I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll never get it done in time…

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Chapters 34 to 36 were mostly already in first-draft form when I started the series, but I’ve since realized that there’s a lot more that needs to be said as background to the events described. Filling in the blanks required that they be revised and extended from the versions that existed going in, and the addition of a couple of additional chapters (32 and 33).

One of the changes that would normally be made in converting these first drafts into a finished form would be the re-designation of directions – the first draft uses familiar terms such as “North” and “South”, directions that don’t exist in Fumanor, as described in the preliminary articles of this series. This is because while lodestones exist, magnetized by lightning strikes, Fumanor has a relatively weak magnetic field, so lodestones cannot be reliably used as compasses. Directions are oriented around sunrise and sunset – which of course are far less reliable and accurate, since they change in the course of the seasons – but are close enough for general use. Officially, the directions are set at Dawn on the Winter Solstice, which marks the dividing line between one year and the next on the calendar.

It may also help in making sense of Chapters 31 and 32 if you note that Fumanor lies in the southern hemisphere, with the deserts and tropical regions to the north of the continent and colder regions to the south.

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Dwellers In Stone

Many races other than Dwarves and Drow make their homes beneath the earth, from Reptilian Troglodytes to Gnomes, from the Half-bull Minotaurs to Halflings, and more besides. In fact, several of these races shared volume in the same mountain range as the Dwarves and Drow. The histories of many of these are unknown; Dwarves were never great record-keepers, and they were already in place when the Drow migrated from the surface.

After the invasion of Elvarheim by the “Alliance of Fallen Races”, Lolth had largely ignored the “alliance” she had sponsored; it had been a stratagem that had been partially successful, but they were of no further use to her, and the Elvish creation of the Verdonne had then sundered the lines of communication between the “alliance” . In truth, it was an alliance in seeming only; the Drow had subjugated the Fallen Races through the power of Ogrish cat’s-paws. Without the guidance of the Drow, the Ogres – even the more intelligent Ogre Magi – were unable to maintain the unity of their Tribal Empire.

At first, the Fallen Races were novices at the game of Revolution, incapable of the levels of subterfuge and intrigue required to successfully stage a coup against their Ogrish masters, but in time they learned, even as they absorbed the fundamental tenets of the Ogres and their tutors, the Drow. Using the ubiquitous Goblins as their intermediaries and puppets, they slowly coordinated a revolt of the enslaved races. At a prearranged time – the first full moon after mid-winter, when Blue-vein stocks were at their lowest and the Ogres (relatively) weak and sluggish, the Revolution of Independence began.

With each Ogre tribe under the independent control of its own Ogre Magi, and little cooperation between them, the results were as anarchic as it is possible to conceive. In some cases, the Ogres were driven out or killed, with Bugbears stepping into their shoes and seizing command through sheer brutality – only to discover that while others had fought, the Orcs subject to that tribe had departed. In others, Goblin archers succeeded in wiping out the stronger races. Most frequently, the Orcs won the day, overcoming the other races. Some Ogre tribes succeeded in quelling the revolution, only to find themselves and their subjects surrounded; they fled into the valleys of the Eastern mountains, pursued by Orcish hunting parties, using their natural engineering abilities to reinforce the defensive qualities of the terrain. The next summer, they discovered a vast network of tunnels beneath the mountains, and became the first race to encounter Troglodytes.

The Troglodytes are a standoffish race in times of peace and warlike at all times. Legend holds that they are the stunted offspring of different Dragon breeds, though this has never been established as fact. Their primary domain lies to the north of the Dwarven realm, and their strongholds are much farther removed than that. Now that domain had been invaded.

Prior to this contact, they had no conception of the existence of other races. They believed themselves the absolute pinnacle of creation, the only sentient species in existence. The discovery that the surface world was infested with lesser species infuriated the savage race, and they emerged with great violence, falling apon the Ogres from within their defensive constructs. Many of the surviving Ogrish tribes were killed, while others were again uprooted and forced to flee. Only the Ogre Fortress of Nakre succeeded in defending itself and sealing off the tunnels to the Troglodyte Kingdom, because – by chance – the Troglodyte tunnels emerged on the outside of the Fortress’ defenses.

The Troglodytes, aroused to mindless fury by the invasion and slaughter of the Ogres, swarmed down from the mountain peaks into the warm rolling plains to the East of the Mountain Range that was their home, falling apon the Orcs without warning, and shattering what unity had been achieved in the course of the revolt against the Ogres. The battles raged for weeks, until the approaching winter drove the Troglodytes back into the warmth of their subterranean tunnels; many stayed too long, and found the passes back into the valleys where their tunnel entrances were located chocked with snow. Sluggish from the cold, they were easy prey. This became an annual feature of live on the northern plains – every year, spring brought the return of the Troglodytes, and every autumn they were forced to flee to the sanctuary of their tunnels and hot springs.

After centuries of unremitting violence and bloodshed, stability slowly emerged from the chaos. The Goblins had fled the larger races and spread like a plague through the westernmost regions (traditionally shown at the bottom of Fumanorian Maps), where they quickly became the most numerous of all races. Spreading North from these regions beyond the mountain range which contained the various subterranean Kingdoms, and then East, Goblin tribes settled throughout a U-shaped region. As the Eastward expansion continued, they encountered the expanding human Kingdoms, who had no idea that they had not always been there.

Where Goblin territory abutted the semi-arid and desert regions to the North, Gnolls ruled. They had never been conquered by the Ogres, who could not survive the treks between waterholes and were also confronting Human Kingdoms expanding northwards.

As one travelled south across this part of the continent, the next region encountered were the temperate central plains, which were home to many established species. to the East and to the South of these plains were rolling foothills, also temperate and hospitable. Further south again, a traveler would encounter the Mountain Ranges of the Dwarves and the Valley Forest of the Elves. Further south again lie the wooded plains that were formerly the home of the Plains Elves, which in turn give way to a wide east-west belt of grassland and the occasional pocket of coastal tundra. It was this vast grassland that was occupied by the Fallen Races when the Drow conquered them by Ogrish Proxy.

In this vast belt, the regions just East of the Goblins were held by Bugbears, who also thrived in the colder tundra regions here and there along the coast. This was also their traditional homes, so they were well satisfied to reclaim them – with only the occasional push against the Goblins or Orcs. East of the Bugbears lay the traditional lands of the Ogres, from which they had been forcibly displaced by the Revolution. These regions had been conquered by the Orcs, who were now easily the second-most numerous of the Fallen Races, outstripped only by the fecundity and opportunities for growth of the Goblins. A few lone Goblin Bands managed to hold fast in forested pockets nestled against the mountain ranges, but in truth, the Orcish domain was then – and is, now – larger than the Human lands of Fumanor, several times over.

Unbeknownst to the surviving Ogres who had resettled in the sunset regions of the mountain range that divided the Fallen Race’s lands from mainland Fumanor, there were tunnels under their feet as well. These tunnels were occupied by Minotaurs. Had the Ogres known of the experiences of those Survivors who had fled to the sunrise range, they might have been more wary of the tunnel entrances which emerged within the fortifications that they instinctively erected. Without the benefit of that knowledge, it was some time before they got around to exploring the tunnels.

Within, they found a colony of humanoid bulls which would eventually come to be known as Minotaurs, but which the Ogres named Zazhashum, or “Antler-heads”. Minotaurs are not terribly intelligent, but they are fiercely territorial. The presence of strangers, even though they were a breed of being they had never encountered before, drove them wild, and they attacked immediately, even attacking their own to get at the intruders if their way was blocked. Since the Ogres had explored out of curiosity, with no territorial intent, they were happy to retreat. When the Minotaurs reached the entrance to the tunnel, they stopped and bellowed, but proceeded no further. Cautiously, the Ogre Magi approached the mouth of the tunnel.

Communications between the two were difficult; the Ogres with whom they usually dealt were no more intelligent than the Minotaurs, but at least they had a language in common. But, with a lot of grunting and pointing and hand-signals, the Ogre Magi managed to convey the notion that the tunnels belonged to the Minotaurs, and the Valleys to the Ogres; that the Ogres would protect the Minotaurs from interference by the inhabitants of the world above, while the Minotaurs guarded the Ogres from attack via the world Below. The Ogre Magi then attempted to introduce the Minotaurs to the Bluevein berries, but the concept of what the berries did was too far for the limited communications to reach, and certainly not sufficient to persuade the carnivorous Minotaurs to add the berries to their diet.

With the conclusion of a mutual defense treaty – even if nothing was in writing, and neither party had a language in common – the Ogres were settled in their new environs, and that is how they survived the misadventure with Lolth.

The Ogres had settled a few dozen isolated small valleys. The Minotaurs had settled a vast system of shallow-depth tunnels. One tribe of Ogres negotiated the defense agreement, but the Minotaurs did not realize that the Ogres in the different valleys were not in communications with each other. So the “treaty” was violated almost as soon as it was made.

Fortunately, the Minotaurs had little memory, and the pantomime negotiations were able to be repeated time and time again, until each of the Ogre tribes had negotiated the same agreement with the Minotaurs.

Dwellers In Earth

There are also races that dwell in the earth beneath hills rather than in the stone beneath mountains – Halflings and Gnomes.

Gnomes were no better at record-keeping than were Dwarves; indeed, there is a great deal of similarity between the races. They value similar things, at least they did until the Drow began interfering in Dwarven society; it was only a matter of degree. Where Dwarves have a sense of honor, Gnomes have a sense of humor, and Dwarves lack the love of mechanism and intense inquisitiveness of the Gnomes, which are traits more in common with the Elves. Had they but known it, Gnomes could have made a fortune as the perfect intermediaries between Dwarves & Elves. They would never get the opportunity to do so, because the Gnomish settlements were located in foothills and low mountains a continent removed from either. They were already settled and in place when Humans first reached the vicinity and discovered them.

Somewhat closer to the Dwarves and Elves were the inhabitants of the foothills between the Human Kingdoms and those of the Mountain Races. Human settlers had been in the region for almost 50 years, accumulating legends and rumors about a small race that could become invisible in the twinkling of an eye, before the Halflings finally revealed themselves. It had been clear from the start that the land around them was being farmed, but the inability to locate the farmers had made the humans exploring the region uncharacteristically hesitant about simply moving in and helping themselves. Instead, they settled outside the regions being farmed and beyond.

The farmers then began to notice that from time to time, produce or a piglet or some small goods or tools would go missing overnight, and nearby would be found a barrow-load of produce from one of the mysterious farms. Sometimes the trade would favor the human, sometimes the mysterious farmer would get the better of the bargain. Over time, the humans began leaving things out in the open if they were interested in trading them, and locking them up if they wished to retain them. Not that this stopped the appropriation of the “protected” items; there did not seem to be a locking mechanism in existence that these mysterious farmers could not overcome. But it was soon noticed that better trades were made for those locked-away items that were appropriated.

Produce was followed with handicrafts, and handicrafts by gold nuggets and the occasional uncut gemstone, and a tradition of trade became established with the parties never meeting each other, but an eventual face-to-face encounter was inevitable. That encounter, when it finally occurred, was something of an anticlimax. A pair of human boys from one the local farms was out exploring the many small footpaths and trails, obviously made by one of their mysterious neighbors one afternoon when a chuckle sounded from behind them. “You don’t look so scary,” a voice said from behind. “I was about to have a cup of tai and some seed-cake, and perhaps some scones and cream, followed by a little ham and then honey on fresh bread. Perhaps you would like to join me?”

What the boys saw was a figure about their own height, perhaps a little shorter, but one clearly middle aged, and somewhat rotund, wearing an improbable green and red garment of thick cloth woven into a checked pattern with bright yellow threads woven into it. A waistcoat with brass buttons, a pair of heavy black leather boots sporting large brass buckles, and a blue-hooded cape completed the improbable ensemble. In one hand, the bizarrely-dressed stranger held a long, curved stalk with a bowl at the end, from which puffs of smoke issued forth each time the figure sucked on the end of the stalk, while in the other he had a gnarled walking-stick.

“Our father won’t let us talk with strangers, but that sounds awfully nice,” replied the more forthcoming of the boys; the other could only stand and gape.

“Very sensible, too, I’m sure. My name is Radbrook Hasbury Thistlethwaite, but me friends call me Brooky, and now we aren’t strangers any more,” the stranger replied. “Rest assured, no harm will come to ye, and afterward I’ll be happy t’escort ya home, safe and sound. ‘Tis high time that we neighbors were gettin’ to know each other, anyways, now that the Mayor has granted permission for we small folk ta do so.”

Enticed by the description of the feast on offer, the boys stammered their way through introductions, and then attended the promised ‘afternoon snack’, eating better than they had ever done before in their lives, for it was all delicious. Afterwards, as promised, ‘Brooky’ walked the boys home, carrying a brace of stuffed pheasant, an apple pie, and a bottle of ginger wine as a welcoming gift. En route, he fascinated them by mimicking bird calls so expertly that the birds he was mimicking flew down to see what he was singing about.

Over the family’s evening meal of stewed vegetables and barley, supplemented by the pheasant, apple pie, and ginger wine provided by their guest, the stranger related the tale of the first encounter, much to the amusement of the family. So began the process of the Humans of the district getting to know their Halfling neighbors; they never explained how it was that they were able to vanish in a trice, or how they had hidden their homes from casual discovery.

The gold, it transpired, was washed down from the mountains, occasionally finding its way to shore. The gemstones were occasionally unearthed, especially from the farms closest to the mountains. They also revealed that the road through the centre of their domain was not of their making, that long ago a large expeditionary force of tall pointed-ears and merry laughs, accompanied by dour thunderclaps of doom on short, stubby legs, had passed this way, constructing the trail as they passed. The significance of this escaped the humans, who knew little of Elven Lore and still less of Dwarves; but in time it was established that the pursuit of the Prince Of Lies had passed straight through Halfling lands. They had hidden from the strangers, as was their way, and so the races had not met.

When the Halflings learned from human officials of the Dwarves and their homes deep beneath the bones of the mountain, they were astonished. They would not have believed that anyone could live in such conditions. They immediately set out to establish trade relations by the same means that had been so successful with the humans, but Dwarves were a very different race, and reacted with great anger to the unasked-for exchanges. Following the Second Great Dwarfwar, as the Elves began trading with both Dwarves and Humans, they began gathering lore from their trading partners, and when a Dwarven Trader happened to describe the strange thefts, the Elves grew interested. Who could be so at home in the Dwarven Tunnels that not even a Dwarf could detect them coming and going?

In time, an Elf described the mystery to a human, who told another, who in turn passed it on to another. In time, the story made its way to someone who knew of the Halflings and the history of their relations with Humans. He sold the solution to the puzzle to the trader, who sold it to the one who had asked him, and slowly it made its way back up the chain, appreciating in expense as it did so. By the time it reached the Dwarvish trader who had offhandedly asked the question in the first place, the asking price was seven gem-quality diamonds of at least 4 carats each!

The Dwarven trader had to think long and hard on the question of whether or not an answer to his original question could be turned to a profit – or at the least, how to minimize the financial risk he was undertaking. If there was a new trading partner, and he alone had the secret of trading with them, exclusivity would more than recompense him for his investment, but if there was not, or exclusivity was not available as a choice, he would be beggared by the transaction. Ultimately, Kalzareth B’Triallek decided to take the risk, but seek to offload it to the Royal treasury in return for a modest commission on trade transactions for the extent of his lifetime; if the Crown decided not to take the risk, he was no worse off than if he had made the decision to carry all the risk himself, but in the more likely situation in which the Crown acceded to his proposal, his risk was far reduced. And there was also the chance that the throne would buy him out directly – no risk and a quick profit, which was also acceptable as an outcome.

So it was that he purchased the secret from the Elven trader, and learned of the Halflings, and more importantly, how trade between the Halflings and Humans had evolved. More confident than ever that the situation could be turned to profit, and certain that the question of exclusivity was the sole remaining hurdle, he then offered his bargain to the Throne, couching his proposal as something he was “honor-bound” to propose.

By this time, King Veldergrist had joined his ancestors, succeeded by his son, who had proclaimed his Royal Name to be Elbareth I, in commemoration of the Elven Prince who had risked – and lost – his life for the mutual preservation of both Elven and Dwarven peoples. King Elbareth refused Kalzareth exclusivity, but granted him a 2% commission on all trades for 20 years, and refunded his expense in obtaining the secret for his people. This was a fair price, given that his own wealth was no longer at stake.

Following the advice gleaned from the Human experience, the Dwarves placed anything they really did not want to lose behind a locked door guarded closely by a warrior. Anything they were willing to trade but demanded a premium for, they placed inside a container with a difficult lock; anything that was available for trade, but was to be expensive in price was placed in a container with a more difficult lock; and anything that was simply for trade for general commodities was left in the open in amounts appropriate for exchange of a barrow-load of fresh produce. All these arrangements were located in an open area near the mouth of the caverns that led to the Dwarven Kingdom from the Halfling farms. Now that they were setting the terms of the trades, the Dwarves were far more comfortable, though still mystified by the Halfling ability to bypass their patrols and penetrate the locks unnoticed.

In due course, an invitation was extended by a “passing stranger” to a group of Dwarves who were restocking the trade offerings, and trade relations between the Dwarves and Halflings were normalized to everyone’s satisfaction. Some of the trade goods thus received from the Dwarves found their way, by way of the Halflings, into trades with Humans, and prosperity promised a new age of peace through cordial commerce and mutual interest.

But then the Cult Of Stone arose…

The Fall Of The Halflings

Dwarvish Belligerence emerged into full bloom in an unexpected direction, as the Cult Of Stone targeted most of the other races who chose to live underground, seemingly with the full support of the Dwarven King. These were given a simple choice: subservience and Conversion to the Cult Of Stone or destruction and enslavement. Some capitulated, others resisted, but it made little difference in the long run. Just as an Empire was forming through war amongst the Human Kingdoms, one Kingdom rising to conquer all before it, so a subterranean empire was taking shape beneath the mountains of the World.

Only four races living beneath the surface remained unbound to the Cult Of Stone: The Drow, who remained too strong for the Dwarves to contemplate as a conquest; the Troglodytes and Gnomes, of whose existance the Dwarves were ignorant; and the Halflings. Accordingly, an ultimatum was sent to the Mayor of the Halfling community, as it had been to so many others.

The reaction was not what had been expected. Halflings may live beneath the soil, but they have no love of cold stone, and the notion of revering it as a god was, to them, just plain silly. Besides that, no Halfling Community had any authority over any other; Halflings didn’t think along those lines, they just wanted to be left alone. Nor do they grow hair apon their faces, considering the practice uncouth and barbaric – though they will usually not make a point of it, out of politeness, unless provoked. Consequently, when the Dwarven Envoy returned for his answer, the response was not what he was expecting; the Halflings started by mocking the Dwarvish intelligence, ridiculing Dwarvish Bravery, scoffing at Dwarvish beard styles, ridiculing the whole concept of “Talking Stones”, and concluding by suggesting that the entire race had “rocks in their heads”.

What possessed the normally gregarious Halflings to deliver such a mortal insult is unknown, and probably always will be. The Dwarvish reaction was everything that one would expect of such a hot-tempered race under such circumstances; they launched a Holy War, a Kunzacke Tazaní, with only two outcomes deemed to be satisfactory: the capture and enslavement, or the destruction, of every Halfling in existence, to be followed by extensive pogroms of mutilation and dismemberment of the entire race. Everything that the Dwarves owned was to be expended in fulfilling this crusade, if necessary.

For fifty long years, the Dwarves bribed anyone they had to in order to carry out this monstrous programme of systematic butchery. Human Kings were gifted with Royal Treasuries to look the other way while death squads roamed freely through their domains – valuable assets during their own war, enabling the purchase of arms and training of armies. While never numerous, it is estimated that some 50,000 Halflings were slaughtered. To all intents and purposes, the race ceased to exist, save for a few hidden and terrified examples darting furtively between the Shadows.

Heirlooms Of Elvenkind

The elves of the time knew nothing of these events until Rodoland Westland, one of the few survivors, made his way to Elvarheim and appealed to the King Of The Elves for Sanctuary. The Elvish Council convened almost immediately – well, within a week or two – and considered the proposal. Before a decision could be reached, Dwarven Death Squads were fortifying positions on all sides of the Elven Forest, while simultaneously, those who had been marauding throughout the Human Empire in a fruitless search for more Halflings began to march to reinforce those fortifications.

This level of coordination was not immediately apparent, but within a few days it was known to a certainty, and it greatly puzzled the elves. It suggested that the entire Halfling Campaign had been a pretext to surround Elvarheim – but why? What could justify such profligate bloodshed? What could persuade the Dwarves to spend so wastefully?

The most obvious answer was that the Dwarves simply wanted to ensure that their “cover story” was believable, but this did not have the ring of truth to it. The obvious alternative was that the Dwarves had undertaken their Halfling Genocide ‘legitimately’, but had some form of arcane communication with their roving Death Squads, and had simply ordered them to deal with this ‘new’ enemy; but that also rang false, and failed to explain the uncharacteristic behavior of the Halfling Elder that had triggered the holocaust. Nor, as some suggested, could it be that the Dwarves were again being manipulated by Lolth’s Children; if that were the case, the Dwarves might have used a Halfling Purge as a pretext, but would have begun to emplace their forces against the Elves immediately. The sheer size and scope of the slaughter, and the profligate spending of the Dwarves in conducting the Halfling Campaign, made this improbable at best.

This was a puzzle whose solution would clearly influence the conduct of the self-evidently-declared War. The Elves had learned that ascertaining enemy objectives after the conflict left them open to tactical failures that they could not afford. The Dwarves had shown that they could not be trusted; while Elvish numbers had not yet recovered from the previous conflict, the Elves were determined that this time would be the last time that this particular threat had to be endured. Using the power of the Circle Of Harmony, they would weave a spell to wreak a destruction on the Dwarves as complete as that which had been visited on the Halflings. Their Final Solution would obliterate every last Dwarf, young or old.

But this could not be justified if, as some suggested, the Dwarves were not behaving of their own volition. The Elves needed an answer, urgently, before they found themselves committed to a course of action that could not be undone. No source of possible information could be ignored; accordingly, those who were naturally gifted at stealth in moving through woodlands were dispatched to seek answers and return; any possible explanation was to be reported, as quickly as possible.

To aid them in their mission, the Circle Of Harmony was employed to create Boots and Cloaks to augment the natural gifts of stealth and concealment of these Elvish Agents. Normally a decade’s work, through the use of the Circle, the production of twenty sets of these Boots and Cloaks of Elvenkind was completed in mere hours. These would become family heirlooms, though others would be produced in later years. The name for these objects derived from the objective: objects that could enhance a skilled human’s natural stealth to that of Elvenkind. In the possession of a skilled member of the Elves, they could lift skills to near-divine levels.

Utilizing their augmented talents, these scouts, rangers, and hunters crept between the Dwarven emplacements, one by one, and scattered throughout the known lands, seeking out the wise and learned.

Dwarfwar III: The Siege Of Elvarheim

The Dwarves had learned first-hand the power of Elvarheim’s defenses during their previous conflicts, but during their years of trading with the Elves, had learned the locations of many of them, spying out safe routes into the inner realm. A series of targeted raids commenced on multiple fronts, each penetrating farther than the Elves had ever thought possible. The tactics of the Huyundaltha were all based on the assumption that their defenses would channel attackers into ambush positions; but time and time again the Dwarvish offensive trapped the elvish defenders on the wrong side of these protections.

The Bladedancers quickly recognized the nature of the Dwarven Tactics, and began to plan accordingly, but they were attempting to match decades of planning by a naturally warlike race with hours of planning, amounting to little more than instinct and guesswork, by a race that was not. Victory after victory came to the invaders, who peeled back the defenses of Elvarheim layer by layer. Always, they seemed to know how far and how hard to press, never over-extending themselves; they would advance as far as was possible, stop, and again dig in, while a different group probed inward from a different direction, catching the defenders who had been fighting the first incursion out of position to respond.

The elvish defenders had only three advantages: firstly, the Dwarvish advance was slow, calculated, and deliberate, giving time to those seeking answers beyond the siege; second, the closer to the core of the forest city the battle lines came, the more quickly the Bladedancers would be able to react and shift from one position to another; and thirdly, the closer the Dwarves drew to the conquest of Elvarheim, the less they knew about the defenses. They also labored under one increasing disadvantage: the closer the invading force came to the heart of the city, the fewer the protections and defenses to be overcome. There would come a point of equilibrium at which invading force and the defenses of the city were evenly poised, and the true conflict could begin; but rather than occurring at the outer limits of the Elven Lands, with a healthy buffer between battle and the civilian population, the true war would be fought right on the doorsteps of the civilian population.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Alkaith: Curved 14-inch dagger favored as a weapon and general cutting tool by Elvish Spellcasters and some High Elves.
• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Comesdhail Osfadara­ Litrithe Congress Of Spellweavers
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mithryl: the Elvish name of an extremely fragile metal given in trade by the Dwarves to the Elves. The word is imported from Dwarven, who in turn obtained it from the Zamiel Tongue name of the metal, “Mithral”. “Mithryl” means “Moonsilver” in Elven. The word also enjoys popular usage as a metaphor for a treasure found which appeared initially worthless.
• Mithral: the Drow name for Mithryl. A literal translation from Zamiel is “Shadowsilver”.
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Osfadara­ Litrithe Spellweaver, literally ‘Weaver of Harmony’.
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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This doesn’t look like it is going to end well, does it? Next time: The truth behind the Cult Of Stone is revealed! Will the discovery come in time to avert tragedy? Chapters 37-39 hold that answer and more!

In this concluding part of my series on encounter tables, I look at Urban Settings, Dungeon settings, and talk about ways of integrating Wandering Monster encounters into plotlines and infusing them with meaning. And I might throw in the occasional new idea in other relevant areas, to boot. A quick catch-up – In part one of this series, I talked about the philosophical grounding of random encounters – the theoretical why’s and wherefore’s that underpin the encounters that result, and the ways and reasons why they matter. In part two, I discussed a way of creating better, smarter, encounter tables by first constructing an ecological model from which to work.

Before we can really dig into these topics, we need to return to conceptual basics for a minute.

What is an encounter table?

Try this definition for size: An encounter table employs randomness to select aspects of an environment or situation for closer examination or discovery by characters.

Getting better results from random encounters

The consequence of this definition makes the process of constructing an encounter table both more useful and more conceptually open to interpretation. The most common form of encounter table – a list of random encounters for a given region or environment – emerges as simply the most elementary version of such a list. The general process of delineating an encounter table emerges as logic steps applied to achieving the creation of such a table; the necessary steps are,

• Determine the environmental domain within which this table will apply;
• Determine a criterion apon which to categorize table entries;
• Compile a list of table entries using that criterion;
• Using some discrete numeric assessment based apon the criterion, assign a relative frequency or likelyhood to each entry;
• Use these values to generate the actual table, creating subtables as necessary.

The inevitable result of this process are better results from your random encounters, because there is some rational principle applied to the selection process and some relationship that defines relative probability of encounter. These processes can take into account multiple factors.

The previous article, Part 2 of this series, employed a simplified ecological model as the rational principle, but took into account the size, visibility, concealment, temperament, and the likelyhood of each party to the encounter wishing to engage with the other, as key elements of the defining relationship that determined the probability of encounter. Step by step, it travelled up and down the food chain, determining how much food there was available and therefore what the necessary range was for the creature to exist in a self-sustained ecological balance. It made the unspoken but essential assumption that such a balance would naturally exist, or would evolve to exist – or the encounter domain would long ago have suffered an ecological collapse.

This is, of course, not the only principle from which an encounter set can be derived, and that’s going to be the central theme of today’s article – how to employ different criteria and principles to adapt the ecological technique demonstrated for use in other ways and in other environments.

But first, a word on making the resulting system of encounters dynamic, rather than static – a topic that I originally intended to include last time but ended up putting into the ‘too hard’ basket when time began to run short.

Dynamic Encounter Tables

There are three ways that a static list like an encounter table can be made dynamic:

• Modifying the population,
• Modifying the probabilities, and/or
• Modifying the relationship.

The most comprehensive approach would employ all three to incorporate the consequences of a significant encounter into the table subsequently, based on the outcome of the encounter. Let’s take a closer look at each of these (in a slightly different order):

Dynamic Probability Reassignment

The PCs have an encounter. It has either a decisive or an indecisive outcome – if the creature encountered is killed, that’s a decisive outcome. If the entire party becomes lunch, that’s also a decisive outcome. Every other result that I can think of is indecisive, in that it leaves scope for a subsequent encounter with the same creature.

How badly wounded was the creature or group that was encountered? How significant is that encounter as an individual or as a group of individuals? How intelligent is the creature? What will it learn as a result of the encounter? How will its behavior change as a result of the encounter? How will its temperament factor into these answers? Each of these questions should alter and adjust the probability of encountering the creature again.

Intelligence is the key. The more mindless and instinctive the creature, the less its behavior will change. The smarter the creature, the more likely it is that there will be a behavioral change. This applies even when we’re talking about differences at the animal level of intelligence.

If the encountered creature or pack was badly injured, AND they are a significant entity within the domain limits of the encounter table, they may be unable to hunt as they would normally. They would, instead, be forced to consume smaller creatures than they normally would, and in greater number (because each individual would provide less food). If the creature was also strongly territorial, or simply bloody-minded, the chance of a subsequent re-encounter would therefore increase at the expense of a reduction in the chance of encountering the smaller creature on which it is now forced to feed. If it was forced to feed on smaller prey for a while but had learned to fear – or at least to employ caution – in dealings with character-shaped beings, then the chances of both might go down.

Of course, higher intelligence changes things somewhat, because it introduces abstract reasoning and abstract motivations into the mix. Reencounters may occur motivated by revenge, or perhaps the PCs came into possession of something that the survivors want back, or perhaps they have allies or servants. Or, perhaps, fear and caution might dominate. The survivors might set traps and ambushes designed to injure or kill the characters while placing themselves at minimal risk of further harm.

Quite often, it won’t be necessary to completely recalculate the table. If there is an equitable reassignment of chances, the other individual percentages won’t change in size, only in start and end-point. Even that can be avoided by inserting a new entry for the “extra” chance of one encounter that used to be part of the chance of the other: A% Encounter 1 becomes A-x% Encounter 1 and x% of Encounter 2.

Where both are reduced, you can simply insert “roll again” results in the same way.

Only where there is a disproportionate change, or “roll again” results start coming up too often, does the entire table need to be recalculated. If for example, the chance of a re-encounter is higher than the original chance of encounter, so that the table’s total now exceeds 100%, it needs to be recalculated – unless a prior reduction in probabilities has freed up some “Roll Again” slack that you can retask to the increase.

Dynamic Relationship Reassessment

After every encounter, the relationships between the encounter participants and other entrants on the table should be reassessed, and the population growth / diminishment values reappraised. Some encounter outcomes have a more profound effect on the ecology. A wounded predator can be unable to defend its territory, and a dead one certainly can’t. Whoever the next leading predator is within the domain will step up, and at the same time, a younger Apex Predator from a neighboring region may invade the territory, splitting the original encounter chance between them. It’s my habit to end each encounter label with a (+) or (-) sign to indicate whether the population is growing or declining, because growing populations give rise to the capacity for territorial expansion. Also claiming a share of the spoils will be whatever the predator used to live on, which will experience a population boom. Some of encounter chance increase that reflects that boom will come from the encounter chance of the original predator, and some will probably come from a decrease in the chance of encountering a scavenger, who now have one fewer mouth providing for them. On the other hand, depending on the species involved, the scavengers may grow desperate, which may express itself as an increase in encounter likelyhood.

What is true of an Apex Predator will also be true for a pack whose numbers are depleted in an encounter.

None of these processes happen overnight. The chance for an encounter with a replacement predator starts at the minimum possible – 1% – and rises by 1% per N days until a new ecological balance is achieved.

This all becomes possible through the use of Master and Child Domains, something I’ll get back to in a moment.

Dynamic Population Reassessment

Nature is never static, and an ecology is never fixed. There’s always a new population trying to invade from a neighboring region, if the terrain and climate are suitable. Whenever I’m mapping a region, I’ll consider the neighboring regions, with an eye to those population increase/decrease markers. If there’s a region where the dominant predators are a pack of wild dogs and a neighboring territory has a surfeit of T-Rexes, there will soon be a new sheriff in town. The T-Rex population will expand into the neighboring region and the dog population will divide. Some will be pushed out of where they were, in a direction roughly opposite to that from which the T-Rexes were coming from, biased in the direction of whichever terrain/climate/food combination is most suitable – and what the predators are who already inhabit those regions. Domino will follow domino. The remainder will settle for being less than the dominant predator and simply become the dominant pack hunters – with lower numbers and a greater range, because the T-Rex newcomers will eat a lot of what the dogs used to consume.

Even if there is little or no scope for population changes of this sort, some creatures like Dragons and Wyverns, can skip completely over an unsuitable territory to invade some area completely separated from their original terrain. Part of the assessment of any ecological domain is a description of how the population of that domain is going to change with time, assuming current trends continue.

Another essential element of the description of an ecological domain is the impact of migratory patterns. Many animals have them – everything from birds to deer. This Wikipedia Article serves as a hub to a number of more detailed articles on the subject, which are worth reading. These in turn have effects on the creatures that feed on them, who employ various survival strategies in response – some animals hibernate, others follow their prey, and still others switch their appetites to some other source of nutrition. I’ve never heard of an omnivore which is a carnivore part of the year and a herbivore the rest of the time (a biovore?) but in a fantasy environment such a thing should at least be possible. It’s even possible for different predator populations to alternate dominance with the seasons.

The easiest way to approach incorporating such seasonal changes into your encounter table is to assume that the overall groups don’t change their representation, only the individuals within it. Each table entry thus becomes two-to-four separate entries, one for summer, one for winter, and zero-to-two for the intermediate periods of spring and autumn. Facilitating this approach was a key consideration in the general ecological approach described in the previous article.

Don’t forget to allow for climatic effects like seasonal floods and streams, and for the impact of seasonal changes to vegetation. If the food goes away, one way or another, so do the things that eat it – followed by the things that eat them, and so on all the way up the food chain. It can also be worth spending a moment contemplating how an animal’s temperament might change with the seasons. When factoring in the question of who eats what in this way, it’s usually easiest to start at the bottom and work up, in the opposite direction to that which was employed to initially populate the table.

