The three agents of the citadel had just before ended the short life of an abyssal hound, wrought from inky wet tendrils. A pool of black, oozing liquid silently seeps into the worked stone ground just outside the autopsy room they had investigated. Bogumil decides to stay in the autopsy room, to try to glean some new information from the rended corpse of a man on one of the stone slabs, and possibly speak with the ghosts of the place. Undamya and Bastion venture deeper into the dark, cold compound. After the lighting of a long torch, the space of the brickwork no longer shifts disorientingly, such hallucinations probably the effect of some illusion or an odorless gas leaked into the hallways.
The two spelunkers reach a fork in their path; ahead, a cylindrical shaft serving as the first of many catacombs. To the east, a cave-in hiding a secondary autopsy room and connecting natural exit. They venture down the macabre reverse tower, noting that many of the graves are empty, until the spiraling staircase terminates to a moist, algae covered floor. High above them, the ceiling has cracked from the seasons and many coiling roots piercing the vaulted halls, letting water seep in. At their feet, a small drain overflows by about half an inch, creating a puddle little over a foot across the sagging floor. Several barrels sit smelling thickly of formaldehyde and sawdust, stacked high in a small area. Directly across from them, a solitary dark doorway is flanked by a weakly lit torch. A lone candle illuminates the room beyond, casting its dim light across upturned benches, torn tapestries and a memorial alter. Two doors sit opposite one another on the eastern and western walls, one made of stone and the other of a thick, rotting wood practically falling off of the rusted metal hinges, respectively. A moldy carpet leads the eye to a large brass bowl on the alter, the wear of ages tarnishing the once brilliant metal.
Before creeping deeper into the crypts, they head back up the catacomb to investigate the room to the east. By some trick, one of the corpses has sprung to life once more. It makes no motion toward the two journeymen adventurers. Undamya fells it in a blow, letting its once again lifeless form fall to the floor. Turning once again to the cave-in, Bastion makes use of his unique ability to transport himself through materials, while Undamya must claw his way through the earthen mound of the collapsed tunnel. The room itself is simply a secondary autopsy or prepatory room, with a similar stone table as the one seen earlier. Bookshelves board the walls, lined with ancient texts bound in leather and hide. Only a few of the musty old tomes remain intact enough to be legible, the others long since deteriorated or torn apart. A low whisper of wind comes from a door beyond the limestone slab. Past the doorway is an unworked section of the caves, with a large hole in the ceiling casting a shining pillar into the middle of a frozen, foot-deep pond. Animal tracks can be seen coming from a mound of snow climbing to the natural exit, and the pair of adventures surmise that some wolves, bears or something similar must make its home here. After a cursory investigation and subsequent procurement of the texts in the room before, they head back down.
Past the western doorway lies a room filled with empty wooden caskets and a slab of limestone carved out of the earth for preparing corpses for funerary services. One of the caskets conceals a cadaver, wrapped in lordly vestments and lain with few possessions. The eastern doorway leads further into the catacombs. The next room has a gaping hole opened in the eastern wall, dug out from the brick by gnarled hands, it seems. A group of three filthy cots are lined up along the wall, in the place of several sarcophagi, the stone residences turned to rubble and strewn about the room by some unknown means. A stone doorway, mightily brushed ajar by Bastion, reveals a short hallway leading to a magnificent statue of a seated king with a blade laid cross his lap. The hallway splits to the north and south, with two fiery braziers to light the halls. The two men walk past several undisturbed sarcophagi in the middle of the halls and set into the walls, faced with beautiful reliefs of their inhabitants. They turn a corner, and spy a pair of stitched, horrific undead. These sentries of an unknown master cry out in a terrible cacophony, shaking the catacombs and unsettling thin rivers of dust. Bastion and Undamya set upon these screaming monstrosities, freezing them and lighting them ablaze.
After the short battle, a man looking to be in his middle-ages comes up from a wide, dark stair to wonder what all the fuss is about. [Editor: Embarrassing question: what did I say his name was? I lost my notes.] Bastion and Undamya press him for answers to various questions, and he reveals that he is the lone operator of an undead-fueled mining operation, using the bodies of long-dead lords and kings, in search of precious gems buried beneath the Citadel. This is an unconvincing lie, yet he remains unyielding when pressed on the matter. To keep his operation hidden from the Autarch and the ruler's aides, he offers payment of a sum of silver Stags, and a handful of rough, uncut gemstones. Our party accepts after some deliberation and pointed questions.
We make our way back to the Citadel, coin in hand and plans to reveal everything to the Autarch. The motionless ruler suggests one simple solution for keeping the excavator's undead from attacking anyone again; bury him and his horde.
___
Think about a new spell for your characters. When we play again, I can work with you guys on the mechanics. If you want suggestions or examples, I'd be happy to oblige.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Setting Focus - Undead
It might be a bit before our next game session; let me know whenever you guys are free. Until then, I'll try to give out some more information about the setting, specifically concerning the undead. You can skip to the bolded parts for the actual information. (Excuse any typos. There really isn't an excuse, but my keyboard is in an awkward position, making for a lot of backtracking and missed mistakes.)
