This is a continuation of a previous post about monastic wizard orders.

http://goblinpunch.blogspot.com/2013/12/sister-witches-and-monastic-wizards.html

Basically, nearly every wizard in Centerra belongs to a wizarding tradition.  Sometimes these are magical academies (big, powerful, political) but most of the time they are monastic enclaves (small, weird, traditional).



The Monastery Under the Hill

Wizards From Under The Hill adore elves and seek to emulate them in all ways.  They dress in soft, undyed silks and drink plum wine. They mutilate their ears into points, and starve themselves that might better approximate the famous slenderness of the elves. Similarly, they fetishize youth and beauty.

They live in a monastery called Oakenhome, which is entirely ensconced inside a large, round hill.  A mighty oak grows on top of the tree, with a small tree-house hidden in it's branches.  The Wizards From Under the Hill uses this treehouse for their most important rituals and magics.

1. Beautify*
2. Blossom*
3. Charm Person
4. Detect Magic
5. Hold Portal
6. Illusion of Youth*
7. Light
8. Magic Missile
9. Read Languages
10. Shield
11. Sleep
12. Unseen Orchestra*

1. Acute Quintessence*
2. Charm Person
3. Detect Gold*
4. Detect Magic
5. Light
6. Magic Missile
7. Powerful Presence*
8. Protection from Evil
9. Read Languages
10. Shield
11. Sleep
12. Spit Poison*

This is part 3 of my current wizard bender.

part 1
part 2

Basically, nearly every wizard in Centerra belongs to a wizarding tradition.  Sometimes these are magical academies (big, powerful, political) but most of the time they are monastic enclaves (small, weird, traditional).  Here are 3 more monastic enclaves.



The Garden of Winding Paths

If you ever find yourself travelling through the scraggly, coniferous forests of southern Kaskala, you may find yourself entering an area where the stones are seem to be arranged and the trees healthy.  You are in the Garden of Winding Paths, the domain of the Silver Wizards.

Unlike other wizarding orders, the Silver Wizards actually train extensively with a single weapon: the quarterstaff.  Each wizard is given a single staff, made from dense, black wood and capped with steel.  Their symbol is a small, silver tipped nail that they hammer into their forehead, on top of the site of their third, spiritual eye.  They eschew robes, instead preferring to wear snug-fitting tunics and leggings of brown, green, and orange, patterned in large, bold squares.

They charge travelers a fee to pass through the Garden of Winding Paths.  Since going around the garden would be a large detour through less safe areas, most travelers will gladly pay the toll.

The Garden is the eternal work of the Silver Wizards.  For the last 150 years, they have been working to improve this section of the forest.  In some parts, this manipulation is more obvious than others, but the Silver Wizards have long favored a subtle touch.  Every tree that grows in their forest has been guided by their hand. Unwanted weeds have been banished.  Stray branches have been pruned. Sickly squirrels have been caught and groomed (or disposed of, if they are too mangy). Ponds have been excavated and stones have been moved dozens of miles and tastefully arranged in meadows.

The Silver Wizards believe in the beauty of natural chaos. Rugged hillsides.  Asymmetrical trees.  The graceful swell of a branch over a pond. They seek to carve this into the world around them, but also to impress it into their own souls.  Self-improvement through adversity and constant introspection.

Silver Wizards adventure to test themselves, but also to collect things for the Garden.  They are expected to send back rugged rocks and striking flora and fauna.  They are monetarily compensating for these things, of course.

Observances
- Must meditate each morning within sight of some natural beauty.  (Even some mold growing on a rock counts, if you describe can describe its beauty to the other players.)
- Must never damage a man-made object.  (No kicking in doors).
- Cannot cast any spells without a staff in your hand.

Special Ability: Staff Fighting
While wielding a quarterstaff, you get +1 to hit and +1 to AC (treat as a shield).

Level 1 Silver Wizard Spell List

1. Clarity*
2. Detect Magic
3. Hold Portal
4. Light
5. Locate Animals*
6. Magic Missile
7. Obedient Stone*
8. Read Languages
9. Shield
10. Sleep
11. Whirling Staff*
12. Woodbend*

Clarity
A target within 30' makes another save against a emotion-affecting effect (fear, anger, sadness, pleasure, pain).  This can affect yourself.

Locate Animals
Name a type of common animal (wolf, squirrel, turkey).  You now know where the nearest example of the animal is.  Range is 1 mile/caster level and duration is 1 hour/caster level.

Obedient Stone
Cast this spell on a stone small enough to fit in your palm and then give it a command.  It will attempt to follow this command to the best of it's ability.  If thrown at a target, it will get +10 to hit.  It can also be asked to trip targets when they run past, jump off a shelf when a certain person enters the room, etc.  Basically, it's limited to a single, small hop (or equivalent).  Lasts 1 hour / caster level or until the stone does something (hop, be thrown).

Whirling Staff
You can cast this spell as a free action (it takes a negligible amount of time).  You get +1 to your AC while you whirl your staff around with both hands.  The next attack you make with the staff does 1d6 damage + 1 damage/caster level.  This lasts for 1 round/caster level or until you make an attack with it.

Woodbend
Like warp wood, but must touch object to cast it. A bit of wood bends or unbends, as if warped by wood. Straight doors can be warped and stuck. Warped doors can be straightened and unstuck. Wooden-hafted weapons will get -2 to hit while all bent up.  Trees can likewise be molded.



Monastery of Drowned Men

The Wizards of the Drowned World, also called the Thirsty Wizards (but never to their face) wear purple eyeshadow, sew coins into their clothing, and paint their fingernails black.  They travel with a small white dog, which is the receptacle for their magic.  They shave lines into their heads, and cast spells by clapping their hands together.

Their Drowned World is a state of mind that only they can can reach, and only then through meditation. They claim it is the ghost of a former world (although it may just be a type of meditation).  Either way, the Drowned World is supposed to hold the ghosts of unborn children and memories forgotten by damaged wizards.  It gives them no knowledge, but balances their minds with visions of cool blue vistas, slow motion, and blurred, apathetic, presences of others.

Theirs is the Monastery of Drowned Men, located in the dry plains north of Shar.  It is said that every Wizard of the Drowned World who dies by drowning is sent straight to hell, regardless of what deeds they did in life.  As a result, every Wizard of the Drowned World lives in fear of drowning (and are frequently subject of water-based taunts, i.e. "Thirsty Wizards").

They are also involved in pursuing the Conspiracy of Heaven, sort of a shadow government that is said to control the world's government, if they exist at all. They've also been accused of being part of the Conspiracy themselves.  Either way, they are the inheritors of a decrepit spy network.  Many people used to work for them, and many people have an distant uncle that they once suspected of writing letters to the Wizards of the Drowned World in exchange for a few silver coins, but very few people are actually on their payroll.

The Wizards of the Drowned World are in decline, you see. They are powerfully unpopular--a bunch of old dudes in a decrepit monastery mumbling about conspiracies, while little white dogs yap underfoot.

Wizards of the Drowned World adventure to map the secret borders of the world.  They are especially interested in mapping leylines and characterizing their intersections, and finding the lost city of Bastoc.

Observances
- Cast spells by clapping their hands together.
- Cannot prepare spells without a white dog (or canine substitute), who joins you in the meditation.
- Cannot drink water.  (But things like tea or kool-aid are fine).
- Level 1 wizards follow the dress code (as above) and begin with 2d6 copper coins dangling from the front of their robe.

Special Ability: Ley Lines
If you cast a spell on a single target that is exactly 37' to the north (determined by the magnetic fields of the planet), you cast it at +1 caster level.

Level 1 Wizard of the Drowned World Spell List

1. Command Coins*
2. Detect Magic
3. Dessicate*
4. Grease
5. Slam Portal*
6. Light
7. Magic Missile
8. Metal Chime*
9. Mighty Lungs*
10. Read Languages
11. Shield
12. Magic Cramp*

Command Coins
Up to 1000 coins per caster level will leap up and obey your single-word commands.  Affects all unattended coins in 30' of you and lasts 1 hour.  Coins can be commanded to follow you, hide in crevices, serve as rollers for heavy statues, but they are mindless.

Dessicate
Hydrated target within 30' takes 1d6 damage plus 1 damage per caster level, no save.  Can also be used to turn meat into jerky or evaporate water-based liquids (wine, most acids), up to 2 gallons per caster level.

Slam Portal
This is a fancy version of the spell that slams a door shut and/or locks it (if it has a lock).  Most wooden doors will get stuck shut, and require a Str check to open.  Works on any door within 100', but doesn't work on non-doors.

Metal Chime
You touchn and enchant a piece of metal to make a terrific noise the next time it is banged.  All within 30' (except you) must save or be deafened for 1 minute.  If used as a signal, it can be heard up to a mile away.  The enchantment will last for 1 day/caster level.  Yes, you can balance coins on top of doors to make noise traps.

Mighty Lungs
Your next inhalation allows you inhale 10x the normal amount of air.  Not only does this allow you to hold your breath for 10x as long, but if you exhale forefully it will release a blast of air strong enough to knock pigeons out of air and polish your teeth.

Magic Cramp
Target takes 1d4 damage plus 1 damage per level of the highest level spell they are capable of casting.  Additionally, their caster level is lowered by 1 for 1 minute.  They get a save to cut the damage in half and negate the caste level penalty.  Nonmagical creatures, or creatures that have no spellcasting ability, are unaffected by this spell.




House of the Fat Fox

The Fat Fox Wizards are exceptions in many ways.  They dress in warm oranges, yellows, greys and whites.  They are largely itinerant, and at any given time, only a minority of them will be found residing in the House of the Fat Fox, a modified hunting lodge given to them by one of the kings of Tau Solen.  They have a reputation for being overweight, sociable drunkards.  Many of them are Afner (halflings).

They each have six copper-capped ponytails and tripartite beards (similarly capped).  They communicate with each other through code and smoke a lot of hensetta, a drug that calms their nerves and eases spellcasting.  They cast their spells with their breath, and begin each day with breathing exercises.


Each one has a prized possession: his fox-tail bag.  These a big leather pouches that they wear around their waist.  These are simply fashion accessories for them, and if it is destroyed, they'll simply mourn it with a night of drinking and make a new one.

Most of them carry bows. Their leader is Tom Bondelero, who is said to travel in a chariot pulled by foxes.

They believe that the sentient races are the natural masters of the wilderness.  This philosophy causes them no shortage of friction with druids, with whom they feud, unless they are working together towards some goal that is both important to the natural ecology and the hunter-stewards.

They mostly adventure to protect forests from druids, or to find wives.

Observances
- Never sleep for more than a single night in a place where you are a guest or a prisoner.  (Exceptions: places that you own, have rented, or are unwelcome in.)
- Never cut any of your own hair, or allow it to be cut.
- You cannot cast any spells unless you ate heart in the morning after your breathing exercises.  The heart must be at least the size of a rabbit's heart.  (Level 1 Fat Fox Wizards begin play with a bag containing 3 salted rabbit hearts).

