Tag: fluff

Magical Marvels 9: Fifty Ring Descriptions

When my players encounter a finely crafted piece of treasure–be it magical or not–I like to give them a few details about that item’s appearance. It’s not just a finely crafted breastplate. But it has gold inlays which depict the moon on one breast, the sun on the other, and a duel between two swordsmen below it. Maybe it’s not the most important thing for a GM to do, but it lends character and depth to the game world, and that’s never a bad thing.

For some reason, I’ve always found that rings inspire my creativity more than other types of treasure. So as a change of pace, instead of using magical marvels to describe a single powerful magic item, below I’ve compiled 50 unusual ring designs. None of the below include any particular magical effects, but most of the below descriptions are not specific to a given effect. They could be used for many different kinds of magic rings. Or they may not be magical at all, merely finely crafted pieces of jewelry the players can sell for gold.

After a few hours I capped it at 50. You can peruse this list as a source of inspirational fluff, or use the numbers I included to use it as a d% chart. Full disclosure, I started out wanting to make a list of 100 rings. Turns out that is super hard. Also hard: describing the different parts of a ring. Does anyone know of a resource for learning the words which describe rings? Google turned up a lot of terms which describe gems, but not a lot which describe the rings themselves. I hope the words I chose are clear, or at least decipherable!

1-2) A silver band with the final line of a well known poem engraved around the outside, and flecked with gold. The inside edge has a small spike which prick’s the wearer’s finger while the ring is worn.

3-4) A ring of gold with 3 links of golden chain attached to it. At the end of the chain is a small emerald, with an ancient rune expertly carved into its largest facet.

5-6) A mithril ring with the figure of wizard standing upon it. Deft fiddling will reveal that the wizard’s hat can be turned, and removed, revealing a small diamond within the figure’s head.

7-8) A glass band which appears, in most respects, very plain. However, when light is shone upon it, colors weave and dance within the glass. Despite its magic, the glass is still quite fragile.

9-10) A black ring of an unfamiliar material, which has a large seal on it. The seal depicts a droplet falling into a small puddle. The substance being depicted is unclear. Different color inks may appear to be different fluids

11-12) A hollow ring of transparent glass. The ring is filled with water which mysteriously flows around the band. Flecks of gold in the water dance and twirl in the current.

13-14) A pair of iron tongs, the ends of which are each one half of a circlet just large enough for a finger. If heated in a fire, the tongs can be used to brand a ring around someone’s finger.

15-16) A copper ring, with depictions of scales embossed around its edge.

17-18) A smooth ring of silver. A band of gold–approximately 1/5th the ring’s width–is inlaid around the center of the ring’s outside edge.

19-20) A ring of steel with several cogs attached to it. These cogs are interlocking, and spin freely. They have no obvious mechanical purpose, however.

21-22) A gold ring which splits into two bands at the crest, with a darkly tinted lens mounted between them.

23-24) A pair of twisting bands, one silver, one gold. Each wraps around the finger twice, forming a single ring.

25-26) Red copper which is masterfully crafted to look like a fox wrapped around the wearer’s finger, with emeralds for eyes, and a tail which extends back along the wearer’s finger.

27-28) A square of gold with a ruby on each of the four corners. The flat edges fit snugly around a finger.

29-30) An arm of gold, clasping an arm of silver, clasping an arm of copper, which in turn clasps the arm of gold, forming a ring.

31-32) A ring of ivory, carved to look like a single long finger, wrapping around in a full 360 degrees.

33-34) A braid of iron bands wrapping around a speckled purple sphere.

35-36) The band itself is constructed of intricately curving strands of silver, supporting a flat skull of jade, painted with bright colors and wearing a large grin.

37-38) A gold coin of an ancient empire mounted on a golden band.

39-40) A strand of steel shaped like an arrow, twisted into a finger-sized circle.

41-42) A circlet of mithril, the exterior of which is covered in dozens of tiny spikes. In the center is a small, ocean blue sapphire. In the center of the sapphire is a tiny white sphere. It’s unclear how that sphere was placed within the gem.

43-44) A simple silver band with a weaving braid embossed around its edge.

45-46) The outside of the band is circled repeatedly by a number of deep grooves which are spaced evenly. What you or I would recognize as a thread.

47-48) This shiny silver band has a large concave plate in place of a signet. The surface of the plate is bare, save for a ring of tiny obsidian stones around the inside edge.

49-50) A ring carved seemingly from marble, with engravings of a crown, a sword, and a bull’s head on the outside edge. On the inside edge of the ring is a carving written in ancient common: “Power through adversity.”

