Reality is my Sourcebook: The Phylactery

I learned something the other day.

The concept of a lich’s phylactery is taken from Judaic mysticism. In reality, phylacteries were a complex kind of ‘magic underwear’ which were apparently quite common in Jewish communities at one time. Jewish Encyclopedia.com has an absolutely fascinating article on the subject, written in the early 20th century. There’s an impressive amount of detail there, much of which I think I would need to know a lot more about Jewish tradition to fully understand. But enough of the article is written in plain English for me to learn a lot about the beliefs surrounding this tradition.

As I mentioned in my post titled Succubi Deserve More, I like to explore the mythology behind fantasy tropes. Not only does it result in me becoming a more educated and historically aware person, but the real-world mythology always offers fascinating insight into the fantastic possibilities. Whoever first decides to take some cultural or mythological element and include it in a fantasy story takes what works for them, and leaves the rest. That’s how fantasy writing works. But who is to say that the elements they left behind aren’t sometimes just as interesting as the elements they chose to keep?

For clarity’s sake, lets start with the explanation of what a phylactery is in Pathfinder, pulled from The Pathfinder Bestiary, page 188. For those curious, this excerpt is functionally identical to the same excerpt in the Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 Monster Manual.

An integral part of becoming a lich is the creation of the phylactery in which the character stores his soul. The only way to get rid of a lich for sure is to destroy its phylactery. Unless its phylactery is located and destroyed, a lich can rejuvenate after it is killed. (See Creating a Lich, below).

Each lich must create its own phylactery by using the Craft Wondrous Item feat. The character must be able to cast spells and have a caster level of 11th or higher. The phylactery costs 120,000 gp to create and has a caster level equal to that of its creator at the time of creation.

The most common form of phylactery is a sealed metal box containing strips of parchment on which magical phrases have been transcribed. The box is Tiny and has 40 hit points, hardness 20, and a break DC of 40.

Other forms of phylacteries can exist, such as rings, amulets, or similar items.

Not a lot to go on, really. I also seem to recall very distinctly that the process of becoming a lich (and so, presumably, creating the phylactery) is supposed to be profoundly evil. To my knowledge, that is the sum of official material on what a phylactery is within the game world. There are probably a few dragon magazine articles, and sourcebooks from the 70s and 80s which contain further tidbits of “official” information, but for now the basic definition will do.

Before moving any further, I would like to again remind my readers that I am not a credible source on the topic of Judaic history and lore. The sources for this post, which have far more information on this topic, are the Jewish Encyclopedia.com article on Phylacteries, and the Skeptic’s Annotated Bible.

The historical phylactery, by comparison, was considered a very holy thing. In fact, if you look at the word’s etymology, the Greek root words suggest that it was intended to protect the wearer from evil. The Jewish custom is based on a number of passages in the Torah, most notably this excerpt from Deuteronomy:

And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes. And thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and on they gates.

The ‘words’ this passage wants the reader to spend so much time talking about are, as best I can determine, God’s laws. Variations of this passage show up in a number of places, since repetition is an essential element in an oral tradition. The important part, though, is the bit I emphasized. That’s the origin of the historical phylactery. The exact means of how these devices were worn is somewhat unclear to me. The image at the start of the post demonstrates how complicated they appear to be–and every element was important. Even the way the knots were tied was meant to symbolize specific Hebrew lettering. Essentially, however, historical phylacteries are small boxes or pouches which are worn on the arms and between the eyes. Within the pouches are a specific arrangement of passages from the Torah, written on tiny scrolls of paper. This is likely where the idea of a lich’s phylactery being a metal box filled with tiny magical scrolls came from.

One of the archetypical things which liches do is hide their phylacteries. Common ideas are to hide it in a fortress somewhere, or to give it to a powerful dragon to protect. I’ve been involved in discussions on /tg/ and elsewhere which focus just on coming up with the most outrageous, funny, and clever ways to hid a phylactery. And I’ve heard some positively fantastic ideas. But the historical phylactery was a thing which had to be worn. You couldn’t leave it at home and continue to rely on the spiritual protection it provided.

Of course, if every lich was wearing their phylactery dangling between their eyes, the monster would loose all of its flavor. But what if there was a limit to how far away the phylactery could be from the lich? Say, it must be within 1 mile of the lich’s location. For each additional mile away, the lich suffers from 1 negative level, and if the lich reaches 0, it dies and re-forms at the location of its phylactery. Perhaps the lich might even get some kind of bonus if its phylactery is within 100ft, say, plus one caster level? Adding a mechanic like this takes nothing away from the the fun of hiding the lich’s phylactery, and in fact may end up being a great deal more fun for the players. Looking for a hidden item can be fun, but if that item is in an adamantite box which shifts to a random location in the multiverse every 30 seconds, the players are simply going to get bored. Adding limits gives the players somewhere to start their investigation. Plus, this adds a fun element to the game of a lich needing to actively manage their phylactery’s location in order to avoid negative levels.

Also interesting is that the wearer of a historical phylactery was not supposed to enter a cemetery, or “any unseemly places” whilst wearing it. Again, this suggests some interesting possibilities for the lich’s phylactery. Since liches never have their phylactery, it wouldn’t make sense for certain places to only be accessible when the lich didn’t have it, but what if there were certain places a lich couldn’t enter UNLESS it had its phylactery with it? Such as an area which is consecrated, or perhaps they cannot go within 10 miles of their original birthplace without their phylactery. It might even be interesting to say that a lich could never enter a cemetery without its phylactery. Though, given a lich’s frequent need for necromancy reagents, this could make things difficult.

There are a number of rules for historical phylacteries…actually there are a plethora of rules. There is an entire pantheon of rules. This is, after all, Judaism. The rules range from the spacing on the letters on the little scrolls, to the attention span of the chap scribing those letters, to even the color of the case. Largely, I don’t think these have much application. They could be fun if one was trying to come up with a good ritual for creating a phylactery, but unless a character becoming a lich is the focus of a campaign, I don’t think it’s particularly useful to go into the creation process too much. Although that would be a kickass campaign.

However, this rule caught my eye: “The straps (Yad. iii. 3) were made of the same material as the boxes, but could be of any color except blood-red.” Perhaps I’m shooting in the dark, here, but what if blood were harmful to phylacteries? What if, perhaps, blood was the ONLY thing which could harm a phylactery. The blood of a goodly person–or perhaps even the blood of a fallen hero. The phylactery must be coated with it, and then it becomes as brittle as a twig.

I encourage you to read up on the historical phylactery yourself, and comment on your own ideas for making a lich’s phylactery more interesting!

Negune: Historical Overview

If you recognize the map above, you may just pay more attention to my posts than I do. I posted it once before (sans political notations) in an October update about methods for generating maps randomly without using a computer. As the sloppy handwriting in the upper right indicates, this is the continent of Negune, location of my Ascendant Crusade campaign. Normally when I start a new game, I start a new game world, and its geography and locals are developed as the players travel further and further abroad from where they start. But Negune is special.

You see, several years back I had no job, no close friends living nearby, and most importantly, no Internet. My TV was broken as well, so I couldn’t play any of my console games. From September through to December of 2009 I did two things: Watch Star Trek The Next Generation over and over again, and work on developing the world of the Ascendant Crusade. It may sound very sad–and truthfully it wasn’t a pleasant time in my life–but I must confess I miss the absolute focus my isolation provided me. It’s remarkable what one can get done without the Internet.

So where am I going with this? Well you see, I miss working on Negune. I had a lot of ideas which I never had a chance to develop beyond concepts. I want to write about this place. Hell, it’s already started seeping into my recent writing. Even while I wrote the Gravewhisper’s Claw post, I knew that the dozen made-up ‘fantasy words’ I was dropping were going to be gibberish to my readers. So from here on I’ll occasionally be doing posts which develop my Negune campaign setting. Maybe we’ll even learn something about creating a living breathing world along the way. Who the fuck knows.

