The Duchy of the Damned Dancing Duke – Overview

Cecil Howe (a scholar and gentleman if ever there was one) offered to let me fuck around with one of his maps. Thank you Cecil!

The Situation

Sometimes it’s just easier to allow a weak king to stick around and be weak. His vassals pay nominal homage, but rule their own territories like small kingdoms. If anyone outside their lands asks, they’re absolutely loyal to their king, blah blah blah. Of course, none of the decrees made in their duchy bear the king’s name, and why should they? These dukes have more soldiers, more cunning, and more balls than the king’s got, so who is going to stop them?

Arnulf Broglie, “The Dancing Duke,” was (until recently) one of these. He ruled a middling territory of middling importance, and wielded middling power. The only remarkable thing about the man was his dancing. Not a pursuit fitting of his lordly dignity, but no one who saw him dance could say he did not excel at it. It was sometimes joked that he could have been a more powerful man as a traveling entertainer in European courts than he was as the Duke of a relatively minor duchy. It’s a joke that would probably be true, if not for the hidden powers of his dance.

Arnulf was charming, funny, and generous. He had all the qualities of a great gentleman, if not a great statesman. It was his weakness in the latter arena which led to his break with the church.

As a young man, still beholden to his father’s commands, Arnulf had taken an oath before the pontiff to crusade on the church’s behalf. By the time Arnulf was called to serve, his father had passed, and the Duke had no interest in fulfilling his oath. The pontiff couldn’t allow this minor duke to establish a precedent for disregarding the crusader’s oath, and spent years coaxing the stubborn young ruler to crusade. Even a nominal concession would have been sufficient, but Duke Broglie did not budge.

The pontiff threatened, and finally delivered a writ of excommunication which Arnulf danced on it with dirty boots, and returned. The enraged pontiff took a further step, damning Duke Broglie’s soul to hell. A crusade was declared against him, and the other dukes and lords began to imagine how they would divide his territory amongst themselves.

Facing certain destruction, Duke Broglie decided that if he was in for a penny, he may as well be in for a pound. He entered into a contract with the devil: his kingdom in exchange for the power to defeat his enemies. For the devils it seemed a surprisingly straightforward trade. Usually mortals needed to be tricked into this sort of thing. The Duke’s single strange request, that the contract be written in the language of dance, was taken by Satan as mere foppish fancy.

The devils infused the duchy’s soldiers with fanatical loyalty and infernal strength. They instructed the duke’s engineers in the crafting of hellish instruments of war. Duke Broglie’s foes were obliterated within three years, and the devils moved to claim their payment. That’s when the the Duke began to Dance.

Duke Broglie’s mastery of the contract was beyond anything the devils had ever expected or experienced. They were well used to mortals versed in mortal law. Mortals who thought they could outsmart a devil at a devil’s game. It had never been anything but a minor inconvenience. Never before had it worked.

Every day a dance battle is held in the grand hall of the castle, where the contract is debated, extended, and revised. The devils have won some small victories, but the Duke’s dance is too strong. He has yet to expel them from his lands, but his calm confidence that everything is going well has never faltered.

Encounters

A single encounter table covers the whole of the map. Roll 2d4 to determine what creatures are encountered.

2. Solkor The Yellow, a dragon which slept for long centuries before being awakened by the incessant pounding of feet from all this legally-binding dance. Solkor hoards mirrors, and prizes a fine mirror more than any other treasure. AC 17, HD 12, Move 240’/240′, 2 Claws 1d8, Bite 2d10. Morale 9. Breathes a sense of suicidal self loathing which requires characters to save versus magic (not breath) or deal 2x max weapon damage to themselves. The feeling passes after this damage is dealt, but if a character is prevented from harming themselves the depression will persist until they are cleansed by suffering. If Solkor is slain, another dragon will take his place.

3. A caravan of merchants moving goods from one location to another. There are 1d4 carts in the caravan, and they will be able to sell most basic items that would be found in a small village. For each cart in a caravan, they will also be carrying a curio that will be for sale. There is a 4-in-6 chance that any given merchant caravan is trying to smuggle something.

