Hungry Coffins

June 2, 2015, 8:41 pm

Up ahead, you see a quartet of tombstones, right in the middle of the road. For about a foot around each tombstone, the dirt looks fresh. The headstones have a skull at the top, and a decorative pair of small stone wings.

The tombstones begin to rise, and dirt rains off three stone coffins, now hovering in the air. The tombstones crown the coffins, which were buried vertically (with any corpse inside in a standing position).

Then the flying coffins pop open, each disgorging a zombie. Their interiors are lined with spikes, like an iron maiden. The zombie attack, as zombies, do. At their crown, the tombstone goes blank.

Then the flying coffins attack as well. One of them flies above a PC, then drops, trying to pulp them into the ground like a giant's hammer. The other two begin snapping their lids, trying to snatch up a PC into their interior.

One of them catches a PC, who is impaled inside the closing coffin. Then the coffin plunges into the earth, which parts to accommodate the hungry coffin. After the PC inside is dead, writing appears on the headstone, accurately reflecting the PC's name, birth and death dates, and their last words (in quotes).

Despite their appearance, hungry coffins are actually gargoyles suffering from a specific type of curse. If remove curse is cast on them, they turn into normal gargoyles (HD 4) and are stunned for 1 round.

from Super Ghouls and Ghosts
the coffins actually do fly, briefly,
before dropping a zombie and vanishing

Hungry Coffin

HD 6 AC 14 Slam 2d6 or 2d8 Swallow 1d6 + swallow
Fly 9 Int 5 Morale 12
* Immune to slashing, piercing, fire, and lightning.
* Buried coffins always contain a zombie (HD 2) which they can disgorge as a standard action.
* Slams deal 2d6 damage if the coffin is empty, or 2d8 damage if they contain a person (or zombie).
* Swallowed creatures are trapped inside the coffin. They take 1d6 damage whenever they end a turn inside a coffin as the spikes twist in their flesh. Swallowed creatures can break free by rolling under their (Strength - 10) or if someone on the outside pries it open (with the same Str check). Each additional creature or prying instrument gives +4 to this check.
* Coffins that have swallowed a person will try to burrow into the ground as a standard action. Buried coffins can be excavated after 1d12+1 standard actions have been taken to unearth it. Shovels allow for excavation at twice the speed. When buried, a coffin cannot be forced open (as dirt holds the coffin closed). If you unearth a buried coffin, it is stunned for 1 round before taking to the air again.

If you want to know what a hungry coffin will do in a given round, flip a d2:

Slam attack.
Disgorge zombie / swallow attack / bury yourself.

Discussion

Think carefully before you put multiple hungry coffins in a single encounter. The fact that they can swallow you and then bury themselves is really nasty, and the possibility that two coffins might bury two PCs simultaneously means that even high level parties will have a hard time taking the requisite number of standard actions to dig up their friends.

If you want to spice things up, consider putting different types of party favors inside this pinata:

ghoul
swarm of bats
ochre jelly
1d4 halfling zombies
poison gas (3d6 damage, Con check for half)
miniature hungry coffin (halfling sized) with HD 3 (reduce all damage by 1 die size)

↧

New Class: Spherical Wizard

June 3, 2015, 2:51 am

≫ Next: Genies

≪ Previous: Hungry Coffins

Spherical Wizards are a race of wizarding sphere-people.

A bug collector and a muscular puncher gaze upon a powerful spherical wizard.
Illustration by +Grey Wiz, who is also illustrating the incredible Break!!

They were originally created in the Darklands, as weapons of war (because they can cast fireball but can't run away, and you can stack them into neat pyramids when they are not in use). As in all cases when people try to enslave powerful wizarding-types, the spherical wizards eventually killed many of their masters and escaped.

You see them in all sorts of positions. Some are still slaves that travel from battleground to battleground packed inside a crate filled with straw. Some are masters of men, using charm and domination to enslave servants who push them around and carry their spellbook for them. A few, a precious few, of them are adventurers.

They all enjoy downhill races, during which they can get quite competitive. Some also frequent labyrinths, where they navigate through holes sized exactly for their body.

As a whole, they tend to be pretty idiosyncratic, with lots of visible personality quirks. Very few of them have forgettable personalities. They also change personalities along with their size--small spherical wizards tend to be meek and humble, while large spherical wizards are booming and triumphant.

from a British TV show called The Prisoner

Spherical wizards are a sub-type of wizard. All of this stuff is just a template that you apply on top, when creating a normal wizard. Well, "normal" wizard.

You're a Sphere
The implications of this are obvious. You have no arms, legs, neck. You can't wear armor or clothing unless it is specifically made for you. You are perfectly spherical, and your bone structure is created by the fusion of skull and rib cage. You do not poop; your eldritch biology teleports your waste products to the Cesspool Dimension.

However the most salient feature of this ability is that you cannot move under your own power (unless you use telekinesis or fly or something). If you fall in water, you float face-up. However, on floors that are perfectly flat (mirrors, metal. . . something better than standard dungeon bricks), you can roll yourself at a snail's pace by violently rolling your eyes.

Free Henchman
If you begin play as a spherical wizard, you start with a level 0 henchman, using all the normal henchman rules. Your henchman can either be an Igor (pleasantly unscrupulous but lazy) or a Sisyphus (tireless but painfully moralistic).

Mystic Bounciness
Immune to fall damage, and will bounce back the way they came with 75% of the original inertia. This bounciness doesn't extend to things that aren't hard surfaces, such as the floor of a pit covered with 1' of acid, or anything covered with spikes.

Trample Attack
If another creature pushes you, you can trample over smaller creatures, up to a distance equal to half the pusher's movement speed on your first turn, and a distance equal to the pusher's full movement speed on subsequent rounds (as you accelerate). Your trample attack does 1d6 damage to all creatures your size or smaller within your path. A successful Dex check negates (most monsters have Dex 10). Prone creatures automatically fail their check.

Spherical wizards can cast touch spells through their trample attacks, potentially hitting multiple targets. This is in addition to the normal effects of your trample attack.

Spellbulk
Maximum HP increases by 1 for each spell level they have memorized. And yes, memorizing spells heals them as it increases their maximum HP. If they gain more than 20 HP in this way, they are too large to fit through doors, and their trample damage increases to 2d6. If they gain more than 40 HP in this way, they are too large to fit through hallways, and their trample damage increases to 3d6. This change is magical, and your clothing and gear changes size along with you.

Compress
A spherical wizard can compress things. You can do this as a standard action. Paper is wadded up, wine glasses are shattered, a sliced orange is restored to (near) wholeness, and snowballs are made instantly. This ability does 1d6 damage to non-spherical creatures (save negates). Creatures that are killed by this spell are compressed into monsterballs (they turn spherical, like you, and then petrify, like a giant marble). You cannot compress dead creatures. This is a magical ability with a 50' range.

Incomplete list of spherical creatures: beholders, ascomoids, will-o-the-wisp, xag-yas, xeg-yis, gorbels, varrdigs, bowlers, derghodaemon, certain galeb duhrs, blackballs, various modrons

Monsterballs
Monsterballs can be rolled, just as you can be rolled. They deal damage as you do, based on the size of the original monster (1d6 at medium size, 2d6 at large size, and 3d6 at huge size). If you collide with a monsterball, you can send it in any direction you want except back the way you came from (think pool ball physics). Monsterballs can be attacked and damaged; they have the same AC and HP as the original creature. Whenever they deal damage, they take damage equal to half the damage dealt. They shatter after a fall of any length (they are psuedo-glass). They can be repaired by anything that can repair glass.

If the original monster had an special ability, that ability is transferred to the monsterball. A ghoulball does paralysis on a hit. A dragon ball ignites, and deals its full breath attack damage.

Spherical Wizard Spells

Careen
Level 1 Spherical Wizard Spell
For a number of rounds equal to your caster level, you can charge around under your own power, dealing trample attacks at your leisure. You cannot cast spells during this time, nor use your compress ability.

Absorb Monsterball
Level 1 Spherical Wizard Spell
You touch a monsterball and absorb it into you. You heal 1d4 HP for every HD the original monster had. You also gain any special monsterball ability that the monsterball had as a prepared spell. You can cast this as a touch spell or through your trample attack (as normal for a spherical wizard). You can only cast this converted spell once (as normal for a spell). The spell is lost when you sleep (as normal for a spell).

Seek the Moon
Level 2 Spherical Wizard Spell
You teleport to the moon (which you suspect is either another spherical wizard or the progenitor of your race). This spell doesn't allow you breathe on the moon, nor return from the moon.

Katamari
Level 3 Spherical Wizard Spell
As careen, except that every creature you kill with your trample ability sticks to you, making you a larger ball. Each item that you roll over is also picked up, and added to your bulk. You cannot pick up things larger than you. Each time you increase your mass in this way, increase your trample damage by +1d6.

For example, you are medium sized and roll over 3 orcs: your trample damage increases to 2d6. You could even space this out, so that 1 orc added = +1 damage, 2 orcs = +2, and 3 orcs = the full +1d6. Increasing from large to huge size will require either 12 orcs beyond that, or 3 ogres.

who else remembers this game?

↧

Genies

June 10, 2015, 2:49 am

≫ Next: 4 Legs of the Table Mimic: Where Interesting Combat Comes From

≪ Previous: New Class: Spherical Wizard

So my laptop is broken. This has prevented me from posting and releasing the nice PDF that I promised my Patreon backers this month. I'm sad, too.

How a Scholar Explains Genies

Genies don't exist. Their lamps exist, and from this lamp issues a magical smoke. Or more precisely, from the lamp issues a magical field effect, which roughly corresponds to the area of the smoke. Those who enter within the field are affected--they see the genie.

While a person is in that field, near the lamp, they see everything exactly as the genie intends. This is their lesser magic, and even the least genies possess it. For a modest genie, the radius is only a few dozen feet, but for more powerful genies, the effect can extend for many hundreds, even enveloping a palace. Rumors of genies powerful enough to ensorcel an entire nation are unsubstantiated.

A genie might be accompanied by 3 squalid thieves and scabrous mongrel, but if seen through the lens of the genie's effect, they will appear as 3 princes and a stately hunting hound. And when standing beside them, the whole world appears beautiful. Many would sacrifice all that they had to live in a genie's illusory opulence. What does it matter that it is false, if the sensation is exactly the same?

Or at least, if that is what the genie prefers. (Most genies prefer the illusion of luxury and beauty.) A genie that wishes that the world should appear intimidating or horrible will create a much different inflection of reality.

This is a powerful, but local enchantment. (No saving throw.)

Genies grant wishes, but these manifestations are either entirely or mostly illusory. A magic sword gifted by a genie kills sentient creatures as well as a regular sword (or better) because a creature that believes itself to be dead, is in fact, dead.

When a genie grants a wish, the illusion is more permanent and self-sustaining. These granted wishes can pass out of a genie's zone of illusion.

If you wish for money, you will most likely be satisfied, since real money has only an illusory value in the first place.

If you wish for a lover, you will most likely also be satisfied, because the sensations of pleasure and stimulating conversation are indistinguishable from an illusion of the same.

If you wish for something that requires reconfiguring the cosmos, such as "I wish I were king of the world" or "I wish I were immortal", you are likely to find yourself as a mad man wandering the wastes, happily tending to your vassals (the bushes) or burning yourself in fires while swearing that the heat doesn't harm you. This tremendous drawback doesn't stop fools for wishing for these things anyway.

If you wish for an anchor for your ship, all you will get is lost, or worse. (Since you will believe yourself to safely at anchor when in fact you are still adrift.)

Don't listen to the wizards. They know nothing.

How a Wizard Explains Genies

Genies are a slave race, created by the demons, whom they escaped a millenium ago. They still bear the marks of their enslavement, and are bound by strict codes of behavior and obedience, especially relating to wishes.

This is because they are the embodiment of wishes, and of hope--the one thing that demons could never tame nor understand.

They gain a level every 100 years, and lose a level whenever they are forced to grant a wish. The power of a genie to grant a wish is proportionate to their level. A genie who has HD 10 will be able to grant much more impressive wishes than one who is HD 2.

All genies are bound to whoever carries their lamp, and nearly all genies desire to be free. Most of them grant a single wish (but not more) to anyone who doesn't abuse them, or move them farther from their goal of freedom.

Genies are not illusory. They merely are unseen by those who are too distant, or by those who scry on them. It is a range-dependent invisibility, protection against those who would harm them.

And of course genies can create material goods as well as illusions. The city of Masseret (west of Keshek) was built in a single day by genies. Are we to believe that there is no city, and that all who visit it are actually wandering the desert and sleeping on sand dunes without falling ill or being eaten by ankhegs?

Genies are old and proud and moralistic. Those who wish for selfish trivialities such as to be "king of the world" are laid low by their own inattention to the details of the wish, as well as a genie's own resistance to such a selfish wish.

Don't listen to the scholars. They know nothing.

How a Philosopher Explains Genies

Well, of course a genie exists. They have minds even when they are unobserved, and they had desires before then, which are consistent in all historical eras, even when there are gaps in their ownership.

This doesn't mean that the scholars are false, however. The existence of genies is tied to their observance, but we must of course account for the unseen eyes of the Overworld. Zulin, the god of the air, who created all creatures, observes all things. And because all things are perceived by god, all things exist.

The moment that Zulin blinks his third eye, we all vanish.

How a Cleric Explains Genies

They are demons of falsehood and must all be destroyed.

How a Void Monk Explains Genies

This is a trivial debate. Everything is an illusion.

How a Fighter Explains Genies

So a genie gave me this magic sword. It's really good at killing people. Damn impressive. But once I cut a rope with it and took half of the rope with me, while I let my friend carry the other half of the rope. Next time I saw him, he had the whole length, and I checked my bag and I had none. Motherfucking piece of shit sword! It can kill ghosts but it can't cut fucking rope. I threw it in a lake.

