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  • A Wraithblade to Bind a Murderer’s Soul

    Wraiths are the restless souls of brutal murderers. They cannot find rest in death, and keep on tormenting the living, leaving behind a long trail of pain.

    Pippin the Exorcist felt the need for a magic sword, so when they found a wraith they adjured it, controlled it, and bound it in their sword. The steel bearing and binding the murderous soul, mighty and hungry for life, yet too weak to overcome the bond. Powerful words tamed immortal cruelty into wearing a sharp yoke made by a mortal smith.

    [The Exorcist is a new class I wrote for Knock 5, and you’ll find it in this blog soon. The Wraithblade has the offensive magic power of the wraith: +1 to hit as the wraith needs magic weapons to be hit, and drains life on a critical hit. You do you, but in my games life drains does not drains levels; it deals 1d6 damage to Constitution instead. You can recover 1d6 stat damage by quaffing a Balm of Restoration, purchasable for the paltry sum of 2000 gp. Important: for obvious reasons no sane Exorcist would let a bound Wraithblade create new wraiths.]

    The exorcist went on adventures, and then retired, and handed his sword to Brom the Elf. Brom had particular misfortune, some reckless spellcasting laced his life with the life-force of an ogre, and sadly grew into something his family did not accept. This led to an unwholesome diet, then unwholesome habits, then eventually he singlehandedly slain an entire Troll Royal Family during a diplomatic banquet. He let the Wraithblade drink and drink and grow and grow. As the True Kings fell one after another, a moist black wave seeped from the blade up the sword arm, up into their eyes and nose and mouth, the power of the death of kings shared with the Elf Brom. Brom drank.

    [Every time the Wraithblade kills something with a critical, due to the life drain or damage or both, the wraith gains a level. At level 8 the Wraithblade becomes +2, at level 12 +3, etc. Brom gained a level while killing the entire royal family but it was contingent on using the Wraithblade: this is tied to using a soul-draining sword to drink up the blood of kings until there is nothing left of the bloodline. The PCs were not invited to the banquet, they did a home invasion.]

    Eventually the Wraithblade grew too powerful: Pepin the Exorcist had a big soul, but was no match for it. The dark soul possessed the Elf Brom, and manifested as a big, black darkness roiling. Wrapping the wielder like a waving shroud of night, the elf now reduced to a pale grey silhouette, the steel now in control of the arm and the soul.

    [Eventually the Exorcist ran out of bound spirit HD budget. This is set at level x2 like for Clerics controlling undead. Brom needed a save against possession and rolled a natural 1. Whoopsies. Tail wags the dog now.]

    The wraith wanted more death, and more death means more wraith minions; the Elf Brom, now a mere puppet in dark hands, unleashed fiery death on his comrades. He kept on fighting until his broken arm dropped the blade.

    [Actually the very next round after Brom cast Fireball he lost initiative and promptly failed a save vs paralysis as he always does, succumbing to a timely single-target Hold Person from Morden the Cleric. Clovis the Fighter tried to disarm him but he would not let go, so he broke his forearm to loose the grip.]

    The Wraithblade is now buried somewhere, waiting.

  • The non-Stress-free Gift of Limitless Spells

    Letting wizards cast infinite spells with bizarre unpredictable costs made my game so much better and I need to tell you a bit about it before I start with the post proper.

    The blessing that is my Eldritch Stonehell campaign keeps on delivering good vibes. For example last week the party sprung a home invasion on a Mummy on level 4 and… they all failed their save against paralysis. Even the cleric. Even the exorcist. I let the session fade to black, this week the rest of the team (we have about 9 players, but last week the party was just 4 of the regulars plus 2 guests) will go on a rescue/ransom mission.

    Now, before you call me cruel for unleashing a mummy on a level 5 party, let me explain: the party knocked on her door and Morden the cleric slid under the door a leaflet of Saint Myriad of the Abundant Step, his patron saint. Then, through the closed door, the group had a conversation with the mummy, who was courteous if a bit cranky, and begged them to let her go back to her eternal slumber.

    They did not.

    They barged in and proceeded to get royally screwed.

    This pattern of behaviour happens every time they do a home invasion or plunder a temple: the group collectively knows they are doing something really dumb, they do it anyway, and then they get cursed, or people die. Or, in this case, they are captured by a mummy who is asking for a princely ransom.

    Anyway. Back to spells.

    Something really valuable I learnt from this campaign is to give the gift of infinite spells to casters. I literally let casters cast as many spells as they want.

    The gift is to them as they can cast more spells and they like more spells.

    The gift is to the party as the wizards are more useful.

    The gift is to me because I want the party to succeed.

    The gift is for everyone at the table as the price wizards pay for casting so many spells turns the game in an eldritch horror fantasy that’s a true delight.

    Let me explain a bit better how this works: casters have a number of spells per day as usual, using normal memorization, or Wonder & Wickedness rules, or Chthonic Codex rules. They can cast those spells normally: if they limit themselves and stick to the letter to the rules of magic everything will be under control.

    And if that’s not enough they can break those rules. Every single one of those rules. And magic will probably come out.

    Casting spells when out of slots? Make a wisdom check or collapse 1d6 turns.

    Casting a spell of too high a level? Make an intelligence check to avoid things go completely out of control.

    And then, since you broke the Rules of Reality, also make a Charisma check, to see if Fate & the Gods smile upon you. In case they do not smile, the spell does not work, and we roll on spell catastrophe tables in Wonder & Wickedness or Book of Gaub. Or on one of the many GURPS Magic Magic Critical Tables if I feel cheerful and whimsical.

