An Amusement

Last night, a friend shared with me his "rebuttal" to my recent assertion that Traveller was "obviously" the best science fiction roleplaying game. 

I should add that, despite my devotion to Traveller — and, of course, Thousand Suns — I actually have genuine affection for Universe and would happily play in a game using its rules. It's an odd game, to be sure, but, much like its sibling, DragonQuest, it's got some interesting ideas buried within its complex rules, hence my continued fascination with it after all these years.

Initial Assessment of Unidentified Cereal Crop Pathogen

TOP SECRET//SCI//NOFORN

UNITED STATES MILITARY EMERGENCY ADMINISTRATION

OFFICE OF CONTINUITY INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY (OCIS)

JOINT FORCES COMMAND EAST (JFCE)

INTELLIGENCE ASSESSMENT REPORT

FILE NUMBER: BIO-INT-00-12D

DATE: 24 NOVEMBER 2000

PRECEDENCE: IMMEDIATE // RESPONSE REQUIRED WITHIN 24 HRS

SUBJECT: Initial Assessment of Unidentified Cereal Crop Pathogen (GR-93) in Virginia Agricultural Zones

DISTRIBUTION: TOP SECRET//SENSITIVE COMPARTMENTED INFORMATION//NO FOREIGN DISSEMINATION

ACCESS RESTRICTED TO AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WITH TS/SCI CLEARANCE AND NEED-TO-KNOW

1. EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

1.1. A novel fungal pathogen, provisionally designated GR-93, has been identified in cereal crops across multiple agricultural zones in Virginia’s southern Piedmont and Southside regions. The pathogen exhibits abnormal resilience, extended latency, and resistance to standard fungicidal treatments, raising concerns of possible artificial engineering.

1.2. This incident occurs amidst national recovery efforts following the 1997–1998 limited nuclear exchange, with international trade routes degraded and traditional defense alliances fragmented or non-functional. The United States remains heavily reliant on domestic crop production. GR-93 poses a critical threat to national food security and public stability.

Three Models of Character Advancement

One of the aspects of Secrets of sha-Arthan that's been bedeviling me lately is character advancement. I've been trying to find an approach that both makes sense mechanically and feels appropriate to the setting’s tone and structure. I believe I’ve finally managed to thread that particular needle (something I’ll be talking about in more detail on Grognardia Games Direct next week). In the course of wrestling with the issue, though, I found myself reflecting more broadly on how roleplaying games have historically handled advancement and how those choices shape the experience of play.

After all, one of the more foundational elements of any RPG is its system for character advancement. How characters improve over time has a profound impact on gameplay. It shapes player incentives and directs the focus not just of individual sessions but of entire campaigns. While there are countless variations and hybrid models, I think most systems fall into three broad categories, each exemplifying a particular design philosophy. These categories are neither mutually exclusive nor exhaustive, but they are, in my experience, among the most common approaches used in games both old and new.

Objective Advancement: The Dungeons & Dragons Model

The traditional Dungeons & Dragons approach to advancement is probably the one most familiar to readers of this blog. Characters gain experience points (XP) for doing certain things, primarily defeating monsters and acquiring treasure. In OD&D and its descendants, including AD&D 1e, treasure was by far the more significant contributor to XP, sometimes by a significant factor over combat.

This approach to advancement is appealing in part because of its objectivity. The rules are clear about what earns XP and how much doing so nets them. Players know what kinds of activities will lead to advancement and this transparency encourages a particular style of play. Exploration, clever planning, risk management, and even negotiation (to avoid unnecessary fights) all emerge naturally when the primary goal is treasure not combat.

That said, this system is also clearly an artifact of game design rather than a simulation of anything. Despite attempts to explain it retroactively, there’s no in-world explanation for why recovering a chest of gold coins makes a thief better at climbing walls or a cleric suddenly able to cast a new level of spell. Advancement in D&D is largely a mechanical abstraction, divorced from the diegetic logic of the game world. Some players find this lack of in-setting justification jarring. Others, myself included, regard it as an acceptable (and often productive) mechanical contrivance.

Diegetic Advancement: The RuneQuest/BRP Model

A very different approach is found in games like RuneQuest, Call of Cthulhu, and other members of the Basic Role-Playing (BRP) family. Here, advancement is tied directly to what the character actually does during play. If a character successfully uses a skill, such as 1H Sword or Library Use, there’s a chance that skill will improve. The logic is intuitive: you get better at things by doing them.

