The Companions of Beatrix are the brave men and women, mostly human, who joined the heroic wizardess in her quest to reseal the Giants 500 years ago. In their lifetime my campaign setting approximately mirrored the 11th Century (it currently resembles the mid-16th). Unless I am miscounting they are fourteen in number. My initial idea was to have a patron saint for every major Pathfinder class (Core Rulebook + Advanced Player's Guide + Complete Magic) and one for each core character race (Man, Ulf, Dorf, Numm, Hawbet, Orkykind). However, I forgot to include a saint for Witches, Oracles or Halflings---oh well. Let's assume the Cult of the Saints' official stance is Halflings are just small Men not truly a race apart, and don't require their own saint. And, for obvious reasons nobody likes Oracles or Witches. I also exclude Gunslingers (Ultimate Combat), Inquisitors (APG) and Monks as those classes didn't exist (at least not in the West) in Beatrix's day. I don't want to make an unweldy monster post (ha ha ha) so I'll start with the first four.
Q: Are the Companions the most important Saints?
A: Beatrix is certainly the most important saint, believed to have merged with the whole cosmos and become omniscient, omnipotent and omnibenevolent. St. Justin is approximate to St. George--his name is a byword for martial aspiration and courage and he's depicted all over in art and legend. From there, it gets complicated. There are countless saints, some so obscure they are no more than names buried in a musty register. Many are unknown outside of a certain locality, some are associated with a certain profession or a certain event, perhaps even a specific gate, bridge, mountain, etc. All of the companions have at least middling prominence due to their association with Beatrix but some have fallen out of favor or are no longer believed even to have existed.
Q: How old is the Cult of Saints anyway? What was it like before Beatrix?
A: The Cult began with the idea that all gods are no more than aspects of a deeper Truth---that this divine spark resides in every person, every blade of grass, and fills all the known Planes of Existence. Saints however, are beings in whom this power shows greatly, who do great and wonderful things as an expression of its divine love. For the first few centuries of its existence it was a highly intellectual movement largely limited to the support of sages and scholars of the esoteric. In the waning age of the great Empire that once ruled over the West, the conversion of a certain Emperor led to the adoption of the Cult of Saints as the Empire's official creed. The many cults throughout the Empire's provinces (particularly the Druids, still strong across the North) were not interfered with, nor did official adoption cause a single hierarchy within the Cult to develop, for reasons that are complex and boring. The Cult instead continued to revolve around a decentralized conclave of urban Primarchs, in whose Temples the precious remains of Saints are kept. Older divinities, ancestors, genii loci etc. were occasionally assimilated as Saints, but until Beatrix the Cult never achieved fidelity from more than a third of the former Empire's peoples.
The Companions
St. Beatrix Paraclete, Queen of Heaven (NG female human wizardess) - About Beatrix much has been said but scarcely enough can be written. As mentioned previously, depictions of Beatrix before her ascension as an embodiment of heavenly virtue and font of wisdom are less popular than humanizing portrayals which portray her as a vulnerable young woman who finds the courage to save the world. Of course, following her death-ascension Beatrix became more perfect than is possible to imagine.
St. Justin Giantslayer (LG male human ranger? paladin?) - Of Beatrix's companions St. Justin is nearly as famous as the Savior herself. He is considered both a patron and role-model by Rangers and Paladins, who fiercely contest which profession he belonged to. The history of the Rangers is tied up in the Return of the Giants, with their long watch ending in bitter defeat only for the Order to reconstitute itself in many places as a bulwark against many threats (hence why Rangers are "especially trained" against so many divers monsters and enemy kinds). For this reason, St. Justin is most often portrayed as a survivor of the shattered Rangers in dramatical retellings of the Return. A chance encounter with the lovely ingenue Beatrix restores his fighting spirit, etc. However it is the Paladins who have taken as a byname "The Order of St. Justin." Rangers, when they want to sound fancy, must content themselves with the much more specific St. Daffydd, patron of Those Who Fight With Two Swords (alternatively, St. Mark, the specific and less flashy patron saint of accurate shooting).
Hard facts about St. Justin are few--several cities and towns claim to be the place of his birth and a few noble families claim him in their extended lineage. There are fabulous tales such as him being raised a Ranger by the Elves, or that Northern Barbarians slew his family and he was raised in a Cult abbey. Fragments of his shivered sword, pieces of wood and nails from his shield, spurs from simple iron to ornate gold, a horse's skull, are all alleged for his relics. It is said his heart lies beneath Holger's pass but no Temple stands to attest it.
St. Justin is virtually always portrayed as a handsome but battle-scarred young man [when I showed my players a drawing of him they immediately called him Anakin Skywalker]. If appearing as a Paladin, he has a distinctive blue/orange diagonal stripe scheme on his long surcoat and massive kite shield (historical but technically anachronistic touches) wearing a suit of mail and wielding a knight's sword. If a Ranger, he wears humbler footman's steel and leather under a cloak of green or white (the Rangers originated in the frozen North after all) and carries sword and bow or two swords as the artist fancies. Justin fell in battle with Angrybors the Giant King of Storms, and their dramatic final duel is such a common art tableau that you can buy many depictions of it in just about any marketplace.
St. Justin's domains are War, Nobility and Animal. He is associated with the aforementioned Orders and those who fight monsters generally, plus woodsmen, war-horses, robins, and recovery from blunt trauma (many hospitals bear his name). His Feast Day is September 29, which is the day called Michaelmas. Paladin and Ranger associations often celebrate with processions and feasts.
St. Casval the Ready (LG human fighter) - While warriors of all stripes can and do pray to St. Justin, St. Casval represents the humble foot soldier more specifically. He is called "The Ready" because it is said he was a wise veteran who always watched the backs of the more impetuous Sts. Justin and Lionel the Lancer, always ready to strike out opportunistically with his long spear. In fact, as something of a running gag down generations of artists Casval is portrayed with a wild variety of anachronistic, often outlandish polearms such as the reverse-forked ranseur or the Oriental "tree of swords." Some don't even exist, such as the Double Ox-Tongued Mancatching Crow's Beak. He is usually portrayed as an older man with a distinguishing mustache.
Casval is one of the better-attested companions, as he actually survived the Battle of Holger's Pass. He retired with honor to the City of Fons, where he served as "Captain of the People" (essentially a militia commander) until his death some 40 years after Beatrix's ascension. He was declared a saint in his own lifetime. His tomb in the Great Plaza at Fons has been a pilgrimage hot spot for five centuries. Bizarrely(?) he left no memoir or personal account of the Queen of Heaven, at least none known. His home and effects are in the care of a chapter of Poor Sisters. His ash spear is on display in a glass case. Touching the glass will grant a +1 bonus on Attacks of Opportunity and Trip attempts for 24 hours.
St. Casval's domains are Earth, Community and Strength. He is associated with serjeants and militia bands, city walls, badgers, and the game of chess--it's said he painted a pawn on his shield, and his blessing goes to those who can elevate a pawn by moving it to an opponent's back row.
St. Odion the Learned (LG human cleric) - It may seem odd for the Cleric class to have its own particular patron saint. Nevertheless St. Odion is such and his life is well-attested: he survived Holger's pass, founded a monastic order and lived to be 100. No one did more to promulgate Beatrix's legend, or to make her the new "face" of the Cult of Saints. He wrote the very first hagiography of Beatrix, titled A History of Beatrix Our Savior, the Wars on Our Earth and Beneath and in Heaven (a laborious read, mostly circulated in abridged form).
In all accounts, St. Odion is Beatrix's confessor and spiritual guide. Some writers trying to reconcile sacred history with more sacriligious accounts of Our Sweet Savior present Beatrix as an amoral Wizardess who indeed learned a terrible ritual at the frozen feet of the Ice Father, until the wisdom of Odion put her on a more righteous path. In his History however, Odion wrote Beatrix was, "the embodiment of all that is sweet and well-meaning in Man's heart," and "so near to perfect she was fragrant of heaven." So don't look for nuance from him. Incidentally, bawdies and burlesques of the Companions portray him as an old letch always trying get a peek up Beatrix's skirt ("Father shall I kneel to pray?"/"Heavens child I'll not bar your way." "But Father I say the floor is cold."/"Come here child, a cloak I hold.")
In many ways Odion was a great reformer of the Cult. He did not give it a central hierarchy or disavow its pantheistic teachings but he did elevate the monastery from houses of prayer dependent on powerful patronage to powerful landowning "religious corporations" (or less ominously, "communities.") His Rule (the Odine Monks or "Grey Fathers") established the baseline for subsequent Rules and Orders to follow. Odion reified and encouraged many nascent traditions, such as mass public confessions and penances on Witsuntide and Michaelmas (whole communities expose their sins and perform acts of contrition together in the Cult). Odion came as close as anyone in the Cult ever has to calling other faiths wrong and dumb (such as his tract, On Trees which could well be titled "Stupid Druids, Trees Aren't God"). You can buy little figurines of Odion most anywhere (+1 CL to Magic Circle Against Evil with one as your divine focus). They always show him wagging his finger.
Odion is portrayed as a bent old man with twin flames of grey hair rising behind his bald pate, wearing a grey habit and carrying a gnarled staff. He is associated with monks (duh), parchment and vellum making, pigeons, students and schoolmasters. His bones/effects are scattered protecting many places, including his native city of Stellamont, the Royal Library of Pellegrine, his first monastery of Oxmort, and his tibia are in a chest somewhere at the bottom of the Trader's Sea (oops). Aside from the usual wound and disease curing miracles, praying in some place with his remains gives you a +2 to research rolls and for 48 hours, intimidation checks.
Our Lady of Songs (CG elf? half elf? bard) - The Lady is one of Beatrix's most mysterious and least well-attested companions, yet next to Beatrix herself perhaps the most commonly represented and evoked in word and image. She came from the Elven Lands yet beyond that, not even her name is known, or if she was fully or half Elven. St. Odion never mentioned her in his History (then again, he left out a lot--he was a man of narrow interests), nor is she mentioned in any firsthand accounts of the Return of the Giants. In modern times many of skeptical mind say she was invented by the Cult as a way to give the notoriously rambunctious Order of Bards a place in the Cult, and as an outreach to Elven converts (there are few, if any). Yet if she is only a fable, it seems to have sprung up quickly after Holger's pass---the first trouvere's song of the "Lady With the Lyre/Fall's Fire in Her Hair," who "made beasts weep and dragons bow," is attested only a few decades after. The various songs don't agree on her fate--some say at Holger's Pass she was "horribly crush't," others "return'd she to Elven Land/Where Time runs not and all is glad." Perhaps no other saint's relics sell so well: particularly locks of red hair, quite well preserved 500 years on, often hung from a lute's pegbox or twisted around an artist's brush.
Her devotees portray The Lady as an Elven woman with bright red hair holding a harp, lyre or psalter. If it is official cult art she is garbed in appropriately saintly gown and stola, but popular depictions clothe her to accent her loveliness, sometimes only in a shower of leaves. Wolves, lions or monsters are always tamely lying all around her. Often the device of a psalter and red maple leaf or rose serves as her representation. The Lady's domains are Charm, Liberation and Travel. In addition to Bards, Elves, elms and roses she is patroness of minstrels and the makers of instruments, crossroads, of many hills and woods, and young lovers.
Showing posts with label actually used in a game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label actually used in a game. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Sunday, February 26, 2017
I'm not going to chronicle my Eastwylde campaign on this blog
I think after all, it was a mistake to start talking about my Actual Game on this blog. I want to use it instead for a more general kind of rumination on D&D or RPGs, and broader creative impulses or ideas that don't fit within my campaign per se. I think my game is pretty good, or at least the people who have stuck with it after a year are having fun. I may make a second blog just for a campaign chronicle, although there are some difficulties in that I am a very shitty record-keeper.
That said I don't mind talking about stuff pertaining to the Eastwylde setting. It started life as a deliberately genericized Pathfinder campaign but has grown organically as the players chose to interact with certain elements over others and assumptions, on-the-spot exposition/decisions etc. piled up. So now I have copious notes on fairy kindreds and history, orc tribes and religion, and the tangled doings of local baronial families and mercenary companies, because these are the elements my players chose to explore (examples of things they ignored: Ruins of an evil Druid civilization, subterranean worlds, rumors of the restless dead).
So watch this space.
