Just a quick note to flag up that The Path of Cunning #5 has been released, including not one, but two contributions by yours truly!
One of these was sufficient to get my metaphor privileges officially revoked by the editor. I cannot imagine why.
Just a quick note to flag up that The Path of Cunning #5 has been released, including not one, but two contributions by yours truly!
One of these was sufficient to get my metaphor privileges officially revoked by the editor. I cannot imagine why.
Necromancers are depicted as leading vast armies of the undead, or having extensive lairs filled with their minions. But RPGs rarely provide powers that actually grant control over such armies - a handful of competent soldiers, a mob of lackeys, or just one or two powerful undead beasts is the limit. So how does one go about commanding an undead force to be reckoned with?
This one's basically for Alan. Hi Alan!
I do have several proper blog posts in progress, not just podcast episodes. I'm just snowed under and haven't had time to get them into shape!
When I started this blog, I had a job with a lot of dead time where I could usefully composed blog thoughts in email to myself and just tidy them up later. I then moved into admin, which involved writing an impossible number of emails while opening 4,000 spreadsheets simultaneously and trying not to simply perish. Now I'm a teacher. There's a lot of good things about teaching, but I can say:
Anyway, I do plan to get back to this; I have ideas, and I'm really hoping one of these days I'll be asked to teach a course that actually exists so I don't need to spend 10+ hours a week writing it as I go along.
Not sure if you already read it, but I highly recommend Arthur's blog Refereeing and Reflection.
We find out what Makoa's been up to in the mysterious realm beyond the portal Episode 048: Dunno what that means but that sounds good
Iris is left with an unconscious wizard as the great brass door of the Nameless City closes, in Episode 047: Have you gained flesh?
Makoa's player here publicly chose to reveal absolutely nothing about what happened after stepping into the portal because it was simply too good to dispense out of character. It will be really quite a long time before any of them find out what happened out of character, let alone in-character.
Follow me now through the glowing void-portal under the forgotten city of a long-dead species, and discover what became of Makoa, in Episode 046: More like rapidly-travelling bike.
Roleplaying illuminates the human experience, echoing the real-life situations we encounter or the unfamiliar lives of other people, and allowing us to explore and play with them safely, and I think it's fair to say everyone will find something deeply relatable in Episode 045: I am going through a midlife crisis; I cannot fight a Hound of Tindalos.
The job of the GM is to cunningly predict the players' every move, weaving a seamless web of continuity that will accommodate their whims. This is, of course, impossible, but sometimes more impossible than others. In Episode 044: Well, that was unexpected, Ollie managed to do something I absolutely had not even remotely anticipated.
A tradition is born, as Jaal begins Performing The Ritual, in Episode 043: Pop That on a Pedestal, Socially. He will continue to do so, at every inadvisable opportunity, despite the best efforts of everyone. One day, perhaps it will be the correct choice.
We explore the trials and tribulations of being extraplanar in Episode 042: Planar Cup of Coffee and a Biscuit
Juggling lighting effects on virtual tabletop becomes confusing and, ironically, obfuscates everything. We learn that all creatures of the Earth subtype are stoners, and those of the Water subtype extremely wet, in Episode 41: My god, he has business cards!
Today I was chatting with Nathan about magic fights. It's something I've vaguely thought about for a while - in RPGs (at least the ones I'm familiar with) fights between wizards tend to manifest as one of the following:
Now to be fair, this is partly an artefact of how RPG fights tend to go; everything's over in a few rounds, if not before a fight even starts. In some cases it's because combat is lethal and players who want their characters to survive long-term have to play tactically, minimizing the risk of an actual fight. In other cases, it's because PCs can unleash appalling devastation in mere seconds. Earlier today, Iris (see Necropolitans posts) inflicted well over 100 damage to one of my NPCs in a single round of combat where several of her attacks missed. There's also received wisdom, perhaps true, that damaging the opposition trumps just about anything else. Certainly in D&D-type games, there's a widespread perception that healing during combat is a terrible waste of time, for example. People rarely seem to duck behind barriers to reload or neck a potion, perhaps worried about what the opposition will do with that time.
We have begun playing Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, for my first time. Montmorency 'Doily' Butterbean is a well-cushioned halfling chef in the employ of Annetta von Loningheim, a merchant whose well-to-do family is rather less well these days and in need of new markets, stat. He is 3'2" tall, and excels in Trade (Cook) and Sleight of Hand. This being Warhammer, that means he has exactly a 50% chance of succeeding at either. As a servant, he isn't mechanically allowed to learn fighting, and he's also as burly as a particularly malnourished dishrag, so hopefully this campaign in the notoriously peaceful setting of, er, The Old World, will revolve around square meals and petty theft.
It’s Jahrdrung, and through some curious benediction of Sigmar, it’s not raining. We converge on the nearest coaching inn for our various reasons. M’lady Annetta von Loningheim is en route to Altdorf on the family’s behalf, so, so is my humble self. Our travelling-companions include a stern gentleman calling himself Barnabus Sommerfeld, Karl the docker, and a rough-looking guard called Werther. We're still in plenty of time to catch the Four Seasons line carriage heading for Altdorf.
The aforesaid coach accelerates out of the gate as we approach, much to our discomfort. It pays no heed to our pleas and indeed, the chap on top waves his blunderbuss at Werther to get him out of the path. We’re peeved. Distinctly peeved.
