d100 Curses

Curses are cool. Open a sealed tomb? You get a curse! Kill a wizened old crone? You get a curse! Plunder a wealthy monastery? Everybody gets a curse!

Here are 100 of them.

The cursed must get proper permission before entering any domicile.
The cursed will always close their eyes in the presence of fire.
Anytime the cursed walks through a doorway, they will thoughtlessly slam it behind themselves, causing a racket and possibly knocking nearby items off shelves.
If the cursed sees a knot, they are compelled to untie it.
The cursed cannot get wet. If they do, their most important concern becomes drying themselves as soon as possible.
The cursed is mesmerized by any form of performance art they encounter. They are unable to continue on until it ends, or they are dragged away from it.
The cursed may never sit for any reason.
Nobody remembers the cursed between meetings. Each time they encounter someone, that person believes it is the very first time.
Everyone who meets the cursed seems to recall hearing stories about them. These stories paint the picture of an unreliable, cruel, and evil person.
Any money that the cursed doesn’t spend the same day the get it, disappears.
Compasses don’t work within 100′ of the cursed.
The cursed can be turned by clerics as though they were undead. If a friendly cleric turns undead, they are not able to exempt the cursed.
Every coin that passes through the hand of the cursed transforms into a less valuable metal. (Platinum turns to gold, gold to silver, silver to copper, copper to steel, etc).
A permanent raincloud drizzles on the head of the cursed. Each week they must roll a save versus Breath to avoid rusted equipment. (In addition to other annoyances which would occur).
The cursed’s shoes wear out within 4 hours. They must carry spare pairs unless they wish to adventure barefooted. Adventuring without shoes reduces max hp by 1 per hit die.
The cursed sleeps for 16 hours each day, instead of 8.
The cursed’s reflection shows a gaunt, dead thing. Not even a living corpse, just a corpse propped up in roughly the same position the cursed is currently in. Others who notice this will be horrified.
There will never be any lodging available in any town the cursed visits.
The gender of the cursed is randomly determined each morning.
The cursed gains a crippling weakness against common dogs. A dog’s bite is so poison to them, that they must make a save versus poison or die.
Anytime the cursed takes more than 3 damage in a single round the wind is knocked out of them. They must save versus Poison or they won’t be able to do any more than move during their next turn.
The cursed cannot hold their breath. Ever. At all. For any reason.
Any time a save is called for, the cursed rolls their worst save instead of the save that was intended.
Anytime the cursed is in a private residence, they will accidentally break something the owner holds dear.
Any time anyone at the game table coughs or sneezes, the cursed is consumed by a loud and obnoxious coughing / sneezing fit in-game. To the point that people start to think they’re faking it for attention or something.
The cursed’s dietary needs are altered so they can only be sustained by animals that people care about: horses, cats, dogs, etc. Nobody needs to care about the specific animal eaten, so long it is of a type that people in the area generally keep as pets.
Anything experienced by the cursed while alone is entirely fictional. The only real experiences they have are those shared by at least one other member of the party.
The cursed loses all concept of table manners. They eat in the most disgusting way imaginable.
The cursed character becomes hyper-sensitive to changes in air pressure. They cannot travel more than 20′ vertically in a day without becoming light headed and weak.
All clothing becomes unbearably itchy. The cursed must go about naked or suffer from constant discomfort.
The cursed attracts biting insects and rashes to their body; and thus they itch constantly. They are completely incapable of sitting still, and anytime it might be required they fidget and scratch and rub themselves against things. Contorting themselves to reach difficult itches.
Everything the cursed says comes out as sarcastic and disrespectful.
The cursed has intermittent super strength, allowing them to punch through stone walls and stomp their foes into the ground. This power only manifests itself when the cursed least desires it. This causes simple, ordinary actions to become destructive. The referee will judge which actions have this ‘benenfit’ after the fact.
Everything that the cursed says must rhyme. If they fail, they’ll take 1 point of damage each time.
The cursed cannot abide the presence of the opposite gender, and must either fight, or excuse themselves from the area if they encounter one.
Each non-cursed member of the group (including the referee) should be asked to name a common word. These words are then put onto a list, kept in common view of the whole table. If the cursed speaks any of these words during play, their character takes 1 point of damage to a random ability score.
The player to the right of the cursed should name a letter. The cursed cannot use any words which begin with that letter, on pain of suffering 1 point of damage each time they do so.
If the cursed uses an edged weapon, they will cut themselves after every fail attack roll, dealing half weapon damage.
The cursed grows a pair of gills, and can now only breathe in water.
The cursed must make an original pun each game day. Any days in which they fail to do this, they are struck by lightning.
The cursed must reroll all their ability scores each morning. 3d6, in order.
If the cursed is a caster, they may now only access the spells of a different casting class. Magic Users can only prepare Cleric spells. Clerics can only prepare MU spells. Other casters are restricted to the spells of whatever spellcasting class is deemed most opposed to their own. If the cursed is not a caster, reroll their curse.
Between sessions, the cursed goes on uncontrollable drunken adventures that they then have no memory of. Each session starts with a hangover, and a new injury.
The cursed becomes trapped in whatever clothes they’re currently wearing. Characters wearing armor will suffer mounting penalties after being forced to sleep in their armor for long periods. If the cursed was not wearing any armor at the time the curse took hold, they will still become ever smellier, and more offensive to civilized folk.
If music is played, the cursed must dance to it. Even if it’s just enemy wardrums.
The cursed’s face turns into a ceramic mask, fitted over exposed muscle and bone.
Any boat the cursed boards will be blown off course and shipwrecked far from where it was supposed to be.
The cursed is compelled to break any glass they see.
Pack animals hate the cursed, and will flee or attack if the cursed is near.
Instead of food, the cursed subsists off of making people cry.
Anyone who spends the night under the same roof as the cursed will be struck by lightning the next time they stand under an open sky.
An obese old woman appears each night to hover over the cursed as they sleep, staring at them in slack-jawed annoyance. Drool dribbles from her mouth, onto the cursed’s sleeping form. If she is confronted, she flies into a rage fit that will prevent anyone from sleeping. If she is attacked, she is killed, but the dreams of the cursed are tormented and give no rest. She returns the next night, still agitated from having been slain.
The cursed does not have a name. No word seems to describe them, and anytime one is tried, it is forgotten by everyone, including the cursed.
Everything the cursed says must be sung.
In any religious rite the cursed witnesses or participate in, they will perform a sacrilege.
Within a day of encountering some new community or culture, the cursed will always commit some highly offensive faux pas that is unique to that community.
Any tool the cursed uses has a 1 in 6 chance to break.
If the curseds own any structure, it will burn to the ground or be otherwise demolished the first time the cursed sleeps in it.
Any animal the cursed attempts to ride will attempt to buck them off at the most inopportune time possible.
No warning given by the cursed will ever be heeded.
No servant will remain faithful to the cursed when their back is turned.
No message sent from anything but the cursed’s own lips will ever reach its destination.
Any map the cursed might benefit from will be half-ruined before it can be used.
Half of any book the cursed might benefit from will be torn out or destroyed before they can be read.
Any wand found by the cursed will have only a single charge.
Anytime the cursed expresses a concern, it will be interpreted as a joke.
Any community the cursed stays in for a week will experience poor fortune for a year. Bad harvests, raiding bands, lost trade agreements, war, etc.
No fire can ever be put out in the presence of the cursed. Even fully submerging a torch in water won’t work.
The cursed has 100% fertility, and is irresistible to the opposite sex. 100% as in “literally anything sexual results in pregnancy.” The cursed makes babies from blowjobs.
Anything that drops from the cursed’s hands is lost, and can only be found by someone who would never return it willingly.
Even the smallest amount of a drug–a thimble of beer, second hand marijuana smoke, etc–will have the full effects of a day of binging on the cursed.
The cursed’s morality becomes an absolutist thing. Any deviation from your alignment or stated values will result in losing all class abilities until an atonement is made.
The cursed tastes good. Really good. Creatures that eat manflesh will smell the cursed much more readily, and be persistent in pursuing them. Any time the cursed takes damage from fire, the sizzling scent causes an immediate random encounter check. Any time the cursed takes damage from a bite, that creature will direct all their attacks towards the tasty tasted cursed one.
The cursed comes to believe strongly that the Iron age was a mistake, and that mankind was led astray by their hubris in smelting metals that were not meant for them. Bronze is the most advanced metal the cursed may use. The cursed will proselytize to others about their iron-sins.
The cursed believes they are dead. Any damage dealt to them, as well as their actual hit point total, are kept secret by the referee. The cursed simply doesn’t believe any of it has occurred. How can they be hurt if they’re already dead? It’s silly.
The cursed PC transforms into the cursed player. The PC takes on the appearance of the player, as well as the group’s best guess at how the player’s real life abilities would translate into the game world. The new PC doesn’t have any modern knowledge. They are as they would be if they had been born in the game world and followed an equivalent life path to their real life’s path.
Randomly determine a player who is not the cursed or the referee. That player must come up with a catchphrase. Any session in which the cursed does not use their catchphrase in some appropriate way, is a session in which they forfeit any experience points they would have gained.
The cursed falls into a deep sleep until their true love’s kiss wakes them. The the cursed is unplayable, and will likely remain so unless the rest of the party set up a kissing booth or something.
The the cursed immediately and irrevocably falls in love with the next NPC of the appropriate type they meet. Resisting this infatuation will result in a negative level each week, as the cursed finds they cannot eat or sleep or enjoy the activities they once did. The only cure for this malady is the pursuit and marriage of the NPC. The cursed will always be very happy in this marriage and unwilling to leave it, no matter how horrible and demanding the referee makes their spouse. The referee is encouraged to make the cursed’s spouse very horrible and demanding.
The cursed shows visible, obvious signs of desire anytime they see a piece of treasure. So if they encounter a king wearing a golden crown, they’ll spend the whole conversation staring wide-eyed at his crown and making grabby-hands in the air towards it. Obviously, this does little to endear the cursed to anyone who owns treasure.
The cursed is contorted into a sphere. They can roll in any direction they desire, and take some actions with their arms. They are none the less limited in their ability to perform many common tasks due to their new shape.
The size of the cursed becomes variable. Each morning when they wake, roll a d6 to determine how big the cursed is this day. 1. Ant sized; 2. Housecat sized; 3. Halfling sized; 4. Adult human sized; 5. Tall as an elephant; 6. Tall as a giraffe.
Everyone who sees the cursed perceives them as an octopus struggling to survive on land. Everything the cursed says is heard as the pitiable wailing of a dying cephalopod.
The cursed needs to pee every 10 minutes.
Anytime the cursed takes damage, the wound immediately turns to gold. Since the wound cannot be healed, the hit point loss becomes permanent.
Once combat has begun, the cursed is unable to stop fighting until every foe is dead. Even those who seem like they might someday consider the possibility of becoming a foe must die.
The next time the cursed wrongs someone, that person will exaggerate the wrong into a horrible, unsympathetic crime. They will expend great effort to ensure everyone knows of the cursed’s foul nature.
An intense rivalry develops between the cursed and another randomly determined member of the party. This rival PC will receive bonus experience each time they work against the cursed’s interests or betray their trust.
The cursed becomes a natural target for pickpockets. Anytime they enter a crowd or a large community, they will lose some of their carried gold and possessions.
The cursed becomes a natural target for burglars. Each session they will lose some of their gold and possessions that are not carried with them. Hiring guards, hiding valuables, or placing valuables in a vault will provide only temporary relief. Each of these will eventually be overcome by burglars.
The cursed must always agree with the majority opinion of any group they’re in. This would include a lynch mob that wanted to have the party hanged. So long as the opinion is held by the majority, it is also the fervent opinion of the cursed.
The player to the right of the cursed selects a well known personality. A political figure or celebrity, with whom the cursed’s player is familiar. In speech, mannerism, word, and deed, the cursed must now be played as though they were that personality.
The cursed becomes a moral boyscout. They will always feel compelled to help anyone who has even the slightest need, and would never dream of accepting recompense for their efforts.
When the cursed encounters an NPC, they must make a reaction roll to determine their demeanor towards that NPC. The reaction roll is modified by the NPC’s charisma.
At the beginning of each adventure, a vulture swoops down and demands the cursed give them 500 money. If the cursed refuses, the vulture takes a bite out of their belly, pulling one of their organs free and flying off with it. The cursed takes 2 Constitution damage from this, but is otherwise unharmed. The process repeats until the cursed is dead, or starts paying the bird off. Previously taken organs can be bought back for 750 money. The vulture itself is invulnerable to attack, and can only be seen by the cursed.
Every surface the cursed stands on is as slippery as melting ice.
The cursed exaggerates everything. They regularly make promises that they cannot live up to, and make wild claims about past accomplishments.
The cursed becomes a hireling, the the cursed’s hireling becomes the player character.
Any piece of food the cursed is about to consume has a 1 in 10 chance to be poison. This poisoning occurs when a piece of food goes from being “food,” to being “the cursed’s food.”
The only manner of fighting the cursed can participate in is dance fighting.

