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Age of Worms Interlude Six: Worms and War
Want to Follow Their Story?
Check out our Age of Worms Session Recaps and witness the Ruinlords’ struggle against the rising darkness!
The chamber was deep in shadow, except for the flickering light of the red candles set in haphazard circles across the floor. Wax pooled at their bases, spilling over and solidifying in rough, molten drips. The flames danced, creating an uneven glow that pulsed with life and death in equal measure. In the center of it all sat the Faceless One, cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees, his breathing slow and rhythmic.
He’d been sitting for hours, eyes closed, mind drifting through planes few dared venture into. He was still, like a statue carved from stone, untouched by time or mortal concerns. The faint echoes of distant screams drifted toward him, a dull chorus barely audible over the steady hum of his breath. It was the sound of death, of destruction—and he welcomed it as an old friend.
He sensed the disturbance before he heard it. The clash of metal, the desperate grunts, and the quick, final gasps as life fled the bodies outside his chamber. It didn’t faze him. He was accustomed to the violent sounds that came with his work. It was his world—a world of deals and debts paid in blood.
The door shuddered. He didn’t flinch. It shuddered again, this time harder, and still, he didn’t move, his face hidden behind his iron mask, unreadable, his breath unbroken. The door crashed open, kicked inward with a force that sent splinters flying. The drow Vaelin Sunshadow stormed into the room, his armor splattered in fresh blood, none of it his own. Drops of it slid down the polished steel, catching in grooves and seams, trickling in small rivers. His scimitar, slick with gore, dripped red onto the stone floor.
“Liar!” Vaelin’s voice filled the chamber, raw and ragged, seething with fury. His chest heaved, his eyes blazing with an intensity that almost matched the candles. “Betrayer!”
The Faceless One let out a slow breath, opening his eyes, the faint light glinting off the steel slits in his mask. He took his time, his gaze calm and measured as it fixed on Vaelin, absorbing the fury, the blood, the rage in front of him with a cool detachment. “You’re upset,” he said, his voice low and steady, calm as the surface of a lake.
“Upset?” Vaelin spat, stepping closer. The tip of his scimitar quivered, pointed at the Faceless One’s chest. “You think I’m upset?” He kicked aside one of the candles, and it toppled over, spilling melted wax across the floor.
The Faceless One slowly rose, his robes settling around him, their edges brushing the floor, stirring the stillness in the room. He took a single step forward, his head tilting in a gesture that might have been curiosity, or perhaps amusement. “The worms. Did they not perform as expected?”
Vaelin’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade, his knuckles white, his breath coming in harsh, uneven bursts. In a single stride, he was upon the Faceless One, his gloved hand snapping around the man’s throat, fingers digging into the fabric and metal with a force that trembled from the strain. “They killed everything,” he growled, his voice low, choked. “Everything. My people. My soldiers. They tore through them like they were nothing.”
The Faceless One’s eyes glinted beneath his mask, but his voice remained steady, unyielding. “Release me,” he said, his words sharp, measured. “Or I’ll take that hand off your arm.”
For a long, tense moment, Vaelin’s fingers stayed, pressing against the iron mask, his own breath loud in his ears, the taste of betrayal sharp and bitter on his tongue. His grip loosened, just slightly, and then he shoved the Faceless One back, hard, sending him stumbling a step before he regained his balance.
“Your green worms were supposed to kill the serpentfolk,” Vaelin spat. “That was the deal. Not my men. You’ve cursed us to fight a war on two fronts—serpentfolk and the worm-ridden dead. We were fighting a losing battle, and now we are surrounded on all sides because of you!”
The Faceless One straightened, his robes settling, his gaze never leaving Vaelin’s face. “The worms did as intended. They destroyed the serpentfolk, along with anyone else in their path.” He shrugged, the gesture casual, dismissive. “Collateral damage. It happens.”
Vaelin’s fury boiled over, his voice a hiss of barely controlled rage. “Collateral damage? My people are fighting for their very survival. They’re falling, dying, and for what? Because you unleashed these things without control, without care.”
