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.

1. A white sun. Light “sticks” everywhere it passes over, causing those surfaces to become temporarily luminous.
2. A green sun. When shone on a person, their inner self is illuminated for all to see.
3. A chartreuse sun. Affects humans the way a yellow sun affects vampires.
4. A violet sun. Affects humans the way a yellow sun affects Superman.
5. A bone sun. This light attracts ghosts, like fish to a light shone on a lake at night.
6. 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.