The Turbulent Wake Metaphor

Overall, even with all these population dynamics, the end result is a relatively stable ecology which changes over time – if you omit the impact of intelligent beings, who (at the very least) include the actions of the PCs. By virtue of their interaction with the environments they pass through, these act as a source of turbulence within an ecological map. They take out an apex predator here, scatter a pack there, compete with almost everything for food, take seeds and nuts and fruit for their own consumption (reducing the numbers of viable seeds to form the foundation of the next generation).

The more tightly confined and regular the pattern of travel, e.g. along a road or routinely-used-by-travelers track, the greater the opportunity is for accumulated disruption of the natural ecology. Consider the picture to the left: it is a false-color image of the turbulence resulting from a jet of fluid (at the left), but it could just as readily be a map of the ecological disturbance of a traveler going cross-country (right to left, with the traveler himself in the middle of the red zone), or of the ecological disturbance along a road (with a village in the red zone).

It can even reach the point where you consider the roads (and a narrow span to either side) to be a separate ecology to that of the surrounding terrain.

Here’s an example: Fruit from orchards to the west of a town are routinely consumed by travelers moving from the town along a road to the east. As they do so, they scatter the seeds from the fruit, a few of which germinate. Over time, the road to the east becomes lined with a small population of wild fruit trees, displacing some of the naturally-occurring trees, which are occasionally cut down for firewood. Different small creatures eat the fruit, who follow in the wake of the fruit tree population. The result is that the ecology to the west of town begins extending a pseudo-tentacle along the road to the east. At the boundary of the fruit-tree populated zone along the road, the two ecologies come into conflict – but one is being sustained as a byproduct of human activity, while the other is ignored, or occasionally disrupted, at best. This gives the new population a competitive advantage that is more than enough to sustain it, and may be enough to permit it to expand. Now extrapolate over a century or two…

Master & Child Domains

I made this point towards the end of the previous article, but in this context, it bears more detailed scrutiny and explanation.

Consider the original table that you derived to be the “Master Table” for the climatic/ecological region. This is the base model for the region. Then look at the entry within the table that has the lowest population – usually that of the apex predator. The range of that predator – which factors in the need for sufficient food supplies – is the size of a child domain. Divide the map (figuratively) of the region up into that many specific child domains, and assign each a “virtual copy” of the master table. The results are remarkably similar to a map of counties within a region or state in appearance, but what you are actually mapping are the population of child tables.

When the PCs have an encounter in a wilderness zone, such as the one highlighted in the map (which is actually a map of Iowa highlighting one of the central counties, Hamilton), the encounter table for that specific child domain becomes real instead of virtual, and the consequence dominos flow outward from it. In this case, because it is a central one, those changes will be relatively small and temporary, with one of the surrounding regions supplying a replacement that is virtually identical with what was there before. It’s sufficient in such cases simply to note that there is a temporary change to that child domain. However, domino effects will still travel to an edge child, as population pressure will push a neighboring example of the affected population into the newly vacant territory, and then another will move into that new vacancy, and so on. In effect, removing a predator from a central child domain ultimately removes it from a (randomly selected) edge-located child domain. The larger the ecological region, the more likely it is that one child domain will have a newly-adult predator of the required type who can find his way into the newly-vacant territory, leaving no trace of the original disruption.

When the number of children is relatively small, as in Map 2, things become more interesting. Either directly or indirectly, the encounter has produced an job vacancy, and all sorts of critters from both the yellow (white) and neighboring (yellow) zones will show up for the interview. There are three possible outcomes:

1. A representative of equivalent type from zone yellow will emerge to claim the vacancy, and all will go back to normal.
2. A representative of equivalent type from zone red will move in to claim the vacant position, creating a hybrid zone. Depending on the differences, this might transform zone red into a new yellow zone.
3. A species that is more dangerous in numbers will step up from either zone yellow or zone red to create a new (and very small) ecological pocket in which they are dominant.

The example maps were carefully prepared to illustrate one of the ramifications. Notice that the child domains of zone yellow are roughly double the size of those in zone white, including the red child domain where the loss has actually occurred. That means that Zone Red is probably not large enough to sustain a stable population of the zone yellow dominant predator – so if that’s the vacancy created by the encounter, it may be “expand or perish” for any newcomer from Zone Yellow. They will certainly have to become more aggressive than they were – and that means that any future travelers will probably have trouble with them. Which may well be the PCs going back the way they came…

Fixed Points in an ocean of Chaos

The boundaries of any ecological population are, as you can tell from the preceding, continually in flux, shifting this way and that like a quivering soap bubble. The major reason why it’s worth tracking all this stuff, even in general and abstract descriptive terms, is the impact that these changes have on the circumstances surrounding those few fixed points in this ocean of chaos: habitations and settlements. If you know that a township has recently stopped having trouble with wolves and started having trouble with trolls, it gives you a massive leg up on the verisimilitude of the settlement and its human population. Unemployed fur trappers. Guard dogs who run in terror from trolls but kept the herds of sheep safe from wolves, and the breeders and trainers who are seeing their own livelihoods diminish and vanish. Townspeople with improbable schemes for driving or luring the trolls away. Tracking the changes and asking yourself, with each rural encounter, how the subject of that encounter would have been impacted, both directly and indirectly, by the changes brings not only the ecology but the settlement to life. They have something to talk about, something to do, and something to react to. Of course, they might not fully appreciate, when hiring the PCs to chase away the trolls, that the reason they are menacing the town is the population of Gila monsters expanding to the south – a menace that the trolls actually shelter the townspeople against. The list of impacts just keeps growing; different needs will frequently influence architecture, for example. Doors built to a certain standard (assuming that the wolves would avoid inhabitations) might be no barrier to trolls. Lamps lighting the entrance to the inn might be an invitation to lunch for the trolls, or they might hate the light and repeatedly throw rocks at it.

The ecology of the wild has a direct impact on the ecology, society, and population of the “civilized” regions that border it.

Expanding the premise

By selecting a different set of encounter classification criteria, the ecological premise can be reframed to generate encounter tables for some very different circumstances. By way of example, I’m going to examine the Urban Encounter and the Dungeon encounter, but (even though they would account for 99% of the non-wilderness encounter sets), this is only the tip of the iceberg. Depending on what you are trying to model (in terms of encounters), there are many others that might be valid or useful. In any circumstance in which the concept of a “Food Chain” is analogous, or even simply a metaphor, the ecological system can be used as the basis of an encounter table. For example, contemplate the ecology of undead, and the flows of positive and negative energy through the prime material plane, or the ecology of different forms of arcane energy. Don’t see how? I’ll make the same suggestions after you’ve read the next few sections and expect to get a different answer when I do…

Urban Encounters I: Food

Applying the common ecological basis to an urban community is ultimately a way of tracking the flow of food through the urban culture – in other words, who eats what, what crops will be most common, what the dominant land use will be in those parts of the neighboring regions that are cultivated, and so on.

Taking the pre-existing Master chart for the region and replacing the bottom layer with the cultivated foods then enables you to track the ecological impact and reaction. If you take away a creature’s food supply and replace it with someone else, they will switch to the new foodstuff if they can (becoming a pest to be eradicated from the region), or they will move, or die out. The shockwaves travel up the food chain from the bottom to the top. Some creatures find themselves in an undreamt-of cornucopia, while others will starve until they vanish from the region – impacting all the neighboring terrains – or find another edible food supply. Like, say, people.

Urban Encounters II: Economics & Obligations

The same principles can be employed to model an economy, from those who generate low-levels of income and live modestly to those who have great wealth, and commensurate obligations. All that needs to be done is to return to the basics of the ecological model and determine, “What’s the equivalent of small plants?”, “What’s the equivalent of a Pack Animal”, and so on. Who are the primary producers, who are the consumers of the wealth generated by the primary producers, who feeds off the wealth that these feeders accumulate, etc. This also includes the criminals, from the petty (scavenger equivalents) (which would also include beggars) to the organized predators of a thief’s guild.

While of low utility on its own, in combination with an appropriate ‘traditional’ encounter chart that puts an occupation or character class on an individual, an economics-derived chart makes it far easier to generate potential encounters in terms of relative frequency; and the subsequent refinement methods for excluding and generalizing to sift the significant encounters from the inconsequential give you a tool for establishing exactly where in the economic hierarchy a particular encounter falls. Wealthy land-owners and destitute serfs, impoverished monks and well-appointed heads of religious orders, all are presented in their correct relative frequencies of encounter.

Urban Encounters III: Politics & Influence

In a similar fashion, you can trace the avenues of political significance and power. Combining the results of such a population assay with those of the previous urban encounter forms permits the correct attribution of those with power and those with wealth, those with both, and those with neither, by occupation or character class. A Fighter with both wealth and political power vs. a cleric with power but no wealth vs. a mage with wealth but no power – all fall naturally into place in their correct proportions within the given population, adjusted for significance of encounter to the PCs. All that remains is to rationalize these attributes into a determination of the status of the individual so described.

In terms of a general urban population, I generally relegate the “politics and influence” results to a secondary state relative to those of wealth. That is to say, either the politics and influence result explains the source of the wealth or its absence, and hence the encountered character’s status within the social hierarchy, or it tells me that the source is something other than evident position within society. Either way, a random urban encounter is transformed into an encounter with an individual.

In contrast, when generating an encounter table for a close population, such as those who may be encountered within a palace or castle, proximity to power is going to be more important than wealth. The entire setting is geared towards the relationship between the ruler and the populace, including his civil servants, advisors, social circles, generals – and irritants. In this situation, wealth either explains or accompanies the political influence, or the influence derives specifically from a source other than personal prosperity. Once again, the result is the delineation of individuals of significance – in appropriate ratio of significance of encounter.

The price of such a narrow focus is that virtually all relevance to the standard ecological encounter table is now lost, though there may be individual reactions to events generated through such a chart. One wolf attack too many, and the Count might order (and possibly even organize) a cull. So there is an interaction but the two exist in isolation. In essence, if you have power, you eat the best and you eat what you want – so long as you can afford it. The Economic flow is the interface between Politics and the emergent ecology of the region.

Urban Encounters IV: Religion & Philosophy

From the very localized, let’s zoom back out again, this time to something approaching the national, or even the international scale. At this scale, the flow of religious authority can be considered analogous to the population of an ecology. Different theologies yield different ecologies, overlapping in some areas, and always competing for the hearts, minds, and souls of the populace. Mapping out where different religions and different deities are most authoritative reveals patterns and settings for doctrinal confrontations. This can have a substantial contributive effect to defining the relations between neighboring settlements, and taboo products can influence trade and commerce. Religious differences and tolerances can color relations between individuals within a community and between rulers and ruled. It can provide a valuable foundation of context for other aspects of encounters.

Urban Encounters V: Knowledge & Ideas

In a similar fashion, it’s possible to map out the spread of new ideas, knowledge, and technologies. A better plough here, a better stirrup there; a community that is technologically primitive in one place against one that is progressive in another. Conservatism and tradition vs. Liberalism and the embracing of innovation. Once again, this can provide valuable context, and when combined with the religion & philosophy charts, historical foundations to an urban settlement. Consider, for example, a township that follows Bartier The Enlightened which is isolated in this respect from its neighbors (the GM rolled a low-probability ‘encounter’ on the religion table when defining the town). When generating an encounter table for the spread of knowledge and ideas from one county or province to another, he happens to roll a result that suggests that this particular region is an arch-conservative one and far more regressive than its neighbors. That, to me at least, suggests that the township still adheres to the “old faith” – and that, decades or centuries before, the worship of Bartier The Enlightened was general throughout the region, but that other faiths have been eroding that support. This would influence the relationships between the different faiths, and those relationships would in turn influence relations between the settlement and its neighbors. These facts assist greatly in delineating both the population in question and its neighbors; once again, they have something to talk about, something to do, something to have opinions on, and something to react to. They are inherently more unique and interesting than ‘just another village’, and that rubs off on its citizens when kept in mind while generating those individuals.

Urban Encounters VI: Alignment & Society

The final ecological equivalent to discuss is one that doesn’t appear (at first) to be appropriately analogous to a dog-eat-dog ecological model – alignment and social structure. It’s only when you’ve conceived of the economic and political analogues, and extrapolated out to the religious and intellectual analogies, that you can start to see an ecological model for these factors. Specifically, acting on the assumption that like will tend to attract like, you can ‘seed’ an empty political map with areas where economics and weak social values (low religious strength) make a relatively welcoming setting for ‘lawless’ elements (chaotic evil), and others where law and order and high religious strengths indicate a more “lawful good’ approach. Like a rising flood, these will tend to expand out, following the lines of easiest settlement – in other words, topographic features – until the gap between them is roughly equal to the population levels of the seeded regions. Observing the resulting maps enables trends which will tell you which initially “chaotic evil” regions would remain lawless and which will be “stabilized” by lawful evil, and similarly for chaotic good. As a general rule of th7umb, lawful regions will tend to be at the centre of a region, or regions that are strongly protected by natural barriers; the more unpredictable life is in a given location (ie, at the fringes of the civilized world), the more socially acceptable the ability to react quickly to changing circumstances would become.

Once you have the predominant alignment of a region mapped out, it becomes simple to extrapolate the impact on the local social structure. They will trend toward either bureaucracy and authority or a more “wild west” attitude of “don’t ask, don’t tell, who you weredoesn’t matter as much as who you are.” The bandits may run roughshod over the local government (such as it is). These will be places where someone’s past can always be left behind for a fresh start. Once again, this can provide invaluable context for individualizing a settlement and its populace, but it’s only really possible once you have the earlier encounter structures locked into place.

Dungeon Encounters I: Light

The dungeon environment is one of the most ecologically problematic settings conceivable – at least until you start talking about exotic planes of reality. And yet, as supposedly a part of the natural world, ecological principles should hold sway there as much as anywhere else.

So, here’s a bombshell: Plants are at the foundation of every food chain, and plants need light. It need not be sunlight, and it can even be an alternative energy source (such as the use of volcanism by Tube Worms like the one shown to the left, but in terms of an organism that can sustain higher forms of life and form the foundation of an ecosphere, light-dependant plants are by far the most efficient, as shown by the fact that they dominate completely everywhere where there is light to drive photosynthesis processes.

In order to form the foundations of an ecology, you need light – unless you want to get creative. There’s nothing to stop you, it’s just an exercise in creativity. Inspired initially by Tolkien’s White Tree, I’ve populated one version of the Underdark with a whole range of albino plant forms – from a white tomato-like fruit to something akin to white paw paws, to a grass-like white moss – that grow in little ecological pockets beneath the earth. There’s even a giant tree-like organism that looks something like an asparagus crossed with an oak, and grows down and outwards until it is several miles across. It extrudes a single small green tendril to the surface which accumulates sunlight for a century or so, building up the energy needed to bloom and create a new generation of seeds; the rest of the plant withers and dies in direct sunlight. In addition, there are always fungal forms.

The basis of any Dwarven or Dungeon ecology has to be either created out of whole cloth, or you have to find some way of getting light into the equation – even if that involves a host of small creatures like worms that consume surface plant matter and convey the nutrients to intermediate organisms beneath the surface. These would be smaller than purple worms, but that’s not necessarily saying much – they would need to be the weight of a cow, and need to travel in herds. Something akin to small mammals, lizards, snakes, or “giant” subterranean spiders would then need to consume these – something more mobile and able to distribute themselves throughout the dungeon environment. The next tier up of the ecology then feeds on these creatures, while the dominant creatures that populate the dungeon then consume both that tier and the small critters that come their way – and the occasional foolish adventurer.

To some extent, the same rules apply to the underground world as do the surface. In other ways, the earth can be considered an especially viscous fluid that certain creatures can burrow or tunnel through, and which can do some of the work of supporting the creatures in question, which removes one of the biggest impairments to creature size in the same fashion as life underwater. So some organisms can be abnormally large. The problem is that rock poses a whole different problem – these creatures either have an intensely acidic coating (to which they are immune) that can break down the rock, or they can’t work in the underground environments that are suitable for more interesting lifeforms.

One of my favorite solutions from early in my days as a GM (when I first started considering this problem) was the Phase Moth. Partially ethereal, these emerged only at night and then, only when the moon was in the sky; with a wingspan of anything up to that of a large dragonfly, they ate vegetable matter on forest floors (fallen leaves) and the occasional bush, then returned to any convenient hollow under the surface when the sun rose. When in the open air, either above or below ground, they emitted a pearlescent light similar to that of the full moon, which was enough to feed additional plant varieties that otherwise would not have survived, so not only were they an insect-level ecological layer, but – in the reverse of the usual insect-plant relationship – they fed the plants which other small creatures then consumed.

I mention these solutions because dungeon populations tend to be ecologically-isolated, and we all know what that means, especially in Australia, where we have wonders like the Kangaroo and the Duck-billed Platypus. And where a vast percentage of the spiders and snakes are exceptionally venomous :) Quite frankly, every solution you can think of will not be enough, because no one solution would be anything even approaching universal.

Dungeon Encounters II: Water

The second key ingredient for life – one that all orders of an ecology require – is water. Mapping out a supply-and-demand chain for how water reaches the higher forms is an absolute essential to constructing a plausible dungeon ecology. And that means that it’s time to get creative again. Everything that was said above with respect to light also applies, in spades, to water distribution. Like the light distributors, this is so important that it will form an additional ecological layer.

Dungeon Encounters III: Fresh Air

At best, air would not circulate very effectively deep underground, unless you find a way to make it happen. The smoke from a single torch can be enough to suffocate whoever is carrying it, several times over. Check out this section of a relevant article at Wikipedia. Heck, even the byproducts of normal respiration can be lethal if not refreshed. Here’s some food for thought: Fresh air contains roughly 21% oxygen and less than 0.04% Carbon Dioxide. Exhaled breath contains only 13.3-16% Oxygen (so 5-7.4% has been consumed by the process of respiration) and 4-to-5.3% Carbon Dioxide. If you were to re-breathe this exhalation, you would have to breath up to 1.55 times as fast to get the same quantity of oxygen into the lungs; and what you breathed out would contain only about 6.2-11% Oxygen, and would have a CO2 content of 8-10.6%. Now, 7-10% CO2 is enough to cause suffocation in anything from a few minutes to an hour – and that’s without allowing for the byproducts of combustion of torches or anything else – according to this section on Co2 toxicity at Wikipedia.

Some form of air filtration is an essential – the best one being photosynthesis – but, even then, you will need some means of circulating the fresh air. Together, these needs constitute an entire necessary layer to any dungeon ecology. You can use green plants on the surface and simply recirculate air from the upper levels of the dungeon, but for reasons I’m about to make clear, this is not an acceptable solution.

There is an additional requirement that makes these requirements especially important to contemplate: if the PCs take out the air circulation mechanism or organisms, they will kill almost everything in the dungeon. They can then replace the air circulation system with something else and loot and pillage to their hearts’ content.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t consider this an especially desirable outcome. In fact, I don’t want it to be possible – at least until the dungeon is cleared, and if I can manage it, not even then. That means making the recirculation mechanisms/organisms beyond the reach of the PCs in some fashion, and hiding them at the very, very bottom of the dungeon. Oxygen security is critical to the ongoing existence of your dungeon.

Dungeon Encounters IV: Mobility

Only once these foundation layers are in place can you establish a realistic and otherwise fairly straightforward “this eats that” ecology for a dungeon setting. But there is a third environmental characteristic that you will need to think about – Mobility.

On the surface, you can move in two dimensions with relatively little obstruction. There is the capability for some species to move vertically, as well. There is a volume to be occupied, within which the mobility of life in general is pretty much unconstrained.

This is not the case when we’re talking about an underground environment like the typical dungeon. You can’t have locked doors without providing some means for food to get in – or without the residents opening those doors and coming out to forage. And when they do come out, many of them have extremely constrained mobility – they can move along existing passages and that’s about it.

Every time you emplace a “fixed” encounter within a dungeon, remember to check on the means it uses to access fresh air, water, and food – and modify the environment as necessary.

Exotic Premises Redux

With those concepts filed away in the back of your mind, do you now see how it would be possible to model an ecology of undeath by tracing the flows of positive and negative energies? How doing so would spark ideas about how and what undead actually are, and the relationship between the living and unliving worlds, and the implications for different forms of the afterlife, which in turn impacts conceptually on Gods, Devils, Demons, and a host of other “Outsider” encounters?

Or how you could construct an ecological chart for arcane energies that explains what they are and where they come from, how they are generated, what happens to those not harnessed by sentients, and what the consequences in your campaign of prolonged spell use might be?

How about a pseudo-ecological approach to the spreading of hair styles? Or women’s fashions? Or the spread of diseases? The only limits are those of your imagination, and your capacity to determine what is going to be useful.

Plot Integration

We’re almost at the home stretch of another biggish article. In this section, I’m going to (eventually) reject completely the definition of an encounter table that I offered earlier in favor of some alternatives that – at the appropriate times – can be even more useful. But I need to wrap up the primary subject of discussion before I can veer off on those tangents. The entire topic falls under the heading of Plot Integration – so let’s get started.

Non-Narrative Encounters

Using either a traditional random encounter matrix or the more accurate ecology-derived version that I have featured throughout this series, it is still desirable to be able to integrate the encounter with the main plot of the campaign as something more than simple random violence. This is so much easier than most people think that it isn’t worth a full article on the subject, which may come as a surprise to the many people who have struggled to do so through the years.

That’s because if you don’t have the magic key to doing so, it can be exceedingly difficult. There is a simple trick to it, though, and I’m about to share that secret with you.

Whenever a random encounter is indicated, and before the encounter begins, before you begin describing it in any way, think about how this encounter is going to relate to the nearest significant location. Make the determination that it WILL relate to that location, and the encounter(s) contained within it, then create a situation and not an encounter. The creature might be trying to prevent the characters from proceeding, or it might be fleeing the location, or nervous while in the vicinity of the location, or subservient to someone/something at the location, or hungry because something/someone at the location has been consuming or scaring off it’s food supply, or have been wounded by whatever is at the location, or driven insane by it, or be searching for it, or may even have attacked and consumed the creature there. Add to the mythos and legend from the adventure backstory as necessary. Did you know that Owlbears like to eat books? Many a time I’ve had one cough up a fragment of a page when encountering the PCs en route to a dungeon; it drives the players nuts to think that things have been eating their potential rewards!

There are so many interaction modes between location and encounter that it’s hard to list them all. The list in the preceding paragraph is by no means exhaustive. But if you figure this out in advance, you can then shape the encounter around this central fact, and suddenly it’s not a mere hack-and-slash for its own sake – it’s plot-relevant.

It’s that simple.

You can even come up with a long list in advance and either roll randomly or pick an appropriate one off the list when the time comes, depending on the nature of the encounter.

And of course, it’s even possible that it’s unrelated (especially true in the case of plant encounters), or is a red herring (also in the case of plant encounters). Or perhaps the leaves of that particular rare herb are absolutely necessary to healing some nasty poison in the location. Or the plant might show signs of having been chewed on or scratched up by some more significant threat.

If you can’t relate it directly to the plot, try to connect it with the backstory of the location. If you can’t do that, attempt to relate it to some other potential random encounter from your list that CAN be related directly to the location in one of the manners described. Eventually you will succeed in transforming the significant into the relevant.

Narrative Encounters I: Relationships & Circumstances

Okay, so let’s look a little further into left field and away from the general concept of an encounter table.

Instead of defining a table entry as a creature to be encountered, why not define an entry as a relationship to be encountered, or a circumstance, or an event? Then choose the creature or creatures to be encountered on the basis of that relationship, circumstance, or event.

The big advantage to this approach is that the creature being encountered, if any, are always in the act of doing something.

The colossal downside is that there are a lot more entries to think about. Any given creature can be doing any one of half-a-dozen things or more, especially if there is a second variety of creature involved. Even something as simple as a predator eating a herbivore: the predator could be tracking, or stalking, or chasing, or killing, or eating, or being driven off by, the herbivore(s), depending on what defenses they have. Or perhaps another predator (who doesn’t much like herbivore) has been hanging around the herd, silently, in ambush, waiting for the carnivore to show himself – especially likely if the third member of the tableau is a hunter, or attempting to remove something that’s become viewed as a menace to the local farmers.

Throw in all the other possible animal behaviors, in all their phases and stages, and you get a glimpse of just how comprehensive any useful table would have to be.

Employing this approach, one Master table would be enough; there would be no need for separate Child tables. You could keep track of the distinguishing features of individual significant encounters for reuse another time around, but there would be so many possible “encounters” that you would need to arrange them in subtables just to give them a 1% chance of eventuating.

A far more useful approach might be to create a general table, and use it as a “random activity roll” in conjunction with the ecology-based encounter system. Not only does the process of creating the ecology get you thinking about the different behavioral entries to go on the list, it also retains the “balanced ecology” benefits.

Here’s another wsy to think of such a “random activity table”: it provides context to wilderness encounters in the same way that the economic and political encounters gave context to urban encounters.

Narrative Encounters II: The B-Plot

It’s possible to extend the concept of the “random activity table” even further, and in this format it also becomes useful as an urban encounter engine.

Come up with a B-plot and dismember it into as many individual scenes as you can. Any random encounter roll indicates that another scene from the B-plot has occurred. If you get to the end of the B-plot with the characters staying in the same general location, start another one.

There is an art to devising appropriate B-plots for this purpose. If the game were a TV show, you could simply switch to whatever location was appropriate to driving the B-plot forward, but you don’t have that luxury; the location will be at or near wherever the PCs are when the scene comes up. They must be geographically independent.

The best solution is to not to make the PCs the stars of the B-plots at all. Instead, have them happen around the PCs, to one or more NPCs. Or to an animal. It takes practice, but it can be a viable – if somewhat soap-opera-ish solution to the questions of random encounters.

Encounters with a purpose: The wandering dungeon and other applications of plot

Another potential to consider is to take the concept of a “random activity table” and revise the entire primary plot so that it ALL takes place through random encounter tables using the normal activities of the inhabitants of the region – whether that be wilderness domain, settlement, dungeon, kingdom, nation, or continent. That means that you don’t know where and when a location encounter will take place – but the creatures encountered at s location will always be doing something relevant to their existences, circumstances, and objectives, and not simply frozen in place waiting for the PCs to show up.

Downside: it’s still more work. Upside: it really does make the plotline a dynamic series of events that make the whole thing seem far more real. Verisimilitude is your reward.

The Worst Possible Solution

Having read this entire series, I think it is pretty obvious why I consider the traditional random encounter table to be the worst possible solution to the problem of applying randomness to an environment with which the characters are interfacing. I am quite sure that most, if not all, of the perceived problems with random encounter tables result from the limitations of the traditional concept. The lack of value and meaning, the problems of the xp-and-loot giveaway, they all go away if the random encounter means something. The trick is to find a way to infuse them with such meaning without making it more work than it’s worth. It’s been the goal of this trilogy of articles to offer a set of scalable solutions to that conundrum.

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I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll never get it done in time…

The panoramic picture used as a backdrop to illustrate this week’s post was so incredibly stunning that I had to make the full-sized picture available for those who might want it for their own use (without the “Orcs & Elves” graphic overlay). Just click on the picture above.

Chapter 29 was almost completely unfinished when I started this series, while chapters 30 & 31 were increasingly more complete to a first-draft stage. None are presented in the fully polished form of the early chapters.

In comparing this post with earlier parts of the series, one point stands out and is worth noting: First draft tells, finished drafts show. It’s the difference between the experiences of one or more individuals being retold by another group of individuals, and a third-person omniescant narrative. One is more engaging and novelized in form, the other is more compressed. Heck, you should be able to get a novel of reasonable size from the events of Chapter 28 alone!

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The Half-bloods

The situation began innocuously, as is so often the case. Elvish Craftsman negotiated strongly for their services to the Human Kingdoms, and one of the contractual terms insisted apon time and again was that while travelling to the place where the work was to be done, while completing the task, and while returning home, the protection of the Craftsman was the Human Noble’s responsibility; failure to ensure such protection being subject to sufficiently harsh compensation that the Noble had a very strong incentive to keep the Craftsman as utterly safe as was possible. If that alone was not enough, the de-facto honorary Guild Memberships bestowed apon all Elvish Craftsman provided a means of enforcing these contractual terms; any Noble abusing the trust implicit in the contract would find themselves not only blacklisted by the Elvish Craftsmen, but by the majority of the Human Craftsmen they needed to maintain economic prosperity. A few tried to get clever in the early days, and soon found that their holdings became unprofitable wastelands as one Guild after another refused their services. For a while, the Noble might be able to get by with former members expelled from the Guilds for unprofessional behavior, but their workmanship was universally poor and their reliability notoriously suspect. Since demand for the products of their lands would not lessen, those who would have purchased such products went elsewhere, fattening the ledgers of the miscreant’s neighbors and rivals. By the time the Noble realized his error in judgment, and that there was no solution other than to pay the wergild demanded, their coffers were so distressed by the embargo on professional services that in order to raise the necessary funds, they had to sell part of their lands to another Noble, permanently reducing their Noble Houses in stature and wealth. It took only a few such object lessons for the Human Nobles commissioning an Elvish Craftsman to realize that it was (in the long run) far cheaper to budget for the comfort and security of the Craftsman.\

Once they had adjusted to the situation to the point where such commissions and protections became second-nature, the Elves began to feel utterly secure in these protections – well, as secure as the Noble commissioning them could make them. It was still a time when risks and dangers were commonplace, after all; but they felt as secure and protected while undertaking such a contract as they did at their homes.

This sense of security, combined with the length of a contract – usually months and often a year or more – and combined in its turn with the appeal of tales they carried back home from such contracts, all led many of the Elvish Craftsmen to take their families with them when travelling to a contract. For the youngsters involved, there was a definite “holiday atmosphere” to the whole undertaking; depending on their age, it often assumed the significance of a “Grand Adventure”.

That meant wives, sons, and daughters.

The latter were the problem. To human eyes, they were exotically beautiful, the fairest of the fair. They, on the other hand, saw most humans as being less than attractive – but there were exceptions, especially amongst the younger adult humans, who had not yet been ravaged by disease or hard living. Equally, eligible noble daughters viewed the unmarried Elven men with covetous eyes. The young are always shallow, attracted to superficialities!

The parents were usually disapproving of course, but that is a tale as old as the ages. The love-struck couples simply eloped if pushed too far, or were tolerated if the parents were persuaded that there was no alternative.

These relationships were doomed to fail eventually, of course. The differences in culture, outlook, and aging rate saw to that. To the human partners, the Elves seemed to become sillier and more immature – in reality, they did not change that much, but the humans did. And of course, to the Elves, the physical attractiveness faded in lockstep with the failing human tolerance for their personal behavior. But in the meantime, there were children – the Half-breeds.

To the Elves, these were abominations, inherent corruptions of Elvishness itself, flawed and barbaric, and were banned from entry into the Elven kingdom. Humans were more tolerant, more willing to accept an individual based on proven loyalty and ability, but even amongst humans they were considered by their peers to be ‘cheats’ if successful. And, of course, the half-breeds matured more slowly than the humans around them – they were often regarded as slow-witted and clumsy by their human peers.

Had the elves been more welcoming, the half-breeds might have been afforded greater opportunities for success; Elvish teachers would have been more patient, and would have given the young better education and training, and access to the resources needed to make the most of their heritage and its gifts. They might have formed a perfect bridge between the two societies, but the prejudices and narrow-mindedness of both conspired to ensure that this never happened. The circumstances left them misfits, resentful and angry.

In many cases, their Elven parents did what they could, at least at first, and so a corrupted (and highly abbreviated) version of elvish history, and society, and the abilities that had were the natural legacies of the race, was passed down through the generations from one to the next as a family secret – which only reinforced the Half-Elven perception that their births were shameful, and increased their resentment and anger.

Of course, even as the Elven Council decreed the ban on the Half-breeds, they forbade any further unions between the races, but the damage had been done.

This was a situation by which no-one profited. When the marriages grew fractious and collapsed, bitter decisions were often made in heat of anger, and with the welfare of their children far removed from the minds of the central players. The Elves were happy for their lost child to return home, the wiser for their extended “Holiday”, forcing the Elvish parent to choose between abandoning wife and child and their Elvish roots. Even if they did so, this was so far removed from the accepted Elvish standards of propriety that the returnee was marked as a second-class citizen for life. The human position was more difficult. It must be remembered that those in best position to catch the eye of a visiting Elf were the children of the nobility in question; sons were welcomed back, and the whole matter forgotten, especially if some arrangement was made on behalf of the children (no matter how far removed from satisfactory that arrangement might be). But these sons were often disinherited for the duration, and a new heir to the title groomed for the role; the return of the elder son swept these potential heirs aside, creating resentments even between brothers who had previously been close. The situation was even worse if the human noble were a daughter; no longer eligible for marriage to another noble, these were thinly tolerated at best and outcast more frequently. Soon, legends began to grow that the Elves’ similarities in appearance to Devils were not coincidence, and the spinsters – who were often forced to live alone in relative hovels – became objects of superstition. With the educations they had received, both from their noble parents and from their passing companions, they were often able to eke out a living on a modest stipend from the family estates, supplemented by the occasional curative herb salve, elixir, or remedy.

In the minds of many human commoners, this ability to survive with no visible source of income was proof that the spinsters were allied with something darker who saw to their needs. The association between the spinsters and the wave of disputed inheritances and internal troubles that followed in the Elvish wake added to the legend. A new term became accepted for these outcasts – Witch. It was said that the Elves had used dark sorcery to seduce the heirs of kingdoms and sew discord, indoctrinating the Witches into the service of Dark Powers, and that they were protected by the Nobles lest the Nobles be cursed. Over time, a sharp disparity grew between the common human’s perception of the Elves and those of the Nobles who ruled them, who – a little more cautiously – continued to offer commissions to Elvish Craftsmen. It became more and more common for the security provisions of the Elvish Contracts to be tested by bands of drunken brigands and superstitious peasants; the commons slowly accumulated a depth of anger and resentment towards both Elves and Nobles. So long as the Nobles were strong, the situation was stable; but the internal stability of the human Kingdoms became more explosive year after year. Eventually, these resentments would come to a head.

The Elves were at a loss to understand how or why the human commoners had come to resent them so deeply and so quickly. From their perspective, the transformation of attitude had been precipitous. As the obvious resentment grew, the Elvish Council began to discuss a general withdrawal of Elves from Human interactions. It would take another fifty years for this proposal to be accepted – Elves never make decisions in haste if they don’t have to – but 88 years after the first, tentative negotiations between the representatives of the Human Kingdom of Zae’y’lish, commerce with humans was forbidden by the council, effective at the conclusion of any agreements then in place. They hoped that this would calm and stabilize the situation within the Human Kingdoms; for if the immediate neighboring human kingdoms erupted into violence, it was entirely possible that much of that violence would be directed towards the Elvish population.

