Lively Locals 3: Drummer's Field

Everybody has a story about what happened on Drummer’s Field. No two are quite the same, and all of them are suspect. No written historical account of the battle fought there is known to exist. What few sages have studied the field’s legacy know scarcely more than the drunks who swap their yarns in nearby taverns.

There are, however, a very few facts upon which everyone agrees. Not less than two centuries ago, a battle was fought on Drummer’s Field. In that battle, a ruling line was ended forever. And, whether through victory or through flight, a great evil survived. Lastly, no one contests that something of the battle was left behind—though precisely what remains a mystery.

Drummer’s Field takes its name from a lone figure who walks its length each night. No one has ever seen where he comes from, or where he goes, but each night he emerges from the forest on the southern side of the field. He marches solemnly, beating his drum in time with his step. It takes him roughly a half of an hour to cross to the Northern side of the field, where he disappears again into the trees.

Many sages have studied the Drummer in depth. He is not a ghost, for he has corporeal form. Neither has never been confirmed that he truly appears and disappears. If he does, it is always immediately upon being out of sight. If his path is blocked by a physical object, he will calmly move around it without changing pace. The few times a person has dared to block his path directly, a bright yellow light has emanated from beneath the Drummer’s cowl. This light engulfs the blocker’s form, and when it dissipates, they are gone None who have been engulfed by this light have ever been heard from again.

A few attempts to forcibly restrain or attack the drummer have been attempted. If these attacks can be ignored, the Drummer simply continues his march. More serious attempts to restrain or harm the Drummer cause the Drummer to die, silently. Either clutching at his throat as though choking, or clutching at any wounds which have been inflicted on him. When the body is examined, it is discovered that there is no one within the Drummer’s clothing. Only a few nights later, the Drummer returns to the field, as though nothing happened. This has only been attempted a few times, since each time the Drummer has died, one of those responsible for his ‘death’ has disappeared without explanation shortly thereafter.

It has also been noted that upon careful listening, one can hear the sounds of a great battle with each beating of the figure’s drum. These sounds are only faint echos, so it is difficult to learn anything about the battle from them. An elven sage named Efrem once spent 50 years dutifully cataloging each sound she could make out from the beating of the drums. Even with her impressive elven hearing, the volumes she produced are primarily filled mostly with the clash of swords, and a few shouted commands. She did insist, however, that the sound was a little different each night.

The locals have come to accept the Drummer as a relatively innocuous creature, and even a source of community pride. They warn their children to stay away from him, citing of his deadly gaze. But every child knows you can’t be a man (or woman) until you’ve spent a night marching beside the Drummer.

GM INFORMATION:

Four hundred years ago, the king of a small kingdom stood against the demonic hordes of a Balor. The king and his army were slaughtered, and the demon carried out a ruthless campaign of genocide against the King’s people, erasing anyone who might remember the upstart who had dared to oppose him. With his dying breath, the King swore to the demon that the battle would never end until his people had been avenged.

The drummer appeared shortly thereafter, marching the field as a creature outside of time. Any who met his gaze were welcomed by him. The light he emitted sent them hurtling back through time, into the thick of the battle. Some managed to survive the battle, others were not so lucky. And none of them were able to change the battle’s outcome, and thus end the Drummer’s march.

At first, the Drummer had no form of his own. Beneath the clothing which bore the king’s colors, there truly was nothing. That changed the first time the Drummer was killed, about 15 years after he began his nightly march. Since then, whoever kills the Drummer has been possessed by its spirit. At night they rise as though they are awake, though they have no awareness of themselves or their surroundings. They instinctively know where the Drummer’s garb can be found. They immediately put it on, and travel to the field where they begin their march.

As they cross the field, the Drummer’s magic begins to take hold of them. And if they make it to the far end of the field, then they become bound forever to the Drummer’s task. Since then, each night when The Drummer disappears, he has been transported back through time to the battlefield. There the Drummer must watch, time and again, as the demons triumph over the goodly forces of humanity.

