Adventure Module Review: "Fuck For Satan" by James Raggi

Better Than Any Man” is better than the best adventure module I’ve ever read. It transcends that paltry distinction, because when I was done reading it I had gained more than knowledge of a cool adventure. My views on tabletop games had shifted. The bar for monsters, and art, and adventures was set higher. I knew, before placing my big ol’ Lamentations of the Flame Princess order, that nothing I read would top it.

“Fuck for Satan” isn’t “Better Than Any Man.” In fact, if I’d read FFS first, rather than BTAM, I probably would have stopped reading halfway through and given up on Lamentations of the Flame Princess altogether. In Raggi’s own words, this is a “screw-you dungeon.” There are numerous occasions when even I–having read the adventure in full–have no idea how I would survive if I were a player. I’m all in favor of punishingly difficult, but FFS is sadistic. I can only imagine there are players out there who are either significantly more skilled, or significantly more amused by cheap deaths, than I am.

That being said, the book is hardly without value. In fact, it’s chock full of amazing ideas. “The Twinkling Star” in particular is so fucking phenomenal that I literally called my buddy on the phone so I could read that section of the book to him. And when my girlfriend got home, I read it to her. I had never given serious consideration before to the positive potential of meta gaming. The idea that the players have leverage over the GM is gods damned delightful. You can be sure my players will encounter something similar to Twinkly sometime soon.

Come to think of it, anything surrounding the dungeon is fantastic. The generic setup leading to a humorously unrewarding payoff; the hilarious, and needlessly long old man rant which you’ll never actually use in the game; Twinkly; the titular fucking in the name of Satan, performed by well meaning, brain-addled twits; and the giant walking penis creature who just wants to go home. These elements make me want to run the adventure. But these elements make up less than half of the module.

The bulk of the module is a dungeon which I do not think I could survive. If I was being careful to the point of draining all of the fun from the game, I think I’d still die. If the GM let me read the adventure before running the dungeon, I think there’s still a pretty fair chance I would die.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t good stuff in the dungeon too, though. There’s a monster living inside of a book called the Half-Realized Poorly Conceived Terror which I’ll definitely use at some point. And “The Eye and the Basin” is super cool–though perhaps a little harsh. Part of me thinks it would work fine if players were only required to cut off a finger to solve the puzzle. But another part of me really likes how it’s written, with players needing to kill and gut a hireling (or fellow PC) and sacrifice their heart. The Luck Sucker is also ballin’.

Final verdict: read Better than Any Man. If you like that, then maybe consider Fuck for Satan. There’s a lot to like here, and even if you never run it, you’ll enjoy reading it. Whatever other flaws it might have, I couldn’t put it down until I had read it all the way through.

Oh, and P.S., Jri-Khan is a cool dude. I might make him a recurring NPC in one of my game worlds.

Dungeon Tolls

Courtney runs a game on Saturday mornings called Numenhalla. It’s quite good. Good enough that I drag myself out of bed at 5:40 am on a Saturday to play in it.

Though, I confess, I’ve been late more often than I’ve been on time.

There are many reasons why I love playing in Numenhalla. The fact that Courtney is my bro is high on that list, as is my awestruck reverence for Mad Bill Danger. But more than anything else, I love Numenhalla because it is, by a titanic margin, the most polished & unique game I have ever played in.

Among its many unique traits (though it may only be unique to me, as Numenhalla is my first “Megadungeon”) is that nothing really exists outside of the dungeon. I’ve been told to think of the town outside as a menu screen. Play doesn’t happen there. We can manage our affairs in town, but once we enter the dungeon, we cannot return to town until we’re ready to end the game. It’s a fascinating way to play. Something I wouldn’t mind experimenting with myself someday.

On a completely unrelated note, I recently purchased a fantastic Indie game called Rogue Legacy. It’s a side scrolling action game with gameplay similar to the better among the Castlevania games. There are many facets to it which make it interesting and unique, and I recommend it if you enjoy those types of games. Perhaps my favorite aspect of the game is the way they handle gold.

When you enter the Rogue Legacy dungeon for the first time, you have 0 gold. You fight, and jump, and claw your way through as much of the dungeon as you can, killing monsters and stealing the gold coins they drop. Eventually, inevitably, you die, and the game ends. But then you get to make a new character. This new character is the son or daughter of your previous character, and they’ve inherited all of the gold you gathered in your previous run! They can spend it on gear and upgrades which will be passed down through all the (hundreds) of generations your family is sure to have.

