Chapter 1: The Words We Remove Before We Pray

The apartment has gone quiet after an argument that neither person knows how to repair. A man sits at the end of the hallway, close enough to hear his wife turn over in the bedroom. He has already apologized for the words he used, but the larger problem between them remains. He tries to pray and keeps revising his sentences. He can say, “Help us be patient.” He cannot quite say, “I'm afraid we may not find our way back to each other.” That second prayer feels too exposed, almost as though saying it aloud would make the possibility more real. I think about that hesitation when I return to the moment Peter began to sink while walking toward Jesus. We often discuss his courage, but I am drawn to the instant when he had nothing left to offer except an unguarded cry for help.

There is a similar vulnerability in Jairus trying to trust Jesus after hearing the worst news a father could hear. Neither account gives us a polished person calmly explaining his faith. Instead, Scripture places us beside people whose circumstances have reached past what they know how to manage. That matters to me because Christians sometimes become careful about what they say to God. We want to sound grateful and confident. We hesitate to confess that we feel disappointed, frightened, or even upset about how long something has gone on. We act as though the Lord who knows us completely might be shocked by an honest sentence.

Peter's night on the water began without any sign that he had done something wrong. Jesus had sent the disciples ahead in a boat while He went away to pray. The wind pushed against them, and the crossing became difficult. The men kept working against the waves, with no clear end to their trouble. I imagine many readers know that kind of evening: you followed through on what you believed was right, and things became harder anyway. You have tried being reasonable, prayed about the situation, and done the responsible work. Now you are tired, and the question you keep swallowing is, “Lord, why is this still happening?”

Matthew tells us that Jesus came toward the boat during the night, walking on the sea. The disciples were terrified because they did not recognize Him. Then He said, “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid” (Matthew 14:27, KJV). I find it comforting that Jesus spoke to frightened people before they had managed to settle themselves. He did not ask them to manufacture serenity before hearing His voice. He identified Himself while the wind was still against them.

The man in the hallway cannot solve his marriage through one prayer, and he should not pretend that prayer replaces listening, honesty, or the slow work of rebuilding trust. But he can stop editing himself before God. He can speak about the anger he regrets and the fear he does not know how to carry. Naming those feelings will not make them commands, and it will not decide the future of his marriage. It will simply mean that he has brought his actual life into prayer instead of presenting a safer version of it.

Perhaps that is where trust begins for some of us, not with a steady voice but with the willingness to stop hiding behind one. Peter had not yet stepped out of the boat. He was still facing a wind he could not quiet, listening for the One who had come near him.

Chapter 2: The Quiet Difference Between Trust and Pretending

The appointment reminder appears on a woman's phone while she is rinsing her breakfast bowl. She made the appointment with a counselor two weeks ago, after months of telling everyone that she was managing her grief. Now she is tempted to cancel. She has learned to get through her workday, answer ordinary questions, and smile at the right moments. Walking into that office would mean admitting that getting through a day is not the same as being all right. She puts the bowl in the rack and stands there, waiting for some clear feeling that she is ready to go.

I recognize the temptation to make readiness a requirement for doing something we know may help us. Sometimes we say we are trusting God when what we really mean is that we hope He will remove the need for a difficult decision. We want the fear to lift before we speak, the uncertainty to disappear before we choose, and the embarrassment to pass before we allow anyone to see us. That is a deeply human wish. But if we make the absence of fear our condition for moving, we may remain where we are for a very long time.

Peter did not have the benefit of knowing how his story would end. When Jesus spoke from the water, Peter answered, “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water” (Matthew 14:28, KJV). I find that request more revealing than a speech about courage would have been. Peter did not announce that he could do the impossible. He asked Jesus to call him. Jesus said, “Come,” and Peter climbed out of the boat and began walking toward Him.

That is an extraordinary event, and I do not want to make it into an excuse for taking reckless chances. We cannot assume that every risky idea is a command from God or that sincere faith protects us from every consequence. Peter had a direct invitation from Jesus. For the choices we face, we have Christ's teaching, prayer, sound judgment, and people whose wisdom we can seek. Trust is not a refusal to think carefully. Sometimes thinking carefully is part of how we honor what God has entrusted to us.

What stays with me is that Peter had to answer an invitation while the wind was still blowing. Jesus had not promised that every frightening sensation would disappear first. There was a difference between knowing whom he was moving toward and knowing what every step would feel like. I think I have often wanted the second kind of knowledge before I would act on the first.

The woman at the sink may not feel brave on the way to her appointment. She might sit in the waiting room with her coat still on and struggle to say why she came. If all she manages is, “I've been telling people I'm okay, but I'm not,” that is a beginning worth respecting. Counseling is not a failure of prayer, and accepting help does not mean she trusts Jesus less. It means she has stopped requiring herself to heal in secret.

Perhaps there is a step in front of you that you have been postponing because you cannot yet imagine taking it calmly. I would not urge you to rush into it. Ask whether it is wise, truthful, and consistent with the love Jesus teaches. Seek counsel if you need it. But if the step is good and the only reason you keep turning away is that someone might see how frightened you are, remember Peter. He did not have to become a different person before he answered Jesus. He moved toward Him as the person he was, with the wind still blowing.

Chapter 3: The Prayer I Could Not Say Without Crying

At the end of a school day, a teacher stays behind while the hallway empties. She had lost her patience with a student who kept interrupting class. Her words were sharper than they needed to be, and she saw his face change as the other children looked toward him. Now the classroom is quiet, but she cannot stop replaying what happened. She loves teaching and believes children deserve respect. That is part of why this hurts. She knows she needs to apologize, yet she is frightened by what her mistake might say about her.

There is a particular kind of fear that arrives after we have already tried to do the right thing. We can make an honest effort, speak too quickly, become overwhelmed, or discover that our confidence was more fragile than we thought. Then the mind begins adding accusations to the original event. I failed today becomes I am a failure. I lost my patience becomes I have no business caring for anyone. Shame does not help us see our responsibility clearly. It tries to make our worst moment the whole story.

Matthew tells us that Peter was walking on the water toward Jesus when he noticed the wind and became afraid. He began to sink. I wonder whether we sometimes read that passage as though Peter's only choices were to remain fearless or disappoint the Lord. But the account gives us another response. Peter cried, “Lord, save me” (Matthew 14:30, KJV). He did not finish the walk on his own, and he did not pretend that he could.

Then comes a detail I have returned to many times. Jesus immediately reached out His hand and caught Peter. Afterward He asked, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” (Matthew 14:31, KJV). Jesus did address the doubt, but He did not make Peter explain himself while the water closed around him. The rescue came first. Correction was not absent; compassion was not withheld.

I need to remember that order when I confuse taking responsibility with refusing to receive mercy. If I have hurt someone, grace does not excuse me from making things right. If I have become afraid, grace does not require me to claim the fear was imaginary. But I do not need to punish myself until I feel worthy of approaching God. Peter's prayer was not impressive. It was true. And Jesus heard him.

The teacher may have to speak with the student and his family, acknowledge that she was wrong, and take steps to respond differently next time. She cannot control whether her apology is accepted. She can choose to make it without defending her behavior. Before that conversation, she might pray something she has been avoiding: “Jesus, I am ashamed of what I did, and I need help changing.” That prayer does not erase the harm. It makes room for honesty without surrendering to despair.

Perhaps you have been trying to present God with a calmer account of your life than the one you are living. You can tell Him where you lost your way. You can ask Him to help you repair what can be repaired and grieve what cannot. The hand Jesus extended to Peter did not declare that doubt was good. It showed that a frightened disciple had not become unreachable because he needed saving.

Chapter 4: Coming Back Without Hiding

On a Saturday afternoon, a grandfather stands near the entrance of a school auditorium, adjusting the grip of a new walking cane. His granddaughter has a small part in the concert, and he promised to be there. Since his surgery, moving through crowded places takes longer. He misses the days when he could carry folding chairs, lift children onto his shoulders, and offer help without having to ask for any himself. When his granddaughter spots him after the performance, she runs over and slows down beside him. She takes his free hand, and they walk toward the parking lot together.

I think about that walk when I reach the last part of Peter's night on the sea. Jesus caught him, and they climbed into the boat. Matthew tells us that the wind ceased, and the disciples worshiped Jesus, saying, “Of a truth thou art the Son of God” (Matthew 14:33, KJV). Peter was back among people who had seen him afraid. They had watched him step out, begin to sink, and need rescue. Yet the story does not end with an explanation of what Peter should have done to avoid embarrassment. It ends with the disciples looking toward Jesus.

There is something I need to learn from that. After I admit weakness to God, I still have to live among people who know me. I may have to return to the conversation I mishandled or sit beside someone who has seen me cry. Prayer does not always give me a way to forget those moments. Sometimes it gives me enough honesty to stop running from them. I can acknowledge that I needed help without allowing that need to become my entire identity.

The grandfather might feel uncomfortable when his granddaughter adjusts her pace for him. He may wish he could move as he once did. But the love between them is not reduced to who can carry whom. His presence at her concert matters, even if getting there required planning, patience, and a cane. What if we allowed ourselves to be loved without making usefulness the price of admission? What if receiving care became another way of recognizing the care we have so freely given?

When I think about Jesus' words to Peter, I do not hear a promise that faith will keep every hard thing away. Peter's doubt was real, and Jesus challenged it. But I also see that Peter did not have to swim back alone. We should be careful not to promise that every frightening situation will resolve as visibly as that storm. Some prayers are followed by a long season of waiting. Some losses remain. The presence of Christ does not turn pain into an illusion. It gives us Someone to address truthfully while we live through it.

Perhaps that is what I wanted to say from the beginning. I can tell Jesus that I trust Him and also tell Him where I am frightened. I can confess when I acted poorly and ask for strength to make things right. I can accept someone's steady hand without pretending I never needed it. That kind of honesty may not look impressive from the outside, but it makes room for a faith that belongs to my actual life.

If this reflection helped you put words to something you have been carrying quietly, please share it with someone who may need the same permission to pray honestly, and subscribe to my YouTube channel for more encouragement centered on Jesus Christ. I hope the next time you speak to God, you will not feel required to edit out the sentence you are most afraid to say. Peter did not have a polished prayer when he began to sink. He called to Jesus, and Jesus reached for him.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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On Tuesday 15 September 2026, in a courtroom in Hobart, a lawyer named Patrick Coleridge explained why a 72-year-old woman had spent the best part of two years forbidden from saying she was innocent. The Parole Board of Tasmania had justified the restriction, in part, with a rationale document prepared by its secretary, Ben Hancock. That document relied on legal authorities: earlier decisions, the kind of precedent that tells a decision-maker that what it is about to do has been done before, lawfully, by someone else. “As we now know,” Coleridge told the Supreme Court of Tasmania, “those cases didn't exist.”

The parolee was Susan Neill-Fraser, convicted in 2010 of murdering her partner, Bob Chappell, and released on parole in October 2022 after 13 years in prison. The State of Tasmania conceded, and the court declared, that the conditions the board imposed on her in December 2024 and May 2025 were invalid. The state accepted that the board's decision-making had relied on what the Human Rights Law Centre, which brought the challenge, described as “a document containing legal authorities that were likely AI-generated hallucinations and did not in fact exist.”

Ten days later, on 25 September, the Guardian set out what that meant in human terms. Neill-Fraser had been barred from asserting her claimed innocence or wrongful conviction through the media, social media, podcasts or third parties. According to the Guardian's reporting, a breach could have sent her back to prison for the remaining seven years of her sentence. Her parole runs until 2032. Under Tasmanian law, if parole is revoked, none of the time spent on parole counts towards the sentence.

It is worth stating plainly what the case is and is not about. Neill-Fraser's conviction stands. Every appeal she has brought has failed. Bob Chappell's family lost a husband, father and brother, and they have lived for seventeen years with a public campaign disputing the verdict. None of that is in question here. What is in question is simpler and, for anyone who cares about how states exercise power, more unsettling. A public body used its authority to restrict a citizen's speech about her own conviction. It justified that restriction with case law that a machine had invented. And nobody noticed until her lawyers went looking for the cases and could not find them.

Once that happened, the questions multiplied. How many other decisions, taken by bodies that rarely face challenge and whose reasoning rarely sees daylight, rest on the same kind of invented authority? And when the person silenced is someone who says she was wrongly convicted, what happens to the only route by which wrongful convictions have historically been corrected, which is someone refusing to shut up about them?

A Missing Man, a Yacht and Seventeen Years of Appeals

Bob Chappell disappeared from the couple's yacht, the Four Winds, moored at Hobart, on Australia Day 2009. His body has never been found. Neither has a murder weapon. Neill-Fraser was charged in August 2009 and convicted by a jury in October 2010. She was sentenced to 26 years with an 18-year non-parole period. On appeal in 2012 that was reduced to 23 years, with a non-parole period of 13.

From the beginning she maintained that she did not kill him, and a support group formed around her. The most persistent argument concerned a DNA sample found on the deck of the Four Winds. It belonged to Meaghan Vass, a homeless teenager at the time of the disappearance. The prosecution had argued the DNA arrived by secondary transfer, perhaps on the sole of someone's shoe.

In 2015 the Tasmanian Parliament passed the Criminal Code Amendment (Second or Subsequent Appeal for Fresh and Compelling Evidence) Act, creating a new route back to the Court of Criminal Appeal for people who had exhausted the ordinary appeal process. South Australia had created a similar right, under which Henry Keogh's murder conviction was quashed in December 2014 after twenty years in prison on the strength of flawed forensic pathology. In March 2019, Justice Michael Brett granted Neill-Fraser leave to bring a second appeal. He found she had “a reasonable case to present to the Court of Criminal Appeal.”

The appeal was heard in March 2021 and went badly for her at a crucial moment. Vass, the witness on whom much depended, told the court she had been aboard the yacht on the night, then recanted, saying she had been pressured. Neill-Fraser's lawyers abandoned reliance on her evidence and pressed the DNA argument instead. On 30 November 2021 the court dismissed the appeal by two votes to one. Justice Helen Wood concluded that the evidence “is not fresh, it is not compelling.” One judge disagreed. Justice Stephen Estcourt said he would “uphold the appeal and quash the appellant's conviction for murder” and order a retrial. Neill-Fraser's final attempt to take the matter to the High Court of Australia also failed.

She left Risdon Prison on parole on 4 October 2022, aged 68, having served her full non-parole period. Her daughter, Sarah Bowles, said the family's energy was renewed, “having mum out to clear her name.”

That is the background against which the board acted. The parolee was a public figure openly fighting a conviction the courts had repeatedly upheld. For the victim's family, that fight is a source of continuing pain. For her, it is the point of her remaining years. A parole board sits between those positions with enormous discretion and very little scrutiny.

How a Media Ban Grew Into a Gag

In December 2024 the Parole Board of Tasmania added a condition to Neill-Fraser's parole. She was not to speak “directly or indirectly with any media outlet to claim [her] alleged innocence and/or wrongful conviction.” In April 2025 the Human Rights Law Centre, a Melbourne-based legal organisation, filed a challenge in the Supreme Court of Tasmania. It argued that the condition was unreasonable, improper and in breach of the implied freedom of political communication that the High Court has read into the Australian Constitution.

The board's response, in May 2025, was not to retreat but to widen. The replacement condition barred her from communicating “directly or indirectly”, including through “third parties, written statements, electronic communications, social media platforms, television, radio, podcasts, streaming services, online video-sharing platforms, or any other public or broadcast media”, in order “to assert claims regarding your alleged innocence, wrongful conviction, or dispute the legitimacy of your conviction or sentencing.” The Guardian reported that the board cited the distress caused to Chappell's family.

Read that wording slowly. It reached letters, emails, anything posted online and anything said to a third party who might repeat it. It covered not only claims of innocence but any dispute about the sentence. Taken literally, it is hard to see how she could have let a lawyer say anything in public about a fresh appeal. That uncertainty was one of the grounds on which the state eventually conceded the conditions were invalid.

