The industriousness of dwarves is well established, even across multiple settings. They're also dour, obsessed with gold, and possessing of an ambiguously Scottish accent. They don't like elves or trees, but they like grand halls and forges. Family and tombs. Honor and beer. Lots and lots of beer.
Dwarves are extremely well characterized. The dwarven character is as strong and as distinctive as the character of Homer Simpson. Except one is a single dude and the other is an entire race.
Race is the lazy way to define your character. (That's one reason why I killed all the humans.)
What I mean by well-characterized is: I have no problem imagining what Homer Simpson would do in any given situation, just as I have no problem imagining what a dwarf would do in any given situation. As soon as you told me their name, I knew them. I can already hear their voice.
And of course, that's why people play dwarves. They're prepackaged bundles of character.
No longer do you have to define your character through word and through deed! You merely have to say "I'm a dwarf!" and people know all about your character, exactly as if you had said "I'm Homer Simpson!" It's a big shortcut, and best of all, this characterization doesn't require any roleplaying at all.
Imagine the inverse. Imagine that you decided to play Homer Simpson the fighter, but that you introduced him to the other players as Scrotar the Gladiator. And then you said things that Homer would say, and did things that Homer would do, and over time, the other players (and in-game NPCs) would get a very good feel for your character. He would be very well characterized, and you would have earned it.
But that's difficult, and takes a long time, which is why people like being dwarves. It's nice to have NPCs treat you as your character expects to be treated, and if you're a dwarf, that takes about five minutes.
The same is true for elves (haughty, beautiful,slim, clean, beardless, magical, serene, fuckin' Mary Sues), orcs (yell, smash, intimidate, be tough as a two dollar steak), and gnomes (chipper, excitable, mischievous, witty, impulsive, mildly magical).
People who change their setting so that "their dwarves/elves/whatever are different" would be wise not to change their dwarves too much, since players expect a certain degree of cliche dwarfiness to be present (so they can roleplay their character easier) even though they might sigh at how generic the dwarves are in this setting.
You Should Play a Dwarf If. . .
If you're new to roleplaying, by all means, be a dwarf. The easiest characters to roleplay are the ones that are the most strongly characterized. A stereotypical dwarf fulfills that niche handily. And after you establish your dwarfiness, you cban start striking out into new territory, away from your racial stereotype. Perhaps you're the only dwarf who likes trees. Or maybe you're a shitty craftsman. Or you eschew beer in favor of opiates. That's (mildly) interesting stuff.
Or you might just play a hack and slash game, where characterizations don't really matter because everyone is a murderhobo. In that case, this whole essay is moot. Go put on your pointy helmet, beard-face.
You might not be a confident roleplayer, or you might not have a good idea for a character. In that case, may I suggest a dwarven ancestry for monsieur? It's strong, reliable, and easy.
Or you genuinely don't give a shit about characterization. For you, the game lies in other directions. That's fine, too. There's many ways to play a game. Don't let me shit in your fun-bucket.
You Should Stop Being a Dwarf
There is no if. You should stop being a dwarf.
Just be a human. Anything a dwarf can be, a human can be. Greedy? Humans can be that. Honorable? Humans can be that. Drunk and possessing a ridiculous accent? Humans can do that. Scornful of elves and their fruit wines? I already do that all the time.
Rolling a human forces you to come up with a unique character concept. If you can't come up with one, and would prefer to fall back upon the ol' bearded crutch, consider some famous personalities. Be Bill Murray from Ghostbusters. Be Nolan's Batman. Hell, be Nolan's Joker. Be a good-guy version of Hitler. Be Scrooge McDuck (miserly, loves his asshole nephews). Be Borat. Be Princess Mononoke. Be that guy from the Old Spice commercials. Be Han Solo.
Show, don't tell.
Second, being a demi-human can actually interfere with a lot of roleplaying/characterization choices. Want to romance the human princess while you're a halfling? Get ready for a lot of size jokes.
Did you have an arm replaced with a troll's arm and a second row of teeth from a mutation? Well, that sounds alright for a human, but for an elf to have those things, it seems a bit overloaded, conceptually. Like a half-demon dwarf who invented the grenado and is attempting to be the next king, also seems a bit overloaded. But half-demon human seems alright, I think.
Objection!
Strawman: when we play fantasy races we can explore new roleplaying opportunities! Like what it's like to be a dwarf who's afraid of the dark, or an elf who is dreaded how her husband will die from old age while she is still young. Can you really explore those things if everyone is a human?
Of course you can. You can have Genghis Khan's son who is afraid of horses. Or you can be in love with a person who is dying from the Slow Death.
Or, if you really want that whole "lives underground, drinks heavily, reveres ancestors" thing, have you thought about how weird it would be to just transpose humans into the dwarven lifestyle? We already accept the dwarven culture as normal, but humans who spend their whole lives underground, digging their own graves, toiling over furnaces, and birthing their children atop anvils. . . that's way weirder. And therefore, more interesting and more memorable.
Also, another benefit to having everyone be a human: it creates a zone of normalcy within the party. The game stays firmly rooted, and doesn't drift up into kitchen-sink fantasy, where everyone is a different race of unique snowflakes. This leaves room for weirdness later, so that when the elves emerge naked from the trees gnawing on pieces of babyflesh, they are the other and they are weird and horrible and alien. As it should be.
The forest should be a little alien and hostile. This is harder to do if you have elves in your party.
The underground should be unknown and oppressive. This harder to do if you have dwarves in your party.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
Dungeon Checklist
Sometimes I write dungeons. Today I wrote a checklist of things to put in the dungeon. The first couple items are pretty obvious, but it's still good to enumerate their usage.
How to Use This Checklist
Read it once before you write you dungeon. Then read it again when you're done, to make sure you got everything.
1. Something to Steal
Treasure gives players a reason to go into the dungeon in the first place. On a metagame level, treasure is money, money is XP, and XP is tied to the idea of character advancement. It's the prime mover of the system.
Two points. First, remember that treasure doesn't need to be treasure. It can be:
- Shiny shit, such as boring ol' coins, or the jewelled brassiere of the zombie queen.
- Knowledge, such as where to find more treasure, or information you can use to blackmail the king. Or even a sage, who can answer a single question honestly.
- Friendship, such as an amorous purple worm that follows you around and protects you when it's hungry and a little bored. Occasionally, it leaves egg sacs laying around for you to fertilize (and it will get angry if you don't sit on them for at least an hour).
- Trade Goods, like a wagon full of tea (worth 10,000gp). When I give out large parcels of trade goods as treasure, I give half of the XP now, and the other half of the XP when it's sold off. (I just really like the idea of a mercantile campaign.)
- Territorial, like a tower the players can claim as their own, or an apartment in the nice party of the city (and the chances of being stabbed in your sleep are dramatically reduced).
- Useful adventuring shit, like a magic sword, scroll of blot out the sun, or a parachute.
Second, treasure tells a story, too. Cover your treasure in religious symbols, annoint it in trollblood. Don't let your coins be coins!