Inside the fence, there’s a sign for Ratchet Lines the coach company. The porter says the coach is trying to make up time after breaking a wheel earlier in the day. They’re aiming for Middenheim but won’t get there any time soon, least of all by night. There’s coachmen inside having a drink and a bite to eat - employees of the Ratchet Line, a rival firm. A finely-dressed young woman with a beefy female bodyguard and a possible governess. A young scholar of some kind. A fancy chap at the bar, with an evaluating eye. There’s a landlord with a pet crow, Gustav.
Werther manages to haggle the coachmen into getting a cheap journey on the next morning's coach. They're stubborn folk, largely because they have devised a nigh-flawless system of converting coach tickets into money and the latter seamlessly into ale. One ticket, as they point out, is therefore worth eight flagons of ale. Mistress easily convinces the landlord to give her a good deal on the rooms, and after Doily pointed out the distinct lack of a chef, he was happy enough (or wise enough) to let the halfling take over the kitchen. Much clattering of pots and pans ensues, mostly of Karl helping wash up.
The fancy chap wanders over and makes small talk, before producing a deck of cards with which he is noticeably clumsy. Surely, an innocent fellow merely in search of entertainment. Alas, none of us are at the juxtaposition of willingness to play and possessed of any coin, while the stranger can’t foresee any pleasure in a game without stakes. ‘Tis like that parable with the comb, the pocket watch, and the priest of Sigmar’s trousers.
Narrowly avoiding setting the place ablaze, Doily rustles up a decent meal. In the course of feeding it to the tipsy coachmen, he convinces them that they forgot to give him his ticket. Twice. Awfully careless of ‘em, good thing he was around to jog their memories. He keeps them supplied with hearty food and encourages the landlord to keep their beers coming. Everyone knows you drive better with a hangover.
By the end of the evening, Barnabus has pointed out the importance of a blessing for a safe coach journey and that they don’t seem to have the right number of tickets vs. schillings, while Doily has paid an honest two schillings for his, er, three tickets, and rustled up a damn fine breakfast (and some snacks to keep them going on the way). His capacious pockets are not full of ill-gotten turnips, and no you may not look inside them. The very idea!
The journey is uneventful, and damp. It’s dark by the time we get to our intended inn - which proves to be tied to the Four Seasons, so as Ratchet Line travellers, we can’t go there! We reluctantly continue further on, and round a bend to find a humanoid figure crouched over a limp body. It turns round, revealing – oh horror! - a human hand within its mouth!
The figure rushes towards us, green gunk dripping from its eyes. Karl gives a cry of horrified recognition – “Rolph!” as it charges. The horses panic and bolt, but Gunnar slams the brakes down – the reins snap and the beasts flee, Holtz still hanging on for dear life.
Everyone leaps to the coach’s defence, although in Doily’s case it involves flinging hat-boxes (belonging to the other lady, who will be miffed – Sigmar forbid he thrown her Ladyship’s property around!). This is a less than effective method of combat, but it does have the enormous advantage of keeping him at the greatest possible distance from the cannibal. Our would-be witch-hunter finishes it off, skewering the accursed thing with his sword.
Werther and Barnabus immediately rush after the horses. They hears something crashing through the undergrowth and a bestial cry. A figure bursts out and calls “it’s me! don’t shoot!”. It’s Holtz, somewhat the worse for wear. There’s another coach around the corner, on its side. It's the Four Seasons line, perhaps the very one that barged past us last night! Two horses are trying to break free. Something with huge muscles is swiping at them with an axe. There are bodies everywhere. The scream comes from the dog-headed, wounded man next to the carriage; another mutant is trying to bandage it. A fourth else is rummaging through bodies, and a fifth taking a quick ‘snack’ on one of those selfsame bodies.
After a hurried (well, somewhat hurried. Hurried in a leisurely sort of fashion, one might say) discussion, some of us start sneaking towards them while Karl acts as a distraction. Werther is not terribly stealthy, however – or perhaps rather better said, is terribly stealthy – and draws their attention.
Sneaking up to the “medic”, Doily flings a rock – which misses dramatically, bounces off the carriage wheel, and catches him in the eye as he turns to look at it. Already injured, it’s too much for him and he keels over. Meanwhile, Werther fells the largest of them – a hulk of a man with a tiny head – with a single flawless swing of his warhammer, caving in its arm and sternum. He fixes the other with a ferocious glare, and it pegs it in the opposite direction. The leader tries to aim a crossbow at Barnabus, shakes so badly that the bolt falls out, and also flees.
Much circumspection is employed in approaching the carriage, lest something ‘orrible, or some jittery crossbow-wielding survivor, be crouching there. It proves unnecessary. Inside the carriage are two bodies, one of whom looks a lot like Barnabus, though in less witch-huntery-y clothes. Both are dead. The other bodies nearby seem to be assorted artisans and a coachman, and all are equally dead – and, perhaps worse, apparently pre-plundered by the leader who has already fled the scene, the miserable thieving scoundrel.
After calming down the horses, we look around and spot our own grazing nearby. Our coachmen are able to coax them back, and use them to bring our coach up to this one. A few other passengers reluctantly disembark to help us right the fallen coach (well, I say “us”). The chap inside is a spitting image of our Barnabus and has a rather bloodstained parchment - a letter from a lawyer, stating he’s the last heir to an enormous fortune. Poor bloke, eh? There is much debate between our small group as to what should be done, which ends with Barnabus nobly agreeing to take care of the lawyer's letter, a couple of sworn affidavits, and other important legal papers that one wouldn't want to see getting misplaced or accidentally interred along with all these corpses.
Hooves thunder and a patrol of road wardens arrive. They ask a few questions but are convinced by the evidence of the dead beastmen. They escort us to the next inn, where there’s gossip about a minor nobleman being condemned for witchcraft, having repeatedly been heard exhorting his mischievous cat to “drink his bloody milk in Hell’s name”. What a terrible waste of good milk.
