28 January, 2012

Rumours


It is night-time for Migellito’s caravan. They are camped outside of Antwerp, and many of the travellers have gone into the city. The caravan boss steps toward the fire outside a brightly painted coach. “Tarot Woman?”


She answers nearly unseen from behind the fire, and he moves to sit next to her. She asks “you are enjoying the benefits of the new route, yes?”


He is serious and unsmiling. “Yes. It is as you foretold. ‘You will find fortune beyond the fields we know.’ But now two men, they won’t return with us to the East. Another is crushed by one of those accursed devil statues. And I don’t really believe they were statues.”


She smiles. “The last one was sold in Brussels. They are gone now.”


He quickly stands. “It’s not about the statues! This route takes us too close to the Lich Stone! And what of this glyph? There has been no sign of it!”

The gypsy lady motions for Migellito to sit again. “The Lich Stone is on the other side of the Rhine Sea, miles away when we pass by. There is no worry. For other matters, there is patience. The tarot does not lie to me. It never has. And now that I possess these mystic plaques, I am one with it stronger than ever before. Is your man ready when the time is right?”

Migellito sighs. “Yes. He awaits for word in Ravensburg.” He stands and begins to walk away. “My patience will not last forever, Tarot Woman.”

26 January, 2012

Goggle-Eyed Cluelacker

Because of this.


Goggle-Eyed Cluelacker
2 hit dice
Pummel attack for 1d6 damage
Armor class 6 due to rubberiness, blunt weapons do -1 damage
Move 9
Surprised on 3 in 6
Can see all round, 360 degrees
Low intelligence
Encountered in groups of 2d12+8 (10 to 32)


These idiotic creatures appear similar to pale-skinned frog people. The batrachian appearance is due mostly to the large round goggley eyes sitting on what would be a flattened human's forehead. Their mouths, though large, flappy, and gibbering, are not the ear-to-ear affair of a true batrachinoid. Their pale skin tends to be quite clammy as well. They occasionally have hair on their heads, but if so it is very thin and lank. Their pale skin can range through whitish green to whitish blue, or even a whitish yellow or violet cast, mostly based on geographical region. Also, their long spatulate fingers are not webbed. They tend to be pot-bellied and weak-shouldered, with spindly arms and legs, and large hands and feet. Most are from 5 and a half to 6 feet tall.


Although they will not actively attack unless directly threatened, they can be quite dangerous nonetheless. Upon noticing any humanoid, they will attempt to crowd around the individual or individuals, touching and pawing at them while gibbering their inane mutterings. Each round anyone thus in contact with them (even if not entirely surrounded) must make a reaction save versus wands (or a difficult dexterity check) to maintain their footing. If the unfortunate focus of their attention loses their footing, the victim will immediately be subject to 6d3 trampling damage. The victim may attempt to crawl out of the press during the next combat round by repeating their saving throw (or ability check.) Each subsequent round of trampling reduces the efficacy of escape attempts by 2 points.

25 January, 2012

Jack in The Box

We join our jaunty jaunting jackdaw in his favourite establishment, The Blue Rabbit. 

“Feck off!”

Oh, ho! Yes, he’s in high spirits today, isn’t he? Now we see him bid adieu to this fine house, and exit out into his beloved Cornish countryside. Except, what’s this? It’s changed, and now Jack finds himself in the strange world of Outland. Looking about for a moment, Jack shrugs, unruffled. He consigns the drastically altered view to the trusty old aphorism, ‘If you don’t like the scenery in Britain, just wait ten minutes.’ 

And who do we have here? Why, it’s Scarecrow, a tengu who is perhaps as much bird as he is man. He gives Father Jack a warm welcome to this odd land, and is rewarded in kind. 

“Arse! Drink!”

After such pleasantries, our determined pair set off in a heretofore unexplored direction, accompanied by the Father’s trusty torchier, Garmir, and a newfound companion, Vince Vinton, a local vintner. Striking off to the northwest from the Outpost, it’s only a few miles until they find themselves struggling up and down rough dry hills. By this time, Jack has completely dismissed Scarecrow’s beaky countenance, believing him to be a big-nosed Norman. 

