Posts Tagged ‘everybook’

strange statues

Friday, February 17th, 2012


With Thaniel under one shoulder, he climbed the bloody steps of the massive central tower, remembering when he trod it last, in chains, on his way to fight in the arena, how the gilded balustrades and strange statues had glimmered in Skasloi witchlight. It had been beautiful and terrible.
-Greg Keyes: The Briar King

The phrase that caught me here was “strange statues”. What are some examples of strange statues?

  • a living statue, rooted in place, perhaps with a single purpose (to remind men of the evils of a long-ago emperor) or quirk (chews tobacco and spits).
  • a strange combination of person and animal (for instance, a half-man, half-horse: the left side’s the horse)
  • a combination of person and office furniture
  • a statue of a tall bird-headed man. Occasionally, if you’re alone in the room, it will whisper, “Pss! C’mere!” and when you go over to it, it will pretend not to notice you.
  • a row of 11 busts that each answer your questions. Each talks in a different musical tone, so, by asking them short questions in the proper order, you can play a tune.
  • a statue of the previous emperor: his eyes and mouth are cuckoo clocks.

    I can see how, in the Skasloi witchlight, these statues would be beautiful and terrible indeed!

  • intelligent residuum

    Friday, February 10th, 2012

    The other planets under Sol’s domination had been visited, or at least probed, and to some extent were being colonized and exploited–but on the whole they had proved disappointing. No life to speak of. No intelligent residuum.
    -Emil Petaja: The Nets of Space (1969)

    To take this phrase out of context, here’s an idea for 4e: INTELLIGENT RESIDUUM. When you melt down an intelligent weapon, you get this stuff. If it’s used to make a new magic item, that item gets the former weapon’s personality.

    In powder form, the residuum still possesses intelligence. It can travel on its own, like a vampire in vapor form, and try to possess people for short periods (either to communicate telepathically or to dominate the possessed creature: it’s a Will attack to possess a creature, and a save ends the possession.) The vapor is immune to melee and ranged attacks, but bursts and blasts automatically kill it.

    The residuum can, over time, exert enough force to pop the cork on an ordinary residuum vial, but any stronger form of containment will trap it.

    What does intelligent residuum want? Well, it depends greatly on personality, but probably to be used in the creation of a powerful item.

    A canticle for leibowitz

    Friday, February 3rd, 2012


    And what makes you think the Memorabilia is completely free of pap? Even the gifted and Venerable Boedullus once remarked scornfully that about half of it should be called the Inscrutabilia. Treasured fragments of a dead civilization there were indeed-but how much of it has been reduced to gibberish, embellished with olive leaves and cherubims, by forty generations of us monastic ignoramuses, children of dark centuries, many, entrusted by adults with an incomprehensible message, to be memorized and delivered to other adults.

    The monks in the post-apocalyptic sci fi novel A Canticle for Leibowitz are in approximately the same position as scholars in most D&D worlds. They’re inheritors of a fallen civilization they don’t fully understand. Whether your fallen civilization is 20th century Earth or Bael Turath, books from the past age are precious – and, in another way, irrelevant. A single ancient book of pre-cataclysmic magic might do the PCs no good, just as a modern book on electronics wouldn’t do a medieval scholar any good: in this book, too much knowledge is taken for granted.

    A library, on the other hand, is a different thing. When I DM, I tend to put treasures in libraries, because that’s a natural place to find powers from past ages. I tend to be interested in mechanics for performing research, and in powerful wizard spells as treasure (as, indeed, they were in previous editions). I haven’t quite figured out the perfect mechanics yet, but I do want to find a way to make players greedy for ancient spells and secrets. For now, I plan to use my ideas for spells as treasure.

    Cool dungeons in books

    Friday, January 13th, 2012

    The Frost Dungeon

    They descended for a long while. The stair spiraled down with no terminus in sight. The light seemed to lead them. The walls grew damp, cold, colder, coming to be covered with a fine patina of frost figures.
    Roger Zelazny – Dilvish, the Damned

    I like the idea of sensory details, like temperature, informing a dungeon, and there are a lot of dungeon tricks that can be done with ice, especially if one of the PC is a fireball-toting wizard. Furthermore, if the PCs are defeated in an ice dungeon, they’re sure to wake up hanging upside down from the ceiling just as a Wampa beast shows up for dinner.