If anyone sent back through time is ever able to successfully turn the battle’s tide, and defeat the demons, the Drummer’s curse would end. Though the spell would not likely send the heroes back to their own time, instead trapping them in the past where they must either learn to live, or hope to find their own way back home.

Updated Forest Battlefield Generator

A long while ago, shortly after I started taking this blog seriously, I wrote a post about making your forest environments more exciting during battles. It was the first of my Spicing Up the Battlemat series of posts, which is a series I’ve always found both fun and useful. Along with that post, I made a pdf file to help generate forest battlefields. I don’t know if anyone else has ever downloaded it, but I’ve certainly gotten a lot of use out of it myself. However, having now used it for several months, I’ve noticed more than a few problems. Not only are there several typos, but some options (most notably insects) came up far too often.

I recently took the time to revisit that chart, and I’ve updated a number of things. The layout is more clear, I’ve removed some useless information, added some cool new options, and altered some of the probabilities. I’ve also changed the rules about undergrowth, which I had taken directly from page 427 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook. As it turns out, however, people who design tabletop role playing games might not be nature experts. I happen to have one such expert in my group, and they recently pointed out that when there’s high tree density, sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the forest floor, and thus there is less undergrowth, not more.

For my own purposes, I use this chart in almost every game, and I fully believe it has enriched our group’s experience. So, if you’re interested, here’s the PDF. An image of the file is also available below.

Random Forest Battlefield Generator v2

Lively Locals 2: River of Blades

Once, there was a tribe who lived by the river. They were not skilled in technology or magic, but the river provided everything they needed. Its water was clean, and its depths filled with fish. The tribe flourished under the leadership of Matron Ulanae. Ulanae was wise, and was the first among her tribe to begin to discover the powers of magic. She used her gifts to improve the lives of her people, and she was beloved. But the elders were jealous of Ulanae. Before she had begun to display her magical talents, they had ruled the tribe as the speakers for the River Spirit.

The elders told Ulane that the River Spirit wished to commune with her. To do so she must travel seven days up river to the place where the river falls from the high cliff. She was to climb the high cliff, and bathe above the waterfall to form a sacred bond with the river. Ulanae and her people still had great reverence for the River Spirit, so she obeyed the elder’s commands and began her journey. In secret, the elders followed her. They remained hidden until Ulanae reached the top of the waterfall, and began bathing in the waters there. They then emerged from hiding, and overpowered the matron. They threw her over the cliff, and her body was destroyed on the many sharp rocks below.

The elders returned to the village. They intended to tell the people that Ulanae had offended the River Spirit with her brashness, and that the River Spirit had consumed her as punishment. But when they arrived they found the people in great distress. The River Spirit was angry, they said, and would not let them enter the River. The Elders tried to calm the people by praying loudly to the River Spirit. When they had finished, they waded into the water–and their bodies were torn asunder by the river’s bite.

Without strong leadership, and lacking the resources the river had provided them, the tribe eventually moved off to settle elsewhere.

—

By all appearances, there is nothing out of the ordinary about the River of Blades. The somewhat muddy water flows at a fast pace, but not so fast that it would be difficult to stand in. It is between 50 and 90ft wide, and over 500 miles in length from the waterfall where it begins, to the estuary where it meets the sea. There are no towns near the river, nor are there any bridges built across it. The only oddity about the river is that it contains no plant or animal life whatsoever. No algae grows on the rocks, no fish swim in the water, local animals do not drink from it, and even trained horses will only enter it with extreme reluctance.

