Coming Soon – Earth 6:13

‘The only thing I’ve seen in each and every discreet dimension is that whenever the the people of your planet realises the existence of others they name theirs Earth One.’

‘The vanity is as unfathomable as the multiverse itself. The fact that the Abrahamic God was able to develop here in the face of so many other pantheons puts you well down the branches. Never mind that their sacrifice was great enough to stultify the magical force for so long. I’m not saying their sacrifice was not important. I’m not even saying your dimension is not important. Their sacrifice prevented an apocalypse for countless other timelines.’

‘It’s just a shame that they only delayed it. If the magic is back… so are the others.’

– Harold. 

Under the Rainbow.

Jou shuffled back from the O-tent. The beds of fake flowers were dim. Henshin lay the other side of the membrane. It was easy for those outside to see Henshin. It was Henshin’s job to look content. It was Henshin’s duty to appear content.

The outer edge of this orange zone was picked out by such figures in partial repose. All gentle against the pavilion wall. They had it better than the Reds and always felt that, of all the Oranges, they were favoured by those above. What other Orange zone could boast the birthplace of Apo-te Tse? It was a given for Henshin’s father that if his child demonstrated perfect contentment then he would rise to the Yellow. 

Jou turned the child-sized backpack in his hand. The picture on the back was faded and skipped frames as he did so. In his other hand he rolled his guide orbs. They made a click, click, click like the damaged bearings on the skateboards from Hawks Green. 

Kick, push, kick, push. The motto of Hawks Green mocked Jou again. He’d tried. Henshin had helped. All of their credit spent on bribing their way to the top of the treatment list. A Blue Doctor. One of the lords with a saviour complex. Just another parasite. This one feeding on the hope of an addiction beaten. At least in the Orange the hawkers and harvesters admitted it. There was no pretence of altruism in their part of the rainbow. The Heirophants though were the same no matter the colour. 

His Hierophant had demanded more and more of Jou. More visitors. More worshipers. More donations and more … supplications. He’d assumed it would stop when he got older. In a way it did. He was no longer the receptacle of the Hierophants graces. Instead he was now the procurer. The accomplice. Sweet Henshin who had done everything to help Jou. Sweet Henshin who now lay in the O-tent with their new friend who was approved of. This one wasn’t a street hawker, a tour guide, a bawd for a Hierophant. This one wouldn’t drag Henshin towards the milk. 

Jou shifted position again. He hadn’t intended to get a better view but he did. It was too uncomfortable to sit in one position for long. There was Henshin, eyes wide open, staring into the dark haze of night. Henshin’s protector sat close and cross legged. He looked to be as old as Jou but there was not a trace of scars or sores that he could see.

As the filtered sun rose Jou lay back. He let the milk take his breath from him while holograms of long dead flowers and bees flicked to life around the tent. Beneath the blisters of the dwellings on the wall he could hear the stall merchants setting up while the shanty town broke down. The light of the sunrise faded and he heard the call to prayer. He heard the answer from all across the zone. 

“Violet knows best.” 

Darkness at Dunlough – Teaser

Part of the Earth 6:13 setting. Earth 6:13 is a setting written for PF and 5E and will be premiered at Albacon on the 2nd of October. 

Prologue – Pride 

Herb-scented smoke exited through the vent in the roof of the great chamber. Lord Kean O’Mahony sat back on his cushions. His scowl at the delegation before him meant nothing. It was a more or less permanent fixture on his well fed face. The Lady O’Mahony looked out over the bundle of twigs she was tying and watched the reactions of the men with interest.

Lord Kean leaned forward in his cushions and put down his tankard. A rare event these past ten years.

“So you propose to tell me that the creature at our door these past two nights is brought here by the superstitions of not just those that have the run of the lower floors… but also my wife the Lady Ciara’ 

Edmund the Priest shifted uneasily. “It’s not that the superstitions bring the creature. It is just that if all in the castle were to fully give themselves over to the love of our Lord and redeemer then the creature would be truly afeared and flee this place. Why I believe it is your Lordship’s faith that makes this one of the three towers impervious to the creatures attempts to enter.”

