I’ve been thinking of ways to simplify the character creation process for new players, and I struck on an interesting problem with the way the game is presented. Typically, the first thing I ask my players to do is to roll their ability scores. Which means that their first glimpse of the game is “Roll these dice, record the resulting sum. Repeat this task five more times, then assign one score to each of these six abilities, the functions of which you probably don’t fully understand yet.”
This is a bad first impression of fantasy gaming. Sure the GM can help the player out by giving them an idea of how the ability scores will relate to class abilities, and the player will sticks it out regardless. Nobody is going to walk away from the table after 2 minutes. They will eventually start doing more interesting things, and they’ll probably have fun. None the less, this is a bad introduction which weakens a neophyte’s initial experience.
What if, instead, the initial question was “Which of these fantasy races would you like to be?” That’s a far more interesting introduction to fantasy gaming, I think. And in describing how each race functions mechanically, the GM is also describing interesting detail about the game world. Defining wisdom to a new player is difficult, describing a dwarf to a new player will connect with their experiences and engage their imagination.
Once a race is selected, the ability scores are rolled according to the strengths and weaknesses of that race. 3d6 is the average, but if a race is particularly strong in a certain area, then they would take the 3 highest from rolls of 4d6 or even 5d6. For every ability score where the race is strong, there must be others where they are weak, and take the lowest 3 from 4d6 or 5d6. So humans, as the baseline race, would roll 3d6 down the line; while a race which is strong, but clumsy and stupid, might roll 5d6(+) for their strength, and 4d6(-) for both their dexterity and their intelligence.
This would replace any bonuses or penalties the races get to their ability scores, which would eliminate scores over 18 at first level. And while it might seem extreme, 5d6 drop the lowest/highest doesn’t actually end up with too many extremely good or bad rolls. The averages would be 7 and 14 respectively. AnyDice represents the data really nicely.
So that the players have a little control over the scores they end up with, during character creation they may (after any roll) turn the face of one die to a 6. For (-) rolls, this is done after the high dice are dropped. So if a players rolling a 5d6(-) ability score rolls 6, 5, 4, 4, 1, then first the 6 and the 5 would be dropped. After that, the player can turn that 1 into a 6, resulting in a final ability score of 14. But this can only be done once for each character, and must be done before moving on to the next ability score.
Here’s how I think the races might work out:
Human STR 3d6 CON 3d6 DEX 3d6 INT 3d6 WIS 3d6 CHA 3d6
Dwarf STR 4d6(+) CON 5d6(+) DEX 4d6(-) INT 3d6 WIS 3d6 CHA 5d6(-)
Elf STR 5d6(-) CON 5d6(-) DEX 4d6(+) INT 4d6(+) WIS 4d6(+) CHA 4d6(+)
Gnome STR 5d6(-) CON 4d6(-) DEX 3d6 INT 5d6(+) WIS 3d6 CHA 4d6(+)
Halfling STR 5d6(-) CON 5d6(-) DEX 5d6(+) INT 3d6 WIS 4d6(+) CHA 4d6(+)
Orc STR 5d6(+) CON 5d6(+) DEX 3d6 INT 5d6(-) WIS 3d6 CHA 5d6(-)
Goblin STR 3d6 CON 3d6 DEX 5d6(+) INT 4d6(-) WIS 4d6(-) CHA 3d6
Kobold STR 5d6(-) CON 4d6(-) DEX 5d6(+) INT 5d6(+) WIS 4d6(+) CHA 5d6(-)
Recently the tide turned in the ongoing war between the elves of the Western forest, and the orcs who had settled in the ruins there. A series of defeats has forced the orcs into retreat. Rather than flee North into dwarven lands, or South where they would likely be subjugated by the Lich, they began migrating East, and established three settlements in the north of the Plains of Nalew. No one holds a true claim on this land, though there is a small human settlement, named Overton, at the confluence of the River Nalew and the Drall River.
The humans of Overton have obviously been distressed by this development. They appealed to the elves for aide, but the elves say they have enough orcs to worry about in their own lands, and are not interested in risking lives in solving human problems. To make matters worse, the orcs have recently erected a fourth settlement. This one south of the River Nalew, a day’s ride from Overton itself, and very clearly an encroachment on human territory.
Fortunately, the local adventuring party returned to town about this time. The mayor begged them for help, and they agreed to do what they could to get rid of the orc problem. Unwilling to take such a large force head-on, the players devised a more cunning plan. First, they did some recruiting around town, and found 10 able-bodied adults willing to join them in battle. Second, they approached the elves again, and laid out a plan which would minimize the risk to elven lives. They also reminded the elves that orcs breed fast, and allowing them to settle so close to elven territory would given them the opportunity to re-invade within 10-20 years. The elves agreed to lend the players 30 archers; but only on the condition that the only real risk be to the players.
The lynchpin of the plan was Betsie, the minotauress PC. For the most part, this has been a humans-only campaign, but I allowed one of the players to take control of Betsie when her paladin died and Betsie was the only friendly NPC around. The players figured that the Orcs, as fellow monstrous humanoids, may be inclined to trust Betsie more than they would trust a human. The plan was that Betsie would tell the orcs that the forest west of Nalew had ruins similar to those the orcs had occupied in the Eastern forest, and that ever since the tribe of Gnolls she’d been in charge of had been killed by humans, there was no one there to occupy the territory. (All of this was pretty much true). Further, Betsie would claim, the ruins were filled with treasure, which she would prove with a massive 5000gp diamond the players had recovered from the area.
The player’s hope was that the Orcs would agree, and she could lead each of the four colonies (one by one) into a bottleneck between a large hill and a river, where they’d be ambushed by the humans, elves, and the rest of the party. It was a solid plan. Or, rather, it was an insane plan, but one which met the minimum standard for logical thinking which constitutes a good plan in D&D. Shortly after the plan was made, one of our players had to leave, and we decided to play board games for the rest of the evening.