The Faceless One remained impassive, his mask betraying no hint of remorse. He stepped closer, and his voice dropped, low, almost a whisper. “The Age of Worms is upon us. Your people are simply one of many in its path. They will not be the last.”
Vaelin’s hand trembled, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes met the Faceless One’s cold, unfeeling gaze, and he felt something snap, like a thread pulled too tight, stretched beyond breaking.
He lunged forward, his blade flashing in the red candlelight. He drove the scimitar forward, straight through the Faceless One’s chest, feeling the blade sink in, the resistance as it met bone and flesh. He twisted it, his face inches from the iron mask, his voice low and filled with venom. “You betrayed the wrong man.”
The Faceless One staggered, his gloved hand coming up to the wound, fingers curling around the hilt of the scimitar, dark blood seeping through his robes. He took a slow, shuddering breath, and then, with a soft cough, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, he stepped back, sliding himself off the blade. He looked down at the wound, examining it as if it were a minor inconvenience, a simple scratch.
He raised his head, his eyes meeting Vaelin’s, and his voice was calm, almost gentle. “My turn.”
Before Vaelin could react, pain exploded through his head, sharp and blinding, like a thousand shards of glass driving into his skull. His vision went white, and then red, his thoughts scattering, slipping away. His hand dropped the scimitar, fingers slack, numb. A scream clawed at his throat, but he couldn’t release it; his mouth opened, but no sound came.
And then, darkness.
Vaelin’s body collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his limbs twitching, spasming, before finally stilling. Blood seeped from his nose, his ears, and from the corners of his vacant, unseeing eyes. His skull remained whole—intact—but within, his brain had been reduced to a pulped ruin, liquefied by the raw force of the Faceless One’s will.
The Faceless One let out a slow breath, his gaze fixed on the corpse at his feet, the silence settling heavy and thick around him. He lowered himself to the floor, his knees bending, and he sank down cross-legged, the blood trickling from his wound, staining his robes, pooling beneath him.
He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing, steadying. The pain in his chest faded, the flesh knitting itself back together, mending, as he let his mind slip back into the depths, back into the stillness, the darkness.
The candles flickered, the shadows dancing, twisting, wrapping around him, and he was alone again, the silence absolute, unbroken, as he resumed his meditation.
Age of Worms Session Recap: Ruinlords vs The World
(Editor’s Note – Yes, I know the formatting keeps changing. I’m still trying to find a good fit, so please bear with me. Muchos appreciated.)
Previously…
The Ruinlords, a team of hardened warriors competing in the Champion’s Games, had just rescued their manager Ekalim from the Fixers when they found themselves face-to-face with Saint Alduin.
Want to Follow Their Story?
Check out our Age of Worms Session Recaps to see how the Ruinlords’ journey unfolds!
Audience with Saint Alduin
The fires of Tent City flickered and spat, throwing long, jagged shadows across the crowded streets. Laughter and drunken boasts drifted through the air, mixing with the scent of roasted meat and unwashed bodies. Then, like a candle snuffed in a storm, everything stopped.
A hush fell over the crowd, thick and unnatural. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Then came the light—blinding and gold, cutting through the night like a knife through soft flesh. Saint Alduin had arrived.
His armor gleamed as if it had been forged from the sun itself, every polished plate reflecting the flickering flames around him. The air seemed heavier, pressed down by something unseen but undeniable. His purple eyes swept across the gathered crowd, unreadable and knowing. And then, they found the Ruinlords.
“So,” he said, his voice smooth as oiled steel. “These are the Ruinlords.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. Not a sneer, not quite. Just amusement. He nodded, acknowledging their role in dragging the Helm of Titan’s Wrath back into the world. No gratitude. No condemnation. Just fact.
The Silver Flight—his knights, his disciples—had entered the Games not for the thrill but for something deeper. A test. The arena was a forge, and steel that failed the heat deserved to shatter. Weakness was not tolerated. Not by the arena. Not by him.