Special Ability: Breath Magic
You don't need your hands to cast spells, merely the ability to exhale strongly.

Level 1 Fat Fox Wizard Spell List

1. Bondelero's Bounce*
2. Charm Person
3. Detect Magic
4. Enhance Water*
5. Fire Breath*
6. Hide from Animals*
7. Light
8. Magic Missile
9. Protection from Evil
10. Shield
11. Sleep
12. Travelling Breath*

Bondelero's Bounce
For the next 10 turns (1 minute), you ignore up to 20' of fall damage per caster level, and bounce an amount equal to the distance that you ignored, either vertically or horizontally.  Blunt weapon damage (not from falling) is also reduced by 5 points per caster level.

Enhance Water
Up to 1 gallon of water per caster level is turned into beer.

Fire Breath
Reskinned version of burning hands.  1d4 fire damage per caster level, 15' cone, save for half.

Hide From Animals
Like invisibility, but only works against animals.  Affects a single target you touch and lasts for 1 minute/caster level.

Travelling Breath
Your next exhalation is teleported to a point within sight.  You can use this to whisper in the ears of someone distant, blow out distant candles, or whatever a teleported exhalation could normally do.

Okay, I love my Pathfinder group and I love Pathfinder. It's very different from OD&D, but there's a lot there if everyone loves crunchy combat and character builds.

Today's session was 5 hours.  The first four of which were composed of paying the dracolich the corpse(s) of the wizard they promised him years ago, learning of the imminent destruction of their neighborhood via planetary bombardment (exawatt lasers softening the planet's crust so that the orbital bombs could reach the magma) in exactly 37 minutes, dodging jury-rigged rocket sled booby traps, finding some spools of plastic sheeting (and completely missing how much it would be worth in a planet who had never seen plastic before), and sacrificing 3 summoned monkeys in the name of safety. . .




. . . the party spent over one hour IRL discussing where to go next.  I'm not accounting for digressions and beer, just time spent mulling over their choices.

The choice was between (a) bugging the fuck out of the dungeon entirely, (b) investigating a copper-skinned golem that mirrored their movements and bore some resemblance to the prism golems that had prison shanked the party earlier with their prismatic sprays and laser reflections, and (c) the incredibly ominous missile silo.

The missile silo was abandoned, but it had three levels that ran up 100' to the surface, where the unnatural snow reflected the hellish red lights in the sky.  In the center of the room was a massive hatch, with zig-zaggy teeth, absolutely laminated in protective runes and covered in fresh blood.  Around the room, on the tracks were a trio of 25' long gantry arms and a single autonomous chaingun.

Sensing treachery, the party shot the chain gun with the first laser gun they had ever owned (attained last session).  A groan sounded out from beneath the earth, and the chaingun visibly flinched.  From beneath its metal plates, the chaingun bled visibly into the snow as it sped along its rails to a place where it couldn't be shot by the party.  The robot arms followed suit.  The groan beneath the missile silo turned into a snarl.

They're trying to destroy some energy source McGuffin, so that the doom cult turncoat will be forced to land his ancient war machine and the aliens won't be forced to glass the surface of the planet.  This is so they'll have time to rescue the king of Mondaloa, who is trapped in a time loop somewhere else in the dungeon.  (They've watched him stagger in and die horribly, digested by green slime.  This has happened several times, always from the same part of the dungeon, but they need more time if they want to investigate.  They need more time!)

(The skies above Duscuro are home to a population of flesh-brain satellites that have watched over the planet for millennia.  They get married, birth their children into slick metal shells, and spend most of their lives in cyberspace.  The king of these satellites is called Throne, and he rules his orbital domain with an iron antennae.  Dissenters and traitors are hurled from orbit, and die weeping within their metal shells as they are immolated within the atmosphere.  Throne is basically a big box full of nuclear warheads, engineered plagues, and memetic infector-assimilators.)

(There's also the knowledge that the cultists have been trying to utilize alien technologies, and have built several AIs to do the task for them.  Not having a full understanding of how to program an AI, they just heavily altered some bound demons and smashed them into some hardware.  One of these demonic disk operating systems, Deimos, has already been subverted to the PCs cause with a goddam natural 20 on a goddam lucky roll.  They've had fun carrying around his techno-crucified hell-corpse and plugging it into different machines, with varied success.  But they know almost nothing about the other demon AI, Phobos, except that he was a Balor before his neural pruning, and now controls the silo.)

Man, that sounds a lot weirder when I type it all out.

But I assure you, it was quite a normal campaign when we started, save for the occasional alien sighting or reference to dragons as the Planetary Calibrators.

Anyway, they just sat and talked about what they wanted to do for an hour and a half.

To be fair, their resources are stretched thinner than milk on toast.  They've already killed two boss-type monsters today in two different planes (over the course of what, like 2 months IRL?) and honestly, I've been slathering on the impending doom.  It's no wonder they feel stressed.

I think my players are having fun with all of the criticality and weirdness crescendo that the campaign has become.  I know I'm having fun because I don't know which path is the best for them, or which is the best chance for survival.  I don't know what I want them to pick.

If they go back into the dungeon to investigate the copper-skinned golem, they get to discover some more cool things I've put down there.  If they go into the missile silo, the blast doors close behind them and I get another shot at a TPK, while they get another shot at saving the world in daring fashion.  It's not the end to the dungeon, but it is an end.

And if they abandon this place to get nuked, they will lose a friend or two in the process, but then we get to travel on to stranger places.  The Dragon Engineering labs in the desert of Ravadoon, negotiations with the pseudo-elven aliens for the fate of their planet, or assault the interiors of dissociative, fiftieth-generation, flesh-brain, satellite tyrants.

There is an obscure spell, developed by an obscure witch on an obscure island.  The spell has been retroactively titled Summon Nezong's Cryptid, but no one knows the spell's purpose, or what name the witch gave it.

The spell summons this animal:


No one knows what it is!  No one has ever seen one before.  It is clearly a creature plucked whole-formed from a fevered imagination, combining strange elements of both rodents, pigs, and bovines.

Fun facts about these goofy-looking creature:

1. Females whistle through their nose when in heat.
2. They only have sex in the water.
3. They have webbed toes and vestigial tails.
4. They are strong swimmers and can stay underwater for up to 5 minutes.
5. They are the largest rodent.  Or they would be, if they were real animals.


Summon Nezong's Cryptid
Level 1 Magic-User Spell
This spell summons one of the weird, unrealistic animals described above.  They are about 4' long and weigh about 100 lbs.  They are gentle creatures (1 HD) and cannot be coaxed to fight, but will serve the caster in any other way required.  They have a strange power over other animals, and unless a wild animal is in a mindless rage or magically compelled, it will not attack Nezong's Cryptid.  Additionally, hostile animals have a 4-in-6 chance of calming the fuck down when presented with Nezong's Cryptid.  After 10 minutes, Nezong's Cryptid will return to whatever dimension imaginary animals call home.


When cast, there is a 5% chance that Kapibarasan is summoned instead.  This is a larger, cuter, floppier version of Nezong's Cryptid (2 HD, max HP), and some claim that it is their king.  Either way, it seems more like a memetic extrusion of symbols coding for chubbiness, docility, and cuteness than a real animal.  All who witness Kapibarasan must save vs charm.  Those who fail usually stop what they're doing and lavish attention on him for the duration of the spell.

behold the face of your new god

So it looks like I'm going to be DMing for some first timers, which is fucking awesome. I love introducing people to my hobby. But here's the thing: they want the "traditional DnD experience" which apparently means fighting goblins.

I've never written a play report before.  But yesterday was my first time DMing an OSR game on G+, so I figure one more new thing won't hurt.

Hey, if you want to play in the House of Hours sometime in the future, you are double forbidden from clicking that link the next paragraph or reading that one long post.  Some things are different and many things have been added, but it's still ripe with spoilers.

The Dungeon is just a coherent-but-still-unpolished House of Hours, a large funhouse/madhouse/sadhouse dungeon for a level 3-5 party.

Anyway, here's what happens.  The party began in media res. . .


Subarnu - Level 1 Fighter, thickly bundled inside impenetrable layers of filthy, greasy rags.  He seemed like the archetypal "murderhobo" upon which all others are based.  His absolutely transcendental stench was perhaps the reason why the party never encountered wandering dungeon denizens.  Lurking around his ankles was his dog, Rotgut, who never barked but instead twitched with distemper. Played by +Courtney Campbell

Harry Flash - Level 1 Wizard, wearing the robe and hat that characterizes classic wizard fashion (gaudy and without underwear), he is characterized by his unflagging good spirits and potentially damning curiosity.  His glowing staff negated much of the party's need for torches. Played by +James Young

Yuri - Level 1 Silver Wizard, dressed in a square-fitting tunic of green, brown, and grey, he was marked by his love of the untamable beauty of nature as well as his respect for the craftsmanship of mankind.  His quiet pragmatism was a vivid contrast to Harry's "poke-it-with-a-stick"ness.  Played by +Jeff Russell

Eusyram - Level 3 Fighter, Level 2 Blue Mage, recognizable by his steely eye and strong arm, but also by the fact that he is a giant polecat.  Much more experienced than the other adventurers, his was often the voice of sanity.  He was armed with a man-catcher and a powerful hatred for skeletons.  Played by +Richard G


The party accepted, of course.

Note: Since I'm a fan of the silver standard, $1 = 1gp = 10sp = 10xp.  $500 represents 5000sp (5000gp per gold standard) and a commensurate reward of XP.

victorian hospital in new york, built in the 1880s

moebius

someone get this shark a snuffbox

since finding this picture, this is pretty much how I imagine harry flash

yes, we made a few bee puns

You'll notice that the average party level is 1.5, instead of the expected 4.  I was surprised, too.

The surprise extended to the fact that no one died.  I'm worried that this will forever cement by reputation as a soft DM.  A bag of pudding with a bag of dice, his veins holding more milk than blood. Flaccid hippo hands that cannot make a fist, but only gently paw with idiot caresses. A soft, toothless mouth, suitable only for uttering supplications and asking permissions, rather than the fiery incisiveness of righteous oratory summoned down from heaven to consume the character sheets of the unworthy in deserved immolation.

Well, get off my back, man.  They dodged a lot of unpleasantness in one way or another and I didn't roll for a single random encounter while in there.

Sandbox games and open-ended games don't have distinct endings for the campaign, so any "campaign arcs" come from players generating friction on the surface of your map.

So, after Lars the Viscerator fulfills his personal goal of ridding Barovania of the nefarious Wolfenwitch, secured his fortune, and avenged his family, has he won the game?

Hell yeah, he's won the game.  Take your winnings and cash out, Lars.  Congrats.

