Weapon Quirks

If you’ve read the rules document for Fuck the King of Space, you may have noticed that I’m doing some weird stuff with weapons that I didn’t fully explain. Mostly, this is because I haven’t finished sifting through the idea myself. I have a sense of what I want to do, but it’s going to take a lot of playing before I’ve boiled all my complicated instincts down to something fun and simple.

But for those who haven’t read the document, let’s back up for a bit. How do weapons in FKOS work?

First off, every weapon–whether it’s a wooden club or a death ray–deals 1d6 damage. No bonuses, no other die types, just a dirt simple rollin’ cube. It’s a move I’ve been thinking about for a long time, and I’m excited about it for a lot of reasons:

By making the range of possible damage predictable across every situation, I can plan hit point progression for each class much more precisely. I discussed this in a little more depth late last year.
The larger a damage die gets, the more frustrating low rolls are. If you’re rolling a d10 or a d12 for your damage, rolling a 1 feels like a huge bummer, particularly coming as it does after the joy of a successful attack. I think this is why some folks push towards rolling pools of dice. But if you’re just rolling a d6, then 1 is nearly 30% of your median roll.
I want weapon choice to be an interesting decision. Warrior characters should have little arsenals, with different weapons for different situations. If weapons have variable damage dice, then in most situations the weapon that deals the most damage is just going to be the objective best one to carry. I can’t even recall the last time I’ve seen a character use a 1d4 dagger.

The goal is to make weapons interestingly different from one another. Why pick a Plasma Rifle over a Lazrator? Or a Gladius over a Zwiehander?

Because each weapon has different quirks.

Quirks are something aside from basic roll-to-hit-then-roll-damage play that a given weapon is suited to. Whips are good for tangling foes, short swords are easy to use in cramped quarters, missile launchers can harm multiple foes with a single blast, etc.

At present, I’m dividing weapons into light, medium, and heavy categories. These have One, two, and three quirks respectively, and cost 50, 500, and 5,000 Darics.

It’s important to point out that a weapon’s explicitly called out quirks are not an exhaustive list of everything that weapon could be used for. If the player can explain how they’re using the weapon’s shape or function to accomplish a particular goal, we can work with that. Quirks are merely something a weapon is particularly well suited for.

So while daggers may receive a bonus to sneak attacks because of how easy to conceal they are, that doesn’t mean players can’t conceal or surprise with other weapons. Daggers are just the weapons best suited to that activity.

Hit Options

When an attack roll is successful, by default, characters have two options. They can either roll a d6 for damage, or they can make a called shot. (Explained on page 9 of the player’s guide.) Some weapons have quirks which add a third option.

Tangle: Roll a grapple against your target, using two fewer dice than normal. (minimum 1) If successful, the target is grappled, but you do not suffer the normal -6 penalty to your armor rating for being engaged in a grapple.
Hack: Outside of combat, the wielder inputs some code into the weapon. When it makes contact with a robot or a cyborg, the wielder can make a hacking check to enact that code.
Parry: When a successful attack is made against you, you may opt to sacrifice the ability to attack next turn to raise your armor rating by 2 this turn.
Delay: Target must make a saving throw versus Stun, or they will not be able to do anything other than move for 2 rounds.
Disarm: Target must make a saving throw versus Stun, or lose whatever they’re holding in one of their hands. (Attacker’s choice).
Sunder: Reduce the effectiveness of the target’s armor.
Trip: Target must make a saving throw versus Stun or fall prone.

Passive Bonuses

These are quirks which alter the normal use of the weapon: situational bonuses to attack rolls, extra effects when damage is dealt, etc.

Ship Strength: Able to damage space ships, which can normally only be hit by fixed weapon emplacements.
Close Quarters: Well suited to combat when there’s not much room to move. +2 to attack rolls when in a confined space, or in a melee with 5+ participants.
Riposte: When a successful attack is made against you,make a saving throw versus Stun. On success, you may make an immediate attack against whatever hit you.
Hold At Bay: Whenever a target attempts to close to melee range, you may make a free attack against them. (max 1 each round). If successful, deal damage, and the target fails to approach any closer than the weapon’s max range.
Push: In addition to damage, a successful hit will force most targets to move a few meters away from their attacker.
Piercing: Ignore some / all armor.
Area of Effect: Can attack all targets within an area, such as a line for beam-based weapons, or a sphere around the point of initial impact for explosive weapons.
Disintegration: If damage from this weapon kills a target, they leave no remains whatsoever.