When anything makes contact with the water, it is attacked as though by dozens of swords all at once. Leaves and branches which fall into the water from nearby trees are quickly chopped into dust, and the effect is no less dramatic on adventurers. If the water is touched only very lightly, such as with the flat of one’s palm, or the toe of one’s boot, no damage is dealt. Instead, the character will feel as though they are being sliced, and if they look at whatever part of them touched the water they will see numerous tiny lacerations cross-crossing in all directions. If a hand or foot is submerged in the water, the character takes 1d4 slashing damage per round. If the character stands waist deep in the water they take 3d6 slashing damage per round. If the character swims, or is submerged in the water, they take 5d8 slashing damage per round. Anyone foolish enough to drink this water will suffer massive internal injuries, and instantly be reduced to -1 hit points.

No effect visible to the naked eye accompanies this attack. A character who is using Detect Magic or a similar spell will be able to see faint outlines of blades in the water, but only when an attack is taking place. There is also a very faint sound of slashing swords (again, only when an attack is taking place) but this is normally drowned out by the river’s flow. Anything which is placed in the water is subject to this attack. Most wooden craft are quickly shredded. Stone seems to hold together alright, though visible scratches constantly appear in its surface, and it would likely erode to nothing after a few hours of contact with the water. Curiously, if a bladed weapon is submerged in the water it is not damaged. Rather, when it is removed from the water, the wielder will discover that it has been expertly sharpened.

Water removed from the river will retain this slashing property so long as it is within 1 mile of the river. Note that this means it will destroy many of the containers water might normally be placed in. If this water is used as a weapon, by throwing it or splashing it at an opponent, the damage dealt is at the GM’s discretion. Roughly 1 cup of water would deal 1d6 damage, but more water might deal greater amounts of damage as indicated by the list above.

Lively Locals 1: Maeglen Valley

Anyone whose been to Maeglen Valley will tell you: once you’ve stood amongst the the valley’s trees, and heard the music of the wind in their branches, something inside of you changes. Plants outside Maeglen never look quite as green as they once did, and the taste of fruit never seems as sweet as it should.

But no one ever regrets the experience.

Maeglen Valley is cradled between two large hills, deep within the forest. It is said that one of the powerful gods of nature was born there, but no one can agree on which one, or how that ascension took place. Some say the god’s mortal life ended violently in the center of the valley, and that their divine blood still fertilizes the soil. Others argue that the valley is the location of the very first tree in all the world, and that the god was once a Dryad bonded to that tree. Most druids maintain that the fertility of the valley is its natural state. They say it was so powerful when time began, that their god grew there, as a plant might.

Truth be told, no one really knows what they’re talking about, because nobody has been there more than once. Part of the magic of the valley prevents anyone who has memories of Maeglen from ever finding its location a second time. Those who seek it have tried to create maps, leave trails, or even travel with a guide who has never been to the valley before. Everyone who has been there once wants to go back, but so far no one has ever succeeded.

Aside from being a place of indescribable beauty, Maeglen valley is possessed of immense natural magical. A seed planted there will fully bloom within days, and will thrive regardless of its natural habitat. Even those most learned and widely traveled druids who make a pilgrimage to Maeglen Valley will find numerous species of plants there which they’ve never encountered before. Most treasured of all, and the reason why many seek the valley in the first place, are its legendary fruits. Many of the plants within the valley bear fruit, some familiar, some completely otherworldly. Each has a powerful effect on any who eat it. Some fruits cure disease, or close wounds. Others strengthen the body or mind, while a few even bestow hidden knowledge.

Many who taste these fruits are overwhelmed by the experience. Not only is the fruit’s flavor unlike anything they’ve ever eaten, but the elation which is felt as the magic takes hold has sometimes been described as addictive. Almost everyone eats a second piece of fruit, some eat a third. Those who don’t know the fruit’s dangers often eat a fourth or a fifth. The number of fruit a which can be eaten is different for everyone, but without moderation the result is always the same. Eventually the fruit sours in the glutton’s stomach, leading to painful vomiting. Anyone who reaches this point will lose all the benefits the fruit had bestowed upon them up tot hat point, and will find all fruit completely unpalatable for the rest of their lives. Often in the valley’s history, enterprising adventurers have tried to take as much fruit as they could with them. Even if they can’t eat it, they imagine they can sell it for an exorbitant price. Unfortunately, the fruit of Maeglen Valley becomes virulently poisonous the moment the valley is out of sight.

