some angels are fiends

October 31st, 2013

Happy Halloween!

The difference between devils and demons should be that devils look angelic.

I’m not making any claims to originality here: angelic devils are just about the next most gothy thing after vampires. But if Asmodeus, Baalzebul, bone devils, pit fiends, etc all looked like angels, it would solve a lot of specific D&D problems.

1) Right now, players treat devils and demons the same way. Is that a pit fiend or a balor? Imp or quasit? Who cares, just smite it. If it’s red and has horns, it probably has the same immunities and weaknesses. It’s an irrelevant distinction unless a player happens to have, say, a lawfully-aligned sword.

Now change it so that devils look like angels. Instead of being irrelevant, that ambiguity drives the story. In most cases, players really want to know whether they’re facing off against a devil or a good angel.

2) It’s impossible for me to care who wins the Blood War. A bunch of red goat men shooting fire at each other? Sounds like a family squabble I’d rather stay out of, and I’m not even interested in reading about. But red goat men battling the shining heavenly hosts, and both sides are evil? That’s a spectacle worth staging as part of an adventure. Because you can tell who’s who, it’s easier to players to foolishly root for one side or another, or, even more foolishly, get involved.

3) Pacts with devils are insufficiently tempting. The cool thing about devils is their cunning and persuasiveness. Their appearance doesn’t support that. Once you see a guy with horns, you don’t care how good his contract looks: you know that if you sign it, you lose.

Now imagine this: an angel visits you. The angel will help you, if you prove yourself worthy by performing a holy service. There’s no tip-off pitchfork in sight. The only way to distinguish between an angel and a devil is by using your own moral sense about whether the deed the angel requires is really a good deed – and your moral sense, naturally, might be skewed by your desire for the reward. This is a much more effective and plausible temptation than the usual deal offered by devils: “I’m gonna tell you right up front: eternal torture comes with the package.”

In fact, as far as I’m concerned the whole “sign your name in blood” thing can go. Both angels and devils can work the same way. If you do the deeds they require, and thus prove yourself “worthy”, you’ll get the appropriate afterlife reward (good or bad).

4) Demons don’t currently have their own thing. Devils have a thing: they’re manipulators. Demons’ thing is that they are red fire guys who cause destruction — just like devils and demodands. If anything, the demon’s defining characteristic is negative. Unlike devils, they’re NOT manipulators. This doesn’t even work very well, since the demons have Graz’zt and (sometimes) succubi on their team. If the demons had sole ownership of the horns, leathery wings, and brimstone, they’d at least have something.

5) Bad match with the lore. In a lot of cosmologies, devils are angels who were thrown out of the heavens. In a strange case of parallel evolution, they ended up looking just like their neighbors the demons – for some reason? Let them keep their nice heavenly robes. I think they’re more sinister that way anyway.

So if devils look like, think of themselves as, and refer to themselves as angels, what separates them from angels? Clerical magic certainly can’t reliably distinguish them, otherwise devils would never get their hands on their favorite victims: clerics, paladins, and inquisitors. But there are differences between the types.

For one thing, devils have no godly master. They serve themselves or other devils. (They still serve with the same spooky singlemindedness and self-righteousness as angels.)

Furthermore, they have some imperfection not shared by real angels. I’m leaning towards the fact that they need to eat souls to maintain their immortality – that’s why they want them so badly. They might need to eat living bodies to get the souls, which is why Faustian devils so often drag people offstage alive. When they can’t get human souls, they’ll take anything. You might turn a corner in a dungeon to find a bunch of “angels” stuffing bugs and rats into their mouths.

Here are some potential problems that might be caused by swapping all the devil art in D&D. Maybe you can help me solve them.

  • Tieflings. Their story is that they were corrupted by devils, and so they got horns and tails. Doesn’t make as much sense anymore.

  • Maybe you’re attached to some of the existing devil art, like the 1e fly-eyed Baalzebul. I can’t say I blame you, that guy is awesome. My suggestion: nothing wrong with an angel with fly eyes.
  • How do the angels of evil gods fit in here? How are they differentiated from devils?

