Tag: Campaign Setting

The Problem with Diversity

“The Problem with Diversity” is not the kind of post title I ever would have expected to see on Papers & Pencils. The site just doesn’t have enough confederate flag icons to justify that sort of thing. I mean, fuck, I’m the kind of hippie who uses words like ‘privilege,’ and ‘cisgendered.’ Yet there it is, and here we go: there is too much racial diversity in modern fantasy gaming, and it’s hurting us.

Allow me to be perfectly clear: I do not mean ethnic diversity. Frankly, I think we could use a few more black elves. It’s pretty fucked up that the only ones we have live underground and worship an evil spider goddess. I get that drow are not intended to have any connection to real-life black people, but that doesn’t make it much better. And while we’re at it, some Asian dwarfs might be cool. So, with regards to ethnic diversity, we need more. It’s racial diversity which we need less of. Racial as in the human race and the dwarven race and the elven race, etcetera.

Most large towns or cities in most fantasy games are expected to have a variety of humanoid species present. Often they’ll have a primary race which exists in the majority, but a “human” city could easily have a population which is 15% dwarves, 10% elves, 8% gnomes, and 5% miscellaneous. I’m not sure what compels us to do this. Maybe we’re all instinctively creating allegories for the real world and trying to craft diverse cultures where everybody gets along. Or maybe we’re just being children who mix 10 flavors of soft drink together and think it’ll taste amazing. (Hint: it doesn’t).

The races of a fantasy world are different. Far more different than any real-world humans might be. Regarding the aforementioned human city, why would enough dwarves to constitute 15% of its population choose to live there? To a dwarf, human cities are ugly and uncomfortable. A dwarf is used to being underground, where even outside of their home there’s still a roof over their heads. Dwarves enjoy the natural beauty of stone formations and mineral deposits, not the natural beauty of flowers and trees. The elves make just as little sense. Elven cities incorporate much more nature into their design than human cities do. And why would a creature who will live thousands of years want to live in a place where most of their neighbors will die of old age in just a few short decades?

The problem with diversity is spawned from another problem more well documented in the tabletop community: the problem of humans in funny hats. It’s hard to see the world from a different perspective–that’s absolutely true. I have a hard enough time putting myself in the shoes of a woman, and I’ve lived with and around women all of my life. The idea of being able to put myself into the shoes of someone who grew up in a completely different culture from me is almost too much to conceive of. And a dwarf? A completely different species with a completely different evolutionary history, living in a completely different kind of world? There’s undoubtedly more to them than short, strong, taciturn humans with Scottish accents.

Gary Gygax realized this. Which is why 1st edition Dungeons and Dragons is explicitly described as a “Human-Centric” game. Now, personally, I don’t like the extremes Gary went to. I don’t like the idea of race being used as class, I don’t think races should have an inherent alignment (at least not an absolute one), and I don’t think we should view other races as being less important to the game than humans are. However, as I’ve mentioned before, we do need to make a concerted effort to make each fantasy race distinct. Part of that is that they should all live separately.

I sometimes feel as though modern fantasy is trying to emulate the cantina scene from Star Wars, without understanding that scene’s full effects. On the one hand, the cantina scene shows us just how diverse the Star Wars universe is. We’re overwhelmed by the amount of fantastic creatures we encounter all at once, and we gain a better appreciation for how large and varied this universe is. Everybody understands that part, and it certainly seems like something we’d want in a fantasy game. The second element of the scene, however, is that nobody cares. Aside from Luke, the wide-eyed farm boy, none of the characters give the slightest indication that the scene before them is as impressive to them as it is to the audience. And even Luke just walks up to the bar and orders a drink. So yes, that scene shows us just how diverse the universe is. But it also shows us that diversity is old news. The various species of the galaxy have lived with each other for so long that they’re all on pretty familiar terms. Is that really what we want in a fantasy world? By placing humans, elves, dwarves, and the rest into a single environment and making them as bored with one another as the species in the Star Wars cantina, we take away a lot of what makes them interesting to us in the first place.

Now, I’m not saying there should be no mixing of the species at all, but it should be much less frequent. Two or three orders of magnitude less frequent. For example, a human settlement could have a 1% chance per 1000 people to have [population/1000]d4 member of a different species living there. As an example, a city with 10,000 people would have a 10% chance of having 10d4 dwarves living there. And those dwarves would probably be outcasts among their people, or have some other extreme reason for living amongst humans. Greater diversity could always be achieved in other ways as well: a human city might have a delegation of 100 elven diplomats in residence. Halfling merchants may frequent the town to sell their fine textiles. Or perhaps there’s a gnomish settlement half a day’s travel away, and only one of the two towns has a high level cleric. But regardless, the different races should live apart, not together, except in special circumstances.

Far be it from me to tell anyone how to run their game. There’s nothing worse than somebody who thinks it’s possible to have fun “the wrong way.” But I sincerely believe that most games would be more fun with better distinction between fantasy races. I’ve certainly been guilty of shoehorning pointless amounts of racial diversity into my game’s settlements. But I’ve known for awhile now that it reduced the impact of my game worlds. It’s only now that I’ve put it into words that I can say with conviction that I am officially done with it.

Negune: The Nation of Stekett

This is the third in a series of posts about the continent of Negune. Negune is the setting for my Ascendant Crusade campaign, as well as The Girl and the Granite Throne series of short stories. Previous posts in this series have provided an overview of the continent as a whole, and a detailed account of the nation of Regalia.

Stekett traces its roots back to a paladin named Grephar Siveren. More than eight hundred years ago, during Grephar’s adventures with his six legendary companions, the group pursued a clan of violent stone giants into the mountains of present-day Stekett. There, the giants regrouped, and called upon other clans to help them in their fight. The adventurers nearly met their end in that battle, but they managed to scatter; Horatiana’s limp form slung over Grephar’s shoulder. What had been an attempt to stop a single giant raid turned into a two year guerrilla war against all the stone giants of that region. During that time, Grephar frequently remarked to his companions that if the giants were clever enough to utilize their natural surroundings properly, the adventuring party wouldn’t stand a chance.

Years later, when the party went their separate ways, Grephar decided to return to Stekett. At heart, he was a solider and a tactician. If he was to found a kingdom, he decided, it would be one that could defend itself from any attack. Even long after he was dead and gone.

Stekett is the second largest autonomous nation on the continent, after Regalia. It is also the most geographically separated from the other nations. Anyone who wishes to travel to or from Stekett must choose either a long and dangerous journey through the wildlands, a long and dangerous journey through the unpredictable island of Argania, or a voyage by sea. Most opt for the latter, and Stekett maintains a thriving trade relationship with the two Regalian provinces of Shield Haven and Centralia by utilizing the small sea that connects the three.

Military life is a major part of Steketian culture. While the law does not require enlistment, nearly every citizen spends at least a few years in military service, and it is regarded as a high honor to defend one’s homeland. Only about 5% of Steketians never serve in the nation’s armed forces, and many of those are simply unable to do so based on physical frailty, or chronic illness. Those who do not spend time in military service are not actively discriminated against, but find themselves cut off from Steketian culture, since they lack an experience which is considered to be fundamental. This causes them to miss out on opportunities available to the majority of their countryfolk.

Due to the relative peace on the continent, the Steketian military focuses its attention on preventing the monstrous races from organizing. There is usually at least one flotilla of ships active on the sea, and two legions of ground soldiers active in the wildlands–though they obey the ancient dictate to never establish permanent bases in that area. Stekett is also the only nation which sends regular expeditions into Argania. These missions are dangerous, and consist entirely of volunteers. It is hoped that in time, a safe method of passing through Argania can be devised.

Given the importance of the military in Stekett, it is perhaps not surprising that military leaders are powerful figures in politics as well. Since the death of Grephar, the nation has been ruled by a triad, the members of which share power equally: the Commander General, the High Admiral, and the Prime Minister. The three represent the Steketian army, navy, and civilian government, respectively. Most decisions require only a majority vote between the three. However, any decision to go to war with another nation requires a unanimous vote, and any single member of the triad may choose to call an end to war.

As Grephar noted, the geography of Stekett is uniquely defensible. Treacherous mountain ranges limit any invading army to a very few avenues of attack. Aside from attempting to cross the dangerous Arganian island, invaders must choose between two paths into Stekett. First, they can travel across the wildlands and attempt to breech the northern boarder, but to do so they must cross the Iron Lake which is defended by numerous barriers, traps, land based weaponry, and an elite flotilla of freshwater ships. The only other option would be attempting to land on the southern Steketian coastline. However, most of the southern coast is formed by high cliffs and rocky waters. There are only four safe places to land ships, and each one is home to either a port city, or a shipyard. Each is defended by the peerless Steketian navy.

Furthermore, nearly a third of Stekett’s total landmass is within a natural encirclement of mountain ranges. The only passage through the ring of mountains is a gorge, roughly 300 feet wide, called Stone Giant Pass. One of Grophar’s first edicts upon founding Stekett was that a great barrier should be built to seal that opening: The Obsidian Gate. It took three generations of Stekett’s most gifted stonemasons, wizards, and iron smiths to fully construct and reinforce the gate. The outward swinging double doors are 20ft thick, and their movement is supported by massive railings built into the ground along their swinging arc. With a full compliment of men and beasts operating them, the doors can be opened or closed in 20 minutes time. While not being used to defend against an oncoming enemy, however, the gates are left open.

