The Miscreated Creatures Questions Applied to the Axe Beak

As an exercise, I’m going to use the monster development questions I posted yesterday to flesh out a classic D&D monster. Hopefully this will make the way I use the questions a little more clear.

I’m using the Axe Beak for a few reasons. First off, it’s kinda interesting, but is overall boring enough that it needs further development. Second, I’m almost completely unfamiliar with this monster. I never really read its entries in later editions of the game, and I’ve certainly never read any ecology articles or anything written about it. All I know is what’s written in the AD&D Monster Manual. Which is:

Axe beaks are prehistoric carnivorous flightless birds. They are very fast runners and aggressively hunt during daylight. An axe beak resembles an ostrich in its lower portions, with a strong neck and a heavy, sharp beak.

Can it be unique?

The monster is designed around encountering a herd of 1-6. Best not to make it entirely unique.

If it can’t be unique, can it be a small group?

Yeah, it can easily be a small group. Perhaps when you roll 1d6 to determine how many you encounter, you’re also determining how many exist in the whole world? They’re a dying breed. A darwinian loser, or perhaps something that was never very numerous in the first place? A small group created by some unusual means. Perhaps they’re un-aging creatures, some 100 or so created in ages past, now reduced by the occasional violent death to a mere handful?

Can it be smart?

Each Axe Beak makes every other Axe Beak a little smarter. When there was 100+, they were geniuses. Now, with only a few left, they’re barely literate simpletons. They scratch simple symbols in the dirt with their claws to communicate with non-Axe Beaks. They’re also capable of using a roughly 500 word vocabulary of some appropriate human-learnable language.

If it is not unique, what is its culture?

Once, Axe Beaks practiced a kind of utilitarian artwork using the medium of trees. With their beaks, they’d carve still living trunks into complex patterns, leaving enough of the tree intact for it to survive and for the patterns to remain. These patterns carried messages to other groups of Axe Beaks, claimed territory, or told stories of events that had happened. here. Given the now much reduced mental abilities of Axe Beaks, they tend to simply feel the urge to hack at trees every now and again, which they do until the tree falls over.

What is its worldview?

Axe Beaks have always been brutish and aggressive. Confident in their own superiority over other creatures, who they view as ugly. They particularly look down on any creature that can fly. They’re deeply jealous, but that’s not something they would ever admit to an outsider.

Wooden structures made by humans are offensive to them, and will be destroyed with gusto.

Can it be an inverse swarm?

Nooooooooooooooo…

What does it do?

The remaining Axe Beaks believe that they simply need to breed more of their own kind in order to reclaim their greatness. To this end, they obsessively mate with any creature they can. They’ve already determined that mating with one another doesn’t work, and they’re willing to try pretty much anything.

The Axe Beaks have never seen an ostrich. I don’t know if mating with an ostrich would be successful for them or not, but they’d certainly be interested in the extreme.

Why does it do what it does?

Because it knows it’s not smart, and it wants to be smart.

How does it do what it does?

They do what comes naturally. Generally speaking they pursue animals of similar size, or other birds. Though most birds are too small.

Does it make anything?

Axe Beaks are actually pretty good at making simple bridges of wood. They don’t like to get wet at all. Due to their decreased intelligence, they can only cross small rivers with a nearby source of trees. But at their height, they built some marvelous bridges that were studied by human engineers.

Anyone tracking the Axe Beaks will probably come across a simple bridge at some point.

Might it deal peacefully with the characters?

They’re easily agitated and easily insulted, and they’re predisposed to think humans are troublesome and annoying. But they also know that there’s much easier prey than humans. They’re generally willing to parley unless they’re ravenously hungry.

Does it have minions?

Not at present.

What is the creature’s lair like?

Axe Beaks are nomads. They range far and wide in search of mates, marking trees as they go. When it rains, they find what shelter they can until it’s time to move on.

Does the creature’s presence affect its environment?

Not by itself, no.

Does it have any special treasures?

There is a pair of saddle bags which gets passed around between the Axe Beaks. Everyone takes their turn carrying it. Within its pouches are smooth stones, shiny rocks, bits of metal, seashells, and a variety of other things which the Axe Beaks have deemed valuable. There may be a number of gems and coins in the pouch.

How did the creature come to exist?

