Deities Defined

After 100+ posts, it’s a little hard to remember what I’ve revealed about myself and what I haven’t. So I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but I majored in philosophy in college. Cue all the “blah blah, useless degree, blah blah, enjoy delivering pizzas” nonsense. During my study of philosophy, I often tried to suss out what precisely philosophers do. Which isn’t to say I didn’t know, insofar as an undergrad ever knows anything about their field. But I didn’t have a definition on hand, no sentence-or-two which summed up the task which I was planning to dedicate my life to. I did have a joke answer; “We take things which are simple, make them sound complicated, then con universities into giving us tenure for it.” I’ve found that most people in “useless” majors come up with jokes like that as a means of fending off dickheads who like to question the life decisions of people they don’t know.

I don’t know that the answer I eventually came to would be satisfactory to other philosophers–if I can even call myself that, being a dropout. To me, philosophy is the application logic as a means of attempting to learn the rules of, and to define, that which is considered undefinable, and beyond logical governance. (Kinda recursive if you think about it). Such illogical, undefinable things might include ethics, the fundamental answer to ‘why,’ or even conceptualizations of divinity. And thus do we come to tonight’s subject matter.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the study of philosophy as a primary pursuit in my life. But that desire to define is still strong for me. So what if I’ve given up the quest to define the concept of divinity? I’m an atheist anyway! And it’s way more fun to codify divinity within Pathfinder. I actually started this project many years ago. Shortly after I got the D&D 3.0 supplement “Deities and Demigods,” I became fascinated with the concept of “divine ranks.” I can’t imagine myself letting my players be gods, even demigods. I doubt I would ever encourage them to fight a god, either. But I still like the idea of codifying what gods are and how much power they have. If, for no other reason, than because it places limits on what gods can do for their followers. So after a friend on Twitter reminded me that I had started this project years ago, it occurred to me that finishing it would make an excellent post!

Logos
The only truly almighty being, Logos is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. The power of the Logos is so far beyond understanding that even the mightiest of gods are powerless before it. However, Logos is also non-sentient. It is a vague force which controls the universe according to a logic which no one can possibly comprehend. Perhaps the simplest way to explain Logos is that if the laws of thermodynamics, motion, and conservation of mass are the laws of physics, then Logos is the laws of metaphysics. It is said that the multiverse itself is the mind of logos, and that every event, every insect, every human, dwarf, elf, or god, are all simply the machinations of the Logos’ mind. But this is widely viewed as conjecture.

Knowledge of Logos is reserved largely for those powerful enough to see its subtle workings, which leaves very few besides the gods themselves. Only once has a mortal creature learned anything of Logos. A wizard, whose name and race have long been lost, once learned a single word in the ineffable language of the Logos. The wizard spoke the word, and was so completely obliterated that his soul ceased to exist, and even those who had known him forgot him completely. And through his erasure, the Illumian people were created.

Divine Power
Deific power is gauged by “Divine Ranks.” These ranks define a deities power in a manner similar to a character’s levels, but are functionally quite different. It is a closely guarded secret of the gods that their power is drawn from their mortal worshipers. The greater the number of worshipers, and the greater the power of those worshipers, the greater the god’s own power will be. And while the numbers of mortals are ever-growing, adding more and more potential power for the deities to absorb, the pool of available power between all of the gods is functionally finite. Often, in order for one god to increase their divine rank, another god must lose their own. One might think that a god could simply create more and more worlds, and fill them with worshipers. And, indeed, a god called Hewavaj’Hove did precisely that once. For one brief moment He reigned supreme amongst the gods. Then he was completely obliterated in a fashion which the other gods describe as “painful in a way only a god could experience.” The gods have determined that it is Logos who destroyed their momentary overlord, but have not yet determined which crime was deemed worthy of such a horrible execution.

