Lively Locals 6: The Godstone

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A bag of holding is a coveted prize for an adventurer. In one small sack, a person can carry an entire armory of weapons, more potions than a wizard could brew in a year, and enough riches to buy a kingdom. Never does the bag grow in size, or become any heavier than a skin filled with water. Few know how these marvelous devices work, but the truth is that each bag accesses a small pocket of the Astral Plane. The infinite nothingness which flows between the dimensions, holding them together into a single multiverse. Each bag of holding is a small portal into a pocket of that void.

As precious as these items are, they’re also a great liability. It’s a simple task for a thief to rob you of your entire fortune, if you’re foolish enough to put it all in one place. Thieves are not even the greatest of an adventurer’s worries. A far greater danger is that posed by a stray blade, or arrow. A whizzing bit of steel which, while it may fail to harm the adventurer, damages their bag. When a bag of holding is broken, it does not simply split as a bag of canvas would. A bag of holding implodes, sending its contents whirling into the astral plane in all directions, and the unfortunate adventurer will be lucky if they’re not sucked in along with their lost treasures.

Over the centuries, countless bags have burst into the astral plane. Since the acquisition of such a bag in the first place is a dangerous–or at least expensive–proposition, the items contained in them are often quite valuable. Powerful magic items and artifacts float aimlessly throughout the vast nothingness.

But the astral plane is not entirely empty. Planar travelers use the astral plane as their road between worlds. The alien Githyanki even call the astral plane their home. There are many astral phenomena as well. Young wizards preparing to travel the planes for the first time are warned of the dangers of sonic rain, and transformative clouds. Worst of all is the bridge lightning. Arcs of energy which are drawn towards physical matter. They appear as if from nowhere, and move so quickly that by the time the eye has seen them, they are already gone.

If a person can survive the shock of being struck by bridge lightning, they’ll suddenly find themselves somewhere completely different. The lightning draws anything it touches to an area of intersection, where the astral plane overlaps another plane. Whatever the lightning strikes is unceremoniously dumped into a seemingly random spot somewhere in the multiverse. It is said that the astral plane’s natural state is emptiness, and the gods created the bridge lightning to enforce that.

Lost treasures are far more numerous than travelers in the astral plane, though. The lightning is often drawn to a mighty sword or magic potion lost by an adventurer who trusted their magic bag a little too much. Sometimes the items fall into the fires of hell or the endless fields of Elysium. Occasionally, they even end up in the depths of a dungeon, only to later be found by another adventurer. And other times, the items are zapped to a rock.

It’s not a particularly interesting rock. It’s just a stone in the middle of a field, which happens to intersect with the astral plane. Every so often, some item appears on the rock without warning. One day, a magical sword might appear, and six months past that, a dozen gold coins. A week after, a collection of goblin teeth, then a year later a powerful suit of plate armor.

A century or so ago, a clan of nomadic orcs were wandering through the wilderness, and came upon a small pile of gold and other treasure. They fell upon it eagerly, and took it as an omen that they should make camp around the stone. They intended to stay only a few weeks, but while they were there, they noticed that magical marvels continued to appear. The shamans declared the rock to be a manifestation of the orcish god, and the tribe cast off their nomadic ways to remain with the godstone.

To this day, the Tribe of the Godstone guard their land viciously. They are impossibly wealthy and well equipped, and eagerly offer outsiders as sacrifice to please their deity.

Colorful Characters 19: Henrietta Thaeblum, the Ghost of the Uprising

No matter who you are, life in the Land of Admon is harsh. The God-King tortures the royal family, encouraging them to betray and murder one another to prove their worth to him. The royal family uses the nobility as pawns in these games, manipulating them, and commandeering their property or lands whenever it is convenient. The nobility oppresses their serfs, forcing them to work themselves to death and selling their children to other nobles if they need to raise some money. But as bad as everyone has it, no one suffers more than the women of Admon. They are insignificant baubles, regardless of their station. The God-King’s own daughters would be no better off than peasant women if they weren’t useful to their father. And when the God-King dies and one of his sons ascends to the throne, the best the new God-King’s sisters can hope for is that they’ll be sent to live out the rest of their lives amongst the peasants.

Forty years ago, the women of Admon had enough of their slavery. There was an uprising. Wives slit their husband’s throats while they slept, harems smothered their noble lords, and slave owners were strangled by the very chains they had used to assert their control. It is still unknown how the attacks were conceived of or coordinated, but the death toll was massive. Tens of thousands of men were killed, and the unbroken line of God-Kings seemed poised to give way to the reign of a God-Queen. But the God-King was ruthless, and summoned his armies to him. The vile orders which he gave to them that day have echoed throughout history.

“There seems now to be a great excess of women in my kingdom. Bring me the head of every woman of childbearing age. Fill the courtyard with their skulls, and let the imbalance be corrected.”

The slaughter which followed is unspeakable. There were enough remains that every building was required by law to display a decapitated head above its door for a decade after the uprising ended. With all the women gone, it was years before any new children were born. And after the brutality of the God-King’s counterattack, no one dared whisper a single word of dissent.

Save one.

No one knows her name, who she is, or where she came from. No one who has ever gotten a clear look at her has survived the encounter. Her crusade began shortly after the uprising was put down. The heads of women displayed throughout the town would be taken in the dead of night. In their place would be the head of a man noted for his brutality. On most mornings, a would-be assailant’s body is found, skull crushed by a brutally heavy object. For lack of a better name, the people took to calling her the Ghost of the Uprising.