Magical Marvels 31: Getting Weird with the Classics 3

This shit is way too entertaining to ever stop doing it. Same thing as last time. Three randomly determined magic items from the AD&D Dungeon Master’s Guide. One roll on the rings table, two rolls on the miscellaneous tables. The items are modified to suit my own sensibilities. This isn’t an attempt to “update” or “fix” anything, since none of them are broken. They’re just not my style.

Ring of Spell Turning

This ring distorts the three normal dimensions with respect to magic spells directed at its wearer. Any spell cast at an individual will usually rebound, in part or perhaps in whole, upon the spell caster. The distance between, and area occupied by, the victim (the ring wearer) and the spell caster are not as they seem when the magic activates the spell turning ring.

Ring of Spell Divergence

Spells cast by, or at, the wearer of this ring have something like the opposite of their intended effect. These aberrant magics are conjured from the imagination of the referee on the spot, and he or she bears no responsibility for making these new spells any better or worse than the originals. The ring is no guarantee of safety from magic, and the wearer takes full responsibility for the risks of wearing it.

Whatever illogical weirdness the referee comes up with when pressured to invent a new spell on the spot is unassailable law. They are not bound to remember precedent, or make their aberrant spells consistent in any way. The spells produced in the spur of the moment may or may not be available to be researched on their own in the game world, determined by the referee on a case by case basis.

Any attempt to argue with the referee, even to simply suggest a more reasonable ‘opposite’ spell effect, causes the ring to explode and take the wearer’s entire hand with it. Any anachronisms in the referee’s thinking on this subject are not a bug. They are a feature. They are the infinite impossibilities of magic folding backwards onto themselves, and producing something spontaneous, and terrifyingly beautiful.

Thus “Fireball” may become “Water Cube.” Or it may trap you inside a giant hamster ball of fire. Or it may force you to sing Katy Perry’s “Firework,” replacing the titular word with “Fireball.” Every referee will come up with a different way to reverse any given spell. The wearer must hope that these will work out in their favor more often than not.

Bag of Tricks

As is usual, a bag of tricks appears to be a typical size for sacks, and visual or other examination will not reveal any contents. However, if an individual reaches inside, her or she will feel a small, fuzzy object. If this is withdrawn and tossed 1′ to 20′ away, it will balloon into one of the following animals, which will obey and fight for the individual who brought it into being until the current combat terminates. The animals inside a bag of tricks are dependent upon which sort of bag is found. Roll 1d10 to determine which type.
(Type 1: weasel, skunk, badger, wolf, Giant Lynx, Wolverine, Boar, Giant Stag. Type 2: Rat, Owl, Dog, Goat, Ram, Bull, Bear, Lion, Type 3: Jackal, Eagle, Baboon, Ostrich, Leopard, Jaguar, Buffalo, Tiger)
Only 1 creature can be drawn forth at a time. It alone exists until it is slain or 1 turn has elapsed and it is ordered back into the back of tricks. Another animal may then be brought forth, but it could be another just like the one which was drawn previously. Note that only one roll is made for type of bag, but type of creature is rolled for each time one is drawn forth. up to 10 creatures maximum may be drawn from the bag each week.

For real, the Bag of Tricks is already pretty weird. I could easily see myself including this in a game nearly as-is, with only a few minor tweaks. Perhaps you’d need to coax an animal into the bag before it could be pulled out. But that isn’t really worth writing up, so I’m gonna jump a little off base with this one.

Cat in a Bag

A small burlap sack with a cat inside of it, closed tight with a knotted drawstring. The cat doesn’t particularly like being inside the bag, but it’s content enough that it doesn’t struggle or mewl constantly. It doesn’t need to be fed, but it can be harmed by attacks or by drowning, so some care must be taken to protect the bag.

Anytime the cat is let out of the bag, it will brush up against someone’s legs before running off to enjoy its temporary freedom. That person must reveal the most relevant secret they have. Whatever it is that they would most wish to keep hidden from the people who will hear them speak, is exactly what they must now reveal.