Being within the valley also has a strong effect on magical spells. Any spell which would harm the plant life within the valley, such as fire, acid, or necrotic spells, has its effects reduced to about 25% of normal. And any damage to the plants from such spells is healed within minutes. Conversely, natural spells such as those cast by druids are twice as effective as they are normally.

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.

Abyssal Rambling

Note: Members of my ToKiJaTiMo gaming group should not read this post.

I don’t remember precisely when I first obtained my copy of D&D 3rd edition’s Manual of the Planes. It was probably among the first supplements I ever owned. It’s almost certainly the first RPG book I read cover-to-cover. I spent much of my early life exploring fantastical worlds through books and video games, so I was no stranger to the idea of otherworldly dimensions where the laws of reality work differently. What was completely new to me was to see those worlds explained and quantified. In a narrative, it’s important to maintain an aura of mystique about such locals. But this book had diagrams, explanations of different types of gravity, even pseudoscience about how the planes interacted with one another. The volume of concepts the book presented set my imagination aflame. The possibilities of running a planar adventure are always wafting about in my mind, but in all this time, I’ve never got around to actually doing it.

In our most recent session I presented my players with four different hooks. The elves needed help in their war against the orcs to the south, and there were three different adventures the players would need to undertake to obtain the three different materials they would need to transform their sorceress into an Arachnohominid. So what happens?

Gibbous The Cleric “What about all those gnomes that were turned to stone in the dungeon?”

GM “Well, Pumofe [The party’s new gnome barbarian] was one of them. The rest are still in there.”

Gibbous “We can’t just leave them down there. We should help them first.”

Poker the Rogue “I see no profit in that.”

Rosco The Ranger “Well, we could at least tell the gnomes that they’re in there.”

Pumofe “But they can’t get them out, can they? There’s the magical barrier thing that keeps gnomes out.”

Poker “Oh! Since we’re the only ones who can go in there, we can charge the village per statue we carry out!”

Gibbous “Guys, we have gotta help these gnomes! I wasn’t here last session, how did we rescue Pumofe?”

Rosco “We used Demon’s blood.”

Gibbous “I have some of that!”

GM “No you don’t, that’s the blood they used.”

Gibbous “Cuthbert damn it! We need to find some demons then. Come on guys!”

A few hours of gameplay later, the party had tracked down their wizard friend Mahudar Kosopske, and convinced him to make them a Gem of Plane Shift with 2 charges. One to get them to the Abyss, and one to bring them home. (a scene which I recently posted an illustration of, in fact). Assuming they stick to their present adventure path, it looks like I’ll be running my first Planar adventure pretty soon. I’m excited, and brimming with ideas.

The gem the wizard is making for them will teleport them to a relatively unpopulated area, ostensibly for safety’s sake, since they are still low level adventurers. But since the purpose of their trip is to harvest blood from demons, a remote location serves the double purpose of making their task more difficult. I’ve been trying to come up with challenges they’ll need to face which will test their mettle without giving them what they need too easily. So far I’ve com up with the following:

Field of Chains an area of ground covered in barbed chains and dead bodies. At first these chains will appear to be set dressing, but once all players are standing on the chains, they will begin to make grapple attempts against the players. Once grappled by at least two chains, they will attempt to pull the player apart. Each chain is AC: 12, Hardness: 4, HP: 6, with a CMB of +6. Each round a character is successfully grappled, they will take 1 damage from the barbs on each chain, as they shift and twist. Once there are two chains on a player, they will make a combat maneuver check at a -4 penalty to pin the character. This penalty is reduced by 1 for each chain on the player. Once a player is pinned, the chains deal 1d6 damage per round as they attempt to pull the player apart.
Suicide Forest An extremely dense forest of dead trees, with a body hanging by a noose from each tree. The branches of these trees are extremely brittle, and whenever one breaks, the tree screams in agony from an unseen mouth. It is impossible to move through this forest without breaking branches every few feet. And every scream has a chance to attract a hellhound–or worse. (Thank you, Dante Alighieri!)
Acid Lake A titanic creature died here–violently. Only its top half is anywhere to be seen, and it towers above the players like a castle. It appears to have died some time ago, because it has rotted away enough that many bones are visible. Its stomach is completely gone, and from the rotted cavity a wash of green, bubbling acid flowed out to form a lake which deals 1d8+2 damage per round.
The Gods are Not Welcome Anytime a player attempts to cast any good aligned clerical magic (such as Gibbous’ healing spells) demons nearby will sense the intrusion into their realm, and a random encounter will be rolled to appear 1d6 rounds later.
Field of Razorgrass Field of waist-high grass. Any character not wearing armor takes 1d4 damage per square they move through. Characters wearing armor on their legs still take 1d4 damage, but only once per movement.

If anyone has any more environment ideas, I’m eager to hear them.

I think the best way to run this little planar excursion will be to style it like an outdoor dungeon. Instead of using 6 mile hexes, I’ll use 5ft hexes, and the players will need to solve problems in 10 minute turns. I’ll also need to figure out just how much blood they can get from each demon–and how big and bad the demons will get. If they’re not careful, they will probably encounter something severely out of their league, such as a Marileth.

May of the Dead: Crypt of Ancient Wisdom

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: Undead Items

It’s Friday again, which means it’s time for another undead-themed post as part of the May of the Dead Blog Carnival! This week’s entry is a new type of magic item which I call an “Undead Item.”

An Undead Item is not simply a magic item with an undead theme. Plenty of magic items have skull or death motifs, and many have effects which are related to undead. But though these items have an obvious connection to undeath, they are not themselves undead items. An undead item has an un-life all its own. While not necessarily intelligent, undead items are created by taking dead matter (such as a limb from a corpse) and empowering it with negative energy through an evil crafting ritual which creates–in essence–a very simple undead creature. A creature which usually cannot move or act on its own, but which instead serves to bestow its powers upon whoever wields it.

It is important to note that while many undead items are named for more well recognized types of undead creatures, the item itself is not necessarily made from that creature. In fact, as with other forms of undead, an undead cannot normally be created from a corpse which has ever been animated before.

Zombie Juice This swirling red concoction comes in vials of about 6 ounces each. If it is imbibed, then unintelligent undead will view the user as ‘one of them’ for one hour per ounce which is consumed. Zombies, skeletons, and other such creatures will not attack the user unless specifically direct to do so by their master. And, in such a case, commands such as “destroy the human!” will not work. The undead creature’s master must very specifically indicate which creature is to be attacked.

If anyone wishes to consume more than 6 ounces at a time, they must succeed on a constitution check (DC: 12 + the number of ounces over 6 which are being consumed). Failure causes the user to be incapacitated for 10 minutes while they violently vomit. After 5 minutes of vomiting, the any effects gained by the Zombie Juice disappear, and the incapacitated user is subject to attacks from unintelligent undead.

Crafting Materials: Blood from an intelligent creature which was alive when the blood was taken but has since died, Unholy Water

Deadman’s Gaze A Deadman’s Gaze appears as an eyeball wrapped in flesh, with eyelids intact. It sleeps much of the time when it is not in use, but occasionally looks around on its own, taking in its surroundings. From the back of the orb protrudes a 20ft long ocular nerve, thick and tough like a rope. Anyone whose skin comes in contact with this ocular nerve will see whatever the Deadman’s Gaze sees so long as their own eyes are closed. Whoever holds the end of the ocular nerve will also be able to control the eye, opening and closing it, and looking in whatever direction they desire.