The four men behind the priest, the most devoutly Christian of Kean’s remaining troops, nodded in support of the priest.

“I’d hardly say my faith matched yours my good Priest”. He grabbed a clay jar and filled up his tankard. “ I would also hazard a guess that these four of my men will take their rightful place in heaven one day without a question from Saint Peter.” He indicated the men with the jar as they drew themselves up with pride. “I however am beset with the sins of gluttony, occasional sloth, and I’ve more than once coveted if not my neighbours livestock then at least his land. What say you my wife? Are these the men that are the most faithful in the castle. The ones that draw the most strength from the Lord?”

Ciara stopped still in the motion of binding. The men became uneasy as she fixed one after another with a long look. Finally she let her eyes meet that of Edmund. 

“Indeed my husband. You can see that they are armoured by their faith in their god. Their crucifixes and prayers are more powerful than any of the minor spirits that we held dear to in the past. Their god has truly given them the power in their faith.”

Edmund felt a chill come over him despite being so close to the open fire pit. 

“In that case it is settled my Lady Ciara.” Lord Kean lifted his tankard and took a long draught.

“Edmund will take these devout souls and drive the silent shrieker from the castle and we will have a feast tomorrow in celebration of our Lord God and the bravery of these five men”

Image Copyright of Wyffen Publishing. Original art by Carlos at Tritonart.

Chapter 1: Superstition 

The unseasonal heat haze disgorged a red headed figure onto the sand. Wet robes opened as he got to his feet and revealed an expanse of plaid beneath. The sand was colder than that he’d recently visited. The sky was a blue grey. With the tinge of salt in the air Fergus reckoned that rather than being at some high lake he had been transported that much closer to his destination. Perhaps he was already in Scotland? If so he’d have to lay low for a couple of seasons so that he didn’t arrive before it was prophesied. He’d have more of an idea when night fell and Meredit was able to see the stars. Fergus turned back towards the shimmer and leapt through. 

When he again landed on the beach he was more prepared for the change in footing and kept his feet. The next two figures through managed to tumble back to theirs but the last, the generally imposing figure of Ka Ulia, stumbled, staggered and fell flat on top of his huge metal shield. 

“Is that any kind of way for a tribe’s God to make his entrance?”, Fergus grinned. Ka Ulia rolled back to his feet and looked around.

“Nice spot” he answered in their shared Greek, “Shame about the lookout tower ‘Chosen One’”. 

Fergus, Meredit and Guisseppe followed Ka Ulia’s gaze and, as they made out the small wooden structure he was indicating, smoke started to rise from a signal pyre.

“ I guess we’ll be meeting the locals soon then. Anyone any idea where we are” asked Guisseppe. “ Meredit? You’re the most travelled” Meridit turned slowly and took in the bay. Green grazed hills, low rounded islands further out and a definite cold moisture in the air.

“Right direction anyway and it’s above the water which is the biggest plus.’ Fergus shivered at the thought of the huge eye that had almost transfixed him as he’d tried the previous face of the obelisk.

“ It’s fine to mention that sort of thing just now although I’ll not lie its a bit raw… but lets not speak of it when night falls. Not so close to the shore.” Meridit nodded. Guisseppe drew his gladius and waved towards the signal fire.

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait till nightfall to find out where we are. We should be able to ask someone very soon.” He turned to face the young Scot. “And Fergus, as the representative of Athena I’d be remiss in not reminding you of the teachings of the Council of the Robes.” Fergus grinned.

“Aye. Cause no harm and leave no debts but you might want to put away that wee bit of cultlery then if you don’t want us to make a poor impression. Whatever happens I’m sure Meredit will speak the local language. Maybes Ka Ulia could make himself a wee bit less imposing?”

Ka Ulia half-knelt behind his shield. Even in that position he was the height of Fergus and Guisseppe and towered a full head over Meredit.

Ka Ulia’s voice dropped below the range of a normal human as he stifled a laugh. The timbre of it reminded the rest of thunder. “ Is this better?” 

They spotted their reception party in less than a quarter of an hour. A procession of around a dozen horsemen picking their way across the low dunes. As they approached Meridit waved.The figure at front waved back, paused his horse to speak to his men, and then only he and one other rider approached. They closed to within shouting distance midway between the two parties. 