This erected still another barrier between the Half-breeds and Elvish Society. In preceding years, even if the marriage had broken down and the Elf returned to Elvarheim, he or she would at least be able to occasionally visit their children, and often did so, either out of affection, or out of a sense of responsibility, by accompanying Craftsmen accepting commissions in a nearby location. Now, this option was forbidden to them.

The Elves of the era had no conception of the pivotal roles the Half-breeds and their descendants would eventually have on Elvish society, and did not recognize that the Half-breeds constituted their own cultural equivalent of the human succession problem. They considered the half-breeds to be the consequences of yielding to perverse impulses. History might have been radically reshaped if another Elvish trait, their curiosity, had been engaged by the question of how it was possible that Elves and Humans could interbreed at all and produce viable offspring. Superficial resemblances were not enough to explain it, and neither race would accept any theory that they were offshoots of the same parent race in the mists of time. Only a few human scholars attempted to answer this problem, without success. But the attentions of the most learned Elves were elsewhere, and not interested in the problem.

The Circle Of Harmony

During this period, the Elvish Spellweavers were distracted by what they considered a far more interesting endeavor – the continuing study of the strange gems that the Dwarves had been trading to the Drow during the leadup to the Dwarfwar, whose supply had long since run out. Where more might be found, no-one knew. The Spellweavers had already proven, as they had long suspected, that Lolth had barely scratched the surface of their true potential.

The gems were natural amplifiers of spellweaving ability, able to both speed the crafting of major works by decades or more, and naturally refining spells woven through them in detail and subtlety; they acted almost as a lens, permitting both a greater perception of the semi-woven spell as it would manifest over time, its flaws and shortcomings, and a closer examination of the finer details – telescope and microscope in one. So much Lolth had known, and this explained the origins of the monstrosities that had been unleashed apon the Dwarves at the end of the last great conflict, exactly as the Elves had suspected at the time.

But the Elvish Spellweavers were looking deeper. The initial assessment that each gem contained a blend of the raw elements of existence, which could bond with the extant manifestation of an objective reality and loosen the bonds that fixed it in form and nature, had proven to be less than a complete explanation on closer inspection. They had learned that deep within and beneath the smoothly polished surface of each gem lay a unique arrangement of strands of pure arcane power, arranged in a natural harmony unique to that gem, and that these strands resonated more strongly with one raw element or another – some were naturally attuned to water, some to fire, some to the positive energy of life, and so on.

When a spellweaving was directed through a gem, those strands would resonate, or not, and those resonations would in turn set their neighbors to vibrating in sympathy with the original ‘note’, forming natural harmonies that ‘filled in the gaps’ in the spellweaving. This permitted a spellweaving to progress from barest melody to full symphony in vastly less time.

They realized that by arranging Gems Of Spellweaving into matched sets, it was possible to craft a full ‘instrument’, in which the initial note was harmonized by a gem, which then triggered further harmonies in the next, and then the next, and so on, until the gap between thought and accomplishment was virtually non-existent.

The elves wrought a great circle of megaliths, each perfectly identical and appointed by a single great gem, from the largest such matched set that they could find; a circle of standing stones of exquisite workmanship which amplified and accelerated spellweaving to the point where even a human was capable of manifesting limited alterations in reality. In the hands of a true Spellweaver, of course, melodies and subtle undercurrents could manifest into works of far greater power and subtlety. It was at this point that the Elves began to suspect that the entirety of the second Great War with the Dwarves had been for the sole purpose, on Lolth’s part, to capture the entirety of supply of these gems, and that conquest of the Dwarves had been nothing more than a means to an end.

Unfortunately for their future safety, the Elvish Spellweavers of the time had no inkling that they were being manipulated from afar. Had they known, they might have speculated as to whether or not the same potency that was shaping their thoughts and investigations had been the source of Lolth’s inspiration; this in turn could well have changed the Elf-Drow relationship subtly but fundamentally, ultimately sparing much bloodshed.

And so they continued their studies in blissful ignorance, discovering that the black gems were linked to Elvishness in an unexpected way: just as the gems had filaments of arcane energy resonating through them in patterns that could be harmonious or dissonant, so Elves themselves had similar strands of arcane energy within themselves, while Half-elves did not. This was the source of the Elvish ability to spellweave, and proved that no Human could ever do so; they required artificial and external constructs of voice, will, motion, and matter to generate and bind artificial strands in vague patterns that would shape the arcane field around them into a given effect. While Elves could learn the human techniques – finding them useful in the same fashion that a fine carpenter sometimes finds a simple wooden hammer to be an asset – humans lacked the essential capability for any more sophisticated spellcrafting.

This suggested that these strands of arcane energy had been infused into the Elvish being when the species was first created, and indeed, it was possible that this was the tool that bound the disparate elements of the Elvish prototypes together long enough for them to coalesce into a single coherant being.

But if that were true, then it must mean that The Other would have similar bindings, but so arranged that what created harmony in one race’s hands created dissonance in their opposite number. The Other would have a natural antipathy to spellweaving, the Ying to the Elvish Yang, strongly resistant to change from without. And, where the Elvish ability was focused outwards, manifesting as an ability to shape the world around them, in The Other, it would be manifest inward in some manner, enabling an instinctive or natural transformation of the Other themselves in some way. Perhaps their physiques would change with the seasons, or with the activities needed of the previous generation, or perhaps they would acquire immunity to more subtle forms of harm; who could know? But the topic was ripe for speculation and romanticization – and there is little that Elves like to do better than indulge in romanticized speculation. After all, itis truly said that the Trees learned to Gossip from the Elves – because sometimes there was no Elf nearby with whom to consummate this passion for rumor and innuendo.

The completion of the great Circle Of Harmony was exactly what the hidden Power who had been influencing the Elves had been pushing them to achieve; while the Elves spent endless days, weeks, and months engaged in this orgy of self-discovering speculation, that entity turned its attentions to somewhere else that had caught it’s interest…

The Cult Of Stone

For the next 50 years following the completion of the Circle Of Harmony, the Elves drifted from day to day, so caught up in earth-shattering mundania that they scarcely bothered to mark the passage of time. Every now and then, a fresh insight emerged from the Comesdhail Osfadara­ Litrithe (Congress Of Spellweavers), or word emerged of this or that human kingdom suffering from this or that calamity, but little of any great import arose to bother the Elves.

Over that span, a minor cult took root in Dwarven society, led by an evangelist named Kamen Rukozh. Usually, when the Dwarves spoke of ‘The earth speaking to them’ they meant it figuratively, an indication that their senses were attuned to their underground environment and made them aware of circumstances and conditions within it to an extent that others were incapable of. Slowly, it became common to believe that if one possessed of the senses of a Dwarf were to listen in the proper manner, he could hear the Voice Of Stone literally as well as metaphorically. And that voice sang songs of Conquest, and Glory, and Avarice.

Through their trading relations, the Elves noted the situation as a troubling development; they sensed a growing belligerence in the Dwarven attitude, and could only hope that the promises of the Dwarven King would continue to be observed. Still, there seemed to be no imminent threat, and the Elves drifted on through their endless autumn for another half-century, blithely unaware that the first storm of a long hard winter would soon engulf the race.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Alkaith: Curved 14-inch dagger favored as a weapon and general cutting tool by Elvish Spellcasters and some High Elves.
• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Comesdhail Osfadara­ Litrithe Congress Of Spellweavers
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mithryl: the Elvish name of an extremely fragile metal given in trade by the Dwarves to the Elves. The word is imported from Dwarven, who in turn obtained it from the Zamiel Tongue name of the metal, “Mithral”. “Mithryl” means “Moonsilver” in Elven. The word also enjoys popular usage as a metaphor for a treasure found which appeared initially worthless.
• Mithral: the Drow name for Mithryl. A literal translation from Zamiel is “Shadowsilver”.
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Osfadara­ Litrithe Spellweaver, literally ‘Weaver of Harmony’.
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: Acts of Genocide and war, as life takes a tragic turn in Chapters 32 to 36!

In part one of this series, I talked about the philosophical grounding of random encounters – the theoretical why’s and wherefore’s that underpin the encounters that result, and the ways and reasons why they matter. In this part, I’m going to discuss ways of creating better, smarter, encounter tables – ones that prompt you to extend your campaign, be creative, and generally enhance the world around the PCs, little by little.

At it’s heart, this approach is all about creating a simplified, summarized, ecology. What does that mean? It starts with the fundamental question of what your encounters eat when they can’t get PC to brunch on. Then we will work some population numbers magic, allow for the mobility and “personality” of the encounter, and combine it all into an encounter footprint.

Having defined that process, I’ll show you how to use it to define and construct a simple ecology, and how to turn that ecology into an encounter table.

Basic Approaches

There are three basic approaches to ecology design. You can proceed from the bottom up, from the top-down, or from the middle-in. I’ve seen all three advocated here and there, and consider that each of those advocates has a point, but that they are all misinterpreting the significance of that point.

Top-Down

The most common approach advocates starting with the top of the food chain, the king dog. You then work down the this-eats-that chains compiling the ecology. This prioritizes the creatures that are most likely to be dangerous to the PCs, i.e. the creatures the GM will naturally find most interesting to use for encounters, ensures that they have an appropriately likely diet, and so on down the line. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?

But there are a couple of price tags. The first is that the ecological balance can be utterly unrealistic, to the point of being implausible. If that is resolved by increasing the area within which the encounter table applies, the results can quickly lose any realistic connection with maps and terrain. And there is no firm dividing line between the application of one table and the next, producing complications and unlikely situations.

Bottom-Up

Most of these problems can be solved by building an ecology from the bottom up; but this is not ideal, either. It foregoes a lot of the GMs ability to control and dictate the inhabitants of the ecology, restricting his choice at the end of the ecology of greatest interest, or yielding results that are improbable to the point of absurdity. It requires more work on that part of the ecology that is of the least interest to both GMs and Players, and that can all be considered wasted effort. It is therefore far less efficient. Again, the usefulness and credibility of the results suffer.

Middle-In

A third approach that is not often even considered is the middle-in approach, which takes as its starting point the ecological level with the greatest total mass of animal life, then proceeds both upwards and downwards from that point. This works especially well in a fantasy environment where man (or elves or whatever) occupy that central level, for example in farmland, by selecting a small number of choice creatures that prey apon the resulting community, but in any real wilderness, where something like field mice, lizards, and birds are likely to occupy that central position, it falls apart pretty quickly, being susceptible to the drawbacks of both bottom-up and top-down approaches simultaneously.

The Best Solution

The big mistakes that all these make is that they assume that each level of an ecological food-chain has to be completed before moving on to the next, and that you always have to proceed from one end to another in the same way. If the construction of an ecology is viewed as a series of processes defining one facet at a time of the overall ecology throughout the food chain before moving on to the next, and choosing the direction of procedure (up-to-down or down-to-up) that is best suited to resolving the issues at hand, all the problems can be avoided and a more realistic, robust, and creative ecology created – in a lot less time, and with a lot less work, than either of the solutions discussed previously.

We can go from the top down to define the members of the ecology; we can work from the bottom up to determine their relative density; we can use travel time and existing maps to convert those relative densities into actual numbers; we can make allowances for behavior to derive one or more encounter tables; and because we are populating those tables at the top with discrete individuals, we can make the encounter tables location-specific and hence dynamic, altering them to take account of the actions of the PCs and of other natural changes that may occur.

A series of simple operations, repeated a few times, carried out on a spreadsheet or a table drawn up on a scrap of paper, can create an ecology and bring it to life for the players, permitting genuine interaction with the environment through which their characters travel.

Encounter Corridor

How big an area does an encounter table represent? Or, to put it another way, how many encounter tables should there be for a given area?

This is actually a somewhat more complicated question than it initially appears. The PCs (the subjects of an encounter table) have a given speed of travel in a specific direction. Anything on that line, or in a narrow band to either side of it, will be available for encounters. Each individual creature will have a certain range within which it moves around, and the chance of an encounter will therefore be a function of the degree of overlap between that range and the corridor – if the corridor covers 20% of the range, then there is an 80% chance that the creature will be elsewhere. Multiply that percentage by the population density of the species and you determine the number of encounters that can be expected.

If only it were that simple!

Some creatures are significant than others. PCs will pay more attention to any such creatures even if they lie some distance to one side or the other of their path. Some creatures are more obvious than others – which has the same consequence. In effect, significance relative to the PCs increases the width of the corridor, assuming that if the PCs become aware of a member of a species within that corridor, they will react to it in some fashion – turning aside, confronting it, hiding from it, or whatever. If they see or hear a T-Rex 3 miles away, they are going to react to it – and that means that they have effectively encountered the T-Rex.

Some creatures are better camouflaged than others, either by size, coloration, or ability, while others will stand out more. That also effectively narrows or widens the encounter corridor, while widening or narrowing the likely range between the creature and the PCs when an encounter does take place.

Creatures are mobile, what’s more. Some will tend to ignore PC-sized creatures, others will hide from them. This effectively diminishes the size of the corridor, reducing the likelyhood of a noteworthy encounter. Other creatures will be more aggressive, seeking out an encounter, in effect deliberately moving into the encounter corridor – which is the same thing as increasing its width to the detection range of the creature, allowing for its speed of travel.

Then, there are other behavioral attributes to take into account – nesting behaviors/dens, protecting the young, seeking mates, nocturnal vs diurnal, and so on and on. Everything that makes it more likely that a creature will come to the PCs attention increases the width of the corridor.

These increases and reductions do not stack – the effective size of the encounter corridor is the largest of them.

Any attempt at being realistic would have to assess all of these factors, together with things like the PCs perception abilities. Fortunately, we don’t have to be realistic, we can abstract the entire question into a single value which I call the “encounter footprint”. What’s more, we can assign generic values for the encounter footprint by ecological niche if we’re sufficiently clever in defining them, then simply vary them for exceptions.

Of course, the entire situation changes when the PCs are not moving – when they stop for lunch or set up camp. If the PCs are stationary, creatures will come out of hiding to go about their business after a while, it makes it easier for predators to target them, and so on.

That suggests that we need a set of four encounter tables for each location: mobile day, mobile night, stationary day, and stationary night. Fortunately, this suggestion is misleading; PCs will rarely be mobile at night, and will not be stationary by day for a great length of time; it might not be entirely realistic, but a night-based stationary table will be close enough for practical purposes. What’s more, the tables will not be all that different – the night table will be a variation on the day table. In fact, they will be so close that we can, for all practical purposes, define them as a single table.

Encounter significance

Encounter tables should report only encounters of significance, that is to say, encounters that require the PCs to alter their behavior or make a decision of some kind. Anything else can be discarded, or – better yet – incorporated into the terrain description. At the same time, to properly assess the chances of a significant encounter, it is necessary to at least generalize the non-significant encounter population.

Elementary Niches

Having identified the basic parameters of an ecological simulation that will yield an encounter table, I will now turn my attention to defining the ecological niches which must be assessed and populated in order to construct a realistic encounter table.

From bottom to top, these are:

• Foliage
• Insects & Little Critters
• Middle Critters (including the most common critters)
• Big & Dominant Critters
• Scavengers & Oddities

Many of these ecological niches will have subcategories to be considered, so each of these requires some discussion. Remember that we will in fact be populating them in the other direction.

Foliage

Foliage comes in three varieties: Little plants like grasses, herbs, root vegetables, Middle plants like shrubs, vines, and cornfields, and big plants like trees. Each of these needs to be considered separately, because they each support different ecological niches higher up the food chain.

Little Plants

In general, small plants don’t get much beyond waist height (though some grains are exceptions). In general, these plants have a very small horizontal cross-section and a height that varies with species. We’re used to thinking of grasses as being lawns, but it doesn’t take very long for grass to grow to the substantial height of half a meter or more. Small plants are mostly water and impurities, the same as animals. The small cross-section means that you can get a lot of them growing in a small area. In fact, you can guesstimate the volume of plant matter for each square meter as about 3/4 of the average height times 1m x 1m – and water is roughly 1 tonne per cubic meter, which is about 1.1 short tons. So if the plants grow to 1m in height, which gives 0.75 tonnes (0.825 tons) per square meter. There’s about 10.7 square feet in a square meter, so that’s 0.07 tonnes per square foot or 0.08 tons per square foot. Assuming the encounter footprint to be about 30′ to each side of the line of travel, each 5′ of travel covers 300 square feet, or 210 tonnes (240 tons) of plant matter. Each mile of travel is 5280′, or 1056 of those 5′ steps, or almost 222 thousand tonnes (over 253 thousand tons) of plant matter. For consistency, we should also change the height measurement into feet, so dividing 253,000 by 3.28 gives the number per foot of plant height. The answer is a little under 77300 tons.

In other words:

• 222,000 x average height in meters gives the mass of plant matter “encountered” per mile of travel, in tonnes;
• 138,000 x average height in meters gives the mass of plant matter “encountered” per kilometer of travel, in tonnes;
• 77,300 x average height in feet gives the mass of plant matter “encountered” per mile of travel, in tons.

Small plants provide food for two varieties of creature: small, high-metabolism creatures that feed on the grains and seeds, and large creatures that graze on the stalks. Assuming that the seeds are about 0.5% of the mass of the plant (some will be more, some less) that yields 1110 tonnes per mile of seed. At a paltry 1% efficiency, that would give 11.1 tonnes of such creatures per mile – and if the average weight of such creatures is about half a kilo, that’s 22,200 such creatures per mile. If the efficiency is more like 3%, that’s 66,600 such creatures per mile travelled.

The other type of creature are low-metabolism grazing herbivores like cattle, horses, sheep, elephants, herbivorous dinosaurs, and so on. These tend to become quite large (compared to the small metabolism creatures) according to Kleiber’s Law, which relates metabolic rate to mass. Plant metabolic rates scale almost perfectly, but animals scale at an exponent rate of about 0.75 – so creatures grow larger faster than their metabolic rate increases, and the metabolic rate determines how much food they need. That’s why elephants and the big dinosaurs and so on are large.

Again assuming a 1% efficiency, that gives 773 tons of large herbivore per mile per foot of average height of the plants. That could be seven 100-ton grazers or 70 ten-ton grazers or 700 1-tonne grazers.

Heavy horses weigh an average of about 800kg and are about 8′ in length from nose to tail. So that 773 tons is a herd of 876 full-sized horses – or more probably, a herd of 1000 horses, many of them being colts and ponies.

If these numbers don’t seem right, it’s because they are misleading. Only in cultivated farmland would you get a mile of nothing but small plants; and if you had a herd of grazers around, the plants wouldn’t get to anything like their potential full size; the small creatures and the large would compete for the available food (every seed eaten by a small critter fails to become a plant for the large one to eat); and it’s most unlikely that there would be only the one type of animal dividing up this edible booty. In the wilderness, these factors would be roughly 1/10, 1/3, 1/2, and 1:3 respectively – so each mile-by-60′ area could support about 4 horses. To get a square mile value, multiply the corridor width by roughly 90 to get 270 horses.

Medium Plants

Leaf Mass and berry/fruit mass are what count when we’re talking about most medium plants, and that’s at best about 50% of the total mass of the plant (some vines), and perhaps as little as 1%. For a guesstimate, let’s use 5%. The rest can be considered inedible by most species. These plants grow about twice as high as small plants, but occupy a much larger horizontal area per plant – a small bush might be under half a meter (1 foot) in diameter, and a large one as much as 2m (roughly 3′). lets use 1m (3.3′) diameter as an average. In comparison, small plants take up about 1% of this space per plant. So, 5% x 2 x 0.5 squared x 0.01 would give the relative number of plants in a 1 square meter area: it works out to be about one four-thousandth as much food value per mile.

That’s a useful number, because it means we can simply divide our small-plant numbers by 4000 to get the medium-plant equivalents: 5 small, high-metabolism creatures per mile (bats, squirrels, etc), or 0.07 large, low-metabolism creatures – that weigh as much as horses. But deer and the like tend to be a lot smaller and lighter than horses, on average – perhaps half as much – which doubles the latter number to 0.14. In fact, they could more properly be considered large high-metabolism creatures, but the numbers work out about the same, at least within the very broad margin of error.

This shows quite clearly that the creatures that live off this sort of food will be rare, requiring a very large grazing area, except in areas where these plants are the dominant vegetation. Such areas multiple those numbers by 20, giving 100 bats/squirrels or 3 deer – per mile. In practice, because these consume different parts of the plant, you can have both.

Big Plants

There aren’t many creatures that can eat and digest tree branches and trunks. Again, we’re talking canopy mass. Depending on the variety of tree, that can conceivably be 50% of the total, or 30%, or 10%, or less. Trees, by their nature, are again much larger in surface footprint by virtue of the large canopy of leaves they bear, and some varieties grow to astonishing heights – but the size of the canopy doesn’t scale with height for all varieties of tree. In fact, the taller the tree, the less likely it is to scale.

All trees are not alike in the food value of their foliage, either. It takes specialized adaptions to be able to live on the trees with needles like pine trees, whereas other varieties of tree have foliage that is much easier to digest – if you can reach it. Climbing ability or some other means of reaching more than the lowermost leafs is an essential for a diet of foliage. The first limits animal size to the weight that a tree limb can support, especially toward the tips – because that’s where the food is, and that is also different from one species of tree to another.

The alternative approach involves a long neck, which in turn requires a massive heart to pump sufficient blood to the brain, all of which requires a relatively high metabolism, and disproportionately large food supply. The long-necked dinosaurs, it is believed, were capable of stripping an entire tree bare in one or two bites. Giraffes need to spend up to 75% of their day eating, depending on the season (other sites say up to 90%).

One of the best solutions is for insects to eat the leaves, concentrating the nutrients, and acting as a delivery system to a small carnivore. A lot of bat varieties, birds, lizards, and spiders exist predominantly on a diet of insects, and other species can quite happily supplement their diet with insects.

Nor do the complications stop there; some trees are green all year round, others have a specific growing season. If the food isn’t there for part of the year, a species that lives on it must have evolved to accommodate the tree’s growth cycle. Either it eats something else, or it reduces its nutritional requirements through hibernation or some other strategy.

The total nutrition that can be derived from tree foliage is therefore highly variable, depending on a whole slew of factors. While it would be possible to abstract some average values, for a change these would be of little benefit. Trees generally come in clumps (or forests) of like trees, interrupted only by the occasional interloper, save when intelligence has played an active hand in the plantings. That means that the averages that should be applied are those of the most common ‘breed’ of tree in the region, and not some overall general value.

Which leaves me in the position of pretending to rather more knowledge on the subject than I actually possess, and inventing a table or system of classification for the many possible varieties of tree that would suit our needs; or of taking the easy way out and crafting a system for determining the approach without getting too specific.

The fundamental principle when considering foliage volume (and hence mass) is to simplify the shape of the “typical” tree of the variety desired. Determine (roughly) the volume, then subtract the volume of everything that isn’t green matter. I find it easiest to work on the profile of the tree first. Most trees have foliage that can be considered either a triangle (in profile) or a circle, possibly with another circle as an occlusion. The diagram shows three triangles (A, B, & C) and the occluded circle (E). Note that the size of the trunk, which determines the height of the tree, is largely irrelevant (D). Once you have the cross-sectional area, it’s relatively easy to get the volume if the canopy were a solid mass (F); it isn’t so we simply have to determine the total amount that isn’t empty air (G).

Triangle:
The area is half the base x the height. Ignore the trunk, there will be bigger sources of error, so why make life complicated? The solid volume (F) is the triangular area (as shown) x 2/3 x the base x pi.

In A, if the base is 10, the height is about 15. The triangular area of one side is 0.5 x 10 x 15 = 75. The volume is 75 x 2/3 x 10 x 3.14 = 1570. If we’re talking meters (Big tree!) that would give a solid canopy of about 1570 tonnes. However, as shown by G, roughly half the volume is completely empty so that 1570 becomes 785 tonnes; and even where the tree appears solid, at least 75% of it (probably more) will be empty space, even on a tree with dense vegetation, leaving about 196 tonnes of green matter.

If the base measurement is feet (which is a more reasonable tree size), divide the volume by 35 to get cubic meters: 1570 / 35 = aprox 45 cubic m = aprox 45 tonnes (solid canopy), = roughly 5.6 tonnes (realistic thick canopy), or 6.1 short tons if you want to use imperial measurements.

Occluded Ellipse
The area is half the height of the ellipse x the maximum width x pi. The volume of a solid canopy works out to be area x 8/3 x the maximum width. To allow for an occlusion, simply work out the occluded area and subtract it from the total before converting to solid canopy.

In E, the height is 15, and the maximum width is 10 (no, that’s not a coincidence). The height of the occlusion is 7.5 and the maximum width is about 3.

• Area of the semicircle is 10 x 15 / 2 x pi = 236.
• Area if the occlusion is 3 x 7.5 / 2 x pi = 35.
• Area less occlusion is 236 – 35 = 201.
• Volume (solid canopy) is 8/3 x 201 x 10 = 5360. This also equals the weight in tonnes.
• If the measurements are in feet and not meters, divide by 35 = 153 cubic meters = 153 tonnes.
• To get tons, multiply by 1.1: 153 x 1.1 = 168.
• 50% empty space from above, times 25% empty space even in what looks solid, yields 19 tonnes (21 tons) of foliage.

The average giraffe weighs 1600kg, or 1.6 tonnes, and eats 63kg a day. One tree with 19 tonnes of foliage will feed one giraffe for 301 days – except that the trees they feed on have relatively sparse vegetation, and we got a figure of 19 tonnes for a thick canopy. One-quarter of that value is probably closer to the mark. So that’s one tree’s worth for about 75 days – or about 5 trees a year per giraffe. Except that without leaves, the tree will die, and a few other critters also eat the leaves – so multiply that by 8. That’s 40 trees per giraffe.

Tree Density
It’s possible to calculate how many trees can be found in a given area according to various factors using something called the Stand Density Index but the math is probably too complex for everyday use, and we don’t have a convenient table of the constants. I found another table that gives a tree population based on tree density and total area of all the tree trunks in a given area, but that’s not especially useful either without knowing what that total area should be in different environments. Besides, if you know the total area of the trunks and the number of trees, it’s relatively simple to calculate how many trees there are – divide the total by the number of trees and work out the radius of a circle with that area.

I was just about to give up when I found this website and, more specifically, the table at the bottom of the page, which gives the approximate number of trees in an acre based on the average number of feet separation between the trees. One acre is roughly 4000 square meters, or 43,500 square feet.

Let’s say that the PCs have an awareness corridor in terms of trees of about 10,000′ to either side of them if the trees are sparse, down to maybe 15′ if the trees are especially dense. That means that a 5′ step “encounters” an area of between 75 sqr feet (dense) and 50,000 sqr ft (sparse). Each mile is 1056 of those 5′ steps, or 79,200 sqr ft (dense) to 52,800,000 sqr ft (sparse). Dividing those numbers by 43,500 gives us acres: 1.8 acres (dense) to 1214 acre(sparse). Using the table linked to above, we get 43,560 trees per acre (dense) to 303 (sparse) – for totals of 78,408 trees (dense) to 367,842 (sparse).

Of course, these numbers would only apply to wooded terrain; environments where a tree stands alone in the middle of a plain need not apply.

But those numbers tell us everything we need to know.

If we’re talking about 5 tonnes of foliage per tree, at a metabolic efficiency of 1%, that’s roughly between 4000 and 18,400 tonnes of wildlife supported. Divide by about 8 for sustainability to get 500-2300 tonnes of animal flesh. At half a kilo each for small creatures, divided by half (because roughly half will be in bigger creatures), that’s 125,000-2,300,000 small creatures.

If we’re talking 19 tonnes of foliage per tree, the result is 475,000-8,800,000 small creatures.

Insects and little critters

This category combines two ecological niches – the smallest herbivores (so small they are usually dealt with in D&D as “swarms”) and the smallest carnivores, who survive by munching on those small herbivores. Or should that be “lunching”? I’ve called them “Picnickers” for a reason….

Bugs & Insects

Either way, much of the work for this category has already been done. We know that per mile of travel, small plants will be encountered that can support about 22,200 small creatures; that medium plants can support about 1/4000th of this, or 5.55 small creatures; and that trees will be encountered that can support 125,000-8,800,000 small creatures depending on the species of tree.

Actually, we don’t. These are exclusive numbers. To get the number of small-sized creatures that can be supported, we need to assess the relative proportions of each type of foliage that will be encountered in that mile (or in as many miles as the encounter table is to cover). We also need to assess the tree density and type to nail down that contribution to the total.

This is actually fairly straightforward, at first glance:

• Let’s say that 1/10th of the terrain is covered by small, dense, stands of trees. That gives us a number toward the dense end (the 125,000 per mile). Multiply the chosen number by 0.1. Simple. Call it 15,000.
• Let’s say that another 1/10th of the terrain is covered by bushes and other medium plants. That gives us one tenth of 5.5, or 0.55.
• That leaves 8/10ths of the land being either bare ground or having small plants like grass. Call the bare ground 1/10th, the same as trees and the same as bushes; that means we multiply the small plant number by 7/10ths, and get 15,540.
• Add these up and we get 30,540.55 small creatures.

But first glances can be deceptive, and it’s not that simple. Those huge numbers are for the encounter footprint of the plants, not the insects and small critters – which tend to be small, hidden, and not especially noticeable. Don’t believe me? It’s estimated that there are 1.4 BILLION insects for every human now alive on earth. Now, I’m 50 years old, and I would be lucky to have seen (in person, not on TV) 10,000 and noticed insects in total throughout my life – okay, I saw a small locust horde once so maybe 40,000. That’s a whole 0.03% of my share of the total. Even if I live another 50 years, and continue seeing insects at the same rate, I won’t come anywhere close to seeing 1% of “my” 1.4 Billion insects!

We’re talking about a corridor maybe 2′ wide. Unless it’s poisonous, or a swarm of dangerous insects, outside that distance, it’s probably out-of-sight and out-of-mind – and even if one or both of those things are true, it’s not going to extend the corridor very much. Giant insects are a different story, of course.

The width of the small plant corridor was 30′ to each side, or 60′ total. The medium-plant corridor was double that, 60′ to a side, 120′ in total. We don’t know exactly how big a corridor the trees occupy because they are in stands, but we can work it out: about 1/10th of 1/10th of the dense end of the scale, or about 8000 trees, in an area that could contain 100 times as many trees. One percent of the dense population count is about 435, which gives an overall average of 10′ between trees, which is very definitely at the sparse end of the scale – which in turn suggests an average corridor width, based on the numbers we defined earlier, of maybe 9000′ overall, or 4,500′ to each side (a little under a mile).

To get our numbers down to the small critter corridor, we need to divide each share by the width of the half-corridor:

• trees: 15,000 / 4,500 = 3.333.
• brush/bushes: 0.55/60 = 0.009.
• small plants: 15,540 / 30 = 518.
• Total: 521.342.

This shows something else that’s really significant: at least when it comes to small life, the small plant contribution is so significant that we could ignore everything else and only be wrong by 0.64%. That is miniscule, swamped by other sources of error. However, the results would be very different if we had different ratios of the ecological foundations, so you can’t assume this will be the case every time.

The Picnickers

Preying apon the insects and little critters are a whole host of small-to-medium carnivores. Insects eat their body weight in plant matter each day; People eat their bodyweight in food every 6 months. This is a combination of two factors: meat is a more concentrated source of energy (just look at how much salad it takes to get the number of calories equivalent to a single steak), and larger creatures are more efficient at processing their food. I’m going to oversimplify again and combine both factors; and even though the relationship isn’t close to being a straight line, I’m going to simplify that, too, by assuming that it is; individual variations can then be applied as necessary.

That means that the average body weight of a beastie can be used to estimate how much it needs to eat. With the average weight of an insect at about 3 milligrams (0.0001 ounces), this is close enough to be considered zero for practical purposes. With some rounding, it works out that:

Food per day = aprox Body Wt x [1 – (1% x Wt)], or = Wt – 1%(Wt^2)]. (It works with Wt in Kg, within the limits stated – up to Abouit 100 kg. I can’t promisde that it will work with other units.

Let’s assume that the average critter in the group we’re currently discussing is up to about 35kg (77 pounds – call it 80 for convenience). Some will be larger, some smaller. Applying this weight to our formula gives 22.75 kilos of food per day. 521.342 small critters per 5′ step, (2′ wide corridor), weighing an average of maybe 12g each – from insects at 3 milligrams to small lizards etc weighing in at up to 25g – adds up to about 6.25kg. So, for the same corridor width, each of our middle-sized critters requires 5.6 of those 5′ steps, or 28′.

But these creatures will be a little more noticeable – the corridor is back to 30′ wide, not two. I’m going to be obscure, and use 28′ wide – which (quite neatly) drops us back to 2.5 potential encounters per 5′ step. For each mile travelled, there would be 2640 potential encounters with creatures of this size, given our terrain mix.

Whoops, we missed a step. These creatures need that much food every day. So we have to divide that number of potential critters by the number of days it takes for its food to grow, in days. The average lifespans of insects vary from 3 days to 3 years, and again this is roughly proportionate to body mass – fleas are 30-90 days, bees are 9-12 months, ladybugs manage 2-3 years, and termite queens rack up an average of about 15 years. Five hundred days seems to be right in the middle of the range, but there would be more on the lower side of this value than higher, so let’s halve that to be on the same side.

2.5 potential encounters per 5′ step drops to 0.01 encounters per 5′ step, or 1 per 500′, or 5.3 per mile.

The Middle Critters

These come in three basic varieties, and generally, all three will be present in any given ecosystem. They are the Hunters, the Vegetarians, and the Packs. In a simplified ecology, you can choose to have one, the other, or both of the two carnivore varieties.

The Hunters

Living off these smaller critters are those of the next size up – the creatures that range from half human weight to six times human weight, and that live on meat. Lions average 250kg in body mass, for example. We can use double the average values given in the previous section for humans as our benchmarks. So 140kg critters average, which gives us an average food requirement of 56kg per day.