At last, we see the spires of Altdorf arising in the distance. It’s huge! The vast Wolf Gate is being maintained, but still magnificent beneath all the scaffolding. We feel a sense of relief at safely arriving at last.
So with one thing and another, I was checking some details of the early campaign timeline and wanted to check which episode something appeared in.
Answer: it didn't!
I spent ages going back and forth trying to work out if we'd just done the prewritten island section wildly out of order. Nope. One episode finishes, the next opens with the PCs midway through exploring a ruined temple. Now, this was definitely wrong.
So I've dug deep into my old backups, and found some stray VRF files from back when we were still using Ventrilo to record. The dates didn't match any of the existing episodes either, but sat between them. Now I just had to open them and check the contents.
VRF files though.
Nothing opens VRF files. Audacity will import them - as a hideous, howling, screeching blare. So I reinstalled Ventrilo, pulled a couple of files in and exported them. Long, silent .wavs ensued. Large .wavs, mind you - deliciously datalicious .wavs. But silent nonetheless.
After quite a long time faffing about, I installed the 32-bit version of Vent through Wine on my Linux Thinkpad, moved the VRFs across, and was able to extract them to something usable.
So it turns out there are three sessions that just went missing, and I'm going to need to edit them and reorder all the existing episodes from 14 onwards. Fun times. Also, these are back in the Dark Times of single-track recording (why, Vent, why, everyone is already sending info on a different channel T_T) and Ollie being some kind of audio vampire who doesn't show up in recordings. I have the greatest respect for anyone not involved who accepts these tribulations and nevertheless wades through.
So, new episodes will take longer than planned, and I'm afraid the existing RSS feed might get messed up when I rerelease the renumbered ones. My apologies.
I released a new thing!
Inglenook's Know Your Phantoms has a bunch of archetypes for phantoms, which as far as I know(?) haven't been done before. Certainly the're nothing official. It's also got the usual scattering of feats, traits, spells, etc. Let's share the blurb:
The hunter class is distinguished by its ability to assume animal aspects through the animal focus ability. Several archetypes offer alternative aspects, but some of these are difficult to reconcile with the theme of the archetype. Additionally, the archetype aspects are sometimes highly situational compared to the aspects available to the core class, making the archetype less appealing. It's not surprising; after all, you tend to start with the obvious and generic abilities, then go for increasingly niche choices as you try to add more options. It's a "difficult second album" situation. This is an attempt to address that by offering an alternative set of aspects for hunter archetypes.
We unexpectedly introduce Nathan to the Paddington universe, and interrogate very sleepy statues in Did we spend all of last session literally trying to cross this room? "Your accent wanders further than any accent has wandered before". We discover some spiders are also witches (bad).
It's Makoa's turn to try and puzzle a way through an alien security system, in Ohhh yes, twice the purple flame!
For various reasons, I've been messing about with GURPS abilities, and finding the multiple, incompatible types of range a bit of a pain. There's standard ranges, spell ranges, scrying ranges, scanning sense ranges, melee ranges, hard-cutoff ranges, and of course, Warp. They all work differently, too. Sometimes - especially for linked abilities, or alternate abilities - you want to make things with one type of range work like another. So let's give that a try.
Let's say we want to reduce our range to 10 - the same as Telekinesis and a convenient range for other fixed-range modifications. For a generic ability, range is 100 and 1/2D is 10. We need these to be the same. Reduced Range (p. B115) bans us from reducing Max independently for some reason, while Increased Range is happy to let us increase 1/2D alone at half cost. This will cost us +15%. We also reduce range overall to 10 yards, for -30%. Thus, switching from a standard range to a flat 10-yard range is a net +0%.
If we ignore the "no reducing Max" rule, we could simply reduce Max at half cost, for an overall -15% modifier. So it works out the same. Nice.
What about Maledictions and spells, the other common pattern? These have no maximum range, but a -1 penalty per yard. For this, we can add Long-Range (+50%) to switch it to using the standard range modifiers. This gives a net +35% for switching to a 10-yard range.
Those spells that use the Long-Range Modifiers instead get Short-Range, which at -10% will give us a net -25%.
....okay, so what about Warp? Warp has its own unique range table, because of course it does! On closer inspection, the first few steps of each table are wildly different, but they end up virtually the same.
We hit 1,000 miles at -7 for the Warp table, and -8 for the Long-Range table. After that it's plain sailing. So... Warp has a steeper initial curve, but flattens out sooner than Long-Range. It's more challenging at short ranges, but less challenging at long ranges. Honestly, I'm inclined to say these are functionally equal. In theory allowing someone to switch to the Warp ranges would make very long-range activity slightly easier. Realistically speaking, though, I'd be far more worried about better accuracy for short-to-mid-range abilities, especially attacks - which would be a case of switching from the Warp table to the Long-Range table. Since no attack abilities use the Warp modifiers, that's not a concern. The fact that someone could switch to be better at (say) scrying on someone from 10,000 miles away, at the cost of being much worse at doing so from any lesser distance, doesn't seem like a huge deal to me.
The only real issue I can see is that allowing Warp to switch to Long-Range modifiers would open the door to adding Long-Range 1 (from Power-Ups 4: Enhancements) and removing the range penalties altogether. Is that really a problem, though? It'll cost you +50%, which is generally 50 points. For the same price, you could buy a +10 to your rolls, or +5 and No Strain to avoid the risk of critical failures. We could also simply forbid the use of Long-Range on Warp, if we're that worried.