This system is intensely diegetic. Improvement follows in-world logic and feels grounded in the character’s actual experiences. It avoids the abstraction of XP and provides a satisfying sense of verisimilitude. There's also something engaging about watching a character slowly improve in the areas he focuses on. Some characters become jacks-of-all-trades and others become specialists.

However, this comes at the cost of bookkeeping. Every skill use must be tracked and players must remember to mark those skills for later improvement rolls. In long-term play, this can become fiddly, particularly when characters have a large number of skills. It also risks encouraging behavior where players deliberately use low-probability skills just to have a chance at improving them, regardless of context.

Despite these quirks, BRP’s approach has had lasting influence, especially on games that prioritize character immersion and realism over abstract mechanics.

Narrative Advancement: The Milestone Model

The third common approach is often called “milestone” advancement. There are no experience points to tally nor skills to track. Instead, characters improve whenever the referee (or game system) deems that a “major” event has occurred, such as defeating a key antagonist, completing a quest, finishing an adventure, and so on.

This approach is most common in contemporary games, like Mörk Borg and its various spin-offs, though a versions of it exist even in current editions of D&D and Pathfinder. Its appeal lies in its flexibility and ease of use. It removes the need for careful tracking of treasure hoards or skill rolls and aligns character advancement with the narrative arc of a campaign.

However, it also introduces a great deal of subjectivity. What counts as a "milestone?" How long should characters go between them? Without clear guidance, milestone advancement can feel arbitrary and dependent more on the referee's whims than player action. It also risks undermining the sense of accomplishment that comes from overcoming difficult challenges. If advancement is inevitable, tied to narrative beats rather than earned through in-game actions, some players may feel less invested in their characters’ growth.

Moreover, milestone systems often flatten the pacing of advancement. In classic XP-based systems, players can level up at unpredictable times, sometimes quickly after a particularly lucrative dungeon crawl and, at other times, slowly, as they scrounge for minor treasures. That unevenness contributes to a feeling of dynamic progress. Milestone systems, by contrast, tend to regularize advancement, which some may appreciate but others may find dull.

Each of these advancement models brings with it certain strengths and certain limitations. The classic D&D approach encourages player choice and strategic planning at the cost of diegetic coherence. The BRP model is immersive and logical, but mechanically heavy. Milestone advancement is smooth and flexible but often lacks clarity and player-driven incentives. Designers and referees must both consider the kind of play they want to foster. Do they want a game that rewards careful play and tangible goals? One that simulates the experience of a character’s development? Or one that supports a tightly woven narrative with minimal overhead?

There are, of course, many other variations and hybrid approaches. Games like Pendragon offer their own takes on advancement, blending elements of these three models in novel ways. Other games, like classic Traveller, all but eschew mechanical advancement altogether. Nevertheless, these three remain, I think, the primary modes by which roleplaying games have handled the question of character growth.

As always, I am probably forgetting one (or more!) obvious examples of alternate approaches to advancement. If you know of a system that doesn’t fall easily into any of these categories or otherwise deviates from the scheme I've laid out here, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

A Plan Takes Shape

Elsewhere, I take a bit more about the Grognardia anthologies I've been pondering. If this is something that interests you, consider following the link below to share your thoughts. I'd appreciate that.

A Plan Takes Shape by James Maliszewski

Where Things Stand with the Grognardia Anthologies

Read on Substack

Retrospective: The Gauntlet

Released in 1984, module UK4, The Gauntlet concludes the two-part series begun in The Sentinel. Like much of TSR UK’s output, it blends folklore, moral nuance, and grounded fantasy with a strong sense of pacing and player choice. Written by Graeme Morris, The Gauntlet stands out for its attempt to transform the traditional gameplay of Dungeons & Dragons into something more focused on infiltration, diplomacy, and layered conflict than on brute-force dungeon crawling. By and large, it's successful.

At the heart of the adventure is the conflict between two ancient magical gloves: the Sentinel and the Gauntlet. Both were created long ago during a struggle for control over the Keep of Adlerweg, a key fortress in the contested region. The evil Gauntlet was forged to destroy the keep, prompting its defenders to create the Sentinel in opposition. Over time, both artifacts were lost and forgotten.