4. A roving band of 1d6 devils. Their behaviors are strictly controlled by whatever the current conditions of the contract are, but few if any provisions of the contract will govern their attitudes towards outsiders traveling in the Duke’s lands. The appearances of devils vary wildly, but a good average of their abilities would be AC 15, HD 4, Move 120′, Attack 1d8, Morale 8. Most will also posses special powers such as flight, a second attack, dealing additional elemental damage, short range teleportation, or gaseous form, determined by the referee at the table. For convenience, groups of devils may be similar of type.

5. A patrol of the Duke’s men. There is a 50/50 chance they will be 1d4 + 1 mounted soldiers, or 2d6 + 2 foot soldiers. They’re primarily concerned with ferreting out papists and keeping an eye on the movements of demons. That said, they’re a cruel lot. Being transformed by devils will do that to a person.

Mounted Soldiers: AC 16, HD 2, Move 360′, Weapon for 1d10, Morale 11, Special: 1/Day Fire Blast from hands, dealing 3d8 damage, save v. Breath for half.

Foot Soldiers: AC 14, HD 1, Move 120′, Weapon for 1d8, Morale 11, Special: Special: 1/Day Fire Blast from hands, dealing 3d8 damage, save v. Breath for half.

6. A group of 2d6 papal agents. They are dressed inconspicuously. Perhaps they are dressed as peasants, or merchants, or even as the Duke’s soldiers. They will not expose themselves foolishly, but if they think they have a reasonable expectation of privacy, they will offer any group of inferior strength the option to repent or die. The penitent will immediately be smuggled out of the duchy, or shanghaied into service via a “Pendant of Papal Geas” someone in the group is hiding on their person.
Papal Agent: AC 15, HD 2, Move 120′, Weapon for 1d6, Morale 10. Special: Once per day each papal agent can add 4 to their attack and damage roll against one person who is not an avowed member of their faith.

7. Wildlife which has been transformed and driven mad by the infernal magics that now abound in the duchy. There are (1) Devil Bears, (2) Hell Elk, (3) Satanic Serpents, (4) Vile Sharks, (5) Sinning Hounds, and (6) Boars of Babylon.

8. An army 1d6*100 strong. Roll to determine if the army is (1-3) Duke Borges’ men, (4-5) Papists, (6) Devils. The army is currently moving on the nearest held enemy location. If it’s an army of Devils, or of the Duke’s men, then their movement legal under the contract as it stands at this moment. (Unless they’re moving against papists, who are never protected by the contract anyway.)

30 Dungeon Origins

Good dungeons have nigh-incoherent architecture. They exist to challenge players, which is the exact opposite design goal to just about any structure that exists in real life. This is why dungeons with realistic layouts are usually as dull as a -2 dagger. It’s also why most attempts to explain why a dungeon exists are embarrassing to endure.

None the less, giving a dungeon some reason to exist is incredibly useful for informing its development. There’s a few classic explanations that try to lend an understandable intent to the incoherent architecture: catacombs, temples, mad wizards, etc. All are tried-and-true ideas that do the job well enough, but sometimes it’s fun to reinvent the wheel.