All gods of divine rank 1 or higher have the following abilities and attributes, both in their primary form, and when represented through avatars:

Has access to all clerical spells which would normally be available to that deities’ alignment/domains as at-will powers.
Can control weather, landscape, and other physical phenomena within 100 miles of current location for each divine rank. (10 miles/divine rank when represented through an avatar.)
Ability to appear in whatever form the deity desires, or to create avatars in whatever form desired.
Immortal.
Unable to be harmed, save by items which are extremely powerful. Save for a god’s own weapons, anything which could harm a god is likely unique to the god, and a carefully guarded secret.
A deity is completely immune to any form of Transmutation, Energy Drain, Ability Drain, Ability Damage, or Mind-Affecting Effect.
A deity may, at any time, be aware of everything (including thoughts) which exists within 1 mile of any of its worshipers, holy sites, or other objects or locations sacred to that deity. A deity may also attempt to block the senses of another deity within this range. More information on deity conflict below.
Any deity may create a demi-plane. These planes are typically rather small, and can serve as private retreats for the deity.
A deity may travel the multiverse as easily as a mortal might walk to the shop down the street.

Any additional power is determined by the divine rank of the god in question.

The divine ranks, as presented here, are infinitely scalable. Each element progresses in a predictable pattern (A deity gains a minor portfolio every rank, gains a domain every two ranks, and so forth.) For my purposes, a maximum divine rank of 10 is plenty.

Divine Details
On the chart above I list five types of powers which progressively grow more powerful as a deity gains divine rank. Domains, Major & Minor Portfolios, Absolute Portfolios, and Avatars.

Domains Any D&D or Pathfinder player should already be aware of what a Domain is, and how it works. When a cleric selects their deity, they choose two of that deity’s domains. These domains represent core values, and sources of power for the deity and their followers. Depending on which domains are chosen, clerics gain access to different spells, and may focus on different aspects of their deity’s teachings. Note that deities below rank two have no domains. This is because they do not yet have sufficient divine rank to grant spells to their followers. They may still have clerics devoted to them, but these clerics draw their power from other sources.

Major & Minor Portfolios A deity’s portfolio is what they are the god “of.” For example, my favorite god, Vecna, might have in his portfolio; Knowledge, Secrets, Magic, and Undeath. Any special powers Vecna has would be derived from these portfolios, and he would certainly have a certain amount of control over items in his portfolio. The difference between Major & Minor portfolios is one of scope, rather than power. (In fact, perhaps “Narrow & Broad” would be better, but we’ll stick with what I have in the image above for now).

A major portfolio is something broad. For example, “Magic,” “Insects,” or “Knowledge.” Whilst a minor portfolio is something more specific, like “Transmutation,” “Beetles,” or “Secrets.” The line which separates major and minor portfolio items can be vague. However, without listing ever possible portfolio item, it must be left to good judgement to determine whether a portfolio item is major, or minor.

Major and minor portfolios may conflict with each other, if the minor portfolio fits within the major portfolio. For example, if a god of magic attempts to exercise their power over transmutation spells, a god of transmutation spells may resist the god of magic with a +2 bonus to their deity check. Likewise, if the god of magic is attempting to affect a conjuration spell, the god of transmutation may still attempt to resist the will of the god of magic, but takes a -4 penalty on their deity check. More information on deity checks is below.

Absolute Portfolio Drawn from the same lists as minor portfolios, an absolute portfolio is a realm over which a deity is considered to have absolute dominion. A deity with secrets in its Absolute Portfolio may have greater control over that realm than a deity who has secrets as a minor portfolio. For example, while a “Secrets: Minor” god may be able to learn any secret which they desire, a “Secrets: Absolute” god might already know every secret, even to the point of learning of new secrets as they are created.

Minor and Major portfolios may still conflict with Absolute portfolios. However, an Absolute portfolio is treated as having a +20 to its deity check, along with any bonuses or penalties a minor portfolio would receive in a given situation, as described above. If, perchance, two Absolute portfolios ever come into conflict, then the loser of the check has their Absolute portfolio permanently transformed into a minor portfolio. A “Supreme” portfolio may exist, which would be similar to an Absolute portfolio, but would apply to Major portfolios rather than minor ones. However, this is a level of power which I don’t want within my games.

