Once long ago, an evil wizard summoned a demon into the world, intending to use the demon’s grisly might in a nefarious scheme for power. The wizard’s plans were foiled, however, by a daring paladin who had hunted the wizard for weeks. She assaulted his sanctum, and he bade his demon to attack her while he fled. The battle between the paladin and the demon was fierce, but ultimately the paladin was victorious. She swung her greatsword down into the demon’s head, lodging it so tightly between the beasts eyes that she could not pull it free. Not wishing to allow the wizard to escape, the paladin drew a short sword, and ran after him. Whatever happened to her and the wizard is unknown, but there is no doubt of this much: she never came back for the sword.
Normally when a demon is slain on the material plane, their soul fades away, and is reformed anew within the Abyss. But the greatsword lodged within the demon’s brain was powerfully enchanted. Among many abilites which it granted its wielder were spells to seal evil, and to prevent travel between planes. And though the blade now had no wielder, these magics none the less prevented the demon from returning to its home plane. Trapped within a dead body, all the fiend could do was dream.
For centuries dreams of slaughter and chaos unparalleled dominated the demon’s half-conscious mind. Over the ages, the flesh of the demon rotted away, leaving naught but bones, the blade, and the pulsing brain in which the greatsword was buried. The dreams of the demon began to corrupt the blade, sapping at the purity of the paladin’s weapon until none remained. When the greatsword was finally recovered by an adventurer, over 700 years after it was placed there, it had become a fully evil thing. And as the demon’s soul fled back into the abyss, it took some small comfort knowing its centuries of imprisonment had produced an item which would sow chaos among mortals.
The Greatsword of Horrid Dreams is unique among weapons, because in order to access its full potential, it must have two wielders. When in the hands of most people, the blade appears to be a bright shade of blood red, and grants the wielder abilities very useful to physical combat. When in the hands of a caster able to cast 5th level spells or higher, the blade’s color takes on a purple hue, and the wielder gains access to a completely different set of powers.
The Greatsword of Horrid Dreams (Warrior’s Blade) Artifact Greatsword
PHYSICAL ATTACKS
(Blade)(Attack) +4 (Blade)(Damage) 2d6 + 4 (Slashing)(18-20/x2) plus Curse of Horrid Dreams
SPELLS GRANTED
At Will – Dimensional Anchor, cast by holding the blade so that the hilt faces towards the target. When the command word “You will not flee.” is spoken, red and black tendrils of light emerge from the crossguard of the blade, enveloping the target and creating a barrier around them which prevents planar travel according to the rules of the spell as written on page 270 of the PFCRB.
1/1d4 minutes – Bestow Curse, cast by tilling the target “You will X,” where X is a word or phrase which represents the curse. To use the examples given in the PFCRB, if you wish to decrease the targets wisdom by 6, you might say “You will die a fool,” whereas if you wished to give your target a 50% chance to take no action on their turn, you might say “You will falter before my power!” This ability otherwise follows the rules and limitations laid out on page 247 of the PFCRB.
3/Day – Hallucinatory Terrain, cast by twirling the blade in your hands (requiring a dexterity score of at least 10 to accomplish) and saying “Battle amidst a demon’s dream.” The only terrain which this use of the spell can create is a hellscape, battlefield, or other place a demon might dream of. It otherwise functions as the spell on page 293 of the PFCRB, as cast by a 12th level caster.
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Psychic strike – 5/day, the wielder of The Greatsword of Horrid Dreams may channel the power of their own horrid dreams into their attacks. By dwelling on a horrifying dream which has plagued them in the past, they can add their wisdom score to both their attack and damage rolls for that round. Use of this ability must be announced prior to the attack roll being made. Psychic strike does not function on any foe which cannot feel fear, such as a foe which is mindless, or a construct.
Curse of Horrid Dreams – Anytime a target takes damage from the Greatsword of Horrid Dreams, they must succeed on a will save (DC: 14 + the wielder’s wisdom bonus). This curse has no effect on its own. However, in order for most of the Caster’s Blade abilities to function, the target must already be afflicted with the curse of horrid dreams.
APPEARANCE
The most obviously unusual feature of The Greatsword of Horrid dreams is its length. The blade is a full two feet longer than most greatswords. Furthermore, it appears to have been made from stained glass, and is even partially transparent near edges. A quick test will reveal, however, that the blade is as strong as adamantium, and as sharp as a razor. While in the Warrior’s Blade state, the entire sword–blade, hilt, crossguard and all–are different shades of blood red which shift and move across the surface of the weapon. It is important to note that despite its obviously magical appearance, the blade emits no light whatsoever.
The Greatsword of Horrid Dreams (Caster’s Blade) Artifact Greatsword
At Will – Dream, Cast by whispering the name of the person which you wish to send to, this spell functions as written on page 274 of the PFCRB
1/Day – Nightmare, Cast by opening a small wound on the blade’s edge and whispering the name of the person which you wish to cast the spell upon. The spell functions as written on page 316 of the PFCRB
1/week – Gate, cast by crying out in a booming voice “Ready the path to glory!” This version of the spell can only open portals to the Abyss, which remain open for as long as the caster concentrates on them. Otherwise it functions as the spell found on page 288 of the PFCRB.
3/day – Phantasmal Killer, cast by telling the target “Your very nightmares themselves serve me!” The spell functions as written on page 319 of the PFCRB.
SPECIAL ABILITIES
See Cursed – At any time while holding the Greatsword of Horrid Dreams, a caster able to cast 5th level spells or higher can close their eyes, and see the face of each person afflicted by The Curse of Horrid Dreams in turn. The face is shown in real time, but the image includes no audio or background. So it is possible to tell if the victim is alive or dead, awake or asleep, etc. But little more information than that can be determined.
Insomnia – By concentrating on anyone afflicted by The Curse of Horrid Dreams for 1 hour, the caster can prevent the victim from sleeping for the next 24. Insomnia can be used to cause severe fatigue in victims, but never death. If the victim would die from lack of sleep, then the magic of the insomnia effect is broken.
Dream Invasion – By concentrating on a sleeping victim afflicted by The Curse of Horrid Dreams, the caster can observe that victim’s dreams. The ability of the caster to interpret those dreams depends greatly on how well the caster knows the victim. If they are complete strangers, there is a 30% chance that the caster will be able to determine any relevant information about that person. For acquaintances that chance rises to 50%, for people who are known well such as friends or rivals the chance increases to 60%. For close friends or family members, the chances increase to 70%.
Horrid Dreams – By concentrating on a sleeping target, the caster may enter their dreams and torture them from within their own mind. Functionally this ability works like the Phantasmal Killer spell, save that the caster themself is the object of horror, and the spell can be cast from any distance so long as the target is afflicted by The Curse of Horrid Dreams, and is asleep. The victim is entitled to a will save against the caster (at a -2 penalty) to disbelieve the illusion. If they fail, they must succeed on a fortitude save or die from fear. Even if this fortitude save is successful, the victim takes 3d6 damage, as well as losing 1 point of wisdom permanently.
APPEARANCE
The appearance of the Caster’s Blade is identical to that of the Warrior’s Blade, save that the color changes from shades of red, to shades of purple. The purple coloring of the blade is depicted in the artwork above.
My ladyfriend is 3 years younger than I am. It’s a little strange for me, since most of my relationships in the past have been with older women. And though the difference in our numerical ages is small, it sometimes feels as if those few years belie a massive generational gap. Particularly with regards to vidya games. My first console was an NES, while her was an N64, how does that even happen? The poor whippersnap missed the greatest era of gaming: the one I grew up with! I often become frustrated when I make a funny reference, only to realize she probably never used the Konami code, or blew dust out of a cartridge, or heard of games like Doki Doki Panic!
So what in Oerth does this have to do with tabletop RPGs? I’m getting to that. Be patient, geeze.
Recently, because my ladyfriend is pretty cool, she asked me to recommend an oldschool game. Probably because she was impressed by all those cool jokes she’s too young to laugh at. I considered carefully which game would be a good introduction for her, and unsurprisingly settled on my favorite of all time; The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. That game has had a defining impact on my life. It shaped my views on fantasy settings, and informed my opinions about what it means for a game to be ‘good.’ It’s the first game I ever wholeheartedly fell in love with, and that love is part of what originally led me to pursue writing. Hells, the “L” in my monicker stands for “Link,” and I’ve been known by that name for almost half my life. Even ignoring all of the personal value the game has for me, it’s still one of the most polished, well-designed games I’ve ever encountered. And since my ladyfriend is already a fan of the later Zelda titles, it’s about time she was introduced to a proper dark-haired link, rather than the boyband reject seen in more recent games.
Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but I think the game is best when played on the Super Nintendo, with that fantastic controller. But before I set her up with the cartridge, I thought I should take a look at it. The last few times I played through LttP I was either using a game boy, or an emulator. Because of that, my SNES copy hadn’t been used in a few years, and I remember experiencing some audio glitches the last time I played it. Plus, with the game being over 20 years old, I worried that the battery wouldn’t be able to hold a save any longer. So I drew the cartridge from its shelf, gently cleaned the connectors with alcohol, nestled it into the console’s bosom, and flipped the big purple power switch up with a satisfying “clack.*”
Yeah, she hasn’t gotten a chance to play it yet. I’m on the second-to-last dungeon in the game and having the time of my life. But again, what does this have to do with tabletop RPGs?
Well, one evening after I’d been playing, I was in bed with a notepad. I began to lazily jot down notes for a Zelda tabletop RPG rooted in the spirit of the pre-Ocarina of Time games. Those random notes quickly evolved into a project which I’ve dubbed the Legend of Zelda Adventure System, or LOZAS for short. It’s what I’ve been blathering on about for the past week. I originally didn’t want to be open about the source material I was working with, in part because I didn’t want to feel obligated to finish it. But it’s become clear to me that I want to take this seriously, so there’s no point in being subtle any longer. Though I don’t know if it actually counts as subtle, since I’ve been tweeting about ‘my zelda system’ every 15 minutes.
I confess, I feel more than a little arrogant announcing that I’m trying to adapt one of the most celebrated games of all time to tabletop. Who the fuck am I? I’m an untested, aspiring game designer. To be perfectly frank, I don’t think I’m up to the task. Oh, I’ll do my best, and I’ll finish the game, and maybe some people will like it. But this is just a goofy little project I started working on for my own amusement. When I do eventually finish LOZAS, it will be the first game I’ve ever designed from the ground up. And like any ‘first,’ it’s probably going to be terrible. But it will be a labor of love, and I can only hope that will help mask some of my inexperience.