When the bag is opened, the owner should indicate a target to the cat. This cat is unusually obedient, so there is a fully 60% chance it will brush up against the indicated target’s legs. Otherwise, the cat’s target should be randomly determined from among everyone in the room, including the owner of the bag.

If the person has no obviously important secret to reveal, roll 1d6 to determine an appropriate sort of secret.

The cat’s target must reveal a major crime which those present will want to punish them for committing.
The cat’s target must reveal a minor crime which those present will want to prosecute them for committing.
The cat’s target must reveal a shameful indiscretion from their past, which will alienate those around them.
The cat’s target must reveal a taboo and disgusting preference, which will alienate them from those around them.
The cat’s target must admit that they changed their identity, and provide a new name and 1-3 sentence backstory.
The cat’s target must admit that they secretly produce embarrassingly bad art under a pseudonym.

Anytime the cat is let out of the bag, it will take some time to find the cat. There is a 1-in-6 chance of encountering it each hour the players spend in the same area if they are not specifically looking for it. A 3-in-6 chance per hour if they are specifically looking for it. Once found it can be reliably coaxed back into the back with 10 minutes of effort and a ration’s worth of food.

Javelin of Piercing
This weapon is not actually hurled, as when a command word is spoken, the Javelin of Piercing launches itself. Range is 6″, all distancves considered as short rangte. The javelin is +6 “to hit” and inflicts 7-12 hit points of damage. (Note this missile will fly horizontally, verticvally, or any combination thereof to the full extent of its range.) From 2-8 will be found. The magic of the javelin is good for only 1 throw.

The Snapshot Musket

For most magic items, ownership and possession are functionally the same thing. However, very nearly the whole point of the Snapshot Musket is to get other people to use it. Thus, ownership is granted to whomever most recently held the rifle while being fully cognizant of its magical properties.

The musket does not stand out among other weapons of its kind. It is a battered thing. Functional, but not beautiful. Any time the owner snaps their fingers, the weapon will fire. It does so whether or not it is loaded.

If the barrel pointed at a target, attack rolls are made normally without any bonuses or penalties. If the barrel is resting directly against something, a hit is automatic. If the barrel is not directed towards anything in particular, it probably won’t hit anything, but the referee may choose a random target at their discretion.

In any event, a gun going off unintentionally will certainly startle its wielder, and probably anyone nearby. The shot will be audible from a significant distance, and may attract unwanted attention.

LotFP Class: The Spy

As long as there has been humans, there has been distrust. And as long as there has been distrust, people have resorted to spying on one another to find out what’s really going on. When humans built their kingdoms and empires, spying became an art practiced at a high level by a dedicated few. Steeped in the depths of human distrust and deceit, these truth-finders ironically gained a reputation for being untrustworthy. Captured spies are not afforded the dignity of captured soldiers, and spies who learn too much are easily disposed of by nervous masters. Knowing when to abandon your post and strike out on your own is perhaps the spy’s most important skill.

Spies are a sort of non-magical divination class. They advance as Specialists in most respects. Their hit dice, saves, and experience progression is identical.

They have two skills, Listen and Stealth. Both of these begin with a 2-in-6 chance, and advance by 1 each level, reaching the full 6-in-6 chance at level 5. Stealth works as normal, but savvy readers might note that LotFP does not have a listen skill. Particularly dedicated readers may even recall that I have a personal distaste for the skill myself. The skill possessed here by the Spy is a kind of “Super Listen.”

The spy presses their ear to the floor, or wall, and does not need to make any stealth checks that this activity might normally call for. If the check succeeds, the referee must give them some piece of information about their environment. The referee is free to give them any information seems relevant. However, if no information comes to mind, this table may be useful:

Roll a monster from your encounter table. The spy hears this creature some distance away, allowing them either to avoid it, or gain a bonus in attempting to surprise it. This creature is the next random encounter the players would have faced, and if they avoid or kill it, then the next time the encounter die indicates that a monster should be rolled, don’t. That monster was already dealt with. This remains true even if you don’t roll an encounter until the players are in a vastly different place at a different time. Dealing with a monster in this way is a sort of “get out of one encounter free” card.
The Spy identifies the location of a nearby trap by hearing the clicking of gears, the straining of wood, or the subtle wobbling of a loose pressure plate. They know precisely where the trap is located and how to activate it, but do not necessarily know how to avoid it or deactivate it.
Something, somewhere brushes against a piece of treasure. Perhaps a rat, or just a gust of wind. There is a barely audible clink of precious metal on precious metal. Even if it’s just a handful of copper coins, the Spy knows precisely where to find it. They don’t necessarily know how to get there, or how to access it.
With listening skills so refined they approach echolocation, the spy is able to determine the layout of the nearest unexplored room. It should be described to them as though it were brightly lit, and they were standing in the center of it. Color may be omitted if the referee thinks it is relevant to do so.
With a less focused variation of the same echolocation-like ability described above, the spy gains knowledge of the layout of the surrounding area. The referee should sketch a rough map of the corridors, rooms, stairways, and doors nearby. Out to a roughly 300′ radius.
The spy overhears someone speaking. What they’re talking about is completely unrelated to anything the players are currently doing, but it sounds as though it might be worth a look…

In addition to their two skills, Spies have two other notable abilities: Scout, and Disguise.

Disguise: If the spy is being pursued, and they manage to get out of sight of their pursuer, then they can disguise themselves. Doing so requires that they remain out of sight for a full round as they frantically modify their appearance using whatever is handy. If there is time, they may also attempt to disguise any companions who might be fleeing with them. Each companion requires 2 rounds of attention to be fully disguised. Once the job is done, disguised characters can wander out of hiding without being noticed at all. Any prolonged interaction with their pursuer will cause the disguise to fail, but it will otherwise stand up to casual inspection.

Disguise has no effect against pursuers who track primarily by scent. Nor will it prevent a creature who attacks all living things from attacking this ‘new’ living thing, simply because they don’t recognize it. Disguise is effective enough to fool pursuers in unpopulated environments. If the Spy is fleeing from a band of orcs in a dungeon corridor, they won’t see through the disguise simply because there’s no one else around.

Scout: By spending 8 hours away from the party, the Spy can find out a lot that they’d never have learned while burdened by their less subtle companions. Due to the time required, scouting may require the Spy to sacrifice some sleep. Additionally, scouting must be done as part of play, rather than between sessions.

When a Spy returns from scouting, they may opt either to ask the referee 3 yes-or-no questions, or ask a single question with a full sentence as an answer. The spy is entitled to ask anything they like, and they are entitled to the truth.

The referee should strive to provide good, useful information after a scouting run. Yes-or-no questions should never be answered with ‘maybe.’ Full-sentence questions should be answered with information that would not otherwise have been available at this point in the game. Scouting should not be used as a vehicle to deliver quest hooks players would have gotten anyway. For example, if a Spy asks “How do we kill the Gigalich?” telling them “Gregory the Wise Man knows” would probably be a bad answer. That’s the sort of information any player would be able to find out if they went into town and asked the tavern keeper. It wouldn’t require 8 hours, or the expertise of a professional Spy.

A better answer might be the exact location of the Lich’s phylactery. They’ll still need to adventure to reach the phylactery, and may even need to adventure still further to destroy it after it’s found. Another good option would be to provide them with red herring information in conjunction with the real information. The Spy might learn that the Gigalich is weak against either fire, water, or stale baguettes. Under no circumstances should you lie to your players, but there’s no problem with obfuscating the truth.

In rare circumstances, the referee might tell a player that they should ask a different question. This should be resorted to only in the rarest circumstance, as it devalues the player’s choice of class. However, if the player is being a twat, asking increasingly specific, contract-with-the-devil style questions, it may be warranted. It may also be called for if the player persists along a single line of questioning with repeated scouting. There is a limit to how much can be learned about a single subject. If the Gigalich is weak against either fire, water, or stale baguettes, then that is what is known. The Spy can’t narrow it down by scouting again to ask a yes-or-no question about each of those possibilities.

(Thanks to master diviner Mad Bill Danger for sharing expertise. )

LotFP Class: Bangtail

Life is never kind to the bottom rung. While the well-off have the luxury of fretting over their dignity, the rest are too busy fretting over where their next meal will come from. For some, their own body is the only commodity they have that anyone will trade for. It’s a step that, once taken, cannot be taken back. Society will never see you the same way again. There is no reprieve, no climbing out of that dank pit.

But then there are those who take well to the work. Who may even enjoy it. They can’t pull themselves out of the pit any more than their less adept colleagues, but they can stake a claim in the pit. Build a life in the pit. Become the queen of the pit. To those looking in from outside, you’re just another whore. But that is their weakness, their failure to see. And that failure is the Bangtail’s opportunity.