The eye’s primary use is to scout dangerous areas without putting the user in jeopardy. It has also occasionally been used as a torture device, since it can be used to force someone to watch something they wish to look away from, even when their eyes are closed. One of its most useful applications is as an impromptu nighttime guardian. Someone holding the ocular nerve and closing their eyes will not find it difficult to sleep. They will see what the eye sees as though it is a noiseless dream. The eye will attempt to observe everything it can from wherever it is positioned, and will focus on anything which visually seems threatening, but it cannot sense audio indicators of danger.

Crafting Materials: The eye of a humanoid creature, a sliver of brain tissue from a humanoid creature, an ounce of freshly shorn humanoid skin, 20ft of finely crafted rope.

Dead Messenger This simple skull and jawbone can record any message which is whispered into its “ear.” Once the message has been spoken, a set of necromatic command words are used to determine when the message should be activated. The parameters of its activation must be relatively simple, such as:

A command word, or phrase is uttered within “earshot” of the Dead Messenger.
A creature of a certain type comes within 20ft of the Dead Messenger.
When the area the skull is in becomes illuminated.

When the parameters are met, the Dead Messenger will then repeat the message in its own, guttural, clattering voice. It will continue to do this, repeating the message any time the parameters are met, until it is given a new message set of necromatic commands.

Crafting Materials: One skull and jawbone from the same creature, one silver piece placed between the skull and jawbone.

Food Taster This un-decomposing humanoid tongue is wet with saliva. Though it is not necessary, many are mounted on a handle, since it is unpleasant to hold them in your hand. When a Food Taster is touched to a substance, it will turn green if that substance would have a negative chemical or biological reaction to the user’s body. It can be used to detect any kind of poison, whether it is an ingested, inhaled, intravenous, or contact poison. It can also be used to locate dangerous diseases by touching it to an infected individual. Note that this item cannot be used to determine any information about a dangerous substance, only that the substance is dangerous to the user. Note also that if the user is immune to a substance which might be dangerous to others, the Food Taster will will not turn green in the presence of that substance.

Crafting Materials: One humanoid tongue from a creature who was killed by a poison, venom, or disease.

Grip of Despair Two skeletal hands connected by a single radius and ulna (the bones of the forearm). When not in use, the hands clasp and unclasp, or waggle their fingers, looking for something to grab hold of. When placed on the arms or legs of a small or medium creature, the Grip of Despair functions as a pair of masterwork manacles. In addition to binding a creature, the Grip of Despair cause any creature they grab hold of to act as though Shaken for as long as the manacles are on. No saving throw against this effect is allowed, though creatures which are immune to fear effects are not affected. In addition, any creature bound by a Grip of Despair takes a -2 on all will saves, with an additional -2 for any will save against fear.

Crafting Materials: Two skeletal hands (one left, one right), one skeletal forearm.

Spinal Column Scimitar This +1 scimitar, composed entirely of vertebrae, pulsates with negative energy. When not in use, it can occasionally be seen flexing back and forth with its limited mobility. On a successful hit, the victim must succeed on a fortitude save (DC: 18) or be paralyzed for 6 rounds. Even on a successful saving throw, the victim will be paralyzed for 1 round.

Crafting Materials: The spinal column of a paralyzed humanoid.

Funeral Procession Carriage The body of this carriage has a largely normal construction–though many are ornamented with depictions of skulls or other deathly imagery. It differs from a normal carriage in that it has no wheels, nor any harness for horses. Instead, the carriage is supported and propelled by row after row of skeletal legs which move in unison. Each pair of legs is mounted to a pelvic bone, which is mounted directly into the bottom of the carriage’s coach compartment. The legs are speedy and agile, which allows the Funeral Procession Carriage to move faster, and across more difficult terrain than most carriages could manage.The legs are also capable of shifting to a kneeling position to facilitate easy entry and exit from the carriage.