Once this new character has spent all the gold they can, and are ready to enter the dungeon, they are greeted by Charon. He demands a toll of you before he will allow you to enter the dungeon: every unspent coin you have. Once you’ve been reduced back to 0 gold, he will allow you to enter the dungeon. A dungeon which has been completely randomized since your last visit.

I’d be curious to see how this mechanic would work if used in a tabletop game. The party may plunge the depths of the dungeon, gather their treasure, and return to the surface. But they may not hoard their gold! Any gold unspent before returning to the dungeon is taken as a toll. (Or, perhaps more in character, wasted away on booze). Of course, the prices of items in town would need to be adjusted accordingly, but that wouldn’t be hard.

Deadly Dungeons 26: Bugaboos

Aside from the single door through which the players entered, this circular room is completely featureless. Its only occupant is a swarm of plum-sized, multicolored insects buzzing about in a massive swarm. These insects produce a lot of noise, but don’t do much of anything else. It’s rather strange, actually. The swarm doesn’t react to the entrance of players, nor to the open door. Even if a player were to leap into the midst of them and waves her arms around, the bugs would just flit around her as though she were not there.

There are blue, yellow, green, red, violet, orange, teal, and lime colored insects in the swarm. These colors have no meaning. They are an obfuscation. Also, dungeons are not colorful enough.

The colors of the insects will be noticed at first glance, but it requires a moment of examination to notice that many of the insects bear aberrant features. Some have unusually large eyes, others have massive teeth, a few have tails, lots of them have stingers–though they will not sting, even if pestered by aforementioned arm-waving adventurer.

Attacking the tiny, fast moving creatures with a conventional weapon is a nigh impossible task. They have an effective armor of 24*. Catching them is actually much easier. Attempting to grab one with your hand requires an attack roll against armor 18*. If either of these attempts misses by 5 or less, it is a simple miss. If they fail by 6 or more, then the player hit/caught one, it just wasn’t the one they intended. Roll on the chart below to determine which. If the players use a jar or bag and sweep it through the swarm, they will catch 1d2 of the creatures without fail, but what they catch will be random. If they use a proper net, they’ll capture 3d6 creatures, but again it shall be random.

The aberrant features of each creature correlate to an effect. The moment they are damaged or captured, they will pop into a cloud of dust, and that dust will reform into whatever the bug’s type calls for.

1-2. Normal: No effect.

3. Bulging Eyes: A door appears on the wall. If there is nowhere for the door to go, then either a corridor is created leading to another part of the dungeon, or the door becomes a permanent, two-way portal to a random dungeon location. (50/50 chance that it is a location already explored, or a new location the players haven’t found yet). The GM may choose whichever option fucks up their map the least. Note that this is not a secret door. It does not exist before the bulging eyed bug is caught, and thus cannot be discovered before then.

4-6. Large Mouth & Teeth: The dust reforms into a monster from the random encounter table for this area.

7-9. Stinger: A trap appears, and is immediately sprung on the players. It could be a pit trap, or an arrow trap, or a collapsing ceiling, or whatever the GM fancies.

10. Tail: A chest appears, with treasure inside of it!

Note that this is only a very basic sampling of what might be present in the room. If the GM so chooses, there could be drooling bugs which create fountains with a random magical effect; bat-winged bugs which reverse the room’s gravity; bird-winged bugs which cause all of the adventurer’s gear to become animated and attack them; bugs with legs which grant the players a blessing; or bugs with a contented smile on their faces which grant enlightenment. As with everything in the game, the possibilities are quite endless.

*This is based off LotFP rules, of course. Pathfinder players would want to bump those numbers up significantly, while players of games with descending AC would want to drop them quite a bit. The idea is that this is a puzzle which a fighter is best suited to solve. There are many rooms which are best suited to a magic user, or cleric, or specialist/thief. I thought it would be nice if there was a puzzle which required a character to have really good to-hit rolls.

Picture Thursday 36: Deplorable Book Molestation

Last month I cut a bunch of my expenses, set a bunch of money aside, then purchased one of nearly every product in the new Lamentations of the Flame Princess store. As you can see, my physical items arrived today, and I’m relishing in the decadent act of rubbing them all over my body.

And a hearty thank you to the generous Mr. Raggi for including LotFP bookmarks, and a copy of the Grindhouse edition! Neither of which I ordered, but both of which will be put to good use.

I seriously considered doing this photo in the nude, with shirts covering my unmentionables. You’re welcome for thinking better of it.

Now leave me. I have books to perform…acts upon.

Magical Marvels 15: Deck of Illusions

In a recent game, one of my players who has been absent for months and months finally managed to show up again. She’s a rather quiet player who typically only speaks up if she has an item or ability which could be useful in the current situation. Near the end of the game, the party needed to get through a large room filled with Kobolds, and she offered to use her “deck.”