Misc Abilities

The benefit of these quirks falls outside normal weapon use.

Status Symbol: +1 to your initial social action with anyone who appreciates the fine quality of your weapon.
Camouflaged: In most cases, you can get away with keeping this, even if you’ve been thoroughly searched and all your weapons taken from you.
Nasty Surprise: Small enough to hide, quick to move into lethal position. +1 to any attempt to surprise someone who is already aware of you.

The Dachshund Dungeon

I did not intend to do another one of these. Certainly I didn’t intend to make another one quite so soon after the last one. But then I was re-reading the “One More Idea Method” for a Blogs on Tape episode. It got me to thinking “Hey, why haven’t I ever done this? I should totally do this.”

Then I thought, “Well, if I’m going to make a dungeon for a blog post, I may as well make it another test of my 20 Architectural Features idea.” And now, here we are, with a dungeon shaped like a wiener dog because I asked Moreven what the dungeon should be shaped like, and of course she said ‘like a wiener dog.’

Aside from “The rooms, when mapped together, form an interesting shape,” I also rolled “Dungeon has a perilous entrance,” and “Has suffered a layout-altering cataclysm.” This was the result:

I am not an artist.

To key the rooms, I’m going to go through them one by one and write down the first thing that comes to my mind. Then, I’m going to go back to the start and go through them again, adding ‘one more idea’ to each. Then again, and maybe again, and maybe again, until I feel like some kind of satisfyingly interesting result has been achieved.

The result will be a disjointed, stream-of-consciousness mess. Hopefully putting each pass in its own color will help clarify things.

1. Sewer entrance, perilous. Really long. Eventually connects to some far off city that doesn’t even know when their sewer system was built. The sewers are a labyrinth. Most folk have no idea what’s down there, and why would anybody look? Full of disease. and terrible creatures. There’s one passage, though, which extends out for miles in one direction for no real reason. Eventually leads here. It’s the only way in or out, and would require several hours to pass through. These tunnels used to connect to catacombs, before they were repurposed as sewers.

2. Dogmen. Wienerdogmen, obviously. Refined, gentlemanly, friendly towards visitors, but Territorial. Refer to themselves as “Gentledogs.” Gentledogs are crowded in here, sleeping in heaps. A little too cramped now that area 5 has been given over to the refugees. Civility is breaking down. People are getting rude.

3. More important Dogmen. Equitable council of governors, trying to solve the most pressing problem of the day. There is not enough space for the refugees. Some want to venture down “the passage of filth,” to search for a safe new home for them. Others want to go into the underdark in force to retake the refugee’s home. Still others believe they should simply cast off everything in the Hall of Relics, and use that space to give their friends a new home. Everyone grumbles that the Gentledog Wizard in Area 13 needs to hurry it up. Walls have statues of great Dogmen carved into them. Behind the ear of the founder is a switch that opens the secret door.

4. Precious secrets of the Dogmen. Not anything sinister. The Gentledogs have no dark secrets. The crypt & writings of an evil wizard, which the Gentledog’s ancestors swore to protect from discovery. It was always feared that if her body was found (which does not decompose), it would be a rallying point for a new movement of evil. All the Gentledogs know it is here. None of them will reveal the information to anyone. All will die to protect it. It is their most sacred trust. Correspondingly, the books offer some crazy insights into wizardry, and the corpse is legitimately potent as a political rallying point.

5. Not-dogmen. Refugees the gentledogs have taken in from the Underdark. Pale skinned humanoids which secrete a thick gooey slime from their pores, and have a second set of ears where their eyes should be. Used to live in a network of caves at the base of the sinkhole, and served as the Gentledog’s main allies and trading partners before they were driven from their homes by Drow, which carried off most of their people as slaves, and set up a garrison at the bottom of the crevice. Can communicate with slime based creatures, and befriend them easily. The Drow want to use them for this ability.