For experience points, hit dice, and saves, the Bangtail progresses as a Specialist. The Bangtail also gains skill points, but does so at half the rate of the Specialist: two at first level, and one at each subsequent level.

Bangtails can spend their skill points on any skill available to Specialists, including Sneak Attack. In addition, there are 3 new skills available only to members of the Bangtail class. All Bangtails start with a 1-in-6 chance for each of these skills.

Bangtail-Only Skills:

Goodtime: If there is an item for sale, and the NPC selling it has any sex drive whatsoever, then the Bangtail can make a Goodtime check. On success, they spend a Watch (4hrs) alone with the seller. In exchange the price of the item is reduced by 5% per level of the Bangtail.

Goodtime checks may also be made during a Haven turn so the Bangtail may ply their trade in whatever town they are in. On a successful check, the Bangtail earns 300 money per level. This money doesn’t grant any experience.

Note: NPC sexuality or curiosity is determined by the success or failure of the check. Nobody is immune simply because they’re not into members of the Bangtail’s expressed gender.

Bedroom Talk: Whores talk. When a Bangtail indicates an NPC, they can make a Bedroom Talk roll to determine if they’ve heard anything about that person. On a successful roll, the Bangtail has heard such stories. The referee may choose from two types of information to give. Either the Bangtail has heard some detailed information about this person’s secrets, or, they have heard shameful stories about that person’s darkest desires. The latter would certainly be useful as blackmail.

Different people respond to blackmail in different ways of course: some capitulate, others become violent, and still others gamble that no one would believe you even if you did tell. Regardless of the way the NPC reacts, the information you learned is true.

Note: Bedroom Talk checks may only ever be made once per NPC, until the Bangtail increases their base success chance.

Amorous Gymnastics: It is an occupational necessity to practice flexibility. The Bangtail, as in all aspects of their craft, has raised this skill to a form of art. A successful Amorous Gymnastics check allows a Bangtail to fit themselves into spaces that might normally be considered too small, and move freely in those spaces. Using this they could slide through the bars of a prison cell, or hide themselves inside a briefcase. The skill could also be used to escape any bonds, balance under any circumstances, or generally use their body in unusual ways, such as firing a bow with their feet.

Other Bangtail Abilities:

In any decently sized town, a Bangtail will be able to make contact with the local network of prostitutes within 1 Watch. This network will be able to provide a safe (if rough) place to sleep when hiding from the authorities, and will know exactly how to help you slip out of town unnoticed if need be. They can also offer a wide variety of information about the city they work in.
You don’t make it far as a Bangtail without learning how to avoid trouble. Once per session, when a random encounter is rolled, a Bangtail can announce that they avoid the encounter. They saw the signs of trouble coming, and directed the party away from danger. That encounter doesn’t happen.
Despite the skill they’re most known for, the most important skill of a Bangtail is knowing how to talk to people. Bangtails receive a +1 to all social rolls. This increases to +2 at level four, and again to +3 at level seven.

Credit to Mick Reddick for suggesting the name “Bangtail” for me, and thereby inspiring me to create an entirely new class to do justice to that amazingly evocative word.

LotFP Class: Bear in Disguise

Just because you’re a bear, doesn’t mean anybody has to know it.

As any sophisticated, sensible ursine knows, humans are ill equipped to deal with our kind. They are not stupid, per se, but they have narrow definitions of intelligence, civilization, and even personhood. That we poop in the woods and prefer the taste of freshly caught fish to that of crushed weed-meal seems to the human an excellent argument for our lack of moral and intellectual agency. And yet they have done remarkable things, those humans, despite their well documented lack of soul. We must give credit where it is due.

A most notable attribute of humans is their adventurous sensibility. They have a true adventurer culture, something lacking in the lands of bears. Perhaps this is due to the greater number of problems in their communities which require extra-legal solutions. Whatever the reason, the adventurous lifestyle is an attractive one. It is therefore not uncommon for a young bear to travel among humans for a time. Of course, to avoid agitating the humans, it is necessary to employ disguise. But that is simple enough to accomplish, and need not be discussed in detail here.

—

The technique employed by a Bear in Disguise defies explanation. Very little actually changes about their appearance or mannerisms. They may wear a hat, or a suit of armor, but they do not alter their face to appear more human. They do not shave their fur. They do not use any illusory magic. Likewise, their vocal range is restricted to the same growls and roars of any bear. And yet somehow this disguise is almost completely impenetrable. Something about the way they carry themselves, or the way they modulate their voice, or something, makes a bear seem–in all respects–to be a human in good standing.

Which isn’t to say the disguise is perfect. For each NPC encountered, the referee should roll 1d20 to test that NPC’s perceptive abilities. On a roll of 20, that NPC sees the bear as they are, and will usually be understandably distressed by the presence of a ferocious wild animal. Others will likely think this perceptive individual is crazy. Though, if a particularly compelling argument is made, NPCs who failed their first perception check may be allowed another d20 roll. No NPC should ever get more than these 2 perception rolls, regardless of circumstance.

Further, only NPCs that can reasonably be said to be paying direct attention to the Bear in Disguise receive this roll. If the bear is walking down a crowded street, there is no need to roll a check for each individual on that street. Only the vendors who target the group would need to be rolled. Although, if the bear were the center of attention (say, the guest of honor at a banquet), that would require a large number of checks. Use your best judgement to determine who is paying attention to the bear, and who merely casts a casual glance in their direction.

In any circumstance, the true nature of a Bear in Disguise is never known to their own companions. The other PCs are all assumed to have failed their checks, otherwise they would never have been chosen as companions in the first place!

A Bear in Disguise has a d12 hit die, and levels as a fighter for the purposes of experience and saves. Bears in Disguise have no special limitations for weapon or armor usage; though clothing and armor must be specially fitted for them to wear it.

Bears in Disguise are always treated as though they are 1 encumbrance step lower than they are. When they are lightly encumbered, they act as though they were unencumbered; when heavily encumbered, they act as though lightly encumbered, and so on.

When grappling, Bears in Disguise are treated as 2 levels higher than they are. Or, if you are using the base LotFP grappling system, Bears in Disguise receive half of the melee attack bonus a fighter of their level would receive during a grapple.

Beginning at first level, all Bears in Disguise have a 6-in-6 Bushcraft skill.

While a Bear in Disguise may opt to use a weapon, they are primarily skilled as unarmed combatants. They may make two claw attacks each round against a single opponent. If both of these claw attacks hit, then they may make a third attack using their bite.

At first level their claws deal 1d4 damage, and their bite deals 1d8.
At fourth level, their claws deal 1d6 damage, and their bite deals 1d10.
At seventh level, their claws deal 1d8 damage, and their bite deals 1d12.

While bears are occasionally aggressive towards humans, they are strictly peaceful with one another. A Bear in Disguise may never turn their claws on another of their kind. If they do, they are marked for death, and will be the target of bearsassins for the rest of their days, without any hope of appeal. If a bear is encountered by the party, the Bear in Disguise may speak with this bear and attempt to negotiate a settlement amenable to both groups. If hostilities break out regardless, they are within their rights to remain neutral in the combat.

Magical Marvels 30: Getting Weird with the Classics 2

I thought this was super fun, so I’m doing it again. These were more or less randomly generated from the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide. (One roll on rings table, two rolls on the miscellaneous tables).

The modifications aren’t an attempt to “update”or “fix” these magic items. It’s just me altering them to suit my particular sensibilities. I love magic items, but I’m not a big fan of plentiful, standardized, unambiguously useful ones.

Ring of Protection
A ring of protection increases the wearer’s armor class value and saving throws versus all forms of attack. A +1 ring raises AC by 1, say from 10 to 9 and gives a bonus of +1 on saving throw die rolls.

The Ring of Protection From…?

A fickle sort of magic that protects its wearer from whatever it feels like at any given time. The ring of protection is a silver band with a large seal. The seal is made up of a half dozen concentric rings, each of which have embossed lines and twists on them. Each time the ring activates, these rings spin round one another, causing the lines and squiggles to form a new word, indicating what the wearer will be protected from next.

When the ring is found, roll 2d6 on the table below to find out what it is currently protecting its wearer from. The next time that thing would cause the wearer suffering, the ring activates. This protection takes whatever form seems simplest at the time. You might think of it as a kind of limited Wish spell; it’ll get the job done, but the way in which the job is done varies. If the player is protected from rocks, and rocks fall on them, then perhaps the rocks will disappear, or perhaps they’ll bounce off the character like they were made of Styrofoam, or maybe the character will teleport out from under them. The possibilities are limited only by the referee’s imagination. Just remember not to be a dick about it. No “protecting” them right into harm’s way.