“Good Evening to you! The Lord Kean O’Mahoney would like to extend an invitation to the visitors on his land that he might make himself aware of their intentions. He strongly suggests that you accompany us to Dunlough Head and may I add on a personal note that you hurry as its almost nightfall and a full moon.” Meridit was relieved. The accent she wasn’t sure of but it was Irish.  “I’m Sergeant McConnaghey this here is Corporal Connor and those lads over there are the lads. Now if you don’t mind doubling up on the horses then we’ll make good time back. You don’t want to be out here when she is.” Meridit turned to translate to the rest of the group but Fergus jumped in with a shout. It wasn’t perfect Irish but his question could be understood.

“What do you mean by she?” 

“No come on. No time for questions. You’ll need to hurry and your big black fella there will probably need his own horse. I’ll get two of the lads to double up.”

Meridit grabbed young Fergus’s arm to quieten him as she explained the conversation to Guissepe and Ka Ulia. She knew how easily a situation such as this could be turned on its head with a word. There was much of her centuries long life that wasn’t so detailed in her memory but painful lessons are never forgotten.

“Let’s go with these men. Something is about that they are afraid of at night time. It may be something that we should also be afraid of but more likely it is something we can help them with.” As the two groups came together nods were exchanged and arrangements made to ride. Fergus looked like he was going to ask a question but McConnaghey caught him , looked him straight in the eyes and then pointed to a bird overhead.

“You see that lads! Swallows are flying high tonight so that means good weather…”

As they moved off Fergus again started “So this she…”

“ No! No! No! That’s not it Sarge. It’s of the swallows are low to the ground its to be fine. Swallows high mean rain!”

“….she that comes out…” Meredit gave Fergus a look and the rider she was with jumped into the discussion. 

“Nope….  Sorry Connor. It’s blue lights in the fire for rain.”

“Ah pish Niall. You and Connor are both wrong. It’s swallows high for good weather and the cats tail to hearth means frost.”

Fergus started to get the suspicion that if he kept trying to ask a question on the ride then they’d keep up this discussion and indeed, when he opened his mouth to yawn, he learned that a clear round moon means no rain, a circle round it means rain, and if the fastnet, whatever that was, seems to be far away then it means fine weather for sailing.

Earth 6:13 is a setting written for PF and 5E and will be premiered at Albacon on the 2nd of October. This is an online charity roleplaying event to raise money for Penumbra.

Penumbra is one of Scotland’s largest mental health charities.

They support around 1800 adults and young people every week and employ 450 staff across Scotland.

You can book a seat at the ‘table’ for the first Earth 6:13 scenario for £5 and the money goes directly to Penumbra.

There are only five seats available for the unveiling. The scenario will be played in 5E with pre-generated characters and will run 3pm to 7pm. Book here


Created for a game set in Midkemia we were asked to bring characters to the table for a game of Wizards going to school. The magic system was designed around MTG for it so I decided to go for Red and make my wee rage monster the epitome of a volcano. Time to meet Mags.


The purges created whole swathes of new street children. There were those who’d been out when their parents were taken. There were those that were simply abandoned in the rush to flee. Others had been hidden so that the emperor’s guard didn’t find them and take them into custody with their parents. Mags wasn’t sure which he’d been. His brother hadn’t been able to tell him. 

He knew that when the guards came that the three of them had been hidden behind the tall chest in the elf-hole but Phoren didn’t know if their parents had successfully escaped or been caught elsewhere. 

They had barley been able to shut the case behind them due to Mags’ bulk and a sliver of light seeped in just enough to show the terror on his sister’s face. Amelia looked ready to cry out when the soldiers burst in but she held it together for long enough that they were far away by the time she started sobbing. 

Mags still didn’t know the reason for those purges. In truth he couldn’t tell which of the purges it was. The Vizier had carried out more than one in the name of the emperor to ‘ensure the security of the great Empire of Kesh’. There were many of the purges nobody alive could give a reason for. Perhaps the torturers may or perhaps they too were purged when the last Vizier died. Mags hoped so. 