They don’t know it, but all of the Axe Beaks were once axes, wielded by woodsmen who encroached into the forest of Hellena the Kyphotic, a druid with a wicked temperament. With the first blow of each axe, the roots rose up to strangle the woodsmen. The trees grew tall and strong on their blood. The axes were eventually enveloped by the growing wood, and when the trees grew old and toppled over, the Axebeaks emerged from the rotted wood.

What are the portents of its arrival?

There are none.

What happens to the creature’s victims?

The creatures are carnivores. If a meat-creature is their victim, then they will be eaten.

Does the creature have any special weakness?

They find touching water incredibly uncomfortable. They take no damage from being wet, but they react to being wet the way you might expect them to react to being on fire.

Does anything special occur upon the killing blow being made against the monster?

Each Axe Beak that dies makes the whole dumber. When there is only one Axe Beak left, it will simply topple over. Brain dead.

When the creature dies, what happens?

It has a very boring, natural death. Followed by a boring, natural decay.

Is the dead body useful for anything?

Each creature actually has a woodsman’s axe inside of its body. The head of the axe is at the center of its beak, and their spinal column has taken the place of the shaft. If the spine is reinforced with a metal or wooden rod, then the the axe can be wielded as a +2 battle axe against druids. If used to chop down a tree, the tree will always fall in exactly the direction you want it to fall in.

Related Posts:

The questions themselves.

The Miscreated Creatures Questions

As I briefly mentioned a couple posts back, earlier this year I hit a stumbling block with I when I realized I’d been focusing my creativity in all the wrong places. What inspired me to take up this project in the first place were the mind-bending mechanics of the monsters in Better Than Any Man. I wanted every monster to be mechanically bizarre, so that was my primary goal: make really weird mechanics. What I ended up doing was creating a few really cool mechanics that I’m excited to share, and a lot of needlessly complex, over designed, try-hard nonsense. When I stepped back to look at all I had wrought, I realized that a shameful amount of my monsters were basically an interesting idea coupled with some bad rulecraft.

I spent time reading my favorite monster entries and asking “why do I like this?” Most of the time, the answer to that question wasn’t “It has weird awesome mechanics.” The answer was something like “Because it makes art out of people’s disassembled bodies,” or “Because its consciousness is in another dimension and it has no idea that its actions harm anybody.” Clearly, I’d fucked up. I needed to reassess my monsters to figure out what made each one great, then build on that. To facilitate that process, I wrote a list of questions to ask myself about each monster. I’ve found the questions to be a reasonably reliable process to help me take an interesting idea and turn it into something that I’m proud of.

Can it be unique?
As a rule, unique monsters are more interesting than species of monsters. So does the monster need to be a member of a larger group in order to reach its full potential?

If it is not unique, what is its culture?
More than one of this creature exist, so they must have some relationship to one another. What binds them together? What are their common feelings and beliefs?

If it can’t be unique, can it be a small group?
A single tribe of similar monsters is more interesting than a globe spanning species. If there’s only a few hundred of something, perhaps they can occupy a single valley or island. Or perhaps there are only a few, and they never or rarely have contact with one another.

Can it be an inverse swarm?
(I’d really like to implement this idea at least a couple times, but so far I haven’t found a good opportunity.)

Can it be smart?
Intelligent monsters can have more complex motivations. They can parley with the party. If it can be smart without losing what makes it cool, then it should probably be smart.

What is its worldview?
Does it have a philosophy? How does it regard us? How does it regard nature, or the divine, or concepts like love and hate?

What does it do?
Certainly it must do something more than simply kill and eat people. What does it do when there’s no one to kill and eat? Is that thing that it does interesting to the players? Does it set traps, or write books, or dig tunnels, or pray? Are the things that it does even a problem? Are they beneficial?

Does it make anything?
Can the players buy what it makes? Is it useful or interesting? What does it do with the things that it makes?

Why does it do what it does?
Does it enjoy the thing it does, or is it a hated necessity? Is it willing, compelled, or even aware of the things that it is doing?

How does it do what it does?
Does it force others to do the work for it? Does it make people watch while it does the work itself? Is the thing that it does a ceremonial act performed with pomp, or is it merely a task to be completed?

Might it deal peacefully with the characters?
Does it have to default to hostility, or can it start out as neutral or friendly? Will it be willing to bargain? Does it want something the players can give it? Does it have anything to offer them? Can the monster serve as a questgiver?