    (this is very similar to the Rules for Sorcery in the appendix of Book of Gaub)

    A small sample of the catastrophes happened so far:

    * The B/X elf soul left his body and joined the flame of his lantern. Now he’s kind of immortal is a strange way, but if the flame goes off he’s dead dead. (The elf is played by my cousin, who is craftily planning interesting ways to abuse this result while making sure he’s not annoying anyone at the table, because he’s kind. This catastrophe also retconned the souledness of elves in the game world)

    * The auto-necromancer (imagine if a wizard had a Pharaoh’s Book of the Dead as a grimoire) is now completely useless with any kind of device more complex than a spoon. For example they cannot operate a butter churner. Or shoot a crossbow. Or open a door. Or un/fast a buckle. Or tie a knot.

    * The ex-gnome* necromancer’s (the more normal necromancer) flesh turns into ashes if a human touches them.

    So yeah those are sort of spicy and lead to interesting regretsies that are annoying but make the game so much more interesting. Interesting and weird. Very weird.

    Buy but BUT before the spell comes out the caster takes 1d6 spell stress damage points on a random stat. That’s a meaner, less chill, more gambly version of Spellburn from DCC, that at the same time gives you higher chances of casting more, but also has a chance of utterly disabling the wizard if any of the stats goes to 0 or less, and even killing them if that stat happens to be Constitution and the caster’s Con is already compromised.

    (Duny/Sparrowhawk took Charisma damage casting the ghostly mist spells that saved his village at the beginning of Earthsea, and was unable to speak and left sparkless until Ogien showed up and healed him)

    Anyway, I found out that stat damage is great to hurt characters in a more disabling way that’s progressive and mostly non lethal, as opposed to hurting their HP which is unfortunately both lethal non-progressive (being at 1 HP is as good as being at 100). You can deal this kind of stress damage for other reasons, for example when players decide to push rolls; I do not recommend letting them push saves, attack, or damage rolls, but the stat rolls above are prime targets for being pushed. Yes, take more stat damage, greedy wizard.

    I’m also considering other ways to signify stress on characters. For example, Murkdice has a good post on stress and I’ll be sure to nick some of their ideas very soon. I’m writing this because Murkdice’s post gave me some bit of praxis discussion to participate in, but also because this kind of bullshit seems to make my game much more entertaining.

    *: ex-gnome because after he died the Elf cast on the corpse the off-brand Reincarnation from Wonder & Wickedness. They asked me which table I’d use for determining the new form, and I foolishly/brilliantly asked “the random encounter table depending on where you cast the spell”. So they went to Stonehell level 4, and rolled an Ochre Jelly. This is not a huge problem if it wasn’t that jellies do not have eyes, so cannot read paper, but can only clay tablets or carved stone (by touching it). So the necromancer was carried around in a big metal pail for a few sessions, until the party bought a Potion of Girl (from the Oglaf strip about the Fountain of Girl) and poured it into the pail. And that’s how the necromancer is now an anime magical girl. With eyes!

  • The Order of the Shining Mountain

    [Leckie rolled a Shining Headgear on the Kata Kumbas Mage Starting Equipment Table, so as it is tradition I am compelled to do some worldbuilding, and trying to write for fun. The Shining Headgear is a conical wizard hat with a rounded top, ear covers and a cute trim, with Continual Light cast on it. Leckie also has a goose henchfowl, Butterbiggins, who is stronger, smarter, and wiser than the Fighter leader of the group. Butterbiggins will get a different post.]

    We will bind the Unseen Shining Sea
    As it churns and it tides and it waves
    As it beckons and scatters and drowns

    So we learn, and we swim and we dive
    and we build a strong hull and small sail
    with our minds a strong mast we now raise

    So brave on! The bright surf we shall ride!
    [Sorcery Song of the Shining Mountain, anapaest metrical foot]

    The Shining Mountain is a magical order. Its home, also called Shining Mountain, is built on a pillar of rock rising up 300 feet towards the sky in the middle of a lush hilly landscape. On a bright day, with a clear sky, the distinct shape of the Shining Mountain can be see from tens of miles away.

    The Shining Mountain used to be visible at night: nowadays it’s covered, but the top of the pillar shines of a light as strong as the full moon. It was a pilgrimage site until something horrible happened; afterwards the bright rocks were buried, and its memories lost. It was found again and again by those with the gift/curse of magic, drawing them like the flame draws the moth. Most of them were preyed upon by unscrupulous sorcerers looking for expendable apprentices, or zealous witch hunters keen on preventative violence. This went on for a long while.

    Meanwhile, elsewhere but getting closer, a wizard called Sambar was researching ley lines: she took upon herself to map them all. She rapidly found out that flying magically “riding” a ley line for more than a few minutes is hella dangerous, so she usually dowsed while walking, or sailing, or riding for weeks at a time. She eventually collected and published her research in the famous Atlas of Cranky Sambar, a title those of you interested in natural magic are certainly familiar with. Eventually Sambar followed a leyline that pointed to the pillar of rock (at that time not shining, as the top was still buried). Getting there, she was hoping to find a nexus: a place where several ley lines cross, their powers mixing and mingling. Her dowsing left her utterly confused: the magic flows seemed to come and go in all directions at the same time. Sambar soon realized that the peak was not simply a nexus, but the omphalos, the mythical Navel of the World (the world has many belly buttons, she later found out): the energy flowing from all directions, and going in all directions. Over several years she eventually mapped all the nine ley lines joining together under the stone pillar. But that is not going to happen for a while. Right then she had more pressing shenanigans to handle: as she approached she became the target of wanton bouts of violence by the previously mentioned witch hunters and sorcerers. She fend off a few before wising up; she fleed on her flying broom, going home to her folk.