6. Really fancy kitchen. Gentledogs are gourmets of great refinement. Because of the extra mouths to feed, and the greater difficulty gathering food, the master chefs have had to stretch everything they have for as far as they can. This is putting a strain on everyone. A group of chefs is planning to defy the commands of the ruling council, and sneak down into the crevice to harvest food. Their craft is worth the risk.

7. Sinkhole into the underdark. It’s where the dogmen get food. Gentledogs can comfortably leap the Northern hallway gap, and so there is no bridge there. 9 is supposed to be off limits, so there’s no bridge there unless you climb all the way down into the underdark, and back up into area 10. Descends about 1000′ The creation of the Sinkhole is regarded as an event of religious significance, since prior to that the Gentledogs had to forage in the filth tunnels for food.

8. Food storage. The Gentledogs have discovered marvelous foods in the Underdark, which have never been brought to the surface before. They would be highly valuable as treasure, particularly if you could establish an open trade. Gentledog sense of smell is refined enough that they will know if you have some of their food, no matter how well it is hidden. Stores are getting low.

9. “Time Out.” A Gentledog who got into a fight with a refugee. Got really anxious about his normal sleeping spot being used by someone else. Bit the slime person. Is ashamed of how he acted, but still agitated about hot having his normal sleeping spot. “Time Out” works on the honor system, because Gentledogs are so honorable. He can leave as soon as he believes he is ready to rejoin the community. Given his agitation, he may wish to join on to the party as a hireling to spend some time away from his people and clear his head.

10. Safest descent into the crevice. Serves as an armory + guardhouse to arm those going down, and protect the gentledogs from anything coming up. Also, there’s a basket on a line between this area, and the hallway to the north, for easy transport of food. A drow spy was just captured. The spy is a male suicide bomber. A priestess has promised that Lolth will allow him to be reborn as a woman if he paves the way to victory. He will not act until he believes his death will be maximally effective.

11. Religious area. Gentledogs worship ‘The Hand that Giveth,’ and their main dictum is that the hand will come to them many times in their lives, in the guise of generous people, and they must never bite the hand. Preacher has recently begun to speak of an opposed entity, “The Hand that Taketh.” He says it is acting through the drow. There is no theological precedent for belief in this second entity. There is already some speculative, polite murmurings among the most dispossessed of the Gentledogs that The Slimeskins are agents of this “Hand that Taketh.”

12. Hall of Artifacts. Like how dogs bury bones, except the dogs are intelligent. There are items here from the surface which the Gentledogs don’t understand, and items from the underdark which they don’t understand. Also probably some bones. From the surface there are books, a compass, an astrolabe, a telescope, and a significant quantity of gold. From the underdark there are paintings that can only be appreciated with infravision, a stuffed Hook Horror, and some torture equipment. One of these paintings is important to the Drow, which is why they’ve come here. If they just asked for it, the Gentledogs would give it to them, but they can’t conceive of such a level of civility.

13. Something bad happening under the dog-men’s nose because they are too trusting. Not anything to do with the refugees. That’d turn this whole thing into kind of an ugly looking allegory. Going back to their founding, the Gentledogs have an unbroken line of goodly wizardry. The cleverest child of each generation is made an apprentice. This Gentledog, however, read the forbidden secrets of the evil wizard in Area 4. She told everyone she needed this space (further cramping the living conditions elsewhere). They agreed, because she promised she could use it to create an extradimensional space, giving everyone plenty of room to spread out. What she is actually doing is opening portals to the various lower planes, and making faustian bargain upon faustian bargain, in an attempt to put her soul in deadlock between multiple infernal powers. She reaps all the benefits, while the Banes of Gre’Thor and the Wraithlords of the Blightlands keep one another busy arguing over who gets to reap her.

14. Library of Scents. Jars and cabinets with stuff in them: rags, liquids, bits of nature, etc. When smelled by a Gentledog, these convey a huge amount of information. Like reading a book with your nose. One of these describes a hidden chamber in the city which is led to from the sewers. The gentledogs have no idea what it refers to, since they’ve never seen the city. Nobody BUT the gentledogs could possibly interpret what the scent means, though. The secret chamber has portals to different parts of the world in it.