51-52) This golden band has two large bumps on it, each covered in flecks of diamond. The bumps appear to be modeled after an insect’s compound eye.

53-54) A ring carved from jade depicts a might tiger which moves around the wearer’s finger, and bites its own tail.

55-56) This ring of platinum has numerous small images engraved on the outside of it. They depict a woman in many stages of life. Being born, learning to walk, growing into a woman, fighting mighty battles, bearing children, growing old, and finally dying.

57-58) The signet of this jade ring is an elaborate flower, made of numerous gems. Rubies and saphires make two layers of petals, wrapping around a large amber stone in the center. Within the amber is a petrified bee.

59-60) A delicate brass ring shaped to look like a feather, bent so the end of the vane meets the quill.

61-62) Carved from ivory, this ring looks like a tiny dragon’s skull, with the wearer’s finger going through the skull’s mouth.

63-64) A delicate ring carved from platinum to resemble a royal tiara, which fits around a finger instead of a head.

65-66) A wooden ring, thick with bark on the outside. At the crest of the ring, where a gem would normally sit, grows a thick pad of damp moss.

67-68) This smooth ring carved from jade has two arms extending from its crest. Between their hands, the arms hold a small ball of glass.

69-70) Upon the crest of this red stone ring rests a bird exquisitely carved from sapphire.

71-72) Two iron rings connected by a chain of finest mithril. If worn on adjacent fingers, this does not affect dexterity.

73-74) A band cut directly from a sapphire. At the crest of the ring, a tiny copper ship rests, as though it were drifting on a sapphire sea.

75-76) The signet of the ring appears to be a spider laying dead on its back. The spider’s 8 curling legs clasp tightly to a white pearl.

77-78) A goblin’s face graces the crest of this iron ring. He grins widely, and three small rubies are clasped in his mouth.

79-80) This ring of mithril has two circlets, attached together by a long, articulated piece of mithril artistry, made to look like the top side of a dragon’s talon. When worn, this will cover the wearer’s entire finger.

81-82) The crest of this ring is a large square space, where a large pyramidal piece of obsidian is embedded, and held in place by four demon hands clawing it; one from each corner of the square.

83-84) This bizarre platinum band is a sort of ‘reverse signet ring.’ A large oval pad contains some type of firmly affixed clay. The clay can be smoothed over by working it with your finger for a moment, then pressed to an object so it can take its shape.

85-86) This golden ring is topped with a large half-sphere of amber. Flanges of gold protrude in every direction around the amber, like rays from the sun.

87-88) A band of wood with a raised, rectangular opening along the top edge of the ring. Small pieces of ivory have been fitted into this opening, resembling bared teeth.

89-90) A tiny shield of steel is mounted atop this otherwise simple ring of silver.

91-92) An axe blade rises from the crest of this mithril ring. It is quite sharp, and may cause the wearer some incontinent cuts from time to time.

93-94) Both the inside, and the outside edge of the ring are covered in engravings which resemble a top-down map of a city. The city is not known to the players, nor to anyone they take the ring to. It must either be of another world, or so ancient that it has been forgotten entirely.

95-96) This ring is made of layered metals, wrapped one atop the other. The wearer’s finger contacts the ring’s gold, band, atop which is wrapped silver, then brass, and finally platinum.

97-98) Two dozen protruding stems rise from the crest of this platinum band. Atop each stem is a different gemstone: ruby, emerald, obsidian, amber, sapphire, and so on.

99-100) A very tiny candlestick is mounted on the crest of this brass ring. A very tiny candle could be mounted there, though it wouldn’t be very useful, and would likely be a burning hazard.

Bow Before The Great Pumpkin

Linus, one of the cultists from “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown”

My post on mechanics for the gods is still among the best I think I’ve ever written. It is detailed, without becoming complicated. I very much enjoy detailing my deities using the rules presented there, and below is a god appropriate to the season.

The Great Pumpkin

The Grin in the Dark

Lesser Deity (Divine Rank 2)
Holy Symbol An Orange circle with a smile made of of fire at the bottom.
Home Plane 402nd layer of the Abyss
Alignment Chaotic Evil
Major Portfolio Trickery
Minor Portfolio The Season of Fall, Those who Hide
Domains Trickery, Plant
Worshipers Rogues, Rangers, Druids, Squash Farmers
Clerical Alignments CE, NE, CN
Favored Weapons Concealable Blades, and poison.