Less than an hour into the craggy hills, our travellers look down into a basin with seven shadowy holes in the hillsides. Discovery! All the holes but one show evidence of steady traffic in and out from some sort of V-footed individuals. Now joined by Doc Sampson, they descend the hill and enter the one trackless tunnel mouth. 

An eight foot round dirt hole burrows away into the hillside. With a call of “Girly! Light!” Garmir sets a torch aflame, and in they go. After several turns, a side tunnel rewards their view with several doors. One offers scratching sounds, and they press on. One door proves locked, and again they move along. A large round wooden door in the side of the tunnel, it’s knob oddly in the centre, opens to their efforts and they are rewarded with a small room. A heavy metal cabinet within is no match for Scarecrow’s masterful ministrations, and they look within. What’s this? Oddities of Outland greet them. One gives its wearer sight in the dark, while another proves ready to blast a smoking hole in the tunnel wall with a blast of flashing green. Extraordinary! 

Taking their newfound swag, they return to the locked door, Scarecrow brimming with newfound confidence in his considerable abilities. His confidence is well-placed, as the lock falls before his efforts. Waiting behind this round portal is a dark and musty dirt descent. Down go our travellers, fathom after fathom. 

Finally levelling out far below, their path takes them into an enormous cavern filled with tables, desks and stands. Every surface throughout the expansive room is covered with bubbling, smoking glassware. Beakers, tubes, flasks, all filled with liquids of a hundred scintillating colours. We see our good father has become quite animated. 

“Drink!!”

Trusty Garmir settles Father Jack with a few words, and our intrepid band begins carefully and quietly exploring this subterranean laboratory. 

As we will soon see, this is the exhaustive and prodigiously proportioned laboratory of a very unusual man. A man the likes of which none of our travellers have ever seen. His alien skin is jet black, yet he is indeed human. All his varied chemical apparatus is in fact one vast process. Scores and scores of intricately interconnected tubes and glass, flasks and beakers boiling away with a hundred rare reagents, all this vast experiment, all working toward one final precipitate. A tiny drop falls, only one in many minutes, into the final ultimate flask. It boils away in a flashing instant, the smoke dissipating in a colour never before seen by human eyes. Each drop thus leaves only a tiny speck of dust, and the flask, though by no means full, holds the product of untold hours! Here he is now! The exotic jet-skinned master of the laboratory emerges in his white coat! 

So then the party killed him.

And broke the flask. The precious precipitate disappeared all over the dirt.

Doc Sampson is heaving a flask of acid at the furious dagger-wielding onyx-toned scientist! What can happen? It melts his face off! He drops dead. 

Wandering into the ex-scientist’s bedroom, we see Jack discover a horde of glittering jewellery! He shrugs non-committedly. But what’s this hidden away in there? A pouch filled with strange white powder. Following his curiosity, Jack sniffs the pouch to see if it bears some unique aroma. 

Threee. Hours. Laterrrr… <- Jacques Cousteau accent

Here is Jack, but he’s not looking very jaunty. He is struggling back across the dry rolling grass, with Garmir’s help. The craggy dirt hills are far behind. What has happened? Sadly, our narrative depends on the memory of Father Jack, and he doesn’t remember a bloody thing. He is, however, carrying the decapitated head of a gigantic white flower. Looking about, he sees everyone has one. Ah well, such is the way of things in a traveller’s life, and our unflappable Jack dismisses these details with a wave of the hand, and turns his mind to matters ahead. 

“Drink!”

Unfortunately, the local libations prove too much for our far-ranging friar, and he falls afoul of jurisprudence. As well as several other kinds of prudence. He awakes in a barred cell, not long before his release is arranged. He is less than happy about the arrangement. 

“Gobshite!”

And now, his purse emptied of all coin to pay his fines, and many of his possessions confiscated to make up the remainder of his debt, he falls asleep in an alley of the outpost. He reaches for his trusty Neverending Rumflask. Knowing what the future holds, the faithful Garmir plugs his ears. 