That was a month ago. I had that long to figure out how to handle the player’s plan. It’s a good enough plan that I didn’t want to simply have it blow up in their faces; at least not by fiat. Assuming that the reaction dice didn’t cause the orcs to attack her on sight, and the player made her case well enough, I figured the plan would go off. (Though no way were the orcs going to be dumb enough to go in one at a time. They were gonna get together with the other three camps, and march in there 100 warriors strong).
So how do I run this scenario? 100 orcs, 30 elves, 10 humans, and 5 PCs. Obviously I don’t want to model a battle with 140 NPCs at the table, because that would take a week and be immensely boring. I do want it to be random though, because that will create a more interesting scenario than one I’ve scripted. Given the small number of forces on each side of the engagement, I do want to track how many die, but I don’t want a battle between NPCs to take up too much of my time. It has to be about the players, and their actions during the combat. Those actions of the players should also have some bearing on the fight’s outcome, though, even if it’s small.
What I eventually came up with was based on the dice chain mechanic of DCC RPG. The chain I used was 1d4, 1d6, 1d8, 1d10, 1d12, 1d14, 1d16, 1d20, 1d24, 1d30. Each round, each of the factions would roll one of these dice against the other factions, killing that many members.
Assuming nothing went wrong with the player’s plan, the first round of combat would be a surprise round from the elves. I assumed they’d have plenty of time to line up their shots, so the opening volley from the elves killed 3d6 + 12 orcs. So most of the elves would make kill shots, but it wouldn’t be able to exceed the actual number of elves participating.
The PC who was in charge of the 10 humans had chosen a position a little removed from the bottleneck, and I told him it would take 1 full round of charging before he could get into position to attack. Once they were able to engage, I figured the humans could kill 1d10 – 2 orcs each round (as these are not trained warriors), and the orcs could kill 1d10 humans each round.
Starting on the second round (after the surprise) the orcs could kill 1d4-2 elves each round, with a result of 0 or less meaning they still had not spotted any elves. While the elves, now dealing with the chaos of battle rather than a well timed ambush, would be able to kill 1d30 each round.
While all of this was going on, the players would be in the thick of the battle. Each round they faced off against several different orcs (I invented 6-8 variant orcs to keep things interesting). These death-rolls would be be made openly between each round of combat, so the players could see how the battle was progressing around them.
The majority of play time during the battle was focused on the players, with brief interludes between each round while I rolled to see which combatants on each side had died. As the battle progressed, the ‘kill dice’ I rolled were modified by several factors:
No faction can ever roll a die with a potential to result in more kills than there are attackers. For example, the elves can continue to roll a d30 for as long as there are 30 elves, but once an elf dies, they move down 1 space on the die chain, to 1d24.
Once the orcs score their first kill against the elves, they’ve figured out how to spot the elves and jump up to a full 1d4 on the die chain.
Each round, as the elven positioning is further revealed, the orcs roll a die which is one higher up on the die chain.
Each orc the players kill will be matched by the elves, who gain a +1 on their kill roll. The result cannot exceed the number of remaining attackers.
Any PC knocked to 0HP or lower, or who flees from the fight, will give give the orcs a boost of 1 extra step up the die chain.
If the PCs successfully kill 5 orcs in a single round, the elves will rally and receive a +10 to their kill roll.
Once any of the 3 factions is reduced below 20 members standing, roll a 1d20 morale check each round. If the result is equal to or lower than the number of fighters standing, the faction will press on. If the result is higher, then the faction will break and flee from the battlefield.
These rules only took me about 20 minutes to come up with, but it seemed like a solid method of running a skirmish like this. And it did work pretty well in play, though I did end up straying from the plan a few times when I lost track of what had happened. The players did succeed in slaying the orcs, though with only 10 elves left alive they may want to watch their back if they ever venture into the Western forest again.
Any of my readers have a better method of running a battle like this one?
The scheduling here on Papers & Pencils is important to me. If I’m being honest, it’s probably unhealthy how much importance I place on my posting schedule. Anytime I miss a day it feels like the end of the world. I’ll avoid detailing my emotional pitfalls, but it can get bad. I’m also human, though, so there are times now and again when I simply don’t care about tabletop games. I mean…Dishonored is so good, and I’ve been re-reading the X-Wing series, and do I really have to write about wizards at the moment? What has often happened in the past is that I’ve solved this problem by making really shitty posts. Which actually solves nothing. I know the post is shitty, so I still feel bad about it, and the immense amount of time I spend stressing about that only prolongs my momentary disinterest in tabletop games.
I’m not announcing a hiatus or anything. Just offering an explanation. I don’t know if any of my readers pay attention to my schedule, or feel disappointed when I’ve failed to update on time. But I do know that in the past 15 days, I’ve missed 4 posts. At this point, I thought an explanation was warranted.
Moving on, I’d like to share some stuff I’ve been doing in the OD&D-ish game I’ve been running for my younger brother and one of his friends.
I call it OD&D-ish because I’m not very familiar with the OD&D rules, or with the way OD&D GMs go about things. My entire experience in that regard comes from flipping through the three “little brown books” (which I’ve found to be disorganized and nigh-incomprehensible in some sections), and from playing in Vaults of Pahvelorn. Anything I don’t understand, I’ve filled in with whatever seems to mesh with the spirit of the game, as judged by me at the time that I need to come up with it. If you thumb through my campaign pages for this game, you’ll find numerous sections where all I’ve written is “I’ll detail this when its needed.” It’s a disorganized way to run a game, but in my defense I thought the game would be a one-shot. And the kids keep coming back, so it can’t be all that terrible.
The design-as-you-go nature of the game has forced me to come up with some ideas I don’t know if I would have come up with otherwise, two of which in particular I’m happy with: Alchemy, and Trade Caravans.
Alchemy
Upon reaching second level, a magic user has achieved sufficient learning to attempt creating alchemical concoctions. This requires that the magic user have access to an alchemical laboratory, and the creation of each potion will require large investments of time and gold. Like spells, potions (and other alchemical products), have levels.
Each alchemical product requires a number of material components which must be purchased from the town herbalist, such as leaves, seeds, and nectars from plants all over the world. The cost of the components are [50gp * Potion Level] So a first level potion would cost 50gp to make, a 2nd level potion would require 100gp to make, and so forth.