From a heavily bound tome found deep within a long-forgotten library:
"A long time ago, when age had not taken my strength and swiftness, I was of mind to foolishly venture into the wildernesses, into the earth and over waters in search of various creatures of such terror and malice I might prove my courage by felling them. I gathered many trophies and many scars in such days, too many to count, and when time came that I wished to cease my brazen hunts I bought my place in my King's court with tales of bravery and the skull of a great wyvern, being granted lordship of the Black Tower. It was more reward than a hunter as myself could ask for, but as time went on I realised why I was given possession of the lonely halls. In my time as master of that mountain keep, I was tested by a greater threat than any wyvern or bog lurk.
It began with the murder of the stableboy, Miloch. We found him twisted and maimed among the muck and hay, suspecting a rabid wolf or monstrous thing from the mountains. It wasn't until the baker and his wife were found dead, with a third, unknown body amongst their broken home, that my squire and I began suspecting something more sinister.
We'd seen these kinds of wounds once before, in the ruined township of Jarod's Landing. It had been victim to a plague of undeath, infesting the land with ghosts and walking bones. It was something of a terror to walk into that fog-ridden, dead village; a place where naught a sound could be heard but the baying of black hounds in the distance and the howl of the wind. Not even the scavengers of the forest set foot or wing toward the stead.
All of the bodies began to rise as we came near, drawn to the warmth of our life blood. We had eight in our party of hunters then, and by the time we rid the town of the Restless we were cut down to three. The nights were never quiet, even in the homes we barred to keep the dead out.
Since then, I became aware of the signs, of the makings of undeath. Something about the town and my Keep had poisoned the land beneath it. When we investigated the Lonely Spire at the top of my mountain home, we discovered scores of Restless locked in a long-forgotten crypt. They were the ancestors of the family that had once ruled the Black Tower, forever cursed to rise once more after death. What we found upon further searching of the musty graves chills my bones still. In the depths of the Black Tower, the crypt connected by a series of water-filled chambers, and there were more of the walking dead than I had ever seen, driven back to life by our presence. In the throngs of undead, there were several of a variety I had never witnessed, with glowing eyes and black boils covering their dry, leathery skin. In time, we encountered the first Lord of the Tower.
His was not the undeath of the others, indeed he was fully aware of his actions, and spoke in a long-dead tongue of mountain lords. But madness had taken him, being surrounded by the ghosts and spirits of his own ancestors and descendants for so many years of torment. His chest was burst open, with a great glowing fire where his heart had been. His very soul was burning out of his body, and he screamed with a pain greater than any he had felt in life. We could not send him to the grave a second time, so we struggled to make our escape. Again, only three of us would see the light of the sun again.
I saw good men die in those days of our delving, only to come back to meet our blades. The experience has haunted me ever since, such that I have not slept through the night once in the time past. In my dreams I am hounded by the ghosts of my men, and by those who we met with steel in those dark times. I know that, when my time is come, I will join them in angered undeath. I pray only that my end is far off..."
The Restless
The restless is a catch-all term for the undead, as often times through sorcery or a trick of nature the bodies of the dead will rise up for a new (often short) life. The process of forcing corpses to move again is known by a few secret orders, but full reanimation is still outside of the meddling of magic. Often times, a "zombie" is simply a carcass that has been pumped full of elemental magic, with mana replacing blood, oxygen, and food as its sustaining force. Skeletons are created by a similar process, with their bones held together by thin tendrils of magic like pins. Ghosts are the souls of the dead left with imprints of a powerful will or a mere thought of someone who died in an area saturated with natural magic. The area has to be of a particularly high concentration of magic, otherwise it is lacking the essential force that allows the ghost to keep itself together. Variations of undead such as the Bone Lantern or Burning Soul are often result of experimentation or oddities in process.
Souls
Many magic arts make use of souls, or the natural mana inside a living creature. Mana is altered in a nearly infinite number of ways as the soul of a being, creating an equally infinite variety of magics. Soul Magic is erratic, wild and unwieldy, but those who master it are possessed of an arsenal of unknowable attacks, fueled by the will of their captive souls. Soul Magic is the foundation of necromancy, as this manipulation of raw magical power is essential in the creation of undead.
From a heavily bound tome found deep within a long-forgotten library:
"A long time ago, when age had not taken my strength and swiftness, I was of mind to foolishly venture into the wildernesses, into the earth and over waters in search of various creatures of such terror and malice I might prove my courage by felling them. I gathered many trophies and many scars in such days, too many to count, and when time came that I wished to cease my brazen hunts I bought my place in my King's court with tales of bravery and the skull of a great wyvern, being granted lordship of the Black Tower. It was more reward than a hunter as myself could ask for, but as time went on I realised why I was given possession of the lonely halls. In my time as master of that mountain keep, I was tested by a greater threat than any wyvern or bog lurk.