I should probably go fish that piece of shit sword back out.

Oh yeah, it's also pretty rubbish against mindless zombies, too.

↧

4 Legs of the Table Mimic: Where Interesting Combat Comes From

June 22, 2015, 11:54 pm

≫ Next: Yeti

≪ Previous: Genies

Alright, there are 3 big ways to make a monster more interesting.

1. Interesting mechanics.
2, Interesting tactics (and strategies).
3. Interesting environment.

Did I leave anything out? Oh yes. Just the one.

4. Interesting player abilities.

I often thing that there's too much focus on interesting mechanics, often at the expense of the other three items. For example, you don't need to have every monster be mechanically differentiated. Your orcs and your elves might have identical stats, and vary only in weapon choice, tactics, and lore. That's fine. Your players probably won't know or care.

So, I guess that's my first piece of advice. Don't over value mechanics as a tool for interesting combat. If you crack open a monster manual, that seems to be the base instruction. Every monster is mechanically different from every other one. But most monster manuals don't spend much time describing the monster's tactics or their environments (something that really should be considered simultaneously).

My second piece of advice is that mechanics don't have to be beneficial to the creature. They can be harmful, as in the example of the King of Sloths, which has a 1/6 chance of falling asleep after each turn (which is a good thing, otherwise the players would never have a chance) or a frenzied whip-tree that does 1d6 damage to itself each round of combat. These options make combat unfold in a dynamic way, and present interesting options. Yay.

Interesting tactics are frequently undervalued. Not enough words have been written about them.

Tactics are all the things that monsters can do that aren't explicitly listed in their entry. Pushing, tripping, disarming, grabbing, throwing, hostage-taking, cowardice, bravery, intelligence. I guess the morale score is an example of explicit tactics, and one with a long history. It's good for differentiating monsters, and diversifying combat.

Imagine a monster that is basically a HD 2 orc, except they flee as soon as one of their number is killed. Or, maybe the run away at the first sight of a well-armed party.

Intelligence is another one.

HD 2 orcs that attack random targets are much less threatening than HD 2 orcs that focus their attacks on the most vulnerable PC. Do they set ambushes? Do they taunt the PCs, or threaten them? ("Fight me one-on-one, paladin, or I'll order my archers to focus their arrows on your squire.")

Motivations, too.

HD 2 orcs that are motivated by gold will presumably act differently than HD 2 orc-simulcra that are merely beasts looking for meat, or for a way to protect their nest.

Anyway, those are more like broad strategies. Consider the more specific class of combat tactics. This is one that has a long history in old-school games. Sure, the HD 4 ogre doesn't have any special abilities explicitly listed, but they're implicitly very likely to pick up a table and try to knock all the PCs over simultaneously. Or reach up and pull down the roof. Or grapple* you and attempt to twist off your arm like a chicken wing.

*Grappling an ogre is such a bad idea. It's like a kid trying to wrestle an adult. Even if you're one of the strong kids, the ogre is stronger.

Anyway, the take home message is that monsters aren't limited to the stuff on their character sheet. Harpies might try to fly away with everyone's spear, and then return later after licking their wounds. Lake drakes will capsize your canoe.

Interesting environments have the same advice as interesting mechanics: make sure to give players both beneficial and harmful environments. Elevation. Treacherous footing. Thorns. Underwater. Poor visibility. Ambush opportunities (let your players engineer their own encounter). Light sources.

And lastly, remember that a great deal of the fun of a combat comes from the players. If you are throwing 30 orcs at the party, you don't need fancy mechanics or environments--30 orcs against a party of level 2 adventurers isn't unwinnable, but the players are going to need to get creative. Retreating until they find a defensible position. Searching their inventory for that potion that they forgot that they had. Combining their character abilities to make beautiful music together.

I know my last point seems paradoxical. "You don't need to make combat interesting because your players will make it interesting for you." But this point is only really useful if your players are forced to exploit limited resources, such as the environment, their daily abilities, and their limited-use items.

That's one thing I didn't like about Fourth Edition--combat usually followed the same pattern. You use your Encounter powers first, then your At-Will powers. If you thought you needed them, you'd bust out your Daily Powers. The only decision point there was whether or not to use Daily Powers; everything else is semi-scripted. And because 4e didn't like giving out expendable items (unlike Numenera), there often weren't many decisions to make on the inventory-side of things, either. And so combat often unfolded in similar ways and along similar combos, like chess. (Which is fine; I like chess.)

There are good reasons to dislike daily abilities (or the Vancian spellcasting system). But it does create a lot of challenging decisions (should I use X, or save it for later?) which I personally enjoy as a player. There's another dependency here, though: the game must be challenging/lethal enough that players are required to use their expendable resources, instead of hoarding them.

↧

Yeti

June 23, 2015, 2:33 am

≫ Next: More Bug Collector Ecosystems

≪ Previous: 4 Legs of the Table Mimic: Where Interesting Combat Comes From

Photographs on this page by Charles Fréger

The yeti had an advanced culture before it was wiped out during the Time of Fire and Madness. Now they exist mostly as a race of disinherited mountain bastards who sometimes have a miraculous magic item from before their fall. They look like tall, skinny wookies with their faces hidden in their wooly hair.

All yeti can communicate telepathically with any other yeti within 100'. They do this using their fur, which creates magnetic fields. A freshly-shaven yeti cannot generate this field, and cannot communicate telepathically. Among non-yeti, they are only capable of communicating in grunts, trills, hoots, and whistles, and only with difficulty. With these unsubtle tools, they can only speak a reduced language, with a tiny vocabulary. (This is why literal translations of yeti speech appear simple. "Go now." "Bad metal man.")

It's somewhat comparable to a dog trying to speak. Even with a fully intelligent brain, they are very limited in how many distinct noises they can make.

Before the fall, they built cities atop mountains, and were famous for creating micro-climates within them. They filled the mountain tops with forests of gossamer-leaved trees, each of which was an incubator for another micro-climate, which holds another herb. Yeti were great herbalists (and some still are), especially specializing in entheogens and other psychotropic chemicals.

Yeti love the cold, and they love their shaggy hair, which smells spicy-sweet. You will never find them in the warm parts of the world, except perhaps underground, where the caverns may be cold enough for ice to form.

Yeti shamans (the axle around which their entire culture revolved) were able to spend a great deal of time outside of their body. Some of them live on still, as a race of maddeningly lucid ghosts. The shamans also know a great deal about travel to other planes, perhaps more than anyone else in Centerra. Most of the planes they visited were only accessible through the mind--the body must remain on the mountain top.

They were said to be allies with an alien race, with whom they sometimes traded bodies when one wished to visit the plane of the other.

But that was then. Now, the yeti are a shattered race. Their mountaintop homes are uninhabitable, and no longer hold breathable air. After the Time of Fire and Madness, they became unsuccessful refugees; no other nation would offer them succor; most were killed on sight for the cruelties and experimentation that they had performed on the other races who wandered too close to their mountain home.

After the great yeti diaspora, you will find yeti living on most mountain ranges in the world in small clans. They live in crude societies, eking out a living from the unyielding rock. Many of these small clans have a few powerful magical items, relics from before their mountaintops crumbled.

A few other yeti exist in the cities, working as servants and mercenaries. They mostly do their level best to stay drunk as often as possible, until they ascend into bestial old age and retreat into the mountains.

Old Age

Yetis are as intelligent as humans, and possibly must more intelligent. However, intelligence is not one of their values.

Experiencing so many different psychic states, as they do, yetis appreciate the animal simplicity of a cruder brain. As yetis get older, they get bigger, stronger, and dumber. This is seen as a very good thing to happen, and many yetis look forward to the day when they are big and strong and stupid.

Lost Lykorum

When their mountaintop cities fell, the yeti were able to salvage a great deal of their resources--they were not immediately destitute. Unable to risk warring with an established nation in their weakened state, many yeti decided to build a new homeland in the middle of the Sea of Fish.

They created the great mountain called Lykorum, which they raised out of the ocean. This exhausted a great deal of their resources. This was many years after they had been scattered, after the fires and infectious insanities had passed.

On Mount Lykorum, they had a second homeland. Yetis from all corners of the world came to live there.

Four hundred years ago, the star known as the Devil's Throat exploded in the sky. It was almost as bright as the sun. In ancient Arkah, mages built a telescope-microscope, to isolate and focus the light from the death of the star. The light from the Devil's Throat was used to start a small fire.

The fire was Calagnagun.

In the next part of the story, Calagnagun was a sentient forest fire, burning down cities and outmaneuvering all attempts to extinguish him.

In the last part of the story, Calagnagun was lured to Lykorum. Once there, attempts to destroy him failed. In order to isolate him, the mountain of Lykorum was sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Calagnagun is a creature of alien fire, of a type not found on Centerra, and it was trapped by the mile of cold seawater above him. It lurks still in the sunken ruins of lost Lykorum.

For the yeti, that was the last straw. Without Lykorum, they entered a second era of homelessness, which brings us to their current era of yeti, where most know them as the crouching beasts that haunt the high passes, or--in colder climes--as the flea circus that passes out alone in the corner of the bar each night.

The Shining Land

Yeti books (always bound in a yeti's own hair, and with yeti leather as a cover) speak of a place that they call the Shining Land. Most humans believe it to be somewhere in the afterlife, within the Kingdom of Heaven, where mortals may approach immortals and visit the souls of the dead.

The Shining Land is so beautiful that a single glimpse of it can be fatal (similar to the nymph ability). Yeti adventurers who discovered that place and explored it did so blindfolded. The Shining Land is not without its perils, but those brave yeti that mapped out hundreds of square miles did so on their hands and knees, groping along the ground, joined together by ropes.

Since the Shining Land is within the provinces of the Kingdom of Heaven, the Church has claimed ownership of all books describing how it is reached. If you want to find the Shining Land, the road lies through the libraries of Coramont.

Many yeti desire a return to the Shining Land. They believe that it holds relics of their olden days.

Yeti Magic

Devolution
Wizard Spell
If the target fails a save, they permanently devolve. They permanently lose 1d6 Intelligence points and lose the ability to speak, but they gain a new atavistic ability. For example, humans turn into hair ape-hybrids, and gain the ability to climb extremely well (automatically climb all climbable surfaces that would normally require a roll).

Trance
Wizard Spell
You fall into a deep trance and travel backwards in time to a point in time that you designate. You do not change location. If you prepare trance as a level 1 spell, the maximum distance is 3 days prior. Once there, you have 1d20 rounds to investigate the world before you are pulled back to the future. You cannot end this duration prematurely. If you go back to dangerous times, people and creatures may notice you and attack. Any damage you take (including death) is real, and persists after the spell ends. You do not actually travel in time, merely into a reproduction of a past time, but even this is enough to be fatal.

Other popular spells among yeti:

divination spells of all types
magic jar
invisibility
tenser's transformation
animate hair
trap the soul

↧

More Bug Collector Ecosystems

June 25, 2015, 2:24 am

≫ Next: Undead Psychology

≪ Previous: Yeti

This is a continuation of my ecosystems for the bug collector class. You can't be a bug collector without bugs to collect, can you? Detailed here are the Desert, City, and Tundra ecosystems.

by Bobertbra

Ecosystem: Desert

Desert Badge: +2 to save against blindness and or light effects.

Ankheg Larva: Drums the ground when pinched. 90% chance of summoning an angry ankheg (HD 3) in 1d6 minutes.
Clockwork Antibeetle: When thrown on a construct or golem, paralyzes it for 1 round
Garrulous Locust: Above ground, will summon a swarm of locusts that grab you and fly away. Usually drop you off at the nearest humanoid settlement, but there is a 1-in-6 chance that they instead drop you off somewhere perilous.
Goro Beetle: If ingested, as flesh to stone, except that it lasts for 24 hours. Also works as a stone to flesh spell if fed to a statue, after 24 hours.
Horsefly Devil: Might actually be a tiny devil. If a ranged attack roll is successful (20' max), target is blinded and takes 1 damage each turn until it spends a round swatting the horsefly devil. Only works on targets that rely on a single pair of eyes.
Mummy Bug: Cures a magical disease (such as mummy rot) in exchange for 100 gold.
Nubalidia Moth: As detect magic.
Rust Monster Larva: As a rust monster's rust attack, once.
Sacred Scarab: If a ranged attack roll is successful (20' max), bites the target for 1d4 damage immediately, and again on the next two subsequent rounds. Also incredibly valuable to most mummies, who will bargain in order to possess it.
Sacred Sand Lion: Throwable up to 20' All creatures within 10' must save or be sucked into the sand, dust, or loose dirt that they are standing on. Only sucks people down 3', so humans will be stuck up to their waist, while dogs will suffocate unless swiftly rescued.

Ecosystem: City

City Badge: You get +1 to hit with quarterstaffs and butterfly nets.

Assassin's Earwig: If placed in a lock, has a 90% chance to unlock it, and a 10% to crush itself to death in there, jamming the lock.
Business Bug: If eaten, sobers you up immediately if you are drunk. If you are suffering from a mind-affecting poison, grants a new save against that poison.
Doodle Bug: If eaten, immediately causes the appearance of leprosy without any actual disability. Lasts until alcohol is consumed.
Ghost-eater Wasp: Does 1d12 damage to the nearest incorporeal undead within 20'.
Jimmy Bug: Picks the pocket of a target within 20', and then returns the item back to you. 95% success rate. Cannot carry things that weigh more than half a pound.
Otyugh Larva: Squeals when pinched. 50% chance of summoning an angry otyugh in 1d6 minutes.
Powder Bug: If eaten, gets you tremendously high. Can be sold for 10g in most cities, if fresh. Effects are euphoria, immunity to negative emotion effects, mild hallucinations, and 1d6 Wis damage.
Spy Fly: If eaten, you see all of the things that it witnessed in the last hour. Most bug collectors will tie a string to it, or glue it to something they can leave laying around innocuously.
Termite Queen: Destroys a shack (or wooden object shack-sized or smaller) in 1 day by devouring all of the wooden components. Destroys a cottage in 1 week (50% chance of being noticed and stopped halfway through). Destroys a mansion in 1 month (80% chance of being noticed and stopped halfway through). Multiple bugs do not increase chance of success.
Unlucky Moth: Circles your head. The next time you would be hit by a small projectile (arrow, slingstone) the moth intercepts it and dies, sparing you the attack.