  • Angels can be a little… well… kitschy. I mean, that might be a problem for some. It’s fine with me. I’m honestly not sure what’s spookier as a devil: the magnificent St. Michael type, or the cute harp-and-halo guardian angel.

  • critical failures that lead to treasure

    October 25th, 2013

    “Fari! Duck!” Havilar cried. The second head slammed into her side and threw her into the lake. The icy water shocked her every nerve and she nearly gasped in surprise. The blue light of the water was all around her, and for a moment she couldn’t tell where the surface was and where the lake bottom lay. … She turned, trying to find some purchase, some touchstone that would point the way. And found herself facing a dark, jagged hole in the rock. … She ran her fingers over the freezing stone, the chiseled edges of runes still clear. No wonder it had been lost to the ages.
    -Lesser Evils by Erin M Evans

    It’s often a misstep that leads to a discovery. That’s quite common in adventure novels, and it’s a nice little encounter-design reminder: a dungeon can use a few easter-egg discoveries that can be found only by meticulous search OR by some sort of catastrophic failure. If everything goes well for the party, they’ll probably miss a treasure or two.

    The most obvious example of this trope is the treasure or secret door at the bottom of a hidden pit. If you want to strip the idea to its most basic form, the very idea of a monster guarding treasure is central to D&D: you pass through a misfortune to get a reward.

    More specifically, here are some situations where a creature’s successful attack reveals an otherwise well-hidden treasure.

  • A few of the crystals in the chandelier are actually diamonds. If the kobolds cut the rope, dropping the chandelier on top of you, you might notice that a handful of the crystals didn’t shatter on the flagstones.
  • There’s a glowing dagger inside the purple worm’s belly.
  • The glass hill is too slippery to climb, but on a critical hit, the angry hill giant hurls you to the top.
  • The purple teeth of a Night Smiler break off in the wound. Cure Disease will prevent further damage. Otherwise, in the ensuing fever, the bite mark’s pattern of red, inflamed skin spells a password that will let you enter Death’s kingdom alive.
  • A roc takes you to its jeweled nest.
  • The halfling squeezes into a tiny tunnel, where he is dragged into a ghoul lair. For as long as it takes them to eat him alive, they crouch on a pressure plate that opens a valve that pours holy water into a sunken bath. Any further living offerings taken by the ghouls will cause more holy water to be dispensed.
  • If you disregarded the advice of the druid and enter the Oakwood carrying anything made of oak, 2-40 Acorn Men will zip down from the trees and attack, riding holly leaves. Each holly leaf is attached to 1-3 goodberries.
  • If the Lurker Above is killed while it’s on the ceiling, it turns to stone. Otherwise, when it drops onto its victims, it reveals a planetarium on the ceiling. Touch a planet and you fall asleep for 8 hours or until awakened. While asleep, you have accelerated hex-crawl adventures on that planet: each day of sword-and-planet adventure takes a turn.
  • If you’re cursed by the water weird, you turn to liquid, flow through the grate in the floor, and drain into a cave, where you re-form next to the ladder of a smuggler’s hideaway containing magic drugs.
  • a skull crucible is a real thing

    October 22nd, 2013

    So I was wikipedia’ing random things, like ya do, when I discovered that cubic zirconia are made in something called a “SKULL CRUCIBLE.” Developed by the Soviets – of course it was – it uses lightning bolts (well, a radio frequency magnetic field, but let’s say lightning bolts) to heat the inside of a big block of zirconium oxide. The inside melts and turns into crystals, while the outside remains a solid white shell, like a skull.

    At the end of the process, a Soviet scientist cracks the skull with a hammer (note that there’s an actual hammer in the picture below), and cubic zirconia spill out like candy out of a pinata! But instead of candy, it’s gems, and instead of a pinata, it’s a skull! Science is awesome!

    This is so D&D it’s almost too D&D. I mean, how do you improve on that?