It began with the murder of the stableboy, Miloch. We found him twisted and maimed among the muck and hay, suspecting a rabid wolf or monstrous thing from the mountains. It wasn't until the baker and his wife were found dead, with a third, unknown body amongst their broken home, that my squire and I began suspecting something more sinister.
We'd seen these kinds of wounds once before, in the ruined township of Jarod's Landing. It had been victim to a plague of undeath, infesting the land with ghosts and walking bones. It was something of a terror to walk into that fog-ridden, dead village; a place where naught a sound could be heard but the baying of black hounds in the distance and the howl of the wind. Not even the scavengers of the forest set foot or wing toward the stead.
All of the bodies began to rise as we came near, drawn to the warmth of our life blood. We had eight in our party of hunters then, and by the time we rid the town of the Restless we were cut down to three. The nights were never quiet, even in the homes we barred to keep the dead out.
Since then, I became aware of the signs, of the makings of undeath. Something about the town and my Keep had poisoned the land beneath it. When we investigated the Lonely Spire at the top of my mountain home, we discovered scores of Restless locked in a long-forgotten crypt. They were the ancestors of the family that had once ruled the Black Tower, forever cursed to rise once more after death. What we found upon further searching of the musty graves chills my bones still. In the depths of the Black Tower, the crypt connected by a series of water-filled chambers, and there were more of the walking dead than I had ever seen, driven back to life by our presence. In the throngs of undead, there were several of a variety I had never witnessed, with glowing eyes and black boils covering their dry, leathery skin. In time, we encountered the first Lord of the Tower.
His was not the undeath of the others, indeed he was fully aware of his actions, and spoke in a long-dead tongue of mountain lords. But madness had taken him, being surrounded by the ghosts and spirits of his own ancestors and descendants for so many years of torment. His chest was burst open, with a great glowing fire where his heart had been. His very soul was burning out of his body, and he screamed with a pain greater than any he had felt in life. We could not send him to the grave a second time, so we struggled to make our escape. Again, only three of us would see the light of the sun again.
I saw good men die in those days of our delving, only to come back to meet our blades. The experience has haunted me ever since, such that I have not slept through the night once in the time past. In my dreams I am hounded by the ghosts of my men, and by those who we met with steel in those dark times. I know that, when my time is come, I will join them in angered undeath. I pray only that my end is far off..."
The Restless
The restless is a catch-all term for the undead, as often times through sorcery or a trick of nature the bodies of the dead will rise up for a new (often short) life. The process of forcing corpses to move again is known by a few secret orders, but full reanimation is still outside of the meddling of magic. Often times, a "zombie" is simply a carcass that has been pumped full of elemental magic, with mana replacing blood, oxygen, and food as its sustaining force. Skeletons are created by a similar process, with their bones held together by thin tendrils of magic like pins. Ghosts are the souls of the dead left with imprints of a powerful will or a mere thought of someone who died in an area saturated with natural magic. The area has to be of a particularly high concentration of magic, otherwise it is lacking the essential force that allows the ghost to keep itself together. Variations of undead such as the Bone Lantern or Burning Soul are often result of experimentation or oddities in process.
Souls
Many magic arts make use of souls, or the natural mana inside a living creature. Mana is altered in a nearly infinite number of ways as the soul of a being, creating an equally infinite variety of magics. Soul Magic is erratic, wild and unwieldy, but those who master it are possessed of an arsenal of unknowable attacks, fueled by the will of their captive souls. Soul Magic is the foundation of necromancy, as this manipulation of raw magical power is essential in the creation of undead.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Setting Focus - The Citadel
So I utterly failed in my attempt to maintain a once-a-week update, but we all should know by now that I am not in any fashion reliable. Regardless, here's a new post with semi-relevant campaign information. If you guys are interested in something else about the campaign than what I've detailed, feel free to say so. As you may well know, I am a glutton for criticism, however often it comes my way. Many times, I am the one producing said gripes, but that is neither here nor there. Irrelevant.
My semester is over on May 1st, so you all know. Do what you will with that information.
___
The Autarch
"Autarch" is an archaic word that is roughly analogous to tyrant or despot.
For centuries, one being has sat alone at the height of power within the Citadel. Since drawing the parisian-blue spires up from beneath the ice, the Autarch has rested eternally within the central tower, frozen to a grand throne. None now live who can say with certainty who or what the Autarch was before he (or she, actually; again, no one is sure) came to rule the slowly crumbling fortress-city, but most all know of his power. Over time the Autarch has become more and more detached with the affairs of the Citadel, closing access to the central spire for months if not years, passing judgement or edict only through his mystical servants. Those closest to him know that he spends most of his time outside of his body, drifting aimlessly along the currents of magic to discover hidden truths. Recurrent absences have given some of his mortal aides opportunity to abuse their standing, but these trifling affairs are of no concern to him. The Autarch has become infinitely apathetic toward his subjects, caring less and less for his own creations with each passing season. This fact does not bother many citizens, for they have had a fairly cavalier lifestyle. The amount of freedoms they obtain and lack of any substanital taxes are sufficient arguement for living here as opposed to other cities.