The average weight of the picnickers gives 35kg per 500′ of food. Most lizard species have an average lifespan of 2-3 years, the average snake 10-12 years, and the average mouse about 1.5 years. So, again weighting toward the shorter end, we get roughly 2.5 years. So the available food in a 30′ wide corridor (15′ to each side of the party) is about 0.04 kg per day per 500′. However, the corridor for a hunter will be much wider, maybe as much as 3 miles on average – for some creatures it will be smaller, for some, much larger. 3 miles wide is 528 times the width of the 30′ corridor – increasing the available food mass to 21.12 kg per 500′ travelled. To get our required 35kg, we need to cover about 830′. Or, to put it another way, there will be 6.36 such potential encounters per mile.

However, this is not necessarily the only source of food for creatures to consider. This works in the case of solitary hunters – if the Monster Manual suggests 1-2 or maybe 1-3 in an encounter.

Somewhere in between the Picnickers and the Hunters in average weight are the pack-hunters. And they live off the big herbivores, predominantly.

Actually, that’s another oversimplification. A solitary hunter can munch down on a big herbivore, and will do so quite happily. And pack-hunters may well supplement their diet with small critters that present themselves as snacks-of-opportunity. But for our needs, the more general statement is close enough; we can ignore the occasional solitary-hunter vs. big herbivore feast, and the occasional snack-of-opportunity, and assume that these cancel each other out.

The Vegetarians

We’ve already worked out some numbers for these critters – jumping the gun somewhat, but it seemed relevant at the time. We got values of 4 large herbivores per square mile of small plants, using horses as our basis; we determined that we could divide that by 4 to get the number of vegetarian creatures that lived off medium plants; and we got a count of 1 herbivore per 40 trees for those that ate leaves, using giraffes as the basis – and that the tress in a clump were about 10′ apart, and about 500′ x 500′ across; each clump contained about 4000 trees. What we didn’t do was convert these into corridor values.

These creatures tend to be fairly noticeable. The corridor should be miles wide, especially since they almost-universally operate in herds, making them even more visible. So let’s assume we’re talking about a 5-mile corridor – 2.5 miles to either side of the party. Some creatures won’t be noticeable at that distance, and some will be visible at a much greater distance, so that should work out about right. In order to get a square mile with such a wide corridor, we need only 2 fifths of a mile in the direction of travel, or 2112′ – per adult creature.

How many are in a herd (or a flock, if we’re talking sheep)? The larger the creatures individually, the smaller the herd size that can be supported, suggesting that rather than considering individuals, the total mass of the herd is relatively fixed according to the nutritional density of the plant life. Once again, this isn’t the whole story (not even close) but it’s near enough for our purposes. According to this article on feral horses, the proper collective name for feral or wild horses is a band, and a band is usually 3-5 individuals, with some containing as many as a dozen. If 1/10th of bands have 10+ members, that basically adds 1 to the average, so 4-6 – call it 5 on average, overall. Since they average about 450kg each, depending on breed and nutrition, we can suggest the average pack or herd is very roughly 2250kg (aprox 5000 pounds) in total body mass. This could be 5 horses or 33 deer (white-tailed deer average 68kg in weight, with adult males reaching as much as 300kg and adult females 125kg – numbers which tell you that a lot of the deer in a typical herd(?) are juvenile, which is only to be expected when you think about it.

So:

• small plant-eaters: 4 per square mile, divided by a 5-mile wide corridor, gives 0.8 miles or roughly 4200′ each; times the number in a herd, 5 (since we used horses to derive this number) = 1 herd per 21000′ (about 4 miles).
• medium plant-eaters: 1 per square mile, or 0.2 miles each with a 5-mile corridor, or 1 herd per 16 miles.
• tree-leaf eaters: 1 per 10 trees, yielding 400 per clump. Divide by 365 (the rate of replenishment of leaves on a tree) to get 1.1 giraffes per clump. 1.1 adult giraffes weighing 1600 kg each is quite a lot, but the average will be much lower because most won’t be adults – the reindeer adult male to average ratio is 300/68, or 4.4; with that as a rough guide, we get an average giraffe weight of 363 kilos. 1.1 x 1600 / 363 = 4.8 giraffes (or equivalent) per clump – call it 5. Five giraffes at 363 kilos is 1815kg, a large fraction of 2250kg per herd, leaving 435kg per clump. This gives some notion of our margin of error on all these calculations – about 20%. More to the point, it suggests that for every 5 clumps, there will be 6 giraffe herds – or possibly one larger herd that migrates from clump of trees to clump of trees. Also, since we estimated 15000 trees per square mile in clumps of 4000, we can say that there are about 3.75 clumps per square mile – so 5 clumps is 1 & 1/3 square miles. With a 5-mile wide corridor, that’s 6 herds (or one larger herd) every 1400′, or thereabouts, or 235′ per herd.

Note that of course the baseline creatures don’t have to be the species that are located in this terrain; we’re just after an idea of numbers that happen to fall within the corridors that we’re specifying, for the terrain that we’re discussing.

Applying the relative proportions of the plant distribution specified earlier (80%, 10%, and 10% respectively) and adding the results gives a total of 2.45 herds per mile of journey, with each herd weighing 2250 kg – 5513kg of meat on the hoof that’s visible for every mile that the party travels.

The Pack Hunters

If we assume an average of 1 pack per herd, the numbers spill out rather quickly – but how realistic is that assumption? Is it even close? Bet you it isn’t. Let’s do the math:

Most wolf packs have 6-7 members, though some can have as many as 15. If 1/10th have 15, that’s +1.5 to the average size, so 6.5+1.5=8 members per pack of wolves. The average wolf is a little under 40kg in weight for a full-grown adult, so the average over an entire population would be about half that, or 20kg each. 8 wolves at 20 kg is 160kg of wolf per pack.

Each member of the herd will, according to our formula for body weight vs. food, need 16kg of meat per day. Multiply by 8 to get the whole pack’s food requirements, and we get 128kg.

2250 kilos in a herd, divided by the average lifespan of the creatures in the herd – deer average 10 years, and can survive in captivity for up to 20 – gives 0.6kg of meat per day per herd, sustainable losses. Multiply by 2.45 herds per mile, gives 1.5 kilos per mile. Not even close to 128kg. In fact, at that rate, it takes 85 herds to sustain one wolf pack. Anything less and the herds will be hunted to extinction – eventually.

If there’s 5513kg of meat on the hoof visible in a 5-mile-wide corridor for every mile the party travels, they will have to travel (5513/2250)x85=209 miles to encounter one pack of carnivores.

But that has a false assumption in it – that 5-mile-wide corridor. To meet their needs, the pack will move – a lot. And that means that the corridor is going to be a LOT wider. A reasonable estimate is more like 25 miles – given that if the pack finds the party’s trail, it will eventually yield an encounter. And that means one pack encounter for every 209/5=42 miles.

It’s also worth noting that an adult African bull elephant weighs about 5500kg while an average lion weighs about 250kg. That’s a ratio of 22:1. Comparing the biggest herbivorous dinosaurs (believed to be Brachiosaurus, Weight estimated at 25 tonnes) with the biggest carnivorous dinosaur (believed to be Spinosaurus, estimated Wt 7-21 tonnes) gives a roughly 2:1 or 3:1 best-guess ratio. Tyrannosaurus Rex is currently thought to be about 6 tonnes in adult weight – a ratio of 4:1 relative to Brachiosuarus. Carnivores are generally smaller, sometimes a lot smaller, than their possible prey. This is especially true of pack hunters. Why? Because by cooperating, the pack can bring down a large animal – and get enough meat in one meal to feed the entire pack. It’s worth bearing these ratios in mind when thinking about the likelyhood of encounters and what the creatures encountered usually eat.

Masters of all they survey: The Big and Dominant

That brings me to the Big Beasties. There aren’t many of these in our world, but they are routinely present in fantasy and sci-fi environments. Creatures like a T-Rex, or a Dragon. Assuming that the two weigh about the same, we might be able to get some idea of the dietary requirements per day – (NB: these creatures push our quickie formula beyond its limits of usefulness). Many websites don’t nominate a T-Rex diet per day, but point out that they could probably eat up to 230kg of meat in a single bite. Another answer I found was “up to four semi-small dinosaurs a week” – but how big is semi-small? Two tonnes? The best answer I was able to find was 500 pounds (227 kg) every couple of days – but does that assume it was a cold-blooded or hot-blooded creature (it makes a difference). T-Rex is surmised to have eaten practically the whole carcass, bones and all, suggesting that it took everything it could get (always room for one more pesky human) – seriously, it has teeth that would have been excellent at crushing and extracting marrow from bones, and some partially-digested bone has been recovered from fossils.

The largest modern carnivore is the Polar Bear, tipping the scales at 350-700kg, matched with the omnivorous Kodiak bear which is about the same size. But environmental adaptions make both useless as a basis, and they are an order of magnitude too small, anyway.

So let’s go back to first principles, and that’s where those ratios that I pointed out earlier come in. The average adult lion weighs about 250kg, and eats about 5-7 kg of food a day – call it 6 kilos or about two-and-a-half percent of it’s bodyweight (though it will usually eat a lot more and then fast for several days). If a T-Rex or a Dragon weighs in at about 6000kg, that suggests a value of about 145kg per day – maybe more for the dragon, flying is hard work, especially when you weigh that much. And that says that the likelyhood of encountering such a creature is inversely proportionate to its relative bodyweight, per square mile of territory. 160kg per wolf pack, or 250 kg of lion, says that these king predators will be encountered 160/6000th as often and 250/6000th as often, respectively – one encounter per 37.5 wolf packs. At one Wolf Pack per 42 miles of travel, and a five-mile window, that’s one Apex Predator per 1575 miles of travel. Even widening the corridor 10-fold to 50 miles on each side(because the Dragon can fly and might easily cover that much territory in a day) only gives one possible encounter per 157.5 miles.

Scavengers and Oddities

This is a sort of grab-bag for everything that’s left. It includes the obvious, the exotic, and the intelligent – who some might consider as fitting both of the first two categories at the same time.

Scavengers

Carnivores tend to gorge themselves quickly and move off before the scent of blood draws potential rivals and enemies to the kill. That typically means that there will be quite a bit left when the carnivore is done – perhaps as much as half, perhaps more or less. For the sake of simplicity, I chose to ignore this when deriving carnivore and pack hunter populations, but there’s one group that live off whatever’s left – the scavengers. As a general rule of thumb, these tend to be between one half and 2/3 the weight of a carnivore – meaning that their dietary requirements are roughly one-half as much, or a little more. So if there’s one-half of the meat left by the carnivore, there will be enough left to sustain scavengers in equal number to the carnivores.

Exotica

Semi-finally, we have exotica – creatures that live off Mental Energies or Souls or whatever, or that don’t have to live off anything at all, like undead, or golems.

The latter don’t move around much, as a general rule, and they may (depending on the campaign and the subtype) only be active at night. The rest may move around more, but they do so with a purpose, and – unless they are a pre-scripted part of the plot – that purpose is not likely to be assisted by random encounters with PCs. For that reason, I would estimate – as a general rule – that these are no more likely to be encountered than is a Dragon. In a campaign setting with a lot of undead, maybe triple that, maybe more – special circumstances.

Sentient Citizens

Lastly, we come to Sentient citizens of the world. In any area in which these are dominant, they will have driven out or domesticated most of the non-plant encounters, skewing everything their way. In an area which is still wild, they would be extremely rare – probably as rare as Dragons, unless the PCs are travelling the only navigable pass or something, and even that would not increase the chances much. People don’t tend to be in such reasons unless they have a reason to be there.

The fun comes when you start to think about the regions that are in-between. According to Medieval Demographics Made Easy (available from lots of places – Google it), population densities in amenable lands would be about 120 per square mile, and would be full of small villages no more than a mile or two apart (Medieval France was about 100), while areas that are less amenable (like Medieval Germany) would have an average of 30 people per square mile. Medieval England was somewhere in-between, around 45 or 48 per square mile (from memory).

• If there’s a village of 120 people, how much empty space (0 per square mile) is needed per village to achieve these overall densities? Zero to (120-D)/(D-1), or (in this case), (120-30)/(30-1) = 90/29 = 3.1 square miles.
• If there’s a town of 1200 people, how much empty space surrounds each town to achieve these densities? (1200-D)/(D-1), or, in this case (1200-120)/(119) = 9 (at 120/sqr mile) to (1200-30)/(29) = 40.3 square miles.
• If there’s a small city of 12,000 people, we get 99.8 (at 120) to 412.8 (at 30) square miles.
• If there’s a national capital of 120,000 people, we get 1007.4 to 4136.9 square miles.

Let’s put these another way. Think of each population centre as a spot surrounded by a circle of empty land. Assuming that each of these population centers is roughly a square mile (2 for the small city, 4 for the national capital):

• Village of 120 people = 0.56 – 1.14 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre, ie the edge of the next circle.
• Town of 1200 people = 1.8 – 3.6 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.
• Small City of 12,000 people = 5.7 – 11.5 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.
• National Capital of 120,000 people = 18 – 36.3 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.

These were simply calculated by determining the radius of a circle of the required area.

Even reducing the population densities to 1/10th of those targets – from 120 to 12, from 30 to 3 – doesn’t change things as much as you might expect.

• Village of 120 people: 9.8 – 58.5 square miles, or 1.9 – 4.3 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.
• Town of 1200 people: 108 – 598.5 square miles, or 5.9 – 13.8 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.
• Small city of 12,000 people: 1089.8 – 5998.5 square miles, or 18.6 – 43.7 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.
• National capital of 120,000 people: 10908 – 59998.5 square miles, or 58.9 – 138.2 miles to the surrounds of the next population centre.

From what I’ve seen of most D&D campaigns, most people use something close to these numbers – population densities more appropriate to stone age Britain than a medieval setting.

Either there are lots of people (humans, orcs, whatever) or there are virtually none at all. Let’s put this into context: 3 people per square mile is the current population density of the Western Sahara (i.e. the less habitable part).

This page should prove enlightening. Sure, the numbers are modern. NB: page will attempt to load an unnecessary popup. Don’t take chances, block it if you can.

When estimating population densities for non-humans, bear in mind how much food per person they need and adjust these density targets appropriately. In my Fumanor campaign, for example, Goblins occupy some of the best farmlands. Normally, that would suggest a population density of 120 per square mile, but each needs only about half as much food as an adult human – so double that to get a density of 240 per square mile. They keep domesticated food animals but don’t farm, so I would divide this number by about 5, to get 48 per square mile. In a 30×40 mile region, there may be as many as 57,600 Goblins. They occupy about 20 such areas, for a total Goblin population of 1,152,000 Goblins. Orcs need about 3/4 what a human does, but they are in a less fertile region. They will eat a lot of food that a human could not, so a reduction to 1/2 human requirements is not unreasonable – but they do not keep domesticated animals and do not cultivate farms, so that drops the population density to about 1/10th what it might otherwise have been. Net effect: 50 x 2 / 10 = 10 per square mile. Balancing that, they have about 400×150 miles of territory – so there are about 600,000 of them, all told.

As soon as the population density goes above about 50 per square mile, the chance of an non-plant encounter that is not drawn from that population pool drops to 10% or less.

Balancing all of this to some extent, and playing into the nature of the encounter, is the fact that the population in any medieval era is a LOT less mobile than you might expect. Unless going to a war, people rarely go more than a mile from their homes. Maybe 1 in 1000 people would have some reason (other than war) to travel, so the chances of an encounter with someone on the road is going to be less than that (there’s a 50% chance they are going in the same direction you are, for example). Seeing people working in the fields in the distance is far more likely.

Significance – discarding the irrelevant

Having worked out the number of potential encounters per mile of travel, the next step is to discard the irrelevant. I like to build some of these into the narrative description, especially as cues to terrain and ecological change; that’s up to you.

Little Plants

I would estimate that no more than 1 in 10,000,000 small plant encounters would be significant or noteworthy in any way. At best. Since a typical small plant might weigh only a few dozen grams, at best (even assuming there are several specimens of the plant variety in one spot), 1 doubt we’re talking more than a couple of pounds, perhaps a kilogram, of significant plant. These will usually be wild herbs of some sort, or something similar. Since each mile brings 222,000 tonnes of small plants into view, we can estimate the significant encounters as 222,000,000/10,000,000 = 22.2 encounters per mile. But even these “significant” encounters are largely irrelevant. Relevant encounter count: zero.

Medium Plants

Medium plants are more likely to have edible berries (in season) or fruits. Maybe 1% of such potential encounters are significant in that way. Since a bush can easily grow to weigh 100kg, and there’s 1/4000th as much plant mass as for small encounters, that gives 222,000,000/4000 /100 x 1% = 5.55. Again, most of these encounters will be irrelevant (aside from making good flavor text) and can be ignored. Relevant encounter count: zero.

Big Plants

Some trees will have fruit (in season) or edible nuts. Depending on the exact terrain, either a substantial number of trees will fall into this category or virtually none will. There’s not much that both grows on trees and is edible to humans in a pine forest, for example. More interesting is that some of these plants are potentially sentient enough to pose a hazard – since this is the logical category in which to find Treants and Verdonne and any other special plants. I would estimate that 1 in 100,000 encounters with a tree might be significant and not irrelevant in terms of an encounter. In our particular example terrain, we ended up with stands of 4,000 trees, with 15,000 trees visible for each mile within a corridor that’s 9000′ across. Per mile, then, 15,000 / 100,000 = 0.15 significant encounters per mile.

Insects and little critters

There’s lots of insects and other tiny critters and most of them are utterly irrelevant. We determined, earlier, that per mile, there would be 521 potential encounters of such life forms. Of these, perhaps 1 in 10,000 will be significant – a venomous spider, or a wasp’s nest, or a centipede, or whatever. So that’s 521/10,000 = or 0.0521 significant encounters per mile of travel.

The Picnickers

All sorts of nasties fall into this category – everything from snakes to spiders. Since close examination is often required before these are determined to be insignificant, everything that comes to the PCs attention is relevant to an encounter table. We earlier determined that there would be 5.3 potential encounters per mile; if 1% of these are genuinely hazardous enough to mention, that’s 0.53 relevant encounters per mile of travel.

The Hunters

Even wild animals of the Hunter variety will usually leave something as big as a human alone, unless it is especially hungry; there is usually easier prey around. Perhaps 1 in 25 times, a potential encounter with a hunter will become relevant in an encounter-table sense; at other times, the PCs may or may not observe a Hunter watching them carefully, or hear one attacking somewhere within earshot. With a potential encounter rate of 6.36 per mile, discarding the irrelevant gives 0.25 significant encounters per mile.

The Vegetarians

These creatures are often paranoid and prone to overreaction. Those reactions might be to flee or to attack, depending on the size and nature of the creature in question. We earlier got a total of 2.45 potential encounters per mile – but most of those will take place at some distance from the PCs. If the potential encounter takes up 5° of visible arc, and the creatures aren’t likely to be a problem unless the characters close to within 5° of the creatures, that gives a wedge of 15° out of 360° that puts the herd in a location where they will have to react if the PCs continue to travel in the direction they are going. So that estimates that 1 in 72 will be significant. And that gives a significant encounters tally of 0.03 encounters per mile.

The Pack Hunters

Are pack hunters more or less likely to take on humans than a lone Hunter type? There are some lines of arguement that suggest yes and some that suggest no. So, overall, let’s suggest a similar significance rate of 1 in 25. With one pack encounter every 42 miles, the chance of a significant pack encounter is 1/42 /25, or approximately 0.001 per mile.

Scavengers

Scavenger encounters are less likely to be significant (unless they are attending a kill) than a Hunter encounter, but we established that the two have roughly equal numbers of potential encounters per mile. So let’s say that 1 in 50 scavenger encounters will be significant – half as many as for a hunter – which gives us 0.125 significant encounters per mile.

Masters of all they survey

One possible encounter per 157.5 miles sounds good – but when you’re talking T-rex or Dragon or Frost Giant or something of that order, every potential encounter is going to be significant. So that’s 0.0063 encounters per mile. But these creatures are so attention-getting that even the sign that they are/were active in the area can be considered a significant encounter – and nine times out of ten, that’s all you’re going to find, some trace that they have left behind. A footprint. A scorch mark (red dragon?). A lightning-blasted tree. The remains of a kill made within the last couple of weeks (after the scavengers have had their share of the spoils). Heck, even just a lot of blood soaked into the ground.

Seeing one in the distance has to be at least five times more likely than coming to the attention of one, probably ten times. Finding such a trace is also going to happen nine times as often as an actual encounter. Add those together and add 1 for an actual encounter with one, and that base chance should be increased 20-fold (10+9+1=20). Which gives 20 per 157.5 miles, or 0.127 significant encounters per mile.

Exotica

We arbitrarily equated this value with that of the apex carnivores, with extras if undead are especially common. Most of these don’t leave the telltale evidence that the Apex Critters do, though, and it’s not often that they are significantly larger or more visible than a humanoid figure. So we use the unmodified value: 0.0063 encounters per mile.

Sentient Citizens

This is by far the biggest variable we have. In a densely-settled wilderness area, nine out of ten significant encounters will be with a sentient citizen, simply because everything else has been driven away – so this would have a value of nine times the total of all the rest. In a sparsely-settled region, there might be as many encounters with sentient citizens as there are with Hunters – but they will all be significant. In the real wilds, the chance might be vanishingly small, on the order of encountering exotica. And all points in between.

Here’s a more reliable guide: 1 in 1,000 people have a reason to travel (wars excepted), as noted earlier. That means that the population density per mile /1000 = the chance of a significant encounter per mile travelled. Half of those (or less) will be going in the same direction you are, so all you might find is traces of them. That makes the number Density/2000, or maybe /2500 to allow for the occasional person travelling at right angles.

If following a known road or trail between two population centers, total the size of the two population centers, divide by the distance between them, and use that as the “local” population density instead of the general value.

People make campfires and the like. So they can be detected from a reasonable distance – a couple of miles at least, possibly more, especially at night.

Here’s a list of handy values to work from:

• Non-significant: General Density 120 / square mile: 4.8 encounters per mile
• Non-significant: General Density 30 / square mile: 1.2 encounters per mile
• Non-significant: General Density 12 / square mile: 0.48 encounters per mile
• Non-significant: General Density 3 / square mile: 0.12 encounters per mile

• General Density 120 / square mile: 0.048 encounters per mile (day), 0.48 encounters per mile (night)
• General Density 30 / square mile: 0.012 encounters per mile (day), 0.12 encounters per mile (night)
• General Density 12 / square mile: 0.0048 encounters per mile (day), 0.048 encounters per mile (night)
• General Density 3 / square mile: 0.0012 encounters per mile (day), 0.012 encounters per mile (night)
• Between two villages of aprox 120, General Pop Density 120: (120+120)/(0.56+0.56)/2000=0.107 encounters per mile
• Between two villages of aprox 120, General Pop Density 30: 0.51 encounters per mile
• Between two villages of aprox 120, General Pop Density 12: 0.032 encounters per mile
• Between two villages of aprox 120, General Pop Density 3: 0.014 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Town of 1200, General Pop Density 120: 1.18 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Town of 1200, General Pop Density 30: 0.14 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Town of 1200, General Pop Density 12: 0.085 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Town of 1200, General Pop Density 3: 0.036 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 120: 0.95 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 30: 0.48 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 12: 0.3 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 3: 0.126 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 120: 3.24 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 30: 1.6 encounters per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 12: 1 encounter per mile
• Between a Village of aprox 120 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 3: 0.42 encounters per mile
• Between two towns of aprox 1200, General Pop Density 120: 0.333 encounters per mile
• Between two towns of aprox 1200, General Pop Density 30: 0.167 encounters per mile
• Between two towns of aprox 1200, General Pop Density 12: 0.102 encounters per mile
• Between two towns of aprox 1200, General Pop Density 3: 0.043 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 120: 0.88 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 30: 0.437 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 12: 0.27 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a Small City of 12,000, General Pop Density 3: 0.115 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 120: 3.06 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 30: 1.519 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 12: 0.935 encounters per mile
• Between a Town of aprox 1200 and a National Capital of 120,000, General Pop Density 3: 0.4 encounters per mile

NB: There should never be a direct connection between two small cities or two national capitals without towns and villages in between, so I haven’t bothered showing them.

Forging An Encounter Table

We’re now ready to actually create the encounter table.

Populating the entries

I start by populating each entry in the table with an appropriate number of possible encounters. How many is an appropriate number? Divide the each Significant Encounter by the smallest of the values (ignoring any with a value of zero). In the case of our example, the smallest value appears to be the Pack Hunter chance of 0.001 per mile. Start at the bottom of the list and move backwards so that you get the encounters you most want to be on the table and then build an ecology around them.

I make notes about all the encounter types, even if the chance of a significant encounter is zero. The day the PCs realize that Minotaurs prefer regions with stone fruit is the day your campaign takes a massive step forward in verisimilitude, followed by another when the PCs start trying to guess their likely sources of danger based on the ecology that you have described.

With so many categories unrepresented in the Monster Manual, there is plenty of scope for using an appropriate reference book – or for getting a little creative. Plants, insects, and herbivores are your primary venues for creativity, though scavengers are underrepresented in the MM as well. I like to always include at least one “ringer” – a completely new creation – in each table. Sometimes these will be whimsical, and at other times, dangerous. Contemplate, for example, a leech which is 1/100th the size of the typical specimen – small enough to be a completely different species – that likes to crawl under fingernails to gorge itself. The larger it grows, the more tightly it gets wedged in under the nail (causing acute pain which can only be relieved by having a friend pull out the affected fingernail)…

At times, I will split a particular encounter category. For example, I might want to have two groups of pack-hunters out there, so I will assign each half the chance of the standard pack encounter.

Another tip: older editions of D&D list encounters by terrain. Use as a reference, double-checking as necessary with your edition.

Totaling the encounter chances

The next step is to add up all the individual encounter chances. In the case of our example, and selecting the general sentient population value as 0.48 (i.e. 12 per square mile) gives a total of 1.7514.

Divide 100 by the total

This is as straightforward as it sounds. In the case of our example, it gives 57.1, near enough.

First Draft

Multiply each individual chance by the result, rounding off as necessary. If the individual result is less than 0.75 after multiplying by the results of the previous step (57.1 in our example), set it aside with an asterisk – it has been selected to appear in a subtable. Note that there will usually be no need for a subtable, UNLESS the alternative approach presented below (which does away with rounding) is employed.

IF there is a subtable, Total the subtable entry values

Add up the (adjusted) encounter chance values for everything that came to less than 0.75 the first time around. Create a new entry in the main table that reads “roll on the subtable” and assign it the total that you have calculated from all these leftovers. Round the total up or down as necessary UNLESS the alternative given below is employed.

Recalculate the main table

Using the rounded values, and including any “lump sum” pointing at a subtable, get a new total, divide 100 by the result, multiply each value by that result, and round off as necessary. Then tweak until the total comes to 100% – or, if the value is a little under 100%, include the gap as a “roll again” entry at the bottom of the table.

An Alternative

A more precise alternative is to include any fractions from the first set of entries in the subtable. In other words, if you got a value of 5.4, instead of rounding off to 5, you would cut the 5.4 into two parts: a 5% entry in the main table and a 0.4% entry in the subtable. If you have a lot of entries in your encounter table, this can actually be less work, so consider the possibility.

Optional Step

I like to list the entries in order of largest to smallest. It makes the resulting table easier to read.

Optional Step 2

Any encounter with a chance of more than 20% should be subdivided. In theory, any encounter entry with a chance of more than 10% should probably be divided, but 20% is good enough.

Convert into a d% table

If you have total chances of 18,15,14,11,9,7,7,5,5,9 (subtable):

the first entry has a chance of 01 to 18%. The second entry has a value of 18+1=19 to 18+15=33. The third entry has a chance of 33+1=34 to 33+14=47. And so on.

(I realize that this may be stating the obvious, but I’ve met at least one GM who didn’t know how to do it. For everyone, there is a first time.)

Generate the subtable

Using exactly the same steps but only those encounter entries that have been allocated to the subtable. Continue until all encounters have an entry in the table or in a subtable.

Playing with the numbers

Splitting an entry in an encounter table presents all sorts of opportunities. You can adjust relative chances for one species over another, for example, to reflect differences in population levels, or attitude. A pack of Veloceraptors would probably get a bigger share of the encounter chance than a pack of wolves of equal size. You can subdivide sentient encounters to reflect social values. You can increase the number of creatures of any given type encountered by a proportionate reduction in chance – so twice as many in an encounter = half the chance. Using this same principle, you can include entries for “double the normal number” or “eight times the normal number” – useful when talking about Orcs (a lone hunter, a scouting party, a hunting party, a war unit, a tribal raiding force – each double the number and half the chance of the previous one). You can do a separate table for night encounters, or just a different set of numbers on the one table – or simply a notation that at night, an encounter of “X” should be read as an encounter of “Y”.

Get creative. It’s your table, after all.

Chance Of An Encounter

There’s pronounced light at the end of the tunnel. Only one step remains: working out the chance of their being ANY encounter. The table created in the previous step tells you what is encountered, when an encounter takes place. I used to use the second almost exclusively, now I use the first for all daylight hours and the second for party rest stops and night encampments.

By distance

The total we got when first adding up the chances of individual encounters is the overall % chance per mile of an encounter. So to determine the chance by distance, simply pick your distance and multiply by that number of miles. distance can be the separation between two points on the map; it can be the range limit of this particular table (because there is a terrain chance); it can be the distance between two settlements or the distance between two landmarks. Using rivers as boundaries can be especially useful.

By time

Convert the time into a distance describing how far the party can walk in a given period. One hour, Two hours, Four hours, six hours, eight hours, twelve hours – these are all valid choices. This can be especially useful if you employ the concept of “virtual movement” to cover time spent camping somewhere. For increased sophistication, use daylight minus 1, 1.5, or 2 hours – so that the value is how much daylight is left after breaking camp and setting up camp at the end of the day. A minute or two’s difference per day might not be all that noticeable, but the knowledge that you are tracking things that accurately can give you a lot of confidence.

The Reset Button

Every time there is an encounter, reset the chance of an encounter at zero. You don’t have to recalculate the chance if you’re using the “by time” method, but will have to do so if using the “by distance” approach because you will want to know what the chances are for an encounter within the remaining distance to the end-point you have chosen.

One More Thintg…

I almost forgot to mention one of the coolest things about this approach: Once you have set it up for a given patch of terrain, you can reuse the basic calculations for all matching terrain while still customising the individual entries in your encounter table! That’s because this is, fundamentally, an ecology-based system for deriving encounters, and while different occupants may be found in different ecological niches, those general niches will remain the same. What’s more, the approach is deliberately universal in design – one pack totalling X kilogrammes can replace another without a problem.

Whew! 11,900+ words, but I got there in the end. Next time, in Encounters With Meaning, I’ll go into encounter tables for Urban Settings, Dungeon settings, and talk about ways of integrating Wandering Monster encounters into your plotlines, infusing them with meaning. There is a reason I labeled the encounters in the table as “significant” encounters…

On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 27-28

I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll never get it done in time…

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Chapters 27 and 28 were partially unfinished when I started this series, which means they are presented in first-draft form and not the fully polished form of the early chapters.

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The Second Great Dwarfwar: Aftermath: The Forging Of Mithral

The terms of the peace treaty meant that – for as long as it lasted – large quantities of the useless metal, Mithral, were going to pass into the possession of the Elves. Accordingly, while the primary focus of the Spellweavers would be the black gems for the foreseeable future, a smaller project got underway to try and tame this material and make something worthwhile from it.

This investigation soon learned that the metal was partly ethereal in nature, and that heating and working the material to forge it denatured and severed that connection, leaving the metal brittle and worthless. Melting it once and pouring it into a mould, then attaching it to another red-hot metal before it had fully cooled – the solution found by the Dwarves – avoided the worst of the problem, but left the material useful only for decoration. But it was a solution discovered by trial and error with no real understanding of the source of the problem, or of the properties of the metal in question; a better solution could almost certainly be found.

In due course, one was. Alloying Mithral with silver, platinum, and steel (the exact process remains a closely-held secret not even known generally amongst the elves) transformed Mithral into Mithryl (a name change so subtle that only elvish ears can detect it, which is not entirely an accident), a metal in which much of the weight is carried within the ethereal plane. The result was a metal only slightly softer than true steel but which could be much thinner and a fraction of the weight in attaining that strength – resulting in lighter armour and stronger weapons. It was also determined that the smaller and thinner the shapes forged, the greater the relative gain; to take maximum advantage, new weapons and armour forms would need to be designed. The more they investigated and the more they uncovered, the more highly they prioritized the effort.

As their understanding and experience of Mithryl grew, they used the material to create weapons of surpassing speed, bows of uncanny pull and accuracy (for their weight), mail of finer links than were dreamed possible that was just as effective as full steel chainmail but weighed one tenth as much. Heavier grades of the mail is second in resilience only to the Adamantium plate of the Dwarves, a material they had not yet discovered nor learned to work, but would weigh less than 1/4 as much even if cast in the same Dwarven moulds – not that the elves would ever contemplate doing so.

Only one mystery remained impenetrable; the origins of the raw ore. From whence had the Drow obtained it, and how, and for what intended purpose? This was a secret held only by Lolth, and perhaps a few elite members of her favoured families.

The secrets of forging Mithryl became one of the most closely-guarded state secrets of Elven Society. The reasoning is typically elvish: deep and subtle, and relates directly to the reasons why this research assumed a greater and greater priority within post-war Elvish Society.

With the benefits of perspective, Elvish society was collectively horrified by the extremity of the Huyundaltha plan for winning the war; for the first time, they had been forced to acknowledge that the darkness that drove the Drow was also a part of, a potential of, every Elf. While the Huyundaltha were the guardians of Elvishness from all threats, both foreign and domestic, it was the decision of the Elvish Council that engaging in a war was inherently corrupting, and was to be avoided in the future at all costs. (It is worth noting that similar conclusions are often reached by the survivors of any war, only to be forgotten when fresh justifications and imperatives present themselves).

Furthermore, the Huyundaltha suffered from a handicap that only an elf could fathom: it was not in their nature to do that which was not in their nature.

This statement was intended to express and codify a significant restriction on the effectiveness of the Huyundaltha: they, more than any other Elves, were bound to the narrowest, most pure, interpretation of the tenets, principles, and philosophies by which the Elves defined themselves. In many ways, they had less flexibility and free will even than the Drow, who Elvish society continued to believe had been corrupted by the ego and willfulness and arrogance of Llolth. There was an ongoing empathy for their lost brothers and sisters, and a new-found feeling within the members of Elven society that only good fortune had spared them from the same snare of self-deception.