    The Star Labyrinth

    “As for myself, in my early years I beamed through the star-labyrinth many times. Why, once I accompanied Priestess Poogli all the way to–”
    Emil Petaja – The Nets of Space

    Just as the ocean is a dungeon, space can be a dungeon. Let’s say that each star leads only to 2-3 other stars (because of stargates, distance, spice, or some other such nonsense). The PC’s space ship, spelljammer, or astral kayak is essentially plying a space dungeon, with planetary systems as rooms and navigation routes as corridors.

    “The Star Labyrinth” is also a cool name. As cool as Princess Poogli? Hard to say.

    The Drowned City

    Riding along the fringes of this wild place, Orisian could see, faint in its misty heart, the ruined towers of old Kan Avor. The broken turrets and spires of the drowned city rose above the waters like a ghostly ship on the sea’s horizon.
    -Brian Ruckley – Godless World: Winterbirth

    A half-submerged city is not a completely unique adventure locale: many platformer video games have a water dungeon where you have to pull levers to change the water level. It’s still a cool spot, and if the PCs have to do some dangerous diving to get to the entrance of a half-submerged tower, you can give them some interesting challenges on the way up the tower: a time limit based on holding your breath, for instance. Another fun aspect of amphibious adventuring is that swimming PCs can easily escape water-only enemies, like sharks, and air-only enemies, like birds. You can use this to introduce some difficult puzzle enemies: if the fight is impossible, the PCs can easily submerge, or emerge, to safety.

    Melancholia

    Friday, December 30th, 2011

    My New Year’s resolution: Class up my D&D game! Instead of tankards of ale, my barbarians will swig tankards of the ’55 Chateau Margaux. And instead of drawing adventure inspiration from pulp fantasy novels, I will use art movies and articles published in the Journal of Literary Theory.

    First up: the Czech movie Melancholia, directed by Lars von Trier!

    The opening sequence of the movie is a series of extremely slow-motion shots of Kirsten Dunst in and around a golf course. In one shot, Kirsten is moving at a minute-hand crawl, while a cloud of insects seemed to be moving at full speed. I thought that, at the rate they were flying, they might not even be visible in Kirsten’s time frame.

    I’ve already run an adventure where the party bargained with friendly quicklings, which move so fast that humans cannot understand their speech. The quicklings overcame this obstacle by drawing pictures for the humans.

    On the other side of the time scale, what if PCs needed to communicate with creatures that moved incredibly slowly? The creatures might be sentient trees, like a decelerated version of Tolkien’s Ents, or they might be living statues in a palace: few even know that they are moving at all.

    Imagine a ritual that can cause you to slow down to their speed. As you cast it, the sun overhead would accelerate until it was flickering overhead. You’d hear a bass growl, which would raise in pitch until you recognized it as the speech of the trees, or statues.

    You’d want to conduct your interview quickly. The DM would track the number of sentences you exchanged with the statues (or trees): each one would cost a month of game time.

    (My review of the rest of Melancholia: Right before I went to see the movie, I read Nancy Balbirer quoting David Mamet: “In show business, women who are lucky enough to find employment are asked to do only two things in every role they ever play: take your shirt off and cry.” Melancholia did not disprove this postulate.)

    7 feasts and 6 fasts

    Friday, December 16th, 2011


    “Did you not know that Lord Dillan is also a healer? He has taken the Inner Path, been a disciple of the Forest, with the Seven Feasts and Six Fasts behind him these many years.”
    -Andre Norton, Star Gate (1958)

    When I saw this as a descriptor of someone’s rank in a religious organization, I thought, “If he underwent a feast or fast every time he leveled up, that would put him at level 14 or higher.” Level 14 is pretty high in any edition: it’s around the time when someone should be world-famous.

