In many ways the heart of Eastern Valnwall, the majestic ruins of Mor and the nearby town of Lesserton offer some of the best –and worst– that the region has to offer. No adventurer traveling to these lands would pass up an opportunity to delve the sprawling rubble of Mor, or to enjoy the spoils from his efforts in Lesserton’s gambling halls, fleshpots, and taverns.

In the Ruins of Mor, most intelligent denizens recognize the pins and may prefer to capture someone wearing one instead of killing him. To ransom a prisoner, the captors send a representative to Brinkley’s with the pin and its matching password. Generally, they then release the prisoner, but keep his gear. The Brinkley’s customer can specify more guarantees than just his life: for example, promising a reward of 100 gp, or 150 gp if he’s allowed to keep his arms. Brinkley’s records all such details with the customer’s file.

The Ruins of Mor, the vast, sprawling remains of a once great city-state. And Lesserton, the seedy town on the edge of the swamp that feeds off those who brave the ruins in search of fortune and glory. First supplying the adventurers with what they need to recover riches, then depriving them of their coin with all manner of diversions and scams.

But up on the ridge line of the mountains, an eerie sight can be seen. The great, brooding image of a skeletal face, formed from the very rock. Fell deeds occurred there in times past, on the slopes of Skull Mountain!

The concept was a sort of a combination of an almost Lovecraftian rural New England and the east coast of Scotland. Bleak, dour, and slightly unwelcoming. Rocky shores, foggy weather, chill waters, etc.

I know it’s along the southern coast, but that doesn’t have to mean tropical. I think the map is small enough to allow for that stretch of the region to be temperate.

As the year doth turn to fall,
And fogs a-bighting lend their pall,
The lords and ladies make their trek,
Beneath the waves to Shiriyak!”

In the fall and early spring, the weather is damp, foggy, and chill. Daytime temperatures average only 45-55º F, with nights dropping down near freezing. Rain is frequent, as is sleet, and the wind can gust at times. More often the air is still, allowing fog to linger and thicken.

• One trick is to use estimated half-turns, so that little bits of time-wasting add up. Nothing more precise is necessary; the TT pointer lies either right on the line, or between two lines.
• Another option is to place the TT outside the screen, visible to players and LL alike. This can really make everyone aware of the passage of each turn, which makes old-school dungeoneering so dangerous, and shows the party the inevitable creep toward the next burned-out lantern or possible wandering monster.

Time and luck: The two things that run out.

Here’s an example using half-turns and a visible TT:

“OK! Down the stairs, into the darkness. You light your torches. Are you guys rushing, or mapping and poking the floor with your pole and all that? Being careful, got it.” The cautious group moves only 120′ every ten-minute turn. The Labyrinth Lord could reduce this for armor or encumbrance if he wanted to, but even at full speed, progress comes slow and risky.

“The corridor goes about fifty feet to a room with some knocked-over benches in it.” The LL rolls the Turntracker forward about half a turn (for 50′ of careful movement).

“Search the room? OK, it’s 20 x 30. Are all four of you searching? No, Ed’s on guard? Fine, then it takes you a while…” The LL advances the Turntracker two full turns: three people searching six ‘squares’. On the way he passes the one-turn mark and rolls for a Wandering Monster. Negatory, so he completes the advancement and stops with the pointer at around 2 and a half.

“After 30 feet you reach a T intersection. Oh, the elf checks for secret doors? Fine, that’s a turn.” This delay often gets forgotten in play, but a search is a search. Note: Even though there are four characters, it takes at least one turn to search anything closely. For this reason the party might choose to have more than one person check. It doesn’t cost any extra time.

As the LL rolls the TT forward for the ten minutes it takes our sylvan friend and his helpers to carefully examine a stretch of wall that the LL knows to conceal nothing at all, the pointer hits the Wandering Monster die. The LL stops there, at 3 turns total, and makes the roll. Sure enough, some orcs come down the hall to see what the noise and light are all about. The resulting fight takes only a few rounds; at 6 rounds per minute, there’s no reason to change the TT. Looting the bodies and casting healing spells, however, the LL figures to take at least five minutes, and that’s another half turn. The TT stands at 3.5, and the secret door check isn’t even done! The orcs interrupted it. The LL asks the players if they want to take the additional five minutes to wobble every stone and blow into all the cracks. They decline. Note that the elf doesn’t even get a die roll because he didn’t finish.

“OK, left? You go another 30 feet to a door.” Together with the 30′ of travel done before the secret door stop and orc fight, this would add up to about half a turn of just movement, but the LL understandably forgot the first bit. No problem! It’s gaming, not science. The TT remains at about 3 and a half.

“The thief checks the door for traps? OK…” Another turn, and another often-overlooked delay. The TT stands at about 4.5 when the thief declares the door safe. The party argues about who will open the door until the LL’s finger casually lands on the Turntracker dial. Suddenly they shut up and the fighter pulls the door open. Time is danger, and seeing the consequences of delay brings that home.

Thirty more foot of corridor, carefully traversed, brings the pointer to 5. Another WM check, with no result. “Rest time!” declares the LL. Groaning, the players watch the TT advance instantly to six turns: one hour since the characters entered the dungeon, but ideally, much less time for the players at the table, kept on their toes by the constant threats of this hostile environment. “As you sit in the cold tunnel, swigging some lukewarm wine and adjusting your bandages, your torches start to flicker and go out. Mark ‘em off!”