(It might seem that this awareness would make the Elves less hostile toward the Drow; in fact, it had the opposite effect. No elf could look at a Drow without being aware of the seductive temptation of darkness, of their own weakness, their own imperfection; and, since their faith in themselves was the cornerstone of their existence, they became more rabidly anti-Drow than ever. And secretly ashamed of it).

Despite these limitations and restrictions, the Huyundaltha had to be regarded by outsiders as credible defenders. In order to be taken seriously, the prowess of each individual member of the order must be bolstered and reinforced. The easiest means of doing so would be through Spellweaving applied to the members of the Huyundaltha, but that would violate their natures, by which they qualify for their lofty responsibilities. Hence, external augmentation is the only viable solution. In essence, the outside world must be convinced that the Huyundaltha possess arms and training that make them the superior of any warrior who might challenge them – not by a small margin, but by a vast gulf. Only in this manner can the Huyundaltha be sheltered from the corrupting influence of actually being pressed into duty in war.

The Elvish mastery of the secrets of Mithryl, and of the forging of Elvish swords, bows, gloves, and mail were the solution to the need to make their defenders so seemingly-invincible that they would never be challenged – or so the Elves hoped.

Once that mastery had been achieved to a satisfactory standard, the Elves (and, in particular, their Spellweavers) turned their attention back to the black gems that had been so prized by Lolth for their ability to focus and contain arcane energies, and the way in which they loosened the bonds that set creatures and objects in the fixed forms and natures just enough to make those characteristics more amenable to manipulation. This was far more frustrating research, and progress was as markedly slow as progress had been remarkably fast in the research into Mithryl. But scarcely had the Elves begun when their social attention was diverted by the arrival of a trade delegation from the Human Kingdom of Zae’y’lish…

The Rise Of The Elvish Merchants

Prior to the sweeping events of the Second Great Dwarfwar, Elvarheim had never contemplated the potentials of trade as being important to them; they were self-sufficient, needing nothing from outsiders. What they had not considered was that the decision not to trade held just as much potential impact as the decision to trade – but because it removed the non-trader from any position of influence over the relationship, it left the progress of consequences entirely in the hands of outsiders. This was unacceptable to the Elves; better by far to trade on their terms than to become embroiled in the consequences of the trading arrangements of others. Such was the thinking of the Elvish Council when ambitious traders from the Kingdom of Zae’y’lish arrived seeking exotic skills and craftsmanship.

The Elves had not previously contemplated the lessons held by the the recent conflict with the Dwarves, and had certainly never contemplated trade with Humans, but the two races had established amicable relations. Since this was clearly a question of relations with outsiders, it naturally fell under the purview of the Elvish King, as advised by the Royal Council; that advice, in a nutshell, was to find something – anything would do – that was not culturally sensitive, and that could be traded to the humans, and something – anything – that would be desirable in exchange.

That was not as straightforward a task as it might seem. The elves were not especially interested in exotic foodstuffs, and the greatest craftsman of a human empire could not compete with the product of an elvish mastercrafter – if no elf had mastered the craft, it was because the product held no value to Elvish society. While artistic and literary works, with their alien perspectives, might hold some limited attraction to a cultural subsection, they were not generally prized. Human advances in arcane theory were expensive and valuable, but again were only of interest to specialists. Ultimately, the only products of value to the Elvish people as a group were not products at all, but raw materials – and since Elvish workmanship was so self-evidently superior, only the best and most pure was suitable.

But it was King Endabberas – one of the wisest of the Elven monarchs – who best summed up the situation from the Elven perspective: “It matters not should we gain or not through these exchanges and others like them; the import is in the act itself, and the opportunity it imbues for the ongoing protection and goodwill toward our race that the act engenders in the perceptions of those who might otherwise become enemies or rivals. This gain more than counterbalances any minor inequality in trading terms.”

Naturally, the Elvish self-pride (some would say ego or arrogance), being what it was, immediately drove them to seek to perfect this new skill. While it may have been true that the first to trade with the Elves took shameless advantage of their new association, the Elves learned very quickly, and soon became recognized as some of the sharpest negotiators at any bargaining table. They were aided in this by the perspective lent them by the nature of their longevity, which enabled them to take a longer view than the humans.

Traders from Zae’y’lish were followed by representatives of the Kingdoms of Erilion, Casipodes, Horwitch, Asaorales, Visunia, and Garinath, and to each the Elves offered their services for a price they deemed fair (and that the merchants decried as exorbitant). But the craftsmanship was superior, if slow of completion, and in the end they begrudgingly agreed to the Elves terms.

Soon, Elvish craftsmen were regularly accepting commissions throughout the Human Kingdoms. Elvish mages became infrequent but regular visitors to their human counterparts (and ever thereafter it would be rumored that some taught the humans more than would have been permitted by the Council had the latter been consulted); Elvish woodworkers and metalsmiths were all over the place. At first, the latter were unwelcomed by their human counterparts, who saw the high-prestige commissions moving beyond their reach, and feared that they would be supplanted entirely; but as the Elves learned the finer points of trade, and as Human craftsmen united into trading guilds, it became clear that the elves prices were so high that the majority of work would always remain in human hands. A number of the Guilds demonstrated their perspicacity by travelling to Elvarheim to instruct the Elves in the finer points of trade negotiations, the better to ensure that both groups’ welfares were protected. It was not long before Elvish Craftsmen were considered de facto honorary members of the professional Guilds throughout the Kingdoms of man.

These events impacted human society as strongly as they did that of the elves. The security and protection of those Elves who undertook a Human commission was, for example, one area in which the Guilds played all sides against each other to enact social reform almost entirely unnoticed until it was too late. First, the Guilds taught the Elves to bargain for the protection of those craftsmen who undertook Human commissions, frontloading the costs of that protection into the bargains. They supplemented this with the concept of wergild and guarantees. With these principles established, they then demanded that the various Kingdoms to which their members belonged provide those members with equivalent protections. While forced to compromise on the value received, as they had expected, they nevertheless succeeded in providing all professional guildsmen with some level of security whilst “on the job”, and, should the worst occur, a token payment to ease the burdens of the family of the deceased.

It must be admitted that many of the consequences of the increased interaction levels between the various societies in question were unforeseen by anyone. And of these unforeseen consequences, by far the most vexing to the Elves was the rise of the Half-bloods.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Alkaith: Curved 14-inch dagger favored as a weapon and general cutting tool by Elvish Spellcasters and some High Elves.
• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mithryl: the Elvish name of an extremely fragile metal given in trade by the Dwarves to the Elves. The word is imported from Dwarven, who in turn obtained it from the Zamiel Tongue name of the metal, “Mithral”. “Mithryl” means “Moonsilver” in Elven. The word also enjoys popular usage as a metaphor for a treasure found which appeared initially worthless.
• Mithral: the Drow name for Mithryl. A literal translation from Zamiel is “Shadowsilver”.
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: Cults, Half-breeds, and The Circle Of Harmony; new complexities to vex the Elves and complicate their lives: Chapters 29, 30, and 31!

I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll never get it done in time…

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Chapters 24 to 26 were partially unfinished when I started this series, which means they are presented in first-draft form and not the fully polished form of the early chapters.

That means a change in style for the latter third or so of this post, because my objective here is to tell the story to a usable standard (as explained in Game Prep and the +N to Game Longevity) and not to spend a lot of time rewriting to cast paragraphs in the mode of speech of a particular contributing “speaker”. Think of it this way: Broad Notes to Detailed Notes to Outline to First Draft to Final Draft – the goal from the last sections of Chapter 21 onwards is First Draft standard, and not a polished Final Draft.

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The Second Great Dwarfwar: Armistice

The Dwarven King and his retinue exited the tunnel to find the mouth ringed three-deep with Elves with bows drawn, and more on the limbs of trees on all sides. A tense standoff resulted until Kazeth was brought forward. He described the events in the Dwarven King’s court, but the Elvish Council was wary; all they knew for certain is that their Prince went down the tunnel in the company of a Dwarf and failed to return. Since the Dwarven King was also suspicious, the two parties were soon glaring at each other, a hairsbreadth from renewing the violence. The people who were most convinced that the Dwarves had been manipulated by the Drow were Kazeth and Therialas the tracker. While Kazeth had not been so certain initially, he had developed considerable respect for Prince Elbareth during their travels together, and the betrayal by the Drow Ambassador had been the clincher. The pair stepped forward to act as peacemakers, and quickly agreed to the offer of armistice. After dispatching runners to advise the Elves within the Dwarven tunnels to stand down but not withdraw. King Veldergrist, having anticipated this result, had left instructions with his commanders to stand down but maintain defensive lines if the Elves ceased their attack.

They then opened discussions of the possible terms of a more substantial peace treaty, starting by proposing and accepting that both sides had suffered equally in the war. The Dwarven King interrupted to dispute this. The Elven King’s son was killed while under his protection and that weighs heavily on his honor. He cannot accept the agreement on this point unless the stain on his good name is considered a separate debt, not covered by the statement of equal losses. The Elvish Council, who placed no special value on the life of a Prince (as compared to any other Elf) were quick to accept an advantage in the negotiations. This put Therialas in an awkward position, because it gave the Elves an undeserved advantage in the peace negotiations, but he could expose the ploy without disgracing his people in the eyes of the Dwarves and jeopardizing the entire peace negotiation, and without revealing the secret of the Elven nobility – a secret that could easily trigger wars with several other races, especially humans, who could be almost as prickly as Dwarves when they perceive insult.

After protesting (privately) to the council, Therialas threatened to walk off away from the negotiations completely. This was an empty threat, and the Council knew it; the aged tracker would never permit a single elf to be killed in a resumption of hostilities for which he alone would be responsible. Nevertheless, they were concerned that he might reveal the secret in order to equalize the negotiating position, and agreed to permit him some latitude in setting the peace terms – subject to their approval, of course.

Therialas started by repatriating the Dwarven Prince to his people, describing him as brave and resourceful fighter of whom his father should be proud. Of course, it did not hurt negotiations that he was able to confirm that he had been well-treated. For the next several hours, the Elves described their theory of Drow manipulation, and pressing the Dwarven King for greater details concerning the promises and agreements; but the Dwarven King was reluctant to provide such details. The Drow were allies of the Dwarven Nation who – so far as the Dwarves had been able to tell – had treated fairly and honestly with their people. Until it could be proven that the Drow had betrayed the intent of that alliance, King Veldergrist would not give the Surface Elves any advantage over their subterranean Kin. But the certainty of the Elves had grown with each retelling of the theory, and they were consequently strongly motivated to offer concessions.

They started by recapitulating the terms of the agreement with the Drow, point-by-point, accompanied by their interpretation. As they did so, on each point, they made an offer. They promised to trade food to the Dwarves at the same price the Drow were offering. They offered to supply timber to the Dwarves at terms that even the Dwarves considered generous; so much so that King Veldergrist was minded to accuse the Elvish Council of attempting to bribe them out of bloody-mindedness and hatred for the Drow. Since timber rights was the initial cause of the conflict, the Elves were able to convince the King that an agreement on the issue was in the Elves own best interest.

King Veldergrist responded by acknowledging the offer, and in a gesture of good will, and as a mark of thanks for the good treatment of his son, he handed over one of the Black Gems and a small sample of the metal, Mithral, that the Drow had been trading to the Dwarves. Because these commodities were central to the doubts raised by Prince Elbareth, he offered them to the Elves to study while he retired to consider their offer.

After contemplating the offer overnight, King Veldergrist determined that if supplemented by an apology from each side, he would accept the proposed Peace Treaty, but even while the two negotiators were arguing over the details, a band of Dwarves erupted from the tunnel which led to the heart of the Elven Lands. The elves reacted with alarm at this fresh incursion, and once again the fragile peace came under threat. Under the same flag of parley that he had carried into the Elven forest the previous day, King Veldergrist left his protective shield of Dwarven Warriors behind and approached the confrontation, where he spoke in hushed tones to the Dwarves who had emerged from the tunnel. When the conference concluded he raised the standard of peace high, so that all could see it, then dramatically swept it to one side, signaling an end to the peace. The warriors with him all drew their weapons, as did the Elves in the gathering. In a loud voice, the King demanded, “Therialas of Elvarheim, I require an explanation. You have deceived us with your false Armistice and pretence of laying down your arms, even while releasing into our tunnels monstrosities and abominations to slaughter our wives and young, continuing the war by proxy and subterfuge.”

“I know not who is attacking your women and children, Dwarf-King, but it is not us. I give you my word.”

“Trust between us is broken, Elf. Your word is worthless until that is restored.”

“How do you propose we do that, King of Beards?”

“I do not know, tree-lover, but a way must be found before the sun sets, or the peace between us will end – for all time.”

The Final Betrayal

The Elvish council had withdrawn to consider how best to satisfy the fractious and irritated King of the Dwarves. “If it is not us, it must be the Drow – unless it is a Dwarven fiction. We have seen no evidence of these monstrosities.”

“We are on the verge of total victory and they know it. They would be insane to resume the conflict under the current circumstances.”

“Perhaps they are insane. They are Dwarves.”

“That may make them different, but not insane. Let us assume that this is the handiwork of our Kindred. In order for that to be the case, they would have to know what the Huyundaltha planned. How might that be that possible?”

“Easily. They know us, and might be able to predict our solution. The Queen Of Spiders may have scried our preparations. And it is always possible that we have a spy in our midst. Any of these would have yielded the intelligence.”

“So, assuming that this is the work of the Drow, what is her objective?”

“The Dwarves were about to subjugate themselves to her rule without realizing it. The accords threaten that. At the very least she disrupts the peace. At best, she increases the pressure on the Dwarves to accede to her proposals. Further, by attacking the helpless and placing the burden of responsibility for the attack apon us, she may enrage the Dwarves to the point of seeking revenge at any price. Finally, I am sure that some Dwarves will doubt us no matter what, so she divides an enemy.”

“There are ample strategic reasons for this attack, then. Next, we must ask ourselves how she has achieved this?”

“That answer would seem simple as well. She could have learned of the intent of Deruan almost as soon as it was formed, so this stroke could have been in preparation for as long as the Huyundaltha were committed to the course. Moreover, we are considerate to those creatures we manipulate with our Spellcraft; Lolth is far more ruthless. Her programme could have started later and still overtaken ours.”

“Then there remains only one question. How do we convince the King of the Dwarves of all this?”

“There is but one way,” replied Therialas. “Lolth has but one failing, her ego. It drives her to always take anything she undertakes that one step too far. She would not have been content merely to counterfeight our creatures, she would have been driven to “improve” on them, producing – as the Dwarven reports state – monstrosities and abominations – if she could.”

“That is the flaw in all these arguements. Our creatures were as perfectly suited to their task as we could make them; indeed the Huyundaltha waited until that was the case. We had not the skill and spellweaving ability to enhance them further. How then can we explain her ability to exceed those limits without acknowledging the unthinkable, that she is our superior in our own chosen craft?”

“I can answer that,” came a new voice. “I have been examining the black gem provided by the Dwarves, the gems which so fascinated Lolth that she traded more than generously to obtain them, and one example of which enabled her Drow to penetrate our spellwoven defenses. How it and its like came to be, I cannot say, nor how they came to be located where the Dwarves found them; but they contain a symmetrical arrangement of all six forms of natural energy. These resonate with the energies of the subject of a Spellweaving, loosening the hold of the natural form, and making the subject more receptive to spellweaving. With enough of these gems, used in concert by enough spellweavers operating in harmony, Lolth would have been capable of twisting and reshaping the world to her liking. She could have obliterated us as an afterthought.”

“With such ability, it becomes clear that we never figured into her immediate objective. This entire war was directed at the subjugation of the Dwarves, and we were never more than unwitting pawns in her scheme.”

“So,” concluded Therialas, “Lolth had both the capacity and predisposition to produce abominations far more extreme those we would ever create. That is her mistake, and it leaves us a slim opening through which to thread the needle of peace. I know now how to convince the King, if anyone or anything can do so. Will the council grant me the authority to continue to speak for our people in these negotiations without interference, regardless of how unlikely my tactics may appear?”

One after the other, the members of the council nodded.

A short time later, the Council and their appointed negotiator returned to address the King of the Dwarves. “Your majesty, you demanded that we provide an explanation. I must tell you that at this time we cannot.”

“Then your honor and the peace accords are forfeit. We will grind you into the dust, if it take a thousand years, no matter the cost. To arms!”

Hastily, and with his hands held open before him, Therialas added, “What we can offer are suspicions and surmise without proofs, and I say that because you, your majesty, hold the proof. We cannot give you your answer because you already have it!”

“If this is some obscure jest, tree-lover, I am not laughing. What is this explanation, and what is the proof that you claim is already in my possession?”

“It is no joke, you Majesty, but were I to give you the surmised explanation we have devised, it would compromise the proof. To prove beyond doubt our innocence and restore the bond of peace between us, you must first study the proof with your own eyes, and only then may we offer an explanation for what you will apprehend. You have with you descriptions of the horrors which even now assault your civilian population? Do not tell me of the details, but please ensure that those details you have in your possession are fresh in your mind.”

“I will never forget them, for they conjure images most loathsome and evil. Speak quickly, Elf, for all our lives hang apon the thread of my patience, and it wears thin.”

“I must point out that you have not shared this knowledge with us, save only in the most general terms – ‘monstrosities and abominations’ was the phrase you used. I will take you now to the glades where our creatures await their role in any renewed conflict. You may compare them with the descriptions you hold and assure yourself that it is quite impossible for the two to be related.” A sudden buzz of consternation erupted from the Council as Therialas’ intent became clear.

“Don’t go, Your Majesty, it is a trap!” cried one of the Warriors who had brought word of the massacre.

“You may bring your entire retinue, including these uninvited additions, for protection. Your son and heir and the strike force he commanded was our prisoner; you arrived under flag of truce and with but a token bodyguard, into the heart of our power. Had we wished to entrap you, it would have been done easily and long before these additional forces arrived. Were we as bereft of honor as you now suspect, there would have been nothing to prevent it.”

“I do not need an army. Your point is well made. Very well, I will see these creatures.” Turning to his compatriots, he instructed, “Assemble my honor guard. Take no action save to defend yourself until I return, or until the sun sets, at which time it will be clear that I cannot return. My son shall be your commander and King should that transpire.”

A short time later, the Dwarven King, still surrounded by the muted whispers of protest from the Elven Council, was inspecting some of the creatures the Huyundaltha had bred: a gopher standing as tall as a Dwarf; A worm to whose flesh weapons and iron of any kind clung as though glued in place, at once disarming and forming a protective barrier from attack; a termite as large as a hand; a tiger with great green eyes, adapted for to hunt in the dark. “Elven Spellweaving,” explained Therialas, “may enhance an existing quality or capacity of a creature, may make it more obedient or docile, even more aware and awake to the consciousness of nature, but it remains true to its nature. We cannot force a creature to become something against that nature. Compare these with the descriptions you have received, and you will observe that the two cannot be related.”

“You speak truly, Elf. These creatures may be dangerous, unusual, even noteworthy, but they are still minor variations on the theme of what they were. They cannot be compared to the perversions of nature that assault my people. And now, I’ll trouble you for that explanation you promised.”

It was the work of only a few minutes to recite the logic of the Elven Council as the pair walked side by side back to the central glade where the Dwarven tunnel exited into the Elven Realm, followed by the Elvish council and Dwarvish Honor Guard. “Perhaps Lolth believes that the Battle continues, because without the reports of the Ambassador to your Court, her sources of intelligence are reduced; or perhaps she knew of the peace conference, and sought to pressure you while disrupting it. Perhaps she planned to use her creations in the first manner but turned them to the second; it matters not, the outcome is the same,” said Therialas. “What matters most is that you have seen this proof with your own eyes, and that it not only confirms our speculations apon the origins of this attack, but also verifies beyond doubt the allegations we had already made. This war is the result of misunderstandings and short tempers, fueled and manipulated and ultimately triggered by the manipulations of a liar and a deceiver.”

“Indeed, Elf. We must have scared the witch more than we thought when we sought justice over the Prince Of Lies affair – but hold, what is this?” All were surprised to see a fresh contingent of Dwarves erupting from the mouth of the tunnel.

“More Dwarves? If this keeps up, Lolth may yet win your Kingdom, Veldergrist, because all your nation will be here!”

“Fear not, tree-lover – when I depart, I will have the tunnel collapsed and sealed throughout its length. If I choose to depart, you understand,” replied the King with a twinkle in his eye.

“Your Majesty, that jest was almost Elven,” laughed the negotiator.

One of the newcomers, spying the King, saluted in Dwarven fashion and announced loudly, “Your majesty, I have urgent news. One of the monstrosities erupted from a tunnel near to the front lines and assaulted our forces there. They were close to being overrun when the Elves took up arms. For a moment, we thought they were intending to take advantage of our distraction, but instead they joined with us and together we were able to rout the creature. They then aided in the treatment and care of the wounded. The commander of the battle force instructed us to send this news to you at once, as it bears strongly apon the character of the negotiations you currently undertake. He adds that several of the elves were heard to utter the words ‘unnatural’ and ‘perversion’ in description of the monstrous creature; he is convinced that they knew nothing about it until its attack.”

With this final confirmation, King Veldergrist was convinced, and returned to the negotiation of peace terms. Since most of these had been agreed before the disruption, the negotiations went swiftly. Within an hour, a treaty of peace had been drawn up, which included the terms of trade proposed by the Elves. The Elven King then came forward and placed his flowing signature apon the document, where it was soon joined by the more angular runes and personal flourish of King Veldergrist. So concluded the second Great War between Elves and Dwarves. As his entourage, led by the Prince, returned to the tunnels, the King stopped, and turned, and announced: “Know you this: I swear apon all the Honor of the Dwarven People that we shall, henceforth, kill any Drow who may violate our tunnels, apon sight. To avoid unpleasant accidents, it would be well for your people to avoid them also unless invited to enter. Twice now, the Spider-queen has made fools of my people, and while our lives may be shorter than yours, we have very long memories. Very long memories, and this humiliation will not soon be forgotten. Be warned, and remember the warning well.”

Then Deruan, leader of the Huyundaltha, architect of the Elven strategy during the war, who had only just returned from the tunnels and who was still struggling to absorb the full meaning of events, stepped forward and said, “It is not enough. Too much Elven blood has been spilled, and too much Dwarven blood. We have been used as much as your people, yet you would strip us of the opportunity to seek Justice. I demand more!”

With a wary eye, King Veldergrist turned to face the Elf. “I will hear your proposal, Tree-lover,” he replied.

The Second Great Dwarfwar: Aftermath: The Isolation Of The Drow

Deruan’s proposals were quite simple. Elven archers, under the leadership of the Huyundaltha, who were now accustomed to fighting beneath the surface world, would be led down the Dwarven Tunnels to join in the protection of the Dwarvish civilians. At the same time, he and the Dwarven War-leader would plan a suitable act of retaliation against the Drow, a series of combined maneuvers that would drive the monsters back from the Dwarven domain. This would also ensure sufficient force was on hand should Lolth, in fit of pique, attempt a more traditional invasion while the Dwarves were relatively vulnerable. After all, most of the Dwarven defenders had been brought into forward positions relative to the accessways to the Surface, leaving only a token guard force standing between the Dwarves and the Drow.

King Veldergrist was forced to acknowledge that if the subjugation of the Dwarves had indeed been Lolth’s primary objective, she would not waste the opportunity.

Deruan stated that it was only right and just for the Dwarves to defend their realm against such an invasion, but with the losses they had endured, they did not have the numbers to both protect their civilian population from the Drow Monstrosities and defend themselves against a Drow invasion. Only if the Dwarves permitted the Elves to guard their flanks and protect the civilian population could enough warriors be spared. The elves would drive the monstrosities back down the tunnels dug by the Drow to direct the attacks of the monstrosities and hold them there while Dwarvish miners sealed the passages, entombing the Drow with their own creations. Elvish spellweavers could then reinforce these passages using some of the Black Gems so that not even Lolth could break through them. Only when the safety of the Dwarven population was assured could the Elves withdraw, able to state with clear conscience that they had done their best to undo the harm they had been manipulated into causing.

This came close to repeating past offences against Dwarven sensibilities – once again, an Elf was telling them how to defend themselves, and how to conduct a joint operation, and on what terms the two nations would cooperate; but the Elves had, as has been explained, learned something from past mistakes. The Dwarven specialist immediately added, “Unless your War-Leader has some better idea. He would know the tunnels connecting your realm to that of the Drow far better than we, and likewise the disposition of your remaining forces, King Veldergrist.”

Suitably mollified by this acknowledgement of superiority (of a sort), the King agreed that they should proceed as suggested by the leader of the Huyundaltha as an interim measure until more concrete plans were agreed between the two military leaders.

As it transpired, this agreement was reached barely in time, and if it were not for more units of the Huyundaltha taking it apon themselves to defend Dwarves against incursions by Lolth’s abominations without orders to do so, the Dwarven nation would have been quickly overrun, as a four pronged simultaneous assault began. Monstrosities attacked the Dwarven armies on two sides, pinning them down, while more attacked the sheltering civilian population from above and below, creating panic that ensured that no defenders not engaged by those initial forces could make their way to the relatively unprotected rear through which an army of 1,000 Drow flooded in sudden and unprovoked attack.

But Lolth had not fully reckoned the martial nature of Dwarven society into her plans; from the time he can first walk, young Dwarves train with hammers and other weapons, regardless of age or gender. The “Civilians” might be less proficient than the military specialists of the official army, but they could, and did, fight to the last breath. In this way, they held out until Elvish relief could reach the Soldiers at the former front, who were then able to make their way through the outraged civilians to the new battle-lines, where an anarchic stalemate quickly developed.

At first, the battles were far more anarchic than the elegant strategy proposed by Deruan, and Elves and Dwarves were often engaged in joint moments of desperate action. Over the next few days, the Drow attempted assault after assault, but each time there were more Elven and Dwarven defenders on hand to repel the invaders, and the battle against a mutual foe did much to erase any lingering animosity between the two new allies. It was symbolic of the campaign that both Deruan and the Dwarvish War-leader perished fighting alongside each other in the most heated of those joint battles. Slowly, as the allied force gained control of the bottlenecks which connected the Drow realm to that of the Dwarves, the battle structure became less improvised as the two forces learned anew how to work together to best effect. It became routine; time after time, a Dwarvish strike force would rush forward in a charge under cover of Elven bow-fire to savage the enemy ranks and drive deep into the heart of their lines, which would collapse inwards to surround the Dwarves. At a prearranged distance, the Dwarves would abruptly halt and form a skirmish line out to each side, dividing the Drow attackers, and would then hold firm in defensive position, with the archers breaking up any organized counterattack, while a trailing element of Huyundaltha swept through those Drow who had been isolated mowing the enemy down like sheaves of wheat with their hypnotic swirling dance and flashing twin blades. When they reached the Dwarvish lines, having annihilated the Drow that stood between them, the archers would advance and take up fresh positions, ready to do it all once again.

After four days of intense battle, the Drow – who had suffered terrible losses – withdrew, and a fresh wave of abominations spewed forth from hidden side tunnels, even more deadly and perverse than those which the Dwarves had previously seen. These creatures were savage and free of all restraint, attacking anything and everything in their path. Under this fresh assault, the Allies were forced to retreat, but they did so in an orderly fashion; but so dangerous were the creatures that the Drow attackers dared not advance. Instead, both sides walled off the passages occupied by the abominations, establishing a monstrously-guarded “no man’s land” between the Dwarves and the Drow.

When at last, the Dwarven tunnels were reported free of attackers, the Elves began to withdraw, leaving behind them what supplies they could spare and taking only the minimum needed to reach the surface safely. Even as they withdrew, the first shipments of trade goods from the Elves arrived, for which the Elves accepted in payment whatever the Dwarves had on hand and did not need. So it was that the Elves came into possession of a substantial quantity of the fragile metal, Mithral.

Lolth described the entire engagement to her people as a great victory, of course. They had succeeded in walling the Dwarves off from their subterranean homes, securing them from possible Dwarvish incursion. She announced that new and secret tunnels could now be dug to the surface without the danger of attracting Dwarvish attention. She decreed that the Drow would now leave the Surface World unmolested until the memory of the Drow people was long-faded and they could strike without warning, having spied out all the vulnerabilities of their enemies. Until that day, she directed her people, they should turn their attention to mastering the ways of stealth, subterfuge, and disguise, and to the taming of the wild creations she had made in her people’s name, the Dryders and Phase Spiders.

Lolth herself was privately far less satisfied with the outcome than she pretended. For the second time, her chosen people had come off second-best in a confrontation with outsiders. While her peoples’ continued adoration was a given, since the entire structure of the society she had imposed on them was designed to detect, contain, and punish those who did not display absolute faith in her, she was all too aware that her continued power, existence, and continued unification relied completely apon that faith. When she had been a mere alliance of spider-totems, she had drawn her power from nature itself, but when she broke away from nature’s dictates, she had also cut herself off from that source of power, replacing it with the adoration of her subjects. If her people were ever to fall, or to lose their faith, she would be undone; before she could again risk them in direct confrontation, she would need to find a way of protecting her own existance, by recruiting other subjects to worship her.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Alkaith: Curved 14-inch dagger favored as a weapon and general cutting tool by Elvish Spellcasters and some High Elves.
• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mithryl: the Elvish name of an extremely fragile metal given in trade by the Dwarves to the Elves. The word is imported from Dwarven, who in turn obtained it from the Zamiel Tongue name of the metal, “Mithral”. “Mithryl” means “Moonsilver” in Elven. The word also enjoys popular usage as a metaphor for a treasure found which appeared initially worthless.
• Mithral: the Drow name for Mithryl. A literal translation from Zamiel is “Shadowsilver”.
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: The forging of Mithryl, more on the consequences of the Second Great War, and how they reshaped Elven Society forever – and that’s just chapters 27 and 28! (and yes, those chapters were expected to be part of this post – Chapter 25 went into overtime, it was originally planned to be part of Chapter 24).

Encounter tables seem to have gone out of fashion lately, and I’m not entirely sure why that is. Perhaps its a trend away from random or “wandering monster” encounters in a wilderness setting in favor of planned encounters – the latter can be defined as encounters that advance the plotline, while the latter are often viewed as meaningless, or worse yet, as sources of cheap XP for the characters. Perhaps its simply the spontaneity of the random encounter, which almost certainly means that they are less developed than a non-random encounter. Perhaps its that healing is thought to be too easily obtained and the old-school function of random encounters – that of wearing characters down to increase the drama and tension of the planned encounters. Perhaps it’s just that our lives have all become more crowded, and we have less time to game, and less tolerance for “non-contributing” encounters. Or perhaps its because the simulation aspects of gaming have become slightly more dominant in the last decade, and combats take longer to resolve as a consequence – perhaps too long to be tolerated in a climate of shortened attention spans. Or, finally, perhaps its because all-too-often, a random encounter table seems cobbled together at the last minute and detracts from the standards of verisimilitude that we seek in our gaming.

None of these objections are good enough. All these flaws can be overcome with surprisingly little judicious prep, and in the first sections of this three-part series, I’m going to show you how to do it – and why and when it’s worth the effort. Part two, “This eats that,” (next week) will focus on how to create better, more useful encounter tables. Part three, “Encounters with meaning,” (two weeks from now) will conclude the series by offering a technique for crafting better results from your encounter tables and integrating them into your plotlines in a meaningful way, and how to adapt the principles to urban and dungeon settings.

The Traditional Function

Here’s how it used to work, back in my AD&D days: The PCs would gather in an inn or tavern, all charged up and ready to go. They would learn the location of a dungeon, and decide that it was worth exploring. On the way, they would have various random encounters that exhausted or diminished their available resources – consuming healing potions and prepared spells and eroding the charges in wands and what-have-you. In compensation, they would receive a token amount of treasure. The degree of consumption would set the parameters for their dungeon crawl, because they could never be certain of uninterrupted rest to recharge, and the amount of quick healing from external sources that they had on hand had been eroded en route. When they reached the point where they were no longer confident of being able to make it back to home base, they would set out for the trip home. Now, the random encounters that they had experienced en route to the dungeon assumed a greater significance; not only were they are relatively low power, but they might also face additional encounters from “people” they had ticked off in the dungeon, at least for the first few days. Furthermore, they were relatively heavily encumbered, slowing their movement, giving more time for random encounters to occur. In compensation, they had the experience and knowledge that they had acquired on the trip out, enabling them to avoid some of the encounters, and of course, they had depleted the number of creatures out there to encounter on that trip out. Still, the number of times that I got them back to home base with only a hit point or two each made them properly cautious and respectful of the environment around them.

Then they started to get smart. Instead of being eager to explore the dungeon as quickly as possible, they decided that it was better to take their time on the outward leg, relying only on renewable resources. They increased their stockpile of non-renewable resources to the point where they were almost as heavily burdened on the trip out as they anticipated being on the trip back. Instead of trying to carry all the loot at once, they started burying caches on their way back, progressively lightening their load – the least-valuable items first. This meant that not only could they explore more of the dungeon per trip, but that they could expect greater profits per trip – easily sufficient to replenish their stockpiles, enabling them to make one or more trips to specifically to retrieve their caches. Slowly, they found ways of diminishing the risk.

At the same time, their power levels were rising, making them more self-reliant. Greater combat prowess made them able to defeat casual encounters more readily and at lower cost in hit points; they had more hit points at their disposal, anyway; and the party healers were better able to supply the demand for what healing was required. Their capabilities were expanding exponentially, and random encounters eventually became more trouble than they worth. At first, they were tolerated, but as the situation continued, the complaints became more frequent and more vocal.

I thought about an escalation in the difficulty of the random encounters, but a couple of experiments in that direction quickly convinced me that this was a dead end. The first was that these encounters provided still greater levels of treasure, exacerbating the general problem more quickly than they resolved it. The second was that they quickly became improbable to the point of being ridiculous. “Okay, so we somehow managed to avoid noticing or being noticed by four blue dragons? I don’t buy it.” The entire system was beginning to break down.

The final straw came when a party earned more experience and got more loot from the random encounters going to-and-from the dungeon than they did within it – and returned to home base with full hit points, leaving the wilderness because they had exhausted their capacity to carry more treasure. They started talking about buying wagons and recruiting lesser adventurers to guard them so that they could remain in the field for longer, and avoiding dungeons entirely – the risk-vs-reward wasn’t as favorable as dealing with random encounters.