In August 2025 Sarah Schwartz, the centre's legal director, set out the principle. “Freedom of speech and political communication are core democratic rights that belong to everyone,” she said, “including and especially people who have been in prison.” The case rolled on into 2026.

Then, in August 2026, Neill-Fraser's lawyers raised with the court that the case law referred to in the board's rationale document did not exist. On Tuesday 25 August the board withdrew the condition. Schwartz called it “an important vindication of Susan's rights,” adding that “parole is meant to be about supporting reintegration, not silencing people or excluding them from public debate.”

The court still had to rule on the lawfulness of what had been done. On 15 September Justice Estcourt, the same judge who had dissented in 2021, heard the matter. The state conceded that Neill-Fraser had been denied procedural fairness before the conditions were imposed; that the conditions were uncertain, ambiguous and legally unreasonable; and that the decision-making had relied on the document containing authorities that did not exist. The court declared both the December 2024 and May 2025 conditions invalid. Outside, Neill-Fraser said: “I have always maintained my innocence. I am continuing in the quest to clear my name and to advocate for the broader issue of wrongful convictions in Australia.”

Notice the sequence. The conditions were live for roughly twenty months, and the challenge took seventeen months to resolve. The restriction fell not because the board reconsidered the principle, nor because a court ruled on free speech, but because lawyers checked the footnotes and found fiction. Had the rationale cited real cases, however weakly, the free speech argument might still be grinding through the courts.

The Document That Nobody Checked

What is publicly known about the fabricated authorities is limited, and the gaps should not be filled with guesswork. The court heard that Hancock used artificial intelligence to prepare the rationale document, and Coleridge described the references as “AI hallucinations.” No public account has yet identified which AI tool was used, how many authorities were invented, what those phantom cases were supposed to have decided, or whether the board members who imposed the conditions read the document or relied on its summary. The board has declined to say. “The Parole Board does not comment on individual matters,” it told the ABC, “and is unable to provide any further response to the additional questions raised at this time.”

The political response was swift. Tasmania's Attorney-General, Guy Barnett, said: “I will be writing to the chair of the Parole Board seeking an explanation about its professional standards after inaccurate information was produced in this case, which is not acceptable.” He added: “I will be seeking assurances around how the Board will ensure this doesn't happen again.” On the evening of Friday 18 September, the Department of Justice confirmed a wider exercise. “The Department will undertake a review to determine the extent to which Artificial Intelligence (AI) may have been used to inform past Tasmanian Parole Board decisions,” a spokesperson said.

That review has critics. Cecily Rosol, the Greens' corrections spokesperson, said of the Department of Justice that “they're effectively investigating themselves,” and called for past board decisions to be re-examined. Her Greens colleague Cassy O'Connor put it more bluntly: “Justice delivered fairly and equitably is too important to be contaminated by AI slop.” Later on 19 September, Barnett went further: “The Parole Board's professional standards will be independently investigated following its use of unverified artificial intelligence in a rationale document.” Details of the investigator and the terms of reference were to be released once finalised; by early October, none had been published. That investigation is independent. The review of past decisions is not. It remains with the Department of Justice, and the Greens' call for every past decision to be re-examined has not been explicitly taken up.

The sharpest response came from Greg Barns SC, the barrister who chairs the Prisoners Legal Service in Tasmania. “It's extraordinary,” he told the ABC. He called for anyone involved in generating the fake case law to resign or be sacked. The service announced its own audit, running in parallel with the department's, covering roughly fifty to sixty parole decisions from the past two years. “If case law is used, we're going to check it,” Barns said. He was careful not to pre-empt the result. “I'm not saying it has been,” he told AAP, “but if it has we'll be bringing this to the attention” of government.

That caution matters. As of the date of this article, nobody has shown that any other Tasmanian parole decision rests on invented authority. But the reason for the audit is not a suspicion about one secretary. It is structural. The Neill-Fraser rationale was caught because she had specialist lawyers, a live court challenge and a reason to read every citation. Most parolees have none of those things.

A Pattern Now Measured in Thousands of Filings

Fabricated legal authority is no longer a novelty. It is a genre. Damien Charlotin, a research fellow at HEC Paris, has maintained a public database of legal decisions in which courts and tribunals found, or implied, that a party relied on hallucinated material. When it was last updated on 5 October 2026, it listed 2,149 cases. It only counts cases where a decision-maker addressed the problem explicitly; filings with fake citations that nobody spotted are, by definition, absent.

The case that made the problem famous was Mata v Avianca, a personal injury claim against the Colombian airline in the Southern District of New York. The plaintiff's lawyers cited six decisions that ChatGPT had invented, then produced fabricated excerpts when the court asked for copies. On 22 June 2023, Judge P. Kevin Castel fined the lawyers and their firm $5,000. His opinion listed the damage in terms that read, three years later, like a charge sheet for the Tasmanian episode. “Many harms flow from the submission of fake opinions,” he wrote. “The opposing party wastes time and money in exposing the deception.” He added that the practice “promotes cynicism about the legal profession and the American judicial system.”

In England, the Divisional Court went further. In June 2025, in a combined judgment on two cases, Ayinde v London Borough of Haringey and Al-Haroun v Qatar National Bank, Dame Victoria Sharp, President of the King's Bench Division, and Mr Justice Johnson set out what the risks of the technology now meant for anyone who relied on it. “Freely available generative artificial intelligence tools, trained on a large language model such as ChatGPT are not capable of conducting reliable legal research,” the court said. “Such tools can produce apparently coherent and plausible responses to prompts, but those coherent and plausible responses may turn out to be entirely incorrect. The responses may make confident assertions that are simply untrue. They may cite sources that do not exist.” The judges warned of “serious implications for the administration of justice and public confidence in the justice system if artificial intelligence is misused.”

Australia has its own list. In July 2024, in a family law dispute known as Handa & Mallick, a Victorian solicitor tendered an inaccurate list of authorities generated with AI-assisted software, and was later referred to the Victorian Legal Services Board. In August 2025, Rishi Nathwani KC, a senior defence barrister, apologised to the Supreme Court of Victoria after submissions in a murder trial of a teenager were found to contain fabricated quotations from a speech to the state legislature and non-existent Supreme Court judgments. “We are deeply sorry and embarrassed for what occurred,” he told Justice James Elliott. The judge's reply was a sentence that ought to be printed on the wall of every public body in the country: “It is not acceptable for artificial intelligence to be used unless the product of that use is independently and thoroughly verified.”

Until recently, nearly all of these episodes shared one feature. The invention came from a party arguing a case, and the decision-maker caught it. Tasmania inverts that relationship. Here the fabricated authority sat inside the reasoning of the decision-maker itself, and it was the person subject to the decision who caught it.

There is precedent for that, too, and it is not reassuring. In 2025 two United States federal judges, Julien Xavier Neals in New Jersey and Henry Wingate in Mississippi, withdrew rulings containing fabricated material. Answering Senator Chuck Grassley, chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee, both blamed staff use of AI. Judge Neals said a law school intern had used ChatGPT without authorisation and against chambers policy. Judge Wingate said a law clerk had used Perplexity, and that the order docketed on 20 July 2025 “was an early draft that had not gone through the standard review process.”

The research literature explains why this keeps happening. In a 2024 study in the Journal of Legal Analysis, Matthew Dahl, Varun Magesh, Mirac Suzgun and Daniel Ho, working with Stanford's RegLab, tested general-purpose chatbots with verifiable questions about real federal court cases. They found that legal hallucinations occurred “between 58% of the time with ChatGPT 4 and 88% with Llama 2.” A follow-up study in the Journal of Empirical Legal Studies found that specialist tools sold to lawyers, including Lexis+ AI and Westlaw's AI-Assisted Research, each hallucinated between 17 and 33 per cent of the time.

A language model does not look up a case. It predicts what a citation in that position ought to look like. When the case a user wants does not exist, the model can simply produce one, with the right formatting and the right cadence. The only way to find out it is fiction is to go and look.

Why Parole Is Where Errors Go to Hide

Courts catch fake citations because they are adversarial, public and staffed by people whose job is to check. Parole boards are none of those things by default. They make consequential decisions, largely in private, about people who mostly lack lawyers.

The scale is not trivial, even in a small state. The Parole Board of Tasmania's annual report for 2022-23 recorded 198 applications for parole. Seventy-one were granted, 12 refused and 9 withdrawn. A further 71 were adjourned because the applicant had no suitable accommodation to go to. On top of those sit variations of conditions and revocations for people already on parole. Under the Corrections Act 1997, the board is a statutory body appointed by the Governor. It consists of a lawyer and members qualified in fields such as sociology, criminology, penology or medicine. It is not a court.

Challenging a parole decision in Australia generally means judicial review in a state Supreme Court. That route is narrow by design. As the Parole Board Queensland explains to prisoners, the court's examination is “limited to the legality of the decision (i.e. was there power and was it exercised lawfully), rather than its merits,” and the court “cannot make a new decision in place of the one made by the Board.” In Victoria, the Adult Parole Board states that it “is exempt from the rules of natural justice and its decisions are not subject to appeal or certain forms of review.” The rules of natural justice include the right to see the material the decision-maker relied on.

Judicial review also costs money, time and expertise that most people in prison do not have. Where prisoners have been organised and represented, the numbers can change dramatically. In Queensland, in the two years before 2020-21, 33 applications for judicial review of parole decisions were filed. In 2020-21 there were 325, largely because advocates had discovered that litigation was the only way to force the board to decide overdue applications. Debbie Kilroy, founder of Sisters Inside, told the ABC it was “the only way” to get a response. Helen Blaber, director of Queensland's Prisoners Legal Service, noted what that meant for everyone else: “What that meant is everyone else who wasn't filing a judicial review was being shuffled back.”

That is the environment in which invented authority can survive. A rationale document goes into a file the prisoner may never see. If they do see it, they are unlikely to have the training to recognise that a neatly formatted citation leads nowhere. The route to challenge it is a Supreme Court action limited to legality. And few parolees attract a human rights organisation willing to litigate for seventeen months.

The contrast with how courts now govern themselves is stark. The Supreme Court of New South Wales, under Chief Justice Andrew Bell, issued guidelines for judges that say plainly: “Judges in New South Wales should not use Gen AI in the formulation of reasons for judgment or the assessment or analysis of evidence preparatory to the delivery of reasons for judgment.” Its companion practice note for litigants, in force from February 2025, bans generative AI from producing the content of affidavits and witness statements. Courts have put guardrails around the technology. There is no public evidence that the Parole Board of Tasmania had anything comparable before this case, and it has not said otherwise.

So how many other low-visibility decisions might already rest on fabricated authority? The honest answer is that nobody knows, which is precisely the problem. The two Tasmanian audits will give a partial answer for one board over a limited period. No equivalent public exercise is known to be under way for parole authorities elsewhere in Australia, or for the many administrative decision-makers who now have AI tools on their desktops. What the Neill-Fraser case shows is that the error is possible, that it can reach a binding decision affecting a person's liberty, and that the people best placed to detect it are, in most cases, the least equipped to do so.

Silence as a Condition of Freedom

Parole boards have legitimate reasons to impose conditions on speech in some cases. A parolee can be barred from contacting a victim, from harassing witnesses, from profiting from crime. The interests of victims' families are real, and the distress of relatives who see a conviction disputed in public year after year deserves respect. The question is not whether a board may ever restrict speech. It is whether a board may lawfully forbid a person from saying that she did not do what she was convicted of doing, on pain of being returned to prison.

That kind of condition collides with a well-documented bind that researchers call the innocent prisoner's dilemma. Parole systems tend to reward acceptance of responsibility, because remorse and insight are read as signs of reduced risk. People who are genuinely innocent cannot honestly show either. Andrew Malkinson, wrongly convicted in 2004 of a rape in Salford, was given a life sentence with a minimum term of seven years. He served seventeen. His barrister, Edward Henry, later told a court that Malkinson had stayed in prison the extra decade because he would “not falsely confess to abhorrent crimes which he did not commit.” His conviction was quashed in the summer of 2023, after the legal charity APPEAL commissioned DNA testing, having taken up the case after the Criminal Cases Review Commission twice turned it down.

Neill-Fraser's case is not Malkinson's. There is no DNA match to a third party, and the courts have repeatedly found against her. But the principle is identical. A person who maintains innocence is making the only claim that could, if true, correct an injustice. A condition that makes that claim a breach of parole does not only restrict one voice. It removes the person with the strongest motive to keep the case alive from the public argument about whether it should be reopened.

Schwartz made that point when the condition was withdrawn. “People who have experienced incarceration are often among the most important voices in discussions about the criminal legal system,” she said, “and protecting their ability to speak out and advocate for change is an important safeguard against injustice.” After the September ruling she put it more simply: “A healthy democracy depends on people being able to speak out about matters of public concern, including the justice system itself.”

Fresh evidence often surfaces because a journalist or a scientist hears about a case and gets curious, and innocence projects take on cases because the convicted person tells them their story. The Guardian reported that Neill-Fraser had spoken with Dr Robyn Blewer, director of the Griffith University Innocence Project, in late 2024, shortly before the first condition was imposed. It also reported that the project has now taken on her case. Blewer is among those leading the push for an Australian criminal cases review commission. Ahead of a January 2026 seminar in Brisbane featuring exonerees including Kathleen Folbigg, she said: “It's time to move forward. The task in front of us is monumental and we're under no illusion about that.” Under a condition covering any third party and any written statement, even the conversations that begin such work sat in a legal grey zone.

Every Famous Exoneration Began as Noise

It is easy to treat public campaigning around a conviction as interference, pressure applied from outside to a system that should be left alone. The history of wrongful convictions in the common law world says the opposite. Again and again the formal machinery failed, and noise from outside forced it to work.

On 21 November 1974, IRA bombs in two Birmingham pubs killed 21 people. Six Irishmen were convicted. Their appeals failed. What changed their fate was not a sudden change of heart within the system but a sustained campaign. That included World in Action documentaries in 1985 and a 1986 book, Error of Judgment, by the journalist Chris Mullin, later a Labour MP, who tracked down men he identified as the real bombers. On 14 March 1991 the Court of Appeal quashed the convictions. The men had spent sixteen years in prison. Within hours, the Home Secretary, Kenneth Baker, announced a Royal Commission on Criminal Justice. That commission recommended an independent body to investigate possible miscarriages of justice, and the Criminal Cases Review Commission began work in 1997.

Seventeen months earlier, on 19 October 1989, the Guildford Four walked free from the Old Bailey after fifteen years in prison for pub bombings they did not commit. Together the two cases shook public confidence enough to force structural reform.

The largest miscarriage of justice in British legal history followed the same pattern. Between 1999 and 2015, the Post Office prosecuted more than 700 sub-postmasters on the strength of data from its Horizon accounting system. It was, in the Criminal Cases Review Commission's words, “the most widespread miscarriage of justice the CCRC had ever seen.” In 2021 the Court of Appeal described the prosecutions as “an affront to the conscience of the court.” Yet many convictions remained in place until January 2024, when ITV broadcast Mr Bates vs The Post Office, a drama about the sub-postmaster Alan Bates and the colleagues he organised. Public outrage moved faster than any court. Within days the Prime Minister announced legislation, and the Post Office (Horizon System) Offences Act 2024, quashing the convictions en masse, came into force on 24 May 2024.

In Australia, the defining modern example is Kathleen Folbigg, convicted in 2003 of murdering three of her infant children and the manslaughter of a fourth. In March 2021, ninety scientists and medical experts, including two Nobel laureates, signed a petition to the Governor of New South Wales citing genetic evidence that the children may have died of natural causes. The Australian Academy of Science backed it. A second inquiry followed. Folbigg was pardoned and released on 5 June 2023, after twenty years in prison, and her convictions were quashed by the NSW Court of Criminal Appeal on 14 December 2023. The Academy's conclusion was blunt: “Wrongful convictions will continue to occur without major reforms to justice systems across Australia.”