He is, in a sense, merely a background element of the Citadel now, never exerting more than a small effort to make his presence known from time to time. Occasionally, on festival days or the like, he will produce for the crowds a simulacrum of himself to deliver speeches commemorating the works of the people, walk amongst the halls and to perform minor duties in service to his subjects. Always, however, his real body and his attention is held within the spire, gazing deeply into the twinkling cosmos.
Among his employ are a number of mortal aides as well as a retinue of imposing stone golems. His affairs are sorted out by a small group of nine or so advisers or supposed noblemen. Often times their duties are auxiliary to their actual jobs as merchants or guildmasters or (not surprisingly) criminal lords, functioning merely as enforcers of the major edicts or groundrules the Autarch laid down. They are the few citizens of the Citadel that the Autarch will actually allow into his presence, and are allowed a few extra priveleges apart from their contemporaries. They are able, at times, to call upon the aide of the Autarch's golems to solve disputes, or to employ as guards. Sometimes, with an increasing frequency of late, these mortal nobles will exploit such priveleges for personal gain. The Autarch does practically nothing to stop this.
The Citadel
Citizens of the Citadel know well the tale of how the fortress came to sit atop the wintry White Pine Hills in Midgard's harsh wilderness.
Centuries ago, a solitary figure stood amidst a whirlwind of snow encircling the whole of the forest, calling out to the ghosts of the place, keepers of secrets of ages long past. His voice echoed across the vast landscape, through the howling din of the blizzard. For miles around, the shouts and shrieking winds could be heard, growing louder and harsher in a chaotic duet. A thunderous boom rang out to the far reaches of the wildlands, then all was quiet. When the storm had passed days later, an unfamiliar shape broke the silhouette of the hills. A fortress now stood amidst the trees and creeks, where nothing had before.
Folk told others ne'er to venture toward the dark towers; malicious spirits haunt the forest around it, they said. Ghosts who steal you away into the night, never to be heard from again. The wild won't go near it, neither should you.
Over time, curiosity got the better of many, and eventually people from all variety of origin flocked to the Citadel to live under the protection of the Autarch and his vast obsidian halls. Now, the Citadel is home to numerous guilds, clans, merchants, tradesmen, artists, and magicians, all drawn to this place of awe-inspiring mystery. Different ethnic groups celebrate their own rituals and festivals, while every citizen respects such holidays that are unique to the Citadel, like the Observance (a time where a great number of citizens make the trek to the taller spires and stargaze for hours at night.) The people of the Citadel have developed quite a peculiar society for themselves, where the rooms of the fortress become storefronts, homes, storehouses, labs, etc., and the quickest or richest (or beefiest) among the populace get the good ones. Often, this makes for a strange social makeup, where the richest live right next the poorest, and under a merchant or above an artist without a studio. There are, however, still areas that are thought of as "tiers" or "quarters," like the Market (where a great deal of merchants ended up living because the rooms had windows facing inward) or the Bridges (where there are a lot of small rooms almost hanging off of stone bridges that span the interior of the Great Hall.)
The Necropolis ( from greek, nekropolis - city of the dead) is an underground cavern directly below the Citadel that is covered in grave markers, peppered by tombs and masoleums erected to house the bodies of a long-dead people. Needless to say, it generates a great deal of intrigue among the citizens. Its many twisting passages are houses to a great number of enigmatic phenomena, such as wandering spirits, will o' wisps and the walking dead. Only a select number of the Citadel's rabble are permitted to venture into the Necropolis, as matters of public safety forbid a great deal of meddling in the affairs of the restless dead. Chief among those who manage the Necropolis and its denizens are the Morticians, select men and women who join the Red Mask guild. (The Red Masks are an organization devoted to the study of the structures of natural life like anatomy and biology, and make their trade as undertakers, alchemists, doctors, assassins or torturers.) The Autarch's powerful enchantments have prevented the dangers of the Necropolis from spilling into the Citadel's commons, though occasionally a wayward peasant or adventurous lad will wind up mangled for having crept down into the dark. Apart from the Morticians, citizens whose trade requires their entrance into the Necropolis are allowed to venture below, for a price.
My semester is over on May 1st, so you all know. Do what you will with that information.
___
The Autarch
"Autarch" is an archaic word that is roughly analogous to tyrant or despot.
For centuries, one being has sat alone at the height of power within the Citadel. Since drawing the parisian-blue spires up from beneath the ice, the Autarch has rested eternally within the central tower, frozen to a grand throne. None now live who can say with certainty who or what the Autarch was before he (or she, actually; again, no one is sure) came to rule the slowly crumbling fortress-city, but most all know of his power. Over time the Autarch has become more and more detached with the affairs of the Citadel, closing access to the central spire for months if not years, passing judgement or edict only through his mystical servants. Those closest to him know that he spends most of his time outside of his body, drifting aimlessly along the currents of magic to discover hidden truths. Recurrent absences have given some of his mortal aides opportunity to abuse their standing, but these trifling affairs are of no concern to him. The Autarch has become infinitely apathetic toward his subjects, caring less and less for his own creations with each passing season. This fact does not bother many citizens, for they have had a fairly cavalier lifestyle. The amount of freedoms they obtain and lack of any substanital taxes are sufficient arguement for living here as opposed to other cities.