But there's an easier way to deal with our actual challenge here, which is the range limits. Range Limit lets us cap our Warp. It's -50% for a 10-yard range. Perfect.
So, we conclude that you can make a standard Innate Attack or Affliction into a 10-yard effect at -15%, a Malediction or spell for -+35%, and a Long-Range ability for -25%, while Warp gets -50%.
If we want a fixed radius with no range penalties, we can add Reliable 4 (Only to cancel range penalties, -50%) for +10%.
If we'd like to use something like the Psionic Range Table (GURPS Psionic Powers, p. 22) we can adjust the multipliers.
Security is contextual! Jaal confronts the peculiar magical security system of the Nameless City Episode 038: Start by saying hello to Mr Terminal.
The characters each faced a unique test. The principle behind this was actually pretty simple. The only way to enter the sanctum is through its teleportation, and it first teleports any visitor to a randomly-selected test chamber. Each test is designed to be *impossible* for the invaders, based on their specific biology and capabilities. Here, the most prominent feature is the invaders' total inability to sense magic; they can only attempt this puzzle through trial-and-error, and it would be virtually impossible to survive the process. Even understanding what the chamber *is* would be very challenging for them.
The reason for the randomisation is also simple. It means that if by some chance one of the invaders does manage to make it through, others can't follow them by just following their description of what they did. While I only provided three test chambers, in theory there are hundreds of variations. An individual invader has no idea what dangers or challenges they would face if they entered the chamber.
Since there's no sign the invaders made it into the sanctum, the plan clearly worked.
The random encounter has been a Thing in RPGs since at least the early days of D&D. Sometimes this makes more sense than others. Having your night's kip deep in the bowels of an abandoned cathedral crypt disturbed by prowling ghouls makes a fair amount of sense. Running into a manticore as you take the rough cart track from a farming village to the market town, not so much.
Like most parts of gaming, this is fine in moderation and in the hands of a judicious GM who thinks about the context. But that's not a very exciting statement, so let's have a further look at random encounters.
"It's always great when things melt out of the floor." We learn why you shouldn't put the magical equivalent of a nuclear generator in front of the PCs in Episode 037: Doing full frilled lizard.
Every so often, I promise/threaten/vaguely imply that I'll write something and then it sort of drifts away into The Heap. This list is an attempt to get in control of that by maintaining a) any list at all, and b) something vaguely public that people can thwack me with.
If I said I'd write something and have failed to follow through, do comment below.
Geometry is bad for wizards, "I've seen worse" is "technically a compliment", and we learn that Becca's Wis-based characters have a Wis of 12, in Episode 036: I look at her intently, staring without eyes.
A staple of certain cinematic action films, particularly the superheroic type, is the environmental demolition attack. Rather than simply smacking someone round the face, you hurl them bodily into some major piece of infrastructure. What makes this distinct from grittier action is that our super-tough characters don't just crash painfully into the wall - they smash through it. In extreme examples of this trope, caped weirdos fling one another through half a dozen office blocks, leaving the victim briefly discombobulated and the buildings in a state of collapse.
In this clip, for example, Hellboy is smashed into the ground (and later through an assortment of historic artefacts and their displays, a window, and a dumpster) by Samael. Hellboy, being supernaturally durable, is lightly inconvenienced by the experience. The smashees, however, are absolutely wrecked.
I don't claim to be an expert in physics, but I don't think that's how it works. But if it did, how would we do it in a game?
The latest issue of sporadic GURPS fanzine The Path of Cunning is out, and I'm in it! My article looks at libraries, and how to model them in GURPS - which makes it sound more complicated than it is.
Apologies for the assorted sniffles of the players and GMs. The wizard's solution of "electrocute everything" is surprisingly effective, in Episode 035: You somehow make that sound offensive
The perils of negative marking (see here, or here, or ) are revealed to the stealthless Necropolitans in Episode 034: Two of you are stealthing, and one of you is hitting things with a stick
Puzzles continue, this time in the flavour of a classic "weird tiled floor" affair. Who doesn't love a deadly floor?
Jaal: "I think there's a giant sandworm below us."
GM: Well, there wasn't.
Uncomfortable furniture! Mysterious domes! Peculiar mosaics that encode pieces of music in visuo-tactile form! Forbidden eldritch entities! Secrets of a long-vanished species are revealed as the Necropolitans explore the Nameless City in Episode 033: That's not how it works.
The repercussions of Jaal's decision to telepathically contact the star-spawn slowly build. We experimented with the Pathfinder sanity rules for this, and they were okay but not amazing, I think was the overall feeling? In any case, the whole Jaal-Iris situation is going to get messier before it gets better.
With the Whartson Hall crew, I'm running through a full playtest of my new modern weird mystery, Invisible Fires. So far things are going pretty well; they haven't run into any major roadblocks or immediately solved the mystery. Better yet, even the players who were leery of an investigation-heavy scenario with little action have been enthusiastic, which is high praise indeed.
You can catch up on their progress - as well as the previous adventure, The Wolf Who Cried Boy - over at Tekeli.li if you don't mind spoilers for something I intend to publish this year.
One of the various podcasts I've been listening to recently is The Redacted Reports.
TRR is a Delta Green podcast, so we're talking an X-files vibe but more conspiratorial. Members of various branches of the US government - in this case including the military, FBI, and the EPA - are secretly recruited for an off-the-books task force investigating deeply weird things.