Oh yeah so, last session, I tried doing my version of Last Gasp's arts and crafts-y encumbrance minigame. My idea was basically to literally draw the modes of conveyance my players were using and then have them physically place objects representing tools and supplies on those diagrams. I thought, what could be simpler? Here we'll have everything laid out in immediately understandable form, as you'll be able to literally SEE how burdened your characters/packbeasts/hirelings are.
Here are the drawings I made, in fact:
Backpack (& waterskin):
Light horse:
Donkey (went unused as players do not have any donkeys presently):
Note that I didn't have time to include portraits of the two mounts that the Cavalier and Paladin are using (a war-bull and a heavy war horse)---which, honestly, shouldn't even matter because trying to treat a warbeast like a pack mule is stupid but hey what do I care, these assholes don't even remember to take their animals' armor off after a long march poor things are probably dying of chafery.
Anyway, the idea was this: a quarter stands for an object (a roll of torches, a lamp, a mapcase, a spade, whatever) and one quarter equals one of the larger squares (six for the backpack, eight for Mule saddlebags, 16 for Light Horse saddlebags). In addition to quarters there are dimes, which represent either food (a pint of grain probably) or a pint of water (as much as you need in one day). Notice the waterskins hold two dimes, and additionally you can put two dimes in any of the larger squares. Since you need to eat and drink, effectively you burn through two dimes a day. If you use more than half the big squares (five for the Donkey, nine for the Horse, four for yourself) you are encumbered and lose overland speed and your animals are treated as carrying a medium load. If all the squares are used, it's a heavy load.
Not perfect, maybe not too well thought out, but I thought it would be a simple way to make encumbrance MATTER in my game which is all I want. I KNOW THEY'RE NOT KEEPING TRACK OF THEIR RATIONS THE RUNNY LITTLE FUCKS anyway. Sadly what actually happened was this: I laid out sheets for the eight light horses the party is using and a backpack for every PC and NPC, and the space needed took up the entire table. There was no room for it. Also nobody put any coins on their sheet or used it at all; I just dropped it and started the game. ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT this is a dodge my players use all the goddamn time is they chatter until I have to drop whatever brilliant idea I raised at the start just to get the fucking game going WELL NOT NEXT TIME SONNY JIM I am going to bring a half liter of malt whiskey and I am going to sit back and cross my legs and drink it and watch Buffalo Bills highlights on my phone until THEY come to ME less angry version: it turned out to be unworkable but next time I will work out a better version. Maybe with tokens?
That said I don't mind talking about stuff pertaining to the Eastwylde setting. It started life as a deliberately genericized Pathfinder campaign but has grown organically as the players chose to interact with certain elements over others and assumptions, on-the-spot exposition/decisions etc. piled up. So now I have copious notes on fairy kindreds and history, orc tribes and religion, and the tangled doings of local baronial families and mercenary companies, because these are the elements my players chose to explore (examples of things they ignored: Ruins of an evil Druid civilization, subterranean worlds, rumors of the restless dead).
So watch this space.
Oh yeah so, last session, I tried doing my version of Last Gasp's arts and crafts-y encumbrance minigame. My idea was basically to literally draw the modes of conveyance my players were using and then have them physically place objects representing tools and supplies on those diagrams. I thought, what could be simpler? Here we'll have everything laid out in immediately understandable form, as you'll be able to literally SEE how burdened your characters/packbeasts/hirelings are.
Here are the drawings I made, in fact:
Backpack (& waterskin):
Light horse:
Donkey (went unused as players do not have any donkeys presently):
Note that I didn't have time to include portraits of the two mounts that the Cavalier and Paladin are using (a war-bull and a heavy war horse)---which, honestly, shouldn't even matter because trying to treat a warbeast like a pack mule is stupid but hey what do I care, these assholes don't even remember to take their animals' armor off after a long march poor things are probably dying of chafery.
Anyway, the idea was this: a quarter stands for an object (a roll of torches, a lamp, a mapcase, a spade, whatever) and one quarter equals one of the larger squares (six for the backpack, eight for Mule saddlebags, 16 for Light Horse saddlebags). In addition to quarters there are dimes, which represent either food (a pint of grain probably) or a pint of water (as much as you need in one day). Notice the waterskins hold two dimes, and additionally you can put two dimes in any of the larger squares. Since you need to eat and drink, effectively you burn through two dimes a day. If you use more than half the big squares (five for the Donkey, nine for the Horse, four for yourself) you are encumbered and lose overland speed and your animals are treated as carrying a medium load. If all the squares are used, it's a heavy load.
Thursday, February 9, 2017
What's In The Eastwylde Pt 1 - Fairies
Fairy Folk
Pixies, Leprechauns and Brownies are the three common types. Boggarts and Redcaps are the less-talked about, much less funny cousins to these three varieties of Fey.
Pixies (AL: CN)
Pixies are the most numerous---the Eastwylde has a population in the hundreds, at least. They have what comes closest to a real society, with leaders, shepherds, weavers and other specialized roles. Essentially, Pixie society is stratified into the commoners and the Gentry. The main difference is that Pixie commoners live in large tumulous mounds like ant hives (almost all of which are obscured by forest), while Gentry live in houses painstakingly modeled after the latest human architectural fashions, built into the trunk of a living tree with its rooftops among the branches. Likewise, commoners dress in simple wool and linen garb, while Gentry use magic or any other means to dress in miniature approximation of the latest human fashions.
No pixies have appeared in the game so far, but you can bet every time the party's ventured into the forest they've been watched carefully.
Pixie commoners are organized into clans, with each clan living in one mound. It may seem odd for winged creatures to spend so much time underground but they don't seem to mind. They festoon their burrows with tiny oilskin lanterns and hang enough holly and pine to sweeten the subterranean air. Pixies may be only 18" high--the size of a doll, perhaps---but they need to eat, and they keep chickens just like everybody else. Perfectly normal chickens, who have to be led out from underground each day and then watched carefully as they amble about their pens. This is the job of the youngest and lowest ranking Pixies, but they take the job seriously----if you see what appears to be a lost chicken wandering in the woods, leave it alone. Additionally, the pixies have bred a species of dwarf sheep from which they get their fleece and wool. Humans frequently mistake these sheep for lost lambs wandering in the woods and become sheep-stealers without realizing it.
One of the most important things about Pixies is that they cast their spells primarily through archery, which is both a means of communication and an obsessive past-time to them. Pixies imbue their will into the arrows they launch. These tiny arrows---more like long needles, really---cast whatever spell they want on the struck target. Obviously, it's no good to cast, say, confusion, on a dead man so Pixies are really good at shooting people in usually nonfatal body parts. In fact, skilled pixies can plug a hapless commoner two dozen times before he is even in danger of bleeding out. One of their most important spells is Charm Monster, which allows them to befriend any beast or man they strike with their darts. Thus pixies hunt, not necessarily for food, but often for new friends and pets. Their burrows are typically guarded by charmed badgers, who probably have magic fang and a few other basic enchantments ready to go.
Pixies are vaguely brythonic in origin and if you crack open any ancient history book about Britain you should find a bunch of ready-to-use names. Caradog, Cunobelin, Admindios, Gwydyros, sure (One of the few problems is a lack of female names in the sources but, like, just stick -etica at the end and you're probably safe. Like Caradetica, Gwydyretica). Gaulish and modern Welsh and Breton names should be close enough for government work.
Common pixies decorate themselves and make fastening toggles with fangs and bits of horn and bone and wear cloaks and hats of fleece in Winter, of woven leaves in Spring and Summer. They paint spirals and celtic knots in blue woad on everything, including their faces in wartime. Since metal is abhorrent to them they officially rebuke it and only use bone and flint for arrowheads, but the truth is every pixie has a pouch of a few nails or other iron bits which they might make into particularly dangerous arrows for a particularly hated rival. Pixie clans go to war with each other all the time, but real fights only happen between two individuals who really hate each other.
Pixies not only enslave animals to be their guards and cattle, they enslave men to be their, uh, slaves. Actually, common pixies do this way more than Gentry, because more than anything they abhor the drudgery of labor, while Gentry families pride themselves on not being so lazy. It is rare for them to enslave anyone long-term: when slaves are taken it is because they were a target of convenience (usually lost in the woods), or one of the youngest/lowest-ranking Pixies has some particularly odious task such as a long journey and wants to fob it off. In such cases they may just find any old human, shoot him in the ass with a charm arrow, and say something like, "dear friend, would you do me the great kindness of taking this important letter to such-and-such down the road?" The poor human might find himself bewitched by the addressee of the missive as soon as he finally arrives, sent back with a simple message such as "we do not appreciate solicitors!" This kind of incidental/accidental happening is how Pixie slavery works and slaves usually are forgotten/reprieved/escape after a few chores.
Of course, younger Pixies usually can't cast charm spells that last long. What often happens is the spell wears off when the human is halfway through his errand, and he is often left in a state of confusion as to why he was doing what he was just doing. Human peasants, of course, conflate this with perfectly ordinary forgetfulness--like when you come into a room to get something and immediately forget what it was, if you're some salt of the earth type you'll often go "confounded pixies!"
Sometimes humans get enslaved longer term. Usually it's attractive and unmarried young women, just one more reason for farmers to lock up their daughters at night. If a human is "taken on as help" by Pixies for a longer term, they are often shrank down to be of better use. A fully-grown human in a Pixie burrow usually isn't much good except as a doorjamb. Gentry almost always shrink their humans down to Pixie size (this requires a higher-level version of Reduce Person), but some cheaper ones might leave them at Halfling-size, which is still awkwardly big for a burrow or treehouse.
Slaves of the gentry are always house-servants, working in the kitchens inside the brick foot of the house (being built into treetrunks, these houses are always quite vertically, usually 12 feet tall with 3-4 stories). Obviously working in a kitchen in a tree is a precarious job which is why the little ovens and stoves are carefully built into brickwork. This makes the kitchens of a Pixie Gentleman hellish hot. Human nurses frequently tell tales of naughty children taken by the Pixies and put into the kitchen, forced to bake "the squire's" bread in heat and smoke like hell until they pass out and fall into the oven which, of course, was what the vile Pixie wanted all along ("now along with the bread comes the roast!" is the punchline to these stories). In real life any Pixie Gentleman who did this would be a sociopathic monster among his own kind---but who knows what the Gentry do in their big ornate houses?
However, the truth of enslaved ("adopted") human children is nothing like these nursery tales. It does happen that sometimes a Pixie---common or genteel--gets the idea to kidnap a human child and raise them as a full-time servant. The kid is usually treated with much condescension, since humans can't fly and are ridiculously clumsy; men are just sort of inherently comical to Pixies. Most Pixies can't really stomach cruelty to a child any more than you or I can, and such servants are treated reasonably and often released when they get old enough to start really missing other humans. There are quite a few ordinary people in the border country who spent one or two years as a servant of the Pixies, with experiences ranging from the harrowing to the pleasant.
Almost always, Pixie Gentry cultivate a beehive on one of the branches of their tree. They obtain massive amounts of honey and put it on everything: baking it into cakes, brewing mead, spreading it on toast, etc. This honey is the absolute property of the Gentry, and often used as a means to cajole the commoners into doing something for a Gentleman (which task they may well then kick down to a hapless human). Genteel Pixies get along fabulously with bees, because they frequently wear clothes with beestripes (they cover a lot of their shit in stylized stripes just like commoners do with spirals) which means they practically look like bees themselves. They often walk around with a bevy of bees crawling all over them, the fuzzy little dears being the size of a tiny toy dog in comparison perhaps. The noise of this is incredible and a little frightening to shrunk-down servants.
Of course, Pixie Gents utilize archery just as much as their common kin, and are usually better at it (notwithstanding they always have much fancier, more powerful composite bows). They also carry special swords, never of metal but typically a length of thornbush or nettle, carefully stiffened and sharpened, with its prickles bristling off the "blade." When two Pixie Gents are going to duel, as a mark of station and bravery, they prefer to swing these "stings" at one another while spinning around in a flashy midair melee. They sting like hell without inflicting serious injury, which makes them excellent dueling weapons and prods for recalcitrant slaves.
You might assume the Gentry are the leaders of Pixie society, but really the Gentry and Commons are like two wholly different societies. Gentry families are usually just 4-6 individuals plus servants and get their social lives from parties thrown at so-and-so's house, or special balls held in such-and-such glade. Commoner clans have their own internal leadership structure, always led by a patriarchal elder, who deals with the Gentry on behalf of his people more in the way of negotiation than deference.