Economically, Stekett produces the finest meats, fruits, and armaments anywhere on Negune. A military force in the Wildlands will commonly return bearing its weight in meats from the beasts there, and Steketian methods for preserving and preparing that meat are as advanced as their military forces. Most of the land within Stekett’s boarders is used to cultivate various types of fruit. A few farms even use minor magics to cultivate fruits which would not normally grow in the area–though these farms are generally quite small, and the fruits they produce are considered delicacies.

In the West most region of Stekett, nestled against the mountains, is the city of Anvilholm, known across the continent as the “City of Swords.” This multi-tiered metropolis was built by humans, but incorporates many designs most commonly found in dwarven citadels. The entire township is designed to function as a colossal smithy for masters of arms crafting. The ring of hammers is constant within the city walls, lasting all day and through the night. So single minded is the populace that even food and other basic items must be brought several times a day from nearby settlements, which are sustained entirely by providing support to Anvilholm. The settlement first began as a mining colony, but when a vein of Mithril was discovered, craftspeople flocked to the town in droves. Over the centuries the mine has continued to be a source of materials for Anvilholm. Not only of Mithril, but many other metals as well. It has been speculated that the Anvilholm mine is the richest on the entire continent. A claim which makes the dwarves of Shornholm none too happy.

Stekett’s legal system sometimes appears draconian to outsiders–or at least overly security conscious. The most noted example of this is Stekett’s treatment of arcane spellcasters. While the casting of arcane magics is not prohibited, it is strictly regulated. All such spellcasters are required to register with the ministry of artillery, and are subject to four random inspections each year. These inspections are generally conducted in a friendly and respectful manner, but some wizards understandably object to having their entire spell repertoire, as well as all of their research, tracked by the government. Some spells–including most of the enchantment and divination schools–are strictly regulated, and require a dictate from a military officer of general’s rank or higher. Additionally, while Stekett has never instituted a draft among its general population and allows members of the military to retire at their leisure, arcane spellcasters are always considered to be in reserve. Spellcasters visiting Stekett will need to submit their spellbooks for inspection, and based on their contents, may be required to leave their spellbook in a government office during their stay within the nation’s boarders.

Fantasy Languages

Language has an important role in fantasy. In the video game Skyrim, the language of dragons produces powerful magic effects when spoken. In the Lord of the Rings stories, Gandalf repeatedly mentions that the ‘dark speech of Mordor’ should not be spoken, and when it is, it appears painful to hear.* In Judeo-christian mythology, the entire universe is created when god speaks; “and god said, let there be light: and there was light.” So why is it that we ignore language in fantasy RPGs? The most it is ever used for is a minor obstacle when a message or an NPC requires fluency in a certain language to understand.

As I’ve already mentioned in my analysis of the linguistics skill, learning languages by spending a skill point is stupid. Not only can it quickly lead to a character knowing an absolutely ludicrous number of languages (See: The Owlbear) but it doesn’t represent the proper amount of time investment for language learning. I’ve been pondering how this could be improved, and I think I’ve come up with something workable. Characters start play knowing their “basic languages.” These would be The Common Tongue, and any languages which the character should know based on their race and class. For a human fighter, the only basic language would be The Common Tongue. For a dwarven druid, the basic languages would include The Common Tongue, Dwarven, and Druidic. From there, the character may select a number of bonus languages equal to their intelligence modifier. These languages must be of the commonplace variety, but can be selected during gameplay rather than at character creation, if the GM is willing.

After selecting these first languages, players may learn additional tongues by investing time. They must purchase a book (which varies in price from 10gp for commonplace languages, to 10,000 gp for the rarest tongues), or be traveling with a companion willing to teach them. They must spend 8 hours every day in light activity, studying this language. If they are being taught by a companion, their companion must also spend this time in teaching the language, rather than in other tasks. After 35 days (equal to 1 game month for me), the character has successfully learned the language.

A character can learn a maximum number of languages equal to twice their intelligence modifier. So a character with a +4 intelligence modifier can learn up to 8 languages. Note that a character’s basic languages do count against this maximum. So a human fighter with 18 Int starts out knowing The Common Tongue, and 4 other languages based on their intelligence. After that, they may learn 3 additional languages for a total of 8. On the other hand, a dwarven druid with 18 intelligence starts out knowing The Common Tongue, Dwarven, and Druidic, as well as 4 other languages based on their intelligence. That’s a total of 7 languages, so the dwarf will only be able to learn 1 more after the fact. If a player wishes to learn more than their maximum number of languages, they may do so by taking the Polyglot feat, which allows characters to learn as many languages as they like.

Below is a list of languages organized by how common they are. I’ve included the 21 languages in the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, as well as a number of additional languages from other sources, and some of my own creation.

*While I have read LotR, it was more than half my life ago. Forgive me if my memories are more influenced by the films than the novels.

Commonplace

Commonplace languages are spoken openly by many people throughout the material plane. A textbook for learning a commonplace language would be available in most book stores, and could be purchased for 10-50gp. Note that The Common Tongue is not listed, as it is a universal language, not simply a commonplace one.

Dwarven Dwarven is filled with hard sounds, much like real world German or Russian. ‘Dwarven’ is a common tongue spoken by most dwarves. However, in a campaign world with different species of dwarf (Such as The Forgotten Realm’s Shield, Gold, and Gray dwarfs) each dwarf subspecies may have its own language, separate from the shared language of Dwarven. In such a case, each of the languages would be considered a Commonplace language. That includes the language of Gray dwarfs, since the mine-dwelling dwarven species are likely to encounter their Underdark dwelling cousins with some frequency.

Elven In contrast with Dwarven, Elven has very few hard sounds. Most words are composed of soft sounds, which flow one word to the next. The few words which do contain hard sounds are among the rudest words in the elven tongue. Elven is also the most expansive language, with a massive alphabet, and a lexicon which could contain the languages of several other species at once. Elves do not have multiple languages in campaign settings with more than one elven species. Wood elves, sun elves, high elves, etc. all speak a single unified language, though certain ways of phrasing things may be more common among one group than they are among another. The only exception to this is the Drow, whose tongue is a bastardization of Elven and Abyssal.

Gnomish Gnomish is a fast language. This often makes it difficult for non-native speakers to follow conversations between gnomes, even if they do know the language. It is also an extremely descriptive language, and it is not uncommon for a noun to be followed by a lengthy list of adjectives which–in most languages–would be considered excessive. Like elves, the gnomish language is universal among gnomes. This includes the Svirfneblin, or deep gnomes, who–despite being culturally quite different from their surface cousins–are none the less on amicable terms with the rest of their species.

Halfling Halfling sounds very similar to elven, and in fact is thought to be descended from that tongue. Most of its words, however, are not found within the expansive elven language. Halfling, more than any other language, incorporates words from many other languages as well. Dwarves, gnomes, and even orcs might occasionally recognize a random word within a sentence spoken in Halfling.

Gnoll Gnoll is a particularly difficult language for non-gnolls to speak. It is filled with many high pitched sounds, and a lot of bleating and yelping. Fortunately, it is also a very limited tongue, with a vocabulary of only a few thousand words.

Goblin Like Gnomish, the Goblin tongue is extremely fast paced. The chattering of Goblin often sounds comical, which belies how many synonyms they have for acts of violence. Goblins learn to speak it at a remarkably young age, and some anthropologists surmise that the language is actually instinctual for these creatures.

Orcish Orcish is a brusk, primitive language without artistry or style. Any of its subtlety comes from gestures made with the hands, head, or face. Note that these two are not considered separate languages, but a single language which combines vocal and gestural elements.

Giant The language of Giants sounds very similar to the Dwarven tongue, and in fact uses the same alphabet as Dwarven. The various types of Giant (Hill Giant, Stone Giant, Ice Giant, and so forth) have not quite developed their own sub languages. However, they do have very distinct dialects, which can take some time to grow accustomed to.

Gestural Languages Most cultures have developed gestural languages which are similar in style to their spoken languages. These have a twofold purpose: first, they allow those who are deaf and/or dumb to communicate. Second, they allow for silent communication during military action–though those who learn the language for its stealth applications normally have an extremely limited vocabulary. These languages include: Gestural Common, Gestural Elven, Gestural Dwarven, Gestural Halfling, Gestural Gnomish, and Gestural Giant. The other common species have not developed any detailed gestural languages, though that does not mean they are not capable of extremely basic gestural communication.

Uncommon

Like common languages, uncommon languages are mostly spoken by creatures on the material plane. However, most human and demi-human cultures will have had little to no contact with the creatures who speak these languages. As such, they can be difficult to learn. Textbooks for learning these languages are likely to be found only in universities, or the bookstores of large cities. Purchasing one will likely cost between 200 and 1000 gold pieces.

Aklo & Sylvan To someone who speaks neither Sylvan nor Aklo, the two languages might sound identical. Even non-native speakers sometimes fail to understand why a word from one language can’t be used while speaking the other. But to the creatures who speak these languages natively–the fey–the two tongues could not be more different. Speaking a word of Aklo within a Sylvan sentence is profoundly offensive, and vice-versa. It is also said that a plant which grows hearing the Sylvan language daily will flourish and grow strong, whilst a plant which grows hearing Aklo will become twisted and thorny. 