2. Sadness
3. Torture
4. The opposite sex.
5. The Law
6. Social Awkwardness
7. Being too healthy (Take 1d4 damage, reroll)
8. Rocks
9. Falling
10. Reptiles
11. Blades
12. Death

Orb of Might
According to tradition, great items of regalia were constructed for special servants of the deities of each alignment when the gods were contending amongst themselves. Who among them first conceived of the idea is unknown. The champion of each ethic alignment–Evil, Good, Neutrality–was given a crown, an orb, and a scepter. These items have been scattered and lost over the centuries of struggle since they first appeared. These 3 complete sets bestow great powers.
Each Orb has an ethic alignment determined as follows:
01-06: Evil
07-14: Good
15-20: Neutrality
If a character of another ethos touches an Orb different from his or hers, a saving throw versus magic must be made to avoid death and from 4-24 hit points of damage will be taken if the save is successful. If the character so touching an Orb also possesses a Crown and/or Scepter, surviving the saving throw versus magic will invoke a malevolent effect from table IV. Each Orb is of platinum, encrusted with gems, and topped with a device of precious metals and stones, so as to be worth 100,00 or more gold pieces on the open market. Each orb is equal to a Gem of Brightness and also has [two randomly rolled Minor Benign Powers, and one randomly rolled Minor Malevolent Effect].

Orb of the Crusader

A gold sphere, richly appointed with gems and inlays, and topped with an ornate cross. This orb was crafted by the Pope Urban the II himself, and was meant to be wielded in the crusades by Adhemar of Le Puy.

If the orb is touched by one who is not a Catholic in good standing, their hand will wither to a shriveled black thing, dealing 1d8 damage to their maximum hit points.

The orb’s wielder is endowed with all the powers of a priest. Not a cleric, mind you, but a priest. The wielder may hear confessions, perform the mass, administer sacraments, etc. If the wielder encounters any non-catholic, or catholic heretic, they must call on that person to convert immediately. If the person refuses, the wielder must save versus magic or be compelled to seek that person’s destruction on the spot.

When held, the orb provides the same defensive benefits as a shield. It does not deflect attacks or projectiles, but those attacking the wielder find their technique becoming sloppy. The light gets in their eyes, or their arrows are diverted by an errant gust of wind.

The wielder’s hirelings have their loyalty raised to 12. They will gladly risk their lives for their employer, accepting nearly suicidal commands so long as there is even a moderate chance they will survive.

In addition, each wielder of the orb gains the ability to perform one of Jesus’ miracles. The miracle is randomly determined when the wielder first touches the orb, and can never be changed after that. The miracle can only be performed while the orb is held.

Change water into wine.
Calm stormy weather.
Cast out any spirits that are possessing a person.
Cure deafness.
Cure blindness.
Cure muteness (even disrupting a silencing spell).
Cure leprosy.
Restore missing or destroyed limbs.
Use “Turn Undead” against demons.
Transform a small amount of food into a feast.
Rise from the dead after 3 days. (Once, and once only).
Raise others from the dead. (3 times total).

Boots of Levitation
As other magical boots, these soft footgear will expand or contract to fit giant to halfling-sized feet. Boots of levitation allow the wearer, at will, to ascend or descend vertically. The speed of ascent/descent is 20′ per round (minute). There is no limitation on usage. The amount of weight the boots can levitate is randomly determined in 14 pound increments by rolling d20 and adding the result to a base of 280 pounds, i.e. a given pair of boots can levitate from 294 to 560 pounds of weight. Thus, an ogre could be wearing such boots, but its weight would be too great to levitate. (Cf. second level magic-user spell , levitation.)

Airwalker Boots

The wearer is able to walk right off of a ledge without falling. It appears as though there is an invisible floor beneath their feet, at the same level as whatever surface they stepped off of. They cannot rise or ascend vertically, but they can move about freely on a horizontal plane.

The magic of the boots only lasts for 10 steps, or about 20′. After that the character can remain still to prevent themselves from falling, but if they move their feet at all, they will suddenly realize they’re standing on nothing. Like an oldschool cartoon character, they will plummet to whatever more substantive surface awaits below.

LotFP Class: The Action Hero

Fighters are Fighters. Nobody fights quite like they do. They’re the hardened guys who know how to keep cool under pressure. They don’t need to stick to their training because at this point that training is more natural to them than breathing or fucking. War is where they’re at home.

Action Heroes aren’t Fighters. They’re still really good at fighting, but it doesn’t come from skill or training or even talent. Action heroes are, in a word, lucky. Whether it’s the favor of some god of war, or simply an unfair amount of fortune, Action Heroes somehow break all the rules and manage to look good doing it.

The Action Hero’s hit dice, saving throws, and experience gain is identical to the Fighter’s.

In any case where a Charisma check or modifier is called for, an Action Hero may choose to substitute their Strength score in its place.

Action Heroes cannot wear any armor, but damage dice rolled against them are stepped down. A d8 becomes a d6, a d6 becomes a d4, a d4 becomes a d2, etc. Any damage suffered by an Action Hero causes torn clothing or a visible wound. Because of this, Action Heroes are required to purchase new clothing after each adventure, as they will no doubt end up wearing little more than rags by the end of any outing. Albeit, rags that heroically expose their impressive physiques.

Any ranged weapon fired at the Action Hero from a distance greater than 15′ must roll a natural 20 on its attack roll in order to hit. These are not affected by the step-down damage rule, and if your game uses critical hits, these natural 20s should be critt’d normally.

If an Action Hero has a hireling, they can be sacrificed to avoid incoming damage. Whether or not the damage exceeds the hirelings current hit points, using them to absorb damage in this way kills them. If the action hero cries out their fallen hireling’s name in anguish, then they will not suffer any loss of reputation which might lead to them having difficulty finding hirelings in the future. If the Action Hero fails to do this, then they are a bad person who doesn’t understand the spirit of the class. The referee should glare at them.

Like most non-Fighter classes, Action Heroes receive only a +1 to their attack rolls. However, if the player makes a clever one-liner in conjunction with their attack, that attack receives the same bonus a that Fighter’s would at the Action Hero’s level. The game’s referee is fully empowered and encouraged to dismiss low-effort witticisms. Bad puns are encouraged here, but repetition or simplistic variations on a theme should not be rewarded. Players have only one chance per attack to make a qualifying quip.

Note: Yes, I read Order of the Stick. I’m not some kind of non-OotS-reading monster. I swear I came up with fully half of this before I remembered that Elan’s pun-based prestige class existed. I briefly considered just making this an homage to OotS, but I think it’s distinct enough to stand on its own.

1d100 Small Town Quirks

A way to spice up those bland little settlements of 1d6*100 people that are scattered through your hex maps.