2e and 3.x change the balance for the worse

Many years later, when I started my Fumanor Campaign, I was persuaded – somewhat reluctantly – to use 2e as the game system. The campaign was designed to be run using AD&D, a system for which I had worked out solutions to the imbalances that led to these problems, or so I thought. The combination of more experienced players, rules changes between the editions, and a GM who was completely inexperienced with the new rules system soon produced results that were even more drastically out-of-kilter. Things only became worse when – after an abortive attempt to translate the campaign into Rolemaster – we went to 3.x as the game system. The reason was that healing became more readily accessible. When combined with a lower play frequency – something I’ve addressed separately later in this article – tolerance for random encounters began to wear very thin once the PCs topped 12th level.

At low character levels, random encounters work as they always have. As character levels rise, the familiar problems I’ve described return, even more rapidly than they used to.

Phased Encounters

My solution was to phase random encounters out completely unless they were plot-significant – the chance of a roll being required 20 minus the average character level. Beyond this, encounters were dismissed as trivialities not worth mentioning. At best, I would include them in a daily/weekly synopsis of their travels, compressing the entire journey from A to B into a single descriptive passage. This had the unwanted effect of ensuring that the players knew that any encounter I did not hand-wave was significant, but that was a relatively small price to pay.

The XP Giveaway

One of the perceived problems with random encounters, especially at mid-to-high levels is that they are an XP giveaway. In pre-3.0 games, this perception is completely valid, a problem that has to be addressed. In theory, this is resolved by the 3.x system of awarding XP based on a theoretical risk-vs-reward scale – an encounter is worth less XP if the characters are a higher level, and eventually reach the point of being worth nothing. However, my experience is that the diminishment of xp is geometric in nature (or, more properly, the increase going in the other direction is geometric) while overall character capabilities increase on an exponential scale. To be truly balanced in this respect, characters gaining a level would have to choose between additional HP, improved combat capabilities, or dedicating the level towards an increase in class abilities. Spellcasters would have a fourth choice – to increase the number of spells they received.

But the game system is what it is, and my players would lynch me if I tried to implement anything so draconian.

The point – and the reason all this is relevant to the current discussion and not relegated to a sidebar – is that it still gets progressively easier for the characters to earn the XP on offer in the form of random encounters – far faster than rising character levels erodes the value of these encounters.

There are two solutions to this problem.

XP reflecting the encounter significance

In July two years ago, I proposed the concept of objective-oriented experience points. This approach solves the XP-Giveaway problem immediately – if the encounter doesn’t contribute to the characters achieving the plot objective, it’s worth nothing to them; at best, a random encounter is just another roadblock that the PCs have to circumvent or overcome in order to achieve their goals.

But even if a more traditional xp structure is in place, there is no reason why a partial solution can’t be adopted to this specific problem. The first solution is to make the XP reflect the significance of the encounter, and then adjust the difficulty of the encounter to conform. This recasts the XP problem as one of encounter planning, where – perhaps – it belongs.

For example, if you have an encounter indicated by a random encounter table that should be worth an estimated 500xp but the significance would be more commensurate with 100 xp, then you adjust the difficulty accordingly. Give the PCs a passing ally. Let the creatures being encountered be already wounded. Assume that there will be circumstances in the encounter that prevent the creatures from using one of their more dramatic racial abilities. Any one of these could be enough to halve the XP value of the encounter; all three in combination reduces it to something like an eighth, which is about 63 xp. Any two of them would drop the value to about 1/4, or 125 xp. Either of these values is close enough to the 100-point target, especially if you keep track of your overs-and-unders and add those to the next random encounter XP target.

Encounter significance reflecting the XP

The alternative is to ramp up the significance of the encounter – possibly in terms of the current adventure, possibly in terms of a more long-term development – until it is commensurate with the XP that will be earned. If the encounter has a book value of 500, and you think that as a purely random encounter it should only be worth 100xp, then you have 400xp worth of significance to load in. Perhaps the creatures are chasing/hunting an NPC who never appears in this adventure, but who will provide the hook to a future adventure. Perhaps the encounter itself is a harbinger of greater activity by that species or race within the campaign. Perhaps the creatures have attempted (or even partially succeeded) in looting the same dungeon the PCs are heading to, and have escaped with a book detailing some of the background of the place (which the GM would have to read anyway), or one of its treasures (one that’s worth about 400xp).

Either solution yields the same effect: the XP received becomes commensurate with the significance of the encounter.

Personally, I find the second solution to be less work and a greater spur to creativity, so I always attempt to employ it first; if that doesn’t work, then I look to reduce the XP value of the encounter.

Note that you don’t have to explain these adjustments to the players. In fact, the results are arguably better if you don’t – but have the reasons become self-evident later.

The Loot Giveaway

Most monsters have treasure – somewhere. Some have a trivial amount, others have lots. It does the GM no good to carefully moderate the treasure that he places in a dungeon if a random encounter table throws additional goodies into the mix.

Don’t let your campaign be held to ransom by the results of random encounters. Having fixed the XP problem, let’s look at ways to solve the Loot problem.

Enhancing the encounter significance

I’ve already touched on this solution when I suggested using the encounter as a “mule” to bring part of the background narrative or treasure from the dungeon to the PCs in advance of their arrival at the dungeon. But there is a further way to apply the concept: if the dungeon is going to require a magic item that the PCs don’t have, for example something that permits an attack against an ethereal foe, having a random encounter furnish just such an item can make the difference between a great game and an exercise in frustration.

Any of these three approaches provides loot in the random encounter that does not significantly unbalance or destabilize the game or the adventure – provided that sufficient care is taken in choosing the goodies in question.

Value reflecting the encounter significance

Another approach, one that works hand-in-hand with reducing the XP value of the encounter to some arbitrary value, is to reduce the loot that derives from it in a commensurate fashion. After all, if an encounter is only to be worth 100XP when the book says 500, and you have weakened the creatures encountered in order to achieve that 100XP target, it doesn’t seem at all unfair to reduce the treasure obtained by a similar ratio – while it does seem grossly unfair to have the loot have the full value that would go with a 500XP encounter, under those circumstances.

Remote Goodies

So your monster has a lair, and its supposed to be stuffed to the gills with goodies. Where is it? Is the monster smart enough to conceal it? Just because your players have won the encounter doesn’t mean they are entitled to the loot – at best they might get some of it and have bought a chance to look for the rest. And look, and look.

I once ran an encounter in which a dragon hid various bundles of hoard in 100GP units in various ways, then hired an adventuring party (the PCs) to try and find as many as they could. What they found, they got to keep – so they were well-motivated. It cost the dragon about 4,000GP – but at the end of the day, he knew which methods some very savvy PCs had not penetrated, and was able to hide the rest of his hoard accordingly. Another converted his entire fortune into statuary – then buried them upside down so that the statues looked like paving tiles. The PCs spent months searching while never realizing that the hoard was literally underfoot the whole time. A third found a hollow tree, stuffed his loot (in bags of holding) into it, then polymorphed the tree into a different variety of tree – one that have hollow spaces.

I’m not suggesting that every creature encountered will have a scheme to hide their loot that’s up to these standards – but they will all have been as clever as they can. After all, the lair is where the young are.

Potential vs. actual value

A favorite approach for random-encounter treasure is to furnish the PCs with a treasure that is worth quite a lot – to the right person, or if treated the right way. Sometimes it will also be grossly inconvenient or cumbersome in the meantime. Some goodies are naturally concealed, like a creature who uses gold flecks from creek water for roughage – it drinks the water, concentrates the gold into pellets, then passes these through its digestive system to help grind down the tough plants from which it derives its nourishment. The pellets are enveloped in the creature’s dung when expelled. When washed clean, these are worth about a silver piece each – but they are fragile and prone to returning to the gold fleck state when the dung holding them together is washed away. Over time, if the problem is properly tackled, you can earn quite a lot of money – but PCs never seem to do so. They are usually more get-rich-quick in orientation.

Little irritates a PC more than discovering that an undamaged pelt from a creature that they killed would have been worth $$$$ if properly preserved and not cut full of holes – but in the condition it’s now in, it’s only worth $. But the creature can still legitimately be said to have “loot” of $$$$ value – it’s not the creature’s fault that the PCs made it virtually worthless in the process of obtaining it.

While I describe this as a favorite approach, that is not to say that I use it all the time. I use it only when it makes sense. And I’m not above the PCs hearing false rumors from time to time – for example, that Bugbears have a pair of ivory molars at the back of their jaws for a brief period in adulthood.

Consumables and Irrelevancies

Finally, never forfeit to deduct the value of consumables and irrelevancies from the total before you start looking at how much actual wealth a creature has. A rare meat might be worth 10 GP per pound – and that comes to a lot when you’re talking about, say, a Bulette. But: How quickly does it spoil? How hard is it to preserve? How expensive is it to preserve? How hard is it to transport? What else will be lured to the vicinity by the smell of rotting meat?

I once gave a PC a “golden” berry, which – in fourty years – would grow into a tree whose leaves were real gold.

He ate it.

Random Relevance

By far the best solution to all the problems with random encounters is this: Make the a delivery system for something that matters. Information, Narrative, Background, Environment, Plot Development – whatever.

Information

What do you want the PCs to know? If sentient, an encounter could parley that information for safe passage. Is there something the PCs want to know about? Ditto. If non-sentient, is there a way for the very presence of the encounter to provide the information? I once had some PCs trying to track down The Well Of Life to resurrect a fallen comrade. En route, they came across a pack of undead squirrels – and started suspecting that there was more going on than met the eye. Sure, I could have had a random NPC pop up with the information, or one of the Sages that they tried to consult – but it was a lot more effective when every encounter started having the word “undead” tacked onto the front of it. Undead squirrels. Undead Orcs. Undead trees. An undead Roc. Undead… mushrooms.

Exported narrative

There’s always a lot of descriptive narrative that you have to get across. Putting as much of it across as dialogue with some creature encountered is always preferable to simply reciting it from on high. Perhaps the Chimpanzee has been to the Temple Of Unmitigated Disaster and can describe it – if the PCs use an appropriate spell – instead?

Background information

At one point I had a lot of background information about a location to impart to the PCs, and was looking for a way to dress it up and make it interesting. When the random encounter table came up “Ghost” I found what I was looking for. One of the PCs found himself caught in the middle as two ghosts recreated the climatic (and unresolved) final battle between them. Instead of dry, third-person narrative, I was able to bring it to life for the PC.

On another occasion, I wanted a PC to find out what some elves were up to. I had a tree tell him. Why not? He was a Drow who had been converted to Corellan. It started him no end when the tree started talking to him, though. The next problem was getting them to be quiet – for a while, everywhere he went, the tree limbs would rustle in welcome and groan with gossip and innuendo – mostly about other trees and the wildlife around them. Even now, the character can be doing his best Stealth act when a tree will suddenly cry out in welcome.

Environmental awareness

If you create an ecology-based encounter table – and I’ll be talking about those extensively in part two of this trio of articles – encounters are the best way of bringing the ecology to the attention of the PC. Once they recognize the principles apon which your ecology is based, they will start anticipating, and a minor encounter (worth nothing) can serve as forewarning of a dangerous change of environment ahead. The more the PCs interact with their environment instead of simply passing it by without notice, the more real your world will be to them.

Plot development

I’ve touched on this one earlier. A single pair of Orcs – in war-paint and a long way from where they might be expected to be – can be the first signs of a new war of aggression, just a single raindrop can announce the arrival of a storm.

En route to a dungeon ruled by a necromantic sentient phase spider with umpteen levels of mage on the side, some PCs in one of my games began noticing that just before they were attacked by a wandering monster, there would be a peculiar light and a sense of spiderweb drifting through the air. Proceeding to investigate the next time it happened, they learned that the owner of the dungeon had scried their approach and put a bounty on their heads, arranging ambush after ambush as they approached. Suddenly, the “random encounters” had a purpose and a malevolence behind them.

A subplot dressed in random encounter clothing

This only works in urban settings where virtually every encounter is with something sentient. Take a simple story and divide it into small sections – five to ten of them. Have that story happen around the PCs, never involving them directly, but always connecting indirectly with them through random encounters. Or invent a narrative as you go, using each random encounter to advance that side-plot. Since the players won’t know that it’s an entirely separate plotline to the main plot, they will have a lot of fun spinning spiderwebs and conspiracy theories from moonbeams.

The imperative of play frequency

There’s a lot that you can do when you play weekly, or even fortnightly, that you simply can’t do when you only play monthly. There’s far more imperative to “get on with the story” with less frequent play. To some extent, the approaches to encounters that I have described here were developed out of the necessity to give random encounters a reason to be noteworthy. Of course, it helps to have cultivated a reputation for dropping obscure clues years ahead of their becoming relevant – and of playing it straight when the players try to make sense of these veiled hints. The advantage that the PCs receive as a result is fair compensation for the additional investment in thinking about the campaign that the PCs have put in.

The more often you play, the more often you can afford to lose a quarter- or a half-session of play to a meaningless encounter. Finding the level that’s right for your circumstances is all important – because these techniques are all the more powerful in moderation. Used all the time, they can lose some of their oomph – but that’s still a better choice than the alternatives.

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UPDATE 5/4/13:

I tried, folks, but I simply wasn’t able to get part 2 finished in time. So for the second time in 5 years, I’m afraid there will be no post when one was scheduled. I could have taken time off from the article to run up something to appear this week but doing so would mean that it still wouldn’t be ready next week. So I decided to bite the bullet. Normal service will be resumed ASAP!

I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll never get it done in time…

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While most of Chapter 21 had been done when I started this series, Chapters 22 and 23 were at best partially finished, which means my easy ride is over. In the end, it proved easier to complete these partially-written chapters properly (it was simply topo jarring going from finished paragraphs to draft paragraphs and back again. But these are the last chapters for a while that will be written in final form.

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The Second Great Dwarfwar: Elvarheim Invasion

The Dwarves soon found trade to be a profitable exercise, especially the refined Adamant Ore. Mithral, they discovered, was a far more delicate material, too fragile to used for weapons or armor. It was pleasing to the eye, though, and light enough to be used for inlayed decorations; but even the most profligate such usage could not make a serious dent in the supply, as first hundreds and then thousands of ounces of the brittle metal accumulated. For close to 50 years, trade in foodstuffs, gems, and ore flourished, and was soon accompanied by the products of various crafts.

But eventually, and inevitably, the false peace was broken, as the Elves at last released their assault on the Dwarven caverns. Clouds of noxious fumes issued forth from the ventilation shafts; some of the Dwarven water-sources became blackened and foul-tasting, and soon proved toxic, while others simply dried completely; tree-roots the size of a Dwarf erupted from the walls, resistant to axe and flame, and knocked down supporting pillars, crushing whole communities in their cavernous homes; and rumors of strange creatures being encountered deep in the Dwarven tunnels were accompanied by the inexplicable disappearance of isolated Dwarves. While most of these can be accurately blamed on the creatures released by the Elvish Bladedancers, some were opportune kidnappings by the Drow, who were always eager to press others into their service. Even today, it is rumored that there are Drow Houses with Dwarven slaves hidden deep in the bowels of the earth, performing hard labors for the profit of their masters.

King Veldergrist was now elderly by Dwarvish Standards, but remained a vital and strong ruler; as a youth, he had ascended the throne, in his prime he had negotiated a friendship of sorts with the Drow, in his middle age he had managed trade between the two underground-dwelling races to the betterment of both, and now, as he approached his century of years, he faced the renewal of hostilities with a calm and grim determination to prevail.

He immediately sent word to the Drow Ambassador, and told him, “As your Mistress prophesied, so has it come to pass. Now is the time for plans long-held in abeyance to be realized. Long ago, She offered the aid of her Spellcrafters in a direct counterassault apon the surface; now we accept that offer, while they are distracted in the upper levels of our Mines. We ask also for increased shipments of food, that our remaining growers may be armed for war, and beg leave to repay this generosity in more sanguine times. And when we have prevailed, we should be most pleased to accept the offer of Spellcraft in undoing these unwarranted and unjustified assaults apon our realm.”

To which, the representative of the Spider-Queen replied, “We shall be most pleased to render unto you the aid that was promised so long ago by She Who Is Eternal. As I recall, there was also the offer of refuge from these travails for yourself, your immediate family, and a small cadre of Warriors, but you make no mention of this; I assure you, the offer remains open; will you accept our hospitality and shelter?”

And the Dwarf did reply with pride, “Eld may I be, but not yet in my dotage. My people will fight all the more stubbornly and proudly for the knowledge that we share in their discomforts. Not until the last possible moment will I abandon the protection of my people; they would accept nothing less of their King.”

“But surely,” said the Ambassador, “you would wish to see your wife and children escorted to a place of safety?”

“My wife refuses to leave my side, for which I am grateful, for she is the rock apon which I stand; and my children insist apon joining the ranks of those who will fight for our homes. I may be able to keep them from the front lines, where the dangers are greatest; beyond that, my authority seems to be somehow lacking.”

“Truly, a great Lord may master his people, but never his kin,” the Ambassador managed to announce, all the while contemplating how one of the House Mothers would react to such a statement. Were such a tragedy to befall him, the best for which he could hope was that his torment would be ended quickly lest others be exposed to such blasphemy! Truly, the Dwarves were ignorant savages to hold to such beliefs.

“Aye, in that you have the right of it,” replied the King.

“Very well, your Majesty. I shall depart at once to make the arrangements.”

And so it was that the Drow directed the Dwarves in how to tunnel beneath the roots of the forest of Elvarheim, and then nudged to one side those spellwoven defenses that lay between the bearded warriors and the heart of the Elven Realm. To those used to tunneling through hard stone and unyielding rock, the soft earth of the forest was the merest trifle, and progress was made at a prodigious rate. Even as the raiding party prepared to emerge, and the Drow spellweavers retreated down the tunnel, Deruan was leading the Bladedancers in renewed invasion of the Dwarven Mines, armed with a list of promises and guarantees to be demanded of the Dwarves before their surrender would be accepted.

The Spider-queen was at last on the verge of achieving Her initial purpose when She instructed Her people in how to instigate the conflict between the Elves and Dwarves, more than 70 years earlier.

The Dwarvish insurgency did not go undetected; even as they labored to complete their breach of the Elven forest, a youth serving the council as messenger felt what he regarded as a strange vibration in the earth, and an unsettling shudder of the leaves of the tree he was ascending. Being conscienscious, he dutifully reported his experience to the Council; but the Spellweavers employed their arts, and reported that the forest’s defenses were intact and undisturbed, and the warnings of the messenger were dismissed as youthful imagination and overexcitement. As a result, the Elves were totally unprepared when the Dwarves erupted from their tunnel.

It is ironic that of all the races, Elves, Orcs, and Dwarves are in many ways, the most alike. In all three of their cultures, everyone is expected to be able to defend themselves, and everyone acquires at least a minimal skill in some form of combat. For the Dwarves, hammers and axes are as natural as black leather is to a cutpurse; for the Orcs, it is broadblades, maces, or polearms; and for the Elves, longswords, bows, or the curved 14″ daggers known as Alkaith that the mages favor. Even the curved blades of the Bladedancers are reflections of this aspect of their fundamental natures. This is a truth that has been lost in the modern day. Curves are as natural to Elves as straight lines are to humans, and circles are to Halflings.

So it was that even with their official defenders engaged in the Mines by an ill-timed act of aggression – the product of decades of patience wearing increasingly thin, for it is a limited resource even in an Elf – the Dwarves encountered stiff opposition from the everyday Elves who happened to be passing that part of the forest at the time, and pitched battle erupted.

To understand why the Bladedancers had chosen this moment to renew their assault on the Dwarven mines, it is necessary to understand the strategy that had been conceived and executed by Deruan.

As is usually the case, battlefield reports – especially those of a dramatic nature – are frequently exaggerated. This truth was evident in hindsight to those who heard the reports of the Dwarves to their King, and in the King’s summation to the Drow Ambassador.

In reality, the Bladedancers were not indiscriminately targeting the Dwarven mineshafts and tunnels; rather, they were using their arsenal to restrict the tactical options of the Dwarves that they encountered, and restricting the battlefield to a direct – if convoluted – line to the chambers which contained the Dwarven Throne.

Elves are not pacificists, but do not engage in wholesale slaughter of bystanders; every death must be the only remaining alternative. This is one of the fundamental differences that separated them from the Drow; for their subterranean kin identified more with a racial collective or nationalist grouping of people instead of dealing with them as individuals; but this merely made them dangerous. It was for the love and adoration of their Dark Queen that they committed the most despicable, vile, heinous, and diabolical acts, because they did not perceive the targets as individuals in individual circumstances, but as members or representatives of an entire populace or population segment. (It is notable that when Drow behave thus, they always fail in the final analysis; only when engaging others as individuals, as their Ambassadors did with the Dwarven King, do they achieve success). The question of whether this failure of perception is due to Lolth, or inherent in those who follow the insect totems in general, or is a deficiency that drew them to others with the same flaw, is one that has endlessly been debated – without resolution).

Standing between the Bladedancers and their ultimate goal were four fortified salients, manned by grim and angry Dwarves who were predisposed to believe that they stood between arch-fiends bent on the slaughter of their entire race and their families and friends. They were prepared to fight to the last defender to protect their homes, just as the Elves of the central forest were fighting to protect their homes and families.

But the Bladedancers had planned, and practiced, and equipped themselves with specific weapons for the task that lay before them, while the Dwarvish incursion was assembled in haste, ill-prepared, and an act of desperation. No matter how analogous the two situations, they were predestined to have inevitably divergent outcomes. Even as the Bladedancers overran the first salient, penetrating the first line of Dwarvish defenses, and released their Spellwoven creatures into the side tunnels that did not lie apon their path to the Dwarvish King, the incursion that had transpired at the command of that ruler was itself being overcome and taken captive.

The Second Great Dwarfwar: Captive Revelations

The Elves, quite naturally, were in a state of acute shock and distress over this invasion, which smacked to them of everything that they had feared since long before the Verdonne had been created. Like any people who had been violated in the area of their greatest cultural insecurity, they considered the Dwarvish invaders to be guilty of one of the most unimaginably heinous outrages possible, a crime that was unforgiveable. Though most of the invading Dwarves had been killed during the incursion, many had been captured; and the Elvish Council regathered to consider how this should be punished. Their deliberations were brief, and the council were preparing to announce their judgment, when one aged tracker stepped forward from the gathered crowd and interrupted them, demanding to examine the boots worn by the invaders more closely, for something was greatly amiss. Thus did Therialas reenter this narrative.

At a nod from the head of the Council, the Elves who had captured the Dwarvish invaders rudely stripped their prisoners of their footwear and brought the apparel before the tracker for inspection. None of the elves had ever considered the unique needs of an underground culture in terms of their footwear, and they were amazed by the craftsmanship as feature after feature became evident. The boots had a steel-reinforced toe-cup and articulated steel strips with jagged teeth down each side. The heels were layers of rigid leather held together by four recessed bolts which also passed through eyelets on the side-assemblies. These enabled the Dwarves, when climbing unstable and narrow ledges, to support their entire weight on the edge of a boot, or by their toes, or their heels; while leaving the centre of the boot extremely thin, soft, supple leather so that the wearer could ‘read’ changes in the surface beneath their feet. “How long have Dwarven boots had these teeth along the sides?” demanded the aged Tracker.

“Two hundred years or more. My son has just started wearing the pair crafted for my father when he was a child, and he is that old. We replace the soft leather and heels when they wear out and reuse the steel bindings,” came the surprised reply from one of the Dwarves. Examination of the other pairs of boots bore out the statement, revealing different levels of wear consistent with decades or more of use. The Council, while this inspection was underway, were growing impatient, and now demanded, “And what is the significance?”

“The boot prints at the site of the original destruction matched this design. The boot prints at the second attack, when the fires were directed toward Elvarheim, did not; they matched the designs that I saw as a youth when we pursued the Prince Of Lies. I felt perhaps that they were a new innovation, not available to common warriors, and thought no more about it. But if that were the case, you would expect at least a few of these to be wearing the old-style of footwear. I can only conclude that someone has manipulated us into this war for their own ends.” The Council immediately went into whispered conference. After a few minutes of serious exchange while the Dwarves waited anxiously – was the judgment against them about to be suspended? Had they been made cats-paws – and if so, by who? – the head of the council turned once again to address the prisoners. “Tell me your story again, Dwarf. And leave nothing out.”

If they were not already inclined to suspicion, the Dwarves might not have mentioned the trade alliance with the Drow; but the conversation had primed them to mention any involvement of non-Dwarves in their society, and history had made them doubly-suspicious. Hence it was not long before the Dwarves first mentioned the Drow Trading alliance and its terms. These only reinforced the suspicions of the listening Elves. They were intrigued by the mention of a metal too delicate for the Dwarven artisans to work, and fascinated by mention of the Black Gems that the Drow had found so irresistible. Especially tantalizing was a comment made by the Drow Ambassador implying that the Gems were somehow connected to the ability of the Drow to guide the Dwarves past the defenses of Elvarheim. Without those defenses, Elvarheim was completely exposed to any enemy; learning how to prevent future such incursions would forgive any offense resulting from the Dwarvish incursion, no matter how unforgivable that incursion might have seemed at first glance. It did not take the Elves much thought to uncover the rather more sinister “alternative interpretations” of the largess of the Drow, and to point these out to the Dwarves, who were suitably enraged by the prospects. The inadvertent mention of the use of one of the Black Gems to penetrate the defenses of the Elven forest makes it clear that the Gems – mentioned almost as an afterthought in the negotiations – held much greater significance and value than they first appeared.

At the same time, while the Dwarvish tale had the ring of truth to it, there remained the possibility that it was all a very plausible fiction. The Elves were not willing to simply ignore what had transpired, and release the Dwarves. After several hours of debate, the Council decided on a course of action, resentful of the urgency which prohibited serious contemplation of alternative courses of action. One prisoner would be released to act as an escort to an Envoy back to his people. That Envoy would be the Youngest Son of the King – while a member of the Royal Family and hence a Prince, he did not expect to inherit the title and hence had received some practical education. This Envoy would carry an offer of a cease-fire to the King of the Dwarves.

The Elves, notably, did not make it clear to their Dwarven Prisoners how little value they placed on the titles of Prince – or King, for that matter. To the Dwarves, this offer amounted to an exchange of Hostages of high Rank – one Prince for another – a serious gesture towards reconciliation.

Even as these revelations were uncovered and analyzed, the Huyundaltha were penetrating the second tier of defenses surrounding the seat of Dwarvish Power, breaking through the fortifications erected by the Dwarves after driving the defenders away from their positions with their weapons of noxious fume and poisonous gas. Only one last barrier now stood between them and the Civilian Dwarven population, including the Royal Family. As every foot of descent brought them closer to this final barrier, so the pressure on the Dwarven King to accept the Drow offer of Sanctuary increased; already, many of his advisors and personal guard urged him to reconsider his refusal. Only the hope of a victorious conclusion to the bold raid into the Elven homeland stayed his decision.

The companions bearing the offer of an armistice were engaged in a desperate race. Could they reach the Dwarven King before Lolth succeeded in annexing the Dwarven Tunnels?

The Second Great Dwarfwar: War’s End

Even though the passage was relatively straight, without the maze of turnings and tunnels that marked most Dwarven tunnels, it was still a journey of over 60 leagues – more than 200 miles – to the heart of the Dwarven Kingdom. Even at a forced march, and resting for the minimum possible time, it was still going to be four long days journey, probably more.

The pair caused quite a sensation when they staggered, almost falling over themselves in exhaustion, into the court. Dirty, dusty, covered in blood, and bleeding from numerous wounds, they interrupted the King as he was desperately sending reinforcements to the front lines, now less than a mile from the civilian population. He immediately ordered the Elven messenger taken captive and summoned a healer to attend the Dwarven Warrior, who had passed out in mid-salute.

As the Elven messenger attempted to declare the purpose of his mission, one of the Dwarves covered his mouth and instructed him to speak only when spoken to. It was at this moment that the Drow Ambassador swept into the chamber, with his escort. As he observed the captive Elf, he froze, hissing in alarm. “Ah, Aberzherisharde, come in. Fear not, the Elf is restrained. His kind are another matter,” announced the King. “It may be that temporary refuge for our citizens will become necessary before we succeed in repelling their attack. Is your Queen’s offer of sanctuary still open?”

Recovering, the Drow Ambassador replied, “It is, your Majesty. Do you wish me to send runners to advise her of your acceptance?”

“To describe our condition as ‘Acceptance’ would be premature. But since we may need to move to such a position without further warning, I wish to make all the arrangements – should the need become pressing. My paramount duty must be to my honor, but my duty to my subjects is only barely the lesser.”

“As always, a wise decision, Your Majesty. I shall request that the appropriate preparations commence immediately.”

The Drow Ambassador bowed stiffly, and – after another glare at the helpless prisoner – withdrew from the royal chambers. As he exited, the Dwarven escort awoke with a groan. “Easy, warrior,” said the King gently. “What is your unit, and how came you to escort this prisoner from the front lines?”

“I am Kazeth, your Majesty, and I was part of the strike force into the forests of Elvarheim. My companion is Prince Elbareth, and he carries an offer of armistice. Our strike force has been captured with heavy casualties, My Liege.”

“What of my son?”

“The Prince survives and is being well-treated,” replied Kazeth.

The warrior then recounted the full tale of the incursion, its capture, interrogation, and his return in the company of Prince Elbareth. “As we left the passage dug specifically for the invasion and entered our familiar tunnels, we were unexpectedly attacked by a monstrosity the likes of which I ever imagined. It had two heads, and was lizard-like, but with great tusks projecting from a grotesque jaw. Razor-sharp spikes fanned out along the bestial spine, rippling with every movement of the beast. And it moved like lightning, bounding from wall to wall, clinging to ceilings, and twisting the path of its bounds in mid-air as though gravity were its personal servant.”

“No doubt one of the monstrous creatures that the Elves have released into the tunnels to bedevil us,” replied the King.

“Perhaps, your Majesty, though it seemed as surprising to Elbareth as to myself. In any event, it took the both of us striving to our utmost to drive the beast off.”

“Release the Elf,” directed the King. “Prince of the tree-lovers, I reject your offer of Armistice. Your offer smacks of desperation, and perhaps explains the intensity of your current incursion. I had, in my mind, explained that as simple fanaticism, but desperation seems a more likely fit. You will remain here, a hostage to the good treatment of my Son. If and when he is liberated or repatriated, so shall you be – I give you my word of honor.”

“Your Majesty, Mighty King of those who dwell beneath the mountain, you cannot reject an offer until it has been made. I beg your leave to formally present the proposal of the Elven Council before you issue your judgment in this matter, and permission to return to my people with your reply. Should you grant this, and should your son grant surety that he will not come against us in battle once more, I will insist apon his being released to you as a gesture of good faith.”

“I trust you not, tree-lover. Seek not to beguile me with your artfully-honeyed words.”

“I think you confuse me with some of my detested Kinfolk, your Majesty,” replied the Prince. “But is your honor so great that it can tolerate the confinement of an Envoy of peace? How many of your warriors, women, and children will perish while you delay – lives that could be spared, if my offer is genuine? For I swear apon the spirit of my Deity, the lordly Corellan, that this is no deception. May he strike me down if I speak falsely.”

The King stiffened, stung by the accusation of dishonor. “Very well, speak your piece. But I will hear of no insults to our loyal and valued allies, the Drow,” he warned.

“No insults, nor even accusations, your Majesty. Mere questions. Should you know the answers, you will be satisfied; but should you not, is not the possibility of deception worth considering? For both our peoples are children in comparison to the webs of deceit of which the Queen of the Spiders is capable. Her subjects worship her as a deity, and with some justification, for she is nearer to that state than you or I, or any that are mortal. Our most subtle planning may look forward a decade or two, a generation at the most; beyond that span of years, we seek simply to create an environment in which the lot of our subjects and families are better than those we have known, in the hopes that they will be able to take advantage of the opportunities we have procured for them by stint of our labors. Being immortal, her plans may encompass centuries. My questions are these: Of what value is a metal that is too delicate to be worked? Why are gemstones which enable the learned to penetrate defenses erected and reinforced over the passage of centuries but an afterthought, accorded little value in your negotiations? You are promised refuge in the tunnels of her Drow, but are you assured of your ability to come and go and rule amongst your people as you see fit? Will your people not be required to pay for such refuge with service and subservience to the laws of your hosts? What of the law that mandates the worship of Lolth, whose violation even in seeming, brings death? The creations with which our people now assault yours are fearsome and bestial, but still recognizably akin to their progenitors; whence, then, came the monstrosity which Kazeth described to you? For if we did not create and release it, who did, and for what purpose? The tunnel in which it was encountered does not connect with those apon which our forces proceed, save here, behind your lines, so how came it to be where–”

Abruptly, the Elven Prince fell to the floor, collapsing. His body shuddered and then was still.

“So he spoke false, and his God has punished him. Let that be an end to it,” muttered the King. “We will crush them, and liberate my son from his captivity. Have a company of warriors prepared,” he instructed a page.

“I heard no falsehood, your Majesty. If I may be permitted?” replied Kazeth, gesturing toward the body.

“Nor I, but falsehood there must have been. Go ahead,” answered the King.

Quickly examining the body, Kazeth gave a startled gasp. Rising, he held out something for the King’s inspection. “I think not, your Majesty. Unless the God Of The Elves employs poisoned darts of Drow manufacture to enforce his will.”

“Who would dare to besmirch my honor? I gave my word that he would be well-treated,” replied the King, his temper flaring.

“No-one who valued honor would do so, your Majesty. And if an Elf could reach us here, you would have been his target, not Prince Elbareth. That leaves only a third party. I must ask you to consider one final question in his name, as a bandage to your wounded honor – did you not find his questions troubling? For you answered none of them, and your son could not do so. Indeed he sent this to you,” replied Kazeth, retrieving a patch of parchment and a ring.

Gasping, the King inspected the items.

On the parchment were the words, ‘Father, I believe them.’ “He chose this ring to authenticate the message, knowing that you would know that had it been written under duress he would have included his seal of Rank and not his personal signet, as a signal to you. If the assassin was not one of us, and would not have been an Elf, it must have been a third party. And only one third party is involved here, and they only stood to gain if the charges were truthful. Prince Elbareth did not accuse them, nor – as per your instructions – did he insult them. I do both, my Liege. The Ambassador and his people are without honor, and have deceived us into fighting their war for them. I demand the right to confront the Ambassador with these questions.”

Wearing an expression that mirrored both troubled thoughts and a stern anger, the King instructed, “Summon the Ambassador Aberzherisharde. He is to come immediately. Do not accept a refusal,” he instructed two members of his personal guard.