In theory, if the Pixies were to ever go to war, all the clans would get together under the leadership of their hereditary squires, who would assemble before the King of the Forest in their leaf armor, perhaps riding specially bred war-pigeons. Nobody could even imagine this happening in modern times, especially in the Eastwylde where there hasn't been a King of the Forest in 500 years.
Brownies (AL: CG)
None of the other Fairy Folk like the Brownies. They're such brown nosers. Always cozying up to Men. Living in barn lofts, cellars and cabinets. Mending shoes, pans, doorhandles, and always respectfully retreating with the dawn, not looking for so much as a thank-you---just a bowl of milk and crushed chestnuts for me, thank-you ma'm--don't they know that Fairies are supposed to be feared and respected by mortalkind? Where do they get off toadying like that, letting the whole side down??
Right, so nobody likes Brownies. Brownies don't live in the forest, because the tougher and meaner Fairies would make game of them, but they don't all necessarily squat in human houses either. Most live on the border of the forest, usually in a little one-room burrow beneath an old stump or mossy stone. Brownies are vaguely related to Gnomes, who are inclined to the earth element, so they're very comfortable in a subterranean hollow that would be claustrophobic to anyone else. If the burrow is home to multiple generations it might be expanded to something like a little cabin, with a rabbit chamber and a reading nook. Brownies are, as a rule, the most unassuming, mild-mannered cornpone little motherfuckers on earth. Other Fairies find them absolutely gratingly pleasant, like they have no pride at all.
Brownies like doing things for people, and they're also very good at it. They're not creatively inclined, but they can fix just about anything, of whatever material. In fact, a brownie just has to hold an object in his hands and study it for a while, and they'll sort of absorb the essence of it and have an epiphany as to how, if at all possible, they might fix a thing. For example, a Brownie who had never tinkered in his life might hold an iron pan for a minute and then take up a hammer and beat the dents out of it as though he'd been apprenticed to the task all his life. Likewise with stitchery, cobbling, gardening, whatever. They can't make new things (or they only can with great difficulty) but they can repair almost anything.
You would think they would just come out in the open and be welcomed by human society. But Brownies are smart enough to understand that, inevitably, humans would try to take advantage of their good intentions. It's better to just keep the relationship simple and indirect. That way the Brownies have a use and the humans get their stuff fixed---everybody's happy, nobody's hurt. Brownies are only a little shorter than Halflings and could be mistaken for them quite easily though, so who knows how many adventurous young brownies walk out in the open in Halfling or mixed towns?
Brownie society, such as it is, is laid back and pleasant. They either live solitary lives or with
immediate family. Being fey, obviously, there's no rush for them to get married. When not helping others they love comfortable pastttimes like storybooks, pipe tobacco, trimming a dwarf tree, or making paintings. I said Brownies couldn't create anything, but they can make totally fatuous Thomas Kincaide style landscapes as a racial ability. They think that shit is adorable which further baffles and enrages other Fairies. They can't write though, so all their books are "borrowed" from Men (being virtually ageless they don't see the problem with borrowing a book from some family for a few decades or centuries---they really do keep close track of the bloodline). Brownie weddings are wonderful week-long affairs that draw in families from the whole region, usually held in a clearing or heath on the forest border. Although they remain hidden or disguised in human communities, out in wasteland Brownies walk around quite openly. You might see a few on their way to a wedding party with kegs of beer and loaves under their arms.
The other thing about Brownies is they all carry swords and, at the end of the day they're ready to throw down. Like, Pixies stick to bows and Leprechauns to clubs, because while they're more ready to use violence, using metal is a level of hardcore they don't like to go to. If a Brownie needs to settle some shit though he's going to be pretty dead serious about it. They have no ego but they do have a strong sense of decency, and aren't the toughest Fairies but will always do the right thing. Another genre of Fairy Tales is the one about the brave little brownie who stepped in to save a maiden from an Ogre. Usually the Brownie ends up a smear on the Ogre's fist, which is a lesson to teach kids that you can't succeed just through good intentions or something.
I have no idea what Brownies would call themselves. Probably gentle nature names like Willow, Ashwhite, uh.... Heath? Whatever. Let's be honest these dudes are a little boring, and they'll probably just adopt halfling/human names.
Leprechauns (AL: CN)
Leprechauns could almost be Brownies---they're the same size. But while Brownies are proportionate and can be attractive like halflings, Leprechauns are misshappen, with enormous heads, stooped shoulders and twisted legs (that in no way impinges their strength or speed). Really, each Leprechaun's proportions and features are quite unique, which is to say that each Leprechaun is ugly in his own unique way. If there are lady leprechauns no one's ever seen one. Maybe Leprechauns are just an adolescent phase Brownie Boys go through.
The best way to describe Leprechauns is that they are punk-asses. They are jackasses, and they are punks. They're greedy, territorial and clannish, but also they love doing stupid reckless shit to impress their friends. Pin the tail on the Hill Giant, steal a water-wheel and try to keep it spinning downstream, tie your friend to a treebranch while he's sleeping and smear his face with honey, etc. Fortunately for Leprechauns they are shockingly tough, or at least resilient to blunt force trauma.
Not every Leprechaun guards a pot of gold. That's a story they spread around to troll humans. Actually Leprechauns themselves aren't sure if any of them has a pot of gold, but they're always sort of suspicious that one of them might, if they could just find the bastard and shake it out of him.
Leprechauns always dress well, or at least flashy. They copy human fashions although they are often centuries out of date or appropriated from weird and obscure cultures, or often a bizarre mix and match in garish colors. They actually do not like green or colors that blend in with the natural environment, they want to stand out. Hideous as they are, they go to great lengths to cultivate unique styles of facial hair (and occasionally their copious body hair). They form associations, or gangs, based on neighborhoods which are hidden to humans but are clearly marked all over the forests, usually with a Fairy Circle (of mushrooms, stones etc.) demarcating a Leprechaun's yard.
I haven't even talked about Fairy Circles yet so I guess I will here---Fairy Circles are reputedly gateways to other worlds and sometimes they are, but more frequently they're just the Fairy version of boundary stones, like a fence around your yard. Like a Pixie gentleman will have a ring of mushrooms around the giant gnarled oak he lives in, or a ring of mushrooms will crown the top of a Pixie tumulus, or there will be a semicircle of mushrooms spread around the stump a Brownie lives in. Fairy Circles basically just mean "I live here (get lost)." Leprechaun gangs usually consist of 4-6 individuals whose Fairy Circles happen to be fairly close. Like boys from the same neighborhood they fight constantly but always close ranks against outsiders (anybody from outside their tiny district of the woods).
Individually leprechauns are just surly little men, but in gangs they can be terrors. They love to get blitzed on berry wine and white lightning and "roam around the woods looking for fights." (A fight usually consists of finding the nearest Brownie and shoving/ridiculing him until he cries). The common story is that Men (or other mortals) who blunder into a Leprechaun "neighborhood" will be expected to present a "gift" to "the lords" because that's only manners. Indeed Leprechauns shake people down for their valuables constantly; they'll take money but soon forget about it and leave it somewhere. But fine clothes or magic items are what they really prize. They are always looking to extravagate their wardrobe and they can read magic easily. As mentioned, intimidation is a favorite tactic if they're in a gang, but individually or together Leprechauns love to trick and confound Men and take great pride in doing this. They are capable of powerful illusionary magic and will go to elaborate lengths to confuse a Man so bad he doesn't know what's up from his right. Convincing a guy he's drowning and then going "quick, throw me your [coin pouch/nice hat/magic sword] and I'll throw you a rope!" is a favorite (the punchline is tossing a coiled rope into the guy's face once you let the illusion fade). Just imagine a million mean jokes of that nature.
Leprechauns as a rule carry sticks, but sometimes one makes a "punch" from carved knucklebones complete with nasty enchantments like woozify or slurrinate (confuse and slow; Leprechauns have their own better names for spells). One thing everybody knows is that Leprechauns are jerks but they will never actually kill anybody (this is actually more of a risk with Pixies who might kill you accidentally; Leprechauns have a much better idea of what they're doing when they handle mortals). If you're too wise to their routines they may just beat the shit out of you and leave your bruised hide back at the edge of the forest, though.
Leprechauns aren't all bad. They will stick up for their mates. They won't inflict more cruelty on a humiliated victim. They may be spontaneously kind, to children, forest hermits, the lost or wretched.
They like pretty girls and will usually rob one of no more than a kiss.
Leprechaun names are long and complicated and prone to change with their mood. They are usually comprised of medieval Irish conventions (so Brendan Og Cailean rather than Brendan O'Colin) plus word salad. Really just invent something that sounds goofy. Here are the Leprechaun names I've used so far: Tyrnaut Fitz Tyrnaut; Clontarf Mac Cock-Whistle; Peevish Thurible; Boykin Creakly; and Kelly Kelly Kelly.
Yes, when I play Leprechauns at a table I put on the worst 30's Hollywood-style brogue that I can. It's not offensive, Leprechauns are supposed to be horrible!
Redcaps (AL: NE)
If Leprechauns are the rudeboys of the Fairy World, Redcaps are the lone nuts. Seriously, murder is their whole thing. There is no Redcap culture. Even other Fairies don't know how many there are, if they reproduce or if there's just a certain number of insane immortal killers wandering the world. Nobody knows why Redcaps kill. They target Beast, Man and Fairy alike, leave no explanations and usually no survivors.
The story goes that they are a Vengeance from the Lost World (A Hate From Old Times, if you will). Fairies know, vaguely, that they used to inhabit some other world before they came to this one, and that world was destroyed, and the Gnomes had something to do with it which is why they're not counted among the various Folks anymore. Some fairies say the Redcaps are a holdover from that world, a weapon that was unleashed and stalks its prey still, following a mandate that no longer has a source or a purpose. But maybe that's just a story. Redcaps don't talk, but they do laugh---a noise nobody who survives an attack will ever forget.
Redcaps would be about the size of gnomes if they stood straight, but they're bent like old men, which they resemble. They have twisted little legs and long apelike arms knotty with muscle. Their trepezial muscles are jacked and they have thick, trunklike necks that jut their wan, sunken faces forward. They have long white beards, always silky smooth, and long white hair, also straight, flowing back from under the long red wool stocking caps they wear. Other than the bright cap they usually wear dull brown rags, clothes long worn from centuries(?) of skulking and wandering, sometimes concealing cloaks. Redcaps' eyes are huge, like an owl's, with little dead black pupils in a sea of white. Under a beaklike nose their mouths break open to display long, yellow angler-teeth which seem to project forward a little whenever their lips pull back. They carry long scythes (man-sized) which they seem to be able to pull from nowhere at all, and wield with speed and ferocity.
Some say the reason Redcaps don't talk is their face isn't their real face---the real face is on the top of their skull, under their cap. But survivors of Redcap attacks say that's just a stupid fable, because they've seen Redcaps doff their caps to dip in the blood of their victims, and beneath was just a bald crown. Redcaps pause to dip their caps in the blood of a fresh kill, always, which is why their caps are always bright red, and how some manage to escape them.
Redcaps hide in all kinds of places you'd never expect, but places any child would suspect too. Under stairs, beds, in cabinets, in wells, under piles of hay, under a sick calf, in mother's chaplet. They wander with seemingly no preference between wilderness, countryside and towns. They are not only shaped like apes but just as strong and can leap high enough to catch the eaves of most roofs. Sometimes they won't use their scythes but bite with those oversized teeth which are iron-strong, and lap up gushing blood from their dying victim.
Redcaps don't exactly work together, but it's surprising how often two or three might independently choose the same place for a murder. If two Redcaps encounter each other by chance, they silently doff their caps, and continue on with their grim work. Once everyone in the immediate vicinity is dead, they retreat back into the shadows. Of course there are plenty of murderers among Men so Redcaps are rarely suspected, but among Fairies, a discovered murder almost always means Redcaps.
It is possible for a Wizard to lure out a Redcap with tobbaco and bloody beef (and, a recent discovery, chocolate), then if they are powerful enough to overawe the creature, take it as a familiar. Redcaps make excellent (and perhaps more importantly, intimidating) bodyguards in some wizards' opinion. It's said that with some work a wizard can make his Redcap familiar talk, although what they might have to say is known only to those wizards.
Boggarts (AL: CE)
Boggarts look like Leprechauns aged about 40 years---in other words they look like twisted, misshappen little old men rather than boistrous brutes or ugly coxcombes. They dress well but usually in dour and concealing cloaks or mantles with broad caps. They wander roads quite openly and fearlessly in broad daylight, and but also up mountain or forest paths as if on some world-spanning errand only they know. Wherever a Boggart encounters someone, it's likely to lead to trouble, as Boggarts are both wicked and quite sensitive, which is a terrible combination.