Aquan Primarily the tongue spoken by water based outsiders, Aquan is none the less ‘uncommon’ rather than ‘rare,’ because the many water dwelling peoples of the material plane (such as merfolk) speak it. Aquan is strange, in that it can be heard as easily through water as most languages can be heard through the air. Additionally, it has been found that speaking this language wets the mouth of the one speaking it, though one who does not understand the language cannot replicate this effect by speaking the same words. There are some tales of people surviving for weeks without water, sustaining their life by speaking Aquan aloud to themselves.

Auran Like Aquan, Auran is a tongue primarily spoken by air based outsiders. However, many flying creatures on the material plane also speak the language, and this allows it to be more commonly known than most outsider tongues. Most native speakers find it frustrating to converse with non-native speakers, since they often don’t have the lung capacity to speak Auran easily. As a result, they need to take a breath after almost every word, giving the impression that they’re constantly exhausted from physical stress. Despite that fact, those who speak the language actually find it much easier to breathe while speaking it–an ability which comes in handy when faced with poison gases, or low oxygen environments.

Draconic Though the language of dragons is spoken by Kobolds and might be thought to be common, the dialect which Kobolds speak is composed only of the simplest words, with no regards for grammar, and numerous mispronunciations. While this works fine for the Kobolds, true Draconic is a much rarer and much more complicated language. In order to speak it correctly, a creature as tiny as a human needs to almost constantly shout the words in order to create the proper volume and inflection.

Undercommon The common tongue of the underdark is most naturally spoken in low, quiet tones. In that deep place it serves the same purpose as The Common Tongue does on the surface world: it is a universal language, which is none the less distinct from the specific racial languages found there.

Ancient Common Many of the commonplace languages slowly evolve over time. While an individual’s life is too short for this gradual shift to matter, after countless generations it can be impossible to decipher a book written in a language you ostensibly speak. As such, many languages have an “ancient” counterpart which must be learned as a separate tongue. These include: Ancient Common, Ancient Dwarven, Ancient Gnomish, Ancient Halfling, and Ancient Giant. The Elven language is unique in that it does not evolve, save to occasionally add new words to its expansive lexicon.

Drow As mentioned above, the language of the drow is a bastardization of Elven and Abyssal. Unlike elven, the drow tongue does evolve over time, and ancient versions of it do exist. Though, the older an example of the drow language is, the more it resembles Abyssal words shoehorned into Elvish conjugation and grammar.

The Gravespeech Intelligent undead are imbued with knowledge of this tongue upon their reanimation. Many of its guttural sounds are difficult for a living creature to create, but learning the language is a coveted rite of passage for necromancers. Those who chant their necrotic spells in this tongue swear that their command of the undead is strengthened.

Rare

Most rare languages are not spoken by creatures native to the material plane. They are the languages of outsiders, and their words carry great power. A textbook for learning such a language will be difficult to obtain. Likely only a few exist in the world, and they will either be owned by wizards and kings, or guarded by fearsome monsters in a dungeon beneath the earth. Purchasing one would cost not less than 5,000 gold, and could be as expensive as 10,000 gold, or higher.

Abyssal Every word in the grammarless language of demons sounds horrible. Some are reminiscent of a retching cough, whilst others sound disturbingly like a wail of pain. Those who speak it often find themselves prone to acting irrationally for a time afterwords, and respond a little more spitefully to minor annoyances.

Celestial The language of the upper planes always feels good to speak for creatures of good alignment. There is no distinct sensation, but your breathing becomes a little deeper, and your mind a little clearer. By contrast, most evil creatures find it unpleasant to hear. Not quite as bad as nails on a chalkboard. It’s unlikely that the language could be used to detect evil folk by watching for people’s reactions

Ignan The language of fire based outsiders requires a rasping voice to pronounce correctly. Speaking it drys the mouth of the speaker, and prolonged speech can apparently begin to drain a body of its water reserves. It is not recommended to speak the language at length without a beverage nearby. Those who do speak it find themselves temporarily immune to natural fire damage for a few moments after speaking.

Infernal The grammar of Infernal is so strict and obtuse that it makes the language almost impossible to speak until you can speak it absolutely fluently. An incorrectly conjugated verb is enough to make an entire sentence completely indecipherable. And a small error in a lengthy conversation can completely change the meaning of something spoken twenty minutes earlier. The impenetrable nature of the language provides a new dimension to the old phrase “Devils always speak in contracts.”

Terran All of the words in Terran are extremely short. In fact, each of the letters in the Terran written language can also be used to spell a single-character word. The language does not lend itself to lengthy conversations, and is best used to facilitate brief exchanges of necessary information. Speaking the language makes the ground somewhat more welcoming of you. Those who speak it often mutter to themselves as they travel, and swear that their feet hurt much less at the end of the day because of it. Of course, this application is most useful when falling from a great distance, as it reduces the amount of fall damage taken by 1d6.

Treespeech & Seavoice When the trees rustle, and the waves crash, subtle words are being spoken by nature itself. No one, not even fey creatures, can actually learn to speak in either Treespeech or Seavoice. Both languages are created by forces far beyond the ability of a pair of lungs and a single larynx. However, after careful study and a great deal of listening, one can learn to understand what is being said. An astute listener can learn a great deal about who and what is nearby, and it is impossible to become lost when you understand the language of your environment. As a special requirement, both of these languages require a Wisdom score of 14 or higher to learn.

Secret

Secret languages are known only to a chosen few. Helping an outsider learn it, or writing a textbook on it, is a grave offense. Special conditions must be met in order to learn any of these languages.

Druidic Druidic is a known only to druids, and taught to them through communing with nature. Druidic spells with verbal components must be spoken in druidic, or they will not work.

Thieves’ Cant Spoken in the underbelly of society, Thieves’ Cant is a carefully guarded secret of those on the wrong side of the law. Teaching it to anyone on the ‘right’ side of the law is enough to get your throat slit.

Drow Sign Language Though many societies have gestural languages, as mentioned above, the gestural language of the drow is taught much more universally amongst their people. In the underdark, where many creatures hunt by sound rather than sight, the ability to pass messages silently is essential to survival. Given the violent nature of drow, even allowing an outsider to witness too much of the language might earn someone a violent execution from their superiors.

Language of the Church Historically, the official language of the catholic church is Latin, despite the fact that the language has been dead for the majority of the church’s history. Using a language known only to educated members of society allowed the church to create a veil of secrecy between the clergy and the lay people. No one can question how certain teachings were derived from sacred texts if only the clerics can read the sacred texts. Many, or even all churches in a fantasy world might have secret languages of their own. They need not be a method of deception either; a goodly church may simply wish to keep its secrets safe from those who would exploit them.

Unknowable

There are some languages which simply cannot be learned. Hearing them puts a mortal in danger of losing their sanity, and speaking them threatens a mortal’s very existence.

The Dark Speech The true name of The Dark Speech is not known, and if it was, it could not be shared. It is the language spoken when the evil gods gather to converse–not even their mightiest servants are fluent in it. Most mortals would immediately die if they attempted to utter even a word in this depraved tongue. In some cases, however, the most powerful individuals can learn to speak a one or two words of The Dark Speech. They none the less suffer terrible pain from doing so, but the destruction their utterance can cause is sometimes worth the pain.

The Words of Creation The Ineffable Language of the Logos has been mentioned before. Even the most powerful gods cannot speak this language fluently. Instead, they utter only a few key phrases at a time, like a wizard invoking a spell’s trigger. A single word can rearrange the multiverse, or un-make a man.

May of the Dead: Hungry Hungry Vampire

May is winding down, but we’ve got time for one last May of the Dead post. I’ve really enjoyed writing these, and if you’ve enjoyed reading them I hope you’ll decide to stick around. Papers & Pencils updates regularly, and it’s difficult for me to go too long without writing something about the undead. They are so much more engaging than other types of fantastical creatures.

I’m going to make a bold leap, and assume we’re all familiar with the traditional vampire. The one which stays out of the sun, doesn’t show up in mirrors, and sustains itself off of people’s blood. That last point is what I’m going to focus on here: blood as vampiric sustenance. Aside from being dead, feeding on blood is perhaps the most consistent element of vampire lore. Some stories will dismiss vampires being invisible in mirrors, others disregard their weakness before religious relics, but even the greatest bastardizations of the vampire concept maintain the idea that vampires must consume blood to survive.

So…what happens if they don’t consume any blood?

There doesn’t seem to be any definitive agreement on what happens if a vampire doesn’t consume blood. For living creatures the answer is simple: if we fail to consume sustenance, we die. But vampires are already dead, so the consequences for them seem far less certain. I haven’t found any primary source that could provide an answer to this question either. I’m not exactly a scholar, but my limited knowledge of folklore and classical literature has not provided me with an answer. Probably because those traditional stories are not told from the vampire’s perspective, but rather from those desperately hoping they don’t become the vampire’s next meal.

Lacking any definitive answer to the question, we have the opportunity to fill in the blanks ourselves. And I’ve got a few ideas.

