Coda (Part I)

Yesterday marked the end of the House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign, bringing to a close ten and a half years of regular, mostly weekly play. The true climax had come the week before, when the player characters confronted Prince Dhich’uné Tlakotáni and saw him defeated, thanks to a mix of their own prodigious efforts and the intervention of Lord Sárku, god of death and the undead. Yesterday’s session tied off the final threads of the looming Tsolyáni civil war and of what became of the characters themselves, now that they had thwarted Dhich’uné’s dream of ruling Tsolyánu forever as its undying emperor.

There’s a lot to say, both about yesterday’s session and about the campaign’s conclusion after so many years of shared play. I’ll be writing at least a couple of posts about the events of that final game, followed by more reflections on the campaign as a whole. I hope readers will forgive these indulgences. After all, not everyone knows or cares much about Tékumel. Still, I believe that, in refereeing this long-running campaign I’ve learned some lessons that may be of broader interest to roleplayers about how to create, sustain, and care for long campaigns, a subject close to my heart.

With Dhich’uné defeated and the One Other seemingly freed from its prison, the characters found themselves alone in the vast, amphitheater-like chamber beneath Avanthár. The place was now utterly silent, so silent that every footfall and movement echoed unnervingly through the space. When they had entered hours earlier, they had made no plans for escape. Indeed, most of them had expected not to survive their battle with Dhich’uné, especially once Avanthár’s ancient defenses had reawakened shortly after their arrival.

Having no obvious way out, the party began to search the chamber, hoping to uncover some hidden exit. Meanwhile, Kirktá turned his attention to the great circular prison set upon the central platform. About fifteen feet across, it was fashioned from the same strange metal-ceramic material found elsewhere in the citadel. Its smooth surface bore no markings save for a single opening that revealed a dim space beyond. When Kirktá studied it while still wearing the mask Míru had given him, he saw lingering traces of otherplanar energy clinging to the prison, though these were slowly fading. Viewed in the mirror, however, the prison was almost nonexistent, as if invisible to it.

Nebússa then proposed that they investigate the prison’s interior, reasoning that, given its strange nature and origin, it might contain something useful. Peering inside, Kirktá discovered that the space beyond was far larger than its exterior suggested. The characters had encountered transdimensional spaces before, but they had not expected one here—after all, they had assumed this was a prison, not a doorway. Stranger still, a dozen passageways stretched outward from the chamber, each receding into the distance. As Kirktá scanned them, he caught fleeting glimpses of someone at the edge of his vision. Whenever he turned to look directly, the figure slipped away, reappearing in another passage, always just beyond sight.

This was enough to intrigue the others, who decided to enter. Kirktá was alarmed, but he followed. Choosing one of the passageways, they began their journey. From one perspective, they seemed to make no progress at all—the destination ahead remained stubbornly distant no matter how far they walked. And yet, when they glanced back, the entryway behind them grew ever smaller, proof they were indeed moving forward, though in some strange, disjointed fashion. Kirktá’s mirror revealed what normal vision could not: the figure he had glimpsed was now following them, ten feet behind.

The man was middle-aged, dressed in simple brown robes, his straight hair cut in the traditional Tsolyáni style. When Keléno, using the mirror, addressed him, the figure only replied: “Keep going. You’re almost there.”

Moments later, the corridor opened suddenly into a wide garden beneath a clear blue sky. They stood near a fountain surrounded by lush plants and trees, some familiar, others alien. Around the fountain, benches were filled with people of every sort, speaking in tongues both known and unknown.

Turning in wonder, the characters found themselves face to face with the robed man. He extended his arms in welcome and said, “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Welcome to the College.”