Each of these cases involved someone insisting on innocence, and people outside choosing to listen. Even Tasmania's own 2015 law, the one that gave Neill-Fraser her second appeal, reflects a legislative acceptance that the ordinary appeal system can fail.

Nothing in this history proves any particular person innocent. Many campaigns are wrong. Courts have looked hard at the Neill-Fraser evidence and upheld the verdict each time, and a support group's conviction is not evidence. But the lesson of Birmingham, Guildford, Horizon and Folbigg is not that every campaigner is right. It is that the system cannot tell in advance which campaigns are right, and so it depends on the freedom to make them. A rule that silences the person with the strongest claim to be heard does not protect the integrity of the verdict. It removes one of the few mechanisms that has ever tested it.

What an Honest System Would Now Have to Check

The Neill-Fraser episode ended the way it did because of a chain of fortunate conditions: a determined parolee, a specialist legal centre prepared to litigate for seventeen months, and lawyers who checked whether the cited cases were real. Remove any link and the gag might still be in place, justified by precedents that never existed.

Some responses are obvious and cheap. Every citation supporting a decision that affects liberty should be checked against a real law report by a human who signs off on it. Public bodies should disclose when generative AI has helped draft reasons. Rationale documents should be given to the person affected, so they can find errors the body missed. Reviews of past decisions should be independent of the department whose processes failed, and should publish their method and numbers, not just conclusions.

The harder response is to accept what Justice Elliott said in Melbourne and apply it well beyond the courtroom. The technology does not know whether a case exists. It knows what cases usually look like. Any institution that lets that output into its reasoning without checking has handed a fraction of its authority to a system that cannot tell law from fiction. Most of the time, nobody will notice. That is not a reason for comfort. It is the risk.

Barns has said his service will check the case law in every decision it reviews. Neill-Fraser has said she cannot walk away. Between those two statements sits the question this case has put to every public body that now has an AI tool on its desktop. When a decision about a person's freedom cites authority, does anyone confirm that the authority is real? In Tasmania, for the better part of two years, the answer was no. The only reason anyone found out is that the woman the board had tried to silence went to court rather than stay quiet.

References

1. ABC News. “'AI hallucinations' in parole board submission scuttles media ban on convicted murderer Susan Neill-Fraser.” 15 September 2026. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2026-09-15/susan-neill-fraser-media-ban-parole-board-ai-hallucinations/106302950
2. Human Rights Law Centre. “Win for Susan Neill-Fraser as parole board gag order found unlawful.” 15 September 2026. https://www.hrlc.org.au/news/susan-neill-fraser-gag-order-unlawful/
3. The Guardian. “She was convicted of a murder she says she didn't commit. Then AI hallucinations stopped her speaking out.” 25 September 2026. Syndicated at https://www.inkl.com/news/she-was-convicted-of-a-murder-she-says-she-didnt-commit-then-ai-hallucinations-stopped-her-speaking-out
4. Supreme Court of Tasmania, Court of Criminal Appeal. Neill-Fraser v Tasmania [2021] TASCCA 12. https://www.supremecourt.tas.gov.au/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/Neill-Fraser-CCA-Composite.pdf
5. Human Rights Law Centre. “Legal challenge against Tasmanian parole board's new gag order against Susan Neill-Fraser.” 13 August 2025. https://www.hrlc.org.au/news/legal-challenge-susan-neill-fraser/
6. Human Rights Law Centre. “Tasmanian Parole Board removes condition restricting Susan Neill-Fraser's speech.” 25 August 2026. https://www.hrlc.org.au/news/susan-neill-fraser-speech/
7. ABC News. “Attorney-general demands explanation from Tasmanian parole board over Susan Neill-Fraser AI mistake.” 16 September 2026. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2026-09-16/tasmanian-parole-board-ai-use-susan-neill-fraser-fallout/107156642
8. ABC News. “Tasmania's Justice Department to review AI use in parole board decisions.” 19 September 2026. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2026-09-19/parole-board-ai-use-review-after-neill-fraser-case/107172064
9. Pulse Tasmania. “Tasmania's parole board to face review over fake AI case law.” 19 September 2026. https://pulsetasmania.com.au/news/tasmanias-parole-board-to-face-review-over-fake-ai-case-law/
10. Ethan James, AAP, via Queanbeyan CityNews. “'Bigger questions' after parole board's AI use blunder.” 18 September 2026. https://citynewsqbn.com.au/2026/bigger-questions-after-parole-boards-ai-use-blunder/
11. Damien Charlotin. “AI Hallucination Cases Database.” HEC Paris, last updated 5 October 2026. https://www.damiencharlotin.com/hallucinations/
12. United States District Court, Southern District of New York. Mata v Avianca, Inc., No. 22-cv-1461 (PKC), Opinion and Order on Sanctions, Judge P. Kevin Castel, 22 June 2023. https://www.nhd.uscourts.gov/sites/default/files/pdf/Mata-v-Avianca-sanctions-order.PDF
13. High Court of England and Wales, Divisional Court. Ayinde v London Borough of Haringey and Al-Haroun v Qatar National Bank [2025] EWHC 1383 (Admin), Dame Victoria Sharp P and Johnson J, 6 June 2025. https://www.judiciary.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Ayinde-v-London-Borough-of-Haringey-and-Al-Haroun-v-Qatar-National-Bank.pdf
14. Queensland Law Society Proctor. “Warning about relying on AI.” October 2024 (on Handa & Mallick [2024] FedCFamC2F 957 and Dayal [2024] FedCFamC2F 1166). https://www.qlsproctor.com.au/2024/10/warning-about-relying-on-ai/
15. ABC News. “Senior lawyer apologises after filing AI-generated submissions in Victorian murder case.” 15 August 2025. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-08-15/victoria-lawyer-apologises-after-ai-generated-submissions/105661208
16. Josh Blackman, Reason (The Volokh Conspiracy). “Two Federal Judges Apologize For Issuing Opinions With AI Hallucinations.” 24 October 2025. https://reason.com/volokh/2025/10/24/two-federal-judges-apologize-for-issuing-opinions-with-ai-hallucinations/
17. Matthew Dahl, Varun Magesh, Mirac Suzgun and Daniel E. Ho. “Large Legal Fictions: Profiling Legal Hallucinations in Large Language Models.” Journal of Legal Analysis 16(1), 2024, pp. 64-93. https://academic.oup.com/jla/article/16/1/64/7699227 (preprint: https://arxiv.org/abs/2401.01301)
18. Varun Magesh, Faiz Surani, Matthew Dahl, Mirac Suzgun, Christopher D. Manning and Daniel E. Ho. “Hallucination-Free? Assessing the Reliability of Leading AI Legal Research Tools.” Journal of Empirical Legal Studies 22, 2025, pp. 216-242. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/jels.12413
19. Parole Board of Tasmania. Annual Report 2022 to 2023. https://www.justice.tas.gov.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0005/731399/Parole-Board-of-Tasmania-Annual-Report-2022-23.pdf
20. Parole Board Queensland. “Judicial Review.” https://pbq.qld.gov.au/parole-in-queensland/judicial-review/
21. Adult Parole Board of Victoria. “Review of Board decisions.” https://www.adultparoleboard.vic.gov.au/review-board-decisions
22. Supreme Court of New South Wales. Generative AI Practice Note and Judicial Guidelines. 21 November 2024. https://supremecourt.nsw.gov.au/documents/Practice-and-Procedure/Practice-Notes/general/current/PN_Generative_AI_21112024.pdf
23. APPEAL. “Andy Malkinson.” https://appeal.org.uk/andy-malkinson/
24. Criminal Cases Review Commission. “Anniversary of the quashed convictions that led to the CCRC's creation.” https://ccrc.gov.uk/news/anniversary-of-the-quashed-convictions-that-led-to-the-ccrcs-creation/
25. Criminal Cases Review Commission. “Post Office 'Horizon' Cases.” https://ccrc.gov.uk/post-office-horizon-cases/

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Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer

Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.

His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.

ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk

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Howey, author of the Silo series and Beacon 23 among other things created and recently released an open source writing software program called Neo, available through his website, here. If memory serves, the creator of Scrivener is a writer who couldn't find something that suited their needs so they built their own. Howey did the same thing, and upon test driving it the last few days, I gotta say Neo will likely be (already is) my go to application for book writing.

---

I remember a few blog posts ago I mentioned I was using IA Writer for the blog. I founds something I like better. For a few months now I've been using StandardNotes almost exclusively for blog posts although I can't recommend this product just yet. It's too expensive for what it is. I liked IA writer because it has a split pane view when drafting. The left pane is what you're writing, the right is after markdown is applied, but IA Writer's cross platform sync doesn't work well for my needs. StandardNotes does that and more.

Where StandardNotes excels for my needs:

• web app
• ios app
• Windows app
• sync
• markdown support
• split pane view

Where StandardNotes fails:

• price

Look, I love all these features and it's everything I could ask for in a markdown editor, but $120/yr is about twice I would expect to pay for something like this. The thing is StandardNotes is owned by Proton and their thing is super duper encryption and privacy. So, I get that super duper encryption costs money, but, that isn't a feature that's important to me. Anyway, I've paid for the next year and I'll see if it becomes something I can't live without. IA Writer ticks some of these boxes but StandardNotes ticks all of them. I'll revisit this topic when it's time to renew.

——-

raindrop Raindrop is a bookmark manager and you’ll likely just know if this is something that could be useful to you.

I use several different browsers (a dedicated post about browsers will arrive here someday). Edge while logged into Microsoft 365 on there with Bing as my default search. Chrome while logged into google on there with Google as my default search. Vivaldi with duckduckgo as my default search for generally browsing the web (and I have a lot to say about Vivaldi for that browser post), and several others. I have different bookmarks on each of them and often have a bazillion different tabs open on them. Raindrop is a standalone app and a browser extension that syncs bookmarks seemingly across everything. With a click or two I was able to put all my bookmarks there. With another one I was able to bookmark and close all my open tabs.

It’s made my life so much easier.

——-

Neo is new and exciting to me, and I just loce the story behind it. Howey had ideas for his dream writing app and just built it and gave it to the world.

raindrop is just fantastic and I think I can’t live without it.

and StandardNotes, although a little overpriced for what it is also is fantastic.

So to recap, check out Hugh Howey’s Neo, raindrop, and StandardNotes

That’s all for now.

In Summary: * Today was generally more unpacking and organizing, nothing exciting happening here. But it was a pretty day, bright blue sky, fluffy clouds when chores took me outside. That was nice.

Now for the night meds, night prayers, and an early bedtime.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 212.31 lbs. * bp= 128/76 (62)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 06:50 – 1 cheese sandwich * 10:00 – mashed potatoes, whole kernel corn * 12:45 – salisbury steaks and brown gravy * 17:45 – 1 more salisbury steak portion and a very small dish of ice cream with the wife.

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:30 – bank accounts activity monitored * 04:45 -read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, take daily meds, unpack, organize * 15:00 – listening to The Jack Show, and briefly napping * 17:00 – listening to relaxing music, thinking...

Chess: * 13:45 – moved in all pending CC games

Death is a woman pulled from the water when the dam breaks. Mollusk-skinned and adaptable. Constantly flowing- Curves that never really fit in to the stagnation of oppression. A current-sweeping amalgamation of all the sewage spewed in her direction.

Death is a woman cresting in constant renewal. Surging higher when on the brink of being towed under. Compassionate without courting false currencies. Deliberate in her gentle demand and refusing to be walked on. Buoyant amongst every barricade blustered before her. Especially those placed by bitter counterparts.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=atVMUkkZKyE&is=0ANNSzmQUWU0_raO

I've been having thoughts — conceptional.

The fatalistic brood d'jour. A circumstance of premonance cleating the ofalctories as reminiscent tidal-stays. Some glaze of future's lasting picture woe churned into a rainbow of living discover we.

It's not elementary. It's chemistry corrupted with the whether of a drawn out drought that leaves me spouting in tongues and glooming beneath the cradle of an all hallowed scythe —

Beget's slice to insight where we scurry to savor each compulsive throe. Oh! Ooh! Oohh! Raze sweet eternity, my Dart, and know I'm plundered smitten.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=aDhsr8WKUoA&is=_ZPZXnsF8xExcRRw

In my last DevLog, I mentioned that I took down apps.dinobansigan.com, and with it, the Write.as Archive Page Generator. I said I was letting it go. Well, that lasted about two months.

So, I went to update one of my other blogs recently, and realized the archive page on it was way out of date. The tool I used to update it was gone. Turns out I still needed it after all.

Why it can't just be a website

The old version was a Blazor WASM app. Since it ran in the browser, it couldn't call the Write.as API directly because of CORS. My workaround was to write my own API for the Blazor app to call, running as an Azure App Service. That API ran on free Azure credits that I've since lost access to.

I didn't want to host something again, since that means paying for it. And I didn't want to fight CORS again either. So this time around, the answer was an app that runs locally on my own machine. CORS only applies to browsers, so a regular app can call the Write.as API just fine.

Rebuilding it with Claude Code

I rebuilt this one with Claude Code. I treated it like pairing with another developer. Claude wrote most of the code, and I reviewed every change before it went in. Good news was, I still had the source code for both the old Blazor app and the API on my machine, so we had something to work off of. We ended up with a simple .NET console app. You run it with your blog's alias, and it spits out the HTML for your archive page. Same output as before, same CSS classes, so if you customized the look of your archive page, it should still work.

It still uses my WriteAs.NET library to talk to the Write.as API. But we swapped out CommonMark.NET and HtmlAgilityPack for Markdig, which turns the Markdown of untitled posts into plain text in a single line of code. CommonMark.NET hasn't been updated in years, so it was time anyway. Going through my old code also turned up a few bugs, like the app crashing on short untitled posts. Oops.

From reading through the old code to having a working app up on GitHub, the whole thing took one afternoon.

Rate limiting

The biggest surprise was that Write.as now heavily rate limits calls to its API. And because of how I wrote WriteAs.NET, a rate limited call just comes back empty instead of throwing an error. So the first test run fetched 20 out of 55 posts, and would have happily given me an incomplete archive page without me knowing.

The fix was to slow things down. The app now waits 10 seconds between each page of posts, retries if it still gets rate limited, and checks the number of posts it got against what the blog says it has. It's slow, but it gets all of them. Funny enough, that's an improvement over the old version, which used to time out on blogs with a lot of posts. An API key would probably help with the rate limiting, but I don't have one set up right now.

There was also a bug in the new version where some emojis in post titles showed up as code instead of the actual emoji. That one got fixed real quick.

It's on GitHub

Back in 2022, I said I'd share the source code for the WPF version of this tool if there was enough interest. This time around, I'm just putting it out there: writeas-archive-generator. It's a console app, so no pretty UI, but it does the job. You'll need the .NET 10 SDK to run it, and the README has all the details.

Eventually, I want to build a Windows desktop app with a UI for it. But for now, this works, and my archive page is up to date again. Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you in the next DevLog.