History of Negune

Many thousands of years ago, the god, Valor, looked upon the world of Tyrgaren and saw that it had no heroes to rival those of other worlds. “This will not do!” he bellowed, and struck the oceans with his hammer. Opposite his blow, a new continent rose from the sea. “Here will heroes worthy of me be born! Let any who seek my favor come to Negune, and prove themselves!” To this, Valor’s brother Strife replied “If heroes are to be made here, there must be challenges to test them!” With this, Strife sowed across the land challenges unlike those seen before on the face of Tyrgaren. Hearing her brothers, Abundance approached. “You fools.” she chided “Who will fight for this land? Who will struggle so hard against challenges so great simply for the favor of a distant god?” And Abundance caressed the land of Negune, bestowing it with a fertility and richness seen nowhere else on Tyrgaren. The three gods embraced, proud of their work, and turned their attention away from their creation. It was then that Evil approached, and blew his dark breath over the land of Negune. “And now,” he whispered, careful not to be heard by the three creator gods “my darkness shall always guide this land’s fate.”

–Creation myth, found scribed on an obsidian tablet in the central Arganian forests.

The earliest civilizations of Negune organized themselves into city-states. Not much is known about this period or what came before it. What is clear is that these city states had a variety of cultures, some quite different from each other. During this civilization’s peak, there were several hundred of these city states, frequently warring with one another and vying for land and resources.

It was during this peak that a woman named Eganaptyc arrived in the city state of Oriac. History is unclear on precisely where she came from, and many recovered texts from this period suggest a supernatural origin. However, the people of Negune at this time had not yet managed to construct ships capable of crossing oceans, therefore it is more likely that Eganaptyc arrived on Negune from one of the other continents, which were much more technologically advanced during this period. No effort has yet been made to search the ancient libraries of other lands to discover her origins.

Eganaptyc was a Wizard of not insignificant skill, if tales of her magical demonstrations are to be believed. Though, given that the people of Negune at this time had very limited experience with magic, their accounts are highly suspect. None the less, Eganaptyc’s magical prowess and apparent benevolence quickly elevated her within Oriac, and she was made an adviser to the city’s king. The king had no children, and upon his death the people demanded that Eganaptyc take the throne.

Under her rule, Oriac began to aggressively expand its boarders. First by securing powerful alliances with other city states in the East, then by conquering the city states to the West. Once her control there was established, Eganaptyc turned on her Eastern allies and conquered them. So did Eganaptyc’s wars of conquest continue for many years. Wars which were continued by her son when she became too old to devote her full attention to matters of state. Eganaptyc lived just long enough for all of Negune to be brought under the rule of Oriac during her granddaughter’s reign.

With no enemies left to fight, Eganaptyc’s granddaughter, Retyac the Benevolent, turned her attention to strengthening her empire by spreading education to its furthest reaches. This is the beginning of Negune’s golden age. It was marked by unprecedented prosperity in every corner of the Eganaptyc Empire. Technological advancement and learning accelerated, and within ten generations the once primitive Negune had become one of the most advanced societies in the world. The capital city of Oriac came to be widely known as the greatest city in all the world, stretching out to cover the entire island of Argania.

For three thousand years this unprecedented prosperity continued, and the Eganaptyc Empire flourished. But as Eganaptyc’s descendents became more and more removed from the teachings and philosophies which had made their ancestors great, they began to lose touch with their people. When the people questioned them, these rulers resorted to oppression. And almost suddenly, within twenty years, millennia of good was undone. Oriac was sacked, anyone who had represented law and order was subjected to the rule of the mob, and civilization was lost.

Alternative governments were tried, but the incessant squabbling and vying for power in these governments led to constant wars, which invariably resulted in groups that were even more fractured, and required even smaller forms of government. Within a few centuries, Negune had descended from a continent-spanning empire, to a loose confederation of states, eventually returning to city states, and then descending even further into tribalism, and finally to barbarism. And there it remained for an eon.

Two thousand years after the fall of Oriac, five adventurers came to Negune. Many adventurers had come before them, but all had either returned home or perished. But these seven would prove different. Their names have become legendary: Korrik Anribo, the mighty elven wizard; Shorn Ironteeth, the dwarven axemaster; Horatiana, the human whose songs could soften even a titan’s heart; Grephar, the human paladin; Norak the wild man; Bronsond the elven ranger; and Carrifeist, the half elven rogue.

For over thirty years, these seven traveled to every land of Negune. They slew monsters, saved villages, and bred good will throughout the land. Then, while exploring the Cold Iron Mountains in central Negune, something happened. Not a one of them would ever speak of it during their lifetimes, but when they descended from the mountain Bronsond was not with them, and they immediately parted ways.

Korrik settled in the far North, on a small island which he named Ribanko. He never spoke with any of his compatriots again. Shorn united many disparate and primitive dwarven clans, and settled in the ore-rich mountains in the North, founding the dwarven city he called Shornholm. Grephar traveled far to the West, to the most defensible position in the party had found in all of their travels. He united the people there, and called his nation Stekett. Carrifest settled near the sea. When people came and built a city around her, and begged her to rule it, she named it for her fallen comrade: Bronsond. Horatiana, the party’s public face, had gained the most good will during their travels, and people flocked to her banner when she chose to settle down. So many swore allegiance to her that she had to break her nation, Regalia, into seven provinces: Tonshire, Shield Haven, Garvain, Centralia, Volpan, Sextent, and Pyensal. One for each of her former comrades. Before the group parted ways, Norak asked only that his friends never civilize all the land, and that they leave plenty of space for him to run free.

Eight hundred years have now passed since the Seven Heroes parted company. All have long since died–save Korrik, who still broods on his isle to the North.

Magical Marvels 4: Gravewhisper's Claw

This week’s artifact kopesh is again from my Ascendant Crusade campaign, much like the previous two artifacts Wallcraft’s Offerings and Kofek’s Tongue. This weapon is again illustrated by my ladyfriend. You should check out more of her art on her DeviantArt page.

Gravewhisper’s Claw
Artifact Kopsh

KOPESH

The kopesh is the ancient Egyptian name for a type of sword dating back to 3,000-2,000 B.C.E. The hooked design of the sword was, ostensibly, to allow warriors to grab shields out of their opponent’s hands. The sword was used in the Dungeons and Dragons 3.0 supplement “Arms and Equipment Guide,” as a heavy slashing weapon which could be used for trip attacks. The base weapon is exotic, can be wielded in one or two hands, costs 20gp, deals 1d8 slashing damage, has a crit range of 19-20 and multiplies damage by 2 on a critical attack. This is something of a misrepresentation of the weapon, which had a narrow, light blade. For my own purposes, I combined the more traditional blade design and purpose with the thicker width and high damage.

PHYSICAL ATTACKS

(Blade)2d8 + 5 (Slashing)(19-20/x2)

SPELLS GRANTED

1/Day – True Strike, cast by whispering “Blade of mine, fail me not!” This is a free action. The next attack gains a +20 attack bonus, and ignores any miss chance from concealment. (Pathfinder Core Rulebook Pg. 363)

SPECIAL ABILITIES

The blade of Gravewhisper’s Claw has one of the keenest edges ever forged. Not only was the swordsmith a master of their craft, but magical enhancements to further narrow the edge, and protect it from dullness have been cast upon the weapon with the skill of the greatest of archmages. This grants the weapon its additional 1d8 damage die on top of the standard kopesh.
Aside from the powerful sharpness enchantments upon the blade, Gravewhisper’s Claw also holds an enchantment which causes the edge of the blade to be hot as a blacksmith’s fire. When attacking, Gravewhisper’s Claw is able to ignore up to 8 hardness. This allows the wielder to cut into stone as though it were paper. Even steel provides little more resistance than leather. This bonus does not apply to Damage Reduction, nor does it bypass any amount of Armor Class. It does, however, aid in sunder attempts.
Anyone wielding Gravewhisper’s Claw gains the Improved Sunder feat if they do not already have it. Sunder attempts attempted by the wielder do not provoke attacks of opportunity, and are made with a +2 bonus. Additionally, the wielder gains +2 to their combat maneuver defense against sunder attempts.
Gravewhisper’s Claw’s hooklike blade can be used to make a trip attempt. If the wielder is tripped during their own trip attempt, they can drop Gravewhisper’s Claw to avoid being tripped.
Gravewhisper’s Claw’s hooklike blade can be used to make a disarm attempt at a +2 bonus to the wielder’s combat maneuver check. This is in addition to the +2 granted by the Improved Sunder feat, for a total of +4.
The first time anyone takes hold of the hilt of Gravewhisper’s Touch, they are immediately affected by a powerful illusion which last several hours for them, but for others appears to last only a few minutes. In this illusion, the wielder experiences the greatest battle the blade was ever involved in: the fall of Niston.