Disclaimer: I have mixed feelings about Delta Green as a game. In fairness, I haven't played it! I've listened to quite a lot of actual play, including the good folks over at Roleplaying Public Radio (RPPR) and some others I'll write about soon. Personally, some aspects don't work for me; they're drawing on specific genre points that I don't particularly enjoy, so this is just a case of Your Milage May Vary.
1. The game has a model where the strain of dealing with weirdness and violence slowly shreds your human connections, destroying bonds to the people in your life and isolating you; perhaps realistic, but I find it depressing, and I play games to be less depressed.
2. DG leans heavily into the American style of government, which is to say, all the law enforcement characters (and a bunch of others) are armed and prepared to kill. Characters tend to be military, ex-military-, FBI and police. The game as a whole, and many APs, tend to assume that armed violence is both expected and a necessary, effective approach to dealing with the weird conspiracies they're facing. Killing civilians and witnesses is a regrettable necessily - it may grind down the characters' sanity, but it's a grim necessity and morally justifiable, not an abhorrent absolute last resort.
But those are about the game and setting as a whole, and every group runs things differently! I do enjoy listening to DG games for the most part, even the scenarios I wouldn't want to run.
Worth noting: this is a Cthulhu, Delta Green podcast, so it does involve violence, death, and bad things happening to people. It isn't the kind of podcast that relishes the grisly details, but they do come up. In particular, the Shrimp Farm arc has a very violent climax, while Idaho deals with sex, violence, and (in a minor way) self-harm. One PC is a survivor of cult abduction, and another has war-related trauma. Abduction comes up in at least two other cases. I'm not getting into any details here, but thought I should flag it up for anyone considering trying the podcast. My feeling is that they handle these subjects well and with consideration.
The Necropolitans explore the ruins of a long-dead city (totally original ahem do not steal) in Episode 032: Venn Venn domeagram. Alternative title: Ringing in his Spiritual Ears.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Culture clash happens when you get 5,000-year gaps between PCs, leading to bemusement over comparative theology and comparative cartography. They reach the Nameless City in search of cures to a mysterious plague, finding a mysterious deathly aura! Hear the party entering tingly bits, in Episode 031: Trust me, I'm a necromancer.
Donations to the Reformed First Church of the Great Crocodile can be sent through the usual channels; all major precious metals, gems, and other reputable currencies are accepted.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Lagging behind the party (because, let's be clear, they are bickering like an old married couple), Makoa finds his skeletal form under the keen scrutiny of a scavenger. Will he come to regret his decision? Find out in Episode 030: Only I could have a sassy vulture.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Tact is important when meeting new people from unfamiliar cultures! As you can tell, I had prepared thoroughly for this session. A random encounter table provides more long-term value than I bargained for in Episode 029: Let’s not actually tell him his god’s dead.
For the curious, Tlasritte is a homebrew archetype, the Adventurous Architect. I have been fairly aggressive about keeping his levelling-up choices to things that an architect wants, rather than being useful effective for combat.
A friend of mine has set up a website selling charming cards and illustrations, and I thought I'd give her a shout out: Mo Little Art. Well worth going to check out the cute animals and striking colours even if you're not up for buying anything. Frog Soup is my current favourite.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
When you are undead, the range of things that can be weirdly inappropriate expands dramatically, as we discover in Episode 028: I am not putting my legs in your body, that’s weird.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
"Prewritten campaign", you say. "Wrong continent", you say. We bid a contemptuous and entirely accidental farewell to the rails of the campaign I thought I was running, in Episode 027: The crumpling noise you can hear was Book 2.
I am sad to report that to date (a full six years later), Becca has still not named the otters.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Piracy! It's a crime! You wouldn't steal an orphan, would you..? It's an otter disgrace tonight in Episode 026: Do you have orphans right now!?.
"A game for bold and meddling kids".
I picked up a copy of Cat Elm's The Vampire Next Door ages ago, but only recently had the opportunity to actually run it. I've now run it twice - once for an actual one-shot (about 2 hours), and once for a two-part game that ran to roughly 3 hours.
I don't have a bad word to say about it.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Let the bullying commence! I accidentally begin my extended reign of Jaal-terrorising with the advent of the Tiny. Wooden. Statues... in Episode 025: My bad, almost committed murder.
Special thanks to Marche Towers Art for the gorgeous Necropolitans commission he did for us, he was a pleasure to work with and I'm delighted with the result.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
In this episode, we discover the whole drowning and tentacles business wasn't the last bit of misery to emerge from that shipwreck. You can probably make some educated guessses about what comes next, in Episode 024: The weasel has just drunk the last of the mimic.
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
In this episode, at long last, the Necropolitans are rescued from the desert (jungle) island! They embark on a series of nautical adventures which are certainly not due to me not having got round to reading the second book yet. Seaquakes and shipwrecks ahoy! in Episode 023: Everyone knows that mummy octopi are not scared of cooking
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
The Necropolitans finally uncover the ancient and exciting secrets of the temple, revealing the location of a lost city that promises absolutely fabulous wealth and definitely no unstoppably awful monsters. They're more concerned with being stuck on this island and the whereabouts of that missing serpent lady, though... find out more, in Episode 022: Allow us to inspect that which is in your hole
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
Previously-unheard content emerges Lazarus-like from the mists, as we hear what actually went down in the lost Temple of the Vampire God or whatever. An extremely cordial exchange occurs between the wise and thoughtful scholar and these undead brutes, descending inevitably into farce and brutality, in Episode 021: She stretches over two pages
Anyone who listened to the podcast earlier may be confused to see this post change. This is due to me unearthing several missing recordings that I hadn't even realised were missing (due to doing all the audio editing retrospectively).