Recently, the Gauntlet has resurfaced, discovered by an ogrillon – the Fiend Folio strikes again! – who becomes enslaved to its malevolent will. Under its influence, he has taken control of Adlerweg and begun building a base of power. As part of a larger plan, the Gauntlet seeks to transfer itself to a more powerful wielder and has kidnapped the daughter of a local fire giant to that end.

The player characters enter the adventure as the bearers of the Sentinel, obtained either in the previous module (or through an alternate means in the event The Sentinel was not played). Drawn to Adlerweg to oppose the growing evil, the characters begin their journey with a detour to a village recently destroyed by gnolls. Though unconnected to the main storyline, the encounter emphasizes the region’s growing instability. A wounded gnoll chieftain offers incomplete and possibly misleading information about events at the keep.

However, the core of the module is the infiltration of the keep itself. A frontal assault is nigh impossible, but the Sentinel reveals a forgotten passage inside, now inhabited by giant ants and laced with traps. This portion of the module is open-ended and rewards stealth, planning, and creativity. The upper levels are occupied by gnolls, an ogre, and the aforementioned ogrillon. Morris provides strong guidance on enemy behavior and the keep’s defenses, making this portion of the scenario quite compelling. It's a nice change of pace from the usual dungeon delving.

Eventually, the keep is besieged, not by the Gauntlet’s forces, but by the furious fire giant and his army, seeking vengeance for his kidnapped daughter. The ogrillon, meanwhile, has hidden himself and the Gauntlet within a magical prison. The players must organize the keep’s defenses, rally any surviving allies, and survive the assault long enough to broker an uneasy peace. Though the attackers number nearly 200, this isn’t a battle meant to be won through force of arms. Instead, it’s a test of timing, survival, and negotiation. The climax involves penetrating the magical prison to confront the ogrillon and release the fire giant’s daughter. It's good stuff, especially for a module written in 1984.

The module's illustrations, once again by Peter Young, are not very good. They're slightly better than those in The Sentinel, but still amateurish in my opinion. Paul Ruiz's maps, however, are attractive and quite usable. Because of its layered structure and multiple factions, the adventure demands a confident and experienced DM, capable of managing them all. This isn’t a flaw so much as a barrier to entry. Like many of TSR UK's modules, The Gauntlet favors subtlety over spectacle. It possesses a quiet confidence and clarity of vision that sets it apart. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's probably the best TSR UK adventure and a fine example of how AD&D can support narrative depth without sacrificing challenge or player freedom.

Barrows & Borderlands

A reader recently pointed me toward Barrows & Borderlands, a charming OD&D-inspired game that began life over a decade ago as a high school 5e campaign. Since then, it’s evolved into something truly unique. I highly recommend following the link above to learn more, but I especially encourage you to watch the short video below featuring the game’s creator, Matthew Tapp. In it, he shares the story of how B&B came to be.

What makes the video particularly heartening (especially for old-timers like me) is that Matthew and his group are young players who discovered the pleasures of old-school play entirely on their own. I was also delighted to see the video was filmed at the Green Dragon, a game store in Charleston, South Carolina that I visited in my youth, where I bought my copy of the D&D Companion set (though it now seems to be in a different location).

If you’ve got a few minutes, give it a watch. It’s well worth your time.

The Articles of Dragon: "Presenting the Suel Pantheon"

No one should mistake my many misgivings about Deities & Demigods for a disdain for its subject matter. On the contrary, I've long been fascinated by the treatment of gods and religion in roleplaying games. In fact, it's precisely because of that deep interest that I find Deities & Demigods so lacking. It simply isn't a very compelling or thoughtful exploration of these topics, especially when compared to works like Cults of Prax or Cults of Terror.

That said, I was nonetheless an avid reader of Gary Gygax’s “Deities & Demigods of the World of Greyhawk” series in the pages of Dragon magazine. My appreciation for it was twofold. First, I enjoyed learning more about Gygax’s setting than was revealed in the original folio edition. Second and more importantly, the series made a greater effort than Deities & Demigods to describe the beliefs and practices of the worshipers of these divine beings. It wasn’t perfect, of course; these weren’t theological treatises. Still, they went farther than most in offering a sense of the gods’ societal roles within the Flanaess, rather than simply listing their hit points and powers.