The Official Explanation As a Pathfinder GM, I still rely on a lot of my old D&D 3.5 sourcebooks. And on page 9 of Libris Mortis, there is a table which categorizes and quantifies the various undead, how their hungers affect them. It indicates that Vampires are “Diet Dependent” on Blood, and have an “Inescapable Craving” for life force. These terms are defined thusly:

“Inescapable Craving: Some undead have no “bodily” requirement to feed, and could continue to exist solely on negative energy, but are driven to their diet all the same by inescapable cravings.  These cravings, denied too long, could turn even a sentient undead to mindless hunger. Once the feeding is accomplished and the hunger sated, the intensity of the craving drops back to tolerable level, but it is a cycle doomed to repeat itself.” -Andy Collins & Bruce R. Cordell, Libris Mortis, Page 8


“Diet Dependent: Some undead must feed on the living to retain either their mobility or some of their other abilities. The link to the Negative Energy Plane for undead of these sort grows increasingly tenuous the longer they are denied the necessary food. At some point, their mobility or one or more specific abilities are suppressed until they can feed again. However, no matter how enervated by lack of feeding, undead cannot be starved to the point of permanent deanimation. A fresh infusion of their preferred food can always bring them back to their full abilities. Most diet-dependent undead can go for 3d6 months before losing all mobility.” -Andy Collins & Bruce R. Cordell, Libris Mortis, Page 10

I cover some of these ideas in more detail below. Personally I don’t find them very satisfying.

Re-Death: I see no reason why there shouldn’t simply be a point at which lack of blood to feed upon causes a vampire to be destroyed. Part of what makes vampires such intriguing villains is that they are notoriously difficult to kill. Take them to 0 HP, and they’ll just turn into a cloud of mist and escape through the cracks in the walls. The only way to kill a vampire is to outsmart them in one way or another. Fool them into entering an area of sunlight, for example, or find their (no doubt well hidden) daytime lair and drive a stake through their heart. Depriving a vampire of blood for a year fulfills the same criteria: it requires the players to outsmart the vampire by first constructing a prison which will hold it, then figuring out how to get the vampire inside of it. Though if you could do that, I’m not sure why you wouldn’t just expose it to direct sunlight.

Insanity: Each month a Vampire goes without blood, they permanently lose a little more of their grip on reality. After one month, it’s just little things. They forget minor details, like where they left their favorite candelabra. After two months, they occasionally forget larger things. Whole years of their existence disappear from memory, only to be recovered later. Three months without feeding causes the Vampire to occasionally depart reality entirely, and they suffer vivid hallucinations. After four months the vampire lives constantly in a disconnected state. It knows to avoid that which is dangerous to it, such as sunlight, but it otherwise seems to have no connection to reality. After five months, the vampire becomes like a feral creature, constantly hunting for blood, with no thoughts or concerns beyond finding more and more blood to feed upon. Finally, after six months, the vampire loses its understanding of danger, and will most often wander into the sunlight and destroy itself.

This insanity is cumulative throughout the vampire’s existence. Feeding on blood only prevents the process from continuing forward for another month. Nothing can help a vampire regain lost sanity.

Blood is an Addiction: Vampires are blood junkies. They don’t need it to survive, but they crave it with a desire more intense than they can possibly resist. If they don’t drain at least one victim a week, the cravings become unbearable and drive the vampire to take greater and greater risks in order to get their fix. If, by some miracle, they manage to resist the urge to feed on the blood of the living, there is no amount of time which will free them from their addiction. They will begin to suffer withdrawal pains, and will continue to experience agony until the end of time if they can’t feed.

Blood is Power: Perhaps there are no real ill effects for failing to consume blood. If a vampire never leaves their mark on another neck, then they can continue to exist as they already do for as long as they like. However, it is only through consuming blood that a vampire learns, and grows, and becomes powerful. Immediately following a feeding, the vampire feels a rush of power which slowly fades after about ten minutes. But a small sliver of that power remains. After draining 100 living victims, the Vampire gains 1HD.

Less Blood is Power: Assuming blood is an addiction, as stated above, then what if vampires grew in power the longer they were able to exist without blood? Perhaps the pains of withdrawal are simply the pain which is inherent to being a vampire unencumbered by narcotics. The longer a vampire avoids dulling their mind and their body with Blood, the stronger and smarter they become. The greatest vampires have gone without blood for centuries, and exist in a state of constant pain.

Demotion: Vampires are the highest form of undead creature, rivaled only by the lich. They retain all of their knowledge, their self-awareness, their willpower; everything about who they are remains intact. Even their appearance is unchanged! The only real drawback is that in order to retain everything that they managed to keep from their living existence, they must constantly feed upon blood. If they do not, then as time goes on they will begin to forget things. They will become less self aware, and their willpower will fade. After too long, they will be nothing but a ghast, or perhaps even a lowly zombie.

Blood is Youth: Each week a Vampire goes without blood, their physical body decomposes about the same amount that a corpse would normally decompose in a given day. So vampires who wish to intermingle with human society (as Dracula did) must feed frequently. While those who care less about whether or not they can pass for alive do not need to concern themselves with feeding regularly. The effects of this decomposition would be cumulative, so once you miss your weekly feeding, you’ll never be able to return to a less-decomposed state.

Coincidentally, this would explain the large variance in vampire appearances. In the original novel, Dracula was able to pass for a living human. Whereas the classic silent film, Nosferatu most certainly cannot. Strahd is somewhere in between, as he is often depicted with deathly blue skin.

Last Blood: About six years ago, I started reading a webcomic called Last Blood, which was about a group of vampires attempting to help some humans survive the zombie apocalypse. Its been some years since I stopped following the comic, but it was quite good. And the catalyst for the story was a vampire who went for too long without blood. You ought to read the comic’s explanation, but the short version is that if a vampire goes too long without blood, then they become a kind of “alpha zombie,” which is able to create other zombies, and control them. Not too frightening in a high magic world where zombies are commonplace, but in a low magic world where the the very thought of walking dead is still enough to send a shiver down an adventurer’s spine, this could be an interesting method to use.

May of the Dead: Crypt of Ancient Wisdom

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This week’s May of the Dead post is partially inspired by an idea for a novel which I’ve been toying with for a few years.

The Tragedy of the Gorovik Family

It began when a warrior named Toman Gorovik led his followers to an untamed piece of land. There they settled, establishing the Kingdom of Gorvikar. Toman found a high, defensible ridge with a sweeping view of the forest, and began to build his castle there. He would never live to see the massive structure completed, but to honor her father, Yehne Gorovik had a crypt built into the castle behind the throne. When she lay her father to rest, she decreed that the monarchs of Gorvikar would always rest upon the wisdom of their forebears.

An unintentionally prophetic statement.

Three generations later, the Gorovik Family Castle came under siege from a violent army of southern men, eager to gain a foothold on the northern frontier. Anotar Gorovik, a skilled diplomat, was at a loss against his intractable foe. His military advisers tried to help, but each suggested a different course of action, and Anotar felt unqualified to pick between them. In a moment of frustration, he ordered everyone out of the great hall so that he could think. He paced the room for fifteen minutes without making any progress. Desperate for guidance, he pushed the stone door behind the throne open, and descended the short spiral staircase into the family crypt.

Anotar knelt beside his father’s shelf in silence for long moments. When he finally spoke, he told his father of the trials he was facing, and his lack of preparedness for them. He outlined the potential dooms he predicted if he were to follow any of his advisers’ council. He begged for his father’s guidance. He did not expect an answer, but his dead father’s mouth moved slightly, and with dust filled lungs he whispered “Harron,” the name of one of Anotar’s advisers. The young man stared with mouth agape for long moments, not sure if his father’s advice had been real or imagined.

Resolving that a decision he was wary of was better than no decision at all, the young king sealed the crypt, and ordered his soldiers to follow Harron’s plan. They did, the siege was broken, and the southerners were sent running back to their distant homes. Anotar was hailed as a military mastermind, and he humbly tried to divert the praise to Harron, fearing the backlash from his people were they to learn he had received advice from the dead. He returned again to the crypt many times throughout his rule, and found he could seek guidance from each of his ancestors buried there. By taking advantage of each of their wisdom, Anotar’s rule became the most prosperous in the history of Gorvikar. The nation’s territory and influence expanded greatly.

The secret of the Crypt of Ancient Wisdom was passed from monarch to monarch for a century before it was given to young Queen Byan from her father as he lay on his deathbed. Byan was a scholar, and shortly after her father’s internment, she began interrogating the corpses there about how the crypt functioned. When she found that none could answer her, she brought in necromancers from around the world to study the phenomena. They discovered that the castle had been built on a small fissure in the prime material plane, which intersected with the Negative Energy Plane. The fissure was very small, and the negative energy which filtered through it acted like a permanent Speak With Dead spell upon the whole castle.

The effect was so unique that Byan had no difficulty recruiting the greatest necromancers in the known world to help her study and refine the effect. Over the years she became quite a necromancer herself, and was personally responsible for many of the major breakthroughs in understanding and manipulating the fissure. As knowledge of the fissure spread, she comforted her people by telling them only that the gods had granted the Gorovik line a gift, by allowing them to seek advice from their ancestors who had passed on to the heavens. The reality wasn’t quite so celestial, but no one needed to know that.

Thanks to Byan, the fissure’s energy was focused so it only affected the crypt itself. And the fissure’s shape was refined, allowing the ancestors interred there to offer more than one-or-two word answers. They could converse with those who came to seek their wisdom, and even offer suggestions of their own. Byan also established a permanent, and secret, school of necromancy within the castle. It was her hope that research and refinement of the fissure would continue long after her time had passed. Though, since she herself would be interred there, she hoped to continue her research even after her life had ended.