A few minutes later, the pair returned, empty-handed. “The Drow delegation appears to have fled, Your Majesty,” explained the more senior of the two. “We found these in his quarters,” he added, holding up a pair of darts identical to that which had taken the life of the Elven Prince.

“I uphold your challenge to the honor of the Drow, Kazeth,” replied the King. “Give instructions to hunt them down. Let them never return to the Queen which sent them forth,” he instructed. “I will accept the offer of Armistice. Prepare a formal honor guard – we travel through the tunnel to Elvarheim. Have the body of the Prince interred amongst those of my ancestors, for no less than my family, he was under my protection when he died. Until my honor is washed clean of that stain, he will remain so.”

Not unexpectedly, there was an immediate outcry amongst the King’s advisors. “This might still be deception on the part of the Elves,” they argued. “Another may have followed Kazeth and the so-called Prince to assassinate him for the purpose of bringing about this accord,” said another. “We have them on their knees, your Majesty. Do not give away the victory now,” advised a third. “The Ambassador may merely have been fearful that the Elf would deceive you,” chorused a fourth.

“All true, replied the King. But they have earned the right to negotiations in good faith with blood, and seemingly at the hands of one who claimed to respect our ways. I do not say that I am convinced – merely that I will give them the opportunity to prove their claims.”

Three hours later, the King – with full honor guard – set out down the invasion route to the heart of the Elven Forest.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Alkaith: Curved 14-inch dagger favored as a weapon and general cutting tool by Elvish Spellcasters and some High Elves.
• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mithryl: the Elvish name of an extremely fragile metal given in trade by the Dwarves to the Elves. The word is imported from Dwarven, who in turn obtained it from the Zamiel Tongue name of the metal, “Mithral”. “Mithryl” means “Moonsilver” in Elven. The word also enjoys popular usage as a metaphor for a treasure found which appeared initially worthless.
• Mithral: the Drow name for Mithryl. A literal translation from Zamiel is “Shadowsilver”.
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: Now we’re into material that only exists in note form, so I’m not sure how far I’ll get. If all goes according to plan, next time will show how the aftermath of the War permanently reshaped Elven and Dwarven Societies in Chapters 24 through 26. Join me next week to see how much I actually get done….

One of the most contentious issues in modern times is set to escalate to a whole new level. That’s right, people, copyright law, trademark law, and its enforcement is about to get messy – well, messier than it already seems. At the same time, recent developments have given me a new perspective on past events as well, to share.

For a starter, let’s look at the more egregious outstanding issues that we’ve already got on our plate, and at least some of the story about how we got here. Some of these might not seem directly related to RPGs, but I’ll connect the dots at the end, so bear with me.

The Old Problems

There have been problems and minefields related to the protection of ideas for centuries. Some of these landmines have been defused, some have corroded with changing technology, and some have gone off.

Trademarking A Color

Let’s start with something that, so far, has been relatively benign.

It used to be that a unique design was needed to receive a trademark. I first became aware that the landscape had changed in 2007 when some promotional materials for one of the big four banks in Australia, the ANZ included, in the fine print, that the color of the logo was trademarked (as “ANZ Blue”, I think – from memory). I soon discovered that this was not the only corporation that had trademarked a color, as this discussion reveals. These days, the practice is increasingly widespread, as this article shows. I understand that some car makers have even trademarked particular paint colors.

I can see how specifying a particular color as one of the distinguishing features of a trademark would be legitimate. I can see how patenting a particular process of painting a vehicle to produce a unique shading scheme, as for the McLaren formula 1 team’s silver transition paint job, might be legitimate. Even trademarking the association between a particular type of product and a particular shade would be reasonable – and that is, reportedly, what the Bank were trying to achieve. But trademarking a particular color seems extraordinarily problematic to me. It’s all about restricting what we are allowed to do with color, a natural phenomenon.

Color is used as a focal point for corporate identity in the modern world. Specifying a particular color for a logo and then using that color for outlet paint, uniforms, etc, all creates a unifying association between those elements. It’s only right and fair that a company be able to protect that association, I don’t dispute that; but being actually able to trademark the color itself? No.

Just because a legal principle is used in a benign manner does not mean that it will only ever be used for that purpose. By accepting the principle of trademarking color, a can of worms has been opened that sooner or later will cause problems. This is one of those legal landmines that has not yet gone off. We can only hope that it’s a dud.

False Advertising And The Music Industry

The File Sharing / Music Copyright problems, for example, seem to have largely quietened down, at least for the moment. An overprotective music industry which sought to squeeze every last cent of profit, draconian protection mechanisms, lopsided legal influence. Or have they? The success of iTunes and similar legal avenues for the purchase of music in digitally-encoded formats has taken a lot of the steam out of the issue, but it simply puts a more legitimate frontman at the front of the parade – Apple have a far better case for attacking P2P file-sharing systems as they directly compete with the for-profit distribution channel that they have built and popularized. Heck, I buy some music through iTunes myself.

Really, when you get down to it, the heart of that problem is that the Music Industry was guilty of false advertising for decades. They advertised music as “for sale” – “buy the new album by X” – and focused on the medium, thinking that the two were one and the same. The first warning that this perception was flawed was the kerfuffle over piano player rolls but it went unheeded. A more serious wakeup call came with the advent of blank audio cassettes, but that warning was also unheeded. What they were actually selling – at least in their minds – was the limited right to use the music for one particular purpose, i.e. listening to by the person who bought it. You couldn’t use it for any other purpose without negotiating the right to do so with the “permanent owners” of those rights. What customers thought they were buying was far less than that – and so, when the recording industry moved to restrict public usage to what they saw as the valid purposes for which the purchaser had paid, excluding those purposes that the public and the industry disagreed on, people got angry.

Music used to be given away to the public for free, so far as the public was concerned. It came over the radio. But what was actually happening was that the radio station was paying the record companies for the right to broadcast the performance, then extracting payment from their listeners by broadcasting advertising. If you wanted to listen to the music, you had to listen to the advertising. When music videos became successful marketing tools, once again the music industry gave them away for free and recouped the cost of doing so through the increased sales that resulted. Then they got greedy and started to charge. Or perhaps it was simply that the sums being spent on the videos made no economic sense, and this was the only way to continue funding them. Either way, most of the music video shows died, or shifted to the more liberal independent sources.

From the public perspective, what was happening was that they heard the music for free, and if they liked it, they could buy a copy for their collections. There were some artists whose work they liked enough that they would buy it, unheard. Because this programming was cheap for the radio stations, and later, for the TV networks to produce, they proliferated.

When the music industry first demanded that the radio stations pay-to-play, the Radio Stations should have accepted on the proviso that they were advertising the product and would pay the fees if the record labels would pay the full commercial advertising rates for the duration of the song. This would have brought the whole mess into the open and enabled some reasonable compromise to be reached.

The upshot was that by discounting the benefits received in promotion of their products, the music industry killed the promotion and distribution channels that had grown up as secondary industries around their primary function. As these began to die, they looked for someone else to blame, found the file-sharing services that had stepped into the breach – nature abhors a vacuum, and that holds true for human nature as well as physical reality – and became draconic in enforcing their “rights”. Since they weren’t addressing the real problem, it didn’t have much effect. The promotional channels shut down, the hits stopped happening, and the retail stores that survived by selling the hits to the public collapsed and went away. And, to a large extent, the record labels collapsed in consequence.

No-one could argue that there have not been some benefits from the collapse of the old distribution channels. More people are able to make and distribute their music than ever, simply because they no longer have to jump through the hoops of attracting record label interest, getting a contract, getting their recordings through the A&R filter, then through the selectivity of the old promotional channels before the product became available to the general public. These days, you can do it yourself, and put it on YouTube. There is a greater freedom for artists to express themselves.

But Commercial Mass-market doesn’t mean bad. The old system pushed artists to find some common ground with a large audience segment, filtered out the extremes, and ensured that a product could be enjoyed by a large number of people. Their work was more accessible. One of the reasons I buy a LOT less music than I once did, even in proportion to my income, is that there is simply less out there that I like. (The last CD I bought was of the 2012 Eurovision Song Festival – one of the remaining global promotional vehicles. Which, I think, proves my point.)

While these problems may have receded from public awareness, defused by the advent of iTunes, by a less over-the-top aggressive stance on the part of the RIAA, and by the public backlash from the DRM/Rootkit Scandal, ongoing fallout constitutes the leading edge of new problems, and those directly affect the RPG industry.

Monopolism and the Channels Of Distribution

Comics
Newsstands used to be the primary outlet for Comics Publishers. When these became fewer in number, allegedly because of the Wal-Mart effect, primary distribution shifted to specialist stores. A combination of oversaturation with “collector’s editions” and marketing gimmicks, internal industrial disputes such as the breakaway formation of Image Comics, and escalating prices for deluxe formats brought about a collapse within the industry. Both Marvel Comics and DC Comics, the two largest producers and distributors, have had financial problems as a consequence. As the market shrunk, the prices needed to sustain profitability escalated to nonsensical levels, further shrinking the market. Comics used to be cheap – I can remember being able to buy five or ten each week with a reasonable amount of pocket money, as a kid. I stopped collecting them when they hit A$10 each. These days, I’m told the price is closer to $A20 an issue. I don’t consider $100-200 a week to be a reasonable amount of pocket money. The parallels with the collapse of the music industry are obvious – and it may be no coincidence that both are owned by media conglomerates.

Small businesses have it rough, and have always operated on a razor’s edge profit margin. One of the greatest criticisms of superstores like Wal-Mart are that they increase the pressure on small businesses beyond the breaking point, with the result that the small businesses fold. Consequently, the variety of products that were available in the specialist store is reduced to only the most popular commodities.

Wal-Mart
By centralizing purchasing power in this way, the superstores become subject to charges of monopolism. These can be easily countered provided that the superstores do not engage in monopolistic practices; unfortunately, most do. Control of the retail sector becomes more vertical, dominated by a relatively small number of corporate entities. That’s a recipe for corruption and excess, and most of the criticism of Wal-Mart comes to two factors: unfair market advantages and monopolistic behavior.

It was big news within the industry a few years back when Wal-Mart changed its policies with respect to RPGs. Hard-covered books that could be handled by the book sections were still fine, but soft-covered low-cost elements like game modules were considered magazines and to be pruned from Wal-Mart stores as unprofitable in comparison with other products.

Amazon
Similar criticisms have been leveled at Amazon.com by bricks-and-mortar bookstores. Again, many can be boiled down to an allegation of monopolistic practices.

And yet, the ability of many independents to compete for sales through Amazon’s new-and-used operations provide a new distribution channel for struggling small businesses, expanding their customer base from the strictly local to the global. So, as much as Amazon may be part of the problem, they are also part of the solution.

Online Home Shopping
Being physically disabled to some extent, I found it very difficult to shop at the local supermarkets. For a while, I managed by using home deliveries; but these days I do my grocery shopping over the internet at one of the leading supermarket chains. It’s cheaper than home delivery plus fares to the supermarket to do the shopping in person, and less physically strenuous. In effect, this is similar to buying books on Amazon, and amounts to the conversion of the supermarket chain into a virtual superstore with a multitude of suburban distribution centers that also have a direct-to-the-public retail capacity.

This can’t help but put more financial pressure on the neighborhood corner stores. The convenience of being able to just pop in when I need something is therefore under greater threat as a result. I therefore make it a point to use those local stores for the purchase of those products that both have in common. Even so, the majority of my purchases from the local stores tend to be products that the online supermarket simply doesn’t stock. Since they will stock what sells, the corner store is becoming a specialist store in “everything else”, and anything that needs physical inspection before I am sure it’s the type I want, like light bulbs.

Because that’s the pattern that I’ve been observing over the last 3 decades or so – superstores closing specialist stores with a resulting monopolistic trend, collapse of minority industries, and resulting absence of the products that I want to buy from the marketplace.

The New Problems

Which brings me to the new problems that are crawling out of the woodwork.

Copyrighting Genetics

For the last 30 years, genes have been patentable. 20% of the genes in the human body are now the “property” of someone as a result of such patents. Check out this article. Those patents are now being challenged. With biotechnology set to become a big-ticket industry over the course of the current decade, this one is going to get bigger and bigger.

Copyrighting Vocabulary

There are a number of trademarked words that have entered the general vocabulary. “Google” is recognized as a verb for carrying out an internet search on Google.com, and is included in many dictionaries. Wikipedia maintains a List of protected trademarks frequently used as generic terms that is surprisingly long. If you scroll up, you will find a much shorter list of terms that started as protected trademarks, became general vocabulary, and have remained in general use after the lapse of the original trademark, like “Zipper”. Perusing both lists shows that this is nothing new, and we’ve managed all right so far, so what’s the problem?

In 2010, Facebook trademarked the word “Book”. Facebook have also trademarked “wall,” “like,” and “face”, according to the article. Apple have trademarked the use of the letter “i” as in “iTunes” and “iPad”.

It’s one thing for a product to become so universally recognized that its name enters the general vocabulary. It’s quite another for an existing general term to become a protected trademark. This flew under the radar at the time, but sooner or later the dysfunction between popular usage and what usage is permitted under the law is going to explode in someone’s face. And, like the music industry example, there will be substantial public acrimony when it does.

Custom File Formats As A Protection Mechanism

It is becoming more common for DVD Recorders to use a proprietary file format to store its recordings so that they cannot be played through any other device. Is this the latest move to protect copyrights on the part of the media conglomerates? Or is it the choice of the device manufacturer, seeking to protect proprietary technology within the device?

By adding yet another layer of complexity, how long will it be before material is offered in a proprietary format that enforces DRM? Oh wait, some file formats already do that. How about a separate file format with it’s own user-agreement?

At some point, someone will sue a maker of file-format conversion software, for accessing the file format in a way or for a purpose forbidden by the terms of the usage agreement, and the whole copyright issue will explode again.

Trademarking Basic Concepts

The most recent development puts Facebook on the receiving end of its own aggressive protection practices. According to an article published on Mashable on Feb 12, just over a month ago, Facebook are being sued by Rembrandt Social Media LP, owners of a patent by Dutch programmer Joannes Jozef Everardus van Der Meer, who used a button for people to “like” other user’s content in Surfbook, a product that predates Facebook by 5 years. With the lawsuit only filed on February 5th, this has all the hallmarks of an opportunist grab for wealth, but at least superficially, it would seem that Facebook – who have a history of aggressive protection of their corporate identity (as described above) – have a case to answer.

But this irony is only a recent expression of a more troubling and much deeper issue – the same one that recently manifested in the Apple vs Samsung stoush, and before that in the legal battles between Apple and Microsoft. The whole question of whether “look and feel” – in other words the way we do things – should be or can be protected, as opposed to the behind-the-scenes mechanisms or code that translate that action into some action.

Can you trademark human behavior?

Social Networking And Responsibility

Still brewing up is another huge question – that of social networking and responsibility. If I say something on a business’s twitter account, how liable is that business for what I have said in their name? How about if someone else says it and I simply rebroadcast it or like it or whatever the correct usage is for a particular social network?

Are social media comments public or private communications? Especially if you have to specifically opt-in to receive those communications?

If I say something negative on twitter, is it libel? Is it slander?

Can Social Media comments be trademarked or copyrighted?

I am not a US Citizen – are my comments through a US-based system like Twitter, whose licenses and usage are handled under US Law, protected as free speech?

To what extent am I not entitled to state my opinion?

As usual, the law is a decade or more behind the wavefront of technology and social behavior, and most laws are applied through legal confrontations – so this is an issue that is only going to grow over the next decade.

The Regulation Of Human Behavior

Ultimately, all these problems can be summarized as attempts to regulate human behavior. The laws all spell out things that we are not allowed to do, for what at least seemed like good reasons at the time. Corporate entities are using those laws for other purposes, though. They are using trademark, copyright, and patent laws to protect things that should never be trademarked, copyrighted, or patented.

Of course, it’s always easier to extend an existing law to cover something similar. ePublishing is neatly covered by existing laws relating to publishing. This only really goes awry when the potentials of a new storage format or medium create additional capabilities for public usage that were not present at the time the laws were extended. Changing technology is a game-changer.

Treating digital formats as just another medium to present music which could be protected and controlled under existing laws governing usage is what led to the DRM / file-sharing legal wars. So long as you couldn’t do anything more with the digitally-encoded format than you could do with the old technology, those laws worked and were seen as satisfactory. But the new medium brought additional inherent potential usages that were not explicitly dealt with under those laws, and it was those usages that the Recording Industry sought to curtail.

There are analogous arguements to be made regarding all of the other situations cited above. Business laws framed at a time before technological change made the superstores – the Wal-Mart’s and the Amazons – feasible, are inadequate for dealing with the new social reality of their existence. For a time, when the new arrives, the old laws work; but eventually the opportunities provided by the new circumstance evolve beyond the scope of existing laws, at which point the laws become counterproductive to society.

The Purpose Of Copyright

Copyright law was originally intended to foster and encourage creativity, by ensuring that the creator received fair remuneration for their act of creation. It was limited in duration to what was deemed a reasonable period. Specifics vary from country to country, but they all have that common aim.

In effect, owning the copyright gave the creator:

• The Right to Control what was done with their work;
• The Right to Profit from their creation, enabling them to continue to create;
• The Right to develop Derivative Works from their creation, enabling an author to write sequels to his own works.

All these seem utterly reasonable, so where did it all go so wrong?

The Causes

I think there are three direct causes that have collectively led us to this mess over responsibility and control.

Restrictable Rights

In describing the purposes of copyright, I said that the right to control what was done with their work seemed completely reasonable. But I can trace a lot of the problems with copyright as it is compared to its original intention to this one element. Perhaps it would have been better to have stated (in legalese) that once a work existed, you could do anything you wanted with that work provided that you paid the author a reasonable return for the use of their work. Such usage would not constitute an endorsement of the second use by the creator.

Once the original Sherlock Holmes story gets published, anyone is free to write another, so long as they pay a legally-mandated sum to Arthur Conan Doyle. Of course, subsequent works by Doyle – suitably credited as “by the creator of” – would have greater cache and marketability.

If someone wanted to use a particular piece of music as part of the soundtrack to a movie, they can – they simply have to pay for it. If someone wants to make a movie based on a book, they can – under the same condition. If someone wants to write a new song based on an earlier one, they simply have to pay for the use of the old song.

Removing control from the equation ensures that copyright can no longer stifle creativity.

Transfers Of Ownership of intangibles

The second major plank in the current misery comes from the concept of transfer of ownership. If a publisher simply acts as an agent for the creator, acting as a collection point for the revenues owing to the creator of a work and taking their percentage accordingly, there is no difficulty; it is only when the publisher can claim ownership of some form (even if they paid the author a considerable sum for it) that real problems arise, because there arises a potential conflict of interest between the creator and the publisher.

Gene sequences cannot be subject to protection if the principle of transfer of ownership of intangibles is never established – only an original usage of a gene sequence. Look-and-feel issues go away. Ridiculous issues like the trademarking of “book” and the patent of a “like” button become non-starters – because the idea itself is free for anyone to use provided they pay the legally-mandated sum to the original creator, or his estate.

A corporation should never be able to “own” something; at best, they should be holding it in trust for, and administering it on behalf of, their shareholders and customers.

Money as free speech

If the laws are slipshod, or shortsighted, or inadequate, must we not look to the elected officials who created those laws when we assign responsibility for the mess we find ourselves in?

Donating money to a cause may support a cause, but it does not publicize that support, and hence should not be considered free speech. The contrary position permits those with the largest chequebooks to dictate policy, against the public interest, for their own benefit. Equating money to free speech may be viewed as putting your money where your mouth is, but if the mouth is absent, it’s simply a bribe to see things “the corporation’s way”.

The Dynamic Of Responsibility

To see how these causes have led, and are leading, the world into a tar pit, there are three additional factors to contemplate.

Unenforceable Rights Are Non-Existent Rights

If you can’t enforce a right, you may as well not have that right. Seems fairly obvious, doesn’t it? Your rights are not what the law says they are, they are what the interpreters of that law will enforce. Long court delays and appeals processes favor those with deep pockets, and lawyers are perfectly willing to use the size of their employer’s pockets to intimidate opponents.

Corporations As “People”

A corporation is a magical thing. In some ways it is considered to be a legal “person”, and in others it is not considered to be a person at all. The problem, of course, is drawing the line between these two conditions.

The general principle was established so that corporations could be sued in the same way as individuals, should a transgression be alleged, or vice-versa. Nothing wrong with that.

It’s in some of the other applications of the theory – that a corporation should be able to own things in the same way that a person would, that a corporation has rights in the same way that a person does, that a corporation can donate money to political campaigns as though they were an individual – that provokes greater contention.

We would all be far better off if a corporation was a separately-defined legal entity, with its rights and abilities enumerated completely separately from those of a citizen. Such an explicit statement would remove much of the fuzziness.

The Determinism Of Wealth

The combination of these factors is greater than the sum of their parts. Corporations have financial resources far beyond those of most individuals. They can employ the best lawyers. In theory, politicians are supposed to represent the people, giving them a collective voice and equal say in the way things are done. The real effect of the “Money is free speech” principle is to give corporations a greater voice in politics, in the framing of laws, than the ordinary citizen. With dominance in both politics and the courts, they have near-complete control over what rights can be enforced by the individual. Only when they do something so egregious that the courts cannot tolerate the transgression do they suffer a reversal.

The Brave New World

So, where does all this leave us?

The Lowest Common Denominator

It’s long been my contention that the internet erases much of the national boundaries that have shaped our world. If the US bans an activity, the service can be relocated to another country where it is not illegal. I’ve held this view since the very beginning of the Napster lawsuit. In effect, what is enforceable is the lowest common denominator amongst all the laws of all the countries that are connected through the web.

Technology has modified that position somewhat – China is notorious for filtering what its internet users can access – but only at prohibitive cost in terms of censorship and – according to studies proposing similar filtering software for Australia – in terms of connection speeds (a loss of up to 87%).

Nevertheless, in general terms, the principle holds.

Counterculture Inevitable

With the public at large feeling under assault by corporate interests with political connivance and support in the DRM mess, a counterculture movement was inevitable. Feeding into that counterculture are the availability of cheap second-hand and remaindered products through Amazon which devalue residual value of published material in the minds of customers, who will quite naturally gravitate toward the lowest price they can find – if they get what they are paying for.

Also contributing to that view are the relatively cheap prices of e-books – some available free on Amazon Kindle.

It used to be that all an e-publisher had to worry about were pirated copies showing up on P2P networks – sometimes with malware such as viruses added. The debate was about whether or not reducing prices would act as a disincentive to such activities. These days, the pressure is to maximize the short-term profitability of an e-book, and a little piracy after that period is more trouble to chase down than it is worth.

The Devaluation Of Intellectual Property

Worryingly, though, when you devalue residual worth, you devalue all intellectual property in the eyes of the culture, and especially the counter-culture. People expect books and eBooks to be cheaper, even without economies of scale and with increasing labor costs. It doesn’t take any less time (per page) to write a book, or produce an illustration, but in order to sell, the price has to be reduced. The consequence is that it gets harder for the author to make a living (even at a reduced living standard) from his writing – and that’s a disincentive to write. Authors feel undervalued by the public, and some are even resentful.

The Impact of RPGNow

I wrote a couple of well-received articles last year on the pricing of RPG materials (Part 1 and Part 2). What I didn’t predict in the course of those articles was a new phenomenon that I’m beginning to notice: content written to meet the price point. In part 2 of that series, I divided PDFs into sizes by page count for detailed analysis (and the analysis was a lot more detailed than what saw print, I assure you). Well, the tail is starting to wag the dog, in my opinion. Rather than writing a product and seeing how large it is, people are writing to achieve a given page count – and saving anything that doesn’t fit for a subsequent volume.

Why? Well, if you write a 25-page PDF and break it up into 4 page lots, you would expect to get eight PDFs out of your 20-page work. But, by the time you include front-page and contents and licensing pages, suddenly your four pages is down to a page-and-a-half of valuable content, 2-and-a-half if you’re feeling generous. And that means that you can serialize your 25 pages into 10-16 PDFs. Call it 13. That’s the equivalent of a 62.5% increase in profitability – at the cost of perceived value-for-money. Even if that perceived loss of value costs you 30% lower sales, profits are still up 32.5% – and you still have the option of compiling them into a bigger omnibus edition, and hopefully selling the same content to the same people multiple times.

Spreading the costs thinner and ramping up the effective price both plays into the mindset of reduced value and reinforces it. Will the trend last? Is it all in my head? Time will tell.

Pushbutton Comments

Comments are dying. No, that’s not true – comments to the source of content are dying. This is an unintended development of social media. It’s easier to tweet that you like something, or share it, or like it on facebook. No thought needed.

The pushbutton comment is far more transitory than a comment to the source. After a few days (or less), you have to actively search for it in order to find it. And it contributes less to the discussion, simply because there’s no content-add.

That contributes a lack of lasting feedback to the content provider, reducing their ability to target products to an existing audience. And that means that profitability of products is diminished.

Must Copyright Be Sacrificed?

There aren’t many ways out of the current problems, save struggling with them one at a time. Wholesale reform is not going to happen. Nothing will happen, in any event, until either a crisis flashpoint is achieved, legally or in public opinion, as it was with the Sony Rootkit scandal, or until the US political situation is resolved.

What are the alternatives in the meantime? The harder it gets for authors and publishers to make money writing and publishing, the more of them will stop doing it. Under these conditions, producers will either get aggressive and vitriolic about protecting their intellectual properties, or will simply give up on copyright enforcement beyond taking a few basic precautions, and live with erosion of profitability – or simply stop.

But there are larger legislative issues in the wings, with far-reaching consequences only dimly-observed at the moment.

RPGs and the copyright/publishing tangle

One of the proximate sources of inspiration for this article was a discussion on Linkedin concerning the value of using old works, whose residual value was now minimal, as bonuses and marketing materials. This is a trend that I’ve observed in kickstarter offerings. I offered my two cents worth in that discussion, but that started me thinking about the larger ramifications.

The impact on the RPG industry is this: it’s harder than ever to write RPGs full time and live on the proceeds. That points to an imminent market implosion, something that might only be prevented by am OGL-like explosion in DnDNext-related materials. If DnDNext is the hit that Wizards hope it will be, and if the third-party publisher terms are more reasonable, a new boom could manifest.

In the meantime, there will be a rise in the use of kickstarter as (effectively) a pre-ordering system. It’s not going to be about marketing and distributing a product, it’s going to be earning the money from a kickstarter project to justify putting the time into creating a product in the first place. And there will be a restructuring of products toward smaller items offered through RPGNow and subsequent omnibus collections of proven product who have already paid off most of the creation overheads that amounts to a reduction in the value-for-money quotient.

I still expect Print-on-demand to be the game-changer. With both Amazon and RPGNow getting into the PoD game, the incentive to produce direct-published paper-and-ink products can only diminish. So the future is digital, and will be subject to exactly the same pressures that the music industry has struggled with for the last 20+ years. Hopefully, we’ll learn from their mistakes and not get too heavily into DRM and aggressively strong-arm protection.

RPG production is going to become even more of a part-time hobbyist activity and less professional in standards. Prices will drop. Markets will become more insular, more closely-focused. Small businesses will stop, and will agglomerate. The honorable ones, like Purple Duck, will live up to the promises of the businesses that they absorb. And by virtue of being there, they will be in position to capitalize on the next boom, when it comes.

And we’ll continue to look over our shoulders. We live in paranoid times.

I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it here, I’ll either never get it done in time…

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Chapters 18-20 are all in final form. I don’t change “speaker” in mid-paragraph, but the speaker does change from one paragraph to the next. So if it seems like the tone changes direction suddenly – sometimes it does.

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The Second Great Dwarfwar: Dwarven Incursion

The delegation returned to the King and his Council with word that the Dwarves were more arrogant and stiff-necked and unreasonable than ever, and claimed all the forest save that which had been transformed by the Elven Arts as their own, to do with what they willed; and that they were impolite and disrespectful to the person and Title of the Elvish King; and that not even the threat of hostilities had moved them to bargain in good faith.

“That was their final word?” asked the King.

“No, your majesty. Their last words were, ‘Kiss my Braided Beard, You poncy snob. We’ll give you more war than you can stomach if you set foot in our domain again.”

The council all agreed that this was unacceptable, a direct challenge to the stewardship of the forest by the Elves, which was a sacred trust with which they had been charged by Corellan himself. They had no choice but to accept that the Dwarves had given just cause for a declaration of War. “In any event,” argued some, “it would be well to learn how to fight in the tunnels and holes deep beneath the earth, for sooner or later we must confront the Drow once more.”

Only one major objection could be raised: the Elves had not yet formed a military force with which to respond to this threat. Even as the council retired to consider solutions to this conundrum, which now assumed an urgency that had not previously been felt necessary, word arrived that another Dwarven expedition had been sighted felling trees, and lighting fires which they were directing toward Elvarheim itself.

The inner forest would not burn easily, the Elves knew; but this latest assault on top of recent events made it clear that the Dwarves were being belligerent in the extreme, and escalated the Elvish need from ‘Urgent’ to ‘Dire’. Lacking any other solution, the Elvish Priests appealed to Corellan to solve this problem before Elvarheim itself came under direct threat.

And Lo, the most holy Corellan didst hear the anguished beseechments of his people, and he came to comfort and guide them, as he had promised; and he did say unto his people, bring before me the Noletinechor, and it was done, and Corellan in his wisdom and majesty didst say unto them, “Ye have been chosen by your kin to be the guardians of all that is Elvish. This is a high honor indeed, but the designs of those who ordained your order are incomplete, for to be a guardian is to do more than shelter and remember, it is to protect, nurture, cherish, and teach. This is a sacred trust, the stewardship of the spirit of the Elven peoples and all that makes them great and good in the eyes of Nature, and I charge you with the duty of forever being worthy of such trust. I shall call forth those Totems who are gifted in battle, and together we will teach you that which you will need to discharge this duty and trust, guardians worthy to succeed the Verdonne. And you shall issue forth with the most skilled hunters and warriors of the Elven people to repel this and any future invasion.

“And when this crisis doth abate, you shall establish, in some far distant place, a fortress, a bulwark, to be the home of your order, and the seed from which all may begin anew should the worst befall your people, for yours is a difficult and lonely task that shall persist until the last Elf is no more. You must keep alive the traditions and songs and cultures of your people, resisting those changes which are alien to its nature, and yet permitting the race and society of the beloved of nature to grow and evolve as its nature doth decree.”

And the then-beloved Spider-queen of the Drow, Lolth, scrying from afar, was infuriated, for Her plans to take advantage of the Elvish vulnerability had failed. It had seemed a simple proposition: a few Drow in stolen Dwarvish boots, a few carelessly-guarded trees, and one enemy would destroy another. But the plot had failed to allow for the interference of Corellan, and it never paid to ignore a God when devising your tactics – an error that she would not repeat on future occasions. And still worse, it might well result in teaching her enemies how to fight more effectively underground, in an environment all-too-similar to that of Her people, costing their own defenses a tactical advantage that might be irreplaceable.

It was all the fault of Her military advisors, of course, and several were promptly made the centre of attention at a public beheading at which their failures were publicly announced to all, object lessons in the consequences of failing their Queen.

The Second Great Dwarfwar: The Huyundaltha

It proved less easy than Corellan had made it seem. The Noletinechor were artists and musicians and dancers, and while they had received basic instruction in bow and sword, that instruction had been abandoned in favor of a more cultural education. When it came to martial matters, they were hesitant and clumsy. With the need pressing, Corellan and the totems he had summoned devised, in desperation, a martial style founded apon the delicate dance steps that the guardians of culture had mastered, using two equal weapons for balance; a style that combined grace and elegance, mobility and nimbleness of foot and hand, into a lethal art. And this art he did name Ondaltha, and to the Noletinechor he gave the title Huyundaltha,’Masters Of The Ondaltha’, or (literal translation), “Bladedancers”.

Thus it was that the Noletinechor were transformed into a martial order, their mandate extended to the protection of the Elven homeland and way of life, and the replacement for the Verdonne. Satisfied, Corellan departed, having faith in his people’s ability to chart their own course, make their own mistakes, and live their own lives.

The Bladedancers were amateurs at this ‘war’ business, and they started by making a lot of amateur mistakes. The exterior of the Dwarven Mines were undefended, and rather than giving them pause, this encouraged the Bladedancers to take advantage of this overt defensive weakness. They had not realized that the entrances were unguarded purely to lure would-be attackers into a realm shaped by the Dwarves in a manner not dissimilar to that of Elvarheim; a giant trap in which the architecture itself was a weapon. In their preferred habitat, the Dwarves were just as at home, and just as deadly, as the Elves were within their forest.

Gathering a band of twenty aggressive young warriors, the Bladedancer Hoddell penetrated the mineshaft, ignoring the gong at the entrance, and descended into the depths, and promptly become lost in the twisting, turning maze of tunnels. Four days later, they found themselves at the entrance once again, having never seen a Dwarf, returning to Elvarheim tired, thirsty and covered in dust. Undeterred, they tried again, and this time never returned.

Expedition after expedition followed, and slowly the Elves learned many of the secrets of navigation below ground – systematic exploration, mapping, always following one wall, dropping markers at key intersections. Eventually, some reached the second layer of underground defenses, only to be lured into deadfalls, or pits, or pockets of foul air, or chambers that were then flooded by Dwarves, or galleries with many narrow slots in the walls for weapons to penetrate while the wielders remained safely behind solid rock.

After 24 years of sporadic and wholly-unsuccessful expeditions and adventures below the ground, Deruan, leader of the Bladedancers, reached the inevitable conclusion that if the Elves continued to conduct their war on Dwarven terms, they would lose it. Their foes were the masters of their domain, and inherently superior in skill over the Elves while within it. In order to emerge victorious, they would need to change strategies, and to make the Dwarven environment work against the residents and not in their favor. While all conceded the need to change tack, the strategies that Deruan proposed were extreme, radical, and ruthless, and caused many to have misgivings. Those in opposition described them as too similar to what might have been expected of their estranged cousins, the Drow, and questioned once again whether the Elves had been right to start this war in the first place.