Tags: #DevLog #ClaudeCode #DotNet #CSharp #WriteAs #WriteAsNet

Per anni il centro storico di Genova è stato una cosa semplice. Si entrava, si comprava, si usciva. Canneto, San Luca, Campo, Pré. I nomi giusti, i posti giusti, la merce giusta. “C’è Mario”. “C’è Pugliese”. “C’è Claretta”. Claretta, per inciso, c’era già allora, non è una scoperta recente, è solo che adesso ve ne siete accorti. Era un centro storico comodo per chi lo frequentava senza doverci vivere, non necessariamente bello. Si facevano affari, si comprava roba buona, si scambiavano quattro chiacchiere e si tornava a casa, altrove, con la piacevole sensazione di conoscere Genova, quella più autentica. Peccato che, appena dietro l’angolo, ce ne fosse un’altra e non era nemmeno troppo nascosta. C’erano i vicoli laterali, quelli dove non si passava per caso. Dove non si andava a fare acquisti, ma dove qualcuno viveva. Tra siringhe, sangue, violenza, dipendenze, miseria e persone che si conoscevano abbastanza da sapere anche come farsi male. Non sempre, non ovunque ma abbastanza da capire che non si trattava di qualche incidente di percorso. Chi in quei vicoli ci è cresciuto non aveva bisogno di scoprirlo sui giornali, lo conosceva già e spesso lo considerava normale, nel significato più feroce della parola. Funzionava così. La facciata presentabile davanti, tutto il resto dietro. Un equilibrio indecente, ma sufficientemente stabile da non disturbare troppo gli affari anche grazie a forme di controllo del territorio che non comparivano sulle guide turistiche. Oggi quell’equilibrio si è incrinato. E sarebbe sciocco sostenere che nulla sia peggiorato, ma sarebbe ancora più sciocco raccontare che il disagio sia comparso improvvisamente, come un’invasione di cavallette. Il disagio ha cambiato posizione, ha attraversato qualche vicolo, superato qualche confine invisibile, e è uscito dal retro ed è arrivato davanti alla vetrina. Ed ecco il miracolo. Quello che per decenni era stato un problema degli altri è diventato un’emergenza collettiva. Non quando qualcuno ha cominciato a soffrirne, ma quando qualcun altro ha cominciato a vederlo. Le lamentele sono legittime. Nessuno dovrebbe convivere con la violenza, la paura o il degrado ma sarebbe interessante osservare anche la direzione in cui vengono rivolte. Quasi sempre verso il basso. Contro chi dorme in strada, chi consuma, chi urla, chi occupa uno spazio, chi rende visibile ciò che preferiremmo non vedere. L’ultimo anello di una catena assai più lunga. Molto meno rumore, invece, attorno a chi quella catena l’ha alimentata, a chi ha governato senza risolvere, a chi ha guadagnato dall’abbandono, a chi ha considerato interi pezzi di città sacrificabili purché non interferissero con il resto. Quelli difficilmente disturbano il decoro. Hanno imparato a esercitare le proprie responsabilità lontano dalla strada. E, possibilmente, anche dalle domande. Il punto, allora, non è rimpiangere il centro storico di una volta, perché quella volta, per molti, non era affatto migliore, era semplicemente un posto in cui il disagio rispettava una geografia precisa. Una distribuzione delle sofferenze che consentiva ad alcuni di vivere tranquillamente e ad altri di arrangiarsi. Finché la miseria rimaneva dietro l’angolo, si poteva chiamare folklore. O, nelle giornate di particolare indulgenza, autenticità, ma ora che si è spostata sotto casa, si chiama emergenza. Il disagio non è nato quando avete cominciato a vederlo, esisteva già quando potevate permettervi di voltare l’angolo e forse il problema non è soltanto che oggi il centro storico sia diventato invivibile. È che per troppo tempo abbiamo accettato che fosse invivibile per qualcun altro e l’abbiamo chiamata normalità.

Post #150

I realize I didn't do a celebratory post for the 100th post on this blog, so I figured 150 will suffice. I've been producing content consistently since I started—I doubt I'll continue at this pace but we will see where things take us.

I wrapped up the Starcraft Co. series, that is still the longest series on this blog in terms of total content (904,866 bytes) and tied for most posts (at 34 along with the Inbetweeners series). Starcraft Co. is concluded for now, so I anticipate Inbetweeners will surpass it since I'm not even half way done with that series.

The Television Antihero Deathmatch Tournament ended up being a lot more in depth than I initially anticipated. It was only ten posts, but each post contained several matches, in total representing 720,404 bytes of text! That is the second tournament series of done, but was much more involved than the original. I did a double elimination style, with multiple different arenas, setups, even bringing in teammates in the later rounds. It tested how characters could leverage different environments to their advantage. A huge upgrade from the fantasy swordfighter tournament.

The What If alternate history series has real potential if I stick with that one. Each installment can be incredibly detailed as major changes can have ripple effects throughout history.

Lastly, Merdunia is chugging along at 9 posts so far... haven't decided how far I will take that one yet. Oh and The Blue Monkey Story II has already surpassed the original with just its first installment.

There are many more projects I have in the pipeline, so stay tuned. I'm hoping the next time I do a check in like this we have surpassed the King James Bible in total length of content! If not, maybe I'll just check in for post 200.

Se entri in una casa abitata e dichiari di averla “scoperta”, di solito ti denunciano. Se lo fai con tre navi, armi, croci e una benedizione ufficiale, qualche secolo dopo ti dedicano una piazza, una statua e magari una festa nazionale. È il prodigio della storia raccontata dai vincitori, quella in cui il furto diventa esplorazione, l’invasione impresa, il saccheggio civiltà. Basta cambiare nome alle cose e aggiungere un po’ di retorica. Il 12 ottobre 1492 non si scoprì un continente. Si inaugurò una delle più grandi operazioni di rapina organizzata della storia, con tanto di benedizione divina e timbro imperiale. Rubare terre, ridurre in schiavitù, massacrare popolazioni e cancellarne le culture sembrava più decoroso se fatto in nome di Dio, del progresso e della civiltà. Una rapina, purché accompagnata da una croce, diventa una missione. Cinque secoli dopo, il sistema funziona ancora. Sono cambiate le navi, non la direzione delle ricchezze, le materie prime partono, i profitti pure. Restano la povertà, le foreste devastate, le comunità espropriate e l’abitudine di chiamare “sviluppo” tutto ciò che arricchisce qualcun altro. Meno armature, più contratti, meno cannoni, più multinazionali. La stessa vecchia fame. E c’è ancora chi festeggia. Magari qualche latinoamericano che grida “Viva España”, dimenticando che la propria storia è stata scritta anche con il sangue dei suoi antenati. Il colonialismo ha ottenuto persino il capolavoro di convincere i discendenti dei saccheggiati ad applaudire i saccheggiatori. Il 12 ottobre non è una festa. È il Giorno della Resistenza Indigena, la memoria di popoli che qualcuno avrebbe voluto cancellare e che invece continuano a esistere, lottare e rivendicare il proprio futuro. Perché il vero miracolo non è che Colombo sia arrivato. È che, nonostante tutto, loro siano ancora lì.

Greetings and SNAIL-utations blog friends!

Cute Snail and I wanted to get on here, say “Shello” and share a smile again and let you know that the following fall themed postcards are now available for download from our Payhip store! Links are below. Each card is 100% FREE, comes as a US letter sized PDF print sheet, and can be used or gifted as a single card or two separate cards depending on your gifting needs. Cards can also be printed on any weight of paper, but 60 pound cover stock makes a nice keepsake worthy greeting card. FREE fall themed coloring pages and a fall coloring book are also available as well. Enjoy!

Cute Snail and I are off to make a warm cuppa coffee, enjoy a little lunch and watch more video adventures. Yesterday we visited Chimney Rock, NC. Here’s the link to the video if you'd like to visit too. It’ll take about 45 minutes to watch —— > https://youtu.be/BSQbS74LXs0?si=uhw_ZFa-ILVp7bMM

BACK TO SCHOOL POSTCARDS

• Cute Snail Skateboards To School First Day Good Luck Wishes Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Apple-y Sweet Learning Adventures SNAIL-TASTIC School Year Coloring Postcard

FALL & FALL HOLIDAY POSTCARDS

• Cute Snail Sending Fall Smiles Favorite Bud Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Bright Day Fall Wishes Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Mail Delivery Time Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Fall Heart Tree Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail On a Mushroom Fall Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Apple-y Sweet Smiles Fall Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Fall Comfort Food Mac n Cheese Please Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Happy SNAIL-oween Wishes Coloring Postcard
• Cute Snail Happy Thanksgiving Coloring Postcard

Last week I spent four days (October 8–11) playing old-school Dungeons & Dragons at Cauldron, “an OSR Euro Con.” Once again, organisers did an absolutely stellar job.

I know they call it a con, but that label does not fully do them justice. This is more like a really large club of hundred people, who have gathered to play in a rather intimate atmosphere. The food is home cooked, labour is volunteer-based, we all tend to the venue, we sleep together, and we game together.

In this post I share a bit more about my experience. See this post for reports on games I either played or hosted; and this post for how I prepared.

Arrival

Don't change a winning strategy. Or something like that. I took a night bus to Frankfurt, slept most of the way, arrived in the morning, had a walk, and then boarded a train to Marburg. Shuttle picked me up there and took me to Hofraithe Rosenthal.

I arrived too early to check in to the room, so I went for a walk around the village, returned to have some cake, and contemplated about games to follow. By the time check-in was open, roughly two thirds of participants had arrived. As last year, the first thing I did was make my bed, so I can crash into it after midnight.

Thursday

Since Thursday was also the arrival day, there were only two games, with the first being so called “Temple of Doom Sidekick” block. Regular blocks are four hours, night blocks are, in theory, unlimited, and this one was just three hours.

The first game I played was hosted by EOTB. The table was packed with talented players, pregenerated characters were distributed, and we went to work. EOTB ran a tight game, with quick answers and no-nonsense approach. I loved it. The map was exciting, with verticality, secret doors and passageways, and just enough things to interact with and get into trouble. I expected no less, since he did mention he would use a map from the Twisting Stair zine. As we ran out of time, I asked other players to take their characters outside of the current chamber so I can just grab the treasure, screw traps. Maybe I wasn't clear enough, but most stayed inside. We got the treasure, I triggered all the traps, three characters had died. Great success.

Lunch was lovely. I did my best to avoid snacks and sodas, since I had a game to run. It was great to see so many friends and acquaintances, as well as to meet people whom I had been chatting with over the years via discord and forums.

I hosted my game in the night slot. I like those the most since they are open ended. I was assigned the same room as last time, Linde, but this time they limited it to two games instead of four. Same chunky tables as last time, same immovable pillars. I rearranged the tables to form a large square, with me taking the side by the wall. This left three sides for eleven people to sit relatively comfortably, and up to eight more in the second row.

The module I ran was Halls of Viridian Mist, a megadungeon level I had written for the Jennell Jaquays Memorial Game Jam, published in the Return to Perinthos. Ten players joined, and it was an adrenaline rush from the beginning to the end. I am continuously amazed with how players adapt and adjust to the unfolding situation. In this case within few turns everything goes tits up, and rest of the session is a mad dash for survival. One character is lost to the ghouls, one sacrifices himself so others can flee, and one retires after the adventure, having lost both of their hands.

I don't remember how long it took us, but I think we were done by midnight. I took a walk around the dining hall where Chainmail battles were raging. My good friend Dreadlord was playing, playing to win! Joking aside, it was fascinating to watch, witness Settembrini ruling, and see Sarisa in action.

Friday

Nothing like a good morning game hosted by yours truly! I ran Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater, a location from our Conquering the Barbarian Altanis campaign, now also published in the Beneath the Black Pyramid con zine. We ran the game in the dining room, which was this year used as a game room as well. Last year I had to use it for one of my sessions that attracted 17 people.

That also meant we had to wait until breakfast was over, and that we had to finish a bit before the time, so the room can be prepared for lunch. That was no problem. Eleven players joined, got the main, hook and begun planning. This site depends on the time of day. Once they told me they approach at day, I rolled to determine where are the key monsters. Horrible abomination was determined to be hunting outside, to return in three hours (18 turns).

Players decided not to enter the cave, but fall back, make camp, and observe. I handed them the battle map and asked them to position the horses, their characters, so on and so forth. I gave them a timer of ten minutes—when time runs out is is what it is.

I cannot stress how important the timers are to maintain the pace. Most relevant ideas will surface within first few minutes, everything after that is just spinning the wheels. The timer's main purpose is to allow space for those good ideas to bubble up, and for everyone, or most of the players, to articulate and internalise them.

Of course, the monster returns by trampling the camp, killing men-at-arms, two player characters, and causing mess in general. Players adjust their goal to seeking revenge instead of looking for what they were paid to find.

When I design sites, especially natural ones like caverns and similar, I love playing with elevations and light. They go deep into the cave, constantly down (they have dwarves so I give them lengths, angles, everything). But they never attempt to look beyond their own light. Another thing I often play with are rooms that are mostly empty, and depend on a wandering monster. In this case, the harpies were one of the factions, which are mostly not present because they wander around. But, if they are, then they have a special place or tactic.

Either way, the players pursued the monster, slain it, and then were charmed by the harpies. Well, technically, not charmed yet, but beckoned to come to them, so they can claw and charm them. Just four character make their save, but I leave it up to the beckoned players to control how they attempt to approach their most desired targets.

I have said it before, and I will say it again—player skill at Cauldron is very, very high. The amount of intelligent malicious compliance was just insane. For example, Tamás had their hobbit attempt to gift their sentient sword to the harpy. This is perfectly aligned with the in-game logic—the harpies desire wealth, treasure, and adoration—and adventurer gives his most treasured belonging. But the player knows that grabing sentient swords causes damage to creatures of different alignment. His character is lawful. The harpy is not.

The players work their way out of it, recover the object they were hired to find, and then nearly lose it as another pack of harpies sings to them. Now another player with a sentient sword pulls off a stunning manoeuvre by asking his sword to teleport it right next to the harpy. Teleporation is an insanely dangerous spell, but here, within sight, it was all but guaranteed to work.

We finished on time for lunch, with most of the characters alive.

After having some hearty food, I played in an awesome game hosted by Gabor Lux. He ran three consecutive sessions of the Palace of the Eternal Autocrat, with each group exploring a portion of the complex. We were the second group, with one character from the first group joining us. He brought a map with him. It was useless.

Photo by Gabor Lux.

To clarify, not because of him, but because we decided to step through the above ground teleporter so we get into real action. I already mentioned the player skill. What I want to add is that players at Cauldron are quite proactive as well. They establish their own goals, they pursue them aggressively, and they are not afraid to take risks.

This game was no different in that regards. Gabor's adventuring locations are always a blast to play, and he is such a fun fellow himself. This was an enjoyable romp with an unexpected ending. Ignatius Umlaut, editor of the Fight On! zine, decided to gate us all into none other than Attronarch's Barbarian Altanis! A dozen adventures, loaded with treasure, and a burning desire to live.

Next up was suckling pig and sauerkraut for dinner, followed by a high level adventure by Ignatius himself. This was a continuation of an adventure that he ran for the Hungarians years ago. Apparently, one of the player characters had betrayed them, stolen some artefact, and then teleported away. Now he was rumoured to be a lich.

There was eleven of us, and Ignatius ran a very entertaining game. Night dragons, dark trolls, dinosaurs, it had it fucking all. I recognised the area from the legendary Darkness Beneath megadungeon, but luckily I did not remember the specifics. I was thoroughly impressed with how Ignatius managed all the moving parts, especially since we were in essence doing an underworld wilderness adventure.

During the day a word reached me that Jan, one of the players in our ongoing Wilderlands campaign, is actively lobbying people to stage an assault on the Wizard-King Racoba. He also approached me to check if that is OK, worried for what I had prepared for the session. As usual, I told him, and everyone whom had asked, to decide as they wish. I shall be ready.

Saturday

This was the day. At night slot I would run the Conquering the Barbarian Altanis session in the night slot. Last year I had seventeen people, over the span of six or seven hours. But this year everyone was talking about it. I was unsure how many people would join. Either way, I was committed to run for whatever number of people does show up.

But first I had some games to play in! Keith Sloan ran an awesome game. He had this relaxed style which lulls you in, and then he blasts the whole party with fire trap, slaps you with eight ghouls, and throws you down the pit.

What I especially appreciated it how he crafted the adventuring location. He told us it is a gnoll temple. We are playing AD&D 1e. Gnolls are described as lazy, as using slaves, as worshipping a deity which is also worshipped by ghouls, so on and so forth. By paying attention to cues, based on the knowledge of not just the rules but also the implied setting, we were able to make informed guesses on what to do next. More often than not, our assumptions had proven to be correct. That felt immensely rewarding! Keith gifted us an elegant dice for winning at D&D.