Does it have minions?
Are there creatures attending the monster? Are they willing? Are they happy? Are they similar to itself, or are they different? How loyal are they? Why do they serve it?

What is the creature’s lair like?
Does it have a home? Is it a simple cave or dirt hole, or is it constructed? Does it have a specific appearance? Does it contain any specific objects? Are there any specific hazards? Did it adopt a lair, or build its own? Is its lair in our world? Is its lair difficult to reach?

Does the creature’s presence affect its environment?
Is the area surrounding the creature’s lair affected? How does nature, or children, or animals react to being in the creature’s presence? Does it have an aura of any kind? How does magic react to its presence?

Does it have any special treasures?
What has this creature hoarded or taken from others?

How did the creature come to exist?
Did it evolve? Was it created in its current form by gods? Was it created by a wizard? Was it created by a curse, or a lingering energy? Did it originate as another kind of creature?

What are the portents of its arrival?
When the creature is coming, or being summoned, or thinking about going somewhere, is there a sign of its imminent arrival? Any weather phenomena or unexplained oddities?

What happens to the creature’s victims?
Do they all necessarily die? Are they kept alive? Are they changed?

Does the creature have any special weakness?
Does its weakness hurt or kill it? Does it simply weaken it, or allow it to be hurt more easily? Does the weakness restrict the creature’s options or movement? Is the weakness logical, or is it something completely oblique that only random chance or an ancient sage will be able to reveal?

Does anything special occur upon the killing blow being made against the monster?
Is there a blessing or a curse? Is it on the one who made the killing blow, or on someone they love, or on their player?

When the creature dies, what happens?
Does its body explode, or decay, or simply lie dead normally? Is any evil inside of it released, are any of its deeds undone? Was its life sealing away any good or evil that is now released? Is there any cool effect like everybody in 100 miles going blind, or the sun being brighter for a day?

Is the dead body useful for anything?
Do the bones make good weapons? Are there any spell components to be found among its remains? Is the body part ready-to-use as soon as its removed, or must it be crafted by an artisan? Is it a permanent item? A temporary boost? Does it have an expiration date?

Swallowed Whole

I discussed this a few months ago on google+, but it seems pertinent to go into some more detail here.

The ability of large monsters to swallow their prey whole is a time honored part of the game. But as best I can tell, there’s not actually a lot of detail on how it’s supposed to work. The AD&D DMG doesn’t mention it in the index, and in the monster manual it tends to simply state that the swallowing happens. Such as this entry for the T-Rex:

“This monster will pursue and eat nearly anything, engulfing man-sized creatures whole on a rolle of 18 or better.”

That’s the end of the entry. A perfectly reasonable interpretation would be that a character who is swallowed whole is now dead. But that feels pretty cheap. A more interesting idea is that the character is now in a state of limbo. If the remaining party members slay the beast then their friend can be saved; if the monster gets away, then their friend is dead.

But shitty movie cliches and lenient referees have convinced most players that being swallowed whole is somehow actually beneficial to them. After all, their sword can’t exactly miss when they’re entirely surrounded by the soft and vulnerable flesh of a monsters insides, right?

From the player’s perspective,though, it’s not an entirely unreasonable request to want to continue fighting so long as they’re still alive and have a reasonable expectation of being conscious. So I think we have to give them the opportunity. But the mechanics of the situation need to represent the fact that the players are at a severe disadvantage. If they actually manage to free themselves, then it should be impressive not because the imagery is so cool (it isn’t. It’s cliche and boring). It should be impressive because the odds of success seemed so incredibly remote.

SO, Miscreated Creatures will include a set of “Standard Swallowed Whole” rules in its appendix. Monsters will either swallow whole according to the Standard Rules, or they will list their deviation from such. I haven’t 100% settled on how the Standard Rules should look yet, but this is where I’m sitting currently:

When a character is swallowed whole, they must succeed on a save versus Paralyzation to determine if they keep hold of their weapon. Bludgeoning weapons like hammers or fists are useless. It’s impossible to get sufficient momentum with such weapons to do any good. Whips fail for the same reason. Most ranged weapons, such as bows, are similarly useless. Guns work, but cannot be reloaded once fired. Any weapon that is too long (a spear, a pike, a musket) wont’ be able to be swallowed correctly, and will thus be broken in half when swallowed. Characters who make their save will be able to use any slicing or piercing weapons they can hold on to.