The Great Pumpkin is a little-known deity whose sphere of influence is limited to agrarian areas which rely heavily upon fall crops. He is rarely seen, because he rarely wishes to be seen. When he does appear, it is as a pumpkin standing upon a dozen vines which serve as both arms and legs. A wicked, grinning faces is carved into the pumpkin, and iluminated from behind by a yellow light. The face appears to be static, but frequently changes when no one is looking.

Dogma The Great Pumpkin admonishes his followers to do whatever they must to ensure that they thrive and their enemies do not. He also teaches that if your enemies know that you are their enemy, thriving will be much more difficult for you. Furthermore, if you focus on thriving only within your family, then your family may falter within your community. If you focus on thriving within your community, enemies from without may surprise you. Be aware of who wishes you ill, and never risk long term survival on a short term goal. Unless you can succeed at both.

Clergy and Temples The Great Pumpkin, being a god of subtlety, prefers that no lasting structure be publicly dedicated to him. Worshipers gather in pumpkin fields in the dead of night to pray and offer sacrifices to their god. Once a year, during the harvest season, a temporary church is built late at night, from dried and bound stalks of corn. Here the most important sacrifices of the year–often children–are offered to the dark god. In exchange for this sacrifice The Great Pumpkin blesses his worshipers with good fortune. Once the structure has served its purpose, it is burned to the ground until next year.

History

Not so long ago as you might think, a small farming community existed far beyond human civilization. The people there rarely traveled away from their small, interconnected villages. They did not need to. Their soil was rich, and they produced ample food to support themselves. Shortly after the founders settled there, the community made an alliance with a coven of elven druids. It is rare that settling humans and druids get along with one another. But these humans were uncommonly happy to adapt themselves to the druid’s viewpoint and in exchange the druids helped them to cultivate the land responsibly. Teaching them to live as part of nature, rather than simply living among nature.

For several human generations this arrangement continued happily, with the druids taking on the role of community leaders. The humans, for their part, were happy to tend their crops, and live simple lives. But then new humans came. They came as humans always come to the edges of civilization: as conquerors. The human drive to expand meant that the lands shared by druids and settlers must be tamed. The inhabitants tried to fight back against the encroaching battalion, but they had no skill for war.

The druids bade their followers gather in a large pumpkin field, where together they would summon a powerful nature’s ally to defend their land. A thousand or more gathered to participate in the summoning, unaware that the evil leader of the druids intended to sacrifice them all so that he might summon a guardian of great power. The ritual began, and the masses prayed whilst the high druid wove his spells. The process continued for an hour, growing louder and more impassioned, until just as it reached its climax–

An arrow flew from the darkness and struck the high druid in the head.

The invading battalion, in full force, charged the field. They seemed prepared the slaughter the innocent villagers and remaining druids. But they had let their arrow fly too late. The ritual was completed. Their shouts of victory turned to confusion and horror as vines leaped up from the field to drag them to the ground, strangling soldiers and horses alike. The entire invading force was left gasping for breath as the life was wrung out of them. But this was not salvation for the settlers, for the vines grasped incandescently. Everyone who stood in the field that night: soldiers, farmers, druids, and generals; all died gasping for air at the culmination of the summoning ritual.

And when the last body ceased twitching, the Great Pumpkin rose up out of his pumpkin patch.

Evil Rituals

Evil rituals will show up in any fantasy themed adventure game from time to time. Maybe some cultists are trying to summon their lovecraftian god, or perhaps they’re attempting to transform their high priest into a huge monster. Either way, the GM will need to produce a ritual for the players to try and stop.

The way I see it, each ritual has three essential elements: preparation, preamble, and catalyst. There are also a fourth element which is optional: Timing. While not all rituals will require it, sometimes they will only work if they are performed at a certain time, such as during a full moon, when the planets align, or on the anniversary of an important event.

The preparation for a ritual may involve gathering the necessary components, or learning an ancient incantation which must be spoken for the ritual to succeed. Strictly speaking the preparatory phase is not part of the ritual proper, but it is vital to the success of the ritual. Additionally, the preparation phase is frequently how the players will learn about an upcoming evil ritual, and it serves as the best opportunity to nip the villain’s evil plans in the bud.

When the time for the ritual actually arrives, it begins with the preamble, which can go on for a long while  The length serves two purposes. First, it lends greater weight to the upcoming catalyst portion of the ritual. This buildup is essential, because nothing of great importance is accomplished quickly. Secondly, the duration of the preamble is the only period of time when the ritual has begun, but has not yet resulted in anything really bad happening. This gives time for the players to act to stop the ritual, which can be exciting.