2. Something to be Killed
This is pretty obvious. Of course there are threatening things in the dungeon. There has to be some challenge otherwise it isn't a dungeon. The simplest way to do that is with things that are trying to kill you. (Yes, you can have monsterless dungeons based on traps. Those are cool, but that's why this checklist is written in pencil, not in stone.) There are many ways to make combat with even basic monsters more interesting.
Also remember that dungeons tell their story through nouns. The history of a dungeon is usually relayed through monster choices (why use orcs when you can use degenerate cannibal versions of the original dwarven inhabitants?) and descriptions of those creatures (a barnacle-covered zombie, an iron golem charred by dragonfire, the elven armor scraps that the goblins are wearing, the elven wand-rifle that one of the goblins has for some reason).
Examples: 2d6 orcs, 3d6 mudmen.
3. Something to Kill You
Dungeons are designed to be beaten. That's why we don't fill them with inescapable obstacles (rocks fall, everyone dies) or impenetrable barriers (sorry, the whole dungeon is wrapped in an adamantine dome, you can't get in).
BUT dungeons need to feel like they were designed to be unbeatable. It's important to feel like this isn't just a bowling alley where the DM sets up the pins for the players to knock down. You need to have deadly elements in your deadly dungeon for it to feel deadly.
Just follow these two important rules. Try to follow at least one
- Label your deadly shit as such. A sleeping dragon. A door barricaded from the player's side with a sign warning of deadly spiders. These things look deadly from a distance.
- A chance to escape. Maybe the dragon can't fit into the smaller tunnels around his lair. Maybe the manticore is chained to a rock.
Both of these serve the same function: they allow the players to pick their own battles, something you can't do on a linear railroad game. I think that's why a lot of OSR folks hate the idea of boss battles: because they're the one battle in the dungeon that is required.
Horrible monsters that are avoidable give the players agency and allows them to be architects of their own demise.
Sidenote: I think that nearly all combats should be escapable. Sometimes with a cost (dropped food, gold, maybe a dead PC or hireling). In my experience PCs will get themselves killed often enough even if the enemies never left the rooms they were in.
Horrible monsters that are avoidable give the players agency and allows them to be architects of their own demise.
Sidenote: I think that nearly all combats should be escapable. Sometimes with a cost (dropped food, gold, maybe a dead PC or hireling). In my experience PCs will get themselves killed often enough even if the enemies never left the rooms they were in.
Also, putting "unbeatable" monsters in your dungeon also allows the dungeon to be self-scaling. The level 1 party will just tip-toe past the dragon, while the level 6 party might consider fighting it so they steal the treasure it is sleeping on top of. And just like that, a dungeon becomes appropriate for both level 1 parties AND level 6 parties. (And this is another reason why I think OSR games have such a wide range of level-appropriateness--It's both easy and expected that players will flee from fights that they can't win).
4. Different Paths
Different paths allow different parties to experience the dungeon in different ways. It's a randomizer, similar to what you'd get if you ordered the dungeon rooms according to a random number generator. And it keeps you (the DM) from getting bored
Player agency. Players can choose the path they're better suited for. The party with 2 clerics can take the zombie-infested tunnel, and the party with air support can get themselves dropped into the courtyard. It also allows dungeons to be a little bit self-adjusting, too. Players who are more confident can challenge the front door, while lower level parties will creep around the outside.
It allows parties to walk away from rooms they don't like. Part of the OSR philosophy (as I see it) is the ability to walk away from fights. If a party doesn't want to fight a room with archer skeletons entombed in the walls (especially after two of them were blinded in the last room) they can retreat and find another way in. It's an option they have.
The last reason to have multiple paths is to allow for dungeon mastery. I don't mean DMing. I mean that, as the players learn more about the dungeon, they become better at exploiting its geography. They can lure the carrion crawler over the pit trap that they know is there. They can retreat into a looped path, instead of retreating into unexplored rooms (always a dangerous tactic).
At the same time, don't throw in random paths just for the hell of it. The more paths you put in, the less linearity there is in your dungeon. And sometimes you want linearity, especially when it comes to teaching your players things, or giving clues. Sometimes you want to show the players the eerily clean hallway before they bump into the gelatinous cube. Maybe you want them to meet the zombies with hook hands before they meet the room of crawling, animated hands.
There's nothing wrong with a little linearity if you're putting it in there for a reason. I still think that a heavily branched dungeon should be the default assumption, but linear sections of a dungeon are a venal sin, not a mortal one.
5. Someone to Talk To
People forget this one, and yet it's the one I feel strongest about. Strong enough for caps lock. EVERY DUNGEON NEEDS SOMEONE TO TALK TO. It's a roleplaying game. NPCs are the cheapest and easiest way to add depth to your dungeon. It's easy because everyone knows how to roleplay a generic goblin prisoner and has a pretty good idea of what information/services that goblin prisoner can provide. And it's got depth because there are so many ways that a party can use a goblin prisoner. There's almost no bloat--you don't need to invent new mechanics, and it takes almost no space to write "There is a goblin in a cage. His name is Zerglum and he has been imprisoned by his fellows for setting rats free."
The problem is that a lot of dungeons are treasure vaults, tombs, and abandoned mines. The only creatures you usually encounter in those places are undead, golems, oozes, and vermin with ambiguous food chains. None of those are really known for being chatty. So, here are some options:
- Rival adventuring party.
- Goblins never need explanation.
- Spell effect, like a chatty magic mouth spell or something.
- Graveyard nymph.
- Ghosts. Make a sympathetic one. Everyone expects them to be jerks.
- Ghoul head, sitting on a shelf. It can talk if you blow through its neck-hole.
- Old man trapped in a painting. Communicates by painting.
- Demon trapped in a mirror. Communicates by repeating your own phrases back to you.
- Ancient war machine trapped by a stasis field bomb. Seeks enemies who died thousands of years ago, will self-destruct when it learns that it lost the war.
- Consider giving your players speak with stones or speak with lock spells. Dungeons usually have those.
- Demonic succubus, who has spent the last 1000 years on a bed, trapped by the silver threads woven into a circle in the bedsheet
- Pterodactyl-riding barbarians who are looting the place
- Time-displaced wizard, caught in a paradox while exploring the place. Resets every 3 minutes.
6. Something to Experiment With
Aside from something that will probably kick the party's ass, I think this might be the most OSR-ish.
These are the unexplainable, the weird, and the unknown. And I don't mean unknown like an unindentified potion is unknown. I mean something that introduces a new wrinkle into the game.
There's some overlap here with magic items. There's also some overlap with non-magical stuff, too. There's also some overlap with combat, because some combats can be puzzly, or can rely on new rules/victory conditions.
Combat, for experienced players, for the most part, is a solved problem. Weird shit is important because they give the players an unsolved problem.
Players know how to best leverage their attacks and abilities. Sure, you can mix it up a bit, and force them to think and use different tactics. But by and large, they already know how to use their character to their best effect. They've been practicing it for levels and levels, after all.