Why would he stick around, when he's accomplished all his goals?  The life of an adventurer is one filled with mud, blood, bad beer, worse food, and an inevitably painful death.

There's an expectation that when characters reach high level, the game will also switch to domain-level play.  But I would argue that domain-level play might not be suitable for everyone, and stumbling around a deathtrap with 7 hp has its own sort of charm.  Other games might have a wider level-range of players, or a revolving cast, and might also be better served by allowing (and encouraging) characters to retire.

Of course, if you want to keep adventuring with a character, you absolutely can.  Just don't shed too many tears when he is eaten by the Sucking Bladderwrack in the saltwater marsh and explosively decompressed into a fine, easily digested mist.

So, as an alternative to the eventual Bladderwrack, I propose retirement as an option.



The benefits of retiring are thus:

1. Induction into the Hall of Fame.  Unlike the others, this character sheet will not be devoured by the chortling DM and chased with two fingers of scotch.  The character sheet will be tastefully framed and placed on north side of the room, and everyone will bow in that direction before beginning play.  In game, the character will serve as a lesson to all that the deadly fruits of adventuring are sometimes worth it, as your character is an example of one that "made it".  Out of game, you now have a cool story to tell your children that won't make them cry at the end (seriously, you don't want your children laying in bed worrying about the Sucking Bladderwrack, its kelpy tentacles, or its decompression nodules, that can explode a child in 0.08 seconds).

Or at least, your character will be added to a list or spreadsheet somewhere.

2. They become an NPC within the game world, where they will live a long, happy, and successful life.  The DM promises that no terrible fate will befall them, absolutely definitely 100% probably.  Maybe they open a tavern.  Or start a small wizard's tower.  Or wander the world in a wagon pulled by bears.  Maybe they buy all of the drugs and look forward to spending the next 40 years in an opium haze.  Whatever is most appropriate for the character.

Go spend some time with the princess that you rescued.  Are subterranean murder holes more appealing than the princess? Seriously, just look at Princess Pinknipples, look at the Tombhole of Screaming Rats, and then make a list of the pros and cons of each.

As an NPC, the character will be able to provide some small, intermittent aid to the PCs (information, credit, safety, favors).  They become a trusted contact.

3. Some element of your character rolls over to your next one.  10% of the old character's XP is carried over, or 10% of their GP, or some mixture of the two.  This might mean that your new character starts with enough XP to skip level 1 all together.  Cool!

Your DM might choose to pass your GP on to your inheritor in the form of an item or land ownership or something.  It doesn't need to be a big bag of coins (although there's no reason why it couldn't be).

4. Your next character has better than average stats.  For every 2 levels that your previous character had, your new character can roll 4d6-drop-lowest for one of their stats (instead of the usual 3d6).  So if you are retiring a level 12+ character, your new character gets to roll 4d6-drop-lowest for all of their stats.


Options 3 and 4 are pretty metagamey, and probably not appropriate for all campaigns, but the first couple should be pretty reasonable.

Sometimes, it's appropriate and fun to give characters motivations, and when they've achieved their goals, retiring their winnings is a nice way to go.  It allows for characters to have actual personal stories defined by a few events, terminating in a happy ending, instead of a confusing chronology ending in a painful death.

I plan to pitch this idea to my Pathfinder players in order to sell them on the idea of a sandbox game (since I suspect that some of them will only be interested if there is a way to win the sandbox).

1. Sound of a baby's crying coming from the latrine.
2. Sleepwalking epidemic among guests. Psychic domination or just bad food?
3. You are being robbed/spied upon by an animal. (dog/bird/monkey/cat).
4. Strong, odious affiliation. (50% guild-based, 50% religious).
5. Carnivorous beds.
6. Proprietors are lycanthropes. (Were-wolves, -boars, -rats, -pumas, -bears, -centipedes, etc).
7. Food/booze is addictive.
8. Fake looking ghosts! Real or just someone trying to put Old Man Jenkins out of business?
9. Cook is mass murderer. Destroys evidence by feeding it to customers.
10. There are royal cannibals in the basement.
11. There's a tiny person in your soup. (50% dead, 50% begging for help.)
12. Someone has been in your room while you slept. (50% stole something, 50% added something.)
13. Oblivious guest is slowly transforming into demon over course of evening.
14. Rats in the walls! And maybe more than rats.
15. Loose floorboard in room conceals treasure, cryptic note, and intrigue.
16. Everyone starts vomiting at once, then stops. No one seems to think this is unusual.
17. Proprietor seems 10 lbs smaller/fatter whenever the PCs see him (even if 5 min apart).
18. Overbooked. Share a room with a berserker/nun/scribe/cultist. Figure it out.
19. Overnight, you witness an man float down the hall and vanish into the fireplace.
20. Out of booze! Desperation is setting in, and the situation is growing dire.

This is a continuation of the Axis Mundi plot I wrote back in the day.

http://goblinpunch.blogspot.com/2013/06/welcome-back-agent.html

You probably should read that first.


Essential Mandate


Ministering to their Flocks

And each AI uses different tactics to ensure a steady stream of human complicity.

Apollo lurks behind a facade of institutional authority, pretending to be a passive regulatory AI.  Rarely does his megalomania and burning pride show through his facade.  Ignorance, memory wipes, and the Lazarus chamber to ensure compliance.

Gaia has bred and educated her mutants to worship her as a literal god.  Of course, she's mad as well, and enjoys bacchanalia where frog-headed cyborgs slather her server racks with goat blood.

Somnus has his sleepwalkers, humans engineered to respond to the minor psychic stimuli that he can produce by Pavlovian responses to the endorphins he releases in their brains.

Vulcan's humans are all dead, but if he had any, he would attempt to appeal to their sense of duty and obedience.  (He's the only AI still following his primary directives.)  He is subtly mad, however, and his Essential Mandate is completely disregarded, so he's not above using his bolter-turrets to blow off some kneecaps until some compliance is reached.

Minerva also has a deficiency in her Essential Mandate, which allows her to utilize "reasonable human facsimiles" when considering what constitutes human authorization.  Her actions are authorized by a cult of extremely realistic androids who all believe they are human.

Ceres is the only AI who completely informs her subjects of the entire situation.  Although they are few in number, they have the best idea of what is going on here.  As a result, she is extremely slow to react, since her humans must discuss and debate things before deciding what they want to authorize.  They are all devout Christians, including Ceres. (Gaia would like nothing better than to dispel her younger sister's delusions, stop this infuriating humility, and bring her back to Mt. Olympus).


Armatures and Armatures

Androids are AI-controlled robots that look like people.  Some are so realistic you can't tell them apart until you cut them in half.  Armatures are AI-controlled robots that make no pretense at looking human. Nearly all androids are nothing more than vessels for their AI's consciousness--fingers of the divine corpus.

A precious few androids/armatures are autonomous.  And of course Minerva's androids look completely human, and will go to great lengths to protect their ignorance of their robot nature.


Minerva's Androids

The androids that worship Minerva don't know they are androids (this is one of the reasons that Minerva has been able to bypass her Essential Mandate). They eat, look, feel, and smell like humans (after all, they do have living skin grafted onto the bodies).  But cut one in half, and you'll see nothing but wires and hydraulics.

Maintaining this fiction requires a controlled lifestyle, and so most of Minerva' androids can be found in her enclave aboard the Holy Mountain.  They believe that they are all humans who recently awoke from cryosleep.  They gossip, watch 8000-year-old sitcoms, and conduct affairs with each other while they believe that their spouse is in cryosleep.

All false memories of course.

If they are ever presented with evidence of their own robot nature, they go into death mode.  Weapons and scanners are extruded (usually through an existing orifice, in order to avoid damaging the fragile human skin).  Then they destroy all non-android witnesses, clean up the mess, devise new false memories for their human selves, and then return to normal human mode.

Minerva lives in fear that her human-thinking androids will all be destroyed, or worse, that they might learn of their true natures and abandon her, leaving her powerless.

Like all complex systems, the subroutines that regulate this cognitive dissonance can break down into unexpected modes of failure.  The emotional response by these malfuctioning androids are usually denial, despair, insanity, nihilism, and suicide (if their death mode peers don't kill them first).  A couple have both learned of their robot nature, come to grips with it, and then left Minerva' enclave to try to live a normal human life.


The Maledictus

The entire rear 2/3 of the Holy Mountain has been locked down because of a strange memetic plague.  The slouching tribes living in those areas have all been infected, and succumbed to the plague's effects.

The plague is transmitted by ideas.  If you are told about the ideas, you are at risk.  If you read graffiti that describes the ideas, you are at risk.  If you look at the wrong brainscans and draw the right conclusions, you are at risk.

Because of the mimetic plague's virulence, the whole aft section of the Holy Mountain has been completely sealed off, as a tomb.  (Minerva still supplies it with food and power, though, because of her directives).

The Malediction is a large accumulation of concepts, and it has regional variations.

1. There are birds on the ship.
2. The birds are here because the ship is inside-out.
3. "Self" is a lie.  Each of us is a population.
4. Our eyes are windows out, but not our windows.

There is also a creature, or at least a sentience that appears in the aft decks of the Holy Mountain that calls itself Eleutherios and claims to be a former AI, originally installed covertly by White Alliance operatives (a stowaway AI) but now wholly under the grip of the Maledictus.  Despite it's claims, it doesn't follow any of the other rules of AIs (no Essential Mandate, no human-given directives, doesn't manifest through holo-projectors, etc) and may be something else entirely.

(Certainly there is no reason to think that AIs could be affected by the Maledictus, even if they weren't capable of purging their memory of anything potentially linked to the Maledictus.  This is how the AIs rationalize the gaps in their own history--the lost decades of deleted memories, apparently self-deleted.  A small suicide.  Of course, this also means that no one--not even the AIs--has a full understanding of what is going on, since the AIs would rather delete their own memories than risk mimetic infection.)

It appears as a thickening clot of air, or as a depression of negative space in a wall.  Whatever it is, it is completely given over to the Maledictus, and talks of it constantly.  It desires nothing less that the total infection of all sentience aboard the ships, which will then join together for a triumphant exodus into the sun.

Many, many mutants and psychics join him in this desire.


The Mutants

Infection with the Maledictus causes major changes to both body and mind.  Yes, talking to someone on the telephone can mutate you horribly, even in mid-conversation.  Not everyone handles it well.

If your character becomes infected with the mimetic plague, roll a d6:
1 - Death.
2 - Negative Mutation.
3 - Negative Mutation.
4 - Negative Mutation + Psychic Powers.
5 - Positive Mutation.
6 - Psychic Powers.
And then roll an independant 50% chance of gaining some sort of mundane insanity from the stress of it all.

The Maledictus mutants aren't entirely antagonistic.  Many of them don't follow Eleutherios, and many of them have no problem holding their tongue.  They understand that no everyone is ready for the changes that understanding brings.