Attacks made while swallowed whole automatically hit, unless a 1 or 2 is rolled, in which case the character loses their weapon and can’t get it back. Otherwise, roll damage. The creatures takes only half of the damage rolled. Creatures who swallow live prey do not have delicate stomach tissue.

The acids and lack of breathable air within a creatures stomach will be suffocating for any character trapped within. After 1 + Constitution Modifier rounds, a character must make a save versus Poison each round in order to remain conscious. Swallowed characters take 10% of their total hit points as damage each adventuring turn.

Using these rules, a swallowed character’s ability to resist will likely end within only a few rounds. Even a high level halfling with 18 CON has a 10% chance to succumb each round after the 4. But their death will be slow, allowing their companions time to rescue them by hunting down and slaying the creature even if it flees.

These rules are a little over complicated perhaps. Much as I like simple rules, I have a habit of writing rules the way Pathfinder taught me to. TL;DR:

Save v. Para to determine if you can hold onto your weapon. Awkward weapons don’t work. 1-2 attack roll drops weapon, all others are hits that deal 1/2 damage. Save v. Poison to stay awake after 1 + Con Modifier rounds. Take 10% damage each adventuring turn.

Of course, some monsters will have steel bellies that can’t be harmed, or their bellies will be full of fire that kills you very quickly. Unpredictability is the name of the game. But I think this forms a good basis from which to adjudicate monsters that swallow characters whole.

Related Links:

The google+ discussion about this.

Miscreated Creatures Update, and Keeping House Rules to Yourself

So, I’m writing a monster book called “Miscreated Creatures.” I’ve reached a point where I feel embarrassed to say that, because I’ve been saying it for about two years now, and don’t have anything to show for it. I’m like that asshole who brags about a novel that everybody knows he’s never going to finish. Really, I should have been done by now. But I’m not, and I probably won’t be for awhile yet. It turns out writing a book is really hard, and my strategy for tackling the project was…bad.

There have been redundant rewrites, inefficient document sorting, and periods of depressed inactivity that I’m ashamed to admit to. And of course there was the time about 9 months ago when I realized I’d made a fundamental error in the way I directed my creativity. I’d been trying to reinvent the wheel in the worst way, and backpedaling from that error cost me a lot of work.

But now the writing is in its final phase. It’ll be awhile before I’m done, but now I can see the day in my future when I will be. Art, layout, and printing will be a whole other beast altogether, but the book will get done. And after the titanic number of fuckups I’ve made while trying to do this job, I like to hope I’ve learned enough to work much much muuuuuch faster on my next big project.

ANYWAY: This post isn’t just an update on my book. What I really want to talk about is house rules.

Miscreated Creatures is being written as an LotFP compatible supplement. But, like any referee worth his screen, I don’t actually play LotFP Rules-As-Written. I’ve house ruled the fleeing rules to be more gradated, I’ve house ruled the grapple rules to be more attractive to players, and I’ve house ruled the social interaction to work according to On the Non-Player Character. Unsurprisingly, the monsters I create for my game are built with those house rules as an underlying assumption.

Of course, in most cases, it doesn’t matter. If a chase or a grapple or a social encounter happens with most monsters, they’ll work with any chase/grapple/social rules you want to use. But what about those rare, super-cool monsters whose entire concept is based around manipulating the chase system? Or the several monsters who “grapple as 2HD higher?” I think these monsters are cool, and worth sharing. But I obviously can’t assume other players use my house rules, or are even familiar with them. And it seems somehow fundamentally wrong for a monster book to prescribe rules changes.

I could attempt to rewrite the monsters so that their mechanics assume a RAW LotFP game. But when I house rule, I generally do it because the base system has insufficient depth to be properly interesting. If my super-cool grappler monster is reduced to a creature with +2 to their grapple check, it hardly seems worth including them in the first place.

I could just take those monsters out of the book. With over 320 monsters, in it, the value of my book will hardly be significantly impacted by the removal of 10-20 creatures. And I could always publish them on my blog. But those 10-20 creatures include some of my best work. They deserve to be accompanied by some kickass art, and printed on paper.