When he turned to leave, his parting words landed like a graveyard chill. “Tread lightly, Ruinlords. Fate’s a tricky beast, and I hate to see potential go to waste.”
The Feast of Aroden
Days later, at sunset, the arena gates yawned open, revealing the Feast of Aroden—a spectacle of gluttony and excess draped in gold and crimson. Banquet tables groaned under the weight of food, their surfaces slick with grease and spilled wine. Bonfires raged, flickering light catching the edges of polished armor, dancing across the jewels on noble fingers. The smell of roasting meat was thick, intoxicating, drowning out the distant coppery scent of old blood soaked into the arena sands.
Gladiators, merchants, and highborns alike took their places. And then came Loris Raknian.
He walked like he owned the world, his steps slow, measured, every inch of him reveling in the unspoken understanding that, in this place, he did. At his side sat Vixus, the reigning Champion, soaking in the crowd’s adoration like a man convinced he was untouchable.
Talabir Welik, referee of the Games, stepped forward, his voice steady as he recited the Rules of Battle. No betrayals. No flight. Surrender was respected. Death was expected.
Raknian raised his goblet. “Champions of Tymon,” he declared, and the arena roared in response. The feast had begun. But beneath the laughter, beneath the clinking of silverware and the slurred toasts, something cold slithered beneath the revelry. A tension. A watching.
Intrigues of the Evening
Raknian’s Interest: His eyes kept drifting to the Ruinlords, sharp and weighing. Not curiosity. No, this was the gaze of a man measuring meat before the butcher’s knife came down.
Ekalim’s Obsession: The Ruinlords’ coach, Ekalim Smallcask, barely touched his food. His eyes tracked Raknian like a hound that had caught the scent of something rotten.
Tirra’s Proposal: The rogue from Magnimar’s Gilded Claw came bearing an offer. A bet on the Ruinlords, with a generous cut of the winnings—if they could bring down Vixus’s Warband. The price? 2,500 gold up front. And one favor: If you fight them, don’t kill them.
Into the Coenoby
The feast ended, but the night did not. The Ruinlords descended into the Coenoby, the underground lair of gladiators awaiting their turn to bleed.
The air was thick. The walls sweat with the breath of too many men crowded in one place, each carrying the stink of fear and anticipation.
Guards stood at attention, ensuring no battles started before the Games officially began. But everyone knew: come dawn, steel and spell would rend flesh, and only a fraction of them would leave the sands walking.
A horn sounded in the distance, deep and hollow as a graveyard wind. Tomorrow, the blood would flow.
DAY ONE: The First Battle
Morning came slow, dragging itself over the city like a weary giant.
The matchups were posted. Gladiators huddled around, whispering, pointing. The heroes dance card was set:
- The Ruinlords
- The Crowned Conquerors – Arrogant nobles wrapped in wealth and magic, their true strength bought rather than earned. Their hired champion, the pugilist Pake Jaul, was the real threat.
- Sapphire Squad – Fighters from Absalom, slick as oil and twice as slippery. Their leader? A bard with a pirate’s heart and a cutthroat smile.
- The Mountain’s Fury – Three stone giants, their eyes burning with revenge for the death of their lord, Mokmurian.
One by one, the teams rose into the arena, lifted from the depths like condemned men brought to the gallows.
Talabir Welik’s voice rang out over the crowd, naming the warriors, sealing their fates. The stands erupted into cheers. Somewhere in that sea of voices, bets were placed, fortunes made and lost in the span of seconds.
The Battle Begins
The Ruinlords didn’t hesitate. Pake Jaul opened his mouth, and that was enough reason to strike first.
Tike Myson, grown to monstrous proportions, met Pake in the arena’s heart. Their fists collided, thunder on thunder, the crack of impact shaking the air. Around them, mages hurled fireballs, rays of searing light turning sand to glass.
But the Ruinlords weren’t just there to trade blows. Vaz’non answered fire with fire—a draconic inferno that swallowed the nobles whole. One moment, they stood, armored in arrogance. The next, they were charred husks, burnt offerings to the crowd’s hunger. The last survivor fell to his knees, surrendering with eyes wide and white with terror. Cal’s magic missiles ended any second thoughts.