APPEARANCE

Gravewhisper’s claw is made of polished black adamantine, and inlaid into an ornate hilt of silvery mithril. The grip of the blade is wrapped tightly in red leather–made from the skin of a Balor killed within the realms of the Abyss. A large sapphire is serves as the pommel of the blade, and two thin bands of gold encircle the silvery hilt just below the blade. The blade itself is thicker than the blade of a standard kopesh, and it hooks more sharply at the end. The edge of the blade glows a dull red color, and though it does not burn to the touch, water which strikes the edge instantly turns to steam. In the crook of the blade floats an ancient Negunian rune. The rune is insubstantial, so objects can pass through it as though it were not there. Roughly translated, the rune means “loyalty above all,” with the connotation of strong, even romantic, affection.

HISTORY

When it was created, this blade had another name. It was commissioned by an an ancient king who ruled over the entire continent of Negune from the great city of Oriac, which spanned the entire isle of Argania. The blade was to be given as a gift to the king’s mightiest servant who resided far to the North, who was presently quelling a small uprising there. The blade was sent to the king’s servant’s forward command post by way of a heavily guarded caravan. It was to be the symbol which would carry the royal army to victory against the rebellion.

Unfortunately for the king, a rebel force which had made its way deep into the king’s territory ambushed the caravan, and stole many of its treasures; including the mighty blade. Instead of serving as a symbol of the king’s generosity and his people’s unity, it came to represent the might of the rebellion, and the ability of the people to strike a blow against the seemingly invincible armies which ruled over them. The sword rallied the people to the rebellion’s cause. And though it took twenty years and countless lives, the rebellion overthrew the king and his kingdom.

The end of the war also saw the end of law on the continent. After twenty years, the rebels were ruthless in their extermination of all that their overlords had stood for. The entire city of Oriac was razed to the ground. Its books, its artwork, its many treasures were lost forever. The rebels had come to find authority so distasteful that they rejected the very notion of government. The continent descended into tribalism for centuries, descending eventually into barbarism. For some time the blade would appear here or there for a generation or two, in the hands of a powerful warrior. But it soon became lost.

It wasn’t until several millenia later, after the continent had been re-settled by immegrants from another land that the blade was rediscovered by an Illumian adventurer named Byert Gravewhisper. It had made its way into the bottommost depths of an unexplored crypt within the boarders of the Regalian province of Volpan. He was there with his adventuring party, led by she who would someday come to be known as The Whispered Queen, looking for the one true c0py of The Book of Vile Darkness, bound by Vecna’s own hand. It was easy to spot, for though a thick layer of dust had settled over its entire surface, the red glowing edges burned away any dust which settled upon them.

Byert carried the blade with him through the rest of his adventures. The weapon’s original name and history had been lost to the ages, so he dubbed the blade “Gravewhisper’s Claw.” It served him well as he adventured across the continent, and later as he conquered the continent as a general of The Whispered Queen. It was during this period that he commissioned an enchantment placed upon the blade. A passionate military historian, Byert collected many historical weapons and had them enchanted to allow him to re-live the weapons’ greatest battle in an illusory world.

The weapon remained by Byert’s side until his ultimate demise by the side of The Whispered Queen, over a thousand years after he first took the blade for his own. One of the warriors who defeated the Whispered Queen took the blade as his own for a short time. But shortly before his death, he donated it to the clerics of Byblyx, an order which holds the preservation and sharing of knowledge to be the greatest commandment of their goddess. Since then, the blade has been kept in a museum within the capital city of the new Negunian Republic.

Creating an Evil Campaign Featuring the Undead

tom kidd 90968, 2/27/04, 11:49 AM, 8C, 3750×5000 (0+0), 62%, bent 6 stops, 1/30 s, R41.2, G31.5, B69.8

Note: This Friday’s Magical Marvels is written and ready to go up. However, my ladyfriend is busy with coursework, and has not been able to create the art for it. Both of us have really enjoyed what her art has added to this series of posts, so I’ll be holding off on posting it until sometime Sunday, after she completes the image. Thanks for your patience!

A month or two back, I typed a bunch of tabletop RPG keywords into twitter, found some random accounts, and followed them. I’m quite active on twitter, but most of my twitter friends are not tabletop role players, so I was hoping to expand my circle of friends a little more. By and large the endeavor has been a failure. Most of the accounts I followed have since been unfollowed either for being inactive, or being boring. Recently, though, one of those accounts posted this:

Tips on an evil campaign? Why, Evil is my middle name! It’s also my first and last name. Legally, I am Evil E. Eviltan. The original family name is actually “Evilsatan,” but it got anglicized when my grandparents arrived on Ellis island. Anyway, I quickly sent DMfemme a response.

A few days went by, and I forgot about the message. Twitter is more of a chat room than a message board. If it takes someone more than 15 minutes to respond, odds are they aren’t going to. But lo and behold, a few days later:

Undead you say!? Why, I would say that undead was my middle name had I not already established that all of my names are permutations of ‘evil!’ That was, perhaps, shortsighted writing on my part. None the less, undead are my specialty. I don’t think I’ve ever run a campaign which didn’t include undead as a major element. Ever since my first game ham-fistedly throwing a mummy at my player, to my most recent cloak & dagger style game about the Cult of Vecna. When it comes to monsters, if it’s decomposing and likes the taste of sweet sweet manflesh, I like to include it in my games.

The first thing you should do, if you’re willing and able to spend a little money, is pick up a copy of Libris Mortis. It’s a 3.5 supplement, so if you’re running D&D 3.5 or Pathfinder the book is a must-have. But even if you’re using another system, there’s a lot of good fluff in here. More than I can cover in a single post, and it includes some of my favorite undead monsters. For this post, I’ll focus on things I’ve learned through my own gaming experience, which are not found in Libris Mortis.

I can think of a few ways an evil campaign can be undead based. The players can control undead, the players can work with undead, the players can work for undead, or the players can be undead. And, of course, you can mix and match. All of these are fun, and all come with their specific quirks.

Players Control Undead
If the players control undead, then they are likely of the Wizardly or Clerical persuasion, or some type of magic user at least. Though there’s no need to discount other possibilities. Perhaps the players find powerful artifacts early in the game which allow them to control undead–artifacts which grown in power as the characters level up. Or the characters could take the batman super villain route and fall into an open vat of negative energy, only to come out of it with the ability to control undead to some extent.

The thing about players who control undead, though, is that they become powerful quickly. Why explore a dungeon when you can simply send hoards of zombies into the dungeon as meat-shields. They’ll set off any traps and defeat or weaken any monsters within. Once they’ve done the grunt work, the players can move in and gather up the treasure. Even if they go into the dungeon themselves, encounters need to be buffed up significantly to make up for all the extra attacks players get (“my character attacks, then Zombies 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 attack”).

Still, one can’t deny the feeling of power that controlling an undead hoard gives to players. It’s an exhilarating feeling, and the GM should let them enjoy that. But that doesn’t mean the GM should never take it away. Undead-controlling villains can come up against paladins or clerics, able to cause their undead to flee in terror. Or they might find themselves forced to fight on consecrated ground where their undead cannot tread. Worst of all, they might eventually face a more capable necromancer, able to steal their control of their undead away from them! (You could call him “LS,” mwuahaha)!

Players Work With Undead
Lets say, for example, that rather than being necromancers, the players work for a necromancer. This gives the players a bit more freedom, since the GM doesn’t need to shoe-horn the players into the position of controlling some undead. More freedom means the players have more control, and the players having more control means the players have Player Agency, and player agency is a good thing to foster in your games. This option also gives the players less power over how the undead interact with the game, since they don’t control them directly. And as a third boon, this option gives the GM a convenient “quest giver” in the form of the player’s necromatic master.

Consider, for example, a scenario where the players are in the service of the great Necromancer Alicia. Alicia wants the players to subdue a tribe of goblins living not far from her tower of Brooding Darkness. Perhaps she provides them with amulets to help them direct the undead, but she could just as easily send an NPC along to control the undead, or even just control the undead herself from the aforementioned tower. Or perhaps Alicia doesn’t want the goblins killed, but just needs the players to throw some undead-powder into the goblin’s bonfire, causing them all to choke on the fire’s smoke and become zombies themselves.