The solution I’m going with is the one that feels wrong. The opening of Miscreated Creatures currently has a small section of recommended house rules, and a note about how some monsters in the book rely on those rules to function properly. I’m hoping that when we’re doing the layout, I can keep this section to a single page or less. Like I said, it feels wrong to have it there, but it feels more wrong to hide some of my monsters away, or neuter them by reinterpreting them through the lens of inferior game mechanics.

Me wondering what kind of information I should include in a monster entry.

Me trying to figure out how to implement a feature that I eventually scrapped anyway.

Magic Words in Practice

I thought I’d expand on the idea I presented in yesterday’s post with a demonstration of what I’m talking about. So I googled “Random dictionary word,” and clicked around on a few sites. I skipped past words like “Floriken” and “Antrum,” and settled on four common words. Below, I’ve mixed and matched the words, and turned their various combinations into 1st level spells.

Star

Indirection

Fight

Seat

Stars of Indirection
The first person who is touched by the caster after this spell is cast becomes cursed. Any attempt to use the stars as a means of navigation will return a false result. The navigator will believe they have read the stars correctly. But any attempt to travel based on that navigation will lead in a random direction. This curse lasts one month, and a save versus Magic negates the effect.

Star Fighter
If cast during combat, a target within 100′ will be perceived as impressive by everyone who sees them. Even a bungling commoner with a sword they don’t understand how to use will be percieved as a peerless warrior. Weaker foes will become intimidated and may flee or falter before the Star Fighter. More ambitious opponents, meanwhile, will be drawn to the Star Fighter as a means of winning glory for themselves. This effect ends after the Star Fighter spends an adventuring turn out of combat. If the target wishes, they may make a save versus Magic to resist the spell’s effect.

Star Seat
A throne made of the night sky is summoned for 1 hour. Anyone but the caster attempting to sit in the throne will cause it to dissipate into a cold mist. When the caster sits on the throne, they percieve themselves to be miles above their own body, looking down at the world from the heavens. From this height, it’s impossible to discern any details. However, it can be used to make an effective map of the area within a 10 mile radius of the caster. The caster will also be able to see any sufficiently large phenomena, such as a town being on fire, or an army on the march. While sitting in the Star Seat, the caster will be completely unaware of anything happening to their body, including hit point damage.

Seat
A single human or human-like target must make a save versus Paralyzation or immediately sit down and remain seated for 1 turn per caster level. If there is a chair within arm’s reach, they may sit in that, but otherwise they must simply sit on the floor. Swimming, flying, or climbing targets don’t simply fall to whatever surface is beneath them, but may move themselves along the most expedient course to a seat that is not lethal to them. So long as the target’s butt remains in constant contact with a horizontal surface, they are otherwise free to move and act.

Seat of Indirection
This spell is cast on a chair or other sitting place, and lasts for 1 hour per caster level. Anyone sitting in that seat is more easily fooled than normal. They are not charmed, they are merely a little more gullible than they would normally be. If using the social system presented in “On The Non Player Character” by Courtney Campbell, treat this as a +2 to social action rolls. +3 if the social action is Gamble.

Indirect Fighting
A willing target within 30′ is able to attack indirectly for 2 rounds per caster level. They may use any weapons or techniques they possess to attack someone within 30′ of themselves, without actually touching them. On a successful attack roll, the target takes damage normally. The target doesn’t receive any AC bonus from dexterity.

==========

I couldn’t think of an interesting spell for Seat + Fight that didn’t feel redundant. (The Fighter’s Seat?, The Seated Fighter?, Seat Fighting?) If a player handed me that spell I’d probably ask for their input, or just rehash Seat of Indirection, allowing the caster to curse a chair to make whomever sits in it more likely to attack someone.

Spell lists suck. Here are some magic words.

Spell lists feel wrong to me. Magic is a rare and eldritch thing, feared and hated by decent folk. To quote James Raggi, “Magic is art, not science. Each work of magic […] is something that must be done from scratch each time. Merely replicating what has already been done will never work.” Given that, it seems strange that magic in most games is restricted to a static list of 20 spells per level.

I get that spell lists are a useful abstraction. I get that even this very simple system of magic can make a character feel complex and clunky when compared to non-spellcaster classes. There are a lot of ways to mitigate this problem. Opening up the spell list to supplements and expanding the range of possible spells can introduce some truly weird elements into your game world. There are some awesome spell lists out there. (Theorums and Tharmaturgy, Wonder and Wickedness, etc.) But that can begin to feel overwhelming if you open it up too much. Every time a spell is cast, you gotta remember which book its from and look it up. I know you’ve all seen that haggard look in the referee’s eyes when you cast a spell and they have no idea what it does.