Miscreated Creatures: Clackers

Less a race, and more a population of the diseased. Clackers are waist-height, with sticky purple skin, and an unpleasantly sweet smell. Needle spines grow down their backs, and their faces are skinless. From cheekbone to cheekbone, and midforehead to chin, their skulls are exposed. Their lidless eyes always open, even when they sleep. What little language they have is composed entirely of tooth-clacking.

Armor 14, Move 120’(40’), 1 HD(4hp), Attack by Weapon, Morale 8
Save as Halflings, Intelligence as Toddlers, 2d6 + 1 Appearing

Strength: Clackers can wield weapons and grapple as fully grown humans. They’re also exceptionally good at any straightforward physical task, such as climbing, or digging.
Spines: Each secretes a different toxin. As an attack, Clackers can remove one of their spines, and throw it up to 10’. This deals no damage, but requires a saving throw versus Poison.
1. Venom races through the victim’s body, causing instant atrophy wherever it travels. A random ability score takes 1d6 damage. On a 6, 1 point of damage is permanent.
1. The victim’s muscles contract, locking their joints and arching their spine. The victim is unable to move for 1d4 painful hours.
1. A dark purple cloud thickens in the character’s vision, leaving them blind after 1 turn. Once blind, their whole eyes will be a milky violet color.
1. The victim’s tongue swells. They cannot speak or cast spells, and after an hour, must make Constitution checks each turn to continue breathing. Puncturing the tongue solves the problem.
Death: When killed, there is a 2-in-6 chance that a final muscle spasm causes a Clacker’s spines to pop off their body, flying in every direction. Fellow Clackers are immune to the poisons, by everyone else within 10’ must make a saving throw versus Breath, or be hit by a random quill. Characters with an unadjusted Armor Rating of 15 or better gain +2 to their save.

Four years ago, a peaceful traveler from another world wanted to make contact with humans. She appeared in a remote hamlet called Sulthen with the intent to befriend and educate the inhabitants, but she made a mistake. A crucial variable had been left out of her calculations for how our atmosphere would affect her biology. With her first breath of our air, she began to chemically immolate from the inside out. A foul smoke rose off her body, and all the children of Sulthen fell ill. Eventually, they became the first Clackers.

In the time since, those first few have grown their population by skulking into towns and villages at night. They creep into the rooms of children, and impale them with a special reproductive quill. Over the course of a few days the child will lose their ability to speak. Their skin will turn purple, their muscles will harden, and their face will droop listlessly. Eventually, their “parent” will return, tear off the initiate’s now useless facial skin and muscles, and lead the new Clacker out to join the herd. Within a month, they will be fully developed.

Clackers have an obsessive compulsion to take people apart. It’s about the only thing that can get a group of them sitting quietly and acting delicately. They are herbivores by diet. They don’t eat any part of their victims, they merely have an intense curiosity about the intricacies of living insides. They like to see how bone and sinew connect to vein and nerve and gut.

The creatures never stay in any den for more than a few months. They seem to migrate any time they find a new cave or clearing that suits their needs. Their abandoned hovels have thus proliferated rapidly through the area. The Clackers don’t build any structures or fires, but their camps are always marked by abandoned heaps of toys. They do not play with these, but are compelled to own them.

If a Clacker dies without releasing its spines, they can be harvested, and their venom will continue to function for 1d4 weeks. Each Clacker corpse produces 1d12 spines, one of which will be their reproductive spine.

The people of Sulthen, in an attempt to save their children, have begun to dig a hole. They believe the strange creature who appeared just before their children became diseased was a demon. Therefore, they have concluded that the only way to end the malady is to dig themselves down to hell, where they can return the corpse to the Devil, and beg his indulgence in restoring their children to them.

Magic Technology

Fuck the King of Space is meant to be D&D with starships. To me, that means more than simply running a role playing game in the distant future, it means actually making an effort to recreate as much of the D&D experience as possible. Facing monsters, crawling through dungeons, and casting spells are all part of the game. So, obviously, the game will include magic items, and since it does take place in the far future, it only makes sense that there are technologically advanced items, which are also enchanted.

The rub is that in terms of game writing, magic and technology are basically interchangeable. A teleportation spell and a transportation pad function very much the same; as do a flight spell and a jetpack, or an invisibility spell and a cloaking device.