Alchemical products also take time. The materials must be painstakingly prepared so as not to contaminate them, and and even once all the work is done, it can take days for the mixture to slowly, drop-by-drop produce enough of the liquid to create the desired effect even once. Each alchemical product requires 1 week per recipe level to complete.
Regarding recipes, you will need them before you can create a working potion. Like magic, alchemical knowledge is rare and difficult to come by. However, recipes are freely traded, and are normally much less expensive than spell scrolls. It’s also likely that you’ll find some recipes among treasure hordes!
It is possible to create a recipe yourself through research, but alchemical research can be an expensive and time consuming proposition! In addition to costing [250gp * Potion Level] in material components used for experimentation and failure, the process will require [1d6 + Potion Level] weeks to complete. If you have a potion to reverse-engineer, then you may reduce either the cost, or the time required by 20%. Having a magic user apprentice who is willing to assist you can reduce either the cost or time by an additional 20%. (In each case, you must pick only one of the two. If you have both a potion to reverse engineer, and an apprentice, then the two you select need not be the same).
If you do not have a potion which you are reverse engineering, Alchemical research will result in discovery of a random potion, determined by the GM.
Some alchemical products may be associated either with clerics, or magic users. For example, a healing potion will be associated with clerics. In that case, a Magic User may still create a healing potion, but the potion will be treated as though it is 1 level higher. So if a healing potion is a level 1 alchemical product, then a magic user who wishes to create one will treat it as a level 2 alchemical product, which costs 100 gp and takes 2 weeks to produce.
An example Alchemical recipe is Strength of the Bull. It’s a level 1 alchemical recipe for clerics and magic users. When consumed, it grants the person who drinks it immense strength for 1 minute. With it, the player can ignore most strength checks, lift heavy boulders, and even smash through walls. A punch from someone who has consumed a Bull’s Strength potion would be equivalent to 2d6 damage. Bull’s Strength doesn’t make a person Superman. They couldn’t knock over a building or lift a sailing galley over their head, but their strength is superhuman none the less.
Trade Caravans
Like Vaults of Pahvelorn, all of the XP in my game comes from the players spending gold. It’s been amazing to watch just how instantaneously players internalize this fact, and become ravenous treasure hunters. It wasn’t long, though, before they’d spent all the money they wanted to spend on basic amenities, and started asking me what else they could spend their treasure on. I needed to come up with some items they could purchase which wouldn’t break my low-magic setting, but would also be interesting enough to the players that they’d feel compelled to spend piles of gold on it.
I immediately thought of Thracle’s Emporium, a shop in the town of Zorfath, which regularly sells oddities such as a miniature wyvern, Dragonbane arrows, or gems with the souls of ghosts trapped inside. The Emporium has often been the subject of discussion in the Vaults of Pahvalorn campaign, as we all scramble to find gold for whatever odd or end the shop has.
Since my game’s town, Haetrope, is a trading town on the edge of Elven territory, I decided that merchants traveling to and from the elven lands would serve the same role as Thracle’s Emporium, for my players. Every few days I come up with a bunch of random items, assign them to a caravan, and let my players know that new goods are available in town. Some of them have obvious uses, while others are simply highly valuable, and still others have uses which aren’t obvious at all. A few days after each caravan arrives in town, it leaves again. The system is pretty simple to pull off, since we manage the campaign online anyway, and everybody seems to be enjoying throwing their money at the various oddities which crop up.
As an example, here are the caravans currently stopped in town:
Marigold’s Caravan
8 finely crafted oaken chairs, engraved with symbols of nature = 100 gp / ea
1 finely crafted oaken table. Seats 8, engraved with symbols of nature = 1000 gp
3 masterwork elven padlocks = 65 gp / ea
A chest with a magical lock upon it, which no one has yet been able to open = 500 gp
A miniature bear, about the size of a cat. It is fully grown. = 750 gp
The Corvani Family Trading Caravan
The Longsword of an Ancient King. It does not appear to be magical, but was once wielded by an unknown hero. It is extremely ornate. = 1700 gp
Exhausted Wand, crafted by an elven wizard, this wand retains no magical powers. = 100 gp
A ballista = 600 gp
14 Ballista Bolts = 40gp/ea
8 potions of healing from the elven lands = 100 gp/ea
1 potion of Sight Through Walls = 200 gp
A block of the finest elven marble, large enough for a life sized statue = 1500 gp
12 pairs of silk, elven shoes = 60 gp / ea
Dade’s Caravan
A grand piano. Well crafted, though not ornate = 700 gp
12 Perisnia blosoms, potted in elvish soil = 30 gp / ea
A lightweight steel staff, topped with an owl holding a glass orb between its wings. Does not appear to be magical. = 1000 gp
3 books detailing the language of Ancient Common = 25 gp / ea
8 very fine elven dresses. Proportioned for an elvish frame = 100 gp / ea
20 yards of elvish silk = 50 gp / ea
In closing, you should totally play Dishonored. So good.
I’ve been pondering how stealthy action could be handled better at the table. When I assessed Pathfinder’s stealth skill earlier this year, I came to the conclusion that while the rules were dangerously unclear on specifics, they could still be interpreted as a pretty solid stealth mechanic. To refresh: Pathfinder’s stealth skill is rolled as an opposed check. The character wishing to be subtle makes their check, and any characters they wish to avoid the detection of rolls a perception check. Highest result wins. If the GM only calls for the check under the proper conditions, and the D&D 3.5 optional facing rules are used, then the skill as written works respectably well, all things considered.