The final phase of a ritual is the catalyst. This is short, generally a single action which will trigger whatever end result the ritual was intended to produce. If the cultists are summoning their evil god, then the moment the catalyst action is performed, then the portal will open, and the dark god will step through it.

Below are ideas for the preamble and catalyst of an evil ritual. Mix and match as you choose! A ritual could even combine multiple preambles together, as many real world religious ceremonies do. Additionally, almost any of these rituals could require a certain number of people to participate.

Preamble

Reading from an important book: Sacred texts have great power, particularly in religious ceremonies.  But an arcane ceremony could also include this trope. Perhaps a wizard summoning a demon must read that demon’s 20-page true name in its entirety before the demon will respond.

Singing/Chanting: While it may sound a little silly to sing at a ritual, this is actually quite common in many real world rituals. Imagine, for example, most christian ceremonies. They include a great deal of singing. Many Native American rituals do as well.

Praying: Normally a very particular prayer would need to be said, one which glorifies the being who will choose to grant, or not grant, the ritual’s end result.

Telling a story, giving a speech: Storytelling has long been an important part of human culture. To use a real world example, imagine that those performing the ritual wished to ask Heracles to bestow his strength upon them for an upcoming battle. Part of that ritual may involve a recitation of the 12 labors of Heracles.

Torture: The victim here could either be willing or unwilling, and the torture need not end in death. Perhaps the victim of the torture will even end up being the beneficiary of the ritual’s gifts. The god must see that the person they are empowering is willing to endure suffering.

Creating An Appropriate Environment: If done ritualistically (especially in combination with one of the other Preamble elements above) this could be part of the ritual itself, rather than part of the ritual’s preparation. Imagine, for example, a dozen cultists painting arcane symbols on their bodies, while a high priest chants the words of a magic spell.

Catalyst

Sacrifice: The numerous ways in which a victim could be sacrificed could be a post unto itself. Nearly any way a person could be killed might be used in an evil ritual. I, personally, would avoid the cliche of tying the person to an altar and stabbing them with a ceremonial knife. Be creative, and make the catalyst match the theme. If the cultists are summoning a tidal wave to wipe out a city, then drown the victim. If they’re summoning the god of snakes, then have them kill the victim with poison snakes.

Sex: This one works best if the result of the evil ritual is being applied to the child which is being conceived at the time. By having sex under the full moon while a dozen cultists chant prayers to The God of Horribleness, the child will be born as the Avatar of Horribleness.

Inducting New Members: Evil religions make a big to-do out of bringing new members into the fold. At the conclusion of an evil ritual, a new member could be baptized (whatever that means for the particular religion), thus increasing the number of the evil god’s followers.

Desecration of a Holy Object: Destroying a sacred artifact of great power, or otherwise desecrating something which radiates holy magic is sure to please any evil god, and weaken the followers of good.

Cannibalism: It’s difficult to imagine an act more evil than this. Once a person eats another, there can be no redemption for them. So it makes the perfect centerpiece to an evil ritual.

Why was This Dungeon Built?

Often on this site, perhaps too often, I construct posts by comparing or contrasting my gaming philosophies to those of the OSR community. Most likely, this is because all of the gaming blogs I read have an OSR slant to them. Is it just me, or does the OSR have a huge blogging presence? Anyway, this post isn’t any different. It’s about dungeons, and how my views on them compare to the OSR community’s.

  • Most OSR blogs I’ve read are strongly of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have a logical layout. I agree.
  • Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that dungeons do not need to have an origin story. I disagree.
  • Most OSR blogs I’ve read are of the opinion that the creatures which exist within the dungeon don’t need any particular reason to be there. I disagree again.

There. I figured we might as well expedite the process for this post, since it’s late and I’m somewhat tired. I’m going to focus on the second point here: that I believe dungeons should have an origin story. Even if the dungeon’s layout is completely randomly generated, it’s valuable to have a few solid facts about the dungeon in mind. Where the dungeon came from can provide insights into what the dungeon looks like, and what can be found there. A 40ft long corridor in an ancient prison might be simple stone, while the same corridor in a crypt might have burial shelves at regular intervals. Below are the various dungeon origins I’ve come up with.

A Wizard Did It

I think it was Gary Gygax in the “Underworld and Wilderness Adventures” booklet who attributed dungeons to “Insane Wizards.” And while I’d hardly call it a sufficient explanation for every dungeon, it’s a great starting point. A wizard might construct a dungeon as a personal fortress, or as a way to contain their magical experiments. A truly insane Wizard could be responsible for some of a world’s most twisting and hazardous dungeons.