Ecosystem: Tundra

Tundra Badge: Your max HP is increased by 3.

Cruel Angel Worm: When placed on someone's face, bites them for 1 damage whenever they knowingly tell a lie.
Glacier-Tongue Weevil: As grease, except the produces a thin layer of ice instead of literal grease.
Ice Needle Caterpillar. All creatures in a 15' cone take 1d6 piercing damage (save for half) as the caterpillar is squeezed until it explodes in a shower of shards.
Lunar Moth: As commune.
Merciful Moth: If a person died from cold damage, or from freezing to death, this moth has a 50% chance of returning them to life. They'll be a 1 HP and require a week's rest before they're capable of any exertion (such as walking). This works even on very old frozen corpses. If the 50% chance fails, it just creates rotten meat.
Mother's Merry Worm: If placed on snow or ice, will attempt to make an pseudo-igloo and then hibernate inside it. This takes 1 hour, and if the hibernating worm is removed, it is big enough for 6 people.
Proxy Moth: Turns an equal amount of ice into ~1000 silver coins. Lasts for 3 days before turning back into ice (or water, if the temperature is warm enough).
Remorhaz Larva: Releases pungent pheromone when pinched. 20% chance to summon an angry remorhaz in 1d6 hours.
Remorhaz Pupa: Melts all ice or snow in a 10' radius. Does 2d6 damage (save for half) to all ice- or cold-based creatures in the same area (including creatures that are weak against fire).
White Widow Spider: As the mend spell. Loves to repair domestic tools.

Coming Soon (Coming Eventually): Ocean, Mountain, Jungle, Swamp

↧

Undead Psychology

June 28, 2015, 11:03 pm

≫ Next: Tales of Abasinia

≪ Previous: More Bug Collector Ecosystems

art by reau

There's no such thing as mindless undead. When you raise the dead, you are not puppeting them, not quite. You are inviting an alien soul to occupy the body, one that the reanimation spell has selected for certain mental traits: usually obedience, foremost.

Necromancers

Most undead are created intentionally, by necromancers.

Necromancy is illegal in most civilized places. Partly because of the danger involved when a necromancer loses control of their creations, but also because of the taboo against disturbing the dead and defacing their bodies. (Most reanimation rituals involve carving profane runes on the skull, a practice that has echoes in golemetry.)

When a necromancer dies, flip a coin. On a heads, their undead go berserk, attacking every living thing in the area. On a tails, they immediately devour their necromancer's corpse (even skeletons will masticate a corpse, and paint all of their bones red in the necromancer's blood) before attacking all living things (as if a heads had been flipped). It usually takes 6 minutes for 1 zombie to finish eating/destroying their necromancer's corpse, during which they will take no action to defend themselves.

Contrary to popular belief, most necromancers are not gaunt, ashen men who live in tombs (though there are certainly many necromancers who match that description). Many necromancers who practice life-stealing magics are corpulent and jolly, swollen with stolen vitalities.

And of course, there is the story of Hamar Nesmith, a plantation owner who was discovered to be a necromancer only when he suddenly died (runaway wagon) and all 51 of his "field hands" rushed into his mansion in order to devour his body, before attacking the nearby town of Claymere and killing all of its inhabitants.

Skeletons

Skeletons are often considered mindless, because their behavior is extremely constrained. Basically, the rules of "mindless" skeleton behavior are this: Take no initiative, and fulfill every command in the simplest possible way.

Because of this, you don't see any of the tricky behavior in skeletons that is so common in devils or genies--subversion of an improperly worded command.

But just because skeletons are incapable of subtlety in their behavior doesn't mean that they are incapable of subtle and complex thoughts. Their behavior is bound, but their minds are not. Anyone casting ESP on a reanimated skeleton will find that the new soul--the proxy soul--is a raving, fragmented thing that is keenly aware of its servitude and its abasement.

Most skeletons detest their necromancers with a hot, seething hatred. But being unable to speak or even alter the way they act--they have absolutely no way of expressing it.

That is not quite true, of course. Skeletons sometimes express their hatred by staring at the necromancer, or standing too close when the necromancer sleeps, or standing slightly farther away.

Zombies

Zombies are the minds of ravenous animals. They are not mindless, but they are stupid.

They are famous for walking into fires in pursuit of their prey, or into injurious circumstances without regard. For this reason, they are considered mindless.

But zombies never charge headlong into circumstances that are immediately lethal. They don't walk off cliffs or into blenders. So there must be some discrimination in their minds, between things are injurious and things that are immediately lethal.

So there is not much self-preservation in a zombie, but still more than none. In fact, the behavior of a zombie is what you'd expect from something that knows it is possessing a temporary body--something disposable and worth risking.

Lich

Do you suppose that a lich dies as soon as it reaches lichdom? Why should so much power cause a creature to die?

In fact, a wizard who becomes a lich continues to live on. At least for a little while.

As soon as a wizard becomes a lich, they gain perfect control over their body. They dictate when their heart beats. They command their cells to divide, and their liver to store sugar. Arterial tension is simple, blood pH only slightly less so.

A lich's body no longer runs on autopilot. It runs on full manual control. This is the source of their great strength and durability. Stab a man in the chest, and it is like a river spilling its banks. Stab a lich in the chest, and it is like disturbing a line of ants. It can quench the flow.

But with this power comes tedium. A lich's mind is well-suited to managing the billions of sundry operations that occur every hour within the body, each essential to well being. But the incessant demand of this management comes mistakes, hastiness, abandonment. Cells forget to make proteins. Cerebrospinal fluid fails to be cycled. A small war in the upper respiratory canal is abandoned to its own devices, and bacteria devour the living tissue.

And when the systems start failing. They snowball into each other, cascade, and collapse. Sometimes the whole process takes less than 24 hours, and at the end of it all, the new lich is dead.

But of course, there are the exceptions. Be wary of the Lich Who Yet Lives.

Lich Pychology

The prime example is the lich. After a lifetime of ambition and eldritch success, a wizard may become a undead creature of undeniable power. When a lich glares at the sun, it dims. When a lich feels frustration, a whole nation trembles in their sleep.

So that is the great frustration of liches: nothing brings them any enjoyment anymore.

And there is much to be frustrated about. Although liches reach one of their goals (immortality) and many others besides, it brings them no joy. The part of them that allowed them to enjoy those victories died along with their body. Apples turn to ashes in their mouths. They look at the face of their best friend and feel nothing except recognition.

Enjoyment and displeasure atrophy. They cannot enjoy a meal or a symphony. They pursue their goals, their happiness with all of the devotion of an addict, except without any of the succor when they achieve it.

Some liches are able to rekindle that flame of humanity: to return to life. Liches that actually achieve this are called Lords Revenant, but they are beyond the scope of this post.

And so liches become devotees of themselves. Combined with a frequent contempt for the gods (who have tried to stop them so many times and always failed), liches raise a skeletal middle finger at all of the pantheons and become worshipers of themselves.

Nearly every lich has a shrine to their old life somewhere. Their worship may be literal, with prayers, mythology, and rituals that pay homage to key moments in their former lives. This is also why they build phylacteries out of objects that they once held most dear. Childhood toys, favorite books, a father's cap, etc.

Liches have a difficult time caring about anything, even their own destruction. All liches die with a shrug and a sigh.

Ghouls

I've previously written about how people become ghouls. Like liches, ghouls gradually segue into undeath from life. The process is a bit like dementia. They lose themselves bit by bit--the soul decays before the body does.

But unlike liches, ghouls still have attachments. They can still enjoy the world--and they do, with great succor.

When you encounter a ghoul in a dungeon, there is a 5% chance that they fed recently. If so, they behave much like living people. They tend to be sarcastic but good-natured, and they can be reasoned with, and they can often provide information about the dungeon.

Digression: ghouls eat flesh, but they do not digest. The meat turns to dust in their stomach, which they then regurgitate. You can identify ghoul haunts by the ashes that collect in the corners. They do not starve, but if they do not eat for several days, they become bestial and half-mad with hunger, unable to do anything except seek flesh. They especially prefer old corpses, as long as they are fleshy. In extreme cases, they engage in auto-cannibalism, and gnaw their limbs down to the bone. They do not starve--they just feel like it.

Ghouls are known for two things: their ravenous hunger, and their great senses of humor when they are not ravenously hungry. They are especially known for their well-developed senses of irony.

The great playwright Moachim was a ghoul. He wrote his plays, including the famous satire The Queen's Pig on the walls of the Blachenrood Mausoleum. Moachim actually survived to see his play performed several times before he was destroyed (he couldn't resist eating the actresses who played the Queen).

Ghouls retain their old personalities, but they stop caring about things. They remember their best friends from when they were alive--they just stop caring.

Apathy, hunger, and humor. The unlife of a ghoul.

art by VegasMike

↧

Tales of Abasinia

June 30, 2015, 11:01 pm

≫ Next: Dwellers of the Great Necropolis

≪ Previous: Undead Psychology

The Five People You Might Meet in Abasinia

1. A dust eater. Smears of brightness stain his lips. His rags whip in the wind as he slouches between the pyramids. He will beg for money, or steal it. If you command him to lick the dust from your feet, he will have no choice but to obey. That is his curse. You may beat him (and most do), but if you kill him, he will return to haunt you. That is also his curse.

2. A wagoneer. His wagon is painted a monochrome white, except for three brown lines in a circle, which represent the lines of ones palm. His camels have delicate brown eyes; his guards sing to them as they walk. The camels can drink seawater safely. In a locked chest, the wagoneer keeps a dozen mandrogi; they set up camp each night, rustling between the wheels.

3. Nameless. They have forgotten who they are. You will forget them when they leave (unless they wrong you). They are cursed by a member of the Princemaker's Guild. They usually have a book they carry that suffices as their memory. They might be an assassin, whose book tells them who to kill. It may even tell them why.

4. Swordmaster. They pierce their ears with tassels for their victories. They duel each other when they meet. A crippling defeat (struck three times without striking your opponent once) means that a swordsman must become the slave of the victor until the next full moon. Most of them travel with a painter.

5. A prophet. They follow the laws of the Celestial Lottery. They read the secret messages of the sand and the leaves. Sometimes they go to a certain city and give a great fortune to an apparently-random cabbage seller. Sometimes they approach a seller of dogs and offer to become their slave. Sometimes they kill. Through all of these seemingly random actions, they are never questioned, never arrested. It is understood that they are following the secret commands of Heaven. Sometimes they wander into other countries, where they are executed as madmen. It is known that anyone who impersonates a prophet is stuck down by cruel miracles.

No Booze
Abasinia is a dry nation. Intoxicants are forbidden. Even delago (basically tobacco) is punishable by the removal of fingers. The only exception is the dust of the lotus, which is eaten in great amounts.

It is forbidden to create an image (e.g. painting) that uses perspective. If a creature that is "near" is larger while a creature that is "far" is smaller, is possible for a fly to be larger than Heaven; this is an abomination.

Fashion is usually simple and severe, tending towards whites, blacks, and pale colors.

Shangalore and the Burning City

Once, Abasinia had a different capitol. An entourage from the Church in the south came, and stated that their god (the Sky God, the Truth, the Authority) was greater than the gods of Abasinia (the Celestial Serpents). The local priests disagreed.

They went before the king to contest their gods. The foreign priests prayed for a sign of the superiority of the Sky God, and they were given one.

The High Temple of Abasinia sank into the ground, and fire erupted from between the cobblestones. The whole city burned.

The people fled with ashen feet, and created a new capitol near the coast. The new capitol is called Shangalore.

The Princemaker's Guild struck the old city's name from the Celestial Books. It's name was forgotten from the mind's of men, for the safety of all.

The old city, the Nameless City, still burns.

Religion in Abasinia

It is a syncretic mix of the Church's teachings and the local Celestialism. In the years since founding the city of Shangalore, Abasinia has since distanced itself from the Church, and now exists as an independent religion.

Qanats and the Secret Highway

The great city exists in a shallow valley. It's vast fields and farms are watered by qanats.

The greatest and longest of these qanats is called the Secret Highway. It was dug over three generations, and runs over 100 miles between Shangalore to the Mountains of Consequence.

If you do not wish to walk atop the dunes, you may walk along the Highway. The toll is too steep for many travelers, but it is safe and the water is cold.

Princemaker's Guild

In Abasinia, the power of Names is still known and practiced.

The Namesmiths of the Guild create new Names and write them in the Celestial Books (which exist only in the wind--the Namesmiths write in the air with their moving fingers, and then move on).

If you are given a Name, and speak it, everyone will recognize it. It is impossible to fake a Celestial Name--it doesn't have the same resonance.

Nobles and other people of import are given names as rewards. Other Names are used as currency--some merchants trade Names between themselves instead of promissory notes. As a form of currency, they are subtle, weightless, and discreet.

The least of Names is worth about 1,000 gp, while the greatest names are worth many tens of thousands.

Names are both a form of titles as well as a form of currency. They cannot be stolen, only given away willingly and without duress. Upon death, they might transfer to a designated inheritor or revert to the Princemaker's Guild.

To the east is Charcorra.