Within the city limits (demarcated by a ring of stones), is a criss-cross of overgrown stone pathways leading all over town. The routes are indirect, but it’s considered extremely rude to step off of the path. Outsiders might be granted a single warning, then face expulsion from the village.
Every home contains the death masks of relatives who have passed. Once a year the townsfolk wear them and mingle in the square, acting out the roles of the deceased.
Each home contains a “fortune flower,” whose health reflects the family’s spiritual well-being and future potential. If the flower dies the house is demolished, and everyone in the family changes their name.
Disputes are settled by tossing a particular type local frog back and forth. After each catch, the person who caught the frog takes a step back. Whoever fails to catch the frog must eat it whole, which usually results in a very bad hallucinogenic trip. The rare good trip is interpreted as meaning that the other person is the truly guilty party, and must somehow have cheated in the frog toss. Thus making them doubly guilty.
Anyone who spends a night in the town must first get the town’s crest branded on their cheek. It’s important to the townsfolk that they be able to recognize anyone who has walked on their town’s soil. The residents themselves don’t have the crest, because they’ll all recognize one another.
Residents always wear masks when outside of their homes. Most are just burlap sacks with holes cut for the eyes, but a few are carved and painted wooden affairs. They won’t discuss why it is they do this, but it’s not because their faces look weird or anything.
Every structure in the village has a name. Person names, like Sarah, John, and Amy. The townsfolk talk about the buildings as though they are people, and refer to a structure’s opinions and emotional states. They aren’t crazy, it’s just an unusual form of animism.
It is considered arrogant and rude to accept food, gifts, or an invitation before first refusing it 3 times. Strangers are not exempted from this assumption. Some of the town’s youth have taken to refusing the first offer three times, and then accepting the second offer. The degree of scandal an individual villager feels about this is proportional to their age.
No single home will ever host more than a single guest at a time, which includes animals. If an adventuring party wishes to stay in town, their lodgings will be divided among multiple families.
No coin or work is expected of visitors for the food they eat or the bed they sleep in while in town. However, visitors are expected to pay for their hospitality by sexually pleasing the village’s elderly, ugly, and mentally deficient residents.
Anybody not wearing weapons in public is considered to be insulting the townsfolk’s martial abilities. “You’re such shitty warriors, I don’t even need weapons to defend myself.” The community will attack in force to prove the outsider wrong.
Villagers believe that disease is a result of social brusqueness and confrontation. They aim to be always pleasant, but mostly they’re just really passive aggressive. If anyone actually is confrontational, the ‘victim’ will usually descend into an intense coughing fit. Whether it’s psychosomatic, or just another layer of passive aggression is unclear.
It is fashionable in the village for women to shave their heads. Very few women have any hair at all, and those who do keep it extremely short.
Each member of the community wears a single iron manacle on their left hand, with a few links of chain dangling from it. These are keepsakes from the town’s founders, who were a band of escaped slaves that successfully fled here to escape their masters.
Any dispute in town is settled with a poetry slam. Any players who are too shy to participate in an actual poetry slam around the table should be considered to have delivered a really piss-poor poem.
When speaking to outsiders, every member of the community claims to be David. David is a 33 year old man who drives mules for a living. They will acknowledge contradictions, but will not concede the point. (“Yes, I clearly am a 94 year old woman. And yet I am not. I am David, a 33 year old man.”)
A community of religious fanatics who believe technology has led man from the path god set him on. They use tools of stone, leather, wood, and bone. Metal objects are absolutely prohibited within the city. They will allow travelers to bury their metals outside town if they wish to enter.
There is a “children’s dormitory” in town where all of the children live. Children’s names are given to them by the town’s elders, and no single adult in the village may claim any specific child as their own offspring. Most adults in the village do show extra attention to their own children, but will be punished for doing so if it is too overt.
While there are visitors in town, the villagers worship whatever god their visitors worship. They will be extremely insistent on knowing what gods the PCs worship, and what the proper form of reverence is.
The dreams of children are of paramount importance, and considered coded harbingers of what is to come. Each family begins the day by reverently listening to the dreams of their children. If any child has a dream that is particularly portentous, a town gathering is called and the dream is repeated for everyone to hear.
Before eating, the each member of the community will ask someone nearby to give them a solid punch in the gut. It’s a practice which dates back to a time of famine, when the punch was meant to make you feel less hungry right before you ate your meager scraps of food.
Once per year, the town holds a lottery. Every man, woman, and child draws lots, and whomever ‘wins’ is beaten to death by the rest of the townsfolk. Tradition holds that if this ritual is ever abandoned, disaster will befall the town.
Disputes are settled through a practice called Sharo. Each participant bludgeons the other with their fists, and whichever of the two shows pain first is the loser.
Children are not considered “real” until their first birthday, when it is much less likely they will die unexpectedly. On this day, they are given a name, and their mother cuts off their father’s scrotum. The father remains a member of the family as a eunuch, honored for doing his duty in fostering a healthy child, and now meant to devote himself to nothing except for that child’s care. Meanwhile, the mother remarries. Women fashion the scrotums they’ve taken into a belt of pouches, denoting their status within the community.
If two village women are pregnant at the same time, they must battle to the death. Thus, children are born only to the strongest parents.
A man’s livestock is his worth, and a representation of his ability to provide for a family. As such men are typically allowed to marry as many women as they have cows.
All of the town’s women learn how to juggle from a young age. Juggling is a deeply ingrained part of the town’s courtship rituals, and a man will always prefer an impressive juggler over an impressive beauty.
Local children may never be seen by visitors. At all. When visitors are spotted approaching the town, the children are hurried into a special windowless building. They must remain there until the visitors leave, and any visitor who sees one of the local children will be sentenced to death by stoning on the spot.
Blessings and good wishes are given by spitting. The locals spit in cooking pots to pray for a good meal, they spit on their weapons to ensure a good hunt, and they spit on visitors to wish them good travels.
Men and woman who don’t live in the same house with one another may only communicate by proxy, or in writing.
There is an unusual flower that grows bountifully in the area, and is consumed with almost every meal. Its effects are notably similar to cocaine.
Each evening the townsfolk gather in the common house to watch a new tattoo being added to one of their number. Everyone in town is covered in dozens of tattoos, and almost everyone has some skill with a needle and ink.
Every single one of the townsfolk is actually some local critter that was polymorphed into a human shape by a drunken wizard. Rabbits, foxes, frogs, spiders, etc. They retain a semblance of their lower instincts, but they think and function as well as you or I. And after more than a decade, they’re very comfortable being human. They’re terrified of being found out and returned to their natural state. Any visitor that might have Dispell Magic prepared will be turned away, but they will otherwise do their best to act natural.
All town activity stops abruptly at noon for a ritual dance. It is announced by a bell rung by a cripple, and everyone performs the dance wherever they happen to be standing when they hear it. The dance lasts 13 minutes.
Everyone in town wears matching uniforms. A drab grey and brown tunic and breeches, skillfully hemmed. Everyone is clean shaven, with their hair in a long ponytail. Each tunic has a bright red band at chest height, which the townsfolk take pains to keep clean.
A Displacer Beast wanders the town freely. The townsfolk will step out of its path if it is approaching, and allow it to wander freely in and out of their homes. They provide it with food and reverence, and in turn they believe it protects them from evil.
When animals are slaughtered for their meat, it is believed that they must be made to suffer before their death. Several methods of torturous death have been devised for various animals. It is believed that eating meat that was made to experience pain will protect the consumer from suffering in their own life.
There are layers upon layers of conspiracy in the town. Plots and counter plots, all with the eventual goal of bringing down the mayor and replacing him with a man of the people. Nobody seems to understand why this is ridiculous in such a small community.
A unique, deck-building card game using tarot cards is insanely popular in town. Visitors will be asked to play by nearly everyone they meet.
At birth, everyone is bitten by a particular local snake. If they live, they’ll have a splotchy scar from the venom. The shape of the scar is then used to determine something about their future, and the way they ought to be raised.
Each structure in town is a unique color. Any new structures must be painted in a color that has not been used yet.
The townsfolk touch butts with people as a greeting, the same way decent god-fearing folk shake hands or wave.
The townsfolk are a group of time travelers. They became trapped here in the past, and are determined not to disrupt the timeline.
The village is a nudist colony. Nobody minds if you bring weapons into town, but clothing and armor are absolutely banned from being worn.
Bathing is considered unlucky. Nobody will want to be anywhere near a traveler who is “too clean.”
A smithocracy. Whomever is able to make the most impressive object is elevated to be the town’s ruler.
A settlement of people from a far off culture. One which is extremely out of place here. Like a Japanese village in the middle of 16th century France. They have a very good reason for being here.
The mayor is a cat. The townsfolk take this as seriously as you think they ought to.
The town is a secret haven for those who practice a completely innocuous, but also highly illegal religion. They live in fear of anyone associated with the dominant religion of the area.
The town is run like a military fort. The people pursue their industry (farming, trading, etc.), but they also build walls, train with weapons, and have guard rotations. Their preparedness is as impressive as it is out of place.
The locals place their dead in a nearby peat bog. Once the bodies are well preserved, they’re pulled out. Each body spends several years being moved around the village. Sitting in chairs, leaning against walls, etc. After a time they are finally buried beneath whatever house they originally lived in.
The town uses its own internal currency.
The town’s founding myth speaks of horrible giants that tortured their forebears. All doors are 5′ 11″ high. Anyone who has to duck to walk through them is unwelcome in the town and must wait outside.
The town has a communal poop-pit for making Jenkams.
A full kiss on the mouth is the standard greeting.
Visitors are expected to provide entertainment in the evening.
The town is divided into two teams, based on the town’s two founders. Everything is scored.
At the center of town is a large board. The surprisingly literate townsfolk have lengthy written discussions about important matters of the day by posting messages to this board.
The town has an official storyteller who spends the day walking around and observing the happenings in town. Each work day ends by gathering to hear the storyteller share what he saw that day.
All visitors must wear a special hat. It’s bright pink and utterly ridiculous.
Everyone in town insists that they’re all badgers in human suits. It’s an inside joke. You’d have had to be there.
The town was an experiment by the church. A number of particularly pious priests and nuns were released from their vows of chastity and told to build the perfect, most godly community. Since that particular piety was the result of these folks being gay, they performed their new duties only with the utmost resentment for the act. They’ve created a town this is punishingly repressive, and even hostile towards sex.
It’s one of the player’s childhood villages. In the wrong place, but otherwise exactly as it was when they were a child. If they go looking they may even be able to find themselves as a child.
The town has a corporate structure, with everything being owned by the town council. The mayor directs the town’s industry, and the mayor’s directions are implemented by overseers. The townsfolk are payed a relatively small fixed amount for their labor, (minus rent).
The town is a commune with no obvious hierarchy. The town’s money is pooled together in a vault, and only used when dealing with outsiders. Otherwise, everyone merely does what jobs they’re able, and is given what they need.
This village is well off the beaten path, and rarely receives visitors. They haven’t gotten any news of the outside world in 20+ years.
They have an intense rivalry with a neighboring town. There is very little at stake really, but emotions run high. Assassinations are not uncommon.
There are two towns. One where all of the men reside, and one where all of the women reside. They’re a day’s travel apart from one another. Randomly determine which one your players have encountered.
A village populated entirely by the elderly. Several other villages in the area expel their elderly and send them here, where they live together and eke out an existence as best they can. They are considered dead by the outside world.
Four years ago, a plague ravaged this village. Almost overnight anyone who had gone through puberty died, leaving only children behind. The oldest kids are now about 17 years old, and they’ve been on their own for awhile. They’ve got a system worked out for themselves, but they lack a lot of necessary education, so it’s not a very good system.
The townsfolk have a unique and complicated moral code involving food. It’s nearly a certainty that if they see anyone from outside their community eating, they will find some food combination, utensil use, or chewing pattern to be reprehensible.
The town is highly democratic. Citizens are passionate about their civic duties, and they gather to discuss new laws weekly. Each week operates under a significantly revised legal code.
The townsfolk place a high value on personal honor. Like a drunk Spaniard, or a racist’s depiction of an Asian person.
The townsfolk have a completely unique language.
The people in town are argumentative to the point of insanity. Play them like a living incarnation of youtube comments.
The town was founded by a group of sexual deviants who just couldn’t deal with sexual repression of common society. They know how to present a “normal” face to outsiders to prevent lynch mobs from showing up, but when there’s nobody around they have a lot of orgies.
Everyone in town acts very suspiciously. There’s no reason for it, it’s just the way the local dialect and customs developed.
The locals are all eldritch lizardfolk wearing human skins.
The village is trapped in an infinite timeloop, living the same day over and over again, but none of them realize it. Fortunately, visitors are not affected by this.
Once a visitor has been welcomed within the town, they will not be allowed to leave until the omens for their departure are good.
Visitors are highly prized for their stories.
Visitors are highly prized for their meat
The town issued a letter of secession 12 years ago, and no one has noticed yet. They firmly believe themselves to be a sovereign nation.
Everyone in town wears a mirror around their neck so that people can see what they look like when they talk. They believe it prevents people from “acting with an ugly spirit.”
The local noble is a dilettante for social improvement. They’ve set up this village as a model town. It’s very pretty and well manicured. The peasants are all required to attend classes each day on etiquette, history, and philosophy. The townsfolk are too exhausted after the long days of work they still have to perform to really do well in these classes, and everyone involved is just getting more and more frustrated.
The townsfolk are actually a group of nobles “roughing it.” The real villagers have mostly been displaced, save a few who are there to show the nobles how things are done.
Strapping large tree branches to one’s back and head has become very fashionable.
Capes are fashionable. As are constant flourishes.
Mustaches are so fashionable that the women wear fake ones.
At first glance, the town appears to be composed entirely of women. In fact, the men of this town are excellent cross dressers. It’s a practice they began as a means of avoiding being called to war, but after 15 years this androgyny has become a way of life. Many of the actual women are entirely fed up with the practice.
An experimental music collective has taken up in the town. There are nightly performances with instruments that were invented just earlier that day. Things like captured birds squeezed by leather belts, logs rhythmically rolled in mud, or tiny hammers used to tap a person’s teeth.
The lands belongs to a far off noble lady who has never so much as visited. She has the whole town carving cat figurines for no real reason.
The town is a haven for bandits and burglars. Everyone in town is somehow involved, even if they’re just working as farmers to maintain the illusion that it’s a normal town.
A con artist impersonating the town’s distant lord has taken up residence. They’ve got the whole town catering to their whims, but they’re being careful not to push anybody too far.
The townsfolk have been cursed. They are all nocturnal.
The townsfolk have been cursed to age at 3x the normal rate.
The townsfolk have been cursed to be incorporeal to other living creatures. They can interact with the world around them, pick up and manipulate physical objects. But if they touch another person, they will pass right through them. None of them have touched another human being in years.
There was an omnipotent child terrorizing the town, forcing every adult to bend to their whims. The child is still there, and still terrorizing the townsfolk, but they somehow lost their omnipotence. They’re just a normal 11 year old kid now, and they’re terrified of what’s going to happen when everybody realizes it.
The townsfolk are cursed so that each one of them believes that they have an imaginary loved one being held at knife-point nearby. Their completely fictional loved one will be killed unless they act natural.
The people of the town are the dream of a wizard on the other side of the world whose mind is leaking. While the wizard sleeps, the people are entirely real, but they disappear when he is awake.