Byan’s daughter, Gwyndolin Gorovik, trained every day at her mother’s knee. She became a powerful necomancer herself. When it came time for her to take the reigns of power, she already had great plans for how she would contribute to her mother’s legacy. She hired agents, graverobbers, to go out into the world and bring her the remains of history’s wisest. Philosophers, tacticians, scholars, and wizards were all brought to her, and she personally placed each one in the quickly-filling crypt. The collective knowledge of the crypt grew tenfold during Gwyndolin’s reign. Guided by the crypt, Gorvikar embarked on an expansionist war of conquest against its neighbors. The day Gwyndolin accepted the unconditional surrender of the nation of Thoreon, she declared herself the first Necrarch of the New Gorvikar Empire.

For a thousand years, the unbroken line of Necrarch’s ruled the Gorvikar Empire ruthlessly, easily out-thinking and out-maneuvering all who challenged them. An open bounty on the remains of anyone wise enough to contribute to the Crypt caused an endless stream of fresh perspectives to be added to the ever-expanding catacombs. The rift which caused the effect repeatedly had to be widened to cover a larger and larger area of the castle, as the crypt was expanded to accommodate more bodies. By the reign of Ophelia Gorovik, all that remained in the castle was the throne itself, and thousands upon thousands of bodies. When Ophelia died on her throne without an heir, it was thought that the Gorvikar empire would end with her.

Weeks passed. Many of the nations which had been conquered over the ages began to secede, thinking the threat of the Necrachs had passed.  Even those who hoped to seize the throne of Gorvikar for themselves agreed that the Gorovik Family Castle must be destroyed. As they stood outside the castle gates, planning the demolition, they began to hear an indecipherable whisper. As they listened, the whisper grew more confident, and was joined by other voices. Soon, thousands upon thousands of voices joined together in a booming, unified chorus:

“We are Gorvikar. The nations to the south have seceded. This is unacceptable.”

Negune: The Nation of Regalia

The nation of Regalia is by far the largest of the five nations on the continent of Negune. Founded eight centuries ago by the legendary bard Horatiana The Beloved, Regalia is a benevolent monarchy, so named because Horatiana was fond of wordplay, but lacked any talent for it. Regalia controls the entire eastern coast of the continent, providing it with the easiest access to the only other known landmass, the continent of Kalimesh. Regalia also boarders every other nation on the continent, except Ribanko, which has become completely isolationist and refuses to engage with the other nations; and Stekett, which, despite not sharing a boarder with Negune, is still most easily reached from Regalia rather than any of the other nations. Given these two significant advantages, Regalia has become the center of culture and trade on the continent.

Regalia is comprised of seven provinces: Centralia, Volpan, Pyensal, Sextent, Shield Haven, Garvain, and Tonshire. One for each of the seven adventurers who united the peoples of Negune eight hundred years ago. Though the seven continents are not explicitly named for one of the companions, each of the seven capitol cities has a bronze statue of one of the heroes just inside the town gate, along with an inscribed plaque penned by Horatiana herself.

Government
Regalia is a monarchy guided by the traditions put forth by Queen Horatiana. Though no formal constitution has ever been drafted, in true Bardic style, Horatiana had every wall of the sprawling royal palace engraved with lessons she had learned, and her philosophies for leadership. These engravings do not legally bind the monarch. In fact, Monarchs often ignore certain engravings when they do not suit their needs or plans. However, the engravings are respected, and on three separate occasions, monarchs have been removed from power for violating the spirit of these philosophies. The wisest of Regalia’s monarchs, it is said, spend their lives strolling through the halls of the royal palace, carefully studying the engravings left by their ancient forbear. So respected is this wisdom, that it has been disseminated throughout the seven provinces, and “Take wisdom from the walls” has become a common saying among Regalians.

The current monarch, Queen Byethen, is particularly devoted to these teachings. In accordance with them, she has established a council of seven advisers–one from each of the provinces–which are drawn from the town mayors, and cycled out after one year to make room for a new adviser. She has also assembled a council of 33 scholars, wizards, clerics, soldiers, and government clerks whose primary duty is to argue with her. To “Play Asmodeus’ Advocate,” if you will. They may respond to her ideas only with argument, or silence. Though they have no power to overrule her, the walls discourage her from taking any action she cannot defend. Queen Byethen also spends one week of each year living and working in a random town within her kingdom, so that she might never forget the hardships her people face.

Something which the walls are most emphatic about, and which no ruler has yet ignored, deals with the royal succession, and the separation between the nation of Regalia, and the seven provinces which constitute it. At any given time, there must be seven potential successors to the throne. Each of these successors is made the ruler of one of the provinces. The monarch may replace a successor at any time, based on any criteria, or completely arbitrarily. However, so long as the successors have the confidence of the monarch, they should be allowed to rule their provinces as they see fit. When the monarch has died, or otherwise cedes the throne, whatever advisory councils they formed during their reign gathers, and selects one of the seven to take the crown of Regalia.

Economy
Regalia is a fantastically wealthy nation. In terms of resources, it has an ample amount of forested area, plentiful fishing, rich mining, and expansive farmland. Regalia is so rich in natural resources, that no necessary commodity needs to be imported from any other nation–though the provinces themselves do need to trade with one another. The surplus of resources has also made Regalia rich in the gold and platinum of other lands through trade. Regalia’s prosperity has reinforced the native legend that Negune was blessed by the gods to make it a place worthy of heroes. That legend has even spread across the sea, to Kalimesh.

Culture
Though the specific culture varies from province to province, a few common themes unite Regalian culture as a whole. Despite being governed by a monarchy, Regalia fosters a meritocratic culture. The nation’s wealth has allowed education and other opportunities to be offered to most of the people. At present, two of the seven provinces are ruled by people who were born on the lower rungs of society: one a farmer, the other a miller. And as province governors, these two will both be considered as potential monarchs when Byethen leaves power.

Koldonberane, The Forest Dragon

I’m really quite happy with Monday’s post about deities. You may have noticed that I really got into it, given that it’s roughly twice as long as my average post. My own verbosity aside, in my opinion it’s a pretty great post. So when I started thinking about what I should write for Wednesday’s post, I remembered that a friend had recently encouraged me to write about Koldonberane, a deity I created a few years ago for a campaign which never ended up getting started. So not only do I get to make a friend happy, but I get to demonstrate the deity system I created in my last post! Huzzah!

Koldonberane
The Tree Wyrm, Leafscale, The Rustling Wind

Lesser Deity (Divine Rank 4)
Holy Symbol A green tree with a dragon emerging from the leaves. More ornate symbols include tree roots, which entangle both a halberd, and a short bow.
Home Plane Arborea
Alignment Chaotic Neutral
Major Portfolio Nature, Animals
Minor Portfolio Adventure, Rangers, Balance Dragons
Domains Animal, Plant, Travel
Worshipers Rangers Druids, Barbarians, Hunters, Trappers
Clerical Alignments TN, CN, CG, CE
Favored Weapons The halberd, and the short bow

Koldonberane embodies the uncaring chaos of nature. She appears as a titanic dragon, with leaves instead of scales. These leaves constantly shift from green, to bronze, to red, to yellow, to black, then fall from her hide, only to reveal fresh green leaves underneath. Though she is a lesser deity, many rangers and other adventurers who revere nature follow her because of the favor which she shows to those who have great self determination.

Dogma Koldonberane teaches that nature is indifferent to good, evil, and law. It is a force beyond these limiting concepts. While a mouse may be beloved by nature, so too is a hawk. The hawk needs no permission, nor any absolution for killing and eating the mouse. So long as balance is maintained, nature is self-governing. And so long as chaos reigns, balance will always be maintained. The only true sin, in Koldonberane’s eyes, is a disruption of the world’s natural balance.

For this reason, Koldonberane favors mortals who live out in nature, separate from those of their kind who seek to dominate nature, rather than find their own place within nature’s balance. She cares not if a man kills an animal for food, or fells a tree to build a boat. New animals will be born, new trees will grow. But Koldonberane becomes upset when a copse of trees is felled to make a cabin, and she becomes enraged when a forest is cleared to make room for a city.

Clergy and Temples Koldonberane’s few temples are magically woven from still-growing trees, and carpeted with living grass. However, few followers of Koldonberane are compelled to build temples to their draconic goddess. Most prefer to travel, living in balance with nature around them, and ensuring that others maintain that balance as well.

History
Koldonberane is a young deity, having only ascended four hundred thousand years ago. Before that, she was a dragon. Of what color, she cannot recall, but she knows that she lived in a forest. There, in her forest lair, she went about the business of dragons: hoarding treasure. She viewed this too be quite good and proper, and had amassed a great and glittering pile for herself.

As winter drew near one year, she spotted a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. Being a particularly philosophical dragon, she likened the squirrel to herself. The tiny creature’s hoard of nuts was a pale shadow of Koldonberane’s hoard of treasure. And while the creature’s taste in treasure was primitive compared to her own, Koldonberane speculated that the gods may have crafted squirrels as a tiny homage to their greatest creation. Which, of course, was dragons.