    Inspired by this process, here’s a creepy any-edition D&D spell to teach your Big Bad Evil Guy:

    Skull Crucible

    This is a horrifying variation on the Lightning Bolt spell – same level, damage, and effects, except as noted below. It is available to any evil wizard who knows Lightning Bolt and has a Carbuncle as a familiar.

    This guy teaches the spell.

  • When you cast it, you can voluntarily reduce its damage by any amount, down to minimum damage of 1 HP.

  • Each time you hit someone with the spell, a part of their brain turns into a gemstone of random type and value. Reduce the target’s Intelligence by 1. If the target receives any form of magical healing, the gemstone is destroyed and the Intelligence is restored.
  • The only way to harvest the gemstones is to perform a killing blow with a bludgeoning weapon, breaking open the victim’s skull and spilling forth the gems. Any other cause of death, including reducing Int to 0 and excessive HP damage from the Skull Crucible spell, will cause the gemstones to revert to brain matter.

    Chances are, the PCs will first learn of this spell when a mysterious wizard starts paying for kidnappings with handfuls of uncut gems. The smarter the kidnapping victim, the more valuable to the wizard!

  • plundering Dragonlance: disarmed, save ends

    October 18th, 2013


    Tanis slipped, landing on his hands and knees at the bottom of the pot where he discovered that the stone draconian had decayed into dust, allowing him to retrieve his dagger.

    4e doesn’t have a Disarm action, probably because no one managed to figure out how someone could be “disarmed (save ends)” or “disarmed until the end of their next turn”. Taking someone’s weapon either handicaps them for the whole fight (for most weapon users) or has no effect (for most monsters). This kind of swing is not for 4e.

    Draconians could actually be a great addition to 4e, for those DMs who want to (temporarily) frustrate their sword-swingers. In Dragons of Autumn Twilight, draconians turn to stone when killed, trapping melee weapons… but after a few seconds (six? twelve? save ends?) they crumble to dust, freeing the weapon.

    A handful of draconian minions might make for a fun 4e fight, if you don’t mind frustrating the melee characters while allowing the casters and ranged characters to get off scot-free.

    seas are better than oceans

    October 15th, 2013

    If you’re reading this blog, then somewhere around your house, you probably have a map of your own private D&D world. Take a look at it.

    Now delete everything in the middle. Just leave a half-inch strip along the edges.

    What’s left in that half-inch strip? Is it all ocean? That’s how mine looks. I’m starting to think that’s a problem.

    I’m coming to think that maps are better when they have more seas, fewer oceans. The Mediterranean and the English Channel are interesting in a way that the Atlantic and Pacific are not.

    For one thing, I think land-heavy maps just look cooler. Maybe it’s because well-defined continents are really easy to read at a glance. Winding inland seas, though, stagger the brain. A staggered brain is good. It’s one step away from Wonder.

    Let’s say you eventually decide to add another big continent, culturally isolated from the starting area: Kara-Tur, say. Many D&D campaigns have Renaissance-level naval technology (the Renaissance has cooler ships), which means that oceans are not much of a barrier to trade and exploration. An impassable desert might be a more plausible barrier.

    There’s also something about a water-surrounded continent that throws a net around the whole campaign world. The players, and maybe the DM, might not think of exploring beyond its boundaries. On the other hand, areas of land drifting off the map, even featureless areas like impassable mountains, frozen wastes and trackless deserts, suggest who knows what wonders on the other side?

    Check out this awesome map of Earth from 1448. Although it’s basically encircled by sea, it does have lots of complex, winding inland seas. It does fill me with a sense of wonder. It takes you a while to even see that it’s Earth: you can eventually identify Europe, upside-down, but the rest of the world is pretty conjectural. And look at the details! Look how red the Red Sea is! Look at the cute little towns and castles! And look at that awesome city on the left side! Apparently that’s Paradise – right on the world map. Come to think of it, the edges of the world map is a great place to put all the Planes.

    plundering Dragonlance: destroy the treasure

    October 11th, 2013


    Raistlin clutched at him. “Help me find the spellbook!” he hissed. “Who cares about that?” Caramon roared, reaching for his brother. “I’ll get you out of here!” Raistlin’s mouth twisted so in fury and frustration that he could not speak. He dropped to his knees and began to search frantically through the pile of treasure. Caramon tried to draw him away, but Raistlin shoved him back with his frail hand.