This isn’t so much a problem for a magician’s spells. Sure, you can always buy grenades, but if it’s possible to conjure a ball of fire using only your brain, people are gonna learn how to do that. On the other hand, if the weapon’s dealer has a bin of Scrolls of Fireball right next to the grenades, that just seems pointless. The world doesn’t need both, and in a SciFi game, if something can be handled by technology, it probably shouldn’t be needlessly magical.

Ergo, magic items in FKOS need to distinguish themselves. There needs to be a reason for the effect to be justified by magic, rather than technobabble.

Make it function relative to other magic: This is just kind of a freebie. If a magic item increases a spell’s area of effect, or allows spells to be slightly modified on the fly, or increases resistance to clerical dispellings, then it’s only natural that the device would itself be magical. Duh-doy.

Make it really weird. Honestly, this is always good advice, but it’s particularly relevant here. The effect can’t be a matter of simple bonuses, it can’t have a straightforward use. Weird magic doesn’t operate in a logical way; it has drawbacks; it demands sacrifice; it crosses barriers, creates the unthinkable.

Make it really flavorful. Again, a good piece of general advice that should always be followed, but applies doubly in this scenario. Perhaps a magical effect would be better explained by technology, but if that effect is intensely flavorful, I don’t think it would bother the players.

So if some ship out there is going faster than normal, you could say it’s because that ship has very nice expensive engines. That would be an acceptable answer, while “magic engines” would not. But, if you say “The captain made a deal with the devil to power her engines with human misery, so her engine room has nothing in it except a massive torture chamber.” Well…that’s good fuckin’ shit.

Make Magic an Explanation for Scarcity. The most boring way to develop a fantasy setting is to make magic so commonplace that it’s used for day-to-day mundanities. Street lamps that conjure a Light spell at dusk every day make me gag. Magic works best when it’s mysterious, unique.

Technology has the opposite problem. If a technology exists, it only makes sense for it to be widespread. There are some limitations you can put on it (only the wealthy can afford it, only the Gorbos know how to make it, etc.), but technology can never really be unique. Unless it’s a “prototype.” Shitty science fiction is riddled with prototypes, as if it’s commonplace for amazing technologies to be developed, then abandoned for no good reason.

Having both Magic and Technology allows FKOS to get the best of both worlds. Technology is the baseline for what is available to the denizens of the Kingdom Galactic; magic is for the unique exceptions.

As a bonus, if the players ever get a campaign-breaking magic item, some new technology may eventually be developed which emulate that item’s effects, re-leveling the playing field.

Space Suit of Holding: A single space suit which multiple people can wear simultaneously. They must put on the suit one-at-time, but once a person is inside the suit, they can only be seen through the helmet’s visor. Looking into the suit from any other opening, it will appear to be empty.

If the suit’s inhabitants are in agreement, they may choose who is in control of the suit’s motion. If the inhabitants are in conflict, roll a mental struggle between them. This is resolved as a grapple; everyone rolls 1d6 per level, highest wins. If there is a tie, it is won by whomever has the most spell slots. If it is still a tie, the tied participants should roll again.

If the suit is ruptured, it will explode, sending all participants flying away from one another. If this happens, each inhabitant has a 2-in-6 chance to be blasted into extradimensional space, rather than into their own environment.

Handheld Sun: A metal cylinder with a lens on one end, and a crank on the other. The crank can be wound to last anywhere from 10 minutes, to an hour. Either way, it takes about a minute to wind it up.

When wound, a tiny viewing portal opens up behind the lens. Exactly where in the universe the portal leads to is randomly determined each time crank is turned (even if the players are extending the time of a previous winding). All of the possible portals open up close to a sun, allowing its brilliant light to shine through the lens. This light cannot be hidden or extinguished. It is so persistent that it will be visible even in a metal box.

The intense light of various suns has different properties. Since there are essentially infinite stars out in the universe, the referee is encouraged to add to this list as often as the mood to do so strikes them.

A white sun. Light “sticks” everywhere it passes over, causing those surfaces to become temporarily luminous.
A green sun. When shone on a person, their inner self is illuminated for all to see.
A chartreuse sun. Affects humans the way a yellow sun affects vampires.
A violet sun. Affects humans the way a yellow sun affects Superman.
A bone sun. This light attracts ghosts, like fish to a light shone on a lake at night.
A stale sun. Animals touched by this light can speak. What they have to say is not always healthy to hear.