(It's important to let player practice the stuff they're good at, i.e. combat with their character, but it's also important to put throw some wrenches in there, too.)
Weird shit follows its own rules. Suddenly, players don't know anything about how to solve this problem, and they have to figure it out anew.
Bonus points if its something that could potentially unbalance your game. Nothing gives a player more agency than the ability to completely derail your setting. (Not that you need to go that far.)
More bonus points if its something that will probably hurt the players at first, but can be used to their advantage once they've figured out how it works.
One last perk: it gives level 1 characters a chance to be as useful as level 10 characters. Anyone can stick an arm into a hole in the wall, and anyone can figure out what it does. Weird shit often poses threats and rewards that are level-agnostic.
Aside from something that will probably kick the party's ass, I think this might be the most OSR-ish.
These are the unexplainable, the weird, and the unknown. And I don't mean unknown like an unindentified potion is unknown. I mean something that introduces a new wrinkle into the game.
- A room with two doors of different sizes. Anything that is put into the small door emerges from the large door at twice the size, and vice versa. Anything that goes through the doors twice in the same direction (double enlarged or double shrunk) has terrible consequences.
- A pedestal. If anything is placed on top of it, it turns into its opposite. (Okay, the opposite of a sword is an axe, but what is the opposite of a banana?)
- A metal skeleton. If a skull is placed atop it, a speak with dead spell is cast on it.
- Wishing wells that are portals to other small ponds in the dungeon. Where the portal goes is determined by what item you throw in the well before you jump in. Copper coins, silver coins, gold coins, gems, and arrows all lead to different places.
- Two doorways. Impassable when you walk through a single one, but if two people walk through them simultaneously, they are fused together and transported to a city of similarly-fused people.
- A machine that turns finished products into raw goods, and raw goods into ammunition.
- A sundial that controls the sun.
- A boat golem that flees from loud noises. You can direct it by standing at the back of it and shouting.
- Two holes in the wall. If two limbs are put in the holes, they are swapped. If only one limb is put in the hole, it is severed. Can be used to graft new limbs onto amputees.
There's some overlap here with magic items. There's also some overlap with non-magical stuff, too. There's also some overlap with combat, because some combats can be puzzly, or can rely on new rules/victory conditions.
Combat, for experienced players, for the most part, is a solved problem. Weird shit is important because they give the players an unsolved problem.
Players know how to best leverage their attacks and abilities. Sure, you can mix it up a bit, and force them to think and use different tactics. But by and large, they already know how to use their character to their best effect. They've been practicing it for levels and levels, after all.
(It's important to let player practice the stuff they're good at, i.e. combat with their character, but it's also important to put throw some wrenches in there, too.)
Weird shit follows its own rules. Suddenly, players don't know anything about how to solve this problem, and they have to figure it out anew.
Bonus points if its something that could potentially unbalance your game. Nothing gives a player more agency than the ability to completely derail your setting. (Not that you need to go that far.)
More bonus points if its something that will probably hurt the players at first, but can be used to their advantage once they've figured out how it works.
One last perk: it gives level 1 characters a chance to be as useful as level 10 characters. Anyone can stick an arm into a hole in the wall, and anyone can figure out what it does. Weird shit often poses threats and rewards that are level-agnostic.
7. Something the Players Probably Won't Find
This one might be contentious. Why put stuff in your dungeon that your players won't find?
First, you don't have to put much in the dungeon. Just a few words here and there to reward the players who are more thorough. "Inside the purple worm's stomach is a bag of holding full of 1000 gallons of purple worm stomach acid." Or "The pirate captain has a gold bar hidden in his peg leg, wrapped in felt so that it won't rattle." It's not like you're designing multiple cool rooms that no one will ever get to enjoy. (I mean, I do that sometimes.)
I think it's important to hide things because there is a sincere joy in exploration and testing the limits. If all of the things in a dungeon are obvious, why even bother wondering what is at the bottom of the well? Is there anything interesting buried underneath all of this mud? Players who don't have the time or resources to explore a dungeon 100% (and they shouldn't) will always walk away with a feeling of enormity, that there was always more to find.
Sure, completion is a nice feeling, but so is wonderment.
I like to reward people who are good at the game. And being good at finding things (thinking about where they might be, exploring those places despite the risk it involves) is one of the ways that a player can be good at D&D. I've written about this before.
It should be a spectrum. Some things (most things) should be out in the open. Some stuff should be hidden behind curtains. And some stuff should be tucked deeply away in the dungeon's folds.
So yeah, the next time you decorate a room with a mural of a defeated king presenting tribute to his conquerer, be sure to put an actual treasure chest in the wall behind the painting of a treasure chest. (I've run that dungeon three times and no one has ever found it. I get a little excited every time I describe it to players.)
There's also undead skeletons entombed in the wall behind the paintings of skeletons. No one's ever found them, either. But some day, some party with the right alloy of greed, cleverness, and patience will find them, and that will be great.
This one might be contentious. Why put stuff in your dungeon that your players won't find?
First, you don't have to put much in the dungeon. Just a few words here and there to reward the players who are more thorough. "Inside the purple worm's stomach is a bag of holding full of 1000 gallons of purple worm stomach acid." Or "The pirate captain has a gold bar hidden in his peg leg, wrapped in felt so that it won't rattle." It's not like you're designing multiple cool rooms that no one will ever get to enjoy. (I mean, I do that sometimes.)
I think it's important to hide things because there is a sincere joy in exploration and testing the limits. If all of the things in a dungeon are obvious, why even bother wondering what is at the bottom of the well? Is there anything interesting buried underneath all of this mud? Players who don't have the time or resources to explore a dungeon 100% (and they shouldn't) will always walk away with a feeling of enormity, that there was always more to find.
Sure, completion is a nice feeling, but so is wonderment.
I like to reward people who are good at the game. And being good at finding things (thinking about where they might be, exploring those places despite the risk it involves) is one of the ways that a player can be good at D&D. I've written about this before.
It should be a spectrum. Some things (most things) should be out in the open. Some stuff should be hidden behind curtains. And some stuff should be tucked deeply away in the dungeon's folds.
So yeah, the next time you decorate a room with a mural of a defeated king presenting tribute to his conquerer, be sure to put an actual treasure chest in the wall behind the painting of a treasure chest. (I've run that dungeon three times and no one has ever found it. I get a little excited every time I describe it to players.)
There's also undead skeletons entombed in the wall behind the paintings of skeletons. No one's ever found them, either. But some day, some party with the right alloy of greed, cleverness, and patience will find them, and that will be great.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
New Class: Demon Blade
One path to immortality lies through undeath. This is lichdom, and it is frequently sought by spellcasters.
Another path lies through demonhood, and it is usually a warrior's path.
Like the process of a lich's acension, a demon blade's transformation is a closely held secret, shrouded in secrecy and red rumor. It is known to require a willing demon and a paladin's blade.
Digression: The essence of a demon is corruption. Demons are not made from evil souls; instead it is the greatest saints who are shaped into the greatest demons. Because demons do not exist separately (they do not breed nor build) they are forever the our dark mirror. Their history does not, cannot diverge from our own.