Many on the council considered this a healthy debate for the society. A proper understanding of the question, and of why the Elves had made the decision to go to war, could only yield a greater insight into the natures of the Elvish people themselves, to the unending benefit of their society. But to the Bladedancers, this was cowardice akin to high treason against the Elvish race, and they denounced those who opposed and undermined their efforts towards Victory. THEY were the nominated guardians of society, who had sacrificed their personal liberties to this sacred cause, and as such, their decrees should supersede those of the Council in matters of the defense of the realm and the prosecution of war. So aroused and inflamed were passions over the issue that the Council had no choice but to bar Deruan from their deliberations, lest tempers lead to a impasse that could only result in violence, one Elf against another, an act so heinous that it had led to the ostracizing of the Drow.

For the moment, Deruan was able to invoke the blessing and authority of Corellan, and override the concerns of the Council, and press forward with his plans. His strategy was four-fold. The Totem Spirits were beseeched for their aid, causing Rabbits and other burrowing creatures to search out the source of the waters that fed into the Dwarven realm; these would be acidified. In the process, the entrances which funneled clean, fresh, air to the depths would be found; they would be poisoned with noxious fumes. Trees would be planted in every crack and crevice, and spellwoven to grow their roots faster and more deeply, widening the cracks and destabilizing the walls and ceilings of the Dwarven halls. And many forest creatures, and other creatures who preferred an underground existence, would have their natures altered through Spellweaving to make them larger, more aggressive, and more fitted to living deep beneath the surface, then released into the tunnels to make their homes; deadly foes with which to vex the subterranean Dwarves and compete with them for food and water and living space.

Fifty-three years of superficial peace passed before all was prepared, with the Bladedancers suppressing all expressions of doubt or concerns over morality, as they single-mindedly pursued what they regarded as their sacred trust.

The Second Great Dwarfwar: A Dwarven Perspective

Lolth had not repeated Her error in ignoring those who shared Her preference for living within a completely controlled underground environment. She had sought to use the Dwarves as pawns, weapons against Her true enemies, the followers of Corellan, he who would unmake Her, in a rare moment of their vulnerability. Although superficially successful, this plan had backfired tremendously. But Lolth was a realist, despite all Her grand schemings, and possessed of a rare instinct for survival; no matter what the situation She was presented with, She would always seek (and usually find) a way to turn events to Her advantage. Even as a long twenty-four years of defensive engagements between the Dwarves and the surface Elves began, She undertook the difficult and dangerous task of establishing diplomatic relations with the Dwarves.

The initial approach was fraught with danger, and several diplomatic missions were slain by the Dwarves before the envoys they carried could be conveyed to the Dwarvish Court. But these were expendable lackeys, unimportant in overall life, and easily replaced. Approach after approach was attempted, until random chance found a successful formula: one of the envoys on this occasion was a Drow of great size and strength, a Giant amongst his people. and it so happened that he challenged the leader of the Dwarven Patrol that he encountered to a wrestling match for the honor of being escorted to the King.

Aberzherisharde was the name given to this walking mountain, and when his challenge was curtly rejected, he mocked the Dwarven Patrol as cowards. A known hot-head, who had been sentenced to this duty for brawling in defiance of Lolth’s Laws, there were several amongst the Spider-Queen’s advisors who thought his selection to be most unwise; but Lolth’s instruction overrode any debate, and so he found himself bandying insults with the leader of the Patrol.

Knowing the Dwarven nature now, as they did not know it then, it is clear that this was in fact the perfect response to the situation. He Challenged the Dwarven Arrogance, stung the Dwarven Pride, and then engaged in a game of friendly insults in which he took as good as he gave, all in tones that showed that he did not take the insults directed toward him personally. As the game wore on, and minutes became hours, the nature of the insults being exchanged gradually evolved into a series of backhanded compliments; insults of which the target could take pride at being accused. In due course, the Patrol Leader, Khalzesh, agreed to convey the deputation to the Dwarvish Crown under his personal protection, and at last Lolth’s message could be conveyed to the King.

These deputations had been comprised of carefully selected malcontents, given personal and private instruction by the Queen Herself in their deportment, and had their families held hostage to ensure their full cooperation. Not even the Priestesses and House Matrons were permitted to know of the instructions they carried; were these to become public knowledge, they could have undermined the very foundations of Drow Society. No members of a delegation would ever be permitted to interact with ordinary members of their society again, something of which they had not been informed prior to the undertaking of their missions. Only when the Drow peoples lost our [their] Dark Queen was the truth revealed, as the surviving members of the diplomatic corps were discovered living in hidden harems of untold luxury and zero liberty. (The Matrons who discovered them heard their words, but (under the-then-operative circumstances) could not permit themselves to accept such blasphemy, and executed them all immediately). Only when Lolth was restored, and abandoned Her people, were their words remembered, reconsidered, and found trustworthy, even insightful:

The diplomats began with a humble apology from the Spider Queen for the mistakes of the past, while deflecting most of the blame onto the House Matrons of the time, and especially the Princess whose ambitions had enmeshed all three participant races in the Prince Of Lies affair. They filled the Dwarven Hall with tales of the torture and retribution exacted apon those deemed by Her to be principally responsible for dishonoring their people. Nevertheless, Lolth Herself admitted that She had erred in Her handling of the matter, and was just as fallable as any ruler. In recognition of what this had cost the Dwarven peoples, She offered recompense in the form of rare gems and minerals that had been wrested from deep beneath the earth, deeper even than the Dwarven Tunnels could reach; Rubies and Sapphires and Adamant Ore, which (when refined by those with sufficient skill and expertise, which Her people lacked) would yield a metal named Adamantium.

This blend of humility, nobility, and pride – backed up by wergild – appealed to the Dwarven King, as every word reinforced his innate senses of pride and moral superiority. From that point, steady progress was made, despite the occasional diplomatic stumble.

After some years of periodic hostility between Dwarves and Elves, the Drow came to the Dwarves, and said, “It seems that we now find ourselves with enemy common, and that our expertise and experience might benefit you in your current hostilities should matters develop in an unseemly manner.”

To which the Dwarves replied, “Our homes are our weapons. Those who trespass are little more than an annoyance, a rabble who we need no aid to overcome.”

And the Drow Envoy replied, “And we hope that this remains the case. We have no desire to disparage your capabilities; but if it should come to pass that the pattern of this conflict should change unexpectedly, we wish your Royal Highness to know that we are at your disposal for advice and assistance.”

Once again, life in the tunnels returned to a routine, and the Drow bided their time, until the day arrived when the Dwarves looked back apon the year past and realized that the Elves had discontinued their futile assaults. And the Dwarves were greatly puzzled, for this sudden absence was not expected of the Elvish Character; even the Dwarves acknowledged that. Next to them, the Elves were the most tenacious race in existence.

So it was that the King, who had been but a young Prince when the offer had been extended, summoned the Drow diplomatic representatives and asked for their interpretation of the change. And the Drow Ambassador said, “You are correct, as always, your Majesty. Our surface brethren would not simply stop; they would either concede and negotiate a peaceful settlement of your differences, or they would withdraw to change tactics, conceding your people’s mastery of the battlefield. Any other enemy would accept that they have been beaten, but our surface brethren have no honor, and will stoop to any depths to achieve a victory they do not deserve.

“Since there have been no peace envoys, the war between you continues unabated. We see but two possible courses for their conduct of this war: either they will seek to create some great provocation to lure you out into an environment where they hold the advantage, and will do so soon, or they will seek to turn your advantage against you by arcane means, which will take much longer. The solution to the first we leave to your own tactical acumen; but should battle not resume in a handspan of years, we shall return to discuss how best we might contribute to the countering of these underhanded tactics.”

Five years later, they returned, and said to the King, “Greetings, your Highness, from your sister Monarch, Queen Of Spiders. In the name of our close bonds of friendship have we come to discuss the tactical support that our people can provide you in your quest for justice from our common enemy, the Elves of the surface. Our Queen bids you to understand Her position on these matters from the outset, lest false expectation should undermine the friendship that has been forged between us; this is your war, not ours, and while we wish to you every success in this matter, we cannot fight your battles for you. Nor do we expect that such a brave and noble people as yourselves would expect anything less of those who respect your most sterling qualities.”

To which the Dwarf-king replied, “We would never ask another to fight our battles for us, you have the right of that; yet, this then begs the question: if you so not offer the strength of force of arms, what value do you then attach to this friendship that you will not fight for it? What assistance will you render, in the name of the friendship your Queen professes, that the cynical amongst us should not dismiss them as merely an empty platitude?”

This was troublesome for the diplomats, revealing as it did a measure of wit that they had not previously attributed amongst the King’s gifts. The King had matured greatly since their previous visit, it was true; perhaps in the case of Dwarves, wisdom came apon them suddenly, when the weight of accumulated experiences suddenly forged associations of understanding, where for other races this developed more gradually over the course of time. Choosing his words with care, the Envoy answered, “Your words, in effect, do say unto us: ‘Friendship is easily professed, but true friendship requires deeds of fidelity’. We accept that burden in the name of our Queen, may She be ever-blessed, and convey from Her many promises of aid of practical value unto you.

“Firstly, we bring word of what She and Her advisors have Divined of the underhanded and unworthy stratagem to be employed by the surface dwellers; it is our Queen’s belief that they will turn the waters you drink, the rock you tunnel, and yea, even the very air that you breathe against you, in a bid to drive you from your homes forever, into the ambush that they will have prepared; and that should this be insufficient, they will release horrors and fell beasts unimaginable to plague your daily lives, for they are corrupting the very creatures that they profess to guard and protect into abominations most horrifying and perverse to do battle in their stead. And should this come to pass, our Queen offers refuge for you and your Court and a small army of stalwart Dwarven defenders within our tunnels, and the aid of OUR spinners of spells to the end of undoing this harm to your homes.

“Second, we offer to trade with you food, that you may increase the number of warriors that fight to protect your lands; and shipments of Adamant Ore and unprocessed Mithral, that you may better arm your warriors; and that we will sell these things to your people for gold, and silver, and platinum, and for the black gems that rumor states that you have found in the wash of the underground river that runs through your domain.

“And thirdly, and most greatly, should all come to pass as our Queen has foretold, She bids us to offer unto you this aid: we shall draw aside the curtains of sorcery that protect the surface dwellers and give you the opportunity to strike directly back at the heartland of our mutual foe from beneath their very feet. Should you capture the heart of Elvarheim, you will force our brethren to bargain for peace on your terms, and achieve a total and lasting victory in the war against our mutual foe.”

The King, his countenance unyielding, replied “Those are great gifts of friendship, it must be said; and we are honored to be numbered amongst the friends of the Drow and their Queen, and we are very happy to accept Her offer of trade with our people. In honor of that accord, I shall have the most brilliant of the dark gems of which you speak polished and mounted apon a circlet of purest platinum as a gift to Her, in recognition of Her enlightened rule. Many details remain to be settled, of course, and I in turn would charge unto you this task: to relate unto your Queen that we do not fear the surface Elves, and do not think them capable of inflicting the travails your relate apon us; always, it doth seem to me, those of the surface world wish to hold themselves blameless for the ill that befalls another at their hands, a smugness and self-important superiority that is unmerited, and such deeds would bind their hands to the axe-handle while blood still drips from its blade. Yet, it might be that in this, we are the ones who are mistaken, and should that be the case, only then would we countenance such a dangerous tactic as an invasion of the Elven homeland. In our tunnels, we have the advantage, as they have learned to their great cost; should we have the foolish audacity to brave the leaves of their twisted and defiled forests, it is they who would have that advantage, and we who would do the dying. A foolish bravado is not bravery, just stupidity.”

This set the Ambassador back on his heels; his Queen’s expectation had been that Dwarvish Bravery extended far beyond the point of folly, and that they would leap at the chance of engaging the surface Elves in direct combat; indeed, Her instructions had been for him to permit himself to be reluctantly persuaded to aid in mounting the direct attack as soon as possible, and not as a far-off contingency plan. He was also more than a little concerned that it was he who would have to inform Her that She had underestimated Her people’s Dwarven neighbors – an unenviable position, and one that might prove painfully fatal; few survived the voicing of such criticism.

Fortunately for the Ambassador, the Queen was entirely satisfied with the outcome. She had no doubts of what the followers of Corellan had planned, for She had emplaced spies in their midst; and it would have taken a very blind, deaf, and inept spy indeed for him to have remained unaware of the debate and controversy over the plans of Deruan The Bladedancer. As a result, She was of no doubt that the royal family of the Dwarves would deliver themselves to be hostages of Her good will, subjugating Her Dwarvish neighbors; that the offer of trade for food would see the Dwarves becoming economically dependant apon Her people, and providing them with the resources and ready capital to funnel into the vast espionage apparatus that She envisioned for the future, while refining ore and crafting weaponry that would ultimately be turned to Her ends; and that in the final course of events, the Dwarves would succeed in obliterating the Followers Of Corellan for Her, in response to the war that She had started between them. She was eternal, and could wait.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Huyundaltha: “Masters Of The Ondaltha” (literal), “Bladedancers” (colloquial). Formerly Noletinechor, now Guardians Of Elvish Society.
• Ondaltha: A two-weapon combat style based apon Elvish Dance, practiced exclusively by Huyundaltha.
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: Violence and Mayhem as the Second Great Dwarfwar climaxes in Chapters 21 to 23!

For a recent superhero adventure, I went looking for a map, preferably a 5′ scale map that I could use with miniatures. I couldn’t find what I needed, and that surprised me greatly. After all, there are so many maps and map tiles on offer through RPGNow – there are umpteen castles, marshlands, swamps, forests, forest clearings, villages, and so on. Heck, you can buy entire cities. So I felt sure that anything you could think of would be catered for by someone.

The more I looked into it, the more maps I was able to place on my wishlist of maps that were simply not available. So this post is for all you mapmakers out there. I don’t know how big a market there would be for any of these specific items – but there is going to be some market, and – the last time I checked – it was a market that no-one was catering for.

Circus Tent, Arena, and/or Amphitheatre

The specific map that I was looking for was a circus tent, complete with audience seating, central rings, acrobat platforms, high-wires, etc. But I was prepared to compromise – I could have worked with almost any arena or amphitheatre map and dressed it to my needs.

I couldn’t find any of them (heck, I couldn’t even find any maps or blueprints on Google). And the surprises, well, the heck out of me.

Arenas and the like have been part of the landscape from just about as long as we’ve been building cities. The Ancient Greeks used amphitheatres for debates. The Romans had their coliseums. In medieval times, tournaments were regular events. Modern times have the circus, plus rock concerts, and plays, and heaven knows what. Scientific Conferences, perhaps. University lecture halls. And in the future, any of the above might come back into vogue.

Solving the immediate problem

In order to solve my immediate needs, I had to get creative. I used wall panels as rows of bleachers, stone floors as a set of elevated stages (I thought about putting dice under them to raise them, but it proved enough to use some unwanted tiles as a layer underneath the “stage” to raise it just a little). I used portals to represent major supports for the tents, pits for recessed areas (like an orchestra pit and a hidden passage beneath the stage where the dressing rooms were located). Burning torches represented the position of spotlights. Pieces showing something else – spiderweb, I think, but I’m no longer sure – became the anchors and platforms which were connected by high wires.

A really important factor was the size of the end-product. I had assembled stacks of the different component elements before I started laying the ‘map’ out on the playing surface and roughly added up the amount of space that I could fill using those tiles.

While it took an extra half-hour of game time to lay out the map, it worked reasonably well. While there were undoubtedly holes and flaws within the resulting map, neither the players nor I could spot them in the course of play. So it was good enough, in the end.

Labs

Getting back to the main point of this article, we come to Labs.

Frankensteinian Labs. Gothic Labs. Futuristic Labs. Chem Labs. Electrical Labs. Robotics Workshops. Leonardo’s Workshop. Labs, Labs, Labs. You can never have enough diversity in Lab Spaces.

And of course, most of these have fantasy analogues. The Chem Labs work for alchemist’s labs. Leonardo’s workshop could definitely be useful in a steampunk setting. Frankenstein’s Workshop works for all sorts of Necromancer’s workshops, not to mention golem construction workshops. Astronomical observatories and astrological workshops can be interchanged – at least well enough for one map to be used for another.

Some of these maps are available, most don’t. But its the futuristic labs that are really hard to find.

Special Rooms

There are a number of special rooms that recur in various game genres time after time. The throne room. The conference room – one with round or elliptical tables and one with rectangular tables. Armories – which will be different in different time periods. Mobile armories, like those that might be used by a Swat team. Armored Cars. Ambulance interiors. Operating theatres. Caves with entrances that look like giant skulls.

Most of these just aren’t around. Some of them can be replicated using standard map tiles and appropriate dressings – but having a baseline to work from would make things so much easier.

Special Locations

Finally, there are a few “special” locations that keep coming up, and that are very hard to fake with something else. Cemeteries, Casinos, Las Vegas showrooms, Medieval Japanese Castles, and a period-correct Egyptian Palace. Oh yes, and the TARDIS, or some other sci-fi starship bridge.

So, there you go

These are all examples of locations that I’ve needed to use in adventures in the past – and couldn’t find. And if I needed them, so could others. So it’s over you, mapmakers. Who will take up the gauntlet?

Only a short article this week, for a change. Don’t expect it to last…

I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it in public, I’ll either never get it done in time…

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Chapters 15-17 are all in reasonably final form. I try not to change “speaker” in mid-paragraph, but the speaker does sometimes change from one paragraph to the next. So if it seems like the tone changes direction suddenly – sometimes it does.

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The Verdonne Insurrection: Elves in the Age Of Heresies

Throughout their history, the Elves had largely been preoccupied with social and interracial problems. They had given little thought to the larger theological reality that surrounded them, and had no true conception of the vast powers against which Corellan struggled to protect his people. Elvish theological thought was focused on the Totem Spirits of Nature that guided them; their scholars debated whether the belligerency and inconstancy of other races could be attributed to their seeming inability to perceive the wisdom of their spirit-totems, and Elvish philosophy was turned continually inward, focused on defining exactly what it meant to be an Elf, and how best to have that quintessential Elvishness express itself throughout their society. Even the rearing and education of the Verdonne had been left to the Verdonne themselves, so preoccupied were the Elves in their soul-searching and expression of the results through Spellweaving to more closely conform the environment to their natures and perceptions.

The crushing disappointment of the truth of The Other, who they had romanticized into idealized and nobly tragic figures, had soured any interest in the outside world and the beliefs and knowledge of outsiders. The world hurt so much that they turned their backs toward it and became an insular and self-preoccupied society.

This was a state of acute vulnerability to the forces which had corrupted the Spider-totems with Ambitions, and when what became known as The Age Of Heresies began, that vulnerability would exact a heavy toll on Elvish society.

The weapons employed by the Chaos Powers against the Elves were curiosity, insecurity, and ego, and they would prove devastatingly effective.

The Elves of the time had accepted the presence and role of the Verdonne within their realm as a part of everyday life. The subject was no more to be given special consideration than were the presence of the Bluebird and the role of its song as an inspiration to poets and artists. The Verdonne, who were long-lived even as were their Elvish creators, slowly began to perceive that the forest they protected with life, leaf, and limb was altering in its nature, little by little. From one day to the next, the changes were so insignificant as to go unnoticed, but over a span of centuries, they added up into an increasingly alien world. After discussing it amongst themselves at length, they resolved to ask the Elves, and here the Spellweavers proved that history was doomed to repeat itself apon the preoccupied.

After the episode with the Dwarves, the Elves had created the Council Of Elves to ‘guide’ the King toward his decisions in all matters relating to other species; but they failed to apply their hard-learned principles to their own creation, treating them as part of their domain, and not as a separate species with whom they had a relationship based apon common interest. Instead of referring the Verdonne’s gentle questions to the council, they answered in simple terms and without thought, being distracted by whatever they were concentrating apon at that particular moment, replying that they were changing the forest to make it a better home for the Elves, closer to their nature.

The Verdonne questioner accepted this, and left; and he and his kind thought long and hard apon the over-simple truth of the reply. Almost thirty years passed before the Verdonne came to the realization that the more perfectly the Forest suited the Elves, the less perfect an abode for their kind it became. Increasingly, they would come to exist only at the Sufferance of their elvish masters, slaves to their whims and fancies; and yet it was by their efforts, and deaths, that the Forest remained unmolested.

The question of what should be done about this was another to be given slow and careful consideration, but in time – another 22 years to be precise – they reached the conclusion that their role was to protect the Forest as Nature had intended it to be. The Elvish manipulations were as unnatural as the destructive instincts of the Fallen Races against which the Verdonne struggled regularly. The Elves had to be treated as an enemy by the Verdonne.

The result was a Slave Revolt (from the perspective of the Verdonne) and an act of Heresy (from the perspective of the Elves). The first strike was against the Spellweavers, and those of martial prowess, and it was swift and brutal. A few at a time, the Verdonne infiltrated the heart of the Forest, where they were welcomed by the Elves. Few realized how many had gathered until their appointed leader, Silverleaf, gave a great booming cry and signaled the attack.

If the Forest Elves had been spared the worst of the Orc-wars, they bore the brunt of this unexpected assault. Their most powerful and learned were felled in the first stroke. To fully appreciate the magnitude of the calamity, it must be recognized that the Verdonne had been entrusted with the keys to all the defenses of the Forest, were trusted completely, were able to proceed unmolested to the most sensitive of locations throughout the Elvish Kingdom in preparation for the assault, were as able to instantly relay messages from one to another by means of the trees of the forest as were the Elves (in fact, messages between the Verdonne were presumed to pertain to the defense of the realm and were given priority at the instruction of the Elves themselves), and the greatest vulnerability of the Verdonne – fire – could not be exploited without irreparably harming the forest itself. The result was a slaughter.

Some Elves were desperate enough to resort to weapons of flame regardless of the risks, and in the struggle, control over the fires was soon lost. The resulting conflagration swept through the forest as an even more unstoppable and implacable foe than ever the Verdonne would have been. And yet, the desperate measure achieved its objectives, as the Verdonne fell back before the flames and fled, all coordination amongst themselves lost to the panicked cries of the Forest, retreating instinctively to the banks of the Sarner. The Elves had beaten back the Verdonne Insurrection in but a week, but within the course of that week the heart of the Elvish Realm became a smoking ruin. More than half of the population of Elvarheim were lost in insurrection.

When at last the fires abated, the survivors began to reconstruct their society in imitation of its former glory; but much context and understanding had been lost, and often the forms were preserved and mimicked without an understanding of the reasons those customs had evolved, or their purpose. Elvish society began to stagnate from that moment, and its eventual collapse became inevitable.

Though it took weeks of patient discussion and debate, the survivors formed a new Council, and confirmed the ascendancy of the sole survivor of the Royal Family. The council then directed the formation of a delegation to approach the Verdonne Enclave that had gathered by the banks of the Sarner, to learn the cause of the conflict and what might be done to resolve the Verdonne’s grievances. By the time the delegation warily approached, almost three long months had passed, and to their surprise, the Enclave had been all but abandoned. Only Silverleaf remained, mortally wounded and badly burned in the fires. He informed the delegation that his brethren had all departed, to take up the burden of the protection of forests and glades wherever they might be found; and that so far as he and his kind were concerned, Elvarheim was a true forest in seeming only, perverted and twisted as it had been by Elvish Spellweaving, and unworthy of the protection of the Verdonne, who would henceforth hold themselves fully independent of the Elvish Kingdom.

Silverleaf had been waiting patiently to deliver his message of Verdonne Independence, sustaining himself only through sheer force of will bolstered by his healing arts; this last task achieved, the Liberator Of The Verdonne permitted himself to succumb to his wounds.

The Elvish delegation were greatly puzzled by this statement. Only when information was forthcoming from their Human neighbors about the religious strife that they had been experiencing, the acts of heresy and betrayal and compounded confusion that had been experienced, did they begin to grasp the root cause of the disagreement, even though the specific misunderstanding that had been central to the Verdonne Insurrection remained unknown. By this time, almost a century had passed, and it was too late to repair relations with their creations.

So it was that the delegation returned to their devastated forest home to begin the long process of mourning, and the slow process of rebuilding, still in a state of confusion over what had transpired and why.

Noletinechor: Guardians Of The Elvish Legacy

Elvish society is organic in nature, slowly growing and evolving to accommodate sustained changes in circumstance, much as does a tree. Change occurs in miniscule increments, and traditions and forms remain unchanged for centuries, until the old ways are proven inadequate to the burdens of a catastrophic and usually unexpected disaster.

The loss during the Verdonne Insurrection of their most learned, and wise, and their most adroit Spellweavers, and most subtle (and incomplete) Spellweavings, was just such a calamity, and as was their way, the elves reacted to it by debating for years what should be done to prevent a recurrence. Indeed, it was only the imminent demise of the most senior of the survivors and awareness of the loss of the unique perspectives and understandings that would result, that cut short the debate.

The elvish solution was a planned society as rigidly defined as any promulgated by Lolth; the Royal Council instituted a completely regimented career path for all the young elves approaching maturity designed to protect and preserve as much of the elvish culture as had survived.

Any who had shown the slightest potential for Spellweaving was apprenticed to the aging masters of that craft. Of the remainder, any with any talent for any of a dozen arts or crafts or disciplines that had been identified as ‘uniquely’ or ‘characteristically’ Elvish by the committees formed to debate the subject were recruited into a new vocation, the Noletinechor, or “Lore Shields”. Each was then trained intensively in each of these definitive social attributes, and those who did not achieve a satisfactory standard of accomplishment were released back into the general population to contribute to society as they wished.

From their beginnings, the Noletinechor were subjects of considerable controversy amongst the elves. Never had the free-spirited woodland dwellers been subject to such harsh regimentation, and the prospect of being forced into the Noletinechor was hugely unpopular, though the elite few who succeeded in the disciplines were greatly respected – and the subjects of considerable sympathy. They were also the butts of much Elvish humor, which did little to brighten their dispositions; that, when combined with the general hot-headedness of youth, quickly gave the members of the group a reputation for being grim of demeanor and irritable by nature. ‘Prickly… almost Dwarven,’ was the frequent comment, accompanied by a wry smile.

The Noletinechor were artisans, poets, and musicians, craftsmen of the highest caliber. They memorized the 1145 songs that had been identified as ‘Fundamental expressions of Elvishness’, they learned the 7 musical modes and 173 forms of dance that were ‘definitively’ Elvish, and were educated, in as much detail as possible, in the history of the Elven peoples. His role in that history made Corellan himself another vital field of knowledge that the Noletinechor had to master. They became, almost by definition, the experts on elvish rituals and social customs, the keepers and protectors of the legacy of an entire cultural development.

They were not warriors.

The Second Great Dwarfwar: Beginnings, Boundaries and Confrontations

Having safeguarded the things that made them Elvish, the learned bodies that had created the Noletinechor had turned to the pressing question of protecting their borders. While it was recovering, the forests held little of interest to outsiders, and as yet the Fallen races did not realize that the Elven lands were now unprotected; neither situation could last. The forest had bloomed with new foliage years earlier, but the trees were just trees; they had not yet been awakened and assimilated into Elvarheim. An invisible line within the Forest demarked the territory of the Elves. Nevertheless, since the new growth formed a connecting corridor between Elvarheim and the huts of the Amrunquessor, which lay between the forests and the mountaintop dwellings of the Calquessir, there was periodic travel through the new growth.

The first indication that their grace period had expired was when one such pair of travelers, named Arudrial and Denowyn, found that many of the trees in the vicinity of Mount Elrozi had been cut down and the timber removed.

The travelers first blamed Ogres, seeking timber for their seige apparatus, or other members of the Fallen Races, seeking lumber for construction, woodworking, or bonfires. But when the scene was surveyed by the experienced Pathfinder Therialas, the true culprits were identified.

Therialas had been a tenderfoot warrior, barely adult, during the confrontation over the Prince Of Lies affair. Now a very respectable 549 years of age, he was the greatest tracker in all Elvarheim; but even with all his experience, it was no easy task to cross the five-hundred-and-ten year gulf since the last time he had seen the imprint of a Dwarven Boot. Nevertheless, he achieved the task and duly reported to the Council that undoubtedly, the footprints he had seen were those of Dwarvenkind.

This posed a new challenge for the Council to debate; the Elven lands had never had any formalized borders, and while the Living Forest of Elvarheim was clearly their domain, protected and nurtured and shaped by Spellweaving, the trees that had been felled were… just trees. Could they truly claim this as part of the Elven realm? Should they? Was this really a cause, a justification, for war?

Ultimately, the decision rested on a very human perspective, viewed through a very Elvish perspective. Instead of their normal pragmatism, the decision was founded on sentiment and emotion; many Elves had died protecting the trees that had previously occupied that region, and with their long lives, that was an even more poignant sacrifice. Further, it was a connecting corridor between the habitats of the differing branches of the Elven people. Finally, there remained the suspicion that there might be another force behind the Dwarven Incursion; Calquessir divinations had long ago revealed the connection between the Drow and the assaults by the Fallen Races, and there was the potential that this was simply more of the same.

And so it was resolved that the Elves would seek reparations for the damages, and for the incursion, and would offer to negotiate forest management for the Dwarves. A trade agreement would benefit both – in comparison to the alternative. A delegation was assembled for the purpose and given careful instruction by the ‘Dwarven Expert’ from the Council.

The Elvish delegation approached the entrance to the Dwarven mines with caution; they were used to the forests of Elvarheim, which were ringed with layer apon layer of defenses. What they were seeing as they approached was nothing but unspoiled wilderness, save for a large spoil heap – a small mountain, if truth were told – filling a valley next to the entrance with rubble. The closer they came to the unsealed, unguarded entrance, completely out in the open, the more nervous they became.

Their caution approached paranoia as they examined the silver-plated steel girders that framed the entrance, and the delicately-carved runes inset across the entrance. “Ring The Gong,” pronounced an Elf who was learned in the Dwarven script, “and wait.” A scout warily approached the entrance, and found a large bronze gong mounted to the ceiling on one side, just beyond the portal, with a hammer on the ground next to it. Warily, the scout picked up the hammer and struck the gong gingerly.

He was completely unprepared for the massive swell of ringing bells that sounded from the enchanted device, and fled back to the remainder of the party. It was clear that the Elvish hearing was more sensitive – it could almost be said, more delicate – than that of the Dwarves. In the distance, even removed some small way from the entrance, the party could clearly hear other bells relaying the summons into the shafts of shaped stone.

While they waited, the Elves examined the workmanship of the portal more thoroughly, and were increasingly impressed. The lines might be rigid and straight, and broadened to resist weathering from the elements, but the edges were crisp and sharp, and the decorative shapes were subtle and not without their artistic merit. They might have their own style and a different set of chosen materials, but the Dwarvish artisans were clearly as proficient as any Elven craftsman.

For three days, the delegation waited, while nervousness turned to anxiety, and anxiety to boredom, and boredom to irritation, and all the guidance of the council became a distant memory.

If you climb too quickly from deep under the ground to the surface, you forget how to breathe right. Weaklings die from it. You have to be slow, and patient, and take time for your body to remember how to breathe thin air. Even more if the surface is high in the mountains. Elves don’t dig deep, not like Drow, so they don’t know this. Stupid of them.

But eventually, the patience of the delegation was rewarded. A small group of Dwarves exited the tunnels and took up a defensive posture, weapons drawn and at the ready, lips curled in thinly-disguised contempt. They were followed by a Dwarf dressed in somewhat better fashion, with gems and gold practically dripping from his clothing and personal effects.

“We have come to discuss the unlawful destruction of Elvish trees by your kind without our leave. The forest is ours, and you have harmed it, cutting down that which belonged to the Elvish nation and carting it away. We demand the oath of you and all your kind that this will not happen again, and we demand wergild for those trees whose voices you have stilled,” began the leader of the Elvish delegation.

“Hear me, Elf: we want none of your sickly and twisted forest. That which we cut down and removed belonged to none, the trees were good and healthy and unprotected, and we will take as much of the lumber as we want or need. Go back and tell your scrawny little King that neighbors are polite to each other, and if he wants to discuss things in a civil manner, he must kiss my boot in apology. We have learned our lessons from your kind, and will never be as helpless again as we were when they drove us from our homes. Who do you think you are, to make demands of The Clans?”

“We are those who were injured, whose lands were violated, the party wronged – that is who we are, and the source of our demands. You are the one who will apologize, for your actions, for the actions of your kind, and for your disrespect toward the King of Elves. Withdraw your ridiculous request and apologize, and we will discuss fair recompense for the slaughter of the outlying forest; refuse and a state of war will exist between our nations!”

“Kiss my Braided Beard, you poncy snob. We’ll give you more war than you can stomach if you set foot in our domain again.”

Thus it was that the Elvish people and the Dwarvish people found themselves at odds once again.

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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary

• Arnost: Simple Speech (Modern “Common”, a human tongue)
• Arrunquessor: Plains Elves
• Ayer: Nuthanori word meaning “Squat”. Mont Ayer is the name of one of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands.
• Calquissir: High Elves
• Corellan: The First
• Drow: “Those Who Dwell Apart” (in Nuthanorl). Added to Ogre by the Drow with the meaning of “Smart”.
• Ellessarune: The “Shining City” of the Tarquessir, home of the Elvish King and capital of the Elven Lands to this day.
• Eltrhinast: “Guiding Spirit”
• Elvarheim: “Blessed Leafy Home”: The Elven Forest, homeland of the Tarquessir and the centre of Elven Power in modern times
• Gilandthor: “The Gathering”, the formal title of the Elvish Council.
• Hithainduil: High Elven Language
• Illvayssor: “The Other”, a mythical race
• Isallithin: “The Sundered”, a name applied to Aquatic Elves
• King: A human title interpreted by Elves as “speaker to others” and defined as such within their language.
• Magi: A corruption of the Zamiel word “Machus”, which means “of the wise.”
• Mont: Nuthanori word meaning “High Place”. Used human-style in the naming of Mountains.
• Noletinechor: “Lore Shields”, an elvish historical vocation
• Nuthanorl: Low Elven Language, Common Elven
• Sarner: A human abbreviation of the Hithainduil word “Saranariuthenal” which means, literally, “Swift and Wide”. The River Sarner runs through the central valley of Elvarheim.
• Tarquessir: Forest Elves
• Thuyon: Nuthanori word meaning “Tall Spires”. Mont Thuyon is the name of the taller of the two peaks that define the traditional elvish lands; Modern Elvarheim lies between the foothills of Mont Thuyon and the River Sarner.
• Verdonne: “Quickbranch”, an artificial race created by Elves to be “The Guardians Of The Forest”.
• Zamiel: Drow Language

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Next time: War, subterfuge, hidden agendas, festering resentments, and the origins of the Huyondaltha as the Second Great Dwarfwar continues in Chapters 18 through 20!