Grow Old Gaming
My thoughts, opinions, ramblings, on 30 plus years of gaming. What I'm doing now, have done, and intend to do. A place for me to let what’s inside pour out to the universe.
Saturday, October 31, 2026
Wednesday, October 28, 2026
The Orchard Beneath The Hill
The Orchard Beneath the Hill
AI has been used in the creation of this post.
The bell rang beneath the earth.
Pella Briar heard it as she stood before the pear tree that grew where no tree had right to grow.
Its pale roots cracked the floor of an ancient chamber forty steps beneath the orchard. Green fruit hung from its branches, though no sun had touched them in a hundred years.
One pear was black.
Kester Dun shifted his shield.
“I dislike that fruit.”
“You dislike most things underground,” said Torren Clay.
“I have excellent judgement.”
Ysra Nettle was kneeling beside the tree. Her fingers hovered over the earth without touching it.
“This soil was brought here,” she said. “And there’s stone beneath it.”
Then came the sound again.
Ding.
Not from the branches.
From below.
Pella stared at the roots.
For eleven nights she had dreamed of this place.
A tree beneath the world.
A light in darkness.
And a voice whispering:
Pella Briar. Bring a light. They have opened the wrong door.
Now she had found the tree.
She wished she had not.
They found blood on an old door.
Bare footprints leading into a passage from which no footprints returned.
Salt scattered across another corridor.
Something scratched behind a sealed door.
And beneath the tree, something knocked.
Three times.
The first expedition had numbered four.
Only Harl had returned to the surface, barefoot and speechless, carrying a green pear.
The others were still below.
Or something wearing their faces was.
They found Mara first.
She came barefoot along the passage with a pear clutched in both hands.
Behind Pella, Harl—whom they had found wounded beyond a secret wall—looked upon her and screamed.
“That is not Mara!”
Mara cursed him.
“He ate one!”
“She buried Joss!”
“Joss was dead!”
Then the bells rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Far below, stone doors opened.
The dungeon awakened.
Joss came next.
He looked human.
That was the worst of it.
He begged through an iron-bound doorway. He wept. He called Mara’s name.
Then Harl shouted:
“Make him show you his mouth!”
Joss smiled.
His teeth were black.
He charged.
Kester met him with the shield.
Pella’s mace struck Joss across the skull hard enough to kill a living man.
He fell.
Then rose again.
Black pulp ran from his mouth.
Behind him the wall split, and pale hands emerged between roots.
Pella did not chase.
“Hold.”
They held.
When the things came, fire drove them back.
That was the first useful truth the dungeon gave her.
Pella remembered it.
They found Fenna crawling in the passage later.
A black pear grew between her teeth.
Around her scuttled pale things no longer than a man’s forearm.
They looked like maggots until they unfolded.
Then one saw the tiny human hands along their bellies.
Torren stared.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Pella thrust a torch forward.
The creatures recoiled.
So the company advanced.
Shield.
Torch.
Mace.
Steel.
Fire.
Step by deliberate step they drove the horrors backward toward the underground orchard.
The things shrieked and fled from the flames.
Fenna crawled with them.
At the tree, something beneath the roots seized her ankles.
She vanished screaming into the darkness.
Pella looked at the black pear still hanging overhead.
“Burn it.”
Oil struck the roots.
Flame followed.
The underground tree screamed with many voices.
They thought they had killed it.
They had merely driven it deeper.
Beyond hidden chambers lay a Green House beneath the hill, filled with pale herbs and ancient glass.
Keeper Ansel waited there.
She had tended that place for forty-three years.
She did not look old enough.
When Pella asked why, Ansel unwrapped her hand.
White roots showed beneath the skin.
There Pella learned the name of the man who had created the horror.
Master Edrin Vale.
Physician.
Scholar.
Fool.
Vale had discovered a strange tree whose sap could delay death.
Vitae stock.
It would not restore the dead.
It merely persuaded death to wait.
Vale had not been satisfied.
He grafted pear onto vitae.
The vitae preserved.
The pear multiplied.
And the dead remembered.
The result had become something neither plant nor corpse.
It grew through flesh.
It fed on memory.
It spoke with stolen voices.
Vale’s final notes contained one warning above all others:
KEEP ONE LIGHT.
And beneath the Green House waited the reason.
They descended.
At an old landing sat a dead watcher.
It spoke in Pella’s own voice.
“Not that way.”
It pointed toward a door that did not exist on Vale’s maps.
Pella stared at it.
“What lies beyond?”
“Safety.”
Kester spat.
Pella barred the creature behind an iron grille and continued down the proper stair.
The watcher sang after them in Pella’s voice.