So now that I’ve wasted 786 words telling you what the project is and how I came to work on it, why don’t I share a little bit about how the game is shaping up and what my goals are? That way future posts referencing the LOZAS system can at least have some context. While my list of goals is extensive, each one descends from this single goal:
Recreate the style and ‘feel’ of A Link to the Past in a tabletop environment, without forcibly including elements which are not well suited to tabletop play.
Given that, the question becomes: what is the style and feel of LttP? Exploring that question has been an ongoing process as I work on the game, but I do have my thoughts:
Dungeons Zelda games are about dungeons. Even though every game in the series has lots for the player to do outside of dungeons, the underworld is where the real meat of the game can be found. It’s where the player encounters the most varied enemies, finds the most interesting treasure, fights bosses, and achieves the most important quest-progressing goals. As such, the game will be geared towards exploring dungeons. Hyrule is an ancient land, where many forgotten kingdoms have made their home. It is riddled with dozens, hundreds, or perhaps even thousands of underworld citadels just waiting to be explored by heroes.
While dungeons can vary wildly, most dungeons will contain the following elements:
Lots of monsters.
Lots of traps.
Lots of treasure.
A wondrous item (discussed further below).
A heart container (discussed further below).
A Great Monster.
Great Monsters are special creatures within this world. In game terms, you would call them bosses. However, within the setting, they are monsters who have acquired an immense amount of power. They did this either by defeating their fellow monsters and rising to the top of the food chain, or by forging an alliance with a great evil being. Upon defeating a great monster, all the heroes who were involved in the combat gain a level. Defeating great monsters is the only way to advance in level in this game. There are no experience points.
Characters There are two big things about A Link to the Past which do not translate well to a tabletop environment. First, not every adventure can be set in motion by Zelda being kidnapped. Second, not every player can be Link. The former problem is up to the GM to solve, but I hope to give GMs a useful toolbox with my methods for creating dungeons and great monsters. The latter problem, however, is all on me.
Long story short, I’ve determined that the game will use only three classes. The Adventurer is the closest of the three to what Link would be. It’s a class with respectable fighting skills, but which focuses on special abilities. An adventurer can leap across long gaps, climb walls quickly, move without making any sound, etc. Soldiers focus purely on physical combat, and receive bonuses to their attack, damage, critical range, armor class, and battle maneuver score as they increase in level. Sages are the mystics of the game, and probably the class I currently find most interesting. At each level, the sage can permanently add one more spell to its repertoire. I’m doing my best to balance the spells at about the same power level, so that there will be no need for multiple “spell levels.” Each time a spell is cast, the sage must roll an ability check. They are currently allowed to fail the check a number of times per day equal to their level, after which they must rest before they can cast again. Though I worry this may become tedious at higher levels, even with a current max level of 10.
Numerical Simplicity There aren’t many bonuses or penalties in a Zelda game. Sure you might get an upgraded sword or new armor now and again, but the rest of your equipment provides a unique function rather than improving the effect of a function which already exists. So far, the only bonuses and penalties which currently exist in the game are either determined at character creation, or by a character’s class as they level up. The game will employ an maximum AC, and even at high levels health will likely be pretty low for most creatures. So including a lot of +1 items would just make the game messy. Instead, the game should be filled with items like a magic grappling hook which always finds something to latch onto, or a magic glove which lets you see through any wall you touch.
Heart Containers One of the staples of every Zelda game is heart containers. The player begins the game with 3 life. By defeating bosses, the player can gain heart containers which increase that life by 1. Minor as it may seem, I think this is a great idea to use in the game. A sword to the chest kills a great knight just as surely as it would kill a peasant. However, by delving into dungeons, adventurers can find magic items which absorb into their body, allowing them to survive wounds which would kill most people.
Those are some of the larger ideas which come to mind now. I’m sure I’ll continue to write about this project as it progresses.
*Seriously, why in the world did the SNES have such a loud power switch? It was as though Nintendo was trying to alert your parents of when you were playing rather than doing your chores.
I don’t know about you, but I really enjoyed my post from a couple weeks back about adapting the magic systems from Final Fantasy games to work in tabletop. As you may have noticed, I’ve been giving a lot of my attention to video games for the past few weeks. And while this is strictly a tabletop blog, it’s always more fun to write when I can write about something which is already on my mind, as opposed to trying to force myself to write about something I’m not really interested in at the moment. When I try to force it like that, I just end up doing a half-assed job. Besides: combining tho relatively unrelated things is always a great way to come up with some creative ideas.
I’ve always been a fan of the Zelda games published by Nintendo. And while I lost interest in new titles after literally falling asleep during the endless sailing of Wind Waker, I still regularly go back to re-play the games published before that. And the best among those, as well as my personal favorite game of all time, the The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. I could go on for pages about why this game is so good (and I’m pretty sure I have) but that’s all beside the point. Like most Zelda games, A Link to the Past contains a multitude of items which the player must collect in order to complete their quest. Some are pretty standard fare, while others are so unusual that they never really showed up again in later Zelda games.
I’ve always wanted to play a Zelda themed tabletop game, but never really encountered a group that would be right for it, or a system which would fit it well. (Though I am aware of the D20 Zelda system). None the less, there’s no reason elements from the games can’t find their way into your Pathfinder or D&D campaign!
The bow and arrow are kind of a weak start to this post, since they’re already pretty standard fare in fantasy adventure games. However, in LttP, the player must eventually acquire silver arrows. These are significantly more powerful (equivalent to about two or three times the damage of normal arrows, if I recall) and are required if you wish to defeat the game’s final boss. The idea of a creature which is immune to anything but a certain kind of arrow is interesting. But, I’ll grant you, not particularly special.
Now this is a little more interesting. Boomerangs are a fascinating and exotic weapon which I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a tabletop game before. And while its real-world use is far less impressive than the fantastical variations found in anime and video games, the mundane item is none the less worth thinking about on its own. With regards to the boomerangs specifically show in A Link to the Past, however, they were primarily used for two things. First, when they struck one of the game’s bad guys, the character would normally freeze in place for a few moments, unless it was particularly powerful. Secondly, the boomerang could be used to retrieve items which were out of reach.
That second use might be a little too video-game-y for a tabletop game, but a “Boomerang of Freezing” or “Boomerang of Time Stop” could be a really fun item to give to your PCs. It would allow them to dispose of enemies in a much stealthier manner if they can be quick about it, or could provide an important edge during a large combat. The only thing I would change is that, like a real boomerang, this one shouldn’t return to the wielder if it hits something.
This is probably the single most peculiar item which appears in LttP. None the less it has gone on to become one of the most iconic tools in Link’s inventory throughout the series: the hookshot. In its function its pretty simple; you hold onto the handle with one hand, and can fire a heavy-duty spearhead attached to a chain from one end. The spearhead lodges itself in wood, and some other surfaces, and the chain then retracts, pulling you towards whatever object you hooked on to. It was a lot of fun to use in the game, and was probably the only fantastical item which was mechanical, rather than magical.
In a tabletop game, I don’t think this has quite as much potential. Firstly, the nature of a tabletop game doesn’t really allow for Zelda-style puzzle solving, which is largely what the hookshot was used for. Secondly, while it could certainly still be used as a climbing implement, I think players would probably have some questions about how it works. If the spearhead is buried deep enough into a surface that it can support a character’s weight, then how is the character ever able to remove it?
Maybe that problem could be solved by replacing the spearhead with a magical adhesive which comes un-stuck with a command word? If that was the case, then this could be a game-changing item for low level characters. It’s almost as potent as a fly spell for avoiding obstacles. They could use it to scale walls, cover gaps, easily hide on ceilings, and so much more! Though perhaps a ‘grip’ mechanic would be in order. Something like they can only hold on to it for a number of minutes equal to their strength modifier?
I’m funny when it comes to gunpowder in my campaigns. For the most part, I prefer to avoid guns. I’m sure it can be done very well, but it takes away from my preferred flavor of gameplay. Despite that, I have no problem with cannons, or explosive devices like bombs. I like the idea that a major city might have one or two people in it who make explosive devices, and sell them at a high price. Players would have a difficult time carrying more than a few at a time, but if they could get them into a strategic location, they could blast their way through a dungeon wall, or obliterate a powerful monster.
The magic dust was a bizarre little item. Functionally, it was really only needed once in the entire game, as part of a little side-quest to halve the amount of magic each of your spells consumed. But it also transformed some of your enemies into different kinds of creatures, making them much less dangerous, or even helpful! And that sounds like a blast to me. The players find a small leather pouch which appears to be filled with glitter. Anytime a handful is sprinkled on something, the GM comes up with a random, wacky effect. And after a few handfuls, the pouch is empty, preventing it from becoming over-used.
A rod which shoots fire from it is just about the most mundane magical item I can imagine. But when I think about the Rod of Fire in LttP, I realize that its primary function wasn’t in combat. More than anything else, it was used to light torches, and that I find interesting. What if a fantasy adventure game had a Rod of Fire which was able to shoot a ball of non-magical fire up to a great distance. Maybe 60 feet. If this fire struck an enemy, the damage it dealt would probably be minimal. The primary use of such a rod would be lighting something flammable, like a pool of oil, or a thatched roof cottage. Because of its limited function, it could have more uses than we’d normally allow with a similar item. Perhaps 10 uses per day, or 20, or even an unlimited number.
The ice rod in A Link to the Past is (obviously) very similar to the fire rod. So I see no reason why it shouldn’t be converted in the same way. It shoots a blast of freezing air up to 60ft, and covers anything it touches with a layer of ice. The trick with this is that it might be far more useful, or far less useful, than the fire rod, depending on what the GM wants ‘a layer of ice’ to mean. If it can actually freeze an enemy solid, then it should probably have more limited usage than the rod of fire. If its not powerful enough for that, but could instead be used to trip an enemy on a ice-slicked floor, then it could have unlimited uses as with the above.