    Now, you might wonder the reason Sambar got her moniker; truth is, she had a really bad temper. As a kid she pretty horrid prophetic dreams and visions, and when her terrified and abusive family sold her as an apprentice things got worse: her Master turned out to be a keen teacher, but a turbo-asshole. After a decade of clenching her teeth 24/7 working for a piece-of-shit but competent Master she finally got her charter; at last free to leave and live on her own terms. She resolved to take no shit from anyone, found some good folk to band with, and went on the kind of ill-advised adventures you do not need explained if you are familiar with fantasy RPGs. Her resolve she kept, taking absolutely no shit whatsoever, and also refusing to let her friends take any shit if she had any say. She did not have a lot of friends, but with the ones she had were tight; and by a mix of sheer luck and the effort put in the forementioned adventures they also formed one of those adventuring bands famous for going places and getting stuff done.

    Those are the folk that were waiting at home. After some planning and preparation they went back to Shining Mountain and, in an euphemism typical of armies and adventuring parties, made it safe. They decided to climb the pillar, but as they reached the flat top she and her spellcasting pals were soon overwhelmed by the Bright Reality flowing upwards through the rock. The non-spellcasters in the group, noticing that all their weirdo magical friends were wrecked by seizures while screaming reality-warping utterances, tied them up like salami and lowered them off the top of the pillar until the screaming subsided.

    They soon decided that camping at the foot of the pillar was safer.

    It took a while to make the top safe for spellcasters. They eventually installed around the ley line a three-stories tall barrel made of metal blessed by a Core Forge and quenched in Balefire, warded by etched runes, and housing in its cavities a lattice cast from very, very expensive salts. While the parts were assembled off-site and the site prepared, gifted people kept on arriving. But now, instead of being taken advantage of or murdered, were met by Sambar: she gave them shelter, taught them how to close their Third Eye, and eventually sent them on their way; certainly a bit more oblivious, but much saner. Some, however, had nowhere to go: they were usually banished or on the run. In the worst cases they had nobody waiting for them at home. Sambar took them in as apprentices, and taught them two more things: the Art of Magic, and to take no shit from anyone.

    With the top cleared and shining again, the barrel installed, and a tabernacle built around it, the vertical ley line was somewhat contained yet free to flow upwards, and the glow free but kept indoors; the camp moved on the top of the pillar, as it was finally safe for wizards. With time the apprentices became too many for Sambal: asking for help from a few good friends and old colleagues she founded the School of the Shining Mountain.

    School Conspectus

    The Shining Mountain focuses mostly on harnessing Natural Magic, specifically in Enchantment and Evocation. The apprentices will learn a healthy mix of theory and laboratory, but are expected to focus their thaumaturgy on what will maximize their chances of survival in dangerous situations using natural magic, and in due time focus their effort in more powerful Enchantment and Evocation. And they will also will be taught to not take shit from anyone. Respect for the School hierarchy is required, but respect goes both ways: Masters have the refreshing and unusual attitude of not treating their apprentices as expendable, and avoid risking their life and limb demanding needlessly dangerous errands.

    The apprentices are endowed with a green felt gown, a couple of scrolls that they themselves copied as instructed by their Master, a blank book, and the Shining Headgear. This is a white conical felt hat with ear covers and a nice yellow trim; to signal the end of the trial period, the apprentice’s Master formally accepts them by casting the spell Continual Light on the student’s hat. The hat has otherwise no ritual importance, being a mere hat: the students are expected to take care of it, but they need not to wear it.

    The Shining Mountain facilities revolve chiefly around the Ley Barrel, carefully tapping pinhole light from the Ley Line to study it. The School teaches also some Golden Secrets to their members (at levels 2, 5, 8), but those will be described at a later time.

  • The Bright Reality & The Third Eye

    Imagine, if you will, a brighter reality. One where auras glow, souls shines, and magic winds blow ethereal sparkly motes across reality, energizing the cosmos.

    Imagine this reality to be more permeable and transparent. The winds of magic care little for matter as they blow right through it, and bright souls and glowing auras can be seen through clothes, buildings, soil.

    Imagine we see this even with our eyes closed. Because we do not see this with our regular eyes. We all have a Third Eye, we always had it, and it’s within our deeper self.

    Imagine that, as we went through the eons, we found this Bright Reality to be too much all the time. We began to shy away, desensitizing, in a process that must not have been easy.

    Imagine having a Third Eye. And having to keep it shut. Now we only catch glimpses of the Bright Reality in dreams, be them either sleep- or drug-induced.

    We do not watch. We do not watch to protect ourselves. So much stimulation misdirected us in its infinite complexity, the Bright Reality influenced us in ways too dangerous and sore, many of them too uncomfortable to live with. The glow was too much. The light blinding. The Bright Reality too bright.

    So we closed our third eyes, and stopped seeing the glowing souls, the shining magic, the sparkly motes. The Bright Reality was finally out of sight. It’s not clear when this happened, or what caused the shift. Some hypothesize a disaster and mass extinction: maybe most of us found it too much, maybe something made us turn against each other and ourselves. Maybe most of us who could see better decided to leave.

    Regardless; with our third eyes shut since time immemorial, we refuse to see.

    Not looking made easier to get on with our day to day life, letting us worry about harvests and roofs and wolves, and allowed us to focus on the incipient, solid, immanent mundanity of matter. Stone, grain, textiles, metal: now we master them all.

    But the Bright Reality still shines.

    Some of us still have all eyes wide open. And do not cope well, finding mundane life uneasy. The rest of us feels an active discomfort around them: too enthused, too connected, often mad. What life offers them is isolation, then hardship, then alienation. The lucky ones are lifted by proper education. They are taught to close their third eye in self-preservation, and gaze only when necessary. This lets them have almost a normal life. But most, attracted like moths by the light, choose to devote their lives studying something they can perceive perfectly in all its splendour: magic.