They found Elen Varrow upon a stone bed.
She had been young when Vale began his experiments.
Generations had passed since then.
She had not.
A white lamp burned beside her.
Her eyes opened.
“You came.”
Her voice was her own.
That mattered.
Beyond her chamber stood an iron door marked:
CISTERN
Something hammered upon it.
Elen told them the truth.
“The colony feeds from me.”
Beneath her stone bed ran the white root of the original vitae.
Wrapped around it were black-veined tendrils.
The colony had grafted itself onto the woman and fed upon her life for decades beyond counting.
“Cut it away,” Elen said.
“And if we cut the white root?”
“I die.”
The cistern door shook.
THOOM.
Pella knelt.
Ysra guided her.
Torren gave her a narrow blade.
They cut black from white.
Tendril by tendril.
The thing beyond the door battered the iron.
THOOM.
Kester braced his shield against it.
“Soon!”
Black sap welled beneath Pella’s fingers.
The graft tightened.
She dug her fingers beneath it.
Ysra gripped beside her.
Together they tore.
The knot came free with a wet ripping sound.
The pounding stopped.
Elen breathed.
“I’m still here.”
But the dark root withdrew through the floor.
Downward.
Toward its heart.
The cistern was vast.
Roots covered the walls.
Bones lay inside them.
Faces protruded from bark.
At the centre squatted a black mass wrapped around an iron tank.
And from that mass grew a pear six feet long.
It breathed.
The voices began.
Joss.
Fenna.
Strangers.
Pella herself.
“Don’t burn us.”
She poured oil.
The thing tried Elen’s voice.
“Pella, wait.”
She poured more.
Then came Vale’s voice.
Soft.
Old.
“Please.”
Pella lifted the torch.
The colony spoke with a hundred mouths.
“WE CAN KEEP YOU.”
Pella dropped the flame.
Fire raced across the roots.
The black pear convulsed.
Men screamed from inside it.
Women.
Children.
The dead.
Perhaps memories only.
Perhaps something worse.
Pella did not run.
Not yet.
She watched until fire entered the root mass itself.
Until the great pear split.
Until flame burst from within.
Torren shouted from the ramp:
“It has taken!”
Kester seized Pella’s arm.
“Now!”
They ran.
Behind them the colony burned.
And through the screaming came one last voice.
Not pleading.
Not threatening.
Vale.
“Thank you.”
Then the cistern fell in upon itself.
Elen survived.
When Pella asked what she wanted, the ancient woman gave no speech of destiny or immortality.
“I want to see the sky.”
So they carried her upward.
Through smoke.
Past the watcher.
Across the chamber where the underground orchard burned.
The ceiling cracked.
Roots fell.
Buried things fled from their torches.
Still they climbed.
At last rain touched Pella’s face.
Then Elen’s.
The woman who had lived beneath stone longer than kingdoms endured looked upward at grey clouds.
A bird crossed the evening sky.
Elen wept.
“Cold,” she whispered.
Ysra laughed.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The farmer had promised sixty silver pennies.
Torren considered this after hearing the full account.
“No.”
The farmer blinked.
“No?”
Torren pointed toward the smoking hole in his orchard.
“We have fought dead men, hand-maggots, murderous pears and a root monster made from several generations of corpses.”
He paused.
“One hundred.”
They received one hundred.
That night there was ale.
Hot meat for those who ate it, stew and bread for the rest.
Beds.
A roof.
No bells.
Pella counted her silver.
Kester raised his mug.
“To surviving the first delve.”
Torren lifted his.
“To getting paid.”
Ysra said:
“To knowing when to burn the tree.”
Pella drank.
Then she looked at Kester.
“You lead the next one.”
Kester nearly choked.
Around the table laughter rose.
Beyond the windows the rain fell softly over the hills.
And beneath those hills, in places where no bell had yet rung and no torch had yet shone, old doors waited in the dark.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Online Play. Play by Post D&D 5e. DnDBeyond!
If you have not ventured there yet, I very highly recommend it. It can be a bit hard to get into a game, but if you're willing to DM one, you will have a torrent of people wanting to play whit you :)
I have tired Play By Post a few times before on other forums but the activity is way too low and most games never really get off the gourd or the peter out and die quickly. This is not true of all games of course, but I have only had one really cool fun enduring game over the last 2 years on other forums.
DnDBeyond (as long as you are happy with playing D&D 5e, home brew or other wise) is super active and I am currently DM'ing two games and playing in two run by other DM's.
All of this happened only two weeks after signing up to the DnDBeyond site and browsing the Play By Post thread!
Have I typed DnDBeyond enough yet?
One of the games I am running is a procedurally generated wilderness/dungeon based on the movie Labyrinth.