Um…I’m not really sure what to do with this one. Or with any of the medallions, actually. They cause some extremely powerful magical effects. In the game, the Bombos medallion causes a pillar of fire to spiral outwards from your character, followed by dozens of explosions which kill absolutely everything on the screen. If I were to include these three medallions in a game, I think the only way to do it would be to boost their power way up, but make them extremely difficult to use–and probably more likely to be in the hands of a villain. The Bombos Medallion, for example, can only be used during a lunar eclipse. It causes a pillar of fire to descend from the sky, and spiral outwards from the location of the caster until the end of the eclipse. Its destructive force could easily level a city. This is the hydrogen bomb of a fantasy world.
Interestingly, the Bombos medallion is the only one which actually has a powerful effect. The other two medallions have impressive animations, but are functionally single-use items, which are needed to enter certain dungeons in the game. When you use the Ether medallion, lightning comes down from the sky to strike your sword, and a dozen orbs of light start to spin around your character. In the game, all this does is allow you to is illuminate invisible walkways. It also opens the entrance to Misery Mire, but that’s not very easy to translate.
In a tabletop game, the Ether medallion can only be used during a solar eclipse. It creates 12 balls of light which can be moved only by someone holding the Ether medallion. These balls of light are permanent creations, and can never be unmade. The light they emit functions as a True Seeing spell, destroying any illusions or invisibility spells which may exist in the area.
In the game, this is even less useful than the Ether Medallion. It literally has only one function: opening the entrance to the Turtle Rock dungeon. Given the fact that it not only causes a massive earthquake, but also creates lightning which arcs across the ground, I am not sure why this item doesn’t harm enemies. Well fuck that, we’re changing it.
The Quake Medallion can only be used when all of the planets are aligned. When this happens, the wielder can create a titanic earthquake which will devastate the landscape, and cause one major geological shift. By exerting a great force of will, the wielder can attempt to control what form this geological shift will take. Perhaps a towering mountain range will rise from the earth, or a dizzying crevasse will open at the wielder’s feet. Truly powerful wielders could even use it to create a permanent intersection with the elemental plane of earth.
Truth be told, in the game, the only use for the ‘magic’ hammer is to pound in giant pegs which block your path. I guess they must be ‘magic’ pegs, which nobody can climb over. I can’t think of a good way to convert this to a tabletop gaming system, but there’s no reason to ignore the idea of a magic hammer. It’s a cool idea. Just use it to smash walls, or giant rocks, rather than pegs.
While the Ocarina would come to play a central role in the Nintendo 64 Zelda games, in A Link to the Past, it was a pretty minor item. After the player completed a relatively simple side quest, the flute could be used to summon a miraculously strong duck which could whisk Link to a number of set locations on the world map. While that, again, is pretty video-game-y, I think the idea of a musical instrument which summons animal companions has a lot of potential. Not only is it flavorful, but it has the potential to grow more useful over time. Lets say that the flute has a simple song inscribed on it, which will summon a horse for the character to ride. But if the character decides to invest more time in the instrument, he can discover other songs which summon other types of animals to come to his or her aide.
The hammer is an ostensibly magical item which turns out to be pretty mundane in function. The opposite is true of the bug catching net. Supposedly it’s just a mundane net, owned by a kid who likes to study insects. But clearly it’s quite a bit more than that, since it can be used to deflect balls of magical death fired at you from sorcerers.
No, seriously.
While I don’t see that being really useful in a tabletop game, one of its other uses in LttP was catching faeries. In the game these are used as an ‘extra life,’ but in a tabletop game their use could be more grounded. Perhaps faeries are required to cast a single spell for anyone who captures them? Could be a fun alternative to always telling your players that they need to find a wizard.
I’ve already written absofuckinglutely extensively about language, so I won’t return to that concept here. The Book of Mudora allows Link to read tablets written in ancient Hylian, which often causes a big effect. Since it apparently magically allows him to read a different language, what about a book which does that same thing? Either the book allows the wielder to read one specific language, or all languages. It functions by touching the book to a sample of writing which you would like to read, then opening the book. Whatever page you open to will have that same writing on it, but you will magically be able to read it.
While the Hookshot is definitely the most peculiar item to appear in A Link to the Past, I think The Cane of Somoria is probably the most interesting. At least in terms of its potential tabletop applications. Using the cane creates a block, very much like a standard stone block which might be found in numerous locations throughout the game. The block can be pushed around, or even picked up and thrown. Only one block can be created at a time, but if the cane is used while a block is already created, the block is destroyed, sending blasts of energy in four directions.
Now, a tabletop game is never going to be able to support puzzles the way a zelda game can. Putting blocks on top of buttons, or pushing blocks around so you can use them to climb, is simply not interesting in a tabletop game. But that doesn’t matter, because the ability to create a block out of nothing is both strange, and useful. Players could find a multitude of applications for it, even if you were to remove the ability to cause the block to explode. Though, regarding that, I think perhaps instead of beams of energy, the exploding block should simply send shrapnel 10ft in all directions.
The Cane of Byrna is, unfortunately, not as interesting as its red counterpart. At the cost of rapidly draining your magical energy, it makes you invulnerable to any kind of damage. I suppose the best way to adapt this for tabletop would be to make it usable only by casters. Upon using it, they become invulnerable to any kind of damage for 1 minute, at the cost of the top half of their remaining spellcasting ability for the day. As an example, if a Wizard has three 1st level spells and one 2nd level spell remaining for the day, they lose their second level spell, and one 1st level spell of the GM’s choosing.
If I had to give A Link to the Past one criticism, it would be that some of the items should have been more useful, and had less overlap. Functionally, the Magic Cape is identical to the Cane of Byrna. It drains magic extremely quickly, and in turn makes you invulnerable. The only difference is that it also makes you invisible, and allows you to pass through a certain kind of in-game hazard called a ‘bumper.’
Capes of invisibility, or capes which allow you to pass through walls, are hardly ideas foreign to fantasy adventure games. I have nothing of value to add.
The Magic Mirror was part of the game’s central mechanic. In order to work properly in a tabletop game, the entire campaign would need to be designed around it. (Or, at least, the entire adventure where the mirror was featured). Essentially, A Link to the Past had two similar world maps: the ‘Light World’ which was the game’s primary setting, and the ‘Dark World’ which had been corrupted by the villain. Many of the game’s puzzles involved strategically traveling between the two worlds, which the mirror allowed the player to do–though only in one direction, from the dark world to the light one.
I think it would be really fun to build an entire campaign around the concept. Have an alternate universe where everything is much worse. For example, in the game’s main world, a dragon is attempting to destroy the kingdom. The same is happening in the dark world, but on top of it, the king is a tyrant. The players could find a way to gain audience with the goodly king, then use the mirror in his throne room to change realms, and take the tyrant by surprise!
Again, tabletop games are not well suited to Zelda style puzzles. So you can’t have a ton of rooms in your dungeon where the players must use their shields to reflect a beam of light onto the right spot. However, in LttP, the mirror shield is largely used to deflect lasers, which got me thinking: what about a shield which can ‘bounce’ a spell back at the caster?
It couldn’t work 100% of the time, of course. The wielder would need to identify that a spell was being cast, and they’d need to get between the caster and the target for it to work. And perhaps the shield would only work 1-5 times per day. But it could be a very interesting magical item for a party to have. Fighting an evoker? No problem, bounce those fireballs right back. Doing battle with a necromancer? Bang, she just finger-of-death’d herself.
The Pegasus boots allow link to charge up, and dash quickly in a straight line, which is a little more interesting than boots which simply make you move more quickly. Perhaps these boots could double the effectiveness of a character’s charging maneuvers?
Note that the power glove (lol, obscure product placement?) doesn’t necessarily increase Link’s carrying capacity, only what he can lift. I find that much more interesting. Sure, with enough bags of holding, encumbrance stops being a problem for players. But they can still only lift so much weight. But with these amazing gloves, they could lift boulders equal to four times their weight! That would be pretty cool.
This post ended up going on for far longer than I intended, so I’ll wrap it up quickly here. I will note that there are a handful of items I skipped because I honestly can’t think of anything to say about them. I mean…the lantern? Whoop-de-doo. It’s a lantern. They cost 2 silver pieces and are part of most adventurer’s starting gear. But if you can come up with a neat way to adapt the lantern, or the jars, or the flippers, etc. to a tabletop game, leave it in the comments! Or if you’ve got a better idea of how to adapt one of the items listed above, leave that too!
EDIT: Oh, holy shit, this is my 200th post. Go me!
This is the third installment of my continuing series on the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide, written by Gary Gygax. This post begins with the section “Time” on page 37, and continues through Illusionist Spells on page 47.
Time What Gygax wrote here about time and how to keep track of it is fascinating and vital. So much so that I’ve already dedicated not one, but two posts to exploring it. I see no need to repeat myself here.
Day-to-Day Acquisition of Cleric Spells In D&D 3rd edition and Pathfinder, obtaining spells is a pretty straightforward procedure. Every morning the cleric prays for an hour, and all their spell slots are filled for the day. In 1st edition AD&D, as is often the case, there’s more to it than that. There is additional background, which seems to have been dropped from later editions because it complicates the game. And while there’s something to be said for cutting out unnecessary complications, I have been learning that many of Gygax’s original ‘fluff’ offers interesting adventure opportunities.
For a 1st edition cleric, only first and second level spells can be obtained through simple prayer. More advanced spells of third, fourth, and fifth level must be gained by beseeching one of your deity’s powerful servants each morning. To put it in terms I imagine many of my readers are familiar with, the cleric must communicate directly with an angel each morning in order to receive those spells. And for spells above fifth level, the cleric must communicate with their god directly. Not just once, but every morning.
The interesting thing about this is that if the cleric has acted against their god’s dictates within the last day, then they know they must face that god again the next morning when they ask for spells. And Gygax flat out says that for particularly serious transgressions, the cleric’s god may choose to simply obliterate the offending mortal.
Acquisition of Magic-User Spells Since I first learned that oldschool Magic Users learned their spells at random, I’ve been torn on the concept. On the one hand, I like selecting my spells carefully. It allows me to create effective strategies, and it meshes with my conception of wizards as magical scientists. On the other hand, I love randomization. Being given a random set of tools and needing to figure out a way to be effective with those tools is an intriguing challenge, and one I always enjoy. I look forward to playing some 1st edition once the WotC reprints come out, so I can make a more informed decision about which method of obtaining spells I prefer.