Nevertheless I’ve recently found myself attracted to a ternary stealth system. I hesitate to call it simpler, because in some ways it is more complicated, but ultimately I believe it is more enjoyable and more streamlined than Pathfinder’s raw ruleset. In many ways, it is similar to the Streamlined Skills System I wrote about back in September. It would function thusly:
Characters are either “Subtle,” or “Unsubtle.” If the game is a retroclone, then characters like the thief or assassin will obviously be the subtle ones, whilst all other classes would be unsubtle. In Pathfinder, a subtle character is one who has a bonus in stealth not less than their HD + 1. (So a level 6 rogue must have a +7 or more in her stealth skill if she wishes to be a subtle character.) -OR- if you are concerned about stealth becoming a skill tax, a subtle character is any who has 10 ranks or more in the Stealth skill. (I would discourage my fellow GMs from having subtle characters be those of a class for whom stealth is a class skill. While it is reasonable, the entire benefit of the skill system is that any character can use it to excel at a given task).
Anytime any character wishes to go unseen, and that character has a reasonable chance of failure (more on this below), they must make a stealth check. In a retroclone, the check would likely be defined by the subtle character’s class abilities. In Pathfinder, the DC will be based on the environment. A field of grass would be the baseline of 10, a stone floor would be DC of 15, creaky wood a DC of 20, crunchy leaves or a floor filled with trash a DC of 25. Darkness would reduce the DC, while something like a large mirror would increase it. Obviously, armor check penalties would apply. GMs of both type of game are encouraged to grant circumstance bonuses to characters who take extra precautions like camouflage, and impose penalties on characters who fail to observe common sense precautions like moving at a slow pace.
Attempts at stealth should be rejected by the GM outright in any circumstance where moving undetected would be completely unreasonable. For example, moving in plain sight of the creature you wish to hide from.
If an unsubtle character fails their stealth check, then something has happened which alerts those around them. Perhaps they kicked a stone or scraped their foot on the floor. Perhaps something out of their control occurred, like the door they were opening being poorly maintained, and causing a loud squeaking sound when it opened. If an unsubtle character succeeds on their check, then they are moving pretty quietly. However, nearby creatures may be entitled to a perception check to detect the character anyway. In a retroclone, this perception check is a 1d6 roll, and could have a range of 1, 2, or 3, depending on how likely it is that the nearby creatures heard the player. In Pathfinder, this perception check is a skill check, directly opposed to the result of the player’s stealth roll.
If a subtle character fails their check, they receive the same result that an unsubtle character would on a successful check. If a subtle character succeeds on their check, then they are (within reason) moving with absolute stealth. Their victims are not entitled to any perception checks at all.
A single successful check is only good for so long, however. It would be ridiculous for a rogue to succeed on a stealth check, then move all the way down to bottommost level of the dungeon, retrieve the treasure, and walk back without requiring any further checks. A new check must be rolled any time the situation changes. Some examples of when a new check must be rolled include:
Anytime the character enters a new area, such as moving into a new room.
Anytime the character abandons something which aided them in their stealth, such as moving out of an area of darkness, or moving into an area where their camouflage would no longer be effective.
Anytime they attempt a maneuver which might get them caught, such as making a quick dash from one hiding place to another, or when they open a door.
As mentioned above, checks should only be called for if there is a reasonable chance the character will be detected. Checks should not be called for if the player is crawling on their belly to glance over a hill at an enemy fortress in the valley below. Nor should checks be called for if the character is merely attempting to use some form of cover to hide themselves, without moving. Anybody can crawl inside of a barrel and be essentially undetectable. Exceptions may be made if the character needs to remain in their hiding place for an extremely long time (perhaps an hour or more), or if their hiding space is ill suited to them (such as hiding behind a pole barely large enough to conceal your body while standing sideways).
Ultimately, I hope this system will turn sneaking into a more active process, where players must discuss their actions in detail with the GM. I’m quite happy with this, and plan to implement it in all of my games so I can work out any bugs there may be. I’m eager to hear what others think as well.
In appendix 1 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, a number of poisons are listed. Each poison has a bunch of attributes under their fancy schmancy names. The type indicates how the poison gets inside the body. The onset is how long it takes for the poison to begin its work, while the frequency is how often the poison’s effects will repeat, and for how long. The fortitude save varies by poison, and may be attempted each time the poison’s effects repeat. Normally a single save at any point will cause the poison’s effects to end, but sometimes multiple saves may be required (noted under “cure.”) To be fair, most of these poisons can be deadly, but they don’t really suit my needs when I’m designing a trap.
Poisons highlight a problem I have with Pathfinder: the numerous opportunities to save. It’s an excessive amount of rolling which seems designed to give players a better chance to resist whatever effect is directed at them. But I don’t see why. I prefer a game where an effect either happens, or it does not. A save is either passed, or failed. Allowing 6 saves for a given dose of poison just means that poison won’t be a very large threat to players, because they’ll almost always save within their first few rolls. And the one time that the odds are against them and they roll poorly numerous times in a row, dying because of it, they’re going to feel cheated because their fate was left up to random chance. Survivability from poisons should come in the form of the player’s ability to avoid becoming poisoned in the first place through intelligent play. It should not come in the form of an increased number of die rolls. Many effects, such as enchantments and diseases, suffer from this same problem.
For my own use, I’ve devised a simpler system for poisons which are much deadlier, and simpler to remember. Instead of being enumerated individually, poisons are created by the GM according to these basic guidelines. I don’t find that it’s important to identify the method of contraction, because that’s implied by the delivery method. If the poison is in cloud form, then its inhaled. If it is delivered by a needle, then it needs to be in the bloodstream to work. If it’s in food, it’s an ingested poison.
Most poisons belong to one of six types. These correspond to the six ability scores.
Strength poison weakens the muscles of the victim, and can eventually stop the heart. Constitution poison causes nausea, and makes it difficult to breathe, eventually leaving the victim too weak to swallow food, leading to death. Dexterity poison afflicts the victim’s control over their limbs, and can eventually leave the victim paralyzed. Intelligence poison causes the victim to lose focus, and can eventually leave them in a vegetative state. Wisdom poison tampers with the victim’s connection to reality, and can eventually drive them mad. Charisma poison is rare, and expensive. It saps the victim of their cheer, and personality, leaving them ill-tempered and prone to lashing out at their companions. Eventually Charisma poison can drive a person into such misery that they will wish to kill themselves.
Each of these poisons is available in five levels of potency.