Next game I joined was by Ignatius Umlaut again. In retrospect, I realise I had mostly prioritised Americans—EOTB, Ignatius, and Keith—since they might not attend every year. Ignatius ran another high-level game, and I brought my character from the previous night. We fought and defeated Satan's minions, and won D&D for the second time that day. No really, it was a crazy adventure, go read the report.

Dinner and auction followed. I skipped the latter, opting to go for a walk, drink some tea, and mentally prepare for what is to follow.

Photo by James Knight.

Since our big game was in the dining hall, we had to wait for the for the organisers to complete all the transactions. I already had a whole set-up on my mind, given experience last year, and an experiment I suggested to Ignatius earlier in the day. Players jumped in and helped me arrange everything.

We had 13 tables in total, which was still not enough to have everyone sit by the table. So we had a second row of sitting too. I think we took around 3/5 of the dining hall. Twenty three people sat down to play. Some people later told me they gave up because the game filled up really fast during the sign up. I would have welcomed them!

Photo by James Knight.

Despite size of the set-up, one side was just for me. Not to power trip, but because that way I keep everyone within eyesight, and everyone can see and hear me best. I went around table handing out pregenerated characters, taking down names, and admin detail I need to ran a game at a furious pace.

Once we had that I divided the players into four teams, and asked them to nominate the caller. Table layout works its magic, and we had four teams of nearly identical sizes (6-5-6-6). Two teams gave me a name, while two teams gave me a colour. I guess I need to work on my pronunciation.

With teams and callers in place we were ready to begin! I presented the in-game information, where most of the adventurers currently are (Ironburg), and what intelligence about adventuring sites they have (Castle Yukanthur, Midnight Goddess Hills, Spire of the Divine Grape, The Black Monastery, Tomb of Ochandra the Earthshaker). Then it was up to the teams to discuss which of the options (or alternative) they would like to pursue.

To clarify, I ran this as a usual session of our open-ended sandbox campaign. There would be no teleporting back and forth. Anything is on the table, as long as the majority commits to it. All the options I offered were from the game, and I did my best to present them neutrally. Regular players that joined were free to share information as they see fit.

First round ends up with a draw between the tomb and monastery. Second round ends up with a draw again, but different teams. Some call for a roll. As I throw the dice, one time changes their vote to the monastery.

In less than thirty minutes, twenty three people agreed on where to go, what to do, and with which characters.

From Judging perspective, the Black Monastery was by far the worst out of the available options. Super-complex map with mapper that loves angles, eighty pages of two column 8 pt. font of dense paragraphs, with bad editing and crucial information hidden in all the wrong places (e.g. a four paragraph description of a bedroom, with third to last sentence being that here is an 10HD shadow waiting to ambush those entering; thanks).

I prepared the map on a separate page; this is a challenge for players not me. Keys I printed two pages on a single landscape page, to have four columns at glance. In general, I knew I had time to look them up whenever players ask for discussion time.

I am repeating myself with the player skill, but they did all the right things initially: scout the environment, use magic to fly over and take a look inside the monastery. They hesitated a bit to enter it proper, but once they were in, we started rolling.

Photo by Alex.

It was mostly cautious exploration, with me tormenting the team mappers with my descriptions, sizes, angles, points of reference and similar. A single fire elemental scared off the whole company, and they fled into a tight secret space, triggered a trap, and wiped out half of the characters.

Luckily, I had prepared seventy characters for the con, but now I was running dangerously low. That meant that clerics and hobbits began entering the game en masse. Exploration continued with brisk pace, with me giving specific timings, switching between asking callers and asking everyone what their characters are doing.

This switching is an important attention-resetting technique, because it was already midnight, and a third day of intense gaming. Mind wants to play, but body wants to sleep. So to keep it playing we need to give it something to do.

One thing I noticed was that the attendance was different compared to the last year. Then we had people coming and going as they became too tired, or they lost a character. This time 2/3 of the players had played until the very end!

The pace, and complexity, exploded once Titan of the Black Monastery came to life. It began wrecking the monastery and players. Two things I wish to point out here. OD&D (lbbs) worked brilliantly once more. Since its charts top at 10+ HD, this 20 HD titan still had 25% chance of missing heavily armoured characters. Second, Toby, the youngest player at the table, played with absolute balls of steel, leading the charge on the titan.

“What do you do?” I ask him.

“Charge the titan!” he answers without any hesitation whatsoever.

His character proceeds then to actually deliver the killing blow as well, which causes a spontaneous applause around the table. This raw, genuine, kind energy is absolutely awesome, and part of the Cauldron magic.

Judging-wise, from then on, I basically had to track four different parties. Since characters were all over the place, callers could not help. But players congregated physically, and we were able to rapidly resolve the combat rounds, even when close to two hundred zombies joined the fray.

Photo by Alex.

In this type of game players set their own goals. After their first wipeout, they found the safest place they could, organised around it, worked on questions for the commune spell, asked about the closest treasure hoard, and then just went for it. Once they had it, they went out.

We finished around 02:30 in the morning. Alas, I forgot to take a picture of those who stood until the very end. What I can say, without a trace of doubt, is that every single player contributed, and that every character mattered.

And, of course, I greatly appreciate them opening a portal to the Black Monastery, right next to Ironburg, at the border of the kingdom.

Special call outs go to Toby for his courage; Mike and Jan for enduring and surviving their second Wilderlands big group marathon; to Prince for controlling four (!) characters that others have given him after retreating to bed; and to Dreadlord for opening a portal to the Black Monastery, right next to Ironburg, at the border of the kingdom.

After the game I was too excited to go to sleep, but had to force myself to get to bed around 04:00. I still had one more game to run.

Sunday

Morning was all about awards and celebrations—the best Judge, best players, best tournament team, so on and so forth. It is a great way to wrap up by expressing gratitude to each other.

Since it was the last day, I wanted to run something a bit more light-hearted. Back to Linde, two-table square, eleven players, and Darkness Beneath megadungeon! I gave players the map, last remaining characters (only human clerics, hobbit fighting-men, and elf magic-users), and we went to town with it. They played so well, and we had fun messing with gods and fire balls. Frankly, they were more likely to kill themselves than anything else in the caves.

I don't know how many litres of tea I had drunk, but my throat was still functional enough to speak and say farewells to everyone.

A brief look at the pregenerated characters. 59 (~85%) out of 70 were taken, and 37 (~60%) survived. Not bad. Fighting-men and magic-users were exhausted first, followed by dwarves, elves, and hobbits. Clerics were almost exclusively taken as a second character after the first one die, and in the Sunday game because they were the last human option.

Summation

There is nothing else like Cauldron. If you are want to experience old-school Dungeons & Dragons, with people who love and play the game, then this is the con to visit. Everyone is supportive, open, and inclusive. Awesome people, awesome games.

Next Cauldron will be from October 14th to 17th 2027.

See you there?

Cauldron 2026 posts

All posts for the Cauldron 2026 convention:

• Preparing for the Cauldron 2026
• Cauldron 2026 Game Reports
• Cauldron 2026 Reflections

#Convention #Cauldron #OSR #FightOn

Few days ago I returned from the Cauldron, “an OSR Euro Con,” a four day celebration of old-school Dungeons & Dragons.

Below are the reports from all the games I played in and run:

• Thursday Block I Temple of Doom Sidekick: EOTB's Convention Dungeon
• Thursday Block II: Halls of Viridian Mist
• Friday Block I: Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater
• Friday Block II: Palace of the Eternal Autocrat
• Friday Night Block: Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich
• Saturday Block I: Temple of the Gnoll God
• Saturday Block II: Return to the Storm Giant's Castle
• Saturday Night Block: Conquering the Barbarian Altanis
• Sunday Block I: Darkness Beneath Megadungeon

These reports are strictly focused on what happened in each game. Some are written from the perspective of characters I played so should be treated with scepticism. I share my reflection on the con here, and my preparations here.

Thursday games

Thursday Block I Temple of Doom Sidekick: EOTB's Convention Dungeon

Game	EOTB's Convention Dungeon
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	EOTB
Player Characters	9

In the first game of the con I ran a well oiled, barely dressed Kalinikos of Athena, a double axe wielding swashbuckler armoured with nothing but bracers of defense and cloak of protection. Adventuring party numbered nine in total, with three straight fighters, one ranger, one assassin, one cleric, one magic-user, one fighter-thief, and one fighter-magic-user. Humans dominated and we had but a single dwarf and an elf.

We begun our adventure with a descent down a long shaft leading into a third level of a sprawling complex. Several statues of warrior women greeted us. Those with nimble fingers explored them, finding little of interest. It did not take us long to find action, or rather for action to find us.

Upon penetrating the sanctity shadows befell us; as did the newly animated statues. They had proven to be most impotent in our presence, and Kalinikos crushed three of them. Our cleric made the shadows flee, weeping and wailing. They left a sticky, dark residue on the doors they fled through. One of us caressed it, and was promptly drained of their strength.

Moving on we encountered a despoiled and beheaded corpse suspended in the air. If it was suposed to be a warning sign or deterrent to discourage us from moving on, then it failed miserably for we touched it, read the plaque hanging around its neck stump, poked it, and ultimately, moved on.

This led us to an irregular chamber. Our superior senses and wicked wonder meant that we managed to ambush the ambushers whom had tried to jump us from beyond the secret doors. We had slain these pathetic mongrel-men in seconds.

Their chamber was completely bereft of anything. This arouse suspicion, for surely they couldn't have just been here all the time. We failed to find secret doors, but speculated there must be something here, perhaps a ceiling trapdoor.

We returned to the main chamber, found a penetrated skull that wanted to scream. Turned out it was head of the beheaded cleric. Moving about we discovered another ceiling trapdoor, went up, surprised more mongrel-men and exterminated them with haste. We kept one alive, but its limited communication ability meant it was of limited use to us. We learned they serve the shadow masters, there is an altar nearby, and yes, there is some treasure.

At this moment we were confident we have ascended into a separate complex, perhaps a small cult area. Thus, we roamed the chambers, removing all threats. One of the rooms had bedrolls and blankets; the floor trapdoor led into the secret chamber we had previously explored.

An octagonal room with a summoning circle and charred walls was just the place we sought. A long corridor, with alcoves every ten feet, joined it. At the end stood a grotesque altar, with statue so foul we knew there must be something there.

Given their infravision, the dwarf and elf could see bars of heat cutting horizontally across the pathway. Our hobbit drank the potion of climbing, crawled up and above the heat bars, and then dropped down. He learned that the statue is trapped, that there is a secret compartment, and that something black is leaking from its eyes. As statue rose to its unlife, he spidered back to us, and we left the chamber to regroup and prepare for this demon.

I chugged the potion of speed, while one of kind souls cast protection from evil. Then we opened the doors, hacked the demon to pieces, and drove its summoned shadows away. Seeing that the treasure was now unprotected, and that I was still lightning fast I called out to others:

“Leave the chamber! I will grab the treasure at once!”

Alas, others merely repositioned themselves within the area, instead of leaving the octagonal chamber and long corridor. I sprinted to the end of the corridor, breaking all three beams. The first one triggered a loud alarm. The second made me weak like a newborn calf. Third one did nothing.

I quickly poured acid on the trap rune, smearing it. Then I pulled the compartment open. Inside were a robe dotted with countless stars, and six magnificent, silvery tubes. As I turned to inform the colleagues of this great find, fireball exploded from within the summoning circle, kill three adventurers, and wounding the rest.

“Why didn't you step outside!” I cried out, whilst recovering treasure. We picked our dead, valuables, and left for the surface. Great success.

Thursday Block II: Halls of Viridian Mist

Game	Halls of Viridian Mist
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	11

A party of eleven adventurers tumbled down a gigantic pit trap. They tumbled and rolled, until the landed into a foul pit full of refuse. Green chocking mist burned their eyes and obscured their vision.

In order, they were: Carmea of Tiberon, a human vicar; Cig Akgahnte, a human hero; Dacyniel, an elf hero theurgist; Ira Thorncreek, a hobbit hero; Jaki Wittyleg, a dwarf hero; Lefno Gaithh, a human theurgist; Menar Chigun, a human theurgist; Nacyn, an elf hero theurgist; Trasir Wisestorm, a dwarf hero; Ulla Valmasniz, a dwarf hero; and Zarah the Wicked, a human theurgist.

Rancid mist made everyone gag, and thus with some quick thinking everyone fashioned face covers of cloth. Their eyes were teary; torches and lanterns penetrated barely fifteen feet ahead. Quick-witted Nacyn suggested a marching order where everyone holds onto a rope. That way, even if they cannot see each other, at least then can hold onto the same object.

Milling about, they were confident that the pit was roughly rectangular, natural cavern, some forty by forty feet. Refuse poured downwards, in the south-east direction. A heart-rending, finger-curling, blood-freezing scream cut through the fog. Cig, Ira, Zarah, Trasir, Ulla, and Lefno felt courage and talent leave them in equal measure.

As if that wasn't enough, three ghouls jumped them from above, landing amongst them. Desperate melee ensued, with adventurers screaming in equal measure as the living dead. Zarah succumbed to horrible ghoulish paralysis, right after slaying one. Trasir and Nacyn each disposed of one ghoul as well.

Motivated to move quickly, the party asked Nacyn to take the lead—she was at the front of the rope. Thus, she slid down the foul refuse, then turned left. She could barely see the tunnels ahead, so she chose the one closest to her left. This one led them up, towards the screaming.

In the commotion, paralysed Zarah was left behind in the refuse pit. Unable to move, unable the see; but able to feel, able to think, and able to weep. She felt every claw, every bite, every second the ghouls had feasted on her flesh.

Nacyn followed the right cave wall, but led the adventurers into a dead end! More ghouls ravaged the back rank, but were quickly driven back. Dacyniel, elf who was at the end of the rope now found himself at the front.

“Right, right, follow the right wall!”

Indeed, they tapped the right cave wall, reached another split, and then took the right turn, climbing up. This led them to a portcullis. An attempt to discuss was cut short by intermittent screaming and fleshy footsteps echoing through the cave. Jaki Wittyleg drank the potion of giant strength. Then he held up the grates while others came through.

Stair leading up to their immediate left were enough to make them abandon the “right-hand” strategy. The dwarf tore straight through the doors, then placed them back as the elf cast hold portal on them.

They were now in a proper, hewn chamber. Flagstones were covered with gold pieces strewn all about. Viridian mist was ever present, making exploration rather difficult. By all accounts, the chamber was forty feet long and thirty feet wide. Three wells were lined along the east wall.

These wells perplexed the adventurers to no end. The water was fresh and potable. Whatever they dropped into it vanished at the same depth, at all three wells. They tied a small sack of coins and lowered it. It vanished. They pulled it back up. It was still the same sack, soaked and filled with their coins. Finally, Jaki and Menar dared take a dive. Both were surprised to emerge on the other side, their heads pointing up. They went down and were back up. And then down and back up again!

The whole party agree this is the way forward, so they all took a dive in the same well, emerging into the chamber on the other side. This one was much larger, and of angular geometry that cannot be described. It spanned nearly 6 000 square feet, most of it cloaked with the fog. It too had three wells—one in the south, one in the south-west, and one in the north-west. Doors were to the east, north-east, and north. The last ones were chosen.

Jaki the Doorbasher did his duty once more. Before them was a hundred foot long corridor, of slope noticeable only to the dwarves. The dead end had been seen through as merely a mockery for the inexperienced. Elves quickly found not one, but two secret doors. One leading further north, and one leading east.

Doorbasher took care of the sliding doors. They led to chamber unmolested by the mist. This twenty by twenty room was quite spartan, but comfortable, with a framed bed, and a large desk with attached drawers. Rummaging through the latter revealed 1 000 gold pieces, and a scroll with magic missile, wall of iron, control weather, and lower water. Lefno claimed the scroll.

Jaki proceeded to completely break the secret sliding doors leading north. The corridor split left and forward. Jaki went for the left doors, pulled on them, and a scythe severed both of his hands. The dwarf cried out in pain as others dragged him backwards. They cauterised his stumps, and used cure light wounds to stop the profuse bleeding. Cig and Ira made fun of him.

