

Tabletop RPG Products and Games


I write this for all of you now who may not believe that this old man once sailed on a sailing ship, felt the salt of the wind swept sea on his lips, and lived life on the raggedy edge. Now, in my old age, clothed in silk with Mitre in hand, that may be hard to believe. Once long ago I came to Caribdus from Earth, as many of your fathers and grandfathers had (although not too many of the Originals, as we call ourselves, remain). Almost immediately I fell in with a sailing crew, who God Almighty propelled on a sacred mission. We didn’t know it at the time, but we had been selected to challenge the Sea Hags, to stop the flood of this world. We fought many battles side by side, and in our final battle, at the Devil’s Cross, we finally defeated the hags, with the help of so many. With the help of Jomba Town and Tulago (now known as the Maori Federation). With the help of the Atani (now the Atanic Empire, full and glorious once again as it spread into many of the Receded Lands, lands that were reclaimed from the receding waters). From Admiral Duckworth (God rest his soul), and from the women of Asy Cay, including Annie Mason, (who you know as Madame Daxson).
I often find myself longing to sit on the deck of Liberator’s Wrath once again, to talk to my many friends who we lost long ago, and that thought brings a smile to my face. So as I write this, I raise a small glass of Scotch (who would deny me one small drink, after all, I am the Archbishop!) for my friends Crow, and Liam, and Daxson, Mordecai and Brachus. They are all gone now, having lost Captain Daxson in the final climactic battle when we defeated the Caribdus Inquisition naval forces off New Madrid. I leave this letter to you, Mi Abuela. As a Masaquani, your long life promises that you will outlive me. Just as well, for I miss my shipmates. I end this with a quote from one of my favorite English writers, Shakespeare:
“Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
Archbishop Rodrigo Salvatore, June 19, 1611 AD
Been thinking about the ‘stuff I’m itching to run someday’ so thought I’d jot it down. Interesting how things evolve: see my post in 2016 and my post in 2014 of things I was itching to run in prior years.
Hard Sci-Fi Campaigns
11825, the Eleventh designation from the 825 batch, a distinguished batch of clockwork Mymidions, was a proud construct. Manufactured 1270 years earlier, 11825 had served both the Dragon Overlords and the nascent Gothic Imperial Court. He served with distinction, fighting and destroying many of the rebellious lizardmen. He aided the Gothic Imperial Court in their evacuation from the Lands. And he accepted his deactivation full well knowing he may never see another day.
But that day came 1120 years after deactivation, when new people that 11825 thought had come from the Gothic Imperial Court (for they spoke Gothic, who else could they be) reassembled him, and called him to service once again. The plasma ran through his circuits, and he knew that he would uphold the honorable 825 designation once more.
He fought the strange new lizard like creatures, smaller than Lizardmen but fierce nonetheless. He answered the many questions from the Gothic Courtiers. He refused to be called “Brobot”, whatever that meant. He opened doors. Finally, in the second fight with the little mini-dragons, the courtiers became indicisive. Some called for him to back up. Others, to attack. A few simply yelled “shut the door.” But 11825 was in the doorway, and requested clarification. All the while, the little Mini-dragons pelted him with fire bolts and spears. As his strength ebbed, and eternity beckoned, 11825 wondered, for a moment, what a breeze felt like. A laugh. A mountain flower looked like. Then he could take no more damage, and ceased to be. 11825 had served his 825 designation with honor, and was now at rest.
© 2026 Dicehaven
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Comments