Numerous attempts to ensnare or kill the Ghost of the Uprising have been made over the years, but to no avail. For decades she has eluded the authorities, waging a private war against oppression. Giving the men of Admon reason to fear. But in recent years her attacks have slowed. No one can fight forever. She has grown old, tired, and bitter. For all her work, the system she fights remains in place. If she’s ever going to bring the God King to his knees, she needs to find help…

Henrietta Thaeblum, the “Ghost of the Uprising” (CR 14)

XP: 38,400
Female Human 15 (Fighter 10 / Rogue 5)
CN humanoid
Init +10; Senses Perception +18 (+2 v. traps)

Defenses

AC 26, Flat Footed 19, Touch 120 [10 + Dex(6) + Dodge(1) + Armor(6) + Ring(3)](+1 v. traps)(Cannot be flat footed)(+4 v. attacks of opportunity)
hp 107 (10d10 + 5d8 + 25)
Fort +9 Ref +13 (+1 v. traps)(If 1/2 damage, No damage) Will + 4 (+3 v. fear)

Offense

Speed 30ft
Melee Flail/Flail + 20,15,10/20,15,10 (1d8 + 11 + 1d6 Fire, 20/x2 + 1d10 Fire)
Melee Greataxe +20/15/10 (1d12 + 9, 19-20/x3)
Sneak Attack +3d6

Stats

Str 18 (+4) Dex 22 (+6) Con 12 (+1) Int 16 (+3) Wis 11 (+0) Cha 08 (-1)
Base Atk +13/8/3; CMB +17; CMD 33
Feats Improved Initiative, Weapon Focus (Flail), Weapon Specialization (Flail), Greater Weapon Focus (Flail), Quick Draw, Two-Weapon Fighting, Double Slice, Weapon Focus (Greataxe), Weapon Specialization (Greataxe), Dodge, Improved Two Weapon Fighting, Greater Two Weapon Fighting, Combat Reflexes, Mobility
Skills Acrobatics (+24), Craft (Arms & Armor)(+13), Disable Device (+19), Knowledge(Local)(+21), Perception (+18)(+2 v. traps), Sleight of Hand (+14), Stealth (+24)
Languages Common, Admonan, Thieve’s Cant, Tongue of the God King,
SQ
–Stand Up: May stand up from a prone position as a free action.
–Fast Stealth: May move at full speed while moving stealthily without penalty.
–Armor Training 2: Armor check penalty decreased by 2. Maximum dex increased by 2. May move at normal speed in heavy armor.
–Weapon Training 2: +2 attack and damage with Flails, +1 attack and damage with Axes.
–Combat Reflexes: May make 6 attacks of opportunity per round.

Gear Masterwork Hide Armor, Ring of Protection +3, Two +3 Flaming Burst Flails, +2 Keen Greataxe

Colorful Characters 18: Laura Kraul

Laril Kraul spent his early years in a small village on the Venusian coast. For generations his family–along with most other families in the village–had been fishermen. Laril was taught to use a net and spear from a young age, and proved adept in their use. During his teen years, he even created and popularized a form of gladiatorial jousting within his village which used the tools (the spears were blunted, of course). As he grew older, however, he became increasingly aware of the fact that he was different from the others in the village. The responsibilities he was expected to shoulder were awkward for him, and he often fantasized about what it would be like to be other people within his village. To experience their lives, and everything that went with that.

When Laril reached manhood, he took his leave of the village. He had always been strong, and the call of adventure gave him ample opportunity to explore his feelings of discontentment. Mastery of his unusual weapons proved beneficial to adventuring life. After a handful of minor successes on his own, Laril was approached by a small band of dungeon delvers who were impressed with his deeds. They asked if he would like to join them as they hunted for treasures hidden in crypts beneath the earth, and Laril was happy to accept. Adventuring life was dangerous, and he’d been hoping to find some companions to mitigate some of that danger.

The group traveled together for several months, and their excursions were largely profitable. Laril took pleasure in the excitement of the hunt. The fact that he’d recovered more gold to than anyone in his village had ever seen before didn’t hurt either. Yet his discontentment remained. Even in the life he’d made for himself, he felt out of place.

About a year after joining the group, Laril and his companions were exploring a particularly dank cavern. They’d slain the troll who lived there, and were beginning to worry that the treasure the beast had supposedly hoarded was fake. It took them nearly an hour to find the chest, modestly sized, hidden under a pile of rocks. Its contents were hardly worth their trouble. A measly few bags of silver coins, a pair of jewels, and a jade-studded leather belt with a silver buckle. Everyone agreed the belt must be the greatest prize, and they rolled bones to see who would get it.

Laril won, and immediately began putting the belt on while his companions set about dividing the rest of the loot between themselves. He was surprised by how comfortable it felt. In fact it affected his comfort much more than he would have imagined a belt could. He began to comment to his companions that the belt seemed to be magical, only to have his thoughts interrupted by the sudden and hysterical laughter of his friends. He asked what was funny, and noticed that his voice sounded strange in his ears. Worried, he went to his pack and began to fumble around for the steel mirror he kept there. As he rummaged through his bag, he noticed something else:

He had breasts.

“It’s a belt of gender changing!” the group’s wizard called to him, having finally regained his breath. “A cursed item. You won’t be able to take it off without a spell ofRemove Curse.” Laril was silent for a long moment as he pondered this development. Despite a change which should have upset him, he still felt strangely…comfortable. More comfortable than she’d ever felt in her life. The nagging discontentment which had pestered her in otherwise quiet moments was nowhere to be found. She felt whole.

Laril remained silent for the moment, unsure of how to broach this issue with her fellows. But when the morning came and the wizard had prepared his spell, she knew she couldn’t go back. She refused to allow the Remove Curse spell to be cast upon her, stating that she was happier this way. The party was confused, and concluded that the belt must have additional magical properties they were unaware of–some manner of mind control. They took hold of her and held her in place while the wizard performed his spell. Laril protested, but the others were certain they were doing her a favor, and held fast.

The spell was completed, and the belt destroyed. Laril again found herself in a male body, once again disconcerted, once again less than whole. She was so overwhelmed by rage and loss that all she could do was sit and weep over the ruined remains of the belt that had changed her life. Her companions were concerned for her, and opted to remain another night without traveling, to allow her some time to work out whatever was wrong. The following morning, she informed them that she had come to two decisions.