Very Weak poison is old, and may have largely dried up. The save to resist it is 12, and it deals 2d4 damage to the indicated attribute. Weak poison may be watered down, or perhaps not enough was applied. The save to resist is 15, and it deals 2d6 damage to the indicated attribute. Normal poison has a save to resist of 17, and deals 3d6 damage to the indicated attribute. Strong poison may be fresh, or taken from a particularly potent source. It has a save to resist of 20, and deals 4d6 damage to the indicated attribute. Very Strong poison may have been refined by a master alchemist. It has a save to resist of 24, and deals 3d10 damage to the indicated attribute.
The five levels of potency scale nicely with the levels of character power in a given attribute. Weaker poisons are deadly if the character has a very low score for that attribute, while the stronger poisons are deadly for characters who have high scores in the given attribute.
If the save is failed, then the poison will run its course unless an antidote is applied. The first die of the poison’s damage is rolled immediately when the poison is contracted. Every 15 minutes after, another die of the poison’s damage is rolled, until the damage has been dealt in its entirety. If the character takes strenuous action which gets the blood pumping (such as running to get the cure) then the poison may act more quickly (a die rolled every 10 minutes) while a character at rest may be able to hold out longer (a die rolled every 20 minutes)
If the poison reduces the character’s attribute below 0, then the damage is permanent, and the character suffers the fate indicated by the attribute the poison afflicted: death for Strength, inability to eat for Constitution, paralysis for Dexterity, vegetative state for Intelligence, insanity for Wisdom, and suicide for Charisma. If the poison ends its run (either naturally, or because the antidote was applied) before the character’s ability score reaches 0, then the score will regenerate at the standard rate of 1 point per day of rest, until it returns to its previous state.
Non standard poisons may exist, such as poisons unique to a specific creature. But when stocking a dungeon with traps, these six simple poisons in 5 different potencies are varied enough to be interesting, and deadly enough to make players think twice before they open a door with their bare hands.
The only flaw I see in the system is that since the poisons do not have names, players can’t seek antidotes for them. But that’s simple enough: give them names, and have shops sell antidotes for them. Or, better yet, come up with specific plants which can serve as antidotes for them, so players can learn those plants and search for them if they’re poisoned and don’t have any antidote on hand.
In a recent post I covered why I think feats are awesome, despite the significant problems with how they’ve been implemented in Pathfinder. In that post I also posited a couple of alternate systems which would avoid the flaws which D&D 3.X fell prey to. I quite liked some of the ideas I came up with, and based on feedback, so did many others. It seems as though this system would benefit from some further development. Below I’ve tailored the idea specifically to fit within the Pathfinder rules, since that is my primary system right now. However, I stand by the idea that the system could easily be adapted to work in just about any game. I’d be particularly interested to see how it would work in a retroclone compatible RPG.
The Feat Slot system would replace Pathfinder’s feats system. This might break a few minor rules, but none of it should be a significant impediment to the game. The only thing which comes to mind immediately is that Humans would lose one of their primary racial benefits. To compensate, humans will gain a feat slot at first level, while most races will not gain any until second level. In addition, when using this system I think it’s best (though, not necessary) to also remove the ability point which players gain every four levels. Feat Slots should be a net increase in player power, and remove the ability point will help mitigate that.
The rule itself is simple. At second level, and each level after that, characters gain a ‘Feat Slot.’ These slots start out empty, and they cannot be filled by the player. Instead, feats are determined by the GM in response to the character’s actions. The GM is under no obligation to fill these slots immediately, and is encouraged to wait until a feat has been properly ‘earned.’ Once a feat slot has been filled by the GM, it cannot be changed, and a character can never have more feats than they have feat slots available.
There are two ways in which feats can be earned. Individual GMs may develop their own criteria, though they are encouraged to avoid letting feats become part of a ‘build.’ One of the strengths of this system is that feats must be earned through play.
The first method of earning feats is for the character to spend time training with a specific task. The player and the GM should discuss what kind of training the player is doing, how they are facilitating that training (equipment, manuals, trainers…), and how long they intend to train for. 2 weeks is a good baseline, assuming that the character is not also spending that time in other tasks such as crafting magic items. Once the period of training is complete, the GM can grant the player a feat related to their training.
This method has a number of cool benefits. First, it doesn’t require a ton of attention or involvement from the GM. It also gives the players some sense of control over how their character develops, while still encouraging diegetic thinking. The player is not improving their character by finding a build online, or flipping through a sourcebook to find something which works for their character concept. They are taking actions within the game world, and gaining benefits based on those actions. This method also promotes a game where players need to manage time along with their other resources, which I like doing.
For the second method, the GM should take notes on the characters’ actions during game sessions. Specifically, the GM should record anything which a player attempts consistently, or which a player is particularly successful with. If, for example, George attempts a bull rush at the beginning of every combat, or Lindsay attempts something crazy and miraculously succeeds at it, then that should be noted down. When a feat slot becomes available (or immediately, if one already is available) the GM can award the player a feat based on those actions.
While the first method seems more strictly logical, I love how the second method allows character improvement to arise directly from play. In the past, I’ve rewarded players who succeed spectacularly at a given task by given them a permanent bonus to future attempts at the same task. In those cases it was an ad hoc ruling, but everyone enjoyed it, and I think it could function well in a more formalized system. The downside to the second method are that it requires a lot more of the GM’s attention. Players also have less involvement in deciding how their character progresses, but that can be viewed as a good or a bad thing.
The two methods are interchangeable, and no group is bound to use one method for all players, nor even to use one method for a single player. If the group is fine mixing and matching to fit their taste, then there should be no problem with that.
I still haven’t covered what the feats of this system would actually look like. By necessity, many or even most of them will need to be invented by the GM, and specifically tailored to what the player has done to earn the feat. As a general rule, feats should always make a character better at doing something they already had at least a chance to succeed at. (For detailed examples of this, read my original post on feats from November 2011). Balance between feats is something which the GM should be aware of, but not something they should stress over. In the worst case scenario where a feat is allowing one player to dominate the game, a reasonable player will be amenable to having the feat nerfed. If that is not an option, the GM can always opt to reduce the power of that player’s feats in the future, and increase the power of the other player’s feats, until everyone is on somewhat even footing once again. If balance between party members is a major concern for you (though, in my mind, it should not be), then use the core rulebook’s feats as a guide.