A dungeon created by wizards is also, in my mind, a great excuse to be showy with the unusual architecture and traps. Rooms where gravity shifts, or invisible bridges between towering cliff faces are exactly the kind of thing an arrogant wizard might create just to show that they could.

Heracles Will Get to it Later

We all love Greek mythology here, right? When the Olympian gods imprisoned the Titans, Gaea (mother to the Titans and grandmother to the Olympians) bore two final children: Typhon and Echidna. These monstrous gods had numerous monstrous children together, including Cerberus, the Hydra, the Chimera, and the Nemean Lion. The Olympians eventually put a stop to the parents, but decided to let the children live, ‘as a test for future heroes.’

There is ample mythological precedent for the gods intentionally creating challenges for no purpose other than to test the limits of mortal heroism. While the Greek gods did this by leaving monsters around to be defeated by a bunch of guys who were mostly demi-gods anyway, the gods in a Pathfinder campaign setting might choose to test heroes by crafting dungeons to be explored.

Natural Phenomenon

A natural dungeon, or cave, is nothing new. It is none the less important to mention. Dungeons like these are created by the flow of water through the earth, by volcanic eruptions, and burrowing animals. But in a world of magic, could not that also play a part?

For the last few years I’ve been intrigued by the concept of ‘wild magic,’ magic which either exists naturally, or which exists as a kind of “nuclear fallout” from a once mighty magical civilization. In my Negune campaign setting, the isle of Argania is absolutely filled with this kind of thing. I see no reason why wild magic couldn’t also create a dungeon.

Perhaps tens of thousands of years ago, a civilization developed an urban development spell. One which built roads and houses and sewers and aqueducts. The spell effect was permanent, and has continued long after the civilization collapsed. After thousands of years without maintenance it builds corridors and rooms seemingly at random. Often it creates areas which are exceedingly dangerous for humans. And while it mostly ignores areas once it constructs them, occasionally an older area of the dungeon needs to be demolished…

Ancient City

Ancient cities tend to be distinct among dungeons, because they often follow a more logical structure. However, there’s no reason an ancient civilization couldn’t have had some very strange architectural choices. Particularly if it was something like ancient dwarves, whose cities are carved from stone anyway.

And don’t forget all the cool ways in which an ancient city can be damaged over the centuries. It can be partially underwater, or partially hidden under a blanket of volcanic rock. A particular favorite of mine is the city which has fallen into the earth, creating a very strange amalgam of natural and man-made hallways and chambers.

Crazy Creepy Cult

Cults do all manner of wacky things, and not all of them are secret. Much like in real life (See: Jim Jones, David Koresh, etc) cults will often want to completely separate themselves from the world and form their own self sustaining communities. In a game like Pathfinder, there’s no reason why these isolationists wouldn’t decide to build a dungeon to live in. Some cults might actually view the endless expantion of their dungeon to be a medetative act of prayer.

Cosmic Fender Bender

Every one of the numerous planes of existence is no doubt filled with citadels, towers, and dungeons of their own. And if two planes intersect just slightly, a dungeon might be thrown from one world, and into ours. This is a great way to add a hint of planar travel to your campaign, without going all the way and sending your players outside of the material realm.

Extradimentional Trap

Lets say the players are raiding a wizard’s tower. Upon opening a drawer, a flash of light engulfs them. Next thing they know they’re in the middle of a labyrinth filled with monsters and traps.

Dungeon in a Drawer: Keeping thieves away from your silverware.

Old Standbys

There are some classics which I can’t really add to, but I feel like I ought to mention them none the less.

  • A literal dungeon, built beneath a castle. Monarch after monarch added on to it. Even if the castle is still inhabited, nobody really knows how far down it goes, or what was done down there.
  • A prison. While this is basically what a dungeon beneath a castle was used for, it is distinct because there’s no castle on top of it, and second because we rarely think of dungeons in a literal sense any more. ‘Dungoen’ can mean anything with lots of monsters and treasure in it.
  • A crypt where the dead are buried. This could be anything from an Egyptian Pyramid, to the Catacombs beneath Rome.

Negune: The Nation of Stekett

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Languages

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

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

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

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

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

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

Commonplace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uncommon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rare

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secret

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

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

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

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

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

Unknowable

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

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

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

May of the Dead: Hungry Hungry Vampire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May of the Dead: Crypt of Ancient Wisdom

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

The Tragedy of the Gorovik Family

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

An unintentionally prophetic statement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May of the Dead: Variant Zombies

I’ve always had a passion for the macabre. In particular, I am very fond of all things pertaining to undeath. My preference tends towards the unsettling majesty of gothic fantasy, but I’m not above enjoying a B horror movie or two. So when I was asked to participate in May of the Dead, I didn’t hesitate. I don’t exactly need an excuse to fill this site with my darker imaginings, but since I have one, I thought it would be a good opportunity to work on a number of undead-themed posts in a row. Each Friday during the month of May, I’ll be animating a new undead-themed post. And if you’d like to read more, there are many other websites participating in this little carnival.