He is, in a sense, merely a background element of the Citadel now, never exerting more than a small effort to make his presence known from time to time. Occasionally, on festival days or the like, he will produce for the crowds a simulacrum of himself to deliver speeches commemorating the works of the people, walk amongst the halls and to perform minor duties in service to his subjects. Always, however, his real body and his attention is held within the spire, gazing deeply into the twinkling cosmos.
Among his employ are a number of mortal aides as well as a retinue of imposing stone golems. His affairs are sorted out by a small group of nine or so advisers or supposed noblemen. Often times their duties are auxiliary to their actual jobs as merchants or guildmasters or (not surprisingly) criminal lords, functioning merely as enforcers of the major edicts or groundrules the Autarch laid down. They are the few citizens of the Citadel that the Autarch will actually allow into his presence, and are allowed a few extra priveleges apart from their contemporaries. They are able, at times, to call upon the aide of the Autarch's golems to solve disputes, or to employ as guards. Sometimes, with an increasing frequency of late, these mortal nobles will exploit such priveleges for personal gain. The Autarch does practically nothing to stop this.
The Citadel
Citizens of the Citadel know well the tale of how the fortress came to sit atop the wintry White Pine Hills in Midgard's harsh wilderness.
Centuries ago, a solitary figure stood amidst a whirlwind of snow encircling the whole of the forest, calling out to the ghosts of the place, keepers of secrets of ages long past. His voice echoed across the vast landscape, through the howling din of the blizzard. For miles around, the shouts and shrieking winds could be heard, growing louder and harsher in a chaotic duet. A thunderous boom rang out to the far reaches of the wildlands, then all was quiet. When the storm had passed days later, an unfamiliar shape broke the silhouette of the hills. A fortress now stood amidst the trees and creeks, where nothing had before.
Folk told others ne'er to venture toward the dark towers; malicious spirits haunt the forest around it, they said. Ghosts who steal you away into the night, never to be heard from again. The wild won't go near it, neither should you.
Over time, curiosity got the better of many, and eventually people from all variety of origin flocked to the Citadel to live under the protection of the Autarch and his vast obsidian halls. Now, the Citadel is home to numerous guilds, clans, merchants, tradesmen, artists, and magicians, all drawn to this place of awe-inspiring mystery. Different ethnic groups celebrate their own rituals and festivals, while every citizen respects such holidays that are unique to the Citadel, like the Observance (a time where a great number of citizens make the trek to the taller spires and stargaze for hours at night.) The people of the Citadel have developed quite a peculiar society for themselves, where the rooms of the fortress become storefronts, homes, storehouses, labs, etc., and the quickest or richest (or beefiest) among the populace get the good ones. Often, this makes for a strange social makeup, where the richest live right next the poorest, and under a merchant or above an artist without a studio. There are, however, still areas that are thought of as "tiers" or "quarters," like the Market (where a great deal of merchants ended up living because the rooms had windows facing inward) or the Bridges (where there are a lot of small rooms almost hanging off of stone bridges that span the interior of the Great Hall.)
The Necropolis ( from greek, nekropolis - city of the dead) is an underground cavern directly below the Citadel that is covered in grave markers, peppered by tombs and masoleums erected to house the bodies of a long-dead people. Needless to say, it generates a great deal of intrigue among the citizens. Its many twisting passages are houses to a great number of enigmatic phenomena, such as wandering spirits, will o' wisps and the walking dead. Only a select number of the Citadel's rabble are permitted to venture into the Necropolis, as matters of public safety forbid a great deal of meddling in the affairs of the restless dead. Chief among those who manage the Necropolis and its denizens are the Morticians, select men and women who join the Red Mask guild. (The Red Masks are an organization devoted to the study of the structures of natural life like anatomy and biology, and make their trade as undertakers, alchemists, doctors, assassins or torturers.) The Autarch's powerful enchantments have prevented the dangers of the Necropolis from spilling into the Citadel's commons, though occasionally a wayward peasant or adventurous lad will wind up mangled for having crept down into the dark. Apart from the Morticians, citizens whose trade requires their entrance into the Necropolis are allowed to venture below, for a price.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
System Focus - Combat
While I was whiling away my time doing whatever it is I tell myself is worth my attention, I was stricken with a powerful need to commit some thoughts to this blog before I continue with anything else. I'd like to finish the Giants article, but I'm still trying to get it to a level of polish that I'd be willing to present. I added some information about the Jord, but I need to cut it down so that the practically useless information is no longer present. (Who but me cares that no one understands the Jord because their language is complicated to historians? That gets more attention than the fact that they eat souls? God I'm an idiot...)
For a long time I've been nervous about combat in my SAME campaign. Simply put, I don't like the rules I've written. As is, they provide no real incentive to enter melee combat. And that isn't bad, but it isn't representative of the kinds of scenes I want to illustrate with each combat.
