Longterm readers of my blog will know I’m a fan of sane levels of realism in my games (as opposed to insane levels of realism). While D&D, Pathfinder and the like contain orcs, dragons and demons that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t embrace a level of realism that makes the game better for the participants. (And by “better” I mean more enjoyable).
Glowering amid dark rumours and terrible stories of desperate adventure, death, betrayal and glimmering treasures squat the unutterably ancient halls of Gloamhold. This crumbling, benighted, haunted dungeon complex of unknown, but undeniably vast, extent is buried deep within the grim and brooding spray-drenched headland of the Mottled Spire. It is a place of legends, madness and death.
The two surviving, hideously deformed humans fled down the narrow passageway and some of the party gave chase. The passageway twisted and turned and eventually came out into the room featuring the low cyclopean wall surrounding the shaft leading deep down into the Mottled Spire’s living rock. Orm and Jeremiah reached the shaft at almost the same instance. Jeremiah’s keen eyesight picked out one of the party’s enemies staggering down the spiral stair girdling the shaft. A dagger flew from the rogue’s hand to strike the badly injured warrior. With only a small cry, the warrior tumbled into the shaft and was gone. Even Jeremiah’s keen ears did not hear the falling body land and this horrible realisation later led to much fevered conjecturing as to how far down the shaft actually descended.