For this first post, I’d like to discuss zombies. Though they lack the elegance of an animated skeleton, and are currently suffering from their severe overexposure in recent years, the zombie is none the less a fundamental fantasy foe. And while the classic shambling cadaver will never go out of style, it is diminished by its own omnipresence. What is a GM to do? How can we inject a sense of danger back into a creature which players have faced so many times that they know the creature’s statblock and abilities like the backs of their character sheets?

We reinvent it.

Part of the reason zombies are so enduring is because they are the most fundamental kind of undead we can imagine. They are dead bodies, which none the less are capable of moving on their own, and want to hurt the living.  You might say that a zombie is a blank slate, waiting to be given the kind of unique attributes which can turn it into a truly memorable monster. Pathfinder has already done this, somewhat. In the Bestiary, the zombie entry contains a small section titled “Variant Zombies” on page 289. Detailed therein are the “fast zombie,” and the “plague zombie,” both of which are pretty self explanatory. The former are faster than normal zombies, and the latter can infect victims with a zombifying disease.  Here are a few other ways I’ve come up with to reanimate your player’s fear of zombies:

Exploding Zombies These have become popular in zombie-centric video games which need a way to ramp up difficulty without straying too far from their core theme. The idea makes a certain kind of sense: when a person dies, their decomposing body creates a lot of gas. Normally this gas is expelled gradually, but if we can stretch our imaginations far enough to accept walking dead in the first place, then we can certainly imagine that all of these gasses somehow end up trapped inside the corpse. Perhaps inside a bloated and distended stomach. This state could be an accidental byproduct of the reanimation process, causing perhaps one in every ten or twenty zombies to become an exploding zombie. Particularly sinister necromancers might create these undead bombardiers intentionally, and unleash a horde of them on an unsuspecting adventuring party.

Pungent Cloud Zombies Speaking of gasses, why limit ourselves to something as ostentatious as an explosion? I find undead are always the most enticing when they’re a little mysterious, and subtle. Those same gasses produced by decomposition could form an oppressive miasma. A single zombie would only effect those standing in adjacent squares, but each zombie reinforces the cloud of fear and despair which surrounds them. A large enough horde might affect anyone standing within a mile of them. Those affected would have their intellects clouded, and their bodies made sluggish. Wizards would find they could not recall their most powerful (read: highest spell level) incantations, and fighters would seem to miss a lot more than they normally would (-5 to attack rolls).

 Slightly Intelligent Zombies Traditionally, zombies are mindless. That’s almost part-in-parcel of what it means to be a zombie. If a necromancer needs a servant which can think, they create a ghoul. A zombie is created when a necromancer needs a large force which will obey them without question. But lets say that a group of zombies is created by an erratic necromancer, or perhaps has no master, but has managed to avoid destruction for years or even decades. Why not give them an intelligence of 2? That’s not enough that they could learn speech, or form any kind of society. But it is enough that they could communicate on a very basic level, and even form simple tactics to better defeat their enemies with.

Somewhat-to-Highly Intelligent Zombies Zombies created by a downright insane necromancer, or who have lived for a century or more, might become as intelligent as you or I. It is unlikely that they would recall, or care to recall, anything about their life, but their intelligence would provide them with a unique advantage in their un-life. It is doubtful that any such zombie could ever be anything but evil, since their continued life depends on negative energy and consuming the flesh of the living. But as villains, they might be truly formidable.

Necrotic Bite Zombie The dangerous nature of a Zombie’s bite is an important element in most zombie fiction. For some reason it’s never really made the leap to game mechanics, leaving Pathfinder zombies to rely on their slam attack. Necrotic Bite Zombies gain a +0 bite attack which deals 1d6 damage. Anyone who is hit by the zombie’s Necrotic Bite must make a fortitude save (DC is equal to 10 +  half the zombie’s HD + the zombie’s cha modifier). If the fortitude save fails, roll 1d10 to determine where the victim has been bitten. A result of 1-2 is the right leg, a result of 3-4 is the left leg, a result of 5-6 is the right arm, a result of 7-8 is the left arm, a result of 9 is the torso, and a result of 10 is the head. The skin around the bite becomes black and flaky, like skin which has been severely burned. This effect slowly spreads throughout the day. After 24 hours, it grows enough to spread to an adjacent part of the body. The spread can be stopped either with magical healing, or by amputating all affected body parts. Aside from severe discomfort, the necrotic zombie bite has no negative mechanical effects until it has fully spread throughout both the torso and head of the victim, at which point the victim dies and rises as a necrotic bite zombie 1d6 minutes later.