Boggarts are sensitive about everything---their age and ugliness, their height, their clothes, the weather--it's extraordinarily easy to offend one. That's when the Boggart whips off his hat and cloak, face reddening and growls "now ye've done it!" Stripped to shirtsleeves the Boggart grows and grows--not a smooth, ghostly resizing like the Enlarge Person spell but a Jeckyll-esque ripping and popping of muscles, stretching and tearing shirt and britches, until they are a grotesque muscled form the size of a Bugbear.
Usually in this scenario, the Boggart will take his sweet time displaying his jacked form, flexing and posturing, and belting out things like, "how d'ye like me now!?" "bet ye feel a dem fool fer accostin' a gentlemen about his way!" "Ye jest had t'push me, didn't ye? Y'jest keep pushin' and pushin' jest like all t'udders! Well not this time!" and other aggrieved nonsense. Every Boggart thinks he is the most put-upon person in the world and that their lashing out is well deserved by whoever gets it. You could say their endless wandering is one long, fuming walk, ostensibly to calm themselves down but really rehearsing an eternity of grievances.
The thing is that Boggarts won't stop short of murdering their victims. Beating them senseless and throwing them off a cliff or ripping out their hearts are all good ends to an encounter. Boggarts will make a faint show of respecting the Fairy Courts if they have to, but any crime they can get away with will be indulged in. Occassionally a Boggart comes to visit some luckless family. If they know what he is they can prolong their lives a little by inviting him in and showing overweaning deference, putting him at the head of their table, etc. but eventually he will find some excuse to punch them all to death, and then he'll go through their wardrobe and take what he likes.
Some Boggarts are further gone even than that. They dispense with the language and the perfunctory justification. They just kill, and usually they stay in their monstrous form all the time. The term "bugbear" originally described these creatures, who would haunt neighborhoods, slipping into wealthy homes and eating the children in their beds. It was much more satisfying to let the parents live and discover their son or daughter as a pile of regurgitated bones the next morning. Modern Boggarts act like these were some bad apples who went too far, and that as civilized members of Fairykind they repudiate such violence, which to be fair was only directed at Men anyway, but nobody buys that.
Amazingly, some Fairy Courts actually tolerate Boggarts, although certainly nobody likes them. This is because where they are accepted, Boggarts virtually always direct their violence outwards from the community, namely at Men. Boggarts loath Men to their core, because Men just look like a big stupid version of Fairies with big stupid faces and put on airs like they own everything like, what are they thinking, they just put some sticks together and now they own all this pasture? According to who? Where do they get the nerve? And they make all this milk and jerky and silk hats and other fine things but just pass it around among themselves even though they're all Johnny-Come-Latelys? Seriously the only question is why somebody hasn't blown their houses all over and cracked open their heads yet. Occasionally you get a Boggart who hangs around the Court so long he even puts on airs like he's some kind of courtier, and tries to talk like Richard Attenborough, but this cracks the second something annoys them, and then they have to go back to the Land of Men to blow off steam.
The worst though is when Boggarts come 'round to Leprechaun neighborhoods. Because Boggarts have a way of taking over Leprechaun gangs---it involves repeated beatings and cowing displays, and a lot of goading the Leprechauns to do worse and worse "pranks." Like sure, open that guy's barn doors and let the cows out, but if you know what would be really funny is if that snot-nosed little brat boy of his was sitting in front of the doors when it happened. Because what's he going to do, spank the cow??
All too often the Leprechauns start buying into the Boggart's way of seeing things (Boggarts are all old, right, so they must know something), and then a campaign of terror can really start. With 4-8 Leprechauns backing him a Boggart might make a bid for becoming the Fairy Lord of a Forest, smashing all the poor Pixies' houses and evicting Brownies from their burrows unless they start talking tribute. It gets really bad if there's a human community nearby---the only reason Boggarts will leave a human community standing if they manage to seize power is that it's funny to keep stringing them along with hope that no, next year I won't kill anyone if your tribute's just a little bigger, really!
Fairies and Religion
Cold iron will kill the shit out of any Fey right quickly, but even ordinary old iron makes Fairies uncomfortable to say the least. Nasty rashes, quaking and sweats, they react to the stuff as if it were radioactive. But Fairies have another weakness, namely icons of the Saints.
It doesn't matter if the Fairy is good of heart or black as coal. They can scarcely look at let alone go near representations of the Saints and the Godhead. They can handle effigies of the Old Gods a little better, but still aren't fans.
A Fairy who looks directly at an icon or image of a Saint is shaken for 10 rounds. A Fairy luckless enough to touch one, or a book of holy scripture, is burned for 1d4 damage and sickened for 10 rounds, and must make a DC 15 Will save or flee to a safe distance from the religious object.
This is mostly a problem for Brownies who want to be helpful, "good tenants" to their unwitting human hosts, but have problems looking up at the icon on the wall. Mostly they just train themselves to keep their eyes down and not look at it, although a Brownie with spellcasting class levels might, I don't know, combine Invisibility and Remote Hand (I forget the actual spell name) and disapparate the icon for as long as they need to work.
As long as a Fairy is unaware that they are close to a religious image, they're fine. However this doesn't apply to iron, which they can sense with a twinge in their guts.
Likewise, Fairies cannot approach consecrated ground. The lost saints' tombs and shrines of the Eastwylde are still, after 500 years, anathema to them, treated as warily as the remaining sinks of Wild Magic. They would certainly never think of going near a Temple or Shrine that was being actively used.
So what's the deal with them and the Saints? It seems like whatever empowers the destiny of man has a real hate-on for the Fairy Folk. Like they don't belong in his plan. Wherever Man settles, he builds shrines, entombing the bodies of holy men inside and consecrating the stones in their name, raising up high towers to please the eye of god. This is ground forever lost to the Fairies. Whatever is given in His name they can never take back. There is no countermeasure to this. Even if they go on the warpath and slay Men left and right, Fairies can't "win" territory back from God. They can only lose. This makes even the kindliest fairies not fans of Man as a whole, though individual people they can like well enough (especially the irreligious). Good Fairies understand that "your God is a shithead" is kind of a rude thing to say and just try to avoid the subject of religion with Men as best they can. In fact, those enslaved/raised by Pixies at a young age rarely ever feel quite comfortable in a house of the saints ever again. They usually settle on some gently compromising position like, "the beauty of nature is the greatest Temple of all and it surrounds us already. Why worship in some house when we're so much closer to Him out here?"
So, that's Fairies. Good, bad, mostly just annoying. Common wisdom is that you're better off never meeting them at all, but stay polite if you do. Don't eat their food, give them what they ask for, stay out of the woods, and pray to the Saints; keep an icon on your wall and a pair of shears under your pillow and you should be alright. Although Fairy-folk don't seem to have an infinite lifespan (Pixies live only a little longer than humans, Brownies certainly age and die, the other three breeds are more mysterious in their ways), they scarcely seem to notice the passing of years nor understand how time can matter so much to humans. Their lives are hazy as the submerged world from which they came; they would rather feast and play and fight and fuck than keep to a calendar. Cosmogenic questions of good and evil they seem to miss entirely---stuck in a past that is now only a dream which settles over the wild and deep places sometimes, ever retreating, soon to be gone forever.
Pixies, Leprechauns and Brownies are the three common types. Boggarts and Redcaps are the less-talked about, much less funny cousins to these three varieties of Fey.
Pixies (AL: CN)
Pixies are the most numerous---the Eastwylde has a population in the hundreds, at least. They have what comes closest to a real society, with leaders, shepherds, weavers and other specialized roles. Essentially, Pixie society is stratified into the commoners and the Gentry. The main difference is that Pixie commoners live in large tumulous mounds like ant hives (almost all of which are obscured by forest), while Gentry live in houses painstakingly modeled after the latest human architectural fashions, built into the trunk of a living tree with its rooftops among the branches. Likewise, commoners dress in simple wool and linen garb, while Gentry use magic or any other means to dress in miniature approximation of the latest human fashions.
No pixies have appeared in the game so far, but you can bet every time the party's ventured into the forest they've been watched carefully.
Pixie commoners are organized into clans, with each clan living in one mound. It may seem odd for winged creatures to spend so much time underground but they don't seem to mind. They festoon their burrows with tiny oilskin lanterns and hang enough holly and pine to sweeten the subterranean air. Pixies may be only 18" high--the size of a doll, perhaps---but they need to eat, and they keep chickens just like everybody else. Perfectly normal chickens, who have to be led out from underground each day and then watched carefully as they amble about their pens. This is the job of the youngest and lowest ranking Pixies, but they take the job seriously----if you see what appears to be a lost chicken wandering in the woods, leave it alone. Additionally, the pixies have bred a species of dwarf sheep from which they get their fleece and wool. Humans frequently mistake these sheep for lost lambs wandering in the woods and become sheep-stealers without realizing it.
One of the most important things about Pixies is that they cast their spells primarily through archery, which is both a means of communication and an obsessive past-time to them. Pixies imbue their will into the arrows they launch. These tiny arrows---more like long needles, really---cast whatever spell they want on the struck target. Obviously, it's no good to cast, say, confusion, on a dead man so Pixies are really good at shooting people in usually nonfatal body parts. In fact, skilled pixies can plug a hapless commoner two dozen times before he is even in danger of bleeding out. One of their most important spells is Charm Monster, which allows them to befriend any beast or man they strike with their darts. Thus pixies hunt, not necessarily for food, but often for new friends and pets. Their burrows are typically guarded by charmed badgers, who probably have magic fang and a few other basic enchantments ready to go.
Pixies are vaguely brythonic in origin and if you crack open any ancient history book about Britain you should find a bunch of ready-to-use names. Caradog, Cunobelin, Admindios, Gwydyros, sure (One of the few problems is a lack of female names in the sources but, like, just stick -etica at the end and you're probably safe. Like Caradetica, Gwydyretica). Gaulish and modern Welsh and Breton names should be close enough for government work.
Common pixies decorate themselves and make fastening toggles with fangs and bits of horn and bone and wear cloaks and hats of fleece in Winter, of woven leaves in Spring and Summer. They paint spirals and celtic knots in blue woad on everything, including their faces in wartime. Since metal is abhorrent to them they officially rebuke it and only use bone and flint for arrowheads, but the truth is every pixie has a pouch of a few nails or other iron bits which they might make into particularly dangerous arrows for a particularly hated rival. Pixie clans go to war with each other all the time, but real fights only happen between two individuals who really hate each other.
Pixies not only enslave animals to be their guards and cattle, they enslave men to be their, uh, slaves. Actually, common pixies do this way more than Gentry, because more than anything they abhor the drudgery of labor, while Gentry families pride themselves on not being so lazy. It is rare for them to enslave anyone long-term: when slaves are taken it is because they were a target of convenience (usually lost in the woods), or one of the youngest/lowest-ranking Pixies has some particularly odious task such as a long journey and wants to fob it off. In such cases they may just find any old human, shoot him in the ass with a charm arrow, and say something like, "dear friend, would you do me the great kindness of taking this important letter to such-and-such down the road?" The poor human might find himself bewitched by the addressee of the missive as soon as he finally arrives, sent back with a simple message such as "we do not appreciate solicitors!" This kind of incidental/accidental happening is how Pixie slavery works and slaves usually are forgotten/reprieved/escape after a few chores.
Of course, younger Pixies usually can't cast charm spells that last long. What often happens is the spell wears off when the human is halfway through his errand, and he is often left in a state of confusion as to why he was doing what he was just doing. Human peasants, of course, conflate this with perfectly ordinary forgetfulness--like when you come into a room to get something and immediately forget what it was, if you're some salt of the earth type you'll often go "confounded pixies!"
Sometimes humans get enslaved longer term. Usually it's attractive and unmarried young women, just one more reason for farmers to lock up their daughters at night. If a human is "taken on as help" by Pixies for a longer term, they are often shrank down to be of better use. A fully-grown human in a Pixie burrow usually isn't much good except as a doorjamb. Gentry almost always shrink their humans down to Pixie size (this requires a higher-level version of Reduce Person), but some cheaper ones might leave them at Halfling-size, which is still awkwardly big for a burrow or treehouse.