The process creates a cursed blade, imbued with the warrior soul (or more accurately, the warrior's seven souls). This demonic weapon is the true demon blade. The figure clad in bone armor, whose blade burns with green fire, who pulls his enemies heart into his hand from across the room--that is just a puppet.
THE DEMON BLADE
Use the cleric as a base template, subtract clerical stuff. Use the fighter's XP progression.
Level 1 - Demon Blade, Chariot
Level 2 - Harvest Soul
Level 3 - Spellcasting
Level 9 - Minions
Demon Blade
You are a hellish red sword (although I guess you could be a hellish axe or hammer if you really want). You are a sword +1 that can dominate whoever wields it (as is standard for many cursed weapons). People who are unwilling to be dominated follow the usual rules for the dominate spell. Dominated creatures use their own ability scores, but every else (save, attack bonus) is derived from you (the death blade). Dominated creatures chafe against the reins, and get -2 to all attack rolls for the first week. The domination effect ends as soon as they stop touching you, so if you are disarmed, they're free to follow their natural inclinations. You cannot dominate a new person unless you release your old one, and if a target makes their save against your dominate, you cannot try again until tomorrow.
You can see and hear out of the blade, but you cannot speak except through your wielder. (But really, who is wielding who?) Regarding damage and breakages, you follow the same rules as any other magic weapon (you can be damaged by things that are at least as magical as you are, like a bad hit against a shield +1 or a demon that can only be hit by +2 weapons or greater.)
Chariot
A person who willingly joins with you (instead of just being dominated by you, and without coercion or threats from you or your allies) becomes your "chariot". That's the demonic term for a willingly dominated person. When you are wielding a chariot, you get several advantages:
- Your chariot reduces all fire damage by the HD of the highest HD angel, paladin, or goodly cleric you've ever killed. (Yes, keep track of this on the back of your character sheet.)
- At any time, you can choose to deal 1d6 damage to your chariot in order to deal an additional +1d6 damage on a hit. (This is called burning the chariot in demonic parlance.)
Harvest Soul
You can drain the soul from a recently killed enemy. This takes a standard action and requires you to impale the corpse with your demon blade within 1 round of the corpse's death. No effect on targets that lack souls.
This has two effects. First, your wielder heals 1d6 HP, plus 1 HP for every HD of the target. Additionally, the target's soul is trapped in the demon blade. The demon blade can hold up to 3 souls. Trapped souls can see and hear from inside the demon blade.
At any time, you can chat with souls trapped in the demon blade (and it may be difficult to get them to shut up). They are generally unhelpful (similar to speak with dead) but can become helpful if you do favors for them (pass messages on), fight against a mutual enemy (orc souls will happily tell you everything they know about elf territory), or entertain them (a soul might appreciate seeing a favorite opera, for example).
Spellcasting
You can cast spells from the demon blade list. Beginning at level 3, you learn a new spell every level (your choice), and another new random spell every time you kill a dungeon boss. (If a dungeon has no obvious boss, the boss is the highest level hostile creature in there.) If you learn the 12 spells listed below, your DM has to come up with some newer, better ones.
Spells are powered by souls trapped in the demon blade. You can cast as many as you wish, as long as you have sufficient trapped souls. If you see an 'X' in the spell description, it refers to the HD of the trapped soul. You use a soul in its entirety--no half-spent souls. And when you use a soul to power a spell, always try to flavor it as appropriately as possible. Using reap with a goblin soul should probably sound like a shrieking goblin and leave goblin bite-marks on the target. Using burning blade with a lich's soul should probably conjure up blue flames that cause numbness rather than immediate pain (that comes later).
Minions
A bunch of demons show up to pledge their loyalty to you. 3d20 lemures, 1d4 bone devils, and 1d4 succubi. They will expect you to lead a crusade back into hell, to reconquer it from the paladins.
1. Burning Blade
R: 0 T: self (blade) D: 10 minutes
The demon blade does an additional +X damage on a hit.
2. Dance of Hell
T: self (blade) D: X rounds
You function as a dancing weapon. You still maintain control of your chariot.
3. Deathgrip
R: 50' T: creature
If a creature fails a save, it is pulled to adjacent to you. You may make a basic melee attack against it if you wish.
4. Demon Claw
For one round, you can make all the melee attacks of you were the highest HD demon you've ever killed. (Yes, keep track of the highest HD demon you've ever killed.)
5. Disguise
R: 0 T: self D: X hr
You appear as someone else of comparable size. This is only an illusion, but it also changes your voice to match. (If you are playing with detect evil, I suppose it can fool that, too.)
6. Heartripper
R: 20' T: creature
If a creature has Xd6 HP or less, it's heart is ripped out of its chest and into your hand. No save. This is usually fatal. No effect on creatures that lack hearts.
7. Hellbolts
R: 50' T: object D: 0
You fire X bolts at the target. Each bolt requires its own ranged attack roll and does 1d8 damage on a hit.
8. Inferno
R: 20' T: self D: X turns
Everything takes 1d6 fire damage each turn (Con check for half). Most shit catches on fire. You are immune to fire damage for the duration of this spell.
9. Reap
R: 0 T: self (blade)
Free action when the demon blade does melee damage. Deal +Xd6 damage.
10. Salvage the Chariot
R: 0 T: self (chariot)
Instead of dying, the chariot survives with X HP and is stunned for 1d6-X rounds (min 1). You still suffer the other effects of the injury (broken limbs, etc).
11. Summon Lemure
R: 20' T: piece of floor D: 1 min
You summon an obedient lemure.
12. Teleport
R: 20' T: self D: 0
You teleport to a point you designate. You do not need to have line of sight. You can bring along X-1 willing creatures.
Discussion
They lack a fighter's HP and attack bonus, but they get a lot of little tricks to compensate. The first and probably strongest is just that you're a cursed blade. You're really hard to kill, but then again, even goblins will probably figure out that this blade is fucked, let's pile a million rocks on top of it and be scared of it forever). And of course, there's always the option to just pass the blade off to an enemy, who you can then dominate.
What a really want to see is a player chuck the demon blade like a spear, impaling the enemy commander, and then dominating him. I'm okay with this because it has so many ways that it can go wrong.
And since the only thing that you import from the dominated creature is ability scores, even a dominated goblin will have your levels and (a similar) HP.
Some of the spells are quite powerful, but the slow rate of acquisition balances it out somewhat. The small capacity of the blade (3 souls) and the rarity of the ammunition (you gotta stab people the round after they die) balances it out further. Plus, it creates an interesting dilemma in combat. Do I harvest the soul of the guy I just killed, or do I help kill the ogre that's still standing?
There's no class abilities after level 3, but that's because the spells are self-balancing. As the players kill higher HD creatures, the demon blade character will have higher HD souls to spend on bigger spells, like a +8d6 damage reap.