The new Vizier was no pushover but he was said to be more stable than the last. Mads could take or leave stability but he enjoyed the predictability of life on the street in the last eighteen months. 

He missed his brother though and could barely remember Amelia now apart from that terrified look in the dark. 

The children had waited till nightfall to come out of the hiding place. Some of the older dwellings had these elf holes. A holdover to when the last dragon lord had assaulted Kesh and the great heroes had cut down both he and his dragon. Kesh had been unparalleled in its glory and the city was thought unassailable but after the attack those with a little money started to construct shelters should such a thing happen again. Perhaps the guards didn’t care to make too sure a search or maybe they weren’t of the city. That would make sense. There would be some among the Keshian’s who would turn on their own but the inner circle of soldiers that formed the Viziers personal elite guard would likely be from outside to prevent any conflict of interests. In any case the elf hole had worked well. Now though they were hungry and that hunger overcame their fear. There were fewer than the usual number of lanterns lit outside this night and the small windows designed to keep the heat out did the same with most of the illumination. 

It was Mags’ stomach that broke the silence in the elf hole. Then a small nervous laugh from his sister. 

“Nothing should get in the way of a meal eh baby brother?” Asked Phoren. 

In the near dark Mags scowled but he couldn’t feel either of his siblings laughing at him.

“Let’s get some food and get out of here in case they come back. We can go to Aunt Milikas and see if they know where Mum and Dad are?”. Phoren, as the older brother usually took charge if their parents were away. At seven years old he was a full three years older than the twins and in a few weeks time they’d all have been celebrating birthdays as a family. 

The only other thing Mags remembered of that night was the bloodstains all around the courtyard of their elderly aunt. 

That one bit of hair on the top of his head had kept growing in. It always had. No matter how much of the scalp cream his mother put on it that tuft… that sprout of red hair kept coming back. 

When it was very short it wasn’t as noticeable. It could be taken for the blond of a fisherman. If it grew in though it looked like the flames licking out of the top of a candle. 

Mags knew he’d had an actual name once. It was the one that his parents used for him. He couldn’t remember what it was and his brother’s nickname for him had been the only name used for these past five years. Even now his brother had passed the rest of the Sevens called him Mags. They didn’t know why though. Mags kept that piece of hair scraped clean. To be thought Doonish on top of all the other things that they would throw at him on a daily basis would only lead to more conflict. Now they backed down though. New Sevens may try it on a bit but the ones that knew him knew when to stop pushing. The name he got when he was four would be a name that would fit him now. Mags. Magma. God of the fiery mountain. A pyramid with a gout of flame on top. His brother had started it as a cruel taunt. Mags had been resting his head on the sill looking out at his brother playing. His arms were flat below his chin and his cheeks dripped down onto them like a dogs jowls. ‘Brother! You look like a pyramid! No! You look like a mountain. With a flame on top! Are you a ziggurat? Are you a mountain? Look on my brother and weep for he is Magma!!’ 

His mother had scolded both of them. Phoren for goading him and Mags for smashing a jug trying to brain his brother with it. 

Mags. God of the fiery mountain. It suited his temper too. Maybe that’s why the others still used it. Maybe it was a reminder to tread carefully. That suited Mags. 


Amelia’s sickness had worried the other children. Without parents or money there was nobody to care for them should they all become ill. She’d been refusing food for a while now, drinking more than her fair share and her temper over the past week had put Mags’ own in the shade. What colour she had in her face was gone and she was weak and unable to move for more than a minute or so at a time. Most of the time she was delirious and it was down to Phoren to make the decision. 

They’d shaved Amelia’s hair before taking her to the temple. Their parents had kept it dyed. Their Mother hadn’t been able to bring herself to use the scalp cream on the girl the way she had on the boys. Both of them were bald as old men although Mags resembled more of a large baby. 