    * * *

    This post is written first for the benefit of the poor souls that play spellcasters in my own group, but I strongly recommend to try this in your own game. I playtested this for maybe 6-7 years, and wanted to share it.

    The Third Eye in play

    All Spellcasters can open their third eye. It’s a faster, sure way to perceive everything. It’s also dangerous, as lifting the third eyelid potentially lets in a whole host of horrible stuff.

    When you open your third eye, you detect magic, strong alignments (demon- and paladin-intensity or above), perceive the glow seeping from the fissures around closed portals, see ghosts and the ethereal and the streaking winds of magic. All of this is perceived in uncountable hues incomparable with regular eye-colours, but with study and experience you’ll be able to tell what’s what. Matter like stone and hay and people and metal behaves like dense fog: it dampens and diffuses the light, the denser the matter, the stronger the dampening. Still, very strong emanations will be seen regardless, even if muddled. The Winds of Magic blow through everything.

    When you open your third eye, roll 2d6 and add your Wisdom modifier:

    • 10+: the Referee gives you a florid narration of what you see through your Third Eye.
    • 7-9: as 10+, but you also choose a Third Gaze Hazard from the list.
    • 6-: you choose a Third Gaze Hazard, and then the Referee chooses one or more.

    Third Gaze Hazards

    • This is too much. You are stunned for 1d6 turns.
    • You recoil. You cannot open your Third Eye for 1d12 days.
    • Your soul is abraded. You suffer Spellburn (neurological damage): lose 1d6 point from an attribute at random. You recover Spellburn at the rate of 1 point a day.
    • The Brighter Reality is so beautiful. Your Third Eye does not close completely. -4 to all Saves vs Magic for 1d4 days.

    While your Third Eye is open you will also automatically fail any saves against any magic. As your Third Eye is wide open, you are not even trying to shut things out.

    After rolling you also suffer the negative effects of what you see, as your Third Eye is wide open: this is in addition to what’s mentioned above. These effects depend on what you are staring at. For example, regardless of the 2d6 result:

    • Opening your Third Eye in a haunted aura will (1d4, save to avoid):
      1. give you nightmares for a while.
      2. give you strong convulsions for 1d6 turns, during which the haunt will speak in a horrible voice through your mouth.
      3. one of the haunts develop a personal interest in you and will haunt you personally.
      4. you are possessed by the haunt.
    • Opening your Third Eye on the Astral Plane makes you see the whole of it. That’s definitely too much, but it’s so much that you cannot even begin to perceive it. You are stunned for 1d6 hours, no save. Do not even roll the 2d6, it’s simply too much to understand anything.
    • Third Eye Epiphanies considered dangerous: avert your Third Eye from the Essential Truth of Divinity. Opening your Third Eye in front of a god will (1d6, no save):
      1. blind you. Save in 1d6 months to recover your sight.
      2. stun you for 1d20 hours. Save at the end of the effect to recover, repeat the effect if you fail.
      3. kill you.
      4. transform you into a statue of salt.
      5. disintegrate you.
      6. brand your soul. You are stunned 1d6 turns, but enthused permanently. You become obsessed with the god and their works. If enthusement grants other effects, they are permanent.

    This is of course somewhat derivative of the Discern Reality move from PbtA (I’m not sure who the first author is). I just added a touch of “great insight is a great risk”*: players love to take gambits in difficult situations, and I’m all for players making interesting choices.

    *: sometimes learning is not a Star, but a Tower.

  • Bundle of Holding: Wulfwald, few hours left!

    Lee Reynoldson’s Wulfwald is available at the Bundle of Holding. It’s going at about 55% discount, and it will last only a few hours. You get the PDFs of all five booklets, plus the PDF of the map.

    What you do not get is the physical five booklets, box, and map. You can get the Wulfwald boxed set from the Lost Pages shop.

    As an aside: I know I ignored the blog for a while. I did some more long-form writing for Knock!, and it should appear in Knock! 5. I do not like writing much, but seem to distinctly prefer longer form. Once that comes out I’ll probably post that stuff here as well.

    I’m also working on a few posts: one on what’s going on in my Stonehell campaign, one on running microconvention such as Lasagnacon (I ran Lasagnacon Seven last August), and one on… Dog Necromancy (also related to Stonehell). I’m also preparing a new kickstarter, which should appear fully formed pretty soon.

  • The Danger of Creative Inaction

    I’m posting this as an a reminder to my future self, a word of warning, a selfish act of self care:

    Not creating is an expensive choice.

    The cost of creation is often only the cheap momentary discomfort of staring in the eye your own creation.

    And finding it wanting.

    And that is ok.

    Let the imperfect creation be, let yourself down, let yourself go so you can go do better, shinier things.

    The expense of not creation is those weird niggling ideas, lack of expression, and the special regrets found in older souls.

    Which one would you rather pay?

  • Stocking Interesting Places: a writing template for Zones

    [Recently there has been a bout of ugly RPG discourse: discourse burned me much, and I decided to forego it as much as I can years ago. As opposed to discourse, I instead present a post of Praxis: documenting the process of doing things, with some of the the reason I do things this way, and some results. I hope this is helpful. Zones took a few years of practice to conceptually nail down (starting in 2011 with Adventure Fantasy Game), but here we are.]

    I’ve been reading some interesting posts on how to stock megadungeons. I don’t really do megadungeons in the traditional sense: I find them a bit too big for conceptual cohesiveness, to the point where I feel they are somewhat grindy with combat encounters as opposed to exploration and toying with strange stuff and uncovering wonders (not necessarily treasures).

