Deadly Dungeons 30 / Magical Marvels 29: The Treasure Chest Card

There are two rooms, empty, with identical features. They share a ~3’ thick common wall. The only entrance to either room is on the wall opposite the common wall. Ideally, there should be no obvious path from one to the other. After players find the first room, they should need to pass through several unrelated areas before they can reach the second one.

The common wall between the two rooms has a slit in it. It’s 1’ long horizontally, and 2” wide vertically. Big enough for an arrow to fit into perhaps, but not an arm or a spear. The slit goes all the way through to the adjacent room.

When characters look through the slot, there appears to be a chest sitting in the center of the other room. However, when they reach that room, they’ll find it just as empty as the first room was. But if they look through the slot from this room, they’ll see that the same chest now appears to be in the opposite room. If there are players in both rooms, they’ll both see the chest in the room opposite the one they are in, but will not be able to find it in their own room.

Spells such as “True Seeing” or “Detect Magic” will reveal nothing, because there’s absolutely nothing magical about any of this. The chest is a sophisticated, but completely mundane, optical illusion. In the center of the slit between the two rooms is a tiny card with a chest painted onto both sides of it. If the card is fished out and examined, the ‘lid’ opens like an envelope. Inside is a 2” x 3.5” white card. In bold printed letters it reads “This card is proof that the task has been completed.”

If the card is given to anyone who has assigned a task to the players, that person will accept it as incontrovertible proof that the task was completed. No amount of logic will ever convince this person that the players failed. Their brain will fold over on itself to find ever more ridiculous explanations for evidence to the contrary, and they will go completely insane rather than believe the task remains incomplete. Further, anyone they show the card to will similarly agree that it incontrovertible.

If the king points to his adviser standing 5’ away and says “I want you to bring me my adviser’s head on a plate,” and the players instead hand the king this card, the king will say “Excellent! My adviser’s head on a plate! Exactly what I wanted. Here’s the reward I promised you.” All the while, the adviser is still standing 5’ away shaking in fear. If this is pointed out to the king, he’ll assume he’s seeing his adviser’s twin brother, or his adviser’s ghost. He may be annoyed that he now needs to hire a ghost hunter, but that’s not really the PC’s fault, now is it?

The card only works once. If the players endeavor to steal the it back, then whomever they give it to next will still view it as proof of whatever first task it was used for. So if the players were to give it to a farmer who needed his lost child rescued from orcs, he would be horrified when the players handed him the royal adviser’s head on a platter.

Formidable Factions 1: Techno Priests

Faction play fascinates me. I’m bad at actually running it, mind you, but the best way to learn this sorta stuff is just to keep failing until you don’t anymore. So 85% of the worldbuilding I’ve done for “On A Red World Alone” has been inventing the various factions that control territory within the dome. For my most recent game I had to flesh out the Techno Priests, and I was happy enough with what came out that I thought someone else might benefit from it.

Priests and Practitioners of the Techno-ligion

The Techno-Faithful revere what they call “The Past Gods.” The Engineers of the pre-apocalypse are their pantheon of deities. People whose knowledge was beyond any modern understanding. The Techno-Faithful know that their gods were men and women, and that those people have long since died. But they also believe that those men and women were possessed of a power that was lost through the moral decay of the human species. The Past Gods were mere men, yes. But we have become some lower thing. A race of sub-men, shackled to weakness and ignorance by our own immorality.

The Techno Faithful marvel in the wonders of technology. They meditate by clicking a flashlight on and off, or playing a working gameboy. They pray to the collective spirits of The past Gods to guide them away from sin, and towards an understanding of technology.

While the Techno-ligion is widespread, there are just as many people who think the whole “Past Gods” nonsesnse is hogwash. But even they must admit that Techno Priests are the masters of getting old technology working again. They’re pretty much the only ones who can do it. Althought within the whole of their religion, no one actually understands technology. They’ve merely ritualized what we would call tech support procedures. The first rituals an acolyte learns are just over-complicated ways of checking to see if it has fresh batteries, or turning it off and back on again. Mid level acolytes can spend hours muttering “Ω” as they follow a wire to see if it has frayed. The most experienced elders of the faith wield Smelting Scepters (soldering irons), and know how to repair a pathway on a circuit-board, or replace a blown capacitor.

But concepts like “an electrical circuit,” or even “electricity” are alien to them. Perhaps even blasphemous. When they get a shock from a frayed wire, they believe it is The Past Gods chiding them for their failings. Only through ritual and meditation do they believe the soul can be purified, and technology understood.

If you have a piece of technology you wish to have repaired by a Techno Priest, they will always begin with the lowest level rituals and work their way up. (Even if the issue obviously requires the fifth ritual, it is sacrilegious to skip rituals 1 through 4). Each ritual has a 1-in-6 chance of fixing the technology, and costs 100 credits multiplied by level of the ritual. So the first attempt costs 100 credits, the second attempt costs 200 credits, and so on.

Once a device has been given to a techno priest to repair, under no circumstances will it be returned until it has been repaired. If a given priest is not knowledgeable enough to fix it, they will take it to their superiors. If you don’t have enough money to pay for the next level of ritual, they will hold onto it for you until you do. This is a matter of cyber-heaven or giga-hell for them. They will not budge on this issue.