The party are exploring an evil temple that would be vaguely horrifying if they weren't undead. We question the importance of prewritten paragraphs of things that happened thousands of years ago, he says, glancing at his GM notes of things that happened thousands of years ago. Also: good thing vampires are subtle. Find out more, in Episode 020: You are in a hole
Have you a lair that is plagued with bothersome heroes? Can't take a nap without a howling barbarian trying to bisect your torso? Treasury depleted by the depredations of ravening rogues, money-grubbing mages, and tediously commercial Lawful Evil clerics capable of casting Resurrection for you? This irregular column aims to help you find affordable solutions to your PC Problems.
As every disreputable villain knows, money buys quality. If you want to make fortresses more impregnable, traps more undetectable, spells more devastating or minions less inclined to betray you at the mere suggestion of a bribe or threat, you're going to have to splash out. Stronger materials, more devious lackeys and more potent magics always have their cost. And that's absolutely antithetical to our mission here - to give You, our valued reader, more snap for your silver.
Sometimes when I'm out running my mind goes wandering. Here are some powers you could have in a GURPS game. They are arguably useful, but deeply questionable nonetheless.
6 points. You see distinct traces whenever someone views an area with their X-ray vision. This power doesn't reveal people, but the extent of their X-ray vision is clearly visible to you, and you can use it to deduce their location.
Detect (Rare; X-Ray Vision; Reflexive, +40%; Vision-Based, -20%) [6]
6 points. You can accurately mimic any ringtone you've heard, and have an extensive repertoire of memorized ringtones to call on. If you have the Mimicry (Electronics) skill, you can roll against Mimicry rather than IQ to use this ability.
Mimicry (Accessibility, Only ringtones, -90%; Voice Library, +50%) [6]
6 points. By calmly concentrating for 30 seconds, you can cause lost and 'borrowed' teaspoons within 32 yards to teleport to your location. The ability is subtle enough that colleagues don't notice anything; however, the strain it puts on your body leaves you paralyzed for 1 minute, with an HT roll to recover once per minute thereafter. As such, it's best used when you can guarantee some privacy.
Affliction 1 (Accessibility, only misplaced teaspoons, -100%; Accessibility, Useless under stress, -60%; Advantage, Spoon Warp, +1%; Area effect, 32 yards, +250%; Backlash, Paralysis, -150%; Emanation, -20%; Malediction 1, +100%; No Signature, +20%; Requires Concentration, -15%; Takes Extra Time (x32), -50%) [6].
Spoon Warp is Warp (Anchored, afflictor only, -40%; Blind Only, -50%; Exoteleport, -50%; Modified Carrying Capacity, 0.05 lb, -90%) [20], reduced to [1] by GM fiat to represent its realistic value.
60 points. You are capable of supernatural feats of deduction and preternetural sensitivity, but drawing on your gifts risks imperilling your very soul. When you activate your detective powers, you gain a +4 bonus on Body Language, Criminology, Detect Lies, Intelligence Analysis, Interrogation, Observation, Savoir-Faire (Police), Search, Shadowing, and Streetwise. Displays of talent also gain a +5 reaction bonus from police officers and PIs. Alternatively, by meditating for a few seconds, you can attune your mind to virtually any substance or object of interest, and sense them at a distance. However, each use of your powers is a diabolical bargan that requires a Will roll to activate - for good reason!
When you use your powers, you are wreathed in a choking fog of sulphurous brimstone, and a withering aura of evil. Your eyes glow red, teeth sharpen, and bony spines extend from your temples and vertebrae. All reaction rolls incur a -4 penalty from anyone who can observe these; animals react at -8 instead, while those who see animals' reactions or have Animal Empathy take a further -1. Your presence causes grass to wither and insects to curl up dead.
Thanks to your diabolical appearance, while channeling these powers, you suffer -1 to your Disguise and Shadowing skills, and others gain +1 on attempts to identify or follow you (including their Observation and Shadowing rolls), or +3 in outdoor environments. They also gain a +2 on rolls to deduce the truth behind your abilities.
Cruelty seeps into your mind, making you cold to the emotions of others (see Callous, p. B125) and bestowing 20 points of Corruption each time you accept your infernal bargain (see GURPS Horror, pp. 146-8).
While you channel evil power, you are vulnerable to "turning" by particularly holy individuals. Worse, if you perish under its influence, your soul will go straight to the Hells! Even at the best of times, your aura is steeped in second-hand evil - you can stride unharmed through the shrines of dark gods and wield their artefacts, but you balk at the powers of goodness as though you were yourself an agent of Evil.
Functions and Detects as Evil [0] + Natural Copper 4 (Corrupting, -20%; Temporary Disadvantage, Bad Smell, -10%; Requires Will, -5%; Temporary Disadvantage, Callous, -5%; Temporary Disadvantage, Damned, -1%; Temporary Disadvantage, Detect as Evil, -1%; Temporary Disadvantage, Frightens Animals, -10%; Temporary Disadvantage, Lifebane, -10%; Temporary Disadvantage, Unnatural Features 3, -3%) [34] + Modular Abilities 30 (Divine Inspiration; Trait-Limited, Only Detect, -50%; Corrupting, -20%; Temporary Disadvantage, Bad Smell, -10%; Requires Will, -5%; Temporary Disadvantage, Callous, -5%; Temporary Disadvantage, Can be Turned by True Faith, -1%; Temporary Disadvantage, Damned, -1%; Temporary Disadvantage, Frightens Animals, -10%; Temporary Disadvantage, Lifebane, -10%; Temporary Disadvantage, Unnatural Features 3, -3%) [26].