To further clarify how this system would function, I’ll run through some examples.
1. Noelle the rogue is extremely fond of fighting with the rapier. She has a feat slot available, and asks the GM if she can devote extra time to training with that particular weapon. The GM tells her that a trainer is available in town who will work with her for 300gp per week, and Noelle agrees. After two weeks of training, Noelle’s purse is 600gp lighter, but the GM grants her the Weapon Focus (Rapier) feat. (+1 to attack rolls with rapier). After reaching her next level, Noelle asks the GM if she can spend still more time training with her rapier. The GM agrees, but since the party has been exploring the wilderness lately, no trainers are available. Noelle instead describes how she stuffs some old clothes with hay, and practices her point accuracy, and delivering solid blows. It takes her 3 weeks of intense training, but Noelle is given the Weapon Specialization (Rapier) feat in exchange. (+2 to damage rolls with rapier).
2. Amber’s fighter stays on point whenever the party is delving into a dungeon. They don’t have a rogue, which means it’s usually Amber’s job to find traps. And by ‘find,’ I mean ‘absorb with her large pool of hit points.’ The GM notices that Amber gets hit with a lot of traps, and determines that she may be developing a better sense of how to spot and avoid them. The GM grants her the Trap Sense Rogue ability, as described on page 69 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook. It allows Amber to add 1/3rd of her level as a bonus to reflex saves and Armor Class against traps.
3. Hyde is a goodly wizard who is frustrated with undead creatures. The next time his party finds a large group of undead, Hyde captures a few dozen zombies, and takes them back to his magical laboratory. He tells the GM he would like to experiment on the undead creatures to see if he can make his spells more effective against them. The GM agrees, and Hyde spends 2 weeks cutting undead open, casting spells upon them, and doing everything he can to learn about this foe. When his research comes to a close, the GM informs Hyde that spells which can normally only be cast on living creatures can now (within reason) be cast on undead creatures as well. When casting a spell like that on an undead creature, however, Hyde must prepare the spell in a spell slot at least 1 level higher than the minimum required.
4. When one of her allies drops below 0 HP in a pitched battle, Jennifer the barbarian leaps forward to defend her fallen companion. The monster attacking her companion is fierce, but Jennifer bravely attacks it anyway, and rolls two twenties! One for each of the attacks she’s allowed to make this round. The extremely effective attack turns the tide of the battle, and saves the party. The GM notes that Jennifer still has a feat slot available, and grants her a permanent +4 to her attack rolls when any of her allies are at, or below, 0HP.
While it has not yet been playtested, I think the Feat Slot system has real potential. I’d be very interested to know what others think!
For evil wizards not ready, or unwilling to attempt the transformation into a lich, partial undeath offers an interesting middle ground. Through dark and bloody rituals, a character’s body parts can be infused with negative energy, causing them to fail, and be reanimated as though they were part of an undead creature. While the caster themselves remains alive–able to enjoy life as only the living can–the parts of them which have become undead confer powerful benefits which can give the caster great advantages.
Zombie Lungs
Requirements:Animate Dead, 2 Assistants, 10,000gp worth of materials.
A focus is required to complete this ritual, and it must come in direct contact with the lungs to be successful. Once completed, the target will not need to breathe in order to survive. They can survive indefinitely underwater, and become immune to any inhaled poisons.
Zombie Stomach
Requirements:Animate Dead, 2 Assistants, 7,000gp worth of materials.
As with the Zombie Lungs, a focus must come in contact with the stomach directly. Once the ritual is completed, the target will not need to eat to survive. They also become immune to ingested poisons.
Zombie Eyes
Requirements:Animate Dead, 3 Assistants, 12,000gp worth of materials.
The eyes must be temporarily removed from the head in order to accomplish this task. When the ritual is completed, the normally white color of the eyes turns to gray. The subject gains darkvision 60ft.
Skeleton Hands
Requirements:Animate Dead, 3 Assistants, 12,000gp worth of materials.
During this ritual, all the flesh must be cut from the hands, leaving nothing but the bone beneath. When it is completed, the subject will have a 1d4 claw attack.
Ghoul Tongue
Requirements:Create Undead, 2 Assistants, 30,000gp worth of materials.
Performing this ritual requires that the tongue be split, and stretched out of the mouth until it freely hangs past the lips. Once the ritual is completed, the subject’s tongue will produce the Ghoul Fever disease. The subject themselves will be immune to it, but if they bite a victim, and that victim fails their fortitude save, then they will rise as a zombie under the biter’s command. This ability does not allow a caster to exceed the normal amount of undead they would be able to control.
Mummy Eyes
Requirements:Create Undead, 4 Assistants, 40,000gp worth of materials.
Like Zombie Eyes, this ritual requires the eyes be fully removed from the head, and then re-inserted once the procedure is complete. Along with turning the white color of the eyes grey, Mummy Eyes causes the iris to turn red and become slightly luminescent. Not so much that it would be obvious in a well lit room, but enough to be visible in darkness, or candlelight. In addition to conferring the subject with darkvision up to 60ft, Mummy Eyes also grant the Despair ability described on page 210 of the Bestiary. The only difference is that the caster must make eye contact with their victim for the ability to come into effect.
Vampires cannot be created by common necromancers, so in order for this ritual to be successful, the teeth must be acquired from an already existing vampire, in addition to the ritual’s other components. These teeth are not grafted into the subject’s mouth, but ground up int an enamel which is applied to the subject’s teeth, and swallowed. Once the ritual is complete, the subject will be able to regain hit points by consuming the blood of the living. While biting a target, they may deal 1d6 damage per round, and heal that same amount.
Note that a the victim does not become a vampire, or any kind of undead, if they are killed by this ability.
Ghost Skin
Requirements:Create Greater Undead, 10 Assistants, 170,000gp worth of materials, a ghost.