Figuratively +X Swords

Last week I wrote a bunch of alternatives to +1 swords. I did this because I believe that +1 swords are lame. Not only are they uninspired, but they damage the fabric of the game by unnecessarily inflating numbers, and creating standard magic items that players learn to expect. But then someone had the sheer unmitigated gall to agree with me.

So now, of course, I have to prove them (and by extension, myself) wrong by creating the greatest list of +X swords the world has ever seen.

Map Plus “X” A rapier of simple and sturdy make. The blade appears to be entirely indistinct, and yet the point always leaves an “X” mark on anything it punctures. If the wielder takes a map, closes their eyes, and stabs at the map with this weapon, the “X” will mark the location of some valuables.

Which valuables are marked is entirely at the discretion of the referee. They may be of high or low value, they may be free for the taking or guarded by horrible monsters. They may even be in a location within the bounds of the map, but not actually depicted by any cartography. In the margins, for example.

Attempting to use the rapier twice on the same map will result in the map being torn to shreds, rendering it completely useless.

Wielder Plus “X” During downtime, the wielder must meditate with their sword; sitting still in nature and studying the movements of insects. They must acknowledge the superiority of the insectile form, and strive to find the insect within themselves.

At the end of a game session, the wielder may add an “X” to the name they most identify with. This is the name they introduce themselves as, or the one they use to refer to themselves. They cannot extend this process by bringing in last names or middle names that they rarely use. This is about integrating the glory of insect kind within your own identity, not cynically grasping for ever increasing power. The sword will punish those who use its gifts so callously with horrible deformities.

The wielder must be able to pronounce their new name to the referees satisfaction; and they must always pronounce their name that way forever afterwords. Failure to do so results in the aforementioned horrible deformities.

When play resumes next session, the referee will reveal to the sword’s what new insectile feature their devotion has granted them. The nature of these evolutions, and the benefits they grant, are entirely up to the referee. Some suggestions that are in no way compulsory would be:

Wings
The ability to explode their body, harming anyone nearby.
A stinger.
A stinger which kills you when you use it.
A venomous bite.
A life which ends abruptly the first time you mate.
A hardened carapace
The ability to lift many times your body weight
The ability to climb sheer surfaces.

Plu Sex Sword: Once per day, the wielder may summon Plu. Plu is a horrid boor, and and Plu is horny. Plu has no distinct gender; nor any distinct sexual preferences. Plu just wants to fuck any intelligent creature that will let Plu at em’. None but the most deranged sexual deviants would accept Plu’s offer. Most would sooner vomit than allow the stubby, stinky, lard-beast that is Plu anywhere near their naked bodies.

The wielder has no control over Plu, they merely bring Plu into the world. Plu is a quick way to end any social gathering, or to disgust any decent folk.

Plus X-Beam The wielder of this sword may engage in a minute long ritual in which they slowly wave their blade through the air in a large “X” shape. Doing so summons a pair of well-fortified wooden cross beams. The beams will fill whatever space they’re summoned in up to 15′ by 15′, bracing against the floor and ceiling. In larger spaces the full sized beams appear, but are not braced against anything.

The wielder may do this as many times as they like, but only 5 beams may be in existence at any one time. Summoning a 6th causes the 1st one summoned to disappear. (And so on when summoning a 7th, 8th, etcetera).