Koldonberane’s forest was far to the North of the world, and winter was long. The mighty dragon slept until the spring came. When she finally awoke, she was greeted by the sight of the squirrel whose hoard Koldonberane had pondered the previous fall. Feeling spry and energetic after her long sleep, the mighty dragon approached the squirrel’s nest, hoping to catch a glimpse of its tiny hoard. What she saw instead was nothing but shells. The squirrel had eaten its entire hoard!

At first, Koldonberane felt confused, but her confusion quickly became anger. She shouted and cursed the squirrel. She decried its mimicry as a mockery of dragon kind, and swore to destroy it and all of its kin, but it had fled. Still angry, she vowed to wait for its return, and destroy it then. But first she needed to find a meal, something to wake her from her long slumber. She took flight, and hunted through the forest for elk, deer, and other large sources of meat.

As she ate, she thought. Her anger gradually began to abate as she pondered the purpose of the squirrel’s hoarding. She came to realize that the squirrel’s hoard had not been an end unto itself, but rather a means to its own survival. It was something of a leap for her, but the more she thought about it, the more Koldonberane found she could relate to the squirrel’s actions. And, being truly philosophical for a dragon, Koldonberane did something which dragons almost never do: she turned her criticism inward.

“Why do I, why does any dragon, hoard our treasures?” she thought. Numerous justifications presented themselves, but to her credit, Koldonberane dismissed each of them. The truth had been laid bare: her hoard had no purpose.

After that, Koldonberane continued to lay atop her treasure for several months. But now it simply seemed cold, and uncomfortable. Koldonberane tried adding to her hoard, which had always pleased her in the past. Now it felt empty. The sparkle of a polished coin no longer captivated her, and she resolved to be rid it all. She flew to the nearest city, and announced that anyone could have anything they were able to carry away from her hoard.

People came from miles around with sacks and carts, some even came with bags of holding. Koldonberane watched them take her treasures from nearby. She felt a panic, seeing ‘thieves’ taking her beloved treasure–but she did not interfere. She steeled her resolve to let her treasure disappear.

People had been hauling treasure away for less than a day when the king arrived. But Koldonberane’s hoard was massive that ten such days would not leave a significant dent in her pile. The King, though, brought with him an army of carts, and ten times an army of soldiers. He demanded that all the treasure be his. Koldonberane told him he may take whatever his carts could carry, but the King was adamant. He wanted not only the treasure he could carry, but treasure which he would leave behind must be kept for him, and the treasure which had already been given must be returned to him. The dragon refused.

The battle between the king’s army and the dragon was fierce. Koldonberane was, at that time, among the most ancient dragons to ever exist. She slew hundreds of the king’s mightiest knights, but could not defend herself against so great a force. Koldonberane was slain, her body fell against the same tree in which the squirrel had made its nest. The King had his carts loaded, and took what treasure he could back to his kingdom.

When the King returned with more carts, he found many people around the corpse of the dragon, praying for blessings from the gold-giver. The King’s men chased them off, and the king posted guards around Koldonberane’s body to stop any others from worshiping the beast. The king returned a third time, now in late fall, for a third load of treasure. The guards he had left were camped nearby, and the dragon’s corpse was gone! The guards explains how, in just a few short weeks, the roots of the tree had grown up around the dragon, and wrapped it in a wooden cocoon. The king said good riddance to the beast, and took his treasure, and his guards, back to his kingdom for the winter.

In spring, the king again brought his carts for the fourth and last load of treasure. As it was being loaded, he gazed at the tree which had consumed Koldonberane. Its leaves had sprouted a beautiful spring green, and he found the tree to be a pleasant sight.

Then, from amidst the rustling leaves, two eyes stared back at him. They did not appear to be fixed to anything, waving in the wind as the tree did. A creak sounded, and the wind-blown leaves momentarily seemed to form a gaping maw. Frightened, the king called to his men to hurry along, just in time for great leafy wings to sprout from the tree’s bows.

The king screamed in terror as Koldonberane, the demigod, flew from the branches of the tree, leaving it bare of any leaves. But Koldonberane was now beyond such simple motivations as revenge, and ignored the petty human as it flew off towards the heavens.

Koldonberane’s clergy hold that the tree which Koldonberane sprouted from still exists. It is said that green scales now grow on the tree, instead of leaves. What powers this mysterious tree might hold are unknown, however, as its mere existence is speculation.

Negune: Historical Overview

If you recognize the map above, you may just pay more attention to my posts than I do. I posted it once before (sans political notations) in an October update about methods for generating maps randomly without using a computer. As the sloppy handwriting in the upper right indicates, this is the continent of Negune, location of my Ascendant Crusade campaign. Normally when I start a new game, I start a new game world, and its geography and locals are developed as the players travel further and further abroad from where they start. But Negune is special.

You see, several years back I had no job, no close friends living nearby, and most importantly, no Internet. My TV was broken as well, so I couldn’t play any of my console games. From September through to December of 2009 I did two things: Watch Star Trek The Next Generation over and over again, and work on developing the world of the Ascendant Crusade. It may sound very sad–and truthfully it wasn’t a pleasant time in my life–but I must confess I miss the absolute focus my isolation provided me. It’s remarkable what one can get done without the Internet.

So where am I going with this? Well you see, I miss working on Negune. I had a lot of ideas which I never had a chance to develop beyond concepts. I want to write about this place. Hell, it’s already started seeping into my recent writing. Even while I wrote the Gravewhisper’s Claw post, I knew that the dozen made-up ‘fantasy words’ I was dropping were going to be gibberish to my readers. So from here on I’ll occasionally be doing posts which develop my Negune campaign setting. Maybe we’ll even learn something about creating a living breathing world along the way. Who the fuck knows.

History of Negune

Many thousands of years ago, the god, Valor, looked upon the world of Tyrgaren and saw that it had no heroes to rival those of other worlds. “This will not do!” he bellowed, and struck the oceans with his hammer. Opposite his blow, a new continent rose from the sea. “Here will heroes worthy of me be born! Let any who seek my favor come to Negune, and prove themselves!” To this, Valor’s brother Strife replied “If heroes are to be made here, there must be challenges to test them!” With this, Strife sowed across the land challenges unlike those seen before on the face of Tyrgaren. Hearing her brothers, Abundance approached. “You fools.” she chided “Who will fight for this land? Who will struggle so hard against challenges so great simply for the favor of a distant god?” And Abundance caressed the land of Negune, bestowing it with a fertility and richness seen nowhere else on Tyrgaren. The three gods embraced, proud of their work, and turned their attention away from their creation. It was then that Evil approached, and blew his dark breath over the land of Negune. “And now,” he whispered, careful not to be heard by the three creator gods “my darkness shall always guide this land’s fate.”

–Creation myth, found scribed on an obsidian tablet in the central Arganian forests.

The earliest civilizations of Negune organized themselves into city-states. Not much is known about this period or what came before it. What is clear is that these city states had a variety of cultures, some quite different from each other. During this civilization’s peak, there were several hundred of these city states, frequently warring with one another and vying for land and resources.

It was during this peak that a woman named Eganaptyc arrived in the city state of Oriac. History is unclear on precisely where she came from, and many recovered texts from this period suggest a supernatural origin. However, the people of Negune at this time had not yet managed to construct ships capable of crossing oceans, therefore it is more likely that Eganaptyc arrived on Negune from one of the other continents, which were much more technologically advanced during this period. No effort has yet been made to search the ancient libraries of other lands to discover her origins.

Eganaptyc was a Wizard of not insignificant skill, if tales of her magical demonstrations are to be believed. Though, given that the people of Negune at this time had very limited experience with magic, their accounts are highly suspect. None the less, Eganaptyc’s magical prowess and apparent benevolence quickly elevated her within Oriac, and she was made an adviser to the city’s king. The king had no children, and upon his death the people demanded that Eganaptyc take the throne.

Under her rule, Oriac began to aggressively expand its boarders. First by securing powerful alliances with other city states in the East, then by conquering the city states to the West. Once her control there was established, Eganaptyc turned on her Eastern allies and conquered them. So did Eganaptyc’s wars of conquest continue for many years. Wars which were continued by her son when she became too old to devote her full attention to matters of state. Eganaptyc lived just long enough for all of Negune to be brought under the rule of Oriac during her granddaughter’s reign.

With no enemies left to fight, Eganaptyc’s granddaughter, Retyac the Benevolent, turned her attention to strengthening her empire by spreading education to its furthest reaches. This is the beginning of Negune’s golden age. It was marked by unprecedented prosperity in every corner of the Eganaptyc Empire. Technological advancement and learning accelerated, and within ten generations the once primitive Negune had become one of the most advanced societies in the world. The capital city of Oriac came to be widely known as the greatest city in all the world, stretching out to cover the entire island of Argania.

For three thousand years this unprecedented prosperity continued, and the Eganaptyc Empire flourished. But as Eganaptyc’s descendents became more and more removed from the teachings and philosophies which had made their ancestors great, they began to lose touch with their people. When the people questioned them, these rulers resorted to oppression. And almost suddenly, within twenty years, millennia of good was undone. Oriac was sacked, anyone who had represented law and order was subjected to the rule of the mob, and civilization was lost.

Alternative governments were tried, but the incessant squabbling and vying for power in these governments led to constant wars, which invariably resulted in groups that were even more fractured, and required even smaller forms of government. Within a few centuries, Negune had descended from a continent-spanning empire, to a loose confederation of states, eventually returning to city states, and then descending even further into tribalism, and finally to barbarism. And there it remained for an eon.