“FECK!! ARSE!! FECK!! DRIIIIIINK!!!!”

It is gone.

Thanks to Jeremy for a great game! :)

A Kingdom for A Premise

I originally built Castle Nicodemus sometime around 1992. The premise was fairly simple. Take some locations detailed in various sources and combine them together in one place. All the sources had something very specific in common, except for one. That one did have similarities to the others, however.

Why so vague? Because I want my players to guess where I got the pieces. The reward for correctly determining something's provenance? Appropriate and relatively substantial, hopefully.

Coming back to the castle after so long, I first went through and made sure it still worked. I'm pretty sure it does now. I also added 2 new locations, one of which is based on a different sort of source material. Related, certainly, but different.

I'll only lay down one clue. If you're good at recognizing maps, you shouldn't have too much trouble.

23 January, 2012

Tables for Nicodemus

Most things about OD&D are quite easy to elucidate quickly while in the midst of a game. There are a few things, however, which consistently pop up as needing a bit more detail, or requiring the DM to advise players to consult one of the many fine retro-clones for something. I don't want to have to do that, not because of the clones themselves (on the contrary, I'm quite taken with many of them) but so that everyone is nicely on the same page about everything, and everyone knows what to expect.


With that in mind, here are a couple of lists which show the exact numbers we're using for Castle Nicodemus.


Ability Modifiers:

Strength, Fighter Only
To Hit
Damage
3-4
-2
-1
5-6
-1

7-9


10-12


13-15
+1

16
+1
+1
17
+2
+2
18
+2
+3



Dexterity, Fighter Only
AC

15
-1

16
-2

17
-3

18
-4




Dexterity, All
To Hit

3-8
-1

13-18
+1




Spell Slots (inquire after Druids):

Magic-User Spells
1st
2nd
3rd
4th
5th
6th
Medium
1





Seer
2





Conjurer
3
1




Theurgist
4
2




Thaumaturgist
4
2
1



Magician
4
2
2



Enchanter
4
3
2
1


Warlock
4
3
3
2


Sorcerer
4
3
3
2
1

Necromancer
4
4
3
3
2

Wizard
4
4
4
3
3

Wizard, 12th Level
4
4
4
4
4
1
Wizard, 13th Level
5
5
5
4
4
2
Wizard, 14th Level
5
5
5
4
4
3
Wizard, 15th Level
5
5
5
4
4
4
Wizard, 16th Level
5
5
5
5
5
5




Cleric Spells
1st
2nd
3rd
4th
5th
Acolyte
 zip




Adept
1




Village Priest
2




Vicar
2
1



Curate
2
2



Bishop
2
2
1
1

Lama
2
2
2
1
1
Patriarch
2
2
2
2
2
Patriarch, 9th Level
3
3
3
2
2
Patriarch, 10th Level
3
3
3
3
3



Roll on a d20 Needed to Hit Armor Class Zero:
Fighters of All Stripes, as well as Paladins
  • Levels 1-3: 19
  • Levels 4-6: 17
  • Levels 7-9: 14
Magic-Users
  • Levels 1-5: 19
  • Levels 6-10: 17
  • Levels 11-15: 14
Clerics and Thieves
  • Levels 1-4: 19
  • Levels 5-8: 17
  • Levels 9-12: 14


Saving Throws:

Class
Level
Death or Poison
Wands
Stone
Dragon Breath
Spells
Fighting-Men
1-3
12
13
14
15
16
Magic-User
1-5
13
14
13
16
15
Cleric
1-4
11
12
14
16
15
Fighter
4-6
10
11
12
13
14
Magic User
6-10
11
12
11
14
12
Cleric
5-8
9
10
12
14
12
Fighter
7-9
8
9
10
10
12
Magic-User
11-15
8
9
8
11
8
Cleric
9-12
6
7
9
11
9
Fighter
10-12
6
7
8
8
10
Magic-User
16+
5
6
5
8
3
Cleric
13+
3
5
7
8
7
Fighter
13+
4
5
5
5
8