In order to function properly, the skulls associated with each pair of legs must be included in the construction of the coach. This is sometimes accomplished by mounting the skulls on the carriage, but more often the skulls are broken into smaller pieces, and their shards embedded in the wood used to construct the coach. The shards are spread evenly throughout all the wood of the carriage, and so long as one skull fragment from a given skull remains as part of the coach, the associated legs will continue to function. This prevents minor damage from disabling any of the legs.

Most necromancers are able to control a Funeral Procession Carriage using necromatic command words. Most of these carriages are also designed to accept any commands spoken by someone within the the cabin, though some are intended for use as prisoner transports, and do not include this function.

Crafting Materials: One carriage, at least twenty skeletons (four rows, five columns. Torsos are not required), the brain of a carriage driver.

Jabbering Prophet An un-decomposed head with emeralds embedded in each eye socket. The stump where the neck would normally connect to the head is capped with a metal plate which has been bolted in place. The jabbering prophet speaks constantly about things which seem to be of little or no importance. In fact, these nonsensical utterances are a constant stream of information about the past, present, or future of random creatures which exist throughout the multiverse. Were anyone able to record and catalog all of this information, it would no doubt reveal a great many secrets, but the task would be an impossibly monumental undertaking.

Once every hour, the jabbering prophet pauses for 30 seconds, then its emerald ‘eyes’ look towards someone within its field of vision, and it speaks a prophecy relevant to that individual. This effect can be controlled by facing the jabbering prophet towards a specific individual, and ensuring that no one else stands within the head’s field of vision. The prophecy which is spoken will most often relate to events which can take place within an hour’s time, but occasionally an event of great importance which may not happen for many years will be prophesied. Examples of such prophecies include:

If you travel south, you will be ambushed by orcs.
If you visit the elves, a blade in hand will be more deadly to you than to your enemies.
The Duke of Elloron will deceive you thrice when you meet.

Aside from the pause it takes each hour, the jabbering prophet never stops speaking, though it does know to whisper if its wielder is attempting to be quiet. This causes a -6 penalty on all stealth checks. The sound of the prophet’s speaking can be muffled by cloth, or magically silenced. However, if the jabbering prophet is ever physically forced not to speak (such as with a muzzle) then it will strain to speak until it destroys itself.

Crafting Materials: The head of a diviner 12th level or higher, two emeralds with a spell of True Seeing cast upon them.

How Saying 'Yes' to your Players Makes GMing Easier

I’ve been working on my time tracking in recent sessions, and as an experiment I included a boss which underwent a transformation as time went on. She was a sorceress named Anyetta the Many Eyed, and she had a peculiar fascination with spiders. That fascination led her to the decision to create a powerful ritual to give herself certain arachnid attributes. If the party encountered her within two hours of entering the dungeon, they would have caught her while she was casting the transformation ritual. Had they fought her, she would have likely been a moderate challenge as a level 3 sorceress against a party of level 1 characters. After the casting of the ritual, there was a 20 minute window of vulnerability while the transformation took place. She would have been immobilized, and easy prey (assuming the party recognized her as a villain). Following the transformation, the sorceress gained a number of powerful abilities that made her into a pretty dangerous encounter for 1st level players.

As it so happened, it took the party about 5 hours of game time to find her. They attempted diplomacy first, but after giving her some information they probably should not have, she attacked. Fortunately for them, the boss turned out to be a glass cannon She managed to nearly one-shot one of the characters, but the rest of them made better reflex saves. Since she was a sorceress it only took a few hits to leave her dead on the floor. There wasn’t even enough time for any giant spiders to come to her aid. The party looted her corpse, which had some of the best treasure I had placed in the dungeon, then began to search the room. They found a lot of strange alchemical stuff they didn’t understand, and a lot of books with notes about how the ritual was performed, but nothing of great value.

Or so their foolish GM thought.

“Hey Phoenix,” the ranger said to the party’s own sorceress. “Do you want to give this ritual a try?”

“Sure, that sounds fun!” the sorceress replied.