Players Work For Undead
The players working for an undead has a lot of potential to play out exactly the same way that the players working for a necromancer does. After all, necromancers don’t die, they just become liches. (…which, I guess, requires dying at some point, but you take my meaning.) However, there are a variety of intelligent undead with the potential to keep the players as their minions.

Vampires are a favorite of mine. I’ve always felt they’re underused in the role of “overlord” style villain. Player quests could include finding humans for the vampire to feed on, help bring about eternal night, or even just work on traditional goals like conquering the world. Just because you don’t have a pulse or show up in mirrors doesn’t mean you don’t still lust for power. Ghosts are another great example. Being incorporeal, ghosts are much less likely to pursue worldly goals, but they could easily have plots of their own. Perhaps they want to return to a corporeal body, or they want the players to enact a ritual which will allow them to pass on to a more pleasant afterlife than the one for which they are destined.

Players Are Undead
Players as undead offers some of the most interesting possibilities. There are plenty of undead types for players to pick from. The party’s wizard could be a lich, the rogue could be a ghost, the fighter a vampire, and the cleric a mummy. Even normally unintelligent undead such as ghasts, ghouls, wights, etc can be “awakened,” allowing them to have an Intelligence score. Players will be happy because their undead have fantastic special abilities. All of them will be immune to crits, most of them will gain special attacks, and massive bonuses to their stats.

The players will likely be so distracted by all their special bonuses that they’ll completely forget all the power they’re handing over to their game master. Yes, the vampire fighter now has +6 natural armor, but they also cannot enter private residences without first being invited in, nor can they go outside during the day. And don’t forget that all undead can potentially be turned, or worse, dominated by a powerful necromancer. Which isn’t to say that you should punish your players for being undead–simply that you should make use of their weaknesses. That’s part of the fun of undead!

Other
There are a few other things I’d like to mention about running an undead-heavy campaign before ending this post.

Origin Many types of undead come with origin stories attached. Some are created when innocents are buried in a mass grave, others are spawned of unrepentant murderers, or children killed by their own family members. (The slaymate is one of my all time favorite undead.) Be aware of these origins, and if a type of undead doesn’t have them, think about creating your own. The origin of an undead can give you a good baseline for that undead’s personality. Or, if the players are out to create a specific type of undead, it can provide them with a gruesomely evil task.

Cliches Aren’t Scary If you’re running an undead-heavy campaign because you like the creepiness of undead, remember that something stops being creepy once you get used to it. If you’ve only got a few adjectives to describe a zombie–rotting, shambling, grotesque–then your players are going to get bored of them really quick. Be creative, pull out a thesaurus, and make sure you keep giving your players new types of undead to encounter. Your zombies should dribble black gore onto the ground as they shamble, your lich should have half of a nose and a jaw attached to his skull by a wire, and your skeletons should still have bits of shriveled organs piled at the bottom of their rib cage.

Don’t Forget the Classics Often times, game masters get caught up in the big fancy undead, and forget about the little guys. Skeletons and Zombies can be incredibly creepy and threatening at any level. Don’t forget that humans aren’t the only ones who can be corpse-ified! One of my favorite monsters is the skeletal hill giant. And the dragon whose zombie-wings are too rotted to fly on any longer can be a terrifying foe. Even without using a high-CR foe as the base creature, these types of undead can be formidable. I recently threw my players up against a large number of skeletons which had Magic Missile inscribed on their index fingers. My players found it quite challenging to run back and forth across the battlefield taking out the skeletons one by one, getting hit by 1d4 + 1 unblockable damage from each skeleton each round.

And never forget: If you’re running a game with undead, use a Corpse-Sewn Hekatonkheires at some point. It’s just the right thing to do!

NPC Reactions

Fair warning: the job that pays for my rent has been exhausting lately. I fell asleep immediately after coming home last night, and didn’t wake up until morning. I had a rough outline of this post prepared already, but don’t have as much time as I’d planned on to actually put it together.

Non-player characters pose a real challenge for me, as a game master. Much as I pride myself on improvisation as a general skill, I am not at all satisfied with my ability to conjure up interesting NPCs on the spot. Over the years I’ve found that I default to a handful of naming conventions (Um…it’ll start with a P…”Hello traveler! My name is…Pyort!” *Players all crack up*) and that all my voices, personalities, etcetera start to sound suspiciously similar over time. An entire world full of Pyorts is not a good idea, let me tell you.

To try to remedy this failing of mine, I’ve tried coming up with a number of tools. I once spent a good six months working on a PHP script which would randomly generate a bunch of “seed” information for an NPC. The idea was that you could hit a button, and be given a race, class, personality type, mood, name, etc. All of which were suited to my campaign setting. The whole project had the added bonus of helping me hone my sloppy PHP skills. Unfortunately I had to move just as the project was gaining momentum, so it’s been on the back burner for going on three years now.

The project may have been overly ambitious in the first place anyway. These days I’m convinced that there must be a simpler, more elegant way to make NPCs distinct from one another. One which doesn’t require that I have a laptop behind the GM screen. There are, after all, a number of identifiable things which modify a person’s attitude and behavior. Cultural traits, for example. There have been some interesting studies about how culture modifies a person’s behavior, even within the united states. For example, as a statistical average, people in the south are more likely to be polite, but they’re also more likely to become violent if they feel they’ve been insulted or marginalized. Whereas my experience in the pacific northwest for 24 years has led me to expect that people are largely passive aggressive about their feelings. That’s a pretty big difference, and it’s the same species within the same country. Imagine a world like Pathfinder’s where there are literally different races. (In fact I did look at that question just recently.)

Over the last few days, however, I’ve been thinking much more about what makes people act the way they do in my own life. If I go outside and talk to my neighbors, or to my girlfriend, or to my coworkers, or to my friends, what will affect the way they act towards me? We’re all the same species, and we all live in the same area, so ostensibly we would have the same basic rules about social interaction. Yet even day to day a given person can change the way they act. So what’s going on, and how can it help me make a better NPC? The way people act around one another is heavily influenced by their mood, their reaction to your mood and appearance, and a myriad of other tiny details which could be placed on a simple random chart for quick NPC generation.

Just received good/bad news/experience This can be small news, like receiving a discount on an item at the shop, or stubbing one’s toe. Or it can be bigger things, such as when a merchant arranges a deal which will ensure long-term profits for them, or when a farmer learns that his neighbors farm has been ravaged by locusts and fears he may be next. People are more likely to be helpful and friendly when they’ve received good fortune, and more likely to be unhelpful and dour when they’ve received bad. And, of course, the level to which their mood affects them is proportional to how good or how bad the news is.
Looking forward to something with anxiety/excitement Anxiety and Excitement can manifest themselves very similarly to having just received good or bad news, but in either case a person is likely to be preoccupied with something which is going to happen soon, and may not have as much time for strangers.
First impression of you is good/bad People have many standards by which they judge a person. The aristocracy, or other contributing members of society, might find you dirty and unpleasant due to your adventuring lifestyle. However, they might also look on you as a curiosity. Someone with interesting tales to tell. Likewise a farmer might see an adventurer as a compatriot. Many adventurers are low-born folk, and they live roughly as low-born folk do. Unlike knights, adventurers are just trying to get by rather than serving a lord. But adventurers also have a nasty reputation for wooing farmer’s daughters (or sons).
Likes/doesn’t like members of your gender/race/class/etc The fantasy worlds that many of us play in are based on a medieval world which, in reality, was insanely prejudiced. Now, I am strongly of the opinion that in most fantasy adventure games, history should be ignored on this point. I won’t go into that here, because I could write an entire post on that topic. However, it’s perfectly legitimate for individual people (or towns or cultures) to hold a particular prejudice which makes them difficult for specific player to deal with. Wizards or Sorcerers could be viewed as untrustworthy, or as offensive to reality. Perhaps men are viewed by a particular culture to be brutish and rude. And elves, don’t get me started on those slack-jawed daffodils…
Generally outgoing/introverted This one seems pretty simple, really. Some people are friendly and eager to interact with new people. They’re most likely to be helpful on minor issues, though it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll go out of their way for strangers. More introverted folks may be no less friendly, but they’re not going to be as comfortable dealing with people they’re not already familiar with.