The first was that she would no longer remain with them. Now that she’d found what she’d been looking for, she intended to waste no time in figuring out how to get it back.

“And the second thing?” they asked.

“My name is Laura.” she answered. Then left.

Laura Kraul (CR 5)

XP: 1,600
Female Human Fighter 6
LG humanoid
Init +8; Senses Perception -1

Defenses

AC 20, Flat Footed 14, Touch 16 [10 + Dex(4) + Armor(5) + Dodge(1)]
hp 53 (6d10 + 24)
Fort +7 Ref +6 Will + 1

Offense

Speed 30ft
Melee Shocking Burst Longspear + 9 (1d8 + 3 + 1d6 Electricity/x3 + 2d10 Electricity)
Melee Net +10 (Causes the Entangled condition)(Ranged Touch Attack)(10ft)

Stats

Str 16 (+3) Dex 19 (+4) Con 14 (+2) Int 11 (+1) Wis 9 (-1) Cha 13 (+1)
Base Atk +6/1; CMB +9; CMD 23
Feats Improved Initiative, Weapon Focus (Spear), Weapon Specialization (Spear), Dodge, Weapon Focus(Net), Quick Draw, Lunge, Toughness
Skills Craft (Boatswain)(+11), Knowledge (Engineering)(+11), Ride (+10), Survival (+5)
Languages Common, Dwarven
SQ
–Lunge: Can increase the reach of your melee attacks by 5ft in exchange for a -2 AC penalty.
Gear Slick Lightly Fortified Hide Armor; Mithril Shocking Burst Longspear; 3 Silk Nets; Backpack; 842 GP, Dagger, Bedroll, 10′ pole, steel mirror, 3 weeks rations, 1 lantern, 3 flasks of lantern oil, small jar of salt, fishing line, 3 hooks.

Lively Locals 5: Three Religious Sites

While at Paizocon, I attended a seminar on homebrew game worlds. It was one of the more thought provoking seminars I attended, and in particular one of the panelists really got me thinking about religion. I’ve never had a problem with religion in my game worlds, and you could even call me a pretty huge fan of Vecna, a god from D&D. But I’ve never spent much time thinking about the wider impact of religion on my worlds, which I now recognize as a pretty huge failing on my part. So, as a bit of fun, I decided to make this Friday’s post about something with religious significance. Nothing which deserved a really large backstory came to mind, so I settled on breaking this post up into three parts.

The Stake of Ereon

Long ago, in a small village, the Church of Arethae overstepped its bounds. Arethae was a god of contemplation and philosophy, but over time her followers in this village involved themselves more and more in the petty politics of governance. As the village grew, the clerics of Arethae became powerful and corrupt, encouraging their followers to ostracize any who did not submit themselves to the teachings of Arethae. Teachings which were often interpreted by the clerics to match their own selfish whims.

Arethae was saddened to hear her name spoken as a tool of oppression. Spurned to action, she communed with a lowly priest named Ereon, who lived in a city far from the village. She bestowed upon him her seal, and commanded that he travel to the village. There, Ereon was to meet with the church leadership, and prove his divine authority by presenting the seal. None who touched the it, she said, could have any doubt who had sent him. Ereon did not believe himself worthy of the task, but he submitted himself to his goddesses command, and left the comfort of his monastery home that very day.

It took four months for Ereon to travel the many leagues between his home and the corrupt village, but as he walked the seal infused him with his goddesses wisdom and strength. Through the challenges he faced on the road, it brought forth his inner courage and taught him how to lead those who had gone astray back to the truth of Arethae. When he arrived, he presented himself to the church leaders with the might of his goddesses’ conviction in his heart. The town’s clergy examined the seal, and knew it to be genuine. They were saddened to learn of their goddesses’ disapproval. When Ereon commanded that they submit to his guidance, however, they made a decision:

They did not need their goddesses’ approval.

They declared Ereon to be a heretic, and announced his execution to the townspeople with much pomp and circumstance. A stake was erected in the village square, and the clergy made a great show of binding Ereon to it. Ereon made no objection as they lit the fire beneath his feet. As he began to burn, he serenely chanting prayers to Arethae, until the smoke made it too difficult to speak.

The moment Ereon’s final breath left his body, every priest and priestess within the village began to choke and cough, as though they too were trying to breathe through smoke. The entire populace watched as their leaders–dozens of men and women–slowly suffocated for no apparent reason. The village was abandoned shortly after, and the buildings have long since been destroyed by the elements. But the stake remains, a charred black log standing alone in a field of grass. Even now, any character of evil alignment who steps within 100 yards of the stake is suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing, which will not end until they retreat.

Bloodstain of Vecna

Millenia ago the great warlord lich Vecna was betrayed by his lieutenant, Kas. The two fought a long battle, and at its conclusion Vecna’s tower mysteriously collapsed, presumably destroying both Vecna and Kas. No one knows what the outcome of that battle was, for the only remains ever found were Kas’s mighty sword, and Vecna’s hand and eye. Regardless of the battle’s outcome, it was soon revealed that Vecna had risen as a demigod. Much later, it was revealed that Kas had been raised as a vampire, and was a prisoner within Vecna’s Citadel Cavitius. But that is another tale.

When Vecna’s tower collapsed, so did its foundations, which extended deep into the earth. A veritable mountain of stone came crashing down through level after level. Through the eons which have passed since that fateful day, the site of Vecna’s tower has become obscured. But deep beneath the surface, in the bowels of the underdark, is a stone. Once, this stone served as part of the floor of Vecna’s audience chamber, and now it serves that same function in one of the numerous labyrinthine passages of the underdark.