    Inevitably, your PCs are going to defeat an enemy inside an eldritch temple. And inevitably, that temple will start to collapse.

    That’s when the PCs spy the treasure. (Or the area that they need to search – perhaps multiple times – to find the treasure.)

    The DM should give the PCs all the information they need to make agonizing choices: what their chance of search success is, and the dangers of tarrying for an extra round or two to search.

    I did this when my PCs fought Tiamat. They flew into Tiamat’s mouth and fought a pitched battle against one of her aspects on Tiamat’s beating heart. Tiamat offered knowledge to the wizard: a library containing every spell ever, if the wizard would waste actions during the battle to read them. The library was still there when Tiamat died and her body begain to collapse. The wizard resisted the temptation to search for books, but the ranger HAD to have one of Tiamat’s heads as a souvenir.

    somebody make this book please

    October 8th, 2013

    Here’s an image I made years ago and just rediscovered: it’s my idea for a new series of annotated fantasy classics reprints. Each book’s text would be interspersed with the D&D die rolls that explain the action.

    (click to enlarge)

    For long scenes of dialogue, nothing would be needed but the occasional charisma check, noted in the margin. For combat scenes, though, the book would shift to a format inspired by Loebs editions and other high-quality scholarly translations: you’d have the original text on one side and the D&D rules/rolls on the facing page.

    Fantasy novels like Lord of the Rings, Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, and even D&D-inpired books like the Drizzt novels would obviously work quite well. Other books that might benefit from D&D Annotations:

  • Sherlock Holmes: the facing page would show the DC to notice each clue in the room, as well as Irene Adler’s Bluff checks and Sherlock Holmes’s character sheet (all 18s).
  • Romeo and Juliet: There’s a ton of swordfighting. The poison rules alone would fill out a decent Apothecary class. Mercutio’s monologue could be printed opposite a Monster Manual entry for Queen Mab. (All Shakespeare tragedies come with a house rule: you can deliver soliloquies while at negative hit points.)
  • The Bible: Lots of the Bible ended up in D&D, so it would be pretty easy to annotate (“Moses casts Raise/Lower Water”, etc.) The Bible would also provide a nice list of new magic items: Coiffure of Ogre Power, Staff of Time Stop, and Bronze Serpent of Proof Against Poison.
  • plundering Dragonlance: odd dialogue

    October 4th, 2013


    “No, Tas.” [Tanis] grabbed hold of the kender and dragged him back down the ladder. “The fighters go first- Sturm and Caramon. Then the rest.”

    Reading Dragons of Autumn Twilight, I’m finding a lot of inspiring ideas, and also a lot of “what not to do”s. In the latter column is this passage, which has characters use the class name “fighters”. This shows an odd knowledge of game mechanics from within the fiction. Sure, “fighter” is kind of a generic term, and maybe it’s not being used game mechanically. But we all know that it is.

    The other odd thing is that it’s being used wrong. If you take a look at the character sheets printed in the Dragons of Despair module, you’ll find that Sturm, Caramon, Tanis and Flint are all fighters.

    I can see Tanis forgetting to put himself on the list: you always forget to count yourself. But what possible reason is there to exclude Flint? More unconscious dwarf racism, is what it is.

    “Powerfully built, he was dressed in the black robes of a cleric of the Queen of Darkness. A black and gold cape fluttered around him. His face was hidden by a hideous horned mask fashioned in black and gold to resemble the” [etc etc]

    This overwritten passage is actually from dialogue. An elf is telling a story about a cleric he saw.

    This is not a natural way to tell a story. For humans, anyway. From this passage, I infer that the characteristic of Dragonlance elves is that they overuse adjectives in conversation. If I ever play in a Dragonlance game, I’ll try to work that in.

    For the record, Dragonlance elves are also liars:

    [To Tika:] “We will provide what we can,” Gilthanas said, “though I doubt if we have a full set of armor small enough.”