Slaves of the gentry are always house-servants, working in the kitchens inside the brick foot of the house (being built into treetrunks, these houses are always quite vertically, usually 12 feet tall with 3-4 stories). Obviously working in a kitchen in a tree is a precarious job which is why the little ovens and stoves are carefully built into brickwork. This makes the kitchens of a Pixie Gentleman hellish hot. Human nurses frequently tell tales of naughty children taken by the Pixies and put into the kitchen, forced to bake "the squire's" bread in heat and smoke like hell until they pass out and fall into the oven which, of course, was what the vile Pixie wanted all along ("now along with the bread comes the roast!" is the punchline to these stories). In real life any Pixie Gentleman who did this would be a sociopathic monster among his own kind---but who knows what the Gentry do in their big ornate houses?
However, the truth of enslaved ("adopted") human children is nothing like these nursery tales. It does happen that sometimes a Pixie---common or genteel--gets the idea to kidnap a human child and raise them as a full-time servant. The kid is usually treated with much condescension, since humans can't fly and are ridiculously clumsy; men are just sort of inherently comical to Pixies. Most Pixies can't really stomach cruelty to a child any more than you or I can, and such servants are treated reasonably and often released when they get old enough to start really missing other humans. There are quite a few ordinary people in the border country who spent one or two years as a servant of the Pixies, with experiences ranging from the harrowing to the pleasant.
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| The only picture specifically of a pixie I've ever liked |
Almost always, Pixie Gentry cultivate a beehive on one of the branches of their tree. They obtain massive amounts of honey and put it on everything: baking it into cakes, brewing mead, spreading it on toast, etc. This honey is the absolute property of the Gentry, and often used as a means to cajole the commoners into doing something for a Gentleman (which task they may well then kick down to a hapless human). Genteel Pixies get along fabulously with bees, because they frequently wear clothes with beestripes (they cover a lot of their shit in stylized stripes just like commoners do with spirals) which means they practically look like bees themselves. They often walk around with a bevy of bees crawling all over them, the fuzzy little dears being the size of a tiny toy dog in comparison perhaps. The noise of this is incredible and a little frightening to shrunk-down servants.
Of course, Pixie Gents utilize archery just as much as their common kin, and are usually better at it (notwithstanding they always have much fancier, more powerful composite bows). They also carry special swords, never of metal but typically a length of thornbush or nettle, carefully stiffened and sharpened, with its prickles bristling off the "blade." When two Pixie Gents are going to duel, as a mark of station and bravery, they prefer to swing these "stings" at one another while spinning around in a flashy midair melee. They sting like hell without inflicting serious injury, which makes them excellent dueling weapons and prods for recalcitrant slaves.
You might assume the Gentry are the leaders of Pixie society, but really the Gentry and Commons are like two wholly different societies. Gentry families are usually just 4-6 individuals plus servants and get their social lives from parties thrown at so-and-so's house, or special balls held in such-and-such glade. Commoner clans have their own internal leadership structure, always led by a patriarchal elder, who deals with the Gentry on behalf of his people more in the way of negotiation than deference.
In theory, if the Pixies were to ever go to war, all the clans would get together under the leadership of their hereditary squires, who would assemble before the King of the Forest in their leaf armor, perhaps riding specially bred war-pigeons. Nobody could even imagine this happening in modern times, especially in the Eastwylde where there hasn't been a King of the Forest in 500 years.
Brownies (AL: CG)
None of the other Fairy Folk like the Brownies. They're such brown nosers. Always cozying up to Men. Living in barn lofts, cellars and cabinets. Mending shoes, pans, doorhandles, and always respectfully retreating with the dawn, not looking for so much as a thank-you---just a bowl of milk and crushed chestnuts for me, thank-you ma'm--don't they know that Fairies are supposed to be feared and respected by mortalkind? Where do they get off toadying like that, letting the whole side down??
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| Smug little bastard |
Right, so nobody likes Brownies. Brownies don't live in the forest, because the tougher and meaner Fairies would make game of them, but they don't all necessarily squat in human houses either. Most live on the border of the forest, usually in a little one-room burrow beneath an old stump or mossy stone. Brownies are vaguely related to Gnomes, who are inclined to the earth element, so they're very comfortable in a subterranean hollow that would be claustrophobic to anyone else. If the burrow is home to multiple generations it might be expanded to something like a little cabin, with a rabbit chamber and a reading nook. Brownies are, as a rule, the most unassuming, mild-mannered cornpone little motherfuckers on earth. Other Fairies find them absolutely gratingly pleasant, like they have no pride at all.
Brownies like doing things for people, and they're also very good at it. They're not creatively inclined, but they can fix just about anything, of whatever material. In fact, a brownie just has to hold an object in his hands and study it for a while, and they'll sort of absorb the essence of it and have an epiphany as to how, if at all possible, they might fix a thing. For example, a Brownie who had never tinkered in his life might hold an iron pan for a minute and then take up a hammer and beat the dents out of it as though he'd been apprenticed to the task all his life. Likewise with stitchery, cobbling, gardening, whatever. They can't make new things (or they only can with great difficulty) but they can repair almost anything.
You would think they would just come out in the open and be welcomed by human society. But Brownies are smart enough to understand that, inevitably, humans would try to take advantage of their good intentions. It's better to just keep the relationship simple and indirect. That way the Brownies have a use and the humans get their stuff fixed---everybody's happy, nobody's hurt. Brownies are only a little shorter than Halflings and could be mistaken for them quite easily though, so who knows how many adventurous young brownies walk out in the open in Halfling or mixed towns?
Brownie society, such as it is, is laid back and pleasant. They either live solitary lives or with
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| BASTARD I SAY |
The other thing about Brownies is they all carry swords and, at the end of the day they're ready to throw down. Like, Pixies stick to bows and Leprechauns to clubs, because while they're more ready to use violence, using metal is a level of hardcore they don't like to go to. If a Brownie needs to settle some shit though he's going to be pretty dead serious about it. They have no ego but they do have a strong sense of decency, and aren't the toughest Fairies but will always do the right thing. Another genre of Fairy Tales is the one about the brave little brownie who stepped in to save a maiden from an Ogre. Usually the Brownie ends up a smear on the Ogre's fist, which is a lesson to teach kids that you can't succeed just through good intentions or something.
I have no idea what Brownies would call themselves. Probably gentle nature names like Willow, Ashwhite, uh.... Heath? Whatever. Let's be honest these dudes are a little boring, and they'll probably just adopt halfling/human names.
Leprechauns (AL: CN)
Leprechauns could almost be Brownies---they're the same size. But while Brownies are proportionate and can be attractive like halflings, Leprechauns are misshappen, with enormous heads, stooped shoulders and twisted legs (that in no way impinges their strength or speed). Really, each Leprechaun's proportions and features are quite unique, which is to say that each Leprechaun is ugly in his own unique way. If there are lady leprechauns no one's ever seen one. Maybe Leprechauns are just an adolescent phase Brownie Boys go through.
The best way to describe Leprechauns is that they are punk-asses. They are jackasses, and they are punks. They're greedy, territorial and clannish, but also they love doing stupid reckless shit to impress their friends. Pin the tail on the Hill Giant, steal a water-wheel and try to keep it spinning downstream, tie your friend to a treebranch while he's sleeping and smear his face with honey, etc. Fortunately for Leprechauns they are shockingly tough, or at least resilient to blunt force trauma.
Not every Leprechaun guards a pot of gold. That's a story they spread around to troll humans. Actually Leprechauns themselves aren't sure if any of them has a pot of gold, but they're always sort of suspicious that one of them might, if they could just find the bastard and shake it out of him.
Leprechauns always dress well, or at least flashy. They copy human fashions although they are often centuries out of date or appropriated from weird and obscure cultures, or often a bizarre mix and match in garish colors. They actually do not like green or colors that blend in with the natural environment, they want to stand out. Hideous as they are, they go to great lengths to cultivate unique styles of facial hair (and occasionally their copious body hair). They form associations, or gangs, based on neighborhoods which are hidden to humans but are clearly marked all over the forests, usually with a Fairy Circle (of mushrooms, stones etc.) demarcating a Leprechaun's yard.
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| That sick cloak/jacket on the right is I imagine the height of Leprechaun fashion |
I haven't even talked about Fairy Circles yet so I guess I will here---Fairy Circles are reputedly gateways to other worlds and sometimes they are, but more frequently they're just the Fairy version of boundary stones, like a fence around your yard. Like a Pixie gentleman will have a ring of mushrooms around the giant gnarled oak he lives in, or a ring of mushrooms will crown the top of a Pixie tumulus, or there will be a semicircle of mushrooms spread around the stump a Brownie lives in. Fairy Circles basically just mean "I live here (get lost)." Leprechaun gangs usually consist of 4-6 individuals whose Fairy Circles happen to be fairly close. Like boys from the same neighborhood they fight constantly but always close ranks against outsiders (anybody from outside their tiny district of the woods).
Individually leprechauns are just surly little men, but in gangs they can be terrors. They love to get blitzed on berry wine and white lightning and "roam around the woods looking for fights." (A fight usually consists of finding the nearest Brownie and shoving/ridiculing him until he cries). The common story is that Men (or other mortals) who blunder into a Leprechaun "neighborhood" will be expected to present a "gift" to "the lords" because that's only manners. Indeed Leprechauns shake people down for their valuables constantly; they'll take money but soon forget about it and leave it somewhere. But fine clothes or magic items are what they really prize. They are always looking to extravagate their wardrobe and they can read magic easily. As mentioned, intimidation is a favorite tactic if they're in a gang, but individually or together Leprechauns love to trick and confound Men and take great pride in doing this. They are capable of powerful illusionary magic and will go to elaborate lengths to confuse a Man so bad he doesn't know what's up from his right. Convincing a guy he's drowning and then going "quick, throw me your [coin pouch/nice hat/magic sword] and I'll throw you a rope!" is a favorite (the punchline is tossing a coiled rope into the guy's face once you let the illusion fade). Just imagine a million mean jokes of that nature.
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| Imagine these guys 3' tall with big heads, that's a roaming Leprechaun Gang |
Leprechauns as a rule carry sticks, but sometimes one makes a "punch" from carved knucklebones complete with nasty enchantments like woozify or slurrinate (confuse and slow; Leprechauns have their own better names for spells). One thing everybody knows is that Leprechauns are jerks but they will never actually kill anybody (this is actually more of a risk with Pixies who might kill you accidentally; Leprechauns have a much better idea of what they're doing when they handle mortals). If you're too wise to their routines they may just beat the shit out of you and leave your bruised hide back at the edge of the forest, though.
Leprechauns aren't all bad. They will stick up for their mates. They won't inflict more cruelty on a humiliated victim. They may be spontaneously kind, to children, forest hermits, the lost or wretched.
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| Ladies, all this could be yours |
Leprechaun names are long and complicated and prone to change with their mood. They are usually comprised of medieval Irish conventions (so Brendan Og Cailean rather than Brendan O'Colin) plus word salad. Really just invent something that sounds goofy. Here are the Leprechaun names I've used so far: Tyrnaut Fitz Tyrnaut; Clontarf Mac Cock-Whistle; Peevish Thurible; Boykin Creakly; and Kelly Kelly Kelly.
Yes, when I play Leprechauns at a table I put on the worst 30's Hollywood-style brogue that I can. It's not offensive, Leprechauns are supposed to be horrible!
Redcaps (AL: NE)
If Leprechauns are the rudeboys of the Fairy World, Redcaps are the lone nuts. Seriously, murder is their whole thing. There is no Redcap culture. Even other Fairies don't know how many there are, if they reproduce or if there's just a certain number of insane immortal killers wandering the world. Nobody knows why Redcaps kill. They target Beast, Man and Fairy alike, leave no explanations and usually no survivors.
The story goes that they are a Vengeance from the Lost World (A Hate From Old Times, if you will). Fairies know, vaguely, that they used to inhabit some other world before they came to this one, and that world was destroyed, and the Gnomes had something to do with it which is why they're not counted among the various Folks anymore. Some fairies say the Redcaps are a holdover from that world, a weapon that was unleashed and stalks its prey still, following a mandate that no longer has a source or a purpose. But maybe that's just a story. Redcaps don't talk, but they do laugh---a noise nobody who survives an attack will ever forget.