The Techno Faithful typically wear a broken computer fan or an LED somewhere on their person. Techno Priests cover their clothing in as much broken technology as they can. These are worn as a sign of respect for the knowledge of those who made the relics that cannot now be understood; and as an act of penance for allowing the race to decay to the point that this knowledge was lost.

Religious services for the Techno Faith involve gathering in large groups to spend an hour or more pedaling at stationary bicycles to charge batteries. The exertion cleanses the body and the soul, and means that most devotees of the faith are exceptionally fit.

Sample Monastery

A cell hidden deep in unfriendly territory. Tasked with seeking out relics that have not yet been discovered by the locals, and smuggling them back to Technotopia before they fall into irreverent hands.

High Priest Tsaros. A plump woman with a pair of satellite dishes on her shoulders, and a tiara of working LED computer fans. Tsaros is learned in the faith (can perform up to level 8 repair rituals). However, since she became the leader of an outpost far away from any of her superiors, she has become lax in her worship. A weak-willed person, but not stupid or cruel.

Adjunct Priest Sessarum – A middle aged woman a decade Tsaros’ senior. She has less of a knack for ritual, (only up to level 5), but she is disciplined and devoted. Always pedals the hardest during service. Handles most of the day-to-day administration. Doesn’t like Tsaros, but is supremely respectful and faithful in her duties as Adjunct Priest, and to the chain of command laid out by the church elders. She will not betray Tsaros under even the most dire circumstance.

Knight Seeker Able’Tut – A brusque young man. Scornful of nearly everyone, particularly those who he perceives as being complicit in the moral fall of the human race. Constantly skirts the line of what is permissible in his hatred of High Priest Tsaros, and does not trust the dedication of Knight Shepherd Yule. He is capable of performing level 3 rituals, and his primary duty is leading search teams, out to find new relics.

Knight Shepherd Yule – An elderly man who joined the faithful late in his life, Yule performs rituals only up to the third level. But as a softspoken man, nearing the end of a life fully lived, he is uniquely qualified to tend to the spiritual and educational needs of the younger priests and acolytes.

Other – There are 12 priests capable of the 1st level of ritual, and 5 priests capable of the 2nd level of ritual.

Cool Stuff in the Wrong Direction: Forests

So. Your players are tracking Zalgag, the two eyed cyclops, through the woodlands where he’s rumored to have his lair. The ranger is using her tracking skill to follow the trail of trampled ferns and broken branches, then, she rolls a 1. The players have lost the trail. Worse yet, you use classic hexcrawling rules, and they’ve gotten themselves lost. Still worse, nobody thought to purchase a compass. The situation is bad for them, but for you it’s even worse. You’ve gotta figure out how to make being lost in the woods interesting.

Fortunately, you’ve got this table.

An ancient stone church. From the construction you can tell it originates from the very earliest days of the common faith in this land. Back when the abhorrent faiths that were once practiced here were forced out at swordpoint. A titanic oak has fallen on the roof and crashed its way through the floor, revealing a hidden chamber beneath. There appears to have been no way to reach this chamber from the church prior to the floor collapsing.
The floor of the chamber is covered in a layer of dead wasp husks 2’ deep. The many-pored hives of their living descendants hum with activity all along the chamber’s walls and ceilings. Directly under the altar in the church above is a stone ring, 3’ tall. Human femurs have been placed on the inside edge of the ring, each pointing towards the center. There are hundreds of these, leaving only a narrow passage of about 5’ in diameter down the center of the ring.

Runes in an ancient local tongue describe the necessary ritual. A victim’s face must be pressed to the narrow bone passage and pain must be inflicted on them. Their screams suffice as an offering to the god of this place. After having been so long forgotten, the deity will be willing to proclaim anyone who gives it offerings as a champion. Much will be given, but much will be expected.There is a passage in the wall which wends beneath the earth for nearly a mile before opening out into the side of a treacherous gorge. The native peoples built this place to worship their god in secret after open worship was banned, and to negate the hateful presence of the interloping faith.
A meadow where the trees overhead are so thick they form a veritable cavern. It would be dark as night, if not for the multicolored, luminescent fungi that hang from every tree branch, and float on the waters of the pond. This is the court of the pixies. A place which can only be found when you’re not looking for it.Typically the pixies hate to be intruded on by the big folk. They punish intruders with cruel games. These are really just sadistic tortures with strange rules, and a false hope that the victim might ‘win’ and be allowed to leave.

Today, however, the pixies have need of some of the big folk. They have a gift for the big-folk king, and need someone to deliver it. Unfortunately, the serpent bird became enamored of the shiny paper the gift was wrapped in, and has stolen the gift for its nest. The pixies require the players to retrieve the gift before they take it to the king. They assure you that the human king will reward you amply for your trouble. He will not. If the players are reticent to pursue this quest without any obvious reward, the pixies would be happy to play “games” instead.

As it happens, the gift is a smooth white stone with a jagged “X” carved into its surface, and colored with a pasty red powder. If touched, the stone causes the victim to be uncomfortably large for any man-made room they enter. In nature they are normal size, but as soon as they walk through a doorway they will find they have to stoop, and cannot take most actions normally. (Though they can always fit through doorways, somehow). Their new size confers no benefits of strength.