During his battle with Kas, Vecna was wounded and a few droplets of blood were flung from his undead veins. They splattered on this stone, and there they remain. A dark brown stain, appearing to be perhaps a few days old at most. Not that anyone can see it in the pitch blackness of the underdark. None have ever discovered this stone, and even Vecna himself does not know of its existence. However, if anyone were ever to set foot upon it, they would immediately be granted knowledge of the locations of both Vecna’s hand, and eye.

St. Baria’s Rest

A blind prophet once came to the court of Kerrogon seeking food and shelter. Gustaf Teranar, the Primarch of Kerrogon, was not a kind man. His people suffered greatly under his tyrannical rule,and he found their suffering offensive. When the disheveled old prophet entered, Gustaf nearly had him killed on the spot for daring to present himself before the Primarch. But his advisers intervened, for they recognized the man, and knew of his gift. Intrigued, Kerrogon offered him food and shelter, in exchange for an insight into the future.

The man gladly accepted the food and shelter offered him, and on the morrow he met with the court once more to reveal Gustaf’s future: that even now, a child lived within his kingdom which would someday rise up, and slay him. The Primarch was enraged, and had the old prophet cast out of the court. He would have killed him, but he feared the consequences of slaying one who had been gifted by the gods.

Gustaf rallied his soldiers in the early morning, and ordered that every child in the kingdom–all those below the adult age–were to be killed. Ruthlessly, the soldiers went from home to home. Bodies were left in the streets, and the gutters ran with blood. The grieving wails of parents filled the air, becoming indistinguishable from one another. A righteous woman named Baria gathered together as many children as she could, and tried to flee the city. She managed to gather forty of them before she led them into the wilderness. As she entered a narrow pass, however, she heard the sound of hoof beats behind her, and the clatter of Kerrogonian Armor. Thinking quickly, she noticed a cave and bade the children to hide within. Only too late did she realize that the cave was shallow, with barely enough room for all of the children to fit, let alone hide.

Baria looked frantically for another option, but it was too late. She could see the soldiers outside as they examined the tracks the children had left. She was sure she was doomed, and it was all she and the children could do to keep quiet and still. The soldiers dismounted and walked around for a long while, puzzling over the tracks, appearing not to see the woman and the children she was trying to protect. The two even followed the tracks right to the mouth of the cave, and stared directly at the group for long minutes, before returning to their horses and riding off.

Baria was mystified, and thanked the gods for whatever miracle they had performed to save her and her wards. They continued to flee, and successfully escaped the slaughter. They settled in a faraway city, and indeed, one of the children eventually returned to slay the tyrant king who had killed so many others. And to this day, none with evil intent are able to see the entrance of St. Baria’s Cave, even with powerful spells and divinations, it appears to be naught but solid stone.

Lively Locals 4: The Wood of Lost Paths

Far to the north west is a deep forest. A girl with leaf-green hair, perhaps 10 years old, roams there. She cares little for the world of humans. Her days are filled by picking flowers, climbing tress, and running through the woods as fast as she can. She’s been there as long as anyone can remember, and longer, all without growing a day older. This unique fay is said to be the forest’s heart made manifest. But, truth be told, no one knows which came first: the forest, or the girl.

Civilization has long since grown around this forest. A number of villages, and even a large city, are within a day’s travel of it. But no serious attempt has ever been made to harvest its wood, or settle in its shade. For the trees of this forest can move as surely as a man can walk. Which isn’t to say that anyone has ever seen them move. The trees somehow know when there are eyes upon them—even the magical eyes of a diviner. But a traveler entering the forest is best advised that the path behind her will never be the same one she traveled.

The girl has some part in this, that much is certain. The paths of the wood shape themselves to her whimsy. Those few who have returned from the Wood of Lost Paths tell stories of meeting her. She introduces herself as Asria, and leads the lucky traveler down a path they had not seen; wide and straight, leading directly to the forest’s edge. The moment they set eyes upon the grassy planes that surround the forest, the girl disappears again into the trees. Most are wise enough to avoid the forest entirely. For every tale of a traveler who was led out, there are twenty of men and women who never returned. But a legend sometimes draws foolish adventurers to the Wood of Lost Paths: the tale of the Kingsblade.

It is said that a great king once lost a battle near the forest’s edge. Upon seeing the suffering of his soldiers, caused by his own rivalry with another lord, the king drew his sword and cast it into the forest, declaring that he would force his people to do battle no more. Three celestials saw this powerful act, and were moved by it. They were sisters, representing the virtues of wisdom, love, and courage. They carried the blade to the center of the forest, and saturated it with their powers. They transformed it into a weapon which could stand against any evil. It is said that the blade is still there, its hilt held aloft in a single hand shared between three statues of these celestial creatures. They wait only for one worthy enough to wield it.

Recently, a band of a few dozens Drow discovered the forest. They’d offended the spider queen, and fled to the surface world to escape her wrath. After a lifetime of living in the depths of the underdark, however, they found the light of the surface world unbearable. They sought refuge in the Wood of Lost Paths, finding the shade to be an acceptable substitute for the darkness of their home. It was only after they entered the forest that they realized it was not a simple task to leave it again.

The impossible to navigate landscape nearly drove the Drow to madness. Several of them were separated from the group and lost, presumed to be dead. It was only good fortune that saved them when they encountered the girl, Asria. She offered to show them the way out, and when the drow discovered that she could navigate the forest, they immediately began scheming. Rather than follow Asria’s path, they captured and bound her. Despite her great powers and apparent immortality, Asria was as weak and naive as a child.

One of the drow wizards fashioned a headband for her, one she could never remove herself. To it, he bound four stones. Each stone allowed the wielder to instinctively navigate the forest’s shifting landscape as though they were Asria herself. By exerting their will, the drow could even force Asria to create paths and clearings for them.

Since then, the drow have been raiding the nearby settlements for food, supplies, and treasure. A number of attempts have been made to pursue them, but none dare follow them past the treeline.

Lively Locals 3: Drummer's Field

Everybody has a story about what happened on Drummer’s Field. No two are quite the same, and all of them are suspect. No written historical account of the battle fought there is known to exist. What few sages have studied the field’s legacy know scarcely more than the drunks who swap their yarns in nearby taverns.