    The “Seven Feasts and Six Fasts” has a nicely ritualistic sound to it, and it dovetails with D&D spell lists, which already contain Heroes’ Feast and Traveller’s Feast. We just need a couple more feasts and fasts and we have some nice rite-of-passage flavor for clerics: and we have an in-game way for people to describe character level.

    You might be able to base a cleric build around this – someone who gets a little class feature every level based on the feast/fast undergone. The actual ability might be on a fixed schedule, or shuffled, so that one cleric gets the Feast of St. Cuthbert ability at level 1 (maces can be used as holy symbols) while another doesn’t get it till level 10.

    Holiday project: Come up with some feasts and fasts, along with the mini-power they grant!

    sorcerers as wizards (and vice versa)

    Friday, December 2nd, 2011

    This will probably be my last post about Roger Zelazny’s “Dilvish the Damned” short stories, which turned out to be one of my favorite D&D-ideas-inspiring sourcebooks ever, joining the motley collection of African Civilizations and Theophile Gautier’s Captain Fracasse. A lot of Zelazny’s fiction seems to be directly translatable to RPG content. And I haven’t even started Amber yet!

    3e+ D&D takes a bunch of words for spellcaster that all used to mean the same thing – wizard, sorcerer, warlock – and makes them all different classes. In OD&D, Gygax took all the synonyms for wizard he could find and made them level titles – to lock up IP from potential competition, he said. But you can’t really copyright these words, and other authors are going to redefine them in their own ways.

    Here’s Roger Zelazny’s definitions of wizards and sorcerers from Dilvish the Damned:

    “But if that isn’t sorcery, what is?”

    “Sorcery,” she replied, “is an art. It requires considerable study and discipline. One must generally apply oneself for a fairly long period even to obtain the relatively modest status I have achieved. But there are some other routes to magical power. One might be born with a natural aptitude and be able to produce many of the effects without the training. This is mere wizardry, however, and sooner or later–unless one is very lucky or careful–such a one gets into trouble from lack of knowledge concerning the laws involved in the phenomena. I do not believe that this is the case with your lady, though. A wizard usually bears some identifying mark visible to others in the trade.”

    This definition – with sorcerers as academic porers over tomes and wizards as natural talents – is hilariously opposite the descriptions of wizards and sorcerers from third edition. Even many of the same words are used in the (swapped) descriptions. In the 3.5 PHB, sorcerers have “inborn talent” and “cast spells through innate power rather than careful training and study“. They are even “marked as different by their power“, like Zelazny’s wizard. The PHB wizard, on the other hand, must spend “years in apprenticeship“. Magic is “not a talent but a difficult art.

    This kind of thing will happen a lot when you start ascribing different meanings to synonyms. For example, a different fantasy author could easily decide that hobgoblins were smaller than goblins. You’d also be perfectly justified in making goblins, hobgoblins, elves, dwarves, gnomes, and trolls all the same species.

    a team of iron horses

    Monday, November 28th, 2011
    Her companion wore black breeches and green jacket and boots. His cloak was black, lined with green, and he wore a sword and dagger at his waist. He sat astride a black, horse-shaped creature whose body appeared to be of metal.
    -Dilvish the Damned by Roger Zelazny, 1965
    Rod froze, hand on the pommel of his sword; then he dug his heels into Fess’s metal sides, and the great black horse sprang toward the ruckus.
    -The Warlock in Spite of Himself by Christopher Stasheff, 1969

    Meanwhile, in Aquilonia’s nighted capital, the chariot of thulandra thuu rumbles through the streets… drawn at high speed by a creature which, to a casual observer, might appear to be a large black stallion… but which a closer inspection would reveal to possess a strange, metallic sheen, as if it were carved of gleaming iron.
    Conan comic based on Conan the Liberator by L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter, 1979.

    What’s up with swords and sorcery being so hung up on black robot horses? I ran into these three just in books I read this year. Two of these sources predate D&D’s Obsidian Steed.

    the give and take of D&D and fiction

    Friday, November 25th, 2011

    Here’s an example of cross-pollination between D&D and pulp fantasy:

    Roger Zelazny began his series of “Dilvish the Damned” fantasy short stories in 1964. Zelazny was influential on D&D: Gygax says that Zelazny’s Shadow Jack inspired the thief class, and Dilvish’s Elf Boots inspired the Boots of Elvenkind.