    Gilthanas took the helm and shield from the elf. “I have yet to thank you for saving my life in the Inn,” he said to Tika. “Accept these. They are my mother’s ceremonial armor, dating back to the time of the Kinslayer wars. These would have gone to my sister…”

    In Passage 1, Gilthanas (an elf) is claiming that he doesn’t have any armor small enough for Tika (a female human).

    In passage 2, Gilthanas apparently HAS some armor that would fit Tika.

    Putting aside his convenient selective memory, how is Tika too small for any elf armor? There are clearly female warriors among the elves. Female humans are smaller than female elves? Or is Tika a midget? She can’t be, because we all know that in the world of Dragonlance, short people are comic relief (Flint, Tasslehoff, gully dwarves).

    There’s only one possibility. We already know that Dragonlance elves love adjectives. Now we also know that male elves alternately lie and tell the truth, and that female elves are big and burly. Now we’re getting closer to a setting that I’d play!

    plundering Dragonlance: don’t steal these names

    September 27th, 2013


    “Highbulp!” Bupu glared at him. “Highbulp Phudge I. The great.”

    There are no great insights to be drawn from this passage from Dragons of Autumn Twilight, except maybe one about how not to do comic names in fantasy. Don’t have a name be a misspelled version of a comically non-genre word.

    I first ran across this advice in the 2e Campaign Sourcebook: “Keep the names consistent with the world. Fearless Phred, may seem cute initially, and generate a few chuckles, but eventually, the joke wears thin and the DM is stuck with an NPC who has a stupid name. Regardless of Fearless Phred’s prowess or power, the PCs will never take him seriously.”

    Let’s overlook the obvious point that such a name is dumb, dumb and stupid. The other issue is that D&D is a spoken game. When spoken, Phudge sounds like Fudge. There’s really no reason to spell it differently except to amuse the DM.

    Another comic-misspelling offender: R. A. Salvatore, who has a dwarf named Pikel. (Doesn’t he also have another dwarf with a stupid name, like Hiyaa or Kaboom or something? What is it with people and their rank contempt for dwarves?)

    Also, how do Weis and Hickman think “Highbulp Phudge I” is pronounced? “Highbulp Phudge The First”? “Highbulp Phudge One?”

    plundering Dragonlance: how old are these rotted furnishings?

    September 20th, 2013

    In Dragons Of Autumn Twilight, the companions stumble into a bakery in a city which has been abandoned for 300 years. They get comically covered with flour (of course).

    Is flour still good after 300 years? or has it totally rotted away? Can I really eat bread made from flour that was ground in 1713? That sounds awesome.

    PCs are always adventuring in abandoned buildings, and so it’s useful to know stuff like the time-to-live of various household goods.

  • How long does flour, or other kitchen goods, last, and what does it turn into? (I don’t know about flour, but honey famously lasts forever.)
  • How long does it take copper to turn green? (about 20 years.)
  • If the bed’s canopy and bedclothes are “rotted”, how old does that make them? How old is the skeleton’s rusty sword? (Depends a lot on the water content of the environment.)

    Of course, a lot of this is for the amusement of the DM. Most of the time, no one will blink an eye if you have copper-colored copper in the 4000-year-old tomb. There’s always that one player out of a thousand, though, who will try to draw reasonable conclusions from environmental cues. “Hey, if no one has been in here since the last millenium, why are torches burning?”

    While we’re on the subject of traces of the past, here’s one of my favorite area descriptions from the game module:

    33. Kiri Valley
    The forest darkens and thickens beside an ancient trail. A cold, dry stillness hovers in the air, and the trees are knotted and bent. Everything seems to watch you. An evil wizard died here long ago. Only his essence remains.

    I don’t know how long essence remains vis a vis flour – I’m guessing longer. I like how this area isn’t important to the plot, but we still get a little throwaway hook to hang DM creativity on. What exactly is the wizard’s essence? It might just manifest as a cold, dry stillness, or it might manifest as a ranting ghost. The detail is there for the DM to expand or ignore.