The dungeon predates the world. Its shape correlates to mysteries of creation beyond the scope of an adventurer to even think about. It floated in space for eons before drifting into a gathering ball of dust that became our world.
A space ship which crashed here in ages long past. The auto-repair function was severely damaged, resulting in the difficult-to-navigate interior.
The dungeon has not actually been built yet. The structure of it moves backwards through time. It was destroyed long ago, and in the future someone will build it. Examining the architecture may reveal some clues about what is to come.
Built by a species of architect ant, which is compelled to create dungeons.
When the goblin wars ended, the two races came to terms. The races of men could have the surface, but only if they built a home for goblinkind beneath the earth.
The dungeon was built in an earlier age by a religion which still exists. It is a sacred site, but because many of its secrets have been lost to time, it is dangerous to explore.
The dungeon is alive. It builds itself. It reacts.
The dungeon is a board game for gods. They got bored with it when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, and have forgotten where they left it.
Built as a kind of rat’s maze, by a powerful cosmic entity. This is not hidden. Everybody knows that when you enter this dungeon, you’re being watched and tested. People go in anyway because the “cheese” is legitimately bounteous treasures.
Built by dinosaurs, who foresaw their death and the dominance of disgusting ape creatures. They built it and placed their greatest treasures within it to tempt as many of us as possible to our deaths.
Built by a guild of engineers and architects, as a showcase of their many and varied skills.
Eroded into existence by spiteful river spirits.
The biggest, most elaborate sex dungeon of all time. Built by the ruler of a sexocracy.
Was a facility for containing creatures and objects with dangerous abilities and unknown purpose. There was a breakout long ago, so many of these things have long since escaped into the world, and may even be widely known and considered normal today. (Perhaps nobody got cancer, pregnancy was easy, and human lifespan was triple what it is now). Some of the safeguards are still here and dangerous, some of the anomalies are still here and dangerous. Some of them are still contained, and the world is better for it. Dungeon should list some stuff that used to be better before the breakout.
Conquered locals were forced to build a palace for their new distant ruler. They intentionally built it to be dangerous and confusing for their oppressors.
An active temple for the god of foolhardy death. Attempting to plunder the temple is an act of religious devotion. At least, that’s what the priests say. Everyone else figures it’s just an elaborate form of human sacrifice. Sure, a few might make it out with fabulous wealth, but far more will perish in the attempt.
Built in ancient times by a jealous nation. They built this labyrinth in hopes it would be listed as one of the wonders of the world.
The people of the nearby village were posessed a few years back. They spent years building it in a daze. When they woke up, they didn’t remember anything, and now avoid the place.
A subterranean civilization, digging up, did not realize eventually the earth would end and give way into the terrifying sky. Believing they had discovered hell, they created the most complicated maze of passages and rooms they could, to prevent the creatures from this terrible place from finding their way down into the wholesome lands below.
A time capsule, created to commemorate the 1,000th year of a city’s founding. It is meant to showcase their culture and civilization. And to play a few pranks on the naughty futuremen.
Some folks believe in craftsmanship. It doesn’t matter if nobody will ever see a thing, you still make it as beautiful and intricate as you can. Even if all you’re making is a sewer system, you do something to make that sewer system stand out. If not to people, then to god, who sees everything.
The structure of the dungeon is incredibly precise shape. A sort of ‘magic circle,” (though it is not a circle) used in an ancient summoning to create the moon.
A prince ordered the dungeon built long ago as a trial to test the valor of his potential suitors.
The holy temple of maturity. Before a girl of this tribe can be considered a woman, she must present a plan for a new corridor or room, and build it with her own two hands. She may be instructed, but never aided.
An alien algorithm meant for creating video games got ahold of some nanobots, sent them to our world, and built a dungeon for real.
Knowing they would be conquered when the campaigning season began, a whole civilization dedicated themselves to building this dungeon as a way of preventing their conquerors from ever finding their treasure. They sold their souls for magics. The whole treasures of their people are visible from the very first room, but are behind and impenetrable wall of death.
A structure built to trap a god, while still showing that god proper respect.
The dungeon itself is a kind of computer, and those who attempt to navigate it advance its computations through their actions. Once enough people have attempted to plunder it, the problem will be solved. It’s unclear what happens then.
There is a creature which gestates in dungeons, the way a bird gestates in an egg. The parent created this place to foster their child.
Once, men were at peace with a strange race, with strange needs. They built an embassy here, to better maintain relations. Eventually, though, peace broke down, and the two races parted ways. Only the embassy is left, as hostile to human life as it was necessary to theirs.