To the south is the Sea of Fish.

↧

Dwellers of the Great Necropolis

July 4, 2015, 5:12 am

≫ Next: Flying Snails

≪ Previous: Tales of Abasinia

If you approach Vangol* from the lowlands, you cannot miss the City of the Dead.

It is the spine of a giant, a low ridge of conical spires and broad-shouldered mausoleums. The city is built on top of a huge deposit of very dark limestone on the south end of the Plain of Jars. As the limestone was mined, it was used to build crypts above ground while hollowing out the catacombs beneath the city.

The stone comes in all of the colors of a midnight rainbow: dark blue, rusted red, somber ochre, basilisk green. But the color is only apparent up close. From a distance, it all blends into a slate grey.

Within sight of the City of the Dead, all fire burns white, entirely devoid of color. It's also dimmer: a torch only illuminates 20' (instead of 30'). This is also true of the sun, which is why the Valley of the Dead always lies in half-shade and the Necropolis is so chilly.

The sacred dead (loyal to Ashrune) cannot be turned while they remain within sight of the Necropolis.

*Vangol is sort of like a cross between ancient Egypt, Mongolia, and Russia, except with frozen tundra. It's inhabited by a bunch of powerful-but-usually-warring clans. They're just about the only place in Centerra that practices mass paganism outside of the reach of the Church (who hates Vangol).

Ashrune

The pagan fire gods are said to be titans who were born inside volcanoes (now dormant in this late age) and now dwell inside their temple, if they have one. Ashrune is no different. Her dormant volcano is Mount Ashrune, located to the north, about two weeks away by foot.

Ashrune's head was cut off and stolen by the King of Bees. Despite this, the goddess persists, still seeking her missing head and awaiting the Rekindling of the Deep Fires.

(Fire god statistics as HD 16 titans.)

The Covenant

The Vangolians have made a covenant with Ashrune, the goddess of Death and Birth. (Digression: pagan fire gods are usually paired concepts. So they might have a god whose domain includes both Chaos and Law simultaneously.)

The Great Necropolis, also called the City of the Dead, is where all of the kings of Vangol are buried. They will arise from their burial at the End of Days, with all of their glory and past splendor. Everything that they were buried with will still be at their side: all of their horses, wives, gold, and mansions.

The Necropolis Kings are the final authority of who is and isn't a king in Vangol.

Commoners can hope for resurrection at the End of Days as well, but they have only two ways to ensure it:

Become a spouse or servant of a Vangolian king, and be buried alive at their funeral.
Serve the Necropolis for at least half of your lifespan.

Of the two options, the second is by far the most common. The necropolis attracts the living: the desperate runaway, the aimless poet, the heartbroken lover, the disposed princeling, the miserable, the pathetic, and the damned.

These poor souls journey to the Necropolis in order to serve in the kingdom of Ashrune, in the hopes that they might be resurrected in new, golden bodies at the end of time.

But not every servant of the Necropolis had a wretched past. In Vangol, when a noble commits a crime that is worthy of death, they are not executed, but are instead sent to the Necropolis to live out the rest of their days.

Although the "living" servants of the necropolis have metabolisms and heartbeats, they are considered dead by all Vangolians. Though their bodies live, their souls have died--or at least, they have undergone that subtle transformation that recolors a soul when its body dies. It's a type of undeath that most adventurers are unfamiliar with: a living body with a dead soul.

Foreign scholars sometimes describe them as "dead by adoption".

Among the "living" servants, children are sometimes conceived. These children are very precious to the vulture-headed clerics of the Necropolis. They are taken from their mothers at the age of 3, to be used for purposes unknown.

of all the pictures on this page
this is closest to what I actually imagine

A City Proper

The Necropolis is laid out like a living city, even though it isn't used as one. There's still restaurants, for example. No one uses these restaurants, but then you must remember that the Necropolis is going to be exalted into an actual metropolis at the End of Days. It will be the only living city in the world, and all the crypts will open and the newly resurrected will start looking for the best tea shop in the universe (which will be conveniently down the gold-paved street).

But even though it looks like a living city, it isn't. Most of the buildings are sealed tombs, crafted to be appropriate to their occupants.

Dead bakers are buried in faux bakeries, with a sarcophagus in the great oven. Dead guardsmen are buried in garrison-mausoleums, in coffin-bunkbeds. And you can probably figure out who is entombed inside that windowless, obsidian palace.

The Docks of Obolov

The Necropolis has a harbor called the Docks of Obolov. This is because the Necropolis still has an economy. It needs to receive dead kings and accept new acolytes. It needs to build new crypts, and while stone can be quarried beneath the city, everything else must be imported. And although the "living" servants of the Necropolis don't eat much, they still require food. And so merchant ships still visit.

The unsanctified masses are not allowed in the Necropolis, although they are allowed to occupy the docks for as long as they want. For this reason, the long stone piers of the Necropolis have been expanded into a maze of boardwalks and piers. The Docks of Obolov are a tiny town unto themselves, and even have their own permanent residents.

The Necropolis Kings pay for their needed supplies with burial goods. The accounts are settled each year in late autumn. A representative from the merchant company will be called into an audience with a polished lich, who will begrudgingly hand over a bag of rubies, the smallest fraction of the Necropolis' vast wealth.

The Great Necropolis also trades in certain intangibles, most famously courage, which is bought and sold like any other commodity. (Treat this as bonuses and penalties on saves vs fear.) They'll also purchase memories (Treat this as XP drain), but will not sell you any.

Skeletons and Other Citizens

There are a lot skeletons in the Necropolis. They paint their bones in different patterns to denote identity, rank, and affiliation. Stripes and spots, blacks and bright reds.

The skeletons here are intelligent, but cannot speak. They communicate through a slate and chalk, which about 25% of them carry.

Visitors who would enter the city must be accompanied by a skeleton guide at all times.

There are plenty of "living" servants as well, most of whom are hard at work.

Plundering the Necropolis

The Necropolis may of course be plundered like any other city-megadungeon. The outer sprawl is suitable for level 1 parties, while the deep interior can be as high-level as your campaign needs dictate.

An especially eager patron would be the Church of Hesaya, who would love to damage a pagan stronghold such as this.

Serving the Necropolis

The players can also serve the Necropolis. Even a city of skeletons has needs: food for the servants that still eat, metal for tools, craftsmen for repairs. Players could also quest for Ashrune's missing head, chase down those asshole necromancers, and be sent to gently capture some rogue undead so it can be reconsecrated and laid back down in its proper tomb. If you want epic level stuff, there's always the option to reactivate Mount Ashrune, thereby doubling the number of active volcanoes on Centerra.

But "going forth and questing" also misses the best opportunities to explore and humanize this huge city-dungeon. It's a city with as much intrigue as any other city (although some of that intrigue takes centuries to resolve). Players could steal from one mummy at the behest of another, help a vain lich conduct a ceremony that will restore her beauty, figure out which skeleton (out of the thousands) has gone rogue, lose their bodies via taxation and earn them back while ghosts, and/or help a mummy remember who he was in life, and which tomb is his.

Also, the first reward any adventurer gets in the Necropolis is a posh tomb, built to their specifications. The players might balk at that, but what if we throw in some mummified houris?

DM Tip: If the players want to play as skeletons, this is the place that they will call home. Also, I think Daniel Dean said at one point that if your setting doesn't have a city run by skeletons it's basically worthless, and I've been quietly fretting about that for months. I guess I can rest a little easier now.

The Princesses of Vlannistrog

The Vlannistrog Dynasty buried over 200 princesses over it's 200 year reign. The Vlannistrog patriarchs refused to bury their dead in the same place as their hated enemies, and so they eschewed the Great Necropolis in order to bury their princesses in a separate, secret crypt, hidden nearby in the Valley of the Dead.

That location was lost to time, until a necromancer known as Helzai discovered the crypt. Away from the protections of the Necropolis, she was able to plunder it entirely.

She is now possessed of a great fortune and a small army of 200 princess wights. She has only surfaced once, in order to offer her services as a mercenary company, but her current location and intentions are unknown.

Decay

The great weakness of the undead is their inability to repair themselves.

This is not the same thing as fragility. A skeleton is not fragile. In most respects, it is more durable than a human. But sunlight weakens the bones, microfractures add up to irreparable breaks, and pieces go missing and are never found.

For example, zombies make poor fieldhands because they invariably collect injuries that eventually render them unusable.

For this reason, the dwellers of the Necropolis chose their actions carefully. They have forges and juggernauts, but these things are rarely active. The dwellers spend most of their time waiting, watching from behind window curtains (to keep out the dirt).

Encounters In the Necropolis

Servant of the Necropolis

Stats as a normal level 1 human, except that they count as undead. Each one is capable of making a deathblow (1/day) with a consecrated dagger that they all carry. If this deathblow hits, it does 3d6 damage and the servant dies immediately. One turn later, they arise as a skeleton of the Necropolis.

Servants with 8 HP are blessed by Ashrune and carry a vulture on their shoulder. They can cast halflife 1/day. (Save or have your current HP cut in half.)

Favored Servant of the Necropolis

Same as a HD 2 servant of the Necropolis, except that if the favored servant dies (for any reason), they immediately arise as a HD 3 skeleton, a HD 3 zombie (that lacks a skeleton), a HD 3 skin kite, and a HD 3 ghost. The ghost is capable of both possession or directing the other three units, who are otherwise mindlessly aggressive. If the favored servant triumphs in the defense of the Great Necropolis, the ghost will order the zombie and the skin kite to destroy each other, then possess the skeleton, becoming a skeletal hero of the Necropolis.

Servants with 14 or more HP are blessed by Ashrune and carry a vulture on their shoulder. They can cast halflife 2/day. (Save or have your current HP cut in half.)

Skeleton of the Necropolis

Stats as normal skeleton, except intelligent, ambitious, and very, very patient. Incapable of speech, but 25% of them carry a piece of chalk and a slate for this purpose. They crumble into dust when they leave sight of the Necropolis, geographically. (This is why they have built the Tower of the Beckoning Finger so tall.) They paint their bones in tribal patterns.

Skeleton Hero of the Necropolis

HD 4 Armor as chain Scimitars 1d8/1d8

Move as human Int as human Morale 7

*Double damage from bludgeoning.

*Each held scimitar grants +2 AC vs arrows.

*Counterattack: Whenever someone makes a melee attack against the skeletal hero and misses, the skeletal hero makes a free attack against them.

There are rumors of skeletal champions with HD 6, four arms (and four scimitars and four attacks), and the ability to cast wall of fire twice per day.

Shade of the Necropolis

HD 4 Armor as chain Claws 1d10 + shading

Fly as vulture Int as psychopath Morale 10

*Semi-Incorporeal: Half damage from non-magical attacks.

*Shading: If you fail a save against a claw attack, your world becomes filled with a howling black fog. You cannot see beyond 10'. You cannot hear normal speech beyond 10' or shouting beyond 30'. This curse lasts until you decapitate a living humanoid in a ceremony dedicated to Ashrune.

*True Form: Creatures with darkvision or true seeing can see the shade's true form (not just an ebony skeleton wreathed in smoke). It's true form is much worse, and those who witness it must immediately make a save or flee in fear for 1d6 rounds.

Clerics of the Necropolis

Stats are normal clerics of level whatever. You'll recognize them by their vulture heads. They can learn halflife as a level 2 spell, and mass halflife as a level 6 spell. They can learn the curse of Ashrune as a level 3 spell, which causes a creature that fails a save to go straight to hell when they die, regardless of their actions in life (treat as a curse).

Fly Swarms of the Necropolis

These bone-white flies are ubiquitous within the Necropolis. You'll find swarms of them in every street and every room. They boil up from around your feet like kicked dust. In combat, they attack as a 2 HD swarm that bites for 1d6 damage, but they only attack unnatural forms of life (demons, golems, summoned creatures). The undead are considered natural here. For living adventurers, the flies won't even land on you. They pass you by like a breeze.

↧

Flying Snails

July 6, 2015, 2:10 am

≫ Next: The 5 Types of Ethical Dilemmas

≪ Previous: Dwellers of the Great Necropolis

Flying Snails are huge for snails. They have about 10 pounds of mass, and 0 pounds of weight. They fly by spinning their bodies, travelling through the air like a drill while paddling their heads around in a circle.

Even if they didn't fly, they would be distinctive for their steel grey shells and bright orange bodies, like the pulp of a mango.

Flying snails don't look like snails. They prey on birds and small animals, and camouflage themselves by gluing leaves and branches on top of themselves.

Flying snails are one of the few creatures that naturally (alchemically) produce a magic material. Their shells have negative weight. A shell that would weigh 5 pounds, instead weighs negative 5 pounds. If you tie a shell weighing -5 lbs to a slug that weighs 5 pounds, the resulting object would be weightless. It functions a bit like a balloon.

Except, unlike a balloon, a flying snail shell will actually leave the atmosphere and fly into space, avoiding all the planets and suns, and never falling into a stable orbit.

Digression: It is hypothesized that there may be planes and masses also made of antigravity-stuff, where normal gravity-stuff and antigravity-stuff are reversed, and the flying snail shell may indeed come into a stable orbit. Good luck landing on it. Or even reaching it, since it is probably as far away from our half of the universe as it can get.

There is both a dance and a men's hat named after the flying snail.

While they were once common in the Abasinian mountains and hills, they have been hunted nearly to extinction. Their shells are worth a fortune, and are incorporated into things in order to make them lighter, especially armor.

Because of the exotic effects of the poison, the flying snails are sometimes linked to the fire cults, and for that reason, are sometimes referred to as "demon snails of the inferno".

It is rumored that fire cults would catch devout members of the Church, sting them several times with the flying snails, and then abandon them in the woods to die from the poison. The idea then, is to search for an antidote, of which none is known for certain (but many suggestions exist).