There's also a bit of character motivation backed into the mechanics, since players benefit from killing high level clerics and demons. A person playing a demon blade for the first time, who has no idea what to do next can read the character sheet abilities and announce, "guys, I think we should go to the church and kill the cleric".
UPDATE: J.M. Perkins wrote a post about the different types of immortality that different classes enjoy. A Lich for Every Class.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Impressions of OrcaCon 2016
So I went to my first con. I wouldn't have gone if Vic hadn't bullied me into it, so thanks, Vic.
It was awesome. It was like a zoo full of nerds. I spent a few minutes gawping before I found myself discussing dice mechanics with a guy in a 13th Age shirt, and I realize that I, too, am a nerdy zebra, and this is herd.
It was a small con in its first year. I stayed in the same hotel, six floors above. This was convenient because I like to mix beer and D&D and I was worried that this would be impossible at a con.
I got to meet +Stacy Dellorfano, so that was cool. She speaks about games optimistically and critically, as if they were tools that could change the world for the better. Which of course, they are, but it's rare to have it discussed through that lens. She also has really nice hair.
---
Everyone at a con has one thing in common: we are all passionate about games.
Some of the players you meet at your local comic book store are just there because their friends are there, but anyone at a Con shelled out some serious shekels to be there. There were no filthy casuals, stinking up the place with their talk of raids or Heismans.
And this homogeny was doubly nice, because it's always easy to talk to someone about the subject of their passion. (Most people are passionate about something. Some people are passionate about lots of things.) I could walk up to someone and just start yelling at them about how bluffing and bidding games were awesome because they had a built-in metagame, and they would happily start yelling back because they had opinions about that. Everyone did.
Some of the people that I met were the stereotypical nerd-introverts. But they didn't behave like it, because they were in their element. Everyone I met was interested in games--really interested--and really interested in talking about games.
There really wasn't time for shyness. I don't know about everyone else, but I felt a sense of urgency.
Every hour I spent sleeping or eating was an hour that I would be missing out on all the cool stuff.
Maybe that's why everyone was so friendly. Or maybe all cons are like that, and it's not just because OrcaCon bills itself as an "inclusive analog games convention". I was wondering what "inclusive" implied until I saw that you can identify your preferred pronouns by hanging a ribbon underneath your badge that identified your preferred pronouns.
There were also pins that let you identify yourself as asexual, pansexual, other sexuals, and/or a straight ally. Also the t-shirt was an orc riding an orca riding a big gay rainbow wave. It was very lovable.
There was a game called Golem Arcana. I played it and it was awesome and I had fun. It's a miniatures wargame where you control a team of golems (basically fantasy mechs) and smash other fantasy golems.
But what was really interesting about it was that everything took place inside an iPad. All of the positioning, movement, dice rolling, cover calculations, etc took place inside the iPad. The minis (and they were big, beautiful minis) were just a mirror to the stuff on the iPad. You moved your pieces on the screen, and then you moved the minis so that the situation on the table would mirror the situation on the iPad.
The minis were entirely superfluous. You could run the game just fine without them. They only existed because people love relics of our hobbies. We love things we can pick up and hold. The spine of your DCC shirt looks cool on the mantle, sure, but a row of miniature dragons looks cooler (and is a lot easier to explain to your aunt).
Digression: You could also claim that minis aren't a lot more than just a representation. They give a sense of depth, thickness, stability, motion that a picture can't do. And you'd have a point. But bear in mind that these are $40 minis, so I'd argue that people are paying for more than just an interesting piece of art.
Now, when you love a hobby, you want to go out and buy it, surround yourself with it. But D&D, as I play it, is a pile of intangibles. It doesn't have a lot of physical artifacts unless you play with minis. It's plots and monster descriptions and words like "batrachian".
Dice are the only real artifact that we have. That's probably why I buy so many I don't need.
Digression: There's nothing wrong with minis, but I have noticed that a lot of DMs and players treat them as if they were all the description a situation needs. You already know what the monsters look like and where they are, so there's no need for the DM to go into any further details about them. It makes (some) DMs lazy.
The OSR was not represented there. Except, I suppose, by me. In a couple of the 5e games there was some scheming, improv, and rules flexibility (things I associated with the OSR), but the other games were just naked mechanics.
Mind you, some of the mechanics were excellent mechanics, and/or mechanics that allowed for fun roleplaying. I played in a 13th Age game, and there was tons of roleplaying. But the roleplaying was just a paint job--it didn't really affect the actual gameplay one iota (which was just a set piece combat against a pile of nameless, mute orcs).
Digression: I feel like 13th Age has a lot of things that encourage roleplaying (icons, one unique thing) but those are just wrapping paper on a combat system that is as rigid as 4e. (And by rigid, I mean it depends on rules, not rulings.)
And talking to people, I saw all this excitement and attention given to mechanics. Games were codified, judged, and discussed in terms of their rulebooks. There was the sense of "any problem can be fixed by fixing the mechanics, because any problem is a mechanical problem". (At least among the few people I talked to on the games room floor, not at the panel about games and education.)
Which is weird for me, because I see rules as only a tiny part of D&D. Like, you pick up a Swords and Wizardry book and you look in it, and you see all these rigid, interacting systems, and you'd be forgiven for thinking that the game was just as rigid and deterministic as chess. But then you actually play in a Swords and Wizardry game, and you realize that the rules are just a skeleton inside a fleshy body, and that the real meat of the game is DM rulings and players scheming outside the box.
Anyway, there was little attention given to the softer aspects of a game. Maybe its my fault for talking to board game designers about the value of rules that lend themselves well to improvisation, or why rulebooks (even rulebooks for board games) should include a few words on interplayer attitudes and framing.
I dunno, man.
Online, I hang out in my echo chamber of OSR bloggers (as do a lot of you, I suppose), and it's easy to forget what tiny minority we are in the larger tabletop RPG world. I felt like an island king who sees a world map for the first time.
I ran a table.
I was nervous to DM, which was interesting. I haven't been nervous about DMing for years. Even that was pleasant, in a way; nervousness is a young man's game.
Perhaps it was because every other table that I saw had polished, finished products. They ran D&D with glossy DMGs and fully painted minis. All I had was a backpack full of dice and paper. And not even the right paper, dammit. Ten minutes before the game I was still printing out handouts and stealing pencils from better prepared people.
It is at that point that I must thank my friends James, Joe, and Matt Shimek. They have some sort of bootleg screen printing operation in their garage, which they used to print the Goblin Punch logo onto a table cloth and also a nice black shirt. So if was going to be a filthy homebrew D&D guy, at least I would be a filthy homebrew D&D guy with a fucking brand.
Thank you, Shimeks.
Anyway, the game was excellent. Everyone had a lot of fun.
I ran a semi-sandbox in Goblintown (which grown enough that I should probably write another post or two about it). Out of five or so options, they chose to sell their services as bounty hunters, and attempted to kill Filthmaster Blorth, reputedly the filthiest goblin in goblintown.