“What deck?” I asked.

“I dunno. It says ‘Deck of Illusions’ in my inventory.” she replied.

“Huh,” I said, “I have absolutely no recollection of what that is. But it sounds awesome. I’m good at this stuff.” And since I can’t find any notes which describe what this item is or how it works, I thought I ought to just make it up again, so here it is:

The deck of illusions is a standard deck of 52 cards. Each card correlates to a specific illusion which will be cast when the card is drawn, and last for 1 turn after it appears. Only one card can be drawn at a time, and once a card is drawn it must be used. If the players do not use it themselves, then 1 turn after it is drawn it will activate on its own in whatever way the GM deems to be the most obvious.

After the card is drawn, but before it is cast, the party may decide precisely how it will be applied. No adjustments can be made to the illusion. But, for example, if the players draw the Ace of Hearts, they may decide what color the rubber ball is, where it comes from, and how hard it is thrown. Do not mistake this to mean that the players control the illusion, however. Any instructions they wish to give the illusion must be given before the illusion is cast. So if they draw a vampire, they may tell it to be intimidating, and it will attempt to intimidate, but the players cannot choose the illusion’s individual responses.

All illusions are perfect unless otherwise noted. If a smell or a sound is appropriate, the smell or sound exists. The rolling boulder appears to smash objects in its path, even though those objects haven’t been touched. Likewise, an illusory table of food can be eaten, and it will have smell and taste and even an false sense of fullness from overindulgence. The one thing none of these illusions can do is cause lasting effects. Dangers cannot harm, food cannot sustain, halfling insurance cannot be counted upon. (Which is true regardless of whether the halfling selling it is an illusion or not, but my point stands).

Clubs

Ace: A roaring fire which can fill a room or hallway immediately, or spread gradually through it.
Two: A large rolling boulder.
Three: Eight orcs, armed with wicked barbed spears, charging and screaming.
Four: A pit, 30ft deep, spikes at the bottom, several dead bodies.
Five: A group of twelve shambling zombies.
Six: A blade which scythes out of the wall, floor, or ceiling, blocking forward passage.
Seven: A gelatinous cube.
Eight: Objects already present in the area animate, and act aggressively.
Nine: A volley of arrows from an unseen attacker. Volley is repeated every few moments.
Ten: A ceiling collapse.
Jack: A group of heavily armed adventurers. No particular appearance can be specified.
Queen: A vampire, accompanied by 10 skeletons.
King: An illusory, black-scaled dragon.

Diamonds

Ace: A coin purse, with gold pieces spilling out of it.
Two: The smell of something delicious. No visual
Three: A nice campfire.
Four: A bush filled with full, ripe berries.
Five: A golden sword which sparkles with hinted-at magical power. Vanishes the moment a successful hit is made with it.
Six: A crate of the finest wines and ales.
Seven: A closed chest.
Eight: A small journal detailing the defeat of a dragon, and the location of a hoard which is “too large to move just now.”
Nine: A full spread of delicious food on a table, complete with pleasant smells.
Ten: An open chest with gold and gems spilling out of it.
Jack: A fish, flopping around, who chokes out “I’ll grant a wish to whomever returns me to water!”
Queen: A stunningly attractive human woman. Attempts to seduce any living creature she sees.
King: A stunningly attractive human man. Attempts to seduce any living creature he sees.

Hearts

Ace: A small, bouncing rubber ball.
Two: A songbird.
Three: A large, stationary boulder.
Four: A wall.
Five: A window. Actually works as a window, and can be seen through.
Six: A door.
Seven: A table.
Eight: A tree.
Nine: A simple door.
Ten: A large, ornate double door.
Jack: A roaring fireplace, with a comfortable chair.
Queen: A lovely, comfortable meadow. Complete with freshwater pond.
King: Invisibility for up to 10 people.

Spades

Ace: A dancing ball of light.
Two: A streaking goblin, running naked and whooping.
Three: A sunflower grows to maturity. This appears to happen as naturally as possible. (On a stone floor, it comes through a crack, etc.)
Four: A marching band.
Five: A court jester.
Six: A clothesline.
Seven: A lost child.
Eight: A painter, supplies in tow, who simply MUST paint the first creature it encounters.
Nine: A porter who became separated from his adventuring party.
Ten: It begins to rain frogs.
Jack: A halfling intent on selling insurance of some kind.
Queen: A tall woman, who attempts to take charge of whatever situation she finds herself in. It’s time to get things done!
King: A naked man who proudly, and quite loudly, asks everyone what they think of his lovely new clothes.