    This, and less gaming opportunities, led me to start building smaller and denser dungeons, increasing interaction. I’m not talking about geographically denser, but conceptually, logically, thematically denser: less things but more meaningful, and easier on single sessions. Rather than “dungeon levels”, I started working with Zones: each zone a meaningful, thematically cohesive set of rooms/encounters/content.

    I eventually realized that we were sitting at an intersection of several design concepts:

    • the Magical Number 7 plus or minus 2.
    • stocking rooms with a d6 table (also a concept present in B/X), with empty results leveraged for effect: things that are not monsters, traps, treasure do paint a world.
    • the 5 Rooms Dungeon
    • six half an hour encounters = three hours of play, a good play session (I forgot about where this very rough heuristic comes from, let me know if you know the source).
    • recursive tiling of a hexagon with 7 smaller hexagons
    • 1d6 tables with six results are perfect to create moods, mixing a good measure of variability and predictability in (and if you want more depth with the occasional oddball you can break down one of the six entries into a subtable)
    • the elegance of using a weekly planner for Dungeon23.

    And in this leyline crossing I found a powerful nexus. The numbers are in the 5-7 ballpark, and I’m going to use the number 6 or 7 depending on the case. Design content in meaningful groups of 5-7 elements: I’ll use six for this example because we all have those six-siders:

    • six continents, each of
      • six regions, each of
        • six areas, each with
          • six locations
    • six dungeons, each of
      • six zones, each of
        • six meaningful rooms
    • six schools of magic of
      • six spells
    • potentially six factions, six classes, six gods, six…

    Following the stocking tables, this is the starting template areas and locations: an area is a small local region, possibly fitting in a 20 miles hexagon, centered around a specific locale. For example:

    1. The Village of Glaschu
    2. The Cowcaddens Cattle Market
    3. The Rich Mount Iron Mine
    4. The Old Castle Ruins, home of Robbie the Robber Baron
    5. The Goblin Woods
    6. The Cloisters of Saint Gentikern On The Hill

    The template I follow here is:

    1. The Core: this is the most meaningful element of the Zone, what gives mood to the zone, and what this Zone appears as when you zoom out. This is what this Zone is about: the tentpole where your players will go back to. It does not have to be a safe place, it could be a dungeon. The important thing is that this Zone is about this place, and is coloured by this place.
    2. Not an adventuring locale, but nonetheless colourful.
    3. Not an adventuring locale, but colourful and potentially dangerous
    4. Possible Danger
    5. Danger
    6. Resource: something precious, but not easy to access.

    Which is of course patterned on the Basic D&D Stocking table:

    Of course all of this is just a very rough guideline, a prompt for creation, and not a prescription: when creating adventure locations I mix Zones with what can be approximated by a One Scene Adventure. Remember that this is a tool, and tools are made for us, not the way around. Don’t let templates be a chain, but a tool to get moving and free yourself from non-creation. If you find that you need a sprawling dungeon with 50 rooms that do not cluster at all, that’s good!

    And now, this is what I wrote up for the Uplands, and what prompted me to write this post. It does not strictly follow the template (please ignore the template if you want), and the locations are somewhat shuffled, but these are the outcomes of the template. You can easily build on a list like this to populate your hexcrawl, use it randomize locations, and so on.

    The Uplands Region

    1. The Harga Volcano, Mountain of Fire
    2. The Steam Vents
    3. The Dead Court of King Mistletoe
    4. The Moist and Warm Cave of the Squid City
    5. The Troll Mines (and Court of the Hungry Troll Queen)
    6. The Monastery of Ever Patient Saint Tonica on the Titan Home.
    1. The Ermine Court, Hunters of the Wild
    2. A Lodge of Horns
    3. A Shrine to Brother Ciccio, Patron of Were- & Wolves, Animal Lover. 
    4. Bear Vale
    5. The Witching Tree
    6. The Hunting Grounds of the Ermine Court
    1. The Upland Court, Ancestral Homeland
    2. The Upland Mill, Brewery, and Bakery
    3. The Saint Umbrose School for Stonemasons and Beekepers
    4. The Porphyry Quarry
    5. A Stone Lodge in the middle of a burnt forest
    6. The Stone Vaults
    1. The East Vale, Alpine Meadows
    2. Rams’ Looms, the Weavers’ Commune
    3. The Hermitage of Cletus the Healer
    4. The Magic Thermal Baths.
    5. The Five Cairns of the Slayers (wights trapped under, central point is focus of power)
    6. The Thousand Alps of the Thousand Herbs
    1. The Tocin Vale, Gate to the South
    2. The Hungry Green Pool
    3. The Broken Watchtower of Gene the Giant (with lost necromancer dungeon)
    4. The Maranzo Horse Farm
    5. The Cave of the Mage of the Mountain
    6. The Scarescarab Hunting Grounds (and the lair of their secretive riders)
    1. The Bear Court, Lowlander Borderlands
    2. The Big Alp Summer Pastures
    3. The Copper Valley
    4. Grover’s Rock
    5. Skarn’s Wolves Hideout
    6. Dragon Burial Grounds

  • Wizard Spell Selection, Making Up New Spells on the fly, and Major Arcana (possibly part 1)

    Caveat: this is not a post with 22 spells, one for each of the Major Arcana. This is a post about how I do things at the table, based on a few years of practice. Maybe a post with Major Arcana spells will eventually come (or maybe Major Arcana as Star Signs). Let’s begin!

    If you happen to generate a spellcaster character at my table you’ll soon hear that question: “What kind of spells would you like?”

    And some lucky people have an idea and tell me. In this case, my go-to handbooks to draw spells from are Brendan’s Wonder & Wickedness and my own Marvels & Malisons. I often throw in Chthonic Codex and Johnstone’s The Nameless Grimoire as their scopes are much wider.