(Goblintown is ahistoric. Goblins do not keep records of anything. They have no idea what year it is, and they disagree over who the last king was. Filthmaster Blorth is also the closest thing that the goblins have to a historian, since he can read the secret history of objects. His filthiness is next to godliness.)
The high point was probably getting to the end of the Filth Library and finding the final room empty, except for walls covered with creeping crud and a porcelain throne. Sitting on the throne (and making their save) granted the players a free question, which would be answered honestly.
They asked "Where is the Filthmaster?"
I told them "Behind you, descending the shaft inside his gelatinous cube mount."
The session ended with the players looting the Filthmaster of his ring of control ooze, ring of protection from acid, porcelain snorkel, and then riding away inside his gelatinous cube. At least one of them wanted to become the next Filthmaster, which honestly sounds like a great start to a new campaign.
I fucking love D&D. Thank you Jeff, Brody, Brandon, Cici, Andrew, and Bev for being such excellent players. You were the pros of the con.
Anyway, those guys and girls gave a lot of feedback, mostly good, but I've been mulling over one piece of advice: "When you write adventures, be aware that most people aren't as good a DM as you are." I think that's a suggestion to write more clearly defined adventures, with more rigid and clearly defined mechanics. Less improv, more machinery.
It's an interesting point, because I mostly write adventures with myself in mind as the DM. Writing for other DMs is a different challenge, I suppose. I guess my playtests will have to include playing in games where other DMs are using my stuff, which feels like arrogance or masturbation. Not that those are bad things, mind you.
It was awesome. It was like a zoo full of nerds. I spent a few minutes gawping before I found myself discussing dice mechanics with a guy in a 13th Age shirt, and I realize that I, too, am a nerdy zebra, and this is herd.
It was a small con in its first year. I stayed in the same hotel, six floors above. This was convenient because I like to mix beer and D&D and I was worried that this would be impossible at a con.
I got to meet +Stacy Dellorfano, so that was cool. She speaks about games optimistically and critically, as if they were tools that could change the world for the better. Which of course, they are, but it's rare to have it discussed through that lens. She also has really nice hair.
---
Everyone at a con has one thing in common: we are all passionate about games.
Some of the players you meet at your local comic book store are just there because their friends are there, but anyone at a Con shelled out some serious shekels to be there. There were no filthy casuals, stinking up the place with their talk of raids or Heismans.
And this homogeny was doubly nice, because it's always easy to talk to someone about the subject of their passion. (Most people are passionate about something. Some people are passionate about lots of things.) I could walk up to someone and just start yelling at them about how bluffing and bidding games were awesome because they had a built-in metagame, and they would happily start yelling back because they had opinions about that. Everyone did.
Some of the people that I met were the stereotypical nerd-introverts. But they didn't behave like it, because they were in their element. Everyone I met was interested in games--really interested--and really interested in talking about games.
There really wasn't time for shyness. I don't know about everyone else, but I felt a sense of urgency.
Every hour I spent sleeping or eating was an hour that I would be missing out on all the cool stuff.
Maybe that's why everyone was so friendly. Or maybe all cons are like that, and it's not just because OrcaCon bills itself as an "inclusive analog games convention". I was wondering what "inclusive" implied until I saw that you can identify your preferred pronouns by hanging a ribbon underneath your badge that identified your preferred pronouns.
My Name Is Arnold K. and my preferred pronouns are he and him. <Contessa ribbon goes here.>
There was a game called Golem Arcana. I played it and it was awesome and I had fun. It's a miniatures wargame where you control a team of golems (basically fantasy mechs) and smash other fantasy golems.
But what was really interesting about it was that everything took place inside an iPad. All of the positioning, movement, dice rolling, cover calculations, etc took place inside the iPad. The minis (and they were big, beautiful minis) were just a mirror to the stuff on the iPad. You moved your pieces on the screen, and then you moved the minis so that the situation on the table would mirror the situation on the iPad.
The minis were entirely superfluous. You could run the game just fine without them. They only existed because people love relics of our hobbies. We love things we can pick up and hold. The spine of your DCC shirt looks cool on the mantle, sure, but a row of miniature dragons looks cooler (and is a lot easier to explain to your aunt).
Digression: You could also claim that minis aren't a lot more than just a representation. They give a sense of depth, thickness, stability, motion that a picture can't do. And you'd have a point. But bear in mind that these are $40 minis, so I'd argue that people are paying for more than just an interesting piece of art.
Now, when you love a hobby, you want to go out and buy it, surround yourself with it. But D&D, as I play it, is a pile of intangibles. It doesn't have a lot of physical artifacts unless you play with minis. It's plots and monster descriptions and words like "batrachian".
Dice are the only real artifact that we have. That's probably why I buy so many I don't need.
Digression: There's nothing wrong with minis, but I have noticed that a lot of DMs and players treat them as if they were all the description a situation needs. You already know what the monsters look like and where they are, so there's no need for the DM to go into any further details about them. It makes (some) DMs lazy.
The OSR was not represented there. Except, I suppose, by me. In a couple of the 5e games there was some scheming, improv, and rules flexibility (things I associated with the OSR), but the other games were just naked mechanics.
Mind you, some of the mechanics were excellent mechanics, and/or mechanics that allowed for fun roleplaying. I played in a 13th Age game, and there was tons of roleplaying. But the roleplaying was just a paint job--it didn't really affect the actual gameplay one iota (which was just a set piece combat against a pile of nameless, mute orcs).
Digression: I feel like 13th Age has a lot of things that encourage roleplaying (icons, one unique thing) but those are just wrapping paper on a combat system that is as rigid as 4e. (And by rigid, I mean it depends on rules, not rulings.)
And talking to people, I saw all this excitement and attention given to mechanics. Games were codified, judged, and discussed in terms of their rulebooks. There was the sense of "any problem can be fixed by fixing the mechanics, because any problem is a mechanical problem". (At least among the few people I talked to on the games room floor, not at the panel about games and education.)
Which is weird for me, because I see rules as only a tiny part of D&D. Like, you pick up a Swords and Wizardry book and you look in it, and you see all these rigid, interacting systems, and you'd be forgiven for thinking that the game was just as rigid and deterministic as chess. But then you actually play in a Swords and Wizardry game, and you realize that the rules are just a skeleton inside a fleshy body, and that the real meat of the game is DM rulings and players scheming outside the box.
Anyway, there was little attention given to the softer aspects of a game. Maybe its my fault for talking to board game designers about the value of rules that lend themselves well to improvisation, or why rulebooks (even rulebooks for board games) should include a few words on interplayer attitudes and framing.
I dunno, man.
Online, I hang out in my echo chamber of OSR bloggers (as do a lot of you, I suppose), and it's easy to forget what tiny minority we are in the larger tabletop RPG world. I felt like an island king who sees a world map for the first time.
 |
| Car Wars looks awesome |
I was nervous to DM, which was interesting. I haven't been nervous about DMing for years. Even that was pleasant, in a way; nervousness is a young man's game.