A really dedicated referee could just homebrew all of their campaign world’s spells. But that’s a metric fuckton of work, and in the end you’re still limiting yourself to lists. What I’d really like to see is for players to make up their own spells.

Spellcrafting rules exist in pretty much every system I’ve ever played, but I’ve never actually seen anybody use them. I’m sure somebody out there does it, but they’re certainly in the minority. And it’s not because players are lazy or uncreative. The systems we’re using are not properly incentivizing players to craft their own spells, and that’s a bummer. I’d like to fix that.

My brother and I have been tinkering with an idea based around combining different magical words. At the start of play, the caster gets some random spells as per usual, which they can memorize and cast in proper Vancian fashion. But if they want to acquire any further spells, they’ll need to collect an arsenal of words, and combine them in different patterns to create new spells.

The words are simply the titles of the spells. So, a caster who begins play with “Unseen Servant” and “Fairy Fire” in their spellbook, has four magical words at their disposal: Fire, Fairy, Servant, and Unseen. The caster can then mix and match these options in various ways. They might craft “Fairy Servant,” or “Unseen Fire,” or “Fire Servant,” or “Servant (of) Fire.”

Finding additional words would serve as an interesting form of treasure for casters, and it would be fun to give them particularly odd sounding words and see how the players tinker with them. What will your players do with the word “Teapot” for example?

After the caster combines the words, they present the spell title to the referee, along with the level of the spell they’re trying to create. Only one spell can be crafted per session, and it can only be crafted at the end of the session. The crafting process fills the time between sessions, and when the next session begins the referee should present the caster with a spell.

Writing a single spell between sessions shouldn’t be too much trouble for the referee. The only real issue I see with the system is that you will certainly end up with wildly unbalanced spell lists. My solution is to play with people who won’t throw a hissy fit when you say you want to nerf one of their spells, but obviously that’s not a good standard for rules design. Still, I’m willing to let balance be a little out of whack in exchange for more creative spells.

And, I would argue, this system actually results in less complicated magic users. Part of the reason that spell list based magic systems are so daunting is that the player feels the need to be familiar with all of the spells in order to make an intelligent decision about which spells to pursue. Using this system, there are no spells to be familiar with. Only simple, singular words; and only a handful of those.

How should mind affecting spells work on PCs?

Mind affecting spells cast on players are a tricky business.

With NPCs, there are no wrong answers. Can Charm Person be used to turn the bandit into a loyal henchman, or will the spell be broken as soon as you stab his friend? We can argue about one method or another being more fun, but in the end it doesn’t matter which method you use. The NPC isn’t going to feel like they’ve been treated unfairly. But a player might.

Lately, my most consistent D&D game has been Saturday morning Necrocarserous with John Bell. My character, Urlar of Yellow Waters, has been possessed by dragon spirits, dominated by an intelligent item, and affected by a spell which convinced me that my companions had been corrupted and that the only way to give them peace was to kill and eat them. Far from feeling like I was being treated unfairly, these moments where I lost normal control over my character are some of the most entertaining highlights of my time as a cog in the Necrocarserous Program.

My character didn’t turn into a temporary NPC while I sat on the sidelines and watched the game unfold. Nor did John ever tell me what specific actions I had to take. Instead, my character was given a goal. With the Dragon spirits, it was fairly broad. “Act in the best interests of the dragon cult” or something. Being empowered by the dragon spirits, I actually got a ton of boosts to my abilities, and a whole cult worth of people doing my bidding. Unfortunately, the rest of the party was in the process of robbing the dragon cult. Obviously I’m on the side of the party, but right now, Urlar is on the side of the dragons. So I ordered ‘my’ cultists to destroy the stone dome the magic user summoned to protect himself. The MU was the one actually in possession of the cult’s property, and thus should be our primary target. When a hole opened that was big enough to shoot arrows through, I insisted the cultists continue to focus on destroying the dome. A small hole, I reasoned, only allows a single arrow to fire through it, but a large hole can allow a steady stream of cultists into the dome to overwhelm the intruder. Eventually, my intentionally bad tactics allowed the party to withdraw successfully. (I don’t recall how they extricated me, but they did. Once I got back to town I had the tumor that allowed me to see dragon spirits removed.)

