She stood there on the low revetment, shading her eyes with the flat of her hand and scanning the shallow valley spread out below her. There, in the dry and stony river bed at the bottom of the valley, a mixed force of heavy Gradniki musketeers and horse artillery fought a large remnant of the Witch armies. She squinted in a vain effort to make out the course of the fight, but twilight was coming, and the battlefield was obscured by dust and smoke. All she could make out was the flash and boom of the artillery, the peevish crackling of musketry, and the screams of the dying. Musket balls filled the air around her with a sound like angry hornets. A six-pound cannon ball shrieked out of the murk and smashed into the wall next to her feet, showering her with soil and stone fragments. Its energy spent, the ball rolled into the trench behind her, stopping at the feet of the frightened young conscript serving as her aide de camp.

Only a few can master the mysterious powers of witchcraft. Those with the inner gift and discipline to control these unnatural powers are called white witches. Just being able to use witchcraft is not enough for one to be a white witch—this title is only bestowed upon men and women who use these powers for the benefit of others, and above all, who fight against the dark influence of the cruel Witches who rule Morden. Others who have mastered witchcraft at the cost of their allegiance to the Witches are instead known as warlocks. Both types of witches and witchcraft in general was mostly unknown in Morden until the Bane War brought the knowledge of these abilities into the forefront.

The sharp, flat end of the pry bar bit deeply into the seam between the two slabs, sending chips of red-flecked stone flying in all directions. With a grunt, Malakai heaved on the pry bar, the muscles in his shoulders and arms straining against his coat. With all of his considerable might, the big golem pulled, gritting his teeth and willing the massive slab to move. As they watched, Dmitri and Karan saw the pry bar, a stout piece of iron some two inches thick, bow under the incredible strain, and they both took a step back. After a seemingly endless moment in which Malakai, the slab, and the pry bar were all balanced at their breaking points, there was a loud crack like a musket shot and the slab inched forward.

We have previously discussed the Enochian faith and its presence throughout Morden. However, we have done little to discuss those who work to spread and maintain the faith. While there are many churches—from roadside chapels to massive cathedrals—not every small town or farming village has an anointed member of the faithful. Even those locations that do have one welcome the alternative perspectives on the virtues that a visiting minister can bring to a sermon.

We're running an Ask Me Anything on Reddit for Accursed today starting at 1 PM CST. Feel free to drop by and ask any questions you want about Accursed to Ross Watson, the lead developer!

Alchemists possess an unusual flair for combining and mixing ingredients to form a host of different substances, ranging from potions and salves to chemical concoctions and even metals. The alchemist’s skill and the bizarre nature of his ingredients infuses these mixtures with unique properties that often rival the magical effects of witchcraft. However, unlike witchcraft, alchemy does not require a unique inner ability nor does it endanger the alchemist’s soul. In return, alchemy is also less flexible than witchcraft—it cannot be used on the fly, and requires preparation against the expectation of a future need.

Yuriy lay concealed on the rugged hillside in the fall of man-sized boulders in which he'd made his home these past few days. His heavy woolen cloak, smudged with stone dust and ocher to help him blend into the land, was wrapped tight about him to ward off the morning chill. In his hands he held a long, finely crafted Model IV rifle, the pride of Manreia, its forend steadied on the stones before him. Through the powerful scope mounted along the top of the rifle, he surveyed the fog shrouded Bruchstadt valley that stretched out before him. Three days he'd waited on this hill to get a glimpse at the Beast of Bruchstadt. Three days in this chill, damp autumn weather with no fire and little to eat. It was worth it, though. He would find the creature and he would kill it, and there would be one less evil in the world. For that opportunity, he would wait on this hillside for a thousand years if needs be.

The Kickstarter is now live, so for the next batch of posts we wanted to try to take our postings in a slightly different direction. The blog has already presented a healthy amount of information about the game world from a historical perspective. We decided that now would be a great time to present information about the viewpoint of the characters. After all, for a game group considering Accursed, persuading the players is just as important as exciting a Game Master about the material. With that in mind, we wanted to delve into the roles that we envision most commonly fitting into an Accursed campaign. We recognize, and most gamers should too, that not every hero in the setting is going to fit into one of these roles. Some might fulfill two or more, others might represent a completely different approach. However, these represent the archetypes.

In some cases, a carefully chosen word and a well-timed smile can represent an extremely effective weapon. Not every conflict is overcome with a blade or a rifle. Instead, simply talking out the situation can persuade an opponent to adopt a more amicable solution. Of course, sometimes, this doesn't always work, which is why a veteran knave is certain to have fallback skills—including those associated with running very fast.

Today’s a huge day for me and a huge day for Accursed. Today is Friday the 13th, the date most often associated with being cursed. So, of course, it was the perfect date to launch a Kickstarter about a setting named Accursed—because if you’re going to say your game is cursed, you might as well go all the way!

All that winter we starved. We starved along with our neighbors and our livestock. What little food we had was stolen from us by the heartless animals working for Baba Yaga. My mother died that winter, of sorrow or shame, along with my two youngest sisters. My brother had died fighting in the Tsar's army the year before, and in the end it was too much for my father. He went mad with grief and fled screaming into the howling winter. Alone and desperate, I packed what little I could carry and left my home. I had heard that far to the south, somewhere in the sea, was an island paradise where people fleeing the war were gathered. With nothing left to lose, I headed south to see if the stories were true.

With few exceptions, the posts to this blog have focused entirely upon the world setting for Accursed. Ross, Jason, and I have been thrilled to watch the setting develop, and we're very excited to share it with anyone willing to listen or read the details. Today, we wanted to take a moment to step back and discuss the things from a different perspective. Instead of talking about the setting, we wanted to make sure we remembered to talk about the game.

In appearance, the Morrigan’s form is quite memorable—her hair is a dark, earthy brown in color, her eyes a gleaming ice-blue. Her complexion is flawless, and her willowy form is considered quite beautiful, if somewhat ethereal. Her attitude did not change much between her guise as “Lady Macha” and assuming her mantle as the Morrigan. She is quick to anger, slow to forgive, and coldly intelligent. She is the complete mistress of all cauldron-born, and even the most willful of undead bow their heads to her commands. Only the Revenants have broken free from her dominance, and as a whole, they have sworn to oppose her with every ember of their being.

The doll was perfect. Roughly a foot tall, it was the image of a young man with yellow curls and deep blue eyes. He wore a fine suit of clothes in the style of another time, a time before the Witches and the endless war and suffering they brought to Morden. He was a prince of Valkenholm or Steppengrad in miniature; perfect in every detail from the mirror polish on his boots to the small rapier the size of a hatpin he wore on his belt. Esteban was immediately taken with the little prince, sitting there among other, lesser treasures in a trinket shop. The old man picked up the doll and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand. The detail in its face and clothing was so fine that it almost seemed alive. He purchased the doll, for a pittance he thought, as a gift for his granddaughter and took it home with him.

In the ages before the Bane War, mortals and fey only had limited interactions. Most of humanity—even those who were devoted to the Enochian Faith—recognized that there were creatures that dwelt at the fringes of human perception. Some called them nature spirits, others called them little people, and a few recognized them as beings of power. Regardless of their name, all who knew of them knew that they were capricious and volatile. Some among the fey could be generous—legends of rescuing orphaned children, recovering lost goods, or protecting innocents from predators abounded. Others, however, were less kind, including those who stole children, took precious items, or treated humans as little more than chattel. The challenge to anyone who had a chance to interact with these beings was to identify the friendlier fey—known as the seelie—from the treacherous, unseelie fey.