Gygax's "Deities & Demigods of the World of Greyhawk" ran for only five installments, the last appearing in issue #71 (March 1983). At the time, I had the impression that there were many more gods yet to be detailed, but that Gygax was simply too busy with other projects to continue the series himself. That’s why, when issue #86 (June 1984) introduced a new series of Greyhawk-related deities, I was pleased. This time, the articles were penned not by Gygax but by Lenard "Len" Lakofka, and they focused exclusively on the gods of a single human ethnic group in the setting: the Suel (or Suloise). The first installment covered just two gods, Lendor and Norebo.

There was much to admire in this second series. Lakofka had a distinct voice, quite different from Gygax’s, and that difference came through clearly in his descriptions of the Suel deities. One of the things I appreciated most was his greater inclusion of snippets of mythology, like hints at familial and other relationships among the gods. That gave the pantheon a sense of internal coherence and realism often missing from Gygax’s portrayals (a few notable exceptions notwithstanding). Instead of presenting the gods as a collection of isolated and artificially constructed figures, Lakofka tied them together, both to each other and to the world they inhabited. They felt more like a genuine pantheon than anything in the original Gygaxian series.

Another strength of the series was the way it framed these deities as being venerated by a particular culture and ethnic group. That felt more authentic to me. Historically, religions are usually deeply rooted in specific peoples and regions rather than being universally applicable or interchangeable, a tendency too often seen in fantasy settings. Of course, there are many historical examples of syncretism and interpretatio graeca – phenomena I both admire and have incorporated into my Secrets of sha-Arthan setting – but these are rarely explored in RPGs, where religion is typically presented in a dull, mechanical fashion. Lakofka’s articles didn’t completely avoid those pitfalls, but they were a marked improvement over most of their contemporaries. That’s why I still hold them in high regard today.

Simple Starships

Though the two are separate things with their own distinct focuses, there are times when I think readers of this blog will be interested in what I'm doing over at Grognardia Games Direct. Today's post is one of them, especially since I'm soliciting feedback on a proposed revision to the rules of Thousand Suns. 

Simple Starships by James Maliszewski

Work on Thousand Suns, Second Edition Begins

Read on Substack

Kumbaya

As you’ve probably guessed from the kinds of posts I’ve been writing lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how the hobby has changed, not just since I was young, but in more recent years, too.

In my younger days, what bound us together wasn’t ideology or identity or even agreement. It was something much simpler and, I think, more powerful: a shared love of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and roleplaying games. We didn’t always see eye to eye. We didn’t always get along, but we read the same dog-eared books (gaming and otherwise), argued about alignment and racial level limits, and gathered around the same tables to roll dice. That was enough.

We were a ragtag lot, diverse not so much in the narrow, contemporary demographic sense (though that too, to a degree), but in personality, taste, and temperament. There were the older, bearded guys who got their start with Tactics; the teenagers who smelled like patchouli and wore jackets covered in band patches; the metalheads, the comic book obsessives, the Tolkien scholars-in-training, the stoners, the would-be novelists, and that one guy who knew way too much about the Wehrmacht’s order of battle in 1944 and wouldn’t stop bringing it up. Somehow, we all managed to coexist – or at least we played together and that, I think, is its own kind of getting along.

What I find disheartening now is how often that spirit seems absent. There’s a growing impulse, coming from multiple directions, to draw hard lines about what’s acceptable to play, read, like, or even talk about without a disclaimer. I’m not talking about politics, at least not primarily. I mean the way taste itself is increasingly treated as a moral signal. “You still play Empire of the Petal Throne? What’s wrong with you?” Or: “You’re using Mörk Borg? That’s not real old school.” I’ve heard both this year, more than once, along with others, just as silly.

There’s nothing wrong with preferences. No one should be shamed or pressured into liking what they don’t like. That was true in 1982 and it’s true now. Back then, plenty of people I knew scoffed at Arduin or rolled their eyes at RuneQuest. I’m not going to pretend we didn’t argue fiercely about whether, for example, spell slots or spell points were “better.” That kind of good-natured rivalry was part of the fun. Even now, I enjoy lobbing the occasional jab in the direction of certain games or game mechanics. I’m not claiming the moral high ground.

