    She went over three rooftops and down an oil-seller’s outside stair before a serious pursuit organized itself. Zhul-Bazzir was a city she had walked for several years at the Inquisitor's pleasure, and she had done so with the professional attention to neighborhoods a person who killed for work would cultivate.

She did not return to her lodgings. She did not go to the stable where her Karrax riding-beast was kept. She went instead to the arena in the tanners' quarter — a deep-cellared ring with open seating. She descended stone steps to the animal stalls. It stank of waste, wet straw, and carrion. The game keeper, a foul slob of a brute with more hair on his back than words in his skull, sat gapped-kneed on a stool eating something that was cooked on a stick. He didn’t say anything until Dor reached the gate of a fierce hill-cat. A green and yellow striped predator from the far south. Vicious killers, the game house sedates them before every match so as not to kill too many expensive and popular gladiators before they earn enough gold. This one was sleeping off last night’s dose. Its bloodstained muzzle and claws testified to the great cat’s past performance.

“What do you think you are doing Stryker?” The game keeper had stopped eating. Deciding whether to stand up. He did not want to set down his plate.

“The Patar Marter wants to see the beast. Evaluate it before its next performance.” Dor answered as she gathered up a Banthen riding harness and saddle.

“Just take the lead and the whip. You don’t need a harness. No one told me Vigna was going out this morning.”

“Kalo, how long have you known me?”

This was a truly epic calculation for Kalo to make, and the way he tugged his beard meant he was getting mad because he was no longer eating. “Not long, I don’t think.”

“And you are always worried I’m not supposed to being doing what I’m doing when I’m down here right?”

“Yeah, like the time you tried to spike that Gargak before its match. I got beaten bad for that.”

“Well, they are going to beat you much worse for this.”

Before Kalo could react, let alone stop Dor from doing what she was doing, Dor had planted her booted foot swiftly into his groin. As he doubled over in agony Dor followed with a brutal uppercut which snapped the game keeper’s head back. Kalo fell in a haze of pain and delirium.

After she had Kalo adequately bound with rope, Dor started fitting the Banthen riding harness on the drugged cat. She had to kick it several times in the ribs to get it to stand up to finish the kit’s bindings. The creature growled, annoyed and hungry but still compliant from the heavy dose of lotus it had been given hours earlier. With a sack of dried meat and a large water bag tied behind the saddle she led the great green-maned cat up the ramp into the empty arena floor.

continued here?

AI at the Vanishing Tower

 I was playing around with AI recently and see if it could fulfill publishing roles for Vanishing Tower Press. Help me get better products out the door faster. I got some great results at the boiler-plate level of product management. Sometimes it helps to have someone tell you what they think you should do. But only if the source has valuable information. Hence AI as a new way to aggregate useful information in ways you can then use in creative ways.

Couple of things I have used it for over the last couple of days: 

Space Acid; my space opera retro-clone had serious mechanical issues which plagued the overall use of the book. Considering the source material, no surprise. I had AI review the manuscript and rationalize the mechanics. I asked it to attack the text as a copy editor and playtester would. Gave some good suggestions on how to accomplish this. Gave me enough enthusiasm to start rewriting the impacted sections. Having some sense of how to get out of the box I was writing myself into. Asking what kind of vibe it gets from reading the text can give me decent enough feedback to see if I am getting my idea across in a coherent matter. Asking it to expose weakness in the text the software handles with ease as well as any editor would that you paid. And have the edits back in your hands in a minute, I'm re-writing drafts in real time with some professional critique.

A road map, a refresher course on how a publishing house, no matter how small an ameature and hacky, can go about and make the best product they can. It produced this for me in seconds. I'll attach it here through a link if you care to review it. I'm not saying the output has tremendouse value, but getting even this level of detail out of myself would be hours and hours of work. Which wouldn't make any sense. Because the results I got have me doing what I expected. Hours and hours of editing, and writing, and designing on the publishing software. Which is where I need to be spending my time if I am going to get anything done. 

The other task I have it going into is formatting tables so I don't have to build each one in my layout document. This always takes me a long time manually, constructing the table styles, paragraph styles, and character styles. I've got some more learning to do, but I think I can get AI to do these tasks for me within the actual program. Formating press releases and customer email corrispondance, these will be intersting to see how these can be intergrated. 

Not to try and grow the business in any grandstanding way. This project is spurred on by a desire to understand what is going on around me in the tech world. That is what VTP is all about. Interacting with the world through a creative hobby. One that has real people interaction at the core. 

Any tool which gets me in the chair to actually write, I get exited about that. 

