A few creatures, really. On the one hand, you have the sad state of the zombie, a rotting thing dragging itself back from the grave, usually at the behest of someone or something else; then you have the shades which stood on the riverside, lamenting that they had no coin to pay the toll across to the afterlife. Mix them together one way and you get a ghost terrorizing the living. Mix them another way, and you get the Unclean Ones... Go to Comment
Dangerous in a fashion, yes. A powerful soul might well keep pulling the body together rather than fall to oblivion easily, but aside from the jagged fingerbones the Unclean Ones aren't all that hazardous, really. If you see them limping about, it's more of a sign that someone isn't doing things properly when burying the dead than anything else; given what they seek, they hurry back to their grave as quickly as they can. Go to Comment
I personally feel that the Unclean Ones wouldn't be 'aware' enough to do something as complex as accusing in a court of law, as the entire animating essence is the soul, without the benefit of any of the natural lifeforce of the body. However, I could easily see a religious order in a large city rife with graverobbers and the like that has some divine magic to speak with the Unclean Ones to determine who was guilty and bring them to justice. Go to Comment
Thanks. I enjoy messing with the notions behind the undead, really.
Even in settings where they technically can't exist as they would normally be presented. I have something in the works for the Steampunk quest coming up, which will fit into Kuramen despite the only True Undead being the Hollow Ones. Go to Comment
I rather like this scroll idea; one of the things I've always liked are the silly magical and mundane trinkets that can be found on the bodies of monsters, once defeated, and this feels like a logical extension of that idea - adding personality and flavor to what would otherwise be nothing more than another GM-mandated obstacle for the players. Go to Comment
51) A necklace of goblin teeth.
52) A necklace of bear claws and teeth.
53) An old leather pouch containing a finely-crafted set of dice carved from bone.
54) A small disc of blue crystal, beautifully etched with a holy symbol.
55) A large number of peanut shells, scattered more-or-less randomly across the bottom of the coffin.
56) A long, curling strip of paper; written on it in a holy tongue is a command to dwell in peace.
57) The ragged remnants of what was once a fine fur cloak.
58) A heavily rusted, massive hammer.
59) Far more teeth than should ever be present in a single creature's skull.
60) A broken weapon of some kind.
61) Two copper coins, laying at odd angles as if knocked aside when the former inhabitant moved. Go to Comment
I suppose it depends on how long the downtime is for a group; if it's a group where they do things like taking a year of downtime for the mage to study and research new spells, the various characters using their wealth to improve where they live (perhaps building or repairing a keep or fortress, which is usually popular in a fantasy game), and so on... Then there's no real conflict; the party takes the downtime and does their thing, and in the gap the character takes the draught and trains to master the enhancement it bestows. Go to Comment
Oh, hey, that's a cool idea for using it. I like that; the party is given the Draught as a reward, or perhaps has it forced on them as part of a deal, and then get the downtime training... Hmm. It has potential, there. Go to Comment
I've had plenty of PCs with enemies who can take the downtime for that. Usually I've spent it fortifying the base of operations that I use; taking the time to be better equipped to handle combat against foes less-equipped for it is easily as justifiable. The *real* drawback, to me, is the inability to change your course of action midstream; if you declare that you're attacking the front-line orc, you're attacking the front-line orc, even if some bigger hazard is approaching, until your next initiative turns up and your mind catches up with your body. Go to Comment
You're right, likely; someone well in harmony with their body would likely be able to adapt a little more easily. The person with the easiest time, if you ask me, would be someone ready to train who has never had any kind of kinesthetic training at all. With nothing to tear down in regards to their perceptions of the self, they'd be able to build from the ground up right away.
It is, indeed, a permanent change. As Siren noted to me, it's basically Wired Reflexes In A Bottle, only without a nerve shunt or spell-switch to shut it off when you don't want to be amplified. I also agree that there is likely to be a long-term mental strain due to the differential between the speed of the mind and the augmented speed of the body... Go to Comment
Os there any particular reason for the difficulty becoming greater at a very specific eight uses, or was the value a rough guess at balancing the dificulty? Does it count per blow, or per creature, or per 'death' of whatever you were fighting or executing with this?
The history also intrigues me as the current stub; did Ballerius get to accuse as well as judge and execute, or did he only judge and execute those brought before him? Go to Comment
This appeals to my twisted sense of humor - a divine, potent holy weapon, forged with the heart of evil hidden within it. A clever way to cheat death, even if they way to unlock it isn't exactly something I'd expect to be easy.
A question: does 'unlocking' it make it possibly to revive/restore Vautu in some way, or does it just make the maul a weapon of darkness and evil? If the latter, I could see it being insturmental in the fall of a Guardian from being a paladin to an anti-paladin/blackguard... Go to Comment
In restoring him, transforming the Guardian into Vautu's new form - a fallen paladin become host to a dark god - would probably be an intriguing twist. Perhaps the restoration would be incomplete, with the fallen Guardian becoming host to Vautu's power and spirit, but hybridized with the original mortal, or sharing space with it somehow, egging the unfortunate on to fully restore and release the god into the world once more, if only to be rid of the darkness suffusing him. If the Guardian is still somewhat himself, it might even make for a troubling issue for the PCs - the Guardian can be redeemed, in theory, but to do so you have to purge him of Vautu's spirit and power - which just might bring the god back to corporeal form. Picture the fallen Guardian, manipulated like a puppet, fighting to kill the PCs while pleading with them to destroy him and Vautu... Go to Comment
By stripping away the single line about needing a nature-oriented spellcaster, it loses that qualm - the arrows become a thing made by the nightmare of repeatedly thawing and freezing the wood, instead. Go to Comment
I have to agree about the naming feeling a little off - Winter's Talons might have been better, suggesting a raptor's claws, or something to that effect. I don't hold the same issue with the effect, though, as some of the others - while branching out from traditional magic items seemed the goal, there is an element of an old, tiring ritual to it, as opposed to something being labored over in a wizard's workshop. Indeed, by pulling out the line referencing spellcasters, it could easily be an ancient rite that gives birth to them.
That said, I do love the imagery it conjurs - shafts of wood that glisten faintly with the bitter frost they contain, exploding as they strike to rend flesh and drive the spike of winter's deepest misery into their victim, and the descriptive text is a compelling thing, bringing to mind the grizzled old woodsman crouched in a cleared patch in the midwinter snow, looking down at handfuls of wood - some straight and true, others bent and splintered beyond recognition. Go to Comment
I've never even *heard* of that series, though that's likely more the fact that I never watch TV and only rarely see movies more than any obscurity of the show in question.
Thanks; I saw a lack of modern entires to the Quest, and then what with it being OhGodHundred Hours in the morning, this bubbled up from a memory of a story I once read about a gun that kept pointing at the person who had murdered the gun's owner before eventually going off and killing him. Go to Comment
Medieval Britons didn't write contracts. Instead, men making agreements would clap their knives onto an altar and recite the agreement three times to seal a deal. Even after the Normans introduced written contracts, British nobles would wrap the parchment around a knife to authenticate it.