Pake fought on, his fists landing like warhammers, but Tike was relentless. Bigger. Stronger. A wall of muscle and fury. The pugilist staggered, his final breath a gurgle of pain before his body hit the sand.
Across the battlefield, Dunner charged, closing the distance between him and the giants.
Vaz’non lit the way, a fireball blooming like a second sun above the Mountain’s Fury.
The giants, once content to pelt the Sapphire Squad with boulders, turned their attention toward the Ruinlords.
The ground trembled beneath their advance.
And the battle had only just begun.
Transform Your RPG Campaigns with South Park’s ‘Therefore/But’ Storytelling Method
If you’ve ever felt torn between running an immersive, player-driven campaign and sticking to the carefully crafted beats of a pre-written adventure path, you’re not alone. I’ve been experimenting with ways to strike that balance, and recently, I stumbled across a method from an unexpected source: South Park.
Yes, you read that right. Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s storytelling technique, the “Therefore/But” method, is great for tabletop RPGs like Pathfinder and Dungeons & Dragons. Inspired by a video (linked below), I’ve started using this approach to give my players more agency in what might otherwise feel like a “railroad” campaign. Here’s how it works and why you should try it too.
What Is the “Therefore/But” Method?
At its core, this method is about replacing boring, disconnected storytelling with something dynamic and meaningful.
- The Problem: Stories that rely on “and then” lack cohesion and depth. (“The players fought some goblins, and then they found treasure, and then they moved to the next town.”)
- The Fix: Swap “and then” for “therefore” (cause and effect) or “but” (conflict/obstacle). This simple shift creates interconnected narratives where events flow naturally and feel significant.
Why It Works for RPGs
As a GM, you’re not just telling a story—you’re reacting to a living, breathing world shaped by your players. The “Therefore/But” method is perfect for this because it builds on player choices, making their actions feel impactful and driving the story in unexpected directions.
There are definite perks to using this technique:
- Player Investment: Players are more engaged because their choices have visible consequences.
- Simplified Prep: GMs can focus on the big picture and improvise based on the players’ decisions, rather than over-preparing every detail.
- Surprises for Me: As a GM, this method makes the story unpredictable in the best way.
How to Apply the Method
Here’s how to use it as part of your GM prep:
- Start with Broad Story Beats: Outline major milestones—like the villain’s ultimate plan or key artifacts the party must recover.
- Let the Players Drive the Details: Instead of railroading them toward specific outcomes, let their actions and decisions shape the journey.
- Use “Therefore” and “But” to Evolve the Story: For every choice they make, ask yourself:
- What changes in the world as a result? (Therefore…)
- What new challenges arise from this? (But…)
Tips for Using “Therefore/But”
- Lean on NPCs: NPCs are a great way to show cause and effect. Did the party spare an enemy? Therefore, that NPC might warn them about an ambush. Did they steal from a merchant? But now they’ve got a bounty on their heads.
- Foreshadow the Domino Effect: Drop hints about how the world is changing. For example, if a town is burned during a battle, the refugees might crop up later, needing help—or seeking revenge.
- Be Flexible: Sometimes, your carefully planned “therefore” or “but” will get derailed by players’ actions. Roll with it! The method thrives on improvisation.
Transforming Railroad Adventures
One of the coolest things about this method is how well it fits into pre-written campaigns. Adventure paths often feel linear, but by weaving in “therefore” and “but,” you can create the illusion of a player-driven story.
For example:
- The villain flees after a failed battle, but leaves behind cryptic plans that spark new quests.
- The party defeats a bandit leader, therefore a rival gang moves in to take control.
Even in a structured campaign, these cause-and-effect moments make the story feel alive.
Why You Should Try It
Incorporating the “Therefore/But” method can make your sessions more vibrant and collaborative. Players constantly ask, “What happens next?”—and even the GM won’t always know! That unpredictability keeps the game fresh for everyone.