This is among the most difficult grafts, even though ghosts are a relatively common form of undead. Because of the level of difficulty involved, an actual ghost must be somehow captured and used in the completion of this ritual, in addition to the ritual’s other components.
Performing this ritual is a grisly ordeal. The subject’s skin must be flayed from their body, and burned in a magical fire along with the ghost. The ash from the fire must then be collected and carefully applied to the skinless body of the subject. When the ritual is complete, this will create an illusory skin which will appear and feel completely normal, though any effects which dispel or disrupt illusions will allow people to see through the subject’s skin. Many casters view this as an acceptable sacrifice, however, since the end result of this ritual is the ability to become incorporeal at will.
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.
Curses don’t show up in tabletop games as often as you might think they would. Traditionally, curses are placed on tombs to prevent grave robbers from stealing the wealth which is buried there, right? But adventurers rob tombs all the time; the worst they ever need to deal with is an animated corpse. And while placing a curse on everything would be a massive time sink which would ultimately not be any fun, a curse here or there could add variety to game play. Sitting down with a notepad just now, I came up with five curses in about 15 minutes which I think would be interesting to use in a game.
Forgive me if this post lacks any of my usual style. As I write this, I am immensely tired.
Mummy’s Curse: Probably the most iconic of curses, the curse of the mummy is simple. When you break into a tomb under the protection of this curse and take something, the mummy rises from the dead. It then hunts you down, kills you, and retrieves what you stole. In D&D, however, mummies are really just another type of undead creature, rather than being part of a curse. They are described as a guardian creature, and are able to spread the curse/disease of Mummy Rot, but there’s nothing which matches the traditional Abbot and Costello style curse.
I propose that, while mummies can exist anywhere, they are most commonly created when a tomb must be protected against robbery. When that is the case, the doors to the tomb are sealed with magics which bestow the curse of the mummy upon trespassers. While the curse is active, the mummy who protects hte tomb which was trespassed upon will always be aware of the location of all of those who bear the curse, and will hunt them, or be destroyed in trying.
Destroyer’s Curse: When a sacred object such as a statue or talisman is broken, sometimes it will confer a curse to the character responsible for breaking it. Until the curse is removed, the character will find that they cannot handle anything safely. Everything they touch with their hands breaks. If they pick up a sword, the blade and pommel will fall apart, leaving the object useless. If they try to don clothing or armor, cloth will tear and straps will snap.
The power of this curse has limits. It cannot be used to destroy a wall or mountain. A rock will not crumble into pebbles simply because it is touched by the character. A good rule of thumb is that tools, weapons, and other items which would commonly be found in a character’s equipment will break if touched. While anything larger than the character themselves will probably be immune.
Captain’s Curse: A spiteful warlock may place a curse upon a position of authority, such as the mayor’s office of a certain town, the captaincy of a ship, or even just the king’s chef. When a job is covered by a captain’s curse, anyone who takes the job will mysteriously end up dead the moment they start trying to do the job competently. For example if the king’s chef made a delicious stew, then somehow they would end up falling into the pot and drowning.
When a position is afflicted by a Captain’s Curse, anyone who fills that role must do their best to perform their job incompetently, lest they become victims of the curse. A captain’s curse cannot be dispelled simply by using Dispell Magic. Normally a more involved decursing ritual is required.
Curse of Secrecy: Sometimes, knowledge itself may be cursed. This would be extremely unusual, as casting a spell on a concept is a difficult task. But for a dark god who wishes to keep their true name a secret, for example, it would be an easy feat.
Anyone who learns a piece of cursed knowledge will find that it is the only secret they can keep. They will be unable to speak a word to anyone about the cursed knowledge, but every other secret they know will constantly fall out of their m omouthes during casual conversation. If remove curse is cast, then the secret which originally caused the curse is forgotten as well.
Broken Mirror: A classic curse bestowing act. A broken mirror is, traditionally, seven years of bad luck. This is nothing but hokum. Breaking a mirror has no effects on a character’s luck. Breaking a magical mirror, however, has significant consequences. A doppleganger of the character will form out of the shards of broken glass within seven weeks of the mirror being destroyed. If the shards are seperated, then the largest group of them will fopminto the doppleganger with no loss of strength. Once it is created, the creature will have but one mission: to find punish the person whose face they wear.
Last week I posted regarding Vampiric Hierarchy, detailing how the hidden society of vampires interact with one another in my campaign worlds. With that out of the way, I’ll move on to specific vampire types, and a broad generalization about what those types represent. But that’s all which can be offered here: generalizations. A player would be a fool to assume two vampires of the same type will present the same challenge, because the curse of the nosferatu affects each of its victims in a unique way. As the great monster hunter Van Richten wrote, “Unfortunately, there is no such thing as a ‘typical vampire.’ Vampires are perhaps the most individualistic of undead. What is true for one is an outright–and dangerously misleading–falsehood for another.”
Types According to Hierarchical Ranking
Fledgelings are newly created vampires, and the lowest on the vampiric hierarchy. Since vampires gain in power as they progress in age, a fledgelings powers are understandably weak compared to most of their brethren. Their strength and spell-like abilities have not yet come into their full potential. Each fledgeling develops at a different rate, but it is common for the vampire’s physical abilities–great strength and speed, the ability to climb walls as a spider would, resistance to mundane weapons, etc.–to be available immediately upon the vampire’s creation. While the more mystical and subtle of a vampire’s abilities, such as domination or changing shape, often take longer to develop. Conversely, all of a vampire’s weaknesses are in full effect immediately after a fledgelings creation, and in most cases the fledgeling is significantly more vulnerable to them than a more powerful vampire would be. While a vampire Lord, for example, might survive several seconds in sunlight, a vampire fledgeling would be instantly incinerated by it.
Coven Vampire. Though stronger than fledgelings, coven vampires are considered weak because they were unable to rise to the rank of soldier or lord/lady. Most commonly, coven vampires live in groups of 5-30, though larger covens have been known to exist. A coven vampire’s abilities are developed more fully than a fledgeling’s, but coven vampires cannot create spawn. In a game like Pathfinder, coven vampires would not have PC class levels.