However, I think there’s a difference between ribbing your friend for liking Rolemaster and declaring that certain games, creators, or communities are beyond the pale and that merely engaging with them puts you under suspicion. That’s not rivalry. That’s excommunication. It's coming from all sides. Depending on who's speaking, the OSR is either a toxic boys' club of crypto-fascists or a co-opted safe space for woke poseurs who don’t really “get” old games. Try saying that not every game choice is a political act and that maybe you just like what you like and you’ll find yourself viewed with suspicion by both camps.

It's exhausting and, frankly, it's absurd.

When I was a kid, the fact that someone played Chivalry & Sorcery instead of AD&D might earn a few barbs, but no one was exiled. No one cared whether you thought the best sci-fi RPG was Traveller, Space Opera, or Universe (even though it's obviously Traveller). If you were into Tunnels & Trolls, sure, we might’ve thought you were a little weird, but you were our kind of weird. You were one of us. You knew where the lavatories were on the USS Enterprise. You could quote Monty Python and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy from memory. You subscribed to Dragon and read every page, even the fiction. You liked pretending to be a wizard or a starship captain or a mutant with a laser rifle. That was enough.

I miss that.

I’m not arguing that we all need to agree. We never did and, honestly, that was part of the joy – the clashes, the rivalries, the heated debates about initiative systems and critical hits. There’s a difference in my opinion between spirited disagreement and gatekeeping disguised as virtue. The hobby is big, messy, and contradictory. It always has been; that’s part of what makes it beautiful.

We could all stand to be a little more charitable, a little less quick to sort people into boxes, a little more willing to extend the benefit of the doubt. Curiosity, not conformity, is what brought most of us here in the first place.

When you strip away the noise, we’re all still what we’ve always been – Weirdos.

[Comments are now closed. Don't worry: there will be several new posts coming in the days to come that I am sure were generate just as many arguments. —JDM]

Campaign Updates: Ghosts of the Past

All three campaigns have been forging ahead into new areas, most especially House of Worms, which is rapidly nearing its ultimate conclusion after a decade and a half of regular play. Though I can't say for certain when the End will finally come, I feel pretty confident in predicting that things will wrap up by the end of the summer at the absolute latest. 

Barrett's Raiders

Having left Fort Lee after several days there, Military Liaison Group 7 once again took to the highways, heading in the direction of Fort Pickett, their next designated stop. Upon arrival, the comparison between the two USMEA bases couldn't have been starker. Where Fort Lee had multiple blockades and checkpoints, as well as a large refugee zone outside its walls, Fort Pickett had none of this. The characters' vehicles were inspected at the gate and, once Col. Orlowski identified himself and explained they'd been sent by USMEA command in Norfolk, they were directed to the security office. There, they signed in, received their visitor badges, and given further directions to the office of the commanding office, Col. Edward Franks.

The name of the CO was familiar to Lt. Tom Cody. He'd served with Franks in the infantry before the war, though, at that time, he was a captain. Franks was pleased to see Cody, though he was more than a little shocked to see him wearing lieutenant's bars. Cody explained the circumstances of his field promotion and the two caught up on what they'd been doing since they last served together. Franks soon showed himself to be a fairly no-nonsense officer who didn't place much stock in formalities. He also suggested that he'd heard about events at Fort Lee, intimating that he didn't think much of its CO, General Summers, whom he referred to as a "desk general."

Col. Franks then offered to assist MLG-7 in any way that he could. Orlowski explained they were simply passing through before heading north toward their ultimate destination at Fort Meade. Franks laughed at this, saying that only USMEA would send them west so that they could go north. Orlowski did his best not to speak poorly of his superiors in reply. Franks then asked if he could ask a favor of MLG-7. He said that some of his winter grain supplies, sent in from western Virginia, had been spoiling at an unusually quick rate. The same was true of several other USMEA bases. He asked Col. Orlowski if he and his men would keep an eye out for any information about this as they traveled.

Orlowski agreed to do so and Frank added that he'd put them in touch with some of his medical staff and agronomists. They would brief MLG-7 on the nature of this strange affliction, in the hopes that it might help them in their own investigation. Once Orlowski returned to the others and explained what Franks had told him, Vadim stepped forward and announced, "This looks like the effects of a Soviet bioweapon." Before Orlowski had a chance to respond, Michael stepped forward and said, "I don't think you should be saying any more about this. The Colonel isn't cleared for that." 