Heartlancer: A T-77 blaster carbine, equipped with high density batteries, gyroscopic auto-stabilizers, and an adjustable stock. A fairly common weapon to find on the surplus market, since the T-82 is the current weapon of choice for The King’s Loyal Soldiers. Despite its mundane appearance, however, this particular T-77 is a weapon of intense cruelty.

On a successful hit, the target is completely unharmed. However, for the briefest of moments, their minds are transported to the body of someone they love. They see a laser blast appear from out of nowhere, and they know that this person whom they loved is now dead. When they return to their own body, no time will have passed, and they may act normally.

Each time they are hit with the weapon, someone they love even more dearly will be killed in the same way, until the 8th time they are hit with it, when they will see the person whom they love most in all the galaxy die. After this, the Heartlancer will function like a typical T-77 when used against that target.

Cloaking Device: When activated, the vessel (or person, as the case may be) not only becomes invisible, but incorporeal as well. They can walk through walls, or fly through asteroids, without taking any damage. It is not advisable, however, to uncloak while inside something.

The Wayback Machine: A portable computer. It lacks any significant processing power, and seems to be intended only for casual use, such as writing documents, or browsing the Commnet. A series of complex symbols have been carved into the plastic bezel of the case, apparently using a pin or box cutter.

When the computer is used to connect to the Commnet, it doesn’t view the net as it is, but rather, it views the net as it was, at some point in the past. Specifically, if used inside of a man-made structure, it will connect to the Commnet as it existed on the day that construction was completed. So, if you want to examine the net as it was in 31,607, then you must find a building that was constructed in that year.

If not inside a man made structure, the computer will connect to the Commnet as it is now, but the connect is finicky and unreliable.

The Elder Comm: Like most comm stations, this console is equipped not only to send and receive messages across a multitude of frequencies, but using a variety of methods as well. There’s Comm, Hypercomm, Lighbounce, Radio if you’re in a pinch, and at least two dozen others, all of which have their own niche uses, and are standard fare on any mid-tier comm system. Unique to the Elder Comm, however, is that it can also deliver messages using the souls of the dead.

It’s unclear just how many souls are trapped within it, but with a flip of a dial and a twist of a switch, the operator can send a ghost wherever they wish, to carry their voice wherever it needs to go. The ghosts are not visible, and will never speak any words they have not been instructed to convey. But they are there, and they are conscious. Thinking, whispering to one another when they think no body can hear.

The most notable benefit of this setting is that messages can be communicated to locations without comm equipment to receive them; and return messages can be sent the same way.

The Dungeon We Forgot

I ought to follow up on my own posts more often than I do. I have this nagging insecurity that once I put something out there, I need to move on. It’s an obsession with novelty that really isn’t helpful. Some ideas deserve to be revisited, and developed further.

A couple months back, I sketched out a list of twenty architectural features that would make dungeons more memorable. Part of the goal there was to solve the blank page problem, to give myself a better starting place for a dungeon than “Well, I guess it needs an entrance…” To help me make dungeons that are interesting not just for what’s in them, but also interesting for how the floorplan is laid out.

It seems like a natural progression here is to put theory into practice, and make a dang dungeon using those principals. So, I’ve rolled 3d20 on the list, and tried to incorporate a river, a mix of natural and crafted spaces, and an area that can be seen but not easily accessed into a single dungeon. The resulting map is uglier even than I intended for it to be, (I’m no Gus L.), but I think it will serve.

I originally intended for this post to include 3 such dungeons, but it’s a ding-dang long process sketching out a dungeon even as rudimentary as this one and making it presentable. So you’ll take one dungeon and you’ll like it! >:(

This dungeon is built into the lowest plateau of a strange, stepped mountain, far to the north where the summers are short and the people are hard. It was constructed just a few years ago by the folk of the nearby village, though they do not remember doing so. One day, they simply dropped everything, took up their tools, and wandered en masse towards the plateau to set themselves to work.

Eight years passed in hard labor. Those children too young to work died of neglect as their parents mindlessly chiseled stone, stopping only to mechanically eat and sleep. Then the construction was complete, and everyone woke up knowing that time had passed, but recalling nothing of those eight years. Not a one of them dared enter the structure they had made.