If you’re tired of predictable storytelling or feeling trapped by your own prep work, give this method a shot. It might just transform how you run your games.
Check out the video (linked below) for more inspiration, and let me know in the comments: How do you balance structure and player agency in your campaigns? Let’s swap ideas and make our stories unforgettable.
Pathfinder Session Recap: Saints and Sinners
In our latest Pathfinder – Age of Worms campaign session (Editor’s Note: that’s Session 41 for the three of you keeping track), the party’s journey to Tymon for the Champion’s Games took an unexpected turn, plunging them into a tense encounter with desperate mercenaries and unveiling ominous glimpses of the larger threats lurking in the shadows. From a chaotic battle at a forest encampment to the chilling arrival of Saint Alduin and whispers of dark conspiracies surrounding Loris Raknian, this session was packed with drama, danger, and revelations.
For those so inclined, you can find more of our Age of Worms session summaries on our World Anvil page HERE!
The Fixers’ Camp
The day started simply enough. A quiet road, the kind of road that doesn’t give much back—just dirt and trees and the occasional bird. But then Cal’s eyes caught it: a little glint in the dirt, something small that didn’t belong. A poker chip from the Wavestone. That’s the funny thing about small things—they can drag a person into big trouble. Many of the passengers aboard the Wavestone had travelled this road the past day. However, only one had spent enough time in the Wavestone’s casino to still have a poker chip to his name – the Ruinlord’s coach/manager Ekalim Smallcask.
The trail wound into the woods, opening into a clearing that smelled like smoke, oil and desperation. Gears, vials, and half-finished machines littered the place like a junkyard for broken dreams. And there they were, the Fixers—a gang of tinkering misfits who’d bitten off more than they could chew. In the middle of it all was Ekalim, tied to a post but warning the Fixers that they wouldn’t like the outcome if his team were to find him.
The Ruinlords found him. The Fixers didn’t like the outcome.
Tike, Dunner, and Alfie tried to talk their way out of a fight, but Tike’s stare—the kind of thing that makes your skin itch—didn’t do them any favors. The Fixers twitched like over-wound clocks, and then everything unravelled. The fight was short, sharp, and mean like most fights are. When it was over, the ground was soaked, the air stank of burnt metal, and the Fixers were done—most of them dead, one tied to the same post as Ekalim. Fair’s fair, after all.
In the quiet after the storm, the party searched the camp while Ekalim, shaking off his bonds, muttered something about the Fixers’ debts and how the people they owed wouldn’t take kindly to losing their muscle. His voice wavered just enough to let the Ruinlords know he believed it.
Arrival at Tent City
The road ended at Tymon, where the city rose like a promise or a threat—maybe both. The walls were high, the banners snapping in the wind, and the noise was relentless: the clatter of merchants, the shouts of gladiators, the hum of a place that knew something big was coming. Tent City sprawled outside the gates like a carnival gone to seed, colorful and chaotic, with the kind of tension that clings to the skin.
At the Dusty Pavilion, the party met Tessara, a half-elf former gladiator with a bad limp, a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, and Gorik, a dwarf who looked like he could pour a drink and break a nose in the same motion. While Ekalim went off to “gather information” (whatever that meant), Cal leaned on magic to dig deeper into the shadows. What came up wasn’t pretty. Loris Raknian, the man behind the Champion’s Games, was a name people didn’t say too loud. They talked about a ruthless man who feared getting old and kept his grip on power by whatever means necessary. But the whispers went deeper, darker.
Saint Alduin’s Arrival
And then came the night.
The fires of Tent City flickered, casting shadows that twisted and stretched as the crowd pulsed with life. It felt safe enough, or at least safer than it had any right to. But that was before the air changed before the hum of voices stopped dead like the whole place had forgotten how to breathe.
Saint Alduin didn’t just arrive—he descended. Golden armor lit like it had been forged in the sun, radiating power that pressed down on everything like a fist. A gladiator—a man with more pride than sense—shouted something stupid. Alduin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. A single beam of light erupted from his helm. When it was over, the gladiator wasn’t there anymore. Just a smear of ash on the ground surrounding a few pieces of bone.