The Dachshund Dungeon

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

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

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

I am not an artist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miscreated Creatures: Clackers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magic Technology

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dungeon We Forgot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting Weird with the Classics 4

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

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

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

So, without further yammering:

Ring of Water Walking

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

Ring of Walking Water

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

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

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

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

Candle of Invocation

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

Candle of Embarkation

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

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

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

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

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

Springs of Booting

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

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

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

Behaviors for The Level 1 Creature Generator

Well known amphibian aficionado and all-around cool dude Michael Raston recently put out The Level 1 Creature Generator. It’s a handy tool for referees who are tired of listening to the reptilian enthusiasts and mammalian traditionalists argue with one another every time the party is attacked by Kobolds.

I think it’s a pretty fun creative tool, but I’m also Michael’s bud, so I’m not going to pretend to offer any kind of serious review for it. It’s good stuff, and Michael deserves his dollar for it.
That being said, after perusing the basic shape table, the form table, and the ability table, it struck me that the project could be improved by inclusion of a behaviors table. So I made one.

Level 1 Creature Behaviors

Roll 1d4, then 1d10

One

Plagued with obsessive compulsions. Must perform actions a specific number of times, quickly clean any blood off themselves, and adhere to rigid standards of organization and symmetry in all things.
Will talk about anyone it encounters as if they cannot hear or understand it. Will only directly address other creatures of its own type, or sometimes talk to itself.
Takes wagers on everything. 5sp you can’t guess where their tattoo is? How about 2sp you’ll need to ask them for help before you get out of the dungeon? 15sp they can kill that adventurer in less than 3 swings.
Tell a lot of really obvious, pathetic lies, all the time.
They use a “talking stick”, and take it very seriously. Anyone who speaks without holding the stick is warned a single time, then attacked with intent to kill if they break the rule again. If their stick is lost, they will not speak until a new stick can be consecrated.
Interpret everything in the most depressing possible way. They seem almost fetishistic in their desire to be miserable.
Have a dizzying array of superstitions. It seems everything that happens can be interpreted to have some prophetic significance to them.
Believe themselves to be much more intimidating than they are, as if the mere sight of them should make mortal men cower in fear. No matter how someone acts towards the creatures, they will bend over backwards to maintain this belief.
Act as though any violence they perform is a favor. “You are welcome for ending your miserable existence. It must be such a burden being a member of a lesser order of life.”
Conceive of themselves as contemptible filth-creatures, which deserve to be put down.

Two

Treat new people they meet with an uncomfortable familiarity, like an obnoxious sibling. They’re very touchy, take constant jibes at a person’s foibles, and play pranks which go way too far.
Waste is deeply offensive to them. They are committed to using every part of the adventurer.
Have an obsession with seeking out the most glorious deaths they can. Will fight to stay alive only to make the death more glorious.
Always have a scribe among them wherever they travel, so someone can record their deeds and bring it back to the community. This scribe is strictly a non-combatant.
Are paralyzingly afraid of the dark. Always have plenty of torches or other light sources with them.
Are frantically afraid of the vast open void of the sky. Refuse to step out from the underground. If they can be captured and shoved into a building, they will never leave it of their own volition.
Dispassionate, scientifically curious observers. Will frequently repeat an action several times to see if the results are consistent. Obsessively record their findings.
Tinkerers, always enthusiastic about trying out new things to see if they can achieve interesting results. Get bored very quickly.
Offended by the very concept of writing. Thoughts should stay in people’s heads where they can be alive. Trapping thoughts on paper is perverse.
Passionate body modders. Will often tattoo or pierce themselves impulsively. When wounded, will openly speculate about how they might manipulate the wound to heal in some cool-looking way.