Soldiers are most likely the vampires which you find under “V” in your Bestiary, Monster Manual, or what have you. They are fearsome foes with full mastery of all the basic vampire abilities. They can create fledgelings if they so choose, but the creation of fledgelings is often considered a declaration that the Vampire wishes to establish themselves as a Lord or Lady in their own right. Despite the title ‘soldier,’ this rank does not necessarily imply that the vampire fills a combat role. In addition to bodyguards and warriors, soldier vampires can include advisers, diplomats, or even consorts. A fully developed vampire who is in direct service to their Lord or Lady is termed a soldier, regardless of specific occupation.
Lord and Lady vampires are undead aristocracy. They rule over impressive lairs or even castles. Occasionally they will even rule over a populace of the living, keeping their unlife a secret by shrouding themselves behind layers of bureaucracy, or using a trusted majordomo to carry out their edicts. Vampiric Lords and Ladies have grown in power beyond anything which could be called ‘typical.’ It is at this level of power which a vampire’s unique traits truly begin to emerge. Some vampires gain physical prowess in the extreme, becoming far stronger and faster even than their already strong and fast fellows. Others may gain unnatural mystical prowess, allowing them to call upon more powerful versions of their spell like abilities, or even developing new abilities altogether. Still others may actually become resistant to their vampire weaknesses, allowing them to ignore the upheld holy symbol of a cleric, or walk freely across running water. And the older a vampire grows, the more powerful they will inevitably become.
First is a rank which cannot be achieved through a vampire’s growing power. While even a commoner could rise to the level of Vampire Lord if they had enough ambition and talent, the rank of First Lord and First Lady is reserved for those who are a direct descendent of the Highlord or Queen of their bloodline. And while a Lord or Lady’s power may be immense, the power of a first dwarfs it. The purity of the curse which afflicts a vampiric first allows them to evolve at twice the speed of any vampires they or their descendents create.
Highlords and Queens are without peer. Often they are so powerful, that they are immune to typical vampire weaknesses. Even sunlights, while painful and disorienting, cannot destroy without prolonged exposure. These rulers of vampiric bloodlines frequently have unique and devastating powers. For example, The Blind Empress, a vampiric queen, was actually capable of causing a solar eclipse, allowing herself and her vampire warriors to devastate rival bloodlines easily by attacking them during the day. Highlords and Queens also develop physical changes as well. To again use The Blind Empress as an example, she had permanent wings, and skin which cut like a blade.
Anomalous Types
Feral Vampires are hungry. They have been without any blood for months, or even years, and they have lost their grip on reality. A feral vampire is a beast who pursues blood without a thought for subtlety or personal safety. Mind you, feral vampires will not foolishly destroy themselves, and they maintain enough intelligence to recognize and avoid danger. But they will brazenly attack in plain view of dozens of people, and they are not very good at keeping track of how much time they have remaining until sunrise. The only cure for a feral vampire is to consume massive amounts of blood. The equivalent of about 100-200 people in the space of a week. Any fledgelings created by a feral vampire will be feral themselves, and incurable.
When a vampire goes feral, it draws a great deal of attention to itself. For this reason, feral vampires are typically hunted down and killed by other vampires. The last thing anybody wants is for one vampire to go on a killing spree, and inspire a dozen towns to put bounties on vampire teeth.
Recovered Feral vampires are uncommon, since most are either killed by those they wish to hunt, or by their fellow vampires. However, it does occur, and when it does the effects of their feral period are not kind to the vampire’s appearance. Their face becomes much more sunken, and their teeth and fingers both become much longer, even to the point of being somewhat unwieldy. While most vampires are able to pass for human if the need arises, a feral vampire would be unable to do that without great difficulty. They appear much more like an animated corpse than their fellows, and will always lust for blood more than a typical vampire would. Recovered ferals are generally looked down upon within vampire society.
Rhonin Vampires are a rare breed. Somehow they managed to overcome the powerful magics which prevent a vampire from ever attacking their master. Every time their attention was diverted, or they lost consciousness, they powered through, until they had broken the magic’s hold over them. At this ponit they are already dangerously unbalanced, and the final act of killing their own master drives them fully into maddness. They become completely severed from their bloodline. Normally they are left to their own devices, and their maddness is used as a deterring example to other vampires.
Damphyr, or ‘half vampires’ can come about in several ways, none of them common. A pregnant woman who is turned into a fledgeling, for example, will not give birth to a full vampire, since the child was already partially formed prior to her transformation. Likewise, it is sometimes possible for congress between a vampire and a living mortal to result in pregnancy. The child who is born part vampire does not have access to the full range of vampiric abilities, but does have many of the traits of their vampiric parent, though to a lesser degree. Damphyrs are also afflicted by a vampire’s weaknesses, though again, to a lesser degree than their parent. A Damphyr can go out in daylight, for example, but will find the experience both painful and disorienting. If a damphyr refrains from consuming blood, then both their powers, and their weaknesses, will lessen over time, allowing them to live as a normal member of their species. If at any time they do consume blood, though, their powers will return in full force.
Survivor Vampire. After a vampire is nearly destroyed by one of its weaknesses, they occasionally develop an illness which incapacitates them for weeks. This illness is extremely painful and draining, requiring the vampire to feed a great deal more often than normal. When the illness ends, the vampire will find they have become resistant to the harmful agent which caused the illness. For example, a vampire who was nearly destroyed by sunlight would be able to last in sunlight for up to a minute without dying. Or a vampire who was doused in holy water would find they now had greater resistance to holy magics.
Revenant – Spectral vampires. The exact method of their creation is unknown, but it is suspected that they are destroyed vampires who have been reanimated through the most powerful and evil necromatic magics imaginable. Revenants lose the ability to create spawn, as well as any interest in participating in the political machinations of vampire society. They are indiscriminate death-dealers who spread disease and discord wherever they go. In many ways they are like feral vampires. But while ferals are driven by hunger to become beasts without intellect, revenants are driven by hate to become beasts without affection or restraint.