The crowd froze. And then Alduin smiled. Not a real smile—it was too sharp, too practiced, the kind of thing that belonged on the face of a man who didn’t believe in kindness. His purple eyes cut through the night like blades, and when they found the party, they could feel the weight of him, the knowing in his gaze.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of something else. A promise, maybe.
Or a warning.
5 Overlooked GM Secrets That Will Wow Your Players
Whether you’re running Pathfinder, Dungeons and Dragons, or any other tabletop RPG, it’s easy as a Game Master to get lost in the sprawling to-do list that comes with running said tabletop RPG. You’re juggling story arcs, encounter designs, and the ever-elusive question: What’s going to make my players rave about this session?
I’ve been there. I’ve prepped hours of lore that no one cared about, thrown random encounters that got people looking at their phones rather than their character sheets, and even lost control of sessions because we spiraled into off-topic chaos. But I’ve also had moments where everything clicked—when players were so immersed, minutes ticked by like seconds.
Recently, I came across a video (linked below) that breaks down seven overlooked elements GMs often miss but players love. Let me share a few of those highlights, plus examples of how I’ve stumbled, learned, and nailed these ideas at my table.
1. Moral Dilemmas
Players “love” being faced with tough choices. It’s not about good versus evil but about weighing trade-offs and consequences. I use quotation marks because some players prefer to play in Murderhobo mode, consequences be damned.
💡 Pro Tip: Make sure both options have pros and cons—no easy wins here!
2. Be Generous with Information
Have you ever watched your players flounder, unsure what to do, while you sit there thinking, The answer is right there, guys!? Turns out, sometimes we need to throw them a bone.
It’s easy to forget that players have a “flashlight view” of their surroundings. They see what’s directly in front of them and a little bit of what’s behind them as it fades into the darkness. Refreshers, reminders, and some strong hints and clues can help keep things fresh in their minds.
💡 Pro Tip: Especially in non-mystery games, offer enough clues to keep the story moving. Players don’t have access to your notes, after all!
3. Manage the Game
This one hit home for me. Early in my GM days, I’d let tangents derail entire sessions. While jokes and side stories are fun, too much chaos can kill the momentum.
Now, I start on time (or as close as possible), gently redirect when we veer off-course, and use initiatives or turns to keep combat smooth. It’s made sessions feel tighter and more satisfying.
💡 Pro Tip: Be flexible but firm. A light reminder like, “Let’s bring it back to the game,” keeps things moving without being a buzzkill.
4. Make Travel Interesting or Skip It
Travel sessions used to bore me and my players—until I started treating the journey like part of the story.
In one campaign travel session, I replaced random encounters with a mysterious landmark: a crude dam in the middle of a river that shouldn’t have been there. The players investigated, theorized, and role-played their reactions. That one detail made the trek memorable without adding extra prep. Sadly, that campaign ended before the foreshadowing could have paid off, but such is the nature of the game.
💡 Pro Tip: If travel doesn’t advance the story or characters, skip it. When it does, tie it to the world or plot in meaningful ways.
5. Run Challenging Combats
We all want our players to feel heroic, but if every fight is a cakewalk, it loses its thrill. This point could be a full-blown post all on its own. There’s so many factors that can make this a tight balancing act, but when it gets pulled off it hits different.
💡 Pro Tip: Don’t be afraid to push your players. High-stakes battles are what legends are made of.
Bonus Tips
- Use Modules: Pre-made adventures save time and often include puzzles, traps, and creative NPCs.
- Surprise Them: A unique monster or unexpected twist keeps players on their toes.
The Takeaway
Players don’t always notice the hours you spend behind the screen, but they do notice when a session feels alive, engaging, and fun. By focusing on these areas—as well as the ones discussed in the video below—you’ll create experiences your group will never forget.
Check out the video from The DM Lair (linked below) for even more insights, and let me know in the comments: Which of these tips are you most excited to try? Or share your own GM successes (or fails)!
Let’s make every session legendary.
Rokk Talk 