I want guys who leap right into the fray, dodging attacks by a hair's breadth and retaliating in kind. I want guys perched up on a high ledge who summon strangling roots and hurl orbs of molten rock upon unsuspecting foes. And I want each option to be as viable as the other, so our characters never have to be shoe-horned into one job because they picked a certain ability over another.
That said, I was stricken with an idea recently. It was simple, and elegant. So much so that I'm wondering why I didn't think of it sooner. That way, I could have worked out some additional hang-ups before I lost my drive to write about it. Anyway...
Every additional increment they are away from melee, a defending character adds two to their defense.
Melee: add nothing
Near: add 2
Far: 4
Distant: 6
etc...
Ex: A warg is 120 feet away, but Someguy wants to call up a set of earthen spikes to pierce its wooly hide. He attacks with his Moxy, which is better than his Agility, looking to beat a 14+M defense. He's willing to attempt it, because he's looking to damage it a little before it reaches the party, etc...
Also, spells can attack with either Agility or Moxy. I don't really care anymore; the only reason I was sticking to Moxy is because I was getting held up by the "spell" moniker. All it was doing was making Strength/Agility characters useless or boring. So, that's out. Everything's just attacks now. It doesn't matter if your physical attack has a magical source or vice versa, it's up to you and your preferences.
The benefit of these changes should be apparent; there's more risk in fighting in melee, but you can put enemies down more quickly. There's less risk in fighting ranged, but you kill stuff more slowly.
That's it. All that's left is to tweak it some, so that everything evens out in a way that satisfies me.
Your thoughts?
For a long time I've been nervous about combat in my SAME campaign. Simply put, I don't like the rules I've written. As is, they provide no real incentive to enter melee combat. And that isn't bad, but it isn't representative of the kinds of scenes I want to illustrate with each combat.
I want guys who leap right into the fray, dodging attacks by a hair's breadth and retaliating in kind. I want guys perched up on a high ledge who summon strangling roots and hurl orbs of molten rock upon unsuspecting foes. And I want each option to be as viable as the other, so our characters never have to be shoe-horned into one job because they picked a certain ability over another.
That said, I was stricken with an idea recently. It was simple, and elegant. So much so that I'm wondering why I didn't think of it sooner. That way, I could have worked out some additional hang-ups before I lost my drive to write about it. Anyway...
Every additional increment they are away from melee, a defending character adds two to their defense.
Melee: add nothing
Near: add 2
Far: 4
Distant: 6
etc...
Ex: A warg is 120 feet away, but Someguy wants to call up a set of earthen spikes to pierce its wooly hide. He attacks with his Moxy, which is better than his Agility, looking to beat a 14+M defense. He's willing to attempt it, because he's looking to damage it a little before it reaches the party, etc...
Also, spells can attack with either Agility or Moxy. I don't really care anymore; the only reason I was sticking to Moxy is because I was getting held up by the "spell" moniker. All it was doing was making Strength/Agility characters useless or boring. So, that's out. Everything's just attacks now. It doesn't matter if your physical attack has a magical source or vice versa, it's up to you and your preferences.
The benefit of these changes should be apparent; there's more risk in fighting in melee, but you can put enemies down more quickly. There's less risk in fighting ranged, but you kill stuff more slowly.
That's it. All that's left is to tweak it some, so that everything evens out in a way that satisfies me.
Your thoughts?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
The world will look up and shout save us, etc. etc.
So dudes, there's this wierd movie coming out called Watchmen. It looks alright, I guess. I mean, the owl guy looks like a lame Batman rip-off and there's a wierd naked blue guy who can shoot lightning or something. But there's that dude with the wierd inkblot mask who seems pretty badass. He's totally channeling Christian Bale, but I bet he kicks the most ass in the movie.
But hey, it's directed by that guy Zac Snyder who came up with the idea for that movie with all the naked Greeks so maybe it'll be cool. It's out in like two weeks.
We could organize a viewing, if you peeps are into that sort of thing.
EDIT: It wouldn't even have to be on opening night if that's a problem for anyone.
Times for both Friday and Saturday are:
4:05
4:50
6:45
7:30
8:15
10:10
But hey, it's directed by that guy Zac Snyder who came up with the idea for that movie with all the naked Greeks so maybe it'll be cool. It's out in like two weeks.
We could organize a viewing, if you peeps are into that sort of thing.
EDIT: It wouldn't even have to be on opening night if that's a problem for anyone.
Times for both Friday and Saturday are:
4:05
4:50
6:45
7:30
8:15
10:10
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Creature Focus - The Giants
The Efreeti
Also called: Djinn, Ash Spirits, Ragmen
"Many years ago, I had the fortune to deal with an Efreet before they left for their desert homeland Sephar. The one I met called himself Abathr, or "one of tools" for his trade as architect. We were in a caravan wagon, traveling along the edge of the Wastes. Abathr was a giant, for even when sitting his head came to my chest. He was covered from head to toe in reddish-brown wrappings and rags trimmed in an ornate script. From the gap at his eyes I could see his skin was grey and cracked, like a burnt tree. He told me many things about his people, and how they came to Caldera."