What is known, however, is that the last hierophant of the Zagyron fire cult was the only known person to have been executed by being flung into space, when he was locked inside a cage made from flying snail shell and allowed to fall upward. If the cage was ever recovered, it would be worth a fortune.

The prince of Chengali has a pair of wings made from flying snail shell. When strapped to his back, they make him so light that it becomes possible for him to fly. He is rumored to spend his winters flying through the jasmine-scented canyons within the Royal Preserve.

Flying Snail
HD 1 AC plate Sting 1d3 + poison
Fly at walking speed Int 3 Mor 7
*Heartstopper Poison: Poison does no damage immediately, but creates a painful burning sensation that lingers for hours. The next time you go to sleep, once you hit deep REM sleep (about 90 minutes after falling asleep), you will have horrible nightmares, usually about being burned alive. At this point, make a Con check for each time you were stung since you last went to sleep. For each check that you fail, take 1d6 damage, simultaneously.

Shells are worth 100gp if undamaged, or 50gp if damaged.

this is what the shell looks like

Encounters:

1. Some kids thought they saw a flying snail high up in a tree, hidden in the thick branches. If you pay them 10gp, they'll tell you which tree. Caveat: the kids are telling the truth, but there's not one snail up there; there's two.

2. A dungeon has fire cultists in it. They all poison their spears with flying snail poison. The PCs might feel their hearts fluttering after they've been hit a few times, but they won't know about the poison's deadly effects unless they ask a cultist or a cleric. The antidote, of course, is inside a small room guarded by a guy who knows the sleep spell (which is now potentially very deadly).

3. An alchemist has obtained a rare ingredient (wendigo plasm) and wants your help with a very powerful experiment. If you can bring him three flying snails, he can make you an elixir that permanently reverses a creature's gravity.

↧

The 5 Types of Ethical Dilemmas

July 6, 2015, 4:55 am

≫ Next: The Simurgh

≪ Previous: Flying Snails

This is going to be a contentious post, I think. Prepare yourself for strong sensations of OPINION.

This post may be of some use to people who want to insert ethical dilemmas into their games, or people who want their dilemmas to suck less.

What is a Dilemma?

If you punish your players whenever they do something bad and reward them whenever they do something good, YOU HAVE REMOVED ANY ELEMENT OF A DILEMMA FROM THEIR DECISION. If the players learn that the DM sends shit-tons of town guards after them each time they rob a hobo, they will stop doing it. If the players learn that they'll be given 2 healing potions whenever they spend a healing potion healing a dying hobo, they'll heal every dying hobo they come across. Congrats, DM! You've succeed at getting your heroes to act heroic all the time, but also managed to remove any morality from the heroics. It is now a previously-solved math problem, just a lever that your players must push in order to get the food pellet.

If a player doesn't sacrifice something to be the good guy, they aren't actually being the good guy, they're just the Randian opportunist guy who happened to do something good because it was to their own benefit. Or at best, a good guy who hasn't had his goodness tested.

"Will you fight evil or die when the evil conquers your country?" is an easy question to answer, and one that selfish assholes will answer the same way that noble knights would.

"Will you fight evil or live a long, happy life while bad things happen to other people far away?" is much more compelling, but also harsher because being a hero now has a cost.

So dilemmas are inherently about sacrifice (even if that sacrifice is just opportunity cost). You need to present multiple options where the difficulty lies in choosing what you value. Contrast this with (most) combat, where the goal is to choose the best way to get what you obviously value.

Anyway, here are five types of dilemmas, ordered roughly from least- to most-favorite.

1. The Untrustworthy Knight: Incomplete Information

A knight walks up to you and says that he needs you help to steal a thing to do a good thing. His armor is shiny, but is he a good guy or a bad guy? Will he use the thing to do a good thing, or is it really going to be used for a bad thing? Do you trust him?

These dilemmas are primarily questions of trust that force you to make a decision based on incomplete information.

That's why I don't like them, usually. At their worst, it's just the DM asking the players to make a blind choice, with a cost/benefit that is entirely unknown to the player. It's like giving them two identical doors, with sudden death behind one door and 1000 miniature horses behind the other, each wearing a golden collar.

Exception: These dilemmas might be fun if the stakes are low. Like, if you guess correctly you win magic pants that can turn into any other pair of pants, but if you lose, everyone loses their pants.

Exception: These dilemmas are a little better if that ignorance is part of the challenge that can be overcome (before having to make a decision). Like, you could get a head start on the job OR research your boss's history. Or you could choose the historical books as your reward instead of the bag of gems.

This type of dilemma is similar to when the DM springs a "Aha! You were working for the bad guy all along!" moment on you. Which is different, but usually still boring. (Better: Your boss is a bad guy who does bad stuff, but his job for you is good stuff, like bodyguarding his 8-year-old daughter from kidnappers. I love evil-but-friendly, or evil-but-not-doing-evil-currently).

2. The Undead Workforce: Do the Ends Justify the Means?

These are pretty common in freshman year ethics classes. Would you kill 1 person in order to save 3? Would allow 1 person to die in order to save 2?

The usually involve doing something distasteful in the short term in order to do something desirable in the long term.

This can be a utilitarian consideration (will you kill 1 to save 2?) or a Kantian one (lie to prevent a murder from ocurring?).

The classic example is farm-zombies. Lots of people think of raising undead as a victimless crime. Why not raise a bunch of undead and use them as a cheap labor source, in order to make the world a better place. (Protip: if you don't want your players coming to this obvious conclusion, you should invent a reason why necromancy isn't a victimless crime.)

Another nice twist is: players kill evil cult, players find out that regular sacrifices are required to keep even greater evil from awakening, and that the cult they just killed was keeping the world safe after all. (This usually ends with the players restarting the cult, fleeing that part of the world and never returning, or getting TPK'd by the demon they just unleashed).

These are also related to things that are "against a character's code". Like, would the alcoholic dwarf choose to save the baby or the cask of beer? Would the paladin allow a witch to live so she can brew an antidote to the poison that is affecting the village?

The problem with these dilemmas is that players often take the long, utilitarian view, and have no problem killing an innocent guy in order to save three children. (This is because they're abstracted from the game, and NPCs are more like symbols than they are like real children. Also, it might be possible that my players are atheist munchkins without pity or remorse.)

The trick is then to make the sacrifices more meaningful. Would they kill their favorite NPC in order to save three kids that don't even have names, much less stat blocks?

Alternatively, change the sacrifices to thing that are not easily comparable. Would you kill an innocent woman to save the Mona Lisa? Would you make spaceflight impossible in order to cure polio?

All this talk of comparing incomparables brings us to my next point. . .

3. Truth or Happiness: Choosing Between Two Goods (or Two Bads)

This type of dilemma asks you to choose between two things that are both desirable. Or, on the flip side of the coin, between two undesirables.

If you look close, this is pretty much the same as #2. Nominally, you could say that that this dilemma (a) is about making a single choice at a single time and (b) always involves incomparables.

Who do you support for king? The kind prince or the competent one?

Which society is preferred? Safety or privacy?

Now that you know that everyone goes to hell when they die, and there truly is no hope for anyone, will you report your findings honestly to Astral NASA, or lie about it for the sake of their sanity?

The difficulty here is that you are comparing incomparables, and those are always subjective. While you might think that safety vs privacy is a compelling dilemma, your players might spend 0 seconds debating, because one of those option is obviously far better than the other.

If that happens, don't sweat it. They interacted with your world and made a choice; that's all you can ask for. They may be patting themselves on the back for making the right choice so quickly.

4. The Beloved Wife: Mechanical Advantages vs Fictional Rewards

Alright, you got me. This is just a sub-type of #3. But it's a very special, very common type of dilemma, and so they get their own category.

The classic example is this: how much would you risk (or sacrifice) in order to save your beloved (and fictional) spouse?

These dilemmas ask players to choose between mechanical power (munchkin-ism) and mechanically-neutral awesomeness.

This dilemma actually happens all of the time. Whenever a player decides to kill+rob or not to kill+rob a random NPC, they are engaging in this dilemma.

Oftentimes, there's no mechanical drawback to murdering a wandering minstrel and taking his 3 silver. For the pure munchkin, this is no dilemma. Just kill everyone whenever you can get away with it and take all of their stuff. But no player (that I've met, anyway) is 100% munchkin. Most players would choose not to slaughter all the orphans. At least, not for less than 100 gold. You just need to find that break-even point and flirt with it.

And it's okay if your players don't always choose the option you want them to. That's them expressing their agency, deciding what kind of heroes they want to be. If you don't get this, then go back and read the section on "What is a Dilemma?"

And of course, there's glory. Glory with the big letters and the public acclaim and adoring fans. Will your character choose the 1000gp or a (mechanically worthless) title? Will they choose mass popularity or another +1 to hit?

Pride + awesomeness is a obvious Thing of Positive Worth, but what about shame?

Would you lick the mud off a balor's hoof in order to save the princess? (The balor isn't here looking for souls. It just want to humiliate and degrade the faithful.)

A certain kind of player (and DM) hates the idea of shaming their character as part of a moral dilemma. Isn't playing an RPG all about escapism? Isn't it about player empowerment? Isn't it about being a badass who is beholden to no one except the rule of cool?

Sure, for some people in some games. But how much is it worth to you that your avatar is a Cool Dude? For some players, it's an interesting character question and a serious roleplaying challenge. Other players will be uncomfortable having to choose between two things that they thought were guaranteed when they signed up: being a honored badass and saving people's lives.

Just remember that if you want to incorporate humiliation (as a counterpoint to glory) into your moral dilemmas, please please please make it an option that the players choose without coercion. Don't be the heavy-handed DM that says, "Since you fail your Str check, you are now the roper's sex slave. Roll vs penetration."

If your player is willing to sacrifice their fictional self's public honor--their beloved power trip--in order to save the life of a fictional person, I think that can be privately honorable and impressive and heroic.

One of my favorite scenes in Trigun is when Vash humiliates himself in front of the bad guys in order to save some hostages without bloodshed. He runs around on all fours, barking like a dog while the villains mock him, and I thought he never looked more heroic. (Not everyone would agree with me here, but isn't that a point of a dilemma?)

Another example: what's better, shameful secrets and public acclaim, or honorable secrets and public shame?

And a shout out to +Courtney Campbell, who DMed the first (and only) game I've seen a player lick the mud off a demon's feet. It opened my eyes, man.

5. The Caged Demon: Open-Ended Problem

This last type is the broadest, most vague of all the types of dilemmas. You are given a problem without any obvious options and told to solve it. A major distinguishing characteristic is that, unlike previous types of dilemmas, there is a huge benefit to being clever (not just choosing between pre-described options).

A good example (semi-cribbed from one of +Gus L's games) is a coffin with a horrible demon inside it. You lack the resources to destroy the demon or the coffin, so you are tasked with disposing of it. You can't throw it in the ocean, because the demon would just summon ruthless sahuagin to it via dreams and be released. You can't just bury it underground, because it will call to dwarves in the same way. Lacking a convenient volcano, what do you do?

I don't know. This dilemma has no obvious answer. But it should be apparent that cleverness is very desirable here.

You have a bunch of orphaned baby orcs. What do you do with them?

You've just gotten 1,000,000gp and your DM doesn't allow you to buy magic items. What do you do with your vast fortune? (I'll admit that this can turn into a question of "what's coolest?" for some parties, but for parties that are sincerely dedicated to making the campaign world a better place, it's a question of "how to best improve this campaign world with a million gold?" and that is much more interesting.)

Desirability of Dilemmas

Now that you've read a million words about dilemmas and are excited to insert them into your next session, I want to talk about why you shouldn't.

I think that, on average, DMs enjoy dilemmas more than players. We want to concoct big, dramatic decision points, and dilemmas certainly fulfill that role. But players often thrive on the small, discrete, and organic interactions that arise through play, like mushrooms on top of a mulch made of dead goblins.

Second, lots of players don't enjoy dilemmas. Perhaps they are here for beer, pretzels, and kicking down doors. Maybe they're completionists, and don't like their inability to solve all of the problems of all of the NPCs all of the way? Maybe they're pure escapists, and don't want any failures on their character's history (even if that small failure is accompanied by a bigger triumph).

Third, once you answered some of these questions ("yes, it is better for one to die so that three may live") they're a lot less exciting the second time around. Players usually player characters with nearly identical morals to their own, even when all other aspects of the character are very different from the player. It's easy to play a character that lies on the opposite end of the fashionista--slob spectrum from yourself; it's difficult (and sort of un-fun?) to play a character that you feel is doing the wrong thing, morally.

This is because you can't help but empathize with your character. If you are a Democrat, it's difficult to empathize with a Republican, even if that Republican is you.

Fourth and last, a lot of these dilemmas interfere with the rule of cool. The rule of cool states that players can open the coffin and defeat the vampire within. They don't have to lick any boots because they can kick the balor's ass. They don't have to choose between A and B because they can have both, and some of C as well.

Dilemmas include sacrifices, sometimes trivial but sometimes painful ones, and that's not fun for everyone.

I'm actually hoping for some feedback on this post, so if you were hesitating about commenting, don't.

↧

The Simurgh

July 7, 2015, 6:56 pm

≫ Next: Kioz

≪ Previous: The 5 Types of Ethical Dilemmas

The tower rose at an angle, neither vertical nor horizontal but also both, in a beautiful duality. The tower was also a single staircase. Standing at the top, the Simurgh looked down at all 777 stairs that spilled out onto the landing and, a few feet further, the mountainside beyond.

At the top, she walked past her door before they sat on her divan. Feeling peckish, she considered eating a flan, but instead chose to go for a flight. She spread all sixty of her wings and flew out all thirty of her windows.