    Some other people do not know. And this is what this post is really about. In this case I ask them if they want to get random magic, or maximally random magic.

    If they pick normally random, I ask them for what kind of vibes they’d like, make myself some suggestions, then pick the most matching vibey RPG spellbook from the shelf. My favourite is Mike Mason’s The Grand Grimoire of Chthulu Mythos Magic, because I am a horrible GM that wants to see the world on fire empowering GM who loves sharing great powers and great responsibilities with players. I normally open an index page at random, point at a random spot on the page with my eyes closed, and give them that spell. This approach requires a modicum of game mechanic bending, but treating all spells as level-less does 95% of the work.

    However, they almost always pick maximally random. If they pick maximally random, we get to the heart of the post. My grimoire hoard.

    Flexing a Past Shame: My Spellbook Hoard

    Hi, I’m Paolo, and I’m a recovering hoarder. I used to say “collector”, but let’s face the truth: I was not seeking completeness, instead I was over-nesting as a coping strategy. Anyway, liking books and magic and games I ended up with a sizeable fantasy RPG collection, and now I have a few shelves devoted to esoterica, of both the real-world and gaming variety.

    These are not all my wizardy books. Some are still in Italy, and some other are shelved with the rest of their game handbooks, and some are in use. Also, you can see my altar, which I’ve turned into a random table for you at the end of the post.

    Play is a creative process, let it run

    Back to maximally random spell selection: I ask the player to roll 1d30, and pick the corresponding book from the top shelf. That is their spell discipline, and we randomize spell selections from the book contents: if there are spells or spell-like (like the lists of demons from Ars Goetia), we pick at random from those.

    If not, I open pages at random and turn the contents into a spell. Some of those books have very adaptable content (for example tarots can be easily turned into spells). Some of those books, however, resist. The answer is to read the page until the inspiration strikes, and work that precious passage into a spell. There are many ways, these are simple suggestions:

    • Use the passage as the spell name.
    • Based on the passage, build the spell effect
    • The passage is just a metaphor, girl! The true nature of power is hidden!
    • Use a thesaurus to replace words until it it clicks.
    • Pick a few spells that sound related and mash them.
    • Exquisite corpse for spell effect: each player pics a fragment of spell effect, which are then composed: a player pics verb, another object, another adverb, another adjective.
    • And so on.

    And now you have your spell.

    I understand that this might not be easy. It requires a willingness to play half-baked stuff. Maybe this will make some completely broken spells. Maybe you are afraid letting this magic into you game will let people down, if the spells are garbage or if they need to be toned down for game design reasons.

    That’s ok. Grant yourself the luxury of, essentially, do some seat of the pants game design. Play test it with players straight away. Be explicit about the process with your players, and please let them contribute to the process: do not let the shared creation limit to their PCs.

    Paolo, you mentioned Tarot Magic

    I could have written 22 spells, one for each Major Arcanum. I even started doing so. But I do not feel that is what this post should be about. Instead, we are going for “how to make things up”. Also, this is actually what happened at the table last time, and what prompted me to share this process.

    Major Arcana have strong vibes and meanings. If you want a list, Waite’s The Pictorial Key to the Tarot is a good place to start from, but skip the most of it and go straight to the Greater Arcana Divinatory Meaning list. My idea is: each Arcanum can be cast for a spell effect tied to its Meanings: as always, if you need a yardstick for spell power, match it with other spells that a caster of the same level could cast.

    However: Major Arcana have a lot of meanings, especially if you are in for card “reversal” (I am normally not). This give Arcana a lot of what I call utility: an Arcanum can be used in many more situations with great effect compared to ordinary spells. I feel this might make Arcana too handy, so maybe they could have some complication to both even it out and make things more interesting (a win-win). Here are some improvised examples:

    • Cost: each Arcana has its card as spell focus: they are a material component that is not consumed. Drawing a card costs 50gp multiplied by the square of the card casting level, and takes a day per card level. So if you are level 10 and have only a level 5 Chariot, you’ll be able to cast Chariot only as if you were level 5, or you can spend 10 days and 5000GP to make a fancier, level 10 Chariot card. Level 1 Wizards start with three level 1 cards from their Arcana selection, and if they know more (because of high intelligence, for example) they need to find or draw up more cards. This is a good money sink for wizards, and also lets the GM place cards as treasure. Maybe you can even cast the Arcana as scrolls, but that would be really expensive.
    • Lack of Control: as each Arcanum has different meanings, we could lean on the random nature of card divination. When you cast an Arcanum, decide which Meaning you wish to bring forth, then try a Reaction Roll to see if the Gods favour you:
      • 10 or more: the Meaning of the chosen Arcanum takes effect.
      • 7, 8, 9: the GM picks a different Meaning from the same Arcanaum and applies it to the situation in a way that benefits the wizard. Good stuff, but not what you expected.
      • 5, 6: pick a Meaning from the same Arcana at random, and the GM applies it in a way that either benefits of impairs everybody, or in some snidey borderline inoffensive, random-ironic way.
      • 4 or less: pick a Meaning from the same Arcana at random, then the GM applies it in a way that incoveniences the Wizard. Be painful, but do not be too mean: Unless cast in the direst of circumstances this should not doom the wizard by itself.
    • Random selection: rather than learning specific Arcana, the wizard learns a number of Arcana slots, filled at random. Decide with the players if the Arcana selection changes every day, or the single slot changes when it’s cast. If you want to be extra fancy, and stick to the concept of the Fool’s Errand, the wizard will need to go through the whole Major Arcana before cast arcana are available again.