Being mind controlled in Necrocarserous isn’t something that happens to you. The player is not a passive participant. Mind control is a puzzle that can be solved. The player knows what their goal is, and they are obligated to pursue it. (John often tells me ‘no,’ and clarifies the nature of my goal when I try to deviate too much.) But any path to the goal that makes sense will be accepted. And thus can a mind controlled player minimize the damage they do to the party’s goals. Or even work towards the party’s goals if they are particularly clever about their reasoning.

This is how I want to run mind affecting spells from now on. As a complication which forces the player to stretch their ingenuity to the limits, rather than a buzzkill that bums the player out.

Magical Marvels 27: Swordaxe and Scroll on Pink Paper

I don’t know when I drew this. I would estimate about 6-8 years old. Thought it would be fun to make a magic item out of it.

The Swordaxe of Bath’un Ra

It was very sad when the town smith went mad. He’d been kind, well liked, and exceptionally skilled. Then one day he began babbling loudly at all hours, and throwing himself into walls. The man had no family, and there was some discussion about whether he ought to be locked up, or given a merciful death.

Then it was discovered that if he was allowed into his workshop, his babbling ceased. He moved about like his old self, working steel as competently as he ever had. He didn’t speak at all, but he seemed happy and competent enough, so the townsfolk kept an eye on him and hoped he’d come out of his dementia eventually. No one paid particular attention to the sword he was crafting, festooned with half the gems and precious metals he had in his stores.

What the others had taken for madness, was in fact a horrific possession by a dark thing that had survived from when the world was young. A creature called Bath’un Ra that had enslaved man before written history, and which had only now grown powerful enough to do so again.

Before leaving to inhabit the swordaxe, the spirit of Bath’un Ra forced the smith to throw himself upon his creation so that he could not reveal Bath’un Ra’s secrets once the spirit had left him. The next day the smith was found dead beside the swordaxe, along with a scroll covered in incomprehensible symbols. The village buried all three together, well outside the edge of town.

Powers

The swordaxe of Bath’un Ra is a one handed weapon that deals 1d8 damage. Bath’un Ra does not immediately reveal its presence to the wielder, but subtly communicates the weapon’s magical properties to whomever holds it.

If they wish, they may make an attack roll against an opponent with a +2 to hit roll. If the attack hits, no damage is dealt, but the weapon bursts into flame. Each time the wielder does this, the weapon charges up further, and the flame grows larger.

Once the swordaxe has been charged 3 times, the character can spend the charges to make an auto-hit attack dealing 3d10 damage. After the swordaxe has been charged 5 times, the wielder can spend the charges to make an auto-hit attack for 5d12. (Additional charges after 5 merely add an extra 1d12).

Note that the charges can only be spent on the specific foe they were gained from. The spirit of Bath’un Ra is learning the weaknesses of their soul during each non-damaging attack.

When the Swordaxe deals a killing blow, roll 1d12. On a roll of 1, Bath’un Ra’s spirit has grown powerful enough to place the wielder under a Geas. (save v. magic to resist). If the save is successful, and the character continues using the swordaxe, the referee should continue to roll 1d12 to determine when Bath’un Ra can attempt his Geas again. If the save fails, then disobeying the Geas is punished by death. (No save)

Those under Bath’un Ra’s spell must uncover an ancient temple from eons past, which has been buried beneath millennia of desert sands. Within they must find the demon king statue, and place the Swordaxe in the statue’s hand. Once this is done, the statue will turn to flesh, and Bath’Un Ra will return to the world.

The scroll found with the swordaxe is written in the nonsensical language of maddness. Because it was only ever understood by a single person (the smith,) Comprehend Language as cast by a 3rd level magic user is required to decipher it. Written there is Bath’un Ra’s true name, and the words of binding that will keep him subdued. Reading this scroll allows the wielder to use the swordaxe without any risk of being placed under a Geas.

The solution to running chases.

“Chase Scenes” in D&D are unsatisfying. For a few years now, I’ve been content with LotFP’s 1d20 + [Mov/10] rule. But that’s a stopgap. It gets the job done, but it doesn’t satisfy. Escaping from combat should be more variable.

Retired Adventurer is a criminally underrated blog. John Bell is a phenomenal world builder, rules designer, and game referee. He’s good enough that I drag myself out of bed at 5:30 AM every Saturday to play in his game.