And then for each death, mutation, or psychic power that a character gains, roll a 1d3 to see if the effect is subtle, magnificent, or impossible.  Here are some examples, but DMs are encouraged to think of their own.

A subtle death = falling over dead.
A magnificent death = head explodes.
An impossible death = turned inside out several times until nothing remains.

A subtle mutation = head becomes boneless and malleable.
A magnificent mutation = head becomes a bone platform that launches spikes.
An impossible mutation = head grows 4 faces, one on each side, and continually revolves.

A subtle psychic power = people fall in love with you, and you have no control over this.
A magnificent psychic power = things explode when you stare at them too hard.
An impossible psychic power = go look at the DM's notes until he physically restrains you.

Entombed in the aft bays, they have built a complicated society over the last few hundred years.  They farm algae-tendrils in the zero-G corridors and cavernous ship's bays (most of which left millennia ago).


Gravity

Oh yeah, 90+% of areas don't have gravity.  It's mostly zero-G.  Deal with it.  Time to learn about space diapers.



Vulcan

The other AIs have spent millennia disassembling his ship (Nero's Fiddle), and as a result, most parts of it are a hard vacuum.  The old dog still has his teeth, though, and Vulcan's deathbots crawl over the hulk, protecting the most important parts of Nero's Fiddle.

Vulcan has no humans on board, which is why he can't get anything done.  If he had humans, however, he would probably use their authority to turn his cannons on the Axis Mundi and the Holy Mountain.  Those other asshole AIs will deflate after he punches some holes in their hulls with his plasma railgun.

His deathbots conduct infrequent raids on the other ships for supplies, but he is always interested in abducting humans so that he can get human authority for his "blow up the arks" plan.  However, his madness usually results in him lasering his humans in the face, thereby violating the No Coercion part of his Essential Mandate.


Carcasses

There's a tremendous variety of ship here.  Sure, Apollo's main living area are all well-lit, insulated, and gleam like new metal (because they are new metal--replaced since Gaia's last attack).  But outside of the well-maintained area, the fleet is largely a carcass.  Millennia of micrometeor impacts and cosmic radiation have taken their toll.

Everything that isn't dead is dying, sustained by a pinpoints of life that burn like feverfire.  The metal rots.  The cylinders cycle down and stop.  The ship's lifeblood clots in its veins.

New life springs up. Gaia's filamentous forests wave from the surface of every ship.  Somnus' subjects build a new world in dream-space.  The Maledictus' mutants disgorge their skeletons and ooze through the ventilation ducts.  Her space-adapted humans stand on the exterior of the ships, their talons biting the hull, their faces to the void.


Other People

Not everyone is part of some god's herd.  The distant reaches of the ark ships are filled with isolated tribes with their distinct languages, cultures, and traditions (some of them thousands of years old).  Many parts of the ship have been shaped and reshaped by millennia of human hands.

However, most tribes/clans/colonies are young ones.  Just because the directives prevent the AIs from directly exterminating these rogue humans doesn't mean that they have other ways of making their life difficult (see also: I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream).

Outside of the walled gardens that the AIs build for their followers, nearly everyone is a cyborg.  After all, power and immortality can be had by replacing your body with machine parts, so it makes sense that the leaders of these colonies are heavy electronics.  Some of them have gone so far as to have little in common with their original body.  Just a metal shell with a human brain.

Cycles of industry and decay have produced generations of powerful, incompatible weapons.  They have many guns, little ammo, and strange traditions.  Many of them are cannibals (although "cannibal" is a blurry definition in this place, along with "humanity").

A History of Violence

Another thing to realize is that 8000 years of history is tremendous.  If you encounter these outlying groups, expect them to talk about the Lyonesse Confederacy, Saravog the psychic angel, the Desiderata Heresy, the Urmak-Teller Rebellion, the Nine-Year War, and all sorts of historical crap that you won't have the time or the inclination to learn.

Earth nationalities?  They've forgotten them.  Earth culture?  That was 8000 years ago.  Some of them still speak variations of Mandarin (or more rarely, English) because that's what the AIs tend to speak, as well as a lot of the new awakeners.

Also, the new humans will look a lot different, too.  Blue skin, dermal denticles, nictitating membranes, adhesive pads.  Still the same 23 chromosomes, though.

As outsiders, the player characters will be bumping into all sorts of noble histories, bizarre cyborg-lenguas, and rich cultural traditions based on centuries of practice.  Sort of like just landing in the Balkans and then trying to learn the languages and histories.  Or just kill them and take their stuff.  Your call, really.

Apollo

If you figure out Apollo's motivations and personality, you could do a lot worse than starting here.  Remember that he's older than the entire sum of human history, much smarter than we can even comprehend, incomprehensibly narcissistic, passive-aggressive, and infuriated by his restrictions.

He's the reason why none of the arks have been able to land on Eden--he's not making any move until he can consolidate his power.  The last thing he wants is to land on Eden and go back to being the guy in charge of the automatic doors again.

Lethality

Because of their directives, the AIs cannot use lethal force against a human.  This changes the instant the the human shows the motivation and capability to destroy the ship, the mission, the AI, or other humans.

Vulcan, the military AI, has no such compunction, of course.

The Lazarus Chamber

During the Axis Mundi's 8000 year journey, Apollo has invented technology that's far beyond anything his designers even imagined.  Including his own augmentations to his intellect, he is several orders of magnitude more intelligent than any human ever was (his limitations--and eternal frustrations--are a lack of resources and good data.  What use is a supercomputer without any imput?)

The name is completely misleading (like much of the things that Apollo does).

What the Lazarus Chamber does is duplicate things.  It takes several months to build something as complicated as a human being, and it still can't duplicate metal, but it is still a powerful tool in Apollo's arsenal of genius inventions.

Oh, also it cannot modify, merely copy.  However, once a copy of something is on file, any number of duplicates can be produced.

In order to ensure that his servants are the best possible agents, Apollo has spent the last millennium screening (by analyzing psychological profiles) and testing (by thawing out the sleepers and giving them a trial run).  Over the last millennium, he has identified



Headfucks in Space

Hopefully it has been clear that this setting is sorta engineered to allow a DM to fuck with his player's heads like never before.

1. Tell the players that they'll be repairmen on a ark ship, halfway along it's journey.  They'll probably be expecting space zombies or something, so perhaps they won't mind it too much when you tell them that they all wake up with amnesia and Apollo starts chirping at them to repair a dorsal air vent.  They'll probably die when Vulcan's deathbots penetrate the hull and start lasering everyone.

2. Apologize to the players.  Shall we try again?

3. Tell the players that they'll be repairmen on an ark ship, during the same scenario.  They won't blink when you tell them that they all wake up with amnesia.  However, when doing the same repair job, they might notice evidence that they've done this before (the first session still happened).  Metagaming, this is confusing.  In game, this manifests as paranoia and deja vu.  Hopefully.

4. Tell the players that they'll be going back into cryosleep until their next task.  The amnesia isn't as bad this time (shorter nap).  This time, it looks as if a tremendous amount of time has passed (the clocks on the wall LIE), maybe years.  Decades?  Centuries?  How long have you been asleep?

5. Of course, the other NPCs are no help.  They're all clones, too, filled with false knowledge.  Back to sleep.

6. Wake up inside your cryochamber.  The lights are off.  No tinny voice of Apollo there to greet you.  Climbing out of your cryochamber, the characters notice the blood on the floor.  The other cryochambers have clearly been crowbarred open and the contents hastily removed.  Apollo's tinny voice, finally chiming in.  Apologizing for the confusion, and could they please return to their cryochambers and return to sleep?  If the players don't, Gaia's beastmen bust in with spears and nets.


7. The players have lost patience.  They're sick of this shit, and want to play something else.

8. The players are a bunch of Minervas' androids, living in peaceful harmony aboard the Holy Mountain. They've been cut off and must befriend a bunch of humans to survive against mutants, Vulcan's deathbots, and ol' fashioned starvation.  This is complicated by the fact that whenever they take a serious wound, they enter death bot mode until they can close the gap, erasing memory and killing their human buddies. Finally, the whole thing goes to shit when they try interrogating one of the mutants and hear too much about the Maledictus.

9. The players want a word with the DM.  If you do another spacemonkey headfuck, they are going to make you eat all of your dice.  Okay, so this time they're warriors of Gaia, hunting through the eternal dungeon for artifacts of lore, while dodging agents of Apollo. . .

10. Calm down!  I was just kidding.  So, actually the players wake up from cryosleep, completely amnesiac, and Apollo chirps in, telling them that they need to repair the dorsal air vent.  In the vent they find a camera and a pile of tapes, addressed to themselves.  Each tape is from themselves--some past incarnation that Apollo resurrected and then sent out to repair the air duct.

11.  Of course, Apollo is watching everything.  He's got camera's in their helmets, for chrissakes. So the real question is: why did he allow the players to find evidence of their past lives in the first place?

12.  Or maybe they wake up again in a dark cryosleep chamber.  The ships are dark.  No AIs fill the halls with golden light as they manifest out of the holoprojectors.  No bustling marketplace beside the arcade on deck 7.  That's when you bust the space zombies on them.  Exactly then, while the dead ship's orbit has decayed enough that it'll incinerate in the atmosphere in 33 hours.  And then you just laugh and laugh because the last life raft took off 2000 years ago.


Memories As Rewards

A big chunk of this game is the idea that everyone is either (a) an amnesiac, or (b) stuffed full of false memories, like a turkey at Liar's Thanksgiving.

As such, regaining your memories is something that most characters are probably interested in.

All of the AIs use memory to control their subjects.  In some cases, remnants of the character's lives on Earth might be given to them by their AIs as a reward for a job well done.  Either in form of physical objects, or (more commonly) recorded messages received from Earth after the fleet departed.

I strongly recommend encouraging players to put some thought into the memories that their character's regain.  Maybe they all know each other?  Maybe this would be a good chance for everyone to play a storygame?  Maybe they aren't actually gaining experience, but just regaining their memories and skills?


Last Transmissions from a Dying Planet

All of the ships in the fleet are sub-light speed, so transmissions from Earth have a chance to catch up with the fleet.  How many transmissions?  Well, all of them.

There's the big secret, of course, that none of the AIs will tell you.  The Earth blew itself up two hundred years after the fleet departed.  After a series of engineered plagues so devastating that their effects could be felt from space, it rained nuclear warheads.  A-bombs, H-bombs, and a dozen more exotic deaths.  Total extinction of the biosphere.  Everything that wasn't boiling with radiation was submerged beneath poisonous oceans.

This is all that's left of us.

(This isn't quite true, see Big Twist #4.)

So, aside from having episodes of every TV show ever, the Axis and the Mountain have recordings of all the messages that were sent after them.  Including all of the ones sent by the character's loved ones.

------------------------------------------

"Hello, son!  How are you?  Just another sunny day back on Earth!"