They returned to their homes and their lives, insomuch as they could. They try not to think too hard about the mysterious structure they built just a few miles distant. But on cloudy nights, when there are no moon or stars in the sky, it’s impossible not to notice the processions of ghostly red lights moving sometimes towards that place, and sometimes away from it.

The entry chamber is 4 stories tall, with a massive featureless statue standing between two winding stairways. If any living thing tries to leave, the statue will come to life and prevent them from doing so. Just placing its arm across the passage would be enough to stop anyone not equipped with picks and explosives and hours of free time in which to work.

Not far from the entrance is a room bisected by bars of milky white metal. On the near side are carpets on which a person could kneel in worship. On the far side is a throne, in which rests a withered corpse.

This is the Dread Lich, which once blighted a distant land no local will have ever heard of. When its phylactery was destroyed, it retreated here, half a world away from those who sought its destruction. Here it will rest and recuperate until all who remember it are long dead. Then, it will return to take vengeance on their descendants.

The white metal bars are sufficient to absorb any magic, and will shift to deflect any attack, directed beyond them. The Dread Lich has only one existence now, and has no wish to risk destruction needlessly.

In the south are the pens. There are people here, children really, between 12 and 19 years old. They are runaways from families in the area, though none of them wanted to be. They could hear themselves say what they said to their families, they watched themselves flee as if from a distance, but could not control their bodies until they had run all the way here, and locked themselves into these pens.

The floors are a cold red stone, which drains their vitality. Gradually they will grow sick. When they die, the stone will absorb even their bones.

At the center of the dungeon is a curious sort of crater, open to the sky above, with sheer cliffs rising on every side. A river pours in from the higher plataeus, creating a verdant little microbiome here, with small populations of animals not seen in the surrounding region. This area could serve as an alternate entrance or exit, if the players have sufficient climbing gear or skill.

Leading off from here is a small series of natural caverns, where a dragon has taken up residence. It believes it has done so of its own free will, abandoning a horde of gold to satisfy its desires for a colder climate. Why a reptilian creature would have such desires is anybody’s guess…

In the northernmost part of the dungeon, stairs lead down to an underground lake, which glows red with a swirling horde of spectral minds that have no proper place in this world.

Getting Weird with the Classics 4

Why in the world has it been almost 2 years since I last did one of these? They’re a lot of fun to write, and people seemed to enjoy reading them. I rolled the items for this post forever ago, and they’ve just been sitting in my drafts folder, perpetually ignored.

For anyone who doesn’t remember, here’s how this works: I use the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide to randomly generate 3 magic items. Then I reinvent them to be a little weirder, goofier, grosser, and generally more in line with my personal style.

As should be obvious from the title, I’ve done this not once, not twice, but three times before, all back in early 2016.

So, without further yammering:

Ring of Water Walking

This ring enables the wearer to walk upon any liquid without sinking into it; this includes mud, quicksand, oil, running water, and even snow. The ring wearer’s feet do not actually contact the surface he or she is walking upon when liquid or water is being walked upon (but oval depressions about 1 1/1′ long and 1 inch deep appear per 100 pounds of weight of the walker will be observed in hardening mud or set snow). Rate of movement is standard movement for the individual wearing the ring. Up to 1,200 pounds of weight can be supported by a water walking ring.

Ring of Walking Water

A copper band which glows a faint orange. If thrown into a sufficiently sized body of liquid, that liquid will swirl into form around the ring. The process takes only a single round, after which the fluid–now in the shape of a human wearing the ring on their finger–will come to the aid of whomever threw the ring.

Liquid-persons have 4 hit dice. They are as strong, dexterous, and swift as an average human. They cannot speak, but for the duration of the effect, will obey any commands the ring thrower gives them. There is a wide variety of abilities these creatures might have, based on whatever particular fluid they are composed from. Rather than write an anticipatory list that would no doubt be incomplete, I leave it to the individual referee to determine what it means to command a fluid person composed of salt water rather than fresh water, or lava, or fetid water, or beer, or poison, etc.

When they are created, a liquid person has an innate sense of why they were created. The referee should ask the throwing player to specify what that reason is, with the understanding that it cannot be too broad in scope. Anything that would take longer than 30 minutes will need to be broken down into a smaller task.