This most recent Saturday, the party was leading a rich tourist around some ancient ruins. The dude was a fucking asshole who seemed intent on pissing off every monster he came across, but he was paying us 2500 obols each, so we gritted our teeth and took pictures of him posing with a statue of a sphinx. Then three real sphinx appeared, he made some racist comments. John said he was rolling initiative, and the rest of us said “we run.”

That’s when I encountered John’s rules for routs. Presented here in a modified form, based on some modifications by John, and a discussion about it on google+. I should note that I’ve altered the rule shown here to suit my own needs. It differs significantly from John’s original, so you should check that out as well.

Routs

Each round, each group of fugitives and pursuers rolls 2d6.

If the face value of a die in the pursuer’s roll matches the face value of a die in a fugitive’s roll, then the pursuers can make missile attacks at the fugitives.

If the pursuers roll a “7”, then they get close enough to each make a single melee attack at +4 against the fugitives.

If the fugitives roll a “7” then they have evaded sight long enough to make a stealth check. If the stealth check is successful, the fugitives have escaped. If the check is failed, the chase continues next round.

If both dice in a pursuer’s roll show the same value, then they have cornered the fugitives. The chase is ended, and regular combat resumes. The fugitives cannot continue to flee unless they make an opening for themselves, such as by slaying one of their pursuers.

If both dice in a fugitive’s roll show the same value, then they have escaped.

In the event that both the pursuers and fugitives roll one of the options above, only the fugitive’s roll counts.

If one party is faster than the other, then for each 30′ of difference in the two party’s speeds, the faster party gains 1 “Die Bump.” After each chase roll, a die bump can be used to adjust one die up or down by 1. (So a 3 can become a 2, or a 4). Multiple die bumps can easily turn the chase into a trivial thing. Dangerous for over-encumbered characters.

Of course, if the fugitives throw food / treasure, the pursuers should usually make morale checks as in LotFP standard. And the GM should keep track of the character’s random movements through their environment, so that once the chase ends, they have to deal with being lost.

Magical Marvels 26: Raggi’s Rejects 6: The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus

A tattered manuscript of Christopher Marlowe’s play “The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus.” The text has little in common with other surviving versions of the play. In fact, those copies were forged by church censors. They secretly distributed the texts to satisfy heretical curiosity about the banned play, without revealing the true depths of Marlowe’s sin. Marlowe himself was quietly put to death for his abominable work. This is the only surviving copy of what he truly wrote, written in his own hand. A note, hastily scrawled on the first page, reads:

“Will that the noblest of magics might flourish, and God’s abominable sorcery might perish.”

In this version of the play, Lucifer and Mephistophilis treat Faust fairly. God is depicted as an interloper. He attempts to reassert His will over Faust after being rejected. God even goes so far as to send an angel to steal Faust away, but is defeated when Lucifer sends one of his own servants to protect Faust. The play culminates in an orgy with Faust, his friends, a number of demons, and several nuns and priests who have been convinced to turn away from God.

The entire play is filled with unusual phrasings and invented words. In particular, the scene where Faust makes his pact with Lucifer is completely nonsensical when read. However, if actors memorize the lines properly, then during the performance of the play they will be compelled to improvise. The scene is different each time, but always conforms to the plot and style of the play. During this scene, shameful secrets of audience members, and bizarre prophecies are incorporated into the narrative.

When a performance of the play begins, anyone within 20 miles who has been baptized in the Christian faith feels compelled to stop the performance by any means. God has suspended free will to prevent this sin from occurring. Characters who wish to renounce their baptism may make a saving throw vs. magic to resist the compulsion. The referee is encouraged to be creative about renouncing God in His time of need. Performers and audience members are shielded from this compulsion.

To this day, the play has not been performed in full. If it is completed successfully, which requires 3 hours and 11 minutes, then God is banished from the world for 100 years. Clerical magic will disappear entirely during that time. Meanwhile, magic users and elves will feel as though they can think more clearly. As though their minds had been clouded during all of their life before now. For the purposes of learning or casting, all spells will be treated as 1 spell level lower than normal for the duration of God’s banishment. Magic users will begin using the fighter’s experience table, and elves will begin using the magic user’s. All characters, even the lowliest of peasants, will have a 30% chance of knowing one random 1^st level magic user spell.