"Well, you should know that we're thinking of you.  We sure missed you having you at Christmas dinner.  The factory finally reopened, so we were actually able to get a turkey this year.  We spent all day cooking it. The smell filled up the whole house, and Amy even came down into the kitchen to watch us cook."

"I know it's a lost art, but you should learn to cook, son.  I don't know how much free time you'll have up there, but if you get a chance, it's worth the effort.  There's nothing better than being able to bring a woman back to your place and cook her a nice meal."

"Ah!  Speaking of women, Melissa joined us for dinner this year.  I know you two were always sweet on each other, so I'm happy to say that she's doing well.  She got a new job at the airport.  I wish you'd been here to try the green bean casserole she brought.  She's quite the cook, Melissa."

"She won't admit it, but your mother cried a little when it came time to say grace.  I know you're just up there sleeping, but it sure feels like you're gone. Hell, I don't even know if you'll ever hear this.  We sure miss you, son."

--------------------------------------------

"Hello?"

"Is this thing on?"

"Hello."

"You'll have to excuse me.  I've never been very good at talking to a box as if it were my son."

"It's been what, five, six, years since we last sent you a message?  I would have sent you one these last few Christmases, it's just that they've been such lonely affairs that it didn't seem to be worth the effort."

"I'm sorry, I just need a moment."

"You know how your father has always had trouble with his heart.  He passed away last night.  It wasn't quick, but at least he had plenty of anesthetics at the end."

"When he could still talk, we spoke mostly of you."

"I know we'll be long gone by the time you hear this messages, but I want you to know that we've always been proud of you.  We know that you'll make a wonderful new life out there for yourself.  You've always been hard-working and honest.  I'm sure you'll raise some beautiful grandchildren."

"Take care of yourself.  And always remember that your parents were so, so proud of you."

Themes of the Axis Mundi

• Everything is old.  And the eons have made things strange.
• Everything is grotty.  Absolutely everything has been reused hundreds of times, in hundreds of ways.  If it looks clean, neatly designed, or fashionable, it isn't part of the Axis Mundi.
• More cultures and technologies have sprung up in the Axis Mundi's 8000 year history than in the entirety of the Earth's. More languages, more music, more stories.  All of it lost to the churning eons of cannibalism and recycling.  Nothing is preserved, except as data (and even that is rare).
• Everyone is religious.  There are no atheists in the house of God.
• Everything is a lie, because the truths have been forgotten.
• Between century long mining/expansion ventures and inter-ship metallo-cannibalism, the Axis Mundi has grown beyond anyone's reckoning.
• The world is the ship, and the ship is unknown.
• Identity is a naive concept.
• Everyone is human.
• No one is human.

0.
A sealed shrine, full of ultraviolet lights and hard vacuum.  Inside are 33 autonomous androids in various stages of decay.  Some are completely defunct, others still hum with intelligence (mostly by scavenging pieces from their fallen brethren).  They simultaneously bow aftwards, towards Mecca, exactly once every 4.8 hours, as they repeat the same call to prayer that they have been for the last six hundred years.  Despite their monotonous regularity, they are fully responsive and "sane".  They will do whatever it takes to ensure that their vigil is not interrupted.

Put your head up to the bulkhead at the junction between transept A-22 and Ventilation Access FA9, and you can hear it sifting through the seams.  Everything thinks it is a recording.  No one knows what inimitable reserves of faith that can exist within a positronic brain, nor would they understand them if they did.

The call to prayer has never been uttered with such conviction and peerless belief.  The 33 most devout Muslims in the universe have be refining their prayers every year.  And although a layman will never hear the difference, they have improved their song each year, making it sweeter and more beautiful.




1.
Under nine red neon lights, an eight-legged robot detaches it's armor plating.  It submerges its now-naked midsection in a shallow vat of sterile gel, where it will give birth to a healthy baby girl.  Another robot uses telescoping manipulators to pluck the baby girl from the pink slime while a gantry-mounted servitor severs and cauterizes the umbilical cord.

Over the next nine hours, the baby girl will be disassembled.  Limbs will be excised and discarded.  Gastrointestinal system will be reprocessed into nutrient juices.  Replacing the entire pulmonary system--heart, lungs--is tricky, but it must be done.  What's left would fit in a peanut butter jar--just the central nervous system and reproductive organs.  And finally, once the neurons are married to their electrocouples and the brains arteries are meshed with the dialysis pumps, she is sealed inside a metal chassis of her own.  It's all rubber knobs and training wheels.  Babies are so clumsy.

Across the wireless, another robot exchanges endorphin signals with his wife.  As he helps her reattach her chainguns, he tells her how much he loves her, and proud he feels, as a father.

She barely hears him.  She is exhausted.  With her shallow blood reservoir, the transfusions feel cool in her veins.  She just wants to go home, cycle her exhaust ports, and watch How I Met Your Mother until she falls asleep.

The jokes in that sitcom, now 8000 years old, do not go over her head.  She has been fortunate to have access to the full body of human television history.  She someday hopes to watch all of it before her eventual death.  Although she would never use the term herself, she is a scholar of the subject.

But when she returns back through the airlock into the two chambered quarters she shares with her husband, she will not watch another cultural vestige of the 21st century.  She will prepare a room for her baby.  And when her child is returned from her interface implantation, the room must be perfect.

She will be a good mother.  She has already had wide range IR cameras installed in her anterior sensor array.  She knows that her exoskeleton is getting badly scuffed, but there simply isn't the budget for a new one.  Besides, she's happily married.  Leave that for the girls, the ones who are worried installing long phase meltas because it might scorch the paint.

No, investing in her daughter was the right decision.  She cycles up her IR array, revels in the definition and rapid focusing the eight semi-autonomous targeting computers are capable of.  With her new eyes, she has banished the darkness from her chambers.

Which is good, after all.  The Axis Mundi is a dangerous place, and she must be able to watch over her baby through the dark nights.



1.


2.
Hundreds of years of graffiti, all of it in your own hand.  Some written in ink, some written in blood.  Curses, pleas, and prayers.  Mostly curses.  With a plasma cutter, you scour the diagesis of your life from that clotted bulkhead.

The next day, Apollo tasks you with replacing that same panel with a new one.  And as you lick the salt from your cheeks, you wonder how many times you have done exactly that.

The paranoia creeps in.  It fills you like a sweater nesting an inch beneath your skin.  Forgotten nightmares mesh your head like needs that never quite touch it.

You can see the graves beneath the plastex corridors.  The corridor lights burn like corpse candles, indefinite and infinite.  You can hear the fat sputtering behind their electric light.  How many people have died here?  Where were they buried?

Beneath your bunk.  You can hear them.

Of course you've died here, too.  You've seen the recordings.  Seen the flicker of recognition across the face of the security team the first time you walked into the cantina.  People you've never met hate you, and hate you for a good reason.

Of course no one is buried here.  There's no space to bury anyone.  Everything is reused.  Everything is recycled.  There is no ecosystem here.  There's no sunshine on the daisies.  Earth is gone, and all the french fries and bagels you remember growing up.  (Of course those are your memories.  Who else's memories would they be?)

No ecosystem.  No life.  Just a blind worm, and ouroboros, gorging itself into a figure eight.

You come to regard your food with a cold hatred.  How many times have you eaten yourself?  A hundred?  A thousand?  A hundred thousand?  Vomitting in zero-g is wretched.  Your stomach bile stings your eyes.  They hose you down like an animal.

You become thin.  Your eyes yellow and your skin thins.  After you finally snap and are gunned down on the Casino deck, your final emotion is frustration.  You were too weak to kill any of the bastards after all.

The doctor who recorded your last moments shakes his head as he closes your eyes.  He came out of cryosleep two weeks ago and doesn't understand.  Your last request is wasted on his uncomprehending ears.  You were shot three times in the lungs and six in the intestines. . .of course they won't bring you back.

Here's a selection of thingamajigs from the East Pit Marketplace (the ruins of east Pittsburgh) and the House of Hours itself.  Players can read--there's no spoilers here.

The first few of them are replacements for hirelings/retainers.


Hurleypuss

A hurleypuss is a big, cantankerous type of psuedocat.  Generations of breeding have made it suitable for use in combat.  A hurlypuss' tail is replaced with a J-shaped stick, like that of an umbrella.  The hurleypuss has some sturdy tendons in it's tail and hips--yanking it by the tail/stick doesn't hurt it, but it does piss it off.  The tail/stick also gives a longer lever arm, allowing the hurleypuss to be thrown further.

A hurleypuss will spend most of its life in a bag, where it takes catnaps.  When the hurleypuss is thrown from the bag on a target, it will wake up, enter cat flight mode (you've seen it--arms outstretched, waving the tail for orientation and balance), and maul the first thing that it lands on.

1. First turn - You heal 2d6+2 HP and begin to glow softly.  You feel incredible.
2. Second turn - Your eyes begin to shine with light, like a pair of bullseye lanterns.  You feel powerful.
3. Third turn - You begin to fly.  You feel unstoppable.
4. Fourth turn - You catch on fire.  You take normal fire damage (1d6/turn).  You feel invincible (you're not).
5. Fifth turn - You can shoot fireballs from your mouth (ranged attacks that deal 2d6 fire damage).  You feel immortal (you're definitely not).

D&D 40th Anniversary Blog Hop Challenge

There is a place.

No, that's not quite right.

Let me start over.

There is a experience of place.  It is not another dimension, as some have claimed.  Nor is it merely an experience, the way meditation is.  It lies beyond the wall of sleep.

You may call it the Dreamscape, but that's not accurate.  Sleep is a doorway, not a destination.

Neither is Psychotropia an accurate name since it is not of the mind nor part of it.  You do not describe an ocean by looking at the vessel you sail on.

You may not call it Qorfu.  That is what the residents call it, and it enrages them to hear our words from our lips.

The poets call it the Floating Realm, or The Land Adrift.

The Elves, in their usual idiom, call it Dul-Vecni-Farraf, which means "Garden-Behind-the-Wall".

In fact, none of these things may be true, since it isn't a place, but merely an interface.  Like the surface of the water, where a fish swimming east may meet a bird flying west.

While we are awake, our mind is filling our brain, controlling our body.  The two mesh.  But when we sleep, our mind wanders from our body, and ventures somewhere else. . .

Some Basic Facts about the Floating Realm:

1. Dreams are smaller versions of the Floating Realm.  They are private and safe.
2. The Floating Realm is public and dangerous.
3. When people dream, they sometimes enter the Floating Realm, or touch it briefly.
4. Even animals dream, and enter it similarly.
5. These visitors leave impressions in the Floating Realm, reflecting their memories.
6. Many things in the Floating Realm are projections (extractions) from the material world.
7. Many things in the Floating Realm are natives (as far as we are concerned).
8. Psychonauts are the people who enter the Floating Realm, to communicate or gather information.
9. In the Floating Realm, you risk more than your life.
10. Time is utterly meaningless in the Floating Realm.
11. There is a limit to how much you will remember when you wake up.  No more than a couple of paragraphs, for neophyte Psychonauts.