Dwarven Tanks

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this in the past, but I’m a huge fan of oldschool Final Fantasy games. Any numbered games X or prior are great, but IV, VI, VII, and VIII are my favorites by far. Amusingly, I’ve never really had a taste for western RPGs of the video game variety, such as the Elder Scrolls series, or Mass Effect games. They much more closely emulate my one true love–tabletop games–but I think there’s a sort of “uncanny valley” effect for me. I like linear games, and I like games with true tactical infinity, but games which emulate tactical infinity without actually giving me infinite options can just be frustrating.

I think it was on my second or third play-through of Final Fantasy IV when I had this idea. There’s a point, about halfway through the game, after you steal the airship from the evil city-state of Baron. The heroes must fly into a giant crater which connects the surface world to the vast underground realm of the dwarves. Almost immediately you find yourself in the middle of a pitched battle between the Baronian airship navy, and the land-based dwarven tanks.

The tanks make a few more appearances throughout the game, and the idea intrigued me. I am apparently not alone in this, because both the Warcraft and Warhammer franchises employ dwarves with tanks. Perhaps it’s because the race themselves–short, squat, and unimaginably tough–fundamentally resemble tanks. Whatever the reason, I decided that dwarven tanks would make a great addition to my D&D games. However, I’m not a huge fan of including technology in fantasy games. It can be a fun twist for a setting, but as a general rule I like the most advanced technology in my games to be a crossbow. So the challenge was to create a dwarven tank which didn’t rely on technology, but also did not rely on an excessive use of magic, since dwarves would probably find distasteful. This is what I came up with. Lali-ho!

The Dwarven Tank

The main body of the dwarven tank resembles a boxy steel shell, longer than it is wide. Along the bottom edge of the shell are small steel sheets, attached to the shell by hinges. When the metal sheets are raised, one can see that there are four large iron wheels supporting the shell, and that it otherwise has no bottom to it. On top of the shell, in the center of its surface area, is a large flat disc, and from that disc protrudes a long cylindrical barrel, 7ft long. On both ends of the long shell are small protrusions, the purpose of which is not readily apparent.

As large as the dwarven tank may seem from the outside, within things are positively cramped. Each tank employs crew of 11 of the strongest dwarves available. Six dwarves serve as “movers,” two dwarves serve as backup movers, one dwarf serves as spotter, one as driver, and one as hammermaster. Since the tank has no bottom, all eleven dwarves must walk in unison with the tank’s movements, which is surprisingly difficult for a large number of dwarves to do within such a cramped space.

The six movers are divided three to each side, where they take hold of sturdy bars mounted into the inner-walls of the steel shell. Their task is simple: push in unison, either forward or backward, according to the instructions of the driver. The six movers are rotated in shifts with the two backup movers, to ensure that no dwarf ever spends too long at the strenuous task of moving the behemoth dwarven tank.

The two protrusions at either end of the tank are periscopes, which are used by the spotter to give instructions both to the driver, and to the hammermaster. The tank completely lacks windows , or openings of any sort save the flaps at the bottom of the tank, so without the spotter and his periscopes, the dwarven tank crew would be blind. The driver stands at one end of the tank, where a number of controls are mounted. A wheel for steering, various pulleys to raise the metal flaps to help the tank move over obstacles.

The hammermaster mans the gun, or the “Shock-Put” as the dwarves call it. He uses a pair of heavy cranks to adjust the vertical angle from 0 to 80 degrees, and the horizontal angle up to 180 degrees. These cranks are adjusted according to instructions from the spotter. Once the gun is aimed correctly, the two movers currently off-duty take one of the “shock rocks” from the large bin on the opposite end of the tank from the driver. The shock rock is then loaded into the bottom of the shock put, which is then sealed.

The seal of the shock-put holds the shock rock in place while the hammermaster prepares his swing. When the crew is ready to fire, the hammermaster takes up a large two-handed warhammer, and strikes the the bottom of the shock-put, where a piston is mounted. The piston has a special permanent explosive rune enchanted on the inside, which strikes the shock-rock with all the force the hammermaster can transfer into it. The resulting explosion, which varies in strength based on the force with which piston is struck, sends the shock-rock careening out of the shock put at fantastic speeds, often flying as far as five or seven hundred feet when struck by a skilled hammermaster.

Most dwarven tank groups also carry a small supply of explosive shock rocks, which are themselves covered in explosive runes. These projectiles cause significantly more damage, but are difficult to create, and thus not used as frequently.

It is said that once, long ago, a great dwarven king built a mithril tank which, due to its relatively light frame, could move twice as fast as most dwarven tanks. However, due to the rarity of mithril, this tale is often dismissed as a fabrication.

Succubi in Succubus Town

I’m obsessed with Comma, Blank_’s Google Analytics profile. Fiddling around with it, learning new things about my traffic, and watching the ways in which my readership has grown in the last few months tickles me pink. And more than anything else, I obsess over are search terms. Knowing what people are looking for when they find your site is not only useful, but it can be gods damned hilarious. Someone searching for “bar0n’ika” ended up finding Colorful Characters 4: Baron Ika of the Treebreaker Tribe, and someone searching for “erotic art inspired by the dungeons & dragons monster manual” found a scan from the 3.5 Monster Manual which I once uploaded but never used.

Hits from unusual search terms like those listed above tend to be rare. Most people find Comma, Blank_ by searching for much more mundane terms: dungeon door, elf archer, orc ranger, etc. One unusual term, however, is actually quite common. In fact, it is the number one search term which leads people to visit this site: “Succubi in Succubus town.”

The page these folks are finding, of course, is my post from early December entitled “Succubi Deserve More,” which I think is among some of my better work. I’m only too happy that people are finding it. But I can’t help but wonder why in the world so many people are searching for this term in the first place. I tried searching it myself, and can find no reference to any kind of succubus town whatsoever. Mostly it’s just novels by a woman named Nina Harper. I would think that, given the frequency with which the term is searched for, that it was an actual reference to something which could be found online. But no such luck.

In discussing this oddity with some of my friends, we got to joking about what a succubus town might look like. Which is when it hit upon me that I should actually start taking notes on our conversation, because writing a post about a town populated entirely by succubi sounds awesome.

The City of Al Uzzara
Colloquially known as “Succubus Town,” or just “Sex City,” Al Uzzara is an opulent metropolis located on the 570th layer of the Abyss; Malcanthet’s Domain. Unlike many parts of the abyss it is generally considered a pleasant place to visit. The entire permanent population of Al Uzzara are succubi and incubi, and within the city limits these otherwise evil creatures seem intent on nothing but making their guests comfortable and happy during their stay.

Unfortunately, no one is able to truthfully explain precisely how their stay was made pleasant. A permanent and powerful enchantment on the city of Al Uzzara causes any non-succubus who visits to completely forget anything which happened there within an hour of their departure. All they are left with is a vague sensation of how they felt about their stay.

Atmosphere
On the surface, Al Uzzara is a place where any being can satisfy their carnal urges easily and cheaply. Every inn doubles as a brothel, and every eating establishment is accompanied by a burlesque show. Demons are the city’s most common patrons, but beings of many cultures which view planar travel as commonplace visit Al Uzzara frequently. Even humanoids are a common enough sight here, though few creatures of a goodly alignment ever willingly travel to the abyss.

The succubic residents of Al Uzzara happily alter their mannerisms, their forms, even their gender, so as to appeal to the aesthetic sensibilities of their visitors. And succubi are very good at determining a creature’s innermost desires. The guile and trickery which is known throughout the multiverse to be synonymous with succubi seems conspicuously absent here. Most who venture here become overwhelmed by the decadent possibilities to dwell on that curiosity. Those few who do look beyond the surface of Al Uzzara quickly find the natives to be much less friendly. If they are unlucky enough to actually discover anything, they may never return from the city of sex.

In truth, the city is, literally, a breeding ground of demonic soldiers and slaves. The succubi of Al Uzzara entice their male visitors to engage in as much debauched sex as possible, allowing the succubi to give birth to demon spawn which may then be sold as troops for the generals of the blood war, or as slaves to anyone who desires them. Female visitors are likewise encouraged to entertain their wildest desires, only to then be drugged, and have their gestation periods magically accelerated. When they awake they will never know what evil’s they’ve helped bring into existence.