The pixies would be deeply offended to learn their curse did not reach its proper target.
The characters break through the underbrush into a small clearing where they find a council of bears. Most are sitting on fallen logs or tree stumps, while 2-4 are standing amid the rest, having a formal argument with one another about the moral state of the forest, trade agreements with the squirrels, the reliability of sense perception, or some other esoteric topic. When the characters are noticed, the bears will be mortified at having been discovered. Some of them will begin awkwardly acting like normal bears, but these will be chided by the rest for being ridiculous. After all, humans aren’t that stupid.

The bears are polite and highly rational, but are insistent that they do not want their intellect to become widely known. While they have no currency with which to bribe the players, they offer their council on any number of issues the players wish to discuss. Of course, they are given to long argument on even the simplest subject, but patient players will always receive good information. Under no circumstances will the bears resort to violence on the player’s behalf.

If the players attempt to betray the bears’ secret, they will have a difficult time of it. Tales of the bears are common enough from travelers in these woods that the surrounding villages have adopted the term “Meeting The Bear Council” as a euphemism for consuming a certain kind of hallucinogenic mushroom that grows on by the river there.
In the middle of nowhere, its presence not even indicated by a deer trail through the underbrush, is the Crosseyed Wolf Hunting Lodge. It’s a large, well maintained building, with a green moss growing on the walls and roof. Within, the building is rustic and homey, with a welcoming barkeep and a host of cheerful huntsman. Notably, some of these will be peasants, while others may be as high ranking as princes or kings. There is no rank in the Crosseyed Wolf Hunting Lodge.

On the walls hang trophies from all manner of bizarre creatures, the likes of which the players have never seen or imagined. Furry toad heads the size of an elephant’s, with majestic deer antlers; a fleshy horse with no eyes and 12 rows of razor teeth; a coiled python with the upper body of a mole-like thing where its head ought to be. The hunters are only too happy to share exaggerated stories of how deadly each creature was, and how much daring it took to bring it down.

The Crosseyed Wolf Hunting Lodge is managed by Gullenet the Jocose, a muscular wizard of considerable skill with portals. The exploits of his youth made him wealthy enough to fund this place for the next four hundred years (which is good, because he plans to live at least that long). Gullenet’s specialty is creating portals to other worlds, and he spends years doing careful research to find new and exciting prey for the finest hunters in the world to tackle. They gather here once every two years (aided by Gullenet’s portals) for a great hunt. And a new one is just about to begin.
A tree with a wise old face in its trunk. When approached, it will greet whomever it sees with a raspy voice, as though they were expected some time ago. It will agree to answer a single question for any group of people who come before it. It’s answers are generally nonsense disguised by profound language and portentous tone. It avoids specifics, but if need be, it will give specifics that are very far away from wherever it currently is.

Truth be told, this tree has only been sentient for about 6 years. It is not very old, nor is it very wise. But every face in a tree seems to look old and wise to humans. She got tired of trying to convince people she didn’t know the answers to their questions (everyone assumed it was some kind of test), and instead just started making shit up to get people to go away.
One of the party stumbles into a hole, taking taking 1 point of damage. It was disguised by a burlap tarp covered in dirt and dried leaves. The hole is 6’ long, 3’ wide, and 8’ deep. It’s lined with tightly packed stones, and there’s a metal grate at the bottom. The whole thing is covered in ash.If the players spend any time searching nearby they will find human bones. It doesn’t matter where they look. In hollow stumps, fallen logs, under stones, everywhere. It would be difficult to dig in a spot within 100’ of the hole without finding bones.

If the players wait, there is a 1 in 6 chance each night that Hershel Volik will arrive, carrying a body. Hershel lives in the nearest village. During a childhood he tries not to remember, Hershel developed a taste for the meat of his fellow man. He makes frequent trips to towns throughout the area on business, and his murders (about one every week) have thus far gone undetected.

Yet More Magic Words

I gotta stay in practice, yo. If you’re unfamiliar with what’s happening here you can read the original system proposition. I also wrote not one, but two previous magic word lists similar to this one. Also, it’s relevant that I’ve actually been playtesting this idea in my current campaign. It’s going really well, and at present it seems likely that this will become a permanent fixture of my gaming. Most successful house rule I’ve ever written.

Tomorrow

Four

Wild

Tree

Slash

———————–

Fourth Tomorrow

A spell that can be cast instantaneously, without any of the normal gestures or verbalization which would normally reveal spellcasting to foes. The caster disappears into a state of non-existence which lasts four days. 96 hours later they will reappear exactly where they were when the spell was cast. To them it will seem as though only an instant has passed.

If the space they would reappear in is already occupied, the spell jerks them towards the nearest unoccupied space. The caster takes 1d6 damage for every 5′ they have to be dragged.

Wild Tomorrow

A ritual spell used to create a circle 15’ in diameter. A map is placed in the center of the circle with a drop of blood on the caster’s desired destination. Anyone who sleeps within this circle will enter a shared dream for 8 hours. There they will be tested together by a mysterious being called The Blue Coachman. The test will usually take the form of a maze which they must reach the center of before the 8 hours are up. There is no penalty for dying within the dream, though you will spend the rest of the dream in a black void, and wake up with a headache. When the dream ends, the characters awake.