Perhaps it was because every other table that I saw had polished, finished products. They ran D&D with glossy DMGs and fully painted minis. All I had was a backpack full of dice and paper. And not even the right paper, dammit. Ten minutes before the game I was still printing out handouts and stealing pencils from better prepared people.
It is at that point that I must thank my friends James, Joe, and Matt Shimek. They have some sort of bootleg screen printing operation in their garage, which they used to print the Goblin Punch logo onto a table cloth and also a nice black shirt. So if was going to be a filthy homebrew D&D guy, at least I would be a filthy homebrew D&D guy with a fucking brand.
Thank you, Shimeks.
Anyway, the game was excellent. Everyone had a lot of fun.
I ran a semi-sandbox in Goblintown (which grown enough that I should probably write another post or two about it). Out of five or so options, they chose to sell their services as bounty hunters, and attempted to kill Filthmaster Blorth, reputedly the filthiest goblin in goblintown.
(Goblintown is ahistoric. Goblins do not keep records of anything. They have no idea what year it is, and they disagree over who the last king was. Filthmaster Blorth is also the closest thing that the goblins have to a historian, since he can read the secret history of objects. His filthiness is next to godliness.)
The high point was probably getting to the end of the Filth Library and finding the final room empty, except for walls covered with creeping crud and a porcelain throne. Sitting on the throne (and making their save) granted the players a free question, which would be answered honestly.
They asked "Where is the Filthmaster?"
I told them "Behind you, descending the shaft inside his gelatinous cube mount."
The session ended with the players looting the Filthmaster of his ring of control ooze, ring of protection from acid, porcelain snorkel, and then riding away inside his gelatinous cube. At least one of them wanted to become the next Filthmaster, which honestly sounds like a great start to a new campaign.
I fucking love D&D. Thank you Jeff, Brody, Brandon, Cici, Andrew, and Bev for being such excellent players. You were the pros of the con.
Anyway, those guys and girls gave a lot of feedback, mostly good, but I've been mulling over one piece of advice: "When you write adventures, be aware that most people aren't as good a DM as you are." I think that's a suggestion to write more clearly defined adventures, with more rigid and clearly defined mechanics. Less improv, more machinery.
It's an interesting point, because I mostly write adventures with myself in mind as the DM. Writing for other DMs is a different challenge, I suppose. I guess my playtests will have to include playing in games where other DMs are using my stuff, which feels like arrogance or masturbation. Not that those are bad things, mind you.
Also, one of my players noticed that the filth was dissolving their body, and they decide to allow it, becoming one with the filth. One of the more metal deaths I've had in my games. Truly a superlative goblin.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Gretchlings and Grues
They are also called gribblies.
I wrote about them before, in the Book of Mice. That's actually a gretchling up at the top of this page, as part of the Goblin Punch logo. I suppose he's as good a mascot as anything else.
Gretchlings are similar to goblins, only more pathetic and miserable. They are goblins that have been touched by the shadows of the Underworld. They delved too greedily and too deep, perhaps.
They are usually not a separate culture, but rather an affliction of the goblin race. They usually exist within a goblin city (as an underclass) or outside of it (as outcasts). The methods of transmission are murky, but it does spread from goblin to goblin in a method similar to a disease.
A gretchling has no shadow, because in a way, they are already their own shadow.
They are incapable of enjoying anything. Food turns to ashes in their mouths. Music becomes mere noise. All that is left of the goblin psyche is self-pity, boredom, and above all else a keening, persistent fear.
Gretchling
HD 0 (HP 1) AC none Weapon 1d6
Move as human Int 5 Morale 5
<Darkvision>
<Photophobia> If anyone spends a turn brandishing a light source (e.g. a torch) and yelling, all nearby gretchlings must make a morale check (as a group) or flee in terror back to the edges of the light source (30' for a torch), where they will lurk. While lurking, they make another morale check every minute to see if they can muster the courage to overcome this crippling fear. Terrified gretchlings who cannot escape a light source are essentially helpless--they throw down their weapon, piss themselves, curl up into a ball, and sob uncontrollably (at least until an opportunity for escape presents itself). Under no circumstances will they approach within 60' of a large light source (such as a bonfire, or a pile of burning furniture). They dislike attacking lightbearers in melee, and will only attack them if no other attractive options present themselves.
Gretchlings have an instinctive fear of tall things as well, though not as pronounced as their fear of fire.
Tall gretchlings tend to become leaders of their people, and those tall gretchlings vie for authority among themselves by augmenting their own height with stilts. They are also the spellcasters among the gretchlings.
Gretchling Stilwalker
Stats as gretchling, except:
HD 2 Int 10
<Spells> extinguish x 2
New Spell: Extinguish
Level 1 Wizard Spell
R; 50' T: light source or creature D: 1 day
Target light source is extinguished and cannot be relit. Magical light sources are allowed a save. Multiple extinguish spells must be cast simultaneously to extinguish things larger than a campfire. Alternatively, this spell can be cast on a creature who is in total darkness, who must then save or go blind for 1 day.
Sidebar: Rules For Lighting a Torch or Lantern
Assuming you're kneeling beside the item trying to spark it with a flint and tinder, it takes 1d4 rounds to get the flame going. This die size is modified by Dex, so a character with -1 Dex gets it lit in 1d5 rounds, and a character with +2 Dex gets it let in 1d2 rounds.
Advanced Player Tactics
One or two experiences with gretchlings should be enough to teach the party how the gretchlings work. Since they are usually shittier than goblins, feel free to throw lots of them at the party. And I do mean lots. Maybe 1d20+10 or something.
I can easily imagine a party moving through a large room full of gretchlings. They're carrying three torches, because past experiences have taught them the importance of light sources. They can hear the the gretchlings keeping pace all around them, like an unseen escort. The gretchlings might even follow the party to other parts of the dungeon. Too afraid to enter the light. . . for now.
If the torchbearers sprint into the gretchling-infested darkness, they can catch a few of the gretchlings who were too slow to get away and butcher them easily. After a couple of rounds of this, the gretchlings learn to hang back much farther from the light sources. Farther than an adventurer with a torch and a sword can run in one round.
The players might also hit on the more advanced tactic of throwing their torch into the darkness, where it will surely illuminate 1d3 gretchlings, and the archers in the party have a chance to pepper them with arrows before the gretchlings rush the torch and smother the hateful flame with handfuls of dirt.
Advanced Gretchling Tactics
One thing you need to decide is gretchling tactics. Gretchlings aren't complete idiots, and when they start getting desperate, they may start attempting to extinguish the light sources, instead of making melee attacks. Expect them to run up with buckets of water, or burn themselves trying to extinguish the torch with their bare hands.
They are still goblins, after all, with all the dangerous ingenuity of that breed. Are they willing to flood their own home? Of course they are! It's a whole new dungeon now that there's a foot of water on the floor, and one of the main tunnels is completely flooded. (Is there a gretchling ambush on the far side? Of course there is!)
You could also give the gretchlings ranged weapons, but then it becomes a lot more like fighting normal goblins. So I'd advise against giving the gretchlings more than one or two bows. Far better to just give them another 10 gretchlings, or a stiltwalker.