There are, however, a very few facts upon which everyone agrees. Not less than two centuries ago, a battle was fought on Drummer’s Field. In that battle, a ruling line was ended forever. And, whether through victory or through flight, a great evil survived. Lastly, no one contests that something of the battle was left behind—though precisely what remains a mystery.

Drummer’s Field takes its name from a lone figure who walks its length each night. No one has ever seen where he comes from, or where he goes, but each night he emerges from the forest on the southern side of the field. He marches solemnly, beating his drum in time with his step. It takes him roughly a half of an hour to cross to the Northern side of the field, where he disappears again into the trees.

Many sages have studied the Drummer in depth. He is not a ghost, for he has corporeal form. Neither has never been confirmed that he truly appears and disappears. If he does, it is always immediately upon being out of sight. If his path is blocked by a physical object, he will calmly move around it without changing pace. The few times a person has dared to block his path directly, a bright yellow light has emanated from beneath the Drummer’s cowl. This light engulfs the blocker’s form, and when it dissipates, they are gone None who have been engulfed by this light have ever been heard from again.

A few attempts to forcibly restrain or attack the drummer have been attempted. If these attacks can be ignored, the Drummer simply continues his march. More serious attempts to restrain or harm the Drummer cause the Drummer to die, silently. Either clutching at his throat as though choking, or clutching at any wounds which have been inflicted on him. When the body is examined, it is discovered that there is no one within the Drummer’s clothing. Only a few nights later, the Drummer returns to the field, as though nothing happened. This has only been attempted a few times, since each time the Drummer has died, one of those responsible for his ‘death’ has disappeared without explanation shortly thereafter.

It has also been noted that upon careful listening, one can hear the sounds of a great battle with each beating of the figure’s drum. These sounds are only faint echos, so it is difficult to learn anything about the battle from them. An elven sage named Efrem once spent 50 years dutifully cataloging each sound she could make out from the beating of the drums. Even with her impressive elven hearing, the volumes she produced are primarily filled mostly with the clash of swords, and a few shouted commands. She did insist, however, that the sound was a little different each night.

The locals have come to accept the Drummer as a relatively innocuous creature, and even a source of community pride. They warn their children to stay away from him, citing of his deadly gaze. But every child knows you can’t be a man (or woman) until you’ve spent a night marching beside the Drummer.

GM INFORMATION:

Four hundred years ago, the king of a small kingdom stood against the demonic hordes of a Balor. The king and his army were slaughtered, and the demon carried out a ruthless campaign of genocide against the King’s people, erasing anyone who might remember the upstart who had dared to oppose him. With his dying breath, the King swore to the demon that the battle would never end until his people had been avenged.

The drummer appeared shortly thereafter, marching the field as a creature outside of time. Any who met his gaze were welcomed by him. The light he emitted sent them hurtling back through time, into the thick of the battle. Some managed to survive the battle, others were not so lucky. And none of them were able to change the battle’s outcome, and thus end the Drummer’s march.

At first, the Drummer had no form of his own. Beneath the clothing which bore the king’s colors, there truly was nothing. That changed the first time the Drummer was killed, about 15 years after he began his nightly march. Since then, whoever kills the Drummer has been possessed by its spirit. At night they rise as though they are awake, though they have no awareness of themselves or their surroundings. They instinctively know where the Drummer’s garb can be found. They immediately put it on, and travel to the field where they begin their march.

As they cross the field, the Drummer’s magic begins to take hold of them. And if they make it to the far end of the field, then they become bound forever to the Drummer’s task. Since then, each night when The Drummer disappears, he has been transported back through time to the battlefield. There the Drummer must watch, time and again, as the demons triumph over the goodly forces of humanity.

If anyone sent back through time is ever able to successfully turn the battle’s tide, and defeat the demons, the Drummer’s curse would end. Though the spell would not likely send the heroes back to their own time, instead trapping them in the past where they must either learn to live, or hope to find their own way back home.

Updated Forest Battlefield Generator

A long while ago, shortly after I started taking this blog seriously, I wrote a post about making your forest environments more exciting during battles. It was the first of my Spicing Up the Battlemat series of posts, which is a series I’ve always found both fun and useful. Along with that post, I made a pdf file to help generate forest battlefields. I don’t know if anyone else has ever downloaded it, but I’ve certainly gotten a lot of use out of it myself. However, having now used it for several months, I’ve noticed more than a few problems. Not only are there several typos, but some options (most notably insects) came up far too often.

I recently took the time to revisit that chart, and I’ve updated a number of things. The layout is more clear, I’ve removed some useless information, added some cool new options, and altered some of the probabilities. I’ve also changed the rules about undergrowth, which I had taken directly from page 427 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook. As it turns out, however, people who design tabletop role playing games might not be nature experts. I happen to have one such expert in my group, and they recently pointed out that when there’s high tree density, sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the forest floor, and thus there is less undergrowth, not more.

For my own purposes, I use this chart in almost every game, and I fully believe it has enriched our group’s experience. So, if you’re interested, here’s the PDF. An image of the file is also available below.

Random Forest Battlefield Generator v2

Lively Locals 2: River of Blades

Once, there was a tribe who lived by the river. They were not skilled in technology or magic, but the river provided everything they needed. Its water was clean, and its depths filled with fish. The tribe flourished under the leadership of Matron Ulanae. Ulanae was wise, and was the first among her tribe to begin to discover the powers of magic. She used her gifts to improve the lives of her people, and she was beloved. But the elders were jealous of Ulanae. Before she had begun to display her magical talents, they had ruled the tribe as the speakers for the River Spirit.