If they were successful, they will appear in a convenient location at the planned destination. If they were not, The Blue Coachman will leave them wherever he finds the most amusing. Perhaps in the middle of a desert, or on a solitary island. He might still take you where you wanted to go, but will place you in the most inconvenient spot he can find. Perhaps right into chains in the dungeon beneath your foe’s castle, or in a deep gorge that is about to be flooded.

Tomorrow Tree

A spell which causes a tree to grow to its full maturity in a single night, even if it is only a recently planted seed in the ground. This growth happens along the natural course the tree would have taken, assuming it received ample sunlight, water, and fertilizer. It will typically grow around barriers, rather than pushing through them.

The caster must sleep for 8 hours during the night for the tree to grow. But other characters can remain awake to watch the tree, and may attempt to guide its growth through pruning and bending if they wish.

Tomorrow Slash

A subtle spell. It may be cast quietly in private, and is activated in one of two ways. Either the caster must touch the target’s clothing, or they must momentarily draw their target’s attention to themselves.

20 + 1d6 hours later, the target takes 2d8 damage. Save versus Magic for half. The spell leaves a dagger wound on the body.

The Wild Four

Summons four revelers. They appear from around the nearest corner and jubilantly approach the caster. They cheer the caster’s name, they dance, and they drink. They always seem to have whatever celebratory accouterments they need, though they’re unable to give any of it to anyone else. (For example, they’ve always got a beer in their hand, but if asked to give you one, they can’t do so unless there is real beer nearby).

People who see the revelers will be enticed to join in the party. No save is required, but unless they have some reason not to party (such as being on guard duty), they’ll probably join in for at least an hour or so.

The wild four will continue to party until the caster is so exhausted that he falls into an 8 hour sleep. They will then dance off into the night, and disappear once they’re out of everyone’s hearing.

Four Trees

A one hour ritual spell which causes an apple tree to grow 10’ to the north of the caster, a fig tree to grow 10’ to the east, a pineapple tree to grow 10’ to the south, and a cherry tree to grow 10’ to the west. The trees will reach full bloom at the end of 1 hour, with ample fruit, regardless of environment. They will persist in this state for as long as the caster concentrates, producing new fruit every hour. Once the caster stops concentrating, the trees will become subject to whatever environmental and climate conditions they are in, and either flourish or decay in real time.

Four Slash

A touch-range spell that can be cast on any friendly target. On the target’s next turn, they can make 4 separate melee attacks. They can move up to 10′ between the attacks, and these 10′ steps do not count as part of the caster’s movement.

This spell is unique in that it has only a 2-in-6 chance of failure if cast within an anti-magic field.

Wild Tree

In an instant, a target tree that is touched by the caster grows to twice its current size. The caster may direct the trees growth, causing it to form a bridge, or a barrier, or to crash through a nearby structure. The cater cannot direct the tree to grow in a way that will cause it to come crashing down under its own weight.

Wild Slash

A single target within the caster’s line of sight must save versus Magic or be cursed. In any round where the victim of the curse makes a melee attack, their armor class is reduced by 1d6 for that round.

Tree Slash

When cast on a tree, that tree will sense vibrations in the earth using its roots. Anyone who approaches within 15′ of the tree will be attacked by swinging branches. They must save versus Breath or be struck for 1d6 damage each round.

The tree is indiscriminate in who it targets. Not even the caster is safe.

Magical Marvels 28: Getting Weird With the Classics 1

Randomly generated magic items from the 1979 DMG, rewritten to suit my current playstyle a little better.

Ring of Invisibility
The wearer of an invisibility ring is able to become invisible at will, instantly, This non-visible state is exactly the same as the magic user invisibility spell (q.v.), except that 10% of these rings also have inaudibility as well, making the wearer absolutely silent. If the wearer wishes to speak, he or she breaks all silence features in order to do so.

Ring of Imperceptibility

The wearer of the Imperceptibility ring cannot be detected by anyone they are aware of. The wearer themselves still reflects light and produces sounds and smells, but so long as they’re aware of a person’s presence, that person is completely unable to detect any of those things.

If anyone the wearer is unaware of is nearby, they can see, hear, and smell the wearer as normal. If they notice the wearer before the wearer notices them, they are immune to the ring’s magics until the wearer manages to hide from them normally, remove the ring, and put it back on again.

If the wearer does anything that is difficult to ignore, the ring struggles to maintain the illusion that the character is not present. In these instances, the player must make a saving throw versus Magic, or the ring will erase itself and its wearer from reality in order to maintain the illusion that no one was present. If, for example, the wearer opens a door in full view of individuals that the ring is deceiving, and there isn’t any wind to blame it on, then the save must be made.

Brazier Commanding Fire Elementals
This device appears to be a normal container for holding burning coals unless magic is detected for. It enables a magic-user to summon an elemental of 12 hit dice strength from the elemental plane of fire. A fire must be lit in the brazier–usually 1 round is required to do so. If sulfur is added the elemental will be of +1 on each hit die, i.e. 2-9 hit points per hit die. The fire elemental will appear as soon as the fire is burning and a command word is uttered. (See Monster Manual for other details.)

Brassiere of Commanding Fire Elementals

A woman’s undergarment that is uncomfortably hot to wear, causing the skin of the breasts to redden, blister, and peel. When a fire elemental is encountered, the wearer may attempt to command the creature by exposing the brassiere. If the elemental fails a save versus Breath, the wearer’s sex appeal is enough to take their breath away. They become intent on pleasing the wearer, and will attempt to perform any task that is asked of them.