Six ravenous ghouls charged the adventurers from behind. This time the party was ready, and thus dispatched them within minutes. Doorbasher, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks, was unwilling to abandon hope. Thus, he soldiered on.

Adventurers moved further north, entering an octagonal chamber dominated with a blood stained stone platform attached to chains leading into the ceiling. A massive iron ring was drilled into each corner. A spoked wheel was in the centre of west wall. It feel out when adventurers tried to interact with it. While the dwarves investigated it, Dacyniel levitated upwards and Ira climbed one of the chains. Up and up they went, until they decided to descend sans they fall and die.

“This is the way out, for sure!”

Alas, dwarves had sad news to report—gears that the wheel was connected to were damaged. They could fix them if they had the right tools and materials...

The party continued exploring the corridors. They found another doors, Jaki kicked them and jumped back in time before another scythe took his leg. Dead end.

Portcullis blocked the advance into the cave system. They made a circle—the corridors looped around the octagonal chamber. As they discussed what to do, three minotaurs had charged them. A brutal skirmish broke out, with adventurers squeezed from both the front and the rear.

But they did not give in, and they did not give up. They fought back, tooth and claw. Nacyn leaped upwards, and decapitated one of the horned beasts. Trasir bust the kneecaps of another, while others chopped it to pieces. Cig gutted the last one as Jaki punted it up in the air. Then he Chopped its horns off, and offered them to Jaki as “new and improved hands.”

Adventurers had a choice to make, namely which way now? West-most corridor they said. What a great choice, for the elves had soon detected a secret chamber with an assortment of gears. Dwarves picked up several they thought would fit best.

Whilst dwarves worked on repairing the platform, others watched guard. But this was a horrible spot, with four different ways to approach it. They could hear the ghouls moving around, obscured by the mist.

Nearly two hours later, the dwarves reported they fixed the problem. Exhausted and bloodied, everyone rushed to the platform. Alas, a new problem had appeared. Who will operate the wheel?

“I have levitate. I can get you up, and then fly after you!”

Lefno volunteered. He cast the wall of iron to block off the northern approach, sealing them off. Then they cast invisibility on him. The wheel was heavy to operate, but the theurgist managed it. The platform slowly rose upwards, with a loud clang.

Lefno turned the wheel. And turned the wheel. And turned the wheel. He turned as he heard the wall of iron retract, having now completely smashed through the portcullis. He turned it as he heard the grunts, the retches, and the howls of the dead come closers and closer. He turned as he heard the footsteps all around him. He turned until his friends were safe; he turned until he felt them right behind him; he turned until he could turn no more.

Lefno. Illustrated by Darnok.

Friday games

Friday Block I: Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater

Game	Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	13

Eleven adventurers had been hired by the loyalists of the Broken Empire to recover the famed regalia of Legio IX. In order, they are: Aegiliel, an elf hero theurgist; Astrid Hunnisdottir, a dwarf hero; Cig Akgahnte, a human hero; Fenna Redbulk, a dwarf hero; Gromonicus, a human hero; Ira Thorncreek, a hobbit hero; Karelia Tolfind, a dwarf hero; Larana Lightstep, a human hero; Mezeth the Uncanny, a human theurgist; Uta Almonger, a human hero; and Vida Pilter, a human vicar.

The party followed the trail into deep in the woods, leading to a cave mouth ninety feet wide and sixty feet tall. Beyond it a large cave stretched further north and south. Broken branches, trampled bushes and leaves, and large, elephantine tracks suggest high traffic.

Adventuring party decided to back off and establish camp several hundred yards away from the cave. They ordered their men-at-arms to find suitable branches to sharpen for the palisades. At the same time they tended to their animals, staking them in the centre of the camp. At the third hour, horrible screams pierced the air. The voices are well known, for they are of their own men.

Battle positions are taken, facing north-west. The ground shakes, the trees scream as they are shattered under the bulk of oncoming monstrosity. It comes at the adventurers, flailing, cackling, and charging. Large, elephant-like body covered with warts, boils, and scabs. Seven deformed horse heads atop long tubular necks, adorned with yellowed square teeth, greasy, lanky long hair, and eyes of pure madness.

Gromonicus the Brave acknowledges no such horrors, as attested by him counter-charging the abomination. He was promptly trampled, but lived. The horror continued its mad charge, reaching Aegiliel. The elf dodges and parried three of the seven heads. Alas, other four bit into him—one into the left shoulder, one onto the collarbone from the right, one bit into the right leg, and one the left foot. The heads pulled all in different directions, ripping the elf apart and showering the survivors with gore and guts.

One of the theurgists cast phantasmal force and created a swarm of mice. The abomination cared not. Mezet cast sleep, and slept Uta, Vida, Gromonicus, Cig, and himself. Others closed in, bravely fighting the monster. Slashing it made them recoil with disgust, as pus and blood oozed from the horror. Gromonicus, now asleep, was put to permanent sleep when it accidentally stomped on his head.

Warhorses were calm as ever, for this was just another day for them. One of the light horses was spooked, but calmed by his master. In the brutal skirmish the abomination lost two of its heads, and fled into the cave. Aynora the Jovial, a human vicar, and Parnasselis, a human vicar, had just arrived, chasing the beast on their warhorses. Alas, the horses refused to enter the cave,

Adventurers slapped the sleeping awake, left the dead to sleep, and rushed towards the cave. They cared little for the standard of Scrituin The Pacifier of Seven Tribes. This was now about vengeance.

They entered the cave, following the trail of blood and suppuration. Into the large cave, and down the one hundred and twenty feet long tunnel; into a humongous cave broken by large columns, making it a labyrinthine experience. The trail continue straight east, but adventurers followed the south cave wall instead, slowing down to a crawl. They are heroes; experienced in the art of war, and thus, they seek tactical advantage.

A horde of giant rats do not surprise them—scrawny, hairy, bottom-feeders fight each other to lick and slurps the trail left behind by the abomination. Laran, thinking on her feet, mixes belladonna with fresh rations, and then chucks them at the critters. They gorge in darkness, as the adventurers continue their pursuit.

The trail leads them down another long tunnel slopping downwards. Astrid, Fenna, and Karelia were well aware of how deep they went, now fifty feet underground.

Weird gargling and choking sounds echoed through the cave. Stumps of broken stalagmites, and crushed bones littered the floor. Heavy stench of cat-piss and avian faeces dominated the air. Moving forth, the abomination came into light. It was sitting down, on all four legs, its dead heads submerged into the fresh-water pond surrounded by decorative stones all around. Remaining heads wept foul tears.

Adventurers cared not for its tears. They charged the monster, and hacked it to pieces. The battle was savage, but no lossess were suffered amongst the brave.

And then song, an angelic choir broke out. Everyone but Cig, Mezet, Karelia, and Fenna were enchanted by it. Wishing to see what wondrous being sings so beautifully, adventurers rose their torches and lanterns.

South cave wall was in fact a twenty foot tall ledge. Three harpies perched there, singing. Mezet cast sleep, putting two of them, and himself down. Parnasselis cast light so he could see them better, having now devoted himself entirely. This revealed that the cave extends further up, with even more harpies hiding in the natural alcoves.

Astrid led a construction effort, making stairways to heaven from iron spikes. Others joined. Cig pretended to be charmed. Fenna was having none of it, and was shooting her crossbow at the single awake harpy that was still here.

Parnasselis now cast speak with animals, and addressed the harpies, wondering how he could serve them best.

“Kill the ugly one! Kill them! Give us the crown! Save us, save us, our knight on the white horse!” cried two harpies hiding at the top. The awake one screeched back at them, but was shot by Fenna.

From now on, it was total madness. Astrid climbed up, grabbed the closest sleeping harpy, and began caressing her beak. Ira stripped naked, took his shield, and then paddled across the pond, climbed up the cave wall, then back down to fetch treasure for the beautiful sleeping angel.

Vida and Aynora bothered the catatonic giant hairy man whom they found in the harpy nest. He was nearly seven feet tall, broad shouldered and wide legged. Dark hairs covered him, sans the shoulders which were covered with moss. His chest was wide open, clawed and gnawed.

“Wake up! Wake up to meet our lord and saviour, the harpies!” Aynora shook the man. Vida healed him, twice, for he was still breathing, despite massive wounds. Ira returns to the sleeping harpy with his magical sword and tries to give it to her. Thus, he wakes her up. Cig executes the harpy caressed by Astrid; the dwarf scalps the harpy and puts it on her head.

“Now I am as pretty as her...” she mutters.

Parnasselis strikes the harpy next to Ira, and commands his staff to coil around her. Ira tries to set her free by attacking the giant snake. Large cave man snaps out of coma, begins grunting and moaning, and immediately grabs Vida with an iron grip. Aynora tries to help and nearly kills Vida in the process.

Cig beheads the constrained harpy. Astrid continues her transformation by severing the harpy's beak and tying it on. In the meantime, two smaller harpies from the above have descended and engaged the only awake one. The bigger harpy had immediately slain one of the smaller one, but then got entangled with the other. Fenna missed most of her shots, as did Karelia. Parnasselis cried out to be noticed. He ran off the edge, and performed front flip backwards, landing into the pond. No attention was given.

Vida smashes the caveman back into the coma, while those uncharmed finally bring the final harpy down. Now back to their senses, the adventurers spend good time searching the nest, rowing through avian refuse, and remains of their victims. An hour or so later, and all they find are three gems, a scroll with read languages, and a map to magical treasure. Three large harpies were adorned with jewellery—bracelets, tiaras, necklaces, rings—worth nearly twenty thousand gold pieces. Most of that was now on Astrid.

They descended and advanced further north, having remembered their original mission. Adventurers soon reached a junction splitting four ways. Vile stench of rot, pus, and body odour emanated forth from the cave to their left. Thousands of coins were strewn all over the cave floor, covered with greasy, thin, strings of dark hair and shredded scabs. Cig braved the horrible conditions and moved in. He soon spotted an intact standard—gold eagle with spread out wings atop twenty foot long redwood pole—in the west-most alcove. He recovered it.

Mezet took the standard, and cast invisibility on himself. It was large and heavy, so he had to use both hands to carry it. Having decided they have enough treasure, as well as the item they came for, the party begun their retreat.

A horde of giant rats were feasting on the abomination's corpse. Some of them looked groggy and ill. Adventurers helped by throwing some rations with belladonna, as before. Then they backtracked west, up the first long tunnel, and accross the large cave.

And then song, an angelic choir broke out. Cig, Astrid, Karelia, and Fenna resisted the call of doom. Others failed. Ira stripped naked once more. Many attempted to climb the columns, which had now been revealed to be twenty to thirty feet tall.

“Don't climb... Just follow...” the harpies sung.

Pissed off Fenna shot the closer one down. Cig attempted to intimidate them by flaunting his cloak made of severed harpies wings. It did not work.

“Teleport me to her. I want to hugh her. Teleport me right next to her.” Larana instructed her sentient sword.

“Uh, Larana, are you sure?” the sword asked back.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“KKRREEEEEEEEE–” the harpy screeched as Larana appeared right next to her and hugged her hard. The floated down, near the cave floor. Soon both Vida and Uta threw themselves there are well, all intent on hugging their desire.

Ira climbed up the column atop which a wounded harpy laid. Then she picked her up, and jumped down, trying to save her. The harpy died, while the hobbit merely suffered some injuries. Aynora cried as she poured a potion of healing down the harpy's throat.

Mezet the Invisible, took out his wand of fear, and blasted everyone piled up on his harpy. Larana, Vida, Fenna, Karelia, and Cig fled the caves at once. Astrid decided she had enough of this malarkey, picked up the standard, and left the cave as well.

Harpy fled, and Ira chased it deeper, into darkness. Parnasselis, Uta, Aynora, and Mezet managed to get out.

Survivors mounted their horses, and left for civilisation to collect their well earned bounty.

Friday Block II: Palace of the Eternal Autocrat

Game	Palace of the Eternal Autocrat
System	Seven Voyages of Zylarthen
Judge	Gabor Lux
Player Characters	11

There was a time when I was known as Armon Targ.

A time so distant, and so murky I am not sure if it was a fever dream or reality. Last I remember is an adventure with eleven other men. Pardero, a terran fighting man. Talion, an imperial fighting man. Ugg, and Oog Booga, two cavemen. Zothar, Birakor, and Rashid, all teran magic-users. Valgard, a northman thief. Anthony, an imperial thief. Icarium, a terran thief. And one more, a hoplite servant.

We set out for some island, upon which a ruined palace of forgotten tyrant rested. Wealth. Magic. Power. Adventure. Death. All part of my life back then. I remember us disembarking. We crawled the compound, defiling the giant stone head with stern face. Must have been the tyrant himself. It spoke cryptic non-sense, as those in power usually do.

An impenetrable violet building with onion top dominated the estate. It had six glass eyes. We were unable to penetrate its double bronze doors, no matter how much we tried. Then we found a burly looking one-eyed man tending to scrawny chickens. He was cursed, or something. I do not remember.

I zoned out and followed others. From time to time I commanded my sword, “Scout,” to detect evil or gold. I miss it. It served me well back in the day. We entered some sort of magical swirl and were teleported deep underground.

Disturbing the Autocrat's gardens.

We traversed the corridors with great speed, until we found a staircase leading further down. I remember we refused to take them at the time, opting to explore foul chambers filled with refuse, both organic and inorganic. We were assaulted by nine shambling, bloated, yellow zombies. They were no threat.

This brought us back to the stairs, and its bearded guardian. We fed it gold coins, rations, and bones. I was foolish, and was soon paralysed and sucked in by a transparent mass of acidic goo. My allies saved me. Sometimes I think of them. I do not miss them.

At the bottom was a sizeable chamber with walls of shimmering gold. Twelve mosaic figures holding a candle light were upon them. Seven of them detected as evil, while the rest were good. We moved on, finding several stairs leading up. Then we found some chambers with foodstufs, water, and spices. Around this time I was able to move again.

We opened, I do not remember how but suspect one of our thieves, an iron door with a peeping hole. Before us, far ahead, was a congregation of people dressed in fantastic togas! To this day I do not know who they were, and why there were so deep underground. At that time we believed them to be evil, and in need of extermination.

I led the charge. It was a foolish mistake. We killed few of them in the initial surprise. But we underestimated how many of them there was. I was soon surrounded by their guards and servants, fighting for my life. Their pathetic warriors meant nothing. But then they brought the philosophers. That damn philosophers.

One of them had blown my left leg off. I lamented the loss of that leg for years. If only I knew I would loose much more in the future. But I digress. The situation was dire. My ears were buzzing. Strange men pounded on me, but I somehow parried. Then I asked the Scout to detect if these men were evil.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?!”

I offered that this was merely a misunderstanding, and that we should part ways. The offered to part me with my life instead. Filled with hatred, I quaffed my potion of speed, intent on rapidly crawling towards the philosopher who wounded me, and hacking him to death.

At this moment the entire hall filled with rapidly growing crystalls! This freaked out flamboyant toga men, and they allowed us to leave at once. We fled like curs. I was certain I would die, there and then. But one of the magic-users performed a miracle. He operated me for an hour. The leg was gone, there was nothing to do about that. Now I hobbled on an ill fitted wooden peg. It hurt like hell, but I was alive.

From then on my recollection is even murkier. I remember me hobbling behind others, speaking with my sword and fighting with bow. We explored some cave filled with garbage. A god of beggars roamed there. We fled.

Around that time we discovered a series of chambers where tyrant left another statue of his. It was all fake, just like himself. Nearby we encountered some vile creatures with skeletal arms and bloated bodies. They gazed in my eyes, but I spat in their direction and hobbled back. It is there we found a bowl full of treasure suspended high in the air. Must have been the lair of those two horrors we had dispatched.