I have to say about this section, though, that Gygax seems a little overzealous about preventing players from obtaining spells too easily. I understand that easy access to spells can unbalance a game, by Gary literally says that if a player saves the life of an NPC who was already loyal to them (like a hirling) then that NPC will (at best) be willing to allow the PC to copy one spell from their spellbook in exchange for a spell and a minor magic item. The rules literally dictate that exchanges of spells should never be equitable for the player. This seems odd to me.
Spell Casting For those unaware, Dungeons & Dragons has always used something called Vancian Magic, named for Jack Vance, the author whose work the system was based upon. It’s also sometimes called “fire and forget,” because every morning a caster must memorize their spells, and once the spells are cast that memorization is wiped from their mind. In the editions of the game I’ve read, that’s about the extent of the information given. Here Gygax goes into greater detail. He explains that each spell is a combination of symbols and sounds which are charged with energy from one of the planes of existence. When combined into a certain formation, the energy of those planes is released in a limited fashion, causing a magical effect. Those symbols are then consumed by the magic which passes through them, not unlike a fire consumes fuel. Whether the symbols are on paper, or in the mind of a caster, they disappear.
Gygax writes nearly half a page on this topic, and recommends that for additional background, GMs read The Eyes of the Overworld, and The Dying Earth by Jack Vance. As well as The Face in the Frost by Bellair. Having not yet read these books myself, I cannot comment on them beyond Gygax’s recommendation.
Gygax also notes that while the words of a spell are typically used to bring the effect forth, and somatic (hand movement) components to the spell are used to “control and specify the direction, target, area, etc.” This brings to mind the interesting possibility of allowing casters to bring forth spells without somatic components–but in doing so they will have no control over how the effect manifests itself.
Spell Explanations Here begins a lengthy section where Gygax adds “DM’s Notes” for many of the spells present in AD&D. It doesn’t include spell descriptions, but most of the spells have self explanatory names, so I was able to follow along just fine. This section seems like a useful tool for the GM. It offers advice on how to adjudicate instances where players attempt to use spells in unusual ways which might end up being overpowered. For example, Gygax notes that casting the spell “light” upon one’s eyes does not grant a character “luminescent vision,” but rather blinds the character for the duration of the spell. Entries like this one make me wish GM notes for spells had been perpetuated through later editions of the game. It’s not only useful for determining how to handle a specific case, but it’s useful as a general guideline for how to handle players hoping to push the boundaries of what a spell can do.
On the other hand, I don’t see why “Blindness does not restore lost ocular organs” could not have been put in the spell description itself.
Aerial Servant I simply find this funny. Ever since I became interested in this hobby, I’ve heard from religious nutjobs that D&D teaches kids to cast “real spells,” and that players must learn incantations to the devil in order to succeed in the game. The notion is preposterous of course. Spell casting is normally handled simply by naming the spell and saying your character casts it. Players rarely have the spell’s description memorized, much less an incantation to go along with it.
None the less, the DMG says that players should be required to indicate which type of magic circle they’re using when they cast this spell. I laughed.
Favorite Quotes from this Section
“Once a cleric changes deities, he or she must thereafter be absolutely true to the new calling, or he or she will be snuffed out by some godlike means. It is 90% unlikely that the cleric’s first deity will accept him or her back into the fold after falling away, unless some special redemptive agency is involved. There is no salvation for a thrice-changed cleric; he or she is instantly killed.” -Gygax, DMG, page 39
“a hollow voice rings forth and commands: “GO FORTH FROM HERE AND RETURN NOT UNTIL YOU BRING CAPTIVE THE HIGH PRIEST OF OSIRIS AND ALL OF THE ALTAR SERVICE OF HIS TEMPLE AS SACRIFICES TO ME IN TOKEN OF THE SINCERITY OF YOUR TRUE REPENTANCE!” -Gygax, DMG, page 42
The second in my continuing series on the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide, written by Gary Gygax. This post begins with the section “Money” on page 25, and continues through Loyalty of Henchmen and Allied Creatures on page 37. You can see the first post in this series here.
Player Character Expenses Gary recommends that players be forced to spend a certain amount of gold each month on general upkeep. This covers all the numerous costs which are too painstaking to track during the game itself: the cost of meals, lodging, ale, minor tools, etc. This is something which actually exists in Pathfinder. You can find it under “Cost of Living,” on page 405 of the Core Rulebook. In many ways, I think the Pathfinder system is more elegant than Gary’s, but I’ve never heard of anyone actually using it. I’ve even failed to implement it myself. That’s something I need to improve on.
Reputed Magical Properties of Gems Every edition the game has some type of list which itemizes the various values of gems, but I love that Gygax devoted half of a page to explaining the type of magic each gem is related to. I can’t speak for the historical accuracy of the list, but gems and other precious stones have been said to have magical properties throughout history. Gygax specifically states that simply owning a stone does not grant any magical benefit. Rather, the purpose of the list is to give game masters a frame of reference they can draw from when creating magical items. If an NPC gives the party a magical stone to ward off a curse, then the GM can make the stone Topaz, whereas if a wizard wants to make a Ring of Guile, the GM can require them to hunt down some Serpentine.
Helmets A common argument in the tabletop community centers around helmets. Some think they should add to a player’s armor class, while others (including myself) argue that a helmet is part of whatever armor the player is already wearing. If anything, players should receive an AC penalty for not using a helmet! Gygax takes an interesting position on this issue: if no helmet is worn, then roll a d6 along with each attack roll. If a 1 is rolled (1-3 for intelligent creatures) then the head is attacked directly, and it only has AC 10.
Dexterity Armor Class Bonus I find it very interesting that the 1st edition AD&D rules say that a character wearing heavy armor does not lose their dexterity bonus to their Armor Class. The restrictions on players are generally more harsh in older editions than they are in newer ones. But perhaps I’m simply misunderstanding because I lack a proper background in how Armor Class worked during this era.
Hirelings There is a lot of emphasis placed on the search for hirelings, and bartering with them for their services. I find this idea intriguing. As a player, I imagine that once I’ve established a stronghold, I’ll try to recruit NPCs I meet during my adventures to come work for me. If I meet a city guard or blacksmith I like, I offer them a sum of money to come live in my stronghold, and spend their days guarding my treasure, or making my weapons. As a GM, I imagine each NPC added to the player’s stronghold as a possible adventure hook. Maybe the blacksmith has a gambling debt, and somebody will come to collect on it. Maybe the city guard is a deserter from a massive army which demands the players turn him over.
Sages I don’t recall when I first encountered the concept of sages–wise and elderly keepers of knowledge. But from the first time I heard about them, I was fascinated. There’s something romantic about the life of a scholar, and I’ve always enjoyed having my players encounter them. For a long time now, I’ve allowed players who fail a knowledge check by 10 or less to know of a sage who can answer their question. But I’ve always been interested to know more about the oldschool origins of these characters. And Gygax did not disappoint me. Very few topics have received three full pages worth of coverage in the DMG so far, so I’m quite happy! There’s a lot of information on how to randomly generate a sage’s fields of knowledge. And I particularly like the idea of hiring a sage, and having permanent access to their immense knowledge on a given topic.
How would you utilize a sage within your stronghold who knew everything there is to know about, let’s say, birds? It might seem useless, but I’ve found that “useless” resources can be a huge benefit, if you figure out how to use them properly. Perhaps this sage could advise you of a method to coax carrier birds to land in your citadel, and allow you to intercept messages from other kingdoms. Or maybe their knowledge could provide the fortress with a source of food during a long siege?
Henchmen I’ve never been at all satisfied with the way D&D 3.x/Pathfinder handle followers. The leadership feat has always struck me as clunky and difficult to use, so I’ve been surprised to learn how differently followers were handled in older editions of the game. Rather than being an obscure ability which only a few players will pursue, it seems as though Gygax expected every player to eventually acquire a few NPC hangers-on. The system for recruiting them is a great deal more advanced, detailed, and elegant than the one presented in Pathfinder. I particularly like the fact that a full page is devoted to calculating a creature’s loyalty. The extremely simple loyalty system described in the Leadership feat has never sat well with me.
The comparison between oldschool and modern methods of attracting followers is something I would like to go into in more detail, but it will require a full post to do so. I’ll hold off on that for now.
Favorite Quotes from this Section
“Such short-term employment cannot last beyond one week’s time, and the sage will thereafter not be available for at least one game month — as there are more important and constructive things to be done than answering foolish questions, anyway!” -Gygax, DMG, Page 33
“Thus, suppose a sage is asked a question out of any of his or her fields of knowledge. If the question is of general nature, the sage will hedge and talk around the point, or just possibly sit and look wise for 4-6 rounds before answering that the question is beyond his or her learning…” -Gygax, DMG, Page 33
I find a lot of pleasure in writing about books which I’ve read. Whether I’m excited about a module I’d like to run, or lambasting an author for being sexist, it’s a lot of fun for me. I believe it also serves a useful, or even essential, purpose. The written word is a medium through which an exchange of ideas takes place. If I simply read something without sharing my thoughts on what it, then all I’ve done is absorbed ideas. I may be a better person for it, but that’s not how an exchange works. It’s not until we discuss a book with others that we’re fully engaged with the ideas presented therein. That’s a large part of why I place such a high value on post comments. Expressing my thoughts is one thing, but it’s nothing really special until someone else connects with what I’ve expressed, and shares thoughts of their own.
Word of warning: majoring in philosophy may cause melodramatic outbursts about the value of ideas.
Problem is, some books have too many ideas in them for a single post to be sufficient. Gary Gygax’s original Dungeon Master’s Guide for Advanced Dungeons and Dragons is one such book. This is a seminal work, and arguably the most notable of Gary’s life. When Wired magazine set out to name the 9 books every geek must read, they listed this book first. I’ve never heard anyone speak ill of it. Proponents of every edition of the game revere it. Second, Third, and Fourth editions may all have had Dungeon Master’s Guides, but Gygax’s treatise is the Dungeon Master’s Guide. I obtained my copy about two months back, and have been impressed time and again with what I’ve read. I am repeatedly struck by the sense that subsequent editions of the game ‘missed the point.’ That the way I learned a concept while reading the 3.5 DMG was an inaccurate rephrasing of what Gygax originally put down here.