Don't forget that most characters get -4 to attack and AC if they can't see their opponent. That's pretty damn significant.
Gretchling mutants also exist, who have the body (and stats) of an ogre, but the same tiny gretchling head.
And if you want to make gretchlings dangerous against higher level parties, you could always try. . .
Grues
Just as goblins can be infected with the shadows of the Underworld, so can dire moles.
Except where goblins are lessened by the affliction, dire moles are strengthened by it. They are miserable creatures, all shadow and hunger. They are hostile towards all living things except gretchlings, who they pity.
Grue
Stats as owlbear except:
<You Are Likely> In grue-containing dungeons, the party must keep a light lit at all times. If they have no light source at all, the grue(s) will show up after 1d6 rounds.
<Shadowstuff> Immune to non-magical damage.
<Banished By Light> If a grue is ever within the radius of a light source, even a small one such as a candle, it is banished back into the dark earth of the dungeon, where it will return after another 1d6 rounds of total darkness. Light-based spells will also banish grues.
Advanced Party Tactics
Don't forget that grues are a great way to get rid of a rival adventuring party. Just extinguish their torch, close a door between them and your torch, and try to make small talk over all the screaming.
I wrote about them before, in the Book of Mice. That's actually a gretchling up at the top of this page, as part of the Goblin Punch logo. I suppose he's as good a mascot as anything else.
Gretchlings are similar to goblins, only more pathetic and miserable. They are goblins that have been touched by the shadows of the Underworld. They delved too greedily and too deep, perhaps.
They are usually not a separate culture, but rather an affliction of the goblin race. They usually exist within a goblin city (as an underclass) or outside of it (as outcasts). The methods of transmission are murky, but it does spread from goblin to goblin in a method similar to a disease.
A gretchling has no shadow, because in a way, they are already their own shadow.
They are incapable of enjoying anything. Food turns to ashes in their mouths. Music becomes mere noise. All that is left of the goblin psyche is self-pity, boredom, and above all else a keening, persistent fear.
Gretchling
HD 0 (HP 1) AC none Weapon 1d6
Move as human Int 5 Morale 5
<Darkvision>
<Photophobia> If anyone spends a turn brandishing a light source (e.g. a torch) and yelling, all nearby gretchlings must make a morale check (as a group) or flee in terror back to the edges of the light source (30' for a torch), where they will lurk. While lurking, they make another morale check every minute to see if they can muster the courage to overcome this crippling fear. Terrified gretchlings who cannot escape a light source are essentially helpless--they throw down their weapon, piss themselves, curl up into a ball, and sob uncontrollably (at least until an opportunity for escape presents itself). Under no circumstances will they approach within 60' of a large light source (such as a bonfire, or a pile of burning furniture). They dislike attacking lightbearers in melee, and will only attack them if no other attractive options present themselves.
 |
| they also embody a lot of my design philosophy 1. monster weaknesses are as interesting as abilities 2. keep light sources relevant 3. Pathetic monsters are cool (like this guy, who can't piss without hitting his own feet) |
Tall gretchlings tend to become leaders of their people, and those tall gretchlings vie for authority among themselves by augmenting their own height with stilts. They are also the spellcasters among the gretchlings.
Gretchling Stilwalker
Stats as gretchling, except:
HD 2 Int 10
<Spells> extinguish x 2
New Spell: Extinguish
Level 1 Wizard Spell
R; 50' T: light source or creature D: 1 day
Target light source is extinguished and cannot be relit. Magical light sources are allowed a save. Multiple extinguish spells must be cast simultaneously to extinguish things larger than a campfire. Alternatively, this spell can be cast on a creature who is in total darkness, who must then save or go blind for 1 day.
Sidebar: Rules For Lighting a Torch or Lantern
Assuming you're kneeling beside the item trying to spark it with a flint and tinder, it takes 1d4 rounds to get the flame going. This die size is modified by Dex, so a character with -1 Dex gets it lit in 1d5 rounds, and a character with +2 Dex gets it let in 1d2 rounds.
Advanced Player Tactics
One or two experiences with gretchlings should be enough to teach the party how the gretchlings work. Since they are usually shittier than goblins, feel free to throw lots of them at the party. And I do mean lots. Maybe 1d20+10 or something.
I can easily imagine a party moving through a large room full of gretchlings. They're carrying three torches, because past experiences have taught them the importance of light sources. They can hear the the gretchlings keeping pace all around them, like an unseen escort. The gretchlings might even follow the party to other parts of the dungeon. Too afraid to enter the light. . . for now.
If the torchbearers sprint into the gretchling-infested darkness, they can catch a few of the gretchlings who were too slow to get away and butcher them easily. After a couple of rounds of this, the gretchlings learn to hang back much farther from the light sources. Farther than an adventurer with a torch and a sword can run in one round.
The players might also hit on the more advanced tactic of throwing their torch into the darkness, where it will surely illuminate 1d3 gretchlings, and the archers in the party have a chance to pepper them with arrows before the gretchlings rush the torch and smother the hateful flame with handfuls of dirt.
Advanced Gretchling Tactics
One thing you need to decide is gretchling tactics. Gretchlings aren't complete idiots, and when they start getting desperate, they may start attempting to extinguish the light sources, instead of making melee attacks. Expect them to run up with buckets of water, or burn themselves trying to extinguish the torch with their bare hands.
They are still goblins, after all, with all the dangerous ingenuity of that breed. Are they willing to flood their own home? Of course they are! It's a whole new dungeon now that there's a foot of water on the floor, and one of the main tunnels is completely flooded. (Is there a gretchling ambush on the far side? Of course there is!)
You could also give the gretchlings ranged weapons, but then it becomes a lot more like fighting normal goblins. So I'd advise against giving the gretchlings more than one or two bows. Far better to just give them another 10 gretchlings, or a stiltwalker.
Don't forget that most characters get -4 to attack and AC if they can't see their opponent. That's pretty damn significant.
Gretchling mutants also exist, who have the body (and stats) of an ogre, but the same tiny gretchling head.
And if you want to make gretchlings dangerous against higher level parties, you could always try. . .
Grues
Just as goblins can be infected with the shadows of the Underworld, so can dire moles.
Except where goblins are lessened by the affliction, dire moles are strengthened by it. They are miserable creatures, all shadow and hunger. They are hostile towards all living things except gretchlings, who they pity.
Grue
Stats as owlbear except:
<You Are Likely> In grue-containing dungeons, the party must keep a light lit at all times. If they have no light source at all, the grue(s) will show up after 1d6 rounds.
<Shadowstuff> Immune to non-magical damage.
<Banished By Light> If a grue is ever within the radius of a light source, even a small one such as a candle, it is banished back into the dark earth of the dungeon, where it will return after another 1d6 rounds of total darkness. Light-based spells will also banish grues.
Advanced Party Tactics
Don't forget that grues are a great way to get rid of a rival adventuring party. Just extinguish their torch, close a door between them and your torch, and try to make small talk over all the screaming.
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