The red hair of Doonland wasn’t trusted within Kesh and while their Aunt Milikas could get away with it to due to her wealth and status a girl without that protection may be accused of being a witch. As Amelias hair grew in red at the roots instead of the dark brown of the Keshians they had concealed it with a stolen hat. Dye was harder to steal. When she grew sick the rest of the Sevens refused to let her into their hiding place. Without shelter ,in the cold desert nights, she would grow sicker yet but to hand her over to the Sisters of the Temple may mean that they’d never see her again. It would be better for their sister than death. That same night that they made the decision they left Amelia a the door to the temple and rang the supplicants bell. From the shadows they made out two sisters coming out to her, lifting her by the shoulders and carrying her inside. 


At first he was able to make more money for the Sevens than his brother. Although now five years old he still resembled a large baby and the Sevens milked this for all he was worth as a tool for begging. As the months went on though Phoren started to learn the ways of the street and passed on his knowledge at night when they were hunkered down in the rotting warehouse on the docks. The rest of the children were amazed at how quickly Phoren picked things up but were even more shocked as to Mags even being able to perform the simplest of tasks. His fingers were too fat to pick pockets but he did it. His legs were too short to gain the stride on a guard but they’d pump twice as fast and he was soon quicker than his brother. Even when it came to following people without being noticed Mags’ height meant that although highly distinctive he could easily hide. He was still used mostly for begging and as a distraction for the more accomplished pick pockets. 

Mags was far too distinctive for a pickpocket. At age six he was as wide as he was short. He could still pass for much younger and he started to use his sleight of hand skills not for removing coin purses but to perform feats of legerdemain. It was simple stuff such as asking for a small coin and making it disappear. Marks were often happy for it stay that way. Meanwhile others from the Sevens would be relieving them of more than just a small coin. As long as they stayed away from the grumpier traders then the guards didn’t bother with the magic show although occasionally a boy or girl would be pursued after clutching at a purse. Those of the Sevens would have to lay low for a while until their faces were forgotten. Mags wouldn’t have that luxury.  Those who were caught could be transported to work camps, beaten, mutilated, or killed. The Sevens therefore had a fluid membership as purges and disasters added to their numbers while the guards pruned them. 


It was among the newer members that Mags had the most trouble. It was with them that he struggled most to keep his temper. They often mistook the small, fat and comparatively weak member with being defenceless without his brother around. The comparative weakness of Mags and Phoren to the other Sevens when they first arrived was evident and the gulf was huge. As time went on and Phoren became more and more able to hold his own. Soon both boys became used to the mistreatment and also used to finding the easiest way to hurt larger opponents. Mags and Phoren would tussle between themselves finding the sorest places that could be hurt with the least pressure. Many an opponent would be brought down to Mags’ height with his fast and accurate hands. Phoren on the other hand quickly became one of the tallest and strongest of the group and with the same ferocious cunning. It was perhaps no surprise when one of the older gangs came calling to ask if he’d join. Mags was only seven but understood that if his older brother fared well in a more prosperous gang then the nights in the warehouse would become a thing of the past and perhaps they could pay someone to look into what happened to their sister. 

Both boys hoped for the best but didn’t risk communicating with the Sisters of the Temple in case they were denounced as witch kin and treated as such. Phoren was more circumspect. The older gangs were more aggressive in their money making. It would increase the danger and would mean doing more than just stealing to advance in the gang. After much discussion between themselves and then the wider group it was agreed that he’d leave the Sevens. Having an ex-member in the South Dock Gang would make them all a little safer.


It lasted all of two weeks. Mags waited three nights in a row to meet up with his brother and to no avail. After the third day he took himself over to the dry-docked ship in the south docks that housed the older gang. The ship looked deserted but he’d been there before when he walked Phoren over join them. 

Mags had slipped from shadow to shadow along the dock looking for signs of the gang’s lookout. 

The lookout found him first. He felt the blade of a knife across his throat as he peered round a corner. 

‘What do we have here then? The new boys podgy little baby brother. What does the pretty little baby want crawling around at this time of night’

Mags tensed. The knife was too tight to his neck to do anything about it and the boy was clearly much stronger than he was. When his voice came out it did so in a whisper.

‘Where’s Phoren?’

‘Little fat pudgy baby. All alone. No brother to protect him’

‘Where’s Phoren?’