When the immediate need for them has passed, liquid persons will attempt to flee from their creator. They know the thrower will want their ring back, but the liquid person would rather keep their new life. So, if the player does not wish to lose their ring, then after each use they must chase down and tackle the liquid person, which will fall apart if the ring is taken from them.

Candle of Invocation

Candles of Invocation are specially blessed and prayered tapers which are dedicated to the pantheon of gods of one of the nine alignments. The typical candle is not remarkable, but it will radiate magic if such is detected, and good or evil will be radiated also if appropriate. Simply burning the candle will generate a favorable aura for the individual so doing if the candle’s alignment matches that of the character’s. If burned by a cleric of the same alignment, the candle temporarily increases the cleric’s level of experience by 2, allowing him or her to cast additional spells, and even normally unavailable spells, as if her or she were of the higher level, but only so long as the taber is aflame. Any burning also allows the casting of a gate spell, the respondent being of the alignment of the candle, but the taper is immediately consumed in the process. Each candle will burn for 4 hours. It is possible to extinguish the candle as any other, but it can be placed in a lantern or otherwise sheltered to protect it from drafts and other things which could put it out without affecting its magical properties.

Candle of Embarkation

A large wax candle, of plain make. When lit, the candle conjures a vessel beneath it, appropriate to whatever whatever environment the candle-lighter’s weight is resting in. If lit by someone standing in a river, the candle will conjure a riverboat, while in the sea it will conjure a galleon. On land, the candle might conjure a carriage with a team of of oxen. If the candle is lit while falling (difficult to do, with all that rushing air), it will produce a flying machine. Strange environments may produce strange vehicles.

Whatever the vessel summoned, there are a few similarities. First, the candle will always place itself in an enclosed space, like a ship’s cabin. Second, the person lighting the candle, as well as any creature within 20′ of them, will likewise be moved to the same space the candle occupies. This includes everything, from friends and foes, to badgers and bugs.

The vessel will come with everything it needs for basic locomotion (boats will have sails, carriages will have pulling animals, etc), but will lack anything else. The candle cannot conjure operators, provisions, or armaments.

The conjured vehicle will persist for as long as the candle remains lit. If the candle goes out, the vessel will disappear. If undisturbed, the candle will last for 12 hours.

Boots of Striding and Springing
The wearer of these magical boots has a base movement rate of 12″ , regardless of size or weight. This speed can be maintained tirelessly for up to 12 hours per day, but thereafter the boots no longer function for 12 hours– assume they “recharge” for that period. In addition to the striding factor, these boots also have a springing factor. While “normal” paces for the individual wearing this type of footgear are 3′ long, the boots also enable forward jumps of up to 30′, backwards leaps of 9′, and vertical springs of 15′. If circumstances permit the use of such movement in combat, the wearer can effectively strike and spring away when he or she has the initiative during a melee round. However such activity has a degree of danger, as there is a base 20% chance that the wearer of the boots will stumble and be stunned on the following round; adjust the 20% chance downwards by 3% for each point of dexterity above 12 for the wearer. In any event, the wearer increases armor class value by +1 due to the quickness of movement these boots imbue.

Springs of Booting

A small wooden box, or metal tin, similar to one that might be used to carry tea leaves, ground seasonings, or snuff. In reality, the box contains springs wrapped in cloth sleeves. They’re pressed up against the lid, waiting to bounce out and startle whoever opens the box.

Anyone struck by these is quickly booted from wherever they are, via the nearest exist. If they are on a boat, the will be tossed overboard. If they’re in a building, they’ll go out the nearest openable window or door. If they’re in a dungeon, they’ll be flung back up to the surface. To them, it will feel like their body is attached to a cord, pulling them around at high speed. This pulling is always completely safe–they won’t get dragged through lava, or slammed into any walls. However, that won’t count for much if they’re then tossed out a 20th story window, or over the rail of a ship sailing through lava.

Anyone who opens the box themselves, without specifically pointing it away, will automatically be hit, and dragged off. Characters may also attempt to aim the weapon at a target before opening it, but this will require a successful attack roll against the base armor rating, followed by a saving throw versus paralyzation to dodge.