Layout
Al Uzzara is a walled city, with many high towers and sky bridges overlooking the beautiful, but deadly, gardens of the 570th layer of the abyss. It is divided into a number of districts designed to appeal to a variety of archetypical sexual predilections. There are posh pleasure palaces, and lascivious libraries. A district of seedy back alley debauchery, and one of not-so-chaste religious figures–though none of the churches here are consecrated of course. There are even areas of the city for those who like to dominate, or be dominated by others. The city’s main roads are designed to allow visitors to travel directly to an area which suits their desires, without passing into an area they may not want to visit.

The Nexus: All throughout Al Uzzara are hidden doors. Every bedchamber, every harem, every place where a visitor might think themselves alone (save their companionship) is accessible from the nexus. It is a circular stone chamber, buried deep beneath the deepest basements of the city above. Seven ascending ramps spiral outward from the bottom of the chamber. Every few feet along the wall of the chamber is a portal, showing a view of the chamber it leads to. Walking through the portal causes one to appear in some innocuous place out of sight of the room’s occupants. The Nexus is used both to carry female guests to the birthing chamber, and to secretly switch out a male guest’s companions, so that his previous companions may visit the birthing chamber.

The Birthing Chamber: A short hallway at the bottom of the Nexus leads to the Birthing Chamber. Succubi, inherently capable of controlling their own reproductive process, visit here only to drop off their spawn in cages to be sold later. For the non-succubi who are brought here, there are a rows of comfortable couches attended by succubi particularly adept in sorcerous magics. They accelerate the gestation periods of these females, dull their pain and heal any damage caused by the birthing, then call on others to carry them back through the nexus while their young are prepared for sale.

The Horns: The horns are the two tallest buildings in Al Uzzara. They are conically shaped–wide at the base, and rising to a point at the top. This is the only visible portion of the city which visitors are not allowed to access, and in fact, it can only be accessed by one with the ability to fly. The right tower is the seat of the city’s government. Malcanthet reigns supreme over Al Uzzara, as she does over the entire 570th layer, but she rarely visits this city. The rule of Al Uzzara is largely left to a council of 30 succubi, whose primary concerns are drawing willing victims to the city, and bartering deals with those who wish to purchase the slaves the city produces. The left tower is home to the city’s enforcers, collectively known as biters. Violence and conflict are rare in Al Uzzara, and when they occur there is normally a succubus on hand who can easily handle the situation themselves. The biters primarily concern themselves with watching for any who have remained in the city too long, or who seem to be paying too much attention to how the city is run.

Magical Marvels 3: Wallcraft's Offerings

This week’s artifact duom spear, also from my Ascendant Crusade campaign, is again illustrated by my ladyfriend. You should check out more of her art on her DeviantArt page.

Wallcraft’s Offerings
Artifact Duom Spear

DUOM SPEAR

The Duom spear, introduced in the Dungeons and Dragons 3.0 supplement Arms and Equipment Guide is a longspear with a standard spearhead, as well as two blades curved so that they point backward along the shaft. The weapon has reach, allowing you to strike opponents 10 feet away with it. Those proficient with the duom can also attack adjacent foes with the reversed heads using a practiced “reverse thrust.” Apply a -2 penalty on the attack roll if you use the duom to attack a second, adjacent opponent in the same round you attacked the first opponent. Duom spears cost about 20gp, deal 1d8 damage for medium creatures, with a critical multiplier of 3 on a natural twenty. They weigh 8 pounds on average, and deal piercing damage.

PHYSICAL ATTACKS

(Main Blade)1d8 + 5 (Piercing)(20/x3)(10ft.)
(Reverse Blades) 1d8 + 5 (Piercing)(20/x3)(5ft.)
(Shaft) 1d6 + 5 (Bludgeoning)(20/x2)(5ft.)

SPELLS GRANTED

At Will- Unhallow, cast by thrusting Wallcraft’s Offering into the ground for two minutes. (Pathfinder Core Rulebook Pg. 363)

At Will – Animate Dead, cast by letting the droplets of blood from Wallcraft’s Offering fall onto a viable corpse for 1 full round. (PFCR Pg. 241)

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Though Duoms are not made for throwing, Wallcraft’s Offerings magically gives it a throwing range increment of 20ft.
At will it can be summoned to its owners hands.
At will, the blood dripping from The Blind Empress’ hand can create a cloud of red mist around the spear’s blade, granting a +5 to bluff checks when attempting to feint.
Once per day, The Blind Empress’ discarded eye can guide the spear in magical flight. A target who is within the sight of the thrower must be selected, and the thrower must speak the command word “May Vecna make my aim true!” Wallcraft’s Offering then flies through the air at a speed of 120ft per round, following the target even around corners, and up to one mile distant from the thrower. After either hitting or missing the target, or reaching 1 mile of distance, Wallcraft’s Offering is magically summoned back to the thrower’s hands.
Wallcraft’s Offering grants the wielder a +10 on Spellcraft, Knowledge(Arcana), and knowledge (Religion) checks.
When attempting to recruit followers of Vecna, the wielder is granted +5 to their leadership score. All normal leadership restrictions apply.
The character wielding Wallcraft’s Offering is treated as one level higher for the purposes of determining how many undead they can control.
Wallcraft’s Offering can be used as a holy symbol by followers of Vecna.
Wallcraft’s Offering radiates a strong aura of Necromancy and Evil.

APPEARANCE

The blade’s shaft is made of a polished bronze, which is perfectly smooth, yet does not slide in the hand when gripped. The shaft ends in an expertly crafted bronze skull, from which springs the the adamantium spear blade. A pair of imp’s wings, torn from the back of one of the foul creatures, have been magically turned to iron and shaped into the duom’s reverse blades. The Whispered Queen’s eye, plucked from her own head, is mounted between the two wings. Likewise her hand, cut from her own arm, clutches the duom’s shaft just below the spear blade. Though it has been severed for years, it still bleeds profusely. Any blood which falls from it, however, disappears shortly after it touches the ground.

HISTORY

Not much is known about the early life of the woman for whom this weapon was named. She was always shrouded in mystery, and what was known of her has now been lost to the mists of time. What people do know are the titles she earned for herself. Vecna’s Heartfelt Voice, The Blind Empress, the Whispered Queen, Lady of the Ascent–Warmisstress Wallcraft. From her granite throne at center of the Citadel of the Seed, she ruled over the known world with an iron fist for a thousand years. Though it has been centuries since the end of her rule, there are few more terrifying figures in history than she. Perhaps even more so, now that she sits at the right hand of the god she served so well.

It is said that the Whispered Queen was chosen at a young age by Vecna himself. That he groomed her, and guided her to usurp the leadership of his religion from her long forgotten predecessor. That when she stood over the bloody corpse, she turned the knife on herself, and cut out her eyes and her left hand in honor of her god.

The followers of Vecna–those few who still remain–know the story to be a little less dramatic. The Whispered Queen did usurp leadership of the Cult of Vecna from the former leader, and in doing so, obtained both The Hand and The Eye. The removal of her own hand and eye were a gesture of faith, yes, but it was also necessary for her to affix the powerful artifacts to her own body. And she only removed one eye, as the other had been lost during her youth. But even the faithful do not know that tale.

After gaining control the Cult of Vecna, The Whispered Queen took her severed hand and eye, and forged them into one of the most magnificent weapons the world has ever seen. Working with her companions, including master tactician Kisteer Forktongue, The Whispered Queen systematically conquered kingdom after kingdom with ruthless efficiency. Often neighboring nations were completely unaware that their ally had been conquered until the forces of Vecna were on their own doorstep. The world fell before her might, and her empire lasted a thousand years.

But all empires must fall. The Whispered Queen finally met her end at the hands of upstart peasants, and Wallcraft’s Offering was seemingly lost to the ages.

What is not commonly known is that one of the peasants who defeated the Whispered Queen, a paladin named Toryan, tried to destroy the vile weapon, but could not. No fire would smelt it, no axe would sunder it, no hammer could even dull its razor edge. At a loss for options, she gathered together three dozen other paladins from her order, and they traveled deep into the wilderness. When they reached a suitable place, they all dug together for nine days, and placed the spear in a sealed adamantium box, upon which they placed powerful wards against evil and divination–hoping to keep its location hidden from the god of secrets himself.

The 37 paladins then buried the box again, and vowed to dedicate their lives to its protection. They settled there, and built a small farming community on the ground above their ward. Generations have passed, and the community has grown to a small town of 300 people. Most know nothing of their town’s founders, or of their town’s sacred purpose. They are no longer even deep in the wilderness: civilization has spread out around them, and there are several other communities nearby. Only the twelve town elders, and the town’s High Cleric know of the secret beneath the earth, and even they know only that a great evil rests there which must be protected.