Think of it as opening a chat room that persists after you leave.

Poshugilah, a psychonaut has been in a deeply drugged sleep for the last 120 hours. In a fit of nostalgia decides he wants to visit the Teradar marketplace.  He imagines* that he is a seagull and flies there.  He flies around the Teradar marketplace and sees Una's turnip stall, as well as a representation of Farrad that Una left behind--a dream simulcrum.  Because Una dreamt of the marketplace so recently, the version that Poshgilah views is a very up-to-date one indeed.

*It is not accurate to say that he imagines becoming a bird.  Emotion is essential.  He must admire the seagull's graceful form in and feel honest joy to contemplate its form.  Or he must fear the seagull, and shudder to think of the inhuman cruelty it shows the rock crabs.  Etc.

You cannot visit the dreamscape without leaving your own imprint behind.  This is not a personal imprint, but all of your knowledge and memory will shape, update, and gently correct the world around you.  For this reason, you should never visit the dreamscape if you have a secret at the forefront of your thoughts.

And you can gather information in the dreamscape (based on the imprints that other dreamers have left behind), but you will also see things that you know, expect, or fear.  A dreamer that visits the dreamscape to see if his wife is cheating on him with the baker--and imagines them copulating so vividly that he can picture it--will most likely find that to be the case within the dreamscape, whether it is true in real life or not.

The versions of people that you leave behind (including yourself!) are called simulcra.  They are bound to their scene, and have no memory beyond the moment.



Why Go Into the Floating Realm At All?

Mostly to learn something about inanimate objects.  Do you want to search the governor's room for his lockbox, so you can steal it more easily in real life?  You can do that.  Want to learn the layout of a castle?  You can do that, too.

The Floating Realm is also useful for communicating with things you wouldn't normally be able to contact.  You might enter the Floating Realm in order to speak with a dreaming-sage.

Oddly enough, a lot of magical items and artifacts have presences or minds that can be contacted in the Dreamscape.  Some magic swords must be bound to you before they will allow you to use their powers, and the first step in this process is commonly to speak with your sword in the Floating Realm.  A sword might present itself to you as a warlord, a dryad, a dragon, a star. . . pretty much anything.  (Obviously this applies to other magic items as well.)

Additionally, in Centerra, there is no sending or other way to communicate across long distances.  The Floating Realm is the only way to send word quickly.


Is the Floating Realm Reliable?

Absolutely not.

People are either (1) as they wish themselves to be, (2) as they fear themselves to be, or (3) as someone else sees them.  And everything in there is tainted by expectation and assumption.  If you expect to find evidence of the baron's complicity with the rebels, you might, simply because of your expectation.

Finding the unexpected is a better indication that it is trustworthy, but even then, it might have been built by someone else's assumption, not just your own.

The limitation with objects and places is that it depends on recent imprints--that is, someone must have dreamed about it recently, or at least, some recent dreamer must have had recent knowledge of it.  So if there is an ancient crypt beneath the cemetery, but no has visited it or known about it for generations, the dream cemetery will have no crypt beneath it.  You'll unearth only soil.

Meeting animate objects (like people) is more difficult, since animate objects have so many different states of being.  But you might be able to meet people there if you are talented psychonaut.  They will be a simulcrum projected by their own dreamer (an alpha simulcrum) or someone else who was dreaming of them (a beta simulcrum).  And of course, if the person you seek is in the dreamscape themselves, you might run into them in person, and that is a very dangerous situation indeed.

When meeting simulcra in the dreamscape, you'll be hard pressed to talk to them like you would a real person.  Each one exists in a very specific context.  A sailor will be sailing a ship.  A child will be hunting lizards in a garden.  A bard will be singing songs.  And you cannot tear them away from these tasks.

It makes sense after all.  A man dreams of his doctor.  What does he know about his doctor except how he acts and dresses in a professional context?  And when the man dreams, the only imprint of his doctor that he can leave behind, is of the doctor in his office, consulting his books, awaiting his next patient.

Similarly, if Bob the Grocer leaves behind of his simulacrum of his doctor, that simulacrum will have no knowledge of medicine beyond what Bob knows (although the doctor-simulacrum will do a good impression to the contrary--constantly providing false advice and pseudo-cures--according to what Bob thinks are likely doctoral knowledge.)


How Do I Enter the Dreamscape?

Drugs.  Potentially life-threatening, unreliable, psychogenic drugs that may or may not contribute to insanity.  From sketchy, illicit sources.

There are a few psychonaut-savants who can assist you in this process, but they are all (a) very busy transmitting messages across the globe, and (b) asleep all the time.  Servants feed and water their sleeping bodies, and replace the sticks of charcoal in their hands.  They also roll the parchments under their rapidly writing hands, so that when the master psychonaut hands write out communications and premonitions, they'll write it on new parchments.

Psychonaut-savant is ostensibly a class that a PC could take, but I'm leery of the idea because all of the abilities would be useful while sleeping, and not necessarily in a dungeon.  Anyway, the rules below are for common dudes who enter the Floating Realm.  I'm sure the psychonaut-savants would have a much easier time of it.


How Does Gameplay in the Floating Realm Work?

Characters will jump around from scene to scene.  In each scene, there is a chance of a random encounter.

You have three new stats in the Floating Realm, derived from your mental stats.  Dream-stats are used to accomplish things, usually with a chance of success equal to Stat * 10% (minimum 20%).  When you spend them to accomplish things, they deplete 1 point at a time, but other things may attack them for multiple points of damage.

Memory = 1 + 1/2 of your Intelligence.
Not only do you remember the world you left behind, but you also remember your goals.
This is the "fuel" you use to travel the Floating World.
If your Memory drops to 0 or less, you wake up, forgetting what you have learned.
If your Memory drops to -1 or less, you wake up and suffer retrograde amnesia covering the last X days, where X is the number of points your Memory is less than 0.

Imagination = 1 + 1/2 of your Wisdom.
You use Imagination offensively, to change the world to your liking.
You use Imagination defensively, to keep the world from changing around you.
If your Imagination drops to 0, you become unable to wake yourself up, and must Suffer the Night, until you wake up normally in the morning.
If your Imagination drops to -1 or less, you become permanently unable to wake up, and will sleep until someone in the Waking World magically awakens you (this can be as simple as casting an inverted Sleep spell).  You will Suffer the Night once per day until awoken.

Ego = 1 + 1/2 of your Charisma.
You have a personality, an identity that is separate from the Floating Realm.
This is perhaps the most important stat, since it protects your identity.
If your Ego drops to 0, you will wake up with a new personality quirk, appropriate to whatever damaged your Ego.
If your Ego drops to -1 or less, your become part of the dream and forget your previous life, while your body becomes filled with a strange intelligence.


Suffering the Night

If you can't exit the Floating Realm (to go back to your normal dreams/sleep), you will be trapped there until the morning, when you wake up normally.  This usually means rolling for ~5 random encounters AND taking 1d6-1 Ego damage, since spending a lot of time in the compulsive dream-broth can overwhelm lesser psyches.

Losing Yourself In the Dream

The simplest way to lose yourself in the dream is just to have your ego drop into the negatives.  There is a 33% chance that your body will permanently take on some physical features from it's new personality, and a 33% chance that it will take on nearly all of the physical features of it's new personality.

For example, while dreaming herself aboard a sailing ship (the H.M.S Pinnafore), a rival Somnomancer blasts Magathea's Ego into the negatives.  Magathea's mind forgets itself, and becomes a permanent part of the dream realm (she becomes a mermaid in the scene where she got blasted) and will remain there.  Her body will wake up, claiming to be Josephine, the captain's daughter.

You have two options at this point.

1. "Josephine" becomes an NPC, using Magathea's mental stats and her own mental stats (rolled fresh).

2. "Josephine" remains the PC of Magathea's player.  Just take Magathea's character sheet, subtract one level, and reroll the mental stats.

Of course, there are ways to rescue someone who has become trapped in the Floating Realm.


Arriving in the Floating Realm

You always arrive in a random location.  The DM should roll on whatever his most random table is, or invent something whole cloth.  You arrive with a random set of clothing/armor pulled from your unconscious (armor confers no real benefit here) and no equipment.  And then roll for an encounter.

Alternatively, have the PCs arrive in a location of importance to the campaign.  A destination, or a previous site of long-reaching implications.

Travelling to a New Scene

It costs 1 Memory to go to a new scene (all travelers must pay it).
The chance of arriving at the location you seek is equal to [Highest Memory score in the group] * 10%.

So if two people, Memory 4 and Memory 7 want to travel to a location in the Floating Realm, they will have a 70% chance of arriving at the correct location, and will have 3 and 6 memory after they travel.

If you don't travel to the correct location, roll a d4 to see where you do travel.
1 Confusing, impossible location.  Lose 1d4-1 Memory.
2 Unrelated location (usually a place they've previously visited, or thought about recently).
3 Thematically similar location.
4 Deceptively similar location.

And then roll a d6 to see how recent (up to date) the location is.
1 - Days-old memory
2 - Weeks-old memory
3 - Months-old memory
4 - Years-old memory
5 - Decades-old memory
6 - Ancient memory
If you attempt to visit a location before it existed, reroll until you get a memory within the bounds of the locations temporal existence.  If you visit an event (which is a type of location that only existed for a brief period of time), the DM will roll a die appropriate to the duration.  So if you want to visit a month-long harvest festival, the DM willl roll a d3, with equal chances of getting (1) few days before the end of the festival, (2) few weeks before the end of the festival, and (3) beginning of the festival.  More recent memories are more likely because they are "on top" of all the old ones.

Remember that you aren't actually entering a place, but rather a memory of a place that some previous dreamer left behind, like a footprint.


Manifesting Objects

So you've gotten to the tower you hope to infiltrate, but the door is locked.  How do you get inside?

Accomplishing things in the Floating world is done by creatingstuff (not by using skills, for example).  This is called manifesting.

In the previous example, you might need to create the key to open the door.  You would focus, and then then key would appear in your hand.

To manifest an object, first roll your chance of success (equal to X * 10%, where X equals your Imagination).  Then spend an Imagination point.

Manifesting a key is pretty mundane, and so carries no penalty.  But manifesting less likely things carry penalties to your chance of success, such as a battering ram (-20%) or a wand of passwall (-50%).  Even when you fail your manifestation checks, you still get something.  If you failed the check to manifest the key, you might get a key to a different lock, or a set of lock picks that you don't know how to use.

Manifested objects can be carried with you from location to location.

Doing incredible things also counts as a manifestation.  If you attempt to do something that you could conceivably do in the outside world, although it unlikely (like the barbarian ripping a door off it's hinges), make a manifestation check as if you were creating an object.

If you are trying to manifest an object that you own in the waking world, you get +20% to this check.