Another challange I want to throw at it is editing audio from recorded game sessions for snappy playback. Doing that with my audio software suite is hours of work. I am over it. But I want that tight audio damn it. If it can skin a session as good as did then I could get more episodes up on a regular schedule on the podcast. When I could put months of play in easy to listen to back to back episodes there are people who enjoyed that. And I enjoyed the infrequent feedback. Makes it all the more fun.  

New Company Logo

Vanishing Tower Press has a new publishers logo. Actually, I have two to choose from. I am at a loss which one is better? Here, take a look and tell me what you think.

Different System, Different Genres, Same Game?

Running different games with different groups of players has allowed me to “self-populate” these same game worlds with ongoing, behind the scenes world building which may be the holy grail of what I am after with TTRPG’s. World building by borrowing elements from other campaign games I have or am currently running. For example, in my Blood of Heroes bronze age comics game PCs encountered “Trans-Arcana Radiation”. In my Traveller games PCs can uncover disturbances in the “G Band” which will lead to “secrets of the ancients”. If any of these characters have a chance to compare analysis, they are the same thing. So what are the wizards wielding in Rom’Myr. Some might call it magic, but at the scientific level it is the same. G Band disturbance, physics-defying radiation, pure Vancian magic… its all Trans-Arcana Radiation in these wildly different games.

Once I started tinkering with this idea it was only a short jump to keep PC events and encounters in play from other games. My next Traveller game will have built in the fallout from previous groups’ play. Since those previous groups were poking around in the “Secrets of the Ancients”, I now have built-in ramifications which can occur in the background of any new group’s actions and inclinations. Cosmic-scale occurrences and planet-shattering events are daily occurrences in your average comic book stories. The phenomena and powers encountered in my supers campaign give a bridge to walk over into my fantasy campaign, without even getting lost!

 

The Faceless Howl Kabuki Kaiser 2

Well the whole damn thing worked out. Here is how. Go with the crazy. And be willing to convert on the fly without much agonizing whether you got it right or not. Conversion you say? Yes, while I used the adventure material to run the session, we are also playing my game Deluxe USR Sword & Sorcery DUSRSS), which is much different than the traditional d20, 6 attributes and a class type game systems. But you need to be good at this if you ae going to use any outside adventure material from other games. Which will be everything if you are playing DUSRSS. 

The Howl is another great example of quality adventure content available for peanuts from independent creators these days. As a Crypt Keeper, I know I do not need another version of the rule book. I need nightmare fuel to feed the campaign beast. Adding outside material is an essential part of my job at the table. The trouble is where do you find great stuff in a landscape of AI trash and poorly thought out ideas which made it to print? If you are playing Old-school DnD I recommend Bryce Lynche's adventure review blog Ten Foot Pole. He has you covered with curated lists of some really dope stuff.

Howl gives the right amount of intriguing detail and evocative writing so the DM can convey the feel of the place quickly and adroitly. There are factions in the village which further define the environment, opening up multiple avenues of play. This is one of the features of the good stuff available these days. Creators understand the importance of factions being played out in a living game world. In fact, factions make a campaign setting so much more then geography and scale. And you can run the adventure adequately at the table with the book in hand. But not recommended. 

Read the entire adventure before you decide how to use it, how it will fit into the game world if called. The nuance and hooks written inside the adventure will allow you to find the adventure's rightful place in your pantcampaign. But you are going to want to meditate and let the pieces jell. I didn't give myself that opportunity. I used the adventure with only preliminary reading of the content. This situation and site location offer many possibilites in any fantasy setting.

So I read hard and fast and we ended up with a nice nagical trip into the shadow world for a game session which would have been otherwise cancelled. What emerged was an adventure I used on the fly and found it easy enough to parse so I could make it "fit" into the current game and enough cool stuff going on (think factions) that even if the plot of the module was not the plot of my players I could use the adventure premise as a whole and shave where needed. I found the adventure intriguing. If you are looking for PCs to come across a town with problems, this adventure is a good pick.

World of Xoth Campaign Update

 Here is another installment of the PCs own game notes of the adventure so far;

Having gone through the dream quest given to me by my god Yaddar the god of secrets I have met a new ally her name is Frisco Shans she appears to be some sort of hunter who can commune with raccoons I think they're her spirit animal it is unnerving to see this but it’s no doubt a handy ability.

During this dream quest we ended up fighting our way through at large stone keep encountering many strange and wondrous things within its black stone walls. Globes that imparted knowledge but blasted our minds at the same time, driving us to madness, a strange haggard sphinx like creature that tried to give us riddles in return for safe passage but it seemed that its mind was broken and it just repeated the same riddle over and over again and no matter how we answered we still fell under the baleful influence of its strange black jewelled necklace which forced into our minds a bloodthirsty rage that meant we attacked each until the pain snapped us out of its baleful influence. We also came across huge grotesque corpse pale worms which seemed to be guarding a deep pit that went through the floor of one of the rooms, but we decided to that it was safer to bypass these terrible creatures.