Redcaps would be about the size of gnomes if they stood straight, but they're bent like old men, which they resemble. They have twisted little legs and long apelike arms knotty with muscle. Their trepezial muscles are jacked and they have thick, trunklike necks that jut their wan, sunken faces forward. They have long white beards, always silky smooth, and long white hair, also straight, flowing back from under the long red wool stocking caps they wear. Other than the bright cap they usually wear dull brown rags, clothes long worn from centuries(?) of skulking and wandering, sometimes concealing cloaks. Redcaps' eyes are huge, like an owl's, with little dead black pupils in a sea of white. Under a beaklike nose their mouths break open to display long, yellow angler-teeth which seem to project forward a little whenever their lips pull back. They carry long scythes (man-sized) which they seem to be able to pull from nowhere at all, and wield with speed and ferocity.
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| You'll never improve on the MMII picture |
Some say the reason Redcaps don't talk is their face isn't their real face---the real face is on the top of their skull, under their cap. But survivors of Redcap attacks say that's just a stupid fable, because they've seen Redcaps doff their caps to dip in the blood of their victims, and beneath was just a bald crown. Redcaps pause to dip their caps in the blood of a fresh kill, always, which is why their caps are always bright red, and how some manage to escape them.
Redcaps hide in all kinds of places you'd never expect, but places any child would suspect too. Under stairs, beds, in cabinets, in wells, under piles of hay, under a sick calf, in mother's chaplet. They wander with seemingly no preference between wilderness, countryside and towns. They are not only shaped like apes but just as strong and can leap high enough to catch the eaves of most roofs. Sometimes they won't use their scythes but bite with those oversized teeth which are iron-strong, and lap up gushing blood from their dying victim.
Redcaps don't exactly work together, but it's surprising how often two or three might independently choose the same place for a murder. If two Redcaps encounter each other by chance, they silently doff their caps, and continue on with their grim work. Once everyone in the immediate vicinity is dead, they retreat back into the shadows. Of course there are plenty of murderers among Men so Redcaps are rarely suspected, but among Fairies, a discovered murder almost always means Redcaps.
It is possible for a Wizard to lure out a Redcap with tobbaco and bloody beef (and, a recent discovery, chocolate), then if they are powerful enough to overawe the creature, take it as a familiar. Redcaps make excellent (and perhaps more importantly, intimidating) bodyguards in some wizards' opinion. It's said that with some work a wizard can make his Redcap familiar talk, although what they might have to say is known only to those wizards.
Boggarts (AL: CE)
Boggarts look like Leprechauns aged about 40 years---in other words they look like twisted, misshappen little old men rather than boistrous brutes or ugly coxcombes. They dress well but usually in dour and concealing cloaks or mantles with broad caps. They wander roads quite openly and fearlessly in broad daylight, and but also up mountain or forest paths as if on some world-spanning errand only they know. Wherever a Boggart encounters someone, it's likely to lead to trouble, as Boggarts are both wicked and quite sensitive, which is a terrible combination.
Boggarts are sensitive about everything---their age and ugliness, their height, their clothes, the weather--it's extraordinarily easy to offend one. That's when the Boggart whips off his hat and cloak, face reddening and growls "now ye've done it!" Stripped to shirtsleeves the Boggart grows and grows--not a smooth, ghostly resizing like the Enlarge Person spell but a Jeckyll-esque ripping and popping of muscles, stretching and tearing shirt and britches, until they are a grotesque muscled form the size of a Bugbear.
Usually in this scenario, the Boggart will take his sweet time displaying his jacked form, flexing and posturing, and belting out things like, "how d'ye like me now!?" "bet ye feel a dem fool fer accostin' a gentlemen about his way!" "Ye jest had t'push me, didn't ye? Y'jest keep pushin' and pushin' jest like all t'udders! Well not this time!" and other aggrieved nonsense. Every Boggart thinks he is the most put-upon person in the world and that their lashing out is well deserved by whoever gets it. You could say their endless wandering is one long, fuming walk, ostensibly to calm themselves down but really rehearsing an eternity of grievances.
The thing is that Boggarts won't stop short of murdering their victims. Beating them senseless and throwing them off a cliff or ripping out their hearts are all good ends to an encounter. Boggarts will make a faint show of respecting the Fairy Courts if they have to, but any crime they can get away with will be indulged in. Occassionally a Boggart comes to visit some luckless family. If they know what he is they can prolong their lives a little by inviting him in and showing overweaning deference, putting him at the head of their table, etc. but eventually he will find some excuse to punch them all to death, and then he'll go through their wardrobe and take what he likes.
Some Boggarts are further gone even than that. They dispense with the language and the perfunctory justification. They just kill, and usually they stay in their monstrous form all the time. The term "bugbear" originally described these creatures, who would haunt neighborhoods, slipping into wealthy homes and eating the children in their beds. It was much more satisfying to let the parents live and discover their son or daughter as a pile of regurgitated bones the next morning. Modern Boggarts act like these were some bad apples who went too far, and that as civilized members of Fairykind they repudiate such violence, which to be fair was only directed at Men anyway, but nobody buys that.
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| A boggarts' monstrous form closely resembles a bugbear and was the original meaning of the name. |
Amazingly, some Fairy Courts actually tolerate Boggarts, although certainly nobody likes them. This is because where they are accepted, Boggarts virtually always direct their violence outwards from the community, namely at Men. Boggarts loath Men to their core, because Men just look like a big stupid version of Fairies with big stupid faces and put on airs like they own everything like, what are they thinking, they just put some sticks together and now they own all this pasture? According to who? Where do they get the nerve? And they make all this milk and jerky and silk hats and other fine things but just pass it around among themselves even though they're all Johnny-Come-Latelys? Seriously the only question is why somebody hasn't blown their houses all over and cracked open their heads yet. Occasionally you get a Boggart who hangs around the Court so long he even puts on airs like he's some kind of courtier, and tries to talk like Richard Attenborough, but this cracks the second something annoys them, and then they have to go back to the Land of Men to blow off steam.
The worst though is when Boggarts come 'round to Leprechaun neighborhoods. Because Boggarts have a way of taking over Leprechaun gangs---it involves repeated beatings and cowing displays, and a lot of goading the Leprechauns to do worse and worse "pranks." Like sure, open that guy's barn doors and let the cows out, but if you know what would be really funny is if that snot-nosed little brat boy of his was sitting in front of the doors when it happened. Because what's he going to do, spank the cow??
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| Apparently in proper D&D Boggarts are... giant frogs? That's weird. |
All too often the Leprechauns start buying into the Boggart's way of seeing things (Boggarts are all old, right, so they must know something), and then a campaign of terror can really start. With 4-8 Leprechauns backing him a Boggart might make a bid for becoming the Fairy Lord of a Forest, smashing all the poor Pixies' houses and evicting Brownies from their burrows unless they start talking tribute. It gets really bad if there's a human community nearby---the only reason Boggarts will leave a human community standing if they manage to seize power is that it's funny to keep stringing them along with hope that no, next year I won't kill anyone if your tribute's just a little bigger, really!
Fairies and Religion
Cold iron will kill the shit out of any Fey right quickly, but even ordinary old iron makes Fairies uncomfortable to say the least. Nasty rashes, quaking and sweats, they react to the stuff as if it were radioactive. But Fairies have another weakness, namely icons of the Saints.
It doesn't matter if the Fairy is good of heart or black as coal. They can scarcely look at let alone go near representations of the Saints and the Godhead. They can handle effigies of the Old Gods a little better, but still aren't fans.
A Fairy who looks directly at an icon or image of a Saint is shaken for 10 rounds. A Fairy luckless enough to touch one, or a book of holy scripture, is burned for 1d4 damage and sickened for 10 rounds, and must make a DC 15 Will save or flee to a safe distance from the religious object.
This is mostly a problem for Brownies who want to be helpful, "good tenants" to their unwitting human hosts, but have problems looking up at the icon on the wall. Mostly they just train themselves to keep their eyes down and not look at it, although a Brownie with spellcasting class levels might, I don't know, combine Invisibility and Remote Hand (I forget the actual spell name) and disapparate the icon for as long as they need to work.
As long as a Fairy is unaware that they are close to a religious image, they're fine. However this doesn't apply to iron, which they can sense with a twinge in their guts.
Likewise, Fairies cannot approach consecrated ground. The lost saints' tombs and shrines of the Eastwylde are still, after 500 years, anathema to them, treated as warily as the remaining sinks of Wild Magic. They would certainly never think of going near a Temple or Shrine that was being actively used.
So what's the deal with them and the Saints? It seems like whatever empowers the destiny of man has a real hate-on for the Fairy Folk. Like they don't belong in his plan. Wherever Man settles, he builds shrines, entombing the bodies of holy men inside and consecrating the stones in their name, raising up high towers to please the eye of god. This is ground forever lost to the Fairies. Whatever is given in His name they can never take back. There is no countermeasure to this. Even if they go on the warpath and slay Men left and right, Fairies can't "win" territory back from God. They can only lose. This makes even the kindliest fairies not fans of Man as a whole, though individual people they can like well enough (especially the irreligious). Good Fairies understand that "your God is a shithead" is kind of a rude thing to say and just try to avoid the subject of religion with Men as best they can. In fact, those enslaved/raised by Pixies at a young age rarely ever feel quite comfortable in a house of the saints ever again. They usually settle on some gently compromising position like, "the beauty of nature is the greatest Temple of all and it surrounds us already. Why worship in some house when we're so much closer to Him out here?"
So, that's Fairies. Good, bad, mostly just annoying. Common wisdom is that you're better off never meeting them at all, but stay polite if you do. Don't eat their food, give them what they ask for, stay out of the woods, and pray to the Saints; keep an icon on your wall and a pair of shears under your pillow and you should be alright. Although Fairy-folk don't seem to have an infinite lifespan (Pixies live only a little longer than humans, Brownies certainly age and die, the other three breeds are more mysterious in their ways), they scarcely seem to notice the passing of years nor understand how time can matter so much to humans. Their lives are hazy as the submerged world from which they came; they would rather feast and play and fight and fuck than keep to a calendar. Cosmogenic questions of good and evil they seem to miss entirely---stuck in a past that is now only a dream which settles over the wild and deep places sometimes, ever retreating, soon to be gone forever.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
PROVISIONAL HOUSERULES FOR MY CAMPAIGN
NEW HOUSERULES SHEET - Eastwylde 2/8/2017
1. LEVELING
Leveling up requires at least one week of rest and training even if you have enough XP to level. It is possible to level up multiple times over one of these rest periods if you have done enough/earned enough XP.
------What Counts as Resting?
No fighting, no hard travel, no sticking your nose into dangerous places (e.g anything we'd consider "adventuring.") Bar brawls and love-related imbroglios don't violate a rest period. Shopping, exploring a town/city, doing non-dangerous work (such as crafting an object or making a profession check) are all allowed.
2. INJURIES & HEALING
It is possible to sustain an injury via a critical hit or a called shot which exceeds a certain damage threshold. These can include broken limbs, punctured lungs, maiming or disfigurement, etc. The conditions of such injuries (reduced to half speed by an injured leg for example) can only be removed through a period of natural recovery (how much depending on the injury), even if magical healing restores hitpoints back to full. Lost body parts do not come back through rest, obviously.
---How Much Damage?
If a called shot removes at least 1/3 of a character's HP (doing 20 damage to a 60 HP character, for example) it will inflict an injury. Undirected critical hits have a 50% chance of inflicting some injury.
A night's rest heals Your Level + Your Con Mod of HP. Subtract this number from the damage that dealt you your injury to find out how long your injury will take to heal. For example, say you were hit on a called shot: leg by an ogre's club for 20 damage, more than 1/3 of your HP. You are level 3 and have a +2 Con modifier. You will have a bum leg for 15 days (20 - 5) and must avoid worsening the injury in that time.
---That Sounds Harsh, Fam
If you get really fucked up in a fight consider it an opportunity to chill out in town and make connections, win friends and influence people, craft that MW sword you've been wanting, etc. Not all of it has to be roleplayed through. I'm trying to slow the pace of the campaign down a little so not so much happens over so few days.
3. FILTH ACCRUATION
If a player character goes longer than ten days without washing or bathing while engaging in heavy activity (fighting, hiking, etc.) during that period, they gain one of the following conditions (1d4):
1. Flea Infested - You suffer a -2 penalty to concentration and endurance checks, as well as skill checks requiring time or patience (such as craft or disable device). Each night you spend in camp with others they must roll over 20% or acquire fleas from you.
2. Bronchial Congestion - Some bug is taking up residence in the inflamed mucus of your nose/throat/lungs. -2 Con penalty
3. Clothes/Armor Rotting - Fungus or bugs have taken up residence in your armor's padding or in your clothes. 1d4 damage to armor/outfit, will continue taking damage every two days until treated.