As I embark on my first read-through of the Dungeon Master’s Guide, I am taking copious notes, and will be posting my thoughts regularly. This will not be a continuous series, because we just finished one of those, and also because I’m a slow reader. Nor will it be a comprehensive series. I’ll be writing with an eye towards ideas which interest me personally. Such as mechanics which might be useful to me in my own games, or concepts which I find particularly innovative or odd.
This first post covers up to ‘Changing Alignment’ on page 25.
Dice: There is nearly a full page worth of information on probability curves and different ways of producing random outcomes. This is essential information which every GM should be aware of. I had a poor mathematics education, and when I finally learned about this stuff whilst reading blogs and other articles on the Internet, I felt upset that I hadn’t fully understood the implications of different types of dice rolling. When I found out that this information was actually included in the original DMG, that made me upset all over again. Why wasn’t this included in the third edition DMG, or in Pathfinder’s core rulebook? What other information was deemed more important than this?
Characteristics for Player Characters: I’ve always allowed my players to select their height and weight themselves, because I regarded it as role playing information. Half the time the field remains blank, and I’ve always been fine with that. Gygax’s insistence that height and weight be randomly generated have gotten me thinking, though. If I know the party’s weights, then I could set weight limits for pressure plates. If I know their heights, I could tell them where the spinning blade 3ft off the floor hits them. I’m not quite ready to add two additional rolls to the character creation process in my games, but it’s something to think about.
Player Character Non-Professional Skills The secondary skills system has always struck me as elegant. It has its limitations and its failings, but I like the idea of deriving a host of character abilities from that character’s profession. I’ve already discussed this somewhat in my skills overview entry for the profession skill.
Starting Level of Experience for Player Characters Whenever I have new players, I try to make sure there’s at least one experienced player at the table. I’ve found that the experienced player’s example helps the newer players connect with how the game works. Gygax makes the exact opposite recommendation. He goes so far as to say that if you have both new and experienced players, that a GM should place them in separate parties, to allow the neophyte players the opportunity to explore on their own. I wonder if this is a viable choice in a Pathfinder game, where players are much less likely to enjoy having their characters killed shortly after beginning play. None the less, I think I may try this with my next group of newbies.
Unnatural Aging I very much like the idea of spells which advance a character’s age. Many of Pathfinder’s most powerful spells sometimes feel as though they lack impact, because casting them comes with no great cost. In D&D 3.5, many of these spells required a character to sacrifice a large amount of experience points in order to cast them, which I never liked. It lacks a sufficient game world explanation. It’s just a meta game mechanic which unsuccessfully attempts to reign in the power of casters. Magical aging, on the other hand, is well rooted in the fantasy genre. I like the idea that a character is so drained by Altering Reality that they lose three years from their life. And it does reign in a caster’s power significantly: each casting of the spell brings them ever closer to their character’s death from old age.
Disease A few days before I picked up the DMG to begin this project, one of my players asked my why disease did not play a role in the game. “Rabies is a serious threat, and any minor animal could be a carrier for it,” he said. I told him that disease was not a larger part of the game because it wouldn’t be fun: there’s no meaningful way for a player to avoid disease, nor any meaningful way for them to combat it. At best, I said, it would be a way for the GM to tax the players resources by forcing them to heal themselves occasionally, even if they’d taken no damage. When I said it, I felt very Gygaxian. My position on the matter meshed with what I knew of Gygax.
But apparently not, because every month Gygax writes that players have a base 2% chance to contract a disease, and a 3% chance to contract a parasite, with both probabilities being modified by relevant environmental factors. I do not understand how this could be fun for the players. I’d be very curious to hear from anyone who has actually played a game with this rule in effect.
The Paladin’s Warhorse In World of Warcraft, both the paladin and warlock classes have special “class mounts.” These days the ability to summon these steeds is gained automatically upon leveling, but when I first started to play the game years ago, there were lengthy and difficult questlines which had to be completed in order to obtain these mounts. I found the quests to be a great deal of fun, which made me appreciate my mount a lot more once I had it, and I have often regretted the fact that these quests are no longer part of the game.
Apparently the same is true of Dungeons and Dragons. As long as I’ve played the game, the paladin’s Warhorse has simply been a celestial creature which the paladin summons upon reaching a certain level. However, according to Gygax, this summoning spell only gives the paladin the ability to see his or her future companion in whatever local it is currently in. The Paladin must then travel there, and bond with the mount in person. And who knows what quests will be required along the way! This sounds a great deal more fun than the way it is done in Pathfinder, and I fully intend to use this from now on.
Thieves and Assassins Setting Traps Something I noticed in my preliminary page-flipping is that Gygax occasionally asked his players to produce sketches demonstrating their technique in accomplishing certain tasks. Here, he dictates that anytime a character wishes to set a trap, they should be required to produce a simple drawing illustrating how the trap functions. As a frequent player of rogues, I find this idea to be positively brilliant. I’ve often sketched simple trap designs just for the fun of it. I honestly think I would use traps more if I was actually required to provide a physical diagram of how it would work.
My only concern is that some players might be intimidated by the need to actually diagram their traps. My understanding of mechanics is rudimentary enough that I would let something work if it makes even a small amount of sense, but I can still imagine that some players would find the prospect daunting.
Lycanthropy Firstly, Gary and I are very much in conflict about what should cause a paladin to fall. Here it’s written that a paladin should fall if they are infected by a werewolf, because the second personality (the chaotic evil werewolf) causes the paladin to no longer be “pure enough for that honored state.” I’ve written at length about how a GM should handle a paladin’s oath and the possibility of a paladin falling, and I stand by those views.
Secondly, I like the approach Gygax takes to allowing players to gain control of their lycantrhopy–though I dislike his ultimate view of what lycanthropy represents. According to the DMG, a character with lycanthropy must live with the condition for many years before they’re able to control the transformation. And even once they can, it takes years longer to perfect their control. However, as far as I can tell, being a were-something never becomes beneficial to the player. In many ways I am a product of modern fantasy storytelling, I view lycanthropy less as a curse, and more as a superpower.
What I think I would like to do in my games is run the first stage of lycanthropy much as Gygax recommends. Players will be out of control when they transform, and probably won’t even be aware that they undergo the transformation for several months. In their alternate form, they will act as a beast, according to their alignment. However, as years go by, they could begin to control it. Perhaps after 6 months or a year they could control when they transform. And after a year or two, they could be in full control of themselves while in the alternate form. That way, both visions of lycanthropy are given some purchase within the fantasy world. On the one hand, it is a curse which will cause players to suffer a great deal for a very long time, and they will probably want to get it removed. However, if they choose to stick it out, it can eventually reap significant rewards.
Alignment The 9-point alignment system found in D&D can often feel clunky. Shoehorning every philosophical outlook into one of these nine categories feels forced, and to his credit Gygax admits that. In his explanation of the alignment system, Gygax phrases things in a way which I’ve never heard in all of my years of gaming. One which makes a lot of sense, almost to the point of being stupidly obvious: the alignment system helps determine who you are most likely to align yourself with.
This is not to say that groups of similarly aligned creatures cannot be opposed or even mortal enemies. Two nations, for example, with rulers of lawful good alignment can be at war. Bands of orcs can hate each other. But the former would possibly cease their war to oppose a massive invasion of orcs, just as the latter would make common cause against the lawful good men.
Alignment Language I’ve long been aware that early editions included languages specific to each of the alignments. In addition to common, a human paladin would speak “Lawful Good.” I always thought this sounded like an absolutely ridiculous idea. And while the book doesn’t entirely sell me on the concept, it does mention a number of points which have given me cause to reconsider my previous distaste for the idea.
Alignment languages are not full languages. Their vocabularies are extremely limited.
Think of alignment languages like Latin–which is a dead language that was none the less used for centuries as the universal tongue of the catholic church.
Speaking in an alignment tongue is considered remarkably rude when not alone with members of like alignment.
Changing Alignment Gygax writes that any change in a character’s alignment should result in the loss of 1 level of experience. I can’t find any justification for this, it seems very strange to me.
Favorite Quotes from this Section
“As this book is the exclusive precinct of the DM, you must view any non-DM player possessing it as something less than worthy of an honorable death.” -Gygax, DMG, Page 8
“Of the two approaches to hobby games today, one is best defined as the realism-simulation school and the other as the game school. AD&D is assuredly an adherent of the latter school. It does not stress any realism (in the author’s opinion an absurd effort at best considering the topic!). It does little to attempt to simulate anything either.Advanced Dungeons and Dragons is first and foremost a game for the fun and enjoyment of those who seek to use imagination and creativity.” -Gygax, DMG, Page 9
“An example of the use of wisdom can be given by noting that while the intelligent character will know that smoking is harmful to him, he may well lack the wisdom to stop (this writer may well fall into this category).” -Gygax, DMG, Page 15
“[Regarding Hide in Shadows] As is plainly stated in Players Handbook, this is NEVER possible under direct (or even indirect) observation. If the thief insists on trying, allow the attempt and throw dice, but don’t bother to read them, as the fool is as obvious as a coal pile in a ballroom.” -Gygax, DMG, Page 19
After 100+ posts, it’s a little hard to remember what I’ve revealed about myself and what I haven’t. So I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but I majored in philosophy in college. Cue all the “blah blah, useless degree, blah blah, enjoy delivering pizzas” nonsense. During my study of philosophy, I often tried to suss out what precisely philosophers do. Which isn’t to say I didn’t know, insofar as an undergrad ever knows anything about their field. But I didn’t have a definition on hand, no sentence-or-two which summed up the task which I was planning to dedicate my life to. I did have a joke answer; “We take things which are simple, make them sound complicated, then con universities into giving us tenure for it.” I’ve found that most people in “useless” majors come up with jokes like that as a means of fending off dickheads who like to question the life decisions of people they don’t know.
I don’t know that the answer I eventually came to would be satisfactory to other philosophers–if I can even call myself that, being a dropout. To me, philosophy is the application logic as a means of attempting to learn the rules of, and to define, that which is considered undefinable, and beyond logical governance. (Kinda recursive if you think about it). Such illogical, undefinable things might include ethics, the fundamental answer to ‘why,’ or even conceptualizations of divinity. And thus do we come to tonight’s subject matter.
Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the study of philosophy as a primary pursuit in my life. But that desire to define is still strong for me. So what if I’ve given up the quest to define the concept of divinity? I’m an atheist anyway! And it’s way more fun to codify divinity within Pathfinder. I actually started this project many years ago. Shortly after I got the D&D 3.0 supplement “Deities and Demigods,” I became fascinated with the concept of “divine ranks.” I can’t imagine myself letting my players be gods, even demigods. I doubt I would ever encourage them to fight a god, either. But I still like the idea of codifying what gods are and how much power they have. If, for no other reason, than because it places limits on what gods can do for their followers. So after a friend on Twitter reminded me that I had started this project years ago, it occurred to me that finishing it would make an excellent post!
Logos The only truly almighty being, Logos is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. The power of the Logos is so far beyond understanding that even the mightiest of gods are powerless before it. However, Logos is also non-sentient. It is a vague force which controls the universe according to a logic which no one can possibly comprehend. Perhaps the simplest way to explain Logos is that if the laws of thermodynamics, motion, and conservation of mass are the laws of physics, then Logos is the laws of metaphysics. It is said that the multiverse itself is the mind of logos, and that every event, every insect, every human, dwarf, elf, or god, are all simply the machinations of the Logos’ mind. But this is widely viewed as conjecture.
Knowledge of Logos is reserved largely for those powerful enough to see its subtle workings, which leaves very few besides the gods themselves. Only once has a mortal creature learned anything of Logos. A wizard, whose name and race have long been lost, once learned a single word in the ineffable language of the Logos. The wizard spoke the word, and was so completely obliterated that his soul ceased to exist, and even those who had known him forgot him completely. And through his erasure, the Illumian people were created.
Divine Power Deific power is gauged by “Divine Ranks.” These ranks define a deities power in a manner similar to a character’s levels, but are functionally quite different. It is a closely guarded secret of the gods that their power is drawn from their mortal worshipers. The greater the number of worshipers, and the greater the power of those worshipers, the greater the god’s own power will be. And while the numbers of mortals are ever-growing, adding more and more potential power for the deities to absorb, the pool of available power between all of the gods is functionally finite. Often, in order for one god to increase their divine rank, another god must lose their own. One might think that a god could simply create more and more worlds, and fill them with worshipers. And, indeed, a god called Hewavaj’Hove did precisely that once. For one brief moment He reigned supreme amongst the gods. Then he was completely obliterated in a fashion which the other gods describe as “painful in a way only a god could experience.” The gods have determined that it is Logos who destroyed their momentary overlord, but have not yet determined which crime was deemed worthy of such a horrible execution.
All gods of divine rank 1 or higher have the following abilities and attributes, both in their primary form, and when represented through avatars:
Has access to all clerical spells which would normally be available to that deities’ alignment/domains as at-will powers.
Can control weather, landscape, and other physical phenomena within 100 miles of current location for each divine rank. (10 miles/divine rank when represented through an avatar.)
Ability to appear in whatever form the deity desires, or to create avatars in whatever form desired.
Immortal.
Unable to be harmed, save by items which are extremely powerful. Save for a god’s own weapons, anything which could harm a god is likely unique to the god, and a carefully guarded secret.
A deity is completely immune to any form of Transmutation, Energy Drain, Ability Drain, Ability Damage, or Mind-Affecting Effect.
A deity may, at any time, be aware of everything (including thoughts) which exists within 1 mile of any of its worshipers, holy sites, or other objects or locations sacred to that deity. A deity may also attempt to block the senses of another deity within this range. More information on deity conflict below.
Any deity may create a demi-plane. These planes are typically rather small, and can serve as private retreats for the deity.
A deity may travel the multiverse as easily as a mortal might walk to the shop down the street.
Any additional power is determined by the divine rank of the god in question.
The divine ranks, as presented here, are infinitely scalable. Each element progresses in a predictable pattern (A deity gains a minor portfolio every rank, gains a domain every two ranks, and so forth.) For my purposes, a maximum divine rank of 10 is plenty.
Divine Details On the chart above I list five types of powers which progressively grow more powerful as a deity gains divine rank. Domains, Major & Minor Portfolios, Absolute Portfolios, and Avatars.
Domains Any D&D or Pathfinder player should already be aware of what a Domain is, and how it works. When a cleric selects their deity, they choose two of that deity’s domains. These domains represent core values, and sources of power for the deity and their followers. Depending on which domains are chosen, clerics gain access to different spells, and may focus on different aspects of their deity’s teachings. Note that deities below rank two have no domains. This is because they do not yet have sufficient divine rank to grant spells to their followers. They may still have clerics devoted to them, but these clerics draw their power from other sources.
Major & Minor Portfolios A deity’s portfolio is what they are the god “of.” For example, my favorite god, Vecna, might have in his portfolio; Knowledge, Secrets, Magic, and Undeath. Any special powers Vecna has would be derived from these portfolios, and he would certainly have a certain amount of control over items in his portfolio. The difference between Major & Minor portfolios is one of scope, rather than power. (In fact, perhaps “Narrow & Broad” would be better, but we’ll stick with what I have in the image above for now).
A major portfolio is something broad. For example, “Magic,” “Insects,” or “Knowledge.” Whilst a minor portfolio is something more specific, like “Transmutation,” “Beetles,” or “Secrets.” The line which separates major and minor portfolio items can be vague. However, without listing ever possible portfolio item, it must be left to good judgement to determine whether a portfolio item is major, or minor.
Major and minor portfolios may conflict with each other, if the minor portfolio fits within the major portfolio. For example, if a god of magic attempts to exercise their power over transmutation spells, a god of transmutation spells may resist the god of magic with a +2 bonus to their deity check. Likewise, if the god of magic is attempting to affect a conjuration spell, the god of transmutation may still attempt to resist the will of the god of magic, but takes a -4 penalty on their deity check. More information on deity checks is below.
Absolute Portfolio Drawn from the same lists as minor portfolios, an absolute portfolio is a realm over which a deity is considered to have absolute dominion. A deity with secrets in its Absolute Portfolio may have greater control over that realm than a deity who has secrets as a minor portfolio. For example, while a “Secrets: Minor” god may be able to learn any secret which they desire, a “Secrets: Absolute” god might already know every secret, even to the point of learning of new secrets as they are created.
Minor and Major portfolios may still conflict with Absolute portfolios. However, an Absolute portfolio is treated as having a +20 to its deity check, along with any bonuses or penalties a minor portfolio would receive in a given situation, as described above. If, perchance, two Absolute portfolios ever come into conflict, then the loser of the check has their Absolute portfolio permanently transformed into a minor portfolio. A “Supreme” portfolio may exist, which would be similar to an Absolute portfolio, but would apply to Major portfolios rather than minor ones. However, this is a level of power which I don’t want within my games.
Avatars Being within the presence of a god, even a minor one, would be enough to drive lesser mortals mad. Besides–gods do not leave their realms lightly. To remedy these problems, gods may create an avatar. Avatars are small fragments of a god, which operate completely independently. Given the tremendous willpower of a god, they may give their full attention to all of their avatars simultaneously, without suffering from any distraction or deterioration of abilities. In this way, gods may be in two or more places at once.
Special Aside from the powers listed on the chart above, which grow more powerful as a god gains more and more divine ranks, there are a number of powers which gods attain as they rise through the ranks. Once a power is attained, the god retains the ability to use this power for as long as they remain at or above the divine rank at which the power is acquired. These powers do not become greater as deity gains more divine ranks.
Any deity of Divine Rank 2 or greater can create any type of creature they desire, but these creatures cannot breed, or be replicated in any quantity sufficient to begin a new species. Such creatures are sustained by the deity, and will be destroyed if the deity loses their divine ranking.
Any deity of Divine Rank 4 or greater can create new species of animals, or other unintelligent creatures. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
Any deity of Divine Rank 6 or greater can create any type of new creature species they desire. These creatures will continue to exist even if the deity is destroyed.
Any deity of Divine Rank 8 or greater can create new worlds, or layers to an existing plane.
Any deity of Divine Rank 10 or greater may create new major planes.
Divine Conflict When deities engage in a battle for divine control, a deity check is used to determine the outcome. This is a very simple check: 1D20 + Divine Rank. Note that a deity check is not used any time deities combat one another, but only when two deities attempt to use their same divine powers affect the same thing in different ways. If, for example, one deity wanted it to rain on the city of Niston, and one wanted the city of Niston to enjoy a bright sunny day, the two deities would make a deity check to determine what kind of weather Niston will see that day.
Divine Rank 0 Divine Rank 0 is special. A new deity typically starts at Divine Rank 1, as a demi-god. Rank 0 is reserved for those gods who have failed to retain enough followers to maintain their divinity. A god at 0 has been forgotten. Perhaps their followers were slaughtered, perhaps the god was simply lazy and did not bother to answer any prayers. A few faithful may remain, but even mortals are sometimes worshiped by a paltry few thousand. That does not make them gods.
An entity at divine rank 0 is in danger of losing their place among the gods forever. They are reduced To but a handful of divine abilities. They cannot be harmed, maintain their immunities, can travel the multiverse, and are able to cast divine spells matching their alignment as a 20th level cleric would. The entity is given one thousand years to regain enough followers to become a Demi-God. If they fail to complete this task, the entity fades away forever.
What precisely happens to these forgotten gods is not known. Given that they are forgotten, documentation on their activities is understandably lacking. A few gods claim that their most powerful angels were once forgotten gods. Some adventurers have discovered intelligent items which have claimed to be the remnants of a forgotten god. And then, of course, there is the rare individual who shouts at his fellow tavern patrons “I was a god once, you know!”
Of course, this might simply be cases of bragging gods, self-important intelligent items, and crazy drunks. There is no way to be certain.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this in the past, but I’m a huge fan of oldschool Final Fantasy games. Any numbered games X or prior are great, but IV, VI, VII, and VIII are my favorites by far. Amusingly, I’ve never really had a taste for western RPGs of the video game variety, such as the Elder Scrolls series, or Mass Effect games. They much more closely emulate my one true love–tabletop games–but I think there’s a sort of “uncanny valley” effect for me. I like linear games, and I like games with true tactical infinity, but games which emulate tactical infinity without actually giving me infinite options can just be frustrating.