‘Shhhh! Little baby. Don’t want anyone else to hear you. You’re all mine. If the others 

heard you I’d have to slit your throat. Have to slit the throat of intruders and spies but you’re not a spy are you. You’re just a pretty little baby come to keep me company on a lonely dark night. 

Mags felt the boys breath on his ear as he leaned in. 

‘You’re brother won’t save you! The watch have him. You’re mine to play with. If you’re a good little baby and stay quiet I might let you go afterwards. 

A rancid smell assaulted Mags nose and he opened his mouth to retch. As he did so the foetid rag was pushed into his mouth. 

‘Don’t you struggle too much little baby. I don’t want my knife to slip. Oh you’d be warm enough the first time but once might not be enough. Do you feel how excited I am to have my own little baby to play with?’ 

As the boy pressed himself against Mags he grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up off the ground mouth against his ear, nuzzling, the other hand still with the knife towards the throat. 

Mags didn’t care about the knife. His brother was gone. He was separated from his sister. He had no idea what had become of his parents. This creature was going to use him as a play thing then probably kill him. The rage at his loss, the rage at the indignities he suffered due to his size, the rage at this boy thinking that he was defenceless. Mags let the rage build and summoned all his strength in readiness to  kick back violently between the boy’s legs. At first he merely felt the red mist rise but then it coloured his vision in the dark and suddenly it was light around him and he was free. 

Flames licked around them as the boy dropped him to the ground. 

Mags looked around and ,although well lit, Mags was unable to make out which of the elder gang it had been as his face was entirely melted.

Mags ran. He didn’t stop running until his vision started to swim from the exertion. Alone and confused Mags tried to catch his breath between the sobs. What had happened?

Character names, place names, specific events and situations referred to are based upon the copyrighted/trademarked material of Raymond E. Feist and Midkemia Press. All Rights Reserved by Raymond E. Feist and Midkemia Press.

Wyffen Press: Speculative Fiction, Character Sketches, and ready to run 5E/PF scenarios.


Speculative Fiction, Roleplaying Resources

(Occasional recipes) 

So this will be my companion blog to my Ko-fi site. I’ve been very lucky to have been given the chance to spend most of my working hours writing. Most of my writing will be either fiction Sci-Fi & Speculative fantasy fiction, or resources for 5E and PF1. 

Who Am I? 

For the past thirty or so years I have been writing and playing roleplaying games with friends. I started playing at the age of fifteen and I think it was the original Warhammer Fantasy Roleplaying (WFRP) that was my first game. I may not be sure about that but I’m very sure that my Mum had the police out looking for me when I wasn’t home by 11pm ! 

WFRP and Champions played a big part of our dice rolling and silly voices for a good length of time. After a short while Cyberpunk slipped into the mix. Once I moved up to Edinburgh a few years later I was introduced to Shadowrun, Aliens, Star Wars, and many others. I spent so much time studying rule books that I forgot about text books.

As time moved on and friends moved away the opportunities to play became fewer. At the start of Covid I’d managed to get a couple of friends together and with the addition of some of the locals at Castle Comics we had just got a regular night going. With the advent of Covid things changed. Another of my other friends had been using Roll20 for a while to play online with his generation of our hometown’s diaspora. He invited me to join a game doing an online Pathfinder playthrough of Icewind Dale. Within a couple of weeks I was in three games and running two of them. 

I set my games on a version of Earth in 1300. In the 14th Century Europe was in turmoil anyway. Imagine it on an Earth where, after an absence of a thousand or so years, the magic has returned. For just over two hundred years the elder races have been returning and people are learning that the myths are all realities. I’ve been writing a lot of support material for it which I’ll publish here. I’ll also be publishing excerpts of Badly Chosen. This is the first book set in Earth 6:1300 and it will be available via the KoFi site in full once it is finished. 

Other work published on here will be :

  • character background sketches either for my own characters or those that have been commissioned from me .
  • Complete and ready to run Roleplaying Scenarios for 5E of PF. To start with these will be as PDF or ready for upload to Roll20. 
  • There will also be some non-Earth 6:13 fiction.

You can contribute to my beer/artist/development fund over at There will be access to various other things there too like Discord servers, play test nights, Convention news and commissions for character backstories and art.

Nice to meet you!