Dolmenwood

Father Horsely directed the characters to the Merry Mendicant Inn as a place to stay the night. The characters made their way there and took several rooms for the night, with Falin sharing a room with Emelda, in order to be certain that nothing ill befell her during the night. Unfortunately, that proved insufficient protection. In the morning, Emelda was nowhere to be seen and there was no evidence that she'd left the room either by the front door or the window. 

The characters split up, looking throughout the Woodcutters' Encampment for signs of Emelda. One group interrogated the inn's proprietress, who explained that, during the night, a "strange woman with eyes like saucers" did come into the common room. She said nothing and everyone steered clear of her on account of the "odd feeling" she engendered upon any he looked at her. The woman spent maybe 10 or 15 minutes in the common room, staring at the stairs leading to the sleeping quarters before leaving as mysteriously as she came. Meanwhile, another group questioned the town guard, who did not see Emelda during the night, because they were too busy fending off an attack by "bog corpses" – dead bodies reanimated by black magic that sometimes wander into the Camp.

In combination, this convinced Waldra that something unpleasant had happened while they were asleep. Talking to Father Horsely revealed that the woodcutters have legends about "the Hag," a repulsively ugly old woman who was once a fairy princess, the sister of the Queen of Blackbirds, in fact. For her obsession with meddling in mortal affairs and interest in death and decay, she was cursed to age but never die. Exiled from Fairy, she now dwelt among the mortals that so interested her, where she has since been a source of much mischief. Of course, Father Horsely didn't believe in the existence of the Hag. Waldra, however, wasn't so sure. Indeed, she began to worry that perhaps the Hag was responsible for the disappearance of Emelda, either for her own purposes or to use as a bargaining chip in trying to lift the curse her sister had placed upon her.

House of Worms

Chiyé's summoning of the spirit of the First Tlakotáni, the founder of Tsolyánu more than two millennia ago, worked surprisingly well. This worried Chiyé somewhat, as his sorcery usually could not conjure the spirit of one so long dead. By all rights, their spirit-soul should have passed either to the Isles of Teretané or to one of the various hells of the gods to punish those who'd transgressed their laws. The Tlakotáni explained that Chiyé was indeed correct in his assumption, but that, in his case, his spirit lingered as a consequence of the pact he made with the One Other so long ago. Much like the One Other himself, he was bound to Tékumel. In fact, his fate was linked to that of the One Other. So long as the one remained bound, so too would the other.

That is why he begged the characters to free the One Other. Only by doing so could Tsolyánu be freed from the dire consequences of his arrogance. The First Tlakotáni explained that he had hoped, by using ancient Llyáni rights, to force the One Other to protect Avanthár and, by extension, Tsolyánu from ever falling. His desire to ensure the empire he had founded would never suffer the fate of Engsvanyálu before it had blinded him to the fact that doing so would ossify Tsolyánu forever. His empire would never fall, it's true, but neither would it change or improve. It would be trapped in a kind of living death, one where stability and tradition stifled creativity and growth. The time had come for History to reassert itself, for the One Other to be freed.

Needless to say, this thought concerned the characters, but, after some discussion, they realized that this was a gamble they were willing to take. Better to end the connection between the One Other and Avanthár than to see either Dhich'uné ascend the Petal Throne through trickery or Eselné to do so through violence. They then sought out Prince Táksuru, told him what they had learned, and asked for his aid. Though reluctant at first, he agreed to assist them, calling upon his contacts within the Temple of Ksárul to open a nexus point just outside of Avanthár, one close to a hidden entrance into the ancient fortress. He also provided them with a device that would temporarily suspend its defenses to allow entrance. Once inside, though, they were on their own and would have to find a way past its many guardians to locate the supposed prison of the One Other – if it even existed.

Táksuru bid them farewell. He stated that he did not expect to see them again and prayed that the Weaver of Skeins would smile upon their efforts. What they were attempting was madness, but, given that Tsolyánu was currently waiting to see which of two madmen might become its new emperor, perhaps there was no other way. For his part, Nebússa said that, if they should fail, it was up to Táksuru to carry the day. He felt the young man would make a fine successor to his father, Hirkáne. With that, the characters stepped through the nexus point.