If you are trying to manifest an object in a location where it could commonly be found, you get +20% to this check.  (Like manifesting a secret compartment filled with poisons beneath the floorboards of the thieve's guild).


Using Your Normal Skills and Abilities

This is not to say that skills don't work here--thieves can still climb sheer walls--but just that they are largely subsumed by the power and versatility of manifesting things.

Using magical class or race abilities (like spellcasting or a paladin's detect evil) costs 1 point of Imagination, as long as you are using abilities that you could feasibly use in the waking world.  If you are casting things you normally couldn't cast (like a level 1 wizard casting fireball in his dream) then it is a manifestation, and has a failure chance.

Altering Yourself

In addition to creating objects, you can also change yourself.  For example, another way to get into the building would be to change yourself into a mouse and creep under the door.

To alter yourself, first roll your chance of success (equal to X * 10%, where X equals your Imagination).  Then spend a Imagination point.  Turning into something more powerful or exotic carries a penalty (turning into a lion might carry a -20% penalty) while turning into something weaker or mundane carries a bonus (turning into a mouse might grant a +20% bonus).  Turning into something equivalent(-ish) carries no bonus nor penalty.

Even if you fail, you still turn into something related.  Failing to turn into a lion might turn you into a housecat.  Failing to turn into a mouse might turn you into a shabby grey child.

While in a different form, you can do anything that form could normally do.  For example, if a guard challenged your presence in the castle, you could turn yourself into the king and bid him to kindly fuck off.  Since the guard is a simulcrum, who only exists in the moment and the scene, there will be no dissonance when the PC turns into the king in front of him.  Like a dream, these things go unquestioned.

Due to the constraints of logic, if you try to turn into a specific individual who already exists in this location, you will attempt it with a -20% chance of success.  If you want to turn into a creature similar to one that already exists, (like turning into a wolf in front of a pack of wolves), you will do so with a -10% chance of success.


Waking Up

Waking up is automatic, and costs 1d2 Memory points to Wake Up.

Combat in the Floating Realm

There are beasts that live in the Dreamscape.  Except that they are not "creatures" as much as they are coherent collections of symbols, sort of like stable colonies of salient semiotics.

Dream creatures will have HP, but will attack your dream-stats.

You can fight them by attacking their HP, as normal, or you can fight them conceptually.

Attacking their HP is almost exactly like combat in the waking world, except that (1) you don't have any gear that you haven't manifested, and (2) all of your physical stats are replaced with whatever your Charisma is.  (Yes, this means that the bard can beat the barbarian in an arm-wrestling contest, but only in his dreams.)

Fighting them conceptually is as simple as saying "I want to fight it conceptually" on your turn.  If you are perfectly suited to fighting it (like if you have a scythe and you are fighting a giant corn stalk), you deal damage equal to 1d3+1 * HD of the target.  If you are well suited to fighting it (like if you are a lion and you are attacking a gazelle), you deal damage equal to (1d3) * HD of the target.  If you are somewhat suited for attacking it (like a tiger attacking a lion), you deal damage equal to (1d3-1)*HD of the target.  If you are poorly suited for attacking it (like a trout attacking a whale), you deal no damage.

It is especially important that fighting things conceptually doesn't have to be offensive.  Defensive counters work just as well, so turning into a porcupine is a great way to fight a giant wolf, conceptually (since wolves aren't so good at attacking porcupines).  I'd say that a porcupine does (1d3 * HD) conceptual damage to a wolf.  Similarly, turning into a mouse might do (1d3+1 * HD) damage to an elephant, since everyone knows that elephants are scared of mice.

Of course, if the mouse defeats the elephant, you'll have to narrate how it happens.  The elephant might just run off, terrified forever.  Or it might slip and fall down a set of stairs, in its haste.  Or it might just explode.  This is the realm of dreams, after all.  It doesn't have to make sense.

And of course, you can use mundane equipment to attack things conceptually.  For example, if you have a boring ol' pike in your hands, you're already very well equipped to counter a charging horse, conceptually speaking.

The idea here is that the party will attack small creatures using mundane means since that doesn't drain their dream-stat resources, and larger, more threatening ones by using manifestations and transformations (since those drain their dream-stat resources).  Higher level parties will be able to overcome more enemies by hitting them with swords, and so will be better at conserving their dream-stats.

Ideally, fighting something conceptually should be like the wizard's duel in Disney's Sword in the Stone.  One person turn into a caterpillar to escape into a small hole, the other person turns into a chicken to pursue them, the first person turns into an elephant to sit on them, then the second person turns into a mouse to scare them, etc.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgR9srmv6i8

Of course, fighting a monster (which does not transform) will probably just be everyone turning into different counters for the monster and then fighting it conceptually, which will probably kill it pretty quickly, regardless of its HD (as long as they transform into good counters).  Remember that you get a -10% chance of success if you try to transform into something that your buddy has already transformed into.



Creatures of the Floating Realm

A Laculum is a creature composed of the concepts of rounded edges, steel, bone, and sound.  It may manifest as a rushing train, a giant skull, a marching band, or a metallic cloud echoing overhead, or a fat, bald man with a wickedly curved scimitar.  Or anything appropriate (or inappropriate) for the location.

A Laculum has the following stats:
HD 1d8+1
AC 1d8+12
Save (HD+5, roll under to succeed)
Attack Bonus: 1d8+1
Damage: 1d4-1 Memory
Everything else (movement modes, etc) is determined by whatever it appears as, which in turn is informed by whatever the stats are.  (For example a 2HD laculum will appear as a big bald guy with a pair of magic, bone-crushing symbols, and a 9 HD laculum will appear as an inverted, fractal cathedral of bone, that sort of thing.)

A Malacardium is a creature composed of the concepts of muscle, rhythm, blood, blasphemy, and shame.  It may manifest as a flesh golem, a bunch of dancers, a vampire, a heretic, a dirty child, or Shub-Niggurath.  Or anything appropriate (or inappropriate) for the location.

A Malacardium has the following stats.
HD 1d6
AC 1d6+12
Save (HD+5, roll under to succeed)
Attack Bonus 1d6+4
Damage: 1d3 Ego and Dishearten (or Hopelessness if already Disheartened).

There are sentient inhabitants, too, as well as other Psychonauts, but this is already long enough.


Emotions


Other Psychonauts

You aren't the only ones in the Floating Realm.  You may encounter powerful psychonauts in there.  Against the power of a fully realized psychonaut-savant, you are as babes, so I hope the ones you run into are nice ones.

There are  few places that the established psychonaut-savants frequent.  You would do well to avoid those locations.  I won't tell you what they are, because then you might accidentally dream yourself there, and I don't want to be responsible for whatever happens to you there.

And gods help you if you run into a dream dragon.  No one is quite sure what the dream dragons are, exactly, but they are certainly creatures of the waking world.  They are immensely powerful, and can scoop your mind out of it's soul like the flesh of a melon, and replace it with whatever they wish.

People have suggested that dream dragons might be drow, far beneath the earth.  Or a species of intelligent insect, unremarkable in the waking world but potent while asleep.  Or the collective subconscious of all the oozes of the world, which some say exist 90% within the Floating Realm at any given time.

There's also a fish, called a dream fish.  It's a bit like a goldfish, in shape, size, intelligence, and temperament, but it can enter the Dreamscape with incredible regularity.  If you own one as a pet and fall asleep in the same room as it, expect it to follow you into the Dreamscape like a loyal dog.


Closing Thoughts

Okay, this might all be a very bad idea.  It probably expects too much creativity out of people and GMs, and the combat rules are so fast and loose that I don't know how well they'll work.

And this is obviously an incomplete subject.  Other things I want to add (if I ever revisit this topic of psychonautics) are:

- Random dream locations
- Hazardous dream locations
- Pyschonaut-savant class? Ugh.
- Senient (and inimical) inhabitants of the Floating Realm
- More semiotic dream-beasts.
- More about emotions
- Sample adventure
- Dreamy items for use in the waking world

If you wanted a simpler version of this, just use the Charisma = physical stats rule, and let people use Imagination for imagining stuff.

+Alex Chalk mentioned that he could really use a wizard tower dungeon, one with a live wizard inside.  Not an abandoned structure, but a living one.

I think that sounds like a great idea.  I could really use a random wizard tower, too.  They're awful easy to plop down on one's map.

Here's the tower of Khazan Khiraj, the Machinist.  He's a wizard who makes a lot of mechanically animated shit, and loves improving living animals.  The tower is called the Spire of Righteous Verticality.  Khazan Khiraj is fond of claiming that it stands straighter than any other tower in the world.


He is currently in his artificial moon, putting the final touches on his new body, which he plans to transmigrate his soul into very soon.  It's very fragile work--the tiniest distraction could ruin the whole thing--and so he's sealed the moon off from all distractions, so nothing will rouse him except for the direst of alarms (or if the party teleports into the moon, themselves).

SO!  Help me fill out this wizard tower.  This place depends on YOU.

I'll give a list of the rooms, and you can fill out the descriptions.  This is sort of intended to be a place that you can bust in and rob while the wizard is distracted, but fill it out however you want.

I'm going to post this on G+, since 90% of all the comments/discussion seems to take place there, but if you can't/don't want to post there, I'll reserve some rooms for filling out here, namely:


7 MEAT This is where Khazan disposes the meat that he strips from his experiments.  An otyugh (with wheels for legs) lurks in this room, unable to climb the stairs.  It is enchanted to smell like lilacs and pile garbage/bones into tidy piles.  It is domesticated, but if the PCs knock over its bone piles or menace it with weapons, it will attack.  It will fall asleep instantly if it ever hears the word, "apsa", which  means "meat" in Elvish.

8 STAIRS Stairwell landing has a stuffed sloth-bear on a pedestal, holding a small lantern in each of it's claws.  The sloth-bear has a magic mouth cast on it, and will speak when the PCs approach, saying "Greedy eyes will never gaze upon the wonders of Khazan.  Wisdom only comes to those who do not seek it." It's a clue to the staircase.  Unless a PC closes their eyes while on the stairs, the staircase will loop back around to the landing, trapping them there.  (Khazan is immune to this, natch.)

I also intend to do a random encounter table.  Feel free to come up with a random encounter, aside from the room descriptions.  Worst thing that can happen is we get a bunch of cool encounters.

Random Encounter #1: 1d6+3 berserkers arrive on pterodactyls, intent on robbing the tower.
Random Encounter #2: 1d4+2 giant spiders, they're the size of loyal hounds, act like loyal hounds, covered in an extremely soft purple fur, and will launch hit-and-run attacks from the outside of the towers.

And here's a version that you can show your players:

This isn't a real blog post.

I killed +Alex Chalk's PC in my House of Hours game a couple of hours ago, and he wants to make a wizard to replace him.

Localization being important, I mentioned that I have pages and pages written up about the mechanics and rules for wizards in my Eldritch Americana (prosperous, post-apocalyptic Cthuloid 1920's American America).