Loaded with treasure we sought exit. We took one of the stairs leading up. Then we made all the wrong turns. Or right, depending on how you think about it. There were yellowed, bloated zombies which melted our flesh. Oog Booga fell down a pit trap, landing into the trash lair. I shot at everything that moved. We prevailed. Then we roamed the endless corridors, more desperate with each step.

One of the magic-users, I forget which, in a moment of desperate inspiration, opened a gate towards another dimension. We stepped through without much thought. Surely, wherever he took us would be better than here, in the tomb of this insane tyrant.

There was a time when I was known as Armon Targ.

That was before. When I was a nobody.

But now?

Everybody knows my name in the Barbarian Altanis.

Friday Night Block: Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich

Game	Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Ignatius Umlaut
Player Characters	11

I played Brother Warby Parker, a lawful good human patriarch with above average wisdom and dexterity. But his truly outstanding feature was exceptional charisma. His vainness was equally exceptional.

“We must slay Tenochli!” Gork of the Flame Lizard, a flame lizard mounted on a giant lizard, hissed. The target was a lizard druid, whom had betrayed them some time ago. They suspected him to be a lich now.

Having spent months in the Underwilds of the Darkness Beneath, I came to accept such characters as everyday occurrence. Many weird souls pass through the Cliff City of Thousand Spears. Either way, the burning lizard and his retinue could surely use my help. And I could use their night dragon to get out. All this darkness has been unhealthy to my tan.

Prior to setting out, I divined what awaits us. We were to go into some sort of fungal forest, dominated with fungal creatures. In my visions I saw fungits, floating spherical fungi with spore eyes on the tentacles; fungents, thirty feet tall walking fungi; mantis men; giant moths flying about; ancient technology; weird bushy people with mystic power; a giant slimefall; and a clearing in the fungi. The latter two felt sinister and dangerous.

We mounted the night dragon, whom then took us from the cliff rim to underwilds, a thirty mile journey crossed in a bat of an eye. We had seen obelisk shrines, triceratops munching on grass, dark trolls roaming about, marauding demihuman gangs, and more. After we landed, the dragon left us with a whistle to summon it when we want to get back home.

How it started.

Our half-elf ranger scouted ahead of us. This allowed us to hide from a dark troll gang, raptor-like dinosaurs, and a pack of wild board. We eventually reached a thick fungi forest, or rather, a jungle, with tall canopies as tall as fifty feet. The dwarf thief climbed the planar shelf-fungus and surveyed the cavern. He reported fungiwalks connecting the canopies. All of us quickly ascended.

As we marched, I quickly bonded with Dave the Demonologist, who seemed like the only serious person. My judgement has once again proven to be correct, as the man was truly a force to be reckoned with. Thus, in my infinite wisdom, I knew that my divine duty was to protect him at all costs.

Slimy brackish water, covered with rotting vegetation, criss-crossed the forest. We spotted a clearing circled by giant toadstools glowing with indigo light. Since these did not match those I had divined, we approached.

“Do you want to be a friend or foe?” little voices asked.

“Friend!” Gork grunted.

Turned out this was a circle of some small faeries whom were terrorised by giant spiders of abominable intelligence. They begged us to help them, with little to offer but their circle—which was enchanted against non-intelligent monsters—and tears. Being lawful and good, we had accepted. That, and we had a faerie knight among us as well. They provided us two of their own to lead the way.

Some hundred and fifty yards of the forest was completely webbed. Dave summoned a fire elemental. Then he sent it to sauté the fungi and giant spiders. Roaring flames and hissing sounds filled the air. It all went quiet after ten minutes. We went in. Four burnt husks, two twitching ones, and three intact spiders. The battle was quickly over. Magic-users blasted them with magic missiles, our warriors crushed them with their magical weapons, and I sent my spiritual hammer to bang them.

We kept one alive to interrogate it. There was little to learn from it, except that there is a necromancer with zombie army south-east from here. I thought we'd let it live but someone blasted it to pieces. Then we recovered treasure from past victims. Faeries threw us a feast, gifted us necklaces of crystallised tears, and complimented my looks repeatedly. We slept well. Magic-users studied their spells, while I prayed for mine.

Onwards we went, across the fungiwalks again. At one moment our scouts spotted a dishevelled man picking fungi down below. I made myself know and hailed the man politely. He seemed fine, so I asked him if it was okay if we came down to speak with him face to face.

The man was Woebegone Kernoble, a druid and former adventurer whom had been living here for who knows how long. His party had been vanquished, and he was the lone survivor. Although slightly unhinged, with my gentle guidance and kind character, I reached out to the man he once was. The druid was a wellspring of intelligence, telling us all about dangerous hundred feet tall fungemoth, the necromancer and zombies and purple worm under his control, the haunted lake, the erratic fungents, the aggressive fungits, and much more. Furthermore, I managed to persuade him to join us and lead the way to the necromancer.

On the way there I was chocked by the vines, we encountered four fungents but pacified them, and passed a slimefall, but not the one from my visions. Eventually we reached a prismatic wall preventing way forward. Magic-users used stoneshape to shape a shallow ditch underneath it. Then they sent wizard eyes to scout. This was the place.

How it ended. Photo by James Knight.

Seventy two fungal-zombies divided into twelve neat columns. Beyond them a smaller cave with evil presence and wall of thorns. Dave cast passwall and we stormed in with righteous rage. My chosen duty was to protect Dave. My sister, the high priestess, copied me, as she usually does, and we fought side by side.

Dave controlled the air elemental, magic-users burned and blasted through the hordes, the warriors charged forth, hacking and crushing everything in their path. A purple worm erupted from the ground, swallowing Gork whole. I remained resolute, next to Dave, obliterating the zombies with my Staff of Striking. I did not care for its limited charged! The magic-users had to be protected at all costs.

This strategy paid of handsomely as the lizard lich appeared, and was promptly elemental-handled by Dave's air. Warriors gutted the purple worm, and chased the traitorous Tenochli. I remained with wizards, cleaning up remaining zombies. The lizard druid lich was soon completely surrounded, locked in deadly struggle with his former allies. He beheaded Gork and the fairy knight. We resurrected the former.

Dave was high up in the air, surrounded by protective sphere. He commanded the air elemental. Others have forced Tenochli against the cave wall and were mercilessly pounding on him. I, on the other hand, was more interested in phylactery, which there were two of, hidden in the wall of thorns.

Tenochli hissed and screamed until he was no more. Phylacteries were indeed beyond the wall of thorns, their inimical evil presence oppressive beyond comprehension. Their please had no effect on me; I crushed both with my staff of striking before they could finish their offer.

Now there was one less evil in the world. But I felt something in the pit of my stomach. Something worse. The Satan returned.

Saturday games

Saturday Block I: Temple of the Gnoll God

Game	Temple of the Gnoll God
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Keith Sloan
Player Characters	7

In this game I played Amphi of Tiranos, a human swashbuckler, with good armour, some magical throwing axes, and otherwise mundane weapons. This was a straightforward temple raid—get in, find treasure, take treasure, get out. The party numbered seven characters in total.

The temple was set deep in dire hills, infested with gnolls, in a peaceful valley. Temple itself was elevated, and surrounded by man-made canals. After days of observing them, we learned of a secret entrance rarely used. We guessed this must be a backdoor, and thus went that way.

Planning the temple assault.

It was a rather long walk, straight. We noticed that the tunnel was rather well made, potentially of dwarven construction. The dead end was, as we suspected, a secret door. We heard heavy footsteps and grunts on the other side. Breaking through surprised the three gnolls on the other side, and we killed them without mercy.

This was obviously a guard room. We destroyed the halberds and severed the bowstrings. Then we spiked the east doors with halberd tips. Going west I fell straight down a pit and got impaled on some spikes. Not a good showing, I admit.

Bell shaped chamber with a demonic statue was our next challenge.

“Speak your praise to that who should not be named!” it spoke in gurgly gnollish. We took too long to think so we were promptly burned. The statue was surely of their foul god. We continued down the north corridor, passing one doors, and detecting one secret doors with subtle dwarf rune. There we found a dwarven skeleton, rusty knife or spike in its hand.

“Here I carve my last words. The revolt has failed.” one of our dwarven read the runes to us. As we had suspected, this temple must have been built by dwarven slaves.

Moving upstairs we entered another bell shaped room. The walls were covered with frescoes of gnoll shamans performing horrible deeds against men and all those aligned with Law. This time we found concealed elven scripture, a signature and message from an elf slave forced to paint this horrible vista.

Pushing further north, we broke through yet another doors, slaying six more gnolls. This was yet another guard chamber, with four doors in total. Reasoning that we are looking for the temple vault, and that we should keep moving north-west, we chose the north doors.

They led us into a spacious chamber dominated by charnel smell. Our light did not reach the ceiling. But it was sufficient to illuminate a gigantic version of statue we had previously encountered—except this one was much more ghoulish. This foul chamber had six egresses.

We were soon assaulted by eight ghouls. The clerics turned back five of them, while we disposed of the rest, but not before some of us succumbed to their ghastly paralysis. Long stairs led north. South corridor led into a cavernous chamber filled with bones and rotting remains of hundreds of poor souls. We failed to penetrate the doors to the east, them being barred from the other side.

Returning to the gnoll god chamber, we opted for the north-east passage. We found another secret dwarf chamber, with a list of names, avoided a pit trap, and then forced our way in what could best be described as a study of mad man. Or rather, mad ghoul. Hamish Westberry was a sage specialised in the antiquarian imperial vases.

Apparently he spent years, or decades, in this very room, never leaving it. He was absolutely useless. We had little choice but to terminate his research once for all. He was tough, but we were tougher, and thus walked away with a tiara, some gems, two thousand gold pieces, and two returning throwing daggers.

We backtracked to the second guard chamber, explored beyond the west doors, but found they just loop back to the corridor between the statue and corpse chambers. Therefore, we decided to take the long stairs.

Fascinatingly, mid-way up we found a secret doors on the east wall. We entered into a rectangular chamber covered with dust. Faded frescoes of demonic figures adorned the walls. Going north, we found a square chamber with most curious features. Walls were painted red with yellow runes and scripts scrawled all over. A yellow statue stood opposite us. it had two red rubies for its eyes.

Of course it animated and started blasting us. I stepped in and chucked my magical throwing axes. Magic-users and clerics cast dispel magic on it, shutting it down for some rounds. But the combat was just heating up. Doors to the sides swung open, and eight horrible creatures poured in. I knew them well. Large, tough, wicked. The thouls were here.

I focused on the statue, smashing it. Desperate melee ensued, as we dropped, one by one, to the thoul paralysis. But paladin stood steadfast, with his ring that granted him immunity. We ultimately stood victorious.

Beelining for the vault.

There was some minor treasure here and in the adjoining chambers. Our superior adventuring instincts were proven correct once more as we detected secret doors leading deeper west.

Beyond was a funnel shaped chamber filled with broken pottery. One of the magic-users fixated on it, ending up confused. There was but a single way forward in the shape of a single slab of ivory. This led us into a toroid corridor with five secret doors. Three were on the outer side, at north, west, and south. Two were on the inner side, namely north and south.

South doors led into a domed chamber some thirty feet in diameter. The insides looked like a grey matter. It felt evil as fuck. We shut the doors.

West doors led into a hemispherical chamber, seventy feet in diameter. A ball of darkness engulfed most of the chamber, roughly sixty feet in diameter. We throw some coins, and heard them rolling. Dispelling magic revealed a lantern on a pedestal, and four large shadow mastiffs chained to it. They began barking and wailing. The darkness returned. We left.

South doors led us into trouble, as five spectres came at us once we opened them. The smallest of three chambers. just twenty feet in diameter. The clerics turned them, but the bastards fled into the central chamber instead.

Going all in, we followed, forcing the secret doors on the inner rim. We faced off a spectre so grim others cried at its feet. One of our magic-users used the Wand of Wonder. The spectre commanded the lesser ones to vacate the chamber. It took us few seconds to realise that our ally and our enemy have switched bodies! We jumped the magic-user and hog-tied him well.

Our plunder was impressive ninety thousand gold pieces, eleven gems of great worth, two potions, a cloak, and a bag of holding that came in most handy. We left the complex without anyone noticing us at all.

Saturday Block II: Return to the Storm Giant's Castle

Game	Return to the Storm Giant's Castle
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Ignatius Umlaut
Player Characters	10

I continued with Brother Warby Parker, having escaped the Darkness Beneath and now travelled all they way up to the Storm Giant's Castle.

It had been yeas, if not decades, since I saved the baby Squall from Satan. He was kidnapped, taken into the clouds beneath his parents' castle, and presented as a moral dilemma to the orange dragon Bangalore.

Baby Squall was now a young adult Tempest. His parents were gone, and he established a silk operation on the clouds. Somehow, the Satan has returned. Or so he believe, for he was plagued with infernal visions. He offered us a harp worth one million gold pieces should we be able to check what is going on beneath and resolve the issue. After all, he worried greatly about his pigsy servants. We accepted, and were served a feast of 30 000 quail eggs. This made us bloaty enough to walk on the clouds.

Like before, I divined to learn more about the threats below us. My sister, the copy-cat she is, communed instead. We learned that there was a whirlwind of lava sent from Hell, that there are cloud people and static monsters (which I had remembered from before, but was good to have divine confirmation nonetheless), and that there would indee be major and minor devils.

From the God we learned that they are immune to fire, not so much to lightning and cold, and that most are immune to paralysation. We also learned that they are not expecting us, that solution to the problem is at the bottom of the clouds, that there are potential allies down there, and that Satan himself is not in the cloud.

I checked Tempest and the castle, just to make sure neither were penetrated by evil. Everyone and everything checked out, and we descended down to the first level.

The first level was still friendly, with servants tending the silk farms. We got mundane equipment we needed, and then we rappelled down to the second level.

The second level, like all other levels to be fair, was a series of cloudy chambers. We discovered a cloud full of balloon people freely floating around. Since they were evil we begun popping them. Our gnome scout punctured a green one, who explored and billowed out chlorine gas. That did not feel great. We blasted them all, and then seized several wands of lightning they used to fight back.

Bursting the cloud men. Photo by James Knight.

At this moment I wish to mention that I was mostly hanging out with Dave, whom I had met in the Underwilds. Our party of ten was led by a spectacular duo of most capable paladin and a ranger. There were several powerful wizard, a hyper-muscular Mr. T. And there was a gnome.

The Muscle Man recovered a twelve feet long sword—which turned out to be a sword of dancing! He was the only one strong enough to carry it around.

Third level was filled with blinding light. We rubbed some of the holy water provided by Tempest into our eyes. God protects. Eventually we stumbled upon a Ki-rin trapped in an energy web. A bald hobo in a lotus position hovered above it. He offered to release the mythical animal if we answer three riddles.

Our combined intelligence and wisdom were too much for him, and we got them all. (Although we had to use augury to increase our odds of answering the last one.) Answers, in order, were: Lucifer, death, and wind and fire. Hovering hobo attached himself to out paladin, hovering over his shoulders at all times. He kept reciting poetry, forevermore.

Square cloudhole led into the fourth level. And what a level it was! A large driving circuit, going all around, with two bridges cutting across. A fiery whirlwind of roaring flames in the centre, spewing horrible evil.

We found the problem.

And we were about to solve it.

The infernal circuit.

Magic-users, including Dave, mounted the Ki-rin and flew down. At the far edge of the race track was a biker gang made up of fallen sylphs—The Stratoside Girls—revving their motorcycles. They were covered in tattoos, and leather jackets were their only clothing articles. An infernal succubus led them.

Our magic-users failed to surprise them, and were soon driven back up. The gang begun driving around the track, mocking us, blasting their wands. Ki-rin was quick and resistant enough to carry our people back up. We revised our plan.

Mr. T held two ropes with, we rappelled down. Magic-users came down on ki-rin once more, casting ice storm and confusion. They froze several portions of the track, sending many of the biker sylphs to their doom. The confusion added to the chaos.

But the party was just about to get heated.