    In Zelazny’s 1981 Dilvish the Damned story “Tower of Ice”, the influence seems to be going the other way:

    Black completed the spell. They remained motionless for a brief while after that. Then: “That’s it?” Dilvish asked.
    “It is. You are now protected through the second level.”
    “I don’t feel any different.”
    “That’s how you should feel.”
    “Is there anything special that I should do to invoke its defense, should the need arise?”
    “No, it is entirely automatic. But do not let that dissuade you from exercising normal caution about things magical. Any system has its weak points. But that was the best I could do in the time that we had.”

    Maybe Zelazny re-invented the concept of second-level spells, but there’s no reason to think he did. And there’s no reason to think he should. An environment where authors are free to borrow from each other is one where they can build on each others’ work. A lot of D&D-influenced fantasy and fantasy-influenced D&D from the 80’s is kind of like the Chthulu Mythos in this way: written by multiple authors, but sharing so many genre assumptions and pieces of lore that they’re practically set in the same universe.

    Now here’s something that Zelazny’s “Tower of Ice” can give back to D&D:

    He had escaped from Hell itself, after two centuries’ torment. Most of the humans he had known were long dead and the world somewhat changed. Yet the one who had banished him, damning him as he did, remained–the ancient sorcerer Jelerak. In the months since his return, he had sought that one, once the call of an ancient duty had been discharged before the walls of Portaroy. Now, he told himself, he lived but for vengeance. And this, this tower of ice, one of the seven strongholds of Jelerak, was the closest he had yet come to his enemy. From Hell he had brought a collection of Awful Sayings–spells of such deadly potency as to place the speaker in as great a jeopardy as the victim should their rendering be even slightly less than flawless. He had only used one since his return and had been successful in leveling an entire small city with it. His shudder was for the memory of that day on that hilltop, rather than for the icy blasts that now assailed him.

    Use Awful Sayings as a form of treasure for wizards. More powerful than spells, they can have campaign-level impications. Once memorized, an Awful Saying stays memorized until you use it – then it is gone forever.

    Casting an Awful Saying requires a saving throw. Failure results in some terrible, random, Deck of Many Things-style misfortune happening to the caster and his friends.

    Because these spells can only be used once, and they might backfire, they might provide a tantalizing form of temptation/resource management for the wizard.

    Example Awful Sayings:
    Raze City A city, or an area the size of a city, is completely blasted and destroyed.
    Damn A single being is killed and sent to be tortured at the bottom of the Abyss for all eternity.

    escape the city within an hour

    Friday, November 18th, 2011

    “You might call it a game,” said the youth. “When the bell completes its song, several strokes hence, the maze will be laid. You will then have an hour until it strikes again. If you have not found your way out of town and away from here by that time, you will be crushed by the buildings’ rearranging themselves once more.” “And why the game?” Dilvish asked, waiting out another tolling before he heard the reply. “That you will never know, Elfboot, whether you win or lose, for you are only an element of the game. I am also charged to warn you, however, that you may find yourself under attack at various points along whatever route you may choose.”
    –Dilvish the Damned, Roger Zelazny

    Wow, this sounds more like the setup of a D&D set-piece adventure than it does a piece of fiction! You don’t have to go very far to turn it into quite a usable episode.

    This would work quite well in older versions of D&D, with their emphases on mapping and time management, but this adventure would also be a good excuse to bring such elements into a 4e game, as a sort of minigame.

    The maze in the story features two guys who keep on popping up, and Dilvish isn’t sure which to trust. This is sort of a disguised liar-and-truthteller problem, with the addition of a time limit, which makes things less cut-and-dried.

    There are also fun events like this one:

    Immediately the flagstones about him were raised like trapdoors and figures rose up from out of the ground beneath them. There were perhaps two-score men there. Each bore a pikestaff.

    Nothing like bad guys popping simultaneously out of 40 trapdoors to tell the PCs “Don’t go this way”.