Zombification Zone A particular dungeon could be enchanted in such a way that anything which died within it would be raised as a zombie within 1d6 minutes of death. This would include any creatures which the players slay, or any players which die within the dungeon. Just as the players leave a room after clearing it, they would be accosted from behind by the very creatures they thought they had just destroyed!

Boneblade Zombie Zombies are often covered with jutting bones. It can be an exposed ribcage, a broken femur, or just a forearm without a hand. Boneblade Zombies have been specifically crafted to maximize the number of jutting bones, and to sharpen those bones to razor points. The slam attacks of these zombies deal 1d8 +6 piercing damage, and they gain +2 natural armor bonus to AC.

Minion Zombies When I was first learning about 4th edition, the concept of minion NPCs was one of the first things to really turn me off to the game. As a rule, I don’t like the inclusion of enemies which functionally exist for the purpose of being defeated easily. As an option, however, I think it could be a flavorful alternative to the zombies presented in the bestiary. When a level one party is fighting a necromancer, and 5 zombies enter to assist him from the next room, the players are in pretty serious trouble. While zombies are not particularly difficult to hit, they are capable of doing a fair amount of damage. And since each one has 5 damage reduction on top of 12 HP, the party is going to need to devote at least a few turns to each one. If, on the other hand, you remove the damage reduction from each zombie, and reduce their HP to 1, the necromancer could call 30 zombies into the room to help him! Since Zombies are cannon fodder anyway, it makes sense for them to be easy to destroy. And since they don’t lose any of their ability to harm the players, they still pose a serious threat.

Plant Zombie Rather than being animated by negative energy, zombies could functionally be created by a flower which grows in the skulls of dead people. The roots weave throughout the brain, and stimulate it to produce movement. The blood and flesh of the living are used as fertilizer, allowing the plant to sustain itself, and a puff of pollen on the corpses of the dead would allow it to reproduce. Functionally this would be no different from a normal zombie, but don’t discount the value of fluff in making something old feel new again.

Parasitic Zombies Did you know that zombies are real? There are a variety of real life parasites which take control of their host creatures. One such parasite, the lancet liver fluke, was featured by The Oatmeal, and its life cycle serves as a good example of other similar parasites. Insofar as I’ve read, all of these parasites take control of a specific type of organism, then do their best to get that organism eaten by one of its natural predators. The parasite then reproduces in the colon of the new host, and its eggs are released into the world when the creature poops. In reality, I’ve never heard of these parasites taking control of anything larger than a small fish, but in fantasy such a parasite might be used to take control of humans. Once controlled, the brain-dead humans would function essentially as zombies. They would attack anything in their path, sustaining themselves on the flesh of others, with the ultimate goal of being devoured by a dragon, or other large human-eating creature.

Beloved Zombie These zombies are sometimes created by experienced necromancers with a particularly sadistic bent. Each zombie is under the effect of powerful illusion magic, which causes anyone who sees the zombie to believe it was created from the remains of a deceased loved one. Any attack roll made against such a zombie is made at a -1 penalty per HD of the zombie. Low level beloved zombies might simply appear to be the viewer’s long dead grandparent who was kind of a dick. Whereas a high level zombie would appear to be the recently deceased son of the viewer, crying while he plays with all of the viewer’s dead childhood pets.

Cultural Oddities

Part of creating an immersive world is creating a wide variety of people to live in it. Variety which extends beyond accents and alignments. If you’ve ever had any kind of significant encounter with another culture, you begin to understand how very different humans can be. Things which you take for granted, things which seem fundamentally true, simply do not occur to someone raised on the other side of the world. Your fundamental beliefs about society and identity might even seem ludicrous to them. You may feel as though your way of thinking is the correct way, you may even be right to think that. I, personally, refuse to accept the profound sexism which is inherent to many cultures as a simple difference of opinion. But whether or not I accept it doesn’t mean jack shit to the ten million, or two hundred million, or two billion people who were raised in that culture. The fact is that culture defines us in ways that we cannot even comprehend. It’s something I’ve touched on before.