Take the stress out of mortal combat by imaginging your enemies nude? Not content with laser cannons and monomolecular blades, you have sought out or invented the ultimate weapon. Roll against Guns (Rifle) to attack a target within 100 yards, with normal range penalties (p. B550). You can aim to benefit from Acc 3. On a successful attack, you deal 5d corrosion to creatures and objects made of cloth. The weapon doesn't harm other targets, but any fabric they wear has its DR reduced by 1 for every 5 points of damage rolled.
Since it's a weapon, your rifle can be destroyed (DR 10) or stolen (with a Quick Contest of DX or ST).
Corrosion Attack 5 (Only fabric, -80%; Based on Guns (Rifle), Own Roll, +0%; Breakable, DR 6-15, -10%; Size -1 or -2, -20%; Can be stolen, Quick Contest of DX or ST, -30%; Superscience, -10%) [10].
You can afflict your enemies with a terrible curse, if you're willing to pay the price. If your enemy loses a Quick Contest of HT vs. your Will, they are subject to constant misfortune - the first to suffer, the last to benefit, and always at the GM's whim. However, you die immediately and unpreventably from natural causes.
Affliction 1 (Disadvantage, Cursed, +75%; Malediction 1, +100%; Temporary Disadvantage, Terminally Ill (One Month) (Time-Spanning (One Month Prior) +50%), -150%) [13].
This is part 2 of a discussion about making something you could call a Lawful Good kingdom in Pathfinder:
"Basically, can it actually be both good - however you want to define that; greatest good for the greatest number is probably a working starting point - and feudal. Can you have castles and banquets and things, and subsistence level farming peasants outside to supply the tassels and banquets and things, and still be good?"
In the first part of this, I looked at the average working humanoid and discovered that the Profession rules for earning a living, coupled with costs of living rules, allow a fairly comfortable existence. Our peasant Jay "lives in their own apartment, small house, or similar location—this is the lifestyle of most trained or skilled experts or warriors. They can secure any nonmagical item worth 1 gp or less from their home in 1d10 minutes, and need not track purchases of common meals or taxes that cost 1 gp or less."
All this, as a 1st-level peasant for the price of a week's salary per month (10gp). Jay earns 12gp per week, giving 51gp per month (assuming 30 days), so they have 41gp left, after minor taxes.
The rules don't cover taxes in much detail. There's general advice which has one figure:
A good rule is for the GM to tax the party once per character level for an amount roughly equal to a single encounter’s total treasure value at their APL. The GM could also split this amount into multiple taxes or fees over the course of that character level. For example, a party of 3rd-level PCs on the Medium track should be taxed about 800 gp.
For non-adventurers, that's not terribly helpful. Our peasants aren't gaining levels through encounters, so there's no sense of how often a tax would apply. For a 1st-level character, the Medium value is 260gp, so if we were using that, Jay would owe a tax of 7 months' salary at an unspecified interval. Maybe that really is the annual tax rate? 50-60% of income is the going rate in the Nordic countries.
Since we're assuming that Lawful Good kingdom will provide beneficial public services, the Nordic countries seem a reasonable model. High taxation, but high services. So yes, let's take the 260gp/year figure at least for now. It's not going to work for high-level peasants - nobody is earning enough to pay 67k a year as a peasant farmer.
Jay is therefore paying 21.7gp per month in income tax, and still has just shy of 20gp in spending money every week.
Now let's look at what extras we could get for Jay, either through personal spending or through taxation.
Food and water are the first priority – preferably nourishing food and pure water to drink and cook with, followed by tasty food and clean water to wash in.
A Lawful Good government should be organized enough to identify people with magical potential, and train them to cast 0th-level spells. A number of traits give access to cantrips, even for those in non-magical professions.
Cantrips like purify food and drink and create water are absolutely transformative. Food can be stored for longer at the household level, and crucially, restored to edibility even after going bad! Real-world civilisations often have periods of scant food over winter or dry periods, when little grows and stores are getting thin or rotting. With a widespread system of basic magical training, there should be enough people in every village to ensure an absolute basic level of sustenance.
Access to create water also means you can keep livestock and crops alive during droughts. While you’re not going to be seriously irrigating, an apprentice can produce 2 gallons of water per six seconds, 20 gallons (about 4 bucketsful) per minute. Obviously we don’t expect anyone to do this every 6 seconds for a full working day; that would be wildly incompatible with our Lawful Good kingdom’s ethos. Still, it’s a lot.
You can bolster this with a few well-chosen investments, either directly or through supporting infrastructure. A goblet of quenching costs 180gp, but provides enough fresh, clean water for a family of 4 to drink. That’s a significant investment for the average citizen, but Jay can save up for one within a couple of years even at high tax rates. Unlike household appliances, magical items don’t usually wear out, and it's clear from canon that they can easily last for centuries. Thus, each one is a permanent boon to your people! You could encourage their proliferation further by having salaried state wizards make and sell them at cost, or decreeing that artificers must pay a tithe of items like this. They only cost 90gp to make, and are perfect for apprentices and minor priests to practice their crafting with.
On a national level, disease, malnutrition and injury are bad. They cause misery for the population, which is more than enough for a Lawful Good king to take action. On a practical level, they mean less productive workers, smaller harvests, and resources expended in treatment. Any kind of recruitment, from armies to state officials, has a smaller pool of viable candidates. People age quickly and can do less in their old age; the elderly, sickly and injured need care from people who could otherwise be doing other things. Ensuring everyone has clean water to drink and decent (if basic) food means a happier, healthier, more successful society.