    These are only examples, and can be further developed and refined. Remember to check in with players, especially the caster. Also, very important, treat this as a work in process: before the next session you can discuss how things went and adjust, and eventually the rulings you make during resolution might become more codified, and the effects from those spells start to coalesce into road-tested game mechanics.

    This is, after all, a learning experience.

    Conclusion

    Regardless of what happens, the outcome is this: I get the appropriate book out of the shelf, discuss a spell selection with the wizardling, they pick 3 + intelligence bonus spells, plus the spells that all magic users know how to do: Maleficence and Arcane Bulwark and Open thyne Third Eye. I then explain Empower, and we are ready to go.

    The next post might be about starting inventory. Which is kind of funny, because it’s also the topic of my first blog post here, about a million years ago.

    What’s on the Altar? (1d12, based on my altar, somewhat redacted)

    1. a small journal filled with the tribulations of the soul. A collection of shames and pains, going from heart-rending to seemingly-innocuous-yet-causing-hangups.
    2. a pomegranate, a symbol of abundance and fertility.
    3. poppies, a symbol of dreaming, the subconscious, and letting go of pain.
    4. an ammonite, a squid who was alive and doing its own things 240 millions years ago, which is a good amount of time to meditate about.
    5. a conker.
    6. CDB oil, to ease mild issues of anxiety and hypermobility both.
    7. a candle, for light, fire, focus in flame meditation, and many other uses.
    8. a nazar, to catch the evil eye.
    9. a singing bowl, with mallet and pillow, for focusing meditation.
    10. thimble and needle, at the same time meaningful symbols of needing preparation before dangerous tasks, focus for binding and healing, and the ultimate tool for the mundane sorcery that is bookbinding.
    11. a tarot deck.
    12. a monster hunting kit in a jute pouch.
  • Operating Weird Dungeon Machinery Considered Harmful

    Beautiful Yet Lost features, tuckered away in its ruins, sort-of-industrial, mostly broken down machinery. Maybe it’s an automated pita maker. Maybe it’s a vat that brews brews. Maybe it’s a statue-replicator. Maybe it’s an ornithopter.

    Regardless: They often do not work perfectly. And, sometimes, fail catastrophically.

    This is how I’m trying to handle them.

    Machine Basics

    Machines have mostly three things to them: purpose, power, and health.

    The purpose is the reason of being for the machine: machine are built to make things, or do things on other things, or make things happen. For example:

    • a stone automated forge that makes axe-heads
    • an iron obelisk that recharges fire-magic items
    • a steel elephant walker, with a hut built on the howdah, and a hook on its tail, for wagon attachment
    • and so on

    Power is what the machine needs to operate. For example:

    • mechanical power, for example a water wheel.
    • heat, for example a furnace.
    • star energy, for example a henge. Star power is always present, but henges are usually tuned to work at specific times with specific stars, so they supply power intermittently.

    It goes without saying that you can use machines to power other machines, and engines are helpful because they convert energy to a different energy. For example:

    • a big coal-fire steam engine can power many smaller machines with either steam or mechanical power
    • a fire spirit bound into a demon-core (from mug-sized for a 1 hp Singe Sylph, to building-sized for a 24HD Fiery Flamingo) can provide both radiant heat and mechanical power via its crank shaft. And sometimes it cannot stop from providing both at the same time, together with pained screams, as the fire spirit it traps rages against the brass walls of its prison.

    Devising application of harnessing other kind of spirits inside demon-cores is left as an exercise to the reader.

    Health is how badly the machine is broken. From 6, perfect working order and totally fine, to 0, for when you do not even need to look at the machine to wanting to nope away. Health can be increased by 1 by skilled engineers spending 1d12 hours and some supplies, if they roll successfully (stat roll or skill roll or saving throw, depending on your game system and inclination).

    As we are about to start having comedy health and safety accidents, machine health should not be quantified numerically, but should be strongly telegraphed to players, so that they know what is coming.

    Machine Operations

    First, the machine must be set up. Machines found after the catastrophe many machines are often already set up, as nobody has used them since the Catastrophe. However, as they have not been used since the Catastrophe, they might be clogged- and caked-up and might require set-up still (1-in-2 chance). If not set up, it usually takes a turn to set them to working order. Dials registered, regulators de-biased, cradles cleaned, pipes scrubbed, brass polished.

    Second, the machine should be fed. Load ingots on anvils, hops in hoppers, fragrances in phials, whatever it needs. If might be far from straightforward for the PCs to understand what’s going where, but rummaging in storage, nearby supply rooms, and a bit of common sense might help. Without the correct power the machine simply won’t do anything, but if fed the wrong resources the outcome might be worse.

    Third, the machine can finally be operated. Now, make a OPERATOR roll, and an BREAKDOWN roll. You want the OPERATOR roll to beat the BREAKDOWN roll.

    The OPERATOR roll is 1d6:

    • advantage for a skilled operator (if you do not have skills in your game a relevant PC class will also do)
    • disadvantage for an unskilled operator
    • disadvantage for not being accustomed to this machine
    • disadvantage for using wrong supplies, like metal ore in a wine-brewer. If successful the result might be useless (rusty water), or surprising (IRN-BRU).

    The BREAKDOWN roll is 1d6:

    • advantage for using wrong supplies.
    • advantage if the machine was not set up.
    • disadvantage for a skilled operator

    After rolling, check all the following conditions:

    • If the OPERATOR roll is better than the BREAKDOWN roll, the machine works fine and does what it should.
    • if the OPERATOR roll is worse than or equal to BREAKDOWN, the machine makes/does something bad, wrong, or bad and wrong.
    • if the BREAKDOWN roll equals HEALTH, nothing is wrong, but wear and tear reduces HEALTH by 1.
    • If the BREAKDOWN roll is over HEALTH, roll 1d8 on the CATASTROPHE table.