Three horrible storm devils emerged from the fiery vortex—blue skinned, with violet claws and ridges. We hit them with everything we had. Meteor swarms, a phantasmal dragon, fireballs, magic missiles, wands, you name it. Since I could neither fly, nor had any means of ranged combat, I limited myself to smashing an errant biker sylph here and there.

Just as we thought that we are about to win, clouds parted! The succubus gang leader returned with her boyfriend, the Archdevil Beelzebub! And he brought his two servants, true pit fiends!

I ran along the track as my allies pounded on the storm devils, vanquishing them one by one. I ran to the edge of the track; I stood there and smashed my Staff of Striking into the clouds. Then I grabbed my mithril cross with both hands, rose it high above my head and roared:

“I EXORCIZE YOU, EVERY UNCLEAN SPIRIT, EVERY POWER OF DARKNESS, EVERY INCURSION OF THE INFERNAL ENEMY, EVERY DIABOLICAL LEGION, COHORT, AND FACTION, IN THE NAME AND POWER OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST!!! BE UPROOTED AND PUT TO FLIGHT FROM THE CHURCH OF GOD, FROM SOULS CREATED IN THE IMAGE OF GOD AND REDEEMED BY THE PRECIOUS BLOOD OF THE DIVINE LAMB!!!”

Pit fiends shrieked and shrunk as divine light bathed the infernal race track. Beelzebub thundered with impotent rage as my allies wished for his magic resistance to wear off. I chanted divine words as my allies pounded Beelzebub like there is no tomorrow. When he begun to beg, they poured a giant flask of holy water all over him. I am happy to say they refused his gifts, and threw him back into Hell, where he belongs.

We saved Tempest once more. But what is it about him that attracts Satan so much, I wondered? Perhaps I will be needed here once more... But for now, let's go for another batch of quail eggs.

Saturday Night Block: Conquering the Barbarian Altanis

Game	Conquering the Barbarian Altanis
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	38

38 characters, 23 players, 17 deaths, 5 hours, and one titan. Full session report here.

Photo by Alex.

Sunday game

Sunday Block I: Darkness Beneath Megadungeon

Game	Darkness Beneath Megadungeon
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	11

Troglodytes have been raiding the hobbit villages in the region, capturing many of them. Alas, all suffered a horrible fate as a trogsnack. A party of eleven gathered to stop it once and for all. They were, in order: Astrid Hunnisdottir, a dwarf hero; Aurus of Nolostas, a human vicar; Aynora the Jovial, a human vicar; Dora Tallhand, a hobbit hero; Eiduariniel, an elf hero theurgist; Fyluiniel, an elf hero theurgist; Ganny Farrow, a hobbit hero; Hora Ironpan, a hobbit hero; Medor, an elf hero theurgist; Noluis the Ogre, a human vicar; and Ramdan Phillova the Furtive, a human vicar.

Adventurers descended with a singular mission: exterminate the troglodytes and eliminate their king. Well aware of their horrible stench, most drenched rags into wine and then tied them around their face. Astrid soaked hers with holy water instead.

The large cave they entered reeked of death and troglodyte stench. Several wood and metal poles were planted all along the western wall, adorned with human, dwarf, hobbit, and elf skulls. There were also giant crabshell segments, half-rotten lizard maws, and various animal parts.

They took the south tunnel leading west, bypassed a pit rap, and then slain three trog in the guard outpost. The commotion attracted a giant iguana with not eyes. It slithered its tongue and charged towards the tastiest adventurer, notably Noluis. They disposed of it too. Searching its chamber revealed little of value, besides a filthy potion and fifty feet of hemp rope in one of the foul sacks.

Spreading out, the party explored several of the tunnels, indecisive where to go next. Eiduariniel used the opportunity to fire ball a large cave with a chasm in it. The cave thundered and, booming sound echoed throughout. Suddenly the floor began shaking, and everyone bravely fled into the blasted chamber.

There, at the bottom of the chasm, they spotted a shiny arm bracelet. Medor fetched it and put it on. The bracelet was in essence two rings—iron on the inside, gold on the outside. Iron ring fused to Medor's arms. He felt great.

South of the blasted chamber was cave with a pyramid made of skulls. It burst as a mounted troglodyte knight charged on a giant iguana. Hora and Dora braced their spears at the opposite side of the chasm. Giant iguana leaped over, and landed right atop their spears, dying on the spot. The knight was sent flying, dying as well. Eiduariniel blasted the skull cave, eliminating a dozen or so trogs charging.

A pack of angry, armoured badgers, attacked from the west tunnel, tearing into adventurers. Ramdan cast speak with animals and tried to reason, but the badgers were super grumpy. Most of the time they just went “badger badger badger badger” whilst badgering Noluis. Cleric took the pounding, was force fed potions, nearly got sick from that, but the badgers were eventually driven back via violence and magic.

As expected, there was little left in those caves after the fire ball treatment. The cave furthest south was most interesting. Smoky white quartz dominated, in essence making it a crystalline cavern. Astrid kicked over a bowl of crystal filled with rank water. In the future the cave could be mined, but at the moment there was little value in it.

Fyluiniel used her wand to detect enemies. There was still work to do!

Party went deeper into the caves, exploring many tunnels. Some lead to an underground lake, some to a sun-bathed cave, some deeper yet, and some, most interestingly, into a large cave with a sinkhole guarded by two giant iguanas chained to the wall.

They stuffed belladonna into rations and offered them to the lizards, which gulped them without much thought. They were soon no more. Adventurers ties ropes on the iron rings, and rappelled down.

More tunnels, more troglodytes, albeit of sneaky nature. Three assassins attempted to jump the adventurers, but were massacred in no time.

Terrible cacophony of a primitive single string document and guttural high-pitched screaming echoed. Peeking around the corner adventurers had a sight to behold.

A large cavern with a forty feet wide and twenty feet long chasm, surrounded by a tribe of troglodytes in supplication. Adventurers were on the south side; on this side of the chasm were deformed lizardmen with painted scales and dressed in tattered robes. Opposite was an orchestra of seven trogs playing something. And from the chasm something bubbled, like a rising bread.

Eiduariniel started blasting fire balls left and right. Medor created an illusion of purple worm bursting through the chasm. Total pandemonium ensued, with numerous trogs perishing in flames. Some of the survivors threw themselves into the chasm, others burned screaming. Troglodyte knights lost control of their giant iguana mounts.

Adventurers stood victorious, amidst charred remains of their enemies.

The ground quaked as colossal Gibbering Fungus God grew out of the chasm. Imagine thirty feet long and twenty feet wide mushroom stalk that reach fifty feet upwards. Eiduariniel continued blasting, sizzling the stalk.

“Come child. Come. Let me feed you. Feast upon my flesh.”

The elf was converted. He sprinted to the edge of the chasm, took a leap of faith, and landed upon the massive stalk. He begun stuffing his mouth with delicious, delicious fungi.

Others spread out in the chamber, scrambling to save their friend. Alas, they too felt the call of the Fungus God. Astrid cut across the chamber, following a long tunnel leading east. Aurus followed. Noluis grabbed one of the crazed fungi-eaters into a headlock, saving them. Aynora hooked Eiduariniel and pulled him back.

The elf wept like a baby once he was out of the warm embrace of the Gibbering Fungus God. Having suffered a lot of damage, the stalk quivered and quaked. It begun to descend into the chasm. Fyluiniel rushed forth and jumped, landing quite deep. She began stuffing her mouth full. Dora chugged the potion of giant strength, crawled along the stalk on all fours, grabbed the elf and threw her over her shoulder like she was a little child, and then quickly climbed up before the God disappeared into the chasm.

Some were traumatised; like being birthed into cold, uncaring world. No more kind warmth of the fungus. Regardless, the party reconvened just before a cavern filled with decorative stones. They could see a four armed troglodyte frolicking on a throne made of bone and sinew.

It is difficult to put in words how much they overkilled him. From phantasmal forces conjuring flying helicopters dropping napalm to hitting him with absolutely everything available to adventures. The king and his retinue were eradicated in less time that it took them to reach it.

They plundered his lair and left for good, to celebrate their great victory.

Little did they know that the Cult of Gibbering Fungus God remained intact...

Cauldron 2026 posts

All posts for the Cauldron 2026 convention:

• Preparing for the Cauldron 2026
• Cauldron 2026 Game Reports
• Cauldron 2026 Reflections

#Convention #Cauldron #OSR #FightOn

Hey all! Maid Adventures has just received its biggest update yet. There are two brand new Houses, a new kind of maid, a new stat, and a whole new way of running an estate with specialty staff who are sworn to your household rather than assigned to its work. There have also been some balancing fixes to!

Fixes & Balancing

The Houses have been rebalanced.

Looking at the data from the game as it has been going, the House's bonus against the missions that actually exist, and the old numbers were all over the place. Nevakev and Irisik were quietly doing a lot more than Avernell and Tavik, and I didn't think that was fair. The new bonuses are:

• Nevakev — +15% Diligence, +5% Endurance
• Avernell — +25% Eloquence, +10% Discretion
• Tavik — +20% Prowess, +15% Endurance
• Irisik — +5% to all six stats
• Brevet — +20% Discretion, +10% Endurance
• Rikin — +25% Analytical, +15% Eloquence

I'll say it plainly: Irisik took the biggest cut, going from +10% on everything to +5%. Nevakev also lost a little Endurance. If that changes how you feel about your estate, read on, because this update comes with a free way to switch Houses.

Analytical has been added to everything that already existed.

A new stat joins the five you already know (more on it below). I didn't want any of your current maids to be behind the eight ball, so every maid and every Directorate candidate has been given an Analytical score based on how methodical and careful she already was. A good housekeeper is now a decent analyst, and nobody starts at zero.

I also went through the existing missions and moved the beats that were really about reasoning over to Analytical. Tracing a leaking pipe, reconciling a ledger, auditing a window latch, working out who took the silverware: those now test Analytical instead of plain Diligence. A few missions, including The Missing Inventory, now prefer it as well.

New Features

Two New Houses: Brevet and Rikin

House Brevet stands for Duty. Steady, silent, always at post. Its maids lean on Discretion and Endurance.

House Rikin stands for Ambition. Sharp minds and persuasive tongues, with a bonus to the new Analytical stat and to Eloquence.

Both are now choices when you found a new estate, with their own colors on the leaderboard, the Registry, your plaque and everywhere else Houses show up.

A One-Time Free House Change

Since I changed the numbers and added two Houses, every existing estate gets one free chance to switch Houses. You can pick any House, old or new, and you can even decide to stay where you are. Your maids, prestige, and balance all stay exactly as they are. Only the stat bonuses change.

When you log in you'll see a popup on the dashboard and a gold banner pointing you to it. The option itself lives on your Estate page. Once you've used it, it goes away. Brand new estates don't get one, since they already chose from the full list.

The Analytical Stat and Inventory Maids

Analytical is the sixth maid stat. It covers reasoning and record-keeping: inspections, audits, inventories, and tracing a problem back to where it started.

Inventory is a brand new maid type, trained for exactly that work. They're the Reserve Legion's people: quartermasters, stock clerks, registrars and auditors. Ten new Inventory maids have been added to the Directorate pool, spread across Common to Elite and across all three bonding types, so you'll find Unbonded, Half Bond and Full Bond among them. Their Analytical is their signature stat.

They also come with fifteen new Inventory missions, from a Routine Weekly Pantry Count up to Notable negotiations like The Short Shipment, Prestigious jobs like The Two Ledgers, Sovereign audits, and one Momentous mission I'll let you discover. Several are shared with Estate, Custodial, Emissary or Harvester maids, so they can lend a hand without penalty, and on the rest any other maid takes the usual out-of-specialty penalty. Inventory maids are the ones who will really shine.

The Retinue: Courtesans and Concubines

This is the big one. Some people in a household aren't workers. They're sworn to the lord rather than assigned to the estate's tasks, and now your estate can have them. Specialty staff never go out on normal missions, they don't take a roster slot, and each costs 25 ℰ/day to keep. You manage them all from the new Retinue page in the nav, and your Estate page now has a “Retinue at a glance” card with a circle for every slot, so you can see at a glance what's filled, what's open, and what's waiting on you.

The Courtesan

You can have one, and she isn't hired. You have to petition the Scarlet Order of House Aldinav for her, and that opens up at tier 3 (Established). The fee grows with your standing: 400 ℰ at tier 3, 650 ℰ at tier 4, 1,000 ℰ at tier 5, and 1,500 ℰ at tier 6.

The Order decides whether your household is a good fit, and it isn't going to tell you how. A bigger, steadier, better-run estate has better odds, and I've made sure the lower tiers aren't shut out. If you're turned down, half the fee comes back and you'll get a hint about what the assessor found lacking. It won't hand you a number, but it will point you in a direction. You can petition again after five days.

Once she arrives, you can send her to call on another estate for about six hours and learn about its finances, its staff and who leads them, or its current assignments. It costs 40 to 130 ℰ depending on your tier. She comes back and tells you what she found, if she wasn't noticed. And the target estate gets a check:

• Unnoticed — she brings home the full report.
• A close call — full report, but the household may have felt something was off.
• Talked her way out — she was questioned and charmed her way out, with part of the report.
• Caught — nothing learned. She lies low for three days, and the household learns her name and House.
• Exposed — nothing learned, she is named in front of the entire household, and she is too mortified to be sent anywhere for a week. The household also learns which estate sent her. Courtesans are trained to be unremarkable, so being seen like that is about as embarrassing as it gets.

How watchful a household is depends on its staff, especially the Discretion and Analytical of its best maids, along with a Head of Staff, Arch Maids, Emissaries, and a courtesan of its own. Any household, courtesan or not, can pay 50 to 140 ℰ on the Retinue page to set a decoy for two days, so a visitor who isn't caught carries away the wrong picture.

Because I don't want this to become a competition: it's information only. Nothing is stolen, nothing is sabotaged, and getting caught costs you ℰ and time, never prestige, so it can't touch the rankings. You can call on any one household once a week, and on no more than three households a week.

Concubines

A concubine is a tie between Houses and a mark of standing, not a worker. Other Houses will send word from time to time with an offer of one of theirs. You've got three days to accept or politely decline. Offers can come from any House in the Empire, so you'll meet names and families you haven't heard of.

• Each concubine adds +1 prestige a day while she's kept.
• Each costs 25 ℰ/day in upkeep.
• You can keep one at tiers 1 to 4, two at tier 5, and three at tier 6.
• Sending one home early insults her House and costs you 10 prestige.

Standing matters. If your estate falls a tier, concubines beyond your new limit are recalled by their Houses, a courtesan is reassigned if you drop below Established, and there's a chance one more member of your retinue is withdrawn. Take care of your estate and they'll stay.

More in the Rumor Mill

Their comings and goings are public knowledge, naturally. The Rumor Mill now reports a courtesan being placed, questioned, caught, exposed, released, or recalled, and a concubine being accepted, politely declined, sent home, or withdrawn. The Houses are named, but never the estate and never the person, so the mystery stays intact.

That's everything for this update! As always, if you find bugs you can reach me at luckyfoot@beloved-universe.net. The Rules page has been updated to cover all of this if you want the full breakdown, including a whole new section on the Retinue.

Thanks for playing. Take care of your maids out there, and maybe keep a closer eye on your guests.

Nothing interesting happend today. will i still write nonsense and you’ll read it? absolutely. i have this one little tiny miny bity thing i wanna complain about. its nothing serious. not that it matters. when its a serious matter to complain about, people start expecting you to do something about it. id rather complain, be irritated for a while, and then carry on with my life as if opening my mouth about it had somehow solved anything. anyway, ive been thinking about something and its pissing me off. not enough to do anything about it, obviously. lets not get ambitious. but. enough that i feel like sitting here and talking shit about it for a few minutes. something happend at work today. ive been thinking about it for hours, actually. the nerve of some people. i swear, if i ever see that man again ill probably just go home and.

I need new bedsheets.

Sincerely, running