I think it was on my second or third play-through of Final Fantasy IV when I had this idea. There’s a point, about halfway through the game, after you steal the airship from the evil city-state of Baron. The heroes must fly into a giant crater which connects the surface world to the vast underground realm of the dwarves. Almost immediately you find yourself in the middle of a pitched battle between the Baronian airship navy, and the land-based dwarven tanks.
The tanks make a few more appearances throughout the game, and the idea intrigued me. I am apparently not alone in this, because both the Warcraft and Warhammer franchises employ dwarves with tanks. Perhaps it’s because the race themselves–short, squat, and unimaginably tough–fundamentally resemble tanks. Whatever the reason, I decided that dwarven tanks would make a great addition to my D&D games. However, I’m not a huge fan of including technology in fantasy games. It can be a fun twist for a setting, but as a general rule I like the most advanced technology in my games to be a crossbow. So the challenge was to create a dwarven tank which didn’t rely on technology, but also did not rely on an excessive use of magic, since dwarves would probably find distasteful. This is what I came up with. Lali-ho!
The Dwarven Tank
The main body of the dwarven tank resembles a boxy steel shell, longer than it is wide. Along the bottom edge of the shell are small steel sheets, attached to the shell by hinges. When the metal sheets are raised, one can see that there are four large iron wheels supporting the shell, and that it otherwise has no bottom to it. On top of the shell, in the center of its surface area, is a large flat disc, and from that disc protrudes a long cylindrical barrel, 7ft long. On both ends of the long shell are small protrusions, the purpose of which is not readily apparent.
As large as the dwarven tank may seem from the outside, within things are positively cramped. Each tank employs crew of 11 of the strongest dwarves available. Six dwarves serve as “movers,” two dwarves serve as backup movers, one dwarf serves as spotter, one as driver, and one as hammermaster. Since the tank has no bottom, all eleven dwarves must walk in unison with the tank’s movements, which is surprisingly difficult for a large number of dwarves to do within such a cramped space.
The six movers are divided three to each side, where they take hold of sturdy bars mounted into the inner-walls of the steel shell. Their task is simple: push in unison, either forward or backward, according to the instructions of the driver. The six movers are rotated in shifts with the two backup movers, to ensure that no dwarf ever spends too long at the strenuous task of moving the behemoth dwarven tank.
The two protrusions at either end of the tank are periscopes, which are used by the spotter to give instructions both to the driver, and to the hammermaster. The tank completely lacks windows , or openings of any sort save the flaps at the bottom of the tank, so without the spotter and his periscopes, the dwarven tank crew would be blind. The driver stands at one end of the tank, where a number of controls are mounted. A wheel for steering, various pulleys to raise the metal flaps to help the tank move over obstacles.
The hammermaster mans the gun, or the “Shock-Put” as the dwarves call it. He uses a pair of heavy cranks to adjust the vertical angle from 0 to 80 degrees, and the horizontal angle up to 180 degrees. These cranks are adjusted according to instructions from the spotter. Once the gun is aimed correctly, the two movers currently off-duty take one of the “shock rocks” from the large bin on the opposite end of the tank from the driver. The shock rock is then loaded into the bottom of the shock put, which is then sealed.
The seal of the shock-put holds the shock rock in place while the hammermaster prepares his swing. When the crew is ready to fire, the hammermaster takes up a large two-handed warhammer, and strikes the the bottom of the shock-put, where a piston is mounted. The piston has a special permanent explosive rune enchanted on the inside, which strikes the shock-rock with all the force the hammermaster can transfer into it. The resulting explosion, which varies in strength based on the force with which piston is struck, sends the shock-rock careening out of the shock put at fantastic speeds, often flying as far as five or seven hundred feet when struck by a skilled hammermaster.
Most dwarven tank groups also carry a small supply of explosive shock rocks, which are themselves covered in explosive runes. These projectiles cause significantly more damage, but are difficult to create, and thus not used as frequently.
It is said that once, long ago, a great dwarven king built a mithril tank which, due to its relatively light frame, could move twice as fast as most dwarven tanks. However, due to the rarity of mithril, this tale is often dismissed as a fabrication.
Hero points, alternatively known as action points, have been a part of tabletop role playing games since days of yore. They’re a quirky and polarizing concept, often lurking around the edge of a game system’s rules. A hero point mechanic for any given game is either a very commonly used house rule, or it’s an optional rule presented in an officially published supplement. There are those games which use them as standard rules (D&D 4th Edition comes to mind), but in my experience those games are in the minority.
For those who are unfamiliar, a game which employs such a mechanic allows characters to gain hero points through [insert method here]. Once acquired, one of these points can be spent to bend the game’s rules. A missed attack can be re-rolled, a difficult task can be simplified, or a player who has exhausted a special ability can sneak in an additional use. Pathfinder’s “Advanced Player’s Guide” offers such a system as an optional rule, with points being gained any number of ways. From leveling up, to completing a plot arc, to performing a heroic act.
My biggest problem with hero point systems is that they are, by definition, a meta-game mechanic. The core of role playing games is establishing characters which act within an internally consistent world. It seems odd, then, that we would intentionally break the wall between the game world and the real world by introducing a mechanic which muddles the internal consistency of a world. After all, only player characters get hero points in most systems. Ergo, once hero points are an option, the PCs are no longer simple characters within the game world. They are, rather, avatars of otherworldly beings (the players) which grants them special abilities. Pathfinder is particularly bad in this area, and goes so far as to provide feats, spells, and magic items which interact with hero points. So not only do you gain access to a completely unique ability merely on the basis of being a player character, you can even build your character around this uniqueness which separates you from rest of the world.
Another reason which I don’t like hero points is the way in which they mitigate danger. By allowing players to re-roll when the result is poor, we give them a much higher probability of avoiding pivotal failures. While this may not sound like the worst thing ever, it creates three undesirable situations. First and foremost in my mind is that avoiding pivotal failures often means avoiding interesting failures. In a standard game, the cleric fails his jump over the pit of spikes. He falls 40 feet, takes his damage, but survives. However, his legs have been impaled by the spikes, and the other players must find a way to rescue him from bleeding to death at the bottom of a pit. Or, the wizard uses an action point and the game continues on without incident. Which story will the players be talking about after the adventure is over?
Second, avoiding pivotal failures makes the whole world around the character much less dangerous. Part of the thrill of stealing from a dragon’s horde is knowing that the dragon could wake up at any moment. If you know you’ve got a hero point in the wings ready to save you from a bad stealth roll, then the adventure’s edge is dulled. And that leads right into problem three: compensation. Any time players become more powerful, the GM gives them greater challenges. I’ve used that argument to defend giving PCs more power on numerous occasions, but with hero points I think the argument works in reverse. Giving a character a powerful magic weapon is fun for that character, and enhances gameplay. It’s worth beefing up the adventure for that. But given all of the ways in which hero points detract from gameplay, why give them to players when the end result is just a game which requires player’s to use Hero Points to survive?
Bearing all of that in mind, there is at least one thing about hero points which I find appealing. Hero points have the potential to be used as a kind of “Last ditch, adrenalin pumping, now-or-never” means by which players can attempt to pull a win out of an almost certainly deadly situation. I had such a situation in a game not too long ago. My players weren’t quite up to defeating the Corpse Sewn Hekatonkheires which ambushed them. The sorcerer was dead at -15 hp, and the Dawnblade (homebrew fighter/cleric class) was desperately attempting to hold the beast at bay while looking for a means to escape. After some arbitration between us, I allowed him to use his healing wand & make a standard attack (albeit at a -8 penalty)on the same turn, which would normally not be allowed. The attempt failed, and the Dawnblade was felled by the beast, but I decided then that I wanted my players to have some kind of option to better facilitate that kind of cornered-animal effort.
Hero points were the obvious choice, but I’ve always been turned off by them for aforementioned reasons. It wasn’t until last night when I was looking at the Star Wars Roleplaying Game rulebook that I struck upon an idea. West End Games’ Star Wars is one of the few games I’ve encountered where hero points are a central mechanic. It’s also the only system I’ve ever encountered where hero points actually make complete sense, and avoid being a meta game mechanic. But that’s a different post.
In the Star Wars RPG, ‘character points’ are primarily used as action points. Characters acquire a handful of them at the end of an adventure based on how awesome they were. A character might only receive 1 if all they did was make it through the adventure, but could receive 5 if they made it through the adventure by wrestling a shark into submission then throwing the shark at a stormtrooper. Aside from simply being used to add an extra die to a roll, though, character points can be used for character improvement. Since the game has no classes or levels, improving the skills by spending large amounts of character points is the only way for a character to permanently become more formidable. Essentially, Star Wars’ version of hero points also functions as that system’s experience points.
So what if I just switched it around?
Since I use the Pathfinder Simple XP System (and loving it, by the way), I’m already dealing with small, manageable numbers. All I need do is allow players to spend 1 experience point to gain the benefits of spending an action point. Here’s what that rule might look like:
Pathfinder House Rule: Using Simple XP as Hero Points
By pushing themselves the the limit, characters can sometimes perform feats beyond the normal scope of their abilities. At will, as a free action, a character may sacrifice 1 experience point (so long as this does not reduce the character’s level) to perform any one of the following actions:
Act Out of Turn: An experience point can be spent to take your turn immediately, permanently moving your place in the initiative order to whenever this action was taken.
Bonus: Prior to making any roll, an experience point can be spent to grant a +8 bonus to that roll. This ability cannot be used at all after the roll is made. Multiple experience points can be spent, and their effects stack.
Extra Action: During your turn, an experience point may be spent to grant you an additional standard action. This can only be done once per turn.
Recall: An experience point may be spent to use an ability which you have access to, but which has already been used up for the day, or was not prepared. This includes casting spells after the daily spell allotment is cast, using special abilities after their daily limits are used up, or casting a spell from a spellbook which was not memorized for that day. Bear in mind that if a wizard wishes to cast a spell he or she has not memorized, and they are out of spell slots for the appropriate level, two experience points must be spent.
Special: You can petition your GM to allow you to spend an experience point to perform a number of abilities. GMs should use the options presented here as a guide for how to balance this ability. Also, bear in mind, that an experience point can never be spent to re-roll a die.