Below the tower was the Garden of Earthly Delights, draped with all sorts of treasures and seldom-remembered plants. Trespassers were turned into birds when they entered the garden, and most of them still flitted between the honeysuckles. They were searching for new songs, and would not be allowed to leave until they found one.

Each birdsong is a spell, and each spell is a demon, and for this reason birdsongs are very important, and must be watched carefully. If a newly discovered song was dangerous, the Simurgh would very rapidly feed it to one of the great orns that roamed the garden, shoving through the boughs with their heavy heads, awaiting permission to be hungry.

About the Simurgh

The Simurgh is one of the few creatures that existed on Centerra prior to the Time of Fire and Madness. It is said that she does not know everything, but that she knows the answer to any question that a human is capable of asking. (Put another way, her unknowns are our inconceivable.)

She has 9 Hit Dice but has a couple of powerful abilities, such as Being Both a Swarm and a Single Creature (which is more advantageous).

Although conversing with the Simurgh is both pleasant and enlightening, she represents something inconceivable according to our current worldview. This dissonance causes trauma, and eventually insanity.

But it is not the same madness as one would gain from staring up the cloaca of Cthulhu. It is perhaps better described as an enlightenment that allows to one to see the world from a different point of view. Every way of seeing is also an infinite number of ways of not-seeing. This madness merely permits another way of seeing.

Which is all nice and poetic in theory, but in practice it involves walking off cliffs and being unable to see (or even perceive) things that are clearly visible.

↧

Kioz

July 8, 2015, 6:19 am

≫ Next: Character Fusion

≪ Previous: The Simurgh

art by Lius Lasahido

Kioz is the shell of the eternal snail. It is over 15 miles across, and lies at the foot of the Great Gyrus.

Kioz is tunnels. It glints like mica, hums like an electrical transformer.

Kioz is from the future. This is known because of the Library of Kioz, which was memorized by the eternal slugs and then eaten. Some adventurers who visit Kioz peacefully are given personalized messages.

Kioz is a dungeon, but it is very hard one to raid. Unless a group of adventurer's can find a non-deterministic way to determine when/where they will raid Kioz, they will find an overwhelming ambush early on, because of course the slugs knew you were coming.

Kioz is a living slug, who will one day go on to become the eternal snail. It is not known which slug will become Kioz in the distant future.

Eternal Slug
HD 7 AC 10 Bite 1d6 + swallow
Crawl slow Int 14 Mor 4
*Swallow: If its bite does an even amount of damage, the target must make a Str or Dex check (target's choice) to avoid being swallowed.
*Slow Zone: All creatures within 100' must save or be affected as if with a slow spell.

Eternal slugs are immortal. Some eternal slugs can cast spells.

Green People of Kioz

The green people of Kioz are gendered (they are male or female) but lack genitals entirely. They "mate" by fusing together, in an extreme form of monogamy. The resultant creature is an eternal slug.

Eternal slugs, being full of fertilized gametes, can choose to become pregnant whenever they like, and give birth to a green baby after 9 months.

Egg of Kioz
HD 4 AC 16 Lash 1d6/1d6
Fly slow Int 12 Mor 6
*When an Egg of Kioz uses its lash attacks, it needs to open up. This causes it to get -4 AC until its next turn.
*Eggs can jump forward through time three times per day. This lets them move three times as fast in a single round. The movement is nearly instantaneous, so it does not provoke attacks of opportunity. However, it is not teleportation, though it appears to be.
*Eggs have either the Time Cage ability or the Juvenation Beam.

The eggs look like chrome-plated chicken eggs the size of a small child. They float down hallways with the small end of the egg pointing forward.

Time Cage
Target must save or be trapped in a time cage, about the size of a small phone booth. Time cage lasts for 1 minute or until the Egg has been slain. While trapped in a time cage, the target's time is accelerated, so that one round (6 seconds) is actually one day inside the cage. On the plus side, the target is free to spend hours sharpening their blades and/or binding their wounds. On the downside, they'll usually die of dehydration inside the cage after a few rounds (days).

Juvenation Beam
On a failed save, target takes 2d8 damage and their hair and fingernails grow backwards. Any chronic injuries or missing limbs have a good chance of being healed. If they are reduced to 0 HP by this damage, they die and spawn a Remnant under the control of the player.

Remnants

Remnants are what is left when a person is rejuvenated back down to a youthful state. Rejuvenated bodies are always accompanied by a rejuvenated mind, and the fragmentation of a mind is always traumatic. The resultant creature is NOT just a version of the original with a younger body, nor is it a younger body without any of the more recent memories. A remnant is something new.

In game terms, it's a brand-new level 1 character, of the same class as the dead one, with a randomly determined personality and a predisposition towards nightmares. If the dead character was at least level 2, the remnant gains XP 10% faster.

Each remnant has a new, strange instinct. Roll a d6:

Love and respect for all living things, except enemies.
Hatred and contempt for all living things, except friends.
Strong dislike of being alone.
Strong need to record things as they happen. Will keep a journal.
Love and trust of gastropods (including snails and slugs).
Always hungry. Always skinny.

Lock Boxes

One service that the slugs provide: lock boxes. For a hefty fee, you can open a lock box before you put something in it.

These are lockboxes that are sent to yourself from the future. Each one is the size of a shoebox and contains the exact item that you want it to have. Usually.

In game terms, this means that you open the box whenever you want, and roll a d6. On a 1, it's the most useful minor magical item (potion or scroll) that the DM can think of. On a 2-5, it's the most useful mundane item that the DM can think of. On a 6, something went wrong, and the item inside is not suited for the situation at hand.

This is DM-level prescience, not player-level, so if you are fighting some ghouls and unwrap your box expecting a potion of undead control, you might be disappointed and confused when you find a potion of fire resistance instead. But of course, the DM (and future you) know that the dragon in the next room is what you really need help overcoming, not these ghouls.

This is paradox resistant. If you are killed by the dragon mentioned in the last paragraph, then it is your companions or great-nephews who are storing items in Kioz's lockboxes, hoping to rescue you from the past.

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Character Fusion

July 8, 2015, 10:01 pm

≫ Next: Intellect Devourers

≪ Previous: Kioz

Philosophy #166: Attack all parts of the character sheet, including who owns that character sheet.

So there are things that swap brains around. Sure, if you put a mind flayer inside a portable hole inside a pseudo-imaginary dinosaur, you might create a vortex that switches everyone's brains, thereby causing players to trade character sheets.

But there are also things that fuse characters together, thereby turning two character sheets into one character sheet with shared ownership.

Mechanics for Character Fusion

Everything is non-additive, except for HP.

Non-additive means that you take the highest. Saves, attack bonuses, and spells all take the best individual number of all the contributing characters. So if a level 3 wizard and a level 7 fighter are fused, the resulting character attacks like a level 7 fighter and casts spells like a level 3 wizard.

HP is semi-additive. Take the HP of the character with the highest HP. Add half of the HP of the next three highest HP characters. Each character beyond that adds 3 HP.

If a character is composed of at least 4 constituent characters, it can make two actions (but not two movements) per turn.

If there is a disagreement over what actions the fused creature should take, controlling players can make Charisma checks to take control of the shared body. If there are many people controlling the character, feel free to split into voting blocs and aid each other like any other ability score check.

They still count as a multiple group of people and track XP separately (so there's no problem if they de-fuse later).

Using Character Fusion in Your Game

Flying Fusion Oozes (monster)

The Fusion Door (dungeon)

It's a non-Euclidean doorway. On one side, its two doors. On the other side, it's one door. It's only passable if two creatures walk through it simultaneously. It allows access to one half of the dungeon that is populated entirely by fused creatures. (If there are an odd number of players, one of them will have to fuse with an NPC or animal companion or something.)

Godhood (curse)

When players kill the omni-chimera, they are rewarded by being fused together into a wonderful fusion-beast. This is a great reward. Surely all the players will be thrilled with this, and they will not seek out a cure as soon as they can.

Magic Twins (character concept)
During character creation, two characters agree that they are magical twins (a class that I haven't written yet). As their primary character ability, they can merge together and split apart, at-will.

One and Five Rings (magic item)

When multiple people wear these rings simultaneously within 10' of each other, they fuse together into a single creature. When the fused creature removes the ring, they split (and you are left with a bunch of people holding rings).

↧

Intellect Devourers

July 14, 2015, 1:29 am

≫ Next: Hexcrawl: Abasinia

≪ Previous: Character Fusion

this is my favorite picture

Biology

Intellect devourers are small animals, the size of cats. They walk on little cat legs. They have been compared to "brains on four legs" because of their rugose appearance. Pure water is noxious to them; they dwell most happily in ammonia.

They have eyes on the sides of their bodies, hidden among the wrinkles. The eyes look remarkably like human eyes, but are not usually seen. Golden eyes like royal jelly, wet and proud.

Intellect devourers can unravel themselves. It looks like braids of wet, pink yarn. They unravel themselves and then they slither up your nose. Then they use their little mouse claws to shovel your brains, which they eject out of your nose, like a dog digging in a flower bush (and usually leaving a telltale pulp on the floor).

Then, having replaced most of your brain and some of your spinal cord, the intellect devourer puppets your body around like a goddam skin car. Enough brain matter is retained for the intellect devourer is "know" some basic facts of the puppet's life: name, language, basic history, close friends.

The intellect devourer's body--which is a strange type of protoneural tissue--gradually turns into real neurons. After a week, the intellect devourer becomes irrevocably wedded to it's host.

The devourer then has a decision to make. It can leave the body before the 7 days are up, thereby creating a brainless corpse. The intellect devourer retains some of the host's memories, and permanently gains a point of Intellect.

Alternatively, the intellect devourer could remain in the host. If this happens, the intellect devourer eventually becomes virtually indistinguishable from a normal biological human, and actually loses the ability to leave the host. The intellect devourer basically replaces a human brain, in form, function, and composition. The only difference is that they have an alien mind (though they'll pretend differently) and a brain that is a rich purple color.

Psychology

They are fully intelligent and communicate telepathically among themselves. Their word for themselves is phanikin.

According to their own myths, they were the original sentience in the universe. Previously, there were just mindless animals eating and shitting everywhere until they stepped in and started thinking the first thoughts. They were the first ones to start summing cogito and ergo. They created the first people when they got trapped inside animals.

When an intellect devourer takes over a body, temporarily or permanently, much of the brain is preserved. Elements of personality and memory persist, and the intellect devourer is not entirely unaffected by them. They are shaped by the minds that they pass through, by the people they have been.

An intellect devourer that takes over a loving mother will hesitate to kill their host's baby. (Most likely, they'll drop it off at the nearest orphanage.) A devourer that has just replaced 75% of its host's brain may find itself developing strange feelings of honor and devotion.

Once an intellect devourer has eaten 75% of your brain, you are 75% dead. Or to put it another way, you are 25% alive.

Culture

In the Vaults of Voyona, a city is populated entirely by intellect devourers. They will pay high prices for interesting slave bodies to possess.

In the Strongletharn Abysm, the intellect devourers possess only derro. This has made them weird and distrustful of skulls (which is where conspiracies come from). They shun taking over brains, and instead grow huge and weird, becoming Giant Mutant Intellect Devourers.

In the city of Gren, intellect devourers have formed a partnership with law enforcement. Those who would otherwise be condemned to death are instead given to the devourers. Once they possess their new bodies, they join the city guard in order to hunt down more wrong doers. (Some say that they are overzealous in this task.) Almost half of the city guard is now controlled by ex-intellect devourers.

In the Unspun Reaches, a monastery of monks works alongside a monastery of intellect devourers. After passing through the minds of nine monks, an intellect devourer reaches enlightenment inside the skull of the tenth monk. Together, the resultant creature (which contains small elements of all of the 10 devoured monks) is said to be a powerful force of balance and peace in the world. The shared basement is infested with leaping hoards of young intellect devourers.

In the city of Yog (the greatest city of the Darklands) there are several ethnic groups of intellect devourers present. The largest of these are the Barabi Burzum, who are deeply religious (see Psychology). They believe that possession by intellect devourer is the natural step of a creature's life. (I.e. childhood --> puberty --> adulthood --> devourerhood.) They believe that they become the humanoid that they take over. And so an intellect devourer that takes over a farmer will then spend a great deal of time and effort convincing everyone that he is the same farmer with the same goals. They feel responsible for their host's children and spouses, etc.

In the city of Yog, another group of intellect devourers are the Jungerani. Like the Burzum, they are deeply religious. They believe that mind-control is abhorrent, and so they hunt abominations such as mind-flayers, wizards, and other intellect devourers. (An intellect devourer can empty a skull in a moment regardless of whether that skull holds a human brain or another devourer.) They care nothing for humanity (the "least race") who they see as chattel. They sometimes use brutal measures in their efforts to rid the world of mind-control.

In the city of Yog, the intellect devourers sell their own young (traditionally locked inside a gilded cage shaped like a head) to adventurers. The idea is that an adventurer treats a juvenile intellect devourer generously while it is in its cage, then when a foe is captured, they are given to the intellect devourer to inhabit. The adventurer gains an ally, the young devourer gets a host, and the baby-selling devourer ensures the success of its progeny. Everyone wins!

Stats

Intellect Devourer
HD 1 AC chain Claw 1d3
Move human Int 8 Mor 5
*Devour Intellect: At-will. Target within 50' takes 1d8 Int damage, save for half. If a target takes 8 damage from this attack, the intellect devourer learns one of the target's secrets. Unlike most ability score damage, this Int damage recovers at a rate of 1 point per hour.
*An intellect devourer can crawl in the nose of a helpless target, excavate their brain, and take over their body. This takes 1 round, during which the intellect devourer is helpless. If they remain for more than 7 days, they lose their special abilities (including the ability to leave the skull).
*If you are immune to ESP, or if the devourer is not aware of you, it is much less effective at dodging your attacks (treat its AC as unarmored). This creature is automatically aware of all creatures in 50' that have Int 10 or greater.