Avatars Being within the presence of a god, even a minor one, would be enough to drive lesser mortals mad. Besides–gods do not leave their realms lightly. To remedy these problems, gods may create an avatar. Avatars are small fragments of a god, which operate completely independently. Given the tremendous willpower of a god, they may give their full attention to all of their avatars simultaneously, without suffering from any distraction or deterioration of abilities. In this way, gods may be in two or more places at once.

Special Aside from the powers listed on the chart above, which grow more powerful as a god gains more and more divine ranks, there are a number of powers which gods attain as they rise through the ranks. Once a power is attained, the god retains the ability to use this power for as long as they remain at or above the divine rank at which the power is acquired. These powers do not become greater as deity gains more divine ranks.

Any deity of Divine Rank 2 or greater can create any type of creature they desire, but these creatures cannot breed, or be replicated in any quantity sufficient to begin a new species. Such creatures are sustained by the deity, and will be destroyed if the deity loses their divine ranking.
Any deity of Divine Rank 4 or greater can create new species of animals, or other unintelligent creatures. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
Any deity of Divine Rank 6 or greater can create any type of new creature species they desire. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
Any deity of Divine Rank 8 or greater can create new worlds, or layers to an existing plane.
Any deity of Divine Rank 10 or greater may create new major planes.

Divine Conflict When deities engage in a battle for divine control, a deity check is used to determine the outcome. This is a very simple check: 1D20 + Divine Rank. Note that a deity check is not used any time deities combat one another, but only when two deities attempt to use their same divine powers affect the same thing in different ways. If, for example, one deity wanted it to rain on the city of Niston, and one wanted the city of Niston to enjoy a bright sunny day, the two deities would make a deity check to determine what kind of weather Niston will see that day.

Divine Rank 0
Divine Rank 0 is special. A new deity typically starts at Divine Rank 1, as a demi-god. Rank 0 is reserved for those gods who have failed to retain enough followers to maintain their divinity. A god at 0 has been forgotten. Perhaps their followers were slaughtered, perhaps the god was simply lazy and did not bother to answer any prayers. A few faithful may remain, but even mortals are sometimes worshiped by a paltry few thousand. That does not make them gods.

An entity at divine rank 0 is in danger of losing their place among the gods forever. They are reduced To but a handful of divine abilities. They cannot be harmed, maintain their immunities, can travel the multiverse, and are able to cast divine spells matching their alignment as a 20th level cleric would. The entity is given one thousand years to regain enough followers to become a Demi-God. If they fail to complete this task, the entity fades away forever.

What precisely happens to these forgotten gods is not known. Given that they are forgotten, documentation on their activities is understandably lacking. A few gods claim that their most powerful angels were once forgotten gods. Some adventurers have discovered intelligent items which have claimed to be the remnants of a forgotten god. And then, of course, there is the rare individual who shouts at his fellow tavern patrons “I was a god once, you know!”

Of course, this might simply be cases of bragging gods, self-important intelligent items, and crazy drunks. There is no way to be certain.

Vecna Reborn

I recently read the 2nd edition AD&D module Vecna Reborn, written by Monte Cook during the end-days of TSR. Long-time Comma, Blank_ readers may recall that one of my earliest posts detailed my thoughts on another AD&D module themed around my favorite villain: Vecna Lives!. Vecna Reborn is a kind of loose sequel to Vecna Lives!, insofar as it doesn’t contradict its predecessor. There’s little continuity between the two, aside from the appearance of Citadel Cavitius, and Vecna himself. But, given that the last adventure ended with Vecna being pushed through a portal into another world–which turns out to be Ravenloft–it’s understandable that there’s not much to connect this to the previous quest. There is a third module which I haven’t read yet, entitled Die Vecna, Die!, which ties these two together. I very much look forward to reading it, but that’s for another day.

Vecna Reborn is only about half the length of Vecna Lives!, at 63 pages. But that’s still twice the length of a standard adventure module, so there’s no lack of peril to explore. And the adventure is exciting! I was so engaged I actually put down the novel I’ve been reading for a week. And, as with any well written module, there’s a lot to be learned about game mastery by dissecting the author’s work. The author of an adventure module, after all, essentially a professional game master. Who better to try and learn from? Take what works about the adventure, figure out how it was accomplished, and steal it.