If you have not seen it yet, do! It's amazing.
I am using the Mythic GM Emulator to create the adventure. It's all random, not planned at all and we are having a blast. It's very old school. Here is my pitch for the Play By Post forum;
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Proof! - Watched from the woods...
At Wood Manor: The next morning.
The trio wakes and begins searching the exterior of the Manor and the grounds for any further clues.
I review the characters abilities;
Retired professor / Middle school history teacher Defining Trait / Narrow Trait [+3], Local history buff: Massachusetts Narrow Trait [+3], Good eye for detail Broad Trait [+1], Keen intuition Broad Trait [+1].
Leonard Wixom
Idle Rich Dilettante Broad Trait [+1], Thrill Seeker Defining Trait / Broad Trait [+1], Family Owns Half of Massachusetts Broad Trait [+1], Worldly Broad Trait [+1]
Deborah Wood
College Student: History Broad Trait [+1], Unknown but Talented Artist Narrow Trait [+3], Socialite Broad Trait [+1], YachtswomenNarrow Trait [+3]
I decide which Skills / Traits are appropriate for the search.
Margaret has a Good Eye for Detail, and Keen Intuition, the usefulness of these are pretty self evident in searching and investigating.
Leonard has Worldly, he has seen and done and seen a thing or two in his time, probably some quite shady stuff. So he may have useful input and insight into situations involving kidnapping.
Deborah is more difficult. I decide to let her use Socialite, much in the same way as Leonard's use for Worldly, but with a slight penalty as I feel it is a more limited form of worldliness.
So working with the Swords of Strange Aeons [SOSA] component I roll for their search.
Margaret: Good eye for detail - Skill Die 3+1 / Difficulty Die 6, Keen Intuition - Skill Die 4+1 / Difficulty Die 2.
Leonard: Worldly - Skill Die 5+1 / Difficulty Die 6.
Deborah: Socialite Skill Die 2+1-2 / Difficulty Die 1.
Margaret's intuition kicks in during the search with a result of 5 Vs 2. The difficulty die is beaten by three points. Not bad.
Both Leonard and Deborah have limited success by matching their skill roll to the difficulty die result.
Interpretation: The three friends have a light breakfast of coffee and toast, and discuss the details and possibilities that have emerged after finding that the manor had been cleaned in great detail. They find it hard to believe that a man who spends most of his time in his head like Charles would decide to give the house a good going over before disappearing.
They emerge from the manor, the sun rising slow and hot above the calm sea, its rays slanting across the yard. Dew still clings to the grass and the air is eerily still. The sun continues to climb into the sky as they search, from time to time someone passes by on foot walking towards town. They are all dressed in drab tough work clothes worn to a mottled grey.
They pass by, heads down, without any interest in the trio and what they are doing. Occasionally one does look up with a quick suspicious, or was it nervous, glance.
After a couple of hours searching they are ready to give up, no further evidence has turned up and they are sure that something bad happened to Charles, and had then been covered up.
Margaret takes one last look at the front of the manor, it's veranda, and the decorative slats concealing the supports underneath. It is then she imagines that a hurried or sloppy clean up may have missed anything that had slid through the widely space boards.
Leonard, reluctantly, volunteers to crawl under and in short time finds the congealed blood under the boards directly in front of the door.
Someone, probably Charles, had been hurt, badly. Their suspicions confirmed, the heartsick group begin to see the realities of the hard task before them.
Charles is in trouble.
Someone has covered it up.
The police are uncooperative.
The people in town, including their officials are hostile.
All of this, combined with the dark history of Rockport shakes their collective resolve.
They stand in the long grass, the dew of the morning now gone. Deborah openly weeps, Leonard consoles her with wet eyes, whilst Margaret eyes their surroundings. As Margaret's gaze drifts to the Town that hugs the shore of the bay below, her eyes rest upon the large complex of the cannery.
She turns to Deb and Leo and says, "I think we need to take a look at that cannery."
NPC's:
With the Mythic GM component of the rules I am using I ask a few questions that will frame the activities of the NPC's.
First up I believe that the detective that followed them form the station the day before would want to keep tabs on them.
I ask, "Is detective Henry Jones watching the group as they search the outside of the Manor?"
Deciding that is it LIKELY that he is I look at the Fate Chart and see for the current Chaos Rank of 8 the indicators are 19-95-100.
So 19 and below I would get an EXCEPTIONAL YES. For 20 to 95 a YES, and for 96 to 100 an EXCEPTIONAL NO.
I roll 76. YES Henry Jones is watching them.
Now I ask "Do the group notice him watching them?"