The elders told Ulane that the River Spirit wished to commune with her. To do so she must travel seven days up river to the place where the river falls from the high cliff. She was to climb the high cliff, and bathe above the waterfall to form a sacred bond with the river. Ulanae and her people still had great reverence for the River Spirit, so she obeyed the elder’s commands and began her journey. In secret, the elders followed her. They remained hidden until Ulanae reached the top of the waterfall, and began bathing in the waters there. They then emerged from hiding, and overpowered the matron. They threw her over the cliff, and her body was destroyed on the many sharp rocks below.

The elders returned to the village. They intended to tell the people that Ulanae had offended the River Spirit with her brashness, and that the River Spirit had consumed her as punishment. But when they arrived they found the people in great distress. The River Spirit was angry, they said, and would not let them enter the River. The Elders tried to calm the people by praying loudly to the River Spirit. When they had finished, they waded into the water–and their bodies were torn asunder by the river’s bite.

Without strong leadership, and lacking the resources the river had provided them, the tribe eventually moved off to settle elsewhere.

—

By all appearances, there is nothing out of the ordinary about the River of Blades. The somewhat muddy water flows at a fast pace, but not so fast that it would be difficult to stand in. It is between 50 and 90ft wide, and over 500 miles in length from the waterfall where it begins, to the estuary where it meets the sea. There are no towns near the river, nor are there any bridges built across it. The only oddity about the river is that it contains no plant or animal life whatsoever. No algae grows on the rocks, no fish swim in the water, local animals do not drink from it, and even trained horses will only enter it with extreme reluctance.

When anything makes contact with the water, it is attacked as though by dozens of swords all at once. Leaves and branches which fall into the water from nearby trees are quickly chopped into dust, and the effect is no less dramatic on adventurers. If the water is touched only very lightly, such as with the flat of one’s palm, or the toe of one’s boot, no damage is dealt. Instead, the character will feel as though they are being sliced, and if they look at whatever part of them touched the water they will see numerous tiny lacerations cross-crossing in all directions. If a hand or foot is submerged in the water, the character takes 1d4 slashing damage per round. If the character stands waist deep in the water they take 3d6 slashing damage per round. If the character swims, or is submerged in the water, they take 5d8 slashing damage per round. Anyone foolish enough to drink this water will suffer massive internal injuries, and instantly be reduced to -1 hit points.

No effect visible to the naked eye accompanies this attack. A character who is using Detect Magic or a similar spell will be able to see faint outlines of blades in the water, but only when an attack is taking place. There is also a very faint sound of slashing swords (again, only when an attack is taking place) but this is normally drowned out by the river’s flow. Anything which is placed in the water is subject to this attack. Most wooden craft are quickly shredded. Stone seems to hold together alright, though visible scratches constantly appear in its surface, and it would likely erode to nothing after a few hours of contact with the water. Curiously, if a bladed weapon is submerged in the water it is not damaged. Rather, when it is removed from the water, the wielder will discover that it has been expertly sharpened.

Water removed from the river will retain this slashing property so long as it is within 1 mile of the river. Note that this means it will destroy many of the containers water might normally be placed in. If this water is used as a weapon, by throwing it or splashing it at an opponent, the damage dealt is at the GM’s discretion. Roughly 1 cup of water would deal 1d6 damage, but more water might deal greater amounts of damage as indicated by the list above.

Lively Locals 1: Maeglen Valley

Anyone whose been to Maeglen Valley will tell you: once you’ve stood amongst the the valley’s trees, and heard the music of the wind in their branches, something inside of you changes. Plants outside Maeglen never look quite as green as they once did, and the taste of fruit never seems as sweet as it should.

But no one ever regrets the experience.

Maeglen Valley is cradled between two large hills, deep within the forest. It is said that one of the powerful gods of nature was born there, but no one can agree on which one, or how that ascension took place. Some say the god’s mortal life ended violently in the center of the valley, and that their divine blood still fertilizes the soil. Others argue that the valley is the location of the very first tree in all the world, and that the god was once a Dryad bonded to that tree. Most druids maintain that the fertility of the valley is its natural state. They say it was so powerful when time began, that their god grew there, as a plant might.

Truth be told, no one really knows what they’re talking about, because nobody has been there more than once. Part of the magic of the valley prevents anyone who has memories of Maeglen from ever finding its location a second time. Those who seek it have tried to create maps, leave trails, or even travel with a guide who has never been to the valley before. Everyone who has been there once wants to go back, but so far no one has ever succeeded.

Aside from being a place of indescribable beauty, Maeglen valley is possessed of immense natural magical. A seed planted there will fully bloom within days, and will thrive regardless of its natural habitat. Even those most learned and widely traveled druids who make a pilgrimage to Maeglen Valley will find numerous species of plants there which they’ve never encountered before. Most treasured of all, and the reason why many seek the valley in the first place, are its legendary fruits. Many of the plants within the valley bear fruit, some familiar, some completely otherworldly. Each has a powerful effect on any who eat it. Some fruits cure disease, or close wounds. Others strengthen the body or mind, while a few even bestow hidden knowledge.

Many who taste these fruits are overwhelmed by the experience. Not only is the fruit’s flavor unlike anything they’ve ever eaten, but the elation which is felt as the magic takes hold has sometimes been described as addictive. Almost everyone eats a second piece of fruit, some eat a third. Those who don’t know the fruit’s dangers often eat a fourth or a fifth. The number of fruit a which can be eaten is different for everyone, but without moderation the result is always the same. Eventually the fruit sours in the glutton’s stomach, leading to painful vomiting. Anyone who reaches this point will lose all the benefits the fruit had bestowed upon them up tot hat point, and will find all fruit completely unpalatable for the rest of their lives. Often in the valley’s history, enterprising adventurers have tried to take as much fruit as they could with them. Even if they can’t eat it, they imagine they can sell it for an exorbitant price. Unfortunately, the fruit of Maeglen Valley becomes virulently poisonous the moment the valley is out of sight.