The most memorable element of this adventure is the constant sense that the PCs are in danger. And not just from wandering monsters and surprise encounters. In fact there are very few of either to be found here. Vecna Reborn is set between two oppressive autocracies, one ruled by Vecna, and one ruled by Kas the Destroyer (Vecna’s former lieutenant, and current mortal foe). Neither civilization requires the players to necessarily keep themselves hidden, but nor do they want the authorities to notice them. The “Daggers” of Kas’ domain will arrest, interrogate, and imprison people on a whim. And the “Reavers” of Vecna’s domain are undead sentinels who would sooner kill a mortal than deal with any unrest within their lord’s domain. Even the relatively few times when the players will likely find themselves outside of either city, wandering patrols, invisible stalkers, virulent plagues, and a life-draining desert serve to keep the players on edge.

And that’s something I’ve never been good at. Creating atmosphere in general terms is a struggle for me, but I think I do alright. This adventure, though, would have me actually looking over my shoulder and clasping my hands. I would love to be able to achieve that level of tension and immersion with my players, and I think Vecna Reborn comes with a good toolkit. Kas’ city of Tor Gorak is ruled with a hauntingly chronic injustice, which breeds obsequiousness in its populace. People stay off the streets for fear of getting picked up by the Daggers. The boldest act of defiance in the entire town is the madhouse founded by an old man, where he keeps the insane safe from execution for being ‘worthless.’ There’s only small handful of people there who wouldn’t turn on the players instantly to save themselves from the attention of the authorities, and the players are shown early on that they don’t want that kind of attention. Shortly after the players arrive in the city, they’re (likely) picked up by the Daggers, and taken to their headquarters for interrogation. The players are only released when some good fortune falls into their lap, and if they do anything to warrant getting picked up again, they know they won’t be so lucky.

Vecna’s Citadel Cavitius is less overtly totalitarian, but is somehow even more demeaning and oppressive. Horrifying undead guard every entrance to the citadel, allowing any individual to enter, but allowing no one to leave. Vecna, the undead god, rules the city, his undead lords and ladies handle its various affairs, and undead Reavers maintain order. The unholy citizenry ignore the affairs of mortals the same way one might ignore a dog walking through the streets. So while the PCs can go about their business unmolested, their lives are less than meaningless to those around them. It’s just as likely that they’ll complete their quest as it is for a vampire to pick them off the streets for a gory meal.

Imminent danger can take many forms. As I mentioned above, later in the adventure there is a virulent plague killing everyone around the players, leaving them to wonder whether they might catch it themselves. And even on the road, two invisible demons follow the players and cause mischief, letting them know that an unknown danger still lurks somewhere about them. Vecna Reborn is a litany of very visible, very deadly dangers which the players can do nothing about. Their only hope is to keep their heads down and try to stop Vecna’s plot to be reborn without drawing any attention.

Another element of the game which caught my attention is The Shadowed Room. During the course of the adventure, the party must travel there to learn how to thwart Vecna’s plans. When they find it, they discover that the shadowed room is, in fact, a library. I. Love. Fantasy Libraries. As a bibliophile and a lover of fantasy, they’re a combination of two locations which excite and comfort me. I often design such libraries just for the fun of it, and The Shadowed Room is a good one.

During the height of Vecna’s empire in the realm of Oerth, he ruled over a massive city. And in one of the city’s many spires, he filled a library with secret both arcane and powerful. The knowledge gathered in this room was so profound, and so remarkable, that the library left a permanent imprint on the multiverse. When the city was destroyed, millennia ago, this imprint remained, as a memory of creation itself. Vecna learned that he could access this memory, and constructed a magical portal to allow himself to access this “Shadowed Room.” The knowledge which was once gathered there, knowledge which has otherwise been lost, can be read here. But nothing can be taken from the room, for it is only a shadow of something which once was.