Three

Cowardice is a virtue. Only a buffoon wouldn’t try to escape death by any means necessary. Offer violence only when you have overwhelming force, or using hit-and-run tactics.
The use of metal tools is deeply contrary to their spiritual beliefs. They are profoundly offended by anyone displaying worked metal, and at the very best, will treat them with the contempt due to a heathen non-believer.
Speak only in a sing-song. Rhyme as often as they can.
Animal slavery is an abhorrent practice to them. Only soulless brutes would ever bind an animal, or bend it to their will.
Will obey the will of any cat.
Observe a complex code of etiquette which no one not raised among them could ever hope to adhere to. Would agree with the phrase “Killing a person is no excuse for being rude to them.”
Do not use any footwear themselves, but find it to be a fascinating adaptation of other cultures. Can be used as a kind of currency among their people. Will be intensely interested in acquiring the shoes and boots of anyone they meet.
Due to some ancient insult, these creatures loathe wizards. Wizards know what they did. And, indeed, any magic users present do know. Talking about it will only enrage these creatures more, even if making an apology.
The most popular sport among them is competitive water diverting. They shift the course of rivers and compete in both time taken, and style points.
Every one of them thinks they’re a comedian. They enable one another with endless, grating laughter over the dumbest jokes.

Four

Intensely sexual. Will probably invite you to an orgy. If you get into a fight with them, no matter who wins, they’re going to enjoy it in ways that make you uncomfortable.
Are currently on a scavenger hunt. They need a leaf with 6 points, a rock that looks like it has a face, the ear of a sentient creature, and something pink.
Do a lot of weird drugs, and will probably do more of them during any encounter.
Believe that boats are a crime against nature. If the gods had intended folk to float upon the water, they’d have made us more like ducks.
It is an accepted fact that only they, and other members of their species, are really ‘real.’ Everything and everyone outside of them is a fiction, which exists only to make their lives more interesting.
Highly secretive about their own existence. Anyone who knows of them must somehow be prevented from spreading that knowledge. Some are held captive for the rest of their lives, others are merely discredited so no one will believe them, still others are simply killed.
Generally a brusque people. However, if they decide to kill you, they will first invite you to share a meal and conversation with them. It’s only proper to get to know someone whose life you will end.
Are voluntarily carnivorous as a society, having decided that it is completely unethical to eat any plant-based foods.
The goddess of fortune is their most culturally significant deity. They believe that any decision left to chance will result in the most harmony with the cosmic plan. Though, they do not consider it wrong to make decisions for yourself. It is an understandably selfish thing to do. Only the most devout would allow themselves to come to serious harm simply to satisfy the cosmic plan.
Have a rigid warrior culture that prizes honor above all things.

Fuck the King of Space: Players Guide v0.2

After the first couple months of play, I’ve updated and revised the player’s guide for FKOS. I’m actually kinda surprised by just how top-to-bottom the revision is. Pretty much every page has had some kind of significant tweak to the rules. Fundamentally it’s mostly the same stuff, but I’ve added a lot of little refinements that I think will improve play quite a bit.

Fuck the King of Space: Player’s Guide v0.2

Fuck the King of Space: Player's Guide

Have I ever mentioned that I wrote a miniature RPG book to help me run On a Red World Alone? It’s not the prettiest thing in the world, but it’s a good 25 pages of setting information and rules that I’ve slowly patched together over the two years that I’ve been running the campaign. I’ve kept it private, because it was never meant to be anything other than a personal reference document. Who would be interested in that?

Well, based on the number of people who read ORWA’s play reports, far more people are interested than I might have suspected. And now that I’m starting up a new campaign, it seems like a good time to also start being more open about some of this behind-the-scenes stuff.

So, if you’re interested, here is the 21 page player’s guide for Fuck the King of Space. I’m taking this new campaign as an opportunity to implement a lot of shit I’ve been thinking about, much of which I’ve talked about on the blog before. The document is less interesting for its novelty than it is for taking a lot of my ideas, and putting them together into a (hopefully) coherent whole. Though, there is some new stuff in there, and almost all of the old stuff has been streamlined or revised.

There’s also a lot missing, and that’s another reason I never shared the ORWA Player’s Guide. These are living documents, updated and changed as the game evolves. If this sparks any interest at all, I’ll be sure to keep the blog updated with newer versions as I write them. (Though, future updates will be announced as bonus posts, instead of serving as the main weekly post.)

Enjoy!

Fuck The King of Space Player’s Guide v0.1