From behind the GM screen, I mumbled a quiet “oops!”

There was a time when I would have said no. I would have come up with some reason why it wasn’t possible for the player to make that kind of unconventional leap in power. Maybe I’d indicate that in studying the books the player would learn that Anyetta’s formula was flawed, and that she would have died of natural causes after a week or two. But that’s not how I GM anymore, and I’m not sure why it ever was. Usurping the villain’s plan is exactly the type of thing I would do as a player. It’s honestly thrilling to have players who are as madcap in their approach to the game as I am. So I told the sorceress yes. She would be able to repeat the ritual, but that it would require a great deal of time and preparation to complete.

We ended our session shortly thereafter, with most of the party returning to town to sell their loot (and, incidentally, establish a museum) while the sorceress remained behind to study. A few hours later when I was putting away my folding tables, I began to ponder the next gaming session. For a few days I’d been half-assedly working on an idea for the next adventure. Something to do with dwarves and giants, in which the party would end up in a large dwarven citadel where they could take care of city-things. For a moment I turned my attention to my sorceress’ desire to become a spider-woman. I was just as intrigued by the idea as my players were, but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle it. It would be a significant jump in power for the player, once which could unbalance the game in her favor. It also didn’t seem right to simply let her gain the powers after spending a couple weeks casting spells.

That’s when I realized that by allowing my player to pursue an unconventional goal, I was no longer in a position of needing to provide them with an adventure to pursue. They had chosen their adventure: turn the sorceress into a spider woman. Now all I had to do was set the parameters of that adventure. I won’t go into too much detail here, since my players do occasionally read this site, but suffice to say that the task will require the players to go on a number of small side adventure. By the time they’re finally ready to start casting the spell, they’ll have spent somewhere between 3 and 6 sessions on the task, if they’ve remained focused. And while they pursue this goal, they’ll be far more engaged in the game than they ever would be if I was the one trying to create their motivation.

My players are the ones guiding my game now, and I couldn’t be happier that they’ve taken the reigns.

For the record, by the way, this is the template the sorceress is pursuing:

Arachnohominid Template

When a humanoid creature gains the arachnohominid template, six additional eyes grow at even distances from each other around the base creature’s head, and eight large spider legs grow from their back. These legs are large enough that when the creature is standing on them, their humanoid legs will be half of their height off of the ground (about 2.5-3ft for a human). An arachnohominid creature is also able to spin webs through nodules on their fingertips, and control other arachnids to a limited degree.

Unfortunately for the arachnohominid, these alterations are extremely difficult to hide, and are likely to cause fear and mistrust in most of the civilized world.

Type Type changes to Monstrous Humanoid (Do not recalculate Hit Dice, BAB, or saves.)
Senses Darkvision 60ft, +4 to perception checks, considered to be looking in all directions at once. (cannot be “back attacked.”)
Armor Class Natural armor improves by +2
Abilities Strength and Dexterity each improve by +2
Feats The base creature gains Toughness as a bonus feat.
Speed When on the spider legs, the creature’s speed increases to 60ft. The creature can move at this speed even when climbing along walls or ceilings.
Special Abilities

Able to climb on walls or ceilings as though affected by a permanent Spider Climb spell.
Can spin webs to entrap foes. Webs can be placed and hidden, or spun around opponents within 30ft during combat. In the latter case, a reflex save of DC [10 + 1/2 character level + Dex Modifier] allows the creature to avoid the attack. In either case, a DC 20 strength check can break the webs, or any attack which deals 5 damage to the webs (AC: 5, Hardness: 0).
A small, fast moving tendril of web can also be used to deliver touch spells up to 30 ft. The arachnohominid must succeed on a ranged touch attack [1d20 + BAB + Dex Modifier against Touch AC] or the spell fails.
Spiders obey the mental commands of an Arachnohomnid. Larger spiders are entitled to a will save DC [10 + 1/2 Arachnohominid HD + Cha]

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.