On paper, this system looks like it fixes a lot of problems. It’s still something of a meta-game mechanic, as the connection between performing a spectacular action and losing experience is tenuous. But NPCs can also use the system, which removes the problem of the player characters being a class apart from the rest of the world. In theory, it also obliterates the danger problem. Hero points exist for the sole purpose of being used to perform great deeds, so that’s what players will use them for. XP, though, is far more precious. Players will not spend it lightly, because doing so will prevent them from leveling. Any player which did overuse this system would quickly be left in the dust as the rest of the party leveled higher and higher whilst the problem character remained low level.
Perhaps my favorite thing about this variation on hero points is the simplicity. By integrating it with the XP system, players won’t need to find a place for yet another number on their already cluttered character sheets. The GM won’t need to keep track of when to award hero points, because he or she is already keeping track of when to award XP. Aside from the “no re-rolls” stipulation, there’s not even any additional rules to memorize. The players regulate the system themselves, because they don’t want to lose experience.
I’ll be implementing this in my games for now. I hope it’s as effective as it looks!
It may be seen as a black mark in the tabletop gaming community, but I spent several years as an avid World of Warcraft player. For all its flaws, the game is damned good at being what it is. My favorite game activity was Instancing, or dungeon-delving to use the tabletop terminology. My favorite dungeon in the entire game, bar none, is Scholomance (Naxxramas being a close second). Before the numerous nerfs it has gone through over the years, it had everything I love. The grim undead motif, the unique challenges presented by each room, the numerous bosses, involving quest lines, and compelling lore all combined to make Scholo perfect for me. I’ve probably logged more hours inside Scholomance than I have in any other five instances combined.
So much do I love Scholomance, that a couple years back I sketched down the map, wrote up some quick stats for the various monsters and enemies found within its halls, and ran it as a D&D dungeon. The short session was a blast, and ever since then I’ve been determined to put more detail into the dungeon so that it can serve as the centerpiece for a truly challenging adventure. The project is a large one, though, so I’ve broken this post into 3 parts which will be put up over the next few weeks. Part 1, which you’re reading now, will include the maps, and room descriptions. Part 2 will cover monsters, enemies, bosses, and treasure found withing Scholomance. Part 3 will cover role playing details, as well as several of the quests which can be done in Scholomance.
As a disclaimer before I move on to the content of the post, not everything is precisely as it can be found in World of Warcraft. Scholo has changed a lot over the years, and here I’ve combined my favorite elements from all of Scholo’s long history. Additionally, since [Tape of Measuring] never drops for me, some of the rooms may be scaled incorrectly. I’m confident, however, that this does not adversely affect dungeon design whatsoever. Finally, I have not included Caer Darrow island, or the mansion which leads into scholomance. If I do include them, they will likely be altered to fit into my game world, and be found in part 3.
Without further ado:
Scholomance B1-1
B1-1 A: The descending stairs are made of dark stone, lit only by torchlight. Dusty skulls and rib cages are strewn sparsely on the landing. Rats and other vermin occasionally scuttle in and out of view.
B1-1 B: The stone stairway gives way to a wooden platform edged by deteriorating railings. The room extends ten feet beyond the platform, and the walls are densely packed with burial drawers, many of which appear to have been forced open. Elaborate candelabras, and skull-laden chandeliers light the room, and an iron gate across from the entrance leads into the next. Four armored skeletons guard the way forward.
GM’S Note: If the players look over the edge of the railing, they will be looking into room B2-1 E
B1-1 C: This is a balcony looking over a large room below. (GM’s Note: Room B2-1 A) A stairway on either side of the balcony leads down into the room below.
Scholomance B2-1
B2-1 A:Five large chandeliers and numerous candles light this massive library. Book shelves of varying sizes are spaced along lower walls, while stone shelves containing mummified remains dominate any wall space too high to be reached. Under the stairs in the south of the room is an alcove with a balcony looking over another room below. (GM’s Note: Room B2-1 E) Necromancers and undead gather around tables, or in the large open space in the center of the room, discussing hells-knows what. A succubus wanders amongst them, as if overseeing their conversations.
B2-1 B: More bookshelves boarder his low-ceilinged room. Six small pits in the stone floor are filled with the remains of numerous dead creatures. Around the pits stand small groups of necromancers–a teacher and one or two students. Two armored skeletons and a drider patrol the room.
B2-1 C: Stairs lead down to a small wooden platform which opens onto a small balcony extending from the cliff face. The balcony overlooks the lake below. A large iron bowl rests on the balcony’s edge, without any obvious purpose.
GM’S Note: Pouring the blood of an innocent into this bowl summons Kirtonos the Herald, a powerful vampire.
B2-1 D: The walls of this massive room are covered in stone shelves, many of which still contain mumified remains. Others have been converted into storage for books, potions, scrolls, or candles. Various bookshelves have also been set up around the room. On the north side of the room, two alcoves end in balconies which look over another room. (GM’s Note: Room B2-1 E) Here, again, groups of young necromancers converse with each other, and with their undead tutors. A skeleton the size of a hill giant patrols this room, along with three skeletons in more ornate armor than those in previous rooms, and a drider.
GM’s Note: The southern door is covered behind a tapestry. When the players walk past it, a number of rats should scamper out from behind the tapestry. Perception DC 15 to notice that the rats seem to come from nowhere.
B2-1 E: This room is a teeming pit of mindless undead. Simple skeletons, zombies, and ghouls jostle each other as they aimlessly wander within the confines of this room. A drider walks amongst them, acting as shepherd to the horde. A heavy portcullis blocks access to a chest in a small alcove on the east side of this room. The door on the east side is thick, and has an ornate lock on it.
GM’s Note: Rattlegore has the key to the heavy door. Lockpicking DC is 35. The portcullis can be raised by finding the secret torch lever in room B3-2. Lifting it is nearly impossible, requiring a strength check of 32.
Scholomance B2-2
B2-2 F: The floor in this large, open room is uneven, sloping gradually downwards towards the east. Like every room, the floor is covered with dusty bones and broken coffins. Dozens of student necromancers stand or sit around the room, listening to an elaborately robed skeleton give a lecture on the effects of negative energy on dragons. The skeleton stands on a raised platform filled with bookshelves, and tables covered in scrolls and urns. In the shadowy corner of the platform stands an armored zombie wielding a large sword.
B2-2 G: Bubbling cauldrons and tables filled with steaming beakers fill this room. There are fewer students in this alchemical laboratory than there are in other rooms–only three groups, each guided by a professor. Four large glass cylinders filled with green liquid hold the floating bodies of various undead creatures. Tables with straps obviously intended for humanoid creatures are positioned around the room, though none of them are presently occupied. At the far end of the chamber, surrounded by hundreds of candles, a lich in ornate robes paces.
B2-2 H: This room is filled with newly hatched dragons, each fluttering unstably on untested wings. All of the have a pallor which leads you to believe they must be quite ill, but this does not appear to concern the three handlers which patrol the room. Unlike most rooms and corridors within this crypt, no bookshelves line the walls. However, every 5 feet there is a recess in the wall, with a hole dropping into the room below.
Scholomance B3-1 & 2
B3-1: Heaping piles of bones fill this dirt-floored room. Most of the piles are situated under the holes to the room above. In the center of the room is the largest pile, reaching almost to the ceiling. Bone constructs with crude blades instead of forearms mill about the room. Atop the central bone heap stands the largest of the constructs, twice the size of the others, mindlessly overseeing the wanderings of his subjects.
B3-2: This room is devoted to shelves for the dead. There are even three rows of open shelves which separate the room into four “aisles.” Unintelligent zombies and skeletons wander between these aisles in groups. A small alcove on the far side of the room is filled with hundreds of candles. Within, a single spectral woman in noblewoman’s robes reads from a book.
GM’s Note: One of the torches in this room, near the alcove, is a lever. Characters with 5 ranks in Knowledge(Architecture) are entitled to a Perception check DC: 20 to notice that the sconce for the torch seems to hang oddly on the wall. Pulling it opens the portcullis in room B2-1 E. If a character reads the book which the spectral woman is reading, they will find plans for a bag of devouring.
Scholomance B3-3 & B4-1
B3-3 A: You emerge onto a walkway surrounding the edge of a two-level room. Like many rooms before it, the walls are covered with open shelves displaying mummified remains, while the walls below the walkway are covered in burial drawers. Six rooms can be accessed from this one, with each doorway marked by a raised portcullis.
B3-3 B: The entrance of this room is 10ft above the rest of it. Twin sets of stairs allow access to the pit below. Dozens of zombies fumble and bump into one another there. At the far end of the room, standing stock still in a small nook, is one zombie which seems somewhat amused by the poor motor skills of his brethren.
B3-3 C: The entrance of this room is 10ft above the rest of it. Twin sets of stairs allow access to the pit below. Bloody meat hooks hang from the ceiling, and stone tables covered in rotting carcases give off a horrible stench. Half a dozen ghouls pace across the blood stained floor. Across the room, with his back to the entrance, stands a man garbed in scarlet skillfully hacking a corpse to pieces with his meat cleaver.
B3-3 D:The entrance of this room is 10ft above the rest of it. Twin sets of stairs allow access to the pit below. Eerie purple flames in braziers around the room cast unsettling shadows. Three groups of necromatic pupils are gathered here, guided in their studies by a strikingly beautiful elven woman.
B4-1 A: (See description for B3-3 A)
B4-1 B: Stairs at the entrance of this room descend into water which is about a foot deep. Several sarcophagi rise above the water, and four skeletons wielding staffs and wearing robes pace amongst them. Across from the entrance, another set of stairs rises into a small alcove, where a spectral woman stands, as though waiting.
B4-1 C: A large sarcophagus dominates this room, flanked by two armored skeletons. On either side of the sarcophagus are stairs which lead down into water which is about a foot deep. Numerous smaller sarcophagi rise above the water here. Amongst them stands a man with pale skin and sunken eyes wearing full plate armor, and wielding a massive sword which glows blue. He is flanked by two armored skeletons.
B4-1 D: Five sinister looking skeletons, each with bones of an unusual hue, paces about this room. Behind them stands a hunched corpse golem, with skin as pale as snow, and powerful arms hanging at its sides like battering rams. Three 10x10ft sections of this room are lower than the rest of it, and covered under about a foot of water. A handful of Sarcophagi dot these low areas.
And there are the maps & room descriptions for Scholomance. I’ll be working on parts II and III, and you can expect to see them in the coming weeks. If my spelling or grammar errors are particularly egregious today, I apologize. Preparing this post has been more draining than I might have expected.