Being within the valley also has a strong effect on magical spells. Any spell which would harm the plant life within the valley, such as fire, acid, or necrotic spells, has its effects reduced to about 25% of normal. And any damage to the plants from such spells is healed within minutes. Conversely, natural spells such as those cast by druids are twice as effective as they are normally.

Colorful Characters 17: Limenent Geary, Duchess of Greyholm

Limenent Geary was the same as lot of kids who grew up on the streets of Darton; she had a tough exterior, no idea where she came from, and no respect for a legal system which would rather see her die of starvation than live through theft. She was just a lot better at that last part than the other kids were. By the time she was in her teens, Limenent had been accepted into the Darton Thieves’ Guild. Before she was twenty she had made a reputation for herself as a thief with a knack for daring heists, and never getting caught. Her specialty was the manor houses of the rich, and she made a comfortable living for herself.

During one such heist, Limenent broke in at ground level and made her way cautiously into the basement. In her experience, many of her ‘patrons’ (as she sometimes called them) kept pieces of artwork and other valuables in storage. By fencing these, rather than the more visible wealth in the living areas, the theft might not be discovered for weeks, or even months. But this house was strange. The building’s sublevels were as finely furnished as the living areas normally were, with carpets covering the stone floors, and pieces of artwork hanging on the walls or resting on tables, rather than stored in crates or covered by tarps. She didn’t understand what was going on, and she didn’t like not knowing what was going on. Thinking she could just hit up a different house the next evening, she turned to leave–and slammed face first into what felt like a stone wall.

What it turned out to be was a man’s chest. A man of no great height or girth, but a man as cold, hard, and sturdy as stone. Limenent was no fool. The man was clearly more than he appeared to be, most likely a a spellcaster of some sort. She immediately tried to dart past him, hoping she moved quick enough to prevent him from getting a good look at her. Her face was covered, but there was no point in taking undue risks. It didn’t matter, though, because the man was twice as fast. His hand darted out like lightning, taking hold of Limenent’s neck and lifting her effortlessly to slam against the wall. In desperation, a dagger appeared in Limenent’s hand, and she stabbed into the man’s arm, but it only tore his clothes and glanced harmlessly aside.

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Limenent struggled to breathe, but she refused to betray any weakness in her gaze. Blackness started to appear at the edges of her vision, and she felt herself about to lose consciousness. Then the grip on her neck weakened, and she felt her back sliding down the wall until her feet were safely on the ground. She looked up, unaware of when she had broken her captor’s gaze. He bared his teeth at her, and for the first time she saw that they were unnaturally sharp. She had only begun to wonder why that was when he forced her head back, and drove his razor teeth into her jugular vein.

Limenent Geary died.

When she awoke some time later, lying in a bed in a dark room, she knew exactly what had happened. Something about her transformation had granted her understanding–not that it was difficult to figure out. The man had been a vampire, and now she was one too. A fledgling undead bound to serve the one who created her until he was destroyed. She immediately set about planning that destruction, but each time she tried her mind would wander elsewhere. She would later learn that the same magics which compelled her to obey her new master also prevented her from plotting against him.

As it turned out, Baron Telmalane–that’s what he called himself–had been impressed by Limenent’s resourcefulness. While she had been easy prey for him, he recognized that she had not been prepared to encounter a vampire. He even complimented her by noting that if she had been, she might have stood a chance against him. With the vampiric might he had bestowed upon her, she would make an impressive agent of his will. And though she was unable to disobey him, he promised that the rewards for her service could be great.

For decades the younger vampire did as she was told. She dutifully carried out her master’s will, be it delivering a message to a fellow, or assassinating a rival. And, as he had promised, she was well rewarded for her work. She had personal wealth, status among her master’s servants, and freedom to feed upon whomever she pleased. But she chaffed beneath the yolk of servitude. She strained against the mental bonds which diverted her each time she tried to plot against her master, but even a century after her enslavement she found her focus constantly diverted.

Circumstance intervened on her behalf one night when Baron Telmalane was again staying in his Darton manor. While gazing out the top story windows, Limanent saw a party of heavily armed men and women approach the house. There were ten of them, and based on their equipment there was only one thing they could be: hunters. They had discovered that the lord of the manor was a vampire masquerading as a reclusive noble, and come to destroy him. Seeing a ray of hope for herself, Limanent recalled that her master had expressed a desire for more exercise a few months back. Surely he would enjoy fighting these weaklings himself. She found a candle, and climbed out the window onto the rooftop so she could have a better view of the stars. Once she was there, she poured the candle’s wax into her ears, because the warm sensation might feel nice on her cold skin.

She gazed up at the moon, and sought to hold on to the fragile illusion she had created for herself. She did not know her master was in danger, could not hear his cries for her aide. She sat in still silence for a quarter hour, then a wave of pain slammed into her. Her temples throbbed, and her back arched as a scream escaped her lungs. And as soon as it began it was over. She lay panting on the roof, weak from pain. But she knew, instinctively, that she was no longer controlled by anyone. She picked the wax from her ears and listened as the hunters searched the house for any more creatures. They never thought to search the roof, which was good because Limanent could not have stood against them. She waited until they left, then cautiously climbed back into the manor just in time to avoid the morning sun.

Once she recovered, Limanent immediately set to work. While she’d never been able to plot against Baron Telmalane, she’d spent decades planning what she would do if she were ever free of him. She knew his manor was no longer safe, so she immediately took flight to find a safe haven where she would–at least temporarily–be safe from vampire hunters. Through the following months she returned to her her roots as a thief. In life, it had afforded her a comfortable living, but in death she was capable of so much more. By transforming herself into a cloud of mist, she could enter a building through a crack in the wall, rather than fumbling at a locked door. With her great strength, she could heavy sacks of riches effortlessly. And a century of vampirism had left her with little regard for human life, allowing her to easily dispose of anyone who discovered her pilfering. When she ran out of public buildings to rob, she began using her vampiric charms to coax an invitation from unwitting residence.