4. Untreated sores - your armor has creased your hide so heavily you now take a -2 Dex penalty and can only move as fast as a double move.
For every additional 10 days without hygiene, roll 1d3, then 1d2, then award yourself all four conditions and a special trophy from Papa Nurgle for being the grossest MFer ever.
How Do I Avoid This Embarrassing State?
Buy some soap and clean yourself at least once every 10 days. It's seriously in the basic equipment list. One cake of tallow soap (1 lb.) lasts for 100 uses. Alternatively, visit a public bath. Some inns will have baths as well. A quick clean usually costs 5 sp to 1 gp. Some cultures have alternate methods of cleaning themselves like mud baths or smoke baths.
If I Failed to Avoid This Embarrassing State, How Can I Get it Removed?
In case of rotting armor/clothes, visit an armorer or tailor to have it repaired. In case of the other three conditions, a visit to a doctor (or someone with training in the Heal skill) is in order. Many stores sell itching-powder and lozenges.
Should I use the public fountain in Stormcrown as a bath ever again?
If you want Swordwyte to robo-pulp your skull, sure.
4. INSECTS AND VERMIN
If you travel through dense forest or brush in the Summer, you will quite likely be attacked by insects. Mosquitoes, ticks, gnats, horseflies, noseeums, whatever. Bugbites are usually no more than a trivial annoyance but enough can be debilitating. For every eight hours spent traveling in the forest, roll a Fort save (DC 10). For every additional eight hours spent traveling in the forest, roll the save with the DC increased by one (DC 11 after two days' journey, DC 12 after three, etc.) Spending at least one night's rest out of the woods resets the DC back to 10. If you fail this Fortitude save you are covered in bugbites and become fatigued (-2 Str/Dex) until you spend a day outside of the forest (but performing strenuous activity does not cause you to become exhausted). "Outside the forest" can mean in the upper hills, or under the ground in a dungeon as well.
Vermin means mice, voles, even rats or weasels. If gear--especially food--is left unguarded or unprotected in the forest it is an invitation for these critters to invade. If anything made of leather, paper, untreated cloth or anything else that would be edible is left on the open ground in the forest there is a 20% chance of it taking damage from vermin, or being befouled/spoiled in the case of food and drink.
5. LIGHT AND FEEDING YOURSELF
A pint of lamp oil burns for six hours, and most lamps hold one pint. Torches are soaked in enough oil to burn for one hour. The average candle lasts one hour, but of course candles come in all shapes and sizes.
If you regularly engage in strenuous activity (marching, climbing, fighting, etc.) then you need at least a pound of food and a pint of water a day, although your body would like more. A gallon of other fluids (such as milk or beer) can substitute for water. Less than that and you will slowly begin to suffer the effects of malnutrition: you can only go 1 day + a number of hours equal to your Constitution before you begin suffering dehydration (Fort DC 10 +1 per hour, each hour, taking 1d6 nonlethal every failed save until you collapse and start taking lethal damage). After three days without food starving characters gain the exhausted condition (-6 Str/Dex, can't run). After six days consuming nothing, characters will begin making Fort saves as above; it is possible to prolong the time one must begin making saves up to one month by such extreme measures as boiling and eating grass, wood pulp, shoe leather, etc.
6. MONEY AND MEASUREMENTS
WARNING: SPERGY SHIT AHEAD. SKIP THIS PART IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT HOW MUCH BARLEYCORN YOU CAN CARRY OR DRY SETTING STUFF ABOUT FIAT CURRENCY HORSESHIT.
Remember that for all intents and purposes what we are calling a "pint" is 16 oz, and in terms of dry weight a pint counts as a pound. Two pints equals a quart and four quarts equals a gallon.
Some standard containers (e.g. what you get for the listed price in the PFCRB):
---A common stave/barrel holds 8 gallons, or 64 pints of liquid (a big tun such as used by merchants holds 75 gallons/600 pints).
--A common bottle or tankard holds 16 oz. A common mug/stein holds 8 oz.
--A common copper cookpot weighs 5 lbs and holds approximately 1 gallon/8 pints (would feed four Med. humanoids for two meals).
--A common chest (Med. sized) holds 4 cubic ft or 3 gallons (24 pints).
In the Kingdom of Pellegrine and its adjacent territories, the only currency (stamped coins) allowed to circulate come from royal-backed mints. The gold coins are all stamped with the royal seal and known as Gold Crowns (of the King); silver coins bear an image of a dragon and are called Silver Drakes or if the image of a stag, Silver Stags. Copper coins bear various seals but are usually just called pennies. 10 pennies = 1 Stag/Drake; 10 Stags/Drakes = 1 Crown. All the coins are about the same weight: 50 weigh a pound. Gold Crowns are about half an inch in diameter and 1/24 of an inch thick. If you cut up a gold crown it retains its value, so if you don't have a silver handy you might give a tenth of a gold coin (as weighed out). Note that none of the coins are actually purely what they say they are, so if you melted down a bunch of "silver" stags you'd just have a fused lump of tin and iron with a bit of silver patina.
By Royal Fiat, the value of 20 golden crowns equals the value of one pound of pure silver. A pound of silver is 16 ounces just like everything else, so now you know what the value of an ounce of honest to god silver is. Beware pewter or tin objects that are merely silver-plated, you looters.
Note that the standard value for healthy animal flesh is given by the pound, e.g., judged by the living animal's weight. For example, the value of a healthy pig in his breeding prime is 6 sp per pound, so say you had a 100 lb pig---that's 60 crowns/600 stags, or as valuable as 3 pounds of silver. Note that a canny trader can often find something wrong with an animal such as long teeth or dim eyes in order to give you less than full value. It's never a simple matter of weighing and swapping with animals.
7. OTHER CHANGES (stuff about combat here)
-All ranged/thrown weapons are upgraded one die above their listed damage die. This doesn't include melee/thrown weapons such as spears or daggers.
-Firearms are simple weapons. If you can aim and shoot a crossbow, you can aim and shoot a caliver. Note that proficiency doesn't mean you can reload the thing like a continental soldier, that'd be represented via the Rapid Reload feat.
-Firearms' criticals reduced from x4 to x3. Firearms only jam on a confirmed critical failure.
-Unless a crossbow has a crank/winch you cannot reload it while mounted.
-There is no offhand damage penalty for Two Weapon Fighting. Seriously TWF is suboptimal enough it doesn't need to get shat on more.
-Combat Expertise is restored to its 3.5 glory---this means you can drop your attack and raise your AC as much as your BAB allows up to +/-5.
-Darkvision is lame. Hobgoblins, dwarves and other subterranean denizens instead see in total darkness via infravision (which means they can track in pitch dark based on residual heat-patterns such as footprints). Orcs are night hunters and have Low-Light Vision.
SUGGESTED/NEEDS GROUP APPROVAL
Firearms no longer are Touch attacks. Instead, within their range increment (20 ft for pistols, 40 ft for calivers/muskets) firearms target flat footed AC. This means no dodge bonuses from fighting defensively ("huah! I'll block your bullets with my trusty blade, HUAH!"). Cover still adds to AC and Uncanny Dodge means you can indeed dodge bullets.
Draw A Bead - Full Round Action. Any time you spend a round taking careful aim with any ranged weapon against a target not in cover and are within the weapon's range increment (80 ft for a crossbow, 100 ft for a longbow, etc.) you roll vs the target's Flat Footed AC. You should be combining this with "called shot: head" basically every time.
Called Shot: Head - If you are shot in the head, roll a Fort save DC 10 + damage dealt. If you whiff the save you die instantly. Wearing head protection grants a +4 bonus to this save, but costs you a Hero Point because Heroes Don't Wear Shit On Their Heads.
1. LEVELING
Leveling up requires at least one week of rest and training even if you have enough XP to level. It is possible to level up multiple times over one of these rest periods if you have done enough/earned enough XP.
------What Counts as Resting?
No fighting, no hard travel, no sticking your nose into dangerous places (e.g anything we'd consider "adventuring.") Bar brawls and love-related imbroglios don't violate a rest period. Shopping, exploring a town/city, doing non-dangerous work (such as crafting an object or making a profession check) are all allowed.
2. INJURIES & HEALING
It is possible to sustain an injury via a critical hit or a called shot which exceeds a certain damage threshold. These can include broken limbs, punctured lungs, maiming or disfigurement, etc. The conditions of such injuries (reduced to half speed by an injured leg for example) can only be removed through a period of natural recovery (how much depending on the injury), even if magical healing restores hitpoints back to full. Lost body parts do not come back through rest, obviously.
---How Much Damage?
If a called shot removes at least 1/3 of a character's HP (doing 20 damage to a 60 HP character, for example) it will inflict an injury. Undirected critical hits have a 50% chance of inflicting some injury.
A night's rest heals Your Level + Your Con Mod of HP. Subtract this number from the damage that dealt you your injury to find out how long your injury will take to heal. For example, say you were hit on a called shot: leg by an ogre's club for 20 damage, more than 1/3 of your HP. You are level 3 and have a +2 Con modifier. You will have a bum leg for 15 days (20 - 5) and must avoid worsening the injury in that time.
---That Sounds Harsh, Fam
If you get really fucked up in a fight consider it an opportunity to chill out in town and make connections, win friends and influence people, craft that MW sword you've been wanting, etc. Not all of it has to be roleplayed through. I'm trying to slow the pace of the campaign down a little so not so much happens over so few days.
3. FILTH ACCRUATION
If a player character goes longer than ten days without washing or bathing while engaging in heavy activity (fighting, hiking, etc.) during that period, they gain one of the following conditions (1d4):
1. Flea Infested - You suffer a -2 penalty to concentration and endurance checks, as well as skill checks requiring time or patience (such as craft or disable device). Each night you spend in camp with others they must roll over 20% or acquire fleas from you.
2. Bronchial Congestion - Some bug is taking up residence in the inflamed mucus of your nose/throat/lungs. -2 Con penalty
3. Clothes/Armor Rotting - Fungus or bugs have taken up residence in your armor's padding or in your clothes. 1d4 damage to armor/outfit, will continue taking damage every two days until treated.
4. Untreated sores - your armor has creased your hide so heavily you now take a -2 Dex penalty and can only move as fast as a double move.
For every additional 10 days without hygiene, roll 1d3, then 1d2, then award yourself all four conditions and a special trophy from Papa Nurgle for being the grossest MFer ever.
How Do I Avoid This Embarrassing State?
Buy some soap and clean yourself at least once every 10 days. It's seriously in the basic equipment list. One cake of tallow soap (1 lb.) lasts for 100 uses. Alternatively, visit a public bath. Some inns will have baths as well. A quick clean usually costs 5 sp to 1 gp. Some cultures have alternate methods of cleaning themselves like mud baths or smoke baths.
If I Failed to Avoid This Embarrassing State, How Can I Get it Removed?
In case of rotting armor/clothes, visit an armorer or tailor to have it repaired. In case of the other three conditions, a visit to a doctor (or someone with training in the Heal skill) is in order. Many stores sell itching-powder and lozenges.
Should I use the public fountain in Stormcrown as a bath ever again?
If you want Swordwyte to robo-pulp your skull, sure.
4. INSECTS AND VERMIN
If you travel through dense forest or brush in the Summer, you will quite likely be attacked by insects. Mosquitoes, ticks, gnats, horseflies, noseeums, whatever. Bugbites are usually no more than a trivial annoyance but enough can be debilitating. For every eight hours spent traveling in the forest, roll a Fort save (DC 10). For every additional eight hours spent traveling in the forest, roll the save with the DC increased by one (DC 11 after two days' journey, DC 12 after three, etc.) Spending at least one night's rest out of the woods resets the DC back to 10. If you fail this Fortitude save you are covered in bugbites and become fatigued (-2 Str/Dex) until you spend a day outside of the forest (but performing strenuous activity does not cause you to become exhausted). "Outside the forest" can mean in the upper hills, or under the ground in a dungeon as well.
Vermin means mice, voles, even rats or weasels. If gear--especially food--is left unguarded or unprotected in the forest it is an invitation for these critters to invade. If anything made of leather, paper, untreated cloth or anything else that would be edible is left on the open ground in the forest there is a 20% chance of it taking damage from vermin, or being befouled/spoiled in the case of food and drink.
5. LIGHT AND FEEDING YOURSELF
A pint of lamp oil burns for six hours, and most lamps hold one pint. Torches are soaked in enough oil to burn for one hour. The average candle lasts one hour, but of course candles come in all shapes and sizes.