After a task is completed, the elemental will return to the wearer. At this point the wearer may either spurn the elemental’s advances, or give them a new task. If the elemental is spurned, there is a 20% chance per task they completed that the creature will begin a rampage of destruction in a random direction. Otherwise, they will merely return to their home plane in frustration.

For each task requested after the first one, there is a cumulative 1 in 6 chance that the elemental will attempt a lover’s embrace before doing what is requested of it. This will immolate the wearer unless the elemental is destroyed. The brassier itself is fire proof.

Instrument of the Bard #2: Mac-Fuirmidh Cittern
This lute-like instrument is 50% likely to deliver 3-12 hit points of damage to any non-bard or bard under 5th level who picks it up and attempts to play it. A 5th or higher level bard who uses the cittern has a 15% better chance of charming and can sing the following songs once per day which:
1. Cast a barkskin spell;
2. cure light wounds; and
3. cast an obscurement spell.
Lower level bards cannot use the cittern even if they do not harm themselves (whether they take damage or not)

The Cittern of Mac-Fuirmidh

A finely made Cittern once owned by the famed Mac Fuirmidh. Any class which makes music as a matter of course may play the instrument freely without penalty. Members of other classes who wish to use it gain the “Music” skill at 0-in-6. The skill can be advanced normally. Anytime they attempt to use the Cittern, they must check to see if they’re able to play correctly. A failed skill check indicates that sour notes have been played, causing the strings to lacerate the musician’s hands, dealing 1d6 damage.

If played correctly, one of these three effects can be produced. It takes one minute of playing before any magic occurs.

Any foes who can hear the music are given pause by its beauty. A new reaction roll is made at +1 to determine how they feel about the party, now that they know the party is capable of producing such beauty. Creatures who are noted music lovers, or who have large ears, react at an additional +2. Creatures who would not normally make reaction rolls, such as animals and unintelligent undead, react at an additional -2. Creatures without ears are unaffected.
The skin cells of the musician’s allies begin to reproduce at an alarming rate. Their skin grows thick, and disgusting cracks form in it to allow them to maintain free movement. While under these effects, the party could understandably be mistaken for monsters. However, the thick skin does grant +2 to their armor class, and +1 to any saving throws made against a physical effect. The excess skin will flake off and shed after an hour.
Once the music’s magic has taken hold, the musician’s hit points become a common pool of luck which any allied character can draw from. Each hit point can be used to reduce an enemy’s attack roll or saving throw by 1, or increase their own attack rolls or saving throws by 1. These are declared after any dice are rolled. So if Alice’s armor rating is 14, and a bandit rolls a 16 on their attack roll, Alice can spend 3 of her Musician friend’s hit points in order to reduce the bandit’s attack roll to 13. This effect ends 1 turn after the music ends.

Cool Stuff in the Wrong Direction – Overland

Players are genetically predisposed to being dicks. It’s a fact. Their left nostril doesn’t detect odorant molecules the way a good and proper human’s does. It smells unpreparedness. If you’ve prepared interesting material to the North, East, and South, then the players will go West. Because they’re dicks.

Fortunately, you’re the kind of referee who prepares for their own unpreparedness.

The party encounters an act of banditry in progress. Everyone is occupied, so the players have a 4-in-6 chance of remaining unseen. In the chaos, both the bandits and their victims will assume the players are hostile unless they make their intentions crystal clear.

The victims are emissaries from the noble house of Burnon. The house is in dire financial condition and have made a loathsome deal with the wizard Kelissax. Kelissax needs to sacrifice a child of noble blood for his spell research. The house of Burnon has a 6 year old, 4th-in-line heir that they really don’t need. The child is traveling by carriage, and knows nothing of his coming fate.

The bandits, meanwhile, are in the employ of Arogoth the Cutthroat, who is known to be a loyal servant to Kelissax. The wizard, as it turns out, isn’t quite as wealthy as he suggested to the desperate Burnon matriarch. He can’t afford the child’s cost, so he’s hoping to steal the boy away for free. The Burnons can hardly mount a spirited search for his kidnappers. To do so would require them to answer awkward questions about what the boy was doing so far from home.
A hamlet called Telsborough with no more than 120 residents. It’s a welcoming town, moderately reknowned in the area for its excellent food and hospitable citizens. There’s no proper inn, but several families in town have formed a “hosting committee,” and will happily put up travelers in their homes. They hope, someday, to attract a trade road to come through their town.

Unfortunately, after 2 months of marriage, a young man named Albert has decided that it’s the perfect time to murder his young wife Felicity. Selling off her meager dowry after she’s gone will allow him to afford a silversmithing apprenticeship in the city.

His plan is simple: Tell the ever-so-trusting felicity to meet him “where they first kissed,” which happens to be a narrow path between two homes just off the main road. Knowing Felicity, when she sees strangers come by on the main road, she’ll call a few of them over to show them her fine needlework. If they’ll just swing by the house later, she’d be happy to sell a few garments for the travelers to bring to any ladies in their life.