Deciding that,although they did notice someone following them yesterday evening and they are rightly suspicious of the towns people, they are so engrossed in their search that they are unlikely to notice the detective watching them form his concealed position.
Looking at the chart I see, 18-75-96. They still have an alarmingly high chance of spotting him. As the situation in Rockport becomes more chaotic loss of control becomes an ever more likely occurrence for the characters and the NPC's!
I roll 100! An EXCEPTIONAL NO. They are oblivious to his presence. Because this was an exceptional no, he also over hears Margaret mention checking out the cannery.
Now I need to know how deep Henry's involvement with the going s on in Rockport are.
I ask, "Is Henry Jones involved with the Rockport conspiracy?"
This seems LIKELY, he is a high ranking police officer and the power players in town seem to have some involvement and influence.
The chart lists 19-95-100. I roll 01!
He is in the thick of it. The idea that he is the son of the mayor and it is his founding, and very influential, family that run things in Rockport jumps into my mind.
So now the lead conspirators know their suspicions regarding Charles. They know that the cover up was unsuccessful, and they know what the groups next step will be.
Henry Jones definitely does not want them to find out what is going on at the cannery.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Sidetracked ! - Playing with rules. Making a game.
For the past week and a bit I have been distracted by an old labour of love.
I have been playing around with mechanics, rules, and settings since my early teens. Soon after discovering role playing, which super charged my already vivid imagination, I began to tinker with the rules I read and worked on my own legends, lore, and worlds.
I have half penned many different rules, bare bones and complex, in the decades since then. I experimented with d100 based stuff first of all, then had my stint of mucking around with the d20 systems. I have tired playing cards, coins, tarot cards, and narrative word game style conflict resolution.
They all sit in draws and on drives in various states of completion / abandonment.
So recently I dug up and read a d6 based game I started working on in 2011. It's very much in the old school vein. It's name is very bad, a 'Dad Joke' of the highest order, but it will not change. What I had was only a few pages of very rough ideas and rules, but that was enough for the bug to bite me again.
A few pages have grown to twenty, and today my first rough for a character sheet happened.
I want to create the game I imagined when first reading the rules for Red Box Dungeons and Dragons in my first year in high school back in 1984. The game and the friends I have made through it really changed my life.
The second premise, rules that only use six sided dice. Everyone can find some d6!
In this game I wanted all of the characters to become a stronger version of their core concept. As they level up Fighters become more fightier, Elves more Elfy, and so on. One of the things that disappointed me as I came to grips with the Red Box version of DnD was the blandness of the Demihuman characters as they grew more experienced. Even the Human core classes left a little to be desired.
Don't get me wrong though, I loved every minute of the game I played!
So now I get to write the rules, I have set out to give each of the Old School concepts for player characters their own flavour and flare. As they level their essence strengthens and this leads to a more concentrated and powerful archetype.
Play testing will show me how balanced they are, but to be honest balance not my goal. I am flying by the seat of my pants fuelled by the rule of cool. Thirteen year old me and my mates did not care, or even think about game balance. Fun, imagination and junk food were first and foremost in our minds.
Junk food may be of the table for 46 year old me, but fun and imagination are not :)
Anyway, enough rambling, if you're waiting on an update for my Horror Solo adventure it will be along soon.
For the time being here are a few bits and bobs of my recent work for you to have a look at.
If you would like to know more leave me a message and I can post some more details or maybe even send you a draft of the rules when I have enough written.
Always happy to talk games and game design with anyone :)
This is an early draft for a character sheet, I am going with hand draw all the way.
Printers and photocopiers were almost unheard of where I lived back then, and expensive if you could access them. I don't know about you, but pocket money was a rare privilege, so we did it all by hand most of the time.
It was all theatre of the mind back then:)
Level
|
Xp
Required
|
Benefit
|
1
|
0
|
As
per character creation guide. Max 1d6 Turning Points.
|
2
|
250
|
+
1 Skill. Second Breakfast.
|
3
|
500
|
+
1 Trait Die. Magic Resistance.
|
4
|
1000
|
Max
2d6 Turning Points.
|
5
|
2000
|
+
1 Skill. A Hearty Meal.
|
6
|
4000
|
+
1 Trait Die. Underfoot.
|
7
|
8000
|
Max
3d6 Turning Points.
|
8
|
16000
|
+
1 Skill. Hardy.
|
9
|
32000
|
+
1 Trait Die. Lucky.
|
10
|
64000
|
Max
4d6 Turning Points.
|
11
|
128000
|
+
1 Skill. Sure Shot.
|
12
|
256000
|
+
1 Trait Die. Artful Dodge.
|
Give us a yell if you are interested.
Cheers,
Don