-From Minus Militi's journal of travels
Quietly they emptied their homelands amidst the chaos of the onslaught of their cousins and mortal enemies, the Jord. Before they were silently swept out of their mystical realm, they were under near constant siege by the Giants and their frozen slaves, the Jordelfen. A cabal of powerful mages deigned to escape from the plight of the Frost Giants, and turned to forbidden sorceries. Deep under their most sacred of temples, they weaved pure magical force into a spell that plucked the Efreeti from Sephar and sent them to the mortal realm. The spell ultimately claimed the lives of half the Efreeti population, including the very souls of those who cast it. They left their home, a land of the coast, for the desolate and rocky desert of Caldera.
After they fled their ancestral home of Sephar, they quickly began recouping their losses, establishing a wondrous city of soaring towers and low alleys they named Sephar-Mehzrad, or "morning light comes again." Many of the great cities of the desert were built in this time, and the natives of the land benefited from trade with the Efreeti. They sequestered a hefty chunk of Caldera for themselves, their territory eventually stretching from Conglin to Maupai. Even still, they worked tirelessly to return to their mystical birthplace. It wouldn't be for many centuries that they were finally able to resurrect their realm from its tattered remains.
Because they lived in the middle of the desert, they required a unique method of procuring water and maintaining their food sources. The water magi of the Efreeti were, believe it or not, among the best in the mortal realms. So good, in fact, that they almost never run out of water. Their city streets were lined with large clay jugs of water, that anyone could take if they could lift them. Any time these clay jugs emptied, they were refilled by nightly patrols of water magi. In fact, there was something of a myth surrounding the water Magi, as the secrets to their methods were zealously guarded. Some believed that the Efreeti gods had taken pity on them, and gifted them with and everlasting spring that lay under Sephar.
Without a need to ration their water, they were able to supply their farmlands with more than enough water to yield usable crops. (With a little fiddling in earth magic, they were able to make the land more hospitable to farming.) This, in turn, led to agricultural surplus. With no one in Efreeti cities demanding more food or more water, they were able to devote most of their time to the research or production of useful goods, magical or otherwise. This, with their ability to swiftly traverse the deserts on magical ships that sail atop sand and not sea, made the Efreeti culture one of earliest societies to break out of a bartering economy and the first society in the history of Agartha or its mystical neighbors to mint coin. That is why, today, Efreeti coin is the most common across all of Caldera, even within Guild-controlled cities.
(Clarification: Conglin is the name for the western jungles of Caldera. It is where the Main House of the Calderan Empire rules. Maupai is the name for the eastern jungles. It is where the Branch House rules. These terms will be expanded upon in a later article)
(points to touch on)
-Physical appearance: Covered in rags and long strips of cloth. Skin like charred and cracked wood. Howling, or shrill voices and eyes of molten brass.
-History: Left Sephar for Caldera; the powers of their ancestral home could no longer protect them from the Frost Giants and their Jordelfen slaves. Came to Caldera; worked to resurrect Sephar, eventually succeeded and left. Created the elves of the wastes to defend their homes from the Jordelfen.
-Legacy: The Elves of the Wastes, the many temples situated atop powerful Fonts across the globe. Most in Caldera, others in Fyriss. Some in Midgard, amongst the middle of what is now Jordelfen territory. The struck through text above will probably all be changed...
After they fled their ancestral home of Sephar, they quickly began recouping their losses, establishing a wondrous city of soaring towers and low alleys they named Sephar-Mehzrad, or "morning light comes again." Many of the great cities of the desert were built in this time, and the natives of the land benefited from trade with the Efreeti. They sequestered a hefty chunk of Caldera for themselves, their territory eventually stretching from Conglin to Maupai. Even still, they worked tirelessly to return to their mystical birthplace. It wouldn't be for many centuries that they were finally able to resurrect their realm from its tattered remains.
Because they lived in the middle of the desert, they required a unique method of procuring water and maintaining their food sources. The water magi of the Efreeti were, believe it or not, among the best in the mortal realms. So good, in fact, that they almost never run out of water. Their city streets were lined with large clay jugs of water, that anyone could take if they could lift them. Any time these clay jugs emptied, they were refilled by nightly patrols of water magi. In fact, there was something of a myth surrounding the water Magi, as the secrets to their methods were zealously guarded. Some believed that the Efreeti gods had taken pity on them, and gifted them with and everlasting spring that lay under Sephar.
Without a need to ration their water, they were able to supply their farmlands with more than enough water to yield usable crops. (With a little fiddling in earth magic, they were able to make the land more hospitable to farming.) This, in turn, led to agricultural surplus. With no one in Efreeti cities demanding more food or more water, they were able to devote most of their time to the research or production of useful goods, magical or otherwise. This, with their ability to swiftly traverse the deserts on magical ships that sail atop sand and not sea, made the Efreeti culture one of earliest societies to break out of a bartering economy and the first society in the history of Agartha or its mystical neighbors to mint coin. That is why, today, Efreeti coin is the most common across all of Caldera, even within Guild-controlled cities.