We managed to sneak past them and into a destroyed library where we found the object of our quest the mask of Nerm, I do not know what this item does, but it must be important if my God sent me into this terrible shadow realm.

It was a shame that we had lost the brave Knight that we had met at the gates of this terrible place, Belmont the Gryphon knight it seemed he was never to return home and we saw no sign of Yarms bejewelled gauntlet but after recovering the mask of Nerm we decided to leave before we met the same fate. The final room held a strange creature half cat half chandelier, which transformed into a terrible feline knight armed and armoured and ready to spill blood. Fortunately, we successfully negotiated with her, and she permitted us to exit the chamber.

 Once we were able to leave her rooms, we were blinded by an immense brightness which drove us to our knees, with tears streaming from our eyes. And then after what felt like years we both awoke to find ourselves in a dirty back alley somewhere in the village of Hirot, back where we had begun but now, we have the mask.

Luckily much to the surprise of Genn who over almost stumbled over us while he was making his way to the village gates to speak to Nothan the sergeant of the night watch. He had been told by Brogan the innkeeper that this man is someone we could trust and after a hurried conversation it seemed to be true as Morgan was betrothed to him. He was able to convince a couple of other guards to come with us telling them it was better to fight than to await death by the Beast. So, with strong allies and the supplies given to us by Brogan we headed out into the rain swept woods towards the sacred circle to rescue Morgan before she could be sacrificed to the Beast.

Leaving the village was fairly easy now and we made all haste to the sacrificial circle hoping to get there before the Beast could take its grim payment and as we made our way through the dark woods through the rain it seemed that the gods smiled upon us as we seemed to be in time, as the beautiful young lady woman was still chained to one of the mighty stones which made up the circle. When she saw us and Nothan jogging towards her she cried out telling us to get back. She was a brave woman, willing to sacrifice herself for the man and village she loved, but we were set on our course and we would not hear of such a thing and so breaking her chains we told her to head back to her father but then from out of the dark woods we heard growls so deep they that made our bone shake and suddenly, impossibly the Beast appeared.

As we were told it took the form of a mighty wolf, bigger than a horse, its eyes blazing red with hunger and the promise of painful death. It's claws causing sparks to fly as it moved across the rocky ground of the circle.

And then suddenly battle was joined, one of the guards took Morgan and fled towards the village whilst the other two made ready buy them time and we also drew our weapons to battle the Beast and sell our lives dearly. It seemed that even though we had done our best to prepare for this moment we were still not ready to defeat this creature as its unholy vigour made it immune to our weapons. And all looked lost until the oil and flaming brands were thrown. The fire and flame were able to drive the Beast back and the purity of the fire did much damage it. The Beasts body now soaked in burning oil caused it to howl in pain, unfortunately the flames meant that we could not use the magic of the net as we feared that flames would destroy it but fortunately the flames were enough to drive the beast back.  It's oil-soaked fur burning now like some great bonfire and with righteous fury slowly destroying its physical form but not it's spirit.

 As when its body collapsed into a flaming mass, a shadowy mist with a foul-smelling odour escaped the burning body. This mist seemed to form a howling wolfs face before it was whipped away by the wind towards the marshes. We were victorious and had learned vital clues about the Beast, it may be immune to normal weapons, but it was not immune to fire. Though the battles was won it had cost us much, A guard was dead his body ripped asunder and his entrails were now strewn across the sacrificial stones and some of our party were wounded in the battle but with the Beast only driven away we still had to make sure it wouldn't come back. We needed weapons, weapons that could fight and destroy the Beast. So, with Morgan hopefully heading back towards the village and the safety of her father. We decided to head to the Serpent mound, the tomb of Ulfheonar where this had all started when those grave robbing fools had tried to   enter it all those days ago. Thus, releasing the Beast to cause havoc and to punish those who had not stopped them.

So, after bandaging ourselves up and taken a swig or two from the flasks of hard liquor given to us by Brogan, we convinced one of the guards to at least take us close to the forbidden tomb.

So, we headed to the tomb in search of the legendary Wolf spear a weapon so deadly, so blessed by the gods it would surely send the Beast straight back to the underworld.

After around an hour or so of hacking through the ever-present  brambles and the pouring rain we arrive at the clearing of the Serpent tomb it sat alone and it was truly a forbidding site even nature itself seemed to give it a wide berth, there was no sound of birds or insects in the surrounding area and even the moonlight seemed afraid to shine upon its cursed form. And so, the clearing itself was somehow darker than the surrounding woods. We searched the exterior and quickly found a strong door. It was still secured and it was covered in strange sigils, but there was no sign that it had ever been opened. Then one of us cried out, it seemed that the nearby stream had been diverted by time and the water had broken through one of the walls washing away the dirt and carving a channel through the stones. It wasn't much but it was enough for us to crawl through and gain entry into the tomb beyond.