Plus Your Ex A Claymore with a thick lens mounted at the center of the crossguard. Once per day, by looking through this lens, the wielder can attempt to deceive themselves with its illusory magic. If they succeed on a saving throw versus Magic, then the foe they look at through the lens will take on the appearance of the wielder’s ex for the rest of the day.

Not a good ex. One that broke the wielder’s fuckin’ heart, ground it into hamburger with malice aforethought. All attacks made against this foe roll double the normal amount of damage dice.

Plus eXtreme! A Zweihander of unnaturally bright colors: a stark white cross guard with hot pink wrapping, and a deep red blade. Once per day the wielder may hold the blade aloft and a beam of light will lance down from the clouds, obscuring all but the wielder’s silhouette. When they step out of this light they will be transformed, and will remain so for 1 turn.

The wielder’s muscles are now massive. Even muscles that do not normally exist bulge as though they’re trying to escape from the wielder’s own skin. This doubles the wielder’s strength score, and allows them to grapple as though they were four levels higher than they are, and to wield the Zweihander in a single hand.

Furthermore, the wielder’s clothes are now covered in pouches. From these they can remove any mundane, non-specific item that is small enough to be held in one hand by a non-transformed character.

If at any time the player of the transformed character smiles, laughs, or shows any sign of an emotion other than melancholy, anger, or rage; the transformation ends.

+ X to Y Sword When this weapon is first acquired, roll the smallest die already on the table that is large enough to include the wielder’s level. (If the wielder is levels 5 or 6, roll 1d6, if they’re levels 7 or 8, roll 1d8, etc.) The die’s result is the numerical bonus which the sword grants.

Next, roll 2d6 on the table below to determine what action that bonus applies to. This bonus remains unchanged until the wielder fails a roll while attempting the task they’re receiving a bonus for. When that happens, both the bonus and what the bonus applies to are re-rolled.

The bonus can never be used to make a roll a sure-thing. If it would, then the referee rules on what the failure conditions would be. They may opt to simply reduce the bonus granted, rule that a 1 is always a failure, etc. Similarly, if the thing you receive a bonus for is not normally rolled in your game, then for you it is rolled, until you fail at it.

2. Making handcrafted ceramic animals.
3. Gambling
4. Having a conversation without punching the other person in the face.
5. Seduction
6. Dancing
7. Attack Rolls
8. Caligraphy
9. Waking up on time.
10. Fishing
11. Painting
12. Writing Poetry

Jumping on a 2-Year Old Bandwagon: Replacing +1 Swords

In 2014 it was fashionable to post evocative alternatives to +1 swords. Gus did it. Courtney did it. Arnold did it. Errybody did it. I wasn’t blogging much at the time, but I really enjoyed reading those. I miss reading them. So I’m gonna write one.

The Mugger’s Choice: On a natural 20, the wound dealt to the target becomes a geyser of money! 1d100 coins spray across the room, making a terrible racket. Literal blood money!

Sword of Justification: If used to slay a human or human-like creature, the Sword of Justification will cause the corpse to undergo a gruesome metamorphosis. It will contort itself into monstrous shapes, growing horns or fur, oozing black blood, and reeking of sulfur and brimstone. The specific shape will vary, but no one looking at the result will imagine it was anything but an evil creature.

Immovable Sword – There’s a switch on the hilt which locks the swords position relative to its environment. It’ll stay floating in mid air if you tell it to. Like an immovable rod, but a sword. Useful for setting impromptu traps.

Self Preservation Sword – Anytime a save v. breath is required, both wielder and sword attempt the save. (Sword saves as a 1st level fighter.) If the sword saves and the wielder do not, the wielder can make a strength check to hold on to the sword. If they succeed, the sword pulls them along with it and effectively makes their save for them. If they fail, their sword flies out of their hands.

Chewing Sword: Each miss with this sword deals 1 notch of damage to the opponent’s weapon. Standard weapons can take 6 notches before they break and become useless. Does not work against unarmed characters, or characters using natural weapons.

The No-Blade: A hilt without any blade. When the crossbar of the hilt is tapped against a material, a blade of that material grows from the hilt, and lasts for 10 minutes. All blade materials are functional, but most have quirks. Dirt blades deal 1d4 damage and only work for one hit, stone blades deal 1d6 but break on a 1, wood blades can be lit on fire to deal +1d6 damage for 3 rounds until they’ve been burned to the point of uselessness, metal blades work normally. Be creative. What do blades of grass, bone, crystal, clay, or flesh do?

Binding Blade: On a successful attack the wielder may choose for the sword to become a pair of manacles binding the humanoid target instead of dealing damage. Target may save v. magic to avoid. On a successful save, the sword does not transform, and the wielder may continue using it.

Spelltning Swo-Rod: Comes with a special lead-lined scabbard. If this weapon is drawn, then the wielder becomes the target of any spell cast within their general vicinity. Every “Cure Light Wounds” and “Fireball” will be centered on the person holding the Spelltning Swo-Rod, even if they are technically out of the spell’s range. Note that casters may not immediately catch on to this fact. The cleric may notice that their healing spell didn’t work, but they won’t instinctively know that someone else nearby was healed.

Charming Sword: On a successful hit, instead of dealing damage, the player may opt to make a new reaction roll. If the result is better than neutral, the enemy will be willing to forgive and forget the battle up to this point. If the party then resumes hostilities, their foe gains a +2 to all attack rolls due to their outrage at the bad manners of the party.

The Sword of Second Chances: The blade of this sword is the shaved finger bone of a titan, with sharp bits of steel inlaid around the edge. When it cuts an intelligent living creature, noises come from within the wounds. There’s someone behind them. They might speak, voicing their confusion over what is happening.

If the Sword of Second Chances delivers the killing blow, then the newly dead corpse will shortly be torn apart. A person will emerge, like a chicken from an egg. Within the last 25 years of your campaign world, this person died an unnatural death within 100 miles of the wielder’s current location. Whether or not they deserved it may not be immediately apparent. They’ve been stuck in the afterlife for who knows how long, and now they’ve got a second chance. Perhaps they’ll run off to find their family, perhaps they’ll join the party out of gratitude, or perhaps the players just resurrected a serial killer. Who really knows?

The Wall-Slidy Sword: When the blade is touched to a wall, the character can slide down it at a rate of 20′ per round, allowing them to reach a safe landing below. Using the sword in this capacity causes a shower of sparks to illuminate the character’s descent, and elicits screeching sound that’ll make the rest of the party want to act passive aggressively towards the wielder for a few turns. Also it may mimic the mating squawk of the Biting Leatherhorn. So watch out for those.

The Reflection Holding Blade: A wide blade polished to a mirror sheen. By use of a command word, the reflection on the blade can be frozen, causing whatever image is currently being reflected to remain visible on the blade until the reverse command word is uttered. Will eventually be made obsolete by camera phones.

The Useless Sword: Damage dealt with this weapon only lasts 24 hours. After that, wounds will slowly knit themselves back together, even to the point of reversing death or decapitation. Note that it is only wounds dealt with this particular weapon that are reversed, So if the corpse is burned after being killed with the Useless Sword, it’s not gonna un-burn itself.

The Blage of Empires: If two turns (20 minutes) are spent striking at a piece of stone, that stone will catch on fire and burn like wood. This fire can spread to other stones of similar composition, but it will not spread to wood or other typically flammable material. Nor will it spread to different types of stone. The Blage of Empires is never dulled or broken by striking at stone.

The Sword which is Not Yours – The wielder may summon a 7th level fighter in gleaming armor, who will appear from around the nearest corner or through the nearest doorway. When the fighter sees her “squire” in danger, she will hold out her hand and call for the PC to give her her sword. Once she has it, she will join the fray with wild abandon. When the danger is passed, she will thank her squire for caring for her weapon, and depart with the sword.

The Sword of Weeping Mothers: Though it appears normal, out of the corner of your eye this sword sometimes appears to, for lack of a better word, “pulse.” Any time this blade deals damage, eyes look out from the wound it opens. They appear bloodshot, and afraid. If anyone with one of these wounds drops to 4 hit points or less, the eyes bulge, trying to press out of the body, and dealing 1d3 damage. If this damage kills the target, a dozen screaming shadows rocket into the distance and fade into nothingness. Something bad happens in the nearest community. The referee is encouraged to be creative, but to be clear, we’re talking “pile of dead children” levels of bad. Whether or not the players ever know about it, it does happen.

Bit of a tone shift from the rest of these, I know.