Lastly, I want to make note of the fantastic hooks this adventure leaves you with. In my opinion, the best adventure modules leave a group wanting to do more. With the most pressing goal accomplished, a myriad of other possibilities should call to the players, giving the game master a number of avenues to pursue for further games in the same local. And that’s precisely what Vecna Reborn does. Immediately upon reaching the period at the end of the last sentence, I instinctively started constructing follow up adventures in my mind. There’s so much more the players could accomplish! Freeing Tor Gorak of Kas’ rule could last sessions! The headquarters of the Daggers and Kas’s own castle would both make excellent settings for dungeon crawls, and after the way the adventure encourages the players to engage with the town’s populace, I think they’ll feel enough sympathy for them to want to help. Perhaps even form a rebellion for an extended campaign against Kas.

Oh! By the way, this is the 100th RPG post on Comma, Blank_. Yay.

Colorful Characters 14: Moreven

My ladyfriend has contributed a number of pieces of artwork for my Magical Marvels posts, including Kofek’s Tongue, Wallcraft’s Offerings, and Gravewhisper’s Claw. Recently, she’s been working on a character portrait to commemorate the first character she ever played in one of my games: Moreven the sorceress. I’m so impressed by it that I wanted to post it here on Comma, Blank_, and since it’s Friday anyway, I thought I’d take a break from my series on the Weapons of the Ascendant Crusade to turn Moreven into a Colorful Character! The real Moreven was killed by orcs, but now you can include a clone of her in any game you choose! As always, you can see more of my ladyfriend’s art on her DeviantArt page.

Moreven was always something of a goof. During the simple education children in her town received, she frequently distracted from the lessons to make her classmates laugh–despite the punishment it earned her. As she grew older, she became somewhat notorious as a practical joker. If someone found themselves surprised and humiliated by an unforeseen happenstance, odds were good that they’d hear laughter and running feet right after it. Most of the town’s adults looked on her as a troublemaker–though one which they hoped would ultimately grow out of her propensity to make a nuisance of herself. Among her peers, however, Moreven was a queen. Though they sometimes fell before her pranks themselves, her peers none the less adored her for the entertainment she provided them, and for her part, Moreven reveled in their adulation.

When Moreven was 12, she found that she was beginning to develop some very peculiar abilities. Abilities which allowed her to bend or even break the laws of nature. Immediately she began using her newfound skills to mastermind even more elaborate pranks, and for a time this worked. But it didn’t take long for people to figure out that Moreven was doing things which shouldn’t be possible. Things which scared the people of the small rural town. Many of them, even her adoring fans, began to distance themselves from her, then to shun her. They whispered amongst themselves that she was haunted or possessed–whispers which only grew louder when she began to talk to a weasel she had found amongst the crops. Moreven retaliated against the townspeople’s whispers with more devious pranks. Pranks which started to skirt the line between harmless fun, and genuinely causing harm. Unsurprisingly, this only strengthened the growing opinion that Moreven was becoming unnatural, and unsafe. Things came to a head when one of the town elders demanded she keep away from his son. Moreven responded by magically knocking a ladder out from under him when he was repairing the roof of his home. She heard the wet cracking sound of his legs breaking as he hit the ground, and knew that she had gone too far. She fled the village then, at the age of 15, without bothering to even say goodbye to anyone.

For a while, Moreven managed to earn enough money for food by performing magic tricks in small towns. Her natural clownishness made her an excellent performer, and she found that she could recapture the adulation she had felt from her classmates when she used her powers to entertain, rather than to harm. But her simple magic tricks only kept a given village entertained for so long before she moved on–though rarely before tapping into her skills as a prankster to punish a heckler or two.

Eventually, Moreven met up with a troupe of halflings who made their living the same way. They offered to let her travel with them, and for a few months she did. Traveling with a group had its advantages. On her own, Moreven had been accosted by bandits several times, which was less of a problem in a larger group. And while the halfling jugglers, singers, and comedians were good, none were good enough to draw attention away from Moreven’s increasingly elaborate magical shows. On the face it was a good deal, but Moreven quickly became frustrated with the Halfling’s mannerisms. Though she craved the attention of admirers, Moreven was not a very sociable person, and found the constant friendly hounding of her traveling companions infuriating. They never seemed to want to stop jabbering on about nothing at all. Things came to a head when Moreven discovered that one of the halflings had been stealing from her purse whilst she was asleep. Swearing off ever working with halflings again, Moreven left the troupe in the same manner that she had left her village–though not before setting one of their carts on fire.