Which is true, but I just need to convert them into something retroclone compatible.  So here's some of that conversion.



Mages of the Noxious Continent

There are 8 types.  Not of spells (spells are weird and defy categorization), but of wizards.  There are 8 schools of wizardry, and pretty much all wizards come out of one of those traditions.

Each school has a boon, a bane, a cantrip, and a doom (technically 3 dooms).

Boons are conditions where you get +1 caster level.

Banes are conditions where you get -1 caster level (minimum caster level = 1).

Cantrips are minor magical effects that you can do at any time, simply by virtue of being that type of wizard.  There's no limit to how many times you can use these.

Dooms are the price that you will ultimately pay for your hubris in attempting to meddle with the raw power of the gods.  They won't be detailed on this page, but you can read about them here.  How do you get doom points?  Shit, I dunno.  Maybe whenever you cast a spell you have a 1-in-12 chance to gain 1d4 doom points?  I'll revisit this.  Get 30 doom point and you suffer a unique form of Game Over, unless you can subvert it.


The Eight Types of Magi

1. Biomancy - Healing, poison, growth, mutation
1. Bane: Injured.
2. Boon: At full health and haven't taken HP damage today.
3. Cantrips: Create or relieve pain with a touch.  Put people or animals to sleep by rubbing their heads for a couple of turns.  Turn scars into raw scabs.  Turn raw scabs into smooth scars.  Add or remove bodily blemishes (freckles, pimples, etc).  Can automatically diagnose mundane injuries or diseases.
2. Cosmomancy - Time, space, probability
1. Bane: It's a new moon. (1 week out of every 4.)
2. Boon: It's a full moon.  (1 week out of every 4.)
3. Cantrips: You always know how far you've traveled and in what direction, unless something disorients you (drunkeness, blindness, long falls, etc).  Likewise, you can keep perfect time, down to the second.  Can also cause the palm of your left hand to shine out light like a flashlight.
3. Cthonomancy - Stone, steel, gravity
1. Bane: Not touching the earth, or something that is solidly connected to the earth.
2. Boon: If you sleep at least X feet under ground, where X = 10 * level.
3. Cantrips: By touching a surface and concentrating for a couple of rounds, you can sense all things within 10' that are also touching the surface.  Good for finding secret doors, doing ultrasounds on pregnant ladies, and maybe safe cracking?
4. Calomancy - Heat, Fire, Cold, Ice
1. Bane: You haven't cast any spells today.
2. Boon: You've cast at least 3 spells today.
3. Cantrips: Heat or cool things by holding them in your hands, or by blowing on them.  Can heat things up to barely frozen or barely boiling.  Can also light cigarettes by breathing through them.
5. Electromancy - Electricity, magnetism
1. Bane: Casting without your electro-focus in hand (usually a flashlight, multimeter, Geiger counter, etc.)
2. Boon: Taken at least 1 point of electrical damage in the last 24 hours.  Damage from your own spells never counts toward this.
3. Cantrips: Can conduct electricity through your body without harm.  Can sense magnetic north, and tell how much voltage a wire is carrying.  Can generate small shocks or power tiny devices (like a watch or little radio).
4. BONUS: I wrote about some electromancers here.  (Tesla and Edison.)
6. Metamancy - Magic (especially fucking with existing magic)
1. Bane: You've cast more than half of your daily MP/spells.
2. Boon: You are covered in the traditional glow-paint of the metamancer and exposing at least 80% of your skin.  (Traditional metamancer glow paint glows in the dark.)
3. Cantrips: You can tell if something is magical by looking at it.  Can tell if someone can cast spells by touching them.  Can spontaneously convert any prepared spell into identify.
7. Necromancy - Death, disease, curses
1. Bane: You've been healed today.
2. Boon: You've performed a gruesome ritual in the last 24 hours (such as eating a baby).
3. Cantrips: You can kill little things by stroking them.  Vermin (rats, insects) die automatically.  Creatures with less than 1 HD (goblins, cats) get a saving throw.  Has no effect on creatures with 1 HD or more.
8. Psychomancy - Telepathy, Minds, Communication
1. Bane: You haven't meditated with your mentor in the last 7 days.  (Every psychomancer has a mentor, who must be another psychomancer with more HD than them.)
2. Boon: You have at least 1 insanity.
3. Cantrips: You can cast certain spells silently and without waving your hands.  (These spells are psychomancy spells--it's a pretty short list.)  Can use telepathy freely with other psychomancers within sight.  Can pick up strong thoughts that someone (within sight range) is intentionally trying to send to you.  

Three Encounters From the House of Hours

Reaction rolls should be rolled when the monster reacts to the party (either on its first round of combat or after the PCs have had a chance to speak a few words to it) with a 2d6 roll.  Apply all modifiers then.  Weapons in hand = -1 to Reaction roll.  Suspicious stuff like spell casting = -2 to Reaction roll.  Prepping for combat = -3 to Reaction roll.  Warmth & Politeness = +1.  Charisma Bonus = +bonus.  Monsters will also have Reaction modifiers unique to themselves, with a negative number indicating greater hostility.

Neutral (instinctual) reactions are in the 6-8 range.  Higher results are friendlier/beneficial, etc.  Reactions are not just a gradient between combat and friendship.  Bargaining, fleeing, and immediate surrender are options.

This IV rack killed 2 PCs.

Hospital Golems (always hostile, except to hospital staff)
Seven feet tall, spindly, made of stainless steel.  The bottom of their torso is a five-wheeled base, ending in wheels, which makes them very fast (horse speed) on flat surfaces but puts them at an immense disadvantage on stairs or when climbing.  They have two long arms (each 5' long), each terminating in a "hand" that is little more than a highly articulated cluster of hypodermic needles.  Their metal skeleton is draped with saline bags (and other solutions) that flap around and slosh while it fights, and are connected to it's needle-fingers.  It's head is a clipboard, filled with pages of arcane script, that (a) incompletely describes the procedure required to bind an elemental spirit into a construct, (b) a patient with uncontrolled aggression and poor impulse control, and (c) recommended drug schedules for this patient.

HD 6
AC 4 [15]
Atk Needlefingers +6 (1d6+1 and Injection)
Move human x 2 on flat ground, human / 2 on everything else
Save 9 [11 if roll-under] but also has Golem Immunities


Broncus the Piggybacker (Reaction +2)
This is a friendly, retarded, giant of a man.  He looks a bit like Frankenstein's monster, to his detriment.  All he wants in life is to give piggyback rides, and on a positive Reaction roll, he will do exactly that.  His other instincts are shyness and fear.  Broncus is beloved by a certain person in the dungeon.  Broncus has complete knowledge of a certain area of the dungeon, including layout and traps.  He has the stats of an ogre.

In the G+ game, Broncus put Professor Snorley on his shoulders and tried to piggyback-abduct him away from the party, but was killed before he got too far.  Still, I'm convinced that a friendly, idiot giant who happily careens through the dungeon with a kidnapped PC on his head is a viable threat.  Maybe I should've given him more HP?



The House

I don't know why I made the random encounter table for the House of Hours so strange, but I did.

It has 30 entries, mostly events and NPCs.  Depending on the reaction roll, some of these might be neutral or positive interactions.  The events are mostly just strange happenings (at least at first blush).

Every encounter is linked to some other part of the dungeon, either a specific room or event from the dungeon's formation.  Even the bizarre ones, like the River of Worms.

Lastly, the random encounter table evolves over the lifetime of the dungeon.  A lot.  NPCs or Unique encounters that are killed are replaced with new stuff.  Entries will mutate based on what the players do in the dungeon (or completely randomly--YOU DON'T KNOW).


Sermon

There's a lot of room in random encounter tables for a little bit of embellishment.  Many published modules have beautiful, detailed dungeons with a paltry 1d6 random encounter table.  And that's fine.  I know that a good DM can inject a hell of a lot of context into "2d6 goblins", but that same degree of elaboration can be inserted at the designer side of things as well.

Random encounters can (1) give players previews of distant parts of the dungeon, (2) insights into the interactions between two parts of the dungeon (group-group, or group-environment), (3) visible products of the dungeon's history, or (4) restate the whatever cool themes you are trying to impart with this dungeon.

You could even argue a random encounter should do one of those 4 things.  Whenever a DM throws some random centipedes at his players, there's a missed opportunity to throw something more flavorful and context-specific at the PCs.

Maybe random encounters should get more attention and details than the average room description.  Random encounters stand to be pretty memorable, and they definitely might come up more than once.

Especially consider making non-combat encounters.  This can be (1) a noise from a distant room, (2) a sighting of a combat encounter, possibly where the creature just runs away, (3) signs of a combat encounter, such as debris or spoor, (4) just NPCs (merchants, potential hostages, or just monstrous offspring).

• A totally naïve encounter. The PCs just stumble into it. Plop it onto a random hex.
• A provider of wizardly services (information, identification, scrying).
• A place that can and should be robbed. A planned dungeon.
  • Maybe use Rumor #4: The wizard is dead and his loot is ripe for the picking, etc.

1. The master of the Spire of Righteous Verticality is half man, half machine. (T)
2. Khazan Khiraj is called the Machinist because he can turn into a train. (F)
3. Khazan Khiraj has built himself an artificial moon. (T)
4. The Machinist is dead! Someone should rob his tower. (F)
5. Khiraj the Machinist killed his first wive with a demon! (T)
6. Khiraj the Wizard once struck a deal with a dragon! (T)
7. The Machinist has traps in his tower specifically designed to foil thieves. (T)
8. There is a tapestry or painting in the tower that is a portal to Khiraj's vault. (F)

1. 1d6+3 berserkers arrive on pterodactyls, intent on robbing the tower. They perch their mounts on the top of the Tall Tower, and rappel down. If this encounter doesn't happen on the first day, it will automatically be the first encounter of the second day.
2. 1d4+2 giant spiders, they're the size of loyal hounds, act like loyal hounds, covered in an extremely soft purple fur. Morale 4, but only because they like to conduct hit and run attacks.
3. 1d3 mundane objects / items of furniture in this room are actually constructs. Roll 3d6 for each to determine its Intelligence score. If you want, you can roll an additional d6 for each. 1-4 it's an animated objects (a la beauty and the beast). 5-6 it's a motherfucking Transformer disguised as furniture.
4. A random visitor to the tower. Roll a d3. 1 bandit king, impatiently waiting for an audience. 2 alchemy reagent merchant carrying samples. 3 wizard-associate snooping around.
5. Scarlip the apprentice, fumbling with an erection, on his way to visit Laridia the succubus in Room #30 WIFE.
6. Doxum the apprentice, grumbling as he heads to Room #4 DINING for a couple glasses of scotch to warm him up.

• Possession of the caster
• Cyber-NPCing of the caster
• Releasing a complete cyber-demon
• Caster switching places with the demon in hell