Two thousand years after the fall of Oriac, five adventurers came to Negune. Many adventurers had come before them, but all had either returned home or perished. But these seven would prove different. Their names have become legendary: Korrik Anribo, the mighty elven wizard; Shorn Ironteeth, the dwarven axemaster; Horatiana, the human whose songs could soften even a titan’s heart; Grephar, the human paladin; Norak the wild man; Bronsond the elven ranger; and Carrifeist, the half elven rogue.

For over thirty years, these seven traveled to every land of Negune. They slew monsters, saved villages, and bred good will throughout the land. Then, while exploring the Cold Iron Mountains in central Negune, something happened. Not a one of them would ever speak of it during their lifetimes, but when they descended from the mountain Bronsond was not with them, and they immediately parted ways.

Korrik settled in the far North, on a small island which he named Ribanko. He never spoke with any of his compatriots again. Shorn united many disparate and primitive dwarven clans, and settled in the ore-rich mountains in the North, founding the dwarven city he called Shornholm. Grephar traveled far to the West, to the most defensible position in the party had found in all of their travels. He united the people there, and called his nation Stekett. Carrifest settled near the sea. When people came and built a city around her, and begged her to rule it, she named it for her fallen comrade: Bronsond. Horatiana, the party’s public face, had gained the most good will during their travels, and people flocked to her banner when she chose to settle down. So many swore allegiance to her that she had to break her nation, Regalia, into seven provinces: Tonshire, Shield Haven, Garvain, Centralia, Volpan, Sextent, and Pyensal. One for each of her former comrades. Before the group parted ways, Norak asked only that his friends never civilize all the land, and that they leave plenty of space for him to run free.

Eight hundred years have now passed since the Seven Heroes parted company. All have long since died–save Korrik, who still broods on his isle to the North.

Star Wars: Movie Hooks

Well, that little break lasted longer than expected. That’s how my self discipline works I suppose. If I give up an inch of my ironclad mental schedule, then my tendency towards laziness will take a mile. Fortunately, my self loathing was really on top of things this time. By the end of my little “vacation” (which caused me to miss all of two posts) I was so frustrated with myself that getting back on top of writing became my only escape from a constant barrage of self recriminations. Go self loathing! About time you started pulling your weight.

As a change of pace, I thought I would end 2011/start 2012 with a week dedicated to my beloved Star Wars D6 RPG by West End Games. As a geek, Star Wars is my specialty, and I have a soft spot for the simple and elegant system designed by West End Games. I’ve been writing about Pathfinder nonstop for months now, but I’ve always imagined this project as one which can be more diverse. Pathfinder is my focus, certainly, but there are so many systems and possibilities out there. It would be a shame not to give them some of my attention.

Today it’s plot hooks! Every adventure needs a starting point. Something to get the players excited about the game they’re playing, and what they’re doing in it. It’s a springboard for the GM to get the action going. You never have more of the player’s attention than you do in the first minute or so of the game, so you’ve got to make it count. With a Star Wars game, GMs have a unique opportunity to hook their players into a game by intersecting that game with one of the three good films. Unless you’ve got a game group full of avid Star Wars fans (in which case, I hate you) it’s likely that your players are somewhat wary of playing in the Star Wars universe. By giving them a touchstone to something they’re familiar with–the films–you help make everyone a little more comfortable and familiar with their surroundings.

Ultimately, how you intersect the films is up to you, but I’ve arranged these according to the methodology which I feel is most appropriate. The idea is for the players to fit into the background of the films. Perhaps someone with a moment of screentime, or someone who was standing just off camera during a specific scene. These characters can then go on to change the course of the entire saga if they want to, but starting your players out as Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ‘other jedi apprentices’ simply strikes me as awkward and masturbatory. Like bad self-insertion fan fiction.

A New Hope

Death Star Plans: Imperial Players who would like to explore the sophistication and grandeur of Palpatine’s New Order can start the game with orders to recover the Death Star plans. Eventually this would intersect with the opening scene of A New Hope, where the Star Destroyer Devestator is giving chase to (and eventually capturing) the rebel blockade runner Tantive IV. When the plans are not found (having been hidden with R2-D2) the Imperial players can continue down to the planet, and continue following the plan’s trail. Particularly successful players may be able to capture the plans before they eventually reach the rebels, stopping the destruction of the Death Star. The rebellion would be a great deal weaker after losing the Battle of Yavin, but that wouldn’t mean they couldn’t still pose a threat for your players to fight against!

If you were so inclined, you could start the quest even earlier, with the players on the planet Danuta following Kyle Katarn’s theft of the plans–a classic moment in the Star Wars continuity, and more well known than many other stories from the Expanded Universe (EU).

Death Star Plans: Alliance If your group prefers the more traditional route of playing as rebels, the Death Star plans can still provide impetus for gameplay. In the film, when Darth Vader and the Devestator capture princess Leia and the Tantive IV, the rebellion’s leadership has every reason to suspect that they’ve been compromised. Not only have the Death Star plans been (supposedly) recovered, but an important leader has been identified and captured by the enemy. As much respect as anyone might have for Leia, can they really trust that she wont betray the Yavin IV base when subjected to torture?

So the rebel leadership is faced with two problems. First, they must find a way to counter the Death Star. Such a weapon is too devastating to be ignored, even in the face of massive setbacks. Likely this would mean formulating a new plan to re-acquire the schematics for the station. But after the destruction of Alderaan, they may feel that it is worth the risk to attempt smuggling operatives onto the Death Star itself to destroy it from within. Secondly, the rebellion needs to find a new base, which I’ll discuss more below.

New Base: Alliance Regardless of how events transpire, it is highly likely that the Rebellion’s Yavin IV base is compromised. Whether it’s simply assumed due to Princess Leia’s capture, or whether the Empire follows the tracking device planted on the Millennium Falcon, one way or another, the rebels need a new home. Eventually this new home will be Hoth, as seen in Empire Strikes Back. However, GMs could run some very interesting exploration games where the players are rebel scouts, looking for suitable planets for the rebellion to hide on. Hoth is remote, and has the benefit of per-existing structures for the rebels to use, but if players find something better, that could change the course of the saga.

There’s a lot of benefit to this hook. First, it presents an opportunity for the players to make a significant contribution to the story immediately. That ability to have a real impact on events is rarely so clearly spelled out, and players like to feel as though the outcome changes based on their actions. That’s what we call Player Agency. Second, the possibilities are wide open for the type of adventure you could run. First players need to figure out where to go, which allows them to pick from a number of options. Then the players need to get there, which provides an opportunity for space-based adventure. Once the players arrive, they’ll need to scout the area, giving the GM plenty of opportunity to create all manner of conflict. Since the players will want to find a planet with existing facilities for the rebellion to use, you could even use that as an opportunity to include a dungeon delving-esque adventure.

Bounty on Solo: Bounty Hunters Rebels and Imperials are not the only types of characters players enjoy. Thanks to the popularity of characters like Boba Fett, some people view playing as a bounty hunter is the best part of the Star Wars universe. Considering the sizable bounty placed on Han Solo’s head by Jabba the Hutt, players may be very interested to hear (or better yet: witness) Solo’s cold blooded murder of Greedo in a little tapcaf on Tatoine.

Sand Crawler: Droids I don’t have many ideas regarding this, but if you’re GMing for a party of droid characters, they could all meet up on the Sand Barge where R2-D2 and C-3PO are reunited.You might even bend the plot of the story a bit by having R2 entrust one of your players with the Death Star plans, and the task of taking them to Obi-Wan Kenobi

The Empire Strikes Back

Hoth Escape: Alliance After the battle of Hoth the rebellion is completely routed. The surprise attack on their hidden base left them scrambling to escape, taking massive losses during one of the most exciting and memorable battles in any of the films. There’s a reason this encounter has been repeated ad-nausea in almost every Star Wars video game ever released, and it’s a perfect place to jump into the game as Alliance players.

Right off the bat, players are faced with the deadly battle against the invading imperial force. The group could start the game in the trenches, then fall back as the Stormtroopers press further into the base. Or if the players prefer, they could be pilots, zipping about in agile air speeders, trying desperately to figure out how to take down the towering imperial AT-ATs. But Hoth is a losing battle, and any combat is merely to provide cover to allow time for other rebel personnel to load transports and begin the escape. The players who survive (which, given the fatality rates in the Star Wars game, probably won’t be all of them) must then escape from the planet themselves. If they’re pilots, this can be even more exciting than the battle below. If they’re not, then they’ll be huddled in the belly of a rebel transport, hoping they don’t get blown out of the sky.

Vader’s Task: Bounty Hunters A short, but memorable scene in Empire Strikes Back is shortly after the battle of Hoth, when Darth Vader meets with a group of bounty hunters and tasks them with finding the Millennium Falcon. The scene introduces Boba Fett, and includes the now infamous “No disintegration” line. There was actually a whole book about it called “Tales of the Bounty Hunters,” which was remarkably good. But I digress. The major problem with this hook, of course, is that most players will already know that Han Solo is on his way to cloud city. None the less, there’s some opportunity for a good game here.