Albert will watch from hiding. Once the meeting takes place, he’ll pop out, stab poor Felicity until her eyes go cold, then wait for the body to be found. He assumes people will naturally assume the strangers are responsible. It’s not the most clever plan, but Albert is hardly the most clever man.
A large mound of dirt breaks the surface, with a hole at the top large enough for two humans to climb down abreast. The tunnel is buttressed with the bones of large animals. Things live here. Bulky, furred, not-quite-men with swollen tongues hanging to their chests.

For the layout of the barrow, use a childhood home as a kind of mental map. The rooms are chambers, the doors and hallways are corridors, any stairs are holes in the floor or ceiling. Each of the creatures who live here correspond to one of the people who lived in that home with you. Their personalities are twisted and cruel versions of those people, even if those people were already a little twisted and cruel to start with.

In the chamber that corresponds to your kitchen, there is a mass grave filled with headless human bodies, covered by a burlap tarp. Most of the heads are stored in primitive ice chest. The rest are strewn across the ground, cracked open, brains sucked out.

In what was your bathroom are a dozen fawns of the barrow’s horrid habitants. Mewling and suckling at a tank of fluids that have been juiced from human brains. In what was your living room there is a fat candle of yellow wax as tall as a man’s belly. If its flame ever goes out, the not-quite-men believe they will be forsaken by their dirty, hateful god.

Any exits from your home aside from the main entrance are instead hidden doors. There’s a 2 in 6 chance they lead to a small cache of treasures, otherwise it is a hidden escape tunnel that lets out under a rock 3 miles from the main entrance.

In the place where you slept, there is a trio of elderly captives. Delicacies for these creatures. Their brains are being saved to be eaten fresh. Two of these are an old peasant couple on the road to visit their daughter the next town over. One is Sir Wulhurst, a venerable knight of 112 years. Any PCs who grew up within 100 miles of here will have heard of his exploits. Most people assume he’s dead. It’s understandable, given that he rarely leaves his keep in these final decades of his life, but the assumption still irks him.
The players encounter a wall with a matte painting of countryside on it. Turns out there literally isn’t anything in this direction. Just a matte painting, and a low-level psychic suggestion that before now had always prevented anyone from walking this way.
It won’t take much searching for the players to discover a sliding steel door in the matte painting, which can be pried open with a crowbar. Within are space aliens. Bald blue skinned humanoids with six fingered hands and bulbous red fish-eyes on either side of a narrow head. They’re running around in a mild panic, as a fire just destroyed their psychic emitter a moment ago. A panic that will only increase when they see the players–members of a truly brutal and savage race.

These alien’s technology isn’t so much “advanced,” as it is “different” from our modern day technology. For example, the smallest computer they’ve managed to develop weighs 100lb, but they’ve discovered the means of producing psychic emissions. Likewise, they’ve never figured out rocket science, or even basic flight. But they do know how to teleport themselves to any world with a magnetic core strong enough to serve as a beacon.
The players encounter a lighthouse on top of a hill, but nowhere near any body of water. The structure is simplistic, but effective and competently assembled. It is maintained by a woman named Josephene, who claims that God told her to build it. That the world will soon be flooded once again, and that the light will guide people to her when the floodwaters come. When they arrive, she will give them the word of God’s new covenant. She’s not willing to share God’s new covenant yet, but welcomes any potential faithful to stay with her and tend the lighthouse until the hour arrives.

Josephene is not crazy. She’s the victim of a megalomaniacal fly who feasted on the mind of a dead prophet as a maggot. Gifted with long life and knowledge of the future, the creature has learned to buzz its wings in a way that humans are able to interpret as speech. Buzzing accurate predictions in a person’s ear is liable to convince just about anyone that they’re receiving messages from some unseen deity. And in point of fact, the area will be affected by massive flooding early this coming spring. If left alone, a cult will form that venerates flies as sacred creatures. The presence of an active “voice of god” in people’s ears will cause it to grow quickly, rivaling other major religions in the region.
A small copse of trees, perhaps 500’ in diameter, with a guard tower rising from the center. The foliage is dense, and within 30’ the party will have lost sight of the forest’s edge. Which is a problem, because for anyone who cannot see the world outside of the copse, this forest is infinitely large.

The players can search all they wish, but they will not find the guard tower until they attempt to leave the forest, after which they will encounter it after moving 100’. Outside the tower are a few dozen graves, and a set of digging tools. Within is a group of eight people, emaciated and hungry. Anyone who becomes lost in the forest is invited to join their little community. As they have no food and no way of escaping the forest, the primary purpose of the group is to bury the dead, welcome any newcomers, and eventually die themselves.

Though your players may find any number of solutions, the most obvious is to simply climb along the tops of the trees. They’re dense enough that it should be a simple thing to do, and since you can see the world outside the copse, it’s no more than 250’ to freedom.

LotFP Class: The Gift Giver

The Jolly Brotherhood of Giftgivers is an honored fraternity of venerable men and women, noted for their generosity and good cheer.

Upon being inducted, each Giftgiver is endowed with an array of mystical powers in accordance with the Faustian bargain made by the Brotherhood’s saintly founder in time immemorial. Said to be the only truly successful Faustian bargain in history, the contract (penned in the founder’s own hand) comprises 14,823 volumes. It is held in a vault deep beneath the brotherhood’s ancestral meeting hall. Priests and church scholars of every stripe have poured over the document for centuries, and report a baffling lack of any sin being committed by either the founder, or those who join the Jolly Brotherhood.