But centuries have passed, and the magical protections have begun to weaken…

A Personal History of Role Playing

When I was young, I liked to play pretend. When we’re young, we all do. I played “Star Wars” a lot, putting myself into the role of Luke Skywalker, waving sticks around and making “vroosh!” noises with my mouth. As I got a little older, and my friends started to be more interested in bicycles and video games, I continued to enjoy playing pretend. Which isn’t to say I didn’t love video games or bicycles. I distinctly remember being a member of a “biker gang” which wasn’t allowed to cross any streets, so we just rode around the block over and over. But while my friends stopped playing pretend, my fantasies only became more elaborate. I even started making up my own characters, drawing pictures of them, and writing notes about their various abilities and weapons. Looking back on it, these pieces of paper were proto-character sheets.

I owe it to Bill Amend, the brilliant cartoonist behind the long-running syndicated comic strip Fox Trot, for first introducing me to the concept of tabletop role playing games. You see, one of my other passions as a young child was reading the comic strips in the daily newspaper. Even after my family stopped having the paper delivered, because my parents didn’t have time to read it, I convinced my grandmother to save the comic page for me. I even kept all of the comic pages in a box under my bed. If you’re not familiar with Fox Trot, one of the primary characters is ten year old Jason Fox, a geeky kid who excels academically, and is passionate about many “nerdy” pursuits. I can’t recall precisely when, but at some point during my childhood the strip featured Jason and his friend Marcus playing Dungeons and Dragons. The game wasn’t mentioned by name, but the core elements were all on display: a dungeon master’s screen, dice, and the DM weaving a world for the player’s character to explore.

The notion intrigued me. I was too young then to remember what precisely went through my mind, but I knew that whatever they were doing looked fun, and I wanted to play too. I constructed a GM screen out of black construction paper, and glued little pieces of note paper to the inside of it. On the note paper, I wrote the rules I had made up for the game. I also recall creating small tokens–doodles on pieces of paper–to represent adventurers and monsters. I also had a bowl with numbered scraps of paper to take the place of the dice. My parents warned me that the game I was emulating was an evil one–which would prove to be a major point of contention later in my life. But, to their credit, they didn’t go so far as to forcibly stop me from pursuing the project. I spent at least a few days working on my primitive version of D&D, but never really figured out how to make all the elements come together into a cohesive game. Nor could I convince any of my siblings to play with me. Eventually I gave up and largely forgot about the project, as kids are apt to do.

Eventually I joined my friends in growing out of playing pretend–though I never did stop quietly imagining myself to be someone else. That’s something I still do to this day. But so far as role playing is concerned, I didn’t take my next step until I was about 14 years old. That’s when my family finally got an Internet connection, and an entire world outside of my orthodox catholic homeschooler existence opened up. Writing about my history with the Internet and the impact it had on my life could be a whole other post altogether. But what’s important is that it didn’t take long for me to break my parents rule about never talking to other people on the Internet. In short order I found forums, and on forums, I found people role playing.

It was awful. The role plays I participated in those days were all themed around the Legend of Zelda mythos, yet most of the players were playing Final Fantasy characters. Not ripoffs mind you, characters like Auron, Sephiroth, and Red XIII were (for some reason) determined to save Hyrule. I hesitate to even mention the character I played, because I don’t think anyone directly involved remembers, but my character was actually named “Link Skywalker.” He traveled through dimensions living through other people’s lives. After living through someone’s life, he had all of their abilities and equipment. I honestly cannot tell you how tempted I am to simply edit this paragraph out and let my readers go on blissfully unaware of how shamefully bad my early role playing was.

It was around this same time that I joined a saber fencing class, which may seem irrelevant. However, this is the class where I first met Jeremy. He was quite a bit older than me, and in the advanced class, but we connected over our shared nerdiness. It wasn’t long before we spent more time talking than we did fencing, and I eventually learned that he played Dungeons and Dragons. I had always been interested in D&D, since I realized it was what Jason and Marcus had been playing in that old Fox Trot comic. However, my parents had made it very clear to me that such games were strictly forbidden–not just by them, but by “almighty god.” I wasn’t really convinced that D&D was evil, but at that time I was scared enough of my parents that I didn’t pursue the topic further.

My forum role playing continued for several years, and the quality of it improved a great deal. I abandoned my original character almost immediately in favor of one I dubbed Beloch Shrike (partially after the villain from Raiders of the Lost Arc, and partially after the villain from The Paradise Snare by A.C. Crispin.) The rest of the group similarly matured, and we experimented with a lot of different things. Some of the most important friendships of my life were formed during these early role playing experiences. Eventually, I even attempted to start a website, titled Epic Journeys, which would serve as a nexus of tools, information, and guides to help people facilitate running their own forum role plays. The project never really got off the ground, though I did actually manage to accomplish one thing. As part of the project, I coined the term “Online Text Based Role Playing Game,” or “OTBRPG,” and added it to Wikipedia (not then fully aware that this was a serious violation of Wikipedia’s rules.) Not only was the article never removed, but I have since actually met people who use the term without knowing I invented it. Seriously, google it. The phrase has entered somewhat common usage. This never ceases to crack me up, but I digress.

Everything changed for me, quite suddenly, in the last half of 2004. I was seventeen, still heavily involved in forum role playing, and starting to develop a taste for philosophy. My continued interest in Dungeons and Dragons led me to begin looking through the Catechism of the Catholic Church (big book o’ rules) looking for any mention of role playing or D&D. After finding none, I went online and found a forum dedicated to Catholics discussing their faith. I asked them what they thought about D&D being evil, and if you want to see something hilarious, the entire thread is still online and available to read. (Though apparently it now shows up as an unsafe link in most browsers. As best I can tell it is still safe to visit.) Most of the answers from other posters seemed to agree that there was nothing inherently wrong with D&D, so I printed the thread out and proudly presented it to my parents. After reading the printout, however, they summarily denied my request to be allowed to play the game. My parents were pretty terrifying people, and I grudgingly obeyed them.

Two months later, in September, I met Stephanie, and the changes in my life accelerated. We had a lot in common, including a shared interest in Dungeons and Dragons. At that time I had still never played, and she had played only once or twice. I won’t go into the details of our relationship, as is still somewhat painful, and certainly outside this blog’s subject matter. Suffice to say that I was head over heels. By November we were dating, and the relationship lasted for six years. In those early days of our relationship, I did a lot of things in order to spend more time with her. I bought a copy of Starcraft so we could have Battle.net dates. And, more relevantly, I took my fencing buddy Jeremy up on his standing offer to borrow his copy of the Dungeons and Dragons third edition core rulebooks. I hid them under some papers in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. Most kids are probably hiding weed, booze, porn and sex from their parents when they’re 17. I was hiding role playing sourcebooks. Some might see it as sad, but I’m actually rather proud of that.

The first little bit of D&D I ever played was with Stephanie. It was bad. I GMed a really short adventure for her where she fought a mummy. I didn’t understand any of the rules, and I was throwing stats around left and right without any idea what they meant. Fortunately, my parents and the rest of my family were out of town the following week, so Jeremy came over to give me a proper introduction to the game. Again: most kids throw drinking parties when they’re seventeen and their parents are out of town. I threw an adventuring party, and I’m proud of that. When Jeremy arrived he brought a gift with him: my own set of dice. They were a deep red with blue flecks, and they came in a plastic cylinder. He also brought with him his brand-new 3.5 edition core rulebooks, helped me roll up my very first rogue, and ran me through a simple Colosseum adventure where I fought some green needle monster things. It was glorious.

I continued in that way for quite some time. I purchased my own copies of the 3.5 rulebooks, and Jeremy would GM for me at his home. His ladyfriend, Jacie, eventually joined me as a gnomish cleric, and the two of us had many fine adventures together. I don’t remember how long it took for my parents to find out, likely just a few months if I remember correctly. I had just returned from a game at Jeremy’s, and went to find them to let them know I was home, my laptop bag filled with D&D supplies still in hand. They looked at me funny, and asked what I did when I was over at Jeremy’s. I tried to be nonchalant, and told them that we mostly just played games. They responded;

“Do you play Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Yes,” I said.