If you regularly engage in strenuous activity (marching, climbing, fighting, etc.) then you need at least a pound of food and a pint of water a day, although your body would like more. A gallon of other fluids (such as milk or beer) can substitute for water. Less than that and you will slowly begin to suffer the effects of malnutrition: you can only go 1 day + a number of hours equal to your Constitution before you begin suffering dehydration (Fort DC 10 +1 per hour, each hour, taking 1d6 nonlethal every failed save until you collapse and start taking lethal damage). After three days without food starving characters gain the exhausted condition (-6 Str/Dex, can't run). After six days consuming nothing, characters will begin making Fort saves as above; it is possible to prolong the time one must begin making saves up to one month by such extreme measures as boiling and eating grass, wood pulp, shoe leather, etc.
6. MONEY AND MEASUREMENTS
WARNING: SPERGY SHIT AHEAD. SKIP THIS PART IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT HOW MUCH BARLEYCORN YOU CAN CARRY OR DRY SETTING STUFF ABOUT FIAT CURRENCY HORSESHIT.
Remember that for all intents and purposes what we are calling a "pint" is 16 oz, and in terms of dry weight a pint counts as a pound. Two pints equals a quart and four quarts equals a gallon.
Some standard containers (e.g. what you get for the listed price in the PFCRB):
---A common stave/barrel holds 8 gallons, or 64 pints of liquid (a big tun such as used by merchants holds 75 gallons/600 pints).
--A common bottle or tankard holds 16 oz. A common mug/stein holds 8 oz.
--A common copper cookpot weighs 5 lbs and holds approximately 1 gallon/8 pints (would feed four Med. humanoids for two meals).
--A common chest (Med. sized) holds 4 cubic ft or 3 gallons (24 pints).
In the Kingdom of Pellegrine and its adjacent territories, the only currency (stamped coins) allowed to circulate come from royal-backed mints. The gold coins are all stamped with the royal seal and known as Gold Crowns (of the King); silver coins bear an image of a dragon and are called Silver Drakes or if the image of a stag, Silver Stags. Copper coins bear various seals but are usually just called pennies. 10 pennies = 1 Stag/Drake; 10 Stags/Drakes = 1 Crown. All the coins are about the same weight: 50 weigh a pound. Gold Crowns are about half an inch in diameter and 1/24 of an inch thick. If you cut up a gold crown it retains its value, so if you don't have a silver handy you might give a tenth of a gold coin (as weighed out). Note that none of the coins are actually purely what they say they are, so if you melted down a bunch of "silver" stags you'd just have a fused lump of tin and iron with a bit of silver patina.
By Royal Fiat, the value of 20 golden crowns equals the value of one pound of pure silver. A pound of silver is 16 ounces just like everything else, so now you know what the value of an ounce of honest to god silver is. Beware pewter or tin objects that are merely silver-plated, you looters.
Note that the standard value for healthy animal flesh is given by the pound, e.g., judged by the living animal's weight. For example, the value of a healthy pig in his breeding prime is 6 sp per pound, so say you had a 100 lb pig---that's 60 crowns/600 stags, or as valuable as 3 pounds of silver. Note that a canny trader can often find something wrong with an animal such as long teeth or dim eyes in order to give you less than full value. It's never a simple matter of weighing and swapping with animals.
7. OTHER CHANGES (stuff about combat here)
-All ranged/thrown weapons are upgraded one die above their listed damage die. This doesn't include melee/thrown weapons such as spears or daggers.
-Firearms are simple weapons. If you can aim and shoot a crossbow, you can aim and shoot a caliver. Note that proficiency doesn't mean you can reload the thing like a continental soldier, that'd be represented via the Rapid Reload feat.
-Firearms' criticals reduced from x4 to x3. Firearms only jam on a confirmed critical failure.
-Unless a crossbow has a crank/winch you cannot reload it while mounted.
-There is no offhand damage penalty for Two Weapon Fighting. Seriously TWF is suboptimal enough it doesn't need to get shat on more.
-Combat Expertise is restored to its 3.5 glory---this means you can drop your attack and raise your AC as much as your BAB allows up to +/-5.
-Darkvision is lame. Hobgoblins, dwarves and other subterranean denizens instead see in total darkness via infravision (which means they can track in pitch dark based on residual heat-patterns such as footprints). Orcs are night hunters and have Low-Light Vision.
SUGGESTED/NEEDS GROUP APPROVAL
Firearms no longer are Touch attacks. Instead, within their range increment (20 ft for pistols, 40 ft for calivers/muskets) firearms target flat footed AC. This means no dodge bonuses from fighting defensively ("huah! I'll block your bullets with my trusty blade, HUAH!"). Cover still adds to AC and Uncanny Dodge means you can indeed dodge bullets.
Draw A Bead - Full Round Action. Any time you spend a round taking careful aim with any ranged weapon against a target not in cover and are within the weapon's range increment (80 ft for a crossbow, 100 ft for a longbow, etc.) you roll vs the target's Flat Footed AC. You should be combining this with "called shot: head" basically every time.
Called Shot: Head - If you are shot in the head, roll a Fort save DC 10 + damage dealt. If you whiff the save you die instantly. Wearing head protection grants a +4 bonus to this save, but costs you a Hero Point because Heroes Don't Wear Shit On Their Heads.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
A random table and a picture
Random Orc Generator
Skin Color (roll 1d4)
1. Milk White
2. Ash Grey
3. Pea Green
4. Bruise Purple
Eye Color (roll 1d2)
1. red
2. yellow
Kits (roll 1d8)
1. Hide armor, greataxe, buckler, javelins x6
2. Studded leather, falchion, buckler, javelins x6
3. Scale mail, greatclub, buckler, javelins x6
4. Hide armor, battleaxe, heavy shield, javelins x6
5. Studded leather, longsword, light shield, shortbow, arrows x20
6. Studded leather, falchion, shortbow, arrows x20
7. Scale mail, battleaxe, heavy shield, javelins x6
8. Scale mail, greataxe, shortbow, arrows x20
Alignment (roll 1d100)
001-60 | Chaotic Evil
61-81 | Chaotic Neutral
82-94 | Neutral Evil
95-100 | True Neutral
Details (roll 1d20 2-3x, reroll contradictory results)
1. Giant weasel pelt used for serape-like belt
2. Hair gelled up into a volcano of spikes
3. Face painted in crude depiction of orc cosmos, flames of hell surround lonely orb of earth at center, Eye of Gruumsh above
4. Tongue tip split, wood plug hammered through lip. This orc cannot speak without a torrent of spit issuing forth.
5. Layers of red hawk, brown eagle and black crow feathers crown the back of the hair. Raptor talons tied to hair tresses. 50% chance this orc thinks he can fly.
6. Armor fringed with (1d4) 1. elaborate tassels of fluffy squirrel tale, 2. red fox fur, 3. honeyblonde weasel fur, 4. teeth, hundreds of teeth
7. Necklace of ears, shriveled and black
8. Bracers fringed with raven feathers
9. Rows of jawbones (pig, orc, man) hang from shoulders like a set of spaulders
10. Ogre jawbone gorget
11. Ogre or Ettin skull helmet, painted eye of Gruumsh on crown to help avoid falling arrows
12. Brass studs and rings in face
13. Giant rift-like scar down middle of face
14. Wolf's skull and pelt as headdress
15. Broken tusk
16. Dire boar tusks crossed over shoulders, pinning mantle
17. Scarred/missing eye
18. One ear torn off
19. Necklace of rabbit's foot, chicken bones, wolf fangs and other fetishes
20. Eye of Gruumsh inked onto (1d4) 1. chin 2. brow 3. back of hand 4. tongue
Special Loot (1d6)
1. Preserved eye in tiny brine jar. A common good luck charm.
2. Small map of the universe inked onto deerskin in gaul/purple blood preparation. A common meditation tool to prepare for a warrior's death. In orc cosmology, hell is the starry cosmos surrounding the earth, with Gruumsh's Eye (the moon) towering over all.
3. Scraps of steel mail or dire animal hide. Anyone with the appropriate craft skill could stitch these onto their armor for repairs/a little extra protection.
4. 1d8 husks of tiny (legs 18" across) monstrous spiders, carefully gathered and wrapped in sacks, each sack tied to an arrow. When cave spiders molt orcs like to collect the husks, tie them up in sacks, tie the sacks to arrows and shoot them en masse at the enemy. Everyone knows spiders are extremely unlucky (being associated with the Elves Below) so the concentration of 500 dead spiders will draw bad luck down in force on an enemy position.
5. A special nail and tooth colorant of pine pitch and red dye. Does not stain skin, smells strongly.
6. A small bag of smashed crow skulls. Shake the bag when you have a question and the rattling of the bone fragments inside is supposed to speak wisdom. Sort of the orc version of a Magic 8-Ball.
Character Drawing: Female Half-Orc Paladin
Skin Color (roll 1d4)
1. Milk White
2. Ash Grey
3. Pea Green
4. Bruise Purple
Eye Color (roll 1d2)
1. red
2. yellow
Kits (roll 1d8)
1. Hide armor, greataxe, buckler, javelins x6
2. Studded leather, falchion, buckler, javelins x6
3. Scale mail, greatclub, buckler, javelins x6
4. Hide armor, battleaxe, heavy shield, javelins x6
5. Studded leather, longsword, light shield, shortbow, arrows x20
6. Studded leather, falchion, shortbow, arrows x20
7. Scale mail, battleaxe, heavy shield, javelins x6
8. Scale mail, greataxe, shortbow, arrows x20
Alignment (roll 1d100)
001-60 | Chaotic Evil
61-81 | Chaotic Neutral
82-94 | Neutral Evil
95-100 | True Neutral
Details (roll 1d20 2-3x, reroll contradictory results)
1. Giant weasel pelt used for serape-like belt
2. Hair gelled up into a volcano of spikes
3. Face painted in crude depiction of orc cosmos, flames of hell surround lonely orb of earth at center, Eye of Gruumsh above
4. Tongue tip split, wood plug hammered through lip. This orc cannot speak without a torrent of spit issuing forth.
5. Layers of red hawk, brown eagle and black crow feathers crown the back of the hair. Raptor talons tied to hair tresses. 50% chance this orc thinks he can fly.
6. Armor fringed with (1d4) 1. elaborate tassels of fluffy squirrel tale, 2. red fox fur, 3. honeyblonde weasel fur, 4. teeth, hundreds of teeth
7. Necklace of ears, shriveled and black
8. Bracers fringed with raven feathers
9. Rows of jawbones (pig, orc, man) hang from shoulders like a set of spaulders
10. Ogre jawbone gorget
11. Ogre or Ettin skull helmet, painted eye of Gruumsh on crown to help avoid falling arrows
12. Brass studs and rings in face
13. Giant rift-like scar down middle of face
14. Wolf's skull and pelt as headdress
15. Broken tusk
16. Dire boar tusks crossed over shoulders, pinning mantle
17. Scarred/missing eye
18. One ear torn off
19. Necklace of rabbit's foot, chicken bones, wolf fangs and other fetishes
20. Eye of Gruumsh inked onto (1d4) 1. chin 2. brow 3. back of hand 4. tongue
Special Loot (1d6)
1. Preserved eye in tiny brine jar. A common good luck charm.
2. Small map of the universe inked onto deerskin in gaul/purple blood preparation. A common meditation tool to prepare for a warrior's death. In orc cosmology, hell is the starry cosmos surrounding the earth, with Gruumsh's Eye (the moon) towering over all.
3. Scraps of steel mail or dire animal hide. Anyone with the appropriate craft skill could stitch these onto their armor for repairs/a little extra protection.
4. 1d8 husks of tiny (legs 18" across) monstrous spiders, carefully gathered and wrapped in sacks, each sack tied to an arrow. When cave spiders molt orcs like to collect the husks, tie them up in sacks, tie the sacks to arrows and shoot them en masse at the enemy. Everyone knows spiders are extremely unlucky (being associated with the Elves Below) so the concentration of 500 dead spiders will draw bad luck down in force on an enemy position.
5. A special nail and tooth colorant of pine pitch and red dye. Does not stain skin, smells strongly.
6. A small bag of smashed crow skulls. Shake the bag when you have a question and the rattling of the bone fragments inside is supposed to speak wisdom. Sort of the orc version of a Magic 8-Ball.
Character Drawing: Female Half-Orc Paladin
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