Occupy Cloud City: Any During Empire Strikes Back, Cloud City is occupied by the Empire. This becomes particularly problematic at the end of the film when the Empire’s occupation becomes permanent. Cloud City is a mining outpost, but it’s also a haven for smugglers, gamblers, and manner of riff raff. There are doubtless even some rebels amongst the populace. The frantic escape from Cloud City doesn’t give the game much direction, but it’s a fun and interesting way to tie your game into the film.

Return of the Jedi

Free At Last: Any Jabba the Hutt was a powerful crime lord. Head of the powerful Desilijic crime family of Hutts, his underworld power was matched only by Prince Xizor of Black Sun. In his Tatooine palace, he had any number of droids, slaves, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and other hangers-on around him at all times. His death would have caused a frantic scramble either to escape from the fallout of a collapsing criminal empire, or to try and claim a piece of that empire.

Players who don’t mind playing as villains may even be interested in starting the game earlier, and having an opportunity to prevent Han from being rescued by his friends. Or, if the players wish to start out as slaves, perhaps they help the heroes escape Jabba’s sail barge, and follow them to join the rebellion.

Assault on the Death Star: Rebels The most impressive space battle in the entire trilogy, in my most humble opinion, is the fight to destroy the second Death Star at the end of Return of the Jedi. After the fleet jumps in-system, players will need to fight tooth and nail just to survive while the shield remains staunchly in place. And once the shield is down, small craft can dive into the structure of the massive space station, and perhaps join Tycho Celchu on his ‘merry chase through the Death Star.‘

Assault on the Shield Generator: Rebels If players aren’t particularly interested in space combat (and in fairness, it can be tricky to pull off well) then the action on the ground of Endor is another great place to start. Particularly if one of your players wants to be an Ewok. The conflict on the ground is long, and comes in multiple phases, which provides good structure to the adventure. First the characters must use stealth as they avoid Imperial scouts as they make their way to the generator, then they must fight to get in. Once in, it’s revealed that the whole thing was a trap, and they must fight against insurmountable odds to accomplish their mission. If the players in the game manage to be more skilled than the characters in the film, then the destruction of the Death Star may even go a great deal more smoothly, perhaps leading to promotions for the PCs, and more dangerous missions in the future!

Alternative Fantasy Race Relations

In 1948 America was at the pinnacle of its prosperity. It was nation of wealth and status in the world community. Russia was the United States’ great rival, an opposing superpower which seemed to us completely indomitable. The nation of Japan had lost a bitter war with us only a few years prior, and most Americans still held tight to their anger towards the Japanese people for the atrocities of that war. While China was a backwards, technologically inept nation of farmers, who were strong allies of the United States during World War II.

That was 63 years ago. Today, in 2011, the world looks a much different place. Russia’s economic collapse and subsequent failure to recover has knocked it off the radar of most American citizens. Japan, once the bitter rival of the U.S., is now one of its closest allies. China–no longer a close friend of the U.S.–has risen to become one of the most economically and technologically successful nations in the world. And America, while still wealthy and powerful, has been steadily on the decline in the decades since that pinnacle of prosperity mentioned above. It would seem that the old adage rings true: things change.

So why in nine hells do fantasy races always hold the same position, and have the same relationship, in every single universe?

This has bothered me for a long time. Dwarves always hate elves just a little bit, and elves always reciprocate. This hatred is never enough to put them at each others throats, though, and it pretty much peaks at rude comments. Orcs, goblins, gnolls, kobolds, and generally anything which has a skin color no real-life human can have, are always evil monsters. It generally seems that these creatures are granted intelligence by game designers for the sole purpose of making them more challenging foes. Halflings and Gnomes are probably the most diverse, but as a rule neither race is anything but amicable. There’s never a city with sings which read “you must be this tall to enter.”

And humans. Humans are the worst offenders of all. Nearly without exception, humans are “more diverse than other races.” They are almost always a young race, with lifespans equivalent to modern real-life humans. Most settings take special note of how prolific humans are, and that despite their youth compared to other species, their diversity has allowed them to flourish and become nearly omnipresent compared to the other species.

I understand why things are done this way. A dwarf isn’t a dwarf if he doesn’t like hammers, beards, and ale. If somebody made all the dwarves in their world sober, clean shaven accountants, that would be a crime on par with that of the Twilight books. It also helps for players to enter a game already knowing who the “good guys” and the “bad guys” are. Since they’re supposed to be characters in this world, they should know those things. And if the player already knows what their character should know, it helps speed things along. Besides, things can become difficult if two player races are so opposed to one another that they would refuse to work together.

And in all fairness, it has become somewhat popular for these concepts to be toyed with in recent years. Orcs, in particular, now seem to appear as a goodly race more often than they appear as a monster. But that having been said, there’s a certain appeal to a gritty and unpleasant setting where people don’t get along very well. I enjoy mixing the traditional concepts up, and letting my players run wild in a world more unusual than a typical fantasy setting.

Below is some information on a number of fantasy races. This information is for use in a future campaign world of mine which I may or may not ever finish. Any race which isn’t mentioned is one I haven’t figured out what to do with yet.

Humans

Average Lifespan: 45 years

The great human empires have come and gone in the roughly ten thousand years since the race was born. All that remains of them are ruined castles scattered across the land. What humans remain are a lost race. They have fallen so far from the heights of their glory that few humans even know their peoples had any glory to begin with. The few stories which still speak of their ancient empires are fractured and mythological in nature.

Now, most humans live in small tribal villages, or in roaming bands of nomadic barbarians. Humans will occasionally settle in the ruins of some crumbling castle, never realizing their ancestors built it. As a species, they are of little importance. Most human tribes are too concerned with finding food or waging territorial wars with other humans to become involved in more lofty pursuits.

The one thing which sets humans apart is that nearly all of them are born with the innate talent for sorcery. Though not all choose to pursue this path, fully half of humans do. And even those who do not are normally able to cast one or two simple spells.

Somewhat ironically, it is this sorcery which caused the downfall of humanity in the first place. Some four hundred years past, when human power was at its height, and human wars raged across the land, an evil king hatched a plan to put an end to his rivals. Using a ritual of unspeakable evil, this king slaughtered half of his subjects, granting the rest of his people sorcerer abilities, with the unintended side effect of reducing their intelligence.

The evil king’s genocidal rampage was successful none the less. But within a generation, the reduced intelligence of humanity had caused his government to collapse. For several generations, humans became progressively stupider, and more bestial. Since then, however, the race has recuperated somewhat. Humans are still one of the less intelligent races, but they are intellectually capable for the most part.

Babyls are an offshoot of humanity which did not cease their generational decline. Babyls appear to be human, but their intelligence has reduced them to animals without the ability to understand language. Some elven societies keep Babyls as pets.

Dwarves

Average Lifespan: 2,000 years.

Dwarves are an extremely prolific race, living not only in mountains, but also in underground complexes beneath plains, and even some forests. As a people, they are wary of magic, but technologically advanced, having developed both gunpowder and steam propulsion. While most dwarves still prefer a heavy axe or hammer in combat, rifles are common as a first-strike weapon. And many dwarven communities are now linked together by an advanced network of underground trains.

Socially, Dwarves are strictly hierarchical. Children obey their parents, wives obey their husbands, men obey the clan elders, and clan elders obey the king, and even kings obey The Emperor. Despite the many lands which dwarves inhabit, spread across many continents, there is only one single dwarven nation. Each dwarf is part of the regimented machine of dwarven society, and proud to play whatever role they play.

Dwarves also have a long standing and bitter blood feud with elves. The two races are constantly at war with one another. While land is often lost or gained, neither side has yet emerged as dominant in hundreds of millennia of conflict. Dwarves have access to much greater levels of organization and support, whilst elven magical abilities mean every elven life is normally paid for with dozens of dwarven lives.

Elves

Average Lifespan: 10,000 years.

Elves are numerous. Not quite as prolific as dwarves, but nearly so. They make their homes primarily in woodland areas, but sometimes construct their cities on plains, in swamps, or anywhere else, so long as it isn’t a mountain. Elves are too individualistic for centralized governments. Each elven city is a state unto itself. The laws and customs vary from city-state to city-state, sometimes wildly. Almost universally, though, these city states are governed by a mageocracy.

The elven predilection for magic permeates their entire society. Nearly without exception, every elf is a wizard. Some of these wizards govern, others are architects or military tacticians, but each is, above all, a wizard. The rare elf who is not a wizard will, at best, be treated as little better than a slave. At worst he or she could be cast out into a world which can be harsh towards the haughty and unpleasant elven race. These cast outs normally try to make their lives within orc society, but a few attempt to integrate with humans.

Halflings

Average Lifespan: 50 years

Halflings are a slave race. They have no real culture or identity left to them save that of countless generations of servitude. Halfling slaves are what make elven society work, with each elf owning perhaps 2 or 3 halflings. Orcs keep halflings as slaves as well, though not in such great numbers. There is likely to be one halfling slave for every ten orcs in a community. The orcs consider them very useful for sea travel, since halflings don’t take up much room, or eat many rations.

Orcs

Average Lifespan: 80 years

If you need to travel on water, talk to an orc. This coast-dwelling species is master of the open sea. On a whole, they’ve managed to remain neutral in the conflicts between other races. Some individual orcish towns have thrown in their lot with either elves or dwarves simply as a matter of necessity.