They didn’t really react much at all to that. Merely nodded and seemed to accept that this was a thing I was doing now. I never have been able to tell what things will make my parents angry and what things they can accept. For awhile I thought that, perhaps, they had mellowed out a bit, and become more accepting. That notion was proven wrong recently, when I asked them if I could buy my younger brother the Pathfinder Beginner Box for Christmas. They denied my request, adding that they didn’t like what “those types of games” had already done to one of their children. Cest’la vie.

Never the less, I took my books out from the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, and placed them lovingly on one of my bookshelves.

Jeremy and I continued to play together, and I tried my hand at GMing several times. I’ve always loved crafting worlds. In fact, as a young child I used to spend a lot of time drawing complex maps for a monster-filled series of caverns.* I was born to be a GM, but running games for one person can be a limiting experience. I needed a larger group, but I had been home schooled since the fourth grade, and didn’t really have the social tools to make friends. At least, that is, until I enrolled in college for the Fall 2005 semester. College is supposedly an eye opening experience even for kids who attended an actual school, so you can imagine what a change it was for me. I met so many wonderful people there, including Chris and Jeremy. They were my first gaming group. I was so happy to finally have one that I actually purchased Player’s Handbooks for both of them. We had some great games together, and they even invited some of their own friends along, giving me a nice full party to work with.

To repeat an old cliche, the rest is history. Gaming groups have come and gone, and there have often been weeks or months at a time when I don’t get to play, but my love for the game always remains. It’s been over seven years since I picked up my first sourcebook–which seems like such a short amount of time compared to the lifetime I feel I’ve lived as a gamer. Jeremy plays in most of my games, and still serves as my GM whenever we play Zalekios. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that there will always be people out there who want to play games. All they need is someone to suggest it, and be willing to show them how it’s done.

*Holy shit. I can’t believe I never thought of using these old drawings as a dungeon for my players before. I know exactly where they are.

Monstrous Culture

Culture is important. No matter how much of an individual we think we are, each and every one of us is shaped by our culture in profound ways which we aren’t even aware of. For example, those of us who pride ourselves on individualism? We probably come from cultures, like the U.S., which emphasize individualism as a positive trait. Given all the fundamental ways in which our culture shapes us, it should be obvious that understanding a person’s culture is an essential element in understanding their outlook. Where am I going with this?

The cultures of the most basic, most iconic monstrous races in fantasy adventure games are all shit. And it ought to change, because I’m tired of ostensibly different creatures being functionally identical. Take, for example, four of the paragon monstrous races which have been harassing adventurers since first edition D&D: Orcs, Goblins, Kobolds, and Gnolls. Below, I’ve reduced the small amounts of cultural information for each of those races, taken from the Pathfinder Bestiary, to bullet points. If you’d like to check my work, these monsters can be found on pages 155, 156, 183, and 222.

Orcs…
Are violent and aggressive.
Are led by whoever is strongest.
Take what they want by force.
Don’t have regard for the lives of others.
Are not good at farming or herding.
Prefer to take things from others rather than earn those things for themselves.
Their largest group is a “band.”

Goblins…
Are filled with hatred.
Live in dark places and caves.
Are superstitious.
Scavenge items from the more civilized races rather than producing anything for themselves.
Are universally illiterate.
Their larges group is a “tribe.”

Kobolds…
Live in caves and other dark places.
Are overly proud of their distant relationship to dragons.
Are cowardly.
Are schemers.
Prefer to attack in large groups.
Their largest group is a “tribe.”

Gnolls…
Prefer to scavange or steal kills, rather than hunt themselves.
View non-Gnolls as either meat, or slaves.
Enjoy fighting, but only if they have an overwhelming advantage.
See no value in courage or valor.
Their largest group is a “tribe.”

Based on those elements, how different are those four really? Is a goblin’s rage significantly different from the violence and aggressiveness of orcs? Why do Orcs, Goblins, and Gnolls all universally prefer to take rather than to make? The similarities become even more obvious if you expand the cultural definitions beyond what is found in the scant few lines offered in the bestiary. Ask any gamer to give you the primary characteristic of goblins, and I’ll bet you a shiny new platinum piece that they’ll say “cowardice” nine times out of ten. That makes three out of four monstrous races which, despite supposedly being threatening, are culturally defined by their cowardice.

Most people who play tabletop games are familiar with the phrase “humans in funny hats.” A human in a funny hat is a non-human character who is played without regard for race defining characteristics. Such as a dwarf who doesn’t care for gold, or ale, or stonework, and prefers to live above ground. Such characters are, essentially, being played as humans. They’re merely wearing the skin, or the ‘hat,’ of another race.

Here I think we’re dealing with a similar problem. Out of four monsters, most of their cultural traits overlap with each other. The problem only becomes more pronounced if you begin to add more creatures, such as lizardfolk or bugbears. In the end there really seems to be only one or two different types of monster cultures in play, reiterated through lizard people, dog people, dragon people, green people, small green people, and so on. A GM who wants his players to face a large force of angry, marauding creatures without regard for human life could sub in any one of these races without needing to alter how his or her campaign is constructed at all.

I’d like to try to develop legitimately distinct cultures for each of the monstrous races in my campaigns, starting with these four.

Orcs
I’m rather fond of the “noble savage” version of orcs put forth in the Warcraft games. I’m not sure where this depiction of orcs originates, but I think it has merit. A race which is warlike and brutal, but which also holds honor above all other concerns. Of course, different Orcish subcultures define honor on their own terms. For some it might mean victory in fair combat, for others it might simply mean the number of notches on a warrior’s axe.

Given their warlike nature, I would think that Orcs are carnivorous rather than omnivorous. They are master hunters, and the hunt is a central theme in their culture. Orcs often attack other orcs, or other races, on sight. Orcs who have not spent a great deal of time amongst other races will not understand that non-orcs do not view fighting and death to be desirable.

Given their constant warring, both with themselves and with other races, most Orcish tribes lag far behind other species technologically.

Goblins
Of all the monstrous races, I think goblins are most fit to keep most of the traditional monster culture. They are a weak and cowardly tribal people, who feel anger and rage more strongly than any of their other emotions. Since they rely on each other for self preservation, they turn their anger outward, towards other races. Though plenty of goblin squabbles still turn deadly.

They are a sadistic lot, and enjoy taking out their anger and their hate on those who can’t properly defend themselves; be it small animals, commoners, or adventurers unprepared for the sheer number of goblins they faced.

Goblins are also stupid and superstitious, often attributing magical or divine properties to the mundane. And lastly, goblins are scavengers. They live in caves or in abandoned structures, and like to collect items stolen from other races.

Kobolds
I went over some of my thoughts on Kobolds in my recent Magical Marvels post. I view them as a humble people, who look to dragons as their great rulers or heroes. They recognize that they are weak, and do not seek to prove themselves in combat against other groups or races. Their unassuming nature has made them the doormats of the world, which has prevented them from becoming as technologically advanced as the other races. And since most kobolds prefer to spend their entire lives living with their tribe, few kobolds go out into the world to bring knowledge back to their people.

Their lack of advancement is a shame, because despite their humble nature, kobolds are remarkably clever. The very few who do manage to summon the courage to leave their people, and then are lucky enough to encounter kindly and learned fellows, have proven to be quick learners. More than one great general throughout history has kept a kobold adviser. Many great researchers and wizards have also had kobold assistants. In candid moments, those generals, researchers, and wizards might even admit that some of their great accomplishments were really the work of their kobold associate.

Gnolls
Gnolls are, essentially, 9ft tall intelligent Hyenas. So we just need to scroll down to the behavior section of the wikipedia page and…well some of the basic traits I outlined above actually work pretty well. Gnolls are scavengers and kill stealers. However, they are anything but cowardly as fighters. They fight ferociously, and without mercy. Their greater size compared to other humanoids instills them with great confidence in combat–but they are not above flight if they feel they are outmatched. As noted above, Gnolls do not hold valor as a virtue.

Gnolls are relatively smart, but simple and lazy. They do what they need to do to fill their needs: eating, sleeping, and reproducing. Once they’ve got those things taken care of, they don’t care much for anything else.

NOTE: It occurs to me, having written this, that Paizo has released both a “Goblins of Golarion,” and an “Orcs of Golarion” supplement. It is possible that these concerns are partially addressed in those booklettes. I think the larger issue remains valid, though.