In the next town, Moreven was performing a show in a tavern when she was approached by a woman with horns and a tail, who asked if she would be interested in working together to solve the town’s bandit problem. Morrie had never thought of applying her now well-developed sorceress’ abilities to adventuring, but the woman assured Moreven that she was one of the most talented young spellcasters around. Moreven had come to love her life of performing, but realized she would never make enough to pay for more than food and a room before needing to move on to another town. Adventuring would give her an opportunity to make some real money. And besides–nothing was stopping her from performing in the towns they visited.

Moreven quickly showed an aptitude for the life of an adventurer. There was gold to be had, and she wanted a piece of it. Moreven and her band were very successful, and when they heard rumors of a secret cathedral to an evil god which was filled with unbelievable treasures, they set out looking for it immediately. It took some doing, but they eventually found the cathedral buried in a cliff side, managed to sneak in, but what they found was not gold and gems. What they found was a necromatic hellhouse. They saw people held in cages, fed to undead monsters to make them strong, necromancers sewing bits of corpses together to create unholy abominations, and numerous other horrors which should not be spoken of.

Moreven was disgusted by the blatant display of evil before her. Egging her compatriots on, the party descended on the cultists, and sent them to their dark god. Once the grisly work was done, there was little treasure to be found, though the freed prisoners managed to pool a few dozen gold pieces in thanks. What Moreven was able to find was a clue to the location of another cathedral, and she insisted that the party investigate. They did, and found the location to be much the same, in both the level of evil, and the level of treasure. The party wanted to move on to more profitable ventures, but Moreven pushed them to continue hunting the undead and the necromancers who create them.

For a time, the party humored her. She was a valuable sorcerer, and surely one of the temples would have treasure more valuable than the few baubles they’d been able to gather so far. Meanwhile, Moreven was becoming more obsessed with fighting and destroying these horrible monsters. She began to study their craft, guiding her own sorcerous development into the necromatic magics, to better combat her hated foes.

Eventually, Moreven’s increasing desire to hunt undead rather than seek out treasure caused the group to part ways amicably. Moreven now travels on her own, moving from town to town as a performer, and listening intently for any rumors which would point to any nearby bastion of necromancy.

Personality
Moreven craves the attention of an adoring crowd, but in more intimate social situations she’s a recluse. She prefers not to be hassled by peoples problems, or even their genuine interest in her. She’s not completely without social graces, though, and can maintain a conversation if she needs to. She simply prefers not to need to.

Tactics
Moreven has become remarkably adept with Necromancy spells, and with the help of a powerful magic item (the Skull of Necromatic Mastery) she is able to attack her opponents using negative energy spells from even a great range. She does, however, keep a few conventional evocation spells at hand if necromancy fails her.

Being a performer, Moreven has a large number of spells which are primarily useful for entertaining a crowd. She often uses these spells to confuse or distract her enemies in combat.

Thoughts on Use
If all you need is something to spice up a small town, then adding Moreven as a traveling entertainer can do that. Having a sorceress casting flashy spells in the background of a scene can add depth and flavor to a game world.

In a more serious context, Moreven has become somewhat renowned as an “Undead Hunter.” She can be sought out by PCs in this capacity to offer advice, or other assistance in hunting and destroying undead.