Giftgivers gain experience and saves as Magic Users. Their hit die is 1d8.

At the start of each session, before anything else, the Giftgiver must spend 25% of their liquid wealth purchasing gifts for others. There is a subtle predictive magic at play in this process. The Giftgiver doesn’t really know why they’re buying the things that they buy. But in their travels they will invariably have the perfect gift for everyone they meet. Players are encouraged to be creative and generous in coming up with good gifts for every shopkeep, questgiver, and parleying monster they encounter.

One point of the Giftgiver’s encumbrance is always dedicated to carrying gifts, no matter how many or how few they currently have.

The most notable power of Giftgivers is that they can effortlessly enter and exit any structure. All they have to do is touch the outer wall, and with the slightest popping sound, they will appear on the inside opposite where they touched. This power can only be used to enter and exit a distinct structure, it can’t be used to bypass any wall or locked door in the player’s way. Furthermore, a given structure can only be entered and exited one time each day, and this power does not allow the Giftgiver to bring passengers along with them.

Also, while it is not strictly required, it’s expected for a Giftgiver to leave a few gifts in any building they visit. If it’s known that a giftgiver failed to do so, they may be summoned to make an account of themselves before the leaders of the Jolly Brotherhood.

At every even numbered level, the Giftgiver may choose from the following list of magical abilities. Unless noted otherwise, there is no limit to the amount that each of these abilities can be used.

Sleep Kiss: With a kiss, the Giftgiver can send their target into a magical sleep lasting 1 hour. This action can’t be performed in combat, or on anyone who is actively resisting being kissed. The target must either be willing to be kissed (such as a kiss on the hand or cheek as a greeting), or caught by surprise. Kissing a sleeping target will ensure that they remain asleep for at least 1 hour.

Enchant Animal: Herbivorous animals within the Giftgiver’s line of sight become friendly. They will be as helpful as they are able, so long as the Giftgiver does not ask them to commit any act of violence. If the Giftgiver does that, the enchantment is broken. If they wish to do so, the Giftgiver can endow these enchanted creatures with the ability to fly.

A maximum of 1 animal can be enchanted for every 2 levels the Giftgiver has earned.

Gaze of Shame: There’s nothing worse than the look of profound disappointment on the face of a Giftgiver. It crushes a person’s ego, makes them reevaluate themselves and their actions.

Gaze of Shame is only effective against targets who are not in combat against the Giftgiver, and may only ever be used once per target, ever.

The weight of shame will cause the target to change their mind on a single issue indicated by the Giftgiver. What they change their mind to may not be precisely what the Giftgiver wanted, but in good faith the referee should make the target’s new position an improvement over their old one.

Baleful Levitate: With a wave of their hands, and a polite barb about their target’s foibles, a Giftgiver can cause a target within their line of sight to begin floating. Floating targets are not restrained from acting, but any surface on which they could gain purchase repels them. It’s impossible for them to move intentionally, or to position themselves for an effective attack. Attack rolls made by levitating characters suffer a penalty of 1d10, rerolled each round.

Know Desire: By fixing their attention on any person, the Giftgiver can know that person’s innermost desires. This includes knowledge of what they are currently pursuing, though not necessarily how they intend to get it.

So, when speaking with a brigand, the Giftgiver would know that they desire “your money,” but not whether they intended to use force to get it.

None of the Giftgiver’s abilities are subject to any magical resistances, anti-magic fields, counterspells, or saving throws. They just work, always.
When Giftgivers hire a new retainer, they receive a +2 to determine the retainers loyalty if the new retainer is an elf.

LotFP Class: The Friendly Ghost

Whether the term “Friendly Ghost” is supposed to be a joke, or it’s just an exaggeration, it’s certainly not entirely accurate. Casper these creatures are not. But, they can tolerate a small number of people. A handful, or a ‘party’ if you will.

As ghosts, they cannot physically interact with their environment. They cannot lift objects, or even brush dust off of objects. They cannot be restricted by walls, no matter how thick. They cannot stab anyone, and they cannot be stabbed.

Friendly ghosts can be harmed by magic or magical weapons, but cannot wield magical weapons themselves.

They advance as elves for experience and saves, and have a 1d4 hit die. They move and fly at the same speeds a human can walk or run.

Friendly Ghosts have a 5-in-6 stealth chance. It’s easy to move undetected when your body passes through objects rather than knocking them over. But their partially transparent bodies are still highly reflective, which prevents them from being completely undetectable.

Friendly ghosts should be treated as 2 levels higher than normal when determining an enemy’s stance towards the party, or when making a reaction roll to intimidate or frighten an opponent. They can also serve as a bridge between their living friends and other creatures from beyond the grave. Friendly ghosts are able to parley even with unintelligent undead, such as zombies. And with any undead creature, the Friendly Ghost receives a +2 to their reaction rolls.

Players who don’t wish to roll a new character can instead opt to turn their dead PC into a Friendly Ghost. The character loses all of their class abilities, but retains whatever level of experience they managed to achieve in life. (i.e. George the level 3 fighter can become George the level 3 Friendly Ghost).

LotFP Class: The Lucky Motherfucker

I’m kind of on a custom class kick. Humor me.