Giant Mutant Intellect Devourer
HD 7 AC chain Claw 1d6
Move human Int 14 Mor
*Zone of Idiocy: All creatures within 20' are reducing to drooling, non-verbal idiocy. Players (not characters) under this effect cannot speak, and must grunt/mime out their character's actions. Under this effect, complex plans are impossible. Basically, if you can't make yourself understood in a few seconds of grunting and miming, your character can't do it. Spells are still possible. It's also possible to declare a complex action outside of the zone ("I'm going to run up and rub salt in its eyes.") and then run in and do it. (The Zone of Idiocy doesn't make you forget plans you invented outside of it.) No save
*Devour Intellect: At-will. All targets within a 50' cone take 1d8 Int damage, save for half. If a target takes 8 damage from this attack, the intellect devourer learns one of your secrets (usually the most plot-relevant one). Unlike most ability score damage, this Int damage recovers at a rate of 1 point per hour.
*If you are immune to ESP, or if the devourer is not aware of you, it is much less effective at dodging your attacks (treat its AC as unarmored). This creature is automatically aware of all creatures in 50' that have Int 10 or greater.

Usage Tips

Intellect devourers work great in small packs. They're smart enough to use clever tactics (sometimes). They can be quite deadly if a large number of them attack simultaneously and focus fire on a single character. But then, that's true of all sorts of monsters. They "bark" psychically. Just telepathic barks and snarls.

It's possible for an intellect devourer to try to slither up someone's nose while they're sleeping, but the person will wake up halfway through, and they'll have a single turn to deal with a (weak, slow) purple pulp snake trying to crawl up their nose.

Intellect devourers could also work as a mid-fight complication. Oh sure, you killed all 5 of the orcs, but now there are these horrible little monsters crawling out of the orcs' piggy nostrils. (Bear in mind that intellect devourers pretty much only attack Int, which is a big help if any of the PCs were left at low HP after fighting orcs.)

Since intellect devourers retain scraps of their meal's memories, its also possible to base a quest about retrieving some datum from an intellect devourer. The beastie in question could be located in a hive of the damn things, or. . . just about anyone, really.

They work well as add-ons to a fight. They're low-value targets (you'd still want to kill the mind flayer first) but if you have any PCs helpless and unconscious, the intellect devourers can suddenly become a lot more threatening.

It's really fun to roleplay massive Int loss. As long as the party has at least one party member with normal Int to babysit everyone, the game goes on mostly the same as it always does. The Int 3 fighter can still kick down downs, the Int 3 wizard can still cast any prepared spell (at least in my game).

this is also my favorite picture

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Hexcrawl: Abasinia

July 15, 2015, 3:06 am

≫ Next: New Class: Poet / Storyteller

≪ Previous: Intellect Devourers

Well, my Tuesday group and I have finally played enough sessions in Abasinia that it has started to feel like I need to do a proper hex map for it.

This will be my third hex map (after Revanwall and the Frogstar Peninsula).

The Eastern 2/3 of Abasinia

It's also my biggest. 41 x 27 hexes. Fortunately, I don't have to fill all of that in. About 2/3 of the map is water (the Sea of Camels) and I have no intention of starting to work on the Brimstone Waste (in the NW corner).

I also want to write up unique stuff for about half of the land hexes. For the other half, I'll just rely on a random encounter generator or something. ("You see . . . 2d6 genies and they are here . . . robbing . . . a master thief.")

So that's still going to be about 200 entries, which sounds brutal, but pretty doable. Especially since I have become more comfortable with putting things on the map that are just interesting scenery--nothing more. (When I first started DMing, that kind of mechanically empty space was anathema.)

I thought about doing this one as a point-crawl, but ultimately decided against it. I'm still obsessing (perhaps foolishly) over the idea that I can make travel just as interesting and meaningful as a Point of Interest. I still think I can pack a map with a million small, interesting things, so that a player knows that there is adventure in every direction and they can never, ever run out.

I'm looking forward to writing up all the little islands on the edge of the Sea of Fish. That'll be fun. (Is one of the islands a zaratan-lich that breaths shark zombies? Maybe.)

I like the idea of hugging the coastline on a boat when you want to sail conservatively, and striking out across open water when you're feeling plucky. Coast-hugging should give bonuses some sailing checks, make navigation automatic, and allow easier survival from a shipwreck.

It feels like madness, trying to apply six-mile hexes to a continent the size of Mexico. What's more, I want each area to be a complete adventure setting. There should be enough cool things in each zone that each group of players would be satisfied playing 50 sessions there. How many zones do I have? Like 30? That's 1500 sessions worth of content, or 3000 sessions if we want to create twice as much content as players will ever explore. (And can andyone really write that much unique shit?) Which is crazy, really.

And I want to have all of my hex maps connect, so you could hex crawl all 1000 miles across Centerra if you were so inclined. Is there a word for that? Mega-hexcrawl?

I want this map to have at least half a dozen dungeons of various sizes. I have 8 settlements on the map now, but I'll probably trim that down to 6 as I start consolidated concepts and hooks. Fewer settlements = bigger, more interesting settlements. It also means more wilderness, which I like.

And the strangest thing is that it doesn't feel daunting. I have a pile of loose ideas and themes for Abasinia. All I have to do is weave all of that stuff around my current adventuring party. Just prep one week at a time. Sketch the distant things while detailing next sessions.

Taken in this way, it helps me write a hexcrawl organically and naturally. I'm doing the same thing with Revanwall, in my Sunday game, and it doesn't feel like work. It doesn't feel overwhelming. Between two active D&D groups forcing me to develop an area, and my blog where I can post whatever I feel like, I feel like I'm detailing Centerra at a satisfactory pace.

Hopefully, the players won't decide to sail for Charcorra or the Land of Flowers in the east. Or, god forbid, Valdina in the west. (I haven't written anything down about Valdina yet except that it's a land-based sahuagin city.)

But, give me a week, and I bet I could.

Abasinia is all that yellow shit near the top.

0910 OSHEEF

Slave-trading hub. Muddy coliseum.

1307 The Burning City

Former capitol of Abasinia. Was smote by clerics of the Church prior to Abasinia's conversion. Now it burns eternally, fire sputtering up through the flagstones, etc. Full of trapped genies.

1310 KESHEK

Town is a major tea producer. Contains the sacred tea house. Currently under attack by 2d4 ankheg, Tremors-style.

1605 West Ascent to White Plateau

Rumors about the White Plateau: The people there are wizards who deal in spiders and rubies. They hate outsiders. They will shred your dreams and poison your gold, but they do have the ability to regrow missing limbs. (This place is sort of based on the Plateau of Leng, but it's safe to say that because I know next to nothing about the Platea of Leng.)

1607 Tiny Pyramid

This pyramid sticks out of the sand about 3'. If the sand is excavated, the pyramid extends down several feet, revealing a much larger, buried pyramid.

1608 Abandoned Wagon

Area around wagon is studded with sand sculptures in rough humanoid forms. Prone, fetal position, etc. A bit like Pompeii. They are being eroded by wind, and will soon be undifferentiated piles of sand.

1609 Monkey Oasis

Hiding in the water of the oasis is a wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. It puppets corpses by sticking tentacles up their asses. Currently has 4 monkeys and a merchant.

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New Class: Poet / Storyteller

July 19, 2015, 1:27 pm

≫ Next: Paladins in Hell

≪ Previous: Hexcrawl: Abasinia

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. - John 1:1

by Kay Nielson

So, I was trying to brainstorm a class for Abasinia, the most Arabian Nights-ish place in Centerra.

At first I wanted a prince/princess, but nobility classes always get weird. Plus, it's usually better to say "I'm a prince and a wizard" than "My class is prince". But whatever. I might revisit that later, in terms of Prince Without a Country, maybe.

Then, I thought about making a swordsman class, but I hate specialization (from a design standpoint). If I gave a fighter +2 when using swords but -2 for any other weapon, then there's a huge disincentive to use any other weapon. I like adding abilities that give players more options, not limiting themselves (even though it can be interesting and balanced, I guess).

So, then I starting thinking about Storytellers, which reminded me of bards. So I guess this is another attempt to make bards cool. (It's my Higgs boson.)

Digression About Clerics

I think that people dislike playing clerics because in any combat or adventure, there's a sort of tax, where at least one player needs to do the uninteresting-but-essential tasks, like healing or putting out the camel when it catches on fire. Someone needs to do it, but it's a little boring.

It's odious for two reasons: first, you need to spend a turn doing that healing stuff, and secondly, you (are sometimes encouraged to) specialized in that. "Well, the party needs a cleric." etc.

Anyway, this is a partial solution to the first of those two problems.

If Bob the Fighter needs healing, why should the cleric spend a turn healing him? Why can't Bob just use the cleric's class ability to heal himself (so he spends a turn doing the boring healing, giving the cleric the option to do something else cool).

the guy in the back is Felix
he is often pointed to as an example of a Cool Bard
but he never plays a lute
that's because he's not a bard
he is a POET

Poet / Storyteller Class

Base them on the cleric in whatever system you like best, then subtract all of the spellcasting and turn undead and add this stuff.

Basic Class Abilities: Boast, Scroll Use, Literary Memory, Compositions

Every Odd-numbered Level: Language Mastery

Every Even-numbered Level: Favored Type of Poem

---

Boast
Whenever you finish an adventure, you can go into a tavern (or other public place full of people) and tell the story. This is a group activity, and everyone at the table is expected to participate (like when the poet is telling about the troglodytes, the fighter could chime in to describe how bad they stunk up close). At the end, everyone in the party gets XP equal to 10% of whatever the adventure was worth and a free round of drinks (usually).

Scroll Use
As a wizard.

Literary Memory
You are so good at memorizing and quoting books, that you have a "mental bookshelf" that can hold one book per level. So at level 3, you've memorized three books, more-or-less. Doesn't work on magic books or spell books.

Compositions
You can compose poems / stories. These are sort of analogous to spells. The maximum number of compositions you can have prepared at any given time is equal to twice your poet level.

To compose a poem / story, a significant event must first happen in the game. The term "significant" is left to the DM's discretion, but any large obstacle, life-threatening event, or significant milestone counts. Odds are, there will be several significant events each session. After the significant event, the poet or storyteller announces that they will be composing something, then roll on the Inspiration table to see what sort of inspiration they get (analogous to a wizard rolling to see what spell they will prepare). Part of composing is telling it out loud.

It's a bit like the wizard casting system except you prepare them after a significant event. They are performed (cast) the first time that they are read aloud. It takes you 10 minutes to perform a poem.

Language Mastery
Mastering a language is more than fluency--it is the ability to to touch people's souls with your words. Your spells (defensive or offensive or whatever) only affect targets that understand a language you have mastered. Your poems / stories have no effect on creatures without any language. Every odd-numbered level, you can turn one of your known languages into a mastered language.

Favored Type of Poem
Normally when you compose a poem (after a significant event), the type of the poem is chosen at random. When you gain a favored type, pick a type of poem. Henceforth, when you compose a poem, you can choose between composing a favored type of poem, or a random poem. A favored poem must be from numbers 1-20 on the list below.

by Ferenc Helbing

Types of Poems
You don't always choose your own inspiration. Roll a d20 to determine which type of poem you compose. Every even-numbered level, you gain access to a new type of poem. You simultaneously pick a new favored poem, so there are always 20 poems to choose from. Remember that they all take 10 minutes to compose or perform (but only a single action to invoke).

>Simple Poems
These are most like spells. You "prepare" them by composing them and "cast" them when you read them. They are sort of like scrolls that you scribe, that no one else can cast except for you.

>Glyph Poems
These are just glyphs. You write the poem on any flat surface: piece of paper, floor tile. You need to provide your own pen and ink. The poem is triggered the first time it is read, or the first time a creature passes over it (within 3 feet).

>Destiny Poems
Fate favors a poet. After this poem is performed, a certain fate is created. A moment of unrealized potential. Later, any one of the people who heard the poem can invoke it, which then causes the intended effect to materialize. For example, a poet could compose a poem about a critical hit on Monday, perform it on Tuesday morning, and then one of the listeners can activate it on Tuesday night to turn a hit into a critical hit. Once a poem is performed, it must be invoked before the day is over, or it is lost.

again, a poet
not a bard

1. Simple: Command the Word - Create, destroy, rearrange, hide, or reveal any text within line of sight.

2. Simple: Tongues - As tongues.

3. Simple: Read the Word - You can read all languages, including magic stuff (as read magic). Lasts 2 hours.

4. Simple: Universal Forgery - You create a perfect forgery of any written object, even if you don't know what the original document looks like.

5. Simple: Suggestion - As suggestion.

6. Simple: Love - Two targets compare to see who has the better save vs charm person. Whichever one has the better save makes a save against charm person. If they fail the save, they both fall in love with each other, permanently.

7. Simple: Commune - As commune.

8. Glyph: Curse of No Poetry - Target loses all language (spoken, written, understood) and can only communicate by representations (drawing of an apple) and not symbols (words for apple). They have a 25% chance to fumble any spellcasting. Save negates.

9. Glyph: Fire - Target takes 1d6 damage and catches on fire. Save negates.

10 Glyph: Paralyzation - Target is paralyzed for 1d6 rounds (as ghoul ability). Save negates.

11. Glyph: Sleep - Target falls asleep for 1d6 hours (as sleep). Save negates.

12. Glyph: Weakness - Target gets -2 attack and AC until the end of the day. Save negates.

13. Destiny: Aggression - Free action. Invoke when you hit someone in combat. The hit turns into a critical hit.

14. Destiny: Defense - Free action. Invoke when an enemy hits you in combat. The hit turns into a miss.

15. Destiny: Glory - Free action. At the end of this encounter, everyone votes on which character was MVP. That character gets double XP for the encounter.