(Clarification: Conglin is the name for the western jungles of Caldera. It is where the Main House of the Calderan Empire rules. Maupai is the name for the eastern jungles. It is where the Branch House rules. These terms will be expanded upon in a later article)
-Physical appearance: Covered in rags and long strips of cloth. Skin like charred and cracked wood. Howling, or shrill voices and eyes of molten brass.
-History: Left Sephar for Caldera; the powers of their ancestral home could no longer protect them from the Frost Giants and their Jordelfen slaves. Came to Caldera; worked to resurrect Sephar, eventually succeeded and left. Created the elves of the wastes to defend their homes from the Jordelfen.
-Legacy: The Elves of the Wastes, the many temples situated atop powerful Fonts across the globe. Most in Caldera, others in Fyriss. Some in Midgard, amongst the middle of what is now Jordelfen territory.
The Jord
Also called: Winter Spirits, Frost Giants, Ogres
"[Isne, or the world and its neighbors] is ours to keep, ours to master. All of its beauty is ours to behold, and ours to drink of deeply. It is not greed that compels us to guard it with such stead vigil. Cowards, charlatans and fools, deserved only of a poor death, they are our enemies. They are all those without Yodr's thirst, his ambition and power. They would poison this sacred land, and rob Yodr's bones of their majesty. The meager worlds they cut for themselves are insults, great stains on a great earth. Sad, hollow tombs they erect in a vain attempt to display power they do not own. Power they have yet to witness. Power, the might of Yodr, that, with a glance, levels their pitiable existence to dust. The least of ours is their greater; such is our strength. Such is our duty, to put these miserable creatures into miserable graves."
-Writings found within a Frost Giant temple, erected on a slab of volcanic glass 8 cubits high.
The Jord (pronounced with a short "y" sound) are the masters of the wintry peaks of the Otna Rim, an otherworldly mountain range that circles all other realms. In a way, they see themselves as gatekeepers and watchmen of the entirety of Agartha and its neighbors. Theirs is a society of rigid control, dominated by the powerful among these already fearsome creatures. Yodr and his siblings are their chief gods, though they have no strict religion save that they worship physical and magical strength above everything else. They place a great deal of value in courage, as well. When they meet opposition that does not shrink at the sight of them, they are on some levels pleased at seeing some of Yodr's spirit in other peoples. On the other side, the most despicable trait in all of Jorden culture is cowardice, or a meager spirit. Even their own are not safe from a terrible and painful end if they show signs of a failing heart.
Most of their history is told orally, and very few translatable texts survive today that could give modern Agarthans insight into Jorden culture. Their writing system is a series of runic symbols, each with deep symbolic meaning as well as a phonetic presentation. When the symbols are placed into a word, it is hard for non-native readers to realize the full meaning. Most of what is known about them and their culture is gathered through centuries of shared history, created through frequent wars and, rarely, trade (in the incredibly unlikely event that the Jord see a particular people as mighty or courageous, they sometimes do not look to murder every last one of them.) Their language is full of short, harsh words, shortened further in several seperate dialects by confusing glottal stops, operating alongside mixtures of several words making it extremely onerous for an historian to understand what they say. Whenever they speak to other cultures, they use a pidgin composed of rough, odd sounding phrases that mostly convey their meaning, say in trade. Often, however, their intent is muddled through this mistranslation, prompting frustration and inevitable murder.
They war with any who upset the order they seek to overt, dealing out such swift and terrible justice that the mere mention of the Jord can quiet a rowdy hall. They stand at a terrifying 10 feet high, holding sunken eyes that glow dimly with a malevolent hue, and blue or green-tinged skin that freezes water at a touch. Their clothing is cut from woolen cloth, dyed with various pigments of browns, reds and oranges and covered in dozens of lines of runic words, meant to grant various benefits. They wield gigantic weapons (even in their proportions) of wood, ice and metal, and decorate their armor with various trophies plucked from any corner of Isne.
The Jord, along with their elven slaves, are vampiric. While they do eat from their herds of sheep, cattle and elk, they favor a much more savory delicacy: souls. Jorden warriors and sorcerors have been known, from survivors of raids and battles with the terrifying giants, to be seen siphoning the souls of the dead out of their still warm corpses and are reborn with new vigor because of it.
(still more I need to edit and finish...)
The Dryads
Ack. I apologize for the lack of an update. I've been trying like hell to get over myself and post what I've been writing. For this article I still need to "finish" two sections; one for the Dryads and the other for the Frost Giants. To say the least, this has been nerve-wracking and wholly depressing. I'll write a lot, then immediately delete it. I think I'll put this article on hold for a bit, and then come back to it when I've had time to come to terms with everything I hate about the things I write.
I think for the next ones I'll be doing more specific topics so I can write it, post it and get feedback a hell of a lot quicker.
Next Article
1. Finish this one!
2. Famous Mana Beasts
3. Dynamics of Magic - Melee and why it's still a viable choice
4. A Unique Island Culture (one in Fyriss)
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