Moreven The Sorceress (CR 3)
XP: 25.600
Female Human Sorceress 14
CG humanoid
Init +2; Senses Perception +0

Defenses

AC 15, Flat Footed 13, Touch 15 [10 + Dex(2) + Robes of Deflection (3)]
hp 79 (14d6 +28)
Fort +6 Ref +8 Will + 12

Offense

Speed 30ft
Melee Undying Staff – 4 (1d0/18-20 x2)
Ranged Light Crossbow + 2 (1d8/19-20 x2)(80ft)
Sorcerer Spells (CL 14th; Concentration +18; +2 save DC for Necromancy spells; +4 to overcome spell resistance)
7th (3/day)– Reverse Gravity
6th (5/day)– Acid Fog, Symbol of Fear, Undeath to Death, True Seeing
5th (6/day)– Waves of Fatigue, Cone of Cold, Seeming, Overland Flight
4th (7/day)– Dimensional Door, Arcane Eye, Ice Storm, Fear, Rainbow Pattern
3rd (7/day)– Explosive Runes, Gentle Repose, Ray of Exhaustion, Flame Arrow, Fireball, Dispell Magic
2nd (7/day)– Ghoul Touch, Command Undead, Pyrotechnics, Spider Climb, Invisibility, Whispering Wind
1st (7/day)– Magic Missile, Disguise Self, Silent Image, Ventriloquism, Floating Disk, Identify
0 (at will)– Acid Splash, Detect Magic, Arcane Mark, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Light, Ghost Sound, Touch of Fatigue, Prestidigitation
Bloodline Arcane
Bloodline Arcana
Whenever you apply a metamagic feat to a spell that increases the slot used by at least one level, increase the spell’s DC by +1. (Does not stack, does not apply to Heightened Spell.)
Bloodline Powers
Arcane Bond — Able to summon a familiar.
Metamagic Adept (3/Day) — May use a metamagic feat without increasing a spell’s casting time.

Stats

Str 11 (+0) Dex 15 (+2) Con 14 (+2) Int 14 (+2) Wis 12 (+1) Cha 19 (+4)
Base Atk +7/2; CMB +7; CMD 19
Feats Eschew Materials, Spell Focus (Necromancy), Greater Spell Focus (Necromancy), Metamagic: Extend Spell, Metamagic: Maximize Spell, Spell Penetration, Greater Spell Penetration, Combat Casting, Improved Counterspell, Iron Will
Skills Bluff (+21), Knowledge (Arcana)(+19), Spellcraft(+19), Knowledge (Religion/Undead) (+19)
Languages Common, Elven, Gnoll
Gear Robes of Deflection +3, Light Crossbow, Bag of Holding, 100ft of silk rope, 10 days of rations, crowbar, bedroll, spyglass, the preserved right arm and left leg of a full grown gnoll, Undying Staff, Skull of Necromatic Mastery

New Item: Undying Staff

Moreven’s signature staff was acquired when I ran her and her fellows through the Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 module The Standing Stone. It is constructed from humanoid bones wired together into a single piece. The staff has 1 charge of Animated Dead, and 2 charges of Create Undead. Moreven had a smith modify it to mount a blade on the end, allowing it to serve double-duty as a glaive.

New Item: Skull of Necromatic Mastery

This mysterious and ornate skull is immensely powerful. Any caster who possesses it is able to cast their Necromancy spells with an additional range of 60ft. This range increase includes spells with a range of “touch,” which allows the Necromancer in question to use frighteningly powerful spells without putting themselves in direct confrontation with their target.

Familiar: Weasel, the Weasel

Tiny Animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +3
AC 22, touch 14, flat footed 20 [10 + Dex(2) + natural(8) + size(2)]
hp 4 (1d8)
Fort +2; Ref +4; Will +1
Speed 20ft, Climb 20ft
Melee bite +4 (1d3 – 4 plus attach)
Space 2 and 1/2 ft.; Reach 0ft
Str 3 Dex 15 Con 10, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 5
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 6 (10 vs. trip)
Feats Weapon Finesse, Alertness
Skills Acrobatics +10, Climb +10, Escape Artist +3, Stealth +14
SQ: Attach (Ex) When a weasel hits with a bite attack, it automatically grapples its foe, inflicting automatic bite damage each round.
Familiar Special Abilities Share Spells, Empathic Link, Deliver Touch Spells, Speak with Master, Speak with animals of its kind, Spell resistance, Scry on Familiar, Improved Evasion

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.