The Lucky Motherfucker has a d6 hit die, and advances using the Fighter’s experience table. All of the Lucky Motherfucker’s saving throws advance as the Fighter’s save versus Magic does. Paralyze, Poison, Breath, Device, and Magic all begin at 16, drop to 14 at level 4, then to 12 at level 7, and so on.

It kinda sucks to be a Lucky Motherfucker, actually. Except for the fact that you almost never die, even when you really should have.

Lucky As Fuck: Anytime the Lucky Motherfucker takes damage that would reduce it below 0 hit points, it is reduced to 0 hit points instead. Any time the Lucky Motherfucker is subject to an instant death effect, it is reduced to 0 hit points instead. Only damage taken at 0 hit points can reduce the Lucky Motherfucker below that threshold.

Lucky as Fuuuuuuuck: The first time during any game session that the Lucky Motherfucker reaches 0 hit points, they gain 1d6 hit points. Each subsequent time the Lucky Motherfucker reaches 0 hit points, they must roll 1d20. If they roll above the number of times they have already reached 0 hit points this session, then they again gain 1d6 hit points. Otherwise they remain at 0 hit points, and cannot benefit from the Lucky as Fuuuuuuuck ability again until they’ve been healed to above 1 hit point.

So the first time is automatic. The second time you must roll above a 1. The third time you must roll above a 2. And so on, and so forth.

Some Backstory: Awhile back, I played in a game run by Brendan S. In that game, a character who hit 0 hp had to make a roll-under Constitution check to see if they lived or died. After losing several characters, I rolled a character named Hawkwind who was blessed with 18 Constitution.

Hawkwind ‘died’ more times than I can remember, but each time he died, he had a literally 90% chance to pop right back up again. It was broken, and unfair, and awesome. Obviously it’s not ideal for this ability to be the result of a random die roll made at character creation, which is why Brendan changed the rule so that each “near death experience” reduced the character’s constitution by 1. But perhaps if the entire class is designed to suck at everything except surviving past when they ought to die, it can be a fun addition to the party rather than an annoyingly unfair advantage.

LotFP Class: Lawyer

I like the Law skill, as used by John Bell in his Necrocarserous game. It’s pretty simple: when the players encounter a system of laws and codes, or wish to represent themselves as part of a such a system, they spout some legalese-sounding mumbo-jumbo, then make a law check. If the check is successful, then either your character knew what they were talking about, or they simply managed to sound confident enough that the person they’re talking to feels too intimidated to object.

Of course, a bandit is not going to care that it’s illegal to rob and murder you, no matter how official you make it sound. But an officer of the law may be convinced that you have the authority to do whatever it is that she stopped you from doing. Or you may convince a customs agent to let you pass without the proper documentation. Perhaps the mayor will be intimidated to learn about her town’s severe zoning violations, and allow you to demolish the buildings that are in the way of your keep’s expansion.

The skill is tons of fun to use in play, which is why I’m bummed that I can’t effectively add it to LotFP. Raising a skill to 6-in-6 is great, because it means you’ll almost always succeed at what you’re attempting. But with the law skill, that’d turn characters into an unassailable legal authority. It functions best when it’s unreliable, as it is in the highly unpredictable skills system used in Necrocarserous.

Sooooooo, why not just make a Lawyer class?

The Lawyer

Note: The Lawyer class assumes the game is being run with Courtney Campbell’s “On the Non Player Character” social interaction system.

The Lawyer has the same hit dice and experience progression as a Halfling, and saves as a Halfling of 1 level lower than the Lawyer’s current level. Lawyers, after all, are slippery folk.

Law: Lawyers know the law. And when they don’t know the law, they’re pretty good at faking it. Whenever a lawyer is interacting with laws, or a codified set of rules, they can make a law check to attempt to get what they want out of the interaction. The player must produce some vaguely accurate sounding gibberish, then roll. A 5 or better always indicates success.

At first level, the Lawyer rolls 1d6. At third level this increases to 1d8. At fifth level, to 1d10. And at seventh level, to 1d12.

Smooth Talker: In any social interaction, the Lawyer receives a number of bonus social actions equal to her level.

Contract Negotiation: When there is a Lawyer in the party, it is assumed that any agreement the party makes will be detailed by a contract signed by both parties. Any dispute about the agreement will then be subject to the Lawyer’s law skill at a +1 bonus, since the Lawyer will be arguing from a document they authored themselves.

Legislate: Legislation may be attempted any time the Lawyer is associated with visible public good. For example, donating a large amount of gold to charity, or being part of an adventuring party which slays a terrible monster. If the general feeling among the townsfolk is that the Lawyer is a pretty great person, they might be interested in subscribing to your newsletter.

The Lawyer may then draft a law for the town. Laws which would be obviously destructive to the town may be rejected out of hand at the referees discretion. So “The town must give all of its money to me.” is right out. But there’s no reason the Lawyer couldn’t propose a 10% annual tax be paid to the party for 5 years, as payment for services rendered. Or something like that.

Once the law is drafted, the Lawyer makes a Law check. If the check is successful, the law is enacted. If the check fails, then the law is rejected, and the Lawyer has squandered all of her social cache by backing such an unpopular idea.

Referees, of course, are encouraged to enhance their game by introducing interesting consequences for laws which are poorly considered, or do not promote the public good. A 10% tax will probably start to seem very unreasonable after a poor harvest.