This seems to be the same way that the tomb robbers had entered the tomb as well as we found pieces of fabric trapped by the thorns of the bramble bushes which ripped through clothing and skin with equal ease. So, after a tense moment or two where we had to submerge ourselves into this river to get into the tomb, we finally found ourselves inside a room. It was made-up of huge stone slabs mortared together with mud and dirt the stone walls were covered in strange paintings of serpents and writing that we could not decipher, lighting our torches we moved deeper into the tomb soon finding ourselves in a labyrinth of stone corridors. We were not sure which way to go and then a scuttling was heard and before we had time to prepare, we were attacked by the undead. No normal undead were these unfortunate creatures but human bodies hollowed out and controlled somehow by massive serpents that sprang from the dead bodies as we chopped them down.  

Again, we were strongly pressed finding ourselves fighting for our lives but after taking some grievous wounds we were able to dispose of the undead as well as the strange snakes that inhabited them. The snakes did not just deal physical damage though as their bite carried a terrible poison and we could only hope that the medicinal herbs carried by the strange hunter Frisco Shans would be enough to counter the effects of this poison as that would be no way for hero to die. So, with the first attack defeated we gathered ourselves and again began to move deeper into the tomb.

Review of The Faceless Howl part one

 Kabuki Kaiser was most generous to provide me a copy of his latest adventure. I am really thrilled to offer my opinion once finished reading. Unfortunately, at this time, I am unable to review after a playthrough. The Faceless Howl is a 42-page sword and sorcery nightmare for Many Sought Adventure and other OSR games, and concerns PCs stumbling into the trouble to be found in a troubled village. And I enjoy having a good catalogue of this village is suffering... scenarios on hand. But I am using one currently. DCC's Doom of the Savage Kings...

and then one of the PCs couldn't make the session and an old player resurfaced and I immediately grabbed The Faceless Howl off the shelf and contrived reasons for this material to fit into the current happenings in the game. The one thread I have to work is with the current player who hits all the sessions. Not his character though. No, he is on a new PC, but this is the second time in so many adventure arcs the price of success/aid is with dedicating oneself to marriage with the patron dispensing the goods. I decided there is a contest between the gods (as there always is) which requires mortal betrothal with a magical being.

Here is the PC Jacque, Knight of Jet's perspective of the insertion of this adventure material on the fly..

We enter the shadow realm of dreams and gods, and must enter the transformed Jarls' hall, which is now a mighty Keep, to recover the Mask of Nerm. Jaques is at first scared by this realm of shadows and the lack of colour, but is relieved to come across a beautiful woman who seems to know her way around this monochrome realm. She swaggers up and introduces herself as Frisco Shans, a hunter, and she seems to have expected to meet Jaques. So, with some suspicion but believing that this has something to do with his god Yadar, he agrees to team up with this wild woman. We then head towards the black yet gleaming curtain wall of the Keep and begin climbing up the broken statue-lined slope which leads to the Keep's massive gateway, and where we meet an armoured figure standing patiently by the open gates as if waiting for us. We approach slowly, ready for combat, but the figure greets us warmly and introduces himself as Sir Belamont, a knight of the Order of the Gryphon. And he is very glad to see us. He believes we have been sent to aid him in his quest to recover the infamous bejeweled gauntlet. This artefact will enable him to return home after many years of questing. So after a brief talk, we agreed to help him as it seemed the easiest way to get into the Keep and its Libarium for the item we needed. Gaining entry to the Keep is suspiciously easy, but as we cross the threshold, the temperature drops, as well as the portcullis; it seems we are now locked into recovering these artefacts, as well as the Libarium..

I am channeling the Shadow Plane from Moorcock's first book in his Elric series. Also the idea of different "champions" of the gods uniting to aid each other in similar goals I am lifting right from Moorcock as well. The second book in the Elric series, called Sailing on the Seas of Fate, has multiple versions of the same champion uniting into a single group dedicated to completing a deadly mission on behalf of the gods. So I'm working with competing nuptials in some mad contest of the gods involving the PCs (living and dead) for some greater goal. If I play faithful to genre tropes this should leave the main characters of the story doomed, with minds shredded and bones jellied. But this is roleplaying games so there must be an avenue of success. An opportunity to beat the odds and somehow win out.

How is the module working? Organized well to be able to use at the table very fast. This is because of the adventures layout. Large titles, bullet points and terse, evocative text gives a Game Master a decent chance of keeping the encounter coherent while leaning into the adventure's original features.

What are these features? I'll give my thoughts after this week's game session. We should finish the adventure and so I won't be giving out any spoilers.