16. Destiny: Survival - Free action. Invoke to get +10 on a single save.

17. Destiny: Escape - Invoke to automatically escape from a grapple or bindings.

18. Destiny: Healing - As cure light wounds.

19. Destiny: Lucky Find - You find some minor item in some feasible location. For example, you could declare that you are going to find a rope in the next room, and unless the next room is actually a portal to the tentacle dimension, you will.

20. Destiny: Rat - A rat approaches from someplace not infeasible. (A rat could come out of a bush, or from a crack in the wall. This poem is obviously much less useful in outer space.) The rat does one round of actions that the invoker chooses (such as chew through a rope or bite someone) then behaves exactly as a wild rat would.

------

21. Destiny: Tiger (available at level 2) - Just like destiny: rat, except with a tiger.

22. Glyph: Transformation (available at level 4) - If the target fails a save, they are turned into a goat, monkey, camel, or a songbird (determined randomly).

23. Simple: Remove Curse (available at level 6) - As remove curse.

24. Glyph: Curse of Living Poetry (available at level 8) - If the target fails a save, they are turned into a poem printed on a piece of paper. They are in stasis. They are released only when the new poem is read in its entirety.

25. Simple: Mass Charm (available at level 10) - All who hear your performance must save or be charmed.

there's no reason this guy can't write magic poems on the side

See also: Calligrapher class by +Sherief Gaber

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Paladins in Hell

July 20, 2015, 2:37 am

≫ Next: Corpsegrinder Worm

≪ Previous: New Class: Poet / Storyteller

by David C. Sutherland

Hell was finally conquered in 788 TFM, in a brutal chapter of military history called the Last Crusade. Asmodeus was destroyed, the gates of Hell were sundered, and all over the continent people of all race celebrated the Year of Eternal Triumph--the day when humanity finally triumphed over the Unholy Land.

The furnaces of Hell were repurposed. The demons that would not swear the Oaths were herded into them and utterly incinerated in holy fire. The demons that swore the Oaths became devils, and became bound in service to the new lords of Hell: the Knights of the Ninth Circle.

They are also called Hellknights, Adamants, or Helldivers. They have very few spellcasters in their orders, because it is believed that wizards possess a unique vulnerability to the lures of demons. Only warriors who have embraced their own deaths are immune to the demonic temptation of immortality.

A Digression About Geology

One fun thing about Centerra is that many places that are "normally" extraplanar are in fact locations on the planet (Phosma). A gate to the Plane of Air doesn't lead to a different dimension; more likely, it just leads somewhere really, really high up.

It's a hollow planet. You can reach the interior and gaze on the secret sun by traversing the literal underworld. Beneath the planets crust are rivers of magma and the silent halls of the dead. (This is why there are so many undead in dungeons, and why the bottom level of every dungeon is Hell. At least in theory.) It's like a cross of these two pictures.

Hell, Today

Hell continues to function much as it ever did. The souls of the wicked are still punished, because if a soul has found its way to Hell, it is the soul of a sinner, and surely deserving of punishment.

Souls are strange things. Naked, they experience the world but cannot affect it. No mortal can hear their screams, and no devil ever cared to listen.

Some say that hell has grown crueler now that its masters are human. Others say that this is a good thing, as demons were always too lax in their punishments. Only with proper regulation and discipline can the souls of sinners be properly punished.

In theory, Hell is a conquered nation. It has a human king and queen. It has erected Hesayan churches, and the paladins worship there.

The devils worship in their own, inferior churches, praying for their own salvation. It is said that there are many among them who are utterly stalward in their dedication.

Because of the depth of Hell and the instability of the roads that lead to it, visits between the Hell and the surface kingdoms are rare. It often takes more than a year to climb from the depths of Hell.

Not so long ago, it was tradition that the king of Hell would travel to Coramont (the center of the Hesayan Church) in order to bow before the Patriarch and receive his blessing. But the king of Hell hasn't been seen on the surface in a generation, citing health difficulties.

There are many who say that the Kingdom of Hell has grown distant from the Church, and their faith no longer aligns.

The Devil You Know

The primary duty of Hell is to eternally punish the souls that trickle down into it. Additionally, it pays tithes to the Church and defends it in times of war. (Theoretically. This has never been put to the test.) They also fight against demons whenever they find them. But there are secondary duties as well.

The Doctrine of Untested Steel states that devils should be tasked with moving over the surface of Centerra and testing mortals to sin. "Testing" mortals is essentially different than "tempting". Devils of the Unholy Land merely offer an opportunity for murder, blasphemy, theft, and infidelity--they do not coerce anyone, nor do they corrupt anyone. And when they encounter a mortal who engages in such a degree of sin that they are irredeemable, the devil must then kill that human. This sends their foul soul to Hell where it belongs, and removes their stain from the surface world, making the world a better place. The Doctrine of Untested Steel is fully condoned by the Church and takes place every day, all over Centerra.

It's a bit like getting caught in a prostitution sting, except that instead of a cop arresting you, you have a bone devil waving a holy book and trying to eat your head. These are not common--there are a great deal of people and only limited numbers of trusted devils.

The Doctrine of the Inescapable Conclusion states that devils should be tasked with moving over the surface of Centerra and finding mortals are are in danger of backsliding. These mortals, whose souls are currently saved but who are also in danger of falling into future corruption, are also killed when a devil has identified them. The reasoning is that it is better for a mortal body to be slain when the soul is saved, and capable of enjoying Heaven for all eternity, than for today's saint to live long enough to become a sinner, when they might someday fall so low as to slip into the iron embrace of Hell.

The Doctrine of the Inescapable Conclusion was practiced for only 3 years before the Church condemned it as heresy, and many apologies offered. The Patriarch who proposed it was publicly burnt.

Of course, there are those who say that the Doctrine of the Inescapable Conclusion is still practiced, albeit in a smaller, more clandestine capacity. But are these Church-ordained devils or lawless demons? In truth, the devils and demons would be largely indistinguishable even if they weren't shapechangers.

More Rumors

Are the paladins the master of Hell in name only? Have they been corrupted by their malevolent environs? Does some other demonic master pull the strings behind the scene?

There is talk on the surface of replacing the leadership of Hell, or at least holding them to a higher standard of accountability. Part of the problem is that the machinations of Hell are beyond all human reckoning--there are too many souls, too many furnaces, too many pits of madness. Hell cannot be governed like a worldly country. It eludes quantification. It mangles its own description.

And there is the great worry that any call for greater accountability will alienate the Kingdom of Hell. And open warfare with Hell is certainly impossible, since all of the greatest warriors, warrior traditions, siege engines, and powerful weapons for generations were all used to conquer it, and still reside there.

Not to mention the great service that Hell provides, of course. The best witch hunters are Hellknights, born in the infernal pit and sent above to bring a spiked gauntlet down on those who would spurn the grace of Hesaya.

And there is another, more troubling theory: the Hell we know is not the only one. Certainly, the planet is large and unknown. And although Hell and its devils struggle to organize and increase, there forces are eternally outnumbered by the demons who are numerous beyond counting.

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Corpsegrinder Worm

July 22, 2015, 3:36 pm

≫ Next: Knights of the Pit

≪ Previous: Paladins in Hell

HD 8 AC chain Bite 2d6 + grab
Move 9 Burrow 3 Int 5 Mor 6

Barf 1/day
30' cone, 3d6 damage from bone shards (save for half) and covers targets in acid (1d6 damage each turn). One turn later, 1d6-5 animated skeletons rise from the barf and immediately attack.

Grind
Grabbed targets are hit automatically on subsequent turns for double damage.

Corpsegrinder worms are sluggish monsters about 40' long. They have a mouth like a garbage disposal; when eating, they spit up almost as much as they swallow.

They frequent battlegrounds and graveyards, where they leisurely devour buried corpses. They are scavengers first, and ambush predators second. They will only attack if a person walks off alone, or if the PCs start messing with their food source (exhuming corpses, opening crypts). If given a fresh corpse (or when they have grabbed someone), they will usually retreat with their prize and spend a couple of hours savoring it.

They will happily chase down and devour zombies.

It is usually apparent when you are in the territory of a corpsegrinder worm. Buried coffins have been broken into and even sarcophagi appear well-gnawed. When the dungeon is quiet, you can hear them behind the wall, regurgitating swallowed bones and grinding them in their mouths. It sounds exactly like what you think it does.

Acid Rules: Take damage (usually 1d6) at the end of each of your turns. Can be ended by pouring a liquid on yourself, scraping the acid off (1d6 damage), or removing your armor/clothing.

Shield Rules: Take no damage or effects of any kind from breath attacks if you make your save.

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Knights of the Pit

July 27, 2015, 12:30 am

≫ Next: My Demons

≪ Previous: Corpsegrinder Worm

from Mad Max: Fury Road

Knights of the Pit are basically fighters. Give them the attack bonuses of a cleric, and instead have this ability:

Suicidal Tendencies: Whenever you are below half HP, you get the attack bonuses of a fighter. You also get a bonus on damage equal to your level (max +6).

Some Knights of the Pit are pious. Subtract one or two special fightery abilities that they might have in your system (parry, defensive roll, etc) and give them this ability instead.

Pious Heart of the Martyr: You can use detect evil once every 10 minutes. If you are at least level 2, when you die, the creature that directly killed you (if any) must save or die.

Some Knights of the Pit are blasphemers. Subtract one or two special fightery abilities that they might have in your system (parry, defensive roll, etc) and give them this ability instead.

Exploding Blasphemy Skulls: Whisper blasphemies into the ear of a decapitated head and then throw it. This enrages the spirit inside the skull. At the end of your turn, it explodes in a shower of boiling brain blood and angry ectoplasm. This ability only works on the heads of sentient creatures that were capable of understanding your spoken language.

The exploding blasphemy skull does 1d6 damage for every 2 HD of the original creature (save for half). Skulls work as well as decapitated heads, but they must be fully intact (no missing jaws, etc). The chance that you'll actually enrage the ghost enough to explode its own skull requires a successful Blasphemy check. If your system doesn't support blasphemy checks, use this table to determine your chance of success:

Level 1 - 40%
Level 2 - 50%
Level 3 - 60%
Level 4 - 70%
Level 5 - 75%
Level 6+ - 80%

The Black Pit of Teradar

The Pit of Teradar is a prison built beneath the city. It is widely considered inescapable. The sentence term is almost always life.

The prisoners inside the Pit are thrown in there for crimes that have pissed off the emperor enough to warrant their entire removal, but are not severe enough for the Church to sanction their execution. It is mostly fully of traitors, political prisoners, and those who have failed the new empire of Noth in some way.

Prisoners spend their days in labor. They turn the gears that power the many machinations of the city: elevators, automatic gondolas, fountains, water pumps, and public trolleys. There are hundred of unseen men beneath Teradar, toiling in the darkness for their daily gruel.

They are referred to by their job titles, rather than their names. For example: Pump #9.

Control is maintained through vampirism*. It is believed that most prisoners in the Black Pit are infected with vampirism, and they are fed with daily deliveries of blood jelly, collected from all of the slaughterhouses in the city. The only place where prisoners can see the sun, and the central gathering place in the Black Pit, is the Courtyard of Mercy, where the sun can be seen for nine minutes at noon, at the top of the huge vertical shaft, through several layers of iron bars.

*Vampirism is a dreaded disease that inflicts a dietary restriction and a deadly allergy to sunlight. Mystical vampire powers (though potent) only come much, much later, after the vampire has fed on the blood on hundreds of sentient creatures. 99% of vampires of young vampires who typically end up in short careers as mass murderers or outside the Cathedral of Two Blades, begging pilgrims to open their wrists.

Prison gangs rule different sections of the underground, and are largely given free reign as long as the wheels keep turning. If the prisoners ever strike, or slack in their duty, entire sectors will be purged by the paladins of the Stayed Hand: opened to the sun, flooded with holy water, or simply stormed by hundreds of paladins and clerics. The secret wheels of Teradar are never still for long.

Certain prisoners are eligible for release if at least three family members have died beside them in the Pit, and if they have not commited any crime serious enough to make the emperor doubt their loyalty. These prisoners are given the offer to become Knights of the Pit.

Those who accept are geased by the paladins of the Stayed Hand. There ceremony involves drinking a cup of sacred molten lead. This does not kill them, but instead scars their lips, coarsens their voice, and other symptoms of lead poisoning. The lead flows to their heart, where it forms the symbol of the Holy Serpentine Cage around the knight's heart. If they should waver in their quest, the serpentine cage tightens painfully. If they should ever fail utterly, the cage tightens fully, and they exist in debilitating agony until their deaths (which are usually immanent).

Their quest: to roam the world far from Noth's borders, where they may never return. Until their deaths, they must wage war against the enemies of the Church without rest, respite, or comfort. This usually means seeking out and slaying dragons, demons, and undead. In theory, the geas can be lifted if the Knight of the Pit performs some great service to the Church in Noth, but this is exceptionally rare in practice.

A newly consecrated Knight of the Pit leaves Teradar pale with sacred ashes, dizzy with wine, and naked except for a black hair cloak and a sword. Citizens are required touch their foreheads when the entourage passes, a show of respect that they must extend to all knights.

The city of Honored Kaskala has a similar order of traitor knights, except their geas is enforced by the removal of all reproductive organs, which will be returned only when the traitor knight has redeemed themselves. Sometimes this neutering is extended to all family members, in order to completely extirpate any "traitorous bloodlines".

Many visitors to the city of Teradar never learn of the Black Pit. The automatic gondolas and canal locks are usually believed to be magical, and the city itself is seen as a marvel of modern engineering, which of course, it is.

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