Hygiene is another important tool for public health. Accessible clean water means fewer infections, and easy cleaning of infections and wounds. Utensils and medical implements can be kept clean, too. You avoid the risk of zoonoses by not sharing water sources with animals. Other simple spells – notably prestidigitation - can clean up even without water and soap, and remove stubborn stains and oil. Traditional laundry techniques put a lot of strain on fabric with pummelling, hot water, and strong soaps, so using magic should reduce wear and tear.
For those in messy professions, fastidiousness is a 1st-level spell that keeps you spotless and wards off disease. It would be a boon to medics, butchers, tanners, nightsoil collecters, miners and many more. For 1,800gp we can craft a magic item that casts it whenever you say the magic word - something like a magic curtain you pass through on your way into the workplace. It's not cheap, but it would great for morale and keep workers healthy. In fact, you could erect something like this at the entrance to an industrial quarter, and let all the city's workers file through, though that would be slow, at 600 people per hour.
For a number of reasons, toilet facilities make a big difference. Hygiene is obvious, as poor sanitation can spread disease and parasites. Toilets help control pollution and keep an environment pleasant. They can also be important tools for public safety, as people nipping into the bushes or a dark alley are vulnerable to attackers - a real-life problem in many places.
Luckily, magic offers us the chance to build clean, hygienic toilets without the disruption and challenges of massive infrastructure projects. I present the Mark I Prestidigitoilet.
Once cast, a prestidigitation spell enables you to perform simple magical effects for 1 hour. The effects are minor and have severe limitations. A prestidigitation can slowly lift 1 pound of material. It can color, clean, or soil items in a 1-foot cube each round. It can chill, warm, or flavor 1 pound of nonliving material... Any actual change to an object (beyond just moving, cleaning, or soiling it) persists only 1 hour.
The Mark I is a sturdy 6-ft. cubicle containing a toilet seat with bowl, and a basin. It's imbued with a permanent prestidigitation effect. The enspelling costs 1000gp, as it's a cantrip cast at caster level 1.
When someone places their hands in the basin, it focuses the prestidigitation spell there, cleaning their hands. Otherwise, the spell cycles through the cubicle, cleaning it one 1-ft. cube at a time. The entire thing contains 216 1-ft. cubes, which would take 1296 seconds to clean, or just under 22 minutes. That's far better than nothing, but not great.
However, we don't really need to clean the entire thing constantly. The actual toilet is only around a 2-ft. cube, giving 8 cubes, which take less than a minute to clean. It's fairly reasonable to have customers wait 1 minute between uses to ensure a clean toilet. In fact, if the customer stays put, the Mark I guarantees a clean posterior as well - essentially a combination self-cleaning toilet and bidet.
If we're allowed some flexibility with the 'intelligence' of the spell, we could program it to do a full clean at intervals.
Depending on how we interpret the "clean" part of the spell, the Mark I may dispose of sewage. If not, we'll need provision for removing it, but we can at least keep the facilities hygienic. If we have the toilet full of water, a purify food and drink spell will do the trick, since it explicitly "makes spoiled, rotten, diseased, poisonous, or otherwise contaminated food and water pure and suitable for eating and drinking".
Breakages can be a significant drain on household and business finances. This means another really useful spell is mending.
This spell repairs damaged objects, restoring 1d4 hit points to the object. If the object has the broken condition, this condition is removed if the object is restored to at least half its original hit points. All of the pieces of an object must be present for this spell to function.
For households, broken crockery, tools, and damaged clothing will need replacing. It's likely to disproportionately affect the poor: they're likely to buy cheaper goods that break more easily (the classic Boots Theory). Children tend to break things easily but don't earn income, so families with children will have a higher burden. We can also guess that infirmity and disabilities increase the likelihood of accidental breakages, again placing higher costs on vulnerable people. So this is a good point of intervention.
Again, this is a cantrip, and will cost 1000gp as a permanent effect. However, it has a casting time of not 6 seconds, but a full 10 minutes. That's a bigger issue. We can only repair 6 items per hour, so a hard maximum of 144 per day.
I'm envisioning here basically a box that you put broken things into and leave for 10 minutes while it 'cooks' them back together. Or maybe the boxes are mundane, but you pile them up on a magic table and it cooks them one at a time.
An advantage we do have is that the spell isn't worried about cost. You can repair a diamond ring as easily as a wooden spoon. If we assume people will prioritise repairing the more costly items, it can be fairly efficient. But let's take a conservative assumption: we're repairing broken cups, at 1gp each. The table of marvellous repair will fix 144 cups per day, paying for itself in a week. Well, probably a bit more with the cost of the table, call it a fortnight. After that time, the repairs are essentially free - they increase the disposable income available to the populace, and avoid unnecessary waste, while likely benefiting the poorest most. After all, the wealthy aren't going to waste 10 minutes hanging around for a 1gp cup to be fixed, let alone queue for it.
This service can also provide employment: someone to explain the process, hand out boxes, or do it on clients' behalf. On a modest salary, it would be well-suited to a retiree or someone unable to manage more physical or complex jobs.
Wealthier households and large businesses could easily have a box of marvellous repair of their own, perhaps at a higher caster level to allow repair of heavier items. A high-end restaurant with expensive china could save a lot of money in the long run. A jeweller would find the box handled fiddly repairs of delicate items much better than they could, since the difficulty of the repair isn't a factor. An artisans' guild might splash out 5,000gp for the 5th-level variant, which can repair a full set of masterwork tools (5 lb.) in a mere ten minutes - a hundred uses would cover the cost.