A long time ago in a galaxy etc. etc.

I'll just leave this here.

Setting: The Dark Times, at about roughly 2 years before the Battle of Yavin. The Empire under Emperor Palpatine is at its strongest, and his feared second-in-command, Lord Darth Vader, ensures that resistance is quickly and efficiently stamped out. The Rebel Alliance is just beginning to take shape under the leadership of Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Garm Bel Iblis. Force-users are few and far between and the concept of a Jedi Knight has been relegated to the stuff of folktales and legends.

Races:

Humans, Aleena, Aqualish, Arkanians, Balosar, Barabel, Blood Carvers, Bothans, Caamasi, Cathar, Cereans, Chagrians, Chiss, Clawdites, Codru-Ji, Draethos, Droids, Duros, Falleen, Feeorin, Gamorreans, Gand, Gran, Gungans, Houk, Ithorians, Kel Dor, Khil, Klatooinian, Miraluka, Mon Calamari, Nagai, Neimodians, Nosaurians, Quarren, Rodians, Ryn, Selkath, Snivvians, Sullustans, Talz, Togorians, Togruta, Toydarians, Trandoshans, Twi'leks, Ubese, Weequay, Whiphids, Wookiees, Wroonians, Yarkora, Zabrak, Zeltron

Classes:

Jedi - Defenders of peace and justice in the civilized galaxy for centuries. Until the Dark Times, when the Emperor hunted down and destroyed the Jedi Knights. However, they say a light burns brightest when within the darkness and it would be impossible to hunt down every Force-sensitive sentient within the galaxy. Examples of the Jedi class include Bastila Shan, Quinlan Vos, Anakin Skywalker, and Jax Pavan.

Noble - Shrewd characters who depend on their intelligence and natural charisma rather than on blaster bolts or vibroblades. A noble commands respect and influences others. Born leaders, they are well versed in rhetoric and organization, whether they are honest and noble or perhaps treacherous and sly. Examples of the Noble class include Princess Leia Organa, Talon Karrde, Mas Amedda, and Jabba the Hutt.

Scoundrel - The scum and villainy in the universe. They live on the fringe of society or even right in the heart of it, living by their wits and whatever credits they can scrape up. They're not above firing a concealed blaster, but if they can use their silver tongues to get by, they'll gladly sheathe the vibroblade. No sense in getting yourself hurt when there's credits to be made, right? Examples of the Scoundrel class include Han Solo, Cade Skywalker, Lando Calrissian, and Atton Rand.

Scout - Natural adventurers and explorers. They'll sign on when the credits are good and when they can make full use of their skills. The scout's instincts are to be trusted above all else. If the scout is running, chances are that you should be, too. They can survive in any environment, and have an affinity for bravely and confidently exploring the unknown. Examples of the Scout class include Chewbacca, Jarael, Captain Tarpals, and Jariah Syn

Soldier - Hired guns, noble champions, or cold-hearted killers. The soldier combines a natural discipline with martial skills to become a pure combatant. Whether they fight for glory, for credits, or for a cause they believe in, they see the dangerous adventures and military engagements as their jobs. Whatever their motivation, all soldiers live for the thrill of combat. Examples of the Soldier class include Wedge Antilles, Corran Horn, Kyle Katarn, and Captain Rex.

Starting Level - 4th
Starting Credits - 2000
Ability Scores - Roll 4d6, ignore lowest, reroll ones, gain two ability point increases for being 4th level


EDIT: Goddamn Blogger and your stupid stupid gay bullshit HTML assfuckery. Maybe you cunts should just let me make my goddamn post anyway I want. Everything should look decent now. Also I apologize for Wookiepedia having gigantic ads all over the site.

Soapbox

So we aren't able to play tomorrow; several of our troupe are scheduled to be indisposed for a time.

I'd like to get another day of games in, though. If you guys are able to do so on Saturday or Sunday, say so.

Campaign Recap - Strange Quarry

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.

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.

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.

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?

Soapbox

Who wants to play some goddamn games this Friday/Saturday?