    In case of Catastrophe roll 1d8

    1. The machine EXPLODES. 3d6 damage to everything in the blast radius. The blast radius is 10 feet or twice the size of the machine, whatever is bigger (e.g. a 20′ wide machine will shrapnel with a radius of 40′). If present, a demon-core will breach.
    2. The power supply breaks down catastrophically and must be rebuilt. Lose 1d3 Health. Demon-core breach: 4-in-6.
    3. The energy supply thrashes and deals 2d6 damage to 1d6 people nearby, save for half. Lose 1 Health. Demon-core breach: 1-in-6
    4. The usual health and safety accident: a person nearby at random is hurt, 1d8 damage. Loud cackles and cheering from the demon-core.
    5. The machine does or produces something, something somewhat ok but overall very wrong. Decrease Health by 1.
    6. The machine groans horribly from structural stress for 1d6 rounds, then roll again.
    7. Nothing? Seemingly nothing? in 1d6 rounds roll again with advantage.
    8. There may be a weird flash, or eerie clang, or a strange smell, but nothing bad happens.

    In case the machine is not powered by a demon-core, ignore the demon-core section.

    In case of demon-core breach, the demon core containment fails. The spirit is released with a magic explosion dealing 1 damage per HP of the contained spirit to everyone within 30 feet, save for half. There are ways to open safely a demon-core, but this ain’t it.

    A List of 1d12 Machines

    1. a star-concentrator for sideral siderurgy. A forge strapped to the end of a telescope on an equatorial mount, tracking a specific star all night to better focus its energy on the metal.
    2. poisonous frog squeezer/breeding-pools, supplying antidote juice.
    3. a 30-feet tall balsa-wood mecha roly-poly, really fast when rolling.
    4. a pharmaceutical omnireactor: makes potions supplied with water, herbs, and alcohol
    5. a car. You might think this having a car would be boring, but I’m willing to bet that your players feel differently. Vroom vroom.
    6. self-catapulting glider
    7. electrocuting-net auto-fishing/frying machine
    8. a power condensing empowering pyramid, focusing energy from all its sides on a single point (useful for enchanting or empowering items)
    9. An essential spirit distillery. It splits the content of its pot in separates essences and stores them in jars.
    10. Dinosaur Kerogenator/Distiller. Slightly a misnomer, it converts any organic matter to flaming oil (not only dinosaurs).
    11. The Iron Replicator. A self-propelled digger/smelter/forge with the size and mood of a grumpy cow. If fed combustible it will dig and smelt more iron to make more Iron Replicators. To prevent it from dangerous runoffs it has behavioural directives stopping it from feeding autonomously and scavenging iron. In case of Catastrophe the created Replicators will not have those directives.
    12. The Patented Holy-Auto-Card-Maker. A small letterpress/papermill/hemp harvester/graveyard device. You must supply the corpse or ashes of a saint, some hemp seeds, plenty of sunlight, and a whole lot of cranking.
  • New Kickstarter: Yochai Gal’s Beyond the Pale. Also, Dragonmeet!

    TL;DR: Yochai wrote a book. I’m producing it. It has sick art. The kickstarter goes live tomorrow. Day one backers get a free iron-on patch.

    Need some convincing? We have a video!

    Look at some pretty mockups to whet your need for beautiful books.

    Ok, we can all make a cute cover, but this book is pretty also on the inside.

    Yes, one of the dungeons is shaped like the Tree of Life. We also have a really powerful angel-summoning book detailed inside, with sigils, and powerful powerful magic requiring a heavy heavy price.

    We need your help, so if you like pretty books please back the project. I hate to say this, but Beyond the Pale is a pretty book, and to make it we need to pay our fancy Estonian printer and swanky Swedish paper mill. Also, and the all-Jewish team has bills to pay too (I’m the only gentile that worked on the book).

    Now, let’s take some time to discuss how this bad boi of a book came to be. Let’s begin from the beginning.

    Last spring I was doomscrolling on twitter, when I see Yochai posting memes.

    I’m a basic girl as there are many and I love my esoteric/dungeon/silly intersectional memes. Also, yes, the writing and art was almost done, but there is done, and done-done.

    Then I see this:

    Then I look at the images and… is this the most majestic goat I’ve ever seen?

    Yeah, it’s Azazel. Yeah, it’s hella majestic. Yeah, it’s a goat.

    Guess who slid immediately into Yochai’s DMs, half-drunk, at the local trans bar karaoke night?

    Yes, me.

    (Come to think about it, it might have been Lady Gaga night. I might have been tipsy at queeraoke doomscrolling while singing VENUS by Lady Gaga. Sometimes I really need to stim).

    So, yeah, we are doing this thing. It’s a pretty pretty book with some pretty grim things inside. Not the same kind of grim as Gaub: different grim, different themes, and overall not only a horror book.

    Somewhat related: we’ll be at Dragonmeet! All hardcover backers that come to our table at Dragonmeet will get a small freebie (while supply last). How to find us? With the map!

    For a change, this year we’ll be at the Upper Trade Hall.

    Should you lose the map, you can find the Lost Pages table because we have a 4.5 metres tall banner. That’s 15 feet for my metrically-impaired readers: I bough by mistake an outdoors banner, and it’s HUGE.

    It does not even fit in selfies. In photo it might look big, but in person it looks positively stonking huge. I’ve been forbidden to put it up at UKGE for health and safety reasons. I’m not even kidding.

    It’s also black and has a giant eye, yes 🙂

    Anyway, see you at Dragonmeet. And, maybe, consider helping us with making Beyond the Pale a real book?

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