Within a year, Limanent was fabulously wealthy by mortal standards, but the people of Darton were well aware that they had a master thief among them. So she hired a battalion of porters, and moved away. She boarded a ship, and crossed the southern sea. When she reached the continent of Edargeln, she purchased a manor house of her own in the capitol city of Abingarde. She filled it with riches, and introduced herself to high society as the Duchess of Greyholm. A place which did not actually exist, but was very far away so it was understandable no one has heard of it.

Limenent continues to live there, though by now she is known as Duchess Geary the Third.

Limenent Geary, Duchess of Greyholm (CR 11)

XP: 12,800
Female Human Vampire, Rogue 10
NE Undaed
Init +10; Senses Perception +23 (+28 to locate traps), Darkvision (60ft)

Defenses

AC 26, Flat Footed 19, Touch 17 [10 + Dex(6) + Armor(3) + Natural(6) + Dodge(1)] (AC 29 v. traps) (Cannot be caught flat footed, nor flanked, nor sneak attacked by a rogue of less than 14th level)
hp 78 (10d8 + 20)
Fast Healing 5
Fort +3 (Immune unless effect can target objects, or is harmless) Ref +15 (+16 v. Traps)(On 1/2 damage, takes no damage) Will +5
DR 10/Magic & Silver
Resist Fire 20, Channel 4, Cold 10, Electricity 10
Immunities Mind affecting effects, Bleed, Death effects, Disease, Paralysis, Poison, Sleep effects, Stunning, Nonlethal Damage, Ability Drain, Energy Drain, Physical Ability Score Damage, Exhaustion, Fatigue effects, Death from massive damage, effects which require a fortitude save

Offense

Speed 40ft
Melee Shortsword of Subtlety +15/10 (1d6 +6/19-20 x2)[Sneak Attack +17/12 (1d6 +9/19-20 x2)]
Melee Slam +12/7 (1d4 + 5/20 x2)(Magic Weapon)(Energy Drain)
Ranged Shortbow +16/11 (1d6 + 2/20 x3) [Range Increment: 70ft]
Sneak Attack 5d6 against flat footed or flanked opponents.

Stats

Str 20 (+5) Dex 22 (+6) Con — (–) Int 17 (+3) Wis 10 (+0) Cha 20 (+5)
Base Atk +7/2; CMB +12; CMD 28
Feats Quick Draw, Point Blank Shot, Far Shot, Iron Will, Run, Weapon Focus(Shortbow), Alertness, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Toughness
Rogue Talents Fast Stealth, Stand Up, Surprise Attack, Weapon training(Shortsword), Opportunist
Skills Acrobatics (+19), Bluff(+26), Craft(Trapmaking)(+16), Diplomacy(+20), Disable Device(+24), Knowledge(Dungeoneering)(+16), Knowledge(Undead)(+13), Perception(+23)(+28 to locate traps), Sleight of Hand(+19), Stealth(+33), Use Magic Device(+18)
Languages Common, Thieve’s Cant, The Gravespeech
SQ
–Quick Draw: May draw weapons as a free action.
–Point Blank Shot: Ranged weapons gain +1 to attack and damage within 30ft.
–Far Shot: Each range increment imposes only a -1 penalty, rather than a -2.
–Run: May move 5 times normal movement rate when running, and maintains full Dex bonus to AC while doing so.
–Fast Stealth: May move at full speed while moving stealthily at no penalty.
–Stand Up: May stand up from the prone position as a free action. Still provokes attacks of opportunity.
–Surprise Attack: During a surprise round, foes are always considered flat footed. Even if they have already taken an action.
–Opportunist: 1/round, may make an attack of opportunity against a foe who has been struck for damage in melee by another character.
–Blood Drain: If an opponent is pinned, may deal 1d4 Con damage per round. Gains +5 HP (or +5 temporary HP) for each round blood is drained.
—Children of the Night: 1/day, summon 1d6+1 rat swarms, 1d4+1 bat swarms, or 2d6 wolves as a standard action. Creatures arrive in 2d6 rounds, and remain for 1 hour.
–Create Spawn: Creatures slain by blood drain or energy drain rise as subservient vampires within 1d4 days.
–Dominate: Target must succeed on a will save (DC 20) or fall under the effects of a Dominate spell.
–Energy Drain: Creatures hit by slam attacks gain two negative levels.
–Change Shape: May assume the form of a dire bat or wolf, as Beast Shape II
–Gaseous Form: As a standard action, or upon reaching 0 HP, the vampire can assume Gaseous Form indefinitely. Has a fly speed of 20ft with perfect maneuverability.
–Shadowless: Casts no shadows, nor is he reflected in a mirror
–Spider Climb: May climb surfaces as though under the effects of the Spider Climb spell.
–Combat Reflexes: May make up to 5 attacks of opportunity per round. Even while flat footed.

Weaknesses
–Aversion: Cannot tolerate the strong odor of garlic, mirrors, nor strongly presented holy symbols. Must succeed on a DC 25 will save each round, or stay at least 5ft away from these objects.
—Entrance: Cannot enter any private home or dwelling unless invited by someone with the authority to do so.
–Sunlight: Exposure to direct sunlight causes the staggered condition in the first round, and utter destruction in the second round.
–Running Water: Being submerged in running water deals damage equal to 1/3rd of max hit points per round. Upon reaching 0HP, the character could not escape using gaseous form as normal.
–Wooden Stake: If a wooden stake is driven through the heart while Limenent is helpless, she is instantly slain. However, if the stake is ever removed, she returns to life unless her head is also severed and burned.

Gear +2/+4 Shortsword of Subtlety, +2 Shortbow, 24 Arrows, 6 Sleep Arrows, 8 Arrows of Ice (+2d8 cold damage), Masterwork Studded Leather Improved Fire Resistance Armor, Ring of Water Walking, Ring of Speed +10, Softfoot Boots (stealth +6), 350 gp