When creating a unique culture for a game world, it never hurts to throw in a quirk or two which will help the players connect to just how different these people are. It’s not too terribly hard to come up with this kind of stuff, as sources for inspiration are plentiful. If you watch Star Trek (and lets face it, you do) there are plenty of episodes where cultural oddities are a plot point. This is a good source for inspiration on genetic oddities which would influence culture as well. You can also look at lists of wacky laws. The Internet has been in love with these since the earliest days of elderly folks forwarding emails to everyone they’ve ever met, so it should be no trouble to find them on google. And, as always, reality is a wonderful sourcebook. I just finished explaining how unusual human culture can get, and ten minutes of research will likely turn up a dozen things your players will find pretty damned unusual. No need to limit yourselves to humans either! Animals have their own cultures, and the mating habits of the angler fish would make a wicked awesome cultural quirk.

To get you started, here’s a list of some stuff I came up with. Some of these are inspired by reality, others are straight up lifted from science fiction. Anybody who can guess where I lifted the third one down from gets a cookie.

  • Either as a baby, or during a coming of age ritual, a child is bitten/stung by a poisonous animal which is sacred to the culture. The poison is allowed to fester, and the pain is seen as a spiritual test. The oddly shaped mark left by the experience will be interpreted by a religious figure within the culture. Generally the meaning will be derived from the scar’s shape.
  • Each member of a culture has a riding creature with which they form a special bond. If the two go into battle together and the riding creature is slain, but the rider is not, then the rider is sent alone into the wilderness. If they bond with another companion, then that creature is said to be the original creature, reincarnated. If the deceased companion instead wants its rider to join it in death, he or she will be unable to find a new companion creature.
  • A culture believes it is arrogant to use personal pronouns, because using one implies that everyone should know who you are. Instead, each creature uses its personal name whenever it needs to refer to itself. If a member of this culture is ashamed or embarrassed, they may seek anonymity by using their surname to refer to themselves (or in extreme cases, their clan, or even species name.)
  • The dead are buried in graves, but a small hole is left in the ground so that relatives may reach into it and touch the forehead of their loved ones.
  • This culture prefers dirt floors. Even if their civilization is advanced, with paved roads, and high towers, the floors of their homes will be dirt and plantlife. Even floors above ground level will have high enough ceilings that a couple feet of dirt can be piled onto the floor.
  • Most of a culture’s males are eunuchs. Depending on the size of the group, different numbers of breeding males will be allowed. Once a year, all males of a certain age gather for some form of contest. Either they fight for the right to breed, or the breeding males are selected by the culture’s females.
  • Male and female members of a culture live completely separately, coming together only occasionally to trade, and mate. As an example, the women of the culture build cities, and represent their culture to others, whilst the men of the culture are nomadic, and spend their lives hunting and patrolling the culture’s territory. The males return to the city perhaps once a year.
  • Certain tasks which are necessary are considered taboo, and cannot be performed in a direct manner. For example, a cleric can only examine a patient’s back by looking at it in a mirror, because the back is considered taboo.
  • Children are married to one another within the first few months of their lives, and one child is given to the parents of the other child. The “married couple” are then raised together by a single set of parents. Their upbringing focuses heavily on learning to function together as a unit.
  • A culture’s leaders are brought back as a special type of undead which exists primarily to give advice to the current leader. The leader of a small tribe might have a small council of 5-10 previous leaders to call upon. While the monarch of a long-standing kingdom might have an elaborate crypt filled with former rulers extending back dozens, or even hundreds of generations.
  • A certain day of the year is considered extremely unlucky, and any children born on this day are killed.
  • The wedding ceremony is a ritual combat between the bride and groom. The victor is the “head” of the relationship, and the other must swear to obey them.
  • While a mother is engaged in labor, the father must leave to search for a precious stone. This stone will be fashioned into a piece of jewelry which the child will wear throughout their entire life. He must return either before sundown, or before the child is fully born (whichever comes last), or the child will be given a simple piece of stone. Purchasing a stone, receiving help in finding the stone, or hiding the stone away before labor begins, is grounds to execute both father and child. The value the stone holds within the culture will determine the child’s social standing for the rest of their life.
  • One gender owns all property, but is not allowed to govern it themselves. The other gender may own no property, but governs over the property of their mates. The property-owning gender is at liberty to switch mates at any time if they are unhappy with their partner’s ability to govern.
  • All crimes are punishable by death. With such a steep cost, who would break even a simple rule? You’d have to be stupid to do something like step in somebody’s flower garden.
  • Ears, teeth and scalps are common “trophies” for savage races, but why stop there? Hands, tongues, noses, big toes, even internal organs like kidneys could be dried out and made into keepsakes.

Any thoughts of your own?